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No. 37. APRIL 1892. VOL. IV. 

T n as 

'rf".;^^ MONTHLY 

^&^:?^s®^', 

CONTENTS. 

WILLIE GILLIES. Chap. I 

THE ESTATE OF BUGHT, INVERNESS, AND ITS OWNERS, 1171 

By C. Fraskr- 

Mackintosh, M. P. Part II 14 

THE HOSPITAL OF INVERNESS AND DUNBARS HOSPITAL. Chap. IV. By Captaix 

DOL'GLAS WiMBERLEY 25 

APPENDIX TO "THE 79TH HIGHLANDERS IN THE INDIAN MUTINY CAMPAIGN, 

1858." By DîGLAS WiMBERLEY, Sometime Lieutenant and Adjutant, 79th J5 

IRELAND BEFORE THE CONQUEST. Part XIV. By Sir Henry Cockburn Mac.andrew. . 

SCENES OF LONG AGO. I.—THE LAST OF THE PENSIONERS 

49 

56 

BOOKS 

NOTES AND NEWS 

62 

63 

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ADVERTISEMENTS. 

CONTENTS 

WILLIE GILLIES. Chap. 1. . : i 

THE ESTATE OF BUGHT, INVKRXESS, AND ITS OWNERS, 1171-1S91. By C. Fraser- 

Mackintosh, M.P r 14 

THE HOSPITAL OF INVERNESS AND DUNBAR S HOSPI lAL. Chap. IV. By Captain 

DOIGLAS WlMBERl.EY 25 

APPENDIX TO "THE 79TH HIGHLANDERS IN 3 HE INDIAN MUTINY CAMPAIGN, 

1S58." By DoiGLAS WiMDERLEY, someiiiue Lieutanant and Adjutant, 79th 35 

IRELAND BEFORE THE CONQUEST. Part XIV. By Sir Henry Cockburn 

Mac ANDREW 49 

SCENES OF LONG AGO. I. -THE LAS'J' OF THE PENSIONERS S* 

BOOKS 62 

NOTES AND NEW.S 6} 

Tartans, Highland Tweeds 

HOME AND FOREIGN OUTFITS, &c., &e., 

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on application. 

INVEENBSS.

EDITED BV 

DUNCAN CAMPBELL, Editor, "Northern Chronicle," 

I 

ALEXANDER xMACBAIN, M.A., F.S.A.Scot. 

No. 37. APRIL, 1892. Vol. IV. 

willib: gillies. 

CHAPTER I. 

AM old and garrulous, and must say something about 

myself in the first place. Peradventure a short intro- 

duction will save wearisome explanations at a future stage. 

The son of a Highland country farmer, I was bred up for 

the church— for my mother thought me a prodigy, and 

deemed the sublimest place for a prodigy the pulpit of a 

Presbyterian kirk. The atmosphere which I breathed in 

bo}'hood confirmed me in the same belief. Although I 

became a " sticket minister," I have yet a great respect for 

the cloth. Well, after the ordinary curriculum of ministerial 

training, I was licensed " a preacher of the Gospel," and 

awaited the notfce of a patron and the call of a congrega- 

tion to make me a full-blown minister and give me a 

stipend, manse and glebe, et forsitans placens uxor. 

But I missed my object in the following way. I was an 

ambitious student, and aspired to academical honours. I 

gained the A.M. on the conclusion of my four years' course, 

while Charles Lumley, son of the ponderous Dr Lumley (I 

conceal true names in this sketch), the chief man in my

— 

The Highland Monthly. 

native Presbytery, was shamefully plucked. The Dr, who 

prided himself on the attainments of his son, the more so 

because he directed his preparatory studies himself, was 

wroth at Charlie's failure, and, by a most perverse exercise 

of logic, transferred the just wrath of the father and teacher 

from his son to me. The animus of the Rev. Dr was quite 

apparent on the occasion of the Presbyterial examination, 

which students have to undergo previous to entering the 

theological hall, and, as I gave, when roused by his unfair 

questioning, some saucy answers, his influence in the 

Presbytery, from his social connections and falsely reputed 

learning, was such that I would have smarted for my 

knowledge and my impudence, if it had not been patent. 

even to his simple co-presbyters, that I was better posted 

up in all subjects than his own son, who was examined the 

same day. Besides, the A.M. had an imposing sound for 

the five ministers who, along with Dr Lumley, formed the 

Presbytery of Glenmorin (it will not be found in the 

gazetteers, though all I say is true, notwithstanding). 

Three years later, when I came before the Presbytery of 

Glenmorin, a candidate for license, the Rev. Dr, who had 

nursed his wrath to keep it warm, prepared to smash me ; 

but I had anticipated this and was ready for him. His 

mode of examination may be shown by two questions in 

ecclesiastical history, the first proper enough, the second a 

silly trap : Q.— " Who was the mother of Constantine the 

Great ?" A.— " Helena." Q.— " Who was the mother of 

Helena ?" A.— " As far as it has any bearing on 

ecclesiastical history, it is sufficient to say the mother of 

Helena was a woman," Upon this saucy answer the 

members of the Presbytery laughed, and a shrewd, but 

unlearned elder, interrupted the examination by an anecdote, 

which I must relate, as it greatly angered the Doctor. 

" Weel dune, laddie, I trow ye ha'e fairly coupit the 

doctor clean heels ower head. Odds, it reminds me of a 

droll story aboot the English Johnson, wha, ye ken, juist 

hated honest Scotchmen as if they were reprobates. Weel,

Willie Gillies. 

the English pheelosopher, on his journey to the Heebrides, 

foregathered \vi' a canny fule at a certain laird's hoose. 

For fun, the pheelosopher tried to pose the fule by speiring 

if he could tell him wha was the faither of the sons of 

Zcbedee. Weel, the fule scratched his head, but, upon 

conseederation, he brichtened up a' at aince and said, 

' Toots, man, wha could it be but Zebedee himself? And 

noo that I ha'e answered your question, will you answer 

ane of mine ? ' 'Of course,' said the pheelosopher. ' Weel 

then,' continued the fule, ' can you tell me wha was my 

fîither?' Ha, ha! The pheelosopher was posed, and 

couldna answer a word." 

The rebuke restrained my examinator from similar 

catch questions in the remainder of the English examination. 

He, indeed, endeavoured to provoke me to make 

heretical replies to questions on the abstruse doctrines of 

free grace and predestination, and I am free to confess that 

my replies exhibited fully as much apparent inconsistency 

as the doctrines themselves. In the Greek and Hebrew 

examination, I was more than a match for my pundit, 

although he had posted himself up in the passages selected 

by himself to puzzle me. After the %'iva voce examination, 

I read, according to custom, the trial discourses of a 

candidate for license. On looking over them now, I do 

feel that they are verbose and overcharged with incon- 

gruous imagery, but they have the rudiments of several 

good thoughts, and, certainly, when read ore rotundo by the 

young author, they must have had, as my friend the lay 

elder assured me at the time, " a grand soond." As 1 was 

saying, when the trial was concluded, I was told to go into 

the next room, and allow the Presbytery t(^- deliberate in 

private There was a chink in the partition, and, while 

ashamed of eavesdropping, I could not help listening to the 

conversation which ensued. I need not repeat it. Suffice 

it to say, that the doctor laboured to impress on his 

brethren that my learning was more specious than solid, 

•and that in doctrine I was far t'rom sound. He was not.

The Highlmid Monthly. 

however, entirely the dictator of the court. When he 

hinted that it would be advisable to postpone my license 

for another term, several of his co-presbyters said " No, 

no," and the lay elder aforesaid declared with emphasis that 

I was " a more likely lad for wagging my head in a poopit, 

aye, by a half, than some of the smaiks that had passed at 

former diets, including Dr Lumley's ain son." Finally, I 

was called in. The doctor, as moderator, announced that 

the Presbytery agreed to license me, and then proceeded to 

make severe remarks on my appearance in the viva voce 

examination, and injurious inferences from passages in my 

homilies, sermons, or whatever they should be called. My 

outward demeanour was calm, but passion boiled at my 

heart, and I interrupted the doctor's remarks to tell him 

that I was perfectly content to have my whole examination 

taken again in writing, and to meet the rev. gentleman's 

strictures where I should be sure of justice, at the bar of the 

Synod. Fire shot from his eye ; he finished his speech 

abruptly, and from that mom.ent he was a worse foe than 

ever. 

Well, I had no patron, but a fair character, and the 

inheritance of a good name from two or three generations 

of honest ancestors—it is always a primary consideration 

with a Scotch congregation that ministers be of honest, that 

is pious and prudent parentage, it does not matter however 

poor—recommended me to the favour of a vacant parish in 

the next Presbytery. At the request of his farmers, the 

patron presented me to the church and parish in due order, 

and I was in a fair way of being settled for life, when Dr 

Lumley got hold of two of the elders that led the most 

orthodox portion of the congregation, whispered doubts as 

to my soundness in the faith, which doubts were emphasised 

by sundry shakes of the head. The oracles at once 

changed their tune. As there was no veto-law then, and 

as the objections were groundless, I would have been 

settled had I chosen to persist. But I always held that a 

minister cannot be useful where the people look upon him.


an an intruder, and so I resigned my pretensions and 

retired permanently from the ecclesiastical field. I could 

try my fortune again, but the emptiness of religious professions 

which I had witnessed improperly disgusted me 

with the calling of a minister. In addition to this feeling 

of repugnance, I had lost my legitimate ambition of dis- 

tinction—and what can be a greater loss to a young man ? 

But this loss was rather the result of failing health than of 

a trivial disappointment. There is nothing more sad than 

the exhaustion of energy which follows too much study. I 

went to college an ill-trained lad, with fair abilities, and 

grasped at learning with too much avidity. The plethora 

of undigested mental food brought me to the brink 

of the tomb, and made me a confirmed valetudinarian. 

I lived with my elder brother, who succeeded my 

father in the farm. My brother and sister-in-law never com- 

plained of me as a burden, but, when somewhat recovered, 

I felt it a duty to try and do something, however little, to 

repay them for their kindness. I was naturally of a 

literary turn, and by and bye, having established a connection 

with two or three magazines, 

a limited but competent remuneration. 

my pen brought me 

A literary work, which it is not necessary to parti- 

cularise, brought me to Edinburgh about ten years ago. 

My time was short, and why should I not say it ? my purse 

was light, and, for economising both time and money, I 

was induced during my two months' stay in town to leave 

the penetralia of a publishing firm in Princes Street 

regularly when the clock " chappet " one, and adjourn for 

dinner— invariably a plate of roast beef, potatoes, and a 

glass of ale—to an eating-house on the other side 

of the street. It was a low affair, insomuch that 

the front of it was below the level of the street, and the 

entrance was reached by a stair descending from the pavement. 

As the house stood on the brink of the Nor Loch 

ravine, the back windows, however, overlooked the railway, 

and rose high above many humbler buildings. The rear

7he Highland Monthly. 

elevation, therefore, counterbalanced the humility of the 

front, and the dining-room was pleasant as one could 

wish, and no objection could be made either to the neathanded 

Phyllis or the viands. I forgot to mention that the 

house was conducted on temperance principles, although a 

few of the company, like myself, used the permission 

of sending out the boy for a pint of ale, as being 

more apropos than water to our constitutions. It 

dawned on me after a couple of visits, that the 

company were always the same persons, and most 

agreeable fellows also. They were, in fact, junior clerks in 

the public offices and foremen in shops, who had no time 

for going home to dine, or no inclination for spending 

money for show in pretentious but not always comfortable 

hotels. The junior clerks, indeed, would gladly have 

changed from low grubs into butterflies, and took their 

humble fare under protest and appeal to future days. But 

they were cheery, well-informed, gentlemanly fellows, with 

whom I dearly liked to chatter for the half-hour after 

dinner. I am an awkward timid man in promiscuous 

company. I never gave a lecture, though often pressed by 

friends, nor made a public speech in my life. A sea of 

upturned faces is my horror, and on the rare occasions on 

which I appeared in the pulpit my heart went pit pat, and 

my legs trembled under me until I began to warm with m}^ 

own eloquence. In a snug family party I rather shine, 

because I feel quite unconstrained by formalities galling to 

a free man, and which an absent man continually trans- 

gresses in very ludicrous ways. From the first, however, I 

quite felt at home with this company, and in the political, 

legal, scholastic, and commercial conversations which we 

had from day to day, I was not unseldom chosen referee by 

the good-natured disputants. It was not an unpleasant 

feature of our communion, that we never spoke about our- 

selves, our connections, prospects, never made enquiries 

respecting one another, never even carried our dining


intimacy to the street. The perfect separation of the 

particles for twenty-three hours of the day increased their 

harmony when they met. 

I was quite content with this convenient Hmitation of 

friendship towards all my fellow-diners but one. The 

exception was a lad about fifteen, the junior of the company, 

and by far the most reserved. He was close as an oyster ; 

it required the knife to open him. I believe in physiognomy 

and admire beauty— not altogether the beauty of shape and 

colour, for these, while they are not despicable gifts, do not 

constitute the beautiful man or woman. It is the indes- 

cribable irradiation of heart and mind that gives to physical 

beauty a ten-fold power of attraction, and that even overcomes 

the homeliness or ugliness of less favoured mortals. 

My dinner companion was a fine lad to look at, but that 

was not what made the young clerks so forbearing to him 

(I got myself a good share of their jokes and banter), the 

steady, hard-headed, and not soft-hearted tradesmen so 

kind, and the Phyllis of the house so anxious to study his 

comfort. I believe we all intuitively understood, that this 

boy was one who had already looked without the coloured 

medium of fancy on the stern realities and responsibilities 

of life, and had made up his mind to sacrifice pleasure, 

inclination, and ambition itself to duty. His noiseless 

demeanour and serious blue eye showed the manliness of a 

right determination to reach a given goal, and the strength 

of self-consciousness of ability. He diligently perused a 

book which he always brought with him in the interval 

after dinner. Sometimes he looked up, when the conversa- 

tion around him was serious and animating, and then his 

eye glanced with intelligence, or a pleasant but sad smile 

fluttered, as if half ashamed of itself, for a moment 

on his face. I made several attempts to draw him 

out, but he answered in polite monosyllables, and 

immediately relapsed into the study of that weary book, 

I was angry with the young fellow, and made a vow I 

would force him from his defences. So one day, coming


too late for dinner, when passing my friend, I looked over 

his head, and discovered that the book was Justinian's 

Institutes. Placing my hand on his shoulder in a fatherly 

style, I bent my face over him, and gave aloud an English 

translation of the passage at which he was looking with a 

puzzled expression. He lifted up his eyes to mine, and in 

a quick way for him thanked me for helping him out of a 

difficulty. I remarked that such and such passages in that 

part of the work would have presented similar difficulties 

to him. He looked his admiration of my learning, and. 

turning up the passages I mentioned, showed that every 

one of them was marked with an N.B. for future study. 

Delighted at finding a road to his confidence, I entered 

with pleasure on the discussion of the twisted passages, and 

made several of them clear to him before the hour expired. 

CHAPTER n. 

TijAT day I loitered behind my companions, and found an 

opportunity of asking the head of the establishment the 

name of the student of Justinian. 

" The callant's name is Willie Gillies, sir," was the 

response. 

" Where has he come from ? " 

" Frae a muirland parish on the Highland Border. But 

while he has been coming here for two years bygane, we ken 

little aboot his forbears and sichlike, because, ye see, he's 

that close that he never wares a word that can be helped on 

man, v/oman, or beast. I misdoot it he has seen black 

dule, and that he is striving to sprackle up the brae against 

odds. Pâith, I think he'll win the top too. The guidwife, 

mysel', and Maggie (our Phyllis, to wit) are free to take 

our corporal aith that he is just the tightest, doucest, and 

best laddie in Auld Reekie this day, but we ken unco 

little aboot his history." 

" But what is he doing? He is not a regular student."


" If ye mean a collegian, no. But as for a student in 

the way of reading, I never saw his equal. The spune is 

hardly out o' his mou' when he's tooth and nail at his buik. 

Ye speir what is he doing ? Weel, he's in lawyer H 's 

office, Not a regular apprentice, because he canna pay the 

regular 'prentice fee, and the auld skinflint has'nt the heart 

to dae him justice, tho' I'm tauld by ane wha shu'd ken 

that's the head clerk—that Willie is the handiest lad aboot 

the place, and has the langest head ever seen on a callant's 

shouthers ; except that he's a thocht too strict for the 

lawyer craft, whilk is just a gipsy clouting of crazy pots 

and pans, maybe wi' stolen material." 

This was all the information I could (gather from the 

head of the eating-house, a plain, honest man, with a 

prudent eye to business, and a sound heart under his 

doublet, but who, in the management of his business and 

in "genteel feenish," as he said himself, was quite eclipsed 

by his wife and daughter. What he told whetted my 

•curiosity to know more of Willie Gillies, and for that purpose 

I resolved to keep Justinian as a spiritual medium between 

him and me. The plan succeeded to a miracle. Willie 

from day to day became more communicative about the 

difficulties that beset him in his readings, and my elucidations 

were ever at his command. 

Willie's learning was scanty, but his application and per- 

severance frightened me. ] knew by experience the sad 

blighting of over-study. Lawyer B 's office was shut 

on Saturday afternoons, and as our friendship progressed, I 

also stole a half-day weekly holiday from my work in order 

to stroll with Willie into the country. My health required 

this relaxation, for pure air and active exercises are the best 

stimulants to a languid temperament and debilitated con- 

stitution. Besides, I flattered myself that I was not selfish 

in my indulgence, since it brought Willie from his attic in a 

narrow lane to inhale health and strength in the open air. 

We now took up with Justinian, Glanville, and the Regiam 

Majestatem. The combined history of Roman and 

—


Mediaeval law was as interesting to myself as advantageous 

to my pupil, who, with his strong common sense, grasped 

at once the points of contact and divergence as soon as they 

were indicated, and made occasional suggestions on the 

moral philosophy and underlying systems of jurisprudence, 

which opened new trains of thought for his teacher. But 

the more closely I studied my companion the more con- 

vinced I became that mine host spoke the truth when he 

described him as " a thocht too strict for the lawyer craft." 

The easy morality of the profession did not harmonise with 

the stern truthfulness of his nature. Politic shifts and 

ingenious chicane seemed to be beyond his reach as they 

were far below his contempt. The study of law as an 

abstract science has attractions for men of the most diverse 

minds and principles. The practice of law as a profession 

often demands a suppleness, especially from young 

aspirants without connections in the legal circle and money 

to make them independent of their profession, which galls 

the high-spirited, and often disgusts or vitiates the high- 

principled. I could not help dropping dissatisfied hints to 

Willie about his chosen profession. I went as far as to 

suggest that he should study medicine or theology. He 

changed countenance and said sadly, " I have no choice, I 

must take the nearest road to make money that I can 

find." 

" Shame on you, Willie," I replied, with virtuous indig- 

nation, "for such a grovelling sentiment. Ambition of 

fame and distinction is natural to youth the love ; 

of money 

is the vice of age." 

" But," said Willie, his face reddening and speaking 

eagerly, " it is not for the love of money, it is because my 

father's dying charge weighs upon me. He left my 

mother, my sister, and my brother to my care. I was six, 

Kate was three, and George was not born, when, with his 

dying breath, he enjoined me solemnly to be the prop of 

the house as soon as I could. Mr B offers to article 

me on certain conditions, which are hard but not

— 

Willie Gillies. ii 

impossible. I have no money—no friends (after a pause), 

and my mother's allowance from the Ministers' Widows. 

Fund is so small— father was a poor missionary when he 

married, and could not take the higher class of payments 

that they have scarcely enough to keep them from want, 

and I can't help them much until I earn better wages. I 

can and will work—that's a consolation." 

" My lad "— I spoke as calmly as emotion permitted 

" I am grieved that in haste I was a harsh judge of your 

motives. To you I dare not give counsel. What am I 

but a comparatively useless member of society—one 

without a settled purpose or object of exertion ? 

I stand rebuked before you who are going out with 

faith and hope and lofty principles to the battle of 

life, which I evaded by running away. I envy you the 

motive of your exertion. Obey your father's words like a 

voice from heaven. You have a purgatory of disappointments 

and crosses before you— you have already entered 

it—but trust in God and persevere, and you will come out 

of it like gold thrice t-ied, I will not judge of the profes- 

sion you have chosen—or which has been forced upon you 

by circumstances. Many in any profession may be good 

and honest, and it is the professions of doubtful reputatiort 

that have the greatest need of goodness. Feeling towards 

you as if you were my son or younger brother, I say that I 

would not have counselled you to study law, but as it is, I 

can only ask forgiveness and bid you go forth and prosper." 

We did not again recur to the subject, but the ice being 

once broken, Willie after this conversation talked freely 

about his friends at home. By the synthetical process of 

reasoning, I made up pictures of his mother, sister, and 

brother. The first I thought was a pliable, loving woman, 

the second a smart romp, the plague and delight of the 

family, and the third a plump fellow, eating, if he could, all 

day, and sleeping all night. In the first instance I had soon 

ocular proof that my ideal was correct, and I have found 

cause since to surmise that I was not far wrong about the 

junior members either.

12 Ihe Highland Monthly. 

My work in Edinburgh was completed, and I was dining 

in the eating-house the last day but one previous to my 

departure, when, a little after the rest of the company, a 

lady entered the room, and without speaking to anyone sat 

down at an unoccupied table near the door. The presence 

of any woman but of mine host's wife and daughter was a 

novelty in the establishment. It was Saturday, and the 

company were fewer, and all but myself and two others 

went away sooner than on other days. Willie did not 

make his appearance at the usual hour, and I was for 

sauntering forth without him, when a slight movement and 

lighting up of face on the part of the stranger widow caused 

me to lift up my eyes from the Scotsman and fix my atten- 

tion on her. The sound of footsteps reached me through 

the open door, and I was sure it was Willie that was 

coming. Then the truth flashed on me that this stranger 

was his mother. When his eyes fell on her, his lips 

confirmed my guess. 

" 

" My mother ! 

" My son ! 

" 

He gently kissed her cheek, and they both sat down. 

She explained how the chance of a conveyance for nothing 

induced her to come and surprise him by a visit. He 

inquired about Kate, George, and—smile not, reader—about 

their dog Sirrah. They v/ere all well. Then Willie 

ordered dinner for two with a little pomposity, and asked 

Maggie to get something nice for his mother. The smiling 

maid obeyed with pleasure. When the humble fare was 

placed before them, mother and son bowed their heads, 

while he, the prop and stay of his family, returned thanks 

to the gracious Father of all, for giving them that day their 

daily bread. It was Willie's laudable custom to give 

mental thanks every day, but now he spoke out audibly and 

from a fulness of heart. The words were few and simple, 

but oh, how affectingly beautiful ! they breathed the faith 

and child-like gratitude of believing hearts. I watched 

the pair with dim eyes over the edge of the newspaper.

WiUie Gillies. i'^ 

The mother was what I had fancied her, a careworn, faded 

woman, with much amiabiHty and little inherent strength 

of mind. She leant on her son with a trustfulness really 

wonderful ; and he took it upon him to cater for her, cheer 

her, and whisper the comfort and the hope to which she 

was herself a stranger. How strange that mother and son 

should be so similar in features and complexion and so 

dissimilar in qualities of mind ! I guessed that with his 

mother's fair complexion and soft demeanour, the boy 

inherited the firm will and lofty purpose of a strong-willed 

and strict-principled father. For some time the two were 

so engrossed with each other, that they were oblivious of 

all around them. Willie's attention was drawn to me at 

last by a noise, which I made with my cane to notify my 

presence. A vivid blush covered his fac& as he led me up 

to his mother, and stated that I was the kind gentleman 

about whom he wrote, who aided him so greatly in his 

studies. The widow warmly shook my hand and said, ia 

a quivering, low voice, 

" God bless you, sir, for your kindness to Willie." 

At that moment I felt indeed blessed. 

TO BE CONTINUED

14 The Highland MoiitlUy. 

THE ESTATE OF BUGHT, INVERNESS, 

AND ITS OWNERS, 1171-1891. 

IT 

BY C. FRASER-MACKINTOSH, M.P. 

Part II. 

will be observed that by this time Margaret Grant 

is married a second time, to Hugh Ostiler, burgess of 

Inverness. 

The minute description of the seals of the Haliburton 

and Chisholm families attached to the deed of 1449 is of 

historic value. 

I had supposed that " William de Buthe," a wealthy 

burgess of Inverness, also a liberal benefactor, especially to 

the Chaplainry of St Michael, in conjunction with Marion 

Muirren, his spouse ; Janet Buthe, their daughter ; and 

Alexander Vaus, her husband, who all lived at this period, 

was proprietor of Bught. At same time, it is seen that 

most of William's lands were situated in the valley of the 

Milburn, or within burgh, and do not include Bught. 

Possibly he may have been proprietor of the lands now 

known as Dirriebught, held in mortification for the poor. 

In passing, it may be noticed that in 1453 the rental 

payable to Aberbrothoc from the Church of Inverness 

comprehended " the herring teinds of Inverness, the teind 

of the mills of the same town, also 40s from the Paschal 

roll of the aforesaid town,— also the land of Bouch." 

The Abbot not only declined to sanction the alienation 

of the lands of Bught, but took active steps in person to 

rccognosce them, as appears by the following documents, 

the first in 1456 : 

— 

" Bucht : Instrument of Recognition.—In the name of 

God, Amen : By this be it known that in the year of the 

Lord's Incarnation 1456, on the 3rd day of the month of 

December, the 5th indiction, and second year of the Pontificate 

of Pope Calixtus III., in the presence of me and the

The Estate of Bzight. 15 

witnesses underwritten, personally compeared Malcolm, 

Abbot of Aberbrothoc, and also James Ogilvie, bailie of 

the said father in that part, which James by the precept of 

the aforesaid father there personally present, by taking of 

stone and earth at Bucht and upon the ground thereof, 

recognosced the same on account of the alienation made, 

the license of the said father and his convent not being 

sought nor obtained thereupon : Also on account of the 

non-payment of the service due and wont to the said father 

and convent : Inhibiting Hugh Hostlar, the precended 

•occupier of the lands of Bucht, or any other, to intromit 

with them until they should be lawfully repledged, upon 

which the said father asked a public Instrument to be 

made to him by me. These things were done at Bucht, 

there being present Alexander Flemyng, Thomas Cuthbertson, 

John Monelaw, Andrew Monelaw, and John 

Young. 

" And I, Alexander Thornton, notary in the premises, 

was present, etc." 

Abbot Malcolm rsnewed the instrument in 1460 :^ 

" In the name of God, Amen : 

By 

this be it known 

that in the year of the Incarnation of the Lord 1460, on 

the i8th of June, the 8th indiction, and second year of the 

Pontificate of Pope Pius II., in the presence of me and the 

witnesses underwritten, personally compeared Malcolm 

[etc., as in foregoing]. These things were done at Bucht, 

present, Gilbert Stewart, Walter Stewart, James Guthre, 

Thomas Brown, and Patrick Hay—and I, Alexander 

Thornton, notary in the premises, was personally present, 

etc." 

While the Abbot was firm, John Haliburton (his 

parents being by this time apparently dead) was obdurate, 

acting defensively and offensively. In 1463 John has to 

yield for the mom.ent, and makes his submission as 

follows : 

— 

By this let it be known 

that in the year from the Incarnation of the Lord 1463, the 

I2th indiction, and nth day of the month of August, and 

the 6th year of the Pontificate of Pope Pius II., John 

Halyburtoun of Kynrossy obliged himself to make restitution 

to Sir William Noble, monk, in the name of the Abbot 

.and Convent of Aberbrothoc, of a horse taken by the said 

" In the name of God, Amen :

1 

6 


John from the said Sir Wilh'am : wliich horse Sir William 

formerly distrained for the fermes of the lands of Bucht 

and upon this he engaged as his security Thomas Forbes, 

Daviesoun ; and thereupon promised not to molest the 

lands of Bucht until he should do to the Abbot for them 

what he was of right bound to do. Upon which Sir 

William asked from me an Instrument : These things 

were done in the Castle of Inverness, about the nth hour 

before noon, the witnesses being James Bishop of St 

Andrews, Andrew Lord Avandale, Chancellor of Scotland, 

Colin Earl of Argyll, and James Lord Levinstoun, with 

many others." 

JNext year, 1464, the Abbot makes a final and supreme 

effort, as appears by the following writs : 

"James, by the grace of God King of Scots, to our 

macer Hector of Meldrum, our sheriff in that part, greeting 

: Our will is and we charge you that you in our name 

summons and charge Alexander Vaus, Alexander Flemyng, 

John Sherif, Patrick Ferguson, Alexander Watson, Hugh 

Clerk and Thomas of Moray and Patrick Flegear, chaplains, 

William Awas, William Soulis, and Andrew Fermor, 

chaplain, to compear before us and our Council at Inverness, 

this next Saturday, the xi. day of this month of 

August, with continuation of days, to bear leal witness to 

the sooth fastness in it that shall be enquired of them in 

the action and cause betwixt Dean William Noble, Chamberlain 

and Procurator to ane venerable father in Christ, 

the Abbot and Convent of Aberbrothoc, on the one part, 

and John Haliburton on the other, touching the spoliation 

and alienation of the lands of the Bught, and to answer for 

them in that matter in so far as law will, under all pain and 

charge that after may follow, the which to do we commit 

to you our full power by our letters, delivering them by 

you duly executed again to the bearer. Given under our 

signet at Inverness, the viii. day of August, and of our 

reign the fifth year. 

" I, Hector of Meldrum, macer and sheriff in that 

part, summoned these persons within written 

personally and before witness, as I have done 

after the tenor of this summons this last Thursday, 

Friday, and Saturday. In witness whereof 

I have set to my signet at Inverness, this Saturday, 

the xith day of this August." 

— 

:

The Estate of Bught, 17 

" In the action and cause moved by Dean William 

Noble, Chamberlain of Aberbrothoc, in the name and the 

behalf of the Abbot of Aberbrothoc, against John Haliburton 

of the Ard, touching the alienation of the lands of 

the Bught holden of the said Abbot and recognosced in his 

hands for the said alienation, and upon the spoliation made 

by the said John Haliburton of the said lands as is alleged 

since the said recognition, the Lords assigns Saturday 

next to come with continuation of days to the said Dean 

William to prove the said alienation and spoliation, and 

ordains the macer to charge the chaplain of Saint 

Katharine's Altar to be here the said day, to shew to the 

King what reason he has to occupy the said lands, and 

summonses the said John or his to be here the said day 

to hear the said proof, and decerns also the said Dean 

William to have such letters of summons as he will desire 

upon any persons that may be witness or proof in said 

matter. (Signed) W. Layng;' 

Information at this point ceases until 1562, when pro- 

cess is found to have been taken in the Sheriff Court of 

Inverness, at the instance of Sir Gilbert Duff, Chaplain of 

St Katharine's Altar in the Parish Church of Inverness, to 

remove John Neilson from the lands of Bught, in the 

parish of Inverness. Neilson defended the action, and 

objected that Bught being Church lands, the matter was 

one exclusively falling under the proper cognizance of the 

Bishop's Court. No decision is recorded, and in a i&w 

years the Reformation took place. From this it would 

appear as if the alienation to the Reid family was destined 

in reality to the chaplain for the time being of St 

Katharine's Altar, Inverness, who is found connected with 

Bught in an apparently proprietorial capacity in the years 

1464 and 1562. 

It is not clear when the Burgh of Inverness acquired 

the lands, or whether it ever possessed more than the 

superiority ; and Bught /"^r expression is neither included in 

the Charters by Queen Mary in 1567, nor by King James 

in 1 591. Some light upon the nature of the right of the 

Burgh to Bught, is shown by the following memorandum.


written about 1755, by Bailie Duncan Fraser on his own 

behalf, and that of his co-owners of the four coble fishings 

of Ness, which, though confused, is interesting in many 

respects. 

William Fraser of Bught, also Town Clerk of Inverness, 

having attempted to close the roads or passages to the 

Islands along the west bank of the River Ness, the 

matter came into Court. Bailie Fraser's Memorandum, 

couched in severe terms as regards the Town Clerk, is here 

quoted : 

— 

" Hints of Replys to Clk fifrasers answers that the first 

Petition was so far from being ill-founded, that the second 

is the same, and if the sheriff will take cognizance of it, he 

will soon be convinced of the justness of the Petitioners 

side of the question, and the ridiculous pretensions of the 

Respondents, particularly the proprietor of Kilvean, the 

other persons names being borrowed only by him. 

"The Petitioners cannot forbear wishing that the former 

judges had acted more like Magistrates of the Good Town 

of Inverness. The Respondents low insinuations of 

Christianity, good neighbourhood, and members of one 

community, as if the Petitioners should compound this 

affair with him, after he had committed a very rash and 

presumptuous step, by cutting and ticking possession of 

ground he can have no right to, which he will find ; and the 

further he follows it will bring him less advantage or 

credite. His alleadging the Petitioners have no right, is 

like the man, for he knows Mr Duff's right as well as 

Duncan Fraser's, as he is keeper of the Register that contains 

them. He knows that the Lords some five years agoe 

removed Mr Duff's tenant in his fishing after such prors as 

he obliged him to bring the cause before them. However, 

our rights are produced. 

" The sarcasm of the Petitioners ignorance in their own 

rights, is so indiscreet as not worth answer. He goes on 

with a detail of his letting grounds in Tack to Robert 

Anderson, &c., pretending his ignorance with respect to the 

intention of building a flour mill there, this is of a piece 

with the rest, for besides the said flour miln he is m terms 

with oyrs who are to build a snuff miln and a bleaching 

miln. He must have he says for himself all on the banks 

of the River Ness, which banks belong to the Town of

TJie Estate of Bught. 

Inverness, and particularly in servitude to the proprietors 

of the River, and without which there could be no fishing. 

Besides it is the common high road to go to the Isle for 

inhabitants and strangers, and the only way the fishermen 

have of bawling their boats to the Island to fish it, and the 

very place where the boats lye on shore in the day time ; 

by which the Sheriff sees that the Re-pondent has no property 

in these grounds nor did any of his authors pretend 

to any such thing. His suggestions of Envey, Emulation, 

and litigation is ill flitten, for if he was not Master of the 

Adjacent lands, and particularly Town Clerk of Inverness, 

the Good Town, their vassalls or inhabitants would not be 

thus troubled as no other proprietor having these lands 

durst (we may say) act such a part. 

" He knows Duncan Eraser is doer for the Taxmen, as 

he pays him his rent punctually for them when it falls 

due, &c. 

"The Respondent comes now as he calls it tu speak 

Up and appears in hi;-, proper light, or collours, ff )r he 

refuses to be a vassall of the Town of Inverness. 

" Some years agoe he built a gate clandestinly a little 

below on the road and Banks, which when discovered was 

interrupted, and after debating the matter in Council It 

was enacted there that the same should be razed, and the 

road left patent to the Magistrates, their vassals, and 

inhabitants of Inverness, and if the Clerk did not so himself, 

one of the Magistrates was appointed to pay labourers 

and see it done. It was not done, I mean razed, for some 

time, but himself did it at last. It is true he has since 

carryed off some ground, and made an ugly breach in the 

bank and said high road, in which he has not yet been 

legally challenged, but that matter is not over. It may be 

presumed the above two cases were intended as preoarativês 

(to the present) and finding the last unnoticed as yet he 

has proceeded. 

" As to what he says of Church lands, any person without 

being a man of law, far less a Clerk of a considerable 

community, knows that Church lands were disposed of at 

the Reformation in an odd and extraordinary way to 

friends and powerful neighbours by the then incumbents. 

His intentions to be no vassall of the Towns is to make 

out by his Church right. Titles to the Millns and Multures 

of his land and fishing (as he says) included in his said 

right. Neither of which can he have from the Magistrates,

20 The Highland Monthly. 

for all their fishings were disposed of by them long agoe 

as were their millns, to which last the Town of Inverness 

and lands holding of it are thirled, But before and at the 

Reformation the Magistrates and Council were (it being 

Church lands) the Patrons of Bught, which is equal in the 

present case to superiors, as by the Disposition he mentions 

will appear, as likewise that these lands are burdened in 

the usages, liberties, and privileges, &c., used aud wont to 

the Town of Inverness, their vassals and inhabitants. As 

to what he says of the regality of Spynie, should it hold, 

the Town would have i&w vassals left them, for most of 

the Carses of Inverness were of Arbroath, and oyrs of the 

lands they are superior of, of different holdings. So this 

is a fine motion from their Town Clerk. 

"To imagine that this country was all oake 150 years 

agoe is thoughtless, ther was as little hereabouts then as 

now : 

our 

woods having been destroyed ages before by 

Danes, English, and Intestine war. Besides, it does not at 

all appear that ever there was water in the great Canal he 

mentions, nor an iron Miln erected, and far less any work 

going on there, as there is not the least vestige thereof 

Nor any filth or cinders, or dreggs of iron, of which at any 

such work there must have been very considerable heapsof 

both remaining had they ever wrought at it." 

Although Bailie Fraser states that the Town was 

" Patron" of Bught before and at the Reformation, the pro- 

bability is that the Town claimed and exercised the 

superiority over Bught under the general terms of the 

Charter of 1591. It is curious that while in the Town's 

Charters Bught is described as lying " within the Territory 

of the Burgh ;" in the proprietor's titles the lands are, as late 

as 1783, when acquired by Mr Duncan Grant, described as 

" lying within the regality of Spynie." From what pre- 

cedes, it is certain Bught originally, lay neither within the 

Territory of the Burgh of Inverness nor the regality of 

Spynie. 

At this stage it may prove convenient to give a 

description of the original Estate of Bught from a Town 

Charter in 1692 : 

— 

" All and whole the lands of Bught with houses, 

diggings, yards, parts, pendicles, and universal pertinents

The Estate of Bught. 2 

thereto belonging, lying within the Territory of the Burgh 

-of Inverness and Sheriffdom thereof, bounded with Mr 

David Poulson of Kinmylies his lands at the north and 

east, the water of Ness at the south, and the highway that 

leads to Dunaincroy at the west parts respective, together 

with the teind.'i both great and small, as well parsonage as 

vicarage of the lands and others foresaid included with the 

stock, and not to be separated therefrom." 

The feu is 10 merks and 3s 4d Scots. It will be seen 

that while three of the boundaries continue the same to the 

present day, the west boundary is entirely altered. The 

road described as leading to Dunaincroy followed the pre- 

sent Glen-Urquhart Road unto a point a {q\n yards to the 

south west of Bught Lodge ; then, inclining to the left, it 

made pretty straight for the foot of the east slopes of 

Torvean. The formation of the canal greatly changed 

things in that neighbourhood, but a part of the old Dunain- 

croy road to near Bught Lodge I distinctly recollect in the 

years 1836-1841. Thus the original Bught did not include 

Torvean, nor any land west of the old Dunaincroy road. 

Neither did it include the Mills of Bught, with stances for 

houses and rights of watercourses, which were parts of the 

Barony of Kinmylies granted to the Bishop of Moray by 

Alexander II. 1232-1236. 

No particulars regarding the owners of Bught from 

1562 have been noted, until about 1614, when Duncan 

Forbes, first of Culloden, who had been brought from the 

east country to Inverness by his stepfather, Fraser of 

Strichen, established a large business there and became 

owner. As Duncan Forbes " of Bught " he is very 

frequently referred to, and until he purchased and became 

designed "of Culloden " in 1637. It is understood he gave 

these lands to a younger son, James Forbes, found in 1643, 

who married Agnes Munro. In 1648 John Poison " of 

Bught" is found. At a subsequent date Robert Chapman, 

merchant. Burgess of Inverness, and Elizabeth Grant, his 

second wife, are owners, and in embarassed circumstances. 

By disposition dated i6th November, 1691, John Chap- 

1

The Hic^hland Monthly. 

man, eldest son and heir of Robert Chapman, sells Bught 

to Mathew Paterson, burgess of Inverness (son of Alex- 

ander Paterson), and to his wife Jane. Mathew Paterson 

was living in 1734, being succeeded by his son, Lieutenant 

Robert Paterson, who sold Bught to William Fraser, Town 

Clerk (before referred to), son of Provost Alexander 

Fraser. William Fraser was infeft on a Charter from the 

Burgh in February, 1744. 

Clerk Fraser set up a Bleachfield on the river banks, 

which was carried on for several years, but it was not a 

great success. He employed an experienced Bleacher 

named William Henderson from the south. Henderson's 

extraordinary but involuntary adventures after sailing from 

Leith bound for Inverness in April, 1757, until his arrival 

in Inverness months afterwards, are worthy of being 

recorded. He married, 30th March, 1767, Isobel, fourth 

daughter of the Clerk, who died 31st July, 1769, and their 

surviving daughter. Christian Henderson, a lady of great 

beauty, married Sir Hector Mackenzie of Gairloch. 

William Fraser's Trustees sold Bught to Duncan Grant, 

Commissary of Inverness, who began his legal career as 

" servitor" to Evan Baillie of Abriachan. Mr Grant married 

Jean, daughter of Hugh Baillie of Dochfour, and niece of 

Abriachan—no beauty, but a clever member of a rising 

family. Her sisters were—Mrs Fraser of Belladrum Mrs 

; 

Chisholm, wife of Provost William Chisholm of Buntait ; 

Mrs Duff, younger of Muirtown. The accumulations of 

the two brothers Alexander, and Evan Baillie, together with 

that of Evan's sons, Peter and James, made up the present 

great estates of the Dochfour family. 

As a marriage present, tradition has it, Mrs Grant's 

brother, Evan Baillie, who had purchased Kinmylies, gave 

his brother-in-law, the south-west part thereof lying 'twixt 

the old road to Dunaincroy on the one side, and very near 

the present road to Urquhart on the other, thus including 

Torvean Hill, Loch-na-Sannish, &c., more than doubling 

the area of the original Estate, with a feu of £2 2s, but no 

consideration otherwise.

The Estate of Btight. 

Before the present Urquhart road was formed early this 

century, the enlarged Bught and Kinmylies march ran a 

little to its left, and any one passing the road westwards, 

say opposite to the road leading to Balphadric, will observe 

inside the present wall the remains of a feal dyke—the old 

march. When the late Mr Grant erected the present stone 

wall, he was permitted to do so along the present road, the 

narrow intervening stripe 'twixt the old feal dyke and the 

public road being useless to Kinmylies Estate, 

Bught was now a compact Estate, and Mr Grant began 

to improve and square off the arable land. He also planted 

Torvean, hitherto a bare, ugly hill, covered with whins. 

He enlarged the house, and formed the fine extensive 

garden, with its remarkable holly hedge fence. It is a pity 

that the ancient burial ground of Kilvean, a little to the 

south of the Bught steading, has been obliterated. 

In Mr Duncan Grant's time, the Canal was formed, 

bisecting the estate, but it is said the compensation, and 

for land taken, about ten barren acres, viz., ^1500, almost 

equalled the price paid to Clerk Eraser's Trustees for the 

original Estate. 

Provost Grant, the only son of Duncan Grant, suc- 

ceeded. He was one of the most hospitable of men, was 

twice married, first to Miss Gillanders of Highfield, and 

second to Miss Mackintosh, Dalmigavie. The Provost was 

succeeded by his only son, the late Mr Duncan Grant, 

through whose beneficence the present handsome Town 

Hall of Inverness greatly owes its existence. To Mr 

Grant's memory I take the opportunity of adding my 

hearty tribute for his kindness, continued from the time of 

his father, and spreading almost over a century, in allowing 

the poor women of Tomnahurich Street and the neighbourhood 

to gather and carry off sticks and decayed 

branches, free firing for their humble homes, from the 

woods of Torvean, and which old kindly custom terminated 

in the North with Mr Grant. 

In the time of Mr Grant's relict, the late lamented Mrs 

Warrand, the Miln of Bught with its pertinents was added

24 The Highland yionthly. 

to Bught, and an old grievance, the cause of much annoy- 

ance and litigation to the owners of Bught, was thereby 

removed. 

The precise signification of Loch-na-Sannish has given 

rise to difficulties. In 1788 Mr Campbell Mackintosh spells 

it " Loch-na-Sannach ;" but he unfortunately did not give 

the significance, as he did satisfactorily once when writing 

the word " Clach na halig." Of old it was used as a 

general quarry for the winning of clay and marl, and its 

extent added to, as well as deepened, by the great mass of 

material extracted for the puddling of the canal banks in 

the vicinity. It is feared that Torvean will never recover 

the hashing received by the canal operations.

The Hospital of Inverness. 25 

THE HOSPITAL OF INVERNESS 

AM) 

DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. 

(By Captain DOUGLAS WIMBERLEY). 

CHAPTER IV. 

Bailie James Dunbar's Debts.-- References to them in a Summons, and in 

IT 

Session Records in 1701, 1710, I7ii,and 1712— His Death.—Proceed- 

ings against his Heirs.- Interesting Old Document, relative to the above 

(1713).— First Mortification of 2000 Merks.—Second Mortification of 2000 

Merks. — Heritable Bond of Corroboration, relative to First Mortification. 

Another ditto, relative to Second Mortification.—Proceedings taken 

relative to said Bonds.—Possession of Fishing and Lands obtained. 

Counsel's Opinion asked. — Counsel's Opinion.— Occasion of Recording 

Provost Dunbar's l)eed of Mortification in .Session Records.— Hospital 

Treasurer James Dunbar's Protestation (1711). — Resolution of Kirk 

Session respecting Provost Dunbar's Mortification in 1711.—The Donor's 

Intentions under the Deed, especially with reference to First Mortification 

of 2000 Merks.—Little attention paid to them. 

\va.s only after much pre.s.sure that any proper .security 

was obtained from Bailie Dunbar, probably not till 

April, 1703, when he granted two heritable bonds of corro- 

boration ; 

but 

trouble about the money did not cease even 

with his death, which probably took place early in 17 12, for 

by the end of that year we find him spoken of as " the 

deceast Baillie Dunbar." 

There is a short index at the end of a volume of Session 

records, showing the pages on which his debts were referred 

to, and headed " B. James Roy Dunbar." He had been 

Chinch Treasurer, and a large sum of reparation money 

was also due by him, as well as the trust money belonging 

to the Hospital proper. 

There is a document forthcoming, of date 23rd October, 

1700, docqueted— " Summonds the Patrons and Administrators 

of the Hospitall of Inverness against James Dunbar, 

1700." In the narrative of this, both the mortifications are 

—

1 he Highland Monthly. 

mentioned, with the destination of each. The one first 

mentioned in this is the same as the one mentioned in the 

first of the two bonds of corroboration, viz., that for the use 

of the Hospital of Inverness ; 

with this difference, however, 

that it is here stated that the beneficiaries were to be " eight 

poor men in the said Hospital, aither those now in it or 

that afterwards should happen to be lodged therein." But 

this appears to be a mistake, so far as eight is concerned (a 

summary of the destination of the moneys has been already 

given). The date of this mortification is here given, and 

apparently correctly, as i6th June, 1688, and the patrons, 

Mr Gilbert Marshall, and his successors in office ; James 

Barbour and his airs maill ; together wnth James Dunbar. 

The one mentioned second is the one mentioned in the 

second bond of corroboration, viz., that for eight poor 

persons, but with this difference, that it is said to be " for 

other eight indigent persons of the inhabitants of the town 

to be lodged therein" (i.e., in the Hospital). There is no 

ground for this according to the fuller document, the bond 

of corroboration. The date of this mortification is here said 

to be " of the self-same date with the immediatlie above 

letter of mortification." The patrons here named are " Mr 

Hector M'Kenzie, minr. at Inverness, with his then colleague, 

and their successors in office, together with the said James 

Dunbar, and his airs maill, and five of the Elders of the 

Kirk Session, with this specialtie (?) that he the said James 

Dunbar as to the nomination of the sd. eight indigent per- 

sons shd. be always, and whether of the Eldership or not ; 

as the Hospital letters of Dotation and Mortification afore- 

said, of the dates above mentioned, and containing in each 

of them, the said James Dunbar, his receipt of the said 

two (?) principall sums, and registrat in the town Court 

books of Inverness upon i8th day of September, 1688 yeirs, 

more fully bears." 

The above narrative and dates appear to be correct, 

except as to the limit of eight poor persons within the 

Hospital, and the insertion of the word " other" before 

" eight indigent persons of the town."

The Hospital of Inverness. if 

As early as 17th Jul}', 1701, the Committee appointed 

b)^ the Session to speak to lâillie Dunbar reported that 

they had met with him and spoken to him, and that lie 

promised to take a speedie course to give them satisfaction. 

In the margin of the Session records there is here written, 

" Bailhe James Ro}- Dunbar." 

The two bonds of corroboration, with securit}-, dated 

27th April, 1703, seem to have been the fruits of this con- 

ference. In 17 10 we find him still promising. On 26th 

December of that \'ear, after much negotiation and pressure, 

he " offered the Session to secure them in an)- part of his 

lands that were not life-rented b)- his wife." Parties were 

appointed by him on the one hand, and the Session on the 

other, to inspect and Aalue the lands of Gallow-muir and 

Millfield. 

As alread}- mentioned, the Session, on iith September, 

171 1, were directing the Hospital Treasurer to "use the 

utmost diligence, both personal and reall, against the said 

Baillie for recovering the poor's money lying in his hands." 

On 9th October of same \-ear we find in the records that 

" the Pro\ost reported anent the securing of poor's money 

belonging to the Hospitall, that he and some of the Elders 

had met with Baillie Dunbar, and the matter is fully agreed 

to, and Baillie Taylor appointed to draw up the papers." 

But again, on 20th November, 171 1, we find the Bailie still 

promising. 

In the following }-ear, on 26th Februar}-, 17 12, "James 

Dunbar, late Baillie, appeared " (before the Session) " and 

desired to have arrestment on his rents removed, and 

expresses willingness to give securit}- to the Session, and to 

endeavour to get those charters and papers relating to the 

lands above the hill, now given to the Hospitall, and the 

half coble of the water of Ness, and further security in 

tenements in Bridge Street, in warrandice of the lands 

above the hill." In the margin of the Session records on 

this occasion is written, " B J a. Roy Dunbar." 

Baillie Dunbar probabl}- died- early in 17 12, and the 

trustees under these mortifications had to institute proceed-

2S The Highland Monthly. 

ings against his heirs. The following interesting old 

document gives a good idea of the history of the two 

mortifications up to this period, but, unfortunately, it is 

neither signed nor dated. It is headed, and runs as 

follows : 

— 

" Memorandum and Queries for the Hospitall of Inverness—The 

deceast Alexander Dunbar of Barmuchatie, 

Provost of Inverness, by a mortification of the date the i6th 

of June, 1688, mortified the sum of two thousand merks to 

the said Hospitall for the benefit of such indigent deserving 

persons as should be called by Mr Gilbert Marshall, then 

minister at Inverness, or his successors, ministers there, and 

by James Barbour of Mulderg, and James Dunbar, late 

Baillie of Inverness, both now deceast, and their aires male 

or representatives for the time, being of perfect age, or, in 

case of minority, by the tutors or curators of the said aires 

male, to the end the a. rent of the said summ might be 

employed by the said trustees (ist), for building a stone 

dyke about the yaird of the sd Hospitall in conjunction 

with the other rents of the Hospitall and weigh-house kept 

yrin, and (2nd) for maintaining the poor persones that 

should be called By the said Trustees : lyke as the sd 

prinll sum was then advanced to the said Bailie Dunbar for 

the ends aforesd, and in testimony yrof he subscribes the 

sd mortification. The a rent payable at the first terme of 

Whitsunday or Martinmas after the Donor's decease. It is 

appointed that any of the name of Dunbar being in Inverness 

be preferred by the patrons, or any two ofym, the 

minister being one, to any of ane oyr name. Bailie Dunbar 

was ordained Disstributor of the a rent during his life. The 

prinll sum was appointed to be waired upon land or wadset 

when it could be got conveniently done. And he required 

the patrons to execute his will faithfully as they should 

answer to God and their own consciences, and recommended 

to the Magistrates of Invernes to concurr with and observe 

the patrons. Lyke as the said Provost Dunbar, by a 

mortification of the date of the former, mortified the like 

sum of 2000 merks to the said Hospitall, and ordained the 

a rent thereof to be given to eight poor men within the said 

Burgh, and named Mr Hector Mackenzie and Mr Gilbert 

Marshall, ministers, and their successors, and five of the 

Session, the said Baillie Dunbar and his aire being one to 

be patrons ; the a rent and prinll summ payable at the

Thr Hospital of Inverness. 29 

termes, and with the instructions mentioned in the former 

mortification, with this alteration that the a rent was to be 

employed for buying shoes and abulzements to the sd 8 

poor persons in the winter and spring quarters, and meall in 

the summer and hai-vest quarters, commencing winter, 1688. 

And Bailie Dunbar in token of his receaving the principall 

summ subscribed the mortification. The said Baillie 

Dunbar granted ane heretable bond of corroboration relative 

to the mortification fiist mentioned for the prinll sum of 

2000 merks and a rent yrof since Whitsunday, 1689, being 

the first terme after the Donor's decease, till Whitsunday, 

1703, extending in all to the sum of 3600 merks, obliging 

him to pay the said accumulat summ to Mr Hector Mackenzie 

and the other minister who should succeed the said 

Mr Gilbert Marshall or either of ym or either of their 

successors, and yt at any Wliitsunday or Martinmas when 

it should be found by John Barbour, aire male of the sd 

James Barbour, and the said Bailie Dunbar or be their aires 

male or their Tutors or Curarors, and by the sd Mr Gilbert 

Marshall's successor or any two of ym by advice of the 

Magistrates that the sd prinll summ could be got conveniently 

settled on Land in heretage or wadset, with 500 merks 

of penalty and a rent from W^hitsunday, 1703 years. To 

be employed towards the uses in the Mortification upon the 

requisition allways of 60 days. And he, the sd Bailie 

Dunbar, for further security obliged him to infeft the sd 

patrons for the use of the poor for his half-coble ^ salmond 

ffishing, ffour aikers of the Dempster, for real warrandice of 

prinll a rent and penalty, redeemable allways and under 

reversion in manner mentioned in the said Heritable bond, 

which is dated 27 April, 1703, regrt. in the Town books of 

Invernes, 4 June, 1706. 

" Lyke as by ane other heretable bond of the date and 

regration of the former, relative to and in corroboration of 

the mortification last mentioned {i.e., the second one) " the 

said Bailie Dunbar stands obliged to pay to Mr Hector 

Mackenzie and the successor of Mr Marshall, John Barbour, 

Bailie, James Dunbar, younger, Alexr. Stewart, and James 

Thomson, four of the elders, and their successors, as patrons, 

for the use of the eight poor men a mentioned, the sum of 

2000 merks, and that any Whitsunday or Martinmas that 

it shall be found be the minister or ministers and elders for 

^ The half-coble's fishing is entered in Treasurer Mackintosh's accounts 

as worth ^{,'2000.

7he Highland Monthly 

the time being, or major pairt of ym, he, BaiHe Dunbar, or 

his representatives being allways one of the number, that the 

sd sum shall be got conveniently bestowed on land in 

heritage or wadset, with four hnndred mks of penalty and a 

rent from Whitsunday, 1703, and for further security of 

prinll a res and penalty to infeft in the Milnefield, Gallowmure, 

^ and 4 aikers of the Dempster, redeemable upon 

requisition of 60 dayes, in manner at length mentioned in 

the heritable bond. Conforme to which heretable Bond the 

sd patrons upon the 27th April, 1703, were infeft in the 

ffishing and Lands above spect. for security as said is. 

" Item upon the 14th March, 1706, requisition was used 

upon the said bonds, by virtue of procuratories by the sd 

patrons, to have the prinll summs in readiness agst Whitsunday, 

1706, seeing the patrons do declare that at that 

terme security could be had for the money in the termes of 

the Mortification. 

" The Patrons obtained possession of the ffishing about 

8 or 9 years ago, and of the Milne field and Gallow mure at 

Whitsunday, 17 12. But not of the aikers of Dempster, the 

same being possessed by Bailie Dunbar's widow. 

" It is proper that ane accompt be made and subd by 

the patrons or their collector of the totall charge and payments 

recovered from the rents of the ffishing and tenements 

possessed. 

" The patrons are to advise what dilligences are proper 

for ym to use agst the representatives of Bailie Dunbar, and 

how to obviat the effect of the preferable dilligences 

mentioned in the inventory hereto subjoined. They are 

further to advise whether the terme of payment of the 

prinll summs be, or how the same is to be, clearly constituted 

and purified. 

" They are like wise to consider if the requisitions allready 

used be vallid, without any previous declaration of the terme 

of payment, other than the patrones, yr own assertion in 

generall termes. 

" The Lawier will be pleased to give a full and plain 

direction how to proceed in this matter for the security of 

the poor, considering especially that the debt now resting is 

about 8000 merks, and that the subject possessed is worth 

but about 7000 merks, and the aikers life-rented by the 

widow are worth about 2000 merks." 

^ These lauds are mentioned in the Treasurers accounts as worth ^2646 13s 4d.


The following is a copy of the " Answers to the 

Memorandum for the Hospitall of Inverness " :— 

" Baillie Dunbar being now dead, it will be necessary 

for the patrons to the rexive Mortifications to raise processes 

of constitution against Alexander Dunbar, eldest and only 

lawful son to the said James, and a general charge to enter 

heir must be raist to be the fundation of the processes of 

constitution, ffor it's probable he will not represent his 

father. And upon his renunciation a decreet, cognitioiiis 

causa, will follow, which will be a fundation for adjudging 

all and whatsomever subjects belonged to the said James, 

and particularly the reversions of the fishing and other 

lands disponed by him in security to the Hospitall. 

" I am of opinion that the former requisions will be 

sufficient for carying on the said processes, and that there 

was no need of purifying the condition of the termes of 

payment by any previous declaration to the requisitions and 

that it will be sustained sufficient that the patrons did sixty 

days before the terme of Whitsunday intimat to the debitor 

that he should have the money in rcadieness then to pay, 

seeing they had provyded a reall settlement for the money. 

" As for directions how to obviat the prcfcrrable 

dilligences against James Dunbar's interest, those cannot 

be now given, but will occur better after the leading the 

adjudicns at the patrons their instance when a process of 

competition and ranking may come in before the Lords." 

The above two papers are folded in a wrapper, which is 

docqueted " Memorandum for the Hospitall of Inverness 

March 3rd, 171 3, wh Mr Robert Eraser's Consultane." 

The result was, of course, a good many processes, but 

the patrons retained the fishing and lands until 1762, ^\hen, 

after further law expenses had been incurred, the}' were 

redeemed. 

I believe that an extract, registered, of Provost Dunbar's 

Mortification for the benefit of 8 poor persons is in the 

Hospital treasurer's keeping now. I have not seen it, nor 

the date thereof, but I have reason to believe that it is 

dated i6th June, 1688 ; 

but 

— 

I have seen the two following 

documents, parts of which are not very legible, viz. : 

I. A document docqueted " Extract Registrat Bond of 

Corroboration for 3600 merks and security on ^2 coble river 

—

Ihe HigJiland Monthly. 

fishing," and also docqueted at other end, but nearly- 

illegible, " Extract Registrat Bond, James Dunbar, to the 

Ministers of Inverness and? others for the use and behoof 

of the poor of Hospital." " 3600" is marked below, and date, 

" 1706." 

In the narrative of this document the date of Pi'ovost 

Dunbar's first mortification is given as 16 July, 1688, and 

the patrons said to be appoined were Mr Gilbert Marshall, 

James Barbour of Mullderg, and James Dunbar, and their 

heirs male or representatives for the time, being of perfect 

age, or, in case of minority, &c., &c.: provision is said to be 

made also for successors of Mr Marshall, the annual rents 

to be applied as we find them stated in the memorandum, 

for counsel's opinion, i.e., for the poor in the hospital. 

There is no mention of 8 or any fixed number of poor 

persons. The date is evidently a mistake for i6th June, as 

in the other bond of corroboration the date of the second 

Mortification is given as i6th June, and this second one is 

referred to in the said memorandum (as already mentioned) 

as " of the same date as the former," viz., the first mortifica- 

tion, and again in the summons as " of the self-same date 

with the immediate above letter of mortification." 

2. Another document docqueted " Extract Registrat 

Bond, Baillie Dunbar to the Ministers of Inverness and 

four members of the Session thereof, for the use and behoof 

of eight poor within mentioned," also " 1706," and " For the 

2000 merks mortified by Alexr. Dunbar." 

In the narrative of this bond the date of Provost 

Dunbar's second mortification " for the use and behoof of 

eight poor weak and indigent persons within the burgh" is 

i6th June, 1688, and the patrons appointed were Mr Hector 

Mackenzie and Mr Gilbert Marshall and their successors in 

office, and five of the members of the Kirk Session only and 

no more, whereof James Dunbar, his cousin, or his represen- 

tative was to be always one. Both these bonds of 

corroboration are registered on the same date, viz., 4th 

June, 1706.

The Hospital of Inverness. 

A copy of Provost Dunbar's mortification of the Hospital 

building has been given early in this narrative, when it was 

mentioned that it was recorded in the Session minutes of 

1 8th September, 171 1. The occasion of this was that 

James Dunbar, the then Church Treasurer, protested against 

the Magistrates setting part of the Hospital without consent 

oj the Session, who were made sole patrons of the Hospital 

by Provost Dunbar. It seems probable that the James 

Dunbar here referred to is the one who was appointed 

Hospital Treasurer at the beginning of the following year, 

viz., on Sth Januarx", and Mr David Scott was appointed 

Church Treasurer the same day, the duty of the latter being, 

inter alia, " to uplift and take care of the collections for the 

poor." He protested " that both the upper floors be made 

void and redde for receiving the poor, according to the will 

of the mortifier." Upon this Bailie Stewart replied 

" Possess the rooms who will the next year, the Magistrates 

have decerned in favour of him to whom it was set for this 

year, and that they will own it." 

After Provost Alex. Dunbar's deed, dated loth Januar}-, 

1684, is recorded in the Session records, as above stated, 

on I Sth September, 171 1, there is added a resolution of the 

Session, come to at the meeting on the former date, when 

the Provost signed the mortification in presence of the 

Session. The members present, besides according him 

their thanks, " appointed that his name and coat of arms 

should be set up on severall places thereof, and there con- 

tinued as long as the place shall endure ;" also " that an)- 

person of the name of Dunbar within the burgh requiring 

to be put in the said Hospital, if deserving, should be pre- 

ferred ;" further, " that, during Provost Dunbar's life time, 

there should be none put within the Hospital, or enjoy any 

maintenance of the same, without his consent and advice ;" 

" also, in respect that the wey-house and yard"—then worth 

£\2 per annum— " were mortifyed for maintaining, decor- 

ing, and repairing the Hospital, the Session obliged 

themselves and their successors to bestow the same in all 

—

34 


time coming, for maintaining, decoring, and repairing of the 

Hospital house, and also obliged themselves and their fore- 

saids ever thereafter, that, if the rent of the said house and 

yeard should fall short, to maintain, repair, and decore the 

said building, that then the charge for doing thereof should 

be taken out of the Hospital stock or annual rent thereof, 

whereby the said Hospital may be kept in as good condi- 

tion as it now is, which is hereby declared to be sufficiently 

sclated and watertight, and all the windows cased with 

oak." Then follows the discharge of Provost Dunbar for 

all his intromissions as Hospital Treasurer, which is signed 

by John Cuthbert, Provost ; Fin. Fraser, Bailie ; J. 

Bailie ; Wm. Duff, Bailie Hugh Robertson, Bailie ; ; 

Rose, 

Robt. 

Barbour, Dean of Guild ; Wm. Duff, Treasurer ; James 

Dunbar, one of the Elders ; David Fouller, one of the 

Elders ; John Hepburn, one of the Elders ; John 

tosh, one of the Session ; Wm. 

Mackin- 

Thomson, one of the 

Sessioners James Dunb ir, one of the Sessioners ; Robt. 

; 

Ross, one of the Sessioners ; J. Dunbar, Sessioner ; Wm. 

Baillie, one of the Elders ; Wm. Paterson, one of the 

"Session; Mr Gilbert Marshall, minister at Inverness; Mr 

• Angus M'Bain, minister at Inverness. 

The above resolution clearly shows that the donor's 

intention was understood at the time he made over the 

building, to be that the two upper stories were to be 

•occupied by deserving poor, placed therein by the Session, 

and that any of the name of Dunbar, if requiring it, should 

be preferred. It is also evident that one of his mortifications 

• of 2000 merks was made with the object that the interest 

should be applied for the maintenance of the persons so 

placed therein. It has been shown that very little attention 

was paid to these wishes for a good many years. 

[to be co.ntinued.]

The Camei'on Highlanders. 35 

APPENDIX 

"THE 79TH HIGHLANDERS IN THE INDIAN MUTINY 

CAMPAIGN, 1858." 

THE 

following notes are appended, b}' way of correction 

or addition, to the account already published, as the 

result of correspondence with brother officers still survi\'ing, 

to whom copies of the little book was sent. D. W. 

Inverness, January, 1S92. 

Pages 3 and 4 of book (pages 659-60, Vol. II., of 

magazine)—Lw/ of Officers and Sergeants.— It is very diffi- 

cult, after the lapse of so many years, to ascertain correctly 

to which Companies the subalterns and sergeants belonged 

in 1857-58. Some changes were made soon after landing 

in India, and as time rolled on many changes were made, 

and one associates a particular individual with a given 

Compan}', but feels uncertain as to the date. I was myself 

in charge, in different years, of Xo. i. No. 9, and the 

Grenadiers, though I belonged to the latter Compan\' from 

the time I rejoined from sick leave, early in i860. 

I have no doubt as to the officers of the Grenadiers, 

Light Company, Xo. i, and Xo. 6 ; the\^ were as stated 

Those of Xo. 2 were probably Capt. Maitland, Lieuts. 

Cleather and F. P. Campbell ; of Xô. 3, Capt. Turner 

Lieuts. Mackesey and Crawford, and Ens. Lord Louth ; of 

Xo. 4, Capt. Percival, Lieuts. De Carteret and M'Murdo 

and Ens. J. B. Campbell ; of Xô. 5, Capt. Miller, Lieut. 

Allen, and Ens. Dougal ; of X'ô. 7, Capt. Leith, Lieut 

Alleyne, and Ens. M'Causland ; 

of Xo. 8, Capt. Currie, 

Lieuts. Xeil Campbell and Gawne. 

Capt. Leith and Ens. M'Causland were on board the 

•" Louisiana," with part of Xô. 7 Company ; Lieut. Alleyne 

and the remainder, in the " Tyburnia." Lieut. De Carteret


was also in the latter ship, but belonged then, I think, to 

No, 4. Lieut. Mackesey was acting Adjutant, and Lieut. 

Allen acting Quartermaster, of Major Butt's detachment. 

Some changes must have been made before we reached 

Lucknow. During the campaign, Lieuts. Allen and Cleather 

were in No. 2, and, I think, Lieut. F. P. Campbell in No. 5, 

and Lieut. De Carteret in No. 7. 

Sergt. Davie belonged to No. 6 Company, and the name 

of Sergt. Humble, drill instructor, should be added. 

Page 7 of book (p. 66}, of magazine).—Ens. Lord Louth 

was left sick at Calcutta, and subsequently sent home. 

Capt. Turner was sent back to Calcutta from Raneegunge 

sick, but re-joined the regiment before the operations at 

Lucknow commenced. Capt. C. Macdougal, of the Bengal 

army, was attached as interpreter. 

Two privates of the regiment died in Fort William, Cal- 

cutta, late in the evening before we proceeded to Raneegunge 

; one of them was Pte. Daniel Grant, Grens., a man 

of 6 ft. i^ in., and 18 years' service, one of the finest men 

in the regiment. I distinctly remember being at his funeral 

at Raneegunge, the first I attended in the 79th. 

During the transit by bullock train to Benares and 

Allahabad, No. 3 and 4 Companies, under Capt. Percival, 

a 

escorted treasure from Raneegunge to Benares ; and 

68-pounder gun, drawn by natives, from Benares to 

Allahabad. Nos. 5 and 6 Companies, under Capt. Miller, 

and the Colours of the 

escorted treasure and ammunition ; 

regiment were especially committed by Col. Douglas to the 

charge of Ensigns Dougal and Kerr, with strict orders that 

they were never both to be absent, or out of sight of them. 

The Colours were made fast to the bullock-cart of Col.the 

two young officers and a party of 

Sergt. Gilchrist ; and 

No. 6 were to take it in turns to ride in that cart and the 

one immediately in rear ; the treasure and ammunition were 

between the two companies. No. 5 bringing up the rear. 

Before reaching Benares Ensign Dougal was accidentally 

shot in the feet and ankles by a native who was taking a

The Cameron HigJUanders. 37 

fowling-piece, which was unfortunately loaded, out of a 

buggy. In consequence, the sole special charge of the 

Colours rested on Ensign Kerr, a lad of 19, until the 

detachment reached Benares. Lieut. Dougal was left there 

for a short time on the sick-list. 

Page 8 of book (p. 665 of magazine).—Ensign Clay 

joined the regiment at Oonao, between Cawnpore and 

Lucknow. He had been at the School of Musketry at 

Hythe, and came out overland. Subsequently, on Lieut. 

Walker being employed as Orderly Officer to Brigadier 

Douglas, he was appointed /Acting Instructor of Musketry. 

Page 15 of book (p. 723 of magazine).—The horses of 

*' the Bays" in their excitement fairly ran away with their 

riders : and in consequence, both Major Percy Smith and 

the Sergt.-Major were carried into the enemies' ranks, and 

lost their lives. 

Page 16 of book (p. 724 of magazine).— I have received 

many interesting details of the part taken at Lucknow by 

No. 6 Company from Mr W. J. Kerr, then an Ensign in 

that company. On the evening of the 8th of March part of 

No. 6, under Lieut. Durant and Ensign Kerr, were on out- 

lying picquet near the river and the racecourse as a covering 

party to sappers constructing a battery, and were much 

exposed to the fire of the enemy's guns on the other side 

of the river. They were relieved about sunset by a picquet 

of the I St Bengal Fusiliers, and Ensign Kerr warned the 

officer in command to move his men from the spot where 

he halted, as several shot had lighted there. He took the 

hint, and moved his men under cover only just in time. 

The 79th men remained all night in support, and the 

following morning, under Lieut. Durant, joined Nos. 3 and 4 

Companies, under Capt. Percival, in the attack on the 

" Yellow Bungalow." This building was the stand on the 

racecourse, situate about 300 yards from the river, not far 

from the point of the arrow, which indicates the points of 

the compass on the plan, but of course on the other side of 

the river, and about 500 yards from the Battery marked


" 2 R." It was shortly after the assault on this bungalow 

that Sergt. Davie of No. 6 Company was shot dead while 

in the act of levelling his own firelock. Lieut. Durant had 

a narrow escape the same day, the strap of his water or grog 

keg being chipped by a bullet. The ammunition carried 

by this party was very bad, choking the rifle barrels. 

Page 19 of book (p. 727 of magazine).—Ensign Holford 

was also with Capt. Stevenson's picquet. Another side of 

the enclosure was held by a strong picquet of the Grenadiers, 

under Capt. M'Barnet, to whom Holford was sent with a 

message, and fired at. I was also sent with a message to 

Major Butt to maintain communication, but got there and 

back unobserved in the dark. 

Page 23 of book (p. 732 of magazine).—During the 

advance of the regiment on the road leading to the iron 

bridge, on the nth of March, Nos. 5 and 6 Companies were 

halted, and suddenly received a volley, by which Capt. 

Miller received his severe wound. He was helped to a 

dhoolie by Capt. Macdonald, who immediately rejoined his 

company. Ensign Dougal commanded No. 5 for the rest 

of the day. Somewhat later the regiment advanced 

parallel to the river, up to a spot north of Shah Behari 

Lul's garden, and adjoiriing the road leading to the stone 

bridge. Here the enemy's guns began to play upon them, 

while halted along with a troop of the Bays in a narrow 

street. The direction of their fire was splendid, but for- 

tunately the elevation was too high, otherwise the loss would 

have been very heavy. Some gun-bullocks, frightened by 

the fire, charged, and threw one company of the 79th into 

disorder. 

Captain Miller, after being wounded, was carried to the 

rear, escorted by F. Gordon, a bandsman. During their 

progress, first a round shot grazed the top of the dhoolie, 

and then the bearers were threatened with an attack by a 

a lot of budmashes, and naturally wanted to bolt. Gordon 

fortunately had Capt. Miller's revolver, and, presenting it at 

the heads of the bearers, made them proceed, and the party 

got to a place "of safety.

The Cameron Highlanders. 39 

The same day, Pte. M. Meany, of the Light Company, 

while on picquet under Capt. Scovell, was wounded by a 

bullet in the arm, which he lost in consequence. Capt. 

Scovell was not laid up with fever till about the 15th or 

1 6th. 

Page 25 of book (p. 734 of magazine).— Capt. Donald 

Macdonald was on picquet when he heard of the death of 

his brother, of the 93rd, and was relieved by Capt. Percival 

to enable him to attend the funeral. The brothers had 

passed the evening together one night just before the 

advance on Lucknow, in Donald's tent, and, on parting, 

Charles said, " I must be off," and taking his brothers hand, 

added, " Good bye, old fellow, every luck and success to 

}-ou ; we may never meet again." And they never did 

meet again. Poor Donald served in the regiment until 

1 87 1, when the regiment, being already under orders to 

embark for England, he dropped down dead from heart 

disease while at great gun drill at the Artillery Barracks at 

Kamptee. 

Pages 34-36 of book (pp. 25, 26 of Vol. III. of magazine).—On 

the evening of the i6th, after seizing and 

occupying the Great Imambarra, No. 6 Company was sent 

forward to hold the Roome Durwasa, and on the 17th was 

one of the companies which advanced under Outram to 

the Hassein Mosque, and Shureef O' Dowla's house. It 

was advancing up a narrow street beyond these and the 

Jumunia Bagh, when the explosion of powder took place in 

front of them, in a courtyard adjoining the Jumma Musjid, 

and it was near enough to be enveloped in dense white 

smoke. The Sikhs and camp-followers, who were in front, 

fell back with such a rush as to drive the company out of 

the street, it being supposed that the street was mined, and 

that other explosions would follow. Emerging in an open 

space, the three officers rallied the men and re-formed, 

General Outram, Brigadier Douglas, and staff officers being 

close by. At this moment poor Sergt. Blyth rushed up, 

his doublet and kilt on fire, and his face all black, and

40 


shortly expired. Many natives, also badly wounded, were 

rolling- in the dust. 

No. 6 was left as an advanced picquet to hold a small 

mosque, near the open space, to the left-front of the Jum- 

unia Bagh, and was so pressed and outnumbered that 

Captain Macdonald sent back Ensign Kerr to the Imam- 

bara for reinforcements. As the company was nearly 

surrounded, Kerr had to run the gauntlet, and was fired at 

several times, but fortunately was not hit. He met Colonel 

Taylor and another officer before reaching the Roome 

Durwasa, and told them his errand, warning them not to 

proceed alone. Sir Colin and Brigadier Douglas and staff 

came up just after he reached the Imambara, and he made 

his report. Two guns were sent, and Kerr rejoined his 

company. During his short absence Captain Macdonald 

and Lieutenant Durant had each gone out with a party 

and cleared some of the adjoining streets, and the two guns 

opening fire, drove the enemy further back. The men of 

this picquet had a narrow escape from an accident caused 

by the folly of a gunner. In the mosque were several hives 

of bees high up on the walls. A gunner threw a stone into 

a hive ; down came the bees with a vengeance, and attacked 

the men. Kerr, though sitting some little distance off, was 

severely stung, several bees getting down his back ; 

the 

man who threw the stone was nearly blinded, the bees 

would not leave him. The rebels, seeing the confusion) 

again advanced, and the guns had to be served to keep 

them in check ; but it was the duty of the gunner, already 

nearly blinded, to load. He was so beset and confused by 

the bees that he only got in a small portion of the charge 

of powder, and the consequence was that the shell, when 

fired, fell only a few yards from the gun and from the men. 

The artillery officer yelled out, " Men lie down," which they 

did forthwith, and had to lie and watch till it burst. 

Happily no one was struck, but pieces of the shell passed 

unpleasantly close over the heads of several of the men. 

Soon afterwards Kerr was sent out with a small party, and on


reaching their furthest sentry, was warned that bullets came 

down a narrow street whenever anyone showed. He 

accordingly advanced in single file, leading the way 

himself, and broke into a house at the end of the street, 

attached to which was a cow-shed with cattle in it. Kerr, 

entering first, received a kick on the knee, which made him 

stumble, and three or four of his party rushed past and 

found five or six budmashes, whom they shot or baj'oneted. 

After this the compan\' was not molested, and the guns 

were withdrawn at sunset. 

The same night also, when visiting the sentries, it was 

reported to him that Sergt. J. Anderson (familiarly known 

as Sergt. Joss) had been lately round with the relief, and on 

the sentry reporting to him that he had heard a noise under 

his feet, had made search and found the entrance to an 

and that the sergeant, taking two 

underground passage : 

men with him, had gone to explore it. Kerr at once 

returned \\\\.\\ the corporal, and reported this to Captain 

Macdonald, asking for a search party to return with him, 

and to be ready to clear out the place if necessary. Captain 

Macdonald, however, resolved to go himself, leaving orders 

that if he did not return in a quarter of an hour. Ensign 

Kerr was to follow with as many men as could be spared, 

and look for him. The corporal accompanied Captain 

^Macdonald. The exploring part}', following the under- 

ground passage, found a large cellar, apparent!}- under the 

mosque, filled with women and children ; one of the former 

had died, and it was the wailing for her which the sentry 

had heard. The women and children were ordered to 

vacate the place, and soon disappeared in the darkness. 

This picquet had a very long fast, which they only broke 

by eating some pigeons which they caught and cooked. 

Page 40 of book (p. 30, vol. III. of magazine).—Some 

men were so knocked up with marching on 19th March 

that they were seen to throw away rupees rather than carry 

them further.

42 The His^hland Monthly. 

Page 42 of book (p. 85 of magazine).—Captains Turner 

and Scovell and Lieutenant Durant were left in hospital 

sick, the last suffering from blindness ; also Captain Miller 

v.-ounded. 

Page 45 of book (p. 89 of magazine).—The day before 

the attack on Fort Rooyah Ens. Kerr, who was on the sick- 

list, was being carried in a dhoolie, the bearers of which 

lagged behind in rear of the column. Parties of the enemy's 

cavalry were hovering about to cut off stragglers, and the 

bearers Were inclined to bolt and leave him to his fate. A 

revolver again proved very serviceable. The threat to use 

it, coupled with promises of backsheesh, proved effectual, 

and he was brought safe into camp. 

Pages 46, 47 of book (p. 90 of magazine).—As the 

result of a good deal of correspondence about the 

attack on Fort Rooyah, I think that Malleson, on whose 

account I based mine, has been misinformed as to the 

points of the compass, and that the strong side, against 

which our skirmishers of the 42nd and the 4th Punjaub 

Rifles were fruitlessly sent, was the south (or south-east) 

side, instead of the north, and that it was on the latter side 

—the one facing Allygunge—that the rebels evacuated 

the fort. Probably the faces did not lie due north, &c. 

The general course of Walpole's march from Lucknow 

to Shahjehanpore and Bareilly was about W.N.W., but 

Rooyah apparently lay somewhat to the south of such a 

line, about ten miles east from the Ganges. It is probable, 

however, that the General, after leaving Lucknow, made 

somewhat of a detour towards and along the river Ganges, 

and so moved along a road, running about N.N.W., when 

he got near Rooyah, which lay about a mile to the right or 

north of that road. Col. Percival has sent me a sketch,, 

which confirms my own recollection, that Walpole's force, 

on the morning of the attack, moved off to the right or 

north of the road, nearly at right angles to where I was 

halted with the baggage guard. All the firing I heard was 

from my proper right front, when facing in the direction of

The Cajneron Hiohlanders. 43 

our march, say N.W., and any tidings wc got of ofificcrs and 

men wounded came from that direction. 

Several companies of the 79th (which must have been 

left in front that day) were engaged either as skirmishers 

or in support of skirmishers or of the two heavy guns. 

I think there can be no doubt, from Col. Pcrcival's 

description, that Ross-Grove with his company of the 42nd, 

and Cafe with his men of the 4th Punjaub Rifles, were sent 

against the south (or south-east) side of the fort, and that 

on this side Brigadier Adrian Hope and so many officers 

and men were killed. Early in the day, General Walpole 

sent several companies of the 79th to the left, or west, of 

the fort, in support of his two heavy guns, which opened 

fire opposite to its furthest angle on that side. Upon this 

Col. Percival, then Captain of No. 4 Compan}', saw two 

cows make their way out of the north or north-west side, 

and remarked to one of the artillery officers, " That is the 

side to attack ; we can get in where a cow can come out." 

Soon afterwards the heavy guns were moved nearer our 

main body, opposite to the southern or south-west angle, 

two companies, including No. 4, remaining with them, and 

the others joining our reserve. Ensign Kerr, of No. 6 Coy., 

though on the sick list, joined No. 4 Coy. He confirms the 

above, mentioning that the two heavy guns were moved to 

the left of the attack early in the da)-, that several companies 

were sent in support, and adds that, on the guns 

opening fire, the elephants became almost unmanageable. 

The cavalry were sent round to our right, i.e., to the 

north or north-east of the fort. Possibly some other guns 

may have opened fire, the shot from which may have passed 

over the fort, and lighted among the 42nd skirmishers, 

when looking for a gate as described. 

The two heavy guns, after firing a few rounds from their 

second position, were withdrawn, and with the two com- 

panies 79th rejoined the reserve or main body. Some of 

the other companies were then in advance, but the ground 

between the main body and the fort was to a considerable 

extent thick jungle.

44 


I have no doubt that our camp was on the opposite, or 

south, side of the road, and that when our whole force was 

withdrawn in the afternoon, it came from the proper right 

of where 1 had been halted ; 

also that the dead were buried 

in rear of our camp, i.e., to the south of it. 

On the following day, after the fort was evacuated, Capt. 

Percival visited it, and found the walls on the side which 

was not attacked (which must have been the north), so 

much out of repair in several places that one could easily 

scramble over, and did so himself There was a X^rgeJ/iecl 

or pond, intended to defend that side, but it was nearly dry, 

and there was more than one gate on that side. 

Page 48 of book (p. 92 of magazine).—When the doctor 

was examining the wound of one of the 79th men, wounded 

on this occasion, he felt for the bullet with his finger, upon 

which the poor fellow exclaimed— " There's no need to do 

that, doctor, the hole is big enough already." 

Page 50 of book (p. 93 of magazine).—See below, note 

on p. 60 as to bees. 

Page 56 of book (p. 152 of magazine).— In the forenoon 

of the 5th of May two companies of the 79th were sent out 

under Captain Percival (probably Nos. 3 and 4) in skirmish- 

ing order, Sir Colin himself saying, " I will see that you are 

properly supported. Captain Percival." 

Mr Robert Stewart tells me that the Grenadiers were 

attacked on one occasion, he cannot remember where, by a 

body of Ghazees just as the 42nd were, who would take no 

quarter. The Grenadiers formed company square, and 

received repeated charges of the fanatics, until the latter 

were all killed, one of their own men being slightly wounded. 

The most likely place for this to have occurred was the 

wood at Bareilly. 

Page 57 of book (p. 153 of magazine).—Ensign Kerr 

came in for a long spell of duty at Bareilly. He was on 

guard over the ammunition of the force on the 4th of May, 

and on being relieved at daylight on the 5th, carried the 

regimental colour during all that excessively hot day. In

The Cameron Hio/iiandcrs. 45 

the evening, when lying asleep and pretty well beat, he was 

roused to go on outlying picquet in command, and had to 

go, it being decided by Captain Currie, to whom the question 

was referred, that a guard and a picquet were on different 

rosters. Poor fellow, he had not long been off the sick-list 

no wonder that, on the picquets being withdrawn, during the 

march of the regiment from its bivouac towards camp next 

morning, he fell dead asleep under a tree during a short 

halt. No one noticed him, and when he awoke he found 

himself alone, but made his wa}' into camp and found 

Captain Macdonald with his tent pitched, and wondering 

what had become of him. 

Page 60 of book (p. 156 of magazine;.—During the 

early part of the day the 79th hastily formed line to the 

right, rear rank in front, to meet an expected attack. After 

being exposed for some time to artillery fire, they were 

countermarched when opportunit}' offered, on the rebels 

being forced to retire. 

I conclude that the afternoon of this day, i ith May, on 

which wc relieved Shahjehanporc, was one of the occasions 

on which a fierce attack was made by bees upon the 

regiment while halted in a tope, in consequence of their 

being disturbed by sticks or stones thrown at their nests. 

Captain Holford and Mr Kerr both connect the incident 

with this day, and with the 60th Rifles being attacked at 

the same time, and they are confirmed by Sir Cromer 

Ashburnham and Colonel Kelly, then officers in that 

regiment. 

Such attacks by infuriated bees occurred on several 

occasions during the Indian Mutiny Campaign. One 

instance has been given where No. 6 Company was attacked 

in Lucknow. The late Dr Brougham, then surgeon 

1st Bengal Fusiliers, several times asked me if I remembered 

such an occurrence, and, as I recalled only one, I assumed 

that it must have taken place when his regiment was with 

us, i.e., before the final capture of Lucknow. My own 

impression of the date, however, is that it was about the 

;

46 


nth of April. I remember the scene well enough—before 

the sad affair at Rooyah, when the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd 

were brigaded together ; and two old sergeants of the 93rd, 

now in Inverness, concur in this, but one of them attributes 

it to a trooper of the 9th Lancers having thrust his lance 

through a bee's nest, and told me that an officer of his 

regiment, naming him, was so badly stung that he was 

carried in a dhoolie all the way to Bareilly, i.e., till 6th May. 

I distinctly remember sticks and stones being thrown up 

into the mango trees to knock down the fruit. 

Col. Percival's recollection of the occurrence is " early 

in the campaign and when halted in a tope ;" but he also 

mentions another instance when a picquet of two companies 

79th, two guns, and a troop of cavalry were assailed by bees. 

Another instance is given in Sir Hope Grant's " Incidents 

of the Sepoy War," where an officer of the 9th Lancers 

thrust a lance into a nest, and provoked such a furious 

attack that the advance guard, consisting of men of the 

93rd, then on the march to the Alumbagh, were fairly routed 

and driven back on the main body of the regiment. Colonel 

Adrian Hope, not knowing the cause, formed his men in 

haste ready to resist an attack of cavalry. On this occasion 

an artillery officer was so badly stung that his life was in 

danger for some days. 

It was on the nth of May also, during the advance to 

relieve Shahjehanpore, I believe, that the following sad 

accident took place. The 79th, after passing through a 

large tope, were halted near the outside of it, at the top of 

a declivity, to allow the 60th to pass, both regiments being 

formed in fours. The 60th had their rifles at the trail, and 

a private, having his at full cock, unfortunately shot a 

sergeant of that corps in front of him through the thick part 

of the thigh, the wound proving fatal in a very short time. 

This was witnessed by Ensign Kerr and myself. Probably 

the 60th had been ordered to skirmish in front on emerging 

from the tope, and the 79th had their bayonets fixed; for, on 

descending the hill a iow minutes afterwards, owing to one


of our men sloping his rifle too much, I had the forefinger 

of my bridle hand abraded by the point of his bayonet. 

Page 61 of book (p. 156 of magazine).—During the 

advance through the suburbs of Shahjehanpore, and before 

reaching the spot where we bivouacked near the gaol, on the 

night of the nth, the men were falling out fast from fatigue 

and the intense heat. Ensign Kerr, seeing a man of No, 6 

falling out and lying down, said to him, " For God's sake 

come on, if you are left here you will be murdered." His 

reply was, " It's no to be helped, I canria gang anither step; 

hc/i caiiiia be hotter tJum t/iis." Kerr believes the man 

turned up all right that night ; he was probably seen by 

the rear-guard and picked up by the dhoolie-bearers. 

Page 62 of book (p. 157 of magazine).—Captain Leith 

was sent out with his Company (No. 7) on the Sowars 

retiring. 

Page 6t, of book (p. 233 of magazine).—When No. 6 

was sent in support of the guns. Ensign Kerr was ordered 

to skirmish in front with part of it, and the men were lying 

down. Finding that the enemy had retreated into a wood, 

and were no longer visible, he directed them to cease firing, 

but some of them a little way off continued their fire. He 

went up and asked if they had not heard his orders, and 

was told by one of them. Private Anderson, that they were 

doing so by Sir Colin's order, and looking round he saw 

Sir Colin himself He saluted, expecting a wigging. Sir 

Colin, however, only smiled, and told him, " You are quite 

right to be careful of the ammunition " Just then Captain 

Tombs, of the Horse Artillery, rode up, and said, " I can 

clear the wood, sir, if you wish, with a few rounds." Sir 

Colin replied " No, it will soon be dark." No. 6 was one of 

the companies that remained out on picquet, and were so 

long there that Kerr remembers the men going to bathe in 

the river, which was quite close by, two companies at a 

time, the bathing company piling arms, while the other was 

on guard.

The HigJila7id Monthly. 

Page 64 of book (p. 234 of magazine).—On the terrible 

march to Mahomdee, on 24th May, Ensign M'Causland 

carried the Queen's, and Ensign Kerr the regimental colour> 

and though these were cased a blast of hot wind made 

them very heavy to carry. Kerr wore a Glengarry with a 

towel under it, hanging over the back of his neck, which he 

got wetted as often as he could. 

On that same excessively hot day, Capt. Scovell was 

exposed to the blazing sun, and to the risk of being cut off 

by parties of the rebels. Shortly before, he had left hospital 

, way 

in Lucknow, and was travelling down country, venturing to 

do so by day only, as the road was even more unsafe by 

night, when his dak gharry got smashed. He had to lie 

helpless in the sun, paralysed by the heat and too weak to 

move for a long time, but fortunately got another gharry 

and reached a dak station before dark. 

Page 75 of book (p. 282 of magazine).—Capt. Miller was 

in command of the two companies that attacked the fort of 

Rampore Kussia, as senior officer. His own company, No. 

5, and Capt. Percival's, No. 4, being in advance, forced their 

independently through the jungle, and met in the out- 

work, or mud fort. 

Page 82 of book (p. 288 of magazine).—Add to list of 

officers now deceased, Lieuts. Durant, J. B. Campbell, and 

G. Duff. 

D. W.

Irelaîd before the ConqtiesL 49 

IRELAND BEFORE THE CONQUEST. 

A.D. 1014-1172. THE EFFECTS OF THE BATTLE OF CLONTARFF. 

CONTESTS FOR THE SUPERIOR KINGSHIP. 

THE 

Battle of Clontarff, like its hero Brian, has always 

occupied a large place in the recollection and 

imagination of the Irish. Their later historians and, fol- 

lowing them, writers of other countries speak of it as if its 

consequence had been the final destruction of the Danish 

power in Ireland, and sometimes, indeed, as if it had led to 

the absolute expulsion of these foreigners from the country. 

On the other hand, the annalists treat it very much as one 

of the ordinary incidents in the drama of battle and murder 

of which the history of the country, according to them, is 

mainly made up. The truth apparently is that it was 

really a turning point in the history of Ireland and of its 

colonists and invaders. There can be no doubt that the 

great collection to Dublin of Norsemen from, all parts of 

Scandinavia and the islands under Scandinavian rule, and 

the " din " which the preparations for the great battle 

created all over the north, meant more than a mere effort 

to defend Dublin from attack ; 

and if the fate of the battle 

had been other than it was, it is more than probable that a 

great effort, at least, would have been made to conquer 

Ireland, and to bring it under the same subjection to 

Scandinavian rule as then prevailed in Man, the Western 

Isles, Orkney and Shetland, the Northern Counties of 

Scotland, and Northumberland. It would appear, too, 

that in this great effort the force of the Viking element 

in the Norsemen exhausted itself. We hear of no more 

arrivals of foreigners in Ireland, nor of any invasions or 

attempts at invasion, except on one occasion, in i [03, 

when Magnus, King of Norway, appeared on the coast 

4

50 Ihe Highland MontJiLy. 

with a fleet, but did not land, and is said to have been 

successfully attacked and killed by the fleet of Ulster. On 

the other hand, as we have already said, Dublin was not 

taken, or even attacked, after the battle, and from the time 

of the battle till the Conquest, the various Norwegian com- 

munities settled at Dublin, Waterford, Wexford, Limerick, 

Cork, and some other towns along the coast, retained their 

separate existence, with the rule over a certain territory 

adjoining the town. They were, no doubt, subject, and 

probably tributary, to the Provincial Kings in whose terri- 

tories their settlements were, just as the subordinate Irish 

chiefs and tribes were, but they retained, at least, as much 

separate and independent authority as these chiefs did, and, 

in the case of Dublin, the territory over which its king 

ruled was of considerable extent, stretching along the coast 

from Skerries to Wexford, and inland as far as Leixlip, on 

the Liffey, being the point to which that river is navigable. 

In the internal affairs of the country, they conducted them- 

selves much as the native tribes did ; they made war, 

ravaged and pillaged exactly like their neighbours, and 

during the whole period from 1014 to 1172, we hear of 

them—still under the name of foreigners—as engaged in 

such operations as often, at least, as we do of any native 

tribe. Indeed, on one occasion we hear that a number of 

hostages were released from Dublin, which indicates that 

the foreigners of that city were attempting to establish 

dominion over some, at least, of the surrounding tribes. 

They were the builders and possessors of the only stone- 

built and fortified towns ; for neither in the native wars, 

nor in the wars which accompanied the Conquest, do we 

read of the siege of any Irish town or castle, with the single 

exception of Armagh, which is said to have been besieged 

for a week by the English conquerors ; and they conducted 

all the foreign trade of the country, and amassed consider- 

able wealth in their towns. It is to this source that the 

pre-eminence which Dublin was attaining was, no doubt, 

due, for we find that before the arrival of the English, it

Ireland bcjoi'e the Conquest. 

advanced pretensions to be the metropolis, civil as well as 

ecclesiastical, of Ireland, and that this was so far acknowledged 

by the Irish that, in 1 1 66,. Roderick O'Conner, King 

of Connaught, went there to be inaugurated as King of 

Ireland, of which office he was the last holder. In matters 

ecclesiastical, we shall see that the foreign colonies exer- 

cised a powerful influence on the course of Irish history. 

So far as the native inhabitants of Ireland were concerned, 

the reign of Brian and the Battle of Clontarff seem 

to have produced no permanent effect, except in this, that 

l-5rian's usurpation of the supreme sovereignty of Ireland 

destroyed the tradition which had made that sovereignty 

the heritage of the posterity of Nial of the Nine Hostages, 

and had for a long time secured a comparatively peaceful suc- 

cession, and once more made the high kingship a prize to be 

striven for by any provincial king who thought himself power- 

ful enough to overcome his compeers. The entirely personal 

nature of Brian's power is shown by the fact that, on his 

death becoming known, his victorious arm\' dissolved into 

its elements of hostile tribes. Before the\' left the field of 

battle, the tribes of South Munster withdiew to a separate 

camp, and made a claim to the sovereignty o{ the whole 

province; and on his march home with his own clan, 

Brian's son, Donnchadh, was twice threatened with attack, 

and a demand made on him for submission and hostages, 

once by the men of South Munster, and once by the men 

of Ossory and Leix, who, as inhabitants of Leinster, had 

probably been in the army of Maelmordha and Sitric. 

The sovereignty of Ireland was resumed by Malachy, 

apparently without opposition, but the remaining eight 

years of his life were spent in constant wars to assert his 

authority, and he repeatedly made war on and ravaged the 

foreigners ; and, thirty days before his death, he gained a 

bloody victory over them at the Yellow Ford of Tlachtga, 

in Meath. He died in Cro-inis (the island of the hut), in 

Loch Ennell, near MuUingar, in the county of West Meath, 

in the 73rd year of his age, and attended by the successors


of Patrick, of Colum-Cille and of Ciaran, and most of the 

seniors of Ireland, who " sung masses, hymns, psalms, and 

canticles for the welfare of his soul." In the island in 

which he died there are still the remains of a small castle 

or stone house, and on the banks of the lake, which are 

now adorned by many beautiful seats of noblemen and 

gentlemen, are still to be seen the remains of Malachy's 

Dun, or Fort, consisting of several concentric earthen 

ramparts. 

On the death of Malachy, it seems to have occurred to 

the Provincial Kings of Leinster, Munster, and Connacht 

that each of them was entitled to play the role of Brian and 

to become supreme King of Ireland, while the head of the 

northern Hy Niells asserted his hereditary right to the 

alternate succession to the Crown. Wars were the result 

of the rival pretensions. After a time, Donnachadh 

O'Brien, the son of Brian and Gormflath, who, to make 

way for his pretensions, procured the murder of his brother 

Tadg, appears as the most successful competitor, and is 

sometimes styled King of Ireland ; but, in 1064, he is said 

to have been deposed, and to have gone to Rome, where 

he died. Some accounts say that he carried the Crown of 

Ireland with him, and that it remained in Rome until the 

Pope presented it to Henry II., but this is a manifest fable. 

We next hear of Diarmad of Leinster as attaining a kind 

of supremacy, and in the notice of his death in the Annals 

of Ulster, in the year 1072, he is styled " King of Ireland^ 

Wales, and of the Danes of Dublin, and protector of the 

honour of Leth Cuinn." After him, Turlogh O'Brien, a 

grandson of Brian Boroime, seems for a long time to have 

been the most successful competitor, and he was addressed 

as King of Ireland by the Pope, and by Lanfranc, Archbishop 

of Canterbury, in 1084, v/hen they wrote him 

complaining of the ecclesiastical irregularities permitted 

in his kingdom ; 

but he was never fully acknowledged, and, 

in recording his death, the Four Masters style him King of 

Ireland " with oppo:3ition." On his death, a fierce contest

Ireland defoj'e the Conquest. 

was waged between the chiefs of the northern Hy Niells, 

now styled O'Lochlain— for in Brian Boroime's time surnames 

came into use—the chiefs of the O'Briens, and the 

chiefs of the O'Conners, sovereigns of Connacht ; and in 

the year 1119, in the notice of the death of Murrogh 

O'Brien, he is styled King of Ireland, and in the same 

year Turlogh O'Conner of Connacht is also styled King of 

Ireland, while on the death of DomhnuU O'Lochlainn, in 

1 121, he is said to have been twenty-seven years in the 

sovereignty of Ireland. From this time the contest- seems 

to have been mainly between the houses of O'Lochlain and 

O'Conner, but attempts were made to assert themselves 

both by the Princes of Leinster and by the O'Briens ; and, 

in 1 

1 37, we read that the notorious Dermott MacMurrogh, 

Prince of Leinster, was making pretensions to the sove- 

reignty, and that having established the chief of the 

O'Briens in the supreme sovereignty of Munster, he 

exacted homage from him. In 1156, Murrogh O'Loch- 

lainn is styled King of Ireland, and in the same year, in 

the record of his death, Turlogh O'Conner is styled King 

of Ireland " v, ith opposition," and his son, Roderick 

O'Conner, is said to have assumed the sovereignty of 

Connacht, and procured the submission of O'Brien. For 

ten years Murrogh O'Lochlainn contended for the sove- 

reignty, until, in 1 166, he was killed in a contest with the 

Chief of Oirghialla, a part of Ulster, who led an army 

against him because he had killed certain chiefs in viola- 

tion of the protection of the successor of Patrick, of the 

Chief of Oirghialla himself, and of the " relics, laity, and 

clergy of the North of Ireland ;" and in the record of his 

death he is styled " Monarch of all Ireland, the chief lamp 

of the valour, chivalry, hospitality, and prowess of the west 

of the world in his time." On his death, Roderick 

O'Conner, his rival, led an army against his tribe and 

procured their submission ; he then entered Meath and 

procured the submission of that kingdom, and then with the 

army of Counacht, Meath and other allies he marched to

54 

The Ui^hland Monthly. 

Dublin and was then inaugurated King " as honourably as 

ever any King of the Gzeidhil was ever inaugurated." And 

he is said then to have presented their stipend to the 

foreigners in many cows, and to have levied a tnx of 4000 

cows on the men of Ireland for them—a statement which 

seems to imply that he took the foreigners into his pay 

—the custom of hiring mercenaries having by this time 

become common. After his coronation, Roderick invaded 

Leinster and Munster, and he appears to have procured the 

submission of Dermot Macmurrough. the King of the 

former province, but, notwithstanding, he consented to the 

attack on that Prince by the King of Breeful and to 

his banishment to England — an event which led to 

momentous consequences in the following year. 

In 1067 Dearmaid O'Brien, who is designed as King of 

Munster and Leth-Mogha, a man who aimed at the 

sovereignty of all Ireland, died. On his death, Roderick 

O'Conner, apparently with the view of procuring his 

acknowledgement as sovereign of Ireland by the northern 

half of the kingdom, held an assembly of the chiefs of Leth- 

Cuinn, both lay and ecclesiastical, and at this assembly it is 

said that many good resolutions were passed " respecting 

veneration of churches and clerics and controul of tribes and 

territories, so that women used to traverse Ireland alone." 

The assembly was an armed one, however, and is said to 

have been attended by 13,000 horsemen, and it is recorded 

as a singular and unlooked-for circumstance that they 

separated without battle or contest. The statement that the 

result of the assembly was a state of peace in the country, 

which made it possible for women to travel alone, is as true 

as the similar statement about the time of Brian. After the 

assembly, Roderick led his army into Munster and procured 

the submission of the chiefs of that province, and he was 

thus acknowledged by the whole kingdom as its Ard Righ 

or supreme King. Here it may be said, after 153 years of 

a war of succession was a king established, and the fair

Ireland before the Conquest. 55 

beginning of a new and a better time, but in the same year 

in which this result was attained Dermot Macmurrough 

returned from England with the first detachment of his 

Welsh and Norman allies, and a series of events commenced, 

the result of which was that within five years the princes and 

ecclesiastics of Ireland acknowledged the supremacy of 

Henry II. of England, and the history of Ireland as a 

separate and independent kingdom came to an end. 

[to be continued.]

56 1he Highland Monthly. 

SCENES OF LONG AGO. 

[all rights KESF.RVED by the AITHO 

I.—THE LAST OF THE PENSIONERS. 

METHINKS that I do see him still, as once upon a 

day long ago, he approached a merry pack of 

prankish youngsters grouped in front of the Parish School. 

While I write, there rises before my memory, in a dull 

grey light, which I think must have been that of an April 

day, the whole scene as it then appeared, within the wide 

sweep of the Grampians, but, most vividly of all, the figure 

of this old soldier. 

How often has it recurred to me, just as it does to-day! 

A tail, lithe man, of iron-grey whiskers and strongly 

marked features, of tough rather than massive frame, well 

advanced on the down-hill of life, but still suggestive of a 

powerful grip. 

As he stalks along gloriously, with a scarlet vest 

fashioned out of the once familiar tunic, and a broad blue 

bonnet adorned with tartan bordering and red top, the 

womenfolk of the village are reminded that the Pen- 

sioners' Day has come round again, and 3/oung and old 

hasten to their doors to peep and smile a welcome. The 

veteran has just left the inn, and nothing loth to renew old 

acquaintance while he takes his way he crosses and re- 

crosses the little street. He is stooping slightly forward, 

which may be due to the weight of years, as a certain 

unsteadiness of gait may have been occasioned by the 

forced marches, battles, and sieges through which he had 

served his King. 

The band of urchins, of whom I formed probably the 

youngest, received him with ringing shouts of various pitch 

and cadence, some crying one thing and some another 

—

Scenes of Long Ago. 57 

" Ciudad Rodree-ee-eego," " Torres Ve-e-edras," " The 

Aguee-da," '" Salamanca," and what not ; while evêr and 

anon " Ciudad Rodree-ee-eego" rose loud over all. Then, 

during a slight lull in the Babel of sound, a tiny but 

venomous voice at my elbow shrieked out, clear and shrill, 

" Make for the rear, my man, while your blood is warm."' 

This saying, meant in mere fun and wantonness to be 

perhaps the shrewdest hit (;f an}\ did indeed strike home ; 

but it did so in a manner that took us all by surprise, and 

threw the perpetrator into confusicjii. Our first sallies had 

only awakened a good-humoured smile on the somewhat 

grim, but withal attractive, countenance of the antique son 

of Mars. Had he not been so accosted in that exact spot, 

by successive generations of schoolbows, for two score 

years ? 

The names of the great battles and sieges of the 

Napoleonic wars had for long been as by-words in the 

country. In former times, when the Pensioners' Day 

arrived, a considerable number of those who had been 

companions-in-arms foregathered at the village to receive 

their well-earned allowance. Officers who had held various 

ranks would be there, glad to give up a few hours to the 

and among 

cup of fraternit}' and the days that were gone ; 

them, as the centre and life of the party, he who had fol- 

lowed the colours as the devoted chaplain ot the regiment. 

While they sat at dinner of state in the inn parlour, their 

humbler comrades either stood in groups outside or 

crowded the tap. Proud to have shaken hands with the 

worthy Highland gentlemen who had often led them to 

victory in foreign lands, each felt he had been of no small 

consequence in his time to King and country, and, growing 

more 

" Vain, 

Fought all his battles o'er again 

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice 

he slew the slain." 

Anecdotes known to all were now aired anew. It was told 

how the unfortunate Portuguee that fell into a ditch 

;


became, as it were, a stepping-stone for the whole regiment, 

until nothing remained of him in sight except his knapsack, 

when the last man to employ him—being something of a 

good Samaritan—dragged him forth ; how one of the company 

was wounded in the retreat from Bourgos, and left 

for dead, but opening his eyes after some hours, he arose 

with difficulty, and beholding a gipsy with a donkey, 

implored assistance, whereupon, being churlishly refused, 

he took heart of grace, and toppling the rude fellow down 

a steep bank, mounted his seat and galloped into quarters ; 

how a soldier, bringing water to a wounded comrade after 

Toulouse, was requested by the generous sufferer to relieve 

first a Frenchman in agony of thirst, who was no sooner 

refreshed than he turned and shot his prostrate benefactor, 

how in the thick of 

and thus quickly sealed his own doom ; 

the awful carnage that attended the storming of Badajos, 

one said, " Courage, Duncan, you and I shall yet stack fir 

together on the peat moss of our township "—which, to be 

sure, was a prophecy that turned out true ; and how—note 

this above all, gentle reader—the humble private, at that 

moment, glass in hand, proceeding to propose a toast of 

immortal fame, had once, during action, been recognised 

by the great Duke of Wellington—nay more, had received 

direct personal instructions from the immortal Commanderin-chief. 

It was thus that it came about :—At some 

critical conjuncture in the fierce engagement of Quatre 

Bras, Wellington galloped close up to a regiment which 

occupied an advanced position, and seeing a soldier bleed- 

ing profusely from wounds, and still endeavouring to do 

his duty, the Duke actually addressed to him that memor- 

able order, " Make for 

is warm." 

the rear, my man, while your blood 

No wonder that the brave fellow looked back upon this 

as the supreme event of his life, and considered that he 

had received a special mark of honour from one who had 

watched his career with approbation. Let none grudge 

him a laudable pride, though it must be allowed that his

Scenes of Long Aoo. 59 

ccmpanions sometimes thought that he made rather too 

much of the incident, livery one of themselves, however, 

had one story, of man\- stories the favourite. Every one 

spoke of one engagement, more than other engagements, as 

the scene of his particular glory. Moreover, having fought 

in Gascony, might the\- not in reason be permitted to 

indulge now and again in the Gasconading vein ? 

Any one passing along the road came within earshot of 

these reminiscences, which, as might be supposed, waxed 

louder and warmer as the afternoon advanced. The youth 

of the neighbourhood, always eager for a lark, drew as near 

as they durst, and afterwards followed each retiring hero 

with mocking echoes of his own words. 

So it had been on many a successive Pension Day ; 

but I need not tell how, in process of time, the noise of the 

captains and the shouting died away, as one after another 

responded to the last roll-call, and went to rejoin old com- 

rades, even at headquarters. At length there came that 

Pension Day—the only one within my recollection- -when 

a solitary individual appeared where full fifty had formerly 

convened. I do not think that he felt in any degree 

friendless and forlorn, or experienced any sadness on 

account of the comrades that were gone. Nature is very 

kind and considerate, especially perhaps to the aged, 

taking means to conceal from our view, or, at least, to gloss 

over, the tragedy and pathos of life, which, if plainly per- 

ceived in all their nakedness, might cast us into dejection. 

Thus, the Last of the Pensioners, far from feeling in any- 

wise despondent, was probably at heart somewhat proud 

of the peerless importance of his position ; and, notwith- 

standing our ribald greeting, he came towards us with a 

waggish smile, making feint as though he would give us 

chase, until, as I have described, there rang out in jeering 

tones those fatal words, " Make for the rear, my man, while 

your blood is warm." 

At this the poor old soldier suddenly paused, gave a 

slow glance aroimd like one bewildered, and then, putting 

his sleeve up to his eyes, sobbed like a child.

6o 7he Highland Monthly. 

We had no opportunity to attempt any amende. The 

schoolmaster's whistle was already sounding, our play-hour 

had come to an end, and we ran away to resume our tasks 

more willingly than usual, for we felt strangely scared and 

remorseful on account of the scene we had just witnessed. 

It must have been about Hallowe'en of the same year 

that the distant sound of pipes broke faintly but unmis- 

takeably on our ears as we raced across the play-ground. 

The most absorbing game always yielded in point of 

fascination to the awful solemnities of a funeral ; and we 

knew that this would be no ordinary one, for it was that of 

the Pensioner, and the kind Chief was certainly present, as 

the music of his piper attested. 

We had already, according to use and wont, inspected 

the grave that was being opened in the forenoon, counted 

the number of skulls that were turned up, and listened with 

interest to the usual surmises as to the identity of those 

gruesome relics. And now, warned of the approach of the 

cortege, the predatory hordes of Scotch and English, into 

which we were divided, hastily proclaimed a truce, the 

wardens allowed their two respective heaps of much-prized 

aichils to lie unprotected, and all ran to the gateway that 

faced the road. 

As, headed by the gallant patrician who thought it not 

beneath him to conduct the humblest of his clansmen to 

their last resting-place, the funeral procession passed 

through our midst, with measured restlessness of tread, 

and the sound of many voices, like lonely waves that break 

on a rocky shore, and then slowly ascended the rising 

ground that led to the church-yard, I shall never forget 

how the wailing notes of the lament seemed to form them- 

selves into words in my ear. It was a foolish whim, for 

methought I heard again, in the wild, mournful strain, 

those sonorous names of the Peninsula and of Flanders, 

which would never more be heard as of old on the Pen- 

sioners' Day, but which will still continue, from the page of 

history, to send a thrill of patriotic enthusiasm through 

every loyal-hearted son of the Gael.

Scenes of Long Ago 6i 

Thus, then, was buried, with seemly respect, the Last 

of the Pensioners. Their homes, high and low, were 

gradually filled by a new generation, who knew little of 

heroic sentiment, having immediate interests which widely 

separated them from the age of military glory to which the 

Pensioners belonged. But so long as the old Chief 

remained, there was one at least who cherished that illus- 

trious past, who, having been familiar with many of its 

\'eterans among his tenants and friends, delighted, when in 

hoary age, to recount the xaliant fame of those 

" Who fought right on, with conquering banners o'er them, 

From Torres Vedras to the Pyrenees."

62 The Highland Monthly 

BOOKS. 

LEGENDARY FICTIONS OF THE IRISH CELTS. Collected and 

Narrated by Patrick Kennedy. London : Macmillan & Co. 

The first edition of Kennedy's " Legendary Fictions of the 

Irish Celts" appeared in 1866, and the work has long been 

out of print. This second edition will be welcome to all 

lovers of folklore, and also to all those that take an interest 

in the lore of the Celtic race, whether in Ireland or in 

Britain. The book is divided into five parts, dealing with 

household stories ; fairy legends ; stories of witches, ghosts, 

and fetches ; Ossianic tales ; and legends of the Irish 

saints. Many of the stories have analogies among those of 

the Highlands. This is especially true of the Ossianic 

legends, which form a considerable portion of the book. 

THE BODLEIAN FRAGMENT OF CORMAC'S GLOSSARY. By 

Whiti.ey Stokes, U.C.L. Philological Society's Transactions. 

CORMAC was king-bishop of Cashel at the end of the 9th 

century, and was a man of scholarly mind, well versed in 

Latin, Greek, and Irish. He compiled a glossary' of rare 

Irish words, wherein he also made attempts at etymo- 

logy, and recorded some curious beliefs and stories 

illustrative of some of the words which he discussed. The 

glossary exists only in middle Irish manuscripts, and is not 

now as Cormac wrote it. Dr Stokes published the text of 

the glossary in 1862, from the Lebar Breac, or Speckled 

Book, a MS. of the 14th century. He also published a 

translation of it, with additions, in 1868. Pie now publishes 

a fragment of it as found in a Bodleian MS. of the 

15th century. This fragment contains the latter half of 

the original glossary nearly complete. Some of the 

articles here discussed are extremely important, such as 

that headed MiigJi-eme, where the Scottish invasions of 

Britain in Roman and post-Roman times are referred to. 

Irish folklore and mythology arc also well represented, for 

the fragment commences with the famous Imbass forosnai, 

a method of incantaion, whereby a poet, by chewing raw 

flesh over which he had muttered a charm, and then sleep-

Notes and Neius. 63 

ing with his head on this palms, saw into futurity. Dr 

Stokes does the editing with his usual thoroughness and 

accuracy. He gives a translation and adds valuable notes, 

where he offers some new etymologies. That puzzle of all 

etymologists— the word beul, mouth, he refers to an original 

form in gvctlo-s, which he connects with English qiwth. 

The word boclid, poor, is held to be a participle, from a verb 

bongaim, I break, which is doubtless allied to the English 

word " bang." The derivation offered by Dr Stokes and 

Mr Strachan for loni, viz., liip-nio, a root /«/, to peel, is 

phonetically unsatisfactory. It seems rather allied to the 

English " light," pointing to a root form loiigvo-s. 

NOTES AND NEWS. 

The 40th number of the Gaelic Journal is to hand. It is 

now under the editorial care of Professor 0'Growney,of Maynooth 

College. Dr Kuno Meyer continues his excellent 

series of articles containing odds and ends from old Irish 

MSS. There is a sensible article on the Infinitive in Gaelic, 

and several other practical pieces bearing on the study of 

the language. 

The March number of the quarterly called Folklore contains 

one or two articles of interest to Highlanders. 

Professor Rhys continues and finishes his papers on " Manx 

Folklore and Superstitions," and a discussion is invited on 

the subject of covihdhail or " first-footing " and meeting. 

Why are red-haired people bad comhdhails ? Professor 

Rhys suggests racial animosities ; but red hair is not 

considered artistic in any case, and the whole system of 

cojnhdhail is founded on the idea that it is unlucky to meet 

antagonistic or ugly objects. It is unlucky, for instance, to 

meet one's private enemy first as one starts on a journey. 

It is similar with the case of flat-footed persons. Here 

Professor Rhys thinks that the flat-footed people must be


the Saxon or other conquerors of the Celts. Mr Alfred 

Nutt discusses the connections of the Gaelic story " Goldtree 

and Silver-tree." 

Mr Nairne, of the Northern Chronicle, has in the press a 

work dealing with " Highland Floods of the Nineteenth 

Century." The work promises to be an exceedingly 

interesting and important one, and Mr Nairne is sparing 

neither trouble nor expense to make his book both 

complete and concise. It is to be fully illustrated. 

Dr Whitley Stokes has reproduced his paper on the 

Irish Annals, where he deals with the great " Pictish 

Question," in a German periodical called Bezzenberger's 

Beitrdge. He has made several additions, one of which 

being the acceptance of the termination four in Balfour, 

Pitfour, &c., as of Pictish origin, and related to the Welsh 

pazvr, pasture, a derivation suggested by one of the editors 

of this magazine, and acknowledged as such by Dr Stokes.

^bc Ibitjblanb riDontbl^. 

VOL. IV. 

A Magazine which is intended to be a Centre 

of Literary Brotherhood lor ScotoCeltic 

People both at Home and Abroad. 

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS. 

The following, among others, are to be 

Contributors :— 

Lord Akchibald Campbell, Author of "Records 

of Argyll." 

Sir Henry Cockburn Macaxdrew, Provost of 

Chas. Kraser-Mackintosh, Esq., M.P., .Author 

of " Antiquarian Notes," " Dunachton Past and 

Present." " Invernessiana," &c. 

Rev High Macmillan, LL.D., D.D., Author of 

' Bible Teachings in Nature," " Foot-Notes 

from the Page of Nature," &c. 

Rev. James Cameron Lees, D.D., Minister of 

St Giles, Edinburgh, Dean of the Thistle and 

Chapel Royal. 

Rev. Dr Masson, Author of " Vestigia Celtica." 

Rev. James Robertson, D.D., Superintendent of 

Presbyterian Missions, Manitoba and N.W.T. 

Joseph Anderson, Esq., LL.D., Keeper of the 

Museum of Antiquities, Royal Institution, Edin- 

burgh. 

A. C. Cameron, LL D., Fettercairn. 

John Mackintosh, Esq., LL.D., Author of the 

" History of Civilization in Scotland." 

.\ndre\v J. Symington, Esq., Glasgow, Editor of 

" Wordsworth." 

P. J. Anderson, Esq., Secretary of the New 

Spalding Club, Aberdeen. 

Rev. John Maclean of Grandtully, Author of 

" Breadalbane Place Names." 

James Crabb W.\tt, Esq., Edinburgh, F.S.A. 

Scot., Author and Editor of Popular Biographies. 

Rev. John Campbell, Minister of Tiree. 

Rev. J. M. Macgregor, Minister of Farr, Sutherland. 

Rev. John M'Rury, Minister of Snizort, Skye. 

Rev. J. Sinclair, Minister of Rannoch. 

" M. O. W.,' Russia. 

Charles Innes, Esq., Sheriff-Clerk of Ross-shire. 

George Malcolm, Esq., Invergarry. 

Alex. Macphersos, Esq., Solicitor, Kingussie. 

Wm. Mack.w, Esq., Solicitor, Inverness. 

Kenneth Macdonald, Esq., Town-Clerk of 

Inverness. 

John Ca.mpbell, Esq., Ledaig, .Author of Gaelic 

Poerii> 

Rev. T. Siston, Minister of Dores. 

T. Cockburn, Esq., M.A., Royal Academy, Inver- 

res 

Christopher T. Michie, Esq., Cullen, Autnor of 

' 

i he Practice of V rrestry " " ' The Larch 

&c. 

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CONTENTS. FAG. 

WILLIE GILLIES. Chap. Ill and IV 65 

IRELAND BEFORE THE CONQUEST. Part XV. By Sib Henry Cockburn Macandrew.. . 78 

THREE UNPUBLISHED DESPATCHES FROM GENERAL MONCK. By William Mackay, 

Solicitor, Inverness 85 

AN GLEANN 'S AN ROBH MI OG, le Niall Macle«id. With TRANSLATION, by Fionn.... 95 

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AND 

ALEXANDER MACBAIN, M.A., F.S.A.Scor. 

No. 38. MAY, 1892. Vol. IV. 

WILLIE GILLIES. 

CHAPTER in. 

AM the most unpunctual correspondent in the world. 

I cannot conquer the failing. I have lost through it 

some of my best friends. My sister-in-law says it's lucky 

for me that I drop my acquaintances as easily as I pick 

them up. That is right for her to say, who knows not how 

often I am seized with painful remorse when, from the 

hidden chambers of memory, the shadows of dear friends 

of the past step out in the watches of the night, in the 

midst of the minister's sermon, and on other times when 

my head is at rest, to recall broken promises, and shake 

their angry locks at me. Now, were I to say that the fail- 

ing is owing to a procrastinating habit and defect of 

memory that I cannot overcome, will any of my friends 

believe it? or shall I be forgiven if I prove that I suffer 

more pain for my shortcomings than my rude forgetfulness 

ever inflicted ? Indeed, I fear no man will listen to such pal- 

liatives as an e.xcuse for neglecting him, although he might 

readily admit it as a good one in the case of others. Self- 

esteem is right to make the exception. And I freely con- 

5


fess that of the hundreds with whom, at one time or other, 

I commenced to correspond, there are but few of whom I 

have not some pleasant recollections ; and 

none whose 

complaining second last, and unanswered last letter, have 

not given me a taste of the punishment of faithlessness. 

Of late years, aware of my besetting sin, I never promise a 

lengthened correspondence, nor do I keep letters after they 

are read, lest they should witness against me. The 

shadowy conjurations of memory punish sharply enough, 

without the aid of material witnesses. I do answer punctu- 

ally business letters. And I think, although the disgrace- 

ful habit of procrastination is to be blamed for dropping 

friendly or literary correspondence, that there is also a law 

of sympathy, at work which partly accounts for my failing. 

I meet a person with whom I form a sudden acquaintance. 

We talk on sonie subject in which we both feel interested. 

One is better informed, and can instruct the other. We 

correspond, but naturally the correspondence ceases when 

the information of the correspondents is equalised. Again, 

it may be a sentiment, an indefinite similarity of taste, that 

forms the friendly cement. To a tie of this kind distance 

of place and time does not lend enchantment. In letters 

the attractions of a personal individuality are lost^— 

unhappily people do not write as unaffectedly as they 

speak, and, for myself, the comment of the face is often far 

clearer than the text of the lips. Besides, long acquaint- 

ance shows the difference, as the first intimacy showed the 

similarity of our tastes. Some people can make formal 

replies to formal letters, but others, like myself, never repl)' 

with pleasure, seldom reply at all, to letters that affect 

them not like the presence of the writer, in the state they 

most admire, when the letter is read. I have known a 

.short note to electrify my lethargy so much that I immedi- 

ately replied under a sort of inspiration. The mutual 

sympathy constituting sentimental friendship in such 

circumstances was actively working. But, while assigning 

reasons for the shameful manner in which I drop the

Willie Gillies. 67 

correspondence with casual friends, let it not be thought 

that these are to be excuses for remissness and negligence 

in the case of life-long friends and intimate relations. 

Mine forgive me—except my cousin in Canada, who 

threatens to visit me with dire revenge when he returns 

but I do not forgive myself, nor advise anybody to imitate 

my failing. 

To be sure, I am a garrulous old man, or however could 

I write such a dawdling paragraph, when I meant merely 

to tell that on leaving Edinburgh I kept up a correspond- 

ence with Willie Gillies, which came to an untimely end by 

my habitual failing of forgetting to send punctual replies ? 

Two long letters I did punctually answer, and Willie, in 

after years, published them in the Journal of Jurisprudence, 

being, as he said, humorous dissertations on two greatly 

disputed maxims of Roman law. But the next letter from 

Willie was a dry formal thing, that propounded no ques- 

tions and merely thanked me for my last. He said he 

wrote in a hurry, and I thought he would at better leisure 

write again, but he did not. There was a silence of six 

weeks, and then I resolved to write ; only I resolved and 

did not do it. By and bye the casual acquaintance nearly 

dropped out of my mind, till one day in the midst of some 

meditation, that had no connection with the subject, Willie 

Gillies started up before my memory with a vividness and 

suddenness which impressed me strongly. I have no desire 

to discuss questions above my reach. The spiritual influ- 

ences external to man are not better understood or defined 

by civilized and learned men than by savages and children. 

The millions of invisible beings that walk the earth or 

traverse space are only quantities in the high problem of 

abstract life, which we presently cannot solve, although the 

philosopher and the child may equally believe in their 

existence. But there are internal impressions and powers 

of mind which force themselves perpetually forward in our 

experience of human life, and yet elude the analysis of 

reason and the grasp of investigation. The wonderful 

—


sympathies and antipathies that cannot be controlled by 

the judgment of the mind—the manifest but inscrutable 

way in which the mind influences and is influenced by 

others, and that also through none of the channels by which 

ties of material interest are formed and regulated, are some 

insoluble quantities of the sub-problem of life that concerns 

the present condition of man. In my own experience I 

have been often perplexed by the phenomena of memory 

pictures reproduced in odd ways. I find no satisfactory 

explanation in metaphysical writings. As far as the repro- 

duction of images of dead matter, scenery and such like, is 

concerned, I am satisfied with the association of ideas as 

the efficient cause. But I have frequently laboured in vain 

to discover any connection between the previous train of 

ideas and the abrupt recollection of an absent friend. It 

seemed to me as if my friend had a longing to confer with 

me, and through the mysterious agency of sympathy his 

wish raised a recollection of him in my mind. The 

incident which occurred to meat this time seems to confirm 

this view, nor does it stand alone in the experiences of 

myself and friends. 

When I dropped the drum ecclesiastic as previously 

narrated, I took to literary pursuits, which, in course of 

time, brought me competent remuneration. I dabbled a 

good deal in antiquarianism, and in my part of the country 

was accepted as quite an oracle, respecting family history 

and pedigrees. An accident gave me the chance of obliging 

a powerful patron. A title was on the point of going 

a-begging for heirs. The last of an old line was tottering 

childless to the grave. A difificulty happened as to who 

was heir of line. There were many claimants who traced 

their descent from a baron of the sixteenth century. After 

that time the lords of H had singularly small families, 

and although the line had remained unbroken for eight 

descents, it had seldom above a double strand, and now it 

was hanging by the last thread of one old man's life. 

There were six claimants descended from one man, the


brother of a lord in the days of James V. The difficulty in 

their case was to tell the priority of descent among themselves, 

and show that another cadet, whose place was 

chronicled in the family between the eldest brother and 

their common ancestor, died without lawful issue. 1 here 

was a gentleman who claimed descent from this middle 

brother, but he wanted proof of legal descent from the 

fountainhead. After the first link the chain of evidence 

was complete. Some persons advised him to apply to me. 

He did so, and I was able by the merest chance to supply 

the missing link. At the Reformation the records of the 

Scotch Papal Church and religious houses disappeared, and 

for a couple of centuries they were supposed to be almost 

entirely lost. Recent publications by antiquarian and 

learned societies prove the supposition wrong, and more 

proof is to come, for when the repositories of all the ancient 

families are searched, I believe i&w valuable records of the 

two centuries before the Reformation will be wanting, and 

1 shall not be extraordinarily surprised if an antique 

collection of Ossianic poetry should even turn up. Well, 

about the time that the question of succession of the lord- 

ship of H was beginning to be ventilated, a country 

gentleman with whom I was on friendly terms, put in my 

hand an old MS. volume which he had found in his family 

archives, and which he could not read. It was the 

chartulary of a religious house in the neighbourhood, and 

one of the consequences of its discovery was that the 

descendant of the middle brother completed his title, and 

that in less than two years, I was appointed to a public 

office through the influence of the new Lord H . I 

need not describe its nature further than to say that it 

obliged me to traverse a wide district in summer, and 

supplied literary lesiure and appliances in winter. The 

emoluments were not great but they were abundantly 

sufficient for my wants. 

Why should it be that when I was reading the official 

letter of my appointment, and receiving the congratulations


of my brother and sister-in-law, a painful recollection of 

negligence towards Willie Gillies should cross my mind ? 

Why should the impression be so strong that I hastened 

my intended visit to Edinburgh purposely in order to 

enquire after him ? If the reader refuse to accept the 

theory of extensive influences of sympathy which has been 

alluded to, I have no explanation to give. When I entered 

the eating-house at the usual dinner hour, the first glance 

satisfied me that no Willie was there. I asked the land- 

lord for information. The honest fellow shook his head 

and answered my enquiries in a way that did his kind 

heart credit : 

— 

" The puir callant—he's o'er guid for the world ! 

And 

he is o'er proud to be helpit. Ods sir, I am glad to see 

you, because Willie the day he left spoke about ye. He 

juist clean exhausted himself in that d office, trying to 

satisy the auld deevil of a lawyer by working double since 

he coudna pay the prentice fee. And when he was out o» 

the office it was nae better. His nose was atween the twa 

brods of a bulk, when it ought to hae been atween the 

blankets, and his head was racked with long-nebbit words 

when it ought to hae been dreaming of the wimpling burns 

of his ain couni-rie. Weel did the wise man say that 

muckle reading is a weariness to the flesh." 

" Has Willie left Edinburgh ?" 

" He has been ta'en awa." 

" Goodness gracious ! 

you 

don't mean to say he's dead ? 

Did you not say just now that he was living ?" 

" Weel, I hope he is leeving, but ye're sae hasty, sir. I'll 

tell ye it a' from the beginning if ye let me speak my ain 

gate. When ye went awa, he settled down to his buiks 

waur than ever. Exercise, ye ken, the bonnie daunders 

into the country and round by Arthur Seat was nae mair 

thocht off. Then cam a want of appetite, and a short 

hoast which told a clear tale that the puir laddie was 

pining awa. At last I was frichtened aboot the laddie's 

ailment, and sent the guid wife to the auld toon to speak


to his landlady. Lucky M'Kay, aboot him. The doited auld 

body said he was weel eneuch, but complained sairly that 

he sat up at nicht reading and burning her gas, for which 

she had nae amends. I dinna ken if I did richt, only a 

man maun dae his best to his fellow-creatures, and when I 

got the guid wife's report, I went to Lucky mysel' and gae 

her such a hearing for her hard-heartedness that 

she that verr.i nicht tauld Willie he would hae to quit at 

the end of the week for the imperance she had got on his 

account. I ken she was on the scent of a wealthier lodger, 

and, therefore, wished for an excuse. What could I think 

o' after this, but to offer him the spare room in my ain 

house. Fac' I wished to have him under the guid wife's 

e'e, 'cause I thocht he would quicker mend. She and 

Maggie did a' they could, but he became waur and waur, 

and the doctor (it was difficult to make Willie let me send 

for a doctor, puir bo}', because he had nae money) said he 

maun be sent awa to his friends in the country or else die. 

Sairly Willie prayed me to let him drag himsel' to the 

office when he could hardly stan' on his legs— aye, and 

could ye believe it ? he would not take the wine I freely 

offered him, until I was obliged to tell him the downricht 

truth that he would else die, and never be able to help his 

mother or repay his friends. I was put to it, sir, or I 

v.ouldna hae used sic words to the wilfu' bairn, who, when 

I put it in this licht, became quiet and obedient as a lamb. 

But a" wouldna dae. At last his mother came for him, and 

they went awa this day four weeks. He spoke of you, sir, 

and said to me that if ever he was better he would v/rite 

you, and if he died—weel, sir, I canna think o' Willie dee- 

ing, for he has been aff and on dining here for three years 

bypast, and we a' sae muckle liked him." 

The honest fellow drew his sleeve across his face, and 

never told me the end of Willie's message.


CHAPTER IV. 

On a comparison of dates it was clear that on the very day 

when, according to mine host's story, Willie Gillies had 

expressed a strong desire to see me, in the midst of other 

and different thoughts his image had strongly recurred to 

my memory far away in the country. When I made 

further inquiries, I found that not only the day, but the 

hour and minute coincided. In "Jane Eyre," Charlotte 

Bronte relates a similar incident with more striking details. 

The little recluse of Haworth had herself experienced what 

she describes. I dislike philosophising on circumstances 

like this, because they are not properly subject to the 

judgment or reason, since they are not consistent with the 

known laws of mind ; 

and 

the attributes of mind, or quali- 

ties external to mind, by which they are produced, remain 

a mystery. But I have much of the faith of a little child 

respecting many things " not dreamt of in our philosophy," 

and so I deemed the circumstance a sufficient reason for 

exchanging the district alloted for my peregrinations with 

a brother official, that I might have an opportunity of visit- 

ing Willie at his mother's home. 

My new district included stretches of Highland Border 

land, with which I was best well acquainted. I first 

traversed it in October. The weather was fine— frost 

by night, mist in the morning, and bright sunshine in the 

middle of the day. I always enjoy that kind of weather. 

The chill of the evening renders the "fire only the more 

pleasant, and the social circle cosier, nor is it unpleasant 

for a valetudinarian himself, if well wrapped up, to stroll 

out into the hoary frosted fields, and gaze upwards on the 

myriad stars. When that sheet of diamond-crystalised dew 

is liquified and evaporised by the level sunbeams, a blanket 

canopies the sky, but the red eye of day pierces through 

the covering, and we wait contentedly for its ultimate 

triumph. This kind of weather is to me exceedingly enjoy-

Willie Glilies. 73 

able. It combines winter and summer, without the severity 

of the first or the cheatery of the latter. Nor is the face of 

nature less interesting in its russet garb than in its gaudy 

robes of green. The sere and yellow leaf has its own 

poetry, and the withering ferns and darkening heaths their 

endless charms of colour. The brooks sing the hymn of 

the season—a thanksgiving for the past, a prophecy for the 

future. Look next at the animal world. How they enjoy 

the end of the summer weather? Nature, like a provident 

mother, gives them their rough winter coverings before 

winter actually comes. Sheep and cows, especially, seem 

quite aware of the value ot the gift, and it is wonderful how 

comfortably they prepare themselves for the evil dayc that 

are coming upon them. They lick up the soft herbage, as 

if intending to be victualled at once for six months, and 

.get up more impromptu fun among themselves at this time 

than at any other. The frnv natunc are similarly affected. 

Their coatings of wool, fur, hair, or feathers thicken and 

change colour in accordance with specific wants, but the 

careless creatures, instead of being made grave and demure 

by the signs visible in themselves of approaching storms 

and privat'ons, are as quietly, solemnly happy as if the 

millennium of animal nature had come. 

Well, I am like the lower animals myself in so far that 

I feel more thankful for present enjoyments than apprehensive 

of coming evils. When I left Edinburgh I was 

anxious to reach Willie's native village as soon as possible. 

I felt depres>ed about my young fViend. The scenery 

diverted my mind from the painful subject. I willingly 

allowed ils influence to control me, Whether it results 

from an originally hopeful disposition, or from the 

experience of long illness, in which the ceasing of pain was 

a real pleasure, I know not, but this I have learnt, that I 

can put off with much ease apprehensions of future evils 

like the careless animals that sport on the eve of winter. 

Through the romantic region fraught with mouldering 

memorials of centuries of strife—the native home of the

74 T-he Highland Monthly 

ballad-poet and clansman — I jogged along as 

pleasantly as if 1 did not expect to find my young friend 

dying. I have frequently thought that we have been 

naturally provided, not with an antidote, but with an opiate 

for sorrow, applicable for the mitigation of every grief, but 

the remorse of a self-accusing conscience. Perhaps, how- 

ever, my isolation in the social world prevents me from 

estimating the strength of grief under circumstances to 

which I have been a stranger. I know, however, that the 

practice of the peasantry confirms my personal experience, 

and that like myself and the ferce naiiiro!, they enjoy the 

fleeting hour of sunshine, and bravely trust heaven in the 

storm, be it of poverty or family affliction. 

When I reached the muirland village where Mrs Ellis 

resided, I left my horse at the inn (I forgot to say that I 

had a Government allowance for the expense of horse and 

gig for the road), asked the way to the widow's house, and 

directed m}- steps towards it at once. The question 

blistered my tongue, but some way I could not utter it 

Is Willie living ?" The talkative landlord would have 

told without asking, but I disliked to hear the worst from 

his lips, especially since he seemed to be a Boniface that 

had grown callous, drinking whiskey. The cottage to which 

I was directed was on the outskirts of a straggling village. 

As I stood by the garden fence, a girl came tripping from 

a rivulet at a little distance, carrying a pitcher of water, 

and accompanied by a merry boy, who was telling some 

drolleries that made both laugh. They approached the 

cottage. The boy, when he saw a stranger at their gate, 

suddenly sunk his voice, and hesitated to adva-^ce. The 

girl, who was older, took the lead. Here, I thought, are 

Willie's sister and brother. Kate was much as I imagined. 

Her eye had rather a roguish cast, but though the smile 

raised by her brother's jokes flitted yet about her lips, her 

face had signs of anxiety and care that were little in keep- 

ing with her buoyant step as she tripped from the well. I 

talked to the children, and soon learned their story. Kate 

—


answered me first. But when George had satisfied hi -self 

by a long-searching stare (children and uneducated people 

have a wonderful power of reading people by a steady 

perusal of their looks) that I was not a dangerous animal, 

he took the lead, and told me that their brother Willie had 

been poorly, but that he was now better, and had that day 

got out of bed the first time for a month. " And,'' he con- 

cluded, " Mamma and Kate and I ?.nd everybody are so 

glad." 

I was equally glad, and followed the children into the 

cottage, where I found Willie seated on a chair by the fire- 

side, propped up b\' cushions, and that everlasting 

Justinian in his hands. I was shocked at his appearance. 

His mother assured me, however, that he looked better 

that day, and that the medical men of the district said he 

would improve dail}' {{ he was well taken care of. 

" But," she said with tears, " that is easier said than 

done. We have nothing to give him that can do him good 

but our love. And m}' rich brother never thinks of our 

wants, while Willie will not let me receive money from 

neighbours that offer, and whom, tide what might betide, I 

would by and by repay." 

mother," remonstrated Willie, " do not speak 

thus. I will get sooner better on bread and milk than on 

" Oh ! 

anything else. I feel getting quite strong ; and in case I 

die it will make me miserable to leave you in debt." 

He appealed to me, telling their circumstances, and 

explaining that the mother's small annual allowance had 

been forestalled to pay the e.xpenses attendants on his ill- 

ness. Little George had gone out to herd to a farmer near 

to the village, but came daily to see his brother. Kate 

had, in order to help her mother, given up attendance at a 

school where she was training for governessing, and thus 

the economy of the whole little circle had been disturbed 

by the illness of the elder brother. The lad's recovery was 

retarded by his anxiety -ôt to be a burden, and by the 

want of generous diet, which his horror of debt prevented 

Mrs Gillies from procuring.


I liked Willie's independence, but stoutly contended 

that his mother was right, and that he must cease to 

struggle in the toils, and obey good advice for the sake of 

his friends. When I urged the latter consideration pretty 

strongly, Willie bent down his head, and two large tears 

fell on the pages of " Justinian." He was yielding, and I 

changed the subject. I cannot very well describe the con- 

versation that followed, but it must have been of a cheerful 

nature, for I remember that Willie laughed, that his mother 

smiled to see him laughs and that among the amusements 

of the evening, were a song volunteered by Kate, a droll 

story of an outwitted fox, told by George, and an 

unmeasured quantity of cheerful nonsense contributed by 

myself " A pretty account indeed," says the reader, " of a 

* sticket minister's ' idea 

of the proper conduct of Christians 

towards a sick or perhaps dying person." Well, I do not 

think it was according to rule, but I feel pretty certain that 

if it had been my last night with Willie, it would not have 

been ill spent. For is there aught derogatory to Christian 

faith and humble trust in strewing the path to the grave 

with flowers, and in making the most of the last ray of 

sunshine. Ladies and gentlemen, criticise as you like, but 

really I could not help feeling an expansion of heart that 

despised rules and formulas, when I found my young 

friend living and apparently in the wa}^ to recovery ; and 

besides, I have already let drop a hint or two to let you 

know that he did recover. 

It was late before I thought of going back to the inn, 

and, when I offered to depart, the mother, with the old- 

fashioned hospitality which still lingers in some outlandish 

corners, pressed me to stay in the cottage. George 

assured me that there was their grand red bed free to me, 

and Kate also added her wishes in a very energetic manner. 

I stayed because I had a request to make, which it seemed 

would be listened to with more respect if I accepted their 

hospitality. Well, I slept in a little neat room in the grand 

red bed, which was evidently a relic of manse life, bought

WiUie Gillies. yy 

when the young hopeful minister brought home his bride. 

There is often a history in furniture which tells strange ups 

and downs. Here was a most affecting one, and it somewhat 

saddened me to think how much depended on the 

recovery of Willie, in order to elevate the red bed to the 

dignity to which it was originally intended. George was a 

good-natured boy of no particular character, and what 

could the weak widow, or even the energetic Kate do in 

fighting with the world, except under the shield of the 

manly Willie. I resolved, at any rate, that whatever the 

medical man recommended he should have, in spite of his 

pride and scruples. I had about twenty pounds in my 

pocket, the amount received for articles published in a 

cheap magazine. On leaving home my sister-in-law told 

me to devote this sum to the decoration of my outer man. 

I resolved, however, to devote it to a better purpose, though 

I should go in one old coat to the end of my life. Willie 

resisted in vain. I was firm, and, I am afraid, told some 

white fibs about my wealth and prospects. The thing was 

done, and I departed, promising, on my return in the course 

of a month or so, to call at the village again, and see how 

Willie improved. I ain quite sure I kept up my official 

dignity, talked wisely to parochial authorities, and drank 

toddy with ministers and dominies as well in my old coat 

as I could have done in a new one.

7 he Highland Monthly. 

IRELAND BEFORE THE CONQUEST. 

IN 

1014-1 157.—STATE OF ANARCHY. FOREIGN INFLUENCE 

BEGINS TO PREVAIL. 

the previous chapter we have shown that during the 

one hundred and fifty-three years which intervened 

between the death of Brian Boroimhe and the arrival of 

the first band of Welsh and Norman adventurers, there 

was waged an almost continuous war between the families 

of O'Brien, O'Lochlan, O'Connor, and MacMurrough 

representing the provincial sovereignties of Munster' 

Ulster, Connaught, and Leinster— for the possession of 

the high kingship of Ireland. It is remarkable that during 

the whole period subsequent to the death of Malachy, none 

of his descendants or tribe appears as claiming the 

sovereignty, the alternate succession to which was their 

ancient right. This probably may be accounted for by the 

fact that there were internal divisions in the family. We 

read of frequent contests for the sovereignty of Meath, 

and of that province being divided into two kingdoms. 

None of the competitors except Roderick O'Connor 

attained beyond dispute the dignity for which they strove, 

and the name of none of them except Roderick is associ- 

ated with any great national event which lives in the 

recollection of their countrymen or of the people of other 

nationalities. Roderick is memorable as being the last 

who claimed the dignity, as having been crowned or 

inaugurated in Dublin, thus acknowledging the City of the 

Foreigner as the National Capital, and as having resigned 

his office to Henry II., and consented to hold his hereditary 

kingdom of Connaught as a vassal of the English Crown. 

There is no record during this time of the passing of any 

—

Ireland befoj'e the Conquest. 79 

law, or even of any attempt at regular or civilised govern- 

ment. That the high kingship was coveted, and held a 

powerful sway over the imaginations of Irishmen, is obvious 

from the incessant conflicts which were waged to attain the 

dignity ; but the dignity was a shadowy one, and its 

possession involved no real power. Each prince who 

attained it, or thought he had done so, took hostages and 

exacted tribute from the chiefs and princes who submitted 

to him. When he was at peace he lived in his own dune 

or rath in his own hereditary dominions—no doubt in a 

state of considerable barbaric pomp and magnificence ; 

and when at war he could call on his tributaries to bring 

their tribes to his assistance ; but he did not attempt to 

govern, did not attempt to control, his tributaries in their 

exercise of what they considered their kingly power in 

their own dominions or over their own tribes. The 

shadowy and merely nominal nature of the sovereignty is 

shown by the following passage in the Annals of Clonmacnoise, 

a record believed to be ancient, but which now 

exists only in a translation made in 1627 :— "The kings or 

chief monarchs of Ireland were reputed and reckoned to be 

absolute monarchs {i.e., supreme monarchs) in this manner ; 

if he were of Leigh-Con, or Con's half in deal, and one 

province of Leath-Moye, or Moyes half, he was reputed to 

be of sufficient power to be king of Tarogh or Ireland ; 

but 

if the party were of Leath Moye, if he could not command 

all Leath-Moye and Taragh, with the lordship thereunto 

belonging, and the province of Ulster or Connacht (if not 

both), he would not be thought to be sufficient to be king 

of all." From this passage it would appear that the 

tradition of sovereignty still lingered around Tara, but the 

annalists cease during the period of which we are treating 

to call the supreme king King of Tara, and the title is 

constantly applied to the princes of Meath, and even to 

the princes of that division of Meath in which Tara is 

situated.

8o The Highland Monthly. 

But the possession of the high kingship was not the 

only and perhaps not the principal cause of wars in Ireland 

during this time. There were wars almost as incessant 

between the O'Briens and Macarthys for the sovereignty 

of Munster, between the Northern Hy Niells and the 

Ulidians for the sovereignty of Ulster, and between the 

different branches of the families of Leinster and Meath 

for the sovereignty of these provinces. In addition to these 

there were wars between the subordinate chiefs or kings of 

districts such as Osraigh, Brefny, Orghialla, and others, 

who were now rising into importance, and acting independently 

of, and often in hostility to, the provincial kings 

to whom they were nominally subject, and there were wars 

instigated by the clergy in revenge for the violation of 

protection and sanctuary given by them, fightings between 

the clergy of different establishments, and armed conflicts 

for the succession to abbacies. 

One of these private wars, as we may call them, may be 

noticed, not because there was anything peculiar in its 

cause or in its incidents, but on account of the remarkable 

consequences to which it led. Dermot MacMurrough suc- 

ceeded his father as King of Leinster and of the Danes of 

Dublin some time before 1152. By Irish writers he is 

represented as a monster of lust, cruelty, and treachery; 

but whether, if he had not been the means of bringing the 

English into Ireland, he would have come down to 

posterity as worse in these respects than many of his 

neighbours may be doubted. He was, however, bad 

enough. On one occasion he violated the successor of St 

Bridget, or Abbess of Kildare, and on another occasion he 

blinded seventeen of the nobles of Leinster. In ".152, 

Dermot joined as an ally of O'Lochlan in a contest for the 

supreme sovereignty between O'Lochlan and O'Connor. 

In course of the war he invaded Brefny, a part of Meath, 

defeated O'Raurie, the king of that territory, and carried 

away his wife, with her cattle and furniture. He is said to 

have done this with the approval of the lady's brother, and

Ircla7id before the Conquest. 8i 

the interchange of \vives between Irish chieftains was at 

that time no uncommon event. O'Ruarie, however, never 

forgave the insult, and, as we have seen, he revenged him- 

self fourteen years afterwards by procuring the deposition 

of Dermot and his banishment beyond the sea. That at 

the time Dermot was not without friends and sympathisers 

may be seen from the following wail written on the margin 

of one of the pages of the Rook of Leinster :— " O Virgin 

Mary, it is a great deed that has been done in Erin this 

day, the Kalends of August, viz., Dermod, the son of 

Donach MacMurrough, King of Leinster, and of the Danes 

of Dublin, to have been banished over the sea eastwards 

by the men of Erin. Uch ! 

Uch 

! 

O 

Lord ! 

what 

shall I 

do?" 

The condition to which Ireland was reduced by the end 

of this period seems to have been one of absolute and 

complete anarchy. The annalists frequently deplore the 

condition of the country. In the annals of Loch Ce, under 

the year 1061, we read— " Numerous truly are the events 

of this year between slayings, plunderings, and battles. 

No one could relate them all, but only a few of many of 

them are related on account of the dignity of the people 

mentioned in them." There are similar entries in some of 

the other annals, and the Four Masters record under the year 

1 145 — "Great war in this year, so that Ireland was a 

trembling sod." In the later years of the period, and con- 

nected, we think, with a revolution or reformation in the 

church, which we shall afterwards notice, we find the clergy 

frequently interfering with the object of making and main- 

taining peace, and we are told that at one time Cellach, or 

Celsus, Bishop and Abbot of Armagh, was absent from 

Armagh for more than a year endeavouring to make peace 

among the men of Ireland. But their efforts had little or 

no effect. There is no single year from the battle of Clontarff 

till thi; arrival of the English in which the Four 

Masters do not record battles, plunderings, or outrages 

and during the whole one hundred and fifty-three x'ears 

6 

;


embraced in that period, they record 173 battles, 593 

murders or mutilatings of chiefs or ecclesiastics, and 473 

plundering expeditions, hostings and burnings of churches 

and monasteries. Many of the events which we class as 

murders were massacres of a considerable number of 

people, and it is to be borne in mind that the annals of the 

Four Masters deal chiefly with the province of Ulster, and 

omit many events relating tc other provinces which are 

recorded by other annalists. 

During the period of which we are treating, and no doubt 

as a result of the state of warfare and anarchy which pre- 

vailed, there grew up a custom among the Irish princes 

and chiefs of employing mercenaries in their inter-tribal 

wars. The custom probably originated with the Foreigners, 

who, as we have seen, were sometimes in the pay of the 

Irish kings, but instances become common of whole tribes 

hiring themselves out as soldiers to other tribes, and these 

were no doubt the origin of the kernes and gallowglasses 

who figure so largely in later Irish history. 

In the anarchy, and amid the decay of national life 

which prevailed during this period, it might be supposed 

that all appearances of civilisation would liave disappeared. 

This, however, was not entirely the case, and we even read 

of some indications of progress in the material arts. Such 

progress as there was, however, may now be traced to 

foreign influence. This influence entered Ireland mainly 

through the Church, which, as we shall show, fell entirely 

under that influence, and through the Danish cities, which, 

as trading communities, kept up a considerable intercourse 

with England and the Continent. There is even reason to 

suppose that in these cities the English language was 

spoken as early as 1014. The Irish historian of the battle 

of Clontarff, whom we have already quoted, tells that 

previous to the battle some sort of challenge to personal 

combat had passed between Donald Mormaer of Mar and 

and that during 

one of the leaders of the Danes of Dublin ; 

the battle this leader was heard calling for his adversary in

Ireland before the Conquest. 83 

tlie words, as the Irish writer gives them, " faras Domhnal," 

\\hich look vcr\' like " where's Donald." He also tells us 

that when Brodar and his attendant came in sight of Brian 

praying in rear of his host, the attendant, who knew the 

old monarch, called out " Cing, Cing"(King, King), and 

that Brodar answered " Prist, Prist." Building with stone 

and lime became common, and we read of streets and 

causeways being built in the cities which were arising 

around some of the great monastic establishments. Lime 

kilns were erected, and bridges were built. Gothic archi- 

tecture was introduced, and many ornate and beautiful 

churches were built, and Miss Stokes claim.s for the Irish 

the development of a distinct variety of style. Of the 

churches built during this time, the most beautiful, and 

probably the only one which now exists, is the building 

called Cormack's Chapel in Cashel. This chapel, the Four 

Masters tell us, was built by Cormac MacCarthy in 11 34, 

and consecrated by a s}'nod of the clergy of Ireland, but 

notwithstanding this distinct record, some Irish writers 

fondly attributed it to Cormack MacCuilenan, the famous 

King and Bishop of Cashel, who flourished two hundred 

\'ears earlier. If new churches were built, however, some 

old ones went into decay, and we read that in 1 125 Cellach 

put a roof of shingles on the great stone church of Armagh, 

which had been without a roof for thirty years. 

Another instance of foreign influence was the intro- 

duction of feudal ideas. The claimants to the high king- 

ship and other greater princes now assumed the right to 

make grants of the lands and of the chieftaincy of the 

subordinate territories. There are frequent notices of such 

grants, and we are told that Roderick O'Connor divided 

the territory of the Northern Hy Niells into two parts, 

giving one part to Nial O'Lochlan for two hostages, and 

another part to Aedh O'Neill for other two hostages. And 

of another claimant to the high kingship we read that he 

divided the land of Ireland, and thus showed that he was 

king.


Written charters, too, were coming into use. In the 

Book of Kells there are seven charters in the Irish 

language said to have been copied into that book in the 

twelfth century, but all relating to grants of land made 

between 102 1 and 11 57. These documents are more 

however, in the nature of records of verbal grants, with the 

names of the witnesses and sureties, than of actual grants 

in writing. But there are also extant some regular Latin 

charters by Irish princes, being all foundation charters of 

ecclesiastical establishments. There is also a charter by 

the Danish King of Limerick in 1 169, in which, in addition 

to other pertinents of the land, fishings and mills are 

mentioned. 

It was through the Church, however, as we have said, 

that foreign influence principally made itself felt, and that 

the way for the conquest was prepared, and how this came 

about we shall endeavour to narrate in the next chapter. 

[to be CONTINL'En.]

Gene7'al Monc/Ss Campaign. 85 

THREE UNPUBLISHED DESPATCHES 

FROM GENERAL MONCK, 

DESCRIBING HIS MILITARY OPERATIONS IN THE 

HIGHLANDS IN 1654. 

15v \VILLL\M MACKAV, Solicitor, Inverness.i 

ENERAL MONCK'S campaign in the Highlands in 

C"^ ^ 1654 has strangely escaped the notice of Scottish 

historians. Except by Hill Burton, who only refers to his 

operations in the Southern Highlands, and evidently did 

not know of his expedition into the counties of Inverness 

and Ross, it was not even alluded to until Mr Julian 

Corbett published his interesting life of Monck, in 

1889 ("English Men of Action Series"). The following 

despatches, which have never been published, throw a flood 

of light on the event, and show what a brilliant affair it 

was. The transcripts are taken from Monck's own copies, 

which are preserved in the Library of Worcester College, 

Oxford—and for them I am indebted to the courtesy of 

the Rev, the Warden of the College, and the Librarian. 

A few words by way of introduction to the despatches. 

Although the Scots surrendered Charles the First to the 

English Parliamentary Party, they disapproved of his execu- 

tion, and brought his son, Charles the Second, home to reign 

in his stead. The new King's supporters were, however, 

defeated by the English at Dunbar, in June, 1650, and 

again at Worcester, in September, 165 1. After Worcester, 

Cromwell's soldiers over-ran the greater part of Scotland, 

and ruled the country—establishing, among other garrisons, 

one at Inverness—at the Citadel, or Sconce—and another 

at Brahan. Certain Highland chiefs, however, including 

Lochiel and Glengarry, still held out for the Stewarts, and 

^ Read before the Gaelic Society of Inverness.

86 7 he Highland Monthly 

when the Earl of Glencairn raised the Royal standard, in 

1653, they hastened to join him. Glencairn wasted time 

in aimless marches, and before long he had to yield the 

chief command to the more .energetic General Middleton. 

Lilburne, who commanded Cromwell's forces in Scotland, 

proved, notwithstanding the famous Colonel Morgan's 

assistance, unable to suppress the Royalist rising. Crom- 

well, therefore, resolved to put a stronger man in his place, 

and in April, 1654, Monck arrived at Dalkeith, in the 

capacity of Governor of Scotland, and armed with the 

fullest powers. 

He at once prepared to follow the Royalists into the 

Highlands. In May he moved to Stirling, from whence 

he advanced into the district of Aberfoyle, where, after 

repeated repulses, he dispersed the forces of Glencairn. 

He then marched northward to meet Middleton—having 

arranged that he should be joined by Morgan, who was 

stationed at Brahan, and by Colonel Brayne, who was 

despatched to bring 2000 men from Ireland to Inverlochy. 

His movements were extraordinarily rapid. He started 

from St Johnstone's (Perth) on Friday, 9th June, with a 

force of horse and foot, which included his own regiment, 

now the famous Coldstream Guards. I shall allow himself 

to tell the rest of the story ; and the accompanying map, 

which has kindly been prepared by Mr James Fraser, C.E., 

will help us to follow his footsteps. The first despatch is 

addressed to General Lambert, from Glenmoriston, on 25th 

June ; 

on 7th July ; and 

29th July. 

the second, to Cromwell, from Ruthven in Badenoch, 

the third, to Cromwell, from Stirling, on 

I.—MONCK TO LAMBERT. 

My Lord,—We are now come thus farre for the findingout 

of the Enemy, and have received information that 

Middleton is with the greatest parte of his force, reported 

to bee betweene three and foure thousand, at Kintale which 

is about 18 miles hence, where I intende to bee this day, 

and if possible either engage or scatter them. However, I 

shall with these Forces attend his motions to prevent his

or o^^sÂ^ Mo^c^'s cÂ^^^^

General Mouc/Ss Canipaiiû. 89 

further leavies. Col. Brayne was with mee (with y^ Marquesse 

of Argile) on Thursday last at the foot of Lough 

Loughee, 6 miles from Inner Loughee, where hee hath 

entrencht those forces hee brought from Ireland. 

I remain yr. Lordshippe's most humble servt., 

Caiiipe at cnenmoniston, 25 June 1654. 

II.~M()XCK TO CROMWELL. 

Gfc;oRGE MoNXK. 

Ma\' itt please your Highnesse, 

Wee are now returned back thus farre after the 

Enem)' under Middleton, who by a teadious march have 

both Highlanders and 

harras't out their horse very much ; 

Lowlanders begin to quitt them. They are now about 

Dunkell, butt wee heare they intend to march towards the 

Head of Lough-Lomond, wee shall doe our best to overtake 

them in the Reare, or putt them to a very teadious 

march, the which wee hope will utterlie breake them. I 

desire your Highnesse will be pleased to give order That 

care may bee taken that the Irish forces that are att 

Loughaber may continue there, for a yeare : I finde they 

are very unwilling, being they were promist (as they say) 

to returne within 3 or 4 Monthes, but being that providence 

hath ordered That that partie should come into those parts 

itt will bee a great deale of trouble to shippe them away, 

& to shippe other men to Releive them in that place ; and 

truly the place is of that Consequence for the keeping of a 

garrison there for the destroying of the stubbornest enemy 

wee have in the Hills, that of the Clan Cameron's and 

Glengaries, and the Earle of Seafort's people, that wee shall 

not bee able to doe our worke unlesse wee continue a 

in case we should with- 

For Garrison there for one yeare ; 

draw that Garrison towards the winter from thence these 3 

clans doe soe over awe the rest of the clans of the Country 

that they would bee able to inforce them to rise, in case 

wee should withdraw our garrisons, and nott find them 

imployment att home the next Summer before there will 

bee any grasse for us to subsist in the Hills : In case we 

should putt in some of our owne forces there and return 

the others into Ireland wee shall not have shipping to doe 

both, besides the unsetling of one and setling the other will 

be a great inconvenience to us : 

This 

I thought fitt 

humbly to offer to your Highnesse, concerning which I 

shall humbly desire to have your Highnesse speedy Answer


what you intend to doe with the Irish forces, and in case 

you doe intend the Irish forces shall stay there, I desire 

you will please to write to L. Col. Finch who commands 

the Irish Forces under Col. Brayne that they may stay 

there, for I finde they are something unwilling unless they 

putt your Highnesse to that trouble & therfore now the 

letter may be speeded to him as soone as may be if your 

Highnesse thinke fitt. Col. Morgan is att present about 

ye Bray of Marre, & Col. Twisleton neere Glasgowe with 

Col. Pride's Regiment. 

Campe at Rulhven in Badgenoth, 

7 July 1654. 

I remain, &c., 

George Monck. 

III.- MONCK TO CROMWELL. 

May itt please your Highnesse, 

Being returned hither 1 thought itt my duty to 

present your Highnesse with the enclosed acct. of these 

forces' six weeks march in the Hills, which I humbly tender 

to your consideration, and remayne, 

Your Highnesses most humble Servent, 

George Monck. 

Sterling, 29'h July, i6s4. 

Narraiive of Proceedings in the Hids from fune p to 

2g July, 16j^. \Êndorseinenti\ 

Uppon Friday the 9th of June I marched with Col. 

Okey's, and the Regiment of Horse late Major Generall 

Harrison's, and 50 of Capt. Green's troope of Dragoones, 

my owne. Col. Overton's, 4 companies of Sir Wm. Constable's, 

one of Col. Fairfax's, and one of Col. Alured's 

Regiment of Foote, from S. Johnston's for the Hills, and 

coming uppon the 12th to Lough Tay. Understanding that 

an Island therein was garrison'd by the Fnemy I sent a 

summons to the Governour, Capt. Donald Robertson, who 

att first returned answer. That hee would keepe itt for his 

Majistie's service to the expence of his laste droppe of 

bloud, but uppon the preparation of floates for the storming 

of itt, he rendred the Garrison uppon articles the 14th of 

June, whereuppon considering that Balloch the Laird of 

Glenury's^ House, Weem's Castle, and the Isle were con- 

' Glenorchy.

General MoucISs Campaign. 91 

siderable to secure the Country, I placed a Company of 

Foote in Ballock, and another in Weems and the Isle. The 

Enemy having quitt Garth Castle, a small Castle and nott 

considerable, leaving 30 armes (most charged) behinde 

them order was given for the burning of itt. From thence 

I marched to Ruth\ en in Badgenoth, where I had notice of 

Middleton's being w ith his whole force about Glengaries 

Bounds, which hasten'd m}- March the 20th to Cluny, and 

from thence the next day to Glenroy, which being the first 

Bounds of the Clan Camerons I quarter'd att, and they 

being uppe in armes against us, wee began to fire all their 

houses. I had there notice Middleton was in Kintalc. 

The 23th the Marquesse of Argyll and Col Brayne mett 

mee att the Head of Lough Loughe and had an account of the 

killing of threescore and odde of the Souldiers from Ireland 

that went from Innerloghee, most of them in cold bloud by 

the Clan Cameron's. The 24th the armie came to Glenmoriston, 

and in the way mett with Col. Morgan's Brigade 

neere Glengaries new House which was burn't b\- that 

Brigade the day before, and the remayning structure I 

order'd to bee defaced by the pyoneers. Col. Thomlinson's 

owne troope with Capt. Glynn's and Capt. Farmer's troope 

of Dragoones taken in to march with my partie. Col. 

Morgan appointed to the Head of Loughnesse to attend the 

Enemies motion in case wee should drive them that way. 

The 25th the army came to Glenquough, and the next day 

to Glen-Sinnick^ in Kintale (where the Enemy had bin the 

day before). The violent stormes in the Hills drove about 

500 cowes sheepe and goates for shelter into the Glen, 

which were brought in by the soulders. Wee had notice 

that Middleton's Horses were gone to Glenelg that night. 

The 27th the Army came to Lough-Els,- where the Enemy 

had also bin, and left 3 barrells of powder with some store 

of provisions behinde them for haste. In all our march from 

Glenroy wee burn't the houses and cottages of the Mac- 

Martin's and others in 

Country. 

armes and in all parts of Scafort's 

The 29th I came to Glenteugh ' in the Shields of 

Kintale ; 

the night was very tempestuous and blew downe 

1 Glen-Sinnick or Glen-Finnick : not now known. The Rev. Mr Morison 

of Kintail thinks it must have been Glengynate, which was probably the old 

name of the Glen through which the Inate runs. 

- Loch-Alsh— that is, the southern shore of the arm of the sea called 

Lochalsh. 

^ Glenteugh : probably Lon Fhiodha, on the way from Kintail to Glen- 

strathfarar.

92 The Uii^hland iVlonthly. 

most of the tents. In all this march wee saw only 2 

women of the inhabitants, and one man. The 30th the 

army march't from Glenteugh to Browling, 1 the way for 

neere 5 miles soe boggie that about 100 baggage horses 

were left behinde, and many other horses begg'd or tir'd. 

Never any Horse men (much lesse an armie) were observ'd 

to march thnt way. The souldiers mett with 500 cattell, 

sheepe, and goates, which made some part of ameends for 

the hard march. 

July I. Col. Morgan came to mee to Browling where 

he had orders to march into Caithnesse, and to make itt 

unserviceable for the Enemies Quarters this Winter. The 

3d instant att Dunneene "- 

neere Invernesse I received 

letters from the Governour of Blaire Castle in Atholl, That 

Middleton with his forces reputed about 4000 Horse and 

Foote came within the view of the Garrison indeavouring 

to make uppe their leavies, and were marching towards 

Dunkell. That Seafort, Glengary, Sir Arthur Forbes, Sir 

Mungoe Murray, Mac-Cloude, and others were left behinde 

to perfect their leavies in Sir James Mac-Donalds bounds 

in Skye Island, and Loughaber. The 6th Col. Morgan 

came to mee att Fallaw,'^ neer Inverness, and had orders to 

march back towards the Bray of Maur to attend the 

Enemies motion, myselfe intending to follow them through 

Atholl. The 7th, 8th, and 9th, the army continued marching, 

and came the loth neere Weems Castle. Col. Okey 

was sent out with a part)- of 200 Horse and 250 Foote to 

discover the Enemy, who wee heard were marching fro.n 

Garuntilly towards Fosse : Some of his partie alarum'd 

the Earle of Atholl's forces, kill'd 3 and brought away 4 

prisoners. Having staid att Weems the i ith for the taking 

in provisions wee march't the 12th to Lawers : Middleton 

was the day before att Finlarick att the Head of Lough 

Tay, and burn't that House belonging to the Laird of 

Glenurqy. The 14th, marched from Glendowert to Glenloughee 

about 16 miles. In the evening the Enemy under 

Middleton were discovered by our Scouts, marching in 

Glenstrea and firing the Country as they went (having 

risen from before the House of Glenurqy in Loughoe,^ be- 

^ Brouline, in Glenstrathfarar. 

- The fact that Monck was at Dunain seems to show that from Glenstrathfarar 

he marched up Strathglass, and down through Glen-Urquhart, to 

Inverness. 

•* Faillie, in Strathnairn. ^ Loch Awe.

General Monc/Ss Campaign. 93 

fore which the}' had layne 2 dayes, and had made some 

preparations to storm itt, The Marquesse of Argyll and 

Glenurqy being in it). But uppon the view of some few of 

our forces they dispersed severall wayes, our men being to 

passe over an high hill towards them, and night approaching 

could not engage them, they left behinde them divers 

of their baggage horses with portmantuats and provisions, 

some of them march't that night to Rannogh above 16 

miles, by which time they were reduc't from 4000, which 

they were once reported to bee, to lesse than 2000. The 

next day I marched to Strasfellon, where the Marquesse of 

Argyll mett mee and declar'd his resolution to use his 

horses that morning. 

They took 4 of his 

The 19th Major Keme of Major 

Generall Harrison's late Regiment with a partie of Horse 

being sent out to discover the Enem)% whose scouts 

alarum'd them, and hasten'd their march from Rannogh 

towards Badgenoth, soe that 

my march towards Glen-lion 

the next day July 20 uppon 

\\ee had newes by one who 

brought away Middleton's padde nagge. That Col. Morgan 

had the day before mett with Middleton's Horse and routed 

them neere Lough-Gary, which was confirmed by about 25 

prisoners taken this night and brought in, and among the 

rest Lt. Col. Peter Hay (who lately escaped out of Edinburgh 

Castle), Capt. Graham, and others. Major Bridge 

was sent out with 130 Horse and Dragoons towards Lough 

Rannogh to fall upon the straglers, and returned the next day 

to the Campe neere Weems having falne uppon a partie of 

Horse and Foote under Atholl, tooke some prisoners, much 

baggage, and amongst the rest Atholl's portmantua, clothes, 

linnen, his Com'isn from Ch. Stuart [Charles the Second], 

divers letters from him and Middleton and other papers of 

Concernment, Atholl himself narrowlie escaping. 

The 23d at the Campe neere S. Johnston's I had letters 

from Col. Morgan of the defeate of Middleton's partie above 

300. Horse taken with his commission and instructions 

from Charles Stuart and other considerable papers. Alsoe 

Kenmore's^ sumpter horse. The number of the Enemy was 

800 horse, uppon whose route 1200 foote which they had 

within 4 miles alsoe fled towards Loquaber. The number 

indeavours to oppose the Enemy : 

taken and kill'd is nott yett sent, but divers of those which 

escaped are much wounded ; 

^ L'lrd Kenimirc. 

and amongst the rest some of

94 • 

^-^^ HigJiland Monthly 

the prisoners report that Middleton had the States Marke. 

Wee are now come hither where wee shall stay some fewdays 

for refreshment. Some small parties of the Enemy 

are abroad in the country, and on Munday and Tuesday 

nights last burn't Castle Campbell, an House belonging to 

the Marquesse of Argyll, and Dunblain a Garrison kept b\' 

us last Winter, and say they have orders from Middleton 

to burne all the stronge Houses neere the Hills. On Tuesday 

I intend to march hence towards Lough Lomond neere 

which place Glencairne hath layne all this while with about 

200 Horse, and I heare that Forrester Mac-naughton and 

others are joyned with him about Abrifoyle and make him 

uppe 500 Horse and Foote, whome I shall also indeavour to 

disperse. 

I shall only add that Monck's expedition into the 

Loch Lomond district was attended with complete success, 

and that he was able to return to his headquarters at 

Dalkeith by the end of August. As Governor of Scotland 

he did much good ; and he became so popular with the 

Highlanders that when, after the death of Cromwell, he 

marched into England to bring about the Restoration of 

Charles the Second, Lochiel, for \\-hom he had an intense 

admiration, was able to attach himself to his staff, and ride 

with him to London.

THE 

An Gleann 's an robh 95 

AN GLEANN 'S AN ROBH MI OG. 

LE NIALL MACLEOID. 

follovvinf^ is an attempt to make your Englisii 

readerc acquainted with the grace and beauty of one 

of our most popular Gaeh'c songs, so far as that is possible 

through the medium of a translation. I am quite alive to 

the fact that the translation is not equal to the original, 

but it may serve the purpose already indicated. 

AN GLEANN 'S AN ROHH MI OG MY BONN if: NATIV 

'N UAIR 'philleas ruinn an sanihradh, 

Bidh jrach lioire 's crann fodli chruic ; 

Na h-eoin air bharr nam meanglan 

'Deanamh raithreim bhinn le 'n ceul ; 

A' chlann bheag a ruith le fonn 

Mu gach tom a' buain nan ros 

— 

B' e mo mhiann a bhi 's an am sin 

Anns a' ghleann 's an robh mi ug. 

Anns a' ghleann 's an robh mi 6g, 

Anns a' ghleann 's an robh mi og, 

B' e mo mhiann a bhi 's an am sin 

Anns a' ghleann 's an robh mi og. 

'.S a' mhaduiun 'n am dhuinn diisgadh, 

Bhiodh an driiichd air bharr an fheoir; 

A' chuthag 'us gug-gug aic' 

Ann an doire dliith nan cno ; 

Na laoigh og' a' leum le sunnt, 

'S ag cur smuid air feadh nan Ion ; 

Ach cha 'n fhaicear sin 's an am so 

Anns a' ghleann 'a an robh mi og. 

Anns a' ghleann, &c. 

FIONN. 

When the simmer bricht returnin', 

Decks each grove and biiddin' tree; 

When the birds amang the branches 

Are a' pipin' loud and free ; 

An' the bairnies, fu' o' glee, 

Pu' the roses in the den, 

O, 'twere dear delight tae wander 

In ny honnie native glen. 

In my bonnie native glen, 

III my bonnie native glen, 

O, 'twere dear delight tae wander 

In my bonnie native glen. 

At the early peep o' mornin', 

When the grass was wat wi' dew, 

Amang the woods o' hazel 

Gaily sang the shy cuckoo ; 

— 

Au' the calves, clean daft wi joy, 

Gaed a' friskin' roun' the pen 

Now we've nae sic scenes o' gladness 

In mj' bonnie native glen.

96 The Highlajid Monthly. 

'N hm an cruinneachaidli do 'n 

bhuailidh 

li' e mo luaidh a bhi 'n an coir ; 

Bhiodh a duanag aig gach guanaig, 

Agus cuach aice 'n a dorn ; 

Bhiodh mactalla 'freagairt shiias— 

E ri aithris fuaim a beoil— 

Ach cha chkiinnear sin '^ an iim so 

Anns a' ghleann 's au robh mi og. 

Anns a' ghleann, &e. 

Ann an dubhlachd gharbh a'gheamh- 

raidh 

Cha b' e am 'bu ghainn' ar spurs ; 

Greis air siigra:lh, greis air dannsa, 

(jreis air cainntireachJ 'us ce61 ; 

Bhiodh gach seanair acsmhor, liath, 

'G innse sgialachdan gun gho 

Air gach gaisgeach fearail, greannmhor 

Bha 's a'ghkann 'n u.iir 'bha iad 6g. 


Bha de sholas dheth gach seors' ann 

'Chumadh oigridh ann am fonn ; 

Cha robh uisge, muir, no mointeach 

Air an comhdach bho ar bonn ; 

Ach an diugh tha maor 'us lann 

Air gach alltan agus 6b ; 

Cha' n 'eil saorsa sruth nam beanntan 

Anns a' ghleann 's an robh mi 6g. 


Tha na flirdaichean 'u am fasaich, 

Far an d' ^lraicheadh na se6id, 

Far 'm bu chridheil fuaim an gixire, 

Far 'm bu chairdeil iad mu 'n bh6rd. 

Far am faigheadh coigreach bhigh, 

Agus h,nrach bochd a Ion ; 

Ach cha 'n fhaigh iad 'sin 's an am so 

Anns a' ghleann 's an robh mi 6g. 

Ann.s a' ghleann, &c. 

Chaochail maduinn ait ar n-6ige 

Mar an cc6 air bhirr nam beann ; 

Tha ar cairdean 's ar luchd-eolais 

Air am f6gradh 'bhos 'us thall ; 

• 

When the lasses gaed a fauldin,' 

Aft I joined the merry thrang, 

In their hands their milkin' coggies, 

An' fra ilka voice a sang ; 

When the echoes, sweet an' clear, 

Wad gie answer frae the ben 

— 

But we hear nae mair their liltin' 


In the glocmy winter e'enin's 

Roun' the ingle gathered a', 

An' wi' music, mirth, an' dancin', 

Thert; we wiled the hours awa. 

Or the auld folks aiblins tauld 

O' the brave and mighty men, 

That were ance the pride an' glory 

O' my bonnie native glen. 

There was routh o' sport an' pleasure 

Tae keep a' the young in glee. 

For the loch, the moss, the muirlan', 

Then tae a' alike were free. 

Now the bailiff's keepin' ward 

On each streamlet, cref;k, an' fen, 

An ye daurna fish a burnie 


Now the dwellings are in ruins, 

Where ance lived a gallant clan ; 

Their's was aye the frien'ly welcome, 

And their's aye the open han'. 

Aft the needy an' the puir 

Found a place at their fire-en' 

Now, alas ! there's nane tae greet 

them 


Like mist upon the mountains 

Our youlhfu' days did glide ; 

Now oor kin an' auld acquaintance 

Are scattered far an' wide ;

An Gleann ^s an robh mi og. 97 

Tha cui

98 The HifÎdand Monihh. 


AND 



CHAPTER V. 

Lower Room in Hospital used as a Grammar School.—Petition of Laying; 

Schoolmaster for Lodgings in the Hospital. —Petition Granted.— Laying'.s 

Claim for Repayment of Outlay on his Chambers.—Dispute as to Riglit 

to Appoint New Schoolmaster.— Session Appoint Man previously 

appointed by Magistrates and Council.—Claim by Interim Schoolmaster. 

—James Dunbar, Treasurer, 1712-1719.—Duties of Hospital Treasurer 

recorded.—Zeal of New Treasurer.—His further Protest.—Protest well 

founded.— Patrons chosen by Session to nominate Eight Poor Persons 

under Provost Dunbar's Second Mortification.—Inventory of Papers 

relative to Provost Dunbar's Two Mortifications made in 1719.—Bequest 

of Lands of Diriebught to Kirk-Session.—Purposes of this Trust. 

Former Owners of these Lands.— Earlier Resolution of Kirk-Session to 

invest part of Hospital Stock in " Soiled" Land.—Purchase thereof by Mr 

George Duncan.—Tack of said lands to Mackay of Scourie. 

'"T^HE room, however, at the south end of the lower 

X floor must have been used as a Grammar School, as 

directed ; for we find the following entry in the Session 

Records on 24th January, 17 10: 

The sd day Mr John Laying, Master of the Grammar SchooU in Inver- 

ness, gave in a Petition craveing that the Session (as Patrons of the Hospitall) 

would be pleased to allowe and grant him libertie to possess the Chamber 

above the school with the closet thereto belonging, both being fire rooms, in 

the south end of the Hospitall, to the end he might better attend his school 

and wait upon the Librarie ; the Session, taking the same into consideration, 

and seeing that none of the hospitall poor did possess the same and being 

vacant, did grant the Petitioner's desire, and hei-eby allovvs the said Mr John 

— 

to possess the same during the vacancie and their pleasure. 

It may be noted in passing that, at the same meeting, 

it was " ordered that James Thomson, Hospitall Thesaurer, 

repair all the windows of the Hospitall with the first con- 

venience." 

—


It does not appear that any member of the Session 

pointed out that, if " none of the hospitall poor did possess 

the same," it was owing to the Session having omitted to 

place any of them therein in accordance with the will of the 

Alortifier. 

Somewhat later, on 19th August, 171 2, the same Mr 

Laying " signified that he had demitted his charge of the 

Grammar School," and besides claiming ^,25 Scots, salary 

due to him, he stated " that for his own accommodation he 

had expended upon the chambers of the Hospitall, some 

time possessed by him, the summ of fiftie-eight shillings 

sevenpence sterling, craving payment and repetition." The 

Session agreed to pay him the amount of salar\' due, but 

were " to consider the other claim." 

In the November of the same }'ear a dispute arose as to 

the appointment of a new master to the Grammar School, 

the Magistrates and Town Council claiming the exclusive 

right, the Session a joint right with them. ]\Ir Stuart, 

minister of the Third, or Gaelic, charge, protested, and 

among other reasons gave this one, viz. :— " That the Session 

have the right of disposing of the schoolhouse is clear by 

Provost Dunbar's Deed of Mortification." 

The course adopted to get over the difficult}- is amusing. 

At the next meeting the Session considered " this protest, 

but finding that the Magistrates and Town Council insisted 

on their right, and had called a Mr James Mackenzie, 

schoolmaster at Ferntosh, to be master of the Grammar 

School here, and that without ad\ice or consent of the 

Session, yet for peace sak and eviting of Jarres, the Session 

have agreed to call the said Mr Jas. Mackenzie to be 

schoolmr. at Invs., and referre him to the Presbytrie to be 

tryed according to Act of Parliamentt hereanent." 

A little later, but not during the treasurership of James 

Thomson, we learn that on 19th January, 17 14, Mr Jas. 

Mackenzie, schoolmaster, makes a claim for a year's salary, 

and a Mr Alex. Mackenzie " petitions for i^5 Scots due to 

him for attending the Grammar School during that interval!

lOO The Highland Monthly. 

of Mr John Laying's demission and Mr Jas. Mackenzie, his 

entry." Also on ist June, 171 5, we find the schoolmaster 

and the session-clerk again complaining of their salaries not 

having been paid, and mention made that " the penaltie 

money is the fund to clear them." 

The Grammar School continued to be in the Hospital 

House, until it was superseded in 1792 by the Royal 

x^cademy : hence the name " The Old Academy." 

The successor of James Thomson as Hospital Treasurer 

was James Dunbar, who was chosen to that office on 8th 

January, 17 12, and is described in the minute of that date 

as James Dunbar, mercht., younger, in Inverness and one of 

the elders. He did not, however, enter on his duties till 

about Martinmas : for a Minute of Session of 25th 

November, 17 12, records " James Dunbar, who had not yet 

officiate as Treasr. though chosen," was formally appointed 

and empowered by the Session " to uplift annual rents due 

to the hospital, and secure sums of money due where the 

cautionrie is like to expire, to give tacks of milns or fishing 

belonging to them, and when need is to pursue for removal! 

and finally to doe everie thing competent for the good of 

the poor aggreable to the Mortification made in their favour, 

and every other thing which former Treasurers were 

empowered to doe in a conformatie with the instructions, 

contained in the Hospitall Book." 

He had charge of the Hospital Accounts as Treasurer 

from Whit. 1 712 to Marts. 17 19. 

The new Treasurer seems to have been resolved from 

the first to act up to his instructions. It was soon after he 

entered upon his duties that the memorandum for the 

opinion of counsel above cjuoted was drawn up, and we find 

him following up the protest he made in September, 171 1, 

about the Hospital House, by a still stronger protest on 

7th April, 17 1 3, against the mode in which the funds were 

being dealt with, as well as the rooms in the building. 

He states, inter alia, that " Provost Dunbar during his 

lifetime had placed Bedmen in the Hospital," and that " in.

The Hospital of Invei'ness. 

one of his mortifications of 2000 merks left for subsisting of 

the poor he appoints the )'early annl. rent thereof to be 

bestowed on such poor persons as shall be brought in to the 

said house." He also refers to the terms of the Provost's 

own Mortification of the Hospital, regarding which, as he 

reminds them, " The Provost causes record it in the Hospital 

Book, and subscribes it with b.is own hand." 

He refers to the instructions given by the Session to 

him, on admission as Treasurer, " strict!)' to observe the 

will of the dead," and also to his " liaving consulted an 

expert ad\-ocat in Edmburgh. how he should obtain 

possession of the uppermost storic for which he had applied 

to the Magistrates and Council." 

He expresses " surprise that while he was in Edinburgh, 

discharging his trust, the Session had placed in the lower 

storie a man whom they could not pretend to be a bedman" 

[evidently the schoolmaster] " and that without waiting for 

the ke\- which was in his" [Dunbar's] "house ; and a man 

who had latel}- entered a publick charge disagreeable to 

your constitution, and \\ithout the legall tr\'all and qualifi- 

cation appointed by Act of Parliament and Articles of the 

Union," and much more of similar purport. 

The Session deferred consideration. At the next meeting 

the Treasurer produced Provost Dunbar's papers and 

evidences anent the Hospital, which were considered, but 

the Session " did not conclude upon an answer till next 

meeting." The matter then seems to ha\-e been allowed to 

drop. 

Enough has been quoted from Provost Dunbar's papers 

to show that Treasurer James Dunbar's contention was 

perfectly right ; and 

all that he stated is confirmed by the 

two bonds of corroboration granted by James Dunbar in 

1703, which narrate the purposes for which Provost Alex. 

Dunbar mortified both the sums of 2000 merks each. On 

the occasion of his Protest he thus summarises the purposes 

for which they were given, viz., " One of them for subsisting 

of the poor, the annual rent thereof to be bestowed on such

I02 The Highland Monthly. 

poor persons as shall be brought into the said house, and 

does appoint dykes to be built to the Hospital yard for the 

accommodation of those that shall happen to live within 

that house and in the close thereof ;" and the other for eight 

poor persons, in which deed apparently there occurred these 

words, " I conjure the Patrons and others concerned, as the}- 

shall be answerable to the Great and Eternal God, Father, 

Son, and Holy Ghost, to be faithful and true in their 

administration, and to keep my will and mortification 

unviolable and unalterable to all intents and purposes :" and 

the Treasurer argues " by which it is evident that the said 

Provost Dunbar appointed the said house for lodging of 

the poor, and not for to be set on rent, or bestowing it for 

private use." 

In the following year, on 2nd March, 1714, the Treasurer 

pointed out " that there had been no patrons chosen for 

Provost Dunbar's Mortification of 2000 merks for benefit of 

8 poor persons since the decease of James Dunbar, late 

Baillie." " The Session accordingly chose Wm. Duff, late 

Provost, George Duncan, James Dunbar, and James Thomson, 

Elders, the deceased B. Dunbar's sone Barmuckitie 

being the fifth with the two ministers." 

The Kirk-Session minutes of 14th July, 17 19, contain an 

Inventory of papers connected with Provost Dunbar's 

Mortifications, several of which are still forthcoming. The 

following is a copy of it, the two documents last mentioned, 

however, referring to the debts of Robertson of Inches. It 

will also be observed that the mortification, which is here 

mentioned first, is the one mentioned second in the 

memorandum for counsel's opinion. The slight dis- 

crepancies in the dates have been already discussed, both 

mortifications being doubtless of same date, i6th June, 1688. 

invp:ntorv. 

I. Extract mortification, by Alex. Dunbar of Bar- 

muckatie, of 2000 merks, for use and behoof of 8 poor 

persons within the Burgh. Dated i6th June, 1688. Regis-

Ihr Hospital of IiiVerness. 103 

trate in the Burgh Court books of Inverness, i8th Sept., 

same year. 

2. Extract heritable bond, by J as. Dunbar of Dalcross 

(in whose hands the sums contained in the above mortifica- 

tion -.vere deposited), to the ministers and elders of the said 

Burgh of Inverness, for the said sum of 2000 mcrks, with 

penalty and annual rents, &c. Dated 27th April, 1703, and 

registrate 4th June, 1706, in Burgh Court books. 

3. Extract mortification, by the said Alex. Dunbar, 

whereby he mortified 2000 merks Scots to and for the use 

of the Hospital, which sum was deposited in the hands of 

James Dunbar, merchant. This mortification is dated 6th 

Jul}-, 1688, and registrate in the Burgh Court books of 

Inverness, i8th September same year. (This date, which is 

evidently erroneous, is quoted elsewhere i6th July—the 

proper date being i6th June). 

4. Extract heritable bond, by the said James Dunbar, to 

the ministers and elders of the Burgh of Inverness, as 

trustees and administrators to the poor of the said Hospital, 

of the sum of money contained in the mortification last 

mentioned. Dated 27th April, 1703, and registrate in the 

Burgh Court books, 4th June, 1706. (In this extract the 

above date is given as i6th Jul>-. It is the bond for 3600 

merks). 

5. General charge to enter heir, at instance of ministers, 

magistrates, and elders of Burgh of Inverness, as trustees 

and administrators for the 8 poor persons named in the 

mortification and heritable bond first mentioned, against 

Alex. Dunbar of Barmuckaty, only lawful son and apparent 

heir to said deceased James Dunbar of Dalcross. Charge 

dated 2nd April, 17 13. 

6. Summond upon the passive titles proceeding upon 

the said general charge, &c. 

7. General charge to enter heir, at same instance as fore- 

going, against the said Alex. Dunbar. Also dated 2nd 

April, 17 1 3. 

8. Summond upon the passive titles, &c.


g. Precept of poindino-, at instance of Hospital Treasurer, 

against Wm. Robertson of Insches, upon several bonds. 

(Meinorandinn.—These bonds commence with one of 1691, 

of which the annual rent due was far more than the 

principal). 

10. Extract bond, be William Robertson of Insches and 

others, to James Dunbar, Hospital Treasurer, for bond of 

1000 merks. 

" Mr Robert Baillie " [then minister of the Second 

Charge], " to deliver the said papers to Bailie Dunbar, and 

get his receipt." (Kirk Session minutes, 14th July, 1719, 

pp. 291-296). 

It was during the treasurership of Bailie James Dunbar 

that Mr George Duncan, merchant in Inverness (and pro- 

bably the same person as the Hospital treasurer from 1701 

to 1 706), bequeathed the lands of Diriebught, by disposition 

and mortification, dated 3rd March, 171 5, to the Kirk 

Treasurer of Inverness and the remanent members of the 

Kirk Session, and their respective successors in place and 

office, but subject to their being liferented by' his wife, if 

she survived him, which she did. 

This property was not left to the Hospital or the poor 

generally, though it fell under the administration of the 

Hospital Treasurer and Kirk Session. The purposes for 

which it was left were, " the one-half of the yearly rent 

thereof for maintaining, supporting, and keeping in repair 

both the Churches of the said Burgh of Inverness, and the 

other half thereof for educating and paying the school- 

master's fees of six poor boys at the school until they shall 

attain the age of fourteen years complete, and also for main- 

taining and upholding them in clothes, &c., as far as the 

said half of the yearly rents shall extend." 

But this bequest was made under the provisions, con- 

ditions, &c., underwritten, viz.:— "That, in case the reparation 

of the above churches shall not exhaust the half of the said 

yearly rent for and at the year immediately preceding any 

term of Martinmas, when the saids rents shall fall due, then,


and in that case, the same or any part thereof that shall not 

be so expended to the use and at the time aforesaid, shall 

be sequestrate and ingrossed with the half of the stock of 

the said lands for a settled fund for affording annual rent in 

all time thereat'ter for the said use, and no part thereof to 

be impaired for that or any other use whatsomever." 

Under the recent Pxlucational Endowments Act, the 

half set apart for education comes under the administration 

of the Directors of the Ro)'al Academy and GoNcrnors of the 

Inverness Educational trust. These lands ]:)robabl\- belonged 

in early times to the Chisholms of Strathglass. Sir Robert 

Chisholm of Chisholm, who was constable of Urquhart 

Castle, granted a charter of certain lands near the town to 

the Church of the Holy Cross in Inverness, dated on the 

feast of the Epiphany, 1362. Frequent mention of the altar 

of the " Holy Cross in Inverness" occurs from 1363 onwards, 

and also in old deeds of the lands of the altar of the Hoh' 

Cross, and as these lands seem to ha\e been known from a 

ver}' early date b}- the nameof Diriebught { 'I ir navi Bochd), 

the land of the poor, it is probable that the>- were set apart 

for charitable purposes. At the Reformation they would in 

that case have been included in the grant of churches and 

other ecclesiastical property by charters from Queen Mary 

and James VI. to the Magistrates of Inverness, and were 

probably disposed of b\' them. 

At anyrate we find it recorded in a Minute of the Kirk- 

Session, dated 22nd April, 171 3— " The sd da\- it was over- 

tured that some part of the Hospital Stock might be better 

settled upon soild land than b\- bond, and seeing the lands 

of Dearbught were to be exposed to sale, the Session might 

consider of it. In the interim compeared Alexr. Paterson, 

apothecarie, with whom the Committee having conferred 

about these lands, he told that he hade six thousand merks 

with five guineas in his offer for it. This to be represented 

to the next Session." 

Apparently Mr George Duncan bought the lands him- 

self, and settled them in the terms mentioned above, and he

1 o6 I he Hio^hland Monthly. 

must have died not very long after, for in 1720 we find the 

Session appointing " the Hospital Treasurer" [Thomas 

Alves] " to require the papers containing the progress of 

rights belonging to the lands of Dirbught from Widow 

Duncan, relict of the deceast George Duncan, and Life- 

exutrix of the sd lands." 

In 1725 Patrick Mackay of Scourie, hav'ing taken a 

lease of these lands from Mrs Duncan, applied to the Session 

for a longer tack, for the space of five nineteen years, under- 

taking to improve the lands by enclosing them, planting 

hedges, dividing the lands, building a dwelling-house for 

himself, and offices, and at the end of the tack either to 

leave the said improvements to the Session or to take a new 

tack. Scourie's offer was accepted at a subsequent meeting. 

This, however, is somewhat anticipating the order of 

events, and Duncan's Mortification Accounts are kept 

separatel)'. 

[to be coxtinued.]

Renfreiushh-e Keltic Place Names. 107 

RENFREWSHIRE KELTIC PLACE 

NAMES. 

NEILSTON PARISH.— (^:rr//V- Place- Names— Y>^xxhead— 

Barr, s.m., the top, the uppermost part of 

anything, and head, English. Barsheegray— Barr, top 

sith, a hill; gray = graigh, a flock or herd, or stud of 

horses. Barsheegray therefore signifies Top of the flock- 

hill. Commonmore— Here the English common is used as 

a Gaelic word, and qualified by the Gaelic adjective nioi\ 

large Commonmore therefore means, the large common. 

; 

Old Barr denotes Old Top. Achenbach—Achadh, s.m., a 

field ; bach, s.m., a breach or contention ; en. the article an ; 

Achenbach consequently signifies. Field of the breach or 

contention. Mearns, Merns, Moerne, Meiernys (Kincar- 

dineshire)—a district in the north-east of Scotland, called 

Magh Circin, the plain of Circin, from which this place in 

Renfrewshire has been called. Auchentibeer—Achadh-antiobair, 

Field of the well. Knockglass—Cnoc glas, Verdant 

hill. Brythonic.— Arthurlie = Arthur-lee. Killock— -Celli, 

a grove; ock, for oak ; 

Killock, the oak grove (Bannister's 

" Glossary of Cornish Names." 

Callhart Parish.— Gaelic—Drumby = Druim-buidhe, 

Yellow ridge. Brythonic.—Clincart—Clin = Calenick (celin^ 

holly), holly place, or moist (lynnic) enclosure (cae)— Ban- 

nister. So Clincart would seem to signify, Moist enclosure 

on the Cart. 

Parish of Eaglesham.— Gaelic—Bennan = Beannan, 

a little hill ; so Beannan denotes Little hill. Bogside 

— ; 

Bog means a soft place, and Bogside signifies The side of a 

soft place. High Craig— Craig =--Creag, a rock, and High 

Craig means High Rock. Nether Craigs denotes Nether 

Rocks. Enoch = Eanach, s.m., a moor, a marsh. Revoch 

= Riabhach, adj., reddish-grey in colour; Revoch, ground

loS The Highland MontJily 

of a dusky reddish-i^rey colour. Ardoch = Ardachadh, 

High field. Lochcrais^s— Loch, a lake ; and craigs, rock.s ; 

so Lochcraigs denotes Lake rocks. 

Greenock Parlsh.—Gourock, Greenock—The ock at 

the end of these names corresponds to aig at the end of 

Gaelic names, which is derived from the vie of Norse 

names, which denotes a bay ; thus Greenock is in Gaelic 

Grianaig, and there is a small inlet on the north-west of 

Islay named also Gnanaig ; Gourock is also Guraig in 

Gaelic. 

Parish of Hou.sto.v and Kilellan.— Gaelic navies 

— Kilellan = Cill F'haolain, St Fillan's Church; cill, derived 

from Latin cella, a cell. Barrochan Cross—Crois Bhearch- 

ain, St Berchan's Cross. Reilly— Raghallach, the Irish 

surname Reilly, or O'Reilly =0'Raghalaidh. Barlegan 

— 

Barr Legain, Top of Legain. Scart— Scairt, a thick tuft of 

shrubs or branches. Blairock— Blarag, diminutive of blar, 

a small piece of fât ground. 

Erskine Parlsh.—Gaelic names — Craigton — Craig 

= creag, a rock. Glenshinnoch—Gleann-sionnach, Glen of 

Foxes ; gleann, glen ; sionnach, a fox. Barangry—Barr-na- 

Graighe, Top of the herd. Drumcross — Druim-croise, 

Ridge of cross. 

INNERKIP Parish.—The village of Innerkip is situated 

on the Kipp water; inner, contraction of inbhear or inbhir, 

the mouth of a river or estuary ; kip = cip, a stump. 

Dunrod—Dun, a fort ; rod, a road, a harbour : the fort of 

the road or harbour. P'innockbog— Fionnachj old ; bog 

fionnach, old bog. Kellochend—Kelloch=:Ceall-achadh, 

Church-field ; so Kellochend signifies Church-field end. 

Leven—Leamhan, elm. Berfern— Barr-fearna, alder top. 

Drumshantie — Druim-seann-tighe, Ridge of old house. 

Bogside— Bog, soft place ; so Bogside, S'de of soft place. 

Auchmede—Achadh-meadhoin, Middle field. Auchneach 

—Achadh nan each, Field of the horses. 

Townlands in the landward part of ABBEY PARISH, 

Paisley, and in Kilbarchan.—Auchinlodemont—Achadh 

an Lodain (?) Field of the soft puddle. Auchensale

RenfreiusJnre Keltic Place Names. 109 

Achadh an t-saile, Field of the salt water. Craigenfeock 

Creag nam fitheach, Rock of tht ravens. Auchencloach 

— ; 

Achadh nan clach, Field of the stones. Barbush— Barr, 

lop ; Barbush, then, is equivalent to Top bush. Auchen- 

ames—Achadh-an-amais, Field of the hitting. Burbowie, 

for Barbowie—Barr-buidhe, Yellow top. Barnbeth—Gaelic, 

Barran beithe, Birch coping. Bardrain — Gaelic, Barr- 

draighinn, Top of sloe-thorn. Clothoderrick — Gaelic, 

cloidhe, s.f., a mound, a rampart, a ditch ; derrick=dearach, 

sad ; Clothoderick therefore signifies The sad mound, 

ramparl, or ditch. Fennel—Brythonic, pennel, end of the 

place (Bannister's Glossary). 

LOCHWINNOCH Parish.—The village of Lochwinnoch 

is situated on the north-west bank of the beautiful lake 

that bears its name, and environed by scenery of the most 

romantic character. The charming loch, the banks of the 

Calder, the magnificent cascade of Reekan Linn, the 

bottomless Gurratt's Linn, and the ruins of several old 

castles, are all exceedingly worthy of notice from the 

\isitors to these parts. The lake, which stretches in a 

northerly and southerly direction, lies in the eastern part 

of the parish. The Calder water flows into it on its west 

side, and the Black Calder issues from it.—Auchengowan 

Gaelic, Achadh an ghobhann, Field of the smith. Barfad 

—Gaelic, Barr-fada, Long top. Tandle Muir— Brythonic, 

tan, fire ; so Tandle Muir is equivalent to Fiery Muir. 

Barneigh—Gaelic, Barr an fheidh. Top of the deer. Barrodger— 

Gaelic, Barr Rodger, Rodger's Top. Hovvber- 

neigh — Gaelic, Tobar an 

Revioch— Gaelic, riabhach, 

fheidh, Well of the deer. 

reddish-grey. Auchenhane 

Gaelic, Achade-na-h-aithinne, Field of a firebrand. Achen- 

bathie—Gaelic, Achadh na bathach. Field of the cow-house. 

Auchengown—Gaelic, Achadh an ghobhann. Field of the 

smith. Gavel Moss—Gabhail, s.f., spoil, booty, conquest 

Gavel Moss is equivalent to Moss of booty. 

Mearns. — Crummock House — Crummock, Gaelic 

cromag, a crook. Duncarnock—Gaelic, Dun-carnaig, Fort 

Carnaig.

no The Hiofiland Monikly. 

Paisley is probably derived from Gaelic baisleac, a 

•church, by provection of the b and modification of the last 

syllable. Lat. Basilica. " It is the name of a parish 

church in the county of Roscommon." " Baislec, a basilica, 

Greece; ecclesia, Latine i. Tech righ nime"— H. 2 15, p. 

180, col. a, line 3 (Dr O'Dononan's Supplement to 

O'Reilly's Irish Dictionary). Paisley is generally con- 

sidered to be the Vanduara of Ptolemy, a notion supported 

by the etymology of the name Vanduara, which seems to 

Gaelic Incantations. 1 1 

GAELIC INCANTATIONS, CHARMS, AND 

BLESSINGS OF THE HEBRIDES/ 

By WILLIAM MACKENZIE. 

AT a meeting of this Society on 7th IMay, 1879, I read 

a paper entitled " Lca\es from my Celtic Portfolio," 

concluding with a number of Gaelic charms and incanta- 

tions which I had gathered in \arious districts of the 

Highlands. That paper appears in Vol. VIII. of our 

Transactions. X'arious writers had previously published 

specimens of Gaelic incantations, but so far as I am aware 

our volume contains the first collection of them. Old 

writers on Highland superstitions make frequent reference 

to charms ; but while they givê descriptions of ceremonies 

they unfortunately pass over the incantations with contempt. 

There can be no doubt that many interesting relics of 

antiquity have thus been lost to the folklorist. The belief 

in these matters is rapidly becoming a thing of the past ; 

and the charms and incantations are lost as each successive 

year death carries away the old people among whom alone 

they are to be found. While thus the field where charms 

and incantations may be got is becoming more and more 

limited, the collector has further to contend with these 

difficulties (first) that those who know them and believe 

in their efficacy will not communicate them to any one 

on whom they may look as an unbeliever ; and (second; 

that many who know them as matter of tradition are 

frequently ashamed to own the fact. It is satisfactory to 

know, however, that many of these relics of the past have 

been rescued, and it is to be hoped that members of this 

Society may do what they can to add to our store of this 

particular kind of folklore ere it be too late. Our friend 

' A paper read before the Gaelic Society of Inverness on 23rd March, 1892 

1

— 

The Highland Monthly 

Mr Macbain, published a valuable collection of them in the 

High/and Monthly during last year. To-night I propose to 

resume the subject commenced before this Society in 1879 ; 

and although it may be necessar}' to recall here and there 

portions of my former paper, and also to refer to and some- 

times quote from the writings of Mr Macbain and others, I 

will endeavour to place before you, in the main, charms and 

incantations which, so far as I am aware, have not hitherto 

been published. 

From the earliest times we read of wizards and witches, 

sorcerers and magicians. The State punished them as 

persons dangerous to society, and the burning of witches 

forms an interesting if not a very edifying feature of our 

national history. In these proceedings the Churches have 

taken an active part. A popular proverb has it— " Gheibli 

Baobli a gtiidhe ged nach fhaigh a li-anam trocair'— " A 

witch will get her wish though her soul may not get 

mercy." To banish from the minds of the people such a 

belief as this was a task which the Churches seemed to 

have placed before themselves. Not only were our Gaelic- 

speaking Highlanders taught to place no belief in witch- 

craft and divination, but our cousins in Ireland were taught 

the same lesson. In a Catholic Catechism I find the following 

among the things forbidden by the First Commandment 

: 

Q.—A bheil a chiad aithne 'bacail ni sam bith eile ? 

A.—Tha—buidseachd, eolasan, giseagan, innse-fortain,. 

a' toirt brigh a bruadar, agus gach comunn do'n t-seorsa 

sin ris an aibheistear. 

Again in the Catechism by Andrew Donlevy, Director of 

the Irish community at Paris, published in that city in 

1742, and still in use in the sister isle, I find the following 

among the things forbidden by that commandment : 

Ceisd. — An bhfuil se an aghaidh na hAithene-si 

Comhairle d' iarraidh air lucht faisdine, Draoidheachta, no 

Pise6g, noch do ni cunnradh ris an Diabhal ? 

—

Gaelic Incantations. 

Freagradh.—A ta gan amhrus ; do bhn'gh gur ab o'n 

Diabhal gheibhid gach Eolus, da mbi' aca. 

C.—Creud is Piseoga ann ? 

F.— Briathra do radh, no Comharrtha do dheunamh 

chum cri'che, do chum nach bhful bri'gh na braidh aca 6 

Naduir, 6 Dhia, na 6 'n Eagluis. 

Notwithstanding the influence of the Churches, the 

behef in witchcraft is not quite dead, and charms and 

incantations have survi\-ed to the present time. As to the 

supposed effect of witchcraft, I will quote a sentence from 

a leaflet which I picked up in Inverness last winter. It is 

headed the " Crofters and Witchcraft." The writer says 

he himself was confined in an asylum—a circumstance 

throwing all the light necessar)' on his lucubrations. His 

description of his feelings under what he believed to 

be the influence of witchcraft is, however, exceedingly 

interesting. It is as follows : 

— 

" As an example of how this man of sin punishes those 

who differ from him in religion, I may state that I am 

daily tortured by his most powerful agent, viz., witchcraft. 

It takes away the faculties of my brains ; it makes my body 

feel as if some one was sticking hot irons in me, at other 

times I feel as cold as ice ; it weakens me to such an extent 

that I am hardly able to move out of the position in which 

I stand ; it gives me such a shock while I am walking on 

the public road that I am not able to stand and speak to 

any one ; it has got such a hold upon my body and soul 

that I find that the most experienced members of the 

medical profession are unable to do any good to me." 

The popular belief in witchcraft is also well expressed 

by Duncan Mackenzie, the Kenlochewe bard, in a song 

appearing at page 22 of his book. In this song the 

nuptials of a }'oung couple are described. The mother of 

the bride, according to the bard, was a witch—her race 

being noted for " Buidseachd a's Draoidheachd a's farmud." 

In the song the old lady is pictured as using herbs, assum- 

ing the form of a hare, and robbing her neighbours' cattle 

of their substance, endowing the musicians at the marriage 

with the power of playing fairy music, and by means of a

1 1 

4 


Love Charm winning the affections of the bridegroom for 

her daughter. The following two verses will serve as 

specimens : 

— 

'S i mathair Ceit Uilleim bha lamhach 

'N uair chaidh i 'n riocJid gearr feadh na duthch' ; 

Bha im aic a thoradh a BhraigJie 

'S bha 'n caise bJw vihvaibli Leitir-iijgh, 

Bha 'm bainne cho thigh ris a' bharr aic' 

(A's muighe dubh Ian ann an cuil) 

Ga 'bhleothan a ditthan na slabhruidh 

'S i 'g aitliris nan rann a bh'aig Fionn. 

'N uair chuir iad a charaid a chadal 

Bha 'chailleach ga faire gu treang ; 

Chuir i iiisg-oir air an casan 

A's iia-his a's aitionn fo'n ceann. 

Bha i ga'n sianadh 's ga'n teagasg 

An dochas gun gineadh iad cloinn 

'S chuir \ fath-fitJi air na balaich, 

Cha loisgeadh na dagaichean straoil. 

In connection with charms and incantations, it has to 

be pointed out that while it appears to be impossible to 

get^the malific charms, or such as are identified with what 

is usually termed witchcraft, there are numerous specimens 

which are really of a Christian character, and are intended 

by the invocation of the Trinity to defy evil agencies, or 

effect cures. In these cases the charms are forms of prayer 

—a sort of ritual unauthorised by the Churches. Although 

the Churches might have laughed at them, those who 

practised them sincerely believed in them. A discussion 

on the domain of prayer forms no part of my subject, but 

I think the ordinary mind may find it difficult to see 

wherein lies the difference between the simple-minded 

peasant who, with implicit faith in its efficacy, mutters a 

prayer with the view of stopping the toothache or curing 

a colic, and the modern ecclesiastic who by a prayer hopes 

to stamp out the influenza. 

As illustrating the Christian character of many of our 

old charms, reference may be made to St Patrick's Hymn

Gaelic Incantations. 115 

—one of the old Irish hymns preserved in the Liber 

HymnortiDi, a collection made in the I ith or 12th century 

of hymns composed in former times. The hymn in ques- 

tion is attributed to Saint Patrick himself— " Patraicc doronc 

tnmmiiiiDisa"—and we are told that it was composed in the 

time of Loegaire Mec Neil, who persecuted the Saint and his 

followers. According to the Four Masters, Loegaire was 

killed by the Elements of God—Duite D'e—in the year 458. 

In the hymn we have the Saint binding himself to God, 

and invoking heavenly powers for protection against inter 

alia " Incantations of false prophets" (fritinchetla saihfdthe), 

and against " Spells of women and smiths and druids 

(fribrichta ban 7 goband y druad). [For hymn in full, vide 

" Scottish Celtic Review," p. 49]. 

Charms and incantations are known by different names, 

and although many of them seem to be now regarded as 

synonymous, there was doubtless originally a difference 

of meaning. We have the Rosad, a malific charm, 

which rendered its victim powerless. Thus the hunter 

who was unlucky in his sport believed that a witch or other 

evil disposed person put a Rosad on himself or his gun. 

The opposite of Rosad is Sian—the latter being the spell 

that protected one from evil agencies and ordinary dangers. 

Geas was a form of enchantment Daoine fo gheasabh 

are men spellbound and enchanted ; and most Inverness 

men are acquainted with the popular belief that the Feinne 

are enchanted, reclining on their elbows in Craigacho. The 

vford gisreagan, or geiseagan, which is commonly employed 

to signify enchantments, and the belief in witchcraft, is 

and in 

Moore's " Folklore of the Isle of Man" we have, on page 

89, an account of Caillagh-ny-GJuieshag, or the " Old 

woman of the spells." 

Then we have nbag, nbhaidJi, obag, or obaidli, meaning a 

doubtless from geas. This word occurs in Manx ; 

" charm" or " incantation." The word occurs in Manx as 

obbee, and Mr Moore translates /t';'-^/Vî?6' as " men charmers,'* 

and ben-obbee as " women charmers." 

— 

"

ii6 Ike Highland Monthly. 

The Eolais, which really means " knowledge," is probably 

the most popular of our charms. The origin of Eolais in 

the Western Islands is thus given : 

St Columba had two tenants. One had a family, and 

the other had not. The rent was the same in each case. 

The one who had no family complained to the Saint of the 

unfairness of his having to pay as much rent as the other 

considering his circumstances. The Saint told him to steal 

a shilling's worth from any person, and to restore it at the 

end of a year. The man took the advice, and stole a small 

book belonging to St Columba himself, and thereafter he 

proceeded to the Outer Hebrides, where he permitted 

people to read the book for a certain sum of money. The 

book was read with great avidity, as it contained all the 

' Eolais' composed by the Saint for the curing of men and 

cattle. Thus it was that these ' 

Eolais' came to be so well 

known in the Western Islands. The farmer went back to 

St Columba at the end of a year, having amassed a considerable 

fortune, and restored the book The Saint 

immediately burned the book, so that he himself might 

not on its account 

did not deserve. 

earn a reputation which he thought he 

Finally, we have the 0}'r or orj'a, ortJia, or, as the Irish 

have it, ordid. As the English word " charm" is derived 

from the Latin carmen, a song ; and " incantation " from 

cano, I sing ; so orr is derived from oro, I pray. Macalpine 

in his Dictionary defines orra as " amulet or enchantment 

to effect something wonderful ;" and he gives the following 

list of examples : 

— 

Orra-ghraidh—An amulet ^ to provoke unlawful love. 

Orra-sheamlachais—An amulet to make a cow allow 

the calf of another cow to suck her. 

Orra-chomais—An amulet to deprive a man of his 

virility, by way of vengeance. 

Orra-na-h-aoine—An amulet to drown a foe. 

Orra-'n-donuis—An amulet to send one's foe to the 

mischief 

Orra-ghrudaire—An amulet to make every drop of the 

wash to overflow the wash-tuns ; and 

An orra-bhalbh—rAn amulet to prevent one's 

make a defence in a court of justice. 

agent to 

^ Although "amulet" is the word used, it is obvious that "charm "or 

" incantation" is meant. 

—

Gaelic Incantations. 1 1 7 

The charms and incantations which follow may be 

divided into five classes : 

tion ; Second—Those 

— 

First—Those aiming at divina- 

which, by means of xolition, seek- 

Third— Protective charms and 

Fourth—Those intended for the cure of men and 

to attain certain ends ; 

amulets ; 

the lower animals from certain diseases ; and, Fifth— 

Blessings and miscellaneous charms. 

I will commence with the subject of divination. Under 

the general title of Divination, I will take first the 

FRITH. 

So far as I am aware, the Frith is quite unknown 

on the mainland. Macalpine appears to be the only 

Gaelic Lexicographer who gives us a definition of it in 

the sense here used. He describes it as " an incantation to 

find whether people at a great distance or at sea be in life." 

It is, in short, a species of horoscope, \\'herein the position 

of the objects which meet our eyes take the place in the 

Frtth which the position of the heavenly bodies took in the 

horoscope of the ancient astrologers. 

The Frith is religious in its character, and is attributed 

to the Virgin Mary. It is called in Uist, Frith a rinn 

Moire dha Mac— " the Frith that Mary made for her Son." 

According to Holy Writ, Joseph and the Virgin Mary went 

with the child Jesus, when he was twelve years old, to the 

Feast of the Passover in Jerusalem. When they fulfilled 

the days of the feast, they returned, but the child Jesus 

tarried behind them in Jerusalem, and they knew it not. 

The account of their three days' anxious search for him is 

narrated in the Bible, and our Highland poetess, Siteas r.a 

Ceapaich, beautifully describes the whole situation in Laoidh 

na Maiohdinn :— 

Thug iad cliu do Dhia 's an Teampull 

'S gu Nasaret air dhaibh bhi tilleadh, 

Suil ga'n tug iad air an gualainn 

Dh' ionndrainn iad bhuap am Messiah.

1 1 

S 


'S iadsan a bha duilich deurach 

'Nuair nach b' urrainn doibh ga sheanchas, 

'S tuirseach a bha iad mu dheighinn 

Na tri la bha iad ga 'shireadh ; 

'Nam 'bhi dol seachad an Teampuill 

Dh' aithnich iad a chainnt gu beothail, 

Eadar na doctoirean teagaisg, 

Bu deise 'thigeadh dha labhairt. 

This subject, too, forms one of the Seven Dolours of 

Mary recognised by the Catholic Church. During the 

search the Virgin Mary, we are told, made a Frith which 

enabled her to discover the Saviour among the doctors in 

the Temple, and left it for the benefit of future generations. 

The Frith is not yet an institution of the past in some 

of the Outer Islands ; and when the fate of absent ones is 

causing friends anxiety, or when it is uncertain whether 

the illness of men or the lower animals may speedily pass 

away or terminate fatally, a FritJi is made. A Frith may 

be made at any time ; but the first Monday of the quarter 

—a chiad Di-luan den Raidhe— is considered the most 

auspicious. 

The mode of making the FritJi is as follows :— In the 

morning the Ave Maria, or BeaiinacJiadJi Moire, is said 

thus : 

— 

Beannaichear dhut a Mhoire,^ 

Tha thu Ian dhe na grasan ; 

Tha 'n Tighearna maille riut ; 

— 

'S beannuichte thu measg nam mna ; 

'S beannaichte toradh do bhronn— loâ. 

A Naomh Mhoire—Mhathair Dhe 

Guidh air ar sonainne, na peacaich, 

Nis agus aig uair ar bais—Amen. 

After repeating the Ave, the person proceeds with closed 

eyes to the door. On reaching the maideûinn, or door- 

step, he opens his eyes, and if he sees the Cross ( Crois 

Chriosda) although it were only made with two straws lying 

^ This version of the Ave Maria I noted from an old Uist lady. Other 

versions commenoe '" Faille dhut a Mhoire." In Domlevy's Irish Catechism, 

previously referred to, it begins " Dia do bheatha a Mhuire."


across each other, it is a sign that all will be well. On 

getting outside, he proceeds round the house sunwise 

(deisinl), repeating the following incantation : 

Dia romham ; 

Moire am dheaghaidh 

'S am Mac a thug Righ nan Dul 

'S a chairich Brighde na glaic. 

]\'Iis' air do shlios, a Dhia, 

A's Dia na'm luirg. 

INIac Moire, a's Righ nan Dul, 

A shoillseachadh gach ni dheth so, 

Le a ghras mu'm choinneamh. 

God before me ; 

The Virgin Mar}* after me ; 

And the Son sent by the King of the Elements ; 

And whom St Bridget took in her arms. 

I am on thy land, O God ! 

And God on my footsteps ; 

May the Son of Mary, King of the Elements, 

Reveal the meaning of each of these things 

Before me, through His grace. 

Another version of the incantation is as follows : 

Tha mise falbh air srath Chriosd : 

Dia romham, Dia am dheighidh, 

A's Dia a m' luirg.^ 

A Frith a rinn Moire dha 'Mac, 

A sheid Brighde troimh glaic, 

]Mar a fhuair ise fios firinneach. 

Gun fhios breige, 

Mise dh-fhaicinn samhla 's coltas - 

I go forth on the track of Christ 

God before me, God behind me. 

And God on my footsteps. 

The Frith that Mary made for her Son, 

Which Bridget blew through her hand ; (?) 

And as she got a true response. 

Without a false one, 

Mav I behold the likeness [or similitude] of 

' A B . 

^ We have similar expressions in St Patrick's Hymn, already referred to 

" Crist lim Crist rium Crist imdegaid " 

— 

— 

(Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ after me). 

- Here the name of the missing person was said. 

— 

—


The incantation finished, the person looks forth over the 

country, and by the auguries or omens which meet the eye 

he divines what will be the fate of the man or animal for 

whom the Frith is being made— whether the absent one, about 

whom nothing is known, is in life, and well ; or whether the 

sick man or beast at home will recover from his ailment. 

Subjoined is a list of objects, with their significance. This 

list is compiled from various sources, but largely from notes 

placed at my disposal by Father Allan Macdonald, Dalibrog, 

a gentleman to whom I am indebted for much 

information in connection with this paper : 

A man coming towards you.. An excellent sign. 

A cock looking towards you.. Also an excellent sign. 

A man standing Sign of a sick man recovering and 

— 

casting off illness. 

A man lying down Sickness ; continued illness. 

A beast lying down Ominous — sickness- continued 

illness. 

A beast rising up Sign of a man recovering and 

A beast lying down 

throwing off illness. 

Death. 

A bird on the wing A good sign. 

A bird on the wing coming 

to you Sign of a letter coming. 

A woman seen standing A bad sign—such as death, or some 

A woman seen passing or 

returning Not so bad. 

A woman with red hair Not lucky.- 

untoward event— (Am bas no ni 

rosadach air choireigin).^ 

' Bu choir do dhuine e-fein a choisiigeadh nam faiceadh e boirionnach an 

am a bhi deanamh na Frith— (A man should cross himself should he see a 

woman when making the Frith). 

-' Red hair does not appear to have been favoured by the Celts. An old 

song says 

— 

Cha ghabh mi 'n te fhrionasaich, chonasach, ritadh, 

A chumas an Donus na mhollachdain suas. 

Again, Lady Wilde, writing of Irish superstitions, says— " It is unlucky to meet 

a red-haired man or woman the first thing in the morning ; but a freckled 

red-haired woman is particularly dangerous. Should she be in your path on 

first going out, turn back at once, for danger is in the way. Some say that 

Judas Iscariot had red hair, hence the tradition of its evil augury."

Gaelic Incantations. i 2 i 

A woman with fair hair (fait 

ban) 

A woman with black hair {fait 

Not lucky. 

dubh) Lucky. 

A woman with brown hair (fait 

donn) Luckiest. 

Fowls without a cock in their 

midst Not a good sign. 

Stonechat ( Clachran) Untoward (rosadach )— 

Chunnaic mi 'n t-seilcheag an talamh toll, 

Chunnaic mi 'n clachran air lie luim, 

Chunnaic mi 'n searrach 's a chul rium, 

Dh' fhaithnich mi nach reachadh a' bhliadhna leam 

Chain mi bean-an-tighe 's a' chlann. 

A lark 1 A good sign. 

A dove A good sign. 

A crow or raven - A bad sign ; death. 

A sparrow (g/atseu?i) Not lucky—but blessed. (It fore- 

A wild Duck (Lack) A good sign. 

tells the death of a child). 

Y)\x(:k.% ( Tu7Ui.aga7i)"' Good. (For sailors especially 

A dog 

meaning safety from drowning). 

Good luck. 

A cat Good for Mackintoshes only. To 

— 

— 

others it is considered rosadach^ 

or untoward. The cat is re- 

garded as evil, as shown by the 

fact that witches are believed to 

assume this form. 

^ The lark was considered sacred, and to it the endearing term of Uiseag 

Mhoire (the lark of the Virgin Mary) was frequently applied. 

- The raven is always regarded as ominous. In the Saga of '" Howard the 

Halt," for instance, it is referred to as " hawk of slaughter " and " blood fowl." 

In Ireland, as Lady Wilde tells us, " when a raven is seen hovering round a 

cottage, evil is near, and a death may follow, or some great, disaster ; therefore, 

to turn away ill-luck, say at once : " May fire and water be in you, bird of 

evil, and may the curse of God be on your head for ever and ever." 

^ IHicks are considered lilessed. Tradition informs us that on a certain 

occasion Jesus had to take refuge, and that he was concealed under straw. 

Hens scraped the straw away, thus exposing him, but the ducks pushed it back 

again. The duck has since bee;i considered blessed.


A pig Good for Campbells. For others 

indifferent when facing you ; bad 

with its back towards you. 

A calf, or lamb Lucky with its face to you ; good 

with side. 

A horse Lucky. 

A brown horse Is the best. 

A chestnut or red horse A bad sign ; death. 

As to the colours of horses generally, we have the 

following : 

— 

Each donn Fearann. Brown horse Land. 

Each glas Fairge. Grey horse The ocean. 

Each ruadh Reilig. Chestnut horse.. The churchyard. 

Eacli dubh Mulad. Black horse Sorrow.

IN 

Cluny Macpherson of i6oj. 

CLUNY MACPHERSON OF 1603. 

the April and May numbers of the Highland Monthly 

for last year, I wrote about Clan Chattan. and dis- 

cussed the Mackintosh pedigree and the Macpherson 

claims for the chiefship of Clan Chattan. I treated the 

subject in no partisan spirit, I believe, and, as a conse- 

quence, I have incurred the grave displeasure of both 

Mackintoshes and Macphersons. After all the criticisms, 

both public and private, that have been made upon the 

articles in question, there is only one correction which I 

can accept. This is in regard to Andrew Macpherson, the 

Cluny of 1603. 

Andrew Macpherson is the first chief of the Mac- 

phersons who has any contemporary record of his 

existence. He is mentioned at least five times in various 

documents of the time. He first appears in the "Clan 

Farson" Bond given to Huntly in 1591, where he is called 

"Andrew Makfersone in Cluny." He was merely tenant 

of Cluny, as the preposition in proves, a fact corroborated 

by the second mention of him in the 1603 

The entry in the Rental is— 

" Clovnye, 

Huntly Rental. 

three plenches. 

. . , Andro McFarsen tenant to the haill." But in 

1609, in the bond of union which Mackintosh of Borlum 

got drawn up and signed by the leading members of Clan 

Chattan, he is called Andrew Macpherson


The order was shown to them, and by the order they were 

joined by Clann Muirigh lâidineach and Caitein, and were 

led by a good chieftain of their own blood, namely, Eoghan 

Og, son of Andrew, son of Eoghan, who brought three 

hundred men of his own kin with him into the king's army, 

who were very steadfast in the army while the war continued." 

Eoghan or Ewen is entered as proprietor of Cluny on the 

valuation roll of 1644. although his father Andrew was still 

living. Andrew was then an old man, for the Synod of 

Moray in 1648 excused, on the ground of his age, his 

attendance on their court to answer for his share in the 

doings of his clan in the Montrose wars. But his son Ewen 

had to appear, and do penance for the part he took in the 

uprising under Montrose. Of Andrew we naturally hear 

no more after this date. The chief in Cluny in 1660 was 

Andrew his grandson, whom Shaw mentions as the first 

Cluny known to him. 

The correction which I have to make on my Clan 

Chattan articles concerns this Andrew Macpherson of 

1 591-1648. In the Huntly Rental of 1603, as printed in 

the Spalding Club Miscellany, vol IV., he is called " Andro 

McFarlen." In commenting on 

" Perhaps Mr Eraser-Mackintosh's 

this blunder, I said, 

inference is right as to 

the national importance of Cluny Macpherson then when 

he says, ' So little known does he seem to have been that 

Huntly's chamberlain, who made out the Badenoch rental 

in 1603, calls him Andro McFarlen.'" I have lately, 

through the good offices of, and in company with, Mr 

Macpherson, banker, Kingussie, had an opportunity of 

seeing the original document, from which the above 

was printed. There plainly enough the name is 

Andro McFarsen. and the McFarlen of the book 

is either a printei's or a transcriber's error. Mr 

Eraser-Mackintosh's inference is therefore wrong. The 

Macphersons and the Marquis of Huntly were especially 

friendly, as their defence of Ruthven Castle in 1594, when 

the battle of Glenlivet took place, and other facts amply 

prove. Huntly and his estate officials were well acquainted 

with the Macpherso'^ chiefs, so that a mistake like 

M'Farlen for M'Earsen could only happen through carelessness. 

As a matter of fact, however, the mistake did 

not occur ; and I take this opportunity of correcting the 

error into which I fell and of withdrawing the inference 

deduced therefrom. 

ALEX. MACBAIN.

Nezu Books. 

NEW BOOKS. 

KELIQULE CELTIC.!-: : Texts, Papers, and Stcdie.s in Gaelic 

Literature and Philology, left by the late Rev. Alexander 

Cameron, LL.D. Edited by Alexander Macbain, M.A., and Rev. John 

Kennedy. Vol. L, OssiANiCA, with Memoir of Dr Cameron. Inverness: 

" Northern Chronicle " Office. 1892. 

Dr Cameron was undoubtedly the ablest and most 

learned Gaelic scholar of his time. He knew the literature 

and philology of the Gaelic language as no other man did 

Flis published works and the Reliquice Celticce, the first 

volume of which is before us, do not do justice to the 

breadth or accuracy of his scholarship. The philological 

articles in the Gael (1872-4) and the Scottish Celtic Review 

represent the most of the work published by him in his 

lifetime, while these two volumes of Reliqiiice only give the 

raw materials of his study for the most part. The structure 

that should be reared from these materials—the historical 

Gaelic grammar, the etymological Gaelic dictionary, the 

editions of old Gaelic texts with notes and translations, and 

the disquisitions on Gaelic philology— ^has not gone further 

than the mere foundations. Dr Cameron's papers present 

some scattered notes on Gaelic philology and grammar, 

and the beginnings of an etymological dictionary. There 

are abundant transcripts of old texts, but i^w translations 

and fewer notes. Judging by the first volume, we think 

the editors are carrying on their work with the greatest 

judgment. They accurately reproduce Dr Cameron's 

texts, and they complete any broken lines or passages that 

were left blank in their originals ; but they do not feel 

themselves justified in doing more than this; they allow 

the student and the general reader to be their own commentators 

and translators. 

Dr Cameron was born in 1827, the son of a cottarcrofter 

in Badenoch. In his schooldays, he attended 

school only during the winter half-year, for in summer he


had to herd or work. When sHghtly past the middle of 

his 'teens, his brightness as a scholar procured for him 

employment as teacher in side schools among the glens. 

The little secondary school training which he received 

was done mostly in the private time of the respective 

teachers of Kingussie School. At the age of twenty, he 

entered Edinburgh University, and at the age of twentynine, 

in 1856, after a brilliant career, he was licensed a 

minister of the Free Church. His first charge was Renton, 

which he left in 1874 for Brodick, Arran, where his pastoral 

work lay till he died. He was considered an able preacher, 

but his relations with his Church were latterly of a strained 

character. His last ^qw years were spent in a wearing 

quarrel with his Church Courts, and leisure time that would 

otherwise have been devoted to Gaelic studies was spent 

on fruitless and evanescent ecclesiastical squabbling. In 

this way, Dr Cameron was unable to take advantage of the 

revolution caused in Gaelic and general philology by the 

views of the " New School," led by Brugmann, Thurneysen, 

and Zimmer. Indeed, he added little to his philologic 

work after the publication of the last number of his Scottish 

Celtic Revieiu in 1885, though he did some work in connection 

with his texts and tianscripts. 

His literary remains arc to appear in two volumes. 

The first one consists of some six hundred pages, and the 

second, which is to appear in the coming publishing season, 

will in all possibility be of like bulk. The sub-title of the 

first volume indicates fully its general character, which is 

*' Ossianic." It is claimed to be almost a complete corpus, 

or oody, of 

na Feinne 

Ossianic poetry, like J. F. Campbell's LeabJiar 

The volume contains the Ossianic poetry in 

the Dean of Lismore's Book, and several other pieces of 

the Dean's text. The accuracy and care bestowed by Dr 

Cameron on his transcription of the Dean is fully evidenced 

in the hundred odd pages devoted to him in this volume 

pages which are a marvel of printing as they are of 

accuracy on the part of author and editor. The Edinburgh 

MSS., 48 and 02, then follow. These are only partially 

Ossianic. The former gives excellent specimens of the 

common literary dialect of Ireland and the Highlands in . 

the seventeenth century, and is written by one of the 

M'Vurichs, the hereditary bards of Clanranald. Thereafter 

the 

Ossianic 

volume contains several important collections of 

poetry never before published—most of which, 

—

New Books. 

indeed, was supposed by J. F. Campbell and others to be 

lost. These are Campbell's, Macfarlane's, Maclagan's, 

Sage's, and Sir George Mackenzie's Collections. The 

whole series is simply invaluable to the student of Ossianic 

lore. 

Mr Kennedy writes the memoir of Dr Cameron, which 

extends to 155 pages, and he does so in a manner and with 

a feeling that only the Roman word pictas fully, and our 

term "filial affection," lamely and metaphorically, expresses. 

It is an excellent production, and, though rather out of 

keeping with the severely scientific character of the rest of 

the volume, we have no doubt the general public will 

greatly enjoy it. Our only criticism would be that Mr 

Kennedy should have enlivened his pages with a few 

clerical anecdotes. This is a criticism which also a Glasgow 

correspondent makes, who relates one or two tit-bits about 

the worthy and reverend doctor. We will quote one to 

show Dr Cameron's keen, if at times sarcastic, humour. 

Our correspondent said to the doctor one day : " Your 

friend, Mr So-and-so, is teaching Gaelic in the So-and-so 

College 

Gaelic ! 

this session." The doctor rejoins " : Teaching 

Oh, is he ? When did lie learn ?" And this, too, 

about a quondam candidate for the Celtic chair ! His sense 

of accuracy almost amounted to a disease. In a highly 

appreciative review of the ReliquicB which appeared in the 

Glasgoiv Herald, the writer relates an amusing instance of 

his fastidiousness, to the following effect :—Some years ago 

a Glasgow printer had an article from the doctor's pen in 

type and corrected, when he received in the forenoon a 

telegram ordering the deletion of an apostrophe after a 

particular Gaelic word. In the afternoon a telegram again 

arrived from Brodick, which read : " this forenoon." 

Stet apostrophe deleted 

The second volume promises to be even more scientifically 

important than the first, and more interesting as well 

to the general reader. The famous Fernaig MS., written 

by Duncan Macrae in Kintail two hundred years ago, is to 

be reproduced in full. This M.S. of various vicissitudes 

has, we understand, been generously gifted by Dr Skene, 

its late possessor, to one of the editors (Mr Kennedy), and 

the forthcoming edition of it will not fail in excellence and 

accuracy of materials. It is written in phonetic Gaelic, 

which makes it all the more important as giving the exact 

pronunciation and idiom of the time. An unpublished


Turner collection is to follow, of which Dr Cameron 

thought highly. A complete recension of the story of 

Deridre is also to appear ; and thereafter essays on Gaelic 

literature and philology, the volume ending with a full 

glossary of all Dr Cameron's etymologies of Gaelic words, 

published and unpublished, which we believe will extend to 

considerably over a third of the vocabulary of the Gaelic 

dictionary. The present volume is very handsomely got 

up. Of the printing, it may at once be said that it reflects 

the highest credit, as the preface puts it, " on the individuals 

concerned in that work." The difficulties of small superlinear 

letters and other signs, combined with the running 

on two opposite pages of text, transliteration, translation, 

and notes on all these, are overcome with complete and 

admirable success. 

D. C.

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.r^QXîP?d©^_ 

CONTENTS. 

page 

WILLIE GILLIES. Chaps. V. and VI 

THE HOSPITAL OFJNVERNESS AND DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. 

Douglas Wi.mberley 

Chap. VI. By Captain 

129 

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CONTENTS 

WILLIE GILLIES. Chaps. V. and VI '^9 

THE HOSPITAL OF INVERNESS AND DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. Chap. VI. Dy 

Capt.mn Douglas Wimuekley M^ 


II. By William Mackenvib 

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No. 39. JUNE, 1892. Vol. IV. 


CHAPTER V. 

STATED that my official duties were migratory in 

summer and stationary in winter. My in-door work 

did not restrict me to any precise locality ; for, as far as 

official, it consisted in a reduction of the materials of infor- 

mation obtained in summer. I was one of the compilers 

of periodical blue books. I cannot say that it was an 

employment I altogether felt fitted for. My mind does 

not love to work according to rules—it has a disagreeable 

habit of wandering. Thus it happened that when I should 

look to the prescribed mode of classification, and to arith- 

metical correctness of calculation, my thoughts have often 

been turned into a side channel by a chance idea, suggested 

by some obscure analog)-. The troublesome habit brought 

me into a ludicrous scrape— in my first report I embodied, 

in utter unconsciousness of doing such a thing, an inde- 

pendent inquiry into a collateral matter not officially pre- 

scribed. I was only made aware of the fact by a letter 

from head-quarters, in which, to my great delight, praise 

instead of blame was awarded to me for calling the atten- 

9


tion of the authorities to a part of the inquiry that had been 

omitted in the regulations. Still I had no ambition of 

teaching " my lords," and I dreaded another lapse of forget- 

fulness which might bring a rebuke upon me. I dreaded 

it all the more because a friend at head-quarters told me of 

another blunder of mine not officially noticed. When I 

am studying, I have an abominable custom of scribbling 

odds and ends of thought on the sheets of blotting paper I 

use, or on the margins of the manuscript itself. When 

men, animals, or scenery enter into my meditations I draw 

caricatures instead of descriptions. I was never taught 

drawing, and my sketches are caricatures. Now, when 

drawing up that first official report, I kept the margins 

clean enough, and wrote out the manuscript in my most 

clerkly hand, but by ill luck, on sending it away, I left 

several tale-tell sheets of blotting paper between the leaves, 

which astonished the secretary, and made " my lords" 

laugh. Of course, I vowed sincerely to be more careful in 

future, and took a wise step to prevent a breach of my vow. 

My brother was blessed with a large, healthy, and noi.sy 

family—dear nephews and nieces don't be angry that I tell 

the truth, since I love you well. They interrupted me continually. 

At one time baby quarrelled with mamma, and 

only Uncle John could quiet it. At another time boisterous 

Charlie and pertinacious Tommy rudely broke the thread 

of my meditation to decide a difference of opinion on a 

question of property in pocket knives and fishing tackle. 

And Lucy—my quiet, inquisitive, best-loved niece—how 

that child puzzled me with her earnest, dreamy look, 

unearthly beauty, and mysterious imaginings and long- 

ings ? I have sat by the bedside of the dying Christian 

and of the insensible sinner, but in neither case did I ever 

feel such awe, such faith, such hatred of sin, and such coii- 

sciousness of immortality and a judgment to come as in 

presence of the child who instinctively knew that the mark 

of Azrael was upon her young brow, who died, to every- 

thing but love and hope, long before she ceased to breathe

Willie Gillies. 13; 

—who, in truth, could not be said to die, but to be trans- 

lated. I doubt the spiritual affinity between children and 

parents. Souls, like faults, in many instances, appear to be 

personal—to belong to the individual stamp exclusively. 

My brother is not a bad fellow as the world goes, and my 

sister-in-law is an admirable person, and my general 

adviser ; but how little seemed in common between them 

and the angel child, except that human affection which 

makes families and all the world kin ? 

I am straying again. Well, the long and the short of it 

is, that for satisfactory study and relieving my brother of 

the burden of which he never complained, I took a nice cot- 

tage for myself, on the outskirts of a country town not far 

from my brother's farm. For a sensible woman, as she is, 

my sister-in-law upon this occasion was quite unreasonable. 

She disapproved of the plan, and reproached me with want 

of affection in leaving them. I was moved by her 

reproaches and grief to the extent that I would have given 

up my plan and forfeited a year's rent if I had not formed 

a little scheme which was then a secret to all but myself. 

When she saw that I was firm she yielded with a good 

grace, set about furnishing my cottage with her usual 

vigour, and completely forgot all her vexation in making 

hard bargains with the upholsterers and tradesmen. I 

handed to her my purse (my first year's salary opportunely 

replenished it) and when all was finished to her taste, she 

ushered me with some ceremony into my new abode, and 

returned the purse, which was not empty, as I had good 

cause to expect. We had a little party to celebrate the 

event. My sister-in-law was a bit proud of her handiwork, 

and drew more attention than was necessary to every 

article of furniture in succession. Among other things she 

begged me to notice the easy chair on the right side of the 

fire as my seat of honour and meditation, " and there," she 

said, pointing to a low-rocking chair opposite, " is the 

place of your wife, if you give up your brown sheep-skins 

(she meant parchments) and stinking old books, and, like a

132 


sensible man, marry." The children laughed, all but Lucy, 

who gave me one of her queer wistful looks. Charlie, the 

scamp, threw himself upon the seat in question with a 

vehemence dangerous to that article of furniture, and 

declared it would be "jolly" to have another aunt—he 

had but one, his mother's sister, and he was down in her 

bad books. I felt annoyed and— yes, I did blush. But 

catching hold of Lucy I drew her to me partly to hide my 

confusion, but chiefly because I loved her dearly, displaced 

the scamp Charlie, placed her in the chair, and declared 

she was to be my companion and housekeeper. That 

was a part of my secret scheme. It was a vain fancy 

of mine to think that she could be kept long on earth by 

keeping her quiet and watching over her health more than 

was done at home. Lucy thanked me with a look that I 

shall never forget. But the boys noisily asserted that they 

would not get on at home without Lucy. Even my sister- 

in-law negatived the proposal. She was, however, open to 

conviction, and altered her mind, when I showed her that 

the town was warmer in winter than the country, and that 

my dear friend Doctor —— would see her daily. My 

sister-in-law felt the force of the argument, and yet she 

started the objection that the girl would pine away from 

the want of companions of her own age. I was prepared 

for the objection, and told her that I also wanted the loan 

of Tommy, promising that he would have good instruction 

in the grammar school during the day, and the benefit of 

instruction from myself at night. My brother and his 

wife saw the advantage of the offer ; they were ambitious 

of turning out of the family one scholar at least, and felt 

inclined to accept the offer; indeed, they accepted it 

already in their hearts, only my sister-in-law observed that 

the boy would be certain to run wild, since I was so 

forgetful of things going on around me that I would not see 

his faults nor punish him. She believes in the virtue of the 

rod, does my sister-in-law. Well then my whole secret Avas 

revealed, and I felt relieved, for it weighed on me for weeks


how to tell it to the family without giving offence. I said 

the statistical work was too much for me alone (in very 

truth the dread of new blunders could not be removed but 

by a sharp-eyed confidential assistant, that would keep me 

on the square without laughing openly at my everlasting 

gaucheries), that my salary was good and about to be 

increased, and that I was acquainted with a smart lad who 

was just the proper clerk for m.e. Then I was questioned 

about the future clerk. I told what I knew of Willie Gillies- 

My brother swore (he has a habit of using strong expletives 

when excited) that lad was the right sort of a chap, and my 

sister-in-law said in such company she believed Tommy 

would be safe. Little Lucy said nothing. When I looked 

at her, however, I saw that there was colour on her pale 

cheek, and moisture in her large eyes. Poor thing ! 

it 

would have greatly relieved her had dislike of observation 

allowed her to vent in sobs her appreciation of Willie's 

moral heroism. 

The ready acquiescence of my friends cheered me. I 

was in regular correspondence with Willie Gillies. If I did 

sometimes forget to reply to him, it only caused him to 

write earlier again. Willie was one of those whose friendship 

and confidence it was difficult to gain, but which when 

gained lasted for ever. I learned his state and prospects 

clearly from his letters. His health was improving, but was 

not what it had been before his illness. A letter from the 

district surgeon assured me of this. He was craving for 

independence and employment. His old employer had got 

another clerk to occupy his stool, and, under the impression 

that Willie was ruined in health, refused to take him back. 

In a letter to me Willie bemoaned his fate; for once his 

courage gave way, and he confessed it ; and when I traced 

the torture of a weak and suffering mind, I wept for him as 

if he were my brother. Then it was the thought struck me 

—it was just after I heard of the unlucky tracery on the 

blotting-paper submitted to "my lords" by mistake— 

would get Willie to help me, and give him better wages 

I

134 


than he had in Edinburgh. I knew that the money which 

I had pressed upon him was a yoke upon his neck, and that 

he would have no peace until it was repaid. Well, I 

wrote him at once, and— I dare say I put a little fancy 

colour on the necessity—told him that my work was more 

than I could do, my income more than I could spend, and 

that I would give him so much if he became my clerk for 

a twelvemonth. I hinted, if he would give up the law and 

qualify himself for the civil service, or prefer seeking his 

fortune in India, that I could, perhaps, obtain for him the 

patronage of Lord H . To my great joy Willie at 

once jumped at the bait. This occurred before 1 took the 

cottage, and I was somewhat afraid of the denouement, but, 

as the reader has seen, my brother and sister-in-law entirely 

agreed with me when they heard all my plans. 

The economy of life is ruled by mixed motives, as far 

as it is at all ruled by man. I am not at all free from 

selfishness. I can safely say that the arrangement which I 

have described was intended for Willie's good as well as 

my own. But Willie did for me more work than he was 

ever paid for. He entered heart and soul into the employ- 

ment, and, as a proof that he succeeded, I may mention 

that my second report was the best I ever sent, and that it 

did not contain a scrap of blotting paper. Lucy herself 

sometimes laughed at my blunders— I liked to see her 

laugh, and sometimes committed blunders on purpose—and 

Tommy, the young scamp, was ever playing tricks with my 

books and papers, and greeted my consequent perplexities 

with roars of merriment. Tommy had a large heart of his 

wn, but he never zuoidd understand that Lucy was dying- 

She bore his boisterous merriment uncomplainingly, and' 

when she was able, joined in his less noisy sports. Willie 

understood her nature and condition better. I do not think 

they often talked of death, but their serious conversations 

on a Sunday evening, when I composed myself to somno- 

lescence in my easy chair and Tommy went away to see 

his parents, told me plainly that it was in the thoughts of


both. My niece was a teacher for both Willie and me. 

Her intuition into life, death, and immortality strengthened 

the man of grey hairs and the lad newly entered upon the 

responsibilities of life. I think there was a something, I 

know not what, which made the communion of hearts 

between Willie and Lucy closer when I listened to them 

with shut eyes, appearing to be asleep, than when I joined 

in the conversation. The heart of age gets encrusted with 

a coating of insensibility—perhaps that was the cause. 

Lucy was cheerful and uncomplaining through the winter. 

We thought she was getting better daily, only the doctor 

shook his head. When the: spring came, when birds began 

to sing, and flowers to blossom, when it was hardest to part 

with her, when amidst the revivification of life it was 

saddest to die, she drooped her head and slept. I cannot 

dwell on the scene. Her mother supported her head, I 

held one hand and her father the other, and she cast on 

Willie, who stood at the foot of the bed, a last look when 

the final summons came. I felt exceedingly glad when the 

season of my peregrmations called me from home that 

year. I left Tommy in Willie's care, who had obtained 

over the young scamp a powerful and salutary influence, 

gee-geeh'd my regulation horse, and drove away from the 

shadow of a great erief. 

CHAPTER VL 

I H-WE mentioned that Willie had an uncle. I knew 

nothing about him but that he was rich and did not help in 

the least his sister and her children. I set him down in m> 

remembrance as a sordid brute, whose acquaintance was 

not desirable, and never asked his name and whereabouts. 

Nevertheless, it was destined that I should meet him in the 

course of my summer travels the year Lucy died. 

In the course of my official duty I entered a retired 

pastoral parish on a Tuesday in yVugust. Considering the


season of the year, and the suitableness of the day for hay- 

making, I was not a Httle surprised at the Sabbath appear- 

ance of the fields. My first inipression was that if not the 

*' muckle Sabbath itsel','' it was at least a fast-day. As 

communion fasts are usually held on Thursdays, and no 

other holidays were then common, the solution, on second 

consideration, did not hold good, so I asked a little boy 

that was herding cattle by the roadside, ivhy people were 

not working, and he told me they were a' awa to the 

Clachan Fair. The yearly lamb fair was a customary 

holiday, it seemed, in the district. I reached the Clachan 

Inn in time, and found " mine host " in a perspiration of 

anxiety. The stables were filled with horses, and every 

part of the house—not a small one— filled with company. 

Before the inn were rows of "sweetie" stands, and penny 

shows, and all the children of the parish—my little ragged 

informant, the herd boy, excepted. Further away on the 

hillside were droves of lambs, and crowds of persons who 

intended to buy or sell. I asked " mine host " for dinner. 

He told me that deil a dinner I could hae there unless I 

waited for the public yearly dinner of the farmers, which 

closed the fair. I agreed to stay, and being informed that 

two parish authorities whom I wished to see ofificially were 

on the hillside, I bent my steps thither, determined, as 

usual, to take things as they came without annoyance, if I 

could do so. 

I found one of the gentlemen I sought, and in his company 

navigated my way among the flocks of lambs, amusing 

myself with observations on the groups of buyers and 

sellers. Perhaps it is an early prejudice, but I think that 

there is not under the sun a class of heartier, and, on the 

whole, honester men than farmers. Yet to watch their 

bargain-making one would think them as sharp as Jews. 

There now is a red-faced, loud-voiced buyer, who explains 

to a young sheepish seller that the price he asks is absurdly 

high, because the English markets are down and must 

come down from the bad prospects of the harvest and the


vant of winter feed. The honest man's arguments are 

not according to known facts, and truly it would need a 

prophet to tell about the winter keep and after-grass so 

early. He wants to cheat the sheepish seller, but will he 

let him catch him if he can. That 

manage it ? Ah ! 

innocent-looking man knows the prices obtained for every 

lot sold, and those asked for every one to be sold. With 

mingled candour and false simplicity he has wheedled 

e\ ery neighbour out of his secret, and he is makinij an ass 

of the red-faced buyer himself. He knows when he is 

chaffering with the argumentative customer, that another 

one who has already offered to a fraction what he requires, 

is looking on, and resolving to give the full price as soon 

as the red-faced man turns his back. So it goes on, the 

sharper man making the best bargains, and gaining the 

most praise. 

The honest men, however, left their sharpness and 

mutual reserve, suspicion and strategy on the hill-side. 

When they met at dinner the secrets of the afternoon 

transactions were all divulged, and dealers and bu}-ers 

rallied each other upon their bargains. I believe real over- 

reaching was not practicable nor attempted, but farmers 

pride themselves upon being sharp at bargains, and those 

that exceed their neighbours in disposing of their farm 

produce, dead or living, attain respect and honour. We 

had a plentiful dinner and plenty of toddy. I do not like 

the native beverage and always drink sparingly, but I am 

constitutionally inclined to be infected with the spirit of 

the hour, and without drinking, I became on this occasion 

as talkative ai;d happy as my neighbours. I had intended 

to stay at the Clachan, but my friend would not hear of it. 

So I left my horse there and went home with him in his 

dog -cart. 

My entertainer and myself slided, I do not know how, 

into the confidential mood of old friends, although this was 

only the second occasion on which we met. On the former 

occasion, I met him officially, and found him rather dogmatic

The Highlmid Monthly. 

and difficult to convince of the necessity for some new 

regulations with which he found fault. I thought him 

anything but an agreeable and well-bred man. He 

appeared in a different light at the fair and in his own 

house. There, like Rob Roy, his " foot was on his native 

heath," and he shone as the open-hearted, frank, and 

hospitable farmer. In manners and feelings, he en


his system of surface draining—his plan of crossing and 

weeding flocks, his modes of pasturing, &c., explained to 

the world in type. Moreover, the Journal was one of the 

few papers he respected, because, he said, it had glimmers 

of sense, and did not fill its pages with party " flytings," 

nor with murders and such stuff 

" I have," he said, " been trying to make fools listen to 

me for twenty years. G , 

if I had a son, I would have 

taken their farms at higher rents, and make the land pay 

too, and turn the stiff-headed asses into beasts of burden. 

It is all they deserve, since they will not listen to reason." 

He was getting into one of his crotchets, though, from 

what I afterwards learned, I do not believe he would like 

to dispossess his neighbours, stiff as they were ; for on a 

farm which he bought years before, he allowed a tenant to 

remain who put him into periodical fury by refusing to 

listen to good advice. But at this time I was not so 

acquainted with his empty threats as I subsequently 

became, and so, rather than come to a collision respecting 

the morality of depopulating a parish for the sake of high 

farming, I asked rather awkwardly why he remained a 

bachelor ?— for, like myself, only older, bachelor he was, 

and that partly explains our sudden intimacy, for birds of 

a feather have common sympathies. I repented the 

moment I put the question. But he replied quite 

unruffled, 

" Because I wanted none of your jaunting, pridefu' 

dames to spend my money and scorn me, nor when 

younger could I think of raising a kitchen-maid to the 

head of the table to be laughed at by the whole clanjam- 

fray of the country-side. Yet now that I am an old lonely 

man, I think my pride was foolish." 

" But you will have near relatives to supply the place of 

dearer connections. My brother's children are to me as 

much, or nearly as much, as children of my own could be." 

" No, I have no near kin, if ye must ken, except the 

children of a sister who thwarted me, and whom I have 

disowned."


" Mr Greaves, you and T are no longer young. We are 

both lonely and in need of the sympathy which friendship 

and family love bestows. I do not seek to know what was 

your sister's fault ; but you should not keep wrath for ever, 

and especially if she and her children need your help." 

" Let us talk no more of this," he replied gruffly ; 

at my horses." 

" look 

" It must be explained that he induced me to walk over 

his farm, that I might see his system in practical operation. 

The horses were worth looking at. There was one bay 

pony, especially, which I much admired. Willie Gillies 

was passionately fond of .-iding. I thought how he would 

enjoy a gallop on the bay pony's back, and, as I too often 

speak my thoughts aloud—Tommy, the young scamp, 

frequently amused himself with observations on this weak- 

ness— I said aloud, " Oh ! 

Willie, I wish you were here." 

Mr Greaves smiled, and asked me who was Willie, and 

why I wished his presence. 

I told him Willie was my clerk, and impelled by some 

inexplicable motive (I have now discovered it was a blind 

wish to say something to make the rich farmer-squire for- 

give his erring sister), I told him how I became acquainted 

with Willie, and everything I knew about him and his 

family. 

" He must be a fine lad that Willie. I wish I had an 

adopted son of that stamp. But what is the chiel's surname." 

" Gillies.'^ 

A rapid change passed over the face of my entertainer 

when he asked the next question, 

"And where do you say his father was minister?" 

I named the parish, and he remained mute ; although 

without obtrusively looking at him I felt that he was 

labouring in a struggle for mastery between his good and 

evil angels. My hope was that something similar in my 

story caused him to reflect on the life of his own sister, and 

that he was struggling into a reconciliation mood. He


turned the conversation again to his farming. Later in the 

evening he asked abruptly how long the lad Gillies v/as to 

stay with me. I replied, for six months at least, perhaps 

longer. He said nothing more on the subject until I was 

bidding him farewell, when he mentioned that he was to 

pass near me at the harvest tryst and that perhaps he 

would call on me. I said I would be most glad to see him, 

and so we parted. 

This fishing for an invitation, and the question he put 

respecting Willie's stay with me, caused me to discard my 

former guess and entertain a new hope, but I allowed 

things to take their natural course, though, for reasons 

obvious to the reader, I was desirous of knowing the 

maiden name of Mrs Gillies, and the family history of my 

late entertainer.



AND 



CHAPTER VI. 

Details of Treasurer Dunbar's Accounts.—Dr Fraser of Chelsea's Mortification 

—Treasurer J. Dunbar's Charge : Some Interesting Items.—Mortifications 

by Duff of Drummoore, by Helen Baillie, by William Macphaill. — 

Securities for the two Bonds of ^2000 each again mentioned. -Amount of 

his Charge and of his Dischage.—Some of the Securities for Hospital 

Stock, which shows considerable increase.— Shiplands Lands, above the 

Hill, viz., Broadstone and Crottertone, bought, 1715.— Shiplands Lands 

let by public roup.—Thomas Alves, Treasurer, 1717-21.— His Charge and 

Discharge.—Hospital Stock made over to his successor : Increase thereof. 

—Treasurer's disregard to Instructions and Intentions of Mortifier.—Mode 

of Nominating New Pensioners. —Zeal of Treasurer in securing a Mortification.— 

Letter to Laird of Diple.—Report of Visit to Laird of Diple, 

and of delivery of Letter.— Second Letter to Laird of Diple.— Report by 

Hospital Treasurer, and Diple's reply.— Letter from Laird of Bracko, 

relative to promise made by his deceased father, Diple. 

RETURNING to Treasurer James Dunbar, his accounts 

contain much interesting information, and mention 

of further mortifications to the Hospital, as well as of that 

by Dr James Fraser of Chelsea, to promote the " buying of 

useful books, for the increase of the Library of said Burgh." 

His donation amounted to 1000 merks, and he gave the 

money in November and December, 17 12, besides books to 

the value of about 200 guineas ; 

was not granted till 30th April, 1724. 

but the deed of donation 

Bailie Dunbar's CJiarge as Hospital Treasurer contains 

the same items as Bailie Thomson's DiscJiarge, as above 

noted, to the amount of ;^ 17,440 lis 2d ; further annual 

rents ; some further mortifications, viz., in 17 16, money

1he Hospital of Inver7iess. 143 

from Alexander Duff of Drummoore, mortified by his 

father in July, 1714, ;^333 6s 8d ; mortified by Helen 

Baillie, merchant in town, payable at Martinmas thereafter, 

£66 13s 4d ; 

by 

William Macphail, merchant in to\vn,;^200 

to the Hospital, the annual rent to be paid to the poor of 

the place, those of the name of Macphail being preferred. 

Besides these, Mr Fraser of Chelsea's mortification, paid by 

instalments, amounting to £666 13s 4d, and another by his 

brother, of £600. " The deceast James Dunbar of Dalcross 

half coble's salmond fishing for a part of Provost Dunbar's 

mortification of ^^"2000 " is again mentioned ; also, " the 

deceast Bailie Dunbar of Dalcross' lands above the Hill for 

a part of Pro\-ost Dunbar's mortification (above the pryce 

of said half coble's fishing), ^2666 13s 4d ;" also, "to the 

Kingsmills, redeemed at Whits., 17 17, princ, ^4666 13s 4d, 

and five years' deutie therof, from Whits., 17 12, to Whits., 

1717, the tyme it was redeemed by Castlehill, as per 

given in, ^^"1526 6s 8d, and annual rent therof from Whits., 

1 7 17, to Marts., 17 19, at 5 p.c, ^583 6s 8d ; also the rent 

of Shiplands lands, abo\-c the Hill, for crops 1715 to 1718, 

£1^6 6s 8d." 

His whole Charsê being ;^2 1,201 15s 2d of 

principal sums, and iJ" 10,368 4s 2d of 

annual rents, to which is added an obliga- 

tion by the Session to Drakies (part of 

Magistrates and Council of Inverness' 

bond), ^^760 14s 6d, leaving a balance diie 

to James Dunbar, Treasurer, ^47 5s 4d, 

was in all £z^,Z77 I9 2 

His Discharge— 

Bonds and heritable securities ... ...^24,147 i o 

Annual rents, precepts drawn by Session, 

outstanding debts, disbursements by 

order of Session... ... ... ... 8,230 18 2

144 

^^^ Highland Monthly. 

In the list of these securities is included Inshes' half 

coble, in bond, i!"2000, as well as James Dunbar of Dalcross 

do., ^2000 ; also, Robert P.obertson of Shiplands, his heri- 

table bond, " bearing infeft on his haill lands for princ. 

soume, iJ"3333 6s 8d ;" and also heritable bond and disposi- 

tion from Shiplands, for lands bought from him above the 

Hill, that cost principal sum of iJ" 1750 ; by sundrie Session's 

precepts, ;^828 3s 2d ; 

to sundry pensioners, ;^4429 9s 4d. 

Then follows a full list of bonds and securities, &c.^ 

made over to his successor, the amount of which is 

Principal sums, ^^"24,147 is od ; 

— 

annual rents, ^,2230 9s 2d. 

This shows a considerable increase in the amount of the 

Hospital stock, but it improperly includes the mortifications 

of Dr Fraser and his brother to the Library. 

Reference is also made, in a note or memorandum, to 

the securities of George Duncan's mortification of the lands 

of Diriebught, then life-rented by his widow. 

" Shiplands' lands, above the Hill," were the lands of 

" Broadstone and acres, and the acre above the Hill," as we 

find them described later in Treasurer Hossack's accounts, 

the acre last mentioned being apparently Crottertone, 

Treasurer James Dunbar purchased these lands from Robt. 

Robertson of Shiplands (who was indebted to the Hospital),, 

with the advice and consent of two assessors appointed by 

the Kirk Session, and took a disposition thereof in favour 

of himself and his successors in office, " for the use and 

behoof of the poor of Inverness." The amount of the 

purchase price is not mentioned in the disposition, but we 

find in Jam&s Dunbar's accounts— " By heritable bond and 

disposition from Shipland, for lands bought from him above 

the Hill, ye cost princll. soume of iJ'1750." 

At Whitsunday, 17 16, the lands of Broadstone, having 

been advertised by a placard at the Cross, were let by 

public roup to Doctor George Cuthbert, M.D., at a yearly 

rent of 120 merks, the "said lands including the two aikers 

lying beside the above broad, now lea and under grass, for 

the space of five years, not including this present year

'ihr Hospital of IiiVerness. 145 

1 7 16, in ye regard and for the encouragement of the taxman, 

the land being ley, and doe hereby declare the sd. George 

Cuthbert his entry thereto for payment of the yearly duty 

bcfor mentioned to be and begin cropt 17 17, the which 120 

merks as the yearly duty furth of the said lands to be 

payed at each Candlemas, dureing the whole time and 

space of the sd. five years, whereupon act." 

Parts of these lands have since been feued, the remainder 

is still let b}- the Session. 

Thomas Alvcs was the next Hospital Treasurer, and 

held office from Martinmas, 17 19, to Martinmas, 1721. 

His Charge includes items as above, to said 

amount ... ... ... ... ...^,'24,147 i o 

Annual rents thereon, including arrears... 4,934 i 2 

Balance fl'//^ /^ him ... ... ... 156 13 4 

His Discharge includes 

— 

;^29,237 15 6 

Bonds and heritable securities ... ...^^24,599 2 6 

Annual rents, precepts of Session, disbursements 

4,477 t^ 10 

Cash for annual rent omitted ... ... 4 10 10 

Bond, A. Mackintosh, tobac- 

conist, &c.... ... •••;Î33 6 I 

Annual rent thereon ... 23 6 8 

— 

~ 

156 12 9 

^^29,237 15 6 

Among the items of his outla}- are— " Paid to the 

Hospital Pensioners, ^^1706 6s 8d ;" and " Ane account of 

disbursements documented, ;i^389 7s 4d." 

He hands over to his successor bonds, securities, &;c. 

viz.: 

— 

Principal. Annual liciUs, &c 

Bonds and securities ...;^24,599 2 6 

Annual rents due ... ... ^^2280 4 4 

Do. omitted ... 4 10 o 

10

146 The Highland Monthly, 

Obligation from Wm. Duff, 

of Diple, dated 19th Jany., 

1721, to mortify 500 merks £>1)ZZ 6 8 

Obligation by John Jackson, 

to pay out of the estate of 

the deceased Robt. Jack- 

son to the Hospital 500 

merks 333 6 8 

A. Mackintosh's bond ... ;Î33 6 8 

Annual rent thereon ... 23 6 8 

;^24,732 9 2 ;^2974 1 5 2 

It will be observed that the amount of the Hospital 

property was now steadily increasing, and that the amount 

of arrears of annual rents due was now comparatively small. 

The accounts, however, were not kept distinct for the 

various branches, in accordance with the Treasurer's instruc- 

tions, nor were the upper stories of the Hospital occupied 

by poor bedesmen. In Thomas Alves' accounts we find, 

"To II months' rent of the Hospitall Upper Loft, till 7 

June, 1721, ;" £11 and "To the Magistrates' obligation for 

the Rent of the Upper Storie of the Hospitall, for a Hospi- 

tall to the Regmt., pay. 7 June, 1722, ^^36." This regiment 

was " a regiment of Fusaleers."—Kirk Session records, 20th 

June, 1 72 1. 

At the commencement, however, of Thomas Alves' 

Treasurership, the Session had to authorise him to borrow 

i^200 Scots, " for payment of the Hospital pensioners, since 

there's no money delivered him by the late Hospital 

Treasurer, and to give armual rent therefor from the term 

of Marts, last, if he cannot have it other ways." His 

predecessor had a balance due to him. 

At this time the new Hospital pensioners were 

appointed at meetings of the Kirk Session, and their 

names, with the amount allotted to each, generally to be 

paid quarterly, entered in the records. The usual allowance 

was twenty pounds Scots yearly ; in some cases ten, in 

-some as much as forty.


The Session could show zeal and perseverance, combined 

\\\\.\\ flatter)-, in the interests of the Hospital, when 

occasion required. Having hopes that William Duff, the 

laird of Dipple, would do something for the Trust, at a 

meeting held on 15th March, 1720, on its "being repre- 

sented that the laird of Dipple is indisposed, the Session 

appoint that Bailie Dunbar, Mr William Stuart, Mr Robert 

Baillie, Thomas Alves, William Neilson, and John Fraser 

may meet as a Committee upon Thursday next, in order to 

think upon a proper wa}' to pay him a visite." This 

Committee included the two ministers and the Hospital 

treasurer. 

As this Committee failed to meet immediately, we find 

that on 5th April following" it was suggested that just now 

the persons should be chosen who were to goe ; 

accordingl}', 

it being put to the vote, they did all agree unanimously that 

Bailie James Dunbar and Mr Robert Baillie .should goe : 

also they appoint that there should be a letter written to 

the Laird of Dipple and signed by the members of the 

.Session, the tenor of which follows : 

" Honble. and Dear Sir,— It cannot but be matter of 

Joy to all good Burghers of Inverness when they hear how 

God has been pleased to Bless and prosper you in \'our 

affairs and concerns in this ^\•orld, and in a particular 

manner the members of the Kirk Session doe earnestly 

wish that the abundance of Temporal Blessings which 

Heaven hath bestowed on you may be a sure fore-runner 

and toaken of the Incoruptable Inheritance and Crown of 

Glory reserved for you in Heaven. In the meantime, they 

desire to perswade themselves that it is your inclination to 

Glorify God with the good things he has given you, the 

necessity of the poor of this Burgh hath a cry for your help, 

and your casting of your bread upon the waters may bring 

you the Blessing of those who are ready to perish. Wêe 

have sent two of our number, to witt, James Dunbar, one 

of the present Baillies, and Mr Robert Baillie, one of the 

ministers of this Burgh, to salute you in our name as a 

token of that respect wee owe unto you, and we have 

referred it unto them to Represent our desires more fully 

unto you, and we doubt not but by them ye will give us an 

—

148 The Hiohland Monthly. 

answer as may refresh ye Bowels of the poor perpetual and 

enbalm your own name, and while the Burgh continues 

give ane occasion unto posterity in this place to bless your 

memory. This wishing that your life may be prolonged 

for the Glory of God, the comfort of your soul, and fthe 

Honour of your Family and relations, with all Respect and 

sincerity we are, Honble. Sir, your most engaged and very 

humble sei-vts." 

It is not recorded by whom this letter was signed. The 

deputation lost no time, for 

Session run— 

" Mr Robert 

on 19th April the minutes of 

Baillie and Baillie Dunbar 

Reported that they went to Elgin, and payed a visite to the 

Laird of Diple according to appointment, and that he was 

confyned to his bed ; that they delivered the letters from 

the Council and Session, which he caused Read in their 

presence, and that he was very sensible of the Respect the 

Council and Session hade put upon him in Remembering 

of him in that manner, and that as soon as he recovered so 

as to be able to write he would send ane answer to the 

Council and Session which he hoped would satisfy them. 

He ordered to lay up the letters carefully, and desired that 

any Person the Session pleased should call for the answer. 

Upon the whole, he seemed well pleased, and behaved most 

civily. The Session appointed the Moderator to write up 

a letter to Diple, thanking him for the civil return he gave 

by word of mouth to their letter, and to put him in mind of 

his promise to send up an answer in write." 

Some time elapsed without a reply : 

for we find this 

entry in the Session Records of 13th December— " The 

Session appointed the Modr. to write a letter to the Laird 

of Dipple to mind him of his Promise, the tenor of which 

letter follows : 

— 

" Honble. and Dear Sir,—The Kirk Session of Inverness, 

consisting of Magistrates, Heritors, and Honest 

Burghers, cannot forget your promise to Baillie Dunbar of 

leaving a toaken of your kindness unto the Hospitall of 

this Burgh, the whole Inhabitants whereof are most earnest 

to have a memoriall of )'our name preserved among them, 

being Proud of haveing such a considerable person as the

7he Hospital of /iivcniess. 149 

Laird of Dipple for their Burgher. They have therefore 

Impowered Thomas Alves, your acquaintance, and our 

present Hospitall Treasurer, to put you in remembrance of 

the kind promise you mad, and wee perswad ourselves that 

you will do something effectuall in it, which will ingage the 

Inhabitants in tliis place to pray for your prosperity and 

the prolongation of your life. This, in name and at the 

appointment of the Session of Inverness, is signified unto 

you by, Honble. and Dear Sir, yoxw most obliged and most 

humble servant, 

" Sic substr. Ror.KRT Baillie." 

The abo\e reminder had the desired effect, for on 24th 

January, 1721, " Thomas Alves, Hospitall Treasurer, 

Reported th^ in consequence of the applications made to 

the Laird of Dipple in the name of the Session, he received 

a letter from him. dated the nineteenth day of Januar\' 

one thousand se\-en hundred and twenty-one, the tenor of 

which is as follows : 

— 

" Sir,— I recei\-ed \'ours, and am only to mortify five 

hundred merks of the sume contained in Inches and AL- 

Macbean's Bond, which I am to assign, and as for the 

Ballance, which is one thousand merks, I am content to 

take \-our Bond in common form, obligeing you and your 

successors in office to pay the same against Martinmas one 

thousand seven hundred and twenty-one years, Bearing 

Literest'from Whitsunday last, since what I assign you to 

does the same, upon your sending whereof I shall return 

Inches and Air AIcBean's Bond with ane assignation thereto 

as you demand. You need make no great scruple about 

the term of payment, being I will use no diligence so soon 

as that unless I be straitened myself I would have (if the 

good Town incline) what mortification I make so constitute 

that any poor friend of myne might have the benefite of it 

before another at the sight of the Magistrates and Council, 

which I expect will not be refused, otherwise I am not to 

urge it.— I remain. Sir, your most humble servant, 

" Sic substr. Will. Duff." 

This proposal to assign Inches and Macbean's Bond 

seems not to have been carried out. At the end of Thomas 

Alves' accounts occurs— " Also Deleavred to sd. Thesr." 

.e., his successor! " ane obligator Lre. from Wm. Duff of


Diple, dated at Elgin, the 19th Jany., 1721, wherein he 

promises to mortifie to the Hospitall five hundred merks, 

as sd. Lre. more fully bears ;^333 6s 8d." 

The next information we have relative to this mortifica- 

tion is after Dipple's death, when on 22nd February, 1726, 

" Thomas Alves, Baillie, acquainted the Session that he had 

a letter from the Laird of Bracko, informing him that the 

summ of five hundred merks mortified by Dipple, his 

father, for the poor of this place, was to bear interest from 

Whitsunday 1723 years, and that the Deed of Mortification 

in due form would shortly be Delivered in : and 

that in the 

meantime it was Bracko's desire that one Majy'ory Sligo, a 

widow in this Burgh, might have the a. rent of the said 

summ commencing from Candlemas last to be pay'd her 

Quarterly : which desire being considered by the Session 

they complied therewith, and therefor did and hereby do 

Intitle the said Marjory Sligo to the said Quarterly pention 

as above, whereon Act.'' 

Accordingly we find several years later, in Treasurer 

Gilbert Gordon's accounts, " The Laird of Dipple's pro- 

missory letter and interest thereon from Whits. 1723 to 

Candlemas 173 1, £lZl 6s 8d and ^^129 3s 4d," in his 

Charge, and what apparently represents the same item in 

his Discharge— " Bill John McBean and Hugh Robertson, 

and interest from Whits. 1727 till Candlemas 1731,^333 6s 

8d and ^62 los od," the interest now appearing at a lower 

rate. The same Bond, but reduced in amount, owing to 

part payment, appears twenty years later in Treasurer 

Hossack's accounts, in 175 1, as "Bond Hugh Robertson 

and John Mackay, mercht., and Interest from Whits. 1729 

till Marts. 175 1," the principal in pounds sterling being 

£2"/ 15s 6^d, and the interest £l\ 

[to UK CCNTIXfED ] 

5s od. 

>

Gaelic Incagitations. 151 

GAELIC INXANTATIONS, CHARMS. AND 

BLESSINGS OF THE HEBRIDES. 

1 

Bv WILLIAM MACKENZIE. 

PROCEED now to deal with the class intended to 

accomplish certain ends by the exercise of the will, 

and comiTience with 

LOVE CHARMS. 

In the list of amulets above given from Macalpine, we 

have the Orra-ghraidh, or Love Charm. The Highlanders 

of old, like the ancient Greeks, seem to have believed in the 

efficacy of charms and philtres, in order, as Erastus has it, 

to force men and women to love and hate whom they will. 

" Sagae omnes sibi arrogant notitiam, et facultatem in 

amorem alliciendi quos velint ; odia 

inter conjuges serendi." 

We have the idea of the Love Charm in Duncan Ban 

Macintyre's Rainn a ghabhas inaigJidean da leannan 

(Verses which a maiden will say to her sweetheart), but as 

the ceremony prescribed may, on the whole, be regarded 

as impossible, it is clear that the poet himself did not 

believe in the efficacy of such incantations. That the 

idea has, however, survived to recent times is undoubted, 

and a good instance of it is given by the Kenlochewe 

bard in the poem already referred to. Describing how 

the bridegroom was " charmed " 

b\' the j-oung woman's 

mother, he says : 

— 

'S beag a bha dhuil aige 'posadh 

An U chaidh Seonaid 'na chainnt 

— 

Rug i da uair air a chrogan 

A's chuir i na li-orracJiami annt ; 

Thionndaidh a chridhe le solas : 

Chaidh dalladh a's sgleo air 's an am, 

'S cha 'n fhaiceadh e aon te cho boidheach 

Ri Ceit ged a sheoladh e 'n Fhrainsf.

152 I'he Highland Monthly. 

In the Highlands, a herb called gradJi cls fiiath (love 

and hate) was believed, when properly applied, to provoke 

love or hate, according to the wish of the person using 

the charm. For the following incantation to excite love, 

I am indebted to Mr Macbain : 

Translated 

— 

— 

Suil bhlath Chriosd air Peadar, 

Suil chaomh na h-Oigh air Eoin ; 

Gu'n leanadh, gu'n leonadh, gu'n lotadh, 

Gu'n iadhadh gu teann seachd altanach, 

Le seachd snaim cruaidh-shnaim 

Mu chridhe na h-Eala 

'Rinn mise 'lot 's a leon 

Gus an coinnich lot ri lot, 

Leon ri leon, 's a cridhe 'breabadh le aoibhneas 

Ri faicinn gnuis a ruin : 

An ainm an Athar, &c. 

The soft eye of Christ upon Peter, 

The mild eye of the Virgin on John ; 

To follow, to wound, and to pierce 

May seven moss grasses with seven hard 

Knots wind round the heart of the Swan 

That gave me my wound and piercing, 

Until wound meets wound and gash to gash, 

And her heart jumps with joy 

At seeing the face of her love : 

In the name of the Father, &c. 

A herb—evidently the altanach, a kind of mountain or 

moss grass—was manipulated during the saying of the 

above. 

Our Irish cousins also have their Love Charms, or, as 

they call them, Ortha na Seirce. To Professor O'Growney, 

of Maynooth, I am indebted for the following from the 

west of Connaught : 

— 

Ortha a chuir Muire in I'm, 

Ortha seirce 's si'or-ghradh ; 

Nar stadaidh do cholann, acht d' aire bheith orm 

Go leanfaidh do ghradh mo ghnaoi 

Mar leanas an bho an laogh 

O'n la so amach go h-uair mo bhais. 

;

— — 

Translated 

Gaelic Incantalions. 

A charm Mary (B. Virgin) put in hitter, 

A charm of affection and lasting love ; 

Alay thy body not rest, but may'st thou be 

uneasy about me 

Until thy love follows my countenance 

As the cow follows the calf, 

From to-day till death's hour. 

As a companion picture, the following Love Charm trom 

England may be appropriately given. The love-sick 

maiden was one Susan Lebway ; and the precious document 

containing the charm was found some 30 years ago. The 

paper on which the formula was written also contains 

figures of the sun and moon and other heavenly bodies, and 

the magic square. Along with it were parings of the 

finger and toe nails and a tiny piece of linen, believed to 

be a portion of Susan's undergarment. The whole was 

neatly folded up, and was wrapped in three folds of linen 

and stitched under a covering of silk. This curious col- 

lection was worn in the left armpit. The formula was as 

follows : 

" Susan Lebway to draw the affections of Theobald 

Young to herself, so that he shall never have any rest or 

peace until he do return unto her, and make her his lawful 

wife. Let the spirits of the planets continually torment 

him until he do fulfil this, my request ; Cossiel Lachiel 

Samuel Michail Araiel Rhaphail Gabriel, I continually stir 

up his mind thereto. 

Reliquaiy, vol. x. 

Fiat fiat fiat cito cito cito. Amen." 

That the Philtre or Love Potion was in use among the 

ancient Celts there can be no doubt. In support of this 

statement, I quote the following paragraph from the L'ish 

edited by Mr 

Life of St Bridget in the " Book of Lismore, ' 

Whitley Stokes : 

— 

" There was a certain man biding in Lassaris Church, 

and his wife was leaving him, and would not sit nor sleep 

along with him. So he came to Bridget to ask for a Spell to 

make his wife love him. Bridget blessed water for him and 

—

154 T^f^^ Highland Monthly. 

said, ' Put that water over the house, and over the food, 

and over the drink of yourselves, and over the bed in the 

wife's absence.' When he had done thus the wife gave 

exceeding great love to him, so thai she could not keep 

apart from him, even on one side of the house, but she was 

always at one of his hands. He went one day on a 

journey, and left his wife asleep. When the woman awoke 

she rose up lightly, and went after the husband, and saw 

him afar from her, with an arm of the sea between them. 

She cried out to her husband, and said that she would go 

into the sea unless he came to her." 

In connection with the Love Charm and Philtre, a 

sentence may be devoted to Eolas a Choiniiis already 

mentioned. I have been unable to obtain this Eolas ; but 

it may be stated that it is referred to in Pennant's Tour in 

Scotland in 1772 (Vol. II., p. 265), where the unsuccessful 

lover is presented as revenging himself on his rival by 

charms potent as those of the shepherd Alphesibaeus 

mentioned by Virgil. " Donald," we are told, " takes three 

threads of different hues, and ties three knots on each 

three times imprecating the most cruel disappointments on 

the nuptial bed ; 

but 

the bridegroom, to avert the harm, 

stands at the altar with an untied shoe, and puts a sixpence 

beneath his foot." Stories illustrative of Eolas a! Choumis 

are numerous throughout the Highlands. 

A somewhat curious parallel is told in the part of the 

Apocryphal New Testament called the " The Plrst Gospel 

of the Infancy of Jesus." I cannot do better than quote 

the opening verses of Chapter VII.: 

"They" [i.e. the Virgin Mary and Jesus) "came afterwards 

to another city, and had a mind to lodge there. 

' Accordingly they went to a man':; house, who was 

newly married, but by the influence of sorcerers could not 

enjoy his wife. 

" But they lodging at his house that night, the man was 

freed of his disorder." 

I will now give you 

— 

EOLAS A' CHEARTUIS, 

a charm or incantation which was said when a Highlander 

went to a Court of Justice. A Gaelic proverb says " Is caut


V is direach an lagli'—crooked and straight is the law 

implying great uncertainty. In going to law the litigant 

presumably believed in the equity of his cause, but being 

uncertain as to the result, he appealed to the Higher 

Powers. In the incantation here given, we have the 

picture of a man starting from his house to measure swords 

before a judge with a neighbour—the occupant of the 

Baile iid tJialt, or "Yonder Town." On leaving his house 

the litigant says 

Translated 

— 

— 

— 

Falbhaidh mise'n ainm Dhia 

An riochd iaruinn 's an riochd each, 

An riochd nathrach 's an riochd feidh ; 

'S treise mi-fhein na gach neach. 

'S dubh dha 'n bhail' ud thall, 

'S dubh dha'n bheil na bhroinn : 

An teanga fo m' bhonn 

Gus an till mi 'nail. 

Mise 'n eala bhan 

'Nam bhan-righinn os an cionn. 

lonnlaididh mi m' aodann, 

Mar naoi gathanan greine. 

Mar dh-ionnlaideas Moire a Mac 

Le bainne bruich. 

Meirc air mo bhial 

— 

Seirc na m' aodann ; 

Bas Mhoire mu m' amhuich, 

Bas Chriosda mu m' aodainn, 

Teanga Mathair los' a' m' cheann ; 

Siiil a chuimirich eatorra, (?) 

'S bias meal air gach aon ni 

Their mi gu'n tig m.i. 

I go forth in the name of God ; 

In the likeness of iron ; in the likeness of the horse ; 

In the likeness of the serpent ; 

the deer 

; 

in the likeness of 

Stronger am I than each one [or " than any one 

else "]. 

Black to yonder town ; 

And black to those who reside therein ; 

[May] Their tongues be under my soles [or feet] 

—

156 1 he Highland Monthly. 

Till I again return. 

May I be the white swan, 

As a queen above them. 

I will wash my face 

That it may shine like the nine rays of the sun, 

As the Virgin Mary washes her Son with warm 

milk ; 

May restraint be on my tongue, 

Beauty on my countenance ; 

The palm [or arm] of Mary around my neck, 

The palm [or hand] of Christ on my face, 

The tongue of the Mother of Jesus in my mouth, 

The eye of the aiivireacJi (?) between them ; 

And m.ay the taste of honey be of every word 

T utter till I return. 

Here we have a wonderful combination of agencies with 

the view of attaining a successful end—iron, symbolic of 

hardness and endurance ; the horse, of strength ; the 

serpent, of cunning ; and 

the deer, of swiftness. Then we 

have the incantator presented to us pure and queenly as 

the white swan, with beaming countenance, with tongue 

under restraint but uttering honeyed words. He is under 

the guardianship of the Virgin and her Son. 

On reaching the Court, our litigant, with his right foot 

on the threshold, repeats the following words : 

Translated 

— 

'• Gu'm beannaiche 'Dia an tigh 

— 

Bho bhun gu bhragh ; 

M' fhacal-sa os cionn na bhios a stigh, 

'S am facail-se fo m' throidh." 

" May God bless this house 

From floor to ceiling ; 

May my word be above all others within. 

And their words under my feet." 

In a paper on " Druidism" by Mr Macbain in the Celtic 

Magazine [vide Vol. VHL, p. 570], we have a reference to 

the serpent's &gg, and to Pliny's account of it. " A Roman 

knight was making use of it in Court to gain an unfair 

verdict, and for this was put to death by Claudius the


Emperor." Our old Highlander in Eolas a' CJieartuis or 

incantation to obtain justice stood somewhat different from 

the Roman knight who used the serpent's Q^'g. The 

parallel is, however, an interesting one. 

I will now give you Eolas na Daire, a charm supposed 

to be efficacious in the case of farrow cows. It does not 

need much introduction, as it speaks for itself It is as 

follows : 

— — 

EOLAS NA DAIRE. 

Eolas na daire 'rinn Moire 's a Mac. 

'S thubhairt Criosda fhein gu'm bu ro~cheart, 

Air a' Chiad Luan 

'Chur a chruidh gu luath a dhair, 

Gun fharlaoghi 'n a dheigh 

Ach laoigh bhreaca bhoirionn uile gu leur. 

Translated 

— 

The charm for the rutting made by Mary and her Son. 

Jesus himself said it was right 

On the first Monday [at the beginning of the moon ?] 

To send the cattle quickly to the bull ; 

And that no extra-uterine conception should follow, 

But spotted female calves. 

In some districts, instead of the above, the people say 

D2ian an Doviluniich, or the Ode of the Dies Dominica. 

That ode (for which I am indebted to Father Allan 

Macdonald) is as follows : 

DUAN AX DOMHNUICH. 

Duan an Domhnuich a Dhia-ghil, 

Firinn foirneart gu Criosda 'chomhnadh. 

Di-domhnuich rugadh Moire 

Mathair Dhe an or-fhuilt bhuiuhe, 

Di-domhnuich rugadh Criosda 

Mar onoir dhuinne, 

Di-domhnuich an seachdamh latha 

A dh' orduich Criosda dha-fhein, 

Gu cumail na beatha 'mhain, 

'S gu'n leigeadh iad uile 'n anail 

1 The word " Far laogh" is not generally known on the mainland. It 

signifies extra-uterine conception—a freak of nature which is fortunately 

uncommon.


Gun fheum a thoirt bho dhamh no dhuine 

No neach a dh'orduich Moire, 

Gun chartadh tighe, gun bhuain, 

Gun athadh, gun mhuilionn, 

Gun iomradh airm, gun iasgaireachd, 

Gun a dhol a mach dha 'n t-seilg 

No shnaigheadh dheilgnean Di-domhnuich. 

Ge b' e chumadh an Domhnach 

Bu chomhnard dha-san, 's bu bhuan, 

Bho dhol fodha na greine Di-sathuirn 

Gus an eireadh i Di-luan, 

Gheibheadh e fiach ga chionn 

'S bhiodh toradh an deigh nan crann, 

lasg air amhuinn fior-ghlan saile, 

Uisg' an Domhnuich blath mar mhil 

Ge b' e dh' oladh e mar dhibh 

Gheibheadh e slainte gun chron 

As gach galar a bhiodh air. 

Gal an Domhnuich gun robh luath, 

Bean ga dianamh ri an-uair, 

Guileamaid moch Di-luain, 

'S na guileamaid idir Di-domhnuich. 

Aig tra-nona Di-luain 

Eiridh am fiadh gu ro-luath 

'S airson an dile muigh 

Greis a thoirt a sgeula mu chumraidh ^ 

Gun eisdeachd ri glaodhraich nan Gall 

No ri sgeilearachd coitchionnach. 

Ach gart a ghleidheadh air cnoc ard 

'S lighich 'thoirt gu galar garg, 

Is bo a thoirt gu tarbli treun 

Fada no fagiis giin robh cJieum, 

'S eathar a ligeadh fo breid-siuil 

Gu tir a duthcha bho h-aineol. 

'S ge b' e mheomhraicheadh mo dhuan 

'S a ghabhadh i gach oidhch' dha shluagh 

Bhiodh rath Mhicheil air a cheann 

'S a chaoidh cha 'n fhaiceadh e Ifrinn. 

In this ode we have a rule of conduct as regards the Sabbath— 

general directions as to what we are not to do, and 

a list of what may be called " works of necessity and 

^ Redemption (0


mercy"—and among these there is the permission to bring 

a cow to a bull (iaj-bh trcun), no matter how far the 

distance. 

An old man in the parish of Ardnamurchan, who pro- 

fesses to know much about cattle, informs me that he 

learned a different method from a north country Aireach, 

who was known as "Murchadh nan Gobhar." He does 

not believe in orrachcDi, or incantations. I describe his 

alleged method in his own words, and without any comment 

of mine. " Na'm bitheadh beathach 6g agam," he 

said, " nach bitheadh a' gabhail an tairbh, so mar a chuirinn 

a dhair i, ach cha bu toil leam neach eile 'bhi coimhead 

orm :— A' chiad bho a chithinn a' dol a dhair, sheasainn ri 

'taobh agus cho luath 's a sguireadh an tarbh dhi bhleoth- 

nainn i, a's bheirinn am bainne—blath as a h-iigh—do 'n 

bheathach 6g. Chuirinn an sin an cii ris a' bheathach 

6g, 's an ceann la no dha bhiodh i dhair agam. 

" 

Is iomadh 

uair a rinn mi e ! 

The foregoing may appropriately be followed by an 

incantation which was said when a cow calved— 

RAXN AN UAIR A BHEIREAS MART LAOGH. 

The ceremony was after this fashion :—The dairymaid 

sat beside the cow, and blowing her breath through her 

hands towards the cow repeated this incantation three 

times : 

— 

Translated 

— 

" Mart a sid air breith," ars a Peadar. 

" Tha mi 'faicinn gu'm beil," ars a Pal. 

" Mar a thuiteas an duilleach o'n chraoibh 

Gu'n tuiteadh a sile gu lar." 

" A cow newly calved," said St Peter. 

" I observe that," said St Paul. 

Both— " As the leaves fall from the trees 

May her milk freely flow."

i6o The Highland Monthly. 

AMID 


[all rights reserved by the al-thor.] 

II.—HERDING DAYS AND HERDING WAYS. 

the whirl and turmoil of Revolution with which 

the last century closed, something in the nature of a 

Border Raid was made upon the Highlands of Scotland, and 

before it the ancient pastoral life of the country, incompa- 

tible perhaps with the new order of things, was destined to 

fade away into the realm of legend and song. 

Men of enterprise and capital, discovering that the glens 

and bens of the north were adapted for sheep farming upon 

a large scale, took, as opportunity offered, extensive hold- 

ings upon lease, in the first instances, where, for most part 

the land was unoccupied. The methods of farming which 

had been practised for ages upon the Scottish Borders were 

now reproduced in the Highlands, to which, as to a far 

distant field of important and undeveloped resources, a tide 

of emigration had set in from among the shepherds of 

Ettrick and Teviotdale. 

It was interesting to observe how homesteads arose in 

the north similar to those of the green Border valleys, and 

how the shepherd race perpetuated in the new country the 

customs and manners of their homely pastoral fathers. 

Scarcely any of these voluntary exiles ever returned to the 

country whence they had come. They intermarried with 

the daughters of the people among \\'hom they had settled, 

and Gaelic became the mother tongue of their children. 

But to this day it is commonly in the dialect of the Borders 

that the Highland shepherd directs his dog, making the 

glens and corries to resound with such expressions as 

"Tweed, Tweed! Come in ahint that! Oot b}-e, oafl 

—

Scenes of Long Ago. i6i 

Wear awa' man oot bye, oaf!" Ask the names of a dozen 

; 

collies on any sheep farm, and you may discover that every 

one of them is an echo, a reminiscence, of the Borderland. 

As may readily be understood, this raid upon the 

Highlands, and the occupation of the country, by Lowland 

tlockmasters and their herds, aroused considerable opposition 

on the part of the old Celtic communities, who watched 

the growing prosperitjs of the strangers with no friendly 

eye. They were made the object of scathing bardic 

sarcasm, and in some instances their flocks were pillaged 

and dispersed. Nevertheless, I never heard that any of 

these Border shepherds actually experienced personal 

\iolence, which is surely a noteworthy fact, considering the 

times, and the passions that had been aroused. 

Among the first to forsake the green and sunny slopes 

of his native country for the rugged grazings of the north 

was young Mark Teviot, who trysted at the Rood Fair of 

Jedkirk, to undertake the charge of a large flock of black- 

faced ewes, wherewith the Earl of Duncairn intended to 

stock what afterwards became the well-known farm of 

Glenbeltane. So, one morning about Whitsunday, Mark 

grasped his crook, whistled for his spotted collies, and bade 

a last farewell to the Borders. He was then scarce}}- 

twenty years of age, and set out for his new situation, with 

little gear and less care. Nevertheless, he could boast a 

bran-new suit of hodden-grey, and a fringed maud, which 

no shepherd lad in Fallowdean could toss over his shoulder 

and carr}' more gracefully than he. He had, further, a few 

pounds of capital, which had accumulated out of his wages, 

in his master's hands, and were now opportunely available 

for the purchase of a modest hirsel, and he was blessed 

withal in the possession of a vigorous constitution, and a 

spirit of buoyant hope. 

At Glenbeltane it was ordained that he should spend 

the rest of his life, and often, when many years had passed 

awa}-, would the good old man raise his heart in gratitude 

to God, who had cast his lines in so pleasant a place. Here, 

II

1 62 The HigJiland Monthly. 

when his position was in some degree confirmed, he married, 

and had two sons born unto him, and for a time all went 

well. Nay, better ! for his worldly affairs continued to 

prosper more and more, until he became tenant of the 

farm. But days of parting and sorrow set in. His sons had 

not yet reached maturity when they were successively 

seized with the fell pestilence then devastating the country, 

and, taking their last sleep even in the morning of life, sank 

into the grave. Nor did the mother long survive this severe 

blow to her dearest hopes, for, while still endeavouring to 

console the sorrows of her partner, she gradually succumbed 

to her own, and then Mark Teviot, no longer young, was 

again alone in the land of his adoption. 

But let it not be supposed that this good man lost all 

heart and ceased to take wholesome, genial interest in life 

and its concerns. True, the withering blast of affliction 

through which he had passed, brought on prematurely the 

signs of old age, yet nearly all his former vigour remained, 

while he bravely fulfilled that ancient pastoral precept : 

" Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look 

well to thy herds " 

It was some years after this that I, the orphan 

descendant of a near relative, was brought to Glenbeltane, 

which thenceforth became my home. Here it was that I 

emerged into intelligent existence, although I have some 

faint recollection of the long journey northward, and of 

crossing Queensferry, where I was met by old Mark Teviot, 

who had been disposing of his stock at Teithmuir Tryst. 

He rode a stout white mare, and carried me before him on 

the saddle, folded in his plaid. General Wade's road 

brought us to a point within half-a-dozen miles of our desti- 

nation, and from thence wê pursued a bridle track, w^hich I 

was destined to traverse often since then. 

A mere casual visitor might be apt to suppose that life 

upon a pastoral farm such as that of Glenbeltane, must 

necessarily be monotonous, but, in realit}% it was far indeed 

from this, being characterised by a constantly varying 

round of successive duties and amusements. 

—


The manner in which the course of the year was marked 

and divided among communities hke that within which my 

lot was cast, well illustrates what I have now said. The 

ancient Gaelic divisions were rarely referred to, and even the 

usual reckoning according to months and seasons was 

almost equally ignored. In place ot these, a series of 

periods were obser\ed, each of which was expressive of 

some pursuit which in its turn claimed attention. 

In so far as I remember them, there was, first, the time 

of potato planting ; secondly, there was the time of sowing, 

when the little patches of arable land received the oats and 

barley seed. Then came the time of fox hunting, when 

the dens among the mountains would, be visited by a 

company of shepherds and keepers under the direction of 

the fox-hunter of the district, and, with the assistance of a 

promiscuous pack of terriers and hounds, they cleared the 

sheep-walks to a considerable extent of the despoilers of the 

flock—and urgent the need of this, for 

was at hand. 

the time of lambing 

During its course the shepherds had to exercise constant 

watchfulness and care— going out at the first streak of day, 

and often not returning home until nightfall. Each carried 

a bottle of milk, and with its contents, out of their own 

mouths, they nourished the weaklings, which, but for this, 

would have succumbed to cold and hunger. The giddy 

gimmers, or two-year-olds, had to be sharply looked after, 

for their love of freedom was frequently stronger than their 

love of offspring. 

On the death of a lamb sundry ruses were sometimes 

employed to impose upon the maternal instinct of the 

vigilant and knowing old ewe. Indeed, it was often with 

great difficulty that she could be induced to tolerate the 

approaches of the unfortunate orphan, or twin, who was 

made to personate her deceased favourite. 

At the end of a few weeks was the time of marking the 

lambs ; 

and, 

closely following upon this, the time of shear- 

ing, or clipping, the wethers—known in Gaelic by an appro-


priate phrase, signifying the time of fleecing—and, after 

another short interval, the time of the ewe clipping was 

duly observed. With Lammas came the time of separating 

the lambs ; when the vales and hills resounded with the 

plaintive cries of the sundered. 

About the autumnal equinox was the time of sending 

away the wethers. These were occasionally driven to 

Teithmuir Tryst, to be there disposed of ; but they were 

commonly taken possession of on the farm by some south- 

country grazier, to whom they had been sold earlier in the 

season. Last of all was the time of smearing, when tar 

and various ungents were carefully applied to the skin of 

the sheep, which, besides answering sundry other purposes, 

both as regards the animal and the wool, were calculated 

to protect the former from the cold and storms of winter. 

These which I have enumerated were the main divisions 

of the year at Glenbeltane. There were others of less 

consequence, as the time of casting peats, the time of cutting 

the corn, the time of cutting the hay, and so forth. They 

were all full of interest for me, and I looked for the recur- 

rence of each as a source of new pleasure. Even during 

the gloom of mid-winter time hangs not heavily in the 

store-farmer's home. 

In the cold, dark mornings how often have I listened 

for the first cheery sounds of the flail from the barn ! 

The 

herd would be already up, and bustling hither and thither 

about the steading, carrying wisps of straw, or hay, for the 

cattle. Then the huge roots of resinous bog fir, of delightful 

aroma, had to be split for the evening fire. If the snow had 

fallen heavily overnight, the way to the burn and well must 

be cleared. The shepherds had to make their rounds, some- 

time returning, after the absence of a few hours, with a hare, 

or perhaps an otter, captured among the ice after an arduous 

chase. On the opposite side of Lochgoy might be seen a 

large herd of deer, forced by the storm to seek the lower 

grounds, and there moving about, fearless of man. During 

intense frost, the loch would be covered from side to side


with a thick sheet of ice—save those mysterious parts 

which, perhaps in consequence of hidden springs, rarely or 

never became congealed. 

When a great booming noise arose in Corrie GobHn, 

Mark Teviot would sometimes look anxious, and say that 

a storm was at hand ; but apparently similar sounds from 

the same quarter indicated to his practised ear an approach- 

ing thaw. 

Would that some passing and propitious muse might 

aid m}' feeble pen, as now, after the lapse of many years, I 

would sing, in no sad tone, the Winter Nights of my first 

recollection, which seem in the distant perspective all 

blended into one. Outside the House of Glenbeltane might 

be darkness and tempest, but within was warmth and light 

and innocent enjoyment. The sheep are secure under the 

shelter of the great wood ; 

the 

horses and cattle are snugly 

and 

housed, with recently replenished hack and manger ; 

the shepherds, free from every care, are grouped around the 

wide kitchen hearth, where glow of genial humour animates 

every heart. The women folk have still their household 

duties to attend to—baking, peeling potatoes, knitting, 

attending to the fire, and what not ; while ever keeping a 

sharp ear to what is being said, and joining in the conversa- 

tion as they come and go. 

There, from time to time, might be heard some plaintive 

elegy upon the death in battle of one of the Chiefs of Duncairn, 

or a song of many stanzas celebrating the power and 

munificence of the same noble line. Now it would be the 

mournful strains of despairing love, and anon the gay 

notes of a tender carol, that claimed our attention. 

Among the numerous occasional visitants of our circle, 

one there wâs, for whose coming wê always looked with 

pleasure. This was Johnnie of Pitstitchie, the tailor from 

Balmosis, who used to ply his craft upon the spacious table 

that stood between the wall and the fire. Though his right 

hand moved rapidly, its utmost speed was slow in com- 

parison with the swiftness of his tongue ; 

and the quips and

1 66 The Highland Monthly. 

cranks which fell so glibly from this latter member were 

always accompanied by a certain merry twinkle of the 

eye, that averted any possibility of offence. In the course 

of trade, he had occasion to visit every district in the parish. 

He was thus a great means of communication among the 

people, and acted the part of a local journal, supplying both 

news and, to a considerable extent, advertisements as well. 

Although fond of gossip, that caution which comes by 

experience prevented him from getting into trouble with 

his patrons on this account. 

Ah ! 

Johnnie, dear Johnnie of Pitstitchie, in what limbo 

useless lie thy goose, shears, and bodkin, and thy numerous 

needles ? Far away beyond the Atlantic thou didst seek 

thy fate. Does thy versatile ghost still haunt the glens of 

Duncairn and the townships that have ceased to be ? 

With 

thy spectral accoutrements dost thou fondly hover over 

those roofless ruins, where thy customers aforetime had 

their home, and welcomed thy presence in their midst ? 

Away, thou sentimental sprite ! Thine ancient sighs there 

are none to hear. The companions of thy youth and the 

patrons of thy maturer years are even as thyself! Thy 

voice is as the empty wind. Who is there to interpret thy 

hoary tales ? Away, or those foolish sobs of thine may 

disturb the deer as they rub their velvet antlers against the 

gables of Glenbeltane and Letterfern. Meantime, I see thee 

blithe, and- witty, and busy as of old, with thine own 

irresistible humour, making fun and laughter to abound. 

Along with his other accomplishments, Johnnie could so 

deftly handle the bow that he was far and away the best 

fiddler in Duncairn, which is saying a great deal, for he had 

many competitors. At about the same hour every night 

some one of our company would call for " Duncairn's Rant," 

and then, waiting for no further importunity, the little man 

would toss his ironing board aside, grasp his violin, and 

leap into a chair, which ready hands had placed upon the 

table, from whence, ere scarcely had we opportunity to 

range ourselves for the dance, the lively tailor would be


already sweeping triumphantly in a whirlwind of sounds 

through the racy measures of his masterpiece Strathspey. 

Another musician of no mean skill could we boast in 

the person of Gillespie Macewen, who had been successively 

herd and shepherd under Mark Teviot, and latterly acted as 

his right hand man in the management of Glenbeltane. 

How often have the rafters rang to the strains of his bag- 

pipes, while they gave forth the stirring martial music of 

'' Duncaini's March," or the weird dirge notes of" Duncairn's 

Farewell." Wlienever the first shrill peal from the kitchen 

announced to Ishbal Macindrui, as she plied her work in the 

Spinning Garret, that Gillespie was about to begin, the old 

lady would open the door of her sanctum, and if he 

happened to play either of the tunes I have named, she 

always used to remain perfectly motionless until its last 

note died awa}-. 

Now, Ishbal and that dimly-lighted apartment \A-herein 

she presided are well worthy of a visit before we bring our 

Winter Night to a close. 

In truth, this spinster was a remarkable woman in many 

respects, and of no small consequence within her o\A-n 

sphere. As a descendant of the M'Indruis of Inver- 

beltane, she belonged to one of the most ancient families in 

Goyshire, and, notwithstanding her indigence, neither she 

nor those with whom she mingled ever lost sight of this 

fact. Having been within the counted degrees of kinship 

with his late wife, who was also a M'Indrui, old Mark 

Teviot took a kindly charge of Ishbal. When he came to 

the country, she was living in a wretched hut, which stood 

upon the moorland between Glenbeltane and Balmosis. In 

process of time, this hut threatened to fall to the ground, 

and not till then could Ishbal be induced to take up her 

residence at Glenbeltane. Regarding this as her head- 

quarters, she made yearly visits of a few months to Letter- 

fern and Stratheonan. The various processes concerned in 

the preparation of flax and wool engrossed a great deal of 

time and attention in the houses of the tacksmen. When 

prudent mistresses met together, their conversation always

i6S The Highland MontJUy. 

turned upon the webs in which they might happen to be 

interested ; and this subject, along with the management of 

their children and cattle, formed the main topics of dis- 

course. 

Now, Ishbal was profoundly skilled in all matters 

appertaining to the dressing of flax and wool. The weaver 

at Duncairn fingered no thread so finely spun as hers. 

Consequently, she was held in high estimation in those 

houses where she chose to give her services. 

The old creature was deeply grateful to Mark Teviot 

for having built for her a bit bield which she could call her 

home, on a little b9.y where the united streams from Glenbeltane 

and Corrie Goblin had their issue into Lochgoy. 

But Ishbal passed the greater portion of her time in the 

Spinning Garret of Glenbeltane, and here she blithely 

turned her wheel day after day and week after week. No 

one knew when she ceased her toil, or whether she ever 

really ceased. Long after all the rest of the household had 

retired to sleep, the flapping and humming whir from the 

garret told that Ishbal was still sitting, with rowans on lap, 

plying her busy foot and skilful fingers. 

Some of the company, whose amusements in the 

kitchen I have tried to describe, would be sure by and bye 

to make for the Spinning Garret. This could be reached 

by going for a few yards along the Black Passage, and then 

turning to the left, up a narrow stair, that led to no other 

apartment than Ishbal's. Here, according to an old legend, 

a rich hunchback had been murdered and robbed ; and it 

was said that at midnight sounds indicative of a man going 

on crutches might be heard on the stair. Ishbal gave no 

countenance to this tale ; but it used to make me shudder 

with fear in passing the place of evil repute. 

One or two of the women-servants assisted Ishbal for 

some hours every day. Although always glad to see 

casual visitors besides, the old lady would have no idler in 

her presence ; and whoever entered the sphere of her labour 

was very willing to give a hand at teasing, carding, winding, 

and so forth, for the sake of her company, which was not a

Scenes oj Lono- Aô, 169 

little entertaining. She had a rich fund of lore, and could 

quote rhymes and adages appropriate to every occasion. 

The airs which she sang were all plaintive. Perhaps this 

was due in part to the nature of her employment ; for, 

whether speaking or singing, her spinning went on steadily, 

except when she had to give a touch to the pirn or band ; 

but it is a noteworthy fact that Highlanders have generally 

a predilection for mournful music, in so much that they 

have scarce even a dance tune that is not charged with an 

exquisite pathos. 

Ishbal had numerous legends with reference to the 

M'Indruis of Inverbeltane and the M'Brides of Duncairn. 

She had much to say of the Feinne who still slumbered 

deep in the caves of Corrie Goblin, and who would one day 

awake in the full vigour and bloom of youth ; and of the 

fairies who inhabited the green knowes, and danced gaily 

on the moonlit sward or in the kiln. And darker stories 

could she tell of witches, and of the awful water-kelpies that 

haunted every stagnant and reedy lake and the still black 

pools of the river. 

In the course of these gruesome tales of demon power, 

occasionally a devout ejaculation might be heard from 

individual listeners, who thus deprecated malign influence 

from themselves. 

Then, who like Ishbal could sing those weird Gaelic 

hymns, where the terrors of the Last Judgment are 

pourtrayed in language of great power and vivid colouring, 

and where the changing face of nature is described in order 

to impart lessons of eternal truth? Such was Ishbal 

M'Indrui and the Spinning Garret. 

In the midst of the diversions and pastimes of the Winter 

Night came a period of more frequent occurrence than any 

which I have yet celebrated. That is to say—The time of 

going to sleep, when the shepherds called for their dogs and 

withdrew, and the fires in but and ben were allowed to 

smoulder into ashes. 

T. S.

I/O The Highland Monthly 

STUDENT LIFE AT ABERDEEN TWO 

CENTURIES AGO. 

THESE 

BY REV. GEORGE MACKENZIE, B.D. 

are only random notes. Somewhat loosely 

strung together as they are, I should not have 

presumed to claim the attention of the "general reader" 

on their behalf but for the hope that they may cast a 

glimmer of welcome light upon a phase and period of 

Northern Academic life as interesting as it is unfamiliar. 

Every student, on entering th^ " University and King's 

College of Aberdeen," was expected to profess the Reformed 

Religion, and to devote no inconsiderable portion of every 

day thereafter to the reading of Scripture, the singing of 

Psalms and Paraphrases, public and private prayer, and 

attendance at various religious meetings and ordinances. 

Rising at five in the morning, he had to appear at morning 

prayers at six in spring and seven in winter. In later years 

the hour was advanced to eight. Evening prayers were 

held at six o'clock, and absence therefrom was followed by 

pecuniary or even corporal punishment. On Sundays there 

was additional drill. Each class met in its own room, 

under its own master, sometime in the afternoon, and the 

unfortunate Bursars were utilised in turn to start the sing- 

ing and to lead in prayer. Those who were unable to 

"take a dexterous part in public prayer " without the help 

of books, were permitted to use the appointed forms in the 

liturgy. At each of these Sunday services alms were 

collected for the poor. 

Then, as now, the Session began late in October or 

early in November. If a bursar failed to present himself on 

the opening day, he was fined sixpence per day during the

Student Life at Aberdeen. 

first week, and one shilling per day during the second week. 

If still absent by the beginning of the third week, he 

forfeited his bursary. It seems, however, to have been no 

uncommon thing for the Magistrand (z>., fourth year 

student) to set the authorities at defiance and risk the 

prospects of his admission to the degree by turning up 

about the middle of January and going home again at the 

end of March. The vacation proper began in May, but 

was frequently postponed until the end of June. On his 

return to College, the student had to produce a certificate 

of good conduct from the minister or Presbytery in whose 

district he had spent his holidays. 

As to the course of study itself, it may be described as 

made up of the Greek and Latin classics, with Rhetoric, 

Logic and Dialectics, Moral Philosophy or Ethics, Physics, 

and Astronomy. Almost every one of these subjects was 

dominated by the influence of Aristotle. 1 he teaching was 

entrusted to so-called Regents, three or four in number, 

each of whom conducted the studies of a class in all the 

branches of the curriculum during the whole four years 

from matriculation to graduation. Progress was tested by 

viva voce examinations upon the notes, or comments on the 

text-book dictated by the teacher. But the stress was laid 

on disputations and declamations in various forms. Before 

the Regent, " the classes were divided into companies, who 

met apart and conferred and debated among themselves 

daily. The students were occupied, altogether, six hours 

a day. Then the higher classes were frequently pitched 

against each other. This was a favourite occupation on 

Saturdays. The doctrines espoused by the leading 

students became their nicknames. The pass for graduation 

consisted in the propiigning or nnpiLgning of questions by 

each candidate in turn. An elaborate Thesis was drawn 

up by the Regent, giving the heads of his philosophy 

course ; this vvas accepted by the candidates, signed by 

them, and printed at their own expense. Then, on the


day of trial, at a long sitting, each candidate stood up and 

propugned or impugned a portion of the Thesis ; all were 

heard in turn ; and on the result, the degree was conferred." 

Many of these Theses are preserved in the University 

Library. 

" Some of them are very long—a hundred pages 

of close type. They are our best clue to the teaching of 

the period." ^ 

Very interesting are the glimpses we obtain of the 

domestic life of the students of two centuries ago. The 

considerations that led the authorities to inoist upon every 

student living in college are curious reading nowadays. I 

quote them from an " Abstract of Some Statutes and 

Orders," drawn up by a former Principal of King's College, 

of which the only copy known to be extant is now in the 

Library of Monymusk :— " As it hath been found by 

experience that the late Practice of students lodging and 

eating in private houses in different parts of the town, is 

attended with many inconveniences ; they being by that 

means less under the Eye and Authority of the Masters, 

having less access to their assistance and that of their 

fellow-students in the prosecution of their studies, being 

exposed to many temptations from low or bad company, 

being moreover for the most part badly accommodated 

both in Lodging and Diet, and losing a considerable part 

of their time in going and returning to their Lodgings, 

which are often at a distance from College : therefore the 

Masters have decreed that for the future all the students 

shall lodge in Rooms within the College and eat at the 

College Table during the whole Session." 

There were three qualities of accommodation in the 

college buildings. A room and a closet " of the best sort, 

with a bedstead in each," might be rented for sixteen 

shillings sterling per session ; a room and a closet of the 

second sort for about twelve shillings ; while the rent of a 

room with one bedstead was never allowed to exceed seven 

^Professor Bain's Rectorial Address to the Students of Aberdeen University, 

15th November, 1882, reprinted in his Practical Essays.

St2ident Life at Aberdeen. 173 

shillings. If the tenants chose to spend the vacation in 

residence, they had their rooms for that time rent free. 

Rising in the morning, as we have seen, about five, 

ad tintinnabuli sonitii})i, the student's first dut\- was to 

" make the bed," sweep the chamber, fetch water, and, 

generally, be his own housemaid. Tt was not until the 

middle of the eighteenth century that two men-servants 

were engaged to relieve them of part of such menial work. 

No student was allowed to have his doors bolted before ten 

at night, in order that the Masters might have ready access 

to his rooms and inspect his behaviour. By eleven o'clock 

all fires and lights had to be extinguished, and everybody 

in bed. To prevent any possibilit}- of accident in the night- 

time, a servant was emplo\-ed to ring one of the great bells 

at two in the morning, and then go round all the rooms 

and passages to see that nothing was wrong. What 

purpose the ringing of a bell at such an hour can have 

served I cannot conjecture, unless it was to inform the 

rudeh'-awakened student that he had still three hours of 

sleep before hirri. 

A student is nothing unless he is well fed, and the 

students of the olden days had certainly nothing to 

complain of in the way of diet. In order that it might be 

" wholesome and good, at an easy rate, and be regularly 

and decently served at Table," the Masters each year con- 

tracted with an economist to supply a weekly bill of fare 

for breakfast, dinner, and supper, both for the first and the 

second table. At the beginning of the session, every 

student had to intimate to this economist at which table he 

intended to sit. Those who sat at the first paid for their 

board £2 15s 63^d sterling per quarter ; those who sat at 

the second paid /.2 sterling. Both tables were served in 

the same room, and the economist was head waiter, assisted 

by "a number of other men-servants of good behaviour and 

qualified to serve." It was the duty of the bursars to ask 

a blessing and return thanks. If the College accounts do

174 ^ ^^^ Highland Monthly. 

not mislead me, the victuals really deserved all the eloquence 

the bursars could command. For breakfast there were 

white bread and oat-bread " for saps," eggs, salmon, 

haddocks, and unlimited quantities of milk and ale ; 

dinner 

usually consisted of a plentiful supply of broth, fish, flesh, 

and fowl ; while, at supper, even the hungriest of appetites 

might reasonably be satisfied with bread, lamb, chops, eggs, 

salmon, milk, ale, and partans. Conversation was freely 

permitted at table on subjects Jionestis, J7icundis, tciilibus, 

but never in the " vulgar tongue." 

The recreation allowed the students, while varied enough 

to satisfy even the requirements of to-day, was very much 

a matter of routine. They had to attend and leave off 

every game at sound of the bell. Three times a week, 

weather permitting, one of the masters escorted them to 

play on the links between dinner-time and four o'clock, 

and back again to the College. While thus engaged, they 

wore caps and cloaks instead of the usual gowns and hats. 

Golf and shinty and football were favourite games. In the 

latter case, the Bajans, or junior students, enjoyed the 

doubtful privilege of providing balls for all the other classes. 

Archery, too, was practised, within the College precincts 

probably, as we read of " neighbours " complaining from 

time to time of arrows going over the College walls. Some 

of my readers may be surprised to learn that among indoor 

amusements billiards (or, bulliards, as it was called) held a 

prominent place. It was under the especial patronage of 

the Senatus, who supplied the necessary appliances in a 

room of what is now known as Cromwell's ^ Tower ! 

Betting was strictly prohibited, and so were all games -- 

Indi illiberales—such as dice, which " feed the lust for 

money, and give more room to chance than industry." 

Punishments were in vogue to an extent that we can 

scarcely realise nowadays. They differed in severity 

^ Under the name of biles or bylis, the game of billiards is supposed by many 

good authorities to have been played in Scotland as early as the fifteenth 

century.

Student Life at Aberdeen. 175 

according to the heinousness of the offence, as well as the 

"disposition and age" of the offender. Whoever carried 

swords or daggers on his person had them forfeited. Who- 

ever was absent from the class, from prayers, &c., without 

valid excuse ; whoever was late, inattentive, or unable to 

repeat the lesson ; 

Latin, Greek, or Hebrew ; 

whoever conversed in any language save 

whoever frequented bad company, 

or indulged in swearing, obscenity, or scoffing at religion ; 

whoever fought with feet, fists, or stones ; whoever treated 

his superiors disrespectfully, was punished by reproof, or 

fine, or the birch, or, as a last resource, by e collegia extermmatio 

et exclusio. A fault in a bursar was doubly heinous, 

and accordingly he enjoyed a monopoly of two curious 

modes of punishment. For disobedience, he was compelled 

to wear a white leather belt over his black or tawny gown ; 

for neglecting to wear his gown and hat in the hall, in 

class-room, or in church, he was deprived of breakfast, 

dinner, and supper for the first offence, of two days' food 

for the second, and for the third offence he was expelled. 

Even t;he student of Theology was subject to the penal 

code. If found guilty of encouraging the growth of a 

beard, he had to remove the nuisance within three days on 

pain of excommunication ! 

My notes would be very incomplete indeed if they 

included no reference to a curious institution which existed 

in Aberdeen in the 17th century, and which vividly illus- 

trates the convivial tastes and habits of the students of 

those days, and the extraordinary length to which they 

kvere sometimes carried, in spite of rigid statute and rigor- 

ous discipline. The institution in question is described in 

Watson's Comic Scots Poo/is (pub. 1706-11) as a cozy little 

tavern, kept by one Peter Butter, and much frequented by 

students, especially those of ]\Iarischal College. They 

nicknamed it the CoUegiuvi Butterense, "as affecting to 

consider it a sort of University, supplementary to, and 

necessary for, the completion of the daylight one, where 

their friends understood them to be attending. Here

176 

The HigJiland MontJily. 

drinking was study, and proficiency therein gave the title 

to degrees. Even for admission there was a theme 

required, which consisted in drinking a particular glass to 

every friend and acquaintance one had in the world, with 

one more. Without these thirty-nine or more articles 

being duly swallowed, the candidate was relentlessly 

excluded. On being accepted, a wreath was conferred, 

and Master James Hay, by virtue of the authority resting 

in him under the rules of the foundation, addressed the 

neoph}'te." Here is part of the Fornmla Lmtreavi Can- 

didatis Dandi In Collegia Biitterensi 

: 

— 

" Postatem do tibique 

Compotandi, bibendique, 

Ac summa pocula implendi, 

Et haustus exhauriendi, 

Cujusve sint capacitates, 

E rotundis aut quadratis. 

In signum ut manumittaris, 

Adornet caput hie galerus. 

Quod tibi felix sit faustumque, 

Obnixe comprecor multumque." 

But no specimen of the wit of this " fluid University," as 

Dr Chalmers, calls it,^ is equal to a Catalogns Libroritm in 

BihliotJieccB Butterensis, to all external appearance a dry list 

of learned books, while in reality comprising the whole para- 

phernalia of a tavern. Among the works are :—Maximilian 

Malt-Kist, De principiis liquidoriivi ; Bucket's Hydro- 

staticks ; Findlay Fireside,/?^ cirailari poadonim fuotu ; 

Barnabas Eeer-Glass, De lavando guttiire ; Constantinus 

Chopinus, De philosophicis bibendi legibus, 12 tom. The 

reputation of this ancient " Collegium'' survives in the 

familiar nickname, " Buttery Willie Collie," which urchins 

still flin"" at the red-gowned student, as he wends his way 

through the Spittal of Old Aberdeen. 

In the preparation of these brief notes, I have, of 

course, been indebted mainly to the Fasti Aberdonenses, 

edited by the late Cosmo Innes for the Spalding Club. A 

1 Domestic Annals of Scotland, III., pp. 230-33.

Student Life at Aberdeen. 177 

still larger mine of information will be opened with the 

publication of the second and concluding volume of the 

Fasti Academic MariscallanecB, entrusted by the New 

Spalding Club to the competent editorial hands of its 

secretary, Mr P. J. Anderson. With material so abundant 

at command, is it too much to hope that by the time our 

Northern Alma Mater celebrates her quater-centenary in 

1894, an historian will be found to do for her (but in a less 

ponderous sort of way) what the late Sir Alexander Grant 

has done for her younger sister in the South ? 

12

178 

The His^hland MontJily. 

THE SOCIAL LIFE AND LITERATURE 

OF THE BORDERS. 

BY 

By Dr AITKEN. 

the Borders are meant the counties of Berwick^ 

Roxburgh, Dumfries, and Selkirk, and from their 

proximity to England they were the scenes of incessant 

struggles and forays between the peoples of the two 

countries. Like the Highlanders, also, the Border people 

were divided into septs and clans, stated (I believe without 

good authority) by Scott to number 18, and in the rolls 

made up after the Statute of 1587 classified according to 

the marches. There were also foraging and riding clans, 

who attached themselves to some of the great families, to 

whom they did service, and who became security for them ; 

and in addition a class of men called vagabonds or broken 

men, who had to find security to submit to the law, and 

whose adventures form the subject of some of the most 

striking ballads. The real Border man, indeed, belonging 

to this class " said and imagined that to pyll and to robbe, 

all things considered, was a good lyfe." With all this, 

however, he was faithful and true to his superior, ready for 

any and every adventure. Such a man, in fact, as Scott has 

represented William of Deloraine in the " Lay of the Last 

Minstrel." 

But this life of insecurity and lawlessness, brightened 

into one of adventure and romance by the genius of Scott, 

had long since passed away, and the audacity and boldness 

of the moss-trooper had been succeeded by the calm and 

peace of pastoral life, by the beginnings of those industries, 

now forming the chief wealth of many of the border towns, 

whilst the people had passed through periods of trial in 

relation to their deepest convictions, or devotion to a fallen

Social Life of the Borders. 1 79 

race. From the time, however, of the Union of the Crowns, 

and as they became less dependent upon the chiefs for 

protection, and the chiefs required their assistance less in 

personal feuds, raids into the sister country, or in their 

following in war, a marked distinction arose between the 

upper and the lower classes. The time of peace, however, 

had in no way injured the character of the Borderer, and 

the energy, boldness, and devotion he had displayed in 

more troublous days had, in throwing him back upon him- 

self, made him more self-reliant, patient in the struggles of 

his daily life, faithful and elevated in character. The distinct 

individuality of " the rustic character," Cunningham 

truly says, " arose, in fact, from the wrecks of feudal 

jurisdiction.'' 

The social life of the two classes was, therefore, markedly 

distinct at the period with which the lecture deals. The 

Scottish gentleman of this period was distinguished for 

hospitality and kindness. He spent his time in attention 

to his estate, in golfing, curling, shooting, and fishing in 

their season, delighting in the more perilous amusement of 

leistering salmon, so strikingly described by Scott in his 

*' Guy Mannering." During the winter he turned his steps 

towards Edinburgh with his family to listen to the concerts 

in St Cecilia's Hall, which Lord Cockburn thought the 

most beautiful concert room he had ever seen, or he 

attended the assemblies in Buccleuch Place or George 

Street, at which " every couple had to be provided with a 

ticket prescribing their exact place in the dance, at the end 

of which the lady was presented with an orange by hei 

partner." 

Unfortunately, the enjoyments of the gentry were not 

always so harmless. It was an age of conviviality^ and it 

required presence of mind and hardness of head to venture 

on the enjoyments of the table, to judge from the descrip- 

tion given by Lord Cockburn of an entertainment in the 

Vale of Gala towards the and of the century. "In a 

ivretched ale-house," he says, " at Heriot, I found twelve or

i8o The Highland Monthly. 

sixteen members of the aristocracy of Mid-Lothian 

assembled. They were roaring and singing and laughing 

in a low-roofed room scarcely large enough to hold them, 

was 

with wooden chairs and a sanded floor, . . , There 

plenty of wine, particularly claret, in rapid circulation on 

the table. ... a huge bowl of whisky punch, the steam 

of which was almost dripping from the roof, whilst the 

odour was enough to perfume the parish. Myself and my 

friends were called and made to partake, and were kindly 

used, particularly by my uncle, Henry Dundas. How they 

did joke and laugh ! With songs, and toasts, and disputations, 

and no want of practical fun. I don't remember 

anything they said. . . . but the noise and the heat 

and the uproarious mirth, I think I hear them yet." A 

companion picture to this will be recalled by all who are 

familiar with Burns' Works in the song of " The Whistle," 

when the scene terminated more disastrously. When ladies 

were of the company matters were more subdued. To 

family dinner parties, I have been told by one who knew 

the Border well, the ladies rode over on ponies with their 

husbands, and dined in their riding habit; the dinner being 

at two o'clock. Whilst on state occasions they were trans- 

ported in the family coach, the matron gorgeous in satin, 

and the daughters in dress and appearance resembling the 

cluster of beauties represented in Orchardson's well-known 

pictures, The Queen of Swords, and The Social Eddy. It 

may also be mentioned that ladies going to church rode on 

ponies, carrying their bonnets, silk stockings, and shoes 

with them, and attired themselves in a room attached to 

the stable. 

Looking more narrowly, however, into the social life of 

the period, I take for my guide the diaries, and day- 

books,! of one who m.ixed much with the society we have 

been dealing with. The entries commence at the Rebellion 

of '45, and come down to the end of the last century, so that 

^ Day-Book, William Ogilvie of Hartwoodmyres, residing at Kranksonie 

Hall, Commissioner for the Duke of Buccleugh and Lord Napier.

Social Life of the Borders. i8i 

they may be accepted as safe guides throughout the period, 

and contain information regarding the most intimate details 

of the writer's domestic life from the subscribing ot his 

marriage contract and the presentation of two rings to his 

wife on that event, to the price of the commonest item of 

household necessities. A commissioner on two of the 

largest estates in the south of Scotland, he can be traced in 

his daily life and work. In regard to his dress he appears 

to have been particular, and there are frequent references 

to the prices of the various articles composing it. Thus, a 

frock-coat and silk vest in 1780 cost ^3 i6s 6d ; for mak- 

ing a coat and vest the tailor, in 1774, charged lOs 3d ; for 

a pair of silk stockings he paid 14s ; for cotton stockings, 

4s 9d ; for cotton gloves, 2s ; for a hat, £\ \ for a pair of 

shoes, 5s 6d ; for a wig, 14s. The expense of provisions as 

recorded in the MS. is much the same as that given by Dr 

Somerville in his memoirs. Thus, a stone of beef cost 4s 

4d in 1764 ; and there seem at this time varieties of tea, 

for in 1764 it cosi 8s per lb., the same as when Dr Russel 

went to Yarrow in 1791 ; in 1763, 

5s, and in 1761 4 lbs. cost 

i8s. Cheese in 1747 was 9s 4d per stone, and in 1745 3s- 

Brandy was about the same time 2s 6d per pint. One fact 

mentioned by Dr Somerville ^ I am, however, inclined to 

think doubtful. Thus, he states that he does not recollect 

potatoes, introduced into Yarrow some years before 1745, 

being planted in a field before 1760 ; whereas I find in the 

day-book the following entry under 1759: — "3 women 

4 days at potatoes, 2s 6d," which at least indicates that the 

cultivation of this vegetable was more advanced in the 

neighbourhood of Hawick, where the writer lived, than in 

the district of Jedburgh, as so much labour could scarcely 

be required for a mere garden. Even down to the beginning 

of the century potatoes were rare, and at this time it has 

been mentioned to me, that in Galloway, as a reward for 

any message performed, a child was offered a choice of an 

egg or a potato. 

^ " Life and Times," p. 330.

1 82 Ihe Highland Monthly. 

It is said by Dr Somerville (p. 335 and p. 336), that 

furnishings were inexpensive ; that amongst the lower 

orders wood platters were mostly used, whilst in those of 

country gentlemen " pewter was found, with china for the 

second course, the dinner hour being sometimes twelve, and 

never later than three. There were china tea cups and 

saucers. The tables were oak as a rule ; but the tea tables 

were also made of mahogany." The best bed often stood 

just before the date we are dealing with in the drawingroom 

; hand bells were exclusively used, anu the handmaids 

answered the bell bare-footed, shoes and stockings 

not being usually worn until 1760 to 1770,^ and not 

unfrequently the servants were called by knockings on the 

floor with the heel of the shoe, or striking it with the poker. 

Carpets were then rare, and at one time there were only 

two in Jedburgh—one at the Manse, and one in the house 

of the Provost. Clocks were only seen in the best houses. 

The fire-places of brass stood quite free in the centre of the 

hearth surrounded by tiles, ornamented as a rule with 

Scriptural characters in Dutch dresses.^ Turf or peat was 

chiefly burnt, though I find in the Day-Book already 

quoted," that at Branksome (the Border Keep celebrated in 

the " Lay of the Last Minstrel"), coals were £i 4s lod per 

ton,-* and even before this, though entries show that regular 

supplies were laid in, they were not in general use. I have 

been informed that at the beginning of this century 

nothing was burnt in Yarrow but peat, and that when a 

piece of coal, picked up on the road, was thrown on to the 

grate, the mother of the Ettrick Shepherd looked amazed 

when it took fire and blazed up. 

But turning now to the condition of the employed, Dr 

Somerville tells us that in 18 14 a man servant's wages was 

from £16 to ;î8, that of a maid from £y to ;^8 per annum, 

whereas forty years before maid servants could be hired for 

from ;î 5s to £1 lOs the half-year, and a man servant for 

^ Somerville, 336, 337. 

» Ogilvie's Day-Book. 

^ Somerville, 337. 

* Ibid.

Social Life oj the Borders. 183 

£a, yearly.^ Ten years before that female servants were 

had for lOs and a pair of shoes for the half-year, and a 

ploughman for ;î 5s. Still earlier, however, than even 

the last quotation, vva.G:es seem to have presented still 

stranger anomalies, and were scarcely in relation to the 

work. Thus, from 1739 to 1745, a man servant was to be 

had for _î, a barnman in 1745 for ^^"3,- In the same year, 

for 13 days' threshing, 4s 6d was paid ; in 1761, haymakers 

had 6d per day; in 1764, a labourer for 5 days' work had 

3s, and a gradsman (for ploughing was done by oxen until 

towards the end of century) £\ lOs.-^ All yearly servants 

had, along with their wages, one or two pairs of shoes 

costing IS 2d to is 3d each, and Hogg has told us that 

when he first went as a herd, he had a ewe lamb and a pair 

of shoes as a year's wages. These shoes were made of 

leather tanned from horse hides, and had only single soles, 

so that the servants and labourers, who were always able, 

and possessed the tools to do so, often doubled and trebled 

the soles with their own hands.-* 

The fare of the peasantry was of the simplest kind. 

Animal food was seen on rare and festive occasions on their 

table, and only generally used by servants in the house of 

large stock farmers. Their principal support was porridge 

and milk, oatcake, bannocks made of barleymeal and pease 

flour, though the extent to which these were 

in different districts— peasemeal bannocks 

used varied 

being the 

commonest kind of bread in Roxburghshire and the Valley 

of the Annan, whilst in Yarrow "oatcakes and bannocks of 

barleymeal, with an admixture of pease, were the ordinary 

table fare, wheaten bread being scarcely known." It may 

also be noted that the pot herbs were few, those in more 

general use being open kail, cabbages, turnips, and carrots. 

The hours of labour of the working men were long, 

extending from morn to dewy eve ; and weary and difficult 

roads had to be toiled over before their work was reached- 

^ Somerville, 340, and Ogilvie's Day-Book. 

^ Russell's Yarrow. 

* Somerville, 341. 

^ Ogilvie's Day-Book,


In the pastoral districts their life was one of solitude amidst 

the solemn silence of the hills, or exposure in the blinding 

snow drift, to collect their flocks in safety. Perhaps, how- 

ever, no better description is to be found of the life of the 

classes noAV spoken of than in the striking description given 

by Mr Carlyle of his father, with his patient sense of 

duty and high Calvinistic feeling, going through his daily 

work as if a higher hand was ever over him and guiding 

him. This life of patient toil was varied by i^^^ amuse- 

ments. The chief of these were Valentine's Eve, 

Hallowe'en, with its games and mystic rites, so graphically 

described by Burns ; first-footing on New-Year's Day, 

shinty and football, golf and curling matches between rival 

glens, and penny weddings, at which a dinner was prepared 

with a special dish called the bride's pie. After this was 

partaken of, the party retired to the barn to dance, the 

expenses being defrayed by the company, and the surplus 

going to aid the young couple in furnishing. 

As a rule, however, a day of labour was closed by the 

fireside, when the women knitted and spun, perhaps 

" lilted" some song or recited some of the ballads still to be 

collected by Scott, or they spoke of the times of persecu- 

tion, of the traditions lingering in the neighbourhood, or of 

the great struggle for national independence. The inner 

life of the Border fed and lived on these, their remembrances 

were the Borderer's most sacred possessions. They gave 

him earnestness of purpose, whilst his isolated life, intensified 

by his love of nature—almost a passion, and prominent in 

every song and ballad—created around him a world of 

marvels. Those familiar with the Border Ballads will 

remember what a prominent part the Fairies play in these. 

The hawthorn trees under which they met were preserved. 

The knolls on which they held their revels were known by 

the ring of greener grass on their summit, and were not 

allowed to be ploughed up. Men had met them in " the 

Greenwood Shaw," with their train clothed in green, on their 

way to hold a Fairy Court. The fairy raid—occurring at

Soaal Life of the Borders. 185 

the beginning of summer—has been witnessed by observers 

standing under the branches of the rowan tree, a safe 

protection against them. They lived in mysterious caves, 

but sometimes they seem to have chosen human habitations 

for their residence, or to have lived in close proximity to 

them, and a tradition relates that, on one occasion, an old 

woman returning from a gossiping was accosted by a lovely 

boy, a fairy, who said, " Cast your dish water farther from 

your door-step, it puts out our fire ; and may plenty abide 

in your household !" They were indeed courteous to those 

who favoured them, but bitter enemies to disbelievers in 

them. Their most grievous fault, however, was the stealing 

of human souls, and there must be i&w who have not seen 

what would formerly have been called a fairy child, startling 

from its beaut}', and shewing intelligence far beyond its 

years, passing away under that disease, the blight of these 

islands, but which was supposed in former times to have 

arisen from the indwelling of a fairy soul. Their most 

frequent misdeed, however, was the carrying off of children, 

and those acquainted with ballad literature will recall theTale 

of Tamerlane, and how the Queen of the Fairies kept him " in 

yon green hill to dwell," and will recall a somewhat similar 

tradition associated with Tomnahurich. 

But an equally important part in the superstitious 

elements of the Borderers' character was played by the 

belief in witches and witchcraft. Horse shoes, elf-cups, 

stones perforated by friction at a waterfall, were placed 

over a stable door ; brandies of rowan trees hung above 

the entrances to byres to protect the animals against them, 

and maidens made use of charms, and wore necklets made 

of the berries of the mountain ash to guard against their 

unholy influence. Only the other day in travelling along 

one of the Border lines of railway I passed a knoll, one of 

the trystii;g places of the witches, in which they held their 

Sabbaths, and some lines yet remain of their gathering 

hymn, worthy to be placed side by side with the incantation 

song in " Macbeth." Tradition also tells, according to

1 86 The Hiokland Monthly 

Cunningham, that the Moss, extending from the meetingplace 

just mentioned to the Solway Firth, was once an arm 

of the sea, but that a proud swell of the Hallowmas tide 

having swept away many of the steeds on which the witches 

rode to the Sabbath, the so-called Gyre Carlne, the Mother 

of Glamour, was so provoked that, baring her withered arm, 

she stretched over the sea her rod of power, and turned its 

high waves into a quagmire. 

Another class of beings who played an important part 

in Border superstition were " the Brownies"—beings sup- 

posed to live in trees, or old and ruinous castles, and were 

generally attached to old and virtuous families. They 

were generous to a degree, sought no reward for their 

labours, chiefly consisting in thrashing out of the harvest 

during the night, and were offended if tasks were prescribed 

for them or presents offered. Of this imaginary existence 

Hogg, deeply imbued with a love for whatever was marvellous, 

made a striking use in one of his best tales, " The 

Brownie of Bodsbeck." 

Occupying, however, more fully the inner life of the 

Borderers were still higher emotions, the result of pro- 

foundly devotional feeling, of a religious nature, the stern 

rigid doctrinal teaching in which their lives were formed, 

and the memory of the fiery test of faith through which 

their ancestors had passed. This is not the place, and it 

would take too long to point out the influence of the 

Covenanting traditions on the national life, but it is not too 

much to say that the men who struggled, to use their own 

bold expression, " for Christ's Crown and Covenant," con- 

tributed much to secure to succeeding generations freedom 

of thought, of speech, and of worship. The remembrance 

of this struggle still lies, like a fitful shadow, over the 

Borderland. In every county testimony was borne to the 

faith of the people. On every lonely moor a spot is still 

pointed out where some leader preached to his flock at 

the risk of his life, or where some martyr died. Even. 

.

Social Life of the Borders. 187 

within the memory of the writer the remembrance of this 

struggle was a reah'ty, and influencing the minds of a 

generation then passing away, and he can recall with what 

vividness the sister of one of the best Border singers used 

to entertain her youthful listeners around the fireside with 

an account of Dalziel and " Bluidy Claver's" raid into 

Moffatdale, and her earnest prayers that we would never 

forget these men. 

It was under such influences as these, then, that the 

Border men grew up, who were to find their highest utter- 

ances in song, and there can be no doubt, as already 

remarked, that their severance from the outer world gave 

their efforts an intensity and reality which instilled into 

their ballads and songs that power so strikingly exemplified 

in " The Dowie Dens of Yarrow," " The Flowers of the 

Forest," and " Lucy's Flittin'," and gave them that abiding 

pathos which so truly touches the heart. 

From the list of Border singers, however, I must exclude 

the greatest name in Scottish song, Robert Burns, though 

in his poems he has made use to some extent of the 

elements which make up so much of the life of the Borders ;, 

yet still, to him they did not stand in the same relation, 

and were used for purposes oi grotesque effect rather than 

from conviction. Burns, also, was rather a poet of " the 

living present," a poet for those in the full flush of life and 

enjoyment. He was, also, essentia;lly a man of modern 

thought. He had lived always within the influence of the 

highways leading to the great centres of population in the 

country, and he knew every shade and variety of society, 

and natures like his are touched by the impulse of their 

time, and the hopes of human advancement. He had been 

caught, like Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey, by 

the " wild pulsations of the social strife," gathering 

in strength and turbulence in a neighbouring country^ 

and his strongest utterances have, therefore, been 

in accordance with progressive ideas. He was


in every sense a child of the century, and this, with 

the tenderness, the passion, and the energy of his verse, 

have secured to him that powerful hold on his countrymen 

that he continues to possess. More pathetic, however, 

than even his most touching poem is his life, but it can not 

be told here. He died on July 21st, 1796, affectionately 

tended by his wife, and it is only a few years ago, and 

within a few hours of each other, that the last two survivors \ 

died who had seen the long procession move slowly 

onwards towards the last resting place of the poet, and one 

of whom had heard the awkward squad fire over his grave. 

[to be, continued.] 

^

IN 

Re772inisccnces of the Late Dr Cameron. 189 

REMINISCENCES OF THE LATE 

DR CAMERON, BRODICK. 

BY "FIONN" AND OTHERS. 

our review last month of Dr Cameron's ReliqiiicB 

Celticce, we quoted two stories which brought out some 

characteristics of the worthy doctor. We may at once say 

that we owe these stories to our good friend " Fionn," who 

knew Dr Cameron well. "Fionn" has sent us some 

further reminiscences, which we here reproduce, with one 

or two further anecdotes. And first we may quote the 

two excellent stories given in our review upon Mr Whyte's 

(" Fionn's '') authority. 

Dr Cameron was possessed of a keen and quiet, if at 

times sarcastic, humour. In a casual conversation one day, 

"Fionn" said to the doctor: "Your friend, Mr So-and-so, 

is teaching Gaelic in the So-and-so College this Session." 

Oh, is he? When 

The doctor rejoins : " Teaching Gaelic ! 

did he learn ?" And this, too, about a quondam candidate 

for the Celtic chair! His sense of accuracy almost 

amounted to a disease. Of this Mr Whyte relates the 

following amusing incident :—Some years ago a Glasgow 

printer had an article from the doctor's pen in type and 

corrected, when he received in the forenoon a telegram 

ordering the deletion of an apostrophe after a particular 

Gaelic word. In the afternoon a telegram agai-^ arrived 

from Brodick, which read : 

forenoon." 

" Stet apostrophe deleted this 

I met him, writes " Fionn," a day or two after the 

Committee appointed by the S.P.C.K. to translate the 

Scriptures into Gaelic had been nominated ; and I asked 

him if he had noticed the names on the Committee. He 

made me repeat them ; and he seemed after each name to 

take the full measure and capacity of the individual for

190 The Hi^hlmid Monthly 

the work ; and after I had named them all, his remark was, 

" Oh yes, it will be the luorst Bible we ever have had." 

On one occasion he went to assist a Communion in 

(I know the place, but it is not necessary to name it). It 

was arranged that Mr Cameron was to take the Gaelic 

service, beginning at 11.30. After breakfast, Mr Cameron 

went out for a short walk before the hour of service. He 

reached a wood close by, and, sitting down at the root of a 

shady tree, pulled an old Gaelic MS. out of his pocket. 

He got so absorbed in the MS. that he forgot the Church 

service ; and the pastor of the congregation, after waiting 

and waiting, had to ascend the pulpit himself, and he was 

half-way through the service when Mr Cameron came in 

peching and sweating. 

When he taught the Gaelic class in the Glasgow 

University, he was invariably late of arriving, and wonderful 

were his excuses to the class when he came in, 'na fhuil 's 

'iiafkalhis. "Gentlemen,— I'm so sorry; I took the wrong 

car, and was taken past my destination ;" or " I got so 

absorbed in the lesson for the day, that I quite forgot 

where I was till the car stopped at Partick." 

Dr Cameron had that enthusiasm so necessary to a 

teacher, but was too anxious to be absolutely correct to 

impart even what he might have given as correct. He 

would write down a word or phrase on the black-board, 

then stand back and examine it critically for a few seconds, 

and then say, " Yes, gentlemen, write that down," and then 

all of a sudden he would exclaim, " Just wait a minute, 

gentlemen, till I consider this apostrophe," and then he 

would give a lecture on this particular apostrophe till the 

hour was up. Ain bheil or a b'/keil wd^s a favourite theme 

of his, likewise gu'n, " not gu-11, as Dr Clerk writes," he 

would add with a smile. His examples for correction were 

always taken from the writings of some one—whose name 

he did not always disguise. How he delighted to have a 

.fling at Drs Clerk and Maclauchlan's Bible, and how he 

would smile when he would show how ridiculous the 

.

Reminiscences of the Late Dr Cameron. 191 

mistakes were ! He 

also liked to have a fling at poor St 

Clair, who translated (?) the Queen's Book, and saddled it 

with a gramnnar. 

On one occasion, when teaching his Gaelic class in the 

University, he made reference to the Celtic Reviezv, a 

number of which was then long overdue, remarking that 

he hoped it would be out at Christmas, when a voice 

shouted " which Christmas ?" The doctor smiled and said— 

" I am quite as anxious as my young friend to have the 

Reviezv out, but I have to do it all myself." 

In the early volumes of the Gael, says " Fionn," there 

is a sharp controversy between Dr Cameron and D. 

C. Macpherson ('^ Abrach" ), and I remember that in his 

parting shot D. C. M'P. said there was no use continuing 

the controvers}- as " A. Cameron never can yield," quoting 

a line from the song, " The March of the Cameron Men." 

Mr Cameron happened to see a proof of this letter some 

time he called on the printer, and he smiled when he came 

to the quotation, and said, " That's very neat—very good 

indeed—but I could say a good deal in reply yet." If I 

recollect well, the cause of the controversy was a translation 

of Longfellow's " Psalm of Life " by Dr Cameron, which is 

in the Gael: 

His criticisms of the performances of other Gaelic 

scholars were usually severe— justly, though not judiciously, 

severe, one may .say. Hence Dr Cameron was credited 

with a cantankerous and uncharitable spirit, which was 

very far from being the real character of the genial, kindly, 

and abundantly hospitable personage whom one met in the 

Brodick Manse. He used to tell, with some reproachful 

wonder, how he was misunderstood. The following is a 

story he told himself. He had a controversy with 

Campbell of Islay, the famous folklorist, once about accuracy 

of M.S. reproduction. Afterwards, when the appointment 

to the Celtic Chair was under discussion, Campbell was 

asked his opinion as to who was the most suitable 

candidate. " Oh," said he, " I suppose it is that censorious 

cleric at Brodick !"

192 The HigJiland Monthly. 

The technical character of his Gaelic work tried the 

patience of the victims of his criticisms as well as of his 

public audiences. Shortly after the Celtic Chair was given 

to its present possessor, Dr Cameron delivered a lecture to 

the Edinburgh University Celtic Society, which is one of 

the largest and most influential of students' societies. His 

subject was " Eclipsis," an important feature of Irish and, 

to some extent, of Scotch Gaelic. Professor Mackinnon 

was in the Chair, and Dr Cameron told his audience that 

" Professor Mackinnon's appointment was no disappoint- 

ment to him." The lecture was considerably on its way, 

and Dr Cameron was for some time out of touch with his 

audience, which failed to follow the technicalities of his 

subject, and which, like his ordinary Sunday audience, 

could not set themselves to sleep. A student audience is 

no easy matter to handle at the best. The present audience 

was clearly getting out of hand ; the premonitory "ruffing" 

and shuffling of feet began, and continued until the lecturer 

reached a crisis in his demonstration, where he triumph- 

antly declared his results. A burst of applause— ironical 

in reality—followed ; and Mr Cameron, mistaking the signs 

of impatience for signs of approval, said, with beaming and 

charming simplicity, " If you don't quite understand that 

point, I will just go over it again." A burst of combined 

Homeric and Nineteenth Century laughing followed this 

naive statement ; the audience fairly " rolled" with amusement. 

The lecturer, however, finished midst great good 

humour. 

^^

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No. 40. JULY, 1892. Vol. IV. 

WHEN 


CHAPTER VIL 

the time for Mr Greaves's visit arrived 

I was iVom home. It was an oversight of mine 

not to tell Willie and my housekeeper to entertain the 

expected guest, if, to use a legal phrase, he put in an 

appearance. Of course, I forgot it; and a strange forgelfulness 

it was. Eppie, that is my housekeeper, says it was 

what might have been expected. I differ from her 

entirely, but hold my tongue, because she is ready to overwhelm 

me with other proofs that I cannot gainsay. Eppic 

can cook a nice dinner and keep a house uncomfortabl}' 

tidy, but she gives reins to her tongue, and lectures her 

master, as she thinks, for his good, but, as he feels, to his 

great annoyance. Her logic is peculiar—such a thing is 

so, because it must be so, that is the invariable summary 

of her argument. She never forgets and makes mistakes ; 

never. I wish she would, because it would stop her 

inuendoes and muttered satire. Why is it thus ? The 

woman is much older than I am, and gossips a great deal ; 

one would, therefore think she would trip occasionally. 

13

194 '^^^^ Highland Monthly. 

But, alas ! such is not the case. She annoys me so much 

sometimes, that were it not for two reasons I would part 

with her, and try to get a quieter person to keep the house. 

The first reason is that my sister-in-law thinks much of 

Eppie, and, indeed, I confess she does her work well, and 

is strictly honest and faithful. The second cause is a queer 

one— I think her sharp, critical, puckered phiz is a kind of 

mentor to keep my memory awake. I do not understand 

the rationale of my forgetfulness. In youth I was noted 

for sharpness of memory ; now I am a laughing-stock to my 

relations and to my servants, and feel anxious and nervous 

when out among strangers, as well as in my little study, 

lest I commit ludicrous blunders. Yet, in spite of all this, 

I am confident that my powers of recollection are generally 

as strong, nay stronger, than when I was twenty years of 

age. My memory never was stronger, I repeat it, but it 

has become more rebellious— it has mastered my will. 

Perhaps if I had been immersed in middle life, in any 

business requiring concentration of mind, my will would 

have mastered my errancy. Length of days, experience of 

life, and reading, multiply the photographs laid up in the 

chambers of the memory. When the store is scanty the 

presiding deity has no difficulty in getting the proper slide 

under the stereoscope. The task is made more difficult by 

the multiplication of stores. Memory must then proceed 

by a system of classification based on contrasts, resem- 

blances, and associations. When one's will is strong he can 

make memory deny her nature and proceed on the principle 

of arbitrary selection, that is of keeping at hand the slides 

illustrative of a particular calling or business, and banish- 

ing the rest to the lumber-garret. When the will is weak, 

that is when purpose does not master the memory, it 

works in its natural way, and will not put at once the 

single slide under the stereoscope, without being followed 

or preceded by the rest of the series—stretching, as it were 

from the creation to the crack of doom.

JVillie Gillies. 195 

If the preceding paragraph convinces me that I have 

stumbled on a true explanation of my apparent lapses of 

memory, I am afraid it gives the reader an illustration of 

the dawdling forgetfulness of which my friends accuse me. 

" Let us return to our sheep," as the French say— I believe 

the absurd proverbial expression was taken from an old 

comedy, in which a shepherd was one of the interlocutors. 

I was not far on my journey when I recollected my omit- 

ing to tell Willie and Eppie that a stranger might be 

expected. I made all despatch 1 could, but did not get 

home till three days after the tryst. It was Saturday 

night, and I feared if Greaves called he would have left 

before my arrival. I was much annoyed by this thought 

when I drove "Jess"—that's my mare—up to the stable. 

Willie and Tommy came out with a lantern. I thought to 

myself, " the boys will tell if he has been here, and, if not, 

I need not mention anything about him." Will unhar- 

necsed " Jess" without any remark, but Tommy no sooner 

placed the pail of water before her, than he broke out like 

a hurricane 

— 

" Oh ! uncle, who do you think we have with us ? 

Come, say quick, like a good uncle." 

" Perhaps your mother." 

How is it that when people expect to hear something 

pleasant they wish to postpone the announcement by 

elaborate trifling? 

" Perhaps the wandering Jew " (the scamp mimicked 

me. " No," (great assumption of importance) " it is 

Willie's uncle. He is so jolly, and is to give us ponies to 

ride on and fishing rods— but I am afraid he will take 

Willie away altogether." 

The boy's face fell ; I was glad he showed some 

sensibility. Willie rubbed the mare's smoking flanks 

assiduously— I saw by the light of the lantern that his face 

was flushed. I put my hand on his head, and asked him 

how he liked his newly discovered relative. 

" Very well, he is kind and offers to help me, if I follow 

advice."


" 

" And you will follow his advice, my boy ? " 

" Perhaps, after I have seen my mother. It is so 

strange— I do not understand why he seeks me now. My 

mother seldom spoke of her family. But he says that you 

know him and—and — 

I understood perfectly why Willie did not put the 

question he wished to ask. I sent Tommy away on some 

errand, and then spoke to Willie seriously. 

" My lad, don't let slip the chance that fortune offers 

you. I do know your uncle, and can assure you that he is 

a worthy man, albeit somewhat peculiar in a io^N things. 

From him I learned that his sister made a marriage of 

which he disapproved." 

" There never was a better man than my father," said 

Willie, with the blood rushing to his face and his eye 

kindling. 

" I do not question it. Your uncle, as I tell you, is a 

peculiar man, but you must not turn your back upon him 

because he and your father were estranged. Worthy men 

have strong prejudices ; if your uncle and father had 

known each other better, they would have been better 

friends. Without saying a word derogatory to your 

deceased parent, I do not affirm that William Greaves had 

not some cause of complaint against him for running away 

with his sister." 

" Did my father and mother do such a thing? I can 

hardly think it." 

" Nonsense, Willie, why, old as I am myself, I do not 

know what I would do if a bonnie lassie loved me and I 

loved her, and her friends demurred, although her equal in 

everything but fortune." 

It was the pressure of the occasion that forced me to 

use these unguarded words. I certainly spoke what I 

thought was true and proper ; but then it is dangerous to 

let j'ouths suppose that their seniors approve of irregularities 

which are not excusable—at least not profitable for society 

— unless when justified by singular stretches of parental

Willie Gillies. 1 9 7 

and family authority. I wished to make Willie see the 

estrangment between his father and uncle in its proper 

light, that is as a misunderstanding that might happen 

between very worthy men without leaving any remnant of 

feud. Willie remained silent. I continued, 

" Supposing your uncle to have been very wrong, he is 

entitled \.o ^ locus peniteniicB. When I was his guest, and 

before he knew that you were here, he spoke words which 

showed that he longed for famil}' affection. He is a 

prosperous man, but lonely amidst his prosperity. When 

I accidentally mentioned your name, he questioned 

me in a manner that left no doubt as to his intentions, 

provided he liked you on further acquaintance. I guessed 

that he was your uncle, but left it to him to reveal himself. 

It was well that I was from home, and that you knew 

nothing about him when he arrived. The acquaintance 

formed without restraint and premeditation is the best 

foundation of friendship. The fact of his having acknow- 

ledged the relationship speaks well of what is to come. 

Did he tell you who he was when he arrived ?" 

" No ; 

he said you invited him, and that he would stay 

for your return. We tried to entertain him as best we could. 

It was yesterday he told me suddenly, up at the Duchray 

farm, that he was my uncle, and asked many questions 

about my mother, Kate, and George. Tommy was present. 

I cannot help it, but I liked him better before I knew he 

was my uncle. He is so dictatorial, and spoke so 

slightingly of ministers with large families and nothing for 

them, that I would rather fight alone than be helped by 

him." 

" There now—don't ride the high horse of pride. You 

and your friends have too much love of independence to 

be sensible or pleasant people. You need not look so 

defiant. It is a fact. Uncle and nephew are cut much 

after the same pattern. It is, however, the duty of the 

young man to be tender towards the faults of the aged. 

Willie Gillies, my friend, my companion, my younger


brother—for notwithstanding the difference of years, and 

want of kindred blood— you have been all that to me since 

Justinian introduced us, this is the tide in your destiny that. 

' taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.' Remember how 

much it imports your mother and her younger children that 

you should receive in a friendly, even submissive spirit, the 

well meant advances of your uncle, who has come to search 

you out, and to see what you are like, and on being satisfied 

with you, to acknowledge you as his nephew and heir. 

You imitate the injustice that you condemn in him if 

disown him— yes, disown, for at his age it is a greater 

you 

loss 

to him than to you if he fails to gather round his lonely 

health a group of loving relatives." 

"If he were not rich, I am sure — 

" You would like him ? Now that pride of yours is 

sinful. If 

him—since 

he were poor you would feel obliged to help 

he is rich and you are poor- -don't wince— 

say since you are poor he is bound to help you, and you 

must accept his help. You will like him better on 

acquaintance." 

" In many things I do like him much. He is rough, 

frank, and manly. I would be proud of him if he spoke 

kindly of my father. It is so sudden. I feel the whole 

thing strange yet, but I will try to respect my kinsman, 

and not disoblige him if I can help it." 

" That is aright resolution. But preserve me! is Mr 

Greaves waiting for us inside, while we stand chattering 

before the parlour window ?" 

" Oh, no," answered Willie, laughing, " as I mentioned, 

we went with him, Tommy and I, yesterday to Duchray's 

farm, and called on the laird, who pointed out, with much 

boasting, his new improvements. He knew my uncle as a 

successful breeder, and wished for his favourable opinion. 

But if the laird is proud of his system, so is my uncle of 

his own. It was funny to hear how they disputed. Yet 

they parted very good friends, and my uncle has gone to 

dine at the house to-day—they'll fight their battles over 

again, so one cannot tell when he may return." 

" 

I


CHAPTER VIII. 

William Greaves came to the cottage rather late, and 

flustrated with wine and disputation. He slapped Tommy 

on the back when he opened the door, and asked loudly if 

his uncle had come home. The affirmative reply was 

couched in a sulky tone, for To ^ my, much as he loved 

noisy demonstrations, did not exactly reciprocate the 

vigour of friendship expressed by hearty thumps from 

others. " 1 am glad to hear it "—shouted my undaunted 

guest as he entered the room. Wiilie received another 

thump, and I had to endure a grasp like a blacksmith's 

vice. He seated himself on the chair opposite me, and siio 

more, commenced a rattling conversation on farming. 

" \'on was a grand article (I had, according to promise, 

written for the Agricultural Journal). " Odd, it has made 

hundreds open their eyes a little. Almost every second 

one at the tryst was speaking of it. I am much obligated 

to you, and so is posterity for putting it in black and 

white. Could anybody believe it ? The laird up there 

prides himself upon his farming, and he has never tried on 

his moors surface draining to this blessed hour. He asked 

vay opinion of his model farm, and I gave him what he 

little dreamed of. Deil seize on these men of old blood, 

and all that humbug ; since backgoing tenants and beggar 

creatures too lazy to work, and who, therefore, should be 

hanged at ae tow's tail, bare their heads to them, and give 

them blethering thanks, do they think that the whole 

world is to shut eyes and to groan amen to what- 

ever they take it into their heads to say. We had a dour 

battle, but I conquered the laird, and crammed your 

article down his throat, without butter to ease the swallow- 

ing. Ha, ha ! it was like offering the test to the old Covenanters. 

But he did swallow it, for all the faces he made 

over it." 

I expressed satisfaction at his making converts.


" Converts !"—he exclaimed, striking the table with a 

heavy fist— " it is easy to make converts when folk find 

that conversion will fill their purses. My. light was under 

a bushel till you removed the bushel. It was a lucky day 

for the fa-rming interest when your shadow darkened my 

door, and it was lucky for me and some one else besides 

(he winked at Willie), but of that we'll talk anon. Come, 

you young smaiks, off to bed. Early to bed, early to rise 

—besides, we have more to talk about than is needful for 

you to hear." 

The lads looked at me, and seeing that I signified 

approval, bade us good night and retired. I was greatly 

amused at the surprising coolness with which my friend 

made my house his own. I was not offended, because I 

knew he was not doing but as he would be done by. I fell 

into a contemplative reverie regarding conventional morals, 

and was reasoning myself to the conclusion that the loss 

the established code occasions to truth and honesty 

counterbalances its convenience and decent hypocrisy, but 

before the question was half self-argued Greaves recalled 

me to recollection of the breach of hospitality I was com- 

mitting towards him by absent-mindedness. 

" What on earth do you see in the fire that you look at 

it in that way ! You don't seem to care much for your 

guest. To be sure I took you a bit by storm, yet I hoped 

you would not take that amiss. I declare if you do not 

wake up, and tell me I am not intruding, I'll away to the 

inn, and say you are but a summer friend." 

I apologised and was forgiven. He drew his chair 

nearer and spoke in lower tones, as if imparting a deep 

secret. 

" I am thinking of what is to be done with my nephew. 

You may guess I have been taking his measure. Truth to 

tell, I think I dealt over hard with the lad"s father. You 

see it was this way. George Gillies was a distant relative of 

ours. His father was a thriftless creature. George, however, 

was a lad of mettle. He learned fast at school, got a

WiUie Gillies. 201 

college bursary—a poor affair, fifteen pounds a year, which 

he eked out by teaching Edinboro' shopkeeper's bairns at 

spare hours. Well, by that time, my father was dead, and 

my brother had run away to be a soldier— he did not live 

long enough to be bought off. I was the head of the 

family and was soured because my brother had so miscarried. 

But Kate was my pet from the first, and I was 

prouder of her after my brother's loss than before. In pure 

charity to Gillies I always invited him to come and live with 

us in college vacation, which he did, and made himself 

worth his keep t\.o, for he was too proud to be lazy. A 

well-to-do farmer cast his eye upon Kate, and, like a fool, 

spoke to me first instead of to the lassie. Aye, if ever you go 

a-courting get the good will of the woman before you speak 

to the friends. You're laughing. Well, don't take it to 

yourself, I was only putting, what is it you call it?— 

general proposition. 1 thought the farmer a likely offerer, 

and told Kate, never expecting opposition, to prepare for 

her bridal. But she put her finger in her eye and made 

such a face over it that I relented. Thinking what could 

be the matter, I questioned her a bit, and found out her 

secret. She had promised herself av/ay to George Gillies, a 

penniless student without hope of soon getting a kirk. I 

had reason to be enraged, and I told her plainly that if she 

did not marry agreeably to my will, she would, under our 

father's will, forfeit her right to the few hundreds left to 

her. The upshot was that she gave me the slip one night, 

and I kept my word. Still her small tocher has been a 

millstone about my neck. I confess I should not have kept 

my wrath so long, and will now make atonement to my 

sister and her bairns." 

" Well ?" 

"My sister and the two younger bairns will live with 

me. This lad, Willie, must be helped to make his own 

fortune. It is ill waiting for dead men's shoes— I may 

change my mind and leave my gatherings to others, at 

anyrate, I will not call him my heir ; it would ruin him ; 

a

" 


every one that does not work for his livelihood should be 

hanged ; and deil a ne'er-do-weel, but one who proves him- 

self worthy of it, shall get my lands." 

" I think you are quite right, and 

so independent 

assure you Willie is 

— 

" Oh ! I ken all about it. He's a right good fellow, or 

I never would have put myself about for him. I won't 

speak of his father's runaway doings again if I can help. 

He did flare up when I tried him on that head. Well, I 

like the young colt's spirit. Had he been a sneak, he 

might float or swim for me. However, let's come to the 

point. He must neither be a lawyer, minister, nor guager, 

if I am to befriend him. The first are devil's imps, the 

second are poor as church mice, and the third—why, I 

would rather break stones on the highway than do the 

king's dirty jobs. He has no inclination to be a sailor ; as 

for soldiers, they are locusts that eat up honest men's gains 

—lazy and proud beggars that ought to be hanged, if we 

could do without them." 

" You mean to make him a farmer then ? " 

" Yes, and I'll tell you how. There is abundance of 

waste land in that new Australian colony ; what do you 

call it?— Queensland. Were I young I would try my 

hand there. Let Willie go instead. I ken one of the large 

squatters who is making a mint of money. We shall put 

Willie in his hands to train; for, you see, T can't. My 

system would not do so well in these outlandish places as 

at home, yet it's not amiss that he should take your famous 

article with him. If Jock Turner gives him a good 

character, I'll lend him cash on your security, as I only wish 

to have a hold over the youngster, and he is set up for life. 

I leave you to make the proposal to Willie. I'll have 

nothing to do with him if he refuses." 

There was no necessity for the threat. I was quite 

mortified at the alacrity with which Willie accepted his 

uncle's proposal. Greaves never lost time in carrying out 

his resolves. I released Willie from his engagement. He


and his uncle went together to visit Willie's mother. Willie 

was despatched by the first ship. The widow sold the 

furniture of her cottage— it cost her a tear to part with 

portions of it, which acquired sacred value from the associa- 

tion of ideas—and removed, with her two remaining 

children, to her brother's house. I called on Greaves 

regularly once a year. He was happier than when I knew 

him first, and much more lenient to the failings of others 

Willie obtained a " run " for himself in the second year of 

his exile. What was better, he regularly remitted instal- 

ments of the money lent him by his uncle. Eighteen 

months ago the loan was fully repaid, and then the uncle 

remitted back the entire sum— a couple of thousands—to 

Willie, with a piece of advice respecting the way of 

increasing his flocks and herds, and an assurance that he 

the uncle—was satisfied the nephew was not one of the 

gulls that waited for dead men's shoes, and that for their 

laziness and spendthrift habits ought to be hanged. The 

sending of this letter to his nephew was nearly the last 

deed of William Greaves. At the commencement of last 

winter he caught a cold, which he neglected at first, and 

which, before a month's end, laid him with his fathers. I 

was named one of the executors, and was present at the 

reading of his will. The document itself was drawn up by 

a lawyer, and gave and bequeathed, in the fullest legal 

style, the landed estates to Willie, and the bulk of the 

personal property to the two younger children. Old and 

faithful servants were liberally remembered, and injunctions 

laid on the heir—injunctions even under penalty—not to 

turn some favourite shepherds, who understood "the 

system," adrift. Two codicils, in the deceased's hand- 

writing, dated after the commencement of his last illness, 

were appended. The first made a bequest of a sum of 

money in the Long Annuities, for the free education of 

poor children in the parish school. They were directed to 

be taught reading, writing, and arithmetic, and the outlines 

of agricultural science from any book suitable for the 

—


purpose, and specifically from an article that appeared in 

the Agricultural /ournal, on blank date. The teacher was 

enjoined to drill them well in their Bible and Catechism, 

and to show that all persons, " sound in lungs and limbs," 

who did not earn their own livelihood, "ought to be 

hanged." 

The second codicil was very short. " Kate to have her 

money absolutely at disposal when twent3^-five years of age. 

She ought then to have some discretion, and girls are not 

such great fools when they know that before they are old 

maids, they may marry whom they will." 

Willie is expected home, and it was to while away the 

time that I wrote this sketch, in the year of the Lord, 1865. 

[THE EXD ]

THE 

Caught in a Ford. 205 

CAUGHT IN A FORD. 

" Oh ! Mai'y, go and call the cattle home, 

And call the cattle home, 

And call the cattle home 

Across the Sands of Dee ! 

The western wind was wild and dark with foam, 

And all alone went she. 

The creeping tide came up along the sand, 

And o'er and o'er the sand, 

And round and round the sand 

As far as eye could see ; 

The blinding mist came up and hid the land, 

And never home came she." 

expressive and pathetic lines quoted above were 

suggested to me by an experience I had last year 

in the ford between the Islands of Benbecul^ and North 

Uist. It was in April, and I was driving from South Uist 

to Lochmaddy. It was my intention to be at the latter 

place on a Friday to catch the mail boat that left about 

noon the same day for Skye. Important business 

demanded my presence in Portree on Friday evening, and 

in order to be in Lochmaddy in time for the mail boat, it 

was necessary that I should drive through the ford at low 

water on Thursday night. This I determined to do. I left 

Creagorry Hotel about midnight with a pair of horses, and 

made for the ford, which was about three miles distant. 

My driver was a powerful young man of many years' 

experience in the ford, and in him I had implicit confidence. 

The night was clear and starry with a stiff breeze of 

westerly wind, but there was no moon. When about halfway 

between the hotel and the ford, one of the horses, 

which was rather restive, took fright at some dark object 

by the roadside just as we got to the summit of a slight 

ascent, and in spite of the combined efforts of the driver 

and myself to check them, the infuriated animals rushed 

down the hill at a terrific rate for about a quarter of a mile.

2o6 The Highland Monthly. 

It was only when one of them got his hind legs behind the 

cross-bar that we were able to bring them to a standstill. 

On alighting, we discovered that the pole of the carriage 

was broken, and the carriage itself partly damaged. After 

some difficulty we released the horses, which we found, after 

examining them as well as the darkness permitted, uninjured. 

What was to be done now ? The carriage had, of course, 

to be abandoned, and it seemed as if my only alternative 

was to walk back to Creagorry, which was by no means an 

agreeable one. The driver, however, told me after a few 

minutes' consultation with him that about a mile and a-half 

farther on, and close to the ford, there was a small inn, 

where I might probably be able to procure a dogcart to 

drive me across to Carinish in North Uist, where a carriage 

was awaiting me. So shouldering my luggage, which consisted 

of a portmanteau, a small hand-bag, and a heavy 

rug, I walke'd to the inn, which I reached about one o'clock 

on Friday morning. The inmates had all retired to rest, 

but the persistent application of my hazel stick to the door 

compelled the landlord to appear in a short time. I 

explained to him my mishap and my eagerness to push on 

immediately, and to my great delight he promised to have 

his dogcart at my disposal in about half-an-hour. He 

invited me inside until his driver was ready, and on my 

accepting his invitation, he conducted me to a small, but 

nicely furnished, room, where he told me I might, if I 

smoked, have a pipe to wile away the half-hour that must 

elapse before he was ready to drive me across the ford. 

Acting on his suggestion, I produced my cigar-case, and 

lighted the only cigar remaining. At the time promised, 

the innkeeper made his appearance, and told me that his 

driver was now ready, and that I had no time to lose, for 

now the tide was flowing for nearly an hour. I immediately 

took my place in the conveyance, and after bidding a 

hearty good morning—for it was now half-past one o'clock 

—to my host, I found myself being driven at a rapid rate 

along a road that was by no means an even one, and in a


fe^v minutes there stretched out before me what seemed to 

be an interminable stretch of sand. This was the north 

ford. On a small rock in this ford I was destined to pass 

that night. But before continuing my story, I must give 

a description of the ford, which was the scene of the 

adventure I am about to relate. 

The north ford, so called to distinguish it from the 

south ford, which separates South Uist from Benbecula, is 

a stretch of sand Ij/ing, as I have said already, between 

Benbecula and North Uist, about- four miles broad, and 

intersected by several deep channels running east and west. 

These channels are formed by the force of the current 

during the flowing and ebbing of the tide ; 

they are seldom, 

if ever, actually without water, and I have seen at least one 

of them—the Gramsdale ford—with a depth of three feet 

even at low water. The depth of water also varies owing 

to the occasional shifting of sand. The deepest of these 

channels, and the one to be most dreaded, is this Grams- 

dale ford, which is near the Benbecula side. A line of 

stones embedded in the sand indicates the proper, and 

indeed, the only safe course across the ford ; for an 

inexperienced traveller is not only in danger of attempting 

to cross where there is too much water, but he is also in 

danger of getting among treacherous quicksands unless he 

keeps close by the stones. Owing to the constant shifting 

of sand, the stones are, however, often completely hidden 

from view, and then only a very experienced person is able 

to find his way safely across. In the middle of the ford 

are several small islands, many of them mere rocks wholly 

covered with water when the tide is in. One of the 

islands, Grimisay, is inhabited, and has a population 

of about two hundred. During the flowing tide, and 

when the wind blows in certain directions, the sea 

rushes in from the Minch in the east, and from the Atlantic 

on the west, with great speed, and at high water attains a 

depth of ten or twelve feet. I should have stated that the 

stones placed in the sand to guide the traveller are not laid


in a straight line— the track, generally speaking, is a semi- 

circular one, with the convex side to the east, so that at 

night the wind or stars afford little or no help ; they are, 

on the contrary, very misleading. I may add that adven- 

tures in this ford, similar to that I am about to relate, are 

not at all uncommon, and they are sometimes, though 

fortunately rarely, attended with fatal results. 

I have said that we—the driver and myself— left the 

inn at Benbecula about half-past one o'clock. I have also 

said that the night, or rather the morning, was clear and 

starry, with a fresh westerly wind blowing. We discovered 

the guiding^stones easily enough, and all went well until we 

crossed the Gramsdale ford. Soon after doing so, however, 

we lost sight of the stones, but expecting to find them 

again before proceeding far we continued our journey for 

about half-a-mile over an unbroken plain of sand, but 

without seeing either stones or any other object which 

would enable us to ascertain whether we were going in the 

right direction or not. By this time I observed that the 

night was no longer clear, for the stars were not visible, 

and a heavy fog was gradually rolling in from the Atlantic. 

Still we continued our journey at a smart trot, feeling no 

uneasiness, as we hoped to be able to retrace our steps if 

necessary to Benbecula, which was still visible through the 

darkness and fog, though gradually becoming less distinct. 

In a few minutes more we came to a group of scattered 

rocks, which the driver carefully examined, but which he 

failed to recognise. We wandered among these rocks for 

some time endeavouring in vain to find out our where- 

abouts. The driver then suggested that we should proceed, 

and he confidently remarked that we were undoubtedly 

going in the right direction. So proceed we did. It struck 

me at this time that we kept too far to the left, or in a 

westerly direction (for I had often before now crossed the 

ford by day, though never by night), but assuming that the 

driver was conversant with all the turns of the ford, I made 

no remark. Subsequent events, however, proved that my


suspicions were only too well founded. We had not 

advanced far after this when the driver expressed his 

inability to proceed farther without the stones to guide 

him. I hinted that we had better return to Benbecula, to 

which he consented, adding, as he jumped out of the gig, 

" that he would have a look round " in the hope of ascer- 

taining where we were. The next moment he had 

disappeared. I took the reins and patiently awaited his 

return. 

I was now left alone in charge of the horse, ?nd my 

mind naturally reverted to my peculiar, not to say danger- 

ous, position. I had often read and heard of adventures 

many of them tragic enough, that had befallen persons 

similarly placed as I was, and stories of such adventures 

now rushed through my mind, causing a peculiar sensation 

which was not altogether devoid of fear. I looked in all 

directions for some indication of our locality ; but what 

was my consternation to find that the fog had hidden 

every object from view, and that nothing was visible but 

sand on all sides ; indeed, the fog and sand seemed so 

blended together that it was impossible to distinguish the 

line of demarcation. Not a star was to be seen, nothing 

but that grey mass that every moment gradually narrowed 

my range of vision. Our position was critical in the 

extreme. Here we were somewhere about the middle 

of the ford, with the tide coming in for the last two 

hours. Even now to cross the channels would be 

attended with considerable danger, and in another 

half hour they would be impassable. I saw that something 

must be done, and that immediately. The driver had not 

yet returned. I looked for him, but in vain. I whistled, 

softly at first ; no answer ! I shouted, but there was no 

response ! ! Oh horrors ! had he lost his way on the sands, 

and wandered so far that he could not hear me ? I again 

shouted at the top of my voice, and my anxiety was soon 

relieved when I heard a responsive shout in the distance. 

In a {q.\\ minutes my man made his appearance, with the 

H 

—

2IO The Highland Monthly. 

discouraging tidings of his failure to find any mark to indi- 

cate where we were. And now another difficulty presented 

itself. The horse, getting impatient of standing still so 

long, made several ineffectual attempts to go forward during 

my driver's absence, but failing in this he commenced 

to walk round in a circle, and by the time the driver had 

joined me the horse had completed several revolutions. 

The result was that we lost our bearings completely, and it 

was as difficult to go back as to continue our course to 

Carinish. AW around was one dense, impenetrable—at 

least to the eye—mass of fog. However, something must 

be done, and it was proposed to retrace our steps if 

possible. 

When we left Benbecula and till we crossed the Grams- 

dale Ford the wind was on our left, but as we followed as 

closely as we could the curved course indicated by the 

stones, we gradually turned round till by the time we had 

lost our way the wind was in our face. This latter fact we 

had now forgotten, and, remembering only the direction in 

which the wind blew when we entered the ford, we commenced 

our backward journey keeping the wind nearly in 

our face, but a little to the right. A minute's consideration 

will enable any one who is acquainted with the ford, or 

who has closely followed my description of it, to understand 

that we were now heading nearly due west towards 

the Atlantic. On we went, however, at a good trot, for the 

horse was still fresh. The fog was very dense, and though 

we both strained our eyes looking in every direction, we 

could distinguish nothing. I asked the driver if he thought 

we were proceeding in the direction of Benbecula, and he 

replied he had no idea where we were, or where we were 

going. From an occasional remark he made in Gaelic, I 

inferred that he v.-as getting somewhat alarmed. So giving 

him a few words of encouragement, though my own feel- 

ings were by no means to be envied, I advised him to urge 

the horse on, for on looking at my watch with the aid of a 

lighted match, I saw it was later than I had expected. It

Caught in a Ford. 

was half-past two o'clock, and I knew that even then the 

Gramsdale Ford was too deep. To recross it was, how- 

ever, our only chance. We continued at a brisk rate for 

about ten minutes longer, anxiously peering through the 

fog in every direction in the hope of seeing land, but without 

success. Another circumstance now increased my 

uneasiness, and that was the marked disinclination which 

the horse shewed towards the direction he was compelled 

to take, for he made several ineffectual attempts to turn to 

the left. I was on the point of drawing the driver's atten- 

tion to this when splash ! the horse plunged into water. 

At the same time I saw a large black mass of water, with 

its white crest easily visible through the fog, rushing 

towards us ; and the driver exclaiming in Gaelic— 

" A 

Thighearna ! se tha so an cuan " (My God ! 

this is the 

ocean), turned the horse right round at the same moment 

that the wave broke over us in a cloud of spray. The 

driver now lost his presence of mind completely, and for 

the first time I myself fully realised the extreme gravity of 

our position. Here we were perhaps miles from a place of 

safety with the flowing tide rushing in with great velocity. 

Our only hope of safety lay in immediate action, but what was 

to be done ! We 

had no idea where we were nor in what 

direction we were now to go. A bright thought struck me^ 

and one that we should have acted on before now. I asked 

the driver if the horse had often been through the ford, and 

if he were likely to find his way home if left to himself 

The reply to both questions was in the affirmative, and the 

horse, prompted by a few lashes of the whip, bounded forward 

at a smart gallop. But alas ! our hope of safety, 

raised for a moment by our confidence in the instinctive 

knowledge of the horse, was but short-lived ; for I remem- 

bered that even should the animal endeavour to return to 

Benbecula, the Gramsdale Ford was far too deep, for the 

splash of the horse's feet told us that the tide was rapidly 

rising even on the higher sands, and that it would in a short 

time cover the whole expanse. Our only chance was to


get to one of the islets or rocks in the middle of the ford 

and for these we kept a sharp look out. Meanwhile we 

were going at great speed. It was a race for life or—death ! 

We might at any time plunge into one of the deep holes or 

channels with which the sands abound, or even worse still, 

we might be swallowed up by quicksands, from which we 

could never extricate ourselves. Or, avoiding these 

dangers, were we to wander in the ford feeling the water 

rise gradually higher and higher until the horse, unable to 

battle with his invincible enemy any longer, would succumb, 

and then ? Still on we went through the thick 

grey fog, and the splash, splash, of the horse's feet 

warned us that the water was getting deeper and deeper- 

And in what direction was the horse proceeding ? We 

knew not. And still we urged him on, on, no matter 

where, only somewhere, for our danger was every minute 

becoming more imminent. And we could hear the roaring 

of the rising waters on all sides like the roar of a hungry 

lion in chase of its prey ; and the wild and weird screams 

of the sea fowls as they, too, kept pace with the dark 

waters, seemed to me like the laughter of demons rejoicing 

in our destruction. And in the midst of these discordant 

sounds, which filled me with a kind of superstitious fear, 

could be heard the whiz of the driver's lash as it sharply 

cut the air in its descent to the flanks of the noble animal 

that, as if conscious of the danger that threatened us, 

seemed to exert every muscle in his body. How long this 

race continued I know not. It could not have lasted more 

than ten minutes, but to me it seemed an age. At last I 

perceived a dark object away to the left, and directing the 

driver's attention thereto, I told him to drive towards it. 

In a few minutes we had reached it, and our joy may be 

better imagined than described when we found it was a rock 

evidently high enough above high-water mark to afford us 

a place of safety. We plunged through a sheet of water 

that, to the depth of about three feet, surrounded the rock

Cauokt in a Ford. 213 

unyoked the horse, led him up tea place of safety, dragged 

up the machine, and prepared to pass the night on the 

lonely islet. 

My first act on getting to the rock was to place two 

stones, one on the top of the other, in the spot where we 

landed, that when daylight came I might ascertain where 

we had been wandering for the greater part of the time we 

passed in the ford. From this mark I afterwards learned 

what our movements, which I have already partly 

described, had been. Instead of returning south to 

Benbecula, as we intended, we had proceeded in a westerly 

direction towards the Atlantic, and it was into this" ocean," 

as the driver exclaimed, we had plunged. From information 

I have since received from men who know the ford well, 

regarding the extent of sand uncovered by water at 

different stages of the tide, I conclude that we must have 

been about a mile and a-half west of the rock on which 

we ultimately found safety, when we encountered the sea 

running in ; and as the rock was at least half-a-mile again 

to the west of the guiding stones, we had wandered away 

about two miles altogether over the sandy waste from the 

true direction. 

On getting to the rock I wrapped myself up carefully 

in a heavy rug I had with me, and lay down in the shelter 

of a large stone. I knew that we were perfectly safe from 

the encroachment of the rising tide, and I tried to sleep, 

but in vain. The roaring of the waters, the screaming of 

the birds, and the sighing of the night wind " murdered 

sleep." I lay there for a long time listening to these sounds 

as they mingled together and varied from time to time in 

pitch and intensity. Worn out by the exciting events of 

the night, I felt at last dull and sleepy, and I was congratulat- 

ing myself on having successfully wooed the drowsy goddess 

when a deep snore near me made me turn round to see the 

driver, lying a few yards from my lair, sleeping soundly. 

The faithful fellow had covered the horse with the only 

rug with which the conveyance was provided, and he now

2 14 1^^^ Highland Monthly. 

lay quite uncovered with one end of the rein tied round 

his arm to prevent the horse, which stood a few feet from 

him, from running off without, at anyrate, giving warning 

of his intentions. I could not help envying the youth 

sleeping so contentedly in such a situation. But his 

snoring became intolerable, so I got up and walked backwards 

and forwards, for I felt chilled. I produced my 

whisky flask and found it empty, and I at the same time 

remembered that I had the previous evening emptied my 

tobacco pouch into that of a friend who had travelled a 

part of the road with me. I awakened the driver, and 

asked him if he smoked and had any tobacco, and in reply 

he produced from what was evidently a very deep receptacle 

in his trousers a long piece of black " twist." I filled my 

brier pipe, and I am bound to say that, though a great 

lover of the weed, I never enjoyed a pipe as much as I did 

that one. 

The wind soon increased in force, and the fog was 

gradually rising. The grey light in the east indicated 

the approaching dawn. After the lapse of about half- 

an-hour, there was light enough to enable us to dis- 

tinguish land on both sides of the ford. This was about 

five o'clock. It would not be high water till half-past 

eight, and we could not attempt to leave the rock for four 

hours more. Sleep was now out of the question, so I 

wrapped myself once more in my rug, lay down under my 

former sheltering rock, and watched the tide rising gradu- 

ally higher and higher, covering one part of the rock, on 

which we had taken refuge, after another. I perceived 

several gulls hovering over the sands, and occasionally 

pouncing down on a sand eel that was rash enough to 

expose itself. These gulls always follow in the track of 

conveyances crossing the sands, to pick up sand eels that 

may be dislodged by the wheels or the horses' feet. 

Slowly and wearily the hours passed till it was high water, 

and almost immediately the tide began to ebb. About 

nine o'clock a small boat, containing three men, sailed past,

Caught in a Ford. 2 1 5 

going towards North Uist. Owing to the violence of the 

storm, and the difficulty the boatmen would encounter in 

effecting a landing on the rock, we showed no signals of 

distress ; but the men had seen us, and a (ew hours after- 

wards, while we were still imprisoned in the ford, they 

reported our safety in Lochmaddy. At length, about 

noon, the horse was once more yoked, and we slowly 

wended our way across dry sands and through deep 

channels, till we set foot once more on terra firnia. I 

telegraphed from the first telegraph office we came to for 

fresh horses to meet me from Lochmaddy, and in an 

incredibly short time I had the satisfaction of seeing a car- 

riage approaching at full speed. My luggage was soon trans- 

ferred to the new conveyance, and having paid my former 

driver—my companion m the ford—and having " tipped " 

him with an extra coin with which to feed himself and his 

now jaded horse, I made enquiries of my new man regard- 

ing the mail boat, for which I still hoped to be in time at 

Lochmaddy. He told me that, considering the stormy 

character of the day, there was a possibility of my being in 

time. The promise of a handsome " tip" had the desired 

effect, and we dashed along at the rate of about ten miles 

an hour. When within a mile from Lochmaddy, we 

observed the steamer sailing slowly to the pier. A few 

more cuts of the whip, and in a few minutes we dashed 

down to the pier in grand style. Yes ! 

boat at the pier ; but 

there 

was the mail 

a porter had cast loose one of the 

ropes, and a second porter was in the act of loosening the 

other rope. I shouted, but every one seemed as deaf as a 

door post. The last rope was thrown off, a bell sounded 

as the captain signalled " Full speed" to the engineer in the 

lower regions, and the steamer sailed away towards the 

open sea, leaving mc standing on the pier gazing sadly 

after it. D. M.

2i6 Ihe Highland Monthly. 



SOME 

By Dr AITKEN. 

few months after the death of Burns, one of those 

half-witted lads, who lived by moving from farm to 

farm, and acted as " the special correspondent" of the period, 

carrying, as they did, the news from glen to glen, found a 

shepherd lad lying on the hillside, tending his sheep, with 

somewhat rude writing materials before him. This was 

James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. In the course of their 

conversation, the wanderer—like those of his class, never in 

a hurry—repeated to the shepherd, " Tarn O'Shanter ;" and 

the vivacity, the realism, the power of the poem, so struck 

Hogg that he determined his every effort should be turned 

to filling the place of the man whose power affected him so 

much. From that moment appears to have come the 

ambition, expressed by him in a letter addressed to his great 

friend and constant adviser, Mr Laidlaw, eleven years after- 

wards. " I am even persuaded," he wrote, " we will see a 

monument ; may God help me, I'll not see it, but that you 

will see it—a monument erected to my memory in Ettrick, 

as high as you or me." Of the struggles Hogg had to 

overcome before he obtained the position he aspired to, it is 

impossible to speak in detail ; but few have realised more 

fully than he the truth of the lines, written by another 

Scottish poet, now almost forgotten 

" Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climb 

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar 

Ah, who can tell how many a soul sublime 

Has waged with Fortune an eternal war !" 

— 

!

Social Life oj Ike Borders. 217 

Fortune, indeed, in a worldly sense, never smiled upon 

Hogg, notwithstanding the care of the kindest and most 

watchful friends. The money he made by his literary 

works was lost, from his too optimistic views and rash 

farming speculations. Even the kindness and consideration 

of the Duke of Buccleuch, who looked upon the wayward 

poet, as he expressed it, " as a legac\- from the Duchess," 

one of whose last requests was that something should be 

done for the poet, could not sa\e him from difficulties, and 

his last efforts were directed to redeem his position by the 

publication of a new edition of his works, but which, like 

all his speculations, proved unsuccessful. 

With barely six months' education, which he lost 

running wild among the hills as a herd boy, a very Flib- 

bertigibbet in appearance, at eighteen he again taught 

himself to read by poring over Sir William W'allace and 

the Psalms, and b\- making letters on the large flat stones 

on the hillsides, he recovered the little knowledge of writing 

that he formerly possessed. This he ultimately perfected, 

b\- carrying a few crumpled sheets of paper, and an ink 

bottle atttached to his buttonhole, copying out his poetic 

efforts as he lay watching the sheep. Writing, however, at 

this time—though he afterwards, from letters I have seen, 

learned to write a fair hand— was evidently an effort, and 

he has left, with that openness of confession so charac- 

teristic of him, confident that everything in connection 

with himself was interesting, a somewhat ludicrous account 

of his pursuing the art. " b\' stripping off his coat and waist- 

coat, like one preparing for a desperate deed, and squaring 

his elbows for the feat." Kind and generous friends, however, 

encouraged him at Blackhouse, where he had now 

passed to the dignity of a shepherd ; and with these 

sympathetic companions, the shepherd lad was undergoing 

a still higher education from his surroundings, rich in 

legend and song, and gifted with a strange melancholy 

beauty, which those who see it never forget. The poetic 

instinct was quickening into life. Everything around him

2 1 

8 


was being transformed. He had become, to quote the great 

reflective poet of the century 

A lover of the meadows and the woods, 

and of all that we behold 

— 

And mountains ; 

From this green earth : of all the mighty world 

Of eye and ear, both ^vhat \\e half create 

And what perceive. 

Or, as Hogg has expressed it in his own simple, beautiful 

language : 

— 

The bard, in Ettrick's mountains green, 

In Nature's bosom nursed had been ; 

And oft had marked, in forest lone. 

Her beauties on her mountain throne 

Had seen her deck the wild wood tree. 

And star with snowy gems the lea, 

In loveliest colours paint the plain. 

And sow the moor with purple grain ; 

By golden mead and mountain sheer, 

Had viewed the Ettrick winding clear, 

When shadowing flocks of purest snow 

Seemed grazing in the world below. 

But it was not the ever-changing face of nature that 

Hogg was making himself familiar with at this time. He 

was becoming equally acquainted with each shade of the 

many-coloured life of the Border people. No one, indeed^ 

.can read his tales, rough and unpolished as is their style, 

but must feel their truthfulness, their vigour, and their 

realism. The cause, indeed, of the real strength of the 

best of them, such as those contained in the Shepherd's 

Calendar, and the Brownie of Bodsbeck, he has himself 

explained. They are, in fact, transcripts of the life he saw 

around him. 

" The greater part of these tales were written," 

he says in his autobiography, " in early life, when I was 

serving as a shepherd lad among the mountains ; 

; 

and 

on 

looking over them, I saw well enough there was a blunt 

rusticity about them, but liked them better for it, and altered 

nothing." The instinct of Hogg in this respect was superior

Social Life of the Bonders. 219 

to the judgment of his critics, and it is the very qualities 

which he has indicated, which, with all their defects in a 

literary point of view, has kept them alive. 

It is, however, more as a poet than as a prose writer 

that Hogg is best known, and will continue to be so 

though in both species of composition he has been a 

voluminous author. He has boasted, with his usual frank- 

ness, of his rapidit}- and fertilit}- of production. It is cer- 

tainly also not a little astonishing to find, as he himself 

says, one " wholly devoid of education, and in a great degree 

. . . delivered 

from ever\- advantage in life, and pos- 

sessed only of a quick eye in observing nature," producing 

in seven years no less than fifteen volumes, many of which 

were of considerable merit, and one of such poetic quality 

—the Queen's Wake—as to entitle it to a prominent place 

in the literature of the countr)-. This fertility, considering 

his original life and education, makes Hogg indeed a unique 

character in literature, and in man}' respects undoubtedly a 

greater mar\el than Burns himself It was, however, the 

cause of the chief fault of Hogg's productions, whether in 

prose or in verse—their prolixity. Not a few of his works 

are disfigured by this defect, and, notwithstanding all its 

beauties, it extends even to his best poem—the Queen's 

Wake—a series of lays supposed to be sung before Queen 

Mary, on her arrival in this countr)-. But there is this to 

be said for Hogg—this blemish, as in many writers, is not 

the defect of weakness, but the result of conscious power 

and fulness, as is best seen in his ballads. Of all men, 

Hogg had certainl}- the gift of song, crude and untutored 

though its utterance sometimes was. He had a delight in 

singing, and there is a joyousness in his verses and a freshness 

which never forsakes him. The very making of them 

was to him a delight, and though his literary adviser " often 

remonstrated with him " on the necessity of revisal, and he 

was often, he says, afraid of losing his countenanc 

altogether, " I still held fast to m\^ integrity." That Hogg> 

however, with early training, might ha\e been a highly- 

—


polished poet, is evidenced by four of his really most 

beautiful poems ; but his Tribute to the genius of Shakes- 

peare, his Verses to the comet of 1811, the poem entitled, 

" The Dweller in Heaven," worthy, as Mr Howitt says, of 

the noblest bard, and his Ode to the Skylark, by far the 

most beautiful poem ever written to that bird, of all others 

dear to the British poets 

— 

— ! 

Bird of the wilderness. 

Blithesome and cumberless, 

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Elmblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place 

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee 

Wild is thy lay and loud. 

Far in the downy cloud. 

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. 

Where, on thy dewy wing. 

Where art thou journeying ? 

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen. 

O'er moor and mountain green. 

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 

O'er the cloudlet dim. 

O'er the rainbow's rim. 

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away 

Then, when the gloamin' comes. 

Low in the heather blooms. 

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 

Emblem of happiness. 

Blest is thy dwelling-place 

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! 

With the fault of prolixity, Hogg, as an imaginative 

writer and poet, possessed other defects, which may be 

briefly indicated. He had no power of constructing plot, 

little in depicting character, and his verse is sometimes 

wanting in dignity. But, throwing aside these defects, 

those who can appreciate true poety will find in him real 

enjoyment. Hogg had a love of country, and of his own 

Border-land, which always comes home to the heart of

Social Life of the Borders. 

every man of true and earnest thought and feeling. Every 

place to him in his own district, however insignificant, was 

dear. Every glen, every stream, every haugh and hill, had 

its association, and were to him filled with the history of 

some raid, or connected with some ballad or legend. To 

this must be added a deep sympath)- with whatever was 

most beautiful in the daih' life of the people, and a keen 

sensitiveness to the evcr-var\'ing moods of nature. The 

blending of these feelings in his mind in perfect, yet uncon- 

scious harmony, has given, undoubtedly, with all the faults 

already indicated, that ease, grace, and surprising simplicity 

and music to his verse, so characteristic of it. Like most 

men in his position, his genius first took a lyric form, and 

to him we are indebted for not a few of the best songs in 

the language, such as " The kye comes hame ;" and this 

district has an especial interest in Hogg, as he has written 

not a few of the best Jacobite songs, originally printed in 

his most interesting work, " The Jacobite relics," such as, 

" Bonnie Prince Charlie," " Charlie is my darling," " Flora 

Macdonald's farewell"—instinct with the enthusiasm and 

regret of the Prince's most devoted follower. Still more 

striking, however, than his songs are his ballads. The spirit 

of the older of these he had been familiar with from his 

earliest years ; 

his mother had "crooned" them to him as a 

child, for she held they ought to be sung, and were spoiled 

by printing. It was in visiting her, under Mr Laidlaw's 

guidance, in collecting ballads for the Border " Minstrelsy," 

that Scott first made the acquaintance of the Shepherd, and 

that friendship was formed which, notwithstanding all the 

waywardness and the unreasonableness of Hogg, was to 

continue until the death of the " Last Minstrel." Of the 

ballads written by Hogg it is impossible to give quotations 

from their length, but they possess all the strength, direct- 

ness, weirdness, and tenderness of the originals of which 

they are imitations ; and it has always seemed to me that, 

though they want the skill in construction, they breathe 

more of the ancient spirit than Scott's, with all their o-reat

222 The Hi^klaîd Montlily. 

merits. It is, however, in whatever is weird, or, to 

use his own expression, " gruesome," or associated with 

fairy lore, that Hogg exercises his most powerful 

fascination. Scott was always deeply impressed with 

the opening of the " Brownie of Bodsbeck," and " Gil- 

manscleuch," and there are few things more startling 

than the commencement of the story of Mary Burnet, or 

the diablerie associated with the fate of the Bishop in " The 

gude grey cat." It is curious, also, to note that this love of 

the marvellous and weird was hereditary, and had existed 

for two generations before it reached Hogg ; for Will 

O' Phaup, his grandfather, was the last person in Ettrick 

who saw the fairies. Hogg's daughter, Mrs Garden, also 

tells us, in the very interesting Life of her father, how fond 

of hearing stories he was as a child, and how his mother 

kept her children quiet by tales of knights, fairies, and 

brownies, and the impression made by these upon his mind 

shews that they haunted him in his shepherd world, and 

has been exquisitely described by himself 

— 

All these have left within this heart 

A feeling tongue can ne'er impart 

A wildered and incessant flame, 

A something that's without a name. 

Will O' Phaup, it is possible, may have been the last person 

in Ettrick to see the fairies, but it was certainly his spirit 

that dictated the poems of Hogg, in which these little 

beings appear, and references exist to them in nearly half 

of his poems. Of all fairy tales, however, in whatever 

language, surpassing even the exquisitely ethical story of 

Undine itself, is the legend of Kilmeny, the tradition of a 

young girl, who for her purity has been transported into 

the land of spirits, and bathed in the river of immortal life. 

It is by far the most beautiful of Hogg's poems, and I do 

not know that I exaggerate when I say it is one of the 

most exquisitely musical and beautiful poems in the 

language. 

This reference to Hogg, however, would be incomplete 

without some account of his personality, and this is all the 

:


more necessary from the misconception of his character 

contained in the once celebrated " Noctes x-\mbrosian?e," 

though I think the wit of the Noctes now seems vapid, and 

their fine writing somewhat stilted. In fact, reading these 

works now one is inclined to wonder they left the impres- 

sion they did. It is difficult, indeed, to characterise the 

audacity with which Hogg was treated, and it was unjustifi- 

able in men like Lockhart and Wilson so to treat him, 

whate\cr Hogg's conduct may have been, or however his 

vanity may have shown itself They were his friends, and 

he was attached to them with all the warmth of his irregular 

and impulsi\-e nature, and they repaid him by making 

him a source of amusement to the public. To Lockhart, 

with his dandyism and his cynical nature, we can under- 

stand how the somewhat untutored manners of Hogg were 

so objectionable, but he designated him The Hogg, which 

the Shepherd retaliated by describing him as " a mis- 

chievous Oxford Puppy," though at the same time he tells 

us, with his usual candour, how he dreaded Lockhart's eye, 

whilst he m}-stified him about the articles in Blackivood, 

regarding the authorship of which Hogg had been too 

curious, and, in despair, he adds, " that before I left Edin- 

burgh, when visiting there, I was accounted the greatest liar 

in it except one!' The " Noctes Ambrosianae" were, indeed, 

a poisoned barb to Hogg, whatever the biographer of the 

principal authors may say about him enjoying the fun. 

Writing to Sir Walter Scott, he says— " I have a written 

promise from dated 19 months back, most solemnly 

given, that m}^ name should not be mentioned in his 

Magazine without my own consent. Yet you see how it is 

kept, and how again I am misrepresented to the world. I 

am neither a drunkard nor an idiot, nor a monster of 

nature. Nor am I so imbecile as never to have written a 

word of grammar in my life. I do not mind so much on 

my own account, but there are others' feelings now that I 

am bound to regard above my own, where the wounds


afflicted by such assertions rankle with so keen a smart 

that I am unable to allay them, and this part of the 

business I cannot endure"— [To Sir Walter Scott from 

Hogg, Altrive Lake, Oct. 3, 1821]. To his family they 

were a source of pain, and it was indeed apparently only 

when the chief authors saw him thoroughly roused that 

they expressed their regret, each in his characteristic way, 

for the liberty they had taken wath his name ; and a letter 

written by Sir Walter Scott, in reply to this I have quoted 

from, with a consideration for all parties, seems to have 

tended not a little to bring about a friendly reconciliation. 

The once-famous " Noctes Ambrosianae " certainly do not 

convey a correct idea of Hogg. Naturally of a happy 

disposition, he brought cheerfulness into the houses he 

visited, for he had tales and farmers' gossip for the older 

members, and songs and the fiddle—on which he played 

fairly—for the younger members, who hailed with delight 

his arrival. Pleased at the notice taken of him, his animal 

spirits often led him into such gaucheries perhaps as that 

recorded in the " Life of Scott," though it is possible Lock- 

hart may have made the most of it, for he never liked the 

Shepherd. That his manners were brusque is undoubted^ 

and in the forgetfulness of his excitement he would start 

up, and tap a lady on the shoulder familiarly. Or he might 

express himself as he did when first introduced to L. E. L.^ 

who was looking perhaps as described in Lord Beaconsfield's 

" Home Letters," " the very personification of Brompton— 

pink satin dress, and white satin shoes, red cheeks, 

snub nose, and her hair a la Sappho." Looking down upon 

her, Hogg exclaimed, " I've said mony hard things of you ; 

I'll dae sae nae mair. I never thocht you were so bonnie." 

Or he would commit such a breach of the proprieties, in his 

admiration of a man, as he did in asking Professor Wilson 

to dinner without an introduction— " When no other shift 

was left, I sat down and wrote a note, telling him I wished 

much to see him, and, if he wanted to see me, he might

Social Life of tJic Borders. 225 

come and dine with ine at my lodgings. He did so, and I 

found him so much of a man after m}' own heart, that for 

man)- \ears afterwards we were seldom twenty-four hours 

asunder when T was in town." That he was simple is 

evident from the story told of his discussing with Wilson 

his jjocm of the Isle of Palms, which he had reviewed. The 

reviewer, however, had experienced a difficulty—the hero 

and heroine had been sent on their voyage without provi- 

sions—and until he had an explanation of this from the 

author he could not rest. At last he was able to do so, and 

was satisfied with the repl}-— " You see, sir," said Wilson, 

" thc\- may have had bread and cheese in their pockets 

without m)- taking the trouble to mention it in m}' poem !" 

" Faith," said Hogg, " I daresay you are right ; but 

do 

you know, the thought never struck me, man." Of his 

\\anit\- no better illustration can be given than his declara- 

tion, which so offended Wordsworth, that the display of 

Aurora Borealis which he witnessed from the Terrace at 

Rydal Mount was a triumphal arch in honour of the meeting 

of the poets, Wordsworth, Southey, and himself. Such 

anecdotes as these, or the description given of the Shepherd 

in " high jinks," as described by Lockhart in " Peter's 

Letter's to his Kinsfolk," or Robert Chamber's Life, were 

mere effervescences, and did not betray the real character 

of the man. Thus, Mr Howitt, in his " Homes and Haunts 

of English Poets." says :— " After the Prints I had seen of 

him, I was quite amazed to find him so smooth, well- 

looking, and gentlemanly a person." Mr S. C. Hall, a 

shrewd and keen observer of men, was also surprised when 

he saw him. " He was rustic," he says, " without being 

coarse, not attempting to ape refinement to which he was 

unused, but seemingly perfectly aware all eyes were upon 

him, and accepting admiration as a right ;" and in a 

charming work, Dr Russell's " Reminiscences of Yarrow," 

a highly favourable opinion is expressed of Hogg. 

Similar to men of his temperament, he was nuch


like the society he was associated with. It is, at least, 

true that his character as represented in the Noctes 

should be thrown aside, and that Hogg should stand out as 

he really deserves, and as Professor Veitch has so aptly 

said, " as one of the Scotchmen of the truest, finest native 

genius, filling a place in Scottish poetry which is unique, 

and as having done certain things which no other has done 

so well." 

[to be continued.]




I 

By WILLIAM MACKENZIE 

WILL now pass from Incantations taken by themselves 

to^the'class of Charms where the aid of Amulets was 

called in, and commence with the 

AIRNE MOIKE, OR VIRGIN MARY NUT. 

, 

This nut has been for centuries prized in the Hebrides as 

an amulet of great value. Martin, in his " Western 

Islands," mentions several of the virtues it was believed to 

possess. He calls it a " Molluka Bean." Pennant also 

refers to it as a native of Jamaica, carried by the rivers 

to the ocean, and thereafter by winds and the Gulf 

Stream to the Outer Hebrides. 

The name " Airne Moire" has been variously translated 

" Kidney of Mary," and " Virgin Mary Nut." No doubt, 

the word airne generally means " kidney" now ; but in old 

Gaelic we have ainieag, " the sloe." The word also occurs 

in old Irish, and Mr Whitley Stokes translates ami cumrae, 

in the life of St Bridget, in the Book of Lismore, as " sweet 

sloes."^ 

These nuts are of various colours, but the one most 

prized has the cross indented on its sides. I have in my 

possession one mounted with a silver cross. It was duly 

blessed by a cleric 

— 

Pears Eaglais—and was believed to be 

possessed of great virtues. It used to be worn about the neck, 

just as the scapular is worn at the present time ; and every 

one who thus carried it was believed to be under the special 

protection of the Virgin Mary. She guarded him from 

^ Batir imda ubla 7 ami cumrae isin cill hisin. ( Aliundant npples and sweet 

«loes were in the church).

2 28 The HigJiland Monthly. 

evil courses, led him on the right path, and saved him from 

various calamities, such, for instance as a sudden death 

Bas obann} 

While it was believed to afford general protection as 

above described, it was specially useful in the case of 

women in travail ; and the belief in its efficacy is 

not yet a matter of the past. There is a tradition in Uist 

that on one occasion the Virgin Mary and Jesus 

were travelling on a stormy night. They came to a 

strange house for shelter. The goodwife of the house 

was kind and gentle, but the husband was churlish. The 

wife gave them quarters, much against the husband's wishes. 

During the night the wife was seized with the pains of 

labour. Her case seemed to be a critical one, and the 

assistance of the guests was asked for. Jesus, observing 

that the woman was in great danger, said 

The Virgin replied 

— 

Seall a Mhoire a' bhean 

'Si air fod a' bhais. 

(Mary, behold the woman 

In the throes of death). 

— 

Seall fhein oirre a Mhic, 

'Sann orra [air do] chomus a tha. 

(Son, succour her thyself. 

For thou hast the power). 

Whereupon Jesus told the woman in travail to make the 

sign of the cross three times, and 

A' choinneal a lasadh. 

An leanabh a bhaisteadh, 

'S a' bhean a bhi slan. 

(To light the candle. 

To baptise the child, 

And that she [the wife] might recover), 

' The above is an account of the virtues of the Airiie Moire as told me by 

an Uist crofter. In St Patrick's Hymn, already referred to, we have a similar 

idea. The hymn, we are told in the prefatory note, is a "Corslet of faith for 

the protection of body and soul against demons, and men, and vices. Every 

one who shall sing it every day, with pious meditation on God, demons shall 

not stand before his face : it will be a defence to him against every poison and 

envy : it will be a safeguard to him against sudden death : it will be a corslet 

to his soul after his death." 

—

— 

Gat Lie 1 licaiitations. 229 

The foregoing is the story as told in Uist ; 

and the 

birth ceremony as now practised is as follows :—The woman 

in travail takes the Ainie Moire in her right hand, and 

repeats the Ave Maria three times. Thereafter the midwife, 

or other woman in attendance, takes the amulet, and 

with it makes the sign of the cross on the sick woman 

(air taobh cearr broinn a' bhoirionnaich fo 'n imleag), at 

the same time repeating the dialogue above given, or the 

following version of it : 

— 

" Faic a' bhean, a Mhoire, 

'Si aig fod a' bhais." 

" Seall fhein i Mhic, 

'S ann agad a tha" ['n cumhachd]. 

" Cuiribh an gin air an lar, 

'S fagaibh slan a' bhean." 

Translated 

Jesus— 

" Mary, behold the woman 

In the throes of death." 

Mary— " Succour thou her, O Son, 

For thou hast the power." 

Jesus— 

" May the child be born. 

And the woman again be well." 

Lady Wilde, in her " Ancient Cures of Ireland," tells 

us that if an Irish woman is in great danger of death during 

her confinement, and is not wearing the scapular, she must 

be invested at once ; and the midwife always carries one 

with her, ready for the purpose (page 71). It would thus 

appear that the scapular serves much the same purpose 

in Ireland that the Airue Moire does in Uist. 

An Incantation somewhat similar to the one above 

given is used in the West of Ireland. I am indebted to 

Professor O'Growney for the following version of it : 

Di's a casadh dham, Cabhair agus Cri'ost, 

Mar rug Anna Muire, a's mar rug Muire Cn'ost, 

Mar rug Eili's Eoin Baisde gan dith chois' no laimh', 

Foir air an bhean, a Mhic ! 

foir 1, a Mhathair. 

O 

O is tii ghein an mac, tabhair gein o 'n chnaimh 

Agus go mba slan a bheidheas an bhean. 

—

230 The^Hio-hland Monthly. 

Translated 

— 

Two persons I met—Help and Christ 

As Anna was delivered of Mary, and Mary of Christ 

As Elizabeth was delivered of John the Baptist, wanting 

neither foot nor hand ; 

Relieve the woman, O Son ! relieve her, O Mother ! 

As it was you who conceived the Son, take the offspring 

from the bone [womb] ; 

Deliver the woman, and let her be well. 

In connection with the matter of appeals in childbirth 

to the Virgin Mary, it is interesting to refer to the case of 

Roderick Macleod, the St Kilda impostor, described by 

Martin, Buchan, and others. This man, we are told, taught 

the women of St Kilda a devout hymn, which he called the 

Virgin Mary's. It was never delivered in public, but 

always in a private house or some remote place, where no 

and he persuaded the 

eye could see but that of Heaven ; 

innocent women that it was of such merit and efficacy that 

any one able to repeat it by heart would not die 

in child-bearing. By means of this hymn the impostor 

debauched many of the women ! He was paid a sheep by 

every wife who learned it. A copy of this hymn would be 

interesting. Will any reader furnish it ? 

Appeals to the Virgin Mary by women in child-bed 

appear to have been universal in Christian countries ; and 

we have an interesting instance of it in the Book of 

Lismore. In " Sgel an da leanabh," given in the intro- 

duction to that work, we have the story of two children 

one a Jew and the other a Christian—who lived in France. 

The Christian child induced the Jewish child to go to the 

temple, and there partake of consecrated bread. The 

Jewish child afterwards informed his parents what had 

happened. They were wroth at him, and flung him into 

the flames [teined ar derglasad] to burn and die. He was 

left there till burned to ashes. On the morrow his 

parents found him as if in sleep. In response to their 

enquiries, the child replied that he was saved by the 

Virgin Mary [" mathair an aird-rig"], and that he was to be 

: 

; 

—


a fosterling of hers thenceforward. The parents of the 

child became Christian. " Ocus is nnor in mhirbuil do 

Mhuire, co nach felann bean iudaidi tuismhedh a leinimh 

intan bis co n-idhnuibh no gu n-aitcheann Muire"—(And 

[so] great is this miracle of Mary's, that no Jewish woman, 

when she is in birth pangs, can bring forth her child until 

she entreats Mary).' 

In connection with the Airne Moire as an amulet, 

I will read a few lines with regard to St Bridget, from 

which we see that the " Mary of the Gael" was 

also regarded as a great protectress. The title is " Sloin- 

neadh Bhrighde, muime Chriosd "—^" The Genealogy of 

St Bridget, foster-mother of Christ." The lines, which I 

received from Father Allan Macdonald, are as follows : 

Brighde nighean Dughaill Duinn, 

'Ic Aoidh, 'ic Arta, 'ic Cuinn. 

* 

Gach la is gach oidhche 

Ni mi cuimhneachadh air sloinneadh Brighde. 

Cha mharbhar mi, 

Cha ghuinnear mi, 

Cha ghonar mi, 

• Cha mho dh' fhagus Criosd an dearmad mi ; 

Cha loisg teine gniomh Satain mi ; 

Translated— 

'S cha bhath uisge no saile mi ; 

'S mi fo chomraig Naoimh Moire 

'S mo chaomh mhuime, Brighde. 

St Bridget, the daughter of Dughall Donn, 

Son of Hugh, son of Art, son of Conn. 

Each day and each night 

I will recall the genealogy of St Bridget. 

[Whereby] I will not be killed, 

'In connection with this subject, reference may be made to a strange Ijelief 

that prevailed in the Highlands till recent times. Pennant mentions it in his 

Tour in Scotland in 1772, and I cannot do better than quote his words. After 

referring to the burning of witches near Langholm, he proceeds :— " This 

reminds me of a very singular belief that prevailed not many years ago in these 

parts : nothing less than that the midwives had power of transferring part of 

the priniKval. curse bestowed on our great first mother from the good-wife to 

her husband. I saw the reputed offspring of such a labour, who kindly came 

into the world without giving her mother the least uneasiness, while the poor 

husband was roaring with agony in his uncouth and unnatural pains." Vide 

Vol. II., p. qi. 

—


I will not be wounded, 

I will not be bewitched ; 

Neither will Christ forsake me ; 

Satan's fire will not burn me ; 

Neither water nor sea shall drown me ; 

For I am under the protection of the Virgin Mary, 

And my meek and gentle foster-mother, St Bridget. 

Some of the phrases in the foregoing have a singular 

resemblance to certain lines of St Patrick's Hymn, previously 

mentioned. In the Irish hymn we have the following : 

Translated 

— 

Crist dommimdegail indiu arneim 

Arloscud arbadud arguin. 

— — 

Christ to protect me to-day against poison. 

Against burning, against drowning, against wound. 

The Airiie Moire in Martin's time (circa 1695) ^''^^ 

worn round children's necks, as an amulet against witchcraft, 

&c. The white one, he tells us was particularly prized. 

I show you a specimen of the white nut. It is not 

so common as the brown one. Martin says that if evil was 

intended the nut turned black. That these nuts did change 

colour, he says, he found true by his own observation, but he 

could not be positive as to the cause. He then goes on : 

" Malcolm Campbell, steward of Harris, told me that 

some weeks before my arrival there, all his cows gave blood 

instead of milk, for several days together. One of the 

neighbours told his wife that this must be witchcraft, and 

it would be easy to remove it, if she would but take the 

white nut, called the Virgin Mary's Nut, and lay it in the 

pail into which she was to milk the cows. This advice she 

presently followed ; and, having milked one cow into the 

pail with the nut in it, the milk was all blood, and the nut 

changed its colour into dark brown. She used the nut again, 

and all the cows gave pure good milk, which they ascribe 

to the virtue of the nut. This very nut Mr Campbell pre- 

sented me with, and I keep it still by me." ( Fz

Gaelic Incautatiom. 

While referring to the Airne Moire, I may menticjn 

another foreign nut, gathered on the shores of the outer 

islands. [Martin says that the kernel of this nut, beat to 

powder and drunk in milk or aqua vitce, was reckoned a 

good remedy for diarrhoea and dysentery ; and the Rev. J. 

Lane Buchanan states that during his sojourn in the 

Hebrides (1782- 1790), after the kernel was removed, the 

shell was used as a snuff-mull. It is so used still, and I 

exhibit a specimen. In former times Hebridean ladies 

got these nuts mounted with silver, and used them as 

vinaigrettes. 

Having described the use of the Airne Moire at child 

birth, a Bathing Charm or Blessing may now be given. It 

is called 

EOLAS AN FHAILCIDH, 

or, as Mainlanders would say, Eolas an FJiairigidJi. The 

water having been dul\' blessed, the woman bathing the 

infant began by sprinkling a palmful (boiseag) of water on 

its head. As the performance went on, and as each palmful 

was sprinkled on the child, the following Incantation was 

repeated : 

Translated 

— 

Boiseag orr h-aois [air t-aois], 

'S boiseag orr fhas [air t-fhas], 

A's air do chuid a ghabhail ort, 

'S a chuid nach fhasadh anns an oidhche dhiot 

Gu'm fasadh anns an latha dhiot. 

Tri baslaichean na Trianaid Xaoimh, 

Ga d' dhion 's ga d' shabhaladh 

Bho bheum sial, 

'S bho chraos-fharmad nam peacach. 

A palmfull of water on your age [years], 

A palmfull of water on }'Our growth. 

And on your taking of }'our food ; 

And may the part of you which grows not during 

the night 

Grow during the day. 

Three palmfuls of water of the Holy Trinity, 

To protect and guard you 

From the effects of the e\-il eye. 

And from the jealous lust of sinners.

234 

The Highland Monthly, 

While dealing with amulets I will refer briefly to 

ACHLASAN-CHALUM-CHILLE, 

or, as it is sometimes called, Seiid-Chalum-Chille. This 

plant is described by Lightfoot in his " Flora Scotica 

(p 416), where it is given as St John's Wort, Hypericin 

Perforatwn. On the Highland mainland the plant is called 

"Lus-Eoin-Bhaiste." It is also called " Ealabhuidh." 

This latter word is mentioned in " Miann a' Bhaird 

Aosda," a poem first published by Ranald Macdonald 

of Eigg, in 1776. The name " Ealabhuidh," how- 

ever, is not generally known in the Highlands, as 

as is illustrated by the fact that Mackenzie, in the " Beauties 

of Gaelic Poetry," considered it necessary to explain it by 

means of a footnote.^ The word is given in O'Reilly's 

Dictionary, from which the inference may be drawn that it 

is Irish. The plant, according to the same authority, is 

also called " Allas-Mhuire." It is noteworthy that while 

it is generally named after St John, we have it in the 

Highlands named after St Columba, and in 

Virgin Mary. 

Ireland after the 

We have numerous descriptions, in folklore books, of the 

ceremonies on St John's Eve, the plucking of St John's 

Wort, and the foretelling of one's destiny, much in 

the same way as our Hallowe'en observances. Bassardus 

Viscontinus, an ancient writer, commends that plants 

gathered on a Friday, about the full moon in July, and 

worn around the neck, as a cure for melancholy, and 

calculated to drive away all fantastical spirits. {Vide 

Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy"). A German poet 

beautifully describes the ceremony in connection with this 

plant, in lines of which the following are a translation : 

The young maid stole through the cottage door. 

And blushed as she sought the plant ofpower — 

" Thou silver glow-worm, oh lend me thy light, 

I must gather the mystic St John's Wort to-night 

The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide 

If the coming year shall make me a bride." 

^ Vide '' Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," page 14. 

: 

— 

"


And the glow-worm came, 

With its silvery flame, 

And sparkled and shone 

Through the night of St John ; 

And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied. 

With noiseless tread. 

To her chamber she sped, 

Where the spectral moon her white beams shed : 

" Bloom here, bloom here, thou plant of power, 

To deck the young bride in her bridal hour !" 

But it droop'd its head, that plant of power. 

And died the mute death of the voiceless flower ; 

And a withered wreath on the ground it lay, 

More meet for a burial than a bridal day. 

And when a year was passed away. 

All pale on her bier the young maid lay ; 

And the glow-worm came. 

With its silvery flame, 

And sparkled and shone 

Through the night of St John ; 

And they closed the cold grave o'er the maid's cold clay. 

— ( Vide Hone's " Every Day Book," Vol I., p. 427). 

An Uist lady described AcJilasan-CJialiun-CJiille to me 

as growing in out of the way corners, in little branches, 

with pretty yellow flowers — " Bithidh e 'fas 'na ghasan 

agus dithein bhoidheach bhuidhe air." To get it growing on 

the hillside at a time when it was not looked for was consi- 

dered very lucky, for prosperity and success followed in its 

train— " Bha buaidh ga ruith." When it was found 

unsought for, the following Incantation was said :— 

Achlasan-Chalum-Chille 

Gun sireadh, gun iarraidh. 

Mo niarrachd ^ a gheibheadh e. 

Buainidh mise duilleach an aigh, 

Mar a dh' orduich an t-Ard-Righ. 

Cha 'n 'eil aite 'n teid e suas 

Nach buinnigteadh leis buaidh a's cis. 

^ Foinne mu 'n iadh bri)g 

Mo niarrachd bean ^g air am bi ; 

Foinne mu 'n iadh glaic, 

Mo niarrachd am mac air am lî. 

—

— 

— 

236 The llig/dand Monthly 

Translated 

The herb of St Columba [St John's Wort] 

Unsought-for, unasked 

— 

Fortunate is he who would get it. 

I will cut [or pluck] the Foliage of Prosperity 

As commanded by the High King. 

Wherever it is put up 

It will win victory and command homage. 

Another version of the Incantation was thus : 

Translated 

— 

Achlasan-Chalum-Chille 

Gun sireadh, gun iarraidh, 

Air sliabh chaorach tha mi ga d' spionadh. 

St Columba's herb, 

Unsought-for and unasked— 

On the sheep hills I pluck thee. 

Another version was— 

Luibh Chalum-Chille gun sireadh, gun iarraidh ; 

'S a dheoin Dia cha bhasaich mi nochd. 

Translated 

St Columba's herb (or wort) unsought-for and unasked ; 

And please God, I will not die to-night. 

The plant, carried about the person, was believed to act 

as a charm or protection against all manner of evil agencies. 

Old persons preserved it in the hope that their cattle and 

.sheep would increase, and that prosperity in general 

would attend them ; while school children carried it in 

the hope of protecting themselves from the teacher's tawse. 

The Eigg schoolboy who loitered on the road from school 

in the evening was satisfied he would escape parental 

reproof if, in course of his wanderings, he came across this 

precious herb, unsought-for. On thus finding it, he said 

Achlasan-Chalum-Chille, gun sireadh, gun iarraidh ; 

'S a dheoin Dia cha 'n fhaigh mi achmhasan an nochd. 

Translated 

St Columba's herb, unsought-for and unasked ; 

And please God, I will not be reproved to-night ! 

—


Martin mentions the Fiiga Dccvwmnn, a term which I may 

translate " Sgiursadh nan Deamhan." I think there can 

be no doubt that the plant he refers to is St John's Wort* 

I le sa\"s : 

— 

— 

"John Morrison, who Ii\es in Bernera of Harris, wears 

the plant called Fiiga Dcentomivi sewed in the neck of his 

coat, to prevent his seeing of visions, and says he never saw 

an}- since he first carried that plant about him. He 

suffered me to feel the plant in the neck of his coat, but 

would by no means let me open the seam, though I offered 

him a reward to let me do it."—( Vide page 334). 

Like St John's Wort, the four-lea\-ed Shamrock was 

believed to be possessed of many \'irtucs, not onh- in Ireland, 

but also in the Isle of Man and the Scottish Highlands. 

When found ^\•ithout seeking, it was considered fortunate, 

and concerning it the following lines were said : 

Seamrag nan duillean 's nam buadh, 

Bu chaomh leam thu bhi fo m' chluasaig 

'Nam dhomh cadal na'm shuain. 

Translated 

Shamrock of leaves and virtues, 

I would wish you to be under m}^ pillow 

On m\- falling asleep. 

Every Highlander is acquainted with the belief that a 

witch can take the substance out of her neighbour's milk.. 

The idea is not peculiar to the Highlands, however ; 

and as 

illustrating the power attributed to witches, I quote two 

counts from the indictment charging Marion Pardown, 

Hillswick, Shetland, in 1644, with witchcraft. { Vide " Hib- 

bert's Shetland's, p. 282). They are as follows : 

" Item,—Ye the sd. Marion Pardown ar ind}-ttit and 

accusit for that zeers syne, James Halcro, in Hilldiswick, 

having a cow that ye alledged had pushed a cow of yours, 

}-e in revenge thereof, by yr. said devilish art of witchcraft, 

made the sd. James his cow, milk nothing but blood, whereas 

)-our awin cow had no harm in her milk ; whereupon they 

suspecting you, shewit the sd. bloody milk to Marion Kilti 

\-our servant, quha desyrit of you the same bloody milk for 

Goddis caus to shew you, and said she houpit the cow sould 

be well ; quhilk having gotten, and coming therewith to


your hous, and shawing It to you, thereafter the cow grew 

weil, thairby shewing and proving your sd. deviHsh practyce 

of the art of witchcraft. 

" Item,—Ye, the said Marion, are indyttit and accusit 

for that you having, a'no 1642 zeirs, hyrit ane cow from 

Androw Smith, younger in Hildiswick, which ye keepit frae 

the bull, when she wald have taken bull, and the sd. Andro 

getting knowledge thereof, causit the same to be brought 

to the bull and bullit against your will. The next year 

when she calved, ye by your sd. devilish art of witchcraft, 

took away her proffeit and milk, sa that she milked nothing 

but water, quhilk stinked and tasted of sharn a long tyme, 

till that you comming by the sd Andro his hous, he 

suspecting you, caused you to milk her and look to her, 

•after which doing, immediately the sd. cow's milk cam to 

its own nature,—thairby indicating and shewing your sd. 

devilish, and wicked, and abominable airt and practice of 

witchcraft,ând quhilk ye cannot deny." 

Poor Marion was found guilty, and sentenced to be 

burned to death. 

In the Highlands, similar beliefs as to the powers of 

our Transactions contain an 

witches prevailed ; and 

interesting paper by our friend Mr William Macka}% 

describing the burning of witches in Strathglass. I am 

not aware that this mode of treatment existed in the 

Western Islands. There the people, by means of herbs 

and appeals to the Trinity and the Church, hoped to ward 

off the powers of witchcraft. For this purpose a favourite 

plant was 

MOTHAN, OR MOAN. 

I do not find the name of this herb in any of our Gaelic 

dictionaries ; but in Lightfoot's " Flora Scotica," page 1 1 3 

under the heading " Addition of Erse and Scotch names 

and plants," he has the following :— " Pingiiiaila vulgaris. 

Moan, Gaiilis. Steep-grass, Earning-grass, Scotis-aiistraH' 

In Uist this plant was believed to be a sure protection 

against the powers of witches. It should be pulled on a Sunday 

in this manner :—On finding a place where it grew in 

abundance, the person going to use it would mark out three 

small tufts, and calling one by the name of the Father, 

1


another by the name of the Son, and the third by the 

name of the Holy Ghost, would commence pulling the tufts, 

at the same time saying 

Translated 

— 

— 

Buainidh mise a' Mothan, 

An luibh a bheannaich an Domhnach ; 

Fhad 'sa ghleidheas mise a' Mothan 

Cha 'n 'eil e beo air thalamh 

Gin a bheir bainne mo bho bhuam. 

I will pull the Moan, 

^ 

The herb blessed by the Domhnach ; 

So long as I preserve the Moan 

There lives not on earth 

One who will take my cow's milk from me. 

The three tufts having thus been pulled, they were care- 

fully taken home, rolled up in a small piece of cloth, and 

concealed in some corner of the dairy or milk-kist— " ciste-a'- 

bhainne." I have here a specimen of the M6an which was 

in actual use as an amulet. 

As an illustration of the virtues of the Moan as a Fnga 

Dmnonum, my informant narrated a story, which may be 

briefly given here :—A certain woman in the Western 

Islands was delivered of a son. As usual on such occa- 

sions, there was a group of admiring females round the fire 

attending to the wants of the new arrival. While thus 

employed, they saw a shaggy little creature— " creutar beag 

loireach"—traddling in at the door. He stood bewildered ; 

and in an instant they heard a voice without, " Nach toir 

thu mach e ?"—-(Will you not bring it out ?) The " creutar 

loireach" responded, " Cha toir ; cha 'n urrainn mi, 's bainne 

na ba a dh' ith a' Mothan 'na bhroinn " — (No, I cannot ; 

for the milk of the cow that ate the Moan is in his 

stomach). The stranger, who was believed to be a Fairy 

anxious to "lift" the child before it was baptised, then 

vanished.- 

^ i.e., the Church. 

" It was the custom at one time in the Island of Colonsay to put an old 

shoe to burn at the fireside when a woman was in travail, in order to keep 

away the fniries that were always ready to " lift" an infant.

240 llie Hio/itand Monthly. 

A plant called " Caoibhreachan" was also used as an 

amulet to protect milk from witches. It was believed 

that the substance, or " Toradh," could not be taken out of 

milk in an}' house where the " Caoibhreachan" was kept 

under an upturned dish. I do not find this plant mentioned 

in our Gaelic dictionaries, and I have not been 

able to get a specimen of it. 

In this connection, I may give Eolas nan Torranan. I 

quote it from Dr Stewart's " 'Twixt Ben Nevis and 

Glcncoe." Dr Stewart got it from Mr A. A. Carmichael : 

Translated 

— 

Buaineams' thu, thorranain, 

Le d' uile bheannachd 's le 'd uile bhuaidh ; 

Thainig na naoi sonais 

Leis na naoi earranan 

Le buaidh an torranain, 

Lamh Bhride leam ! 

Tha mi nis 'gad bhuain. 

Buaineams' thu, thorranain, 

Le 'd thoradh mara 's tir, 

Ri iionadh gun traghadh 

Le 'd lamhsa, Bhride mhhi, 

Colum naomh 'gam sheoladh, 

Odhran caomh 'gam dhion, 

Is Micheil nan steud uaibhreach 

'Cur buaidh anns an ni. 

Tha mo lus lurach a nis air a bhuain. 

Let me pluck thee, Torannan ! 

With all thy blessedness and all thy virtue, 

The nine blessings came with the nine parts, 

By the virtue of the Torannan ; 

The hand of St Bride with me, 

I am now to pluck thee. 

Let me pluck thee, Torannan ! 

With thine increase as to sea and land ; 

With the flowing tide that shall know no ebbing, 

By the assistance of the chaste St Bride, 

The holy St Columba directing me. 

And St Michael of high-crested steeds 

Imparting virtue to the matter the while, 

Darling plant of all virtue. 

I am now plucking thee 

[to be continued.] 

! 

—

The Hospital of Inverness. 24: 



(Bv Captain- DOUGLAS WDIBERLEY). 

CHArXER VII. 

William Macleane, Treasurer, 1721 to 1725.—His Charge and Discharge.— 

Mention of Bailie David Fraser of Fairfield's Mortification of 1000 Merks. 

—^James Fraser of Chelsea's Mortification for the Library.—Terms of his 

Deed.—Purchase of Books by Mr Fraser for Librar}' during his life.—Mr 

Fraser's Picture.—Old Register of Gifts to the Library, containing several 

interesting Catalogues.—Gilbert Gordon, Treasurer, i725-i73i.^His 

Charge and Discharge.—^Bond for David Fraser of Fairfield's Mortification. 

—Details of Gilbert Gordon's Accounts. —His Charge for Management.— 

Delay in finally passing Bailie Macleane's Accounts. —Difficulty of getting 

payment of Interest due upon Bonds. 

THE 

next Treasurer, William Macleane, held office from 

Martinmas, 1721, to Candlemas, 1725. 

liis Charge includes all that he received dur- 

ing his term of office, including Dipple's 

letter and Jackson's obligation, and 

amounts to, principal ... ... ...£^25,399 2 6 

And annual rents ... ... ... ... 6,617 3 o 

^^32,016 5 6 

His Discharge— Heritable securities, bonds, 

and bills... ... ... ... ...;^25,435 9 2 

Interests, pensions, drafts, &c. ... ... 6,364 9 5 

Expenses and trouble, 3^2 years, at i,'6o 210 o o 

Balance to be paid to insuing Treasurer... 5 611 

16


This discharge includes the balance due to his predecessor, 

paid ; also, a debt due by the Hospital to Drummure, 

^950 14s 6d, and Dipple's letter, ^^333 6s 8d ; also, outstanding 

debts, ;^678 i8s od ; cesses, stipends, feu-duties, 

&c., £iig los od ; 

^198 4s 6d ; 

and 

advances by order of Session, 

also, a new item, mentioned above—a payment 

to the Treasurer for his trouble. Considering the 

great improvement in the management of the fund, as well 

as in the mode of keeping the accounts, as compared with 

what was done, and omitted to be done, in Treasurer 

James Maclean's time, some thirty years before, the money 

was well earned. 

There follows a list of bonds and securities made over 

to his successor, not added up in the account book. In a 

memorandum at the end of his accounts occurs, " Baillie 

David Fraser's Mortification of a thousand merks, with 

interest from Whits., 1724, is to be a part of his Charge [i.e., 

the new Treasurer's], as also the iron chest delivered him, 

with the Communion cups and cloaths for the tables." 

It was during Bailie William Macleane's treasurership 

that an extract of the deed of mortification made by Mr 

James Fraser, Secretary and Register [? Registrar] of the 

Royal Hospital of Invalids at Chelsea, was presented by 

him to the Session, and recorded in their minutes on 14th 

July, 1724. This mortification was made over, and the 

money paid to the Session, twelve years before, not for 

ordinary charitable purposes, but for the improvement and 

maintenance of the library. The fund ought to have been 

kept in a distinct account, but for a good many years it was 

kept as part of the Hospital account. The deed bears that 

the donor, Mr Fraser, had, in the year 1712, "already com- 

mitted and payed to the Reverend th-e Minister, Magistrates, 

and remanent members of the Church Session of Inverness, 

the sume of one thousand merks money of Scotland, as is 

clear from the Hospitall books of the said Burgh," The 

mode of investment is then prescribed, viz., " to lend out 

and employ the said mortified sume on sufficient security.

Ihc Hospital of luverness. 243 

heritable or moveable, for yearly interest, as rcaly and 

effectuall}' as they are bound to secure the other sums of 

money which belong to the Hospitall of Inverness." The 

annual rent was to be laid out in purchasing and buying 

*' usefull books for the bencfite and encrease of the Library 

of the said burgh," at tlie donor's own sight, and as he should 

direct during his own life, but reserving to himself to exer- 

cise the option of devoting half the income to pa}- a salary 

to the master of the Grammar School of Inverness, in case 

he should be the Keeper of the Librar\-. But after his 

decease, the trustees were to la\- out half the income in the 

purchase of books, and half in pa}'ment of a salary to the 

schoolmaster as librarian, unless one of the ministers should 

be willing to act as librarian, in which case the whole of the 

money was to be bestowed in buying books. The books 

were to be bought as the ministers of Inverness, or an}' one 

of them, should direct, and a schoolmaster could only be 

.appointed librarian under various conditions named in the 

•deed. His principal duties were to be " keeping the Library, 

.and teaching some bo}\s of the name of Eraser, of good 

capacity and genius for learning, whose parents are not in 

condition to pay the schoolmaster's fees." The deed further 

bears that, as trustee of his deceased brother William 

Fraser, late Governor of Fort St. George, in the East Indies, 

under whose will he was empowered to allocate legacies for 

public charitable uses, he had paid over to the abox'c- 

mentioned ministers, magistrates, and elders, the sum of 

nine hundred merks money of Scotland, upon the 2nd (jf 

Jul}', 1718; and he directs that this money "shall be 

secured, improvcn, and bestowed in all respects as the 

above-mentioned thousand merks." 

Mr Fraser exercised his right of selecting books during 

his life, as the following report of a Committee of the Kirk 

Session, given in on 23rd August, 1720, shows :—" The 

Committee appointed to receive the books bought by Mr 

James Fraser, and to consider the ballance that was due to 

him, did report that they viewed all the books, which were

2 44 ^'^^^ Highland Monthly. 

set up in a press by themselves in the south end of the 

Library ; that the>' were all in good condition, and cheap 

bought, as they judged, and that there was non wanting 

save ' ' Camdene Epistole,' in 4to, and The Divil on Two 

Sticks,' and the ' Vanity of Philosophizing,' and Captain 

Parish's ' State of Russia,' in 8vo, of which Mr Robert 

Baillie acquainted him by a letter of the I2th instant. And 

they considered the Ballance due to Mr Fraser, and found 

it to be sixteen pound six and eightpence sterling, including 

his picture, which cost four pounds four shillings sterling ; 

and they further report that Mr Fraser complimented the 

Library with a new Donation of books, to the value of four 

pound sterling, the said picture being bought and sent down 

by order of Session formerly ;" which " report being consi- 

dered, the Session did appoint Thomas Alves, Hospitall 

Theasurer, to borrow the said ballance of sixteen pound six 

and eightpence sterling, and remit a bill to London of the 

and that in respect the interest 

value with the first post ; 

of the sumes of mone}- mortified b}- Mr Fraser is not at 

present in the Theasurer's hand, and although it were does 

not amount but to ten pound thirteen and nine pence 

sterling." 

The above mentioned picture is in good preservation 

The Session Library still contains an old MS. volume 

stamped on the back " Register Gifts of the Library of 

Inverness ;" on the front page of which is written, " This 

book is gifted to the Librarie of Inverness by Robert 

Baillie, minister there." The binding, unfortunately, is in 

bad condition. It is evident from this volume that a considerable 

number of books had been collected before Mr 

Fraser of Chelsea gave his donation, and that to Mr Baillie 

belongs the main credit of founding the present Librar\and 

bestowing much care upon it in its infanc}-. It 

embraces several catalogues which it is worth while to 

enumerate here. The first is " A catalogue of the books 

sent by piously disposed persons in London to the town of 

Iincrncss as the beginning of a Presbyterial Library in that

The Hospital of Invrmcss. 245 

bounds, with an account of the value put upon the said 

books by Mr Henderson, stationer in Edinburgh." This 

valuation was £77^ 

donations and books gifted to the Librar\-, the \ aluc of 

O-^ ^cl Scots. Next follows a list of 

each in most cases being stated and the names of the 

donors, also of books purchased from 1706 to 17 14. This 

list includes books gifted b}' Mr Baillie himself to value of 

^69 2s od Scots, and "books bought b}- Mr Robert Baillie 

in conjunction with a Committee of the Presbytrie :" the 

value of the whole was about £12^0 Scots and ^^15 sterl- 

ing. 

Then follows " A Catalogue of the Presb}-terial Librar\' 

of Inverness digested into an alphabetical order as follows," 

dated 1709, and showing their value in sterling money. 

The extent of the Librar\' at this date may be judged from 

a summary showing 259 volumes folio, which, added to the 

number of quarto and octavo \-olumes, made a total of 

about 502 volumes. 

The next catalogue is headed " A Catalogue of the 

Books which were preserved when Skipper Bell's ship was 

cast away upon the rocks at Cairnbulg Head, in two large 

cases and a cask of 32 Scots gallons full of books ; the 

cases from Mr Stretton " [a minister in London] " and cask 

from ^\x Fraser at Chelsea, with an account of the ordinary 

value of the Library, as if none of the books were damnified, 

yet where the letter D is prefixed signifieth that the book 

is damnified." Although the books were " preserved," 

there are but few that were not " damnified." 

The next entry is one of considerable interest, viz., 

" The names of benefactors to the Library of Inverness, 

with an account of their donations since the time the said 

Library was erected, being January 1706 to January 1717." 

The names are arranged alphabetically. Under letter " F " 

we find "Mr James Fraser" [with "Chelsea" added in 

margin] " in books £\6o, by him in cash £^^ i is i/^d." 

The next list is " A Catalogue of Books sent to the 

Library of Inverness by Mr James Fraser, Secretary and

— — 

246 The Richland Monthly. 

Register of the Royal Hospital of Invalids at Chelsea, and 

recommended to the care of Mr Robert Baillie, 26 Oct., 

1708." The value of these books is noted at £\\6 19s od 

sterling. 

The last catalogue is headed " The Collection of Books 

on the two following leaves were bought by Mr Fraser of 

Chelsea Colledge at London, at the prices subjoined unto 

each book taken from the Catalogue, written b)^ his own 

hand the 26 of April, 1720, which were paid by order of 

Session in manner following." The value of these was 

£26 I IS 8d, and they may be the books on which, as above 

mentioned, a balance of iî6 6s 8d was paid to him. 

The next treasurer was Bailie Gilbert Gordon, who held 

office from Candlemas, 1725, to Candlemas, 173 1. His 

account is stated with special precision. In his charge he 

shows in separate columns 

1. Principal sums transmitted to him and 

mortified in the space ... ... ... ^,"25,25 1 18 o 

2. Annual rents or interest transmitted till 

Candlemas, 1725, and charges... ... 2,852 3 2 

3. Interest from Candlemas, 1725, to 

Candlemas, 173 

His discharge shows 

1 

... 7>730 8 8 

i:3S,834 9 10 

1. Principal sums to be transmitted ...^^24,759 5 4 

2. Interests due, ^,'4960 3s id, and payments, 

^5449 IIS lod 10,409 14 II 

3. Allowance claimed as Treasurer 6 years 360 o o 

4. Balance due to his successor ... ... 305 9 7 

i:35,834 9 10 

Among the items of his ac'counts we find the following— 

Bond, Baillie James Roy Dunbar upon a 

half-coble's fishing ... ... ... ^^"2,000 o o 

Wadset of half-coble fishing from Insches... 2,000 o O

1 he llospita/ of Inverness. 247 

The interest of ;^2000, the redemption of 

half-coble,at Martinmas, 1726, and bond, 

Baih'e James Dunbar, on land security 2,666 13 4 

Also a balance of annual rents due b}- him 507 2 8 

Two mortifications apparentl)- belong to his period of 

office, \iz., one b)- William Mackintosh, senior, treasurer, of 

£2^ sterling, seemingly of date 1726, and one by the Laird 

of Mackintosh and Lad}- Mackintosh, of ^2000 Scots, for 

educational purposes, but neither of these appear in (jilbert 

Gordon's accounts, so particulars will be gi\'en under those 

of his successor. Provost Hossack. 

The committee appointed to examine these accounts, 

besides appending a docquet at the end of the charge side 

and another at the end of the discharge side, presented a 

report, which is entered in the account book, and is dated 

3rd and 6th da\-s of April, 1731. They find, inter alia, 

that the treasurer has added to the hospital stock " a house 

and office houses taken off b\" compriseing from ^lalcolm 

Mackenzie, a tenant upon , valued at £100 

Scots, and which is rentalled to the possesser at £^ Scots 

yearly." The blank should have been filled up with 

" Gallowsmuir." The Committee also " find that he charges 

himself with ^^666 13s 4d Scots, the mortification of the 

deceased David Fraser, merchant and baillie of the said 

burgh, for which he received bond from Alex. Fraser of 

Fâirfield, his son, dated the i6th day of February, 173 1, 

bearing interest from Martinmas, 1730, the preceding 

interest of that mortification having been applied b}' the 

said Fairfield to charitable objects b\' order of the Session, 

and for distinct stateing thereupon, the said Fairfield has 

granted a separat obligation." The principal i^5 5 lis \\d 

sterling seems to ha\-e been paid up long afterwards, on 4th 

Februar}-, 1752, 

tc) Treasurer Hossack.— Jîde Kirk Session 

minutes, 14th Ma\-, 1776. 

With regard to the Treasurer's disbursements they find 

" that the said Baillie Gordon has paid out the sum of 

^^5449 I IS lod, as is particularly set down in the accompts

24^ The Highland Monthly. 

referred :—To the pentioners upon the Hospital rents, to 

charitable objects by particular orders of Session, for the 

payment of ffeu duties, cesses, ministers' stipends, repara- 

tion of the fabrick of the Hospital, and for buying books 

for the Library, out of the a. rents of money mortified for 

that end and en., iJ"5449 lis lod. The said Committee 

observe that the said Baillie Gordon takes credit to himself 

for the sum of Sixty Pounds Scots per annum, on account 

of his expenses and trouble in managing the affairs of the 

Hospital Stock, which as the same was not precedented, 

except upon the accounts of his immediat predecessor, 

whose accounts, tho' they were received and extended in 

the treasury book after revising by a Committee, are not 

yet discharged, and therefore the said article is referred to 

the Session, and for 6 years ^^360 ; and, lastly, they find . 

that upon the whole accompt so stated, charge and dis- 

charge, there is a balance of money in the hands of the said 

Baillie Gilbert Gordon ready to be paid to his successor in 

the office, and which is to be a part of the charge against 

him, the sum of ^305 9s 7d." An allowance to the 

Treasurer from the time of Baillie Macleane has been 

acquiesced in, and very reasonably. 

The details of Bailie Gordon's disbursements are given 

in his discharge accounts, and are of some interest, viz., 

" An acct. of ffeu duties paid to the town out of lands and 

fishings, from Whits., 1722, to Whits., 1730, £, 

£6

The Hospital of /nvcniess. 249 

These accounts, like those of most of the othor 

treasurers, fail to kcei) the different branches distinct ; the 

rent of the We}-house and \'ard, the cost of the reparation 

of the Hospital, and the purchase of books, being all included 

in one account. 

It will be observed that the Committee last mentioned 

referred to the fact of Bailie Maclean's accounts never having 

been discharged. The fault evidently did not lie with 

Bailie Macleane himself His accounts were well kept. A 

large committee of the Session was appointed at his 

request on 26th January-, 1725, to meet for the purpose of 

auditing them, when he should advertise them by the kirk 

officer. This committee was continued on 13th April and 

again on i8th May. His successor Gilbert Gordon, was 

appointed out of a leet of four on 20th May, and the same 

committee ordered to meet on the following Monday to see 

all bonds and papers belonging to the Hospital delivered 

over to the new treasurer. The committee reported on 8th 

June that they had met and delivered to the new treasurer 

" all the papers belonging to the Hospital, but they had not 

their report as yet read}%" 

On 31st August in same jêar Bailie Maclean represented 

that it was necessar\- the Committee should meet in order 

unto their drawing up a full report concerning his intromis- 

sions, and also that all papers belonging to the Hospital 

might be delivered to Bailie Gilbert Gordon. The Session 

appointed the said Committee to meet that night at six 

o'clock, and appoints all the members of the committee to 

be acquainted herewith. It appears from the minutes of 

14th September that the Committee accordingh' met, and 

delivered all the papers to Bailie Gordon, " but had not 

their report as yet ready," in exactly the same terms as they 

reported three months' pre\-iously. After this the matter 

seems to have been allowed to drop, for it is stated, as we 

have seen, in 173 1, that " Bailie Maclean never got a proper 

discharge."

250 Ihe Hio/iland Monthly, 

An entry in the Session records in 1725 refers to the 

difficulty of getting payment of the interest upon bonds, 

viz.:— " The Session, considering the clamant condition of 

the Hospitall Pensioners, did appoint a commission be 

drawn up to John M'Bean, Messenger, to pursue for the a. 

rents due preceding and until Whitsunday last, and that he 

set about this with all expedition. As also, to prevent the 

prescribing of Cationrie, that the several Debitors to the 

Hospitall shall renew their Bonds, and that the Cationers 

hereafter shall be Quo-principals [? Co-principals], and 

appoints the Moderator to write a letter to the several 

Debitors, making intimation hereof" 

The Session Records also confirm the statement of the 

Committee's report upon Gilbert Gordon's accounts relative 

to the interest of Bailie David Fraser's mortification having 

been applied by his son to charitable objects by order of 

the Session; for on 15th December, 1724, a letter from 

Alex. Fraser of Fairfield was presented, and read to the 

Session, in which he stated that his father's mortification 

was granted " on the condition that he and his heirs should 

have the sole power of presenting to the Kirk Session of 

this Burgh proper objects [of relief], one or more, who 

should enjoy the a. rent of rhe above thousand merks." He 

" accordingly presented two persons of the name of Fraser, 

one for a year's enjoyment, another for life." This request 

was granted for a year in the following April, provided Fair- 

field produced receipts under the beneficiaries' own hands. 

A similar claim was made and granted on i8th May, 1725, 

and in June, 1728 ; but on the former of these two occasions 

the Session resolved " that Alex. Baillie, Town-Clerk, be 

applied to, with whom the mortification is lodged, that he 

draw up and bring in a Bond, conform to the tenor of the 

said Mortification, obliging the said Fairfield to pay the 

said summ of a thousand merks to the Hospitall Treasurer, 

and that the said Fairfield bring in his representation of 

the said persons in write." 

ll'O BE CCNTIXIEU.J

Renjrcivslnrc Keltic Place Names. 251 

RENFREWSHIRE KELTIC PLACE 

NAMES. 

Sir,— In the article by Mr Hector Maclean, in your May 

number, on " Renfrewshire Keltic Place Names," it seems to me 

there are a few errors, owing to the learned author's having been 

misled by a faulty map and a wrong pronunciation. Tliis is 

excusable in one not on the ground ; 

and 

it is not in a fault- 

finding spirit I mention the fact, but in the interest of correctness. 

The instances I refer to are the following, and I take them as 

they occur in the article in c[uestion :- - 

Barsheegrav— This is oftener found Barshagray. There is 

a Barshagrie—sometimes Balshagrie—across the Clyde, almost in 

Renfrewsiire. In this case it will be necessary to seek another 

etymology than that given. 

Co.MMONMORE—I Cannot find this name. But there is a 

Commore in Nielston Parish, which may be explained as Cum-m6r 

— the large dell 

Callhart— This now should be Cathcart. Cath appears also 

in Cathkin Hills in Lanarkshire, on which are the remains of 

an ancient camp ; it is probably Brythonic. 

Barrochan Cross— It must be borne in mind that the 

district in which this cross stands is called Barrochan ; and it is 

more likely the cross is named after the district than after the 

saint. It is not Barrochan's Cross, but Barrochan Cross. 

Clothoderick—This is generally Clochoderick, or Clochodrick, 

and is pronounced with the accent on the second syllable. 

Some have sought to explain the word by Clochodruid = Druid's 

Stone— in fact, a map of the county, dated 1826, calls it Druid's 

Stone. There is nothing druidical about the stone. It is a 

boulder—speaking from memory—of about 20 by 15 by 10 feet, 

lying midway between Kilbarchan and Lochwinnock. I venture 

to suggest that the latter part of the word is a personal name, on


the following grounds. In Eastwood jjarish there is Carnwatherick; 

in Houston parish there is Bodrick—Boderick or Botherwickfield. 

As Bh becomes w, it is easy to fancy Carnwatherick as the outcome 

of Carn-Bhoderick. A step further, and the %v drops out 

and thus we have Cloch-Bhoderick— woderick—oderick, finally 

Clochodrick. The stone is not called The Clochodrick, showing 

rhat the article did not precede the name in former times. The 

Cloch (lighthouse) shows the article preserved ; and it is proper, 

f think, to assume that when Gaelic prevailed the name was 

A' Chloch = The Stone. 

Renfrew— I should like to point out that the etymology 

given by Mr Maclean and others is wonderfully borne out by the 

local name which Paisley bodies (bodach) give the confluence of 

the rivers Cart and Clyde—the water-neb. The mansion hard bye, 

now called Blythswood, was formerly called Renfield. Old Paisley 

people called Renfrew "Arranthru." There is a place near Bridge 

of Weir called Ramphurlie, or Ranfurlie—said to be the birthplace 

of John Knox— in which the same root may be found. 

I hope Mr Maclean will return again to the subject, and, with 

your permission, I will submit some matter for speculation on his 

part, or that of any one else who may have the inclination. 

The principal Keltic prefixes which enter into the composition 

of the place-names of Renfrewshire are :—Barr, Kil, Inver, Bal, 

Strath, Auch, Drum, Dun, Alt, Glen, Cairn, Car, Knock, Inch, 

Gart, Dar, Loch, Craig, Brae, Ard, Pol, Cross. Of these, Barr, 

Glen, Cairn, Inch, and Knock have been taken into the English 

speech, and used as descriptive names. Some names carry their 

meaning on their face ; others are rather puzzling. I append a 

list, with such observations as occur to me : 

Barr = Top.—Barrfillan = Barr-fhaolain, Fillan's Top ; Barcloch 

= Barr-na-cloiche, The stone top ; Bargarran = Barr-a'- 

gharrain, The shrubbery top ; Barskiven (sometimes Barscaven) ; 

Barfod, Barmufflock, Barwhirty, Barscube (there is a Drumscube 

in Renfrewshire, near Langbank, and a Garscube in Dumbartonshire). 

Barr is used as an English word in the following names : 

— Barrhead, Barshaw (shaw = wood), Barfoot, Northbar, Southbar, 

Braidbar, 

= cross). 

Oldbar, Dikebar, Foxbar, Riccartsbar, Corsebar (corse 

KiL = Cill, Church.—Kilbarchan ; Kilmalcolm = Cill-Mhaol- 

Choluim, St Colin's Church. The old residenters pronounced 

— 

;

Renfreiusliire Keltic Place Names. 253 

this name Kil-nia-conie, with the emphasis on the last syllable. 

The new denizens would have it KiI-I\ralcolm, with the emphasis 

on the second syllable. They are being educated out of this 

pronunciation, and the old name is in process of being re instated. 

Kilellan = Cill-fhaolain, Fillan's Church. This is sometimes found 

as Kilallan, Allan being a better known name, and ignorance of 

the Gaelic laws of pronunciation, no doubt, induced this spelling. 

Knowledge is rescuing this name also. The sound of aj in the 

south-west - eu Ciaelic, or ai English, hence the e in Kilellan. 

Hence also the Lowland familiar way of saying Malcolm, namely, 

Maecom, which is made to rhyme with " Put him in a poke and 

shake 'im." Kilbride - Cill-Brigid, Bridget's Church. This name 

is common over the whole country. 

Inver = lonbhar, Mouth of a stream. I can discover only 

one Inver, namely, Inverkip. 

Bal 

- Baile, Town, farmstead. - Balgrey, Balgreen, Balla- 

gioch—Gioch is, possibly, a personal name, for there is a surname 

Macgeoch ; Beltrees, sometimes I)altrees (it is ])ossible it means 

the belt-trees). 

Str.vi'h = Low land on the margins of a stream.—Strathclyde,. 

Strathgryffe. Clyde is said to be a Cymric name, and Gryffe is 

probably the same. 

AucH = Achadh, Field. — Auchindoors - The door field ; 

Achadh-an-doruis, 

Auchmugton, Auchenfoil, Auchengrioch, Auchentorlie 

(there is another in Dumbartonshire), Auchenlodmont. 

There is an Auchingram/;/(?/z/ and a Dechw^;;/ in Lanarkshire. 

Drum = Druim, Ridge.— Drumduff ^-- Druim-dhubh, Black 

ridge; Drumoye, Drumgrain, Drumillan - Druim-a'-mhuilinn, The 

mill ridge : Drums— the ^ here, I believe stands for house. In 

one map is found The Hollows, in another The Holehouse 

Holehouse is an exact description. I'he Sclates is surely The 

Sclatehouse ; Mains = Mainhouse ; Cockles = Cocklehouse ; 

Faulds = Fauldhouse ; Clippens = Clipping-house ; Torrs = The 

Torr House : Barrs ----^ The Barr House ; Drums ^ The Drum 

House. There is another s which may be accounted for differently,, 

as, Scobies =^ Scobie's, analogous to Tib Stirling's. 

also. 

Dun ^ Fort.—Dunwan, Dundunter. There is a Dunterlee 

Alt Allt, A rivulet or burn.— I can find only one Alt, and 

it is of considerable interest on account of the lesson to be learned 

from it— .'Mtpatrick, called also Patrick Burn (an exact translation). 

The meaning of a/t being unknown, it is also called Altpatrick 

Burn. Alt, again, has been mistaken for auld aid ^- old, and 

;

2 54 


the Ordnance maps have it Old Patrick Burn. The stream flows 

through Glenpatrick. 

— ; 

Glen = Gleann, Valley.—Gleniffer = Gleannan-iubhar = Yew 

tree glen ? Glenfeoch (sometimes called Dusky Glen), near 

Craigenfeoch ; Glentyan = Gleann an t-Sithein, Fairy Knoll Glen. 

Glen has been treated as an English word in the following : 

Glenfield, Glenhead, Cowglen, Calderglen, ho.. 

Cairn = Carn, Heap of stones, often made as memorials of 

the dead. — Cairncurran = Carn-a'-Chaorainn, The rowan tree 

cairn ; Carnwadrick (already referred to), Carnegie, Carnapoch = 

Carn-cnapach, The knobby cairn ? 

Car = Cathair = Caer (Welsh), an enclosed fortification. 

Cardonald = Cathair-Dhomhnuill, Donald's fortress; Carlimpan, 

Carruth, Carlibar. It is probable the second parts of these words 

are proper names. 

Knock = Cnoc, Knoll.—Knockminwood = Cnoc-min + wood, 

The smooth knoll wood ; Knocknanshill = Cnoc-nan-sgithil, The 

shelling knoll ; Knockmade = Cnoc-a'-mhadaidh, The dog knoll 

Knockdalring, Knockenal, Artnocks (^ = house?). That Knock 

has been used as an English word is evident from The Knock ; 

and it is probably as an English word it appears in Giffnock, 

Mathernock, (fee. 

Gart = Enclosed piece of ground.—This word is not common 

in Renfrewshire, although exceedingly plentiful eastwards from 

Glasgow. Gartshanging = Gart-nan-seangan, Ant field ; Fingart 

= Fionn-ghart, White field ; Garpel, Garthland (?) 

Dar = Dair, Oak. — Dargavel = Dair-a'-ghobhail (anciently 

ghabhail), The forked oak; Darndaff= Dair-an-daimh, Ox oak. 

Darshanging = Dair-nan-seangan, Ant oak ; Darnems. 

Loch.— Lochwinnoch -= St Winnoch's Loch ; Lochlibo, Loch- 

thom, Lochgoin, The Brabloch. In this last, loch is used as an 

English word, as in many other instances. 

Craig = Creag, Rock.—Craiglunscheoch = Creag-luinnseach, 

The tall overhanging rock ; Craigmarloch = Creag a' mheirleach, 

Robber's rock ; Craigbait. Craig has been adopted as an Etiglish 

word, as in the words Craighall, Craigneuk, Craigends (Craigend 

House), Craigielee, Craighead, Langcraig, Thrushcraigs, tfcc. In 

this last connection, it may be interestidg to note what has taken 

place in reference to the name Heichcraig. The new generation, 

being mostly incomers, are used to call it Heichcraig Rock. It is 

coming to be known that craig and rock are synonimous, and the 

name Heichcraig is being re-instated.

Renfrewshire Keltic Place Names. 255 

Brae = Braigh, Acclivity.^—This word is always used as an 

English word, as, Burnbrae, Braehead, Finnybraes, Scaneybrae, 

Westbrae, Waterbrae, &c. 

Ard * Height.—This word is uncommon. Besides Ardgowan, 

I know of no other name in which it appears, unless it be 

Artnocks, which is doubtful. 

Pol = Pool. — Polmadie = Pol-a'-mhadaidh, Dog's pool ; Polnoon 

= Pol-an-uain, Lamb's pool ; (?) Polmillan -^ Pol-a' mhuilinn, 

Mill pool. 

Cross = Crois.—Crossmyloof ^ Crois-math-Lubh(?), St Lubh's 

Cross; Drumcross -- Druim-na-croise, Cross ridge. Cross is used 

in its English form in the following—Crossflats, Corseford, Corsebar. 

Crossflats is a district of Paisley, pronounced by the older 

inhabitants " common. 

Corslats." This transposition of the /- is not un- 

Inch =^ Innis, Meadow near stream, and island.—This word has 

been used as an English word, as seen in the name The Inches = 

The Inch House ; Abbot's Inch. 

Castle = Castellum (Lat.) = Caisteal (Gael.), is most likely, 

founding on the order of the words, used as a Gaelic word in the 

Caitlesemple = Semple's Castle. 

names Castlewat = Wat's Castle ; 

Semple is a local surname. 

Other names which suggest Gaelic and Brytho jic etymologies 

are:—Garvoch ^ Garbh-achadh, Rough field; Rempoch, Cummoch,Gleddoch, 

Rivoch, Tarnoch, Pannoch, Driffenbeg, Fereneze, 

Duncanbur, Cummullin = Cum-a'-mhuilinn, Mill dell ; Moniabroch 

= Moine-eabarach, Miry moss (the accent is on the «, which is 

sounded ai) ; Amochrie (accent on the first syllayle), Garvel, 

Branchal, Duchal, Nebany, Dippony, Mansvary, Humby, Lochar 

(stream), 

Sneddon, 

Espedair 

Candren 

(stream), 

(stream), 

accent on last syllable ; Bladda, 

Flender, Arrs {s = house ?), Braco, 

Gogo, Spango (streams) ; Lethem, Dunsmore, Milliken, Finnic 

{Fenwick is thus pronounced) ; Millowther Cross (sometimes 

Melowther : Mel = Maol ?) ; Creuch Hill = Cruach, Round 

conical hill ; Crolick. There is also a Motehill—Mote == Moid, 

Court of justice. 

Unlike the Anglicised names of Ireland, those of Renfrewshire 

show no traces of eclipsis and little of aspiration. This may be 

accounted for thus. Eclipsis is not an established habit of Scotch 

Gaelic ; and a Gaelic-speaking people Anglicising Gaelic names, 

and knowing the unaspirated forms of words, would drop the


aspiration, if it existed, in the new names. On the other hand, an 

invading race, not knowing the language, would imitate the names 

as they found them, with all the eclipses and aspirations belonging 

to them. It is quite probable many Gaelic names were trans- 

lated into English, and this may account for the scarcity of Gart, 

and the fewness of Gaelic names for streams.— I am, yours, &c., 

MALCOLM MACFARLANE. 

^:-^.

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ALEXANDER MACBAIN, M.A., F.S.A.Scot. 

No. 41. AUGUST, 1892. Vol. IV. 

A TREACHER(3US FRIEND. 

lU" BEINN-NA-CAILLICH, EDINBUR(iH. 

EDWARD DILLON and Arthur Bothwell were 

Lieutenants in one of our Scottish regiments, and 

were boon companions. Dillon belonged to Dublin, while 

Bothwell's ancestral home was in Forfarshire, Scotland 

it being situated in one of these pleasant glens, or vallc}-s, 

stretching along the eastern borders of Perthshire. Shortly 

before the outbreak of the Soudan war, Arthur Bothwell 

invited his friend Dillon to his house in Scotland, where 

the\- remained together for a couple of months. At times 

the}- wandered among the Grampian hills, cnjoxTug the 

sport of chasing the moorfowl and the deer ; on other 

occasions \-isiting among the neighbouring families. One 

of the first families into which Arthur introduced his friend 

was that of which his affianced bride, Mar}- Murray, was a 

member. Miss Murra}- was an heiress, she being an only 

child ; but 

she had far greater attractions in the e}-cs of 

her lo\er, being not onl}- beautiful and accomplished, but 

faithful and affectionate— possessed, in fact, of most of 

those qualities which adorn the mind of a noble woman. 

17 

—


Dillon, almost from the first moment of being introduced 

to her, felt a mad passion in his breast, whispering, as it 

were, that, b}- fair means or by foul, he should make her 

his own. He was, as a rule, upright and honourable, and 

would scorn, under ordinary circumstances, to do a mean 

or an unworthy action ; but he was also one of those 

persons in whose minds certain passions lie dormant, and 

which, when once aroused, will take full possession of 

the soul, to the exclusion of every just and noble sentiment. 

It mattered not to him, now that his passions were aroused 

within him, that Mar)' had plighted her faith to his friend ; 

it mattered not to him that that friend had made him his 

confidant—he vowed that Mar}- Murra\' should be his, 

were it necessary to slay his friend to gain his purpose. 

Though thus blinded by his passions, yet he had control 

sufficient over himself to exercise that tact and judgment 

necessary to conceal the state of his mind from the object 

of his passion, and also from Arthur Bothwell. The time 

came, however, when they had to quit Scotland to join their 

regiment, x-^.rthur, ere departing, had the happiness of 

succeeding in extracting from his sweetheart the promise 

that she would be united to him in the following summer ; 

and, with a heart full of jo}-, amounting almost to ecstac}-, 

he imparted to Dillon the delightful prospect before him. 

Dillon, of course, congratulated him with all apparent 

sincerity, though in reality he felf such pangs of jealous 

rage burning within him that, to conceal the true nature of 

his feelings towards him, he found it necessary to avoid his 

company as much as possible. 

xA. week or two after their arrival at headquarters the 

Soudan war broke out, and Dillon received, with something 

akin to sa\-age joy, orders to accompan\- Arthur and a 

detachment of soldiers to the seat of war. The cause of 

Dillon's joy was not the prospect of seeing and engaging 

in some hard fighting, but because his black heart whispered 

to him that there was a possibility of Arthur falling in 

battle, and thus leaving the wa)- clear for himself to win

A Treacherous Friend. 259 

the prize he so earnestly longed for—the hand, if not the 

heart, of Mary Murray. Arthur received his orders with 

mingled feelings. Like a true soldier, he gloried in the 

but his ardour was somewhat 

chance of facing the foe ; 

cooled and clouded when he thought of the length)- 

period which might possibh- elapse ere he could again meet 

his intended bride. Vet, with the buo\-anc)' and hope of 

}-outh, he cast vain regrets to the wind, and with a cheerful, 

almost gay demeanour, he went to Egypt, trusting he would 

win honour in the path of duty. Fame or glory in that 

miserable undertaking in the Soudan he did not expect to 

win, for, ere starting, he discovered that ignorant officialdom 

had so circumscribed the sphere of action of those sent 

forth on the expedition that failure, if not disaster, must 

ine\-itably accompain* it. 

The \-arious incidents of the campaign are too well 

known to most readers to need recapitulation here. Arthur 

and Edward went through the various actions which were 

fought unscathed, and were returning with the rest of the 

British troops northwards towards the Delta. Upon these 

two officers dexolved the duty of bringing up the rear, and 

preventing the enem\-, which was following them, trom 

making an attack upon the main body. One da\-, ere 

reaching the spot \\-here it was intended to pitch the camp 

for the night, Arthur commenced to tell Dillon of a ver\" 

tender communication which had reached him the da}' 

before from his betrothed, and in which his own name 

(Dillon's; was specially mentioned in a friendl}' w&.\ ; but 

Dillon suddenly changed the subject ; then, growing silent 

and gloom}-, cast repeated glances in the direction of the 

enemy. At length, after a longer silence than usual, he 

suggested to Arthur the advisabilit}- of both making a short 

reconnaisance in order to ascertain the movements of the 

advancing foe, and to determine the possibilit}- of a night 

attack being made. Arthur was nothing loth, especial!}- as 

the men were now entering upon their camping ground, 

and both being mounted on good thorough-bred arab

26o The Highland Monthly 

horses, they had soon retired two or three miles towards the 

enemy. The ground for several miles was comparatively 

flat, though much broken with mounds and hollows, but no 

Arab was to be seen within a radius of seven or eight miles. 

The Arabs had numbers of camels and horses, and these 

could be distinctly seen moving about against the horizon. 

Arthur and Edward halted for a minute or two upon the 

summit of a sandhill and gazed around them. Suddenly to 

their left front, and about five hundred yards away, they 

beheld four mounted Arabs emerging from a hollow, but 

who stood still the moment they observed the officers. The 

latter were conversing freely about the probability of others 

of the enemy being in the vicinity, and Arthur was in the 

act of turning to address some remarks to his companion, 

when that officer, without uttering a word, suddenly drew 

his revolver and fired point blank at Arthur. Tlie bullet 

took effect behind the left temple, and Arthur fell 

to the ground without a struggle or groan ; his 

horse galloping off towards camp. Dillon leant over 

in his saddle, and glanced for a moment at the 

fallen man, whose face was deadly pale, save where 

the crimson blood flowing from the wound stained it, 

forming a ghastly contrast to the pallor which overspread 

the rest of his countenance. After gazing upon him for a 

few seconds, Dillon turned away and cantered leisurely 

towards the camp, muttering between his clenched teeth, 

in hoarse whispers—" Ha, my hopes' horizon is clear and 

cloudless now, and I shall win the prize." On reaching the 

camp, he went at once to the General in command, to 

whom he reported that while he and BothwcU were recon- 

noitering in the direction of the enemy, thcs- were suddenly 

attacked by a party of mounted Arabs, and that his com- 

panion was slain. The General at once ordered out a 

strong detachment to check the encm)-'s advance, and to 

recover, if possible, the body of the fallen officer. 

Dillon led them about half a mile to the right of the 

spo-t where he had shot his comrade, with the result that no 

.


sign of the fallen man could be seen. A strong breeze was 

blowing, and the sand was being constantly shifted thereb}-. 

Thev' were not, therefore, surprised that on the spot where 

Dillon said his friend had fallen, no traces of blood or of a 

struggle could be seen. A few of the enemy's horsemen 

were observed in the distance galloping back towards their 

main body, and Dillon suggested the possibility of the 

Arabs ha\-ing carried the body away, in order to despoil it 

the more securely of arms, accoutrements, and uniform. 

That was accepted as the true solution of the mystery, and 

the men returned to camp. 

The greater ]:)art of the troops stood to their arms 

during the night, expecting an attack, but none was made, 

and in the morning the\- resumed their march northwards. 

Arthur Bothwell's death was duly reported to the home 

authorities, and the manner of it. He had been promoted 

to a captainc}- while in Kg)'pt, and Dillon was, soon after 

his death, raised to that rank, he being next in seniorit}'. 

On arriving at Alexandria, Dillon, with his own detach- 

ment, returned to England. He very soon afterwards 

obtained lea\e of absence, and set out for Scotland, where 

he arrived in due course. His object in going to Scotland 

was to seek out Mary Murray, and having secured apartments 

in the neighbouring village, he took an early oppor- 

tunity of calling upon her. As Miss Murray had read the 

official account of Arthur's death in the newspapers, it gave 

her a mournful satisfaction to meet Dillon, whose name was 

necessarih" mixed up with the report of her lover's death, 

Mary had much to ask concerning the sad affair, and 

Dillon had much to tell, for he took special care not only 

to speak of Arthur's death, but also of his gallant bearing 

whenever they got into action, and particularly of the 

friendship which existed between them. Altogether, he 

spoke of Arthur in such glowing terms that Mary hence- 

forward welcomed him to her home as a valued friend 

whenever he chose to make a call.

262 The Hzo-kiaiid Monthly. 

Three years passed on, and one day Mary Murray and 

Edward Dillon stood side by side on the path which led 

from the high road, through the grounds surrounding her 

father's mansion. He appeared to be earnest!}- pleading, 

while the lady stood thinking in silence, with a half a\crted 

face. At length he appeared to have gained his point, for 

he exclaimed in joyful tones, as he bent dow n and kissed 

her cheek, " A month to-day and Mary Murra)- shall be m\' 

bride." He had scarcely uttered these words when a loud 

and scornful laugh burst upon his ear, and, glancing to 

where the sound issued from, he beheld a tall man with a 

long, flowing, white beard, standing in the centre of the 

road gazing fixedly upon them. He hastily drew Mary 

away, telling her, as he did so, that he must return at once 

and find out the cause of the old man's rudeness. Having 

led Mary into the house, he immediately issued forth again, 

and with hasty strides came towards the spot where the old 

man stood. The latter, on observing his approach, began 

to step slowly away, as if making for the village. Dillon 

soon came up with him, and grasping him rudcl\- by the 

shoulder, demanded in angry tones why he had conducted 

himself so insolently in the hearing of a lad\-. " That,' 

replied the old man, shaking him off and facing him, " is no 

business of yours." "By heaven," cried Dillon, " \'ou do 

not proceed another step until you explain to me the reason 

of your conduct, and also tender an ample apology for so 

gross and unwarranted an outrage." 

" To explain my con- 

duct to you and to apologise," replied the old man in a firm 

though passionate voice, " is what I shall never do, and 

which you, though possessed of all the fire and energy of 

youth, cannot force me to do, though I am, as you perceive, 

but an old greyheaded man. I will, ho\\e\'er, tell you one 

thing which will not bring you much comfort or consolation. 

You said yonder at the archway which spans the path on 

which you stood a short while ago, in my hearing, 'a month 

to-day and Mary Murray shall be my bride.' Xovr, hearme 

—A month to-day and Mary Murray shall be a bride, but not


the bride of l^ldwarcl Uillon." A fierce ^leam of anger shot 

into Dillon's face, as he made a step towards him and 

hissed :— " Thank the Saints that thy age protects ihee, old 

man, else I would sevcrcl\- chastise thee." " Let not ni\- 

age," cried the old man, with a dry contemptuous lau-h. 

" prevent thee haxing satisfaction if thou canst obtain it. 

Edward Dillon, thou hast done meaner things in thy da\- 

than strike a greyheaded old man." " Wretch," exclaimed 

Dillon, raising a cane he held in his hand with the intent to 

strike, but, ere he could swing it round his head, the 

stranger, with a well-directed blow from his right arm, sent 

him staggering half-stunned to the ground, and then coolly 

walked away. 

A month passed awa\-, and one morning, as Dillon was 

aroused from his sleep, he leaped gaily from his couch, and 

the first words he uttered were, " This is m}' marriage day !" 

He soon dressed himself, and b)- and by he was joined by 

a couple of his brother officers, who had come from London 

to be present at the marriage. The village was gay with 

flags that morning, for Mary Murray was a favourite with 

young and old, and many of them crowded into the church 

long ere the hour appointed for the ceremony. The mar- 

riage party entered the church soon after ten o'clock ; 

and, 

the clergyman being already there, the service proceeded. 

The church was the Scotch Episcopal, and when the clergyman 

had repeated the words, " Who giveth this woman 

away ?" a voice, clear and distinct, sounded through the 

building, " No man shall give this woman away to Edward 

Dillon." Everyone turned with a startled and wondering 

Dillon, with 

locjk to where the voice proceeded from ; and 

undefined terror, beheld the old man whom, a month before, 

he had encountered on the high road in front of Miss 

Murray's dwelling, advancing towards them from an obscure 

corner in the church. Everyone waited in breathless silence 

the result of this unlooked-for and unwonted incident. The 

old man continued his advance until he stood before the 

clergyman, to whom he bowed, then faced the company.

264 The IlioJiland MontJily. 

and spoke as follows :— " You will pardon this strang-e 

interruption at such a moment when you have learnt the 

cause ; but before I proceed to speak of the matter which 

has brought me here to-day, I would ask you all, especialh- 

the lad}' who was to have been a bride in one short hour, to 

be calm and collected, for I speak the truth when I say that 

my communication shall prove a joyful one to you all,. 

except the individual whom it concerns." He then turned 

to Dillon, and, taking a step towards him, said in loud and 

measured tones, at the same time raising his right hand and 

pointing to him, " I accuse that man of murder !" Everyone 

within sound of his voice turned and looked upon 

Dillon, \\ho stood pale, but perfectly cool, and who, after a 

moment or two, calmly replied, " The man is mad." " Yes," 

exclaimed several gentlemen, " the man must be mad, and 

should be at once removed." " I am not mad," replied the 

stranger, " nor shall' I be removed until I have spoken. I 

again repeat my accusation against this man : 

he 

is a mur- 

derer, and, to confirm my charge, I have brought with me a 

competent witness." " Ha, ha !" laughed Dillon, confidently 

and scornfully, " produce your witness by all means, and 

put an end to this piece of masquerading." The stranger's 

only reply was to raise his hand and tear away the long 

flowing white beard and the snowy locks which had hitherto 

partially concealed his countenance, and the well known 

features of Arthur Bothwell met their wondering gaze. Most 

of those present knew him in the years that were gone ; 

none seemed to possess the power of speech ; 

yet 

all stood gazing 

upon him as if petrified. Not a word was spoken, and not 

a movement made, until they were startled by observing 

Miss Murray rushing with a half sob, half cry, to where he 

stood. She clasped her arms around his neck, and, sinking 

her head upon his breast, remained motionless. Some ex- 

claimed that she had fainted, but,speedily recovering her self- 

possession, she looked up in Arthur's face long and earnestly, 

then, with flashing eyes, she turned to Dillon, exclaiming, 

" Is this accusation true?" Dillon, who had been standing

A Treacherous Frieiid. 265 

like a statue, from the moment that .\rthur had made liim- 

self known, now attempted to raise his e\-es to where Miss 

iMurrax- stood, but suddenK- turned his faee awa\-, and stood 

for a moment irresokite : then, with trembh'ni;- hmbs and 

downcast eyes, he made an attempt to pass throui^h the 

crowd towards the church door. Arthur turned to tlie two 

officers, and shouted in a tone of command, " Detain that 

man for the present." The}- immediately obe\ed, and, 

seizin^r him, each b\- an arm, brought him back face to face 

with Arthur. " I have." resumed Arthur, " a few minutes 

ago accused this man of murder. I repeat the charge. His 

cowardly hand fired the shot which was intended to put me 

out of existence, and though I escaped death b\- a miracle, 

he is as much a murderer as if my bones la)- bleaching upon 

the sands of Kg)-pt." He then told them \\hat the reader 

already knows up tc) the moment the shot was fired, and 

then continued, " I will now briefly relate how I escaped. 

The helmets worn b\- 11s in Egj-pt were fastened by a strap 

composed of a strip of leather, overlaid with metal links, 

closel}- interwo\-en. When he fired his revolver, which was 

only a small pocket one, the bullet struck this strap, driving 

it into the flesh, but the strap prevented the bullet lodging 

in or fracturing the bcMie, and. though stunned at the time, 

I escaped with a se\-ere flesh wound. The four mounted 

Arabs, as soon as the}- saw my companion had gone off, 

came forward, as is their usual custom, to rob me; but> 

finding that I was not dead, for by this time I had recovered 

consciousness, and fearing the return of the British, they 

threw me across a horse, in front of one of their number, 

and conveyed me away to their Commander, who happened 

to be a Lieutenant of the Mhadi, and a Chief of one of the 

tribes. He questioned me closel}- about the strength and 

intentions of the British. I gave evasive answers to most of 

his questions, but in the end he ga\-e orders that I was to be 

permitted to live amongst them as a prisoner at large. The 

party into whose hands I had fallen, instead of going on to 

Khartoum, as I anticipated, took their abode in Berber, and


I lived among".st them there nearly three years. Willing to 

gain their confidence, in order some day thereby to obtain 

my freedom, so that I might seek out, confront, and punish 

the man who had attempted to destro\' me, I made myself 

useful to them in many wa\'s. I (jften accompanied them 

in their expeditions against the hostile tribes in the province 

between Berber and Suakim. Towards the end of my 

third year of captivity, a rumour, apparently well founded, 

reached us that the British had completely evacuated 

Suakim, and it was at once decideci to march on Suakim 

and capture it. I accompanied the expedition as usual, and 

we went forward until within two days' march of that town ; 

our scouts brought in the intelligence that evening that the 

friendlies, that is those tribes friendly to Britain, were 

encamped there that night, and in the morning we pushed 

forward, deploying, as we went, in battle order. By noon 

we discovered the enemy, and to all appearance they were 

prepared to withstand our further progress. I was, as usual* 

on foot, but I took particular care to keep as near as I could 

to one of the chiefs who rode on a beautiful Arab. I had 

a plan made up, which, if carried out successfully, would, I 

know, make me a free man. Fortunately for my purpose, 

I was on one of the flanks of the main body. The chief, 

who led our section, kept well to the front until we were 

about to close with our opponents. He than halted a short 

distance ahead, and waving his sword, ordered his men to 

charge the enemy, both armies being already engaged on 

our right. They advanced at a rapid pace, though in very 

loose order ; the chief, for the time being, reining in his 

horse so that some of his men were soon well in advance. 

I was carried on with the rush of the yelling crowd, but I 

deftly managed to make my way to where the chief rode. 

Once near enough to get an opportunity to place my hand 

upon his horse's crupper, which was my chief aim, I felt as 

if the energies of a thousand men were centered in me. 

With one spring 1 vaulted up behind him, and while with 

my left hand I grasped him by the throat, with my right


1 seized the sword he carried, then dashin^- him to the 

:^round, 1 i)ickcd up tlic reins lie had just rchnquished, and 

making the animal with a miLîit}- bound leap forward, 1 

soon found myself Lâllopini;- on tow ards the friendlies. The 

small number of m\- comjxun- who had witnessed m\- act 

were so non-plussed b\- its suddenness and its darini;- that 

they could on))- stand open-mouthed to i:âze after me. I 

made a detour round the riL^ht wing- of the arm\- of the 

friendlies, comini^ up in rear of their centre. I dashed 

forward cheerint; them as I went. The}- replied with a 

half cheer, half yell, for they at once recoy;nised me as a 

Briton, and in one short hour my late comrades were in full 

flight." Arthur paused in his recital, and, as he did so, a 

cheer, long and loud, ascended through the sacred building- 

in which even the clergyman joined with a heartiness which 

showed that he also could appreciate the actions of a bra\e 

man, though they spoke of bloodshed and death. The t\\ o 

officers rushed forward and grasped him warmh' b\- the 

hand, while Miss Murra\', with the tears rushing 

down her cheeks, gazed lovingh- into his c\es, 

though she uttered not a word. " I was wounded 

in the engagement," continued Arthur, pointing to 

a scar upon his neck which had before escaped 

notice, " but I paid little attention to it at the time. Manx- 

prisoners were taken, among whom, to m)- surprise, I dis- 

covered two of the men who had first captured me. 1 

discovered that one of the chiefs could speak English, and 

to him I related my ad\-entures, desiring him to accompany 

me to Suakim, taking with him the two prisoners alreadx- 

mentioned, to which he readih- consented. On arriving 

thej'e I sought out the Governor, to whom I told m\- story, 

the prisoners referred to supporting my statement in a very 

explicit and straightforward n-iaiiner. The Goxernor readil)' 

agreed with me it would be better, in order to baffle and 

bring to justice the traitor who did nie this great and cruel 

wrong, that I should for a time keep m\- re-appearance a 

secret. He suppHed me with funds and other necessaries,

2 68 Fhe Highland MontJily. 

and I started for home. I arrived in England four months 

ago, and from secret enquiries discovered Dillon to be in 

Scotland. I then understood the object he had in seeking 

to deprive me of life, and I determined to remain unknown, 

even to my dearest friends, until I had a fitting opportunity 

of unmasking his treachery and denouncing him to the 

world. A month ago I stood face to face with him though 

he knew me not, and when he exultingly said in my hear- 

ing, ' a month to-da}- and Mary Murray shall be my bride,' 

I told him that a month to-day Mary Murray would be a 

bride, but not the bride of Edward Dillon. Mary Murray 

\\'as m}' promised bride, and would have been mine long 

ago had not his black heart sought my destruction. Her 

heart is mine now as much as -it was in the days that have 

gone ; 

and 

though the circumstances under which we meet 

to-day are strange, yet there is nothing in them which 

should prevent our union being consummated. That man 

who, to all intents and purposes, was a murderer, shall 

witness the ceremon}- ; 

inflict upon him. Revenge I do not seek ; 

it is the only punishment I wish to 

for, when a man 

revenges himself upon his enemy, he makes him his equal." 

A murmur of approbation ran through the company, and 

all awaited Mary Murray's decision. She stood silent and 

absorbed for a short space, then, drawing an engagement 

ring from her finger, she cast it on the ground saying:— " It 

is the only present I ever accepted from him." She then 

intimated her willingness that the ceremon}- should proceed. 

When the service was over, Arthur turned to Dillon and 

said :— " Edward Dillon, go from this place. In the inter- 

ests of justice m)' dut}- would be to hand thee over to the 

public prosecutor, but knowing that thy crime will forbid 

thee again entering society, I know that the anguish and 

remorse which will sear thy soul will be greater than if thou 

wert confined to the deepest dungeon." Dillon, being 

released, staggered away without uttering a word, and they 

saw him no more.

Ihc Hospital of Ihverness. 269 




CHAPTER \TII. 

Raining's School.—Provost John Hossack, 'rrcasuicr, 1731-1751.—Change 

from Scots Money to Sterling in Hospital Account.s.— Increase in the 

Hospital Stock.—His Charge and Discharge. —How the Hospital Stock 

was invested at this time.—William Mackintosh, Senior's, Mortification. 

The Laird and Lady Mackintosh's Mortification. — Mrs Anne Duff, Lady 

Mackintosh's Jlortification.— Elspet Fowler's Mortification.—Provost 

Hossack's Accounts.- -Report of Comniittec u|)on iheni approved. 

Resolution of Kirk Session to grant a discount to Tenant of Fi'.hings.— 

Delay and difficulty in getting payment of Laird and Lady Mackintosh's 

Mortification.— Principal Sum paid and Presentation of Beneficiaries by 

Anne, Lady Mackintosh.—A separate or particular Treasurer appointed 

for Geo. Duncan's Mortification.— Provost Hossack's wish to resign office 

of Treasurer in 1749, and Thomas Alver. appointed, but Provost Hossack 

continued till 1752.—Anecdote about him. 

TOWARDS the close of the Treasurership of Gilbert 

Gordon, part of the Hospital began to be used for that 

useful institution, Raining's School. A merchant in Norwich, 

named John Raining, a Scotsman, left by will in 1722 

^1000 to the General Assembl}- of the Church of Scotland 

*' to plant a school in any part of North I'ritain where they 

think it is most wanted." The General Assembly, however, 

shortly afterwards, in 1724, handed over the bequest and 

its administration, with consent of Mr Raining's executors, 

to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge in Scot- 

land, which had then been in existence about twenty years 

and took much interest in the Highlands and Islands. 

The records of the Kirk Session show that on 20th 

September, 1725, a letter from a Dr Alex. Dundas to the 

above-mentioned Society, relative to the granting of the 

—

7he Hiohla7id Monthly. 

sum of £200, part of Mr Raining's bequest, for a school 

in the Highlands, was laid before the Session, and referred 

to the Committee on the Hospital accounts. Negotiations 

between the Society and the Kirk Session and Town 

Council followed ; and an endeavour was made by the 

people of Easter Ross to get the school planted at Tain. 

Very soon afterwards, on 30th November, in same year, 

the Session had before them a letter from the Secretary of 

the S.P.C.K., showing that it was proposed to settle Mr 

Raining's School at Inverness upon the terms offered by 

the town and Session in their correspondence with that 

Society for that effect, and recorded that " they were well 

satisfied." Further, " the Session delivered the said letter 

to the Magistrates, in order to prepare what is proper for 

them on the part of the town in order to the settlement of 

the said school." 

The Session minutes show further negotiations, and on 

8th March, 1726, a letter from the Secretary S.P.CK. was 

read, enclosing extract from minutes of that Society showing 

inter alia that they had written to the Magistrates acquaint- 

ing them that the ;!^200 referred to had not yet been paid, 

and the new school could not be proceeded with, but that 

they "accepted of the offer made of an house in the interim 

for accommodation of the schoolmaster and scholars, and 

were content upon the other encouragements proposed to 

lake a trial how the said school will prosper in their towns, 

and when the mortified money for building of a school 

comes in, they will then consider of the purchase either of 

the ground for building, or house already built." The same 

extract showed that the Society had received a reply from 

the Rev, Mr Macbean, minister at Inverness, bearing that 

the resolution of the Society had been intimated to the 

Town Council and Kirk Session, and gave them much 

satisfaction ; and, further, that the Society remitted to their 

Committee to consider the scroll sent from the Kirk 

Session of Inverness, and to give their opinion thereanent

The Jrlospital of Inverness. 271 

to the said Session, and to adjust all matters both with 

town and Kirk Session of Inverness concerning the settlement 

of Raining's School there. 

It appears from the burgh records that in October, 

1726, four rooms above the Grammar School, the whole of 

the third story of Dunbar's Hospital, was allocated for a 

school and a master's house without rent, and to enter at 

Whitsunday following. 

The Session records of nth April, 1727, contain the 

statutes and regulations for Raining's School agreed to in 

Edinburgh on i6th March preceding, by the S.P.C.K., and 

an extract from that Society's minutes of same date, show- 

ing that Mr H. Moncrieff, whom they had appointed as 

master, would enter on his duties at Whitsunday following; 

and the Session, on hearing this read, recorded " that they 

were well satisfied, and, the jMagistrates being present, 

expressed their resolution without loss of time to set about 

what was incumbent on them, and on all the members of 

the Session to lay out themselves in all proper ways for the 

encourageme'^'t of the said school." 

The school was accordingly opened in the upper part of 

Dunbar's Hospital, the Grammar School being continued 

below it. It wa3 carried on there until a site on the Barn- 

hill was purchased and a new school built there, undei an 

arrangement between the S.P.C.K. and the Town Council, 

and opened in 1757. 

Bailie Gilbert Gordon was succeeded b}' Prox'ost John 

Hossack in the office of hospital treasurer, which he held 

from Candlemas, 173 i, to Martinmas, 175 1. An important 

change took place in his time in the keeping of the Hospital 

accounts in sterling mone\-—the effect being to make each 

item stand at one-twelfth of what it did before. His 

accounts are framed on the same clear model as those of his 

predecessors, and as some of the mortifications, already 

referred to as granted, now actual 1\- appear in the accounts, 

in addition to a new i)nc. the amount of the Hospital .stock 

at the time he resigned office shows a substantial increase.

2 72 The Richland Monthly. 

He Charges himself with 

— 

Principal sum in bonds, &c., transmitted to 

himself ... ... ... ... ...;^2o63 5 5^ 

Annual rents, deficiencies, &c., do. ... 442 2 8^^^ 

Annual rents, land rents, rent of half-coble. 

&c., for 20 }êars ... ... ... ... 2221 16 6^ 

Mortifn. of the Laird and Lady ^Mackintosh 166 13 4 

Annl. rents thereof fr. Whits., 1742, to 

Marts., 1751 79 3 4 

Mortifn. of \Vm. Mackintosh, senr., principal 

sum ... ... ... ... ... 25 00 

Annual rents therec^f fr. Marts., 1726, till 

Marts., 1751 ... ... ... ... 31 5 o 

Mortifn. of deceast .Mrs Ann Duff. Lad}- 

Dowager

55 II

2 74 


passed out of the hands of the Kirk Session, and is now 

administered by the trustees of the Inverness Royal 

Academy. 

Mrs Anne Duff, who is described as " Lady Mackintosh, 

relict of Lachlan Mackintosh of that ilk. Captain of Clan 

Chattan," also left the handsome sum of looo merks (paid 

in 175 1 ) " for pious uses—the money to be settled by the 

ministers and Kirk Session, and assistance of the 

Magistrates of Inverness, on good security, that the annual 

rent thereof may be duely paid yearly to each person, as 

re-presented, as, first, I do by these presents during her life 

to Katharine Campbell, spouse to Dalshangie, to her 

person, and then to be presented by my brother, Wm Duff, 

or my nephew, Alexr. Duff, to any old necessitous persons, 

either man or woman, and, failing of any of the name of 

Duff to be presented, then to the name of Mackintosh or 

Clan Chattan, or relation of either of these my executors." 

Nothing can be clearer than the donor's intention that 

the right of presentation was reserved, and its exercise 

restricted to persons of the name of Duff, or belonging to 

the Clan Chattan. There was another Mortification, dated 

1747, by Elspet Fowler, spouse to William Mackay, 

merchant, of 500 merks, destined " to the Hospital and poor 

of Inverness." 

During Provost Hossack's term of office as treasurer^ 

some attention was certainly paid to disposing of the 

annual rents in accordance with the intentions of respective 

donors, but all the funds are mixed together in one account, 

instead of being arranged under different branches agree- 

ably to repeated instructions. We shall find an improvement 

in his successor's accounts in respect to the Library 

Fund. 

Provost Hossack's accounts were duly examined by a 

committee of Kirk Session in 1752, who reported that they 

" unanimously agree that the said John Hossack deserves 

the thanks of the Kirk Session for his care and fidelitie in 

the management of the Hospital funds for the space of 20

IJic Hospital of Inverness. 275 

years, and that he be discharged in ample form of all his 

intromissions by the said Kirk Session of Inverness." The 

date of the above is 30th April, 1752, and is extracted by 

Robt. Edwards, session clerk. This report further mentions 

that " the said John Hossack having formed a book for 

keeping the accounts of the Mortification of the Laird and 

Lady Mackintosh distinct in favour of bursars, and another 

book in which he has stated the debitors to the ffunds, for 

the more distinct forming a charge against the treasurers of 

the Hospital, the succeeding treasurer is ordered to keep the 

said books for the Session." These books do not appear to 

be forthcoming now. The Session considered and approved 

the report on 26th May, 1752, and resolved to choose a 

new treasurer. 

The following resolution, passed at the same meeting, is 

of interest, viz. :— " That a discount be made to the farmer 

of the Hospital's half-coble's fishing of the cesses or stents 

wherewith the said half-coble has been charged from June, 

i73i,to Septr., 1751 years, both inclusive." The amount 

of these was £(^ 4s (^%^ sterling. On the other hand, the 

Committee agreed " that the farmer of the fishing is and 

should be obliged to uphold the waterworks at his own 

expenses in as good condition as when he entered upon 

them." No information is given as to the nature of " the 

waterworks." 

The Kirk Session did not obtain possession of the 3000 

mcrks mortified by the Laird and Lady of Mackintosh 

without both dcla}- and difficult}-. A committee had been 

appointed by the Kirk Session to meet and take under 

consideration the affair of any mortifications made to the 

Session, and, accordingly, reported on 15th February, 1737. 

The greater part of the report is taken up with Duncan's 

Mortification ; 

his widow, Mrs Duncan, who had the life- 

rent of the lands of Diriebught, having died about a )-car 

before, and an abstract of its purposes is gi\-en ; but 

the 

committee also report that '' the\' were informed that the 

Honorable Lachlan INI'Intosh of that ilk, deceast, and his

'j. he Ifio-hland MontlUy 

lady had made a conjunct Deed of Mortification some years 

before his death of the sum of 3000 merks, 2000 of which 

were appointed for the University at Aberdeen." This 

information proved incorrect so far as the amount was 

concerned, as the donors left 5000 merks, of which 2000 

went to the University above named. After some 

correspondence with William, the then Laird of Mackin- 

tosh, in 1738, the Session, through a committee, got a 

decreet of exhibition and horning against Farquhar Mac- 

gi'.jvray of Dunmaglass for exhibition of the Deed of 

7\I ortification, and on iith March, 1740, having obtained 

po ;session of the Deed, and granted a receipt to Dunma- 

gl :3s, it was submitted to the Session, and a cop}' of it 

engrossed in the minutes, the Deed itself being delivered to 

the Moderator to hand to the Hospital Treasurer, as the 

money fell to be lodged in his hands. The money was to 

have been paid within a year and a day of Lachlan 

^lackintosh's decease. 

William, Laird of Mackintosh, appears to have died in 

1 741, and was succeeded by his brother Angus, who 

married Anne, daughter of Farquharson of Invercauld, the 

heroine of the '45, and in particular of the rout of Moy. 

Angus Mackintosh attended a meeting of the Session on 

1 6th March, 1742, and made a representation to the effect 

that it had been unknown to him that no part of the money 

had been paid, nor any presentees offered to enjoy the 

benefit of the fund, and that he was only second lineal 

successor to the donor ; 

he 

expressed his readiness to pay 

the principal sum, but asked the Session to pass from 

extracting bygone annual rents, and stated th^t he was 

informed that the authorities of King's College, Aberdeen, 

wôuld agree to the same arrangement. 

The Session, after communicating with Principal 

Chalmers, who assented to the proposals, and after receipt 

of a letter from Anne Duff, the Dowager Lady Mackintosh 

in which, for her right and interest, she not only consented 

to the request of the present Mackintosh being agreed to

The Hospital of Inverness, 277 

by the Session, but concurred in his request, resolved on 

the 27th Ala)-, 1742, to pass from all claim to all annual 

rents then due on the principal sum of 3000 merks, and 

empower the Hospital Treasurer to receive now from the 

Laird of Mackintosh the said principal sum, or sufficient 

securit}' for the same, to bear interest from the term of 

\\'hitsunda\- last past, and to tyrant to the Laird of Mack- 

intosh a discharge of the said principal sum, and annual 

rents thereon, preceding the term of \Vhitsunda\' last past. 

This explains why Provost Hossack in his Charge charges 

himself with annual rents onl}- from Whitsunday, 1742. 

The Dowager Lady Mackintosh availed herself of her 

right b)- presenting William Macgillivray, brother german 

to Dunmagiass, as of the Clan Chattan, and Hugh Duff, 

lawful son to William Duff, late Regent at Aberdeen, and 

grandson to the deceast Mr Hugh Duff, late minister of the 

Gospel at Fearn, to the Kirk Session and Hospital Treasurer 

of Liverness, and to be at their sight settled at Mr Raining's 

Free Charit}- School there, and for the maintenance equally 

to the benefice of the }-earl)- annual rent of the principal 

sum of 3000 merks Scots. The Session agreed to the 

ab(n-e presentation. 

She again presented two bo}'s on 8th Alarch, 1748, \iz., 

Lachlan Mackintosh, lawful son of the deceast Lachlan 

Mackintosh of Strone, and William Mackintosh, lawful sf)n 

to the deceast Angus Mackintosh of Far. 

The Session Records show that on 28th February, 1749, 

it was resoh-ed to have a separate treasurer for George 

Duncan's Mortification, in order to keep the said Mortification 

distinct, and that, accordingl}-, James Cuthbert was 

appointed treasurer therefor. His successor, William Mac- 

pherson, is frequentl}' designated '" Reparation Treasurer." 

Pro\-ost Hossack wished to resign in 1749, for wo. find it 

recorded in the Session minutes of 21st December of that 

\-car, that he desired to be relie\ed of the office of Hospital 

treasurer, and to ha\e a new one appointed ; 

and that at the 

next meeting, 26th December, Thomas Alves was chosen to

The Higkland Monthly. 

succeed him, and a committee appointed to examine 

Provost Hossack's accounts ; but as these extended over 

many years, they were not ready by 23rd January follow- 

ing, and the Provost was continued in the management of 

the Hospital funds. Again, a year later, on 31st January, 

175 1, he was " appointed to continue as Treasurer, until the 

affiiirs of the Hospital under his management be transacted 

and expcde, so as to enable him to render the accounts 

thereof distinct and vouched. He was treasurer during 

very troublous times, and finally got his discharge 26th 

May, 1752. 

The following story is told of him on the authority of a 

letter from a gentleman in London to his friend in Bath, 

dated 175 1, and reprinted in " Jacobite Memoirs" :— " A Mr 

Hossack, who had filled the situation of Provost of Inver- 

ness, and who had, under the direction of President Forbes, 

performed important services to the Government, having 

gone to pay his respects to the Duke of Cumberland " 

(immediately after the battle of Culloden) " found Generals 

Hawley and Huske deliberating on the inhuman design " 

of dispatching any of the wounded of Prince Charlie's 

army that might be found still surviving on or near the 

field. " Observing them intent upon their object, and 

actually proceeding to make out orders for killing the 

wounded Highlanders, he ventured to remonstrate against 

such a barbarous step. ' As His Majesty's troops have been 

happily successful against the rebels, I hope' (obser\-ed 

' Hossack) your Excellencies will be so good as to mingle 

mercy with judgment.' Hawley, in a rage, cried out 

*D -n the puppy! Does he pretend to dictate here? 

Carry him away !' Another officer ordered Hossack to be 

kicked out, and the order was obeyed with such 

instantaneous precision, that the ex-Provost found himself 

at the bottom of two flights of steps almost in a twinkling.' 


—




THE 

J]Y WILLIAM ^L\CKKNZIL 

IV. 

THE EVIL EYE. 

belief in the Evil Eye is of great antiquity. 

Virgil says 

— 

" Nescio quis tencros oculiis viiJii fascinat agnos" 

" I know not what eye has bewitched my tender lambs." 

For centuries this belief has prevailed in the High- 

lands. We are often told that the Highlanders are 

superstitious, and in that respect far behind their Lowland 

neighbours. It may not be amiss to point out here 

that the belief in the Evil Eye has prevailed in all 

countries, and prevails even in civilised Greece to the 

present time. Mr Rennall Rodd, in his interesting volume 

on the " Customs and Lore of Modern Greece," mentions 

that all grades of Grecian society believe in it. So much 

is this the case, that it is acknowledged by the Greek 

Church, which has prayers against its potency. 

The Evil Eye was believed to be the outcome of envy- 

Admiration implied envy and covetousness, and hence 

when one praised or admired another, whether man or 

beast, the object praised was believed to be liable to the 

effects of the Evil Eye.^ Thus when a woman admires a 

child, she frequently says— " Gu'm beannaich an sealbh thu; 

chdi ghabh 1110 s/iuil or\.\' which may be translated— "God 

bless you, and may my eye ' not take on' you"—that is to 

say that the child should not become a victim to the Evil 

Eye. 

1 In the song of the Kenlochewe Bard already referred to, we have the line 

Buidseachd, a's draoidheachd a's/armad. 

(Witchcraft, sorcery, and etivy.) 

—

iSo 1he Highland Monthly 

This idea also prevails in Orkney and Shetland, where 

praise of the description above indicated receives the name 

" Forespoken." If one says to a child " He is a bonnie 

bairn ;" or " Thoo are looking well the day," it is regarded 

as coming from an " ill tongue," unless the expression 

" God save the bairn," or some such blessing is also used. 

For the cure of being " Forespoken," the following charm 

was repeated over water, which the patient had to drink 

off, or be washed with :— 

Father, Son, Holy Ghost, 

Bitten sail they be 

Wha have bitten thee ! 

Care to their near vein. 

Until thou get'st thy health again. 

Mend thou in God's name I 

The Evil Eye might be described as of a two-fold char- 

acter. It was (first) believed to be the outcome of an evil 

disposition on the part of the one who possessed it; and 

(secondly) many were believed to be possessed of this unhappy 

faculty, though at the same time they were void of any 

ill design. I have recently met on the West Coast a man 

who believed that he himself had the Evil Eye, and that 

he could not look even on his own cattle and admire them 

without the animals suffering from the baneful influence 

In Greece the most popular amulet against fascination, and 

the consequent Evil Eye, is garlic. A mother or nurse 

walking out with her children, who may be admired, will 

at once exclaim " Skordon" (garlic). The ancients seem 

to have held that a power which grew out of envy was best 

thwarted by anything which provoked laughter. Accord- 

ing]}-, amulets of an indelicate character were worn as 

charms, and spitting was an universal remedy. 

In the Highlands there were amulets worn, such as 

coins and beads, about children's necks ; 

and the possessor 

of the Evil Eye was given something as an antidote to his 

env\-. If a neighbour entered when a woman was churning, 

the envious eye of the visitor might affect the performance, 

!


and prevent the butter from coming ! 

To 

avert such a 

calamit}^ the visitor got a drink out of the churn. In 

order to avoid such interruptions, the churning was usually 

made after bedtime, when the dangers of interruption from 

without were few. 

A certain preparation of water was one of the prevail- 

ing remedies when either man or beast was supposed 

to be suffering from the Evil Eye. At page 126 of Vol. 

VIII. of the Gaelic Society's Transactions, I gave a short 

account of the ceremony. According to the description 

then given, coins of gold, silver, and copper were put 

into a basin of water. The person performing the Eolas 

repeated the undernoted words over the dish, at the 

same time blowing the water with his or her breath. The 

water v/as then sprinkled on the person supposed to 

be suffering from the malady. The words given on that 

occasion were : 

Translated 

— 

— 

'S i 'n t-suil a chi, 

'S e 'n cridhe a smuainicheas, 

'S i 'n teanga 'labhras ; 

'S mise 'n triuir gu tilleadh so ortsa, A. B. 

An ainm an Athar, a Mhic, 's an Spioraid JNaoimh. 

'Tis the eye that sees, 

'Tis the heart that thinks, 

'Tis the tongut that speaks ; 

I am the three to turn this off you.^ 

In the name of the Father,* of the Son, and of the 

Holy Ghost. 

So much by way of introduction. I will now proceed 

with the mode of curing the sufferer from the supposed 

effects of the Evil Eye, as the same is practised in Uist. 

In the first place, the performer goes for water, and, if pos- 

sible, it is taken out of a burn across which the living pass, 

and over which the bodies of the dead are from time to 

time carried. Having brought the water into the house, he 

' Here the name of ihe afflicted j)erson is to be said.

Ihe Highland Monthly. 

repeats the paidir (pater), and the creud (credo). He then 

takes a coin, or coins. My informant was not very precise 

as to the use of the three metals, as stated in the former 

description, but she significantly added, " Mar is treise 'n 

t-airgiod 's ann is fhearr e," meaning that the more valuable 

the coin, the more powerful it is ! The coin, or coins, 

are then, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

put into the water. Thereafter three palmfuls (tri 

boiseagaii) are sprinkled, in the name of the Trinity, on 

the person or animal suffering. The performer then goes 

with the dish of water to the fireside, and sprinkles three 

palmfuls of the water on the fire, repeating these words : 

" An till teine farmad ? 

Tillidh teine farmad." 

(" Will fire turn envy ? 

Fire will turn envy"). 

— — 

The remainder of the water is then taken outside, and 

spilled on a flag, or rock— ôn what my informant called 

"air lie dhilinn," that is, a flag or rock in situ. 

At the present day, in Perthshire, a similar performance 

is gone through when a tenant finds that a ram of his flock 

is sick. The practice, doubtless, had its origin in the belief 

that such sickness was due to the Evil Eye. The ceremony 

is somewhat similar to that described in the first charm ; 

and it was considered a good sign if the coin adhered to 

the bottom of the vessel containing the water. 

A version I received from Skye a izw years ago seems 

simple. Three coins—half a sovereign, half a crown, and 

half a penny—were put into the water ; 

the performer knelt 

on his right knee, and sprinkled the water on the sufferer, 

at the same time repeating the following Incantation : 

Chi suil thu : 

Labhraidh bial thu ; 

— 

Smuanichidh cridhe thu 

An Triuir ga do dhion 

An t-Athair, am Mac, 'san Spiorad Naomh. 

(name here) 

A thoil-san gun robh deant. Amen.

Translated- 

— 

Gat lie 1 licaritaiwiis. 283 

Eye will see you, 

Tongue will speak of you ; 

— 

Heart will think of }-ou 

The Three are protecting you 

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 

A. B. 

His will be done. Amen. 

Another supposed cure for the Evil E}-e was " Eolas 

a' chronachaidh." An account of it is given in Mackenzie's 

" Beauties," page 268, where it is stated that as the 

incantation was sung a bottle of water was being filled, 

and the performer so modulated his voice as to chime with 

the gurgling of the liquid as it was poured into the vessel 

The incantation, as given in the " Beauties," is as follows :— 

Deanamsa dhutsa eolas air suil, 

K uchd' I!le Phadruig Naoimh, 

Air at amhaich is stad earbuill. 

Air naoi conair 's air naoi connachair, 

'S air naoi bean seang sith, 

Air suil seana-ghille, 's air sealladh seana-mhna ; 

Mas a suil fir i, i lasadh mar bhigh, 

Mas a suil mnath' i, i bhi dh' easbhuidh a cich 

Falcadair fuar agus fuarachd da 'fuil. 

Air a ni, 's air a caoine, 

Air a crodh 's air a caoraich fein. 

Translated 

— 

Let me perform for you a charm for the evil eye, 

From the breast of the holy Gil-Patrick [St Patrick], 

Against swelling of neck and stoppage of bowels, 

Against nine " Conair" and nine " Connachair," 

And nine slender fairies, 

Against an old bachelor's eye and an old wife's eye. 

If a man's eye may it flame like resin, 

If a woman's eye may she want her breast, 

A cold plunge and coldness to her blood, 

And to her stock, to her men, 

To her cattle and her sheep. 

Mr Leland, in his " Gypsy Sorcery," makes several 

references to the Evil Eye. At page 5 1 he describes the 

-

— — 

284 ^/^^ Highland Monthly. 

Gypsy ceremony against the influence of the Evi! Eye, and 

as it is somewhat akin to our Highland method, I may 

briefly repeat it liere. A jar is filled witii water from a 

stream, and it must be taken zvith, not against the current. 

In it are placed seven coals, seven handfuls of meal, and 

seven cloves of garlic, all of which are put on the fire. 

When the water begins to boil, it is stirred with a three- 

forked twig, while the gypsy repeats a rhyme of which the 

following is a translation : 

Evil eyes look on thee, 

May they here extinguished be, 

And then seven ravens 

Pluck out the evil e\'es. 

Evil eyes (now) look on thee. 

May they soon extinguished be. 

Much dust in the eyes, 

Thence may they become blind. 

Evil eyes now look on thee ; 

May they soon extinguished be; 

May they burn, may they burn 

In the fire of God ! 

It is pointed out that the seven ravens in the rhyme are 

probably represented by the seven coals ; while 

the three- 

pointed twig, the meal, and the garlic, symbolise lightning. 

From the Evil Ej/e one naturally turns to what is called 

in the Outer Islands, 

EOLAS AN T-SNAITHLEAN, OR THE TRIPLE THREADS. 

I have previously pointed out that Pennant, in his Tour, 

refers to Virgil's description of the charms used by the 

shepherd Alphesibosus, and the use of triple threads in 

connection with these : 

" Necte tribus nodis ternos, A •narylH, colores." 

("Tie three colours in three knots, O Amaryllus." 

Eolas an t-Snaithleaii is simp!)- the Charm or Incantation 

of the threads, that is, the triple threads ; and it is worthy 

of note that the triple threads of Virgil were white, rose


colour, and black. In Virgil's Ecologue VIII., line 73, we 

have a clear reference to the Eolas of the triple thread : 

" lerna tibi heir pninuiii triplici diversa cotore licia 

ciraundd' 

(" First I surround thee with three different threads and 

threefold colours)," 

thus proving the great antiquity of this charm. It is still 

very popular in the Western Islands, and is used as a 

Charm against the effects of the Evil Eye, and also against 

Witchcraft. The rite observed is as follows : 

Pîrst. the Paidir or Putcr is said. Then the following 

Incantation : 

— — 

Chi suil thu, 

Labhraidh bial thu ; 

Smuainichidh cridhe thu. 

Tha fear a ruigheadh (?) 

Gad' choisreagadh, 

An t-Athair, 's am Mac, 's an Spiorad Naomh. 

Ceathrar a rinn do chron 

Fear agus bean, 

Gille agus nighean. 

Co tha gu sin a thilleadh ? 

Tri Pearsannan na Trianaid ro-naomh, 

An t-Athair, am Mac, 's an Spiorad Naomh. 

Tha mi 'cur fianuis gu Moire, agus gu Brighde, 

Ma 's e duine rinn do chron, 

Le droch ruin, 

No le droch shuil, 

No le droch chridhe, 

Gu'm bi thusa, ^ 

( 

) gu math 

Ri linn so a chur mu 'n cuairt ort. 

An ainm an Athar, 's a' Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh. 

Translated 

An eye will see you, 

Tongue will speak of you. 

Heart will think of }'ou, 

— 

(?) 

Blesses }'ou 


— 

^ Here say the name of person or beast to be curerl. 

—

286 The Highland Monthh . 

Four caused you hurt 

— 

Man and wife, 

Young man and maiden. 

Who is to turn that ? 

The three Persons of the most Holy Trinity, 


I send my prayer to the Virgin Mary and to St Bridget. 

That if your hurt was caused by man, 

Through ill-will, 

Or the evil eye. 

Or a wicked heart, 

That you [A. B.] may be whole. 

While I entwine this about you. 

In 7iomme Patris, &c. 

The whole of the foregoing Incantation is recited three 

times, and, during the recital, the SnaitJilean, or tri-coloured 

triple thread, is entwined about the beast's tail (am bun an 

earbuill) with triple knots. If the beast is to recover, the 

person applying the SnaitJilean feels himself or herself 

becoming ill. If the first recital does not prove efficacious, 

the rite may be performed two or three times. 

Another Eolas, which appears to be an abbreviation of 

the Snaithlean, is 

EOLAS FOIREIGNIDH. 

It may be used for man or beast, with or without the 

SnaitJile, in all sorts of illnesses of a sudden nature, and is 

much in request. It is as follows : 

Ceathrar a laidheas an suil. 

Fear a's bean, 

Gille agus nighean, 

Triuir ga shobhadh(?) sin, 

An t-Athair, am Mac, 's an Spiorad Naomh. 

From the Evil Eye and the SnaitJilean one naturally 

turns to 

THE SIAN', OR SEUN. 

Macalpine defines Seiin as "an amulet to render a 

warrior invulnernable." The word is also used in an 

ecclesiastical sense as meaning Dlessed, or sacred. We


have the expression


same time an incantation of some kind was gone through. 

With regard to the club moss, the following lines were 

said : 

— 

Fhir a shiubhlas gu h-eutrom 

Cha'n eagal dhuit beud mo pudhar, 

'S garbhag-an-t-sleibhe bhi air do shiubhal. 

I was not able to find the incantation of the Sian in 

Uist, but I give here a set which Mr Macbain obtained 

from one of his mainland friends. The "charmer" and 

his protege go to a retired spot. The recipient of the 

charm there goes on his knees ; the " charmer" lays his 

hand on the other's head ; and, with eyes shut, utters the 

incantation. Going round him sunwise, or Deisiiil, he 

repeats these words twice : 

Translated 

— 

— 

Sian a chuir Moire air a Mac ort, 

Sian ro mharbhadh, sian ro lot ort, 

Sian eadar a' chioch 's a' ghlun, 

Sian eadar a' ghlun 's a' bhroit ort, 

Sian nan Tri ann an Aon ort, 

O mhullach do chinn gu bonn do chois ort. 

Sian seachd paidir a h-aon ort, 

Sian seachd paidir a dha ort, 

Sian seachd paidir a tri ort, 

Sian seachd paidir a ceithir ort, 

Sian seachd paidir a coig ort, 

Sian seachd paidir a sia ort, 

Sian seachd paidir nan seachd paidir uol deisiul 

ri deagh uarach ort, ga do ghleidheadh bho 

bheud 's bho mhi-thapadh. 

The charm that Mar)- placed on her son be on you, 

Charm from slaying, charm from wounding, 

Charm between pap and knee, 

Charm between knee and breast on you, 

Charm of the Three in One on you. 

From top of head to sole of foot. 

Charm of seven paters once on you, 

Charm of seven paters twice on you, 

Charm of seven paters thrice on you. 

Charm of seven paters four times on you.

Gaelic hicantations. 289 

Charm of seven paters five times on you, 

Charm of seven paters six times on you, 

Charm of the seven paters of the seven paters going 

sunwise in lucky hour on you, a-keeping you from 

harm and accident. 

Going anti-sunvvise, or tuaitheal, he repeats the follow- 

ing one : 

Translated 

— — 

Clogaid na slainte mu d' cheann, 

Cearcall a' Chumhnaint mu d' amhaich, 

Uchd-eididh an t-sagairt mu d' bhroilleach ; 

Ma 's ruaig bho 'n taobh-chuil, 

Brogan na h-Oighe ga d' ghiulan gu luath. 

Sian nan Tri ann an Aon ort, 

Bho mhullach do chinn gu bonn do shail, 

Agus sian paidir nan seachd paidir 

Dol tuaitheal is deisiul, deisiul is tuaitheal, 

Gu d' ghleidheadh bho d' chul 

Bho luaidhe 's bho chlaidheamh, 

Bho lot 's bho mharbhadh, 

Gu uair as am do bhais. 

The helmet of salvation about your head, 

The ring of the Covenant about your neck. 

The priest's breastplate about your breast ; 

If it be retreat on the rear, 

The shoes of the Virgin to take you swiftly away. 

Charm of the Three in One on you 

From crown of head to sole of foot. 

And the charm of the pater of the seven paters 

A-going anti-sunwise and sunwise, sun-wise and 

anti-sunwise, 

To protect \'ou from behind. 

From lead and from sword. 

From wound and from slaying. 

Till the hour and time of \-our death. 

The Caul— Ciirrachd-rath^ or, as it is frequently called, 

Cociiiill— is a membraneous cap in which the head of a 

chil'l is sometimes enveloped when born. Such children 

are belie\cd to be the special favourites of fortune. In 

addition to the caul being regarded as a protective charm in 

IQ

290 


battle, it is also believed to afford protection from drown- 

ing, and is looked upon as an article of considerable marketable 

value among sailors. The belief in its efficacy is by no 

means confined to the Highlands or even to Scotland. 

The French in Mauritius attach special virtue to it, and 

offer it for sale at fancy prices. In 1835, an advertisement 

in the following terms appeared in the Times newspaper : 

" A child's caul to be disposed of, a well-known preservative 

against drowning, &c. Price 10 guineas," Mr Moore 

refers to this superstition in the Isle of Man, and states 

that a caul has been advertised for sale in a Liverpool 

newspaper in 189 1. 

In connection with this matter, it may be mentioned 

that the cowl of the monk— Gaelic, codiull; Latin, aicullus 

— was also used as an amulet in battle. In the life of St 

Columba, in the Book of Lismore, we are told that Columcille 

sained, or consecrated, a cowl for the warrior Aed 

Slaine, and said that he (the warrior) would not be slain 

so long as that cowl should be on him. Aed Slaine went 

upon a raid. He forgot his cowl. He was slain on that 

day. Again, in Adamnan's Life of Columba (Book II., ch. 

25), mention is made of Findlugan donning the Saint s 

cowl to protect him from the spear-thrusts of Manus 

Dextera ! 

[to IE eONTlN'VED.] 

—

SOME 

.'hi Old Perthshire Sono;. 291 

AN OLD PERTHSHIRE SOiNG. 

years ago I spent a pleasant holiday in Glcn- 

quaich, Perthshire, with m\- friend, Mr P. C. Macfarlanc, 

a student of much promise, whose earl)- death was 

a decided loss to Gaelic literature. There was then li\-ing 

in the glen a nice old body—a real bean choir—who pos- 

sessed quite a store of old Gaelic songs and sayings, and 

m}- friend was anxious that I should make her acquaint- 

ance, and hear her croon some of her favourite liiinneai^s. 

I was warned that if she was not in trim (" mar a bi a 

gean-math oirre"), we might expect nothing. When we 

entered her tidy cot, we found her busy baking. She gave 

us a ccrdial welcome, and we talked of various matters for 

a time. When we informed her that we \\-ere most anxious 

to hear her sing some of her old Gaelic songs, she positi\-ely 

refused. We tried to coax her, m}- friend e\-cn suggesting 

some songs that he had heard her sing ; 

but 

to his oft- 

repeated request of " Abair e, 'Sheonaid," her only reply 

was, " Cha 'n abair." We were much disappointed, and my 

friend even went the length of pressing her for her reasons 

for being so obdurate. Her repl}' was— 

" Nach cuala sibh 

' riamh an sean-fhacal : Cha do rinn fuinneadh ri ceol nach 

do rinn itheadh ri bron'"— (" Ha\-e }-ou never heard the 

proverb, ' 

— 

The}- never kneaded to music that did not eat 

in sorrow ?' ".. We were quite satisfied with her reasons, ami 

ha\"ing sat and chatted for a while, we took our leave, and 

were promised a song if we would return the following- 

da}-. We called on the morrow, and found Seonaid quite 

heart}- and tuneful. She sang us a peculiar lilt, the air 

being most catching, but she could onl}- recollect the 

chorus, ^\-hich was 

" Dh' eireadh, o dh' eireadh, 

'S gu'n eireadh i leam, 

Cailleach an da bhreidean, 

Gu'n eireadh i leam ;


Dh' eireadh 's gu'n eirinn rithe, 

Dh' eireadh i learn, 

Cailleach an da bhreidean, 

Gu'n eireadh i learn." 

Perhaps some of your readers can supply the rest of the 

song. She also sang the following verses, which seems to 

be very old, and, as a special favour, she allowed us to write 

them down from her dictation. There is one line in the 

song which I do not understand, and which even Seonaid 

could not explain. I refer to 

" Seachd seanrach gu d' bhanais." 

Can any one throw light on this phrase ? 

FHIR BHIG NA GRUAIGE RUAIDH. 

Fhir bhig na gruaige ruaidh 

Mheall thu uam mo cheud leannan, 

Nior dheanadh i bonn stath dhuit, 

No ma dh' araicheadh i dhuit leanabh. 

Nior a dheanadh i bonn stath dhuit. 

No ma dh' araicheadh i dhuit leanabh ; 

Na robh an t-im air do bhlathaich, 

Na robh an caise air do bhainne. 

Na robh an t-im air do bhlathaich, 

Na robh an caise air do bhainne, 

Na robh an crodh 'breith nan laogh dhuit. 

No na caoirich uain gheala. 

Na robh an crodh 'breith nan laogh dhuit, 

No na caoirich uain gheala. 

No na caoirich le 'n uanaibh, 

'Dol suas ris a' bhealach. 

No na caoirich le 'n uanaibh, 

'Dol suas ris a' bhealach, 

Na robh cruach ann do lainn-se, ^ 

Ri oidhch' a' chur-chathaidh. 

Na robh cruach ann do lainnse, 

Ri oidhch' a' chur-chathaidh, 

Na robh gearran a'd' stabull. 

La Fheill Paruig is t-Earrach. 

' Lanii, a piece of land. In Glenqunich there is a farm called " An Laiiin 

Mhoir."

An Old PertlisJlire Song. 293 

Na robh gearran a'd' stabull, 

La Fheill Paruig is t-Earrach ; 

Ach mar faigh mi dhiot tuilleadh 

Dean mo chuireadh gu d' bhanais. 

Ach mar faigh mi dhiot tuilleadh 

Dean mo chuireadh gu d' bhanais, 

Gu t-fhaireadh gu t-aiteach', 

Seachd seanrach gu d' bhanais. 

Gu t-fhaireadh gu t-aiteach', 

Seachd seanrach gu d' bhanais, 

Ged tha mise 'n so 'm aonar 

Tha mo ghaol-sa 'm Braigh-Rainneach. 

Ged tha mise 'n so 'm aonar 

Tha mo ghaol-sa 'm Braigh-Rainneach, 

Tha gruagach 's an aonach 

'S i gaola nam feara. 

Tha gruagach 's an aonach 

'S i gaola nam feara, 

'S gur trom a luidh an aois orm, 

O'n nach d' f haod mi 'bhi ma' riut. 

Gur trom a luidh an aois orm, 

O'n nach d' fhaod mi 'bhi ma' riut, 

'S truagh nach robh mi 's mo ghradh geal 

Anns an airidh 'tha thall ud. 

'S truagh nach robh mi 's mo ghradh geal 

Anns an airidh 'tha thall ud, 

Ann am bothan an t-sugraidh, 

Gun dun' oirnn' ach barraich. 

Ann am bothan an t-sugraidh, 

Gun dun' oirnn' ach barraich. 

Far am biodh coileach an tuchain, 

'G ar dusgadh 's a' mhadainn. 

Far am biodh coileach an tuchain, 

'G ar dusgadh 's a' mhadainn, 

Fhir bhig na gruaige ruaidh, 

Îheall thu uam mo cheud leannan. 

FIONN.

2 94 1^^^ Highland Monthly. 

THE 


[all rights reservku by the author.] 

III.—GLENBELTANE. 

house of Glenbeltane stood upon a height between 

the converging streams of the Beltane and the 

Goblin, and looked towards Lochgoy. On the banks of 

these streanns. about their confluence, were visible some 

narrow patches of cultivation, while along the shore of the 

lake extended a pleasant meadow land. Dense was the 

copsewood of alder that fringed the burns, concealing many 

a pool and rapid of their bright waters under its curtain of 

living green, that shot forth at frequent intervals into trees 

of commanding size. Near the long winding shore, where 

tlic soil was richer, there were many fine specimens of the 

birch, the rowan, the wild geaii, and the willow, underneath 

whose boughs the deep green grass grew luxur antly, inter- 

spersed with wild flowers. 1 remember in particular a 

beautiful species of the hyacinth that every year appeared 

in one sheltered nook, and shed around a rare and exquisite 

perfume. Here, for hours at a time, have I herded cattle 

during the long days of summer and autumn. Well I knew 

where the rasp bushes and the brambles in vain veiled their 

delicious fruit among thorns, and leaves, and nettles, which 

were, however, a formidable defence against bare feet. And 

well I knew the alder bank: where the sweet nodules of the 

prionan did most abound. That delightful region was a 

favourite haunt of the honey gatherers. Chief among 

these was the humble bee, who built her waxen mansion 

under the turf, and, being of a placable disposition, never 

liked to use her sting unless hard pressed ; and the moss 

bee, whose fiery orange coat, typical of her temper and 

furious attack, warned the wary, though longing, meddler,


from her nest. Along the margin of those low-lying and 

leafy dells, the loch rested upon a wide bed of white sand 

and gravel, that sloped gently downwards into the black 

profound, from whence glided numerous trout of every size, 

to feed and disport themselves in the shallows, penetrated 

in some degree by the light of day. Where the united 

streams issued into Lochgoy, the water-, which before had 

dashed over many a wild precipice, were now quite still, and 

so transparent that the bottom of the pool, which was of 

considerable depth, seemed close to the surface. This was 

the Bathing Pool. It must be confessed that those pure 

waters were always gelid, even after the hottest day in midsummer. 

And no wonder, for they were the offspring of 

melting snow in the high corries, and of the deep mountain 

wells, whose temperature never changed. 

The Goblin burn flowed, or rather poured, out of Corrie 

Goblin, and, descending rapidly, made its course at right 

angles with the lake. The loud noise of its cascades could 

be heard within the house of Glenbeltane. Thus it was 

usually che last sound that fell upon my ear at night, and 

how often has it mingled with my dreams ! 

The Beltane was a much less turbulent stream. The 

little valley through which it took its way was formed by a 

low range of hills, which lay between Lochgoy and the 

lofty mountains that enclosed Corrie Goblin. Singularly 

well adapted for all pastoral purposes, it was especially 

valuable during the lambing season, on account of the hazel 

wood that clothed its slopes aloft, affording shelter to the 

younglings of the flock from the sleety storms which then 

prevail, and encouraging an early vegetation that swelled 

the udders of the ewes. In olden times the people of 

Inverbeltane had their shealings near the head of this 

gentle glen. There, where the rivulet flows smoothly, with 

many a sudden bend, through that sweet upland glade, 

whose surrounding boscage invites the frequent stay of 

mavis and wood-pigeon, may be traced the remains of the


folds and booths, where tuneful voices once poured forth 

strains of melody, that arose in after years in lands far 

away. Often, when alone in this most beautiful and peace- 

ful scene, have I well-nigh melted into tears of tender regret, 

while no sound could be heard save the shepherd's whistle, 

or the barking of his dog, or the bleating of the ewes and 

Iambs. The rest and quietness of an eternal Sabbath 

surely would most harmonise with the prevailing spirit of 

that scene. No one could listen to the songs and tales of 

Ishbal Macindrui without feeling their influence here. While 

her father lived at Inverbeltane, she had spent the greater 

part of every grazing season at those shealings, and many 

old memories remained to her of loves, and joys, and 

sorrows, that filled the hearts of their occupants, now 

mouldering in the dust. Ihe shealings had all passed 

away ; so had all the homes at Inverbeltane ; and the little 

cot which she occasionally occupied there, was now the only 

dwelling within the bounds of a township where she remembered 

twenty families to have been reared. Close to it was 

a clump of rowan trees, which her brothers had planted 

before they took their departure for the New World. And 

within view from that spot, on a rising ground at the head 

of Lochgoy, was the graveyard of St Eonan, where the 

Macindruis of Inverbeltane had buried their dead for 

countless generations, and she knew that no grave would 

evermore be opened there, except for herself and her aged 

brother at Balmosses, when the last of the Macindruis would 

have passed away. 

But now it is full time that, without further ado, I withdrew 

from those sweet scenes, which memory depicts 

bathed in the brightness of a perpetual summer morning, 

and introduce the reader to that abode which was to me 

as the life and centre of the whole ; from whence, ere yet 

my thinking personality fairly took form, I looked abroad 

upon the world of moor, and hill, and stream, and wood, 

watching the changing face of nature, the constant altera-


tion of sky, the rising and falling of the mist, and, in the 

near foreground, those images of quiet pastoral life, which 

cast a spell on my mind that time has neither broken nor 

weakened. 

The house of Glenbeltane in the main consisted of a 

long low building, with two cross wings. It had been built 

before the property merged in that of Duncairn, and, having 

been intended to form the seat of a landed proprietor, who 

was also the head of a sept, it bore evidence of an ambitious 

and aristocratic design. The long chimneys, the gables of 

unequal proportion, darkly stained with the weather, and 

the windows, numberless and narrow, must have had a 

picturesque effect even to the casual eye. The roof of the 

central block was covered with slates, or, to speak more 

accurately, heavy slabs, which had been carried from Corrie 

Goblin ; while the flanking wings aforesaid were lower, and 

thatched with heather. The gables of these latter, which 

faced Lochgoy, were joined by a wall having a gateway in 

line with the front door. Within this yard or enclosure 

were a few fruit trees and flovvering shrubs of various kinds. 

On each of the two grass plots divided by the paved way 

that led from the white gate to the door, grew a plum tree 

of some hardy species, the tardy ripening of whose fruit I 

used to note with an impatient satisfaction. The gateway 

opened upon a level green of considerable extent, which, 

in front of the house, terminated abruptly on the edge of a 

steep bank that overlooked the burn. The effects of many 

a winter spate were visible in the vast quantity of debris 

spread over the ground below, but the kindly alder had 

taken root among the boulders and the bleached shingle, 

and, aided by the wild thyme, and the thistle, and the fox- 

glove, threw softening touches over the rude scene of 

devastation. 

From within the house, however, nothing of this was 

visible. From there we could see but the banks of Loch- 

goy, and the great hills that arose on the further side. 

Glens and corries and lochs lay among the mountain

298 The HicrJdand Monthly. 

fastnesses of that wild and inaccessible region, but abode 

of human being there was none. Nevertheless, portions of 

that wilderness afforded excellent panturage, and more than 

one of the townships of Duncairn had their shealings there. 

From the windows of the western wing, of which I hope 

yet to speak more particularly, a different view extended. 

Through them the eye - ight survey the pleasant valley of 

the Beltane, and low down on the right, beneath the wooded 

brow that sheltered it from the north wind, part even of 

Inverbeltane was visible. This, then, was the early home 

to which memor)' so fondly returns. 

My education was conducted according to the custom 

of the time, sometimes under the superintendence of a 

divinity student, and sometimes at the distant parish school, 

when I resided with good Mr Munro. But, inasm.uch as 

these my lucubrations have respect to persons and things 

rather than to my own history, which is of no moment, I 

shall say no more upon the subject, save only to remark 

that I had been accustomed to hear book-learning more or 

less disparaged by those whose good opinion T did most 

desire— I mean the shepherds of Glenbeltane and the 

neighbouring holdings, who had no respect for anybody 

that could not tell a hogg from a gimmer, no matter what 

his other accomplishments might be. 

There was one individual, however, who spent a few 

weeks every year at Glenbeltane, who, having seen the 

world and known its wa}'s, had what may be called more 

enlarged views than those of its ordinary inhabitants. This 

was no other than Finlay Don, whom I wish to introduce 

to the ingenious reader, partly on account of the interest 

that attached to his character in my eyes, and partly on 

account of the remarkable service he was able to render to 

Mark Teviot, under circumstances which will hereafter be 

set forth. Finlay, who was a native of the south, had 

served his time in the army. He had gone through the 

wars, had sojourned in several of the West Indian islands,


and had done barrack duty in England. His scanty 

pension being inadequate for the support of his wife and 

family, he eked it out by doing odd jobs for the tacksmen 

of Duncairn, and by making an annual round of the great 

fairs of the south with a puppet show which he possessed. 

When with us, his usual employment was to repair the 

ravages occasioned by the winter storms, to which the 

house of Glenbeltane, with its adjoining homestead, were 

greatly exposed. Except those covered with the heavy 

grey slabs, that defied the blast, all the roofs on the farm 

came in for a share, more or less, of Finlay's attention. 

Before slates were generally employed as a covering for the 

roofs of houses, thatching formed a very important industry, 

and in this, perhaps, soon to be forgotten art, the lighthearted 

rambler had attained no mean skill. Whether 

plying his trade on the ladder and the roof, among bundles 

of black-rooted brackens, or sitting at night by the kitchen 

fire, doing coopering and rough wood-carving for the women, 

and shaping crooks for the herds, Finlay was a most enter- 

taining companion. His \'ein 01 Inimour was quite- 

different from that of Johnnie of Pitstitchie. That facetious 

tradesman dearl)' loved to retail the current gossip of the 

country ; 

but in this Finlay took no great interest. Rather 

would he discourse learnedly of foreign States and well- 

fought fields ; 

of the marvellous fertility of St Christopher 

and Jamaica, and of the fortunes that were made there; of 

the wealth and magnificence of London and certain 

European towns which he had visited. Often wculcl this 

kindly, genial man continue far into the night to pour forth 

his tales of wonder to a circle of willing listeners. That 

circle usually included one or more of those half-witted 

vagrants, who lived by making a constant round of certain 

families, whom they regarded as their patrons. There was, 

for instance, the Pigeon Man, Fearnan Caiman. This poor 

fellow rarely uttered a single word, but, sitting in the peat 

nook by the fireside, altogether engrossed with his own

300 The HigJilanci Monthly. 

thoughts, would he feed his beloved pets, removing each 

in its turn from his bosom, and regarding it with a piteous 

expression of tender benevolence. Then there was Ceit 

Mhor and Ceit Bheag—that is to say, Big Kate and Little 

Kate. Ceit Mhor believed herself to be a literary person. 

She always carried a bottle of ink, and nothing gave her 

half so much gratification as seeing this vessel replenished 

by some considerate friend. Wherever she went in her 

wanderings, she kept a sharp lookout for feathers of uncommon 

size, of which, when she had obtained a sufficient 

number, she would cross the county, that they might 

undergo the penknife of a certain trusted minister. On 

entering any house, she would ask eagerly for pieces of 

paper, and occupy every available moment in writing ; but 

what she meant to put down no man could say, for she was 

altogether unlettered. As for Ceit Bheag, she occupied 

her time and energies as though her mission in life had been 

to carry a heavy burden. She went about picking up all 

the old pieces of iron that came in her way, until she could 

boast a great sackful of the same, besides a considerable 

quantity which she carried distributed over her person. 

Thus weighted, she crept slowly along, altogether happy. 

Like many of her class, she possessed a peculiar vein of 

sly humour, as may be shown by one out of many anecdotes 

which were related of her : 

— 

Once upon a time, in the course of her peregrinations, 

she found a package lying on the road, where it had been 

dropped by some one ; and, opening it with much glee, she 

immediately appropriated its contents. But feeling some 

twinges of conscience, as she afterwards explained, she 

attended church on the following Sunday, and, as the congregation 

was dispersing, she proclaimed that she had 

found a pa'^kage containing a little bit of white pudding 

and certain other odds and ends, which she did not care 

further to particularise in public. The result of this 

announcement was that no one in the parish would own to

Scenes of Lon^ ^go. 301 

having lost anything for a great while, and poor Kate's 

scruples were relieved. 

The two Kates could not endure each other's company, 

and would on no account put up for a night in the same 

house. So intense was this mutual dislike or professional 

jealousy, that if one of them arrived at Glenbeltane near 

supper time, and found her rival already iii possession, she 

would turn from the door, and tramp all the way to 

Balmosses. 

Nor can I forbear to mention the pilgrim who assumed the 

style and mannersof an ecclesiastical personage. Claimingto 

be of the quality himself, his craze was to treat everyone with 

an exaggerated courtliness of etiquette, as though also of 

genteel rank. It need scarcely be said that this notion led 

to very ludicrous scenes. It was generally understood that 

he had attended a University, but no one had any certain 

knowledge of his antecedents. His mode of existence 

now was similar to that of other gangrel bodies. He, too, 

lived b}' making a pei-petual round of the country. His 

features were habitually drawn into what Goldsmith calls, 

" That sententious look which nothing means." He wore 

a tall hat of antique shape, a tattered dress coat, and the 

semblance of a white tie. His only baggage consisted of 

a very large Bible, and a book in Latin. Perhaps it was 

due to this latter volume that he was popularly supposed 

to be a man of vast learning. Indeed, many maintained 

that his wits had been confused by profound study, while 

others alleged that, having been badly used in a love affair, 

disappointment had permanently unsettled his reason. He 

spoke with a stmng nasal intonation, superinduced by snuff 

probabi}', and had an odd way of prefacing his remarks by 

taking off his hat, and slowly shaking out of it, with much 

dignit)', a coloured handkerchief of ample proportions. Me 

came by a tragic end, which cast a gloom of sadness over 

the district. While journeying across the hills from Abergov 

in mid winter, the unfortunate man was overtaken by

7 he Hig/dayid Monthly. 

a severe snowstorm, and it was not until some weeks afterwards 

that his body was discovered under a drift. In 

either hand he clutched one of his precious volumes. 

I set out in this paper with the intention of giving a 

particular account of Glenbeltane, but I fear that the 

impressions which I vvished to convey have mainly been 

lost amidst the discursive meanderings into which I was 

somehow beguiled. 

TO BE CONTINl-KD.]

WITH 

ChurcJiyard ]Vatcliiug. 303 

CHURCHYARD WATCHING. 

reference to what Mr Macbain says in his essay 

on Superstition relative to Churchyard Watchin"-, 

there are many wonderful stories connected with the watch- 

ing huts (or " bothain chatt/iris'' as they were called in 

Gaelic), which are still to be found in our old burying-- 

grounds. At the time of the scare regarding resurrectionists, 

it was the duty of the friends of the last person buried in a 

Churchyard to hold watch till the next burial took place 

when, of course, the friends of the last deceased relieved the 

watchers. In districts where the population was sparse, 

and funerals seldom, the spell of watching was frequently 

prolonged, and became rather irksome. Accordingly when 

two deaths occurred in a parish, something like indecent 

haste was exercised to have the funerals carried out, in 

order, if possible, to have tlie better of the other corpse, and 

get off with but a short vigil. On one occasion two 

funerals were approaching a cill in Cowal from opposite 

directions, and, knowing the " use and wont," that the watch- 

ing fell on the friends of the last corpse to get inside the 

churchyard, both funerals increased their pace, in order, if 

possible, to get inside the churchyard first. When nearing 

the cill, it was evident that the party from the north end of 

the parish would be inside first, as the gate was on the side 

to which they were approaching, while the other part\- had 

to go round the end wall to get to the gate. When pas.-iiKr 

the wall, and fearing they would be beaten in the lace, a 

wag in the latter party shouts " Thar a ghai-aidh i" (over 

the dyke with her), and \.\\c old caillcach was uncereiiioni- 

ou.ily pitched over. A little bo\-, a grandson of the

304 


deceased, who was present, and evidently enjoying the fun, 

shouts out, " Nach i 'in balach mo sheaita-mhathair cha robh i 

riavih air dheireadh'' (Is'nt my granny the boy, she was 

never behind). By this stratagem the watching was thrown 

on the friends of the other funeral, as their corpse was last 

inside the walls of the churchyard 

" FIONN."

Social Life of the Borders. 305 



ONE 

By Dr AITKEN. 

of the most strikini^ figures in Border literature 

is John Leydcn, the son of a small farmer, born at 

the picturesque valle}' of Denholm on the Te\iot. Gaining 

his preliminary education with difficult}', he was sent to 

Edinburgh to qualify for the ministr\-. There the lad was 

at first distinguished by his ungainh' manner, and his lo\e 

of learning, and when he first stood up to read his Greek 

€xerci.^, his dress, harsh \oice, and broad provincial Teviot- 

dale accent fairl}- overcame both Professor and students. 

But, underneath this uncouth exterior there were genuine 

qualities, and a consuming desire for knowledge. Intensely 

interested in philolog}', he made himself, in addition to the 

learned languages, familiar \'ith French, Spanish, Italian, 

German, Icelandic, Hebrew, Arabic, and Persian. In 

science also and mathematics he was equally devoted, and 

to those who objected to a want of concentration in his 

when you ha\e the 

studies he used to answer, " Man I 

scaffolding read}' }-ou can run up the masonry when }'ou 

please!" and the ad\'antage of his following this maxim 

bore good fruit afterwards. At last, he qualified for the 

ministry, but in this, the first object of his ambition, he was 

not satisfied. As a child he had read the " Arabian Nights," 

and the impression made upon his mind was never removed. 

His imagination, fired also b}- the traxels of Mungo Park, 

who- came from the same district, awoke again the slumber- 

ing desire to visit the Kast. The only possible way of 

doing this was by becoming an assistant surgeon, and in 

20


less than six months, by the aid of his scaffolding of science 

and superhuman appHcation, he obtained his degree, and at 

once left for India. But, even here, the man remained the 

same. There was the same uncouthness, the same love of 

disputation, the same want of consideration in argument. 

When, dreading the impression he would make in Indian 

society. Sir John Malcolm, knowing his pride in his Teviot 

origin, hinted at the adoption of a more English accent, and 

only to talk on literature with literary men. Leyden 

replied, " Learn English ! No, never ! 

It was trying to 

learn that language that spoiled my Scotch !" There, also^ 

was the same desire for study, pursued under the most trying 

circumstances. Even when his life was in danger he 

never relaxed working ten hours a day, and when expostulated 

with by the medical men who attended him, and who 

told him if he worked he must die, he returned the 

characteristic reply, " I cannot be idle, and whether I die 

or live the wheel must go round to the last." To Oriental 

literature, the love of which had impelled him to the East, 

his contributions were not only wonderful in extent, but 

surprising, considering the period at which they were made. 

It \\as in pursuance of these studies that Leyden met his 

death in Java. Leyden, in whatever way we look at him^ 

was a remarkable man, and was undoubtedly one of those 

who first detected the value of philology in its application 

to the history and development of our race. But, to what- 

ever studies he may have devoted himself, he was in every 

way a Border man. His heart, A\'herever he was, never 

turned from his native Teviot, and his largest poem, 

published just before leaving for India, is devoted to 

descriptions and memories of his native vale. When lying 

sick and ill, his first word always when Sir John Malcolm 

entered the room was, " Is there any news ? " meaning from 

home. Into the scheme of Scott, the publication of the 

Border Minstrelsy, he entered with all the fiery energy of 

his nature, walking on one occasioii fift}- miles to secure a 

ballad his friend required, and contributing two of the best

Social Life of the Boi'ders, 307 

in the collection— " Lord Soulis," and the " Cout of Keeldar." 

In all his poetr>' there is the same under-current of home 

feeling, and in his fine ode to an Indian coin he tells us : 

" Sweet visions haunt m)- waking dreams 

Of Teviot loved while still a child : 

Of castled rocks, stupendous piled 

R}- Esk or Eden's classic wave 

When loves of }'outh and friendship smiled." 

— 

To all Borderers Leyden's memory is especially dear 

from the circumstances of his early life, and his early death ; 

and Scott who, with his instinctive knowledge of human 

nature and kindly judgment of it, saw behind the rough 

exterior, the generous qualities of the man and took him to 

his heart, has expressed the feeling prevalent in the district 

regarding him, in referring to Corrievreckan in the Lord of 

the Isles, the scene of one of Leyden's beautiful ballads : 

" His bright and brief career is o'er, 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 

Quenched is his lamp of varied lore. 

That lov'd the light of song to pour. 

A distant and a deadly shore 

" 

Here Leyden cold remains ! 

Just about the time Leyden was closing his brief career 

in a distant land, another man equally distinguished in 

border literature was coming into notice. This was Allan 

Cunningham, who derived from his father, an eager collector 

of every tale, ballad and legend connected with his native 

country, his antiquarian tastes, and from his mother his 

poetical temperament. Born at Blackwood in 1785, at two 

years of age his family removed to Dalswinton, a village 

only a few miles from Dumfries, where there was much to 

encourage the development of the lad's poetical talent. In 

his youth the memory of Burns was still fresh, and the echo 

of his songs had not died awa\-. Erom his father's house 

he could almost see the farm on which the poet had 

laboured, the walk by the riverside under the shadows of 

whose trees he meditated some of his sweetest verses.

3o8 T.he Highland Monthly. 

the dyke on which Mrs Burns found him astride with Tarn 

O'Shanter in spirit, and in the very fervor of composition, 

and he mu?,L .nve visited Friars Carse in which The 

Whistle was drank for. In pursuing his occupation as a 

stone-mason in different parts of the country he added to 

his stores of songs and legends ; and a visit paid to Hogg, 

then tending his flocks upon the slopes of Queensberry, no 

doubt encouraged him still farther, whilst his poetic enthu- 

siasm is evidenced by his having walked to Edinburgh that 

he might have the pleasure of looking on the author of 

Marmion. Impressed by the songs and traditions of 

Nithsdale, he early began to write verses, and was already 

so well known when Cromek and Stothard, the celebrated 

painter, visited Dumfries in 1809 that Cunningham was 

thought to be the best person to aid him in forming a col- 

lection of border ballads and Jacobite songs. Further 

intercourse only increased the favorable impression he had 

made, and it was his visitor's exaggerated enthusiasm for 

Burns, and his urgency to discover some of the older poetic 

remnants in the district, that first suggested to Cunningham 

the design of imposing upon the too credulous engraver. 

It was in this way that "The Remains of Nithsdale and 

Galloway Song" originated, which dfd for Nithsdale what 

the Border Minstrelsy did for Esk, Ettrick, and Yarrow ; 

and the dissertations, scattered through the volume, all by 

Cunningham, contain the most valuable information regarding 

the inner life of the peasantr)' of the district. From 

the time of the publication of this work he spent the most 

of his time in London as the friend, assistant, and adviser 

of Chantrey, having little personal connection with his 

native place. His last visit to it was paid in 183 1, when 

he was entertained by his friends in Dumfries. The dinner 

is remarkable as being, I believe, the first public appearance 

of Carlyle. For the occasion he had left Craigenputtock in 

the very throes of the composition of Sartor Resartus to do 

honour to the poet, and his speech was earnest, apprecia- 

tive, and for once, to use his own expression, to

Social Life oj the Borders. 309 

all men knowable. But though avva\- from his native 

place. Cunning-ham's poems show he was never forgetful 

of it ; and though many of his best works, such as 

the Lives of British Painters, one of the most delightful of 

books, has no connection with it, still it is as a poet, an'l 

as an illustrator of Scottish life and character, and as a pre- 

server of Border Tradition, that Cunningham will be 

remembered. Like all the border poets his genius was 

essential!}' h'rical, and his larger imaginative works, such 

as The Maid of Elvai, Sir Marmaduke ]\Iaxwell, Paul 

Jones, and Sir Michael Scott are now entirel}' forcgotten. 

There are few poems of the kind, from the stern co\"enant- 

ing spirit breathing through them, finer than the 

Cameronian Ballads, the Ballad of The Lord's Marie, and 

the Mermaid of Galloway, founded on a tradition akin to 

that of the Lorelic. His Jacobite Songs have the feelings 

of the most earnest follower of the Prince, whilst, after 

Burns and Hogg, there is no song writer to equal Cunningham, 

and those who ha\-e read Lockhart's Life of Scott will 

remember \\-ith what pleasure Sir Walter used to sit and 

listen to Mr Lockhart singing " It's hame, hame, hame," 

and indeed he wrote it, I think, finer than anything in 

Burns. 

The last, from amongst man\- others, of the dis- 

tinguished men of the period who seems to claim attention, 

is Thomas Aird, a poet whose works are far too little 

known. \\\ original contributor to Blackwood, when the 

second edition of his poems appeared, the Saturda\' Review 

spoke highl\- of them, and though then a man of fift\--four 

the re\-iewer described them as the effort of a }'Oung man. 

His Dex'il's Dream on Mount Aksbeck, conceived, I haxc 

heard, when walking from his natixe Bowden across the 

hills on a pilgrimage to Burns' Tomb, De Ouince\- thought 

one of the most remarkable poems of the centur\-, filled as 

it is with wild imaginative grandeur ; and Carl\-lc, who 

might occasionall}- be seen walking with him in his \-early 

visit to his brother in Dumfries, wrote of his poetr}-, " there

3IO Ihe Highland Monthly. 

is everywhere in it a healthy breath as of mountain breezes, 

a native manliness, veracity and geniality which is withal 

so rare just now as to be doubly, trebly precious." Striking? 

however, as are the poems just mentioned, with those of The 

Holy Cottage, My Mother's Grave, Frank Sylvan's Walk, 

to fully understand how true a poet Aird was, he required 

to be known. A keen obserxer and a passionate lover of 

nature, a walk with him was like a poem, and his conversation 

on books and authors was deeply interesting and 

instructive. As a talker he was deeply suggestive, and his 

words vi\'idly recalled the scene he wished to bring to 

remembrance. I remember a friend telling me that on one 

occasion, iti walking into Dumfries with Aird, they saw 

Carlyle standing with his brother before the house in which 

Burns died, and considering it with attention. " Let us 

leave them alone," he said, strikingly, " they are looking 

upon the shell of the Tragedy." The last time I saw him 

was in his own house. He had asked me to come over and 

see his birds, for his garden was one vast aviary. Leaving 

me in his room he went out, and from all the trees around 

they came down and settled around, and some of them were 

.so familiar that they came close to his side. On joining 

him, for he had been speaking of Burns, he said, turning to 

the river flowing almost beneath our feet and coming 

towards us rippling in streams of silver in the full light of a 

July day, " Let us never forget, however they may disfigure 

it, that it is Burns' river." Then, directing my attention to 

the churchyard opposite, he said, " Many people wonder 

that I selected this for the position of my house, for the 

sight opposite must often be dull and depressing ; but I 

never find it so. For thinking of the men lying opposite 

only brings me the consciousness of a great peace." Mr 

Aird died on April 25th, 1876. 

From the poets w^ho flourished within the period I have 

had to deal with I have selected the four men who stand 

out most prominently in the literature of the Border Land, 

after throwing aside the greater name of Scott. And no


part of this country, or of any other country, can, I think, 

shew so proud a poetic record. There are few thini^si 

indeed, more mar\-ellous than the flood of song which has 

poured o\-er it, and its unbroken continuity. Looking, 

indeed, at the long Hst of singers who crowd every vale, it 

reminds us of the companies of those birds, " blythesome and 

cumberless," so often their delight and inspiration, hanging 

and fluttering in joyful crowds over the meadows in the 

brightness of the rising day, and rivally echoing each other. 

Throughout the country, and it is, perhaps, one of the 

most striking and hopeless signs of the times, no new poets 

have appeared to replace the great names which filled our 

literature during the period I have been dealing with. The 

one great living poet must be looked upon as of the past 

generation, and of the other two who bulk so largely before 

the public, the one requires societies for his interpretation, 

and substitutes mere craft of words for power, whilst the 

other, founding upon foreign models, has substituted rhetoric 

for the natural flow of English verse, and pruriency for 

passion. For a time, also, the voice of the Forest is silent, 

but when the new poetic awakening occurs, one will leave the 

mere artifices and affectations ot sentiment and language 

and turn again for inspiration to nature, and to those 

gentler feelings, and that abiding pathos, the expression of 

which not only constitutes their chief beauty and attraction, 

but in which resides the permanency of the poetry of the 

Border Land.


SOME FURTHER CURIOSITIES OF 

GAELIC PROOF-READING. 

MOST 

readers of Gaelic must at one time or other 

have been surprised, and perhaps also not a little 

annoyed, at the numerous and often unaccountable blunders 

to be met with in our Gaelic Psalters. Some later reprints 

of the Ross-shire Psalms, originally prepared for the press 

by the learned and accomplished Dr Thomas Ross, of 

Lochbroom, are peculiarly objectionable in this respect. At 

first sight one is naturally disposed to say that these typo- 

graphical blunders arc all t( be accounted for in one way : 

the printer knew nothing of Gaelic and no one was at hand 

to correct him. But a. little consideration, and some 

knowledge of Gaelic bibliography, will shew that it is not 

so. In the faulty reprints of Ross's Psalter, the printer 

must have worked from printed " copy ;" for no publisher 

would be at the expense of transcribing into MS. a book,, 

of which an old copy could simply be handed to the printer. 

And everyone knows that an ordinary Edinburgh printer 

will, in such a case, turn out a fairly correct reprint of the 

" copy " put in his hands. It matters not what the language 

is ; if only he works from " copy " in Roman print, he may 

be trusted to reproduce it correctly. You may send to your 

printer, as the late Dr Small of the University Library did 

some years before his death, the unique copy of Ihe 

Indian Primer, printed at the Cambridge press in 1669, a 

work in a language now wholly unknown, but the printer 

will reproduce it, if he is not hurried, with an accuracy well 

nigh unerring. Nay, you may, at your own private press,, 

or with the typewriter, make up a piece of typographic 

•

Curiosities of Gaelic Proof- Readino-. 

bamboozlement, without rhyme or reason, and send it to 

the printer, with the confident assurance that he will turn 

out work which, on the whole, will be " conform to sample." 

If the printer of our fault}- Gaelic Psalters then worked 

from printed " cop}- " of a book at one time known to have 

been fairly faultless, it is not reasonable to la}- on his 

ignorance of Gaelic the blame of faults which in the new 

work are palpable and undeniable. How, then, are these 

blunders to be explained ? I think I can tell. But I shall 

do so, or at least I shall tr}- to do it, as we sa\- in the pulpit, 

by means of an illustration. 

Some \\-eeks ai;"o, in course of conversation with the 

manager of one of our great religious societies, he asked 

me to glance over the proofs of a little work in Gaelic which 

his directors were reprinting for distribution in the High- 

lands Of course, I was onl}- too glad to help, if e\cn so 

little, in their good work. When the prooi reached me the 

booklet—none else than our old friend the Mother's 

Catechism—was alread}- divided into pages, and to all 

appearance was just read}- to be printed off The printer's 

work had evidentl}- been done with a care and intelligence 

which surprised mc, for I knew that no one in the establish- 

ment, though it is one of the best in town, knew any- 

thing of Gaelic. Still there were blunders here and there, 

and some of them were so curious that the attempt to get 

at their genesis puzzled me greatl}-. In a large 

number of instances the letters r or i had taken 

the place of n. Not once or twice, but over and 

over again the same blundef turned up with per- 

plexing, ominous uniformit}-. It was altogether a 

strange enigma, till I turned to the " cop}-," one glance at 

which, however, rcadih' sohed the curious riddle. Through 

one of their agents in. Lewis the Societ}- had procured an 

old cop}' of the Catechism, which was sent to the printer 

with orders to have it reprinted. Now, this old copy had 

obviously in its da}- been printed from stereo-plates, which>

3^4 


if not much worn in the way of legitimate using, had sorely- 

suffered from rough and careless handling. The n that 

became r or i was always at the edge of the plate. It was, 

so to speak, an outsider. Here then was a clue to the key 

that solved the mystery. The unhappy letter had obviously 

lost its exposed limb much in the same way as our morning 

paper is too often maimed in its foot-line. Where the 

amputation was at the hip-joint the n looked like an i ; a 

knee-joint amputation made it in the printer's eye an r. It 

is well known that, in the olden times, stereo-plates were 

not carefully stored b}- the master printer, while also they 

were peculiarly obnoxious to his men, who never missed 

the chance of giving them a kick or a buffet. In those 

days stereo-plates were not only roughly used, but they 

sometimes disappeared altogether, like the plates of a 

reprint of Alexander Macdonald's poems, in a way that 

suggested foul play. It is otherwise nowadays. The plateroom 

at Neill & Co.'s establishment is a sight worth seeing. 

It is the strong-room of the place—a prison-like, fireproof 

apartment, arched in with solid masonry, where the stereo- 

plates are all carefully arranged and indexed, like the books 

in a great library. The n group of blunders are not, there- 

fore, very likely to occur in future reprints. 

But there is another group of misprints, the origin of 

w^hich the proof before me very aptly explains. It may be 

called the hyphen group. Daoine, dealachadh, deisciobuil, 

Trionaid, and the like, are hyphened out as da-oine, 

de-alachadh, de-isciobuil, Tri-onaid. The aspirated con- 

sonant is the special sport of this h)-phen game of ducks 

and drakes, e.g., dealac-hadh, coim-head, gleid-headh, &c. 

For this blundered use of the hyphen the old stereo-printed 

" copy " is nowise responsible. But its fons et origo can 

easily be traced in the proof before me. In stature and 

general " get up " our young Mother's Catechism closely 

resembles the grandmother. There are, however, differ- 

ences ; 

and 

these differences, though so minute as not

Cir/iositics of Gaelic Proof- Reading. 315 

readily to catch the eye, are material and significant in this 

inquiry. The modern way of folding the printer's sheet will 

not, I am told, admit of an exact equivalence of size in the 

page of the old print and the new. The t\-pc also is 

slightly lighter. Hence all the trouble of this hyphen 

group of blunders. The lines in the " cop)- " and the 

new print are not of a length cxacth- equal in both. 

Broken words at the end of the line in the new print 

must, therefore, be divided otherwise than in the " cop\-." 

The printer was thus at sea. sailing by the guidance of his 

own unaided lights, lie did his best, but had he done 

worse from the point of view of English orthography, the 

result in Gaelic would probably have been better. At any- 

rate it would have been less ridiculous to the Gaelic eye, 

and less glaringly offensive to the Gael's ideals, cultured or 

only instinctive, of natural linguistic. The skilled English 

printer quite natural!}- takes d a o i n e to be at the least a 

dissyllable. How could he know that we make it one 

syllable? As often thdn as this or a similar word came to 

be di\ided at the end of his line, he h\-phened the divided 

word in the English wa\-. Xor could he know that with us 

dh, bh, mh, and the like arc really each one letter aspirated. 

And so once more he stumbled into the bay of Gaelic 

absurdity. It is not his fault, but his misfortune. If 

instead of the oldest living language of our country he had 

to set up this booklet in Latin, or in French, or in German 

the like blunder could ne\-er occur. The work he had to 

do was " only a bit of Gaelic ;" and in this old Capital of 

Scotland, whose name, and all whose noblest associations 

are fragrant of the tongue and brave deeds of the Gael, it is 

not worth while having such a thing as a Gaelic press. 

The advanced stage of distributed pages, at which the 

proof came under my eye, necessarily makes this booklet 

come short of what otherwise it might easily have been 

made. But none the less is it a truly good and useful 

tractate. Its Gaelic will be easily understood. It is not

3i6 Ihe Ilio^hland Monthly. 

the Gaelic of the schoolmasters, but the Gaelic of the people. 

In this new form, as in the old, may it bring the light and 

peace of Christian edification into many of our people's 

homes. 

DONALD MASSON. 

LINES DEDICATED TO MRS CAMPBELL 

OF DUNSTAFFNAGE. 

C^ 

IVE me no diadem for earthly bliss 

-T Save my wean's arms about my neck,—his kiss ! 

His eyes are bluer than the deep blue sea 

And at his call my heart beats loud in me. 

He is my world ! and 

He is my Knight ! 

July 30, 1892. 

am I not his Queen ? 

my 

King ! 

my 

Paladin ! 

ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL. 

!

Neiv Books. 317 

NEW BOOKS AND EDITIONS. 

THE LITERArURE OF THE HIGHLANDS: A Hisioky of Gaelic 

Literature from 1 he Earliest Times to the Present Day. By 

ISiGEi. Macneill. Inverness: John Noble, Castle Street. i8q2. 

TiiE minister of Bedford Church, London, is evidently one of 

those Highlanders whose love for the Highland hills and the Highland 

tongue grows more intense than ever in the fogs of London, 

and amidst the cares of a laborious life. This book is the result 

of many years of recreative Celtic studies. Much of what has 

now been gathered together in a volume of 350 pages, appeared 

as separate articles in the Glasgow Herald and other publications. 

Mr Macneill has availed himself fully of the many new and even 

cross lights which have within this generation fallen, and are still 

falling, upon Celtic questions. He is too cautious to take up the 

Scoto-Pictish question, and is even undecided as to Macpherson's 

" Ossian," whether it is to be classified as a literary fraud, or a 

much-altered version from an older and ruder original. He 

believes (i) that the English is a translation from Gaelic, probably 

from a ruder version than that published in 1S07 ; {2) that Macpherson 

is neither absolutely the author, nor merely the translator 

of the poems connected with his name ; and (3) that he formed 

his original Gaelic by joining and recasting old ballads. We take 

these to be the principal propositions embodying Mr MacneiP's 

views on the Ossianic controversy as it stands now. The hook 

contains the names of about one hundred and eighty composers 

of Gaelic poetry, while not more than a third of that iiumber is 

to be found in any previous work on the subject. The trans- 

lations, in verse, of Gaelic ballads, songs, and Latin hymns of the 

€arly Celtic Church, will to English readers prove the great charm 

of the volume. Some of the translations have, of course, appeared 

before, and are by different hands. Mr Macneill's own contribu- 

tions are good and numerous. The well known " Ballad of the 

Banners " is to be found, with many variations, in almost all 

collections of old Gaelic poetry concerning the Feinn period. 

Mr Macneill, having taken verses from the diiferent versions, 

and fused them all, has thrown into his English version the very 

ring of the original. 

THE BANNERS. 

The Norla'nd King stood on the height 

And scanned the rolling sea : 

He proudly eyed his gallant ships 

That rode triumphantly.

; ; 


And then he looked where lay his camp, 

Along the rocky coast, 

And where were seen the heroes brave 

Of Lochlin's famous host. 

Then to the land he turn'd, and there 

A fierce-like hero came ; 

Above him was a flag of gold, 

That waved and shone like flame. 

" Sweet Bard," thus spoke the Norland King, 

" What banner comes in sight ? 

The valiant chief that leads the host, « 

Who is that man of might ?" 

f 

" That," said the bard, " is young MacDoL)n 

His is that banner bright 

A 

When forth the Feinn to battle go, 

He's foremost in the fight." 

# 

" Sweet bard, another comes ; 

A blood-red banner toss'd 

Above a mighty hero's head 

Who waves it o'er a host ?" 

I see 

" That banner," quoth the bard, " belongs 

To good and valiant Rayne ; 

Beneath it feet are bathed in blood 

And heads are cleft in twain." 

" Sweet bard, what banner now I see 

A leader fierce and strong 

Behind it moves with heroes brave 

Who furious round him throng ?" 

" That is the banner of Great Gaul : 

That silken shred of gold ^ 

Is first to march and last to turn, j 

And flight ne'er stained its fold." 

" Sweet bard, another now I see, A 

High o'er a host it glows, V 

Tell whether it has ever shone • 

O'er fields of slaughtered foes ?' 

" That gory flag is Cailt's," quoth he, 

" It proudly peers in sight 

It won its fame on many a field 

In fierce and bloody fight."

Neiv Books. 319 

" Sweet bard, another still I see ; 

A host it flutters o'er ; 

Like bird above the roaring surge 

That laves the storm-swept shore." 

" The Broom of Peril," quoth the bard, 

" Young Oscar's banner, see : 

Amidst the conflict of dread chiefs 

The proudest name has he." 

The banner of great Finn we raised ; 

The Sunbeam gleaming far, 

With golden spangles of renown 

From many a field of war. 

The flag was fastened to its staff 

With nine strong chains of gold. 

With nine times nine chiefs for each chain ; 

Before it foes oft rolled. 

"Redeem your pledge to me,"' said Finn ; 

" And show your deeds of might 

To Lochlin as you did before 

In many a gory fight." 

Like torrents from the mountain heights 

That roll resistless on : 

So down upon the foe we rushed. 

And brilliant victory wo;:. 

A pioneer work of wide scope is never free from a good many 

more or less trivial errors. As we think it likely that this book 

will go into a second edition, it is as well to point out some errors 

which struck us on the first hasty reading. At page 16 r, two 

poems from the Dean of Lismore's collection, which have nothing 

in common, have been strangely run into one another. Down to 

the line, 

" Than want the wealth of Cnesus," 

Finlay Roy Bovaine, or Finlay MacNab, sings the praises of Macgregor, 

after that a nameless bastard, in vaunting his own descent, 

obligingly gives almost a complete list of the fifteenth century 

Highland Clans. Isabel, Countess of Argyll, was not the wite of 

Colin, the first Earl of Argyll, but of his descendant, who died at 

Flodden. She was a daughter of that Earl of Athule who was the 

son of the Black Knight of Lome, and of the widowed Queen 

ot James the First. At page 165, Turner's and Pattison's 

mistake in regard to the authoress of the fiercely and 

pathetically unique, " Ochan, ochan uiri," Macgregor Lullaby,


is repeated. Gregor Macgregor's wife, and tlie singer 

of the Lullaby, was not a daughter of Sir Colin Campbell of 

Glenorchy, but of his cousin, Duncan Campbell of Glenlyon. 

Her husband, Gregor, was beheaded after trial, for various capital 

crimes, before the Earl of Athole, Lord Justice-Clerk, in 1570, 

and not, as stated here, in 1552. We daresay the printer is 

responsible for the following error at page 145 :— " Sir James Macdonald 

of Antrmi, who had no English, came with a magnificent 

retinue to visit James IV. of Scotland, previous to his ascending 

the throne of England "— then the question is asked, could the 

King speak Gaelic ? Of course it is James the Sixth who is 

meant, and, according to Highland forest tradition, he did speak 

Gaelic. The Venetian Ambassador certified to his masters, that 

one of the accomplishments of James the Fourth was a thorough 

knowledge of Gaelic. James the Fifth was not so well instructed 

as his father, but, if we righdy remember. Pitscottie, or one of his 

contemporaries, states that he could converse with his Highland 

subjects iij their own brogue. Queen Mary, to her loss, could 

not do so.

(The IbiciblanD nDonthlv>. 

VOL. IV. 


of Literary Brotherhood ior Scoto-Celtic 


LIST OF CONT.IBUTORS 

Tne Joilowing, among others, are to be 

Contributors :- 

Lord Aklhih.u.u (..'a.mi'Hhli,, Author uf " Records 

of Argyll.- 

Sir Henkv CcuKuiKN Malanukkw, Provo.st of 

liivcriie.ss 

Ch.\.s. 1''k.\sek-.MaCkintosh, L>,q , M. P., Author 


Present." " Invernessiana, ' &c. 

Rev Hugh Macmillan. LL.D., D D , Author of 



Ri'.v. James Camkron Lees, D.D., Minister of 

St Giles, Edinburgh, Dean of the 'I'histle and" 

Chapel Royal. 

Rev. Dr Massun, Author of '' Vestigia Celtica." 

Rev. James RdHERTSON, D.D., Superintendent of 


JosEi'H Anderson, Esq., LL.D., keeper of the 

.\lu.seum of Antiquities, Royal Institution, Edin- 

burgh. 

A. C. Cameron, LL D., Fettercairn 

John Mackintosh, Esq., LL.D. Author of the 


Andrew J. Symi.ngton, Esq , Glasgow, Editor of 

' Wordsworth." 



Rev John Maclean of Grandtully, Author of 

' BreaJalbane Place Names." 

I AMES Cr.abb Watt, Esq., Edinburgh, F.S..\. 


Kev. John CA.MPaiiLL, Minister of 'I'iroe. 

Rev. J. AL Macgregor, '•'inistcr of Farr, Sutherland. 

Rev. John M'Rury, Minister of Snizort, Skyc. 

Rev. J. S'Nci.AiR, Minister of Rannoch. 

•• 

.\L O. W ," Russia. 

Charles Innes, Esq , Sheriflf-Clerk of Ross-shire, 

(JEORGE Malcolm, Esq., Invergarry. 

Alex. Macphersos, Esq , Solicitor, Kingussie. 

Wm. M/.cK.A'i, E.sq . Solicitor, Inverness. 

K.KNNETH Macdon.ald, Esq . , Town-Clerk of 

Inverness 

)oHX Ca.mfbell, Esii., Ledaig. .-Vuthor of Gaelic 

I'oejKs 

Rev. T. SiNTON Minister of Dorrs. 

r. CoCKBURN, Esq , M.A., Royal Academy, Inver- 

Christopher T Michie, Esq., CuUen, Autnor ol 

'• It- Pr.ictice of F' restrv " " The I, arch &.C. 



PIANOFORTE PIECES. SONGS, & DANCE 

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No. 42. SEPTEMBER 1592. VOL IV. 

IGHLAND îKL 

.>C^ MONTHLY 

CONTENTS. 

A STRANGE REVENGE. Chaps. I. and II 321 

THE HOSPITAL OF INVERNESS AND DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. Chap IX. By Captain 

DorCLAS WlMBERI.EY 33^ 

SCENES OF LONG AGO. Part IV.—The Tryst o? Teith Muir 349 

THE MUIRLAND BURN. By T. S 369 

GAELIC INCANTATIONS, CHARMS,, AND BLESSINGS OF THE HEBRIDES. Part 

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CONTEN TS 

A STRANGE RKVENGi;. Thais. I. and II 321 

THE HOSPITAL OF IXM.KXISS AND DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. Chap. IX. By 

Caitain Doi ,,i. as \Vi m n kii v ^38 

SCENES OF LONG AGO. Pakt iV.-rnE Tryst of Teith Muik 349 

THE MUIRLAND BURN. By T. S 369 


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I-DITED BV 

DUNCAN CAMPBELL, Editor, "Northern Chronicle, 

AM) 


No. 42. SEPTEMBER, 1892. Vol. IV. 

A STRANGE REVENGE. 

CHAPTER L 

HOW THE LAIRD FOUGHT HIS DUEL. 

CAUGHT napping at ten o'clock in the morning, 

exactly two hours after breakfast ; weather beauti- 

ful ; sport good, and this our tenants' day among che 

grouse. Prodigious ! Why, father, I thought you were on 

the hills, busy keeping yourself beyond range of old Mac- 

pherson's gun." 

"Ah, I'm afraid age has begun to grip," replied the 

laird, throwing himself into a conversational attitude, and 

evidentl}' not unpleased at being interrupted. "I felt quite 

unequal to keeping my appointment this morning." 

" They will be awfully disappointed, with weather so- 

glorious as this." 

" Not a bit of it ; in fact, it struck me Macpherson was- 

rather pleased when I sent them off with the keeper and a 

well filled hamper on the pony's back. But are you not 

ridiculously ashamed, a young man of twenty-three, to 

remain within doors, poring over dry books—of course 

they are dry—when outdoor exercise would be the life of 

2 1


you ? My dear sir, your conduct is very inconsistent. You 

have chosen the profession of making your fellow-men 

healthy, and here you are—what ?— a semi-recluse, pale as 

a ghost—by the way, my grandfather once saw one, and 

it was black—ignoring the very wisdom which it will be 

your duty to instil into others. In truth, David, I purposed 

speaking to you seriously in this matter. As has been 

more than once observed to me lately, and, mark, I don't 

half like it, you look positively ill." 

" Nonsense, father ; you know I wish to finish with 

honours, and that study does not tend to improve the com- 

plexion. I am, however, quite well. \es, I assure you of 

that. In a few weeks I will take a complete holiday, so as 

to reach Edinburgh fresh and vigorous and fit for any 

amount of hard work. What," he exclaimed with affected 

surprise, evidently desirous of changing the topic, "are you 

actually putting your papers in order—surely a sign that 

age has indeed gripped, as you put it, when the mind begins 

to revel in the past, particularly in the documental past." 

"This is my 65th birthday—five years more, sonny, and 

the alloted span will have been reached and passed." 

" It does not follow that you are old ; nor do )ôu look 

it, father. You are hale, hearty, and vigorous." 

" Go on and complete the colloquialism, 'for your age.' 

Ha, ha, my boy." 

" Allow me to remark, as a student, if rot from experi- 

ence, that age is a relative term, relative to physical 

conditions. Subjectively age should never be admitted. 

It is an enfeebling admission. Spinsters are wise in their 

little conceit of pretending to be young, and living up to the 

notion—that's it. They become convinced that the 

registrar may be wrong, and so prolong their lives by this 

innocent imposition of youth. Age is a disease ; cure, 

ignore it." 

" You mean that some people become afraid of age, and 

succumb to its imaginary effects." 

" Precisely,"

A Stra7ige Revenge. 323 

" Perhaps there is a modicum of truth in your theory ; 

but I was not thinking of my age, my dear son, nor of the 

infirmities it threatens to bring, but of an incident in my 

early Hfe which is curiously interesting, though I have 

never told it to you or any one else. I don't know what 

has recalled it so frequently of late, but with strange 

suddenness I have found myself repeatedly dwelling upon 

this incident in detail, as if I had received or was receiving 

a warning that my life is yet to be affected by it. That, 

however, is impossible, as the other party concerned has 

been lost to my knowledge for 35 years, and ma\' be in the 

kingdom come for all I know. It's pure nonsense ; but I 

raked up the thing for curiosity's sake. Here it is. What 

sort of ink is that document written in, think you ?" 

He handed a yellow looking sheet of paper, large in 

size, and bearing faint traces of writing in prominent letters. 

Before answering, David produced a small microscope and 

examined the document with growing interest. 

" Good gracious," he at last exclaimed, " there are 

blood corpuscles here, and they have, apparently, been 

mixed in some reddish fluid which has preserved them 

wonderfully." 

" You are right, the ink used was the writer's own 

blood, chemicalised, so to speak, in a mysterious way— the 

fellow, d n him, was always dabbling in the dark arts." 

" Really blood, father ? 

" Yes. Try if you can make out, at least, the tenor of 

the document. After that I will tell you the story, which 

may interest you, seeing it concerns your late mother." 

" Ah, that indeed gives it interest, dear father." 

It was not easy to decipher the writing, owing to its 

faded condition, but ultimately it was found to read, as 

•near as might be, thus : 

"In the blood which you have spilt, I warn you that I 

will have REVENGE for this morning's work. I will wait a 

lifetime for it, but it shall come, aye sure, and when you 

least expect it— a terrible revenge. Curse you in all but 

Jife. You must live for my REVENGE after that you ; may

324 

The HigJdand Monthly. 

die. By my blood and the grave, I swear to have 

" Christopher Walsh." 

Revenge ! 

" That is terrible, father. Who was this Walsh, and 

what was the cause of the quarrel ?" 

" Ah, that is the story, the story of my first and only 

duel." 

" A duel !" 

" It surprises you, sonny ; and I don't wonder, for I 

really think nobody vvould believe that the quiet going 

laird of Stuart was such a hot-headed scapegrace in his 

young days." 

" I think I can guess the cause—this Walsh was a rivals 

will I say, for my mother's affections." 

" Well guessed—and the most inveterate and disagree- 

able wooer that was ever invented, to use a colloquialism. 

But I had better tell you the story from the beginning." 

" Pray do, though I feel as if I had read the conclusion 

and the moral of it already." 

" As you may see from that picture above your head,, 

your mother was a beautiful woman." 

" And even more beautiful in character," added David^ 

rising and contemplating the picture with some display of 

feeling. " Poor, dear mother." 

" There was not a lass to approach her in all Moray 

when first I knew Miss Jessie Macleod—second eldest in a 

family of four; all daughters. She had many admirers and 

y/ould-be husbands, foremost among them this Christopher 

Walsh, who had been sent over from Ireland to learn, 

farming, for which he was ill-fitted and less disposed. In a 

worldly way, there was not much to choose between us. 

He came of an Irish family, old and impecunious. I 

was then the second son, with little expectation of being 

called as my father's successor. But Richard, poor fellow 

met a sudden death in an English hunting field. I was 

then in Moray on the same business as Walsh—farming, 

for which I have what may be termed an hereditary fancy^ 

His death was a terrible shock—but never mind that.

A Strancre Revenue. jô 

" He was first in the field, this Walsh, and I had not the 

remotest intention of ousting him ; 

but he appeared to 

regard me with suspicion from the outset. A more jealous, 

cunning, and disagreeable man than Walsh I never met 

before nor since. Importunate in his attentions to Miss 

Macleod, and extremely disagreeable to me, we made the 

rummiest trio it is possible to have brought together, and 

circumstances (or was it fate), threw us together oftener than 

any of us desired. I admired Miss Macleod ; few could see 

her without doing that ; but I had no matrimonial inten- 

tions at the time, and having none, I did not bother myself 

even to ascertain in what relationship the pair stood 

towards each other. One day, however, an incident 

occurred which revealed that to me, and something more 

besides. 

: 

" One evening I was strolling in the wood, pondering 

over some domestic news from home, when I heard voices 

coming from a glade near by. There are circumstances in 

which one is compelled to act the eavesdropper, and this was 

one. The speakers were Walsh and Miss Macleod—the 

former pleading, the latter defiant. It was evident that a 

crisis was happening, and slip away I could not, for the 

mention of my name riveted me to the spot. 

'" For God's sake,' he was saying, 'give me at least a 

show of hope that I may yet win you. I cannot bear the 

thought of another coming before me in your estimation ; 

I have known you so long, Jessie, and loved you so deeply,' 

or something like that, you know. 

" ' There is no hope for you,' was the quiet, determined 

answer ; for Jessie had great decision about her when put 

on her mettle. 

" ' Then, you do love someone else—this cur, Stuart, 

perhaps, without a penny in the world, and no brains to 

earn one,' was Walsh's hoarse, passionate response. Regardless 

of consequences, I was about to bound forward and 

punch the fellow's head, when Jessie's passionate words 

arrested me


" ' If you mean Ronald Stuart, who is a thousand times 

a better man than you— I would even cast maidenly 

modesty to the winds and tell you, for I know it 

will cut you to the depth of your black heart—that I love 

him and not you !' 

" Following these hot and hasty words— I had never 

taken a thought of love, but they were strangely soothing 

there was a flutter of white among the trees, and I knew 

Jessie had fled. It would not have been fair to Walsh to 

have met him at that particular instant. He was a passion- 

ate fellow, and both of us might have been unhappily rash; 

so I walked home, somewhat perturbed by the scene, no 

less than by the confession a fit of passion had wrung from 

Jessie, poor, honest-hearted girl, 

" The remainder of the night I passed in serious 

reflection ; and the longer I thought, the more convinced 

was I that Jessie required my protection. Her father was 

living, but fathers are no use in these matters. 

Unscrupulous and defeated, Walsh would rejoice in blazing 

it over the country-side that Jessie had confessed her love 

for a man who was not courting her, or had any intention 

of making her his wife. Even now she would be paying 

the penalty of her weakness in tears and sorrow ; I knew 

that. There was only one course open to me— I must at 

once woo and win her ! The position was unique, was it 

not ?" 

" Very—but 3/our decision was singularly noble and wise. 

I am proud of you, father, for that decision." 

" Well, well ; many 

— 

days had not passed ere the 

country-side was ringing with the unexpected news that 

Ronald Stuart and not Christopher Walsh was Jessie's 

accepted suitor. I did not keep it a secret, you may 

depend upon that. Poor Walsh, left without a single foothold 

for retaliation—always, I knew, his first thought when 

defeated—had a hard time of it, for he was not popular 

among the people, either rich or poor, I can say that much. 

He was too sour and full of petty spites. But enough

A Strange Revenge. 327 

to say, that then and afterwards I blessed the fate that gave 

me Jessie Macleod—the bonniest and most popular girl in the 

county. To love her was so natural, that it has always been 

a problem to me why I did not fall prone at her feet before 

duty, as I then considered it, called me to her side. You 

may say what you choose about your philosophy of life, your 

coincidences and accidents, but I am a thorough believer 

in the matrimonial creed that marriages are arranged, tor 

good or for evil, by the operation of a law or an inter- 

vention, whatever you may call it, which is infinitely higher 

than mere physical predilection or chance acquaintance." 

" That time-v/orn theory, dear father, is beset with many 

difficulties. Were it true, why should it be decreed that a 

man or a woman is endowed with a love which is 

desperately hopeless, and plucks all heart out of existence 

for ever ?" 

" That exceptions prove the rule must be my answer in 

the meantime, as my story is approaching its most exciting 

chapter." 

" I was wondering where the duel could possibly come 

in, now that your rival is effectually disposed of, and you 

have carried off the fair lady." 

" It was a sudden affair, to be suie. We had gathered 

in the village one market day, half a dozen of us, all sons 

of farmers, and gay over the discussion of a social function on 

the tapis. Just as Walsh turned the corner of the Inn, we 

burst into laughter, caused not by Walsh's appearance, but 

by one of the innumerable jokes a rattling good fellow, 

named Tom Saunders, had made. Whether Walsh thought 

we were laughing at him or not I do not know— I have 

never found out to this day—but, at all events, he came 

straight on, face aflame, and struck me a skelp on the cheek 

with his open hand." 

" ' I wish to insult you,' said he. 

" Before I could recover from my astonishment, Jamie 

Reid—a prompt and singularly commonsense youth was 

Jamie—had grasped the situation.

-.2cS The HigJiland Monthly 

"'There must not be a public scandal here,' he said 

firmly, ' you two must fight it out on the quiet.' 

"'A duel —agreed,' was the unanimous response, and 

with ill grace I acquiesced. 

' And so it was arranged that we should have an 

encounter a week hence. You see, none of the fellows 

would forego the pleasure of seeing the quarrel out, and 

Friday was the only day upon which they could all muster, 

" Of course I had the choice of weapons ; 

and 

as I had 

been assaulted as well as insulted without any apparent 

rhyme or reason, I insisted upon the condition that the 

weapons I selected should not be named till the principals 

met. Walsh's second—who lived near by our farm—con- 

ceded this with a grudge ; but he knew that Walsh was a 

good revolver shot, and I took pains not to upset his 

calculations. From his residence, this fellow, called Smithson 

if I remember correctly, could hear the crack of my 

pistol as I practised each day, and the fact was duly con- 

ve\ed to Walsh. What he did not ascertain was that I 

also took very private lessons in the art of boxing, a manly 

form of self-defence and chastisement for which I had 

rather a hankering. 

" Well, the eventful morning arrived—how well I 

remember it ; a bright October da}', with the night frosts 

rapidly disappearing under the rising sun. There we were, 

in the very glade which witnessed Walsh's ignominious 

love-making—a spot to which, by the bye, he vigorously 

objected, but to which I stuck inexorably. I was 

determined, you see, that it should witness his second 

humiliation. Not a soul more were present than those 

who were cognisant of the quarrel as it happened, except 

my antagonist's second, and a young doctor he had 

thoughtfully provided for his client. On our side, we had 

it all arranged beautifully. 

"'The principals will take up their positions,' Jamie 

said with ;ruch gravity. 

"' What distance apart ?' asked the other.


" • One yard,' responded Jamie, undoing the straps of 

a case of dimensions sufficient to harbour a dozen horse 

pistols. ' My principal, being the aggrieved party, has 

choice of distance as well as of weapons,' he added. 

" ' Good heavens, that will be sheer murder,' exclaimed 

the opposing second, and he exchanged a frightened glance 

with Walsh, who was observed to turn a shade paler at the 

announcement. 

'" Do you refuse to fight ?' was Jamie's nonchalant and 

insulting retort. 

'" Certainly not—nose to nose if you like,' said Walsh 

advancing in great style, with arms akimbo. 

"At this stage I divested myself of my upper garments, 

and rolled up my shirt sleeves ; all with a coolness and 

deliberation which had a marvellous effect upon Mr Walsh, 

I assure you. Then, selecting my ground, I asked 

" ' Are you ready ?' 

" ' Not without the weapons,' said he. 

"'Advance to within one }'ard,' commanded Jamie, so 

peremptorily that Walsh at once advanced to within a 

single pace of where I was standing. 

" ' Now,' said I, ' the 

and the hand shall wipe it out' 

— 

insult was inflicted b)- the hand, 

" I never saw a human being so flabbergasted in all 

my life as Walsh was at that moment, when I began to 

dance round him, displaying all the latest tips in fist war- 

fare. At first I really thought he would positively refuse 

to fight. 

" ' Come on, you coward,' I cried. 

" That made his blood boil, for he had spunk, the fellow, 

and he came on, in amateur fashion, to receive as neat and 

effectual a chastisement as a man ever deserved in his life. 

At the fifth round he collapsed, beaten to sticks, and was 

tenderly removed between his second and the doctor. We 

stayed to drink his better health, the ' weapons' Jamie had 

unstrapped consisting of a couple of champagne. So 

ended what became known in the county as ' Stuart's duel !' 

^

1 he HigJilaiid Monthly. 

1 never saw Walsh again. It was, I believe, some weeks 

ere he recovered his good looks, and then he departed by 

the night coach for his native Ireland, leaving this interest- 

ing document behind him as my legacy." 

*' Quite a romantic scrape, father, though the wind up is 

rather prosaic. If this Walsh would now turn up, and 

insist upon his revenge, the story would be more complete, 

and enhanced fifty per cent, in interest." 

"That would, indeed, be a strange eventuality. But I 

believe more in human nature, even should he be alive, than 

that it should be capable of harbouring a youthful grudge 

for 35 long years." 

" It is possible—revenge is a feature in human character 

more enduring than love, and less forgiving." 

" Well, well, my boy, he is welcome to have his revenge 

upon an old man, if he can take it. In the meantime we 

will burn this unique document, as an emblem of the fate 

its author deserves, should he again cross my path with 

revengeful motives. 

"Where is Richard this morning?" asked the laird, 

sauntering to the window, which looked down upon a 

beautifully gardenered lawn, " I see Flora pottering among 

the flowers all alone." 

"At the Hall, I doubt not ; he seems to have taken a 

strong fancy to its new tenaiit—the Professor they call him, 

though what he is Professor of beats me to find out." 

" He is a strange creature, quite unlike his daughter. 

She appears to be rather amiable, and besides, she has 

good looks to recommend her." 

" Both in appearance and manner the Professor is a 

mystery. He is evidently determined to make friends with 

no one of our family but Richard. I hear that he is wealthy, 

even as Americans go. I cannot think what earthly object 

he could have in view to take such a fine place as the Hall^ 

seeing he keeps no company and rarely handles a gun." 

" An eccentricity of wealth, no doubt." 

After a short pause, the laird wheeled suddenly round 

and faced his son.

A Stranoe Revenge. 331 

" David, answer me one question—are you and Flora as 

friendly as you used to be ?" 

" Why, father, what a strange question ?" 

" I ask it, my son, because your manner towards 

each other has struck me lately as being more strained 

than usual, and neither o5 you look in your customary 

health. Pardon me for introducing the subject. She is 

engaged to Richard, as you know, according to her late 

father's request and with my cordial consent. I hope, my 

son, no vital mistake has been committed in that m.atter." 

" None— it is a most proper engagement." 

But the laird might probably have seen cause to suspect 

the honesty of this statement, had a groom not entered at 

the moment and summoned his master with all haste to a 

consultation over the illness of his favourite horse. When 

he was gone, David approached the window and watched 

in a sort of melanchol}- reverie the movements of Flora 

among the flower beds. 

" I must be exceedingly careful, I see," he muttered. 

" Who would have guessed the pater had suspicions of that 

kind ?" 

CHAPTER II. 

THE FAMILY SITUATION. 

" What a fool I have been ; what 

an unmitigated ass 

I have made of myself!" 

The words were addressed by David Stuart to a book 

on clinical surgery which lay open before him. He had 

returned to the library, determined more than ever to shut 

his mind entirely upon the cares and troubles that had 

arisen within his little world, and bury himself in those 

abstruse studies and problems of physical life and 

philosophy, without mastering which it would be impos- 

sible to attain eminence in the professional career which

132 

The lli^klaiid Monthly. 

lay before him. He was ambitious, but not ambitious 

beyond the brain-power he was confident in possessing, 

and which had already displayed itself in academical 

distinctions of a high order. But love will deflect and 

beguile, distract and tyrannise, in the greatest brain ever 

enclo.sed in a human skull, and, albeit good, David Stuart's 

brain was neither a Shakespeare's, a Scott's, a Burns' nor 

anybody else's in that category. And he was in love 

madly, it might be said, with the slight exaggeration to 

which people in that way are proverbially supposed to be 

by rights subjected. As a rule, to be in love is a healthy 

sign of young manhood ; but, as the laird would ask, is 

there a truer saying than that exceptions qualify every rule ? 

A greater curse can no man have than to be the victim of 

a hopeless passion. Pope wrote good sense :— " Man is 

alike the glory, jest, and riddle of the world." 

He closed the book with a snap which cleansed its 

edges of positively the last particle of dust that remained. 

For a whole page, his eyes had dutifully followed the 

words, line after line, technical or simple, while the mind 

was busy digesting the charms of Flora Macgruther. David 

had been doing that, more or less, for weeks. His features 

bore traces of the pale cast of thought in greater ratio than 

the progress of his studies, the consumption of midnight 

oil, and his half-slept condition at all justified. This could 

not go on ; and he knew it—hence the emphatic verdict of 

the opening sentence, brought in by a full jury of his 

senses, unanimously. 

What had he done? It was with his full knowledge 

consent, and approval that Flora Macgruther, the orphan 

child of one of his father's distant relations, and his dearest 

friend—the representative of a family fully more ancient 

than the Stuarts, and heiress of the Macgruther patrimony 

—had been betrothed to his elder brother, Richard. This 

was in accordance with the cherished wish of the two heads 

of families, solemnised by two death-beds, that Flora and 

Richard should wed ; and both seemed very happy that 

—

• 

A St rail oe Revcnoe. 33^ 

Providence as well as family policy had decreed the 

prospect. True, this had been formally arranged, and 

Flora had taken up her residence at the Castle, in the 

absence of David, though with his cognisance. That, how- 

ever, did not excuse his weakness in giving way to a 

passionate love for his brother's betrothed. In loyalty to 

him he should have striven against that domestic treason, 

at all hazards, if necessary even by fleeing his own home. 

Instead, he had courted temptation by living under the 

same roof, courting her company, and conspiring in the 

insane act of tearing his own heart to pieces. Old Carew 

never wrote truer couplet— 

"Then fly betimes, for only they 

Conquer love, tha^ run away," 

as David had found, and was fated still to learn, in his. 

bitter experience. 

It occurred one day as he, book in hand, wandered 

through the more secluded walks in the grounds. As he 

passed the ivy-grown, flower-scented retreat, known domes- 

tically as the hermitage, the sound of violent sobbing 

arrested his attention. Entering the place silently, he found 

Flora convulsed in tears. Then it was that the fierce love 

of this calm-nerved, outwardly composed, budding doctor^ 

overwhelmed his reason ; 

and 

he stayed when he should 

have flown, spoke when it had been better had his lips been 

stitched together like a horrible gaping wound. 

"You may not tell me." he had said, in the irresponsible 

frenzy of his love passion, " but I know well the cause of 

your grief I will tell you ! 

It is because Richard's heart 

is not true, because he prefers too often the professor's 

daughter to your company ! 

Speak 

I not correctly? lût 

oh, darling, there are truer hearts around }'ou. From the 

first hour I saw you, dear Flora, I have loved 

" 

With a cry, a deep agonised cry, she leapt to her feet at 

the words, and the condemning flash of her eyes cemented 

him to the oaken flooring, as he knelt there, the cruel 

helpless picture of love's ihame.

334 I^^^ Highland Monthly. 

'• Are you my Richard's brother ? " was all she slowly, 

wonderingly asked ; but the rebuke was eloquent enough, 

in all conscience. 

When the merciful darkness came on, he manoeuvred 

to his apartment like a haunted shadow. Since then David 

Stuart's cheeks had faded under the grinding thought of 

tainted honour, ignoble weakness, and a sense of the hopelessness 

of his passion. And the poor, innocent muchhandled 

but ill-digested books got the blame of it ; wisdom 

was saddled with the bleaching folly of love. 

Why stayed he there to encourage further catastrophe? 

For the hundredth time he asked the question, as he 

wearily gazed out of the small four-lozened window which 

pierced through the thick, weather beaten walls of the old 

castle. The reply was there, in the form of Flora. He 

would leave next week and the next ; and still that 

calamitous magnetism operated. 

At this moment he saw her walking arm-in-arm with 

the laird, laughing and chatting as every young lady in the 

country side could not resist doing in the company of such 

a merry and tricky old man. 

Flora Macgruther was not what an impartial observer 

would have called an exquisitely beautiful girl, cither in 

form or feature. Her face was somewhat too pronounced ; 

and she might with advantage have been taller and fuller 

developed at 22 ; 

but taking all there was of her collectively, 

and adding grace and charm of manner, with a decidedly 

clever, vivacious and well informed mind, she was a woman 

no man, however endowed by nature or estate, would have 

disgraced himself by wedding. Flora's eyes were decidedly 

her strong point — large hazel, vivacious orbs, intensely 

womanly in their expression, flashing with every mood of 

the soul ; fascinating by their brilliancy, their revelations, 

their honest daring. Canopying a broad, white, and 

strongly formed brow, was a great wealth of auburn hair, 

which she daily wove into the most unconventional but 

becoming constructions. Thoughtful, warm-hearted Flora,


she was queen of the Castle, and the controller of every 

heart that beat within its ancient grey walls. 

The home of the Stuarts was not much to look at in 

this, what misfortune and fate had decreed to be, the last 

generation of the family who had continued its occupancy 

for centuries. It is more picturesque to-day as a ruin, 

crumbled and ivy-grown. Antiquarians of architectural 

bias note down its few quaint features as they pass on ; but 

the romance of its decay has remained buried as surely as 

the successive lairds, who were wont make its halls ring 

with their hospitalit}'. A three-storied, square, quaint 

structure, divested of its court-yard, moat, and draw-bridge, 

it had been made— with wretched incongruit}'— to accom- 

modate itself to the new-fangled idea of an English 

mansion, while every stone and turret it possessed protested 

its association with the days of Scottish chivalry, the 

national independence—and vicissitudes. The majority of 

the Stuart acres were treated according to the rude agricul- 

ture of the 1 8th century; a few were devoted to the 

growing fashion of tree-raising ; and the remainder, in the 

unpaying form of heathery slopes, retreated inland, until 

the sea-flowing mountain torrent demarcated the southern 

limits of the property. To the north, the tide ebbed and 

flowed with lazy monotony ; eastwards ships appeared and 

disappeared on the mysterious ocean— -views beautiful 

and comprehensive, no doubt, but the aesthetic age had yet 

scarcely dawned ; scenery had not yet begun to pay ; and 

each laird pro tein was alone concerned with eking from his 

limited revenues the precarious existence of a moderate- 

going country gentleman. 

" He is in good heart to-day ; 

he 

must have got that 

bond arranged," David murmured, as the laird persisted in 

placing Flora on a swing, hung between two pines, which 

formed the sole remnants of the once sylvan glories of the 

place, and began to swing her vigorously, laughter and 

merry jest accompanying the performance. 

The laird was indeed a gay old man, boyish, even mis-

^S^ 

The Higluand Monthly 

chievous, in his pranks. Short, thick set, with shiny pale 

and grey close-cut whiskers, he would have passed—affect- 

ing, as he invariably did, a sort of seafaring costume—as a 

retired officer in His Majesty's navy, and as jolly a one to 

boot as ever roved the seas. He had likewise, if less pro- 

nounced, his serious and sensible characteristics—a dualism 

in his character which gave rise to the district saying 

about the laird's being resolved into his "elements"' 

in the form of his progeny, Mr Merryman and Mr Melan- 

choly, as they were respectively, and popularly, dubbed. 

In the meantime Mr Melancholy had resumed his clini- 

cal studies, annoyed at the scene of gaiety below, when the 

sound of horses' hoofs caught his ear. 

"?/Ir Richard," he exclaimed ; and once more he was 

concealed behind the window curtain. 

He was right. The young man who leapt from a steaming 

Highland pony, as if he had rode twenty instead of one 

poor mile, was greeted as Richard by Flora and the laird 

the former eager and blushing, the latter evidently well 

pleased at sight of the handsome }-outh nature had pro- 

vided for him. Richard ^\'as quite the antipathy of his 

brother. Short, clean shaven, with a careless, man of the 

world look about him, and a frank, almost rollicking manner 

and address, it required no philosopher to discern the reason 

of his being a favourite in the little social whirl of the 

county. Yet the more thoughtful pronounced that David^ 

with his quiet intellectual way, would have made a better 

landlord than this easy-minded, impressionable fellow, who 

won hearts much too eas}- to \-alue their worth. 

" You bad bo}-, not e\'en to tell me }-ou were going to 

spend the da}- at the Hall," Flora pouted. 

" Nor that I could not depend upon )-ou to take my 

place at the tenants' grouse drive," added the laird. 

" Thought }-ou knew, Flo ; 

upon m)- honour." 

" How was I to know, Richard, when }-ou did not tell 

me, dear? " 

—

A Strange Revenge. -^-^'j 

" Don't put a fellow in a corner, there's a good girl," 

was the only response the soft appealing tone of the remark 

elicited from Richard, who departed with his pony for the 

stables, bestowing caresses upon the dumb brute for which 

a human heart was yearning. 

Away up in the window, behind the curtain, a face grew 

paler as it watched this brief but significant episode. 

" What love ; 

and, my God, he does not love her ! 

David pitched the sage Fabricus of Hilden's clinical 

notes into the far corner of the room with a bang that rent 

the mouldy tapestry ; and, throwing himself into a chair by 

the table, he buried his head in his hands with a groan of 

despair. 

[TO BE CONTINUED.] 

" 

22

2,^S The Highland Monthly 


AND 



CHAPTER IX. 

Bailie Andrew Murray appointed Treasurer, 1751.—Thanks to Provost 

Hossack.—Instructions to new Treasurer.—Entry at end of old Account 

Book.—Andrew Murray's Charge and Discharge. -- Entry relative to 

Provost Dunbar's Mortifications. — His Accounts passed and his 

re-appointment.—Committee on bad Debts and lists thereof.—List of 

good Debts. — Items not belonging to Hospital Stock proper noted. 

Overpayment of Pensioners.— Further instructions to Treasurer.— Debts 

of Kirk Session to Hospital.—Action raised by Geo. Baillie of Mid-Leys to 

recover certain Lands and Fishing.— Increase in value of Salmon Fishing. 

— The matter compromised by Mr Baillie getting said Lands and Fishing 

on payment of £475 sterling.— Bailie A. Murray's second period of office 

up to 1769 : his Charge and Discharge.—Committee's Report.—Necessity 

for reduced expenditure on Pensions.— Attention paid by Session to 

affairs of the Hospital.—Bequest of books to Library.—Mortification by 

Donald Calder of 300 marks. 

ANEW 

Treasurer was appointed as Provost Hossack's 

successor at a meeting of Session on 27th May, 1752. 

Their choice fell on Bailie Andrew Murray, who was elected 

for only two years, and as he was at the time Treasurer for 

the Collections, or Kirk Treasurer, he was relieved of that 

duty, and George Scheviz appointed in his place. The 

office of Penalty Treasurer was distinct, and held by David 

Geddes. Bailie Murray received the whole bonds, bills, 

securities, receipts, and accounts belonging to the Hospital 

Fund from Provost Hossack on 2nd June, 1752, and the 

Session not only granted their late Treasurer a full 

discharge but they accorded him due thanks for his care 

—

The Hospital of Inverness. 

and fidelity in reducing the affairs of that Fund into so 

regular an order. 

At the same meeting " the Committee appointed to 

separate the doubtful debts from the others in order to 

make the present Treasurer's task easy reported that they 

did so accordingly, and recommended to recover the money 

from, or get Cautioners bound with such as have given the 

Session onl}' simple Bonds, and that these Cautioners be 

Co-principals." 

The accounts of Provost Hossack are the last entered in 

the old account book : on the last page of which is written 

" Inverness, 22nd April, 1766. As this book is tatter'd and 

not large enough in the paper, the Treasurer thought 

proper to lay it by as a Record, and not to insert any more 

Hospital accounts in it, but to begin a new book well bound 

and of larger paper as a second volume of the Hospital 

Records." (Signed) "Andrew Murray." 

It has been already mentioned that nearly half of the 

earlier portion of the old volume is left blank. 

Bailie Andrew Murray's Charge in his first account up 

to Candlemas, 1766, as per abstract, shows : 

Principal sums in bonds, bills, 

&c., transmitted to him ... 

Interests and rents paid 

Balance due to the Treasurer 

securities, 

The Library Fund account is only entered as a 

memorandum at the end of the account, and not included 

therein, viz., looo merks mortified by Dr P>aser for 

Librarian's salary ... ... ... ... ;^55 n i/^ 

Mortified by Dr Fraser for purchase of 

books ... ... ... ... ... 50 O o 

Interest thereof, £12% os 8d, of which £&6 

OS 8d expended on books : the balance, 

£60, for purchasing books added, making 

the latter fund ^ 1 10 60 o o 

— 

i^3322 12 

1265 9 

355 9

340 

— 

Ike Highland Monthly. 

This note is added, " The sums that make up the 

Library Fund is engrossed in the Hospital Stock." 

The above statement as to looo merks having been 

mortified by Dr Fraser for a Hbrarian's salary, and ;^50 for 

the purchase of books, is incorrect. Dr Fraser's instructions 

were that •' ' 

the Trustees were to lay out half the income 

[of the lOOO merks] "in the purchase of books and half in 

payment of a salary to the Schoolmaster as Librarian, 

unless one of the Ministers should be willing to act as 

Librarian, in which case the whole of the money was to be 

bestowed in buying books, and with regard to the other 

legacy out of his brother's estate, he directs that this money 

" shall be secured, improven, and bestowed in all respects as 

the above mentioned one thousand merks." 

His Discharge shows 

Principal sums in bonds, bills, securities, 

and debts ;^3o86 2 y% 

Money paid out in a long list of items, 

which, however, includes books bought 

for the library, salary to library keeper, 

and to bursars on the Laird of Mackintosh's 

mortification ... ... ... 1857 8 3 

A943 19 ^0% 

Note.—^The amount entered in the discharge as paid for 

books per receipts is^îii 6s ST^d, and the Librarian's 

salary £,^6 15s 8^d. 

We find the following interesting entry on the charge 

side of his accounts relative to Provost Dunbar's two 

mortifications of 2000 merks each, and the security obtained 

for them from James Roy Dunbar in or about 1704 : 

— " Bond Baillie James Roy Dunbar for a half coble River 

fishing, ^166 13s 4d ; ditto's Bond on the lands of Gallovv 

Muir, ;!f222 4s 5>3d, the fishing and lands being redeemed by 

George Baillie af Leys for ^^475, to which sum, by appointment 

of Session, the Treasurer added £2^ to make the 

principal sum amount to £ 500, which was paid into the


Bank of Scotland, the 20th April, 1762, a ^^5 per cent. 

Interest to Whitsunday, 1763, is £26 15s 7d, but afterwards 

would only give 4 per cent. The loth October, 1763, Jas. 

Houstoune, merchant, received ^100 on his Heritable Bond 

at interest from the said date. The interest paid by the 

Bank to 20th March, 1764, £\^ i8s, when Robert Munro, 

merchant, received by the Session's appointment ;^400 on 

his heritable bond to bear interest from the said 20th 

March, 1764, and the said Robert Munro paid a year's 

interest, ;(f20 to 20th March, 1765." 

The amount of principal entered in first column is ;i{^500, 

and of interest entered in second column, is £6\ 13s 7d. 

Further particulars of this transaction will be found further 

on. 

After this the only lands left to the Hospital Fund 

proper were those of Broadstone and Crotterton. 

Among the items entered in his discharge we find, piid 

to the pensioners on Hospital Fund and to particular 

objects p. receipts, ;î 121 7s 3i^d. The Agent's account, 

in defending the process raised by George Baillie of Leys 

^56 los 6d : 

and 

paid the Agent in the process against 

Arthur Robertson of Inches, for the debt due to the 

Hospital, ;^ 1 17 OS 2d ; and paid bursars on the Laird of 

Mackintosh's mortification p. receipts, ^^"94 15s lod. 

His first accounts were then examined by a Com- 

mittee, passed by the Session, and he was duly thanked. 

The Session re-appointed him as Hospital Treasurer, 22nd 

April, 1766, after granting him a discharge for his former 

accounts, and " recommended him to be diligent in recover- 

ing interest due, in order to repay him the balance of cash 

he has laid out on the necessary affairs of the Hospital." 

The Session at the same time considered a seeond 

report of the same Committee, relative to bad debts : which 

stated that there were " in their judgement a vast number 

of bad debts, amounting to -^546 los 4>^d stg., and that 

by continuing them in their books, every member 

of any other, that looks at the total will be ready to


flatter themselves that the Capital Stock is very high, 

therefore, that we may not impose on ourselves or others, 

the Committee have in a separate sheet drawn out a list of 

those debts which may be reckon'd irrecoverable, with 

which the Kirk Session may do as they in their wisdom 

shall think fit." 

The Session approved of the Report, judged these debts 

to be irrecoverable, and decided that they should not be 

included in the Treasurer's Charge, and that the list of bad 

debts should be recorded in the Kirk Session Register, and 

in the particular Register of the Hospital, " that at one 

view it may appear what losses were instained on Provost 

Dunbar's Mortificatian and others, though the Pensioners 

on Provost Dunbar's Mortification were duely and regularly 

paid from the commencement of it." 

The bad debts include a balance due by James Roy 

Dunbar for annual rents and expenses, ^42 5s 2^d ; 

a 

debt by tenants of the river fishings, £^0 i6s lod ; a debt 

by tenants on Gallow Muir, £21 6s ly^^, i^45 los 3^2d, 

;^20 15s 5^d, and ;iî 15s i|^d, making in all £\%/\, 9s i d. 

Also an Act and Bond of the Kirk Session of Inverness 

being a burden upon the weekly collections, ^64 8s od ; 

receipt for cash given to Thomas Alves (Hospital Treasurer) 

to defend a Hospital process, ;îo ; debts transmitted by 

Provost Maclean (Hospital Treasurer) to Bailie Gilbert 

Gordon, ^^"56 us 6d ; rents of weyhouse ^^14, and various 

Bonds from different persons (varying in amount from 

£(^ 3s 4d to £\-zZ), ;^203 9d ofd, and a balance of rent due 

on Broadstone and expenses £\'}^ 12s 8^d. This gives a 

total of ^^546 

I OS 4d. 

In addition to this there is mentioned, " the expense of 

a process raised by George Baillie of Leyes against the 

Hospital, though this article is not a debt properly, yet it 

is added here to show the losses on Provost Dunbar's 

Mortification £^6 los 6^d, which, added to ^184 9s i^d, 

makes the total loses on the latter ^^240 19s 7^d.

Ike Hospital of Ihverness. 343 

Besides the bad debts the Committee added a list of 

dubious debts, which were " incurred by Tacksmen who 

suffered by the encampments of General Cope and the 

Duke of Cumberland their armies," amounting to 

£\g 1 8s o^d. The Treasurer had discretion to make 

allowance for their losses. Then follows an account of the 

Hospital Funds as at 22 April 1766, which is mainly a list 

of Bonds, &c., considered good debts, the amount of 

Principal being ^^2544 i8s 8>^d, and of Interest i^822 14 8d 

as a charge against Bailie Andrew Murray on entering his 

second period of office. One of these items is another Act 

of the Kirk Session, which is dated 12 November 175 1, and 

interest thereon, amounting in all to ^54 17 4/^d. 

Instead of keeping this capital account under different 

branches, the Session draw up and append a list of items 

amounting to ;!^548 17s 93^d, " which cannot be said to 

belong properly to the poor ; 

so that after excluding this 

sum from the Capital Stock of good debts there remains 

for the benefit of the poor the interest yearly of 

;Î996 OS ii>^d." 

These items as as follows : 

The Weyhouse and Hospital Yard being 

allotted for repairing the Hospital fabrick, 

the principal sum of both ... ... £66 13 4 

The Laird of Mackintosh's Mortification 

for Bursars ... ... ... ... 166 13 4 

The money mortified for the Librarian and 

buying books for the Library ... ... 165 ii lyi 

To Five Pounds allowed to Treasurer for 

prompt payment to Pensioners, when the 

payment of interest may faill ... ... 100 O o 

To two Kirk officers sallaries at 50s per 

ann., being the interest of ... ... 50 o o 

— 

i^548 17 9; 

The Session goes on to point out that as some of the 

debtors pay no interest, and that there are various public 

burdens to be paid, besides expenses of processes now

344 


existing or which may hereafter arise, and " as the amount 

now paid to the Pensioners, ;Î02 13s 4, is far above the 

yearly return of interest, the Capital Stock must greatly 

suffer, and at last be much impaired and reduced if the 

Kirk Session does not advert to lessen the number of 

Pensioners. This remark bears heavy on the poor, the 

Committee is sorry for it, but better to turn half water 

than drown, and to add the greater weight to what is in 

this article remarked the Committee find that during the 

administration of the predecessor of the present Treasurer 

the amount of cash to yearly Pensioners was no more than 

;^44, but it amounts now to nearly three times that sum, 

by which means the Fund is at this time indebted to the 

present Treasurer ;^35 5 9 5^d." 

The Kirk Session resolved accordingly. 

As to the Act of Kirk Session, dated 12th November 

175 1, and interest due from Martinmas of that year, for the 

principal sum of £^^^ 17s 473d, the Committee were of 

opinion that as this debt was contracted for repairing the 

Churches of Inverness, the Reparation Fund should make 

payment of said sum to the Hospital Treasurer, in which 

the Session had on the date abovê mentioned declared 

themselves and their successors in office to be indebted 

to Provost Hossack, then Hospital Treasurer. This sum 

seems to have been the balance of a larger sum, principal 

and interest, advanced for repairs by a former Kirk Trea- 

surer in or about 1723. 

The Session appointed the Treasurer on Diribught to 

pay the above sum to the Hospital Treasurer out of the 

hundred pounds Scots yearly fund for repairing the 

Churches ; but apparently it was not done for a long time. 

It continued to apppear in the accounts, and was finally 

paid up with interest, 12th February, 1770.— Vide, 

Particular Report of a Commattee, 21st December, 1779. 

The Session unanimously thanked the Committee for 

their care and attention given to the Hospital affairs : 

lastly, they recommended the present Treasurer and his

The Hospital of Invc-rness. 345 

successors to keep separate and distinct accounts of the 

Poors' Fund, Mackintosh's Mortification, the Library Fund, 

and the cash drawn from the Weyhouse and Hospital yard, 

allotted for keeping the Hospital fabrick in repair, and not to 

exceed the interest of each Fund. 

The other Act of Session for the sum of ^^64 8s od, was 

for debt contracted in this way. On the translation of the 

Rc\-. \Vm. Stuart in 1 720, from the Signature or Third 

Charge to the First, there was a strong desire to have the 

latter filled by the Rev. Alex. Macbean, minister of 

Douglas, and Commissioners were appointed to prosecute 

the call. The Session voted a credit to meet part of their 

expenses, upon the strength of which £2"^ was borrowed by 

the Commissioners and others, from Wm. Mackintosh, sen. 

on a bond in 1720. In course of time this Wm. Mackintosh 

mortified £2^, to the Hospital Treasurer, and this bond 

was assigned to him in satisfaction thereof The Com- 

missioners, or some of them, and of their fellow borrowers, 

were pressed for payment of principal and interest, which 

by 1752, being still unpaid, amounted to £6\ 8s od, and, on 

the report of the Committee, the Session acknowledged 

their obligation to pay it to the Hospital Treasurer, and 

thus relieved the representatives of the Commissioners. 

This was agreed to on 28th January, 1752, and in 1766 it 

was struck off as a bad debt of the Hospital's. 

Before proceeding to the second period of Bailie Andrew 

Murray's Treasurership, some accounts may be given of the 

action raised by George Baillie of Leys. 

By the year 1756 the Hospital had for a good many 

years had some benefit from the half coble's fishing in the 

Ness, and from the lands granted by James Roy Dunbar as 

security for Provost Dunbar's mortification, though the 

rents of both were by no means regularly paid. 

The value of salmon fishings, however, had now "begun 

to increase, and Provost Hossack reported to a meeting of 

Session on 7th September, 1756, that "A gentleman from 

Aberdeen and two English gentlemen had come to town

146 


and treated with the Heritors of the river for a lease of the 

salmond fishings of the River of Ness : that the Heritors had 

concerted advantageous terms, and had gone into a con- 

tract with John Burnet, merchant in Aberdeen, and with 

and for him as Cautioner, Turner, Sheriff-Clerk of 

Aberdeen, for the space of fifteen years, to which the 

Heritors are bound, but in favour of leases " [evidentlymeant 

for lessees] "that they may give it up at the end of the 

first five years, and at three years, and years following, for 

which they are obliged to pay at the Candlemas following 

each year's fishing forty pounds sterling for each coble's 

fishing, and, likewise, to pay feu-duties, cesses and 

ministers' stipends ; and he likewise reported that care was 

taken of the town's interest. That the inhabitants and 

neighbourhood be served with salmond for family uses at 

one shilling Scots per pound for the whole fishing season* 

except that in the months of December, January, and 

February they pay eighteen pennies Scots per pound. 

And the said report having been duly considered by the 

Session as having a half coble of the river fishing, and the 

advantageous terms made for the Heritors, they approve 

thereof, and appoint the Provost, in name of the ministers 

and elders of the Kirk-Session, and in name of the 

Administrators for the Hospital Funds, to subscribe the 

said contract in their name." 

This very soon led to the Session's title to the fishing 

and lands being disputed, for it is recorded in the Session 

Minutes of 21st December, 1756, as follows:— "The 

Hospital Treasurer reported that upon the day of 

, 

a summonds of Reduction and Declarator at the 

instance of George Baillie, surgeon, the eldest son and heir 

of the deceast John Baillie, W.S., as representing Baillie 

James Roy Dunbar, for finding the Rights and Securities, 

given by the said deceast Baillie James Roy Dunbar for 

payment and satisfaction of the Mortification made by 

Provost Alex. Dunbar to the Hospital for the poor of the 

Burgh, to be satisfied and extinct by the possession of the

The IJospital oj Inverness. 347 

lands and fishint^. That the ministers and several mem- 

bers of the Kirk-Session had been cited for their interest to 

compear before the Lords of Council and Session upon 

the day of 

He further reported that he had advised with John 

Fraser, W.S., who had revised the Conveyances, &c., and 

drawn up a Memorial, and had also written a letter stating 

that George Baillie insisted in his process of Reduction, and 

desired that the Dispositions made to the Managers of the 

Hospital Funds, hail vouchers and Adjudications should be 

sent up to Edinburgh, and advised in order to support the 

claim of the Hospital : 

that 

accordingly he had sent the 

Adjudications to him. A Committee was then appointed 

to correspond with Mr John Fraser. 

After very considerable expense had been incurred in 

further proceedings, the matter was compromised, and the 

Session and Mr George Baillie came to an amicable 

agreement. 

The Minute of Kirk Session, dated i6th March, 1762, 

runs thus :— " The Session having met extraordinary upon 

the affairs of Provost Alex. Dunbar's mortification, and in 

regard there has been a very tedious Process of Reduction, 

etc., at the instance of George Baillie of Midleys, heir and 

representative of the said Alex. Dunbar, and Bailie James 

Dunbar of Dalcross, for recovering possession of the lands 

and fishing presently in the hands of the said Session, for 

payment of the annual rent of the said mortification, and as 

the Kirk Session and said George Baillie have come to an 

amicable agreement, that upon the said Mr Baillie paying 

them four hundred and seventy-five pounds sterling, they 

the said Session, shall renounce, discharge, up-give, and 

deliver, the said lands and fishings in their hands, to the 

said George Baillie, and to that effect and purpose the said 

Session have at this dyet, nominated and appointed Messrs 

Alex. Macbean, and Murdoch Mackenzie, minrs ; Provost 

William Mackintosh, Bailie James Fraser, William Macpher- 

son, George Scheviz, and Hector Scott, elders to subscribe a

34^ 


Discharge and Renunciation in their name to that pur- 

pose, and they hereby enact and hold their subscription to 

be as vaHd as if the whole elders of the Kirk Session were 

signers to the said deed." 

At the next meeting, 23rd March, the Discharge, duly 

subscribed, was laid before the Session, as also a letter from 

Mr Baillie, agreeing that, as his entry to the fishing was to 

be from Whitsunday first, he gives up one half of the rent 

of the fishing, viz., from Martinmas last to Whitsunday, but 

draws the whole land rent at Martinmas next. The Trea- 

surer was directed to transmit the papers to Mr Fraser, 

W.S., to be filled up and delivered to Mr Baillie's agent on 

receipt of payment of the £\T^ : 

and 

further, to transmit 

^25 additional, so that ;^500 might be lodged with the 

Magistrates of Edinburgh, on their security of principal and 

interest, at 4 per cent. The money, however, was lodged 

with the Bank of Scotland, at 5 per cent., for 12 months, on 

20th April, 1762 

Mr Baillie then claimed to have the right of presenta- 

tion, and being a sine qua non administrator of \0,y-, one of] 

Provost Dunbar's mortifications : 

which was admitted, and 

an extract of Session Minute to that effect granted to him. 

[to be continued.]

ON 

Scenes of Long Aoo. 349 


[all rights keskkvkd by the atthor.] 

IV. -THE TRYST OF TEITH MUIR. 

the short and mirky afternoon of a day so late in 

harvest that the rigours of winter ah-eady began to 

prevail, Mark Teviot rode homewards from the Churchyard 

of Duncairn accompanied by his friend and neighbour, the 

tacksman of Dell. 

They had been attending a funeral ; and, as their way 

lay for five or six miles in the same direction, they mounted 

and rode off together, leaving the greater part of the 

company still toasting the memory of the deceased over his 

newly closed grave. Macbride, of Dell, would, I believe, 

willingly have remained much longer to assist in those 

exhilarating obsequies, for he was a man of an easy 

disposition, and fond of all good fellowship ; 

but 

Teviot, 

who exercised considerable influence over him, insisted 

upon an instant departure. 

As the country over which they passed consisted of hard, 

flat moorland, covered with scrubby heather, they were 

enabled conveniently to bring their horses alongside of each 

other, and to engage in conversation ; albeit, Glenbeltane 

seemed to his friend more silent and absent-minded than 

usual. Times were bad, but it was not only the state of the 

markets that involved the good old man in worry and con- 

cern, causing him to lower his eyebrows and to compress 

his lips. Before the long ride to Glenbeltane comes to an 

end in these pages we shall know the whole matter and 

occasion of his anxieties. Meantime, however, we shall 

lea\-e the two to pursue their journey for some miles or two 

alone ; 

forasmuch as the moorland is monotonous, and their

350 


talk at first was intermittent, and had reference only to the 

events of the day. 

About the time of which I write a very extensive, and 

sometimes lucrative, trade in black cattle was prosecuted by 

Highland tacksmen, and, in many cases, to a much greater 

extent by those middle men or dealers who were known as 

drovers. A series of local markets were held throughout 

the North, between Beltane and Whitsunday, at which black 

cattle were brought and sold, either singly or in lots of 

various size, according to the holding on which they were 

reared. 

Tacksmen, who engaged in this trade, generally summered 

on their own land the cattle thus purchased, and 

thereafter exposed them for sale at one or other of the great 

Southern trysts held in the back end—unless, indeed, as 

frequently happened, they were sold at home to some 

drover who would buy them purely as a speculation, with 

the intention of reselling them immediately. If the drover 

could not pay for his herd in full, the cautious tacksman 

would most likely accompany him to the tryst, and the two 

would lay their heads together to promote an advantageous 

sale. Should the tryst be a good one, the tacksman got the 

balance due him willingly ; 

but should it turn out otherwise, 

as too often happened, the drover would be sure to expect 

a heavy luckpenny to help to cover his loss. I have known 

of several score pounds sterling to have been returned in 

this fashion. I believe it is a fact that very few of those 

who engaged in the cattle trade as drovers, buying at one 

market in order to sell at another, were gainers in the end. 

Nay, it must be allowed that, sooner or later, as a general 

rule, they became bankrupts. Theirs was a trade that 

partook of much of the excitement and risk of gambling. 

Fortunes were made one year only to be lost the following. 

Thus, notwithstanding the large number who used to be 

engaged in the cattle trade, and the magnitude of the trans- 

actions which sometimes took place, the drovers who died 

rich were iQ\w and far between.


The operations of the tacksmen were usually conducted 

on safer principles. They had capital, which most of the 

drovers sadly lacked. In seasons when prices fell off 

towards autumn, their loss would probably be represented 

by the value of the summer grazing, and so it was not felt 

acutely. 

This traffic gave employment to many, and circulated a 

considerable amount of money throughout the country. 

Along the great routes traversed by the drovers on their 

way South, there were stances at stated intervals, appointed 

by the authorities, where cattle and sheep could get food 

and rest for a night at fixed prices, and hostelries in con- 

nection with these stances where the drivers in charge got 

lodging and bread and cheese. The stance Vv'as an 

extensive tract of unenclosed moor, and the hostelry, a low- 

roofed establishment, consisting of two rooms and a . closet 

below, and two rooms and a closet above, with a farm 

steading attached. The lower of the two smaller apart- 

ments was known as the cellar. It was always kept locked 

until a gill or mutchkin vvâs called for by one or other of 

the noisy groups that filled the house. 

Tacksmen and extensive drovers delegated to trusted 

subordinates, called topsmen, the sole superintendence of 

their herds on the road to the tryst. These topsmen gave 

directions to the drivers whom they engaged and paid, and, 

riding hither and thither during the march with eident 

eye upon the straggling multitude, maintained a sharp and 

wary look-out in the interest of their master. They had, 

of course, to provide suitable quarters each night of the 

journey for the men and beasts temporarily under their 

charge. So great was the trust reposed in them that should 

an extraordinary opportunity occur, some topsmen, though 

without any special authority, might summarily dispose of 

the whole drove, and in lieu thereof meet their employers 

with a bundle of bank notes and a canvass bag filled with 

coin of various colour.

352 


When the droves at length drew near the place where 

the tryst would hold, the duties of the topsmen and drivers 

became very difficult. The roads within a radius of many 

miles of the scene of action being occupied by cattle, it often 

happened that a field of grass could scarcely be obtained for 

love or money. Loud and angry altercations between rival 

officials were the order of the day everywhere. And at this 

stage the owners of droves generally took the command in 

person. 

In writing of the cattle trade, I must not omit to 

mention what may be called the alliances of the road, for 

they form a very pleasing feature in the social life of the 

period. In their practical bearing they closely resemble 

those leagues of hospitium that belonged to classic times. 

I refer to that unwritten treaty, that instinctive bond of 

friendship which used to subsist among certain tacksmen, 

nay, sects of tacksmen, along the great drove roads, in con- 

sequence of which they mutually furthered each other's 

interests These alliances were recognised as a matter of 

course by their servants, and loyally observed even among 

them. However they might be entered into by parties 

originally, they frequently descended for several generations. 

Two anecdotes may be set down here as bearing upon 

this point, and then, without further parley, we must hasten 

to rejoin Mark Teviot and his companion lest they may 

reach the Gallows Knowe, and part ere we have any 

opportunity of listening to their discourse, with which I 

intend to raise the curtain upon my story. 

A lowland farmer made extensive purchases of cattle at 

a fair in the far north, with the intention of sending them 

forward immediately to a certain tryst, but unfortunately 

he had indulged, in the course of the day's bargaining, so 

freely in John Barleycorn that he became quite incapable 

of making the necessary arrangements for his herd. While 

in this plight, a tacksman from whom he had bought some 

beasts came to the rescue of the inebriated stranger. He 

got his cattle collected and sent some of his own shepherds

Scenes oj Long Ago. 353 

stage of their journey. 

Although the southerner had on this occasion been rendered 

hors de combat, perhaps owing to the combined result of 

fasting and bad drink, he was a man of excellent qualities, 

and occupied a good position in his own country. One of 

his farms was situated in the vicinity of Teith Muir, and so 

long as he lived he insisted that the droves of the Highland 

tacksman who had thus befriended him should occupy a 

field on the night previous to the tryst, free of expense. 

The other anecdote which I have in view also 

describes an act of friendship which fructified into an 

alliance of the road. 

The servants and drivers of the tacksmen already 

mentioned having disposed of their drove at the tryst were 

returning home. For many miles their way lay through 

high mountain passes, and occasionally over ridges which 

made the journey difficult and tiresome. Late in the afternoon 

of a day on which they had travelled from early morn- 

ing without seeing any human habitation, they descended 

the long southern declivity of a \-alley, and, at length, passed 

near a solitary farm house. Suddenly the}- were hailed by 

a stentorian voice, which proved to be that of the tacksman 

himself, who had been watching their approach. He 

at once took the fatigued and famishing band of travellers 

into the kitchen, where an abundant' repast had just been 

prepared for harvesters who were at work on an adjoining 

field. After enjoying the good man's hospitality, and were 

about to resume their journey, they requested to know his 

name, that they might report to their master the unexpected 

kindness which they had received at his hands. 

Whereupon the tacksman replied— " Tell your master, 

then, that it was James Dubh Macandrew Macwilliam 

More of Dalfuaran, which you visited, and who now wishes 

you a good journey." 

When they had taken their departure the mistress of the 

house, returning from a visit to the field, beheld with dismay 

the disappearance of her provision for the harvesters who 

23

,•^54 ^^^^' Hio/ilaiid Monthly. 

would soon be in. Especially was she vexed to find that 

a quantity of veal which happened to be the only cooked 

meat in the house had been consumed by the hungry 

strangers. And, in the circumstances, can we blame her 

though she reproved the really provoking hospitality of her 

husband. 

A year passed away, and one day Dalfuaran, while 

occupied in his stackyard, saw a large drove approach. As 

they came nearer the owner rode forward in advance and 

called out— " Are not you James Dubh Macandrew Mac- 

william More of Dalfuaran ?" 

" Yes, that is my name," shouted the tacksman in return, 

" but I know not who it is that so addresses me." 

" No matter," replied the other, " this is my drove which 

is now about to cross the hill, and, as I hear that you are 

an excellent judge of black cattle, I would esteem it a great 

favour if you would look through these and point out the 

best stot among them." 

James Dubh, nothing loth, did as he was requested. 

Whereupon the stranger told his drivers to put the beast 

into the Dalfuaran fold, and, turning to the wondering 

tacksman, explained to him that it had been his servants 

who had been so handsomely entertained by him the 

preceding harvest, and he now begged of him to accept that 

acknowledgment of his kindness. The rider then, after 

some expressions of mutual goodwill were enterchanged, 

rode hurriedly away, and the old tacksman went into the 

house, and calling for his wife, said, " Come, Bell, and see 

the calf you lost last year. Never after this cast a grudging 

eye after food given to strangers." 

The friendship between the tacksmen of Glenbeltane 

and Dell, whose houses were separated by only one range 

of hills, was an alliance of a more intimate sort, for at all the 

great handlings of stock on their respective farms their 

shepherds assisted each other, and scarcely a week passed 

without an interchange of hospitality between the two


households. At fairs, Mark Teviot and James Macbride 

might usually be seen together—an arrangement which was 

greatly to the benefit of the latter, inasmuch as the tacksman 

of Dell was by nature and habit ill adapted for buying 

and selling to advantage after the manner in which business 

was then transacted. He was, as we have already hinted, 

of an easy-going disposition, prone to procrastination, and 

always good humoured. When in his cups, as sometimes 

happened, he became \'ery sentimental and confidential. 

But it is right to add that, notwithstanding these 

characteristics, he possessed a temper which, when fairly 

roused, was impatient of contradiction and liable to flame 

forth into fiery bursts of short-lived passion. 

When \ôung, he had never occupied himself in any 

pursuit which might have called his energies into activity. 

He had been brought up at Drumblankit, as heir of entail to 

that property, by his uncle, who was understood to be a 

confirmed old bachelor. Macbride of Drumblankit was 

unspeakably proud of his connection with the Macbrides of 

Duncairn, who had been raised to the peerage of Scotland 

after the Restoration. Nor was this connection only an 

empty boast, for his family were next in succession to the 

line of Duncairn, in respect of both blood and land, minus 

the titles. 

Drumblankit was an exceedingly small estate, and it was 

only with difficulty that the proud old man could maintain 

an establishment corresponding to those of the neighbouring 

tacksmen. It was not in his nature to have much affection 

for anyone except Macbride of Drumblankit, but, whatever 

of this could be shared, he lavished upon James Macbride 

—not, however, so much as the person and his nephew as 

the heir to his property and prospects, which embraced the 

length and breadth of the parish of Keilangus. And if 

James received few tokens of attachment from the laird, it 

must be admitted that he made no great profession of any 

in return. From the first year of his residence at Drum- 

blankit, although falling easily into the ways of the house,

356 


he was at no pains to conceal his dislike of the stiff, 

aristocratic notions of his uncle, some of which appeared to 

be especially ridiculous in his eyes. He had, indeed, 

received an education by no means in keeping with the 

expectations which were entertained for him by his relative. 

In his own mind what pleased him most was to consider 

that he would not be compelled to work for a living like 

others less fortunate, inasmuch as the yearly proceeds of 

Drumblankit, besides paying interest on the mortgage, 

would be amply sufficient to gratify all his single tastes. 

Living in a remote glen, he could mingle only on rare 

occasions with the families of the tacksmen, so that he was 

thrown for society almost entirely upon his uncle's servants 

and the community of Millbeg, a crofting township that 

adjoined his home. Here, being heir to the property, he 

was received as a person of great consequence, each house- 

hold vying with the others in paying court to this rising 

sun. Whatever might be his position elsewhere, there was 

no question as to his importance in Millbeg. He felt this, 

and loved the place and people accordingly. When, on 

one or two occasions, he had accompanied his uncle to a 

gathering of the country notables, and on account of his 

untutored manners, had been subjected to petty insult of 

one kind or another, he solaced himself with the consideration 

that the like would never be experienced among 

the good folks of Millbeg, and, on his return to Drumblankit 

alter such rebuffs, he felt more than once inclined to leave 

it. Thus, his years ran on until he was on the wrong side 

of forty, when an event of an extraordinary nature broke 

the even tenor of his life. This was no other than his 

engagement with pretty Jessie Davidson. Her father had 

amassed considerable wealth as a dealer in black cattle. 

But poor James, head over ears in love with her good 

looks, gave her fortune scarcely a thought. Nevertheless, 

theirs was a case in which money might smooth the path 

to matrimony. Drumblankit, of itself, could by no means 

support the laird in possession, and also a married heir.

Scenes of Long Aô. 357 

Now, Jessie Davidson's tocher might have enabled them all 

to live in sufficient comfort. After she had said the word 

which made her lover happy, he immediately broached the 

subject to his uncle. Alas for his consent ! No sooner did 

Drumblankit learn how matters stood than he flew into a 

violent passion. Blaming his nephew for abusing his 

generosity extended towards him since he was in his teens, 

the old man would listen to no extenuating circumstances. 

Whatever apology James ventured to offer only seemed to 

add fuel to his wrath. " Had the House of Drumblankit, 

indeed, sunk so low that it must form an alliance with one 

whose ancestors were former henchmen in its hall ?" cried 

the incensed laird. James here thought it prudent to 

remind his relative that Jessie Davidson was not without 

means. Nay, he pointed out, that her fortune might be 

sufficient to redeem the propert}' from its hereditary 

burden. Nothing could have been more unfortunate than 

this hint ; for Drumblankit had frequently urged his 

nephew to seek the hand of a wealthy heiress, in the person 

of Miss Lucy Bisset of Castle Skillet, in Keilchrist. Her 

family were of even greater contiguity than that of Duncairn, 

while certain adventures of her uncle's on the Spanish 

Main or upon the High Seas, as others hinted, had 

abundantly filled the family purse of Castle Skillet. 

Considering the prospects of the Drumblankits, there was 

no doubt but that the heir of their hopes would be 

favourably received at Castle Skillet. I cannot restrain a 

certain feeling of sympathy for poor old Macbride who saw 

his fond plans of family aggrandisement dashed to the 

ground, or, shall I say thrown to utter confusion by the 

pretty daughter of a drover, whose father held the smallest 

croft in Millbeg. 

It is quite needless to describe the scene that took place 

at Drumblankit any further. The like domestic commotions 

have often been described before. Drumblankit 

gave his nephew^ a whole month to think the matter o\-er. 

In the event of James then persisting in his ill-starred

358 

The Highland Monthty. 

resolution, his uncle told him that he would from that day 

cease to recognise him as his relation ; that he would hold 

no manner of intercourse with him ; and that he would, in 

so far as it was in his power, disinherit him, so that he 

would succeed to none of his moveable effects. Before the 

interview terminated, the old man even condescended to 

plead with the infatuated lover. He reminded him of what 

he owed to himself and to his family. He told, with a touch 

of pathos, how it was now the sole aim of his life to see one 

who might }'et, perhaps, represent the main line of the 

house of Macbride matched with a partner of at least equal 

family. He begged James not to subject to contempt the 

position which he was already entitled to hold in the county, 

and, finally, he said that if he would, before the time 

specified, break off his ignominious engagement with the 

Davidsons, he would go with him to Castle Skillet and 

conclude negotiations which had been already entered into 

there with the view of securing for him Miss Lucy Bisset. 

James went out from his uncle with a mind unshaken 

from its purpose, either by threats or persuasion. As to 

threats, James felt comparatively safe. Drumblankit was 

strictly entailed, and the moveables referred to by the old 

man were really of small value. Then, had not he and 

Jessie Davidson solemnly covenanted to become man and 

wife, and James Macbride felt no desire to go back upon his 

word. 

After the interview with the laird, which I have so 

briefly described, he visited Jessie, and wished to have the 

matter over without delay. He fixed upon that day four 

weeks for the consummation of their espousals. 

James still cherished the hope that, once actually 

married, his uncle would relax the rigour of his indignation. 

In this he was vastly mistaken. No sooner did Drum- 

blankit learn that the banns had actually been proclaimed 

in the Church at Keilangus than he ordered his nephew to 

quit the house, and never to cross that threshold more.


The marriage having been duly celebrated, the young 

couple took up their residence with the bride's father and 

mother until something should turn up. What did happen; 

who could have anticipated ? The very next Sunday who 

should be proclaimed but Macbride of Drumblankit, as 

having a purpose of marriage with Miss Lucy Bisset of 

Castle Skillet, in the parish of Kilchrist. To be sure, no 

one could have anticipated this, far less the event which 

happened within a year of that time, when the mistress of 

Drumblankit was brought to bed with a son and heir. 

Most people laughed, and James among them as heartily as 

any. He had by this time been established as tacksman of 

Dell, and was entirely satisfied with his lot. His wife was 

thoroughly versed in the management of a pastoral farm, 

and her dairy was famed among the mistresses of Keilangus. 

Their family consisted of an only daughter, who had been 

christened Euphemia, a name which frequently occurred in 

the genealogical tree of Drumblankit. In after years 

Femie used to declare that this was the only heirloom of her 

ancestral descent. 

This, then, was the companion who now rode across 

the moor with Mark Teviot. 

" Did you observe," said he, after a long pause, " how 

very attentive the Bailie has become to my uncle of Drumblankit. 

I heard several remarking upon it to-day, and 

hinting that the illness of Duncairn has something to do 

with this friendship. Have you secured the new tack of 

Glenbeltane yet ?" 

" No," replied Teviot " but I am negotiating for it with 

his Lordship's Edinburgh agents." 

" Take my advice, good friend," returned the tacksman 

of Dell, " and hasten to have it signed, lest that might 

happen to throw the business into the hands of Bailie 

Drummond, who wants to have the place himself You 

know that he expected it when his Lordship chose to give 

it to you."

The Highland Mo7ithly. 

In those days, be it remembered, important holdings 

fell vacant only on rare occasions, for the son of the family 

in possession always succeeded to the tack as a matter of 

course, while, according to the ideas then prevalent, no one 

without land in freehold or leasehold conld carry his head 

respectably high in a countryside. Many, therefore, were 

the longing thoughts cherished for any farm which might 

be expected to come into the market, and proportionally 

great the disappointment of those who were unsuccessful in 

their application for it. 

" Well do I know," said Teviot, " that the Bailie bears 

me no good will, but Duncan, who proposed that I should 

take the place at first, will see that I am not disturbed in 

its possession. He still holds a bond over the stock for 

part of the price. But while God spares him in life, and 

I can pay the interest, that will never trouble me. Indeed, 

should the coming tryst hold up, the profits of this year 

would enable me to begin the new lease with a clear 

balance-sheet. The other day I sent forward a drove of 

over three hundred black cattle—stots and queys, all told 

and paid for, too. But my own mind tells me that you are 

right in what you say and advise ; should that evil day, 

which is not unexpected, come sudden, I might bid good- 

bye to Glenbeltane." 

Perhaps so," said Dell, " but I would not give much 

lor the Bailie's chances after all. The estates here are so 

overburdened with debt that they are likely soon to slip 

through the fingers of old Drumblankit and his spendthrift 

son. It is lucky for Lady Duncairn that she has Berrybush 

Hall in her own right, and lucky for you, Mark Teviot, to 

have been born under that hill." 

" Berrybush Hall," repeated Glenbeltane, thoughtfully, 

dwelling with evident satisfaction upon the name, " Berry- 

bush Hall, nae wonder though Duncairn likes to live there 

best. Whiles I wish that I never left it. Were the stock 

of Glenbeltane there I were a richer and happier man to- 

day, or were Duncairn and his lady in their castle here I

Scc/ies of Long Ago. 

would be safe from this loss and vexation to which I am 

exposed from these thieving M'llvaines of Anard." 

" The M'llvaines of Anard," cried James Macbride, 

angrily, " there is scarcely a holding in the county that does 

not suffer damage at their hands. The scoundrels have 

robbed me of man}^ a fat wether, and glad am I, and every 

honest man in Keilangus, to hear that one of them is likely 

to be brought to the gallows for his misdeeds. Nothing 

short of this would check them, for they are fearless alike 

of God and man." 

" Yes," said Teviot, ' Torquil ]\I'Ilvaine was caught by my 

shepherds in Corrie Goblin in the very act of sheep-stealing. 

On his house being searched there were found proofs of 

extensive robberies, not only from my stock, but also from 

half a dozen others. He is now in prison in Goyburgh 

awaiting his trial at the next Circuit Court. For a single 

act of sheep-stealing I would not have reported him to the 

Fiscal, but he and his brothers ha\-e made a regular practice 

of this thieving, and they have a special liking for the 

Glenbeltane stock, or rather, I should say, a special ill-will. 

Yet they have no just cause for enmity against me or mine. 

As you are aware, their family were removed from Corrie 

Goblin by Lord Duncairn long before I came to the country, 

on account of their evil courses. Then your uncle of 

Drumblankit, in order to show his power and independence, 

must needs give them a footing on the opposite side of the 

hill, at the shealings of Anard. The foxes will not interfere 

with any man or beast on the estate of their patron, but 

they have declared war to the knife against the property of 

Duncairn, and, as I have said, especially against Glenbeltane. 

Nae doot they'll hae a kind o' spite against me, as holding 

the land where they once had their hame. To be sure, in 

the auld cattle-lifting days they were Macindrui's close 

followers in many a foray. Since Torquil has been put in 

jail their conduct has been so disgraceful and intolerable 

that I intend lodging a formal complaint against Drum- 

blankit for harbouring a nest of vagabonds upon his estate.


Whiles I think that 1 must leave the country a'thegither on 

account of the loss and trouble to which I am subjected. I 

have repeatedly spoken to Drumblankit about the matter, 

but without effect ; and 

weel to see me harried to interfere." 

Bailie Drummond would like ower 

" Just as I said," exclaimed Macbride of Dell, " the 

Bailie is makin^y a tool of the old laird, who, as I have good 

reason to know, is stubborn, and stupid, and proud, and the 

wily Drummond well knows how to turn his mistress' 

ambition to his own advantage. But, as you say that 

sheep-stealing can be proved against Torquil, I do not 

think that they can afterwards continue to protect a family 

who, by habit and repute, are as bad as he. It would be a 

public scandal, and Drummond dare not face that. Were 

Duncairn to know that he had been backing up Drum- 

blankit in sheltering these thieves, it would go hard with 

his bailieship." 

" It is time and far more than time," continued Teviot, 

'' that the doings of these M'llvaines were properly looked 

into. Since Lammas, alone, I must have lost about a score 

of wethers. You have suffered to some extent, and one 

or two others told me to-day that they had not been 

scaithless. Of course the M'llvaine tribe could not of them- 

selves consume so much mutton, so it is supposed that they 

contrive to take part of the stock they steal to the Southern 

markets along with droves which they have in charge. 

For some months the men are pretty constantly upon the 

road as drivers. I suppose that topsmen hire them on the 

principle of setting a thief to catch a thief; and the fellows 

have never been suspected of laying a finger on a beast 

entrusted to them in this way. Since Torquil's appre- 

hension Farquhar and Gillies are supposed to be in the 

South in connection with the trysts, but I have some reason 

to know that they have been at home part of the time. 

That happened three nights ago, which convinced me that 

the dastards, my mortal foes, were at hand. Six pure-bred 

tups which I had bought at a high price in the South, were

Scenes of Long Ago. 

shot down in the Well Park. What further mischief might 

have been done, who knows, had nut the miscreants been 

interrupted in their work. It had been arranged that 

before daylight the men were to set out for Brig o' Teith 

with the cattle. Gillespie Macewen, my shepherd, rose 

before the others and went to the Well Park to fetch some 

queys which were grazing there along with the tups. On 

his way he was surprised to hear four shots fired in rapid 

succession. Creeping along close to the dike in order to 

get near the scene of action unobserved — for his heart 

misgave him that something was far wrong—he had not 

proceeded many steps when two other shots were 

fired, and he now distinctly heard the flock of sheep 

scampering from that direction. At the moment 

his dog came up with him, and rushed forward barking 

furiously, and then he could see two men running at full 

speed towards Corrie Goblin. The moon shone out full 

upon them, and he could swear that they were Farquhar 

and Gillies M'llvaine, and no other. Next day the constables 

under the direction of my good friend Mr Deputy 

Phraser, searched every house and every nook in the neigh- 

bourhood of Anard, but to no purpose. The M'llvaine 

women stoutly maintained that they had not seen their 

husbands since Michaelmas, and that they would not return 

until after the Brig o' Teith Fair, and so the matter stands. 

One trace of the spoilers was discovered near the carcasses 

of the poor sheep. This was the ramrod of a horse-pistol ; 

and, besides, we plainly discerned a footprint turned 

inwards, which without any doubt connects Gillies M'llvaine 

with the deed. The Deputy, however, hesitated not to 

issue a warrant for apprehension, inasmuch as the M'llvaines 

were never known to possess pistols, and Gillespie did not 

actually see the features of the retreating marauders, while, 

argues he, the mud being soft and deep, was liable to give 

a shape to other than their own, to such footprints as might 

be stamped on its surface. On my return, I hope to get 

the Deputy to move. Otherwise, the stock of Glenbeltane,


upon which I have spent so much care and money, will by 

and bye not take long to clip." 

" Grieved would I be to hear that news, and not I only, 

but every true man in the parish of Keilangus, for since the 

day that you set your foot among us, you have given a lift 

to many, and injured none. But here we are, come to the 

Gallows Knowe." Having halted on this summit for a few 

moments, the two riders parted, James Macbride heartily 

wished his friend a good market and a safe return home. 

The farm of Dell lay some miles up a glen that opened on 

the right, from whence issued the stream that made its way 

under the Gallows Knowe. It was said that the bodies of 

malefactors after hanging in chains for a certain time, 

used to be flung down into the gorge far below. The 

locality had, as might be supposed, an evil reputation. 

Strange sights and stranger sounds had here frequently 

terrified the lonely wayfarer. Mark Teviot lived in an age 

and in a land where none doubted the reality of such 

visitation. But he had crossed the Gallows Ford for many 

a year by night and by day and had never encountered any 

object of terror ; nor had he ever heard sounds more dis- 

agreeable than issued from a colony of owls that haunted 

the crevices of the rocks on either side of the deep ravine, 

or fluttered among the branches and overarched the water. 

Teviot saw his companion ride along the edge of this ravine 

until he was near the crofting township of Balmoris, which 

extended on both sides towards the opening of the Glen to 

which I have referred. There was no moon, but the stars 

shone brighty in the frosty skye, and the twinkling lights 

of Balmoris seemed too like stars set in the dark hillside. 

Glenbeltane slowly turned his horse to the left and 

descended the rough pass which led to the water, that here 

flowed over a broad bed of brown shingle. When he 

had reached about the middle of the ford, he became aware 

that a form was moving among the bushes on the opposite 

side, which were partially concealed by a light milky vapour. 

Teviot's first idea was that some individual had been

Scenes of Lono- Ago. 

spearinc;^ char, for at this season of the year great shoals of 

this beautiful scarlet-bellied fish came up the streams to 

spawn, so that men and boys, concealing themselves among 

the dense foliage, could readily snare them with nooses of 

horse hair by day, and spear them of clear nights still more 

readih'. A second glance convinced the Borderer that the 

being, whatever it vvas, stood of purpose in the track which 

his horse must takt, and, as he afterwards confessed, he felt 

reassured by observing that the faithful animal showed no 

signs of fear. 

When, with a slight bound, his horse stood on the dry 

ground, a voice called, "Stop, Mark Teviot, and beware! 

It is no spirit of the 

" 

dead, but a living friend who is here 

for your good ! 

" Alister INIacindrui ! Who could have looked to meet 

you here at this hour, and what danger would you warn me 

of?" exclaimed the tacksman. 

" My fathers, who lived in days passed away on the 

pleasant holms of Inverbeltane, would say that I, their 

desendant, had small cause to befriend you who, although 

a stranger and having no position by right in the land 

of my people, occupy their inheritance and mine." 

" Yes. Macindrui ! 

but who is to blame for your expatria- 

tion. Not I, and not His Lordship of Duncairn. You are 

well aware that it was while the Duncairn estates were 

managed by a government factor, that Inverbeltane was 

cleared of its old inhabitants, and did not his Lordship, as 

soon as he had the power, give you a croft at Balmoês ? " 

" A croft at Balmoses !" exclaimed Black Alister, his 

voice weird and trembling with old age and the scorn which 

he tried to express. " A croft at Balmoses ! do you sup- 

pose that a croft even in the fertile Lothians, or, what's 

more likely, within the Home farm of Duncairn, could even 

make up to me for the banks of the Baltane, where I spent 

my boyhood days, or, for the loss of every kindred, who on 

the shores of the distant Savannah will nevermore hear the 

sweet rippling waters that made music to their young ear?


Do not the very breakers of Inverbeltane wail a coronach 

for them who will return no more ? Has not my heart been 

wrung to see the wells where the maidens of the township 

warbled lightly the songs of love and sorrow, now choked 

up with rushes and water cress, and the meadow where the 

young men tossed the ball, over-run by southern sheep ? 

The hare feeds fearlessly, and the rabbit burrows where the 

walls of what was once the house of my But, enough 

of this, I came not here to blame either you or Lord Dun- 

cairn. And why should I bewail what has gone forever ? 

I came to warn you of intended evil, and do so at great 

risk, not only to my stock, but even to my person." The 

Borderer had gazed with compassion upon the aged indivi- 

dual beside him, while in language of wild pathos he gave 

utterance to the sorrows of his heart. But now, perceiving 

that Macindrui desired to impart information of serious 

moment, he leaned towards him over the saddle, in an 

attitude of patient attention. " Mark Teviot," proceeded 

Allister Macindrui, " she whom you brought to Glenbeltane 

as your wedded wife, was of my people. Did not our blood 

flow in your dead children's veins ? Though the Mac- 

brides of Duncairn got Glenbeltane, by Charter from the 

King, ours it surely was by the right and tribal law. Even 

the M'llvaines of Corrie Antler, whose hand was always 

against every man." The name seemed to bring the old 

man, as it were to himself, and in an altered an lower tone 

so low indeed, that it sometimes sank to a hoarse whisper, 

he added, " but it was of them that I came to speak to you, 

I regret that you and such as you are destined to drive the 

children of the Gael out of the country, I wish to see you 

go back to your own land and to your own people. Yet, I 

cannot forget the tie of kindship which binds us, nor can I 

forget that oftentimes under your roof is the home of my 

one sister." 

" Nay ! nay 

! 

y\lister, speak not of any kindness I and 

mine have show your sister, Janet Ishbal, She has rather 

laid us under much obligation. She works for us, and yet 

—

Scenes of Loiio; Ago. 367 

will take neither fee nor reward for her labour, unless it be 

a fleece or the like at clipping time." 

" And why should Ishbal Macindrui work for hire like 

a common servant in the house of her kin. Besides, have 

not you, Mark Teviot, built her a home of her own near the 

green alder bushes on the Beltane ? I saw Ishbal to-day 

and thought to have told her my tale that she might bear 

it to you, but I again resolved to keep it for your own ear 

alone, and between us alone let it be. Mark Teviot, you 

have sent forward to Brig o' Teith Fair the largest drove of 

cattle which you ever had upon the road at one time. \'ou 

have without doubt invested in them a great sum of money 

which you intend to bring back with you and afterwards 

invest in the bank at Abergoy. You are to set out early 

to-morrow morning alone, and you are to return very likely 

alone." 

"All you say, my good friend, is true, but what has 

your tale, as you call it, to do with my movements ? I hope 

to overtake the beasts in a day or two ; and, as for 

returning alone, I sometimes travel with the drovers and 

cattle dealers, and sometimes have no other company than 

brown Bessie that I am now riding and the good dog, 

Fellow, that I left to-day at home sorely against his will." • 

" My tale may have a very serious bearing upon your 

movements, Mark Teviot. I have got sure information, 

from one who wishes well to you and }'Ours, that the 

brothers Farquhar and Gillies M'llvaine intend, ere you 

return, to rob you of the price of these cattle in revenge 

for your having caused their brother to be arrested for 

sheep-stealing. Look to yourself, therefore. In their rage 

the MTlvaines may even go beyond robbery. You have 

heard that terrible and mysterious story of the pedlar who 

was last seen going in the direction of their haunts and 

never reappeared in the country since then. There are 

those who affirm that the Anard women have been wearing 

articles of clothinLr .\ hich he had been exposing for sale in 

Balmoses. Remember the M'llvaines are now desperate

368 Ike Highland Monthly. 

men, and have little hope of being left longer at Anard to 

be a constant source of danger and loss to their neighbours," 

" I would hope, Alister, that your informant may have 

exaggerated my danger; but no less am I deeply sensible 

of the kind interest you have shown in my welfare. Forewarned 

is to be foremared, they say, and I'll not forget 

your advice." 

" Leave not home alone. Have at least one companion 

of stout arm with you as you journey through the wild and 

solitary passes that lie between Keilangus and Brig o' 

Teith. Above all, see that you carry not the price of your 

cattle about your person. And now farewell, and as you 

value the life of him who may have saved you from spolia- 

tion, and, perhaps, from death, let no one know that Black 

Alister Macindrui spoke with you this night by the 

Gallows Ford." 

Having said this, without listening to any reply which 

Mark Teviot might desire to make, the old man turned 

awaj/, ascending a rough track which led through the 

bottom of the gorge, and would enable him to reach his 

house in Balmoses unobserved. 

The tacksman of Glenbeltane, although uncertain what 

amount of importance should be attached to the wild story 

of Macindrui, resolved to take wise precautions against 

whatever danger might be impending from his cunning and 

malicious enemies. So on reaching home, he arranged that 

Gillespie should accompany him to the tryst of Teithmuir, 

and occupy the same room with him at every hostelry 

where they would have to pass a night. 

[to be continued]

The MuiiHand Btirn. 369 

THE MUIRLAND BURN. 

FULL 

— 

meekly in the morning light 

The smiling blue of day 

The Muirland Burn, with many's a turn, 

Goes purling on its way. 

Benign Aurora, peeping down. 

Delights to greet thy tide, 

And the lambs at play are never so gay 

As dancing by thy side. 

The daisy and the heather-bell. 

— 

Neglectful of the dew, 

Have breathed a vow, tho' I can't tell how, 

To live and die for \'ou. 

But none could help observing them, 

Bedecked in colours new. 

As, over the sod, they beckon and nod, 

And set their cap at you. 

The heather-bell bespoke the lark 

To sing a song above, 

And hired the bee with a little fee 

To whisper of her love. 

But the daisy heard thy rippling voice. 

And bowed her pearly crest. 

And, perfectly still, she listened her fill 

To the tune that pleased her best. 

That rhyme of silver melody, 

I heard a milkmaid say, 

Was the fairies' croon of an afternoon 

In ages passed away, 

24

370 


I think it was a strain of love 

The angel powers did send, 

To brighten the mood of my solitude, 

Like the accent of a friend. 

It mingled with the words of home 

With home's simplicity 

— 

— 

And thrilled its part in the feeling heart. 

That laughed and wept in me. 

It mingled in the evening hymn, 

And lulled me into sleep, 

With the breeze's sigh thro' the greenwood nigh. 

And the bleating of the sheep. 

So, sometimes in a dreaming hour. 

Though long we bade adieu, 

The Muirland Burn, with ma.ny's a turn. 

Comes purling on my view. 

T. S.

Gaelic Incantations. 3^1 



I 


WILL next briefly refer to the charm called 

FATH FITHE. 

In Vol. VIII., p. 127, there is a brief description of the 

Fath Fithe. As the text will show, this charm is somewhat 

comprehensive in its character : 

Pâ' fithe cuiream ort 

Bho chu, bho chat, 

Bho bho, bho each, 

Bho dhuine, bho bhean, 

Bho ghille, bho nighean, 

'S bho leanabh beag, 

Gus an tig mise rithisd . 

An ainm an Athar, a' Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh. 

Translated 

— 

A magic cloud I put on thee, 

From dog, from cat, 

From cow, from horse, 

From man, from woman. 

From young man, from maiden, 

And from little child. 

Till I again return. 

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

The Fath Fithe, according to tradition, was a favourite 

charm with hunters, for it enabled them to make physical 

objects invisible to the ordinary eye. They could come 

from the forest laden with the spoils of the chase, but their 

enemies would see them not. In more recent times it was 

believed that the smugglers protected themselves in this 

way from the most vigilant of Excise officers. It is to be 

feared, however, that the art has been lost ! The expres- 

—

'i^']! The Ilig/iland Monthly. 

sion Fat]i FitJie is now seldom heard ; but there can be no 

doubt that in former times it was considered a protective 

charm of some kind. In the verses from the Kenlochewe 

Bard, ah-eady referred to, the word is used, but there 

obviously in the sense of rosad as previously described. 

The power to bring about darkness is an old belief among 

the Celts, and an interesting instance of a charm used in 

this connection is given in the Book of Lismore. 

In the life of Senan (Book of Lismore) we are told of a 

wizard (Druidh) who went to the King (Mac Tail) saying 

he would make a charm (sen) to Senan the Saint, and that 

thereby he would either die or leave the land. The King 

was glad with this ; and the wizard went to Senan and 

" sang incantations against him and said ' leave the land 

with this spell.'" The saint replied, ''I will resist thy 

spell ;" and he prevailed. Then the wizard " brought dark- 

ness over the sun, so that no one in the island could see his 

comrade's face. Senan however charmed the darkness. 

In that case we have the wizard using his charm or 

Sen, and the superior powers of the Church getting the 

better of the powers of darkness. Similarly in the same 

work we are told of a cloud of darkness enveloping the 

mother of St Findchua from her pursuers, and thus saving 

herself and the saint, who v.-as not then born, from the 

rapacity of an enemy. 

Again, the Tuath de Dannan were credited with the 

power of raising storms and causing darkness. When the 

invading Milesians reached Ireland, the Tuath de Dannan, 

by means of sorcery, enveloped the Island in mist, and hid 

it from their view. A sorcerer among the Milesians 

directed them how to act, and they eventually landed. 

The Fath Fithc is believed to be equivalent to the 

modern Irish Feth Fia or the FaetJi Fiada of old Irish. 

The Hymn of St Patrick previously referred to is called 

'' Faeth Fiada," or, to use the language of the original text, 

" 7 Faeth Fiada ahainm" (and Faeth Fiada is its name). 

In modern Irish it is called " Luireach Phadruig," or, St

Gaelic Incantations. 

Patrick's Corslet ; but anciently it was called by this name 

and the name Fiada or Fefh-fiada, as we gather from the 

following passage in the Tripartite Life of the Saint : 

"Tunc vir sunctus composuit ilium Hymnum patrio 

idiomate conscriptum, qui vulgo Fetli-Fiadha, et ab aliis 

Lorica Patricii appellatur ; et in summo abinde inter 

Hibernos habetur prcetio ; quia creditur, et multa experientia 

probatur, pie recitantes ab imminentibus animae et 

corporis praservâre periculis." 

Translated 

— 

"Then the Holy Man composed that Hymn in his 

native speech, which is commonly called FetJi-fiadha, and 

by others the Breast-plate or Lorica of Patrick and ; 

held from thenceforward among the Irish in the highest 

regard ; because it is believed—and proved by much experience—to 

preserve those that piously recite it from dangers 

that threaten them in soul and body. 

We have already seen, when dealing with the Airne 

— 

it is 

Moire, how the hymn was regarded as a protective charm ; 

and we are told that Patrick, when ambuscades were set 

against him by Loegaire, sang it in order to shield and 

guard himself and his cleric?. Patrick and his followers 

on singing this hymn seemed to the ambuscaders to be 

wild deer with a fawn after them. 

I have already stated that the FatJi Fithe charm is 

extensive in its scope. I subjoin another, equally exten- 

sive, from the Sister Isle, kindly sent me by Professor 

O'Growney : 

Ortha a chuir Colum Cille, le toil Righ Neimhe, 

Air bheim suil, air urchoid ^ chnoic, air sealg agus ae ; 

Leigheas o neamh air an m-ball dubh ta in aice an chleibh. 

Air an leac le a m-bogthar na h-easbaidh ; 

Le grasa Mhic Mhuire, a's le miorbhuille Mhic De 

Leigheas na colainne, 's an anal a bheith reidh. 

1 This word, although not in common use in Gaelic, is used by Mac- 

Mhaighstir Alastair. He has a song entitled "Tinneas na h-urchaid," commencing 

" Gu bheil tinneas na h-urchaid 

Air feadh Airdramurchann,"

374 

— 

; 

The Rightand Monthly. 

Translated 

A prayer which Columcille gave, by the will of the King of 

Heaven, 

Against the- Evil Eye, against hurt from the Fairies, against 

spleen and liver 

A cure from Heaven for the black spot near the breast, 

For the flag (?) by which the Evil (King's Evil) is softened, 

Through the favour of the Son of Mary, and the miracle of 

the Son of God 

A cure for the body and for smoothness of breathing. 

THE FAIRIES. 

" Who were the Fairies " is a question which I need not 

discuss, but the followitig genealogy of them is interesting 

Fairies log.— 

Cha 'n ann do Shiol Adhamh sinn, 

'S cha 'n e Abraham ar n-athair ; 

Ach tha sinn de mhuinntir an Athar Uaibhrich, 

Chaidh fhuadach a mach a Flaitheas. 

Translated 

We are not of the seed of Adam, 

And Abraham is not our Progenitor ; 

But we are the offspring of the Haughty Father, 

Who out of Paradise was driven. 

I need not here dilate on the wondrous feats attributed 

to the Fairies. People blessed themselves, and prayed the 

Almighty to protect them from Fairies, but I have not 

come across any Anti-Fairy charms in the Highlands. 

Here is one from the West of Ireland : 

— 

Agaijist Fairy Influence. 

Gabhamuid le n-a g-coimirce, 

A's diultamuid da n-imirte, 

A g-cul linn 's a n-aghaidh uainn, 

As ucht phaise 's bais ar Slanuightheora. 

Translated 

We accept their protection, 

We repudiate their (evil) tricks, 

(May) their back (be) to us, their face from us 

Through merit of the passion and death of our 

Saviour, 

:

Gaelic hicantahons. 375 

Mr Moore in his Folklore of the Isle of Man gives the 

following Manx Charm against the Fairies :— 

A Charm against the Fairies. 

Shee Yee as shee ghooinney, 

Shee Yee er Columb-Killey 

Er dagh uinnag, er dagh ghorrys, 

Er dagh howl joaill stiagh yn Re-hollys. 

Er kiare corneillyn y thie 

Er y voayl ta mee my Ihie 

As shee Yee orrym-pene. 

Translated 

— 

Peace of God and peace of man, 

Peace of God on Columb-Cille, 

On each window and each door, 

On every hole admitting moonlight. 

On the four corners of the house. 

On the place of my rest, 

And peace of God on myself 

I now pass to the class of charms intended to effect 

cures, and commence with 

EOLAS NA RUAIDHE, OR RASH. 

The RuaidJie or Rash was a swelling of the breast of a 

woman or the udder of an animal, causing retention of the 

milk, and consequent pain. There are various charms for 

the cure of this ailment. I will begin with a version given 

by an Uist crofter. The formula was thus :—The performer, 

in the first place, got a small round stone and rubbed the 

swelling with the side of it which was next the ground. At 

the same time he repeated the following incantation 

Seall Thusa Chriosd 

A' chio ch so 's i air at ; 

Innis sin do Mhoire, 

O'n 's i rug am Mac. 

Ruaidhe eadar atan, 

Fag an leabaidh so ; 

Thoir leabaidh eile ort; 

Cuir am bainne as a' chich, 

Cuir an Ruaidhe anns a' chloich, 

'S cuir a' chloich anns an lar, 

—

37^ 

Translated 

— 

— ; ; — 


Behold Thou, O Christ, 

This breast and it [so] swollen ; 

Tell that to Mary -- 

'Twas she who bore the Son. 

Rash between swellings, 

Leave this bed ; 

Betake thyself to another bed ; 

Send the milk from the breast 

Transmit the Rash to the stone, 

And (through) the stone to the ground. 

The idea here intended to be conveyed was that by 

means of the incantation the disease was transmitted from 

the breast to the stone, and from the stone to the ground. 

In gypsy sorcery similar examples may be found where 

pain is sent into its medical affinity, and so on, back to the 

source from which it came. 

One of the modes of curing the Ruaidhe in cattle was 

thus :—Get a stone from a March-burn 

swollen teat with the same, and say these words : 

A Chriosda leigheis am mart. 

Leigheis fhein i Mhoire— 

'S tu rug am Mac. 

Gu'm a slan an t-iigh ; 

Translated 

'S gu'm a crion an t-at 

'S a Ruaidhe mhor atar iotar, 

Fag an t-aite so 's tair as ! 

O Christ, heal the cow. 

Heal thou it, O Mary 

Thou broughtst forth the Son. 

May the udder be healed ; 

May the swelling cease 

And thou great swollen dry Rash, 

Leave this place, and be off. 

; 

— 

allt crick—rub the 

Another method for curing the Ruaidhe in a cow, was 

thus :— 

A burning peat was taken and held under the udder ; 

the teats were squeezed in succession, and the milk allowed 

to drop until the peat was partially extinguished. The 

smoke caused by the milk and the burning peat was con-

Gaelic Incantations. T^yj 

sidered medicinal. As the cow was being thus milked, the 

following incantation was saiu : 

Translated 

— 

— 

Fhaic thu, Chriosd, a' chioch 

Gur a h-i tha goirt ; 

Innis sin do Alhoire mhin, 

Bho'n 'si-fhein a rug am Mac. 

Gu'm bu slan a' chioch, 

Gu'm bu crion an t-at. 

Teich ! 

teich 

! a Ruaidhe ! 

— — ! — 

Christ behold the teat 

In which there is [great] pain 

Tell that to gentle Mary, 

For she brought forth the Son 

Whole may the teat be, 

Let the Rash depart 

Rash ! 

away 

! 

away 

! 

The following is an Irish charm for the cure of the 

Rash, given me by Professor O'Growney : 

Ruadh ramhar cijl connaideach. 

D' iarr Colm Cille de Chathach : 

Cia'rd a leisfas an Ruadh ? 

Nimh a chuir air g-cid agus an t-at a chur air lar, 

Gan de bhrigh 's an Ruadh, an oiread a bheith slan. 

THE TOOTHACHE. 

I will now briefly deal with the toothache charm. The 

formula seems to be the same, or substantially the same in 

all Christian countries, and has reference to St Peter sitting 

on a marble stone suffering from toothache, and the Lord 

passing by and healing him. The words of this charm are 

met with all over the Highlands, but strange to say 

they are rarely met with in Gaelic. This is probably 

owing to the fact that few old Highlanders can write 

Gaelic. Even in the districts where English is practically 

unknown to the old people, one gets this charm 

in English. In Badenoch it is called Toisgeal,2LX\il formerly 

it was only known to a ie.\\ who professed to cure toothache. 

The words were written on a small piece of paper, the 

paper folded up and handed to the sufferer, who was not

378 


on any account to open it up or see what was written 

thereon. It was then sewn up in a part of one's under- 

garments, and worn till it crumbled away. So long as the 

paper lasted the person enjoyed immunity from toothache 

If the sufferer had the curiosity to read the formula con- 

trary to the direction of the learned " Charmer," then the 

Toisgeal lost its virtue and the toothache might at any 

moment return ! 

As already stated, the formula is generally met with in 

English. Here is a Gaelic version from the Island of 

Barra : 

— 

Shuidh Peadar air Cloich Mharbail. Thainig Criosda 

ga ionnsaidh 's dh'fhoighnich e dheth " de 'tha 'cur ort a 

Pheadair ? " Labhair Peadar " Mo Thighearna 's mo Dhia, 

tha 'n Deideadh." Fhreagair losa 's thuirt e, " Eirich suas 

a Pheadair 's bithidh tu slan ; 's cha tusa sin a mhain ach 

duine sam bith a labhras na briathraibh so na m' ainmsa 

cha'n fhairich e ciod e 'n Deideadh." 

The following is a copy of the English version of the 

eolas copied in South Uist. It may be taken as a 

rough translation of the above, or vice versa : 

Peter sat upon a marble stone weeping. Christ came 

by and asked, " What ails thee.'' Peter answered and said, 

" My Lord and my God, my tooth, toothache ;" ^ and the 

Lord said unto hini, " Rise up, Peter—not for you alone, 

but all who will carry these lines in my name shall never 

have the toothache. In the name of the Father and the 

Son and the Holy Ghost." 

A Latin verson of the above, from the Maclagan MS., 

was published by Mr Macbain in the Highland Monthly 

(Vol. III., 292). As it is substantially the same as the 

above I annex it here : 

— 

" Petrus sedit ex marmorum lapis Dominus Noster 

venit et Dixit petrus quid te gravit, petrus respondit 

dominus Mens Coput et Dentes meos vexant me Dominus 

Noster Dicat surge petras salva tu non solum tu sed etiam 

omnia qui teneant haec mea dicta per virtutem De haec 

verbis Dominus Noster et in ejus Nomine Dice tuus pestis 

non moleste te Detri Minius Pratrus." 

^ z.e., My tooth is aching. 

— 

!


Here is an Irish version of the toothache charm, or, as 

it is called, Ortha an dtaidh-fhiacal 

— 

Chuaidh Peadar go sruth for-Ian. 

Thainic Chriost os a chionn, 

" Cia'rd sin ort, a Pheadair ?" 

m' fhiacail ata tinn." 

"Eiiigh, a Pheadair, a's bi slan, 

Ni tusa acht feara P'ail." 

" O ! 

Aon duine a gheillfeas no a deanfadh an ortha, 

Ni beidheadh i n-diaigh na h-ortha diaidh in aon deud 

amhain. 

An ainm an Athar agus an Mhic agus an Spioraid 

Naoimh. Amen. 

Translated 

— 

— 

: — 

St Peter went to a full running stream ; 

Christ went to meet him and said, 

" What ails thee, Peter ?" 

" O ! my tooth doth ache.'' 

"Arise, Peter, and be well 

Not you alone, but also the men of Innisfail." 

Any believing in or saying this incantation 

Will not have toothache thereafter in even one tooth. 

In nomine patris, &c. Amen. 

I lately noted, from the recitation of an Eigg crofter, a 

toothache charm, which has a certain resemblance to the 

Irish one. It is as follows : 

Translated 

— 

Labhair Calum-Cille nan Orth' 

Ann an ordag dheas mo Righ 

Air chnuimh, air dheigh, air dheideadh 

Air dheideadh a' ghalar-chinn. 

Labhair Peadair ri Seumas 

" Cha choisich, cha mharcaich, 

Cha teid mi 

Leis an deideadh a tha m' cheann." 

Labhair Criosda ris na h-Ostail 

" Cha bhi 'n deideadh is an Rann-s' 

'S an aona cheann." 

Columba of the Incantations 

Spoke in the right thumb of my King 

On worm, on ache, on toothache— 

—

— — 


On toothache, the head-disease. 

Peter spoke unto James 

" I'll walk not, I'll ride not, 

I'll move not 

Through the toothache in my head." 

Jesus said to the Apostles 

" Toothache and this Incantation 

Together won't exist in the same head." 

Mr Moore does not give a Manx version of the charm. 

He, however, gives the following fromula, which was to be 

used in the same manner as the Toisgeal 

Saint Peter was ordained a saint 

Standing on a marble stone, 

Jesus came to him alone 

And saith unto him, " Peter, what makes thee shake ?" 

Peter replied, '' My Lord and Master, it is the tooth- 

ache." Jesus said, " Rise up and be healed, and keep these 

words for my sake, and thou shall never more be troubled 

with toothache." 

At the base of Ben Marival, in North Uist, there is a 

well, locally known by the name of Tobar-Chuithairidh, 

which is believed to cure toothache. Sufferers from this 

ailment still frequent the lonely well, and, according to 

ancient custom, leave offerings. On bended knees they 

drink the water, repeating the following words : 

" Tha mise a' cromadh sios, an ainm an Athar, a' Mhic, 

's an Spioraid Naoimh ; 's a dol a dh' fhagail cradh mo 

chinn anns an tobar, nach traogh a chaoidh. Amen." 

Translated 

— — 

I bend down, in the name of the Father, Son, and Iloly 

Ghost ; and I am to leave the torments of my head in the 

well, which never will run dry." 

Certain wells in Knoydart are believed to possess 

toothache cures. Pilgrimages are made to them, and offer- 

ings left at them, as in the case of Tobar-Chuithairidh. 

I conclude with a Shetlandic toothache charm. In its 

style it bears a striking resemblance to one of the rash 

charms above given. The charm in the Shetlandic dialect 

is as follows ; 

— 

: 

— 

—

— ! ! — 

Gaelic Incantations. 3S1 

A Finn came ow'r from Norraway 

Fir ta pit toot'ache away 

Oot o' da flesh an' oot o' da bane, 

Oot o' da sinew an' oot o' da skane, 

Oot o' da skane an' into da stane, 

An' dere may du remain ! 

An' dere may du remain ! 

An' dere may du remain ! ! 

At page 124 of Vol. VIII. of the Transactions of the 

Gaelic Society, I gave an account of 

EOLAS NA SEILG, OR THE SPLEEN, 

as I wrote it down from the recital of a Lochbroom woman 

some 25 years ago. I will now lay before you the story of 

this Eolas, as I recently heard it in the Outer Hebrides : 

" One night," said my informant, " Jesus and the Blessed 

Virgin Mary came to a house among the hills to escape per- 

secution. The good-wife gave them food. Darkness was 

coming on, and the Virgin Mary proposed that they should 

stay there all night. The good-wife (Bean-an-tighe) 

replied that she could not give them shelter as her husband 

was inhospitable, and would be angry if he found any 

strangers under his roof. The Blessed Virgin asked to be 

favoured with any quiet corner till morning,andthe good-wife 

consented. Jesus and the Virgin (losa 's Moire 'Mhathair) 

were permitted to lie on some chaff which was in a corner, 

and the good-wife put some covering over them. The 

good-man came home at night-fall, partook of food, and 

went to bed. During the night he was seized with a 

violent pain in his side. His life being despaired of by his 

wife, she called in the assistance of the visitors (and as my 

informant pathetically added " bii mhatJi iad a bhi ann"), 

Christ then came to the assistance of the sick man, say- 

ing " Leighisidh mise thu — 's e greim na seilge 'th' ort." 

(" I will heal you— you suffer from the stitch or spleen or 

' bowel seizure' "). Jesus then said : 

Bean shoirbh, 

'S fear doirbh ; 

Criosd 'na laidhe air a' chalg, 

Caisgidh e dhiot an t-sealg. 

—


Translated 

— 

— 

— 

A gentle wife, 

A churlish husband ; 

Christ lying on the awns [of corn], 

That will stop the sealg [colic or spleen]. 

Another Uist version is 

Bean fhial, 's duine borb, 

Criosd 'na laidhe air a' chalg 

Eirich a's leighis an t-sealg. 

Translated 

— — 

— 

A hospitable wife, a churlish man ; 

Christ lying on the awns 

Arise and cure the spleen. 

The version of the story given in Vol. VIII. is substantially 

the same as the one now narrated. It is noteworthy, 

however, that in Protestant Lochbroom there is 

whilst the version 

no mention of the Virgin Mary ; 

obtained in Catholic Uist assigns to her a prominent place. 

The Lochbroom version of the formula was as follows — 

: 

An ainm an Athar, a' Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh ! 

Duine fiat a muigh, 

Bean fhial a stigh, 

Criosd 'na laidhe air calg a' hn 

'S math an leigheas air an t-seilg sin. 

Translated 

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, 

A fierce, churlish man without, 

A hospitable wife within, 

Christ a-lying on the beard of flax 

That is a good cure for the spleen. 

It will be noted that one of the Irish charms above 

given deals with the sealg. There is also a charm for the 

" Stitch " in a MS. of the nth century, given in Cockaynes 

Leechdam and wort-cunning of early England :- - 

With gestice. 

" Writh Cristes mael and sing, thriwe thaer on this and 

pater noster Longinus miles lancea ponxit dominum et 

restitit sanguis et recessit dolor. For a stitch. Write a 

cross of Christ and sing over the place this thrice.'' 

CASGADH FOLA, OR STAUNCHING BLOOD. 

The belief prevailed that some of the old Highlanders 

could staunch blood. Horse gelders were supposed to be

— 

Gaelic Incantations. 38^ 

particularly skilled in this art ; but I failed to get any 

specimen of the Incantations in Uist. 

Here is an Irish charm to staunch blood, received from 

Professor O'Grovvney. It is called OrtJia CoisgtJie Fola. I 

have not previously found a Gaelic incantation with Latin 

words : 

Is beannuighthe ainm an fhir a sgoilt croidhe an laoigh 

ghil ; 

Is maith an nidh thainic as, fuil, fion, agus fioruisge. 

An ainm a n-Athar, stop an fhuil ; Sanctis taraidh da 

chobhair. 

Spiritus Sancte, stop an fuil ta ag teacht gu treun. 

Translated 

— 

— 

Blessed is the name of him who split the heart of the 

White Lamb ; 

Precious is that which came therefrom—blood, wine, and 

pure water. 

In the name of the Father, stop the blood ; Saints, lend 

thine aid ; 

Holy Spirit, stop the blood that is spurting so strongly. 

Our Manx cousins had several such incantations, and 

one of them may as a specimen be quoted here from Mr 

Moore's book : 

Pishag dy Sthappal Roie Foalley. 

Three deiney chranee haink voish y Raue—Chreest, 

Peddyr, as Paul. Va Creest y Chrosh, yn uill echey shilley, 

as Moirrey er ny glioonyn yn ec liorish. Ghow for jeu yn 

er-obbee ayns e lau yesh, as hayrn Creest crosh ^ harrish 

eh. Three mraane aegey haink harrish yn ushtey, dooyrt 

unnane jeu, "seose" ; dooyrt nane elley, " fuirree" ; dooyrt 

yn trass-unnane sthappyms fuill dooinney ny ben. Mish 

dy ghra eh, as Chreest dy yannoo eh, ayns ennym yn Ayr, 

as y Vac as y spyrryd Noo." 

Translated 

Charm to Stop Blood. 

"Three godly men came from Rome — Christ, Peter, 

and Paul. Christ was on the cross, his blood flowing, and 

Mary on her knees close by. One took the enchanted one 

in his right hand, and Christ drew a cross over him. 

Three young women came over the water, one of them 

^ On repeating " crosh " you are to draw across with the thumb of the right 

hand over the bleedint; part.

384 

— 


said ' 

up,' another one said ' stay,' and the third one said, 

' 

I will stop the blood of man or woman." Me to say it, 

and Christ to do it, in the name of the Father, and the Son, 

and the Holy Ghost." 

Another charm to staunch blood among the Manx was 

in Latin, and was as follows : 

— 

A Charm to Stop Bleeding. 

Sanguis mane in te, 

Sicut Christus in se ; 

Sanguis mane in tua vena, 

Sicut Christus in sua pcena ; 

Sanguis mane fixus, 

Sicut erat Christus, 

Quando fuit crucifixus. 

Our toothache Toisgeal was on no account to be seen 

by the sufferer. Similarly, the above was not to be trans- 

lated, as translation deprived it of its efficacy. 

BIIE OF A MAD DOG. 

The bite of a mad dog was naturally much dreaded. 

Indeed the bite of any dog was. The mad dog was invariably 

destroyed. In the case of another dog, it sometimes 

sufficed if water was put on the animal's teeth, and the 

wound washed with this water, or loc-shlamte (Health- 

Restorer) as it was called. Our Irish cousins dealt with 

the case of the mad dog in their ancient laws. In the 

Book of Aicill we are told "There is no benefit in proclaiming 

it (the mad dog cu con/aid) unless it be killed ; nor 

though it be killed unless it be burned ; nor though it be 

burned unless its ashes have been cast into a stream." 

The matter was also dealt with in the Irish charms. 

Here is a specimen used in West Connaught : 

Translated 

— 

Coisgim cu air mire, 

Cuirim nimh air neimb-bhrigh, 

'Se dubhairt Patraic uair no tri, 

In nomine Patris, et filii, &c. 

I check a mad dog, 

I make the poison of no effect, 

Saith St Patrick twice or thrice, 

In nomine, &c. 

[to be continued.) 

—


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VOL. IV. 


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No. 43. OCTOBER, 1892. Vol. IV. 

IT 


By D. Nairne. 

CHAPTER in. 

FLORA SAVES THE WITCH'S LIFE. 

was one of those floods from which the local 

chronology of the next half century was to be dated ; 

a flood which swept the straths and glens of five Highland 

counties, and struck with awe those rural communities 

who best represented the religico-superstitious characteristics 

of the period. In its ravages they saw only the hand 

of God and the frailty of human concerns. In that devout 

spirit they bore ruin meekly and disaster humbly, with 

thanksgiving that their lives had been spared whilst others 

had been taken away. Compelled by the rising waters to 

seek safety for his wife and family in flight, a peasant- 

farmer would return and dare the perils of the torrent to 

rescue his Bible ! That spirit has passed away with the 

growth of the century ; Bibles, we are told, have become 

cheaper ; civilisation is advancing, says the scientist, and 

the cry is echoed by the Social reformer, who relegates the 

Ten Commandments to the ever-extending domain ut 

25


ancient history. Still, in the obliteration of that beautiful 

reverence for the Unseen, which discovered the Almighty 

in every crisis, and mercy in the greatest of earthly disasters, 

has there not passed away a glory from this Northern 

Land ? 

The wind screamed and the rain fell. Shipwrecks 

strewed the eastern coasts, and death pulled down the 

blinds in many a Scottish home. Other gales have been 

equally dire in their results. Rain was the fascinating 

peculiarity of the storm. It was no ordinary downpour of 

big, splashing drops, or sheeting onsets. 

A cloud of watery vapour seemed to settle over the 

country, to be condensed by the superincumbent pressure 

of a hundred atmospheres. It defied exclusion by the 

common methods of doors, windows, and roofs ; in the most 

secure of households it rained within only in lesser degree 

than it did without. Driven by the force of the gale, the 

mass of saturation was suffocating. Exposed to it on the 

bleak hillsides, shepherds were beaten down, gasped, and 

died. 

All was wet, sadness, disaster and melancholy for two 

long weary days in those mountain-girt glens upon which 

the brunt of the storm descended. 

They fared worst whose dwellings were away down in 

the valleys ; where 

nature was fairest ; beside brook and 

river that for countless summers had lent charm to the 

countryside and added tenfold to its fertility. In a few 

hours, brooks became raging torrents, the rivers rushing, 

devastating seas. In gentle Strathnairn, in the romantic 

Findhorn Valley, in classic Strathspey, there was but the 

surging and roaring of angry waters on that disastrous 

August morning—waters twenty, aye, forty feet high, as 

they crashed through the rocky defiles and spread ruin and 

death in the plains below. Crops in acres, trees in planta- 

tions, cottages in hamlets, whole homesteads vanished 

under the avalanche.

A Strange Revenue. 

When at last wind and rain ceased, and the rivers 

retreated sullenly to their natural channels, the scenes 

revealed were pitiful. The carcase of a horse here, of a 

cow there, those- of sheep by the dozens ; domestic utensils 

—including that pathetic thing, a cradle—mixed up with 

the produce of the farm ; the whole roof of a house 

stranded ; a cart with one wheel ; the machinery of a meal 

mill ; great bridges rent in twain—saddest of all, the 

finding of bleached, sanded human corpses, innocent 

sacrifices to the glut of the storm demon. The damage to 

property was estimated at hundreds of thousands ; but no 

one attempted to cypher the ledger of human misery. 

The laird of Stuart suffered from the flood like his 

neighbours, and to a much greater extent, it turned out, than 

he dreamt of, as he had sat in the Castle listening to the 

eerie pranks of the wind in the turrets and other uncanny 

recesses and secret places cf the building. 

" Two farms completely ruined," he announced at the 

breakfast table, having by eight o'clock made an inspection 

of the more exposed portion of his property, near the 

river. " Macgillivray, poor fellow, has been camping in the 

wood all night with his family. Of his steading all that 

remains is a gable, of his crops half an acre of turnips may 

be fit for use— all the rest, including twelve acres of the 

finest oats I have ever seen, washed clean away from the 

face of the earth. Macbean, his neighbour, has fared 

scarcely better. His houses stood on a higher level, and in 

a more protected situation, but the water reached the eaves 

of his dwelling, and carried away the roofs of the others. 

Crops, or what is left of them, under at least a foot deep of 

debris, and at least an acre of the best land has been eaten up. 

Upon my word, lads, the valley looks as if the devil himself 

had been holding high jinks in it." 

"That is more serious for you than the tenants, father," 

said David, pausing in his eating. 

" -^300 of rent lost in the first place !" 

" The tenants can get other farms, you see."

388 


" Not if, as I understand is the case, they have lost every- 

thing but what they wear upon their backs !" 

" They don't wear their bank deposit, there, I bet,"^ 

drawled Richard, with a laugh. 

" Which reminds me, sir," answered the laird with a 

frown, "that your private expenditure will have to be 

restricted within due bounds in future. To renew these 

buildings, clear the land, and repair other damages done to 

the property will not, I have been calculating, cost me a 

penny less than ;!r2000, besides the loss of two years'" 

rent." 

"With pleasure, father ; 

horses should not he held too tight." 

but always recollect that young 

" Now gentlemen," broke in Flora with ostentatiously 

assumed dignity, " please have the extreme goodness not 

to discuss those money affairs at the breakfast table before 

ladies. We are all very sorry, papa (her privileged style 

of address), but the losses and sufferings of others have 

been very much greater." 

" How do you know that, lassie?" 

" Because I met the Inverness mail coach this morning 

with a letter, and the guard told me that at the mouth of 

the Findhcrn, and on the Spey lives had been lost and 

hundreds of people rendered homeless." 

" Those guards have always some terrible gossip to tell 

— I don't believe its half so bad," Richard remarked. 

" Anyhow, Ric, we'll see what has been done by the 

flood in our own valley. It will be quite interesting, and I 

would like to call upon those poor tenants. You 

promised, you know, to ride out with me to-day," she 

added, as a look of annoyance showed itself in Richard's 

face. 

" Really, Flo, put off till to-morrow—do like a dear. 

Met Christie this morning and promised to ride in to 

Inverness and hear the news. If things are so bad down 

Ihe \va\-, I will call at the Courier Office and bring quite a 

huduet of news home."


" Perhaps that would be better," Flora said simply. 

Presently she rose and went to the window, out of which, 

for a minute or two, she ijjazed with an expression of 

disappointment that presently moistened the eyes. 

Evidently apprehensive lest her feelings might betray her, 

she left the room, followed by a careless, unanswered 

*' Where now, Flo," from Richard, and the keen, inquisitive 

glance of David, The latter only too plainly saw that 

Flora's heart had again been stung to the quick by the 

indifference of the man who should have made her every 

whim his study, his promises a law unto himself. If only 

he could have said, " Permit me to take Richard's place to- 

day," what happiness could have been his ; but from, that 

opportunity his own folly had debarred him. 

" Selfish brute 1" 

The words escaped David involuntarily ; 

and, 

as the 

awkwardness of his error flashed upon him- (what explana- 

tion could he make?) he abruptly left the table, with face 

aflame. 

"' What's the matter?" asked the laird, looking up from 

his plate ; but David was already on the other side of the 

door. 

" David studies too hard," Richard remarked, with a 

self-complaisant smile. 

" That's just what I was telling him the other day ; he's 

not looking well, poor fellow." 

" Studies one subject too much," added Richard, with a 

sarcastic turn of the lips, which escaped the laird's obser- 

vation ; 

" he's getting wonderfully eccentric." 

" An indication of genius—everything has its con- 

solations." 

" I say, Dad, there's one specimen of humanity who will 

not condole with you in this calamity Providence has 

sent." 

" Well ?" 

" Elspeth." 

" What, the witch ?"

390 

The Highland Mont/Uy. 

" I met her the other day, and, by George, she verily 

made my hair rise on end, her curses were so Satanic and 

deep. I suppose her corp criadh can hold no more pins, 

and she has taken herself to the Devil and Gaelic incanta- 

tions. The doom of the house of Stuart is at hand, said 

she 

" 

" Poor creature, she was born out of her time, I fear 

she should have lived a century ago, and been burned in a 

tar barrel." 

" Then, you believe in the second sight of witches," pur- 

sued Richard, 

" In this case I believe in the spite of an old crone 

whom I cleared off my estate as a nuisance, and a thief to 

boot. However, we'll not discuss the subject. I'm off to 

saddle Peter ; 

there's lots of things to do this morning." 

" The old man is superstitious," Richard muttered to 

himself, as he finished his breakfast, " but the old hag will 

find me better metal. Why, I cursed her rather more than 

she cursed me." 

Half an hour later the hoofs of Flora's pony clattered 

out of the courtyard, as she departed alone to see the 

effects of the storm down in the valley. Perhaps the flood- 

evicted tenants stood in need of her sympathy and help ; 

at all events any occupation was better than brooding alone 

in the Castle over the neglect of a man whom she loved, 

but whose heart was apparently not so sensitive as her 

own to love's exacting demands. As the animal cantered 

along, she drew off her glove and gazed at the glittering 

gem on her finger. There it was, his ring, placed there 

with loving words and kisses. Was that not enough ? In 

one short year she would be his wife—a short year ! Ah ! 

the last had been so dreadfully long. And now? Well, 

Richard was young and had his companions ; he could not 

be expected to tie himself to her apron string yet (with 

what feminine cunning she smiled at the adverb !) and 

here she was fretting over trifles ! An end to it ! 

The weather and health is a familiar topic, but the 

finer gradations of the subject still require elucidation. 

;

^ strange Kevem^c. 391 

Weak chested individuals used to bask in the sunny 

plains of Italy, or start in a forlorn hope to the more 

they swarm to 

equitable temperatures of Australia ; now 

the frost-bitten, germ-slaughtering altitudes of the Alps. 

The whim of climate, in such cases, is endless. But 

wherever they go, death relentlessly follows the tainted 

ones ; only the process of dying is prolonged and mayhaps 

rendered a little pleasanter, according to the circumstances 

selected. And so it is with our griefs. 

The weather cannot wash them out, but it does 

certainly assuage. A small sorrow which sours heart 

and life under the depressing patter of rain is often 

mysteriously softened by a sudden blink of sunshine. 

We are more the victims of flimsy circumstances than at 

all enters into our common philosophy. 

Nature had, after the sad wreckage of the storm, 

assumed its gayest and most exhilarating mood, and under 

the influence of the keen, exquisitely purified air. Flora's 

spirits rose to the point of song, while her love troubles 

dwindled until, fairy like, they wholly disappeared into the 

golden love tube that girdled her finger. 

The Laird was right ; boulder strewn, excavated, littered 

with wreckage, the valley presented a melancholy spectacle. 

While she gazed upon it, Flora's attention was arrested by 

the movement of a woman's figure about a hundred and 

fifty yards up the river. At that point, the current was 

divided into tv/o, in the centre being a small island, the 

creation of the flood, upon which various domestic utensils 

had been deposited, mixed up with straw, trees, and other 

relics of disaster from the upper reaches of the water. She 

was an aged woman ; 

but 

the ford did not appear to be 

deep, and she had evidently made up her mind to wade to 

the island in search of plunder, or perchance to recover 

some belongings of her own. Flora watched her manceuvr- 

ings with smiling interest ; saw her reach the island 

bedraggled, but vigorous in her quest, and make a collection 

of articles that reflected in a high degree upon her cupidity

392 


and feminine instincts. Respectably laden, she faced the 

but apparently drew a com- 

stream for the return journey ; 

parison between the current and her burden, to the 

advantage of the latter, for she retreated and annexed a 

frying pan, which she hung upon her left arm. Even then 

the old beldame hesitated. L}Mng near was a light wicker 

work chair of inviting shape and proportions. VVitli one 

hand she swung it upon her head, feet upwards, and thrust- 

ing her head partially through an oval aperture in the back, 

prepared to buffet the stream. 

It was another illustration of the> miser and the jar of 

gold. 

How it happened Flora could not say, but simul- 

taneously with an extra puff of wind there was a splash and 

a shrill scream ; then a tumbling bundle of rags, legs and 

arms came down the river. In a moment Flora had thrown 

the bridle over the stunted branch of a fir tree, and 

gathering her skirts, rushed down the slope to the water's 

edge. A huge, travelled boulder breasted the stream 

about twenty yards higher up, and upon the direction the 

drowning woman took depended her life. On the off side> 

the current would sweep her into mid stream, where human 

aid could not avail her, on the other, she must pass within 

arm's length of the bank upon which Flora, quivering and 

speechless with excitement, stood ready to render help. 

For a moment the silent sprawling mass hovered, as it were, 

between life and death ; then rested against the stone ; 

finally swung round, and with a rush came in Flora's 

direction. Pale but resolute, she bent down, and grasped 

with one hand the whins on the bank, extending the other 

over the peaty current. There was but time for one 

c)utch ; were it missed, a life must go ! 

-Help 

! 

Help 

! ! 

In the agony of her excitement Flora had uttered the 

appeal for aid, but it was not now needed, for her left hand 

grasped firmly the clothes of the drowning woman, and in 

a second more, the unconscious form of a pale, uninviting 

piece of humanity lay stretched on the grass.

A Sh'cinge Revenge. 393 

With staring eyes Flora gazed upon the human being 

she had rescued, then started back ivith a cry of surprise. 

It was Elspeth the Witch ; she who had pronounced 

394 ^'/^

" Stop ! 

A Strange Rcz'CJio-e. 395 

" pleaded Flora, throwing herself on her knees 

b}- the bedside ; for m)- sake retract these fearful words 

remember that I saved your life, that 

drowned but for my help." 

\-ou would have been 

" The witch canna droon ; 

the 

— 

witch canna droon," w as 

the hissing response " 

; It wasna you that did it, but the 

deevil, the deevil that made ye dae't—my freend, Auld 

Nicky. Ha, ha, ha ! I see him sittin' aside ye the noo ; 

hech, d'ye want to ken what he says aboot ye ? 

" Xo, no," screamed Flora, trying to grasp the old 

beldame's hand ; 

but she was pushed angrily away. 

" Then run for the life o' ye ; 

yer sad heart wi' ye." 

oot 

o' my sicht an' tak' 

Flora needed no second bidding. She flew out of the 

hut with a shriek— âs if a dozen ghosts gibbered at her 

heels—followed by hysteric laughter from the witch, which 

sounded in her ears as not of this world. The shriek was 

renewed at the doorway when she rushed upon and nearly 

knocked the breath out of the new tenant of the Hall. 

She recognised him at once, and the presence of this 

mysterious individual in the vicinity of the witch's abode 

increased rather than abated her terror. Without word or 

apology, she raced through the wood, sprang upon the back 

of her impatient pony, and rode castlewards with Tam o' 

Shanter-like speed. 

The gentleman she had encountered watched her 

retreating form, and recovered his breath at the same time ; 

then, with a cynical smile, he entered the witch's hut. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE LAIRD'S MAN GATHERS GOSSIP AND GETS A WIFE. 

John Maxwell was to Stuart Castle what a beadle is to a 

kirk, though to John himself the analogy would have looked 

ridiculously far fetched and unnecessarily humiliating. On 

one occasion the beadle, at a juncture when he was rather 

"

396 

Ihe Hi^hlaiid Monthly. 

unsteady on the legs, touched his bonnet to John, a self 

confession of inferiority which had \c\ the latter to seriously 

reconsider his social position. The result was highly 

satisfactory. That was fifteen years ago, when John proudly 

succeeded his father, and the beadle, who hobnobbed with 

Maxwell senior, had never, to his astonishment, succeeded 

in getting on familiar terms with Maxwell junior. It would 

have been difficult to say whether John looked more a 

butler, or a groom, or something else ; which was to his 

credit, for he was all three. His distinguishing personal 

characteristic could only be summoned up in the word 

" red " 

; red hair (of obstinate fibre) ; red side whiskers ; 

red face ; 

red 

hands— a uniformity of colour that found 

ample expansion in a stoutish gentleman of 43 years of age, 

with a kindly eye and an honest smirk. 

This particular morning, John was shaved and done up 

for the day at an unusually early hour. He naturally had 

grumbled, as an hereditary official, at any member of the 

family daring to interrupt his daily routine ; then he 

acceeded to -Richard's request, which was that he should 

deliver a letter personally, and as secretly as possible, at 

and, finally, he displayed more genuine interest 

in his toilet, and wore a happier expression on his homely 

face, than he had done for the preceding forty years. 

was something up, and that out of the common. 

There 

When he got beyond eyeshot of the Castle, John 

plucked Richard's missive from his pocket, felt it, smelt it 

the Hall ; 

(he distinctly detected scent), and finally read the address : 

" Miss Somerton, The Hall." Holding the packet at arm's 

length, he appeared to be studying the caligraphy for a 

moment, but John's thoughts had actually taken a 

moralising turn. 

" Weel, Maister Richard, is this richt ? " he solemnly 

asked. As the envelope, to which the query was addressed, 

did not respond, John proceeded : " There ye are, engaged 

tae marry Miss Flora, the best lassie in the hale countryside, 

an' here ye are wrichtin' scented epistles tae this American


limmer at the Ha'. I dinna ken what's inside, nor dae I 

care; but I say it's a doonricht shame. There?" And 

suiting the action to the word, John banged the letter at his 

feet, and. with arms akimbo, and an expression which would 

have become the parish minister at a cutt}' stool sederunt, 

stood towering over it. 

" I'm forty-three }'ears auld yesterday— I rocked ye in 

yer cradle (presumably the writer of the letter), an' I have 

never ta'en a thocht o' but a'e wuman, and that's Kirsty the 

cook at the Ha', an if she doesna hae me, I'll never think o' 

anither. Man, tak' an example frae me in these important 

maitters." 

The mention of Kirsty had a strangely mollifying effect 

upon John's perturbed mental condition. His features 

relaxed, the faintest trace of a smile played upon his clean 

shaven and rather capacious mouth, and he picked up the 

letter with the solemn protest that " if nae guid come o't,, 

the blame's no John Maxwell's." 

As John entered the policies of the Hall he discovered 

Miss Somerton flitting about among the 'flower plots, 

engrossed with the construction of a daint}- table bouquet. 

It would have taxed her bitterest enemy to find reasonable 

fault with the lady either in form or feature. With colour 

heightened by the crisp morning air, and her lithe form 

attired in the prettiest of morning gowns, she seemed the 

very ideal of female grace and charm—the latter enhanced 

by the sweetest of smiles, as she caressed and touched up 

with the delicacy of a floral enthusiast the coloured petals 

she darted hither and thither to pluck. John popped 

behind a tree and watched her with lowering brow and 

critical eye. His verdict was reluctantly favourable. 

" Gerties, but she's a guid lookin' limmer," he soliloquised^ 

" beats Miss Flora to sticks, ootwardly at anyrate ; 

cannot be guid ; 

ower bonny folk are never guid." 

but 

she 

Having thus briefly dogmatised on the situation, John 

proceeded to give his toilet a few final touches ; placed a 

dash of heather in his bonnet, and pondered over the effect


of wearing the latter a little more jauntily ; 

jacket at the neck and unbuttoned it ; and 

resolved himself into his ordinary character. 

buttoned 

his 

ultimately 

" No," he concluded, with a snap of the lips, " unless 

Kirsty is a wuman o' plain tastes I'll no fash her to tak me 

me ava'. I wudna be flash and topsieteerie for the best 

leddy the sun blinked on, an' Kirsty, faith, is no the worst." 

" There yet," he exclaimed, peering ronnd the trunk of 

the oak, " what are ye daein' dancin' about there like a 

butterflee ? I canna gie ye the letter there, ye gowk ; gang 

awa' tae the hoose wi yer floors ; an besides, if I deleevered 

the letter outside I wudna get inside, which is what I want 

this morning, if ye only kent." 

A few minutes later, John was standing at the foot of 

the great staircase of the Hall asking for a personal inter- 

view with Miss Somerton. "If she gets red i' the face 

when I gie her the letter," he assured himself, " there's some 

joukerripawkery goin' on." The lady tripped out of the 

dining-room with such a merry little laugh that John found 

himself, to his own consternation, smiling in return, and 

making a more profound obeisance than he had ever 

given Miss Flora or the laird. 

" A letter, mem, frae Maister Richard, tae be deleevered 

until yer very ain hands." 

" Thank you, John ; 

it's so very kind of you to bring it," 

said Miss Somerton, carelessly glancing at the address, and 

throwing the missive down on the lobby table. 

Here there was an awkward pause, filled silently in by 

John's reflection : 

" She hasna blushed ava'— I'm wrang." 

John expected that Miss Somerton would retire with 

her letter, and thus give him an opportunity of making his 

way, as he was desirous of doing, to Chirsty's domain ; but 

she stood regarding him with a look of amused interest 

John was too excellent a type of the conventional Scotchman 

to escape the scrutiny of strangers—and the result 

was that he lingered, awkwardly twirling his broad, red- 

tasseled bonnet, furtively glancing at the door and the 

—

A Strange Reve7ige. 399 

kitchen lobby by turns, too " blate" either to speak his 

mind or act upon his desire, but fully determined not to 

vanish by the front door. Ultimately an idea crossed Miss 

Somerton's mind, which broadened her smile, and made 

John a greater curiosity than ever ; 

for, now that she 

recollected, there certainly had been forthcoming slight 

evidences of a courting relationship between the cook at 

the Hall and " the man" at the Castle. 

" Perhaps you would like to see your friend Chirsty," she 

ventured to suggest. 

" That's just it, mem," blurred out John with such a con- 

spicuous sigh of relief that his fair interrogator could not 

resist laughing outright. 

" Faith, she's bonnie," he muttered to himself as he 

disappeared, " an' michty clever tae read a body's verry 

thochts." 

Chirsty M'Taggart was a comely-looking damsel, ten 

years the junior of John, and possessing a physical development 

that had led to her baptismal name being dropped for 

the more descriptive, if objectionable, title of " the fat 

cook." John was not devoid of imagination. He had often 

pictured to himself the laugh that would spread over the 

entire parish if he married the colossal Chirsty, and an 

insufficiency of courage had tarried his wooing to such an 

extent that the object of his hidden affection had long ago 

come to the conclusion that John was never going to 

" speak." 

The day was young ; and 

so John was not surprised to 

find Chirsty busy among pots and pans, while an assistant 

burnished the household cutlery in the kitchen proper. 

"John Maxwell, you here at this time o' day, an' lookin' 

what fu' spruce in yer 

up wi' ye ? 

best claithes tae ; " 

in a' the world's 

" I was on a beesness veesit tae the Ha', Kirsty, an' thocht 

I wud jist look in tae see hoo ye are." 

" I'm brawley ; 

but it's no fair tae stap in wi' yer best on 

an' catch a body in the middle o' scrapin' pats an' pans 

I'm a sair sicht wi' dirt."


" Toots, never mind that ; as the meenister said on 

Sawbath, there's a deegnity in wark that's no to be 

dispeezed." 

" There's wark an' wark," rejoined Chirsty, making the 

soot fly from the bottom of a kettle, "the meenister wudna 

see much dignity in scrapin' his ain parritch pat. But what 

are ye daein' at the Ha', if I may ask ye a ceevil question." 

" That's a great secret," said John, cautiously closing the 

door of the apartment, " Maister Richard telt me no tae let 

a livin' soul ken that he had sent me wi' a letter tae Miss 

Somerton." 

At this announcement, Chirsty dropped her scraping 

knife, and addressed John very impressively. 

" It strikes me, John, that Mr Richard is havin' fine 

ongauns at the Ha', while he should gie mair attention to 

the bit lassie he's gaun to maary an' mak' mistress o' the 

Castle. It's no for me tae say't, for oor Miss is a rael guid 

young leddy ; but I've a notion somehoo that things are no 

a' richt." 

" Jist what I was sayin tae mysel' comin' alang the 

road, Kirsty. This keepin' o' company an' wrichtin' tae 

ither wumen is no richt ava, says I." 

" Dinna sit doon on that big pat, John, ye'U fa' in. 

There's mair than a'e chair i' the kitchen, if ye'd gang an' 

get ane." 

" Never fear— I'll put on the lid. Aye, it's no richt, as 

we were sayin'." 

" It's no' that I would pry intil ither folks' affairs, but I 

heard the Maister and the Miss speakin' the 

gey queer way." 

ither day in a 

" Aye," ejaculated John, " he's a queer creetur himsel'." 

" ' Dorothy," said he, ' the fish has ta'en the flee, d'ye 

think }-c cud land him ?" ' Anyday,' said she, laughin' like 

—she's bonnie, but I wudna gie much for the saftness o' her 

heart. I didna like her laugh, ' Weel,' said the Maister, 

' as the sport lies in wurkin' a fish, gie him line for a wee. 

You'll find it amusin' in this dull country.' Think o' that !"

" The fishin' ? " 


" No, ye doieted mongrel, the coortin'." 

" Wha's coortin' ?" 

" Did I no tell ye they were speakin' o' yer Maister 

Richard ? 

" 

" No, ye didna." 

" Then I was sure they did sae ; for I was just thinkin' 

o' Richard at the time, an' he had newly left the Ha'." 

" It's rideeklus—Maister Richard's no a fish." 

" But dinna ye see they were talkin' in allickgorr}-, as 

the Rev. Mr M'Glashan wauld say." 

" Man, Kirsty, 1 admire yer learnin'—its a grand word 

allickgorry ! 

" said John, with the evident intention of giving 

the conversation a still more personal turn, " I've aye said 

that ta m}-ser. Ye were a grand Sawbath Schule scholar, 

I mind." 

" Nell, ye lazzy limmer, mind the puddin'," shouted 

Christy to her assistant. 

" Kirsty—Miss Mactaggart," resumed John, in a tone of 

voice that made Christy look sharply round, " talkin' o' 

puddin's, d'ye no ken that I've always looked upon ye as a 

sort o' m\' ain puddin' ?" 

"If >-e've cam' here tae insult a body," was the 

unexpected!}' hot reply, " it's high time ye were gaun \-er 

gait." 

" I dinna mean yer fat," pleaded John in alarm, 

" puddin's are sweet an' so are you." 

" Yer an' auld fule," pouted Christy, scraping with great 

energy, and making the soot fly over her brawny arms. 

" Kirsty, I've thocht o' ye for fifteen years." 

" It's a long thocht," was the response, the scraping 

getting milder. 

" When a man gets tae my time o' life he begins tae 

think o' settlin' doon." 

" Aye, yer gettin' ^Q.y auld." 

" Am I ower auld for you, Kirsty?— yer the onl)- wuman 

I've clappit my e'e on since I had they kind o' e'en." 

26

J.02 T-he Ihghland Monthly. 

" Ye'll better spier an' see," was the laconic reply ; but 

Chirsty was now blushing terribly. 

" Then, wull ye tak' me or wuU ye no ?" blurted out 

John, twirling his thumbs, and looking the very picture of 

nervousness. 

" Nell," shouted Chirsty. 

" Yes." 

" Get the tawties peeled." 

" A' richt." 

" Ye micht stop scrapin' pats, an' gie me an answer," 

John pleaded. 

" Ye micht get up off the pat," said she, the unromantic 

aspect of the wooing occurring to her womanly sense. 

" D' ye think ye culd marry me, Kirsty ?" 

" Ye've been a long time in makin' up yer mind, John 

I culd hae marrit a dizzen in the time." 

" Oor family are a blate kind, Kirsty ; but no efter 

they're marrit. My faather was the auldest o' foorteen. 

Whomsumever, that's no the question—Are ye gaun tae be 

Mistress Maxwell ?" 

" I'm no sayin' no." 

" Then say yes or no." 

" Imphum." 

" Thank ye, Kirsty lass ; that's rael satisfeein'. An' noo 

that yer my ain, I may as weel tell ye that I hae always 

regarded ye wi' deep affection." 

" Its no very like it." 

" Hoo ?" 

" I never got a kiss frae ye in my life." 

" Then ye'll get a richt ane noo," and John suited the 

action to the word, to the consternation of Nell outside, 

who heard the smack, and knew the sound well. 

" Ye maun gang awa noo ; my work's ahint," counselled 

Chirsty. 

" Kiss me an' I'll bolt," said John. 

In reply Chirsty caught John's face in her two plump, 

sooty hands, and imprinted an endearment which quite 

—

A Sfj'ange Revenue. 403 

eclipsed the other in resonance, and wheeled round to her 

pots and pans, without observing that she printed some- 

thing else on John's sonsy face, to wit, five distinct finger 

marks on each cheek. Wholly unconscious of what had 

happened, John emerged into the kitchen. At the sight 

of him Nell went into convulsions. Misapprehending the 

cause of her mirth, John gave Nell a withering look of contempt 

and disappeared outside, the happiest man in the 

whole parish, and not the least honest. 

As John walked along, cherishing the memory of 

Chirsty's "Imphum" and his first kiss, he straightened 

himself up, and began to feel that his importance in the 

world was increased thereby. Then he began to wonder 

whether Chirsty had really entertained doubts as to his 

being too old for a husband ; 

at which point he reached a 

dyke he remembered often to have jumped in his young 

days. In the buoyancy of his spirits, he wondered whether 

he could still perform the feat. He felt as if he walked 

upon air, and that he could jump to the moon. In a trice 

he had cleared the wall with two hands ; 

and again succeeded ; and 

he tried with one 

was soon so much absorbed in 

and pleased with this proof of his latent agility that he 

became oblivious to his surroundings, and panted and 

whooped as he cleared and recleared the dyke with boyish 

glee. At the last leap he landed at the feet of the laird, 

who had been regarding John's behavour and blackened 

face first with amazement, and then with grave appre- 

hension. John picked up his bonnet and stood grinning at 

the laird, breathless. 

" Clean daft," pronounced the laird. 

^' Yes, sir," replied John. 

[to be eONTINLED],

404 

The His^hland Monthly. 


AND 



CHAPTER X. 

Bailie A. Murray's second period of office up to 1769.—His Charge and Dis- 

IT 

charge.—Committee's Report.—Necessity for reduced expenditure on 

Pensions.—Attention paid by Session to affairs of the Hospital.—Bequest 

— 

of Books to Library.— Mortification by Donald Calder of 300 Merks. 

William Murray, Treasurer, 1769-1778.— His Death.—Report of Com- 

mittee on his Accounts.—His Charge and Discharge.— Committee's 

particular Report.— Diminution in the Capital Stock.—Annual Audit of 

Accounts recommended.—Remarks on the Session's Strictures : their 

Authority had been granted for Intromissions.—Losses by Compositions on 

Castlehill's and Drakie's Bonds.—Reason for diminution of Capital 

.Stock.—Mode of keeping Accounts faulty : effects of this.—Trouble and 

expense in connection with Inches' Bonds.—Albert Munro's Mortification. 

Difficulty of tracing how any particular Mortification had been Invested. 

Discharge f.ûnd for David Fraser of Fairfield's 1000 Merks.—Dipple's 

letter again.— Uses to which the Hospital was put : and divergent views 

as to this.— Rent to be charged for rooms in it.—Proposal to use it as a 

Pour-House. —Proposal allowed to lapse. 

has been already mentioned that BaiHe Andrew 

Murray was reappointed Treasurer in 1766 : 

that office till January, 1769. 

His Charge, which shows the amount of 

he 

held 

stock at the latter date, is of principal 

sums transmitted... ... ... .... ^^2613 7 ly^- 

Interest upon principal and land rents ... 107 1 5 i^ 

Balance due to Treasurer ... ... ... 34 6^ 

His Discharge — 

;^3687 16 1 

Principal sums in bonds, bills, securities, 

&c ^2161 12 2>1- 

1


Payments of ministers' stipends, cesses, 

reparation of the Hospital, books bought 

for library, salaries to librarj'-keeper, law- 

processes, bursars on Laird of Mackin- 

tosh's Mortification, charities to particular 

objects, payments to pensioners, allow- 

ance to Treasurer, balance on previous 

account paid to Treasurer ... ... 1526 4 8^ 

;^3687 16 II 

Among the details of the money applied are " paid for 

reparations to the Hospital, £2 5s /d ; for books to the 

library and librarian's salary, ^^"30 4s gd ; 

£6 i/s 6d ; 

to kirk officers 

to pensioners on Hospital funds, ^^^196 9S4^d; 

for a book for inserting the Hospital accounts, 7s 3d ; 

balance due to Treasurer paid, ;^355 pd 5^4^d ; 

to him on do., ;^48 7s 8d ; 

interest due 

and interest on ^100 allowed in 

the Treasurer's hands for prompt payment to pensioners 

from Rood Quarter, 1766, to Candlemas, 1769, ^13 15s od." 

His accounts were duly examined by a Committee, and 

passed with the usual recommendation, that the thanks of 

the Session should be accorded to him, and that he should 

get a full discharge. This was granted. The Committee 

also gave in their remarks upon his accounts. They recommended 

that the " dubious debts " referred to above, 

amounting to ^^"19 i8s o^^d, should be struck off: they 

pointed out that after deducting that portion of the capital, 

" which cannot be said to belong properly to the poor," 

amounting to ;!^548 17s 9.^d, " and the debts due by Castle- 

hill, Inches, and Bailie Gordon's heir, amounting to ^^392 

5s ii|d, from which no interest can be expected for some 

time," " the balance remaining from which interest can be 

expected to be paid regularly is ;Î220 8s 53^d." They 

again point out that the payments to pensioners must be 

reduced, by lessening their number when any of them are 

removed by death, and that for the present only ;^50 per 

annum would be available to pay them, and that the annual 

payments must by degrees be reduced to this sum.

4o6 The llif^/iland Monthly. 

Strange to sa}-, the}- make no remarks on the Treasurer's 

disregard of his instructions to keep the account of the 

Hospital fund for the poor distinct. 

The Session approved of their report and remarks, 

granted Bailie Andrew Murray his discharge, and appointed 

Mr W. Murray as his successor. During Andrew Murray's 

time the Session paid considerable attention to the affairs 

of the Hospital : they appointed a committee to enquire 

into the interest due on Dr Eraser's mortification, which 

: another com- 

reported on 12th and 19th December, 1752 

mittee to revise George Duncan's mortification, and 

considered both reports : also appointed a committee to 

enquire into the debts due to the Hospital in 1753, besides 

minutely examining and considering reports on the 

Treasurer's accounts, and giving him precise directions : 

but in spite of all their care the Hospital Stock was 

decreasing. 

They authorise the purchase of books for the Library to 

of 8s iid for a door to 

amount of i^20 in 1753 : payment 

the Writing School in the Hospital in 1756: payment of 

£6 6s to David Taylor on account of the spire of the 

Hospital in 1758 

: they grant the petition of Alex. Munro, 

schoolmaster, " that the flat above the Library may be 

allowed him for the instruction of such children as would 

attend him," although this flat was intended for poor to be 

placed therein by the Session : they authorise the reparation 

of the loft above the Writing School, as the principal beam 

supporting it was broken, at an estimated cost of £j or £^ 

in 1763 ; and the raising of the lofts abov-e the Library and 

Writing School two feet higher, and direct that good 

sufficient timber be used in the reparation, also in 1763 : 

and payment of i6s to two masons for raising the joist 

above the Writing School. 

|They record that the Rev. Alex. Mackenzie, son of the 

Rev. Hector Mackenzie, sometime minister at Inverness, 

and himself Episcopal minister at Edinburgh, had 

bequeathed all his Greek and Latin books to the Library


ill 1764 : and, at the request of members of Session, the 

Session direct that information as to the Hospital funds, 

and the securities granted for the same, and also the names 

of such persons as were upon the funds should be laid 

before them in 1765 : they also enquired into the non-payment 

of Bailie David F'raser's mortification in 1769: and 

found in 1776 that it had been paid up in 1752.— Vide K.S. 

minutes, February, 1769, and May 14th, 1776. This 

mortification dates from 1724. 

One mortification was intimated in his time, viz., of 300 

merks in 1752 by Donald Calder, Baxter, and his wife "for 

the use of the Poor of Inverness," the interest to be 

disposed at her discretion during her life, and after decease 

at the discretion of the Kirk Session : the money not 

payable until a }'car and a day after her decease—which 

did not take place for man)- years—until 1797, when it 

amounted with interest to ^47 

3s 3d. 

William Murray succeeded Bailie Andrew Murray, and 

was Hospital Treasurer from Candlemas, 1769, till his 

death, about October, 1778. His accounts were made up 

and a committee appointed to examine and report on them 

on 30th March following, and this committee gave in a 

general and a particular report upon them on 22nd 

December, 1779, consideration of which was deferred. He 

had been Reparation Treasurer also since 20th December, 

1768. They consequently deferred too the handing over 

of the bonds and securities to his successor till their next 

meeting. 

— 

This successor, George Scheviz, was appointed loth 

November 1778, and John Grant appointed Reparation 

Treasurer, both being elders. 

On William Murray's accounts being made up, his 

Charge showed per abstract 

Principal sums in bonds, bills, securities 

of lands, &c ;^258o 4 8^ 

Annual rents, land rents, &c. 1154 14 ii| 

A small item of house rent not sustained... 4 10 O

4oS The Highland Monthly. 

Rcpiirs done to a house not sustained ... 183 

Balance due to Treasurer 123 13 lo^^ 

His Discharge showed 

— 

Principal sums given up in bonds, bills, 

;^3864 II \o\ 

securities, &c ^^2548 18 ii^ 

Money applied or expended on public 

burdens, repairs on Highland kirk, 

Hospital, &c., books bought, salary to 

Librarian, law processes, bursars, salaries 

to kirk officers, charities to particular 

objects, pensions on Hospital funds, 

allowance to Treasurer ... ... ... 1315 12 1O73 

^^3864 II lOj 

The Committee's report is of the usual character, except 

that they find fault with the late Treasurer's having 

executed some repairs on part of the property without 

authority ; but, in addition, they gave in a particular report 

of excessive length, passing strictures on the two last 

Treasurers for their management of the funds, and deplor- 

ing the diminution of the capital stock to the extent of 

;^59i 1 8s lod in the time of the former, and .^155 lOs 5d in 

the time of the latter, besides ^,546 los 4^'4d of bad debts 

struck off, in all ;Î293 19s 73^d. 

They ascribe this to the Session's ignorance of the state 

of their funds, and to a consequent over-payment to the 

pensioners ; and point out, as the last Committee did, that 

a large proportion of the capital was not applicable to the 

pa}-ment of pensioners ; they give a list of such items 

partly capital, partly capitalised value, of various payments 

falling to be made out of the Hospital funds, making a total 

of iJ^944 14s 4^d, leaving only about £\6oo, the interest of 

which could go to the poor. They also advert to many, 

matters of detail.

Ihe Hospital of Ii.verness. 409 

They make one very proper recommendation, viz., that 

the Session should appoint some day in the month of 

March for settling every year with the Hospital Treasurer. 

There does not appear to have been any just ground 

for blaming either of the Treasurers for the diminution ; 

they might well have blamed them for not keeping the 

various funds distinct, and not making up yearly accounts. 

The bad debts were struck off by the Session ; they 

from time to time constantly filled up the vacancies in the 

list of Hospital pensioners, and hardly any item of 

expenditure was incurred without their sanction ; if they 

did not know the state of the funds they had had the 

opportunity, as Committees had been oppointed to enquire 

into them and report, as already mentioned. If the 

interest upon bonds could not be obtained, and accumulated 

unpaid, while the Treasurer found money himself to pay 

the pensioners, &c., as directed by the Session, there was 

inevitably a balance due to the Treasurer when the account 

was made up. Again we find in the Session's records, and 

also in the Treasurer's accounts, that bonds of Castlehill 

and Drakies, amounting to ^200 9s 2|d, and interest 

thereon, ^285 13s o§d, with expenses, £6 17s i ifd, amount- 

ing in all to ^493 OS 3d, were compounded with the Kirk 

Session by Alex. Cuthbert, Esq., for the principal sum of 

^200, paid by bill on 28 November, 1774. The offer was 

made on 20 September in that year, to pay i,i6oo Scots in 

payment of ^^"2405 Scots due by the Estate of Castlehill ; it 

was met b}- a counter offer to accept ^2405 Scots on condition 

of immediate pa\'ment or a bill payable at Mar- 

tinmas. 

It appears from minutes of the Kirk-Session of 21 

September, 4 October, and 16 November, that the latter 

proposal was agreed to, though a petition by Dr Alves, on 

behalf of Castlehill, is recorded, narrating the other competing 

claims against the estate, and urging the immediate 

acceptance of ^1600 Scots. The sequel was the payment, 

in a bill, by Messrs Alansfield, Ramsay, & Co., of ;^200

4IO 'J he Highland Monthly. 

sterling on 28 November, 1774, and interest from that date 

to 19 March, 1778, is included in William Murray's 

charge. 

In addition we have the Kirk Session's own obligation 

ôr ^54 17s 4d to the Hospital Treasurer, which, however^ 

is stated in this report to have been paid up on 12th 

February, 1770, by William Macpherson's widow. 

The fact is that the Session from time to time 

authorised sundry payments which should not have been 

held chargeable to the Hospital Fund : these, added to 

losses of principal and interest through failure of their 

debtors to pay, losses of rents on property, law expenses in 

trying to recover what was due, and payments to pen- 

sioners in excess of free income, caused a serious diminution 

of capital. 

The mode of keeping the Hospital accounts too tended 

to prevent the members of Session from seeing clearly the 

true state of matters : 

but 

they did not insist on a remedy. 

Instead of the Treasurer keeping a distinct capital and a 

distinct revenue account, and making up at any rate the 

latter yearly, the usual practice was only to make up an 

account of all intromissions at the end of his stewardship. 

For some years previously a list of bonds and securities 

transmitted to the successor had also been made up, 

showing capital in one column and interest due in another : 

but it is no easy matter to trace some of the items of 

capital, owing to bonds being paid up or assigned, and the 

money relent : and capital belonging to one trust is mixed 

up with capital belonging to another. The effect of this is 

seen in its being necessary to appoint committees in 1752 

to enquire into the interest due to Dr Fraser's mortification, 

and to revise George Duncan's mortification, as also in the 

elaborate report of the committee on the Treasurer's 

accounts in 1779. 

The following entries in the accounts show the trouble 

and expense incurred in connection with Inches' bonds : 

— In Bailie Andrew Murray's Charge account on entering

The Hospital of Invf.rucss. 411 

office mention is made of " 4 of Inches' bonds amountin


appears to have been ^^"569 os 2ifd, for which they got an 

obliq;ation for ^^463 8s 4d, regarded as capital, and decree 

for the interest : and they seem to have expended in legal 

proceedings no less than £2(^\ 15s 5d. Interest on the 

£^61 8s 4d began henceforth to be paid. 

There was one mortification during William Murray's 

time, viz., that by Albert Munro of Coul, taking effect from 

Jul}', lyjiôi £\oo left to the ministers and Kirk-Session 

of Inverness for the use and behoof of the poor of the 

parish. 

This was part of a sum of ;i^300 made over to trustees, 

the interest of which was to be paid in 3 equal parts to the 

ministers and Kirk-Sessions of Inverness, Kiltearn, and 

Alness respectively for the use of the poor of the said 3 

parishes. The first payment of interest was made to the 

Kirk-Session of Inverness in November, 1776, for 4 years 

preceding. One-third of the capital sum was, subsequently, 

made over to each of the 3 parishes. 

The records of the Kirk-Session show how difficult the 

members and their Treasurer found it to trace how the 

amount of any particular mortification was invested. In 

1769 they were in great doubt whether Bailie David Eraser's 

mortification had been paid up, and in similar doubt is to 

Dipple's mortification : and apparently they had recourse to 

the Session minute book, not to the hospital account book 

for information. Fully 7 years afterwards, in 1776, Mr 

Simon Fraser, merchant in Inverness, presented to the 

Session a caption and horning, at the instance of Provost 

John Hossack, as Hospital Treasurer, against Alexander 

Fraser of Fairfield for the sum of 1000 merks Scots as 

principal, &c., together with a Discharge signed by the said 

Provost Hossack of the above debt being paid, which Discharge 

is by way of a letter directed to said Alexander 

Fraser of Fairfield, dated 4th February, 1752. The date of 

the obligation by Fairfield is registrate in the Sheriff Court 

books of this Burgh, viz., October 1746. Alexander Fraser 

of Fairfield's bond and interest from Martinmas, 1730, to

The Hospital oj Inverness. 413 

Martinmas, 175 1, amount of principal ^55 lis ijîd, and 

interest ^58 6s 8d, is entered in Bailie Hossack's Charge 

accounts : it does not occur in the Discharge accounts, and 

the capital probably formed part of a sum contained in a 

bill accepted to John Hossack's order by Mr Wm. Forbes, 

VV.S., for ^320. 

The Laird of Dipple's promissory note, which appears 

in Gilbert Gordon's Charge, 173 1, seems to be represented 

in his Discharge by bill, John Macbean and Hugh Robertson, 

for £m 6s 8d, and in Provost Hossack's accounts by 

the same bill for £2^ 15s 6;'3d, part of which seems to have 

been paid up. 

In the Minute of Session immediately succeeding the 

one in which it was agreed that search should be made with 

reference to Dipple's mortification of 500 merks, the first 

matter recorded is a letter from the Earl of Fife presenting 

Katharine Steven to the interest of 500 merks, mortified by 

the said Earl's grandfather. The Session, finding her " to be 

a girl of 25 years of age, able to work and gain her bread, 

and now in service," objected to admit her, but changed 

their mind some six weeks later, and appointed her to 

succeed her father as a pensioner. 

At this period part of the Hospital still continued to be 

used as a school— probably the south end of the lower 

story as a grammar school, part of the flat above as a writ- 

ing school and part as an English school. In 1774, at the 

request of Mr Hector Eraser, schoolmaster, the Hospital 

Treasurer was directed to have the casements of the 

windows in the writing school and of the upper story 

examined, and to get an estimate for making them good. 

The Session also ordered an account to be paid for furnishing 

glass, painting, &c., for the library, writing school, and 

garrets, amounting to ^5 3s 9d, in 1776. 

Within a space of some 14 years, we find very divergent 

views as to the uses to which the upper flats of the Hospital 

might be put. The following curious entry occurs in the 

Session Records 6th October, 1778, shortly before Mr Wm.

414 1fi

The Hospital of Inverness. 4 1 

scholars having been apparently carried on in part of the 

Hospital house from 1727 for nearly 30 years, and that the 

New Academy was opened about 1792. 

Returning now to 1778, the Session appointed as 

successor to Mr William Murray, Mr George Scheviz, on 

lOth November, 1778, Mr John Grant being at the same 

time appointed Treasurer on Duncan's Mortification, or 

Reparation Treasurer—the former died apparently in 1788, 

the latter in 1787. 

[TO BE CONTINUED.] 

5


o 


[all rights reserved by the althor.] 

V.-THE TRYST OF TEITH MUIR. 

[CONTINUEn.] 

N the second day after setting out from Glenbeltane, 

Mark Teviot overtook his drove of cattle, by this 

time within a few miles of the Brig o' Teith. Having 

secured accommodation for the night at the Inn, he left 

Gillespie Macewen, who, throughout the journey had been 

in close attendance upon him, to bestow their ponies ; 

and, 

accompanied by his topsman and one or two acquaintances 

from the North, walked over the field into which his cattle 

had just been turned, inspecting the beasts and estimating 

the prices which might be current on the morrow. 

Within the past week or two the state of the cattle 

market had become less satisfactory than it had been during 

the autumn, when prices were fairly maintained. It was 

observed that there was an unusuallj' large number of herds 

forward for the Brig o' Teith, as, in consequence of having 

given good prices, dealers would not sell at the earlier 

trysts, and preferred to delay realising their stock until the 

back end. Now, however, fears were entertained lest the 

supply on the morrow, might far exceed tht^ demand. 

Mark Teviot could scarcely conceal from himself an anxious 

foreboding which was rising in his mind. Groups of 

individuals were perambulating their herds in all directions 

among the fields, and the road which led past the Inn was 

crowded with drivers and cattle. The tacksman and his 

friends having made their round, reached a gate which 

opened on the public road. They were eagerly discussing 

the prospects of the morrow, and the value of the cattle 

which they had just seen, when Glenbeltane suddenly

Sce7ies of Long Ago. 417 

observed one within a few yards of him, whom, by his gait, 

he was certain could be no other than Gillies Macilvaine 

but he was too prudent to make any start or other sign of 

recognition, far less of suspicion. He turned to close the 

gate through which he had just passed, and then looking 

round saw the man who had arrested his attention, among 

other drivers, and hurrying in the direction of the Inn with 

a plaid wrapped round his head. This confirmed Teviot 

as to the correctness of the information which Macindriii 

by some means procured. 

Did any doubts linger in his mind as to personal 

danger, they were dissipated by the report of Gillespie. 

When his master had left the Inn the young man 

proceeded to the stable, and, while attending to the 

horses, he saw Gillies and Farquhar Macilvaine approaching 

from the direction of the Brig o' Teith. They 

had evidently caught sight of Glenbeltane ; for Gillies 

gave his brother his dog and set off in a cautious 

manner in the same direction. Farquhar then made for the 

stable, and Gillespie, anxious to see what would happen, 

went into a far-off corner of the stall in which his horse 

stood. Farquhar entered, and ascended a ladder which led 

to the loft overhead. In a moment he returned with his 

plaid, in which all a drover's baggage and provisions used 

to be tied up. This was a sign that the brothers thought 

good to shift quarters for the night, and so it was. Soon 

Farquhar was rejoined by Gillies, and the two set off in 

the direction whence they had come. 

Teviot had no fear as to the safety of the cattle. 

There would be many in the neighbourhood of the 

field, walking about all night in charge of their respec- 

tive herds. Although known to be desperadoes, he 

scarcely could conceive that they meditated violence 

against his person. He felt convinced that his danger 

would begin after the cattle were sold, and while he 

would have a very large sum of money in his possession. 

Daring and successful robberies had repeatedly been per- 

27 

;

41 

8 

Ihe Highland Monthly, 

petrated even on the market stance, especially at the 

trysts which were held at a season when darkness supervened 

at an early hour. Various other circumstances com- 

bined to make these robberies comparatively easy of 

execution. Those in charge of the cattle were usually 

fatigued after days of travel and nights of watching ; and, 

meeting many old friends, they became too happy to be 

watchful against danger to their masters. Indeed, the 

drovers and tacksmen of those days exposed themselves in 

a remarkable degree to the pickpocket and footpad. How 

they escaped so well is a marvel. On the evening of a 

tryst every one was, more or less, in a crapulous 

condition. One great safeguard, to be sure, lay in the 

fact that they went together, and drank together, in 

sets and parties of well-tried friends. Another safeguard 

lay in the severity of the punishment which was inflicted 

upon such of the nimble-fingered gentlemen as the 

authorities could lay hands on. I have heard of many 

hair-breadth escapes from robbers at the great trysts in the 

south. Sometimes, one stout dealer overcame several 

thieves by whom he was beset, and after giving them a 

beating put them to flight. 

Mark Teviot, after retiring for the night, resolved 

the whole matter carefully in his mind, and came to 

the conclusion that, after all, he had nothing to fear 

so long as he maintained a watchful look-out against 

danger. He was, as I have already observed, uncommonly 

vigorous for a man of his years, and so quick-eyed that 

he could pick out a strange sheep by lug-mark 

among a drove of his own passing on the road. He had 

great power of endurance, too, and, in his earlier years, 

when herding in distant glens, he often slept in the bothy 

all night with soaking clothes, having no other food than 

some oatmeal porridge. Tlie Macilvaines knew all this, so 

that, along with Macevven, he felt that he was comparatively 

safe against attack. Few in the country could throw the 

heavy hammer further than Gillespie, or toss the caber

Scenes of Lojio- Ago. 419 

more deftly, or make a longer leap. The Macilvaines, ori' 

the contrary, perhaps owing to the intermarriages of their 

families for succeeding generations, were undersized, and 

not particularly muscular. But, notwithstanding these 

reassuring considerations, sleep scarcely visited Teviot's 

eyes that night. He had much at stake on the morrow. 

After many hours he must have fallen into a broken 

slumber, for he thought he was once more a shepherd ladi 

on the braes of Fallowdean ; he beheld the scenes upon 

which his eyes first rested, and his whole subsequent life,, 

spent for the most part at Glenbeltane, became as though 

it were not. When he awoke, he found himself repeating 

the touching verses of the ninetieth psalm. His vision had 

been so vivid, as to have deeply impressed him with the 

idea that some crisis in his life was approaching. So, commending 

himself to the God of his fathers, he arose and 

wakened Macewen, who still slept soundly in another part 

of the room. 

" What, Glenbeltane, do you think I dreamt last night ?" 

Gaid Gillespie. " Why, this, that with the profits of the 

tryst to-day, you bought a property, and got a charter for 

it from the King." 

" That dream was more comfortable than mine," replied 

Mark Teviot, " for I thought I had nothing left over of the 

property which God had already bestowed upon me." 

By this time the house and neighbourhood were in a 

turmoil of confusion. Herds were being driven to the 

stance, with the shouting of men and the barking of dogs ; 

and, an hour or two afterwards, Mark Teviot was standing 

in the raw morning twilight on Teithmuir, beside his cattle, 

and in the company of his topsman and Gillespie Mac- 

ewen. Gloom rested upon every countenance that fatal 

morning. Bad news had come in as to the markets in the 

south. There had been, in short, a sudden and great fail 

in prices. Glenbeltane's lot was much admired. Mostly- 

all the animals were from well known stocks of black 

cattle, and they were all in prime condition. But, even.

42 

o 

The His;hland MontJily. 

though the dealers who came to buy admitted as much, 

the highest prces they offered would not nearly repay 

Glenbeltane for his outlay. About mid-day, all 

lingering hopes of improved demand had to be 

abandoned. After that, business proceeded, and droves 

began to change hands at reduced rates, all over 

the tryst. It was in these circumstances, that Mark Teviot 

disposed of the herd upon which he had built such hopes. 

Not only was he forced to sell at a loss, but he had to 

deliver the cattle to the buyer on his farm in Renfrewshire. 

As soon as they were sold, and the prices paid, Glenbeltane 

directed his topsman and drivers to remove the drove from 

the stance, and to set out for the West. Notwithstanding 

the great reduction in the value of cattle which had taken 

place, the tacksman had what was then reckoned a large 

sum of money upon his person, as the proceeds of his stock. 

His condition was, indeed, enviable as compared with many 

others who had sold that day. The money he had invested 

in the drove was part of his own capital, and the loss would 

consequently not tell nearly so severely upon him, as upon 

dealers who had speculated with sums of money which they 

had raised, perhaps on the security of friends. As soon as 

Teviot saw his drove leave the stance, he resolved that he 

and Macewen should get their horses and return to the Inn, 

so as to be there before nightfall. 

While crossing the field, his attention was arrested by a 

crowd collected around a Punch and Judy Show ; and in the 

rapid articulation of the invisible exhibitor, he recognised the 

voice of an acquaintance from Duncairn, who was no other 

than Finlay Don, i.e. Brown Finlay, the showman. He was 

now at Brig o' Teith, attending the last fair upon his round, 

before returning to the bosom of hisfamily withthegainsof his 

profession. Teviot stood for a moment in front of the show, 

and then passed on, making for the further side of the field 

where the ponies had been left. He had not gone far when 

a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a cheery voice 

exclaimed— " Men will meet though knolls can never. 

But this is the first time that Glenbeltane and Gillespie and

Sec fie s of Long Ago. 421 

Finlay Don hae ever met so far from home. And how are 

they all in Duncairn ? How is Kate and the bairns? I 

have not heard of them since Lammasfair. I have little 

Jockie with me. Standing on a box that he might get 

within reach of the stage, he undertook to hang and coffin 

the blackguardly old puppet, while I skipped round to have 

a word with you." 

Glenbeltane, not ill pleased to see the voluble showman, 

gave him reassuring intelligence as to his wife and family, 

and desired him to come round to a booth to have some 

refreshment. 

" Thank you, Glenbeltane, thank you kindly, but 

not now. It is of that very booth I wish to talk. I 

have been watching you, through a rent in the show, for the 

last half hour. I saw you enter the open end of that tent 

and sit down at the table, along with the dealer and two 

friends of his, with whom you were, as I judged, concluding 

a bargain. I recognised, too, your topsman and young 

Gillespie as they ranged themselves alongside of you. But 

I saw more than the inside of the tent ; I could see the 

outside, and, whom saw I there but Gillies and Farquhar 

Macilvaine, in the company of one of the most noted 

sharpers who ever attended a tryst. They were within easy 

earshot of the table where you sat, and know to a penny 

what sum of money you have on you. When you rose to 

leave I watched them closely. They had apparently been 

of the opinion that Gillespie would accompany the topsman, 

as I would have expected myself. His presence with you 

may have put them out somewhat in their calculations. 

Meantime, they know perfectly well that you are going for 

the horses, and have not followed you hither. So, have a 

care, Glenbeltane ; 

for these foul carrion have scented a full 

how Jockie is 

purse. But I can stay no longer. Hark ! 

getting confused, and if his voice falters more, the people 

will grow impatient. Farewell, my \vorthy friend and bene- 

factor, and farewell, my bold piper until we meet at the 

fireside of Glenbeltane, or in the kitchen of Keilangus Inn 

at Yuletide.


Happy we've been a thegither ; 

Happy we've been ane an' a'; 

But happier still we'll be thegither, 

Ere we'll rise and gae awa'." 

And with that Finlay Don quickly disappeared within 

his diminutive and tatterdemalion pavilion, from whence his 

stentorian tones were heard, to the admiration of the 

-audience, after the feebler efforts of his son. 

When Mark Teviot and Macewen took possession of 

their ponies, the afternoon was spent, and another chill and 

joggy twilight set in. Flakes of snow were carried hither 

and thither by the bleak east wind. Now, if Finlay kept an 

eye upon the movements of his two friends, he would, have 

been somewhat exercised to observe them mount and ride 

rapidly in the direction of Forthburgh, the provincial town 

that lay some eight or ten miles to the south-east, in place 

of returning to the inn where they had spent the previous 

night, and which was on the direct route to the Highlands. 

An hour and a half later, Mark Teviot might have been 

seen knocking at the door of the bank-agent in the town 

to which I have referred. The banker, after some parley, 

opened his office to accommodate a customer, and the 

tacksman lodged nearly all his money here, taking with 

him, in his red pocket-pook, only sufficient to pay his 

Martinmas rent and the servants' wages then due. The 

night was dark and boisterous, and Teviot decided to stay 

in a neighbouring hotel till morning ; but this the hospitable 

banker would by no means suffer him to do. Mr 

Winram's father had been baron-bailie of Duncairn, and as 

he himself had been born and brought up there, it may 

readily be supposed that it was not till more than one 

tumbler of punch had been discussed, that the banker 

showed Glenbeltane to his room, and bade him good 

night. 

The cold and stormy weather showing no signs of 

abatement on the following morning, it was towards noon 

before Teviot and his companion set out for the north. 

Besides, the old tacksman must have been considerably


fatigued by the won-)' and exertion of the preccdini,^ day. 

Having bidden adieu to liis kind host, he rode slowly 

along, congratulating^ himself upon the escape which he 

had made from robbery. It was only after seeing 

Finlay Don that Glenbeltanc tliought it wise to take 

those further measures immediately to secure his money, 

which involved his hurried ride to the bank. He 

often spoke of what had happened, from first to 

last, in this expedition, as showing a special 

Providential intervention for his protection. He 

had never heard of any dealer from the North who had 

lodged money after a tryst in the way he himself had done 

With such thoughts running through his mind, he was in 

much better spirits than on the previous day. As he rode 

past Teith Muir, which, although entirely deserted, still had 

many traces of the recent tryst, he glanced over it and said 

as he rode on 

— 

" Ah, Gillespie, many a wildly throbbing heart has been 

on that field. There is scarce a spot of its surface upon 

which some ruined, sorrow-stricken man has not stood- 

Many had gone there expecting the smiles of prosperity, 

whom I have seen leave it penniless, and ashamed to 

meet the glance of friends and old neighbours ; nay, almost 

shrinking from returning home to explain to their wives 

and families how the earnings of a lifetime have been swept 

away ; and, still worse, how they are totally unable to meet 

all claims against them. Oftentimes have I been saddened 

to observe the compressed lip, and the hands nervously 

wrung, telling the same disastrous tale. But here, too, have 

been those who, by a long course of successful enterprise, 

amassed riches. I have seen topsmen and friends 

crowding around them, as though they were congratulating 

a hero upon newly-acquired laurels. The successful man 

has a wondrous fascination. Others less fortunate seek his 

company even as though some rays of his prosperity might 

emanate upon those near. I have seen, O poor human 

nature ! I have seen ruined men try to laugh and joke with 

those who gained by their loss, and to swell the volume of

424 


flattery and applause which arose on all sides. A sad^ 

dreary smile is theirs at best, though, such as might make 

angels weep." 

Mark Teviot had numerous reminiscences of former 

trysts to relate, which Macewen was anxious to hear ; 

for he hoped one day to stand the market with 

a drove of his own. 

In due course they reached the Inn where they had put 

up on the night before proceeding to Teith Muir. Here 

Teviot thought it best to remain for this night also, as from 

that place two days journey, would bring them home. The 

landlord expressed surprise that the two travellers had not 

returned from the tryst as they had intended, and he 

mentioned to Glenbeltane that two men who professed to 

be his drivers had, at a late hour, made eager inquiries as 

to whether he had arrived at the inn, and, on being informed 

that he had not, they appeared ill-satisfied and left. The 

tacksman had no doubt but that these were Gillies and 

Farquhar Macilvaine, whom he had so neatly thrown off 

the scent at the tryst. But he made no remark to that 

effect in the landlord's hearing. 

Next day he resumed his journey, thankful that he 

had taken his trusty henchman, as, otherwise, he would 

have been entirely alone, all those belonging to the 

North, who had attended Teithmuir, being then more 

than a day's journey ahead. The weather continued 

to be very unfavourable. A good deal of snow had 

fallen, and the road was covered with mud and slush. 

Notwithstanding this, the riders managed to make con- 

siderable progress for some hours. Then the storm 

increased, and the wind veered round so as to drive the 

sleet right in their faces. Their plaids, even their clothes, 

were soon soaked through and through. Considering these 

circumstances, coupled with the shortness of the day, Glen- 

beltane judged that it would be foolhardy to press on to 

the stage house where he was in the habit of lodging, as he 

journeyed to and from Teithmuir.

Gaelic rncantations. 425 

GAELIC INCANTATIONS, CHARMS. AND 


THERE 


VI. 

EOLAS NA\ SUL. 

were Eolais not only to heal sore eyes, but 

also to remove a mote from the eye. Martin men- 

tions that " there be women" who have the latter art, 

" though at some miles distant from the party grieved." The 

Eolas for sore or weak eyes was practised till recent times in 

many parts of the country. The viodiis operandi was this : 

—A dish was filled with clean water, and the performer, 

bending over it, and spitting into it, repeated the following 

Incantation : 

— 

Obaidh nan geur shi:il. 

An obaidh 's fearr fo 'n ghrein ; 

Obaidh Dhe, an Uile Mhor. 

Feile Mairi, feile Dhe, 

Feile gach sagairt 's gach cleir, 

Feile Mhicheil nam feart, 

'Chairich anns a' ghrein a neart. 

Translated 

A charm for sore smarting eyes 

— 

The best charm under the sun ; 

The charm of God, the All Great ; 

Beneficence of Mary, beneficence of God, 

Beneficence of each priest and each cleric. 

Beneficence of Michael the strenuous, 

Who bestowed on the sun its strength. 

A' CHIOCH—THE UVULA. 

When the palate fell (A' chioch 's an amhaich), the 

ceremony of logail na Dail-chuaich was resorted to. As 

the plant called Dail-cJiuaich was pulled, a certain incantation 

was said, but I have been unable to get it. Will any 

reader furnish a copy ?

426 The Highlmid Monthly. 

Another cure for "raising the uvula" was the Ciochagthraghad. 

This small, red, uvula-like marine polypus was 

gathertd when the tide was out, tied in a piece of cloth, 

and hung on the crook above tlie fire, in the name of the 

Trinity, mentioning the name of the sufferer from the 

Cioch-sJdugain at the same time. As the CiocJiag-thraghad 

shrank under the influence of the fire, so it was believed 

that the uvula of the sufferer would resume its normal 

size 

! 

KING'S EVIL. 

Here is an Irish charm for the King's Evil : 

Marbhuigheann m' ortha easbaidh bruth 

— 

Eachmhaidh chneadha, eachmhaidh chneadha, 

Gach cnuimh i n-deid a's gach peist 

A mbidheann nimh ann. 

In ainm an Athar agus an Mhic agus an .Spioraid Naoi'-nh. 

Translated 

— 

My charm doth kill the hot evil 

— 

The gnawing worm, the gnawing worm ; 

Every worm in tooth, and every monster 

Of poisonous nature. 

In the name of the Father, &c, 

ROINN A' MHAIM OR "APPORTIONING" SWOLLEN GLANDS. 

The Mam, or, as it is called in some districts, Man, is a 

swelling of the glands in the armpit, or at the upper end of 

the thigh glaic na sleisde} Mam is probably the correct 

form— the swelling being so called from its resemblance to 

viam, a round hillock. 

The popular method of curing the Mam was to have it 

divided or apportioned 

— 

roinn—over a number of mams or 

hillocks in different parts of the country. The mode of 

carrying out the roinn, or apportioning, was as follows :—The 

person who practised the Eolas took a darning needle and 

laid it across the Mam or swelling. He then took an axe 

and placed its edge on the needle, thus forming a cross, and 

^ Minn = A certain bile or ulcerous swelling of the armpit ; ulcus quLcdam, 

ulcus in axilla.—Highland Society's Dictionary. 

Mciu = X brook bile, or an ulcerous swelling under the arm.—Macfarlane's 

Vocabulary.


at the same time saying " So air Mam" — (naming a 

particular inam or hillock). The needle was then shifted, 

the axe placed across it again, and that portion of the 

and so on for nine or 

swelling assigned to another Mam ; 

twenty-four times, according to ihe method of the performer. 

The roiiin or apportioning nine times was considered 

sufficient to cause the swelling to subside 

— 

dot air ais—but 

the correct number, according to some, was twenty-four. 

In apportioning the swelling over twenty-four Mams, the 

sign of the cross was made on the floor with the edge of 

the axe, after the eighth, sixteenth, and twenty-fourth 

Mams enumerated below, the operator at the same time 

saying— " Tha so air a' Mham Mhor Dhinrach, 's e 's an 

dcicheamJiy 

I am indebted to my friend Professor Mackinnon for 

the following list of Mams mentioned in the rite as the 

same is performed in Colonsay. It was recently noted 

from the recital of Alexander Macneil, an old Colonsay 

man, who thought it was required for some desperate case 

that had defied the skill of all the Edinburgh doctors ! 

Ihe performer, taking the needle and the axe, and 

going through the action above described, went over the 

twenty-four Mams thus 

— 

1. So air Mam a Scriodain [Mull]. 

2. So air Mam an t-Snodain. 

3. So air Mam Dhoire Dhuaig [Mull]. 

4. So air Mam Chloiche Duinn. 

5. So air Mam an t-Sruthain. 

6. So air Mam an t-Siosair. 

7. So air Mam an t-Seilisteir. 

8. So air Mam Shiaba [Mull]. 

f (on the floor) So air a' Mham Alhor Dhiurach, 's 

e 'san Deicheamh. 

9. So air Mam Astal [Islay]. 

10. So air Mam Choireadail [Islay]. 

11. So air Mam a' Bhatain. 

12. So air Mam Shraoisnich. 

13. So air Mam an t-Siobarsaich. 

14. So air Mam Chataibli [so pronounced in Colonsay, 

where Caithness is understood].


15. So air Mam na Mororaig-. 

16. So air Mam Chloiche gile. 

t So air a Mham Mhor Dhiurach, &c. 

17. So air Mam na Doire Uaine [Doire is Feminine in 

Colonsay]. 

18. So air Mam na Doire Liath (I'eith). 

19. So air Mam Arichdhuairich [so pronounced by 

reciter. Airidh Dhiiairidh in Mull is suggested]. 

20. So air Mam Choire-na-h-eirea'a [Jura]. 

21. So air Mam Ghribinn [Mull]. 

22. So air Mam Aisginis [S. Uist ?]. 

23. So air Mam Chlachaig [Mull]. 

24. So air Mam Choire Chriostal. 

f- So air a Mham Mhor Dhiurach, &c. 

Some of you may be able to identify the locality of 

several of these Mavis. 

Macneill, firmly believes in the efficacy of his method 

of curing the Mam ; and he occasionally puts his skill to 

the test in Colonsay. 

An Arisaig man informed me that his father used to 

" apportion" the Main, and was always successful in effecting 

a cure. " I never saw his method fail," said my 

informant ; 

" and I have often seen the swelling burst 

during the operation with the hatchet !" 

Donald Maceachan, an old cottar in South Morar, still 

professes that he can cure such swellings as I have 

described. Recently I met him, and he was good enough 

to describe his method. He learned the art in his youth, 

from an old man, and has practised it from time to time 

ever since. Shortly before my interview with him, he had 

cured a young man who had a Ma^n on the thigh am bac 

na sleisde—and that so speedily that on the day after the 

operation no trace of the swelling was left 

In Arisaig and Morar the number of Mams mentioned 

is nine, and 'ôt twenty-four, as in Colonsay. There is no 

reference to the Great Mam of Jura, to which so much 

importance is attached in the Colonsay formula. All the 

and Maceachan, in 

Mavis mentioned are in Knoydart ; 

order to convince me of the accuracy of his list, stated that 

! 

—

— 


he himself had lived for a long time in that district, and 

took a special note of the Mams mentioned in his formula. 

His own words were— " Bha mi-fhein a' fuireach fada ann 

an Cnoideart, 's chum mi beachd air na Maim." Like the 

Psalmist, he might well say 

— 

" I to the Hills will lift mine eyes. 

From whence doth come mine Aid!'' 

The method of " apportioning the Mam'' in Arisaig and 

Morar was as follows :—The edge of the axe was placed, 

in the name of the Trinity, on the swelling. Lifting the 

axe, the operator then struck its edge into a block of wood 

—generally the door-step (inaide-biiinn or stairsneach)—at 

the same time saying, " So air Mam-Chlachard" i.e., " This 

part of the swelling I apportion to Mam-Chlachard"- -and so 

on, until each of the nine hills mentioned in the formula 

received its due portion ! 

— 

If one recital did not prove suc- 

cessful, the rite might be performed two or three times. 

The following is the formula as practised by Donald 

Maceachan : 

1. Tha mi cur so air Mam-Chlachard [above Loch- 

Nevis]. 

2. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Uchd [Knoydart]. 

3. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Uidhe [Knoydart]. 

4. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Bharasdail [Knoydart]. 

5. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Eadail [Knoydart]. 

6. Tha mi 'cur so air Maman-Odhar [Knoydart]. 

7. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Suidheag [Knoydart]. 

8. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Unndulainn [Knoydart]. 

9. Tha mi 'cur so air Mam-Lidh [Knoydart]. 

AN TROMA-LAIDHE, OR NIGHTMARE. 

The following is a charm against Nightmare, or 

Troma-laidhc, It was to be said as soon as the person 

awoke : 

— 

Aisling a chunnaic mi 'n geilt, 

Thug Criosd oirre deagh bhreith ; 

Dh'innis Peadar i do Phol, 

'S thubhairt Pol gum bu mhath.

— 

— 

430 The Highland Monthh 

Translated 

A dream I saw in fear 

Christ passed on it good judgment ; 

Peter told it to Paul, 

And Paul said it was well. 

The above is from Barra. Here is a similar one from the 

Arran Islands, Galway : 

Translated 

An Triuir is sine, an Triuir is oige, 

An Triuir is treise i bh-Flaitheas na Gloire 

An t-Athar, an Mac, 's an Spiorad Naomh, 

Dho m' shabhail, 's dho m' ghardail o nocht go 

d-ti bliadain, 

Agus an nochd fein. An ainm an Athar, &c. 

The Three oldest, the Three youngest, 

The Three strongest in the Heaven of Glory, 

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, 

To save and guard from to-night for a year, 

And to-night itself. In nomine Patris, &c. 

SPRAINS. 

Eolais for sprains are numerous, and are known as Eolas 

an t-snioinh, or Eolas air sgiiichadh FeitJie. They were 

applied in the case of man, and also in the case of the lower 

animals. The performer took a worsted thread in his or 

her mouth, muttered the incantation, and tied the thread 

round the injured limb, where it was kept until worn out. 

In Norse mythology, we have an account of Woden's 

adventure with his steed, which slides and wrenches its 

joint, till successive Galdersongs, or charms, restore it. It 

was the same idea with the Highland charms, Christ, and 

sometimes St Columba or St Bridget, being mentioned as 

the author of the cure. Here is a specimen from Uist : 

— 

Dh' eirich Criosda moch 

Maduinn bhriagha mach ; 

Chunnaic e cnaimhean 'each 

Air am bristeadh ma seach ; 

Chuir e cnaimh ri cnaimh, 

Chuir e smuai^ ri smuais, 

Chuir e feoil ri feoil, 

Agus feith ri feith ; 

— 

—

Translated 

— — 


Chuir e craicionn ri craicionn ; 

Mar a shlanaich Criosda sin 

Gu 'n slanaich mise so. 

Christ arose early and went forth 

One fine morning. 

He beheld his horses' bones 

Broken cross-wise. 

He put bone to bone; 

He put marrow to marrow ; 

He put flesh to flesh ; 

He put sinew to sinew 

And put skin to skin. 

As Christ healed these, 

May I heal this. 

The following is a version of the Eolas from Loch- 

broom : 

Chaidh Criosda mach 

'S a' mhaduinn mhoich, 

'S fhuair e casan nan each, 

Air am bristeadh mu seach. 


Agus feith ri feith, 

Agus feoil ri feoil, 

Agus craicionn ri craicionn ; 

'S mar leighis Esan sin, 

Gu 'n leighis mise so. 

Translated 

Christ went forth 

In the early morn 

And found the horses' legs 

Broken across. 

He put bone to bone. 

Sinew to sinew, 

Flesh to flesh. 

And skin to skin ; 

And as He healed that, 

May I heal this. 

Here is another version from Uist : 

; 

— 

Dh'eirich Calum-Cille moch, 

Fhuair e cnamhan a chuid each 

Cas mu scach.

432 



Feoil ri feoil, 

Feithean ri feithean, 

Seich ri seiche, 

Smuais ri smuais ; 

A' Chriosd mar leighis Thu sid, 

Gu 'n leighis Thu so. 

It is unnecessary to translate this Incantation. It is in 

effect the same as the two preceding ones, with this differ- 

ence, that St Columba takes the place in the latter taken 

by Christ in the two former. It is noteworthy that the 

healing of broken bones by St Columba is mentioned by 

Adamnan in his Life of the Saint. The holy virgin 

Maugina, daughter of Daimen, who lived in Clochur, 

we are there told, when returning from Mass, 

stumbled and broke her thigh quite through. Columba 

ordered a disciple named Lugaid to visit her. As Lugaid 

was setting out on his journey, the Saint gave him a little 

box, made of pine, saying— " Let the blessed gift which is 

contained in this box be dipped in a vessel of water when 

thou comest to visit Maugina, and let the water thus blessed 

be poured on her thigh ; 

then at once, by the invocation of 

God's name, her thigh-bone shall be joined together and 

made strong, and the holy virgin shall recover perfect 

health." Lugaid carried out his master's directions, and we 

are told that in an instant Maugina was completely healed 

by the closing up of the bone.— (See Vita Sancti Columbce, 

Lib. II., cap. V.) 

In connection with St Columba's directions to Lugaid, 

John Roy Stuart's " Prayer" may be mentioned. Stuart 

sprained his ankle after the battle of Culloden, and while 

hiding from the Red-coats he composed the verses known 

as"Urnaigh Iain Ruaidh" ("John Roy's Prayer"). According 

to this prayer, his ankle was to be cured by the charm 

which St Peter made for St Paul. Seven paters, in the 

name of Priest and Pope, were to be applied as a plaster 

;


while another charm was to be appHed in the name of the 

Virgin Mary, all-powerful to cure the true believer : 

Ni mi 'n ubhaidh rinn Peadar do Phal 

'Sa luighean air fas leum bruaich ; 

Seachd Paidir 'n ainm Sagairt a's P^p 

Ga chuir ris na phlasd mu 'n cuairt. 

Ubhaidh eile as leath Moire nan Gras 

'S urrainn creideach dheanamh slan ri uair, 

— Vide Mackenzie's " Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," p. 268. 

Our Norse neighbours in Orkney and Shetland also 

had their charms for the cure of sprains. The thread used 

was called the " wristing thread," and the incantation was 

as follows : 

— 

Our Saviour rade, 

His fore-foot slade, 

— ! 

Our Saviour lighted down ; 

Sinew to sinew— joint to joint, 

Blood to blood, and bone to bone, 

Mend thou in God's name 

ST COLUMBA AS THE PATRON OF CATTLE. 

At the commencement of this paper I mentioned that 

in Uist the Eolais there used were attributed to St 

Columba. The Saint's name is mentioned in one of the 

versions of the Eolas for a Sprain above given. In the 

Western Islands St Columba appeared to have been 

regarded as the patron of cattle. When a man spoke to a 

neighbour about the neighbour's cattle, he said 

— 

Gu'n gleidheadh Calum-Cille dhuibh iad. 

(May St Columba protect them for you). 

As a woman left her cattle on the hill-side to graze, 

she waved her hand towards them, saying 

" Buachailleachd Dhia 's Chalum-Chille oirbh." 

(May the herding and guardianship of God and St 

Columba be on you). 

— 

28

434 ^/^^' Highland Monthly. 

An Eriskay woman used to address her cattle 

Translated 

— — — 

— 

Gu'm bu duinte gach slochd 

'S gu'm bu reidh gach cnoc 

Buachailleachd Chalum-Chille oribh. 

Gus an tig sibh dhachaidh. 

May each pit be closed, 

And each hillock be plain ; 

Columba's herding on ye 

Till home ye return. 

We have also the following saying regarding St 

Columba's day 

Translated 

Diardaoin, La 'Ille Chaluim Chaoimh, 

Latha chur chaorach air seilbh, 

Gu deilbh 's gu cur ba air laogh. 

Thursday, gentle Saint Columba's Day, 

The day to put sheep to pasture 

Suitably, and cow to calf. 

Adamnan tells us of the Saint blessing cattle, and their 

number increasing. Nesan, a poor man, who entertained 

Columba for the night, had five heifers. " Bring them to 

me that I may bless them," said the Saint. They were 

brought. He raised his holy hand, blessed them, and said 

— " From this day thy five little heifers shall increase to 

the number of one hundred and five cows. Another poor 

man, named Columban, had five small cows." They too 

were blessed by the Saint, and thereafter increased to one 

hundred and five ! 

— 

{ Vide Book II., chapters xx. and xxii). 

Another cattle blessing was as follows : 

Translated 

Siubhail monadh, siubhail coille, 

Siubhail gu reidh fada farsuinn ; 

Buachaille Mhoire fo d' chois, 

'S gu'm bu slan a thig thu as ! 

— 

Travelling mountain, travelling wood, 

Travel freely, far and wide ; 

Mary's herdsman by thy feet. 

And safely may thou hither come !

called 


The following is a more elaborate version of it, and is 

Translated 

— 

Rami Bnachailleachd, or Herding Incantation. 

Siubhail monaidh, suibhail coille, 

Siubhail gu reidh fada, farsuinn, 

Banachaig Phadruig mu'n casan 

Gus 'm faic mise slan a risd sibh. 

An sian a chuir Moire mu 'buar 

Moch a's anmoch 's a tighinn bhuaidh ; 

Ga'n gleidheadh bho pholl 's bho eabar, 

Bho fheith 's bho adharcan a cheile, 

Bho liana (?) na«creige-ruaidhe 

'S bho luaths na Feinne. 

Banachaig Phadruig ma'r casan 

Gu'm a slan a thig sibh dhachaidh. 

Traversing hills, traversing woods, 

And (while) grazing far and near, 

[May] St Patrick's milkmaid attend you 

Till I see you well again ; 

[And may] the charm made by Mary for her cattle. 

Early and late going to and coming from the pasture 

Protect you from pit and quagmire. 

From fens or morasses, and from each other's horns ; 

From the filling of the red rock [the rose or swelling 

of the udder?] 

And from the swift-footed Fingalians. 

May St Patrick's milkmaid attend your footsteps 

And scatheless may you again come home. 

Akin to the foregoing is the 

It is as follows 

— 

Orra- Gleidlieadh Spreidhe. 

Cuiridh mise 'n spreidh so romham 

Mar a dh-orduich Righ an Domhain, 

Moire ga 'n gleidheadh a fheith nan coimbeach, 

Air thus a Bhride mhin bi mar riu, 

Le d' bhata 's led' lorg be rompa, 

'S gu 'n glacadh tu clur as d' fholt, 

O rinn thu dhaibh eolas a's earal, 

Ga 'n gleidheadh o chall 's o lochd, 

O bhathadh an allt 's o eharadh cam.

436 


No o mhilleadh sluic, 

A Bhride mhin fagam agad, 

Moire tilleadh thugam 

Le leas Dhia 's Chalum-Chille, 

Casan cuiribh fothaibh, 

'S drochaid Mhoire romhaibh. 

In the following charm noted from an old Lochbroom 

man we have St Columba's cure of the cattle disease 

known as 

Translated 

— 

All Tairbhean. 

An t-eolas a rinn Calum-Cille 

Dh' aona bh6 na caillich. 

Cas air muir, cas air tir, 

Cas eile 'sa' churachan. 

Air mhial, air bhalg, 

Air ghalair dearg, air thairbhein. 

An tairbhean a tha na do bhroinn 

Air an ailbhinn ^ sin thall, - 

Slainte dhut a bheathaich! 

The charm made by St Columba 

For the old wife's only cow. 

One foot on the sea, one foot on land, 

And another foot in the corracle. 

Against worm (louse ?), against swelling. 

Against red disease (strangury ?) and tairbhean. 

May the tairbheaji that's in your body 

Go t(j yonder hard stone. 

Health to you, beastie ! 

We often have St Columba presented to us with one 

foot on land and the other on the sea, suggesting his sway 

over sea and land 

— 

per mate per terras. According to the 

foregoing, we have the Saint with three feet—one on the 

sea, one on the land, and a third in the corracle ! 

' My informant explained ailbhi77n as " A' chreag is cruaidhe 'th' ann"— 

(the hardest rock there is). He said it was to be found in the desert, and was 

so hard " that blood alone would soften it !" 

•^ Here mention the name of the beast— Niseag, Blarag, or whatever it may 

lie.

Gaelic Incantahons. 437 

A more elaborate version of the Eolas is given by me 

in Vol. VIII. of the Gaelic Society's Transactions. It is 

as follows : 

Translated 

— 

An t-Eolas a rinn Calum-Cille 

Dh' aona bho na caill-ch ; 

Bha cas Chalum-Chille 's a' churachan, 

'S a chas eil' air tir : 

— 

— — 

A thairbhein, a thainig thar chuan 

'S o bhun na talmhainn fada thall 

Air mhial, air bhalg, 

Air ghalar dearg, 

A lughdachadh do bhuilg ; 

'S a mharbhadh do mhial, 

A mharbhadh fiolan fionn, 

A mharbhadh fiolan donn, 

A mharbhadh biast do leann, 

A mharbhadh an tairbhein. 

Gu'm faigh thu leasachadh 

Aghachain, tog do cheann. 

— 

The charm that Columba wrought 

For the old wife's only cow ; 

Columba's one foot was in the corracle 

And the other on land : 

Thou tairbhean, that earnest over sea 

And from the foundations of the earth far beyond ; 

Against worm (louse), against swelling, 

Against the red disease ; 

To reduce thy swelling. 

And to kill thy worm ; 

To kill the white nescock, 

To kill the brown nescock. 

To kill the worm in thy bile, 

To kill the tairbJiean. 

May thou get relief; 

Heifer, raise up thine head. 

Sealmachas. 

The following Eolas is for Sealmachas. Macalpine, in 

the list of Orras already given, calls it ''Seamlachas." When 

a cow lost her calf, she refused to give her milk, or allow 

the calf of another cow to suck her. This Orra was said

438 

— 

The Hio/iland Monthly. 

to induce her to give her milk, or allow the calf of another 

to suck her. Here again we have St Columba mentioned. 

The Eolas was as follows : 

Translated 

— 

An t-Eolas a rinn Calum-Cille 

'Dh-aona bho na caillich, 

Air thabhairt a' bhainne 

'N deigh marbhadh a laoigh ; 

Bho fheithean a droma 

Gu feithean a tarra, 

'S bho fheithean a tarra 

Gu feithean a taobh, 

Bho bhun a da chluaise, 

Gu smuais a da leise, 

Air thabhairt a' bhainne 

'N deigh marbhadh a laoigh. 

The charm that St Columba wrought 

For the old wife's only cow, 

For the giving of the milk 

After the killing of her calf; 

Be from the veins of her back 

To the veins of her belly, 

From the veins of her belly 

To the veins of her side, 

From the roots of her two ears 

To the joints of her two thighs, 

For the giving of the milk 

After the killing of her calf 

Rami Leigheas Galair Cruidh. 

In the following Rann leigheas galair cntidh, we have 

Christ and his Apostles instead of St Columba : 

Criosd a's Ostail a's Eoin, 

An Triuir as binne gloir, 

A dh' eirich a dheanadh na h-ora, 

Roimh dhorus na cathrach, 

No air glun deas do mhic. 

Air na mnathan mur-shuileach, 

Air na fearabh geur-shulach, 

*S air na saighdean sitheadach, 

Dithis a' lasachadh alt agus ga'n adhachadh, 

Agus triuir a chuireas mi an urra riu sin. 

—

Translated 

— 


An t-Athair, 's am Mac, 's an Spiorad Naomh, 

Ceithir ghalara fichead an aoraibh duine's beathaich, 

Dia ga 'n sgriobadh, Dia ga 'n sguabadh 

As t-fhuil as t-fheoil, 's ad' chnamh 's ad' smuais, 

'S mar thog Criosda meas air bharra gach crann, 

Gu'm b'ann a thogas E dhiotsa 

Gach suil, gach gnu 's gach farmad, 

On la 'n diugh gu latha dcireannach do shaoghail. 

Christ and his Apostles and John, 

The Three of most excellent glory, 

That ascended to make supplication 

Through the gateway of the city, 

Fast by the right knee of God's own son. 

As regards evil-eyed [lit. wall-eyed] women. 

As regards sharp-eyed men ; 

As regards swift-speeding elf-arrows, 

Two to strengthen and renovate the joints, 

And three to back (these two) as sureties 

The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. 

To four-and-twenty diseases are the veins of man 

and beast (subject) 

; 

God utterly extirpate,svveep away, and eradicate them 

From out thy blood and flesh, tny bones and[marrow. 

And as Christ uplifted its proper foliage 

To the extremities or the branches on each tree-top, 

So may He uplift from off and out of thee 

Each (evil) eye, each frowning look, malice and envy. 

From this day forth to thy last day on earth, Amen. 

STRANGURY. 

The next Eolas I will submit to you is Eolas a' Mhun- 

deirg, or strangury in cattle. The performer measured the 

animal's spine with the thumb and fore-finger, and at the 

same time repeated the following Incantation thrice : 

Mar a ruitheas amhuinn fhuar, 

'S mar a mheiltheas (bhleitheas) muileann luath, 

Stad air t-fhuil a's ruith air t-fhual. 

Translated 

As runs a cold river, 

As a swift mill grinds, 

Let thy blood stop, and thy urine flow. 

—

440 

The HiglUand Monthly. 

Mr Macbain give^ another Gaelic version of it in the 

Highland Monthly, Vol. III., p. 229. 

Another Uist version is as follows : — 

A bhean sin 's a bhean bhalbh, 

Thainig thugainn a tir nam marbh ; 

A rug air a choiie 'na cruth, 

Fuasgail an dubh 's lig an dearg. 

A PANACEA FOR ALL ILLS. 

The following was a cure for all the ills that flesh is 

heir to : 

— — 

Translated 

Ola cas easgainn, 

Bainne cich circe, 

A's geir mheanbh-chuileag, 

Ann an adharc muice, 

Agus ite cait ga shuathadh ris. 

Oil from an eel's foot, 

Milk from a hen's teat, 

The taUow of midges 

(Compounded) In the horn of a pig, 

And rubbed to the part with a feather from 

a cat's wing ! 

The above was as potent as " An t-ian a thig a ubh 

coilich, sgriosaidh e 'n saoghal !"— (The chicken that will 

come out of a cock's egg can destroy the world). 

AMBIGUOUS INCANTATIONS. 

Occasionally one meets not only with obscure phrases, 

but also with whole Incantations, the meaning of which is 

far from clear. Here is one : 

— 

Uisg' an Easain 

Air mo dhosan. 

Tog dhiom do rosad 

'S aghaidh fir an cabhaig orm ! 

Will any learned Gael explain its meaning and purpose ? 

THE BLESSINGS. 

I have dwelt at such length on the Charms intended for 

cures, &c., that my observations on Blessings and miscel- 

laneous Charms must be very brief There were ceremonies

iiaelic Incantations. 441 

and blessings for all the more important duties engaged in. 

When the cattle were sent to the sheilings in the earlysummer, 

there were Blessings suitable for the occasion. 

Specimens of these are given in the paper on " Old 

Hebridcan Hymns," contributed by Mr A. A. Carmichael 

to Lord Napier's Report (Royal Commission, Highlands 

and Islands, 1883). 

The Blessing of the Boats was a ceremony regularly 

observed in the Outer Islands ; 

— — 

but the old Gaelic Blessings 

appear to be now forgotten. Bishop Carsewell gives a 

Boat Blessing (Modh Beandaighthe luinge ag dul diold- 

saidhe na fairrge) in his Gaelic translation of the Liturgy 

of John Knox ; and the manner of Alexander Macdonald's 

" Beannachadh" of the Birlinn of Clan Ranald indicates that 

such Blessings were common in his time. In the Ritual of 

the Church of Rome there is a Blessing for a New Ship 

" Be7iedictio Nova; Navis"—and this Blessing is regularly 

attended to in the Catholic parts of the Hebrides. The 

ceremony is quite a short one. The priest goes on board 

the new boat, says the Benedictio, and sprinkles the boat 

with Holy Water. This ceremony is repeated every time 

there is a change in the crew. 

The Barra fishermen always carry a bottle of Holy 

Water in the prow of the boat, and a Blessed Candle in the 

cabin. When in danger they sprinkle themselves and boat 

with Holy Water, and lighting the Blessed Candle in the 

cabin, gather round it on their knees and say their prayers. 

In throwing out the long lines and nets, they do so invoking 

the three persons of the Trinity. 

According to Hibbert a somewhat similar practice pre- 

vailed among the ancient Shetlanders. A layman assuming 

the role of an ecclesiastic muttered certain religious incan- 

tations over water. The element was then named " Fore- 

spoken Water," and boats were sprinkled with it, and limbs 

washed with it. 

The fishing in Barra is annually inaugurated with 

religious services in the Church on St Bride's Day 

La

— 

442 'J'he Highland Monthly. 

Fheill Brighde ; and until six years ago the fishing banks 

were distributed among the various crevvs.^ The ceremony 

of distributing the banks was carried on by means of casting 

lots, under the direction of the priest. As the people 

left the Church, they chanted one of their old Hymrs : 

Athair, a Mhic, 's a Spioraid Naoimh, 

Biodh an Tri-'n-Aon leinn a la 's a dh-oidhch'. 

Air chul nan tonn, no air thaobh nam beann 

Biodh ar Mathair leinn, 's biodh a lamh mu'r ceann. 

Translated 

O Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, 

May the Three-in-One protect us night and da}- 

On the tossing billows, or on the mountain, 

May Mary's arm be our guard alway ! 

In connection with these religious services in Barra^ 

it may be mentioned that in some parts of Ireland the 

fishing season used to be commenced by saying Mass on 

the ocean. The late A. M. Sullivan describes this ceremony, 

as he witnessed it in his youth at Bantry Bay. He 

says : 

— 

" Few sights could be more picturesque than the ceremony 

by which, in our bay, the fishing season was formally 

opened. Selecting an auspicious day, unusually calm and 

fine, the boats, from every creek and inlet for miles around, 

assembled at a given point, and then, in solemn procession, 

rowed out to sea, the leading boat carrying the priest of 

the district. Arrived at the distant fishing-ground, the 

clergyman vested himself, an altar was improvised on the 

stern-sheets, the attendant fleet drew around, and every 

head 

have 

was bared and bowed while the Mass was said. 

\ 

seen this ' Mass on the ocean ' when not a breeze 

stirred, and the tinkle of the little bell or the murmur of 

the priest's voice was the only sound that reached the ear ; 

the blue hills of Bantry faint on the horizon behind us, and 

nothing nearer beyond than the American shore !" 

h-eland). 

— 

! 

— 

(Neiv 

There is a story told of a fisherman in one of the 

Western Islands, whose prayer before going to sea was of a 

similar practice formerly prevailed in parts of Shetland. Edmondston, 

' A 

who published his " Zetland Islands" in 1809, informs us that the fishermen of 

the Island of Burra " divide the range of the fishing ground ; and the occupier 

of a farm has generally also a particular spot allotted to him on which he sets- 

his lines." — Fz(/i? Vol. I., p. 234.

— 

— 

— 

Gaelic Incantatio,.s. 443 

somewhat different tone. He considered himself a very- 

respectful man (duine niodhail), and addressed the Deity 

as Sibhse (You) instead of the customary 1husa (Thou). 

On one occasion when going to sea, danger was anticipated, 

and he prayed 

" Ud a Thighearna Dhia, Ruin, na 'm biodh Sibh cho 

math a's curam a ghabhail do Mhairi 's do Sheonaid ; ach 

a' Bhan-Diabhul, nighean Phara Mhic-a'-Phearsain, deanadh 

i a roghainn : 

na partanan 

bithidh fear eile aice ma 's bi mise ichte aig 

!" 

Translated 

" O Lord God, my Beloved, if You would be so good as 

to take the care of Mary and Jessie; but that She-Devil, 

the daughter of Peter Macpherson, let her take her choice ; 

she will have another before I am eaten by the crabs !" 

Mary and Jessie were his daughters. Needless to say 

the " she-devil" was his wife. 

CONCLUSION. 

I feel that this paper has extended far beyond the 

limits usually allowed, and that no matter how interesting 

the subject may be in itself, I must now conclude. In 

doing so, I cannot adopt more fitting language than that 

used by the Hebridean peasant on finishing the labours of 

the day, and before retiring for the night When smooring 

the fire he says 

— 

Smalaidh mise 'n nochd an teine. 

Mar a smalas Mac Moire ; 

Gu'm bu slan an tigh 's an teine, 

Gu'm bu slan a' chuideachd uile. 

Co bhios air an lar ? 

Peadar agus Pal. 

Co bhios air an fhaire nochd ? 

Moire mhin-gheal 's a Mac. 

Bial De a labhras, 

Aingeal geal a dh' innseas 

Aingeal an dorus gach tighe, 

Ga'r comhnadh 's ga'r gleidheadh 

Gus an tig an solus geal a maireach. 

He then says the following AltachadJi Laidhe,ot Bed-going 

Prayer : 

—

444 

— 


Tha mise nn:hd a dol a laidhe 

Mas a bas dhomh anns a' bhas chadail 

Gu'm b' ann air deas lamh Dhe 'dhuisgeas mi. 

A Righ na h-ola firinnich 

Na diobair sinn bho d' mhuinntearas, 

A Huthad lochd, 

A rinn mo chorp, 

'S nach ihaod mi nochd a chuimhneachadh. 

Dia agus Moire agus Micheil, 

Bhi leam bho mhullach mo chinn, 

Gu traighean mo bhuinn. 

Guidheam Peadar, guidheam Pol, 

Guidheam Moire Oigh 's a Mac, 

Guidheam an da Ostal deug, 

Gu'n mi dhol eug gun 'ur leas. 

On getting into bed he says the Altachadh Leapa, or Bed 

Prayer, as follows : 

Laidhidh mi nochd 

Le Moire 's le 'Mac ; 

'S le Brighde fo brat, 

Le Domhnach nam feart, 

Le Mathair mo Righ 

Ga m' dhion bho gach lot ; 

Cha laidh mi leis an olc ; 

Cha laidh an t-olc leam ; 

Crois nan Naomh 's nan Aingeal leam, 

Bho mhullach mo chinn 

Gu traighean mo bhuinn 

A chionn Dia agus Moire 

A chuideachadh leam ; 

A Righ agus a Mhoire ghloirmhor. 

A Mhic na h-Oighe cubhraidh 

Saoir sinn bho phiantainean 

'S bho thigh iosal dorcha duinte. 

Dion ann a's as ar coluinn 

Ar n-anama bochd 

A tha air fior chor-oisinn na firinn. 

Guidheam Peadar, guidheam Pol, 

Guidheam Moire Oigh 's a Mac, 

Guidheam an da Ostal deug 

Gun mi dhol eug gun 'ur leas. 

M'anam a bhi air do laimh dheis a Thighearna ; 

Bho'n 's Tu a cheannaich e ; 

Micheil Naomh a bhi 'n comhail m'anama 

Nise agus aig uair mo bhais. Amen. 

—

Uan De. 445 

U A N D E, 

LE SINE NIC ILL-FHAOLAIN. 

SE Uan De thug do m'anam sith ; 

'S thug dhomhsa suaimhneas 'nuair bha mi sgith 

Bha 'n Lagh ga m'ruagadh is mi gun suaimhneas, 

'S mi 'sireadh fuasgladh air rathad cli. 

— — 

B' i sud an eiginn a bha ro chruaidh ; 

Mo chogais 'g eigheach gu'n robh me truagh ; 

Mo chridhe 'reubadh, 's an Leomhan Beucach 

Toirt sitheath geur 'chum mo shkigadh suas. 

Ach cliu gu siorruidh do'n Spiorad Naomh, 

A dh'fheuch dhomh losa air teachd do'n fheoil ; 

A thug Ian dioladh 's na bha 'n Lagh aig iarruidh, 

A chum, gu siorruidh, gu'm bithinn saor. 

Ghrad sheinn, le aoibhneas, gach ni bha m' chre ; 

Bha sith is suaimhneas aig ma'anam fein 

Thug deoch ri ol dhomh, do'n uisge bheo sin, 

Tha 'ruith, gu gloirmhor, 'o chaithir Dhe. 

Ach 's anns an fhasaich a tha mo chuairt, 

'S tha 'n cogadh laidir ri chumail suas 

Tha saighdean Shatain ga m' lotadh craiteach ; 

Ach ni do ghras-sa mo chumail suas. 

Tha iobairt Chriosda cho Ian do kiach 

'S an uair, air Calbh'ri, chaidh 'tabhairt suas ; 

Tha leigheas ur innt' do'n chogais chiurrte, 

'S tha 'feartan ur dhomh gach la is uair. 

'S bho'n rinn e eiridh, 's gu'n deach e suas ; 

An Spiorad Xaomh O gu'n d'thigeadh 'nuas, 

'S gu'n gabhadh comhnuidh am chridhe bronach 

'S gu'n cuireadh seol air gach ni tha tuathal.

44^ ^/^^ Highland Monthly. 

Nis O na fag mi gu ceann mo reis ; 

Thoir leat mi, sabhailt, nuair theid mi eug ; 

'S nuair bhios na h-oighean dol thun a phosaidh, 

O biodh mo lochrans' le oladh 'n gleus. 

Le Fear-na-bainnse, 'n sin, theid mi suas, 

A sheinn, le aoibhneas, air gradh an Uain ; 

Bi' co-sheirm ghloirmhor sa chuideachd mhor ud ; 

'S e brigh an orain —toirt gloir do'n Uan. 

Bi' 'n t-Uan an comhnuidh dhoibh 'n comunn dluth ; 

Gach suil a dearcadh sann air a giinuis ; 

'S ge buan an t-siorruidheachd, cha'n fhas iad cianail ; 

Ni lathaireachd Chriosda gach sonas ur. 

This beautiful hymn, so full of the sweetness and gladsome 

trust of simple Christian faith, was made by Jean 

Macarthur, one of the daughters of Archibald Macarthur, 

miller of St Eonan, or St Adamnan's mill, in Glenlyon, and 

a remarkable man in many respects, from whom his 

daughter inherited her poetic gifts. The miller fell under 

the influence of the strong religious revival in the early part 

of the present century, and when the missionary movement 

came to a separation of ways, he followed the Haldane 

or Baptist wing of the revivalists, and was himself for a good 

many years practically the pastor of the Glenlyon Baptists, 

Peter Grant, the Strathspey hymn-maker, and William 

Tulloch, Athole, being his contemporaries and frequent 

visitors. The miller's daughter, Jean, became, at an early 

age, the wife of another remarkable man, the late Rev. 

Donald Maclellan, pastor or travelling bishop of the handfuls 

of Breadalbane, Glenlyon, and Rannoch Baptists, 

who, full of years and the honours of Christian life and 

labours, died little more than a twelvemonth ago, at the age 

of 87, having lived more than twenty years after he lost 

his wife.

Notes. 447 

NOTES. 

The death of Dr Skene has removed from our midst our greatest 

Scottish historian. His special merit lay in his frank recognition 

of the important ])art played by the Celtic population in the history 

of Scotland, and his intelligent sympathy with everything Celtic. 

This distinguished him greatly from previous historians of greater 

genius than himself, like Burton and Pinkerton, who were blinded 

with anti-Celticism. Dr Skene has done more than auy one else to 

unravel the puzzle of early Scottish history; his use of Irish 

materials greatly conduced to this. His work, the Chronicle of the 

Picis and Scots, is simply invaluable to the student of Scottish 

history. His Celtic Scotland gives in the fullest degree and in 

their ripest form all his views and discoveries in the early history 

of Scotland and in the development of the Highland clans. 

Especially valuable is his second volume on the history of the 

early church. 

Dr Skene died on the 29th August last. He was born at 

Inverie, Kincardineshire, in 1809. His father was a friend of Sir 

Walter Scott's, at whose suggestion young Skene was sent to the 

Highlands to study Gaelic. This Skene did, under Dr Mackintosh 

jMackay, the most famous Gaelic scholar of his day, who was 

located in Laggan at the time. Skene's first work was The High- 

landers of Scotland, in 1837, written as a prize essay, at the 

instigation of his father. It has never been reprinted, and Skene's 

riper views may be found in Celtic Scotland. Îr Skene became 

W.S. in 1831, and has been for the most of his life the head of a 

large legal firm. In 1881, he was, on Dr Burton's death^ 

appointed Historiographer Royal for Scotland. 

It was Dr Skene who did most to preserve the Gaelic MSS. in 

the Advocates' Library. These MSS. were getting fewer in the 

process of unchecked borrowing that was allowed, and the most 

valuable of them disappeared fifty years ago— the one where a full

44^ 


copy of the famous Gaelic epic of " Tarn Bo Chualgne" was pre- 

served. Skene classified and catalogued the MSS., and did 

everything to preserve them from neglect. Thanks to him they 

are now among the most treasured of the Advocates' Library 

possessions. 

Professor Mackinnon in the course of a correspondence on 

Dr Skene s services and views in regard to Scoto-Celtic matters^ 

sums up neatly the position of theories in regard to the Picts. 

The racial and linguistic relationship of the " Picts have always 

been a subject of controversy among Celtic scholars Some, 

among them Sir Walter Scott, used to hold that the Picts were of 

Gothic or Teutonic stock. Professor Phys considers them largely 

non-Aryan, pre-Celtic in blood. The general drift of opinion at 

the present day is that these Picts were mainly Celtic in blood 

and that their language, in so far as Celtic, was Brythoric rather 

Goedelic. We have, perhaps, not heard the last words on the 

matter ; 

but at the time of his death there was probably no Celtic 

scholar of Dr Skene's reputation who held the view which that 

distinguished man expounded at great length and with great 

ability and learning in Vol. I. of Celtic Scotland—that the old 

Picts, the ancestors of the Northern Highlanders, were not merely 

Celtic in blood but Gaelic in speech." 

;


A HiCHLAND Memory : 



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No. 44. NOVEMBER, 1892. Vol. IV. 


By D. Nairne. 

CHAPTER V. 

IX WHICH THE PROFESSOR BECOMES PHILOSOPHICAL. 

GRAND revenge!—a grand revenge! And very 

A 

ingenious, too—very ingenious." 

The speaker was Professor Somerton, tenant of the 

Hall ; and he addressed these strange remarks to himself 

within the privacy of his study. It was evident that the 

Professor had concluded a very satisfactory train of thought, 

but though his eyes twinkled, an impartial observer would 

not at this moment—or perhaps at any other moment, 

equally auspicious—have pronounced him a man that was 

happy. There is a class of human beings upon whom 

happiness sits as awkwardly as an ill-made suit of clothes, 

on a modern Adonis. " Virtue alone is happiness," said the 

ever-wise Pope ; 

t'lat element. 

and, maybe, the Professor's sunshine lacked 

Professor Somerton's was not a personality that fasci- 

nated or even pleased one on the first blush of acquaintance- 

ship ; nor had his manner that redeeming quality of charm, 

by which Nature occasionally makes reparation for her 

other neglects. He was tall in comparison with the 

29

450 ^-^^ Highland Monthly. 

average of his fellow mortals ; and, in the years that had 

now overtaken him, his frame had become the victim of 

hulking stoutness. This liberality of form had rendered 

the fact all the more conspicuous that his face and head 

were out of proportion in their smallness. He had Irish 

features, as far as a thick, mediumly trimmed beard, which 

had crept dangerously near to his eyes, permitted these to 

become visible. A private detective might have envied 

his eyes, they were so thoroughly controlled and leisurely, 

so keen when sleep seemed to be playing hide and seek 

round the corners. The Professor had onl}' one other 

characteristic it is necessary to mention ; it was the 

disagreeable habit of a dry expectoration when his mental 

calm was disturbed—but, then, he had the excuse of being 

an American. At the ' present moment this peculiar 

barometer indicated the old gentleman's thoughts had 

reached a consummation, or at least marked a crisis. 

" Yes, a very ingenious and complete revenge," he added 

after a reflective pause, " provided my plans work smoothly^ 

and I think my knowledge of human nature—as far as I 

have to deal with it in this matter— is a guarantee of that." 

" Stuart, the old ruralised fool, never suspects my 

identity ; why 

should he ? It's half a lifetime ago—verily, 

half a lifetime. How old I am, to be sure ; yet how rank 

and strong is this craving to wipe out the insult he inflicted 

upon my manhood ! 

" Most likely, after so many years, he has forgotten the 

little episode—has but a casual remembrance of me and 

that blood-traced letter. The average memory is happily 

short— mine, he will see, is long, and, when it concerns a 

grudge, grows keener with age. 

" Aye, it's curious. There was Prairie Bob, he little 

thought I would keep my powder dry for ten long years ; 

I fixed him then, and had to remind him, poor devil, of 

what the bullet was for as he died. H'm. It was a 

satisfaction for him to know, and I could not grudge the 

information as a dying request."


" Aye, it's a pity, though, the laird's wife is dead—a pity. 

I would like to have seen sprightly, buxom Jessie in her old 

age. Then, too, the blow I am hoping to inflict would have 

been all the more crushing. How different my life would 

have been but for that whipper-snapper at the Castle? 

Instead of scraping together a fortune by my wits in the 

States, I suppose I would have grown up a decent, jogging 

farmer, very likely would have been a laird by this time ; 

at any rate an elder of the Kirk, and a pattern that all 

might do well ! 

" What am I ? An adventurer my most intimate 

friends would say ; a miserly collector of gold through the 

gulling of the public. Well—so be it. It makes revenge 

the sweeter. By the grave of my wife, I say again, that he 

who was the means of driving me from an honest life shall 

suffer." 

At this vehement termination of his soliloquy, the 

Professor started up and began to pace the room. It was 

an apartment not wholly devoted either to the accommoda- 

tion or the study of books. In the centre stood a table 

littered with small bundles of herbs, while the presence of 

pestles, vials, bottles, containing various acids, and oils, 

with two microscopes, showed that some chemical pro- 

cesses had lately been carried through. On a side table lay 

the apparently inanimate carcases of a cat, two rabbits, a 

hare, and a fox, each labelled with date, hour, and minute. 

The Professor stopped suddenly before the table, and lifted 

up one of the rabbits by the head. 

" Stark and stiff as a poker," he muttered. " So far, 

Pllspeth, results prove thee no liar, though there's a whiff of 

brimstone and the devil about your ugly body.' Midnight 

will see whether even a witch can possess the secret of an 

antidote which will recall these stiffened, glassy-eyed brutes 

to life. If you have the antidote, and confess it not for 

money, then I'll wring it from you with my hands at }our 

accursed throat."

452 


A knock at the study door here disturbed these grim 

thoughts, and Miss Somerton tripped into the room, radi- 

ant from a romp among the woods, and bringing with her 

an aroma and freshness that put to sham.e the sickly, drug- 

laden atmosphere of the apartment. 

" Well, Julia, you look breezy," was the Professor's 

greeting, regarding his daughter, with prolonged look of 

approval ; and a very pretty picture she made, with cheeks 

aglow, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, and a 

wealth of hair waving carelessly about her shoulders. 

" No wonder if I look breezy. Dad, for I have been 

chasing after you everywhere, and feel quite breathless." 

" Anything particular ; you're such an excitable girl. 

Another new frock, eh, little one ?" 

" And what do you think I actually did— you'll say it 

was very courageous, I know." 

" Or something very foolish." 

" I peeped into the zvitc/is hut, and asked ElspetJi if she had 

seen you f said Julia with amusing emphasis, seemingly 

startled even at the recollection of her audacity, and antici- 

pating paternal congratulations on her heroic action. 

" And what did she tell you ?" asked the Professor 

curtly, turning upon his heel to hide the expression of 

annoyance he appeared unable to restrain. 

" Oh, I do hope I have not done wrong, Dad ?" said 

crestfallen Julia, following her father across the room. 

' I put a question to you, Julia— how often shall I have 

to impress upon you, girl, that your Scotch habit of answer- 

ing one question by putting another is highly objectionable 

— in a lady. What did the witch say to you ?" 

" Don't be angry. Dad," pleaded Julia, her eyes moisten- 

ing, " and I will try and tell you what Elspeth said, though 

it was so queer I can scarcely remember, it so frightened 

me." 

" Eh ? Then come and tell your Dad every word she 

said— 1 must not have my little girl frightened by a silly 

old woman," said the Professor, assuming a softness of

A Strange Revenge, 453 

manner the severe glance of his eye and the lowering 

brow betrayed. 

"She said something about ' speerin' folk gethcrin' 

lees ;' then she came forward, and, taking my hand, pulled 

me to the light of the window. ' Yer a bonnie bairn, 

she said 

— 

' Bonnie bairn 

Sad faerin.' 

Her manner was so strange, that I drew my hand away, 

and again asked if she had seen you in the wood. 'Just 

like yer kind," was the curious answer, ' ye seek the sorrow 

that's huntin' ye.' ' I want none of your riddles, Elspeth,' I 

said a little tartly, for I was afraid she was reading my 

fortune, and she never has a nice one for anybody. ' I ven- 

tured in to ask whether you had seen the Professor ?' I said 

again, and then she hobbled away to the peat fire, and 

blowing it into a flame, cried out that it was blue, though I 

could only see a red flame, Dad ! What a weird creature ; 

' she quite terrified me. Why wait ye there,' she suddenly 

asked, glaring awfully at me, ' ye should aye be at hame 

when the deil's cookin'." 

"Julia," said the Professor, abruptly dismissing the 

remainder of the narrative, "you must never again venture 

even into the vicinity of this wicked old woman's abode. 

Should you see her about you must avoid her as you would 

an evil thing. She may do you harm. That's your father's 

command, and you have always been a good daughter 

hitherto." 

again." 

" Oh, I shall never want to meet the horrible creature 

" Why go to the witch and ask for me ?" asked the Pro- 

fessor indifferently, but with a keen side glance at his 

daughter, " did you ever see me with her ?" 

" Oh, no. Dad ; but she wanders about so much, I 

thought she might have seen you." 

" Ah," he ejaculated, much relieved, " and that is all you 

wished so urgently to tell me, is it ?"

454 ^-^^^ Highland Monthly. 

" No, Dad, it was to tell you that Mr Richard has sent 

me a note saying that he is to call this evening—and 1 am 

afraid that he—he— means^," Julia blushed, held down her 

head, and did not finish the sentence. 

" To ask you a certain question ?" laughed the Professor. 

" Yes." 

" And don't you know how to answer him ?" 

" You told me, but it's so terribly awkward to—to— 

oh, Dad, I wish I had not to answer such a question." 

" In the meantime, Julia, dear, you need not trouble 

yourself about that. Time enough. When the fellow calls 

to-night, tell James to shew him at once into my study." 

"Thank you. Dad." and Julia ran off, banging the study 

door behind her. 

The Professor, as the hour for Richard's call approached, 

made some preparations in the study, v/hich would have 

struck one, knowing the circumstances, as significant. After 

attiring himself in a long linen coat, which bore evidences 

of being a rare visitor to the wash-tub, he carefully con- 

cealed the animal carcases already mentioned ; then he 

placed a mixture of herbs, dried to tinder, in a mortar, and 

pestled them into snuff; he placed a leaf accurately below 

one of the microscopes, which he adjusted with great pains ; 

and concluded by placing an open Hortiis Siccus in the full 

rays of the lamp. Until the bell rang, the Professor 

amused himself with the latest newspaper, but when Mr 

Richard Stuart was announced, the visitor found him 

gazing into the microscope with an intensity and absorp- 

tion that would have made a searcher after the elixir of life 

impressive. 

" Just a second, dear sir," said the Professor, ^vithout 

lifting his eye from the instrument, till I complete my 

inspection of this extremely interesting specimen of the 

Conium viactdatiun^ as I think it is, I found the other day 

ah, there is no doubt about it. You see, sir, at my age, 

one's eyes begin to fail, and in making these herbal pre- 

— • 

parations it is necessary to be very careful. A slight


mistake on my part might fill a thousand graves. And 

now. if you will excuse me for these irrelevant preliminaries, 

I will ask after your health, and if you will be good 

enough to take a chair." 

" I am afraid I'll have to go ; in fact, my presence, you 

see, will interrupt your studies," remarked Richard, with 

some confusion, taking the Professor's extended hand. He 

had expected to be shewn into the drawing-room, and to 

feel Miss Somerton's warm finger clasp his own, instead of 

the clammy hand of her father. 

" Not a bit of it, sir, not a bit of it. When one is left 

alone (here Richard's face fell), and a hard spell of study 

has been got over satisfactorily, it is a friend, indeed, who 

steps in, should he only have the gossip of the countryside 

to communicate. I don't suppose you, a laird's son, dabble 

in the mysteries of science ?" 

" Quite right yon are in that supposition ; 

I leave such 

matters, so far as our family is concerned, to David. He's 

decidedly a clever fellow, and all that." 

"A student, I 'oelieve— I think I heard you mention 

it ?—with a view to medicine." 

" Yes— you see, we can't both live decently well off the 

property, and its never been done in the family. Younger 

sons have always kicked about on their own hook." 

" Ah, yes ; they make their way in the world. Well, I 

myself had that experience—that experience. Nothing 

like it, if the silver spoon is not there. H'm. As they say 

in America, I've made a little bit of a pile, too—a little bit 

of a pile.'" 

" 

" 

Doctoring ? 

" Well, yes, as a specialist in a general sort of way, if 

you'll excuse the apparent anomaly." 

" Now you've dropped the thing, I suppose." 

" Not quite," said the Professor, elevating his eyebrows, 

and waving a hand in the direction of the paraphernalia on 

the table, " a thorough student can never give up science- 

t is an enchanted cave, so to speak, which, once entered.

456 

' 


ti'.e growing sense of mystery, the ever dangling prospect 

of making a revolutionary discovery, renders it impossible 

for you to leave it until you meet that grandest mystery of 

all— Death ! But, I fear, these reflections are not of much 

interest to you, sir. 

"Horses are more in my line, Professor; however 

" 

would ha\e the 

" Ah, everyone has his speciality ; you 

advantage of me there, you know, except perhaps when it 

came to a question of anatomy." 

"All my learning, and it is blessed little, was got at 

Inverness Academy," added Richard, glad to get some 

reliable ground under his feet, and beginning to feel a little 

more at home under the Professor's abnormal geniality. 

" I was in the neighbourhood of Inverness the other 

day," resumed the Professor, determined not to permit the 

conversation to drift, " and made a wonderful discovery, 

though, unfortunately, too late to be of practical use—of 

practical use. There lived about Culloden an old woman, 

said to be a recluse, who by means of a concoction of 

native herbs, could cure that terrible malady, diabetes. 

She rarely worked the cure, and then only in the strictest 

privacy, but it was always effectual. So I am informed. I 

would have paid ^^"30,000 down for the secret, but she 

carried it with her to the grave six years ago. Think of 

Some 

that : of what humanity has lost through the stupidity of 

an old woman ! 

of these Highland cures, descended 

from remote centuries, as they must be, are worth having, 

and yet they are fast dying out, through the closeness with 

which the secrets are kept.'' 

" A lot of them may have been burned with the 

witches," Richard carelessly suggested, " at any rate, I 

don't care a rap for that sort of nonsense. An honest 

doctor's worth twenty cart loads of witch's clap trap. Can 

I smoke here. Professor." 

" Certainly, and I will join you, to shew that the liberty 

is not a host's concession," said the Professor graciously, at 

the same time going in search of his pipe ; 

" must get the

A Strange Revenue. 457 

stupid fellow interested somehow in this subject," he said 

to himself, " or throw up the sponge altogether." 

*' Miss Somerton's out, I suppose," ventured Richard. 

" No, not out, but indisposed, my dear sir.'' 

" Sorry— nothing serious, I hope ?" 

"Not at all, not at all. That, too, will pass, as the 

eastern sage has it. The mention of indisposition, by the 

way, reminds me that I have made a very important dis- 

covery myseK in an herbal way." 

" Really ! 

" drawled Richard. 

"As any reflective mind must know, the amount of 

human misery unr'^quited love entails upon mankind is 

enormous. A woman loves a man ; the affection is not 

returned ; 

she pines and ultimately dies, or at least has her 

happiness ruined for the rest of her life. She is jilted 

same result, misery and death, natural or by suicide. Men 

have the Same experience, but being stronger, and less 

steadfast in their affections, they are not worth considering. 

The idea has haunted me for a lifetime, that if a cure could 

be invented, whereby forlorn, neglected, or spurned love 

could be eradicated from the breast, and life be once more 

sweetened and reinvigorated, human suffering would have 

received its grandest antidote. The dismal roll of the 

world's suicides would be reduced by two-thirds ; 

asylums would be half emptied ; 

— 

our 

the statistics of drunken- 

ness would shrivel up; the orave would be cheated of its 

saddest victims." 

" But it is impossible, Professor, such a cure is impossible, 

don't you think ?" asked Richard, smoking vigorously, and 

in evident agitation. 

" It is not impossible— I think I have got it," replied 

the Professor, more deliberately, eyeing his guest narrowly 

by the reflection of the mirror ; 

" another few days will tell." 

" That can only be proved by experiment. Professor," 

" will there not be a mighty 

said Richard with surprise ; 

difificulty in getting patients." 

" Human patients, yes ; but, understand, sir, that a few 

animals, domestic or wild, are quite sufficient for my

45 

S 


immediate purpose. Animals, like our own species, have 

their loves and hates, their likings and repugnances. I 

don't say animals die of broken hearts, though cases have 

been alleged of dogs doing so, but in their sexual relations 

they afford scope enough. I think, to prove whether the 

affections can be medicinally changed or controlled." 

" A ticklish job." 

" But worth trying, considering the iiitense misery a 

hopeless passion produces. Would you not say it was ?" 

" Perhaps," ejaculated Richard, not half liking the 

searching glance^ the Professor was casting at him. 

" Men are blamed for blighting women's lives," the 

Professor continued, after refilling nis pipe, " but that is a 

wrong-headed view of the matter entirely. At any con - 

sequences, a man is justified, I hold, in breaking off an 

engagement ere it is too late ; and so with a woman. 

Better one should suffer than that two should be condemned 

to a life long misery. That is the growing philosophy 

of the age in regard to the social condition of the country, 

and it should be the unwritten law in matters of the 

affections as well. By all manner of means let the world's 

misery be reduced to the smallest compass." 

" There's something in that, sir." 

" To sum up the matter, which is, perhaps, not of much 

interest to you, I will say that in affairs of the heart a man 

should, at all hazards, and regardless of consequences,, 

marry the woman he loves best, though it may only be at 

the eleventh hour of his existence in the singular that he 

makes the discovery." 

"Do you think so?" queried Richard, with ill-concealed 

eagerness 

" It is his duty to himself and to humanity," was the 

reply. 

At this point in the conversation, the Professor's 

countenance took upon itself an expression faultlessly con- 

sistent with the benevolence of these somewhat original 

and apparently disinterested views. He lay back in the 

easy chair, and sent the smoke from his pipe curling


fantastically towards the ceiling, after the habit of smokers 

who feel on nrst-rate terms with the world and its contents. 

On the other hand, his companion gazed abstractedly into 

the fire, and puffed with the vehemence of a furnace at 

double blast. Suddenly Richard broke the silence by 

announcing that he was due at the Castle at that very 

moment. The Professor did not delay his departure by 

voice or gesture. 

" An apt pupil," he muttered, as Richard's retreating 

footsteps were heard on the gravel outside, " a most 

excellent pupil ; we will resume the lesson." 

Late that night an incident occurred in the existence of 

Miss Somerton which made her toss restlessly in bed far 

into the small hours of the morning. Not having heard 

her father retire at his usual hour, she peered over the stairway 

to satisfy herself that light still burned in the study. 

Just then the Professor opened the door with seeming 

caution, and entered the drawing-room. What could he 

want there without a light ? As she asked herself the 

question, there occurred a noise which she identified as the 

opening and shutting of the door-window communicating 

with the lawn. Then there was the cautious patter of 

more than one pair of feet in the lobby, and Miss Somerton 

craned her neck. She started at what she saw, and 

almost betrayed 

was—a woman ! 

her presence. Her father's companion 

As the Professor held the door to allow 

his visitor to pass in, the lamp light struck upon her face, 

and Julia recoiled in horror at what it revealed. 

What could it all mean ?—her father's midnight visitor 

was none other than Elspeth the Witch ! 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE QUARREL. 

When John entered the drawing-room of the Castle on 

this particular afternoon, to discharge the dinner-table pre- 

liminaries, he found Mr David seated in a window recess 

engrossed in a huge and antiquated-looking volume, one

460 The Highland MontJUy. 

which he had always regarded with something like awe, 

it appeared so stately on the dusty book shelves. Having 

meagre qualifications in that line himself, the presence of 

books in the hands of other people had an oddly restraining 

effect on him. John had something on his mind. In other 

circumstances he would have taken advantageof his domestic 

familiarity, as an old servant, and broached his thoughts, 

but that pretentious book effectually sealed up his lips. 

He laid the table with characteristic care and method ; as 

a matter of fact, he prolonged the opeiation to a prodigious 

length, in the hope of hearing that book close with David's 

customary bang, and thus have a conversational avenue 

opened up to him. John possessed a great deal of patience, 

and no little ingenuity in its exercise, when he had something 

to say which he considered should be said. He 

adjusted the knives and forks over and over again, until the 

ablest geometrician would have been at a lost to find fault 

with the exactitude of their relative positions ; then he 

re-commenced with the spoons, which he placed upside and 

then down, at an angle and without it ; he discovered at 

least three times that the salt-sellars were in their wrong 

places, and replaced them with a vigour that made the big 

oaken table ring ; and he was on the point of respreading 

the table-cloth, which would have necessitated the whole of 

these labours being gone over again, when a sound from 

the recess of the window stayed his hand. It was David 

emitting a yawn, which he did so noisily that John thought 

he had adequate excuse to let the table-cover alone and 

contemplate the effect. 

" Do you know Pope's couplet, John ?" asked David, clos- 

ing the book, not having noted the manoeuvres that had 

been going on at the table 

— 

" And heard thy everlasting yawn 

The pains and penalties of idleness confess." 

" No," was John's ready reply ; 

Scotch sayin' that ' gantin's wantin' ' ". 

" but I ken the auld

A Stratige Revenge. 461 

And thus it was that a conversation opened which was 

destined to have an important effect upon the development 

of this tale, besides proving that dramatic events may 

depend upon very trifling misunderstandings. 

" Have you seen Richard to-day, John ?" 

"That's jist it, ye see, ' gantin's wantin' ; ye want tae 

ken whaur Master Richard is ? Weel, I saw him this 

mornin', but it wud clean beat me tae say whaur he's noo. 

Whomsoever, he's maist Hkely at The Ha' !" 

At this remark, David turned and gazed out of the 

window, while John turned his attention to the chairs, each 

of which appeared to have slipped half an inch out of its 

proper place. 

" What," David was asking himself gloomily, " had 

even the servants begun to notice that Richard was play- 

ing the flirt ?" 

" He's a queer chap, Dauvit," mused John, pausing in his 

operations and taking a squint at that gentleman's back ; 

" but he may turn black in the face if he likes— I'll speak 

my mind." 

"Are you often at The Hall, John?" David ultimately 

asked, sauntering down the room, hands thrust deep into 

his trouser pockets. 

" My last veesit was made nae farer gane than yester- 

day," replied John with alacrity, " an' I've been there a 

wheen times afore that." 

" What sort of people are the Somertons" 

"Weel, there's only the twa o' them, ye ken, the Pro- 

fessor and his dochter—an' a weel faur'd hissey she is ; 

rael bonnie, in fact, for her no tae be Scotch. She's nae 

mare like her father than she's like the man in the mune. 

Guid looking, d'ye say? He's a big, ill-shapit budy, wi' a 

queer face an' sma' een. I've never 'changed a word wi* 

him, an' I dinna want, that's mair. He's aye wanderin' 

aboot in the wuds gaetherin' floors, speakin' tae naebudy an' 

naebudy speakin' tae him. If the budy wud gang an' fish, 

or shoot, though it was only craws, there wud be some


understandin' o' him ; but a man o' sax feet, an' no far frae 

saxty, gaethering' floors ! Folks are beginnin' tae say he's 

a he witch." 

"And so the Professor goes botanising?" David 

remarked, more to himself than to John. 

" Na, faith, he hasna a boat o' ony size or shape. Sir, 

I'm aboot tae tell ye a bit o' my mind, as an auld servant 

an' a freend o' the family ; an' ye'll no tak' it ill." 

" Well ? " 

" I'll say naething against the dochter—as I've said, 

she's a weel-faured cummer—but this furinero'a Professor's 

no canny. In my humble opeenin, the less some Castle 

folk have tae dae wi' him the better. That's oot an' by vvi' 

an' ye'll no mind my sayn't." 

"John," said David, halting in front of that alarmed 

individual, " you are quite right to apologise for discussing 

family affairs with me, but I will forgive you on this 

occasion. I am interested in what you mention. What 

do you know about Master Richard's doings at the Hall 

you servants observe and gossip a great deal." 

" It's no me that ken's muckle aboot his ongauns," 

responded John, feeling a little tart at the insinuation, 

" but I took a letter there yesterday." 

" From Richard ? " 

" Aye, frae nae ither budy, an' wi' instructions tae put it 

in the lassie Somerton's very haund." 

" That's neither your business nor mine," said David, 

moving to the window, feeling that the conversation had 

gone far enough. 

"There's something mair I was inclined tae tell ye, sir," 

resumed John presently, his mind filled by his own 

matrimonial prospects. 

" Nothing very serious, I hope." 

" Tae be engaged is gey serious," said John, twisting his 

towel and getting quite red in the face. 

John was scarcely prepartid for the unwarrantably 

alarming effect his words had, for he did not see that 

—

A Strange Revenoe. 463 

though his thoughts had drifted into a different channel, 

David's mind was still brooding in the other groove. 

" 

" Do you mean there is an engagement ? 

As he put the question, David wheeled round, and con- 

fronted John with such a scared and startled look that the 

latter made a step backwards, his mouth gaping with 

amazement. " Sure enough he's getting queer in the head," 

he thought, " they books will ding him daft some day." 

" There's nae use tellin' a lee in the matter, sir ; an' ye 

needna get inta sic a' awfu' flurr}'. Whaur's the shame 

o't ? A man's nae tae thole the single life a' his days." 

" Who told you all this, John ? Speak quick, man, 

who told you ?" 

" Naebudy telt me—sic a queer haver. Wha shuld ken 

better than mysel' ?" 

" Confess now, were you eavesdropping and heaid this ?" 

" Eavesdrappin'? Man, Master Dauvit, are ye gaun clean 

gyte ? I never saw ye in sic a cullyshangey afore ower 

nathing ava." 

" I will not press you farther, John," said David drawing 

himself together, " as to where you got the information, but 

do you assure me, upon your oath, sir, that there is an 

engagement—upon your oath, now, for this affair is more 

serious than you, a mere servant of the family, may think." 

" My aith ? Aye, twenty-thousand aiths, if ye like," 

retorted the astounded and obtuse John. 

" You have told this to nobody else ?" 

" Yer the very first, sir." 

" Then on pain of losing my good opinion, keep it a 

close secret. You do not, I see, realise the gravity of the 

case, John. Keep it a secret, particular!}- from your female 

friends. Do you hear?" 

" I'm no deaf—but 

" 

Here David left the apartment with passionate strides, 

and John stood gazing at the open door with a expression 

that would have a fortune made in a comic opera. After a 

while, a faint idea of the humour of the situation began to

464 

The Highla7id Monthly. 

hover about his brain; the glimmer grew stronger; then 

jaw and muscles relaxed ; and ultimately he burst into a 

roar of laughter which shook the tapestry into wavy 

movement, 

"No tell my female freeeds; no even tell Kirsty that 

I'm engaged tae her !" At this view of the matter John again 

went into convulsions of merriment, in which happy con- 

dition it is necessary to leave him for the present. 

Labouring under the delusion, so innocently created, 

that his brother was untrue beyond recall to the woman he 

had undertaken to make his wife, David hurried into the 

open air, fevered and angry, to reflect. What should be 

done to save the honour of the family, and Flora from a 

broken heart ? Should he inform the laird at once, and so, 

perhaps, avert a scandal, which sooner or later would shock 

the whole county, and break up the household ? Why, 

v/hispered a voice, not allow things to drift ? If Richard 

preferred the charms of this stranger, that was his business. 

When deserted, might not Flora turn to himself—to him 

who loved her better than his own life, and, therefore, was 

more deserving of her love ? 

Before he had time to answer any of these puzzling 

questions, the sound of a familiar tune made him look up, 

to find that the subject of his thoughts, Richard to wit, was 

approaching along the fir tree path. He accompanied the 

whistle with a twirl of his stick, and evidently was in the 

best of spirits. 

" Hallo, Davie lad, whither bound now and the dinner 

bell due?" was the jovial greeting, " I'm as hungry as a 

hawk ; come along." 

" They might feed you up there, seeing they like your 

society so much." 

" Who ? " 

" Who ?—those Somerton people, of course." 

" In a temper again, by Jove. I say, Davie, you're 

getting beastly cantankerous. The other morning you 

called me a selfish brute. You'll be fighting me next, or


I'll be fighting you, which is about the same thing, unless 

you recover your old form. What's wrong with you, man." 

" Richard, you know perfectly well there is something 

wrong, and that it is not with me but with yourself. Is is 

fair to Flora ? don't you see she is suffering through your 

conduct in preferring so much of that American girl's 

company? It's a downright shame, I say, a blooming 

shame." 

" You have begun to take a mighty lively interest in 

my affairs." 

"And high time somebody was, before you make a fool 

of yourself, and outrage the honour of the family." 

" Bosh !—a fellow cannot always be tied to one woman's 

apron string. You have the notions of a Quaker ; upon 

my word, if you moped less among books, and saw more 

of the world, you would be a hanged sight less good>- 

goody." 

" I have no ambition to follow in the footsteps of m\' 

elder brother; more's the pity for him. A man who can 

b2 so callous as to become engaged to two women at the 

same time bids fair to outshine the rake's progress." 

" Who is engaged to two women ?" 

"You!" 

" It's a lie!" 

Now the dinner bell had actually rung, and no laird in 

t!ie whole country-side was more punctual at the table than 

the laird of Stuart Castle. Accordingly, John was 

promptly despatched inquest of the two male members of the 

family. His perambulations brought him into view of the 

V\x Walk and the two brothers, and thither he consequently 

liied himself, reaching the pair just as Richard was deliver- 

iig himself of the above emphatic expression. Perhaps it 

\>'as just as well that the accidental intervention occurred, 

;is the Stuart blood was up, and, as the laird would say, 

1 1 affairs 

of the heart young people are prone to be rash. 

•' Here is my witness to the fact," said David trium- 

phantly, pointing to John, who stood looking at the angry

466 


faces of the brothers in positive bewilderment. " John has 

just sworn upon his solemn oath that you are engaged to 

the Professor's daughter !" 

" Then John's a greater fool than you !" 

" Never heed the consequences, John, tell us honestly 

how you came to know what he is knave enough to deny," 

David pleaded, without the slightest suspicion of the 

revelation that was impending. 

" I did not say that, sir !" said John wonderingly. 

" Did not say what ?" cried David. 

" That Master Richard was engaged ?" 

" Then who is engaged ?" 

" Jist me and Kirsty the cook at The Ha' !" 

Had looks been bullets, John would have fallen per- 

fectly riddled by those David cast at him, as the truth 

flashed upon him that he and John, in the excitement of 

their respective trains of thought, had been at cross purposes. 

Then, without remark, he hurriedly strode away 

through the Fir Wood, followed by Richard's irritating 

laugh. 

" There is one thing devilish certain," mused Richard as 

he went Castlewards, " David is head and ears in love with 

Flo. WJiy should he not marry her P" 

[to be continued]

IN 

The Seal. 467 

THE SEAL IN HEBRIDEAN AND 

NORTHERN LORE. 

Bv WILLIAM MACKENZIE. 

the folklore of the Hebrides the seal occupies a 

prominent place. He is prized on account of the 

uses to which his carcase is put, and, in addition, he is 

more or less venerated because of a certain mystery 

supposed to surround his life and history. 

The Mainland Highlander is familiar with the seal as he 

is seen basking in the sun on inaccessible rocks and out- 

lying banks along the coast, or swimming by our eastern 

and western shores. To him, however, he is only an animal 

meet for destruction. Both on the Mainland and in the 

Islands, its carcase when secured, was formerly put to various 

uses. The skin, after being dried, was sometimes made into 

Avaist-coats ; and persons suffering from sciatica wore 

girdles of it, with the view of driving that malady away. 

The smoker and chewer converted small squares of it 

into splcJicJiaiii, or tobacco pouches ; while the husbandman 

niade thongs of it, with which he fastened the. 

primitive wooden plough to the harness of his horses. 

Seal oil was considered as possessing medicinal virtues of 

no mean order ; and for ages past, a course of ola-rbui was 

a favourite, if not a ne\-er-failing, specific for chest diseases 

in the Highlands. 

From the pages of Adamnan, we learn that the Monks 

>of lona, in the time of St Columba, had their seal preserve. 

In Book I., chap. T)T), of the Vita Sancti Co/uinbcz, we are 

told of a robber named Ere, from the Island of Colonsay, 

who came across to Mull, and hid himself there during the 

day time, in order that he might cross at night to the little 

island ' where the young seals belonging to the Monks 

^ The '• Little Island " here referred to is believed to be Earraid, lying to 

the west (f tlie I\(jss of Mull, and south-east of lona.


were brought forth and nurtured. The Columban Monks 

probably used the seal oil for light, and the seal skins for 

clothing and other purposes. 

Martin {circa 1695) informs us that the natives of the 

Western Islands used to salt the flesh of seals with burnt 

seaware. This flesh was eaten by the common people in the 

spring time, •' with a pointed long stick instead of a fork, to 

prevent the strong smell which their hands would otherwise 

have for several hours after." Persons of quality made 

hams of seal flesh. Broth made of the flesh of young seals 

served the same purpose medicinally, but in a minor degree, 

as seal oil. Seal liver, pulverized and taken with aqua 

vitcs, or red wine, was a specific for diarrhoetic disorders. 

In Roman Catholic districts, according to the same 

authority, the common people ate seals in Lent, on the 

footing that they were fish and not flesh ! 

The sea-girt rocks to the west of North Uist have long 

been noted as favourite haunts of the seal. In former 

times, the Western Islanders made annual raids on one of 

these, Cobhsamul. The raids were made after dark, usually 

in the autumn, and large numbers of the seals were 

captured. These did not all belong to the captors, for 

other prominent personages were entitled to shares. " The 

parish minister," says Martin, " hath his choice of all the 

young seals, and that which he takes is called by the 

natives CuUen-Mor}', that is, the Virgin Mary's seal. The 

Steward of the Island hath one paid to him, his officer hath 

another ; and this by virtue of their offices." 

As we have thus seen, the seal was put to a multitude 

of uses by the old Highlander. Let us now glance at his 

position in the m)'thology of the Hebridean. There he 

is presented to us in an entirely different light. He 

,is not an animal of the ordinar}^ brute creation, but one 

endowed with great wisdom, and closeK' allied to man. 

One of the old beliefs is that seals are human beings under 

magic spells. This belief is by no means a thing of the 

past. " Tha iad a' cantuinn gur h-c daoine fo ghcasan a

7 he Seal. 469 

th' anns na roin," ^ are words not infrequently heard now-adays 

in the Hebrides, asserting this beh'ef. The seal was 

credited with the power of being able to assume the human 

form. While in human guise, he contracted marriages with 

human beings ; and if we are to credit tradition, the Mac- 

'Codrums of North Uist are the offspring of such an union. 

In former times, the Mac-Codrums were known in the 

Western Islands as Sliochd nan Ron, or the offspring of the 

seals. As a seal could assume the form of man, and make 

his abode on land, so a Mac-Codrum could assume the 

form of a seal, and betake himself to the sea ! While in 

this guise, we are told that several Mac-Codrums had met 

their death ! 

— 

But the tradition of the seal in human form is not con- 

fined to the Hebrides. Similar seal stories have been 

handed down from the earliest times in Orkney and Shet- 

land. Indeed, the relationship between the Orkney and 

Shetland stories on the one hand, and the Hebridean stories 

on the other, is so close that one is driven to the conclusion 

that in all tliese islands they are probably survivals of the 

Norse occupation. 

Mr Walter Traill Dennison tells us, in his " Orcadian 

Sketch-Book," that the seal (or, as the Orcadians call him, 

the " selkie"), held a far higher place among the Northmen 

than any other of the lower animals. He had a mysterious 

connection with the human race, and " had the power of 

assuming the human form and faculties." He adds that 

every true descendant of the Norsemen looks upon the seal 

as a kind of second cousin in disgrace. Old beliefs die 

hard, and, in illustration of this, the following paragraph 

from one of the Scottish daily newspapers, in March last, 

may be appropriately given : 

"A Mermaid on an Orkney Isle.—A strange story 

of the mermaid comes from Birsay, Orkney. The other 

day, a farmer's wife was down at the seashore there, and 

observed a strange marine animal sitting on the rocks. As 

i.e. "They say that seals are men under magic spells."

470 T he Highland Monthly. 

it would not move, she went for her husband. When she 

returned with her better-half, they both saw the animal 

clambering amongst the rocks, about four feet of it being 

above water. The woman, who had a splendid view of it, 

describes it as ' a good-looking person,' while the man says 

it was ' a woman covered over with brown hair.' At last 

the couple tried to get hold of it, when it took a header into 

the sea and disappeared. The man is confident he has seen 

but people in the district are of 

the fabled mermaid ; 

opinion that the animal must belong to the seal tribe. An 

animal of similar description was seen by several people at 

Deerness two years ago." 

When the seal visited land, he doffed a skin, or caul,, 

worn by him as an inhabitant of the deep. When he 

wished to return to his coral halls, he donned the caul. 

Stories of such occurrences are related in Orkney and 

Shetland—the seals in every case, after assuming the human 

form, marrying daughters of the earth, and, like the fabled 

ancestors of the Mac-Codrums, becoming the progenitors of 

a numerous offspring. 

While we occasionally hear of a male seal contracting 

such an alliance, the stories of men capturing beautiful sea 

maidens are more numerous. Hibbert gives one in his 

" Shetland Islands," and the substance of it may here be 

given as illustrative of the class. There we are told of an 

Unstman, walking along the sandy margin of a voe, and 

seeing a number of mer-men and mer-women dancing in 

the moonlight, several seal skins being beside them on the- 

ground. At his approach, they immediately secured their 

garbs, and assuming the form of seals, or " Haaf-fish" (as 

the Shetlanders call them), plunged into the waters of the 

voe. One skin was left behind. The Shetlander seized it, 

carried it away and concealed it. " On returning to the 

shore," writes Hibbert, " he met the fairest damsel that 

was ever gazed upon by mortal eyes, lamenting the robbery, 

by which she should become an exile from her submarine 

friends, and a tenant of the upper world. Vainly she 

implored the restitution of her property ; 

the 

man had

The Seal. 471 

drunk deeply of love, and was inexorable—but offered her 

protection beneath his roof as his betrothed spouse. The 

mer-lady, perceiving that she must become an inhabitant of 

the earth, found that she could not do better than accept of 

the offer. This strange connubial attachment subsisted for 

man)' \-cars, and several children were the fruits of it, who 

retained no farther marks of their origin than in the resem- 

blance which a sort of web between their fingers, and a 

particular bend of their hands, bore to the fore feet of a seal 

—this peculiarity being possessed by the descendants of 

the family at the present day" (1822). The mer-lady, 

though a dutiful and careful wife, was always anxious to 

return to her ocean home. She was like the mermaid who, 

according to a Shetland ballad, was frcquentl}- heard to 

sing— " Den gie me back my bonnic coral caves, 

O gie dem back ta me ! 

For tough dis be my home, I still love to roam 

O'er da shells o' da deep blue sea !" 

One day a child found a seal skin concealed under a stack, 

and brought it with pride to his mother. It was the same 

caul she had doffed long years ago, before engaging in the 

moonlight dance at the margin of the voe. Her eyes 

glistened with rapture as she gazed upon it, for in it she 

beheld the means by which she could once again return to 

her ocean home. She bade her children farewell, and 

carrying the caul with her, hastened towards the shore. 

Her husband, who had meantime heard of her discovery, 

ran to overtake her, but only arrived in time to see her, in 

the form of a seal, bound from the ledge of a rock into the 

sea, and forthwith engage in joyous raptures with an 

ancient Haaf-fish that was there to receive her, and make 

her once more welcome to her submarine abode. 

But to return to our Hebridean lore. Here is a seal 

story from South Uist : 

— 

A North Uist man named Mackeegan (" Fear a 

mhuinntir a' Chinne Tuath"), said m\' informant, was seal

472 'J he HigJdand Monthly. 

hunting ages ago on the Atlantic side of Uist. He beheld 

a grey seal of enormous size stretching himself on a rock- 

Mackeegan made for the rock, and clubbed the animal till 

he seemed dead. It was so heavy, however, that he could 

not get it into the boat. Taking a spear, Mackeegan 

pierced a hole in the seal's paw, put a rope through this 

hole, and fastened it to the stern of the boat— " Rinneadh 

toll 'na spoig, chuireadh ball ann, 's cheangladh ris a' 

sgoth e."^ Mackeegan sailed away, proud of his trophy. 

He had not gone far when, to his great disappointment, he 

found that the monster had made its escape, and betaken 

itself to the depths of the ocean. "Thug e na Haaf air,"- 

said my informant. Mac-keegan and his crew thereupon 

resumed their fishing and sealing expedition. While thus 

engaged, they were enveloped in a dense fog, and lost their 

bearings. They toiled on, but they saw no appearance of 

land. After a period of weary rowing, they heard the 

waves of the sea dashing against the shore. The expres- 

sive language of my informant was, " Chualas muir a' 

bualadh ri cladach, agus thog an ceo." ^ The mist cleared 

away ; 

— 

and, 

to their astonishment, they found themselves 

beside an islnnd which none of them had ever seen before. 

Hungry and weary, they pulled towards the shore. 

Wandering over the island, they came to a solitar}dwelling, 

where they were hospitably entertained. The 

inmates consisted of sons and daughters, and a grey-headed 

old man of gigantic size— " Seana bhodach mor Hath.'' 

Mackeegan and his crew were supplied with abundance 

of food in the " parlour." On rejoining the domestic circle 

in the " kitchen," Mackeegan was thus addressed by the old 

man : 

" Itheagan, Itheagan, ged a thug mi bi dhut 

Aran a's im a's cais a's feoil, 

Air mo dha laimh, Itheagan, 

Gu'n chuir thu 'n gath a' m' spoig. 

' i.e., " A hole was made in its paw, a rope was p'lt through the hole, and 

tied to the skiff." 

- I.e., " He betook himself to the Haaf." 

•' i.e., " The sea was heard a-dashing against the shore, and the n-ist 

—

7 he Seal. 473 

" Itheagan, a thainig a nail 

Air bharraibh nan naoidh taogacla tonn, 

Fhir a bhrist fiaclan mo chinn, 

'S aognaidh Icam t-fhaicinn mar rium." 

Translated— 

" Itheagan, Itheagan, though I gave )'ou food 

Bread and butter and cheese and flesh ; 

On my two hands, Itheagan, 

Thou put'st the spear through m\- paw. 

" Itheagan, who came to this land 

On the crest of the nine advancing waves, ^ 

Who broke the teeth from my jaws, 

Repugnant to me is thy presence." 

The old man who addressed Mackeegan in these words 

was none other than the monster seal the\- had some time 

previously clubbed on the rock. He had now assumed the 

human form. Mackeegan and his crew immediately 

departed, and betook themselves to their boat. The}- put 

out to sea with all possible speed, and, looking behind them 

with feelings of curiosity not unmixed with fear, the island 

disappeared from their view, as if it had been enveloped in 

a magic cloud. They saw it no more. 

On another occasion a band of North Uist men 

slaughtered a number of seals on the Heisker rocks, and 

brought them to the main island. They were spread out 

in a row on the strand. One of the party was left in charge 

-of them over night. To var\- the monoton\- of his vigil he 

wandered a little distance awaj' from the row of dead seals. 

While sitting under the shelter of a rock he beheld coming 

from the sea a woman of surpassing beauty, with her rich 

yellow tresses falling over her shoulders. She was dressed 

in emerald robes. Proceeding to the spot where the dead 

seals lay, and identifying each as she went along, she 

soliloquized as follows : 

— 

Spog Spaidrig, 

Spog mo chuilein chaoin chaidrich, 

Spog Fhionngala, 

^ Reference to nine waves is frequent in ancient lore. In that repository 

•of old Irish Laws, the Book of Aicill, we read of the nae toudaih, and we are 

there told that in sea laws one has a right to what he has brought over nine 

waves (p. 423) 

—

474 

Translated 

— 


Spog mo ghille fada fionna-gheala, 

'S minig a bhios a' greim do rudain, 

A Mhic Umhdainn, 'ic Amhdainn. 

Spog a ghille mhoir ruaidh 

'S olc a rinn an fhaire 'n raoir. 

The paw [or hand] of Spaidrig, 

The paw of my tenderly-cherished darling, 

The paw of Fingalia, 

The paw of my long-legged fair-haired lad, 

Who frequently sucked his finger- 

Son of Oodan, son of Audan, 

The paw of the big red-haired lad 

Who badly kept the watch last night. 

Another version of the above runs thus 

Translated 

— 

Spog Fionnghal, 

Spog mo nighinn, Fionnghail, 

Spog Spaideig, 

Spog mo chuilein chaoimh chaidrich 

The paw [or hand] of Fingalia 

The paw [or hand] of my daughter Fingalia, 

The paw [or hand] of Spaideag, 

The paw of m}^ gentle, cherished darling. 

The watchman surmised that the beautiful woman who 

now stood before him was a spirit from the vasty deep, and 

resolving to kill her, hurried to get his arms. She saw him, 

fled towards the sea, and in the twinkling of an eye assumed 

the guise of a seal and plunged beneath the waves. 

It is said that the seal is very fond of music, and that 

he can be trained to distinguish certain tunes. I will con- 

clude this paper with a story illustrative of his musical 

attainments. An old Highland militar}' officer named 

Mackenzie, who lived in one of the Wêstern Islands, had a 

pet seal. Mackenzie was a skilful player on the great High- 

land bagpipe. The seal listened with rapt attention to the 

stirring strains, and showed symptoms of emotion and 

exuberant joy whenever the officer played his favourite 

tunc, " Caberfeidh !" 

—

A Suuimci" Nî^hfs Sono; 475 

A SUMMER NIGHT'S SONG.* 

'nr^HE nightingale breaks forth in plaintive strain, 

-*- In adoration of her God, and at His shrine 

She offers up her prayer ; with what full heart 

Doth she not worship ? Hearken how each line 

Is pregnant all, with love and imagery divine 

In what sweet cadence, in what faultless time, 

Weds she this masterpiece of song, to perfect rhyme ! 

Throughout the fragrant night, her rivulet of song. 

Gathering volume, moving ever, foam-like, borne along, 

Like some ethereal Spirit, floating, heavenward borne 

Across the starlit night to yonder glimmering dawn. 

October loth, i8g2. 

ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL. 

* These lines, we are informed, have been sent by Lord Archibald Campbell 

to Miss Jessie Maclachlan, the Highland Prima Donna, to be used by her if 

she so wishes it. 

!

476 

THERE 



[all rights RE-iERVED BY THE AL'THOR.] 

VI.—THE TRYST OF TEITH MUIR. 

[continued.] 

was a changehouse known as the House of 

Logroy, which stood at the opening of the mountain 

pass that led into Goyshire. Here Mark Teviot decided 

that he and his companion would seek shelter for the night ; 

but as he drew near this establishment, he would fain have 

altered his arrangement ; 

for the house and offices presented 

a wretched appearance. They were in the last degree of 

dilapidation, and evidently tottered to their fall. As the 

tacksman reined his horse at the door, he could see that in 

many cases articles of clothing occupied the space in the 

windows that had once been filled with glass. The door 

was rotten, and fitted badly into the crazy posts on either 

side. The blasts of successive winters had removed the 

mortar from the walls, and even from the interstices 

between the stones. The whole scene was one of desola- 

tion and neglect. Teviot's eye took in all these details at 

a single glance, and no wonder though he turned his face 

instinctively onwards towards the pass. But its aspect was 

far from being inviting. The whole gorge was occupied 

by a storm cloud, and the road wrapped in gloom. The 

Gtagehouse stood at the further extremity of the pass, 

which extended for six or seven Scotch miles ; and Mark 

Teviot, as an old shepherd, being skilled in reading the 

signs of the sky, was satisfied that their journey thither 

could only be prosecuted with great danger. Slowly shak- 

ing his head, he forthwith dismounted and led his horse to 

the door. Here he was met by an ill-favoured and slightly 

deformed man, who appeared to be the owner of the

— 


house. Teviot had not exchanged many sentences with 

him, before he gathered that he was both known and 

expected, although the man carefully endeavoured to 

sustain the part of one taken by surprise to find himself in 

the presence of two mounted strangers. 

"We are not in the habit of housing the like of you 

here," said mine host. " We are but poor folks. You had 

better ride on to the stagehouse where other gentles put up- 

What ! you will come in ; very well. Here, wife, show this 

gentleman up stairs, while I go round to

478 


" Na, na, the room is full of them on whom we have 

always depended, and we expect more by night fa'. Ye 

maun tak' the best we can offer." 

Leaving Tevict still standing on the floor, she left 

the room, and shortly afterwards returned, carrying 

an ignited peat in one hand, and, in the other, the 

creel of peats which the girl had no doubt just 

taken into the house. To kindle a fire was no easy 

work ; for the fire-place was filled with a heap of damp 

-ashes, and the fuel was dripping with water. When 

Gillespie arrived, he assisted the efforts of the dame, and 

went for some fir roots which he had seen stacked in an 

outhouse. The old tacksman, meantime, had ordered two 

glasses of brandy or rum ; but instead, a measure containing 

the poorest quality of whisky was laid on the table. How- 

ever, they drank this, and began to dry their clothes before 

the flame which they had at length succeeded in kindling. 

The state of the weather outside went far to reconcile 

them even with such wretched accommodation as they had 

secured. It was by this time quite dark, and a violent 

snow storm had set in. Having ordered food, the landlady 

appeared after a while, carrying two bowls with some oat- 

meal in each. Setting these on the table along with a dish 

•of salt, she went away, and came back carrying a small pot 

of boiling water, which she set down by the fire and again 

departed, allowing her guests the choice either of making 

porridge for themselves, by shaking the contents of the 

bowls into the pot, or brose, by pouring boiling water over 

the meal in their respective bowls. After they had 

.finished their repast the fire blazed brightly, and they were 

well pleased to sit in front of it drying their clothes. After 

some time the storm gradually moderated its fury, and, 

during the lull, they heard at least two other guests arrive. 

While Mark Teviot and Macewen sat in their room in this 

way, occasionally engaged in conversation, they all at once 

observed light flashed upon a window that looked towards 

the back of the house. Gillespie peered out, and saw that


it had come from a lantern which someone entering the 

byre carried. A iow minutes afterwards, the two travellers 

heard the sweet cadences of a croon such as dairymaids 

sing when milking in the fold, and which may be rendered 

as follows : 

— 

When evening gathered o'er the glen, 

I welcomed home my kine ; 

No wife could boast a fairer pen, 

No cog so full as mine. 

Scarcely had the songstress commenced her strain, when 

Teviot observed that his companion seemed to start, and, 

while he listened intently, recognition and doubt chased 

each other over his face for a few moments. At length it 

was fairly overspread with a smile of joyful surprise as he 

whispered, 

Hark ! 

" Am I dreaming? and yet surely not. It must be she. 

she is beginning another verse." 

That night I heard the raven croak 

From out an alder tree ; 

Ere break of day a woful stroke 

Fell on my fold and me. 

" As sure as God made the blessed sun," said Gillespie, 

as he bent close to his master's ear, " that voice is the voice 

of young Bessie M'Indrui of Balmoses, and she wishes to 

attract our attention for some reason. No lassie in all 

Duncairn can sing so well. I knew she had not returned 

from the south with the others after the harvest was over. 

But what is this that she is singing now, and in a much 

lower tone ?" 

When morning glimmered o'er the ben. 

And music filled the wood ; 

I wept beside an empty pen. 

And bothie red with blood. 

" My dear master,"' said Gillespie, " there is some danger 

near, which that true-hearted girl wishes to put us on our 

guard against. Secure the door, and let no one come here 

until I return."

480 The Highland Month/y. 

Macevven with that went to the window and, after some 

difficulty, he managed to open it, and, then, peering out 

cautiously, he ascertained that there was no back door, nor 

any other window on that side of the house. Below there 

was a little court, enclosed on two sides by the farm steading. 

He saw that there was no light proceeding from any 

of the buildings except the byre. In another moment he 

was through the window, and, first grasping the sill, he 

then leapt easily to the ground. 

Meantime Teviot made a more narrow survey of 

the room than hitherto. He first discovered that the 

door through which he entered had no fastening^ 

and, as quietly as possible, he wedged a chair between 

the floor and a moulding in its pannelling ; thus 

effectually preventing anyone entering the room suddenly 

and discovering the absence of the young shepherd. He 

now observed that in another corner of the room, what he 

had hitherto taken to be a disused press, was really a door 

which apparently opened into a closet. But it was locked, 

and the key hole was filled with cob-webs. As one of the 

beds stood in this corner of the room, only the upper portion 

of this door was visible. It was quite evident that no one 

had passed through for a very long period. Glenbeltane 

then laid fuel on the fire, and patiently awaited the return 

of his companion. Nor had he to remain long in suspense 

for in a brief time after his departure, Gillespie entered by 

the window, as adroitly and noiselessly as his egress had 

been. Closing the window carefully, he removed the chair 

which his master had placed against the door. Thereafter^ 

in a tone so low as to be inaudible to one even on the 

opposite side of the apartment, he related to Mark Teviot 

ihe particulars which he had just gathered from Bessie 

iMIndrui. 

Returning from the Lothians along with the other 

harvesters from the township oi Duncairn, she was urged 

liy the mistress of this changehouse to serve with her 

during the two months from Michaelmas till Martinmas.

Scenes of Lon^ ^go. 481 

What was then considered a handsome wage was offered, 

and Bessie, after taking counsel, accepted the terms, and 

looked forward with pleasure to returning home with this 

in addition to her earnings at the harvesting. She knew 

that the contents of her little purse would keep her parents 

in comfort all winter. So she sent a message to them by 

her companions, explaining her intentions, and promising 

to be home in eight short weeks. She had scarcely entered 

upon her service, however, when she felt inclined to rue her 

engagement. No one resided constantly in the lonely 

changehouse of Logroy except her master and mistress, and 

herself; but she found that it was frequented by the lowest 

class of travellers and drivers. The trade was not in a 

thriving condition. Her master had been unable to pay 

the rent, and he had been warned to leave at Martinmas. 

She soon discovered that he and his wife were held in ill 

repute on the road, being considered capable of committing 

acts of petty larceny upon travellers, when opportunity 

offered. Nay, there was one shepherd's wife who informed 

Bessie that three women returning from the harvest with 

considerable sums of money a few years before, had been 

last seen in the neighbourhood of this house, and were 

never seen or heard of again. Bessie, however, was aware 

that gruesome stories of this kind were widely in circula- 

tion, which could have no real foundation, and although she 

disliked both the house and the occupiers of Logroy, she 

had no cause of complaint, for she was treated with 

consideration, and her work was light, consisting, for the 

most part, in attending to the cattle. She had been a 

month in this situation, when she observed two drovcis 

approach the house from the south, and ask quarters for the 

night. They were received as acquaintances by her master 

and mistress, and the four sat around the kitchen fire umil 

midnight. Bessie, as she lay in her little room, was kept 

awake by their conversation. To her surprise, she soon 

heard Duncairn and Glenbeltane mentioned, and she 

gradually realised that Gillies and Farquhar Macilvaii e 

31


were giving an account of their brother's arrest. Although 

she had never met these men, who dwelt in a remote and 

inaccessible part of the parish, she was quite familiar with 

their history, and had heard from the postilion, Riding 

Dan, who occasionally passed the house, that Torquil 

awaited his trial for sheep stealing. She now heard the 

name of Mark Teviot mentioned in terms of mortal hatred. 

From the sounds that reached her, she knew that the 

quartet were indulging in deep potations. By and bye, the 

conversation turned upon Teith Muir Tryst, and one of the 

Macilvaines, with a brutal laugh, swore that Mark Teviot 

would go home with a light purse and broken skin, whereupon 

his companions joined in his hideous merriment. 

The Macilvaines left early next morning, and she took care 

that neither her master nor her mistress should suspect 

that she recognised them, far less that she had overheard 

their threats of revenge against Glenbeltane, whom her 

aunt, Spinning Ishbal, had taught her to regard with grate- 

ful feelings of respect. Indeed, she herself had often spent 

a few days at Glenbeltane, to help during the busy time of 

clipping or harvesting ; and she determined that no evil 

should befal Mark Teviot which she might be able to avert. 

Without delay, she wrote a letter to her father, which 

Riding Dan undertook to deliver with his own hand ; and 

it was in consequence of the information which this billet 

contained, that Black Macindrui met Glenbeltane secretly 

at the Gallows Ford, and gave him timely warning of the 

threatened danger. Some days before the Teith Muir 

Tryst the Macilvaines again spent a night at Logroy, but, 

strangely enough, although proceeding south, they had no 

herd of cattle in charge then. The house was thronged with 

drovers, and her master and mistress had no opportunity of 

having any private conversation with the Macilvaines on. 

this occasion. The evening after the tryst they again 

returned to Logroy, and, much to her relief, she learned 

that they had failed in carrying out their evil designsagainst 

Mark Teviot. Having ascertained that he and

Scejies oj Lotto Ago. 483 

Gillespie had not yet been seen to pass homewards, they, 

apparently, made up their minds to spend the following 

day at Logroy. They had gone out that morning, and 

must have prowled about in the neighbourhood all day. 

They did not enter the house until after dark, and they 

were then aware that the two riders had sought shelter 

under its roof. Before Bessie went to the byre, she had 

observed that her master and mistress had retired along 

with the Macilvaines to a private room, where she had no 

doubt they were plotting mischief against their guests, and 

she begged them tc keep a careful watch that night, adding 

that she herself would be prepared to leave with them early 

on the following morning. 

Mark Teviot listened attentively as Gillespie told 

his tale in a few hurried sentences. He perceived 

that by his sudden ride from Teith Muir, he had 

completely thrown the Macilvaines off his track, and 

escaped the adroitness of their light-fingered friend, fie 

also clearly saw that the constant presence of Gillespie, 

who followed him like a shadow, had taken his enemies by 

surprise, and disturbed their calculations. But he felt that 

he had to do witli men who, in addition to the spirit of 

revenge which they cherished against him, were now 

rendered desperate by being repeatedly baffled in their evil 

designs. He considered that, as the innkeeper of Logroy 

was to leave in a day or two, he would be more ready to 

become an accomplice in a scheme of robbery which might 

replenish his own purse. Mark Teviot and his friend in 

these circumstances saw urgent cause to remain all night 

on the alert against attack, for the tempest now raged more 

violently than ever, and it would have been folly to attempt 

the Pass before dawn. As there were a number of drovers in 

the house besides the Macilvaines, it seemed most likely 

that the thieves would endeavour to carry out their purpose 

with as little noise as possible. When it drew near the 

hour when he was in the habit of retiring, Mark Teviot 

desired some refreshment to be brought in. It was the

484 


landlord himself who answered this call. He immediately 

brought in some bread and cheese and the requisites for 

making hot punch. Then having bidden them a surly 

good night, he retired, and the wary travellers thereupon 

immediately replaced the chair, so as to frustrate any 

attempts that might be made to open the door without 

violence. 

Each gladly took a glass of the warm drink. They felt 

chilled, and no marvel ; for the roof and walls of the room 

were dripping, and the beds were clammy with damp. 

Alas ! 

that night, the old tacksman contracted the seeds of 

disease which never left him. After supper, Gillespie 

observed—as he told the story—that his master seemed 

worn out with the fatigue and anxiety of the day, and 

leant his head on the table as though he had fallen into a 

dose, whereupon Macewen arose and wrapped his plaid, 

which was now tolerably dry, around him. He then threw 

a lapful of peats on the fire, and resumed his position, 

resolving to keep constant watch until morning. After 

this he could remember no more. He, too, fell into a heavy 

sleep. When he awoke, it was some time before he could 

collect his senses. The fire had burned out, and the room 

was pitch dark. He was benumbed with cold. He tried to 

stir, but had scarcely sufficient strength to raise his head 

from the table. With an effort he stretched out his hands, 

and they rested on his master's head. Teviot had not 

stirred from the same position which he occupied when he 

fell asleep. Gillespie felt certain he saw a ray of daylight 

that descended through the chimney and fell upon the 

grey ashes, but neither of the two windows of the room 

could be discerned. He arose, and, finding that his strength 

had by this time in some measure returned, he stepped 

across the floor, groping as he went. He brushed against 

an unexpected projection, and lo ! a 

heap of bed clothes 

tumbled from the window, and the cold dull light of a 

winter's dawn, streamed through.


Calling out, " Awake, Glenbeltane, we are betrayed," he 

went to the other window, and tore away the clothes 

whereby it too had been stopped. To his surprise he 

observed that the chair which had been placed against the 

door, was still undisturbed. By this time he heard a noise 

of ascending footsteps on the stair, and, opening the 

door, there was Bessie in a state of dreadful alarm, 

asking what had happened. The innkeeper and his 

wife, who had apparently not been in bed the previous 

night, for the\' were both maudlin with drink, came 

upon the scene in a few moments. The young shepherd 

replied to none of their questions, but hurrying to his master, 

endeavoured to awaken him. Was he dead ? For a 

moment Gillespie suspected that he was. And he turned 

fiercely towards the couple, and exclaimed that they might 

swing in the gallows for the doing of that night. They 

both protested their entire ignorance of any wrong that 

had been done to the guests. This noisy altercation, 

assisted by the last despairing shake which poor Gillespie 

had given his shoulders, aroused the old man from the 

torpor in which he lay. Bessie, seeing how matters stood, 

but ignorant as yet of the extent of the injury which her 

friends had sustained, ran to prepare some simple restora- 

tives, thankful that they were at least both alive. Shortly 

after, she returned with a dish of boiled milk. Teviot had 

no sooner come to himself, than he discovered that he had 

been robbed of his red pocket-book, which contained, with 

the exception of a few coins, all the money he retained to 

take north for immediate uses. The book had been 

removed from his inner breast pocket. When Bessie 

returned she made no attempt to conceal her recognition 

of the travellers, although, of course, no reference was made 

to the warnings she had given. Revived by the warm food, 

Glenbeltane joined his companion in directly accusing the 

landlord and his spouse of being, art and part, concerned 

in the robbery ; whereupon they both professed to be 

mightih' insulted, and feigned a transport of rage. When

486 J he Uio^hland Monthty. 

accused of having drugged the Hquor on the previous night, 

they pointed triumphantly to the empty bottle, and main- 

tained that those who had consumed its contents should be 

ashamed of charging sober and respectable people with 

being the cause of their misadventure. If they had slept 

without going to bed, who was to blame ?—and here both 

broke into a hoarse laugh. The travellers examined the 

bottle, out of which they had taken only two glasses, and 

found that it had been emptied during the night, no doubt 

in order to remove the evidence of foul play, which its con- 

tents would have afforded. Seeing that they were taken 

rather aback by this discovery, the \illainous pair sought to 

follow up their triumph. A pretty mess their room had 

been thrown into ! Who had tossed the blankets on the 

floor ? Was a thief likely to do such a needless piece of 

work ? They for their part were not accustomed to have 

such troublesome and unreasonable drunken guests within 

their walls, and the sooner they wôuld leave, the better for 

all parties. And a pocket-book had been stolen, forsooth ! 

A likely story ! They had probably spent its contents at 

the fairs in the south. Seeing that nothing was to be 

gained by altercation, Teviot went to the small door which 

he had observed the previous night, and at once found 

evidence that it had been opened. The cob-webs were no 

longer in the keyhole, and the encrustation of dust which 

covered the joining of the door and its frame, being partly 

brushed off, Teviot was quite satisfied that here the thieves 

had made their entrance. They had first got into the closet 

b)^ a door on the landing of the narrow stair, and being 

provided with the key of the inner door, they easily effected 

their purpose. The occupants of the inn now saw occasion 

to change the nature of their defence. They said that 

they could not be held responsible for the doings of all the 

guests who had spent the night under their roof, and had 

departed their several ways before daybreak, so that they 

could not now be questioned. Not knowing but there 

might be several villains concerned in the robbery still

Scenes of Long Aqo. 4 "7 

lurking about the premises, Teviot tliought it best not to 

press the matter further in the meantime, but rather to sêt 

•clear as soon as possible of the ill-omened house, 

Poor Bessie had spent an anxious night, but as she 

heard no sound she hoped that no evil had been attempted 

against her friends. She had little fear of their being overcome 

in a scuffle. Rising at dawn she found that her door 

had been fastened on the outside by those who had, no 

doubt, taken this precaution to prevent any possibility of 

surprise. Scarcely had this fastening been removed, when 

Gillespie's voice rang through the house. The frightened 

girl having hurriedly related these particulars, hastened 

away to prepare for their departure. Ere she had told her 

tale, Gillespie was already in the stable, getting ready the 

horses ; and, within an hour, the party rode away from the 

door of Logroy. It was a still morning, and the whole 

landscape was covered with a heavy coating of snow. 

When out of sight of the house Gillespie bade farewell to 

his fellow travellers and, setting spurs to his horse, rode 

furiously in the direction of Keilangus. Having reached the 

stagehouse, he hired a fresh horse there ; 

and 

notwith- 

standing the lo(jse snow which covered the road, he reached 

the Deputy's office, early in the day, and gave him full 

particulars of the robbery which had been committed. The 

Deputy and his constables set out immediately for Anard, 

where they found that the Macilvaines had not yet arrived. 

The officers of the law then proceeded through a pass by 

which the drovers would very likely journey from Logroy, 

and that evening they were intercepted and arrested, They 

had been taken unawares, and caught as in a trap, while 

resting in a recess underneath a great boulder which had 

fallen from the precipices of the Dark Pillars of Corrie 

Goblin. They never supposed that their presence at 

Logroy was known to their victims, and they were, of 

•course, unaware that Teviot had been for a week on his 

guard against them. Each was found to be armed with two 

holsters, and one of the pistols had no ramrod. Glen-


beltane's pocket-book was found, and in it was more than 

half the mone\- of which he had been robbed not many 

hours before. The remainder had, probably, gone to 

accomplices. Gillies and Farquhar were sent to the county 

town, and lodged in prison, along with Torquil. The 

Deputy proceeded to Logroy next day after arresting the 

Macilvaines, but found that its inmates had taken flight. 

He ascertained that they had broken up their establishment 

a few hours after the departure of Glenbeltane and his 

friends. They drove their cattle south, and packed on their 

horse as much of their property as was of any value. 

Having realised their effects for whatever price they would 

bring, they set sail from Greenock in a vessel bound for the 

New World, and were never heard of more. 

After the tacksman had dispatched Gillespie in the 

manner I have described, he rode along at a slow pace, his 

horse having a double burden. At length he reached 

Balmoses, without going round by Keilangus, and set 

Bessie down at her father's door with expression, of heartfelt 

gratitude for her timely and prudent assistance. An 

hour or two more and Mark Teviot might have been seen 

entering his own home, while the shepherds led his horse 

away. And so ended his last and most eventful expedi- 

tion to the Tryst of Teith Muir. 

In the course of the following spring, the usual 

Circuit Court was held at Abergoy, and the tacksman 

of Glenbeltane, and all the witnesses concerned 

in the Macilvaines case, were summoned to attend. 

The evidence being concluded, the wretched prisoners were 

found guilty, and judgment was pronounced. Torquil, 

being convicted of sheep stealing, narrowly escaped capital 

punishment, and was banished to the plantations for a long 

period of years. Farquhar and Gillies were found guilty of 

robbery of an aggravated nature, and also of sheep killings 

which, according to the law of Scotland is, as everybody 

knows, a point of dittay. Their sentence was similar to 

that of their brother. As I will not have occasion to allude

Sci'fu\\ of Aono rloQ. 489 

to them again in these pages, I may here state that 

Farquhar was killed while fomenting a mutiny among the 

negroes, and that Torquil and Gillies made good their 

escape, and joined their families in the United States. 

Throughout their trial, old Dugald Macilvaine was present, 

and took an intense interest in the proceedings. General 

commiseration was expressed for him, as he stood and 

beheld his sons led away to jail, preparatory to expatriation, 

which was practically fcfl- life. His feelings must have been 

embittered by the consideration that he himself had trained 

and instructed them in those evil courses which, at length, 

drew the vengeance of the law upon their heads. Notwith- 

standing that the afternoon was far advanced before these 

trials were finished, most of the parties from Duncairn who 

were present, set out for home immediately, although their 

course lay for thirty or forty miles across a pathless 

mountain land ; 

others remained in town until early the 

following morning. As the lambing season was com- 

mencing, Mark Teviot was in haste to get back to 

Glenbeltane. His shepherds were among those who 

had first set out, and early next day he himself 

took his departure for home. Having ridden for 

many hours across hills and morasses, and forded numberless 

streams, at length he attained the summit of a ridge which 

commanded a view of the valley of the Goy, where he was 

arrested by piteous groans, which proceeded from a hollow on 

his right. He at once divined that a fellow creature was in 

agony close beside him, and hastily dismounting from his 

horse, he led it in the direction from whence the sounds 

came to his ear. In a few moments, he perceived Dugald 

Macilvaine lying on the ground in great pain. 

It turned out that the hoary reiver had sprained his 

ankle, had crawled into the hollow for shelter from the 

biting wind, and was now utterly unable to move. Xo 

sooner did the sufferer perceive the presence of one whom 

he regarded as his mortal foe, than he broke out into a 

torrent of furious imprecation against him, as being the

490 I 'ic Hio/iland Monthly 

despoiler of his home and family. After Hstening quietly 

to this outburst of impotent rage, Mark Teviot took from 

his pocket a flask. Dugald would fain have refused to taste 

the offered refreshment, but he was almost fainting from 

exhaustion, having tasted neither food nor drink that day, 

and after a struggle between the calls of nature and pride, 

he yielded, and held out his hand for the flask. Glenbeltane 

then shared with him further provisions he had made for 

the long journey ; and with great difficulty having mounted 

the patriarch of Anard upon his pony, he descended the 

wide declivity of the mountain that sloped towards Keil- 

angus, where he left Dugald at the house of a relative. 

When parting, Dugald handed my grandfather his dirk, 

saying, " Here, Mark Teviot, but not with my curse. For 

months, I desired that it might taste your heart's blood, 

and even as you held out the flask to me, I wished for 

strength to scorn your aid, and to revenge the fate of my 

children. But by saving my life you have disarmed me in 

very deed. So, here, take this symbol of that mortal feud 

which is powerless against you now. May our courses 

never more meet or cross ; if they do, beware !" The courses 

of the two old men never did meet or cross. 

The people of Duncairn, anxious to be rid of the whole 

tribe of Macilvaines, subscribed a sum of money which 

enabled them to emigrate to America, where there were 

many of their kin, and Anard was no longer a place of evil 

repute in the district. 

It only remains for me to add that Gillespie Macewen 

and Bessie Macindrui were married the week after St 

Eonan's Fair, that same year, and took up their abode at 

Inverbeltane.

7 he Death of Diarmad. 491 

THE DEATH OF DIARMAD: 

BY 

A ROSS-SHIRE VARIANT. 

BY DK ARTHUR SUTHERLAND. 

River Glass the grass is green, 

The ancient woods with age are hoar, 

The hills are clothed in birchen sheen, 

Once dark with pines of yore. 

The moss is soft by Conas Falls, 

The alders crowo along the stream, 

The aspens from the rocky walls 

Lean over in a dream. 

Seven daj's round Wyvis wild and vast 

The Fians chased the flying deer 

O'er purpled moor and hill they passed 

With shout and shining spear. 

And man}' a noble stag was ta'en 

With head full branched as a tree. 

And many a savage beast was slain 

I'rom Cuinneag to the sea. 

Gaunt wolves in far Glac Shellach bred 

Pierced to the heart the heather dyed ; 

Wild boars huge-tusked and maned, that fed 

Upon Ben Tarsuinn's side, 

In vain fled from the oak-clad dell 

With sudden crash and snort of fear ; 

And elk and lordly urus fell 

As spoils beneath their spear. 

A ghastly form from gray Loch Glass 

Was reft of life by Fion's hand, 

And evil things of ford and pass 

The aye-victorious band 

In combat slew Osgar's keen sword, 

And Ossian's spear renowned laid low 

Drear night-hags, Lamias abhorred, 

Of humankind the foe. 

;

492 T he Highland Monthly. 

And loathsome shapes in darkness grown 

From dismal den and lair were torn, 

And down the canyoned stream were thrown 

By Goll the son of Morn. 

To war with wrong, a vow well kept, 

'Gainst hateful life and slavish fear, 

Onwards the hunter-warriors swept 

With shout and shining spear. 

— 

But one enorm enchanted brute, 

The venomous Wild-boar of Glen Glass, 

Baleful as fiend and swift of foot. 

And cased in hide of brass. 

Was proof against their bravest deed, 

And mocked their lures to circumvent; 

Mac Cumhal's wit and Caoilte's speed 

On him were vainly spent. 

His lair on Meall-an-Tuirc's rough side, 

Where Mala Lia kept her swine 

— — 

Witch Mala Lia, evil-eyed, 

Foul, shapeless, and malign 

Was all begrimed with filth and gore. 

And horrid with the limbs of men 

The unclean monster killed and tore 

To feast on in his den. 

He ranged and ravaged at his will 

Malific over field and fell ; 

He moved but to despoil and kill. 

In guard of wizard spell. 

" Whose task," said Fion, " shall it be 

To track this hell-hound to his den 

To end his vile career, and free 

From dread the paths of men ?" 

And each of all the glorious band, 

Whose work was war on land and sea 

'Gainst wrong and darkness, and the hand 

Of cruel anarchy. 

Was ready then and there to go 

And quell the wild beast in his lair, 

Save Conan, craven as a crow 

That croaks when others dare.

The Death of Diar?fiad. 493 

Then Duanach spake, the old and wise : 

" This task, great Fion, is not thine ; 

Not on thy spear the Wild-boar dies 

— 

Not thine, great Prince, nor mine. 

Nor thine, loved Ossian, worthy son 

Of noble sire, the beast to slay ; 

But thine, when eve shows victory won, 

To sing the deathless lay. 

" And Osgar, e'en thy magic blade 

Avails not 'gainst this beast of night 

The spells that round his life are laid 

Are not for thee to fight. 

And slim MacRonan, fleet of foot 

As proudest deer in Diebadale, 

He knows the swiftness of the brute 

He chased without avail 

" By Assynt and the Meann-chroc, 

Round Fyrish hill and Ducharie, 

Across the Averon to the rock 

Where Fion loves to be 

When in Ardross he hunts—but here 

Bej-ond his sight the quarr\' ran. 

Glaisan, too, knows how vain his spear, 

And lall and lollan. 

" Vain the strong arm of Carril bold, 

And vain was Roanaidh's well-tried shield ; 

At first charge of the Boar, the\' rolled 

Sore-wounded on the field. 

Nor profits, Goll, thy giant might ; 

Nor, Finne-vel, thy matchless skill. 

None of our band is here to-night 

That may this Wild-boar kill." 

Then flashed with sudden ire the eye 

Of Fion, quick he spake, " Wliat, none ! 

Fold must we useless hands and cry, 

Leaving this task undone? 

Leader of the victorious band. 

The work is mine, to rid the earth, 

Spells or no spells, my sword in hand, 

Of this \-ile monster-birth." 

;

494 ^/^^ Highland Monthly. 

And Ossian, warrior-bard, replied, 

" Trust Duanach, sire, for Duanach knows. 

Besides, on steep Knock Farril's side 

Wild Garraidh takes repose ; 

And distant on Ben Eudainn green 

Is Diarmad following fallow deer. 

His sun-bright blade is sure and keen. 

Unfailing is his spear." 

Spake Duanach, " Diarmad's is the quest." 

" For Diarmad send," then Fion cried. 

His thumb against hi? teeth he pressed, 

The future he espied. 

The fate of Diarmad did he see. 

Him lying cold, and wan, and still, 

O'ercome by basest treachery, 

Upon the grassy hill. 

For dark the heart of Fion grew 

When the remembrance o'er him came 

How Grainne fair, his wife untrue. 

Dishonoured had his name. 

By wicked wiles and spells she tried 

Brave Diarmad to allure astray ; 

From sea to sea they wandered wide 

For one year and a day. 

" For Diarmad send ;" and at the sound, 

The best Caoilte hastened to obey, 

Took Allt-nan-Caorach at a bound, 

And southward sped his way. 

And ere awoke the seventh morn 

To touch the eastern hills with flame, 

They heard, returned, the hero's horn, 

And with him Diarmad came. 

Then shouted all the Fians loud 

Glad-hearted welcome. Fion's face 

With joy grew bright, although the cloud 

Still held in heart its place, 

" The Boar, brave Diarmad, waits for thee;" 

Said Fion, "thine the enterprise. 

Go, slay the beast of witchery, 

In Meall-an-Tuirc he lies."

IJie Death of Diarmad. 495 

And glad was Diarmad at the task 

And joyous grasped his shield and spear ; 

His, nought, when Fion spake, to ask 

Or to delay or fear. 

But first the hunter's feast was spread : 

The heroes on the grassy knolls 

Sat eating flesh of deer and bread 

Beside the Conas falls. 

Huge draughts of old-world mead they drank ; 

The cup went round with toast and song ; 

The aspen sprays arose and sank 

To heroic laughter strong, 

Olympian. To rest the day 

Was given. At ease, large-limbed and strong, 

On thyme and fragrant moss they lay 

Kings both of sword and song. 

The morn saw Diarmad, bright of face, 

Hopeful as morn and radiant. 

Firm-hearted climb with steady pace 

The hill, the Wild-boar's haunt. 

Glad-hearted, too, as maiden fair 

In haste to meet her trysted one 

He went, the brown gold of his hair 

Shone in the morning sun. 

: — 

Upon the right hand of his way 

A Raven pecked at corpse of hare, 

And on his left a Corbie gray 

Perched on a boulder bare. 

The Raven looking up askance 

Said, " Diarmad goes the Boar to slay. 

Brave Dimmad, dead upon thy lance 

Shall roll the Boar to-day." 

The Corbie fluttered on the stone, 

And croaked malevolent prophecy 

alone 

" Go back to Grainne, go ! 

The Boar thy death shall be." 

And Diarmad passed, and though he heard 

He swerved nu whit from left or right ; 

No bodeful voice of man or bird 

Could turn him from the fight.

496 


Nor paused he once, till he attained 

On Meall-an-Tuirc the topmost height. 

Below the distant river plained 

With voice of old delight. 

The murmurous music of the water, 

Bore from afar a voice he knew 

The voice of King Fo-thuinn's daughter, 

Who loved with love so true. 

It sang, the winds took up the song : 

" Ben Eudainn's slopes how dear to me 

Come, Diarmad, come ; 

the years are long. 

The years I wait for thee. 

My father's realm and halls are bright, 

But, light of life, thou art away. 

My life is empty of delight, 

My heart lone night and day. 

" The tide goes streaming past our land, 

Embosomed green within the sea. 

From rock and purple tinted sand, 

I look in vain for thee. 

But soon thou comest, love, I know. 

My arms again shall thee enfold. 

One morn thou wakest, love, and lo ! 

I kiss thy locks of gold." 

He looked around on scuir and ben, 

O'er lake and pass and rivered vale ; 

Half down the hill he saw the den 

Where styed the Beast of bale. 

The Beast of the vile sorceress 

He found asleep in thorny brake, 

But Diarmad, flower of nobleness, 

Would no advantage take 

Even of his deadliest foe. He cried. 

And waked the mt-nster to fair fight. 

The brute awoke with grunt and gride. 

And, maddening at the sight. 

Paused ere he rushed to annihilate 

The foe that came with shield and spear : 

" Go back, vain lool," he said, " your fate 

Tempt not by staying here. 

; 

!

The Death of Diarmad. 497 

" I've waited for you, Diarmad, long ; 

Your days of sweethearting are done. 

In Mala Lia's fatal song 

You die ere set of sun." 

With headlong rush of avalanche. 

His venomed spines in grim array, 

He ran upon the hero staunch, 

Who flinched not from the fray. 

But Diarmad lightly stepped aside 

And all the force was vainly spent ; 

It ploughed the hillside deep and wide. 

The rocks its fury rent. 

Half stunned but rallying from the blow, 

Fierce-wheeled the Boar and charged anew 

Sidewise the shield received the foe. 

The shock both backward threw 

— 

For many a yard. All daz°d the Boar, 

Breathing destructive breath of hell. 

Hideous with rage and foam and gore 

That burned where'er it fell, 

Flung all his horrent bulk again 

On Diarmad well aware, v/hose shield 

Not tempered by the hands of men, 

Alone his arm could wield 

Expert received and quick repelled 

The huge projected mass ; it reeled 

Sore-stricken, blinded, and half quelled, 

From the enchanted shield. 

The Beast amazed then turned and fled 

Across the hill top wild and bare, 

And hateful Mala Lia sped 

The v/arrior to ensnare. 

— 

Her loathly mouth with taunt and curse 

Waged wicked war. He gave no heed 

But fast pursued the monster fierce 

Whose hope was now in speed. 

"Go home," she cried, " to Grainne go, 

Place not your trust in shield and lance. 

Let Fion kill you both. You know 

Love songs and dalliance 

32 

;


Better than warlike deeds. Away !" 

He turned not to behold the crone 

Who followed him intent to slay 

With venom of her own. 

" Go back to Grainne, Diarmad, go, 

Or else to-morrow she shall find 

Another golden-headed beau 

To please her stable mind." 

As when a man a viper sees 

Beside his path, he onward goes. 

Deeming low reptiles such as these 

Not worth the cost of blows ; 

But when the serpent following 

With venomed fangs to pierce him tries,. 

He strikes with death the evil thing. 

And on his journey hies : 

So stung with viperous dart and tongue 

The vile witch Diarmad from behind ; 

He paused, and caught her foot, and flung; 

Her forth upon the wind. 

Over the cliff she headlong shot, 

Like arrow from a hunter's bow, 

Her impious arts availed her not. 

Dashed on the rocks below. 

He followed close the Wild-boar's track,. 

Swift-footed ran he round the hill ; 

He saw the foul thing doubling back 

Beside a corried rill. 

Within the corry's mouth he stayed 

And waited for the infuriate Boar ; 

The Beast no vain escape essayed, 

But rushed with eldritch roar 

And all his fiendish rage to bear 

Brave Diarmad lifeless to the ground ; 

But soon the point of Diarmad's spear 

His heart and entrails found, 

And fixed him to the earth. Such force 

The Beast had, scarce could spear be seen- 

One groan, and then a horrid corse 

Was stretched upon the green.

The Death of Diarinad. 499 

To Fion's camp then Diarmad came 

Victorious, with his spear and shield ; 

The warriors hail with loud acclaim 

The victor of the field. 

But Fion sits in gloom apart, 

Enraged that Diarmad safe returned ; 

He thought of Grainne, and his heart 

With blackest passion burned. 

They brought the boar to camp, and laid 

In front of Fion, grim and pale : 

" Brave Diarmad, measure it," he said, 

" The Boar from snout to tail." 

And Diarmad paced the bristled Boar 

" Fion, 'tis fifteen feet," he said ; 

" No, Diarmad, no ; it measures more 

Measure from tail to head." 

— 

And back\vard Diarmad paced the Boar, 

The poisoned spikes ran through his heel 

" O Fion, I am wounded sore. 

My veins the venom feel. 

But lay me on that grassy mound, 

And turn me to the sinking sun ; 

My place is soon beneath the ground, 

For Diarmad's course is run. 

" No more to me the keen delight 

To chase with hounds the russet deer, 

No more the rapture of the fight 

With shield and trusty spear. 

O sweet our life on Gulban's side. 

And sweet the murmur of the rill, 

And dear the gallant band allied 

To vanquish wrong and ill ! 

"The battle-cry no more I'll hear, 

Brown-footed Bran or hunter's horn ; 

Not Ossian's song shall reach my ear, 

Or voice of birds at morn. 

O Fion, princeliest of our band, 

Now silver gray thy yellow hair. 

When combat comes o'er sea or land,. 

No Diarmad will be there."

500 


; — — 

Moveless sat Fion as a stone, 

He brooded silent o'er the past 

And Diarmad lay without a groan, 

Breathing breath hard and fast. 

The Fians stood around and wept 

The bravest hearts beneath the sky 

And Duanach up to Fion stepped, 

" Hear, lord, our Diarmad's cry. 

"Save him, for thou can'st save." "And why? 

Wrought he not ill to mine and me ?" 

" Rise, prince, and swift, ere Diarmad die. 

He wrought no ill to thee. 

Thou knowest how oft his fearless sword 

Redeemed thy life when death was nigh 

When Cairbre's host upon thee poured. 

Did Diarmad from thee fly ? 

" When Conal pressed thee sore, whose eye 

And hand brought aid and victory ? 

must Diarmad die ? 

Rise, Fion, rise ; 

He ne'er wrought ill to thee. 

But cursed Grainne him beguiled ; 

She was not true to him or thee. 

Save, Fion, save thy sister's child, 

Thyself from infamy." 

The true, the noble Fion rose, 

And thrust the evil one aside. 

And he the cause of Diarmad's woes, 

For Diarmad would have died. 

*' O Diarmad, is there no remede 

To save thy life that ebbs in pain ?" 

"A draught from Fion's palms indeed 

Will make me strong again." 

In haste went Fion to the stream 

And making of his hands a cup. 

He filled it quickly to the brim 

And then came hurrj'ing up. 

But, dire mischance, a loosened stone 

Came rolling down and struck his hands; 

The water, dashed aside, was thrown 

Upon the river sands. 

;

The Death oj Diarmad. 501 

Returning: to the stream he filled 

His hollowed hands again, with care 

Strode back- lest any drop he spilled, 

Intent the draught to bear 

To Diarmad's fevered lips. Alas ! 

What brought the thought of Grainne then 

Into his mind ? His hands let pass 

Their freight to earth again. 

He gazed irresolute a while 

On Diarmad sinking to his death, 

Then rushed, swept clean of hate and guile, 

Into the stream beneath. 

He caught the water up and ran. 

No power could stay him now! He fled 

Up the steep bank. In vain ; all wan, 

Lay Diarmad stark and dead. 

And Fion fell upon the mound. 

Stunned like a woman new-bereft 

Of her first born, then tore the ground 

As one whom reason left, 

And moaned aloud, grovelled and crept 

About the grassy hill, and clung 

Wildly to Diarmad's corse, and wept 

As only weep the strong. 

Awe-struck the warriors stood. They viewed 

As well they knew, how deep and strong 

In Fion's love had Diarmad stood. 

Who both had suffered wrong 

From fair foul Grainne, wicked wife, 

Whose crooked ways wrought all'this woe. 

They now could fling her, reft of life, 

As carrion to the crow. 

" O Dairmad, Diarmad," Fion cried, 

" Art thou then lost to me for aye ? 

I would to heaven I had died 

Ere I had known this day. 

Cold, cold thou liest without a breath 

And mine the deed that laid thee low. 

Why didst thou save me from the death 

When Conal struck the blow ?

502 The His[hland Monthly. 

" Thy pale form evermore shall stand 

Before my eyes, O Diarmad dear, 

But I shall miss thy helpful hand, 

Thy ever ready cheer. 

Drear days and cold remain to me, 

My life creeps darkling to its close, 

Like thine it ends by treachery. 

Not facing valiant foes. 

" In war or peace, on land or sea, 

No more thou goest where we go ; 

The gallant band may cry for thee. 

But Diarmad ne'er shall know. 

We dig thy grave beside the stream, 

Thy spear and shield across tny breast 

We go, but thou wilt sleep or dream 

For aye in perfect rest." 

By River Glass the alders gleam, 

By Conas Falls the poplars wave. 

The curlews cry, the plovers scream, 

Around the hero's grave. 

At eve loud sounds come down the glen, 

No wind stirs in the listening sky. 

And softly speak the aged men : 

" The Fians' hunting cry." 

;

Ihe Hospital of Ii.verness. 503 


AND 


(By Captain DOUGLAS WLMBERLEY). 

CHAPTER XI. 

>George Scheviz, Treasurer, 177810 1788.—Kenneth Scheviz, 1788-89.—Their 

Joint Account passed, and Discharge granted.Ône of the Ministers 

Libiarian.—Property representing Provost Dunbar's two Mortifications 

Sold, and proceeds Lent at Interest.—Proposal to Lend Hospital Stock 

on Heritable Security only.—Thomas Young, Treasurer, 1789 to 1805. 

His excellent system of keeping the Accounts.— Details thereof. 

Accounts rendered annually.— Increase of Stock. = A clear State- 

ment of Capital Stock.—Loans to Magistrates Consolidated, and one 

Bond granted, and soon after paid up. —Calder's Mortification paid.— State' 

ment of Hospital Funds in 1804, and at his death.—Some Notes from 

Session Minutes.- -Session at this time Sjle Managers for the Poor. 

Bailie Young's Bequest for Young's Pensioners.—Alex. Murray, Treasurer! 

1805 to 1 8 10.—His Accounts also well kept.—Amount of Capital and 

Income.—Proposal by Provost and others to Borrow from Kirk Session. 

Loan to Glengarry on Heritable Security.—Rev. Thos. l->aser, interivi 

Treasurer. 

GEORGE SCH]-:VIZ held office from November, 

1778, till early in 1788, when his son Kenneth was 

•appointed his successor, and held office for a short time, 

apparently till his death. A joint account of their intro- 

missions was made up by Alexander Sche\ iz, son of the 

former and brother of the latter, and representative of both, 

and submitted to a Committee, b}' whom it was passed on 

13th March, 1789; and a new Hospital Treasurer, Thomas 

Young, appointed, i8th August in the same year ; Mr 

Simon Fraser having been previously appointed Reparation 

Treasurer, the previous \-ear. This account is of a very 

meagre description, apparently dealing only with their 

actual intromissions. The total of the Charge side is 

^.^1874 I OS 4d, items of principal and interest being all 

shown in one column ; and the Discharge, made out in the 

—


same way, is balanced, showing the sum of £\%^ is 5id 

due by the Treasnrer. But as this Treasurer held the office 

of Kirk or Collection Treasurer also, and there was a 

balance due to him on that account of ;^r6 3s id 

(apparently in his capacity of Hospital Treasurer), it left 

the net balance due by him to the Session, ^168 i8s 4|d. 

The Committee appointed by the Kirk Session reported, 

on 24th February, 1789, that they were quite satisfied with 

Mr Alex. Scheviz's statement of account ; and 

they were 

empowered to grant him a full discharge. They reported 

again, on 21st May, that they had received the balance, 

together with all the bonds, bills, and papers belonging to 

the Hospital, and had granted him a discharge. 

The amount paid to the pensioners during the ten 

years from February, 1779, to March, 1789, was ^710 7s 6d, 

though the Committee had recommended its gradual reduction 

to ;^50 per annum. 

Mr Robert Rose, one of the ministers, commenced taking 

charge of the Library in 1779, in place of Mr Hector 

Fraser, schoolmaster, who drew a salary. 

A Committee had been appointed to examine Mr 

George Scheviz's accounts, in August, 1785, and he was 

then directed to bring them up positively on ist June, 1786, 

at a meeting held on 1 8th April of that year ; but there is 

no record that this was done. 

Some property, described as " Munro's subjects," 

apparently mortgaged to the Session in security for a bond 

of ^400—representing the greater part of Provost Dunbar's 

two mortifications—were sold to Mr John Ettles in 1787, 

for £116 3s id, which sum, with interest (in all ;^345 13s id), 

was relent—;^220 of it to the Rev. Mr Fraser, and ^^125 

13s id to Simon Fraser of Boblainie and John Fraser. 

Another sum, of ;^226 i8s, representing Castlehill's and 

Drakies' bonds, lent to Mansfield, Hunter, & Co., Edin- 

burgh, was paid off the same year, and lent to Fraser, 

Andrews, & Co., merchants in Inverness—the Treasurer 

being instructed to let them know that the money could 

not liemore than two or three years, as the Session had it

TJie Hospital of Inverness. 50$ 

in contemplation to consolidate all the monies belonging to 

the Hospital then lent on personal security, and against 

that time to settle the whole heritably. He was also to 

attend to the expediency of renewing bills annually, in due 

and proper time. This mone}- was lent " at the usual 

interest of 5 per cent." 

On Mr George Scheviz's death, his son Kenneth was, as 

already mentioned, appointed his successor. It having been 

reported to the Session a few days before, that he had his 

father's accounts ready, a Committee was appointed to 

examine them ; but there is no further entry until after Mr 

Kenneth Scheviz's death. The Session records show that 

during the interval between the death of the last-named 

gentleman and the appointment of his successor, a Com- 

mittee, presided over by the Rev. Alex. Fraser, discharged 

the duties of the office, and received due recognition for 

their attention. 

Mr Thomas Young, previously Town Treasurer, was 

appointed Hospital Treasurer, and held office from i8th 

August, 1789, till his death, in February, 1805. A salary 

of /,3 per annum was granted to him to make prompt payment 

to the pensioners. His accounts are beautifully kept. 

He appears to have been resolved from the first to carry 

out the recommendations made by the Kirk Session on 

17th February preceding, and to make out a proper and 

complete list of the stock, as made over to him on 25th 

August, and to make one up, and also to render his 

accounts yearly thereafter. 

This list, amounting to ^^2645 2s lO^d, includes, however, 

all the securities belonging to what had come to be 

looked on as the Hospital Stock, and which were placed in 

the Treasurer's charge ; but he appends, ver\' properly, a 

second list, showing (i) The proportion applicable to 

particular (or specified) purposes, amounting to £'^\o gd 

5^d ; (2) The sum, the interest of which could be applied 

to the payment (^^; of Hospital pensioners, ;^920, and f(^^ 

of Provost Dunbar's pensioners, £i\

1 66

— 


increased during the time George and Kenneth Scheviz 

were Treasurers by ;^244 /d gd. This, however, was mainly 

in consequence of interest being paid from time to time 

upon certain bonds, instead of left to accumulate unpaid, 

and so ultimately lost. His first account was made up to 

15th March, 1791. He 67^^ 

A(/^^ Mr Albert Munro's Mortification 

principal ... ... ... ... ... 100 o o 

Total neat Stock ^^2676 12 9^' 

A(t// amount of principal sums and interests 

received up to 15th March, 1791, as per 

detailed account [given in the account 

book] 651 6 6 

£33V 19 3}^ 

His Discharge shows 

By neat Stock, includingMr Munro's Morti- 

fication ^^2676 12 9 1/2 

By principal sums lent, and given in pur- 

chase of lands, together with interest 

of monies applied in payingpensioners, 

&c., as per detailed account [given in 

book] 604 18 II >^ 

Balance due to the Hospital ... ... 46 7 7 

£33V 19 iV'


One of these payments is the purchase of 

Evan Campbell's lands, £go, and 

Town Clerk's account, £'^ ... ... 95 o O 

Another a paymentto Reparation Treasurer 

of money due by the Hospital Fund 46 1 1 8 

And another by Hospital, Provost Dun- 

bar's, and Mr Albert Munro's, and the 

Laird of Mackintosh's pensioners, from 

1st August, 1789, to 1st February, 

1 79 1, inclusive... ... ... ... 11 1 4 10 

This again is followed by a full and clear statement of 

" money, lands, and debts belonging to the Hospital of 

Inverness" as at 15th March, 1791. It includes, however, 

a good many items of interest to the amount of 

£\ 17 17s 5d, and the balance due by himself, £/\,6 ys 7d, as 

well as Capital Stock, and in the latter is included what he 

calls above, " the proportion applicable to particular pur- 

poses," the total being ^^2768 17s 5|d. A report of a 

Committee is then given, evidently prepared by the 

Treasurer, and approved by the members of the Committee, 

who sign it. It contains a recommendation that an 

Act of Council should be got from the Magistrates as a 

security for the whole sums due by them to the Session, so 

that the interest might become payable at one time. The 

accounts are made up in the same form yearly, the date 

being changed first to May and then to October, up to 

1804, and then for the short period to Februar)-, 

he died. 

1805, when 

We find in the account for May, 1792, one bond of the 

Magistrates dated May, 1791, for ;ÎI25 ; also an Act of 

theirs for a loan for completing the new church for iJ'200. 

The Magistrates paid up their bond oi £\ 125 in full, with 

a year's interest, in May, 1793 

lent at 4^ per cent, on heritable bond to Lewis Cuthbert^ 

; and the sum of ^^^1300 was 

of Castlehill. Their other bond of ;^200 was paid up in 

November, 1803. Donald Calder and his wife's mortification, 

originally £2^, was paid up with interest and 

expenses, amounting in all to ^^44 i8s i id, in May, 1796.


£,1300

5IO The Highland MontJily. 

land adjoining Broadstone, in 1792, Captain Godsman being 

appointed arbiter. The room formerly used as a writing 

school was set as a shop at 50s yearly, the Session not being 

liable for any repairs. There was a correspondence relative 

to the removal of the books belonging to the Library, 

apparently to presses in the new Academy, in 1793 ; and 

this seems to have taken place, as the Treasurer was 

directed, in 1794, to pay five guineas to Mr Thomas Fraser, 

of the Academy, for his trouble in arranging the books. 

The Hospital garden was let on lease at ^3 5s per annum, 

in iSoo, with a view to fruit trees being planted therein, 

with power to the Session to resume at the end of 4 years, 

if they should have cause to allot the subject and garden 

for a public Poorhouse. At the same meeting, " consideration 

of the spire on Provost Dunbar's subject was deferred 

till the next." 

It is evident that the Kirk Session still were, as they 

had long been, the sole managers for the poor of the parish. 

We find them, in 1800, treating with the managers of the 

new Chapel of Ease for the payment of £'i sterling per 

annum, towards the support of the poor, but reserving to 

themselves the powers vested in them, to be exercised 

afterwards, if they should see cause. 

In the same year, the Session record their regret that 

the state of the Hospital funds does not permit them to 

increase the number of pensioners, quoting a statement of 

average income and expenditure, with only a small credit 

balance ; but in 1802, after voting the usual thanks to their 

Treasurer, they find that their funds are in a thriving state, 

and resolve to add three additional pensioners, two of them 

to receive los and one 5s per quarter. 

On Bailie Young's death, they duly record their obligations 

to him, as having " discharged his trust as Treasurer 

with much humanity and fidelity. His strict attention to 

have the funds under his management annually examined 

made them prosper in his hands." 

There can be no doubt but that the habit of constantly 

bringing all matters connected with the trust before the 

Session for their authority and instructions, and Baih'e 

Young's own business capacity and advice, had a most 

beneficial effect upon the stock, and the submission of 

annual accounts prevented their unwittingly making their 

outlay exceed their income. 

But Bailie Young was not only of very great service to 

the Hospital funds during his life ; he was also a gnât

The Hospital of Inverness. 5 1 

benefactor to the poor of Inverness in perpetuity. By 

deed dated 1799, and codicil dated 1803, ^^ disponed to 

and in favour of his successor for the time being in the 

office of Hospital and Kirk Treasurer of Inverness, and to 

the ministers and elders forming the Kirk-Session of Inver- 

ness, the whole residue of his estate, after providing for 

certain special bequests ; by the codicil, which somewhat 

alters the provisions of the will in regard to the beneficiaries, 

the proceeds are to be given to as many pensioners, 

natives of Inverness, as the fund would support. £2 being 

given to each annually, with a preference for the indigent 

blind, lame, and bed-ridden, not being common beggars, 

the names being enrolled in a book, entitled " Bailie 

Young's Pensioners." and the Trustees' transactions 

respecting the management of the fund to be kept separate 

and distinct therein. This has been duly attended to. 

The value of the estate proved to be about ^1600. 

On Bailie Young's death, the Session, on 27th February,, 

appointed the ministers a Committee to inspect the Hospital 

accounts, with instructions to look out tor a fit person to. 

succeed him, and to make out a new statement of the 

Hospital funds, to be ready to be given over to the new 

Treasurer, and the Rev. A. Fraser was requested to make 

up a state of the accounts, to receive rents, and pay necessary 

demands in the meantime. 

Mr Alexander Murray succeeded Bailie Young, and 

was appointed Hospital Treasurer on i6th y\pril, 1805, and, 

held office till his death, about April, 18 10. He was granted. 

£,i^ per annum for prompt payment, and had to find a 

cautioner for his intromissions. The account books and 

proper statement were handed over to him about the end 

of May, with a balance of ;^3i is 7d out of a rent received 

during the mter-regninn. He was required to continue the 

practice of rendering his accounts yearly in May. His 

accounts are well kept, and in his time a separate account 

began to be kept in another book, with details of disbursements, 

as a voucher, which is still preserved. He credits 

himself with ^5 5s salary till 1808, and with ^Tio afterwards. 

The amount of the capital taken over by him 

at his entry, including the value of real 

property was ... ••• ;^358o o O 

together with interest due ... ... ... 225 o o 

and a cash balance due by Bailie Young's 

executors ... ... ... ... 12 13 5^ 

1


The annual interest and rents at this time 

amounted to ... ... ... ... 182 10 o 

At the expiry of his tenure of office the 

capital was the same ... ... ... 3580 o o 

The amount of annual rents due about ... 221 o o 

and a balance due by the Treasurer ... 34 4 9^ 

There is a copy of an amusing letter sent by the Moderator 

of the Kirk-Session to Provost John Mackintosh in 

October, 1805. The Provost and some other gentlemen 

had applied to the Session for the loan of ;îOOO, perhaps 

part of Bailie Young's Mortification. The letter apologises 

for their feeling an obligation to lend money upon heritable 

security only, a course they had very properly resolved on 

some time before (in those days heritable security was 

fairly reliable) ; it also mentions that they had a proposal 

to borrow the money on undoubted heritable security, but, 

strange to say, it goes on to explain that if the Provost and 

his friends found it impossible to get the money otherwise 

they would lend it on the express condition that it be repaid 

at Martinmas, 1806, as they did not feel at liberty to decline 

heritable security for a longer period. The transaction, 

however, was not carried out, for at Martinmas, 1806, the 

bond on Newmore's estate for ^1000 still formed part of 

the Fund. 

On 25th November, the same year, the Session entertained 

an application from Macdonell of Glengarry to 

borrow any money they might have to lend ; and after 

hearing a favourable report of his estate and rent-roll, then 

stated to be ;^6ooo per annum, resolved to lend him ^1500 

or iJ"i6oo on his estate, with collateral security for the 

and on 13th January following they fixed the sum 

interest ; 

to be so lent at ;î6oo. 

On the death of Mr A. Murray, the Session upon 22nd 

May, 18 10, appointed the ministers a Committee to meet 

with his Trustees and examine the Hospital funds and 

accounts, and to report. This they did upon the ist Maj-, 

181 1, when the Rev. Thomas Fraser was requested to take 

charge of the funds until a proper person was appointed 

Treasurer. The Session also declared their entire satisfaction 

with Mr A, Murray's intromissions while Treasurer, 

•and granted a discharge to him and his security. 

(to cr con-i-inl:i:d.)



Personal Reminiscences of ttie North, both grave and gay- 


l/l/ith FORTY-FIVE ORIGINAL DRAWINGS and SKETCHES by the Author. 

IN 

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A STRANGE REVENGE. Chaps. VII. and VIII 513 

THE HOSPITAL OF INVERNESS AND DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. Chap XII. By Captaih 


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AN TEAMPULL SPIORADAIL. Le Padruig Stiubhart 534 

A CEILIDH. Part I. By D. M 559 

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^,'f/'K°/uS?.^ s (JHUROH ST.. INVERNESS. 

J

ADVER'JlSEMENi.-^. 

CONTENTS 

A STRANGE REVENGE. Chaps. VII. .\ndVI1I 513 

THE HOSPIT.\L OF INVERNESS AND DUNBAR'S HOSPITAL. Chap. XII. By 

Captain Dolglas Wimberlev 5=9 

FEAR A' GHLINNE. Caib 1 537 

A LITTLE PICTURE. By M. O. W 547 

" A DAY AT "JOHN O' GROATS. By 

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HACK 

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554 

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NOTES 




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EDITED BY 


ALEXANDER ^LVCBAIN, M.A., F.S.A.Scox. 

No. 45. DECEMBER, 1892. Vol. IV. 


By D. Nairxe, 

CHAPTER Vn. 

CAUGHT IX THE NET. 

THE man has never lived, however rollicking and happygo-lucky 

his disposition may be, who has not at some 

period of his life been coerced by circumstances into a vein 

of sedate reflection. Richard Stuart, as has been indicated 

in the progress of this story, was almost the exact mental 

antithesis of his brother. We say almost, because the love 

complications which had now arisen unexpectedly, proved 

that while in ordinary affairs he was studious and calculat- 

ing, he had about him a dash of that impulsiveness which 

was among Richard's most pointed characteristics. The 

New Testament exhortation, " To eat, to drink, and to be 

merry," he half unconsciously interpreted as a semi-divine, 

injunction to frivolously and selfishly enjoy the world while 

he was in it. His environments, fortunately, he considered, 

had so far fitted in with that easy-going principle. And 

yet he was not wicked, at least as wickedness had come 

to be defined outside the Parish Kirk. 

33

514 

The Highland Mo7ithly. 

His brief but ominous tiff with David now brought 

home to him the grave fact—which he had just begun 

vaguely to realise, and, of course, he dismissed the thought as 

soon as he did so—that as things had drifted (ah ! how 

pleasant was the drifting !) a crisis was imminent in his 

love-makings. The lane, flower-grown and bird-sung, as 

it were, down which he had been wandering, terminated, he 

clearly decerned, at cross-roads. They were public turn- 

pikes. Neither of them appeared so agreeable travelling as 

the by-way, but he would be compelled to chose one ; not 

only so, but to select his future company ; and whichever 

way he turned a storm seemed to be brewing on the 

horizon. 

Did he love Flora, to whom he had solemnly plighted 

his troth, and who at that moment wore his engagement 

ring, and— yes, he must confess it as an important factor in 

the situation—cherished the emblem with all the wealth of 

a woman's single-hearted affection. From the over-ween- 

ing confidence he had in her love had sprung indifference^ 

and then his folly. After all, the woman is wise who does 

not shout her affection on the house-top ; feminine love 

should play the effectual part of a Will-o'-the-Wisp. He 

had loved Flora ; 

or at all events he thought he did, for he 

had nobody else to love, until Miss Somerton, brighter,, 

vivacious, and more lovely, had stepped in and presented 

a personal contrast, which, having an imagination tame as 

the tallow of the simile, suggested to him the brilliance of 

the modern candle with the dull gleam of the old-fashioned 

spoon-lamp. 

To thrash the problem out, he took an after-dinner 

stroll through the wood, avoiding the beaten paths, and 

brushing his way among young trees and broom in search 

of that which he had never sought before—solitude. He 

had got afraid of the situation. It was a question of duty 

and inclination ; or rather of infatuation and mere liking. 

Which should win? The Professor's philosophy had 

taken deep root in such a selfish nature as Richard's ; 

but he


was not indisposed to consider whether yielding to self- 

denial and duty might not be the more profitable part. 

" A man should, at all hazards, and regardless of con- 

sequences, marry the woman he loves best." So had the 

Professor said, in that calm scholarl)- way of his. But 

could he wholly disregard consequences ? What if his 

desertion broke poor Flora's heart and ruined her happiness 

for life ? It could not then be argued that—supposing 

Miss Somerton accepted him—two had been made happy 

at the expense of one, because the knowledge of what he 

had done would haunt him as a nightmare ! 

In the gloom of the wood he leaned himself against a 

fir tree, and gazed vacantly at the bushes in front, while 

these thoughts gnawed at him in the brain-wearing way of 

an insolvable problem. How did the matter stand ? Let 

him begin over again. He was passionately in love with 

Julia ! He said the name aloud for the first time, and 

started at the unfamiliarity of the sound. Hitherto it had 

always been Flo. Charming as she had always made her- 

self to him, and courting, though she invariably seemed to 

do, his society, there was something about the Professor's 

daughter which had kept him unapproachably at arm's 

length. If he proposed, she might refuse him—fact num- 

ber two. In that case could he fall back upon Flora ? 

She might, in the circumstances, fling his ring in his face, 

which she would be quite entitled to do; then there was no 

doubt but that David was in love with Flora ; and so on 

he argued in a growing maze of perplexity—there would 

be a deuce of a row with the laird ; it would upset the family 

plan ; the whole country would get hold of the story ; he 

would get laughed at and spurned, while Flora would be 

sympathised with, pitied, and petted ; he would be 

denounced as a flirt and a profligate, unworthy of the confidence 

of any decent woman in the country-side ; he 

would not have a dog's life of it ; he would—but here 

Richard's reflections became a sort of chaotic, and as a 

relief to his feelings he seized a promising young fir tree and 

tore it clean up by the roots, with a teeth-grinding chuckle.

5i6 The Highland Monthly 

" If that blessed Professor would only leave and take 

his daughter with him, I'll be hanged if I wouldn't stick to 

Flo yet," he said aloud, as he sent the young tree, with a 

vicious swing, crashing up against a stripling oak ; 

bewitching me !" 

" she's 

It was altogether a new experience for Richard to be in 

mental perturbation. But the attack was serious enough, 

and the effect perfectly normal. He set out through the 

wood at a wild pace, and, like other harassed people, who 

try the remedy, found—delusively or real—the exercise 

mentally refreshing. Perhaps he failed to notice the cir- 

cumstance, or some mysterious Power may have taken the 

use of his will for a time—hypnotism was a fact then as 

now, though not scientifically recognised—but every step 

he was taking carried him nearer The Hall. One thought 

was being shuttled in his brain without his being able to 

suggest an explanation : 

" When I'm in her company Flo is nothing ; when I'm 

not in her company Flo is something." 

It was a coincidence, but. in the circumstances, not a 

remarkable one, that at this very moment Miss Somerton 

was also finding it necessary to have a meditative ramble 

through the picturesque environs of The Hall. In the first 

place, her father's behaviour, and, in particular, the witch's 

midnight visit, were perplexing her greatly ; and, in the 

second place, she was indefinitely conscious that something 

unhappy was entering into her life. She loved her father, 

and she was certain that his affection for her was as deep 

and sincere as paternal love could be ; but there were some 

things about him she had never been able to understand. 

These mysteries had now become more perplexing than 

ever; and perplexities they would have to remain she 

knew, till time and events threw some light upon them, 

because she never could muster up sufficient courage to ask 

for explanations. Well she knew what the result would be 

were she to do so : his eyes would look cruelly, scrutinizingly 

at her, as he remarked :


" Julia, child, and mark what I say for thy future guid- 

ance ; there is abundance in the world for thee to learn 

without enquiring into thy father's affairs, with which thou 

hast no concern !" 

That was the answer, deliberately and sternly uttered, 

he had given her many years ago when she put a thought- 

less question—she would never forget them ; no, nor the 

decisive rebuke that was administered in his manner while 

he said the words. Crossing the brook by the stepping- 

stones, the doing which caused her to display a pair of as 

dainty little feet as ever put the final touches to maidenly 

beauty. Miss Somerton entered a rustic boudoir, constructed 

for her exclusive use, in a clump of trees near by, and, 

throwing herself into the chair, settled down to reflection. 

It is in these romantic situations that maidens indulge in 

their love dreams. By a natural association of ideas this 

thought does recur to her, but she dismisses it with a 

smile—a c)-nicle smile. How stands the case ? 

" Here I am," so ran her thoughts, which she successively 

noted on each finger, " the only child and daughter of 

Professor Somerton. Once poor, he is now rich—on pills, 

but that doesn't matter. He was jilted, when a young 

man, by the only woman he really loved ; which means 

that he did not really love another— poor, dear mother, 

whom I must have seen, and that's all. He comes to 

Scotland ; finds that his old rival is laird of his Ilk ; and 

resolves to fulfil an old vow that he made to have revenge. 

I am called in, like a dutiful daughter, to act a main part 

in the drama. It is getting very disagreeable, though I 

liked the fun at first. According to instructions, I have 

made him—love me !" 

For a conspirator, Miss Somerton's face wore an 

expression more pathetic than was consistent with the 

fole ; and she began to wink rapidly as if a film had 

suddenly crossed her eyes. But the midges, animated by 

the strong rays of the sun, now setting, had begun to 

dance, and one, or perhaps two, might have been attracted 

to suicide by the brightness of her eyes !

5^8 The Highland Monthly. 

" ' Let the father suffer through the broken heart of his 

son ;' these are father's words ; and I swore an oath—whaf 

a horrible Httle oath it was !—to ' do my best. He will 

then have an object-lesson of what a broken heart '— is po' r 

dad, his heart must really have been broken. They say a 

broken heart makes people queer, if it does not kill. D.id 

is queer; very queer sometimes. Poor dad! I wonder 

what a broken heart feels like—when one loves heart and 

soul, as the saying is, and then finds his love which she 

has basked in, transferred to somebody else ! It seems so 

very dreadful in story books ! Oh ! how I would hate the 

man ; 

' 

how Mr Richard 

The atmosphere did give some indication of a frosty 

tendency, but unless the reflection came from the russet 

beech over yonder, there was nothing to suggest the cause 

of the blush which here surged up on her neck and 

features. Besides, not even those midges, though trouble- 

somely merry, could surely compel any young lady to 

jump up, all of a sudden, from such a dramatic and 

absorbing train of thought, and make an attack upon 

the furniture; which, judging from radical character of the 

re-arrangement, seemed, in this boudoir, to have got 

thoroughly out of sympathy with the feminine idea of 

things. At last everything, even to a dust speck, defied 

further interference, and Miss Somerton paused in the 

middle of the floor, biting her pretty red lips. Despite the 

physical efforts she had put forth, her thoughts followed 

the same groove. 

" I hate to play the part," she said aloud, with a stamp 

of the foot, " what possibly can be the good of it ? 

" It must be done ; 

and 

about the good of it, leave that 

to me," said a familiar voice at the door-way, and wheel- 

ing round, she confronted her father ! 

" You here, father !" 

" Why not, child? I came in search of you." 

" Well, but you came so— so suddenly, and its all so 

very—very mysterious," replied Julia apologetically, break- 

ing down into violent sobbing. 

'


" Hush, my dear girl ; that is very silly of you, just 

when a little courage is wanted, and all will be over— all 

will be over. Here is Mr Richard coming down the avenue. 

Your tearsmay comein handy—remember, neither sayyea or 

nay, but send him to me for his answer—for his answer ! 

1 came to warn you—courage, little one, for your father's 

sake," and before she could reply, the Professor had dis- 

appeared in the wood as swiftly as he had arrived. 

Left alone. Miss Somerton at once pulled herself 

together, and looking through the interstices of the rustic 

wood-work, saw Richard advancing with rapid strides in 

the direction of the summer-house. Her look had no 

trace of cruelty about it ; perhaps it more betokened pity 

than any other feeling ; and 

that blush, what of it?— per- 

haps it was one of shame at the false part she was playing 

to secure her father a piece of revenge, the true character 

of which she still failed to comprehend. Pulling her hat 

down until her tale-tell eyes were shaded, she waited 

Richard's arrival. 

" Ha ! I am lucky," he exclaimed, while some distance 

away, where he had caught sight of her light dress in the 

door-way. "Just 

evening—isn't it 

thought 

really a 

you would be about this fine 

beautiful sunset ? Were you 

admiring it. Miss Somerton ; such an eye you have for 

atmospheric tints." 

" It's really beautiful ; but I was not admiring it." 

" What ? I thought you positively doted on sunsets. 

Really I feel inclined to offer you the gallant sum of a 

penny for your thoughts. Is it a bargain ?" 

" No !" 

They were now standing together ; she in the doorway, 

her eyes bent low, he in front, a look of undisguised 

admiration lighting up his handsome features. It was 

evident that in the presence of this woman he was held 

in a bondage that suggested the idea of irresponsibility ! 

" Then let us barter—thoughts for thoughts," he said, 

advancing a step nearer, and speaking in a lower and more 

tender voice.

520 1 he HigJiland Monthly 

" That might not be fair," she replied with a smile 

" some thoughts are worth more than others." 

" Yes, some poet or other has called them silvern and 

golden, you know. Miss Somerton," he added earnestly, 

" will you allow me to tell my thoughts, unconditionally 

that is, I will not demand one even in response unless you 

so will it. Is it agreed ?" 

. 

— 

; 

" I cannot prevent you giving expression to your 

thoughts," she replied, with the suspicion of a tremor in 

her voice. 

" Then I will venture to inflict them upon you, and you 

can stop me when they cease to be agreeable. That is 

fair, is'nt it ? Will you not be seated to hear my story," he 

said, suddenly taking her hand. It was at once snatched 

away, as she stepped on to the grass and turned her back 

upon him. 

" I prefer walking," was all she said. 

He followed her down to the side of the burn, where a 

broom-lined walk hugged the water-thread in its twistings 

in and out, now pausing in gloomy pool, then rippling 

merrily over the shingle. They walked along in silence 

he somewhat crestfallen at this inauspicious beginning to 

his wooirT ; for as the outcome of his meditations he had 

resolved to confess his love and be done with it. Come 

what would, he was determined to place his happiness at 

the feet of this woman, and know the best or the worst of 

it, aS the case might be. And yet his heart began to fail 

him. How queenly she looked—how distinguished her 

bearing. Was it not presumption on his part after all to 

ask this fair creature, who was, moreover, extremely rich, 

to throw herself away upon the son of a small and 

impecunious Scotch laird ? Miss Somerton had some 

notion of what was passing through her lover's mind, and 

half regretted her unsympathetic conduct. Would it not, 

she was asking herself, be best to get the dreaded ordeal 

over, instead of evading the situation till— yes, till it might 

prove a far harder duty.

A Strange Revenue. 

521 

" I am waiting to hear your story," she at last ventured 

to remark ; " I hope it will be extremely interesting !" 

" What is personal is always interesting," rejoined 

Richard with a sigh of relief, and not unpleased at his 

power of repartee the strange situation was bringing to light. 

Miss Somerton did not reply, but as they entered a 

more secluded part of the little valley, she slowed her foot- 

steps. 

" I say. Miss Somerton," he began nervously, and there 

ensued an awkward pause. 

Miss Somerton was looking away in the other direction, 

her face pale, and her mouth hard set. 

"My story is easily told—that is, it's not easily told 

because it is extremely brief, you see." 

"Well," she said, checking a smile at his confusion. 

" I love you !" he almost gasped, sinking, like a knight 

of old, upon his knees and seizing her hand, which, for a 

second only, she permitted to rest in his—for a second 

only, but it had been kissed, and a thrill seemed to pass 

through her frame, v/hile the pallor of her face deepened. 

It was a terrible trial this game at love-making. 

"Answer me. Miss Somerton— Julia. Will you permit 

me to love you ? Can you give me a ray of hope ? At 

least say what I have told you is not repulsive to you," he 

pleaded. 

She turned her back upon his kneeling figure, and 

made no answer, 

" Miss Somerton, do speak ; say at least you will think 

over what I have said—of my great love for you, which you 

must have seen ; did you not see that I loved you ?" 

" Rise up," she commanded, turning abruptly upon him. 

" Now answer me truthfully, Richard Stuart, is it true or is 

it not, that you are engaged to Miss Flora, who lives under 

your father's roof?" 

Richard clenched his hands and bent his head under 

her keen gaze. The question had not been premeditated, 

and as it flashed upon her, she experienced a great sense of


relief. It gave her a plausible loop-hole of escape, at any- 

rate for the present. 

me !" 

" It it true." 

" And you, an engaged man, come here and insult 

" F'or God's sake, do not say that, Miss Somerton. 

Insult you ; I would rather lay down my life than do 

that !" 

" Then what do you mean by the confession you have 

just made ?" 

"That I love you only—that I have found I do not 

love her as I should love my intended wife !" 

" And you are ready to break her heart to secure what 

you consider your own happiness ? Where is the honour 

of you men ?" 

"The Professor— your father." 

"Well?" 

" He told me only the other evening that I would be 

justified in what I am doing— at least he said every man 

was justified in making two happy and one miserable rather 

than making three miserable." 

" You are presuming, sir." 

" Pardon me—for now, when I think of it, I have made 

an ass of myself I see it is impossible for such as you to 

" 

care for such as I— you are beautiful and rich 

" I see no use in continuing the discussion." 

"Then it is all over—my dream, Miss Somerton, only a 

dream. I have been mad !" 

him. 

" I did not say so." 

He looked up eagerly, a last ray of hope flashing upon 

" You pity me ?" 

" I have more need to pity yowx fiancee'' 

" Is that your only objection ?" he asked with intense 

eagerness. 

" It is a serious one."

A Strange Revenge. 

" Otherwise you could 

" 

"Ask no questions, Mr Richard," she said in a softer 

voice, " I am going to do what you wish, and consider what 

you have said." 

Richard, recalled from despair to the domain of hope, 

could say nothing but gaze inquiringly at her face. But 

she at once averted it. 

" In the meantime," she resumed, " you will go and talk 

the matter over with my father, and never see me again till 

I sendfor yon r 

" Give me one word of hope ?" 

good night." 

And she left him standing there, gazing after her 

" Not now ; 

retreating form till it was lost in the twilight. 

"Mysterious, like her father," he said to himself as he 

walked homewards, in a state of something like mental 

confusion. Everything had turned out so different from 

what he expected. Go and see her father ? Could it be 

that she actually loved him, though she had been so cold 

in her behaviour ? 

Had he seen how Miss Somerton threw herself upon 

her bed, and sobbed the sob of a great heart-ache, he 

might have been able to answer the question. 

'"And I can never marry him," she kept on saying. 

"I must only break his heart—oh ! father do not ask m.e 

to play this terrible part any longer !" 

In the library the Professor sat with a contented smile 

upon his face, wondering what kept Julia. Perhaps 

Richard had not proposed. Anyhow, was he not lucky 

in having a daughter who could play the part of second 

conspirator so well ? 

"Julia, is clever," he mused, " but unsuspicious, which is 

a great virtue— a great virtue."

524 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE TEMPTATION. 

' Yes, my daughter, her nature being dutiful, has talked 

this matter over with me," the Professor was saying to 

Richard, drawing his chair away from the microscope, with 

which he had been found engrossed as on the previous 

occasion. " We both agreed that the situation was complicated, 

considering the principles of human happiness we 

hold and endeavour to promote—endeavour to promote." 

" You said, sir, that 'twere better one should suffer than 

that the happiness of three should be ruined," replied 

Richard with alacrity. 

" It is there the difficulty comes in," replied the Pro- 

fessor, elevating his eyebrows at the discovery that his 

words had made an impression. This youth is impressionable 

(so ran his thoughts during a pause) ; now for part 

second of the lesson. " Would you, for instance, or Julia 

either, be perfectly happy together in the knowledge that 

you had blighted the life of another human being of tender 

sympathies ?" 

" Then your theory is nonsense," retorted Richard so 

vigorously that the Professor again raised his eyebrows. 

" Not if you understand it in all its bearings—remember, 

in all its bearings." 

mentioned something about experiments, 

" I see ; you 

such as treating the emotions with medicine." 

" Precisely." 

" I did not take you seriously. Professor, 'pon my word." 

" Ah, not being a student in such matters, you have not 

grasped the possibility of it. Perhaps you will still enter- 

tain doubts though I inform you that my experiments have 

been completely successful—completely successful." 

" I will not say that I doubt your word, seeing you are 

so much more learned that I am ; but, sir, you will allow


me to say, by Jove, that I am greatly astonished. A man's 

temper sometimes depends upon a good or a bad dinner, 

but I never heard tell of anybody loving or hating accord- 

ing to the quality of his victuals." 

" Pray confine your remarks to medicine," interrupted 

the Professor a little testily. " You get medicines which 

affect the ner\-es, the stomach, the liver, the kidneys—in 

fact there are medicines specially applicable to nearly every 

organ of the body—of the body. What I have been seek- 

ing, and havê found— I am convinced— is an agent which 

will so affect the nerve centre controlling the emotion of 

love, that the direction of its action, so to speak, will be 

changed, while its energy remains unimpaired, in fact 

quickened—in fact quickened." 

" Very interesting, Professor ; 

" Exactly ; 

but 

' but,' you were about to remark, you came 

here to discuss another subject of more personal im|x:)rt ? 

I will, with your permission, show you, Mr Stuart, that this 

subject has a direct relation to your case," said the 

Professor, rising and placing his back to the fire, the habit 

of dry expectoration making itself evident in the growing 

excitement of the conversation, 

" Yes ?" 

" Yes." 

" You'll find me a good listener. Professor, but if it comes 

to argument, I'm afraid I am not in it, simply." 

•' Well, to discuss that is not necessary," replied the 

Professor, settling down into his usual drawl, and at the 

same time resuming his seat. " Supposing I ask you a 

question or two, eh ?" 

" Very glad." 

" You are eldest son. and heir of the estate. I presume 

your father loves \'ou, because fathers usually prefer their 

eldest sons ; 

still it sometimes happens that a father cleaves 

to some younger member of the family—how stands the 

case with }'ou ? a delicate question, young sir, but one I 

would like to have answered, so much depends upon it 

upon it." 

" 

—

526 The lUo/daiid Monthly. 

" Of course I'll get the estate and all that." 

" You misunderstand me—Î am not a worldly man 

not a worldly man. Human happiness I esteem above all 

things—if you care to haxe it so, I am philanthropic in my 

disposition— philanthropic. Love in the family is the most 

beautiful expression of that happiness. To get at my 

meaning, let me suggest an illustration, one disagreeable 

but necessar}-. Supposing some serious misfortune befel 

)'ou— you'll forgive the ridiculousness of the suggestion, sir 

—he would, I mean, deplore it more than in the case of 

any other individual of the famil\- ?" 

" I think he would." 

" And there is Miss Flora." 

" Professor, I don't quite follow you," broke in Richard, 

moving uneasily in his chair. 

"No— 

perhaps I am discursive, somewhat discursive. 

" 

But in selecting a husband for my daughter 

" Yes, sir." 

" In selecting a husband for my daughter, it is, }'ou will 

agree, important to know, seeing he is more or less of a 

stranger, whether, in the first place, he stands well in his 

own family circle." 

" Why not ask father ?" 

" Ah, there you beg the question ; 

— 

for I may just as 

well tell you now that I am not prepared at present to give 

any formal consent to your engagement to my daughter. 

Various matters require consideration ; and, first of all, 

there is the case of this Miss Flora, to whom, you say, you 

are engaged, but whom you do not love sufficiently to make 

your wife happily— I say happih-." 

" Correct, sir." 

" Would she feel your desertion of her— forgive me, but 

I am a father dealing with the happiness of a daughter." 

" Honestly, I am afraid she would," replied Richard 

after a lengthy pause. 

" H'm." 

" I suppose, sir," continued Richard, again breaking the 

silence, " \-oii arc onl)' letting me down gently. It is ver)'

A Strange Reveîge. 527 

kind of you, but I would rather have my answer down- 

right." 

" Your case is not hopeless ; 

present." 

" Thank jôu, sir." 

" But there are conditions." 

that is all I can say at 

" Name them," was Richard's eager request. 

The Professor here got up and began to pace the room, 

his manner indicating that a crisis in his plans had come, 

and that a miscalculated contrcteuips might irretrievably 

ruin them. 

" As I have explained," he proceeded, " my daughter 

and I are extremely sensitive in the matter of injuring the 

feelings of others—most sensitive. We would rather suffer 

You might naturally ask what about 

ourselv-es. Ahem ! 

)-our own feelings? But you are a man, and, consequently, 

only come second, in matters of the heart, to a woman. 

Miss Flora, as you call her, must not suffer through my 

accepting you as a son-in-law, assuming that I do so." 

" No human being could guarantee that," said Richard, 

starting up from his chair. 

" I can." 

The Professor had stopped in his walk, and confronted 

Richard with folded arms, his e}"cs fixed upon his victim 

\\\\\\ hypnotic intensity. 

" You wish to try an experiment. Professor." 

" No, you must be the experimenter." 

" I ?" 

" Yes, sir—upon that depends the hand of my daughter." 

" It's my turn now to ask for time to consider. Professor 

Somerton— you are a man of surprises." 

At this remark the Professor gave Richard a keen look, 

as if he mentally assured himself that there were more 

shrewdness in the young man he had to deal with, when it 

came to a pinch, than he anticipated. 

" That is sensibly said," he observed carelessly, at the 

same time opening a drawer in his desk, " of course I

528 The Hto^hland Monthly 

merely suggest a plan—a safe and sure one, dear sir—for 

your consideration. 

us, remember— you. 

It is you who forced this matter upon 

We were happy here, my daughter 

and I, until you introduced this subject, and it is one I 

would rather you did not press. Permit me to show you 

this little packet here—very tiny, is it not? and more valu- 

able than rubies—than rubies. Gems frequently cause 

sin and misery, sir, this little white powder, which dissolves 

instantly and becomes invisible and tasteless in wine or 

water, removes misery and avoids sin." 

" I scarcely see anything in the paper." 

" Two grains, that is all ; white in colour, so powdery 

that if you breathe so hard 

— 

so hard— it will vanish in the 

air. Easily administered—easily administered," 

" By the doctor." 

" No ; a virtue lies in its being administered by the person 

who is loved and who desires to quench that love, and 

so preserve the happiness of the jilted one." 

" I could not do it—what if it killed her ?" 

Professor Somerton started visibly at the remark. 

you are nervous," he said, laughing drily. 

" Ha ! 

" How does it work. Professor ?— I may at least satisfy 

my curiosity." 

" Quite right, sir—but remember, on your soul and con- 

science, that what I tell you is a secret, and—one—which 

you—must—never divulge." 

" I promise." 

" A dreamless sleep— your absence for a few days 

Miss Flora zvoiild never love you again'' 

and 

And as we broke in upon their conversation, so must 

they as suddenly be left— Richard gazing silently into the 

fire, now a mere flicker, and the Professor contemplating 

him from behind with a look that was almost triumphant 

and unmistakably fiendish. 

ITO BE CONTINUED.] 

— 

—



AND 



CPIAPTER XII. 

Kln'. Thos. Fraser, Treasurer, i8i 1-1884. —State of Hospital Funds at his 

Entry.—Accounts well kept.—Important Docquet approved, but ignored.— 

Evil arising from mixing up the Accounts.—Large Sum due to Library 

Fund.—Items entered in eiror in Hospital Accounts. —Annual Rent of 

Hospital House.—Bequest of Widow James Mackintosh or Eraser.—Bene- 

factions for immediate distribution.—Part of Diriebught let for a Nursery. 

— Rent of Broadstona, 1818. —Library moved from Academy back to 

Dunbar's Hospital.— Reductions in Rents of Hospital Property.—Mr 

Albert Munro's Mortification paid up.—Reduction of Interest on Bonds. 

—Cash left in Bank at low Interest.— Balance due to Heirs of Treasurer. 

—A Bequest dealt with as Income, owing to Reduced Income of Trust. 

Mr John Ross, Treasurer, 1834-35.— State of Hospital Pounds, 1834.— 

Audit of Accounts. —Death of Mr Ross.—Mr F. Matheson, Treasurer^ 

1835-39. —Accounts (1835-36) show increase of Income. — Legacy from 

Collector Smith.— Loan to Glengarry paid up.—Public Burdens, 1837. 

Rev. Robt. Macpherson, Treasurer for Five Months, 1839. 

THE 

Rev. Thos. Eraser continued to act as Treasurer 

for man}- years, until his death in 1834, though he 

does not appear to have been formally appointed. His 

accounts are made up as between " The Kirk Session in 

account with Mr Thomas Eraser acting as Hospital 

Treasurer," up to 181 5 ; but 

— • 

in the Session minutes he is 

t'me to time mentioned as the Treasurer, and, on rendering 

his accounts up to May, 1811, he was requested to continue 

his good offices and humanity in the discharge of his duty. 

His accounts were regularly audited and approved, and in 

those for 18 16 he styles himself " Treasurer." He also 

credits himself with ;!îo as salary. 

34

530 


The amount of the funds he took over at his entry, 

including value of real property, was ... ;6 3 5 80 o o 

Of interest annually about ... ... ... 221 o O 

Of balance due by last Treasurer ... ... 34 4 9^2 

An annual statement of capital was continued till 181 5, 

after which it is omitted, and only a statement of annual 

income given, from which the amount of capital can be 

deduced. At that date the only Hospital property men- 

tioned is the Hospital and garden, the lands of Broadstone 

and Crotterton, and ;^2400 lodged in bank at 2 per cent., 

yielding, of course, a greatly reduced income of only about 

;Î35. His accounts are clearly stated, and he kept a 

day book, showing his disbursements as " incidents." At 

the end of his account for 1832-33 is the following docquet 

— " At the same time the Treasurer laid before the Session 

an improved method of stating the account, showing under 

different heads the amount of income of each separate 

branch and its expenditure, which the Session highly 

approved, and appointed to be adopted in future." This is 

signed by Alex. Rose, John Ross, and Alex. Fraser. This 

excellent resolution, like several others of similar purport, 

come to on previous occasions, was completely ignored. 

The mischief arising from mixing up the accounts is 

shown by an entry at the end of the statement for the 

year 1817, when the Committee found that there was " a 

balance in the Treasurer's hands of ;^230 13s lod, in which 

sum is included a debt due to the Library fund," without 

mentioning the amount. A reference to the account book 

for the Library (probably made up at a later date) shows it 

to be 22 years' interest, at 5 per cent, on ^165—;î82 los. 

A few years later an entry occurs at the end of the accounts 

for 1823-24, that the Session found, from a statement of the 

Library fund laid before them, that there was due to it by 

the Hospital fund the sum of £2'jg 13s 3d, and, being 

desirous to separate both funds completely, they directed 

the Treasurer to deposit the above amount, due to the 

Library, in the Bank of Scotland, and, to enable him to do 

:

Ihe Hospital of hiVerness. 531 

this, to take up ^80 of capital deposited in that bank. 

.See Session Records, 25th May and 8th June, 1824. 

Further, at this time certain receipts from the Marriage 

fund, and from what was called the " Surplus of Sunday- 

Collections," were included in the Hospital Treasurer's 

account on the charge side, and payments to precentors 

and kirk officers on the discharge side, evidently chargeable 

in part to the church collection moneys. But, in 1834, we 

find the salaries to church officers first entered, and then 

deducted, as " to be charged in future to collection account." 

The amount was ;iî8, and the receipts from collection were 

no longer entered. 

To go back a few years, the value of the old Hospital 

proper increased temporarily, for, on 22nd May, 18 10, the 

Session let on lease, for seven years from Whitsunday of 

that year, the whole of the Hospital house except the 

weigh-house, to Colonel the Hon. A. Fraser of Lovat for 

;;î 5 per annum, apparently for a storehouse. This is the 

amount stated in the Session Records, but in the accounts 

the rent actually paid was ^25, the magistrates paying £6 

for the weigh-house. At the expiry of this lease, the 

building remained unlet for a time ; 

but 

— 

the old writing- 

school was let in 1821 at £i 3s, and the room required for 

the Library, in 18 19, at £"] 7s. 

Another mistake as to figures may be noticed. It was 

reported to the Session, on 24th October, 1 809, that Widow 

James Mackintosh, alias Fraser, had left i5"i8 stg. to the 

Session of Inverness on behalf of the poor ; but, on 30th 

April, 18 1 1, her deed of settlement was presented to the 

Session, under which she left to the ministers, elders, and 

other members of the Kirk Session of Inverness, for behoof 

of the poor of the said parish, the sum of £'$,0 stg., but 

under the proviso that, out of the interest, £1 stg. per 

annum was to be paid to a Widow Fraser, residing in the 

Green of Muirtown, during her life. This ^80, paid on 

nth July, 181 1, was added to the capital stock. About 

this time the Session received several benefactions for the


poor, but all seemingly intended for immediate distribution, 

hence they were not funded. Among them were—i^20 from 

James Neeld, Esq., of Buckinghamshire ; £^ sent by post ; 

;^5o from Mr John Ross, of London ; £^ from Bailie Clark,. 

Inverness; ;î5 from the Hon. Colonel Fraser of Lovat 

and a legacy of ;îo from Miss Fanny Cooper—all between 

1809 and 1 8 14. Part of the lands of Diriebught was held 

under an assignation of lease in 18 18, by Messrs Dickson 

& Gibbs, nurserymen, and was used by them as a nursery. 

They petitioned for authority to erect a greenhouse, to be 

removed at the expiry of their lease, as they wished to avoid 

any question whether they were entitled to do so. This 

permission was granted. The lands of Broadstone were 

let on lease for eleven years at 60 guineas per annum, from 

Martinmas, 18 16. First payment at Candlemas, 18 18. 

In 1 8 17 the Library books, which had been for a long 

time in the hall of the Academy, were removed back to 

their former place—the old Library room—as it was 

reported that they were much injured, and that liberty had 

been taken with the presses. The room was to be fitted 

up, and 7 guineas paid from the Marriage fund to the 

Hospital fund as rent. This sum was regularly paid for a 

long time. In 1818 the rent of the Hospital garden was 

reduced from 5 guineas to £^^. About 1821, claims for 

reduction of rents and interest on bonds commenced, no 

doubt owing to the fall of prices for agricultural produce. 

The tenant of Broadstone got a reduction of ^^13 on his 

last crop ; and, on being refused a reduction of ^20 per 

annum, asked, and was allowed, to relinquish his lease. The 

lands were then let to Fraser of Culduthel for 9 years from 

Martinmas at ^1.48 per annum ; but, in 1823, he petitioned 

for a reduction, and was allowed £6 off on the last crop. 

In 1822, the trustees of Mr Albert Munro's mortification 

paid up the iJîoo falling to Inverness, and the money was 

lent to Munro of Teananich at 43^2 per cent., instead of 5 

per cent., as formerly. Crotterton was let to Mr James 

i raser on a 7 

years' lease in 1823, at £(^ los per annum.. 

;


Then followed applications for reduction in the interest 

payable on bonds, commencing with one from Torbreck, to 

have the interest on his bond for ;!ÎC)00 reduced from 5 to 

4^ 

per cent., as otherwise he would pay up the amount. 

This was acceded to. The next was from Inches to the 

same purport. The Session deferred coming to a decision 

till their next meeting (20th May, 1823), when they agreed 

to reduce the rate to 4^ per cent., to be raised again if the 

interest of money should rise. And in October of the same 

year, the interest on Glengarry's bond was also reduced to 

4^2 per cent., \\ith which he expressed himself quite 

satisfied. But on 20th April, 1824, there was a further 

application from him to have the rate reduced to 4 per 

cent., and a similar application from Torbreck on 8th June. 

In both cases the Session claimed three months' notice. 

They declined, therefore, either to have the money paid up 

or to reduce the interest without this. Torbreck's bond 

continued at 4)^ per cent, for a time, then was reduced to 

4, and then paid up ; 

but 

Inches' bond was temporarily 

reduced to 4 per cent, in 1825, and raised to 5 per cent, in 

1827. Torbreck's money was lent to the town at 5 per 

cent., also in 1827. The rate on Inches' bond was again 

reduced in 1828-29, and both bonds paid up at Martinmas, 

1829, and ;^2400 lodged in bank. Only 2 per cent, was 

got for 6 months. Then i^2000 of it was lent for a short 

time at 35^2 per cent., the remainder at 2 3^^ in bank ; and 

then the whole sum was again in bank, at only 2 per cent., 

from November, 1831, to May, 1834. 

As the pensioners continued to be paid, there was a 

balance due to the heirs of the Rev. Thomas Fraser, at ist 

February, 1834, amounting to £^6 lis 11 ^^d. This reduc- 

tion of income was a serious matter. The Session, even 

on nth November, 1823, on receiving intimation that the 

widow of the Rev. George Watson, sometime one of the 

ministers of the parish, had bequeathed ;^20 to the poor of 

the town and parish, considering that Mrs Watson " left 

the money without any particular instructions as to the

534 'i-'J^^ Highland Monthly. 

manner of applying it, and considering that, from the fall 

in the interest of money and the rent of the Session lands,, 

the sum to be distributed among the poor this year will be 

considerably less than usual, resolve to consider this bequest 

of Mrs Watson as part of their income for the year, and 

instruct the Treasurer to state it so in his account." The 

whole income, if all rents, &c., were paid, for that year 

appears to have been only £197, and by 1833 it fell to 

;Î27 5s id; and this included, for the weigh-house, i,6 ; 

the Hospital garden, £}) ; Library, 

£y ys ; and 

for a ladies' 

school, £^. The following year, £'^ additional was got for 

a " mechanic's apartment." 

The accounts for the year 1833-34 are made up to 30th 

April, 1834, and show a balance due to the Treasurer of 

^50 15s 5d. The Rev. Thos. Fraser died early in February 

of that year, and on the nth of that month Mr John Ross 

was appointed his successor as " Kirk Treasurer," which 

evidently included on this occasion the office of Hospital 

Treasurer. The following week the Treasurer's books were 

handed over to him, with instructions to prepare a statement 

of the accounts from date of last settlement up to 

the day of Mr Fraser's death. Mr Ross entered upon his 

office on nth February, 1834, and held it until his death,, 

in July, 1835. The state of the Hospital fund at his entry 

was 

— 

^^2400 deposited in bank most of the year 

at 2 per cent, yielding per annum ... ^^49 16 9 

The lands of Broadstone, rent £4.^ ; 

lands of 

Crotterton, rent ^15 3s 9d ... ... ... 60 3 9 

Hospital Garden, ^3 ; Library, £"/ ys ; weighhouse, 

£6 ... ... ... ... ... 

Ladies' school, £4 ; Mechanic's apartment, ^5 

1670 

900 

Access to Maryfield ... ... ... ... o 10 o 

£i3S 17 6 

There was also brought into the account an item 

" Catechist's share of the dues of baptisms and marriages" 

—


— whicli certainh- formed no part of the Hospital funds 

proper, and doubtless was done owing to the offices of 

Hospital Treasurer and Kirk Treasurer being held b}- the 

same person. At the end of the year the rents of the 

Library and of the Ladies' school were twelve months, and 

of the Hospital garden six months, in arrears. 

The accounts presented by him to the Session for audit 

on 1 2th :\Iay, 1834, embrace— (i) An account between Mr 

Fraser as Treasurer and the Session, showing a balance of 

i?56 IIS 1 1 ^^d due to Mr Eraser's executors; and (2) An 

account between Mr Ross and the Session, in which he 

charged himself with the sum due to his predecessor's 

executors, and showing a balance due to himself of ^^"50 

15s 5d. The Session expressed their approbation of the 

accuracy shown by Mr Fraser in keeping the accounts 

during many years, and discharged his representatives from 

all claims. The statement of funds for year ending 30th 

April, 1835, shows little variation from that for the previous 

year, and the same ma)- be said of the account current. 

There is no capital account, onh^ one of revenue. !^L' Ross 

only lived until July, 1835, when he was succeeded by Mr 

Farquhar Matherson ; 

and the Session recorded that he had 

discharged his duty with the highest accuracy. 

Mr Farquhar Matheson was Treasurer from Jul)-, 1835, 

till May, 1839. The account for year ending 30th April, 

1836, is made up in two parts—the first up to Mr Ross's 

death, showing a balance due to his estate of ^18 19s 6d, 

and the second a balance due to Mr !\Iatheson of i^29 los 

lod. The income this )-ear shows a considerable increase, 

as ^^2400 was now lent to Colonel Hay of Westerton at 

31^ per cent., and the rent of Broadstone was now ;^50, 

instead of ;^45. A legacy from Collector Smith of ^^150, 

less legacy duty, ;Î5, and stamp on discharge, y; i 2s 6d, 

increased the capital. This money was left for the benefit 

of the poor, at the joint disposal of the Kirk Session and 

Magistrates, but paid to the Hospital Treasurer, and dealt 

with as part of the Session funds.

136 

The Highland Monthty 

In 1836 the room in the Hospital long used as a Ladies' 

school, the rent for which was generally in arrear, was let 

to Mr Stewart, teacher, at a rent of ^3, The ^^"1600 

belonging to Young's fund, but lent to Glengarry, was paid 

up at Whitsunday, 1836, and placed in the bank till a suit- 

able investment could be found. The accounts of this fund 

have long been kept distinct. 

In 1837 we find a detailed list of public burdens, e.g., 

stipends payable, feu-duty, street assessments, road and 

county buildings, &c., amounting to ;!î6 19s ii^d; also, 

repairs to Hospital, £$ 4s gd. The yearly accounts no 

longer show the name of the Treasurer at the head, as here- 

tofore. In May, 1839, a new Treasurer was appointed 

the Rev. Robert Macpherson— who took charge of the 

Hospital accounts until October in the same year. 

[to be contixted]. 

—

AIR 

Fear a Gklinue. 537 

FEAR A' GHLINNE. 

CAIB. I. 

feasgar gruamach, fuar, mu thoiseach an eaiTaich, 

o chionn iomadh bliadhna, bha Galium Ruadh, fear 

an Taigh-osda, 's a' Ghlcann Mhor, 'na shuidhe gu comhfhurtail 

'g a gharadh fheii. anns an t-seomar-chuil, far am 

biodh e mar bu trice 'na shuidhe an uair nach biodh a' 

bheag de luchd-falbh is tighinn a' tathaich an taighe. Bha 

uinneag an t-seomair-chuil ris an aird an iar-thuath. An 

drasta 's a rithist, an uair a thigeadh osnaichean troma dc'n 

ghaoith, agus a shileadh fras chlachan-meallain, shealladh 

e air an uinneig, agus theireadh e, " Nach neo-thaingeil 

daoine aig am bheil an cas air tir a nochd ? Nach iomadh 

fear a tha nochd gu fliuch, fuar, anasta, air bharr nan 

tonn uaibhreach, a bheireadh na chunnaic e riamh mu 

choinneamh a dha shul air son a bhi 'na shuidhe gu 

seasgair, blath anns an t-seomar so?" 

Bha Galium Ruadh gu nadurra 'na dhuine rasanta, 

laidir 'na inntinn agus 'na dhoigh ; ach thug na chuala, na 

chunnaic, agus na dh' fhiosraich e fad nan coig bliadhna 

fichead a bha e 'siubhal an t-saoghail 's ag iarraidh an 

fhortain, taiseachadh mor air a nadur. An uair a bhiodh 

an t-side fuar, fliuch, fiadhaich bhiodh e 'cuimhneachadh 

air a liuthad fuachd, agus fliuchadh, agus cruadal troimh 'n 

deachaidh e fhein fad na h-uine a bha e air falbh o dhuth- 

aich a bhreith is araich. Gha b' e sin a mhain, ach bhiodh 

truas aige ris a h-uile creutair beo a shaoileadh e a bhiodh 

fuar, fliuch, acrach. agus fada o aite anns am faigheadh iad 

blaths agus fasgadh, ged nach biodh e idir deonach 

gu 'n cailleadh creutair sam bith ni sam bith a bhuineadh 

dha gu dligheach. 

Air an fheasgar so, bha e 'ga fhaireachadh fhein 

anabarrach taingeil. Bha cuibhrionn mhath de storas an

53S The Highland Monthly. 

t-saoghail so aige. Bha e fhein 's a bhean 's a theaghlach 

slan, fallain ; agus bha taigh os cionn a chinn cho math, 

agus cho ordail air a chumail 's a gheibhte eadar da cheann 

na duthcha. Rud eile dheth, 's ann aige a bha an aon 

bhean-taighe, ged is mor am facal e, cho ciuin 's cho 

siobhalta, cho glic 's cho deanadach, agus cho eireachdail 

anns gach doigh, 's a gheibhteadh anns an tir gu leir. Bha 

fhiach sin de mheas aige oirre. An uair a ghabhadh e 

glaine no dha de 'n uisge-bheatha—agus cha 'n fhacas 

riamh tuilleadh 's a' choir air—bu ghle thoil leis greis a 

thoirt air innseadh a liuthad Ion agus lodan as an do chuir 

e steall, an uair a bha e 'dol tarsuinn a' mhonaidh g' a 

faicinn mu 'n do phos iad. " Cha robh fear eile air an 

taobh air an robh mi de 'n duthaich," theireadh e, " a 

rachadh troimh 'n mhonadh mhor cho glan 's cho sgiobalta 

rium, no idir cho trie rium. Mar a thuirt an seann duine : 

" Far am bith do chradh bidh do lamh, 's far am bi do 

ghradh bidh do thathaich." 

Air an f heasgar so, cha robh coltas gu 'n tigeadh fear 

seach fear a mach air toll doruis de na ceatharnaich a 

b' abhaist a 'bhith tighinn a fhliuchadh na ribheid do 'n 

Taigh Bhan, mar a theirteadh gu cumanta ris an Taigh- 

osda. 

" Saoil thu, Mhairi," arsa Galium ris a mhnaoi, " an tig 

Domhull Sgoileir as a' Bhaile Uachdrach a nochd ? Dh' 

earb is dh' aithn mi ris tighinn air a h-uile cor ; ach tha 

coltas ro fhiadhaich air an fheasgar, agus gu cinnteach 

ceart cha 'n 'eil a thuar air an t-side gun atharraich i ann 

an aithghearr. Tha am Faoileach 'ga chur fhein an geill 

gu sgoinneil." 

" Tha mise an dochas nach tig Domhull Sgoileir a 

nochd. Is e teas an teine bhith ann an luirgnean fir sam 

bith a bheireadh air a dhol ceud slat o a dhorus fhein a 

nochd, ni 's lugha na bheireadh bas, no eiginn air a dhol a 

mach," arsa Mairi. 

" Chunnaic mise ceud rud a b' iongantaiche leam na ged 

a bhiodh e ann an so mu 'n dorchnaich an oidhche. An 

—

Fear a' Ghlinne. 539 

rud a ghabhas e 'na cheann, cha chuir an saoghal as e. 

Agus o 'n a dh' iarr mise air tighinn, thig e gun teagamh, 

ma ghabhas e 'na cheann tighinn," arsa Galium. 

Mu 'n gann a leig Galium am facal as a bhcul, co a 

nochd a steach an dorus ach Domhull Sgoileir. 

" Failte 's furain ort, a Dhomhuill, 's tu a thug leat an 

droch shide as a Bhaile Uachdrach," arsa Galium. 

" Is e mo mhor bharail, a Challum, gu robh an droch 

shide agaibh 's a' Ghleann mu 'n d' thainig mise an rathad 

idir. Ach cha mhor is fhiach fear sam bith ris an canar 

fear, ma chumas leithid na h-oidhche nochd a staigh e. 

Bha mi latha dhe mo laithean nach cumadh uisge no 

gaoth, sneachda no fuachd a staigh mi," arsa Domhull 

Sgoileir. 

" 'S luaithe deoch na sgeul. A nail dhuinn deur as a' 

bhotul, a Mhairi ; tha Domhull fuar, fliuch, agus tha mi 

fhein gu seasgair, blath. An rud a chumas a muigh am 

fuachd cumaidh e muigh an teas," arsa Galium. 

Thug Mairi lamh air a' bhotul, agus chuir i air am 

beulaobh air a' bhord e. An uair a bhlais iad beagan de 

na bh' anns a' bhotul, thoisich iad ri comhranh mu chaoch- 

ladh nithean a bha tachairt anns an duthaich. 

Anns an am ud cha robh fear as a' cheud a' faotainn 

paipear-naigheachd eadar da cheann na bliadhna. 'S e sia 

paipearan-naigheachd a bha 'tighinn gu riaghailteach do 'n 

sgireachd. Bha Mr Seumas, am ministear a' faotainn fir, 

agus o 'n a bha maighstir-sgoile na sgireachd, no Domhull 

Sgoileir, mar a theirteadh gu cumanta ris, 'ga mheas fhein 

faisge air a bhith cho ionnsaichte ris a' mhinistear, dh' 

fheumadh e fios a bhith aige air cia mar a bha gnothaichean 

a' dol air an aghaidh air feadh an t-saoghail. Cha 

robh Galium Ruadh, ged nach robh ann ach fear taigh- 

osda 'ga mheas fhein dad air dheireadh air a' mhaighstir- 

sgoile, agus mar sin, bha e 'faotainn paipear-naigheachd 

dha fhein. An uair a thigeadh am post uair 's an 

t-seachduin, gheibheadh na fir so naigheachdan a chumadh 

riutha gus an tigeadh an ath phost. Bha na tri paipeirean-

540 T-he Highland Monthly. 

naigheachd eile a' tighinn thun nan tri tuathanach mora a 

bh' anns an aite. 

Bha am ministear 'na dhuine ciuin, samhach, agus mur 

tachradh do neach ceisd a chur air mu thimchioll cuisean 

na rioghachd, cha tugadh e guth no iomradh air naigheachd 

dhe na bha e 'leughadh o sheachduin gu seachduin. 

Cha b, ionnan sin 's mar a bha Domhull Sgoileir. Cha 

robh naigheachd, bheag no mhor, a bha e 'leughadh eadar 

da cheann na bliadhna nach robh e deas gus an aithris aig 

am sam bith. Bha cuimhne cho math aige 's gu robh 

daoine, a bha eolach air, a' creidsinn gu rachadh aige air a 

h-uile ni a chunnaic 's a chual' e o'n a bha e ceithir bliadhna 

a dh' aois innseadh. Bha cuid eadhon a' creidsinn gu robh 

cuimhne aige air far an robh an cruisgean an crochadh 

an oidhche a rugadh e. Biodh so fior no na bitheadh, cha 

'n 'eil t-eagamh nach robh Domhull Sgoileir neo-chumanta 

math gus gach ni a a chluinneadh 's a chitheadh e a 

chumail air chuimhne. 

Mar bu trice, an uair a rachadh e a chur greis dhe 'n 

uine seachad anns an Taigh Bhan, bhiodh e fhein agus 

Galium Ruadh comhladh anns an t-seomar chuil. Bha e 

a' meas nach b'aite dha idir a bhith 'na shuidhe anns an 

t-seomar oil, a bha fosgailte do gach neach a thigeadh no 

dh' fhalbhadh. Ach an uair a thigeadh fear de ne tuath- 

anaich mhora do 'n Ghleann, chuirteadh do 'n t-seomar a 

b' fhearr a bh' anns an taigh iad. B' e, An Seomar Ur, a 

theireadh muinntir an taighe. agus mar an ceudna na 

h-eolaich, ris an t-seomar so. O 'n a chaidh an t-ainm fada 

's farsuinn gu robh gu 'm b' e Domhull Sgoileir fear- 

cuideachd cho math 's a bh' eadar da cheann na duthcha, 

cha robh duine uasal no iosal a bhiodh a' gabhail an rathaid 

agus a thaghladh anns an taigh-osda, nach biodh anabarr- 

ach deonach a bhith car uine. nam faodadh iad, ann an 

cuideachd Dhomhuill Sgoileir. Nam biodh duil aig aon 

dhe na tuathanaich mhora an oidhche, no eadhon greis 

dhe 'n latha, 'chur seachad anns an Taigh Bhan, chuireadh 

iad fios ro laimh eu robh iad an duil tisfhinn, agfus dh'

Fear a Ghlinne. 541 

iarradh iad air Galium Ruadh fios a chur gu Domhull 

Sgoileir. O nach robh am Bail' Uachdrach ach mu thri 

mile o 'n Taigh-Bhan, cha bhithteadh fada 'cur fios gu 

Domhull, agus cha mho na sin a bhiodh Domhull fada 'cur 

nan tri mile as a dheigh. Cha trobh e ach mu choig 

troidhean a dh' airde, agus bha e cho direach air a dha 

bhonn ri mac mathar anns an duthaich. O nach robh e 

ach gle aotrom ann am feoil, bha e 'na choisiche anabarrach 

math. Ged a bha e aig an am mu 'm bheil sinn a' 

sgriobhadh, dluth air leith cheud bliadhna a dh' aois, cha 

saoileadh neach sam bith a chitheadh a' coiseachd an 

rathaid e, gu robh e latha thar deich bliadhna fichead. An 

uair a bha e eadar fichead is deich bliadhna fichead a 

dh' aois, 's e fear bu luaithe a bh' anns an duthaich gu leir. 

An uair a bhiodh e ruith, shaoileadh duine nach beanadh 

cas do thalamh dheth. Bhiodh e mar an trilleachan 'na 

dheannamh ri cois na tuinne. 

' Tha mi ro thoilichte, 'Dhomhuill, gu 'n d' thainig tu, 

ged a tha an oidhche cho fuar 's cho fiadhaich. Fhuair mi 

litir an de o do dheadh charaid, Fear na Cuil-Airde, agus 

bha e ag radh gu robh duine uasal, a thainig as na rioghachdan 

thall, toileach beagan sheachduinean a chur seachad 

anns an aite so; agus gu robh e ann an dochas gu rachadh 

agamsa air an da sheomar a's fhearr a th' anns an taigh a 

thoirt do'n duine uasal so fhad 's a bhiodh e anns an aite. 

Dh' ainmich Fear na Cuil-Airde mar an ceudna gu robh 

toil mhor aig an duine uasal so thusa bhith 'na chuideachd 

cho trie 's a b' urrainn dhut. Tha 'chuis coltach gu 'n 

deachaidh d'ainm-sa fada 's farsuinn ; oir chual' an duine 

uasal so ann an Duneideann gu bheil fiosrachadh agus colas 

agadsa mu sheann nithean 's mu nithean ura nach fhaighear 

aig fear eile 's an duthaich. Nach fhada o 'n a thuirt mi 

riut gu 'm biodh tu 'na do dhuine ainmeil mu fagadh tu an 

saoghal," arsa Galium Ruadh. 

" Tha tomhas riaghailteach a dh' eolas agam mu iomadh 

ni gun teagamh ; 

ach is iomadh fe--r aig am faodadh 

barrachd eolais a bhith air na th' agamsa. Cha mhise an

542 


t-aon fhear anns an duthaich aig am bheil suilean is 

cluasan. Nam feuchadh gach fear is te ri feum a dheanamh 

dhe 'n suilean 's dhe 'n cluasan, cha b' eagal nach rachadh 

aca air iomadh eolas agus fiosrachadh fhaotainn," arsa 

Domhull Sgoileir. 

" Ach, a Dhomhuill," arsa Galium Ruadh, 's e 'freagairt, 

"cuimhnich thusa nach ann aig a h-uile fear a tha na 

buadhan inntinn a th' agadsa. Bha thu gu nadurra geur 

gu nithean a thuigsinn. Tha cuimhne gle mhath agamsa 

guS an latha 'n diugh, mar a bha thu cho math gu ionnsachadh 

an uair a bha thu anns a' sgoil aig Piri. Bha do 

chuimhne cho math an uair sin 's nach robh thu 'call facal 

dhe na bha thu 'g ionnsachadh. Gun teagamh sam bith 

bha thu anabarrach dichiollach, curamach aig do leabh- 

raichean. 

— 's e sin a theireadh daoine eile cho dhiu—ach an uair a 

" Cha 'n 'eil teagamh nach robh inntinn gle gheur agam 

dh' fhas mi scan 's ann a thuig mi gu Ian mhath gu 

feumainn m' inntinn a shuidheachadh, le mor aire, air gach 

ni bu mhiann a chumail air chuimhne. Ghluinn mi iomadh 

neach ag radh gu bheil droch cuimhne aca ; ach 's ann aca 

nach 'eil. Ma ni mise no thusa dad cearr, theid mi 'n urras 

gu 'm bi cuimhne aca air. Nach iongantach mar a tha 

daoine gu nadurra ni 's deonaiche cuimhne 'chumail air an 

olc na tha iad air a' mhath ? Ged nach bi cuimhne aig 

daoine air a' mhath a bha, neo-ar-thaing nach bi cuimhne 

aca air an olc a bha. Ach eadar dha sgeul, an d' thug 

Fear na Cuil-Airde beachd-sgeul dhut air an duine uasal 

mu 'n robh thu 'labhairt o chionn tiotaidh?" arsa Domhull. 

" Ma ta cha d' thug, a Dhomhuill," arsa Galium, " agus 

tha Mairi 's mi fhein car eadar dha chomhairie. Is leasg 

leinn an duine uasal a mhealladh. A reir mar a tha mise 

'tuigsinn na litreach, tha h-uile duile aige beagan sheachd- 

uinean a chur seachad 's an aite so. 'S e so fhein an aon 

taigh a tha freagarrach airson a leithid de dhuine ; ach tha 

car a dh' eagal oirnn le cheile nach teid againn, mu 'n am 

so de 'n bhliadhna, air gach biadh a thoirt dha, a b' abhaist


dhuinn a bhith 'toirt do na daoine a bhiodh a' taghal oirnn 

's an t-samhradh. Cha 'n 'eil e idir furasda iasg ur no feoil 

ur fhaotainn mu 'n am so de 'n bhliadhna. Cha 'n 'eil 

uighean nan cearc fhein pailt mu 'n am so ann an aite sam 

bith. Ach neo-ar-thaing nach 'eil am pailteas againn de 'n 

t-seorsa a tha cumanta am measg dhaoine cumanta mar a 

tha sinn fhcin. Agus theid mise an urras gu 'n deasaich 

Mairi biadh cho grinn 's cho glan ri te eile 's an duthaich, 

Tha fhios agad fhein, a Dhomhuill, air a so gle mhath." 

Anns an fhacal co thigeadh a steach ach Mairi. Ghrad 

dh' innis na fir dhith mu 'n chomhradh a bh' eatorra. 

" Cha 'n fhabd sinn," arsa Mairi, " duine sam bith leis 

am miann tighinn a ghabhail seallaidh air an aite a chumail 

am muigh. Ma bhios e fhein toileach cur suas leis an 

t-seorsa bidh a tha sinne 'cleachdadh, faodaidh e fuireach 

an so fhad 's a thogras e. O 'n a tha Seumas 'na shealgair 

cho math, faodaidh e iomadh uair crochadh na poite a 

thoirt as na bheil de gheoidh 's de lachainn 's a dh' fhead- 

agan eadar so 's ceann shuas a' Ghlinne. Tha eunlaith gu 

leor mu 'n bhaile, agus faodar feadhain dhiubh a mharbhadh 

an drasta 's a rithist. Cha truagh leam fear sam bith a 

gheibh pailteas de 'n bhiadh a tha sinn fhein agus daoine 

eile na duthcha a' gabhail." 

" Tha sibh ceart gu leor, a bhean-an-taighe," arsa 

Domhull Sgoileir. " Cha ruig fear sam bith a leas 

teannadh ri talach air a' bhiadh a gheibh e anns an taigh 

so. Cha truagh leam cu 's marag mu 'amhaich. Ach 

c'uin a tha e 'tighinn ? 

" 

" Air son na bheil a dh' fhios againne faodaidh gu 'm bi 

e an so fo thrath suipearach. Leugh fhein, a Dhomhuill 

an litir a thainig a' m' ionnsuidh," arsa Callum Ruadh. 

An uair a leugh Domhull Sgoileir an litir thuirt e, 

" Cha rachainn mionaid an urras nach biodh e an so a 

nochd fhathast. Gun teagamh sam bith tha 'n oidhche gle 

fhiadhaich aig duine 's aig ainmhidh air son a bhith 'falbh 

air astar. Ach feumaidh am fear-turuis, aig am bheil toil a 

cheann-uidhe 'ruidhinn ann an am, cur suas leis an t-side a

544 '^^^^ Highland Monthly. 

gheibh e. Ma bha e ann an Ceann-loch' a raoir, 's gu 'n 

d' fhalbh e an diugh, bidh e agaibh a nochd gun teagamh 

sam bith. Tha Ceann-locha coig mile fichead as a so. 

Stadadh iad a thoirt siol do 'n each an'^ an Cul-fraoin. 'S 

ann an sin a b' abhaist do na gillean aig Caimbeulach 

Clieann-locha bhith stad leis na h-eich an con:ihnuidh, agus 

tha mi cinnteach gu 'n dean iad an diugh mar a b' abhaist 

dhaibh a bhith 'deanamh." 

" Feuch, a Mhairi, gu bheil na seomraichean an ordugh 

agad gun fhios ciod a dh' fhaodas tachairt," arsa Galium. 

" Tha na seomraichean deas, glan. Chuir mi plaide- 

achan ura, glana air an leabaidh, an deigh dhaibh a bhith 

greis ris an teine. Cha bu mhath leam gu faigheadh neach 

sam bith a bhiodh an so air chuid oidhche galair a bhais le 

laidhe ann am plaideachan aitidh. Tha pailteas connaidh 

againn, agus faodar deadh theine a chur anns an da 

sheomar air achd 's gu 'm bi iad blath air choinneamh an 

duine uasail ma thig e nochd," arsa Mairi. 

O 'n a bha h-uile duil aca ris an duine uasal an oidhche 

ud fhein, rinneadh deiseil gach ni a shaoileadh iad a bhiodh 

a dhith air. Lasadh na soluis anns na seomraichean, agus 

chuireadh deadh theine anns gach fear dhiubh. 

" Deasaich thusa, 'Mhairi, deadh shuipeir, agus mur a 

tig an duine uasal a nochd, ithidh sinn fhein i. Cha chall 

rud a gheibh caraid," arsa Galium. 

An uair a bha 'n t-suipeir deas 's nach robh coltas gu 'n 

tigeadh an duine uasal an oidhche sin, shuidh an teaghlach 

mu 'n bhord. Bha Domhull Sgoileir 'na shuidhe aig deaslaimh 

bean-an-taighe, far am minic an robh e. Gha b' i a' 

chuirm gun a comhradh a bh' aca ; 

oir bha araon Domhull 

Sgoileir agus Galium Ruadh 'nan dithis co comhraitcach 

aig bord cuirme 's a gheibhteadh ann an aite sam bith. 

Bha iad le cheile 'toirt creideis do 'n t-sean-fhacal a tha 'g 

radh, nach fhiach cuirm gun a comhradh. 

Mu 'n d' eirich iad o 'n bhord thainig fios a stcach gu 

robh an duine uasal ris an robh suil aca air tighinn. Ghrad 

chaidh Galium a bhruidhinn ris, agûs a shealltainn an

Fear a Ghlitme. 545 

t-seomair-chadail 's an t-Seomair-Uir dha. Dh' fhcoraich 

e dheth an robh e air greim suipearach fhaotainn, agus ciod 

a b' fhearr leis a dheanamh deas dha. Fhreagair an duine 

uasal, agus thuirt e gu robh e araon fuar agus acrach, agus 

gu 'm bu mhath leis biadh is deoch fhaotainn cho luath 's a 

ghabhadh deanamh. 

" Tha 'n oidhche fuar, fiadhaidh," ars' esan ; 

" agus tha 

iad ag innseadh dhomhsa nach 'eil ni a's fhearr a chuireas 

fuachd an Fhaoilich a cnamhan duine na Ian na sHge de 

dhriuchd nam beann. Gabhaidh mi biadh sam bith a 

thachair a bhith deiseil agaibh. Bu choir dhomh bhith air 

fios a chur ugaibh gu robh e 'nam bheachd a bhith an so a 

nochd ; 

ach 

thuig mi nach 'eil sibh a' faighinn litrichean an 

so ach aon uair 's an t-seachduin, agus o nach ruigeadh litir 

sibh gus an ath sheachduin, cha bhiodh e chum feuma sam 

bith 'sgriobhadh do 'r n-ionnsuidh. Tha mi 'n dochas nach 

'eil mi 'cur tuilleadh 's a' choir de dhragh air muinntir an 

tciighe cho anamoch so air an oidhche." 

" Cha 'n 'eil e 'na dhragh sam bith leinne frithealadh 

sam bith a tha feumail a dheanamh dhuibh," arsa Galium ; 

" tha sinn ro thoileach a h-uile comhfhurtachd a's urrainn 

duinn a thoirt do neach sam bith a thig a dh' ionnsuidh an 

taighe. Fhuair mise fios o Fhear na Cuil-Airde gu robh 

sibh a' fagail Dhuneideann aig toiseach na seachduin, agus 

bha sinn a' deanamh a mach gu 'm biodh sibh an , 

so a 

nochd, no uair-eiginn am maireach, mur tigeadh ni sam 

bith 'n 'ur rathad a chuireadh grabadh oirbh. Rinn sinn 

gne de dh' ulluchadh air bhur soi) a nochd fhein, agus tha 

sinn gle thoilichte gu 'n d' thainig sibh. Fada no goirid 

• gu 'm bi sibh an so, cha 'n 'eil agaibh ach ni sam bith a 

bhios a dhith oirbh iarraidh, agus gheibh sibh e, ma theid 

againn air a thoirt dhuibh. Ma's e bhur, toil e, an innis 

sibh dhomh co dh'.ainm a th' oirbh." 

" 'S e m' aiiun, Seumas ^lac Alhic Alasdair," ar.b' an 

duine uasal. 

" Bha teaghlach ro choir agus ro urramach de 'n ainm 

sin aon uair anns an aite so ; ach cha 'n 'eil a nis beo dhe'n 

35

546 


treibh ach an aon duine. Tha e air tighinn gu aois : 's i 

mo bharail nach bi e a' bheag a dh' uine beo ; oir tha e air 

an leabaidh o chionn tri bliadhna 'S e Fear-a'-Ghlinne a 

theirear ris. 'S e is uachdaran air a' Ghleann so, agus air 

moran de'n fhearann a tha air gach taobh de 'n Ghleann," 

arsa Galium ; 

gun 'ur suipeir." 

" ach tha mi 'g ar cumail tuilleadh is fada 

" Cha 'n 'eil, cha 'n 'eil. 'S ann is math learn beagan 

comhraidh a bhith eadrainn. Dh' innis mo charaid, Fear 

na Cuil-Airde gu robh duine anns a Ghleann so a tha 

anabarrach fiosrach mu sheann eachdraidh na duthcha, 

agus bhithinn ro fhada 'n 'ur comain nan cuireadh sibh aon 

de na seirbhisich le litir d' a ionnsuidh 's a' mhaduin am 

maireach. 'Sea tha 'na Mhaighstir Sgoile anns an sgire- 

achd so." 

" Faodaidh sibh 'fhaicinn am maireach. Thainig e an 

so feasgar, agus o 'n a tha 'n oidhche cho fiadhaich, cha 'n 

fhalbh e dhachaidh a nochd. Tha mi fhin 's e fhein gle 

mhor aig a cheile. Bha sinn comhladh anns an sgoil ; agus 

og 's mar a bha sinn aig an am, bha sinn 'n ar dluth- 

chompanaich. Chum sinn suas an cairdeas riamh o 'n uair 

ud ; agus mar sin, is gle thoigh leinn a bhith ann an 

cuideachd a cheile," arsa Galium, 

" Bhithinn fada 'n 'ur comain nan iarradh sibh air 

tighinn far am bheil mi gun dail, agus nan tigeadh sibh 

fhein maille ruinn. Cuiribh a steach, ma 's e bhur toil e 

botul de 'n uisge-bheatha a's fhearr a th' agaibh. Cha 

mhisde sinn beagan dheth an am a bhith 'cur eolais air 

a cheile," arsa Mac 'ic Alasdair. 

Rinneadh gach ni mar a dh' iarr e ; agus 

o 'n a bha toil 

aca nan triuir eolas a chur air a cheile, cha do chuireadh 

dragh sam bith orra ; agus bha iad a' comhradh anns an 

t-seomar gus am faca iad iomchuidh gabhail mu thamh. 

[bi LEANIUINN].

READER, 

A Little Picture. 547 

A LITTLE PICTURE. 

hadst thou but seen it, just one little bit of sky 

Lighting the tops of the mountains, with cloud-wreaths 

hurrying by. 

One little simple village, down in the valley below. 

Caught in the mellow beauty of the soft autumnal glow. 

One bright, broad sheet of water, all glimmering shine and sheen, 

Of glinting golden sunlight, with shadowing leaves between. 

With one little island basking down on the water's breast. 

Lulled by the eddying ripples, like to a child at rest. 

This was what lay on the surface—e'en a baby might spell 

Half of the lovely story the painter had told so well, 

By groups of little children singing gaily in the grass, 

And by yet another token—the lover and his lass 

Walking softly through the vineyards, all silent from sheer bliss ; 

A very child had guessed the thought that shone from out of this 

Had felt the end of nature by the droop of laden vines. 

The " life in death " mysterious of all her secret shrines. 

But deepest, subtlest thought of all—the seeking after truth, 

The patient striving to explain the world's perpetual youth. 

This spoke in deeper undertones, to souls more finely wrought 

To comprehend the higher aims, the noblest range of thought 

And even these might bow the knee where that pure soul had trod, 

For the man had drunk at the source of light, and painted the 

smile of God ! 

Milan, 2nd November, iSg2. 

M. O. W. 

; 

—

548 

SUCH 


A DAY AT "JOHN O' GROATS." 

'' Ho ! we were a band of Rovers 

Sailing here and sailing there, 

Sailing where the wild wind bore us, 

None to stay our course might dare ! 

Gaily blew and roar'd the breezes, 

Wav'd our Ravens in the air, 

Forward bounded Norway's Galleys 

Wing'd with many a tar-stained sail ! 

a pleasant, interesting, never-to-be-forgotten 

expedition, seems to deserve a chronicle. To many 

people "John O' Groat's House," the most northerly point 

on the British Isles, seems as far off and unattainable as 

America. To others, again, a mere step North, hardly 

worth writing about. But to lis, this dream of youth left 

such wild beautiful pictures on memory's page, that some 

recital of that day's enjoyment seemed to come spontaneously. 

It was June, that month of lovliest green and 

longest evenings, of yellow broom and golden gorse ; of 

cuckoos and corn-craiks, of roses and hay-fields ; and it 

was a fine June, sunny and bright, with a little crispness in 

the air, which enabled us to roam over the hills in Ross- 

shire and Inverness-shire before taking the final trip, the 

" grand final " which was to land us at Wick. 

The day came at last, and, full of expectation and 

excitement, we set out for this unknown countr}'. The 

scenery all through Sutherland was beautiful, but when we 

left Helmsdale behind, and got further and further into the 

heart of Caithness (derived from " Cat," the wild cat—and 

Ness, a promontory) it seemed like going through a great 

moorland desert—not a tree, not a hill to be seen. Perhaps 

iii autumn, when the heather is out, the colouring may be 

rich, but what ive saw was black, and dark, and ugl\- ! 

Yes ! 

ugly. We had always heard Caithness was flat and 

ugly. We believed it now ! 

Here and there a rushing 

"

A Day at " /ohn 6' Groats 

T 

549 

stream, and banks of rich yellow broom, relieved the 

monotony, but in general there was absolutely nothing to 

look at ! Yes 

! 

one 

thing attracted our attention. Instead 

of green hedges or stone walls, to divide the fields or go 

round the farms (where there was any cultivation) there 

were large, flat paving stones, raised about two feet from 

the ground, and placed against each other. These are used 

all over Caithness, and have a most curious effect, and, I 

must say, very little beauty, except where the yellow lichen 

had enriched the gray slabs here and there. Our great- 

grandfather, old Sir John Sinclair of Ulbster, tried to get 

the good folk of Edinburgh to use the slabs for their pavement, 

and had the part opposite his own house in George 

Street paved with these stones from the North ; but he 

failed in his project at that time (I believe some have been 

used since), and was only rewarded for his trouble by 

having that portion of the street termed (his family were 

all upwards of six foot high) " The Giant's Causeway !" 

At last we saw the gray town of Wick appearing. No 

beauty Jiere, we said, for in truth it is not prettily situated, 

though some fine cliffs and a good harbour are worth 

seeing. We were too early for the herring fishing, one of 

the most interesting of sights, we were told. 

Next morning our long anticipated drive was to take 

place. Oh ! will it be fine ! Two o'clock in the morning 

was as bright as day, and we saw numbers of large white 

sea-gulls marching all over our friend's field and garden ; 

then a mist came slowly down, but that should not deter 

us, so ten o'clock saw us fairly off in a large landau and 

pair of strong horses for "John O' Groats" and Duncansby 

Head (a twenty mile drive). There is, at present, no other 

way of approaching these places, as the train stops at 

Wick, &c. Our kind hosts, the Sheriff and his wife, 

planned this expedition, and nothing could exceed their 

generous hospitality. 

As we got out of the town, we met carts and vehicles of 

€very description, slowly coming in, filled to overflowing

550 


with old, middle-aged, and young; people ; and we found 

that it was the monthly market-day, when the inhabitants 

flock in from every part to make their various purchases. 

It was a most picturesque and gay scene on that desolate 

road. 

On we went, the mist still creeping over everything, 

though a glint of sunshine now and then showed us a 

weird castle by the sea, or a gray cliff, and gave us hope 

that we might eventually be able to get through altogether. 

One caught a sound of the rollers when the road neared 

the cliffs ; and we heard the scream of the curlew and 

plover among the fluttering, white, cotton-rushes on the 

moor as we passed along. As yet we had not seen the 

sea. John O' Groats was getting nearer. A slight shower 

fell. What will the afternoon turn out ? It was nearly 

one o'clock. " There is the Inn," said our kind hostess, 

and a prettily built, curious old house (not really old, we 

found, but built exactly after the old pattern) came in 

view. A flag-staff (with a red flag flying) is put up just 

opposite, on the identical site. 

Such a kind, bright, nice looking landlady, Mrs Mac- 

donald, came out to meet us, and conducted us to the 

octagonal room, the room of the Inn. There is a curious 

story connected with this room, she told us; eight brothers 

came over from Norway in the olden days, and, as each 

wanted to sit at the head of the table, they agreed that the 

room should be built octagonally, so that each brother had 

his seat at the board, and his window, equal with his 

brothers. This room is built exactly in the shape the 

other was, and the view from the windows was most charm- 

ing. The shower cleared off—kind creature—and took 

away a great deal of the mist, so that we proposed a stroll 

on the shore till luncheon was ready, after having a most 

acceptable cup of tea. The time was all too short, as we 

picked up the red sea-weeds, John O' Groats buckies and 

other shells, and curious long arms of sponge that I never 

saw elsewhere.

A Day at '' folin o Groats^' 551 

Our luncheon did credit to Mrs Macdonald, but we 

were anxious to be off to Duncansby Head, and tiie time 

seemed almost wasted that we spent indoors. How far 

was it ? Three-quarters of a mile. Oh ! joy, the mist is 

slowly lifting, and the great blue sea is close at our feet. 

After a pleasant walk over short grass, we come, first of all, 

upon several little bays of purest white sand, with rocky 

islands in front, literally hidden by the sea-birds, and the 

clear, bright blue-green of the water which surround them, 

like no other but the Cornish sea. 

Then we seemed to strike away from the sea into the 

middle of the plain, and I inwardly felt reluctant to leave 

all this beauty, when our guide slopped short, saying, 

" This is one of the famous gorges of Duncansby." We 

came so suddenly upon them that they took us quite 

unawares, and, looking down two or three hundred feet 

below, we beheld these wonderful chasms of red rock, 

where the sea rushes in, gurgling and boiling, between the 

great red walls, and where the hundreds and thousands of 

big white sea-gulls were screaming and yelling as if to tell 

us some of their adventurous secrets among the far off 

ocean billows. I never saw such sea-gulls (the great 

black-backed gull, I believe), and so tame, from the very 

few people who disturb them, that some hardly moved 

even when we were quite close to them. The echo of 

their cries sounded again and again, loud and clear, as we 

stood silently there, trying to understand their wild 

language and quite transfixed by the majesty of their 

glorious surroundings. "The Lord shall rejoice in His 

works," we thought, and we seemed to understand that 

text as we never had before. 

Duncansby Head itself is a grand cliff of the same red 

colour, and the " Stacks of Duncansby," three big, bold, 

pointed rocks, about a quarter of a mile further on, stand- 

ing out a little way from the shore, looked weird and ghostlike, 

as some of the mist still hung about them and 

revealed onlv half of their dark forms.

552 


It seemed strange to stand here and feel we could go 

no further North, and to look across those wild seas over 

whose waves our brave Scandinavian ancestors had 

ventured to settle on these rugged shores. Perhaps it was 

some of their blood in our veins which made these scenes 

so doubly interesting. Oh ! to have been able to take the 

form of one of those free, happy gulls, for a {q^n days, and 

go in and out, up and down among the mighty chasms, 

now floating on the waves, now dashing through the clifls 

whistling out their own wild poems ! 

We could have stood there for hours, but a gentle 

reminder that we had yet to spend half-an-hour among the 

shells, made us reluctantly turn away. It was easier said 

than done, as the plain was covered with short heather 

and grass, and, being full of holes, it was impossible not 

to get a foot into one of these traps sooner or later. 

We had been warned, and thought we were careful, but 

alas ! down came one of us full length on the ground, and 

the other two, although avoiding this calamity, had several 

very narrow escapes. As we passed two of the great 

chasms, we noticed some wire fencing being put round 

them, and were told that the farmer who had taken to 

graze his flock there this spring, had lost twenty-four sheep 

and lambs from falling over the side ; the poor unsuspect- 

ing creatures, thinking they were walking quietly in the 

middle of a field, found themselves suddenly dashed over 

the cliffs into the treacherous ravine below. 

We soon reached the spot where the greatest number 

and variety of shells are to be found ; what a Paradise for 

the children ! Half-an-hour went like wild fire. It had to 

be extended a little ; we really could not leave that 

enchanted shore. No, not until the baskets were laden 

with John O' Groats buckles, nightcaps, Noah's arks, 

saddles, bright coloured pointed periwinkles, red and 

yellow fans, and long arms of sponge cast up by some 

recent storm. These " treasures of the deep," with some 

of the gulls' feathers and various sea-weeds, were carefully 

preserved to be mementoes of this delightful expedition.

A Day at " John d Groats:' 553 

When we got back to the Inn, our good landlady had 

prepared a cup of tea for us before starting home, and pro- 

duced some interesting autographs for our inspection from 

visitors to John O' Groats. The Prince and Princess of 

Wales, Robert Browning, Hugh Miller, Carlyle, &c., &c., 

were among the number. As we were leaving she popped 

a magnificent lobster into the carriage, a gift for the 

deservedly popular Sheriff, who unfortunately had had a 

chill the night before and could not accompany the little 

party. He and his family had spent a fortnight there in 

the spring, and had made great friends with Mrs Mac- 

donald. This was the result, and a splendid sequel it 

proved ! 

We had to hasten off, gazing lovingly back on Dunnet 

Head, the "Old Man of Hoy," the Orkney Islands, and the 

blue, blue sea all round. Many pretty peeps showed them- 

selves driving back, which the mist had somewhat hidden 

in the morning, and a golden light lit up ocean, rock, and 

moorland ; and several " old castles by the sea," standing 

out clearly in the evening brightness, carried us back to 

old feudal days when those gray walls were peopled with 

the " hardy Norsemen." We reached Wick at half-past 

eight o'clock, with those wonderful scenes fresh in our 

memory—they seem as fresh now—and often when passing 

through the crowded town, or walking in the quiet country 

lane, " they flash upon that inward eye," and I hear once 

more those screaming gulls and see those great gorges and 

cliffs, and pick up the shells on the white sandy shore, and 

in spirit am truly at John O' Groats again ! 

August, 1 89 1. 

JANET SINCLAIR BERGER.

554 ^/^^ Hi^Jilaîd Monthly. 

AN TEAMPULL SPIORADAIL. 

C^ 

LE PADRUIG STIUBHART. 

O nach iarradh a bhi chomhnuidh 

y Ann an cuirtibh tigh lehobhah? 

Mhiannaich Daibhidh fein gu mor sud 

Thar gach solas bha 's an ^--saoghal so. 

Ged 's e iobairtean is sgailean 

An t-seirbhis a bha 'ghnath 's a phailliun, 

Chunnaic Daibhidh tre na sgailean 

Rathad slainte trid Fear-saoraidh. 

Chunn' e maise ghlan lehobhah » 

'Dealradh 'mach le tuilleadh gloir ann ; 

A bhuaidhean urramach a' cordadh 

Ann an obair mhor na saorsa. 

Choimhiion Criosda na h-uil' iarrtus 

A bha 'n lagh ro naomh rig iarraidh, 

Rinn e ceartas a Ian riarach', 

'Chaoidh gu siorruidh, le aon iobairt. 

— 

'S e 'n crann-ceusaidh a dhealbh Satan 

Mar am bas 'bha maslach craiteach 

Bhruth an gaisgeach ceann an dragoin 

Leis a bhas a dhealbh e fein da. 

Thug e 'n gath o righ na'n uamhas, 

'S chreach e cumhachd mor na h-uaighe, 

Dh'eirich air an treas la' suas e, 

'Toirt na buaidh a mach gu leir orr'. 

'S e Criosd e fein a bhunait uasal ; 

Clach-chinn na h-oisinn, nach gabh gluasad 

Se or, is airgiod, 's clachan luachmhor, 

A ni suas an togail ghloirmhor.

Cha ' 

An TeampuU Spioradail. 555 

e fiodh, no feur, no connlach, 

'Chuireas daoine suas gu seolda, 

'Sheasas dearbh' an latha mhoir ud, 

Ach na clachan beo nach failnich. 

'S ginealach taghta sud do rireadh, 

Sagartach a tha ro-rioghail, 

Teampull 's am bheil Righ na siochaint, 

Tre a' Spiorad, 'gabhail comhnuidh. 

'S mo rinn e thu na d' theampull sgiamhach, 

Feuch nach dean thu uaill na fhianuis ; 

Fhuair e ann ad thraill do 'n diabhul thu, 

Is do d' ana-niiannan feolmhor. 

Thug e a slochd uamhuinn suas thu ; 

Chuir e fhireantachd mu 'n cuairt ort ; 

Rinn an Spioraid creutair nuadh dhiot, 

'Caradh full an Uain ri d' chreuchdan. 

Feuch gu ' 

— 

r fan thu nise dluth dha, 

'S fhocal-san na lochran iuil dhuit, 

larr an Spiorad 'bhi ga d' ungadh 

Atj sabh-shul a bheir dhuit leirsin. 

— 

Feuch gu 'm feith thu, air an t-Sabaid, 

Ann am meadhonaibh nan gras air, 

Far 'm bi teachdaireachd na slainte 

Air a cuir le gradh an ceill dhuit. 

'S anns an t-soisgeul, tha ro-phriseil, 

Tha na nithe blasda brighear, 

'S gheibh gach aon do bhochdaibh Shion, 

'Nasgaidh, 'n diola do gach Ion ann. 

Bho 'n 's e Criosd is suim 's is brigh dha 

'Alpha 's 'Omega, do riridh 

— 

'S ann tha 'n lanachd tha neo-chriochnaicht 

Anns an ti sin gabhail comhnuidh.

556 


Buanaich an co-chomunn dluth ris, 

Am briseadh arain is an urnuigh ; 

Coimhead orduighibh le curam, 

'S bheir e neart as ur gach lo dhuit. 

Cum cuimhne air a bhas ud 

O 'n do shruth gu leir do shlainte ; 

Dean aithne fhior air corp an t-Slanuighear 

'S air an fhuil a d' ait' a dhoirt e. 

Ged a tha thu bhos 's an fhasaich 

Sgaoilt' ri triobladean an trasa, 

Bheir e tearuint thu gu Pharras, 

'S cha bhi tuilleadh bas no bron ann. 

Bi' lu'g ol do 'n amhainn fhior-glan, 

'S gnuis lehobhah mar a ghrian duit 

Naomha, glan, gun smal, na fhianuis, 

Ann an fireantachd Emanuel. 

'S 'nuair a chuireas e 'chlach-mhuUaich 

Air an teampull shuas le h-urram, 

Se " Gras" a bhitheas ga sheinn, le h-iolaich, 

'Leis a bhuidheann tha do-aireamh. 

Peter Stewart, the author of the preceding hymn, was 

one of the small flock of Glenlyon Baptists, ministered to 

so long by Mr Donald Maclellan, whose wife's hymn, " Uan 

De," appeared in last number. Peter was the youngest son 

of Allan Stewart, farmer, Stronuich, Glenlyon. When 

born Peter was as straight and as well endowed with seeing 

eyes as other children, but when about four years old 

infantile illness left him stone blind, and otherwise so 

physically wrecked, that he grew up with a very crooked 

back. He was religious from his youth upwards, and was 

in due time baptised in the Milton-Eonan mill-dam 

like other converts of his time. When we knew him best, 

more than forty-five years ago, Peter glowed with internal 

light and religious cheerfulness. While very faithful to his 

own creed and sect, he had very catholic sympathies. His 

memory was excellent, and he had most of the Psalms and 

large portions of Scripture by heart. Some time after the 

death of his parents, he went down the Glen to live with 

;

An Teampiill Spioradail. 557 

one of his married sisters and her husband, Mr Duncan 

Macdiarmid, farmer, Craigfhianidh ; and when they died, he 

continued to reside there till his death, a year ago, with 

their children and children's children. The Kerrumore 

Schoolhouse, in which the Baptists worshipped, is fully 

three miles from Craigfhianidh, but as long as strength 

remained the distance did not keep Peter from very regular 

Sabbath attendance. With stick, dwarfed stature, and long 

strides, he was a well-known Sunday figure on the road to old 

and young, and deservedly a universal favourite. On week 

days he found himself employment in coopering and making 

fishing lines. He used white and black horse hair for 

his lines, and such was his sense of touch that he knew by 

the feel when it was a white or a black hair that was needing 

a successor in the clever stick machine he had devised, 

for what we may call his spinn'ng frame. His sense of 

hearing, till age fell on him, was similarly acute. In walking 

up and down the Glen he could always tell exactly 

where he was from the sounds of the little streamlets, whose 

different voices he could discriminate whether they were 

low or roaring high after a flood. Notwithstanding his 

blindness and crooked back, he lived on till he was within a 

few years of eighty. In summer weather, if not employed 

in his little coopering work-house, Peter was generally to be 

found on a settle at the end of the farm-house, weaving his 

lines or making highly-finished quaichs and wooden bowls 

and ladles. He liked the sunshine, the open-air, and 

nature's many voices. When residing at Garth House in 

1858, the late Mr John Colquhoun, author of the Moor and 

Loch, obtained liberty to fish over a long stretch of the 

Lyon, and became acquainted with Peter, his settle, and 

his work. There is a good salmon pool below Craigfhianidh 

Farm-house, which Mr Colquhoun fished more 

than once, and a spring above close to Peter's usual 

_ 

sunning place. At page 348 of the new edition of his book, 

Mr Colquhoun says :— "' The hot day and hard work made 

a draught from the spring at the nearest farm house very 

delicious; and the luxury of a drink is enhanced by sucking 

it through our patent drinkipg-horn—the hollow bone 

of a roe's fore-leg. Sunning himself close to the spring, a 

stone-blind man was making pirn-lines in the most 

dexterous manner I ever sau'. He also had a little workshop, 

and coopered pails, ' bowics,' &c., remarkably well. I 

bought a trout-line from him as a curiosity, and a neat

558 


* cogue ' to water the pony with from the roadside burns." 

On his Glenlyon excursions, Mr Colquhoun hired a springcart 

pony and boy from Fortingall. The pony was fat, and 

disposed to take it easy, and the boy, Danie, was Hke the 

pony in both respects. On the 13th September, when Mr 

Colquhoun tried the pool below Craigfhianidh for the last 

time, he says: — "On remarking to Danie that our line 

making machine was absent from his settle at the gable of 

the house, he naively answered, ' I see'd him looking oot o' 

his window.' " The bad weather which had driven Peter 

into the house, likewise spoiled Mr Colquhoun's sport that 

day. Although Peter could speak English he did it stiffly, 

and could not launch out freely in that language. Had 

Mr Colquhoun been able to converse fluently with him in 

Gaelic, he would have been quite as much impressed by his 

intellectual gifts as he was by his manual dexterity.

A Ceilidh. 559 

A CEILIDH. 

PART I. 

CEILIDH! What memories the word recalls! I 

have only to shut my eyes, and lean back in my 

chair, and with my mind's eye I can see the following 

picture. A large peat-fire in the middle of an earthen 

floor, sending up a blue column of smoke to a roof that, 

exposed for centuries to the influence of peat-reek, shone 

through the cloud of smoke that often hid it from the 

view of the inmates below, and reminded one of those 

glazed caps often worn by sailors. It used to be my 

greatest wish on a Sunday morning to have my boots equal 

in brightness the polished rafters of Aonghas Ban's 

house. At the farther end of this room there is a door 

leading into the " ben " which forms the sleeping apartment 

of Aonghas Ban and his young family. In the main 

room, or " but," into which we have had a peep already, are 

a dresser covered with the kind of crockery suited to the 

simple life of the inhabitants of the house, two or three 

wooden boxes performing the functions of a wardrobe, 

mealchest, buttery, &c. ; a barrel or two filled with salt 

herring, half-a-dozen straw-bottomed chairs, and two or 

three wooden benches to accommodate the neighbours 

when they muster to the Ceilidh. At the other end of the 

" but," and separated from it by a partition consisting of 

rude planks fixed in the floor, is the byre or cowshed. The 

main door opens into the cowshed, and, on the right hand 

as one enters, another door in the rude partition leads into 

the " but." 

As this picture rises before me in imagination it is 

night, and seated round the fire arc about a score of prople 

of both sexes and of all ages. There is Aonghas Ban


himself, the host and the newsmonger of the township, with 

closely cropped hair, long bushy beard, and sharp, grey, 

intelligent eyes, mending, with the help of a dim and 

flickering light from a tin lamp containing home- 

manufactured cod-liver oil, a herring net suspended from a 

rope attached to two rafters, one on each side of the roof. 

Aonghas Ban is one of that class of people who combine 

the occupations both of a crofter and a fisherman, a class 

of people very numerous in the sea-board districts of the 

Highlands. He has a croft on which he grows a supply of 

potatoes, and sufficient fodder to maintain two or three 

cows and a few sheep. He has also a share of a first-class 

fishing boat, the " Pride of the Ocean," with which he goes 

to the herring fishing at Wick for two months every year. 

During the spring and autumn he is at home working his 

croft, and engaged in lobster fishing during the winter 

months. Next to Aonghas Ban sits his better-half busily 

engaged with the spinning-wheel, and at her feet is seated 

Alastair, her first born, or a small wooden box, the original 

use of which the letters BLACKING, printed on one 

side in large type, sufficiently explain. Aonghas Ban is 

married, now six years, and nothing pleases him so much 

as to entertain his visitors with reminiscences of the days 

when he courted his "blue-eyed Jenny," and the heightened 

colour in Jenny's face, and the merry twinkle in her clear, 

blue eyes, when Aonghas tells once more the oft-repeated 

tale " , 

how he servêd that smith chap from Clachandu whom 

he caught one dark winter night prowling suspicioi^sly 

near the big carpenter's house where Jennyvvas at service, 

by chasing him into the midden-heap at the end of the 

cowshed, where he stuck fast, and how he then assailed 

him wit;]^ a, ter,i?ific .volley of snowballs, until the smith 

promised never again, to speak to bli.ie-eyed Jenny ;" I say 

that to see the heightened colour in Jenny's face, and, tJie 

merry twinkle in her- clear, blue eyes, shewed how she 

enjoyed these stories of the. past that reminded her of the 

early days of their courtship, and of the stolen hours when


Aonghas, then considered the beau of the township, 

beneath the moon and the stars breathed into her ears 

" the tender tale." 

There is also Seiimas Ruadh, the mason, the strongest 

man in the whole parish, who last winter offered to fight 

the whole crew of the yacht " Sunbeam," in Lochoran, 

because they doubted the veracity of his story when he 

described how, when "Big Tom," Farmer M'Codrum's wellknown 

bull, had attacked the orraman on the farm, he had 

gone to the orraman's assistance and took hold of the bull 

by his horns, and how, at the end of half-an-hour's tussle^ 

the might}' bull lay on his back with a broken leg and 

minus a horn. 

No evidence could be adduced to prove the authenticity 

of this story, for no ore was present during the terrible 

encounter except the two men, and when the orraman 

asserted that Seumas Ruadh had rushed out of the barn to 

his assistance, armed with a flail, with which he belaboured 

the bull, Seumas scornfully refuted the statement, and said 

he had no weapon but his hands, and that the orraman's 

brain was so confused, owing to the sudden attack on rhe 

part of " Big Tom," that his account of the fray was not at 

all worthy of credence. 

There are also at the Ceiliak two or three neighbours 

of Aonghas Ban's, joint-owners of the " Pride of the 

Ocean," and Seoras Glass, an old man of eighty. The 

latter was a splendid type of the Highlander. Fully six 

feet high and straight as a gun, his broad chest and square 

shoulders betokened, even yet, great physical strength, and 

his dark, flashing, deep-set e\'es were indicative of more 

than an average portion of intelligence. Hair whitened 

with the snowi of many winters escaped from the custody 

of the broad Tarn o' Shanter bonnet, which he always wore^ 

and fell in wavy ringlets over his shr)ulders. He was clad 

in a grey suit of home-spun cloth, and had a shepherd's 

plaid wrapped round his shoulders. He always carried a 

heavy oaken staff protected at one end by a ponderous iron 

36

562 1 he }iigliland Monthly. 

ferrule, which was replaced once a year by a new one made 

to special order by the local blacksmith. He was never 

seen without being accompanied by his large collie-dog 

Caesar, the terror of all the boys in the neighbourhood, a 

sagacious brute who seemed to understand every word 

spoken in Gaelic to him bv his master. The man would 

be indeed rash who di.re attack old Seoras Glas armed 

with his heavy staff and accompanied by his trusty ally, 

Caesar. Seoras Glas was a retired preventive officer, who 

had seen many years' service both in his native Highlands 

and in Ireland. He was well educated and was a very 

fluent speaker both in English and in Gaelic, but a firm 

belief in all Highland superstition was an essential part of 

his religion. He was a perfect mine of lore, and many a 

night I sat for hours listening in mute astonishment to his 

stories of ghosts, wraiths, marriages, funerals, adventures 

on sea and land, and any other subject that became the 

topic of the hour. 

A curious sight it was to see Seoras Glas enter one of 

the crofter's houses. He had first to make a profound 

bow before he could manage to get his six feet of bone and 

flesh through the doorway ; then, having got inside, he 

straightened himself, when that part of his body above his 

shoulders immediately disappeared in the cloud of smoke 

that almost invariably filled the house from the level of the 

walls upwards, and those seated round the fire beheld what 

seemed to be a headless apparition slowly approaching 

them, till from the now troubled volumn of smoke the neck 

and head of Seoras Glas appeared as he sat down, and his 

long beard and broad Tarn o' Shanter bonnet reeked for 

fully five minutes longer. 

Then there are several of the young men and young 

women of the township, the latter busily knitting stockings 

of many bright colours for their fathers, brothers, or sweethearts, 

and the former doing nothing beyond smoking 

clay pipes and exchanging furtive but eloquent glances 

with the coy maidens.


There are also present some boys, I among them, 

squatting down in any convenient corner as near the fire 

as the heat permitted, but as far away as possible from the 

dark corners of the house, where the ever-moving shadows 

flitted to and fro like the uncanny beings who at the time 

formed the subject of conversation. But let us leave 

Galium Mor, the skipper of the " Pride of the Ocean," 

to finish an account of a remarkable storni that he, 

encountered off Cape Wrath some years ago, during which 

the boat was pooped by a tremendous sea that, on retiring, 

left a cran and a half of herring strewn about the deck, 

and make some general remarks on the origin and result 

of the mischevious habit—as it undoubtedly was—of 

Ceilidh. 

Seventy or eighty years ago, English education was in 

a very backward state in many parts of the Highlands. I 

say English, because the great majority of the people could 

read Gaelic, the vernacular. Now, almost the only Gaelic 

books on which they could lay their hands were the Bible, 

Shorter Gatechism, the translated works of Bunyan and 

Baxter, and others of the same kind. Why they confined 

their reading to religious books may be accounted for in 

two ways. First, books treating of secular subjects were 

very scarce, and secondly, secular literature was in those 

days regarded by the Northern Gelts as incompatible with 

nay, as directly antagonistic to, the true spirit of 

Ghristianity. Hence, in the Gaelic schools in which our 

grandfathers were taught, the highest aim of the teachers 

was to enable their pupils to read the Bible in the 

vernacular. A few carried their education to the length ot 

reading more advanced books. I remember well one old man 

in my native parish who had in his possession a copy of 

the songs of Duncan Ban Macintyre. and a Gaelic trans- 

lation of a History of Scotland. This old man used to tell 

us, boys, stories of Wallace, Bruce, and Douglas during the 

long winter nights ; or he would recite passages from 

" Moladh Beinn Dorain " or " Cead Deireanach Nam

564 


Beann," with such effect that we could in imagination see 

the green knolls and heathery corries of Beinn Dorain 

abounding in game and deer, or the old gamekeeper, on 

returning home from the south, lamenting the changes 

that had come over the scenes of his youth, and his 

inability to take part in the chase any more. 

This being the educational state of matters, it is no 

wonder that the people resorted to any device that would 

satisfy that craving for knowledge which is inherent in every 

human breast. Hence their assembling in certain houses to 

discuss the latest news that was conveyed perhaps by one 

who had been recently in the parish town, which had 

generally some form of communication with the south, or 

perhaps gleaned from the parish teacher, who was usually 

the happy recipient of a weekly newspaper. 

All matters were discussed at the CeilidJi; the prospects 

of next harvest, or fishing season, the chances of war or 

peace, births, marriages, deaths and ghosts, any thrilling 

piece of news that found its way into the place, and as a 

matter of fact all the local gossip. Thus the Ceilidh-house 

became a nest where storLes and scandals of all kinds were 

hatched and circulated ; and I have often seen the closest 

ties of friendship suddenly snapped by an injudicious 

remark made at these nightly gatherings. It was this feature 

of the Ceilidh, combined with the habit of laziness it 

engendered, that made it so pernicious. 

In every township certain houses were chosen for the 

Ceilidh. The suitableness of the house depended on many 

circumstances, "chiefly the size and accommodating facilities 

of the " but," and the character of the owner of the house. 

The essential testimonials in the latter case were a cheer- 

ful and tolerant spirit, and a love of imparting and receiving 

gossipry. Thus Aonghas Ban being considered the greatest 

newsmonger in the township of which I write—and his claims 

to that distinction were indisputable—his house was at 

once fixed on as being the best adapted for the nightly 

gathering. The assemblage at Aonghas Ban's was

A Cetlidh. 565 

generally of a motley character, consisting as it did, of 

persons of all ages and of both sexes. 

There were other houses specially patronised by the 

young women, which became, as a matter of course, the 

habitual resort of their sweethearts. There the nights 

were spent in singing Gaelic songs, and in mirthful and 

how often I think of those joyous 

innocent talk. Ah ! 

nights when I listened enraptured to a rosy-cheeked 

and dark-eyed Highland maiden, ignorant of the amount 

of wickedness that exists in the great world beyond yonder 

blue mountains that have ever separated her from it, and, 

pure as the snow that caps the bens of her native land, sing 

in a voice untrained and uncultivated, but sweet as that 

of the mavis that, with the rosy dawn, wakens her as it 

sings its morning carol to welcome the advent of a new 

day, such verses as these : 

— 

^ " A nighean bhoidheach an orfhuilt bhachalaich 

Nan gorm shul miogach 's na min-bhas sneachda-gheal, 

Gun siubhlain reidhleach air sleibhtean Bhreatuin leat, 

Fo earradh sgaoilte de dh' aodach breacan orm. 

" Gur binne comhradh na oraid fhileanta ; 

Tha guth nas ceolmhor na oigh cheol binn fhaclach, 

Cha laidheadh bron oirn, no leon, no iomadan, 

Ri faighinn sgeul duinn o bheul na finne sin. 

" 'Nuair thig a bhealtuinn 's an samhradh luiseanach, 

Bidh sinn air airidh air ard nan uchdanan, 

Bidh cruit nan gleanntan gu canntair cuirteasach, 

Gu trie gar dusgadh le surd gu mocheirigh." 

Mackenzie's "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry." 


D. M.

566 Ihe Ihghland Monthly. 

SNATCHES OF SONG COLLECTED IN 

BADENOCH. 

EARLY 

SECOND SERIES.— No. i. 

in this century, among the workmen engaged 

upon the construction of Telford's road, that winds 

smoothly along the picturesque shores of Loch Laggan, 

were two brothers from the Isle of Skye. One of the 

young men, probably from the effects o( over-exertion 

upon a delicate constitution, suddenly burst a blood-vessel 

and died. He was buried in the ancient parish churchyard 

of Laggan, upon the high ground eastward of Camus 

Cillein. The people of Brae-Hadenoch— a kindly and 

hospitable race—did all in their power ô assist the grief- 

stricken brother in solemnising the obsequies of the 

deceased. After all was over, the survivor hurried home- 

wards with his sad tale. As he took his way, he gave his 

sorrow words and melody, in the form of a beautiful 

threnody, of which I, unfortunately, can convey only a few 

verses that have lingered in memory. This elegy was very 

popular among the islanders who used to come every 

autumn to the smearing ; and, from the nature of things, 

it is likely that a better version of it could be obtained in 

Skye than in Badenoch. It is proper to add that when 

the surviving brother reached his friends, a company of 

them set out for Laggan, exhumed the recently interred 

body, and carried it back all the way to Skye. 

Aig Ceann Loch Lagain so thall, 

Dh' fhag mi 'n tasgaidh mo ghradh, 

'S O ! 

cha 

tig e gu brach an taobh so. 

'S ann am Baideanach shuas, 

'Measg nan Domhnullaich suairc, 

Dh' fhag mi 'n cadal mo luaidh 's cha duisg e.

Snatches of Song. 567 

Dh' fhag mi 'm Baideanach thu, 

Measg nan Gaidheal thuair cHu, 

Fir a' Bhraighe chaidh learn chuir uir ort. 

Ged a bha mi leam fliin, 

Cha robh cairdean am dhith, 

'N am togail 'na' ctiill air ghiulan. 

'N ciste ghiuthais chinn chaoil, 

An deis a dubhadh bho 'n t-saor, 

Chunnacas thairis bhi taomadh uir ort. 

Ach tha mise 'do dheigh, 

Mar bha Oisean 's na Feinn, 

Gabhal an rathaid 's cha leir dhomh taobh dhe. 

Bha fuil a' sruthadh bho 'd bheul, 

Nach gabhadh caisg ach sior leum, 

'S i bhi tighinn bho 'd chleith na bruchdan. 

Ach, fhir a stiuireas a' ghrian, 

Bho 'toiseach gu 'crioch, 

Glac anam fo sgiath do churaim, 

Mr John Macdonald, the well-ki.own tacksman of 

Garvamore, popularly designated, according to the custom 

of the country, as Iain Ban a' Gharbha, died in 1830, and 

has been commemorated in more than one elegy. That 

hereinafter set forth, was composed by his old and fast 

friend, Captain Macpherson, Biallid. Both these tacksmen 

were esteemed in their day as among the best of country- 

men ; 

and it is pleasant to observe that their descendants 

are represented in the county, in the persons of Mr and 

Mrs Macpherson of Corriemon\'. 

A Righ ! 

gur diomain an saoghal, 

'S ioma mealladh a's faoineis a th' ann • 

Mar neul 's e 'caochladh, 

Theid fhuadach 's a sgaoileadh 'na dheann. 

Mar cheathach an aonaich. 

Air a sgapadh le gaoith bharr nam beann, 

'S ionann sin a's clann-daoine. 

Gun fhios thig an t-aog aig gach am. 

Fhuair mi sgeula, 's bu shearbh e, 

Chaidh mo leirsinn gu h-anmhunnachd le bron, 

Gu-n d' eug Fear a' Gharbha, 

Mo chreach-leir tha e dearbhta "\x leoir.


Ach ma chaidh thu air falbh uainn, 

Ged a shiubhlainn leth Alb' agus corr ; 

Cha-n fhaic mi 'n coinneamh no 'n armailt, 

Fear do bheusan, do dhealbh, a's do neoil. 

Dhomhsa b'aithne do bheusan, 

Bha thu ciuin mar ghath greine tre cheo ; 

Bha thu ascaoin na'm b'fheudar, 

'S ann a'd aodann a dh'eireadh an colg. 

'S tu chaisgeadh an eucoir, 

'S a sheasadh gu treun leis a' choir ; 

A's cha ghabhadh tu deis-laimh, 

Bho fhear a thug ceum ann am broig. 

Bu tu deadh fhear-an-tighe, 

'S ann a bhitheadh an caitheamh mu d'bhord ; 

Bu tu poitear na dibhe, 

'Nuair a tharladh dhuit suidhe 's tigh-osd'. 

Bha thu fialaidh— 's bu dh'gheach, 

Bha thu 'shiolach nan cridheachan mor : 

A'd' cheann-riaghailt air buidheann, 

'S ann bha 'chiall ann am bruidhinn do bheoil. 

Bu tu sealgair a' mhunaidh, 

'S ro mhaith dhireadh tu mullach nan sron ; 

Le do chuilbheir 's maith cumadh, 

'S trie a leag thu air uilinn fear-croic'. 

'S an am dol air thurus, 

B' e do mhiann paidhir chuileanan borb ; 

Bu tu an t-iasgair air buinne, 

Le do mhorbha geur guineach a' d dhorn. 

Faodaidh 'n eihd 's an ruadh-bhoc, 

'S an damh mullaich, bhi uallach 's an fhrith, 

Tha 'm bradan tarra-gheal a' cluaineis, 

Feadh shruthaibh a's chuartaig gun sgios. 

Tha do mhial-choin a' bruadar, 

Bhi 's a' gharbhlaich a' ruagadh an fheidh, 

Tha na h-armaibh fo ruadh-mheirg, 

'S lamh gu 'n dearbhadh 'san uaigh a cheann tiom. 

'S ann bha 'n aoidh ann ad aodann, 

'S trie a rinn thu rium faoilte, fhir mhoir ! 

'S trie a ghlae thu air laimh mi, 

'S bhiodh d' fhuran a's d' fhailte 'na lorg.

Snatches of Song. 569 

'S trie a ruisg mi mo bheachd riut, 

'Nuair bhiodh smuairean no airtneal 'gam leon, 

'S chuireadh sugradh do chnacais, 

Air chul gach aon acaid bhiodh orm. 

Gur a cruaidh learn do chlann, 

'Bhi fo mhulad, fo ehampar, 's fo bhron ; 

Dh' fhalhh an taiee 's iad fann de 

O'n chaireadh do cheann-sa fo 'n fhoid. 

Nam biodh eiridh 's a' Cheapaich, 

'S gu-n eighte na gaisgich fo 'n t-srol, 

Gu-n robh leus air a' bhrataieh, 

Fear cho treun 's a bha ac' bhi fo 'n fhoid. 

Ach 's e tha mi ag acain, 

Thu bhi nis anns an Lagan a" tamh ; 

Air do dhuineadh fo leacan, 

'S nach duisg thu 's a' mhaduinn bho 'd phramh. 

'S e mo dhiubhail mar thachair, 

Thu bhi 's an uir an tasgaidh a' cnamh ; 

Fhir mo ruin a bha smachdail, 

Nach do chuir culaobh ri caraid no namh. 

The next contribution is still another death-song con- 

nected with Laggan. I took down these verses some sixteen 

years ago, but I had mislaid the paper on which they were 

written, and, indeed, had forgotten all about it, when 

preparing the vêrsion which appeared in the Celtic Magazine^ 

and attracted considerable attention, notwithstanding its 

imperfect state. I may be allowed to reproduce the 

prefatory note with which it was then introduced. " The 

cattle, at Blargie, in Upper Badenoch, being let loose on a 

sunny day in early spring, became frantic with delight at 

their novel and unexpectedly acquired freedom, and betook 

themselves to the hills, heedless of consequences. The 

herd—a young man named Macdonald— followed them as 

far as Drumuachdar, which extends, as the reader is aware, 

between Dalwhinnie and Dalnacardoch. While he traversed 

that solitary and sterile tract, the weather, then proverbially 

fickle, changed terribly. A blinding snow-storm set in, 

and the unfortunate lad never more found his way home. 

Among those who set out in quest of the lost herd was his

570 

The Hic^hland Monthly. 

leman, who is said to have composed her lover's elegy 

like the bereaved maiden much celebrated in Border 

Ministrelsy : 

— 

longer from thy window look, 

' No 

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 

No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 

Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 

No longer seek him east or west, 

And search no more the forest through ; 

For, wandering in the night so dark. 

He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.' 

The catastrophe of Drumuachdar was a favourite theme 

with the milk-maids of Kingussie and Laggan. For many 

years after the event, all the details connected with it were 

well-known to the songstresses ; 

— 

and, as many of them v/ere 

in the habit of improvising additional couplets to the 

distinctive air, it is impossible to sa}' how much of the 

ballad, as it now stands, beU^nged to it originally. On the 

other hand, I am aware that this version is not quite con- 

secutive—that lines (which I have heard) are awanting^ 

especially about the beginning and end." I am now able 

to give half-a-dozen additional couplets, which were sung 

by an old woman, known as Piuthair a' Bhalbhain. I have 

heard at least two more couplets— -the one expressing 

Captain Macpherson's scornful unconcern as to the fate of 

his cattle, and the other giving some account of the contents 

of the poor lad's pockets ! 

This ballad throws an interesting light upon the life 

and manners of the period that produced it. How strong 

were the ties that bound together those of the same kin ! 

The untimely end of a single herdsman threw whole 

districts into mourning, and has been sung with moistened 

eyes for six score years. 

'S fhir nan sul donna, 

Cha choma learn beo thu ; 

'S fhir nan sul miogach, 

B'e mo mhiann bhi do chodhail.

Suaichcs of Soiio. . 

Tha mo chridhe cho briste, 

Ri itealaich eoincin ; 

'S tha mo chridhe cho ciun'ta, 

Nach giulain e 'n cotan. 

'S ioma suil a bha sileadh, 

Eadar Raineach 's Drumuachdar ; 

La Fheill Bride 'san Earrach, 

Chaidh na h- aighean air fhuaireas. 

Tha mi sgith le bhi siubhal, 

Leacann dhubha Dhrumuachdair. 

Ged a fhuaireadh na h-aighean, 

cha-n fhaighcar am buachaill'. 

O ! 

'S ann bha 'n Domhnullach finealt, 

'Na shineadh 'san fhuaran ; 

'Na shineadh air 'uilinn, 

Gun aon duine mu 'n cuairt dha. 

Bha a cheann am preas aitinn, 

'S a chasan 'san luachair ; 

'S luchd nam biodagan croma, 

'Gearradh connaidh mu cuairt dha. 

571 

Ach 'struagh nach mise chaidh scachad, 

Mu 'n do mheih'ch am fuachd thu ; 

Le mo bhreacan diuth tioram, 

Dheanainn fhilleadh mu 'n cuairt duit 

'S cuach mhor uisge-beatha, 

'Chuireadh rugha 'nad ghruaidhean ; 

Uisge-beatha nam feadan, 

Air a leigeadh tri uairean ; 

'S grainne beaga de 'n chanal, 

Mu 'n deach d' anail am fuairead ; 

Agus bothan math cluthaicht', 

An deis a thughadh le luachair ; 

Teine mor air lar tighe, 

'Se gun deathach gun luath dhe. 

Tha do chinneadh 's do chairdean, 

Ro chraiteach an uair so ; 

Gu'n do chuir iad 'san ath thu, 

Gu's an d' thainig Fear Chluainidh. 

;

572 


Gu 's an d'thainig Clann Thamhais, 

Nach saradh an cruadal 

Gu's an d'thainig Clann Iain, 

An triuir bu shine 'sa b' uails' dhiu 

Gu's an d'thainig Clann Mhuirich, 

'S gach aon duine mar chual' e, 

; 

; ; 

'S ann bha 'n eigheach 'san sgreadail. 

Anns na creagan sin shuas bhuait 

Agus sHochd do dha sheanar, 

A sior-thional mu 'n cuairt duit. 

'Nuair a thainig do bhraithrean, 

Bha iad craiteach, bochd, truagh dhe 

'Nuair a thainig do phiuthar, 

Bha leann-dubh air a gruaidhean. 

'Nuair a thainig do mhathair, 

Gu-m b'i an t- asran truagh i 

; 

Bha a ceann air dhroch cheangal, 

'S a basan 'gam bualadh. 

Is cha b' fhas' e dha d' athair, 

Bha e casadh a ghruaige. 

'Nuair a thain' do bhean-diolain, 

Bha i spionadh a cuailein ; 

'S tha mi sgith 's mi bhi suibhal, 

Monadh dubha Dhrumuachdair. 

The following verses were composed by a deceased 

gentleman of Kingussie upon his wife, who died, as he 

tells us, within a year of their marriage. 

Cha n'eil dhe na bhliadhna 

Deich miosan air falbh, 

Bho fhuair mi coir air mo leannain, 

'S bha i ceanalt' an dealbh. 

Thug mise mo ghaol dh' i, 

'S bha i aonda gun chearb ; 

Bha i siobhalta, suairce, 

'S cha chualas a fearg. 

Cha robh ann mo run-sa 

Aon smuain 'san robh giamh ; 

Cha robh ann do chridhe 

Aon sireadh nach b'fhiach. 

;

Snatdies of Sono. 573 

Bha d'inntinn cho saor dhomh, 

'S bha i taomadh le ciall ; 

Bu tu caraid an fheum 'naich, 

Cha do threiCT thu e riamh. 

'S beag mo shunnd rl thiijhinn dhachaidh, 

'S cha n' eil mo thlachd 'san tigh-osd ; 

Ged a theid mi air astar, 

Cha n 'eil taitntas ami dhomhs ! 

Cha-n fhaigh mi toil-inntinn, 

Ged a chruinnicheadh mo stor ; 

Cha n'eil ann 'san t-saoghal, 

Ach faoineas is sgleo. 

A' cheud la chunnaic mi 'n tus thu, 

Thug mi run dhuit gun dail ; 

Dh' aithnich mise le firinn, 

Nach robh sith dhomh gu brach. 

Mur fhaighinn coir air a' mhaighdein, 

Nach robh m' aoibneas aig each ; 

Fhuair thu 'n t-urram, 's tu thoill e, 

Bha do shoillse gun smal. 

Bu bhoidheach rugha do ghruaidhean, 

'S ann bha 'n t-suairce 'n ad ghnuis', 

B' ainneamh samhladh do bhilean, 

Du'-ghorm, cridheil do shuil ; 

Mala chaol air deadh chumadh, 

A' cumail oirr' dian ; 

Slios mar channach 'sa' Cheitein, 

'Fas leis-fhein air an t-sliabh. 

'S mi 'nam shineadh air m' uilinn, 

Fo mhulad 's fo bhron, 

Tha mo shuilean gun sireadh, 

A' sileadh nan deoir. 

Cha-n fhaic mi mar b' abhuist, 

Mo ghradh tighinn 'am choir; 

B' eibhinn, aighearach, dileas, 

A Christina ! 

do phog. 

C ait an robh ann 'san duthaich, 

A thigeadh dlu air mo ruin ; 

Ann am buaidhean 'san giulan, 

Fhuair thu cliu bho gach aon. 

Ard-mheangan a' lubadh, 

Le measur air gach taobh ;

574 ^^^^ Highland Monthly. 

'S fuil rioghail nan Stiubhart, 

Ruith an duthchas 's a' chraoibh. 

Ged a theid mi do 'n leabaidh, 

Cha n' eil mo chadal ann buan ; 

Fad na h-oidhche gu maduinn, 

Tha do chagar 'nam chluais. 

Bidh mi bronach a' dusgadh, 

'S e mo dhiubhail ri luaidh ; 

Nach cluinn mi do ghaire, 

Mar a b' abhuist gun ghruaim. 

Cha-n ioghnadh mar tha mi, 

Chaidh mo ghradh chuir fo 'n fhoid 

Mas gann a fhuair mi air laimh i, 

Rinn i m' fhagail fo leon. 

Ach ged 'dhealaich am bas sinn, 

Tha nar Slanuighear beo ; 

'S tha mi 'n duil ann an am math, 

Gu-n cuir thu failt orm an gloir. 

Somewhat to relieve the sombre elegiac tone of an 

article too appropriate to this season of the declining year, 

I shall conclude with a gay and gallant lilt, whose buoyant 

measures, I first heard sung under circumstances which 

always continue to give it very pleasing associations in my 

mind. 

A ri li o, ci h-orannan, 

A ri horo, mo Cheiteag ! 

A ri li o, ci h-orannan. 

Latha dhomh bhi sraid-imeachd, 

'S mi mach am braigh Dhuin-Eidinn ; 

Thachair orm na saighdearan, 

A dh' fhaighneachd mi 's a' Bheurla. 

A ri li o, &c. 

Thachair orm. &c., 

'S gun thu'irt mi riu 's a' Ghailig, 

Co dh' araich luchd an fheile? 

A ri li o, &c. 

'S ann thu'irt iad gur i 'Ghaidhealtachd, 

An t-ait a b' fhearr fo 'n ghreine. 

'S gun d' thug iad a 'n tigh-osda mi. 

An t-or gun d' ghlac mi fhein ann. 

;

Snatches of Song. 5/5 

Thug iad dhomh ri phosadh, 

Nighean Dheors' mar cheile. 

'S ann thug iad dhomh ri ghiulain, 

Te dhubh nach sgur i fein dhomh ; 

'Ga giulain air mo ghualainn, 

'S nach fhuaghail i dhomh mo Icine. 

Ach, fhir theid thar na cuaintean, 

Na ceil mo dhuan nach leugh thu ; 

Mo shoraidh-sa gu 'm mhathair, 

'Si dh' araich gun eis mi 

Gu 'm phinthair is gu 'm bhrailhrean, 

'S gu Mairi bhain mo cheud ghaol. 

Mo mholachd gu na Frangaich, 

'N an campaichean cha teid sinn. 

'S olc a chuir an oige rium, 

'S a' ghoraiche le cheile ; 

Chuir mi feile cuachach orm, 

S' an cota ruadh mar eididh. 

'S trie bha mi 's tu sugradh, 

Am bruthaichean Ghlinn Kite ; 

Ag iomain a chruidh ghuanaich, 

'S 'sram fuadach feadh an t-sleibhe. 

; 

T. S.

5/6 The Highland Monthly. 

NOTES. 

Mr Maclean Sinclair has published a further instahnent of his 

"Gaelic Bards." This time he includes the bards between 17 15 

and 1765. There are many pieces here published for the first 

time; and all are annotated with historical, biographical, and linguistic 

notes. The little closely-printed volume extends to 260 

pages, and is very valuable to the Gaelic student. 

Mr D. W. Kemp has published a short and neat work detailing 

the life of "John Laurie, an Eccentric Sutherland Dominie" 

(Norman Macleod, of North Bank Street, Edinburgh). John 

Laurie was in Sutherlandshire as a dominie a generation or two 

ago, and jjublished a Tourist's Guide to the County. He was 

born in 1800, and died in 1872. His story is very interesting. 

Messrs Bryce & Son, Glasgow, issue a series of books which 

they entitle the " Spare Minute" series. They are dainty little 

volumes, tastefully got up and cheap. The one before us is by 

Mr Clouston, the well-known folk-lorist, and is entitled " Persian 

Tales." There are eight tales altogether, translated from the 

original Persian by Mr Clouston and the late Edward Behatsck. 

The stories are told with great vigour, and the oriental imagery 

has been prudently " plume-plucked." The booklet is a valuable 

one to the folk-lorist, and it ought to be interesting to the public. 

Mr Nutt contributes to Folklore of September a report on the 

last two years' research in " Celtic Myth and Saga." The report 

is clear and full ; Mr Nutt presents the various views of writers 

like Rhys and Zimmer in a concise manner, and passes a running 

commentary thereupon. We know of none more capable than 

Mr Nutt to pass an opinion on matters of Celtic mythology ; and 

we are sorry to see that the subject is now in a good deal of chaos. 

But light seems to be breaking in upon it. 

Mr D. Nairne, of the Chronicle, has published (privately and in 

the Invertiess Gaelic Society s Transactions) a brochure on " Highland 

Woods, Ancient and Modern." The work has been 

exceedingly favourably received, even getting the honour of 

quotation and comment in the leader columns of the Times 

newspaper.





With FORTY-FIVE ORIGINAL DRAWINGS and SKETCHES by the Author. 

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EDITED BY 

DUNCAN CAMPBELL, Editor, "Northern Chronicle" 


No. 46. JANUARY, 1893. Vol. IV. 


By D. Nairne. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE PROFESSOR EXECUTES A MANCEUVRK. 

" /^~^ OOD morning, father," said David, entering the 

VJT laird's room, while the light of the dull October 

morning was still dim ; 

" hope I find you in a more cheer- 

ful mood than yesterday. Caught Dr Grant at home, I 

presume, and were assured that you have been the victim 

of an uncomfortable fancy ?" 

" If your assumption refers to your last remark, my son, 

I am sorry to tell you that I was right and you were 

wrong," replied the laird, elbowing himself up in bed. 

" Don't say so, dear father." 

" There is no use beating about the bush, sonny ; the 

•doctor has just confirmed my own suspicions, that I may 

.not be intended much longer for this world !" 

" Oh ! don't 

speak so, father dear !" cried David, throw- 

" doctors are some- 

ing his arms about the old man's neck ; 

times mistaken ; and you look so well, it cannot surely be 

true !" 

37

57^ ^-^^ Highland Monthly. 

" There now, there now ; you must not excite me, my 

boy ; that is a first condition of my remaining alive. 

Recollect that, my son. My heart is weak and diseased, 

Pr Grant tells me— I implored him to speak straight and 

honest, and he did so, after I had convinced him that the 

worst would be no news to me. In the circumstances 

Davie— I have been thinking the matter over carefully— 

you had better leave Edinburgh alone for a time. You 

are young, and your studies, from the industrious way you 

read up, cannot suffer much for the loss of one session ; it 

will only be one." 

"All right, father." 

" Dr Grant, in fact, suggested that you could not be 

better employed than keeping your old dad alive. At 

least you can relieve me of worry in connection with those 

floods and other business matters, at which Richard is no 

good ; and, above all, see that I have as much peace and 

quietness as possible. Death is hovering about, and I 

must be prepared, as I hope to be, when he knocks !" 

" Father, it is terrible to hear you talk thus—terrible ! 

Why did you not, for all our sakes, take my advice, and 

endure doubt, which is, you know, never severed 

from hope, rather than face this cruel verdict of doom ?'' 

" Ah ! that is the way of youth ; but, you see, I am old, 

and, therefore, matter of fact. When one gets up in years, 

dear boy, a sensible man prefers to face the truth at its 

worst, and hope only for the next world. Whoever wrote 

' where ignorance is bliss,' and so on, should have been 

pilloried as a rank criminal in the folly he preached. 

What say you ?" 

" Don't joke, father." 

"That is just what I am going to do— ^joke and laugh 

unless you, as my private physician, 

all the day long ; and 

don't put on a more cheerful face, you will be dismissed 

forthwith." 

About the laird's manner there was an infectiousness 

which made converts to his every mood ; and as the con- 

•

A Strmtge Revenge. 579 

versation went on in a livelier strain, David's eyes ceased to 

glisten, and he found himself smiling at his father's sallies. 

In the young breast, hope clings to and thrives upon a 

straw. David began to argue with himself that where 

there was so much sprightliness and apparent health, 

death might not have yet found a lurking place. 

" There is another matter, by the bye," resumed the 

laird, reverting to his serious vein, " which I wish to talk 

about, though it concerns Richard more than anybody else. 

It would be better, I think, were his marriage hastened on 

a bit." 

David started, and his face paled; but, fortunately, the 

laird failed to notice the effect of his words. 

" Flo would not object, I suppose ?" he added. 

" I— I think not ; and 

perhaps, as you say, father, the 

sooner the marriage takes place the better—for everybody." 

He might have added— " It will quench for ever the 

wicked hope, which I have striven against these io^w days, 

and which came, like a thing of evil, unbidden, that I 

might gain the woman I love by encouraging Richard's 

perfidy." 

Little did he think that this small voice of the tempter, 

now so half-heartedly combatted, was yet to have terrible 

consequences. Could the future have at this moment been 

revealed to him by the horoscope of a seer, he would have 

sought heaven's protection on his knees, or have fled for 

ever from the precincts of that doomed building. 

" It has struck me," continued the laird, " that Richard 

has been unusually quiet and taciturn lately. Has he been 

having a tiff with Flo ? Somehow it has occurred to me 

more than ever for some time that she is not quite so gay 

now, poor lassie, as when she first came to the castle." 

" I know of no quarrel, father." 

" Of course not ; they'll not tell you of their tiffs and 

cooings, you may be sure. But about Richard 

" 

" Here he is, father, to speak for himself" 

Richard had entered the room hastily, looking hot and 

flurried, but stopped abruptly when he saw his brother.

580 


They had not talked much to each other since the incident 

of the Fir Walk, and the news he had to communicate 

were not of a nature, bearing as it did on the Somertons, 

he cared to discuss in David's presence. 

" A letter for you, father," he said, studying the handwriting 

with a look in which curiosity and anxiety co "- 

bined ; 

" may I open it ?" 

" Pray do—a tenant's grumble, no doubt." 

" It is from Professor Somerton," announced Richard, 

with a start. 

ing. 

" What ?" queried the laird, pausing in his toilet mak- 

" From the Professor, who has, I learned this morning, 

left The Hall unexpectedly." 

Adjusting his glasses, the laird read aloud:— "Professor 

Somerton and his daughter regret that a matter of urgent 

business has called them away sooner and in a greater 

hurry than they expected, and before they could do them- 

selves the long delayed, but always anticipated honour, of 

calling at the castle and making the acquaintance of Mr 

Stuart and his family ; but circumstances still allow of the 

hope that they will yet know each other better in the near 

future." 

" A strange thing," remarked the laird, " to write such a 

letter to me after living for months within a mile of the 

castle, and remaining invisible the whole time." 

Know each other better in the near future ? What 

did it mean ? And as he asked himself the question, 

David fixed his eyes enquiringly upon his brother. 

" He's an eccentric old fellow, dad," remarked Richard, 

avoiding his brother's look, but detecting its intent, " and 

evidently a believer in the ' adage the least said soonest 

mended.' I am off to tell the news." 

Instead of doing so, however, Richard took a more 

circuitous and less frequented route to his own apartments, 

which he reached without encountering any member of the 

household. Having carefully locked the door from the 

.

— — 


inside, he threw himself into a chair with an ejaculatory 

*' Good Heavens," and proceeded to read the following 

remarkable (and undated) epistle : 

" Dear Sir,—When this reaches your hands, my 

daughter and I will have travelled many miles on the mail 

coach en route for our first destination, which is EdinburGjh. 

Seeing you h-^ve not, in accordance with our compact, 

visited the Hall for more than a week, our departure must 

appear sudden, if not altogether inexplicable ; 

but 

it is both 

consistent with my business engagements in the first placet 

and in the second place with my humane instincts and 

principles. 

•'I need-scarcely recapitulate what has transpired between 

us. You made me an offer for my beloved daughter's 

hand, and I pointed out to you, carefully, and, I hope, with 

due emphasis, the wrong, provided I sanctioned your 

advances, that would be inflicted upon a certain lady to 

whom you have the good fortune, or, as you say, the 

misfortune, to be engaged. At the same time, I impressed 

upon you confidentially— I say, confidentially—that the 

remedy lay in your own hands, in the shape of that powder, 

valuable as rubies, I entrusted to your care. Towards 

nobody else would I have shewn that consideration and 

generosity I have extended to you. 

" Your happiness is at your own disposal ; do not 

hastily decide it ; so far, your delay shews a spirit of 

wisdom that commends you. 

" My daughter and I considered—also having regard to 

business, as I said before— that in the circumstances we 

should depart, at least for a time, and so leave you entirely 

uninfluenced in deciding whether, by fulfilling my condi- 

tions, you will qualify yourself to again solicit the honour 

of her hand. In other words, sir, you are thrown upon 

your own responsibility, plus the assurances already and 

orally given, that by the fulfilment of these conditions 

your unfortunate lad}/—unfortunate, that is, in not being 

able to retain your affections 

ivill never love you again.


One human soul will thus be rescued from cruel unhappiness 

; that is all I desire, one result that will give me 

happiness. 

" In the event of your deciding upon the experiment, 

the results of which I guarantee, you must at once cojne to 

me. My address lies at the Post-Ofifice awaiting your 

pleasure for not moi-e than ten days. 

" Should the powder not be used, then I desire you to 

bnrn it with all dispatch ; for on no account would I risk 

this great and revolutionising secret to discovery, except 

that I was convinced of your implicit honour." 

Richard read the letter twice throuc^h, slowly and 

deliberately ; and the more he read and realised its meaning, 

the more apparent became the agitation under which 

he laboured. Then he threw the paper—carefully written 

it was, and slightly scented—from him with a gesture of 

worry and impatience, and went to the window—one on 

the third story of the castle, and commanding an extensive 

view of the firth, and the diversified, mountainous country 

beyond, until the eye rested upon the snow-capped heights 

of Ross and Sutherland. It was a beautiful morning. A 

sloop in full sail was beating down seawards before the 

fre.sh but somewhat unfavourable breeze ; several fishing 

boats from Cromarty lay to in search of herring ; and the 

slanting rays of the sun threw charming tints on water and 

headland. The whole formed a superb picture. He had 

chosen this room for the magnificence of the panorama, for, 

untutored as they were, he had some artistic sensibilities ; 

but the mind must be responsive to Nature to appreciate its 

moods ; and while the scene before him was calm and 

peaceful, a mental storm raged fiercely within him. His 

face grew paler still, his features were drawn, his mouth 

hard set. Turning away from the window, he resumed his 

former seat, and placed his face between his hands. 

The laird was right ; for a week past Richard had been 

retired and thoughtful to a measure that even surprised 

himself With no responsibilities to draw him out, he had


developed the manner and style of a jaunty easy going 

youth, and found the role agreeable. Now that he had 

brought a crisis upon himself, and for the first time realised 

what it was to love a woman passionately, and not passively, 

a power for the thoughtful consideration of matters had 

risen above his flippancy and impulsiveness. 

Could he trust the Professor ? Why not ? What could 

be more noble than this gentleman's desire to reduce the 

world's misery, than his anxiety not to promote his 

daughter's happiness at the cost of that of another woman, 

whom he knew nothing of beyond the fact that she was a 

woman, and that she also loved ? These were sentiments 

which did honour to the Professor and his daughter ; he 

alone was the black-hearted villain of the play. 

Still, an uneasy feeling would insinuate itself upon him^ 

and he neither could locate its cause nor define its meaning. 

When this was the case, his thoughts would revert to the 

mysterious love medicine the Professor had almost thrust 

upon him. Was it within the bounds of possibility that 

the old man was partially mad, and had a craze for poison- 

ing people on the maniacal principle that a woman who is 

jilted were better dead ? 

The thought made great beads of sweat stand on 

Richard's forehead. He sprang to his feet and paced the 

room for a time till he argued away that terrible suggestion. 

In all his interviews with the Professor he had found him 

intelligent and kind-hearted ; 

had he not written the laird a 

polite note, in which he expressed a hope for future friend- 

ship ? had he not rather discountenanced—both he and his 

daughter, for humane reasons—the relationship he(Richard) 

had urged upon them ? and what incentive to such a piece 

of diabolical wickedness could a stranger have among 

strangers? No, granted his sanity, which he could not 

doubt, there was not, he concluded, anything about the 

Professor to raise suspicions as to the honesty of his 

motives. 

Would he, then, administer the powder ? That was the 

notwithstanding all this 

nerve thrilling question ; and

584 


debating in tiie Professor's favour, it increased his pallor 

and multiplied his heart beats, to confront a definite 

answer. He put it another way ; could he afford to lose 

Julia, and face life with a womaii who was comparatively 

colourless in contrast, and whom he only respected and did 

not love ? Ah, that was the more effectual aspect of it 

" Oh ! God pity me, but I must do it," he at last 

exclaimed, sinking upon the bed, " And comfort poor Flo." 

He had decided, as the Professor, with his deep insight 

into human nature knew he would, to risk all consequences 

for the sake of his own happiness. At that moment the 

mail coach was careering over the wind swept-wastes of 

Strathspey, and none conversed more gaily with his fellow 

passengers than Professor Somerton. He was confident of 

success. 

Richard was presently aroused by hearing his father's voice, 

talking in merry strain with someone who was approaching 

along the lobby in his company. He barely had time to 

avert remark by unlocking the door, when the old man 

appeared with Miss Flora upon his arm, laughing at his 

sallies and blushing simultaneously at the subject of them. 

" Here you are, my boy," cried the laird in high glee, 

" here is your sweetheart come to ask you why she is not 

yet made mistress of the Castle," and he laughed heartily 

at the mutual confusion the remark produced. 

It was the confusion of guilt and innocence. 

'• Please, Mr Stuart," Flora pleaded, " do not speak in 

that way—Richard and I are not in so great a hurry as you 

have suddenly taken it into your head to be, you funny 

man." 

" What is it, father," asked Richard, keeping his back to 

the light, in the hope that his emotion would not be 

observed. 

" Simply this, my son, I have been thinking your 

wedding may take place sooner than I fixed some months 

ago. How do you like that, eh ? I am getting old, you 

see, and the sooner you are in double harness, and settle 

!


down to playing the part of the la'rd, the better. Flora is 

willing—now, let me speak, Miss Modesty—what do you 

say to Christmas ?" 

" I think, father," said Richard in a voice so shaky that 

the laird looked up in surprise, " Flora and I will best dis- 

cuss that matter ourselves ; don't you think so, Flo ?" 

"Whichever way you think best," was Flora's quiet reply. 

" The boy is stammering with gratitude," thought the 

laird— " Has he found me out ?" was Richard's alarming 

query. 

"Well, well," said the laird, "just as I anticipated ; you 

resent an old man's interference, and never thank him even 

for the concession he has so generously made. Off with 

you then, and lay your heads together ; but not one week, 

mind, will I grant you this side of Christmas." 

" Come away, Richard," cried Flora, making for the 

passage, with a happy little laugh, and he followed her, 

glad to escape from a situation he felt too dreadfully 

awkward. When they reached the parlour, Richard 

entered with such apparent reluctance that Flora looked 

up in smiling protest. Her smile suddenly vanished. 

" What is wrong, dear Richard, you look so pale ; are 

you ill ?" 

" I don't feel quite well this morning, Flo, 'pon my 

word, I really don't ; in fact, I am going to ask the gover- 

nor for a holiday. We'll put this matter off for a little, 

don't you think so ? There is no particular hurry for a 

day or two." 

" Just as you like, dear. Say you love me, and give me 

a kiss," she added, raising her face to his, " and I will be 

content and happy." 

He kissed her, but no words of affection came from his 

lips ; and Flora wondered why his kiss did not thrill her as 

it had been wont to do ; why also he looked so cold and 

pale ; and why her own heart began to sink with a vague 

misgiving.


CHAPTER X. 

GUILTY. 

Just as the night was descending, and the stars began to 

twinkle through rifts in the dark cloud masses, a trap 

drove briskly away from the Castle, followed with a cheery 

" God bless you, my boy," from the laird. The passenger 

was Richard, off, as the laird and his household understood, 

for a short holiday in the Scottish Capital. He looked 

haggard, and behaved nervously ; 

his appearance was such, 

in fact, while admitting the seeming necessity for a change 

of scene, the laird had some misgivings as to the wisdom of 

Richard undertaking a night iourney on the mail coach. 

" Richard, poor fellow, has not been himself for some 

little time," he said to the old nurse and housekeeper as he 

closed the door ; 

" a touch of Edinburgh life will do him 

good." 

A short distance from the Castle, the highway took a 

sudden turn westwards, bringing the gloomy old building 

in full view of the traveller. As long as he could, Richard 

kept his eyes rivetted upon his home. He little dreamt 

that never again would he cross its threshold ; but a 

foreboding of evil to come had seized upon him. 

Immediately beneath the corner turret was Miss Flora's 

room ; the light glimmered dimly. Everything had fitted 

in marvellously with Richard's plans that day. It seemed 

as if fate had decreed that whatsoever he had resolved to 

do should be successfully accomplished. In the course of 

the afternoon Flora had been seized with a violent head- 

ache, a bane of female existence to which she was not an 

unfrequent victim. Richard knew that his opportunity 

had come, and suddenly announced that he would proceed 

by coach that night. Flora was confined to her room all 

evening, and there Richard had said his farewell. He had 

intended to solicit the favour of her joining him in a glass


of wine, knowing it was her favourite remedy when so pro- 

strated ; but she anticipated her evils. 

" Take a cup of wine before you start," she said 

soh'citously, " you look so ill, Richard dear," 

He brought the wine himself, smilingly protesting there 

was no necessity for calling a servant ; and when he 

returned he was paler still, and his hand shook until the 

liquid spilt on the salver. When Flora raised the glass with 

a loving toast for his welfare and safe homing-coming, he 

started so perceptibly that she regarded him with a look of 

enquiry as the wine touched her lips. 

" A cold shiver," he hurriedly explained ; but in his 

imagination—who can account for such mysteries otherwise 

;than subjectively—he had distinctly heard the words : 

" Dash that fatal cup from her hand." 

It was too late—the glass was empty ; the deed had 

been done, come good of it, come evil ! He 

felt guilty as a 

criminal. A hurried embrace, and he had rushed from the 

apartment, leaving Flora's loving assurances half uttered. 

The whole scene re-enacted itself in his brain as he 

drove along. He could not keep his eyes from that upper 

window. The powder would be slow in its operation, the 

Professor had assured him ; would Flora already be feeling 

drowsy? It would be " a dreamless slumber !" Why, was 

that not a poetic description of death itself? A moment 

more, and he would get a last glimpse of the Castle—and 

that x.indow. 

" Stop, stop," he shouted to John, and the vehicle was 

drawn up with an abrup^ness that made the pony rear. 

alarm. 

" What's wrang, Maister Richard ? queried John in 

It was only the laird lighting his private sitting-room, 

but the additional light had conjured up in Richard's brain 

a sudden illumination of the Castle and an alarmed rush to 

Flora's room by its terror-stricken inmates. 

" It's nothing, John ; only one likes to get a last 

glimpse of the old place— life is uncertain, you know."

588 The B.i^-Jiland Monthly. 

" Sic pairtin's are tryin' things for a budy,'' sympathised 

John, recaHing his last interview with Chirsty. " Are ye 

tae be lang awa', may I speer ?" 

" That will depend upon circumstances." 

" Yer health, and sic like ?" 

"Just so." 

" Like they Ha' folk, yer depairture's gey sudden," 

pursued John, despite Richard's apparent disinclination 

for conversation. " It'll be a lang time till we see them 

atween the een again, sir." 

" They are coming back in a short time, I understand." 

" It's no verra like it." 

" Why ?" 

" Folk intendin' tae come back dinna get their things 

packed up for America," replied John with a chuckle* 

proud of being better informed than his young master, and 

he " sic freens wi' the gay leddy tae." 

" How do you know that?" Richard asked with surprise. 

^' Oh, I jist hae speeshial means o' information, sir," was 

John's response, determined to magnify the case. 

" Are you certain about this, John ; for allow me to 

tell you that I know something of the Professor's inten- 

tions, and where he is at the present moment, in fact." 

"As certain's I'm sittin' in this gig driving this dourheaded 

mare. Gee up, ye auld fule, an' no caper an' glower 

that way. D'ye no ken a milestane yet ?" and with a firm 

application of the whip, he again got the animal into smooth 

working. " As certain's I've een in my heid," he added. 

" You saw the things, as you call them, packed, labelled, 

and addressed ?" 

" I did every bit o' that." 

"Well, I'm a little surprised, John." 

It was certainly mysterious, Richard reflected, after 

what the Professor had written ; but, perhaps, when he 

reached Edinburgh he had been compelled to change his 

plans. 

" Oh ! 

I see, John, the Professor has changed his mind, 

since he went south."

A Strange Revenue 589 

" Not a bit o'd." 

" Ah ! then, when was the packing done?" 

" Before he left, sir ; he would be wrightin' the addresses 

for the boxes himsel', and the hale gingbang are gaun to 

New York." 

This was unquestionably puzzling to Richard ; but if 

the Professor intended to leave the country, he argued, all 

the more lucky it was that he was going to meet him- 

Once out of the country, Julia would be lost to him for 

ever. 

" A gey queer lot," ejaculated John ; 

sair missed." 

" they'll no be 

This summary verdict elicited no response, and the 

two drove into Inverness after a prolonged silence. 

That night Richard formed one of the outside pas- 

sengers by a special mail it was found necessary to run 

to Perth. As the coach clattered along the street, the 

guard merrily blowing his bugle, he wrapped himself in his 

plaid, withdrew as far as possible from his travelling com- 

panions, knowing he would spend a night dismal in itself, 

and one which wouldberendered doublyuncomfortablebyhis 

state of anxiety, and a host of undefined fears that he could 

not shake off. What, he asked himself over and over again, 

might now be transpiring at the Castle ? 

Just then David was pacing his bedroom in a state of 

mental agitation which forbade sleep. 

" And he's following that woman to Edinburgh," he 

how will it all end? Poor 

muttered, "perfectly infatuated ; 

Flo." 

But his sympathy for Flora, one would have suspected 

from his face and manner, was qualified by a thought, perhaps 

a hope, which was to him not ungratifying. 

[to be contixced].

-590 The Highland Monthly. 

SIR 

THE FIRST LORD REAY. 

DONALD MACKAY of Farr, raised to the Peerage 

as Lord Reay in 1628, was a notable man in his 

day and generation. Strange stories regarding him are 

still told by the peasantry of the Mackay country. By 

many of his contemporaries he was believed to be in close 

communion with Auld Nick, and it is said that all the 

fairies, witches, and wizards of the north were ever ready 

to obey his slightest behest. Aided thus powerfully he 

might have been a great benefactor of his county, but his 

schemes for the improvement of Sutherland were constantly 

thwarted by the " good men " of the district, whose long 

prayers on more than one occasion caused a stampede 

among Sir Donald's fairy labourers. 

He did not follow in the beaten path of his ancestors, 

and this, in a measure, accounts for his extraordinary 

reputation. The hot blood of his forbears led them to 

pillage and murder their neighbours. They made surrep- 

titious raids into Sutherland, Assynt, or Caithness, and 

with a " strong hand " lifted the " marts " and the " muttons'' 

of these countries. Upon occasion they would patch up 

their petty feuds by the sacrifice of a sister's or a daughter's 

happiness, and, descending from their rugged mountains, 

lead their " tail" to fight in the forefront of Scotland's battle. 

Times were changed. A politic marriage and a timely 

death had placed the Stuart upon the English throne. The 

Earls of Sutherland and Caithness had become too power- 

ful to be attacked with impunity, and the Chief of the 

Mackays sought out " fresh fields and pastures new." Sir 

Donald had heard of the fame of the King of Denmark, 

and, buckling on his broadsword, determined to fight under 

the man whom he describes as " ane resolutt soldett." The 

" Bratach " of the Mackays was unfurled in a foreign land.

The First Lord Reay. 591 

and the slogan of the clan struck terror into a foreign foe. 

On many a hard-fought field Sir Donald and his men distinguished 

themselves ; and when he returned to Britain 

his fame preceded him. An impecunious monarch scented 

the hard-won gold ^ from afar, and an accommodating subject 

had his name inscribed in the Roll of Peers. As Lord 

Reay, the Chief of the Mackays returned to Germany 

surrounded by the chivalry of the north. But dark days 

were in store for him. 

The gentlemen of Fife of about three centuries ago had 

an evil reputation as slanderers and tale-bearers. The 

great chief of Kintail, and the two Island Kings of the 

west, Macleod and Macdonald, each became victims of the 

unbridled tongues of these busybodies. Little wonder 

therefore that " they swair a grete aith to heid the fsTst 

Fifer" who crossed their path, or set foot on their domains. 

Another Highland Chief when in the zenith of his fame 

had his honour tarnished. The story of the dispute 

between Lord Reay and Ramsay is dark and involved. It 

would appear that Ramsay accused Reay of certain treason- 

able speeches in reference to the levies raised by the 

Marquis of Hamilton for the assistance of the King of 

Sweden. Ramsay affirmed that Reay had said Hamilton's 

troops •' war intendit for som uthir purposs quhilk wold 

break out in its awin tym "—darkly hinting at an attempt 

on Hamilton's part to claim the throne. Accuser and 

accused being brought face to face, in the presence of the 

King, mutual recriminations ensued, and, in the result, the 

indignant Highland Chief challenged Ramsay to mortal 

combat. A High Court of Chivalry was specially constituted 

for the occasion, and the 20th November, 1631, was 

fixed as the date of the trial. From the records of the period, 

we learn that Reay appeared before the Court, ushered in 

by the herald, and accompanied with his sureties— Sir 

•1 Sir Donald Mackay, in one of his letters, complains of the small pay given 

by his commander, and adds—" But ifif he opines not his pourss, I will sik ane 

uthir maister ; the King of Speen is ane trew man, and ane sôod payer."

.592 


Pierce Crosby, Sir Walter Crosby, Sir William Forbes, Sir 

Robert Gordon, and Sir William Evers. He was 

" apparelled in black velvet trimmed with silver buttons, 

his sword in a silver embroidered belt, and his order of a 

Scottish baronet about his neck, and so, with reverence, 

entered into his pew, his counsel, Dr Reeves, standing 

by." 

It is satisfactory to learn that the gallant chief behaved, 

as became the head of a warlike clan, " like himself (tall, 

swarthy, black, but comely) very port-like, and of staid 

countenance." Ramsay was ushered in by another herald, 

his sureties being Lord Roxburgh and Lord Abercorn, 

"and his deport like himself, stern and brave, a fair, ruddy, 

yellow-headed bush of hair ; his apparel scarlet, overlaced 

with silver, the ground hardly discerned, and lined with 

sky-coloured plush, but unarmed without a sword. After 

his reverence to the Court, he faced the appellant, who 

alike sterned a countenance at him." 

The sentence of the Court was given as follows : 

" The Lord Constable [Earl of Lindsey] taking the appeal 

in his hands, and folding it up, put it into the glove which 

the Lord Reay has cast forth in the Court for a pawn in 

this behalf, and held the Bill and glove in his right hand, 

and in his left hand the answer and glove of David Ram- 

say, and then joining the Bill and answer and the gloves, 

and folding them together, he, with the Earl Marshal [Earl 

of Arundel] adjudged a duel between the parties." 

The duel was to be fought on the 12th April following, 

in the Tuttlefield, " between sun and sun." The king and 

Court were to be present. The weapons were to be— " a 

long sword, four foot and a half in length, hilt and all, in 

breadth, two inches ; 

— 

a short sword, a yard and four inches 

in length, hilt and all, in breadth, two inches ; a pike, 

fifteen foot in length, head and all ; a dagger, nineteen 

inches in length, hilt and all, in breadth an inch." These 

-weapons were " each of them to be witJi a point ;" but the

The First Lord Reay. 593 

combatants " might abate of the length and breadth if they 

thought fit." 

The day of trial was fast approaching, and Lord Reay, 

like many another, experienced how fitful a thing was 

popular favour. Friends, relations, and those who were 

wont to fawn upon him in the heyday of his prosperity, now 

held aloof, and the gallant chief, desirous to appear in a 

manner befitting his birth and quality, addresses the 

following pathetic letter to the Earl of Carlisle : 

"Right Honorable,—May it please yor honor that a 

reall frend is best knowne in aduersitie. I have in all this 

tyme of my trialles and trubles reserved yor lordship to 

the after shott as the surest piller of my fortunes under 

god and our gracious soveraign our king. Good my lord 

soe is my present estate that I am brought soe loe an o\v 

of meanes and monies that I know not what way to subsist 

until the day of my triall. Neither know I what way to 

furnisch myselfe wth any kind of equipage fitt for my 

birth or quality except his Matie be so graciouslie pleased 

as to cause to be given to me part of the monies wch is 

dew unto me. I caused a petition to be presented to his 

Matie, but had noe answer thereof so that I most humblie 

request yor lordship to present this my other petition to 

his Matie, and to return me an answer by this noble 

bearer my frend what I may expect seeing the time is so 

neare, and I left destitute of all other helpe, by reason that 

I did only trust into those monies due unto me heere. I 

think it the greatest of my misfortunes that I am brought 

into this straight wch I think I have to blutt paper vvii'i. 

I have received fifteene hundred pound since I came last 

into England, and his Matie oweth me as j-et two 

thousand five hundred pounds. I desire now but the odd 

five hundred pound to do my present business wch is his 

Maties owne service more then mine and I am willing not 

to presse the other tu'o thousand pound till God makes ;mi 

end of this trialles. Although his Matie did owe me none 

yet without offence I may say his Matie is obleeged in 

honor, not to suffer me to come to ruin or disgrace at tins 

time seeing that it is for his royall safty that I ha\e 

brought myself into this necessitie. As yor Ip. has ev( r 

beine my surest patron and truest frend I expect this f,i\-. r 

once more, amongst the rest of yor lordships manifou d 

— 

38

594 T^^^ Highland Monthly. 

courtusies shown to me, as to thinke whether I live or die 

that 1 am 

" Yor Lordshipps moste humble seruant 

"D. Reay. 

" March this 29th." 

Addressed— 

" To the rycht honourable my very noble good 

lord the Earl of Carlile, Viscount Donkester, etc." 

Endorsed— 

" 1632— Mackay to my lord ; March 29." 

The duel was postponed by order of the Kin^ until the 

17th of May, but five days before this he decided that it 

should not take place, and committed both Lord Reay and 

Ramsay to the Tower till they found sureties to keep the 

peace. 

Of Lord Reay's after life, and of his inlêresting 

matrimonial ventures, we say nothing further than that, 

in regard to the last, from his own curious confession, it 

would appear he could say with truth, in the words of 

Shakespere : 

— 

" Full many a lady 

I have eyed with best regard, and many a time 

The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 

Brought my too diligent ear." 

At anyrate he had to pay sweetly for going off with Lizzy 

Tamson. 

MURRAY ROSE.



AND 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Sev. Robert Macpherson, Treasurer, 1839.- Mr Donald Macdonald, Treasurer, 

IN 

1839-S9.— Question as to Responsibility for Maintenance of Poor. 

Compulsory or Voluntary Assessment.—The Latter still in Vogue, 1841.- 

Difficulty of Providing Funds.—Proposal to fit up Dunbar's Hospital as 

Poorshouse.—Negotiations and New Proposals ; the latter entertained, 

but only so long as Voluntary Assessment should suffice.—A Legal 

Assessment held necessary in 1843.— Poor Law Act, 1845, ^nc' Dunbar's 

Hospital used as Poorshouse.— Removal of Library.— Position Maintained 

by Kirk-Session throughout.— Its Course Justified by Decisions of Court 

of Session.—Enquiry by Committee of Parochial Board, 1890-91.—Their 

Report Adopted. — New Poorshouse Built, and Old Hospital again 

Let.— Dr Macdonald Treasurer for half a century.—Mr Allan Mac- 

donald associated with him as Joint Treasurer.— Recent Legacies. 

Conclusion. 

May, 1839, the Rev. Robert Macpherson took charge 

of the Hospital Accounts until October in the same 

year. Mr Donald Macdonald, preacher of the gospel, was 

appointed Treasurer in October, 1839, with the same allow- 

ance as had been granted to Mr Matheson, and discharged 

the duties until 1889. The accounts continued to be made 

up as last described, an annual statement of revenue and 

expenditure, and details of disbursements for public burdens 

being submitted for audit to the Kirk-Session. 

Owing to the great increase of pauperism, a difficult 

question arose in 1837 relative to the maintenance of the 

poor. Compulsory assessment had been made permissible 

by the Statute 1579, when the Justices in Counties and the 

Magistrates of Burghs were made the legal guardians of the 

—

596 


poor ; but as the revenues arising from church-door coU 

lections and other sources were for a long time generally 

found sufficient, no compulsory assessments were imposed. 

Under later statutes, and especially the Act of 1672, the 

heritors of each Landivard Parish were conjoined with the 

Kirk-Session in administering the legal provision which 

had been provided for the poor by the Act of 1579, and 

other funds available for their relief; but as the main 

source continued to be the church-door collections, these 

practically continued under the special charge of the Kirk- 

Session—no compulsory assessment being made. In 

burghs the obligation to maintain the poor long remained 

on the Magistrates, in landward parishes on the Kirk- 

Session and heritors jointly ; 

but in some burghal-landward 

parishes a practice had arisen by the early part of the nine- 

teenth century of treating the burgh as one parish, the 

country district as another. This was found to be illegal in 

the case of the parish of Dunbar by the House of Lords in 

1835. Where a parish contained a Royal Burgh within it, 

the jurisdiction fell to the Kirk-Session, the Magistrates 

and the landward heritors conjointly. 

But up to the beginning of this century less than one 

hundred parishes had adopted compulsory assessment, and 

in the case of the Parish of Inverness and Bona, the whole 

burden of maintaining the poor appears to have been long 

borne by the Kirk-Session alone, out of church-door 

collections and Trust funds, with some precarious con- 

tributions raised by voluntary associations. 

In time this burden became excessive, and the Kirk- 

Session urged the necessity for a legal assessment. A 

Board of Administrators for the parish was accordingly 

constituted, which met half-yearly, and the Session's pro- 

posals were submitted. But they were met by great 

opposition and the allegation that the Session was in 

possession of funds, which should be applied to and 

exhausted in the relief of the poor before a compulsory 

assessment was levied ; 

the system of voluntary assessment


being still in favour with those who wished to avoid giving 

any contribution, and to put off as long as possible the 

adoption of a general assessment. The Session very 

properly replied that the funds they held were trust funds, 

of which the interest only was so applicable, and they 

598 


who meantime were sufifering ; the Treasurer being only 

able to pay one-half of their usual small allowances to the 

poor on his list, and having meantime borrowed iî2o from 

the bank to do even this. This meeting also requested the 

Kirk-Session to communicate to its Committee of Management 

a state of the funds it held ; and to concur with the 

Committee in the best mode of applying the funds, and 

moreover to communicate a state of the permanent claims, 

for lunatics and orphans, and the fixed claims exigible from 

the parish. It will be observed that the right of the Kirk- 

Session to administer the Hospital funds was not now 

contested. 

Voluntary assessment proved a failure, and only led to 

the incurring of debt by the Session. Their remonstrances 

were again unreasonably met by the assertion that they 

held unmortified monies, which ought to be first exhausted 

in paying off debts and maintaining the poor, and also by 

a proposal to use the Old Academy {i.e., Dunbar's Hospital] 

and " fit it up as a workhouse for the maintenance and 

employment of the poor." Such was the mode in which it 

was now proposed to deal with Dunbar's Hospital, intended 

for " poor persons to be placed therein by the Session," and 

to be partly maintained out of the interest of the 2000 

merks he left for the purpose, a preference to be given to 

any of his own name. A proposal to the above effect was 

sent to the Session for consideration as an intended motion. 

The Session at their meeting on i6th May, 1842,, 

expressed their decided opinion, only one member dis- 

senting, that all the moneys entrusted to them, whether 

destined to a particular purpose or not, were intended by 

the respective donors to be a permanent fund for the relief 

of the poor, except where the contrary was stated. They 

also pointed out that these funds had been uniformly con- 

sidered and preserved as such, and that, with one exception,, 

no instance had occurred during one hundred and thirty 

years of the capital being encroached on as proposed : the


exception being in recent years, where a member of the 

Session had contended that the money was intended for. 

immediate distribution ; consequently they considered it 

incompetent, illegal, and that it would be a breach of trust 

to alienate any part of the monies under their charge. 

They further pointed out that the debts in question were 

with 

not debts of the Kirk-Session but of the parish ; and 

regard to the proposal to provide a poorshouse, suggested 

that it should be furnished at the expense of the Board of 

Administration. They assented, however, to a proposed 

amendment, which was also before them, that the Kirk- 

Session should provide ^,50, to be placed at the disposal of 

the Committee for the use of the poor. Apparently nothing 

came of this. Further negotiations took place ; a new 

proposal was made to submit to the Kirk-Session certain 

queries, drawn up by the said Committee with a view to 

obtain an opinion of counsel ; but the Session declined to 

assent to the terms of the memorial ; 

and 

very naturally, 

as they believed, and they were justified in believing, that 

the statements made in it were incorrect. 

The next step was a meeting of the Legal Admin- 

istrators of the Poor, viz.. Magistrates, landward heritors, 

and Kirk-Session, at which the attendance seems to have 

been small. A motion and two amendments were put, and 

one of the latter was carried to the following effect : 

" That as the Session claims the exclusive administration 

of the funds, the)- should also have the exclusive management 

of the poor." The funds, of course, were the Hospital 

funds, left to the Session as Trustees. It is difficult to 

believe that such an unreasonable proposal, and one so 

contrary to the then existing law, could have been seriously 

made, much less carried. The Session repudiated it. 

Another statutory meeting of the Legal Administrators 

took place on ist August, 1842, when more reasonable 

counsels prevailed. Totally different proposals were made 

to the Kirk-Session relative to the animal proceeds and 

—

6oo The Ui^kland Monthly, 

interests of the Hospital funds, under deduction of public 

burdens and money specially destined, and in certain 

named proportions. These the Session entertained, and 

agreed to give three-fourths of the nett annual income of 

their trust funds, subject to the above deductions, as long as 

the voluntary scJieme should prove sufficient, and also the 

residue of their church collections /// aid of the voluntary 

contributions, after payment of precentors, catechists, 

beadles, and other contingent expenses. It was clearly 

pointed out that tins tvas only to be an experiment. This 

arrangement appears to have worked for a time. The 

Board of Administration asked for quarterly payments, but 

the Session deferred payment until their annual accounts 

were made up some two months later ; and for a time the 

Session handed over three-fourths of their annual balance to 

the Administrators, and one-fourth to a sinking-fund to 

extinguish debt. In July, 1843, a meeting of the Session 

took place, at which some of the principal heritors, or their 

representatives, were, by invitation, present to confer with 

them. An agreement was then arrived at, that it was no 

longer possible to support the poor by voluntary con- 

tributions, and that a legal assessment had become neces- 

sary. A Committee was appointed to support this view, 

and to prepare a report for the statutory meeting of Legal 

Administrators in August, it being then expected that a 

general enactment for Scotland, relative to provision for the 

poor, would be passed shortly. Apparently an assessment 

was laid on, as the Hospital accounts for 1843-44, show 

*' assessment for the poor, 7s 7^2^," evidently on the 

Hospital property. The following year the Board of 

Administrators appears to have been again summoned to 

revise the list of paupers, and provide funds for their main- 

tenance, either by legal assessment or voluntary con- 

tribution, for the ensuing year or half-year—a strange 

inconsistency. 

Early in 1845, with the prospect of the Poor Law Act 

8 and 9 Victoria coming into force—and none too soon 

—

The Hospital of Invei^ness. 60 

the Session enquired whether the Board were ready to 

furnish the rooms in the Hospital as a Poorshousc, as other- 

wise they would relet them ; 

and 

by 13th March got a 

reply, and were requested to warn out the tenants. This 

was accordingly done, and the old building was used as a 

Poorshouse for some years. 

In consequence the Library must, about this time, have 

been removed into the room above the late Session-House, 

attached to the High Church, where it remained until the 

building of an apse for an organ necessitated its removal 

in 1 89 1 to one of the rooms in the Female School, lately 

used as a Kindergarten School, in Academy Street. A 

new catalogue was made about the year 1794 ; another in 

1868 by Messrs Allan and Alexander Macdonald, which 

was revised and had the new books added to it by Mr John 

Macechern in 1890 ; and a new catalogue was made by Mr 

George Alexander Wilson in 1891, w^hen the whole library 

was re-arranged, and found to consist of 2894 volumes, 

21 volumes being missing. 

With the new Act of 1845 the dispute came to an end. 

A Parochial Board was constituted, and wisely adopted 

compulsory assessment ; and in May, 1846, six members of 

the Kirk-Session were nominated as members thereof for 

twelve calendar months ensuing. 

The Hospital account books show that the Kirk-Session 

throughout these negotiations continued to hold the trust 

funds and administer the revenues as they had done since 

1657, or earlier, and that what they contributed to the 

poors' funds, managed by the Board of Administrators, 

was handed over by them as Trustees, and for behoof of 

the poor, and only promised to be continued while a volun- 

tary assessment should be made in the parish. Subse- 

quently more than one attempt has been made to claim 

the administration of these funds, in whole or in part, for 

the Parochial Board ; 

but the Kirk-Session have success- 

fully resisted the attempt to displace them as Trustees. 

1

6o2 The Highland Mo7ithly. 

This course has been fully justified. Cases have been' 

tried between Parochial Boards and Kirk-Sessions upon 

this question, when the Court has held that monies left to 

the minister and Kirk-Session of a parish for the time 

being, for the benefit of the poor of the said parish, were 

not claimable by a Parochial Board, in respect that 

although the fund had been bequeathed for the benefit of 

the poor in the parish, yet the bequest was to the poor 

generally, and the parties in whom it had been vested for 

their benefit were the minister and Kirk-Session, as an 

independent body, aud not the Kirk-Session and heritors,, 

as legal guardians. 

A distinction has also been pointed out between the 

legal poor, those entitled to relief by statute, and " the poor 

of the parish." In another case, the Court was of opinion 

that the trust was to be regarded, not as a trust for the pro- 

per Administrators of the Poor, the Heritors and Kirk- 

Session, but as a trust vested in the Kirk-Session only \ 

that it was not, therefore, a trust to which the statute 

applied ; 

and the administration of the fund was permitted 

to remain in the hands of the Kirk-Session. In the case of 

the Hospital funds of Inverness, a very full enquiry was 

made by a Committee of the Parochial Board in 1890-91, 

when the Committee reported that they were satisfied that 

no part of the funds administered by the Kirk-Session for 

the poor are vested in the Heritors and Kirk-Session ; but 

that they are vested in the Kirk-Session alone, with the 

exception of a legacy of ^150, less duty, left by Collector 

Smith, at the joint disposal of the Kirk-Session and 

Magistrates. This money was, however, paid to the Kirk- 

Session in 1835, the Treasurer being authorised by the 

Session to grant a receipt, and has since been dealt with 

as part of the Session funds. The Parochial Board 

adopted the report of their Committee. 

The old Hospital continued to be occupied as a poor- 

house, until it was found to be too small and unsuitable,.


and a new one was ready in 1861. Under this arrange- 

ment, the rent of the weigh-house and garden was lost for 

several years, as a reparation fund for the Hospital, for 

which it was set apart by Provost Dunbar in all time com- 

ing ; but in the Hospital accounts for year ending Martin- 

mas, 1S64, we again find rent, Martinmas 1863, of Hospital- 

buildings for half-year, i,'2i, and it has been continuously 

let since. 

The office of Treasurer was faithfully and carefully discharged 

by Dr Macdonald for fully half a century. On 3rd 

April, 1 87 1, the Kirk-Session renewed his appointment as 

Hospital and Kirk Treasurer, and associated with him his 

son, Mr Allan Macdonald. The investments have been 

\aried as occasion required, and the accounts audited 

annually by the Session. In 1 85 1 ,they began to be balanced 

at Martinmas instead of at 30th April, and since 1877, at 

31st December. The funds have been increased by a 

legacy of ;i^685, including interest thereon, from Miss Jane 

Robertson, in 1855, left to Dr Macdonald, then minister of 

the First Charge, and certain other persons, whom failing, 

to the first minister for the time being, and any two elders 

to be chosen and assumed by him, for behoof of poor 

or decayed members of, or parties, worshipping in the 

Established Churches of Inverness and Bona ; 

from Mr Ross of £2a,, in 1863 ; and 

also a legacy 

a legacy from Mr 

Wilson, for the poor, of i^200, in 1875. A later 

legacy has not yet fallen in ; it is one from Mrs Janet 

Mann or Clark to the High Church of Inverness, to be paid 

to the minister and Kirk-Session of that Church for the 

time being, the money to be invested and interest expended 

at their discretion in providing coals to the aged poor of 

the parish. The amount left was ^^400, but intimation has 

been received that the estate is not likely to allow more 

than ;^200 to be paid. The legacy was payable on the 

death of two annuitants, one of whom predeceased the 

testator, and the other, it is presumed, still survives.

6o4 T he Highland Monthly 

Dunbar's Hospital and the Hospital funds, entrusted 

through the pious liberality of former generations to the 

Kirk-Session and the Hospital Treasurer, now furnish the 

means of affording seasonable aid to the deserving and 

necessitous poor, including many who do not ask parochial 

relief, and some of whom would not be proper objects of it. 

Many such are thus helped to pay their rent half-yearly. 

If the details given in these chapters appear too minute 

or even wearisome, the compiler desires to explain that 

they are intended mainly for a book of reference, not a 

narrative, and that in many cases he preferred to give 

quotations, which will be interesting to some, rather than 

to summarise in his own words. 

In the administration of the funds, endeavours are 

made to comply as far as possible with the wishes of the 

respective donors. A separate reparation fund account to 

maintain the old Hospital has again been started, in compliance 

with Provost Dunbar's express directions ; and in 

the autumn of 1891 a new roof was put upon it. 

Long may it stand in good repair as a memorial of the 

good old man. 

.

TJie Hospital of Inverness. 605


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YET 


A CEILIDH. 

another class of 6"677/

6io The Ui^hland Monthly. 

through the doorway, and it was some minutes before we 

could distinguish anything clearly. When at last the 

smoke had partly cleared away, we saw one woman on the 

roof throwing down the divots we had placed on the smokeholes, 

and about half-a-dozen others standing below and 

giving the most improbable explanations of what had 

occurred. Some maintained that it was the work of super- 

natural agency, and one old maid, the owner of the house^ 

asserted in a manner that was not to be gainsayed that 

she knew very well who had done it. It was Widow 

M'Kelvie, with whom she had had a quarrel that morning 

regarding her speckled hen that she—the speaker—had 

discovered laying in Widow M'Kelvie's henhouse, and she 

would make the widow smart for this. Poor Widow 

M'Kelvie was a frail, old body, who could no more have 

walked in the dark, not to speak of climbing to the roof of 

a house, than she could have flown. 

When Galium Mor had finished his description of his 

novel and extraordinary method of catching herring, there 

was silence for a {^"^ minutes, for though even the most 

credulous of Callum's hearers knew that facts were at least 

exaggerated, no one ventured to express an opinion on the 

matter, for any one who hinted by word or sign that he 

discredited any part of the story would have made an 

enemy of Galium Mor for life. The silence was at last 

broken by Galium again suddenly saying "that was the day 

we saw bodach na currachda deirge." 

'•What was that?" enquired a young man who had but 

recently arrived in the district, and was ignorant of much 

of the superstition of the place. 

" It's a man wearing a red cap who is sometimes seen 

during great storms," replied Aonghas Ban in explanation, 

"and if he swims round a ship three times in succession 

she is sure to go to the bottom with all hands." 

" Good gracious !" ejaculated the stranger, " and did he 

swim round your boat, Galium ?"

A Ceilidh. 6 

" Well, this is how it was," said Callum, knocking the 

ashes out of his clay pipe and putting a quid of tobacco 

between his jaws, sailor fashion, " We had just gathered the 

herring off the deck and put them into barrels, when I saw 

something red pop out of the water right ahead and then 

disappear between the vvaves. At first I thought it was a 

man who had been washed overboard another boat, but 

when I saw it again coming towards us, I knew it was 

bodach na currachda deirge." 

All eyes were now fixed on the speaker except those of 

Aonghas Ban, who was working busily at his net. 

" Well," continued Callum, pleased with the attention 

paid him, " I kept my eyes on him as he swoom round the 

stern of the boat to the port side, and on again in front 

leaving the boat astern of him, though we were making 

about nine knots an hour, till he was as far away as when 

we saw him first, and he then faced us again." 

By this time a look of awe was expressed on every 

countenance, and even. Aonghas Ban ceased his work, and, 

puffing away at his short pipe with all his might, gazed at 

the speaker, who transferred his quid to the other side of 

his mouth and placidly continued. 

" On he comes again somewhat faster than before, 

looking from side to side of him and sometimes up at the 

boat, and went round us again the same way as before 

against the sun, and he left the boat behind once more." 

Horror was now depicted on every face, and Aonghas 

Ban even stopped smoking, removed his pipe from his 

mouth, and turned round so as to face the speaker. Though 

the hero of the story was safe with us, every one seemed 

to await in anxious expectation the conclusion of the story 

that was to determine whether the boat was circumnavigated 

the third time by this monster of the deep, and had gone 

to the bottom with all hands. After another glance round 

to see the effect of his words, Callum again proceeded. 

" We watched him as long as he was in sight, thinking 

every moment he would round on us again, but he didn't 

We never saw him again." 

1

6i2 The Highland Monthly. 

A sigh of relief escaped the audience at this auspicious 

ending of the story, resembling the sound of a relaxed violin 

string that is pitched too high, and Aonghas Ban resumed 

his work. 

" And what was he like, I mean bodach na currachda 

deirge P" asked Seorus Glas, who had remained silent 

during the recital of Callum's story. 

"Well," said Galium, " no part of him was visible but 

his head, which was red and something in shape like a 

man's, and his face was like that of a seal, but whiter, and 

it was, I think, covered with scales. When he passed by 

our stern the second time I saw one of his hands, and it 

was like the claw of a very large frog." 

" And how do you know but it was a seal and not a 

bodach na currachda deirge at all !" asked Alan Breac, the 

stranger, in an incredulous tone. 

" Didn't I tell you that he had a 'Currachd-dhearg' (a red 

cap), and that he went round the boat twice, and if he had 

gone round us the third time I would not be here to tell 

the story. Them that doesn't believe stories shouldn't 

listen to them, Alan Breac," returned Galium Mor sharply. 

This reply, and the manner in which it was given, indicated 

very plainly that the speaker was in no mood to satisfy the 

curiosity of any one who doubted the veracity of his story. 

Silence again fell on the group round the nre, and Galium 

Mor relighted his pipe. 

" Do you know, Aonghais Bhain, if there is any truth in 

the report I heard to-day about Sandy Stewart, the drover, 

having seen a ghost last night at Glenard Gastle as he was 

coming home from the Kincardine Market ?" presently 

asked Seumas Ruadh. 

" Yes, I saw the drover himself to-day and he told me 

the whole story." 

" And what did he see ?" 

" Well, I will tell you the story as he told it to me. He 

left Glenard Hotel about midnight, and just as he was 

opposite the old Castle he saw a man coming towards him

A Ceilidh. 

from the direction of the building. He thought at first it 

was some man who was late on the road like himself, 

though he wondered what he could be doing in such a lonely 

place that time of night. He was making straight for the 

drover, as if he wanted to speak to him, and the drover 

stood still and waited till he would come up to him, when 

he noticed that though the stranger was walking over a 

gravelly piece of land he could hear no sound of footsteps. 

Sandy felt a bit scared, but when the man came up and 

stood a few feet from him, and looked at him with a sad 

expression on his face, Sandy knew at once that he wasn't 

a mortal being, and he nearly fainted from fright. He 

remembered that it was unsafe to address ghosts, so he 

walked on and the stranger followed without saying a word, 

and noiseless like a cat. Sandy halted once more and the 

stranger halted too and looked at him as if he wished to 

speak." 

At this stage of the story a gust of wind made the 

door rattle. All eyes were immediately turned in the 

direction from which the sound had issued, as if they 

expected to see the drover's ghost enter, a shiver ran 

through the more timid of the party, and the smaller boys 

crouched nearer the fire and threw suspicious glances into 

the dark corners of the house, where the flickering shadows 

rose and fell as if moved by the invisible hand of some evil 

spirit. 

" Then," continued Aonghas Ban, " the drover walked 

on again, and the stranger went off the road and walked 

back in the direction of the Castle, and Sandy saw him 

no more." 

" Did the drover notice what kind of clothes the 

stranger wore?" enquired Seoras Glas. 

"Yes," replied Aonghas Ban, "he said he was dressed 

in a fine suit of dark cloth, and wore a black felt hat." 

" It was the very same ghost that has been seen often 

and often before in the same spot," said Seoras Glas, " and 

will be again and again, I am thinking, till some one speaks

6 14 


to him. He has a secret no doubt which he wants to make 

known, and he vvill never rest till he gets it told." 

" But," queried Alan Breac, " if the ghost wanted to 

speak, why did he not do so ?" 

" Because, Alan, a ghost can never speak till he is spoken 

to," replied Seoras Glas, " and that's why he seemed so 

anxious that the drover would speak to him first ; but it 

was well for Sandy he did not do so, for a person who 

addresses a ghost is sure to die soon after." 

Aonghas Ban had now left off repairing the net for the 

night, Jenny had put away her spinning wheel and got 

Alastair to bed, and both she and her husband drew their 

seats nearer the fire ; the girls stopped knitting, and all 

were gazing in rapt attention at Seoras Glas, who, it was 

evident, was taking more than ordinary interest in the 

ghost seen by the drover. 

" That ghost," he said, presently, " has some important 

secret that he wants made known. It may be the spirit of 

a murdered man, or of a murderer, who cannot rest till the 

knowledge he possesses is revealed. Ah," shaking his grey 

head, " if the walls of that old Castle could speak, what a 

strange history they could recount !" 

" Do you know anything about the Castle ?" asked 

Seumas Ruadh ; " if any one does, I am sure you do." 

" Lie down, Caesar, lie down, old fellow," said the old 

man to his dog, that had risen suddenly and was looking 

towards the door, " it is scarcely time yet to go home." 

Caesar did as he was bid, and his master, in reply to 

Seumas Ruadh's question, said, " There are queer and 

startling stories told of that Castle. It belonged originally 

to the Macleods, but they were deprived of it by the Mac- 

kenzies. One night the Mackenzies were celebrating in 

the Castle the anniversary of a great battle they had won. 

It was on a Saturday night, and the revelry was carried on 

far into the Sunday. As daylight set in the Chief, who 

wanted the noisy festivity to be continued as long as 

possible, ordered his servants to have the cocks' tongues

A Ceilidh. 6 1 

cut out to prevent their crowing at dawn, and to keep 

daylight out by drawing heavy black curtains over the 

windows," 

A low growl from C.xsar interrupted the speaker, who 

bade the dog be quiet, and then continued. 

" The Chief was afraid if it were known by his guests 

that it was Sunday morning they would stop the dancing, 

and so he wished to keep them in ignorance as to the time 

of night, for they had no watches or clocks in those days. 

Then the Chief went up to the best looking lady in the 

hall, ordered the pipers to play his favourite tune, and 

danced like a madman till the sun was shining on the 

hill-tops on Sunday morning.'' 

Another growl from Caesar, which, with blinking eyes, 

had been gazing intently towards the door. His master 

touched him kindly on the head and proceeded. 

" Early on the Sunday morning a dispute arose between 

two of the young gentlemen present, and from hot words 

they came to blows. I never heard what the cause of the 

quarrel was, but it was of such a kind that it could not be 

decided without the evidence of a third party, and none 

such could be found, for the young gentlemen themselves 

alone knew anything of the matter in dispute. As I said, 

from words they came to blows, and they were on the point 

of deciding the quarrel with their daggers when the Chief 

interfered, and ordered them to desist from further 

quarrelling, and let the matter rest. But the friends of both 

combatants took up the dispute in behalf of their respective 

favourites. Thus all present ranged themselves on one side 

or the other, and matters had come to a critical crisis when 

the Chief said that, to prevent bloodshed in his Castle, he 

would resort to an expedient by which he would be able to 

prove which of the two young men, who had begun the 

quarrel, was in the right. And then he explained to them 

all what he was going to do." 

The old man paused, lifted one leg over the other, and 

for a few seconds gazed abstractedly into the fire. 

5


" What 7ms he going to do then ?" asked Alan Breac. 

' To raise the Devil," was the startling reply. 

The scene that followed this awful announcement was 

a very impressive one. The group round the fire drew still 

closer to each other, and bent their heads in the direction 

of the speaker, who now lowered his voice almost to a 

whisper. The room was in semi-darkness, for the lamp- 

light having been extinguished when Aonghas Ban ceased 

mending his net, only the lurid glare thrown by the peat- 

fire in its immediate vicinity enabled the party to see each 

other's faces, and Caesar, giving utterance to an occasional 

low growl, stared with eyes that blinked, blinked, blinked, 

towards the gloomy doorway, and the dark shadows had 

now left the corners and extended themselves round the 

walls, and darted hither and thither like the Merry Dancers 

of the infernal regions, 

"You see," continued the old man in a solemn voice, 

" it was the custom long ago, when a dispute arose that 

could not be otherwise settled, to appeal as a last resort to 

the Devil, whose decision was considered final. He was 

raised by the exercise of certain formalities, and it was 

believed that the first words spoken by him on such occa- 

sions were truthful, but that after he had answered the 

particular question put to him it was impossible for him to 

speak else than falsely. Well, the Chief ordered all the 

lights to be lowered. Then he drew a circle with a piece 

of chalk on the floor near one corner of the hall, and had 

brought to him a table covered with black cloth, which he 

placed so that one-half of it lay inside the circle. Then he 

drew a corresponding part of a circle on the table, drew a 

pair of black gloves over his hands, and ordered the two 

young disputants to explain the cause of their quarrel. 

When all this was done he told his servants to get him a 

black cat, for whenever the Devil was raised it was 

necessary to give him some live animal, otherwise he would 

destroy the people in the house and then set fire to it. 

When the black cat was produced, the Chief took it in his


hand and placed it on the table, so that its fors-part was 

within the magic circle, and then he chanted strange words 

in an unknown tongue, calling on the Devil to appear, and 

reminding him that he was powerless to go beyond the 

bounds of the magic circle. But just as the Chief and 

those standing near him expected to see the Evil One pre- 

sent himself, the door of the hall was suddenly thrown 

open, and a fearful cry was raised that the castle was on 

fire. Then a rush was made to the door, but it was too 

late, for the fire had already cut off all means of escape, and 

the next moment, amid the heartrending cries of the 

doomed inmates, the roof fell in, burying every man and 

woman in the castle except the head butler, who in a dying 

state managed to escape by a back door." 

At this moment Caesar uttered a loud growl and sprang 

towards the door. He stopped half-way and with elevated 

tail and lowered head commenced to bark furiously. All 

eyes were now directed towards the door, and an indescrib- 

able scene of confusion followed when a large black object 

was indistinctly seen in the darkness. The girls screamed 

and clutched the arms of the young men, who took 

advantage of the opportunity to draw their fair friends 

closer to them, assuring them in endearing terms that they 

were quite safe. Seoras Glas called Caesar to his side, and 

Aonghas Ban cautiously approached the unknown intruder, 

and became all of a sudden very brave on discovering that 

the cause of the alarm was only one of his own cows that 

had broken its halter, and thus got out of its stall. When 

order was at last restored, Seoras Glas returned to his 

subject. 

"The head butler succumbed to his injuries a few days 

after the dreadful catastrophe, and it was he who gave an 

account of the manner in which that memorable Sunday 

morning was spent in Glenard Castle. Ever since then it 

is said that a ghost resembling that seen by Sandy 

Stewart, the drover, has been haunting the neighbourhood 

of the castle, but no one has ever spoken to it."


" Have you ever heard of anyone who spoke to a 

ghost?" asked Seuman Ruadh. 

" Yes," returned Seoras, " I heard of a widow who was 

so much troubled by her husband's ghost constantly visit- 

ing her, that she went to the parish minister and asked his 

advice on the matter. The minister advised her to go to 

the church at night with a Bible in her hand, and with her 

eyes draw an imaginary circle round her while she recited 

these lines from the 93rd Psalm :— 

' Is treise Dia ta chomhnuidh shuas 

Na fuaim nan uisge garbh', 

Is treise Dia na sumainnean, 

Is tonna cuain gu dearbh.' 

" The woman did so, and in a short time the ghost came 

and stood outside the imaginary circle. Then she spoke 

to him, but what passed between them was never known, 

for the woman said the ghost forbade her to reveal what 

his business was, and shortly after she died." 

" I heard another story told of a shoemaker who one 

dark night met near a churchyard what he took to be an 

old woman. He made some common remark to her, when 

she told him she had been dead for the last sixty years, 

and she commanded him to return to the churchyard a 

bone he had picked up there that morning and which he 

used for polishing the soles of boots, that it was her shinbone 

and she could not rest till it was restored. The 

shoemaker, greatly alarmed, went home in all haste for the 

bone, and immediately returned with it and placed it in the 

churchyard, and the ghost never troubled him again." 

" Did you ever see a ghost yourself?" asked Aonghas 

Ban. 

" No," replied the old man, " but I once saw a Avraith." 

" What is a wraith ?" Alan Breac enquired. 

" It is the spirit of a living person, Alan, as a ghost is 

the spirit of a dead one." 

" Whose wraith did you see?"


" It was that of a man whom I had never seen before 

his wraith appeared to me. It was many years ago, about 

thirty, I daresay. One fine sunny afternoon towards the 

end of summer, I was sitting outside in front of the house 

mending a fishing-rod. I happened to look up from my 

work, and I perceived a well-dressed man coming in sight 

at a turn in the road, and walking rapidly towards the 

house. I watched him, wondering who he was, until he left 

the main road and took the branch leading up to our door. 

Thinking he had some business with me, I entered the 

house and told my wife to tidy up the parlour for the 

reception of a gentleman who was coming up the road, and 

immediately I went out again to meet him, I wasn't more 

than ten seconds inside, and what was my astonishment to 

find that the stranger had disappeared. You know that 

from my house the view is unbroken on all sides for the 

distance of at least half-a-mile. I went round to the back 

of the house and again entered and asked my wife if she 

had seen the stranger. She looked at me in surprise and 

said she hadn't, that she thought I had gone out to meet 

him. I told her of his mysterious disappearance, and she 

hinted that I must have been dreaming. This exasperated 

me so much that to convince her I was never more awake 

in my life, I minutely described the man's personal appearance, 

and the manner in which he was dressed. He was 

young and seemed to be slightly under the average height, 

dark and rather good-looking, with side-whiskers and a 

moustache. He was dressed in a grey knicker-bocker suit, 

with cap and gaiters to match, and he carried a slender 

black cane in his right hand. In a short time, however, 

the incident was forgotten. About six weeks afterwards 

our youngest girl, Nelly, then about three years old, one 

night became suddenly ill. I despatched a messenger 

early next morning to Lochoran for the doctor, a young 

man who had come to the parish a {q.\v days before. About 

noon the same day I was sitting outside the house waiting 

impatiently for the doctor, when I observed a man dressed


exactly like the stranger I had seen six weeks previously, 

walk smartly towards me at the turn in the road where my 

unknown friend had also appeared. As the man approached 

nearer me, I recognised in him the same individual who 

had given me such a surprise shortly before. I went down 

to meet him, determined that he would not escape me this 

time. He introduced himself as the doctor, and I led him 

up to the house. I scrutinized him closely as he examined 

my little girl, and down to his slender black cane, which he 

had placed on the table, he was an exact counterpart of 

my former mysterious visitor. In a few minutes he assured 

me that Nelly was in no danger whatever, and having 

prescribed for her he accepted my invitation to have some 

refreshment. I asked him if he had been in this part of 

the country before, and he replied he was never north of 

the Grampians till he came here three days ago. Of course 

I kept quiet about the extraordinary vision I had concern- 

ing him some weeks previously, for like all men of his 

class he would have laughed at me. Educated men either 

laugh in scorn at what they call superstition, or explain it 

by science to their own satisfaction. Let them account for 

this wonderful incident as they like, but the fact remains 

that I could have described that doctor's personal appear- 

ance weeks before I ever saw him in the flesh." 

" It was Dr Sanderson, wasn't it ?" said Aonghas Ban. 

'• Yes, it was Dr Sanderson," was the reply. 

Did space permit I could relate many other stories 

of a similar kind that I heard that night at Aonghas 

Ban's. Seoras Glas's stock of such stories was simply 

inexhaustible, and once he commenced to tell them 

he seemed to get quite unconscious of the lapse of 

time. It was generally midnight when he produced 

a large silver watch from a pocket in the lining of 

his waistcoat, and then, without expressing by word or 

feature any surprise at the lateness of the hour, he would 

leisurely wrap the plaid more closely round his body, 

whistle for Caesar, and the next moment his tall form was

A Ceilidh. 62: 

seen disappearing through the door-way. This particular 

night it was not quite so late as usual when he left for 

home. His departure was, commonly, the signal for a 

general break-up of the Ceilidh, and all were now getting 

ready to follow his example, when the old man entered the 

house again, and standing at the door he expressed himself 

in his deepest bass voice as follows :— " There is much 

bloodshed in the east to-night. Thousands of men are 

lying in their gore, and rivers and valleys are red with their 

blood. The very heavens reflect the colour of the earth. 

Look towards the east and you will behold signs of 

tribulation." 

On uttering these words he again disappeared. Every 

one rushed outside, wondering what strange spectacle the 

old man referred to. As I have already mentioned, I was 

a mere boy then, but the sight that met my eyes I shall 

never forget. The sky towards the east was of a deep 

crimson colour, interspersed with streaks of yellow light 

that darted hither and thither, and to and fro with the 

rapidity of lightning, now flashing away to the north and 

south, then becoming less distinct as they blended with 

other shapes similar in form, but of a blood-red hue, and 

again disappearing from view altogether ; figures like 

tongues of fire shot upwards towards the zenith where the 

fiery red gradually faded into a pale yellow, and away to 

the west was seen in strong relief the dark blue of the 

heavens studded with myriads of stars. No wonder that 

the superstitious and receptive mind of Seoras Glas 

associated such a brilliant display of the aurora borealis 

with bloodshed, for this was the fiercest period of the 

Franco-German War, and it had been reported for some 

weeks before that the hostile armies were on the eve of a 

great, and it was believed, a decisive battle. 

The weird stories I had heard that night, together with 

the wild words spoken by Seoras Glas, and the unusual 

appearance of the sky, filled me with such fear that I 

would fain have entreated someone to accompany me


home, were it not that I felt somewhat reluctant to 

acknowledge my timidity. My father's house was nearly 

a mile distant, and my disordered imagination converted 

every stone and bush on the way into a ghost, and every 

bird that flew across my path into an evil spirit. My 

nerves were so highly strung by the time I reached home 

that I was unable to enter the house in the ordinary fashion ; 

I backed in with my face towards my imaginary foes. 

The Ceilidh, a specimen of which I have attempted to 

describe—and I know the impression that my account of it 

leaves on the mind of the reader gives him but a faint idea 

of the reality—is now almost a thing of the past. So is 

also the belief in the supernatural. It is true that the 

Highlander, brought up as he is among the grandest sights 

and sounds of Nature, is prone to associate with the 

supernatural anything which to him is unintelligible, but the 

spread of education is gradually eradicating habits and 

beliefs that were the result of ignorance ; books and 

newspapers are being circulated throughout the land, and 

are finding their way into the remotest straths and glens, 

and the dawn of a new and a better day is slowly but 

surely dispersing the dark shadows of a bygone age. 

D. M.

ONE 

Quern Songs. 623 

QUERN SONGS. 

of the oldest instruments for grinding corn is the 

quern, or bratJi, as it is called in Gaelic. It was 

used among all who cultivated the soil, and it is only of 

late that its use has been limited to a {^w of the Hebridean 

isles, and one or two remote parishes on the mainland of 

Scotland. Long ago the Celt ground his own corn and 

baked his own meal. His mode of operation was expedi- 

tious if somewhat primitive. A few sheaves of corn were 

taken, and the grain switched out of the ear and put in a 

pot on the fire to dry. This hurried process is called 

earraradh, while corn prepared by the usual kiln-drying 

process was known as ealcJiadh. A still quicker mode of 

drying was to set the sheaves standing against each other, 

and set fire to the straw. This was known by the name of 

gradan, from grad, quick, and meal made of the grain so 

dried was called mm ghradain. The grain was then ground 

in the quern, or brath^ and was ready for use, it being 

possible to have the corn cut, and the grain dried, ground, 

and baked in less than two hours. Before submitting any 

examples of quern songs, it may be interesting to note that 

a law was enacted in 1284, in the reign of Alexander III. 

forbidding the use of " hand-mylnes" (hand-mills) in Scot- 

land. The enactment ran as follows :— " That na man sail 

presume to grind quheit, maisloch or rye, with hand- 

mylnes, except to be compelled by storm, and be in lack of 

mylnes quhilk should grind the samen. And in this ease 

if a man grindes at hand-mylnes, he shall give the threittein 

measure as multer; and gif any man contraveins this our 

prohibition, he sail tyne his hand-mylnes perpetuallie." 

An excellent example of a quern song will be found in 

a valuable collection of Gaelic songs called An Duanaire. 

It is reproduced with an excellent translation in Vol. II. of

624 The Higklana Monthly. 

the Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Glasgow, published 

by Mr Archibald Sinclair of that city. I am 

indebted to my good friend Mr A, Carmichael, Edinburgh, 

who has done so much to collect the folk-lore of the 

Hebrides, I give it exactly as Mr Garmichael has written 

it down from recital : 

— 

BEIL, A CHAILLEACH, A' BHRATH. 

[From Duncan Maclellan (Donnacha Ban) crofter, lochdar, South Uist, 

29th May, 1869.] 

Introduction.—There lived in the long, long ago, an old 

carlin, and she was very old. But old as she was she still 

cherished the desire and even the hope to marry. She 

came to a crofter house one day while the women were 

grinding at the quern, and making meal for the food of the 

family. The women asked the carlin to take her turn at 

the quern in the following manner : 

— 

Brath ! brath ! bleith ! 

Ho brath, brath, bleith ! 

Beil,^ a chailleach, a' bhrath 

'S gheobh thu 'm blaths-teinne bhuam. 

" Gha bheiP mi, 'ghraidh, 

Gha triog^ liom sin ! 

Gha triog liom sin !" 

Brath, brath, bleith ! 


Beil, a chailleach, a' bhrath, 

'S gheobh thu 'm bonnach brathain bhuam, 

" Gha bheil mi, 'ghraidh, 

Gha triog liom sin, 

Gha triog liom sin." 



Beil, a chailleach, a' bhrath 

'S gheobh thu 'n cart bainne bhuam 

" Gha bheil mi, 'ghraidh, 

Gha triog liom sin, 

Gha triog liom sin !" 

^ Bleith. - trie leam.

Qtier?i Songs. 625 



Beil, a chailleach, a' bhrath 

'S fear a' tigh'nn iâ d' iarraidh. 

" Gu de 'n t-aodach a th' air ?" 

Leineag is barlag. 

Is seann chraicionn brathain, 

Agus claidhe' air a leis. 

" Beilidh mi gu tiobaint i, 

Is fear a tigh'nn ga m' iarraidh ; 

Beilidh mi gu tiobant i, 

Gu tiobant i, gu tiobant i, 

Gu luath, luath tiobant i 

Is fear a tigh'nn ga m' iarraidh. 

Beilidh mi gu driongant i 

Gu driongant i, gu driongant i, 

Ga sior chur mu 'n cuairt. 

Beilidh mi gu tiolpant' i, 

Gu tealpant' i, gu tiolpant' i, 

Gu drionganta, gu dreanganta, 

Ga sior chur mu 'n cuairt ! 

And the carlin worked at the quern till she fell dead of 

sheer exhaustion on the " cyaicionn-brathain','^ where she sat. 

For the benefit of such as may not have Chambers 

interesting work beside them, I quote the rhyme referred 

to by Mr Carmichael in his note 

" Whistle, whistle, auld wife, and ye'se get a hen." 

" I wadna whistle," quo' the wife, " tho' ye wad gie me ten." 

" Whistle, whistle, auld wife, and ye'se get a cock." 

" I wadna whistle," quo' the wife, " tho' ye wad gie me a flock."- 

" Whistle, whistle, auld wife, and ye'se get a man." 

" Wheep-whaup !" quo the wife, " I'll whistle as I can." 

The following example of a Quern Lilt is taken by special 

permission from that excellent collection of Genuine Scottish 

Melodies, published by Mr R. Maver, Glasgow.^ It may 

^NoTE, by Mr Carmichael.—The " craicionn-bralhain" is a skin or hide 

placed on the floor, below the quern, to keep the meal clean. Compare this 

with " The Auld Wife" in Chambers' " Popular Rhymes of Scotland." 

^ Maver's Collection of Genuine Scottish Melodies, for the pianoforte 

or harmonium, in keys suitable for the voice. Harmonised by C. H. 

Morine ; edited 

Ren field Street. 

by George Alexander, Esq. Glasgow : Robert Maver, 1 

— 

40 

1


be here stated that the collection embraces quite a number 

of Gaelic airs, and should be studied by all who are inter- 

ested in Gaelic music. 

THE QUERN LILT. 

Key D.—Moderate, with txprtssion. (Tune., " Craig 0' Barns"). 

i .m s.,d : m., d I s.,d : m., s 1., 1 : s., m | r : r. V 

The ctanha stills the dowie heart, The crbnan stills the bairn - ie, 

i .m s.,d : m.,d | 

s.,d 

: m., s l.,l : s.,m | 

r 

: d. I 

The music for a hungry wame. Is grinding o' the quern - ie. 

.m d.,m : s., r 

I 

s. m : 

s 1., t : d'. m' | 

\^.,d}: 1. \ 

And leeze me o' my lit - tie quern : Grind the graddan, grind it ; 

] . t d'.m' : 1 . d' I 

d., 

r : m., s 1 1 , d'. - : s . m | 

r 

: r. j 

We'll a' get crowdie when its dune, And bannocks steeve to bind it. 

The married man his jcy may prize, 

The lover prize his erlies ; 

But gin the quernie gangna round, 

They baith will soon be sareless. 

Sae leeze me, &c. 

The whisky gars the barque of life 

Drive merrily and rarely ; 

But graddan in the ballast gars 

It steady gang and fairly. 

Then leeze me, &c. 

Though winter steaks the door wi' drift. 

And owre the ingle hinge us 

Let but the little quernie gae. 

We're blythe whatever dings us. 


And now it cheers the herd at e'en. 

And sets his heart-strings dirlin', 

When, comin' frae the hungry hill. 

He hears the quernie birlin'. 


The quern songs are fast passing away, and it would 

be well that such as have the opportunity should collect 

any they may hear throughout the Highlands. 

FIONN. 

;

Through Darkest Inverness-shire. 627 

THROUGH DARKEST INVERNESS-SHIRE 

BY RAIL AND ROAD. 

IT 

Edward— .... Let me have no more tragedy— it sickens 

me ! makes me dull and heavy give me comedy, it is my 

; 

humour. 

— 

Old Play. 

was in the present year (1892) of grace, some few 

weeks ago, and at an hour when the sun, opaquelyseen 

through the dripping mist Hke a huge harvest moon, 

hung low above the horizon, and the average of Western 

human kind was wrapped in deep sleep ; when the wearied 

husbandman, groping half mechanically for the family 

watch, placed for convenience and partly for security 

underneath the pillow, turned himself round in his warm 

blankets with a huge breath of gratitude at the earliness of 

the hour and the prospect of a little more of that greatest 

of all luxuries, deep and dreamless sleep ; even the grouse- 

hunter, though intent on " big bags," and unlimited 

" braces," lay snorting and snoring, killing more in his 

dreams than he ever dreamed of in his waking moments ; 

and the household dog, who had barked with exasper- 

ating diligence at nothing, all through the long hours of the 

night, was now dumb and oblivious of the fact that the 

wary nocturnal cat, after the night's dissipation, was 

creeping homewards within speaking distance of its kennel 

door. 

It was at this early hour that the intelligent observer 

might have seen a young man, whose long form was 

wrapped up in a somewhat respectable " Ulster," as it is 

called, and who carried on his head a well-brushed felt hat, 

on his feet blackened and polished boots, and in his hand 

an umbrella.

628 Ihe Highland Monthly 

By way of marked contrast to this luxuriance 

might be seen a small group of navvies in their 

labour-stained moleskins, who hung about, though at a 

respectful distance, striving to kindle damp tobacco ; to 

button their jackets as close to the throat as the scarce 

buttons would admit of; to turn up the remnant of twoinch 

collars as near to their ears as a five-inch neck would 

allow, and to bury their hands and as much of their arms 

as far down as possible into their trousers' pockets ; 

. 

for the 

morning v/as one of those, alas, too frequent now-a-days, 

wintry and sloppy, and cold and damp. The spot where 

they stood was an obscure and dreary one in the central 

highlands of Inverness-shire. It had been raining for a 

fortnight, and that it would rain that day was as sure as 

this tale is true, if indeed the rain had not already begun 

to come down. 

That he of the ulster and umbrella is the writer of this 

sketch will be guessed by those curious on the point. Let 

me disclose myself! The initials of my name will be 

found at the end of this article, and my full dignity and 

titles in the roll of fame by whomsoever is fortunate enough 

to possess a copy. 

I had business at an obscure highland retreat some- 

where in or near the Rannoch Muir, and my handiest 

means of getting there was, I was told, to get passage by 

fear or favour in the workmen's train up the West Highland 

line, then as now in process of construction, and of which 

the portion from Fort-William to some few miles beyond 

the head of Loch Treig, was finished enough to admit of 

so-called " trains" being sent so far daily, carrying workmen 

and plant. By favour of a friend—an employe of the 

contractor's—by name the extraordinary one of Macdougall, 

I readily procured the necessary authority, and 

accordingly I took my seat in the train on the particular 

morning in question, and under the circumstances already 

described. 

The rolling-stock consisted of an engine and a covered- 

in van. The former was the puffiest, smokiest, jerkiest,

Darkest Inverness-shire. 629 

screechiest machine that ever a descendant of Watt or 

Stephenson fitted together. The latter, the van to wit, had 

a seat all round, and a double one right up the centre. It 

appeared to be fitted up for fifty occupants ; 

and 

on this 

particular occasion it was well filled. This car was not, in 

any sense, a " Pullman ;" it was not fitted up in a luxurious 

way, and its springs— if, indeed, there were any—had, by 

years of incessant bumping, ceased long since to perform 

their functions. The small windows—one on either side 

were, to put it mildly, inadequate as a means of letting air 

in or out, inasmuch as the}' were both occupied by the 

— 

robust frames of two of the workmen, who were to be 

envied in the coign of vantage they had secured, and who 

stuck manfully to their posts with the most perfect 

indifference to any one's comfort but their own For, by 

comparison with the others, and notwithstanding that their 

heads and shoulders were out in the air, their positions 

were much coveted, at least by me, for air they had— good 

pure air, albeit cold and damp ; while inside was thick 

with fog and smoke, for it was a smoking compartment 

smoking and spitting—merely that, as a particular raven 

would say, " that and nothing more." Fortunately, at 

every few miles, there was a stoppage to let out some of 

the men where their work lay ; 

but, unfortunately, others 

whose work was further on, came in, so that the balance 

of numbers was kept up. They brought in some fresh 

air with them, however, which was seized on by gasping 

occupants just as physical food would be if we were as 

starved as we were stifled. 

The motion of the car, too, was peculiar ; the little 

engine tugged and tore at it as if it wanted to tear its 

inside out, and as we went with considerable speed over the 

uneven rails, the motion appeared to be a succession of 

rapid tugs ahead, say a couple of yards, each accompanied 

by a lateral motion of one foot to the yard, varied at 

intervals by a bump which seemed to throw it off the 

rails. This motion showed itself in a comical way on the

630 1 he Hi(rhland Montkiy 

face of a corpulent navvy who sat right opposite me. His 

fat cheeks wobbled about to every motion like two plates of 

porridge, and the wonder is they didn't fall out. 

I felt myself to be an object of considerable curiosity. I 

was stared at by some fifty pairs of eyes as if I were some 

new kind of animal, or a royal prince. Not a word was 

spoken ; words could not be heard in the deafening din 

which accompanied our progress. So they simply sat with 

their elbows on their knees, and smoked, and glared. I 

tried to look comfortable and at home ; but am cognizant 

that the effort was a dismal failure. My bright and polished 

boots would obtrude themselves, and I felt almost ashamed 

of them, and tried to keep them out of sight. My gloves 

I covertly took off, and hid them away in my pocket in a 

cowardly way. I tried to look as if my umbrella was a 

nuisance, and there purely by accident. My ulster I could 

do nothing to ameliorate, so I had to brazen it out, an effort 

which nearly failed when the man with the wobbly cheeks 

put out his hand and calmly felt the quality of it. The 

result of his investigation was apparently satisfactory, for he 

winked to me confidentially, and with profound gravity. 

As I have said, I tried to look comfortable, but I failed* 

The eyes of the working class were on me, and I was intrusive 

and dandyfied and mean and worthless ; in short, I felt like 

a bloated capitalist. 

As it was equally possible to see through the windows 

as to see through the wooden sides of the car, nothing of 

the new line or of the scenery could be seen ; and 

it was 

not until we stopped at the end of Loch Treig, where friend 

Macdougall said we must change carriages, that I had an 

opportunity of seeing anything. It was with a thankful 

feeling that I greedily filled my lungs with pure air. It 

was even more refreshing than a deep, deep draught of 

pure water after an intolerable thirst. It was some time 

before I could get enough of it, and anything more refresh- 

ing or agreeable I have seldom experienced. 

However, there was no time for looking at scenery or 

anything else, for we had to hurriedly climb over a mass of

T/irouo7i Dm'kest Inz'erness-skirc. 631 

broken rock, mingled with sleepers and iron rails, and 

clamber as best we could into an open stone truck, which 

was to take us the rest of our journey. 

The change from a close van into an open truck was not 

without some disadvantages. In the van we could sit and 

keep ourselves dry : 

in the truck we had to stand and get 

wet, for by this time the dense fog had softened into a thick, 

wetting drizzle. In the truck we had certainly more 

security from choking, but, on the other hand, we were in 

imminent danger of falling out with the extraordinary and 

erratic motions, or rather sets of motions, with which we 

were now beset. When the engine moved on, as it did 

suddenly and without previous warning, we were nearly all 

thrown out behind en bloc, and, as I was at the back end, I 

got my full share of a stratum of superincumbent navvy, 

which was forced back like an avalanche upon me. Before 

we had time to recover our perpendiculars, we as nearly 

went by the board in a lateral direction, owing to a pick- 

shaft or some such obstruction on the rail. 

Commend me to a railway truck under such circumstances, 

to prove the everlasting brotherhood of man. Each 

one clung to his neighbour as if he were a long lost relative, 

and I was more intimately associated with the Irish question 

than I hope ever to be again, by clinging for mutual support 

to a villainous-looking Irishman, who smelled so of nicotine 

that he would have made himself a fortune if he could 

be let out to owners of greenhouses, and such like breeders 

of vermin, as an insecticide. It was with a feeling then of 

intense relief that at last, after being nearly projected headlong 

into the engine, we drew up on a bleak hillside, where 

shanties, bothies, barracks, blacksmiths' and joiners' shops 

were associated with heaps of rails, sleepers, and miscellaneous 

" plant " of all kinds, and the clang of hammers 

and the general noise and bustle of work betokened that 

we had reached a " base " of operation. 

A curious reflection it is, that away up here in this 

nhospitable moorland, far from house or hut, except these


temporary ones, amid rocks and stones, heather and marshy 

mosses, man should find it necessary to be so very busy, 

that a swarm from the hive of human industry should settle 

down, and with pickaxe and shovel undermine here and 

bank up there, to force the unyielding rock out of its old 

bed into a new one, and the resistless soil out of this spot 

into that. 

It is true that man puts in more than half his time 

transferring himself or some other substance out of one 

place into another. Jefferson of New York, who has 

jumped about like a house-fly all these years, from hotel to 

store and from store to quay, must take a bigger jump across 

the seas to Europe or Africa, and when there jump away 

as before ; while Macpherson of Britain must needs 

betake himself to America or the Indies, and, like his 

brother Jefferson, move things himself or help others to 

the universal shifting. The wheat which has just been 

whirled into Chicago is not allowed to rest there, but must 

needs be bundled to the coast, and from there across the 

seas to some other coast, then railed again and sent inland 

by express as if it had some important appointment to 

meet (as indeed it has), and was pressed for time ; then out 

of the trucks with it and into carts, and rattled through the 

streets until each grain, if it had a voice, would cry out in 

sheer worry, " Let me alone ! get me to a mill where I can 

have rest and some peace !" Alas, false hope ! In the 

mill, the supposed haven of rest, its new conditions are 

worse than the old, for it is taken out of one granary into 

another, off one floor on to a second, and so on until the 

soul is ground out of it, and it is once more stored in bags, 

and off it goes again on a new journey. No rest, no peace ! 

So these hundred and odd men are busy moving things, 

for they are building a railway for greater facility in movement 

; which railway, when finished, will consist literally of 

miscellaneous material taken from many spots, and which 

has been shifted about for years, and set down here, for 

what extent of permanency none can tell.

Thi'ou^h Da7'kest Inverness-shire. 633 

Macdougall, interrogated as to probable geographical 

position of shooting lodge, where my end lay, takes in with 

broad sweep of arm some sixty miles of territory, and says 

he believes it lies over there. I point out that " over there" 

is, to say the least of it, vague. For the matter of that 

Perth and Paris lie "over there." Can he not be more pointed? 

Macdougall refuses to become more pointed, own private 

opinion rapidly crystallizing into fixed belief is, that his 

ignorance on this point is more profound than my own, 

glean from him, however, that road may be struck about 

half-a-mile on ; 

very 

comforting this about road ; 

feel 

more assured. Wish him good morning, and make fervent 

promise to be back in time for what Macdougall calls the 

" five o'clock." Turn up legs of trousers, collar of coat, 

hoist umbrella, and en avant is the word. 

Beginning of journey not too promising—very wet, 

also windy. Wouldn't mind wind if there was less wet 

wet everywhere. Air wet, heather wet, and where heather 

is not, slimy mosses are. This last very difficult to walk 

on. Surroundings very cheerless ; insides of barracks and 

workshops may be all very well, but outsides foul and guttery. 

Good place for health officer to construct report ; plenty ot 

room for suggestions. Might for instance divert drain from 

front door of barracks No. i, away from back door of 

barracks No. 2. Might also have tinned meat tins more 

picturesquely arranged. Tremendous quantity of them ; 

never saw so many all at once. Geology here very simple ; 

first conglomerate, then gutter, then empty meat tins. 

J. 

A. G. 

—

634 -^ he Highland Monthly 

LAST YEAR'S PROGRESS IN CELTIC 

LITERATURE AND STUDY. 

DURING the past year of 1892, though nothing so 

important in Celtic matters has been done as in 

1 89 1 in the case of Professor Zimmer's researches in the 

Ossian and other Gaelic sagas and Mr Nutt's volumes of 

" Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition," yet a great amount 

of good, steady work has been accomplished. This is true 

not merely in philology, which, since the ascendancy of the 

" New School " in that subject, shows remarkable activity 

on Celtic ground, but also in the departments of literature 

and antiquity. Just as these lines are being written, there 

comes to hand a new and complete edition of the poems of 

the best of our present ^Gaelic bards—Neil Macleod, whose 

' Clarsach an Doire" has just been published by Archibald 

Sinclair, of Glasgow. 

The works published in connection with the Highlands 

and Scottish Gaelic are few but good. The most important 

of them is Dr Cameron's " Reliquiae Celticse," edited by Mr 

Macbain and Rev. J. Kennedy, the first volume of which 

" Ossianica "—was fully reviewed in our May number. 

While in itself giving a complete set of the Ossianic ballads, 

with variants of the same, it forms an excellent companion 

volume to Campbell's " Leabhar Na Feinne." The second 

volume, which will probably appear early this summer, and 

which is well under way, is to contain the Fernaig MS., a 

second Turner Collection, a Gaelic History of the Mac- 

donalds (17th century), topographical and philological 

articles, and an introduction dealing fully, yet concisely, 

with the whole subject of Gaelic grammar and philology. 

Mr Hector Maclean's " Ultonian Ballads" also belongs to 

the heroic and Ossianic literature of our race. In this 

work, Mr Maclean brings together all the ballads that bear 

—

Last Years Progress in Celtic Literature. 635 

on CuchuHnn and his times, and able and admirable trans- 

lations are given. Rev. Mr Maclean Sinclair has issued a 

second volume of his "Gaelic Bards" (1715-1765)—an 

excellent little work that deserves success. We are glad to 

find that Rev. Mr Machines' Gaelic and English 

" Comhraidhean" have so soon seen a second edition, for 

we have {q.\\ Gaelic scholars to be compared with Mr Mac- 

Innes. Of English works on Gaelic subjects, undoubtedly 

Dr Nigel MacNeill's book on the " Literature of the High- 

landers" is the most important of the last few years. 

Although the first quarter of the book is much marred by 

historical heresies, the rest of the work, dealing with the 

last four hundred years of Gaelic literature, is very well 

executed. Excellent translations are scattered throughout 

the volume. Mrs Mackenzie's " Tales of the Heather" 

forms a pleasant work, combining history and romance in a 

racy style, with great dramatic power. 

Topography has been considerably in evidence during 

the past year. Possibly this may be traced to the Rev. Mr 

Johnstone's book on the " Place-Xames of Scotland," which 

appeared early in the year. Though favourably received 

by the " Sassenach" press, daily and periodical, the work 

did not commend itself to Gaelic scholars, and a specially 

vigorous and scholarly attack was made on the work in an 

Inverness ^Â^^Q.x (Courier). In our ow^n columns Mr Hector 

Maclean and Mr Macfarlane have discussed Renfrew place 

names, and a series of articles on the " Place-names of the 

Hebrides" have been appearing in the Northern Chronicle. 

And here it may be said that the press of the Highlands is 

doing the usual amount of good work in fostering Gaelic 

and elucidating Highland history and antiquities. We 

have already noticed the appearance of a friendly rival in 

the periodidal line in the case of the Cettic Monthly. 

In speaking of the periodical press, we may note the 

excellent service that the Academy renders to Celtic studies. 

Every now and then a letter, article, or note appears dealing 

with matters Celtic, written or inspired by such scholars as

636 

The Hi^hlajid Monthly. 

Dr Stokes, Kuno Meyer, Professor Rhys, &c. The 

quarterly journal of Folklore is also to be honourably men- 

tioned in this matter. In the March number Professor 

Rhys discussed Manx Folklore and the customs of first- 

footing ; in the June number was a Gaelic folk-tale (The 

Baker of Beauly) from Mr Macbain : and in the September 

issue Mr Nutt discussed ably and admirably the progress 

made during the last two years in Celtic Myth and Saga. 

The Revue Celtique still pursues its learned way under the 

editorship of M. D' Arbois de Jubainville, and Professor 

O'Growney makes the Gaelic Journal a periodical at once 

learned and popular. Of transactions and proceedings of 

societies we may note that several important articles have 

appeared in the pages of the Royal Society of Antiquaries 

of Ireland (notably on new Ogams), and in the Archaeo- 

logia Cambrensis. German philological periodicals deal 

largely with Celtic, and important articles on Celtic 

grammar and derivation have appeared in Kuhn's Zeit- 

schrift from the pens of Zimmer and Thurneysen. 

In regard to philology, besides those above-mentioned, 

Dr Whitley Stokes has published some important articles 

and papers—in the Revue Celtique, in Bezzenberger's Beit- 

rage, and especially in the Transactions of the Philological 

Society. Professor Strachan, of Owen's College, Manchester, 

has been very active in Celtic matters ; and his 

paper on " Compensatory Lengthening of Vowels in Irish," 

is the most important contribution made to Gaelic 

philology during the past year. M. Loth has published a 

work on the Latin words in the Brittonic Languages : he 

uses the word Brittonic to denote what Professor Rhys 

means by the awkward word Brythonic—that is, the lan- 

guages of Brittany, Cornwall, and Wales. We may remark 

that the name Britannia has been subjected to some investi- 

gation by Professors Rhys and De Jubainville. They both 

think that the Greek Pretannice and the Gaelic Cruithne, 

which are allied by root, are to be separated from the name 

Britain, which, they think, arose from that of a (supposed?)

Last Years Progress in Celtic Literature. 637 

British tribe in the south of England called Brittones, It 

stands rather to reason that the Roman Britannia is but a 

mal-pronunciation of the Greek Pretannia, which is undoubtedly 

more ancient as a name applied to Britain. Dr 

Holder has issued the third of the eighteen parts of his 

great Old-Celtic Thesaurus. It comes down to the letter C. 

Irish literature, ancient and modern, has one or two 

good books to represent it. Passing over two histories of 

the Ancient Celtic Church (Dr Healy and Mr Olden), we 

note first Mr Standish O'Grady's interesting little volume 

on " Finn and his Companions," which contains tales about 

Fionn that have not before been published ; and, in this 

connection, it may be as well to mention the second edition 

of Kennedy's "Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts." 

Within the last day or two there has come to hand the 

long-expected Silva Gadelica of the veteran scholar Mr 

Standish H. O'Grady (Williams & Norgate). This valuable 

work is in two volumes, the one containing the original 

(Irish) Gaelic and the other the English translation and 

notes. It contains 31 pieces ranging from lives of saints 

and historic episodes to heroic sagas and fairy tales. The 

famous Agallamh or Colloquy of Patrick and the Seniors 

is given here for the first time. It is needless to say that 

the work is simply indispensable to Celtic scholars. Dr 

Kuno Meyer has issued a complete edition of " Macon- 

glinne's Vision," with translation and excellent glossary. 

This romance deals with the extraordinary voracity of an 

Irish King, which is attributed to a demon (lon-crais) in his 

throat. The word " lon-chraois " is lost to modern Gaelic 

lexicography, though faintly remembered in common speech 

and superstition, but it is interesting to have it in the 

Fernaig MS. of two hundred years ago in full and good 

use. Macrae, the writer, complains 

— 

Chad chighil quyd ze veis 

Ni mo hreig mj toilk 

Oire aind j meahan mois 

Cha lonchrjs mj chorp.

6^^ The Highland Monthly. 

Here he tells us that his morals have not changed, nor has 

he forsaken evil, for, in mid-life, gluttony entered his body. 

A third series of " Irish Texte " has appeared, edited by 

Professor Windisch and Dr Stokes, where the latter edits 

the interesting story of Cormac's sojourn in the Land of 

Promise, Professor D'Arbois de Jubainville has issued, as 

volume fifth of his Course of Celtic Literature, a work 

entitled " L' Epopee Celtique en Irlande," where he gathers 

together, in a French translation, the most important of 

ancient Gaelic sagas, dealing with Cuchulinn and his epoch 

especially. The Deirdre story is particularly complete, 

and the Scottish Gaelic version is rendered into French. 

It is a pity that no similar work exists in English ; for, 

with the exception of Joyce's " Celtic Romances," which 

are more modern and rather " magazinish" in type, there 

is no book that gives anything like a complete account of 

the old myths and legends of Gaelic literature. 

J. F. 

Campbell of Islay intended to do this in a companion 

volume to " Leabhar na Feinne," but death intervened.

Notes. 639 

NOTES. 

Mr Harold Boulton, author of the excellent and 

sumptuous work entitled the " Songs of the North," has 

just issued a companion volume in the " Songs of the Four 

Nations." His musical co-adjutor is Mr Arthur Somervell. 

The work is dedicated to the Queen, and forms a veryhandsome 

volume. The songs number 50, and are in the 

divers languages and dialects of our "four nations" 

English and Scottish, Highland or Gaelic, Welsh and 

Cornish (one song), and Irish, with one Manx song. 

Translations are given into English of all the Celtic songs, 

mostly by Mr Boulton himself; and exceedingly happy 

renderings they are as a rule. The two Gaelic songs are 

Eilean an Fhraoich and the Mackintosh Lament, both of 

which Mr Boulton translates. The latter is thus beautifully 

rendered by him into English : 

— 

Grief of heart ! heart of grief! 

Fallen is the warrior chief; 

Fallen like a summer leaf. 

Lies Clan Chattan's glory ! 

Cursed thy breed, thou treacherous steed, 

That failed the rider at his need ! 

Black thy colour, black the deed. 

Black thy name in story. 

Bitter doom ! hapless bride. 

Newly parted from his side. 

When my true love, stricken sore, 

Met his death ill-fated ! 

Wine for wedding feast prepared. 

Friends at wake and funeral shared ; 

Sorrow, sorrow, evermore ! 

The bride must mourn unmated. 

—

640 


The Inverness Gaelic Society commenced its winter 

session last month, and the syllabus for the year, which is 

now practically full, will prove to be an excellent one. An 

important paper is expected from Prof. Strachan, Manchester. 

The 17th volume of the Transactions will be 

issued during the month. 

The Gaelic Associations and Clan Societies of our great 

cities have begun in a vigorous manner their winter's work. 

The Clan gatherings have been very successful, and the 

literary work which follows during the season promises, so 

far as we have seen programmes, to be especially good. 

The Gaelic Society of Glasgow has begun with an excellent 

lecture from Prof. Mackinnon on the Classical Learning of 

the Gael. Assistant Prof. Magnus Maclean delivered an 

admirable lecture on the " Skye Bards," wherein he proved 

that island to have produced quite a formidable array of 

poetic names. The University Celtic Societies are grati- 

fyingly active. Prof. Minto lectures this month before that 

of Aberdeen on " Two New Celtic Poets." 

The Inverness Scientific Society has already had two 

winter sederunts, at the first of which Provost Ross 

delivered a lecture on " lona." At the second meeting 

Mr Morrison, of Kintail, gave an account of " Clerical Life 

on the West Coast one hundred years ago," which was 

practically a history of Presbyterianism in Kintail and the 

adjoining parishes since its establishment in 1730. The 

paper forms another important chapter in the history of 

the Christian Church in the Highlands, a history which is 

being written thus gradually and by different hands.

ADVEKTlSKMKXTi 

A HiCHLANO Memory : 

Personal Reminiscences of tlie Noptli, both grave and gay. 



IX 

(Specimen niustration 



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No. 47. FEBRUARY, 1893. Vol. IV. 

CHA 


CAIB. IL 

bhiodh e feumail aig an am so iomradh a thoirt 

air a' chomhradh a bha eadar Galium Ruadh, 

DomhuU Sgoileir, agus Mac 'ic Alasdair, no idir air an 

staid anns an d' fhag iad am botul, agus anns an d' fhag 

am botul iad, mu 'n do dhealaich iad ri' cheile an oidhche 

ud. Ma fhliuch gus nach do fhliuch iad an da shuil aon 

uair no da uair, cha 'n 'eil fhios againn. Cha robh na 

daoine coire a bh' anns a' Ghaidhealtachd 's an am ud idir 

cho deas gu bhith faotainn coire do chach a cheile 's a tha 

cuid de mhuinntir an latha 'n diugh. Bha cairdeas is 

comunn is gaol 'nam measg 'san am ud nach fhaighear an 

diugh ach gle ainneamh ann an aite sam bith. Faodar a 

radh mu 'n triuir dhaoine coire so, gu robh iad mar thriuir 

bhraithrean, gu reidh, reumail, caoimhneil, cuideachdail 

comhraiteach gus an do shaoil iad gu robh an t-am aca 

gabhail mu thamh, gu 'n do chaidil iad cho trom ris a' 

chloich, agus gu 'n d' eirich iad 's a' mhaduinn an la-iar-na- 

mhaireach a cheart cho sunndach ris an uiseig. 

Bha 'mhaduinn moran ni b' f hearr na bha 'n oidhche, 

agus bha thuar air an latha gu robh beagan nine de shide 

41


briagha dluth air laimh. A reir choltais gu robh na tri 

latha de'n luchar a th' anns an Fhaoileach a' toiseachadh 

air a' mhaduinn ud. 

An uair a dh' eirich Mac 'ic Alasdair 's a ghabh e a 

bhiadh maidne, bha e air son sealladh fhaotainn air an 

aite, o'n a bha an latha cho briagha. B 'e Disathuirne 'bh*" 

ann ; agus o nach robh Domhull Sgoileir a' cumail na 

sgoile air Disathuirne, 's ann a rinn Mac 'ic Alasdair suas 

gu falbhadh Galium Ruadh agus Domhull Sgoileir comhladh 

ris a dh' fhaicinn cuid dhe na h-ioghnaidhean a bha 

mor-thimchioll a' Ghlinne. 

" Co dhiubh a theid sinn gu iochuar a' Ghlinne no gu 

uachdar a' Ghlinne an diugh," arsa Galium Ruadh. 

dair ; 

" Biodh sin aig bhur toil-se, fheara," arsa Mac 'ic Alas- 

" Cha 'n 'eil annamsa ach coigreach, agus o'n is 

aithne dhuibhse cur na duthcha gu leir, rachamaid an 

diugh do'n aitc a' s dluithe air laimh." 

" Theid sinn sios gu iochdar a' Ghlinne, ma ta, o'n is e 

a's fhaisge dhuinn. Chi sinn ioghnadh no dha ann mu 'ni 

till sinn," arsa Domhull Sgoileir. 

B' ainneamh aite an robh gleann cho maiseach ris a" 

Ghleann Mhor. Bha e coig mile air fad, agus mu mhile 

gu leith air leud. Bha amhainn a' ruith troimhe ris an 

canadh iad, an Amhainn Chruaidh. Fhuair an amhainn 

an t-ainm so, a choinn gu robh na bruaichean aice gle chas 

a nuas o a braighe gu faisge air a leith. Theirteadh, Am. 

Bail'-Uachdrach ris a' bhaile tuatha a bha ann am braighe 

'Ghlinne, agus am Bail'-Iochdrach ris a' tuatha a bha ann; 

an iochdar a' Ghlinne, faisge air bun na h-aimhne. Bha 

rathad mor troimh 'n Ghleann o cheann gu ceann. B'ann 

dluth air a' Bhail'-Iochdrach a bha 'n Taigh Ban ; agus an 

latha ud an uair a thug na fir an' aghaidh air an aite 'dh' 

ionnsuidh an robh iad a' dol, bha aca ri dhol troimh 'n 

Bhail'-Iochdrach. Mu 'n am ud de 'n bhliadhna cha b' 

urrainn daoine a bheag a dheanamh air obair a muigh ; 

ach 

o'n a bhiodh moran feamann a' tighinn a dh' ionnsuidh 

a' chladaich a h-uile geamhradh is earrach, ann am bagh

Fear a Gldinne. 643 

beag a' bha mu Icilh mhile an taobh shios de 'n amhainn, 

bhiodh tuathanaich a' Bhail'-Iochdraich, agus moian eile, 

cur air tir a h-uile latha 'bhiodh an seol-mara freagarrach. 

Chuir stoirmeannan an FhaoiHch moran feaniann gu 

cladach air a' bhhadhna ud, agus an uair a rainig Mac 'ic 

Alasdair, Calknn Ruadh, agus Domhull Sgoileir a' chroic 

's e so an tainm a theirear ris a' chuid sin de 'n chladach 

anns am bi an fheamainn a' cruinneachadh—bha na 

ficheadan an .'-:in ag obair cho trang 's a b' urrainn daibh. 

Bha eich is cairtean aig an aireamh bu mho dhiubh ; agus 

bha cuid eile ag obair leis na h-eich chHabh. Cha robh an 

latha ach goirid, agus an uair a bhiodh greis a dh' an-shide 

ann, cha bhiodh an traigh ann ach car uine gle' bheag. 

Dh' fheumadh iad a li-uile cothrom a ghabhail air an 

fheamainn a chur os cionn tiurr an lain, aon uair 's gu 'n 

tigeadh i thun a" chladaich, ar neo nan atharraicheadh 

a' ghaoth, dh' fhalbhadh a h-uile sop dhith. 

An deigh dhaibh seasamh car uine 'gabhail beachd air 

luchd an fheamanaidh, ghabh iad sios rathad Rudha na 

h-Airde. Sios faisge air gob an Rudha thainig iad far an 

robh tri chlachan mora nan seasamh leotha fhein air 

leithoir cnuic. Dh' fheoraich Mac 'ic Alasdair an rob'i 

ainm sam bith air na clachan. 

Arsa Domhull Sgoileir 'se 'freagairt, " So agaibh Creag 

Bhearnaig. Tha fhios agaibh gu robh na Lochlannaich, o 

chionn fada n' t-saoghail, 'nan cinneach treun aig an robh 

tlachd mor ann a bhith ceannsachadh gach righ agus 

rioghachd air an saoileadh iad am faigheadh iad buadh. 

Aig am araidh thainig Righ Lochlainn le chuid loingeis 

a cheannsachadh Righ nan Eileanan. Agus o nach robh 

aige ach an aon nigheann, bha meas ro mhor aige oirre. 

Cha bhiodh fois aig inntinn latha no oidhche mur oiodh i 

dluth dha. 'S e Bearnag a bha dh' ainm oirre. Tha e 

coltach gu robh i anabarrach maiseach. "Se nigheann Righ 

na Greige bu mhathair dhith. An uair a cheannsaich Rigli 

Lochlainn Righ nan Eileanan, agus a gheall e cis a thoirt 

do Righ Lochlainn gach bliadhna, rinn Righ Lochlain.;, 

—


fleadh mhor mar chuimhneachan air latha breith Bearnaig, 

agus bha Righ nan Eileanan a lathair aig a' chuirm mhoir 

so. Gu tubaisteach ciod e a rinn Righ nan Eileanan ach 

tuiteam ann an trom-ghaol air Bearnaig nigheann Righ 

Lochlainn, agus thuit ise ann an trom-ghaol airsan. O'n 

a bha meas cho mor aig a h-athair oirre, dheonadh e ni sam 

bith a dh' iarradh i air. Chomhairlich i dha cuirm mhor 

eile a dheanamh, agus cuireadh a thoirt do mhor mhaithean 

Rioghachd nan Eileanan gu' leir. Chuir i an ire dha gu'm 

biodh an Righ agus uile mhaithean na Rioghachd 'ga 

mheas mar urram ro mhor nan deantadh cuirm mhor mar 

onair dhaibh. Ach ged a chuir i so an ire dha h-athair, cha 

robh ni 'na beachd ach a' chuid a b' fhearr de 'n nine, nam 

faodadh i, a chur seachad ann an cuideachd Righ nan 

Eileanan. Dh' aontaich a h-athair leatha, agus rinneadh a 

h-uile deisealachd air son na cuirme. Bha moran de 

dhaoine urramach na Rioghachd a lathair aig a' chuirm 

agus mhair i seachd latha agus seachd oidhche. Fhuair 

Bearnag agus Righ nan Eileanan uair is uair cothrom air a 

bhith 'comhradh ri' cheile fhad 's a mhair a' chuirm 's am 

fleadhachas. Rinn iad cumhnanta teann mach posadh iad 

gu brath mur a faigheadh iad a cheile phosadh. Bha fhios 

aca le cheile gu Ian mhath mach robh feum dhaibh an ni 

a bha 'nam beachd innseadh do Righ Lochlainn. 

Ged a bha iad an duil nach d' thug neach de na bh' aig 

a' chuirm an aire dhaibh, bha bean Ridire nan Ard aig a' 

chuirm. agus bha i a' gabhail beachd air a h-uile car a bha 

iad a' cur dhiubh fad na h-uine. Thuig a' bhean so gle' 

mhath mar a bha cuisean, agus shuidhich i gu 'n cuireadh i 

eadar Bearnag agus Righ nan Eileanan. Bha fhios aice 

gu robh cumhnanta posaidh eadar Righ nan Eileanan agus 

nigheann Righ na h-Eirionn. Bha i fhein car uine ann an 

Eirinn, agus o'n a bha i 'na nighean agus 'na bean Ridire, 

fhuair i de dh' urram 's de dh' onair a bhith gu math trie 

air bhorda-mora ann an Luchairt Righ na h-Eirionn. 

Chuir i mar so eolas air an Teaghlach Rioghail ; agus cha 

robh diomhaireachd sam bith a bhuineadh do chuis an Righ

Fear a GlUinne. 645 

's na Rioghichd air a chumai) an ain-fhios oirre. Mun 

robh Righ nan Eileanan agus nigheann Righ Eirinn aig 

aois posaidh, rinneadh cumhnanta suidhichte ann an 

Luchairt Righ na h-Eirionn, far an robh Teaghlach 

Rioghail nan Eileanan car nine air aoidheachd, gu'm 

posadh Prionnsa og nan Eileanan nighean Righ na 

h-Eirionn cho luath 's a bhiodh iad aig aois posaidh. Aig 

an am 'san d' rinneadh an cumhnauta so bha h-uile coltas 

gu robh tlachd aig a' Phrionnsa og agus aig a' Bhana- 

Phrionnsa oig dha cheile. Mar is minic a thachair thainig 

atharrachadh air inntinn a' Phrionnsa oig. A thaobh an 

t-suidheachaidh arns an robh iad, agus cho fad 'sa bha an 

da Luchairt o cheile, cha robh iad a coinneachadh a cheile 

ach robh ainneamh. Cha ruigear a leas ioghnadh a 

ghabhail ged a dh' fhas Righ nan Eileanan suarach mu 

nigheann Righ Eirinn, oir, mar a tha 'n sean-fhacal ag 

radh. "An uair a theid fad' o'n t-suil, theid fad' o'n 

chridhe." The sean-fhacal eile ann mar so, " Fuath a' 

ghuillain a cheud leannan." 

Cha d' thainig atharrachadh sam bith air inntinn 

nighean Righ Eirinn. Cha 'n fhaca i fear riamh mu 

choinneamh a da shul a ghabhadh i a roghainn air Righ 

og nan Eileanan. B' ann air a bhiodh i a' smaointean fad 

an latha, agus a' bruadar fad na h-oidhche. 

An uair a bha bean Ridire nan Ard ann an Eirinn, leig 

nighean an Righ ris a h-inntmn dhith gu saor, soilleir. 

Dh' earb i rithe suil a bhith aice air Righ nan Eileanan, air 

eagal gu 'n teannadh e ri deanamh suas ri te sam bith eile. 

Gheall ise do nighean an Righ gu 'n deanadh i mar a bh' 

air iarraidh oirre. Thug so oirre a bhith ni bu leirsinniche 

na b' abhaist dhith a bhith. Mar a chaidh ainmeachadh 

mar tha, thuig i gu lan-mhath gu 'n do thuit nighean Righ 

Lochlainn agus Righ nan ICileanan ann an trom-ghaol air 

a cheile. 

Ged a bha bean Ridire nan Ard lan-shuidhichte 'na 

h-inntinn air cur eadar Righ nan Eileanan agus nighean 

Righ Lochlainn, cha robh fhios aice ciod an doigh air am


b' fhearr a ghabhadh a' chuis deanamh. Cha fhreagradh 

e dhith air dhoigh sam bith cur a mach air Righ nan F.ile- 

ann ; oir b' e Ridire nan Ard aon de na daoine bu disle 

do'n Righ a bha an taobh a staigh de chriochan na riogh- 

achd gu leir. Nam faigheadh an Ridire am fiosrachadh bu 

lugha mu 'n chuis, cha bhiodh latha sithe aice ri 'beo. Bha 

meas mor aice fhein air an Righ, agus nan deanadh i ni 

sam bith 'na aghaidh, chailleadh i a diieadh-ghean fhad 's 

bu bheo i. Cha robh a' chuis a' dol bhar a h-inntinn a 

latha no dh' oidhche. 

Latha dhe na laithean 's i gu dluth a' smaoineachadh 

mu'n chuis, bhuail e anns a' cheann aice gu rachadh i far 

an robh seann duine a bha dluth dhith, agus gu'n cuireadh 

i a comhairle ris. Rinn i so. An uair a rainig i taigh an 

duine so, bha iognadh mor air ciod idir an gnothach a 

bhiodh aig bean Ridire nan Ard risan, agus nach robh ann 

ach duine bochd, lapach, air nach sealladh cuid de mhor 

mhaithean na rioghachd ge b' e air bith aite anns an 

tachradh iad ris. Coma co dhiu an uair a chaidh a' bhean 

uasal, urramach so far an robh e, labhair i ris gu 

caoimhneil, cairdeil ; agus dh'innis i dha gu saor, soilleir 

ail t-aobhar air son an d'thainig i. Bha e greis 'na thosd, 

agus mu dheireadh thuirt e rithe. 

'A bhean mo ruin, tha eagal orm gu bheil sibh a' 

gabhail os laimh rud a dheanamh nach eil idir furasda 

ri dheanamh. Ma thuit an Righ agus nighean Righ 

Lochlainn ann an trom ghaol air a cheile tha eagal 

orm nach' eil doigh air cur eatorra ni's lugha na 

theid agaibh air an dara aon dhiubh a chur gu bas. Tha 

fhios agaibh gur olc ro mhor an Righ a chur gu bas. Is 

esean ar Righ dligheach, agus cha choir a chur gu bas idir. 

Ma theid agaibh air nighean Righ Lochlainn a chur gu bas, 

faodaidh sibh sin a dheanamh. Ach tha eagal orm nach 

'eil e furasda a cur gu bas. Tha i an comhnuidh ann an 

cuideachd a h-athar, agus cha bhi e furasda do neach sam 

bith greim fhaighinn oirre. Ma tha doigh sam bith air cur 

as dhith, 'se a bathadh an aon doigh. Tha seana bhean


anns an aite so aig am fheil comas air gach long a theid air 

saile a chur 'sa' ghrunnd. Bha i uine fhada anns an sgoil 

duibh, agus theid aicc air a' ghaoth a thogail, agus air an 

fhairge a chur gu beuchdaich air a' leithid a dhoigh 's nach 

urrainn long seasamh ris a' bheag sam bith a dh' uine. Ma 

theid sibh far am bheil i cha'n 'eil teagamh nach dean i gach 

ni a dh' iarras sibh oirre a dheanamh. Is e, Laidhream 

Odhar Nic an Laoich, is ainm dhith. Tha i 'fuireach leatha 

fhein ann am bruthaig gu h-ard anns a' mhonadh faisge air 

Bealach a' Bhochdain. Mur cuir sibh saod math oirre, is 

docha nach dean i ni sam bith de na dh' iarras sibh oirre. 

Rachaibh far am bheil i gun dail, agus faighibh a mach 

ciod na beachdan a th' aice. Mur tuig sibh a doighean, 

thighibh gun dail far am bheil mise, agus faodaidh e bhith 

gun teid agamsa air seoladh a thoirt dhuibh air an doigh 

anns an fhearr a gheibhear saod math a chur oirre." 

Dh' fhalbh bean Ridire nan Ard far an robh Laidhream, 

ach ma dh' fhalbh, cha b' e sin an t-astar beag. Bha aice 

ri dhol thar aimhnichean is bhogaichean mun do rainig i 

Bealach a' Bhochdain. Chuir i failte is furain gu cridheil, 

caoimhneil air Laidhream, agus chuir Laidhream failte is 

furain a cheart cho cridheil oirrese. Gu fortanach bha 

Laidhream an latha ud ann an saod anabarrach math, agus 

an uair a dh' innis bean Ridire nan Ard dhith an turus air 

an d' thainig i, dh' eisd i rithe le mor aire. 

" Ma thogras sibh," arsa Laidhream, " cuiridh mise do 'n 

ghrunnd, no air na creagan, a h-uile long a th' aig Righ 

Lochlainn." 

" Ma ni thu sin," arsa bean Ridire nan Ard, " tha d' aran 

fuinte. Bidh seomar grinn, glan, agad anns a' chaisteal 

agamsa fhad 's is beo thu. Tha mi cinnteach gu 'n toir 

nighean Righ na h-Eirionn dhut a h-uile ni a mhiann- 

aicheas tu." 

" Cha 'n 'eil mi ag iarraidh ni sam bith oirbh fhein no 

air nighean Righ na h-Eirionn. Cha 'n fhagainn mo 

bhruthag bhochd fhein air son a' chaisteil a 's fhearr ann an 

ceithir Ranna Ruadha an t-saoghail. Ach cuiridh mi as


do na Lochlannaich a dh' aon latha, ar neo tha cumhachd 

aca thairis air gaoith 's air fairge ni 's mo na th' agamsa. 

Ach ma chaidh Bearnag nighean Righ Lochlainn ri mathair 

fhein bheir i dulann do neach sam bith le druidheachd. 

Bha mathair arms an sgoil duibh comhladh riumsa, agus 

ma bha, cha bu chli i." 

" Chuala mi gu 'n d' fhuair a mathair bas mu 'n d' 

thainig ise gu aois," arsa bean Ridire nan Ard." 

" Ma fhuair," arsa Laidhream, '* cha robh a' bhan-altrum 

ris an d' earbadh Bearnag a bheag air dheireadh air te sam 

bith a bha beo ri' latha 's ri' linn. Faodar a bhith cinnteach 

gur nighean mar a' mhathair Bearnag ; ach ma gheibh mise 

leam a' cheud chleas mu 'n teid ise 'na faireachadh, theid 

gach cuis leam gu m' mhiann." 

Ghrad rug Laidhream air a' bhrod-ghriasaich agus stob 

i anns an teine e. B' e so a' cheud chleas. Cha 'n fhaodadh 

i fuarachadh a leigeadh leis a' bhrod-ghriasaich gus am 

biodh a h-uile cuis seachad. Thuirt i ri bean Ridire nan 

Ard, " Bi falbh dhachaidh cho luath 's is urrainn thu, agus 

cuir fios ugamsa c'uin a tha duil aig Righ Lochlainn seoladh 

do'n Bheirbhe. Cha tog mise a' ghaoth gus am bi iad 

seoladh latha agus oidhche air falbh, air eagal gu 'n dean 

an stoirm call air cabhlach Righ nan Eileanan. Cha 'n 

fhaod mise falbh o mo bhruthaig air eagal gu 'n teid an 

teine bas air a' chagailte. Cha deachaidh e bas o chionn 

corr is ceud bliadhna. An latha 'theid e bas caillidh mise 

da thrian dhe m' chumhachd." 

Dh' fhalbh bean Ridire nan Ard dhachaidh 's i gle 

riaraichte le a h-obair latha. An ceann latha no dha 'na 

dheigh sin thainig soirbheas fabharrach o'n deas 's o'n iar- 

dheas, agus rinn Righ Lochlainn deas air son a bhith 

'falbh. Gu moch 'sa' mhaduinn an la-iar-na-mhaireach 

thogadh na siuil bhana, bhaidealach ri crannaibh, agus thug 

Righ Lochlainn le a thri fichead long an cuan mor fo 

'cheann. 

Cha bu luaithe a thog na Lochlannaich air falbh o'n 

chladach na chuir bean Ridire nan Ard i fhein an ordugh

Fear a GJdinne. 649 

air son falbh far an robh Laidhream. Thug i leatha gu 

leor de gach ni a b' fhearr na cheile a bha staigh aice, air 

ghaol gu'n cuireadh i saod air Laidhream. Fada no goirid 

'gan d' thug i air an rathad, rainig i mu dheireadh. Bha 

Laidhream deas gu toiseachadh ri togail na gaoithe. Bha 

am brod-griasaich teith ; bha ballan mor luma-lan meig aice 

air meadhon an urlair, agus cuach fhiodha 'snamh ann. 

Chaidh i steach do chuil dhorcha a bh' ann an ceann shuas 

na bruthaig, agus chuir i uimpe luireag is barlag is currac 

ard na druidheachd. Bha an slacan-druidheachd 'na 

laimh-dheis. Sheas i aig an teine bheag a bh' air a' 

chagailte, agus chuir i a cas-dheas air a' cheann nach robh 

anns an teine de'n bhrod-ghriasaich ; chuir i a cas-chli ann 

am bac na slabhraidh, agus thoisich i air gabhail an ranna- 

ghail a leanas : 

— 

— 

— 

— 

Sgrios gun fhuigheall 

Horo naille, 

Air Righ Manus 

Horo naille, 

'S air a chabhlach 

Horo naille, 

Chuid nach loisgear 

Horo naille, 

Dhiubh gu'm bathar 

Horo naille, 

Gonadh guineach 

Horo naille, 

Bhith air Bearnaig 

Horo naille. 

Mar a' bha Laidhream a' dol air a h-aghaidh leis an 

rannaghail so, bha a' chuach-fhiodha a sior dhol mu 'n 

cuairt anns a' bhallan mheig, gus mu dheireadh an do 

thoisich am meag ri dhol na broinn. Mu dheireadh dh' 

fhas a' chuach cho Ian 's gu 'n deachaidh i fodha. 

A reir mar a tha an sgeula air aithris, bha an cuan 

a' beuchdaich fo sheideadh na gaoithe direach mar a bha 

am meag air a ghluasad anns a' bhallan. An uair a chaidh

650 The Hio/iiand Monthly 

a' chuach fodha, chaidh a h-uile long-chogaidh a bhuineadh 

do Righ Lochlainn an dara cuid do 'n ghrunnd, ar neo 

a bhristeadh air a' chladach. 

Ghabh Bearnag amhrus gu 'm b' ann le druidheachd a 

sheid a' ghaoth, agus a ghluais an fhairge, agus rinn i gach 

ni 'na comas a chum i fhein agus a h-athair a shabhaladh- 

Le buille dhe 'n t-slacan-druidheachd rinn i sgonnan fiodha 

dhe h-athair agus dhe 'dithis mhnathan coimhideachd. 

Rinn i fhein greim air fear dhe na sguinn, agus mar sin 

fhuair iad nan ceathrar gu tir sabhailte gu leor. 

Dh' aithnich Laidhream air dhoigh eiginn gu robh 

Bearnag beo, agus a dh' olc no dh' eiginn 'gan d' fhuair i) 

rainig i Rudha na Airde far an robh Bearnag a' fuireach 

gus am faigheadh i doigh air teicheadh le Righ nan 

Eileanan. Chuir Laidhream i fhein ann an eideadh diol- 

deirce, agus an uair a fhuair i fath air Bearnaig 's air a 

mnathan-coimhideachd aig gob an rudha so, rinn i carragh 

cloiche dhe gach te' dhuibh, sin agaibh, ma ta, mar a 

thainig na tri chlachan so gu bhith far am bheil iad, a reir 

mar a chuala mise o m' oige." 

Chord an seann sgeula so anabarrach math ri Mac 'ic 

Alasdair. O 'n a bha am feasgar air teannadh ri ciaradh 

smaoinich na fir gu 'n tilleadh iad dhachaidh do 'n Taigh 

Bhan gun dol ni b' fhaide. 

RI LEAXTUI>>

ON 

A Strano-c Rcveufre. 


By D. Nairne. 

CHAPTER XI. 

IS SHE DEAD? 

the clear morning air, the Parish Church bell rang 

out, as solemnly as its cracked condition would per- 

mit, the intelligence that death had occurred in high 

quarters since the last setting of the sun. The beadle 

being strongly aristocratic in his sympathies, only paid the 

compliment (entirely optional) of a knell to those of high 

degree. Aware of Tammas's weakness, the whole population, 

within range of the sound, turned out to enquire, with 

bated breath and sombre visage, who had been the victim 

of so hurried a sumir.ons to the final reckoning. 

Nobody had been known to be ailing : ah ! it is these 

dramatic incidents of human life—from health to death in 

the twinkling of an eye—which preach the most impressive 

and universal of sermons to mankind. Millions suffer long 

and excruciating agony before death brings them peace, but 

the newspapers are silent. Let the meanest pauper, on the 

other hand, make his exit at a moment's notice into the 

Unseen, and he does not go down to the grave unknown. 

While the dolesome pulpit warnings of the previous Sunday 

are forgotten, the pauper's fate produces solemnity, and 

sends people to their Bibles, if not to prayer. It is the 

mystery of it. A soldier is shot ; a criminal is hung ; an 

explosion blows a dozen healthy men to their last account 

— all very sad events in their way ; but here the cause is 

self-evident, and, consequently, unimpressive, whereas in 

the case of the pauper the supernatural element comes in. 

Medical men may assign scientific reasons, and education

652 The Utokland Mo7ithly. 

may still further eradicate superstitious notions, broaden 

materialistic views, and convince as to the physical basis of 

things ; but until the end of time humanity will ever 

remain sensitive to the awesomeness of sudden death. 

The blacksmith, always eager to get first news for dis- 

cussion round the anvil, laid down his hammer and hurried 

to the bell tower. Far and near the mhabitants were 

grouping together, and messengers were despatched hither 

and thither in quest of the information, Who is dead ? 

" It's at the Castle," suddenly cried a sharp-eyed urchin, 

"see the flag's gaun up and stoppin' at half-mast." 

" I hope it's no the laird," remarked a busy farmer, 

hurrying in from the fields. " It'll be a dreadfu' thing if 

the laird's taen avva' and thae improvements o' mine just 

begun tae." 

" Aye, the young chap '11 never be like his faither," 

added his grieve ; 

" he's gi&y tapsilteerie." 

Many were busy giving expression to similar opinions, 

when a horseman was seen coming at a brisk pace from the 

Castle. It was John on his way to Inverness with the 

tidings that Miss Flora had that morning been found dead 

in her bed ! 

Miss Flora, the good genius of Stuart Castle, the most 

popular lady in the whole country side ; the wife to be of 

the young laird, almost in sight of her wedding robes—now 

in her cerements. The news spread like wildfire, and 

moved every heart to a great depth of sorrow. As if by 

mutual consent, work was suspended on and far beyond 

the confines of the estate. Many a breakfast in homestead 

and cottage remained untouched. On this memorable 

morning, scarcely an eye but was moistened. 

" And her sae young and bonnie, and kind-hearted," 

remarked the leading voice in one condoling group of 

matrons. 

" Within sicht o' her marriage ring, as ye may say," 

broke in another, " they say the marriage was put forrit tae 

Christmas."

A Strange Revenue 653 

" Jist think o' that," exclaimed a wife of fewer years 

standing in matrimony, and therefore more prone to the 

romantic view of matters. " Its the saddest death of a' tac 

dee wi' the engagement ring on ane's finger." 

'• Hush, here's the minister ; he's gaun to the Castle, nae 

doot—his best black coat's on." 

Less sentimental, though their feelings were quite as 

sympathetic, was the conversation which was taking place 

in the smithy between the usual attenders at that gossiping 

rendezvous. The smith, though he dearly loved a " crack," 

seldom allowed his social disposition to interfere with his 

work ; he clenched each argument with the clang of his 

busy hammer. This morning he stood, arms akimbo, lean- 

ing against the anvil. 

" The bell's stoppit ; the beadle 'ill be here the noo wi' 

all the parteeklars," said the smith, breaking the silence. 

That functionary presently made his appearance, snuff 

box in hand. Recognising his importance on this occasion, 

he demanded a seat after his " solemn exertions," and the 

smith at once proffered the use of the anvil, which he even 

rubbed over with his leather apron, out of respect for a pair 

of newly-washed moleskins. The snuff mull was then 

passed round with the gravity of a Communion cup, and 

the silence pertaining to that ceremony. 

" It's awfu', Tammas," the smith at last ventured to 

remark. 

" Awfu'," responded Tammas. 

As the conversation gave no further signs of progression. 

Will the weaver took the affair in hand more pertinently. 

"You'll hae been up at the Castle this morning, nae 

doot, Tammas," he queried in a squeaking voice. 

" Nae doot," was the laconic reply, Tammas seemingly 

being impressed with the idea that news so solemn and 

important as he possessed required time for meditation. 

" Perhaps the laird sent for ye?" asked the same voice 

about three minutes afterwards. 

Whether Tammas resented so much inquisitiveness on 

the part of the \\ eavcr, for whom he had no particular lik-

654 


ing, or whether he preferred to leave the honour here 

suggested as it stood, rather than give an honest negative, 

was not apparent ; but the query remained unanswered^ 

and he at once changed the direction of the conversation. 

"Aye," he began, making another appeal to the snuffmull, 

" I've had a verra solemn duty to perform this mornin'— 

never solemner." 

There was a general assent. 

" Puir lassie, she must jist hae sleepit awa, withoot ae 

struggle. Her maid—Miss Flora was an early riser— found 

her tucked in, sleepin' profoundly, as she thocht. ' Its 

half-past six. Miss Flora,' she said, gien her a shake. 

There was nae response ; an' it struck her that when she 

shook the body it was awfu' stiff. Wi' a thumping heart 

she felt her cheek. It was as cauld as ice." 

" Whom the gods love die young," said the school- 

master, who had looked in on his way to work, and was 

anxious to consult his fellow-parishioners as to the pro- 

priety of giving his scholars a holiday. 

" The ways of Providence are inscrutable," said the 

junior elder, ever ready to hint to the dominie that his 

classic lore bordered upon, if it was not actually, heretical. 

" A sad point o' the matter," resumed the beadle, " is 

that Master Richard went awa' to Edinburgh last nicht." 

" Puir chap—he'll hae a sair hame-comin'. The Castle, 

in fact, will never be like itsel' again," remarked the smith,, 

little dreaming how true his words were destined to prove. 

" Is it true the young laird has been seen of late more 

in the company of the Professor's dochter than Miss 

Flora's?" asked the schoolmaster. 

" There's some gossip to that effeck," answered Peter 

the shoemaker, who had the reputation for being the 

scandalmongering member of the smith}' squad, as they 

were termed. 

" Let gossip alane on this solemn occasion," rebuked 

the elder, "remember the ninth commandment." 

" They've been seen thegither," persisted Peter.


" And so hae you an' Bettie Ritchie," came a voice from 

the far corner of the smithy. 

Peter blushed, and said no more during the conclave. 

" It'll break the laird's heart," the beadle paused to say, 

with a huge spoonful of snuff en route, " he was so much 

bound up in the lassie." 

At this stage the group was joined by Robbie Mac- 

taggart, the miller. 

" I'm tauld that Maister Dauvit's takin' it on sairer than 

anybody," said Robbie, " he's gaun on jist like a man 

dementit, tearin' his hair and sic like." 

" Wha's telt ye that ?'' 

" My dochter Kirsty. if }'e want tae ken. She's engaged 

tae John the futman, an' had a richt tae ca' at the Castle, 

which is mair.than ony o' ye have," was the reply made by 

this consequential individual. 

The discussion was here interrupted in an unusual 

manner, no less a personage than the minister making his 

appearance in the doorway of the smithy. An apparition 

could not have caused more consternation. Rev. Angus 

Cameron was a man of devout aspect, against whom 

nothing could be stated or insinuated, even by the gossip- 

ing shoemaker, except that he was suspected of having a 

slight leaning towards a dram of good whisky. The fact 

that Mr Cameron was a bit eccentric in his behaviour 

occasionally, more than probably gave rise to the above 

suspicion. At anyrate whisky could not be alleged as the 

cause of the rev. gentleman's descent upon the smithy this 

morning ; a place into which he had never set foot during 

his twenty-five years ministry. Miss Flora's death had 

moved him deeply. His recent sermon on scandalmongcring 

was, moreover, supposed to have been directed at the smithy 

meetings. 

" Let us pray," he said, removing his hat, and holding it, 

as his custom was (outside the pulpit), before his eyes, in a 

manner which precluded him seeing what transpired in 

front of him.

656 


As the minister proceeded with his devotions, the elder, 

remembering said sermon, and afraid for his reputation at 

this early stage of his church career, drew quietly towards 

the open window of the smithy, and disappeared. After a 

furtive glance around, his example was followed by the 

shoemaker ; M'Taggart, the miller, hesitated, but remem- 

bered that he had a child to baptise, and made his 

exit just as the minister touched upon "those who 

idled away their time while eternity was at their 

elbows." This reference was too pointed for the nerves of 

the schoolmaster (concealed behind the door), and he 

squeezed his corpulent frame through the window just as a 

group of his most mischievous pupils happened to pass 

They stared, then giggled, and the dominie concluded that 

his flight from Grace had met with its just reward. Next 

to the schoolmaster, who was more important than the 

beadle? Adopting this view, this official pocketed his 

snuff-mull, kept his eye steadily on the minister's hat, and 

in a trice was outside the building. Left alone, the smith 

began to feel nervous. What should he do ? It was not 

yet breakfast time, and his duty was to remain and work ; 

but then it would be an exceedingly awkward matter to 

account for his companions. By this time the minister had 

reached the parish, which meant that his devotions were 

drawing to a close The smith was considered the bravest 

man in the village; but face the parson in such circumstances. 

never 

All might have been well, even should Mr Cameron 

have found himself saying " amen " in an empty smithy. 

But good intentions sometimes miscarry. The clerk of 

the Presbytery; who had had occasion to quarrel with Mr 

Cameron on sundry matters, ecclesiastical and routine, 

passed just as the blacksmith dropped from the window, 

and, seeing the door open, looked in to see what was wrong. 

He found his brotlier minister alone, fervently praying for 

George the Third ; and he chuckled — a failing which 

ministers have in common with other human beings. The


rumour regarding his friend's habits had reached his ears ; 

here was irrefutable proof of it ; and at this early hour of 

the morning ! 

" Sorry, friend Cameron, to find you in such circumstances. 

The Presbytery must hear of this—how can you 

justify yourself? " 

Mr Cameron opened his eyes and gazed round the 

smithy in profound surprise. 

" They were all here a i^'fi minutes ago," he said, simply. 

"Yes ; 

blue devils, no doubt," said the Presbytery clerk, 

with a savage laugh. 

Mr Cameron gazed after him quite unable to realise what 

had happened. 

CHAPTER XII. 

ELSPETH THE WITCH IS TROUBLED. 

The country gossip had it that the Witch had become so 

" uncanny " of late, that few of the women folks had the 

courage to consult her on matters of futurity. 

The first notes of the death-bell caught Elspeth, flint 

and fuse in hand, crouching over the little beginnings of 

a peat fire. She started, and listened ; the flame she had 

been fostering flickered for a moment and died out. Ding ! 

How long and prolonged it sounded in her ears ; it seemed 

to her as if every tree was focusing the reverberations upon 

that miserable abode ; that her sense of hearing had 

become preternaturally sensitive to what had been familiar 

to her from childhood. Ding ! How melancholy ! She 

covered her ears, but the note was echoed and re-echoed by 

overy nerve centre of her brain, until each limb quivered 

and the pulse throbbed. 

Ding ! 

Death 

! ! 

She began to rock herself to and fro, backwards and 

her eyes dilated 

forwards, from one side to the other ; and 

42

658 llie Highland Mo)ithly. 

and stared. A great terror appeared to awaken within her, 

and multiply in intensity at each tone of the bell. 

Ding ! How solemn and strong old Tammas rung out 

the dirge ! Elspcth, with a cr\- of distress, rushed out of 

the hut, as an hysterical woman does at a precipice, and 

never drew breath till she had reached the verge of the 

wood, and had the Castle, the kirk, and the open country 

beneatli her view. She saw the famil\- flag proclaiming its 

.sad message on the Castle turret ; the 

t^roups or rushing hither and thither ; the 

people gathering in 

first rays of the 

sun struck the bell itself, and she could anticipate each 

Her mood changed as her eyes rested upon a 

ding ! 

shattered pile—her former abode—over against a boulder- 

clad knoll in that field below the Castle. 

At the sight Elspeth's hands clenched, her features 

once more she was the Witch, 

shook off their terror ; and 

cruel, cunning, and forbidding, cursing after her fashion, a 

maniac in all but the strait-jacket. Witches have not 

ceased to live ; the national as\'lums ha\"e onh- become 

more absorbing. 

" Curse ! 

tlie bell. 

curse 

! 

curse 

! 

" Curse the rotten-hearted laird ; 

and kin ; 

curse 

the house ; 

may 

— 

" she repeated at each ring of 

curse his proud kith 

the mortar turn tae dust, 

and a' its stanes fa', fa', fa' tae their nati\-e grund, as those 

of my hoose did at his biddin'. I see twa green graves ; I 

seî thp craws biggin' their nests in a roofless Castle ; 

Tammas has his work afore him ! Ha, ha, ha ! Ding awa ; 

Ding ! Ding ! 

" 

Ding ! 

aukl 

After giving utterance to these incoherences, Klspeth 

re-entered the wood, gesticulating and muttering ; and 

once more she began the operation of lighting her peat 

fire. The bell still tolled doleful!}- its message. By and 

bye, as some resinous \\ood burst into flame, her unnatural 

paroxysm of rage and hatred subsided, and her feelings 

appeared to thaw, and again follow the common plane of 

humanity, under the influence of the warmth.

Diiic,^ I Death 

! 

- / Strange Revenge. 659 

Whose 

death ? 

Well did Elspeth know whose dirge Tammas was ring- 

ing. | She had not communicated the secret of her herbal 

poison without knowing something of the Professor's plans. 

They fitted in with her own—both desired revenge. And, 

in addition to the satisfaction of inflicting a deadh' injury 

upon the family of the man who liad evicted her, had she 

not been well [)aid ? 

Reasoning thu>, Elspeth rose with a grunt of satisfaction 

and peered in a startled wa)- out at door and window, then 

cautiously barred the former. Rolling aside a boulder in 

the darkest corner of the room, she scraped awa}- the 

earth îth her fingers, and in a few minutes had clutched, 

like a panther at its prey, a small bag, the contents of 

which jingled in her nervous grasp. 

Ha\-ing once more assured herself that no one was at 

the window, the she miser set to counting out the coins one 

by one— in all, fift\- bright gold pieces— clinking them 

against each other with the glee of a child at pla\-. lC\en 

the amusement of the miser, howc\-er, palls. 

Ding I 

I 

Ding 

How red the gold kjoked under the rich morning light, 

Still the bcli swung. 

reflected from the bare pine boards ! 

She 

pausctl ; each 

coin reminded her of a drop of blood. Was it rcall\- blood 

money ? The question had never before struck her 

inorally benumbed brain. Involuntarily she drew back 

her hands. It was even so. An unnatural thirst for 

revenge had ousted all other considerationsas to whom the 

Professor's victim was, the justness of her fate, and the 

responsibilit\- she herself had in the matter. 

The Wîtch's conscience, under that suggestion of blood 

made b}- the pure light of heaven, had actually been 

awakened from its torpor in this, one of her saner periods. 

The bell had, to her conscience-stricken ears, changed the 

burden of its story. Whose blood ? every peal seemed to 

ask ; and the refrain answered—That woman's who sa\ed 

the Witch's life !

66o The Highland Monthly 

With a cry, Elspeth sprang to her feet, in her haste 

scattering the precious coins over the floor of the hut. The 

flood—ah ! the flood ! Where would she have been but 

for Miss Flora's helping-hand, when she was in the grasp of 

those terrible waters ? Dead ! None fear death more than 

those who play tricks upon their fellow-beings in name of 

its terrors. Elspeth trembled at the thought. Dead ! and 

strange mood was this that had seized 

the devil's ! 

upon her? 

What 

Ding ! She listened again ; but Tammas had, at last, 

fulfilled his mournful duty. The sun had also changed 

its light, for it was temporarily hid under a bank of cloud. 

Looking down, Elspeth perceived the gold, and at the 

sight of its glitter, the crazy brain resumed its vagaries. 

Once more she handled the coins fondly, muttering the 

while such words as these :— " Hech, hech, they wad hae 

been ten times mair had I gi'en him the cure ; but na, na, 

Fse no part wi' that ; it maun only be the Witch who can 

make folk dee and live agin." 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PROFESSOR REVEALS HIS HAND. 

When Richard reached Edinburgh, he lost no time in^ 

obtaining at the Post-Office the letter of direction to his 

whereabouts, which the Professor had promised should be 

waiting him. He was seriously anxious not so much to see 

Miss Somerton as her father. Anxiety had, for the time,, 

blunted the edge of his love passion—anxiety as to the 

results of administering the Professor's anti-love powder to 

Flora. Now that the critical step had been taken, he 

wished to be assured again that the effects of the drug, or 

whatever it might be, would, at least, not be to endanger 

the lady's life. His conscience still troubled him, argue 

as he liked, that a stranger, and a kindly-intentioned 

gentleman such as Professor Somerton appeared to be„


could have no possible motive in inducing the suitor for his 

daughter's hand to perpetrate an injury. A vague apprehen- 

sion that all might not be well, haunted every corner of the 

thinking part of him, and refused to be allayed. 

To Richard's surprise, the address given directed him 

not to the fashionable district of the city, but to an obscure 

hostlery in one of its unsavoury quarters. He was received 

at the door by the landlord, a burly fellow, in shirt sleeves, 

and smelling of the beer-tap. There was an unmistakable 

stamp of the bully about him. It was evident from the 

innkeeper's manner, that Richard's advent was not 

unexpected ; 

and though he was greeted with an amount of 

deference, it was also apparent that the courtesy extended 

to him had not the characteristic warmth produced by the 

prospect of long custom and a fat bill. 

" This way, young gentleman," he said, ushering Richard 

into a barely furnished room ; 

" Professor Somerton will 

have the pleasure of joining you immediately," he added, 

with a profuse bow, in the course of which he inspected his 

visitor with an eye more for his physical than his gentlemanly 

qualities. 

" That will be an easy job," he muttered, with a grin of 

contempt, after he had closed the door. 

In a few minutes the door opened, and the Professor 

confronted Richard. The latter rushed forward with 

extended hand and a pleasurable greeting ; but the Pro- 

fessor pretended not to see the hand, and with " Pretty 

well, sir," walked to the far end of the room. 

Quite taken aback at his reception, Richard could only 

stand and stare, while his heart began to throb, and a sicken- 

ing fear stole over him. Instinctively, he concluded that there 

was some mystery to clear up, and that it was not a 

pleasant one. 

voice ; 

" Pray, be seated," said the Professor, in a business-like 

" you must be tired after your long journey, I am 

sure." 

The meditative, scholarly, and kindly hearted aspect of 

the man had entirely disappeared ; he was now in the 

1


character and dress of a man of the world. Richard's 

apprehensions were not allayed as he noted, with surprise, 

the change in the dress, manner, and conduct of his friend. 

A fit of desperation seized him, and he determined to be at 

the root of the mystery. 

" You avoided taking my hand just now, sir," Richard 

proceeded bravely, but with a perceptible quiver in his 

voice ; 

" and in appearance and manner you seem much 

is anything 

changed from what you were at the Hall ; 

wrong ?" 

" You ought to know that," replied the Professor curtl}- 

at the same time placing the table between him and his 

guest, and fixing his keen eyes, with a hard, penetrating 

look, upon Richard's now blanching face. 

" What do you mean. Professor Somerton ; 

sake tell me qnickly !" 

for God's 

" Ha, ha !" and the Professor laughed dryly ! " I see you 

are alarmed ; 

compose yourself for a little—for a little." 

" Professor Somerton." 

" Well ?" 

" I feel there is something between you and me which 

requires instant explanation ; will you give it at once, and 

save me from a dreadful suspense ?" 

" That is what I intend to do, young sir. You shall have 

the ver}- fullest of explanations ; in fact, I intended you 

should come here for the very purpose. You administered 

the powder— I can read the answer in your face— in— your 

— face !" 

Richard paused for a moment, endeavouring to read in 

the Professor's face what would follow upon the admission,, 

but he failed. 

" I did as you directed ; and 

I now come to claim your 

daughter's hand." 

The Professor smiled, a grim, disagreeable smile, which 

filled his victim with evil forebodings. 

" You love my daughter devotedly, and it would make 

>-ou extremely unhappy to lose her ?" was the unexpected 

question.

A Sfra?ioc Rei'ciioe. 663 

" It would," Richard replied, a little relieved. 

'• 

I am glad to hear it— it was my aim and ambition that 

>-ou should feci just that wa)- ; it was, in fact, the ver)- 

point upon which the success of m}' little and vcr\' unique 

scheme turned." 

hands ; 

" \'our scheme I" exclaimed Richard, with clenched 

" orcat hea\-cns, what do you mean b)" scheme ? 

Have \-ou made me the \-ictim of a plot—of a crime," he 

added, in a hoarse whisper. 

" Calm yourself, }'oung man," said the Professor with a 

deprecator}- wave of the hand : 

" }'ou will have ample time 

for any demonstration \-ou ma\- wish to make, after you 

hear m\- .-.tor\'—my \er\- interesting story, I should sa)'," 

he supplenicntcd with irritating deliberation. 

" Listen : 

it is a little bit of m}- personal histor)- which 

it is necessary to relate in order that you, Richard Stuart, 

ma}- thoroughh- realise the true position in which yf)U 

stand under this roof. I am an old acquaintance of )-our 

father— iiay, don't interrupt me, for that is not all : I loved 

_\-our motiicr." 

" \ov loved w)' mother ?" 

*' A\'e, better than \'OU, her son, can possibh' lo\-e m\- 

daughter. I might have gained her hand, and I certainly 

would have been more happ}-, perhaps more honest, though 

scarceK" less prosperous in a worldly wa\-, had I succeeded. 

Your farlier came between us. He gained her heart : she 

spurned me ; he insulted me ; and I xowed a vow, and 

wrote tl'at vow in a pen dipped in my own hot blood 

own blood, I say, shed by the man }'ou call father— 

swore to be a\-enged 

— 

avenged 

T 

— 

1 

my 

" And have }-ou waited till now," asked Richard, in a 

quiet teeth-set w a\-, which shewed that he had already 

anticipated the worst, and might become a dangerous ])cr- 

son in the reckom'ng. 

" A whole life-time 1 ha\-e nursed and cherished the 

hope of some da\- paying back the injury, with interest 

according to the antiquit}- of the debt. At last fortune

664 T^^^ Highlana Moiithly. 

came ; fortune which had eluded my grasp like a Will-o'- 

tlie-Wisp, came at last, I say, and, like other men so 

favoured, I sought that which would yield me greatest 

pleasure—revenge on my old enemy, your father." 

" And have you made his son the victim of a horrible 

crime?" broke in Richard, with dilated eyes. "For 

Heaven's sake, say that is not true !—say what you will, 

that you intend to refuse me your daughter, and I will sub- 

mit cheerfully ; but 

spare me from—that." As he made 

the appeal, the cold sweat stood upon his brow in drops 

which glistened like dew in the sunbeams which glinted 

across the room. 

The Professor contemplated his victim with satisfaction, 

and proceeded:— 

" You have been the necessary implement in my plan of 

revenge—a plan which, as you will admit, on reflection, is 

unique and rather clever in its character—unique and 

clever." 

" Fool that I have been— I see it all now ; tell me the 

worst, you vagabond ! Fiend ! 1 say, tell me—and 

then 

" 

He made a lunge forward, as if he would grapple the 

Professor by the throat, but the latter again put the breadth 

of the table between them. He, at the same time, whipped 

a pistol out of his hip-pocket, and laid it quietly on the 

table in front of him. 

" You see," he remarked with a sneer, " I anticipated 

having to deal with a 

admit, a fool—a fool ! 

hot-blooded youth, though, as you 

Any more nonsense, and I'll scatter 

the little brains you possess with as little compunction as I 

" 

have made you a 

He paused, and stared into Richard a look which could 

not be misunderstood. Richard staggered, reeled like a 

drunken man, and finally sank upon a chair, breathing 

heavily. 

" You love my daughter," continued the Professor, after 

a pause.


The words recalled Richard to his senses, and now he 

listened in silence, his face ghastly and drawn, and his e\cs 

fixed with mesmeric attraction on the face of the speaker. 

" Your father loves you ; you are the apple of his eye ; 

his heir and his hope ; he also loves Miss Flora, as you call 

her. He will now learn what it is to love and lose, as I 

did. Miss Flora is to die, and you, Richard Stuart, zvill he 

her murderer /" 

" And so the vague fear which has haunted me, is right 

—you have made me a poisoner," said Richard, rising up 

dreamily, pressing his throbbing temples. 

" Unless the antidote is given within twenty-four hours, 

she will die—result, as I promised : she will never love you 

more ! You 

see, sir, 

my word." 

I am a man of my word—a man of 

" The antidote—the antidote ! save her ! save her ! or, 

by heavens, I will murder you !" screamed Richard, as he 

sprang across the room. 

The Professor mo\-ed round the table, covering his victim 

with the pistol. 

" You may as well shout up the chimney for your 

father, or the devil, to whom you also belong—the antidote, 

I may remark, is not in my possession. I had only use for 

the cause, not the cure. Steady now, or I will use this little 

weapon of mine." 

After making another furious effort to clutch the Pro- 

fessor, Richard again subsided into a chair, gasping for 

breath. 

" Is there no hope of saving her ?" he asked piteously. 

The Professor regarded him with a look of calm, cruel, 

contempt, and then, with a gesture of impatience, 

replied : 

— 

" You had better hurry home and enquire. You will, at 

least, be in time for the funeral !" 

At the words, Richard gathered himself together, slowly 

rose, and ultimately stood upright, drawn to his full height, 

the very picture of resolute despair.

666 The Hiohland Montkly. 

" J-'rofessor Somcrton," he said calmly, " there is another 

and it is yours. I go home. 

funeral I will jixe to be at ; 

If I find thcclrui;- has fulfilled its mission, and I have played 

the part of the second miu'dcrer, )'ou, murderer number one, 

will perish by m)- hand, though I should track you over the 

whole world to do the deec' !" 

There was, in Richard's look and attitude, such an 

impressive meaning, that the Professor winced. Then his 

foot made three stamps upon the floor. In a moment the 

landlord burst into the room. 

" Remove that fellow," said the Professor. 

" Not a hand upon me." 

The bull}', for such he was in rcahty as well as in ap- 

pearance, stepped back, as he caught sight of Richard's 

face. He scarcely resembled the health)- \-oung man who 

had entered the room half-an-hour ago. 

'• Villain I" said Richard, addressing the Professor, " you 

have made me- -I who had no concern in the miserable 

affairs of your life— )-our \ictim in a diabolical and 

unnatural crime, which )ôu call revenge. You have 

played the part well. You deceived me, country-bred as I 

you 

me 

am, and not used to the world's wickedness, as j-ou are ; 

have succeeded in wrecking a happy home ; branding 

with a repulsi\'e crime—— -" 

" Remove him—the fellow is mad," cried the Professor ;. 

" do your dut}', landlord." 

As he w-as being hustled from the room, his last words 

ringing with curses and threats, there was a shriek, shrill 

and piercing, from the neighbouring apartment, and a heavy 

fall. 

The Professor rushed in, and started back at the sight 

which met him. Julia lay prostrate on the floor in a dead 

faint ! What if she had heard all ? The thought alarmed 

him exceedingly ; he had hoped to carry through his 

\illainous scheme without even exciting the suspicions of 

his daughter that anything but the rejection of Richard's 

suit was intended.

A Stj-anQc Rcvenoe. 667 

In a short time Julia was restored to consciousness 

and to miser}-. Pîxing her ej'es on her father, slie said, in 

a voice of quiet resignation : 

— 

" I came here to find }-ou, and I heard Richard's voice. 

This room being empt}-, I came in ; the 

heard all. \o\\ start, father—oh ! 

(jod, 

— 

partition is thin ; I 

what a man for a 

father !—and I lo\ed \-ou so, and thought you so kind. 

Vou can no more be the same father to me—never again. 

It is you who arc the murderer if Flora dies— I and dear 

Richard }'our tools— your poor innocent tools." 

" You and dear Richard ; what mean you, Julia?" 

" I mean that Richard is the man I love more than my 

life. It is \-our own doing. You have broken his heart ; 

mine also is utterh- broken—for me, life is over." 

The Professor clutched a chair, and his eyes became 

transfixed on the pale, beautiful, sad face of his daughter. 

He scarcel}- }-ct comprehended the terrible import of her 

words, the disaster of the dangerous game he had played. 

Then, as the truth flashed upon him, he staggered from the 

room, looking a broken man. 

That night, a solitary horseman galloped over the 

north-going highwa)-. People paused as he passed, and 

and ojie pedestrian, at least, was right 

looked after him ; 

when he said it looked like "a ride for a life." 

I'lO BE CO.VI INUEU.J

668 'J he Highland Monthly. 

THROUGH DARKEST INVERNESS-SHIRE 

BY RAIL AND ROAD. 

ON 

II. 

the outskirts of this kraal were several small-sized 

huts, evidently intended to accommodate a couple 

of men, though the chances were that some half-dozen 

found shelter under each roof One of them was apparently 

left in charge of a dog, which advanced wuth a show of 

great ferocity. My knowledge of Natural History enabled 

me to identify it as a variety of collie. This class of dog I 

am very familiar with. One feature in the character of 

every member of this particular species is, that notwith- 

standing the wolfish and alarming appearance of their 

attack, they quickly change their attitude to that of the 

intensest and most abject humility, by the adoption of a 

simple ruse ; hence it was that I advanced to this ferocious- 

looking brute with a degree of confidence and an equability 

of pulse which less keen observers of the instincts of collies 

would have been amazed at. When I judged that I had 

got near enough, I put my ruse into practice. Briefly 

explained, it consisted merely in making a quick motion to 

the ground, as if to secure a stone or some such missile to 

throw at it. The animal is then expected to desist from 

asserting itself in any sense, and to retire ignominiously 

with its tail between its legs. This particular collie did 

nothing of the kind ; 

its attitude became even more alarm- 

ing than before ; its short mane bristled so that every 

individual hair stood on end ; 

it showed its teeth—and a 

particularly fine set they were—with a completeness and 

an evident desire for applying them practically, which 

could leave no doubt on the mind ; its language, too, was 

most emphatic, most unmistakeable. Imminent danger, it

Through Darkest Invc7'ness-shire. 669 

is said, quickens the faculties. I resolved to temporise. In 

my suavest manner I praised it. Called it " '* 

Good dog ! 

" Fine fellow ! 

" and sought to impress on its mind that 

nothing was further from my intention than to apply my 

ruse a second time. I sought to convey to it my admira- 

tion at the capable manner with which it guarded the 

rotten old box I had no intention of touching. The fine 

set of teeth was even more in evidence than before, and 

the language if anything more emphatic. I tried the effect 

of the human eye, wishing very quietly it was the human 

toe, but without any beneficial result. I therefore tried the 

human heel, and made an ignominious detour of nearly 

half a mile, and so escaped this danger. I believe as much 

as ever in my ruse, but am certainly less decided as to 

its effect. This much, however, is true, if, as in my case, it 

has not the expected effect on the one party, it certainly has 

a precisely similar effect on the other. 

Macdougall's road was very difficult to find. I thought 

several times I had struck it, but after a few yards it dis- 

appeared. Looking up and down the side of the hill, I 

thought I could discern something in the distance which 

looked like the road, but on my getting to those spots I 

found I was mistaken. 

These delusive wanderings added considerably to the 

length of my journe}-, and the episode of the dog, the 

heartless nature of the weather, the despicable state of my 

boots, all had an evil effect on my better nature. 

With regard to the boots, I was now satisfied that even 

in a van full of navvies I would have no cause to think 

them out of place—they had a wretched spongy look, and 

an equally wretched and spongy feel, which was most 

complete. 

The rain came down persistentl)-. I had heard that in 

this district when it rains—// rains—devoting its whole 

mind to it. My umbrella grew sodden and heavy, and the 

wind blew it about in a ridiculous fashion. I was just 

weighing in my mind what advantage there was in my

670 

The Uichland MojitJUy. 

struggling with the unwieldy thing, when a sudden gust of 

wind relieved me of all anxiety with regard to it, b\' flapp- 

ing it inside out two or three times in rapid succession, and 

finally tearing the cloth off the stem, and whirling it like a 

huge raven away down the hill. I thought of throwing the 

stem after it, but on reflection I perceived that the wind 

had thoughtfulh' relieved me of a positive nuisance, and 

pro\'ided me with a good and efficient support, so I stuck 

manfully to m}- umbrella-stem, and after I had cut off some 

small debris which the wind had not cleared, I went forward 

with a lighter hand and heart. 

At this juncture, by way of pro\-ing that good fortune 

never comes singl}', I believe I did actually strike the road ; 

it was—like the gain in the loss of the umbrella— purely 

accidental. I looked behind and ahead of me, and could 

.see to my delight that there w as a more or less continuous 

track winding its wa)- round brae faces and over hills. 

How I happened to get on to it shall nexcr be ex- 

plained. Be that as it may, there 1 was, a solitar\' speck on 

an undoubted man's trail, leading from somewhere to some- 

whither. 

On more intimate knowledge, howexer, I found the 

track not altogether an advantage. In dry weather it 

would have been better, no doubt, but after some six weeks 

of more or less incessant rain, it led mc into bogs, and wet 

rank grass, places which were certain 1\' worse than the 

hopping about from one heathery knoll to another, which 

had characterised my progress before. 

However, there was a certain companionship in it, just 

as there was in recognising here and there the sheeps-bit, the 

grass of Parnassus, the scabious, and the stag moss, 

mingling with the universal heather, the crowberry, the 

sweet mountain th)-mc, and the humble tormentil. Yes, 

there certainly was a companionship in it, for the feet of 

man had worn it into existence, and it mu.st lead to a 

desired end. My attention was, however, more directed to 

keeping it in \ icw rather than taking the natural use of it.

ThrouoJi Darkest hwcnicss-shirc. 671 

My good fortune in losing my umbrella, and finding 

this track, was further accelerated by an important addition 

to my own sociei}', in the shape (jf an undouJ^tcd specimen 

•of the genus "tramp." I le came upon me rather suddenly 

so suddenly, indeed, that he might ha\-e sprung out of the 

bog ; 

his api)carancc rather faxoured this idea, for he looked 

even wetter than I felt m\-self to be. Me was closely 

— 

buttoned and pinned up in what about the beginning of 

the present ccntur)- would no doubt ha\e been a respectable 

black cloth coat. His (jther integuments were rather 

mixed. A huge yellow-ochre cravat, a felt hat, which 

probably had once been white, and to which was attached a 

slimy bit of crape. His trousers were of brown moleskin, 

and extended in some points to a little below his ankles, a 

pair of well-ventilated boots, and one stocking, which per- 

mitted some pearly toes to peep out. 

He also wore a black e}'e. 

I had often dreamed of ineetinga real authentic tramp 

•one who could, as is the belief, give curious information on 

curious, out-of-the-way subjects. Here then was the article 

ready to my hand, and I need hardly say I determined to 

make of him mine o\'ster, \\hich I with well-directed queries 

wcnild ope. 

It might ha\-e been that m.y queries were not well 

directed. It might ha\c been that this particular " oyster" 

was exceptionall}- difficult to "ope," at an\'rate, "ope" to 

any extent he certainl)- did not, so that the curicnis informa- 

tion the ' tramp " is popularly beliexed to be such a mine 

of, was to me as unprofitable as a real (?) mine I had taken 

some stock in a {q.\\ \ears before. 

I tried him on " the weather" to begin with. He agreed 

Avith me that it was wet, but as to whether it was to fair up 

or get worse, he couldn't tell. 

I asked him if he had heard of the new railway. He 

certainly had, but that wasn't his line. Here I thought was 

an opening. What was his " line ? " He evidently could 

not make up his mind, for he made no repl)- beyond an


unintelligible grunt. I probed him with the idea that per- 

haps his " line" was " rabbits," or " rats." It was not, but 

he could do with some tobacco. I conferred tobacco on 

him, and resumed queries on a variety of subjects. Red 

deer, grouse, bimetallism, state of the crops, Home Rule for 

Ireland, state of affairs in Fort-William, in Oban, in 

Glasgow—total results meagre in the extreme ; hint for 

more tobacco ; a copper or two ; 

also weird threats of 

vengeance on a particular enemy in Fort-William, who had 

not treated him well. Probably the party who had granted 

him the black eye, so pronounced, so complete, so eye- 

inspiring. 

I resolved to get rid of him if I could. He was a 

decided failure, looking at him as an ideal, and he was toO' 

mercenary. I didn't like the twinkle of his other eye when 

I produced a handful of money to select a copper or twO' 

for him, and his demand for tobacco was extortionate. 

I reflected that he was a strongly built fellow, with a 

better stick than my umbrella-shaft, and with complete 

indifference to the effects of a vigorous use of it. I had 

money, tobacco, and other effects which to him were most 

valuable, and out of all proportion to other consequences if 

he could but get at them. 

My policy clearly was to keep him in front, and so 

avoid any sudden attack from the rear. If he sprang upon 

me suddenly, one well-directed blow would probably render 

me insensible, if it was not more serious. It was unpleasant 

to reflect that I might lie there in that desert for a week 

before being found, and by that time I would be a " demp 

unpleasant body." Keeping him therefore well in front, I 

hinted that I invariably travelled with a loaded pistol, and 

also went into some details—diplomatic, though imaginary 

—with regard to a hand-to-hand encounter with Zulus, and 

other aboriginals in South Africa, in which I had with my 

own hand killed several, and rendered others of them 

useless and bedridden for years. To my amazement, he 

informed me that he had been out with some regiment or

TJirongh Darkest Inverness-shirc. 673 

other at the Zulu war, and such a thing as a bedridden 

Zulu he had ne\cr heard of, also adding gratuitously something 

about it being " all kid," and that any one of them 

would " take me all in." 

These unexpected observations made me deem it 

advisable to scuttle out of Africa, and transfer my exploits 

to some equally savage, if less known spot. They also had 

the effect of rousing some latent ferocity in my nature. 

The idea that both the collie and the tramp had had the 

best of the interviews, made me grow " stern and wild," so 

without further mask of ceremon\-, I allowed him get well 

on in front, and so, b\' and b}e, like Bunyan's Pilgrim, I 

saw him no more. 

My ideas with regard to tramps are now changed. 

After I had resumed my walk for some miles, I found 

to m\' dismay that the track branched off, one branch going 

eastwards, and the other to the north. Here was a problem, 

then. W'hich should I take ? One was the right one, but 

which was it ? 

I have adopted a principle in dubious matters of this 

kind, which on more than one occasion I have found to 

work well—that principle simply is, When in doubt, select 

the least likely. In this instance I saw the north branch 

would take me to a more picturesque, less dreary-looking 

district than the east branch. Accordingly, acting on my 

principle, I took the latter, and to my great relief and joy, 

I found that after a cheerless tramp of a mile or two, I had 

actually reached my journey's end. 

Warmth and food and a dry atmosphere are in them- 

selves great luxuries, but after the experiences of that 

particular morning, the luxuriousness of them was un- 

bounded. 

I received a " Highland" welcome— which, in my 

'experience, is much the same a.s a " Low land" one— trans- 

acted m\- business, and got once more back to the railway 

works, checrfuiK- enough, but tircfl out and wet to the skin. 

43

674 


I got back in good time for the " five o'clock ;" there 

was no sign of it, but that was to be expected. What 

surprised me was the absence of that bustle and clamour 

which I had left here in the morning. Tiiere were certainly 

some men to be seen on the line, and in the joiners' and 

blacksmiths' shops work was going on, but otherwise the 

quietness was striking. 

Going up to a navvy, who was wringing the rain out of 

his cap, I asked him about Macdougall and the " five 

o'clock," " Och," the man replied, " Macdougall and the 

squad are off to Fort-William, and the ' five o'clock ' won't 

be here the nicht." 

The sun was setting in the west. The heavy grey clouds 

were creeping nearer and nearer to the bedraggled earth. 

The steady downpour of the last few hours grew steadier,^ 

and the evening was to be more dismal than the day. The 

blacksmiths had begun to do up their fires for the night 

and the joiners to lock their doors. 

The man who had given me the information reached for 

his hammer, and, swinging it carelessly over his shoulder, 

betook himself to his bothy ; whilst I wandered aimlessly 

back along the line with the full significance of the words 

" the ' five o'clock ' 

'ill no be here the nicht," sinking deeper 

and deeper into my heart, 

Now that a sublime dismalness had been reached, a 

soothing compensation of something so absurd in the tout 

ensemble struck me as ludicrous in the extreme, so that I 

laughed long and loudly. The beneficial influence of this 

hilarit)' impelled me to enquire of the first comer where 

in his estimation and looking at the matter from his 

independent standpoint—he thought I should pass the 

night ? The sudden directness of this query had a con- 

fusing effect on his mind which took some time to correct. 

Was I a gaffer ? Was I an office hand ? No ; not exactly,. 

said I, in a hesitating sort of fashion. Wishing to impress 

him with the idea that though not exactly either, I was 

ncarl}- allied to both, and thereb)- possibl}- secure some 

benefit. 

—

Through Darkest Inverness-shire, 675 

Did I know Swan ? he resumed. Who is Swan ? said I, 

by way of a preliminary to a distinct reply. Not to know 

Swan, not to be a gaffer or an office hand, was apparently 

a conjunction of evils which were having a bad effect on the 

man. But, I added, a brilliant idea striking me, I know 

Macdougall. Then, he retorted, with some appearance of 

natural sequence, you'd better try Swan's. " Swan's " I 

learned, on further enquiry, to be the Telegraph Office, 

about half a mile down the track. This fact of the 

Telegraph Office was reassuring, and I reached it without 

delay. It was a black felted square box, situated 

unpicturesquely in the middle of a morass. I waded near 

it and found Swan himself smoking a pipe at his door. He 

C}-ed me all over very uncomplacently, I thought, and to 

my overtures with regard to the state of the weather and of 

his own immediate surroundings, he did not respond with 

much good feeling. 

I put my case to Swan very clearly, dwelt on the fact 

that Macdougall had proved a broken reed, by going away 

long since, and the " five o'clock" quenched flax by not being 

there at all, adding, by way of peroration, " was I to be left 

here to decay in barren bog ? " 

Swan made no \erbal response, but his look indicated 

plainl}' that for the purposes of decay, it might as well be 

done in barren bog as anywhere else. He then turned in to 

one of his telegraph instruments, and began operating very 

vigorously. 

I waited patiently until he had finished. He then said 

laconically, " The'll be an engine here in half an hour.' 

The sun was still setting, the clouds were still creeping 

lower, and the surroundings were more dismal than ever, 

but I could, on hearing this statement, have taken Swan to 

my breast—have taken Swan's neck in my arms— I looked 

on him with such feelings of admiration. 

I had contracted the uncommon habit of carrying with 

me on excursions like this a life-saving apparatus, in the 

shape of a little flask. With commendable forethought I

676 


had saved the half of its contents for the purpose of regaling 

Macdougall. I now conferred it on Swan. He examined 

the outside appearance of it thoughtfully for a few seconds, 

then gave the contents his undivided attention for as many 

more. Returning the empty, he stated that " he thought he 

could make it all right with Sam." 

Who on earth was Sam ? What fresh complication 

was this ? Was it the whisky or me that had to be made 

" all right." Certainly, so far as I was concerned, I was all 

wrong. 

Sam, it transpired, was the engine driver, and as the 

ukase had gone out that no one was allowed to travel on 

the line without an official " pass," my condition would not 

have been in the least mended by the advent of the engine, 

had I not secured the assistance of Swan. 

The engine-driver, to begin with, was adamant. He had 

his orders. He did not care " a rap " about Macdougall. It 

wasn't his " look out " if I were left to decay. Finally, 

however, after whispered consultation between him and 

Swan, I was invited to *' jump in." 

I jumped in. 

The journey down was delightful. I had a cosy nook 

beside the furnace, and I could see round me on all sides. 

The scenery, when we came to Loch Treig, was simply 

magnificent. The loch lies, some ten miles long by less 

than one mile wide, at the foot of some of the grandest hills 

I had ever seen ; afterwards the scenery got less interesting 

for a mile or two. Sam and his assistant had their hands 

full looking out for obstructions, putting on the drag in 

.steep parts and slowing as much as they could, then 

letting it out gradually as the gradient grew less steep and 

when the track could be seen for any distance. Sam, it 

transpired, had been out at the Suakin and Berber Railway 

in Egypt. Interrogated as to his opinion of the scheme 

averred that, supposing it finished, " you would require a 

regiment to keep the sand off it and another regiment to 

protect that regiment from the hordes which infest the 

whole countrw"

Throtigh Darkest Inverness-shire. 677 

When we " struck " the river Spean the scenery proved 

indescribable. This river's course— probably the most 

varied and picturesque in Scotland—here runs for over a 

mile in a very contracted channel, so contracted that the 

otherwise broad stream tears down with terrible energy in 

a scries of whirlpools, cataracts, and waterfalls, which, by 

and b\c, when the railwa)' is finished, will be one of the 

sights of the country. Sam declared that " it's enough to 

make m}- pipe go out every time I sees it." 

Interesting also to watch the progress of the works here 

and there, to note the extraordinary number of bridges 

o\-erhead and under, of culverts and di\ersions of roads and 

streams ; 

to watch the ri\-en hill-side rocks dripping with 

damp, like blood out of fresh wounds. 

Comforting also to be getting nearer and nearer to 

civilisation, to food, and to dr)- clothes. 

J. 

A. G.


THE BATTLEFIELD OF KILLIE- 

CRANKIE 

By DAVID CAMERON, F.G.S.E, Daviot. 

" XT THAT great, dignified clergyman distinguished him- 

VV self at Killiecrankie?" asked "The Ettrick 

Shepherd" of Sir Walter Scott on one occasion, when the 

" Shepherd " was publishing his famous Jacobite Relics. 

Sir Walter observed that this was net the scene where one 

would expect a churchman to shine, and so concluded that 

there really was no clergyman in the case, and that the 

" Shepherd " had ignorantly mistaken Major-General 

Canon for the canon of a cathedral ! Fuller details of this 

matter are given in the " Works of the Ettrick Shepherd," 

vol. ii., page 45 ; published by Blackie & Son. It is 

evident, however, that James Hogg had good grounds for 

asking this singular question ; although Scott induced him 

to drop it. In the wild charge of the right wing of the 

Highlanders at Killiecrankie, one of the most conspicuous 

men was the chaplain of Ballechin, whose voice rose above 

the din of battle, with such words in their equivalent 

Gaelic, as— " Forward, my children, in the name of God ! 

Fight for your king and country !" The work became 

particularly warm when they reached the hollow of Lag- 

marnaig, where a strong party of the Royalists stood at bay, 

and where the redoubtable chaplain threw off his coat, and 

shouted to his attendant— " Here, hold my coat, and hand 

me your sword, and I will show you what I will do !" 

The chaplain then and there performed such prodigies of 

valour, that, like many a good soldier that night, he found 

it much easier to grasp the sword than to part with it, for 

his hand got swollen within the basket-hilt, and was 

with much pain and difficulty extracted. The clergyman

The Batticfield of Killiecraiikie. 679 

who thus dictinguished himself on the battlefield of Killie- 

crankie, was one of the Steuarts of Ballechin, in Strath- 

tay. At the same time, Steuart, the laird of Ballechin, 

took an active part in support of the Stuart dynasty. He 

was then factor for the Athole Estate, and held Blair 

Castle on behalf of King James VII. Donald Gorm Mac- 

donald, of Glengarry, also greatly distinguished himself at 

Lagmarnaig. One who was present related that he saw 

Donald Gorm cut a musket barrel in two with a single 

stroke of his broadsword. Both he and his brother were 

killed beside the knoll which was named after them 

" Tomvickicallister." This knoll was cut through in mak- 

ing the Highland Railway. Along the Urrard Road, from 

Lagmarnaig to Lagnabuiag (Daisy Hollow), the grave 

mounds appear on every side on the green hummocks. 

Within sight of Lagnabuiag, a little burn crosses the road. 

This burn issues from a marsh close at hand, which winds 

round the north and south side of a long, low, green ridge, 

running east and west. Along the whole length of this? 

ridge, about 50 yards, there is an old, grass-covered trench 

where the light, sandy soil, dug from the bottom, was 

thrown up as a rampart on the north side, lacing the lii'.e 

•of the right wing of the Highlanders, composed of the 

Macdonalds of Glengarry and the Macleans. This trench 

is perfectly straight, and probably extended eastwards 

across the now arable field of Runrorie, and through the 

lower part of the present garden in front of Urrard House, 

passing the old well where Lord Dundee was killed, about 

the centre of General Mackay's position along the 500 feet 

•contour. 

The grave mounds are very numerous and prominent 

alongside the trench already described, and were locally 

known up till recently, as the graves "of the red coats" 

(t-arm-dearg) ; 

and along the line except where the ground 

has been disturbed on the arable field, of Runrorie; and 

here also very numerous remains have been turned up. 

The lawn in front of Urrard House has not been disturbed

68o The His^hland Monthly. 

since the battle ; and 

the numerous graves on it can be 

easily detected by the slight difference of the level and the 

deeper green of the grass. A long burial trench occurs at 

the foot of the 500 ft. terrace below Urrard House. Near 

at hand is a monolith, probably of the stone circle age. It 

happens to mark the spot where " the bauld Pitcur fell in a 

fur." It was here that Gen. Mackay placed the baggage 

before the battle. But, unfortunately, the best part of the 

spoil was not for the victors, but for the idle spect£.tors. 

On the morning of the battle two young Highlanders 

left Dundee's army 011 Craig Halloch, as they were rather 

curious to see the " red coats," whom they had never seen 

before. As they were entering a bothy and its adjoining 

barn they came in contact with a number of red coat scouts. 

In the fray one of the Highlanders fell wounded, and the 

other one lost his target ; but he immediately lifted the 

upper half of the barn door off the hinges and used it in 

Heu of a target. He fought the red coats single-handed, 

and killed them. When he went back to his comrades on 

the hill he explained that he had now seen the red coats, 

and that when he left them they were redder than when he 

met them ! 

• 

It is said that Gen. Mackay surveyed the Highland 

army posted on the northern ridge, and expressed his 

opinion in rather contemptuous terms to a son of Lochiel, 

then an officer in the Royal army. " How would you like 

to be over yonder with your father and his wild savages ? " 

said Mackay. " I am afraid," said young Cameron, " that 

you will soon find ' the savages ' nearer you than you would 

wish." The Royalists then took up their position on the 

higher plateau (500 ft.) three men deep, with the dangerous 

defile of Killiecrankie behind them, and the enemy securely 

posted on the rocky ridge in front. 

It is hoped that the preceding notes will help to show 

with some precision the position of the Royalists before the 

battle. Mackay's army numbered nearly 4000 men, and 

Dundee's about 2000. Most of Dundee's officers, who were

The Battlefield of Killiecrankie. 68 

trained in the foreign wars, were of the opinion that it 

would be extremely rash to risk an engagement against a 

highly trained army that so greatly outnumbered them. 

But both Lochiel and Glengarry advised Dundee to " fight 

at once," Dundee himself was strongly of this opinion, and 

ultimately the resolution to fight was unopposed, greatly to 

the delight of the Highlanders. The clans were then 

arranged in dense columns irrespective of their numbers, 

with long intervals between the columns so that they might 

not be outflanked by the long line of the Royalists. The 

Macdonalds of Glengarry and the Macleans of Mull were 

posted on the right wing ; 

Clanranald, 300 Irish levies, and 

about 50 cavalry under Dundee himself, formed the centre 

the Camerons, under Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel, and 

the Macdonalds of Skj-e under Sir Donald Macdonald of 

Sleat, formed the left wing. The Highlanders now divested 

themselves of their plaids and shoes, as these would only 

retard their speed. They came down the hill, cheering 

loudly ; and the Royalists feebly responded. The clans 

regarded this as a good omen. When they had advanced 

well within range they fired one well-directed volley, threw 

down their muskets, and rushed at their utmost speed upon 

the enemy. The clans, however, received three deadly 

volleys, by which at least 600 of them fell. But still the 

furious survivors closed with the enemy before the bayonets 

were fixed. The Highland broadswords then played such 

fearful havoc that in a few minutes Mackay's army was 

driven down to the river. At the same time Dundee and 

his horsemen captured the Artillery. But Hastings' and 

Leven's regiments, in the Royalist centre, were left 

unopposed owing to the wide interval here between the 

clans. They retreated in good order down to the Pass, 

where they were opposed by 800 of the Athole men and 

almost exterminated. The dead were piled up in heaps at 

the bottom of the Pass, on a small plain where a rivulet 

enters the Garry at the end of the pool called Linnlochie. 

A Royalist Highlander actually leaped across the cataract 

at the head of the pool and so saved his life. 

1;

682 Ihe HighLand Monthly. 

Dundee was last observed in the battle accompanied by 

the Earl of Dunfermline as he entered the smoke of the 

batteries. He turned half round and waved his hat as if 

directing the advance ot Clanranaid against the two 

unopposed regiments. It was then that he evidently 

received a shot below the armpit of the right shoulder. 

He tried to keep his horse, but fell, mortally wounded, 

beside the old well still preserved in the garden in front of 

Urrard House. When his friends returned from the pur- 

suit, they found him lying there, and he died that night. 

A little to the north-west of the well there is a green knoll 

on which a few old fir trees are standing, traditionally 

known in our time as Tomclavers. It is said that he was 

lifted off the low, damp ground, and carried to this knoll. 

It is the most conspicuous landmark that probably com- 

memorates the scene of the hero's death. Sir Walter Scott 

says "that to render his person less distinguishable, he 

wore on this occasion a sad-coloured buff coat above the 

scarlet cassock and bright cuirass, that his sword is in the 

possession of Lord Woodhouselee, and that the buff coat, 

having the fatal shot-hole under the armpit, is preserved in 

Pennycuick House, the seat of Sir George Clark, Bart." 

(Border Minstrelsy, vol. II., p. 245, year 1802). Traditional 

accounts say that he also wore a green sash at the battle. 

His cuirass is still preserved in Blair Castle, and also shows 

the shot-hole under the right armpit, between the joints of 

the armour. It was for a long time believed among the 

Lowlanders that he was shot by a servant of his own, a 

Covenanter, with a silver button from his livery coat, as it 

was the common belief that Claverhouse had a charm 

against leaden bullets. The Highlanders declared that the 

fatal and mysterious shot was guided by elfin spite because 

he went to battle wearing a green sash, the favourite colour 

of the fairies (or the peacemakers). It is said that the 

clans felt uneasy over this matter on the morning of the 

battle. No doubt Sir Ewen Cameron observed and per- 

haps shared this prejudice against the green when he tried

The Battlefield of Killiecyaukie. 683 

hard, at the Council, to persuade Dundee from going to the 

front. He clearly perceived, however, that Dundee's death 

would spoil the enterprise. 

Sir Evven had a very narrow escape; but his life was 

saved by the devoted fidelity of his attendant, who would 

never leave hiin, and who observed a Royalist Highlander 

aiming an arrow at his beloved chief He instantly stepped 

between his chief and the threatened danger, and received 

the shaft into his own breast. Lochiel very soon missed 

his faithful attendant, turned to look for him, and found 

him lying in his last agony. He had scarcely time to 

whisper the circumstances in the ear of his sorrowing chief, 

and to clasp his hand, ere he expired. 240 Camerons 

fought at Killiecrankie ; and Lochiel's son, John, arrived 

three days afterwards with 500 more ; but Lochiel was so 

enraged at the incapacity of General Canon, Dundee's 

successor, that he went home, and left the command to 

John. Macdonald of Sleat also left for the same reason. 

When General Mackay saw that his infantry was 

routed, with the exception of Hastings' and Leven's regi- 

ment, he immediately placed himself at the head of his 

cavalry, and urged them to charge the Highlanders in 

flank. But instead of following their brave General, they 

broke up in disorder, and "galloped wildly down the Pass," 

where they got a very hot reception from the Athole 

musketeers, now stationed there to cut off the retreat. 

About 50 of the cavalry went headlong over the rocks of 

Linnlochie, where the old road descends into the Pass, and 

turns abruptly to the left on the edge of the precipice. It 

would thus appear that the cavalry were as unfortunate 

here as the infantry. Mackay was left almost alone on the 

battlefield, but he spurred on through the enemy, and 

crossed the river, and looked back. " In the twinkling of 

an eye," he says, "our men, as well as the enemy, were out 

of sight, having gone down pell-mell to the river, where the 

baggage stood." He then left the valley by the hill-track 

by Tenandry The Highlanders had, indeed, gained a


most remarkable victory, but at a terrible sacrifice. They 

lost their beloved General, John Graham of Claverhouse 

'' Ia7i dJm nan CatJi"—(Black John of the Battles), whose 

name was long remembered, and regarded as the watchword 

of victory. They also lost many of their natural 

leaders, and, at least, 600 of their friends. 

Claverhouse was buried inside the church at Old Blair^ 

where a tablet has recently bean erected to his memory, 

having the followinginscription :— "Within the vault beneath 

are interred the remains of John Graham of Claverhouse, 

Viscount Dundee, who fell at the battle of Killiecrankie, 

27th July, 1689, aged forty-six. This memorial is placed 

here by John, 7th Duke of Athole, K.T, 1892." 

A brief summary of these notes may shew (i) that the 

position of General Mackay's army on the plateau of Run- 

rorie may be more precisely known from the old entrenchment 

observed and referred to by the writer ; (2) that the 

defensive purpose of the same entrenchment is self-evident, 

and that its character is further shown from its associated 

grave-mounds ; (3) that such a work rendered the Royalist 

musketry fire more destructive than that of the advancing 

clans ; (4) that, however, the advantage was on the side of 

the clans when they fought the enemy hand to hand ; (5) 

that the rout down to the river is clearh^ indicated by the 

numerous grave mounds ; (6) that the position of the Macdonalds 

of Glengarry on the right wing was shewn by the 

knoll called 

Dundee fell 

Tomvickicallister ; (7) that the place where 

is similarly shown by the well and knoll 

named after him ; (8) that Hastings' and Leven's regiments 

held their ground in the Royalist centre because 

there were no clans in front of them ; (9) that 

when the Royalist cavalry refused to advance to 

the charge, their brave General, left almost alone, 

charged across the battlefield, and left the valley, not 

by the Pass, but by the road to Tenandry; (10) that at the 

same time Mackay's " cavalry galloped wildly down the 

Pass," and that Hastings' and Leven's regiments marched 

—

The Battlefield of Killiecrankie. 685 

down after the troopers ; 

(11) that both the cavalry and the 

infantry were nearly all killed by 800 of the Atholemen, 

who now lined the Pass in the rear and cut off the retreat 

(12) that the scene of this disaster is traditionally known to 

have been chiefly at the bottom of the Pass at Linnlochie. 

Tytler's " History of Scotland " (new edition), gives some 

interesting details about General Mackay, whose high 

character and courage are admitted by his opponents, but 

the account given of Claverhouse is very unfriendly and 

erroneous. Sir Walter Scott's History is more impartial in 

tone, and gives a fuller account of Claverhouse and the cir- 

cumstances connected with his heroic death ; and 

also the 

action of the Atholemen in the Pass. Mackenzie's " History 

of the Camerons " contains an excellent biography of the 

grand old chief. Sir Ewen Cameron, whose sagacity and 

courage greatly helped to gain the victory of Killiecrankie. 

Aytoun's " Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers " are accompanied 

by long quotations from Drummond of Balhaldy, one of 

Dundee's of^cers, who was present at the Council held by 

Dundee with the chiefs of his army, " A Guide Book to 

the Valley of the Tay," by the late Rev. Mr Sinclair, Ken- 

more, gives a few very interesting notes about the Steuarts 

of Ballechin ; one of them raised the Atholemen for King 

James VH.; and another of them, a clergyman, " showed 

what he could do " with his sword. 

;


HUMAN 

SKYE BARDS.i 

BY MAGNUS MACLEAN, M.A., F.R.S.E. 

aspirations have always at first taken the form 

of poetry. Even in Jewish history, as delineated in 

the Holy Bible, we find song the first and only medium by 

which to praise the Almighty, or record the heroic deeds of 

And so it has been with all nations—the 

the Jewish heroes. . 

Celtic nation forming no exception. Hence, from the very 

beginning of the historical Celtic era, we find the people 

steeped in songs, and rhymes, and lore of all kind, transmitted 

from father to son by oral traditions for many 

generations. It is not my intention to deal with this float- 

ing poetry and heroic ballads, but to give you, in chronological 

order, the names of the poets and the poetesses who 

existed in Skye, and specimens of their songs—short 

specimens if the songs are already published, well known, 

and easily accessible. 

It would be folly to attempt in one paper any critical 

dissertation of their life and songs, as I find there are at 

least fifty who have an undoubted claim to be styled bards 

or poets. I have come across many other names that I 

have not included in my lists. Indeed, every village or 

hamlet produces half-a-dozen rhymsters per generation. 

These, though of local reputation, can hardly claim to be 

styled bards. Many of those here included are little 

known, though the character and the variety of their com- 

positions entitle them to a very high place among the 

Gaelic bards. I hope I may be able, at some future time, 

to take up one or more of those bards and show by refer- 

ences to their own works and published songs, that they 

thought deeply and composed well. For convenience of 

reference I may divide them into the following classes : 

^ Paper rea(1 before the Gaelic Society of Glasgow on 20th December, 1892. 

—

Skye Bards. 687 

I.—The poets of whom there is a short biography in " The 

Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," by John Mackenzie. 

Many of their songs are included in this book. 

1. Mairi Nighean Alasdair Ruaidh, or Mary Macleod, 

1567 to 1674. 

2. An Ciaran Mabach, or Archibald Macdonald (1665 

in Keppoch). 

3. Lachunn Mac Thearlaich Oig, or Lachlann Mackinnon, 

1665 to 1734. 

4. William Ross, 1762 to 1790. 

5. Donald Macleod, 1785 to 1873. 

II.—Poets, some of whose songs appear in various other 

collections. But the history of some of them is very 

little known. 

1. Pol Crubach, 1649. 

2. Bean uasal do chloinn Mhuirich a Troternish, 

1650. 

3. Sister to John Garbh Macleod of Raasay, or 

Nighean Mhic Ghillechalum Raarsaidh, 1670. 

4. Iain Peutan, 1700. 

5. Dugald Macpherson (Dughal Liseadair), Troternis, 

1700. 

6. Rev. Donald Macleod (Grishornish and Duirinish), 

1698 to 1760. 

7. An Aigeannach, Sleat, 1680? 

8. Neil Macnab, Troternish, 1740 to 1818. 

9. Rev. Norman Macleod, father of Caraid nan 

Gaidheal. 

10. Ronald Macdonald, Minginish, 1810. 

11. Angus Shaw (Aonghas Mac an Lighiche), Lynedale, 

1815. 

12. Roderick Campbell (Ruaraidh Mac-Calum), Colbost, 

1817. 

13. John Morrison, published Hymns in 1828. 

14. Baintighearna D'Oyly (went to India), died 1870. 

15. Murdo Macleod, son of Alex. Macleod, Triaslan, 

1810. 

16. John Maclean, Waternish, died 1878. 

17. Angus Macphie, Glendale. 

18. Norman Nicolson, Scorra-breac. 

19. D. Lamont, 1873. 

20. Dr Macraild (Greenock), died 1888.


21. John Gillies, died in New Zealand. 

22. Archibald Gillies, Troternish. He composed an 

Elegy on Rev. Roderick Macleod, Snizort, and an 

Elegy on Mr Angus Munro—both published in 

book form in 1874. 

III.—People who composed some very good songs, duanagan 

and rhymes, but of whom nothing is said in this 

paper; neither is there any specimen of their songs 

given. I might specially mention John Murray, 

Donald Macleod, and Malcolm Nicolson, who com- 

posed pieces of very high merit. 

1. Jean Macleod, sister to Mary Macleod. She lived at 

Dunvegan. 

2. Flora Macleod, sister to Mary Macleod. She lived 

in Troternish. 

3. Donald Macleod (Domhal Ruadh). He died in 

Toronto. 

4. John Murray (Iain Og), Grishornish. Teacher in 

Eigg. 

5. Sine Nic Leoid. (In Canada 1850). 

6. Aonghas Ruadh, Bracadale 1820. 

7. Malcolm Nicolson, Braes. Teacher in Barvas, Lews 

(1848). 

8. Angus Stewart, Glendale. 

9. John Macleod, Roag. 

IV.—Living Poets. 

Neil Macleod. Published a book of his own songs, 180 

pages. [January 30, 1893. Second and enlarged 

edition, 378 pages, now ready]. 

Mary Macphetson. Published a book of her own songs, 

320 pages. 

Alex. Nicolson* (advocate). Writes in English also. 

Roderick Macleod \ Three brothers. Theirsongsappear 

Neil Macleod v in " An t-Oranaiche," and in the 

Murdo Macleod J Highland papers, 

Angus Mackay, Glendale, now in America. None of 

his songs are published. 

John Macleod, brother tu Neil. A very powerful poet, 

who hasnot published any of his songs. 

Alexander Macpherson, Sleat. Wrote some English 

verses. 

Difd on 13th January, IS93,

S/cye Bards. 689 

Neil Ross. Gained the first prize at the first Competition 

of the Highland Association. 

Maggie Maclean, Dunvegan. She contributed a Highland 

lament and a Lullaby to Parlane's National 

Choir, vol. i. She composed other pieces. 

V.—Skye Songs—Authors unknown. 

1. Taladh by the Queen of Fairies. 

2. Cumha Mhic-Cruimein. 

3. Oran do Throternish—in Donald Macleod's Collec- 

tion. 

4. C'ait an Caidil an ribhinn ? 

5. Oran an Uachdarain. 

These lists do not pretend to be complete, but I believe 

they are the best attempt yet made. I have consulted a 

large 'lumber of books, so as to make as complete a list as 

possible. Some may object to my including Mary Mac- 

leod, as she was born in Harris. True, but her parents 

belonged to Dunvegan, and she herself spent all her 

life time in Dunvegan, with the exception of the short 

time she was under banishment in Scarba ; and besides, it 

seems she was pretty well advanced in life before her poetic 

faculties were called into pla}-. 

It would have been most instructive to classify the 

songs as to their subject matter, or as to their melodies, 

whether commtjn or peculiar. This I have not attempted, 

though Skye songs are as varied in their subjects and 

objects as Highland songs generally. Many of them are 

elegies, many of them songs in praise of some chief, many 

of them love songs, marching songs, labour songs, boatmen 

songs, etc., etc. I hope that some one who has more time 

at his disposal than I have, will undertake this work, as it 

would show the condition of the people of Skye better than 

any records of feuds and battles between chiefs. 

MAIKl NIGHEAN ALASDAIR RUAIDH. 

Mairi Nighean Alasdair Ruaidh, or Mary Macleod, was 

born in Rowdil, Harris, in 1569, and died in 1674 at the 

ripe age of 105 years. Her father, Alexander Macleod. 

was a son of Alasdair Ruadh, a descendant of the chief of 

44

690 The Highland Monthly^ 

the Macleods, She was employed as nurse in the family 

of the Macleods of Dunvegan, and is said to have nursed 

five lairds of the Macleods and two of the lairds of 

Applecross, 

It appears she received no education, yet her songs are 

remarkable for boldness and originality, both in matter 

and metres. John Mackenzie, in his " Beauties of Gaelic 

Poetry," says of her : 

— 

" Mary Macleod, the inimitable poetess of the Isles, is 

the most original of all our poets. She borrows nothing. 

Her thoughts, her verse, her rhymes, are all equally her 

own. Her language is simple and elegant; her diction 

easy, natural, and unaffected. Her thoughts flow freely 

and unconstrained. There is no straining to produce 

effect ; no search after unintelligible words to conceal the 

poverty of ideas. Her versification runs like a mountain 

stream over a smooth bed of granite. Her rhymes are 

often repeated, yet we do not feel them tiresome nor 

disagreeable. Her poems are mostly composed in praise 

of the Macleods, yet they are not the effusions of a mean 

and mercenary spirit, but the spontaneous and heartfelt 

tribute of a faithful and devoted dependant." 

Nine of her songs are given in the " Beauties of Gaelic 

Poetry." 

In "The Gaelic Bards," by Rev. A. Maclean Sinclair, 

a " Cumha do Shir Tormaid Mac-Leoid " is gi ven, 

begins : 

— 

O, mo chradhghal bochd, 

Mar a tha mi an nochd 

'S mi gun tamh, gun fhois, gun sund. 

Mi gun surd orm ri stath. 

Is gun dull ri bhi slan, 

Chaidh mo shugradh gu brath air chul. 

Another song of Mary Macleod is given in the Glen- 

bard Collection, entitled, " Do Ruairidh Mac-Leoid 's na 

Hearradh." 

Tha mo chion air an Ruairidh 

Fear na misnich 's a chruadail 

Choisinn cliu 's a fhuair buaidh ann san Olaint.


Bu tu mac an laolch s^hasda 

Nach do dhearbh a bhi gealtach ; 

'S trie a thogadh leibh creach bho Chlann Domhnuill. 

In " An Talla 'm bu ghna le Mac-Leoid," there are 

some excellent specimens of poetry. I shall quote one 

verse of three lines, which for terseness cannot be surpassed. 

Taigh mor macnasach, meaghrach, 

Nam macaibh 's nam maighdean, 

Far 'm bu tartarach gleadhraich nan corn. 

Her chief seems to have been displeased at her for her 

poetic effusions. He evidently thought that his personal 

and family history was brought too much into public prominence 

by her songs, and in a fit of anger he banished her 

to Scarba, an island to the north of Jura. It was while 

here that she composed Luinneag Mhic-Leoid, a transla- 

tion of the first four verses of which I take from Pattison. 

Alone on the hill top, sadly and silently 

Downward on Islay and over the sea 

I look, and I wonder how time hath deceived me 

A stranger in Scarba, who ne'er thought to be. 

; — 

Ne'er thought it, my island, where rest the deep daik 

shade 

The grand mossy mountains for ages have made 

God bless thee ! and prosper thy chief of the sharp 

blade 

— — 

All over these islands his fame never fade ! 

Never fade it. Sir Norman ! 

for well 'tis the right 

Of thy name to win credit in council or fight 

By wisdom, by shrewdness, by spirit, by might. 

By manliness, courage, by daring, by sleight. 

In counsel or fight, thy kindred know these should 

be thine 

Branch of Lochlin's wide-ruling and king-bearing line! 

And in Erin they know it, far over the brine; 

No earl would in Albin thy friendship decline. 

&c. 

Professor Blackie translates this song also, and I give 

one verse of his translation. 

—

692 The Htghlana Monthly. 

Clan Rory of banners 

O never from thee 

May another death-message 

Be wafted to me ! 

Rare jewel of mortals, 

Though banned from my sight, 

With mj/ heart I thee worship. 

Thou shapeliest knight. 

The Rev. A. Maclean Sinclair, in " The Gaelic Bards,"' 

gives the following account of Mairi Nighean Alasdair 

Ruaidh. It is slightly different from that given by Mackenzie 

in his "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry." " Mary Macleod 

was born at Roudal in Harris about the year 1590. She 

composed a great number of excellent poems, but only a 

few of them have been preserved. She was an ardent 

admirer of Sir Norman Macleod of Bernera, and was con- 

stantly singing his praises. Rory the Witty, who succeeded 

his father, Iain Mor, as chief of the Clan Macleod in 1649, 

was displeased with her for bestowing so much praise upon 

his distinguished uncle, and banished her to the island of 

Mull. Rory died in 1664. He was succeeded by his 

brother John, Iain Breac. John, who was an exceedingly 

popular chief, recalled the poetess from Mull. She is said 

to have died in 1693, at the advanced age of 103." 

POL CRUBACH. 

Paul Macleod was a son of Alasdair Ban Og, of Lyne- 

dale. He was, tall, erect, and very handsome. Stories are 

still current in Skye about the love episodes between himself 

and Mary Macdonald, eldest daughter of Iain Ruadh 

Macdonald, of Kinsaleyre. When her friends heard of this 

luve affair, they confined her; but Paul found means of 

taking her away to his kinsman, Macleod of Rowdil, 

Harris, in spite of the vigilance of the watch set over her. 

Thereupon the Macdonald.s invaded the Macleod country, 

and in the fray that took place Paul's leg was broken, and 

he himself taken prisoner. He was put into an open boat, 

without oars, which fortunatel)' drifted to Harris, where he


was taken care of by his friends and sweetheart. It is 

related that the remains one of the Macleods of Dunvegan 

were carried in an open galley from Dunvegan to Harris 

by sixteen rowers—eight Dunvegan Macleods on one side, 

and eight Harris Macleods on the other side. Shortly 

after leaving Dunvegan, a dispute arose as to which side 

would pull better. Immediately thereafter, Paul, who was 

next the stern, broke his oar. He asked his next neigh- 

bour on his own side to change places. This oar was also 

soon broken ; and so on, till seven of the oars were broken. 

When at last he sat down to the eighth oar—the one next 

the stem—heexclaimed, " Tha iomramh math 's an fhear 

so ;" and he pulled against the eight on the other side all 

the way to Harris. Then it was found that his wooden 

leg, on account of his mighty exertions, had penetrated the 

bottom of the boat, and it was with difficulty that it could 

be got out. The best known song of Paul Crubach is 

' lorram na Truaighe—Cumha do dh-Iain Mac-Leoid a 

chaochail sa' bhliadhna, 1649." It consists of 12 verses of 

eight lines each, and is of great poetic merit. It appears in 

many collections. The John Macleod to whom the elegy 

is composed was son and successor to Roderick Macleod 

of Dunvegan, known as Ruaraidh Mor. John Macleod was 

a man of great strength, and was known as Iain Mor. He 

proved to be an excellent chief, and did his utmost to 

improve the condition of his people in every respect. He 

was married to Sibella, daughter of Kenneth, first Lord 

Mackenzie of Kintail. The successor of Iain Mor was 

Roderick, known as Rory the Witty. It was he who 

banished Mary Macleod to Scarba. 

AN AIGEANNACH. 

An Aigeannach seems to have been a daughter ot 

DomhnuU Gorm, Sleat, brother to Lord Macdonald of the 

day. The most of her songs were satires, or rather lam- 

poons, and it is as well that all of them are now almost 

com.pletely forgotten. She was, however, a terror in her 

own day. One of her printable songs appears in An

694 


t-Oranaiche,entitled "Orando Lachunn og Mac lonmhuinn," 

and another one of very high poetic merit is printed in The 

Gaeh'c Bards, by Rev, A. Maclean Sinclair. 

Probably Alexander Macdonald, Mac Mhaighstir 

Alasdair, came under the lash of her keen tongue. At any- 

rate, we find him composing a most scurrilous song tc her, 

as if in retaliation.^ In the first edition of Mac Mha'rhstir 

Alasdair's songs, the song is headed " Marbhrann Mairi 

Nighean Iain mhic Iain do'n goirteadh An Aige:: nach." 

From this heading some have tried to prove that An 

Aigeannach was a native of Moidart, and a descendant 

of the Clanranald branch of the Macdonalds. I have not 

investigated the matter sufficiently to be able to decide 

between the two theories. The other party base their 

claim on Gillies' collection, where she is styled as " Nighean 

Dhonuill Ghuirm." 

AN CIARAN MABACH. 

Archibald Macdonald, better known as An Ciaran 

Mabach, lived in the latter part of the seventeenth century. 

He was a natural son of Donald Gorm Og, eighth baron of 

Sleat, and hence brother to Sir James Macdonald. He 

was a man of great sagacity, zeal, and bravery, and his 

brother was so pleased at the skilful manner with which he 

conducted the expedition against the Keppoch murderers 

in 1665, that he granted him a portion of land in North 

Uist. He composed many songs, most of which are lost. 

Two of them appear in the " )3eauties of Gaelic Poetry" 

and another one in " The Glenbard Collection." We meet 

him at one time in Edinburgh, where he was consulting the 

doctors on account of a severe injury one of his legs got. 

It was while here that he composed " B' annsa Cadal air 

Fraoch," probably one of his best. 

' No stress need be laid on this remark, for Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair would 

try to revile anyone who dared compose a song ; so that the fact of his composing 

a satire on the Aigeannach is no guarantee that he ever knew her. He 

would have heard of her as a famous poetess.

Skyc Bards. 695 

Ge socrach mo leabaidh, 

IVannsa cadal air frr

6q6 The Highland Monthly. 

His description of the converse of the hart with his 

unsullied mate is exceedingly good : 

— : 

With joy he roams the mountains blue, 

And valleys fair and wide, . 

'Mong heather bathed in pearly dew, 

With his fond, faithful bride. 

She sees but him, him only loves, 

No other fills her eyes ; 

Him watches, moving as he moves, 

And in his bosom lies. 

They traverse each romantic glen. 

Browse on each secret lea, 

Make love in every cozy den. 

And wander far and free 

While here I pine in hopeless ward. 

Nor mark my herd of deer 

Fleeting across thy brow, Melard, 

And on thy wolds career. 

The same longing to get back to Skye is expressed in 

the last verse : 

— 

Ah, me ! 'tis hard to wither here, 

And smoke and fumes inhale 

From dusky lanes and vennels drear 

And gutters dark and stale ; 

And bid sweet Skye of bays and dells, 

Wild glens, and mountains blue, 

Where all I love in comfort dwells, 

A long and sad adieu. 

In connection with the expedition against the Keppoch 

murderers it is on record that the Ciaran Mabach left his own 

house on Wednesday, reached Inverlair in Brae-Lochaber 

on Sunday, stormed and set fire to the block-house, slew 

the murderers, and sent their heads that same day to Edin- 

burgh. Lieutenant Campbell says that this feat is not sur- 

passed by that of Montrose when he marched from Fort- 

Augustus by Glenbuick, Glenroy, Dalnabi, and Lianachan, 

to Inverlochy, in one day. The defenders of the block- 

house consisted of an uncle and six nephews, who resisted 

so bravely that sixty of the besiegers were killed. Iain


Lom, who was guide to the Ciaran Mabach on this expedi- 

tion, says Lliat there was not one of the seven, who " in an 

equal fight was not a match for ten." 

Iain Lom composed a song in which he gives great 

praise to the Ciaran Mabach for his skill and bravery in 

this expedition. 

Slan fo d' thriall, a chiarain Mhabaich, 

Shiubhladh sliabh gun bhiadh, gun chadal ; 

Fraoch fo d' shin' gun bhosd gun bhagradh, 

Chuir thu ceo fo 'n roiseal bhradach. 

&c., &c. 

NIGHEAN MHIC GRILLE CHALUIM RAAKSAIDH. 

John Garbh^ son of Alexander Macleod, fifth ofRaasay, 

was married to Janet, daughter of Sir Roderick Macleod of 

Dunvegan. He was drowned at the age of twenty-one, 

while on a passage from Stornoway to Raasay. It was to 

him that Mairi Nighean Alasdair Ruaidh composed the 

Marbhrann already mentioned. He had two sisters Janet 

and Julia, one of whom composed a Cumha. Whether she 

composed any other songs we are unable to say. 

Cnniha do dh-lain Garbk Mac Ghille-dialuim'} 

'S mi 'nam shuidh' air an fhaoilinn, 

Gun fhaoilte, gun fhuran, 

Cha tog mi fonn aotrom, 

O Dhi-h-aoine mo dhunach. 

Hi-il o ho bha ho, 



Hi-il o ro bha eile. 

^ " There is a tradition among the people of Raasay that John Garbh was a 

natural son. According to the tales uf superstition, the storm which 

occasioned his death was raised by a witch. His step-mother 

was 

own 

anxious to get rid 

son ; so she hired 

of John Garbh and 

the witch to set the 

make 

winds 

room for her 

and waves in 

motion. The witch raised the storm by boiling water in a pot over the fire. 

She had a small dish of some kind in the pot. When she saw that this dish 

was upset, she knew that Liin Garbh and his men were drowned. All at once 

she repented, anfl exclaimed— 

' Tha mo chreich deante.' "— Rev. A Maclean 

Sinclair in " The Gaelic Bards from 141 1 to 17 

5." 

1 

- Professor Mackinnon tells me that there are four verses 

MS., by Mac Ghille Chaluim Raarsaidh. 

in the Fernaig


The whole of this song appears in Gael vol. VI., 280, 

set to music in both notations. Lachlan Macbean gives a 

translation of it iu his Songs and Hymns of the Scottish 

Highlands. 

lAIX PEUTAN. 

Iain Peutan was one of the Beatons from Harlosh, in 

the parish of Duirinish. His song to Nighean Thearlaich 

Oig an Sgalpa an t-Stratha is very good. I shall quote 

the last two verses of it : 

— 

'S tu reula nan oighean, 

'S tu 's boidhche na each, 

'S tu 'n c mach, 's tu 'n neoinean, 

'S tu 'n t-sobhrach fo bhlath ; 

'S tu 'n coimeasg 'tha or-bhuidh', 

'S tu 'n ros 'th' air dhreach la ; 

'Chur an aithghearr an sgeoil so, 

'S tu 'n t-Seonaid gheal thlath. 

'Si mo chomhairle fein dhuit, 

'S na treig i gu beachd, 

Ma 's a h-aill leat gu 'm buannaich 

'S gun cnuasaich thu 'n sgeap, 

Theirig timchioll na geige 

'S na glac eislean 'ad bheachd, 

Ach a chaoidh na cuir duil 

Ann sa chraoibh nach lub leat. 

LACHUNN MAC THEARLAICH OIG. 

What we know of Lachlan Mackinnon's songs, and 

many of them, we believe, are lost for ever, compels us to 

give him a very high place among the Gaelic bards. He 

was born in the parish of Strath in the year 1665. He was 

son of Tearlach Og, son of Charles Mackinnon, a near 

relative of Mackinnon of Strath. His mother was Mary 

Macleod, daughter of John Macleod, of Drynoch. His 

parents- being in good circumstances, engaged a tutor for 

their family. Lachlan shewed such proficiency and 

aptitude, that, at the age of sixteen, he was sent to the 

Academy of Nairn, a school that was then held in high 

repute, and to which lads from all parts of the Highlands

i^kye Bards. 699 

were sent. Lachlan here was easily dux, not only in the 

acquiring of a sound knowledge of Latin and Greek, 

and the other branches taught, but in all athletic exercises 

and feits of strength. During the three years he remained 

in the school, he composed several English ditties, which, 

howe\er, are not to be compared with those he afterwards 

composed in Gaelic. It is to be regretted that such an 

able man did not write more of his songs. 

When he was t\\ent\'-three )-ears of age he married 

Flora, daughter of Campbell of Stroud in Harris. From 

his chief he rented Breakish and Pabbay, and here he 

lived peacefully and contented, respected by all, till the 

death of his beloved wife, some years afterwards. Her 

death was a severe blow to him. He could no longer stay 

in the place, and he removed to Kintail. This was but 

jumping from the fr}-ing-pan to the fire, and four xêars 

after he returned to Skye. While on a \isit to Inverness 

twelve years after his wife died, to see some of his old 

school companions, he was prevailed upon to marr\- a 

widow of the name of Mackintosh. This wife seems to 

have been proud, peevish, and cross. The marriage was a 

very unhappy one, and the rest of his days were full of 

grief and misery. He died in the year 1734, aged 69 

years. His funeral was the most numerously attended 

ever witnessed in Skye. Most of the Highland chiefs, 

with their retinue, were there, and seven pipers followed the 

bier to the old Churchyard of Cillchrist (Cille-Chriosda). 

Four of his songs appear in the " Beauties of Gaelic 

Poetry," and a few in other collections, notably " Cumha 

Mhic Leoid Thalascair," in " The Gaelic Bards," a song 

composed to John 2nd of Talisker, who was married to 

Janet, only child of Alexander Macleod of Grishornish. 

One verse only will serve as a specimen : 

— 

Gun robh thu ciuin is macanta, 

Gun scraing, gun chais, gun chriona. 

Gun tnu, gun fheall, gun seacharan, 

'S tu scapach, pailt is crionnta.


Bu tiodal ceart duin uasail sin 

Gun robh thu suairc ad ghiulan, 

Gu sunntach, suilbhir, failteachail, 

'S do chridhe blath gun lub ann. 

One of his best is " Latha siubhal sleibhe." It seems to 

have been composed at a time when he was not so welcome 

in the halls of the chiefs as was the wont. He imagines he 

met in the fields, Generosity, Love, and Liberty, who for the 

time being were, like himself, neglected in the places where 

they used to be welcome. 

hatha Siubhal Sleibhe. 

Latha 'siubhal sleibhe dhomh 

'S mi falbh leam fein gu dluth, 

A chuideachd anns an astar sin 

Air gunna glaic a's cu ; 

Gun thachair clann rium anns a ghleann, 

A gal gu fann chion iuil ; 

Air leam gur iad a b' aillidh dreach 

A chunnacas riamh le m' shuil. 

Gu' m b' ioghnadh leam mar tharladh dhoibh, 

Am fasach fad air chul, 

Coimeas luchd an aghaidhean 

Gu' n tagha de cheann iuil. 

Air beannachadh neo-fhiata dhomh 

Gu' n d' fhiaraich mi- -" Co sud ?" 

'S fhreagair iad gu cianail mi 

Am briathraibh mine ciuin. 

lochd, a's Gradh, a's Fiughantas, 

'Nur triuir gur e ar n-ainm, 

Clann nan uaislean curamach 

A choisinn cliu 's gach ball ; 

'Nuair phaigh an fheile cis do 'n Eug 

'S a chaidh i fein air chall 

'Na thiomnadh dh' fhag ar n-athair sinn 

Aig maithibh Innse-Gall. 

And so they go on inveighing against the tyranny that 

exiled them from the hearts and halls of Highland lairds.

THE 

Sheriff Nicolson. 701 

SHERIFF NICOLSON. 

death of Sheriff Nicolson removes from our midst 

the most literary of our Gaelic scholars. He died 

suddenly- of heart disease in Edinburgh on the 13th of 

Jannary, in the 66th year of his age. His life history is 

shortly told. He was born of a good Skye family at 

Husabost in that island in the \-ear 1827. After his education 

in his native parish, he entered the Edinburgh 

University with a view o":" entering the ministry of the Free 

Church. There he took his degree of M.A., distinguishing 

himself in philosophy, a subject in which he acted as 

assistant to two of the professors. Changing his mind as 

to the Church, he read for law, and was called to the Bar 

in 1S60, but he had little or no practice, his chief profes- 

sional work being the reporting of legal cases for the law 

journals. In 1872 he was appointed Sheriff-Substitute of 

Kirkcudbrightshire, whence he was transferred, in 1885, to 

similar duties in Greenock. He finally retired from active 

duty in 1889 in failing health, and since then he has. 

resided with his sister in Edinburgh. His Alma Mater 

conferred on him the degree of LL.D. about a dozen years 

ago ; and he was both idealised and idolised b}- his Gaelic 

countrymen all over the world. 

Sheriff Xicolson was a man of r'âl genius in matters of 

literature, and he was equal 1)- successful in his efforts 

whether in Gaelic or English. His knowledge of Highland 

history and lore was great, and his love for everything 

Highland was e\ en greater. One thing debarred him from 

reaching the highest rung of professional and literary


success, a position to which his undoubted genius could 

have led him, and that one thing was a tendency to 

lethargy which crippled his energy. He filled, however, 

several important public positions. He was assistant 

commissioner to the 1865 Education Commission, and his 

report on the educational state of the Highlands and 

Islands is a model of its kind even from a literary stand- 

point, having been pronounced the " most readable bluebook 

ever printed." He was also a member of Lord 

Napier's Commission of 1883 appointed to inquire into the 

condition of the crofters, and his knowledge of the country 

and its people was of immense service to his colleagues. 

His literary labours consisted largely of fugitive pieces 

and newspaper and magazine articles, much of which must 

be lost. Many of his poems are well known and cherished 

by his countrymen. His great marching song, " Agus Ho 

Mhorag," to which he was adding verse after verse, was 

completed by the time of his death, and we hope soon to 

put it before our readers in its entirety, under the editorial 

supervision of Mr Magnus Maclean in connection with his 

" Skye Bards." It should be mentioned that Sheriff 

Nicolson was an enthusiastic Volunteer, and his marching 

song is full of fine touches, both stirring and pathetic. 

Among his other pieces we may note as having caught the 

popular fancy, his bilingual one, entitled an " Edinburgh 

Summer Song," where his passionate love for his native Isle 

finds fullest expression, and also the song of the " Britisli 

Ass," written in connection with the visit of the British 

Association to Edinburgh in 1871. He wrote a memoir 

of his friend Adam Black, the publisher, a work which was 

nearly lost at the wreck of the " Lively " near Stornowa\', 

when that ill-fated vessel jeopardised the lives of the Napier 

Commissioners and their press friends. His magnum opus 

is his "Gaelic Proverbs," professedly based on the Rev. Dr 

Mackintosh's collection, first published in 1785. Sheriff 

Nicolson's work is, however, practically an original work.

Shertjff Nicolsoti. 703 

and it forms a valuable contribution to the " proverbial 

philosophy of nations. Most genial and social of men, his 

memory will ever be green in the remembrance of his 

friends and his countrymen. 

"

704 


NOTES. 

The December number of the Folklore quarterly contains an 

important contribution from Dr Whitley Stokes. This consists of 

an edition of the "Dinnshenchas,"or mediaeval Irish topographical 

legends, as contained in an Oxford Gaelic MS. The legends are 

very interesting, and Dr Stokes has done the translations admir- 

ably. 

The dinner of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, held on the 31st 

January, was a great success. It was presided over by K.ev. Dr 

Noiman Macleod, a name fraught with honour and affection 

wherever Gaelic is spoken. As it vvas the 21st, or Majority, 

Dinner,*a special effort was made to get as many as possible of 

the members who were at the first dinner to be present ; and in 

this the characteristic energy of the Secretary was successful. 

Mr Neil Macleod's new edition of his CIai sack an Doire is 

half again as large as the original volume. The book, which is 

handsomely got up, and which contains a portrait of the author, is 

published by Archibald Sinclair, of Glasgow. Of course the work 

contains all the author's poems up to date, and there are several 

good renderings into English, done mostly by that most deft of 

translators, our good friend " Fionn." Four Gaelic tales are also 

ajjpended to the volume, composed in the best and raciest style of 

the excellent Gaelic spoken in Skye. Of the poetry we need 

not here speak ; the public has already passed its favouraljle 

verdict on the majority of the pieces here published, and the newpoems 

are not inferior to the old.


A HifiHLAND Memory : 

Personal Reininisceiices of the Nopth, both grave and gay. 



IN 


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No. 48. MARCH, 1893. Vol. IV. 

IS 


CAIB. IIL 

ainneamh aite anns am bheil Taigh-Osda anns nach 

'eil dithis no triuir, air a' chuid a's lugha, a tha gu 

math deidheil air a bhith cho trie 'sa dh' fhaodas iad anns 

an Taigh-Osda. Cha mhor n£.ch bi iad a' dol ann a cheart 

cho riaghailteach 's a theid a' chearc thun na spiris. Thig 

iad ac gach airds, agus coinnichidh iad a cheile. Air aon 

doigh no doigh eile gheibh iad leithsgeul air son a dhol 

a dh' ol. Mar a tha 'n sean-f hacal ag radh :— Is iomadh 

leithsgeul a th' aig an Earrach air a bhith fuar. Gheibh na 

fir so uine air a dhol do 'n Taigh-Osda ar neo bidh fios c'ar 

son. Cha chum caonnag an treabhaidh, no cabhag na 

buana fear seach fear dhiubh air falbh a bheag a dh' uine o 

'n Taigh-Osda, Ma bhios an latha fuar feumaidh iad deur 

beag fhaotainn a chuireas blaths orra ; ma bhios iad 'nam 

fallus ag obair, bidh eagal orra gu faigh iad fuachd an 

deigh an fhalluis, agus tha iad cinnteach nach 'eil deoch 

eile air ur-uachdar an t-saoghail a leith cho sabhailte 

dhaibh a ghabhail ri glaine de mhac na braiche. Ma 

thachras caraid riutha nach Ihaca iad o chionn leith 

bhliadhna, feumaidh iad drama math a thoirt dha air son 

45

7o6 1 he Highland ALoiUlih. 

na tiom a bh' ann o shean. Bidh fear eilc air fas seachd 

sgith de 'n trod 's de 'n chanran a bhios aig a mhnaoi ris a 

latha 's a dh' oidhche gun fhios c'ar son, agus air ghaol 

faighinn as a beul theid e do 'n Taigh-Osda, agus gabhaidh 

e Ian no dha a chum am mi-thoileachadh agus an dragh- 

inntinn fhuadach air falbh. Is cinnteach gur e fear dhe 

na daoine so a rinn an t-oran anns am bheil na briathran a 

leanas : 

— 

" Ma theid mi 'n taigh-osd', 

Bidh mo bhean a' trod riunrx ; 

Ma dh' olas mi stop, 

Bidh mo bhean a' trod rium ; 

Ma bhios e ni's mo, 

Bidh mo bhean a' trod rium ; 

Air a h-uile doigh 

'S cinnteach dhomh bhith trod rium." 

Faodar a bhith cinnteach gu 'm bi an gobha uair is 

uair a' fliuchadh a sgornain anns an Taigh-Osda. Co nach 

cuala iomradh air an t-sradaig a chaidh ann am beul a' 

ghobha ? Tha e coltach gu bheil an t-sradag so 

anabarrach doirbh ri' bathadh. 

Feumaidh am piobaire uair is uair a bhith 'gabhail deur 

beag, cha 'n ann a chionn gur toigh leis drama, ach a 

chionn gu 'n dean faileadh an uisge-bheatha bhith bhar 

na h-analach aige, feum mor do ghothaichean, do ghleus, 

agus do mhal na pioba. 

So ma ta cuid dhe na leithsgeulan a th' aig daoine air 

a bhith 'g ol. Cha leigheas an t-ol idir air na galairean a 

tha iad a' gearain. Ach nan gabhadh iad le beagan 'ol cha 

bu leith-ghearain. Feumar an da shuil a fhliuchadh, agus 

an uair a bhios an da shuil fliuch, feumar rud eiginn eile a 

fhliuchadh, Cha bhi guth no iomradh air riaghailt, ar neo 

ma bhitheas, 's i an riaghailt a leanas a bhios ann : 

Ol a h-aon, cha 'n 'eil e math, 

Ol a dha, cha 'n fhiach e, 

Ol a tri, 's cha bhi thu cli, 

'S e ccithir righ riaghailt. 

—


Mar bu trice an uair a rachadh na ceithir ud sios druim 

air dhruim, dh' fheumadh riaghailt a rogha rathad a thoirt 

oirre, nam b' urrainn i idir a casan a sheasamh. 

Cha robh muinntir nam bailtean a bha dluth air an 

Taigh Bhan dad ni b' fhcarr no ni bu mhiosa na muinntir 

bhailtean eile naduthcha. Gheibhteadh a h-uile latha 's a' 

bhliadhna fir 'nam measg a dh' oladh, nam faodadh iad, gus 

am biodh iad air leith-iomall na daoraich. Is ann ro 

ainneamh, air a shon sin, a gheibheadh iad :.n cothrom air 

iad fhein a chur 'na leithid sin de shuidheachadh truagh 

anns an Taigh Bhan. Cha d' thugadh Galium Ruadh, no 

idir a bhean, boinne uisge-bheatha do dh' fhear sam bith 

air am faiceadh iad coltas na daoraich. Is minic a thuirt 

Galium, an uair a chithcadh e fear sam bith a' fas tuilleadh 

is blath leis an uisge-bheatha:— " Gha 'n fhaigh thu deur 

tuilleadh an diu^h. Tha mi am barail gu bheil gu leor 

agad, mur 'eil tuilleadh 's a' choir agad. Gha 'n 'eil dad 

a's lugha orm na duine sam bith 'fhaicinn air an daoraich 

a' falbh o m' thaigh. Agus rud eile dheth, am fear a's trice 

a chi mi 's a chluinneas mi 'san t-seomar oil, 's ann air is 

lugha mo mheas. Tha uair aig an achasan is am aig a' 

cheilidh. Nam biodh duine fliuch, no fuar, no sgith, no 

tinn, tha mi 'creidsinn nach bu mhisde e glaine de dheadh 

stuth ; ach ni 's mo na sin cha 'n orduichinn dha a 

ghabhail. Gheibh mise reic do m' chuid uisge-bheatha 

gun teagamh. Mur faigh, is fhearr learn gu mor e bhith 

anns an togsaid gu socair, samhach, far nach cluinnear 

uaithe guth mor no droch fhacal, na e bhilh ann am 

broinn a h-aon sam bith dhe do hheorsa-sa." 

Theireadh Galium Ruadh so riutha suil mu'n t-sroin ; 

ach ged a theireadh, leigeadh iomadh fear dhiubh a h-uile 

guth dheth a steach air an dara cluais agus a mach air a 

chluais eile. Tha 'n sean-fhacal ag radh gu bheil comhairle 

a thoirt air mnaoi bhuirb mar bhuille uird air iarunn fuar ; 

ach faodar a radh le firinn nach fhearr na sin comhairle a 

thoirt air fear na misge. 

Air feasgar araidh, co a bha 'nan suidhe mu 'n bhord 

anns an t-seomar oil ach Domhull Maor, Alastair Taillcar,

7o8 1 he Highland Monthly. 

Seumas a' Bhrosgail, Galium Seoladair, agus dithis no 

triuir eile dhe na fir bu trice a bhiodh a' tathaich an Taighe 

Bhain. An uair a dh' ol iad stop no dha chaidh iad, mar 

bu ghnath leotha, gu bruidhinn aird 's gu boilich 's gu 

brosgal. 

" Ach am bheil fhios agaibh, fheara, co e an duine uasal 

a thainig a dh' fhuireach do 'n taigh so o chionn ghoirid ? 

Tha e mar gu 'm biodh e car an aghaidh gu faigheadh 

daoine mach cia as a thainig e, agus ciod an gnothach 

a thug do 'n Ghleann e mu 'n am so de 'n 

Galium Seoladair. 

bhliadhna," arsa 

" Gha 'n'eil fhios agam fhein gu dearbh," arsa Domhull 

Maor ; "is tu fhein, a Ghalluim, an aon fhear an so aig am 

bu choir fios a bhith air a h-uile ni. Tha thu 'cumail 

a mach gu bheil fiosachd agad. Faigh a mach ma ta, anns 

an t-seasamh bonn co e an duiue uasal a tha fuireach anns 

an Taigh Bhan." 

" Tha aon ni air am bheil fios agam co dhiubh, agus 'se 

sin nach 'eil boinne de 'n fhuil uasail a' ruith ann ad' 

chuislean-sa. Neo-ar-thaing nach 'eil am pailteas de 'n 

uabhar 's de 'n bhosd ann. Gha ruig thu leas idir a bhith 

cho mor asad fhein 's a tha thu. A righ, bu bheag a b' 

fhiach thu a' cheud latha 'chunnaic mise thu. Bha d 

ordagan mosach a mach troimh na brogan, agus cha robh 

de 'n aodach mu do chroit na chuirinn eadar mi 's a' phoit 

'ga toirt bhar an teine. 'S ann a bha thu coltach ri ceard a 

bhiodh 'na shuidhe an oir an teine agus laghaid 'na dhorn 

a' deanamh spainnean. Tha thu nis 'nad' mhaor, agus tha 

do shron a cheart cho ard ri Beinn Nibheis leis a' mheud- 

mhoir. B' fhearr dhut gu mor, fada, fichead, deanamh air 

do shocair. Ghunnaic mi da rud dheug a b' iongantaiche 

leam na ged a bhiodh do shron gle' iosal mu 'm fag thu an 

saoghal. O nach 'eil fearrann agamsa ri thoirt uam cha 

ruig mi leas eagal a bhith orm an fhirinn ghlan innseadh 

dhut suil mu 'n t-sroin. Gha 'n 'eil achridhe agad fhein no 

aig fear eile dhe do sheorsa mo chur a mach air muir no air 

locha. Ach gu cinnteach ceart nam bodh fearann agam.


bu truagh a' chulaidh-fharmaid mi nam bithinn fiach suip 

'nad' eisimeil," arsa Callnm Seoladair. 

Fhad 's a bha Galium a' labhairt nam briathran searbha 

so ris a' Mhaor, cha dubhairt fear seach fear de chach aon 

fhacal. Bha lan-fhios aca gu robh am Mhaor iomadh uair 

a' deanamh moran nithean nach fhuilingeadh an solus 

fhaicinn. Cha b' urrainn iad seasamh air a thaobh le 

ceartas, agus idir cha labhradh iad 'na aghaidh. Cha robh 

diog a' tighinn a ceann a' Mhaoir ; bha amhrus math laidir 

aige gu robh Callum Seoladair a' feuchainn ri' chasan a 

chur OS a chionn. Mar sin b' fhearr leis fuireach samhach. 

Coma CO dhiu, chaog am Maor a shuil ri Seumas a' 

Bhrosgail. Thuig Seumas gle' mhath gu robh toil aig a' 

Mhaor e'chur facal a steach air a thaobh. Rinn Seumas 

mu dheireadh casad, agus thuirt e :— " Is iongantach leam 

f hein, a Challuim, do leithid-sa de dhuine aig am bu choir 

fiosrachadh a bhith, gu labhradh tu briathran cho dana 's 

cho mi-iomchuidh 's a labhair thu 'n drasta fhein. Tha 

fliios agad gu bheil am Maor ann an suidheachadh moran 

ni's airde na thu fhein, agus air an aobharsin bu choir dhut 

urram a thoirt dha a reir a shuidheachaidh. Tha e 

sgriobhte gur coir urram a thoirt dhasan do'n dlighear 

urram." 

" Ciod e," arsa Callum, " a chuir esan ann an suidh- 

eachadh a's airde na mise ? An e a' mhaoirneachd a bhith 

aige ? Ciod e is fhiach sin ? Am bheil e firinneach, 

onarach, dileas, durachdach, ceart, caoimhneil, cairdeil, 

cinneadail, trocaireach ? Ma tha, bheir mise urram. dha ; 

ach mur 'eil, cha'n urrainn mise o m' chridhe barrachd 

urraim a thoirt dha na bheir mi dhut fhein, ged nach 'eil 

thu ag itheadh greim, an latha bhios tu ann an cuideachd 

a' Mhaoir, ach bonnach a' bhrosgail. Ge b' e air bith co 

labhras, bi thusa 'na do thosd. Dithis a tha gun mheas 

anns an duthaich, thu fhein agus Domhull Maor. Mar a 

tha 'n sean-fhacal ag radh, Dithis tha coltach ri' cheile, Mo 

chu fhein 's mo shealgair'. Is fhad o 'n a chualas an rann 

a tha 's radh : 

—

7IO The Highland Monthly. 

' Maoir is madaidh, 

Saoir is sagairt, 

Coin is gillean is ceardanan'. 

Sin agad, ma ta, mo bharail ort fhein 's air a' Mhaor." 

Bha eagal air Alastair Taillear, gu 'n eireadh tuasaid 

eadar na fir, agus ghrad labhair e, agus thuirt e. " Tha iad 

ag innseadh dhomiisa gur & foreigner a th' anns an duine 

air an robh sibh a' bruidhinn o chionn tiotaidh. 

Bha e 'comhradh riumsa ann am beurla, agus tha 

mi 'smaointean leis an tone agus leis an accent a th' aige>nach 

buin e idir do 'n duthaich so. Cha chreid mi gu 

bheil e eolach air climate cho damp agus cho fuar ris a' 

chlimate a th' againne anns an duthaich so idir. Bha 'n 

driver a thainig leis a Ceann-locha 'g innseadh dhomhsa gu 

robh e direach a shiveradh leis an fhuachd. Bha eagal air 

an driver gu starvigeadh e mu ruigeadh iad an Taigh Ban. 

Bha 'n driver ag radh nach fhac' e duine riamh a' s mo 

giulan aodaich na e. Bha rug anns an robh deadh 

eallach m'a chasan ; bha plaid mor glas tnr7i no dha m'a 

chom air uachdar an top-coat ; bha muffler mor, ciatach m'a 

amhaich ; agus bha sealskin cap m'a cheann. Shaoilinn 

fhein gu 'n cumadh na bha sid blath e ged a bhiodh e ann 

a' Hudson's Bay." 

Ma chuir a bhith 'moladh a' Mhaoir dragh air inntinn 

Challuim Sheoladair, 's e chuir 'inntinn buileach troimh a 

cheile, an co-thlamadh a bh' aig Alasdair Taillear air Beurla 

's air Gailig. Cheangladh duine 'b' fhearr ciall na e. 

Bhuail e' dhorn air a' bhord, agus thuirt e, " Alasdair, tha 

mise ag radh riut gu m' pronn mi na do chraicionn thu mur 

grad sguir thu 'bhith 'truailleadh na Gailig. Is gann a 

theid agad air do dhinneir iarraidh le do chuid Beurla 

mhosaich. Far am biodh daoine 'labhairt Beurla cha b' 

urrainn dhut do bheul fhosgladh. Ach tha thusa agus a 

h-uile amadan dhe do sheorsa an duil gur aithne dhuibh 

Beurla chruaidh Shasunnach a labhairt, ma thachras dhuibh 

a bhith leith-bhliadhna anns a' Bhaile-mhor. Foghnaidh eleam 

de chomharradh air gu bheil duine gun tur an uair a

Fea7' a Ghlinne. 711 

chluinneas mi e 'cur a h-uile facal Beurla a's aithne dha, 

air feadh na Gailig. Na daoine a's foghluimte agus a 's 

turaile a th' anns an duthaich, mar a tha Mr Seumas agus 

Domhull Sgoileir, bruidhnidh iad rium mu gach ni a 

thachras anns an duthaich, agus is gann a their iad aon 

fhacal Beurla ged a bhithinn 'nan comhradh o mhoch gu 

dubh. Cha bu tu mi fhein. Chaith mi dluth air fichead 

bliadhna dhe mo bheatha ann am measg dhaoine aig nach 

robh facal Gailig, agus cha do leig mi riamh fhathast as mo 

chuimhne a' Ghailig a dh ionnsuich mi an uair a bha mi 

og. Cha bhi aig Gall ri' innseadh do Ghaidheal gu 'm 

bithinn cho beag meas air mo chainnt fhein 's gu 'n 

dcanainn a leithid. 'Am fear air am bheil sinn a' bruidhinn, 

tha Gailig aige moran ni 's fhearr na tha i agadsa agus 's i 

mo bharail nach do chaith e a' bheag dha 'shaoghal anns a' 

Ghaidhealtachd." 

Cha do chuir fear seach fear dhe na bha 'san t-seomar 

an aghaidh diog dhe thuirt Galium Seoladair. Bha fhios 

aca gu robh Alasdair Taillear 'na bhauscaire gun tur, agus 

gle' mhor a's fhein. Agus ged a bha Galium Seoladair cas, 

crosda an uair a chitheadh 's a chluinneadh e rud nach 

cordadh ris, bha e 'na dhuine cho caoimhneil 's cho turail 

's cho tuigseach 's a gheibhteadh dhe 'sheorsa ann an 

duthaich gu leir. Cha chualas riamh e ag radh facal 

cainidh air chul cinn duine sam bith. Neo-ar-thaing nach 

moladh e daoine air chul an cinn, nam biodh iad 'na 

bheachd-san airidh air am moladh ; ach nam biodh ni sam 

bith aige ri radh an aghaidh duine, an aite teannadh ri ruith 

sios air chul a chinn 's e theireadh e, " Stadadh esan gus am 

faic mise e, agus innsidh mise e fhein dha." Ged nach 'eil 

e taitneach do dhuine a bhith 'g innseadh dha suil mu 'n 

t-sroin co e fhein, is e moran is taitniche le duine na 'n cul 

chaineadh. Ged bu bheag air am Maor, cha b' aill leis aon 

fhacal a radh 'na aghaidh mur biodh e ann an larach nam 

bonn gu seasamh air a shon fhein. 

Cha robh tlachd aig neach sam bith de'n Mhaor. Cha 

robh ann ach duine suarach 'na dhoighean. Dheanadh e


ni sam bith a shaoileadh e a chuireadh tasdan na phocaidj 

no a shaoileadh e a chordadh ris an Uachdaran. Chuir 

ioghnadh air moran de mhuinntir na duthcha an uair 

a chuala iad gu'n d' rinneadh 'na Mhaor e. Cha 

bhuineadh e idir do 'n (/uthaich, Cha b' urrainn neach 

sam bith a thuigsinn ciod air an t-saoghal a thug air an 

Uachdaran Maor a dheanamh dheth. Aig an am ud blia 

moran dhe na h-Uachdarain an duil gur e coigreach a b' 

fhearr a dheanadh feum mar Mhaor, no mar Bhailidh, na 

fear a bhiodh air a bhreith 's air 'arach anns an duthaich. 

Cha do chuidich am beachd so leis na h-Uachdarain idir. 

Mar bu trice, bhiodh na daoine a gheibheadh a bhith 'nam 

Maoir 's nam Bailidhean gle' mhor asda fhein, agus ag 

amharc sios air tuath an aite mar nach b' airidh iad air 

meas sam bith fhaotainn. Ann am measg na tuatha, bha 

agus tha, daoine cho firinneach 's cho onarach 's cho 

maiseach caitheamh-beatha anns gach doigh ri daoine sain 

bith air am b' urrainn neach eolas a chur. B' ainneamh a 

gheibheadh a h-aon dhe na daoine coire, measail, a bha am' 

measg na tuatha, aite fhein o na Maoir. B'ann ris na 

daoine bu shuaraichea bhiodh anns an duthaich a dheanadh 

na Maoir mar bu trice companas. Cha ruigear a leas 

ioghnadh a ghabhail ged a theirear, " Maoir is madaidh,'' 

mar ghnath-fhacal ann an iomadh aite de'n Ghaidhealtachd 

gus an latha 'n diugh. 

Choisinn Domhull Maor deadh-ghean bean an Uachda- 

rain le gniomh a dheanamh nach fhuilingeadh an solus 

fhaicinn. B' ann air son a' ghniomha so, bha cuid a' cumail 

a mach, a fhuair e bhith 'na Mhaor. Bha fhios aige gu 

aodadh e moran dhe 'thoil fhein a dheanamh. Cha 

leigeadh an t-eagal leis an tuath bhochd gearain a chur a 

steach thun an Uachdarain 'na aghaidh. Bha amhrus laidir 

aca gu 'n deanadh e dioghaltas orra cho luath 's a gheibheadh 

e an cothrom. An aon tuathanach a rinn-gearain 

'na aghaidh, cha robh aige air a shon ach a chuid fearaiim 

a chall, agus an duthaich fhagail. Thug so am misneach 

o gach fear, gu ire bhig, a bh' anns an aite. Neo-ar-thaing

Fear a Glilinne. yi 

nach robh e laghach, caoimhneil gu leor ris gach aon a 

bhiodh 'ga bhrot-bhiadhadh leis a h-uile ni a b' fheair a 

bhiodh a staigh aca. Mar a dh' eirich de iomadh fear a 

bharr air, bu ghle thoigh leis biadh math sughmhor ; agus 

nam faigheadh e Ian no diia na slige de mhac na braiclie, 

cha b' ann bu lugha bhiodh de ghean air. 

Bha ceathrar nighean aige, agus mu 'n robh iad ach gann 

aig aois posaidh, bha h-uile spalpaire bu phroiseile agus bu 

spaideile na cheile a' bristeadh an cnamhan as an deigh. 

Ri nine phos gach te de 'n cheathrar na h-oganaich bu 

treine 's bu dreachmhoire a gheibhteadh anns an duthaich 

gu leir, F'huair na fir so fearrann gu an aileas, air son fior 

bheagan mail. O 'n a bha fhios aig na fir so gu robh am 

Maor air an cul, bha iad 'ga faireachadh fhein gle laidir. Is 

gann a dh' fhaodadh duine sam bith a shuil a chaogadh ri 

fear seach fear dhe na fir so. Nan abradh neach facal mar 

mhagadh no da rireadh, ghrad rachadh innseadh do 'n 

Mhaor, agus a' choig uiread deug leis. Tha furasda 

thuigsinn nach b' urrainn a bheag de mheas a bhith air a' 

Mhaor, no air a chairdean.

714 The Highland Monthty. 

THE 


By D. Nairne. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

GLOOM. 

Castle was wrapped in the silence and gloom of 

death. Nature itself conspired to deepen the solemn 

eeriness of the circumstances, for not a breath of wind 

sighed among the turrets, whistled through the key-holes of 

the great oaken doors, or rattled the ill-fitting windows of 

the ancient building. Now and again a servant would tip- 

toe his or her way along a passage, a door would be closed 

softly, and again the stillness remained unbroken. Those 

who spoke did so in whispers. It was a smitten household; 

smitten from comparative gaiety and expectation into grief 

and deadening disappointm.ent. 

The laird, alone in his chamber, lay extended on a 

couch, his face blanched, endeavouring to comprehend the 

awfulness of the blow which had descended upon his 

house. Had it been he himself that lay stretched in his 

cerements, " he could have understood it," he argued with 

unconscious humour ; for he was old, and the hand of 

death might be said to be upon him. But a young maiden, 

apparently in the enjoyment of a satisfactory measure of 

health, had been taken in a breath, just as he expected to 

be ; and he was left ! Truly, the ways of Providence were 

queer 

! 

" Oh ! 

Richard, my poor son," he murmured, " little do 

you know that, while your thoughts are turned to amuse- 

ment. Death has snatched away your bonnie bride, with- 

out loving word or look being exchanged ; without a soul 

to close her eyes. My poor boy—my poor, poor boy."


The laird was not a man addicted to emotional dis- 

plays, but the cruelty of the bereavement, as he construed 

the situation, quite overcame him—he wept. 

There was one in the Castle whose grief was still deeper 

than the well of tears. Having overcome the more violent 

manifestations of his sorrow, David walked about, or sat, 

as a man labouring under some heinous dream. Before 

evening fell, he had thrice secretly visited the chamber of 

death to convince himself of its grim reality. 

Flora lay with a smile on her cold lips, an expression 

of happiness haunting every feature ; a hundred-fold more 

lovely in that cold, statuesque condition, than when the life- 

blood coursed through her veins and mantled her cheeks. 

David had never seen death before ; he could not have 

seen it under auspices less suggestive of its terrors. He 

gazed upon the picture as one fascinated. Then an impulse 

would come upon him to imprint a kiss upon her finely 

chiselled marble-looking brow ; but he resisted the long- 

ing. His had not been the right to kiss her in life ; he 

would not violate her sanctity in death. Thrice the desire 

came upon him with the strength of frenzy, and thrice he 

stole away awed at the very thought. 

Love, like health, is never destitute of hope. With 

Flora beside him, and events drifting as they had been, 

David had, in these latter days, enjoyed a feeling of strange 

satisfaction. He ceased the effort to crush his love passion; 

and his imagination had begun to picture possibilities. To 

his brother he had done his duty. So he reasoned. He 

had remonstrated with him for neglecting his promised 

wife ; but if Flora was to be supplanted by another lady, 

might not he aspire to take his brother's place ? 

He did not recognise that human nature is not logical 

except in its reasoning. With all his acumen, David had 

so far failed to understand the emotional anatomy of a 

woman who was purely womanly, and not a husband- 

hunter. How many do ? In his case, the lesson of a 

woman's constancy, even to the heart that is no longer


hers, was to be life long and bitter. Strange that it should 

be needed in one who was himself a vivid illustration of 

the enduring power of a love which was practically hope- 

less. But who more grossly blind in these matters than 

self-sufficient man ? 

It was only now that David realised the full depth and 

breadth of his passion. What a dark, dismal mockery was 

the life that remained ? He could have faced bravely 

But 

Flora's marriage, for at least she would still be visible to 

him ; and she knew he loved her ! that 

death ! and 

just at the moment when hope had glimmered kindlier and 

brighter than it had ever done before ! He felt crushed 

and unhinged ; he shuddered at the long vista of years 

which lay ahead of his youth. 

There are situations when the petty character of life 

appeals to one with demoralising force. As he sat there 

with rigid face, trying to contemplate the future, his 

thoughts pursued this train, and darkened with the deepen- 

ing twilight. He might study and become a great scholar : 

what then ? Nothing more than this, that after he had 

mastered the knowledge which people had been mastering 

in rotation for centuries, he would be humiliated with the 

littleness of it, and the worthlessness of it in contrast with 

the great Unknown ! 

What was life itself— life in cur body? Would science 

ever be able to do more than quote from the Book of 

Books, " and God breathed into man's nostrils the breath 

of life?" What was infinitude? Simply an idea that 

paralysed the brain. What of his favourite study, the 

philosophy of this, that, and the other school ? Nothing 

more than the fictions of reason in conflict. 

Life was eating and drinking, a little pleasure, and more 

sorrow, disease, and—Death ! And then he paused—who 

does not at this, the awfullest of all the mysteries ? Weary 

of life's futility as a solver of its own problems, a great 

Scottish lawyer welcomed death for the knowledge it would 

bring to him. An end to the flippant question : Is life

A Strange Revenoe. 717 

worth living ?— a question which can never be answered by 

human lips, for death alone can yield the reply ! 

These reflections were interrupted by the entrance of 

John—dressed in his Sunday blacks, and looking as 

funereal as his smirking face made possible—with the night 

lamp. 

" Only one light to-night, John." 

"Yes, sir," was John's whispered response ; 

" an' I'll nae 

mak' the lowe ower big." 

From his prolonged manipulation of the lamp, and the 

repeated glances he threw in David's direction, it was 

apparent that John had something to say, but was 

undecided whether the solemnity of the occasion warranted 

his entering into conversation. At last, the light would 

admit of no further adjustment, and he stood irresolute. 

" Don't speak about her, John," said David quietly, " I 

cannot bear it." 

" It's aboot her, an' it's no aboot her," said John, with a 

sigh. 

"Then tell me what's not about her; is there anything 

startlingly new ?" 

" It'§' aboot the Witch, Master David—her ongaun's are 

simply awfu'." 

" What's wrong with poor Elspeth?" 

" She's gane clean dementit, an' kickin' up a shindie a' 

ower the country side." 

" Is she intoxicated ?" 

" She takes a drappie, there's nae doot ; but it's no the 

speerit this time—at least it's no the speerit o' whusky.'' 

" Well, John, I'm not interested in the doings of the 

crazy old creature." 

" Ah ! sir, but it's the terrible things she's sayin'— 

dinna mean the curses, sir, 'cause she's gane "the hale 

length o' her tether in that line. She's running aboot 

yellin' that she is being hunted wi' a ghaist." 

"Then she is quite daft." 

I


" An' it's Jier ghaist, Master David— it's her ghaist," said 

John in a stage whisper, his eyes staring in his head—for, 

Hke his class, he believed in, and had a wholesome dread 

of ghosts, goblins, and every other suppositious tenant of 

the Unseen World. 

" Not an unusual form of hallucination, John, when the 

mind is both wicked and diseased." 

" But, sir, whaever heard tell o' a ghaist bein' seen in 

broad daylicht—the thing's preposterous," argued John, in 

the confusion of his mind on the subject. 

" Daylight or dark, the brain conjures up its own 

phantoms, John. Now go, please." 

" But I hav'na telt ye the queerest point o' the matter," 

John persisted, " I heard her wi' my ain lugs cryin' that 

Miss Flora was askin' her to save her life." 

" She saved Elspeth's life some time ago— perhaps the 

poor, wicked creature has some qualms of conscience in the 

matter. She treated Miss Flora horribly on that occasion, 

I recollect." 

" Jist listen tae her haverin's, sir, as I said, there's some- 

thing sae awfu' terrible an' queer aboot them. The auld 

thing, rheumatism an' a', came skelpin' across the "field like 

a fox wi' a score o' dogs at her heels. She cast her een 

ower her shoulders ever noo an' agin, an' at every look she 

gave sic an unearthly skirl ! She made straight for the 

blacksmith's shop, yell in' at the tap o' her vice, 'she's 

huntin' me !—her ghaist's huntin' me !—tak' her awa ! 

Look ! she's at the door ! shut it, smith—shut it !' The 

smith, thinkin' some mischief was on, ran tae the smithy 

door and shut it wi' a bang. Then the Witch gave a 

fearfu' yell. ' She's comin' through the door ! Look 

!'" Look An 

wi' thae words, she ran ahint the 

smith 'an' cooried doon, clutching at his legs, an' 

screechin' till the hale neighbours were a' gethered 

roon' the door thinkin' there was murder goin' 

on. 'What d'ye see, ye glacket auld fule?' asked 

the smith. ' Miss Flora o' the Castle,' was the Witch's 

!


reply, pointin' a shakin' finger at the anvil, whaur there 

was naebudy veesible, ' see, she's sittin' there glowerin' at 

me vvi' they avvfu' e'en o' hers ! Hist ! She says she's no 

dead, but that her body's cold and stiff, and that I can 

But I'll no dae it, though she saved my 

make it warm ! 

life— I'll no dae it ; I swore by the deevil I wadna. Gang 

awa' an' dee,' and risin' up she sprang, clutchin' like, at the 

anvil, an' gie'd her head sich a dure that she fell doon. It 

was a terrible sicht ! It made me shivery, an' maist o' the 

neebours slippit awa' hame. 

tae the smith—an' 'certies, 

' Gang for the doctor,' says I 

we a' went wi' him. Weel, 

when we came back, wha did we see but the Witch rinnin' 

like the diel, to whom she belongs, sir (as nane o' us can 

deny), tearin' at her hair, and cryin' that hell fire or no, she 

wud save Flora's— I beg yer pardon—IMiss Flora's life ! 

The doctor got haud o' her as she was fleeing past, but she 

struggled like tvva men, and shoutin' that she was awa' tae 

get the med'cine, she went bang intae the plantation and 

disappeared. I declare, what wi' ae thing an' anither— I'll 

no mention parteeklars, sir—my nerves the day are no 

worth a preen's tap." 

" I ain afraid Elspeth must be sent to the mad house, 

and I hope that will be done before she injures either 

herself or others." 

" Excuse me, sir, but d'ye mean tae say that everybody 

wha sees a ghaist, daylicht or dark, are lunatics ?" asked 

John drawing himself up ; " f>jr, if that's the case, my 

father and his father afore him, wha baith saw the Speerit 

o' Murdered Man's Knowe, were daft ! Daft!" he added 

with a toss of his head, " it wad be tellin' a hankie folk in 

this parish if they were halfsae wise as my forbears." 

" Perhaps, John— perhaps. This is not a time to pursue 

the subject ; but when anybody pretends to have seen a 

ghost just express the wish that his brain may in future be 

truer to itself" 

" 1 ken brawly that I'm speakin' ower muckle, sir, an 

death in the hoose— its no a day e'en tae speak o' death 

—

720 


but I scarcely understand ye. Dae ye mean tae mak me 

believe that ye dinna believe in ghaists?" 

" Certainly." 

John gazed at David for a few seconds in order to 

comprehend the full depth of the heresy to which he had 

descended, and then, with a superior air, walked from the 

room ; in doing which he forgot the solemnity of the 

occasion and gave the door a decided shake. 

"Folks say that a little learnin's a dangerous thing; 

faith, an' I believe it," muttered John as he went along the 

passage leading to the kitchen, " a ghaist's a ghaist for a' 

that," as Burns wad say. 

A surprise awaited John when he reached the culinary 

department of the Castle, in the substantial form of Kirsty. 

At the unexpected sight of his wife to be, he did not rush 

forward and fold her in his arms, but drew himself up with 

the assumption of resenting an intrusion. 

" You here again, Kirsty ?'' 

" What for no, my dearie ?" 

" We canna coort an' death i' the hoose." 

" I dinna want tae coort," pouted Kirsty with a toss of 

the head. 

This statement quite non-plussed John ; he quite expected 

her to come forward and coax him with a kiss and 

an embrace. Therefore he resolved, for once, to cast upon 

her a reflection. 

" Perhaps ye e'en dinna want tae get marrit ?" said he, 

thrusting both hands into his trouser pockets, attempting 

an incoherent whistle, and becoming suddenly interested in 

the condition of some crockery ware. 

" John !" 

" Well ?" 

" \e ken fine !" 

" Ken what ?" 

" That !" 

John did not contradict this indefinite insinuation regarding 

his intelligence on matters matrimonial.


" I didna come tae force mysel upon ye," Kirsty continued, 

in a voice so tremulous that John at once wheeled 

about, " but things dinna seem tae be driftin' very sair in that 

direction." 

" The auld story," said John, again turning his back 

and patting the floor vigorously with one foot ; " the same 

as I cud mak' money ony quicker or help folk deein' ; 

besides, this's a fine day tae talk o' marriage— it wad be 

wiser-like tae speak o' kirkyards an' read the Psalms o' 

Dauvit.'' 

" It's no that." 

" It's no what ?" 

" I dinna want ta hurry ye, I'm sure." 

" No, ye canna ; 

that's the best o't." 

"John, dinna be sae ill-natured, for I hae bad news— 

that's what I came tae tell ye afore e'en I telt my faither 

I've lost a' my siller !" 

" What, Kirsty," questioned John, with a look of con- 

sternation, '• lost yer hale £2 17s 3%d ?" 

" Every penny !" 

"An' wha's the thief?" asked John with an air that 

meant the offender would have a hard time of it. 

" Oh, it's this way, John : 

— 

the Professor hasna paid a 

bawbee o' his debts, an' the lawyers o' Inverness have 

taken awa' every stick in the hoose, includin' my ain kist 

an' the money I've saved wi' the sweat o' my broo." 

" Good gracious, Kirsty, yer money taen awa' by a 

wheen lawyer scoondrels ? An' for that vagabond's debts ! 

I aye thocht there was something queer about yon cliap, 

wi' his sneakin' prowls in the wuds, an' keep mysel' tae 

mysel' kind o' style. What about yer half year's wages ?" 

" Not a penny hae I got." 

" An' no' a copper need ye expect." 

" What's the world comin' tae," soliloquised John, 

leaning up against the dresser and rubbing his stubbly chin, 

" death, ghosts, witch's gane daft, an' folk that dinna believe 

in ghosts— it'll be the millenium next." 

46


At this point Kirsty broke into an hysterical sob ; and 

John, behaving like any other rational male being in 

similar circumstances, began a series of affectionate demon- 

strations with a view to her comforting. 

" Never mind, my lass, ye've lost yer money, an' I'll no' 

say it'll no put back oor waddin' a bit ; but I aye said I 

wudna marry for a fortune,' an' though it's gane, yer here 

yersel', weighin' mair pounds than ye've lost." 

" They're ye are," flared out Kirsty, " aye naggin' me 

aboot my fat; I think I'll gie ye up a'thegether, John 

Maxwell." 

" Losh, woman, wull ye nae tak a compliment when ye 

get ane?— I meant yer worth mair cash than ye've lost, my 

bonnie doo." 

" I think I'll dee tae— I'd be better awa'," was Kirsty's 

irrelevant and tear-emphasised remark. 

A better understanding was, however, soon arrived at, 

and in a short time the pair were amicably discussing the 

affairs of this world as they particularly affected the Castle 

and its occupants. They recalled Elspeth's prophesy, now 

well-known in the countryside, that Miss Flora would 

never be mistress of Castle Stuart, and agreed that she had 

fallen a victim to the old beldame's black art. 

"Jist like Alic Tamson's coo," said John, " she cursed 

it at nicht an' it was dead in the mornin'." 

"There's ae consolation onyway," added Kirsty, " it's an 

awfu' punishment, that ghaist," and, at the remark, as the 

evening was now pretty well fallen, they drew closer 

together. 

" Serves her richt," was the reply ; " though I didna 

think there was so muckle in Miss Flora as tae think o' 

that." 

As it became evident to both that something had gone 

inexplicably wrong in the conversation, it was by mutual 

consent dropped. 

" Look here, John," resumed Kirsty, after a pause, 

" here's a letter I fund amang the Professor's books 

when I was clcanin' up ; 

1 wonder what it's aboot."


John procured a candle and succeeded in spelling out 

the short epistle, which we reproduce, as it throws some 

light upon a mysterious character in our story, has already 

had an effect in the working out of the plot, and gives a 

hint as to further revelations. It was dated from New 

York and signed " A. Z." 

" Game up ! Net profits, two million dollars (about), 

which are safe. As your last letter has not reached me, 

you had better look sharp. Safest plan (and if you warKt 

money) is to double upon them in disguise to this place. 

Be well armed wherever you go, as I gave L. the slip 

without a d d dollar, and he's wandering about the earth 

with a butcher's cleaver and a six-shooter. Old diggings ; 

' pill's ' the word." 

CHAPTER XV. 

A STARTLING EVENT. 

David'.s private chamber in the Castle was in the corner of 

the east wing, on the ground floor, its windows commanding 

the lawn in two directions. It was the midnight hour, but 

the solitary lamp continued to burn, and the recurring 

shadow on the blinds would have indicated to the outside 

observer that the occupant of the chamber was making a 

weary patrol, with slow step and bent head. He was 

selfish in his grief; or was it that he did not wish to meet 

his father lest he might betray the real character of the 

feeling which he entertained towards Miss Flora? At any- 

rate, when summoned by the laird, he had pleaded excuse 

till the morrow. Even when the post arrived, and a solitary 

letter from Edinburgh, addressed in a strange handwriting, 

caused him to speculate who the writer might be, he sent 

John with 

about it. 

it to the laird, and troubled himself no more 

As it proved, that missive contained the laird's death 

warrant ; and 

innocent as he was of any unfilial intention,

724 


the thought that his presence might have averted the dread 

catastrophe, knowing, as he did, his father's precarious condition, 

was an unhappy one to David, in a future which 

required no accentuation of its sorrows. 

The last stroke of twelve was still vibrating when he was- 

startled by a loud rapping at the side window of his 

chamber. He was not of a nervous temperament, but at 

that ill-omened hour, and in the suggestive circumstances, 

such an unexpected intrusion upon the silence of the Castle 

quickened his .pulse. The knocking was repeated, and 

going to the window, he peered out into the darkness.. 

What he saw made him start back in astonishment, for 

nothing could have been more unexpected and startling. 

The Witch, pallid and staring, with hair dishevelled and 

streaming down both sides of her face, pressed her 

demoniac-looking countenance against the window pane! 

What should he do ? Elspeth was evidently, as John 

had described, mad as a March hare, else she would never 

disturb the Castle at this hour of the night—a place she 

had never come near since being evicted from the old hut. 

If she proved troublesome, it would be necessary to waken 

John and have the creature removed. 

The knocking, louder and more prolonged, was 

renewed. He stood irresolute. That was a strange and 

weird account John had given of her ravings—that she saw 

a spectre ; that Flora was not dead ; and that she, at firsts 

refused, and then resolved to resuscitate the dead. If 

there was one department of medicine he would prefer ta 

specialise 't would be that of mental diseases. For him 

the brain and its mysterious workings had a strong 

fascination, and his professional studies had been prefaced! 

by a course in psychology, both exhaustive and dis- 

tinguished. It might be interesting and instructive, as well 

as a distraction—for he felt sleep impossible— to diagnose 

l'21speth's case. 

The window-rapping was resumed as he reached this 

conclusion. Drawing aside the blind, and raising the


window an inch or two, he demanded of Elspeth what she 

wanted. 

" Quick an' open the door," was the breathless request 

'" if ye waste a single meenit she may be deed !" 

" My poor woman, she is dead already—dead, Elspeth, 

and certified so by the doctor." 

" The doctor !" kills ; I can kill 

and she chuckled derisively, "he only 

and cure tae—ha ! ha ! Up wi' the 

window an' let's jump in or I'll smash every pane o't," she 

threatened ; 

" if the deel gets me again she'll dee, and I'll 

be huntit ! huntit ! huntit 

same time clutching the window and shaking it violently. 

!" she almost screamed, at the 

" Let her in !" The command was so peremptory that 

David turned sharply round ; but while he did so the con- 

viction flashed upon him that the words had not a worldly 

origin. It seemed to originate in the brain itself, as if the 

receptive centre had been communicated with irrespective 

of the organ of hearing. 

"Who knows but that some unseen influence is working 

here," he argued, a feeling of uneasiness creeping over him. 

" Hamlet spoke truly about the narrowness of human vision; 

I'll indulge the whim." 

Elspeth scrambled in as if an army of demons were at 

her heels, and stood on the floor panting. Her face had 

grown sunken and pinched, and about her eyes there was 

an almost unnatural, restless gleam. She formed an un- 

nerving picture ; involuntarily David drew back a pace, 

and began to regret that he had not fortified himself by 

summoning the presence of John. What if she carried 

some weapon, and had in her madness adopted this cunning 

ruse to carry out a diabolical scheme of revenge for treatment 

which had been so prolific of curses ! 

"Where is she?" Elspeth asked in a grating whisper. 

Then she plunged a hand into the bosom of her dress : 

" Safe, safe," she muttered to herself, as she brought out a 

small vial and thrust it back again. 

;


" You cannot see Miss Flora's remains to-night, Elspeth; 

you must come to-morrow and take a last look. I 

believe 

" 

" The morn !" broke in Elspeth with an expressionless 

laugh, " I've tae meet Auld Nick the morn when Peter 

Ferguson's cock craws ! Ken ye that ? It's cauld an* 

deep ; cauld an' deep— I saw't the nicht an' shivered 

shivered ! Quick, whaur's the room she lies in ? Tak's 

till her, or her ghaist '11 come again ; and I'll run, run awa' 

—and sJiell dee /" 

There was something pathetic and imploring in the 

witch's manner as she uttered the last of her incoherences. 

" If I take you to see Miss Flora," said David, " will 

you promise to be quiet, and then leave the castle 

immediately." 

" As still's the kirkyard—but they'll no bury me there,, 

will they ? Na ! Ony thing'll be guid eneuch for the 

Wutch," she went on in a moaning voice. 

Every moment the conviction had been growing 

stronger in David's mind that he must comply with 

Elspeth's request, and now the impulse came upon him to 

do so with all haste. It was a peculiar feeling, but he had 

no time to analyse it. 

"Quick!" shouted Elspeth, and the command seemed 

to echo and re-echo in his brain. 

On the excuse of procuring a light, he took the pre- 

caution to arouse John, and that individual hastily 

appeared, half clad, and lantern in hand. When he saw 

the Witch, and noticed the open window, John, alarmed at 

the unexplained summons from bed at the ghostly hour, 

started back with a cry of amazement. 

"Quick!" said Elspeth again, not heeding John, "the 

time's up." 

" Lead the way to Miss Flora's chamber, John,' 

instructed David, in reassuring tones, " Elspeth wants to 

have a last look." 

" They's awfu' ongauns, Master ," expostulated poor 

John, his teeth clattering with cold and terror combined. 

—


Before he could finish the sentence, the Witch sprang 

forward and literally pushed him from the room. 

And so the ghostly procession started, up-stair and 

through passage— John with knees shaking under him, and 

keeping an eye in his neck, as it were, for the hideous face 

of the Witch pressed close upon him, and he could feel her 

feverish breath fanning his ear. The light fell fitfully on 

her features, exaggerating their ugliness by all manner of 

shading produced by the swing of the lamp. She had the 

appearance of an evil spirit leering out of the gloom. 

Reduced to canvas, the trio would have made a striking 

and eerie picture, illustrative of all that is superstitiously 

weak in human nature. 

David brought up the rear, fidgetty and anxious, but 

strangely imbued by the thought that, outrageous as the 

proceeding was, he would have been wrong to refuse com- 

plying with the request of the poor demented creature before 

him. How the stairs creaked ! And there was something 

uncanny in the sough of the rising wind John had never 

betore experienced. A door clicked off the latch at his 

elbow and made the cold sweat stand like beads on his 

forehead ; 

the rustle of a leaf, blown in at an open window, 

raised each hair till his head resembled an alarmed hedgehog. 

If only he could speak! The silence, broken only by 

soft and solemn tread, creak, and rustle, was intolerable. 

Now they were approaching the chamber of death. What 

if Flora's ghost were standing sentinel there ? This thought 

was too much for John, and he fell back, with a look of such 

piteous appeal that David silently took the lantern from 

his shaking hand and led the way. 

He paused vnth the handle of the door in his grasp and 

help up the lantern to Elspeth's face. Now that he was on 

the threshold of that sacred chamber, it struck him as 

sacrilege to intrude with such company. The thought 

passed away, swiftly as it came, as his eyes fell upon the 

Witch's face. A change had taken place ; it now looked 

placid and set; the eyes were calm, as if once more

728 


governed by reason ; the whole countenance was expec- 

tant and purposeful. 

" Quick !" she whispered. 

The chamber was lit by two rush-lights, so placed that 

the features of Flora were visible from the doorway in their 

deathly repose. For a brief second Elspeth gazed upon 

the solemn scene. 

" How like it," she whispered. 

" Like what ?" 

" Her ghaist !" was Elspeth's reply, as she seized the 

lantern and rushed towards the bed. She held the light 

close to the face, and with the other hand raised an eye- 

lid, her expression meanwhile betokening intense anxiety. 

It changed to one of satisfaction as she perceived that the 

eye-lid slowly closed of its own accord. Then she thrust a 

pin into one of the veins of the wrist, rubbed the part 

vigorously, and watched the result. A small speck of 

blood appeared on the surface ! 

" Leave the room," she said, turning to David and 

pointing her finger sternly doorwards. '' Nane but Elspeth 

kens the cure, an' nae e'en but hers on this earth will ever 

see hoo it works." 

Without waiting to see whether David complied, 

Elspeth turned and snatched the head cloth from the body. 

David at once sprang forward with a cry of dismay and 

protest, seized the old woman by the shoulders, and hurled 

her to the floor. 

'• Do you mean to insult the dead with your mad 

pranks," he demanded fiercely, " begone this instant or I'll 

kick you to the door." 

The Witch rose slowly, uttering a whine as of dispair ; 

then she fixed her eyes upon her assailant with a look 

which implied unuttered curses, long and deep. 

" It's ye that are mad !— She's no dead yet, d'ye hear ? 

She's no dead yet ; but she'll be dead afore mornin' ; aye, 

as dead as the wutch hersel'. An' listen : you'll be her 

murderer" she hissed. " Ye think me mad ; at times I


think I am ; but I'm wise the nicht, for I want tae save her 

life, seein' she saved mine. She needna hae fashed, for 

— ; 

r'll be drooned after a', but she saved it an' that's enough. 

You love her— ye start, but well I jalouse yer secret 

wha'll cheat the witch ? Yet ye'll no let me save her 

life. Let me save her— Let me save her!" she cried, 

changing her tone from threat to entreaty. 

" Save the dead ! Woman, beldame, daughter of the 

very devil as you are, can you not even respect the dead 

• and our sorrow," said David with clenched hands. "You 

•do nothing but curse, curse! Go, and curse on to your 

heart's content, but for God's sake leave us to our grief in 

peace, or I'll have you dragged forth and put in a strait- 

jacket. You've played a diabolical trick upon me to-night 

go, or, crazy as you are, I'll make you suffer for it." 

" Hoo bonnie she is," muttered Elspeth, unheeding 

David's hot words. 

David looked round ; and no sooner did so than he 

staggered back, his eyes transfixed on Flora's body—the 

very embodiment of one who looks upon a manifestation 

of the unseen world. Then his terrified look softened, and 

the suggestion of a happy smile stole upon him. 

" Yes !" was all he said ; and he spoke in a soft, extatic 

whisper, while his eyes turned slowly from the bed as if 

following an indefinite something. " Yes !" he repeated, 

seeming to answer a question. Then he moved towards the 

door like one in a dream, while his face brightened up by 

the vision it furnished. At the threshold he paused, and 

his look was one of rapture ; 

he turned down the dark passage. 

"John ! 

John 

then, with a deep drawn sigh, 

!" he called faintly ; but John had long 

•ago reached his room, where, head buried in the bed clothes, 

•he lay quaking with terror. 

[to be continued.]

730 


THE LEGEND OF THE DARK LOCH. 

NNS a' ghleann 'san robh mi og, 

A' Anns a' ghleann 'san robh mi og, 

B'e mo mhiann a bhi 'san am sin, 

Anns 'a ghleann 'san robh mi og." 

These lines sung in a low, soft, and rather sweet voice 

—unmistakeably a man's—to the air of " When the kye 

comes hame," were wafted to my ears on the fragrant 

breath of a fine June morning, as, with fishing-rod in hand, 

and a fishing-basket slung over my shoulder, I was picking 

my way with difficulty among the large boulders that lie 

scattered near the southern shore of Loch Veyatie, in the 

west of Sutherlandshire. My first sensation on finding I 

was not alone was one of disappointment, as will be under- 

stood by every angler who, on proceeding to a favourite 

pool, has found himself forestalled by another, even though 

the latter has the same right there as he himself. Though 

the words of the song were distinctly audible, the singer 

himself was not in sight. About fifty yards in front of me 

rose a green knoll, covered with long heather and a {^.v^ 

stunted willows. Thither I hastened to ascertain who the 

intruder—for so I designated him, though the term was 

more applicable to myself— might be. On gaining the top, 

however, I could see no one, and I was wondering whether 

my imagination had played me false, when again I distinctly 

heard, not far away, the words : 

— 

" Ach an diugh tha maor is lann. 

Air gach alltan agus ob ; 

Cha n'eil saorsa sruth nam beanntan 

Anns a' ghleann 'san robh mi og." 

On looking more closely in the direction from which 

the voice had proceeded, I was surprised to see an old man 

seated on a mossy bank, resting his chin on the crook of a

The Legend of Ihe Dark Loch. 731 

shepherd's staff which was firmly fixed in the soil. At his 

feet lay two large, shaggy collie dogs. The latter, on 

observing me, commenced to growl and bark. Thus dis- 

turbed, the old man, having rebuked the dogs, was on the 

point of departing hurriedly, when I recognised him as an 

old friend whose acquaintance I had made several years 

before when spending a holiday in Sutherlandshire. The 

next moment we were shaking hands in the true, hearty 

Highland fashion, while the old man poured forth a torrent 

of questions. 

" And is it really yourself, Mister Alick ? x'\nd I 

thought it was only a Sassenach, Lie down, Gaisgeach [ 

And where have you been all this time, and when did you 

come here ? Come ahint. Rover ! 

Ah 

! 

the poor brutes 

know you too. See how they jump and bark with joy at 

seeing you." And he continued in this strain for fully five 

minutes before I had an opportunity of satisfying the 

curiosity he evinced regarding my doings and whereabouts 

since I saw^ him last. In a few sentences I gave him a 

brief account of my career during the past few years, and 

then we both sat down on the green bank—his former seat 

—for I would gladly have sacrificed even the day's trout- 

fishing for the sake of having a chat wath old Rob Gordon. 

Never shall I forget that June morning ; and often 

since, on wild winter nights when the wind is howling 

round the corners of the house, and whistling at the doors 

and windows, and shaking violently the mighty trees in its 

fury, has that magnificent view I had from the shores of 

Loch Veyatie risen before my imagination, a view unsur- 

passed in grandeur, a view that can only be adequately 

delineated by the artist's brush. 

In front of us stretched the loch like a huge mirror^ 

reflecting, faithfully, not only the exact image and well- 

defined outlines of the hill that rose on its northern side,, 

but even the various delicate tints of heather, grass, moss 

and bush in which the hill was arrayed. Away to the right 

we could see Cannisp with its grassy slopes and rugged

732 

Ihe Hio/iland Monthly. 

peak ; still further in the same direction lofty Ben More 

reared its hoary head against the blue sky. To the left, 

Suilvein with its twin peaks rose proudly, , as if vying with 

its neighbours in gracefulness of form, and uprightness of 

stature, and immediately behind us Coulmore, rising 

abruptly from the shores of the loch, shewed its majestic 

slopes, on which we could see the " Antlered monarch of the 

waste " roaming at his sweet will, undisturbed till the 

Twelfth. These mountains, and many others not visible 

from the spot where we were seated, rising precipitously 

and individually from almost the sea level to the height of 

nearly 3000 feet, present a most unique appearance, and 

resemble a line of sentinels jealously guarding the approach 

to Assynt. A balmy breeze murmured softly through the 

small wood of birch, hazel, and mountain ash, immediately 

behind us, and the sound blended harmoniously with the 

singing of the mavis and the whistling of the blackbird. It 

seemed like nature singing a trio. At times we could 

hear the cry of the moor-cock, and the " oot by w-i-i-i-de, 

lass," of the shepherd " resounded up the rocky way." A 

tiny rivulet issuing from a small spring at our feet babbled 

merrily as it flowed into the loch, whose glassy surface was 

occasionally disturbed by a trout as it '' rose" to swallow an 

unwary fly, forming several concentric circles that gradually 

widened till the wavelets settled down and the loch had 

•once more assumed its unruffled appearance. On all sides 

we could see streams whose crystal waters sparkled like 

diamonds in the sunlight, flowing down the mountain sides, 

-and one stream—the Big River—larger than the rest, 

formed a beautiful cascade, as it dashed itself down a per- 

pendicular precipice into the Black Pool below. 

Whilst I was contemplating this scene and drinking in 

all its beauty, my companion spoke not a word but con- 

tinued to gaze abstractedly towards the blue mountains in 

the distance. He was to all appearance living in the past. 

The song he was singing when J disturbed him had 

•evidently awakened memories of long ago, and his imagina- 

tive mind was no doubt colouring with a roseate hue scenes

The Legend of the Dark Loch. 733 

of bygone days. For is it not equally true of the imagina- 

tion as of the e\e that " distance lends enchantment to the 

\ie\v ?" The next words spoken by the old man proved 

that my surmises were correct. Turning to me, and offering 

me a large silver snuff-box, he said " Now, Mister Alick,, 

have you seen a finer view than that since you were here 

last ?" " No, indeed," I replied, " I have not, and I don't 

think a finer view can be had anywhere." My reply gave 

him evident satisfaction, for he smiled graciousi)' and con- 

tinued. 

" Ah ! but 

if you had passed as many days among those 

glens, corries, and mountains as I have, you would think 

them prettier still. Would you believe that every stream, 

and rock, and hill seem to me to be endowed with life ? I 

was born among them, and I passed my youth, manhood 

and old age wandering among them, till now ever>' object 

seems like the face of an old friend, and to smile a 

welcome to me as I approach it. Look at the corrie 

beneath that shoulder of Coulmore," he added, turning 

round to the mountain in question, " many a night have I 

passed there during the snows of winter and heat of summer 

with my terriers fox-hunting, and many a splendid fox have 

I both shot and snared there, for that corrie used to be a 

favourite haunt of these animals ; 

and 

then when the 

sportsmen came north in autumn, who knew better than I 

where a 'royal' was to be found, iût those days are past, 

never more to return. On fine da)-s I still wander in the 

glens, and among the lochs and streams, for I cannot now 

climb the mountains." And he recited in a soft voice and 

mournful manner the following verse from Duncan Ban 

Macintyre's " Cead Deireannach nam Beann " : 

" Ged tha mo cheann air liathadh, 

'Smo chiabhagan air tanachadh, 

'S trie a leig mi mial-chu 

Ri fear fiadhaich ceannartach ; 

Ged bu toigh leam riamh iad, 

'S ged' fhaicinn air an t-sliabh iad, 

Cha teid mi 'nis' ga 'n iarraidh 

O'n chain mi trian na h-analach." 

—

734 


" I have only one desire now," he continued, " and that 

is, when I die, I should like to be buried in the little 

churchyard yonder, within sound of the murmuring streams; 

where the strong gales of winter and the soft breezes of 

summer blow over me from the tops of these dear 

bens ; where the mavis and the lark sing their morning 

song ; and where the little children romp and play, as, on 

summer evenings, they drive the cows home from the 

hills." 

It was not often that Rob Gordon gave way to such 

fits of despondency. On the contrary, he was naturally of 

a very lively disposition. A stranger coming in contact 

with him for the first time would depart with an impression 

of a benevolent, genial, and hearty old man, full of humour, 

and not devoid of wit. He was passionately fond of 

children, and they adored him. He might often be seen 

followed by a crowd of urchins, who leaped and gambolled 

and screamed in childish glee to attest the pleasure they 

derived from the company of their aged friend. 

He was a remarkable man. Considerably over ninety 

years of age when presented to the reader, he not only 

retained possession of all his faculties, but he was 

physically wonderfully lithe and active as well. In 

personal appearance he was somewhat below the average 

height, but sturdy and well made. A pair of beaming 

hazel eyes, fringed with dark lashes, a slightly aquiline 

nose, a massive forehead, and finely curved lips, were the 

salient features of a face that was very pleasing in its 

expression. When a young man he was appointed game- 

keeper on a part of the Sutherland Estate, and he served 

in this capacity till old age compelled him to retire, for 

though the " spirit was willing the flesh was weak." 

On giving up his favourite occupation, he received a com- 

petent allowance, which enabled him and his wife to live 

comfortably in their neat little cottage on the brow of a 

green hill, where they were often visited by members of 

their large family, who had settled down in various parts of 

the Highlands.


When the old man had expressed himself as related 

above, he rested his forehead for a minute on his staff, 

then, recovering his usual equanimity, he looked at me, 

with the old familiar smile overspreading his face, and said, 

^' Where are you going to fish to-day, Mister Alick ?" 

" I am going to try a few casts from the Maiden Stone 

to the mouth of the Big River, but I'm afraid it's too calm 

for fishing. See, there's not even a ripple on the water. 

But can you tell me why that boulder is called the Maiden 

Stone ?" 

" I remember many years ago," replied he, " asking my 

father the same question as I accompanied him one evening 

on a fox-hunting expedition. The legend, as told by 

him, is that two girls, sisters, were once washing clothes in 

the loch beside the stone, when a dreadful thunderstorm 

came on. One of the girls was greatly frightened, but the 

other continued her occupation with seeming indifference 

while the lightning flashed and the thunder pealed, and was 

echoed and re-echoed by mountain and glen. At last a 

flash gleamed with unusual brightness, followed by a fear- 

ful crash which seemed to rend the mountains asunder. 

The more timid of the sisters burst into tears, and implored 

her companion either to run home with her or take shelter 

till the storm had subsided. The obdurate sister, instead 

of complying with the request, made a gesture indicative 

of the utmost contempt ; and, at the same moment, another 

flash lighted up the sky with blinding brilliancy, followed 

almost instantly by a deafening peal of thunder. The 

earth shook ; the waters of the lake trembled violently ; 

and a huge chasm opened where the irreverent girl stood, 

and her horrified sister saw her disappear into the jâwning 

fissure with a heart-rending cry. The girls' father, who 

had gone in search of them on the outburst of the storm, 

found the survivor lying insensible by the side of the loch. 

Ever since the stone has been called the Maiden Stone." 

The boulder in question is a huge piece of granite that 

had evidently got detached from one of the many precipices


that frowned darkly above our heads far up the sideof Coulmore, 

and had rolled down to the edge of the loch. Here 

it stood, overlooking a dark pool several feet deep, where, 

according to tradition, the abyss had opened its fatal jaws 

and swallowed up the ill-fated girl. 

I had often been told that Robert Gordon was well 

versed in folklore, and that his fund of legends and traditions 

was simply inexhaustible ; but though I had on several 

occasions before now met him I never had the much longed 

for opportunity of having a quiet conversation with him. 

This morning he seemed to be in an unusually happy mood 

for my purpose, so I determined to take advantage of the 

occasion. 

The absence of any wind precluded the very idea of 

fishing. The surface of the lake before us still wore its 

glassy aspect ; not a cloud darkened the blue vault above 

our heads ; the sheep and cattle on the surrounding hills 

overcome by the oppressive heat of the mid-day sun, had 

lain down among the brackens, or in the shade of large 

boulders, and were lazily chewing the cud or, perchance, 

dreaming of fertile plains and rich pastures ; the concert in 

the grove behind us had suddenly ceased, and all Nature 

seemed to be enjoying a tranquil siesta. 

I produced my flask and offered some of its contents to 

my companion, who, despite the warmth of the hour, drank 

it " neat ;" I then followed suit, diluting mine, however, with 

water from the rivulet I have already mentioned. Next I 

lit my pipe, and my companion helped himself to several 

pinches of snuff from his ever-serviceable silver box, and I 

was on the point of making some remark when a peculiar 

noise behind caused us both to turn round to see several 

rabbits scamper off in all directions as if they had been 

suddenly startled by some unexpected cause. I could not 

account for this strange behaviour on the part of the rabbits, 

and I turned to my companion for an explanation. " Let 

us go to yonder hillock," he said, " something has frightened 

the rabbits, and I am almost sure it's a weasel." On getting 

,

The Legend of the Dark Loch. jt^j 

to the top of a slight eminence near at hand, we were 

the spectators of a very interesting incident. The rabbits 

had all disappeared with the exception of one that continued 

to run up and down, and hither and thither, now vanishing 

into a hole, only to pop out of it again the next minute, and 

then doubling and turning with amazing rapidity. 

"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Robert Gordon, " I knew it 

was a weasel. Do you see it, a brown one, near the big 

white stone yonder?" Looking in the direction indicated, 

I saw, sure enough, the little bloodthirsty animal in hot 

pursuit of its prey. The rabbit was a much faster runner 

than its pursuer. Indeed, the latter seemed to take matters 

very easily, as if quite sure of its victim. With its nose 

almost touching the ground and looking neither to right 

nor left, it followed every turn and movement of the rabbit 

with untiring persistency, and when the latter took a 

momentary refuge in a hole the weasel pursued it closely to 

its temporary retreat, imitating all its windings with the uner- 

ring doggedness of a sleuthhound, and ultimately driving it 

out, when the turnings, and windings, and doublings were 

again renewed. 

" Do you think the weasel will succeed in catching it ?" 

I asked Rob Gordon. 

" Oh yes," he returned, " he has a very keen scent, and 

will continue the chase until the rabbit is tired out. I have 

often seen rabbits hunted to death by these vermin. They 

are very destructive to ground game. But see, the rabbit 

is in the act of giving up, and in a few minutes more will 

fall a victim to its bloodthirsty pursuer.'' As he spoke both 

animals disappeared behind a ridge of the mountain, and 

we saw them no more. 

When we had again seated ourselves on nature's velvety 

couch, I asked my companion if he knew the legend in 

connection uith a small and dark-looking loch in a lonely 

part of a moor several miles distant from us, about which 

various and conflicting stories were current. This loch is 

even at the present day regarded with dread by many of 

47

738 


the natives of neighbouring townships, and to approach it 

at night would be considered a very daring act indeed. It 

lies in the centre of a large tract of broken moorland, and 

its dark water gleams in the moonlight like the alluring 

Will-o'-the-Wisp. The scream of the curlew, and the wild 

cry of the heron, are the only signs of life that break the 

silence and loneliness of this dreary marsh. Tall grasses, 

reeds, and flags grow in abundance on the shores of the 

loch, and the wind blowing through these causes a moaning 

sound like the sighs of the unblest. A more fitting locality 

for the scene of a tragic event cannot be imagined. The 

legend as told to me by Rob Gordon is as follows : 

Many years ago when in the Highlands belief in the 

supernatural was universal, and superstition held despotic 

sway, two young women from a neighbouring township 

had early in the summer driven their cattle to the moors 

and taken up their abode in a shieling erected on a grassy 

slope some distance from the loch. They were to pass 

several months in this mountain hut, during which they 

were to be busily engaged in all kinds of dairy work, such 

as driving the cows to rich pastures in the morning and 

back to the shieling again at night, feeding the calves, and 

making butter and cheese. About once a week one of 

them went home for a supply of food, and they were often 

visited by young men from the township, who occasionally 

passed several days in the shieling before returning home. 

Various other huts of a similar kind and for a like purpose 

were scattered here and there over the moor at a certain 

distance from each other, so as to give the cattle as much 

ground to roam over as possible. Thus the proximity of 

the shielings to one another gave a feeling of security to 

their inhabitants, and was the means of dispelling any 

fears that would be likely to arise from their firm belief in 

the existence of uncanny beings. In this manner the 

summer months passed. 

One moonlight night towards the end of August, these 

two girls, whose names were Morag Cameron and Molly 

—

iic Legend of the DaiLc Lock. 739 

Graham, were sitting round the turf fire in one end of the 

hut, busily engaged knitting stockings after having finished 

their day's work. To wile away the hours they chatted 

pleasantly and sang shatches of Gaelic songs. Ultimately 

the conversation turned on their lovers, who would 

undoubtedly have been highly elated could they have heard 

the enconiums passed upon them by their respective fair 

admirers. Morag concluded a rather lengthened eulogium 

on her own " Jack " by remarking " How I wish they were 

both here now !" 

" Hush !" replied Molly, " you should have added, ' with 

the blessing of God.' " 

" Well, I wish they were here at anyrate," returned the 

other, " but as they left us only yesterday I am afraid we 

need not expect them to turn up to-night." 

In a short time after, sounds of approaching footsteps 

were heard, and the next minute two goodlooking young 

men, strangers to the girls, entered the hut and asked per- 

mission to spend a few hours with the fair inmates. This 

was readily granted, for the girls were under the impression 

that their guests were ordinary travellers who had accident- 

ally discovered the hut and wished to rest for some time 

before proceeding on their journey, and no suspicion of evil 

crossed their minds. The strangers made themselves very 

agreeable. They told amusing stories, and sang songs. In 

this manner several hours passed quickly, when Molly, 

searching for a knitting wire she had dropped on the floor, 

was horrified to see the feet of one of their visitors—he who 

had paid particular attention to herself—encased, not in 

boots but in hoofs ! Glancing at the feet of the other 

stranger a similar startling sight met her gaze. Instantly 

the terrible truth flashed through her mind. She remembered 

the unguarded wish expressed by her companion 

immediately before the arrival of their guests, and she now 

knew that in response to that rash wish two water-kelpies 

the dreaded eich uisge—had visited them in the guise of 

human beings. On making this awful discovery the poor 

—

740 


girl nearly fainted from fear, but the next moment she 

summoned all her courage to her aid, and began to revolve 

in her mind a plan of escape. She tried to attract the 

attention of Morag without rousing suspicion in the minds 

of their supernatural visitors, but in vain ; for to her 

increased horror she observed that her friend seemed 

fascinated with her strange companion as her head lay 

resting on his shoulder, and her waist was encircled by his 

right arm. Molly saw at once that something must be done 

immediately if they were ever to get out of the clutches of 

the two monsters, and she determined to go herself to the 

nearest shieling to their own, where she knew several 

young men were expected that night, and with the help of 

the latter endeavour to rescue her companion. 

But the difficulty was to get away from the dreaded 

gallant who was gradually getting more importunate in his 

attention towards her. At last she rose on the pretext of 

getting some turf for the fire, from a stack outside the hut. 

Her would-be suitor at first strenuously opposed her 

intention, and remarked that as the night was so mild, 

darkness was preferable to light. But Molly insisted on 

going out, and that he might not suspect her purpose she 

offered him one end of her plaid while she kept the other 

end in her hand, for the peat-stack being near the door the 

plaid was long enough to reach it. On this condition she 

was allowed to leave the hut. Molly, fully alive to the 

terrible danger that threatened Morag and herself, was 

wonderfully cool and self-possessed. So taking a long pin 

(prine broillich) from the bosom of her dress, she pinned her 

end of the plaid to the turf wall outside, and noiselessly and 

quickly divesting herself of her boots to facilitate her flight, 

she ran like a startled fawn in the direction of the nearest 

shieling, which was about a mile distant. 

The mental agony of the poor girl during the race can- 

not be described. She expected every moment to see her 

odious admirer in full chase after her, and all the stories 

and they were many—she had ever heard of water-kelpies 

—


rushed through her mind and nearly made her shriek with 

terror. And stiU she ran on with beating heart and 

throbbing temples, at times floundering through dismal 

swamps up to her knees, and falling headlong into dark 

gullies, and again running with the swiftness of a deer over 

unbroken tracts, where her stockings were torn and her bare 

feet cruelly lacerated with the long heather. But she cared 

little for this as long as her flight was not impeded. 

Occasionally the shrill cry of the heron, or the whistle of 

the golden plover, reached her alert ears from the direction 

of the dark loch, and made her heart, for a moment, stand 

still, only to renew its wild beating the next minute with 

two-fold energy. At last, when she feared she could 

bear the mental and physical strain no longer, she per- 

ceived a few yards in front of her a dim light issuing 

sounds of merriment reached her 

and the next moment, panting, and with a face white 

through a low doorway ; 

ears ; 

as that of a ghost, she stood inside the hut and explained, 

in a few broken sentences, to a startled group of young 

men and women, the events of the night, her own miraculous 

escape, and the dreadful position in which she had 

left Morag. 

The young men—there were six of them in all, and the 

same number of girls—at once resolved to attempt the 

rescue of Morag. They knew that in a trial of strength 

they would have no chance of success against their supernatural 

opponents, but they hoped to be able to drive them 

away by the use of spells and incantations, in the exercise 

of which the youth of those times were adepts. They also 

knew that their adversaries could not injure them except 

through some act of -indiscretion on their own part. To 

this it must be added that the contents of a couple of black 

bottles had been discussed during the night, with the result 

that the young men's courage was increased four-fold ; 

and, 

lastly, each was anxious to display his own bravery before 

the eyes of the girl he loved. In a few minutes after 

Molly's arrival at their shieling, the whole party, including

742 


the women, who preferred to follow their male companions 

to being left behind exposed to all possible dangers, set out 

on their novel expedition, that of attempting to rescue a 

young and innocent girl from the power of two water- 

kelpies. 

As the distance between them and their destination 

decreased, silence on the part of the rescuing party 

increased, till, when within sight of the hut, the only audible 

sounds were those of their own footsteps, and of an 

occasional half-muttered prayer. At last they could see a 

low and narrow doorway as, at times, it was lighted by a 

flickering, dull light from the turf-fire within, which 

immediately vanished, leaving the hut shrouded in total 

darkness. Slowly and cautiously they now approach, 

tiie men leading, till they are only a few yards from the 

door, when by common consent they all stand still and 

listen. Not a sound can they hear. The silence is truly 

ominous. Yet nearer the dreaded door they creep, until 

they stand on its threshold, and then the bravest of the 

men cranes his neck, and peeps inside. The fire has almost 

gone out, and he sees nothing distinctly. Yet, stay ! what 

is that dark object lying on the floor a few feet from the 

door ? Pushed by the now curious and more frightened 

party outside, the leader involuntary approaches the unknown 

object, touches it with his foot, and gives vent to his 

relieved feelings by a long-drawn breath on discovering 

that it is only a garment. He picks it up, and going out- 

side, examines it by the light of the moon. Molly 

recognises it as her own plaid, by means of which she had 

managed to make her escape from the hut. The party 

re-enters, and having kindled a fire, inspects the interior of 

the shieling. The half-finished stockings that the two girls 

were knitting are lying on the floor. All else is unchanged, 

but there are no signs of Morag or her companions. The 

two cloven-heeled strangers had departed, carrying the 

ill-fated girl with them, and without leaving a trace behind 

them.'

The Leê7id of the Dark Loch. 743 

And what had become of poor Morag ? This was the 

unspoken question that could be read in the eyes of the 

group that now stood helpless in the shieling. They could 

do nothing for their lost friend. They had not the least 

doubt that she was carried off by one or both of the 

monsters. A general move was made into the open air, 

the women now leading. No sooner was the foremost out- 

side than she uttered a piercing scream and fell back into 

the arms of the nearest of her friends. Almost simultane- 

ously another woman's voice was heard—it was Molly's 

not shrieking with terror like the first, but imploring the 

succour of the Almighty. Her words, which rose clear and 

distinct on the midnight air, were " Lord help us all !" 

Only four simple words, but they were enough. As the men 

hurried out they saw the cause of the scream and prayer of 

their more timid companions. A gigantic form, bearing all 

the outward semblance of a man, stood towering above 

them a few yards from the door. This form grinned 

hideously on hearing the shriek of the first girl, but the 

expression of his face changed instantly to one of extreme 

terror on hearing the simple prayer of the second. The 

Power of Darkness shrank and cowered before that simple 

but sincere appeal to the Almighty, and the huge figure, 

assuming the form of a horse, disappeared in the direction 

of the Dark Loch and was seen by the terrified party no 

more. 

Next day all the cows were driven home from the 

mountains, and the shielings in the neighbourhood of the 

dark loch were never utilised again. Search was made for 

the body of Morag, but in vain. No trace of her could be 

discovered. 

Years passed, and the friends and companions of the 

lost girl had all died. A new generation had sprung up in 

this township, and the tragedy of the Dark Loch was all but 

forgotten, when one summer evening a shepherd, walking 

by the shores of the loch, found the dead body of a young 

girl lying in the water. No one was able to recognise it, 

and it was buried in a green knoll a short distance from 

—


where it was discovered. It was then that the story of the 

tragic fate of Morag Cameron was revived, and it was 

generally believed that her supernatural abductor had taken 

her to his unknown realm, and, having tired of her, had put 

her to death and thrown her body into the waters of the 

Dark Loch. 

By the time Rob Gordon had concluded the recital of 

the above legend, a light breeze from the west was blowing 

across the loch, a grey cloud occasionally obscured the sun 

and cast a light bluish colour on the water. It was one of 

those " model " days for fishing which are so dear to the 

heart of every angler. The sheep and cattle had awakened 

from their noonday sleep, and were quietly grazing on the 

hills, or browsing on the greener and more tender herbage 

by the banks of sparkling streams ; the hoarse cry of the 

blackcock reached us from heathery corries in the distance, 

and the blackbird and thrush resumed their evening carols. 

" I mustn't keep you any longer," remarked my com- 

panion, " you are to get a splendid afternoon for fishing, 

and I hope you will be successful. Thank you for listening 

to the foolish tales of an old man like me. Good afternoon, 

sir," and whistling for his dogs, the old man left me. I 

watched him till he disappeared behind the hillock, from the 

top of which I had first observed him. Then, seeing a trout 

jump right in front of me and only a few yards from the 

shore, I rose and threw my tail-fly, a small " Zulu," lightly 

over it. But just at that moment my attention was 

distracted by hearing the refrain of a well-known song sung 

by a familiar voice. I turned in the direction from which 

the words were borne on the breeze, and failed to "strike " 

the trout that rose to my fly at the same moment. I 

listened attentively for a minute and again heard in the 

words of Rob Gordon : 

— 

" Anns a' ghleann 'san robh mi og, 

Anns a' ghleann 'san robh mi og ; 

B'e mo mhiann a bhi 'san am sin 

Anns a' ghleann 'san robh mi og." 

D. M.

DONALD, 

Skye Bards. 745. 

SKYE BARDS. 

BY MAGNUS MACLEAN, M.A., F.R.S.E. 

Part II. 

REV. DONALD MACLEOD. 

third Macleod of Grishornish, composed 

several very good songs. The first Macleod of 

Grishornish was Donald, fifth and youngest son of Sir 

Roderick Mor Macleod of Dunvegan. Donald, the subject 

of our remark, was educated at Aberdeen University, where 

he graduated in April, 17 18, at the age of 20. He 

thereafter studied for the ministry. He was first settled in 

the parish of South Uist. In the year 1754 he was trans- 

lated to Duirinish, in Skye, where he died on January 12th, 

1760. In 1728 he married Miss Ann Maclean. It was a 

custom in the Island of Skye to meet the bride coming 

forth in the morning from her chamber, and to salute her 

with a poetical blessing. None having been found ready or 

worthy to salute his bride, it is related that he himself came 

forward and saluted her with the following beautiful 

song :~ 

BEANNACHADH BAIRD. 

Mile failte dhuit le d' bhreid ; 

Fad' an re gu 'n robh thu slan. 

Moran laithean dhuit a's sith 

Le d' mhaitheas a's le d' ni 'bhi fas. 

A' chulaidh-cheile-s' a chaidh suas 

'S trie a tharruing buaidh air mnaoi ; 

Bi-sa gu subhailceach, ciallach, 

O thionnsgainn thu fein 's an treubh. 

An tus do chomh-ruith 's tu og ; 

An tus gach lo iarr Righ nan dul, 

Cha'n eagal nach dean E gu ceart 

Gach dearbh-bheachd a bhios 'n ad run.

746 

; ; ! 

The Hi^Jdand MontJily. 

Bith-sa fialaidh—ach bi glic ; 

Bi misneachail—ach bi stold' 

Na bi bruidhneach 's na bi balbh ; 

Na bi mear no marbh 's tu og. 

Bi gleidhteach air do dheadh ainm, 

Ach na bi duinte 's na bi fuar ; 

Na labhair fos air neach gu h-olc, 

'S ged labhrar ort na taisbean fuath. 

Na bi gearanach fo chrois, 

Falbh socair le cupan Ian. 

Chaoidh do 'n olc na tabhair speis 

A's le d' bhreid ort, mile failt ' 

Rev. Dr Stewart (Nether-Lochaber) has given the 

following translation : 

— 

Comely and kerchiefd, blooming, fresh, and fair, 

All hail and welcome ! joy and peace be thine, 

Of happiness and health a bounteous share 

Be shower'd upon thee from the hand divine. 

Wearing the matron's coif, thou seem'st to be 

Even lovelier now than erst, when fancy free, 

Thou in thy beauty's strength did'st steal my heart 

from me. 

Though young in years thou'rt now a wedded wife, 

O seek His guidance who can guide aright 

With aid from Him, the rugged path of life 

May still be trod with pleasure and delight 

For he who made us bids us not forego 

A single, sinless pleasure in this world of woe. 

Be open handed, but be eident too 

Be strong and full of courage, but be staid ; 

Aught like unseemly folly still eschew 

Be faultless wife as thou wert faultless maid ! 

Guard against hasty speech and temper violent, 

And knowing when to speak, know also to be silent. 

Guard thy good name and mine from smallest stain ; 

In manner still be kindly, frank, and free ! 

If thou'rt reviled, revile not thou again ; 

In hour of trial, calm and patient be ; 

And when thy cup is full walk humbly still, 

A careless, proud, rash step the blissful cup may spill. 

— 

; ;

S/x'ye Bards. 747 

With this Bard's blessing on thy wedded morn, 

All at thy bridal chamber-door we greet thee ; 

May every joy of truth and goodness born 

Through all thy life-long journey crowd to meet thee ; 

And may the God of peace now richly shed 

A blessing on thy kerchief-cinctured head ! 

I ma}- set against this the song composed by Neil Mac- 

leod, entitled Beannachadh Leannain, and in which the bride 

is invoking a blessing on the reverend bridegroom : 

BEANNACHADH LEANNAIN. 

— — — 

Beannaich thus, a Righ na cruinne, 

An t-Urramach Maigh'stir Dughall, 

Doirt a nuas bho dhriuchd nan speur air 

Na chumas a gheugan sughmhor 

Dh' fhairich mise brigh 'n a bheannachd, 

'Sgaoileadh tharam mar ol-ungaidh 

Na feartan, nach fhaod mi' aicheadh, 

Thainig orm le blaths bho dhurachd ; 

Cha 'n 'eil ball na m' cholainn uile, 

Bho mo mhullach gu mo ludaig, 

Nach 'eil cho urail ri duilleig 

Riamh bho ghuidh e learn 'n a urnuigh 

Beannaich e gach moch Di-domhnaich, 

Bi 'dol comhlath ris do 'n chubaid. 

Beannaich e fodh 'aid 's fodh 'chleoca, 

'S an treud gorach 'tha fodh churam, 

Thoir dha gliocas glan gun fhotus 

Gu bhi 'g an seoladh do d' ionnsuidh, 

'S ag arach gach meanglan breoite 

'Tha fodh iomadh leon air lubadh. 

Ach O ! 

A tha buailteach do gach duilidh, 

Gu h-araid bho shuil nan gruagach, 

Tha 'n an saighdean luaineach sugraidh ; 

'S 'n uair a bhios am muineil gheala 

'Sam bilean meala 'ga dhusgadh, 

Mu'm bi 'inntinn air a truailleadh, 

Sgaoil do bhrat gu luath mu' shuilean. 

Cum bho 'shealladh an suil lurach, 

'S an calpannan cruinne dumhail, 

dion e bho gach buaireadh 

'S an ciochan gucagach soluis 

A dh-fhaodadh a chosfais a mhuchadh. 

—


Cum g-u caithriseach 'na dhuisg e 

Air eagal gu'n caill e 'chota 

'G iarraidh phogan anns na cuilean. 

DUGHALL LISEADAIR. 

Dugald Macpherson or Dughall Mac-Mhuirich, from 

Troternish (1700), seems to have been more of a 

hymnologist. At anyrate, his best known composition is 

" Laoidh mu'n Bhas." There are thirty-six verses in it,, 

from which I quote the first three : 

— 

An cluinn thu 'dhuine, bi air d' fhaicill, 

'S madainn na h-aiserigh dluth dhut 

Eisd an trompaid 's thoir an aire, 

Guth an aingil 'thig dh' ad' ionnsuidh. 

Ge socair thu air do leabaidh, 

Cuimhnich gur h-aithghearr an uine ; 

'S ma tha curam ort mu d' anam 

Greas ort gu h-ealamh 's dian d' urnaigh. 

Cha 'ni 'n urnaigh ghoirid, fhionnar 

Cuimhnich, a dhuine, ni cuis dhut ; 

Bheir an urnaigh ni dhut buinnig, 

Ort gu 'n guil thu air do shuilean. 

. 

WILLIAM ROSS. 

WilHam Ross is a poet of a very high order of merit 

"one of the sweetest minstrels the Highlands have 

produced." He was born at Broadford in the year 1762. 

His mother was daughter to John Mackay, the celebrated 

Piobaire Dall. ^ 

While William Ross was still young his parents removed 

to Forres. Here Ross attended school, and it is related 

that he made unusual progress in his studies. Thereafter 

his father started as a travelling pedlar, and William, his 

^ Professor Blackie makes a serious mistake aljout this, which he repeats 

twice in his "Language and Literature of the Scottish Highlands;" *'his mother 

was a native of Gairloch, in Ross-shire, a daughter of the famous blind Allan 

the Piper," and again " AiU-afi Da// oi Blind Allan, Ross's father-in-law." 

That is, in one place he makes Ailean Dall to be Ross's grandfather, and in 

another place to be his father-in-law. Ailean Ball was born in 1750, only 12 

years before Ross's birth." 

; 

—


son, accompanied him. In this manner he acquired an 

extensive and accurate acquaintance of the various dialects 

of the Gaelic language, as well as useful knowledge about 

men and manners. During these wanderings he composed 

many of his songs. After some years of this sort of travel- 

ling he returned to Gairloch, where he was appointed to 

conduct the parish school of that place. He seems to have 

been exceedingly successful as a teacher. He was loved and 

esteemed by a large circle of friends, not only for his excel- 

lent playing on the violin and flute, his artistic singing of 

his ow^n and other poets' songs, but for his pleasant humour, 

and good fellowship. But his career was cut short by a 

combinition of asthma and consumption in the year 1790, 

in the twenty-eighth year of his age. 

John Mackenzie says of him :— " Few of our Highland 

bards have acquired the celebrity of William Ross, and 

fewer still possess his true poetic power. In purity of 

diction, felicity of conception, and mellowness of expression, 

he stands unrivalled—especially in his lyrical pieces. Macdonald's 

fire occasionally overheats, and emits sparks which 

burn and blister, while Ross's flame, more tempered and 

regular in its heat, spreads a fascinating glow o\'er the feel- 

ings, until we melt before him, and are carried along in a 

dreamy pleasure through the arcadian scenes which his 

magic pencil conjures up to our astonished gaze. If 

Macintyre's torrent fills the brooklet to overflowing, the 

gentler stream of Ross, without tearing away the embank- 

ment, swells into a smooth flowing, majestic wave—it 

descends like the summer .shower, irrigating the meadows, 

and spreading a balmy sweetness over the entire landscape. 

If it be true that ' speech is the mind's image,' the same 

must hold equally true of a song—and, judging from such 

of his songs as have come into our hands, our author's mind 

must have been a very noble one—a mind richly adorned 

with the finest and noblest feelings of humanity—a mind 

whose structure was too fine for the rude communion of a 

frozen-hearted world—a mind whose emanations gush forth,

750 

The Hi^Jdand Mo7ithly. 

pure as the limpid crystalline stream on its bed of pebbles. 

It is difficult to determine in what species of poetry William 

Ross most excelled—so much is he at home in every 

department. His pastoral poem, Ormi an t-Samhraidk, 

abounds in imagery of the most delightful kind. He has 

eschewed the sin of Macintyre's verbosity and Macdonald's 

anglicisms, and luxuriates amid scenes, which, for beauty and 

enchantment, are never surpassed. His objects are nicely 

chosen—his descriptions graphic—his transitions, although 

we never tire of any object he chooses to introduce, pleas- 

ing. We sit immovabl)- upon his lips, and are allowed, at 

the beck of his finger, to feed our eyes on new and hitherto 

unobserved beauties. When we have surveyed the whole 

landscape, its various component parts are so distinct and 

clear, that we feel indignant at our own dulness for not per- 

ceiving them before—but as a finished picture, the whole 

becomes too magnificent for our comprehension." 

The songs of William Ross are well known, so I shall 

content myself by quoting two verses from " Cuachag nan 

craobh," a song in which he indulges in melanciioly and 

painful reflections in consequence of his love disappoint- 

ments : 

— 

Thuit mi le d' ghath, mhill thu mo rath, 

Striochd mi le neart dorain 

Saighdean do ghaoil sait anns gach taobh. 

Thug dhiom gach caoin co-lath, 

Mhill thu mo mhais, ghoid thu mo dhreach, 

'S mheudaich thu gal broin domh ; 

'S mar fuasgail thu tra, le t'fhuran 's le t'fhailt' 

'S cuideachd am bas dhOmhsa. 

'S cama-lubach t'fhalt, fanna-bhui 'nan cleachd 

'S fabhrad nan rosg aluinn ; 

Gruaidhean mar chaor, broilleach mar aol, 

Anail mar ghaoth garaidh 

Gus an cuir iad mi steach, an caol-taigh nan leac 

Bidh mi fo neart craidh dheth, 

Le smaointinn do chleas, 's do shugradh ma seach,. 

Fo dhuilleach nam preas blath'or. 

—

— 

— — 


Mr Pattison gives the following translation : 

Yet nought to mc but a sting all her bright beauties 

bring 

I droop with decay and I languish ; 

There's a pain at my heart like a pitiless dart, 

And I waste all away with anguish. 

She has stolen the hue on my young cheek that grew, 

And much she has caused my sorrow 

Unless now she renew with her kindness that hue, 

Death will soon bid me " Good-morrow." 

The curl of her hair was so grarcful and fair, 

Its lid for her eye a sweet warden ; 

Her cheek it was bright, and her breast limy white, 

And her breath like the breeze o'er a garden. 

Till they lay down my head in its stone-guarded bed 

The force of these charms I feel daily, 

While I think of the mirth in the woods that had 

birth ; 

When she laughed and sported gaily. 

Neil Macleod in the song which he composed, " Aig 

Uaigh Uilleim Rois," says : 

; 

— 

Am measg nam bard a thog ar tir 

Cha robh a h-aon dhuibh 'sheinn r'a linn, 

A dhuisgeadh suas ar baigh 'g a chaoidh 

Cho seimh ri Ros. 

An nine ghearr bha 'chlarsach bhinn 

A' seirm a bhos. 

NEIL MACNAB. 

Neil Macnab lived during the latter half of last century. 

His great grandson, J. Macnab, is the present admirable 

teacher of Kilmuir, in Troternish, and it is from him that I 

got the following account of Neil Macnab. In his letter to 

me Mr J. Macnab says : 

" After some delay, I beg to send you the very few notes 

I have been able to gather of my great grandfather's life. 

My father knows less about his life than I would like, and, 

of his songs, he has plenty fragments, but no complete piece. 

A much rarer art than that of the rhymster, at least now 

a days, in the Highlands is that of musical composition.

752 

The Ui^-hland Monthly. 

There are in Kilmuir several lively Strathspey tunes on a 

peculiar musical mode, some of which ^were composed by 

the subject of Macnab's lament, and others by a young 

woman who was dairymaid in the Duntulm family, and to 

whom young Martin formed a romantic attachment which 

terminated only with his death. These tunes, I think, have 

not hitherto been published. They are known here as 

" Puirt Beathaig " (Beathag was the dairymaid's name) ; 

and our local fiddlers always raise the third and fourth 

strings of the fiddle a whole tone before commencing to 

play them. I am sorry I cannot take down music else I 

would " fix " them and send them to some competent 

authority to see if they are really original." 

Neil Macnab was born at Bayhead, Waternish, about 

1740. When he grew up he entered the service of Fear-a- 

Bhaighe, and became his manager. Master and man, how- 

ever, quarrelled about a woman, and Macnab left that part 

of the country altogether, and went to Kilmuir, a part of 

Macdonald's estates. When Macnab was leaving his native 

place, or rather shortly after arriving at Kilmuir, he com- 

posed a song, still popular in Skye, and of which the follow- 

ing is one verse and the chorus : 

— 

Mo chridhe trom 's duilich leam 

'S muladach a tha mi 

Bho 'n chuir mo leannan culthaobh rium 

Te ur cha teid na h-aite. 

Marbhphaisg air a ghoraiche, 

Gur fhada beo gun bhas i ; 

Gun shaoileam rinn mi teicheadh bhuaith 

Nuair ghabh mi m' chead 'sa Bhagh dhith. 

Mo chridhe, &c., &c. 

With all his goraiclie he seems to have fallen on his feet in 

Kilmuir, for shortly after his arri\al there, he was befriended 

by Martin Martin, chamberlain of the ne\\ly created Lord 

Macdonald. He enjoyed Martin's patronage, till the death 

of the latter, in the prime of life, plunged the whole country- 

side into mourning, and called forth from Macnab the


lament, of which several verses are iîven below. lie had 

a ]:)iece of land at KiKaxter, in the ])arish of Kilmuir, was 

married to a relative of the famous Doctair Ban Macleoid, 

and had a family of two sons and two daughters. He died 

about 18 [cS. 

]\Iartin's lament, as it appeared in the Nortlier)i Chromcle 

ciL;ht or nine years ago, consists of twenty verses of eight 

lines each. This note is prefixed :— ". Mr Martin Martin 

was a descendant of the old family of the Martins of Dun- 

tulm. He was popularh- known as Martainn a Bhealaich, 

fn)m his ha\ing occupied the lands of Bealach, near Dun- 

tulm. He was chamberlain of Lord Macdonald of the 

Isles, in which capacity he not only earned for himself great 

p()])ularit}', but even won the love and gratitude of all with 

whom he came in contact. He was remarkable for his great 

personal strength. He married a daughter of Macleod of 

Raasay, sister of the Countess of Loudon, and had by her 

t\\ o daughters—one who was married to Count Maurin, and 

the other to Mr Martin ^Martin of Tote. The well-known 

Rev. Donald Martin, first of Kilmuir, and latterly of xAber- 

ncth}', Strathspc}-, was his youngest brother. This gentleman 

was grandfather to .Sir Donald Martin Stewart, so well 

known to fame as Commander-in-Chief in India. The wellknown 

and justh' celebrated Sir Donald James Martin of 

Loudon, and formerly of Calcutta, was his nephew. x'\t the 

time of his death Mr IMartin Martin lived at Lachasay, 

near Duntulm." The air to which the lament is sung is of 

the most plainti\e description. 

Nam b' fhear focail na dain mi, 

Bho 'n la thiodhlaic iad Martainn 's a chill, 

Mar chuimhneachan bais ort 

Bheirinn greis air do nadur math inns. 

Na b' fhaide na d' eolas 

Bha gach teisteanas coir a dol dhiot, 

'S mairg fin' as na dh' fhalbh thu 

Bha na Ii-uile deadh ainm air do ghniomh. 

48

754 TJie HigJdand iMonthly, 

Ciod a bhuaidh a bh' air duine 

Nach robh suas riut bho d' mhullach gu d' bhroig? 

Bha thu macanta, siobhalt, 

Cha togadh tu stri san tigh-osd ; 

Lan ceille 'us giiocais 

An iomadaidh tuigse na 's leor, 

Cuimhneach, purpasach, ciallach, 

'S cha robh mealladh am briathraibh do bheoil. 

Bha thu foghainteach. laidir, 

Bha thu spioradail, tabhachdach, ciuin, 

Breach an t-samhraidh mar shnuadh ort, 

Cha robh naimhdeas no fuachd na do ghnuis. 

Fiamh a ghair air do mhalaidh, 

Pailt-bhlaths ann an sealladh do shul, 

'S mor a chlaoidh thug do bhas 

Do na mhuinntir a dh' fhag thu san Dun. 

Rev. NORMAN MACLEOD, 

Rev. Norman Macleod, minister of Morvern, father of 

Caraid nan Gaidheal, and son of Donald Macleod of 

Swordale, near Dunvegan, who was there better known as 

Gobha Shuardail, composed at least two songs, which 

appear in Ronald Macdonald's collection : 

1. Oran a rinn duine uasal araid do dhuine uasal eile. 

2. Oran a gabhail a chead do 'n Eilean Sgiathanach. 

RONALD MACDONALD. 

Raonull Mac Iain mhic Eoghain, or Ronald Macdonald, 

was a native of Minginish, Skye, and lived there as a grieve 

during the first quarter of this century. He composed 

several very excellent songs, and we may mention 

— 

Marbhrann do Dh' fhear Thalascair (1798). 

Oran an Acrais. 

Oran do dh' each crosda sa Chlaigionn. 

Oran do 'n Chreig Mhoir ? 

Oran an Uisge bheatha. 

Oran, a rinneadh do choille bhig a bh anns an 

Eilean Sgiathanach, mar gum b'i fein a bhi ga dheanamh. 

The most of these songs are given in Donald Macleod's 

collection, published in 181 L In "An t-Oranaiche," at 

page 476, is given a song, entitled " Cuach Mhic-ill- 

—

Slyc Bards. 755 

Andrais," which is a conglomeration of the song by Ronald 

Macdonald, " Oran an Uisge-bheatha," and of one other, or 

several others, evidently of a much inferior calibre. I shall 

give as specimens one verse from " Oran a Rinneadh do 

Choille," and two verses from " Oran an Acrais " : 

ORAN A RINNEADH DO CIIOILLE, ETC. 

Bu bhadanach, soilleir, sughmhor 

An cruth a robh mi san am sin 

Gu fluranach, duilleach, aluinn, 

'S mi 'g eiridh ri blaths an t-shamhraidh, 

Gu miarach, meanglanach, duilleach, 

Gu h-ianach ribheideach, ceolmhor, 

Gu bocach, maoiseagach, meannach 

Nach iar 's an earrach an crodha. 

ORAN AN ACRAIS. 

Gur h-eolach air an acras mi, 

Tha theachdaireachd neo-inntinneach, 

Gur trie a thug e turraig orm, 

An uiridh roimh am-dinnearach ; 

Am fear a bhios na dhraghaire 

Neo-adhartach nec-inntrigeach, 

Cho luath 's a gheibh e eolas air 

Cha deonach leis a chuidhteachadh. 

Thug e na h-ochd seachduinean 

Air fasdadh na mo theaghlach-sa, 

Dh-fhiach e ri mo sporan, 

Fhuair e cothrom math air fhaochadh 

Thug e gach ni b' urrainn duine 

A bhuileachadh dhe 'n t-saoghal dhiom. 

Cha mhor nach d' thug e bas dhomh 

Ach gu' n d' fhag e na mo Raonull mi. 

Ronald Macdonald was not only a real poet, but a 

great wit. One anecdote will suffice to carry out this 

remark :—He and Fear an Rudha met one day. " Ma ta 

Raonuill," arsa fear an Rudha, " 's e mo fhradharc fhin a 

tha dol air ais." '' Ma ta," arsa Raonull, '' nach neonach 

leibh e fhir an Rudha, 's ann a tha mo fhradharc-sa a' dol 

ni's fhearr." " Tha sin neonach gu dearbh a Raonuill," 

arsa fear an Rudha, " tha tini pailt cho sean riumsa." " Ma 

ta," arsa Raonull, " 's ann mar sud a tha. Am fear a 

—

75^ 


chithinn roimhe so na sheasamli Icis fhcin air cnoc, chi mi 

nise 'na dhithis na triuir c." 

Fear an Rudha—My eyesight is failing" me very rapidly. 

Ronald—You may think it strange, sir, but my eye- 

sight is getting better. 

Fear an Rudha—That is strange, indeed, for you are 

quite as old as I am. 

Ronald—Yet so it is. For the man that formerly I 

would see single on a hillock, I now see double or triple. 

ANGUS SHAW. 

Angus Shaw, Aonghas MacLighiehe, was a native of 

Lynedale. He was a soldier. Many of his songs are still 

rehearsed in the west of the island. His song to Buoneparte 

is one of his most vigorous songs. It appeared in one of 

the Highland papers some years ago, with the following 

note prefixed : 

— 

At the request of a recent writer in your .columns, I beg 

to send the enclosed xêrses by a Skye troubadour on " the 

disturber of the peace of Europe." The warrior-bard must 

have suffered much at the hands of the French ere he 

expresses himself so bitterly towards their leader. The 

excess of vituperation displayed is apt to produce a reaction 

in favour of the object of it, and this is probably one reason 

why the song is not more popular, it being, in fact, very 

rare even in its native soil. Piocaid in the sixth verse is a 

slight transformation oi'' -^^xco^woX" gasaidean \x\ the eighth 

refers to reports of casualties in the Army and Navy 

" Gazette." Other borrowed words explain themsehes. 

[ have endeavoured, as far as practicable, to adapt the 

spelling to the local pronunciation. 

OKAN BIIONIPAIR'r. 

Na'in b'fl-icar-focail bhidh giar mi gun lochd na mo 

bhriathran, 

(ju fiachainn am b'fhiacli dhuinn a sgiala so th' ann, 

Mas a h-cachdraidh tha fior i, thug a phacaid bho 'n iari, 

G'eil na naimhdcan a phian sinn air an cioslachadh 

tcann. 

'S anu 's a mhilc 's ochd ciad agus coig bliadhna diag 

Thanaig neadhachd na sithc bho cbriocha na l-'raing, 

Bha sinn fada ga h-iarraidh, 's bha Hreatunn Ian riaraicht' 

J*ha na naimhdean air striochdadh Ic diobhail ar lann.

Sh'c Bards. 757 

Rinn lamhach fir Lunuinn is cabhlach ar luiniîs 

Bonipart chuir an ciinnart ged a dh' fhuilig e stri, 

Xeart laidir ar gillean anns iiach tarmaicheadh giorag, 

'S nach saruicheadh fionnachd fo shileadh na' speur ; 

Rachadh dana ri teine, anns na blaraibh bu mhinig, 

Buaidh larach bu trie leibh, s' i 'g iomain nan treud, 

'S chaidh Paris a bhristeadh le stairn bhur cuid phiostal, 

'S ghabh Spainntich, is Pruisich, is Turcaich ratreut. 

Gun do dh' isHch sibh Boni, cho ard 's ga ro' choilear 

Le ailleachd, le 'ollachd, le 'chonas, le 'shannt 

Thuit bearna na dhorus, 'n uair a dh' fhailig am balla, 

Chaidh a ghraine ri talamh anns a charachd a bli' ann, 

Cha robh sta na chuid chanan, chaidh a phartuidh a 

mearachd 

Rinn danadas cearrail a chuid fearainn a chall, 

Chaidh Paris a glacadh, le h-earnais, le h-acfhuinn 

'S tha Spainn air a creachadh, 's' cha ro chasgairt ud fann. 

Tha 'n Impir Napoileon air dibreadh dha aindeoin 

Ge bu rioghal a thalla cha do dh' fhan e na ceann, 

Chaidh a shinnteag a m nllead, chaidh a phrisin an 

tainnead, 

'S chaidh dibreadh air onair ge b" oil leis a call ; 

Cha do thoill e cus molaidh, si 'n fhoill a rinn cron da, 

Chaidh oighreachd a dholaidh gun chorum da chlann, 

'S tha broinn a chuid sporan 'n diugh gun doimean gun 

dolar 

'S thuit an oidhch' air sa mhonadh 's gun a sholus ach 

gann. 

Gach maighdeann is caileag is deir air am malaibh 

Bho mheall thu 'n cuid leannan a dh' aindeoin am bonn , 

Gach og-bhean is sean-bhean a reubadh am beawnag 

Bho sheol an cuid feara bho calla nan long ; 

Gach sean-bhean 's torrach,'s leat fuighleach a mallachd, 

Thug thu'n coimh-leapaich shona bho'm broillichean trom 

'S gach mathair is muime, le'n gasaidin duilich, 

Sgeul bais an cuid luran, fuar, fionnar, 'san torn. 

RODERICK CAMPBELL. 

Ruairidh Alac Cha!um ]\Ihic an t-Saoir, Roderick 

Campbell, was a tailor and crofter in Colbost. He might 

be styled a hymnologist. At any rate his best known composition 

is the elegy he composed on that eminent man, 

—


Malcolm Macinnes (Galium Mac Aonghais), carpenter, 

Glendale. It consists of sixteen verses, but space can be 

given only to three verses as specimens : 

— 

Moch 'sa mhaduinn Di-haoine 

'S goirt a' ghaoir a chaidh 'nar c'uasan, 

Cha b'e naigheachd na faoineas 

A' chaidh innse 's an uair dhuinn, 

Gu'n robh Calum a' dhith oirnn, 

Ceann-iuil dileas nan truaghan, 

'S iomadh fear a' bha gun dinneir 

'Snidhe 'chinn air a ghruaidhean. 

Mo run geal og, &c. 

A luchd-aitich ar glinne, 

A luchd a' mhire 's an t-sugraidh, 

A luchd briscadh na Sabaid 

A luchd na meirle 's na cul-chaint, 

A luchd na mionnan 's nam breugan 

Na mi-bheusachd 's droch ghiulan, 

Bu trie bhur cuideam 'ga fhasgadh 

Aig Cathair grais air a ghluinean. 

Mo run geal og. 

'S e do ghnuis a' bhiodh taitneach 

Nuair a' ghlacadh tu 'm Biobul, 

Suilean t-anam a' faicinn 

Gloir agus maise an Fhir-shaoraidh ; 

Uile bhuadhan na diadhachd 

B'e do mhiann bhi ga 'n innse', 

'Nuair a bhiodh tu co-dhunadh 

Co nach duraichdeadh gaol duit. 

Mo run geal og. 

HYMNS BY JOHN MORRISON. 

The following note in Reid was all I could gather about 

John Morrison :— " Dain spioradail le Eoin Morrison o'n 

Eilein Sgiathanach. Glasgow: Published by Maurice Ogle, 

1828, A. Young, printer; i2mo, 6d." The above was the 

production of a blind man ; they were copied from his 

mouth by a schoolmaster in the Highlands, and sent to 

Glasgow under the auspices of the Rev. D. Ranken, South 

Knapdale, and the Rev. Dr Macleod of Campsie, but the

HIGHLAND MONTHLY 

A MAGAZINE 

foi-mitui a Centre of Xiterarv 36i-otberboo& for Scoto=Celtic people botb at 

Hômc an? HbroaS. 

p:dited by 

DUNCAN CAMPBELL, Editor of the "Nokthefn Chkunkt.k," 

ALEXANDER MACBAIN, M.A., F.S.A.ScoT. 

VOLUMH IV. 

1892.93. 


KniXBiRGii : JOHN 

MENZIES & CO.; OLIVER & BOYD; JAMES THI>f. 

Gl..\sc-.o\v : JOHN MENZIES & CO., and W. ct R. HOLMES. 

Odan : THOMAS 

BOYD.

I'ED AT THE " .'

C O N T H N T S. 

"Willie Gillits ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 1,65, 129, 193 

The Estate of Bui^lu, Inverne.ss, and its Owner, 1171-1891. Hy C. F"raser- 

Mackintosh ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 14 

T)ie Hospital of Invernes.s and Dunliai's Ilo.spital By Captain Douglas 

Wimberley 25, 98, 142, 241, 269, 33S, 404, 503, 529, 595 

Ajipendix to "The 79!h Highlanders in the Indian Mutiny Campaign, 

1858." By Douglas Wimberley, sometime Lieutenant and Adjutant, 

79th 35 

Ireland before the Concju^st. By Sir Henry Cockburn Macandrevv •49: 7S 

Scenes of Loog Ago. By T. S 56, 160, 294. 349, 416, 476 

Books 62 125, 317 

Notes and News 63.447.576,639,704,764 

Three Unpublished Despatches from General Monck. By William 

Mackay, solicitor, Inverness ... ... ... ... ... ... 85 

An Gleann "s an Robh mi og. le Niall .Macleoid. Wiih Translation, by 

Fionn 95 

Renfrewshire Keltic Place-Names. By Hector Maclean 107 

Gaelic Incantations, Charms, and Blessings of the Hebrides. By William 

Mackenzie 111.151,227,279,371,425 

Cluny Macphersou of 1603. By Alex. Alacbain 123 

Student Life at Abeuleen Two Centuries Ago. By Rev. (ieo. ^lackenzie, 

B.D. 170 

The Social Life and Literature of the Borders. By Or Ailken 178, 216, 305 

Reminiscences of the Late Dr Cameron, Broiiick. I?y '• Fionn " and 

others 189 

Caught in a Ford. By D. M. 205 

Letters ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 251 

A Treacherous Friend. By Beinn-na Caillieh, Edinburgh ... ... 257 

An Old Perthshire Song. By Fionn ... ... ... ... ... 291 

Churchyard Watching. By PTonu ... ... ... ... ... ... 30 

Some Further Curiosities of Gaelic Proof- Reailing. By ])r Donald Masson 312 

A Strange Revenge. By D. Nairne 321,385,449.513.577,651,714 

The Seal in Hebridean and Northern L(jre. By William Mackenzie ... 467 

Fear A' Ghlinne ... ... ... ... ... ... 537,641,705 

A Day at John O'Groat's. By Janet Sinclair Berger 54S 

A Ceilidh. By D. M. 559, ^09 

Snatches of Song Collected in Badenoch. By T. S. 566 

j

Contc7its. 

The First Lord Reay. By Murray Rose 590 

Quern Songs. By Fionn 623 

Through Darkest Inverness-shire by Rail and Road. ByJ. A. G. 627 668 

Last Year's Progress in CeUic Literature and Study ... ... ... 634 

The Battlefield of Killiecrankie. By David Cameron, F.G.S.E., Daviot 678 

Skye Bards. By Magnus Maclean, M.A., F.R.S.E 686,745 

Sheriff Nicolson ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 701 

The Legend of the Dark Locli. By D. M. 730 

A True Story of the Banshee. By R. G 761 

POETRY. 

Lines Dedicated to Mrs Campbell of Dunstaffnage. By Lord Archibald 

Campbell ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 316 

The Muirland Burn. By T. S. ... ... ... ... ... ... 369 

Uan Be. Le Sine Nio Ill-Fhaolain ... ... ... ... ... ... 

A Summer Night's Song. By Lord Archibald Campbell ... ... 

The Death of Diarmad : A Ross-shire Variant. By Dr Arthur Sutherland 

A Little Picture. By .M. 0. W 

An Teampull Spioradail. Le Padruig Stiubhart ..-. ... ... ... 

445 

475 

491 

547 

554 

PACK

Skye Bards. 759. 

printer declaring the MS. unreadable, it was given to Mr 

Lachlan Maclean, who re-copied it, and obtained the 

author's consent to write three hymns himself, viz., the first 

two and the last. 

Rev. Nigel Macneil says :— " The hymns of John 

Morrison, Skye (1828), are now scarcely read." 

DONALD MACLEOD. 

An excellent paper on Donald Macleod, the Skye Bard 

—his life and songs—has already been read to this Society 

by Dr Macdiarmid. The paper is published in our first 

volume, and hence I need not refer to him at any length. 

In 181 1, when he was 26 years of age, he published a book 

of 272 pages, containing, not only songs by himself, but 

songs by other Skye bards. 

Some of William Ross's songs are in it, and six by 

Ronald Macdonald already referred to. On page 210 is a 

song entitled " Oran do Throternish," the author of which, 

though a Skyeman, I have been unable to trace. There 

are ten verses in it. In later collections it is called " Oran 

chlann Do'nuill nan Eilean." I shall quote the first two 

verses 

— 

Beir soraidh uam gu m' eolas 

Gu Troiternish 's e 'b aite leam ; 

An talamh maiseach, boidheach. 

An tir ro ordail, mhearcaiteach : 

Far bheil na daoine coire, 

Dh' fhas fialaidh, mor, neo-acaineach ; 

Mnai-uaisl' is suairce comhradh. 

Gun ghruaim, gun phrois an taice dhoibh. 

An tir ro fharmail, chliuiteach, ainmeil, 

Mhuirneach, mheanmnach, mhacanta ; 

Bu lionmhor sealbhach iasg na fairge 

Trie 'g a mharbhadh taice ri' : 

Thig bradan tarra-gheal, uineach, mealgach, 

Iteach, earra-ghlan, breac-lannach : 

Am fonn an dearbhte 'n cinn an t-arbhar 

Diasach, ceanna-mhor, pailt-ghraineach.

760 1 he Highland Montkty. 

Donald Macleod afterwards published a small pamphlet 

containing songs of a more religious and sombre character. 

The best known of these is probably " Eildeirean an Loin 

Mhoir." Rev. Nigel Macneill says :— " Macleod's productions 

are rated very highly by his countrymen, who 

delight in designating him Am Bajâ' Sgiaihauach, or the 

Skye Bard. While Macleod is undoubtedly a man of good 

poetic parts, he ranks much below his far more dis- 

tinguished and gifted son, Neil Macleod, whose songs have 

•deservedly taken a high place in popular esteem."

A 'J'ruc S/ory of Uic Intushcc. 761 

A TRUE STORY OF THE HANSHEE. 

The following story of the Banshee was rclaicd to me by an^ 

otificer of the Navy, at Queenstown, Cork Harbour, some 

IT 

years ago. I give it, as nearly as 1 can remember, in his 

own words, suppressing, for obvious reasons, the real names 

of [leople and j)laces. R. G. 

was just after I had pa.^sed the College of Surgeons, 

and was taking a short holida\- before presenting 

myself as a competitor for an appointment in the Naval 

Medical Service, that 1 went t'o spend two or three weeks 

with an old family friend in Ireland. Good shooting and 

fishing were the inducements held out to me, as in other 

respects there was little amusement of any kind to be 

found at Kilcorrie. M}' host was an old bachelor, the last 

of his race, and his household consisted of an old butler 

and an equally aged housekeeper. 

For the first week after my arrival, my host (Mr Moran) 

and I spent most of our time on the moors or by the ri\ cr 

and glorious sport we had, the game and fish being plenti- 

ful, and the weather all that could be desired. One ciay 

during the second week of my stay, we were caught, while 

shooting on a distant moor, in a violent thunderstorm. 

The rain came down with a will, as it can do in the Green 

Isle, and there being no shelter within miles of us, we were 

soon drenched to the skin. Tim, the keeper, advised Iiis 

master to mount the rough pon}- we had with us to cai ry 

the game bags, and make his way home as fast as possibL, 

This he did, and I did not see him again till we met at 

dinner, when neither of us seemed any the worse of our 

wetting. In the course of the evening, however, he com- 

plained of feeling chilly, and next morning old Morgan, the 

butler, met me with a message from his master, saying he 

thought he had got a little cold, and would stay in bed, 

Vu!t would be glad to have a visit from me after I had

762 

The Highland Monthiy. 

breakfasted. In passing through the hall on my way 

upstairs, I noticed the morning paper on the table. There 

was something of importance going on in the political 

world, in which Mr Moran was much interested, so I 

carried the paper with me. I found m)' old friend sitting 

up in bed, and looking as if there were little the matter. 

"Well, Frank," he said, " I am glad to see you are none 

the worse of the ducking." " Not a bit," I said ; 

" but I 

fear you have not got off so easily." " Oh," said he, 

" there is not much the m.atter. I see you have the paper 

there ; sit down, and let me hear what they did in the 

House last night." 

I seated myself by the side of his bed with my back to 

the window, which I noticed was drawn down a little from 

the top. Opening the paper, I proceeded to read the 

Parliamentary news, and was just in the middle of a speech 

when I heard a sound that made me pause 

to listen, the sound of a cJiild crying bitterly somewhere 

of Lord , 

outside. As I listened the sound came nearer, and at last 

seemed to pause just outside the window. I cannot tell 

what it was that prevented me from obeying my first 

impulse to get up and look out of the window, but some 

unaccountable feeling of dread, or expectancy, or I know 

not what, kept me seated, motionless and listening. Then 

the sound of crying and sobbing seemed to rise from the 

garden below, and come right in at the open window, till I 

could have sworn that a little child in grief or pain was 

sobbing behind my chair. A minute more and the wailing 

came round in front of me, as if the child was standing at 

my knee, close to the bed, and yet I could see nothing. 

After remaining about a minute by the bed-side, the 

sobbing child seemed to go all round the walls of the 

room, until, coming to the window again, it passed out 

into the garden below, where I heard its wailing vcjice 

dying away in the distance, till all was silent again. 

Although this has taken some time to tell, it all passed 

in such a short time that when I looked at Îr Aloran he 

si;emed only just to have noticed that I had stopped

A IrtLC Story of the Banshee. 763 

reading. " Well, Frank," he said, " Go on ; why 

do you 

stop ?" Then catching sight of my face— " Why, what's 

the matter ; are you ill ?" " I think the heat"—stammered 

I, unwilling to alarm my old friend. " I daresay the room 

feels close," he said ; 

" never mind the paper. Go and get 

hold of Tim and amuse yourself. I hope I shall be able 

to join you to-morrow." I hurried down stairs, but did 

not feel inclined for Tim's society ; the sound of thc-it 

dreadful 7cail was still in my ears I took my rod, made 

my way to the river, and threw myself on the bank to 

think over what had taken place. I tried to persuade 

myself that my imagination had played me a trick, but I 

knew quite well that it was nothing of the sort, I had 

never been of an imaginative temperament, and my sur- 

roundings at the time were of the m.ost matter-of-fact 

description. My mind was entirely occupied with Parlia- 

mentary details at the time when I first heard the sound, 

and although it began in a faint distant echo, it became so 

loud at last that the whole room seemed filled with it, and 

yet, strangest circumstance of all, my friend evidently 

heard nothing of it. I retraced my steps towards Kilcorrie, 

and as I approached the house saw the doctor's car at the 

door. On entering the hall I met the doctor himself 

descending the stairs. I found my old friend was seriously 

ill. 

Proceeding upstairs I met old Molly, the housekeeper, 

wringing her hands, while tears streamed down her 

wrinkled cheeks. "Why, Molly," said I, "what's the 

matter?" "Oh! the master, the poor mâster," sobbed 

Molly. "Oh, yes," I said, "the doctor told me he was not 

so well, but I hope he will soon be better. "Mr Frank,'' 

said Molly, " he will never get better T Then coming cloê 

to me she whispered in an awestruck voice, " Tim he.ud 

the Banshee wailing under the bedroom window just at the 

time he took the turn." And Molly fell to weeping afresh, 

and wringing her hands. Within a week from that niL;'nt 

in\' poor old friend breathed his las!, and the Banshee's 

j)i"ophec\' was fulfilled.

764. 

The Hiohland Monthly. 

NOTES. 

Mr Alfred Nutt has sent us a paper delivered by him 

before the Folklore Congress on the " Problems of Heroic 

Legend," which is to appear in the forthcoming transactions 

of that body. The paper is a marvel of condensation, and 

we cannot in a paragraph even indicate Mr Nutt's views. 

He points out that the anthropological school have done 

much to unravel the mysteries of the folk-tale by studying 

its appearances aông modern uncivilised races; and 

he thinks that the problem of the hero-tale may 

receive light from the same source. He discusses 

the relationship of the heroic legends to real history, 

and shows, in the case of the great Germanic sagas, 

how distorted and utterly false our idea of King Attila and 

his contemporaries would be if we had only the heroic 

sagas to go upon. He says— " Had we heroic legend 

alone, we should know worse than nothing of history, we 

could only guess at false history. History may seem to 

give the form and framework of heroic legend, the vital 

plastic organic element is furnished by something quite 

different. Myth, like a hermit-crab, may creep into the 

shell of history, none the less does it retain its own nature." 

He illustrates his positions mostly by Celtic myth, and, 

besides the Siegfried saga and its class, discusses the 

miraculous birth of the hero— a feature equally prominent 

in Celtic as in Grecian myth—and the father and son 

combat, which appears in the story of Cuchulinn and his 

son Conlaoch. The Persians have a like myth, in the case 

of Soohrab and Rusten ; but indications of it exist on 

Greek and Germanic ground. A very striking inverse 

parallel, so to speak, occurs in the legends of the Indians 

of British Guiana, where the son, born and reared in similar 

ciicumstnnces to Conlaoch, kills his father, " unknowing 

and unknown" Mr Nutt is inclined to believe that heroic 

legend originates mostl)' in nature myths, but that, as in 

the Ossianic or Fenian saga, history may influence its final 

form, just as the Norse invasions coloured the later 

mediaeval form of our Ossianic story. So far as folklore 

scientists are at present agreed on the question of the 

origin and development of hero and folk tales, we think 

that the theory which holds the field ma\' be expressed in 

Topsy's words, when a similar question was put to her, and 

hor answer was—•'' 

I specs I growed."


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