Note 2 — THE LEGEND OF THE BUILDING OF BALLINDALLOCH.

“Would that I could aid thee, Ballindalloch,” said Ian mournfully; “but thou must e’en take the will for the deed. I am hanging here over a bough, like a piece of sheep’s tripe, without an atom of fushon2 in me, and confined, moreover, by as many cross-branches as would cage in a blackbird. I fear there is no hope for us till daylight.”