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 celebrated feats, and the Pass of Glencoe witnessed what he doubtless deemed the most tragic event in his crowded life. Here he, who never feared the face of living dog, fled from the dead, as he (erroneously) believed. He was not inaccessible to the terror of superstition, nor could he encounter the foe whom he had already seen stretched lifeless at his feet. But this adventure needs some preface and explanation.

The Coe, after threading the Pass where the massacre took place under tremendous and beetling crags, reaches the sea at Invercoe, above which it is spanned by a bridge. At Invercoe dwelt a family akin to that owned by Pincher. They possessed a Scotch terrier named Jack, between whom and Pincher reigned an inveterate feud. To keep these enemies apart was the great, object of all friends of peace. Pincher's family lived on the left, Jack's on the right of the river. One day both families were taking tea in the open air, the table being spread just under the window of a cottage in the village. Pincher was left in the cottage, Jack on the other side of the stream. As the guests partook of the innocent feast, a kind of hairy hurricane sped from above, the urn and teapot were overset, a heavy body landed on the table, and, when the affrighted tea-party recovered the use of their senses, Pincher and Jack were found engaged in a death struggle. Jack, unobserved, had come up the road, Pincher, beholding or scenting him from an upper window, had leaped to the fray!

"What could be done was done. Both hounds were lifted from the earth by their tails. Pepper was applied to their nostrils, water was poured over them. But Pincher did not leave his hold till Jack lay motionless at his feet. Then Pincher let himself be dragged off, while medical attendance was called in for Jack, the doctor's house being hard by. The skill and perseverance of that excellent physician were at last rewarded. Jack breathed, he stirred, and, unknown to the relentless Pincher, was