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Title: The popular superstitions and festive amusements of the Highlanders of Scotland

Author: William Grant Stewart

Release date: December 20, 2022 [eBook #69592]
                Most recently updated: October 19, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: Aylott and Jones

Credits: deaurider, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS AND FESTIVE AMUSEMENTS OF THE HIGHLANDERS OF SCOTLAND ***

[Illustration]




  THE
  POPULAR
  SUPERSTITIONS
  AND
  FESTIVE AMUSEMENTS
  OF THE
  HIGHLANDERS OF SCOTLAND.

  BY
  WILLIAM GRANT STEWART.

  NEW EDITION.

  “Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Beuk.”

                                           _Gawin Douglas._


  LONDON:
  AYLOTT AND JONES, 8, PATERNOSTER, ROW.

  EDINBURGH: OLIVER AND BOYD. GLASGOW:
  MUCKLEHOSE. DUBLIN: M^cGLASHAN. INVERNESS:
  SMITH DOUGLAS. ELGIN: RUSSELL.




  LONDON:
  JOHN KING, PRINTER, 120, FLEET STREET.




TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE COUNTESS OF SEAFIELD.


This new Edition of the Popular Superstitions and Festive Amusements of
the Highlanders of Scotland is humbly and appropriately dedicated:--as
being the Lady Patroness of the Brave and Intelligent Highlanders of
Strathspey, and its Tributaries, into whom her Ladyship’s genuine
benevolence and condescension have infused the most devoted attachment,

                               By her Ladyship’s

                                        Grateful humble servant,

                                                           THE AUTHOR.

  Viewville, Glen Urquhart,
      June, 1851.




ADVERTISEMENT.


A new and revised Edition of the following Treatise on the
superstitions and amusements of the Highlanders, which was very
favourably received by the Public on its original publication, has
often been called for; but the Author’s urgent professional avocations
did not permit of earlier attention to the matter. At the request of
many friends and countrymen, the Author has now, however, been induced
to reprint the present Edition, in order to record more fully the
fast-fading Tales and Traditions which lately formed, and still to a
certain extent form, the Winter’s Evening Entertainments of the happy
Highland Homes.

  _Viewville, Glen Urquhart,
      July, 1851._




PREFACE.


No part of the United Kingdom has of late years attracted a greater
portion of public attention than the Highlands of Scotland. Formerly
isolated as the inhabitants were from their fellow subjects, by a
different language and separate interests, their character was but
little known and less admired. Devoted to their chiefs and feudal
institutions, they entertained a sovereign contempt for their
neighbours; and, in their occasional intercourse with them, displayed
feelings and manners little calculated to gain confidence or secure
esteem.

But when the Rebellion in 1745, and its consequences, nearly
annihilated feudal power, and broke down the wall of partition, by
which the mountaineer was so long divided from the inhabitant of
the plain, a new light was reflected upon his manners and habits.
The gradual establishment of commercial and friendly relations with
the inhabitants of other countries, accelerated the decay of mutual
prejudices; and the virtues of the Highlander, which were previously
reserved for home consumption, were now duly appreciated by the
world. He no longer appeared the rude and unprincipled depredator,
but the generous and disinterested character, whose romantic and
chivalrous habits were rendered peculiarly interesting, as the remains
of those boldly defined virtues which distinguished our primitive
ancestors. Accordingly, the genius of the age became speedily alive to
the importance of so novel and interesting a character. Shaping its
course to the Highland mountains, it discovered among their unexplored
recesses, those plentiful materials, on which are founded some of the
most splendid works which adorn the circle of British literature.

Nor have all those superstructures yet exhausted so fertile a mine.
Notwithstanding all the research that has been employed in tracing
the origin, and delineating the manners of the inhabitants, and the
many ingenious descriptions we have had of their local scenery, there
are still many hidden treasures left for discovery, which presently
languish in obscurity. This observation applies with great truth to
those more remote and romantic regions, which, from their secluded
situations, had been long inaccessible to the approach of learning and
genius; and where the native inhabitants, from want of intercourse
with their more refined and effeminate countrymen, are the true
representatives of our ancient forefathers in their various feelings
and habits.

Of the manners and character of this noble and poetic race of
mountaineers, little was known further than what may be collected from
the manners of their contemporaries, in more accessible parts of the
country. The great defect which especially exists in the delineation of
the Highlander’s superstitions, becomes peculiarly apparent to one, who
had an opportunity of investigating those relics of the less polished
ages of the world, as they are still exhibited in the habits of the
people of whom we are writing. Many of the more prominent and common
features of this branch of our national peculiarities have, indeed,
been long ago celebrated by the pens of the immortal Burns, Ramsay, Sir
Walter Scott, and others of less note, while much light has been thrown
on the general character of the Scottish Highlander, by the ingenious
Mrs. Grant of Laggan, and the gallant General Stewart of Garth; but
the more interesting and latent peculiarities have been left to expire
in the dark. The want of a complete and systematic account of the
Highland and Scottish Superstitions, is a desideratum in our national
literature, which the philosophic mind will readily regret; and this
regret will be the more sincere on reflecting, that, from the fading
aspects those interesting relics have now assumed, it is a desideratum
which, in the course of a few years, cannot be supplied. The decline
of popular romance is keeping pace with the progress of knowledge and
civilization,--which, as they illumine the unenlightened mind, open
it to the folly of its prejudices; and thus the time is hastening its
approach, when the natives of our remotest glens shall be no longer
inspired with reverence for the fairy turret, nor shall their social
circle be contracted by the frightful tale.

Far be it, however, from the writer of these pages to wish the reign
of superstition prolonged. But, while he would hail with delight,
the total extirpation of every prejudice tending to enslave the
mental energy of the noble Gael, he would as ardently desire their
perpetuation on the page of history, as his ancient peculiarities.
Divested as they will soon be of their formidable character, we would
preserve them as the most ancient relics we could transmit to our
posterity, to whom, in the course of a few centuries, they may appear
as preposterous and incredible, as the Poems of Ossian do now to the
more sceptical part of the present generation.

It was not, however, the writer’s conviction of the utility of such a
work as this alone, that induced him to undertake a task for which, he
is afraid, he will be found to have been ill qualified. A considerable
time ago, and at a very early period of life, an impaired state of
health rendered it necessary for him to abandon his professional
labours for a time, and to retire from the metropolis to the place of
his nativity. The lassitude of mind consequent on a total remission
from all employment, induced him to seek some rational source of
amusement; and the idea of investigating the opinions and customs
of his countrymen, was suggested to him by various circumstances,
as likely to afford instruction as well as entertainment. His
opportunities were most ample, and his task of course, comparatively
easy. Surrounded by the most original, brave, and ingenious class of
Highlanders existing, and possessing considerable knowledge of their
language and manners, the writer found it no difficult matter to become
completely acquainted with their prejudices and habits. By visiting
the most celebrated professors of traditional lore in the district,
he speedily acquired not only a fundamental knowledge of the reigning
principles of superstition but likewise an inexhaustible store of tales
and traditions. And by mingling occasionally with the peasantry in
their public and private festivities, he was enabled, from personal
observation, to draw faithful portraits of those scenes of mirth and
festivity, for which the inhabitants are so eminently distinguished.
The result of his observations afforded him so much satisfaction that
he thought it worth while from time to time, to commit the particulars
to paper,--not with the view of urging them on the public, but for his
own private amusement. But the increasing avidity with which traits
of the Highland Superstitions have been received as developed in the
tales of the day, suggested to him the idea of submitting his gleanings
to the public, in the form of a detailed account of the Superstitions
and Festivities of the Highlanders of Scotland; and he hopes, however
defective may be its execution, the design is not altogether unworthy
of public patronage.

To arrange his gleanings in a connected and systematic order, was an
undertaking far more tedious than the collection of them. The traits of
Highland superstition are of so various and heterogeneous a character,
that it appeared almost wholly impracticable to connect and digest them
into the form of a connected narrative; and yet in any other shape
they would necessarily loose much of the interest which they possess
in their present form. Sensible of this he has endeavoured to the best
of his ability, to arrange the different traits under their proper
heads, in the most systematic and connected manner practicable, without
introducing extraneous matter, which would not only destroy the native
complexion of the subject, but also swell the limits of the work. By
excluding solemn dissertation from such ludicrous relations as the
following, he has been enabled to compress many particulars into little
space, while his delineations possess a greater degree of truth and
fidelity. To illustrate the various traits set forth, the writer has
interspersed his delineations with a collection of the most popular
tales of the day. These tales, whether they be the creation of the
imagination, or the offspring of the credulity of their own original
authors, cannot now fail to interest the philosopher or the antiquary,
while they may amuse the less profound. For, utterly destitute of all
probability, and broadly ludicrous as they may appear to the polished
reader, they are, nevertheless, those interesting channels, by which
the feelings and habits of our earliest forefathers have been kept
alive and transmitted down, through so many changeful ages, to their
posterity of the present day.

The length of those primitive relations is necessarily much abridged,
but a strict regard has been had to their original style and
phraseology. The language is almost entirely borrowed from the mouth
of the Highland narrator, and translated, it is hoped, in a manner so
simple and unvarnished, as to be perfectly intelligible to the capacity
of the peasant, for whose fire-side entertainment this little volume
may, perhaps, be peculiarly adapted.




CONTENTS.


                                                           Page.

                     PART I.--GHOSTS

  CHAP. 1.--Of the Highland Ghosts in General                  1

        2.--Of the Ghost in his co-existent State--His
            personal Similitudes and Habits                   10

        3.--Of the Ghost in his Intermediate State--His
            Similitudes and Habits                            18

        4.--Of the Ghost in his Post-existent State           24
            Safeguards from Ghosts                            34


                     PART II.--FAIRIES                        37

  CHAP. 1.--Origin and Genealogy of the Fairies               39

        2.--Similitude of the Fairy                           43

        3.--Of the Fairies as a Community--Their
            Political Principles and Ingenious
            Habits                                            49

        4.--Of their Domestic Economy and Festive
            Habits                                            61

        5.--Of the Passions and Propensities of
            the Fairies                                       69

        6.--Of the Fairy’s Embezzling and Criminal
            Propensities                                      73


                     PART III.--BROWNIES                      93

                     PART IV.--WATER-KELPIES                  99

                     PART V.--SPUNKIES                       109

                     PART VI.--WITCHCRAFT                    113

  CHAP. 1.--Origin and History of Witchcraft                 115

        2.--Of the Agents, Qualifications, and
            Ceremonies of their Constitution                 118

        3.--Of the Personal Similitude of the
            Agents or Members of the Craft                   125

        4.--Of their Professional Powers and
            Practices                                        127

        5.--Of the Witch’s Powers of Transformation          141

        6.--Safeguards from Witchcraft                       145


         PART VII.--HIGHLAND FESTIVE AMUSEMENTS              157

            Hallowe’en                                       159

            Christmas                                        165

            New-Year’s Eve                                   172

            Fasten’s Eve                                     178

            Beltane Eve                                      180

            Christenings                                     183

            Weddings                                         186

            Wakes                                            195

            Funerals                                         197




THE

HIGHLAND SUPERSTITIONS.




PART I.

  “The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The
  form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke which the staff
  of the boy disturbs as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace.”

                                                               OSSIAN.





THE

HIGHLAND SUPERSTITIONS.




CHAPTER I.

OF THE HIGHLAND GHOSTS IN GENERAL.


Of whatever country, station, or character the reader may be, we
presume it will be unnecessary for us, on this our outset, to intrude
upon his time by entering into a logical definition of the term
_Ghost_. There is perhaps no nation or clime, from California to
Japan, where that very ancient and fantastic race of beings called
Ghosts is not, under different terms and different characters, more or
less familiar to the inhabitants. We do not mean, however, to follow
this fleeting race of patriarchs throughout their wide course of
wandering and colonisation from the beginning of time to the present
day--as, in all likelihood, our research would turn out equally arduous
and unprofitable; we confine our lucubrations to the colony of the
tribe which, from time immemorial, have settled themselves among the
inhabitants of the Highland Mountains.

Be it known then to the reader, that, so early as the days of Ossian,
the son of Fingal, and ever since, ghosts have been at all times
a plentiful commodity among the hills of Caledonia. Every native
Highlander has allied to him, from his birth, one of those airy
beings in the character of an auxiliary or helpmate, who continues
his companion, not only during all the days of the Highlander’s life,
but also for an indefinite period of time after his decease. It will
be readily believed that this ancient class of our mountaineers
cannot have descended through so many changeful ages of the world
without sharing, in some measure, those revolutions of manners and
habits to which all classes and communities of people are equally
liable. Accordingly the ghost has suffered as great a degeneracy
from that majesty of person and chivalry of habits which anciently
distinguished the primitive inhabitants of Caledonia, as his mortal
contemporary, man. Unlike the present puny, green, worm-eaten effigies
that now-a-days stalk about our premises, and, like the cameleon, feed
upon the air, the ancient race of Highland ghosts were a set of stout,
lusty, sociable ghosts, “_as tall as a pine, and as broad as a house_.”
Differing widely in his habits from those of his posterity, the ghost
of antiquity would enter the habitation of man, descant a lee-long
night upon the news of the times, until the long-wished-for supper was
once prepared, when this pattern of frankness and good living would
invite himself to the table, and do as much justice to a bicker of
Highland crowdie as his earthly contemporaries. Indeed, if all tales be
true, many centuries are not elapsed since those social practices of
the ghosts of the day proved an eminent pest to society. With voracious
appetites, those greedy gormandizers were in the habit of visiting the
humble hamlets, where superabundance of store seldom resided, and of
ravishing from the grasp of a starving progeny the meagre fare allotted
to their support.

Beyond their personal attractions, however, it is believed they
displayed few enviable qualities; for, besides their continual
depredations on the goods and chattels of the adjacent hamlets, they
were ill-natured and cruel, and cared not a spittle for woman or child.
The truth of this remark is well exemplified in the history of two
celebrated ghosts, who “_once upon a time_” lived, or rather existed,
in the Wilds of _Craig-Aulnaic_, a romantic place in the district of
Strathdown, Banffshire. The one was a male, and the other a female. The
male was called _Fhua Mhoir Bein Baynac_, after one of the mountains
of Glenavon, where at one time he resided; and the female was called
_Clashnichd Aulnaic_, from her having had her abode in _Craig-Aulnaic_.
But, although the great ghost of _Ben-Baynac_ was bound, by the
common ties of nature and of honour, to protect and cherish his
weaker companion, _Clashnichd Aulnaic_, yet he often treated her in
the most cruel and unfeeling manner. In the dead of night, when the
surrounding hamlets were buried in deep repose, and when nothing else
disturbed the solemn stillness of the midnight scene, “oft,” says our
narrator, “would the shrill shrieks of poor _Clashnichd_ burst upon the
slumberer’s ears, and awake him to any thing but pleasant reflections.”

But of all those who were incommoded by the noisy and unseemly quarrels
of these two ghosts, James _Owre_ or Gray, the tenant of the farm of
Balbig of Delnabo, was the greatest sufferer. From the proximity of his
abode to their haunts, it was the misfortune of himself and family to
be the nightly audience of _Clashnichd’s_ cries and lamentations, which
they considered any thing but agreeable entertainment.

One day, as James Gray was on his rounds looking after his sheep, he
happened to fall in with _Clashnichd_, the Ghost of Aulnaic, with whom
he entered into a long conversation. In the course of this conversation
he took occasion to remonstrate with her on the very disagreeable
disturbance she caused himself and family, by her wild and unearthly
cries,--cries which, he said, few mortals could relish in the dreary
hours of midnight. Poor _Clashnichd_, by way of apology for her
conduct, gave James Gray a sad account of her usage, detailing at full
length the series of cruelties committed upon her by _Ben-Baynac_. From
this account, it appeared that her cohabitation with the latter was
by no means a matter of choice with _Clashnichd_; on the contrary, it
appeared that she had, for a long time, led a life of celibacy with
much comfort, residing in a snug dwelling, as already mentioned, in the
wilds of Craig-Aulnaic; but _Ben-Baynac_ having unfortunately taken
it into his head to pay her a visit, he took a fancy, not to herself,
but her dwelling, of which, in his own name and authority, he took
immediate possession, and soon after expelled poor _Clashnichd_, with
many stripes, from her natural inheritance; while, not satisfied with
invading and depriving her of her just rights, he was in the habit of
following her into her private haunts, not with the view of offering
her any endearments, but for the purpose of inflicting on her person
every degrading torment which his brain could invent.

Such a moving relation could not fail to affect the generous heart
of James Gray, who determined from that moment to risk life and limb
in order to vindicate the rights and revenge the wrongs of poor
_Clashnichd_ the Ghost of Craig-Aulnaic. He therefore took good care to
interrogate his new _protegé_ touching the nature of her oppressor’s
constitution, whether he was of that _killable_ species of ghost
that could be shot with a silver sixpence, or if there was any other
weapon that could possibly accomplish his annihilation. _Clashnichd_
informed him that she had occasion to know that _Ben-Baynac_ was
wholly invulnerable to all the weapons of man, with the exception of
a large mole on his left breast, which was no doubt penetrable by
silver or steel; but that, from the specimens she had of his personal
prowess and strength, it were vain for mere man to attempt to combat
_Ben-Baynac_ the great ghost. Confiding, however, in his expertness as
an archer--for he was allowed to be the best marksman of his age--James
Gray told _Clashnichd_ he did not fear him with all his might,--that
_he_ was his man; and desired her, moreover, next time he chose to
repeat his incivilities to her, to apply to him, James Gray, for
redress.

It was not long ere he had an opportunity of fulfilling his
promises. _Ben-Baynac_ having one night, in the want of better
amusement, entertained himself by inflicting an inhuman castigation
on _Clashnichd_, she lost no time in waiting on James Gray, with a
full and particular account of it. She found him smoking his _cutty_,
and unbuttoning his habiliments for bed; but, notwithstanding the
inconvenience of the hour, James needed no great persuasion to induce
him to proceed directly along with _Clashnichd_ to hold a communing
with their friend _Ben-Baynac_ the great ghost. _Clashnichd_ was a
stout sturdy hussey, who understood the knack of travelling much
better than _our_ women do. She expressed a wish that, for the sake of
expedition, James Gray would mount himself on her ample shoulders, a
motion to which the latter agreed; and a few minutes brought them close
to the scene of _Ben-Baynac’s_ residence. As they approached his haunt,
he came forth to meet them, with looks and gestures which did not at
all indicate a cordial welcome. It was a fine moonlight night, and they
could easily observe his actions. Poor _Clashnichd_ was now sorely
afraid of the great ghost. Apprehending instant destruction from his
fury, she exclaimed to James Gray that they would be both dead people,
and that immediately, unless James could hit with an arrow the mole
which covered _Ben-Baynac’s_ heart. This was not so difficult a task as
James had hitherto apprehended it. The mole was as large as a common
bonnet, and yet nowise disproportioned to the natural size of his body,
for he certainly was a great and a mighty ghost. _Ben-Baynac_ cried out
to James Gray, that he would soon make eagle’s-meat of him; and certain
it is, such was his intention, had not James Gray so effectually
stopped him from the execution of it. Raising his bow to his eye when
within a few yards of _Ben-Baynac_, he took an important aim; the
arrow flew--it hit--a yell from _Ben-Baynac_ announced its fatality. A
hideous howl re-echoed from the surrounding mountains, responsive to
the groans of a thousand ghosts; and _Ben-Baynac_, like the smoke of a
shot, evanished into air.[A]

_Clashnichd_, the Ghost of Aulnaic, now found herself emancipated
from the most abject state of slavery, and restored to freedom and
liberty, through the invincible courage of James Gray. Overpowered
with gratitude, she fell at James Gray’s feet, and vowed to devote
the whole of her time and talents towards his service and prosperity.
Meanwhile, being anxious to have her remaining goods and furniture
removed to her former dwelling, whence she had been so iniquitously
expelled by _Ben-Baynac_ the great ghost, she requested of her new
master the use of his horses to remove them. James observing on the
adjacent hill a flock of deer, and wishing to have a trial of his new
servant’s sagacity or expertness, told her those were his horses,--she
was welcome to the use of them; desiring, when she had done with them,
that she would inclose them in his stable. _Clashnichd_ then proceeded
to make use of the horses, and James Gray returned home to enjoy his
night’s rest.

Scarce had he reached his arm-chair, and reclined his cheek on
his hand, to ruminate over the bold adventure of the night, when
_Clashnichd_ entered, with her “breath in her throat,” and venting the
bitterest complaints at the unruliness of his horses, which had broken
one-half of her furniture, and caused more trouble in the stabling of
them than their services were worth. “Oh! they are stabled, then?”
inquired James Gray. _Clashnichd_ replied in the affirmative. “Very
well,” rejoined James, “they shall be tame enough to-morrow.”

From this specimen of _Clashnichd_ the Ghost of Craig-Aulnaic’s
expertness, it will be seen what a valuable acquisition her service
proved to James Gray and his young family; of which, however, they were
too speedily deprived by a most unfortunate accident. From the sequel
of the story, and of which the foregoing is but an extract, it appears
that poor _Clashnichd_ was but too deeply addicted to those guzzling
propensities which at that time rendered her kin so obnoxious to their
human neighbours. She was consequently in the habit of visiting her
friends much oftener than she was invited, and, in the course of such
visits, was never very scrupulous in making free with any eatables that
fell within the circle of her observation.

One day, while engaged on a foraging expedition of this description,
she happened to enter the Mill of Delnabo, which was inhabited in those
days by the miller’s family. She found the miller’s wife engaged in
roasting a large gridiron of fine savoury fish, the agreeable effluvia
proceeding from which perhaps occasioned her visit. With the usual
inquiries after the health of the miller and his family, _Clashnichd_
proceeded, with the greatest familiarity and good humour, to make
herself comfortable at the expense of their entertainment. But the
miller’s wife, enraged at the loss of her fish, and not relishing such
unwelcome familiarity, punished the unfortunate _Clashnichd_ rather
too severely for her freedom. It happened that there was at the time
a large caldron of boiling water suspended over the fire, and this
caldron the beldam of a miller’s wife overturned in _Clashnichd’s_
bosom! Scalded beyond recovery, she fled up the wilds of Craig-Aulnaic,
uttering the most melancholy lamentations, nor has she been ever since
heard of to the present day.




CHAPTER II.

OF THE GHOST IN HIS CO-EXISTENT STATE--HIS PERSONAL SIMILITUDES AND
HABITS.


Having, in the preceding chapter, endeavoured, as briefly as possible,
to throw some light upon the general character of the primitive race
of Highland ghosts in order to enable the reader to judge of the
difference of manners which distinguished them from the modern ghosts,
we shall now proceed to the consideration of the latter during the
interval betwixt the birth and the eve of the death of the mortal, and
which, for the sake of illustration, we shall call his co-existent
state.

From the birth of the mortal to the eve of his death, the ghost, in
point of similitude, is a perfect counterpart or representative of his
earthly yoke-fellow. As the child grows towards manhood, his ghost
keeps pace with him, and so exactly do they resemble each other in the
features, complexions, and aspect, when seen by a third party, that,
without the use of prescribed spells, no human observer can distinguish
the mortal from the immortal. Nor is this resemblance confined to the
personal appearance alone--it is likewise extended to the habiliments.
Whether the mortal equips himself in the Highland garb or Lowland
costume, the imitative ghost instantly assumes the same attire. The
bonnet or the hat, the philibeg or the trews, are equally convenient
and agreeable to him; for in this solitary particular he has never been
known to dissent from his human partner.

During this period the ghost is supposed either to accompany or
precede, at some distance, his human partner (of course invisible
to those not possessing the second-sight) in all those multifarious
journeys and duties which the mortal performs throughout the course
of his eventful life, and the moral utility of the ghost is supposed
to consist in propitiating the mortal’s undertakings by guarding them
from the influence of evil spirits. But, however this may be, it is a
well-known fact, that _all_ ghosts do not devote the whole of their
time to the discharge of this commendable duty. Common fame errs much
if those capricious beings do not love their own pleasures more than
their partner’s interest; and this their negligence is a subject of
still deeper regret, when we consider the nature of those practices in
which they employ their time.

If the appetites of the modern ghost are better restrained than those
of his predecessors were in the “greedy times” we have written of,
the mischievous habits he has acquired in lieu of his predecessor’s
social accomplishments are to some far more calamitous than even
_Clashnichd’s_ practices. It is true, a dose of Highland crowdie would
but ill agree with the refined delicacy of the stomach of the former.
Such squeamish appetites must look out for more delicate and savoury
food. But if the modern ghost does not possess those keen digestive
powers which distinguished _Clashnichd_, he inherits all the ill
nature of _Ben-Baynac_, without one-third of his might; and we question
much if his regard for the fair sex is a bit more tender.

Instead of being the peaceable and industrious associate of his
yoke-fellow, it is a common practice with the ghost of the present day
to prowl about the country with the laudable intention of committing
all the mischief in his power to the friends and acquaintances of
his partner. Planting himself in some wild and convenient position,
he will open on the ears of the slumbering inhabitants, or the more
unfortunate traveller, his wild and unearthly cries, highly gratified,
no doubt, at the paralyzing effect they produce on his audience. Of the
hideousness of these cries nothing short of auric demonstration can
convey an adequate conception. Partaking at once of all that is horrid
and unnatural, if any resemblance to them can be figured, we are told
it is the “expiring shrieks of a goat under the butcher’s knife, or the
howling of a dog in a solitary cavern.” Proportioned to the strength
of the ghost, the cry is loud or faint, and has something so peculiar
in it, that the least note never fails to give the hearer a temporary
palsy.

But were his practices confined to those comparatively harmless
proceedings, the conduct of the ghost would be far less intolerable
than it is. His vocal entertainments, however hurtful they sometimes
prove to those unfortunate enough to hear them, are not sufficiently
iniquitous to satisfy the extent of his malice. Being, no doubt, well
disciplined in the noble and fashionable art of pugilism by long
experience and practice among his kindred species, never remarkable
for their social harmony, he is, perhaps, the best bruiser in the
universe, and will never be backward in showing those people who come
in his way his expertness in this science. As, however, the greatest
part of his human contemporaries are, perhaps, too _strikingly_
convinced of his decided superiority, few of them are disposed to
hazard a _set-to_ with so pithy a combatant, and it is consequently no
easy matter for the ghost to fall in with those who are inclined to
fight merely for fighting’s sake. Finding, therefore, so few willing
to quarrel with him in that open and gentlemanlike manner usual in
those countries, the fertility of his noddle suggests to him the more
indirect or Irish mode of proceeding; and it is to this ingenious mode
of raising a row that the Modern Ghost owes the most of his laurels.
Presenting himself before the unsuspecting traveller in the servile
appearance of a scabbed colt, or some such equally contemptible animal,
he will in this guise place himself in the passenger’s way, as if to
graze by the road’s side. Raising his staff, the passenger will very
aptly apply it to the colt’s back to clear his way, when the malicious
animal will instantly retort, and a conflict ensues, in which the
unwary transgressor is severely punished for his indiscretion.

In former times, however, and even in recent times, we have heard
of some instances where these wanton pugilists proceeded upon more
honourable and systematic principles than they do at present. Instead
of the dastardly mode of cajoling his adversary into a fight by
stratagem, and conquering him by surprise, the warlike bogle of the
last century carried about with him flails, cudgels, and such other
pithy weapons as were suitable to the spirit of the times,--and on his
meeting with a human adventurer who had no objection to become his
antagonist, his choice of weapons was left with the latter. Hence it
followed that this equitable and impartial mode of proceeding ended not
unfrequently to the ghost’s great disadvantage; for the _human_ bullies
of those days were so diligently trained up to the handling of a flail
or the wielding of a cudgel, that their ghostly combatants, with all
their might and dexterity, have often been the first to propose an
armistice. To multiply details of such encounters would be as tedious
as they are numerous and similar; a single narrative, communicated to
the compiler by the grand-nephew of the person concerned, will, we
suppose, be sufficient to confirm our statements.

“Late one night, as my grand-uncle Lachlan _Dhu_ Macpherson, who was
well known as the best fiddler of his day, was returning home from a
ball, at which he had acted as a musician, he had occasion to pass
through the once haunted Bog of Torrans. Now, it happened at that time
that that Bog was frequented by a huge bogle or ghost, who was of a
most mischievous disposition, and took particular pleasure in abusing
every traveller who had occasion to pass through the place betwixt the
twilight at night and cock-crowing in the morning. Suspecting much that
he would also come in for a share of his abuse, my grand-uncle made up
his mind, in the course of his progress, to return him any _civilities_
which he might think meet to offer him. On arriving on the spot, he
found his suspicions were too well grounded; for whom did he see but
the Ghost of Bogandoran, apparently ready waiting him, and seeming by
his ghastly grin not a little overjoyed at the meeting? Then marching
up to my grand-uncle, the bogle clapt a huge club into his hand, and
furnishing himself with one of the same dimensions, he put a spittle
in his hand, and deliberately commenced the combat. My grand-uncle
returned the salute with equal spirit, and so ably did both parties ply
their batons, that for a while the issue of the combat was extremely
doubtful. At length, however, the fiddler could easily discover that
his opponent’s vigour was much in the fagging order. Picking up renewed
courage in consequence, my grand-uncle, the fiddler, plied the ghost
with renovated vigour, and after a stout resistance, in the course of
which both parties were seriously handled, the Ghost of Bogandoran
thought it prudent to give up the night.

“At the same time, filled, no doubt, with great indignation at this
signal defeat, it seems the ghost resolved to re-engage my grand-uncle
on some other occasion, under more favourable circumstances. Not long
after, as my grand-uncle was returning home quite unattended from
another ball in the Braes of the country, he had just entered the
hollow of Auldichoish, well known for its ‘_eery_’ properties, when
lo! who presented himself to his view on the adjacent eminence but his
old friend of Bogandoran, advancing as large as the gable of a house,
putting himself in the most threatening and fighting attitudes?

“Looking on the very dangerous nature of the ground in which they were
met, and feeling no anxiety for a second encounter with a combatant
of his weight, in a situation so little desirable, the fiddler would
have willingly deferred the settlement of their differences till a
more convenient season. He, accordingly, assuming the most submissive
aspect in the world, endeavoured to pass by his champion in peace,
but in vain. Longing, no doubt, to retrieve the disgrace of his late
discomfiture, the bogle instantly seized the fiddler, and attempted
with all his might to pull the latter down the precipice, with the
diabolical intention, it is supposed, of drowning him in the river Avon
below. In this pious design the bogle was happily frustrated by the
intervention of some trees which grew in the precipice, and to which my
unhappy grand-uncle clung with the zeal of a drowning man. The enraged
ghost finding it impossible to extricate him from those friendly trees,
and resolving, at all events, to be revenged of him, he fell upon
maltreating the fiddler with his hands and feet in the most inhuman
manner.

“Such gross indignities my worthy grand-uncle was not accustomed
to, and being incensed beyond all measure at the liberties taken by
Bogandoran, he resolved again to try his mettle, whether life or
death should be the consequence. Having no other weapon wherewith to
defend himself but his _biodag_, which, considering the nature of his
opponent’s constitution, he suspected much would be of little avail
to him--I say, in the absence of any other weapon, he sheathed the
_biodag_ three times in the Ghost of Bogandoran’s belly. And what
was the consequence? why, to the great astonishment of my courageous
forefather, the ghost fell down cold-dead at his feet, and was never
more seen or heard of.”

Thus it will be seen that in those chivalrous days the stout and
energetic sons of Caledonia had courage and prowess enough to cope with
those powerful warriors, however unequally matched, with spirit and
even with success. In the present effeminate times, we hear of none
that will even contend with those miserable scarecrows of the present
day. Overcome, more by fear than by force, at the first encounter they
throw themselves down, and, like the lamb beneath the fox, tamely
submit to the most abusive treatment. Hence, encouraged by those
servile submissions, it is almost incredible to what extent those
invincible _corps_ sometimes carry their audacity. We have heard of not
a few of them, who having, in the first place, intruded their company
on peaceable travellers on the public road, in the next place offered
them the most provoking indignities,--one time piping their unearthly
cries into the passenger’s ears, at another time tripping him up by
the heels, and even committing indecencies which delicacy forbids us
to repeat, while the fears and agitation manifested by the traveller
constituted a subject of great merriment to the mischievous ghost.




CHAPTER III.

OF THE GHOST IN HIS INTERMEDIATE STATE--HIS SIMILITUDES AND HABITS.


A short time previous to the mortal’s death, and when just on the
eve of dissolution, the ghost undergoes a striking revolution in his
appearance and habits. Seized with the _locked jaw_, and all the other
disabilities common to the dead, he then becomes the awful emblem of
death in all its similitudes. Attired in a shroud and all the ensigns
of the grave, the ghost nocturnally proceeds to the narrow house of his
future residence, and there disappears. He is lighted on his way by a
pale azure-coloured light, of the size of that emitted by a _tallow_
candle, which is of a flickering unsteady nature, sometimes vivid, and
sometimes faint, as the mortal inhales and respires his breath; and,
in his course towards the grave, he will follow minutely the line of
march destined to be followed by his earthly partner’s approaching
funeral. His pace is slow, and his footsteps imperceptible even to a
passenger; who, although he sees clearly all his trappings, cannot
discern his mode of travelling. To the naked eye the ghost’s visage is
not discernible, by reason of the _face-cloth_. There is a very simple
process, however, which has been discovered for enabling a spectator to
discern whose ghost he is, although we never heard of more than one
person who had the hardihood to put the experiment in practice.

It is an admitted fact, in those countries, that a ghost may be
recognised, in the appearance of his human partner, on his passing a
spectator, by the latter’s reversing the cuff of his own coat, or any
other part of his raiment, which puts an instant stop to the ghost’s
career, and clearly exposes him to the recognition of the courageous
experimenter.

A sage philosopher, who had long desired an opportunity of practising
this bold experiment, found, “late one night,” when returning home from
a market, a very convenient one. Observing a stout lusty ghost stalking
very majestically along the public road, this bold adventurer hesitated
not a moment. Clapping himself into a defensive attitude, he reversed
his cuff--when, lo! his next-door neighbour’s wife was instantly
confronted to his face--clad in death’s awful apparel--the death-candle
lowing in her throat, and mouth full distended. Such an exhibition was
too appalling to wish for a long interview; and, accordingly, Donald
Doul, the adventurer, made a motion to be off, but in vain. The unhappy
man, as if transformed into a stone, could no more move than Lot’s
wife, and was obliged to stand confronted to his loving companion, both
equally sparing of their talk, until the crowing of the cock in the
morning. Finding himself then released from his uncomfortable stance,
he was about to make the best of his way home, to communicate the
result of his experiment, when the friendly wife’s ghost thus addressed
him: “Donald Doul--Donald Doul--Donald Doul--hear me, and tremble.
Great is the hindrance you have caused me this night,--a hindrance for
which you should have been severely punished, but for the friendship
which formerly subsisted between yourself and my partner. Dare not
again to pry into the mysteries of the dead. The time will come when
you’ll know those secrets.” To this poetical harangue Donald Doul made
no other reply than a profound obeisance. It is possible, however,
the ghost would have proposed a rejoinder, had not a chanticleer, in
the adjacent hamlet, emitted his third clarion, at the magic sound of
which the wife’s ghost fairly took to her heels, leaving Donald Doul
to resume his course homewards without further advice. Satisfied of
the interesting nature of the occurrence, and that his reputation for
courage and veracity would suffer no diminution from the relation,
Donald Doul made no secret of what happened. This clearly foretold what
speedily took place, the dissolution of the neighbour’s wife, (who, by
the way, was dangerously ill at the time,) to the great grief of her
husband, and the credit of Donald Doul’s name.

A short time after the ghost, bearing the death-candle, has thus
been seen, the house of the undertaker who is to make the mortal’s
coffin will be nightly disturbed by the sounds of saws and knocking
of hammers, no doubt proceeding from the ghost of the undertaker and
his assistants preparing the coffin of the ghost; while invisible
messengers will parade the country for necessaries for the ghost’s
funeral, or foregoing. And a very imposing and interesting spectacle
may be looked for.

The mortal resigns his breath, and is about to follow the course of the
dead-candle to his new abode, when _Taish na Tialedh_, or the funeral
foregoing, takes the road. This is not a paltry spectacle of one ghost,
a sight so common in those countries, but a superb assemblage of them,
all drest in their best attire, each reflecting lustre on the other. On
this occasion, the ghost of every man who is destined to accompany the
mortal’s funeral will attend, dressed in apparel of the same colour,
and mounted on a horse of the same appearance, (if he is to have
one,) as his mortal companion on the day of the corporeal interment.
On this occasion, too, their characteristic austerity of manners is
dispensed with. Mellowed, no doubt, by the generous qualities of the
_Usquebaugh_, the jocund laugh, the jest, and repartee, go slapping
round, responsive to some mournful dirge proceeding from the defunct’s
immediate friends and relations.

In the motley group, the ghost of a father or brother is easily
recognised by his well-known voice and Sabbath vestment. Nay, the
spectator may even recognise himself, if his senses enable him to
discriminate, joyous or sorry, as occasion suggests, mingling in the
throng. In the middle of the procession the coffin is seen, containing,
we presume, the _dead ghost_, circled by mourning relatives; and on
the front, flanks, and rear of the burden, the company are likewise
seen approaching and retiring, relieving each other by turns. At
length, the noise of horses and tongues, horsemen and footmen, mingled
indiscriminately together, closes the procession.

The following account of the _foregoing_ of the funeral of an
illustrious chief, who died some few score of years ago, (witnessed
by a man whose veracity was a perfect proverb,) will not, we trust, be
unacceptable:

“A smith, who had a large family to provide for, was often necessitated
to occupy his smithy till rather a late hour. One night, in particular,
as he was turning the key of his smithy door, his notice was attracted
to the public road, which lay contiguous to the smithy, by a confusion
of sounds, indicative of the approach of a great concourse of people.
Immediately there appeared the advanced ranks of a procession, marching
four men deep, in tolerable good order, unless occasionally some
unaccountable circumstance occasioned the fall of a lusty fellow, as
if he had been shot by a twenty-four pounder. Thunderstruck at the
nature and number of the marvellous procession, the smith, honest man,
reclined his back to the door, witnessing a continuation of the same
procession for nearly an hour, without discovering any thing further
of the character of those who composed it, than that they betokened a
repletion of the _Usquebaugh_. At length, the appearance of the hearse
and its awful ensigns, together with the succeeding line of coaches,
developed the nature of the concern. It was then that the smith’s
knees began to smite each other, and his hair to stand on an end. The
recent demise of this venerable chieftain confirmed his conviction of
its being a _Taish_, and a very formidable one too. Not choosing to
see the rear, he directed his face homewards, whither he fled with
the swiftness of younger years, and was not backward in favouring his
numerous acquaintances with a full and particular account of the whole
scene. This induced many honest people to assume the smithy door as
their stance of observation on the day of the funeral, which took place
a few days after; and, to his honour be it told, every circumstance
detailed by the smith in his relation accurately happened, even to the
decanting of two dogs, and this established the smith’s veracity in all
time thereafter.”

Akin to this are all the relations of those good people whose evil
destiny it has been to fall in with those ghostly processions, some
of whom having inadvertently involved themselves into the crowd, were
repulsed in every attempt to extricate themselves, until carried along,
nobody knows how far, by the tumultuous rabble, who seemed to enjoy
themselves vastly at the standing hair, protruding eyes, and awry
visage of the unconscious intruder.

In concluding this part of our subject, it is hardly necessary to add,
that in two or three days after the ghostly procession, the human or
corporeal procession will succeed it, following most minutely and
accurately every course, winding, and turn taken by the foregoing,
while the dress, conversation, and every other incident attending the
company will be precisely the same.




CHAPTER IV.

OF THE GHOST IN HIS POST-EXISTENT STATE.


It might, no doubt, be readily supposed by the ingenious reader, that
the mortal’s decease should be the term of dissolution assigned to the
copartnery connection subsisting between the mortal and his ghost, as
it generally terminates every other engagement into which the people
of this world enter. The event, however, only serves to blend their
interests still more strictly together. Whatever doubt may exist as
to the ghost’s attention to his partner’s worldly interests in his
lifetime, his solicitude for his spiritual interest, after the mortal’s
death, is universally acknowledged. He then becomes the sole means of
remedying past errors, and obtaining redress for past injuries. To
enable one fully to appreciate a ghost’s utility in the “land of the
leal,” he must acquaint himself with the nature of the life which the
defunct led, whether regular in his habits and moral in his life, or
otherwise, and the particular situation of his affairs at death. If,
for instance, a man falls suddenly, like a tree in a storm, whatever
may be the situation or circumstances in which he happens to drop,
so he must lie. In this respect, then, the peculiar advantage of the
Highlander over his Lowland neighbour becomes perfectly apparent.
Through the medium of a faithful ghost and a confidential friend,
transactions, as intricate and ravelled as those of the Laird of Coul,
can be easily simplified and assorted.

No man should, therefore, be surprised, if the ghost of some departed
friend should take an opportunity of saluting him, and for his own sake
he should also lose no time in enabling the awful emissary to declare
the purpose of his mission; whoever will defer doing so only increases
his own misery, and it is a task, however uncomfortable, that is
sacredly due to departed friendship; for how many, by yielding to the
influence of cowardly fear, have exposed themselves and their household
to those nocturnal rackets sometimes raised by those disappointed
ambassadors, whereas a little resolution would not only have averted
it, but have also greatly conduced to the repose and quietude of an old
and esteemed acquaintance. The following statement of a circumstance
which, we are told, happened in Strathspey not a great many years ago,
will best enforce this counsel:

“Not many years ago there lived in Kincardine of Strathspey a poor
man, who contracted a severe and sudden illness, which, to the great
grief of his family, terminated in his death. From the suddenness of
the honest man’s call, he had not time to settle his affairs, and
this circumstance, it seems, as might have been supposed, caused him
no small disquietude in the eternal world. He wished, in particular,
to have had an axe and a whisky barrel, which he had borrowed of a
friend, restored to him; for iron, you must know, in such cases, is
very bad. In order, therefore, to have this matter adjusted, the
dead man commissioned his ghost to wait on a particular friend to
disclose to him the circumstance, not doubting in the least but the
friend would have bestowed his best attention on the subject. The
faithful ghost lost no time in proceeding to get the object of his
mission accomplished, which, however, turned out rather a difficult
undertaking, for it was no easy matter for the ghost to procure a
conference with the friend on the business. One glimpse of the former
never failed to communicate to the latter the feet of a roe, nor could
all his dexterity bring the matter to a bearing. At length, exasperated
by a long course of night watching and useless travelling, the wily
commissioner had recourse to an expedient which ultimately effected
his purpose. As soon as the sun went down every evening, the ghost
opened a cannonade of bricks and stones upon the unhappy friend and the
inmates of his house, which did not terminate till cock-crowing in the
morning; and so expert an archer was this pawky ghost, that he scarcely
ever missed an aim, while every stroke would kill a bullock. Smarting
under the effect of this unseasonable chastisement, the friend and
his family raised the most outrageous clamour at their unaccountable
misfortune, which induced some of their neighbours nightly to assemble
in considerable bodies to protect them from this nocturnal warfare. But
the wily ghost, far from relaxing his operations on that account, only
plied them with additional vigour, sparing neither sex nor age in his
sweeping career. All sorts of missiles announced themselves, rebounding
on the shoulders of the protectors as well as the protected, the pithy
weight of which, and the unaccountable manner in which they were
flung, convinced the sufferers they were not flung by mortal hand. All
the acquaintances of the friend, therefore, urged on him to challenge
the invisible demon who thus savagely persecuted him at the hour of
midnight, in order to afford the latter an opportunity of explaining
his business, and the reason of his cruel and unchristian conduct.
But this advice the friend of the deceased was disposed to consider
a dernier resort, and one that required some cool consideration.
At length, rendered quite desperate by a series of unparalleled
persecutions, which rendered him as thin in body as a silver sixpence,
the goodman came to a final determination to call the ghost to account
the very first opportunity, for his mean and pusillanimous attacks on
himself and poor family. Accordingly, one night, on receiving a tart
pill on the cheek, which gave him an ear-ache, and which wonderfully
improved his courage, the goodman marched forth, with a mixture of rage
and fear, demanding of the unfeeling ghost, in a voice resembling the
falling notes of the gamut, ‘Wha-a-t i-i-s you-r bus-n-ess wi’ m-my
ho-use a-and fa-fa-fa-mi-ly?’ The ghost instantly appeared happy to
answer the question; but, ere he could do so, it was necessary to go
through a ceremony, which is no less curious than it is disagreeable to
the feelings of the parties concerned. This ceremony consists in the
_mortal’s_ embracing the ghost, and raising his feet from the ground,
so as to allow the wind to pass between the soles of his feet and the
ground, which enables the tongue-tied ghost to speak a volume. What was
then to be done in this particular case? Encouraged by the eloquent
cheers and arguments held forth to him, through the crevices of his
house, by his anxious family, he made several attempts to encircle the
awful emissary in his arms, which, by a sort of mechanical motion,
receded from the embrace; and it was not without great difficulty he
could persuade himself to give a friendly embrace to this mischievous
ghost; this, however, he did at last,--seizing him as he would a
bush of thorns. The ghost’s long-locked jaws now began to speak in
so sepulchral a tone as to palsy all who heard it. The friend of the
deceased promised strict attention to all the ghost’s injunctions,
upon which he evanished in a flame of fire, leaving the unhappy man
scarce able to totter to his chair. A minute compliance with all his
instructions rendered a second visit from the ghost unnecessary--and
this was no small matter of comfort to the friend.”

This frigid display of a Highlandman’s courage will appear very
contemptible when compared to the undaunted resolution of the female
alluded to in the following story:

“About forty or fifty years ago, a native of Strathdown, whose manner
of living (like that of other folks) did not qualify him for a sudden
death, was unfortunately drowned in the following manner: While in
the act of cutting down a tree, in a steep precipice pending over the
river Avon, he slipped his footing--fell headlong into the abyss below,
and rose no more. His lamentable fate was speedily discovered, his
body interred, and his affairs arranged in the best possible order.
Time, the parent of oblivion, soon rendered his name extinct among
the living, and he was no longer heard of; when, on a certain day, in
the height of it, the deceased appeared in his human likeness at the
window of a female friend. On the woman’s exhibiting some surprise
and terror at his appearance, the drowned man called to her to fear
nothing, but to come forth and speak with him,--for it seems he had
been enabled to speak without the ‘_dead-lift_.’ The honest woman
suspecting, no doubt, that, if she did not go out to him, he would make
the best of his way to her, obeyed his summons; and, in the course
of a long convoy she gave him, he divulged to her several acts of
misconduct he had been guilty of towards an old master and some others,
which disturbed much his repose. Anxious, no doubt, to get rid of his
company, she promised to exert the best of her endeavours to atone for
his misconduct, on condition he would leave her, and never again renew
his visit,--a promise which she faithfully performed, and the dead
friend gave her no farther trouble.”

But the settlement of unassorted affairs, after death, is not the only
thing in which the ghost is extremely useful. As an ambassador ever
ready to discharge any piece of useful service--such as appeasing the
unavailing grief of lamenting relatives--he is ever ready and expert,
and the delicate manner in which the ghost sometimes executes this
commission indicates that he is far more friendly and conciliatory
in his behaviour when _dead_ than he was when alive. Sometimes, but
rarely, he leaves his abode to benefit an old acquaintance or friend
of his partner; but it will no doubt be done at the instigation of the
devoted latter. We present the particulars of a favour of this sort
conferred on an inhabitant of Strathspey, no doubt a long time ago,
which deserved a better return than what the ghost at first met with.

“Engaged one night in the arrangement of his farming affairs, a certain
farmer, living in the parish of Abernethy, was a good deal surprised
at seeing an old acquaintance, who had a considerable time previously
departed this life, entering quite coolly at his dwelling-house door.
Instead of following his old acquaintance into his house, to receive
an explanation from himself of the marvellous circumstance, his
curiosity led him into the church-yard where his friend was buried,
and which was near by, to see if he had actually risen from the dead.
On examination, he not only found the grave, but also the coffin _wide
open_, which left no doubt on his mind of the reality of the vision
which he thought had deluded his sight. Making the sign of the cross on
the grave, he returned to his house, not caring whether he found his
friend before him or not. He was not, however, to be seen; but, in the
course of a short time, he returned, and upbraided the farmer for his
improper interference with his grave, explaining to him the cause of
his resurrection. It appeared that a scabbed stirk, which had a greedy
custom of prowling about the doors, seeking what he might devour,
thief-like entering the dwelling-house in the absence of the family,
and, finding no better subject of entertainment, attacked the straw in
the cradle which stood by the fireside, and in which his only child was
sleeping at the time. The tugging of the stirk at the straw would have
inevitably overturned the cradle and the child into the fire but for
the generous interposition of the ghost. The farmer expressed his most
grateful acknowledgments for so signal an instance of his kindness;
and immediately retraced his steps to the grave, on which he made a
counter-sign to that which he formerly made, and the good-hearted ghost
obtained admission into his dreary abode.”

But these are not all the ghost’s useful qualities. He possesses
another very important one in this unchristian and uncharitable age,
in which the repositories of the dead are exposed to the nocturnal
spoliation of the ruthless resurrectionist. It is vain for the
church-sexton to plant _steel-traps_ and _spring-guns_ in the field of
his labours,--the wily depredator will contrive to elude them all when
the vigilant watchman is wanted to direct them. To show the vigilance
of this agent’s attention to his own interest, and that of his friends,
on such occasions, take the following narration:--

“There was at one time a woman, who lived in Camp-del-more of
Strathavon, whose cattle were seized with a murrain, or some such
fell disease, which ravaged the neighbourhood at the time, carrying
off great numbers of them daily. All the _forlorn fires and hallowed
waters_ failed of their customary effects; and she was at length
told by the wise people whom she consulted on the occasion, that it
was evidently the effect of some infernal agency, the power of which
could not be destroyed by any other means than the never-failing
specific--the juice of a _dead head_ from the church-yard,--a nostrum
certainly very difficult to be procured, considering the head must
needs be abstracted from a grave in the hour of midnight. Being,
however, a woman of a stout heart and strong faith, native feelings of
delicacy towards the blessed sanctuary of the dead had more weight in
restraining her for some time from resorting to this desperate remedy
than those of fear. At length, seeing that her bestial stock would soon
be completely annihilated by the destructive career of the disease,
the wife of Camp-del-more resolved to put the experiment in practice,
whatever the result might be. Accordingly, having, with considerable
difficulty, engaged a neighbouring woman to be her companion in this
hazardous expedition, they set out, about midnight, for the parish
church-yard, distant about a mile and a half from her residence,
to execute her determination. On arriving at the church-yard, her
companion, whose courage was not so notable, appalled by the gloomy
prospect before her, refused to enter among the habitations of the
dead. She, however, agreed to remain at the gate till her friend’s
business was accomplished. This circumstance, however, did not
stagger our heroine’s resolution. She, with the greatest coolness and
intrepidity, proceeded towards what she supposed an old grave,--took
down her spade, and commenced her operations. After a good deal of toil
she arrived at the object of her labour. Raising the first head, or
rather skull, that came in her way, she was about to make it her own
property, when, lo! a hollow, wild, sepulchral voice exclaimed, ‘That
is _my_ head--let it alone!’ Not wishing to dispute the claimant’s
title to this head, and supposing she could be otherwise provided,
she very good-naturedly returned it, and took up another. ‘That is my
father’s head,’ bellowed the same voice. Wishing, if possible, to avoid
disputes, the wife of Camp-del-more took up another head, when the
same voice instantly started a claim to it as his grand-father’s head.
‘Well,’ replied the wife, nettled at her disappointments, ‘although it
were your grand-mother’s head, you shan’t get it till I am done with
it.’--‘What do you say, you limmer?’ says the ghost, starting up in
his awry habiliments; ‘What do you say, you limmer?’ repeated he in a
great rage. ‘By the great oath, you had better leave my grand-father’s
head.’ Upon matters coming this length, the wily wife of Camp-del-more
thought it proper to assume a more conciliatory aspect. Telling the
claimant the whole particulars of the predicament in which she was
placed by the foresaid calamity, she promised faithfully, that, if his
Honour would only allow her to carry off his grand-father’s skull, or
head, in a peaceable manner, she would restore it again when done with
it. Here, after some communing, they came to an understanding, and she
was allowed to take the head along with her, on condition she should
restore it before cock-crowing, under the heaviest penalties.

“On coming out of the church-yard, and looking for her companion,
she had the mortification to find her ‘without a mouthful of breath
in her body;’ for, on hearing the dispute between her friend and the
guardian of the grave, and suspecting much that she was likely to
share the unpleasant punishments with which he threatened her friend,
at the bare recital of them she fell down in a faint, from which it
was no easy matter to recover her. This proved no small inconvenience
to Camp-del-more’s wife, as there were not above two hours to elapse
ere she had to return the head in terms of her agreement. Taking
her friend upon her back, she carried her up a steep acclivity to
the nearest adjoining house, where she left her for the night; then
repaired home with the utmost speed--made _dead bree_ of the _dead
head_, and, ere the appointed time had expired, she restored the head
to its guardian, and placed the grave in its former condition. It is
needless to add, that, as a reward for her exemplary courage, the
‘_bree_’ had its desired effect--the cattle speedily recovered--and,
so long as she retained any of it, all sorts of diseases were of short
duration.”


SAFEGUARDS FROM GHOSTS.

Having now briefly described the leading features of a ghost’s
character in those countries, we shall close our account of him by
annexing a few of those safeguards which protect us from those wanton
encounters and impertinent interferences which we have related,
and which must be far from being palatable to the more effeminate
inhabitants of the Highland mountains at the present day.

One simple plan of obtaining perfect security from supernatural agents
of any kind is, (whenever we apprehend the approach or presence of
a ghost,) to repeat certain words, which can be taught by any wise
patriarch or matron, the powerful charm of which instantly repercusses
the ghost back to his own proper abode, and, for the time, defeats all
his machinations. Note--If in the house, the words must be repeated
three times behind the door. A ghost then can neither enter at the
door, window, nor any other crevice of the house. The operation of
the words is like that of an infeftment, which, taken on one part of
the property, affects the whole. Were it not for this grand discovery,
vain would be the attempt of any man to bar out a ghost as he might do
a _mortal_. A ghost can enter in at the key-hole--nay, even through the
wall of the house, if there is no other caveat to arrest him in his
career.

Another safeguard consists in forming a piece of the _rowan tree_ into
the shape of a cross with a red thread. This cross you will insert
between the lining and cloth of your garment, and, so long as it lasts,
neither ghost nor witch shall ever interfere with you.




PART II.

Fairies.

  There are fairies, and brownies, and shades Amazonian,
  Of harper, and sharper, and old Cameronian;
  Some small as pigmies, some tall as a steeple:
  The spirits are all gone as mad as the people.

                                                  HOGG.




CHAPTER I.

ORIGIN AND GENEALOGY OF THE FAIRIES.


Though the ghost is confessedly entitled to no small degree of
consideration from his intimate connection with our own species, no one
will pretend to deny that the fairy is a character whose _greatness of
descent_ renders him equally interesting and respectable. The genealogy
of the ghost can no doubt be traced back to the earliest ages of the
world, and it is pretty certain that he has been amongst the first of
its inhabitants; still, on the score of antiquity, he cannot pretend
to compete with the fairy, who, it seems, existed long before the
world itself. The origin and descent of the fairies, which had so long
proved such knotty subjects of controversy in other quarters of the
kingdom, are points which have been finally settled and disposed of
in these countries. No doubt now remains, in the minds of those who
have bestowed any attention on the important subject, of there being
those unhappy angels whose diabolical deeds produced their expulsion
from Paradise. In support of this rational theory, the wise men of the
day never fail to quote the highest authority. Scripture, they say,
tells us those angels were cast down; and although, indeed, it does
not mention to what place, sad experience proves the fact, that the
Highland mountains received an ample share of them. Here, wandering up
and down, like the hordes of Tartary, they pitch their camp where spoil
is most plentiful; and taking advantage of the obstinate incredulity of
some of their human neighbours, contrive to make themselves perfectly
comfortable at the latter’s expense. To dispel any doubt that may
remain on the mind of the reader as to the soundness of this doctrine,
we present him with the following particulars:

“Not long since, as a pious clergyman was returning home, after
administering spiritual consolation to a dying member of his flock,
it was late of the night, and he had to pass through a good deal of
_uncanny_ ground. He was, however, a good and conscientious minister
of the gospel, and feared not all the spirits in the country. On his
reaching the end of a lake which stretched alongst the road-side for
some distance, he was a good deal surprised to have his attention
arrested by the most melodious strains of music. Overcome by pleasure
and curiosity, the minister coolly sat down to listen to the harmonious
sounds, and try what new discoveries he could make with regard to
their nature and source. He had not sitten many minutes when he could
distinguish the approach of the music, and also observe a light in the
direction from whence it proceeded, gliding across the lake towards
him. Instead of taking to his heels, as any faithless wight would
have done, the pastor, fearless, determined to await the issue of the
phenomenon. As the light and music drew near, the clergyman could at
length distinguish an object resembling a human being walking on the
surface of the water, attended by a group of diminutive musicians,
some of them bearing lights, and others of them instruments of music,
on which they continued to perform those melodious strains which
first attracted his attention. The leader of the band dismissed
his attendants, landed on the beach, and afforded the minister the
amplest opportunities of examining his appearance. He was a little
primitive-looking grey-headed man, clad in the most grotesque habit
he ever witnessed, and such as led the venerable minister all at once
to suspect his real character. He walked up to the minister, whom he
saluted with great grace, offering an apology for his intrusion. The
pastor returned his compliments, and, without farther explanation,
invited the mysterious stranger to sit down by his side. The invitation
was complied with, upon which the minister proposed the following
question: ‘_Who art thou, stranger, and from whence?_’ To this
question the fairy, with downcast eye, replied, that he was one of
those sometimes called ‘_Doane Shee_, or men of peace, or good men,
though the reverse of this title was a more fit appellation for them.
Originally angelic in his nature and attributes, and once a sharer
of the indescribable joys of the regions of light, he was seduced by
Satan to join him in his mad conspiracies; and as a punishment for his
transgression, he was cast down from those regions of bliss, and was
now doomed, along with millions of fellow-sufferers, to wander through
seas and mountains, until the coming of the great day; what their fate
would be then they could not divine, but they apprehended the worst.
And,’ continued he, turning to the minister, with great anxiety, ‘the
object of my present intrusion on you is to learn your opinion, as an
eminent divine, as to our final condition on that dreadful day.’ Here
the venerable pastor entered upon a long conversation with the fairy,
(the particulars of which we shall be excused for omitting,) touching
the principles of faith and repentance. Receiving rather unsatisfactory
answers to his questions, the minister desired the ‘_Sheech_’ to
repeat after him the Paternoster; in attempting to do which, it was
not a little remarkable that he could not repeat the word ‘_art_,’ but
‘_wert_,’ in heaven. Inferring from every circumstance that their fate
was extremely precarious, the minister resolved not to puff the fairies
up with presumptuous and perhaps groundless expectations. Accordingly,
addressing himself to the unhappy fairy, who was all anxiety to know
the nature of his sentiments, the reverend gentleman told him that he
could not take it upon him to give them any hopes of pardon, as their
crime was of so deep a hue as scarcely to admit of it. On this the
unhappy fairy uttered a shriek of despair, plunged headlong into the
loch, and the minister resumed his course to his home.”




CHAPTER II.

SIMILITUDE OF THE FAIRY.


Of all the different species of supernatural tribes which inhabit those
countries, none of them could ever vie with the fairy community for
personal elegance. Indeed, this seems to be the only remaining vestige
they possess of their primitive character. Though generally low in
stature, they are exceedingly well proportioned, and prepossessing in
their persons. The females, in particular, are said to be the most
enchanting beings in the world, and far beyond what the liveliest
fancy can paint. Eyes sparkling as the brightest of the stars, or the
polished gem of Cairngorm,--cheeks in which the whiteness of the snow
and red of the reddan are blended with the softness of the Cannoch
down,--lips like the coral, and teeth like the ivory,--a redundant
luxuriance of auburn hair hanging down the shoulders in lovely
ringlets, and a gainly simplicity of dress, always of the colour of
green, are prominent features in the description of a Highland fairy
nymph.

But while we agree in some measure with our fellow historians who
have described the fairy race as they exist in other quarters of the
country, in so far as regards their personal beauty, we widely differ
from those historians as to the splendour of their dress as exhibited
in the character of the Highland fairies. Instead of the gorgeous
habiliments of “white and gold dropped with diamonds, and coats of the
threads of gold,” which we are told are worn by those more luxurious
and refined fairies living within the sphere of splendour and fashion
in the Lowlands of Scotland; the Highland fairies, more thrifty and
less voluptuous, clothe themselves in plain worsted green, not woven
by the “_shuttle of Iris_,” but by the greasy shuttle of some Highland
weaver. This description, let it be understood, however, applies only
to the portion of them inhabiting _terra firma_; for the dress of those
whose lot it was to fall in the deep is of a very different nature,
consisting entirely of seal-skins, and such other _marine_ apparel as
is most suitable and appropriate to their element.

The following story will throw some light upon the manners and _habits_
of this portion of the fairy tribes.

There was once upon a time a man who lived on the northern coasts, not
far from “_Taigh Jan Crot Callow_,”[B] and he gained his livelihood
by catching and killing fish, of all sizes and denominations. He had
a particular liking to the killing of those wonderful beasts, half
dog half fish, called “Roane,” or Seals, no doubt because he got a
long price for their skins, which are not less curious than they are
valuable. The truth is, that most of these animals are neither dogs nor
cods, but downright fairies, as this narration will show; and, indeed,
it is easy for any man to convince himself of the fact by a simple
examination of his _tobacco-spluichdan_,--for the dead skins of those
beings are never the same for four-and-twenty hours together. Sometimes
the “_spluichdan_” will erect its bristles almost perpendicularly,
while, at other times, it reclines them even down; one time it
resembles a bristly sow, at another time a _sleekit cat_; and what dead
skin, except itself, could perform such cantrips? Now, it happened
one day, as this notable fisher had returned from the prosecution
of his calling, that he was called upon by a man who seemed a great
stranger, and who said he had been dispatched for him by a person
who wished to contract for a quantity of seal-skins, and that it was
necessary for the fisher to accompany him (the stranger) immediately
to see the person who wished to contract for the skins, as it was
necessary that he should be served that evening. Happy in the prospect
of making a good bargain, and never suspecting any duplicity in the
stranger, he instantly complied. They both mounted a steed belonging
to the stranger, and took the road with such velocity that, although
the direction of the wind was towards their back, yet the fleetness
of their movement made it appear as if it had been in their faces. On
reaching a stupendous precipice which overhung the sea, his guide told
him they had now reached the point of their destination. “Where is the
person you spoke of?” inquired the astonished seal-killer. “You shall
see that presently,” replied the guide. With that they immediately
alighted, and, without allowing the seal-killer much time to indulge
the frightful suspicions that began to pervade his mind, the stranger
seized him with irresistible force, and plunged headlong with the
seal-killer into the sea. After sinking down--down--nobody knows
how far, they at length reached a door, which, being open, led them
into a range of apartments, filled with inhabitants--not people, but
seals, who could nevertheless speak and feel like human folk; and how
much was the seal-killer surprised to find that he himself had been
unconsciously transformed into the like image! If it were not so, he
would probably have died, from the want of breath. The nature of the
poor fisher’s thoughts may be more easily conceived than described.
Looking on the nature of the quarters into which he was landed, all
hopes of escape from them appeared wholly chimerical, whilst the
degree of comfort and length of life which the barren scene promised
him were far from being flattering. The “Roane,” who all seemed in
very low spirits, appeared to feel for him, and endeavoured to soothe
the distress which he evinced, by the amplest assurances of personal
safety. Involved in sad meditation on his evil fate, he was quickly
roused from his stupor, by his guide’s producing a huge gully or
joctaleg, the object of which he supposed was to put an end to all his
earthly cares. Forlorn as was his situation, however, he did not wish
to be killed; and, apprehending instant destruction, he fell down,
and earnestly implored for mercy. The poor generous animals did not
mean him any harm, however much his former conduct deserved it; and he
was accordingly desired to pacify himself, and cease his cries. “Did
you ever see that knife before?” says the stranger to the fisher. The
latter instantly recognising his own knife, which he had that day stuck
into a seal, and with which it made its escape, acknowledged it was
formerly his own, for what would be the use of denying it? “Well!”
rejoins the guide, “the apparent seal, which made away with it, is my
father, who lies dangerously ill ever since, and no means could stay
his fleeting breath, without your aid. I have been obliged to resort
to the artifice I have practised to bring you hither, and I trust that
my filial duty to my father will readily operate my excuse.” Having
said this, he led into another apartment the trembling seal-killer,
who expected every minute a return of his own favour to the father;
and here he found the identical seal, with which he had the encounter
in the morning, suffering most grievously from a tremendous cut in
its hind-quarter. The seal-killer was then desired, with his hand, to
cicatrize the wound; upon doing which, it immediately healed, and the
seal arose from its bed in perfect health. Upon this, the scene changed
from mourning to rejoicing,--all was mirth and glee. Very different,
however, were the feelings of the unfortunate seal-catcher, expecting,
no doubt, to be a seal for the remainder of his life, until his late
guide accosted him as follows: “Now, sir, you are at liberty to return
to your wife and family, to whom I am about to conduct you; but it
is on this express condition, to which you must bind yourself by a
solemn oath, viz., that you shall never maim or kill a seal in all your
lifetime hereafter.” To this condition, hard as it was, he joyfully
acceded; and the oath being administered in all due form, he bade his
new acquaintance most heartily and sincerely a long farewell. Taking
hold of his guide, they issued from the place, and swam up--up--till
they regained the surface of the sea; and, landing at the said
stupendous pinnacle, they found their former riding steed ready for
a second canter. The guide breathed upon the fisher, and they became
like men. They mounted their horse; and fleet as was their course
towards the precipice or pinnacle, their return from it was doubly
swift; and the honest seal-killer was laid down at his own door-cheek,
where his guide made him such a present as would have almost reconciled
him to another similar expedition, and such as rendered his loss of
profession, in so far as regarded the seals, a far less intolerable
hardship than he had at first contemplated it.




CHAPTER III.

OF THE FAIRIES AS A COMMUNITY--THEIR POLITICAL PRINCIPLES AND INGENIOUS
HABITS.


From the description the reader may have seen of the fairy community
in general, as drawn in the works of the eminent writers of the day,
he may have been led to form very erroneous estimates not only of the
dress of the _Highland_ fairies, but also of their political economy
and government.

There are few who have not heard of the illustrious and divine beauty
of the Queen of the Fairies, and the splendid and dazzling courts
with which her majesty is surrounded on all occasions of intercourse
with the inhabitants of this world. It appears, however, from all
that the compiler can learn, that the empire of Queen Mab, like that
of the renowned Cæsar, never was extended to the northern side of the
Grampians, for she is entirely unknown in those countries. Indeed, it
is believed that the Highland fairies acknowledge no distinctions of
this sort. As there were originally none such amongst them in Paradise,
so they are not disposed to create any on earth,--and a more complete
republic never was.

It is true, Satan, no doubt, exercises a sort of impotent chieftainship
over them as his once rebellious confederates,--but, it is believed,
his laws and his edicts are as much despised by them as those of the
Great Mogul. In spite of all his power and policy, like the Israelites
of old, each does what is right in his own eyes; and, unless on a
Halloweven, or such occasion of state, they may submit to a pageant
review more from motives of vanity than of loyalty, Auld Nick’s ancient
sovereignty over the fairy community in this land of freedom has fallen
into desuetude.

The fairies are a very ingenious people. As may be expected from the
nature of their origin and descent, they are possessed of very superior
intellectual powers, which they know well enough how to apply to useful
purposes. Nor are they so vain of their abilities as to scorn to direct
them to the prosecution of those more ignoble employments, on which the
politer part of mankind commonly look down with contempt. Whether this
condescension, on the part of the fairy, be more the result of choice
or necessity, it is hard for us to determine; but certain it is, that
few communities can boast of a more numerous or more proficient body of
artisans. We are told, indeed, by some of those well acquainted with
their manners, that every individual fairy combines all the necessary
arts in his own person--that he is his own weaver, his own tailor, and
his own shoemaker. Whether this is truly the case public opinion is
rather divided; but all our informants concur in this conclusion--that
by far the greater number of them understand well enough those several
callings; and the expertness they display in handling the shuttle, the
needle, and the awl, evidently demonstrate their practical knowledge of
these implements. In support of this conclusion, we have the authority
of a decent old man, whose veracity, on subjects of this description,
has never been questioned in the district in which he lived, who
favoured the compiler with the following narration:

“My great-grandfather, (peace to his manes!) who was by profession a
weaver, and, by the bye, a very honest man, though I should not say it,
was waked one night from his midnight sleep by a tremendous noise. On
looking ‘_out over_’ the bed, to see whence it proceeded, he was not
a little astonished to find the house full of operative fairies, who,
with the greatest familiarity, had made free with his manufacturing
implements. Having provided themselves with a large sack of wool,--from
whence it came they best knew,--they were actively employed in
converting it into cloth. While one teethed it, another carded it;
while another span it, another wove it; while another dyed it, another
pressed it; while the united bustle of their several operations, joined
to the exclamations uttered by each expressive of his avocation,
created a clamour truly intolerable to the gudeman of the house, with
whom they used so unacceptable a freedom. So diligent were they, that
long ere day they decamped with a web of green cloth, consisting of
fifty ells and more, without even thanking my venerable grandfather for
the use of his machinery.”

Another narrative, with which we were favoured, related the activity
of a fairy shoemaker, who sewed a pair of shoes for a “_mountain
shepherd_” during the time the latter mealed a bicker of pottage
for them. And another narrative related the expertness of a fairy
_barber_, who shaved an acquaintance so effectually with no sharper a
razor than the palm of his hand, that he never afterwards required to
undergo the same operation. These, and a number of equally creditable
stories, confirm their transcendent superiority as artisans over any
other class of people in Christendom.

Nor in the more honourable and learned professions are they less
dexterous. As architects they stand quite unrivalled. To prove their
excellence in this art we have only to consider the durability of
their habitations. Some of these, it is said, have outlived the
ravages of time and vicissitudes of weather for some thousand years,
without sustaining any other injury than the suffocation of the
smoke-vents--defects which could no doubt be repaired with little
trouble. But as the relics of former ages receive additional interest
from their rude and ruinous appearance, so must these monuments of
fairy genius excite in the breasts of the community the most profound
sentiments of respect and veneration.

Nor are these the only monuments remaining calculated to perpetuate
their excellence as architects and engineers,--there are others of
too lasting and extraordinary a character to escape the notice of the
traditional historian. We allude to those stupendous superstructures
built by the fairies under the auspices of that distinguished
arch-architect Mr. Michael Scott, which sufficiently demonstrate the
skill of the designer and the ability of the workmen. As the history
of this celebrated character (rendered not the less interesting by the
notices of him written by the Minstrel of Minstrels) is not yet quite
complete, we shall make no apology for submitting to the reader the
following anecdotes of his life, which we have collected in the course
of our peregrinations.


MICHAEL SCOTT.

In the early part of Michael Scott’s life he was in the habit, as is
not yet uncommon with northern tradesmen, of emigrating annually to the
Scottish metropolis, for the purpose of being employed in his capacity
of mason. One time, as himself and two companions were journeying to
the place of their destination for a similar object, they had occasion
to pass over a high hill, the name of which is not mentioned, but
supposed to be one of the Grampians, and being fatigued with climbing,
they sat down to rest themselves. They had no sooner done so than they
were warned to take to their heels by the hissing of a large serpent,
which they observed revolving itself towards them with great velocity.
Terrified at the sight, Michael’s two companions fled, while he, on
the contrary, resolved to encounter the serpent. The appalling monster
approached Michael Scott with distended mouth and forked tongue; and,
throwing itself into a coil at his feet, was raising its head to
inflict a mortal sting, when Michael, with one stroke of his stick,
severed its body into three pieces. Having rejoined his affrighted
comrades, they resumed their journey; and, on arriving at the next
public-house, it being late, and the travellers being weary, they took
up their quarters at it for the night. In the course of the night’s
conversation, recurrence was naturally had to Michael’s recent exploit
with the serpent, when the landlady of the house, who was remarkable
for her “arts,” happened to be present. Her curiosity appeared much
excited by the conversation; and, after making some inquiries regarding
the colour of the serpent, which she was told was _white_, she offered
any of them, that would procure her the middle piece, such a tempting
reward, as induced one of the party instantly to go for it. The
distance was not very great; and, on reaching the spot, he found the
middle and tail piece in the place where Michael left them; but the
head piece was gone, it is supposed, to a contiguous stream, to which
the serpent is said always to resort, after an encounter with the human
race, and, on immersing itself into the water, “like polypus asunder
cut,” it again regenerates and recovers. On the other hand, it is a
circumstance deserving the attention of the medical world, that should
an individual, unfortunate enough to be bitten by this galling enemy
of mankind, reach the water before the serpent, his recovery from the
effects of the calamity is equally indubitable.

The landlady, on receiving the piece, which still vibrated with life,
seemed highly gratified at her acquisition; and, over and above the
promised reward, regaled her lodgers very plentifully with the choicest
dainties in her house. Fired with curiosity to know the purpose for
which the serpent was intended, the wily Michael Scott was immediately
seized with a severe fit of indisposition,--an excruciating colic, the
pains of which could only be alleviated by continual exposure to the
fire, the warmth of which, he affirmed, was in the highest degree
beneficial to him.

Never suspecting Michael Scott’s hypocrisy, and naturally supposing
that a person so severely indisposed should feel very little curiosity
about the contents of any cooking utensils which might lie around the
fire, the landlady consented to his desire of being allowed to recline
all night along the fireside. As soon as the other inmates of the house
were retired to bed, the landlady resorted to her darling occupation;
and, in this feigned state of indisposition, Michael had a favourable
opportunity of watching most scrupulously all her actions, through
the key-hole of a door leading to the next apartment where she was.
He could see the rites and ceremonies with which the serpent was put
into an oven, along with many mysterious ingredients. After which,
the unsuspicious landlady placed it by the fireside, where lay our
distressed traveller, to stove till the morning.

Once or twice, in the course of the night, the “wife of the
change-house,” under pretence of inquiring for her sick lodger, and
administering to him some renovating cordials, the beneficial effects
of which he gratefully acknowledged, took occasion to dip her finger in
her saucepan, upon which the cock, perched on his roost, crowed aloud.
All Michael’s sickness could not prevent him from considering very
inquisitively the landlady’s cantrips, and particularly the influence
of the sauce upon the crowing of the cock. Nor could he dissipate some
inward desires he felt to follow her example. At the same time that he
suspected that Satan had a hand in the pye, yet he liked very much to
be at the bottom of the concern; and thus his reason and his curiosity
clashed against each other for the space of several hours. At length,
passion, as is too often the case, became the conqueror. Michael,
too, dipt his finger in the sauce, and applied it to the tip of his
tongue, and immediately the cock perched on the _spardan_ announced the
circumstance in a mournful clarion. Instantly his mind received a new
light to which he was formerly a stranger, and the astonished dupe of a
landlady now found it her interest to admit her sagacious lodger into a
knowledge of the remainder of her secrets.

Endowed with the knowledge of “_good and evil_,” and all the
“_second sights_” that can be acquired, Michael left his lodgings in
the morning, with the philosopher’s stone in his pocket. By daily
perfecting his supernatural attainments, by new series of discoveries,
he was more than a match for Satan himself. Having seduced some
thousands of Satan’s best workmen into his employment, he trained them
up so successfully to the architective business, and inspired them
with such industrious habits, that he was more than sufficient for the
architectural work of the empire. To establish this assertion, we need
only refer to some remains of his workmanship still existing north of
the Grampians, some of them stupendous bridges built by him in one
short night, with no other visible agents than two or three workmen.

As the following anecdote is so applicable to our purpose, we shall
submit it to the reader as a specimen of the expertness of Mr. Scott
and his agents.

On one occasion, work was getting scarce, as might have been naturally
expected, and his workmen, as they were wont, flocked to his doors,
perpetually exclaiming, Work! work! work! Continually annoyed by their
incessant entreaties, he called out to them in derision to go and make
a dry road from Fortrose to Arderseir over the Moray Firth. Immediately
their cry ceased, and as Mr. Scott supposed it wholly impracticable for
them to execute his order, he retired to rest, laughing most heartily
at the chimerical sort of employment he had given to his industrious
workmen. Early in the morning, however, he got up and took a walk down
at the break of day to the shore, to divert himself at the fruitless
labours of his zealous workmen. But on reaching the spot, what was his
astonishment to find the formidable piece of work allotted to them only
a few hours before almost quite finished. Seeing the great damage the
commercial class of the community would sustain from the operation, he
ordered them to demolish the most part of their work; leaving, however,
the point of Fortrose to show the traveller to this day the wonderful
exploit of Michael Scott’s fairies.

On being thus again thrown out of employment, their former clamour was
resumed, nor could Michael Scott, with all his sagacity, devise a plan
to keep them in innocent employment. He at length discovered one. “Go,”
says he, “and manufacture me ropes that will carry me to the back of
the moon, of those materials, _miller’s-sudds_ and sea-sand.” Michael
Scott here obtained rest from his active operators; for, when other
work failed them, he always dispatched them to their rope-manufactory.
“But,” says our relator, “though these agents could never make proper
ropes of those materials, their efforts to that effect are far from
being contemptible,--for some of their ropes are seen by the seaside
till this blessed day.”

We shall close our notice of Michael Scott by reciting one anecdote of
him in the latter end of his life, which, on that account, will not be
the less interesting.

In consequence of a violent quarrel which Michael Scott once had with
a person whom he conceived to have caused him some injury, Michael
resolved, as the highest punishment he could inflict upon him, to send
his adversary to that evil place designed only for Satan and his black
companions. He, accordingly, by means of his supernatural machinations,
sent the poor unfortunate man thither; and had he been sent by any
other means than those of Michael Scott, he would no doubt have met
with a warm reception. Out of pure spite to Michael, however, when
Satan learned who was his billet-master, he would no more receive him
than he would receive the Wife of Beth; and, instead of treating the
unfortunate man with that harshness characteristic of him, he showed
him considerable civilities. Introducing him to his “_Ben Taigh_,” he
directed her to show the stranger any curiosities he might wish to see,
hinting very significantly that he had provided some accommodations for
their mutual friend Michael Scott, the sight of which might afford him
some gratification. The polite housekeeper, accordingly, conducted the
stranger through the principal apartments in the house, where he saw
sights which, it is hoped, the reader will never witness. But the bed
of Michael Scott!--his greatest enemy could not but feel satiate with
revenge at the sight of it. It was a place too horrid to be described,
filled promiscuously with all the horrid brutes imaginable. Toads
and lions, lizards and leeches, and, amongst the rest, not the least
conspicuous, a large serpent gaping for Michael Scott, with its mouth
wide open. This last sight having satisfied the stranger’s curiosity,
he was led to the outer gate, and came off with far more agreeable
reflections than when he entered.

He reached his friends, and, among other pieces of news touching his
travels, he was not backward in relating the entertainment that awaited
his friend Michael Scott, as soon as he would _stretch his foot_ for
the other world. But Michael did not at all appear disconcerted at
his friend’s intelligence. He affirmed that he would disappoint the
d--l and him both in their expectations. In proof of which, he gave
the following signs: “When I am just dead,” says he, “open my breast,
and extract my heart. Carry it to some place where the public may see
the result. You will then transfix it upon a long pole, and if Satan
will have my soul, he will come in the likeness of a black raven, and
carry it off; and if my soul will be saved, it will be carried off by
a white dove.” His friends faithfully obeyed his instructions. Having
exhibited his heart in the manner directed, a large black raven was
observed to come from the east with great fleetness; while a white dove
came from the west with equal velocity. The raven made a furious dash
at the heart, missing which, it was unable to curb its force, till it
was considerably past it; and the dove, reaching the spot at the same
time, carried off the heart amidst the cheers and ejaculations of the
spectators.




CHAPTER IV.

OF THEIR DOMESTIC ECONOMY AND FESTIVE HABITS.


It is well known that the fairies are a sociable people, passionately
given to festive amusements and jocund hilarity. Hence, it seldom
happens that they cohabit in pairs, like most other species, but rove
about in bands, each band having a stated habitation or residence, to
which they resort as occasion suggests.

Their habitations are generally found in rough irregular precipices and
broken caverns, remarkable for wildness of scenery, from whence we may
infer that they are particularly fond of what we term the Romantic.
These habitations are composed of stones, in the form of irregular
turrets, of such size and shapes as the nature of the materials and
the taste of the architect happened to suggest, and so solid in their
structure as frequently to resemble “masses of rocks or earthen
hillocks.”

Their doors, windows, smoke-vents, and other conveniences, are so
artfully constructed, as to be invisible to the naked eye in day-light,
though in dark nights splendid lights are frequently reflected through
their invisible casements.

Within those “_Tomhans_,” or, as others term them, “Shian,” sociality
and mirth are ever the inmates,--and they are so much addicted to
dancing, that it forms their chief and favourite amusement. The length
of their reels will be judged of from the following narrative:

“Once upon a time, a tenant in the neighbourhood of Cairngorm in
Strathspey emigrated with his family and cattle to the forest of
Glenavon, which is well known to be inhabited by many fairies as well
as ghosts. Two of his sons having been one night late out in search
of some of their sheep which had strayed, they had occasion to pass
a fairy turret, or dwelling, of very large dimensions; and what was
their astonishment on observing streams of the most refulgent light
shining forth through innumerable crevices in the rock--crevices which
the sharpest eye in the country had never seen before. Curiosity led
them towards the turret, when they were charmed by the most exquisite
sounds ever emitted by a fiddle-string, which, joined to the sportive
mirth and glee accompanying it, reconciled them in a great measure to
the scene, although they knew well enough the inhabitants were fairies.
Nay, overpowered by the enchanting jigs played by the fiddler, one
of the brothers had even the hardihood to propose that they should
pay the occupants of the turret a short visit. To this motion the
other brother, fond as he was of dancing, and animated as he was by
the music, would by no means consent, and very earnestly inculcated
upon his brother many pithy arguments well calculated to restrain his
curiosity. But every new jig that was played, and every new reel that
was danced, inspired the adventurous brother with additional ardour;
and at length, completely fascinated by the enchanting revelry,
leaving all prudence behind, at one leap he entered the ‘Shian.’ The
poor forlorn brother was now left in a most uncomfortable situation.
His grief for the loss of a brother whom he dearly loved suggested to
him more than once the desperate idea of sharing his fate, by following
his example. But, on the other hand, when he coolly considered the
possibility of sharing very different entertainment from that which
rung upon his ears, and remembering, too, the comforts and conveniences
of his father’s fireside, the idea immediately appeared to him any
thing but prudent. After a long and disagreeable altercation between
his affection for his brother and his regard for himself, he came to
the resolution of trying a middle course;--that is, to send in at the
window a few remonstrances to his brother, which if he did not attend
to, let the consequences be upon his own head. Accordingly, taking his
station at one of the crevices, and calling upon his brother, three
several times, by name, as use is, he sent in to him, as aforesaid,
the most moving pieces of elocution he could think upon,--imploring
him, as he valued his poor parent’s life and blessing, to come forth
and go home with him, Donald Macgillivray, his thrice affectionate and
unhappy brother. But, whether it was he could not hear this eloquent
harangue, or, what is more probable, that he did not choose to attend
to it, certain it is, that it proved totally ineffectual to accomplish
its object,--and the consequence was, that Donald Macgillivray found
it equally much his duty and his interest to return home to his family
with the melancholy tale of poor Rory’s fate. All the prescribed
ceremonies calculated to rescue him from the fairy dominion were
resorted to by his mourning relatives without effect, and Rory was
supposed as lost for ever, when a _wise man_ of the day having learned
the circumstance, set them upon a plan of having him delivered at the
end of twelve months from his entry. ‘Return,’ says the _Duin Glichd_
to Donald, ‘to the place where you lost your brother, a year and a day
from the time. You will insert in your garment a Rowan Cross, which
will protect you from the fairies’ interposition. Enter the turret
boldly and resolutely, in the name of the Highest claim your brother,
and, if he does not accompany you voluntarily, seize him and carry him
off by force,--none dare interfere with you.’”

The experiment appeared to the cautious contemplative brother as one
that was fraught with no ordinary danger, and he would have most
willingly declined the prominent character allotted to him in the
performance of it, but for the importunate entreaty of his friends, who
implored him, as he valued their blessing, not to slight such excellent
advice. Their entreaties, together with his confidence in the virtues
of the Rowan Cross, overcame his scruples, and he, at length, agreed to
put the experiment in practice, whatever the result might be.

Well then, the important day arrived, when the father of those two
sons was destined either to recover his lost son, or to lose the only
son he had, and, anxious as the father felt, Donald Macgillivray,
the intended adventurer, felt no less on the occasion. The hour of
midnight approached, when the drama was to be acted, and Donald
Macgillivray, loaded with all the charms and benedictions in his
country, took mournful leave of his friends, and proceeded to the scene
of his intended enterprise. On approaching the well-known turret, a
repetition of that mirth and those ravishing sounds, that had been the
source of so much sorrow to himself and family, once more attracted
his attention, without at all creating in his mind any extraordinary
feelings of satisfaction. On the contrary, he abhorred the sounds most
heartily, and felt much greater inclination to recede than to advance.
But what was to be done? courage, character, and every thing dear to
him, were at stake--so that to advance was his only alternative. In
short, he reached the “_Shian_,” and after twenty fruitless attempts,
he at length entered the place with trembling footsteps, and, amidst
the brilliant and jovial scene, the not least gratifying spectacle
which presented itself to Donald was his brother Rory earnestly
engaged at the Highland Fling on the floor, at which, as might have
been expected, he had greatly improved. Without losing much time in
satisfying his curiosity, by examining the quality of the company, he
ran to his brother, repeating, most vehemently, the words prescribed
to him by the “_Wise man_”--seized him by the collar, and insisted he
should immediately accompany him home to his poor afflicted parents.
Rory assented, provided he would allow him to finish his single reel,
assuring Donald, very earnestly, that he had not been half an hour in
the house. In vain did the latter assure the former, that, instead of
half an hour, he had actually remained twelve months. Nor would he have
believed his overjoyed friends on reaching home, “did not the calves,
now grown into stots, and the newborn babes, now travelling the house,
at length convince him, that in his single reel he had danced for a
twelvemonth and a day.”

This reel, however, in which Rory Macgillivray had been engaged,
although it may be considered of pretty moderate length, will form but
a short space in a night’s entertainment, of which the following is a
brief account:

“Nearly three hundred years ago, there lived in Strathspey two men,
greatly celebrated for their performances on the fiddle. It happened
upon a certain Christmas time that they had formed the resolution of
going to Inverness, to be employed in their musical capacities during
that festive season. Accordingly, having arrived in that great town,
and secured lodgings, they sent round the newsman and his bell, to
announce to the inhabitants their arrival in town, and the object of
it, their great celebrity in their own country, the number of tunes
they played, and their rate of charge per day, per night, or hour.
Very soon after, they were called upon by a venerable-looking old man,
grey-haired and somewhat wrinkled, of genteel deportment and liberal
disposition; for, instead of grudging their charges, as they expected,
he only said that he would double the demand. They cheerfully agreed
to accompany him, and soon they found themselves at the door of a very
curious dwelling, the appearance of which they did not at all relish.
It was night, but still they could easily distinguish the house to be
neither like the great Castle Grant, Castle Lethindry, Castle Roy,
or Castle-na-muchkeruch at home, nor like any other house they had
seen on their travels. It resembled a huge fairy ‘Tomhan,’ such as
are seen in Glenmore. But the mild persuasive eloquence of the guide,
reinforced by the irresistible arguments of a purse of gold, soon
removed any scruples they felt at the idea of entering so novel a
mansion. They entered the place, and all sensations of fear were soon
absorbed in those of admiration of the august assembly which surrounded
them; strings tuned to sweet harmony soon gave birth to glee in the
dwelling. The floor bounded beneath the agile ‘_fantastic toe_,’ and
gaiety in its height pervaded every soul present. The night passed on
harmoniously, while the diversity of the reels and the loveliness of
the dancers presented to the fiddlers the most gratifying scene they
ever witnessed; and in the morning, when the ball was terminated, they
took their leave, sorry that the time of their engagement was so short,
and highly gratified at the liberal treatment which they experienced.
But what was their astonishment, on issuing forth from this strange
dwelling, when they beheld the novel scene which surrounded them.
Instead of coming out of a castle, they found they had come out of a
little hill, they knew not what way; and on entering the town they
found those objects which yesterday shone in all the splendour of
novelty, to-day exhibit only the ruins and ravages of time, while the
strange innovations of dress and manners displayed by their numerous
spectators filled them with wonder and consternation. At last a mutual
understanding took place between themselves and the crowd assembled to
look upon them, and a short account of their adventures led the more
sagacious part of the spectators to suspect at once that they had been
paying a visit to the inhabitants of _Tomnafurich_, which, not long
ago, was the grand rendezvous of many of the fairy bands inhabiting
the surrounding districts; and the arrival of a very old man on the
spot set the matter fairly at rest. On being attracted by the crowd,
he walked up to the two poor old oddities, who were the subject of
amazement, and having learned their history, thus addressed them: ‘You
are the two men my great-grandfather lodged, and who, it was supposed,
were decoyed by Thomas Rymer to Tomnafurich. Sore did your friends
lament your loss--but the lapse of a hundred years has now rendered
your name extinct.’

“Finding every circumstance conspire to verify the old man’s story,
the poor fiddlers were naturally inspired with feelings of reverential
awe at the secret wonders of the Deity--and it being the Sabbath-day,
they naturally wished to indulge those feelings in a place of worship.
They, accordingly, proceeded to church, and took their places, to
hear public worship, and sat for a while listening to the pealing
bells, which, while they summoned the remainder of the congregation to
church, summoned them to their long homes. When the ambassador of peace
ascended the sacred place, to announce to his flock the glad tidings of
the Gospel--strange to tell, at the first word uttered by his lips, his
ancient hearers, the poor deluded fiddlers, both crumbled into dust.”




CHAPTER V.

OF THE PASSIONS AND PROPENSITIES OF THE FAIRIES.


The ingenious reader must not suppose that, because the fairies were
once angelic, they have continued so in this corrupt world to the
present day. They will be found to exhibit in their conduct as signal
proofs of degeneracy from their original innocence and worth as their
mortal contemporary, man; and, as may be concluded, this degeneracy
has entailed upon them those passions and infirmities, from which they
were, no doubt, once on a time exempt.

The fairies are remarkable for the amorousness of their dispositions,
and are not very backward in forming attachments and connections with
the people that cannot with propriety be called their own species. We
are told it is an undeniable fact, that it was once a common practice
with both sexes of the fairy people to form intimacies with human
swains and damsels, whom they would visit at times and in places
highly unbecoming and suspicious; and these improper intimacies
not unfrequently produced, as may be well believed, _their natural
consequences_. It exposed the fairy-females to that indisposition to
which, before their fall, they were no doubt strangers--we mean the
pains of child-birth, which, it seems, they suffer in common with
their earthly neighbours. To the more sceptical part of our readers,
the idea of fairy fruition may appear somewhat incredible. In order,
however, to remove any doubt on the subject, we submit the particulars
of a fairy accouchement, which took place, no doubt, “a considerable
time ago,” in the wilds of Cairngorm:

“A considerable time ago there was a woman living in the neighbourhood
of Cairngorm in Strathspey, by profession a midwife, of extensive
practice, and esteemed, indeed, the best midwife in the district. One
night, while she was preparing for bed, there came a loud knocking
to her door, indicating great haste in the person that knocked. The
midwife was accustomed to such late intrusions, and concluded, even
before she opened the door, that her presence was too much required
at a _sick-bed_. She found the person that knocked to be a rider and
his horse, _both out of breath_, and most impatient for her company.
The rider entreated the midwife to make haste, and jump up behind him
without a single moment’s delay, else that the life of an amiable
woman was lost for ever. But the midwife, having a great regard to
cleanliness and decorum, requested leave to exchange her apparel before
she set out; a motion which, on the part of the rider, was met with
a decided negative, and nothing would satisfy the rider but that the
midwife would immediately jump up behind him on his grey horse. His
importunities were irresistible, the midwife mounted, and off they
flew at full gallop. The midwife being now seated, and fleeing on the
road, she began naturally to question her guide what he was--where he
was going--and how far. He, however, declined immediately making any
other reply to her questions than merely saying that she would be well
rewarded, which, however consoling, was far from being satisfactory
information to the midwife. At length the course they pursued, and the
road they took, alarmed the midwife beyond measure, and her guide found
it necessary to appease her fears by explaining the matter, otherwise
she would, in all probability, prove inadequate to the discharge of
her duty. ‘My good woman,’ says the fairy to the midwife, ‘be not
alarmed; though I am conducting you to a fairy habitation to assist a
fairy lady in distress, be not dismayed, I beseech you; for I promise
you, by all that is sacred, you shall sustain no injury, but will
be safely restored to your dwelling when your business is effected,
with such boon or present as you shall choose to ask or accept of.’
The fairy was a sweet good-looking young fellow, and the candour of
his speech and the mildness of his demeanour soothed her fears, and
reconciled the _Ben Ghlun_, in a great measure, to the enterprise.
They were not long in reaching the place, when the midwife found the
fairy lady in any thing but easy circumstances, and soon proved the
auspicious instrument of bringing to the world a fine lusty boy. All
was joy and rejoicing in consequence, and all the fairies in the
turret flattered and caressed the midwife. She was desired to choose
any gift in the power of fairies to grant, which was instantly to be
given her. Upon which she asked, as a boon, that whomsoever she or her
posterity should attend in her professional capacity, a safe and speedy
delivery should be insured them. The favour was instantly conferred on
her, and all know to this day that _Muruch-na-Ban_, the man-midwife,
possesses, in no inconsiderable degree, the professional talents of his
great-grandmother.”

Before concluding this chapter, we owe it, in justice to both the human
and fairy communities of the present day, to say, that such intercourse
as that described to have taken place betwixt them is now extremely
rare; and, with the single exception of a good old shoemaker, now or
lately living in the village of Tomantoul, who confesses having had
some dalliances with a “_lanan shi_” in his younger days, we do not
know personally any one who has carried matters this length.




CHAPTER VI.

OF THE FAIRY’S EMBEZZLING AND CRIMINAL PROPENSITIES.


But, although the correspondence now subsisting between the human and
fairy people is much more chaste and innocent than it was of old, still
it appears that the strong predilection which the fairies entertained
for human society is far from being yet extinguished. It is no doubt
the existence of this predilection on the part of the former, and the
increasing shyness on the part of the latter, that could induce the
fairies to resort to those dishonest methods to which they now recur,
to have their passion for human society gratified.

We presume the reader is aware that the fairies are much addicted to
that heinous crime child-stealing--a crime which these people, in
consequence, no doubt, of their long experience in the practice, commit
with wonderful address. Often have they robbed the inexperienced mother
of her tender babe in the height of day, while his place is taken by an
impudent impostor, whose sham sickness and death entail on the unhappy
parent an additional load of misery. To warn unsuspicious mothers of
the dangers to which themselves and their offspring are exposed from
fairy practices, the following narrative may be of use:

“There were once two natives of Strathspey who were in the habit
of dealing a little in the whisky way--that is to say, they were
accustomed occasionally to visit a family in Glenlivat, from whom they
would buy a few barrels, which they would again dispose of among the
gentlemen of Badenoch and Fort-William, to pretty good account; and on
those occasions, for reasons well known to every district gauger, (an
evil death to him!) the Strathspeymen always found it most convenient
to travel by night. Well, then, on one of those occasions, as they
were busy measuring the whisky in the friend’s house at Glenlivat, a
little child belonging to the goodman, and which lay in the cradle,
uttered a piteous cry, as if it had been shot. The goodwife, according
to custom, blessed her child, and, as she supposed, raised it from the
cradle. Ascribing the cry merely to infantine frailty or fretfulness,
the Strathspeymen took no particular notice of it, and having their
business transacted, they proceeded on their way with their cargo.
A short distance from their friend’s house, they were not a little
astonished to find a little child abandoned on the high road, without a
being in sight of it. One of the lads took it up in his arms, on which
it ceased its plaintive cries, and with great fondness clasped his
little hands round his neck, and smiled. This naturally excited some
curiosity, and on closer examination they clearly recognised it to be
their friend’s child. Suspicion was instantly attached to the fairies,
and this suspicion was a great deal strengthened by the circumstance of
the cry uttered by the child, as already mentioned. Indeed, they came
to an immediate conclusion that the fairies, having embezzled the real
child, then in their possession, and deposited a stock or substitute in
its place, it was the lucky presence of mind discovered by its mother
in blessing it, on its having uttered the cry, that rescued it from
fairy dominion, for no sooner was the blessing pronounced than they
were compelled to abandon the child. As their time was limited, they
could not with convenience immediately return to their friend’s house
to solve the mysterious occurrence, but proceeded on their journey,
taking special care of their little foundling.

“In about a fortnight thereafter, having occasion for a few barrels
more, they returned to Glenlivat, taking the child along with them,
which, however, they concealed on arriving at the father’s house.
In the course of mutual inquiries for each other’s welfare, the
goodwife took occasion to lament very bitterly a severe and protracted
illness which seized her child on the night of their preceding visit,
the nature of which illness could not be ascertained, but, at all
events, certain death was the consequence to the child. During this
lamentation, the impostor uttered the most piteous cries, and appeared
in the last stage of his sufferings; upon this, the lads, without any
preliminary remarks, produced their little charge, telling the mother
to take courage, that they now presented her with her real child, as
healthy and thriving as a trout, and that the object of her great
solicitude was nothing more than a barefaced fairy impostor. A short
statement of facts induced the happy mother to agree to an exchange,
she receiving back her child, and the lads the stock or impostor,
to whom his new proprietors proceeded to administer a warm specific
commonly given to his kin on similar occasions. They procured an old
creel and a bunch of straw, in order to try the effects the burning
element would have in curing him of his grievous complaints. But at the
appearance of those articles, the stock took the hint, and not choosing
to wait a trial of its effects, flew out at the smoke-hole, telling the
exulting spectators, on attaining the top of the ‘_Lum_,’ that, had it
not been for the unfortunate arrival of the two travellers, he should
have given the inmates very different entertainment.”

When we reflect upon the extreme covetousness manifested by the fairies
for human children, the frequent instances of their embezzlement, and,
on the other hand, the ease and simplicity by which these robberies
can be foiled, we feel persuaded neither mother nor nurse will now
neglect the safeguards prescribed for the preservation of children
from such practices. It is universally allowed by people conversant in
those important matters, that suspending the child’s head downwards,
on its being dressed in the morning, is an excellent preservative from
every species of supernatural agency, and this is certainly a cheap and
simple process. A red thread tied about its neck, or a rowan cross,
are said to be equally efficacious in preventing the influence of evil
spirits, evil eyes, and other calamities of the same description.

But as it is natural to suppose that those precautions will still
be sometimes neglected, as they have always too often been, it is
fortunate that a remedy has been discovered for those desperate cases,
where repentance for past imprudence would not avail. When a child has
actually been stolen, and a stock or substitute left in its stead,
the child may be recovered in the following manner:--Let the stock be
carried to the junction of three shires, or the confluence of three
rivers, where it is to be left for the night; and it is a certain fact,
that if the child has been stolen by the fairies, they must, in the
course of the night, return the genuine offspring, and take away the
spurious one.[C]

But children are not the only objects of their envy. They are equally
covetous of pregnant females at a certain juncture, when they embrace
every opportunity of securing them, well knowing that, by such
acquisitions, they obtain a double bargain. The process of stealing
women is the same as that of stealing children, only their ranges in
quest of such prizes are much more extensive, as the following story
will show:

“There was once a courageous clever man, of the name of John Roy, who
lived in Glenbrown, in the parish of Abernethy. One night, as John
Roy was out traversing the hills for his cattle, he happened to fall
in with a fairy banditti, whose manner of travelling indicated that
they carried along with them some booty. Recollecting an old, and, it
seems, a faithful saying, that the fairies are obliged to exchange
any booty they may possess for any return, however unequal in value,
on being challenged to that effect, John Roy took off his bonnet, and
threw it towards them, demanding a fair exchange in the emphatic Gaelic
phrase, _Sluis sho slumus Sheen_.[D] It was, no doubt, an unprofitable
barter for the fairies. They, however, it would appear, had no other
alternative but to comply with John Roy’s demand; and in room of the
bonnet, they abandoned the burden, which turned out to be nothing more
nor less than a fine fresh lady, who, from her dress and language,
appeared to be a _Sasonach_. With great humanity, John Roy conducted
the unfortunate lady to his house, where she was treated with the
utmost tenderness for several years; and the endearing attentions paid
to her by John and his family won so much her affections as to render
her soon happy in her lot. Her habits became gradually assimilated to
those of her new society; and the Saxon lady was no longer viewed in
any other character than as a member of John Roy’s family.

“It happened, however, in the course of time, that the _new king_ found
it necessary to make the great roads through those countries by means
of soldiers, for the purpose of letting coaches and carriages pass to
the northern cities; and those soldiers had officers and commanders
in the same way as our fighting army have now. Those soldiers were
never great favourites in these countries, particularly during the
time that our own kings were alive; and, consequently, it was no easy
matter for them, either officers or men, to procure for themselves
comfortable quarters. But John Roy forgot the national animosity
of his countrymen to the _Cotton Darg_ (red coat), when the latter
appealed to his generosity as an individual; and he, accordingly,
did not hesitate to offer an asylum under his roof to a _Saxon_
captain and his son, who commanded a party employed in his immediate
neighbourhood. His offer was thankfully accepted of, and while the
strangers were highly delighted at the cleanliness and economy of the
house and family of their host, the latter was quite satisfied with
the frankness and urbanity of manners displayed by his guests. One
thing, however, caused some feelings of uneasiness to John Roy, and
that was the extreme curiosity manifested by them, whenever they were
in the company or presence of his English foundling, on whom their eyes
were continually rivetted, as if she were a ghost or a fairy. On one
occasion, it happened that the captain’s son lapsed into a state of
the profoundest meditation, gazing upon this lady with silent emotion.
‘My son,’ says the captain, his father, ‘tell me what is the cause of
your deep meditation?’--‘Father,’ replies the sweet youth, ‘I think on
the days that are gone; and of my dearest mother, who is now no more.
I have been led into those reflections by the appearance of that lady
who is now before me. Oh, father! does she not strikingly resemble
the late partner of your heart; she for whom you so often mourn in
secret?’--‘Indeed, my son,’ replied the father, ‘the resemblance has
frequently recurred to me too forcibly. Never were twin sisters more
like; and, were not the thing impossible, I should even say she was my
dearest departed wife;’--pronouncing her name as he spoke, and also
the names of characters nearly connected to both parties. Attracted by
the mention of her real name, which she had not heard repeated for a
number of years before, and attracted still more by the nature of their
conversation, the lady, on strict examination of the appearance of the
strangers, instantly recognised her tender husband and darling son.
Natural instinct could be no longer restrained. She threw herself upon
her husband’s bosom; and Ossian, the son of Fingal, could not describe
in adequate terms the transports of joy that prevailed at the meeting.
Suffice it to say, that the _Saxon_ lady was again restored to her
affectionate husband, pure and unblemished as when he lost her, and
John Roy gratified by the only reward he would accept of--the pleasure
of doing good.”

From the sequel of the story, it appears that some of the hordes of
fairies, inhabiting the “Shian of Coir-laggack,” found it convenient,
for purposes which may be easily guessed at, to take a trip to the
south of England, and made no scruple to kidnap this lady in the
absence of her husband, and on the occasion of her accouchement. A
stock was, of course, deposited in her stead--which, of _course_, died
in a few days after--and which, of _course_, was interred in the full
persuasion of _its_ being the lady in question, with all the splendour
which her merits deserved. Thus would the perfidious fairies have
enjoyed the fruits of their cunning, without even a suspicion of their
knavery, were it not for the “cleverness and generosity of John Roy,
who once lived in Glenbrown.”

The natural passions, lusts, and covetousness of which we have now
shown the fairies to be possessed, are not, however, our only grounds
for calling in question the fitness of their title to angelic nature
and attributes. For it will be seen, from some traits in their
character about to be detailed, that their appetites are as keen and
voluptuous as their inclinations are corrupt and wicked. Our readers
would be apt to believe, from the first outline of their character,
that they were an amiable, harmless race of people, strictly honest,
and given entirely to innocent amusements. But it is a fact too well
known, that many of them are employed in very different avocations
from mirth and dancing; for, to repeat an old Scottish proverb, “if
a’ tales be true,” thieving and blackguarding occupy fully as much of
their time as mirth and dancing. And what is still worse, it is much
suspected that their proneness to theft and knavery is not so much the
effect of necessity, as it is the effect of wanton depravity. However
base and degrading in the eyes of society appears the thief, even when
his deviation from honesty is the result of _sheer_ necessity, he
appears infinitely more so when he is solely led to the commission of
crimes from wanton levity. Hence the indignation which a worthy man
feels, whenever those pilfering depredators embezzle the fruits of his
honest industry. The _whirlwind_ is not the alone engine of robbery to
which the fairies resort; they recur to others of a more direct and
ruinous character; while the loser, from the speciousness of their
artifices, is seldom conscious of the true cause of his loss. In order
to expose the wantonness of such pillage as they will be shown to be
guilty of, we need only call our reader’s attention to the extent of
the indisputable perquisites which they derive from fire and other
calamities incident to the estate of man, many of which calamities, we
are told, are accomplished by their agency. As, however, we would not
readily accuse them of crimes so atrocious, without some foundation,
we submit the following particulars to the judgment of our readers,
leaving them to draw their own inferences.

“One day a fairy woman, residing in the turrets of Craig-Aulnaic,
called on one of the tenants’ wives in Delnabo, in her neighbourhood,
and requested of her the loan of a firlot of oatmeal for meat to her
family, promising she would return it in a very short time, as she
herself hourly expected a considerable supply. Not choosing, for so
small a trifle, to incur the fairy’s displeasure, the tenant’s wife
complied with her request, from the same motives as if she had been the
exciseman. After regaling the fairy with a dram and bread and cheese,
as is the custom of the country, she went out to give her the customary
convoy. On ascending the eminence above the town, the ‘_Benshi_’
paused, and, with apparent exultation, told the tenant’s wife that she
might take her meal home with her, as she herself was now supplied as
she expected. The woman, without putting any impertinent questions
to the lady as to the source whence her supply proceeded, cheerfully
agreed to receive back her meal, and took leave of her visitor. She
was not a little surprised, however, to observe, in a few minutes
thereafter, the corn-kiln of an adjacent farm in total conflagration,
with all its contents.”

Over and above this, all liquids spilled on the ground are supposed
to go to their use; and there are some people even so charitable as
purposely to reserve for their participation a share of the best they
possess. It is not unlikely that such generous actions were in some
degree influenced by such returns as the following:--

“Once upon a time, a farmer, in Strathspey, was engaged sowing a field
upon his farm, and, as is not uncommon, he accompanied his labours
with a cheerful song. Now the fairies are very fond of music, and
not less so of spoil,--and whether it was the music or the seed that
attracted her most to the spot, certain it is, that a fairy damsel,
of great beauty and elegance, presented herself to the farmer. She
requested of him, as a particular favour, to sing her an old Gaelic
song, ‘_Nighan Donne na Bual_;’ and, when this favour was granted
her, she sought of him a present of corn. Although he had far less
objections to her first request than he had to her second, he did
not flatly refuse her, but he did what any prudent man would do in
similar circumstances,--he inquired what she would give him in return.
She answered, that, provided he granted her request, his seed would
not the more speedily fail him; and this assurance she enforced with
a look so significant, as to induce him at once to supply her very
liberally from his bag. She then departed, and he resumed his work.
He was soon after very agreeably surprised, when he found that, after
sowing abundantly a large field, wont to take five times the bulk
of his bag, it appeared equal in size and weight to what it was when
he met with the fairy nymph. Far from being in the least confounded
at the agreeable circumstance, he threw his bag over his shoulder,
highly satisfied at the act of munificence he did in the morning, and
sowed with it another field of equal extent, without its exhibiting
any appearance of diminution. Perfectly satisfied now with his day’s
labour, he returned home, fully determined to take care of his bag.
But, just as he was entering the barn door, who met him but his wife,
‘who was a foolish talkative hussey, having a tongue as long, and a
head as empty, as the parish church bell.’ With her usual loquacity she
accosted him, expressing her astonishment at the unaccountable nature
of the sack, that had thus sown half their farm,--expressing, moreover,
very notable suspicions of the cause. Now it is well known that,
whenever any supernatural agency is challenged, the spell is instantly
broken. So that the clashmaclavering Jezebel had scarcely uttered those
inconsiderate and highly reprehensible words, when the burden on the
farmer’s back became an empty bag. ‘I’ll be your death, you foolish,
foolish woman,’ exclaimed her woe-struck husband; ‘were it not for your
imprudent talk, this bag were worth its weight of gold.’”

Such relations as the foregoing should go very far to induce every
prudent and foreseeing man to be on as friendly a footing as possible
with those capricious and all-powerful people, especially when their
friendship is to be purchased on such reasonable terms as those of
which we have just read. The unhappy hero of the following narrative
was convinced, when too late, of the truth of this observation.

“A farmer, who at one time occupied the farm of Auchriachan, of
Strathavon, was one day searching for his goats in a remote hill
in Glenlivat, and what came on but a thick hazy fog, which marred
his way, and bewildered his senses. Every stone, magnified by the
delusion of the moment, appeared a mountain; every rivulet seemed
to him to run in an opposite direction to its usual course; and the
unhappy traveller thought of his fireside, which he expected never to
see more. Night came on apace; its horrific gloom, as it approached,
dispelled the unhappy wanderer’s forlorn hopes, and he now sat down to
prepare for the world that has no end. Involved in perplexity at his
unhappy situation, he threw a mournful look on the gloomy scene around
him, as if to bid the world an eternal adieu,--when, lo! a twinkling
light glimmered on his eye. It was a cheering blink that administered
comfort to his soul. His frigid limbs, which lately refused their
office, recovered their vigour. His exhausted frame became animated
and energetic: and he immediately directed his course towards the
light, which, from its reflection, seemed not far distant. On reaching
the place, however, his joy was a good deal damped when he examined
the nature of the place whence the light reflected. A human foot
never seemed to have visited the scene; it was one of wildness and
horror. Life, however, is exceedingly sweet when we are on the brink
of losing it, and necessity had so far subdued every vestige of fear,
that _Auchriachan_ resolved at all hazards to take a night’s lodging
with the inmates, whatever their nature or calling might be. The door
was open, and he entered the place. His courage, however, was a good
deal appalled, on meeting at the door an old female acquaintance,
whose funeral he had recently attended, and who, it appeared, acted in
this family in the capacity of housewife. But this meeting, however
disagreeable it proved to Auchriachan in one respect, ultimately turned
out a fortunate circumstance for him, inasmuch as his old acquaintance
was the happy means of saving his life. On observing Auchriachan--for
that was the farmer’s title--enter the abode, she instantly ran towards
him, and told him he was done for, unless he chose to slip in into a
bye-corner off the principal apartment, where he had better remain
until she found an opportunity of effecting his escape. The advice of
the friendly housekeeper he thought it prudent to adopt, and he was
accordingly content to hide himself in a crevice in the apartment.
Scarce had he done so, when there entered the dwelling an immense
concourse of fairies, who had been all day absent upon some important
expedition; and being well appetized by their journey, they all cried
out for some food. Having all sat in council, the question proposed
for discussion was, ‘What was their supper to consist of?’--When an
old sagacious looking fairy, who sat in the chimney corner, spoke as
follows: ‘Celestial gentlemen, you all know and abhor that old miserly
fellow the taxman of Auchriachan. Mean and penurious, he appropriates
nothing to us; but, on the contrary, disappoints us of our very dues.
By learning too well the lesson taught him by his old and wizened
grand-mother, nothing escapes a blessing and a safeguard; and the
consequence is, that we cannot interfere with the gleanings on his
fields, far less the stock and produce. Now, Auchriachan himself is not
at home this night; he is in search of his goats, our allies,[E]--his
less careful household have neglected the customary safeguards; and,
lo! his goods are at our mercy. Come, let us have his favourite ox to
supper.’--‘Bravo!’ exclaimed the whole assembly; ‘the opinion of Thomas
Rymer is always judicious; Auchriachan is certainly a miserable devil,
and we shall have his favourite ox to supper.’--‘But whence shall we
procure bread to eat with him?’ inquired a greedy-looking fairy. ‘We
shall have the new baken bread of Auchriachan,’ replied the sagacious
and sage counsellor, Mr. Rymer; ‘for he is a miserly old fellow--he
himself is not at home, and his wife has forgot to cross the first
bannock.’--‘Bravo!’ exclaimed the whole assembly. ‘By all means, let us
have the new baken bread of Auchriachan.’

“Thus did Auchriachan, honest man, who, indeed, was not at home,
with no very grateful feelings, learn the fate of his favourite ox,
without, however, dissenting from the general voice that pronounced
his doom. And, in pursuance of the same unpleasant decision, he had
the additional mortification to see his ill-fated ox deliberately
introduced by the nose and killed in his presence. Meantime,
when all were engaged cooking the ox, the officious housekeeper
took occasion, under pretence of some other errand, to relieve
Auchriachan from his uncomfortable seclusion. On issuing forth from
Mr. Rymer’s council-chamber, Auchriachan found the mist had entirely
disappeared--the stones were now of their natural size--the rivulets
now ran their usual course--the moon threw her silver mantle over the
lately murky scene, and he had now no difficulty to make his way home,
lamenting most sincerely the lot of his favourite ox.

“On arriving at home, he was cordially welcomed by his happy family,
whose great anxiety for his safety was probably the cause of the
omission of that duty that poor Auchriachan had so much cause to
deplore. His overjoyed wife, supposing her husband to be no doubt in a
hungry case, provided a basket of new baked bread and milk, and urged
him to eat, for sure he might well be hungry. He did not, however, mind
her solicitude for his comfort--he was sorry and sullen, and cared not
for the provision, particularly the bread, well knowing it was only
an abominable phantom. At last he inquired, ‘Which of you served the
oxen this night, my lads?’--‘It was I, my father,’ replied one of his
sons. ‘And did you mind the customary safeguard?’--‘Indeed,’ says the
son, ‘from my great agitation for the fate of my father, I believe I
forgot.’--‘Alas! alas!’ exclaimed the affectionate farmer, ‘my dear
and favourite ox is no more!’--‘What!’ exclaims one of his sons, ‘I
saw him alive not two hours ago!’--‘It was only a fairy stock,’ says
Auchriachan. ‘Bring him out here until I dispatch him.’ The farmer
then, venting the most unqualified expressions of his indignation upon
the stock and its knavish proprietors, struck it such a pithy blow on
the forehead as felled it to the ground. Rolling down the brae, at the
back of the house, to the bottom, there it lay and the bread along with
it, both unmolested; for it was a remarkable circumstance, that neither
dog nor cat ever put a tooth on the carcase.”

It now only remains for us to describe the most heinous of all their
crimes, a crime which we are peculiarly reluctant to bring so openly
to light, did not our impartiality as an historian compel us. This
crime consists in their destruction of human beings, and their cattle,
by means of their magical dart, commonly called an elf-bolt. Those
bolts are of various sizes, of a hard yellowish substance, resembling
somewhat the flint, for which they are no bad substitutes. The bolt
is very frequently of the shape of a heart, its edges being indented
like a saw, and very sharp at the point. This deadly weapon the wicked
fairy will throw at man or beast with such precision as seldom to
miss his aim; and whenever it hits, the stroke is fatal. Such is the
great force with which it is flung, that on its striking the object it
instantaneously perforates it to the heart, and a sudden death is the
consequence. In the blinking of an eye, a man or an ox is struck down
cold-dead, and, strange to say, the wound is not discernible to an
ordinary person, unless he is possessed of the charm that enables some
wise people to trace the course of the bolt, and ultimately discover it
in the dead body.--Note, whenever this fatal instrument is discovered,
it should be carefully preserved, as it defends its possessor from the
fatal consequences of the “_Fay_,” so long as he retains it about him.

Having now travelled over the leading traits of the fairy’s character,
publicly and privately, we shall now conclude our treatise of him by
subjoining a few of the most approved cures and safeguards, which
afford protection from his dangerous practices. An abler historian
might be disposed to offer some learned observations on the strange
incongruity of character exhibited by the fairy in the preceding
sketches, and endeavour, if he could, to reconcile them so as to form
any thing like a rational subject. As a plain unvarnished compiler,
however, we have discharged our duty; we have detailed, to the best
of our ability, the fairy’s character, according to the nature of our
materials; and if our delineations are strange and inconsistent, the
fault lies either with the fairy or his professed historians, and not
with the mere machine, _ourself_, the compiler.

Go to the summit of some stupendous cliff or mountain, where any
species of quadruped has never fed nor trod, and gather of that herb
in the Gaelic language called “_Mohan_,” which can be pointed out by
any “_wise_ person.” This herb you will give to a cow, and of the milk
of that cow you are to make a cheese, and whoever eats of that cheese
is for ever after, as well as his gear, perfectly secure from every
species of fairy agency.

A piece of torch fir carried about the person, and a knife made of
iron which has never been applied to any purpose, are both excellent
preservatives.

A piece of cold iron or steel put into the bed of a lady “_uneasy
in her circumstances_” will protect mother and offspring from being
“_Fayed_.”




PART III.

Brownies.

  Brownie has got a cowl and coat,
  And never more will work a jot.




BROWNIES.


Although this mysterious and very useful agent has now become very
rare among the Highland mountains, it appears that, at one time, he
was the common appendage of every family of rank in those countries.
Hence, his history and character are well known; and his memory still
retains a powerful interest in the minds of the inhabitants. It may
not, therefore, be improper to give a condensed account of the most
prominent traits of the Highland Brownie’s character, to enable the
reader to compare his manners and habits with those of the Brownie of
Bodspeck, or any other Brownie with the manners of whom he may happen
to be acquainted.

With regard to the Brownie’s origin, it is a point that is involved in
much obscurity. It was always a peculiar trait in his character, that
he never would favour his earthly acquaintances with any information
regarding his own private affairs. From some resemblance the Brownie
bore to the Fairy, joined to a similarity of habits, it was shrewdly
suspected by the more discriminating sort of people, that if he were
not actually a member of the Fairy people, he was, at least, a mongrel
species of them. But on this important topic the sagacious Brownie
himself opened not his mouth; leaving them to argue the matter as they
thought proper.

In his personal appearance, the Highland Brownie was highly
interesting. His person was not quite so tall as that of the Fairy, but
it was well proportioned and comely; and, from the peculiar brownness
of his complexion, he received the appellation of _Brownie_.

In his manners and habits he differed widely from all the supernatural
beings of his day; inasmuch as he was laborious and faithful to his
master’s interest--content to labour day and night for no other fee
or reward than a scanty diet, and occasionally a suit of cast-off
apparel. Hence, the possession of so cheap and useful an agent was
an acquisition highly desirable. But he was what neither money nor
interest could procure. Having once united himself to the founder of an
ancient family, he adhered to him and to his issue so long as he had
any lineal posterity; and hence it is, that the Brownie was only found
the heir-loom of an ancient and honourable family.

Unexampled for his fidelity, he was the indefatigable guardian and
promoter of his adopted master’s interest; and, from his powers of
prophecy and information, his services were truly invaluable. Over the
servants he was always a vigilant and faithful spy, ready to give a
faithful account of their good or bad actions; and hence it followed,
that with these he was very seldom on a good understanding. So that,
if the Brownie was left to the servants’ mercy, he would not, in all
likelihood, fare the better for his fidelity. But if the master had any
regard to his own interest, he was careful to have seen him properly
cared for in his meat and in his drink, which care was rewarded by the
most unlimited devotion to his interest.

The last two brownies known in this quarter of the Highlands were long
the appendages of the ancient family of Tullochgorm in Strathspey. They
were male and female, and, for aught we know, they might likewise have
been man and wife. The male was of an exceedingly jocose and humorous
disposition, often indulging in little sports at the expense of his
fellow-servants. He had, in particular, a great trick of flinging clods
at the passengers, and from thence he got the name of “_Brownie-Clod_.”
He had, however, with all his humour, a great deal of simplicity about
him, and became, in his turn, the dupe of those on whom he affected
to play. An eminent instance of this appears from a contract into
which he foolishly entered with the servants of Tullochgorm, whereby
he bound and obliged himself to thrash as much corn and straw as two
men could do for the space of a whole winter, on condition he was to
be gratified with an old coat and a Kilmarnock cowl, pieces of apparel
for which, it seems, he had a great liking. While the servants were
reclining themselves at their ease upon the straw, poor Brownie-Clod
thrashed on unremittingly, and performed such Herculean tasks as no
human constitution could bear for a week together. Some time before the
expiry of the contract, the lads, out of pure gratitude and pity, left
the coat and cowl for him on a mow of corn in the barn, on receipt of
which he instantly struck work, and with the greatest triumph at the
idea of taking in his acquaintances, he sneeringly told them, that,
since they were so foolish as to give him the coat and cowl before he
had wrought for them, he would now decline to thrash another sheaf.

  “Huar Prownie coad agus curochd
  Agus cha dian Prownie opar tullidh.”

The female was more pawky in her ways; and, instead of being a
laughing-stock to the female-servants with whom she wrought, she
was a sort of a mistress over them. She was seldom on good terms
with them, in consequence of the fidelity with which she reported
their neglect of duty to their master or mistress. It was her custom
to wear a superabundance of hair, in consequence of which, she was
commonly called “_Maug Vuluchd_,” or “Hairy Mag.” Mag was an honest
and excellent housekeeper, and had the service of the table generally
assigned her, in which capacity she was extremely useful. The dexterity
and care with which she covered the table, always invisible, was
not less amusing to strangers than it was convenient to their host.
Whatever was called for came as if it floated on the air, and lighted
on the table with the utmost ease and celerity; and, for cleanliness
and attention, she had not her equal in this land.




PART IV.

Water-Kelpies.

  When thaws dissolve the snawy hoord,
  An’ float the jingling icy boord,
  The water-kelpies haunt the foord,
                By your direction,
  And nightly travellers are allur’d
                To their destruction.

                    BURNS’ _Address to the Deil_.




WATER-KELPIES.


In the former and darker ages of the world when people had not half
the wit and sagacity they now possess, and when, consequently, they
were much easier duped by such designing agents, the “Ech Uisque,”
or _Water-Horse_, as the Kelpie is commonly called, was a well-known
character in those countries. The Kelpie was an infernal agent,
retained in the service and pay of Satan, who granted him a commission
to execute such services as appeared profitable to his interest. He
was an amphibious character, and generally took up his residence in
lochs and pools, bordering on public roads and other situations, most
convenient for his professional calling.

His commission consisted in the destruction of human beings, without
affording them time to prepare for their immortal interests, and thus
endeavour to send their souls to his master, while he, the Kelpie,
enjoyed the body. However, he had no authority to touch a human being
of his own free accord, unless the latter was the aggressor. In order,
therefore, to delude public travellers and others to their destruction,
it was the common practice of the Kelpie to assume the most fascinating
form, and assimilate himself to that likeness which he supposed most
congenial to the inclinations of his intended victim. The likeness
of a fine riding steed was his favourite disguise. Decked out in the
most splendid riding accoutrements, the perfidious Kelpie would place
himself in the weary traveller’s way, and graze by the road-side with
all the seeming innocence and simplicity in the world. The traveller,
supposing this fine horse to have strayed from his master, and
considering him as a good _catch_ for carrying him a part of the way,
would approach the horse with the greatest caution, soothing it with
_proogy proogy_, and many other terms of endearment, in the event of
his taking to his heels, as wild horses are sometimes apt to do. But
this horse knew better what he was about; he was as calm and peaceable
as a lamb, until his victim was once fairly mounted on his back; with
a fiend-like yell he would then announce his triumph, and plunging
headlong with his woe-struck rider into an adjacent pool, enjoy him
for his repast. The following curious relation, communicated to the
compiler by the celebrated Mr. Wellox, who possesses the precious relic
captured from the kelpie alluded to in the story, will complete all the
information that is necessary regarding this once formidable entrapper
of mankind:

“In the time of my renowned ancestor, Mr. James Macgrigor, (rest to his
soul!) who was well known to be a good man, and a man of great strength
and courage in his day, there was a most mischievous water-kelpie that
lived in Lochness, and which committed the most atrocious excesses on
the defenceless inhabitants of the surrounding districts. It was the
common practice of this iniquitous agent to prowl about the public
roads, decked out in all the trappings of a riding horse, and in this
disguise place himself in the way of the passenger, who often took it
into his head to mount him, to his no small prejudice; for upon this
the vicious brute would immediately fly into the air, and in a jiffy
light with his rider in Lochnadorb, Lochspynie, or Lochness, where he
would enjoy his victim at his leisure. Filled with indignation at the
repeated relations he had heard of the kelpie’s practices, my ancestor,
Mr. Macgrigor, ardently wished to fall in with his kelpieship, in order
to have a bit of a communing with him touching his notorious practices.
And Providence, in its wise economy, thought it meet that Mr. Macgrigor
should be gratified in his wish.

“One day as he was travelling along ‘_Slochd Muichd_,’ a wild and
solitary pass on the road between Strathspey and Inverness, whom did
he observe but this identical water-kelpie, browsing away by the
road-side with the greatest complacency, thinking, no doubt, in his
mind, that he would kidnap Mr. Macgrigor as he had done others. But
in this idea he found himself wofully mistaken! For no sooner did Mr.
Macgrigor espy him, than he instantly determined to have a trial of
his mettle. Accordingly, marching up to the horse, who thought, no
doubt, he was just coming to mount him, Mr. Macgrigor soon convinced
him of the contrary by drawing his trusty sword, with which he dealt
the kelpie such a pithy blow on the nose, as almost felled him to the
ground. The stroke maltreated the kelpie’s jaw very considerably,
cutting through his bridle, in consequence of which, one of the bits,
being that which you have just examined, fell down on the ground.
Observing the bit lying at his feet, Mr. Macgrigor had the curiosity
to pick it up, whilst the astonished kelpie was recovering from the
effects of the blow, and this bit Mr. Macgrigor carelessly threw
into his pocket. He then prepared for a renewal of his conflict with
its former owner, naturally supposing the kelpie would return him
his compliment. But what was Mr. Macgrigor’s surprise, when he found
that, instead of retorting his blow, and fighting out the matter to
the last, the kelpie commenced a cool dissertation upon the injustice
and illegality of Mr. Macgrigor’s proceedings. ‘What is your business
with me?’ says he. ‘What is your business with me, Mr. Macgrigor? I
have often heard of you as a man of great honour and humanity; why,
therefore, thus abuse a poor defenceless animal like me, let me be
a horse, or let me be a kelpie, so long as I did you no harm? In my
humble opinion, Mr. Macgrigor,’ continued the kelpie, ‘you acted both
cruelly and illegally; and certainly your conduct would justify me, if
I should return you twofold your assault upon me. However, I abominate
quarrels of this sort,’ says the conciliatory kelpie, ‘and if you
peaceably return me the bit of my bridle, we shall say no more on the
subject.’ To this learned argument of the kelpie Mr. Macgrigor made
no other reply than flatly denying his request, in the first place;
and, in the second place, mentioning, in pretty unqualified terms,
his opinion of his character and profession. ‘It is true,’ replied
the other, ‘that I am what you call a kelpie; but it is known to my
heart, that my profession was never quite congenial to my feelings.
We kelpies engage in many _disagreeable undertakings_. But, as the
proverb says, Necessity has no law; and there is no profession that
a man or spirit will not sometimes try, _for the sake of an honest
livelihood_: so you will please have the goodness to give me the bit of
my bridle.’ Observing the great anxiety evinced by the kelpie to have
the bit of his bridle restored to him, and feeling anxious to learn
its properties, my sagacious ancestor immediately concocted a plan,
whereby he might elicit from the poor dupe of a kelpie an account of
its virtues. ‘Well, Mr. Kelpie,’ says Mr. Macgrigor, ‘all your logic
cannot change my opinion of the criminality of your profession, though,
I confess, it has somewhat disarmed me of my personal hostility to
you as a member of it; I am, therefore, disposed to deliver up to you
the bit of your bridle, but it is on this express condition, that you
will favour me with an account of its use and qualities, for I am
naturally very _curious_, do you know.’ To this proposition the kelpie
joyfully acceded, and thus addressed Mr. Macgrigor: ‘My dear sir, you
must know that such agents as I are invested by our Royal Master with
a particular commission, consisting of some document delivered to us
by his own hand. The commission delivered to a kelpie consists in a
bridle invested with all those powers of transformation, information,
and observation, necessary for our calling; and wherever we lose
this commission, whether voluntarily or by accident, our power is
at an end, and certain annihilation within four and twenty hours is
the consequence. Had it not been that my bridle was broken by your
matchless blow, I must be so candid as to declare, I might have broken
every bone in your body; but now you are stronger than myself, and you
can be half a kelpie at your pleasure: only please to look through the
holes of the bit of the bridle, and you will see myriads of invisible
agents, fairies, witches, and devils, all flying around you, the
same as if you had been gifted with the second-sight, and all their
machinations clearly exposed to your observation.’--‘My dear sir,’
replied my ancestor, ‘I am much obliged to you for your information;
but I am sorry to inform you, that your relation has so endeared the
bit of your bridle to myself, that I have resolved to keep it for your
sake. I could not persuade myself to part with it for any consideration
whatever.’--‘What!’ exclaimed the petrified Kelpie, ‘do you really
mean, in the face of our solemn agreement, to retain the bit of my
bridle?’--‘I not only mean it, but I am resolved on it,’ replies my
ancestor, who immediately proceeded to make the best of his way home
with the bit. ‘Come, come,’ the Kelpie would perpetually exclaim, ‘you
have carried the joke far enough, you surely do not mean to keep my
bridle?’--‘Time will show,’ was always his laconic answer. The Kelpie
still continued his earnest entreaties, interlarded with anecdotes of
great squabbles which he had formerly had with as powerful characters
as Mr. Macgrigor, and which always ended to his eminent advantage,
but which, he politely insinuated, he would be sorry to see repeated.
But when his grief and solicitude for his bridle began to evince
themselves in a threatening aspect, a single flourish of his trusty
sword disarmed him of all his might, and made him calm as a cat. At
length, when they arrived in sight of Mr. Macgrigor’s house, his grief
and despair for his bridle became perfectly outrageous. Galloping off
before Mr. Macgrigor, the Kelpie told him as he went, that he and the
bit should never pass his threshold together; and, in pursuance of
this assurance, he planted himself in Mr. Macgrigor’s door, summoning
up all his powers for the impending conflict. However, James Macgrigor
resolved, if possible, to evade the Kelpie’s decree; and accordingly
going to a back window in his house, he called his wife towards him,
and threw the bit of the Kelpie’s bridle into her lap. He then returned
to the Kelpie, who stood sentry at his door, and told him candidly he
was a miserable legislator; for that, in spite of his decree, the bit
of his bridle was that moment in his wife’s possession. The Kelpie, now
finding himself fairly outwitted, saw the vanity of contending with
James Macgrigor and his claymore, for what could not be recovered. As
there was a rowan cross above the door, his kelpieship could no more
enter the house than he could pass through the eye of a needle; and he,
therefore, thought it best to take himself off, holding forth, at the
same time, the most beastly language to my ancestor, which he most
sincerely despised.”




PART V.

Spunkies.

  An’ oft your moss-traversing spunkies
  Decoy some wight that late and drunk is;
  The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
                        Delude his eyes,
  Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
                        Ne’er more to rise.

                           BURNS’ _Address to the Deil_.




SPUNKIES.


The Spunkie is another of those now-retired ministers, formerly
employed by the Enemy of mankind to accomplish their destruction.
And, in all truth, he could not have taken into his pay a servant
more faithful to his trust than the spunkie. Whenever the traveller
had the misfortune to lose his way, or whenever there was a prospect
of deluding him from it, this vigilant _link-boy_ was ever at hand,
to light him into far worse quarters than even the purlieus of Covent
Garden.

Suddenly the traveller’s attention was arrested by the most resplendent
light, apparently reflected from a window not far distant; which,
however, as the traveller approached, receded from him like the
rainbow. Still pursuing his course towards it, the wily spunkie
manœuvred so dexterously, that the unhappy wanderer was speedily
decoyed into the nearest moss or precipice. Plunging headlong into some
fatal abyss, the deluded victim never returned to his mourning wife and
family, to relate to them the spunkie’s perfidy.

Happily now, however, the roads are better, and travellers more
cautious. All the glittering meteors of the spunkie cannot make the
knowing Highlander of the present day turn to the right or to the left.
So that the spunkie has now shut shop, and become bankrupt in his
department.




PART VI.

Witchcraft.

  When Satan, for weighty dispatches,
    Sought messengers cunning and bold,
  He pass’d by the beautiful faces,
    And pick’d out the ugly and old.

                                    VOLLE.




CHAPTER I.

ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT.


We are now come to consider and describe the ancient and well-known
order of Witchcraft; the nature and object of which require very little
explanation in a country where it has been so long established as in
Scotland. Taking a retrospective view of the rise and progress of this
once flourishing institution, we are told it was founded by the Grand
Master, shortly after the creation of the world. That the wickedness
of the inhabitants having kept pace with their increase, Satan found
work multiplying so fast on his hands, that his own spiritual minions,
numerous as they were, became inadequate to their employment. Being
seldom blind to his own interest, the idea of enlisting a few human
instruments to supply their deficiencies naturally suggested itself to
his fertile genius, and such has been the thirst for magic and power,
which has at all times pervaded the old women of those countries, that
he never had great difficulty in procuring abundance of volunteers to
join his banners.

Having thus established his new order of emissaries, Satan found them
to answer his purposes uncommonly well. They drudged on in his work
so laboriously, and with such good success, that he found them more
profitable tools, for deluding and _hooking-in_ the best portion of
mankind, than his own proper agents, whose means of communication and
seduction were much more confined and disadvantageous. Accordingly, he
has found it his interest to continue the institution to this day.

It will, no doubt, prove a matter of some astonishment to the amiable
and considerate reader, how any body that has the honour of wearing
a human face could think of espousing so desperate a cause, for the
sake of any gratification which Satan’s kingdom affords. Common fame
errs too much, if he is at all a liberal master to those who are his
servants, for it is said he seldom or never fulfils his conditions with
any one of them. Though mighty forward to enter into pactions, and
extraordinarily liberal in his terms while making a bargain, he is said
to be far less ready to perform his share of the conditions when it is
once concluded; and what is still worse, when he forfeits a penalty,
there is no law that can exact it of him. Accordingly, we have heard of
not a few deluded mortals, who sold themselves to him for sums of money
and other considerations, but never yet heard of his having paid the
purchase money.

So once fared a poor needy wretch of a Highlandman, that bartered his
soul to Satan for a cow, and who never could get the latter to fulfil
his bargain. It is no doubt true, that after much importunity he did at
length perform his stipulation, in a way not very creditable to him.
Urgently importuned by the disponer to give him his cow, he ultimately
fetched him one, which was but a few hours in his possession, when it
was challenged by a third party as his stolen property; unwilling to
explain how he came by it, the poor fellow was flung into a prison,
and speedily brought before the laird for trial. In this distressing
situation, the disponer was compelled to tell the truth and the manner
he came by the cow, not doubting but that the disclosure would have
at once exculpated him from the charge. But unfortunately for him,
his ingenuous confession failed of its object, and the poor man was
condemned to the _wuddie_, reserving to him such recourse against Satan
as he might be advised to adopt.




CHAPTER II.

OF THE AGENT’S QUALIFICATIONS, AND CEREMONIES OF THEIR CONSTITUTION.


When the candidates for Satan’s employment have, by a course of
probation, given sufficient proofs of their ability for the discharge
of the duties of the profession they are about to adopt, and when they
have arrived at an age befitting the importance of the calling, men
and women are equally eligible, though it is well known that women are
preferred. Their initiation into infernal orders is preceded by the
execution of a formal covenant with Satan, sealed with the mutual blood
of the parties, whereby, for the considerations therein expressed,
Satan engages, on the one hand, to commit to the entrant the various
powers and qualifications which shall be detailed in the following
pages; and, on the other hand, the said entrant binds and obliges
himself, or herself, to apply himself, or herself, faithfully and
diligently in his service, by day and by night, promising to conceal
the secrets of his trade and profession, (much in the style of our
common indentures). The candidates are then inducted into the mysteries
and secrets of their new profession with great pomp, in presence of
the Royal Grand Master, who, set forth in _proprio terrore_, presides
over the ceremony. The place selected for this imposing ceremony is
not unfrequently a spacious lake or pool, the members of the craft in
attendance being furnished with their seaworthy navy, their brooms and
riddles. The following particulars relative to an intended initiation,
which was attempted in Strathdown, “in the memory of the grandmothers
of some people still living,” while it conveys some idea of such a
scene as that to which we alluded, may also prove a warning to those
who may be thoughtlessly led to embrace the profession.

“In the time of my grandmother, the farm of _Delnabo_ was
proportionally divided between three tenants. At first equally
comfortable in their circumstances, it was in the course of some time
remarked by all, and by none more forcibly than by one of the said
three portioners, that, although superior in point of industry and
talent to his two fellow-portioners, one of the tenants was daily
lapsing into poverty, while his two neighbours were daily improving in
estate. Amazed and grieved at the adverse fortune which thus attended
his family, compared to the prosperous condition of his neighbours, the
wife of the poor man was in the habit of expressing her astonishment at
the circumstance, not only to her own particular friends, but likewise
to the wives of her neighbours themselves. On one of these occasions,
the other two wives asked her what would she do to ameliorate her
condition, if it were in her power? She answered them, she would do any
thing whatever. (Here the other wives thought they had got a gudgeon,
that would snap at any bait, and immediately resolved to make her
their confidant.) ‘Well, then,’ says one of the other two wives, ‘if
you agree to keep our communications strictly secret, and implicitly
obey our instructions, neither poverty nor want shall ever assail you
more.’ This speech of the other wife immediately impressed the poor
man’s wife with a strong suspicion of their real character. Dissembling
all surprise at the circumstance, she promised to agree to all their
conditions. She was then directed, when she went to bed that night,
to carry along with her the floor-broom, well known for its magical
properties, which she was to leave by her husband’s side in the course
of the night, and which would represent her so exactly, that the
husband could not distinguish the difference in the morning. They, at
the same time, enjoined her to discard all fears of detection, as their
own husbands had been satisfied with those lovely substitutes (the
brooms) for a great number of years. Matters being thus arranged, she
was desired to join them at the hour of midnight, in order to accompany
them to that scene which was to realize her future happiness.

“Promising to attend to their instructions, the poor man’s wife took
leave of her neighbours, full of those sensations of horror which the
discovery of such depravity was calculated to produce in a virtuous
mind. Hastening home to her husband, she thought it no crime to break
her promise to her wicked neighbours, and, like a dutiful and prudent
wife, to reveal to the husband of her bosom the whole particulars of
their interview. The husband greatly commended his wife’s fidelity,
and immediately entered into a collusion with her, which displays no
ordinary degree of ingenuity. It was agreed that the husband should
exchange apparel with the wife, and that he should, in this disguise,
accompany the wives to the place appointed, to see what cantrips they
intended to perform. He accordingly arrayed himself in his wife’s
habiliments, and, at the hour of midnight, joined the party at the
place appointed. The ‘_Bride_,’ as they called him, was most cordially
received by the two Ladies of the Broom, who warmly congratulated
the ‘Bride’ upon _her_ good fortune, and the speedy consummation of
_her_ happiness. He was then presented with a fir-torch, a broom,
and a riddle, articles with which they themselves were furnished.
They directed their course along the banks of the rolling Avon, until
they reached Craic-pol-nain, or the Craig of the Birdspool. Here, in
consequence of the steepness of the craig, they found it convenient to
pass to the other side of the river. This passage they effected without
the use of their navy, the river being fordable at the place. They
then came in sight of Pol-nain, and, lo! what human eye ever witnessed
such a scene before! The pool appeared as if actually enveloped in
a flame of fire. A hundred torches blazed aloft, reflecting their
beams on the towering woods of Loynchork. And what ear ever heard
such shrieks and yells as proceeded from the horrid crew engaged at
their hellish orgies on Pol-nain? Those cries were, however, sweet
music to the two wives of Delnabo. Every yell produced from them a
burst of unrestrained pleasure, and away they frisked, leaving the
amiable _bride_ a considerable way behind. For the fact is, that he
was in no hurry to reach the scene, and when he did reach it, it was
with a determination to be only a spectator, and not a participator
in the night’s performance. On reaching the pool’s side he saw what
was going on,--he saw abundance of hags steering themselves to and
fro in their riddles, by means of their oars the brooms, hallooing
and skirling worse than the bogles, and each holding in her left hand
a torch of fir,--whilst at other times they would swirl themselves
into a row, and make profound obeisance to a large black ugly tyke,
perched on a lofty rock, who was no doubt the ‘muckle thief’ himself,
and who was pleased to acknowledge most graciously those expressions
of their loyalty and devotion, by bowing, grinning, and clapping his
paws. Having administered to the _bride_ some preliminary instructions,
the impatient wives desired him to remain by the pool’s side until
they should commune with his Satanic Highness on the subject of
_her_ inauguration, directing _her_, as they proceeded on their
voyage across the pool, to speed them in their master’s name. To this
order of the black pair the _bride_ was resolved to pay particular
attention. As soon as they were embarked in their riddles, and had
wriggled themselves, by means of their brooms, into a proper depth of
water, ‘Go,’ says he, ‘in the name of the Best.’ A horrid yell from
the witches announced their instant fate,--the magic spell was now
dissolved--crash went the riddles, and down sank the two witches, never
more to rise, amidst the shrieks and lamentations of the Old Thief
and all his infernal crew, whose combined power and policy could not
save them from a watery end. All the torches were extinguished in an
instant, and the affrighted company fled in different directions, in
such forms and similitudes as they thought most convenient for them
to adopt; and the _wily bride_ returned home at his leisure, enjoying
himself vastly at the clever manner in which he had executed the
instructions of his deceased friends. On arriving at his house, he
dressed himself in his own clothes, and, without immediately satisfying
his wife’s curiosity at the result of his excursion, he yoked his
cattle, and commenced his morning labours with as little concern as
usual. His two neighbours, who were not even conscious of the absence
of their wives, (so ably substituted were they by the brooms,) did
the same. Towards breakfast-time, however, the two neighbours were
not a little astonished that they observed no signs of their wives
having risen from bed--notwithstanding their customary earliness--and
this surprise they, expressed to the _late bride_, their neighbour.
The latter archly remarked, that he had great suspicions, in his
own mind, of their _rising_ even that day. ‘What mean you by that?’
replied they. ‘We left our wives apparently in good health when we
ourselves arose.’--‘Find them now,’ was the reply--the bride setting
up as merry a whistle as before. Running each to his bed, what was the
astonishment of the husbands, when, instead of his wife, he only found
an old broom. Their neighbour then told them, that, if they chose to
examine Pol-nain well, they would find both their dear doxies there.
The grieving husbands accordingly proceeded thither, and, with the
necessary instruments, dragged their late worthy partners to dry land;
and afterwards privately interred them. The shattered vessels and oars
of those unfortunate navigators, whirling about the pool, satisfied
their lords of the manner by which they came to their _ends_; and their
names were no longer mentioned by their kindred in the land. It need
scarcely be added, that the poor man gradually recovered his former
opulence; and that, in the course of a short time, he was comparatively
as rich as he was formerly poor.”




CHAPTER III.

OF THE PERSONAL SIMILITUDE OF THE AGENTS OR MEMBERS OF THE CRAFT.


It is well known, that no sooner do men or women enter on this
profession, than there is a striking change in their personal
appearance. Their countenances are no longer the emblems of human
nature, but the sign-posts of malice and bad luck. “Looking like a
witch” is a proverb that has been always descriptive of the most
exquisite ugliness; and whoever has seen the frontispiece of a Highland
witch will be satisfied with its force and propriety.

The face is so wrinkled, that it commonly resembles the channels of
dried waters, and the colour of it resembles nothing so much as a piece
of rough tanned leather. The eyes are small and piercing, sunk into
the forehead, like the expiring remains of a candle in a socket. The
nose is large, prominent, and sharp, forming a bridge to the contacting
chin. These are represented as the amiable features of a witch. The
wizard’s appearance differs very little from that of his amiable sister
the witch, only that his face is covered over with a preternatural
redundance of hair, and that he wears beneath his chin a bunch of hair
in the manner of a goat.

It has been long a subject of tough controversy to what cause this
striking deformity is justly to be ascribed. Some logicians rationally
enough maintain, that the characteristic deformity of the order arises
from their frequent interviews with Satan; that the tremor of the
limbs, the horror of the aspect, and stare of the eyes, with which they
are always seized during the season of their noviciation, are rendered
habitual to them by the force of custom, which is justly called a
second nature. And, in support of this doctrine, we are told it is a
fact, that, whenever we behold a ghost, or any other _uncanny_ being,
our features become contracted exactly the same way. But, be this as it
may, it is an acknowledged fact, that ugliness was, from the beginning
of their cast, their distinguishing characteristic.




CHAPTER IV.

OF THEIR PROFESSIONAL POWERS AND PRACTICES.


On a nearer examination of a witch’s character, we will find her face a
very correct index to her heart. She is the arch-enemy of whatever is
good and amiable. Invested as she is with as ample powers of seduction
and mischief as Satan himself, she is equally expert in accomplishing
the ruin of the soul and body of the objects of her malignity. In
order to convey to the reader an idea of those powers with which she
is invested, and which she never fails to exercise, we shall detail
them in their order, illustrating our statements, as we go along, with
proofs from the best authorities.

The most formidable of all the powers conferred on a witch consists in
the torture and destruction of human beings by infernal machination.
There are various processes by which those hellish practices are
accomplished, but the most common process is that invented and used by
that eminent and distinguished witch, “_Crea Mhoir cun Drochdair_,”
who was burnt and worried at a stake at Inverness, about two centuries
ago, for bewitching and keeping in torment the body of the provost’s
son. Crea made an effigy of clay and other hellish ingredients, into
which she stuck pins and other sharp instruments. This effigy of the
provost’s son she placed on a spit at a large fire, and by these
cantrips the hag communicated such agonizing torments to the young
gentleman, that he must have had speedily fallen a victim to his
sufferings, had it not been for the happy discovery made by means of a
little grandchild of Crea Mhoir’s, who divulged the whole secret to a
little companion, for the small gratification of a piece of bread and
cheese. But although Crea, honest woman, was long ago disposed of, to
the great comfort and satisfaction of her countrymen, who naturally
enough ascribed to her all the calamities which happened in the country
during her lifetime, she left behind her the immortal fruits of her
genius, for the benefit of her black posterity, in those mischievous
inventions practised by the witches of latter times, who understand the
knack of torturing their unhappy contemporaries in all its branches, as
exemplified in the cases of several worthies noticed in the sequel.

The next important power of a witch and a warlock consists in their
control over air and water, whereby they raise most dreadful storms and
hurricanes by sea and by land, and thus accomplish the destruction of
many a valuable life, which otherwise might have been long spared. The
following account of the loss of a most excellent gentleman exhibits
too melancholy an instance of the success of their experiments in this
way:

“John Garve Macgillichallum of Razay was an ancient hero of great
celebrity. Distinguished in the age in which he lived for the
gallantry of his exploits, he has often been selected by the bard as
the theme of his poems and songs. Alongst with a constitution of body
naturally vigorous and powerful, Razay was gifted with all those noble
qualities of the mind which a true hero is supposed to possess. And
what reflected additional lustre on his character, was that he never
failed to apply his talents and powers to the best uses. He was the
active and inexorable enemy of the weird sisterhood, many of whom he
was the auspicious instrument of sending to their ‘black inheritance’
much sooner than they either expected or desired. It was not therefore
to be supposed, that, while those amiable actions endeared Razay to all
good people, they were at all calculated to win him the regard of those
infernal hags to whom he was so deadly a foe. As might be naturally
expected, they cherished towards him the most implacable thirst of
revenge, and sought, with unremitting vigilance, for an opportunity of
quenching it. That such an opportunity did unhappily occur, and that
the meditated revenge of these hags was too well accomplished, will
speedily appear from this melancholy story.

“It happened upon a time that Razay and a number of friends planned
an expedition to the island of Lewes, for the purpose of hunting the
deer of that place. They accordingly embarked on board the chieftain’s
yacht, manned by the flower of the young men of Razay, and in a few
hours they chased the fleet-bounding hart on the mountains of Lewes.
Their sport proved excellent. Hart after hart, and hind after hind,
were soon levelled to the ground by the unerring hand of Razay; and
when night terminated the chase, they retired to their shooting
quarters, where they spent the night with joviality, and mirth, little
dreaming of their melancholy fate in the morning.

“In the morning of next day, the chief of Razay and his followers rose
with the sun, with the view of returning to Razay. The day was squally
and occasionally boisterous, and the billows raged with great violence.
But Razay was determined to cross the channel to his residence, and
ordered his yacht to prepare for the voyage. The more cautious and
less courageous of his suite, however, urged on him to defer the
expedition till the weather should somewhat settle--an advice which
Razay, with a courage which knew no fear, rejected, and expressed his
firm determination to proceed without delay. Probably with a view to
inspire his company with the necessary degree of courage to induce
them all to concur in the undertaking, he adjourned with them to the
ferry-house, where they had recourse to that supporter of spirits under
every trial, the usquebaugh, a few bottles of which added vastly to
the resolution of the company. Just as the party were disputing the
practicability of the proposed adventure, an old woman, with wrinkled
front, bending on a crutch, entered the ferry-house; and Razay, in the
heat of argument, appealed to the old woman, whether the passage of
the channel on such a day was not perfectly practicable and free from
danger. The woman, without hesitation, replied in the affirmative,
adding such observations, reflecting on their courage, as immediately
silenced every opposition to the voyage; and accordingly the whole
party embarked in the yacht for Razay. But, alas! what were the
consequences? No sooner were they abandoned to the mercy of the waves
than the elements seemed to conspire to their destruction. All attempts
to put back the vessel proved unavailing, and she was speedily driven
out before the wind in the direction of Razay. The heroic chieftain
laboured hard to animate his company, and to dispel the despair which
began to seize them, by the most exemplary courage and resolution. He
took charge of the helm, and, in spite of the combined efforts of the
sea, wind, and lightning, he kept the vessel steadily on her course
towards the lofty point of Aird in Skye. The drooping spirits of his
crew began to revive, and hope began to smile upon them--when lo! to
their great astonishment, a large cat was seen to climb the rigging.
This cat was soon followed by another of equal size, and the last by
a successor, until at length the shrouds, masts, and whole tackle,
were actually covered with them. Nor did the sight of all those cats,
although he knew well enough their real character, intimidate the
resolute Razay, until a large black cat, larger than any of the rest,
appeared on the masthead, as commander-in-chief of the whole legion.
Razay, on observing him, instantly foresaw the result; he, however,
determined to sell his life as dearly as possible, and immediately
commanded an attack upon the cats--but, alas! it soon proved abortive.
With a simultaneous effort the cats overturned the vessel on her
leeward wale, and every soul on board was precipitated into a watery
grave. Thus ended the glorious life of _Jan Garbh Macgillichallum_
of Razay, to the lasting regret of the brave clan Leod and all good
people, and to the great satisfaction of the abominable witches who
thus accomplished his lamentable doom.

“The same day, another hero, celebrated for his hatred of witchcraft,
was warming himself in his hunting hut, in the forest of Gaick in
Badenoch. His faithful hounds, fatigued with the morning chase, lay
stretched on the turf by his side,--his gun, that would not miss,
reclined in the neuk of the boothy,--the _skian dhu_ of the sharp edge
hung by his side, and these alone constituted his company. As the
hunter sat listening to the howling storm as it whistled by, there
entered at the door an apparently poor weather-beaten cat, shivering
with cold, and drenched to the skin. On observing her, the hairs of
the dogs became erected bristles, and they immediately rose to attack
the pitiable cat, which stood trembling at the door. ‘Great hunter of
the hills,’ exclaims the poor-looking trembling cat, ‘I claim your
protection. I know your hatred to my craft, and perhaps it is just.
Still spare, oh spare a poor jaded wretch, who thus flies to you for
protection from the cruelty and oppression of her sisterhood.’ Moved to
compassion by her eloquent address, and disdaining to take advantage of
his greatest enemy in such a seemingly forlorn situation, he pacified
his infuriated dogs, and desired her to come forward to the fire and
warm herself. ‘Nay,’ says she, ‘in the first place, you will please
bind with this long hair those two furious hounds of yours, for I am
afraid they will tear my poor hams to pieces. I pray you, therefore,
my dear sir, that you would have the goodness to bind them together by
the necks with this long hair.’ But the curious nature of the hair
induced the hunter to dissemble a little. Instead of having bound his
dogs with it, as he pretended, he threw it across a beam of wood which
connected the couple of the boothy. The witch then supposing the dogs
securely bound, approached the fire, and squatted herself down as if
to dry herself. She had not sitten many minutes, when the hunter could
easily discover a striking increase in her size, which he could not
forbear remarking in a jocular manner to herself. ‘A bad death to you,
you nasty beast,’ says the hunter; ‘you are getting very large.’--‘Aye,
aye,’ replied the cat, equally jocosely, ‘as my hairs imbibe the heat,
they naturally expand.’ These jokes, however, were but a prelude to a
more serious conversation. The cat still continuing her growth, had
at length attained a most extraordinary size,--when, in the twinkling
of an eye, she transformed herself into her proper likeness of the
Goodwife of Laggan, and thus addressed him: ‘Hunter of the Hills, your
hour of reckoning is arrived. Behold me before you, the avowed champion
of my devoted sisterhood, of whom Macgillichallum of Razay and you
were always the most relentless enemies. But Razay is no more. His
last breath is fled. He lies a lifeless corpse on the bottom of the
main; and now, Hunter of the Hills, it is your turn.’ With these words,
assuming a most hideous and terrific appearance, she made a spring at
the hunter. The two dogs, which she supposed securely bound by the
infernal hair, sprung at her in her turn, and a most furious conflict
ensued. The witch, thus unexpectedly attacked by the dogs, now began
to repent of her temerity. ‘_Fasten, hair, fasten_,’ she perpetually
exclaimed, supposing the dogs to have been bound by the hair; and so
effectually did the hair _fasten_, according to her order, that it at
last snapt the beam in twain. At length, finding herself completely
overpowered, she attempted a retreat, but so closely were the hounds
fastened in her breasts, that it was with no small difficulty she
could get herself disengaged from them. Screaming and shrieking, the
Wife of Laggan dragged herself out of the house, trailing after the
dogs, which were fastened in her so closely, that they never loosed
their hold until she demolished every tooth in their heads. Then
metamorphosing herself into the likeness of a raven, she fled over
the mountains in the direction of her home. The two faithful dogs,
bleeding and exhausted, returned to their master, and, in the act of
caressing his hand, both fell down and expired at his feet. Regretting
their loss with a sorrow only known to the parent who weeps over the
remains of departed children, he buried his devoted dogs, and returned
home to his family. His wife was not in the house when he arrived, but
she soon made her appearance. ‘Where have you been, my love?’ inquired
the husband.--‘Indeed,’ replies she, ‘I have been seeing the Goodwife
of Laggan, who has been just seized with so severe an illness, that
she is not expected to live for any time.’--‘Aye! aye!’ says he, ‘what
is the matter with the worthy woman?’--‘She was all day absent in the
moss at her peats,’ replies the wife, ‘and was seized with a sudden
colic, in consequence of getting wet feet, and now all her friends
and neighbours are expecting her demision.’--‘Poor woman,’ says the
husband, ‘I am sorry for her. Get me some dinner, it will be right that
I should go and see her also.’ Dinner being provided and dispatched,
the hunter immediately proceeded to the house of Laggan, where he found
a great assemblage of neighbours mourning, with great sincerity, the
approaching decease of a woman whom they all had hitherto esteemed
virtuous. The hunter, walking up to the sick woman’s bed in a rage,
proportioned to the greatness of its cause, stripped the sick woman of
all her coverings. A shriek from the now exposed witch brought all the
company around her. ‘Behold,’ says he, ‘the object of your solicitude,
who is nothing less than an infernal witch. To-day, she informs me, she
was present at the death of the Laird of Razay, and only a few hours
have elapsed since she attempted to make me share his fate. This night,
however, she shall expiate her crime, by the forfeiture of her horrid
life.’ Relating to the company the whole circumstances of her attack
upon him, which were too well corroborated by the conclusive marks she
bore on her person, the whole company were perfectly convinced of her
criminality; and the customary punishment was about to be inflicted
on her, when the miserable wretch addressed them as follows: ‘My
ill-requited friends, spare an old acquaintance, already in the agonies
of death, from any farther mortal degradation. My crimes and my folly
now stare me in the face, in their true colours, while my vile and
perfidious seducer, the enemy of your temporal and spiritual interests,
only laughs at me in my distress; and, as a reward for my fidelity
to his interest, in seducing every thing that was amiable, and in
destroying every thing that was good, he is now about to consign my
soul to eternal misery. Let my example be a warning to all the people
of the earth to shun the fatal rock on which I have split; and as a
strong inducement for them to do so, I shall atone for my iniquity to
the utmost of my ability, by detailing to you the awful history of my
life.’ Here the Wife of Laggan detailed at full length the way she was
seduced into the service of the evil one,--all the criminal adventures
in which she had been engaged, and ended with a particular account of
the death of Macgillichallum of Razay, and her attack upon the hunter,
and then expired.

“Meanwhile, a neighbour of the Wife of Laggan was returning home late
at night from Strathdearn, where he had been upon some business, and
had just entered the dreary forest of Monalea in Badenoch, when he met
a woman dressed in black, who ran with great speed, and inquired of
the traveller, with great agitation, how far she was distant from the
church-yard of Dalarossie, and if she could be there by twelve o’clock.
The traveller told her she might, if she continued to go at the same
pace that she did then. She then fled alongst the road, uttering the
most desponding lamentations, and the traveller continued his road to
Badenoch. He had not, however, walked many miles when he met a large
black dog, which travelled past him with much velocity, as if upon the
scent of a track or footsteps, and soon after he met another large
black dog sweeping along in the same manner. The last dog, however, was
scarcely past, when he met a stout black man on a fine fleet black
courser, prancing along in the same direction after the dogs. ‘Pray,’
says the rider to the traveller, ‘did you meet a woman as you came
along the hill?’ The traveller replied in the affirmative. ‘And did you
meet a dog soon after?’ rejoined the rider. The traveller replied he
did. ‘And,’ added the rider, ‘do you think the dog will overtake her
ere she can reach the church of Dalarossie?’--‘He will, at any rate, be
very close upon her heels,’ answered the traveller. Each then took his
own way. But before the traveller had got the length of Glenbanchar,
the rider overtook him on his return, with the foresaid woman before
him across the bow of his saddle, and one of the dogs fixed in her
breast, and another in her thigh. ‘Where did you overtake the woman?’
inquired the traveller. ‘Just as she was entering the church-yard of
Dalarossie,’ was his reply. On the traveller’s return home, he heard
of the fate of the unfortunate Wife of Laggan, which soon explained
the nature of the company he had met on the road. It was, no doubt,
the spirit of the Wife of Laggan flying for protection from the
infernal spirits, (to whom she had sold herself,) to the church-yard
of Dalarossie, which is so sacred a place, that a witch is immediately
dissolved from all her ties with Satan, on making a pilgrimage to it,
either dead or alive. But it seems the unhappy Wife of Laggan was a
stage too late.”

There is another power given to them, which is a most mischievous one,
and proves the fruitful source of almost all the crimes and miseries
which deluge the land,--that of sowing the seeds of discord amongst
mankind in public and private life. We will say nothing of the degree
of secret influence which these worthies probably enjoy in overruling
the councils of our nation, and thwarting the judgment of our
ministers, so as to answer their private purposes, as it would be out
of our strict line of delineation. But we speak from the best authority
when we say, that they are the common and secret instigators of those
deplorable quarrels and divisions which sometimes happen between
those who ought to be one flesh. Whenever we see a broken-hearted
wife mourning over the misconduct of her husband, who, once tenderly
affectionate and attentive to the discharge of his domestic duties,
is now changed into the domestic tyrant and whisky-bibber, we need
never hesitate for a moment to pronounce the cause to be witchcraft.
And the same rule holds good in regard to the misconduct of the wife,
_vice versa_. Behold, again, the man of sin, clothed in the garment of
disgrace, that sits “_girnan on the creepy._” Ask him what blind-fold
infatuation could have induced him to have defiled his neighbour’s bed,
and he will tell you, with a groan, it was “_Buchuchd_.”[F]

Nor are their operations confined to the injury of a person’s spiritual
interest alone--they even descend to the lowest incidents in a man’s
calling. If the reader should see a termagant of a wife raise over
the _caput_ of her poor cuckold of a husband the tongs or spurtle,
demanding of him, with vehement eloquence, the cause of purchasing a
horse or a cow at double its value, his answer to her will certainly
be--“Me ve ar mu Buchuchd.”

Thus the ruination of our spiritual interest is not enough to satisfy
their inveterate malignity,--they must likewise injure our temporal
interests, which, however incomparable to the former in point of
intrinsic importance, yet cause the sufferer fully as much grief.
Indeed, so dearly do the most of the people of this world love their
temporal means and estate, that we feel fully persuaded, that did
those agents confine their operations to the injury of our spiritual
interests alone, which, as Satan’s instruments, we should naturally
suppose to be their proper line of business, the clamour against their
ruinous and abominable practices would be much less violent than it
is. This much, however, of the Highlander’s liberal disposition the
sly sounding witch is intimately acquainted with, and for this very
reason she redoubles her diligence to cause him all the loss in her
power, as the most effectual way of completing his misery. Hence it
oftens happens, that should a horse, an ox, or a cow, of unequalled
symmetry and beauty, be so unlucky as to attract the favour of its
affectionate owner;--by whatever means the sagacious witch discovers
the secret we know not, but certain annihilation, accomplished by some
means or other, will be the poor animal’s lot. Such a calamity as this
is sufficiently mortifying, but it is a small one when compared to
the loss of a person’s whole stock, which too frequently follows the
loss of one. Having once inserted the infernal pillow into some snug
corner, its influence will give the finishing stroke to all the cattle
and creeping things on a farm. This pillow, not to give it a worse
name, is a little four-cornered _bag_, packed with divers exterminating
diseases, in the familiar likeness of hair, grease, parings of nails,
shoe tackets, salt, powder, and other infernal knick-knacks, too
tedious to be described, which, when thrown into the fire, makes a
noise the like of which has seldom been heard.

No sooner is this bag deposited in a cleft in the stable or byre than
it commences its destructive career, producing the death of the bestial
in whole lots, until the last hen on the roost will fall a sacrifice to
its deadly influence. Nor is this all; they will attach some infernal
cantrips to the farming-utensils that no good crop will follow their
operations, and what may escape the influence of the _baggie_ is
commonly destroyed by frost, rain, lightning, and other calamities,
which the craft can produce at their pleasure, so that it is unfit for
the use of man or beast. In short, of all the ills incident to the
life of man, none are so formidable as witchcraft, before the combined
influence of which, to use the language of an honest man who had
himself severely suffered from its effects, “the great Laird of Grant
himself could not stand them if they should fairly yoke upon him.”




CHAPTER V.

OF THE WITCH’S POWERS OF TRANSFORMATION.


Those of our readers who are not very well acquainted with the theory
of witchcraft will not be a little surprised, at the unaccountable
activity of its agents, who are capable of paying not only proper
attention to their own private affairs, but likewise of carrying on
almost all the business of the Evil One in this land. In order to
obviate all surprise on this head, be it remembered, that they are
endowed with as ample powers of transmigration (at their institution
into the craft) as any other of Satan’s spiritual agents; consequently
there is no similitude from their own proper likenesses to that of a
cat or a stone, but they can assume at pleasure. Hence the speed and
privacy with which they attain their evil ends.

One of the most ordinary disguises of a “_Ban-Buchichd_”[G] is the
similitude of a hare. This transformation she finds exceedingly
convenient while performing her cantrips in the field--bewitching
farming implements--destroying corn and grass--holding communion with
the sisterhood, and similar pieces of business. It enables her to
execute her undertakings with greater expedition, and flee more fleetly
on any emergency, than she could do in any other character.

A second is the likeness of a cat--by personating which, she procures
admission to the inmost recesses of a house, to deposit her infernal
machinery, without exciting the least suspicions of her real character
and intentions.

A third is her transformation into a stone, which is a common practice
with the witch in the season of agricultural operations, by which she
is afforded great opportunities of mischief to the farmer’s interest.
The wily witch will penetrate into the ground, and place herself in
the line of the plough, and as it passes her she will creep in betwixt
the sock and the culter. The plough is consequently expelled from the
ground for a considerable space, and a “_bauk_” is the consequence.
For these insidious and barefaced acts of iniquity, the witch, if
discovered, seldom escapes with impunity. Stopping the cattle, the
ploughman will take hold of the stone, bestowing upon it the most
abusive and opprobrious epithets, and dashes her with all his might
against the hardest substance he can find, as a mark of his hatred and
contempt for her character.

A fourth is her transformation into the shape of a raven; which now
in a great measure supersedes the use of her ancient and renowned
hobby-horse the broom, on which she formerly walloped with such
surprising velocity. This similitude is commonly assumed by her when on
excursions to any distance, to attend the counsels of Satan--to hold
communion with the sisterhood--or to attend some important enterprise.

The witch likewise assumes the character of a _magpie_ on occasions
of sudden emergency which require immediate conference with a number
of the members of the craft. The likeness of this bird, which is
of a domestic character, and fond of hopping and picking about the
doors, screens the witch from suspicion, as she visits another witch’s
dwelling. Hence, when a number of magpies convene together side by
side on a house-top, it is no wonder that their appearance should
occasionally excite suspicion. But we humbly think that mere suspicion
by no means justifies that hostility of temper which in several
districts the inhabitants are led to entertain against the whole
race of magpies, merely because the witches sometimes assume their
similitude. These suspicions are no doubt a good deal heightened by the
circumstance of the poor magpie’s being a little endowed with the gift
of prophecy. As a foreteller of minor events--such as the coming of
visitors, the change of weather, and such-like little occurrences--the
magpie has never been excelled; and notwithstanding the illiberal
conduct of its human neighbours, those little qualities are always
exerted by the magpie for their comfort and convenience.

On the morning of that auspicious day on which the factor, the
parson, or any other of the country gentry of equal importance, is
to pay a visit to the lord of the manor on which the magpie may have
pitched her residence, she will approach the house, and, by her
incessant chattering, announce to the inhabitants the coming of the
consequential stranger. The state apartment, perhaps rather deranged,
is consequently arrayed in proper order; and the necessary provisions
to entertain the expected guests are timeously procured, which, but for
the magpie’s generous and ill-rewarded premonition, could not perhaps
be provided for the occasion.




CHAPTER VI.

SAFEGUARDS FROM WITCHCRAFT.


As witchcraft is in itself by far the greatest calamity the Highlander
is subject to, so Providence, in its wise economy, has afforded him the
amplest means of guarding against its effects. And if a radical remedy
has not yet been discovered for the evil in all its bearings, it is
only because mankind have not been equally solicitous for the discovery
of it. Adverse to a murmuring discontented spirit, the Highlander
is satisfied with the removal of a share of his grievances. Having
obtained a knowledge of a certain remedy for those practices of the
craft which weigh most heavily on his temporal interests, he is not so
presumptuous as to suppose that Providence is so partial in its favours
as to grant him a remedy for those that affect his immortal interests
also. Satisfied with the benefits he enjoys, he is not clamorous for an
extension of them, leaving the concerns of another world for a season
of more convenience and leisure.

As a sovereign protection for goods and chattels of every description
from the machinations of those despicable agents, the rowan cross,
of invaluable excellence, has never been known to prove ineffectual.
Its salutary influence on every species of supernatural agents is
well known, and there are none to whom the smell of the rowan is more
obnoxious than the “Ban Buchuchd.” As a proof of its efficacy, we can
produce no better authority than the following affecting story:--

“There is, in the vicinity of Forres, an old decayed edifice,
called ‘_Castle Boorgie_,’ in which once lived a rich laird, who
had a beautiful daughter. Seemingly possessed of every engaging
accomplishment, and apparently endowed with the most amiable
disposition, she was the darling of her aged father, whose hopes and
joys were wholly centered in her. One spring morning, as her father
and herself were surveying the delightful prospects which the castle
commanded, the immense number of ploughs at work within the compass
of their vision happened to attract their attention. ‘Father,’ says
this ill-fated, unconscious child, ‘do we not behold a vast number of
ploughs in the widely-extended district now in our view?’--‘Yes, my
love, we do,’ replied the father, ‘and it is a pleasant thing to look
at them.’--‘What reward will you give me,’ added she, ‘if, by a single
word, I shall cause them all stand as immoveable as if the cattle were
transformed into stones?’--‘On that condition,’ replied the astonished
father, ‘the most superb and costly gown in the town of Forres shall
be yours.’--‘It is done,’ says the daughter. Raising her hand, she
muttered an unintelligible sound, and, lo! all the ploughs in the
district, with the exception of a single one, stood stock still and
immoveable.--‘Indeed!’ exclaims the father, ‘you are a rare conjuror,
my dear; but how is that plough in the adjacent park exempted from
the magical effect of your powerful charm?’--‘The cause I can easily
guess,’ says she; ‘there is, in one of the oxen’s bows, a pin of the
rowan tree, the virtue of which defeats all attempts at preternatural
fascination.’--‘Aye, aye,’ says he, ‘all those things are wonderfully
pretty; pray who taught them to you?’--‘My old nurse taught me those
fine things, and am not I greatly obliged to her, sir?’--‘You are,
undoubtedly,’ he replies, ‘and she shall soon have her reward. Oh! my
dear, my only child--support and comfort of my aged head--would to God
you had never been born!’

“Summoning immediately a council of his friends, the broken-hearted
parent revealed to them the whole circumstance, and craved
their opinion as to the measures that should be adopted in this
deeply-to-be-deplored case. After due consultation, the council gave it
as their decided opinion, that, concluding that she was irrecoverably
lost to all good in this world, the extension of her life would be only
productive of eternal disgrace and infamy to her friends, while her
spiritual interests would every day be destroyed by accumulating guilt.
Therefore, that her life should be instantly terminated by a private
death; and that the old hag, the author of her ruin, should be publicly
burned under every ignominious circumstance. To this hard decision the
agonised father was persuaded to assent; and a doctor was immediately
dispatched for to Forres, to point out the easiest mode of taking her
life. Bleeding the temporal arteries was the mode of death agreed on,
and the poor innocent victim of the old hag’s depravity was introduced
into a private apartment, in order to undergo the awful operation. On
entering the apartment, her unhappy father burst out into a flood of
tears. Observing his distress, his affectionate little daughter also
fell a crying. ‘What is the matter with you, my dear father?’ says she.
‘Have you received any bad news? Oh! tell me what is the matter with
you, that I may share your sorrows and dry your tears.’ Fearing that
the father’s courage might naturally fail him under so signal a trial,
the friends present instantly seized the astonished dear girl, bound
her hand and foot, and placed her in a vat, and the surgeon inflicted
on her two brows, fair and beautiful as those of an angel, the fatal
wounds. As the blood flowed, the poor affrighted victim perpetually
exclaimed, ‘Do not kill me, do not kill me; what have I done to offend
my dearest father? I am sure I did no harm. For the sake of my dear
mother, who is no more, and for whose sake you loved me so well, do not
let them kill me, my dear father.’ The unhappy father sunk senseless on
the floor, and his expiring child soon closed her eyes on this world,
sighing, with her last breath, ‘My dearest father, do not kill me.’

“The old hag was then brought out to the lawn in front of the castle,
and thrown into a huge furnace of tar and other combustibles, amidst
the general execration of the assembled multitude. And it is said, that
while the witch was burning, every crack she gave was as loud as the
report of a war cannon.”

When, by the neglect of the prescribed safeguards, the seeds of
iniquity have taken root, and a person’s means are decaying in
consequence, the only alternative, in this case, is to resort to that
grand remedy, the “_Tein Econuch_,” or “_Forlorn Fire_,” which seldom
fails of being productive of the best effects. The cure for witchcraft,
called “_Tein Econuch_,” is wrought in the following manner:--

A consultation being held by the unhappy sufferer and his friends as
to the most advisable measures of effecting a cure, if this process is
adopted, notice is privately communicated to all those householders
who reside within the nearest two running streams, to extinguish their
lights and fires on some appointed morning. On its being ascertained
that this notice has been duly observed, a spinning-wheel, or some
other convenient instrument, calculated to produce fire by friction,
is set to work with the most furious earnestness by the unfortunate
sufferer and all who wish well to his cause. Relieving each other
by turns, they drive on with such persevering diligence, that at
length the spindle of the wheel, ignited by excessive friction, emits
“_Forlorn Fire_” in abundance, which, by the application of tow, or
some other combustible material, is widely extended over the whole
neighbourhood. Communicating the fire to the tow, the tow communicates
it to a candle, the candle to a fir-torch, the torch to a cartful of
peats, which the master of the ceremonies, with pious ejaculations for
the success of the experiment, distributes to messengers, who will
proceed with portions of it to the different houses within the said two
running streams, to kindle the different fires. By the influence of
this operation, the machinations and spells of witchcraft “are rendered
null and void,” and, in the language of Scots’ law, “of no avail,
force, strength, or effect, with all that has followed, or may follow
thereupon.”

But should the evil prove so obstinate and deep-rooted as to triumph
over this most commonly efficacious remedy, the dernier resort is an
application to that arch-enemy of Satan, Mr. Grigor Willox Macgrigor,
Emperor of all the Conjurors.

The name of this gentleman is well known to the inhabitants of the
northern counties of Scotland, as the happy proprietor of that
invaluable and wonderful relic, which the vulgar are sometimes
pleased to denominate “Clach Ghrigair Willock,” alias “_Clach Ban na
Buchuchd_,” but which, in our opinion, deserves a far more dignified,
if not a more appropriate appellation. We humbly submit it should be
called the _Philosopher’s Stone_, not so much out of compliment to its
learned and elegant proprietor--although, by the bye, he is wonderfully
_philosophic_--as out of pure justice to the stone itself; for it
certainly is the best substitute for the grand object of the chemist’s
research that has hitherto been discovered. If the philosopher’s stone
will convert metal into gold, the “warlock’s stone” will convert water
into silver by a process perhaps more round-about, but equally certain.

The history of such a precious curiosity as this would, no doubt, prove
highly interesting to the “curious reader;” and the writer has to blame
the shortness of his memory for not gratifying him to the utmost of his
wish, Mr. Willox having more than once personally favoured him with a
very eloquent account of it. Suffice it to say, that this stone was
originally extorted by a very ancient ancestor of Mr. Willox from an
amorous slut of a mermaid, who, unfortunately for her, happened to take
a fancy to him, and no wonder, too, if he possessed in any degree the
personal attractions of his lineal posterity. It happened, then, that
this silly fool of a mermaid once thought it proper to throw herself
in this gentleman’s way, expecting, no doubt, very different treatment
from that which she experienced,--when her unnatural sweetheart,
instead of offering her any endearments, most ungraciously chained her
to a post, until she redeemed her liberty by this precious ransom.
This was, no doubt, long, long ago, nobody knows how long, and the
_stone_ has necessarily seen many revolutions of times and masters in
the course of its day. It graced for a long time the warlike standard
of the brave clan Gregor, combining, as the upholsterer says, “great
ornament with much utility;” for, while it served to set off not a
little those splendid banners, it invariably secured their followers
victory over their contending foes. It afterwards returned to the
Willox family, with whom it has continued to the present day. It could
not descend to a race of gentlemen who could do greater justice to its
excellent qualities, and certainly the fault cannot be traced to the
present proprietor, if, during his liferent use of it, the stone has
lost an iota of its former celebrity.

Whatever might have been the ornamental qualities of this wonderful
_stone_ in the days of yore, it has now no great ornaments to boast of.
It is a plain-looking article, strongly resembling the knob or bottom
of a crystal bottle; and were it not that Mr. Willox solemnly assured
us of his having been told by the great Lord Henderland himself, it
must have at one time composed one of the Pleiades, we should have had
much difficulty in believing it to consist of any other substance; but
who could resist such respectable authority?[H] Although Mr. Willox
informed us that a single collision with the ground would instantly
divest it of all its wonderful virtues, the stone certainly bears _ex
facie_ marks of rough usage, and even such inauspicious accidents as
coming into contact with the ground, or perhaps harder materials, in
its time. However, the _stone_ itself will tell no secrets, and on the
subject of accidents of this sort it is the proprietor’s interest to be
equally mute.

But whatever may be the nature and qualities of this stone, its virtues
are sufficiently notorious. A single immersion of it into a hogshead
of water instantaneously communicates to it such inconceivable virtue,
that one drop of it is sufficient to cure the most desperate case of
witchcraft in the land. Nor do the prevention and cure of witchcraft
alone constitute the stone’s sole line of business;--for a valuable
reward, there is no secret or calamity natural to man or beast in all
this wide world, but it will reveal or prevent.--_Exemple gratia_:
should some miserable vagabond of a thief, residing within the pale of
Mr. Willox’s celebrity, be so fool-hardy as to lay his dishonest hands
upon the goods or chattels of a neighbour, recovery of the goods, or at
least an exposure of the thief, is the absolute consequence. The loser
of the goods looks about him for his purse, and immediately proceeds to
consult the GRAND ORACLE, Mr. Grigor Willox, as to the person who had
the effrontery to steal his goods. Mr. Willox, willing to afford every
information on reasonable terms, instantly produces the black stocking
containing the stone, a single dip of which clearly developes the whole
circumstance. After a long consultation, involving some inquiries as
to suspected characters, the lynx-eyed Mr. Willox easily recognises
some figures reflected on the vessel containing the water by the stone,
conveying an exact representation of some old hag not very reputable
for her habits, residing in the complainant’s neighbourhood; and thus
all doubt is removed as to his suspicions being too well founded.

It is no subject for wonder, then, that this Great Oracle should be
so highly prized and suitably encouraged. With commendable regard
to the good of his beloved countrymen, Mr. Willox is in the habit
of _occasionally_ making a tour of pleasure through the counties of
Inverness, Ross, and Caithness, whence, after some weeks’ absence, he
returns home, with the double satisfaction of thinking, that while he
has, in the course of his rambles, conferred the greatest benefit on
suffering humanity, he has, at the same time, a good deal improved
his own pecuniary resources. Those occasional peregrinations of this
gentleman are now become absolutely necessary. Funds are not only very
low in these bad times, but Mr. Willox is convinced more and more,
every day he rises, of the truth of that proverb, “A prophet has no
honour in his own country;” and he therefore finds it no less his
interest than his duty to take a trip, as occasion suggests, to see his
friends in the _Duigh Tua_.[I] For the most part, however, he resides
at his seat of Gaulrig in Strathavon (usually called Strathdown),
where, like the late Doctor Samuel Solomon, inventor and proprietor of
that renovating cordial the Balm of Gilead, he may be consulted, either
personally or by letter post paid, on payment of the usual compliment
of a pound note. Accordingly, there are pilgrimages made to Gaulrig
as well as to Gilead House. It is no rare matter for the inhabitants
of both sides of the Avon to fall in with unfortunate pilgrims, whose
longitude of face and decrepitude of limbs indicate the extent of their
misfortunes and the length of their journey, inquiring the way for
_Taigh Maishter Willack_.




PART VII.

Highland Festive Amusements.

  Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
  The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
  To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
  One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

                                         GOLDSMITH.




HALLOWE’EN.

  Ye powers of darkness and of hell,
  Propitious to the magic spell,
  Who rule in silence o’er the night,
  Be present now.

                                     FRANCES.


Of the whole series of annual festivals, Hallowe’en forms the most
important occasion in the Highlands of Scotland. The fascinating round
of varied enjoyments the night presents to the young and juvenile--the
delightful peeps into futurity it affords to the enchanted lover--and
the fond recollections it revives in old age--all conspire to render
its approach more interesting, and its celebration more joyful,
than any other occasion within the compass of the year. Nor is the
happy influence diffused by Hallowe’en confined to the human class
of the inhabitants of the Highlands alone; most of the _supernatural
inhabitants_ are in some degree partakers in the general happiness.
With the fairy community, in particular, it is an occasion of peculiar
grandeur, as the great anniversary on which they are reviewed by _Auld
Nick_, their nominal chief potentate, in person; whilst many others of
the classes treated of in the foregoing pages regard it as a night of
no ordinary pomp and joviality.

On this occasion of universal hilarity, the natural coldness and
jealousy which generally subsist between the human species and
their supernatural neighbours are changed into perfect harmony and
benevolence. Like two belligerent armies, whose hostility towards each
other is more the offspring of public duty than private resentment, and
who, therefore, during the intervals of war, exhibit in their mutual
intercourse the marks of personal good will; so, in like manner, those
two classes forget for the night all animosity, in their more laudable
zeal to contribute to each other’s gratification. Nay, stern Satan
himself relaxes for this night his avarice; and, alive to no other
object than the promotion of universal enjoyments, dispatches showers
of his emissaries to the several kiln-pots, peat-stacks, and barn-yards
in the Highlands, to afford to those adventurers who desire it a peep
into the secrets of futurity.

Such a display of seeming benevolence, did it proceed from any other
individual than Satan, could not fail to meet with some share of
applause. But heads of families, whose opinions are entitled to some
respect, have been known to affirm, that Satan’s affected generosity
on this occasion is nothing but a mere stratagem for inveigling the
more effectually the young and unwary into his vile snares, and that
he gets more game by those specious artifices than he could realize by
any other means. Hence it is that the anxious parent this night,
instead of extolling Satan’s generosity, is so intent on magnifying
his perfidy; and in order the better to dissuade his offspring and
family from the dangerous practices of the night, details, without
qualification, his numerous treacheries on similar occasions.

But these ebullitions of the parent’s jealousy of Satan’s practices
are soon subdued. The big-bellied bottle and bumper-glass will have
a great effect in relaxing his heart of its illiberal suspicions.
Speedily animated by the conciliating qualities of the “_barley-bree_,”
and softened by the recollection of his own youthful frolics and manly
deeds on similar occasions, he no longer regards as a crime those
practices which he recently condemned; and the good-natured matron,
being happy at her husband’s felicity, and averse to chide, they both
tacitly connive at the family’s indulgence in the customary arts of
divination.

Generally the first spell they try is pulling the stock of kail.
Joining hand in hand they go forth to the kail-yard, previously
blind-folded, lads, lasses, and children, equally anxious to have their
fortunes told as their seniors. Pulling the first stock they meet with,
they immediately return to the light to have an examination of its
qualities; its being large or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic
of the size and shape of its puller’s conjugal companion. If any earth
adheres to the root, it indicates tocher or fortune; and the taste of
the custoc or stem, whether sour or sweet, shows the nature of his
disposition.

They go next to the barn-yard, and pull each a stalk of oats, and
according to the number of grains upon the stalk the puller will have
a corresponding number of children. It may be observed, that it is
essential to a female’s good fame that her stalk should have the
top-grain attached to it.

An individual goes to the barn, opens both its doors, then takes the
instrument used in winnowing corn, called a _wecht_, and goes through
all the gestures of letting down corn against the wind. This is
repeated three several times, and the third time an apparition will
pass through the barn, in at the one door and out at the other, having
a retinue emblematical of his or her station in life.

A person goes privately to _Tor-na-ha_, or the kiln-pot, throws into it
a clew of blue thread, which the person winds into a new clew. Towards
the latter end something will hold the thread, on which the person
demands, “Who holds?” An answer will be returned by the agent below, by
naming the Christian name and sirname of the person’s future spouse.

A person steals out unperceived to the peat-stack--sows a handful of
hemp-seed, calling out something to the following effect:--

  “Hemp-seed, I saw thee,
  Hemp-seed, I saw thee,
  And he who is my true love,
  Come after me and pu’ thee.”

And, on looking over his shoulder, he sees the apparition of the person
invoked in the attitude of pulling the hemp, which had immediately
grown at the magic command. Or, if hemp-seed is not at hand, let
the person take the floor-besom, which he will ride in the manner
of a witch three times round the peat-stack, and the last time the
apparition will appear to him.

They go one or more to what is called a _dead and living ford_, or, in
other words, a ford which has been crossed by a funeral, and observing
profound silence, dip the sleeve of their shirt in it. On returning
home they go to bed in sight of a fire, and, lying awake in bed, they
will observe an apparition, being an exact similitude of the grand
object in question, turn the shirt-sleeve, as if to dry the other side.

An individual goes to a public road, which branches in three several
directions, (_i. e._ the junction of three roads,) bearing with him
the cutty or three-legged stool, on which the person seats himself
just on the eve of twelve o’clock; and, as the hour strikes, he hears
proclaimed the names of the several persons who shall die in the parish
before the next anniversary. _Nota._--If the person carries along with
him articles of wearing-apparel, and throws an article away on the
proclamation of each person’s name, it will rescue the person from
his impending fate; and it will be wise to retain one article to the
last, in case his own name may be called, when he has not the means of
redemption at hand.

These and some other out-of-door spells having been tried, the parties
return to the dwelling-house to burn the nuts. Burning the nuts is a
very popular charm. They name a lad and a lass to each particular nut,
as they lay them in the fire, and, accordingly, as they burn quietly,
or start from beside one another, so the issue of the courtship will be.

A person takes a candle and goes unattended to a looking-glass--eats an
apple before it, combing his or her hair all the while, occasionally
holding over the shoulder a table-fork with a piece of the apple upon
it, and ultimately the adventurer’s conjugal partner will be seen in
the glass, in the attitude of taking the proffered piece of apple.

These and some other spells of less note, such as dipping for the
apple, groping for the clean dish, which are generally known, and,
therefore, need not be particularly described, joined to each
individual’s relation of the sights which he saw on the present
and former occasions, together with the reflections they draw from
“narrative old age,” bring the well-buttered sowans, or more favoured
_Banbrishd_[J] upon the table. The _sonsie_ kebbock is roasted at the
fire, and fangs cut down from end to end. Brandered bannocks, and
every other luxury that can be procured, load the hospitable board.
The welcome guests surround it; the silver head is bared with solemn
reverence, and the temperate feast, qualified with a few rounds of
the _Boghtle dhu_, is as much relished as if it consisted of the most
delicious luxuries that crown a monarch’s board. But the hours are too
happy to remain long;--they flee like a shadow, and call the guests to
their respective homes. Each swain and damsel now repose themselves
on their pillows, full of those tender emotions which the night’s
amusements excited, and in their midnight slumbers see those objects
whose image they so ardently wished to see in all their comeliness and
beauty.




CHRISTMAS.

  The children of years to come shall hear the fame of Carthon, when
  they sit round the burning oak, and the night is spent in songs of
  old.

                                                             OSSIAN.


Christmas Eve is chiefly spent in preparation for the succeeding
days. The housewife is busily engaged in the provision and cooking of
dainties. The flailman still chaps in the barn, desirous of providing
the necessary store of fodder for the Christmas. The herd-boy’s axe
resounds on the fir-stock, determined to prepare plenty of light, and
the gudeman, and others, are abroad on a not less important errand.

This errand, on which we suppose the gudeman and his assistants
employed, is the procuring of _Calluch Nollic_, or _Christmas Old
Wife_, an indispensable requisite for this occasion; and it will
perhaps puzzle some of our readers to guess the purpose for which
the good woman is wanted. If they suppose it is to contribute to the
hilarity of the time, or to assist in the festive preparations, the
idea is not very erroneous--the old woman does so in a very effectual
manner. But the return she meets with, however warm, will not be
admired by the reader, when he is told that it consists in being
stowed into a cartful of burning peats, with as little ceremony
and feeling as an old broom. This usage, so inconsistent with the
Highlander’s characteristic humanity, she does not, however, regard as
a great punishment, for her feelings are as fire-proof as those of a
Salamander. Indeed, it is no rare sight, though strange it must be, to
see an honest woman, who has undergone the unpleasant process of being
Christmas fire to a circle of unfeeling fellows, perhaps oftener than
once, heartily spinning at her wheel, and gratifying those, it may be,
who had a hand in the unfriendly act, with her marvellous tales. But to
avoid a certain imputation which some may be inclined to fix on us, it
will be proper to explain our meaning.

The reader will please understand, that this good woman only undergoes
this process by representation. Among those valuable discoveries which
distinguish former ages, that which gave rise to this custom deserves
notice. Some wise-acre, by some lucky chance, discovered, that at this
festive season, when the asperity of his character is probably much
softened, even relentless death himself can be compromised with on very
advantageous terms. By the sacrifice of an old woman, or any other body
whom he wished in a better world, and whom, by the following process,
he chose to send to it, death was debarred from any farther claim to
himself, or his friends, until the return of the next anniversary. He
went to the wood this night, fetched home the stump of some withered
tree, which he regularly constituted the representative of some person
of the description we have mentioned, and whose doom was inevitably
fixed by the process, without resort or appeal. Such a simple mode
of obtaining security from a foe whom every body fears, could not be
supposed to fall into desuetude; and the custom is therefore retained,
whatever faith may exist as to its utility, in some parts of the
country, even to this day.

But to return to the busy fireside whence we set out, we shall suppose
the goodman and the “_carling_” arrived, and the other members of the
family now relieved from their eager toil, with the old wife in the
centre. The question now is, how the remainder of the night is to be
disposed of? The nature of it requires that it should be spent with
gaiety; and a game at cards, the clod,[K] or the bag, is generally
fixed upon. At the ordinary hour, however, all retire to rest with
minds bent on the morrow’s gratifications, and the house is soon
changed from that scene of bustle and confusion it recently exhibited,
to that of peaceful tranquillity, where nothing is heard but the
slumbering of the inmates, and the growling bark of the faithful
_collie_ on the midden-head.

At length the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious
housemaid of the approach of

  CHRISTMAS DAY.

She rises full of anxiety at the prospect of her morning labours. The
meal, which was steeped in the _sowans-bowie_ a fortnight ago, to make
the _Prechdachdan sour_, or _sour scones_, is the first object of her
attention. The gridiron is put on the fire, and the sour scones are
soon followed by hard cakes, soft cakes, buttered cakes, brandered
bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking being once over, the sowans pot
succeeds the gridiron, full of new sowans, which are to be given to the
family, agreeably to custom, this day in their beds. The sowans are
boiled into the consistence of molasses, when the _Lagan-le-vrich_,[L]
to distinguish it from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured
into as many bickers as there are individuals to partake of it, and
presently served to the whole, old and young. It would suit well the
pen of a Burns, or the pencil of a Cruikshank, to paint the scene which
follows. The ambrosial food is soon dispatched in aspiring draughts
by the family, who soon give evident proofs of the enlivening effects
of the _Lagan-le-vrich_. As soon as each dispatches his bicker, he
jumps out of bed--the elder branches to examine the ominous signs of
the day,[M] and the younger to enter on its amusements. Flocking to
the swing, a favourite amusement on this occasion, the youngest of
the family gets the first “_shouden_,” and the next oldest to him,
in regular succession. In order to add the more to the spirit of the
exercise, it is a common practice with the person in the _swing_,
and the person appointed to swing him, to enter into a very warm and
humorous altercation. As the swinged person approaches the swinger, he
exclaims, _Ei mi tu chal_, “I’ll eat your kail.” To this the swinger
replies, with a violent shove, _Cha ni u mu chal_, “You shan’t eat
my kail.” These threats and repulses are sometimes carried to such a
height as to break down or capsize the threatener, which generally puts
an end to the quarrel.

As the day advances, those minor amusements are terminated at the
report of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs--the gun inviting
the marksman to the “_Kiavanuchd_,” or prize-shooting, and the latter
to “_Luchd-vouil_,” or the ball-combatants--both the principal sports
of the day. A description of either of these sports is unnecessary, as
nothing new distinguishes them from similar amusements in other places;
unless it be a consummate precision in the marksman, and a vigorous
intrepidity in the ball-combatants, that cannot perhaps be equalled by
the peasantry of any other country.

Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they exchange
them for the substantial entertainments of the table. Groaning under
the “_sonsy haggis_,” and many other savoury dainties, unseen perhaps
for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company, by
the appearance of the festive board, is more easily conceived than
described. The dinner once dispatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and
the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver’s shuttle. As it
continues its rounds, the spirits of the company become the more jovial
and happy. Animated by its cheering influence, even old decrepitude
no longer feels his habitual pains--the fire of youth is in his eye,
as he details to the company the exploits which distinguished him in
the days of “_auld langsyne_;” while the young, with hearts inflamed
with “_love and glory_,” long to mingle in the more lively scenes of
mirth, to display their prowess and agility. Leaving the patriarchs to
finish those professions of friendship for each other, in which they
are so devoutly engaged, the younger part of the company will shape
their course to the ball-room, or the card-table, as their individual
inclinations suggest; and the remainder of the evening is spent with
the greatest pleasure of which human nature is susceptible. Nor
will this happy evening terminate the festivities of this occasion.
Christmas mid-day awakes all but old age, to a renewal of former
hilarity. To age, however, there is no permanent enjoyment ordained
in this sublunary state. The transient gleam of happiness which
animated his feeble frame has given place, with the cause of it, to a
gloom proportionate to his former joys. Headaches, rheumatisms, and
other wonted infirmities, are this day returned with more than usual
virulence. He wakes only to recline his head on a pillow of sorrow, and
to think on the days that are gone.




NEW-YEAR’S EVE.

  “A gude New Year I wish thee, Maggy.”

                                        BURNS.


The Highlander’s native proneness to festive enjoyments, far from
being cloyed by recent series of feasts and diversions, only receives
from their speedy recurrence an additional excitement. Anxious by all
means to secure this occasion its accustomed share of hilarity, fresh
schemes of amusement are studied and promoted with unabated avidity.
The peculiar character of the time pre-eminently entitles it to every
demonstration of satisfaction which mankind can evince; and it must be
no small stimulus to the Highlander’s laudable zeal, to see that in
this he is imitated by beings whose abilities are far inferior to his
own.

We presume it is a circumstance that is very little known in other
quarters of the kingdom, that, on this particular occasion, even the
_brute_ creation (if we may use the expression) have an instinctive
knowledge of its auspices. In particular, that admirable object
of Highland curiosity, the “_Candlemas[N] Bull_,” manifests no
small degree of respect for the occasion. This strange and curious
_animal_, which has so long escaped the observation of all the _Saxon_
naturalists and astronomers that ever lived, has been long since
discovered by our Highland philosophers. We say astronomers! because,
however strange it may appear, this bull forms an object of speculation
connected with their department of science. It must not, however, be
inferred from this circumstance, that it is of that celestial species
of bulls designated by astronomers to distinguish a particular division
of the zodiac; neither is it of that terrestrial species known to
naturalists and cattle-dealers--it is of a species distinct from both.
Partaking together of the aërial and terrestrial nature and qualities,
both the earth and the air are equally its elements. This bull makes
an annual excursion, in some latitude or other, about the twilight of
this night, no doubt in honour of the occasion. He has, it is said,
neither wings nor any other apparent buoyants; but he takes advantage
of the course of the wind, on which he glides along in fellowship with
the clouds, in a manner that would do credit to the best aeronaut
of the day. The particular place of his ascension or descent, which
varies with the direction of the wind, cannot be exactly ascertained.
Nor can we favour the curious with a minute description of its bodily
appearance, since we never had the good fortune to be present when it
was seen. All our informants, however, agree in representing it as of
a very large size, the colour of a dark cloud, and having all the limbs
of a common bull.[O]

As soon as night sets in, it is the signal for the suspension of
common employments; and the Highlander’s attention is directed to
more agreeable and important callings. Associating themselves into
bands, the men, with tethers and axes, shape their course towards the
juniper bushes, which are as much in request this night as kail is
on Hallowe’en. Returning home with Herculean loads, the juniper is
arranged around the fire to dry till the morning. Some careful person
is also dispatched to the _dead and living ford_, who draws a pitcher
of water, observing all the time the most profound silence. Great care
must be taken that the vessel containing the water does not touch the
ground, otherwise it would lose all its virtues. These and every other
necessary peculiar to the occasion being provided, the inmates retire
to rest for the night, full of the thoughts of the morrow.

The Highlander’s morning cheer this day is far less palatable than
that with which he is served so comfortably on Christmas-day. But if
it be not so agreeable to his temporal inclinations, it is far more
beneficial to his spiritual interests. The _Lagan-le-vrich_, though
very good in itself as a substantial dish, will do no more than satisfy
for a time the cravings of nature. But the treat of which he partakes
this day extends its effects to the good of both soul and body. This
treat, if we may so call it, is divided into two courses, which are
productive of the following good effects.

The first course, consisting of the _Usque-Cashrichd_, or water
from the _dead and living ford_, by its sacred virtues, preserves
the Highlander, until the next anniversary, from all those direful
calamities proceeding from the agency of all infernal spirits,
witchcraft, evil eyes, and the like. And the second course, consisting
of the fumes of juniper, not only removes whatever diseases may
affect the human frame at the time, but it likewise fortifies the
constitution against their future attacks. These courses of medicine
are administered in the following manner:--

Light and fire being kindled, and the necessary arrangements having
been effected, the high priest of the ceremonies for the day, and his
assistants, proceed with the hallowed water to the several beds in the
house, and, by means of a large brush, sprinkles upon their occupants a
profuse shower of the precious preservative, which, notwithstanding its
salutary properties, they sometimes receive with jarring ingratitude.

The first course being thus served, the second is about to be
administered, preliminary to which it is necessary to stuff all the
crevices and windows in the house, even to the key-hole. This done,
piles of juniper are kindled into a conflagration in the different
apartments of the house. Rising in fantastic curls, the fumes of
the blazing juniper spread along the roof, and gradually condense
themselves into an opaque cloud, filling the apartment with an
odoriferous fumigation altogether overpowering. Penetrating into the
inmost recesses of the patient’s system, (for _patients_ they may well
be called,) it brings on an incessant shower of hiccupping, sneezing,
wheezing, and coughing, highly demonstrative of its expectorating
qualities. But it not unfrequently happens, that young and thoughtless
urchins, not relishing such _physic_, and unmindful of the important
benefits they reap from it, diversify the scene by cries of suffocation
and the like, which never fail to call forth from the more reflecting
part of the family, if able to speak, a very severe reproof. Well
knowing, however, that the more intense the “_smuchdan_,” the more
propitious are its effects, the high priest, with dripping eyes and
distorted mouth, continues his operations, regardless of the feelings
of his flock, until he considers the dose fully sufficient--upon which
he opens the _vent_, and the other crevices, to admit the genial fluid,
to recover the spirits of the exhausted patients. He then proceeds to
gratify the horses, cattle, and other bestial stock in the town, with
the same entertainment in their turn.[P]

Meanwhile, the gudewife gets up, venting the most latent embryo of
disease in a copious expectoration; and clapping her hand upon the
bottle _dhu_, she administers a renovating cordial to the sufferers
around her. The painful ordeal is, therefore, soon forgotten, and
nothing is heard but the salutations of the season. All the family
now get up, to wash their besmeared faces and prepare themselves for
the festivities of the day, and for receiving the visits of their
neighbours. These last soon arrive in bodies, venting upon the family
broadsides of salutation peculiar to the day.[Q] Breakfast being served
up, consisting of all the luxuries that can be procured, those of the
neighbours not engaged are invited to partake of it; and the day is
terminated with balls, drinking, card parties, and other sports too
tedious to be mentioned.




FASTEN’S EVE.

  “And oft I hear your dearest name
  Whispered in my troubled dream.”


The most substantial entertainment peculiar to this night is the
matrimonial brose, which is a dish, we believe, well known throughout
the country at large. This savoury dish is generally made of the
bree of a good fat jigget of beef or mutton, which, being sometimes
a good while in _retentum_, renders the addition of salt to the meal
unnecessary. Before the bree is put in the bicker or plate, a ring is
mixed with the meal, which it will be the aim of every partaker to
get. The first bicker being discussed, the ring is put into two other
bickers successively; and should any of the candidates for matrimony
find the ring more than once, he may rest assured of his marrying
before the next anniversary.

The brose, and plenty of other good cheer, being dispatched, the
guests betake themselves to another part of the night’s entertainment.
Soon as the evening circle convenes, the “_Bannich Junit_,” or “sauty
bannocks,” are resorted to. The component ingredients of those
dainties are eggs and meal, and a sufficient quantity of salt, in order
to sustain their ancient and appropriate appellation of “sauty.” These
ingredients, well mixed together, are baked or toasted on the gridiron,
and are regarded by old and young as a most delicious treat; and, as
may be expected, they have a charm attached to them, which enables
the happy Highlander to discover the object of all his spells--his
connubial bed-fellow.

A sufficient number of those designed for the palate being prepared,
the great or matrimonial bannock is made, of which all the young people
in the house partake. Into the ingredients of it there is some particle
intermixed, which, in the distribution, will fall to the lot of some
happy person, who may be sure, if not already married, to be so before
the next anniversary.

Last of all are made the _Bannich Bruader_, or dreaming bannocks, to
the ingredients composing which is added a little of that substance
which chimney-sweeps call soot, and which contains some charm of which
we have not yet come to the knowledge. In baking these last bannocks,
the baker must be as mute as a stone--one word would destroy the charm
of the whole concern. One is given to each individual, who slips off
with it quietly to bed; and, reposing his head on his bannock, he will
be gratified by the sight of his beloved in the course of his midnight
slumbers.




BELTANE EVE.

  “Now the sun’s gone out o’ sight,
  Beet the ingle, snuff the light;
  In glens the fairies skip and dance,
  And witches wallop o’er to France.”

                                   RAMSAY.


Beltane Eve[R] is a night of considerable importance and of much
anxiety to the Highland farmer, as being the grand anniversary review
night, on which all the tribes of witches, warlocks, wizards, and
fairies, in the kingdom, are to be reviewed by Satan and his chief
generals in person, and new candidates admitted into infernal orders.
When such a troop, under such a commander, are let loose upon the
community, it is natural to suppose that much misery and devastation
will follow in their train; and when rewards are only conferred on
those most consummate in wickedness, and those most adept in cutting
diabolical cantrips, it is natural for every honest man to feel
anxious that they may not obtain promotion at his expense. In order,
therefore, to be perfectly secure from the machinations of so dangerous
a society, every prudent man will resort to those safeguards that will
keep them at the staff’s end. Messengers are therefore dispatched to
the woods for cargoes of the blessed rowan tree, the virtues of which
are well known. Being formed into the shape of a cross, by means of a
red thread, the virtues of which too are very eminent, those crosses
are, with all due solemnity, inserted in the different door-lintels
in the town, and protect those premises from the cantrips of the most
diabolical witch in the universe. Care should also be taken to insert
one of them in the midden, which has at all times been a favourite
site of _rendezvous_ with the black sisterhood. This cheaply purchased
precaution once observed, the people of those countries will now go to
bed as unconcernedly, and sleep as soundly, as on any other night.

While those necessary precautions are in preparation, the matron or
housekeeper is employed in a not less interesting avocation to the
juvenile generation, _i. e._ baking the Beltane bannocks. Next morning
the children are presented each with a bannock, with as much joy as an
heir to an estate his title-deeds; and having their pockets well lined
with cheese and eggs, to render the entertainment still more sumptuous,
they hasten to the place of assignation, to meet the little band
assembled on the brow of some sloping hill, to reel their bannocks,
and learn their future fate. With hearty greetings they meet, and with
their knives make the signs of life and death on their bannocks. These
signs are a cross, or the sign of life, on the one side; and a cypher,
or the sign of death, on the other. This being done, the bannocks are
all arranged in a line, and on their edges let down the hill. This
process is repeated three times, and if the cross most frequently
present itself, the owner will live to celebrate another Beltane day;
but if the cypher is oftenest uppermost, he is doomed to die of course.
This sure prophecy of short life, however, seldom spoils the appetites
of the unfortunate short-livers, who will handle their knives with as
little signs of death as their more fortunate companions. Assembling
around a rousing fire of collected heath and brushwood, the ill-fated
bannocks are soon demolished, amidst the cheering and jollity of the
youthful association.[S]




CHRISTENINGS.

  “When we sit bowsing at the nappy,
  And getting fu’ and unco happy,
  We think not on the lang Scots miles,
  The mosses, waters, slaps, an’ stiles.”

                                       BURNS.


Having travelled over the prominent features which distinguish public
annual festivities in the Highlands of Scotland, we shall now briefly
direct the reader’s attention to those particular occasions which
only interest private circles of friends; and of all these it may be
said, that the birth and christening of a child forms one of the most
pleasant and important. The fond parent, filled with those visionary
hopes and expectations which the imagination is so apt to conceive as
the portion of those objects most dear to us, fancies he beholds in
his new offspring the future hero or statesman, whose fragile hand may
be destined to wield the sword of a general or the pen of a statesman.
Such is the impression of the Highland parent in particular--an
impression in which he is perhaps confirmed by superior authority. The
great utility and comfort derived from having the assistance of those
wise people, whose experience and judgment enable them to discover
those great destinies in an infant, is abundantly apparent; and of this
capacity most of the Highland matrons are possessed. It is no doubt
this weighty consideration that induces every honest woman to have her
own junto of matron counsellors, whose presence is as indispensable
on the occasion of an accouchement as that of the _accoucheur_. If
the offspring is a son, it is likely those sage physiognomists will
already trace in his infantile lineaments clear signs of that future
greatness which he is destined some happy day to display, as well
as the striking resemblance he bears to his father and mother. The
greatness of such a _blessing_ as this they never fail to impress upon
the overjoyed father, (though, by the bye, he may have had too many
of these blessings before,) who is thus induced cheerfully to devote
more of his little property than he can well afford, to give the
occasion its deserved _eclat_. Filled with pleasure, elated with hope,
Highland hospitality has no bounds--a score of lives are sacrificed at
the shrine of festivity, and all the neighbours and kinsmen invited
to the christening. The day arrived, the little great man destined to
grace some name is arrayed in his robes of state, and confided to the
care of the happy sponsors, who, (should the parson not attend the
feast,) together with the company present, will proceed with him to
the parsonage, to receive the ordinance of baptism. On their return,
the guests assembled will pledge the health of their host and the
_Benheen_, or the sick wife, in overflowing bumpers--not forgetting
young Donald, who, “_may he thrive_,” every body praises for a fine
child.

The seating and tables being next sorted in some snug place, the feast
commences with a course of savoury soup, which is pronounced good
by all. A succeeding course of broth is still better; and a third
still better than the second. Mutton and beef follow, each good in
its kind. Plenty of fowls, equally delicious, are next ushered in,
calling forth the unqualified praise of the guests, who, upon the
whole, pronounce the banquet the most luxurious which they have seen
for a long time before. The dessert once dispatched, the flowing bowl
succeeds, and the rafters are made again to resound to the healths of
the young hero and his parents. A long catalogue of those toasts and
sentiments most congenial to the feelings of the company are next drank
with the greatest glee; and bowl after bowl is speedily drained “to
_friendship’s growth_,” the effects of which bespeak themselves in the
aspect of the company.

Enveloped in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, in one corner a hamlet
politician is retailing to his half-attentive neighbour the various
news of the day. Another guest is as warmly engaged in the praise of
his wife, his horses, or his cattle; and another is eagerly soliciting
attention to his improved mode of ploughing his ground, sowing his
turnips, and planting his potatoes. At length, when the house begins to
revolve, each thinks it time to withdraw. The officious midwife then
comes to the door, full of kind inquiries, if each has got his own
plaid, bonnet, and staff; and being rewarded for her attention by the
customary _douceur_, she wishes them all a good night and a pleasant
journey.




WEDDINGS.

  “Was ne’er in Scotland heard or seen
    Sic dancing and deray;
  Nouther at Falkland on the green,
    Nor Peebles at the play.”

                             KING JAMES I.


Interesting as a christening undoubtedly is to the parents of the
child, it is, neither in a public nor private sense, so happy an
occasion as that which we are about to describe. If there is any thing
under the sun in which true happiness really consists, we are told it
is in the consummation of a marriage, where the parties, uninfluenced
by sordid motives, are entirely brought together by the magnetic power
of love. Of such a description the Highland marriages are in general.
The lower classes being pretty equal in their circumstances, policy and
interest have less influence in their marriages than is the case with
any other rank of people; and consequently the parties are left more to
the unbiassed dictates of their own voluntary choice.

When a couple of young lovers propose to get married, the nearest
relations of both parties meet to take the case into consideration;
and, in general, it is no difficult matter for the lovers and their
advocates to get a decision consonant to their inclinations. This is
called the booking (“_leuruch_”) or contract, which is very often
ratified by no other covenant than a few bottles of whisky. If the
parties come to an understanding, the lovers are immediately declared
bride and bridegroom; and some Tuesday or Thursday in the growth of the
moon is fixed upon for the celebration of the nuptials. Meanwhile, to
sustain the dignity of the bridal pair, from motives of policy as well
as of state, they select from their kinsmen two trustworthy persons
each, who are delegated to the other--the male to protect the party
from being stolen, (a practice once common, and not yet extinct,) and
the female to act as maid of honour and lady of the bedchamber on the
bridal occasion.

A few days prior to the bridal day, the parties, with their attendants,
perambulate the country, inviting the guests, on which occasion they
meet with marked attention from old and young. The invitations are all
delivered to the parties _propria persona_ at their firesides; and if
the wedding is to be a cheap one, a small present is sometimes offered
to the bride, and accepted of.

On the morning of the wedding-day, some lady, who is above the ordinary
level, and who has been constituted mistress of the ceremonies for the
day, arrives to deck the bride in her splendid habiliments. She is
received by the clean white bride, previously prepared for her by a
ducking in the cold bath; and, retiring to the wardrobe chamber, she is
speedily metamorphosed from a “sonsy country lassie” into a downright
lady--at least, if muslins and ribbons are all that is requisite to
confer this distinction, she is entitled to it. The bridegroom, too,
at his apartments, has his own decorators, who deck him out most
splendidly with marriage favours and other ornaments suitable to the
occasion.

Meanwhile, repeated vollies of musketry summon the guests to the
wedding. Mounted on his palfry, each “crony” shapes his course to the
house to which he was invited; while droves of youngsters flock along
the road, whose hearts at every shot are bounding with joy. On their
arrival, they are ushered into the breakfasting apartment, to partake
of the forenoon’s entertainment, consisting of good milk porridge and
cream, on which they fare very sumptuously. After this mid-day repast,
they are led to the ball-room, or dancing apartment, to share in its
enjoyment. Here the bride or bridegroom is seated at the upper end of
the ball-room, and receives the company, as they successively arrive,
with great pomp and ceremony; and the dancing and mirth is prolonged
for some hours.

At the time appointed, the bridegroom selects a party of young men,
who are dispatched to summon the bride and her party to the marriage
ceremony. Their approach is announced by showers of musketry opened
upon them by some of the bride’s men, and returned, most of the guests
being furnished with pistols. The bride’s party accordingly prepare
themselves for the procession. The bride is mounted upon some _canny_
charger behind an expert rider; drams go round to her health and
prosperity; and, the company being all in readiness, she leaves her
native residence for another, amidst the cheers and _feu-de-joie_ of
the assembly. Marching to the sound of the inspiring bagpipes, and
the discharge of fire-arms, the bride’s party proceed to the place
appointed for the marriage. The bridegroom’s party follow at some
little distance; and both arrived at the appointed place of rendezvous,
the bridegroom’s party stand in the rear till the bride’s party enter
the meeting-house, agreeably to the rules of precedence, which on this
occasion are decidedly in favour of the bride in all the proceedings of
the day.

Soon as the hymeneal knot is tied, the candidates for the honour of
wonning the kail, as they call it, drive off _pell mell_ for the
bridegroom’s house, horsemen and footmen promiscuously. Both parties,
now mingled together, proceed with multitudinous jovialty towards the
bridegroom’s, the scene of the future festivities of the night. A
volley of fire-arms announces their arrival; and the company assembled
at the door, to welcome the bride, assail her with a basket of the
bridal bread and cheese, the properties of which are well known. The
bridal pair are then seated at the upper end of the banquet, and the
guests are arrayed, according to their quality, around the far-extended
tables, formed of doors, chests, and cart bottoms, sustained by sturdy
supporters of wood or stone; and wooden beams, and deals for chairs, in
common form. The more plebeian part of the guests, freely disposed of
in the stables or byres, make themselves very comfortable with their
cheer.

Shortly the waiters come round the circle, presenting each with a
spoon, which he must carefully return when done with it. The spoon
is followed with the hardly-contested kail. After this, a remove of
savoury broth is presently brought in; of which all having partaken,
the still more delicious “_hotch-potch_” succeeds. Then follow fowl of
every feather, and every beast and creeping thing--

  “Hind and fore spalls of a sheep
    Drew whittles frae ilk sheath;
  Wi’ gravie a’ their beards did creep,
    They kempit wi’ their teeth.”

The dinner being over, the “shemit reel” is the next object of
attention. All the company assemble on the lawn with flambeaux, and
form into a circle. The bridal pair and their retinue then dance a
_sixsome reel_, each putting a piece of silver into the musician’s
hand. Those desirous may then succeed, and dance with the bride and
the two maids of honour, and are gratified at the commencement and
termination of each reel by the usual salutes.

In the meantime, the stewards of the feast having removed the temporary
erections from the dancing apartments, the shemit reel being over,
the guests re-occupy their seats in the original order, and dancing
and mirth is again resumed. Tartan plaids, spreading in every corner,
invite the fair to take shelter in those most congenial to their
inclinations. The jovial smiling bowl, now reeking in a corner, allures
to its side its votaries--the circling glass adds additional stimulus
to the riotous spirit of the company. In short, pleasure presents
herself for courtship in all her luring forms.

As the night advances, the company grows still more happy. The numerous
ills of the human lot, which at other times so much afflict them, now
cause them no concern; on the contrary, they are entirely full of its
pleasures. Hence, all the corners of the house, instead of declamations
against the infirmities of age, or the badness of the times, are full
of the happiest communications. Opportunities long sought for declaring
secret friendship have now occurred, and the warmth with which they
are expressed forcibly bespeak their fervency. Two patriarchs “had
long indulged the hope of seeing an honourable alliance betwixt
_their_ families. Both honest and respectable, the union of their
children would be a highly suitable match; and should such a desirable
event ever occur, there was a black stocking in secret, which would
spew on the occasion of the wedding.” In another, you may see two
hearty grey-beards, whose locked hands and contacting noddles show
the closeness of their friendship, relating to each other, with much
complacency, those tales of “_auld langsyne_” in which they themselves
acted so prominent a part. In another corner, the fond lover, with his
dearly beloved locked in his affectionate embrace, melting her heart
with his wooing strains; and in another, the vocal choir, whose throats
of steel vociferate their harmonious ditties on the gratified ears of
the company; while, on the top of a bed, or at the back of the door,
the juvenile part of the guests, assembled in tumultuous rabble, will
also join their voices in the general uproar.

On the floor the dancers are beyond compare. Fixed with emulation
who shall _win the dance_, every nerve and muscle is put in active
exercise. The lads are gaining greater agility every successive reel;
while, in the language of the poet,

  “The lasses bab’d about the reel,
    Gart a’ their hurdies wallop,
  And swat like ponies when they speel
    Up braes, or when they gallop.”

This scene lasts for some hours, until the presence of day warns the
bride to prepare for the bedding. Wishing, if possible, to elude the
public gaze, she attempts to steal away privately, when, observed by
some vigilant eye, her departure is announced, and all push to the
bridal chamber.

The door is instantly forced open, and the devoted bride, divested of
all her braws, and stripped nearly to the state of nature, is placed in
bed in presence of the whole company. Her left stocking is then flung,
and falls upon some individual, whose turn to the hymeneal altar will
be the next. The bridegroom, next led in, is as rapidly demolished, and
cosily stowed along-side of his darling. A bottle and glass being then
handed to the bridegroom, he rewards the friendliness of those who come
forward to offer their congratulations, with a flowing bumper. When the
numerous levée have severally paid their court, they retire, and leave
the young couple to repose.

On returning to the grand scene of festivity, we shall find that the
aspect of the company there has suffered no small alteration during
our absence. Overpowered by the peculiar influence of the ardent
friendship which fills the elder branches of the company, those
boisterous expressions of esteem which recently occupied them so much,
have declined into the calmest complacency. Overcome by the most
unspeakable sensations, the tongue, which was lately so voluble, has
totally failed. Those legs, which but a few hours ago displayed the
greatest agility, have now refused their office; and the whole machine
is become perfectly unwieldy and unmanageable:

  “In their mawes there was na mank;
    Upon the firms some snor’d;
  Ithers frae aff the bunkers sank,
    Wi’ een like collops scor’d.”

Seated by the victorious bowl, the _Far Cuil_ is still engaged in his
musical vocation. With bow alternately above and below the strings,
he is earnestly employed at _Tullochgorum_, while cries for the same
spring, proceeding from the dancers on the floor, incessantly ring on
his ears. Insensible to time or measure, some of the young people still
wallop on the floor, and unabated clamour reigns throughout the house.

Meanwhile, all the avenues leading from the town are thronged with
retiring guests “_careering_” on their way home; and the company is
ultimately reduced to the immediate friends and relations of the
young couple, who wait to offer their morning congratulations. When
the bridal pair are supposed to have reposed themselves sufficiently
long, they are warned to get up, to prepare for the breakfast and the
morning levée. On entering the grand breakfasting parlour, the whole
concourse of friends receive them with showers of compliments and
congratulations, accompanied by such gifts as may be convenient; and
yesterday’s scene of festivity is again renewed, and prolonged for the
day.




WAKES.

  “But turn to yonder cloister’d gloom,
    Where pallid Sorrow leads the way,
  To muse upon some hallow’d tomb,
    Where Friendship’s dearest relics lie.”

                                            W. S.


Short and unstable are the joys of man!--How often does it happen that
such ardent scenes of pleasure as we have been just endeavouring to
describe are but like the gleam which precedes the storm--a prelude
to direful woe! Oft has the tender parent or loving child, who but
yesterday animated such a scene of festivity, to-day exhibited the most
desponding spectacle which human nature can witness. Those eyes, which
then sparkled at the _pibroch’s_ harmonious sounds, are now sealed for
ever; and his relations and friends are involved in grief more vehement
than their former joys.

Prone to partake in his neighbour’s joys, the Highlander, on such
occasions as this, is equally ready to share in his sorrows, and will
not grudge to contribute his exertions, by night as well as by day, to
add to his comfort or consolation. On the last offices of friendship
being performed, the body is laid on a bed in that apartment of the
house most commodious and suitable for the company; and the neighbours
immediately collect in bands, to watch over the remains of departed
friendship. During the silent hours of midnight, the solemnity of the
occasion is heightened by the sound of sacred praise, and reading
of the blessed Gospel. Such are now the laudable employments which
have assumed the place of that revelry which formerly disgraced the
Highland wakes, when immoderate drinking, dancing, wanton levity, and
profane amusements, were the prominent features of such an assembly.
It is true, the moderate use of liquor and singing of songs are still
tolerated, but excess on these occasions is now unknown. On the
departure of every group, one of the friends in attendance conducts
them to the melancholy bier, when each generally testifies the ardour
of his friendship by shaking the hand, which now cannot feel his
proffered kindness, and retires full of those solemn reflections which
the scene is calculated to produce.




FUNERALS.

  “In some fond breast still lives the face,
    Its wonted smile, the darling form,
  Which awful death cannot efface,
    However much it may deform.”

                                          W. S.


On the third day after the defunct’s decease, if the person occupied
no station above the ordinary level, the body will be led to its
destined abode. This sorrowful day is early distinguished by melancholy
arrangements. Verbal warnings having been previously circulated to the
male inhabitants of the district, large and timeous preparations are
necessary for their accommodation and entertainment. While the seating
of the apartments destined to receive the company occupies the men,
the arrangement of the entertainment occupies no less the attention of
the women. In the meanwhile, the relations and family of the deceased
attire themselves in the best mournings their circumstances can afford,
and prepare themselves for going through the duties of the day with
all possible fortitude and decency. The arrival of the wooden house
of death, and the deposition of its inhabitant, early call forth many
a sigh and tear at the parting which is about to take place. But the
closing of the coffin is deferred till the eve of removal.

About twelve o’clock, the company, or, to speak more properly, the
guests, successively arrive in scattered groups, dressed in all the
variegated colours of the rainbow; and are received by some near
connection of the deceased, who conducts them to the place appointed
for their station.

With becoming gravity they take their seats, condoling very feelingly
with the present friends on their lamentable loss, and carry on for a
while a conversation very suitable to the business which brought them
together. They are each served, on their arrival, with what is called
a dram of “_dry whisky_,” and some fit person is appointed to keep the
glass in active circulation. To him is also delegated a discretionary
power of imposing extra penalties on late comers, who must compensate
for their absence by drinking a double quantity on their arrival.

Thus, all equally well plied with the enlivening glass, the solemn
aspect of the company is soon changed into a mixture of sorrow and joy.
The moralist, who so recently uttered such sage reflections upon the
shortness of life and its uncertainty, is transformed by some secret
influence into the sprightly wit, whose humorous jokes and repartees
continually agitate the risible powers of his audience. In short, the
house of mourning is rapidly changing into a house of mirth; and such
would be the opinion of any stranger who might visit the scene.

As soon as he approaches the door of the _meeting-house_, his ears are
assailed with a confusion of sounds, which conveys to him the idea of
entering a house full of bees. Seated in double rows, extending from
one end of the house to the other, he finds it literally crammed, not
with bees, but Highlandmen of every age and condition. In each end of
the house he sees overflowing bowls, and walking to and fro, a host of
waiters, bearing the full and empty glasses of the company, followed by
others with bread and cheese, which are liberally distributed amongst
the guests. Being seated in the place befitting his rank or station, if
curiosity leads him to a closer examination of the complexion of his
company, he will not be a little amused at the diversity of feelings
and conversation distinguishing the individuals composing it. If the
visitor or stranger whom we have supposed is of a serious cast of
mind, and if he addresses himself to his elbow neighbour on the solemn
character of the occasion, and laments the pitiful state of the family
that may be thus deprived of their parent or provider--perhaps, if he
listens for a moment with counterfeited seriousness, the sprightly
sally of a rustic wit rings upon his ear, and a horse-laugh immediately
shows the spectator he has no great relish for his subject. If, again,
he addresses himself to one of a less jovial temperament, who has not
yet been so much affected by the general _infection_ upon the same
subject, he will perhaps acknowledge the justness of his observations
with a significant shake of the head, declaring at the same time the
poignancy of his sorrow for the deceased, who, “new peace to him, was
the best of souls.” But, at the same time, and in the same breath, he
will make a digression to the alarming depreciation of agricultural
produce, and the consequent inevitable ruin of poor farmers, if they
do not immediately get a reduction of the one-half of their rents; and
the concern he evinces for both matters makes it difficult to determine
which loss he considers the greater calamity. Listening to the various
topics of conversation discussed by the company in general, he will
find _seriousness_ form no part of it. Having already sufficiently
moralized on the _evils_ of life, they are now resolved to confine
themselves entirely to its _goods_. Death, low prices, and high rents,
have now given place to balls, feasts, and diversions. One group is
warmly engaged in scheming a “_dry or wet ball_;” another group is
warmly expatiating upon the good signs of the year, corroborated as
they are by the “_annual prognostic_;” and others are as warmly engaged
in recriminating each other for their notorious gallantries, and the
like; while a good spring, a good harvest, and ready sale to sheep and
cattle, are drunk by all with the greatest enthusiasm. All are become
suddenly acquainted with the proverb, “A pound of care will not pay
an ounce of debt;” and therefore they are determined to spend life in
friendship and good hopes. In obedience to this wholesome resolution,
each crony, as he gives his neighbour the hand, will also give him
the pipe or the “sneeshan mill,” and would be very sorry to see him
ill-used in a “_pley_,” or any such cause, without rendering him a
helping hand.

As the drinking continues, the company become still more noisy.
Repetitions of toasts, the vacant laugh, and incoherent exclamation,
mingled with a few little oaths, are what perpetually burst upon the
ear; and the sequel of such unhallowed carousals exhibit but too
frequently a scene of the most improper levity.[T]

Far different, however, are the feelings and conduct of those mournful
individuals who occupy another apartment, where the affectionate widow
or fatherless orphans are now assembled, to take the last and long
farewell of the relics of love. In deep dismay, behold the sorrowing
group bending over the dear remains, absorbed in frantic woe, bathing
with their tears unfeeling death, insensible to all their sorrows.

When the weeping relatives have severally bade the corpse the last
adieu, by imparting the farewell kiss to the cold and pallid lip of
death, (which, nevertheless, is perhaps the sweetest we ever impart,)
the dearest form is for ever concealed from their view.

  “Long on the lip the kiss will dwell,
    And on the ear the mournful sigh,
  Which seal’d the last and fond farewell,
    And forg’d a bond time can’t untie.”

The necessary arrangements being effected, the coffin is brought forth,
surrounded by the bereaved friends, and bound on the _hanspecks_ on
some convenient supports at the door; and when time will no longer
permit the guests to indulge in their hilarity, an unwelcome summons
invites them to their duty. Issuing forth tumultuously, they surround
their charge; and all the riders being provided with their horses, the
signal for setting off is given. The female relations, according to the
custom of some countries, get the first lift; and the supports on which
the body was bound being carefully overturned, for some reason best
known to the wise men of the day, the multitudinous procession takes
the road.

At this moment a scene presents itself to the cool spectator, wholly
without a parallel. The various habiliments of the company--riders and
pedestrians mingled together--the sound of the horses--and the united
clamour of the multitude--are altogether striking. At one time, the
expressions of mirth predominate; while, at others, the heart-rending
lamentations of the female relations of the defunct prevail, and in
their turn vibrate upon the ear. The women, at length unwillingly
disentangled from the body, return home with mournful wailing, and the
procession continues its course to its destination. Too many of the
company are sometimes more intent upon their own pleasures than mindful
of their business, roving about in scattered parties; while others
exhibit, in their attention, a pattern of correctness and decorum;
and, warmly enumerating the good qualities of the deceased, descant on
the happy change he has made--at the same time walking with a careful
step, lest an unfortunate fall beneath the body should doom themselves
to share his enviable lot.[U]

At length, arrived at the mansions of the dead, the body is
lowered into its drear abode, amidst the sorrowing of some and the
insensibility of others. The slate planted on the grave terminates its
earthly career, and consigns it for ever to the land of forgetfulness.

  “Yet, though consign’d to death’s dark shade,
    And ever hid from mortal view,
  Still constant Love, by Fancy led,
    The dreary scene will oft review.”


The End.


  J. S. WITHERDEN, Lithographic and Letterpress Printer,
  Clifford’s Inn Passage, Fleet Street.




FOOTNOTES:

[A] Nothing can appear more surprising to the refined reader, than that
any human being, possessing the rational faculties of human nature,
could for a moment entertain a notion so preposterous as that a ghost,
which conveys the idea of an immortal spirit, could be killed, or
rather annihilated, by an arrow, dirk, or sixpence. It was, however,
the opinion of the darker ages, that such an exploit as killing a ghost
was perfectly practicable. A spirit was supposed to be material in
its nature, quite susceptible of mortal pain, and liable to death or
annihilation from the weapons of man. Such an opinion is repeatedly
expressed in several passages of the Poems of Ossian, and in the
doctrine of the _Seanachy_, down to the present day.

[B] John-o’-Groat’s House, Caithness.

[C] We are informed that there is a woman still living in the parish
of Abernethy, on whom this experiment was tried. She was found one
night, rather unaccountably, as it appeared to her wise parents, on
the outside of a window. No doubt, therefore, remained, but that she
had been stolen by the fairies, and a stock left as her substitute. It
was, therefore, unanimously resolved to carry the stock to the junction
of the shires of Inverness, Moray, and Banff, where the poor child was
left for a night to enjoy the pleasures of solitude. Being well rolled
up in a comfortable blanket, she sustained no material injury from
this monstrous exposure, and, accordingly, the result proved highly
satisfactory to her enlightened guardians.

[D] Mine is yours, and yours is mine.

[E] The goats are supposed to be upon a very good understanding with
the fairies, and possessed of more cunning and knowledge than their
appearance bespeaks.

[F] Witchcraft.

[G] A Witch.

[H] The present Lord Murray is supposed to have been the gentleman who
discovered to Mr. Willox this convenient piece of information regarding
the original nature and use of the _stone_.

[I] North.

Since the first publication of this book, the renowned Mr. Mac Grigor
Willox has been laid with his fathers, leaving the stone and bridle
to his son and daughter, as heirlooms for the benefit of posterity.
The goodman died full of years, if not full of any thing else which is
coveted by the people of this world. But by his death it is believed
that the spell which so long bound the northern community to his stone
and bridle has been broken; and it is thought that those precious
relics, which were scarcely “honestly come by,” may be returned to the
kelpie and the mermaid, their original owners, should they or their
representatives be disposed to claim restitution of them.

The highly curious and interesting collection of Criminal Trials,
recently published by Robert Pitcairn, Esq., affords ample particulars
of the _modus operandi_ by which the workers of Satan in human shape
accomplished their nefarious ends. The reader is particularly referred
to the cases of those witches of quality, Lady Glammis and Lady Munro
of Fowlis, and to the assistant hags of the latter, consisting of
Laskie Loncart, Christy Ross, and others, all highly deserving of
_record_. But Isobel Gowdie, the head witch of Auldearn, who, on her
own confession, was condemned to be “worried and burned at a stake”
in 1662, is the standard authority to refer to on these subjects. It
appears that in those days Auldearn, near Nairn, now the locality of
a virtuous community, was the great nursery that supplied Satan with
_cadets_ for his “Black Watch;” for so numerous were the members of
the craft at that place, according to Isobel Gowdie, that on occasions
of public inspection by the sovereign of the order, they were counted
or told off in _squads_ or “_covines_” (as Isobel called them), to
each of which were appointed two _adjutants_ or _drill-sergeants_,
the brigade-major being a “_well-favoured_” wench of the name of
“_Nannie_,” who occupied the seat of honour at Satan’s _carousals_. On
such occasions of assembly, they dug up graves, possessed themselves
of unchristened infants, using their joints and members in their
incantations. They metamorphosed themselves into the forms of crows,
cats, hares, &c., and played all manners of cantrips on live stock and
farm produce. But it not unfrequently happened that those _amusements_
turned out but indifferent _sport_ to some of the _probationers_
concerned,--several worthies, and Isobel Gowdie among the rest, having
had unwittingly become the subjects of the _chase_, at the feet and
mouths of the greyhounds of the day, who have “no respect of persons,”
or the characters in which they enacted their parts. And it would also
appear that the cadets in this Royal Military College formed any thing
but an harmonious society--the Master General, and his _Sappers_ and
_Miners_, often quarrelling about very minor matters, such as titles of
distinction; in the course of which the _master_ often received many
_black names_, and the apprentices many _stripes_. But it would appear
that “one Margaret Wilson in Auldearn” was nearly match for him; for
Isobel Gowdie declares she used to “_bell the cat_” with him stoutly;
“defending herself finely” from the _wool-cards_ and such other sharp
instruments of punishment as he made use of on those occasions. “It was
no doubt one of those ancient _covines_ that encountered Macbeth (not
far from the College) on his way to Forres.”

But since the days of Isobel Gowdie, Maggy Wilson, Bessy Hay, and Co,
the _union_ has been repealed, without the aid of any great agitator;
for ever since their day, the people in this parish have died a natural
death. But it is still mooted, “_sotto voce_,” that there are still
some roots of the old tree scattered over neighbouring territories
not far from the capital of the Highlands, who have been allowed to
live quite as long as they deserved. And one Isabella Hay, probably
a descendant of her namesake of Auldearn, has for many years levied
_blackmail_ on the inhabitants of Inverness, until having, by her imps,
in autumn 1839, laid her enchantments on the goods and chattels of some
people in Inverness (the author among the number), she was sentenced
in September, 1839, by the Circuit Court of Justiciary--not to the
_stake_, but to a punishment which, however, has served to put an end
to her sorceries.

Among recent discoveries of the author as charms, or rather
counter-charms against witchcraft, it deserves to be noticed, that if
a knot tied against the sun be made on the tail of a quadruped, it
is secure against the spells of necromancy. It is, or had been till
recently, also a common practice to put a portion of the medicinal
herb or plant called “_saffron_” under the churn while the process
of churning the cream is undergoing, which will prevent the _craft_
from taking the substance by means of their magical _rope_, by the
operations of which they were wont to extract from a piece of wood
in their own dwellings the soul and substance of what might belong
to parties afar off, and who, without such precaution, might churn
away till doomsday without the appearance of the yellow treasure. And
moistening the mouth of a calf with the extract of the said vegetable,
and setting it to suck a cow whose milk might go to the said _rope_,
will instantly restore it to the proper owner.

It need scarcely be added, in conclusion, that _scoring_ a witch
crosswise on the forehead, or above her breath, divests her of
all supernatural power. But the laws are now so strong, even at
John-o’-Groat’s house, that the processes of trial by _swimming_ and
_scoring_ cannot now be resorted to, except in _extreme_ cases where
the _subjects_ have not the benefit of _law_ or _clergy_. On a very
recent occasion, however, in Ross-shire, a worthy fisher, whose nets
suffered no small prejudice from the machinations of a neighbour, but
no friend, performed on her, much against her consent, the operation
of _scoring_ on the forehead, for which the sheriff of Ross, in August
1845, sentenced him to undergo a short imprisonment in the gaol of Tain.

[J] Switched cream.

[K] The game called “_Clodhan_,” or Clod, is a favourite amusement
with the youth in the Highlands. One of the company goes round the
circle with a clod, or some other article, putting his hand into each
person’s lap or hand, and leaves the clod with one of the number. The
whole circle are then desired to guess the person who possesses the
clod, (he guessing like the rest to prevent suspicion,) when all those
who err are subjected to a small penalty, which shall be afterwards
determined by an appointed judge; and in the meantime, he must deliver
some pledge to enforce his compliance with the arbiter’s decision. When
a sufficient number of pledges are obtained, judgment is pronounced
against their owners, who must redeem them, by doing various little
penances, some of which are sufficiently ludicrous.

The bag is another popular juvenile amusement. One pops his head into a
bag, holding his hand spread on his back, and the palm uppermost. One
of the company, in rotation, strikes his hand, not unfrequently with
all his might, upon that of the person in the bag, who is desired to
guess who struck him last. If his guessing proves correct, the last
striker then puts his head in the bag in his turn.

[L] Half-boiled sowans.

[M] “A black Christmas makes a fat kirk-yard.” A windy Christmas and a
calm Candlemas, or new year, are signs of a good year.

[N] The term _Candlemas_ is applied to the _New Year_ in the Highlands.
The origin of the term arose from some old religious ceremonies
performed on this occasion by candle-light.

[O] We are totally unable to account for the origin of this strange
piece of superstition. It is unnecessary to remark, that the object
of this delusion is nothing but a passing cloud, which the perverted
imagination of the original Highlander shapes into the form of a bull.
There is something very ominous as to the art or direction in which the
bull rises or falls--we believe it to be prognostic of its being a good
or bad year.

[P] It is believed that this extraordinary entertainment is now
administered in no part of the Highlands, except in Strathdown and its
immediate neighbourhood. In that district, however, the inhabitants
generally attend to it, merely, it is believed, from the influence
of inveterate custom, and the author in his day had his share of the
antidote, though it is doubtful whether those rites are now observed in
his native district.

[Q] The literal expressions used in the salutation applicable to this
day in the Gaelic language the writer could never perfectly comprehend.
The literal translation of the words are, (_Mu nasc choil orst_,) “My
Candlemas bond upon you.” The real meaning of the words, however, is,
“You owe me a New-Year’s gift;” and it is a point of great emulation
who will salute the other first--the one who does so being considered
entitled to a gift from the person so saluted.

[R] Beltane is derived from two Gaelic words conjoined: “_Paletein_,”
signifying Pale’s fire, and not _Baal’s fire_, as some suppose. The
strange relic of Pagan idolatry which gave rise to this feast was no
doubt introduced into these countries, like many others of our more
prominent superstitions, by the Druids. Pales (of whom we read in the
heathenish mythologies) was the goddess of shepherds, and protectress
of flocks. Her feast was always celebrated in the month of April, on
which occasion no victim was killed, and nothing was offered but the
fruits of the earth. The shepherds purified their flocks with the
smoke of sulphur, juniper, boxwood, rosemary, &c. They then made a
large fire, round which they danced, and offered to the goddess milk,
cheese, eggs, &c., holding their faces towards the east, and uttering
ejaculations peculiar to the occasion. Those interesting relics of the
religious opinions of our ancestors, until of late, remained pretty
entire in some parts of the Highlands. But they have now, however,
declined into those childish ceremonies above described.

[S] Mr. Pennant, in his Tour, vol. i. p. 111, notices the ceremony of
the Bolteen or Beltane--the cakes baken with scrupulous attention to
rites and forms, and dedicated to birds of prey, &c., or the being
whose agents they were, to propitiate them to spare the lives of
themselves and flocks. Within the last twenty or thirty years these
observances have almost wholly disappeared. But the author himself is
old enough to have reeled his bannock, and dived, by the foregoing
spells, into the secrets of futurity.

[T] Let not the Highland reader be led to view this description of a
Highland funeral as casting any reflection on his moral or religious
character. Whatever ill-timed levity he may manifest on such an
occasion, the blame must be ascribed, not to him, but to that _evil
spirit_, the usquebaugh, the real cause of it. We cannot, however, help
regretting, that either the ill-judged hospitality of the entertainer,
or his own social habits, should expose him on this particular occasion
to the unruly influence of his demoralising countryman; and we are glad
to add, that of late years much improvement has been effected in the
conduct of Highland funerals--sobriety and decorum being much more the
order of the day.

[U] A fall sustained by a person, while supporting the body, is ominous
of the person’s speedy death. It may also be remarked, that it is
considered very imprudent to look at a passing funeral from the door of
a house, or from the window having a _stone lintel_.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Superscripted text is preceded by a carat character: M^cGLASHAN.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.



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