You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles
YUMPU automatically turns print PDFs into web optimized ePapers that Google loves.
FROM THE BOOK Of KELLS, (CIRCA 600-900).<br />
(THE BOOK OF COLUM CILLE.)<br />
Voices from the Hills.<br />
(Guthan o na Beanntaibh).<br />
A Memento of the Gaelic Rally,<br />
I927.<br />
Edited by<br />
John MacDonald, M.A.<br />
Its Weird and commanding beauty . . . the<br />
unwearied and patient labour that brought it into<br />
being . . . have raised it to a position of abiding<br />
pre-eminence amongst the illuminated manuscripts<br />
of the world."—Sir Edward Sullivan, Bart.<br />
Published by<br />
An Comunn Gàidhealach (The Highland Association).<br />
Glasgow.<br />
1927.<br />
l\iuj permission tij " The Slmlio.
Clanna nan Gaidheal ri guaillibh a cheile.<br />
Poets IUIU heroes are of the same race; the latter do what the former conceive.<br />
—Lamartim..<br />
OVER fifty years ago, Professor Blackie published his inspiring<br />
dissertation on "The Language and Literature of the<br />
Scottish Highlands." Tomes have been written on the same<br />
fascinating subjects since. To rouse his countrymen from the<br />
" deep slumber of decided opinions " was the work of this robust<br />
sponsor of our ethics. But while he found not a few who were<br />
" Highlanders in their core as in their kilt," the general attitude<br />
was more in the way of sentimental sympathy than practical aid.<br />
He, however, succeeded in his aim; and the Celtic chair in Edinburgh<br />
is an enduring monument to his enthusiastic and scholarly<br />
pleading of our cause.<br />
Nevertheless, a change was in progress. Whitley Stokes, an<br />
Englishman, had already established his fame as a Celtic scholar,<br />
while his translation of the " Voyage of Maelduin " marked an<br />
epoch in classic literature. Matthew Arnold, with less benignity<br />
but greater force, created a receptive atmosphere in England<br />
—the England which, according to Richard Green, would not<br />
have produced its Shakespeare, but for the quickening infusion<br />
into its veins of the blood of Ossian's race—and enlightened<br />
Oxford, in consequence, gave us our first chair of Celtic. This<br />
event, indeed, may be said to be the academic accolade of the<br />
Gaelic Renaissance. The " I am!" of Taliessen (Tillidh Oisean,<br />
perhaps), together with his "I have been!" is now demonstrated<br />
to an astonished and admiring world by the Zimmers, Zeusses,<br />
Kuno-Meyers, Alfred Nutts, and others similarly gifted, who have<br />
engaged in Celtic research, and who have discovered and are discovering<br />
the " hidden and precarious genius" of the Celtic<br />
families to be amongst the most attractive of studies.<br />
The hope of An Comunn is, that " Voices from the Hills "<br />
may come within hearing of all Gaeldom. Equally so is it their<br />
wish to acknowledge with gratitude the loyal and disinterested<br />
services of Mr. John MacDonald in preparing this book, as well<br />
as in having assisted in the preparation of Gaelic text-books for<br />
our schools. He has, with fine discrimination, "chosen his<br />
authors as he would his friends." As the result of his labours—and<br />
I am writing more with the fresh gaze of a child than as a qualified<br />
critic—we have this volume of rich and varied thoughts on<br />
matters Gaelic.
Besides taste, he has given proof of rare tact in having persuaded<br />
so many friends to advocate the claims of our Association.<br />
The following pages are, therefore, occupied by many helpers who,<br />
though not immediately of the blood, have joined the children<br />
of melody, and are thereby purified through initiation. " Voices<br />
from the Hills" is, in every respect, a notable book, and pentecostal<br />
in its import. The student and the casual reader alike will find<br />
it an illuminative companion. To me it suggests the magic<br />
lights of a cairngorm in a bard's chaplet—a fragrant censer to the<br />
Celtic soul, a votive tablet in the Hall of Shells.<br />
So be it. Welcome is the appreciative spirit that casts its<br />
prophetic eyes over our beautiful heritage and the still surviving<br />
language of our people. Gaelic, which has enshrined the voices<br />
of unrecorded centuries, speaks with authority to her children,<br />
as the voice of a mother, which they know. Like Cuchullin's<br />
rebirth, it is now being nourished on the lap of protecting fostergods.<br />
And, when the quickening current has charged the ethereal<br />
circuit, the soul of the Gaelic hero, chanting a refrain, will appear<br />
once again to the " fifty queens " who loved him; they will understand<br />
the genre of his mystic song. We shall then join with<br />
Emerson in saying that " the Celts are an old family of whose<br />
beginnings there is no memory, and their end is likely to be still<br />
more remote in the future ..."<br />
It is true that the waves of enthusiastic raptures which greeted<br />
the advent of MacPherson's Ossian have somewhat subsided; but<br />
the Voyage of Bran—chronologically anterior in order of redaction—disclosed<br />
a key to other deeper and more alluring<br />
mysteries. And from the argosies of Tir-nan-Og—that " Isle<br />
which spreads large to the sun like a beautiful dream of the soul"<br />
—seeds, in which lie immortal blossoms of loveliest form and hue,<br />
have fallen upon many a fallow genius. The Land of the Living<br />
Heart—perhaps the most beautiful creation that ever left a poet's<br />
loom—is charted anew for the sons of remembrance. " Why is Art,<br />
Aon-fhear—The Lone One—named so till the Judgment" is<br />
no longer a cry of sorrow to Coran, the Druid. A more enchanting<br />
trilogy is being intoned by the Birds of Rhiannon. The<br />
gleaming curach, with Fate at the helm and Love at the prow, is<br />
majestically bearing its soul-freights to the Isle of the Ever-living<br />
Living—the Happy Otherworld of the Celt, which lies in serene<br />
composure between the two eternities.<br />
ANGUS ROBERTSON,<br />
President of \n Comunn Gàidhealach.<br />
Editor's Foreword.<br />
ON behalf of An Comunn Gàidhealach, I tender warmest thanks<br />
to each and all of those who have enabled us to make this record<br />
of "Voices from the Hills," voices old, yet ever new, as<br />
the cry of the sea, the cry of the wind, the cry of the curlew, or<br />
the cry of man's spirit; they are the voices of those who view from<br />
the heights a land of promise for the Gael, if he but march on,<br />
go in, and take possession. Personally, I thank the contributors<br />
for their kind, encouraging letters. Indeed, were I able to focus<br />
to a narrow compass the correspondence, apart from the articles<br />
in the book, it would make the most inspiring article of all, and<br />
would give An Comunn confidence that there is no lack of friendly<br />
feeling throughout the land, and thus give it renewed energy<br />
to go forward with unfaltering step.<br />
Furthermore, one received the distinct impression that<br />
An Comunn may not have fully realised all the latent<br />
forces that may still be mobilised for the furtherance of<br />
their Cause. When the compilation was begun, for various<br />
reasons, it moved somewhat slowly, but as time went on, more<br />
and more eager and devoted helpers came forward with pen and<br />
brush. Indeed, towards the close of the work, one wished that<br />
the end had somehow been the beginning, as one felt as proud as<br />
Roderick Dubh, when he whistled shrill, and<br />
" Instant, through copse and heath arose,<br />
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows."<br />
Any lengthy, elaborate " introduction " to the book might<br />
prove to be but wasteful and ridiculous excess, all that is really<br />
necessary being to introduce to readers (may we hope for hosts of<br />
them!) the gifted and leal-hearted friends of the Gael who so<br />
willingly responded to an invitation to take part in, what may be<br />
called, a symposium on the present position of all that affects the<br />
welfare of Gaeldom, and on the responsibility which every true<br />
Gael should feel and accept, with his whole heart and mind, with<br />
regard to it, unless he is resigned to looking on (if he looks at al!)<br />
in helpless inaction, while the most precious gifts from our heroic<br />
past are being borne away by the stream of modern life, which<br />
may too jauntily be called " Progress."
1<br />
viii.<br />
Editor's Foreword.<br />
Editor's Foreword.<br />
IX.<br />
According to a brilliant American sociologist, the only relevant<br />
question in considering the reality of human progress is, " Have<br />
we evidence of a richer and more profound human experience"<br />
—and to this question he gives a direct negative, adding that<br />
society must now realise that true progress is to be measured in<br />
terms of " significant persons." This view alone is a sufficient<br />
rats on d'etre for the work of An Comunn in its own special<br />
sphere. Some of us are strongly of opinion that, within our own<br />
memory, there has been in our Gaeldom a steady decrease in the<br />
production of " significant persons," and we believe that the decrease<br />
is in proportion to the decay of the expressive and soulful<br />
old language, and of the traditions of romance and heroism and<br />
of antique virtue and faith it enshrined. It is to be feared that<br />
the "Christopher" type of character is becoming rarer in the<br />
Highlands.<br />
Without taking the extreme view of those who write and talk<br />
seriously of " Civilization—its cause, and cure," one may find<br />
ground to be apprehensive as to what shape our civilization may<br />
take if some of the modern modes of thought lead us into the<br />
hallucination that the way to advance is to make a clean break with<br />
the past, so that we turn a deaf ear to the great voices that echo<br />
< through the corridors of time,' and we treat as a thing outworn<br />
the spiritual attitude towards life of our wise and brave forefathers,<br />
who brought us where we are in the upward climb. Our<br />
belief is that our British, as well as our Scottish, civilization can<br />
have no more cleansing and elevating influence acting upon it<br />
than that of the spirit and the culture of the Gael We answer<br />
to the roll-call of more than one citizenship, and acute observers<br />
in lands overseas remark on the beneficent effect of Gaelic influence<br />
on Colonial life. In a notable manifesto recently issued by<br />
a Society in the Republic of the West, eloquent expression is<br />
given to a deep sense of debt to those of our race who took part<br />
in the founding and making of that great country. Like the<br />
leaven that the woman took and hid in the meal, their genius, both<br />
literary and spiritual, has worked potently, and on a historic scale,<br />
and will continue to do so, unless it is allowed to become extinct.<br />
We are not greatly ruffled by the taunt that we are out of<br />
step with, or lagging far behind the march of modern thought,<br />
that we are unable to understand we are living in a changed<br />
world. We are quite awake, and never dream of clothing ourselves<br />
again in all the outward vesture of the thought and life of<br />
our ancestors, though who would not say that much of it was<br />
more picturesque and had far more meaning than that of our<br />
contemporaries Who would contend that the various forms of<br />
Highland dancing, even on the rough, clay floor of a barn, were<br />
not a far more graceful and dignified expression of the spirit<br />
of innocent merriment than the grotesque wriggling to be seen<br />
nowadays in a modern palais de danse And a straw shows how the<br />
current goes! Or, to use a homely simile, may we not wish that<br />
a spinning-wheel, and song, and love and worship shall still be<br />
found in a Highland cottage, without demanding of the Legislature<br />
that it shall be thatched with the old time bent, bracken or<br />
heather, instead of the slate of these days We believe that the<br />
chivalries, the loyalties, the hospitalities, and the spiritual values<br />
of our forefathers are not so very incompatible with the law of<br />
change.<br />
Our contributors, besides entertaining us with song and story,<br />
have articulated clearly and convincingly the mind and purpose<br />
of An Comunn, and given many wise suggestions as to how best<br />
to deal with the whole Gaelic question; but "so many men, so<br />
many opinions." We do not expect, nor might it be well, that<br />
our readers should agree with all the views expressed in these<br />
pages. Our case, however, is in no danger from free, well-meant<br />
discussion, which, at least, serves to show that there is a live,<br />
active interest being taken in it, so that, like the ardent lover, we<br />
say, " Speak well o J<br />
my love, speak ill o' my love, only<br />
aye be speaking!" In a page here and there one may<br />
hear a hint of the approaching decease of the Gaelic<br />
language, but even then the writer seems to turn an<br />
attentive ear to the strange, rich harmonies of the dying man's<br />
tongue. With regard to what may seem more severe criticism,<br />
let us remember that " A good horse may be forgiven a kick."<br />
We need not fear differences of opinion among our friends, so<br />
long as beneath there is evidence of mutual understanding on vital<br />
points.<br />
Something like alarm is expressed as to the rapidly diminishing<br />
number of Gaelic speakers throughout Scotland, and especially<br />
within the Gaelic area, as shown by each succeeding Census, but<br />
this admittedly disquieting fact should only rouse An Comunn<br />
to more vigorous activity, and the fact that we can count moral<br />
gains that outweigh numerical losses should be a spur to more<br />
determined effort. Leading statesmen who hold that character,
X. Editor's Foreword.<br />
Editor's Foreword.<br />
XL<br />
rather than material wealth, is the real source of" the strength or" a<br />
people, regard our work as supremely important national service.<br />
Although the 1921 Census shows a decline'in Gaelic that is serious<br />
enough, it is not likely that a Registrar-General would comment<br />
upon it now, as did the gentleman of the 1871 Census, when he<br />
wrote:—"The Gaelic language stands in the way of the success<br />
of the natives in life; it shuts them up from the paths open to<br />
their fellow-countrymen who speak the English tongue." We<br />
might try to find a half truth in his statement had he not gone<br />
on, " We are one people, we should have but one language," and,<br />
to crown the absurdity, he might have added that we should be of<br />
one mind, and cast in one mould. We who think that the confusion<br />
of tongues at Babel became a powerful factor in the<br />
evolution process, rejoice in the " Braid Scots " movement of our<br />
time, and wish it all success.<br />
In recent years, increasing numbers of Gaelic students have<br />
passed through the Celtic classes in our Universities, and through<br />
the higher classes in our Secondary Schools, and it is certain that<br />
the effect of higher education of the right kind will be to make<br />
these students set, not less, but far higher value on their mothertongue,<br />
so that we may look for an intellectual factor working<br />
more and more in the Gaelic Movement, and greatly reinforcing<br />
it. The Registrar-General of 1871 proposed that "Gaelic should<br />
cease to be taught in all our national schools." How changed<br />
the scene in the Education (Scotland) Act of 1918, in which we<br />
read that " Local Authorities are required to include in their<br />
educational schemes adequate facilities for teaching Gaelic in<br />
Gaelic-speaking areas "—still a wide field, and now an open<br />
field for action, if only the vox populi declares that it is the will<br />
of our people that the Gaelic Clause should become fully operative<br />
in all the schools of Gaeldom, and that it is their resolve<br />
that their race shall not perish from the earth, and that the land<br />
in which it was wont to be bred, and the language by which its<br />
spirit was wont to be nurtured shall be preserved at all costs.<br />
We would make an earnest appeal to all patriotic ministers<br />
and teachers to assist in making this Gaelic Rally of 1927 memorable<br />
and lasting in its effects, by joining the membership of the<br />
Association, and becoming co-workers in a great cause. By<br />
precept and example, they would help greatly in forming, and in<br />
setting in motion that force of public opinion which is essential<br />
to the success of a Gaelic Renaissance. We would, however, do<br />
well to keep in mind that the rise or fall of our hopes and aims<br />
should not be allowed to depend on mere numbers. In connection<br />
with the Bohemian movement for the freedom of the race spirit,<br />
it is told that at one stage the work was in the hands of a small<br />
group of scholars, who were writing in their native Czech, trying<br />
to awaken the spirit of their countrymen by calling their attention<br />
to their music, literature and history. So small was this band of<br />
patriots, through whose work a nation was ere long to be reborn,<br />
that one of them remarked at their little meeting, " If the ceiling<br />
of this room were to fall and crush us, there would be an end<br />
of our National movement."<br />
Our Association is not exclusive, as we know many who have<br />
community of spirit with us, though their name or tongue may<br />
not show a direct Gaelic connection. They give us material, as<br />
well as moral support, so we cordially invite them into full fellowship,<br />
and will be proud to enter their names on our roll without<br />
applying any < Mac 5<br />
or ' Shibboleth ' test. We also think that it<br />
would conduce to the creating of a lively race consciousness to<br />
cultivate fraternal relations with other peoples who claim race<br />
kinship, and show spiritual affinity with us, and expressly seek<br />
union with us. In a commonwealth of Bretons, Welsh, and<br />
Scottish and Irish Gaels there would be generated a high-temperature<br />
enthusiasm which would react on each group. In the<br />
literature, both past and present, of these kindred peoples, and in<br />
their traditions and history, there is always, apart from their<br />
universal interest, a note that strikes a responsive chord in the<br />
breast of every Gael.<br />
While our main objective is the preserving and perpetuating<br />
of all in language, literature and music, that goes to the making<br />
up of a Gaelic culture, one cannot help thinking that some prac<br />
tical interest in questions vitally affecting the material welfare of<br />
Gaeldom might well come within the ambit of An Comunn's<br />
operations. We might make good use of the secret of the wonderful<br />
race consciousness of the Jews, who are willing to make<br />
any sacrifice to have their ancient patria restored, so that they may<br />
have a " homeland " to which their hearts may ever turn, though<br />
their eyes should never behold it. We shall have no Gaelic if the<br />
Highlands become "the silent hills of the vanished races," no<br />
songs when the songsters have all flown, no Gaels when " the<br />
nursery is emptied of its children."<br />
Long live and flourish our Mods, but, though the walls of
xii.<br />
Editor's Foreword.<br />
Thebes rose to the music or* Amphion's lyre, the heroic young<br />
patriot, Nehemiah, took the practical way to rebuild the walls or"<br />
the dear city of his fathers—" every man with one of his hands<br />
wrought in the work, and with the other held a weapon." While<br />
we seek to have Gaelic taught in our schools as part of a truly<br />
* liberal * education, it would be in line with a re-peopling policy<br />
to lead our Highland children into finding new meanings in the<br />
saying, " God made the country, and man made the town." It<br />
is encouraging to know that educationists in England are of<br />
opinion that " too little is being done to make agriculture attractive<br />
as a vocation to country boys and girls."<br />
It is hoped that this volume may be in some small way a<br />
memorial of what is being done in 1927, A.D. to pass on the<br />
Gaelic heritage to our children, and it is also hoped that such<br />
a Fund will be raised for An Comunn's work as will be an impressive<br />
memorial that we are earnest in deed as well as in word.<br />
This year 1927 may prove a decisive one as to the future fortunes<br />
of Gaelic.<br />
I tender to Mr. A. J. Sinclair, of the Celtic Press, my sincere<br />
thanks, as this work was made much easier for a tyro editor by<br />
his unvarying patience and courtesy.<br />
An Comunn will also be glad to see grateful mention made of<br />
the names of a few gentlemen who took a special interest in this<br />
compilation. Mr. Robert Bain kindly gave free access to the<br />
treasures of the Mitchell Library, which helped greatly in<br />
securing illustrations. Mr. Ancell Stronach, of the Glasgow<br />
School of Art, generously undertook the making of the<br />
Cover design, besides giving two striking examples of his art. To<br />
Dr. Pittendrigh Macgillivray and to Mr. John Duncan I am much<br />
indebted for having written me, time after time, with valuable<br />
suggestions as to the illustrations. I wish to make reverent<br />
mention of the name of Mr. James Cadenhead, who, in sending<br />
an exquisite hill picture, wrote most kindly only a few days before<br />
he passed, to see, no longer "through a glass, darkly," the beauty<br />
which, as was said of him, was " ever the quest of his soul."<br />
JOHN MACDONALD.<br />
PAGE<br />
Contents,<br />
1<br />
V. President's Foreword.<br />
vii. Editor's Foreword.<br />
i. Wild Hills, Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.<br />
2. Is toigh leam a' Ghaidhealtachd, Iain Caimbeul, Bàrd na Leadaig.<br />
3- Message from Principal Sir Donald MacAlister, Bart., K.C.B." M.D.,<br />
LL.D., D.C.L., D.Sc., Ph.D.<br />
4 The Fèill—its purpose, Malcolm MacLeod.<br />
6. Message from The Right Hon. Lord Alness, Lord Justice Clerk.<br />
7- Message from The Right Hon. David Lloyd George M.P.<br />
8. Message from The Right Hon. J. Ramsay MacDonald, M.P.<br />
9- St. Columba's Influence on<br />
Scottish History,<br />
Rev. Prof. Main, D.Litt.. D.D.<br />
ii. Astray in Appin, Neil Mun ro, LL.D.<br />
5- Tuireadh an Usaoidh, Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.)<br />
*7- Dealachadh nan Rathad, Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach.<br />
23- Ossianic Poetry, Translated by Thomas Pattison.<br />
24. Carmina Gadelica, John Duncan, R.S.A.<br />
3»- Our Traditional Racial Song-<br />
Lore, ... Marjory Kennedy-Frascr, C.B.E.<br />
35- Looking Northward, ... Compton Mackenzie.<br />
38- The Reaper, ... IVilliam Wordsworth.<br />
39- Our Irish Civilization, Alice Stopford Green.<br />
42. Gillias, ... Countess of Cromartie.<br />
49. Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne, Donnchadh Mac Iain.<br />
53- The Golden Eagle, Seton Gordon, B.A. (Oxon), F.Z.S.<br />
55- A Highland Heroine for Highland<br />
Women,<br />
Augusta Lamont, B.Sc.<br />
56- With Apologies to the True<br />
Believer, ... Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur.<br />
59- The Importance of Highland<br />
Folklore, ...<br />
Donald A. Mackenzie.<br />
64. Duanaire na Sracairc, Prof. William J. Watson, M.A., LL.D.,<br />
D. Litt., Celt.<br />
68. Is togarrach a dh' fbalbhainn, Domhnull MacLeoid, H.M.I.S.<br />
6q. The Return of Finn, ... John L. Kinloch, M.A.<br />
76. Tìr nam Beann, Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach").<br />
78. The Gael in Scottish History, Prof. Rait, C.B.E., LL.D.<br />
80. What I think of the Gaelic<br />
Movement,<br />
William MacKay, LL.D.<br />
83- Christopher, Rev. Lauchlan Maclean Watt, D.D.<br />
87. Seann Sgeul mu Eilean Hirt, Iain N. MacLeoid.<br />
91.<br />
Oran a' Phrionnsa, ... Alasdair Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair.<br />
92. A Maker of Modern Gaeldom. Lachlan MacBean.<br />
97- Message from Wales, Rev. H. Elvet Lewis, M.A.<br />
98. The Gael and His Song, Robert MacLeod, Mus. Bac, F.R.C.O.
XIV.<br />
Contents —continued. Contents—continued. xv.<br />
FACE<br />
T rtrt An Dìleab, Seumas Mac Thomais, M.A.<br />
1 UVi<br />
Highlanders All,<br />
Rev. A. Boyd Scott, M.C., D.D.<br />
IOL<br />
To a Highland Girl,<br />
William Wordsworth.<br />
104.<br />
106. The Life of a Crofter, Alastair Cameron.<br />
108. Bàrdachd Spioradail na Gàidhealtachd,<br />
-•• An t-Urr. D. Mac GiU'Eathain, D.D.<br />
112. Ruairidh Mòr, Alasdair Alpin MacGregor.<br />
Fèill,<br />
An t-Urr. C. MacGill'Innein, D.D.<br />
117. Highland Depopulation,<br />
Rev. Murdo Lamont.<br />
122. The Return of the Exiles, ... M. E. M. Donaldson.<br />
125. The Red Deer,<br />
Major John Ross, F.S.A. (Scot.)<br />
128. Am Fiadh, Seumas Mac-an-Rothaich.<br />
129. The Study of Scottish Gaelic, Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D.<br />
III. The Celtic Spirit, William Power.<br />
Love's Last Request, Colonel John MacGregor.<br />
135-<br />
Slàinte bho Thoileachas-<br />
1 jU.<br />
inntinn,<br />
Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach").<br />
1-1S. Then and Now,<br />
Sheriff MacMaster Campbell, C.B.E ,<br />
1 J U .<br />
F.S.A. (Scot.)<br />
The Assynt Maid's Lament, ... Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.<br />
146.<br />
Pàruig Mòr,<br />
William D. Lamont, M.A. (Hons.)<br />
R. Morton Nance.<br />
152-<br />
Message from Cornwall,<br />
Na h-Ailleagain 's an Calman, Aonghas MacDhonnchaidh.<br />
Sean Cheatharnaich Lochabair, An t-Urr. D. A. Caimbeul, D-D.<br />
157-<br />
Sheiling Girl's Song,<br />
Donald A. Mackenzie.<br />
'59-<br />
160. The Departure, (A Dream), •• Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland.<br />
162. In Our Parish—The King's<br />
Pensioner<br />
Rev. Norman MacLean, D.D.<br />
16S. The Canadian Boat Song, .. Anonymous.<br />
169. Tìr nan Og, (Land of the Ever-<br />
Young), ...<br />
Rev. Neil Ross, M.A., B.D.<br />
Na h-Eilthirich<br />
Ghàidhealach,<br />
Murchadh Mac Ghille Mhoire.<br />
175-<br />
La Bretagnes et Les Celtes<br />
177-<br />
Insulaires,<br />
Le Docteur-Barde, M. Jaffrennou.<br />
180. Highland Home Industries, ... Mrs. W. J. Watson and Miss J. D. Bruce.<br />
184.<br />
Highland Pride,<br />
Lady MacAlister of Tarbert.<br />
>8 5<br />
.<br />
Gaelic in the Pulpit,<br />
Rev. John MaeGilchrist, B.A., (Oxon.),<br />
D.D.<br />
188. Taisbeanadh, ...<br />
Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.)<br />
190. Uilleam MacDhunleibhe,<br />
An t-Urr. Gilleasbuig<br />
MacDhomhnaill,<br />
D.D.<br />
194.<br />
The Better Singer,<br />
Rev. Kenneth MacLeod.<br />
Rev. Kenneth MacLeod.<br />
195-<br />
The Song Battle,<br />
196.<br />
The Song of the Blood,<br />
Rev. Kenneth MacLeod.<br />
197.<br />
An Uiseag,<br />
Niall Mac Gille<br />
Sheathanaich.<br />
198. The Mòd,<br />
U. M.<br />
201. Differences between Gael and Ga<br />
11, Prof. Douglas Hyde, LL.D., D.Litt.<br />
205.<br />
Sheiling Life in Lewis,<br />
Norman Morrison, D.ès. Sc., F.Z.S.<br />
209.<br />
The Call of the Isles, Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur.<br />
PAGE<br />
2IO.<br />
213.<br />
214.<br />
2l8.<br />
226.<br />
228.<br />
230.<br />
2<br />
3.v<br />
241.<br />
2<br />
45-<br />
248.<br />
252.<br />
256.<br />
257-<br />
261.<br />
264.<br />
264.<br />
269.<br />
270.<br />
271.<br />
278.<br />
283.<br />
285.<br />
2S9.<br />
290.<br />
296.<br />
298.<br />
299.<br />
300.<br />
303.<br />
304.<br />
Seann Sgeul Gàidhealach, ...<br />
Long nan Saighdearan,<br />
The " Bothan " (The Highland<br />
Cottage),<br />
Crois-tàra (The Fiery Cross),<br />
Glasgow Lassie's Visit to<br />
CuUoden, ...<br />
Mu Shòbhraig Oigh,<br />
Ròs Aluinn,<br />
Notes on Celtic Place-Names,<br />
The Celtic Craftsmen,<br />
The Epithet " Celtic,"<br />
A Ghàidhlig anns na Sgoilean,<br />
Grianan,<br />
On the Imprisonment of<br />
Argyll,<br />
The Eagle in Captivity, ... '<br />
A Tale of Old Glen Strae, ...<br />
Druid Circles and Rock Carvings,<br />
Sonnet to a Stone Circle,<br />
The Seven Men of Glenmoriston,<br />
Raonall MacDhomhnaill,<br />
Obair-àrdair,<br />
Cumha air Fear Obair-àrdair,<br />
Tobar Nighean an Rìgh,<br />
Sir Cailean Caimbeul,<br />
Marbhrann do'n Ridir Cailean<br />
Caimbeul,<br />
An Old Highland Industry —<br />
Kelp-Making,<br />
The Land of Heather,<br />
Na h-Orduighean,<br />
The Gaelic Outlook,<br />
The Heritage of the Gael, ...<br />
Song of the Stag,<br />
Sandy to Alasdair,<br />
Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire<br />
g'a Mhnaoi,<br />
Do Gaels of Canada place an<br />
extra value upon the<br />
Gaelic-speaking Immigrant,<br />
Gaol Duthcha, ...<br />
Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach"),<br />
lain Mac Phàidein.<br />
Colin Sinclair, M.A., F.R.LB.A.<br />
The Hon. R. Erskine of Marr.<br />
Catherine A. MacDonald.<br />
Catriona Ghrannd.<br />
Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach.<br />
Rev. Chas. M. Roberston.<br />
Hugh Munro.<br />
Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D.<br />
Daibhidh Urchardainn, M.A.<br />
Seumas MacLeoid.<br />
Prof. W. J. Watson, M.A., LL.D.,<br />
D.Litt., Celt.<br />
Rev. David R. Williamson.<br />
Alasdair Alpin MacGregor.<br />
Ludovic MacLellan Mann, F.S.A. [Scot.)<br />
William Wordsworth.<br />
Alister MacDonald, ("Gleannach. "ì<br />
I. MacDh.<br />
Gun urrainn.<br />
Eachann MacDhùghaill.<br />
T. D. MacDhomhnaill.<br />
Aonghas<br />
MacDhomhnaill.<br />
Archd. N. Currie, M.A., D.Sc, A.LC.<br />
Donald A. Mackenzie.<br />
Domhnall Mac-a-Phì.<br />
Prof. Magnus MacLean, M.A., D.Sc,<br />
LL.D.<br />
Right Hon. lan MacPherson, P.C., K.C.,<br />
M. r\<br />
Donald A. Mackenzie.<br />
John Buchan, LL.D.<br />
Bho'n " Teachdaire Gàidhealach. 1,<br />
Bertram W. Sinclair.<br />
.4. Sinclair, (An Gàidheal, 1871).
Illustrations.<br />
Frontispiece, ...<br />
Plate from the Book of Kells. From " The Studio."<br />
FACING<br />
FACE<br />
I. Sundown in Lome, Sir D. Y. Cameron, R.A., R.S.A., LL.D.<br />
16. Burns and Highland Mary, ... Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.<br />
21. Columba and the Old Horse, John Duncan,<br />
R.S.A.<br />
28. Dawn,—St. Martin's Cross,<br />
lona,<br />
Archd. Kay, A.R.S.A., R.S.W.<br />
53- The Eaglet's First High<br />
Venture,<br />
Photo, by Seton Gordon, F.Z.S.<br />
60. The Mermaid, ... Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art.<br />
85- Autumn, Early Morning, James Cadenhead, R.S.A.<br />
92.<br />
Dugald Buchanan's Cottage, Photo, by Valentine & Co.<br />
"3- Cup and Horn, Dunvegan, ... Photo, from Canon R. C. MacLeod or<br />
MacLeod.<br />
128. The Home of the Red Deer, V. R. Balfour-Browne.<br />
149. Night Clouds in Mull, Hugh Munro.<br />
149. Highlanders at Home, Photo, from Major John Ross.<br />
156. Ancient Toward Castle, Photo, by Sir N. Lamont, Bart.<br />
177. A Heavy Sea at Staffa, Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.<br />
192. The Song of the Hill, Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S.<br />
197. The Distant Hills, Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.<br />
204. The Road to the Glen, Photo, bv J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.<br />
213. Where Birches Wave, Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S.<br />
220. The Valley of the Shadows,... Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.<br />
Culloden Moor,<br />
Photo, by Valentine & Co.<br />
240. Saint Bride. Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art.<br />
261. Callanish Druid Circle, Lewis, Photo, by Valentine & Co.<br />
268. Shield and Sword, {Glenmoriston),<br />
From William MacKay, LL.D.<br />
277. Sir Colin Campbell—Lord Clyde Harry W. Phillips.<br />
284. Cogadh na Sith, (Quatrc Bras) Lockhart Boyle.<br />
293- Sentinels of Enchanted Land, Photo, from " Glasgow Herald."<br />
300, The Duart Lighthouse, Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.
-J<br />
WILD<br />
HILLS.<br />
z<br />
ce<br />
o<br />
-J<br />
z<br />
z<br />
o<br />
Q<br />
Z<br />
D<br />
pi<br />
55<br />
O<br />
d<br />
u<br />
<<br />
u<br />
a<br />
'T'HE great, wild hills !—<br />
Old thunder notes of earth:<br />
Dominating, brooding,<br />
Over some mystic birth:<br />
Wind, and rain-swept heights;<br />
Arid from fire, and ice-cap;<br />
Haunts of Eagle and Deer<br />
Where the forests be-lap:<br />
Dour walls of basalt crag—<br />
Lochs, silent and deep—<br />
Shadowy glens remote,<br />
Where the goblins keep:<br />
Bracken-clad bosky dens<br />
With chattering silver streams—<br />
Nooks where the green fairies dance,<br />
With laughter and little screams:<br />
O wonderful wild hills!—<br />
In the sun or the moon's light;<br />
How you forever allure me<br />
With your silent, secret might!<br />
PITTENDRIGH<br />
MACGILLIVRAY.<br />
Kind permission oj "Glasgow Herald. 1 '
Is Toigh Leam a' Ghaidhealtachd<br />
LE IAIN CAIMBEUL NACH MAIREANN, BARD NA LEADAIG.<br />
IS toigh leam a' Ghàidhealtachd, is toigh leam gach gleann<br />
Gach eas agus coire an dùthaich nam beann;<br />
Is toigh leam na gillean 'nam fèileadh ghlan ùr,<br />
Is boineid Ghlinn-Garaidh mu 'n camagan dlùth.<br />
Is toigh leam 'nan deis' iad o am mullach gu'm bonn,<br />
Am breacan, an t-osan, an sporan's an lann;<br />
Is toigh leam iad sgeadaicht' an èideadh an tìr,<br />
Ach 's suarach an deise seach seasmhachd an crìdh'.<br />
Sheas iad an dùthaich 's gach cùis agus càs,<br />
Duais-bhrathaidh cha ghabhadh, ged chuirt' iad gu bàs;<br />
'S ged shàraicht' an spiorad, 's ged leagte an ceann,<br />
Bha 'n cridhe cho daingeann ri carraig nam beann.<br />
Is toigh leam na h-igheanagan, 's b'ainneamh an t-àm<br />
Nach bithinn 'nan cuideachd 'n uair gheibhinn bhi ann;<br />
'S nam faighinn-se tè dhiubh a dùthaich mo chrìdh',<br />
Gun siùbhlainn-se leatha gu iomall gach tìr.<br />
Is toigh leam a' Ghàidhlig, a bàrdachd's a ceòl,<br />
Is tric thog i nìos sinn 'n uair bhiodhmaid fo leòn;<br />
'S i dh' ionnsaich sinn tràth ann an làithean ar n-òig,<br />
'S nach fàg sinn gu bràth gus an laigh sinn fo 'n fhòid.<br />
Is toigh leam na cleachdaidhean ceanalt 5<br />
a bh'ann,<br />
Na biodh iad an dìochuimhn' a nis aig an cloinn,—<br />
An coibhneas, an càirdeas, am bàigh is an t-eud,<br />
Tha cliù dhoibh 's gach dùthaich fo chuairtean nan speur.<br />
Nis tha dùthaich ar gaoil 'dol fo chaoraich's fo fhèidh,<br />
'S sinn 'gar fuadach thar sàile mar bhàrlach gun fheum;<br />
Ach thigeadh an cruaidh-chàs, 's cò sheasas an stoirm —<br />
O cò ach na balaich le'm boineidean gorm.<br />
Canar an gaisge's an domhan mun cuairt,<br />
Air sgiathaibh nan gaoithean 'ga sgaoileadh thar chuan,<br />
Is fhad 'sa bhios rìoghachd 'na seasamh air fonn,<br />
Bidh cuimhne gu dìlinn air euchdan nan sonn.<br />
Message from<br />
Principal Sir Donald MacAlister, Bart.,<br />
K.C.B., M.A., M.D., LL.D., D.C.L., D.Sc, Ph.D.,<br />
Glasgow University.<br />
As a Trustee of the Fèill Fund, from which An Comunn<br />
derives the chief part of its inadequate income, I am naturally<br />
desirous to see its capital increased. But my special interest in<br />
the success of its present effort to this end is not financial, but<br />
educational. An Comunn believes, and I believe, that the better<br />
educated, in the fullest sense of the word, the rising generation<br />
of Highlanders is, the more effective it will be in bringing the<br />
Celtic tradition and the Gaelic genius to bear on the intellectual<br />
life of the whole nation. We believe, nay we know from experience,<br />
that a Highland child, who is taught from the outset<br />
bilingually, is more susceptible of higher education in all subjects<br />
than a child, whether in Scotland or in England, whose elementary<br />
instruction is given through English only. We therefore urge<br />
that every child, whose home-language is Gaelic, should be taught<br />
in our Highland schools to read and write Gaelic as he is taught<br />
to read and write English. The effect of this training has proved<br />
to be, not only that he gains access to Celtic literature, but that<br />
his progress in English becomes surer and speedier, and his intellectual<br />
grasp becomes wider and stronger. Having already<br />
command of two tongues, differing in structure and idiom, he<br />
can make comparisons and observe analogies. He gains in fact<br />
the mental aptitude and versatility that, in the public schools of<br />
the south, the Southron is supposed to gain from his training in<br />
Latin or Greek. And he gains it the more certainly in that his<br />
' second language' is to him a living vernacular, in which he can<br />
constantly exercise himself colloquially, and not a dead language<br />
that he never speaks. Moreover, his Gaelic is a language so rich<br />
phonetically, and so diverse from English in its grammar and<br />
phrasing, that he is thereby prepared, as no Englishman is, for<br />
the easy acquisition of other modern languages. Not only his<br />
tongue, but his mind, becomes adaptable, and he is the better fitted<br />
to make headway in foreign lands and new surroundings, wherever<br />
his lot may be cast.
4<br />
MESSAGE FROM SIR DONALD MACALISTER.<br />
I say nothing here, others will say it better elsewhere, of the<br />
treasures of Celtic poetry, art, and music, that are open to an<br />
educated Gael, and of the impoverishment of our civilisation, if<br />
these should cease to be cultivated and transmitted to our successors.<br />
My sole point now is that it is worth while to promote<br />
the teaching of Gaelic in Highland schools, because that will make<br />
for the surer success in life of the individual Highlander, and<br />
enable him to render fuller and better service to his nation and to<br />
the Empire.<br />
The Feill —Its Purpose.<br />
BY MALCOLM MACLEOD,<br />
Ex-President of An Comunn.<br />
HIGH hopes are being centred upon the Fèill, and great issues<br />
hang upon its success. Its purposes have been fully set<br />
forth in the documents issued by its promoters, and it is<br />
therefore not necessary to do more than merely refer to them.<br />
Indeed, they may all be summed up briefly in the statement<br />
that An Comunn has reached a stage at which it must have more<br />
money to carry on its work. As the Gaelic old-word puts it with<br />
rueful humour, "Cha ruig am beagan fuilt a th'ann air cùl a chinn<br />
's air clàr an aodainn." Its available funds are inadequate to permit<br />
of the work to which it is already committed being performed<br />
efficiently; expansion of that work, for the time being, is<br />
absolutely barred. The truth is that curtailment rather than extension<br />
is the prospect that must be contemplated, failing a<br />
substantial addition being made to its resources.<br />
No one who loves the Gaelic language, or who wishes to see<br />
it live, can regard that prospect with any other feeling than dismay.<br />
For, after all, An Comunn is the only corporate body which,<br />
organised on a national basis and operating on a national scale,,<br />
has for its main purpose to safeguard and promote the interests<br />
of the Gaelic language. It has endeavoured to carry out its selfimposed<br />
task in many ways, within the limits prescribed by its<br />
restricted resources, and there is a very real sense in which the<br />
THE FEILL ITS PURPOSE.<br />
5<br />
financial stringency from which it now suffers may be taken as<br />
one of the best evidences of its success. Its help is being<br />
constantly sought, and, while grateful acknowledgment ought to<br />
be made of the vast amount of labour devoted gratuitously and<br />
ungrudgingly to its work, there is much that can be done only by<br />
a judicious and generous monetary expenditure. What is needed<br />
now is that it should widen, not narrow the scope of its operations,<br />
that it should lengthen its cords and strengthen its stakes.<br />
The experience of An Comunn in the course of its work for<br />
the Gael, while it has revealed the existence of a host of men and<br />
women who are in full and eager sympathy with its objects, and<br />
willing to devote their time and their means to the furtherance of<br />
these, has also disclosed the less agreeable fact that in quarters<br />
in which a different attitude might quite reasonably be expected,<br />
there is a condition of apathy and of Laodicean lukewarmness<br />
which is most difficult to conquer. What we have to do is to<br />
organize and direct the friendly feeling and the willingness to help,<br />
which so widely prevail, and to rouse the indifferent to a sense of<br />
their responsibility. That can be done only by propaganda work<br />
on a much more extensive and systematic plan than has hitherto<br />
been possible. Missionaries must be sent out who will reach the<br />
people directly, who will appeal to their racial self-respect, and<br />
who will strive to kindle in their hearts a glowing pride in their<br />
native language, and a resolute determination to preserve it. A<br />
revival of Gaelic in the home, at the domestic fireside, would be<br />
of inestimable value. If it dies in the home, it will not live<br />
anywhere else. Some of us will never cease to be grateful for<br />
the fact that we grew up speaking both languages from our earliest<br />
years, and there is no reason why the children of all Gaelicspeaking<br />
parents should not enjoy this boon. That is one of the<br />
things the value of which we must impress strongly on parents<br />
throughout the Highlands.<br />
The Gaelic-speaking area in the Highlands of Scotland is<br />
narrowing at a pace which is very disquieting to all lovers of the<br />
language. The figures revealed by successive Census returns are<br />
an imperative call to those who set any store by the preservation<br />
of the national language, to support every legitimate endeavour<br />
put forth for its retention. It is not yet too late to stop the process<br />
of decay. We have the opportunity now of doing something to<br />
help the efforts that are being made towards this end. Let us<br />
avail ourselves of it.
Message from<br />
The Right Hon. Lord Alness,<br />
Lord Justice Clerk.<br />
Message from<br />
The Right Hon. David Lloyd George.<br />
25, OLD QUEEN STREET,<br />
WESTMINSTER,<br />
LONDON,<br />
S.W.I.<br />
ph August) IQ26.<br />
Dear Mr. MacDonald,<br />
I was deeply interested in reading about the proposed<br />
Great Fèill in aid of the Fund of An Comunn Gàidhealach. Its<br />
intention is to aid a noble cause—the perpetuation of the language<br />
and customs of a part of the great race which has inhabited these<br />
Islands since the most distant and dim ages.<br />
Old things have of themselves no right to continued existence<br />
if they become a drag on human progress, and especially so if<br />
they can easily be substituted by others which are more advantageous.<br />
No one, however, will dare contend that Scotland could<br />
be occupied by a finer race than the Gaelic-speaking Celt. If the<br />
manly qualities of that race are fostered by a knowledge of its<br />
language, then indeed your Fèill will fulfil a worthy object.<br />
I have no doubt a knowledge of the language and customs<br />
of their ancestors will help each succeeding generation to maintain<br />
in their hearts and minds characteristics which have done<br />
so much for Scotland and the Empire. As a brother Celt, I wish<br />
the Fèill unbounded success.<br />
Ever sincerely,
St. Columba's Influence on Scottish History.<br />
BY REV. PROFESSOR MAIN, D.LITT.,<br />
D.D.,<br />
Message from<br />
The Right Hon. J. Ramsay Macdonald.<br />
HOUSE OF COMMONS.<br />
I am delighted to hear of" the efforts that are being made to<br />
preserve for Scotland and the world both the tongue and the<br />
spirit of the Highlander. Every man and woman who has any<br />
sense of the ultimate blessings of life, will strive, in these days of<br />
vain and impractical materialism, to keep alive those feelings of<br />
reverence for the worthy, and awe for the beautiful and tender,<br />
which are an essential part of the make up of the true Highlander.<br />
Worship is the creative power of the world. Men must<br />
either worship God or false gods, and the folk of the hills and<br />
the heather, the mists and the evening twilight, the sheiling, with<br />
the background of moor and the pine trees, have something in<br />
their inheritance which makes it natural for them to worship after<br />
the spirit. Our land may have fallen on evil days, but let us<br />
keep the spirit of our people.<br />
Glasgow University.<br />
THE Book of History tells us that in the year 563 St. Columba<br />
landed on the shores of Iona, that he built cells for himself<br />
and his twelve devoted companions, that he founded a little<br />
sanctuary for the worship and glory of God, that he sailed out and<br />
in amongst the isles of the Hebrides carrying the light of the<br />
Christian Evangel into dark places, that he crossed to the mainland<br />
and penetrated as far as the palace of Brude, King of the<br />
Northern Picts, whom he converted to the true faith, that he<br />
fought a victorious campaign against the pagan Druids and won<br />
a Kingdom for his Christ. But these were far-off days of legend<br />
and romance, and we narrowly scrutinise every legend and every<br />
romance in our era of criticism and sound sense. Learnedly we<br />
admit that there may have been a Columba, Saint of Erin.<br />
The Book of Adamnan tells us a story of a Miles Christi, who<br />
won the hearts of his disciples, and held them for high and noble<br />
enterprise. It is a gem of inspired biography, and it enthrals the<br />
reader until he masters the epic of a brave apostle, who gave his<br />
life for Scot and Pict. And when he reaches the end, and sees<br />
Columba, leaning on the breast of the faithful Diormit, give his<br />
last blessing to the stricken monks, then he says with reverent<br />
voice—there must have been a St. Columba.<br />
But the Book of Life tells us most of all. Go to the Sacred<br />
Isle, breathe its air laden with holy tradition, let well-nigh fourteen<br />
centuries roll past you as in a dream, and every doubt will<br />
vanish. Begin your pilgrimage at the green sward of Martyrs'<br />
Bay, where lay the bodies of fallen Kings and Chieftains on their<br />
way to burial; then walk past the Nunnery and St. Oran's Chapel,<br />
stand near the Abbey and gaze upon the Pisgah of Iona, then, in<br />
leisured mood, traverse the island till you reach the Bay where<br />
Columba landed,—and these ancient sites will force your verdict<br />
—there -was a St. Columba.<br />
Our heroic man was a Monk, a Missionary, and a Statesman.<br />
His was a happy family of " Island-Soldiers." Some of these<br />
were alumni, novices of the faith; some were operarii, workers
IO ST. COLUMBA'S INFLUENCE ON SCOTTISH HISTORY.<br />
who cared for the wants of the Monastery; and some were<br />
senioreSy the equipped Monastics who performed the daily round<br />
of the priestly office. In that family St. Columba was the Abbot,<br />
but he was more than Abbot, he was undisputed King. There<br />
were in him a dignity that impressed all men, and a geniality that<br />
won all men, for never was autocrat and aristocrat more beloved;<br />
he was passionate and masterful, yet he was a saint and a servant;<br />
he was an Evangelist in foreign lands, but no man was greater<br />
patriot in love of Erin.<br />
How great was the influence of that man! The history of<br />
Scotland began with him, and in the sixth-century conversion of<br />
the Picts the first step in the consolidation of our country was<br />
taken. It was he who restored and emancipated the Kingdom of<br />
the Scots in Dalriada, and, therefore, prepared the way for a union<br />
of Scot and Pict. In very truth, St. Columba was a founder of<br />
Nations.<br />
" Well may the Celtic people remember Columba with grateful<br />
devotion—a devotion that seems folly to those who do not<br />
know his history. They are the better to this hour because he<br />
lived." John Campbell Shairp's words are true. The Gael with<br />
his precious heritage of a language brimful of poetry, of a land<br />
majestic in its rugged contours, of a religion reverent and<br />
tenacious—the Gael can never forget Columba. Nor can the<br />
Lowlander, for he too has shared many a blessing that overflowed<br />
from the riches of a noble and abiding tradition. So long as<br />
Scotsmen love their country and fear their God, the name of St.<br />
Columba will be remembered and upheld.<br />
ST. COLUMBA'S BENEDICTION TO IRELAND.<br />
Carry with thee, thou noble youth,<br />
My blessing and my benediction,<br />
One half upon Erin, sevenfold,<br />
And half on Alba.<br />
Take my blessing with thee to the West;<br />
Broken is my heart in my breast;<br />
Should sudden death overtake me<br />
It is from my great love of the Gaedhil;<br />
Gaedhil! Gaedhil! beloved name!<br />
Astray in Appin<br />
By NEIL MUNRO,<br />
Author of " The Lost Pibroch," " The New Road," etc., etc.<br />
I<br />
HAD been fishing for a week, with moderate success, in Loch<br />
Daile Mhic Chailein, private water which belonged to Fasnacloich.<br />
The weather had been dry for weeks ; the sun<br />
glared hatefully on Appin all the day, and only in the evenings was<br />
the place restored to that condition of romantic mystery, that<br />
agreement with its history, which renders Appin always so peculiarly<br />
fascinating.<br />
Glen Creran—heaven be thanked !—lies out of the way of<br />
common traffic, and the woods of Fasnacloich are even yet as<br />
lonely and remote as when the cry arose round the House of Fear,<br />
and the Stewarts trembled guiltily at the news of the death of<br />
Colin Campbell. A new house has been built at Fasnacloich, they<br />
tell me, and Fasnacloich itself has found a new proprietor; but<br />
when I was there a guest of Stewarts, the house was little more<br />
than a single cottage with some iron bungalows in the grounds<br />
about it to accommodate the overflow of shooting and fishing<br />
visitors.<br />
They were—myself included—the oddest, most incongruous<br />
mixture—soldiers, artists, attaches, lawyers, ladies, and even a<br />
lord or two. I remember one particularly, a Cecil, who looked so<br />
like his brother Salisbury, though in truth a simple, genial English<br />
farmer squire, that I never could be at ease with him. A gay party<br />
of good souls, quite ready to swop flies or lies, or gaff a salmon<br />
for you, but someway I was out of it, since the atmosphere was<br />
wholly English, and my quest in Appin was the " genus loci."<br />
No matter though a piper played the rouse each morning, and at<br />
dinner made the others doleful by parading round the table<br />
playing pibrochs, I felt this wasn't strictly speaking Appin.<br />
It could be Appin only when I was alone, when I climbed to<br />
Ben Mhir na Ceisich, or rambled in the woods, walked over the<br />
ruins of the sheilings, or by the otter-haunted river to Loch<br />
Creran-head. But even more particularly was it Appin when the<br />
little lake in front of Fasnacloich was like a mirror through which
12 ASTRAY IN APPIN.<br />
salmon and sea-trout multitudinously crashed all day, tempting<br />
and taunting the chagrined angler, and I pushed my boat into the<br />
embouchure of the inflowing river, from whose dim, cool, dripping,<br />
and mysterious recesses I could look as from a cave through<br />
a vista of dense overhanging trees to an Appin flooded with light<br />
and colour. Round me the fish plowted, and the water-vole, and<br />
in the calmest noon the foliage was full of curious whisperings,<br />
movements, hints of espionage. What a place for love or murder!<br />
But better still, more sane, more spacious, free, and fairy,<br />
was the spirit of the evening hour in Fasnacloich, when the yellow<br />
badger's moon hung over the scented valley, and the woods were<br />
sombre dark, and the hills became more close and lofty, and the<br />
little loch had a crossing causewayed with pure gold. In such an<br />
hour the pipes of Cameron, heard upon the shore, expressed most<br />
poignantly the soul and story of the land of Appin.<br />
I tired of the glassy lake, though, indeed, my fishing was a<br />
sheer pretence, and set out one morning, early, on a visit to Dalness,<br />
a place I had written about, but at the time had never seen.<br />
Dalness lies over a dozen miles away, in an angle of Glen<br />
Etive, across a trackless country, utterly forsaken, save by bird and<br />
deer, and it was necessary that part of the way at least I should have<br />
a guide. I found one wholly to my mind in the tenant of Glenure.<br />
The house he dwelt in is renowned in Highland history, for<br />
it was the home of the Red Fox—Colin Campbell, and Campbell's<br />
blood cries from the floor. It was from here, as judicial factor,<br />
that he squeezed the rents from the reluctant Stewarts; it was to an<br />
upper chamber of it that his corpse was carried after he had fallen<br />
before the bullet of the assassin. The story of "Kidnapped"<br />
would never have been written, if there had not been<br />
this little farmhouse under the sinister shadow of the<br />
last of the mighty yew-trees which have given Glenure<br />
its name. A little farmhouse, I have called it, but in<br />
truth it had in some respects the aspect of a keep, with enormous<br />
fire recesses, massive walls and shutters, and an entrance barred<br />
by beams of oak that slid into channels in the masonry. If the<br />
house was built for Colin Campbell, it was built for a man who<br />
knew he stood alone, and had to sleep at night among his enemies.<br />
Mackay took me up the glen, which has no road, since it really<br />
leads to nowhere, and his house at the entrance is the only one it<br />
holds. We walked high up on the hill-side on a shepherd's track,<br />
as the old Highlanders seem to have done in nearly all the narrower<br />
ASTRAY IN APPIN.<br />
13<br />
glens in olden times, before the age of wheels, doubtless because<br />
it was easier walking there than in the troughs created by the<br />
burns, which would be hampered by stones and swamps, and<br />
wind-sown brush-wood. A wild and narrow glen, shut in by<br />
hills precipitous, it is only in jutting roots at intervals that it recalls<br />
its worn-out destiny as a place where the mountain archers<br />
one time got their yew.<br />
That old tradition of Glenure, Mackay recalled, and many<br />
others of the district, for though young he had the spirit of the<br />
seanachie. Of pipes and pipe tunes, too, we talked (himself an<br />
adept), and Gaelic songs, and midway up the valley we saw, on<br />
the other side, a golden eagle swooping down upon her nest, at a<br />
lower altitude than our own. " And now," said my guide at last<br />
" you can easily find the way; go over the hill till you come to<br />
two small lochans, and go down the glen they are at the head of.' 1<br />
He must have said which side I was to keep the lochans on when<br />
I came to them, but he had wakened, by his talk, an interest in<br />
other things than those of the present moment, and I heard<br />
in an abstraction and pursued my way alone in dreams.<br />
The most bewildering glen ! It was a cul-de-sac! I stared,<br />
disquieted, at the barrier which seemed a living avalanche of<br />
stones, the " fragments of an earlier world "; then, knowing I was<br />
wrong, but unable to amend my error, I painfully made my first<br />
essay at serious Alpine climbing. How long I took to reach the<br />
summit of the eol (and mostly on hands and knees), over this<br />
torrent of enormous boulders, I do not remember, but when I<br />
had reached the top and looked back in amazement and alarm at<br />
the glacis I had scaled, the sun was high in heaven, and the ardour<br />
of a hot day come. Before me lay a choice of glens and a bewildering<br />
array of lofty mountain tops, and I had neither map nor compass.<br />
The little lochs my guide had made so much of were invisible.<br />
But certain now that Dalness was no more than a couple<br />
of hours away, I plunged aqross the moor towards the most<br />
spacious and inviting opening between the hills. The lochans<br />
came at last to view; I passed them on the left, and now more<br />
confident that all was well, went gaily over heather and through<br />
dried-up hag.<br />
Hours passed.<br />
The way became more difficult, broken by rivulets and bogs,<br />
the opening in the hills I had been making for was now impracticable,<br />
and the hill itself (Ben Trilleachan, as I learned later) was
1<br />
4<br />
ASTRAY IN<br />
APPIN.<br />
ASTRAY IN APPIN.<br />
15<br />
shouldering me for miles on a course that left the sun far behind<br />
me, where I feared it should not be.<br />
At three o'clock in the afternoon I stood on a dreary waste<br />
of moor that, from all appearance, might have never known the<br />
foot of man, and realised that I was lost in Appin. I had been<br />
lost in the hills before at night, but in that there was no ignominy,<br />
and at worst it was there a case of waiting till the dawn; here I<br />
was lost in dazzling sunshine through a shameful want of observation,<br />
and every step appeared to make my state more hopeless.<br />
There is, in us, who daily walk on beaten roads and paths well<br />
marked, a singular dependence on the engineer, that utterly destroys<br />
a sense most precious to the traveller in desert places—the<br />
instinct for the way, the power to see in various features of the<br />
landscape—run of rivulets, or inclination of the hills—or in bird<br />
flight, or sun or wind, a certain kindly guidance Nature gives to<br />
all who understand her. But take your man of roads and guideposts,<br />
and leave him to himself in many of the countless moors<br />
that lie between the beaten tracks of the Highlands, and he will<br />
learn with fear the limitations of a modern education.<br />
There is only one way of being lost in such circumstances,<br />
and I need not dwell on the sensation, with its curious mingling<br />
of amazement, panic, self-contempt, recrimination, and hysteric<br />
humour. I was lost, and there was, for the time, an end of it,<br />
until at last a fragment of the savage common-sense came back to<br />
me, and I recalled that the water from the tiniest mountain well<br />
can find its way to sea, that rivulets run to burns, and burns to<br />
rivers, and that never a decent river flows in Scotland but has a<br />
road beside it.<br />
Late that evening I came plunging down the lower slopes of<br />
Trilleachan, and found myself upon the shores of dark Loch<br />
Etive. There was only one house visible, and a woman working<br />
in a field.<br />
" What do you call this place" I asked, and she regarded me<br />
with some surprise.<br />
" Barrs," she replied.<br />
" How far is it to Dalness" I asked her then.<br />
She thought a while, and then said, " Twelve or thirteen miles,<br />
but there's no road there from here." " But how do you get out of<br />
here when you want" I asked, and then she told me nobody ever<br />
wanted out of there except sometimes the shooting tenant, and<br />
then he put up a flag and stopped a passing steamer. There was<br />
no steamer till the following day, she added, quite unnecessarily.<br />
I went up to the shooting lodge of Barr, and was met at the<br />
door by a man in evening clothes. " I have walked from Fasnacloich,"<br />
I remarked, with eloquent simplicity, " and I got lost."<br />
" By George, that's fine!" he said, with a kindling eye; "come<br />
in and have some dinner. This is the loveliest day! My regiment's<br />
just got the route for Africa, and I must flag the boat tomorrow."<br />
We flagged the boat on the morrow, and a few months<br />
later he was dead on the battlefield.<br />
Tuireadh an t-Saoidh.<br />
LE IAIN MACCORMAIC, F.S.A. (Scot.)<br />
Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidealaich.<br />
SGRIOB gun d' thug mi do'n doire<br />
Far an goireadh na h-eoin,<br />
Chunn'cas ann leam croinn allail<br />
A' sealltuinn maiseach fo'n cròic.<br />
Cuid diubh sleaghach àrd dìreach,<br />
Toirt deagh ìgh às a' ghrunnd,<br />
'S duilleach bholtrach na cìr-oir<br />
A' moladh mìlseachd an driùchd.<br />
Cuid a' nochdadh an spèireid<br />
Le 'bhi èigneach 'nan tighinn,<br />
Oir rinn langaid a' gheamhraidh<br />
Am maoth mheanglain a' mhilleadh.<br />
Cuid a sìor dhol an deachamh,<br />
'S air fàs seachte gun sùgh,<br />
:<br />
S cluinnear crònan nam beachan<br />
A' tòrradh meala fo 'n rùsg.<br />
Ach an rè bha mi 'siubhal<br />
Feadh fireach nan crann,<br />
Fhuair mi fòghlum thug fios domh<br />
Gnè an lios so a bh' ann.<br />
B'iad croinn-amhuil gach cànain<br />
O linn Adhaimh a nuas.<br />
•
TUIREADH AN<br />
T-SAOIDH.<br />
Is b'e 'chnead mi a' chraobh Ghàidhlig<br />
A bhi gun àbhachd gun snuadh,<br />
A freumhan sàighte anns an lombar,<br />
Cuid diubh lobhta gun tuar.<br />
I gun ùireadh gun todhar,<br />
Gun aon chobhair o a sluagh,<br />
Gun iad uiread's bhi rùnach<br />
Ri duis ùr-ghlan nam buadh.<br />
Ach iad uile 'g a dìobradh.—<br />
'S mòr mo mhì-ghean 'g a luaidh.<br />
Och! a shìol nan laoch tapaidh<br />
A sgaoileadh bratach ri gaoith,<br />
'S a rùsgadh gòrm-lannan tana<br />
Gach uair a chasaidteadh ribh—•<br />
Nan do sheas sibh cho fearail<br />
Cùl ealdhain' 'ur saoidh,<br />
'S a rinn sibh cho eudmhor<br />
Cùl beurl' nach buin duibh,<br />
Cha b' ann 'na sìneadh an euslaint',<br />
'S an lèigh air bheag suim,<br />
A bhiodh cànain nam beur-bheann<br />
'Tha cho geur-bhriathar grinn.<br />
Ach a dh' aindeoin a' mhìobhaidh,<br />
A thug dì-mheas d' a cloinn,<br />
A chuir a thaobh i mar chrìonaich,<br />
'S a leig air dìochuimhn' a loinn,<br />
Tha de neart-ghloir 'na fìon-fhuil<br />
Na chum ìoc-shlàint' r'a com,<br />
'S chithear fhathast a geugan<br />
Làn èifeachd 's a' choill.<br />
Wi' mom'e a Vow and locked embrace<br />
Our parting was ja tender;<br />
And, pledging ajt to meet again,<br />
We tore oursels asunder."<br />
BY I'IT'1 ENDRIOH MACGILL[VRAY, SC.
Dealachadh nan Rathad<br />
LE DOMHNALL MAC NA CEARDACH, (EILEAN<br />
BHARRAIDH),<br />
UGHDAIR AN DEALBH-CHLUICHE, " CROIS-TARA," etc.<br />
Saoibhir sìth nan sian an nochd air Tìr an Aigh,<br />
Is ciùine ciùil nan Dul ag clùmhadh Innse Gràidh,<br />
Is èasgaidh gach sgiath air fianlach dian an Dàin<br />
Is slighe nan seann seun a' siaradh siar gun tàmh.<br />
AGUS thall—fada thall, a Ghaoil, fhreagair Mac Talla,—" a><br />
siaradh siar gu bràth." Sheas mi, a Ghaoil, fo iongnadh, oir<br />
bha rud-eigin anns a' ghuth agus ann an aigne a' chiùil a<br />
chuir gaoir air mo shiubhal, agus seun air nV aigne fèin. Bha rudeigin<br />
ann a bha mo spiorad fèin ag aithneachadh agus a' co-fhreagairt.<br />
B' fheàrr leam na rud air an t-saoghal, a Ghaoil, gum b'<br />
urrainn mi an t-aigne ud ainmeachadh dhuit,—aigne a dh' agallas<br />
ri spiorad mac a' Ghàidheil mu àilleachd na Fìrinn, a tha os cionn<br />
eòlais; aigne a chruinnicheas fa chomhair oidheam dìomhair gach<br />
teud a bhuineas do chruit mion-oilean nan cinneach Ceilteach,—<br />
seadh, a Ghaoil, Cruit Chiùil na Dìleann !<br />
Ach cò a bh' ann Cha robh neach, a Ghaoil, 'nam shealladh.<br />
Bha grian deireadh foghair ag èaladh le leathad nan speur, agus<br />
thall ri bunnacha-bac bha Innse-Sgeoil agus Tìr-an-Aigh, laiste<br />
le lasair solus nan seann sòlas. Sìos troimh Ghleann Sianta, bha<br />
rathad soilleir an triall a' siùdan mu bhonn nan cnocan, gus an<br />
robh e a' dol às orm 'na stiallan caola aig iochdar Cadha na h-<br />
Imriche. Leum clacharan, a Ghaoil, a mach às an toll; às an<br />
bhothan bheag anns an do thog e a theaghlach, agus gun ghuth<br />
idir a thighinn às a cheann, a Ghaoil, ghabh e le aon si fheadh sìth<br />
tarsuinn a' ghlinne, is aghaidh do'n deas.<br />
Chuir mo smaoin trioblaid orm, a Ghaoil. Gu dè a thàinig<br />
air an t-saoghal Carson nach d' thubhairt an clacharan ud,<br />
" Seach !—Seach !—Seachainn !" mar a b' àbhaist dha Gu dè<br />
a chuir cho balbh e an diugh, agus a dh' fhàg cho geal leathann an<br />
sgrìob air an robh mi cho eòlach na earball, is e a' taisdeal às Ach
i8<br />
DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.<br />
d rithisd dh' èirich deò a' chiùil, a Ghaoil, agus dh' fhairich mi an<br />
aon seun a' tighinn orm o Innis na Fìrinn—<br />
Sona com nan cruach le cuimhne làithean aosd'<br />
Sona gnùis nan cuan am bruadar uair a dh'aom,<br />
Aoibhinn an duan air meamhaìr bhuain nan gaoth<br />
O, làithean nam buadh ! 'ur n-uaill, 'ur n-uails', 'ur saors'!<br />
Agus a rithisd eile, a Ghaoil, fhreagair guth seachranach Mhic<br />
Talla,—« 'Ur luaths, 'ur luaidh, 'ur gaol!"<br />
Thug mi a chreidsinn orm fèin gun robh aobhar a' chiùil na<br />
b' fhaisge dhomh an turus so, a Ghaoil, agus sùil gun tug mi air<br />
mo chùlaibh chunnacas ùghdair mo shonais agus m'iongnaidh leth-<br />
• fhalaichte fo sgeothall creige ri taobh an rathaid. " Mo bheannachd<br />
air t' anam, 'aois-cheoil nam buadh!" B' ann rium fèin a<br />
thug mi briathar mo bheannachaidh, a Ghaoil, oir bha mo chridhe<br />
làn, ionnas gun tugadh mo bhilean breith-buidheachais gun fheitheamh<br />
idir ri rian mo thoile.<br />
A dh' aindeoin gach fìamha, faiteachais, agus taom eile a<br />
thàinig a steach orm, ghabh mi a null 'ga ionnsuidh, a Ghaoil.<br />
Saoil an robh mi a dèanamh na còrach <br />
A' leigeil às na cruite às an tug e an ceòl, dh' èirich an seannduine<br />
'na sheasamh, a Ghaoil, 'gam bheannachadh, agus, an càinnt<br />
uasal oileanta nan daoine, dh' fhàiltich e mi fèin agus mo thurus<br />
mar bu mhodh agus deas-ghnàth riamh do chlann a' Ghàidheil a<br />
chur roimh choigreach. 'Na ghnùis dh' aithnich mi, a Ghaoil,<br />
oighreachd òirdhearc mo chinnich; flathalachd, fiù agus feardhachd<br />
nam fear fìrinneach, agus 'na cheann an dà shùil a bu shoilleire,<br />
ach eadhon fòs a bu duatharaiche a chunnacas riamh an cruthachd<br />
bàird. Am fianuis urra cho ainneamh, a Ghaoil, 'sann a dh' fhàs<br />
mi diùid, nàrach, oir chomh-luath agus a theann mi ri a fhreagairt<br />
dh' fhairich mi blas mo theangaidh 'gam bhrath agus 'gam dhìteadh.<br />
Ach naisg mi mo chomain, a Ghaoil, anns na briathran a<br />
bu deise a dh' èireadh leam, ged is iomadh là o 'n uair sin fèin a<br />
chuir cuimhne a shùla-san biorgadh troimh m' aigne.<br />
" Is dòcha leam gur coigreach sibhse air na rathaidean so,"<br />
ars' esan, is e ag cromadh a thogail na cruite agus 'ga cur fo a achlais,<br />
"ach tha mi an dòchas nach dìomoì sibh dhomh-sa a bhi ag<br />
iarraidh fàth air fois an fheasgair, a dhèanamh mo thiomnaidh 'san<br />
ionad àraid so." Cha ruig mi a leas innseadh dhuit, a Ghaoil,<br />
gun do chuir na briathran neònachas orm. Carson a leigeadh urra<br />
air an t-saoghal rium-sa gnothach cho dìomhair Tiomnadh 'san<br />
ionad àraid so!<br />
DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.<br />
'9<br />
B' fheudar nach robh mi 'ga thuigsinn, a Ghaoil, agus bu<br />
chinntiche dhomh mo fhreagairt a chur an càinnt a cheileadh an<br />
teagamh agus an neònachas a bha ag cur air m' inntinn.. "Is<br />
coigreach mi an taobh so gun teagamh," arsa mise, "agus tha mi ag<br />
iarraidh 'ur mathanais air son call 'ur ciùil a chur oirbh." Sheall<br />
e orm, a Ghaoil, mar gum biodh truas aige dhìom, oir bha cianalas<br />
mòr 'na shùilean agus 'na ghuth. " Call mo chiùil orm-sa, a<br />
ghràidh" ars' esan. " 'Sann air chall a bha an ceòl ud o chionn<br />
fhada an t-saoghail, ach is dòcha gur ann mar sin is mìlse e. Gabh<br />
mo leisgeul, a mhic," ars' esan, " air son a bhi a' dol cho dàna air<br />
'ur n-eòlas, ach an ceòl ud a chuala sibh cha teid a chrìochnachadh<br />
gu bràth." Mar dhealan athair, bhuail rud-eigin de'n eòlas 'nam<br />
inntinn, a Ghaoil. Lean an seann-duine air. " Sud an dàn mu<br />
dheireadh, a ghràidh,—an dàn a bhios gu sìorruidh gun cheann<br />
gun cheangal; an tiomnadh air nach ruig dìleabach."<br />
Ghluais an seann-duine gu ceum an rathaid. Thuig mi, a<br />
Ghaoil, gun do rinn mi call nach ìeasaicheadh iùnntas an t-saoghail,<br />
agus thòisich dorran dubh air itheadh mo chridhe, oir mhothaich<br />
mi eadar mi is an leus gun robh aon de theudan na cruite briste air<br />
a ghàirdean. An dàn gun chrìochnachadh! Agus ùghdair an<br />
dàin ud nach do rugadh a' falbh ! An robh mi a' dol 'ga leigeil às<br />
m' fhianuis mar sud Saoil an gabhadh e dhomh an còrr de'n dàn<br />
air chor is gun cuirinn sgrìobhadh air Saoil an innseadh e dhomh<br />
eadhon susbaint nan smaointean a dhùisg an ceòl ud a thug às mo<br />
thoinneamh mì<br />
Cha ruig mi a leas, a Ghaoil, mo dhearbh-bhriathran fèin<br />
aithris dhuit an so; ach cearbach, lom is gun robh iad, dh' fheuch<br />
mi ri mo chridhe a rùsgadh dha. Dh' fheuch mi, a Ghaoil, an<br />
dorus a anma an iuchair ud a thug thu fèin dhomh o chionn fhada<br />
—an iuchair a dh' fhosgail dhomh iomadh glas; a fhuair dhomh<br />
iomadh rèidh-fhuasgladh o'n latha sin. Sheall esan orm, is a<br />
shùilean a' dèanamh tobar-sìolain an clàr m' aodainn, a Ghaoil, agus<br />
a' breith air dhà làimh orm thubhairt e an leth-chagar, " An teid<br />
sibh leam ceum de'n rathad" Sud fèin na thubhairt e, a Ghaoil,<br />
ach shaoil mise gun do leugh mi barrachd is a chuala mi.<br />
Bha a' ghrian air a sgiath a bhogadh an druim an t-saoghail,<br />
agus sinn a' fiaradh an rathaid sìos gu Cadha na h-Imriche. Bha<br />
sìth nan seachd seun air a ghleann. Bha sìth agus seuntachd air<br />
gach beò, a Ghaoil, eadhon air an tè òig ud a bha a' bleoghann na<br />
bà air taobh an rathaid. " Gum beannaicheadh Dia sibh," arsa<br />
mo chaomh chompanach, is sinn a' dol seachad oirre, ach freagairt,
20 DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.<br />
seadh an aon fhreagairt fhial ris an robh dùil agam fèin maraon,<br />
cha d' fhuaras, ged a shaoil mi, a Ghaoil, gun cuala mi srùthlag<br />
bheag chaol an t-sruthain a bha an taobh thall dhìom ag ràdh,<br />
" Dia dhuibh fèin."<br />
Air taobh eile an rathaid mhothaich mi clàr sanais, a Ghaoil,<br />
a bha a' maoidheadh greim an lagha air neach 'sam bith a dhèanadh<br />
ùtraideachd. "An leugh sibh-se ana-cainnt na coigridh" ars' an<br />
seann-duine, is esan e fèin a' toirt sùla air a' chlàr shanais. Bha<br />
rud-eigin 'na ghuth a bha coltach ri cothlamadh faiteachais agus<br />
gràine, a Ghaoil; ach a thaobh is nach cuala mi riamh roimhe am<br />
facal ud, seadh, ' na coigridh,' feumaidh mi aideachadh dhuit, air<br />
tàilleabh na thog am facal ud am inntinn, agus na thàinig a steach<br />
orm ri a linn, gun do dhìochuimhnich mi car tiotain gun deachaidh<br />
ceist neònach a chur orm. " Leughaidh mi beagan,—air èiginn,"<br />
arsa mise, agus mi a' leigeil mo chudtruim, a Ghaoil, air an<br />
' èiginn '; ach cha d' thàinig de fhreagairt eile às a cheann, a Ghaoil,<br />
ach, " Seadh, a ghràidh, seadh dìreach,—air èiginn."<br />
Bha e 'nam bheachd 'ana-cainnt na coigridh' eadar-theangachadh,<br />
a Ghaoil, air chor is gun tuigeadh esan aobhar a' chlàir ud,<br />
ach mu'n gann a chruinnich mi mo bhriathran air an ceart-dhloghadh,<br />
'sann a chaidh dithis òganach seachad oirnn, is iad ag comhluadar<br />
cho àrd agus cho gob-chluasach is ged a bhiodh iad le chèile<br />
bodhar. "An cuala sibh sud" arsa an t-aosdàna, is crithinnich<br />
'na cheann, agus a shùilean a' lasadh, a Ghaoil, mar a lasas teine<br />
smàilte. " Nach ann air mo chànain fèin-sa a thàinig an latha<br />
Seadh, " dannsa ag gabhail àite"! O, a thàsga nam bàrd nach beò !<br />
an èisdeadh sibh ri iasad facail cho claon agus ceacharra O, an<br />
t-aineolas so thar gach aineolais!—O, an t-eòlas so as doille na'n<br />
t-aineolas!" Bha mi air mo nàrachadh, a Ghaoil. B' fheàrr leam<br />
'san àm gun robh mo cheum air rathad eile, agus mi 'nam aonar,<br />
air chor is gum falaichmn an trioblaid a bha air m'aigne. Nach<br />
iomadh uair a chuala is a chunnaic mi fèin "an t-eòlas ud is doille<br />
nan t-aineolas" Nach iomadh uair a rachainn fèin tuathal mar<br />
biodh gum bi do bheul caomh, carthannach-sa fòs 'gam stiùireadh,<br />
—'gam sheòladh air ceumaibh an t-seann rathaid eòlaich, anns am<br />
faic mi na leacan air am bleith is air an cnàmh lom agus laganach<br />
le triall agus tosgaireachd mo dhaoine.<br />
" Ach saoilibh," arsa mise, " a bheil atharrach aca air Saoilibh<br />
an ann de'n deoin fèin a tha iad sud aineolach air teangaidh,<br />
air tighinn, agus air mion-oilean an sinnsir—" " Seadh," ars'<br />
esan, is e ag gabhail a leisgeil a chur casg air mo chainnt, " saoileam
DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD. 21<br />
an ann gu dearbh ! Saoileam, a mhic, carson a tha athaill a chràidh<br />
fhathast an uchd Goirtean a' Bhliochd Ach is mithich dhomh-sa,<br />
• a ghràidh, a bhi ag greasad orm, oir tha mi cheana anmoch, is<br />
falamhachd an latha agus fuachd na h-oidhche a' fuadach mo<br />
dheòine bhàrr àrainn nan tràth caochlaideach so."<br />
Thog mi mo shùil a null ri Goirtean a' Bhliochd, a Ghaoil,<br />
feuch am faighinn oidheam nam briathran. Thall ri bonn a'<br />
chnuic chunnaic mi leoba de ghlasrach ag imlich a steach do<br />
gharbh-fhraoch na mòintich, agus thug mi an aire gun robh an<br />
sud is an so beathach ag ionaltradh air a' mhìn-fheur. Ach<br />
mhothaich mi cuideachd, a Ghaoil, gun robh sean athailtean nan<br />
àiteach fhathast ri am faicinn 'na uchd; seadh, ' athailt a' chràidh.'<br />
Dh' fhuasgail an snaim dhomh! Seadh; gun chràdh cha tig is<br />
cha choisnear duais no toradh, a Ghaoil; eadhon mar sin a dh 5<br />
fhulaing Goirtean a' Bhliochd a chliabh a bhi air a reubadh agus<br />
air a fhosgladh a dhèanamh cobhair am beoil do na h-àil,—agus<br />
eadhon fòs mar sin a chaidh goirtean ar càllachaidh agus ar mionoilein-ne<br />
àiteachadh, a dhèanamh cobhair ar càile spioradail agus<br />
chinneadail dhuinne.<br />
Agus mar sin uidh air n-uidh, a Ghaoil, lorg mi slighe nan<br />
smaointean a chaidh troimh aigne a' bhàird; 'sea tha mi ag ciallachadh<br />
gun do lorg mi dhomh fèin aon oidheam phurpail, an comhshìneadh<br />
ri mo chomas agus m' eòlas air aignidhean duatharach<br />
a rannsachadh.<br />
B' ann aig Cadha na h-Imriche, aig dealachadh nan rathad, a<br />
thàinig mi gu mo shuim às na beachd-smaointean ud, a Ghaoil,<br />
agus cha b' ann gun arraban agus mulad a thuig mi gun robh esan<br />
air an do ghabh mi a leithid de ghràdh air thuar m' fhàgail. "Tha<br />
sinn a nis aig dealachadh nan rathad, matà, a ghràidh," ars' esan,<br />
is e ag cur tosd air a cheum, " agus o'n a tha impidh is crannchur<br />
an dàin 'gar tabhairt-sa taobh eile, is èiginn dhomh an rathad gu<br />
Port na h-Iubhraich a dhèanamh air luirg na lacha. J ' Chaidh<br />
sgaoth eun seachad os ar cionn, a Ghaoil. Lean a shùil an triall<br />
gus an deachaidh am fear mu dheireadh i sealladh thar ghuala na<br />
h-Airde. Chuir e dheth a cheann-aodach, a Ghaoil, agus le blas<br />
nach buineadh do'n t-saoghal 'na ghuth, thuirt e na briathran nach<br />
dìochuimhnich mise gu bràth; " Beannachd leibh a chlann an<br />
t-samhraidh,—sonas leibh 'nar siubhal sìth. Tillidh sibh-se fòs<br />
gu 'r n-annsa,—gu mo chall-sa, gleann mo chridh'."<br />
Bha a mheuran ag cniadachadh teudan na cruite 'na achlais mar<br />
gum biodh e ag iarraidh puing nach robh e ag amas. Chuir mise
22 DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.<br />
cuideachd dhìom mo cheann-aodach fèin, a Ghaoil, oir bha<br />
annlainn mhòr 'gam ghluasad.<br />
Theann e 'gam ìonnsuidh gus an do leag e a làmh air mo<br />
ghualainn. " A mhic," ars 5 esan, " is mise am fear mu dheireadh,<br />
—an t-eun mu dheireadh de 5 n àl. Is mise am fear mu dheireadh<br />
de'n dream ud nach deachaidh an call an ribe na coigridh; an<br />
dìleabach aig an do sguir an dìleab. Dearbh-oighre chan 'eil ann.<br />
Is ro-fhada a tha mi às dèidh chàich."<br />
Bha mi air mo lìonadh le uamhas, a Ghaoil. Sann a bha<br />
cianalas neònach a' teannadh ri criomadh mo chridhe. Ciod è an<br />
dìleab Ciod è a bha air chùl nam briathran iongantach so Aig<br />
sean bhreac nan sruth a bha dà thrian de'n eòlas, agus an treasa<br />
trian aig an tè nach innseadh do na faoileagan e; aig a' chorra.<br />
" Ach fòs," ars' an seann duine, is e a' dèanamh nàduir de<br />
ghreim air mo ghàirdean, " bidh àil eile am dhèidh, agus eadhon<br />
air glùin fhuair na banaltruim gun dàimh their leanabh a' Ghàidheil,<br />
' dath ! dath!' mar a rinn mise an uchd blàth mo mhàthar fèin.<br />
Agus fòs thig diolacha-dèirce le cridheachan acrach agus crogan<br />
sanntach a dhùsgadh m' uaghach-sa, a dh' iarraidh nan ulaidhean<br />
a thug mi leam 'nam bhroilleach."<br />
" Fòs tuigidh an saoghal dàn duatharach mo chinnich am beul<br />
an là agus air bhilean na h-oidhche, agus thar sheachd buidhrichean<br />
ciana an domhain thig iad a shireadh lorg mo cheum,—a chomharrachadh<br />
taibhsealan mo ghabhalach, eadhon am fliche nan tonn,<br />
eadhon fòs gu ceann na slighe a theid siar gu Tìr nan Og."<br />
Ach mar gun tigeadh rud-eigin de allaghrabadh air ruith a<br />
sheanchais, a Ghaoil, chaochail e gnùis a bhriathran, agus ag càradh<br />
na cruite a bha e ag caidreamh 'na achlais fèin ann am achlais-sa,<br />
thuirt e rium car mar so—" Ach so, sud dhùibh-se mo dhìleab-sa;<br />
mo dhìleab-sa o chraoibh nan cliar, le m' dheoin, le m' bhriathar's<br />
le beannachd Dhia,—le beannachd Dhia." Agus cha b' e so uile<br />
na chuir neònachas orm, a Ghaoil, oir an sin thug e a mach às a<br />
bhroilleach rola meambrana air an robh làmh-sgrìobhadh de an<br />
do sfhabh mi annas ro-mhòr.<br />
~Cha mhath a thog mi, a Ghaoil, na briathran a thuit uaidh an<br />
àm dha an rola so a chur 'nam làimh, ach ar leam gun d' ainmich<br />
e I agus rolan de mheambrana a chaidh air chall.<br />
Ach is iomadh rud a chuala mi, a Ghaoil, aig dealachadh nan<br />
rathad air nach cubhaidh dhomh luaidh a dhèanamh aig an àm,<br />
agus, a chumail ri mo ghealltanas, cha mhotha a bheir mi guth<br />
riut air dealachadh nam beò, no seòladh air triall an fhir a bheann-<br />
DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.<br />
23<br />
aich mi aig Cadha na h-Imriche. Ach so faodaidh mi innseadh<br />
dhuit, a Ghaoil, oir tha fhios agam gum bi thu ri feòraich. 'S e<br />
" Dàn nan Dul " is ainm do'n dàn ud air nach deachaidh crìoch,<br />
agus air nach motha a chuireas mise crìoch dhuit-sa, a Ghaoil, ged<br />
a bhiodh tu ag eirbhir orm sin a dhèanamh. Oir tuig nach tig<br />
crìoch air dàn a' Ghàidheil gu Là na Dìleann, agus ma thuigeas tu<br />
sin, tuigidh tu tuilleadh air na sgrìobhas mo làmh dhuit.<br />
Tuig, a Ghaoil, seach gun teid teud eile 'sa chruit, gun gabh<br />
mi dhuit dheth na's aithne dhomh, oir is iomadh oidhche o'n uair<br />
ud a lìon ceòl an dàin so mo chridhe, agus a chuir cuspair an dàin<br />
cheudna lì is loinn gu là air m' aisling.<br />
OSSIANIC<br />
TRANSLATED BY THOMAS<br />
POETRY.<br />
PATTISON.<br />
Sweet is man's voice in solitudes, and sweet<br />
The voice of birds amid the woods of spring—<br />
Sweet is the sound when rock and water meet,<br />
Where Bun-da-treor hears the surges sing:<br />
Sweet are the light winds softly murmuring:<br />
Sweet are the lonely heron's notes, and sweet<br />
The cuckoo's, with the aged thoughts they bring:<br />
Sweet the warm sun which whistling blackbirds greet—<br />
The sun that brightly shines on Cona's rocky steep.<br />
Sweet is the eagle, with her far-heard cry,<br />
Sailing above great Morven's mighty sea,<br />
When sleeps the noonday in the deep-blue sky,<br />
And o'er the pool the hern bends silently:<br />
Sweet is the lark that sings from heaven on high;<br />
And one thing more is sweet,—Fingal's my sire!<br />
Seven valiant bands he leadeth far and nigh:<br />
When for the chase his hounds are all on fire,<br />
Sweet is their deep-mouthed bay—sweet as the bardic choir.
»<br />
CARMINA GADELICA. 25<br />
Carmina Gadelica.*<br />
TO praise this book duly would be but to print it again in<br />
its own words, adding nothing and taking nothing away—<br />
it is its own best praise. From its first hymn, an act of<br />
adoration, " I am bending my knee in the eye of the Father who<br />
created me," to its last note at the end, " This is what I would<br />
ordain to thee, the daughter of a King, with gold and gems," it<br />
is a necklace for a King's daughter, of spiritual gold and jewels,<br />
to be worn like the talisman of Patrick, as a breastplate against all<br />
evil.<br />
The imagery of its verse, drawn from Pagan and from<br />
Christian sources, is amazing—<br />
Whatever would bear witness against thee at the last<br />
On the other side of the great river of dark shadows.<br />
# * *<br />
Be thou a hard triumphant glave<br />
To shield us securely from wicked hell,<br />
From the fiends and from the stieve, snell gullies,<br />
And from the lurid smoke of the abyss.<br />
* * •<br />
Be thou a bright flame before me,<br />
Be thou a guiding star above me,<br />
Be thou a smooth path below me,<br />
And be a kindly shepherd behind me,<br />
To-day, to-night, and for ever.<br />
I am tired, and I a stranger,<br />
Lead thou me to the land of angels,<br />
For me it is time to go home<br />
To the Court of Christ, to the peace of heaven.<br />
*NOTE. CARMINA GAOELICA, Hymns and Incantations,<br />
with illustrative notes on words, rites, and customs, dying and<br />
obsolete: orally collected in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland,<br />
and translated into English by Alexander Carmichael.<br />
2 vols., Edinburgh. Printed for the author by T. & A. Constable,<br />
printers to Her Majesty, and sold by Norman Macleod, 25,<br />
George IV. Bridge, 1900." Out of print.<br />
I am bathing my face<br />
In the mild rays of the sun,<br />
As Mary bathed Christ<br />
In the rich milk of Egypt.<br />
* * *<br />
Whilst the body is dwelling in the sleep,<br />
The soul is soaring on the steeps of heaven.<br />
And familiar images are cast in fresh and striking words—<br />
0 Jesu, without offence, crucified cruelly,<br />
Under ban of the wicked Thou wert scourged.<br />
* * #<br />
Pilot my barque on the crest of the wave,<br />
To the restful haven of the waveless sea.<br />
Where else would the sinner cry out to be punished—<br />
Humble us at thy footstool;<br />
Lord, chastise me with thy justice.<br />
Mark the unusual words so full of force—<br />
To whom shall I offer oblation<br />
In name of Michael on high<br />
1 will give tithe of my means<br />
To the Forsaken Illustrious One.<br />
* * *<br />
Some of the hymns have something Egyptian in their quality, as<br />
in * Soul Peace.' In its deep-toned solemnity it reads like the<br />
Book of the Dead—<br />
At the time of yielding the life,<br />
At the time of pouring the sweat,<br />
At the time of balancing the beam,<br />
* # *<br />
And may Michael, white, kindly,<br />
High King of the holy angels,<br />
Take possession of the beloved soul,<br />
And shield it home to the Three of surpassing love.
26 CARMINA GADELICA.<br />
What a picture is this of earth, of air, and of waters, of God's<br />
glory, and of good-will to men—<br />
I see the hills, I see the strand,<br />
I see the host upon the wing.<br />
I see angels on the waves,<br />
Coming with speech and friendship to us!<br />
And splendour of silver and of gold—<br />
Thou art brighter than the waxing moon<br />
Rising over the mountains.<br />
Thou art brighter than the summer sun,<br />
Under his fulness of joy.<br />
What words of tenderness are these—<br />
The foam-white breastling beloved,<br />
Without one home in the world.<br />
* * *<br />
Kiss ye his hands,<br />
Dry ye his feet<br />
With the hair of your heads.<br />
I will not dwell upon the religious value of the book, and of the<br />
life it inculcates, its * practice of the presence of God,' its faith,<br />
hope and love, expressed in every single act of the day's routine,<br />
at getting up and lying down, lighting and smooring the fire,<br />
milking, herding and sailing. Its gentleness in the care of the<br />
domestic animals is expressed often in the most endearing terms—<br />
My beloved shall get grass and shelter,<br />
My queen maiden of beauty.<br />
and a mother's heart responds to the sorrow of a cow in the midst<br />
of her own sorrow,<br />
The same disease afflicts me and thee,<br />
Thou weeping and wailing thy calf,<br />
I my darling son beneath the sea,<br />
Mine only son beneath the sea!<br />
The runes and incantations for the cure of disease, which might<br />
so easily pass over into superstition, are shot through with spiritual<br />
light. They are informed by the idea that the good or ill health<br />
of the body expresses the condition of the spirit, and is amenable<br />
CARMINA GADELICA. 27<br />
to control. The immense gush of faith in the healing power of<br />
Jesus, poured forth by the poor woman in Harris we must quote<br />
entire—<br />
It were as easy for Jesu<br />
To renew the withered tree<br />
As to wither the new,<br />
Were it His will so to do.<br />
Jesu! Jesu ! Jesu!<br />
Jesu who ought to be praised.<br />
There is no plant in the ground<br />
But is full of His virtue;<br />
There is no form on the strand<br />
But is full of His blessing.<br />
Jesu! Jesu ! Jesu!<br />
Jesu who ought to be praised.<br />
There is no life in the sea,<br />
There is no creature in the river,<br />
There is naught in the firmament,<br />
But proclaims His goodness.<br />
Jesu! Jesu! Jesu!<br />
Jesu who ought to be praised.<br />
This intense belief in the immanence of God finds many<br />
expressions in these hymns ; God is not far off but very near.<br />
The loveliest of these hymns we keep to the end, *The<br />
Invocation of the Graces."<br />
It is spoken by a father to his daughter, about to be married,<br />
setting before her a pattern of the perfect woman—nay—more<br />
than that—by a succession of rituals, endowing her with the virtues<br />
of all natural and spiritual things. By repeating in movements,<br />
if not actually, the pouring of wine and honey, and by<br />
the touch of baptismal fire, he enriches and purifies her nature,<br />
and lays on her brows and eyes and mouth all the graces, with<br />
the softest pressure of his fingers. He does not merely tell<br />
her what she may become, but he asserts that she has already<br />
attained, and by a passionate act of faith he compels the heavenly<br />
sanction, and makes her, at his creative word, what he would have<br />
her be—" a shade in the heat and a shelter in the cold, eyes to the<br />
blind and a staff to the pilgrim, an island at sea and a fortress on<br />
shore, a well in the desert, and health to the ailing." Is there
28 CARMINA GADELICA.<br />
anywhere out of holy writ so rich an image of spiritual beauty<br />
What a faith, and what a vision I A faith that sees, and knows.<br />
The father ransacks all nature and legend for his types and<br />
qualities; the housewifely virtue of Penelope, the skill of the<br />
fairy woman, the charm of the sweet-tongued singer, Honeymouth,<br />
the tenderness of Deirdre, the imperial beauty of the noble<br />
wife of Cuchulainn, the courage of Queen Maebh, as well as<br />
the calm spirit of Bride, and the faith of Mary.<br />
He sees and reads all this vivid imagery in the face and form<br />
of his own child, and he sings, in a kind of rapture of love and<br />
praise, a hymn to Eternal Beauty, incarnated before him. This<br />
swan in swimming, this steed of the plain and deer of the hill,<br />
this auspicious and smiling wonder, in all the grace of her choice<br />
maidenliness and whole-souled loveliness, seems to him in the<br />
intensity of his mystic vision in which all veils are drawn away,<br />
to be indeed that Perfection, the Beauty of that Spirit of Grace and<br />
Truth that dwelt amongst men,<br />
" The loveliest likeness that was upon earth."<br />
And in the last verse he calls the heavenly host to stand about her<br />
ever to guard and shield her,—virgins, apostles, angels, archangels,<br />
the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.<br />
THE<br />
INVOCATION OF THE.GRACES.<br />
I bathe thy palms<br />
In showers of wine,<br />
In the lustral fire,<br />
In the seven elements,<br />
In the juice of the rasps,<br />
In the milk of honey;<br />
And I place the nine pure choice graces<br />
In thy fair fond face,<br />
The grace of form,<br />
The grace of voice,<br />
The grace of fortune,<br />
The grace of goodness,<br />
The grace of wisdom,<br />
The grace of charity,<br />
The grace of choice maidenliness,<br />
The grace of whole-souled loveliness,<br />
The grace of goodly speech.<br />
DAWN—ST. MARTIN'S CROSS. IONA<br />
ARCH D.<br />
KAY, A.R.S.A., R<br />
That man is little to be envied whose piety would not grow<br />
warmer among the rains of lona."—Dr. Samuel Johnson.
CARMINA<br />
CADELICA.<br />
Dark is yonder town<br />
Dark are those therein,<br />
Thou art the brown swan,<br />
Going in among them.<br />
Their hearts are under thy control,<br />
Their tongues are beneath thy sole,<br />
Nor will they even utter a word<br />
To give thee offence.<br />
A shade art thou in the heat,<br />
A shelter art thou in the cold,<br />
Eyes art thou to the blind,<br />
A staff art thou to the pilgrim,<br />
An island art thou at sea,<br />
A fortress art thou on land,<br />
A well art thou in the desert,<br />
Health art thou to the ailing.<br />
Thine is the skill of the Fairy Woman,<br />
Thine is the virtue of Bride the calm,<br />
Thine is the faith of Mary the mild,<br />
Thine is the tact of the woman of Greece,<br />
Thine is the beauty of Emir the lovely,<br />
Thine is the tenderness of Darthula delightful,<br />
Thine is the courage of Maebh the strong;,<br />
Thine is the charm of Binne-bheuT.<br />
Thou art the joy of all joyous things,<br />
Thou art the light of the beam of the sun,<br />
Thou art the door of the chief of hospitality,<br />
Thou art the surpassing star of guidance,<br />
Thou art the step of the deer of the hill,<br />
Thou art the step of the steed of the plain,<br />
Thou art the grace of the swan of swimming,<br />
Thou art the loveliness of all lovely desires.<br />
The lovely likeness of the Lord<br />
Is in thy pure face,<br />
The loveliest likeness that<br />
Was upon earth.
So<br />
CARMINA<br />
GADELICA.<br />
The best hour or" the day be thine,<br />
The best day of the week be thine,<br />
The best week of the year be thine,<br />
The best year in the Son of God's domain be thine.<br />
Our Traditional Racial Song-Lore.<br />
By MARJORY KENNEDY-FRASER, C.B.E.<br />
" Songs of the Hebrides."<br />
Peter has come and Paul has come,<br />
James has come and John has come,<br />
Muriel and Mary Virgin have come,<br />
Uiriel, the all-beneficent, has come,<br />
Ariel, the beauteousness of the young has come,<br />
Gabriel, the seer of the virgin, has come,<br />
Raphael, the prince of the valiant, has come,<br />
And Michael, the chief of the hosts, has come,.<br />
And Jesus Christ, the mild, has come,<br />
And the Spirit of true guidance has come,<br />
And the King of Kings has come on the helm,<br />
To bestow on thee their affection and their love,<br />
To bestow on thee their affection and their love.<br />
We have here the richest body of ancient spiritual poetry, given<br />
again to us in our own time. About this spiritual inheritance<br />
of the Gael will rise, we hope, seanachies, seers, singers, and<br />
artists of all kinds, as a strong guard of paladins, to protect it,<br />
and to shape it into ever fresh forms to speak to the changing<br />
generations, and chief of these paladins stands, and shall stand,<br />
Alexander Carmichael, seannachie, seer, singer and artist in one.<br />
This book is the result of much search and much pondering.<br />
Alexander Carmichael was a true artist, and had the artist's hunger<br />
for perfection. He went for days, weighing the exact word to<br />
render the finest shade of the meaning of his original, the word<br />
that gave the colour and the quality of it. One may say of him<br />
what he said of Catherine Macaulay:—Alexander Carmichael was<br />
greatly gifted in speaking, and was marvellously endowed with<br />
memory for old tales and hymns, runes and incantations, and for<br />
literature and traditions of many kinds. He went from house to<br />
house, from townland to townland, warmly welcomed and cordially<br />
received wherever he went. May his book travel as he<br />
travelled, bringing joy, and beauty, and inspiration wherever it<br />
goes.<br />
JOHN DUNCAN, R.S.A.<br />
THE fundamental, the long-enduring element in racial song<br />
is undoubtedly melody. Melodic inspiration and invention<br />
are rare, very rare indeed. But melodies, once they are<br />
forged are durable and mostly outlast by generations, if not by<br />
centuries, the words to which they may have been originally sung.<br />
And yet a melody alone is not a song! However fine a melody<br />
may be, the born poet, if he have as much understanding of the<br />
emotional possibilities of a tune as he has of the lyrical and hypnotic<br />
potentialities of words, can make of a melody, welded with<br />
his own infectiously inspired words, a great song.<br />
To keep alive the traditionally preserved hoard of racial song,<br />
the national poet must be re-born every three or four generations<br />
at least, if not every couple of centuries. And, like Robert Burns<br />
in Lowland Scotland in the 18th century, he must use all that<br />
comes to hand, all that has survived of the finest lyrical output<br />
of the previous generations. Single lines, refrains, beautiful<br />
thoughts, heart-stirring local imagery, rhythms, metres, etc., must<br />
all be garnered and refashioned into lyrics that will be new and<br />
yet old. This calls for great artistry, but the songs thus fashioned,<br />
while original, will be still racial in character.<br />
Of Burns's "My Love is like a red, red rose," Edmund Gosse<br />
says somewhere that not a line of it is original—that it was all<br />
fashioned out of the wreck, the flotsam and jetsam of earlier Scots<br />
song. Yet, is not this the law of life, that " there is nothing new<br />
under the sun," although, luckily for us, there is always possible<br />
a new blend.<br />
And what Robert Burns did in the 18th century, Kenneth<br />
MacLeod is doing now for Scots Song. I say Scots Song advisedly.<br />
Why do concert-givers sometimes advertise a programme of<br />
Highland and Scots music The Gaels in the earlier centuries<br />
of our era were the Scots, and Alba, our country, took its name<br />
latterly, did it not, from the Gaelic-speaking Scots who came over<br />
from the country we now call Ireland, but which was then known<br />
as Scotia
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.<br />
A full appreciation of Kenneth Macleod's work will be missed<br />
by those who regard it merely as translation.* Baldly translated<br />
songs, however, in any language, are as a rule worthless, alike as<br />
lyrics and as words for singing. The atmosphere, the emotional<br />
content of a lyric, depends as much on its sound-colour, its rhythmclang,<br />
as on its verbal meaning. Merely to reproduce the dictionary<br />
meaning of such a lyric is to make of it a crude caricature.<br />
Now, Kenneth Macleod has not merely used the Gaelic lines<br />
that happened to be attached to the tunes as we found them—at<br />
times in a very chaotic condition—he has done, in the Gaelic,<br />
what Burns seems to have done in the Lowland Scots. He has<br />
gathered and " hained " for many years all the beautiful lines<br />
and couplets that found place from time to time in his note-books<br />
throughout years of sojourning and research in the Isles, and,<br />
selecting what was most valuable for our purpose, has fitted them,<br />
with my help, to the tunes. Further, to fine tunes, he has written<br />
also original lyrics, embodying the beautiful ancient Hebrides<br />
lore, and using Island imagery. The work, however, could not<br />
end there. If the songs were to get from the outside world the<br />
recognition they merited on the purely musical side, they had to<br />
be furnished with adequate lyrical expression in a tongue familiar<br />
to singers who had no Gaelic—English verses had to be supplied.<br />
In rendering faithfully, in another tongue, the spirit of such<br />
ancient lore as the Rune of Sea-daring, Sea-quest, which recurs so<br />
frequently in the old Gaelic hero-tales, note how he uses the<br />
English to suggest the sonorous qualities of the original.<br />
Describing in the " The Reiving Ship " (Vol. II, Songs of the<br />
Hebrides), the vessel's exultant, headlong, reckless, outward<br />
course, his lines run:—<br />
" Grinds beneath her grey-blue limpets,<br />
Crunches curving whelks to sand-drift."<br />
and, clearing the rocks and getting into quieter waters:—<br />
" Sweeps she gaily Moola's waters,<br />
Kyles and Moyles, to fair green Isla,<br />
Leaps her way to Isles of daring,<br />
Gleaming Isles of bladest and laughter."<br />
*Some literal translation certainly he did, in such ancient lore as " The Lay<br />
of Diarmad and one or two other things included in our first volume, lore which<br />
was interesting chiefly from a historical point of view.<br />
ti had to coach a singer once in this song, who had so little vision, so little<br />
imagination as to suppose that the " blades " here (with pirates in the offing) were<br />
blades of grass!<br />
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.<br />
How suggestively descriptive of the vessel's grating on the rocks,<br />
in her hurried outward quest, are the harsh gr's and cr's of the<br />
first couplet, and how contrastingly the soft liquid l's of the<br />
second depict the suavity of the open sea.<br />
Remarkable restorations, too, are the condensed and vivified<br />
Island Cian Songs of the Macdonalds, Clanranald, Macleods and<br />
Macneills, as in " The Lord of the Isles," " Heart of Fire Love,"<br />
" Caristiona," " Cradle Spell of Dunvegan," or " Macleod's<br />
Galley." This last is an example also of his genial resuscitation<br />
of the fame of the old Gaelic poetess, Mary Macleod, Màiri<br />
daughter of Alasdair Rua, who did so much to stimulate Gaelic<br />
song in the 17th century.<br />
Many are his contributions to mystical lore, one of the loveliest<br />
being " The Vow Song of the Birds," and, to the cult of<br />
Columba, " The Iona Rainbow"; for communal singing there are<br />
the well-known tramping songs, and the as yet less known " Joy<br />
Invocation " and " Birlinn Health-drinking Chant."<br />
His restorations of the pre-Christian Heroic include:—<br />
{t<br />
Aillte," an Ossianic ballad ; " Deirdre's Farewell," a still more<br />
ancient fragment; " Cuchullin's Lament for his Son," a story<br />
parallel to that of the Persian " Sohrab and Rustum " of Matthew<br />
Arnold's poem; and finest of all, perhaps, " Fionn's keening for<br />
his grandson, Oscar."<br />
In the expression of Sea-joy he surely finds himself.<br />
" All I long for<br />
Outsails my longing far,"<br />
of " Sea-Moods," culminates in:—<br />
" Joy of seeking<br />
Joy of ne'er finding."<br />
The:—<br />
And in his Sailing Song Cycle of our recent Fourth Volume, he<br />
voices the universal human longing to escape from the humdrum<br />
of our daily round:—<br />
" All the wonders yont our croft dykes<br />
I will see if I but may;<br />
All the ships that sail to Lochlan<br />
I will steer if I but may;
34<br />
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.<br />
All the sunsets yont the Coolins<br />
I will reach if I but may."<br />
and through "The Kyle of Moole " we sail, until on the "Leaping<br />
Galley " we find ourselves at last exultantly sailing seaward.<br />
Of his prose tales, the beautiful "Christ Child's Lullaby" and<br />
" The Death of Oscar " are notable examples. Of the quality of<br />
his prose, Lady Alix. Egerton, herself a poetess, has said that it is<br />
finer than many a one's verse, that it is indeed at times comparable<br />
ro a rosary of moonstones.<br />
The nature of his work of restoration may be summed up in<br />
a parable of his own from our Second Volume. It alludes most<br />
quaintly to an 18th century gathering up of the wreckage of a<br />
very ancient St. Donnan* Song—attributed in legend to the angels<br />
—a song which he himself re-fashioned, over a century later.<br />
" The Isle of Eigg, as the sheep know but too well, has its<br />
own share of bramble bushes. A hundred years ago, a woman<br />
who had a name for thrift as well as for art, went wool-gathering<br />
in those same bramble bushes as regularly as others went dulsepulling<br />
on the shore. And in due time there came out of her<br />
loom a web of blues and greens and crotals, which a king might<br />
envy. Generally, the web .went to a neighbour of her own, Iain<br />
Og Morragh, who had an eye for art, if not for thrift, and who,<br />
like herself, was a weaver, but of song-threads blown about bj<br />
the four winds of heaven. It was he who, standing one day by<br />
the tomb of St. Donnan, and looking across to the face of<br />
Corravine,^ weaved old threads into new so cunningly that<br />
none could tell what of the web was his own and what the angels'.<br />
If, after a hundred years, the loosened threads have been put once<br />
more through the loom, it is still the same web that comes out<br />
of it—' Youth on age, on the face of Corravine.' "<br />
(1) St. Donnan was martyred in Eigg.<br />
(2) A hill in Eigg.<br />
Looking Northward.<br />
BY COMPTON MACKENZIE.<br />
I<br />
CAN scarcely remember the time when I was not a perfervid<br />
Gael; but I have never attempted to express this passion of race<br />
in words. The consciousness of being landless in Alba, coupled<br />
with ignorance of the language, forbade me out of pride to assume<br />
what I should have felt would appear no more than the trappings<br />
of a mock romanticism. So this is actually the first time that I<br />
have ventured to speak of something that has long lain nearer to<br />
my heart than rank or fortune or reputation. If the exiled Gael<br />
has been a frequent sorrow for poets, I can recall no poet who has<br />
sung of an exile betweetì whom and his country stretched<br />
not the bitter estranging sea, but time itself. Yet though nearly<br />
two hundred years had passed since that younger son from whom<br />
I sprang, like so many younger sons of Alba, left his country,<br />
and though my grandfather, to placate disapproving relatives, had<br />
abandoned his own name when he went on the stage, I was<br />
always, even as a child of three, most insistent that I should be<br />
called Mackenzie and not Compton. Indeed, through all my<br />
childhood I insisted so successfully on this, that from the time T<br />
went to a public school at eleven, neither I nor my brother nor<br />
my sisters were ever called by the assumed name to which<br />
my father more filial than myself clung. I can remember being<br />
made jealous by the discovery that my brother had never even been<br />
given Compton as a first name, and my wrath when he, quick to<br />
take advantage of this, claimed that he was a more genuine Highlander<br />
than myself. I was sorry when my sister Fay assumed the<br />
' Compton * again for stage purposes, and when I saw her first in<br />
Mary Rose I regretted her defection more than ever.<br />
If only when I was eight or nine some Gaelic enthusiast had<br />
come my way, what a pupil I should have made! Here am I now,<br />
at forty-three, wrestling with the language too late, I fear, ever to<br />
write poetry in it. Yet at twelve I could put any speech out of<br />
Shakespeare into Greek iambics almost at sight. Heaven forbid<br />
I should regret learning Greek at nine and Latin at four; but who<br />
would not regret that such facility should never have been given<br />
a chance with the language of all others at which it would have
36<br />
LOOKING<br />
NORTHWARD.<br />
worked with ten times the fervour The fire in my heart was<br />
never cherished nor fanned by any individual, and my love of race<br />
had to subsist as well as it could on a play called Rob Roy, which<br />
I found on my father's shelves, in Oxberry's British Drama or<br />
some such collection. I begged him to put this stirring affair into<br />
his repertory, and was much depressed by his failure to grant my<br />
request, especially when he told me that as a young man he had<br />
often played the part of Rob Roy himself during stock seasons in<br />
Scotland. I listened enthralled to his account of the costume he<br />
had worn, and after hearing him declare for my benefit My<br />
4<br />
foot's upon my native heath! My name's Macgregor!' I was<br />
more puzzled than ever how he could bring himself to appear<br />
in such dull productions as The School for Scandal and She Stoops<br />
to Conquer, when he might really enjoy himself by playing Rob<br />
Roy. Soon after this, I told him that when I grew up I intended<br />
to write a play in eighteen acts (I considered the shortness of<br />
plays to be one of the great faults of the contemporary theatre)<br />
about Prince Charles Edward.<br />
Then, on my seventh birthday, an aunt gave me Scott's Tales of<br />
a Grandfather. Here at last were the enchanted pages for which<br />
my soul had been yearning, and the knowledge that they were<br />
genuine history was wonderful. I was no longer flattering my<br />
imagination with the ' let's pretend' of novels and plays, but<br />
nourishing it now with solid, ineluctable facts. Naturally, the<br />
behaviour of the Mackenzies was of paramount importance, and<br />
how my pride surged when, in the cian map at the end of the<br />
volume, I saw their territories—all Ross and Cromarty in pale<br />
yellow, with Mackenzies sprawling right across them, and only<br />
here and there a few Rosses or Munroes or Urquharts intruding.<br />
Nor was Ross-shire broad enough for their acres. I rejoiced to<br />
see the name reaching from Loch Seaforth to the Butt of Lewis.<br />
How many hours I pursued the thread of their history through<br />
that thick volume! It is on my desk as I write these words,<br />
but alas, the map has been worn away by childish porings.<br />
Yet there were moments of mortification. I can see myself<br />
now, reading by the schoolroom window at the top of a<br />
tail London house, the small print beginning to blur in<br />
the grey November dusk. My mind is troubled for Seaforth's<br />
battle with Montrose; and when in '15 the Mackenzies, held up<br />
by the Earl of Sutherland and his accursed Whifr clans, are prevented<br />
for a whole month of fatal delay from joining forces with<br />
LOOKING NORTHWARD.<br />
37<br />
(he Earl of Mar, there are tears in my eyes for the glory of<br />
Scotland that is waning fast. I turn over the sticky pages of<br />
thin paper, to console myself for that failure of my chief by<br />
rtading of the battle of Glenshiel, and of how he was carried<br />
wounded from the field. Darkness descends upon the London<br />
room. The gas is lighted, and I search out some more cheerful<br />
subject. The '45 must be postponed for another day, when I can<br />
bear to read the lamentable story. I recover my spirits by cutting<br />
down Covenanters with Dundee, or unhorsing English knights<br />
at Bannockburn.<br />
Mr. Healy said to me a year or two ago, "You must<br />
remember that we Irish never had a Bannockburn. "Whatever<br />
happened afterwards in Scotland, you always had Bannockburn<br />
to look back upon, and that kept you from hating so long and so<br />
hard." There is a wisdom in this, and I think that the consciousness<br />
of being a superior race to the English, which has<br />
always been stronger in Scotland than in the other Celtic countries,<br />
has helped to turn some of that hate into an almost kindly contempt.<br />
When I was sixteen, my Jacobite sympathies found some<br />
expression by joining every legitimist society that existed. I<br />
lived in a world of white roses and white carnations and white<br />
cockades; and then, little by little, I allowed modernity to smirch<br />
those loyalties, and ridicule those lost and fragrant causes. I<br />
count myself a fool now in middle age, because I understand at<br />
last that what seemed the shadow was the substance, but that what<br />
offered itself as the substance was indeed no more than a mean<br />
shadow.<br />
And now in middle age, I find myself again the prey of a<br />
childish mortification. I find myself, as I struggle with Gaelic,<br />
resenting as bitterly as ever I used that I was not christened<br />
Kenneth, so that I might write my name authentically in its own<br />
language.<br />
As an undergraduate staying at Compiègne for the Easter<br />
vacation, I met Osgood Mackenzie, whose delightful book, A<br />
Hundred Tears in the Highlands, I have never seen praised as it<br />
should be, and he told me how much he resented not having been<br />
called Hector. I shall always regret that I did not gain possession<br />
of the Shiant Isles before he died, so that I could have written and<br />
reminded him of our meeting, because it was to that meeting I<br />
owed my determination somehow to obtain land in the country<br />
of my forefathers. He himself writes in his book of sailing over
38<br />
LOOKING<br />
NORTHWARD.<br />
to the Shiant Isles, and camping out on them as a boy, and it<br />
would have pleased him, I think, that one of his name should own<br />
them again, after a lapse of eighty years. As we were driving<br />
back from a boar hunt, he urged me to learn Gaelic; but I told<br />
myself, ' the land first and the language second.' And after all<br />
there is much to be said for beginning to learn a language when<br />
one is over forty, provided, of course, that one is still capable of<br />
learning with passion. Language is but a symbol of the heart's<br />
desire, and, since now my heart's desire has been granted, I long<br />
for the only language in which that secret of years might haply<br />
be expressed.<br />
The Reaper.<br />
BEHOLD her, single in the field,<br />
Yon solitary Highland lass!<br />
Reaping and singing by herself;<br />
Stop here, or gently pass!<br />
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,<br />
And sings a melancholy strain;<br />
O Listen ! for the vale profound<br />
Is overflowing with the sound.<br />
No nightingale did ever chant<br />
More welcome notes to weary bands<br />
Of travellers in some shady haunt,<br />
Among Arabian sands:<br />
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard<br />
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,<br />
Breaking the silence of the seas<br />
Among the farthest Hebrides.<br />
Will no one tell me what she sings<br />
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow<br />
For old, unhappy, far-off things,<br />
And battles long ago:<br />
Or is it some more humble lay,<br />
Familiar matter of to-day<br />
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,<br />
That has been, and may be again <br />
THE REAPER. 39<br />
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang<br />
As if her song could have no ending;<br />
1 saw her singing at her work,<br />
And o'er the sickle bending;<br />
I listen'd, motionless and still;<br />
And, as I mounted up the hill,<br />
The music in my heart I bore,<br />
Long after it was heard no more.<br />
Old Irish Civilization.<br />
BY ALICE* STOPFORD GREEN,<br />
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.<br />
Author of " Irish Nationality," etc.<br />
THE subject of old Irish civilization is one of profound<br />
interest to every Gael in Scotland, since from Ireland went<br />
out across the water, over fourteen centuries ago, the settlement<br />
of Scots which was to give its name to the " Scots Land,"<br />
and to establish the traditions of Gaelic life there. Gaelic studies<br />
in Scotland still remain long behind the times, for reasons which<br />
are not far to seek.<br />
Among many causes one or two may be recalled—the lack in<br />
Scotland of such ancient collections as were saved in Ireland from<br />
destruction, and have at all times drawn from every race a<br />
succession of scholars celebrated for their labours and learning; the<br />
disastrous breaking of the Scots in the sixteenth century into factions,<br />
political and religious, known as the " English Scots "<br />
against " Irish Scots;" the ruthless destruction of the clans and<br />
their historic traditions. The history is melancholy<br />
reading, but in Scotland as in Ireland, National life will<br />
be the richer for remembrance of the road which its people<br />
have travelled, and the ancestors who shaped their way, and impressed<br />
on Scotland something of their own character. " Look<br />
unto the rock whence ye were hewn," was the good old counsel<br />
of the Bible.
40<br />
OLD IRISH CIVILIZATION.<br />
No people have been more over-praised and over-blamed than<br />
the Gaels. In the history of long conflicts for the subjection of<br />
Ireland, rulers and writers of the invading State spread their tales<br />
of a native race nursed in tribal barbarism, who remained unable,<br />
like other people, to shed ancient savage instincts and adopt the<br />
general advance to civilization. The Church on the other hand<br />
gave generous sympathy to a country whose desperate conflict for<br />
mere existence won little glamour of worldly success; for them consolation<br />
of human distress could be found in the idea of a spiritual<br />
genius, or an Irish mission of exalted faith.<br />
In the course of time, however, historical research has begun<br />
to throw a new light on the story of the Gael. In the last score of<br />
years we have had scholars, home men and foreigners, who give<br />
us for the first time true translations of old laws (which have long<br />
been a stumbling-block of students), and of wise sayings and proverbs<br />
and poems, which explain what the Irish people in old time<br />
were thinking and doing. It now becomes our duty to cast aside<br />
prejudices and ignorances in the light of new knowledge opened<br />
to us. All our customary beliefs, whether in a special mission of<br />
genius, or in a savage barbarism, are undermined. And as old<br />
structures perish we are forced to build anew.<br />
We have still much to learn of common vulgar facts about the<br />
Gael in Ireland—how he actually lived, his food, his possessions,<br />
his tillage, his home, his laws. The latest researches put an end<br />
to accepted fables of " nomads " and " barbarians," of a record<br />
of " broken skulls and stolen cattle," according to a modern<br />
writer. We read of land reclaimed from heavy forest and bog,<br />
fenced and tilled, and of farms from the substantial stretch of 720<br />
acres owned by a rich proprietor, down to the ploughland worked<br />
by four men, each with a share in the plough, an ox, a ploughshare,<br />
a goad and halter, and a share in kiln, mill, barn, and cooking-pot.<br />
There was provision for common roads, water mills, all necessary<br />
utensils for the work of every season, and adequate shelters for<br />
the live stock. The house furniture and fittings of various ranks<br />
are described, the garments and bridles of state; and excellent<br />
advice is given as to manners worthy of the host and his company.<br />
In a modern history Ireland appears as a mere terra incognita^<br />
cut oflf by its barbarism and its position from the larger influences<br />
of Europe. It is told as a marvel that "of one Irish chieftain it was<br />
placed on record that he had accomplished the hazardous journey<br />
to Rome and back." This prodigy, however, was not very re-<br />
OLD IRISH CIVILIZATION.<br />
4'<br />
markable. Records of that time (1396-1452) tell of two<br />
companies of chiefs and men of the poorer sort journeying to<br />
Compostella (1445, 1452), and of two companies who travelled<br />
to Rome (1396, 1444); and apparently of yet a third company,<br />
who brought back to Ireland tales they had heard of the French<br />
wars " from prisoners at Rome " (1451). Ireland, in fact, was in<br />
every century in close connection with the Continent. " Do not<br />
repent," was the saying, " for going to acquire knowledge of a<br />
wise man; for merchants fare over the sea to add to their wealth"<br />
So far were the people from living without law, that we can<br />
comprehend no history of the Gaels through the middle ages<br />
without a clear understanding of what Law meant to them. Kuno<br />
Meyer first pointed out the remarkable fact that at an early time<br />
when England had as many codes of Law as it had kingdoms, and<br />
Wales four codes for its four provinces, Ireland had one<br />
national body of Law that extended from sea to sea, and ruled<br />
alike the multitude of petty kingdoms. In its minute care for<br />
the protection of an agricultural society, and its ordered courts to<br />
enforce right dealing in every rank, Irish law gained obedience<br />
and the confidence of the people, who shewed the intensity<br />
of their fidelity through centuries of conflict against foreign<br />
systems. Feudal law was the reversal of their whole tradition.<br />
The bitter conflict of centuries was not to the Irish, as the English<br />
supposed or alleged, a war against law, but a battle in defence of<br />
the law under which they had built up their civilization.<br />
It is evident that there is much work waiting for Gaelic<br />
students in new fields, too long neglected, of the real Gaelic<br />
civilization.
I<br />
GILLIAS. 43<br />
Gillias.<br />
BY THE COUNTESS OF CROMARTIE.<br />
Author of " The Golden Guard," etc., etc.<br />
" Not for Tearlach alone the red broadsword was plying,<br />
But to bring back the old World, that comes not again."<br />
—Andrew Lang.<br />
CHAPTER I.<br />
GILLIAS, that swarthy young member of a marauding Cian,<br />
always held a vague anxiety under his thatch of black hair<br />
concerning his Chief's youngest son, Aeneas, whom Gillias<br />
loved as his own soul. The boy was uncannily different from his<br />
fierce old father and brethren, who dwelt in the old grey tower,<br />
conveniently situated upon a high point of rock, over the waters<br />
of the firth.<br />
Towards any other object but Aeneas, Gillias was simply a<br />
fierce comely young animal. But when the old Chief and his<br />
sons gibed at the gentle boy, over their wine in the hall, and he<br />
saw the hot flush on the thin dark young face, he would grow<br />
oddly sick at heart, as well as furious. It was not that Aeneas<br />
lacked courage, as they said. But that after hunting or foray he<br />
would be very tired, and cough in a way that infuriated his fiery<br />
old parent. " Like a sick sheep "—stormed old Ruairidh one<br />
night. Young Aeneas's first fight came when he was scarce fourteen.<br />
It had been the usual thing. Fire and blood, and the<br />
screams of women. Gillias had realised that Aeneas was at the<br />
end of his strength; also (odd thought) that Aeneas did not enjoy<br />
this part of his duty.<br />
After the victory, Gillias had halted to dip his black head in<br />
a burn that ran below a hill-side of bracken and fir, for the day<br />
had been hot in more ways than one. Aeneas had stumbled<br />
towards him blindly, his young face drawn and piteous and his<br />
lips white.<br />
« Don't let them see me, Gillias," he had gasped, " or I shall<br />
die of shame!"<br />
He had subsided into Gillias's arms, half coughing and half<br />
sobbing.<br />
"Heart's darling!" said the blood-stained Gillias, and he<br />
patted a shaking shoulder. Aeneas was so small and fragile—<br />
another cause of offence. The Cian ran to height. There the<br />
friendship between the oddly assorted pair had started. It was<br />
hardly the devotion of clansman to Chief's son on Gillias's part,<br />
but something even more on both sides. The old Chief made it<br />
another cause of fierce mockery.<br />
" But there," said Gillias, referring to it with calm devilry,<br />
" By the Cross and Black Stone, he'll not be for killing his own<br />
blood and bones since . . . ." He went into shameless family<br />
history, and left his tribe staggered at his impudence: for old<br />
Ruairidh ruled his Cian with a heavy hand.<br />
CHAPTER<br />
Perhaps if Aeneas's gentle mother had lived, life might have<br />
been easier for him. Now he was touchingly grateful for Gillias's<br />
strange understanding. Like all their kind, they were not without<br />
love of music, and strange traditional lore came down from an<br />
earlier day of Knowledge. Books and such things were the joy<br />
of Aeneas's life. He loved them even as he loved his country<br />
and the old Fort, and would speak of them to Gillias with<br />
smouldering fire in his dark, too brilliant eyes. " Our people<br />
were so great once—so great," he said, in the hushed voice of an<br />
awed child. " Thinkest thou . . . " and then he would stop.<br />
"What, my little king" Gillias would remark, rather<br />
puzzled.<br />
" That it will ever come back" Aeneas would say dreamily,<br />
" great kings, and gold, and—happy things."<br />
" But you are happy" said Gillias jealously.<br />
" Quite now—but Gillias . . . ."<br />
« Yes," said Gillias.<br />
" I wonder why I am—so—weak." The words came through<br />
shut teeth. Gillias shook his head. Surely the young face, so<br />
beautiful in that dreaming of past glories, was thinner of late, and<br />
no potions of the Wise Women, often very effectual, had stopped<br />
the cough, stifled so painfully by day, but tearing at the overtaxed<br />
young body by night. This winter was a hard one. The<br />
old Fort was warm enough to the others, with a roaring fire in the<br />
great hall. But to the youngest of the family, the topmost turret<br />
of the Tower, where he slept, was to him the coldest place in the<br />
II.
44<br />
GILLIAS.<br />
universe; till one night Gillias had left the huddled warmth of the<br />
piled bracken and plaids he shared with a dozen more, and crawled<br />
up through the darkness, to where Aeneas lay and coughed at<br />
racking intervals. An iron brazier was flaming in Gillias's<br />
hands, and between his strong white teeth the black knife, for<br />
any who might be ill-advised enough to oppose him. The boy,<br />
shivering in his bed, had sat up smiling.<br />
"Art going to murder me, wild one" he jested, amid a<br />
paroxysm of coughing. Gillias had thumped down the brazier<br />
on the stone floor, and gone out again without a word, to return<br />
with a steaming glass of some dark liquid in his hand. He removed<br />
his knife from his mouth, and spoke.<br />
" Drink! 'Tis a recipe of my grandmother's, and may the<br />
Devil have my soul for not thinking of it before."<br />
The boy gulped down the potion. The coughing had stopped<br />
suddenly, but he still shivered, though the thin hand that lay in<br />
Gillias's was hot, and the boy's head burned under the tossed, dark<br />
curls. There was an unearthly sweetness upon his face, that<br />
Gillias had often seen when he spoke of brave deeds and past<br />
glories. It awed the young man suddenly. Something burned<br />
within the boy's despised frailty, that Gillias dimly recognised<br />
was stronger than a sword.<br />
Summer had come back now, and with the news of the Prince's<br />
landing, and for the first time, Gillias saw his beloved thirsty for<br />
blood. He laughed. This meant that the boy was better.<br />
Signals flared trom every hill, and the Fiery Cross was out.<br />
Aeneas, with dark flames in his eyes, seemed untiring. He<br />
even gained credit with his fierce old father.<br />
" If this change in the brat is thy doing, thou art to me as<br />
my son, thou bold dog!" said the old Chief to Gillias.<br />
" Tis none of my doing, MacRuairidh," said Gillias darkly.<br />
" Whose then" said the old Chief. " God's," said Gillias.<br />
The old man, who was spasmodically religious, answered,<br />
" To Whom be praise, forever and ever !" If Faith in the Cause<br />
meant that, of course it was so. His own forbears had been<br />
kings in the past, greater, doubtless, than Charlie Stewart. But<br />
in Charlie Stewart lay the prospect of old Ruairidh retaining his<br />
present despotism. Besides, apart from that—the old Song, and<br />
the old Dream, fair and brave—apart from sheer love of plunder,<br />
or their own advantage if they won. The few against the many.<br />
A fair-haired Iad the symbol of the old glory. That was all.<br />
GILLIAS.<br />
45<br />
The fierce eyes flamed over Gillias, as he stood there, deferential<br />
but proud. Gillias was a beauty, thought the old man—cleanlimbed<br />
as a stag of the hills, the smooth hawk-face betraying the<br />
pride of blood, amid his shaggy-faced followers. Well—something<br />
must be done for him after the victory. If . . .<br />
The old man sneered at himself over that " if ." Was " if "<br />
a word for any gentleman at such a time He continued his<br />
thoughts aloud in snapped Gaelic.<br />
" A better post shall be found for thee after this battle. 'Tis<br />
not fitting that my son's friend, who is son of my brother, should,<br />
so to speak, run at my horse's tail." He saw the dark face flush<br />
hotly, then turn pale.<br />
" I am content, MacRuairidh," said Gillias, " and I think<br />
" Who art thou, to think" shouted his Chief who hated any<br />
contradiction.<br />
Gillias bowed, with a faint gleam of his white teeth.<br />
" Ambitious as a cock on a dunghill," growled the old man.<br />
" Don't dare to answer me. We all are."<br />
Gillias bowed again, and withdrew, his dark head held high.<br />
The old man had praised his youngest son. That was all that<br />
mattered to him for the moment. They, too, had realised ac<br />
last of what stuff" young Aeneas was made. In his wild career,<br />
Gillias had, as he would have termed it, loved many women,<br />
always strictly outside his own Cian—daughters and wives of<br />
enemies, to put the matter frankly. It had always been an affair<br />
of fierce careless animality upon his part, redeemed, perhaps, from<br />
modern ugliness because he had usually risked his life upon each<br />
reprehensible adventure, being often in peril from the women<br />
themselves, and always so from their owners. Had not Morag<br />
of the Island, that fair dame, once utterly deceived him In his<br />
very arms she had whipped out her knife, and screamed upon her<br />
husband and her brothers. He had barely escaped, leaving four<br />
ambushed men dead in the bracken behind him, and Morag's<br />
knife in his shoulder. He had paid her good man the compliment<br />
of a hideous Gaelic insult upon his wife's attainments as a decoy,<br />
and left him senseless but unwounded.<br />
But now, without mentioning such things at all, young<br />
Aeneas had made him think differently of such escapades. They<br />
were not love, and therefore not worth it, was Gillias's sudden<br />
definition of some very dark chapters of his reckless past.
46<br />
GILLIAS.<br />
CHAPTER<br />
The night before the long march, old Ruairidh expanded in<br />
regal hospitality, even to former enemies bound to the same Cause.<br />
In the hall of the old Fort, there was feasting and dancing.<br />
Young Aeneas was in wild spirits. His laughter was good to<br />
hear to Gillias, as the boy danced indiscriminately with everybody;<br />
with his brothers, with Gillias, then with the oldest and most<br />
bloodthirsty of the Cian, Red Tormad, aged at least eighty,<br />
whose name was not from his appearance (he was still dark as a<br />
crow) but through his reputation, and then with a dozen Spaniards<br />
from a ship in the haven. Last of all he danced again with Gillias.<br />
They both danced wonderfully, both graceful as wild cats, the<br />
lithe strength of the one against the active fragility of the other.<br />
And Ruairidh, the Chief, watching in state from his old, carved<br />
oak seat at the end of the hall, was looking benignantly for once<br />
upon his youngest son, and even more so upon his companion.<br />
Feasting and song and dancing were over. The breeze from<br />
the sea stirred the old Chief's white locks, as he stood upright<br />
facing his Cian, the silver cup held high in his hand.<br />
" Gentlemen! the King!"<br />
He spoke first in Spanish in honour of his guests, then in<br />
Gaelic. A wild yell answered him, save from that bloody old<br />
villain, Tormad, who happened to be both drinking and weeping<br />
at the same time. Not that he was drunk for the moment, but<br />
what held them all was too much for his fierce aged heart.<br />
Tears trickled unrestrainedly down his grey beard when the other<br />
Ruairidh, the Chief's eldest son, spoke with the drawn sword, and<br />
bade them drink to their Chief, the father of their tribe, son of<br />
Ruairidh, son of Ruairidh, son of ..... . He flashed<br />
down through the ages to remote and misty kings, his passionate<br />
voice drowned by a shriek of loyalty that seemed to shake the old<br />
tower. He himself led in the pledge of loyalty, as he stood tail,<br />
and tense as a strung bow, with upflung arms.<br />
Little Aeneas was clinging to Gillias's arm.<br />
Gillias looked down at him with eyes like dark flame. He<br />
remembered how in the interval of hard work the previous evening,<br />
he had found young Aeneas kneeling at the foot of the huge<br />
pre-Christian Cross that stood upon the moor above the rocks.<br />
His thin face was so radiant that Gillias's heart had given a strange<br />
w<br />
leap. I am so grateful," the boy had said, " to be able to show<br />
III.<br />
GILLIAS.<br />
how much I love ..." His gesture embraced the wild landscape<br />
of rock, shore and sea, and with them Gillias.<br />
And now in that wild scene of loyalty they stood hand-locked,<br />
with no words at all.<br />
CHAPTER<br />
The rout after Culloden. The Dream shattered and gone.<br />
Old Ruairidh's despotic white head was lying still in a pool of<br />
blood. His three sons as still as he. The tribe scattered and<br />
dead. Gillias, who had fought like a devil, and had been left for<br />
dead on the blood-stained heather, had struggled to his knees in<br />
the cold moon-pierced shadows of the night, to claw savagely<br />
among the bodies of his kinsmen. He pushed aside the<br />
shattered bodies of the two elder sons. Huddled beneath them,<br />
as they had all three fought and fallen about their grim old sire,<br />
was Aeneas, little Aeneas with blood upon his lips.<br />
The starry eyes opened and looked up at him, as Gillias lifted<br />
him clear of the heap of shattered dead, and laid him like a child<br />
back across his knees, as he crouched there.<br />
" Go ... go 1" gasped the faint voice. " They have slain the<br />
wounded, but me they will not kill in the morning, because ..."<br />
He paused, gasping, but his meaning was obvious.<br />
Gillias rose to his feet, the boy in his arms. He staggered<br />
once, but then set off steadily away from the blood stained horror<br />
of Culloden Moor. There was a strange feeling of lightness and<br />
unreality with every step he took, the knowledge that something<br />
was draining away from him unseen and steadily. But only one<br />
thought remained. It was bitter cold. He must get his burden<br />
into shelter before anything happened. "What would happen<br />
He heard Aeneas imploring him to save himself, and he<br />
laughed and walked on.<br />
" No !" He must rest for a moment. He did not know<br />
where he was going. There was a deep ditch hidden by bracken<br />
on his right. He had noticed it the years ago, that were only<br />
yesterday, the years ago when the old Macdonald's dying cry of<br />
despair had rung in men's ears through the blind lust of battle.<br />
" Oh God! Have the Children of my tribe deserted me"<br />
" Swine—swine," muttered Gillias dreamily, as he plunged<br />
into the ditch, and laid what he carried upon the bracken he had<br />
stamped down. The rest rose high about them like a dank yellow<br />
wall, pierced by the dim moonlight.<br />
IV.<br />
47
48 GILLIAS.<br />
" Gillias!" The faint young voice came to him out of the<br />
dream, as he tried to force himself awake. "Art—wounded"<br />
Gillias was steady now, and the mist upon his brain cleared,<br />
steady enough to lie, for why hurt the child in the hour of death <br />
" No!" he said, and wiped that thin trickle of blood away<br />
from the white lips, that whispered again,<br />
" I am glad. Escape with the dawn, my dear. I—am going,<br />
Gillias"<br />
" Heart's darling—little one!"<br />
Forgetting that he, too, was dying, a low, hoarse wail of agony<br />
forced itself from him.<br />
" Hush !" whispered the faint voice. " Thou'lt pray for me,<br />
Gillias! Maybe they'll leave the old Cross standing. But no,<br />
they'll not—they'll not! It is broken and gone. And—I—I've<br />
loved thee, passing the love of—, Gillias, don't cry!"<br />
The broken young thing had struggled to his knees, before<br />
Gillias in his own weakness could prevent him, and his arms had<br />
gone about the neck of the figure crouched beside him. "Gillias!<br />
we've won!"<br />
The whisper came to Gillias, with the sudden weight of the<br />
drooping slender figure against his breast. He could hear the<br />
drip of the cold rain upon the bracken above him. He held cold<br />
death to his heart, and this was—hell. He had loved nothing on<br />
earth as he had loved this gentle, innocent child,—a child always,<br />
in spite of his fifteen years, and now he was cold and dead as the<br />
Cause was.<br />
CHAPTER V.<br />
Te Deum Laudamus! The great chant of triumph thundered<br />
about him. But why was he walking in a marching throng<br />
of victors, since he lay dying in a wet ditch, with the beloved<br />
Aeneas cold in his arms And why was old Ruairidh there, looking<br />
despotic as ever, but also rarely benignant, and, strangely, not old,<br />
and with him his two sons And why was Aeneas walking also<br />
beside him, clinging to his arm Rank upon rank, marched his<br />
clansmen, many of them too glorious to look upon easily; and there<br />
—it was all the incredible dream of a dying man ! There was<br />
old Father John, of Inverness, who, as a matter of fact, had fallen<br />
dead before his blazing altar, with his white head battered in under<br />
the gun-butts of Cumberland's troopers. It was odd to turn<br />
GILLIAS.<br />
from Father John's radiant face to the old deer-hound which had<br />
followed the Cian to Culloden Moor.<br />
" But—I have sinned," muttered Gillias bewildered, and it<br />
was now sunrise 1<br />
He felt Aeneas's hand give his arm a little squeeze, as he<br />
often did over his friend's rare and blurted confessions.<br />
" We have won, Gillias!" he whispered again.<br />
So this was the transit from a damp ditch and agony to thi*<br />
—the old World that they had died to gain.<br />
' \ T A<br />
JL^<br />
Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne.<br />
LE DONNCHADH<br />
MACIAIN, ILE.<br />
latha 's na linn bha mo sheanair, Dòmh'ull Ruadh a'<br />
Bhuinne, air a chomharrachadh air son nì no dhà, ach gu<br />
seachd sònraichte air son a bhi 'na mharcach barraichte.<br />
Cha bu bheò le Dòmh'ull mar an robh e rèis ri cuid-eigin, 's<br />
cha bu bheò leis gach fear nach biodh a' strì ri Dòmh'ull.<br />
Cha robh oidhche mhargaidh nach robh Dòmh'ull Ruadh agus<br />
an làir-dhonn, Magaidh-dhonn Bhail'-an-Abaidh, air toiseach 's<br />
air deireadh na cuideachd air-neo chaineadh iad thairis e.<br />
Bha Dòmh'ull agus an làir-dhonn a' fàs sean, ach a mhàin gun<br />
robh iad a' fàs òg le cheile a h-uile là margaidh, agus ghabhadh<br />
e a bhi math ann fhèin, am fear a chuireadh riutha 'nuair a gheibh<br />
eadh iad fo astar.<br />
Bha an strì agus an udag a bh' ann ag cur iomaguin mhòir air<br />
mo sheanmhair, am boirionnach còir, oir bha eagal oirre gun<br />
rachadh Dòmh'ull Ruadh à cnàimh a mhuineil oidhch'-eigin a'<br />
rèis air Tràigh-Laga.<br />
Aon là margadh Samhna thuirt i ri mo mhàthair,—<br />
" Tha dùil agam fhèin, eudail, gun teid mi thun a' mhargadh<br />
an diugh. Tha beagan dheireasan a dhìth orm air son an tighe,<br />
agus dh' fhaoidte ma thachras t' athair orm gun teid agam air<br />
a mhealladh leam dhachaidh mun tòisich na fir air an strì agus air<br />
an eachlaireachd is àbhaist a bhi aca a' tilleadh bho'n mhargadh."<br />
49
5°<br />
DOMHNULL RUADH A' BHUINNE.<br />
" An-dà, dèanaibh," arsa mo rnhàthair, " agus ma chì sibh<br />
muinntir Thigh-na-Cachla bibh dhachaidh 'nan cuideachd;<br />
feuch air na chunnaic sibh riamh nach meall m' athair sibh gu<br />
cùl-marcachd leis air an làir-dhuinn.<br />
" Och! eudail, eudail, nach mise bhiodh air m' fhaotainn<br />
socharach na smaointichinn air a leithid; cò is eòlaiche air na mi<br />
fhèin " arsa an t-seana-bhean chòir 's i ag gabhail air falbh.<br />
Ràinig i am margadh, rinn i a gnothuch, is thachair Domh'-<br />
ull Ruadh oirre agus saod anabarrach math air. Bha iad<br />
tacan a' dol sìos 's a suas, air an ais 's air an aghaidh,<br />
ach, air " deireadh na beurla," chaidh aice air Dòmh'ull a' chomhairleachadh<br />
gu dol dachaidh.<br />
Chuir Domhull an t-srian ri Magaidh-dhonn is tharruing iad<br />
air falbh air an socair.<br />
An uair a fhuair iad a mach bho'n mhargadh, thuirt Dòmh-<br />
"Chan 'eil mise a' faicinn gu bheil ann ach amaideachd dhuit,<br />
a Cheit, a ghalad, a bhi ag giùlan na basgaide thruim sin ad chois<br />
air astar cho fada, agus an capull donn comasach gu leoir air ar<br />
giùlan 'nar dithis."<br />
Saor no daor, cha rachadh Ceit air mharcachd, ach le mòran<br />
pliotairt chaidh aig Dòmh'ull Ruadh air Ceit thruagh iompachadh.<br />
Tharruing e Magaidh-dhonn an taic bruaich àird, agus fhuair<br />
e Ceit a chur gu socair air a chùlaibh.<br />
" Nis, a Dhòmhuill," arsa Ceit, " geallaidh tu dhomhsa gum<br />
falbh thu gu socrach, ciallach leis an ainmhidh, chan 'eil cabhag<br />
'sam bith's a' chùis; tha an t-astar fada, ach tha an oidhche math<br />
's chan 'eil duine ag cur oirnn.<br />
Bha iad a' faotainn air an adhart gu gasda, Dòmh'ull ann<br />
am fonn ciatach, 's e a' dranndan air òran.<br />
" Bha còrr agus fichead aig brònaig 'sa chiste, 's e na fhuair<br />
mi d'a gibhtean bò dhruimfhionn's cha b'lèir dhi."<br />
" O ù ara ù à, bheir mi ù ara eile, O ù ara ù à."<br />
Ceit,—" Nis, a Dhòmhuill, thigeadh na falbhadh a' roghainn,<br />
cha teid thusa rèis."<br />
Domh'all,—" Ud, a Cheit, nach e sin a' chainnt; dè air thalamh<br />
mar tha dùil agad a rachainn-sa a rèis agus thu fhèin 's do<br />
chuid bathar an crochadh rium. A dh' innseadh na firinn duit,<br />
cha robh a leithid de langaid orm fhèin's air Magaidh a' tilleadh<br />
bho mhargadh riamh roimhe. Mise dhol a rèis! Moire, b'e sin<br />
DOMHNULL RUADH A' BHUINNE.<br />
an gnothuch, 's fhada ghabhainn-sa bhuam e, theid mise fodha<br />
dhuit."<br />
Ach is gann a' labhair Dòmh'ull 'nuair a chaidh marcach<br />
seachad orra le sitheadh uamhasach. Mharcaich e cho dlùth gus<br />
nach mòr nach do thilg e Dòmh'ull Ruadh is Magaidh-dhonn anns<br />
an dìg.<br />
Thionndaidh Dòmh'ull gu frionasach, "A Cheit, co bha<br />
sin" "Coma leat-sa, a Dhòmh'uill, cò a bh'ann; falbh thusa<br />
gu rèidh, ciallach leis an ainmhidh."<br />
" An d' aithnich thu e, a Cheit"<br />
" Och, a chiall, cha d' aithnich," arsa Ceit, " nach d' thàinig<br />
e orm cho bras an comhair mo chùil 's ged bhiodh na ' seachdfeara-fichead<br />
' an tòir air; ach dòcha gur e fear de mhuinntir na<br />
Ranna a th'ann, a bhios a' dèanamh griollaim air son a bhi dhachaidh<br />
car amail."<br />
Dòmh'ull:—"Chan è gu dearbh, a Cheit, duine de mhuinntir<br />
na Ranna a thàinig riamh cho dàna sin orm-sa, ach nach mise a<br />
dh' fhaodadh aithneachadh,—an driamlach ghrànnda ud shìos aig<br />
Ceann-na-Tràgha.<br />
Tha e ag gabhail brath na socharaidh orm-sa an nochd bho'n tha<br />
e a' faicinn gu bheil cas-bheag orm. Nach ann aige a bhios an<br />
naidheachd am màireach, ach ged robh seachd mnathan air mo<br />
chùlaibh-sa, gun tighinn air nach 'eil ann ach an t-aon, ' am fear<br />
ud' mise, ma gheibh e an naidheachd sin leis gu dorus a dhà<br />
sheanair, agus, a Mhagaidh-dhonn, Bhail'-an-Abaidh, cha d'<br />
fhàgadh riamh air deireadh sinn."<br />
Leig Dòmh'ull Ruadh an t-srian le Magaidh-dhuinn, 's mar<br />
eun air iteig, mar mhial-chù an dèidh na faghaide, cho dian 's a<br />
bheireadh a ceathrar chaoil i, bha Magaidh-dhonn ri astar.<br />
A' dìreadh ri bruthach na Creige-Duibhe, bha Magaidh-dhonn<br />
ag casadh teann, ach mun d' ràinig iad Uisge-an-t-Suidhe dh' fhàg<br />
i beannachd aig falaire mòr Cheann-na-Tràgha, 's ghabh i an ceum<br />
toisich gus an d' ràinig i a' Bhuinne 'na deann.<br />
'Nuair a rinn Dòmh'ull Ruadh e fhèin cinnteach nach robh<br />
dìth no deireas air an làir-dhuinn, chaidh e a steach, agus e gu<br />
sunndach.<br />
Bha e treis ag gabhail òrain, treis a' seanchas mu'n mhargadh,<br />
treis a' moladh an lair-dhuinn, 's treis eile ag càineadh an fhir a<br />
bha rèis ris, ach 'nuair a fhuair mo mhàthair cothrom, ars' ise:—<br />
"Ach stad oirbh, athair: eadar dhà sgeul, am faca sibh mo<br />
mhàthair an diugh"<br />
5'
DOMH NULL RUADH A' BHUINNE.<br />
Domh'all ('s e a' tachas a chinn,—" Do mhàthair, a ghalad^<br />
do mhàthair, a ghalad,—an-dà, saoil thu fhèin, bho'n thuit e dhuit<br />
iomradh a thoirt oirre, saoil thu fhèin, a ghalad, nach robh e a'<br />
ruith air m' aire gu faca mi'n àit-eigin i."<br />
Mo mhàthair:—" Tha fhios gu faca sibh aig a' mhargadh i;<br />
gu dearbh 's ann bha mise 'ga cur 'na h-earalas an àm falbh, i a<br />
sheachnadh dol a mharcachd-cùil leibh air an làir-dhuinn."<br />
Dòmh'ull:— M<br />
Tha mi agad a nis, tha mi agad a nis, Iseabail<br />
ghaolaich. An sealladh mu dheireadh a chunnaic mise de d'<br />
mhàthair, Ceit-nic-Mhaoilein chòir, agus a leòra, b' e sin ise,<br />
am boirionnach suairc, bha i an crochadh ri earball na làire-duinne<br />
air Tràigh-Laga."<br />
Mo sheanmhair:—(agus i a' tighinn a steach còmhdaichte le<br />
gainmhich bho mhullach a cinn gu sàil a buinn). " Agus an<br />
sealladh ma dheireadh a chithear dhìot-sa, a Dhòmh'uill dhuibh,<br />
mhallaichte, bi tu an crochadh ri earball an fhir nach abair mi,<br />
mar dèan Nì-math tròcair ort. Am facas no an cualas riamh boirionnach<br />
a chaill a mothachadh cho mòr riumsa, agus tha a bhlàth'sa<br />
bhuil, nach 'eil mi a nis air mo chiabhadh's air mo shluaisreadh<br />
mar eun a thuiteadh bho'n chroman, ach bheir mise mo dhà làimhsa<br />
dhuit-sa, gun dèan thusa ' eag anns an t-siabhraidh le sgithinn<br />
mhaide,' ma chì thu mise air làir dhuibh no dhuinn leat ri mo bheò<br />
tuille!»<br />
Dòmh'ull:—(Agus e ag amharc air Ceit, agus gun e a bhi rochinnteach<br />
cò-dhiùbh 's i fhèin no manadh a' bh' ann),—" Do<br />
bheatha do'n bhaile, a Cheit! Nach mise a tha taingeil t' fhaicinn<br />
slàn, gun chreuchd, gun chiorram! Ach an cluinn thusa mise,<br />
a Cheit,—a bheil thusa a' dèanamh gun robh mise, aig a bheil<br />
urram na srèine bho chionn leth-chiad margadh, a' dol a leigeil le<br />
uipear nach do mharcaich riamh ach mar chlobha mu mhuinea!<br />
coin, mo mhaslachadh! Cha laighinn fo thàmailt de'n t-seòrsa<br />
sin ged a robh mi falbh air mo mhàgan. Cha laigheadh, is mì<br />
nach laigheadh, 's cha b' ann de Chloinn-Ghill'-Easbuig mi na'n<br />
laigheadh. Thig; thusa a nuas, a Cheit, a ghràidh, dèan suidhe,—<br />
is fìor agus ro-fhìor an seanfhacal,—<br />
"Nach math nach caillear na chuirear an cunnart."
The Golden Eagle.<br />
BY SETON GORDON, B.A. (OXON.), F.Z.S.,<br />
Author of " The Immortal Isles," etc., etc.<br />
IN many districts of the Scottish Highlands, the golden eagle<br />
has his home. On the Cairngorm hills I have seen this magnificent<br />
bird rise, with never a visible motion of his wings,<br />
until he became no larger than a wren, and finally was lost to view<br />
in the azure vault of heaven. A day I recall, on " Bruach na<br />
Frìthe," one of the Black Coolins, when the air was so clear that<br />
St. Kilda, eighty miles to the westward, could easily be seen rising<br />
from blue Atlantic plains. But swiftly a drifting cloud from the<br />
north approached the hill top, and, just as the mist-curtain was<br />
dropping, a golden eagle and his mate passed over, sailing unperturbed<br />
above dark precipices. They saw me, and at once<br />
mounted, so that in a few seconds they had entered the grey<br />
country of the mist. How did they steer thus How might<br />
they avoid the mist-enshrouded cone of " Sgùrr Alasdair," the<br />
black moist walls of "Sgùrr nan Gillean"<br />
Swiftly does the eagle fly. More swift than the flight of any<br />
bird, is his splendid downward rush. One midsummer's day, I<br />
was concealed beside an eagle's eyrie. Suddenly I saw against<br />
the blue sky a minute black speck which I took for an insect. But<br />
with unbelievable speed the speck grew in size, until in a few<br />
seconds I saw that it was the cock eagle, rushing towards the eyrie<br />
from the high hills. In one claw —extended downward to its full<br />
extent—he held a ptarmigan. The sun shone full upon his golden<br />
plumage as he passed me, and, so great was his speed, he was<br />
unable to stop at the eyrie, but sailed on beyond it, swept round,<br />
and came in from below.<br />
There is a Gaelic legend, that once, long ago, the birds<br />
decided to choose a king, and that honour was to go to the bird<br />
which should fly the highest. All imagined that the eagle would<br />
win easily, and, as he sailed higher and higher, he smiled proudly<br />
at those birds which he was leaving further and further below<br />
him. At last he had mounted to an incredible altitude, and then<br />
he called out (thinking no bird was in hearing) that he was certainly<br />
the king. But a tiny brown wren had cunningly concealed
54 THE GOLDEN EAGLE.<br />
itself amongst the eagle's feathers, and now the small rival mounted<br />
high above the eagle, who was tired, and thus could not overtake<br />
it. And so the wren, and not the eagle, was the king of birds.<br />
It is said that the eagle attains to a very great age. There is<br />
an old Highland rhyme:—<br />
" Thrice the age of a dog, the age of a horse,<br />
Thrice the age of a horse the age of a man,<br />
Thrice the age of a man the age of a stag,<br />
Thrice the age of a stag the age of an eagle,<br />
Thrice the age of an eagle the age of an oak-tree."<br />
But very few eagles die of old age. They are, it is true, without<br />
enemies in the bird world, but they are shot, poisoned, or trapped,<br />
on sheep farms or grouse moors, and of recent years have been<br />
increasingly disturbed by egg collectors, who bribe keepers and<br />
others to locate eyries for them. But despite its enemies, the golden<br />
eagle is holding its own in most parts of the Highlands, and, in<br />
this respect, is more fortunate than its neighbour, the white-tailed<br />
or sea eagle, which is quite extinct in Scotland at the present day,<br />
although so late as 1860 it was numerous in Skye, nesting upon<br />
most of the rocky headlands of An t-Eilean Sgitheanach. The<br />
golden eagle lays two eggs, and usually hatches out two young<br />
ones. One of the eaglets mysteriously disappears a week or two<br />
after birth, and in the light of what my wife and I recently witnessed<br />
during an almost constant watch on an eyrie, the stronger<br />
eaglet pecks the weaker to death. One of the eaglets in the eyrie<br />
we had under observation narrowly escaped this fate. Daily his<br />
sister (the hen eaglet is larger and stronger than the male) pecked<br />
her brother unmercifully. She tore out so much of his down that<br />
the eyrie and the ground below the tree were whitened by it.<br />
Each day that we visited the eyrie, we expected to find the unfortunate<br />
eaglet dead, but he survived, and after a time his sister<br />
gave up her bullying. Curiously enough the mother eagle did<br />
no hunting for the family. She left this entirely to the cock.<br />
The cock, every afternoon about three o'clock, sailed in, carrying<br />
a grouse, ptarmigan, or hare. Several times he brought squirrels,<br />
though how he captured them was a mystery, and once he carried<br />
a jackdaw from the low ground.<br />
His custom was to deposit his prey in the eyrie, stand there<br />
proudly for a minute, surveying his growing family with indifference,<br />
and then spring out into space, spreading his great<br />
THE GOLDEN EAGLE.<br />
wings as he did so. His mate watched him from a tree near, and,<br />
a minute or two after he had left, she sailed down to the eyrie<br />
and commenced to feed her young on the prey left by the cock.<br />
In May, when the eaglets were small balls of white down,<br />
the weather was often stormy. Sometimes a westerly gale brought<br />
with it stinging hail showers that pattered like small shot against<br />
our hiding tent. During these squalls the mother eagle brooded<br />
her young closer, and quickly became a bedraggled object. The<br />
melting hail ran down her bill in a steady stream, but she was<br />
heedless of the discomfort, and sometimes slept with her head<br />
sunk low, and not, like other birds, tucked away beneath the wing<br />
feathers. At last there came a day when the larger of the two<br />
eaglets was ready to leave the eyrie. But the second bird—he<br />
who, in his early youth had been bullied so much by his sister—<br />
was not yet able to fly, and his parents after feeding him in the<br />
eyrie for a few days, commenced to cut down his rations. Indeed,<br />
during the last two or three days, no food at all was brought<br />
to the unfortunate eaglet, who called repeatedly, until his voice<br />
was husky and weak, and he was on the verge of starvation. Thus<br />
was he compelled by hunger to take his first flight. It was a<br />
Spartan up-bringing, but a wise one, for amongst birds of prey<br />
none but the most virile have any chance of surviving the stern<br />
struggle for existence.<br />
A Highland Heroine for Highland Women.<br />
BY A DAUGHTER OF TH.E GAEL.<br />
" Fhad's a dh' fhàsas flùr air machair,<br />
Mairidh cliù na h-ainnir chaoimh."<br />
THERE are people who tell us that we should concern ourselves<br />
less with the history of bygone times, in order to<br />
devote our attention more exclusively to the living issues of<br />
to-day. To such an injunction the reply comes readily that only<br />
through a study of past processes can the present, to which these<br />
processes have led up, be understood, and that in a knowledge of<br />
the lives of the heroes of our country do we of the present find<br />
our best inspiration.<br />
At the present time, therefore, when our minds are apt to be<br />
55
56<br />
A HIGHLAND HEROINE FOR HIGHLAND WOMEN.<br />
somewhat bewildered by the complexity of modern life with its<br />
many calls and interests, and when our energies tend to be diffused<br />
and squandered owing to the fitful restlessness of the age, is there<br />
not special need for us to halt and ask ourselves whether we are<br />
not departing from, rather than aspiring to, the singleness of heart<br />
and the steady activity and devotion which characterised so many<br />
of our prominent national figures, even within recent historic<br />
times <br />
Looking back into the past, therefore, to find inspiration for<br />
the future, it seems to the writer that the figure of Flora Mac<br />
Donald, oft though her story has been told, is one which we<br />
Highland women of to-day would do well to consider, and to regard<br />
in a new light. She was only an ordinary young Highland<br />
woman when she first stepped out on to the stage of history—much<br />
like the rest of us who, generation after generation, have lived<br />
out our lives in the land of the Gael. In the same way that we so<br />
often timidly draw back, and refuse to take responsibility when<br />
opportunity offers, she at first declined to perform the service which<br />
opportunity offered to her. But she differed from the ordinary<br />
type in bravely overcoming her reluctance, in risking all, and in<br />
faithfully performing the task allotted to her in support of the<br />
cause which she held dear.<br />
In this brief story two central ideas impress themselves on<br />
us: there was a cause to inspire, and unstinted devotion in support<br />
of that cause.<br />
Flora MacDonald, like all true Highlanders of her day, was<br />
an ardent supporter of the Stuart cause, because, as it now seems<br />
to us, the representative of the Stuart dynasty was not only the<br />
legitimate sovereign who could command allegiance, but the<br />
living symbol of nationality—a nationality the love of which could<br />
kindle a burning enthusiasm, and inspire the utmost devotion, a<br />
nationality which was to be upheld by every sacrifice rather than<br />
that an easy acquiescence should be given to an alien regime.<br />
And we Gaels of to-day, are we without a national cause to<br />
inspire our hearts and to incite us to action Even though a<br />
larger loyalty be now rendered to the descendant of the Stuarts<br />
who occupies their throne, have we not an inner shrine in our<br />
hearts for our own portion of his dominions—for our own Gàidhealtachd,<br />
which to us is a land above every land And the symbol<br />
of this land of ours, of that nationality which to us is sacred,—<br />
is it not the language of our fathers, in which is bound up the very<br />
A HIGHLAND<br />
HEROINE FOR HIGHLAND WOMEN.<br />
spirit of the past which has gone to make us what we are What<br />
can we do for the preservation of this precious heritage which for<br />
centuries has given expression to the thoughts, the ideals and the<br />
aspirations of the Scottish Gael, this sign and symbol of our Celtic<br />
origin Is it not worthy of preservation, this ancient tongue<br />
which binds us so closely to our forefathers, our country and our<br />
kin If we do not love it, are not the ties which bind us to the<br />
soil,—the soil of ancient Albainn—weakened, so that we drift<br />
easily away, allowing ourselves to be absorbed by another people,<br />
serving another land as readily as our own, enjoying the luxury<br />
offered by an alien hand rather than learn endurance on the stormbeaten<br />
shores of our own land <br />
A cause, then, is here, as real, as living, as was the cause of<br />
Prince Charlie nigh on two centuries ago, as worthy of support<br />
as any which called forth the devotion of the heroes of history in<br />
bygone times. The cause of the Gaelic language calls for support<br />
because it is inextricably bound up with the national ideals of the<br />
Gael, and because by fostering the old tongue we foster also a<br />
national spirit—a spirit of love and service to our own land.<br />
And if we have now a cause, no less compelling, no less enthralling<br />
and full of romance than was the Stuart cause which<br />
called forth the devotion of our ancestors, who is it who, in this<br />
modern age, is to give it support and serve it with the same unstinted<br />
devotion with which Flora MacDonald served her Prince<br />
Is it not the women of the Highlands who can best respond, too,<br />
to this call If the spirit of patriotism still burns within their<br />
hearts, they will not fail to pass on the torch, for no outside influence<br />
will hinder the true mother from instilling her most<br />
cherished ideals into the mind of the child of her love. From the<br />
lips of its mother the child learns its mother-tongue, and thus in<br />
a special degree the Gaelic cause is in the hands of the daughters<br />
of the Gael. Can they be trusted to serve that cause well, or will<br />
they fail Will they, like Flora MacDonald, first profess loyalty,<br />
then shrink and draw back, but finally go forward unflinchingly to<br />
perform their service, and devote themselves whole-heartedly to<br />
the work fostered by An Comunn Gàidhealach, but enlarging it,<br />
and taking to themselves a more comprehensive motto in the form<br />
of:—<br />
Ar Dùthaich's ar Sluagh;<br />
Ar Cànain's ar Ceòl.<br />
AUGUSTA LAMONT.<br />
57
With Apologies to the True Believer!<br />
By BESSIE J. B. MACARTHUR.<br />
The Importance of Highland Folklore<br />
BY DONALD A. MACKENZIE,<br />
Author of " Ancient Man in Britain," etc., etc.<br />
THERE'S a fashion that is growing, much as other fashions do ><br />
From the blatant admiration of the many for the few,<br />
From the ardour of the multitude for everything that's new.<br />
Now this fashion that I speak of is a better thing by miles,<br />
Than many of those cults and vogues that curse us with their wiles,.<br />
And the name that I shall give it is the " Passion for the Isles."<br />
And the object of this modern craze has cause for growing vain,<br />
For she carries poets, authors, and composers in her train,<br />
And they vow that they adore her, both in sunshine and in rain.<br />
But I wonder, when I hear the wind come tearing down the lum,.<br />
And the rivers running riot till their roaring makes me dumb,<br />
If I asked them to go with me to Loch Boisdale, would they come <br />
It is easy to sit tight at home and rave about the west,<br />
The mist that makes the glamour, and the colour, and the rest;<br />
But would they go and live there, if we put them to the test<br />
There's an artificial note about this cult of Island fame,<br />
That makes the true believer suffer silently in shame,<br />
For he would see the islands loved in spirit as in name.<br />
And tho' there may be many one might designate as true,<br />
The glory of the Islands must be ever found anew,<br />
A fashion for the many—but a passion with the few.<br />
w n a t<br />
earthly use is folklore" an old Highland minister<br />
V^y once protested, when I spent a pleasant holiday with him.<br />
" It is merely gross superstition and it is my duty to stamp<br />
cut that sort of thing." He wanted to interest me in his collections<br />
of butterflies and moths and bird's eggs. " At anyrate," I<br />
retorted, " it does not involve the taking of life." An.impaled<br />
butterfly was still struggling on a card on his study table. He<br />
shrugged his shoulders. " 1 am certain,'' he smiled, " you will<br />
not be able to collect superstitions in this parish. There isn't<br />
even a child who believes in fairies."<br />
Things happen, however, in a Highland parish without the<br />
knowledge of either minister or doctor. I found that some<br />
members of the Revd. naturalist's congregation were perpetuating<br />
a custom which must be of some considerable antiquity. When<br />
an individual became seriously ill, the women baked cakes and<br />
left them on an ancient standing stone. If the cakes were "taken"<br />
before the next morning, it was believed that the patient would<br />
recover. I was not surprised to learn, too, that there was a fairy<br />
knoll in the minister's glebe which some of the parishioners did<br />
not care to approach by night without some " protection." The<br />
minister's man had always in a vest pocket a " Jew's harp,"<br />
which he occasionally tried to play. Its cast-iron frame made it<br />
possible for him to " touch iron " when necessary. In the river<br />
was a "water wife;" she used to drown late farers who attempted<br />
to cross a ford of ill repute, when there happened to be a spate,<br />
and there was a sacred well, which was credited with effecting<br />
cures. Of all these things the minister was profoundly ignorant.<br />
Nor did I enlighten him.<br />
I remember once cycling with a Highland doctor who<br />
similarly believed that " superstitious practices " were a thing of<br />
the past. He called at a white-washed cottage to see a baby who<br />
had taken seriously ill. As I waited outside, I saw an old man<br />
leaning against the gable, busily slicing a piece of wood with his
60 THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.<br />
pocket knife. He was making something which looked like a<br />
small ladle, and I guessed the truth. The baby was suspected to<br />
be suffering from the effects of the " Evil Eye." Having passed<br />
some remarks about the weather and the crops, I lowered my<br />
voice and said, " I respect Dr. X., and admire his skill. But he<br />
does not know everything. A little 'water off silver' will do the<br />
child no harm." The old man darted at me a shrewd piercing<br />
glance, his eyebrows lowering over his deep, grey eyes. " I'll<br />
say nothing to the doctor," I added. " W hen I was a child, I<br />
was given the cure by my grandmother, and I still have<br />
the wooden ladle (which is a fact). Where do you get the water<br />
hereabout" He pointed with his knife towards Achilty Bridge<br />
and said, " Beneath that bridge, over which the dead and the<br />
living pass," which meant that funerals went over the bridge. I<br />
nodded and made no comment, nor did I inform the doctor that<br />
his powders would not be given to the child if the ancient " wateroff-silver<br />
cure " were found to be effective. A drink of cold<br />
water may really restore to normal a child who suffers from the<br />
effects of a disordered stomach.<br />
"Of what earthly use is folklore" some readers may ask,<br />
as did the minister who slew moths and butterflies, and robbed<br />
wild birds of their eggs. As one who has resided in different<br />
parts of the Highlands, I have found, in the first place, that an<br />
interest in folklore brings one into close touch with the people.<br />
When, as a youth, I migrated from the North Highlands to<br />
Argyll, I already possessed a stock of folk tales which I had<br />
received mainly from my grandmother. As soon as I began to<br />
tell a story at a peat-fire, it was as if I had poured a little water<br />
into a pump. A deluge of local stories followed. Then to these<br />
Highlanders I became " one of themselves." It was considered<br />
unnecessary to hide anything from me. Had I, however, begun<br />
by asking, " Have you people any superstitions Do you believe<br />
in fairies" as do some enthusiasts, who think they can be folklore<br />
collectors, I should have remained a rank outsider, and<br />
leported to some society that " all folk customs and folk-tales<br />
have vanished from this area."<br />
I have vivid memories of friendships formed with old Highlanders<br />
in Argyll, who knew me as "the Iad from the north,"<br />
(an gille tuathach).<br />
I remember one wonderful night, when I was returning from<br />
the cave of the good, grey, Gaelic "Bard of Leidaig," John<br />
A' MHAIGHDEAN-MHARA—THE MERMAID.<br />
Tha'n ròn rioghail ag gusgal,—<br />
'S an eala 'guileag r'a thaobh,<br />
S a' mhaighdean-mhara 's i 'bruadar<br />
Anns an uaigneas air laoch."
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.<br />
6 I<br />
Campbell of fragrant memory, meeting an old Highland sailorman.<br />
The moon was rising red and large above Ben Lora,<br />
silvering the peat-moor pools of Benderloch, and transforming<br />
the little wooded islands of Loch Etive into fairy isles. It was<br />
in that lovely land that Deirdre had her earliest home in Alba,<br />
and there the folk spoke of her as if she had sailed away " in<br />
dark sorrow " but a few years previously. From the ancient<br />
sailorman I first heard of the " Blue men of the Minch," who<br />
haunt "Sruth nam Fear Gorm" ("The Stream of the Blue Men"),<br />
between Harris and the Shiant Isles. He believed in the<br />
existence of these mythical beings, and could name men who had<br />
seen them. They had been brought to his mind by the Falls of<br />
Lora, which were beginning to " growl," as he put it, and he<br />
whispered, as we crossed in the ferry-boat, which was struggling<br />
with the rapid tide, that there was a monster—a " beast "<br />
resembling a serpent—in Loch Etive, which, like the " Blue Men,"<br />
was responsible for the troubled condition of the waters.<br />
Folklore which has always brought me into close touch with<br />
the folk, not only provides an " Open Sesame " in the Highlands,<br />
but has an undoubted poetic value. The greatest poets have<br />
came under its spell. Shakespeare's " Midsummer Night's<br />
Dream " and Milton's " Comus " could not have been written<br />
except by poets who were familiar in their early days with what<br />
prosaic people refer to as " superstitions." Only those who<br />
have at one time seriously believed in fairies can sing convincingly<br />
about them.<br />
In recent years full recognition has been given to the<br />
scientific and historical value of folklore. " The marvellous<br />
persistence of traditional and immemorial modes of thought"—<br />
to quote a Celtic writer—has engaged the interest of not a few<br />
profound scholars. That vast work, " The Golden Bough," is<br />
wholly concerned with superstitions and superstitious practices—<br />
with the history of human thought and human institutions. The<br />
world has been "raked" for evidence which can throw light on the<br />
problem of early man's experiences, ideas, speculations, inventions<br />
and discoveries. Archaeologists collect and study the artifacts<br />
fiarticles made by man); anthropologists collect and study the<br />
stories and customs that have come down through the ages.<br />
The folktales of the Highlands bring us into closer touch<br />
with the past, than do flint arrowheads or bronze implements and<br />
weapons. They reveal to us the minds and hearts of an ancient
62<br />
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND<br />
FOLKLORE.<br />
people. In a collection like Campbell's " Popular Tales of the<br />
West Highlands " are many traces of what are called by some<br />
" superstitious practices " and " wild imaginings." But certain<br />
of these and other stories have, in the first place, a historical value,<br />
for they reveal ancient modes of life, as well as ancient modes ot<br />
thought. They reflect the ideals of the past, and inspire us with<br />
their heroism, their poetry and their humour. " Give me a<br />
people's stories," one might say, " and I will tell you much about<br />
them." The people who told the Highland stories, and the people<br />
who loved to hear these stories, imparted to them their own outstanding<br />
characteristics.<br />
The stories are, as a rule, good stories, well told and well<br />
constructed. They are not the stories of an ignorant or uncultured<br />
people. Although they were not written down to be<br />
read—the majority of the old people could neither read nor write<br />
—they have artistic excellencies which are not found in much of<br />
the published popular literature of to-day. The versions in poetry<br />
were as popular as those in prose, and the poetry was no less<br />
appreciated, if it reached, as it often did, a high standard of excellence.<br />
In fact, it would appear that among the unlettered<br />
Highlanders of the fine old days good poetry was more<br />
appreciated than it is by many educated people in our own time.<br />
A Gaelic-speaking man,—perhaps a labourer at the roadside, a<br />
gillie on a sporting moor, or a crofter on a lonely isle,—may repeat<br />
to one with relish and appreciation passages of much poetic beauty.<br />
The late Dr. Alexander Carmichael tells us, for instance, of the<br />
folk on Loch Etiveside, who, when referring: to Deirdre, whom<br />
they called " Dearduil " or "Dearthula," quoted,—<br />
" Dearthula nan cneasa geala, bu<br />
bhuidhe loinn na òr soir ghrèin<br />
an t-samhraidh," (" Dearthula of the white breasts,<br />
whose beauteous locks were more yellow than the<br />
gold of an eastern sun in summer ")<br />
It is a mistake to imagine, as some do, that the suppression<br />
of Gaelic has made for refinement of thought and feeling in the<br />
Highlands of Scotland. It might be argued that folk literature<br />
is a greater thing than written literature, because its influence goes<br />
deeper. The Highland habit of memorising the old poems and<br />
stories would appear to have caused these to influence deeply the<br />
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.<br />
63<br />
minds and characters of the Gaelic-speaking people as a whole.<br />
Few English speakers are able to quote pages of Shakespeare,<br />
Milton and Shelley, but it is possible to find Highlanders who<br />
can, without reference to a printed book, hold commune with the<br />
great minds of other days, repeating many thousands of words of<br />
ancient song and story.<br />
To students of the past, the folk literature of the Highlands<br />
is a veritable gold mine. There are survivals from remote<br />
antiquity, which throw light on the problems of culture drifting<br />
from ancient centres of civilization, and of culture mixing caused<br />
Dy racial contact and fusion in varying degrees in Western<br />
Europe. One catches glimpses in the tales in prose and verse<br />
of ancient manners of life as well as of antique modes of thought,<br />
such as cannot be obtained merely by the study of archaeological<br />
relics. There are withal many surviving customs that are of the<br />
deepest interest to anthropologists. When these are fully explored,<br />
we shall hear less about the supposed backwardness of<br />
the Gaelic people. At the dawn of the historical period, when<br />
the armies of Rome endeavoured in vain to wrest from our<br />
ancestors their ancient heritage of liberty, the people of Scotland<br />
were already possessed of a culture which was much higher than<br />
some historians have assumed. At a time when England was<br />
divided among rival tribes, Scotland was united by the bonds of<br />
national sentiment. Its warriors had chariots, and therefore had<br />
been influenced by " Chariot culture " from the East, and the<br />
archaeological relics of the period are eloquent of the high skill<br />
possessed by its artizans. Scotland had, too, its sea-farers and<br />
traders. The idea that its inhabitants were merely "wild hillmen"<br />
and " half savage plunderers," is one which ignorant historians<br />
are responsible for disseminating. The story of ancient Scotland<br />
has yet to be written, and when that work is seriously undertaken,<br />
it will be found that its folk-lore, including the traditional<br />
tales, with their internal evidence regarding ancient life, will<br />
supply much valuable material. If there is one thing more<br />
certain than another, it is that the outstanding characteristics of<br />
the Highland people owe little to any set of intruders in historic<br />
times, but were inherited from an ancient " Golden Age," when<br />
Celtic ideals of thought and behaviour flourished freely in the<br />
" Land of the glens and the bens and the heroes."
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE.<br />
65<br />
Duanaire na Sracaire.<br />
THE SONG-BOOK OF THE PILLAGERS.<br />
BY PROFESSOR WILLIAM J. WATSON, M.A., LL.D., D.LITT. Celt.<br />
THIS is a little poem the point and importance or' which have<br />
been hitherto overlooked. It is from the Book of the Dean ot<br />
Lismore, and concerns a proposal made by Finìay Macnab for<br />
compiling a book of poetry, which he calls the Duanaire, in the same<br />
way as in Irish we have Duanaire Finn, " the Book of the Lays<br />
of Fionn ". Three men are to collaborate in the compilation,<br />
Finlay Macnab himself, Dougall, son of John, and a certain<br />
Grigor. Some material has been collected by Finlay Macnab ;<br />
more is expected from the folk whom he calls na lorgànaigh, and<br />
whom I take to have been strolling bards such as were widely<br />
known in the Highlands and Islands as Cliar Sheanchain (See<br />
Celtic Review, vol. iv, p. 80). In addition all other sources<br />
available are to be tapped. The onerous task of writing down<br />
the material is to fall to Dougall, who has special influence with<br />
the lorgdnaigh.<br />
Can the proposed collaborators be identified I think that of<br />
two of them there can be no doubt whatever. Dougall, son of<br />
John, was Dougall MacGregor, the Dean of Lismore's father,<br />
styled Dubhghall mac Eoin Riabhaigh at the end of the Mac<br />
Gregor genealogy in the Dean's book, and elsewhere in the same<br />
book Dubhghall Maol. That he was a man of leading and of<br />
public spirit appears from the facts recorded in the Chronicle of<br />
Fortingall, that in 1526 he restored the base of the cross in Inchadney,<br />
the ancient church of Kenmore, and that in 1529 he placed<br />
a cross in Larkmonemerkyth, now called Làirig Mìle Marcachd,<br />
the pass between Kenmore and Glen Quaich, Amulree. In these<br />
notices he is styled Dougall Johnson. He was well qualified to<br />
write the book, for he was a notary public. This position, too,<br />
may have given him a special hold on the lorgdnaigh, whose<br />
thigging proclivities sometimes brought them within the reach<br />
of the law. There is also the fact that he lived at Tulach a T<br />
Mhuilinn, where the Dean was born, hard by the Clachan of<br />
Fortingall, which must have been an ideal resort of strolling bards.<br />
Finlay Macnab was chief of that name, styled of Bovain in<br />
Glen Dochart. In 1486 the king confirmed a charter of Patrick<br />
Macnab, whereby he granted to his son and heir apparent, Finlay<br />
Macnab, the lands of Bovane, Ardkelze-Estir, and Doinch, in the<br />
barony of Glen Dochart. In 1502 Finlay Macnab is " de<br />
Bowan ". In 1511 the king confirmed a charter of Sir Robert<br />
Menzies, whereby he sold to Sir Duncan Campbell of Glenurquhy<br />
his lands of Crandnycht (Crannich on Loch Tay) with the mill,<br />
and among the witnesses were Finlay Macnab de Bowane, Dugall<br />
Jhonnesoun notary, and Dominus Jacobus Makgregoure, notary<br />
public. The charter is dated at the Isle of Loch Tay. The witness<br />
named second is the Dean's father ; next comes the Dean<br />
himself.<br />
I have not identified Grigor ; he may be conjectured to have<br />
been a relative of Dougall MacGregor, and he appears to have been<br />
a poet.<br />
The note of warning as to MacCailin indicates that Argyll<br />
was reckoned a judge of technique and a competent critic. This<br />
was Gille-easbuig, who fell at Flodden in 1513. A stirring Brosnachadh<br />
Catha, " incitement to battle," addressed to him appears<br />
at p. 204 of the Dean's Book (McLauchlan, p. 102).<br />
We may now go a little further, for it is a reasonable inference<br />
that the Duanaire projected by the Chief of Macnab has come down<br />
to us under the name of the Book of the Dean of Lismore, compiled<br />
and written by James MacGregor and his poet brother Duncan,<br />
sons of Dougall, who was originally designed to write the<br />
book. Nothing would be more natural than that Dougall Mac<br />
Gregor, feeling the task of writing too heavy for himself, should<br />
have passed it on to his two scholarly sons. The book was begun<br />
before 1512, the date when Duncan wrote the genealogy referred<br />
to, which is at p. 144, the work being then well advanced.<br />
The title, Duanaire na Sracaire, I take to refer in a humorous<br />
way to the activities of the compilers, who propose to seize and<br />
appropriate all material within their reach.<br />
The poem is at p. 143 of the Dean's manuscript, and the text<br />
has been printed by Dr. McLauchlan on pp. 94, 96 of his edition;<br />
Dr. Cameron's transcript is in Reliquiae Celticae, vol. i, p. 99.<br />
Auctor Huius Fionnlagh Mac an Aba.<br />
Duanaire na Sracaire<br />
dà mbadh ail Iibh a sgriobhadh,<br />
fuaras de an phacaire<br />
ni da bhfèadar a lionadh.<br />
R
66<br />
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE.<br />
Giodh iomdha na h-andaoin^<br />
ar tì millidh na tuatha,<br />
chan fhaghthar 'n a chomaoin-se<br />
aon rud 'san domhan uatha.<br />
Do bhèasaibh na lorganach,<br />
gion gur beith uatha acht mile,<br />
an teach 'g a mbia a gcomhdhàl-sa<br />
cha ruig iad è go h-oidhche.<br />
* * * * *<br />
Cha bhia mè 'g a sloinneadh-sa,<br />
chan fhuil agam d'a seanchas<br />
acht a mbeith 'san choin fheasgar,<br />
agus na coin a leanmhain.<br />
A Dhubhghaill, a chompànaigh,<br />
a mhic Eoin na lann liomhtha,<br />
'g a bhfuil uile na lorgànaigh,*<br />
dèan an duanaire sgriobhadh.<br />
Sgriobh go nosach fireòlach<br />
a seanchas is a gcaithrèim ;<br />
na beir duan ar mhisheòladh<br />
g'a lèigheadh go MacCailèin.<br />
Cuimhnigh fèin an comunn-sa,<br />
a Ghriogòir, mar do chualais,<br />
go bhfuil agam orad-sa<br />
do chuid do chur 'san duanair.<br />
Na biodh isin domhan-sa<br />
de shagart no de thuathach,<br />
'g a bhfuil ni 'n a chomhghar-sa<br />
nach cuirthear è 'san duanair.<br />
DUANAIRE.<br />
*This line as restored has a syllable too many It might be amended<br />
by reading iùl na lorganach, "the guidance of the strollers, in which<br />
case we should have to read a chompanach above.<br />
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE. 6 7<br />
The Author of this is FINLAY<br />
MACNAB.<br />
As to the song-book of the pillagers, should you be pleased<br />
to write it, I have got from the packman somewhat that may go<br />
to fill it.<br />
Though many are the evil men who are set on spoiling the<br />
countryside, not one thing in the world will be got from them in<br />
respect of it.<br />
It is a custom of the strollers, though they should have but a<br />
mile to go, that they will not reach till nightfall the house at<br />
which they make their tryst.<br />
I shall not name their names ; I have nought of their story,<br />
save their being in the evening with the dogs in their train.<br />
Thou Dougall, my comrade, son of John of polished blades,<br />
thou who hast the strollers all at thy command, write thou the<br />
song-book.<br />
Write expertly, learnedly, their lore and their tuneful works ;<br />
bring no poem lacking artistry to be read to MacCailin.<br />
Remember thou, too, Grigor, this partnership, even as thou<br />
hast heard, that thou art owing to me to put thy share in the<br />
song-book.<br />
Let there not be in this world one single priest or layman<br />
who has ought by him that is not put in the song-book.<br />
TioMNA GHuiLL. (Sean<br />
Dàna.)<br />
A Chaothain nan solus àigh,<br />
Tha do lòchrains' an tràsa fo smal;<br />
Amhuil darag air crìonadh gu luath<br />
Tha do phàillinn, 's do shluagh air trèigsinn.<br />
Soir no siar air aghaidh d'aonaich<br />
Cha'n fhaighear do aon diu ach làrach.<br />
An Seallama, 'n Taura no 'n Tigh-mòr-righ<br />
Chan 'eil slige no òran no clàrsach.<br />
Tha iad uile 'nan tulachain uaine,<br />
'S an clachan 'nan cluainean fèin -<br />
The Song-book.
" IS TOGARRACH A DH' FHALBHAINN." 6 9<br />
" Is Togarrach a dh' Fhalbhainn."<br />
LE DOMHNULL MACLEOID, H.M.I.S., DUN-EIDEANN.<br />
5 XT UAIR bhios mi sgìth's an cadal 'dol clì<br />
Le aimhreit is strì nan sràidean<br />
'S tric m' inntinn 'toirt cuairt air sgiathan mo sm<br />
Do 'n ghleann anns' an d' fhuair mi m' àrach.<br />
Tha aoibhneas is tlachd's gach smuain agus beachd<br />
Tha fuaighte ri cleachdainnean m' òige;<br />
Ach thairis air càch tha aighear is àgh<br />
Dlù-cheang'lte ri blàr is mòinteach.<br />
Tha àilleachd gun phrìs, tha sàmhchar gun chìs,<br />
Tha beannachd na sìth's a ghleann so;<br />
Tha ùrachd is slàint' an anail nam blàr<br />
Nach fhaighear gu bràth air cabhsair.<br />
Is caomh leam na h-uillt ri borbhan's a' bheinn,<br />
'S a' lìonadh a' ghlinn le an crònan;<br />
Is caomh leam na h-eòin a tha fialaidh le 'n ceòl,<br />
'S nach cùlaich le deòin a chòsan.<br />
'S an fhoghar dhonn chiar mun èireadh a' ghrian,<br />
Bu shubhach mi 'fiaradh aonaich,<br />
'S an uiseag gu h-àrd air a' mhaduinn 'cuir fàilt'<br />
'S gach alltan ri dàn do'n t-saoghal.<br />
Bhiodh coileach an fhraoich le a chèile r'a thaobh,<br />
'Se ag innse dhi 'ghaol gu sùrdail;<br />
'Us ealtuinn an t-slèibh ri ealaidh dhaibh fèin,<br />
'S am monadh gu lèir air dùsgadh.<br />
Bu shunntach mo cheum's mi 'leantuinn an fhèidh<br />
Le m' ghunna caol, gleust' air m' ghualainn,<br />
'S an oiteag tigh'nn rann o bhroilleach nan beann,<br />
'Toirt fograidh gu danns' do'n luachair.<br />
Bhiodh dàimh anns gach lus is fàilt' anns gach guth,,<br />
A dh' èireadh o shruthan is gharbh-allt.<br />
Bhiodh deadh-ghean is tlus air achadh is uchd<br />
'S iad uile 'toirt cuiridh do'n t-sealgair.<br />
'Nuair laìghinn 'san fhraoch le m' ghunna ri m' thaobh,<br />
'S fo m' chomhair air aodann tolmach,<br />
Damh allail nan cròic, geur-aireachail, seòlt'<br />
A' sgrùdadh's a' sròin'chadh na garbhlaich;<br />
Ged gheibhinn dhomh fhìn uil' ionmhas an rìgh,<br />
Cha reicinn air brìgh mo sholais;<br />
Be m' roghainn is m' anns' bhi an comunn nam beann,<br />
Is coisir nan gleann ri ceòl dhomh.<br />
The Return of Finn.<br />
By JOHN L. KINLOCH,<br />
Kilcreggan<br />
M.A.,<br />
IN my heart were mingled joy and sadness. And the sadness<br />
was because the beauty of Inverlochy was torn with trenches,<br />
ugly sheds and bothies, poverty and squalor, while the quiet<br />
was broken by jarring, brawling noises. But the gladness was there<br />
because the new-found treasure of the mountains is bringing new<br />
hope to the Celtic race. For in future the people of the Highlands<br />
may live in prosperity in their beloved home land, now almost<br />
desolate. If the Highlands cannot shelter her own folk, then her<br />
Celtic race must end; for a race without a home land is like a disembodied<br />
spirit wandering lonely among men, hovering longingly<br />
ere it takes its flight into the intense inane.<br />
And as I watched the work of those navvies, strong but<br />
broken men, children of the dead-end, I wondered if wealth could<br />
no longer be obtained without the accompaniment of ugliness,<br />
squalor and misery. Must beautiful Inverlochy become a slum<br />
town that work may be found for the Gael in the Highlands<br />
A young navvy touched me gently and said, " I too am sad,<br />
for I like not that beauty should be destroyed by squalor. You<br />
seek to know how wealth may be obtained in the Land of the<br />
Gael, while its romantic spirit remains. Come with me and I will<br />
show you the secret." His hands were the horny hands of the<br />
navvy, and his moleskins were covered with caked clay, but his<br />
eyes were the eyes of the Seer, his voice the voice of the Bard, and<br />
he knew the thoughts of my heart. Without a word I turned and
THE<br />
RETURN OF FINN.<br />
THE RETURN OF FINN.<br />
71<br />
followed. Up the Glen he led, through the gorges, and along<br />
the dizzy narrow ledge, past tumbled rocks and seething pools.<br />
The music of the cataracts was in my ears, and in my heart the<br />
beauty of the moving waters, the gloom of the rugged rocks, and<br />
the brightness of the narrow sky; so that my soul soared through<br />
aeons of time, borne on the wings of the spirit of the everlasting<br />
hills, through the countless ages, to stand in awe and reverence<br />
before the mighty Forces that had worked since the world began,<br />
to create this miracle of beauty for the delight of man and the<br />
glory of God.<br />
I turned to follow my Guide still further into the heart of the<br />
mountains. The spell of the place had worked a wonderful transformation<br />
upon him. Instead of the mudded navvy, there stood<br />
before me the handsomest youth I have ever seen; bare-headed,<br />
bare-limbed, ciad only in shirt and kilt. Sunshine was in his hair<br />
like the ripple of wind on the ripe harvest field. Life thrilled in<br />
every movement of the muscles of his arms, legs and well-formed<br />
neck. The eyes of the Seer, the voice of the Bard were still his,<br />
but great joy was in his face, and infinite kindness. Joy was in my<br />
heart, for Finn had returned, not as a mighty warrior leading to<br />
slaughter, nor as a hoary bard recalling the prowess of the dead,<br />
but in the glory of Youth, to lead his race with peace into the<br />
realms of joy and gladness, that the world might be born again in<br />
a great rebirth of happiness.<br />
Onwards and upwards he led, I know not how or whither, till<br />
we stood on a great pinnacle of rock from which we could see the<br />
kingdoms of the world.<br />
" Here you may learn the secret you seek," said he, touching<br />
my eyes so that they were opened, and I could read the hearts of<br />
men and see what before had been invisible.<br />
Then sadness filled my heart. I saw men rearing buildings so<br />
high that they shut out the sun, and their children died in the<br />
shadow. They devised marvellous machines, but the smoke from<br />
their engines covered the people with a pall of death; beautiful<br />
valleys were turned to a desolation of squalid houses; shard heaps<br />
were the playgrounds of children.<br />
" The pride of your age is the marvel of its engineering skill,"<br />
said my guide. " Now look with your opened eyes," he said,<br />
and I saw more clearly than ever the marvel of the machinery, but<br />
I saw, too, that men were bound to the machines with chains, some<br />
of gold, some of iron. " Master and man alike are slaves of the<br />
machine," said he, " so that none may rise to the full height of<br />
manhood, or freely help the other. And the chains of goid are<br />
heavier on the soul than the chains of iron, though they gall it<br />
less."<br />
"But what of the achievements of science" said I, "You<br />
cannot destroy my reverence for them, and man's pride in his<br />
wonderful skill."<br />
" Your scientist is indeed a miracle-worker, but does not man<br />
sometimes degrade his powers Look !"<br />
" Spare me!" I cried, covering my face, for I saw the ghastly<br />
work of a marvellous poison bomb; and men, women, and<br />
children writhing in a death agony.<br />
" You thought only of constructive science," he replied,<br />
" Such a marvel as broadcasting, perhaps True it outruns the<br />
dreams of prophets, and man has never before been so Godlike as<br />
when he learned to speak across the world. Listen now, and you<br />
may hear a man talking in Australia, but it is not the message of<br />
a God."<br />
A band struck up < jazz 9 music. Out there in the calm of<br />
nature it seemed noisy and vulgar, and I wished a nobler music<br />
could be sent as man's expression of joy and sorrow reverberating<br />
out into the silences of the stars, to mingle with the music of the<br />
spheres.<br />
Then I understood the tragedy of mankind. He is like<br />
the little girl who was drowned trying to rescue her rag doll from<br />
the river—spendthrift of himself, careful of his toys—exalting<br />
the work of his hands, but holding life cheap.<br />
" I have not shown you these things to grieve you," said my<br />
Guide, noting my sadness, " but that by emptying your soul of<br />
illusions I might fill it with joy and teach you the message which<br />
the Celtic Race has to contribute to the ennobling of mankind.<br />
People have pitied the poverty of the Highlanders, and, indeed, in<br />
terms of worldly wealth their lives seem bare and hard, but in<br />
their secret heart they have treasured a pearl of great price. In<br />
the beauty of their songs is it enshrined. They have loved their<br />
native mountains, and the mystery of the valleys; they have<br />
cherished the love of home and kin, the music of the ocean and<br />
the cataract, the sunshine and the breeze; they have loved the<br />
home for the true and kindly hearts beneath the roof of croft or<br />
castle. They have loved the things of the heart, thus honouring<br />
the work of God above the works of men. As a people they have
72<br />
THE RETURN OF FINN.<br />
lost the world, but they have saved the soul of the race alive,<br />
though now nigh unto death. But the fulness of the time is at<br />
hand. That soul shall rise to new life, and with its message<br />
revivify the world. And 1 will give you the words of its message<br />
which An Comunn Gàidhealach must carry to the thoughts of men.<br />
You have seen the imperfections of man's handiwork; now, with<br />
newly opened eyes behold the supreme handiwork of God on<br />
earth." Then standing with his bronzed and naked breast open<br />
to sun and breeze—a glory of healthy manhood—he continued<br />
solemnly:—<br />
" The Health of the Body, the Thoughts of the Mind, the<br />
Feelings of the Soul, these are the greatest things on earth. All<br />
the wealth of the world is not to be weighed against the full Life<br />
of one human being." That is the message of the Celtic Race to the<br />
world. In the secret recesses of the race mind has it been hidden.<br />
Partially has it found expression in song and dance, in music and<br />
sport, in dress and life. " Remember that ye are People!" sang<br />
the Poetess of Skye, gathering these thoughts in a wonderful<br />
phrase.<br />
Then a miracle befell. His body seemed stripped from his<br />
mind, and I beheld the form of his spirit. For the first time I<br />
understood that greater than broadcasting is the indrawing power<br />
of the mind. From near and far, from the ends of the earth, from<br />
the dawn of history, in-radiating on this mind were the thoughts<br />
of men. and from the mountains and the rocks, the ocean and the<br />
moors, from the sun and stars, from every material thing around<br />
him were emanations of knowledge concentrating upon him.<br />
" Thus," said he, " the virile mind, at one with Nature, may draw<br />
to itself the sources of all wisdom, of music and of art. Thus can<br />
the mind learn thoughts worthy to be broadcast to the world, and<br />
music that will touch the finest heart."<br />
And within the mind was the Soul, in tune with the Infinite,<br />
drawing to itself from the Source of all life, the forces of Love,<br />
and courage, and those generous feelings which make life worth<br />
living. And the Soul was communing with the Spirit of all Life,<br />
that it might know and choose the good, and thus live like to God.<br />
I fell on my face to worship before the mystery and the wonder<br />
of it all, but my Guide raised me to my feet. He smiled as I<br />
gazed in wonder; for there stood before me, in shirt and kilt, a<br />
typical Highland Iad, such as one might see, except for the dress,<br />
at any of our Universities.<br />
THE<br />
RETURN OF FINN.<br />
" Have I been dreaming" I asked.<br />
" No, but you have been seeing, and even the eyes of the Seer<br />
can only bear to look on Truth in short glimpses. Your vision<br />
has passed. He that would help his fellows cannot live and worship<br />
on a mountain of transfiguration. He must go down and<br />
translate his vision into simple acts of everyday life. You have<br />
seen the Exaltation of man, estimate him not as of lower value<br />
than the wealth he produces. That is the answer to your quest."<br />
" It is easy to dream dreams and to see visions, but the distinction<br />
of genius is that it gives these a material shape. The<br />
second part lies before us. First we must note that the mind of<br />
a race is often very different from the minds of the men and women<br />
who compose that race. This is peculiarly so among Celts. Few<br />
men are more successful in a material sense than the Celts scattered<br />
throughout the world, and they owe this to race qualities; yet in<br />
a material sense the race is a languishing race; it is a race of dreams,<br />
of visions, of poetry and song—a race of ideals. But out of<br />
weakness must come strength. The idealism of the race, not the<br />
success of the individual Celts, can redeem the world. Man's<br />
material success has been his undoing. The simple Highlander<br />
owes it to the majesty of nature which surrounds him that he has<br />
kept unconsciously in his heart the true proportion of things. In<br />
the city and the workshop one sees only the marvels of man's<br />
handiwork; and the pride in the work of his hands has become so<br />
great that he worships that as a God. But ships, factories, castles<br />
and wealth are like graven images, the handiwork of the worshipper.<br />
The mighty masses of the mountains, and the awe of<br />
the giant forces which went to their making, the beauty and<br />
mystery of the valley and the waterfall, the loneliness of the moors,<br />
and the splendours of the lochs have taught the Highlander instinctively<br />
to give first place to God's work and second place to<br />
the works of man. And from this has grown a great reverence for<br />
man himself, the greatest of all God's work. This it is that gives<br />
that remarkable dignity alike to the typical chief and the poorest<br />
crofter. This it is that puzzles and frets the successful worldly<br />
man when he is opposed by the home-hunger of the crofter,<br />
who would rather live in poverty, maintaining the dignity of<br />
man, than purchase ease by the sale of man's birthright.<br />
The Race mind is much greater than the individual mind.<br />
To overcome the materialism of this age with the idealism inspired<br />
by their beautiful home-land is the work of the Celtic Race to-day.<br />
73
74<br />
THE RETURN OF FINN.<br />
But the idealism must no longer be dependent on seclusion, for<br />
isolation must in the end mean death. It must plunge into the<br />
vortex of lite and wealth, and show that it can stem the stiffest<br />
current. X he wealth of the homeland must be fully developed.<br />
"Water power, afforestation, agriculture, transport, new industries<br />
springing up from electric power must all be developed. Prosperous<br />
industry must find a place in the Highlands, for only by<br />
work can man live, but it must be a new industrialism, not the<br />
industrialism of to-day that sacrifices men, women and children to<br />
its success, but an industrialism which gives life to the people, and<br />
gives that life more abundantly. Industrialism for the service of<br />
men, not men for the service of industrialism. The thought has<br />
already been beautifully expressed by the Poetess of Skye.<br />
" Keep in mind that ye are people, and aye maintain your rights.<br />
There is wealth beneath the mountains where you were reared<br />
when young.<br />
There is iron and there is coal there, there is grey lead and gold,<br />
And the mines were meant for your good, in the green Isle of<br />
the Mist."<br />
The wealth was made for the joy of the people, not the people that<br />
they should produce wealth through sorrow. This in simple<br />
language is the message to the busy world from the lone dwellers<br />
among the mist-covered mountains. The Celtic race will not sell<br />
the birthright of its soul for wealth.<br />
With the commercial development must go a rekindling of<br />
the Celtic fire among the people who return to the glens. For<br />
the I£ace impulses must be preserved and developed, and to do<br />
this the Highlander must mark off his race as a distinctive race,<br />
a race with a great mission, a message not yet fully delivered.<br />
They can keep alive the fire of race within their own souls by their<br />
language with its ancient literature and song; they can kindle it<br />
afresh among the young by restoring their distinctive dress which<br />
marks them off from others, giving their race an individuality not<br />
possessed by any other race in the world.<br />
In song and literature are preserved the traditions of the race,<br />
giving the Highlander inspiration to carry on the work. For the<br />
Highlander in the Highlands, Gaelic must come before all other<br />
culture languages, and he will find there thoughts which set his<br />
feelings vibrating as no alien literature can do. And the speaking<br />
THE<br />
RETURN OF FINN.<br />
of the language will forge links of brotherhood among the Gaels,<br />
so that the race spirit may revive and live more fully.<br />
With the Celtic spirit thus rekindled, our lads will wish to<br />
don the kilt, realising its great value in keeping the claims of the<br />
race before the world. 1 hose who wished to destroy the Celtic<br />
race after the '45, knew the significance of the kilt in the life of<br />
the Highlander, and the Act forbidding its wear was a deadly blow<br />
at the race. Those who wished the help of the Celt in their armies<br />
knew its significance when they revived the kilt for the Highland<br />
regiments; an act which has given these regiments conspicuous<br />
pre-eminence and exceptional popularity. It is strange, therefore,<br />
that those lovers of the race who would revive the race consciousness<br />
have undervalued it as a factor, yet it is the most conspicuous,<br />
if not the most vital factor, marking them as a distinctive race in<br />
the eyes of the world.<br />
A man's words are the expression of his own thoughts, but his<br />
actions are most often an expression of the traditions and philosophy<br />
of his race. This is especially true of the distinctive garb<br />
the Gaels wore until the race habit was broken by a cruel law. It<br />
is significant of their great reverence for Manhood that, for two<br />
thousand years, they instinctively preserved the respect for the<br />
human body, so that throughout the dark centuries of the Middle<br />
Ages the Celt alone wore a dress consciously designed for health<br />
and for the development of a fine physique.<br />
These thoughts were not thus clearly defined in the minds of<br />
our forefathers. Their actions were rather the result of their subconscious<br />
mind guided by race philosophy through tradition; but<br />
it produced a race of marvellous physique, and from it has<br />
developed a garb the most healthy, the most picturesque, and the<br />
most beloved. The modern kilt is thus a symbol of the race and<br />
its high idealism. Let our Highland boys and lads be taught a<br />
love for it, and the courage to wear it. Ought not An Comunn<br />
Gàidhealach to work earnestly to revive not only Celtic language,<br />
Celtic Culture, but the significant dress of the Gael The language<br />
is a bond of the heart, but the kilt is a visible symbol. It is a<br />
rallying standard to our boys; unlike the language, it can be acquired<br />
at once, and is a public declaration of purpose from the<br />
first moment it is worn. Thus will the Iad who regularly wears<br />
the kilt, become verily a maker of history.<br />
With the spirit of the race revived and quickened by An<br />
Comunn, the development of the Highlands may go on without<br />
75
TIR NAM BEANN.<br />
Seisd:—<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann,<br />
}<br />
s nan gaisgeach:<br />
Thar gach tìr'5 i tìr mo gheall-sa,<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, '5 nan gaisgeach.<br />
Tìr mo ghràidh's nan sàr-fhear gasda,<br />
Tìr nan àrmunn làidir, tapaidh:<br />
Tìr nam maithibh, 's cha bu ghann doibh<br />
'N tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
Mo ghaol an comunn a bhiodh tlachdmhor,<br />
Subhach, sunndach, suilbhir, taitneach,<br />
'Nuair a thàrladh dhuinn mu'n dram<br />
An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
Tir nam mnathan cèillidh, greannar,<br />
Banail, beusach, ceutach, baindidh;<br />
Tìr nan caileag maiseach, seanga,—<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
Tìr nam boineid gorm's nam breacan,<br />
Tìr an fhèilidh aotruim, phleataich;<br />
Tìr nan osan geàrr's nan lann geal,<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
Tir nam Beann.<br />
LE ALASDAIR MACDHOMHNAILL, INBHIRNIS, (" GLEANN ACH ").<br />
THA mo chridhe-s' an tìr na h-àilleachd,<br />
Tìr na h-aoigheachd 's tìr na bàrdachd,<br />
Tìr mo chàirdeis agus m' annsachd,—<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
C' ait' am bòidhche dreach an t-samhraidh<br />
C ait' an colgaich' stoirm a' gheamhraidh<br />
'N tìr nan easan borb's nan allta,—<br />
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
C' ait an ceum a' Cheit le aiteas,<br />
Feadh nan doire rèidh's nan glacag,<br />
Ri ceòl binn nan eun air chrann —<br />
An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.<br />
Ged bu leam-sa Sasunn bheairteach,<br />
A cuid stòir, is òir, is chaisteal,<br />
B' fheàrr leam beagan aig mo làimh<br />
An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
The Gael in Scottish History.<br />
BY PROFESSOR RAIT, C.B.E., LL.D.,<br />
Glasgow University.<br />
AQUARTER of a century ago, in a short study of the relations<br />
between England and Scotland, I put forward a<br />
theory that the difference between Scottish Highlanders<br />
and Scottish Lowlanders has been misconceived and misinterpreted<br />
by a long series of distinguished historians, including<br />
Lord Macaulay, John Richard Green, E. A. Freeman, and John<br />
Hill Burton. These writers have asserted that the whole of the<br />
Lowlands have been, from an early date, inhabited by Saxons, that<br />
mediaeval Scotland was divided by the enmity of two hostile<br />
races, and that in the battle of Harlaw, in 1411, we are to see the<br />
final victory of Saxon over Celt.<br />
This doctrine seems to me to break down for lack of evidence.<br />
A racial immigration of Saxons into Scotland is known to have<br />
occurred in one, but in only one, district of the Country, namely<br />
the region between the Firth of Forth and the River Tweed. In<br />
other parts of the Lowlands, we have no evidence of any immigration<br />
or dispossession.<br />
Between the reign of Malcolm Canmore and the War of<br />
Independence, a series of far-reaching influences—An English<br />
Court, an adoption of English law and of an English system of<br />
land tenure, a Church which followed English models, and a<br />
growing commerce with England—profoundly changed the<br />
civilisation of the Lowlands, involved the gradual disappearance<br />
of the Gaelic tongue, and led, ultimately, to ill feeling between<br />
Highlander and Lowlander.<br />
But Scottish writers, two centuries after the War of Independence,<br />
always speak of the Highlanders, not as a separate race,<br />
but as Scotsmen who retained the ancient Scottish tongue, and the<br />
old Scottish manners, which their Lowland fellow-countrymen had<br />
abandoned for English speech and customs. Until the 16th<br />
century, the phrase, " The Scots tongue n lingua Scotica, always<br />
meant Gaelic.<br />
It is impossible here to enlarge upon the reasons which led me<br />
then, and still lead me to differ from the traditional historical view<br />
THE GAEL IN SCOTTISH HISTORY.<br />
79<br />
upon this important and fundamental point, but if Scotland, outside<br />
the Lothians, is racially a Celtic Country, it is obvious that<br />
the place of the Celt is a much greater one than has generally been<br />
admitted. Even apart from questions of racial origin, recent<br />
investigation has tended to assign a new emphasis to the part taken<br />
by the Highlander in the making of Scotland.<br />
In his book on the Scottish War of Independence, Mr. E. M.<br />
Barron has disposed of Freeman's assertion that the Celt, out of<br />
hatred to the Saxons nearest him, leagued with the Saxons farther<br />
off, and has shown that the Highlanders made a notable contribution<br />
to Scottish Independence. The more we penetrate into the<br />
secrets of our national history, the more we shall realise how much<br />
has been lost by ignoring the Highlands; and a thorough study<br />
of Highland history, made by scholars expert in the Gaelic speech<br />
and acquainted with the results of Celtic studies outside the<br />
British Isles, is urgently required to enable historians to assign a<br />
true balance to the operative forces in Scottish story.<br />
The interest and the value of such an investigation is not<br />
confined to early times, or even to the period prior to the Jacobite<br />
Risings. The Highlands have a modern as well as an ancient<br />
history, and it is not confined to their own region. In the last<br />
two hundred years, the Scottish Highlanders have taken a large<br />
part in the making of the British Empire, both in war and in<br />
peace. Not less is the part they have played in the marvellous<br />
development of the United Kingdom, in the building up of the<br />
industrial fabric upon which our prosperity, and, indeed, our<br />
existence depends. And all the time the people of the Highlands<br />
have retained not a little of their own traditional characteristics—<br />
speech and custom and habit of thought. The changes in the<br />
Highlands themselves since the Battle of Culloden, and the<br />
achievements of Highlanders outside the Highlands are an ample<br />
theme for an historian.<br />
There is plenty of romance in Highland story, and, without<br />
the Highlanders, the romantic side of Scottish history would lose<br />
much of its fascination. But the Highlanders have contributed<br />
much more than romance to our records. The basis of the national<br />
life is Highland or Celtic, in the last two centuries we have<br />
preferred to say, and many mysterious questions of constitutional<br />
origins must be connected with the ancient Celtic or Scottish<br />
Kingdom, which was transformed by the descendants of Malcolm<br />
Canmore.
8o THE GAEL IN SCOTTISH HISTOR/.<br />
Throughout our whole troubled story, the attitude of the<br />
Highlanders towards the Government, from the reign of David I.<br />
to that of George II., has been an important factor in our history.<br />
The type of institution—the cian system—which developed in<br />
the Highlands centuries ago, and remained unchanged until the<br />
middle of the 18th century, has exercised a great influence upon<br />
the social and political life of Scotland as a whole, and that influence<br />
has not come to an end with the changes of modern civilization.<br />
To understand the problems which await solution in the Scotland<br />
of to-day, it is necessary to understand the history of the Highlands.<br />
What I Think of the Gaelic Movement.<br />
BY WILLIAM MACK AY, LL.D., INVERNESS,<br />
Ex-President of An Comunn.<br />
IT gives me great pleasure to learn that An Comunn Gàidhealach<br />
are making arrangements for a grand Bazaar for the purpose<br />
of raising funds to enable them to extend their operations,<br />
and to come into closer grips with the requirements of the Gaelic<br />
movement. I sincerely trust that their efforts will be crowned<br />
with much success.<br />
I have been asked to write a few words for the Bazaar Book,<br />
and I have pleasure in doing so. Sixty years have passed since I<br />
began to take a practical interest in Gaelic, and to collect Gaelic<br />
legends and Gaelic songs in my native Parish of Urquhart and<br />
Glenmoriston. Some of these I made use of in my history of<br />
that Parish. In 1871, when I was serving my law apprenticeship<br />
in Inverness, I got in touch with Gaelic enthusiasts then in that<br />
town, and, with their approval, and after some newspaper correspondence,<br />
I issued a circular calling a meeting to consider a proposal<br />
to establish a Gaelic Society in Inverness. The meeting was<br />
held on 4th September of that year, when, on the motion of the<br />
late well-known Mr. John Murdoch, seconded by the late Mr.<br />
Alexander Mackenzie, the Cian historian, the Society was formed.<br />
J was appointed Secretary, an office which I held until 1873 when<br />
WHAT I THINK OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT. 8l<br />
I left Inverness to attend the law classes at Edinburgh University.<br />
a n c<br />
I returned in 1875, ^ ^ have ever since been an honorary<br />
secretary of the Society. Perhaps I may be allowed to say that<br />
the Society has, since 1871, done splendid work in keeping alive<br />
an interest in the language and literature of the Gael, and in<br />
collecting and preserving in its Transactions, which now form a<br />
valuable Highland library of thirty volumes, much Gaelic poetry<br />
and legendary and historical lore which, were it not for the Society's<br />
efforts, would ere now have been lost. To me the share which I<br />
took in that work has always been a great joy, and, I believe, a<br />
healthy recreation in the midst of the hurry and stress of a busy<br />
professional life.<br />
I have always thought myself happy in having had an earlytraining<br />
which led me to love things Gaelic, so as to find a world of<br />
romantic interest and beauty, as a retreat for the spirit, which we<br />
all seek now and again from the exacting common round, and<br />
which may be one of the great needs of our modern civilisation.<br />
My father, although born in Ireland of a Lowland mother, but of<br />
a Highland father, and although ignorant of Gaelic until<br />
after his fifth or sixth year, came to be a ripe Gaelic<br />
scholar, who sang Gaelic and English songs and told Gaelic<br />
legends until his death at the age of 84; and my mother, who was<br />
a daughter of Charles Eraser, tenant of the sheep farm of Ruskich,<br />
Glen Urquhart, and a niece of John Macdougall, author of the<br />
popular song "Oran Bràigh Rusgaich," had a store of old Gaelic<br />
legends.<br />
Although there were unfavourable influences working from<br />
without, one cannot help thinking that the Gaelic situation, viewed<br />
from within, looked more promising in the Sixties and Seventies<br />
of last century than it does now. The Gaelic-speaking population<br />
had not begun to show so marked a decrease ; the decline in the<br />
general use of the language had not become so manifest; and<br />
there were then more men and women than there are to-day who<br />
could write Gaelic prose, and even Gaelic poetry, in something<br />
like the good old style. In my own home the old tongue was<br />
spoken at the fireside, and the daily family worship was in Gaelic,<br />
which was generally looked upon as peculiarly appropriate for<br />
worship.<br />
But, notwithstanding unfavourable changes, there is still much<br />
to encourage An Comunn to continue and extend the excellent<br />
work that it has been doing since its.foundation in 1891. Though
82 WHAT I THINK. OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT.<br />
the last census shows a decrease in the number of people who can<br />
speak Gaelic there are many thousands who still speak it; and<br />
they would, under the influence of a real revival, be still able to<br />
set the heather on fire. Highlanders generally have not the<br />
foolish idea that the Gaelic is a hindrance to success in life. In<br />
my own case I have found it to be very much the reverse. The<br />
people are showing a just pride of race, and learning that they<br />
have had a great ancestry, and are heirs to splendid traditions. Historians<br />
are showing more and more that the Highland race has<br />
played a great part in the history of the British Empire ; and<br />
learned men are eagerly studying Gaelic not only for its literary<br />
treasures, but also for its important place among the ancient Aryan<br />
languages. Higher Celtic studies, including Gaelic, are now<br />
regularly conducted in certain of our Universities.<br />
It is perhaps not for me to suggest what line the Comunn<br />
should follow in its future activities ; but as one of its original<br />
members, who has for many years been on its council, and has been<br />
its President for five or six years, I may be allowed to express the<br />
hope that the Council will be able to concentrate its labours more<br />
and more on the problem of the teaching of Gaelic in schools.<br />
The higher education of Highlanders must also be encouraged.<br />
Celtic studies in the Universities should receive every support,<br />
with a view to making it possible for all gifted Gaelic-speaking<br />
students to pursue their studies to the highest stage of scholarship,<br />
and any money that An Comunn can in future spare for<br />
higher education cannot be put to better use than in founding<br />
substantial bursaries. The field before An Comunn is a wide one,<br />
and I sincerely trust that the coming Bazaar will be so successful<br />
that it will enable An Comunn to cultivate that field in all its parts<br />
and aspects.<br />
Gu ma fada beò agus buadhmhor An Comunn Gàidhealach !<br />
Christopher.<br />
BY REV. LAUCHLAN MACLEAN WATT, U.D.,<br />
Glasgow Cathedral.<br />
IN a day when we see a brave peasantry leaving sites of ancient<br />
story, while strangers enter into time-old heritages, we cannot<br />
but recall some whom we knew, and, as we draw closer round<br />
dying fires, sorrow over the loss of fine types of men whose like<br />
shall no more move in the familiar places.<br />
Well do we remember dear people to whom English was an<br />
alien tongue—dreaming of Gaelic croons and tales of wonder and<br />
mystery, through which beat still the throb of waters on lonely<br />
shores, touched with starlight, in a world of shadows, whose<br />
vocabulary was mystery. How they would rise from their dreaming<br />
when you opened the door, and, peering for a moment through<br />
their age-curtained eyes, would totter forward and kiss your hand,<br />
and bless you in the old wonder-phrase that I used to think must<br />
surely be the mother-tongue of angels.<br />
Then, also, there were aged men who had sailed the world's<br />
seas, looked in the faces of people far away, and come back home,<br />
hauling heavy ropes, swinging on yard-arms, reefing sails in rolling<br />
storms, everywhere, till Old Age and they sat down at the hearthsstone<br />
together. Or, they would slowly climb the hill-track to the<br />
moorland, to sit half a summer day on the sheltered side of a<br />
peat-stack, with a far-off gaze in eyes that were touched with<br />
dream, thinking and remembering. Just for a little help at the<br />
building, what stories I would get from Donald the Sailor,—<br />
what the folk were like in Baltic ports, what a big country<br />
America was, and how he had seen the blue smoke rising<br />
from many a fireside up in the glen beyond, where now are only<br />
nettles and moss and a few heaps of stones, with wild things of<br />
the mountain places burrowing where the children played.<br />
Then, at night,—are there ever nights like them, now—<br />
down at the end of the village, under the thatched roof, where<br />
the shoemaker sat always at the window, making eternally what<br />
seemed to me to be the same pair of shoes, with as great a mystery<br />
about them of finishing and re-beginning as hung about Penelope's<br />
web,—what times we had. There he sat, always busy, yet
CHRISTOPHER.<br />
never so busy that he was not able to pause, leaning forward to put<br />
his brown hand on your knee, and tell what he also remembered,<br />
—giving his views on world-wide affairs as seen from the window<br />
in front of him that looked across the loch. From that window<br />
he saw, perhaps, Russia—very sunnily sometimes, because the<br />
light fell radiantly over Ben Tarsuinn; or the relationships of<br />
Britain with France—with a threatening of rain, but with the<br />
hope of change shortly, because a rainbow arched the loch, touching<br />
that mirror of the mountains with wonder of beauty. He<br />
could give estimates of the character and characteristics of the<br />
leading modern politicians and kings,—but their portraits as<br />
drawn by him had slight reminiscences of the family picturegalleries<br />
of the Pharoahs and Abraham, and the monarchs of<br />
Assyria and Persia, with glimpses of half-forgotten ministers and<br />
elders. And if anybody discussed the question of Naval Supremacy,<br />
the " Great Eastern " was the last big ship he knew about;<br />
and somehow he measured its capacity in accordance with the Ark,<br />
and the perils of its navigation were associated with Ararat.<br />
How late we sat around the cobbler's lighted lamp! The<br />
people on the other side of the loch, if ever any of them were<br />
troubled with sleeplessness, must have wondered to see the red<br />
curtain glowing, with long wavering reflections thrown across the<br />
ebbing or the flowing tide. Colin of the Mill would be there, and<br />
Malcolm the Fox-hunter, who was not a fox-hunter at all, but<br />
whose grandfather had been a keeper,—and Hector the tailor,<br />
and Dugald who had the merchant's shop, although it by no means<br />
followed that he was a merchant. And when, slowly and with<br />
much puffing of a pipe that never seemed to go well, a funny<br />
story about Archie the Skye-man, who played many * pliskies '<br />
on the Lairds there, had come to its conclusion—which we all<br />
had known since our infancy, but at which we always laughed—<br />
sometimes we would look at one another, scared to hear a herringgull<br />
chuckle its weird mirth in the dark, above the waters, as<br />
though it knew the story too.<br />
I imagine we sat so late as we did, because we were some<br />
times a little afraid to go home. There were places on the road<br />
that seemed of a sudden so weirdly vocal,—places where the echo<br />
of your own footfall became multiplied till you would think a<br />
large company of men, invisible, were marching by. There was<br />
one rock, mid-way in the village, always full of sound. If a tree<br />
swayed, every leaf seemed to send its message and have it re-
CHRISTOPHER.<br />
S5<br />
peated from the crag. If a wave broke, the rock became astir<br />
with the voice of many waters. A burn slipped over a high bank,<br />
out of sight, as if by accident; and at night it became very audible,<br />
always saying "Hush !", as though it did not want you to tell that it<br />
had tumbled in the dark, having been out too late, when all decent<br />
burns were sleeping,—but, like so many who take a false step<br />
and do not want it to be known, its whisper was caught by the<br />
" Speaking Rock " and flung out, even across the bay.<br />
Not long since, they did a fine thing with that rock. Halfway<br />
up its face they set a grey granite cross, with an old Highland<br />
sword carved on the plinth of it, and round the base, in Gaelic<br />
and in English, the names that were dearest and closest in prayer,<br />
till surely God must have got them off by heart in the five long<br />
bitter years when Love's sweetest places at the fireside grew<br />
terribly empty there. We got a bugler to sound the " Last Post"<br />
from the top of the cliff, and a piper to play " Lochaber no more".<br />
The bugler had blown that most wonderful of all human cries<br />
over his own brothers, where the graves were growing crowded<br />
in the Land of Sorrow across the sea. It was no marvel, then,<br />
that when he blew it, all our hearts broke in the sunshine. As<br />
I stood by, I could not help wondering what the folk away in<br />
the glens, in the remote shepherds' houses up behind the hills on<br />
the other side of the loch, would be thinking, to hear the echoes<br />
of that cry, which I had heard so often over soldiers' graves,<br />
come wailing and whispering, brokenly, among the crags, that<br />
sweet day of summer sheen. The " Speaking Rock " that we<br />
knew so well, long ago, is now for ever charged with eloquence<br />
next to Sinai for all who love.<br />
But why am I telling all this, except because I am thinking<br />
of Christopher,—with a heart like a chivalrous knight of old,<br />
a brain keenly alert, lips full of laughter and kindness, and eyes<br />
like the violet in the mossy haunts where the hill-road winds to<br />
the moor As I think of him, it is through the glass of Memory<br />
that I look ; for he was not young when he died, but to me he<br />
never grew old. I can see him now, in the sunny stretch at the<br />
head of the Loch, beneath the hills.<br />
When he saw you approaching, he would come along and<br />
lean on his scythe and give you welcome. Or maybe, in the evening,<br />
he would sit at the fireside or on the seat at the door, looking<br />
across the Strath ; and he would tell you of the old days, the old<br />
folk, the old songs and the old stories, till you felt that you were
86 CHRISTOPHER.<br />
on the water-shed between two worlds—the one of 1<br />
mist and<br />
mystery with some familiarity of memory about it, and the other<br />
modern and strange.<br />
When they were looking for those who knew and understood,<br />
to form a Commission of Inquiry into the rights and wrongs of<br />
deer-forests and the people of the country, they chose some who<br />
were noble and wise, some commercial men, and some who had<br />
studied history and the life of the nation, from books,—but there<br />
was one kind of person whom they needed more than any, and<br />
that was the man who knew the people, and their history, and<br />
where the old homes had been before the day of the fences. And<br />
Christopher was the man. So, into the quiet clachan came the<br />
letter " On His Majesty's Service ", asking him to join their<br />
Council. He could not believe it was meant for him, but everybody<br />
who knew him knew otherwise. And so, this simple man,<br />
from the quiet Highland cottage, sat beside the best of them, and<br />
his knowledge gave a heart to their decision.<br />
But one night, in the City, he came to my house with the far<br />
look in his face. After some time of talk, we had songs of the<br />
old day, Gaelic melodies, in which he joined. Then, at last, he<br />
told me that the hand of the Grey Reaper had touched him, and<br />
he had come down out of the land of the hills, the long journey,<br />
with the Mystery sitting beside him all the way, to hear the<br />
judgment of the greatest skill that Britain holds. To-morrow<br />
he was to know whether life or death was to be his. So we<br />
quietly sang our song of the shepherding of God, and the Valley<br />
of the Shadow with the light of Love in it. And we prayed together,—a<br />
poor halting, stumbling prayer, because we loved each<br />
other, not because we were afraid. Then, after a while, he set his<br />
face homeward, and the long weeks dragged their burden behind<br />
us here,—till again, in the light of the setting sun, we were<br />
together in the old home. I saw the Shadow which had taken up<br />
his tenancy with him, though still there was no fear within his<br />
heart ; for a man who lives as he had lived, amongst the hills with<br />
God, had learned every secret that life could give him of the<br />
great Beyond. It was not easy, ere we parted, to set up a Mizpah<br />
between us,—and it was not long ere the final message came.<br />
So, he lies in the shadow of the trees at the old Kirk, whose<br />
roofless walls are haunted in the dark by shadowy generations.<br />
There are not many of those modern things with names upon<br />
them,—sometimes just a boulder from the sea-shore, sometimes<br />
CHRISTOPHER.<br />
just a water-worn stone from the bed of the stream that runs beneath<br />
the shadow of the kirkyard wall.<br />
When all the world is quiet, and the stillness of the full tide<br />
hes along the shore, its songs are softly heard,—cradle-melodies<br />
that it has learned up in the misty corrie, for the dead who are<br />
sleeping there. And when the Trumpet sounds, there will not<br />
be one who shall leap from the dust with a more courageous<br />
gladness, even to meet God, than Christopher. I can see him<br />
give his look of love around,—welcoming again the loch, the<br />
hills, and the clachan, so familiar and so dear in days when<br />
he moved about them,—and as he used to look, ere he turned<br />
in the gloaming, at the door of home,—leaving all care behind<br />
him on the threshold stone. Soft be his slumber, yonder, till<br />
ihe dawn!<br />
EILEAN A' CHAIT.<br />
Seann Sgeul mu Aiteachadh Eilein Hirt.<br />
LE IAIN N.<br />
MACLEOID, A' CHNUIC-BHAIN, INBHIRNIS.<br />
BHO chionn iomadh bliadhna, bha sgalag aig Mac Leoid,<br />
Dhùn-bheagain, ris an canadh iad " Murchadh Sgiobalta.'"<br />
Air toiseach foghair, chaidh e aon là do bhaile a bha air<br />
taobh thall a' mhonaidh a dh' iarraidh bhuanaichean. Rinn e a<br />
thurus gu treibhdhireach, agus dh' earb e riutha uile a bhi cho<br />
tràth agus a b' urrainn iad air an raon-bhuana an là 'r na mhàireach,<br />
agus an sin rinn e air an tigh.<br />
Air dha fàs gu math sgìth air a shlighe dhachaidh, leig e a anait<br />
ann an àirigh a bha an cois an rathaid. Fhuair e an àirigh falamh<br />
fàs, agus an spaid tarsuinn anns an dorus, a chum gach ainmhidh<br />
a chumail a mach. Bha maighdean na h-àirigh air chèilidh, ach<br />
bha bradhadair brèagh teine ag gabhail gu cuilmeanach<br />
an ceann a' bhothain shamhraidh, agus rinn Murchadh e fhèin<br />
aig an tigh, is dùil aige a h-uile mionaid gu fidireadh e farum lùthcheum<br />
a teannain a' tighinn a dh' ionnsaigh an doruis, oir b' i so<br />
àirigh Mòraig, an òigh annsanta ris an d' rinn e cumhnantan<br />
pòsaidh beagan ùine roimhe so.<br />
An tiota dh'fhairich e tartar mòr agus monmhar<br />
bruidhne
88 SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT.<br />
faisg air an dorus, agus o'n thuig e gu ro-mhath nach b'i sud<br />
Mòrag, dh' fhalbh e agus dh'fholuich se e fhèin fo bhoitean<br />
fraoich a bha an ceann shuas na h-àirigh. Is gann a thàir e air a<br />
dhol am falach an uair a thàinig triùir dhaoine mòra, tapaidh a<br />
steach agus mart aca air adhaircean. Thug fear dhiubh buille<br />
chumhachdach dhi anns an eanchainn le òrd mòr, agus leag e fuar<br />
marbh air an ùrlar i. Cha b' fhada gus an robh i air a feannadh<br />
aca, agus gun dàil spàrr iad staoig dhi ann am poit a fhuair iad aig<br />
dorus na h-àirigh.<br />
An uair a fhuair iad an obair sin seachad, shuidh iad timchioll<br />
air an teallach 'gan garadh fhèin. " Tha mi air mo mhealladh gu<br />
mòr," arsa fear dhiubh, " mur 'eil duine air chor-eigin a stigh anns<br />
an àirigh so." " Nach tu a tha gòrach," arsa fear eile, " chan 'eil<br />
an sin ach neònachas a tha ag èirigh 'na do cheann fhèin."<br />
Bha Murchadh bochd air chrith le oillt, ach dè a b' urrainn da<br />
a dhèanamh ach stad a chur air a anail cho math agus a bha 'na<br />
chomas, oir bha fhios aige na faigheadh na curaidhean ud, air an<br />
robh e glè eòlach mar nàbuidhean, greim air, nach robh ann da<br />
ach am bàs. An ceann tiota, thuirt fear eile, " Cho cinnteach's<br />
a tha thu beò, tha mi a' faireachadh àileadh duine a stigh an so."<br />
"Eirich, ma thà," arsa aon eile, " agus rùraich gach cùil is cial, agus<br />
thoir t' amharus às co-dhiù."<br />
Dh' èirich e, agus rinn e dìreach air an eallach fraoich, agus<br />
dh' fheuch se e, agus, cinnteach gu leoir, bha Murchadh 'na<br />
chrùban an sin, gun chomas gluasaid no labhairt le meud an eagail<br />
a bha air." " Gu dè a tha thu a' dèanamh an so " arsa esan. Dh'<br />
innis Murchadh facal air an fhacal mar thachair dha, agus mhionnaich<br />
e dhoibh air gach cumhachd, àrd is ìosal, nach robh lochd air<br />
an talamh air aire, agus nach motha a dh' innseadh e dad de na<br />
chunnaic no chuala e an oidhche ud.<br />
Shuidh e an sin aig an teine còmhla riutha, agus thairg iad<br />
staoig de'n fheòil bhradaidh dha, ach faodaidh sinn a thuigsinn<br />
nach robh mòran càile aig Murchadh air son nì 'sam bith aig an<br />
àm ud, oir bha e làn-chinnteach nach fhaiceadh duine a bheò no a<br />
mharbh tuilleadh. Bha dithis mu seach dhiubh a' dol a mach gach<br />
tiota, agus ag cur an comhairle cuideachd, agus is math a bha<br />
prìosanach an eu-dòchais a' tuigsinn ceann-fàth an coinneamhancomhairle.<br />
*<br />
Mu dheireadh, rug iad air Murchadh, agus am prioba na sùla<br />
cheangail iad e cho cruinn ri moit, agus thug iad a mach e gu<br />
cnocan beag ri taobh na h-àirigh, far an do rùnaich iad a<br />
SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT. 89<br />
thìodhlacadh beò. An uair a sheall iad uatha is 'gan ionnsaigh,<br />
cha robh aon spaid aca leis an cladhaicheadh iad slochd anns an<br />
tilgeadh iad am prìosanach, agus mar sin dh' fhalbh dithis dhiubh<br />
'nan ruith a dh' ionnsaigh a' ohaile a dh' iarraidh spaide, agus dh'<br />
fhàgadh Murchadh ceangailte fo aire an treas fir. Bha mòr-thruas<br />
aig an fhear so ris a' phrìosanach bhochd, agus, mar sin, an uair<br />
a fhuair e an dithis eile greis air falbh, thuirt e ri Murchadh,<br />
" Fuasglaidh mise thu, agus teich le do bheatha; èighidh mise<br />
riutha gun d' fhairtlich thu orm, agus gun do theich thu."<br />
Ruith Murchadh, agus ma ruith, dh' eigh a fhear-faire ris<br />
an dithis eile gun do theich e air. Dh' fhalbh an triùir às a<br />
dhèidh troimh bhotachan is troimh sniochdail, ach cha do chuir<br />
iad ite às. Chaidh e às an sealladh, is leis an oidhche a bhi cho<br />
dorch, cha bu lèir dhoibh gu dè an taobh a chaidh e. Ged<br />
shàbhail Murchadh bho a luchd-tòrachd, chaidh e an ribe eile.<br />
Bha sionnaich gu leoir anns an eilean aig an àm sin, agus b' àbhaist<br />
do na sealgairean a bhi ag cur lìn làidir ann am badan àraidh a<br />
chum an glacadh. Chaidh dà làimh Mhurchaidh an sàs an aon<br />
de na lìn so, agus às a sin chan fhaigheadh e.<br />
Bha dùil aig muinntir a' bhaile gun do thrèig a lùths e air a'<br />
mhòintich an uair nach d' thàinig e dhachaidh an oidhche roimhe<br />
sin, agus mar sin dh' fhalbh na nàbaidhean air gach bealach 'ga<br />
mharbh-iarraidh. Fhuair iad e mu dheireadh, agus glas-làmh<br />
de lìon shionnach 'ga chumail an sàs. Choisich e dhachaidh gu<br />
h-èiginneach, ach chan fhaigheadh duine no bean, no eadhon<br />
Mòrag fhèin, ged bhiodh i an làthair, a mach fàth a ghearain.<br />
Chuir MacLeoid, Dhùn-bheagain fios air, agus dh' iarr e air<br />
innseadh mar thachair dha air a shlighe dhachaidh. " Ma dh'<br />
innseas mise dhuibh mo chàradh agus na cunnartan troimh 'n d'<br />
thàinig mi," ars' esan ri Mac Leoid, " cha duine beò mi na's fhaide,<br />
oir tha mo luchd-tòrachd anns an aon bhaile rium ag gabhail<br />
còmhnuidh." " Na biodh eagal 'sam bith ort-sa," ars' an t-uachdaran,<br />
" dad 'sam bith innseadh dhomh-sa. Thèid mise eadar thu<br />
's an luchd-tòrachd, air dhòigh 's nach bi iad comasach air coire<br />
'sam bith a dhèanamh dhuit."<br />
An uair a fhuair Murchadh bochd am barantas làidir so bho<br />
Mac Leoid, Dhùn-bheagain, dh'aithris e facal air an fhacal mar<br />
thachair dha, agus an dòigh anns an robh laoich a' bhaile's an robh<br />
e<br />
> a g g°id cruidh gun fhios bho chionn iomadh bliadhna. " Mo<br />
bheannachd buan agad," arsa Mac Leoid, "cha bhi mise fada ag<br />
cur stad air an obair sin a nis."
w<br />
go<br />
SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT.<br />
Dh' òrduich e gum biodh a h-uile duine de na mèirlich so air<br />
an togail agus air an aiseag gu Eilean Hirt air an là màireach, a<br />
chum JS gum biodh gach crodh anns an Eilean Sgitheanach sàbhailte<br />
bho na spògan bradach aca.<br />
Là no dhà mun do thachair so, bha fìor dhroch dhuine an Hirt<br />
a bha a' rùnachadh gum biodh an t-Eilean sin uile fo a cheannsal<br />
fèin, agus a chum an rùn sin a chur an cleachdadh, thog e ealain<br />
aon là am measg an t-sluaigh gu faca e soitheach a' tighinn gu tìr<br />
a chum gach mac màthar a bha air an eilean a thogail air falbh.<br />
Dh' iarr e orra cruinneachadh anns an eaglais cho luath's a dhèanadh<br />
an casan air son dìdein, agus cha b'fhada gus an robh gach<br />
Hirteach am broinn na h-eaglais, ach aon chailleach a bha a' tional<br />
fhaochag anns an tràigh nach cuala am fuaim a bha a' dol mu'n<br />
t-soithich.<br />
An uair a fhuair am fear-fòirneirt so na h-Eileanaich cruinn<br />
anns an eaglais, ghlais e i, agus chuir e teine rithe, agus loisgeadh<br />
gach dùil a bha air an Eilean ach e fhèin agus a' chailleach.<br />
Air do'n bhàta le mèirlich an Eilein Sgitheanaich a thighinn<br />
faisg air Hirt, chunnaic iad an teine, agus an uair a bhuail iad gu<br />
tìr, thachair orra a' chailleach bhochd a bha a' tighinn beò fad thrì<br />
làithean air maorach is air duileasg. Chuireadh na mèirlich air tìr an<br />
Hirt, agus thatar ag ràdh gu bheil an sliochd anns an eilean lethoireach<br />
sin gus an là an diugh. Rug sgioba a' bhàta air an<br />
eucorach an-iochdmhor a chuir teine ris an eaglais, agus thug iad<br />
leotha e fhèin agus a' chailleach. Chuir iad an droch chreutair air<br />
tìr air sgeir am meadhon a' chuain far am biodh e air a bhàthadh<br />
an uair a thigeadh an lìonadh, agus thug iad a' chailleach leotha gu<br />
tèaruinte do Dhùn-bheagain.<br />
Tri coilceadha na Fèinne,—bàrr gheal chrann, còinneach, is ùr<br />
luachair.<br />
The three Fingalian bed-stuffs,—fresh tree-tops, moss, and fresh<br />
rushes.<br />
Is math nach 'eil iuchraichean an domhain fo chrios na h-aon<br />
mhnatha.<br />
It's well that all the keys of the world are not under one wife's<br />
gfirdle.<br />
Kky C.<br />
Seisd.<br />
Hug<br />
f:d»<br />
I Hug<br />
Rann.<br />
j: pi 1 ..in 1<br />
j Moch s'a<br />
Bho'n a<br />
•J *<br />
im : —<br />
im' .r' :•<br />
mhadainn<br />
chuala<br />
1 :1<br />
chuala<br />
mullaich<br />
Oran a' Phrionnsa.<br />
:r jm<br />
1,-iitiiiii<br />
:r .im<br />
laithill<br />
s mi<br />
mi'm<br />
:d'<br />
mi'm<br />
gach<br />
m<br />
s .,f :n<br />
o - ho • ro<br />
Le ALASDAIR MAC MHAIGHISTIR ALASDAIR.<br />
Is -,f :m :d<br />
o - ho - ro<br />
3 Giàinne-mullaich gach righ thu<br />
Slàn gun till thu, a Theàrlaich,<br />
'S ann tha'n fhlor-fhuil gun truailleadh<br />
Anns a' ghruaidh is mor nàire.<br />
4 'S ann tha'n fhlor-fhuil gun truailleadh<br />
Anns a' ghruaidh is mòr nàire,<br />
Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle,<br />
*G eirich suas !e deagh nàdur.<br />
5 Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle<br />
'G èirigh suas le deagh nàdur,<br />
'S na'n tigeadh tu rithist,<br />
Bhiodh gach tighearn' 'na àite.<br />
Hug<br />
Seinn<br />
:IM : S<br />
ho<br />
r 1 :r' .-im 1 .,im' im' : r 1<br />
dùsgadh 'S mor mo<br />
Prionnsa Thighinn do<br />
(:dl ,t<br />
I Bho'n a<br />
Gràinne-<br />
-m-<br />
1<br />
: s I 1 :I ì<br />
ro "n àill - leibh J<br />
ro'n<br />
shunnd's mo cheol<br />
dhùthaich Chlann-<br />
S : I M : r lr :im :s<br />
Prionnsa Thighinn do dhùthaich Chlanntill<br />
thu righ thu Slàn gun<br />
a<br />
9 Gum biodh "buidsear" na feòla<br />
Agus corcach m'a bhràighe,<br />
'S gun gibhtinn a' " Mhaighdean "<br />
Mar oighreachd d'a bhràthair.<br />
Fine,<br />
1 :1<br />
aill - leibh.<br />
• f-<br />
d' .r',d': t j<br />
gair<br />
Ran<br />
aill<br />
D.C.<br />
Ranail).<br />
Theàrlaich.<br />
6 'S bhiodh Lochial mar bu chòir dha,<br />
'Cur an òrdugh nan Gàidheal,<br />
'Us Clann-Dòmhnaill a' chruadail,<br />
'Choisinn buaidh anns na blàraibh.<br />
7 'Us Clann-Dòmhnaill a' chruadail,<br />
'Choisinn buaidh anns na blàraibh,<br />
'S iad gun cumadh a' chòmh-stri<br />
Ri luchd chòtaichean màdair.<br />
8 'S nam faighinn mo dhùrachd.<br />
Bhiodh an Diùc air dhroch càramh;<br />
Gum biodh " buidsear " na feòla<br />
Agus corcach m'a bhràighe.
-—-<br />
A Maker of Modern Gaeldom.<br />
THE BARD BUCHANAN.<br />
BY LACHLAN<br />
MACBEAN, Editor, " The Fifeshire Advertiser."<br />
" Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,<br />
Nor spent with grief the midnight hours,<br />
Whose bed with tears has not been wet—<br />
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers!"<br />
—Goethe.<br />
TALL, active, swarthy complexioned, with large black eyes,<br />
and black hair, swinging lighdy over the moorland slopes<br />
of Rannoch, always in his Highland dress, until the Government<br />
compelled men to discard it for the blue coat and trews,<br />
Dugald Buchanan was every inch a Gael, a true son of the<br />
Scottish Mountains, and, as such, his figure will long dwell in the<br />
memory of his fellow countrymen.<br />
Not alone in their memory, for in their life to-day he is a<br />
constant power. He always had their sympathy, for like him<br />
they have an introspective, yet very steadfast mind, deep, earnest<br />
and not unacquainted with grief; while three special activities in<br />
his life—nay four—gave him a strong place in the heart of this<br />
most loveable people, and made him a true maker of modern<br />
Gaeldom.<br />
X<br />
u<br />
O<br />
2<br />
X<br />
u<br />
o<br />
-J<br />
2<br />
uJ<br />
O<br />
<<br />
H<br />
Tì<br />
2<br />
<<br />
2<br />
I._HIS<br />
POEMS.<br />
His poetry was more than brilliant. In its clearness of vision<br />
and in imaginative force, it embodied the racial genius of the Gael.<br />
It included in its sweep the scenery of earth, the grandeur of the<br />
starry heavens, and the awful destinies of men. Moving amid<br />
such themes, he was qualified to discuss with Hume the comparative<br />
majesty of Shakespeare and the Book of Revelation, and<br />
to become the poet-prophet of his people, setting forth in glowing<br />
words that world of splendour which we shall behold only when<br />
the mists of the present have rolled away from the Moorland.<br />
The Gael, as the Bard of the spirit, is found in Buchanan as<br />
nowhere else; would that we had more, and even more varied<br />
examples of his muse. It is a pity that, misled by a false view of<br />
D<br />
CQ<br />
Q<br />
<<br />
O<br />
D<br />
Q<br />
1<br />
s<br />
•.<br />
I<br />
i<br />
h<br />
i
A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 93<br />
his true responsibility for God-given powers, he destroyed all his<br />
poems whose themes he considered too worldly; for surely man has<br />
relationships, and therefore duties, regarding the shadowy world<br />
without, as well as the more real world within.<br />
Happily the poems of Buchanan that survive, show the spirit<br />
of his people at its highest; intensely earnest, and revealing the<br />
changing colours and massiveness of the hills as well as the restless<br />
movement of the sea; now vivid with the awful light of " The<br />
Day of Doom," now incisive with the felicitous philosophy of<br />
" The Skull," presenting a true portrait of the complete " Hero,"<br />
with pictorial delineations of the scenes of " Winter," and the<br />
rapid changes of "The Dream "; clothing in fitting phrases the<br />
story of the Gospel, the " Majesty of God " and the meditative<br />
spirit of " The Prayer." These poems have left an indelible mark<br />
on the religious conceptions of the Scottish Highlander, shaping<br />
them to that unquestioning earnestness which we so readily<br />
recognise:—<br />
" Awake and take thine arms, my soul!<br />
And emulate this Hero true,<br />
Thy passions conquer and control,<br />
A Kingdom in thyself subdue."<br />
II.—THE<br />
CONFESSIONS.<br />
These are the supreme expression of the seriousness of the<br />
Gael. At the age of six years and onwards, Buchanan's soul<br />
learned to tremble at the terror and the reality of eternity and<br />
all that it may mean. Poor child! His intense realisation of<br />
their significance arose from a gloomy imagination, and the<br />
terrible logic that never doubted, never hesitated, never compromised,<br />
but rather magnified his mental pictures by clothing them<br />
with the awe-inspiring scenery through which he had often to<br />
wend his homeward journeys through the darksome glens. His<br />
" Cave in the Rock " was a fitting stage for the tragedies of his<br />
conscience, as the flaming furnaces of burning heather on steep<br />
mountain sides set forth the final catastrophe of the elements consumed<br />
by fervent heat. These are pictures to impress a people<br />
reared among such scenes.<br />
It may be admitted that, as a writer in the " Times " has<br />
forcefully shown, Buchanan's spiritual terrors, and his agonies of
94<br />
A MAKER OF MODERN<br />
GAELDOM.<br />
self-abasement, may convey to dwellers in more comfortable surroundings,<br />
a shock as of something incredible.<br />
For town-dwellers are accustomed to more comfortable<br />
travelling, with constant artificial lighting, so that the dark<br />
mediaeval forests, with their strange perils, fail to appal them. We<br />
seem no longer to need self-examination, and we spare ourselves<br />
the discomforts of solemn meditations in lonesome caves. The<br />
discomfort is gone, and with it something of the depth, the dignity<br />
and the reality of life. It is true that in comfortable modern<br />
cities one often finds empty hearts, so that, perhaps, the great<br />
English newspaper is right, for there the deepest realities do seem<br />
" incredible." But in many a Highland home the vivid sense of<br />
the unseen world, roused and nursed by Dugald Buchanan, still<br />
remains.<br />
The " Confessions " are a human document of incalculable<br />
value, which must deeply impress the tender-hearted Gael, and<br />
one should not too greatly regret that it should be so. A.<br />
glance at our newspapers any day of the week will afford ample<br />
proof that the sense of sin, which the "Times" sees to be the chief<br />
feature of that document, has little place in the large city, but<br />
even to-day, thanks to Dugald Buchanan, it shows no sign of<br />
dying out in the Glens. Right and wrong have still a meaning<br />
for us, we can feel the glow of the one and the shadow of the<br />
other; and we can follow with sympathetic interest the spiritual<br />
itinerary of poor Buchanan, until he emerges at last in the sunshine<br />
of peace—the same glad consummation which in all ages<br />
and in all faiths, ancient and modern, has awaited the human<br />
spirit. In thus moulding the Highland temper, Buchanan the<br />
Pilgrim has been even greater than Buchanan the Poet, and not<br />
less successful in inculcating true piety.<br />
" Would'st thou have lasting joy restored<br />
Commit thy ways unto the Lord,<br />
With faith and love and chastened will,<br />
And he will thy desires fulfil."<br />
III.—THE<br />
TEACHER.<br />
Not less wonderful was Buchanan, the Educator. He taught<br />
old and young, far and near, planning and travelling and setting<br />
great movements on foot. He, the trembling child from the tiny<br />
A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM.<br />
Highland Village of Ardoch; he, the miller's boy; he, the young<br />
wandering joiner; he became the organiser of education, and the<br />
public speaker, appealing to, and drawing out, the minds of his<br />
people, changing the whole mentality of his generation, and of<br />
many generations to follow. For, far in advance of future reformers,<br />
he discovered early the importance in human affairs of<br />
the influence of education and set himself to organise it in his<br />
own country. The dreamer and poet became a very practical and<br />
active person, and undertook the great work of redeeming his folk<br />
by educating the children of landless caterans, and giving them<br />
the outlook of useful citizens. Of course he had always been<br />
capable of great enthusiasm, but he now developed staying power,<br />
patience, organising skill. He had to be practical, he had to act<br />
swiftly and do the work of ten men. He did it well. In two<br />
years he had schools busy in the Glens. Where there had been<br />
24 pupils, he gathered 350; where there had been one school, he<br />
built six. The minds of young Highlanders were awakened, and<br />
the usefulness of Gaelic, as an instrument of education, was once<br />
more demonstrated. The books were rapidly made as they proceeded.<br />
Arithmetic, grammar, and the broader fields of literature<br />
were re-opened, for Buchanan was widely read. Along with the<br />
minds of the youths, their morals were trained, and families<br />
formerly notorious for " dishonesty and licentiousness " became<br />
" sober and honest " and, what was more significant, "industrious.''<br />
As a teacher and leader of thought the Gael thus appeared in<br />
his true character. No one ever filled the place as did Buchanan.<br />
First as the boy of twelve, acting as a tutor in a duller family, then<br />
the young travelling catechist, and the missionary-preacher imposing<br />
a truce of God on hostile tribes lining the two sides of the<br />
River Gaur; next as the skilful organiser, opening six new schools;<br />
finally, as the translator, giving the Scottish Highlanders the New<br />
Testament in their own tongue—these were some aspects of this<br />
young Gael as an Instructor. Says a French Magazine (Revue<br />
•de la Quinzaine), " This big peasant with his black hair and black<br />
eyes, with a touch of the buccaneer in his kilt, this mystic and<br />
pragmatic, this victor over humanity, who imposed peace on others,<br />
what a splendid example of the Celt! on week-days adored by 3 50<br />
scholars, and on Sundays 500 country folk heard him and<br />
trembled." He certainly knew how to combine the education of<br />
the heart and of the habits with the mere instruction of the intellect—<br />
95
1 A. MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM.<br />
9'<br />
" Are thy passions unruly <br />
Thy youth wild and idle<br />
Then thine age cannot truly<br />
Their growing strength bridle.<br />
The young shoots, green and bending,<br />
Grown to trees will be stronger,<br />
Roots and boughs fast extending,<br />
Thou canst move them no longer."<br />
IV.—A SOCIAL REFORMER.<br />
All this within ten years after " Prince Charlie's Year."<br />
There were no buildings suitable for religious meetings, but<br />
Buchanan boldly approached the authorities of both Church and<br />
State for help, and within the ten years it was reported in the<br />
General Assembly of the Church that "the Country of Rannoch,<br />
from being possessed by a most lawless and thievish people, is now<br />
greatly civilized, and no thefts or robberies are heard of among<br />
the inhabitants, 2,000 in number." For the Gael does nothing by<br />
halves. From Buchanan's time, and probably to this day, there<br />
has been no dishonesty in all those parts, and for a family to lock,<br />
their house door when going to Church would be considered an<br />
insult to the whole Parish. Of how many districts in London<br />
could these things be said<br />
In this work the gentle hand of the Poet displayed quite unexpected<br />
strength. Alone, weaponless, and with no outward force<br />
to protect him from the astonished swashbucklers, Buchanan<br />
boldly attacked all kinds of lawlessness, and put them down, his<br />
fearless castigation of wrongdoers being unexpected and<br />
successful.<br />
But, as a social worker, he was no less known in cases of<br />
distress. As a helper to all in want, and a sympathiser in cases of<br />
bereavement, he re-lived the life of his pious mother, imitating<br />
Him who formed the subject of one of his finest poems—<br />
" Fulangas an t-Slànuighear."<br />
In all these activities of Buchanan, in his Poems, his Confessions,<br />
his teaching and his social services—one can trace a<br />
gradual growth in importance, for while his poetry is very<br />
attractive and even fascinating, the "Confessions" are really more<br />
profound, but the teaching and social service left the deepest impress<br />
on the life of the Highlands.<br />
A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 97<br />
The picturesqueness of Buchanan's personality is universally<br />
felt. His real claim, however, upon the respect and affection of<br />
his kinsmen, everywhere and in all time, must be this—that he,<br />
and he alone, was the man who awoke in this remarkable race its<br />
true self, re-kindled its imagination, refined its aspirations, tore<br />
away the noisome weeds beginning to grow rank amid the desolations<br />
caused by Civil War, restored its ancient love of knowledge,<br />
and with it the irresistible glamour of Celtic ideals.<br />
Message from Wales.<br />
By Rev. H. ELVET LEWIS, M.A., Archdruid of Wales.<br />
THIS is not merely a personal greeting and message of good<br />
will. I know I am expressing the sentiment of hosts of my<br />
fellow countrymen and countrywomen in a fraternal word<br />
of encouragement to another branch of the one Celtic family. In<br />
spite of geographical and historical separations, our common<br />
traditions spring from the same fountain-head. Time and<br />
accidental influences have affected our different languages, but<br />
we can go back to a common stock, and find that we are much<br />
nearer than may seem at first. Our love of liberty is as evident<br />
as our love of colour, and we have never allowed ourselves to forget<br />
the Unseen World. We are striving hard in Wales to maintain<br />
Welsh as a spoken language; we would encourage you in a similar<br />
endeavour to maintain your characteristic ideals. Some day I wish<br />
I could attend one of your gatherings—when time is more<br />
merciful! We wish you well. Dutv, a phob daoni, (God, and al!<br />
goodness).<br />
(Signed)<br />
ELFED.
THE GAEL AND HIS SONG.<br />
99<br />
The Gael and his Song.<br />
BY ROBERT MACLEOD, Mus.Bac, F.R.C.O.<br />
V\7"7HAT'S in a song" they say, and careless, cast the gem<br />
aside—a gem enshrining noble thoughts, or thoughts of<br />
humble pleasure by the mountain side.<br />
But stay! one moment 1 Let the idler of an idle hour take<br />
thought. The Gael who tuned his harp, and tossed forth strains<br />
to vibrate down the centuries, was prophet, priest and king among<br />
his fellows. His strain may lack the obvious cadence of to-day,<br />
which savours too frequently of ease, of indolence, and " pass the<br />
time away." But all his cadences ring clear and true to Nature<br />
and to the God who tuned his spirit thus to pour forth melody in<br />
crystal stream, to purify the thoughts of those whose hearts were<br />
touched to beat in unison with his.<br />
A mission in his lay we fain would sing in words, but words<br />
can scarce replace the power of song.<br />
The " listener-in " must " tune his ear " as he would " tune<br />
his set," or else the air is vibrant with a jingle, meaningless and<br />
cold.<br />
The golden age of melody is past, some say. Our senses<br />
must be stirred by jolting rhyme and cumbrous harmonies (not<br />
divine). For those who think it so, remember that " a still small<br />
voice" once woke the soul of prophet in the olden time.<br />
" The still small voice " of music is the call of melody. Let<br />
singers put forth efforts now to catch the inward spirit of this<br />
song, and learn to cast its spell once more o'er all the land.<br />
Instrumental music is not the natural medium of the Gael.<br />
For him the voice can stir the depths of human and spiritual experience.<br />
" Folk Song is too limited." " Too limited " ! How can it<br />
be, when it is the true essence of music It is concentrated musical<br />
thought, clearly and definitely expressed. To deliver its message<br />
requires a complete understanding of it as a perfect form of expression.<br />
To endeavour to make it take on the cloak of<br />
modernism, is not only to disguise it but to disfigure it. To<br />
know it, is to live with music and in the spirit of music.<br />
Just as the greatest moral scoundrel may appear the perfect<br />
gentleman in the eyes of the world, so may the listener be deceived<br />
by the outward trappings of a melody. It is the soul-thought<br />
which really matters in both cases. The classics of the Gael enshrine<br />
a soul-thought.<br />
This is what makes folk song so difficult to interpret. Its<br />
whole atmosphere is sincerity, and without sincerity it refuses to<br />
yield up its secret. It may be "decked out " in appropriate harmonic<br />
garb, if such garb be sympathetically selected. To some<br />
people this may enhance its " aural appearance," but it must not<br />
alter its inherent spirituality. A perfect feeling for the emotional<br />
value of pitch outline and a natural flow of rhythm are the essential<br />
equipments for the singer. Without these, the Song of the Gael<br />
(and any song) will but dimly reflect the vision vouchsafed to the<br />
composer in his moment of inspiration.<br />
To coax it to reveal itself you must in the first instance ignore<br />
the words. Make the old melodies part and parcel of your<br />
emotional experience and expression. Croon them when you are<br />
sad, lilt them when you are glad. Where you find a poetic setting<br />
which fits the emotional mood, which you feel inherent in it, you<br />
will be able to communicate the glad tidings to others. You will<br />
meet with immediate response, because you will wake into consciousness<br />
the spirituality of a race whose melodic medium you<br />
have made your own.<br />
The above explains why so many poets have written lyrics to<br />
well-known melodies. They have been captivated by the mood<br />
which the melody evoked in them, and in their joy they endeavour<br />
to impart that joy to others through their own medium,—words.<br />
We have a wondrous heritage of melody, and with this heritage<br />
the art music of the future may be enriched. But it is in the<br />
home that the spirit of this racial music must be reawakened.<br />
When a true consciousness of its meaning is grasped, we may see<br />
a Scottish Schubert, Greig or Dvorak. May such a genius, when<br />
he arrives, be able to bless the work which our Highland<br />
Association has done, and is doing, in the way of preserving the<br />
-soul-thoughts of generations.<br />
Let not the harps your fathers tuned<br />
Lie silent, lest their message,<br />
Once so magically caught in melody,<br />
Shall die.
IOO<br />
THE GAEL AND HIS SONG.<br />
Their mystic message from the plain.<br />
The sea, the sunlit vapour<br />
Hov'ring round the mountain crest,<br />
From Nature's God, who whispered<br />
In the harper's ear those wondrous notes,<br />
Which stir the soul<br />
And speak of Immortality,<br />
Should we not hear,<br />
Then will be severed<br />
In the golden chain of Melody<br />
A link which binds<br />
The Alpha and the Omega of Time.<br />
An Dileab.<br />
LE SEUMAS MAC THOMAIS, EILEAN LEODHAIS,.<br />
Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.<br />
BIDH fear a' sireadh maoin is òir,<br />
Is fear an toir air inbh' is cliù:<br />
Le iargain airsnealaich gun treòir<br />
Tha cuid a' dleasadh còir nach fiù.<br />
Ach fhuaradh leinne dìleab bhuan<br />
An cànain bhuadhmhoir Tìr nam Beann;<br />
Gu fonnmhor, ait, le iomadh buaidh,<br />
Is tairìseach a fuaim 's a' ghleann.<br />
Tha gàir nan tonn air cladach mìn,<br />
Is borbhan bith nan allt 'na ceòl;<br />
Air euchd nan laoch air muir is tìr<br />
Tha cagarsaich a cridh' le deoin.<br />
Is ealain bhrìoghmhor naomh is chliar,<br />
A dhleas gun fhiamh an còir do'n t-sluagh,<br />
Ghlèidh i do gach neach le'm miann,<br />
An tasgaidh riarachail, bith-bhuan.<br />
Gur mùirneach leinn a eagair gaoil<br />
O bheul na h-aois' do'n tug sinn gràdh;<br />
A bratach rìoghail tog is sgaoil,<br />
Is dìon, is saor o àl gu h-àl.<br />
Highlanders All.<br />
BY REV. A. BOYD SCOTT, M.C., D.D.<br />
IT is a very considerable honour for a ' Lallan ' Scot like myself<br />
to be asked to contribute to this Book, for there is no more<br />
aristocratic community than the people called the Gaels; and<br />
yet, look you, here am 1 in the forefront of this proud, though<br />
predatory, Highland host in their raid upon the lieges of Glasgow.<br />
I come of a race that both hated and loved those mountain clans,<br />
in which every tribesman was at once a gentleman and a sly or<br />
splendid robber! My people in Ayrshire spat when they spoke<br />
of the "Highland Host," but the same husbandmen and lairds<br />
sported the white cockade, did some of them, and left their bones<br />
by the dule tree of the castle of Carlisle, all for the forlorn sake<br />
of a bonny king " over the water." There is, indeed, a closer<br />
kinship between Highland and Lowland folk, at least in the<br />
western shires, than the average man among us recognises. The<br />
popular distinction between them grew and hardened by reason<br />
of certain accidents and fateful circumstances in Scottish history,<br />
such as I have just suggested. I wonder if it was not that lovable<br />
humbug, the creation of the chief of Scotland's creators, Bailie<br />
Nicol Jarvie, who instructed and confirmed us in that rude division<br />
of Lanarkshire folk and Argyllshire folk, which is still so carelessly<br />
taken for granted among us. As a matter of fact, if vou<br />
leave the Norse of Aberdeenshire out of it, and the Angles of<br />
Berwickshire as well, the rest of us are all sound Celts for the most<br />
part, whether we hail from far Loch Awe or derive from douce<br />
cottars in Kyle, beneath the shelter of aged trees. Words like<br />
"Goidelic" and " Brythonic" have all the monstrous look of the<br />
terms that affright and chill us in the books of those who amuse<br />
themselves, and confuse their friends with ethnological studies.<br />
But, with it all, please allow those sages to get it into our heads that,<br />
in blood and even in speech, there was not that cleavage between the<br />
Britons of Strathclyde and the Gaels beyond Loch Lomond, which<br />
was accepted by the latter when they contemned the 'Glesca keelies'<br />
as a despicable people apart, and by the former, when, to denote<br />
their uttermost scorn of their brother man or sister woman, they<br />
referred to them as Hielan' stots or as Hielan' as Mull! Both<br />
in Ayrshire and thereabouts, and in the Highlands, we are all the
I02<br />
HIGHLANDERS ALL.<br />
children of those divers Celtic sires whose successive invasions<br />
into these islands have left us still with Britons south of Clyde<br />
and Gaels beyond it.<br />
An indiscreet Ayrshire Celt might go on to claim that in<br />
matters of birth and breeding he comes of a loftier branch of the<br />
common stock than do the men of Inveraray or Lochaber ; but I<br />
for one will not be so unwise, whatever I may think of that matter.<br />
A very foolish Ayrshire-man, at a safe distance from Campbells,<br />
Buchanans, Camerons, et hoc genus omne gloriosunty might even<br />
wag defiantly that red rag of a theory which seeks to claim that<br />
the very kilt of the Gael was taken from the superior wardrobe<br />
of the Britons about Dunbarton. I daresay, gentle or indignant<br />
reader, you know that theory. It surmises shrewdly that it was<br />
among those " Romans" of Strathclyde, who, in the muddled<br />
5th century in these parts, continued to call themselves by the<br />
imperial name, and to maintain the Roman titles in their hostings<br />
and harried commonwealth, that the "skirt" was preserved which,<br />
in due time and by various accidents, became the specific garb of<br />
the Gael. Don't all shout at me at once, please! I am not<br />
arguing for the theory. Perhaps I am to blame for raising it at<br />
all. In any case, if you don't like it, we'll drop it and go on to<br />
less contentious matters. But, before I tuck that red rag away,<br />
let me say this, that such a theory affords a basis of sound historical<br />
principle to those " lowland bodies " in Strathclyde who<br />
long to wear the kilt, and indeed do wear it, but all with the uncomfortable<br />
feeling that they give themselves away to those who<br />
cry, "What the wonderful mischief do these little porcupines of<br />
the plains, whatever, do with the kilt to show their spindle shanks,<br />
I declare to my goodness!"—I translate this with difficulty from<br />
the Gaelic, and with discreet and printable modifications, but the<br />
sense is plain enough. I have seen a chief of the great House of<br />
Kennedy in Carrick " in the kilt," and, on that occasion, a Macpherson<br />
had caustic observations to make. But the boot may very<br />
well be on the other foot, my masters! And the Kennedy might<br />
say to his critic " Was it not you, noble sir, who took the breeks<br />
oft the Hielan'-man and attired him as one of us Romans" But<br />
as I said before, or meant to say, " Let that flie stick to the wa'!"<br />
Hark back with me, and let us emphasise the community of<br />
our blood and spirit, you who are the children of Ossian, and we<br />
who are of the land and heritage of Burns! And perhaps you will<br />
allow me, who have difficulty in divesting myself of my homi-<br />
HIGHLANDERS ALL.<br />
letical robes, to bring before you the manner in which we were<br />
all very much at one in that splendid prime, when Kentigern the<br />
Briton and Columba the Gael met in Glasgow town, and evidently<br />
had no difficulty in recognising their common birthright, not only<br />
in the matter of " one Lord, one faith, one baptism," but in the<br />
community of their race and tribal standards. There is a chapter<br />
in the history of that period which still awaits its student and<br />
scribe. He shall arise some day, and extend the truth to that<br />
obscure time in Zion, when gospellers of the British tribes and<br />
gospellers from the Gaelic tribes worked away happily and<br />
reciprocally in each other's areas, with so unrestricted an industry<br />
and freedom as to indicate that the community of which I spoke<br />
above was more vital than many have yet detected. Gaels went<br />
to school at the British Whithorn, and Britons came readily to<br />
Dalriada of the Gaels. If, in particular, you condescend on Bute,<br />
you shall find that the British paladins of the Gospel were active<br />
there before the Gaels had yet set sail from Erin ; but when the<br />
Gaelic speech came to possess the island, and its monks to occupy<br />
the British shrines, the names of the British saints were not superseded.<br />
Ninian and Maccaille were left in tutelary possession, by<br />
which is indicated an affectionate recognition on the part of the<br />
Gaels of the kinship of their forerunners. Indeed, in the wider<br />
area of Strathclyde and the Highland parts west of the Firth, the<br />
saints in the circuit of their labours follow a cycle, the centre of<br />
which can truly be found only in a kinship of tribal origin and<br />
culture such as is so apt to be lost in the customary rupture in<br />
popular thought between Highlands and Lowlands. The cycle<br />
wheels as follows:—Patrick, a Briton of Clydeside—I defy anyone<br />
to rob us of him, though the thief be as mighty in the kingdom<br />
of letters as Professor Bury himself—Patrick, a Briton of<br />
Clydeside, wends to South Britain and, in due course, to Erin; the<br />
Gael receives him and bears his heritage to Argyll ; from Argyll<br />
pass on these grateful cousins to Dunbarton and into Renfrew and<br />
Ayr of the Britons ; so that Patrick and Columba and Mirin and<br />
Fillan circulate as brethren of one household about our common<br />
territory.<br />
In our own day the pervasive force of social and industrial<br />
circumstance, of Venus and Vulcan, has restored the kinship in a<br />
fashion which those who lived in the days of Highland Hosts and<br />
Nicol Jarvies would have thought utterly impossible. Glasgow<br />
is as much a Highland fair as a Lowland city. That mingling
HIGHLANDERS ALL.<br />
of Gaelic clans which has made it possible for a chief's name to<br />
be such as Lamont-Campbell }<br />
has produced quite a multitude of<br />
Glasgow citizens with such a name as Robert Roy MacGregor<br />
Jarvie, The two great streams of the Celtic acquisition of this<br />
fair territory of ours south and north-west of Clyde, which<br />
seemed for a time destined to flow ever farther apart, have crept<br />
back to join each other again; so that all Lowlanders of this city,<br />
whose most romantic episode is the mutual kiss of Kentigern of<br />
the Britons and Columba of the Gaels, are simply engaging in<br />
their own domestic enterprise and supporting their fellow-tribesmen,<br />
when they advance to support, as they intend to do right<br />
royally, the splendid undertaking in connection with which this<br />
Book is issued.<br />
To a Highland Girl.<br />
(At Inversnaid, upon Loch Lomond.)<br />
SWEET Highland girl, a very shower<br />
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!<br />
Twice seven consenting years have shed<br />
Their utmost bounty on thy head;<br />
And these grey rocks; this household lawn;<br />
These trees, a veil just half withdrawn;<br />
This fall of water, that doth make<br />
A murmur near the silent lake;<br />
This little bay, a quiet road,<br />
That holds in shelter thy abode;<br />
In truth, together ye do seem<br />
Like something fashion'd in a dream;<br />
Such forms as from their covert peep<br />
When earthly cares are laid asleep !<br />
Yet dream and vision as thou art,<br />
I bless thee with a human heart!<br />
God shield thee to thy latest years!<br />
I neither know thee nor thy peers;<br />
And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears.<br />
TO A HIGHLAND GIRL.<br />
With earnest feeling I shall pray<br />
For thee when I am far away:<br />
For never saw I mien or face,<br />
In which more plainly I could trace<br />
Benignity and home-bred sense<br />
Ripening in perfect innocence.<br />
Here, scatter'd like a random seed,<br />
Remote from men, thou dost not need<br />
The embarass'd look of shy distress,<br />
And maidenly shamefacedness;<br />
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear<br />
The freedom of a mountaineer,"<br />
A face with gladness overspread!<br />
Sweet looks, by human kindness bred!<br />
And seemliness complete, that sways<br />
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;<br />
With no restraint but such as springs<br />
From quick and eager visitings<br />
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach<br />
Of thy few words of English speech;<br />
A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife<br />
That gives thy gestures grace and life !<br />
So have I, not unmoved in mind,<br />
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind,<br />
Thus beating up against the wind.<br />
What hand but would a garland cuil<br />
For thee, who art so beautiful<br />
Oh, happy pleasure! here to dwell<br />
Beside thee in some heathy dell;<br />
Adopt your homely ways and dress,<br />
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess!<br />
* * * * * *<br />
Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,<br />
Sweet Highland girl! from thee to part;<br />
For I, methinks, till I grow old,<br />
As fair before me shall behold,<br />
As I do now, the cabin small,<br />
The lake, the bay, the waterfall;<br />
And thee, the spirit of them all!<br />
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.<br />
IO5
THE LIFE OF A CROFTER.<br />
The Life of a Crofter.<br />
(BY ONE OF THEM).<br />
ALASTAIR CAMERON, STRONTIAN, ARGYLLSHIRE.<br />
" It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth<br />
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure,<br />
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,<br />
O, that's the chief est world's treasure. Braw, braw lads."<br />
—Burns.<br />
THE life of the Highland crofter is peculiarly distinct from<br />
that found in other rural parts of the British Isles. The<br />
wild, romantic nature of his country isolates him from the<br />
restless, "madding crowd," and creates in him an industrious,<br />
independent, and freedom-loving spirit. As befits a true child of<br />
nature, always in close contiguity with scenes and forms untainted<br />
by drab artificiality, his life is free and natural, though not unmethodical;<br />
for work, spiritual duties, and recreation receive due<br />
attention at their proper time.<br />
Surrounded by magnificent scenery, his work, though arduous,<br />
is rather attractive. W ithout a doubt, he toils hard for his living,<br />
for he has to contend against the erratic Highland weather, and<br />
work a generally unproductive soil. The poor return from his few<br />
acres forces him to engage in subsidiary employment, where such<br />
can be obtained, so that oft-times the stars see him finish his<br />
working day on his holding. Yet, under these conditions happiness<br />
exists, and we are left wondering how truly happy he might be, if<br />
the Highland peasant were assured of a more comfortable living<br />
in the land of his fathers.<br />
Winter may be termed the crofter's season of indolence. Short<br />
days and unfavourable weather make much outdoor work impossible,<br />
but he can always find sufficient to do in feeding the cattle,<br />
carrying home fuel, and repairing the thatch on the roof of his<br />
cottage. Strangers may think that the crofter has a dreary, joyless<br />
existence during the long winter nights; yet, with the exception<br />
of solitary holdings in remote places, winter finds him at his<br />
happiest and best. Even in the fastnesses, which the far-removed<br />
places become in winter, existence is not so melancholy as their<br />
situation might indicate. Fortified with the " Oban Times " and<br />
the " People's Journal," the occupant can shut his ears to the<br />
whistle of the snow-wind, as he discourses on their contents to<br />
wife and family or aged mother, sitting snugly around the homely<br />
peat-fire. The inimitable cèilidh, at which youth oft in fancy lives,<br />
and the old feel young again, enlivens life in the glens. To these<br />
happy, unconventional, hreside gatherings old and young come,<br />
and hear again the tales of their grandfathers; tales of witches,<br />
watersprites, and fairies; legends of Celtic prowess in war and the<br />
chase; and true stories of Highland valour on many a hard-fought<br />
field.<br />
With the spring comes an awakening to work. The crofter<br />
may be seen putting out manure by cart, wheelbarrow, or creel, OM<br />
his grassland. By March the work is in full swing. Day after<br />
day, the tenant of a holding which is substantial enough to keep<br />
a horse, is busy guiding the plough, co-operation with a neighbour<br />
ha 1 , ing furnished him with a second horse to make up his pair. At<br />
the furrow-end, when for a brief moment he rests his horses, his<br />
thoughts turn to what his beloved strath may be like in years to<br />
come, if the present systematic depopulation of the Land of the<br />
Bens is allowed to continue.<br />
Most of the sowing and planting is done during April, and,<br />
where good old seisreachs* are still the rule, much mirth prevails;<br />
for crofter lads and lassies are seldom encumbered with melancholia,<br />
however poor their lot or frugal their fare. These<br />
delightfully inspiring scenes of Highland rural life lend enchantment<br />
to the surroundings, and brighten the lot of the hardy<br />
crofter. Long may they survive in the land of the heather, the<br />
Highlander's proper environment!<br />
The majority of the local cattle sales, which have superseded<br />
the one-time picturesque cattle fairs, are held in May. To the<br />
sale go old and young, male and female, and the higher the prices<br />
go, the merrier grows the throng. Here old friendships are<br />
renewed and new ones made, accounts are paid and bargains eagerly<br />
sought for. In May also, strenuous efforts are made to have the<br />
peat-cutting completed, and the drying of this ' classic' fuel<br />
commenced.<br />
Autumn brings the crofter's most anxious and busy time.<br />
Up with the August sun and the morning lark, he sets forth to<br />
*A gathering of crofters to give a day's work to one of their number<br />
who, for some reason, is behind with his croft work.
THE LIFE OF A CROFTER.<br />
The Life of a Crofter.<br />
(BY ONE OF THEM).<br />
ALASTAIR CAMERON, STRONTIAN, ARGYLLSHIRE.<br />
•' It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth<br />
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure,<br />
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,<br />
O, that's the chief est world's treasure. Braw, braw lads."<br />
—Burns.<br />
THE life of the Highland crofter is peculiarly distinct from<br />
that found in other rural parts of the British Isles. The<br />
wild, romantic nature of his country isolates him from the<br />
restless, " madding crowd," and creates in him an industrious,<br />
independent, and freedom-loving spirit. As befits a true child of<br />
nature, always in close contiguity with scenes and forms untainted<br />
by drab artificiality, his life is free and natural, though not unmethodical;<br />
for work, spiritual duties, and recreation receive due<br />
attention at their proper time.<br />
Surrounded by magnificent scenery, his work, though arduous,<br />
is rather attractive. Without a doubt, he toils hard for his living,<br />
for he has to contend against the erratic Highland weather, and<br />
work a generally unproductive soil. The poor return from his few<br />
acres forces him to engage in subsidiary employment, where such<br />
can be obtained, so that oft-times the stars see him finish his<br />
working day on his holding. Yet, under these conditions happiness<br />
exists, and we are left wondering how truly happy he might be, if<br />
the Highland peasant were assured of a more comfortable living<br />
in the land of his fathers.<br />
"Winter may be termed the crofter's season of indolence. Short<br />
days and unfavourable weather make much outdoor work impossible,<br />
but he can always find sufficient to do in feeding the cattle,<br />
carrying home fuel, and repairing the thatch on the roof of his<br />
cottage. Strangers may think that the crofter has a dreary, joyless<br />
existence during the long winter nights; yet, with the exception<br />
of solitary holdings in remote places, winter finds him at his<br />
happiest and best. Even in the fastnesses, which the far-removed<br />
places become in winter, existence is not so melancholy as their<br />
situation might indicate. Fortified with the " Oban Times " and<br />
the " People's Journal," the occupant can shut his ears to the<br />
whistle of the snow-wind, as he discourses on their contents to<br />
wife and family or aged mother, sitting snugly around the homely<br />
peat-fire. The inimitable cèilidh, at which youth oft in fancy lives,<br />
and the old feel young again, enlivens life in the glens. To these<br />
happy, unconventional, hreside gatherings old and young come,<br />
and hear again the tales of their grandfathers; tales of witches,<br />
watersprites, and fairies; legends of Celtic prowess in war and the<br />
chase; and true stories of Highland valour on many a hard-fought<br />
field.<br />
With the spring comes an awakening to work. The crofter<br />
may be seen putting out manure by cart, wheelbarrow, or creel, o:~<br />
his grassland. By March the work is in full swing. Day after<br />
day, the tenant of a holding which is substantial enough to keep<br />
a horse, is busy guiding the plough, co-operation with a neighbour<br />
having furnished him with a second horse to make up his pair. At<br />
the furrow-end, when for a brief moment he rests his horses, his<br />
thoughts turn to what his beloved strath may be like in years to<br />
come, if the present systematic depopulation of the Land of the<br />
Bens is allowed to continue.<br />
Most of the sowing and planting is done during April, and,<br />
where good old seisreachs* are still the rule, much mirth prevails;<br />
for crofter lads and lassies are seldom encumbered with melancholia,<br />
however poor their lot or frugal their fare. These<br />
delightfully inspiring scenes of Highland rural life lend enchantment<br />
to the surroundings, and brighten the lot of the hardy<br />
crofter. Long may they survive in the land of the heather, the<br />
Highlander's proper environment!<br />
The majority of the local cattle sales, which have superseded<br />
the one-time picturesque cattle fairs, are held in May. To the<br />
sale go old and young, male and female, and the higher the prices<br />
go, the merrier grows the throng. Here old friendships are<br />
renewed and new ones made, accounts are paid and bargains eagerly<br />
sought for. In May also, strenuous efforts are made to have the<br />
peat-cutting completed, and the drying of this ' classic' fuel<br />
commenced.<br />
Autumn brings the crofter's most anxious and busy time.<br />
Up with the August sun and the morning lark, he sets forth to<br />
*A gathering of crofters to give a day's work to one of their number<br />
who, for some reason, is behind with his croft work.
io8<br />
THE LIFE OF A CROFTER.<br />
mow the hay. The fragrance of the new-mown hay and the hum<br />
of the bumble bee make winnowing a pleasant task for the household.<br />
On the completion of haymaking, the scythes are again<br />
sharpened, and soon the corn stands safely in the stackyard. By<br />
the time the potato crop has been lifted and pitted, the chill of<br />
November has come into the glens, but the crofter can joyfully<br />
survey the fruits of his labour, and feel safe for the coming bleak<br />
days.<br />
Here, amid the hills he loves, where every knoll has its<br />
associations dear for him, he can find satisfactions for heart and<br />
mind which the prairie lands of Canada cannot give him. It is<br />
not the decrepit aged, nor the timorous young, who choose to<br />
remain in the land of " the Bens, the Glens, and the Heroes."<br />
They are c<br />
hefty ' lads all, as swift and agile in a game of shinty as<br />
their fathers who have passed to rest, and as full of the same adventurous<br />
spirit. Voluntary emigration is right, and ought to be<br />
supported, but lives there a Highlander so devoid of love for his<br />
native land that he would give his assent to, and support reckless<br />
schemes of emigration which would soon result in the extinction<br />
of the Celtic race, that race from which have been drawn such<br />
splendid types of British manhood and womanhood.<br />
Bardachd Spioradail na Gaidhealtachd.<br />
LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH DOMHNALL MAC GILL'EATHAIN,<br />
OIL-THIGH EAGLAIS SHAOR NA H-ALBA, AN DUN-EIDEANN.<br />
BHO làithean Chaluim Chille gus an là an dè, b' àbhaist do<br />
chuid shònruichte de Ghàidheil a bhi ag cur an cèill ann am<br />
bàrdachd an creidimh agus am faireachaidhean mu thimchioll<br />
nithean mòra Dhè, agus b'àbhaist do chuid eile a bhi air an<br />
àrach air a bhàrdachd so mar le smior agus le saill, agus bu lèir a 1<br />
bhuil air an còmhradh is an caithe-beatha.<br />
B'e an chrìoch a bha aig na bàird 'san amharc a bhi a' teagasg<br />
an t-sluaigh, a chum gum biodh aca bealach ceart fo'n cois mar<br />
eilthirich ag iarraidh na dùthcha as fheàrr, a chum a bhi ag aotromachadh<br />
deuchainnean an turuis, agus a bhi a' fosgladh dorus<br />
dochais do'n mhuinntir leòinte agus breòite.<br />
BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD.<br />
IO9<br />
As a' bhàrdachd so thug na Gàidheil an ceòl a bha aig a'<br />
chìbeir air a' bheinn, aig a' mharaiche air a' chuan, aig a bhantrach<br />
'na bròn, agus aig an fhògarach 'na aonaranachd. Le sòlasan na<br />
bàrdachd so dh' fhuadaich cuid dhiubh an cianalas am measg<br />
choilltean ùdlaidh Chanada agus mhachraichean farsuing Astràlia,<br />
ann am bràithreachas a chiùil:—<br />
" Ach m' anam fo gheilt no fo imcheist cha bhi,<br />
Oir an Dia tha mo mhuitighinn, cha dìobair e mi."<br />
B' i a' bhàrdachd a chleachd Alasdair Rothach mar mheadhor<br />
gu bhi a' teagasg a' Bhìobuill do mhuinntir Shrath Nàbhair, ionnas<br />
gun robh e aig a' chloinn air an teangaidh, agus 'na riaghailt 'nar.<br />
caithe-beatha:—<br />
" Ged tha mi gòrach, O Righ, treòraich,<br />
'S le brìgh t' fhocail dìon mi."<br />
Agus is ann mar so a dh' iarr " Donnchadh nam Pìos " dha<br />
fhèin agus do mhuinntir a dhùthcha an fhois air an robh iad ann<br />
am feum:—<br />
" Gun cuirinn an sin air chùl<br />
M' aobhar tùirse is m' ochanaìch."<br />
Is ann le mànran blàth a bhàrdachd a mhol an t-Ollamh urramach<br />
Seumas MacGriogair an soisgeul do fhògaraich a' dhùthcha<br />
air taobh thall a' chuain:—<br />
" Thoir sgeul do shlàinte, thoir fois do ghràidh dhoibh,<br />
Cuir feart do ghràsan 'nan dàil le buaidh."<br />
Am measg ùghdairean nan dàn spioradail gheibhear am bochd<br />
'sam beairteach, an sean 'san t-òg, an t-eòlach 'san t-aineolach.<br />
Gheibhear a' bhantrach 'na bothan falamh, a' tilgeil a h-uallaich<br />
Airsan a gheall fois a thoirt do'n dream a tha fo throm laallach-<br />
B' ann bho a fèin-fhiosrachadh air sin a sheinn " Bean Torra<br />
Dhamh, bho chùl nam beann am Bàideanach:—<br />
" 'Nuair is trioblaidich' a' chual duit<br />
Amhairc suas ri Triath nam feartan."<br />
Nach b' aoibhneach's nach bu bhinn a sheinn Mrs. Camshron,<br />
Raineach, mu'n Chraoibh sin air a bheil an duilleach nach searg a<br />
chaoidh, 's a tha chum leigheas nan cinneach:—
JIO BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD.<br />
" Tha i brìoghmhor, 's mòr a mìlseachd anns gach linn is àl,<br />
'S gach eun tha glan am measg na coill', gheibh iad fo'n<br />
chraoibh so sgàil."<br />
Ann am binneas a chiùil agus teas a ghràidh, cha d' thàinig<br />
Pàdruig Grannd air dheireadh, a' moladh " Eifeachd fuil an<br />
Uain":—<br />
" Cha bhi a h-aon ann nach cuir ris a sheula<br />
Gur ann tha 'n èifeachd am fuil an Uain."<br />
Ach b'e am bàrd a thug barrachd air càch juile, Dùghall<br />
Bochannan. Mar thuirt Gàidheal cliùiteach, fòghluimte, is e a'<br />
labhairt mu'n charragh a chuireadh suas an Raineach mar chuimhneachan<br />
air an t-sàr bhàrd uasal so:—"An uair," ars' esan "a<br />
bhios a' chlach air crìonadh gu luaithre, tha mì an dòchas gum bi<br />
na Laoidhean aig Dùghall Bochannan a' toirt sòlais, misnich is<br />
rabhaidh do Ghàidheil anns gach ceàrn, mar thug iad cheana rè<br />
dheich agus.còig fichead bliadhna." Le eud a bha laiste le lasair<br />
gràidh, thug e earail is achmhasan, cuireadh is rabhadh d'a choluchd-dùthcha,<br />
ann an càinnt dheas agus shòlaimte, iad teicheadh<br />
gu achlaisean gràidh Fir-saoraidh, bho'n fheirg a tha ri teachd,<br />
is e ag cur an cèill dhoibh, am briathran a tha araon òirdhearc agus<br />
cudthromach, uamhasan do-labhairt a' Bhreitheanais, agus dubhbhròn<br />
an dorchadais iomallaich.<br />
Le mac-meanmna neo-chumanta thug e mòrachd an Uilechumhachdaich,<br />
òirdhearcas glòir an t-Slànuigheir, saoghal ag<br />
udal agus a' leaghadh às o dhian-fheirg Dhè, no luchd-dearmad a<br />
theagasgan air an sgiùrsadh's air am pianadh fo dhìteadh an coguis<br />
fèin ann an eu-dòchas bithbhuan—b' iad sin na nithean mòra a thug<br />
e fa chomhair inntinn an t-sluaigh, agus dhearg so orra mar nach d'<br />
rinn teagasg- bàird 'sam bith eile, roimhe no às a dhèidh. Is ann,<br />
cuideachd, fe deur a' ghràidh 'na shùil do mhuinntir a dhùthcha, a<br />
thug e dhoibh na seallaidhean uamhasach ud air corruich Dhè.<br />
Mar thuirt e fhèin le bàidh is le caomhalachd:—<br />
" Is beannaich an dàn so do gach neach<br />
Bheir èisdeachd dha le gràdh."<br />
Agus b' ionann a fhaireachadh an uair a bha a chridhe briste le<br />
cor èiginneach an t-sluaigh, an uair a bha e 'gam faicinn air là a'<br />
mhàil<br />
BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD. I I I<br />
" Gun chridh' aig na daoin'<br />
Bh' air Iomadh le h-aois,<br />
Le'n claigeannan maola truagh,<br />
Bhi seasamh ad chòir,<br />
Gun bhoineid 'nan dòrn,<br />
Ged tholladh gaoth reòt' an cluas."<br />
Tha gràdh ceudna a chridhe air fhaicinn 'na thagairt ris an<br />
òigridh iad srian a chur ri an toil, an uair a sheinn e:—<br />
" Se an gaisgeach esan a bheir fo chìs<br />
A thoil chum strìochd' do reusan ceart."<br />
Air chùl so, cò idir a b' fheàrr a dh' innis dhuinn cor saoghalta a<br />
h-uile a tha a' tarruing analach na esan, an uair a labhair e mar<br />
so:—<br />
" Tha smùdan fèin os ceann gach fòid,<br />
Is dòruinn ceangailt' ris gach math;<br />
Tha'n ròs a' fàs air drisean geur,<br />
'S an taic a chèil' tha 'mhil 'san gath."<br />
Am measg an cheud triùir de bhàird na Gàidhealtachd tha àite<br />
urramach aig Iain Moireasdan, " Gobha Na h-Earradh." Chithear<br />
e, le buadhan nàdurra thar mòran, le inntinn ealanta, agus le teanga<br />
fhileanta a' rannsachadh a chridhe agus a' sgrùdadh a àirnean; a'<br />
leigeil's a' togail, a' strì's^' streap, le a chreideamh gun mheang<br />
agus le a shùil gun sgleò, an tràth a tha e a' dòrtadh a mach a<br />
theagasgan fialaidh agus soilleir, le dòchas maith nan gràs, eadhon<br />
an uair a bha fear a ghràidh car tiota air chall air:—<br />
" Ged shèideadh stoirm is toirm ro bheur,<br />
'Cur chreag gu lèir 'nan smùr,<br />
Beithir's crith-thalmhainn gharbh le chèil',<br />
Le'n criothnaicht' slèibht'n o'n grunnd:<br />
Ged thigeadh teine a losgadh gheug,<br />
Gach lus's gach feur 'nan smùid,<br />
Chan fhaigh mi fois gu'n cluinn mi fèin,<br />
An guth o'n bheul 'tha ciùin."<br />
B'e sin a' bhàrdachd a chuir cumadh uasal air beatha na dh'<br />
fhalbh, a chum glan iad 'nan giùlan, agus a rinn an cridheachan<br />
fialaidh. Is ann mar sin a bha, ge b'e air bith mar tha a nis.
Ruairidh Mor.<br />
BY ALASDAIR ALPIN MACGREGOR.<br />
LOVED in times of* peace and dreaded in war as were many<br />
or" the chieftains of our Highland Clans in the olden days,<br />
comparatively speaking, few of them have made as much<br />
history as Ruairidh Mòr of Dunvegan.<br />
To a number of extraneous circumstances, as well as to his<br />
personal ability and prowess, was Ruairidh's pre-eminence due. In<br />
the first place, he lived at a transitional period in the history of the<br />
Highlands: in the second, he showed himself capable of dealing<br />
shrewdly and fearlessly with the innumerable problems that confronted<br />
his less resolute fellow-chieftains at a time when King<br />
James's Government sought to extend its control over the conduct<br />
of affairs in the Highlands and Islands generally.<br />
But, apart altogether from matters of public import, Ruairidh<br />
Mòr was a man of considerable culture and aesthetic taste. Over<br />
his predecessors he had an advantage in these respects in that he<br />
could write, earlier chiefs at Dunvegan having been unable even<br />
to sign their names, except "with my hand led at ye pene of ye<br />
notar."<br />
That Ruairidh was greatly esteemed by King James is proved<br />
by diverse documents contained in the Dunvegan Charter Chest.<br />
In 1613 he actually went to England, and received a knighthood<br />
at the King's hands. Three years later James gave him'a standing<br />
invitation " to coome oute of our Kingdome of Scotland and<br />
repaire to our Courte at aine time or times which he shal think<br />
conveniente: Provided alwise that he coome not at such time as<br />
he shal be by our Counsall of Scotland required to coome before<br />
them "—so favourable an impression had Rory Mòr made during<br />
his sojourn in England.<br />
Ruairidh's aesthetic proclivities are attested by the number of<br />
relics associated with him, and still preserved at Dunvegan Castle.<br />
Not the least interesting of these relics are his Drinking Cup and<br />
his Horn.<br />
The Drinking Cup is made out of a solid piece of oak,<br />
delicately embossed with silver, and upon a time studded with<br />
jewels. It stands on four little silver feet, and is ioè inches in
RUAIRIDH<br />
MOR.<br />
height. On the four panels of the rim is engraved in beautiful<br />
style an inscription that has been the subject of many readings,<br />
perhaps the most accurate and reliable of which is the following:—<br />
" Katherina ingen ui Neill uxor Johannis Meguighir<br />
principis de Firmanach me fieri fecit. Anno Domini 1493.<br />
Oculi omnium in te spectant Domine et tu das escam illorum<br />
in tempore opportuno."<br />
(Katherine, daughter of Neil, wife of John MacGuire,<br />
chief of Fermanagh, caused me to make this. In the year of<br />
our Lord 1493. The eyes of all wait upon Thee, O Lord:<br />
and Thou givest them their meat in due season.)<br />
Though Pennant, Johnson, and Boswell visited Dunvegan<br />
Castle during the eighteenth century, it is remarkable that not one<br />
cf them mentions having seen this celebrated Cup. I believe the<br />
earliest literary reference to it is to be found in The Lord of the<br />
Isles, where Sir Walter Scott speaks of the " mighty cup . . . erst<br />
owned by royal Somerled." In his explanatory note, however,<br />
Scott committed (innocently, no doubt) a number of errors that<br />
prove the extent to which he misinterpreted the inscription on<br />
this Cup, which, he tells us, was at one time the property of Neil<br />
Ghlune-dhubh, or Black-knee. The Cup, in point of feet, is<br />
frequently alluded to as the cup of Neil Glùn-dubh, who was King<br />
of Ulster during part of the tenth century, and who is regarded<br />
as having been the founder of the Irish family of O'Neill.<br />
That the Cup was once the property of the O'Neills is clearly<br />
borne out by at least two fairly reliable authorities. Gregory tells<br />
us that in 1595 Rory Mòr and Hugh MacDonald of Sleat went<br />
over to Ireland to assist some rebels against Queen Elizabeth, and<br />
that while there the former made friends with Shane O'Neill, who<br />
afterwards visited Dunvegan Castle and brought the Cup there<br />
with him. In support of Gregory's statement is a tradition in the<br />
O'Neill family—a tradition that only the other day was communicated<br />
by Lady O'Neill to my esteemed friend and helper, Canon<br />
Roderic MacLeod of MacLeod.<br />
T493 is actually the date on the Cup. Scott gives the date,<br />
993. Experts have declared the Cup to be a remarkably fine specimen<br />
of early Irish workmanship, probably belonging to the ninth<br />
or tenth century. It has been suggested that the rim may have<br />
been added in 1493, and that the inscription, therefore, refers to<br />
H
ii4<br />
RUAIRIDH MOR.<br />
that date. How the Cup found its way into the possession of the<br />
MacLeods of Dunvegan is uncertain, though it has been urged<br />
that during the military operations in northern Ireland in the<br />
sixteenth century (in which the Dunvegan MacLeods took a<br />
notable part), it may have been a reward tor services rendered, or<br />
a trophy of war. Herein we need not enter into the legends and<br />
remaining details of the Dunvegan Cup; but I would refer those<br />
interested to the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries<br />
(1912-13), where will be found a delightfully illustrated account<br />
of the Cup and of the traditions connected with it.<br />
With the Drinking Horn of Ruairidh Mòr many traditional<br />
tales are associated, one being that it was taken from the head of<br />
a wild bull, slain in the woods at Glen Elg by Malcolm, the third<br />
Chief. From this incident is said to have originated both the bull's<br />
head cabossed between two flags, which is the crest of the Mac<br />
Leods, and their device " Hold Fast!" According to another<br />
tradition anent the origin of the Horn, MacLeod had gone to<br />
Inveraray, where he discovered within a fenced arena a young man,<br />
whom Argyll had condemned to be gored to death by a bull.<br />
MacLeod remarked to Argyll that his victim was far too fine a<br />
fellow to be done to death in such a manner; but, to his pleadings<br />
that his life should be spared, Argyll replied that it was now too<br />
late.<br />
" Will you give him to me if I save him" asked MacLeod.<br />
" Yes, but you go to your death," retorted Argyll. Thereupon<br />
MacLeod sprang into the arena, and gripped the enraged<br />
bull by the horns.—"Hold Fast!" shrieked the auditorium, as<br />
MacLeod proceeded to lodge his sgian-dubh in the bull's heart<br />
and to lop or one of its horns.<br />
And I am informed that to this day there resides at Dunvegan<br />
a family of Campbells claiming descent from the young man<br />
whom MacLeod rescued so valiantly.<br />
The Horn is a large ox horn, rimmed with a deep, silver band<br />
on which is engraved a familiar Celtic interlacing pattern. In<br />
ancient days every youngr heir, on succeeding to the chieftainship,<br />
was required to prove his worth by draining to the lees, and in a<br />
single gulp, the brimful Horn; but in more temperate times this<br />
ordeal was mitigated considerably by the insertion within the Horn<br />
of a wooden lining.<br />
To-day the bumpering of Ruairidh Mòr's Horn is entirely<br />
discontinued.<br />
Feill.<br />
LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH CALUM MACGILL'INNEIN,<br />
DUN-El DEANN.<br />
A<br />
BHEIL fèill air a' Ghàidheal Chan 'eil teagamh nach 'eil<br />
fèill air an di asda's a rithisd, ach is ann an uair a tha an<br />
Crùn ann an cunnart. Chan e a mhàin gun do sheas e<br />
còraichean a' Chrùin o chionn iomadh linn, mar nach do rinn<br />
tear eile, ach is e a choisinn cuid dhe na neamhnaidean as luachmhoire<br />
a tha a' dèanamh Crùn Bhreatainn na's glòrmhoire na crùn<br />
eile air an t-saoghal. Tha a chliù is a euchdan air an sgrìobhadh<br />
an litrichean òir air feadh eachdraidh na rìoghachd. Bha, agus tha,<br />
fèill air a' Ghàidheal an uair a tha nàmhaid aig a' gheata, agus<br />
a chabhlach air sàl. Ach cò is urrainn a ràdh gu bheil fèill air<br />
uair air bith eile Ciamar a tha an Crùn a pàigheadh na comain <br />
Siubhail an t-Eilean Fada ach am faic thu. Bheir sgarbh agus<br />
faoileag an teachd-an-tìr a cladach na h-Earadh, agus is dòcha gum<br />
fasadh caora agus gobhar culach air a leacan, ach aig Dia thu fhios<br />
ciamar is urrainn daoine am beò a thoirt asda. Tha an Crùn<br />
deònach na ceudan mìle a chosg air roidean a bhios cho leathann<br />
ri croit-fhearainn a' Ghàidheil air son nan Gall, ach cha toir an<br />
sùilean fhèin a chreidsinn orra nach 'eil sgùd maith gu leoir<br />
air a' Chuan Sgithe. Ma ni an Gàidheal gearan air faradh no air<br />
fearann, nach e a theirear rium an comhairlean na rìoghachd, àrd is<br />
ìosal: " Tha fearann gu leoir an Canada agus an Astràilia, agus<br />
iasg gu leòir ri cladach Prince Rupert, 's nach toir thu a chomhairle<br />
air do luchd-dùthcha imrich a dhèanamh." "Imrich":<br />
sin am facal as fhaisge air an teangaidh. Chan 'eil guth air<br />
dùthchas, no idir air cho daor 's a cheannaich mo luchd-dùthcha<br />
air na neamhnaidean luachmhor a chuir iad an crùn Bhreatainn.<br />
" Dèan imrich. Fàg ar tìr agus do dhùthchas, agus dèan do<br />
thoil an tìr air bith eile, cho fada 's nach cuir thu dragh oirnne:"<br />
Sin mar a tha an Crùn a' pàigheadh na comain.<br />
A bheil fèill air a' Ghàidhlig<br />
Is dàna leam a ràdh gu bheil. Cò chanas gu bheil meas mor<br />
oirre 'n a tìr fhèin Fèill cho maith's a chunnaic mise oirre is<br />
ann is i air a h-aineol. Ach cha do chuir sin iongantas orm.<br />
Thug mi fhèin lethchrun air caoran mòna, is e air choigrich anns<br />
a' Bhaile mhòr, o chionn beagan bhliadhnachan. Bha uair is
u6<br />
FEILL.<br />
FEILL.<br />
thug h-Earach làn clèibh dhi gu mullach a' Chliseam air sia<br />
sgillinn: dà chliabh 'san là air tasdan, ged a bha mu mhìle eadar<br />
a thigh agus bonn na beinne. Chunnaic mi cruinneachadh gasda<br />
de Ghàidheil aig cèilidh an Winnipeg a' bhliadhna roimhe, ach<br />
bha moran a bharrachd anns an t-searmon Ghàidhlig a bha againn<br />
anns a' bhaile sin air an t-Sàbaid. Bha fèill mhaith oirre an<br />
Vancouver cuideachd an t-Sàbaid a bha mi ann. Ach cha chan<br />
a caraid gu bheil fèill mhòr oirre an Glaschu no an Dun-Eideann.<br />
Nach aithne dhuit feadhainn agus dh' ionnsaicheadh bloigh<br />
sgoileir a' Ghàidhlig o'n cuid Beurla, gidheadh, their iad riut gun<br />
do chaill iad a' Ghàidhlig. Ma chaill, is e nach robh mòran meas<br />
aca fhèin oirre, no mòran eanchainn gu a bhi 'ga glèidheadh. Is<br />
àill leo a bhi ag atharrais air luirgneach Lunnuinneach, na Beurla<br />
cheart a chur an achlais Gàidhlig ghlan am màthar, agus meas a<br />
chosnadh dhaibh fhèin o Ghall is o Ghàidheal. Cha bhi fèill a<br />
chaoidh air Gàidhlig fhad 's a tha a càirdean 'g a reic air " deich<br />
buinn fhichead airgid."<br />
Cha robh e riamh furasda dhomh a bhi air eadar-dhealachadh<br />
beachd ri mo sheana charaid caomh, Niall MacLeòid, am Bàrd<br />
Sgitheanach; ach is e mo mhòr bheachd gun atharraicheadh e an<br />
diugh sreath no dhà anns an dàn urramach a rinn e do'n Ghàidhlig:<br />
" Am Faigh a' Ghàidhlig Bàs"<br />
"Am fan sinn dìomhanach gun sùim,<br />
Is daoi 'g a cur gu bàs"<br />
An e dha-rìreadh daoi a tha 'ga cur gu bàs, no an e<br />
" Tha ciadan mìle dìleas duit,<br />
Nach dìobair thu's a' bhlàr."<br />
cairdean<br />
Tha fuaim binn aig an lethrann sin, ach tha eagal orm nach 'ei!<br />
ann ach bàrdachd. Chan e nach 'eil fhios agam gu bheil tuath is<br />
clèir is foghlumaich air feadh mo dhùthcha a tha dìleas agus treun<br />
air a cùl, agus tha mo bheannachd orra air a shon. Chan e nach<br />
'eil fhios agam gu bheil ' cath ' ghaisgeach anns na bailtean mòra,<br />
thall's a bhos, a tha a' seasamh dìleas air a taobh. Ach, a charaid,<br />
c' àite a bheil na ciadan mìle a thug am mionnan air an claidheamh<br />
"nach fhaigh a' Ghàidhlig bàs" An àite: "Dùisg suas, a<br />
Ghàidhlig, 's tog do ghuth," abramaid le fuaim na trombaide a<br />
dhùisgeas nam marbh:<br />
" Dùisg suas, a Ghàidheil, 's tog do ghuth,<br />
Na biodh ort geilt no sgàig."<br />
Tha am facal CELT tric gu leoir air ar bilean an diugh, ach<br />
chan 'eil mi cho cinnteach gu bheil fhios againn gu lèir air a<br />
bhrìgh. Tha amharus agam nach b'e na Ceiltich fhèin idir a thug an<br />
sloinneadh sin orra fhèin. Ma tha Holder ceart is e ' uachdaran,'<br />
' gaisgeach airm,' as ciall do'n fhacal, agus a chionn 's gur h-è,<br />
tha mise dhe'n bheachd gun d' fhuair iad an sloinneadh sin an<br />
toiseach bho na treubhan a chuir iad fo smachd. Chan 'eil<br />
teagamh nach d'thàinig am facal gu bhi ag ciallachadh, cuideachd,<br />
' duine uasal.' Buinidh an cliù sin fhathast do shliochd a'<br />
Ghàidheil—thug MacAmhlaidh fhèin an teist sin orra—agus bu<br />
leoir leinne gum mealadh iad an ainm's a bhrìgh. Ma nì iad sin,<br />
bidh an tuille fèille orra fhèin agus air a' Ghàidhlig.<br />
Highland Depopulation.<br />
BY REV. MURDO LAMONT, ROTHIEMURCHUS, STRATHSPEY.<br />
" Och ! mar thà mi, 's mi so 'nam ònar,<br />
A' dol troimh 'n choill far an robh mi eòlach,<br />
Nach fhaigh mi àite am fhearann dùthchais<br />
Ged phàidhinn crùn air son leud mo bhròige."<br />
Dr. MacLachlan, Rahoy.<br />
LET it be said at once that this is no narrow, political party<br />
question, such as may sometimes be agitated for ulterior<br />
ends: it is essentially patriotic, and but part of a momentous<br />
national problem which is exercising the anxious thought of<br />
our foremost statesmen, irrespective of party. Is it because the<br />
poets have sung so frequently and so passionately about it, that<br />
so many regard the call of the deserted glens as of mere sentimental<br />
interest, rather than as a matter of supremely urgent national<br />
importance It would be well if we could dismiss the subject so<br />
easily, but we cannot and dare not.
n8<br />
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.<br />
The evidence is yearly accumulating that modern civilisation<br />
is " becoming like a pyramid on its apex." Its healthy contact<br />
with the soil is attenuating more and more as the generations pass,<br />
so that true patriots in all vVestern nations are becoming perturbed.<br />
The latest Census taken in France, contrary to common opinion,<br />
shows a dimunition of the peasant population, and the same problem<br />
confronts the other European nations. Even in our own<br />
Colonies, and in the United States, the same tendency is manifest.<br />
There were, for example, twenty thousand vacant farms in the<br />
State of New York twenty years ago; there are now over thirty<br />
thousand. In both Australia and Canada the complaint is heard,<br />
and alarm prevails, that the cities grow at the expense of the<br />
country, endangering true national welfare and progress. In our<br />
own country leading journals, like the "Spectator," issue periodical<br />
warnings.<br />
What renders the matter more disturbing, is that healthy contact<br />
with the soil is essential to the well-being and continuity of<br />
every nation. In some countries, as in our own Highlands, it<br />
takes a good deal of pressure, of one kind or another, to draw<br />
people away from the land, but, once away from it, there is, in all<br />
cases, something in the very nature of things which makes it wellnigh<br />
impossible to renew the contact; so that there is grim truth<br />
in the classic poet's fable:—the giant son of Ge (the Earth), once<br />
separated from the soil, was soon deprived of the life that would<br />
have enabled him to restore contact.<br />
Thus was the fall of the Roman Empire hastened. The nation<br />
that became too urban to win its food from its own soil, became too<br />
feeble to induce other nations to feed it. Our rural population,<br />
even in the already almost depopulated Highlands, is yearly<br />
diminishing, while our rapidly increasing urban population is<br />
yearly becoming more discontented, in spite of doles and games—<br />
"panem et circenses !" Thus a recent newspaper article:—"Every<br />
year in Great Britain 200,000 boys become old enough to start<br />
their job in life. What happens to them in a country where there<br />
are still over a million unemployed To-day there are large<br />
numbers of boys living with parents who can ill afford to keep<br />
them, in danger of becoming idlers and wastrels, not through any<br />
fault of their own, but owing to conditions which do not give them<br />
r. fair chance of a decent career."<br />
It is more than half-a-century since Carlyle pictured the<br />
starving cities crying for bread, and the vacant acres crying, "Come<br />
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION. 119<br />
and till us." A great statesman said recently, " I am one of those<br />
who believe that the salvation of this country depends on the<br />
restoration of the countryside, for the nation that has not got a<br />
live, vigorous countryside is ultimately doomed. We have<br />
ignored the countryside for generations in our mad pursuit of<br />
wealth and prosperity, but our apparent prosperity has been gained<br />
very largely at the expense of the vitality of our people." Another<br />
first-rank and far-seeing statesman, and of the Gaelic race, said not<br />
long ago that " more and more the towns, large and small, scattered<br />
up and down Great Britain, would look for recruitment year by<br />
year from the country districts for the maintenance, not only of<br />
their physical, but also of their intellectual and moral efficiency."<br />
But with this steady depletion of our Highland Glens, where, say<br />
in the case of Glasgow, are the precious supplies of fresh, clean<br />
blood and of high thought to come from<br />
Is it not time, then, that we were wakening up to realise the<br />
problem Brushing aside many fine-spun theories of economics,<br />
and closely scrutinising many views as to the uses to which our<br />
Highlands were meant to be put in the plan of Creation, should<br />
we not set ourselves to " exploring every avenue," so that every<br />
opportunity for wellbeing, and all the conditions of happy contentment,<br />
may be afforded to those of our Gaelic-speaking kinsmen<br />
who are willing to remain on their native soil<br />
The problem is admittedly a most difficult and complicated<br />
one, but, while the present writer does not for a moment presume<br />
to offer a full or final solution, he believes that our responsibility<br />
tor thinking and working out the best solution remains. Among<br />
the remedies suggested, one of the most popular is that of<br />
emigration, but this must be ruled out as inadequate, because our<br />
Colonies are not willing to accept the type of emigrant we can afford<br />
to offer, and ask for the very men most needed at home. The fact<br />
is, in so far as wisely regulated emigration is beneficial for the home<br />
country and the Colonies, we are killing it by allowing the depopulation<br />
of the glens whence the successful colonists went forth.<br />
We are exporting the seed instead of sowing it, and so have no<br />
harvest—the old story of killing the goose that laid the golden<br />
eggs!<br />
" Back to the land " is naturally the next suggestion, but here<br />
we are met by the same difficulty as is experienced in our Colonies.<br />
The men who will succeed on the land are the men who have been<br />
brought up on it. The descent from country to city is easy; the
120<br />
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.<br />
f<br />
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION. 12 1<br />
climb back is almost impossible. The man with flabby muscles,<br />
trained to a mechanical time-table, with a thirst for city amusements<br />
incompatible with farm life, is greatly handicapped. " I am<br />
sorry," said a Canadian farmer to a Glasgow boy, " but you must<br />
work better, or I cannot afford to keep you." In a few minutes,<br />
the boy was carried fainting from the field. As an efficient remedy,<br />
the cry " Back to the land " is far from being enough. It may<br />
produce officials and " training centres " and faddists, but not a<br />
healthy, successful peasantry. Something like a true solution may<br />
lie in the direction of checking the townward drift by such a land<br />
policy as will enable the true sons of the soil to remain on it.<br />
That there is a Highland land hunger " enables us to see at<br />
least one bright spot in a gloomy situation. This land hunger,<br />
at least within the Highland area, is fully attested by statistics given<br />
recently by " Eoin " in the " Scots Observer." He says:—"That<br />
Highlanders are not urgent—but the reverse—to leave the Highlands,<br />
is proved by the figures set forth in the last annual report of<br />
the Board of Agriculture, and the comment by the Board itself on<br />
these figures is that the demand for land settlement shows no sign<br />
of abating, more applications being received than the Board can<br />
hope to satisfy under present conditions. The truth is that the<br />
desire for fixed and secure homes on the land is not weakening,<br />
but is growing with the years." Let there, then, be an inquiry into<br />
the obstacles.<br />
It has been objected that small holdings will not generally<br />
succeed without skilfully organised co-operation and a revival of<br />
Rural Industries. Without discounting the truth of this, (and on<br />
all grounds wishing the revival of Rural Industries every success),<br />
one may fairly reply that if those numerous applicants, the men<br />
on the spot, are willing to try, why should outsiders shake their<br />
heads and interfere! It is highly probable that Co-operation and<br />
Rural Industries would naturally follow a full and proper recccupation<br />
of the glens and straths, under the changed conditions<br />
looming ahead. The time has come when those who seek the<br />
removal of the causes of rural depopulation, whatever they may<br />
be, should demand a hearing, and when those who wish to settle<br />
on the land should be allowed to do so under conditions which no<br />
other interests would affect adversely.<br />
The details of a suitable scheme are being worked out by men<br />
who know what is required, and all barriers should be removed<br />
from their path. It might be necessary to make small cash advances<br />
for stock and building material, but the return would be such as<br />
silver and gold could not buy. The first practical step is to open<br />
up the Highland glens to the descendants of those who once<br />
occupied them—men in whose veins still runs the blood of those<br />
who went forth with high adventure from these same glens, to<br />
stand among the best soldiers and colonists and Empire-builders<br />
the world has ever seen. " Give us the land of our fathers," they<br />
say, "and it will be done again."<br />
Farewell of the Emigrant, Chomas<br />
Pattison).<br />
Farewell to the land where my childhood was passed,<br />
And to the sweet scene these dim clouds o'ercast;<br />
Farewell to its hills, and its dark rocky cave,<br />
Whose shelter is music when loud tempests rave.<br />
Thou fair green valley, sad parting to thee,<br />
Oh ! fill it, loud ocean, with wailing for me;<br />
And, winds, the bare copses that moaningly greet,<br />
Sad tone, ye wild singers, I ne'er shall forget.<br />
For, fast-sweeping breezes, and thou rushing stream,<br />
At this moment of parting, like old friends ye seem,<br />
As now for the last time the sound's in my ear<br />
That mov'd my young soul to a rapture so dear.<br />
Stoop down then, grey heaven—stoop down in thy gloom;<br />
And haste, coming tempest—haste over the tomb,<br />
Where slumber my fathers and kinsmen, and sigh<br />
As if mourning with me o'er the place where they lie.<br />
Oh ! land that my memory fills with delight,<br />
On whose soil strode those fathers before me in might,<br />
As I dreamed in my youth on thy green swelling breast<br />
That wraps their cold dust in its mantle of rest.<br />
Farewell now to all that embraces thy shore,<br />
Dear land of my race that I ne'er shall see more;<br />
Lands richer there may be before me than thine,<br />
But no other country can ever be mine.
THE RETURN OF THE EXILES.<br />
The Return of the Exiles.<br />
BY M. E. M. DONALDSON,<br />
Author of " Wanderings in the Western Highlands and Islands,"<br />
" Islesmen of Bride," " Further Wanderings," etc., etc.<br />
WHAT can be more gracious in the Western Highlands—<br />
outside their native population—than an early morning<br />
in June Then the light of the infant day is soft and<br />
rosy, the sky smiles benignly upon a smooth sea, and the mountains<br />
are already aglow with the promise of royal splendour.<br />
It is with some such picture in his heart that<br />
the Scottish Gael may anticipate his home-coming in early<br />
summer, only to be welcomed back by deluges of relentless<br />
rain. Does this in any way damp the delight he expected<br />
to feel on his return from exile We shall see . . .<br />
Last year, a little before six in the morning, according to<br />
"Lloyd George's time" (as opposed to "God's time") I stepped<br />
out from the hotel on to the pier at Oban, to board the "Cygnet."<br />
The morning was steeped in gloom, for the rain was descending<br />
in a steady downpour, in a persistent determination so to continue<br />
without allowing itself any rest. Besides myself, there were<br />
straggling on board some few passengers unfortunate enough to<br />
be bound for the Isles that morning by the most comfortless and<br />
inhospitable of all the wretched service that reserves its best boats<br />
for tourist traffic. A few poor folk—obviously from Glasgow—<br />
a former or so, two other men, a young Englishman—the only one<br />
on the boat to have paid cabin fare for purely delusive cabin<br />
accommodation—these with myself made up the passenger roll.<br />
I took a seat under the bridge that is all the meagre shelter the<br />
upper deck affords, apart from the scant accommodation aft,<br />
obviously intended for the uninitiated payers of cabin fares.<br />
Sitting on the side of the boat, looking over to where Mull<br />
should be, not a trace of that island was visible through the dense<br />
curtain of the rain that, still pouring pitilessly down, pitted the<br />
sea with monotonous drops. Indeed, since no sign of land was to<br />
be seen in any direction, we might have been far out in midocean.<br />
It was in all respects save one—the knowledge that it was<br />
the homeland—a thoroughly miserable day on the most miserable<br />
of boats; cold as well as wet, extremely dull, and with no prospect<br />
of any improvement, but rather the reverse, throughout the long<br />
voyage. 1 was thus meditating when one of the men whom I had<br />
noticed on embarking, but had not been able to place, approached<br />
me. In the most natural manner possible, as though he sensed<br />
that in me he would find a fellow Gael who would heartily echo<br />
his sentiments, he spoke to me. Without any preliminaries, he<br />
said:—<br />
" Was it not the fine thing to be back again in this beautiful<br />
country" and here, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, he<br />
indicated the enveloping curtains of dense rain, and there was the<br />
love-light of home in his eyes as he spoke.<br />
I agreed with him heartily, and there came to my mind a few<br />
lines of Neil Munro's fine virile verse in " To Exiles ":—<br />
" We tread the miry road, the rain-drenched heather,<br />
We are the men, we battle, we endure!<br />
God's pity for you, exiles, in your weather,<br />
Of swooning winds, calm seas, and skies demure t* 5<br />
As I sat soaking there, and somewhat shivering, the enthusiastic<br />
Gael stood dripping beside me, perfectly indifferent to the rain,<br />
and went on:—<br />
"I was missing it all that terribly in America that was a<br />
dreadful country. After eight years, indeed, I could not be<br />
standing it any longer."<br />
Was not this fine fellow just such a one as Neil Munro<br />
apostrophised:—•<br />
" Are you not weary of your distant places,<br />
Far, far from Scotland of the mist and storm,<br />
In stagnant airs, the sunsmite on your faces,<br />
The days so long and warm<br />
When all around you lie the strange fields sleeping,<br />
The ghastly woods where no dear memories roam,<br />
Do not your sad hearts overseas come leaping<br />
To the highlands and lowlands of your Home"<br />
My companion continued:—<br />
" So here I was on my way back to Barra. Uch, there was<br />
nothing like all this "—and again he waved his arm—" in the<br />
United States—nothing at all, and it was for the mists I was<br />
wearying, and all the other beautiful things of the Islands."
124 THE RETURN OF THE EXILES.<br />
He went on to tell me that he had been earning good money in<br />
the States, but that this could not compensate him tor his dislike of<br />
Americans, their climate, and all their ways, including Prohibition,<br />
so that the call of Barra becoming more and more insistent, at<br />
last proved irresistible. At this point he went off to fetch the<br />
fellow-islander who was returning with him, and whom he wished<br />
to introduce to me.<br />
In his absence I dreamily analysed his eulogy of "typical<br />
West Highland weather," which is so commonly and so<br />
ignorantly execrated by the average Sasunnach tourist. These<br />
know nothing of the unique exhilaration that arises from tramping<br />
in the soft caressing rain of the Highlands. They are incapable<br />
of appreciating its refreshment: they do not realise that to rain<br />
and tempest are due those marvellous atmospheric effects which<br />
are the glory of the Highlands. Where else does nature make<br />
such lightning change from tears to laughter Is not the light<br />
and laughter of Highland scenery all the more exquisite because<br />
it has followed, with such marvellous rapidity, fresh and clean,<br />
upon fretfulness and weeping And is not one day of gloriously<br />
fine weather in the Highlands more than sufficient to wipe out<br />
all memory of any monotony of wet weather <br />
Here my interesting acquaintance returned with his friend,<br />
and the introduction made, and after we had shaken hands, I expressed<br />
my unfeigned pleasure in being able to welcome back<br />
fellow Gaels, more especially in face of a rising tide of emigration<br />
that was depleting Scotland of some of the best of her sons. They<br />
were, in fact, being driven out, often sorely against their will, by<br />
the force of circumstances that made life in the remote parts of<br />
the Highlands, and in the Isles, almost an impossibility. Was it<br />
not time for Scottish Gaels once more to stand shoulder to<br />
shoulder, uniting this time to demand for their country that serious<br />
consideration of her special problems which has, so far, been<br />
shirked Of what use is the propaganda of Gaelic if it be not<br />
allied with some sustained effort to stem the tide of emigration of<br />
those whose mother tongue is the Gaelic What will avail any<br />
success in the Gaelic movement if, in the glens of the Gael, the<br />
only sound left is the sough of the wind round the ruined and<br />
rotting homesteads of a vanished people So we talked, in perfect<br />
accord one with the other, till the boat drew into the bay of Kilchoan,<br />
and after the exchange of warm hand-clasps, the ferryboat<br />
bore me away from these two stalwart sons of Barra.<br />
The Red Deer.<br />
BY MAJOR JOHN Ross, F.S.A., (SCOT.)<br />
Editor of " The Book of the Red Deer."<br />
" Creag nan aighean 's nan damh siùbhlach,<br />
A' chreag ùrail, aighearach, ianach.''<br />
IN this brief sketch of the Red Deer, it is altogether foreign to<br />
my intention to raise any question of a controversial nature regarding<br />
this beautful animal. It may have made a chapter in<br />
the economic history of this country, which gives rise to un<br />
happy thoughts in the mind of the Gael, but in the romantic<br />
history of the land of the mountain and the flood, the red deer<br />
makes an irresistible appeal to his imagination. I leave it to<br />
philosophers to reconcile this contradiction. In the trenches of<br />
Flanders, with the thought of home, just as the Australian would<br />
associate the Southern Cross, shining down on the' bush,' with the<br />
kangaroo, so the Gael would inevitably associate the Polar Star<br />
and the circling Plough, glittering over his native hills, with the<br />
red deer.<br />
Professor Watson writes:—" Among the Gaels of old, hunting<br />
was a recreation and something more: it served as a means of<br />
acquiring that individual dexterity and prowess of which they<br />
were always fond, and as a training for the sterner work of the<br />
battle-field. While the Gael was not singular in these respects, it<br />
is probably true that of all the Western peoples, they took most<br />
joy in this pastime, and that their literature, ancient and modern,<br />
was most strongly affected by it." Who can find words to describe<br />
the thrill the old poacher feels, as his adventures in silent corrie<br />
or by lonely tarn rise in memory! The deer has been from time<br />
immemorial the joy of the hunter and the choice theme of the<br />
bard. To every true Gael it is emblematic of his free, proud,<br />
energetic, Nature-loving race. It never fails to suggest to him<br />
the open spaces, with far horizons, and the silent majesty of Nature<br />
which gives him that great emotion called the feeling of the<br />
sublime.<br />
At one time the red deer were common all over the British<br />
Isles, both in England and Ireland, as well as in Scotland, but, as
120<br />
THE RED DEER.<br />
the population increased, they gradually retreated to the high hills<br />
and secluded spots that provided the shelter, food, and freedom<br />
they love so well. Their particular home is the Highlands of<br />
Scotland, especially the lofty bens and the deep corries northward<br />
from the Grampians, those ramparts that defied, the might of Rome,<br />
and behind whose barriers have been retained traditions and<br />
characteristics of race and language that have endowed our hills and<br />
valleys with world-wide fame.<br />
Deer of course, differ, like human beings, according to environment.<br />
The deer that are reared on the English parks, or that<br />
are carted for the chase on Exmoor, are " tame and domestic "<br />
compared with the noble animal which dwells in the mountain<br />
solitudes of Scotland. There it is found with the golden eagle,<br />
which builds his eyrie in the rugged crags and sometimes takes<br />
toll of the fawn; or with the wild cat, which is still to be seen in<br />
the hills, sharing with the wily fox his depredations on the smaller<br />
game.<br />
The red deer is one of the most graceful of animals. Keen of<br />
scent, swift of foot, and beautiful in form, it might well be taken<br />
as an object lesson in eugenics. The hind (the female deer) is<br />
undoubtedly one of the most interesting and beautiful creatures<br />
in the animal world, not even excepting her lord and master, the<br />
stag. If the terms " form divine " and " poetry of motion " can<br />
be applied to any creature, surely the hind has a claim upon them.<br />
In movement, whether walking, trotting, or galloping, her action<br />
is perfect. She is more alert in every sense than the stag, which<br />
is well aware of this, as, when accompanied by a bevy of anything<br />
up to fifteen hinds, he knows he can safely browse or rest,, when<br />
guarded by such trustworthy outposts.<br />
The hind is about a third less in weight than the male deer,<br />
which is called the stag, and has no antlers. They have only a<br />
single young one at a birth, and the new-born calves are speckled<br />
with white spots, which, however, gradually disappear by the time<br />
they are three months old. From the beginning of August till<br />
about the middle of September, the coat of the deer assumes that<br />
rich, glossy red which harmonises so closely with the surrounding<br />
autumn tints. As the winter advances, the red passes gradually<br />
into brown. For the first year—and the second also, if the<br />
calf is a male—the calf runs with its mother. In its third year<br />
the male calf develops antlers, and joins his own sex. At six or<br />
seven years, he is full-grown, and is then spoken of as a hart.<br />
THE RED DEER. I 27<br />
From that time till he is twelve years old, the stag is in his prime,<br />
and, with his ten, or twelve-pointed antlers he looks " every inch<br />
a king," and proves his right to the title, " Monarch of the Wild."<br />
When the stag becomes old, he is ousted by the younger and<br />
stronger stags, and wanders about alone in the wilds, suggesting<br />
something of the sadness felt at the sight of departed glory. The<br />
melancholy Jacques seems to have observed that the deer tribe<br />
was lacking in pity for their fellows who became disabled through<br />
age or other ills:—" To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,<br />
that from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, did come to languish;"<br />
* * * * " Anon, a careless herd, full of the pasture, jumps along by<br />
him, and never stays to greet him."<br />
Standing on the skyline, or moving along the side of a mountain,<br />
perhaps near some foaming torrent, with lofty peaks all round,<br />
shooting up into the silent sky, and the rays of the sun lighting<br />
up his lithe and superb form, the red stag provides one of the<br />
grandest animated sights that nature can present. Not far off are<br />
a dozen or more hinds which belong to his 'seraglio,' and on whom<br />
he often relies for a warning that danger is imminent.<br />
A great deal has been written about the " challenge " of the<br />
stag in the mating season, when as Duncan Bàn sings:—<br />
" And no organ sends a roll so delightful to my soul<br />
As the branchy-crested race, when they quicken their proud pace,<br />
And bellow in the face of Beinn Dòrain."<br />
They do have their grim battles at that time, and fight furiously,<br />
but it is seldom to the death. After some preliminary roaring<br />
and a great clash of antlers, they push and thrust till the one or<br />
the^other feels he is having the worst of it, when with great agility<br />
he jumps clear, leaving the field to his rival. While the combat is<br />
proceeding, the vain " ladies of the harem " move about and feed<br />
with apparently entire indifference.<br />
Mention of these fights brings me to the interesting question<br />
as to the origin and the utility of the antlers. These are shed<br />
every year in the Spring, and grow again so rapidly that by the<br />
beginning of August they are again full size. Some antlers stop<br />
at four or five < points,' there being great variations in number,<br />
as well as in shape and size. A very good head may have only<br />
eight to ten points, the shape and symmetry of the antlers and tines,<br />
and the general set of the head being the important criteria.
128 THE RED DEER.<br />
Why does Nature show this apparent waste of time and material<br />
in growing, and then casting off these mighty antlers every season <br />
Darwin thought that antlers were developed mainly for the<br />
offensive in fighting, but it is known that the baid, or hummei<br />
stag is more than a match for his heavily antlered rival. My own<br />
opinion is that the antlers have persisted from primitive times as<br />
a defensive equipment, when the stag, by throwing back his head,<br />
could protect his neck and back against the sudden spring of the<br />
leopard, or similar beast of prey.<br />
In conclusion let me give briefly a human touch. " Where,"<br />
writes Sir Iain Colquhoun in the " Book of the Red Deer," " will<br />
you find a companion and friend to equal the Highland stalker<br />
You have in him a man whose mind has felt the wonder of Nature<br />
in its ever-changing moods, and is untouched by the vulgarity of<br />
a commercial age, and who during the long winter evenings has<br />
found time to think things out for himself'' There is a similar<br />
thought from a writer in the " Times," who says:—" Everywhere<br />
you may go in the Highlands, it will always amaze you how deeply<br />
every labourer has thought out his life."<br />
"THE HOME OF THE RED DEER."<br />
O<br />
C<br />
Am Fiadh.<br />
LE SEUMAS MAC AN ROTHAICH.<br />
ait' am facas a' falbh air faiche,<br />
A' siubhal leacainn no 'g astar slèibh,<br />
5 Le 'bhian dearg maiseach, le 'sheang-chruth bras-mhear,<br />
Bu bhòidhche pearsa na mac an fhèidh <br />
A chuinnean fiata 'sa ghaoith, 's e dian-ruith<br />
Feadh thoman riabhach nan cian-bheann ceò;<br />
Le 'àrd uchd àluinn, le 'chabar cràcach,<br />
'S le 'eangaibh sàr-chlis an àm na tòir.<br />
Gur binn am chluasaibh an langan uaibhreach<br />
A thig o 'n ruadh-ghreigh o 'n chruachan àrd;<br />
Gur grinn air fuaran an eilid chuanta,<br />
*S a laogh mu 'n cuairt di ri luaineis bhàidh.<br />
Chunnaic mi 'n damh donn<br />
S na h èildean."<br />
V. R. RALFOUR-BROWNE
AM FIADH. 129<br />
An cluas gu clàisteachd, an sùil gu faicinn;<br />
An cinn 's an casan comh-ghrad gu lèir.<br />
B' i an obair uasal a bhi 'gan cuartach<br />
'S a' caitheamh luaidhe le buaidh 'nan dèidh."<br />
Gur tric a dh' èirich mi 'shiubhal slèibhe<br />
Roimh shoillse grèine, 's a rinn mo làmh<br />
An làn-damh nuallach a chur 'na thuaineal,<br />
'S a thoirt gu h-uallach o 'n fhuaran bhlàr.<br />
Ach, nis o 'n ghèill iad, mo neart's mo spèiread,<br />
'S nach dèan mi èirigh ach mail gu triall,<br />
Cha tog mi aonach le gadhar aotrom,<br />
'S cha dèan mi faobhach air sreud nam bian.<br />
The Study of Scottish Gaelic.<br />
By Professor JOHN FRASER, M %<br />
A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D.,<br />
Professor of Celtic, Oxford University.<br />
A<br />
GREAT deal of enthusiasm and energy has been devoted<br />
for many years to the task of resuscitating the Gaelic lan<br />
guage in the Highlands, but little has been heard of the<br />
duty and necessity of preparing for the worst by studying the<br />
language while we still can do so. The latter is a much easier and<br />
more practicable task than the former. Whether Gaelic will be a<br />
dead language within a hundred years or not will depend in the<br />
main on factors which the most unwearied propaganda can do<br />
little to influence. A language cannot be kept alive simply by<br />
being made a subject of school instruction; any doubt on that<br />
point will be dispelled if one considers how few school children<br />
who have been taught French or German—languages which can<br />
be, and are, taught more easily and efficiently than Gaelic—can<br />
use those languages as a medium of conversation in later life. The<br />
only place where the future of a language can be secured is the<br />
home, and it is pretty evident that in most Highland homes sentiment<br />
is less powerful than the, as a rule unsuspected, pressure of<br />
social and economic realities.<br />
i
i30<br />
THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC.<br />
THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC.<br />
On the other hand every speaker or" Gaelic can help, directly<br />
or indirectly, and without compromising his own or his children's<br />
prospects, in preserving a record of Gaelic as a living language.<br />
There is a very general superstition that this sort of work must<br />
be left entirely to scholars who have been specially trained. It is,<br />
of course, true that, in the end, when the facts of a language have<br />
been collected, they can be arranged properly, and the correct inferences<br />
drawn from them, only by a man who has been taught<br />
how to do so. But for the collection of material very little<br />
training or instruction is necessary; and, at the same time, the<br />
collection of material calls for the collaboration of as many hands<br />
as possible. This, it appears to me, is a field in which the<br />
numerous Gaelic Societies up and down the country, as well as<br />
individual Gaelic speakers, could do very useful preliminary<br />
work, which would be of the utmost service to Celtic scholarship.<br />
The nature of linguistic investigations is not perhaps<br />
generally understood, and I venture to indicate in as few words as<br />
possible the method of dealing with one particular kind of problem.<br />
I shall take a concrete example, but the principles involved<br />
are of general application.<br />
A correspondent inquired recently whether the expression,<br />
bha iad air an òran a sheinn ''nuair a rainig sinn is, in point of syntax,<br />
more correct than, bha iad air an t-òran a sheinn, etc. To<br />
this question there can be no simple answer till we have defined<br />
the term " correct." If by this we mean " in accordance with<br />
earlier usage," then we can say at once that the former of the two<br />
sentences is the more correct. In saying so we make a statement<br />
about the history of the Gaelic language, viz., that at one period<br />
all native speakers said air an òran a sheinn. But a living language<br />
is constantly changing; innovations in pronunciation, morphology,<br />
and syntax are being constantly made. Some of them are at once<br />
suppressed, others are adopted and become part and parcel of the<br />
language. Every innovation is a " mistake," and remains one<br />
till it is adopted in general usage, and we can say that the development<br />
of every language consists in, so to speak, legalising an unending<br />
series of " mistakes." When, therefore, it is asked<br />
whether a particular syntactical construction, which is a departure<br />
from earlier usage, is correct, we must inquire whether it is in<br />
common and recognised use among native speakers. If it is,<br />
then it is correct. Naturally, the question whether it should be<br />
employed in formal literature is a question for the stylist; the<br />
business of the student of language is to ascertain the facts, not<br />
to make rules.<br />
Whether air an t-òran a sheinn is correct I cannot say, for I<br />
do not know whether the construction is in common use among<br />
good native speakers.*<br />
And that brings me to the object of this short article. There<br />
are innumerable questions like the above, concerning the Gaelic<br />
language, which cannot be answered for lack of knowledge of the<br />
facts. It is quite clear that the facts could be collected by any one.<br />
What is wanted is a certain amount of organisation, directed by a<br />
body which could count on the assistance of competent Gaelic<br />
speakers in all parts of the Gaelic-speaking area, and the distribution<br />
to the latter of a simple statement of the kind of information<br />
required.<br />
*The question 'What degree of " goodness " as a speaker of<br />
a language is necessary to constitute a norm ' is an interesting one,<br />
but cannot be discussed here.<br />
The Celtic Spirit.<br />
(WHAT IT MEANS TO A LOWLANDER.)<br />
BY WILLIAM POWER,<br />
Editor, " The Scots Observer."<br />
I<br />
HAVE often wondered what the Gael's very private opinion<br />
is of people who, like myself, have neither the Gaelic nor an<br />
authentic strain of Highland blood, but only what is called a<br />
" sympathetic interest" in the Highlands and in things Celtic.<br />
The Gael, of course, is too polite to tell me. But I cannot think<br />
that his opinion of me is very different from my own, and in<br />
making an appearance in a book of this kind I feel that I am an<br />
impostor, a humbug of the deepest dye. In extenuation I can<br />
only plead that I am not the slightest bit interested in grouse or<br />
deer or what is called " sport," that I am less interested in Highland<br />
fauna than in Highland scenery, and that I am interested in<br />
the scenery mainly because of the human life, the music, the
i3°<br />
THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH<br />
GAELIC.<br />
On the other hand every speaker of Gaelic can help, directly<br />
or indirectly, and without compromising his own or his children's<br />
prospects, in preserving a record of Gaelic as a living language.<br />
There is a very general superstition that this sort of work must<br />
be left entirely to scholars who have been specially trained. It is,<br />
of course, true that, in the end, when the facts of a language have<br />
been collected, they can be arranged properly, and the correct inferences<br />
drawn from them, only by a man who has been taught<br />
how to do so. But for the collection of material very little<br />
training or instruction is necessary; and, at the same time, the<br />
collection of material calls for the collaboration of as many hands<br />
as possible. This, it appears to me, is a field in which the<br />
numerous Gaelic Societies up and down the country, as well as<br />
individual Gaelic speakers, could do very useful preliminary<br />
work, which would be of the utmost service to Celtic scholarship.<br />
The nature of linguistic investigations is not perhaps<br />
generally understood, and I venture to indicate in as few words as<br />
possible the method of dealing with one particular kind of problem.<br />
I shall take a concrete example, but the principles involved<br />
are of general application.<br />
A correspondent inquired recently whether the expression,<br />
bha iad air an òran a sheinn 'nuair a ràinig sinn is, in point of syntax,<br />
more correct than, bha iad air an t-òran a sheinn, etc. To<br />
this question there can be no simple answer till we have defined<br />
the term " correct." If by this we mean " in accordance with<br />
earlier usage," then we can say at once that the former of the two<br />
sentences is the more correct. In saying so we make a statement<br />
about the history of the Gaelic language, viz., that at one period<br />
all native speakers said air an òran a sheinn. But a living language<br />
is constantly changing; innovations in pronunciation, morphology,<br />
and syntax are being constantly made. Some of them are at once<br />
suppressed, others are adopted and become part and parcel of the<br />
language. Every innovation is a " mistake," and remains one<br />
till it is adopted in general usage, and we can say that the development<br />
of every language consists in, so to speak, legalising an unending<br />
series of " mistakes." When, therefore, it is asked<br />
whether a particular syntactical construction, which is a departure<br />
from earlier usage, is correct, we must inquire whether it is in<br />
common and recognised use among native speakers. If it is,<br />
then it is correct. Naturally, the question whether it should be<br />
employed in formal literature is a question for the stylist; the<br />
THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC.<br />
business of the student of language is to ascertain the facts, not<br />
to make rules.<br />
Whether air an t-òran a sheinn is correct I cannot say, for I<br />
do not know whether the construction is in common use among<br />
good native speakers.*<br />
And that brings me to the object of this short article. There<br />
are innumerable questions like the above, concerning the Gaelic<br />
language, which cannot be answered for lack of knowledge of the<br />
facts. It is quite clear that the facts could be collected by any one.<br />
What is wanted is a certain amount of organisation, directed by a<br />
body which could count on the assistance of competent Gaelic<br />
speakers in all parts of the Gaelic-speaking area, and the distribution<br />
to the latter of a simple statement of the kind of information<br />
required.<br />
*The question c What degree of " goodness " as a speaker of<br />
a language is necessary to constitute a norm ' is an interesting one,<br />
but cannot be discussed here.<br />
The Celtic Spirit.<br />
(WHAT IT MEANS TO A LOWLANDER.)<br />
BY WILLIAM POWER,<br />
Editor, « The Scots Observer."<br />
T HAVE often wondered what the Gael's very private opinion<br />
± is of people who, like myself, have neither the Gaelic nor an<br />
authentic strain of Highland blood, but only what is called a<br />
" sympathetic interest " in the Highlands and in things Celtic.<br />
The Gael, of course, is too polite to tell me. But I cannot think<br />
that his opinion of me is very different from my own, and in<br />
making an appearance in a book of this kind I feel that I am an<br />
impostor, a humbug of the deepest dye. In extenuation I can<br />
only plead that I am not the slightest bit interested in grouse or<br />
deer or what is called « sport," that I am less interested in Highland<br />
fauna than in Highland scenery, and that I am interested in<br />
the scenery mainly because of the human life, the music, the
132<br />
THE<br />
CELTIC SPIRIT.<br />
literature, the legends, of which it is the background and very<br />
largely the inspiration.<br />
I believe strongly in the teaching of Gaelic, and in its use<br />
among the Highland people. "Why, then, have I not learned it<br />
myself That is a straight question, to which I will give a straight<br />
answer. When 1 was at the plastic age the cultural value of Gaelic<br />
was not recognised, and I did not know anyone who spoke Gaelic<br />
and could teach me. My environment was not Highland. Later,<br />
when I had acquired mental initiative, I was repelled by two things.<br />
One was my impression that the Gaelic literature of Scotland had<br />
been narrowed and spoiled by the spirit of Presbyterian evangelicalism;<br />
every poet I heard of seemed to be a writer of hymns or<br />
didactic verse. The other obstacle was the fantastic system of<br />
orthography, the real origin and reason of which no one has<br />
managed to make clear to me: had Gaelic a century or two ago<br />
been boldly phonetised on the Roman system, as Finnish was, it<br />
might have been the language of all Scotland to-day. I am a poor<br />
linguist: German very nearly beat me, and German is child's play<br />
compared to Gaelic. Every Gaelic speaker I met, also, said of<br />
every other Gaelic-speaker: " He doesn't know Gaelic." At<br />
times I wondered if anybody really knew it.<br />
Things have changed now, I believe. There are at least half<br />
a dozen Highlanders whose claim to know Gaelic is admitted by<br />
the Highlanders. The subject-matter of contemporary Gaelic<br />
literature has extended; the treasures of the pre-Presbyterian period<br />
are being unearthed: also, the key to Highland Gaelic may, with<br />
a little turning, unlock the richer store-house of Irish Gaelic. Old<br />
and stupid as I am, I would set myself even yet to the learning of<br />
the language, were a rational system of orthography adopted.<br />
And why should I have the slightest desire to load my lazy<br />
head with a language which many " sensible " people—some of<br />
them Highlanders, alas!—declare to be of no use whatever in<br />
modern life Why am I intensely interested in the activities of<br />
a Society which has for its primary aim the preservation of Gaelic<br />
among those who have the opportunity of oral instruction in their<br />
childhood<br />
Well, it began when I was about eight years old, with the<br />
reading of " Lord Ullin's Daughter," and a day excursion to<br />
Ardentinny and Loch Goil. That is not the Loch Goil of the<br />
poem, of course, but there was something about those dark, rugged<br />
mountains, with their fleeting, mysterious shadows, and that dark<br />
THE<br />
CELTIC SPIRIT.<br />
and stormy water, flecked with white waves, that at the same time<br />
explained the poem to me and deepened the mystery of its appeal.<br />
Then came the story of the Jacobite risings. The Highlanders<br />
had sacrificed themselves in a losing cause: they had fought for the<br />
Stuarts, the only interesting dynasty since the Angevins: they had<br />
defied the smug and beefy might of Hanoverian England. Then<br />
came walking tours in the Highlands, days of wonderful dreams<br />
amid cobalt hills and purple moors, and blue-dancing burns and<br />
lochs. How this wonderful beauty was enhanced—vocalised—<br />
humanised—by the little crofts, and the cows, and the women with<br />
soft voices and gentle eyes! The smell of peat-reek was an enchantment.<br />
And then, to my amazement, I learned that there were men to<br />
whom those crofts were a blot on the landscape, a useless impediment<br />
to the hunting and shooting which brought in big rents from<br />
English brewers and railway directors. I was puzzled and shocked.<br />
I read up the land history of the Highlands, and became aware of<br />
the depth of the tragedy we were allowing to be enacted at our<br />
doors. I read on, and discovered that it was part of a bigger<br />
tragedy, the tragedy of the Celtic races. Proud, valiant, dreamy,<br />
and chivalrous, they had once been masters of the whole West of<br />
Europe.<br />
Less sensitive and more business-like peoples had done them<br />
out of their possessions, and driven them to the barren shores of<br />
the Atlantic. And there, having lost nearly all else, they had<br />
found their soul.<br />
What that soul represents in the intellectual and spiritual<br />
history of Europe was first divined by critics like Renan and<br />
Matthew Arnold. They were derided as vain theorists, and " the<br />
Celtic Spirit " became a jest among smart young journalists.<br />
Nowadays we are discovering that, for lack of sufficient documentation,<br />
Renan and Arnold understated their case. The<br />
" Celtic Spirit " has become less capable than ever of separation or<br />
definition—for the simple reason that European literature, at<br />
its highest, is drenched with it. It envelops us like an atmosphere.<br />
Its golden track runs through all our history, from the beautiful<br />
names given by the old Celts to our hills and rivers, down to the<br />
beautiful poetry and prose that has been written by Irish authors<br />
during the last thirty years.<br />
In a recent play by the author of "Campbell of Kilmhor" there<br />
is a thrilling passage in which a vagrant poet describes the eerie<br />
'33
THE CELTIC SPIRIT.<br />
desolation of a Highland countryside emptied of its inhabitants,<br />
whose ghosts haunt every turn of the road. Though not Highland<br />
born, 1 have often experienced this sensation in the glens of<br />
Argyllshire and Inverness-shire. The landscape seemed mute,<br />
and worse than mute: the articulate soul had gone out of it. Its<br />
beauty had become a mockery and a sadness: the flying sunshine<br />
on the hillside seemed a lonely spirit, vainly seeking the responsive<br />
human element; and the wind in the glen was a plaintive cry.<br />
Spirits for a time, they say, haunt the graves or cenotaphs of<br />
the dead. But only for a time. "When the generations that<br />
remembered them in life have passed away, an empty solitude<br />
reigns. There are parts of the Highlands, once centres of active<br />
life, from which even legends and memories have departed. They<br />
have become as barren of human interest as the cliffs and gullies<br />
of Labrador. Is the whole of the Highlands to become like that <br />
If so, then that precious spiritual element which redeems our life<br />
from dull mechanical materialism is in danger of extinction. The<br />
Highlands were not the accidental repository of the Celtic Spirit,<br />
but its garden and seed-plot. The Highlander and the Highlands<br />
have an even closer complementary relation to each other than the<br />
words and music of a perfect song. The Highlands, the Highland<br />
people, and the Gaelic tongue: these are the essential, inseparable<br />
components of the Celtic spirit in Scotland. Keep them together,<br />
and the Celtic spirit survives. Separate them, and it will evaporate<br />
like some precious essence that only Nature can compound and<br />
distil. It is for that reason, and because of my spontaneous love<br />
for the Highlands and for Scotland, that I will do anything in my<br />
power to further the cause for which An Comunn stands. But<br />
if the salt hath lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted It is<br />
on the Highlanders themselves that the preservation of Gaelic<br />
culture depends.<br />
Na triùir mharbh as bòidhche air bith, leanabh beag, breac geal,<br />
is coileach-dubh.<br />
The three prettiest dead,—a little child, a salmon and a black-cock.<br />
Gaoth roimh 'n aiteamh, gaoth roimh tholl, is gaoth nan long a'<br />
dol fo sheòl,—na tri gaoithean a b'fhuaire a dh' fhairich Fionn riamh.<br />
Wind before thaw, wind through hole, wind of ship when hoisting<br />
sail,—the three coldest winds Fingal ever felt.<br />
Love's Last Request..<br />
BY COLONEL JOHN MACGREGOR,<br />
Hon. Bard of Cian Gregor.<br />
ON the Braes of fair Balquhidder,*<br />
Braes of ever famed renown,<br />
When my mortal race has ended,<br />
Dig my grave and lay me down,<br />
That my dust at last may mingle<br />
With the sod that I have loved<br />
Through the changing moods of fortune,<br />
Or where'er my footsteps roved.<br />
Other loves have flourished, vanished,<br />
Leaving scarce a trace behind;<br />
Having lived their day, they faded<br />
Like a shade from off my mind:<br />
Far from so the love of country,<br />
Of the lakes and mountains blue,<br />
Which, the more the world I wandered,<br />
Only strong and stronger grew.<br />
On it spread no flimsy roses,<br />
Fresh and fragrant though they bloom,<br />
Since they're not the tribal emblems,<br />
That should grace my Highland tomb:<br />
Place instead some purple heather,<br />
Plant a sprig of stately pine,<br />
For they're both supremely loyal,<br />
And, by birthright, both are mine !<br />
*As the first Bard of Cian Gregor since the resuscitation of<br />
the name of MacGregor by Act of Parliament in 1775, after a<br />
suppression that lasted nearly two centuries, the author of this<br />
poem has been granted a lair in the old, historic churchyard of<br />
Balquhidder, where Rob Roy is buried. The fact that his mother<br />
was a MacDonald explains the reference to the purple heather;<br />
while, of course, the pine is the emblem of the MacGregors.
THIC SONAS IS SLAINTE BHO THOILEACHASINNTINN.<br />
137<br />
Thig Sonas is Slainte bho Thoileachas-inntinn.<br />
LE ALASDAIR<br />
MACDHOMHNAILL, INBHIRNIS, (" GLEANNACH.")<br />
FAODAIDH e a bhi gun robh an seann sgeul so aig daoine<br />
glice na h-Aird'-an-Ear o shean ann an cànain eile; ach chuala<br />
mise i o chionn àireamh bhliadhnaichean air ais, ann an<br />
Gàidhlig ghrinn, ghleusda, am measg an t-seann sluaigh, anns a'<br />
ghleann 'san robh mi òg:—<br />
Anns na seann tìmeannan fada o chian, bha duine mòr an sud<br />
nach robh a' faighinn a shlàinte gu maith idir. Chuir e fios air<br />
lighiche an dèidh lighiche 'ga fhaicinn, ach cha robh sgil no eòlas<br />
aig neach seach neach dhiùbh, a bha a chum feuma do'n fhear<br />
nach robh slàn.<br />
Chuala e gun robh duine ann an dùthaich eile a bha ro sgilear<br />
agus glic a thaobh thinneasan agus iomadh trioblaid eile de na<br />
bhios a' leigeil àmhghair air clann-daoine. Chaidh e air thurus<br />
gun dàil, a dh' fhaotainn comhairle bho 'n duine ainmeil a bha an<br />
sud.<br />
Mu dheireadh fhuair e an duine air an robh e an tòir, agus<br />
dh' innis e dha gach puing mu dhèidhinn a thrioblaid. Cheasnaich<br />
an duine glic e gu min-eòlach mu a phàrantan, mu a aois,<br />
mu a chaitheadh-beatha, agus mu a chleachdaidhean gu lèir, agus<br />
air dha freagairt chiallach fhaotainn do gach ceist, is e a thubhairt<br />
e ris an duine a bha ag gearan:—<br />
" Is e a tha ort-sa trioblaid a tha glè iongantach, agus chan<br />
'eil leigheas air do shon ach a h-aon, agus is e sin gu faigh thu<br />
r'a caitheadh an lèine aig an fhear sin a their riut le uile fhirinn<br />
gu bheil e làn shàsuichte le a staid shaoghalta—fear a tha gun nì<br />
'sam bith ag cur dragha no bruaillein air, no a' toirt mi-thoileachaidh<br />
'sam bith dha, a là no dh' oidhche."<br />
Rinn e oidhirp agus oidhirp le 'uile dhìchill 'na dhùthaich<br />
fhèin air a leithid de dhuine fhaighinn's a chaidh a chomharachadh<br />
dha, ach cha do thachair aon neach ris, fad ùine mhòir, a<br />
b' urrainn a ràdh gun robh e idir làn-thoilichte le a staid-bheajtha<br />
'san t-saoghal. Bha nì air choir-eigin a dhìth air a h-uile fear<br />
ris an do chuir e a' cheist.<br />
Shiubhail e an sin dùthchannan eile air an aon ghnothach, gun<br />
a iarrtas a bhi air a shàsuchadh. Ach anns an tilleadh dhachaidh,<br />
chaidh innseadh dha gun robh aon duine anns a' choimhearsnachd<br />
a bha fo 'n ainm a bhi uile-thoilichte 'na bheatha gu h-iomlan.<br />
Rinn e air an duine so air ball. 'Nuair a thachair an dithis,<br />
thubhairt am fear a bha an tòir air slàinte ris an duine ^ir an d'<br />
fhuair e a nis eòlas:—<br />
" Tha mi a' tuigsinn," ars' esan, " gu bheil thusa làn-thoilichte<br />
le do chrannchur saoghalta,—gun nì ag cur mi-thaitneis, iomagain,<br />
no tuairgne 'na do rathad, a là no dh' oidhche."<br />
" Tha sin mar sin," fhreagair an duine, is e a' leigeil as a<br />
làimh na tuaighe leis an robh e a' bristeadh connaidh—" tha mi<br />
cho toilichte 'sa tha an là fada; chan 'eil fhios agam ciod e is ciall<br />
do a bhi mì-thoilichte."<br />
" Matà," arsa fear na h-easlainte, " a chum agus gu faigh<br />
mise mo shlàinte, a tha nis o chionn ùine mhòir a dhìth orm, tha<br />
e air innseadh dhomh le duine glic gu feum thu do lèine a thoirt<br />
dhomh, a chum mi fhèin 'ga caitheadh; agus ma gheibh mise an<br />
lèine agad-sa, agus mo shlàinte 'na cois, gu cinnteach ni mi duine<br />
beairteach dhìot-sa."<br />
" Gu dearbh, gheibheadh tusa sin, a dhuine chòir, le làn thoil,<br />
nam biodh a leithid de rud agam fhèin, ach a dh' innseadh na firinn<br />
duit, cha robh lèine riamh air mo chroit."<br />
Sud an fhreagairt a fhuair an duine mòr, agus is e a thubhairt<br />
e, " Seadh! seadh ! an ann mar so a tha Tha mi air aon bheachd<br />
co-dhiùbh—gur ann mar is lugha an t-seilbh, 'sann is aotruime<br />
an cridhe."<br />
Is fhearr am beumach beag leis a' bheannachd, na'm bonnach mòr<br />
leis a' mhallachd.<br />
The little bannock with a blessing is better than the big one with a<br />
curse.<br />
Am fear as fhaide 'chaidh o'n tigh, 's e an ceòl 'bu bhinne 'chuala<br />
e riamh, " Tiugainn dachaidh."<br />
To him that furthest did roam, the sweetest music he ever heard<br />
7vas, " Come Home."
THEN AND NOW. 139<br />
Then and Now.<br />
BY SHERIFF J. MACMASTER CAMPBELL, C.B.E., F.S.A. (SCOT ),<br />
Campbeltown.<br />
AWAY<br />
back in the early « Seventies "—seventy-two to be<br />
precise—my schoolmaster at Inverness asked me if I would<br />
be willing to go up for the winter months to assist his<br />
brother who was teacher at Findhorn Bridge. With youthful<br />
temerity I agreed to go, and some days before I took the fateful<br />
journey by Macgillivray's Mail-gig I foregathered with a companion,<br />
who expressed his surprise that I should make the adventure.<br />
On questioning him to find the reason for his objection, his<br />
answer was, "You're sure to learn Gaalic," for thus it was frequently<br />
pronounced in mid-Victorian Inverness. Andrew Fraser but voiced<br />
the prevailing attitude among the school boys of the town: they regarded<br />
Gaelic as something to escape from. I can recall how his<br />
surprise was increased when I told him that the opportunity of<br />
learning Gaelic (which during the succeeding four months was<br />
mine in full measure) was the more potent of the inducements<br />
about to impel me to brave the rigours of a winter in Strathdearn.<br />
My conversation with Andrew Fraser took place just one year<br />
after the institution of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, and,<br />
although the leaven of the new Society was already operating among<br />
our seniors, its influence had not reached the schools, and I should<br />
have viewed the language in the manner of my companions but<br />
for the fortunate circumstance that, while English was the language<br />
of our home, my father was a Sutherlander, and my mother<br />
a perfect speaker and writer of the Gaelic of her native Argyll.<br />
Since those far-off days, the Gaelic Society has, in its own<br />
well-defined way, done magnificent work in the rehabilitation of<br />
Gaelic, not alone in Inverness and the home country, but in every<br />
wide-flung land where Highlanders sojourn or reside. The<br />
Society became a leading contributor to the success of the movement<br />
instituted and personally conducted by Professor Blackie<br />
for the endowment of the Chair of Celtic in the University of<br />
Edinburgh. And it is appropriate to make the observation that<br />
the prime mover in the establishment of the Gaelic Society was<br />
Mr. William Mackay (now Dr. William Mackay), happily still<br />
with us, who for a period, too, filled with distinction the Presidentship<br />
of An Comunn. The cause of Gaelic culture is under many<br />
obligations to Dr. Mackay: his work on Urquhart and Glenmoriston<br />
occupies supreme position among the parochial histories<br />
of Scotland.<br />
Not many years after the Gaelic Society entered upon its<br />
mission, the feeling became articulate that, learned Society as it<br />
was, its appeal was to a constituency necessarily circumscribed,<br />
and there was call for a separate effort in the interest of Gaelic,<br />
which would not only intrigue the patriotic student, but would<br />
address itself as well to the general body of the people who continued<br />
to speak the language, and were presumably favourable to<br />
measures for its preservation. From time to time, schemes of<br />
varying kinds were discussed among those by whom Gadic was<br />
regarded as a pious trust, but it was not till 1891 that a definite<br />
course of action was agreed upon: and it was peculiarly appropriate<br />
that, while the first step in the Gaelic revival was taken at Inverness,<br />
the phase of the movement more distinctively popular was<br />
inaugurated at Oban, the town which bears the same relation to<br />
the Western Highlands that Inverness possesses in respect of the<br />
Highlands of the East.<br />
Since I " mind the biggin o't," and have been a member of<br />
the Executive from the commencement, I respond gladly to the<br />
invitation of the Editor, to write down some recollections of the<br />
early days of An Comunn, and to make note of some reflections<br />
born of the procession of successes which has rewarded its<br />
operations right down to its culminating triumph at the Oban Mòd<br />
of 1926. And, in thus making short survey of the career of An<br />
Comunn Gàidhealach, it is convenient to distinguish between the<br />
type of operations which has mainly engaged the Gaelic Society,<br />
and the method of action decided upon by An Comunn.<br />
In its earlier years the Gaelic Society did institute Competitions<br />
in Gael ic in the schools in the district around Inverness, but the<br />
unconcern for Gaelic which qualified the Education Act of 187:<br />
had reflexes which for many subsequent years marked the everyday<br />
language of the people as an intruder in the schools of the Highlands:<br />
and these competitions gradually faded away. It is really<br />
by the pathway of research and written (and subsequentlv<br />
published) communication that the Gaelic Society has pursued its<br />
distinguished course, whereas An Comunn set out to fulfil its<br />
mission by giving opportunity to the speakers and singers of
HO<br />
THEN AND NOW.<br />
Gaelic to engage in Annual Contests, concentrated for the first few<br />
years in the National Mòd, but forming after a while the pro<br />
gramme of a multiplication of Provincial Mods.<br />
In the passing of the years, An Comunn has added, and added<br />
with effect, other schemes to its original plan, but, while the competitions<br />
inaugurated by the Gaelic Society languished and ceased,<br />
the Mods, I take it, still continue the outstanding project of An<br />
Comunn Gàidhealach, growing annually in the weight of their<br />
service—National and Provincial Mods alike—to that cause which<br />
in these days makes such forceful appeal to all true Highlanders.<br />
Let me interpolate here the recollection that, during the first<br />
four years of An Comunn, the authorities of the Inverness Society<br />
were not quite certain that the movement was well and truly<br />
founded, and it was not till 1897 that An Comunn was successful<br />
in inducing the Gaels of Inverness to give sanctuary to the Annual<br />
Mòd, and the Inverness Mòd of that year was the fifth of<br />
the series. It is but fair to say, that it was the Gaelic Society of<br />
Glasgow which gave first aid to the group of Oban enthusiasts<br />
who, temerariously, sought to follow in the wake of<br />
their fellow-Celts of Wales. And of the Glasgow Society<br />
Executive particular mention should be made of the President and<br />
the Secretary of the time, Professor Magnus McLean and Mr.<br />
Malcolm Macfarlane. Likewise, acknowledgment must be made<br />
that since the Mod of 1897, Inverness has never wavered in its<br />
loyalty to An Comunn, and it is to Inverness we are indebted for<br />
that great singer, who combines, in an extraordinary degree, the<br />
Ossianic-like inspiration of the old Bards with the musical culture<br />
which pertains to modern method, these together giving Roderick<br />
MacLeod an influence on the emotions of the listening Gael which<br />
uge does not wither nor custom stale.<br />
In retrospect of the earlier Mods I recall that the Executive<br />
were frequently perturbed by the disappointments, frequently<br />
expressed by competitors, individual and collective. Not that we<br />
omitted the possible results of these disappointments from our<br />
calculation. We were aware that, except in athletics and pipe<br />
music, Highlanders were unaccustomed to competitive tests of<br />
skill, and, Highlanders ourselves, we had no delusions as to the<br />
chance that the disappointments of contestants in competitions of<br />
a literary and vocally musical sort might arrest the subsequent flow<br />
of competitors. But it is gratifying to record that, except in a<br />
few regrettable instances, the unhappiness which followed i1l-<br />
THEN AND NOW. 141<br />
success at one Mòd did not prevent the unsuccessful competitor<br />
from entering at the next. As Mòd has followed Mòd, indeed,<br />
the feeling of sportsmanship has developed from strength to<br />
strength, and this in itself is an achievement upon which An<br />
Comunn has good and sufficient cause to congratulate itself. I<br />
should like to say, too, that so far as my observations inform me,<br />
the same good feeling among competitors, which characterises the<br />
National Mòd, prevails also at the numerous Provincial Mods.<br />
A milestone in the career of An Comunn, the Fèill of 190"<br />
carried two, at least, notable consequences. It put the Association<br />
under perpetual obligation to Mrs. Burnley Campbell of Ormidale,<br />
to whose energies as Convener the success of the Fèill was large!}<br />
due. Then, the substantial amount which it yielded enabled An<br />
Comunn to employ a Secretary whose whole time should be devoted<br />
te the work. And to this latter circumstance is to be ascribed the<br />
very substantial increase in the number of the Branches.<br />
In association with successive Presidents, Mr. Neil Shaw has<br />
proved himself an excellent propagandist, and, in my judgment,<br />
the Branches which have materialised in course of his journeyings,<br />
constitute a department of An Comunn's activities which, for its<br />
value to the Cause for which An Comunn stands, cannot be over<br />
estimated. When the resources of An Comunn are enlarged by<br />
the results of the Great Fèill, Mr. Shaw should be enabled, through<br />
delegation of the office work, to keep in regular contact with the<br />
Branches, paying each of them at least one annual visit, and thus<br />
acquainting the remotest of the Branches with such new plans for<br />
promoting the movement as from time to time are evolved at<br />
Headquarters.<br />
I speak from experience of the work and influence of one of<br />
the Branches, when I say that the Branches of An Comunn have<br />
proved themselves of no small cultural and social value to the<br />
communities in whose midst they are to be found. And, with<br />
adequate liaison with the centre, certain advantages not hitherto<br />
experienced, might be expected to ensue, as well to the localities,<br />
as to the general movement. One immediate result would be the<br />
bracing up of the organisation of the Branches, and incidentally<br />
there would develop a closer intimacy with Headquarters. Then,<br />
contributions from the Branches to the Central Fund might be<br />
multiplied without discomfort, and occasional conference with the<br />
General Secretary could not fail to promote this financial improvement.
142<br />
THEN AND<br />
NOW.<br />
The circulation of "An Gàidheal " would speedily respond to<br />
the regular visitation of the Branches, for Mr. Shaw could be<br />
trusted to broadcast the merits of the Magazine, and to organise<br />
means for its delivery to subscribing Branch members. In respect<br />
of "An Gàidheal" itself I make two observations; the matter of it<br />
provides good, solid reading, but, literary medium as it is, for an<br />
Association with a broad, popular basis, the Magazine might with<br />
advantage provide alongside the more substantial matter such as<br />
now appears, articles and sketches—consonant always with the<br />
scheme of An Comunn—of a lighter variety. The Editor should<br />
be put in the position that he could invite contributions from<br />
writers of standing, in sympathy with the Gaelic Renaissance, and<br />
whose inspiration is in no small measure to be traced to the<br />
troubling of the waters which produced the Renaissance. The<br />
sequent improvement would produce a twofold result: but " An<br />
Gàidheal" would become a more effective auxiliary to the<br />
Gaelic Cause, and, its potential constituency becoming actual, the<br />
Magazine would be quickly transformed into a revenue producing<br />
department.<br />
After all, the fundamental mission of An Comunn is to maintain<br />
where it still persists, and where the language is approaching,<br />
or has approached, obsolescence, to revive, the knowledge and the<br />
use of Gaelic among the young people of Scottish Gaeldom.<br />
Without the statutory machinery of the Education Act of 1918,<br />
this task would have been insuperable, and it is common knowledge<br />
that it was the zeal and activity of the Executive of An Comunn<br />
during the period immediately preceding the passing of the Act,<br />
which influenced the Scottish Grand Committee to the enactment<br />
of the Gaelic Clause. My residence at the circumference prevented<br />
me from taking any share in the work, and I am thus free to offer<br />
tribute of admiration and gratitude to those ladies and gentlemen<br />
of the Executive, who, at a period of high crisis, performed such<br />
momentous service to their countrymen. Professor Watson, in<br />
particular, was distinguished for his untiring devotion to the work,<br />
and, though I dread the mention of names in case there may be<br />
unjust omissions, I must not refrain from telling how much Highlanders<br />
are indebted to these other active members of the<br />
Executive for their whole-hearted service to Gaelic Education in<br />
connection with the Bill of 1918, viz:—Mrs. Burnley Campbell,<br />
Mrs. Watson, Mr. Malcolm MacLeod, Rev. George MacKay, and<br />
Mr. John N. MacLeod.<br />
THEN AND<br />
NOW.<br />
Nor, on an occasion like this, ought An Comunn to forget the<br />
valued co-operation that was lent by the Church of Scotland, the<br />
U.F. Church, and the Free Church, and the Educational Institute<br />
of Scotland. Arid, having been furnished with the names of those<br />
of each of the Churches, and of the Institute, who were most intimately<br />
associated with the movement which fructified in the<br />
Gaelic Clause, I have pleasure in acknowledging the indebtedness<br />
of the Highlands to the late Right Rev. Dr. Russell of the Church<br />
of Scotland, Right Rev. Principal Martin, Rev. Dr. MacLennan<br />
of the U.F. Church, and Rev. Dr. Donald MacLean of the Free<br />
Church, together with Dr. Duncan MacGillivray, a good Highlander,<br />
and a former leader of the E.I.S.<br />
Occasionally, I know, there are expressions of disappointment<br />
that the Gaelic Clause has not yielded better results. Frankly I<br />
do not think there is the slightest reason for depression. Gaelic<br />
is now a subject of instruction in scores of Highland schools where,<br />
till 1919, it was a stranger; and if there be supineness on the part of<br />
any of the Authorities, it will be the business of An Comunn, when<br />
its sinews of war are strengthened, to inform any recalcitrants, by<br />
the methods most certain of effect, of their statutory duty, and of<br />
the consequences which will follow their persistence in the neglect<br />
of this duty.<br />
I do not possess detailed statistics to show the total number of<br />
pupils under instruction in Gaelic, but I can make useful reference<br />
to two leading cases. By the courtesy of the Headmasters of the<br />
Royal Academy of Inverness and of the High School of Oban,<br />
I am enabled to tell the exact number at the commencement of<br />
1927, on the Register of each Institution as Gaelic pupils. In the<br />
Royal Academy, the number is 25, and these, I gather, are all in the<br />
secondary department. The number is not large, but in estimating<br />
its quality, it must be remembered that the Academy is but one of<br />
a group of Higher Grade schools in Inverness-shire where<br />
Gaelic forms a subject of curriculum. To an Invernessian of<br />
my period, the number is really a gratifying one, for it is no<br />
exaggeration to say, that, sixty years ago, Chinese, for its presumed<br />
'counting-house' value, would have a stronger chance than Gaelic<br />
of a place in the Academy time-table. The Oban figures are, as<br />
would be expected, better. In the Primary Department (Senior<br />
Division) the number learning Gaelic is 59, and in the Secondary<br />
Department 51, or no in all. Be it expected that Inverness will<br />
seek to overtake Oban, and that all over the areas where Gaelic<br />
143
144 THEN AND NOW.<br />
survives, or merely lingers, parents will discover that their sons<br />
and daughters will grow up better and more highly cultured me>;<br />
and women for a knowledge of the language of their race.<br />
My allotted space but admits of the shortest allusion to the.<br />
distinguished service An Comunn has been privileged to perform<br />
in the direction of improved musical culture. The founders of<br />
the movement were, it may with modesty be said, wise in their<br />
calculation that Gaelic music was the vehicle of propaganda most<br />
certain of success; and a backward glance recalls the legion of those<br />
constrained to learn the language, the better to enable them to<br />
interpret the music. The activities of An Comunn, while employing<br />
Music as a means towards an end, have, in the process,<br />
advanced materially the interests of Musical Culture. Already<br />
there is in existence a band of distinguished concert singers, all of<br />
them past prize-winners at the National Mòd, and, when it is<br />
financially possible to offer musical scholarships to Gaelic-speaking<br />
youths, anticipation may fairly be entertained of a school of<br />
classical composition, inspired by the folk music of the Gael, not<br />
second, as it is, for beauty and expressivness to the folk music of<br />
any country in Europe. It is but fair to say that, during the most<br />
difficult period of the life of An Comunn, the department of music<br />
was under the direction of Rev. M. N. Munro, of Taynuilt,<br />
and much of the success which has attended the National Mods<br />
in course of his long convenership, which, ending in 1924, may<br />
justly be ascribed to his cultured supervision, and that constant<br />
urbanity which has gained for him the respect and esteem of troops<br />
of devoted friends.<br />
My closing observation is that, when An Comunn completes<br />
its re-organisation, it may find it practicable to associate itself with<br />
the beneficent operations towards the development of the Highlands<br />
of the Board of Agriculture and the Forestry Commission.<br />
The purposes of these authorities are closely germane to the purpose<br />
of An Comunn which projects the encouragement of home<br />
industries.<br />
PjTTKNI>R!GH<br />
The Assynt Maid's Lament.<br />
M-\CGII,F,IVR:\Y.<br />
Melody by N. T.
PARUIG MOR. 147<br />
Paruig Mor.<br />
BY WILLIAM D. LAMONT, M.A. (HONS.),<br />
Glasgow University.<br />
SUNSET viewed from the western coast of Kintyre is a<br />
glorious sight. A gossamer veil is being drawn across the<br />
blue-grey Irish coast; beyond Gigha, the Paps of Jura stand<br />
cut against a reddening sky. By some curious whim of the wind,<br />
a wandering fragment of cloud has been transformed into a white<br />
wreath above Islay, and as the sun slowly sinks behind the island,<br />
it turns the wreath to a crown of gold.<br />
Somewhere over there, under that crown, Old Peter, or Paruig<br />
Mòr as the Islay folks call him, will be having supper with the<br />
boys. A wonderful fellow, Peter. He had the keenness and<br />
energy of the capable shepherd, balanced by the unworldliness of<br />
the mystic. What a wonderful attraction he possessed for everyone—especially<br />
for the youngsters! I had felt this from the<br />
beginning, but it was only on the last occasion I saw him that I<br />
began to understand.<br />
It was a blustering night, late in October. The memory of<br />
the events of that night begins with a vivid recollection of my<br />
stumbling clumsily across the moor, in what I hoped to be the<br />
direction of Peter's cottage.<br />
A glimmer of light from the window appeared once more,<br />
dispelling my fears, and I cut across in its direction; for, to tell the<br />
truth, I had begun to have some doubts as to my position. To<br />
find old Peter's cottage was not a simple matter on such a night<br />
as this, and by a shy and unobtrusive path which often retired<br />
modestly under the longish heather of the undulating moor.<br />
" Come in!" bawled Peter in answer to my knock, and I<br />
heard the scraping of chairs and stools, as the inmates prepared to<br />
inspect a new arrival. " Ah, Peter entertaining as usual," I<br />
thought; "the little beggars rally round the old idol even on a<br />
night like this." As I unlatched the door, the wind slammed it<br />
against the wall and set in violent motion the line of large coloured<br />
handkerchiefs with which the kitchen was usually decorated on<br />
Peter's washing day. Beneath the waving banners sat the old<br />
shepherd, surrounded by about half-a-dozen assorted boys. As<br />
* a friend of Peter,' I was tolerated by the laddies. They allowed<br />
me a place by the fire, and wee Angus Campbell, who had once got<br />
his eye blacked in defence of Peter's good name, kindly presented<br />
me with a bowl of tea and a scone.<br />
Peter and his boys.—The schoolmaster called him * Peter<br />
Pan,' and anyone with half an eye could see that the schoolmaster<br />
was right. Peter was over sixty, and almost baid; but he was<br />
straight as an arrow, and, when it came to the matter of a day on<br />
the hill, could hold his own with any young shepherd on the island.<br />
Most of the youngsters swore by him; they might lift their bonnets<br />
to the laird, but no one really counted as Peter did.<br />
To-night, a sense of deep satisfaction ruled in the breasts of<br />
the ' Peterians,' for the idol had granted certain favours, in his<br />
own cautious and discerning way. " Me and Andrew Calder has<br />
to go and see the dead stirk, up by the Green Loch," I was informed<br />
by Robert Macgregor, in a voice muffled by a large mouthful<br />
of treacle-scone. " Aye, to-morrow after the school,"<br />
cautioned Peter, " if ye're no' wanted at home." Jamie and Angus<br />
Campbell drew mental pictures of the tremendous * fushes ' they<br />
were going to catch down at the Glenastle shore. Peter's rockfishing<br />
expeditions were highly popular events. The day's takings<br />
were not of much account as a rule, but that didn't matter. The<br />
adventure was the thing, and there was always a taste of romance<br />
about the proceedings. On that wild, rocky coast, it did not<br />
demand too great a stretch of imagination to turn yourself into a<br />
ship-wrecked sailor. The fire kindled on the rocks, for the purpose<br />
of boiling up the limpets used as bait, was just the thing to<br />
attract a rescue-ship; and, of course, the limpets weren't really<br />
for bait. There's nothing an unfortunate mariner likes better<br />
than a nicely cooked limpet for dinner. On one of these fishing<br />
expeditions, Angus Campbell's passion for thoroughness so overcame<br />
his prudence as to make him doff his shirt and tie it, as a<br />
distress signal, to a spare fishing-rod. But the day wasn't too<br />
warm, and poor wee Angus was greatly relieved to hear, from<br />
Peter, that castaways only resorted to such desperate expedients<br />
when their bonnets had been lost in the ship-wreck. So Peter's<br />
old double-peaked cap was substituted for the shirt, and An^us<br />
began to look a trifle less blue about the nose.
148 PARUIG MOR.<br />
The hours flew past, in Peter's kitchen; and by the time the<br />
laddies had finished extracting promises from their hero, it seemed<br />
to me that, had he been addicted to the practice of noting his engagements,<br />
Peter's diary would be incapable of accommodating<br />
another pencil-mark for the next ten months.<br />
Someone spoke about the big trawler which had been dashed<br />
to pieces on the Mull of Oa, a few months previously, and from<br />
that Peter easily drifted into telling stories. If you haven't<br />
heard him, you must just take my word for it that Peter was the<br />
boy to make you lie back and dream dreams; or to make you sit<br />
forward, your eyes bulge, and your flesh creep,—as the mood took<br />
him. To-night he told about ' a strange light that used to appear<br />
at the Mull of Kintyre in stormy weather, when me and two<br />
Tarbert lads owned a herring-skiff and worked about Gigha and<br />
Kintyre,' and about ' some queer wee folk that used to be seen in<br />
the hills above Glencoe.' At last the old shepherd, with a glance<br />
out of the window, remarked that it was getting late. " Had you<br />
boys not better be getting home Your folks'll be getting anxious<br />
about ye on a night like this."<br />
" Och, no, Peter we'll manage fine. Tell us about the time<br />
j-ou and Duncan MacDonald was on the moor, and met himself."<br />
'* "Who's Himself" enquired the latest recruit to the privileged<br />
company of the Peterians; " Is't the laird That's no ."<br />
" W hisht, ye know nothing about it, Chicken," Jamie interrupted,<br />
" It wasna the laird Peter met. It was a Something."<br />
" Isn't it a bittie late to begin that one" said Peter; "ye've<br />
all heard it before, but the Chicken. Besides it's a wild night, and<br />
you and Angus has to go over the road by the Black Hill."<br />
" Ach, we don't mind. We're not frightened of Him," Jamie<br />
declared boldly, and Angus simply shivered in glorious anticipation<br />
of Peter's most creepy spell-binder.<br />
" Well," began Peter, " it was when me and Duncan Macdonald<br />
was keepers to this laird's father,<br />
" And that," concluded the shepherd, highly gratified with the<br />
impression made, " that was how me and Duncan put the spoke in<br />
the wheel of Himself. And now ye'll need to be off, boys It's,<br />
late."
NIGHT<br />
CLOUDS IN MULL.<br />
PARUIG MOR. 149<br />
HUGH<br />
NA GAIDHEAL AIG AN DACHAIDH.<br />
MUN RO-<br />
The boys had gone. We had left them down at the crossroads,<br />
and Peter ana I were strolling back to the cottage together.<br />
" Why do you fill their heads witft those tales, Peter," 1 asked,<br />
"especially tnat last one You've told me yourself that you've never<br />
seen a real ghost in your life, and the boys' minds are just being<br />
filled with superstitions. They go away believing these things,<br />
and, no matter who tries to tell them differently, they'll go on<br />
believing them, ' because Peter says so, and Peter knows.' "<br />
" Whisht, Mr. Grant, ye know nothing about it, as Jamie<br />
says;"— Peter's tone killed any sting the words might otherwise<br />
have held,—" Never you fear, I understand the boys. At the<br />
back of their minds they know that what I'm telling them is just<br />
tales. But I'm trying to tell them something else that I can't put<br />
into words. But I ken fine you know what it is, and so does the<br />
boys. And why for should 1 not tell them fancy tales"—his pace<br />
had quickened perceptibly,—" they'll learn other things quick<br />
enough. They'll learn that life on the island is hard, hard; and<br />
that if they want to make money they'd best stick in at their<br />
lessons and get a trade in Glasgow. Is that what I've to tell<br />
them"<br />
I felt a little surprised and embarrassed that my remarks had<br />
moved him so, but in a moment he was walking and talking in his<br />
normal calmly reflective manner: " I suppose you'll be wondering<br />
why an old man like me wants to fool away his time<br />
with these children Well, Mr. Grant," Peter's voice<br />
sounded as though his eye held a twinkle, " that's what<br />
Duncan Macdonald asked me about yourself. ' What for<br />
d'ye go stalking about the hills, blethering and wasting<br />
your time with that Edinburgh youngster, Peter,' says<br />
Duncan; 'is he learning ye how professors would shear a sheep<br />
by the latest rules of science' Ye see, Duncan doesn't understand,<br />
because he's always thinking about sheeps and stirks. I think<br />
about them too, but I think about other things as well: and unless<br />
the children gets to feel something about the hills, and the mists,<br />
and the island, that has nothing to do with the price of wool and<br />
the poor crops, they'll grow up hard-bitten and crabit like Duncan,<br />
or they'll go off to Glasgow and never come back. Of course, the<br />
lads—some of the clever ones—will go away. But I'm not cari tig<br />
about that, and I'm not wanting them to stop and struggle like us<br />
old folks has struggled. What I am caring about is that they'll<br />
want to put by' getting on ' for a whilie, forget that they're grown-<br />
Kind permission Mfl/Jr John Ross,
PARUIG<br />
MOR.<br />
PARUIG<br />
MOR.<br />
up, and just want to come back and wish they was boys again,<br />
listening to stories beside old Peter's fire."—I became conscious<br />
of Peter's hand on my shoulder,—"What is't you come here for,<br />
Mr. Grant, and what was't ye wanted to sleep out in the big Glen<br />
for, yon night You tell me that, and Pll tell you why the boys<br />
like the fancy stories, and why I like the telling of them."<br />
The sun has gone, the red sky taken on a darker hue, the outline<br />
of Jura has lost its distinctness; and slowly, land, sky, and sea<br />
have become merged in the uniform darkness which 1<br />
creeps after<br />
the sun.' Lighthouses and beacons flash and wink to each other.<br />
That bold fellow over there is a Rathlin man, and this up here a<br />
Gigha fisher-lass. There ought to be others.—Aye, there's a dim<br />
glow over there in the west, but you have to watch closely for it.<br />
That's one of the Islay lights, and somewhere behind that light,<br />
old Peter will be making his way home from the cross-roads.<br />
Old Peter, Peter Pan,—so unlearned and so wise. Does not<br />
the mantle of the great prophets and philosophers rest upon his<br />
shoulders Does he not possess that wisdom, without which<br />
learning is barren and lifeless And is he not expounding in his<br />
own way the ' word which quickeneth ' To stand apart and contemplate,<br />
not with fear, but with wonder, the might of the ocean,<br />
the mountain, and the storm, the passionless fury which can crush<br />
man and make desolate his habitation,—is not such contemplation<br />
possible only to a spirit against which pain, persecution, famine,<br />
peril, and blind fury hurl themselves in vain " External nature<br />
is not estimated as sublime, so far as exciting fear, but rather<br />
because it challenges our power to regard as small those things of<br />
which we are wont to be solicitous, and hence to regard its might<br />
as exercising over us and our personality no such rude dominion<br />
that we should bow down before it." So wrote the great German<br />
philosopher in whose veins flowed Scottish blood; and it is this<br />
sense of the Sublime in life (whose significance the philosopher was<br />
attempting to understand), which " Peter's boys " are learning to<br />
feel. Legends and tales, which have been born and nurtured as<br />
men sat round the hearth and camp-fire, are the natural result of<br />
man's instinctive longing to express his feelings of the Sublime;<br />
and to the falsely sophisticated rationalist who characterises those<br />
tales as * superstitious,' Peter's answer is direct, and not wholly<br />
wrong. Myth, legend, and fairy-tale are the only language in<br />
which the feeling of the Sublime can be expressed. That such<br />
language is still spoken, and that we still have, and always will have,<br />
those emotions which can be uttered only in such language, makes<br />
life worth living; and so long as there are Peters to tell, and Angus<br />
Campbells to listen, we can smile good-naturedly at the pessimist<br />
who avers that man has become the slave of created and uncreated<br />
Mechanism.<br />
A distinguished statesman, whom no one would think of as<br />
* dreamy ' or unpractical, although of Gaelic descent, said recently<br />
that he desired to suggest " that the time had come when the old<br />
stories, the old songs, the old customs, and the racial beliefs and<br />
floating traditions,—and dreams and visions, if they liked—of the<br />
past of the Gael should be collated and recorded, as precious<br />
heritages, worthy of being perpetuated as monuments of the human<br />
mind, dedicated not only to the past, but to a useful present, and a<br />
still more useful future." Of the educative value of legendary<br />
lore, and of the potently suggestive background it forms for the<br />
creative imagination there can be no doubt. Says Sir Arthur<br />
Machen, "The love of mystery and wonder is the sure foundation,<br />
the only foundation, of Art."<br />
" Of the educational value of the legendary and romantic element<br />
in the national history there can hardly be any question . . . Without a<br />
knowledge of the legend and romance of any nation, we cannot<br />
adequately apprehend the essential characteristics which distinguish it<br />
from every other."—Prof. P. Hume Brown,<br />
" Extremes may meet in the intellectual as certainly as in the moral<br />
world. I find, in tracing to its first beginnings the slowly accumulated<br />
magazine of facts and inferences which forms the stock in trade on<br />
which my mind carries on its work of speculation and exchange, that<br />
my greatest benefactors have been the philosophic Bacon and an ignorant<br />
old woman, who, of all the books ever written, was acquainted<br />
only with the Bible. As I look back on the comparatively brief space<br />
of twenty years of the past, I see the stream of tradition gradually<br />
lessening as it flows onward. It has often been a subject of regret to<br />
me that this oral tradition of the past, which I deem so interesting,<br />
should be thus suffered to be lost."<br />
Hugh Miller.—" Scenes and Legends of the North."
Message from Cornwall<br />
BY R. MORTON NANCE, Carbis Bay.<br />
Na h-Ailleagain's an Calman.<br />
LE AONGHAS MAC DHONNCHAIDH,<br />
CEANN-SUIDHE A' CHOMUINN GHAIDHEALACH.<br />
OUR deep sense of our own loss begets in us the fullest sympathy<br />
with your cause. I only wish that we had even a<br />
tiny village, full of Cornish speakers, here in Cornwall—<br />
all that we have is a number of names and words, two or three<br />
traditional phrases, and a memory of the numerals; a small spark<br />
from which to relight Cornish as a spoken language. I fear that<br />
for us it can never be the popular language again.<br />
I am myself of the opinion that the Celtic languages, like the<br />
handicrafts, must be kept alive somehow through this dismal<br />
mechanical age that refuses them sustenance. The time must<br />
come again when individuality will be sought for as much as it is<br />
now being crushed out, and the Celt then will have his part to<br />
play again.<br />
In Cornwall—though in nearly all our place-names, in<br />
hundreds of our dialect words, and in the intonation of West<br />
Cornwall speech, we have still the means of learning to read our<br />
Cornish literature as Cornishmen, and not as strangers—there<br />
are few in whom the Celtic spirit is strong enough to make them<br />
take up the task of re-learning their old language. ^ Our old<br />
Cornish Societies are seeking to preserve what remains of our<br />
" Cornishness," but they come late, and our message to you in<br />
Scotland, given in Cornish, is:—Gwitheugh ages tavas^ why gans<br />
ol ages nerth—" Keep your language with all your might."<br />
" Hand-labour on the earth, the work of the husbandman and of<br />
the shepherd;—to dress the earth and to keep the flocks of it—the first<br />
task of man, and the final one—the education always of noblest lawgivers,<br />
kings and teachers; the education of Moses, of David, of all<br />
the true strength of Rome, and all its tenderness; the pride of Cincinnatus,<br />
and the inspiration of Virgil. Hand-labour on the earth,<br />
and the harvest of it brought forth with singing:—not steam-piston<br />
labour on the earth, and the harvest of it brought forth with steamwhistling.<br />
You will have no prophet's voice accompanied by that<br />
shepherd's pipe."<br />
John Ruskin.<br />
A<br />
FHLORAG, tha an calman air bonn na h-uinneig!" bu<br />
chiad bristeadh facail do dh' Annaìg ri piuthair, is i a'<br />
suathadh a sùilean bho lèireadh a' chadail.<br />
Gu minig b'e so an fhàilt-maidne bhiodh eadar an dithis<br />
pheathraichean aig àm èirigh.<br />
" Ma thà, tha an tìde agam-sa a bhi air mo chois," fhreagair<br />
Flòrag, is i a' tilgeadh a h-aodach-leapa gu h-èasgaidh an dàrna<br />
taobh.<br />
B' iad an dà lurag an da-rìreadh. Ged bha bliadhna-gu-leth<br />
de dh' aois eatorra, cha mhòr nach canadh coigreach gun chuimse<br />
gum bu chàraid co-bhreith iad: bha an gnè, an cruth, 's an cumadh<br />
cho dlùth air an aon ruith. Bha iad fhathast ann am maoth na<br />
h-òige, le an gruagan donn-bhuidhe a' dannsadh ri solus na grèine<br />
mar bhogha-froise an làimh draoidh. Na fhuair iad de'n<br />
t-saoghal so—is cha robh sin ach cian ro ghoirid, ged bha e fada gu<br />
leoir leotha-san a bhiodh 'gam feitheamh thall—bha e buileach sona.<br />
Agus air daibh an luchd-gràidh air thalamh fhàgail, ma bhios duais<br />
an ionrai'c a rèir na fianuis, chuir iad gu beachd ri àireimh nan<br />
aingeal air taobh Arois de'n aiseag bhuan.<br />
Tha còinneach a nis a' fàs mu'n liath-lic air an do dh' fhadaidh<br />
Annag is Flòrag an teine-càisg mu dheireadh. Ach tha<br />
freumh nan dìthean de an tric a rinn iad paidreanan d'a chèile, le<br />
caoil nan dialtagan mar shnàithean-ceangail, ri fhaicinn air iomadh<br />
cluan d'am b' aithne comharradh an casan beaga. Oir, nach ann<br />
an sud a bhiodh leannain-shìth a' dèanamh falach-fead mun tigeadh<br />
ceann-dubh air a' ghealaich, is mireadh na h-àirigh gu a bhi ag cur<br />
mactalla às a chèill le cion cadail<br />
" Thàinig a' mhaduinn a steach gun fhios domh—agus duitse<br />
cuideachd," thuirt Flòrag mun d' rinn i ceart a sùilean. Oir<br />
bha ait thar tomhas aice air eagnadh nam facal a thuigsinn 's a<br />
labhairt. Chan fhacas riamh iad còmhla ach air làmhan a chèile,<br />
is fiamh trom a ghàire mar bhuaiìe-tàlaidh 'nan gnùis. 'S ann mar<br />
sud a chìteadh am falbh's an tighinn bho'n sgoil.
154<br />
NA H-AILLEAGAIN 's AN CALMAN.<br />
Bha an gluasad's an dol-a-mach cho sèimh, suairce, blàth's<br />
gun tug cuideigin "Na h-àilleagain 's an calman," mar ainm<br />
coibhneis orra. Oir ge b'e àite's am biodh iad bhiodh an calman<br />
leotha.<br />
Cha robh là ar n-iomraidh a' dèanamh suaicheantais às leth<br />
d'an taobh seach làithean eile. Co-dhiù, chaidh iad, mar a rinn<br />
iad iomadach maduinn eile, gu h-eallamh 'nan còmhdach-siubhail.<br />
Shuidh iad sìos, mar b' àbhaist, taobh ri taobh, aig bòrd tràthmaidne.<br />
Cha luaithe a shuidh na gheàrr an calman iteag bho'n<br />
uinneig, is laigh e air gualainn Annaig.<br />
" Tha fhios agam cò a dhùisg air thoiseach an diugh," thuirt<br />
am màthair, 's i a' toirt sùl air a' chalman. B'ann air a' mhodh so<br />
a bhiodh i a' tarruing asda, le cridhe a bha ag cur thairis le gràdh;<br />
oir cha d' thug tè seach tè diubh riamh dhi aobhar cronachaidh.<br />
" Mà! chan 'eil sibh crosda ri Flòraig" dh' fheòraich Annag<br />
le cùram. " Cuimhnichibh gur h-i Flòrag a dhùisg an toiseach.<br />
Bha mo shùilean-sa dùinte 'nuair a thionndaidh mi a mach às an<br />
leabaidh. Agus chunnaic an calman mi cuideachd." "Nach faca"<br />
thuirt i, is i a' togail a corraig ris. " Cuimhnich, chan abair mise<br />
* Gur-a-tù ' riut tuilleadh mur a h-innis thu'n fhìrinn."<br />
" Ach ciamar, eudail nan nighean, is urrainn do'n chalman sin<br />
innseadh duit" dh' fhaighnich a màthair le athadh smuain a thug<br />
leum air a cuisle.<br />
" O! 's math sin," fhreagair Annag air a socair, is i ag cur a<br />
dà bhois air oir a' bhùird. " S'ann le Dia a tha na calmain," lean<br />
i air adhart—le fuaim an dàin 'na guth. " Coimheadaibh anns na<br />
sùilean aige, is chì sibh dealbh neimh annta. Chunnaic mise<br />
Flòrag annta. Bha gùn geal, geal oirre, sìos fada, fada. Cha<br />
robh brògan idir oirre. Chan 'eil fhios agam c'àite an robh i a'<br />
seasamh; ach bha flùraichean, na's briagha na chunnaic sibh riamh<br />
idir, timchioll a casan. Bha paidrean dhìthean aice 'na làimh.<br />
Shaoil leam gun robh i a dol 'ga shìneadh domh 'nuair a thàinig<br />
aingeal—tha mi cinnteach gur e aingeal a bh' ann; oir bha crùn de<br />
rionnagan air a cheann—is thug e Flòrag air falbh anns na neòil.<br />
Mà! bha Miss Emma ag innseadh dhuinn anns an sgoil-Shàbaid,<br />
gur e an calman a thug Spiorad Dhè a dh' ionnsaigh Chriosda an<br />
uair a chaidh a bhaisteadh."<br />
"Mo bheannachd sìorruidh air do bhan-oide!" labhair a<br />
màthair, mar ri fèin, agus facail dhrùidhteach eile, fo a h-anail,<br />
air nach d' fhuaireas greim-aithris.<br />
Thionndaidh i a ceann air falbh.<br />
NA H-AILLEAGAIN 's AN CALMAN.<br />
*55<br />
" Mà! Mà!" dh' eigh Annag is i a' bualadh nam bois le toileachas.<br />
" Nach coimhead sibh an calman air gualainn Flòraig I<br />
Chan 'eil Dia crosda ri cloinn bhig a dh' innseas an fhìrinn. Theid<br />
an calman do'n sgoil còmhla ri Flòraig an diugh. A bheil an là an<br />
diugh fuar" dh' fhaighnich i car ealamh, is i ag glacadh a cinn<br />
eadar a dà làimh.<br />
" Beannaich mi! gu dè a tha thu a' faireachadh An e do<br />
cheann a tha goirt " thuirt a màthair, is i a nis air a cur mun cuairt;<br />
agus cha b' ann gun aobhar, oir bha fiabhrus gabhaltach 's a'<br />
choimhearsneachd.<br />
Tha mo cheann goirt; nach 'eil" fhreagair i, is a sùil air<br />
a' chalman a bha air spiris air gualainn a peathair a b'òige, is fuaim<br />
borbhain-tuinn 'na ghob. " Bidh tusa còmhla ri Flòrag tuilleadh.<br />
Mà, cha chreid mi nach 'eil mi tinn. Na cuiribh Flòrag do'n sgoil<br />
idir."<br />
Chaidh a màthair car 'na boile; ged bha i ag èisdeachd, thàinig<br />
lapadh air a h-inntinn air son tiota. Agus gus am faca i a pàisde<br />
ag atharrachadh nan dath, cha do thuig i gun robh an galar crait -<br />
each air tighinn a dh' ionnsaigh a tighe.<br />
" Cha bhi dad ort am màireach," thuirt a màthair le guth anns<br />
an robh misneachd nach robh i idir ag altrum. "Theid thu air ais<br />
do'n leabaidh; fuirichidh Flòrag às an sgoil còmhla riut, agus<br />
gheibh sinn an dotair 'san fheasgair."<br />
" Cha leighis an dotair sin idir mi," fhreagair Annag, is i a'<br />
sealltainn dian air falbh. " Na cuiribh a laighe fhathast mi. Tha<br />
mi air son na dìtheanan fhaicinn an diugh. Seallaidh mi do<br />
Fhlòraig ciamar a nì i paidrean."<br />
Bha i 'na tosd air son mionaid.<br />
" A mhàthair!" thòisich i a rithisd; cha dubhairt i am facal sc.<br />
riamh roimhe. " Carson nach bi feadhainn ag gabhail òran 's a'<br />
mhaduinn"<br />
"Dè chuir sin 'na do cheann, eudail" fhreagair a màthair,<br />
is i a' feitheamh an ath fhacail le eagal.<br />
" Nach aithne duibh an t-òran a bha Iain Ruairidh ag ionnsachadh<br />
do m' athair"<br />
" Co am fear diubh" arsa a màthair.<br />
" Caidil thusa, a luaidh!"<br />
" Chan urrainn mi an dràsda," thuirt a màthair, air son a cur<br />
seachad.<br />
" Canaidh Flòrag e, ma leigeas sibh leatha."<br />
" 'S mi-fhèin, eudail, a leigeas," fhreagair a màthair, ged bha
'56 NA H-AILLEAGAIN 5 S AN CALMAN.<br />
fios aice air an uamhas mulaid a bheireadh na facail d'a cridhe 'gan<br />
èisdeachd.<br />
Thòisich Flòrag gun iarraidh idir, is sheinn i an dà rann a<br />
leanas le guth cho tiamhaidh, gleusda agus gur gann nach toireadh<br />
i an dealt air an ròs ri aghaidh grian samhraidh:<br />
Caidil thusa, 'luaidh,<br />
Caidil thusa, 'luaidh;<br />
Caidil thusa, 'luaidh<br />
An ciste fhuair nan clàr.<br />
Cha bhi mise bhuat,<br />
Cha bhi mise bhuat;<br />
Cha bhi mise bhuat<br />
Ach car uair no dhà.<br />
Caidil thusa, 'luaidh.<br />
Stad i air ball; oir chunnaic i a màthair, is na deoir 'gan sileadh<br />
gu trom.<br />
Dè th' agaibh air Thàinig an galar gu ionad, agus an t-eug<br />
'na bhun. Thromaich am fiabhrus air Annaig; ach an ceann dà<br />
sheachduin dh' iarr i a togail mu choinneamh na h-uinneige. Bha<br />
a guth 'sa com air fannachadh. Chuireadh an sin air ais do'n leabaidh<br />
i; is thuit i ann an coltas cadail. 'Nuair a dh 5 fhosgail i a<br />
sùilean bha a h-athair 'sa màthair 'ga dur amharc. Shìn i làmh an<br />
urra dhaibh. Thug iad an aire d' a bilean ag gluasad, is chrom iad<br />
an cinn dlùth oirre, a dh' èisdeachd. " Tha mise a' dol dachaidh,"<br />
thuirt i le saothair, ach gu sona, ciùin. " Cha bhi Flòrag fada."<br />
Mun d' thàinig mìos eile bha reilig air a fosgladh às ùr, agus<br />
chàradh Flòrag, le puinsean an aona ghalair, ri taobh na bha talmhaidh<br />
de a piuthair.<br />
Chan fhacas an calman riamh air ais aig an uinneig no air<br />
fàireadh eile. Ach an ceann na bliadhna, thug aobhar caoidh is<br />
cuimhne càraid do chladh Aisig; agus fhuair iad ann an sin an<br />
calman is e marbh eadar an ceap aig Annaig is Flòraig.<br />
" Chaochail i—mar ghuth na clàrsaich<br />
'N uair as drùidhtiche 's as mìlse;<br />
Chaochail i—mar sgeulachd àluinn<br />
Mun gann 'thòisichear r' a h-innseadh."<br />
Eoghann MacColla.
Sean Cheatharnaich Braighe Lochabair<br />
Iain Odhar.<br />
LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH D. A. CAIMBEUL, DROCHAID RUAIDH.<br />
" Is truagh an diugh nach beò an fheadhainn,<br />
Gun ann ach an ceò de'n bhuidhinn,<br />
Leis'm bu mhiannach glòir nan gadhar,<br />
Gun mheoghaìl, gun òl, gun bhruidhinn."<br />
THA mi glè chinnteach nach 'eil Abrach 'sam bith ann nach<br />
cuala uair-eigin aig na seann daoine naidheachd mu dhèidhinn<br />
laoich d' am b' ainm Iain Odhar, a bha a' tàmh anns a'<br />
Bhràighe ri àm Murt na Ceapaich. Bha a dhachaidh aig Iain ann<br />
an Gleann Ruaidh, air goirtean bòidheach, gorm, ris an abrar A'<br />
Bhriagach, far am faicear fhathast làrach an seòrsa tighe a bha aige.<br />
Beagan fodha, tha Abhainn Ruaidh i fhèin, far am faighear am<br />
bradan tàrr-gheal, a' bhànag sheòlta, 's an dubh-bhreac diùid, an<br />
uair a tha an abhainn air at leis an tuil, agus a' ruith's a' leum le<br />
cabhaig aig Boinne-an-Tàilleir, a' sguabadh seachad air Allt-<br />
Uilleim, an Stac-Buidhe, a' Chreag-Dhearg, is Dail-Bhuchaidh, a'<br />
taomadh eadar coille challtuinne is bruachan fheàrna, a' dannsadh<br />
aig Torran-na-Mòna ri ceòl nam bras-shruthan feargach; an sin a'<br />
tarruing air a rathad, le braise nach caisgear, a sìos gu Torran-nan-<br />
Ceap, is Linne-na-Nighinn, gu doimhneachd is sàmhchair<br />
Amhainn Spiothain.<br />
A nis, ged bha Iain a' fuireach ann an Gleann Ruaidh, an teismeadhon<br />
nan Dòmhnallach, 's e Caimbeulach a bh' ann, ach a rèir<br />
coltais, bha e fhèin agus Mac-Ic-Raonaill, mar bu tric, aig rèite<br />
agus a stigh air a chèile.<br />
Is iomadh naidheachd a bhios iad ag innseadh fhathast aig àm<br />
cèilidh anns a' Bhràighe mu dhèidhinn gaisgeachd is euchdan Iain<br />
Odhair. Bha e 'na shealgair treun agus cuimseach, 'na dhuine<br />
làidir agus calma, agus mar an ceudna, 's cha b' uilear dha sin, bha<br />
e gu math gleusda, seòlta is faicilleach. Ma bha teanntachd 'sam<br />
bith anns an tachradh do Iain a bhi, ag cur feuma air seòltachd,<br />
gu a bhi 'na shionnach cha robh a dhìth air an laoch ach an t-earball!<br />
B' esan a mharbh am madadh-allaidh a bha mu dheireadh anns<br />
a' Bhràighe. Fhuair e a' chiad sealladh dheth aig Achadh-a-
158 SEAN CHEATHARNAICH BRAIGHE LOCHABAIR IAIN ODHAR.<br />
Mhadaidh, lean e a lorg troimh Cho-Lairig, agus air Lòn-a'-<br />
Bhoicinn, ann an Inbhir-Kuaidh, chuir e an t-saighead ann is thug<br />
e am boicionn dheth air an lòn.<br />
Uair a bha 'n sud, thachair do dh* Iain gun do thuit e fhèin is<br />
Mac-Ic-Raonaill a mach air a chèile, agus bha an tòir air. Aig an<br />
dearbh àm so, cò a thàinig rathad na Ceapaich ach Sasunnach àraid,<br />
agus, anns na cuir a bha ann, chuir e geall ruithe air Mac-Ic-<br />
Raonaill. Bha Fear na Ceapaich 'na èiginn, ag gabhail beachd air<br />
an t-Sasunnach mhòr a bha a' ruith gu spaideil air ais's air adhart<br />
air Dail-nan- Ubhal. Ach, ged bha an tòir air Iain, cha robh e fad<br />
air falbh; bha e am falach an Coille-Innse. Thuig e gu math<br />
ciamar a bha cùisean, cheum e Spiothain, agus thòisich e fhèin is<br />
an Sasunnach mòr air an rèis. Bha an dàrna fear cho luath ris an<br />
fhear eile, ach, mu dheireadh, thug Iain buille le a uilinn mu'n<br />
chridhe do'n t-Sasunnach, ionnas gun do thuit e marbh air làrach<br />
nam bonn. " Mur 'eil mi air mo mhealladh," arsa Mac-Ic-<br />
Raonaill, " sud agaibh sàr leuman Iain Odhair." Rinn na daoine<br />
an rèite agus bha iad còirdte aon uair eile.<br />
Chan 'eil aon teagamh air nach ìobh Iain Odhar an treun a<br />
neirt aig àm Murt na Ceapaich, oir thàinig na murtairean 'ga ionnsaigh<br />
a dh' iarraidh a chuideachd is a chomhairle. " Cha tèid, cha<br />
tèid," fhreagair an sionnach; "ma chuireas mise mo làmh 'nar fuilse<br />
an diugh, cuiridh sibh-se bhur làmh 'nam fhuil-se am màireach."<br />
Ach ged nach deach e còmhla ris na murtairean, is iomadach<br />
murt a rinn e air a leth fhèin. B'e a bhràthair-cèile a' chiad duine<br />
anns an do chuir e a bhiodag, ach b' i a bhean, a bha cho fuilteach<br />
ris fhèin, a stuig e gu a bhi a' dèanamh sin. Air leabaidh a bhàis,<br />
theann e ris a' bhiodag a bha aige fo'n chluasaig a chur ann an<br />
duine a thàinig 'ga fhaicinn, ach faodar a bhi ag creidsinn gun robh<br />
e am breislich 'san àm sin.<br />
Nàmhaid cha robh riamh ann a thug buaidh air Iain ach an<br />
t-aon nàmhaid, agus, a rèir coltais, tha e a nis air a chàradh an<br />
Cill-a-Chaoraill. Aig mullach an fhrith-rathaid a tha a' fiaradh<br />
ri taobh Allt-a'-Mhuilinn gu ruig druim a' Mhàim, tha a chàrn<br />
'na sheasamh fhathast. Tha an laoch an sin, ma-tà, 'na throm<br />
chadal, còmhla ri Domhnall Mac Fhionnlaigh (a rinn * Oran na<br />
Comhachaig '), Iain Lom, agus iomadh gaisgeach eile a bha 'nan<br />
latha fhèin, mar thuirt Domhnall, " dòmhail, taiceil."<br />
Tha an damh donn a' bùirich fhathast an Coire Ruaidh, an<br />
sionnach ri saobhaidh am Beinn Iaruinn, a' mhaigheach 'ga grianadh<br />
fhèin am measg nan dearcag anns an Lag Odhar; tha Bealach-<br />
SEAN CHEATHARNAICH BRAIGHE LOCHABAIR IAIN ODHAR. I 59<br />
an-Ladhar 'na fheadan aig a' ghaoith thuath; Coire Bochàsgaidh<br />
a'leigeil a chudtruim air Breabaig, agus Casan a' Ghinne* a'<br />
tarruing nan coigreach a bhios a' rannsachadh iongantasan na<br />
cruinne, ach, ged b' eòlach Iain orra uile 'na latha fhèin, tha e an<br />
diugh ag; crìonadh an Clachan a' Bhràighe, air taobh thall a' Mhàim,<br />
gus an là 'san crathar na h-uaighean aosmhor, agus a liùbhras iad<br />
na fhuair iad.<br />
Shiubhail Iain Odhar, agus às a dhèidh, dh' fhàg e eachdraidh<br />
a ghnìomhan, agus cuide ri sin, eagal roimh ainm. Aig glomnaich<br />
na h-oidhche bidh na giullain 'ga fhaicinn, le ceann àrd, sùil<br />
fhaicillich, ceum aotrom; am bogha 'na dhòrn, a' bhiodag r'a<br />
chliathaich, is mialchu r'a shàil,<br />
'Se a' dìreadh a' ghlinne, an tòir às a dhèidh,<br />
No a' siubhal a' bhealaich air lorgan an fhèidh.<br />
*Casan a Ghlinne, The Gaelic name given in Lochaber to the Parallel<br />
Roads of Glen Roy.<br />
Shelling Girl's Song.<br />
BY DONALD A. MACKENZIE.<br />
OLITTLE brown boatie<br />
Out on the bay,<br />
The wind of the twilight<br />
Wafts you away,<br />
While longing and sighing,<br />
I watch from the brae,<br />
And the sky that was golden<br />
Turns silver and grey.<br />
A birdie comes singing<br />
And sweet is the song<br />
As nigh comes the night-time,<br />
Lonesome and long,<br />
For it sings of my true love,<br />
The wind wafts away<br />
In the little brown boatie<br />
Out on the bay.
THE DEPARTURE. 161<br />
The Departure (A Dream).<br />
BY MILLICENT, DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND.<br />
>~rlHE Light of the Star in the North—the orange streak of<br />
X dawn, the Sea like a winding sheet. Day, when 1 went<br />
away.<br />
The drums muffled, the melancholy chanter, tears unshed, tear:,<br />
restrained like gushing fountains frozen. I walked into a new life<br />
—morning blended into afternoon. I heard the rooks cawing, the<br />
wild starlings: over the bogs I walked, the moor bogs—over the<br />
heather, myrtle, stagshorn.<br />
I reached the road in the Strath; the muffled drums followed,<br />
the pipes, the whispers in voices, voices of each brother, sister,<br />
mother, father, all akin, and the hearts of children. Through the<br />
hearts of children I passed in silence. Then they spoke—all.<br />
As seagulls and cormorants scream, the silence screamed.<br />
" You are alone, dusty your march and far and wide you go.<br />
In your pack you carry love. Love of the crofter, of the cottar, of<br />
the wandering tinker: you are a gypsy of the world, but from the<br />
lone sheilings love envelops you as clear smoke: we stand for you<br />
like beacons blazing. No feet may follow yours—needs must you<br />
pass by shores forlorn. It is the law, succession, the Now of yesterday.<br />
All is not gold that glitters. Fare ye well, fare ye well. In<br />
our hearts planted, you are a tail Lily, in our hands a wallet of<br />
gold, round our necks an amulet, in our eyes the glint of a precious<br />
stone."<br />
" You may forget—aye—grow deaf, blind, pass from what is<br />
NOT to what is. You will live because we bless you. You passed<br />
over the bridge of the Curse, you called to us as playmates. Lo !<br />
the bridge crumbled and on silver rays you walked. Your head<br />
was crowned, your heart enshrined. We saw the Shadow of your<br />
will—the will of Love. With your will you smoothed the Face<br />
of Silence, of Brooding.—You taught love: innocently you<br />
arraigned love."<br />
" From the topmost peaks, you threw us your name. You<br />
threw your name to the Eagle, the ptarmigan, the grouse, to the<br />
little singing bird,—a name clear on the moan of the wind, on the<br />
sigh of the breeze for ever. You go hence, but you never go.<br />
You pass, but you never pass. You are dumb, yet you never<br />
leave speaking."<br />
So they spoke to me.<br />
I stood in the Machar, against the great fire of sunrise: in the<br />
birchwood, in the rowan trees near the burns. Passed me the<br />
stags,—rose to me the silver trout,—under my feet, hither and<br />
thither, seeking shelter, ran the soft-eyed rabbit,—upon me fell<br />
the grateful shower.<br />
Their words came through loneliness: I shivered. I peered<br />
among the pebbles. « All is not gold that glitters." My fingers<br />
could not grasp. I lifted dust as agate, coal dust as onyx, seaweed<br />
as jade. I filled my weak hands, but not my heart, nor the pack<br />
upon my back. I am alone—always alone.<br />
The year changes. The New Year breaks. Tens of thousands<br />
of drums rumble in the valleys, in the townships, in the Burghs.<br />
The drums are no longer muffled,—the pipes skirl.—The bonnets<br />
are lifted—they come running, running: they come towards me.<br />
The wail of sorrow, the beil and the book is their doom; but<br />
they run with laughter filtered through vague fear. They run<br />
with laughter and bright courage. I run with them; they draw<br />
me into a vast crowd; each one, passing, touches my right hand.<br />
I am irradiated,—revived,—alive. Lifeless, I live,—a concourse<br />
around me. O ! tens of thousands, I go with you to war.<br />
I am the tenth-thousandth, the twentieth ! I am like an insect in a<br />
nest of ants. Yet, to the pale, dun doom of foreign lands I go with<br />
you. I pray, to the rustle of a million marching feet. I pray to<br />
the sunrise and the sunset of the much loved home: and I carry<br />
Love in my pack. I am one with your fate, your valour, your<br />
darkness, your death. You pray my prayer, you children of the<br />
rainbow in the North. Blown to atoms, you will be renewed.<br />
Over the fog on Scottish cities, in the pale air above the Highland<br />
mountains, eternally you live. I, your comrade, your Mother of<br />
experience. Ours is the Land Loyal. Ours the gleaming smile of<br />
hope. Never knowing age, you are the companions of all lovers,<br />
the companions of weeping women. By valiant deeds you are<br />
freed from the distress of the road. You impeached the hours,<br />
and cannot be harmed by Time. The sweetness of your memory<br />
is sweeter than the honey of the heather bee. I follow still, but my<br />
steps falter—and the young world comes leaping after. Whither<br />
Whither From birth we mingle with death. Dry your tears,<br />
pass through the mist of tears. Lower your cries at nightfall,<br />
spiritualize your songs at noon.<br />
Hush! Hush!<br />
The Countenance of God !
IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 1 63<br />
In our Parish—The King's Pensioner.<br />
BY REV. NORMAN MACLEAN, D.D.<br />
THE old man sat in a sunnag (straw chair) by the chimney<br />
corner in his new house, and we talked of the old, old days<br />
•—was it hundreds of years ago —before the war, and of the<br />
old house I knew and loved. His sons built the new house ere<br />
they scattered to the ends of the earth, but the old man's heart is<br />
in the old. In that old house you went in through the byre, where<br />
the cows softly chewed the eud, to the fire in the centre of the<br />
floor, beyond the 'hallan,' where fifteen could sit in a circle round<br />
the grìosach of red embers on the stones that never were cold.<br />
Twelve children the old man reared, strong and swift as deer, in<br />
that thatched house, and now some lie in graves with the legend<br />
—" Here lies an unknown British soldier." But he never complains:<br />
" It is not one man's sorrow," he says. For still he has<br />
an old saying for whatever befalls. I remember long ago a<br />
ragged, orphan boy coming in when the circle was full round the<br />
fire—there was no room for more. " Get a stool for Sammy,"<br />
said Murdo, " and make room for him: ' Is mairg a bheireadh<br />
droch mheas air gille luideagach no loth pheallagach ' " (Foolish<br />
is the man who would despise a ragged boy or a shaggy filly.)<br />
Not long ago that boy came back from New Zealand, the captain<br />
of a great transport, and he came and sat beside Murdo and told<br />
him how he fought the submarines. " Did not I say," exclaimed<br />
Murdo, " that he would be a great man yet" And the captain<br />
told me that the most intelligent man he found in our parish, on<br />
his return after many years, was old Murdo. And Murdo can<br />
neither read nor write.<br />
I.<br />
After the new house was built the sons and daughters went<br />
far and wide to seek their fortune, and though they did not forget<br />
the old home, yet Murdo and his wife Mary had their difficult<br />
days. For each of the children had his own to provide for, and<br />
what they could spare got less. And with the passing years Murdo<br />
could no longer go to Peterhead to the fishing, and the summers,<br />
as he grew old, were no longer like the good, warm summers that<br />
were. But whatever loss or difficulty came, Murdo always said—<br />
"Never a door shuts but another opens," and so took heart again.<br />
At last a wonderful and undreamt-of door opened for Murdo and<br />
Mary, his wife—a door opening upon a land flowing with milk and<br />
honey. One day, marvel of marvels, he was told that if he went<br />
down to the schoolmaster, and answered a few questions on a bit<br />
of paper, he would get a pension—five shillings for himself and<br />
five for Mary every week until they died. It seemed too good to<br />
be true, but God was over all, and with Him nothing was too good<br />
to be true. So Murdo went down the steep brae, and along the road<br />
to the schoolmaster, who produced a big schedule with many questions<br />
that Murdo answered. He was 74 and Mary 71—never a<br />
doubt. He remembered the year of the great flood, and the year<br />
of the separation of the Churches, and the year the potatoes failed<br />
—never a doubt, and nobody doubted. Then came the question<br />
—" Were you ever in prison"<br />
" Me in prison!" cried Murdo; " it is insulting me you are,<br />
Master ."<br />
" It is not I who am asking," explained the schoolmaster, " it<br />
is this schedule."<br />
"Who put it in the schedule" asked Murdo, clenching his<br />
•fists.<br />
" The schedule is put out by an Act of the King's Parliament,"<br />
explained the schoolmaster.<br />
" The King, blessed be he," cried Murdo, " would never ask<br />
an ill-mannered question like that of a man like me, who reared<br />
twelve children for him; I think better of him than that."<br />
And the schoolmaster explained how the King would never<br />
think of such a thing, and how some ill-bred politician or clerk<br />
put the question in, unknown to the King. So Murdo was<br />
pacified, and the schedule filled, and he signed it with a X, £<br />
his<br />
mark.' In course of time, word was sent to Murdo that there were<br />
5s. for himself and 5s. for Mary in the Post Office, and that all<br />
"he had to do was to come and fetch it. And Murdo went down<br />
again and got the money, counting it over and over. " I never<br />
saw such shining money," said he; " will I get this every week"<br />
" Yes, every Friday," said the schoolmaster, who was postmaster<br />
and registrar and lawyer and letter-writer, for miles and miles.<br />
Afterwards Murdo described his feelings. " When I got that<br />
y<br />
money, said he, " bha mi 'nam cheò's nam bhreislich, ( I was<br />
like a man in a mist and in a dream), I could not believe it.
I 64 IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER.<br />
When I got home to Mary I handed her ios.—her own and my<br />
OWn—and I said to her, ' Mary,' says I ' this cannot last. Think<br />
of all the old people like lis in the three kingdoms—thousands<br />
and thousands—and each getting 5s. a week from the King. The<br />
King himself cannot stand that. God bless him, he will be ruined.<br />
I won't go back next week; it is no use.' But when Friday came<br />
again Mary says to me— <<br />
Go you, Murdo, again; have more faith<br />
in the good King, for who knows how much money he has got in<br />
his boxes' And I went, upon her word, and there it was again,<br />
and it has gone on ever since . . . only Mary has now gone home<br />
to the King Eternal. But what I said to her that second time was<br />
this—* The blessed King, I hope that he is keeping a little for<br />
himself.'" (An Rìgh beannaichte, tha mi 'n dòchas gu bheil e<br />
ag cumail beagain aige fèin.)<br />
II.<br />
That was ten years or so ago, and Murdo renewed his youth.<br />
He had his potatoes and his milk, and with a rod he could get<br />
fish, sitting on the rocks. " I am as well off as the King himself,<br />
blessings be on him," he would say. And as the folk along the<br />
braes grew old, Murdo kept a tally of their years, for he was<br />
anxious lest the King should be taken advantage of. For it<br />
seemed that everybody had suddenly got older. So Murdo kept<br />
a tally. The story he loves best to tell is that of lan Dubh (Black<br />
John)—who was still known as Dubh, though his hair was white.<br />
They met on that fateful year when the King opened his purse.<br />
lan Dubh was going to the hill for a creel of peats, and Murdo was<br />
going to the rocks to fish. And they stopped to talk, as people<br />
will, where time is not, and the summer evening far away.<br />
" Well, lan, said Murdo, " it is yourself that walks with the<br />
light step for so old a man."<br />
" Me old," exclaimed lan; " I am not old .... "<br />
" You are sixty-five if a day," said Murdo; " I remember wel!<br />
when you were born."<br />
" Sixty-five!" cried lan. " I am only sixty-one; it is myself<br />
who knows."<br />
" Sixty-one," says Murdo; " yes you are—and four more."<br />
The two men parted quicker than they thought they would.<br />
But up thè hill lan Dubh met Seòras an saoilear (George the<br />
student), and George told lan the news of the new law the King<br />
IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER.<br />
•65<br />
was making, and how everybody aged seventy was to get five<br />
shillings of a pension.<br />
The fishing was a failure, and Murdo, on his way back with<br />
one rock-fish, met lan Dubh again, now returning with his creel<br />
on his back, full of peats. Murdo tells the story thus:—<br />
"When he saw me he began to walk heavily like an old, old man<br />
very tired; and again we stood to pass the time of day."<br />
" Murdo," says he, " since I saw you I have been thinking."<br />
" You had much need to think of your age," says I.<br />
" It was just of that I was thinking," says he, " and I began<br />
to remember things. I remember when Donald, son of Ewen,<br />
son of Donald, son of lan, got married. That was sixty-six years<br />
ago if a day, and I must have been five to remember. I am now<br />
sure that I am seventy-one years of age "<br />
" You are not that," says I. " You are sixty-five, but not<br />
a day more. . . ."<br />
" But he got quite angry. An hour before he was angry because<br />
I said he was old, but that was nothing to his anger now,<br />
when I said he was young. I never knew a man grow old so<br />
quick. In the course of taking home one creel of peats, lan Dubh<br />
aged ten years!"<br />
" Did he get the pension at once" I asked.<br />
" Aye, that did he," said Murdo; " for lan Dubh—God rest<br />
him—was a man of quirks and twists. He was like an eel; you<br />
could get hold of him nowhere."<br />
" Are the folk still getting old fast" I asked Murdo the other<br />
day.<br />
" No," said he; " it is no use now. For they now turn up<br />
the registers that began to be written seventy-one years ago.<br />
Nobody can get the better of a register! It is a sore temptation removed<br />
from the path of godly folk. That was a wise move of<br />
the King long ago—that register. Nobody can take advantage<br />
of the King now—God keep him !"<br />
III.<br />
When the war came, Murdo walked the hills with a light foot,<br />
and cast his peats just as in his youth. And bordering on eighty<br />
years he went to Port-a-Rìgh and offered himself as a soldier. "I<br />
can see as good as ever," said he; "and I could shoot these hounds<br />
of Germans right enough." But he had to be content that his
106 IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER.<br />
sons and grandsons should fight and die. At last all the young<br />
men went, and nobody was left to repair the roof of the new house.<br />
So the old man got his ladder and tools ready, and climbed to the<br />
chimney head. But the ladder slipped and Murdo fell, breaking<br />
the brittle bones of age. As he lay on his bed he moaned—"That<br />
cursed Kaiser, I could not wish him in his latter end greater<br />
sufferings than I have had, and I owe them him. Were it not for<br />
that man of Belial, I would not have been on that roof." Everybody<br />
said Murdo would die; they counted up old men who broke<br />
their bones and died. But Murdo's spirit was unquenchable. "I<br />
must see the end of the war," said he. And he got crutches, and<br />
crawled at last to the door, and there gazed with a hungry look<br />
at the sea shimmering in the summer haze, and at the hills that<br />
stood sentinel all around. " What a beautiful world," said he;<br />
" the good God be praised." And he composed a song, wherein<br />
he set forth the glory of the meeting of day and night, and of the<br />
mingling of light and shadow. When the great victory came, he<br />
made another. " Fionn," said he, " never made war without a<br />
victorious peace; and the King, Heaven be praised, is Fionn come<br />
again."<br />
IV.<br />
The other day I sat beside Murdo at his door, gazing at a<br />
great splash of silver on the shadow-flecked Sound, while a sheep<br />
fleece lay softly above Dùn-Càn.<br />
" So the Master is away," said Murdo. " God rest him.<br />
Many a day he read me the news out of The Scotsman, and there<br />
was no word too difficult for him to put into the Gaelic. If they<br />
would only put a bit Gaelic in The Scotsman, I would get it myself,<br />
and my granddaughter would read it me, but some folk don't<br />
know the right thing to do. . . . The Master, well, it was only<br />
once I was angry with him, and that was when he asked me if I<br />
had ever been in prison, me that never broke a law, for, mark you,<br />
shooting a heather-hen (grouse) is no crime, for God only made<br />
and feeds them. . . . Aye, he was good at The Scotsman and<br />
the news."<br />
And I, taking up the task in my turn, began to tell Murdo the<br />
news. But the coal strikes had no interest for him.<br />
" Look at my peat stack—as dry as powder," said he. "What<br />
do I care about miners I never burnt a bit of coal in my house<br />
all my life."<br />
IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 167<br />
Then I remembered an odd bit of news in that day's paper.<br />
" You know about King Ferdinand of Bulgaria," said I, "and<br />
how he fought along with the Turks against us"<br />
" Well that," said he; " the old fox, and glad was I that he<br />
lost everything."<br />
" Long before the war," said I, " he placed ^500,000 in a<br />
bank in London that he might have money if his kingdom went<br />
against him."<br />
" The nasty quirker," exclaimed Murdo; " he is as great a liar<br />
as the rat is a thief."<br />
" Well, with all his scheming, he has lost this time," I rejoined.<br />
" The old cheat," said Murdo, " he was always tacking, and<br />
light would be the breeze that he couldn't sail with."<br />
" He made for the wrong port this time," I explained, " for<br />
the Law Lords in London have taken his money from him, and<br />
they are to hand it over to the King."<br />
"To King George," cried Murdo, brandishing his crutch;<br />
" how much did you say it was"<br />
" Half a million," I replied.<br />
" What a power of money," said Murdo, slowly; " and the<br />
King is to get it. Well, he deserves it; there never was such a<br />
King. What does the Holy Book say—' Blessed is he that considereth<br />
the poor.' He is indeed blessed."<br />
" There never was so blessed a thing as that pension," I said.<br />
"Aye," went on Murdo; "and he now gives me 7s. 6d. a week;<br />
but Mary is away . . . and the boll of meal I used to get for<br />
15s. now costs me 45s. If the blessed King only knew; but how<br />
should he know; it is the Queen, blessings on her, who will know<br />
the price of meal . . . and she has not had time to tell him yet."<br />
" It is very hard," I said.<br />
But Murdo suddenly brightened up.<br />
" The old fox's money ! Five hundred thousand pounds !"<br />
he exclaimed. "And the King is to get it. That is the best news<br />
I have heard for many a day. Who knows but the King will now<br />
be able to give us a little more, and yet leave a little for himself!"
The Canadian Boat Song.<br />
LISTEN to me, as when ye heard our father<br />
Sing long ago the songs of other shores;<br />
Listen to me, and then in chorus gather<br />
All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars;<br />
Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand;<br />
But we are exiles from our father's land.<br />
From the lone sheiling of the misty island<br />
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas—<br />
. Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,<br />
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides.<br />
We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley.<br />
Where 'tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,<br />
In arms around the patriarch banner rally,<br />
Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam.<br />
When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanish'd,<br />
Conquer'd the soil and fortified the keep,<br />
No seer foretold the children would be banish'd<br />
That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep.<br />
Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter!<br />
O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore:—<br />
The hearts that would have given their blood like water,<br />
Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar.<br />
Tir Nan Og.<br />
(The Land of the Ever-Young.)<br />
BY REV. NEIL Ross, M.A., B.D.<br />
LIKE all mortals the pagan Gael was confronted with the<br />
problem of " that undiscovered country trom whose bourne<br />
no traveller returns.'•" The solution which he offered was<br />
the congenial theory of 'Tìr nan Og,' the Land of the Ever-Young.<br />
"I he ancient remnants of his literature abound in allusions to a<br />
mystic country to which various names were given, the ' Plain<br />
of Happiness,' the ' Land of the Living,' the ' Island of Breasil.'<br />
So full was the old mythology of the beauty of that place, and so<br />
tenacious were the traditions regarding it, that the pioneers of the<br />
Spanish Main called the new continent Brazil, thinking that at<br />
last they had reached the fabled shores. And there may still be<br />
found on the Atlantic border of Scotland and of Ireland, a remnant<br />
who would not deny that some gifted seer, gazing westward,<br />
might trace the faint outline of the (<br />
Isle of Bliss,' in the purple<br />
of the setting sun. The conception of the Elysium of the Gael<br />
is distinguished by an ethereal charm and fanciful atmosphere.<br />
The sterner facts of life are exchanged for the joy and brightness<br />
of wonderland. We are transported to a region of delight, where<br />
the mind is entertained at every turn ; where the figures that confront<br />
us are of marvellous beauty ; where the fierceness of passion<br />
is allayed, the sorrows of mortals dispelled, or their happiness intensified,<br />
according to the wish of the poet. The glamour of<br />
Tìr nan Og reveals the expansiveness of Gaelic fancy, to postulate<br />
a continuance of life in a world of beauty and felicity. The<br />
rehearsal of those pagan survivals was long a formative influence,<br />
moulding the conduct of life, and inspiring a generous code of<br />
honour.<br />
In the Book of Leinster there is an account of the departure<br />
to Tìr nan Og of Connla, the son of King Conn of the Hundred<br />
Battles. While father and son, together with the royal retinue,<br />
are on the hill of Usna, there appears to the young prince a<br />
beautiful maiden, who is invisible to all save himself alone. When<br />
he has enquired of her whence she comes the maiden answers:
TIR NAN OG.<br />
Maiden:—" I am come from the lands of the living, in which<br />
there is neither death nor sin nor strife ; we enjoy perpetual feasts<br />
without anxiety, and delightful fellowship without contention."<br />
When the king enquires who is it that speaks to his son, the<br />
maiden replies that she is nobly-born and immortal, and that she<br />
invites the young prince to Mag Mell, the Plain of' Happiness.<br />
Coran the druid, by the power of speil and incantation, succeeds<br />
in resisting the power of the invisible lady, but after the lapse<br />
of a month her voice is heard again:<br />
Maiden:—"It is nobly that Gonnla sits among transient,<br />
mortals, waiting for fearful death. But the immortal ones invite<br />
thee to be chief among the people of Tethra."<br />
When the king calls again for the druid to exert his power<br />
against the maiden, she further replies:—<br />
Maiden:—" O Conn of the Hundred Battles, druidism is not<br />
esteemed, for it has not attained to honour on the great Strand."<br />
The King, being anxious concerning his son, desires to know<br />
the attitude of the prince:—<br />
King:—" Has thy mind been moved by the lady's words, O<br />
Connla"<br />
: Connla:—" I am perplexed; for though I love my people<br />
above all, yet I entertain an affection for the lady."<br />
The maiden repeats her invitation to Connla:—<br />
Maiden:—"There is another country which it would be delightful<br />
to visit ; I see the bright sun going down, but though<br />
far away, we shall reach it before night comes ; it is a country that<br />
charms the soul of every one who accompanies me."<br />
"In answer to the lady's advice, Connla leaped suddenly from<br />
them until he was in the boat of glass (which the maiden had<br />
brought). They saw them in the distance, as far as the sight of<br />
their eyes could reach. They sailed on the sea away from the<br />
company, and have not since been seen, nor is it known whither<br />
they have gone."<br />
Probably the fullest presentation of the ancient Gaelic<br />
Elysium is contained in a seventh century poem entitled " The<br />
Voyage of Bran." The poem has been edited and translated by<br />
Kuno Meyer. A beautiful and mysterious lady appears one day<br />
in the court of King Bran, the son of Febal. She recites the<br />
praise of Tìr nan Og with such effect that the king is moved to<br />
set sail for those delectable shores. On the voyage he meets the<br />
sea-god, Manannan, who further relates the charms of the happy<br />
TIR NAN OG. 171<br />
Other-world. The features of the fair country itself are described<br />
in such words as these:—<br />
Splendours of every colour glisten<br />
Throughout the gentle-voiced plains ;<br />
Joy is known, ranked around music,<br />
In the southern plain of Silver-cloud.<br />
It Is a day of lasting weather<br />
That showers silver on the lands ;<br />
A pure white cliff on the range of the sea,<br />
Which from the sun receives its heat.<br />
A wood with blossoms and fruit,<br />
On which is the vine's veritable fragrance,<br />
A wood without decay, without defect,<br />
On which are leaves of golden hue.<br />
There will come happiness with health<br />
To the land against which laughter peals ;<br />
To the place of peace at every season<br />
Will come everlasting joy.<br />
In the ancient tale, " Serglige Conchulaind," the Sickbed of<br />
Cuchulainn, from the Book of the Dun Cow (published in<br />
Windisch's " Irische Texte " vol. I.), Fand, the forsaken wife of<br />
Manannan, the Gaelic Neptune, falls in love with Cuchulainn,<br />
and sends an embassy to the hero, inviting him to Tìr nan Og.<br />
Cuchulainn sends Laeg, his charioteer, that he may bring an account<br />
of the country, and the messenger returns with a glowing report<br />
of what he has seen:—<br />
" There wave by the eastern door<br />
Three crystal-crimson trees,<br />
Whence the warbling bird all day is heard<br />
On the wings of the perfumed breeze.<br />
And before the central door<br />
Is another, of gifts untold,<br />
All silvern-bright in the warm sunlight,<br />
Its branches gleam like gold."*<br />
*{Translation by Dr. Douglas Hyde).
172 TIR NAN OC.<br />
These old poems not only portray the appearance of that<br />
mystical country, but they also describe in choice language the<br />
enviable lot of its inhabitants. It is to be noted that the fragments<br />
have even a greater value than that of technical beauty, great<br />
as that is. They are a spontaneous expression of certain ideals of<br />
happiness ; and they are, therefore, significant as pointing out the<br />
trend of thought and the goal of conduct in the Gaelic pagan<br />
world:—<br />
The host race over the Plain of Sports,<br />
A beautiful game not feeble,<br />
In the variegated land over a mass of beauty,<br />
They look for neither decay nor death.<br />
Unknown is wailing or treachery<br />
In the familiar cultivated land ;<br />
There is nothing rough or harsh,<br />
But sweet music striking the ear.<br />
(Voyage of Bran.)<br />
The fair Etain, wife of the god Midir, is born as a mortal<br />
and is married to Eochaid Airem, High-king of Ireland. The<br />
god still loves his wife, appears before her as a young man of<br />
noble presence and splendid figure, and tries to lure her back to<br />
the Land of the Young. In these ancient remnants there are<br />
traces of consummate art, not only in the rhythm of the language<br />
and the aptness of the comparisons, but even in the subtle touch<br />
by which a mere reference to the appearance of the dwellers in<br />
Tìr nan Og is made to cast an imaginative halo on that desirable<br />
country:—<br />
O lady fair would'st thou come with me<br />
To the wondrous land where there is harmony;<br />
"Where the hair is as the blossom of the primrose,<br />
Where the tender body is as fair as snow.<br />
There shall be no grief nor sorrow;<br />
White are the teeth there, black are the eyebrows,<br />
A delight to the eye is the number of our host,<br />
And on every cheek is the hue of the foxglove.<br />
An eighteenth century Irish poet, Michael Comyn, has<br />
skilfully retouched this attractive subject in his Gaelic poem of<br />
TIR NAN OG. 173<br />
six hundred and thirty-six lines entitled, "Oisin an Tìr nan Og,"<br />
Ossian in the Land of the Young. Niamh, the daughter of the<br />
god Manannan, sets her heart on a mortal lover, Ossian the son<br />
of Fionn. He accompanies her to the delightful land from which<br />
she came. When ages had passed (during which no inhabitant of<br />
that place grows old) a strong desire comes on Ossian to see once<br />
more the land of his birth. He is permitted to come back on<br />
condition that he does not dismount from his white horse, nor<br />
set foot on the soil of Erin. He rides through the country, marvelling<br />
at all the changes that have taken place in his absence.<br />
He observes a few workmen trying to raise a slab of stone on end.<br />
The task is too much for them. The rider, without dismounting,<br />
lends a helping hand. But here an unfortunate accident occurs,<br />
with dramatic results:—<br />
With the force of the very large flag<br />
The golden girth broke on the white steed,<br />
I came down full suddenly<br />
On the soles of my two feet on the lea.<br />
I lost the sight of my eyes,<br />
My form, my countenance, and my vigour ;<br />
I was an old man, poor and blind,<br />
Without strength or understanding or esteem.<br />
In the ancient poems bearing on the Gaelic Elysium one may<br />
observe the tendency to make the scene more concrete to the<br />
imagination by graphic pictures of locality. It is interesting to<br />
note that there is a definite geography of Tìr nan Og. We are<br />
introduced into lldathach the district of variegated colours, and<br />
into Imchiuin, the place of repose. We behold the far-extending<br />
cliff of a coast that is lost in golden haze ; and there is no desire<br />
to pass beyond that glorious horizon while we stand on the sunlit<br />
shore, by the southern plain of Silver-cloud. The interest of<br />
splendour is reflected in every aspect of this ideal theme. It is<br />
not enough for the ancient Gael that he should create that ineffable<br />
country, and that he should people it with blissful inhabitants; but<br />
he must further display a rich pictorial instinct—he must locate the<br />
" gathering where there is no sorrow " in a region whose features<br />
are made so familiar to the mind that even the different fields are<br />
designated by appropriate names:—
J74<br />
TIR NAN OG.<br />
Carpait ordi hi Maig Rein,<br />
taircet la tuli don grein ;<br />
carpait arggait i Maig Mow<br />
ocus credumi cen on.<br />
Golden chariots in the Plain by the sea,<br />
Rising with the tide to the sun ;<br />
Chariots of silver in the Plain of sports,<br />
And of bronze without blemish.<br />
(Voyage of Bran.)<br />
It is characteristic of Gaelic imagination that it should express<br />
its deepest yearning in such a noble picture as that of Tìr<br />
nan Og ; that it should create a mystic world of its own beyond<br />
the visible ; that it should endow that region with the most sublime<br />
attributes, and people it with beings of glorious aspect and<br />
attractive race. And who shall say but that this fascinating dream<br />
still haunts the Gaelic heart Would it not be a pity if the gleam<br />
of such a fair creation were to pass for ever from our minds<br />
When will the genius arise, who with due power of vision and<br />
construction, will cast into an abiding form that wonderful thing<br />
of beauty Here indeed is abundant material, not lacking in<br />
scope of interest, for the finest type of musical drama. What<br />
Wagner has done for the Asgard of the gods, and for the ideals<br />
of pagan thought, it is surely possible for some other genius to<br />
do for the records that still survive of the Gaelic Tìr nan Og.<br />
An adequate musical interpretation of that Elysium would find<br />
a warm and loving response in Gaelic hearts. For the glamour<br />
of the Land of Youth still haunts the Gael, the child of dreams,<br />
whose spirit can never be entirely led captive by visible things.<br />
In the sweetest lyrics of modern Scottish bards, like Maclachlan<br />
of Rahoy, we trace the longing that is surely a heritage from the<br />
days of old:—<br />
Mi air m'uilinn air an t-shabh,<br />
'S mi ri iargain na bheil bhuam ;<br />
'S tric mo shùil a sealltuinn siar,<br />
Far an laigh a' ghrian's a' chuan !<br />
I recline upon the hill,<br />
And I yearn for what is lost ;<br />
Gazing wistful on the West<br />
Where the sun sets in the sea!<br />
Na h-Eilthirich Ghaidhealach.<br />
LE MURCHADH MAC GHILLE MHOIRE, (NIAGARA FALLS, N.Y.),<br />
UGHDAIR " FEAR SIUBHAL NAN GLEANN."<br />
GUR tric mi 'smaoineachadh gach là<br />
Air tìr nam bàgh's nan gleann,<br />
Air tìr an fhraoich's nam fuaran làn,<br />
Air tìr nam blàr 's nam beann;<br />
'S 'nuair chluinn mi 'n òigridh bhi 's a bhàt',<br />
Ri tighinn thar sàl a nall,<br />
Ged ni mi aoibhneas air an sgàth,<br />
Tha an àitean falamh thall.<br />
Tha màthraichean an taobhs' de 'n chuan<br />
D' an aobhar uaill an còir,<br />
'S an aois ged thig i air an gruaidh,<br />
'Tha 'g cumail suas na h-òig':<br />
Tha 'n teaghlaichean a thog iad suas<br />
Mu'n cuairt orra gach lò,<br />
'Gan cumail aoibhneach 'nan sean aois,<br />
'S ri 'n taobh ag cosnadh loin.<br />
Ach chi mi pàrantan's a' ghleann<br />
Air fàs cho crom le bròn,<br />
Ri cuimhneachadh gun d' thog iad clann<br />
Cuid nach 'eil ann na's mò;<br />
'S an taic bu chòir 'bhi aig an ceann,<br />
'Nuair tha iad gann de threòir,<br />
Tha 'nis air fàgail tìr nam beann;<br />
Chan fhaigh iad thall 'bhi beò.<br />
An e nach dèan iad obair chruaidh,<br />
'S nach toigh leo gluas'd nan làmh <br />
'S an sàs an obair tìr is cuain<br />
Nach cum iad suas ri càch <br />
Ge b'e ait' 's an dèanar luaidh<br />
Air luchd nam buadhan àrd,<br />
Togaidh 'n Gàidheal a cheann le uaill,<br />
'Measg sluaigh bho iomadh ceàrn.
A HEAVY SEA AT STAF^A.<br />
La Bretagne et les Celtes Insulaires.<br />
PAR<br />
LE DOCTEUR-BARDE FR. " TALDIR " JAFFRENNOU,<br />
DE CARHAIX, FINISTERE.<br />
ON peut dimcilement se faire une idee en Grande-Bretagne<br />
et en Irlande, de la difficultè que le Bretagne a eu, et a<br />
encore, pour conserver son caractère national en face de la<br />
centralisation napolèonique de la France impèrialiste ou rèpublicaine.<br />
Eile forme, en face d'une masse de 37 millions de<br />
Francais, une petite presqu'ile de 3 millions de Celtes seulement.<br />
Sa voix se perd dans les revendications universelles des foules<br />
gouvernèes et mècontentes de leur sort materiel. Eile ne peut<br />
songer à exercer aucun recours auprès de la Sociètè des Nations.<br />
Eile est rèduite à dèfendre elle-mème son heritage sans espoir<br />
d'etre aidèe par aucun Parti; mais on constate ici un certain redressement<br />
dans l'esprit national, grace à la propagande des sociètès règionalistes.<br />
La Bretagne, sèparèe du tronc de ses origines, rameau<br />
ìsolè de la race celto-brittanìque implantè sur la terre francaise, ne<br />
peut s'associer aussi fermement qu'elle l'eut desire à 1'Irlande, à<br />
I'Ecosse, au Pays de Galles, qui sont trop èloignèes d'elle. Eile<br />
mène elle-mème sa lutte pour la vie contre un voisin redoutable et<br />
bien servi par sa langue universelle, sa civilisation raffinèe, sa<br />
littèrature colossale, ses journaux et ses ècoles. Par quel miracle<br />
parle-t-elle encore breton Dieu seul pourrait le dire.<br />
La Bretagne a essayè à plusieurs reprises de se rapprocher de<br />
ses soeurs insulaires. Appuyèe sur elles, peut-ètre serait-elle plus<br />
forte. En tous cas, eile a retire de leur frèquentations des lecons<br />
profitables pour sa littèrature et sa musique nationales.<br />
Le premier contact littèraire entre nous et vous eut lieu en<br />
1837 à Abergavenny (Pays de Galles) au cours d'une "Eisteddfod."<br />
Puis., ce fut le Congrès Celtique de Saint Brieuc en 1867.<br />
Mais il faut arriver à 1899 P o u r trouver des Celtes de toutes<br />
les nations rèunis à Cardiff (Pays de Galles.) La Bretagne v<br />
envoya 22 dèlèguès dont j'avais l'honneur d'etre. Nous y ren-<br />
Pk»hi tty iK /I,<br />
MacCttllwh,<br />
A" IUf/ f>t'r>irì.slìt»n nj /l/c.v, Mitf iMtfti (- Snits, GftlSgOZV.
1 7<br />
8 LA BRETAGNE ET LES CELTES INSULAIRES.<br />
contràmes de nombreux Ecossais, entre autres MM. Th. Napier,<br />
J. MacKay, A. S. MacBride, J. MacKintosh, Malcolm Mac-<br />
Farlane, en leur costume national.<br />
Ce rut ensuite la creation à Dublin par Lord Castletown,<br />
Fournier d'Albe, le Comte Plunkett, de la premiere Sociètè<br />
Celtique. Eile tint son congrès en Irlande en aoùt 1901. La<br />
Bretagne y envoya six dèlèguès, dont deux dames. Nous y rencontràmes<br />
encore des Ecossais, parmi lesquels MM. Carmichael<br />
père et fils, Mademoiselle Ella Carmichael, l'honorable Stuart<br />
Erskine, Archibald Sinclair, Neill Orr, W. Monro, James Grant,<br />
Misses MacBride et MacLean, Prof. Geddes, J. Stuart Glennie,<br />
Dr. MacGregor, etc.<br />
Le Pan-Celtisme rut dèfinitivement constituè par ce congrès,<br />
qui mit en contact les " leaders " du nationalisme celto-gaèl. La<br />
Sociètè manifesta d'abord une grande vitalitè. Eile publia un<br />
organe mensuel, Celtia, qui vècut sept ans.<br />
Sa seconde manifestation eut lieu à Carnarvon en 1904.<br />
Nous y allàmes cinq dèlèguès Bretons: Botrel, le grand barde mort<br />
cette annèe; Hamonle, le peintre cèlèbre; Francis Even, le<br />
linguiste; l'àbbè Henry, et moi. Nous eùmes le plaisir d'y trouver<br />
encore l'Ecosse representee par Theodore Napier; Alex. Carmichael<br />
et sa fille; Dr. MacDougal; Miss Hay; Prof. Mac<br />
Kinnon; Rev. MacLennan; John MacKay (editor of the Celtic<br />
Monthly, Glasgow); J. Macintosh; Alex. MacBain; Roderick<br />
MacLeod; et beaucoup d'autres, dont je m'excuse d'oublier les<br />
noms.<br />
L'Ecosse rut designee pour ètre le rendez-vous des Pan-Celtes<br />
en 1907. La ville d'Edinburgh offrit l'hospitalìtè aux dèlèguès<br />
venus des quatre nations. Notre Bretagne ètait encore prèsente<br />
malgrè la grande distance. Eile y dèlègua le Marquis d' Estourbeillon,<br />
president de l'Union Règionaliste; les Bardes Andrew<br />
Mellac, Louis Herrieu, Pol Diverrès; Mademoiselle Riou; le<br />
grammairier Ab Hervè Vallèe. Le congrès d'Edinburgh fut un<br />
beau succès, surtout dans la partie concert. Ce fut le dernier que<br />
tint la sociètè; celle-ci mourut l'annèe suivante sans que les causes<br />
de sa disparition aient jamais ètè èlucidèes clairement.<br />
Les Pan-Celtes des lies Britanniques, sous 1'impulsion de Mr.<br />
Edward T. John, d'Anglesey, rèussirent a crèer une nouvelle<br />
Association Celtique en 1919. Malheureusement eile ne publie<br />
aucun journal, et c'est dommage, car il manque un lien vivant<br />
entre les nationalistes celto-gaèls.<br />
LA BRETAGNE ET LES CELTES INSULAIRES. *79<br />
Les congrès de la nouvelle Association se sont tenus a Edinburgh<br />
(1920), à 1' Ile de Man; à Quimper, Bretagne (1924), a<br />
Dublin (1925). Ce fut un grand honneur pour 1'Union<br />
Règionaliste Bretonne de recevoir a Quimper plusieurs dames<br />
dèlèguèes de notre soeur PEcosse: je cite Mrs. Burnley<br />
Campbell, Miss L. E. Farquharson, Mrs. Christison, Miss<br />
Augusta Lamont.<br />
A mon point de vue, ces rècents congrès n'ont pas eu le mème<br />
eclat que ceux de la pèriode d'avant-guerre. II y manque les<br />
giandes manifestations populaires, chceurs, corteges, palabres,<br />
joueurs de pibrochs, assemblèe des druides et bardes, etc. Le<br />
mouvement semble uniquement universitaire, et orientè vers les<br />
questions scientifiques. II faut populariser le Pan-Celtisme, et par<br />
des concours y intèresser le commun peuple. D'autre part, je<br />
crois que la situation financière de la Sociètè actuelle n'est pas<br />
briJlante.<br />
Malgrè tout, l'idèal celtique continue son chemin, à travers<br />
bi en des obstacles. II marche lentement, mais surement, vers son<br />
but. Un jour viendra où les Celtes et les Gaels se connaitront<br />
mieux, et de leur frèquentation dècoulera un grand bien pour<br />
1'esprit de 1'Occident.<br />
Tra bo garreg war aòd ar mor<br />
Kano ar barzwar dreuz e zor.<br />
As long as rocks remain on the sea-shore,<br />
The bard will sing on his door-step.<br />
" TALDIR."<br />
" By the word Celtic, I designate here, not the whole of that great<br />
race which, at a remote epoch, formed the population of nearly the<br />
whole of Western Europe, but simply these four groups which, in our<br />
to the<br />
very heart."<br />
Ernest Renan. "The poetry of the Celtic races."
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.<br />
1S1<br />
Highland Home Industries.<br />
BY MRS. W. J. WATSON AND MISS J. D. BRUCE.<br />
IT is not unnatural that, with a great effort before us to raise<br />
funds for the benefit of Gaeldom, we should permit ourselves<br />
to indulge in a litde retrospect, and ask. ourselves a few<br />
searching questions.<br />
We have held a Fèill in the past, the object being to provide<br />
capital for the adequate teaching of our mother tongue, the preservation<br />
and encouragement of our Gaelic literature, the cultivation<br />
of our arts and crafts, and the propagation of any knowledge<br />
which can benefit our fellow Gaels in Scotland. Have these<br />
objects been achieved to any extent No doubt each one<br />
would find an advocate, but on one in particular—the<br />
cultivation of our inherited arts and crafts—the writers feel that<br />
they are entitled to answer the questions, and there is no more<br />
fitting place to do so than this Fèill Book, for there may be some<br />
of our readers who do not know that the " Highland Home Industries,"<br />
as it exists to-day, is the direct outcome of the Fèill<br />
held in Glasgow in 1908.<br />
The late Captain E. K. Carmichael, who was the honorary<br />
organizer of the Arts and Industries section of the 1908 Fèill,<br />
was much impressed, not only by the high quality and variety of<br />
much of the work sent in, but also by the number of ladies and<br />
gentlemen who were trying to help their tenants and neighbours<br />
by finding a market for their goods, and especially by the precariousness<br />
of this method, so far as the workers were concerned.<br />
He, therefore, planned out a scheme under which these ladies and<br />
gentlemen and local societies should co-operate, to form an<br />
Association which would work on a more permanent basis and on<br />
a business footing. In consultation with Miss Campbell of<br />
Inverneill, the rules and constitution were framed as they stand<br />
to-day, and the Co-operative Council of Highland Home<br />
Industries was formed in 1909. In 1911 the Association had<br />
twenty-three local societies affiliated to it.<br />
The Co-operative Council received the substantia] sum of<br />
half of the profits of the Highland Clachan organized by<br />
Mrs. Burnley Campbell, at the International Exhibition held in<br />
Glasgow. For some years the Council carried on work with considerable<br />
success by holding sales in various localities. But in<br />
191^., by means of the Clachan fund and about an equal sum<br />
loaned by friends, the Co-operative Council of Highland Home<br />
Industries was enabled to purchase the stock and good-will of the<br />
Scottish Home Industries Association of which Millicent,<br />
Duchess of Sutherland, was President, but which her many war<br />
activities compelled her to give up.<br />
The Co-operative Council has never looked back but has<br />
gathered momentum with the passing years. To such an extent<br />
had the business grown, that in 1921 it was formed into a Company<br />
limited by guarantee, under the shortened title of " Highland<br />
Home Industries, Limited." The directors of the company give<br />
voluntary service, and in this connection it is right to mention in<br />
particular the names of Sir Kenneth and Lady Marjory Mackenzie<br />
of Gairloch, Miss Campbell of Inverneill, and Mr. J. Maxtone<br />
Graham. The company does not work for profit, but aims only<br />
at paying the running expenses of the depots, and it finds that by<br />
selling at an average market price and eliminating middleman's<br />
profits, it can pay a very fair price indeed to the workers.<br />
Have the "Highland Home Industries" been just stewards<br />
of the sums entrusted to them The audited accounts<br />
of the Company speak for themselves. Since the war, taking off<br />
the necessary sums for the payment of rents, salaries and running<br />
expenses, the sum of over 100,000 has been paid direct to Highland<br />
and Island workers. It is not necessary to point out to our<br />
Highland readers what a boon this must have been to our fellowcountrymen<br />
and women. Many a poor woman, bereft of support<br />
in these terrible years of war, has thanked the " Industries " for<br />
helping her to keep a roof over her head. Many a hard-working<br />
mother, by means of her industry, has.laid by enough to supplement<br />
bursaries and to send her clever boy or girl to college, and<br />
many a smallholder in post-war days has been able to complete the<br />
equipment of his new and more fertile croft by means of the<br />
" stocking-foot" of his thrifty wife.<br />
There is another and not less useful way in which the Company<br />
has helped. For years past, our organizers have gone into the<br />
farthest parts of the Highlands and Islands to get into personal<br />
touch with the workers. The moral effect of this has been very<br />
great. The workers in these lonely Islands no longer feel that they<br />
are dealing with a far-off abstraction. They are guided as to what
182 HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.<br />
colourings are likely to be asked for in the coming season, whether<br />
pattern weaving is fashionable, and such details as tend to increase<br />
their market. They know that they can always get into touch<br />
with those who are anxious to help them, who have their interests<br />
at heart, and who are ready, as money is available, to buy their<br />
products and to pay them a sure sum for these products.<br />
Of the industries themselves it is almost unnecessary to speak.<br />
They are world-famous. The age-old crafts of spinning, weaving,<br />
vegetable dyeing, knitting—all by hand—are known and appreciated,<br />
and we send them to most parts of the world. The wearing<br />
qualities of a good piece of hand-made tweed, with the strand<br />
of wool unbroken by any machinery, the resistance to wet offered<br />
by the natural oil of the wool unaffected by chemicals, are wellknown.<br />
Socks made of such wool are said by residents in e.g.,<br />
S. Africa, to be the most comfortable wear, having an almost antiseptic<br />
effect on the skin, and preventing chafing. There are also<br />
rug-making, basket-making, wood-work, metal-work, leather,<br />
lace and other small crafts which the "Industries" are doing their<br />
best to keep alive or to revive.<br />
By our constitution we are bound to start new industries in<br />
suitable localities as we have capital available, but though we have<br />
been able to do something in this direction, our activities are at<br />
present restricted owing to lack of reserve capital. One of the<br />
most important rules of the society is that we must strive not only<br />
to keep up, but to improve the standard of the work, and must<br />
accept only work of a high quality. By adhering to this rule we<br />
have had notable success. It has become a matter of pride in the<br />
Islands to be recognised as a worker of the Highland Home<br />
Industries, and buyers understand that when they come to us, they<br />
get, not only a genuine article, but one of good workmanship.<br />
We also pay cash for all work taken. There is no waiting for the<br />
chance of the tweed, or the stockings, or the chair of " muran "*<br />
or of straw being sold, and this is in itself a great inducement to<br />
good work and to continued production.<br />
But we want to see more men, as well as women, set to work<br />
on crafts which would interest them and employ profitably their<br />
leisure hours, and we would wish to be in a position to absorb more<br />
handiwork, as at present our buying powers are strictly confined<br />
to the amount realized by sales. The energies of the Company<br />
are directed to making those sales as extensive as possible, so that<br />
*\1nran—sen-bent,<br />
sea-matweed, sometimes used in thatching Hebridean cottages.<br />
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.<br />
more goods may be bought and from more people. Three depots<br />
are now in existence. The original one in Edinburgh, the one in<br />
Strathpeffer, and the one in Glasgow. The last named and most<br />
recent, in the same building as the Highlanders' Institute, promises,<br />
thanks to the loyal support of friends in Glasgow and<br />
neighbouring towns, to grow into a strong, vigorous concern.<br />
Every year we hold sales in many towns in Scotland and England,<br />
which have been invariably successful. We hope we shall not<br />
seem boastful if we say that our organization has been taken as a<br />
model by Societies developing hand industries in England and the<br />
Colonies.<br />
But the industrial unrest at the present time is causing serious<br />
anxiety to the directors of the company. Our public are<br />
tightening their purse-strings, which means that the "Industries"<br />
in turn must restrict their buying. We would appeal to all who<br />
appreciate the individuality and charm of the hand-made, rather<br />
than the uniformity of the machine production, as well as to all<br />
lovers of the Highlands, to support this movement, and to make<br />
it known to their friends. By doing so, they may feel confident<br />
that they are directly helping to brighten the lives, by lightening<br />
the anxieties of the craftsmen of Gaeldom.<br />
" The attachment between man and the earth is very intimatehe<br />
has lived for long: ages between green and blue, and among- his<br />
children some will always be found to seek instinctively after the old<br />
paths.<br />
The brightest hope for the future seems to lie in colonisation of<br />
estates in the homeland, by groups of young men and women, such as<br />
are prepared to face the hardships borne by pioneers in other parts of<br />
the Empire, in order to obtain the health and freedom of open-air life<br />
upon the ground where they were born.<br />
Some of those who feel the attraction of a more natural way ot<br />
living will have probably begun to recover, in their own souls an ri<br />
nerves, by practice of a craft the rhythm of creative life.<br />
To thatch a roof and lay a fire, to plough, to harrow, sow and reap,<br />
to bake bread, to tend young lambs and clip a rising fleece, to' spin,<br />
dye and weave for household or township, is to enter organically into<br />
the actual making of the world."<br />
/. A. Campbell, Barbreck, Argyll, in "The Hibbert Journal."
1$2 HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.<br />
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.<br />
I83<br />
colourings are likely to be asked for in the coming season, whether<br />
pattern weaving is fashionable, and such details as tend to increase<br />
their market. They know that they can always get into touch<br />
with those who are anxious to help them, who have their interests<br />
at heart, and who are ready, as money is available, to buy their<br />
products and to pay them a sure sum for these products.<br />
Of the industries themselves it is almost unnecessary to speak.<br />
They are world-famous. The age-old crafts of spinning, weaving,<br />
vegetable dyeing, knitting—ail by hand—are known and appreciated,<br />
and we send them to most parts of the world. The wearing<br />
qualities of a good piece of hand-made tweed, with the strand<br />
of wool unbroken by any machinery, the resistance to wet offered<br />
by the natural oil of the wool unaffected by chemicals, are wellknown.<br />
Socks made of such wool are said by residents in e.g.,<br />
S. Africa, to be the most comfortable wear, having an almost antiseptic<br />
effect on the skin, and preventing chafing. There are also<br />
rug-making, basket-making, wood-work, metal-work, leather,<br />
lace and other small crafts which the "Industries" are doing their<br />
best to keep alive or to revive.<br />
By our constitution we are bound to start new industries in<br />
suitable localities as we have capital available, but though we have<br />
been able to do something in this direction, our activities are at<br />
present restricted owing to lack of reserve capital. One of the<br />
most important rules or the society is that we must strive not only<br />
to keep up, but to improve the standard of the work, and must<br />
accept only work of a high quality. By adhering to this rule we<br />
have had notable success. It has become a matter of pride in the<br />
Islands to be recognised as a worker of the Highland Home<br />
Industries, and buyers understand that when they come to us, they<br />
get, not only a genuine article, but one of good workmanship.<br />
We also pay cash for all work taken. There is no waiting for the<br />
chance of the tweed, or the stockings, or the chair of " muran "*<br />
or of straw being sold, and this is in itself a great inducement to<br />
good work and to continued production.<br />
But we want to see more men, as well as women, set to work<br />
on crafts which would interest them and employ profitably their<br />
leisure hours, and we would wish to be in a position to absorb more<br />
handiwork, as at present our buying powers are strictly confined<br />
to the amount realized by sales. The energies of the Company<br />
are directed to making those sales as extensive as possible, so that<br />
*Muran—sea-bent,<br />
sea-matweed, sometimes used in thatching Hebridean cottages.<br />
more goods may be bought and from more people. Three depots<br />
are now in existence. The original one in Edinburgh, the one in<br />
Strathpeffer, and the one in Glasgow. The last named and most<br />
recent, in the same building as the Highlanders' Institute, promises,<br />
thanks to the loyal support of friends in Glasgow and<br />
neighbouring towns, to grow into a strong, vigorous concern.<br />
Every year we hold sales in many towns in Scotland and England,<br />
which have been invariably successful. We hope we shall not<br />
seem boastful if we say that our organization has been taken as a<br />
model by Societies developing hand industries in England and the<br />
Colonies.<br />
But the industrial unrest at the present time is causing serious<br />
anxiety to the directors of the company. Our public are<br />
tightening their purse-strings, which means that the "Industries"<br />
in turn must restrict their buying. We would appeal to all who<br />
appreciate the individuality and charm of the hand-made, rather<br />
than the uniformity of the machine production, as well as to all<br />
lovers of the Highlands, to support this movement, and to make<br />
it known to their friends. By doing so, they may feel confident<br />
that they are directly helping to brighten the lives, by lightening<br />
the anxieties of the craftsmen of Gaeldom.<br />
"The attachment between man and the earth is very intimatehe<br />
has lived for long- ages between green and blue, and among his<br />
children some will always be found to seek instinctively after the old<br />
paths.<br />
The brightest hope for the future seems to lie in colonisation of<br />
estates in the homeland, by groups of young men and women, such a*<br />
are prepared to face the hardships borne by pioneers in other parts of<br />
the Empire, in order to obtain the health and freedom of open-air life<br />
upon the ground where they were born.<br />
Some of those who feel the attraction of a more natural way of<br />
living will have probably begun to recover, in their own souls and<br />
nerves, by practice of a craft the rhythm of creative life.<br />
To thatch a roof and lay a fire, to plough, to harrow, sow and reap,<br />
to bake bread, to tend young lambs and clip a rising fleece, to spin,<br />
dye and weave for household or township, is to enter organically into<br />
the actual making of the world."<br />
/. A. Campbell, Barbreck, Argyll, in "The Hibbert Journal."
HIGHLAND PRIDE. •85<br />
Highland Pride.<br />
BY LADY MACALISTER OF TARBERT,<br />
Glasgow University.<br />
THE pride of the Highlander is proverbial. He is proud of<br />
his family, his cian, his language, and his country. His<br />
pride in these is a flame that nothing can quench—not time,<br />
nor distance, nor exile. And it seems sometimes as if the exile's<br />
pride of race grew stronger from dwelling in Kedar's tents.<br />
Something of k passes to his children and their children, although<br />
their Highland blood may be diluted with alien strains, and they<br />
may never have breathed Highland air. No matter what they<br />
may forget about their ancestry, they will never forget that they<br />
are " partly Scottish." To the unseeing eye, they may appear to<br />
be American, Canadian, or even Cockney, but they know that in<br />
their veins runs the blood of the elect. Like the Lantern Bearers,<br />
they cherish the secret feeling of romance, the consciousness of<br />
being different from those among whom their lot is cast. They<br />
are Highlanders, and belong to one of the greatest—no!—to<br />
the greatest people on earth.<br />
As a Highlander myself, I see nothing in this attitude of<br />
mind that is not natural and reasonable. How can we help being<br />
proud, with so much to be proud of After all, " we needs must<br />
love the highest when we see it."<br />
Yet, strictly between ourselves, may we not admit that our<br />
pride does sometimes take strange forms, or forms that look odd<br />
to the uncomprehending outsider<br />
For instance, even the most respectable and law-abiding High<br />
lander, who would hesitate to assault even a Campbell, is delighted<br />
if he can count a few gallows-birds on his ancestral tree. He<br />
takes a perverse pleasure in telling that among his forbears he<br />
has, say, a man-skyer, a cattle-thief, or an outlaw or two. And<br />
if it should have come to pass that one of his rascally forbears<br />
had paid the due penalty of his misdeeds, he is not averse from<br />
boasting of the incident. He would simply hate a present-day<br />
scandal or judicial tragedy in his family, but it is quite true that<br />
"Time's twilight glory hallows<br />
The blots on records of the cian,<br />
And even gilds the gallows."<br />
Bailie Nicol Jarvie, the Glasgow Magistrate, took a just pride<br />
in his civic position and responsibilities, and the sacred memory<br />
of his worthy father the Deacon. But he took an almost equal<br />
pride in his relationship to Rob Roy the outlaw. " It's a queer<br />
thing o 5<br />
me, gentlemen," he said, " that am a man o' peace my sell,<br />
and a peacefu' man's son,—it's a queer thing, I say, but I think<br />
the Hieland blude o' me warms at thae daft tales, and whiles I<br />
like better to hear them than a word o' profit, gude forgie me!"<br />
R. L. Stevenson was in like case. He denied that " a poet has<br />
died young in the breast of the most stolid," and contended that<br />
" this (somewhat minor) bard in almost every case survives, and is<br />
the spice of life to his possessor." And he makes the wistful confession:<br />
" I cannot conceal from myself the possibility that James<br />
Stevenson in Glasgow, my first authentic ancestor, may have had<br />
a Highland alias upon his conscience and a claymore in his back<br />
parlour." His private bard crooned to a Celtic air.<br />
I suppose it is to the poetic survivor in each of us that " thae<br />
daft tales " appeal, and this vicarious participation in the old wild<br />
doings of the glens and bens satisfies (to use the modern jargon)<br />
seme romantic " complex " that we Highlanders inherit.<br />
Gaelic in the Pulpit.<br />
BY REV. JOHN MACGILCHRIST, B.A. (OXON.), D.D.<br />
THE<br />
force of Gaelic as a pulpit language was strikingly<br />
illustrated by a remark recently made to the writer by a lady<br />
of culture after a Gaelic service in a Scottish University<br />
chapel, when she said that she felt more moved by the sermon in<br />
Gaelic, of which she understood not a word, than by a previous<br />
sermon in English which she understood perfectly. Mackenzie in<br />
his introduction to the " Beauties of Gaelic Poetry " notes the<br />
same effect. " So expressive is the language, and with such skill<br />
did the bard compose his address (or war-song), that the very<br />
sound echoes the sense: it could never, we apprehend, be mistaken<br />
even by one totally unacquainted with the Gaelic, for a gentle
i86<br />
GAELIC IN THE PULPIT.<br />
GAELIC IN THE PULPIT.<br />
i87<br />
pastoral." So Gaelic possesses just those qualities which move<br />
the hearts of men, and make it eminently suitable for the pulpit.<br />
What, then, is the secret of this power of the Gaelic tongue,<br />
whereby it appears to be, in Matthew Arnold's phrase, "drenched<br />
in the dew of natural magic " <br />
It will be generally admitted that every language is, to a great<br />
extent, the product of the temperament of the race or nation whose<br />
utterance it is. The Greek language, for example, was full of<br />
grace and beauty, largely because it was the expression of the mind<br />
of a people to whom the graceful and the beautiful in myriad forms<br />
in Nature and in humanity made their appeal. The Roman, of<br />
course, took no pains to conceal his contempt for the Greek,—<br />
" Graeculus esuriens,"—while he borrowed from him, " Graecia<br />
capta ferum victorem cepit,"— and so the Latin tongue bore the<br />
impress of the peculiarly Roman type of mind. The stately,<br />
dignified, massive and sonorous roll of the Latin periods was the<br />
natural expression of a practical people, whose ideals were<br />
sovereignty and power. The Celts, on the other hand, were a<br />
people of keen sensibility, passionate, emotional, impressible,<br />
imaginative, with a fuil share of the " perfervidum ingenium."<br />
Their language, therefore, rich in poetic diction, now soft and<br />
musical and anon vehement and intense, was the natural expression<br />
of a people steeped in poetry and music, and readily swayed by the<br />
eloquence of passion and emotion.<br />
Not only, however, is Gaelic in itself an effective pulpit language,<br />
but the Gaelic preacher has at least three additional<br />
powerful allies to help him in enforcing his appeal. There is,<br />
first of all, the well-known Celtic love of Nature. The Celt is<br />
familiar with Nature in all her moods. He regards her as his<br />
comrade and friend, to whom he may turn for sympathy at all<br />
times. He is a born word-painter, so that Gaelic has been called<br />
by one " the Voice of Nature." Her wild and weird notes appeal<br />
to him, and this close intercourse with her in her various aspects<br />
is reflected in his pulpit utterances, and at once rouses a responsive<br />
echo in the breasts of his audience.<br />
There is, again, the impressibility of the Celtic temper. The<br />
Gaelic preacher does not depend upon the cold logic of argument,<br />
or of Philosophy, or of the Higher criticism, to carry conviction.<br />
He uses his language, which is the child of an emotional tempera<br />
ment, to play upon the heart-strings of his hearers, as the skilled<br />
musician plays upon the strings of his instrument. In this way<br />
he calls up at will such emotions as joy, sorrow, love, sympathy,<br />
pathos, passion. He transforms the gloom—so dear to the Celtic<br />
heart—into a sense of comfort and even of luxury. He stirs up<br />
a loyalty, too, to ideals that may be unattainable, and to causes that<br />
are lost beyond hope of recovery, so that the Celt easily becomes<br />
the most romantic and chivalrous of beings.<br />
There is, moreover, the keenness of the Celtic spiritual vision.<br />
From classical times and the days of the Druids, the Celts have<br />
been devoted to religion, and this religious devotion has descended<br />
through the early Celtic Church to our own day. The Celt has<br />
ever been a seeker after God, musing on the unknown and peering<br />
into the unseen. Because of the quickness of his spiritual insight,<br />
the Celt has been described as " the quicksilver of Scotland."<br />
He has, indeed, always been a dreamer, a visionary, an idealist—<br />
to the very verge even of being unpractical, but with his dreams<br />
and visions he has inspired much of the world's social and religious<br />
progress. Because of his disunion he could never found a material<br />
empire, notwithstanding his magnificent fighting qualities, but in<br />
the region of the spirit his empire is far-flung, and many peoples<br />
are to-day his debtors.<br />
When we remember, then, that not only is Gaelic in itself<br />
an admirable means of utterance,—fashioned, as it has been, on<br />
the anvil of the Celtic temperament by the repeated blows of circumstance,<br />
joy, sorrow, love, passion and the rest—but that,<br />
reinforcing it now, as in the days when it was being forged, there<br />
is that same true love of Nature, that same intense human sympathy,<br />
that same eager spiritual longing, is there any wonder that<br />
such an instrument in the pulpit, wielded by men of even moderate<br />
ability, is capable of moving the hearers' hearts, as the hundred<br />
winds of Ossian's fancy shook the oaks of woody Morven And<br />
may this not, partly at least, explain why Gaelic speaking preachers<br />
are so frequently invited to fill the foremost pulpits in our land<br />
The Muse of old Maro hath pathos and splendour,<br />
The long lines of Homer in majesty roll;<br />
But to me Donnchadh Bàn breathes a feeling more tender.<br />
More akin to the child-heart that sleeps in my soul.<br />
Principal Shairp.—-Aspects of Poetry-
NA H-EILTHIRICH<br />
GHAIDHEALACH.<br />
A' chuid dhiubh nach do thuit 'nan suain<br />
Air machair fhuair a' bhlàir,<br />
'S a thàinig dhachaidh do'n taobh tuath,<br />
Le bratach buaidh an àird,—<br />
Bho'n rìoghachd sin a dhìon iad cruaidh<br />
Bho chlaidheamh gheur an nàimh,<br />
Am mòr an nì 'bhi ac' mar dhuais<br />
'Bhi suaimhneach 'n cois na tràigh <br />
'N e innleachdan's na cùirtean àrd'<br />
Tha 'g cur nam bàt air dòigh,<br />
'S 'tha 'toirt air falbh bho thìr nan sàr<br />
A' mhuinntir làidir òig<br />
Ma leigear leis na glinn 'dhol fàs,<br />
Cha mhair a' Ghàidhlig beò,<br />
Gun ìobrar leinn air altair ghalld'<br />
Ar cànain is ar ceòl.<br />
THE VISION OF A FAIR WOMANr.<br />
Smith's Ossianic Sean Dàna, translated by Dr. K<br />
Macneill,<br />
Tell us some of the charms of the stars;<br />
Close and well-set were her ivory teeth;<br />
White as the canach upon the moor<br />
Was her bosom the tartan bright beneath.<br />
Her well-rounded forehead shone<br />
Soft and fair as the mountain snow;<br />
Her two breasts were heaving full;<br />
To them did the hearts of the heroes flow.<br />
Her lips were ruddier than the rose,<br />
Tender and tunefully sweet her tongue;<br />
White as the foam adown her side<br />
Her delicate fingers extended hung.<br />
Smooth as the dusky down of the elk<br />
Appeared her two narrow brows to me;<br />
Lovely her cheeks were, like berries red;<br />
From every guile she was wholly free.<br />
Her countenance looked like the gentle buds<br />
Unfolding their beauties in early spring;<br />
Her yellow locks like the gold-browed hills,<br />
And her eyes like the radiance the sunbeams brin
TAISBEANADH.<br />
Taisbeanadh.<br />
LE IAIN MAC CORMAIC, F.S.A. (Scot.)<br />
BHA<br />
maduinn^ àluinn ann, is grian shomalt an fhoghair a'<br />
deàrrsadh a nìos air an tir, 'n uair a thog mi a mach ri broilleach<br />
Sliabh nam Ban Fionn. Cha b' ann gun m' aonach a'<br />
iahearan a bha mi, mun do bhuidhinn mi mullach na crùlaist, agus<br />
im uair a shuidh mi air creig luim, a' tharruing m' analach, sheall<br />
mi bhuam air an t-sealladh òirdhearc a bha a' sgaoileadh gu ruig am<br />
fàire glas os cionn a' chuain.<br />
Thuit mi ann an trom smuain, agus sùil gun d' thug thar<br />
mo ghuaille, chunnaic mi seann duine le ceum trom, a' tighinn<br />
am ionnsuidh. Bha e ceann-ruisgte, agus a fhalt cleiteach geal 'na<br />
chaisreagan a sìos m' a ghuaillean. Bha feusag mhòr liath a'<br />
taomadh a sìos m' a bhroilleach leathainn, agus bata mòr cromagach<br />
'na làimh. Shuidh e air a' chreig ri mo thaobh, is e a'<br />
toirt sùla bhlàth choibhneil orm, ach aig an àm cheudna sùil a<br />
chuir seòrsa de chrith orm. Ar leam mar gun cuireadh an seann<br />
laoch draoidheachd orm, agus aig an àm cheudna dh' fhairich mi<br />
mar gum biodh seòrsa de cheò glas ag iathadh mun cuairt oirnn,<br />
agus crith an dìobairtean anns an athar. " Is coigreach thu air<br />
na crìochan so, a ghille òig" ars' an seann duine, is e a' bristeadh<br />
seanachais, agus a' toirt sùla fhiar, nuagach orm.<br />
" Seadh," arsa mise, le seòrsa de fhiamh, « a thàinig a dh'<br />
fhaotuinn seallaidh air an dùthaich, o'n mheall mhòr uaibhreach<br />
so." " An dà," ars' esan, " chan 'eil Sliabh nam Ban Fionn a'<br />
freiceadan seallaidh a choimeasadh tu ris an t-sealladh a nochdas<br />
mise duit. Na bi fo chùram air bith, a charaid. Lean mise."<br />
Labhair e na facail's e ag èiridh 'na sheasamh, 's ag cumail<br />
a shùla orm. B'e mo mhiann a bhi cùidhte's e, ach bha a leithid<br />
de bhuaidh aig orm, agus a leithid de thàladh 'na shùil mhealladh<br />
's nach b' urradh dhomh a dhiùltadh. Lean mi e, agus<br />
rinneadh dhomh mar gun tigeadh atharrachadh obann air an<br />
t-sealladh mun cuairt oirnn. Am priobadh na sùla bha sinn le<br />
chèile ann an craobh-lios cho àillidh's air an do dhearc sùil duine<br />
riamh, agus sluagh mòr, fir is mnathan is clann, ag obair 's ag<br />
ùslainn mun cuairt. Mar nach biodh iad 'g ar lèirsinn idir, cha<br />
d' thug neach sùil oirnn. Cha robh fios agam ciod è an suidheachadh<br />
neònach 's an robh mi, ach thuig mi gun robh mi fo<br />
fhìor chumhachd mo chompanaich. Mar gun luigeadh e mo<br />
smuain, sheall e orm, agus ars' esan, " Na cuireadh sìon a chì thu<br />
cùram ort. Gabh beachd air gach nì air an leag thu do shùil agus<br />
gheibh thu fòghlum. Gabh beachd air na craobhan sin. A<br />
bheil thu a' faicinn mar tha cuid diubh trom fo bhlàth, cuid a'<br />
tighinn gu h-èiginneach, agus cuid 'nan stocan loma fo chìs aig<br />
langaid na h-aois" "Tha," arsa mise. "A bheil e ag cur<br />
iongnaidh ort" ars' esan. "Chan 'eil," arsa mise, "chan 'eil<br />
coill gun chrìonaich."<br />
" 'S math a fhreagair thu, a ghille òig. Lean mise."<br />
Ràinig sinn an aithghearr cuid eile de 'n lios, a bha lom garbh<br />
riasgail, gun chinneas tlusail 'sam bith, ach fraoch agus millteach<br />
nan gleann. Air a shon sin, bha mòran dhaoine ann, ag cladhach<br />
's a' bùrach 's a' rannsachadh am measg seann chrannsaichean<br />
chraobh a bha air an tiodhlacadh o chian. Thigeadh sgonn<br />
freumha an uachdar. Bhreithnicheadh na fir, is mheamhraicheadh<br />
iad an ulaidh. Sheas sinn le chèile a' shealltuinn air na<br />
saoidhean. " A bheil thu a' tuigsinn, a ghille òig, ciod a tha<br />
craobhan an liosa so ag ciallachadh" dh' fharraid an sean<br />
fhear an guth trom socrach.<br />
" Chan 'eil," arsa mise. " Sin agad matà," ars' esan, " samhlaidhean<br />
air cànainean an t-saoghail o thùs. Seall air na dannsaichean<br />
sin. Sin agad cànainean a bhàsaich o chian. Gabh beachd<br />
air mar tha na saoidhean ag coimeas freumha ri freumh am measg<br />
nan craobh a tha fhathast an làthair, agus a' fòghlum mar a chinn<br />
cànain à cànain o 'n toiseach."<br />
Ged bha fiamh orm, ghabh mi beachd air na chunnaic mi.<br />
Thill sinn air ar n-ais. Leag mi mo shùil air aon chraoibh sheanntaidh,<br />
ach bhrèagha, le geugan òirdhearc, ach air bheag snodhaich.<br />
Dh' fhaighnichd mi de 'n t-seanchaidh ciod i a' ghnè<br />
chraoibhe a bh' ann. Sheas an saoidh, 's am bata fo uchd, 's a<br />
shùil 's an làr. An tiota thog e a cheann gu grad. " 'S math do<br />
shùil, a ghille òig," ars' esan. " Sin agad do chànain fhèin. Sin<br />
agad samhladh na Gàidhlige. Dearc air a geugan sgaoilteach.<br />
Dearc air òirdhearcas a blàth, ged is fann an diugh e. Ach a<br />
charaid, seall air Craobh thar Tuinn 'na taic, agus a' deoghal sùgh<br />
na talmhainn o shìolachadh àluinn a' ghrunnd. Seall sean is òg<br />
de d' ghnè, a' streup r'a chèile, a' bhuidhinn a meas's a blàth. O,<br />
mo chreach lèireadh. Nach seall thu iad a rithist a' toirt tumaidh<br />
an craoibh na dùthcha. Seall iad, mo thruaighe, ri mire-chatha's ri<br />
beadradh, am beachd gu bheil an dleas dèanta, 'n uair a chuireas
i9o<br />
TAISBEANADH.<br />
UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD ILEACH.<br />
I9I<br />
iad bileag no blàth de chraoibh an sinnsre 'nam broilleach! 'S e<br />
sin, mo thruaighe, a dh* fhàg a h-aogasg cho fann, a geugan cho<br />
lom, >s a duilleach cho tearc air a h-òganan. " Ach, ach," ars' an<br />
saoidh, 's ca' togail a chinn an àirde, a' sgaoileadh a mach a làmh,<br />
's a' sealltainn anns na speuran, "Ach, a ghille òig, gabh beachd air<br />
mo thairgneachd, agus aithris do chàch i:—<br />
A dh' aindeoin tarruing Craoibh thar Tuinn y<br />
Brùchdaich fhathast craobh a' ghrunnd,<br />
Is labhraidh i an càinnt bhios fallain,<br />
Ceart mar rinn i ri linn Chaluim,<br />
'N uair bu shiùbhlach iomadh deòraidh,<br />
An cùiltean iomallach na h-Eòrpa."<br />
Sheall e a rithist am aodann agus ars' esan, "Sin agad tairgneachd,<br />
a ghille òig! Imich air do thurus a nis, agus liubhair do sgeul."<br />
Leis na facail sin a ràdh, ar leam gun do shìolaich e air falbh às<br />
mo shealladh. Thog an ceò. Bha an t-soilleireachd a bh' ann<br />
roimhe mun cuairt orm. Dh' fharaich mi mi-fhèin trom, mar<br />
gum bithinn air dùsgadh a cadal luaineach. Dh' fhaisg mi mo<br />
shùilean, agus an uair a sheall mi mun cuairt, fhuair mi mi-fhèin<br />
's a cheart àite 's an robh mi mun d'thàinig an seann duine am<br />
ghair. Thuirt mi rium fhèin gum b'e taisbeaneadh a bh'ann,<br />
agus b'e.<br />
Uilleam MacDhunleibhe, am Bard Deach.<br />
LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH GILLEASBUIG MAC DHOMHNAILL,<br />
UGHDAIR "EACHDRAIDH CHLANN<br />
DOMHNAILL."<br />
RUGADH am bàrd ainmeil so an Sgìr Chille Rubha an Ile,<br />
an t-eilean iomraiteach sin, Innis nan Ard Flath a bhuinig<br />
" Baile is leth Albainn," agus a thug tulgadh nach bu bheag<br />
do chathair rìoghail nan Stiùbhartach. An làithean òige cha robh<br />
e >na sgoilear glè shanntach, oir b' ann air dha tighinn gu ìre a<br />
thionail e an tomhas bu mhò de'n fhòghlum a fhuair e.<br />
Mun robh e ceithir bliadhna deug chuireadh Uilleam a bhuachailleachd<br />
bhò, agus is ann an uair a bha e ag cuallach na taine a<br />
chaidh e air thùs an caidreamh na Ceòlraidh, agus a thaisbean an<br />
teine a bha 'na uchd srad bheag de spiorad na bàrdachd, a bha anns<br />
an aimsir ri teachd air a fadadh gu a bhi 'na lasair mhòir. B'e<br />
cuspair a dhàin an cù Bran, a chompanach dìleas do'n d' thug e<br />
deagh theisteanas mar chuilean glic, stuama, onarach:—<br />
" Chan iarr thu snaoisean no tombaca,<br />
Cha bhrist thu glas, 's cha bhi thu 'g òl."<br />
Chuireadh Uilleam a dh' fhòghlum na tàillearachd; b'e sin<br />
druideadh an fhìreoin anns an eunlainn! Ach dh' ionnsaich e<br />
barrachd air an t-snàthaid. B' iad sud na làithean anns an cruinnicheadh<br />
luchd na cèilidh mu'n chagailt an dèidh do'n fheasgar<br />
ciaradh, agus bhiodh uirsgeul is òran, seanfhacal, toimhseachan<br />
agus beul-aithris, euchdan Fhinn agus Oscair, agus eachdraidh an<br />
dùthcha fèin, air an innseadh leis na seanchaidhean.<br />
Tha an dàn maiseach a rinn e mu "Ghuil Eirinn" a' nochdadh<br />
na buaidhe a bha aig na làithean sin air inntinn a' bhàird:—<br />
" Am maduinn neo-chiontach na h-òige,<br />
Fhuair mi sgeoil nan linn a dh' fhalbh,<br />
Aig cagailtean Ile Chlann Dòmhnaill,<br />
Mu'n a' fhògradh na Gàidheil bho'n sealbh:<br />
A' chòisridh fhuranach do'm b' èibhinn<br />
Aithris sgeulachd Innisfàil,<br />
Uirsgeulan nan aoidhean còir,<br />
An tèisean ceòlmhor nam bàrd."<br />
Thàinig sgaradh nach robh càirdeil eadar Uilleam agus a<br />
mhaighistir, agus an ùine gheàrr dh' fhàg e " Ile ghorm an<br />
fheoir," a shiubhal an t-saoghail, agus a dh' iarraidh an fhortain le<br />
a shnàthaid! Shiubhail e iomadh taobh dùthcha agus baile ag<br />
cosnadh a bheò-shlainte, gus mu dheireadh an d' thug e a mach<br />
Glaschu, far an do chaith e a' chuid a bu mhò dhe a làithean. Anns<br />
a' bhaile mhor fhuair e cothrom air a fhòghlum a leasachadh, gu<br />
h-àraidh mu eachdraidh a dhùthcha, agus a chinnich fèin, agus<br />
gach spàirn is strì a rinn iad an agaidh naimhdeas agus fòirneart<br />
nan Gall.<br />
Bha Uilleam dian-thogarrach air fòghlum a bhi aige, agus<br />
deas gu a bhi 'ga thogail, mar is dual do'n fhìor Ghàidheal. Mar<br />
sin, ged bha aige ri obair gach là, chuir e roimhe gun dèanadh e<br />
suas an dearmad a rinn e air sgoil an làithean òige. Thug e<br />
aghaidh air an Laidinn agus air a' Ghreugais, agus air cànainean<br />
eile, air dhòigh 's gun dèanadh e an eadar-theangachadh na b'<br />
fheàrr na iomadh aon a bu mhò cothrom air sgoil. Sgrìobh e<br />
" Eachdraidh na h-Alba," a bha ri teachd a mach gach mìos 'na
192 UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD I LEACH.<br />
h-earrannan, ach chaidh stad oirre le dìth airgid. Ach chan an:-<br />
mar fhear-eachdraidh a bhios cuimhne Uilleim air a cumail beò,<br />
ach mar shàr-bhàrd.<br />
Tha e air a ràdh gun robh a' chuid bu mhotha de a bhàrdachd<br />
air a cur an tàth a chèile an dèidh dha teachd gu meadhon aois,<br />
agus tha a bhàrdachd a' dearbhadh gu bheil an tuairisgeul fìor.<br />
Còrr is aon uair tha e ag innseadh mar thuit a cheòlraidh 'na suain<br />
chadail. Am " Blàr Dhail-Rìgh " tha e a' togail na casaid na<br />
h-aghaidh:—<br />
"'S iomadh bliadhn' o nach d' fhuair mi<br />
Oran, iorram no duan bhuat,"<br />
agus anns na rannan a rinn e do Eòghann MacCuirich, Fear<br />
teagasg Gàidhlig am Baile-ath-cliath, tha e ag ràdh:—<br />
" Ged bha mo cheòlraidh 'na smùrach<br />
Còrr is fichead bliadhna, dhùisg ì."<br />
Ach ma bha an dùsgadh fadalach, cha robh e mi-tharbhach, agus<br />
tha Mac Dhunleibhe 'na sheasamh an diugh anns an t-sreath as<br />
àirde de fhilidhean ceòlmhor nam beann. Dhùisg caochladh<br />
chuspairean a chlàrsach gu ceòl—cor a dhùthcha agus còirichean an<br />
t-sluaigh—agus b' ann da fhèin a b'aithne briathran garga agus<br />
brosnachail, tiamhaidh agus drùidhteach, a chleachdadh mu na<br />
nithean sin.<br />
Ach tha earrann mhor de a shaothair mu chogadh. Bu chaomh<br />
leis innseadh mu ghleadhar nan arm agus gaoir a' chatha, an<br />
(<br />
crann-tàra ' air a ghiùlan bho ghleann gu gleann, a' brosnachadh<br />
nan sonn agus 'gan gairm gu ionad na stri. Bha boilisg a' chlaidh •<br />
eimh agus euchdan nan gaisgeach a' tarruing a mach a bhuaidhean<br />
's a' toirt neirt is dian-luatnais d' a bhriathran. Tha a chainnt<br />
neartmhor, brìoghmhor, agus air a deagh thaghadh. An làmhan<br />
Mhic Dhunleibhe tha a' Ghàidhlig 'na h-inneal cumhachdach,<br />
mar an làimh fìor mhaighistir, gu cùisean àrda agus toirteil a chur<br />
an cèill, beò, soilleir mar dhealbh.<br />
Tha " Blàr Tràigh Ghruinneart " a' tòiseachadh air pong<br />
gaisgeanta, mar fhuaim trombaide:—<br />
" An latha mu dheireadh de 'n t-samhradh,<br />
Là is fad' air am bi cuimhne,<br />
Aig sgarthanaich nan tràth 'san ear<br />
Thàinig freiceadan a dhùisg na fir,<br />
Ag innseadh gun robh Siol Chuinn ag gluasad<br />
Fo'm brataich shean do'm b' ainm a' bhuadhach."<br />
Ach cha b' iad batailtean no cruinneachadh nam feachd a mhàin Wi.
UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD ILEACH. 193<br />
a bha ag gluasad spiorad a' bhàird. Nach tiamhaidh am pong a<br />
tha am fihdh a' bualadh an uair a tha e ag caoidh fàsachadh a<br />
dhùthcha:—<br />
" Tha an nathair bhreac 'na lùban<br />
Air na h-ùrlaìr far an d' fhàs<br />
Na fir mhòr' a chunnaic mise.<br />
Thoir am fios so chun a' bhàird."<br />
Bha dreach agus cruth Nàduir, an uair a bha fuaim a' chatha<br />
'na thosd, ag cur seuna air a anam; agus troimh neoil bhagarrach<br />
na strì, tha gathan blàtha a' bristeadh. Eadhon aig toiseach Blàr<br />
Shunadail, fuilteach agus uamharra, tha an leughadair a' tighinn<br />
air seud ro òirdhearc mu mhaise an àite:—<br />
" Cò nach sireadh do ghlacan uaine,<br />
A chunnaic aon uair iad<br />
'Nan culaidh Shamhraidh<br />
Cruitheachd nan lusan mar gum b'ann a' strì<br />
Cò is rìomhaiche a sgeadaicheas<br />
Gach ìsleach is bruach,<br />
Bho tholman nead na h-uiseig'<br />
Gu aisridh doireachan nan earb."<br />
Tha " Cuimhneachan Bràghad Albainn " a' nochadh duis agus<br />
caomhalachd a tha mar thobar fìor-uisge a' sruthadh a mach 'na<br />
chaochan soilleir bho a anam; ach chan fhaodar a bhi a' leudachadh<br />
na's fhaide.<br />
Bha Uilleam pòsda ri cèile dhìlis, ach cha do sheinn e mu<br />
ghaol: coltach ri Iain Mac Codruim, chaidh e seachad air mar osaig<br />
de'n ghaoith. Tha neach a thadhail air uair an Glaschu ag innseadh<br />
gur e " a chearcag fhraoich " a theireadh am bàrd air uairean ri a'<br />
mhnaoi-chèile.<br />
Bha a mhodh sgrìobhaidh ao-coltach ri bàird eile. Cha do<br />
lean e rannaidheachd nan sgoilean anns na dàin mhòra, ach bha na<br />
rainn, ciod air bith an cruth, daonnan ag èirigh air sgiathan<br />
neartmhor, ceòlmhor. Bha e a ghnàth bochd 'na chrannchur, ach<br />
bha oighreachd àrd smuaintean agus àrd ghnìomhan, bho na<br />
làithean o shean agus bho maise agus mòralachd Naduir, 'na<br />
sheilbh, agus dh'fhàg e sin againne mar dhìleib nach truaill meirg<br />
agus nach slad fear-reubainn.<br />
Chaochail am bàrd anns a' bhliadhna 1870. Tha e air a<br />
thiodhlacadh anns a' chladh an Glaschu ris an abrar " Janefield,"<br />
agus chuir cuid de Ghàidheil Ghlaschu carragh-cuimhne suas aig<br />
an leabaidh far a bheil e a nis ag cadal gu foistinneach.<br />
N
The Better Singer.<br />
By ' REV. KENNETH<br />
MACLEOD,<br />
of " Songs of the Hebrides."<br />
MANY years ago there was trouble in the bird-world over a<br />
question of art. In tree, in meadow, and in heathland,<br />
there were heated discussions as to whether the mavis or<br />
the skylark was the better singer of the two.<br />
At last, the wise little wren put in his word. " My mind is<br />
going back," said he, " to something that happened long, longago.<br />
A little bird was flying over the hill which is called Calvary,<br />
and what saw he but a great crowd of people, and in the midst of<br />
them a Man nailed to a Cross, with a crown of thorns on his head.<br />
In a passion of love and of anger, the little bird made straight for<br />
the Cross. ' I cannot,' thought he, < pull out the nails, but I can,<br />
at any rate, pull out the thorns, one by one, and lessen the Man's<br />
pain.' And he did, and in so doing dyed his own breast red. I<br />
am thinking, fellow-birds, that the Redbreast could tell us, if he<br />
chose, of the song that is better than another."<br />
Slowly and shyly the Redbreast came forward, and when he<br />
began to speak, it was like one in a dream. "The other day," he<br />
said, " there was sorrow upon me, because of the leaves that will<br />
soon be falling and the flowers that will soon be fading. But<br />
when it was towards evening the mavis began, after her manner,<br />
to put the day's story into song, the good and the bad of it, and I<br />
praised the Good Being for the beautiful singer who was giving<br />
voice to our thoughts and yearnings who are still on earth.<br />
Next morning, at dawn, the strange thing happened. I heard<br />
the song of the mavis sung by the skylark to a different tune, and<br />
I praised the Good Being for the beautiful singer who was carrying<br />
it towards the heights." The Redbreast paused for a moment.<br />
" I know so little," he continued, " but I have the love of my<br />
heart for such as are pulling thorns out of wounded brows." "By<br />
your leave," whispered the wren, " I am going away to tell a little<br />
story to the mavis and the skylark."<br />
He found the two side by side, drinking dew-drops at the foot<br />
of an old cross.<br />
The Song Battle.<br />
BY REV. KENNETH<br />
MACLEOD,<br />
of " Songs of the Hebrides."<br />
IN the days when the Cian of Donald and the Seed of Leod were<br />
uat each other's throats in the Isle of Skye, a band of women<br />
once met on a neutral green, overlooking the sea, to waulk<br />
the cloth and to sing the songs which the bards had made long<br />
before blade or dirk was forged.<br />
In the very heart of the company was a little old woman, with<br />
;"bright eyes and more than her share of wrinkles, whom nobody<br />
there could put a name on, but who was not the slackest among<br />
them at the fulling and the singing.<br />
y As they plied the song and the cloth and the jest, a great galley<br />
came round the headland, as if making for Dunvegan. " "Who is<br />
she" cried a woman of Cian Donald, flinging the taunt into the<br />
song she was singing. " Who is she, yon great galley sailing by <br />
Sure, hers is the banner we do not know."<br />
Quick as thought, the little old woman of the bright eyes and<br />
the many wrinkles, snatching the taunt out of the singer's mouth,<br />
flung it back in her face, with the sore things, forbye, that only a<br />
bard can say. "Who is she, yon great galley sailing by Yon<br />
is the galley of the golden rudder and the silver masts and silken<br />
'sails—the galley of a king. Who is she, yon great galley sailing<br />
5<br />
by Yon is the galley of harp and song, of gleaming candle and<br />
silver goblet—the Galley of Dunvegan. Who is she, yon great<br />
galley sailing by Yon is the galley whose music-of-laughter, in<br />
the ebb, in the flow, puts the fine swelling on wind and wave—the<br />
•galley of my little child."<br />
Truth of me ! ye listening ones, but yon was the chorus which<br />
leaped high into the air, when it burst upon the women that she<br />
of the many wrinkles was none other than Màiri herself, Daughter<br />
of Alastair Rua, queen of them all. " Màiri of my heart," cried<br />
the woman of Cian Donald, making the stately courtesy of her<br />
race, " Am I not the proud one to-day, and evermore, to have put<br />
the light into thine eye and the beautiful song into thy mouth."
The Song of the Blood.<br />
BY REV. KENNETH MACLEOD,<br />
of " Songs of the Hebrides."<br />
THERE was once a woman-bird in the Isles, who was known<br />
in bird circles as the Genteel Stranger, because of her manners<br />
and her music. She had spent part of her youth near a<br />
Lowland town, and to the end of her days she sang tunes which<br />
nobody else had ever heard, and sang them, too, with all the little<br />
graces of the trained singer.<br />
So proud was she of her Lowland breeding that, shortly before<br />
mating time, she went down south to hatch her young, and bring<br />
them up in her own genteel ways. " Yes, it's laughing I am,"<br />
laughed the wise little wren, when he heard of the daft trip. But<br />
for a while, at any rate, the laugh seemed to be against him. Not<br />
only did the little ones come out of the shell in due time, but they<br />
grew up into as bonnie chicks as any fond mother could wish to<br />
lull into sleep.<br />
Sorrow upon me! Why should so many of the true stories<br />
end so sadly "When the singing time came, did not those same<br />
chicks put the black shame upon their mother by being unable to<br />
sing; anything under the sun but the queer old tunes of the Isles.<br />
" Yeel-a-vee, yeel-a-voo," cried the mavis, when she heard the<br />
droll news, " the song of the blood, the song of the blood, it will<br />
out, even should the genteel mothers burst!"<br />
Ged *s cian mi air m' aìneol o'n dachaidh fo'n fhuar bheinn,<br />
Is miann le mo bhruadar, mo bhruadar bhi 'd cheò,<br />
An nìonag is tàladh a gràidh ghil 'gam dhuanadh,<br />
'S am fuaran a' nuallan am chluais ri mo bheò.<br />
Coinneach MacLeoid.
An Uiseag.<br />
LE NIALL MAC GILLE SHEATHANAICH,<br />
Rùnair a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.<br />
UISEAG riabhach, àrd 'san iarmailt,<br />
Leam is ciatach t' òran<br />
Air maduinn ghrianaich air an t-sliabh<br />
Moch ag iarraidh sòlais.<br />
Do ghuth miadhail leam as miannaich'<br />
Thar gach ian de m' eòlas,<br />
A' toirt fianuis mar am briathran<br />
Air na dh' iarradh òirrne.<br />
Ciod is lèir dhuit às na speuran <br />
Innis fèin e dhomhsa<br />
'S an cuir mi'n cèill e do na leughas—<br />
'S mòr ar feum air eòlas.<br />
An e do spèis bhi 'faicinn sprèidh—<br />
Crodh is fèidh air lòintean,<br />
Uain bheag èibhinn 'measg nan treud<br />
A' mire leum le sòlas.<br />
An<br />
fhreagairt.<br />
Is binn am chluasan fead a' bhuachaill,<br />
'S moch a ghluais e còmhl' rium,<br />
Is guth nan gruagach tighinn o'n bhuail'<br />
'S iad 'giùlan cuachan lòd-mhor.<br />
An sgalag-thuath a' treabhadh cruaidh<br />
Le seisreach ghuailneach òg-each,<br />
Is sgaoth m'a chuairt de eoin a' chuain,—<br />
'S neo-bhinn am chluais an ceòl-san!<br />
Am bàrr gach gèig's an doire lèith<br />
Tha ioma gleus 'sa' chòisir,<br />
Mar phongan teud na clàrsaich rèidh<br />
An àird ag èirigh ceòlmhor.<br />
Ach's binne 'n t-sèisd na iad gu lèir<br />
Air salm o bheul a' chreòthluinn,<br />
'Cur fàilt air grèin na maidne Chèit<br />
'Bheir slàinte 'n dèidh na dòruinn.
198 AN UISEAG.<br />
Chan e na's lèir a nì dhuit feum,<br />
Mur tuig thu 'rèir an òrduigh<br />
Gum b' i a chreud cho maith's an lèigh<br />
Rinn slàn a chreuchd do'n deòiridh.<br />
Na cum do bheul o mholadh Dhè;<br />
O èirigh grèin gu glòmainn.<br />
'S e sin mo sgeuls' mum paisg mi sgèith<br />
Am neadan fèin 'sa mhòintich.<br />
The Mod.<br />
By M. M.<br />
NO Highlander requires to be told at this date what the Mod<br />
is, and what it means—to him. Amongst recurring Highland<br />
events in the home-land, the Mòd undoubtedly holds<br />
the first place in the heart of every true Gael. For nearly forty<br />
years he has been familiar with it, and, in the annual round of<br />
Gatherings, Concerts and other functions with which his Celtic<br />
soul is regaled, he looks upon the Mòd as the crowning course of<br />
the banquet. For others, however, who have heard of the Mòd, and<br />
jprobably heard of it often, but have never quite understood what<br />
it is, and what its precise place is in the scheme of things Highland,<br />
a brief explanation may serve a useful purpose.<br />
The Mòd then may be described shortly as the Great Annual<br />
Gaelic Festival, devoted to literary and musical competitions in<br />
that language. These competitions are open to every lover of<br />
the Gaelic tongue who considers himself or herself qualified to<br />
participate in them. " Am Mòd " is not to be confused, as is<br />
so often done, with "An Comunn Gàidhealach," the organization<br />
under whose auspices the Mòd is held.<br />
The Mòd was instituted thirty-five years ago, and, except<br />
during the War years, has been held annually since. The first<br />
Mòd was held at Oban, the total number of entrants for the<br />
various competitions being 40; a truly modest beginning. At<br />
the Mòd held in the Autumn of 1926, the number of competitors<br />
was over 1,000. The venue of the Mòd changes from year to<br />
THE MOD. 199<br />
)ear. The gatherings, however, have now reached such dimensions<br />
that only a few of the larger centres of population can provide<br />
the necessary accommodation. However much the Executive<br />
would like to visit smaller centres within the Highland area, the<br />
lack of suitable accommodation forbids. This disadvantage is<br />
happily being compensated for to a large extent by the growth of<br />
Provincial Mods, which have been held with great success in<br />
various districts.<br />
The literary and musical competitions are each divided into<br />
two sections—Junior and Senior. In both sections the competitions<br />
follow somewhat similar lines:—Essays on prescribed<br />
subjects, Poetry, Recitations, Story-telling, Acted Dialogues;<br />
Solo, Duet and Choral Singing. In the Junior Section prizes are<br />
also given for letters on prescribed subjects, for writing to dictation,<br />
and for reading at sight. While it is true that the musical<br />
side bulks large in the Mòd programme, it is not to be supposed<br />
that the literary side is not receiving due attention.<br />
The isolated and unsettled state of Gaeldom in the olden<br />
cays was not conducive to a large or varied output of general<br />
literature. Then, from the Jacobite days up till a comparatively<br />
recent date, social, economic, political, and even educational forces<br />
were operating against the language of the Gael, " freezing the<br />
genial current of his soul," and preventing the free and full<br />
exercise of his undoubted natural literary gifts through the<br />
medium of his native tongue. That he had a language, and<br />
possessed both intellect and imagination for fiction, drama and<br />
other forms of literary expression is abundantly proved by the<br />
quality of a large part of the poetry that was produced, notwithstanding<br />
the unfavourable conditions. W r e need mention only<br />
such names as MacDonald, Maclntyre and Buchanan, to make<br />
us think what might have been, in happier circumstances.<br />
As a result of the adverse forces with which Gaelic had to<br />
contend in the past, is it any wonder that the number of Gaels<br />
who can acquit themselves passably well in the writing of Gaelic,<br />
is at present comparatively limited But we still believe in, and<br />
work and hope for, the development of Gaelic literature, as well<br />
as for the spread of Gaelic ideals of thought and life. Our<br />
Comunn movement is now being supported by our Educational<br />
system, both in School and University, in a way that could hardly<br />
be hoped for about fifty years ago. We are concentrating attention<br />
more and more on instruction being given to our boys and girls in
2O0<br />
THE MOD.<br />
THE MOD.<br />
SO I<br />
reading and writing their mother-tongue, and we aim at making<br />
our Mòd a powerful means of awakening ana inspiring both<br />
young and old, to hold fast to the best traditions of the ancient<br />
race trom which they are sprung. Many of the best of the<br />
Gaelic writers who have come into prominence during recent years,<br />
have been Mòd competitors, and they are ready to acknowledge<br />
gratefully what they owe to the encouragement derived by them<br />
from the success of their Mòd efforts.<br />
Even were the Mòd exclusively a Musical Festival, justification<br />
for its existence could be found in the great amount of work<br />
cf first-class importance it has done for Gaelic Music. It has<br />
raised Gaelic singing to a high level, while preserving its peculiar<br />
native characteristics; it has rescued from neglect many of our<br />
loveliest melodies; it has helped effectively to reveal to the world<br />
the great wealth and variety of Gaelic music and song; and it has<br />
given Highlanders themselves a new interest and enhanced pride<br />
in these precious possessions of theirs.<br />
Socially, the Mòd serves a highly useful purpose. It brings<br />
together, for the four days covered by its proceedings, all sorts<br />
and conditions of people, who have a common bond of union in<br />
love for the old tongue. The years have not withered, nor custom<br />
staled its attractiveness; it is anticipated year by year with the<br />
keenest interest, and enjoyed—every hour of it—with the utmost<br />
zest. For the Highlander who loves the traditions, the language<br />
and the music of his people, the Mòd is a feast of fat things,<br />
which nourishes his spirit and stimulates his self-respect. For a<br />
brief space, he rejoices in the fellowship of kindred spirits, and<br />
surrenders himself unreservedly to the spell of the past.<br />
As a propaganda agent the Mòd is invaluable. While<br />
fulfilling its own function of directly encouraging Gaelic singing<br />
and Gaelic poetic and prose competitions, it advertises the work<br />
of An Comunn, and wins for it a measure of sympathy which it<br />
would not otherwise so easily obtain.<br />
But, after all, the chief object of the Mòd, as of the work of<br />
An Comunn generally, is not only to help to preserve the Gaelic<br />
language from extinction, but to extend its use as the vehicle of<br />
oral and written communication between Highlander and High<br />
lander. While each succeeding Census Return in the past forty<br />
years has furnished melancholy evidence of the magnitude of the<br />
task which confronts workers in the cause of Gaelic, grounds for<br />
optimism are not wanting. There is ample evidence of an<br />
awakened interest among adult Highlanders generally in the<br />
fortunes of the old tongue, and surely it is not unreasonable to<br />
look for gratifying results in the near future, as the fruit of having<br />
secured for every Gaelic-speaking boy and girl attending schools<br />
in Gaelic-speaking districts the right to instruction in reading and<br />
writing their mother-tongue. Undoubtedly, while there is still<br />
much to be done, the Gaelic worker is able to answer the question,<br />
"Am faigh a' Ghàidhlig bàs", with a more emphatic and confident<br />
negative to-day than at any time during the past twenty<br />
or thirty years.<br />
Differences between the Gael and the Gall.<br />
BY PROFESSOR DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., D. Litt., Dublin.<br />
Author of " A Literary History of Ireland," etc.<br />
T BELIEVE that everybody feels instinctively that there is a<br />
JL temperamental difference between the Gael and the Gall,<br />
between the Highlander and the Lowlander. But it is not so<br />
easy to say just wherein the difference lies. Many people are<br />
satisfied when they say it is a " racial" difference, but I think it<br />
would be too rash to determine offhand how much of it is conditioned<br />
by race and how much by history. My own opinion is<br />
that history, not race, will be found to be the supreme factor.<br />
The temperament of people who have no towns or cities near<br />
them, is different from that of town dwellers. The people of<br />
the mountains are never quite like the people of the plains, nor<br />
are those who dwell by the sea quite the same as those who dwell<br />
far inland. The outlook of people governed by Chieftains, each<br />
tribe a little nation, must be different from that of a people<br />
governed by a central established law.<br />
I have been led into these reflections by looking again through<br />
the volumes of Donald Macintosh and of Nicolson, and comparing<br />
their proverbs with our Irish ones. The proverbs of a race throw<br />
much light on its past. How, for instance, could such an<br />
apparently unworthy saying as, Bìonn an sonas indiaidh na
102 DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL.<br />
siraoiligheachta, i.e., " Luck follows slovenliness," get into Irish<br />
except at the time when a neat house and farm brought almost<br />
certainly a demand for increased rent from a rapacious landlord<br />
or factor. How came the saying, Is fiùntaighe poll na paiste,<br />
i.e., "A hole is worthier than a patch," except from a people<br />
among whom so many considered themselves gentlemen,<br />
" Gillies seventy-five<br />
and sixty duine-wassals."<br />
Any gentleman might have a hole in his coat, but a patch meant<br />
premeditated poverty.<br />
A great many Scottish Gaelic proverbs are the same as, or<br />
resemble, proverbs found also in Ireland, and it would be chiefly<br />
in these that those who would distinguish " racial" traits from<br />
traits due to history would find their account. I certainly will<br />
not tread upon such thin ice here. But there are two peculiarities<br />
which distinguish us Gaels from other Europeans, of which our<br />
Lowland or Saxon friends have probably never even heard, of<br />
which, in fact, they have no conception whatever. It is of them<br />
I wish to speak here. One is of our counting of time; the other<br />
is of our songs.<br />
There is a German Novel—it was a great favourite of<br />
Bismarck's— called, Durch Nacht zum Licht, " Through dark to<br />
the Light," and it was thus the Gael counted his hours,<br />
beginning with the night and finishing with the day. Those who<br />
are keen over racial characteristics may find a good opportunity<br />
here for giving a free rein to their imagination. They may find<br />
for it some deep underlying psychological cause. It is easy to<br />
spin a supposition that it is the character of the Celt to face death,<br />
danger and difficulty, before he settles down to life, safety and<br />
enjoyment, and that with him the shadow, gloom, and danger of<br />
night are given first place, as leading to the light, pleasure and<br />
sunshine of the morning. This sounds fantastic enough, but<br />
there is no denying the fact that, while other races counted time<br />
from the revolution of the earth on its axis, beginning with the<br />
morning, he counted time, beginning with the night. The Gael<br />
talks in Gaelic of Oidhche Nollaig, which, being translated, means<br />
" Christmas Night." But it is not Christmas night, it is the<br />
night before Christmas night, it is Christmas eve. In the same<br />
way all Gaels speak of Oidhche Shamhna, literally " November<br />
night." But it is not November night, it is the 31st of October.<br />
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 2G*3<br />
November commenced for the Gael with sunset on the 31st of<br />
October, and Christmas with sunset on the 24th of December.<br />
Oidhche Challuinn is not "New Year's Night," but the night<br />
before, the night of December 31st. This method of counting<br />
the twenty-four hours was the practice as far back as Caesar's time,<br />
for he mentions observing it among the Gauls, so it cannot be<br />
derived from the Biblical, Agus b'iad am feasgar agus a' mhaduinn<br />
an ceud la, i.e., " The evening and the morning were the first day,"<br />
although this parallelism, still observable in the timing of Jewish<br />
Festivals, might provoke speculation as to some spiritual kinship<br />
between the Gaelic and the Semitic mind.<br />
But more important than anything I have mentioned yet,<br />
because it faces us every day and everywhere, is the fact that the<br />
Gael constructed all his songs and all his poetry upon principles<br />
which the Gall not only does not recognise, but does not even<br />
understand. It is the most successful attempt to reproduce music<br />
in speech that has been made by any European nation. I am not<br />
now alluding to the fact that while English, French and German<br />
require full rhymes, that is both the same vowel and consonant,<br />
the Gael only requires a vowel or an assonantal rhyme. He has<br />
that in common with the Spaniard. What I want to call attention<br />
to is rather the places in the verse or line where the rhymes occur.<br />
Thus the Gall only seeks for end-rhymes, i.e., a rhyme at the<br />
end of every line, while the Gael is nearly as much concerned in<br />
having a rhyme in the middle of the line, sometimes two or three<br />
of them.<br />
When the Irish first began to make songs in English, they had<br />
no idea of any other possible way of making them than the<br />
methods used in Gaelic. I could give fifty instances of this<br />
kind of composition, and this fashion continued until comparatively<br />
recently. A local poet, addressing Smith O'Brien—I<br />
found the poem amongst his papers at Cahermoyle—prophesied:—<br />
O'Brien is coming to release us<br />
From hardships, sad slavery and woe,<br />
Taxes are daily decreasing,<br />
And Rackrents are ceasing also:—<br />
" release," pronounced re-lace, makes a vowel rhyme with<br />
" slavery." " taxes " with " rackrents," and " decreasing," pronounced<br />
decracing, with " ceasing " pronounced sacing.
204 DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL.<br />
The following is an attempt to explain the Gaelic system to<br />
the English reader. I take the beautiful poem on Prince Charlie,<br />
by D. B. MacLeoid, and I have tried to translate the first verse of<br />
it into the rhythm of the original, which I give here from lan<br />
MacCoinnich's K Bliadhna Thearlaich." The poem is not in his<br />
" Sàr-obair nam bàrd."<br />
" Gu cladach a' chuain,<br />
Ri fuar-ghaoth an anmoich,<br />
Thriall Tearlach gun dealradh.<br />
Air allaban's e sgith,<br />
Gun reull air a bhroilleach,<br />
No freiceadan a' falbh leis,<br />
Ach ainnir nan gorm-shùl,<br />
Bu dealbhaiche lìth.<br />
Mar dhaoimean 'san oidhche,<br />
Bha a' mhaighdean fo thùrsa,<br />
'S i cràiteach mu Thearlach<br />
Bhi a' fàgail a dhùthcha;<br />
Bu trom air a h-osna,<br />
'S bu ghoirt deoir a sùilean,<br />
'Nuair chunnaic i an iùbhrach<br />
A' dlùthadh ri tìr."<br />
" To a far mountain harbour,<br />
Prince Charlie comes flying,<br />
Whilst winds from the Highlands<br />
Wailed wild in the air;<br />
On his breast was no star<br />
And no guard was beside him,<br />
But a girl by him gliding<br />
Who guided him there.<br />
Like a ray went the maiden,<br />
Still faithful, but mourning,<br />
For Charlie was parting<br />
From hearts that adored him ;<br />
And sighing beside him,<br />
She spied over Ocean<br />
The oarsmen before them,<br />
Approaching their lair.
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 205<br />
All the beautiful Gaelic poetry is composed more or less upon<br />
modifications of this principle of internal rhyme. I know nothing<br />
else so melodious. I do not think that anyone who cannot<br />
appreciate the metric of these poems, and the system upon which<br />
they are composed, has any right to criticise Gaelic poetry. This<br />
conclusion, if right, would seem to exclude all Englishmen, and<br />
most Lowlanders, from acting as our critics, at least until they<br />
have thoroughly mastered our language.<br />
Sheiling Life in Lewis.<br />
BY NORMAN MORRISON, D. ès. Sc., F.Z.S.,<br />
Author of " The Life Story of the Adder," etc.<br />
" Thug mi 'n oidhche raoir 's mi bruadar<br />
Mar ri nlonagan na buaile."<br />
GENERALLY speaking, the word "Sheiling," to the<br />
ordinary person, means nothing more than a romantic term,<br />
a poetical expression for some vague thing which has no<br />
longer any existence in modern life. Of course, some of us, when<br />
in a reflective mood, delight to feast our imagination on that<br />
exquisite poem, " The lonely Sheiling on the Misty Isle," which<br />
has touched a responsive chord in the hearts of tens of thousands<br />
of exiled Celts, stirring their emotions and love of homeland to<br />
white heat intensity. Yet in this materialistic age, all that<br />
beautiful sentiment we associate with the abstract and the<br />
intangible—a mere echo of the long past.<br />
But some readers will be probably surprised to hear that<br />
Sheiling life has still concrete form in the Island of Lewis, and<br />
for the benefit of those who are ignorant of this charming oldworld<br />
custom, which, as I have already mentioned, has been<br />
immortalised in poetical lore, I should like to give here a brief<br />
description of Sheiling life, or rather what it stands for.<br />
During the months of June and July, the cattle of the various
2o6 SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS.<br />
SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS.<br />
20y<br />
townships in Lewis are sent out to the interior of the Island from<br />
four to seven miles, or, to use a colloquial phrase, are sent to the<br />
àirigh (sheiling), in order to allow the common grazing ground<br />
round the villages to recuperate, so as to have it in good condition<br />
for pasturing the flock during the Autumn.<br />
The villages and hamlets in Lewis are situated along the seaboard,<br />
while the inland areas are a vast expanse of rich, brown<br />
moorland, generally speaking, flat, without road, fence, or dyke,<br />
but lit up with the gleam of fresh-water lochs, and interpersed with<br />
a network of streams and rivers, giving a romantic and picturesque<br />
touch to the brown-haired landscape. When the cattle are sent<br />
out to this stretch of purple heath and heather, usually every<br />
family has a sheiling erected in some charming corrie. These<br />
huts are almost circular in design, measuring 10 by 8 feet, and<br />
constructed of a double wall of undressed stone, with a layer of<br />
soil between the outer and inner walls, the roof being covered over<br />
with turf, leaving an aperture for the smoke at one end. There<br />
are also two small openings, opposite each other, about<br />
4 ft. in height by 2^ in width, which serve as doors. The<br />
opening on the windward side is always built up with a mossy<br />
turf, while the other opening stands open night and day. Twothirds<br />
of the interior are taken up with the bed, which is simply<br />
a shake-down of heather and coarse grass. Owing to the<br />
springy nature of the heather, the bed is almost as comfortable as<br />
an up-to-date spring bed. Two layers of turf, running along the<br />
front of the bed, are used as a kind of settee, and the fireplace is<br />
opposite the bed, up against the end wall.<br />
There is always some one out to herd the cattle and milk<br />
the cows, which, through force of habit, gather at the sheiling<br />
night and morning to be milked. The milk is set in dishes in<br />
recesses in the wall, and carried home each morning.<br />
Sheiling custom has been in existence in Lewis for fully 400<br />
years, and it is interesting to note that with few exceptions the<br />
institution is still preserved in all its ancient purity—and in no<br />
way tainted with modern ideas.<br />
Recently, when holidaying in Lewis, I spent a week in a<br />
sheiling ten miles from ' anywhere,' and I should like to describe<br />
briefly the environments and general atmosphere of sheiling life.<br />
I am writing this at the door of my lonely sheiling hut (bothan<br />
àirigh), which is built on a green knoll overlooking a fresh-water<br />
loch, studded with islands. These islands are the abodes of<br />
nymphs, which, however, are seen only by those who have a certain<br />
kind of eye to see them.<br />
It was a perfect June evening, calm and peaceful, with a serene<br />
sky of the purest blue, while the sun curved down on the western<br />
sky like a flaming ball of molten gold, painting moor, loch, hill<br />
and dale in a radiant sheen of golden glory, ranging from orange<br />
tints to exquisite shades of purple, with a faint trace of violet to<br />
be seen on the distant hills. The surface of the loch took on<br />
first a pinkish hue, changing gradually into dark crimson.<br />
As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, a soft, transparent<br />
unearthly light illuminated the terraqueous vision, robing land<br />
and water in an ethereal shade, so subtle and mystical in character<br />
as to mock the poet's fancy, and baffle the painter's art. Everything<br />
seemed to be touched by the hand of enchantment.<br />
Again, the solitude and awesome silence of the moor was<br />
impressive, and even bewitching beyond words. I could see in<br />
all directions miles of heather-clad landscape, intermixed with<br />
bog-down or cotton sedge (the <<br />
canach ' of the Gaelic bards), so<br />
that it looked as if it had been sprayed with snow-flakes.<br />
No sign of the handiwork of man could be seen anywhere,<br />
except two primitive edifices, in one of which I was to lodge for<br />
the night. Nature in her majestic glory and virgin purity<br />
was all around me. Add to this glorious picture the fragrant<br />
odour of heather, wild thyme and other moor plants, wafted on<br />
the genial evening air; and, to complete the magic scene, the<br />
shrill note of a snipe and the harsh cry of a belated moor-fowl<br />
could be heard now and again, giving a touch of life and animation<br />
to the wonderful panorama.<br />
It was truly an evening calculated to soothe the unquiet<br />
passions into rest, and to calm the restless mind of man. One would<br />
need to be an earth-bound mortal who could not for the moment<br />
indulge ìn dreams of delight and beauty, and appreciate in spellbound<br />
bewilderment the dazzling glory of a perfect summer<br />
evening on a Lewis moor.<br />
In conclusion, may I give just a glimpse of the social and<br />
human side of a Highland sheiling. On a neighbouring knoll,<br />
about a hundred yards away, stands another sheiling, at the door<br />
of which two young girls are sitting, having just finished milking<br />
the cows. Both are tail and strikingly handsome, and dressed in<br />
short gowns and coloured blouses. Their garb shows off<br />
admirably their well-proportioned figure, and no headgear hides
208 SHEILING JuIFE IN LEWIS.<br />
from view the coiled tresses,—"like the cloud's yellow wreath on<br />
the mountain's high brow"—which, happily, the "bobbing" vogue<br />
had not yet touched. As might be expected, they are in a happy,<br />
frolicsome frame of mind, laughing and making merry, as<br />
maidens always do in similar circumstances.<br />
Then they lapse into silence and seem to be in a meditative<br />
mood, gazing with spellbound admiration at the entrancing scene<br />
around them. In the depths of their quiet, clear eyes, which may<br />
now and again sparkle with innocent merriment, there lie serious<br />
thoughts, for the average Lewis lassie is a mystic, with a romantic<br />
and poetic turn of mind. " Like white lilies floating in the peathag's<br />
dark waters," these daughters of the moorland are no<br />
common milkmaids. They are in the direct line of spiritual<br />
descent from the Hebridean maidens of earlier days, who always<br />
had a lively sense of the " infinite," of unseen powers, coming<br />
into the tasks of common life, and who had for the most of the<br />
domestic duties such wonderful prayer-songs or blessing-hymns<br />
as are preserved for us in Dr. Alexr. Carmichael's " Carmina<br />
Gadelica." When the cattle were taken to the sheilings, the<br />
sheiling-feast was prepared, after which a dedicatory hymn was<br />
sung:—<br />
" Mary beloved! Mother of the White Lamb,<br />
Protect us, thou Virgin of nobleness,<br />
Queen of beauty, Shepherdess of the flocks,<br />
Keep our cattle, surround us together."<br />
After this pause for contemplation, to which I have referred,<br />
one of the damsels began singing that beautiful Gaelic lyric<br />
" Airigh Bhail' a' Chrò." In a rich soprano voice, with no "College<br />
of Music " training, her sweet notes were borne on the wings<br />
of the evening zephyr, and the melody thrilled me to the core of<br />
my being. Who that has heard the Lewis girls sing a Gaelic<br />
psalm to the tune of " Stornoway " can ever forget the soulstirring<br />
music Then, amidst the placid stillness of a perfect<br />
June night, as the moon appeared on the southern horizon, and<br />
began climbing the tranquil sky, my fair companions and myself<br />
retired to our respective huts, to enjoy the " silence that is in the<br />
starry sky, the sleep that is among the lonely hills," and to dream<br />
of this Paradise of sheer delight, undisturbed by any sounds<br />
from " Vanity Fair."<br />
SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS. 209<br />
" Mo shoraidh slàn gun robh gu bràth<br />
'Na fàrdaich is 'na stòr! v<br />
Tha 'h-iomhaigh ghràidh 'nam chùimhn' a ghnàth,<br />
Is briathran blàth a beoil;<br />
Bidh m'aigne làn de ghaol nach cnàmh,<br />
Gus an càirear mi fo 'n fhòd,<br />
Do 'n ghruagaich bhàin a dhùisg mo dhàn<br />
Air àirigh Bhail' a' Chrò."<br />
The Call of the Isles.<br />
BY BESSIE J. B. MACARTHUR.<br />
Ol SOME folk dream of Italy and skies of sapphire blue,<br />
And some they rave of Samarkand, and Cities of Peru ;<br />
But I would have the islands that lie dreaming in the West,.<br />
For din of the Atlantic surf is beating in my breast.<br />
There's Jura with her wooded heights, and green romantic glens,<br />
There's beauty-haunted Isla too, and Mull of many bens ;<br />
And round by Ardnamurachan, where seas are running high,<br />
There's Rum, and Eigg, and Canna, and the misty Isle of Skye.<br />
Across the Minch to Erisort, the * blue men ' are at play,<br />
And sure, we hear their laughter from the Lews to Castlebay ;<br />
While midway on the sea-path to Loch Broom and Loch Maree,<br />
The Summer Isles lie shimmering like jewels in the sea.<br />
We never want for music there, and far though we may roam,<br />
There's aye a haunting melody to lure us back to home—<br />
The iorram and the crònan in the gentle Gaelic tongue,<br />
From ages immemorial the islanders have sung.<br />
There's music in the Gaelic like the crooning of the wind,<br />
There's soothing for the sorrowful, and seeing for the blind ;<br />
The heart of Youth is singing there the song that never dies,<br />
And Age will find her dreams again 'neath Hebridean skies.<br />
O ! travel South, and travel North, and travel where you may,<br />
Across the Himalayas, or to shores of far Cathay,<br />
And choose the place in all the world where you would be at rest,<br />
But leave to me the islands that lie dreaming in the West!
SEANN SGEUL GHAIDHEALACH.<br />
2 I I<br />
Seann Sgeul Ghaidhealach.<br />
LE ALASDAIR MACDHOMHNAILL, INBHIRNIS, (" GLEANNACH.")<br />
GED tha an sgeul so a leanas 'ga h-inn seadh am measg sgeulachdan<br />
o shean an Eirinn (faic leabhar grinn le Seumas<br />
Mac Mhanuis), is cuimhneach leam-sa gu maith a cluinntinn<br />
an làithean m'òige mu Thaobh-Loch-Nis:—<br />
Bha duine mòr ann aon uair aig an robh anabarr measa air<br />
daoine glice agus ionnsuichte a bhi mu'n cuairt da; agus bho thìm<br />
gu tìm bhiodh comh-fharpuisean aca am measg a chèile, a dh'<br />
fheuchainn co bu ghlice 's a b'ealanta dhiùbh fhèin. Ach là de<br />
na làithean chualas ainm air duine air leth glic anns gach eòlas<br />
agus ealantas, a bhi a' dol cuairt na tìre a' tairgsinn dùbhlain do<br />
neach 'sam bith a sheasadh 'na aghaidh a fhreagairt a cheistean.<br />
Chuir an ceann-uidhe fios 'ga ionnsuidh e a thighinn an aghaidh<br />
fir no fir eile de a chuid daoine; ach an uair a bha an là a' teachd<br />
dlùth air an robh an sgoilear ainmeil a' tighinn, 'sann a ghabh<br />
na fir roinn sgàtha roimhe, a mheud agus nach rachadh neach idir<br />
dhiùbh 'na choinneamh.<br />
Chaidh an sin an ceòl feadh na fìdhle, agus is e a chinnich aig<br />
a' cheann-uidhe a chomhairle a chur ri seann duine glic a bha anns<br />
a' choimhearsnachd. An dèidh an suidheachadh anns an robh iad<br />
uile gu lèir a chnuasachadh bho a thoiseach gu a dheireadh, is e<br />
an co-dhùnadh gus an d' thàinig iad gun cuireadh iad gille càrn a'<br />
chruidh an aghaidh an sgoileir mhòir, mar gum b' ann a' magadh<br />
air a bhiodh iad.<br />
Thàinig là a' cheasnachaidh mu'n cuairt, agus thionail mòrshluagh<br />
na tìre a dh' èisdeachd ri na daoine glice a' fuasgladh<br />
ceistean a chèile. Thàinig a' cheud cheist bho an sgoilear mhòr;<br />
ach feumar a thuigsinn nach robh e air a cheadachadh aon fhocal<br />
bruidhne a bhi idir anns a' chomh-dheuchainn. Thog esan, màta,<br />
a lamh dheas, is chuir e a mach aon mheur. Thog am buachaille<br />
càrn a làmh dheas mar an ceudna, agus chuir e a mach dà<br />
mheoir. An sin chuir am fear eile a mach trì meoir, agus<br />
fhreagair an gille càrn le a dhòrn a dhùnadh, agus gleus feirge 'na<br />
shùilean. Shìn an sgoilear an sin a mach a làmh a' feuchainn<br />
sùibheig-thalmhainn; agus mu choinneamh sud dh' fheuch am<br />
brogach càrn gròiseid. Bha an sgoilear mòr ag gabhail an eagail,<br />
tha e coltach, nach robh e gu bhi cho buadhach 'sa bha e an dùil;<br />
ach a dhèanamh oidhirp eile, thug e ubhal a mach às a phòcaid,<br />
agus dh' fheuch se e 'na làimh. Am priobadh na sùla thug an<br />
gille càrn a mach geamht arain mu choinneamh an ubhail. An<br />
sin thug an sgoilear caob às an ubhal; ach ma thug, thilg am<br />
buachaille càrn an geamht arain air, agus bhuail e cho trom eadar<br />
an dà shùil e agus gun do thuit e gu làr ann an neul.<br />
Air dha èirigh air a chasan a rithist, chaidh e far an robh an<br />
ceann-uidhe, agus thubhairt e ris, "Tha mi a' dèanamh làn aideachaidh<br />
gu bheil mi air mo chur fodha leis an fhear ro anabarrach<br />
glic a chuir sibh am chomhair an diugh. Ged is iomadh<br />
rìoghachd a shiubhail mi, is duine ainmeil an eòlas 's an gliocas<br />
air an do chuir mi an ruaig, cha do thachair neach riamh rium cho<br />
domhain ann an eòlas ris an fhear so ris an do choinnich mi an so<br />
an diugh. 'Se ollamh air leth da-rìreadh a tha ann. 'S fhiach<br />
e mòr onair a bhuileachadh air."<br />
" Innis dhuinn matà," arsa an ceann-uidhe, brìgh nan ceistean<br />
agus nam freagraidhean a bha eadar thu fhèin agus an duine roghlic<br />
so."<br />
" Ni mise sin," ars' esan.—" Chuir mise a mach m' aon<br />
chorrag, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh ann aon Dia a mhàin. Chuir<br />
esan- a mach dà chorraig, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh dà phearsa<br />
eile anns an Diadhachd. Chuir mise a mach trì chorragan, a<br />
dh' fheuchainn gun robh trì pearsachan uile 's an Diadhachd.<br />
Dhùin esan a dhòrn, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh iad sin uile 'nan<br />
aon. Chuir mise an sin a mach sùibheag-thalmhainn a dh'<br />
fheuchainn gun robh a bhi beò taitneach. Chuir esan a mach<br />
gròiseid, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh a bhi beò gu lèir taitneach—<br />
gun robh cuid de ghoirteas ann a bhi beò mar an ceudna. Chuir<br />
mise a mach ubhal, a dh' fheuchainn gur ann bho mheasan an<br />
talmhainn a tha an cinne-daonna air am beathachadh. Chuir esan<br />
a mach pìos arain, a dh' fheuchainn gum b'e aran biadh-beatha<br />
chlann-daoine. Thug mise an sin caob às an ubhal, a dh' fheuchainn<br />
gur ann mar sud a thàinig am peacadh thun an t-saoghail.<br />
An sin thilg esan am pìos arain orm-sa, 'ga mo bhualadh gu trom,<br />
a dh' fheuchainn gun d' thàinig peanas an cois a' pheacaidh."<br />
ct<br />
Mar sin," arsa esan, 's e a' leantainn air adhart, " bha mise<br />
aig ceann mo theadhrach. Fhreagair e m' uile cheistean le<br />
doimhne gliocais air nach d' fhuair mise aithne riamh roimhe.<br />
'S ann tha an gille làn dìomhaireachd gliocais os cionn a leithid<br />
'sam bith a bhuineas do chlann-daoine. Tha mise a nis 'gar
212 SEANN SGEUL GHAIDHEALACH.<br />
fagail. Gabhaibh cùram de bhur gille cam; chan 'eil fear eile de<br />
a leithid am bun a h-uile teallaich."<br />
Ach chinn aig an t-sluagh an dèidh so mìneachadh a' ghille<br />
chàirn fhaotainn air na ceistean agus na freagraidhean, a rèir a<br />
bheachd-sa dhiùbh, agus dh' iarradh air a inntinn a leigeil ris<br />
dhoibh.<br />
" B'e am fior bhraidean e," arsa an gille càrn. " Chunnaic<br />
sibh e ag cur a mach aon mheòir, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh<br />
agam-sa ach aon sùil; ach chuir mise a mach mo dhà mheoir, a<br />
leigeil fhaicinn dhà-san gun robh dà shùil ann fhèin. Chuir esan<br />
an sin a mach trì meoir, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh trì sùilean<br />
againn le chèile. Ghabh mi fhèin an fhearg, is chuir mi a mach<br />
mo dhòrn, a dh' fheuchainn da gu dè a bha a' frithealadh air, mar<br />
sguireadh e de a bhi a' magadh orm-sa."<br />
" Thug esan an sin a mach sùibheag-thalmhainn, a dh'<br />
fheuchainn gun robh sud aige-san a bhàrr orm-sa; ach chuir mise<br />
a mach gròiseid, a leigeil fhaicinn da gun robh uibhir agam-sa<br />
ris 'nam làimh fhèin. B'e an ath nì a rinn e, an droch stic a bha<br />
e ann, ubhal a chur a mach, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh annamsa<br />
ach mac a' bhodaich bhochd a tha a' reic mheasan anns a' bhaile<br />
bheag ud shìos; ach thug mise làmh air criomaig arain a bha mi<br />
a' toirt dhachaidh, a dh' fheuchainn da gun toirinn-se dha e mu'n<br />
bheul's an t-sròin mur leigeadh e dheth gu tur a bhi a' dèanamh<br />
buill-magaidh dhìom-sa. Agus 'nuair a thug e caob às an ubhal,<br />
a dh' fheuchainn gum bithinn-se ag goid ùbhlan mo sheanmhair,<br />
's gan itheadh, cha b' urrainn domh m' fhearg a chumail fodha<br />
na b' fhaide, agus 'sann a thilg mi an geamht arain a bha agam<br />
'nam làimh air 'san aodainn. Bhuail mi eadar an dà shùil e cho<br />
nàimhdeil agus gun do chuir a' bhuille preathal air, agus thuit e<br />
mar neach ann an neul."<br />
" Cha robh ann ach baothair gun diù, gun oilean, gun tuigse;<br />
chan earbainn an crodh ris fad aon mhaidne. Chan è a mhàin nach<br />
robh e glic, cha robh dòighean laghach aige."<br />
An sin chaidh a' chuideachd mu sgaoil, agus a' chuid mhor<br />
dhiùbh ag ràdh riutha fhèin gum b' iongantach an saoghal a bh*<br />
ann, agus gun robh inntinn an duine de na h-iongantasan bu mhò.
Long nan Saighdearan a' Seoladh Dhachaidh.<br />
LE IAIN MACPHAIDEIN,<br />
Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.<br />
SEIS.<br />
Horò, tha sinn sunndach;<br />
B' fhada 'g altrum dùil sinn<br />
Gum biodh ar long 'ga stiùradh<br />
Gu 'r dachaidh chiùin o'n d' ghluais sinn.<br />
RANN.<br />
Gun d' fhàg sinn Calais sòlasach<br />
'Sa mhaduinn moch Di-dòmhnaich,<br />
'S 'nuair chaidh muir ghorm gu crònan duinn,<br />
Bu bhinn a ceòl 'nar cluasan.<br />
An caol gu plubach, faoileagach,<br />
'S a bhi air 'uchd 'toirt faochaidh dhuinn;<br />
'S bha spriod na fairge chaoir-ghealaich<br />
'Tighinn oirnn o thaobh an fhuaraidh.<br />
Bu duan an long's a h-ìnnleachdan,<br />
'S i 'gearradh thonn 'na sìnteagan,<br />
'S a' chòbhrag 'cagairt dìomhair rium,<br />
'S na still a bha m' a guaillean.<br />
An Fhraing 'nar dèidh a' fannachadh—<br />
Gur geàrr gun caill sinn sealladh oirr'—<br />
Ach dh' fhàg sinn cuimhne mhaireannach<br />
An tasgadh anns an uaigh aic'.<br />
Dh' fhàg sinn smior na fiùghantachd<br />
Bha rìoghail, reachdail, rùnach ann,<br />
Blàth nam faillean ùrmhoireach;<br />
B'e an dùthchas a bhi buadhach.
214<br />
LONG NAN SAIGHDEARAN A' SEOLADH DHACHAIDH.<br />
An càs no 'n cruas cha strìochdamaid,<br />
Ach's crùnadh ar toil-inntinn e,<br />
Nach d' fhuiling cliù ar sinnsearachd.<br />
Ged 's iomadh strì a fhuair sinn.<br />
Tha Sasunn aoibheil, fonnar ruinn;<br />
Gach machair gorm ged 's geamhradh e;<br />
Gidheadh tha m' inntinn annsachdail<br />
Air gleanntan nam beann tuathach.<br />
Ar mnathan is ar màthraichean,<br />
Ar leannain is ar càirdean ann;<br />
'S tha fuinn is òrain Ghàidhlig ann,<br />
A chuireas pràmh air fuadach.<br />
The "Bothan" (The Highland Cottage).<br />
BY COLIN SINCLAIR, M.A.,<br />
F.R.I.BA.<br />
( (<br />
/^UL ri gaoithe, aghaidh ri grèine,"—back to the wind, face<br />
V^,/ to the sun,—the " bothan beag " seems to form as much a<br />
part of the natural landscape as the grey rock behind it or<br />
the grassy knoll on which it stands. So truly, indeed, is the old<br />
house of the Gael attuned in harmony to its setting, that it might<br />
well be a part of the primeval order, and the handiwork of Nature<br />
herself.<br />
The bothan calls for no elaborate description. It was of simple<br />
form and of humble dimensions. It furnished but the bare<br />
essentials for a people whose material wants were few. Bounded<br />
by four rude walls, it usually contained two apartments; its fireplace<br />
was set on the middle of the floor, its lighting was scanty,<br />
and hygienic devices were absent.<br />
In the houses of the Outer Isles, the roof was of the simplest<br />
construction, scarcity of timber being a factor which would limit<br />
any attempt at the ornate; for, in the matter of this material,<br />
the island people were largely dependent upon wood washed ashore<br />
from passing ships.<br />
THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE.!. 2 I 5<br />
On the Mainland, however, where the oak and the fir were<br />
abundant, the roofing was more elaborate and more highly<br />
developed in design. Indeed, in the region of the pine forests of<br />
the North, the traditional house was often constructed entirely of<br />
timber, the walls and roof being built of forest pine, ply over ply;<br />
and the silver grey tones which years of exposure to the weather<br />
have imparted to the wood, are agreeable and pleasing to behold.<br />
Of the old houses of the West, three types may be recognised,<br />
these having reference chiefly to the formation of the roof. In the<br />
Isles of the Hebrides, where Atlantic gales sweep up the ocean, and<br />
drive the seabirds to their abodes among the rocks, the houses are<br />
built with walls of great thickness, designed to withstand the<br />
furious impact of the storm. The roofs are of soft outline, and<br />
rounded off at the angles to deflect the wild west winds; and a<br />
peculiar device is employed in the setting back of the springing<br />
of the roof to the inner edge of the walls, which results in a broad<br />
ledge being formed along the wall tops. By this arrangement—<br />
and it has science behind it—the roofing is preserved intact, for<br />
the wind current is swept upwards on striking the face of the wall.<br />
The second type is found in the houses of the Western seaboard<br />
and in those of some of the inner Isles. No longer is seen<br />
the flat ledge of the wall top so characteristic of the Hebridean<br />
house, for here the roofing is arranged to form overhanging eaves,<br />
while the rounded hip-ends of the former type are retained.<br />
In the more southern and inland parts, the third type is represented<br />
in the development of the triangular gable end, against<br />
which the roof abuts. In these houses, the picturesque overhanging<br />
eaves are also displayed.<br />
In the later examples of this type of bothan, the fireplace<br />
and smoke flue were placed against the gable, the chimney being<br />
formed of a timber hood and shaft, terminating in a fanciful top.<br />
This kind of chimney was called similear-crochaidh, ' hanging<br />
chimney,' but often the exit for the smoke was a hole in the ridge,<br />
druim-àrd, directly over the fire-place, an teintean.<br />
As with the plan and with the structure, the furnishings of the<br />
house were governed by utility rather than by luxury. The<br />
common articles of furniture were the box-beds, the dresser with<br />
its presses, plate-racks and shaped ends, the bench or settle; the<br />
meal barrel, water-stoup, and the three-legged pot suspended from<br />
the slabhraidh—a chain attached to a crossbeam in the roof.<br />
It is interesting to attempt to recall some of the descriptive
2l6<br />
THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE).<br />
THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE). 217<br />
names by which the various parts of* his house were known to the<br />
old Gael. The foundation was bunntair or stèidh, and the top of<br />
the wall inside, anainn. The walls were often built of two thicknesses,<br />
filled in with earth and clay. This interfilling was termed<br />
glutadh. The sods of turf on the wall were called foidfàil.<br />
The roofing consisted of main rafters or couples, na ceangail<br />
or lànain, each leg being a cas-cheangail. The legs of the<br />
couples were tied across by a small stick at the apex, called an<br />
spàrr. This was placed immediately below the gobhlag or fork,<br />
and lower down, a cross tie, called am maide-tarsuinn, was fixed.<br />
The hip or corner rafters were known as an roinn-oisinn. The<br />
ridge, dronn, was formed by a ridge pole, am maide-droma, and<br />
the longitudinal purlins, fixed across the couples, were described<br />
as na taobhanan. Na taobhanan in turn supported na cleithean or<br />
cabair, the light timber fabric upon which the thatch, tughadh, was<br />
laid, which might consist of only a covering of tough divots or<br />
clods, called sgrathan.<br />
To make the roof more waterproof, there was often over the<br />
divots a tughadh of bracken (raineach), or heather (fraoch), or of<br />
sea-bent (muran), and the man who showed skill in this work was<br />
regarded as master of a fine art. The stones acting as weights to<br />
hold down the thatch were called acraichean, ' anchors.' Bunnachabac<br />
was the position above the eaves where the weights were set,<br />
and an dragh was a straw rope, laid longitudinally above the eaves,<br />
around which rope, the heather loops, sìomain-fraoich, were bound,<br />
prior to the fixing of the weights.<br />
Sgolb was the name given to the pins required for the fixing<br />
of the thatch; and the peg at each end of the ridge, round which<br />
the sìomain-fraoich were passed, was called am maide-feannaig.<br />
Crann-tairgnean were the pins employed in the fixing together of<br />
the roof timbers.<br />
The lintel of the door was called àrd-dhorus, the wood lintel,<br />
am maide aide, a term whereon hangs a tale: briefly, persons who<br />
held their heads too high when entering, were to take care of their<br />
hats! Clàidhean was the wooden door 1 sneck,' called in Uist,<br />
deit. The hearth slab was known as an cagailte, and the aperture<br />
formed in the roof for the egress of the smoke is in some places<br />
i<br />
described by the poetical name of fàirleus, dawn or morning<br />
light.'<br />
As already mentioned, the * bothan ' was devoid of architectural<br />
embellishment, yet it was constructed on sound principles<br />
of structural design, and the builders seem to have been endowed<br />
with a natural sense of the elementary mechanical requirements of<br />
the problem set before them. Indeed, the inherent scientific sense<br />
of a race whose intelligence was ever on a high plane, produced<br />
buildings, rude and unadorned as they were, embodying many of<br />
the same structural devices as are employed in the complex architecture<br />
of the present day.<br />
Notwithstanding the absence of those aids to the promotion<br />
of physical wellbeing which the laws of modern hygiene demand,<br />
a happy and healthy manhood was destined to spring from the<br />
primitive conditions of life associated with the humble * bothan<br />
beag,' and the fact cannot be gainsaid that the old house preserved<br />
the sanctity of home life in a surpassingly high degree.<br />
" An tomhas mòr, bha an obair-san anns an àile ghlan; bha<br />
am biadh neo-thruailte. B' iad càirdeas is coibhneas air<br />
air an robh meas, agus cha b' e òr no inbhe àrd, no eireachdas<br />
air an taobh a muigh a b* àill leo."<br />
Around the peat fire, the cèilidh, that ancient and peculiarly<br />
Gaelic institution, was wont to be held; there the song was sung,<br />
and the ancient tales were told; tales which set old heads to noble<br />
thinking, and filled young hearts with pride of race.<br />
Overhead, amid the mystic darkness of the canopy of thatch,<br />
were the blackened rafters, relieved by the gleams from the fitful<br />
flames of the peat-fire which threw weird shadows across and<br />
around.<br />
From such surroundings the Gael emerges, imbued with<br />
attributes peculiarly his own; and not the least of these is that<br />
marked tendency to spiritual meditation, and profound contemplation<br />
of the eternal, which has helped him, amid the vicissitudes<br />
of his lot, to turn his gaze towards the higher things of life.<br />
Cas air creathaill 's làmh air cuigeil, comharradh na deagh mhnàtighe.<br />
Foot to cradle, hand to distaff, mark the good housewife.<br />
Is fheairrd' an luch sàmhchair, mar thuirt luch a' mhonaidh ri luch<br />
a' bhaile.<br />
The mouse is the better of quietness, as the moor mouse said to the<br />
town mouse.<br />
Chan e gogadh nan ceann a ni an t-iomradh.<br />
It is not the nodding of heads that does the rowing.
Crois Tara (The Fiery Cross).<br />
GAELIC<br />
PLAY, BY DONALD SINCLAIR.<br />
Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama.<br />
BY THE HON. R. ERSKINE OF MARR.<br />
THE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of Domhnull<br />
Mac-na-Cèardach's Play, " Crois-tàra." Mr. Sinclair<br />
has written other plays since he composed the one a portion<br />
of which I here give in English. Not long ago, a very charming<br />
piece of his was staged in his native Barra, and acted to applauding<br />
audiences. This distinguished poet and dramatist has also tried<br />
his hand at a play for children; but it is in the more ambitious<br />
forms of the dramatic art that he has experimented most.<br />
With regard to " Crois-tàra," which, as will be collected from<br />
the portion I give, is a Jacobite play, it is cast in a good mould.<br />
The opening Scene strikes notes that run, like the refrain of an<br />
Opera, through the whole; and some of the situations conceived<br />
by the dramatist are strong; while some of the language held by<br />
the characters under stress of their emotions is intensely vivid,<br />
and of great figurative beauty. Some of those beauties I have<br />
laboured to capture in my translation of them; but, as everyone<br />
knows who has tried his hand at turning Gaelic into English, to<br />
do justice to the first by the second is no easy task. Mr.<br />
Sinclair is one of the ablest of the few dramatists we have. I hope<br />
he will be encouraged to go on writing Gaelic drama, the more so as<br />
he is a poet of great parts, and as his work shows much improvement<br />
with every successive example of it. The present play<br />
has in it some faulty passages and some situations weakly conceived,<br />
but these spots on the sun Mr. Sinclair will doubtless<br />
remove when the time comes for him, (which I hope may happen<br />
very shordy), to produce his plays in a single volume.<br />
Obviously here is no place in which to embark on<br />
any detailed disquisition touching Gaelic drama. Indeed,<br />
I have here little more room than is necessary to write<br />
down the names of author and play, and to give some<br />
few brief particulars about both. Nevertheless there are<br />
three observations, which, before I conclude, I crave permission<br />
CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS'. 219<br />
to make. The first relates to Gaelic Drama in general; the second<br />
to our people's part with regard to that matter; and the third<br />
to the spirit in which he who thinks to compose Gaelic drama<br />
should go about to write it.<br />
With regard to the first head, my belief is that a bright future<br />
is in store for Gaelic drama, if our stage keeps clear of " commercialism,"<br />
and reaches out to the psychological values of life, in<br />
order to which end it possesses in the Gaelic language an instrument<br />
of uncommon force and unrivalled beauty. With regard to the<br />
public, their duty is to support Gaelic drama, remembering always<br />
that as great things often have small beginnings, so, to reach the<br />
first through the channel of the last, there must be understanding<br />
mixed with encouragement in the reception accorded those first<br />
essays. My last counsel refers to the dramatists themselves, and<br />
it is this:—Remember the answer which the Black Lad Mac-<br />
Crimmon returned to the faery who promised him his wish.<br />
" Which would'st thou prefer," says she, " skill without success<br />
or success without skill " The Black Lad said he would rather<br />
have skill without success, and that he got. He was a true Gael,<br />
and a true artist.<br />
CROIS-TARA. Act I: Scene I.<br />
Translation by the Hon.<br />
R. ERSKINE OF MARR.<br />
SCENE I. The Laird of Borrowdale 1 s House. A Reception<br />
Room.<br />
(The Laird of Borrowdale and Ewen Macdonald are discovered.<br />
Ewen Macdonald is restlessly pacing the floor. Laird<br />
of Borrowdale is seated, and appears deep in thought).<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—To go out against Fate, Ewen, is<br />
useless. Neither is there any need for it. If the Prince has come,<br />
'tis not without events concurring with him in his design, and<br />
'tis not—as well I know—without pressing on the part of those<br />
who wished him here, and have invited him to it.
Crois Tara (The Fiery Cross).<br />
GAELIC<br />
PLAY, BY DONALD SINCLAIR.<br />
Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama.<br />
BY THE HON. R. ERSKINE OF MARR.<br />
THE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of Domhnull<br />
Mac-na-Cèardach's Play, " Crois-tàra." Mr. Sinclair<br />
has written other plays since he composed the one a portion<br />
of which I here give in English. Not long ago, a very charming<br />
piece of his was staged in his native Barra, and acted to applauding<br />
audiences. This distinguished poet and dramatist has also tried<br />
his hand at a play for children; but it is in the more ambitious<br />
forms of the dramatic art that he has experimented most.<br />
With regard to " Crois-tàra," which, as will be collected from<br />
the portion I give, is a Jacobite play, it is cast in a good mould.<br />
The opening Scene strikes notes that run, like the refrain of an<br />
Opera, through the whole; and some of the situations conceived<br />
by the dramatist are strong; while some of the language held by<br />
the characters under stress of their emotions is intensely vivid,<br />
and of great figurative beauty. Some of those beauties I have<br />
laboured to capture in my translation of them; but, as everyone<br />
knows who has tried his hand at turning Gaelic into English, to<br />
do justice to the first by the second is no easy task. Mr.<br />
Sinclair is one of the ablest of the few dramatists we have. I hope<br />
he will be encouraged to go on writing Gaelic drama, the more so as<br />
he is a poet of great parts, and as his work shows much improvement<br />
with every successive example of it. The present play<br />
has in it some faulty passages and some situations weakly conceived,<br />
but these spots on the sun Mr. Sinclair will doubtless<br />
remove when the time comes for him, (which I hope may happen<br />
very shordy), to produce his plays in a single volume.<br />
Obviously here is no place in which to embark on<br />
any detailed disquisition touching Gaelic drama. Indeed,<br />
I have here little more room than is necessary to write<br />
down the names of author and play, and to give some<br />
few brief particulars about both. Nevertheless there are<br />
three observations, which, before I conclude, I crave permission<br />
CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS.!. 219<br />
to make. The first relates to Gaelic Drama in general; the second<br />
to our people's part with regard to that matter; and the third<br />
to the spirit in which he who thinks to compose Gaelic drama<br />
should go about to write it.<br />
With regard to the first head, my belief is that a bright future<br />
is in store for Gaelic drama, if our stage keeps clear of " commer<br />
cialism," and reaches out to the psychological values of life, in<br />
order to which end it possesses in the Gaelic language an instrument<br />
of uncommon force and unrivalled beauty. With regard to the<br />
public, their duty is to support Gaelic drama, remembering always<br />
that as great things often have small beginnings, so, to reach the<br />
first through the channel of the last, there must be understanding<br />
mixed with encouragement in the reception accorded those first<br />
essays. My last counsel refers to the dramatists themselves, and<br />
it is this:—Remember the answer which the Black Lad Mac-<br />
Crimmon returned to the faery who promised him his wish.<br />
" Which would'st thou prefer," says she, " skill without success<br />
or success without skill " The Black Lad said he would rathehave<br />
skill without success, and that he got. He was a true Gael,<br />
and a true artist.<br />
CROIS-TARA. Act I: Scene I.<br />
Translation by the Hon. R. ERSKINE OF MARR.<br />
SCENE I. The Laird of Borrowdale' 1 s House. A Reception<br />
Room.<br />
(The Laird of Borrowdale and Ewen Macdonald are discovered,<br />
Ewen Macdonald is restlessly pacing the floor. Laird<br />
of Borrowdale is seated, and appears deep in thought).<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—To go out against Fate, Ewen, is<br />
useless. Neither is there any need for it. If the Prince has come,<br />
*tis not without events concurring with him in his design, and<br />
'tis not—as well I know—without pressing on the part of those<br />
who wished him here, and have invited him to it.
220 CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS).<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—Fate! . . . 'Tis often that he who<br />
shapens mischief fashions his own fate; and 'tis often that into an<br />
unskilful heart the warmth of the fire puts the hardiness of fools.<br />
But this " pressing " . . .May God forgive those who have used<br />
it, for much they stand in need of pardon who have shown so<br />
little wisdom, and held so little conduct! . . . Sheer madness!<br />
This affair will work us woe.<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(Rising) Press not thy words Ewen<br />
MacDonald! Put not the race of Cian Donald to the blush. Pay<br />
heed to what thou sayest, and give not cause of offence to the<br />
rightful Royal house.<br />
(Enter Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair. He is in full dress, and<br />
carries himself with spirit.)<br />
ALASDAIR—Health in the house of the bards!<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—I thank you!<br />
here!<br />
You are welcome<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—(Regarding Alasdair with a sour look.)<br />
God preserve us! What have we here<br />
ALASDAIR—To feign ignorance of that, ill becomes you; and<br />
he who, knowing, asks, does worse than theft. In me, you see<br />
one of the race of Colla, who has come to welcome his Prince to<br />
the country of Cian Ranald. Who is he from whom I should<br />
conceal it Who will take exception when he hears it<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—Listen! Thou who art without sense,<br />
and without discretion. Cian Colla! Cian Colla forsooth! , . .<br />
Well, be it so! For sure, Cian Colla was ever the first to drink<br />
of the cup of discord; Cian Colla was ever the first to be seized<br />
by the fever and riot of things hapless and forbidden!<br />
ALASDAIR—(With anger and hauteur) Seadh! Claq Colla!<br />
Cian Ranald for sure, if thou likest it so 1 But, in the name of<br />
all curses and cold ruin, is thy creed the creed of pigs Is thy<br />
creed—thou on whom is MacDonald for name—unrighteousness<br />
and the Evil One Hast sold thyself, body and soul, to the<br />
Prince of slaves and the dregs of mankind
CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS I . 221<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—(Furiously) Be not so hasty, man!<br />
Restrain thy tongue! Cease thine impertinence!<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(pacifying the others) Come,<br />
friends, recollect yourselves ! Be sensible!<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—(To Alasdair.) As for thy creed, a<br />
laochain, 'tis but that of thy breeding; remember that small is the<br />
spark that works loss and ruin. I have sold neither my soul nor<br />
my body; but reason and common-sense tell me that it is not to<br />
the advantage of the Gaels that they should have a hand in this<br />
madness that's now a-foot, or yield themselves up to the Prince's<br />
design. I have seen him, and I have heard the persuasions that<br />
are used; and this is my advice—the advice of reason—that you<br />
turn a deaf ear to him, till you see, and till you get stronger<br />
warranty of succours and support than he now can show you.<br />
There's not a man of the race of Cian Ranald more willing than<br />
I am to stand out for justice and our lawful King; but when I<br />
see men doing their best to botch a business which is already overrisky,<br />
it becomes my duty, as a leader, to give them honest<br />
counsel.<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—Thy spirit, Ewen MacDonald, is unmanly;<br />
and to forecast failure for this attempt which Scotland is<br />
about to make in behalf of freedom and her rightful King, is<br />
dishonourable. Thy forebodings, and the fears thou art nursing<br />
up, are baseless. Vain is thy pleading in the ear of Cian Ranald !<br />
ALASDAIR—'Tis vain—and foolish ! For him to think to<br />
stem the torrent of our great design is useless. Neither he, nor<br />
any one else—save God Almighty—can think to control the<br />
storm that rages in the bosom of the clans; for this is the hour<br />
in which the blow must be struck; now's the time when the son<br />
of the Gael shall show forth the terror of his might against the<br />
despoilers of his country, and the violators of his rights!<br />
(Enter Armed Clansmen)<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—May God then undo your intents; and<br />
may He, in His own good time, give you light, so that you may
222 CROIS-TARA I THE FIERY CROSS I.<br />
come to know where the true path or* your interest lies ! So be it—<br />
now's the hour! Now's the hour, I fear me, which shall bewitch<br />
the sword of the Gael; and, thereafter, bewitched it shall remain<br />
till the end of all things.<br />
CLANSMAN—Say not so! Ewen MacDonald, disgrace it not!<br />
Who is he that would not raise his sword in behalf of Charles<br />
Stewart, Prince of the Gaels <br />
ALASDAIR—Men ! Lift up your hearts above mean, unworthy<br />
things! Let not one of you yield to the suggestions of a mind<br />
whose ignoble fears keep him bowed as low as earth 1 Men !<br />
Prepare yourselves to march, to meet and welcome our Prince,<br />
Charles Stewart, son of King James! Och! Och! God and<br />
Charlie!<br />
CLANSMEN—God and Charlie !<br />
ALASDAIR—(with vehemence and inciting zeal.) O, ye—<br />
children of the Gael! O, ye who are of the seed of the heroes of<br />
a hundred battles—remember ! Remember your wrongs, and the<br />
wrongs of your race ! Remember freedom ! . . . Revenge !<br />
Revenge from the ends of all times past is flooding my soul, and<br />
is calling upon me to avenge with all the strength of my right<br />
hand, wrongs and injuries past all bearing! But, by my sword<br />
and by my shield, the hour is come! The doors of the hate and<br />
fury of Scotland are flung wide open ! The spark is in the<br />
heather! and the reek and smell of the burning roll far and wide<br />
through the land of the bens ! As the wind stirs the leaf, so does the<br />
war-cry of a countless host stir the drum of my hearing!<br />
Eyes without number—flaming with the lust of slaughter—fill<br />
my vision! I hear the matchless music of the Gael, as it goes<br />
forth to battle, bursting from a hundred chanters, and challenging<br />
to combat the weaponed might of the hosts of earth. Och! A<br />
Mhoire ! Behold the lads who wear the tartan ! Watch the prowess<br />
of the true and perfect men ! See the faces—lowering as the<br />
storm—of the champions who wreak vengeance! Like wolves<br />
from the shoulders of the hills, foregathering, so gather together<br />
m sight of all. the seed of heroes, intent to deliver, irresistibly,<br />
the sure and final stroke of vengeance!<br />
CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS:. 223<br />
CLANSMAN—(With enthusiasm) My blessing on thy soul,<br />
Alasdair! One and all we'll rise! Young and old Gaels will<br />
rise—for victory or death !<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—Alas! 'Tis like enough they'll rise; but<br />
their place of lying down, I fear, will be the woods and thickets<br />
of the fugitive!<br />
ALASDAIR—(With hauteur, and laying a hand on the hilt of<br />
his sword.) Ewen MacDonald! Thy speech dishonours thy<br />
father's cian ! Have a care!<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(Pacifying Alasdair.) Let him be,<br />
Alasdair! He is not worth thy trouble! Heed him not! Give<br />
him not thine ear!<br />
ALASDAIR—(To Ewen MacDonald.) Chief! Thy speech<br />
disgraces thee, and faint is the beat of thy pulse! But, despite<br />
thy fears and thy seducing words, the powerful Cian of Colla will<br />
rise—aye, branch, twig and stem, that noble and victorious tree<br />
will rise; and with united voice all will cry—" Crois-tàra!"<br />
(The distant sound of pipes playing " The young Prince's<br />
Salute " is heard.)<br />
CLANSMAN—Hark! D'ye hear Thank God !<br />
ALASDAIR—(Joyfully, and drawing his sword.) The Young<br />
Prince's salute! The Salute of the Prince!<br />
(Alasdair and Clansmen go off, but return almost<br />
immediately.)<br />
ALASDAIR—Thanks be to God! 'Tis true! The White<br />
Rose of our hopes! Sweet to mine ear is the music of the distance—the<br />
sound that brings the tidings of the Prince's coming<br />
to the land of Cian Ranald!<br />
(Ewen MacDonald paces the room distractedly, and regarding<br />
Alasdair with menacing eye.)<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—Men! 'Tis time for us to be going<br />
te salute His Royal Highness! 'Tis our duty to welcome our<br />
Prince to the House of Mac-'ic-Ailein.
224 CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS).<br />
CLANSMEN—(Casting their bonnets into the air for joy.)<br />
Hòro ghealladh! The Sun of Freedom! Prince Charles<br />
Stewart!<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—(With a sneer.) Al Seadh! To the<br />
House of Mac-'ic-Ailein! (To Laird of Borrowdale.) Is it not<br />
thou that hast the unperceiving mind, notwithstanding all that I<br />
have said to thee How hard it is to prevail on thee to open<br />
thine eyes!<br />
LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(Angrily.) Ewen MacDonald! I<br />
perceive thou art minded to force a quarrel!<br />
ALASDAIR—We will not belittle things of high intent by<br />
mean. Let us away to meet His Royal Highness!<br />
CLANSMAN—We're for the Prince ! Let us all away to salute<br />
the Prince of the Gaels !<br />
(Exeunt<br />
Clansmen)<br />
ALASDAIR—(As he and Laird of Borrowdale go off.) God<br />
and Charlie!<br />
EWEN MACDONALD—(Alone.) Nature has opened no fount<br />
of sense in yon men. Gaels! God . . . yet, my own race. And<br />
their King—is he not mine also ... I hear the baying of the<br />
hounds of woe—warning of grief unspeakable, warnings of<br />
tribulations, and hangings and slaughterings. O God, if it is<br />
Thy Will, divert from our land and race this destroying flame<br />
that now approaches! (As he goes off.) God be about us, and<br />
favour us! May He grant to each one the counsel that befits<br />
his state, and guide the hearts of all to the goal of His Justice!<br />
CURTAIN.
A Glasgow Lassie's Visit to Culloden—1918<br />
A<br />
STRETCH of barren moor, pine woods it hemming,<br />
Marks thy drear waste, Drummossie, grave of valiant men<br />
Haunt of the lapwing, ever restless wheeling<br />
O'er its deserted nest amid the heather, then<br />
Crying wild for the fate of those there sleeping.<br />
Rude stones, uncarved, grown o'er with moss and lichen,<br />
Show where MacLachlans and MacGilvrays fighting fell;<br />
Frasers, MacLeans, and sons of brave Lochaber<br />
Sleep side by side, in death, old feuds forgotten,<br />
Clasped in the swelling turf's green, quiet bosom.<br />
Yonder, beside the fir-trees' darkened shadow,<br />
Towers the cairn 'neath which in simple grandeur<br />
Sleep plaided chiefs—leal hearts, yet warriors doughty;<br />
And round the cairn hang wreaths of withered yew-tree,<br />
Sere as the blighted hopes the heroes cherished.<br />
Still, stagnant well, round thy green marge once gathered<br />
A baffled host, athirst, with glazed eyes staring<br />
Deep through thy sparkling waters, once clear flowing:<br />
Dark woe hath dimmed, methinks, thy shining mirror<br />
That thou ne'er more canst show fair summer's dawning.<br />
And thou, historic stone, cruel Cumberland's watch-tow'r,<br />
From thy round top he scanned the heaving battle,<br />
Followed with anxious eye the wav'ring clansmen,<br />
Leapt down in savage joy, as round Prince Charlie<br />
Surged his last hope, war-weary, hopeless, frantic.<br />
And on the battle's edge a small thatched ruin<br />
Sheltered the Prince that Caledonia loved;<br />
Cannon shot pierced thy walls, yet still thou standest,<br />
Sign of the steadfastness of loyal hearts,<br />
Thou seem'st their emblem in thy loneliness.<br />
Still keep, bleak moor, thy wealth of high tradition,<br />
Guard thy great dead, and keep their memory green:<br />
Precious to mountaineers thy lone grey cairns,<br />
Ne'er shall thy fair fame fade, nor name depart,<br />
For aye, the wide world o'er, Gaels think of thee.<br />
CATHERINE A.<br />
MACDONALD.
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 291<br />
Na h-orduighean.<br />
LE DOMHNULL MAC-A-PHI NACH MAIREANN.<br />
IS ann mu'n aimsir so de 'n bhliadhna a b' àbhaist do'n chomanachadh<br />
a bhi air a chumail ann am mòran cheàrnan de'n<br />
Ghàidhealtachd, agus chan 'eil seirbhis chràbhach eile ann a<br />
mhaireas cho fada an cuimhne an t-sluaigh, no aon a dh 5<br />
fhàgas<br />
boladh cho cùbhraidh 'na dèidh. Dùisgidh i urram sònruichte<br />
am measg shean is òg, nach faighear ach tearc an àitean eile.<br />
Là grianach gun àile gaoithe—an sgìreachd uile fuidh thàmh,<br />
ged tha an sìd ro fhreagarrach air son oibre—an sluagh 'nan aodach<br />
sàbaid—grunnan an sud 's an so ag imeachd air an socair air na<br />
rathaidean mòra, no air an fhrith-rathad tarsuinn air cliathaich<br />
na beinne—a h-uile neach a' dèanamh dìreach air an aon cheannuidhe;<br />
agus so air là seachduine! Ciod e is ciall d'e Abraidh<br />
Philistich Shasuinn agus na Galldachd nach 'eil ann ach ana-caitheadh<br />
air tràth—dìmeas air a' chothrom a thug sìd math do dhaoine<br />
gu bhi a' saothrachadh mu 'n chroit no mu iasgach. Chan 'eil<br />
e soirbh do shluagh a chaidh a thogail am measg straighlich is<br />
malairt nam bailtean mòra, a chreidsinn gum bu chòir làithean<br />
'sam bith a choisrigidh do nithean spioradail ach là na Sàbaidc a<br />
mhàin; agus tha'n là sin fèin an cunnart dol a mùthadh am measg<br />
chreutairean a thug iad fèin thairis—anam is corp—do Mhamon.<br />
Tha seadh nan cleachdannan cràbhach a bha measail aig Gàidheil,<br />
agus mòran de Ghoill, leth cheud bliadhna roimh 'n diugh, annasach<br />
leo. Tha a' chuid nach gabh ris na nòsan nuadha acasan<br />
cumhang am beachd. Faodaidh gu bheil ceàrnan de 'n Ghàidhealtachd<br />
a' leantuinn eisimpleir nan Gall a thaobh so, mar tha iad<br />
'ga leantuinn an dòighean eile gun mhòran buannachd 'na lorg.<br />
Bu chòir do Ghàidheil a bhi eudmhor a thaobh an rian agus an<br />
dòighean fèin, chan e a mhàin a thaobh cràbhaidh, ach a thaobh<br />
rudan eile air nach bi sinn a' leudachadh an dràsda.<br />
Ach beachdaicheamaid air an là so—là na traisg—mar a b'<br />
àbhaist a bhi 'ga chumail. Bidh a' chuid is mò de 'n t-sluagh a'<br />
dèanamh deiseil air a shon mar gum bu là Sàbaid e. Feumaidh<br />
luchd-còmhnuidh ìochdar na sgìreachd—seann daoine is sean<br />
mhnathan co-dhiù—ullachadh a dhèanamh air son an rathaid. Am<br />
fear aig am biodh cairt agus gearran, bheireadh e cuireadh do<br />
neach a bhiodh ro lag-chuiseach air son coiseachd. Air son<br />
ghillean is nigheanan, cha chuireadh coiseachd deich no dusan mìle<br />
dragh 'sam bith orra. A dh' aon rud, bha iad air slighe<br />
dleasnais, an cuideachd a' chèile suas an rathad air an socair, a'<br />
seanchas fad an t-siubhail, no is dòcha 'nan suidhe air bruaich, car<br />
tiotain, an dèidh ùrachadh fhaotainn a tobar fìor-uisge a bha<br />
brùchdadh a stuth fhallain faisg orra. Co-dhiù 'se na bha rompa<br />
a b'fhaisg air an inntinn, no dùil ri bhi a' coinneachadh ri sean<br />
chàirdean, cha 'n abair sinn. Ach nam mothaicheadh iad air, dh'<br />
fhaodadh an sealladh a bha mu 'n cuairt an cridhe a' lìonadh le a<br />
bhòidhcheid. Nach 'eil am monadh fèin, ged tha e air amannan<br />
gruamach do 'n t-sùil, air amannan eile, mar an aimsir so, fo bhlàth<br />
le fraoch is còinnich is luibhean—badanan buidhe is uaine a'<br />
deàrrsadh na's àilne le gathan na grèine. Fad air falbh tha<br />
binneanan sgorach, creagach nam beann, mar gum biodh iad fhèin<br />
agus an t-athar air coinneachadh r'a chèile—dubhar maoth mar<br />
chorcuir air an aodann. Saoil nach drùidh tomhas de sheadh an<br />
t-seallaidh so—òirdhearc, farsuing, làn de'n dìomhaireachd a tha<br />
ceangailte ris na nithean a tha folaichte—air inntinnean sluaigh air<br />
an do bhuilicheadh cuibhrionn shònraichte de spiorad a' chràbhaidh.<br />
Chuireadh an cèill gu tric le muinntir a bhios ag gabhail mothachaidh<br />
air aigne an comh-chreutairean, gu bheil nàdur de chomhchomunn<br />
eadar sluagh na h-àirde tuath is nan eileanan, agus an<br />
cruthachadh Nàduir mu choinneamh an sùl—na siantan, an dubhar<br />
a bhios a' laighe air glaic nam beann, na sgàilean a bhios a' ruith<br />
air an aodann, gàir tiamhaidh nan tonn, no nuallan na fairge, is i<br />
'ga maistreadh fèin am broinn nan uaimhean. Ach bidh an anam<br />
ag ath-fhreagradh ris an t-sàmchair a thuiteas air Nàdur 'na h-àm<br />
fèin, mar thachair aig an àm so.<br />
Is e là na traisg là mòr an ullachaidh air son na cuirme naoimh<br />
a tha rompa air an t-Sàbaid. Bidh an eaglais làn de choimhthional<br />
stòlda, rianail. 'S e ministear a mhuinntir sgìreachd eile a bhios<br />
a' searmonachadh, agus gu dearbh 'sea dh'fheumas a bhi faicilleach<br />
mus tuit lideadh o a bhilean a bheir oilbheum do na daoine còire<br />
a tha 'nan suidhe faisg air a' chùbaid, no an crò nam foirfeach. Tha<br />
iadsan cho domhain 'nan eòlas air an Fhìrinn; tha an comas breithneachaidh<br />
cho geur, is nach e a h-uile ministear a ghabhadh air an<br />
. ladarnas sanas bu lugha a thairgse an aghaidh bheachdan<br />
a ghabh greim orrasan o 'n cheud là anns an d' fhuair iad eòlas<br />
spioradail. Abradh diadhairean nan colaisdean mar a thogradh iad,<br />
shuidhich na daoine còire so dòchas am beatha air bunait nach<br />
gabhadh carachadh. Biodh càch a' seòladh mar a stiùras sruth an
29-<br />
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN.<br />
ama iad, tha an acarsaid acasan diongmhalta, agus tha am beatha<br />
spioradail crochte rithe.<br />
Mar is trice, is e Di-haoine là na coinneimh-cheiste—là a tha<br />
ro thaitneach leis an t-sluagh. Is è gu h-àraidh " Là nan Daoine,"<br />
mar a theirear—daoine diadhaidh a mhuinntir na sgìreachd, no<br />
bràithrean o sgìreachdan eile a tha astar fada air falbh. Tha iad<br />
deas-bhriathrach, agus ainmeil 'nan crìochan fhèin. Chan 'eil an<br />
teisteanas folaichte. Ciamar a bhitheadh, is iad aithnichte mar<br />
dhaoine a chaith mòran de'n tìm ri fèin-rannsachadh Bidh cuid<br />
ag cur às an leth gu bheil iad air an sèideadh suas le uabhar<br />
spioradail, ach faodar a ràdh gun do chinnich annta feartan a chaidh<br />
a chleith air càch, air chor agus gu bheil iad uidheamaichte air<br />
son dleasnas an dreuchd. Math dh' fhaoidte nach 'eil mòran eòlais<br />
aca air leabhraichean, no air rudan a bhios ag cur imcheist air<br />
creutairean a tha ag gleachd ri nithean saoghalta. Tha aon leabhar<br />
ann air a bheil iad mion-eòlach, agus tha mòran dheth aca air am<br />
meomhair—Leabhar nan leabhraichean. Ma tha leabhar eile ann<br />
fosgailte dhaibh, is e sin leabhar an doilgheis agus a' c'hràidh-inntinn—leabhar<br />
a tha, a thaobh cuid, do-sgaradh o'n bheatha a tha<br />
làthair. Ann an seadh, faodar a ràdh nach 'eil aig a' chinne-daonna<br />
ach an dà leabhar so.<br />
Air Di-haoine, tha an raon aig na daoine doibh fèin. Chan<br />
'eil am ministear ach mar fhear-riaghlaidh air a' choinneimh, ged<br />
a sgioblaicheas e suas air deireadh na seirbhis na beachdan a<br />
chuireadh fo chomhair an luchd-èisdeachd. An uair a dhearcas<br />
e mu 'n cuairt, iarraidh e air fear de na " Daoine " a bhi ag èirigh<br />
—" bithibh ag èirigh, a Choinnich." Cha bhi Coinneach còir ro<br />
dheònach; tha e 'ga mheas fhèin neo-airidh, ach cha dèan diùltadh<br />
an gnothuch. Mu dheireadh, tilgidh e a bhreacan bhàrr a ghualainn;<br />
putaidh e a mheoir roimh a fhalt cràsgach, liath—ach glanshnuadhach<br />
air a shon sin—duine tlachdmhor, ged bha aghaidh<br />
còmhdaichte le preasan na h-aoise, agus air a seachdadh le uisg, is<br />
gaoith is grèin, a' strì am measg bochdainn is uireasbhuidhean a*<br />
chrannchuir. Nan robh an t-sùil lèirsinneach aig neach, chiteadh<br />
spiorad na h-irisleachd ag iathadh m' a cholainn, air dha a bhi a'<br />
dol an glaic nithean dìomhair. Eiridh e gu diùid, mar gum biodh<br />
e fo throm uallach le truimeid an dleasnais a ghabh e os làimh, agus<br />
bidh gach sùil anns a' choimhthional air. Math dh' fhaoidte gun<br />
robh e fo incheist a thaobh puing spioradail air choreigin, agus<br />
b'e a mhiann solus fhaotainn o na bràithrean. Gheibheadh e sin,<br />
agus ùrachadh 'na chois. 'Na dhèidh dh' èireadh fear mu seach,.
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 293<br />
agus rannsaicheadh e a' phuing agus sgrùdadh e na beachdan. Mar<br />
chùl-taic d'a bhreithneachadh dh' fhosgladh e a suas fèin-fhiosrachadh<br />
a bheatha—fiosrachadh beatha an neach a tha 'na chòmhnuidh<br />
ann an ionad dìomhair an Tì is Airde.<br />
Bitear ag cur às leth nan " Daoine " air a' Ghàidhealtachd, gu<br />
bheil iad cumhang 'nam beachdan, agus gu bheil uabhar spioradail<br />
a' faotainn làimh an uachdar orra. Biodh sin mar dh' fhaodas e,<br />
cha ghabh e a chleith gu bheil an caithe-beatha a rèir an aideachaidh.<br />
Choisrig iad an aire's an aigne gu bhi ag cnuasachd air an Fhìrinn,<br />
agus tha i a' riaghladh an dol-a-mach agus an teachd-a-steach.<br />
Chan 'eil neach a dh' èisd ri aon diubh ag gleachd ann an ùrnuighj<br />
nach aithnich so. Tha an athchuinge làn de dhìomhaireachd am<br />
beatha; dùrachdach, brìoghmhor leis an t-seadh a thig o bhi a'<br />
meamhrachadh air nithean neo-fhaicsinneach—guidhe nach 'eil<br />
fad o dheireadh na rèise, iriosal 'na h-iarrtus, macanta 'na spiorad,<br />
ach làn de 'n dòchas air an do ghabh iad greim an toiseach. Chì<br />
gach aon de 'n luchd-èisdeachd an cor anns an ùrnuigh ud mar ann<br />
an sgàthan, oir is e a tha innte taomadh anama neach do 'n aithne<br />
a h-uile ceum de 'n t-slighe. Faodaidh gum b' ùrnuigh duine<br />
neo-fhòghluimte i—mar a mheasas daoine an t-saoghail fòghlum<br />
—ach foillsichidh i toradh na gleachd air nach 'eil e aineolach, agus<br />
tha i air a blàthachadh le ungadh an Spioraid Naoimh. Tha mòran<br />
de shean chleachdannan ciatach a' dol am mùthadh 'nar linn, ach<br />
chan 'eil cor na dùthcha a' dol na's feàrr.<br />
Is e là na Sàbaid là mòr na Cuirme. Bidh an coimhthional na's<br />
motha na air na làithean eile, agus ma bhios an sìd idir freagarrach,<br />
thèid pàilliun a shuidheachadh air lianaig ghuirm, gu tric aig<br />
ìochdar cnuic. Tha na "bùird " air an còmhdach le lìon anart cho<br />
geal ri sneachda na h-aon oidhche, ach bidh iad falamh an toiseach<br />
—gus an tig an "cuireadh." Air amannan bidh suas ri dà mhìle anns<br />
an èisdeachd—an cnoc còmhdaichte le gillean òga, agus nigheanan<br />
cho rìomhach 'nan èideadh's ged b'e bean-baile a bha anns gach tè.<br />
Cha'n fhaicear an diugh na curraicean geala air na sean mhnathan<br />
mar a b' àbhaist, ged a b' eireachdail an sealladh e 'san àm. 'Nan<br />
aite thàinig itean, is ribeanan, is flùraichean, is rudan rìomhach<br />
eile. Is cinnteach gu bheil cuimhne aig cuid de ar luchd-leughaidh<br />
air mar a loisgeadh na sean mhinistearan air luchd nan " gumfloors,"<br />
is nam bòtainnean dìosganach.<br />
Cha leigear a leas a ràdh nach d' thàinig am pobull a tha 'nan<br />
suidhe cho stòlda air an lianaig, uile fo bhuaidh an rùin a tha an<br />
chridhe an athraichean agus am màthraichean. B'e mìorbhuil a
2 9<br />
4<br />
NA<br />
H-ORDUIGHEAN.<br />
bhiodh 'na chaochladh. An uair a bhios foidhidinn a fàilneachadh,<br />
èiridh grunnan no dhà an dràsda's a rithist a mach às a' choimhthional,<br />
a chum ceum a ghabhail mu chùl a' chnuic, oir mairidh an<br />
t-seirbhis o dhà-uair-dheug gu còig uairean. Ach fanaidh a' chuid<br />
is motha gu deireadh na cuirme—cuid diubh mar a bha a' bhuidheann<br />
aig lochan Shiloaim, a' feitheamh air a' ghluasad a thig o<br />
spiorad an Dè bheo. Cha'n urrainn creutair toinisgeil amharc air<br />
a leithid so de shluagh ach le urram—sluagh a tha fo bhuaidh inntinn<br />
nach tuig ach an neach a dh'fhairich e 'na bheatha fhèin.<br />
Mun toir am ministear cuireadh chun a' bhùird do'n treud leis<br />
an àill Suipeir an Tighearna a ghabhail gu h-iomchuidh, cuiridh e<br />
an cèill gu neo-sgàthach comharadh na muinntir a tha freagarrach,<br />
agus an fheadhainn nach 'eil. Chan fhaod an cogull a bhi am measg<br />
a' chruithneachd. Tha'n gàradh-criche soilleir. Is ann air an uair<br />
so a thòisicheas imcheist spioraid air an luchd-comanachaidh, agus<br />
cha'n iongnadh ged bhiodh iad 'ga meas fèin neo-airidh air an<br />
l-sochair, an dèidh èisdeachd ri briathran teinnteach. Ach cuirear<br />
impidh ri cuireadh, agus am feadh *s a bhios salm 'ga seinn, thig<br />
fear air adhart, air a shocair, leis fhèin. Leanaidh càch e air an<br />
aon dòigh, agus theid an t-seirbhis shòluimte a thòiseachadh. Chan<br />
'eil deas-ghnàthan 'gan cleachdadh a bharrachd air dòigh na ceud<br />
suipearach, agus cha'n fhaicear fraoidhneas de sheòrsa 'sam bith.<br />
Tha a h-uile rud aon-fh ill teach agus rianail.<br />
Is e so a ghnè dhaoine—neo-ealanta, agus bochd 'nan crannchur,<br />
ach saoibhir, air mhodh eile— a tha coigrich a' saoilsinn<br />
saobh-chràbhach, aineolach, agus fo bhuaidh cumhangachd inntinn<br />
! Chan 'eil guth air cuinge na foirmealachd a tha mu'n<br />
amhaich fhèin. Stèidhich na daoine ud am muinghinn air nithibh<br />
a tha sìorruidh. Ged nach deach an inntinnean a ghèurachadh an<br />
colaisdean, tha faobhar orra a dh' aindeoin sin, agus gheibh neach<br />
a thig 'nan caraibh a mach e. Tha iad 'nan eisimpleir do'n àl a<br />
th ig 'nan dèidh. Chuir iad eireachdas air a' Ghàidhlig, agus air a<br />
cumhachd gu cridhe an t-sluaigh a ruigsinn. A bheil na<br />
h-Eaglaisean a' tuigsinn na cùise An gabh iad rabhadh 'na dm<br />
The Gaelic Outlook.<br />
By PROFESSOR MAGNUS MACLEAN, M.A., D.Sc, LL.D.<br />
WHAT to do with the Gaelic heritage in its modern survivals^—language,<br />
dress, music, literature, customs,<br />
traditions—is a question that seems to be stirring in many<br />
minds. In any useful discussion of this question certain broad<br />
facts have to be recognised. Since the introduction of the steamboat<br />
and the railway, and more especially of education and the<br />
press, the Highlands have been gradually Anglicised. Gaelic is<br />
no longer in the main the language of business, of the home, of<br />
public life, or even of religion. It is evident that the decline of<br />
the language as a spoken speech is proceeding more rapidly than<br />
ever, and that unless the process is delayed, it is doomed very soon,<br />
like the Cornish, to go the way of the heroes.<br />
Fortunately, however, outside the Highlands a remarkable<br />
interest is being evolved in the Gaelic. This is due to the researches<br />
of scholars, both in Britain and on the Continent, and to<br />
the better and fuller knowledge which is being disseminated<br />
regarding the language and its literature. In view of this revival<br />
of public interest, some well-meaning enthusiasts may be in danger<br />
of fostering extravagant notions, and propounding visionary<br />
schemes for the resuscitation of the Gaelic as the one language of<br />
the North, and for the restoration of it to its ancient sway. Gaelic<br />
was the fitting medium of expression in the old order which is<br />
passing away, but while it may still be preserved to exert its<br />
influence on the life and thought of the people, and to have an<br />
important place in the education of the young, that place can be<br />
wisely determined only by accepting the fact that the old language<br />
is not adequate to the new order.<br />
Learned men value Gaelic for its rich stores of ancient lore:<br />
the cultured and intelligent no longer despise it as a barbarous<br />
tongue, but many of them would fain know it themselves as an<br />
additional linguistic accomplishment. It is, therefore, to be hoped<br />
that this interest evinced by Celtic Scholars and Celtic enthusiasts,<br />
even outside the Highlands, will gradually filter down to the<br />
average man on the spot.<br />
Friends of the Gaelic would be well advised, instead of aiming<br />
at the impraticable and impossible, to consider what really is wanted<br />
at the present stage, and what can be done with any hope of success.<br />
At present, the majority of the Highlanders are amazingly ignorant
296 THE GAELIC OUTLOOK.<br />
of the great past of their race—of its language, history and<br />
literature. In fact, they are far more intimately acquainted with<br />
the history and literature of the Jews than with those of their own<br />
early ancestors. They do not know the high place Gaelic occupies<br />
in the Aryan group of languages, or the value philologists and<br />
mythologists at home and abroad attach to its study. Very many<br />
of the common people cannot read the native tongue, and very<br />
few can write it, although they may be able both to read and to<br />
write fairly in English. As for the grammar and spelling of<br />
Gaelic, they are as incomprehensible to the average Highlander as<br />
those of Welsh or Sanscrit.<br />
Clearly, then, the first requisite is to create a sound, healthy<br />
public opinion on the subject in the Highlands itself, and to enlist<br />
the sympathies of the people generally in favour of their native<br />
tongue. The first great need is to awaken a more intelligent<br />
interest in Gaelic in the people themselves, to show them that their<br />
language is ancient and beautiful, and that, far from retarding the<br />
English education and the future prospects of their children, it is<br />
a powerful means of developing the mental faculties, and producing<br />
a vigorous as well as an interesting type of mind.<br />
It should be constantly impressed upon Highland parents that<br />
bi-lingualism gives increased intellectual power, and that, therefore,<br />
they should encourage their children to speak the living vernacular<br />
as much as possible in the home, and should see to it that full<br />
advantage is taken of the provision made by the Education Department<br />
for the teaching of Gaelic in the Elementary Schools.<br />
Meanwhile, much could be done by the various Gaelic agencies by<br />
instituting popular lectures throughout the Highland area,<br />
supplying the libraries of the Highlands with readable books on the<br />
history and literature of the Gael, and preparing and giving as<br />
prizes in the various schools beautifully bound copies of the same.<br />
In this way a living interest in the mother-tongue and its lore<br />
would be fostered among both old and young.<br />
The Heritage of the Gael.<br />
BY THE RIGHT HON. IAN MACPHERSON, P.C., K.C., M.P.,<br />
Chief of the Gaelic Society of London.<br />
CARLYLE said, in one of those impressive moods of his, that<br />
it was our grand business not to see what lies dimly at a<br />
distance, but to do what clearly lies at hand. The Sage of<br />
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL. 297<br />
Chelsea thought and fulminated but a few yards away from where<br />
I write. If 1 met him on my walk of a morning, 1 think that I<br />
should gain his valiant and rugged sympathy for our great cause,<br />
that I should get him to fulminate in his own great style against the<br />
lethargy, the aloofness, the ignorance, nay, the snobbishness of<br />
those of our own people who can, but will not help; and, greatly<br />
daring, I should, as a Gael, venture to argue with him, taking that<br />
dictum of his as a test.<br />
There is an indefinable and subtle relationship between the<br />
language and the soul of a people. No one can describe that<br />
relationship in words, but it exists; and it exists, and has existed,<br />
in our life in Gaeldom with a force and intensity almost unparalleled.<br />
It has been urged against us, as if it were a crime, that we are<br />
children who dwell in the past, that we are always seeing the past<br />
and little else, that, as a race, 'we went into battle and always fell.'<br />
But that past of ours is a proud and precious one, a past with the<br />
vibrant soul and language of our people inexplicably interwoven,<br />
and unless we see it in that light now, however 1<br />
dimly at a<br />
distance,' we cannot see * what already lies at hand.' Indeed it<br />
is our £<br />
grand business,' as it is our greatest inspiration, to see that<br />
past, to appreciate its value for ourselves and for mankind, and,<br />
realising that value, to preserve and perpetuate it.<br />
I do not know who it was, but some one has said that those<br />
who live on the mountain have a longer day than those who live<br />
in the valley, and if a man wishes to brighten his day, all that he<br />
has to do is to rise a little higher. This has often consoled me as<br />
a Highlander, as it is bound to console those who are in the van<br />
of our movement, with an imperishable faith in what that movement<br />
means, and with an indomitable courage to give expression<br />
to that faith. In fancy and in fact, our stronghold is on the<br />
mountain-side—in the home, in the school, in the pew, where<br />
youth, hope, promise and aspirations dwell. It is there we must<br />
look for the longer day. It is there alone we can most surely<br />
expect to get it. It is there alone we can find the real strength and<br />
power to do 4<br />
what clearly lies at hand,' and it is for us who labour<br />
in the valley to aid and, if need be, to guide that power in its<br />
struggles to shape its great destiny.<br />
I have a profound belief in sentiment as a force that dominates<br />
the world, a belief that has been strengthened by my recent experiences<br />
when visiting our kith and kin beyond the seas. The
29S<br />
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL.<br />
spirit of our race knows no barriers. It lives and moves and has<br />
its being in every corner of our far flung Empire, admired and<br />
trusted by all. It has been a buoyant and powerful force in every<br />
step of national and imperial expansion and progress, displaying<br />
to the eyes of men the finer qualities of vision, imagination,<br />
courage and idealism.<br />
The language is the sign and symbol of that spirit, carrying<br />
with it, clothed in its sonorous beauty, memories ringing with<br />
poetry and music, memories of the elevating influences of the<br />
sanctuary, memories of the simple yet dignified annals of daily<br />
life in «clachan,' glen and strath. It is d great and priceless<br />
heritage of which we are the trustees in this generation. It is for<br />
us to honour that trust, and to maintain it, not only untarnished,<br />
but to hand it on in ever-growing power and strength to those<br />
who follow.<br />
Song of the Stag.<br />
Bv DONALD A. MACKENZIE.<br />
THE monarch of the forest, chief of the antlered cian,<br />
Roars far through deep Strathconon and bounds through<br />
fair Strathbran;<br />
He'll breast the waves of Fannich though rain-storms lash and<br />
blind,<br />
Then round the bens and up the glens go racing like the wind.<br />
A red flame in the sunshine, a thunder-cloud by night,<br />
A vision of the moorland, this lord of speed and might;<br />
He reigns alone, a ben his throne, and rises in his pride,<br />
Deep-black against the golden dawn, with antlers high and wide.<br />
If e'er a vain usurper should dare dispute his sway<br />
In boastful challenge from afar, he rages for the fray;<br />
A forest fire in fury, he sweeps adown the ben,<br />
And bellows loud for battle across the echoing glen.<br />
In daylight and in starlight his fame comes down the breeze,<br />
Sung loud by stream and torrent and harped by tuneful trees;<br />
The King of cliff and corrie in regal glory crowned,<br />
The antlered lord Imperial, unvanquished and renowned.<br />
Sandy to Alasdair.<br />
By JOHN BUCHAN,<br />
Author of " Greenmantle," " The Marquis of Montrose,"<br />
etc., etc.<br />
Rieland—a term of reproach, used in the Lowlands to signify<br />
something freakish, wild, uncertain, barbarous.<br />
Scots Dictionary.<br />
MY faither cam frae Sanquhar ways,<br />
My mither's folk frae the Loudon hill,<br />
I played as a wean on the Cairnsmuir braes,<br />
And got my lear at the Deuchrae schule.<br />
Weel I mind, when at ilk ran-dan<br />
I'd tak the muir like a young peesweep,<br />
My faither sighed, and said he, " My man,<br />
Ye're far ower Hieland to wark wi' sheep."<br />
But the herding wasna the fate for me:<br />
Wi' the Fusil Jocks I went to the war;<br />
Sune we were flitted ayont the sea,<br />
Jinkin' death in the stour and the glaur.<br />
There was lads frae the West and lads frae the North,<br />
Frae mill and muirland and pleugh and pit,<br />
And the youngest callant frae 'yont the Forth<br />
Was far ower Hieland to yield a fit.<br />
Yon day when, smoored wi' the deil's ain reeks,<br />
We broke ower Loos like a wave o' the sea,<br />
Anither Sandy wi'oot the breeks<br />
Keepit me company knee to knee;<br />
Roarin' words that nae man could ken,<br />
Through trench and wire we gae'd side by side,<br />
And when I drapped like a shot greyhen<br />
He was far ower Hieland to let me bide.<br />
Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be!<br />
Atween us two we hae couped the dyke;<br />
Gaelic for you and Lallan for me,<br />
But the back o' our heids is unco like.<br />
Scotland's braid, and the differ's big,<br />
Lorn and Carrick are no the same;<br />
But sune as the pipes play up their sprig<br />
We're a' ower Hieland to hunker at name.
Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g' a Mhnaoi.<br />
A Mhairi, eudail nam ban,<br />
Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad ionnsuidh,<br />
agus da-rìreadh is faochadh do m' chridhe conaltradh<br />
beag a bhi agam riut. Chan 'eil thu fhèin no na pàisdean<br />
tiota às mo chuimhne. Am chadal no'm fhaireachadh tha sibh fa<br />
chomhair mo shùla agus ann am beachd m' inntinn. Is taitneach<br />
leam uaigneas gu a bhi a smaointeach' oirbh. Is minic a ghoideas<br />
mi a mach san anmoch, gu bruach an uillt, a tha dlùth do 'n àite<br />
anns a' bheil mi, chum conaltradh dìomhair a chumail ribh; saoilidh<br />
mi gur e torman an uillt againn fhèin a th' ann, agus ceileireadh<br />
nan eun buchallach a dh* fhàg mi às mo dhèidh. Fhuair mi<br />
o chionn oidhche no dhà, bàta beag seilisdeir a' snàmh 'san linne,<br />
's ge faoin e r'a ràdh, shil mo dheòir, oir thug i mo lurachan<br />
gaolach, Lachann beag, am chuimhne. A Mhàiri, a ghràidh, ma<br />
dheònaicheas am Freasdal dhomh-sa dol dachaidh, cha bhi e soirbh<br />
mo chur a rithist o'n tigh. Tha mi taingeil nach d' thàinig mòran<br />
riamh eadarainn, oir is gann gu bheil facal crosda no ath-ghoirid<br />
a labhair mi riut nach 'eil a' tighinn gu m' chuimhne; 's chan 'eil<br />
e am chomas am fuadach; ach thoir thusa, eudail, maitheanas<br />
domh.<br />
Bha mi seachduin ann an Glaschu mun d' fhuair mi cosnadh.<br />
Chunnaic mi Rìgh Uilleam's an t-Each Odhar—an Eaglais Mhòr<br />
an Tigh-eiridinn, 's am Prìosan. Chunnaic mi iad a' snìomh an<br />
tcmbaca 's a' chotain—a' dèanamh nan gloineachan; chunnaic<br />
mi beairtean a' flgheadh leo fhèin, >s a' falbh cho ciallach<br />
's ged bhiodh Iain Figheadair e fhèin aig ceann gach snàithne.<br />
Stad thus', a Mhàiri, 's mur toir mise dhuitse naidheachd, ma tha<br />
'n dàn domh dol dachaidh. Bha mi ann an tighean mòran d'ar<br />
luchd-dùthcha, agus b' iad sin, am bitheantas, na frògan dorcha<br />
às nach facas riamh gnùis na grèine; cha b'ionann's mo bhothan<br />
bòidheach. A Mhàiri, a rùin, biomaid taingeil; cha b' i 'n fhaoineas<br />
a chuireadh do 'n bhaile mhòr mi; ged nach bi againn ach a'<br />
chearc bhadanach, maorach a' chladaich, faile glan nam beann, agus<br />
sàmhchair bheannaichte, seach mar tha iad ann an so, air an tachdadh<br />
le toit, 's air am bodradh le gleadhraich. Cha d'fhuair mi fhèin<br />
cadal socrach, sàmhach o'n oidhche a dhealaich mi riut. Shaoil<br />
leam gum biodh fois ann air là an Tighearna, ach mun gann a dh'<br />
èirich mi thòisich na cluig, agus ma thòisich, 's ann an sin a bha<br />
THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE.<br />
(Tigh'soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.)<br />
Freagradh spiorad do-chlaoidheadh an duine<br />
do dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain.<br />
Phola bv />• .Wm-fllHuf'i-<br />
Kiiul permission oi<br />
Messrs. ìlatljmn, C
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.<br />
30I<br />
am farum—fonn air leth aig gach aon diubh—agus a h-uile h-aon<br />
a' strì cò a b'àirde pong. A mach bhrùchd an sluagh, às a h-uile<br />
cùil agus caol-shràid, a' taosgadh a mach 'nam mìltean sruth, agus<br />
saobh-shruth a sìos agus a suas air gach sràid, carbadan air an ais<br />
agus air an adhart, saighdearan le 'n drumachan tartarach, agus na<br />
cluig ag cur nan smùid diubh. An e so, deir mise, Là na Sàbaid <br />
O ! nach robh mise aon uair eile ann an Uladal, fo sgàile a' bharraich<br />
ri taobh an uillt shàmhaich, an t-athar àrd os mo chionn, na beanntan<br />
mòra mu'm choinne—mo dhaoine, mo chàirdean, 's mo leanaban<br />
ri m' thaobh, sìth agus sàmhchair na Sàbaid a muigh air an<br />
t-saoghal; fear-teagaisg mo ghràidh fo sgàile na creige; anam gach<br />
aoin ann am fonn an Dòmhnaich, agus an co-thional caomh, càirdeil,<br />
a' togail le Somhairle rùnach an fhuinn thiamhaidh a sheinn<br />
iad gu tric leis na daoine o'n d'thàinig iad.<br />
'S mòr an cothrom a th' aig na Gàidheil anns a' Bhaile mhòr<br />
so: thigeadh iad o'n ear no o'n iar, gheibh iad Gàidhlig an dùthcha<br />
fhèin ann an eaglais a' bhaile.<br />
An saoil thu, 'Mhàiri, nach do theab Para Mòr agus mise a<br />
bhi 'sa phrìosan an oidhche roimhe. Bha sinn a' dol dachaidh gu<br />
sàmhach, ciallach, gun fhacal às ar ceann: mise ag giùlan bocsa na<br />
pìoba fo m' bhreacan, 'nuair a thàinig triùir no cheathrar mu'n<br />
cuairt duinn, agus mun abradh tu seachd, spìonar uam bocsa na<br />
pìoba, agus glacar mi fhèin air sgòrnan. Mar bha'n tubaist air<br />
Para Mòr, dh' èirich e air càch le a bhata daraich, agus rinn e<br />
pronnadh nam meanbh-chuileag orra. Bha clach-bhalg air fear<br />
dhiubh, 's cha luaithe thug e srann aisde, na thàinig sgaoth dhiubh<br />
mu'n cuairt duinn, agus giùlainear air falbh sinn do dh' àite ris an<br />
abrar am Police Office. Aite an uamhais ! Tha oillt orm fhathast<br />
smaointeach' air. Daoine 'nan sìneadh air dall na daoraich thall<br />
agus a bhos, ag call fola, is mallachadh 'nam beul; mnathan—b' e<br />
sin an sealladh gràineil—air an dallanaich, cuid diubh ag caoineadh<br />
's a' rànaich; is cuid eile ag gabhail òran, agus, Ni-math d'ar teasairginn<br />
! duine marbh 'na shìneadh air an ùrlar. Dh' fheòraich mi<br />
fhèin, cho modhail 's a b' urrainn domh, c'arson a thugadh an<br />
so sinn. " Chì thu sin a thiota," deir fear dhiubh, 's e ag cur a<br />
làimhe ann am bocsa na pìoba. Thug a' phìob ran brònach aisde,<br />
agus chlisg e mar gum biodh nathair innte. "Faodaidh tusa, 'ille<br />
mhaith, a ràdh," arsa Para Mòr, " mar thuirt an sionnach a bha<br />
ag itheadh na pìoba, ' Is biadh's is ceòl so dhomh-sa.' " Ciod a<br />
tha agad air, 's ann a shaoil iad gur corp leinibh a bh' againn<br />
ach 'nuair a thuig iad mar bha a' chùis leig iad às sinn.
302 LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE. Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon<br />
the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant <br />
Fhuair mi cosnadh, 's a' chiad dol a mach, o thuathanach sè<br />
mìle a mach à Glaschu. Thug e sinne agus sgaoth Eireannach,<br />
agus dòrlach bhan leis. An uair a thàinig an oidhche, chuireadh<br />
air fad sinn a laighe do'n t-sabhal. Is fad' o 'n chuala mi mu<br />
leabaidh mhòir na h-àirigh, agus da-rìreadh b 5<br />
i so i—na mnathan<br />
air an dara taobh, agus nam biodh meas ceart aig na mnathan orra<br />
fhèin, ghabhadh iad fasgadh an tuim a roghainn air a leithid a dh'<br />
àite; ach is iomadh aon a tha modhail, nàrach na's leòir, do rèir<br />
coltais, nan dùthaich fhèin—cò ach iad, le 'm boineidean connlaich,<br />
le 'n gnùis-bhrat uaine ag cleith an aodainn—a tha glè<br />
shuarach m' an gnàthachadh 'nuair a thig iad gu Galldachd Ged<br />
bhiodh fichead nighean agam—chan e idir, a Mhàiri, gum bu<br />
mhiann leam an uiread sin a bhi ann—cha leiginn am feasd gu<br />
fogharadh iad air an dòigh so. Gheibhinn doibh—nì a tha soirbh<br />
r'a fhaotainn—cosnadh math, seasmhach, ann an teaghlaichean<br />
measail; ach an cur a mach am measg Eireannach agus bhèistean<br />
o bhaile gu baile, nar leig am Freasdal gum faicinn-se a h-aon a bu<br />
mhath leam gu math air an dòigh so.<br />
Dh' fhàg mi tigh an duine ud, agus fhuair mi fhèin agus Para<br />
Mòr cosnadh a mhaireas gu Samhain, ma chaomhnar sinn, ann an<br />
tigh an duine bheannaichte mu'n cuala tu Anna Mhòr, nighean<br />
Eòghann 'ic Ailein, cho tric a' labhairt—fear Mr. Ponton. Tha<br />
deagh thuarasdal againn, agus cha bhi e cruaidh orm am màl a chur<br />
r' a chèile. An saoil thu, a Mhàiri, nach faca mise bùth ann an<br />
Glaschu, far nach robh sìon saoghalta ach boineidean connlaich,<br />
agus bha mi a' feòraich luach an aodaich sgàrlaid a bhios anns na<br />
cìeòcaichean. Chan abair mì 'bheag, ach cum thusa, 'eudail, sùil<br />
air na pàisdean, agus chan 'eil fhios ciod a dh' fhaodas tachairt.<br />
Tha tuiltean coimheach againn 'san àite so; bi furachail air Lachann.<br />
Slàn leat, a ghràidh; na bi fo iomaguin do m' thaobh; tha<br />
mi gun dìth, gun deireas. Is e am Freasdal a chuir do'n teaghlach<br />
so mi, far a' bheil iomadh deagh chleachdadh r'a fhaicinn. Leig<br />
fios do'n Mhinistear's do Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh.<br />
Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach gur mi<br />
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.<br />
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,<br />
FIONNLAGH MAC-AONGHAIS.<br />
BY MR. BERTRAM W. SINCLAIR, British Columbia.<br />
THEY do. Could they do otherwise Primitive man regarded<br />
as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark<br />
of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue.<br />
Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between<br />
friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and<br />
the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and<br />
custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty<br />
past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built<br />
his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable<br />
people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael<br />
chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead,<br />
and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or<br />
tragedy or triumph' to the gathered folk in a common tongue.<br />
So, how should we not set greater store on such as come<br />
among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue<br />
of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed<br />
have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond <br />
It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one<br />
third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his<br />
native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would<br />
not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among<br />
an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped<br />
mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps<br />
be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks.<br />
He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the<br />
professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with<br />
MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes,<br />
MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his<br />
ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling<br />
a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of<br />
a Caledonian Society.<br />
He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear<br />
it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men<br />
of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud<br />
affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that<br />
British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia.<br />
A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a<br />
wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes<br />
among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers We do.
Gaol Duthcha.<br />
Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter<br />
LE A. SINCLAIR. ("An Gàidheal," 1871.)<br />
Scott,<br />
'Bheil neach air bith, 's an deò 'na chrè,<br />
Cho fuar's nach d'thuirt e riamh ris fèin,<br />
" Mo dhùthaich chaomh d'an tug mi gaol!"<br />
Aon nach do las a chridh' 'na chom,<br />
Dhachaidh 'nuair ghluais le ceum neo-thròm,<br />
Bho ànradh cianail feadh an t-saoghail:<br />
Ma tha, rach's beachdaich air gu dlùth,<br />
Ri laoidh no ceòl cha tog e 'shùil:<br />
Ged bhiodh e àrd an ainm 'san inbh',<br />
'S a mhaoin cho mor's a dh'iarradh miann;<br />
A dh'aindeoin 'airgid, 'ainm is 'òir,<br />
'S e an t-ùmaidh truagh bhios ann r'a bheò,<br />
Chan fhaigh e meas, no miadh no cliù,<br />
'S 'nuair thig am bàs theid sìos do'n ùir,<br />
Gun chuimhn' no iomradh air am feasd,<br />
'S cha chaoidhear air a shon gun cheisd.<br />
O! Albainn chaomh, nan stùc's nan càrn!<br />
A mhuime 'dh'àraicheas na bà'rd !<br />
A thìr a' bharraich is an fhraoich<br />
A thìr nam beann, nan tuil, 's nan craobh,<br />
Tìr mo shinnsre, tìr nan sàr!<br />
Co dh'fhuasglas an ceangal gràidh<br />
Ri d'thràigh a dh'aonas mi gu bràth<br />
Lean gu dluth ri<br />
cliu do shinnsre.<br />
AR:HJBALD SINCLAIR, "CELTIC PRESS." GLASGOW.
MU SHOBHRAIG OIG.<br />
Mu Shobhraig Oig.<br />
LE CATRIONA GHRANND, AN T-OBAN.<br />
EADAR na freumhan aig sean chraoibh dharaich chrotaich,<br />
bha còsan beag, grinn, iìnigte le crotal glas. Air an ùrlar,<br />
agus m' a thimchioll, bha cluasagan de chòinnich mhaoith,<br />
ghuirm, le boinne de dhriùchd air bàrr a h-uile bidean. Air bhi<br />
do'n chraoibh cinntinn air taobh deas a' mhonaidh, bha an còsan<br />
< air chùl gaoithe, 's ri aodann grèine,' mar a theireadh an seanfhacal<br />
e. Air beulaibh an doruis bha torn de chòinnich ghlais,<br />
le duilleagan seargta de luibhean eadar-dhealaichte air an taobh a<br />
b' fhaide a stigh.<br />
Fo'n torn so, domhain anns an talamh, bha buidheann shòbhragan<br />
'nan suain,—uile ach aon tè. Bha ise trang a' bruadar mu<br />
na nithe glòrmhor a bha a' feitheamh oirre an uair a gheibheadh i<br />
a ceann os cionn an talaimh, gu soillse solus na grèine; gu beatha<br />
is cùbhraidheachd a dheoghal às an àile, le cuideachd do-àireamh<br />
d' a comhaoisean.<br />
Mhosgail a bruadar i. " Chan 'eil fhios a bheil e 'n t-àm<br />
èirigh" thuirt i an eagar; agus chaidh gaoir sòlais troimhpe, a<br />
thug oirre gluasad.<br />
" Cum sàmhach, agus caidil!" thuirt a màthair. " Cha bhi<br />
e 'n t-àm èirigh fad mhìosan fhathast; 's e an geamhradh a th'<br />
ann!"<br />
" Chan urrainn domh cadal na's fhaide," ars' an t-sòbhrag,<br />
" feumaidh mi falbh."<br />
" Cuiridh tu dragh air do pheathraichean a tha 'nan suain. 'S<br />
fheàrr dhuit feitheamh gus am bi an teaghlach gu h-iomlan ag<br />
èirigh."<br />
" Gluaisidh mi cho sèimh agus nach dùisg mi càch; chan 'eil<br />
e am chomas fuireach na's fhaide," agus thòisich i ri dìreadh.<br />
Uidh air n-uidh, là an dèidh latha, neartaichte le dòchas, gu<br />
foighidneach dh' oibrich si i fhèin suas gus an d' fhuair i a ceann<br />
os cionn an talaimh.<br />
'S i an oidhche a bh'ann, oidhche chiùin reòdhtach. Bha an<br />
speur dubh-ghorm drìllseach le reul-sholus. Bha an reodhadh<br />
ann, ach bha an t-sòbhrag suainte gu blàth ann am filleadh no dhà<br />
de dhuilleagan tiugha, preasach, agus curracan gorm air a ceann,<br />
agus bha a' chòinneach mar bhaideal 'ga dìon o'n fhuachd. Thug<br />
i an leth-phlaosgadh ud a mach air na rionnagan a bha ag caogadh<br />
rithe.<br />
" Tha a' mhachair sin àillidh le blàthan soillseach," ars' an t-<br />
sòbhrag, " chan 'eil mi idir leam fhèin. 'S mi a tha toilichte gun<br />
d' thàinig mi, ach is duilich leam nach 'eil cuid de mo pheathraichean<br />
an so gu na blàthan maiseach fhaicinn; na'n robh fios aca<br />
mu'n deidhinn cha b' urrainn daibh cadal na b'fhaide." Mar so,<br />
an co-chomunn nan rionnag, chaidh an oidhche thairis.<br />
An sin bhris an fhaire. Dh' èirich a ghrian, agus gun dàil<br />
thòisich i air sgeadachadh an talaimh le maise nuaidh. An cfisgeadh,<br />
bha'n riasg, an luachair, agus gach preas mu'n cuairt, a bha geal<br />
le neamhnaidean an liath-reodhaidh, air an crochadh le daoimeanan,<br />
ametistean, agus clachan luachmhor eile de a h-uile dath air an do<br />
dhearc sùil mac an duine riamh. Thàinig eun beag le broilleach<br />
dearg, shuidh e air preas, agus sheinn e sreath no dhà de luinneig<br />
mholaidh. An sin thàinig gath-grèine agus phòg e an t-sòbhrag;<br />
rud a thug oirre fosgladh a mach le aoibh.<br />
" Nach mise a tha toilichte gun d 5 thàinig mi!" thuirt i an<br />
eagar rithe fhèin a rithis; agus dh' fhàs i na bu mhotha is na bu<br />
bhòidhche fad na h-ùine.<br />
Air feadh an latha chaidh maigheach 'na leum seachad, ach<br />
cha do bhean i dhi. Thàinig na caoirich ag criomadh nam<br />
bileagan feòir tearca a gheibheadh iad fo'n fhraoch; agus<br />
thàinig an crodh le an casan troma ag ionaltradh mu'n cuairt oirre,<br />
ach cha do ghabh iad suim dhi; is coma leis a chrodh na sòbhragan.<br />
An sin laigh a' ghrian, agus aon uair eile bha raon mòr nan rionnag<br />
sgaoilte gu farsuing os a cionn. Chaidh là no dhà seachad, agus<br />
dh' fhàs an t-sòbhrag da-rìreadh briagh.<br />
Mu mheadhon an treas là thàinig cuideigin eadar an t-sòbhrag<br />
agus a' ghrian. Chrom aghaidh bhòidheach òg thairis oirre,<br />
aghaidh cho màlda, fhìorghlan ri aodann na sòbhraige fhèin. " A<br />
ghaoilein," arsa guth tlàth, " nach mi a tha aoibhinn do choinneachadh<br />
!" Bhuain a' mhaighdean i gu cùramach, agus thug i<br />
leatha i, cha robh fhios aig an t-sòbhrag ceana.<br />
" Chan ionann so," ars' ise le osann, M ris an nì a bha fiuthair<br />
agam a thachradh. Shaoil leamsa gum faighinn fuireach far an<br />
do chinn mi gus am fàsainn sean, agus gun tuitinn am chadal<br />
maille ri mo chàirdean. Chan 'eil fios ciod an ath nì a bhios an<br />
dàn domh"
SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES.<br />
Some Notes on Celtic Place-Names.<br />
BY REV. CHAS. M.<br />
ROBERTSON,<br />
Port Charlotte, Islay.<br />
MATTHEW ARNOLD remarks that, "whereas Saxon<br />
names of* places have the wholesome smack of the soil in<br />
them, as Weathersfield, Thackstead, Shalford, etc., Celtic<br />
names of places have often a penetrating, lofty beauty." In a<br />
somewhat similar strain, Emerson speaks of the Celts as " having<br />
planted Britain, and given to the seas and mountains names which<br />
are poems, and imitate the pure voices of nature."<br />
Numerous examples might be given of place names in which,<br />
with his quick, sensitive eye for natural beauty, the Celt caught<br />
the charm or * magic ' of nature, as exhibited in river, loch or hill,<br />
and fixed it in a name which is both harmonious in sound, and<br />
vividly descriptive as to form and colour. It is certainly not the<br />
fault of the Celt that such pretty and expressive names as "Achadhan-t-seagail<br />
" (the rye field), and " Tigh-an-droma " (the watershed<br />
house) should have been changed in another tongue into<br />
such barbarous and unmelodious sounds as Achenshuggle and<br />
Taindrum, respectively ! My main purpose, however, in this brief<br />
article is to give some instances of the * curiosities ', and even<br />
* vagaries » of place-name etymology. The study of the origin<br />
and meaning of place-names has its interest enhanced at times in<br />
different ways and by various circumstances. Many of our Celtic<br />
names of places are of Gaelic origin, and vary in age, from those<br />
that were bestowed in recent times to those that date<br />
from the Gael's first arrival in Scotland. Many come<br />
down from pre-historic times, and are non-Gaelic, though still<br />
Celtic. A residuum of our most ancient names has hitherto baffled<br />
every effort to determine their character and origin. Whether<br />
these are pre-Celtic or non-Celtic remains to be proved. To call<br />
them Basque, or Iberian, or what not, is inept.<br />
Names like Ure, Urie, connected with rivers and lochs, have<br />
been supposed to come from Basque, because ur, in that language,<br />
so it is said, means £ water.' The name of Urie Loch in Arran has<br />
been thus regarded, but this loch takes its name from the place at<br />
which it is situated, which is called in Gaelic "An Iubhraigh,"<br />
the Yew Wood. The old road from Lamlash to Kilmory goes<br />
through this place, and is called * Rathad na h-Iubhraigh', the loch<br />
being " Loch na h-Iubhraigh ",—road, and loch of the 'Iubhraigh'.<br />
The word enters into the names of several places in Argyllshire,<br />
as does also the simple word, 'iubhar '=yew. Of the<br />
latter, Glen Ure in Appin is the best known instance. The latter<br />
is found in innumerable names in Ireland. The name of the<br />
English city York, anciently written Eburacum, has the same<br />
meaning and derivation as ' iubhrach ', and it is curious that one<br />
of the great tributaries received by the River Ouse, before it<br />
reaches York, is the River Ure.<br />
The name Hebrides, first met with in that form in Hector<br />
Boece's " History of Scotland," is a printer's error for Hebudes,<br />
a name which has come down through Latin from Greek writers,<br />
and which was used by them as the name of one or more of the<br />
islands on the west of Scotland. There is much uncertainty as to<br />
its meaning and derivation. The best suggestion is that the name<br />
survives in that of the island of Bute, Gaelic Bod, and that the root<br />
is the same that is found in Boadicea or Boudicca = Victrix, and in<br />
Gaelic buaidh =victory, Welsh budd=profit, gain. That makes<br />
Bute mean " victory isle". Buadh or buaidh, in Gaelic, also means<br />
1<br />
1<br />
< qualification', accomplishment', excellence', 1<br />
4<br />
beauty', gift',<br />
< talent'; e.g., « buadhan inntinn " = mental gifts. These suggest<br />
that ' victory ' is only a secondary meaning, and that the primary<br />
and real sense is * excellence' or ' superiority', so that both Bute<br />
and Boudicca may really have been expressive of worth, excellence,<br />
or superiority.<br />
The name Iona, of so many sacred associations, owes its<br />
form to a copyist, who either carelessly or wilfully, in transcribing<br />
Adamnan's Latin Ioua Insula, altered Ioua into Iona. As the<br />
Hebrew word for ' dove ' is ionah, and as the name of St. Columba<br />
also means 'dove', the new form, Iona, speedily became popular,<br />
and completely displaced the old form Ioua.<br />
To take a Norse instance, sometimes an etymology receives<br />
support or confirmation from an unthought of quarter. Dr. Alex.<br />
MacBain, in opposition to such authorities as Dr. Alex. Cameron,<br />
Brodick, and Professor Kuno Meyer, derived the name of Loch<br />
Ranza, in Gaelic Raonasa, from Norse reynis-a, meaning 4 rowan<br />
water'. Afterwards it came to light that the geologists found the<br />
remains of three successive forests of rowan in the glen whose<br />
waters flow into Loch Ranza!
232 SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES.<br />
Taking something like a reverse instance, the name Corriegills,<br />
in 1561 Corregelieis, etc., in the same island, has by its Norse<br />
look misled nearly everyone who has written about it. The<br />
Gaelic is ' Coire a }<br />
Ghoill," corrie of the * Gall' or Lowlander,<br />
and shows how unreliable the Anglicised form of a Gaelic name<br />
may be. And it cannot be even argued in this instance that the<br />
Gaelic name is corrupt, for its correctness is supported by old<br />
records. The lands of Corriegills are frequently mentioned from<br />
the year 1400 onwards as a perquisite of the sheriff of Bute and<br />
Arran. In 1549, e.g., James Stewart, owing to political troubles,<br />
was obliged to sell his lands in Arran and elsewhere, but the lands<br />
of Corriegills, as pertaining to the office of sheriff, which he was<br />
to retain, were exempted from the sale. In connection with those<br />
transactions, it comes out that this sheriff, of royal descent, could<br />
not write even his own name! In 1681 the lands of the Stewarts<br />
in Bute, along with the sheriff's portion, Corriegills in Arran, were<br />
assigned to Sir George Mackenzie, " The Bluidy Mackenzie,"<br />
who, however, never completed or registered his title to them.<br />
In the " Book of Islay ", which is by far the best edited and<br />
best indexed book of the kind known to me, the following names,<br />
in chronological order, are to be met with at various dates from<br />
1509 to 1760; Coyf, Owo, Ovimag and Overnag, Wavernak,<br />
Uaberneik, and Cove. Different as those forms appear, they all<br />
not only designate one and the same place, but are in reality one<br />
and the same name in longer or shorter form. Coyf is only an<br />
earlier spelling of Cove, and both forms really stand for < Cave',<br />
a translation from the Gaelic Uamh— 1<br />
cave', at which the next<br />
form, Owo is a brave attempt, and which is the first syllable of all<br />
the remaining forms. The full name, written * Uah Vearnag '<br />
by Martin, appears to have been ' Uamh Bhèarnaig.' The place<br />
meant is the Big Cave of Bolsa called by some recent writers<br />
' Uamh Bhearnasaig,' near the extreme north end of Islay.<br />
Pennant, who visited it in 1772, reports that he found three<br />
farmers residing in it with their stock, and that, during the summer<br />
months, as many as twelve families lived in it. In legendary times,<br />
a piper set out with his dog to explore it. He was heard playing<br />
for some distance, but the tune then changed to, " Cha till mi<br />
tuille "—7 shall ne'er return, and he was heard of no more. The<br />
names How and Oa, occurring in the same volume, are quite<br />
distinct from the above. The latter which appears as " Oo " and<br />
as " E " is at the opposite extremity of the island.<br />
SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES. 2 33<br />
In Ross-shire, near Lochmaree Hotel, is Loch na Fideil. Long<br />
aquatic grass is a feature of it. Man or beast, happening to wade<br />
into it, becomes entangled, and while uprooting the grass by<br />
struggling, can hardly escape being overcome and drowned in the<br />
end. Celtic fancy playing about that sort of occurrence, has produced<br />
a dramatic version of it, which is quoted in the original<br />
Gaelic, and translated in Dr. Watson's "Place Names of Ross<br />
and Cromarty." The ' Fideal' was a dangerous water monster,<br />
and was encountered by a strong man named Eòghann. A combat<br />
took place between Ewen and the Fideal. " A step on your step,<br />
Ewen," said the Fideal, pressing on the man. " A step on your<br />
step, Fideal," said Ewen, pressing in turn on the Fideal. Ewen<br />
killed the Fideal, and the Fideal killed Ewen!<br />
There is an echo in this legend of the alleged encounter of<br />
Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel with the * Cailleach', as those<br />
familiar with that story will observe.<br />
The word fidealadh is used both in the district and elsewhere,<br />
and means 'entangling', 'intertwining'. The word fideal is not<br />
known to be in use, but it may have been a local name for the<br />
species of grass in question.<br />
Those are a very few illustrations of the interest that may<br />
attach to a place-name apart from, or over and above its meaning<br />
and translation. To them may be added some notice of a curious<br />
name which has been supposed to be of Celtic origin, but which<br />
is not of Gaelic origin, though the attempt has been made to<br />
regard it as such. In the East of Scotland, to any such imprecation<br />
as " Go to the devil", the retort is, " Go you to Heckiebirnie<br />
", (or Hecklebirnie). There have been attempts to make<br />
out that the name means " Church (Eaglais) of St. Birnie ", and<br />
that it was situated in Aberdeenshire. On the other hand, legend<br />
has busied itself in various ways with the name, and declares it<br />
to be that of a locality that is three miles beyond the ' ill place '.<br />
A Danish imprecation, gaa ad Hekkenfeldt till, meaning literally<br />
' Go to Heckla ', makes it evident that Heckie—or Hecklebirnie<br />
is a Scottish designation of the burning mountain of Iceland.<br />
The word eaglais, church, has also been supposed to<br />
form the latter part of Gleneagles, that name so fetching to the<br />
golfing world. This name is correctly Gleneagis, as it was written<br />
of old, and as it is still, or, at least, was recently, pronounced<br />
locally. It is translated into Latin, we are told, in the Chartulary<br />
of Cambuskenneth Abbey as " Vallum Ecclesiae ", but if that is
SOME NOTES ON CELTIC<br />
PLACE-NAMES.<br />
SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES. 235<br />
so, it only shows that the error of connecting the name with<br />
eaglais is no new one. In Gaelic the name is Gleann-eigis. The<br />
old word eigeas means ' a learned man **, 4 a poet ', etc. It is<br />
found in some names of places in Ireland, and has been used to<br />
explain Aigas near Beauly in Inverness-shire. The Gaelic of this<br />
last is 4 Aigeis ' which may be a local pronunciation of eigeis.<br />
Gleneagles may have been the residence of some learned man, or<br />
of a succession of such.<br />
Different spellings of Dunoon are met with in Gaelic. The<br />
best is Dunobhantty which is paralleled by Bun-obhann, the Gaelic<br />
name of the village in Islay called Port Wemyss in English.<br />
Obhainn, genitive obhann, is a pronunciation of abhainn y<br />
=<br />
f<br />
rWtr\<br />
that is still current in Islay, and that is written othainn, correctly<br />
enough so far as pronunciation is concerned, in MacAlpine's Dictionary,<br />
and denned fancifully as the largest kind of river. Bunobhann<br />
means River-foot and Dun-obhann, River-fort.<br />
Until near the end of the 18th century Ailsa Craig was called<br />
simply 44<br />
Ailsa " without the superfluous and tautological addition<br />
Craig. If Robert Burns was not the originator of the addition he<br />
was one of the earliest to use it in his line:—<br />
" Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig."<br />
Nowadays the addition is ousting the original. Ailsa is dropping<br />
out of use in Ayrshire, and the islet is spoken of simply as " The<br />
Craig ". Creag Ealasaid ", and 44 Ealasaid a' chuain" are<br />
44<br />
current in Gaelic. The former is in all probability an imitation<br />
of the English form 4<br />
Ailsa Craig', but owes its currency as does<br />
also the other form Ealasaid a y chuain- 4 Elizabeth of the ocean',<br />
to the feeling of ambiguity caused by the fact that Ealasaid is<br />
identical with the Gaelic of the name Elizabeth. The name occurs<br />
also without either of those additions, for instance, in a formula<br />
prescribing where the rowan that is to be used against witchcraft<br />
should be procured from,—Slat de'n chaorann nall o aodann<br />
Ealasaid, a wand of rowan from the face of Ailsa". With or<br />
44<br />
without additions, however, 4<br />
Ealasaid' as applied to Ailsa is a<br />
misnomer, as is also the modern Irish designation, Carraig Alasdair<br />
", which means not Elizabeth's, but Alexander's Rock."<br />
44<br />
Be it 4 Ealasaid ' or be it 4 Alasdair ', it is a changeling that has<br />
been substituted for the true name 4 Allasa\ How or when the<br />
substitution took place is a mystery, but 4<br />
Allasa', which, with its<br />
oblique case Allasan, is heard to this day in Arran, the nearest<br />
Gaelic-speaking district, is the direct and true and lawful repre-<br />
sentative of the Early Irish form, which was a noun declined like<br />
gobha-' a smith', genitive gobhann, and is found in the Book of<br />
Leinster in the dative case Aldasain, not Aldafain, as the name has<br />
sometimes been misread. Aldasa* as the name would have been<br />
4<br />
in the nominative of old, now 4<br />
Allasa', is an extension of the<br />
same root as that of all= < rock ', preserved in mac-talla, mac-alla,<br />
= 44 echo ".<br />
These fragmentary notes may serve to give some idea of the<br />
fascinating interest there is in the study of our Celtic place-names.<br />
As the study of Comparative Philology advances, these names<br />
will more and more yield secrets of historic and legendary lore,<br />
and thus flash light back on the ways and thoughts of our ancestors<br />
in the remote and dim past, when, as Trench says in his<br />
4<br />
Study of Words,' other records and memorials of vanished<br />
generations of men have been swept away or submerged by the<br />
floods of the passing centuries.<br />
The Celtic Craftsmen.<br />
BY HUGH MUNRO.<br />
HISTORIANS and writers of romance have so long<br />
accustomed us to stirring accounts of the warlike qualities<br />
of the Gael, that we are in danger, in these days, of thinking<br />
that his name in history has no other significance than that it<br />
sustains for the race a long record of valorous achievements in the<br />
field.<br />
But it should be remembered that over the thousand or more<br />
years in which that reputation was made, the Gael was really passing<br />
through his prodigal period, and was literally spending his<br />
substance and dissipating the inheritance of his fathers. For he had<br />
allowed qualities that had made the name of his people famous<br />
throughout Europe fall into desuetude; and, by following the<br />
wasteful ways of war, had caused the fame of his fathers in the<br />
arts of Peace, if not to be forgotten, then by many to be over<br />
looked and neglected.<br />
The centuries immediately following the introduction of
236 THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN.<br />
Christianity into Britain were glorious for his people. The Celtic<br />
Church had sent its fame over Europe and parts of Asia; and the<br />
name of the Gael, for five hundred years, was synonymous with<br />
culture and the propagation of the spirit and the arts of Peace.<br />
By the year 597 A.D.—the time of the Conversion of the<br />
Saxons to Christianity by St. Augustine,—the Celts had a hundred<br />
years of Christian activity to their history, and, by another<br />
hundred, the Churches of Lindisfarne, Iona, Kells, and ' Candida<br />
Casa' were known abroad. From each of those churches the<br />
stream of missionaries was continuous to the monastic centres of<br />
the Continent, and these bore the Crafts Spirit of the scribes with<br />
them.<br />
The Books of Lindisfarne, Kells, Armagh, Deer and Durrow<br />
show the extents to which that Art spirit was carried. Giraldus<br />
Cambrensis, a distinguished scholar of the 12th Century, in describing<br />
these illuminated Manuscripts, remarks with something<br />
like rapture on the glory of the colouring, the endless variety of<br />
the figures, the elaborate intricacies of the interlaced ornamentation,<br />
all of which, as he goes on to say, " one would be ready to<br />
pronounce the work of angelic, and not human skill." On the<br />
earlier Pagan Art there was engrafted a new outlook, which an<br />
uninterrupted immunity from war for the Craftsmen and Scribes<br />
alone could give, and, as a result, we have a wide range of<br />
illuminated manuscripts bearing the Celtic decorative motif at its<br />
fullest glory.<br />
The Book of Kells is the Museum and Art Gallery of the Art.<br />
It combines the full range of Celtic design, from the crude<br />
decorative forms of the Neoliths, (the Iberian inhabitants of the<br />
Country, who were in occupancy when the Goidelic peoples, the<br />
racial progenitors of the modern Gael, arrived)—those simple<br />
"V," "S," and "C" forms, used by the craftsmen of the stoneusing<br />
age in decorating the rims of their burial urns; the more<br />
highly evolved schemes of the later bronze and iron periods, and<br />
the ornate spirals, curves, concentrics, bosses, interlacings, reliefs<br />
and pictorialised incidents of the Art at its apogee in the service<br />
of the Church.<br />
Well might we inquire how this Art developed; and in telling<br />
briefly its story, we indicate the travail of the Celtic spirit in its<br />
emergence from barbarism, and give at the same time, the history<br />
of its trend westward to its final habitation in our fastnesses and<br />
in the green vales of Ireland.<br />
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 237<br />
Celtic Art had nominally two great periods, Pagan and<br />
Christian; but archaeology differentiates much more narrowly<br />
between those stages of its development. Its landmarks are the<br />
tumuli of Europe, and the findings therefrom denote the influences<br />
that shaped it, over the bronze-using age to that of iron,<br />
and later, to the period of its maturity under the Church, and to<br />
that of its decay.<br />
The remains taken from the great Halstatt tumuli (near<br />
Salzburg) revealed the culture of the bronze and iron-using Celts<br />
at an earlier period of their development than those taken from<br />
the oppidum of La Tene in Switzerland, and that of the Valley<br />
of the Marne in France, so that the Archaeologists classify the<br />
Art motifs of the objects of the first as 4<br />
early,' and those of the<br />
two latter as ' late ' Celtic in design.<br />
Early Celtic Art evinces a vast variety of influences; late<br />
Celtic shows the gradual perfecting of it to the fuller and more<br />
racially representative vehicle it became as a means of expression<br />
under the influence of the illuminators of the Scottish and Irish<br />
Churches.<br />
Early Celtic emerged from the crude beginnings I have indicated,<br />
and as an art, it was in use among the tribes in the time of<br />
their ' wanderjahre,' when from the Hindu Kush region, and<br />
from the valleys of the rivers Don, Dniester, Dnieper and Danube,<br />
they pushed their way westward to the Iberian peninsula, and<br />
thence over to Wales and Cornwall, to Ireland and here.<br />
The motives of the designs of this period were mainly martial:<br />
the arms and trappings of the soldier having first call on the<br />
craftsman, so that the warrior might be dignified in panoply, in<br />
keeping with the prowess of his race.<br />
But, besides the accoutrements of the warrior, a comprehensive<br />
range of domestic articles—utensils, tools and objects of adornment—received<br />
the skill of the decorator in metal, wood, stone,<br />
bone and leather, and frequently there were added—when the<br />
wealth of the patron permitted it—articles in costlier metals and<br />
materials, involving special treatment at the hands of the designers<br />
and craftsmen.<br />
The design motives of the various things that were unearthed<br />
after more than two thousand years of burial under the soil were<br />
in part decorative and symbolical. In style they display contact<br />
with the culture of other peoples, as there are in the various motives<br />
traces of Phoenician, Greek, Assyrian, Egyptian and Scandinavian
THE CELTIC<br />
CRAFTSMEN.<br />
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 239<br />
ideas. Where that contact revealed itself in the Art of the Celts,<br />
was when, to the curves and spiral decorations of the purely Celtic<br />
ideas of design, there were added the floriated patternings—the<br />
introduction of the forms of fruit and leaves, such as the lotus,<br />
the vine, and other forms that pertained more to Asia than to the<br />
colder regions of Europe, and by the introduction of symbols<br />
more associable with the cultured ideas of other races than the<br />
Celts.<br />
The story of the various stages of the transition over the<br />
Bronze and Iron ages to the purely Christian forms of the Art<br />
would necessitate a volume of considerable dimensions. It comprises<br />
all that had been done in the way of decorating the burial<br />
urns pertaining to the periods of inhumation and cremation, for<br />
over a thousand years. It involves the gradual development in<br />
the artistic conception of the articles, from the cruder forms of the<br />
earlier implements and utensils to more improved ones in material<br />
of war, such as shields, swords, horse trappings and clothing; and<br />
«n the things of domestic use, ornaments, and votive monuments.<br />
To tell how the Celtic penannular brooch evolved would take<br />
more space than can be allotted here; and to describe the beauty<br />
of the ' lunulae '—the adornment for the hair and bosoms of the<br />
beauties of the time, which were often wrought in gold, and engraved<br />
with the close and carefully designed forms of the missals<br />
of the Book of Kells—would necessitate the descriptive powers<br />
of the poet, the romanticist, and the historian, with the pencil of<br />
the artist in attendance, to illustrate the features of the designs<br />
that are beyond description in words.<br />
But it is in the votive monuments, and in the vast field of work<br />
on stone done by the Celtic craftsmen, that we see the Art achievement<br />
of the race most clearly. The magnificent range of Crosses<br />
which this country possesses, exemplifies the history of the Art,<br />
and the people who brought it to perfection. Indeed, the history<br />
of the Gael is inwrought in stone. From the undecorated monoliths<br />
of the Neolithic Period to those magnificent free crosses of<br />
the Iona and Clanmacnoise groups, there is a vast space of time in<br />
the evolution, and the evidence of a network of influences at work<br />
in directing the advancement of the style. It is from the designs<br />
of these crosses that we get to know all we now know of how the<br />
warriors of the time went to battle; how they were attired; the<br />
weapons they bore; and how their horses were accroutremented.<br />
It is the really graphic Art of the Celts over this period of their<br />
development, mirroring, as it did, their lives and their thought.<br />
How complete the Art had become is seen in the magnificent<br />
group of crosses in our country—and Scotland in that respect is<br />
happy in the possession of the largest number of decorated crosses<br />
in the Kingdom. To mention but a few, good opportunity of<br />
studying the decorative forms of the Art is afforded in the<br />
Barrochan example in Renfrewshire; St. Martin's Cross in Iona;<br />
the Dupplin in Perthshire; the Nigg Cross in Ross-shire, and the<br />
many fine examples in the Scottish National Museum and the<br />
Art Gallery of Glasgow. Those pertain to the period when the<br />
Art was at its zenith, having in them the best of the thought of<br />
the designer, the illuminator, and the metal worker, plus the appropriate<br />
Art of the architect in uniting the conceptions of the<br />
former to the requirements of stone.<br />
Some of those, particularly the Nìgg example, are profuse,<br />
even to riot, in Celtic forms, as ornate in the individual designs,<br />
and with the spaces as fully decorated, as any of the missals of the<br />
Books of Kells or Lindisfarne or the Golden Gospels of St.<br />
Columba. The full range from the simple chevron—the " V "<br />
form, like the single stripe denoting lance-corporal rank on the<br />
sleeve of the soldier's coat—repeated in a travelling band formation<br />
horizontally or vertically; the curves of " S " and " C " form,<br />
worked into elaborate spirals, concentrics, interlacings, knots,<br />
plaits and frets; and, indeed, every curious form and twist and<br />
break that the treatment of line and curve could take, are in this<br />
magnificent example of the Art in stone.<br />
Added to these, there are the symbols of the Celtic people,<br />
denoting the evolution of their crude Pagan philosophy of life, to<br />
the fuller and more beatific contemplation of the ways and thought<br />
of Christ. The full range of that evolution is displayed in the<br />
highly evolved free crosses of the Clanmacnoise and Iona groups.<br />
Indeed, throughout that vast range of work in stone, there are the<br />
traces of the attitude of the earlier tribesmen to the great Infinite<br />
in thought; their superstitious dread of the unseen forces, and<br />
their conceptions of the monsters of the animal world. ^<br />
There is also indication of the forms of their worship, and in<br />
this direction we can detect the various outside influences that were<br />
engrafted on the Celtic outlook, such as, for instance, the use of<br />
the form of the hammer head as a symbol, indicating the thought<br />
of a people like the Scandinavians, (with whom they came in<br />
contact), in their worship of Thor, or of some other hammer using
240<br />
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN.<br />
deity. And, although there is the evidence of a departure from<br />
the cruder symbols of the Pagan period in the later ones,—the<br />
use of the swastika, the triskele, the ship, the wheel, the axe,<br />
the comb, and the mirror—we can detect the forms of these, even<br />
after the incoming of Christianity, in the general treatment of<br />
the designs in the more highly evolved work.<br />
The Celt of Pagan days, even as far back as the Bronze and<br />
early Iron ages, had his philosophy of life. He was no mere<br />
savage, with language no greater than a cry, sitting by his pit<br />
dwelling, impervious to the suggestions of the forces of nature.<br />
He saw the sun blaze in splendour, the waters by his dwelling,<br />
and the star, pale and incandescent, pendulous in the sky; and<br />
he noted that the firm earth on which he stood was neither fixed<br />
nor indeterminate in its relationship to the heavens.<br />
Those quaint cup-and-ring-like markings on the rock formations<br />
throughout the country are his simple attempts to solve the<br />
riddle of the motion of the universe.<br />
Charts they are now said to be of solar time, and not the<br />
cipherings of primitive man to decorate stone. The concentrics<br />
of the highly evolved free crosses have these as a base in the<br />
design, but the Art has become so perfected that the treatment of<br />
them on the great stone crosses of Scotland indicate a craftsmanship<br />
of a surer hand and a more accurate eye.<br />
After the Christianising of the Art the treatment of the symbols<br />
entirely changed. The ship remained—symbol of the soul's<br />
avatar to Tìr-nan-Og, and, later, of the Church sailing heavenward<br />
to God; as likewise was the use of the stag, symbolising the soul<br />
thirsting for the well-springs of life, 'as the hart panteth after the<br />
water-brooks'; but the pagan forms of centaurs, sirens, griffins<br />
and other fabulous monsters—these departed gradually, and in<br />
their stead there were the pictorialised incidents of the Bible.<br />
Daniel in the lion's den was a favourite subject of the designer,<br />
as also was that of David, rending the jaws of a lion; the raising<br />
of Lazarus, the Virgin and Child, Pharaoh's overthrow, the<br />
ascension of Elijah,—representations, all of them, having inspiration<br />
obviously from the catacombs of Rome.<br />
After the mission of Palladius as the envoy of the Roman<br />
Pontiffs to bring the Celtic Church to the Roman polity, the<br />
Art became centrally controlled, and, as a result, fell into decay. It<br />
was used in the decoration of the Irish crosses particularly, to<br />
portray the lives of the Saints, and to incorporate portraits of the<br />
SAINT<br />
BRIDE.<br />
May the girdle oj Brigit behind my back,<br />
And the mantle oj Mary before me be.
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 2 4<br />
I<br />
Fathers, and there was, as a result, a gradual lessening of the flamboyant<br />
forms, and a departure from the purely Celtic conceptions<br />
to Byzantine ideas.<br />
More frequent coming and going between the Continent and<br />
here brought ideas that eventually removed the sheerly Celtic<br />
characteristics, and introduced cosmopolitan forms, with the result<br />
that it might well be termed, after the Norman encroachment, a<br />
composite Art.<br />
We do not ask for a revival of this highly specialised form<br />
of Art. To revive the art of a past age, and apply it to modern<br />
requirements, implies often no more than providing work for the<br />
c<br />
{utilitarian,' as each age should provide the Art it needs. But<br />
we should hope for a return of the spirit that impelled the craftsman<br />
of these early days of the Church; and the Gaelic people have<br />
that spiritualised Art potentiality, which needs but a quickening<br />
to link them with their forefathers in that Art spirit, so as to give<br />
to this and subsequent generations something that is representative<br />
of their outlook upon the life of to-day.<br />
The Epithet "Celtic."<br />
By Professor JOHN FRASER, M.A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D.,<br />
Professor of Celtic, Oxford University.<br />
LATIN and Greek writers, when they speak of the " Celts "<br />
think of them, clearly, as a political or social community,<br />
not as a distinct race. It is true that some of them, Caesar<br />
and Tacitus, for example, have left us descriptions of the physical<br />
appearance of both " Celts " and " Germans," but that must not<br />
mislead us into believing that, in the first centuries of our era,<br />
observers could distinguish among the barbarians of Northern<br />
Europe two distinct racial types, coinciding with two distinct<br />
political and social groups. In the first place, it is dangerous to<br />
speak of " race " at all if we mean to imply comparatively recent<br />
common origin. It would be rash to maintain that the inhabitants<br />
of no matter how restricted an area of modern Europe are<br />
242<br />
THE EPITHET u CELTIC."<br />
racially homogeneous. Two thousand years is a very short period<br />
in the history of man in Europe; and we have no reason to believe<br />
that the ethnic conditions in Northern Europe were any simpler<br />
two thousand years ago than they are now. In the second place,<br />
neither Tacitus nor Julius Caesar was interested in ethnology, and<br />
neither of them made a detailed examination of the physical<br />
features of either Celts or Germans. It is evident that when they<br />
speak of tail stature, red or fair hair, and blue eyes, they are not<br />
necessarily speaking of the average individual. It is possible—<br />
and this is the general view—that they are describing the physical<br />
appearance of an aristocratic caste. It may be noted in passing<br />
that, from their descriptions, it would appear that " Celts " and<br />
" Germans " did not differ very much in appearance. We may,<br />
if we like, claim that one of those aristocratic castes did, in fact,<br />
represent the original " Celts," and ruled over a subject people<br />
of alien race who had, at least in part, adopted the language of<br />
their " Celtic " conquerors. As we must start somewhere, we may<br />
do so here. There cannot have existed so late as the first century<br />
of our era a homogeneous race peopling the whole of Gaul; let<br />
us assume that there did exist at that time a military caste,<br />
numerically weak, but strong in traditional discipline and the arts<br />
of government, composed of n<br />
Celts."<br />
When we use an epithet like " Celtic," we must have a clear<br />
idea of what we mean by it. When we speak of a " Celtic "<br />
language we know exactly what kind of language we have in view,<br />
and what characteristics distinguish it from other languages. .We<br />
know, too, that modern Celtic languages are so called because they<br />
are historically related to a language spoken in the area ruled by<br />
the Celtae of Caesar and other ancient writers, and present some of<br />
the same characteristics. In this case the epithet implies something<br />
which we know to be a historical fact, namely that certain<br />
modern languages are closely related to an ancient one.<br />
It has, however, been for a long time fashionable to apply this<br />
epithet to other things than certain languages. People speak of<br />
"Celtic melancholy," "Celtic culture," "Celtic peoples"; and<br />
I propose to ask what is implied in these expressions. They all<br />
Involve the same difficulty, and I shall for that reason examine only<br />
the last.<br />
When we speak of a " Latin people " we mean a people who<br />
sDeak one or other of the languages into which Latin has<br />
developed; we do not, and cannot, mean that the Latin peoples,<br />
THE EPITHET " CELTIC."<br />
as such, form a racial unity. For reasons with which the fact of<br />
a common name has no direct relation, we shall find the same<br />
physical type in Southern France and in Northern Spain; and, at<br />
the same time, we shall find that, physically, the Southern Frenchman<br />
may resemble the Italian more than he does the Norman<br />
who speaks his language. So, a Rumanian and a Mexican are<br />
both Latins in the sense that they speak a Latin language. All<br />
the Latin peoples have also in common the tradition of the Roman<br />
Empire and Latin Literature, and this makes for a certain community<br />
of sentiment and outlook. But to speak of " Latin races"<br />
is to use a meaningless expression. However we are to account<br />
for the rapid spread of the Latin language in Gaul or Spain, we<br />
cannot account for it by the assumption of a vast immigration of<br />
Italians into those countries and the extirpation of the native<br />
population.<br />
But when we use the words " Celtic peoples," or " Celtic<br />
race," we use an expression which is, if possible, even more<br />
meaningless. People who use it certainly do not mean peoples<br />
who speak a Celtic language. The expression is certainly not<br />
intended to exclude the great majority of the inhabitants of<br />
Ireland and of the Highlands of Scotland, of nearly all Manxmen,<br />
of all Cornishmen. Whether it would be held to include Englishmen<br />
who have learnt to speak Welsh, I do not know. There is<br />
no political organisation which could justify the expression<br />
" Celtic people " in the sense in which we can use "Yujoslavonic."<br />
There is no common literary tradition which could make a<br />
Scottish Highlander feel that he had something in common with a<br />
Breton. And finally, there is no racial community.<br />
It is important that this should be recognised, for there is<br />
room to suspect that when enthusiasts speak of themselves as<br />
" pure Celts," they do imagine that there is a Celtic race as<br />
opposed, let us say, to the Anglo-Saxon race. Now, so far as the<br />
British Islands are concerned, there are no grounds whatever for<br />
such a view. We know that Celtic languages were introduced into<br />
those islands from the Continent, and that they, in time, displaced<br />
an earlier language, or earlier languages, just as they themselves<br />
have been, and are being, displaced by English. We<br />
do not know the numbers of the Celtic-speaking invaders, and we<br />
have no reason to suppose that they formed a racially homogeneous<br />
body. The probability is all the other way. It is known that<br />
Britain and Ireland had been inhabited for thousands of years
244 THE EPITHET " CELTIC."<br />
before the coming of the " Celts," and it is highly improbable<br />
that the native population was not immensely more numerous<br />
than the invaders. W hat happened in Gaul, where the language<br />
of the Roman armies and traders and settlers killed out the native<br />
language, happened also in Britain. The Celtic languages of a<br />
comparatively small but highly civilised and organised body of<br />
invaders displaced the language, or languages, of the earlier population.<br />
But, in either case, the invaders themselves were absorbed.<br />
When it is a question of physical characteristics, the big battalions<br />
must always win.<br />
To put the matter briefly, we have no reason to suppose that<br />
the introduction into these islands of two Celtic languages had any<br />
substantial effect on the racial characteristics of the population.<br />
They remained, in the main, what they had been. North American<br />
negroes have remained negroes despite the fact that they<br />
speak English; and the fact that our ancestors at one period learned<br />
to speak a Celtic language, as they later learned to speak English,<br />
made very little difference to them in point of " race."<br />
Not many years ago a self-made publicist gave as the explanation<br />
of the success with which an English statesman met French<br />
diplomatists the fact that the former was " not an Englishman<br />
but a Frenchman." As a matter of fact, he was a W'elshman, and,<br />
therefore, a " Celt." Frenchmen, some of whom speak a Celticlanguage,<br />
are, by the same process of reasoning, "Celts " as well<br />
as " Latins," and Mr. Lloyd George could be, therefore, described<br />
as a " Frenchman."<br />
This kind of loose thinking can be found almost invariably<br />
wherever the word " Celtic " is found. It can be avoided only by<br />
using the epithet solely of the Celtic languages, or in relation to<br />
the Celtic languages. The expression "Celtic language" or<br />
" Celtic speaker " is clear and definite. On the other hand, an<br />
expression like " Celtic temperament " implies a long and complicated<br />
series of historical facts which it would be exceedingly<br />
difficult to establish, and has no justification in our present<br />
knowledge.<br />
Cuimhnich air na daoine bho'n d'thàinig thu.<br />
Remember the men from -whom thou art sprung.<br />
A rèir do mheas ort fhèin, measaidh càch thu.<br />
As thou valuest thyself, others will esteem thee.<br />
A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean.<br />
LE DAIBHIDH URCHARDAINN, M.A., AN l OISIGHEACHD.<br />
IS fhada bho thòisich an Comunn Gàidhealach air dùsgadh nan<br />
Gàidheal gu sùim a chur 'nan cànain fhèin, agus air agart bho<br />
luchd-riaghlaidh na dùthcha cead a' Ghàidhlig a theagasg anns<br />
na sgoilean. Bu e buil na saothrach sin gu bheil againn an diugh<br />
ann an Achd Pàrlamaid, cha'n e a mhàin cead ach àithne eòlas<br />
leughaidh agus sgrìobhaidh a thoirt do òigridh Tìr nam Beann air<br />
sean chainnt an aithrichean.<br />
Ach is e a h-aon de na cunnartan a tha ag cuairteachadh ar<br />
cànain, gun robh luchd-dèanamh an lagha, agus gu bheil luchdriaghlaidh<br />
nan sgoilean de an bheachd gur e crìoch àraidh an teagaisg<br />
so eòlas eagnaidh a thoirt do an Ghàidheal air a^ Bheurla<br />
Shasunnaich. Agus cha ghabh e idir àicheadh nach 'eil e buileach<br />
feumail gum biodh na Gàidheil cho ullamh, fileanta anns a'<br />
Bheurla agus a ghabhas dèanamh, ach tha an t-àmgum biodh na<br />
Gàidheil fhèin, agus na Goill mar an ceudna, a' tuigsinn nach 'eil<br />
eòlas air an cainnt fhèin 'na chnap-starra anns an t-slighe a tha<br />
treòrachadh gu aithne air a' Bheurla.<br />
Bho chionn leth-cheud bliadhna, chromadh Gàidheil òga an<br />
cinn, agus thigeadh rudha 'nan gruaidh, nan canadh neach riu gun<br />
robh blas na Gàidhlig air a' Bheurla aca. Agus cò nach fhaca<br />
gillean agus nigheanan òga a chaill an Gàidhlig an dèidh a bhi<br />
bliadhna air mhuinntearas air Ghalldachd, agus nach ann orra fhèin<br />
a bhiodh an uaill nan cainteadh riu gun robh a' Bheurla aca cho<br />
blasda is a chluinnteadh air bruachan Abhainn Chluaidh! Dh'<br />
fhalbh an doille uamhasach ud, agus an diugh, mar thoradh air<br />
obair a' Chomuinn, tha ar n-òigridh deònach agus ullamh gu an<br />
eòlas air an t-sean chànain aideachadh, agus a chur an cleachdadh<br />
ann an conaltradh ri càch a chèile.<br />
An diugh fhèin, chì sinn tuilleadh is a' chòir a their nach 'eil<br />
feum anns a' Ghàidhlig air son faighinn air adhart ann an gnothaichean<br />
saoghalta, agus còrdaidh sinn riu gu bheil e iomchuidh,<br />
a chum adhartas talmhaidh, do neach e fhèin uidheamachadh<br />
anns an dòigh as acfhuinniche a chum soirbheachadh aimsireil a<br />
bhuannachadh; agus is cinnteach gun ruig e air an inbhe so leis an<br />
fhòghlum as freagarraiche air son an aobhair fhaotainn anns an<br />
sgoil.<br />
Cha do bheachdaich duine glic riamh air teagasg cloinne, nach<br />
aidich gur e crìoch àraidh an fhoghluim òigridh a leigeil mu
A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean.<br />
LE DAIBHIDH URCHARDAINN, M.A., AN TOISIGHEACHD.<br />
TS fhada bho thòisich an Comunn Gàidhealach air dùsgadh nan<br />
JL Gàidheal gu sùim a chur 'nan cànain fhèin, agus air agart bho<br />
luchd-riaghlaidh na dùthcha cead a' Ghàidhlig a theagasg anns<br />
na sgoilean. Bu e buil na saothrach sin gu bheil againn an diugh<br />
ann an Achd Pàrlamaid, cha'n e a mhàin cead ach àithne eòlas<br />
leughaidh agus sgrìobhaidh a thoirt do òigridh Tìr nam Beann air<br />
sean chainnt an aithrichean.<br />
Ach is e a h-aon de na cunnartan a tha ag cuairteachadh ar<br />
cànain, gun robh luchd-dèanamh an lagha, agus gu bheil luchdriaghlaidh<br />
nan sgoilean de an bheachd gur e crìoch àraidh an teagaisg<br />
so eòlas eagnaidh a thoirt do an Ghàidheal air a' Bheurla<br />
Shasunnaich. Agus cha ghabh e idir àicheadh nach 'eil e buileach<br />
feumail gum biodh na Gàidheil cho ullamh, fileanta anns a'<br />
Bheurla agus a ghabhas dèanamh, ach tha an t-àm gum biodh na<br />
Gàidheil fhèin, agus na Goill mar an ceudna, a' tuigsinn nach 'eil<br />
eòlas air an cainnt fhèin 'na chnap-starra anns an t-slighe a tha<br />
treòrachadh gu aithne air a' Bheurla.<br />
Bho chionn leth-cheud bliadhna, chromadh Gàidheil òga an<br />
cinn, agus thigeadh rudha 'nan gruaidh, nan canadh neach riu gun<br />
robh blas na Gàidhlig air a' Bheurla aca. Agus cò nach fhaca<br />
gillean agus nigheanan òga a chaill an Gàidhlig an dèidh a bhi<br />
bliadhna air mhuinntearas air Ghalldachd, agus nach ann orra fhèin<br />
a bhiodh an uaill nan cainteadh riu gun robh a' Bheurla aca cho<br />
blasda is a chluinnteadh air bruachan Abhainn Chluaidh! Dh'<br />
fhalbh an doille uamhasach ud, agus an diugh, mar thoradh air<br />
obair a' Chomuinn, tha ar n-òigriah deònach agus ullamh gu an<br />
eòlas air an t-sean chànain aideachadh, agus a chur an cleachdadh<br />
ann an conaltradh ri càch a chèile.<br />
An diugh fhèin, chì sinn tuilleadh is a' chòir a their nach 'eil<br />
feum anns a' Ghàidhlig air son faighinn air adhart ann an gnothaichean<br />
saoghalta, agus còrdaidh sinn riu gu bheil e iomchuidh,<br />
a chum adhartas talmhaidh, do neach e fhèin uidheamachadh<br />
anns an dòigh as acfhuinniche a chum soirbheachadh aimsireil a<br />
bhuannachadh; agus is cinnteach gun ruig e air an inbhe so leis an<br />
fhòghlum as freagarraiche air son an aobhair fhaotainn anns an<br />
sgoil.<br />
Cha do bheachdaich duine glic riamh air teagasg cloinne, nach<br />
aidich gur e crìoch àraidh an fhoghluim òigridh a leigeil mu
246 A' GHAIDHLIG ANNS NA SGOILEAN.<br />
sgaoil a choimhlionaSj anns an dòigh as iomlaine, an dleasdanas<br />
anns an ionad a dh' ionnsaigh am bi iad air an gairm; agus aidichidh<br />
an dream so mar an ceudna nach e comas na h-òigridh air<br />
tional ionmhais, mar tha airgead, òr is maoin, fìor dhearbhadh<br />
gu bheil iad 'nam buill fheumail de'n chomh-fhiai theachd.<br />
Ma bheachdaicheas sinn air ainmean nan daoine air a bheil<br />
mòran iomraidh an eachdraidh an t-saoghail, na daoine<br />
a thoill agus a choisinn dhaibh fhèin gu sònruichte an<br />
cliù sin ris an abrar mòr, chì sinn gur e ro bheag de ionmhas a<br />
chruinnich iad ri chèile. Bha Mac Dhè, an uair a bha e air chuairt<br />
am measg dhaoine, cho bochd 'na chrannchur agus ged " tha tuill<br />
aig na sionnaich agus nid aig eunlaith an athair, chan 'eil aig Mac<br />
An Duine ionad anns an cur e a cheann fodha."<br />
Dh' iomlaid Maois lùchairtean rìoghail agus greadhneachas<br />
na h-Eiphit air son arraban agus àmhgharan an fhàsaich. Chuir<br />
ceudan, chuir mìlltean, de na sàir ud an cùl ri beartas saoghalta,<br />
a chum am buadhan ionmholta a thairgse gu saor agus an asgaidh<br />
do'n chinne-daonna.<br />
Ciod è matà, an t-àite a tha aig a' Ghàidhlig anns an rian-fòghluim<br />
as fheàrr do na Gàidheil An è an t-sean dòigh a chleachdas<br />
sinn, anns an robh cainnt choimheach air a bruidhinn ris a' chloinn<br />
bho an cheud là air an deachaidh iad a steach air dorus-mòr an<br />
tigh-sgoile, agus an cànain ùr so air a dhèanamh 'na meadhon air<br />
eòlas a thoirt daibh air nithean aimsireil agus spioradail Tha<br />
an dòigh ud calg dhìreach an aghaidh reusain agus gach lagha air<br />
a bheil oibreachadh na h-inntinne an crochadh. Is e fear de<br />
phrìomh laghan oideachaidh, gun tòisich am fear-teagaisg air<br />
togail air a' bhunait a tha ag co-sheasamh anns an eòlas a<br />
tha cheana aig an leanabh agus a thoirt ceum air cheum a dh'<br />
ionnsaigh an eòlais fharsuing sin a ni duine tuigseach de an neach<br />
aig a bheil e.<br />
Co-dhùnaidh sinn bho so gur e mullach na h-amaideachd<br />
leabhar Beurla a chur air tùs an Tàimh an leinibh aig nach 'eil facal<br />
Beurla 'na chlaigeann, ach gur e tùs a' ghliocais a' chànain fhèin<br />
a chleachdadh, mar an cladhan troimh am bi e air a threòrachadh<br />
a dh' ionnsaigh a chala ion-mhiannaichte sin is crìoch àraidh do<br />
sgoilearachd.<br />
Aon uair agus gum faigh an Gàidheal òg cho fada air adhart agus<br />
gun cleachd e an dà chainnt gu ceart agus gu rèidh, tha a inntinn<br />
na's gèire, agus a bhuadhan uile na's treise na's urrainn iad sin a<br />
bhi aig fear aon-teanga. Tha, mar gum b'eadh, sealladh aig a<br />
A' GHAIDHLIG ANNS NA SGOILEAN. 247<br />
nis air dà shaoghal, agus tha a bhuadhan inntinne air am meudachadh<br />
agus air an leudachadh, ann an seòl nach 'eil comasach do<br />
neach do nach aithne ach aon teanga a mhàin, a dh' aindeoin a<br />
ealantachd agus a chomasan an gnothaichean saoghalta;<br />
agus tha sinn ag creidsinn gu bheil iadsan ceart a tha anns an<br />
dùil gur ann tre eòlas a thoirt do na Gàidheil air smuaintean agus<br />
subhailcean an daoine fhèin a thig iad gu làn shaorsa, air dhòigh<br />
's gu fàg iad dìleab sheasmhach, neo-thruaillidh aig na linntean a<br />
thig 'nan dèidh, " a chlann a ta gun bhreith."<br />
Tha e 'na chunnart gu bheil mòran de na pàrantan caoinshuarach<br />
mu na subhailcean neo-bhàsmhor nach gabh meas le<br />
cothromaichean aimsireil. Ciamar a dhùisgear an sluagh gu<br />
thuigsinn nach iad rudan a theid am mugha a choisneas inbhe àrd<br />
daibh, ach gur iad duinealas, fìreantachd agus uaisle an t-ionmhas<br />
as luachmhoire, agus nach cuir an t-eòlas prìseil so bacadh<br />
orra 'nan gnothaichean saoghalta<br />
Rinn maighstirean-sgoile Gallda mòran croin ann a bhi a'<br />
sparradh air an òigridh beachdan coimheach a bha ag cur an suarachas<br />
gach nì a bhuineadh dhaibh mar shluagh sònruichte, ged bha<br />
mòran de na daoine so a thuig spiorad na dùthcha, agus a thug<br />
àite urramach do bheusan nàistinneach 'nan teagasg. Ged dh'<br />
fhalbh mòran de an ghamhlas eu-cneasda so, tha roinn mhòr de<br />
a bhuil ag iadhadh mun cuairt air a' Ghàidheal fhathast, agus<br />
feumar oidhirp sgairteil a chum ceann na nathrach theinntich so<br />
a phronnadh. Their cuid nach teirig spiorad a' Ghàidheil fhad<br />
agus a bhios fuil chraobhach a shinnsre a' sruthadh troimh a<br />
chuislibh, ach tha eachdraidh a' dearbhadh gun caill sluagh tomad<br />
de am beusan sònruichte an là a chailleas iad an teanga.<br />
Tha roinn mhòr de na beachdan a tha an comaidh aig sluagh<br />
an t-saoghail a b'fheàrr dhuinn bhuainn no againn, agus bu<br />
bhuannachd shìorruidh dhuinn nan rachadh againn air an seachnadh<br />
mar bhuil air an fhòghlum a dh' fhuaigheadh buadhan ar<br />
cinnich fhèin an dlùth's an inneach ar bith. Fhad agus a chumar<br />
an cànain beò seachnaidh an Gàidheal an dìleab neò-bhuannachdail<br />
a tha a' sruthadh bho bheusan coimheach, agus gu ma fad<br />
às an là anns nach cluinnear an tìr an fhraoich pongan na Gàidhlige<br />
air bilean a luchd-àiteachaidh.<br />
" An leig sinn eachdraidh chaomh ar tìr<br />
A sgrìobadh de gach clàr,<br />
'S a' Ghàidhlig chòir a chur a dhìth<br />
Le dream nach tuig a gnàths"
2 SO GRIANAN.<br />
eachd ri guth Mhìlread na Glaice. Mhothaich e na bha 'na cridhe<br />
is 'na h-inntinn, ach cha bu lèir da na deoir thoirteil a bha a' ruith<br />
a sìos air a dà ghruaidh. " Nach coma leat-sa, a Ghrianain, ged<br />
nach biodh ceòl 's a' chlàrsaich! Nach 'eil teas-ghràdh 'nad<br />
chridhe, is nach leoir sin!<br />
Bha rachd am muineal Mhìlread, is i a' sealltainn air an aghaidh<br />
chiùin, shìochail air an robh smal a' mhulaid. Agus cha bu luaithe<br />
a bhiodh a h-aghaidh air Grianan na bhiodh a sùilean fuaighte air<br />
mac an Tuairneir Ruaidh,—am fear a bha gu a bhi còmhla rithe<br />
gus an sgaradh am bàs o chèile iad.<br />
Cha d' thàinig smid à beul Mhìlread tuilleadh. Chaidh<br />
Buaidh a mach, oir bha i an còmhnuidh furachail mu thimchioll a<br />
mic. Mhothaich i do Mhìlread ag coiseachd air falbh còmhla ri a<br />
leannan. Laigh geilt air a gnùis. Bu mhotha gu mòr a chuir<br />
aogasg na cailin oirre na a gineal, a bha air tuiteam seachad le<br />
laigse cuirp. Choisich Buaidh air ais do'n tigh, ag giùlan a'<br />
bhalaich 'na h-uchd.<br />
Ach bha Donn Og air a sàil, oir bha e fhèin agus dithis òigearan<br />
a thachair ris aig a' chladach, air mothachadh dhi aig bun na<br />
craoibhe. Bha a' chlàrsach an làimh fir diubh. Chaidh iad a<br />
steach do'n tigh, agus chaidh Donn gu taobh na leapa, agus bha<br />
oillt air a' ghnùis ag coimhead a ghille, is a dheud dùinte. Bha<br />
gathan tlàtha na grèine a' deàrrsadh air troimh 'n luidhear bheag,<br />
agus chaidh smuain Dhuinn air ais chum na maidne a thàinig<br />
Grianan a dh' ionnsaigh an t-saoghail.<br />
Aig ceann eile an tighe chualas fonn binn o chlàr nan teud,—<br />
ceòl a lìon suas an tigh le cùbhraidheachd nach gabh cur an cainnt.<br />
Ghrad labhair Grianan, is a làmhan togte ri a athair a bha ag<br />
cromadh gu h-iomagaineach os a chionn. Chuireadh Grianan<br />
coigrich air leth, agus cha robh iongantas ged bhiodh e mothachail<br />
orra-san a bu dlùithe dha. " Chaochail mi, a athair; choisich mi<br />
troimh ghleann dorcha sgàil a' bhàis,—ach tha mi a nis beò. Cha<br />
bhi àmhghar agam-sa tuilleadh. Fhuair mi seachad air gach bròn<br />
is trioblaid, agus tha mi a nis ag èisdeachd ri comh-sheirm nan<br />
ainglean anns na Flaitheas."<br />
Cha do chuir na pàrantan diù anns na focail dhìomhair ud.<br />
Chuala iad guth caoin, milis am mic, agus bu leoir sin. Ach<br />
fhuair iad aobhar air smuaineachadh orra an dèidh làimhe, agus<br />
bha iad 'nam beannachd agus 'nan sòlas dhoibh. Shuidh Buaidh<br />
ri taobh na leapa, is gach mionaid a bha a' dol seachad a' treòrachadh<br />
a smuain gu bun na craoibhe, agus gu giùlan agus snuadh<br />
GRIANAN.<br />
Mhìlread aig an àm sin. Carson a theich i Ciod a chuir air<br />
falbh i, is an cuspair a ghràdhaich i fad a' bheatha air sìoladh<br />
seachad le laigse <br />
Fhad's a bha Buaidh a' meòrachadh air na ceistean sin bha Donn<br />
Og an ceann eile an tighe ag èisdeachd ris na coigrich a thàinig le<br />
bàta beag gu oisinn na tràghad. Bha iad òg, sunndach, agus a<br />
rèir coslais cha robh nì fainear doibh ach ceàrn air choir-eigin de'n<br />
t-saoghal a lorg a bheireadh dhoibh tìoralachd is teachd-an-tìr.<br />
B'e ainm a h-aon diubh Brian agus an t-aon eile Conn. Cha robh<br />
eun air iteig nach cuireadh Brian gu nàire air cùl na clàrsaich.<br />
" Thachair an t-aon nì dhomh-sa 'nam òige," bha Brian ag ràdh,<br />
" ach cho luath's a thog m' athair an clàrsach's a chuala mi fonn<br />
uan teud ghlac mi misneach. ' Bàs no beatha,' arsa m' athair,<br />
' chan eil mi ag creidsinn nach cluinn Brian Bàn an ceòl so.' "<br />
Agus mun do chiar an tràth bha Grianan air ais aig bun na<br />
craoibhe, agus fallus sìos air a dhà shùil. Bha na h-eoin air gach<br />
gèig, a' sìneadh an cinn le iongnadh, oir bha mac Clàrsair na<br />
h-Aillse ag gleusadh ciùil air gnàths a chuir an cridheachan beaga<br />
air mhire. Chaidh Mìlread ball-dìreach gu tigh a h-athar. Bha<br />
i air innseadh dhoibh fada roimh sud nach pòsadh i gu bràth ach<br />
fear a bhiodh teò-chridheach ri Grianan, agus bha iad mar sin làn<br />
imcheist m' a deidhinn. Cha robh i a' tagradh às leth Grianaìn<br />
leud na ròine seachad air a gràdh fèin,—gràdh a bha làn bàigh is<br />
iochd.<br />
" Tha thu air mise is t' athair a mhaslachadh," thubhairt a<br />
mathair rithe aon là; " tha an treas fear agad air a chur dachaidh-<br />
A bheil iongantas ort ged bhiodh t' ainm am fad is am farsuingeachd"<br />
"Pòsaidh mise Tearlach an Tuairnear," fhreagair<br />
Mìlread; "ach cha bhi ann ach pòsadh is adhlacadh aig an aon àm.<br />
Chan i bean-phòsda a bhios còmhla ri Tearlach an àm dùsgaidh,<br />
ach dus deiseil air son na cille."<br />
Bha Mìlread fo uallach a thaobh Grianain fad an fheasgair.<br />
Chaidh i air ais gu Arisaig anns a' mhaduinn, agus bha i taingeil<br />
an uair a chunnaic i gun robh a companach mùirneach a' dol am<br />
feabhas; ach thàinig rudha 'na gruaidh an uair a shìn Brian Bàn<br />
a làmh d' a h-ionnsaigh.<br />
An ceann bliadhna eile bha Donn Og agus Buaidh anns an<br />
t-seòmar cheudna, agus Grianan air leabaidh a' bhàis.—" Caidlidh<br />
mise an Tigh na Glaice," thubhairt e mochthrath. " Bidh Brian<br />
còmhla rium leis a' chlàrsaich, agus bidh ceum Mhìlread 'nam<br />
chluasan gus an till mi dhachaidh." Thug e a suas a spiorad rau'c
252 GRIANAN.<br />
am bu dèine ceileir nan eun, is a mheoir chaithte, thana an glaic an<br />
neach a b' òige a bha a stigh; oir bha Grianan beag eile le dòrlach<br />
mhìosan thairis air a cheann anns an tigh ud a nis, agus bu mhòr<br />
gràdh Brian is Mhìlread dha. Ach cha robh e na bu mhotha na<br />
gràdh an fhir a thug gu chèile iad, agus a bha a nis air siubhal.<br />
Chunnaic mise iad anns an rath-dorcha le leadain fhliuch aig<br />
bun craoibhe. Bliadhnachan an dèidh sin lorg mi a mach aobhar<br />
am pràimh;—bha ceòl os mo chionn o chòisir nan crann, agus<br />
dian-theas na grèine ag crìonadh an fheoir uaine far an robh<br />
Grianan 'na chadal.<br />
On the Imprisonment of Argyll, in 1661.<br />
By PROFESSOR WILLIAM J. WATSON, M.A., LL.D., D.LITT. Celt.<br />
This poem is from the Edinburgh MS. xxxvi, 114a (National<br />
Library of Scotland). An inaccurate version taken from a copy<br />
by the Rev. D. Mackintosh (in MS. lxxxix) is printed in Leabhar<br />
na Fèinne, p, 211. Mackintosh's copy is headed, "Upon<br />
Archibald, Earl of Argyll, the last Earl who was beheaded at<br />
Edinburgh, 30th June, 1685." The internal evidence, however,<br />
and especially the reference to the Tower, goes rather to indicate<br />
that it was composed on the occasion of the imprisonment<br />
of Archibald, the first Marquis of Argyll, in 1661. Argyll had<br />
placed the crown on the head of Charles II in 1651, and had<br />
suffered much in his cause. After the Restoration he was induced<br />
by an apparently friendly letter from the king to go to London to<br />
pay homage. While waiting in the privy chamber for permission<br />
to kiss the king's hand, he was arrested and committed to the<br />
Tower as a traitor, and thereafter sent down to Edinburgh to be<br />
tried. He was brought before the Scottish Parliament, found<br />
guilty, and executed on the 27 th day of May. His memory was<br />
long revered by the Scottish Covenanters.<br />
Is maith mo leaba, is olc mo shuain,<br />
an sgèal-sa chualas òs n-aird:<br />
Gill-easbuig, buachaill an Chrùin,<br />
ar n-a ghlasadh 'san Tùir fa gheard.<br />
ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN<br />
Dia cobhair ar ar bhfeidhm,<br />
cuir tualas na mbrèag ar chàird;<br />
cuir car na conspòid mun gcuart,<br />
beir consbòil na sluagh a bàrd.<br />
Fuasgail e ò dhoirsibh bàis,<br />
rèitigh an rod dhà go deas;<br />
Iehòbha phrìseil na sluagh,<br />
ort ni fhuil ni cruaidh no ceast.<br />
Do ghàirdean làidir 'n a thòir<br />
air gach pòr 'ga bhfaighte an fhoill,<br />
dh' aimhdheoin rìogh Phàro is a shluagh,<br />
dh' fhosgail an Mhuir Ruadh do'n chloi<br />
Shuidheadh iad eangach an bhàis<br />
mu Dhomhnall an àigh le neart ;<br />
dh' aimhdheoin a mioruin>s a gcealg,<br />
gabh na leòghain gharg mad smacht.<br />
Impire Bhabilòin mhòir,<br />
chuir an iomhaigh òir 'san leirg,<br />
i n-eimhuin lasrach 'na choig,<br />
thug aist na h-òighe ò fheirg.<br />
Dh' fhuasgail thu na geimhle cruaidh<br />
do Pheadar na mbuadh 'n a fheidhm ;<br />
charn thu an fhairge suas le sruth:<br />
thà thu a ndiu mar bha thu a ndè.<br />
Fàgfuidh mè a chùram fad dhion,<br />
a Ri na rìogh 'ga bhfuil an neart ;<br />
leòghan do shìiocht Smèrbi mhòir,<br />
chunnarc mè na slòigh fad smacht.<br />
Seobhag de'n ealtain dob fhearr,<br />
ò dhreim Artùir bu gharg coig ;<br />
onchù thrèan rè buan na gcreach,<br />
fèinidh fearail na bhfeacht mborb.<br />
Ua Duibhne ò Dhùn na gCuach,<br />
'g a dtiocfadh na sluaigh fad iocht;<br />
brugh solus ba niamhdha bèas,<br />
a mbiodh coimhling na gcèad go tric.
254 O N T H E IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN l66l.<br />
Iomdha tòiseach trèan ad mhagh,<br />
fa lionmhor a sleagh is lann ;<br />
àrmuinn fa dhfdion do sgiath,<br />
dh' èireadh le triath Dhùin dà Bheann.<br />
Do bhantracht ad bhaile dèarach,<br />
'gam biodh do theach 'n a thigh stòir ;<br />
gaisgigh go h-uaibhreach 'n a gclèas:<br />
mar Ghuaire do bhèas tràth nòin.<br />
Ba deathach calma do-n Chrun<br />
sibh 6 thùs ò linn go linn ;<br />
bhi 'ga fhreasdail an sgach buaidh:<br />
is ro bheag liom do dhuais d'a chionn.<br />
Tuirseach me tuireamh do bhèas,<br />
chraobh-thuinidh nach deireadh rath;<br />
Iosa le mbeirear gach buaidh,<br />
tabhair èisdeacht dom dhuan go math.<br />
Good is my bed, but ill my sleep, such the tale that 1 have<br />
heard set forth, how Gill-easbuig, shepherd of the Crown, lies<br />
locked in the Tower under guard.<br />
Do thou, God, help us in our need; cause lying tales for a<br />
space to cease; cause the quarrel to take another turn; bring the<br />
people's hero out of ward.<br />
Set him free from the doors of death, make the way clear<br />
before him readily; revered Jehovah, Lord of hosts, for thee there<br />
is no difficulty or trouble.<br />
Thy mighty arm pursueth every seed in whom is found deceit;<br />
despite king Pharaoh and his hosts, it opened the Red Sea for<br />
Israel's children.<br />
Let them set the net of death by means of might around the<br />
chief of fortune blessed; do thou, despite their malice and their<br />
deceit, take these fierce lions under thy control.<br />
When the Emperor of mighty Babylon set up the golden<br />
image in the plain, thou didst rescue the pure young men from<br />
his wrath, when they were in the flaming furnace through the<br />
king's fury.<br />
Thou didst loose the hard fetters from holy Peter in his<br />
need; thou didst heap up the sea with a current; thou art to-day<br />
as thou wert yesterday.<br />
ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN 1661. 255<br />
I will leave his care to thy protection, thou King of kings,<br />
who hast the might ; thou lion of the seed of great Smèrbi, I<br />
have seen the hosts under thy control.<br />
Thou hawk of noblest brood, sprung from the race of Arthur<br />
of fierce swords; thou war-hound mighty to seize the spoils, thou<br />
manly warrior of stern war-bands.<br />
Thou scion of Duibhne from Dùn nan Cuach, to whom the<br />
people were wont to make submission ; a bright mansion of<br />
brilliant custom, where often hundreds were wont to strive in<br />
sport.<br />
Many a mighty captain stood on thy plain, numerous<br />
were their spears and blades; gentlemen under thy shields' protection<br />
would rise with the lord of Dùn Dà Bheann (Fort of two<br />
Peaks).<br />
Thy women are tearful within thy stead, for whom thy house<br />
was a house of treasure; a house where warriors proudly stood in.<br />
their array (); thy manner at even was the match of Guaire's.<br />
Ye were stout champions of the Crown from the beginning<br />
throughout the ages; ye were wont to serve it in every triumph:<br />
over small I deem thy reward therefor.<br />
I am sad as I recount thy qualities, thou firm-set tree whose<br />
fortune is not yet spent; do thou, Jesus, who winnest every<br />
triumph, give good ear to my lay.<br />
Chan 'eil torn no tulach,<br />
No cnocan buidhe fiarach,<br />
Nach bi seal gu subhach,<br />
'Us seal gu dubhach diarach.<br />
There is no knoll nor mound,<br />
Nor hillock dight -with flowers,<br />
That sometimes is not bright,<br />
And sometimes dark with showers.<br />
Cha d' fhàg claidheamh Fhinn riamh fuidheall beuma.<br />
Fingal's sword never had to cut twice.<br />
Bha dorus Fhinn do'n ànrach fial.<br />
Fingal's door was free to the needy.
The Eagle in Captivity.<br />
BY REV. DAVID R. WILLIAMSON, Kirkmaiden, Wigtownshire.<br />
KING of the air, that in thy narrow cage,<br />
Broodest on visions that are now no more !<br />
The virgin leaves are on the vernal trees;<br />
The air is filled with voices of the birds;<br />
The fairest flowers are wakening from their birth;<br />
The skylark soars amid the heavenly blue;<br />
The mists are lifting from the mountain-peaks,<br />
Whose loftiest summits are thy rocky thrones;<br />
Apollo glides in silver o'er the sea;<br />
But thou, the joy of the Olympian Jove,<br />
Who lives for ever in Homeric strains,<br />
Canst scan no more with calm and steadfast eyes<br />
The flaming splendour of the mid-day sun,<br />
Or soar serene, the sovereign of the sky,<br />
On mighty wings, whose movement is repose.<br />
Napoleon, in his Oceanic Isle,<br />
Environed by the vast and moaning sea,<br />
Dark-brooding on the greatness of the Past,<br />
While sorrow surged within him like the waves<br />
That rose and fell around his hopeless doom,<br />
Knew not a sadder solitude than thine.<br />
He was an autocrat who forged his chains;<br />
Thy life was authorised by Nature's laws,<br />
And thou, the august emperor of the air,<br />
Whose motions were the wonder of the Earth,<br />
Art made by man, the prey of curious eyes.<br />
Beauty and grandeur call for thee in vain;<br />
Even as of old, the upland tarns gleam,<br />
Touched by the moon-rays, when weird night has come,<br />
Beneath thine eyrie on the glimmering crags;<br />
The gracious sylvan valleys loom below;<br />
The mountain-crests, o'er which thy greatness came,<br />
On out-stretched silent wings that scorned the clouds,<br />
Serenely soar, like mightiest minds, to heaven,<br />
—And in thy soul thou hearest that great Voice<br />
Which man has made thee powerless to obey.<br />
A Tale of Old Glen Strae.<br />
" Far Past Cian Alpin's Outmost Guard."<br />
BY ALASDAIR ALPIN MACGREGOR,<br />
Author of " Behold' the Hebrides," " Over the Sea to Skye," etc.<br />
IT was at Coilantogle Ford, the old-time crossing-place on the<br />
Teith, that Roderic Dubh, having in safety conducted James<br />
Fitz-James through watch and ward and "far past Cian Alpin's<br />
outmost guard," revealed himself to be the head of a murderous<br />
and rebellious cian: here it was that Roderic, having discharged<br />
his trust in good faith, summoned the unsuspecting Knight of<br />
Snowdoun to mortal combat—<br />
" See, here, all vantageless I stand,<br />
Armed, like thyself, with single brand;<br />
For this is Coilantogle Ford,<br />
And thou must keep thee with thy sword."<br />
But it may not be known generally that the Wizard developed<br />
his graceful theme from an incident of real, historical fact. The only<br />
discrepancy—and it is a slight discrepancy such as the scheme of<br />
any artist might reasonably demand, but which only the most<br />
skilful could have introduced with so much force and precision—<br />
occurs in the nature of the actual challenge: in the real story the<br />
MacGregor protagonist gave his foeman a fairer fighting chance<br />
and a more generous opportunity of escape than did Roderic,<br />
who, without any warning, threw down the gauntlet before the<br />
trustful Knight of Snowdoun, and provoked him " man to man,<br />
and steel to steel."<br />
Well, my story is a story of long, long ago, because the earliest<br />
scenes of it were enacted before the MacGregors were driven by<br />
the trickery of their Campbell adversaries from their ancestral<br />
home in Glen Strae, and when the Lamonts, those stout-hearted<br />
and resolute Lairds of Cowal, were still in residence in Castle<br />
Toward, their ancient stronghold at the eastern entrance to the<br />
Kyles of Bute.
A TALE OF OLD GLEN<br />
STRAE.<br />
A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE. 259<br />
Now, it so happened that in the days of his early manhood<br />
young Lamont and a single companion from Cowal were hunting<br />
in the Forest of Etive, through which, it is said, they were passing<br />
on their way to Inverlochy; and whom should they meet in the<br />
valley below the Greyfir Shoulder but Glen Strae's son and heir,<br />
who along with one or two of his followers was on a similar<br />
errand.<br />
MacGregor and Lamont pursued the chase together; and,<br />
when it was toward dusk and the mists were deploying among the<br />
barren, lofty places of Argyll, they and their retainers betook<br />
themselves to Kingshouse Inn. Here they resolved to put up for<br />
the night; and here, before their henchmen could intervene, an<br />
unhappy episode ensued, for young MacGregor and Lamont had<br />
a violent quarrel that terminated only when the former fell to the<br />
ground under the weight of Lamont's sgian-dubh.<br />
Lamont, when he perceived that he had murdered his fellowhuntsman,<br />
in order to escape immediate vengeance at the hands<br />
of MacGregor's followers, straightway fled with all speed into the<br />
night-enshrouded mountains.<br />
* * * * * *<br />
Is it not wonderful what a man will do when he is being chased<br />
for his life Lamont, in his anxiety to return to Casde Toward<br />
lest his enemies should overtake him, found himself at a dark<br />
morning hour in Glen Strae, nearly twenty miles away from<br />
Kingshouse as the crow flies.<br />
Not knowing where he was and to whom to turn for protection<br />
from young MacGregor's followers, who came at his heels, he<br />
arrived at the door of a house in the Glen, whither he had been<br />
attracted by a light that glowed in the window. Here, in despair,<br />
he entered and begged for protection.<br />
Little was Lamont aware that he had sought refuge in the<br />
house of the Chief of Glen Strae, whose son he had just murdered;<br />
and it was not until young MacGregor's men came to the same<br />
door shortly afterwards, demanding the refugee to be handed over<br />
to them, that the Chief learned that the man to whom he had given<br />
hospitality, and whom he had vowed to defend from the wrath of<br />
his pursuers, had killed his very own son.<br />
" Here this night you will be safe, whoever you be," were<br />
the words with which MacGregor of Glen Strae had received<br />
Lamont before he knew the reason of his flight. And, although<br />
MacGregor's wife and family filled the house with their lamenta-<br />
tions, and remonstrated with him, and would have had him deliver<br />
the fugitive into the hands of those whom he had bereft, the Chief<br />
replied that already he had given his word, and could not betray<br />
his trust—a MacGregor's word meant something in those far-off<br />
days!<br />
* * \i * «<br />
" But he has slain your son," was the retort of his clansmen,<br />
who besieged the door of the house and clamoured disappointedly<br />
without.<br />
"Let no one hurt a hair of the lad's head," replied Glen Strae.<br />
" MacGregor has vowed that he will shield him; and, as I live,<br />
he shall be safe while he remains under my roof!"<br />
How long Lamont remained under MacGregor's roof I am<br />
unable to say; but we know that at daybreak, one morning, the<br />
broken-hearted Chief ordered Lamont to prepare himself for a<br />
journey, and in person escorted him from Glen Strae, across many<br />
a hill and down many a dale, until at length they arrived at a little<br />
place on Loch Fyne, Dundarave, the Castle of the Two<br />
Oars—an ancient, turreted keep of the MacNaughtons, not far<br />
distant from Inveraray.<br />
Here, at the ferry, MacGregor procured a boat and oars for<br />
Lamont, that he might row himself over to Cowal, on the opposite<br />
side of Loch Fyne, and have a sporting chance of reaching Castle<br />
Toward without being overtaken.<br />
And, when taking leave of him, MacGregor turned to his<br />
guest and said:—" Lamont, when thou art safe in thine<br />
own country, I can promise to defend thee no longer; so keep<br />
out of the reach of the clansmen . . . Flee for thy life; and may<br />
God forgive thee!"<br />
* * * * * *<br />
For many a long day Lamont escaped the vengeance of Cian<br />
Gregor, because he seldom ventured far afield from Castle<br />
Toward. But some years afterwards circumstances in old Scotland<br />
were changed; and misfortunes of a different nature dogged<br />
the footsteps of the bereaved MacGregors of Glen Strae—in<br />
efficiency, in un scrupulousness, in cunning the tactics of the wily<br />
Campbells had increased a hundred-fold; and it was a sad, sad day<br />
for Cian Alpin, when, by rapacity and treachery, the Wry-Mouthed<br />
—though not without encountering the fiercest opposition—were<br />
successful at last in establishing themselves at the doors of Glen<br />
Lyon, Glen Orchy, and Glen Strae.
260 A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE.<br />
Then came the wholesale forfeiture of lands and the persecution<br />
and proscription of the whole of Cian Alpin. No one dared<br />
bear the name of MacGregor under pain of death; and those who<br />
were known to be of their race were pursued with beagles and<br />
with the ruthless cruelties that so characterised the vehemence of<br />
their oppressors.<br />
* * * * * *<br />
Such were the circumstances that drove MacGregor of Glen<br />
Strae, now an old man, into the wilds of Cowal: such were the<br />
events that brought him, pale and woe-begone, to the threshold<br />
of Castle Toward: such were the ill-fortunes that compelled him<br />
to beg for asylum and hospitality at the hands of the once fugitive<br />
Lamont.<br />
For many years the broken-hearted and venerable MacGregor<br />
of Glen Strae sojourned at Castle Toward as the guest of Lamont:<br />
the guest had forgiven; and the host was eager to repay his guest<br />
who had spared his life, and had conducted him in safety " far<br />
past Cian Alpin's outmost guard."<br />
And it was under the roof of Lamont, when the boughs of the<br />
ever-green pine had been bent and distorted by craft more powerful<br />
than the winds of Caledon, that the aged MacGregor of Glen<br />
Strae breathed his last.<br />
And there, near Castle Toward, and far away from the tomb<br />
of his royal ancestors, the old Chief quietly was kid to rest in the<br />
mools that are hidden among the long, waving grasses of Cowal.<br />
There the wind is heavy-laden with sal ten tears; and the<br />
wheeling seabirds scream their coronach !<br />
" The red oak is in a blaze; the spire of its flame is high. The<br />
traveller sees its light on the dusky heath, as night spreads round him<br />
her raven wings. He sees it and is glad; for he knows the hall of the<br />
king. ' There,' he says to his companion, 'we pass the night; the<br />
door of Fionn is always open. The name of his hall is the stranger's<br />
home.' The feast is spread; the king wonders that no stranger from<br />
the darkly heath is come. ' I will listen,' says he, ' if I may hear their<br />
wandering steps.' "<br />
Dr. Smith's Ossianic Sean Dàna.<br />
-<br />
u<br />
Lest the Gael might have an enemy under the roof, to whom<br />
they were equally bound by the honour and the rules of hospitality, the<br />
name and business of a stranger were not required until after a considerable<br />
sojourn."<br />
Logan's Introduction to MacKensie's Beauties of Gaelic Poetry.
" Druid Circles" and Rock-Carvings.<br />
BY LUDOVIC MACLELLAN MANN, F.S.A. SCOT.<br />
«<br />
3<br />
£ c<br />
<br />
c<br />
a<br />
9<br />
262 DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.<br />
modern printed book, an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph, a cuneiform<br />
inscription, or a Maya carving. It is found that the ancient<br />
knowledge of astronomy was both exact and extensive, and that<br />
astronomical lore was bound up with religious conceptions. Moreover,<br />
the date of the monuments (far back into the centuries<br />
before this era) can be made out.<br />
The information enshrined in the monuments is of great<br />
variety. In this brief note it is impossible to go into details.<br />
Perhaps the best plan will be to describe in outline a typical carving.<br />
The recent analysis of a fine rock-sculpturing shows that it is an<br />
almanac for a year of particular importance. The fixed sacred<br />
days dictated by the position of the sun in the year, such as the<br />
days of the Equinoxes and Solstices, are unmistakably indicated.<br />
Even more interesting is the marking of the movable days in<br />
which the moon was in crucial positions, especially those of new<br />
moon.<br />
Again, the days in which the moon was at a node (a crossingplace<br />
of the path of the moon and that of the sun) are shown.<br />
As the moon may be in eclipse when full and very near one of<br />
her nodes, this means that the almanac in question served to register<br />
eclipses.<br />
The knowledge of astronomy shown by the ancient sculptors<br />
and builders was not, in certain departments, far short of what the<br />
modern observer is now aware of by means of naked-eye observations.<br />
The monuments reveal to us the outline of the ancient<br />
knowledge, which extended to the movements of the five planets,<br />
as well as to those of the sun, the moon, and the moon's nodes.<br />
Prehistoric religion and science were closely connected. Our<br />
forebears worshipped the Supreme Source of Power, associated<br />
with a pantheon of divinities connected with the sun, moon, and<br />
five planets. Most of the large stone-settings, monoliths and rockcarvings<br />
in Scotland were the work of the highly intelligent<br />
Neolithic inhabitants. Their science and art and religious ideas<br />
were carried on and encouraged by the later Celts, who entered this<br />
country in several successive waves of immigration.<br />
The ancient astronomy largely dealt with the computation and<br />
registration of long cycles of recurrent astronomical time. These<br />
cycles and their sub-cycles are registered in rock-markings and<br />
stone-circles, which thus functioned as astronomical clocks. It is<br />
thus possible for the up-to-date student to tell correctly, within<br />
one year, and occasionally to the day and the hour, the date com-<br />
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS. 263<br />
mem orated by the sculpturings, or by the erection of the<br />
monuments.<br />
The stone-circles and cup-marked stones, therefore, are<br />
emblems of a bygone pagan religion, antedating the Christian<br />
religion by thousands of years.<br />
The standing-stones and rock-markings must not be looked<br />
upon merely as mementos of what our prehistoric ancestors<br />
accomplished in the way of astronomical and geometrical science,<br />
but as symbols of their religion—not a puerile, elementary, or<br />
semi-savage sun-worship, as is commonly believed. There is<br />
reason to think that the students and builders of the Ages >f<br />
Stone and of Bronze had arrived at a definite and profound conception<br />
of a Great Supreme Power who guided the movements of<br />
the celestial bodies and the destinies of the universe. This religion<br />
was of the highest order, and was not associated with savage<br />
butchery and sacrifice—things referred to so frequently by<br />
classical writers ignorant of the true conditions in ancient Britain.<br />
There is reason to believe that when our pre-Celtic and Celtic<br />
ancestors worked out, as they did with extraordinary accuracy and<br />
subtlety, astronomical portrayals in stone—the portrayals in less<br />
durable materials have not survived—they believed that they were<br />
copying the examples set forth by the Master Architect, and that<br />
thev were indeed doing on earth as it is done in hea\'en. They<br />
worked out on the mundane surface, not only over small areas, but<br />
over large stretches of territory, portrayals of what they had<br />
patiently observed in the heavenly vault. Such, at anyrate, are<br />
the thoughts that persistently force themselves upon one after years<br />
of study of the handiwork of early man in Scotland and elsewhere,<br />
and after much effort, not only to reconstruct early man's work<br />
itself, but to recover the ideas which underlay it.
THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 265<br />
Sonnet to a Stone Circle.<br />
Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the<br />
River Eden.<br />
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.<br />
A<br />
WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne,<br />
Fell suddenly upon my spirit,—
THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 265<br />
Sonnet to a Stone Circle.<br />
Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the<br />
River Eden.<br />
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.<br />
A<br />
WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne,<br />
Fell suddenly upon my spirit,—cast<br />
From the dread bosom of the unknown past,<br />
When first I saw that family forlorn.<br />
Speak thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn<br />
The power of years—pre-eminent, and placed<br />
Apart, to overlook the circle vast.—<br />
Speak, Giant-mother ! tell it to the Morn<br />
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;<br />
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;—<br />
At whose behest uprose on British ground<br />
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round<br />
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite<br />
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!<br />
The Seven Men of Glenmoriston.<br />
BY ALISTER MACDONALD, INVERNESS (" GLEANNACH ").<br />
Author of " Story and Song from Lochness-side," etc., etc<br />
IT was the summer of the year 1746. Since the disaster at<br />
Drumossie Moor, in the month of April previous, the Highlands<br />
of Scotiand had been in a state of the utmost unrest, and<br />
anxiety. Prince Charles Edward Stuart was a wanderer somewhere<br />
in Western Inverness-shire, only a few personally in touch with<br />
him knowing where. Hanoverian soldiers were searching for him,<br />
like sleuth-hounds, in every part where he was likely to be found,<br />
on sea or land; while the few who were not afraid or ashamed to<br />
own him, risked danger and death for his sake.<br />
In Glenmoriston, the effects of the Hanoverian victory were<br />
being felt bitterly. Cumberland's Redcoats were writing a<br />
history in fire and blood all over the Glen. Some seventy of its<br />
able-bodied men, who had surrendered on a promise of pardon,<br />
had been shipped off to Barbadoes, the great majority of them<br />
never to return. The military were everywhere murdering, mutilating<br />
and outraging man, woman and child. Death and torture<br />
stalked about, seeking whom they could devour. Mac-Phàdruig's<br />
beautiful glen was in a tremor of fear and apprehension.<br />
Those were the circumstances in which seven men of the Glen<br />
resolved upon making a stand. They were:—Patrick Grant, of<br />
Craskie, a near relative of Mac-Phàdruig; Alexander MacDonald<br />
of Aonach, a descendant of the ancestral MacDonalds of the Glen,<br />
and of the family of " Clann Iain Chaoil"; Hugh, Alexander,<br />
and Donald Chisholm, sons of Paul Chisholm, in Blairie; John<br />
MacDonald or Campbell, in Craskie; and Grigor MacGregor, a<br />
deserter from the Earl of Loudon's regiment. They had all had<br />
some military training, and had been " out " with the Prince.<br />
Stirred lo desperation by the betrayal of their countrymen, the<br />
slaughter of their kith and kin, and the destruction of their homes<br />
and means, they bound themselves, under oath, never to surrender<br />
to their enemies, but to stand or fall as one man, even unto the<br />
death. They, therefore, made their lair in a cave known as " Leac<br />
Ruairidh "—Rory's Cave—in Corrie-Dhodha, far into the wilds<br />
of Upper Glenmoriston. The " Rory " here commemorated had<br />
been a famous old-world hunter, whose place of refuge was this<br />
lonely hiding-place.<br />
From this centre of operations the famous ' Seven ' made excursions,<br />
east, west, north and south, as might be found necessary,<br />
in search of food, clothing, and sometimes adventure. These<br />
outings brought them from time to time into conflict with many<br />
who were not of their order, their pet aversions being the Redcoats<br />
and such Highlanders as helped the enemy in any shape or<br />
form. On one occasion they spied a party of soldiers journeying<br />
to Glenelg; they killed two of them and took possession of the<br />
booty. A few days later, a third life fell to their arms, and they<br />
placed his head on a tree at Blairie, as a warning to others. Soon<br />
afterwards, some cattle belonging to Craskie's uncle were stolen.<br />
This coming to their ears, they went in pursuit, and after some<br />
skirmishing and surprise movements, they recovered the cattle,<br />
and appropriated a horse laden with spoil.
266 THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON.<br />
Meanwhile, Prince Charles, with the assistance of a few faithful<br />
friends, was making his way from the Western sea-board inland,<br />
with a view, apparently, to getting to Poolewe, where he had heard<br />
that some French ships had just been seen. He had got so far as<br />
to fall into the safe keeping of MacDonald of Borrodale, and<br />
MacDonald of Glenaladale and his brother. There was a reward<br />
°f ^3°>ooo offered for his person—dead or alive, and he had<br />
passed through dangers and discomforts untold. His most<br />
faithful friends were nervously apprehensive for his safety, but he<br />
still hoped royally.<br />
Patrick Grant—one of the Seven<br />
{Kind ferinìuimt
SHIELD AND SWORD CARRIED AT KILL1CRANKIE<br />
~6S THE SEVEN MEN OF CLEN MORISTON .<br />
days in a vacant sheiling, sleeping soundly at night on a bed of<br />
turf. After resting in another sneiling the following night, he,<br />
next morning, entered Glen-Cannaich, where he remained for one<br />
night. \\ hile here, his party was joined by Hugh MacMillan, a<br />
native of Glenmoriston, who also had been "out'- with the Prince.<br />
Two days or so later, the men who had been sent to Poolewe<br />
returned with the news that a French vessel had put in there, but<br />
had again sailed, after landing two officers who were making for<br />
Locheil's country, in search of the Prince, in order to help him to<br />
escape.<br />
Charles was naturally anxious to meet those Frenchmen, and<br />
after hiding for some three days longer, returned to Glenmoriston,<br />
whence he sent messengers to Glengarry and Lochaber, with a view<br />
to arranging a meeting between Cameron of Clunes and Glenaladale.<br />
1 he Glengarry man reporting favourably, Charles and his<br />
little band left Glenmoriston for the West. On the following day<br />
they were met by the other messenger at Loch Arkaig, where they<br />
arrived hungry and tired, but cheered much by the news that<br />
Clunes would meet Glenaladale next morning, and by the arrival<br />
of a loyal friend, MacDonald of Lochgarry. Clunes joined them<br />
the following morning as promised, and led them to a place where<br />
Charles was put in communication with Locheil.<br />
The Glenmoriston men now prepared to return to their cave.<br />
Before parting with them, the Prince wished to gift them some<br />
money. Patrick Grant was kept behind till the Prince should be<br />
in funds; but after a few days, he was back with three guineas for<br />
himself, and an equal sum for each of his brave comrades, which<br />
was much more in their eyes than all the ^30,000 of prize money<br />
on earth.<br />
Hugh Chisholm, one of those noble men, spent some time in<br />
Edinburgh, where he met Sir Walter Scott. He would never<br />
give his right hand to anybody after taking farewell of his Prince.<br />
The subsequent life-story of the others was, on the whole,<br />
uneventful.<br />
These brave men left with the Highlands and Scotland a<br />
heritage that sheds a glorious lustre over both. The story of their<br />
heroism should be written in stars, and the memory of their unfaltering<br />
loyalty cherished as worthy of imperishable honour.<br />
As can be imagined, the conditions experienced by Charles,<br />
during the three weeks or so that he was sheltered by the Seven<br />
Men of Glenmoriston, were necessarily rather primitive. His<br />
BY JOHN GRANT, YOUNGER OF GLENMORISTON,<br />
(KNOWN AS IAIN A' CHRAGAIN.)<br />
" He 'n clo dubh, b' fheàrr am breacan.—<br />
Air 'uachdar gur a sgiamhach<br />
A laigheadh an sgiath chruinn bhreacte;<br />
'S claidheamh air crios ciatach<br />
Air fhiaradh os cionn a phleatan."<br />
ATIMJ pfrmissinn, irvm<br />
Ur. H'tlffnm .Uiltfc.iv'i lliilaty "ì Ur
TH* SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 269<br />
food would have been mostly steaks roasted on fir or birch embers,<br />
except when meat was boiled. It is not perhaps generally known<br />
that the black pot in which the meat was cooked, has come down<br />
through the MacDonald of Aonach connection, and is now in Glenmoriston<br />
House. His drink was the bright, sparkling water from<br />
the Corrie wells, flavoured with whisky, which would very<br />
probably have been distilled in the " black pot" of* some<br />
smuggler.<br />
He was miserably ciad, for we read that, after leaving the<br />
Glen, "he was barefooted, wearing an old black kilt, a plaid,<br />
philibeg, and waistcoat, a dirty shirt and a long red beard, a gun<br />
in his hand, a pistol and dirk by his side." He always retained<br />
his wonderful spirits, and required but little rest. He frequently<br />
suffered from ailments brought on by the continual worry and<br />
discomforts he was experiencing.<br />
In about a month after Charles left Glenmorison—during<br />
which time he had " hairbreadth 'scapes," and " Flora kept watch<br />
by his weary head"—he was on his way back to France, on board<br />
one of the two French war-ships that had come into Loch-nan<br />
Uamh to rescue him.<br />
Raonall MacDhomhnaill.<br />
FEAR OBAIR-ARDAIR, AN LOCHABAR.<br />
CLUINNEAR iomadh sgeul fhathast am measg an t-seann<br />
sluaigh an Lochabar nan sonn is nam bàrd mu chuspair a'<br />
chumha ghrinn, dhrùightich so, Raonall Mac Dhomhnaill,<br />
Fear Obair-àrdair. B' ann a mach a teaghleach uasal na Ceapach a<br />
shìolaich Raoghall Mac Iain, mar theirte ris. Bha e ro ainmeil 'na<br />
là, an dà chuid a thaobh a threunachd agus a fhialaidheachd.<br />
Bitear ag innseadh an diugh fhathast mar bha dithis, là a bha<br />
'1. sud, a' deasbaireachadh mu fhialaidheachd, goirid an dèidh bàis<br />
Raonaill. Arsa a h-aon diubh mu dheireadh. " Tha mi fhèin de<br />
'n bheachd gun deach Raoghall Mac Iain do Phàrras mar urchair a<br />
gunna, do bhrìgh a fhialaidheachd."<br />
Bha e anns an fheachd a chruinnich an Gleann-Fhionain, an<br />
uair a chaidh suaicheantas Prionnsa Tearlach a thogail ri crann le<br />
caithream, agus ged tha e coltach gun do bhac rudeigin e o a bhi
2;o RAONALL MACDHOMHNAILL.<br />
aig Blàr Chùil-lodair, dh' fhuiling e crois is creach gu leoir air<br />
son na cuid a ghabh e anns an ar-amach mhi-shealbhach sin. Tha<br />
sgeul fhathast air mar thug e fichead là air a thurus gu ruig<br />
Lunnainn, a' marcachd air a ghearran Gàidhealach, a chum a bhi<br />
a' tagradh air beulaibh nam morairean nan còraichean a chaidh a<br />
thoirt uaith.<br />
Tha cuimhne aig a' mhnaoi-uasail, Silis Nic Dhomhnaill, air<br />
mar bhiodh a h-athair ag innseadh gum biodh e fhèin agus a<br />
bhràithrean is iad 'nam balaich ag cluich, a' dèanamh targaid de 'n<br />
" chlogaid's de 'n lùirich " air a bheil an cumha a' dèanamh luaidh.<br />
Chan 'eil fhios cò e am bàrd a chuir na rannan snasmhor, blàthchridheach<br />
so ri chèile, ach cha robh e cearbach.—I. MACDH.<br />
Cumha air Raonall Fear Obair-Ardair.<br />
BHO'N MHNAOI-UASAIL, SILIS NIC DHOMHNAILL, AN<br />
Loc HA BAR, IAR-OGHA DO FHEAR<br />
OBAIR-ARD AIR<br />
MOCH's a' mhaduinn Di-ciadain,<br />
'S math mo chuimhne air a' bhliadhna—<br />
Bhrist cùl-taic 'bhios mi 'g iargain gu bràth.<br />
Air a' bhruaich anns a' chlachan,<br />
Chaidh an diùlnach a thasgadh,<br />
Sàr dhuin-uasal, is gaisgeach fo spàirn.<br />
Chunnaic mise le m' shùilean,<br />
Sàr chlogaid is lùireach,<br />
Sgiath bhreac nam ball dlùth air do làimh,<br />
A bhliadhn' a chruinnich na Gàidheil,<br />
'Bhualadh buille le Teàrlach,—<br />
'S mairg a chasadh ort àrdan no greann.<br />
Bu leat gunna nach diùltadh,<br />
'S cha robh spàirn ort a giùlan,<br />
'Nuair a chaogadh tu 'n t-sùil air a h-earr.<br />
'S ann an ùir Chill-a-Chaoraill<br />
Chaidh do dhùnadh mu dheireadh,—<br />
Mo mhòr dhiùbhail, mo ghearan, 's mo chall.<br />
Tobar Nighean an Righ.<br />
LE EACHANN MACDHUGHAILL, GLASCHU.<br />
THA Tobar Nighean an Rìgh mu leth-cheud slat os cionn na<br />
mara, ri aghaidh na h-àirde 'n-iar-thuath. Ri àm gailleann<br />
a' gheamhraidh tha siaban na mara is cobhar geal nan tonn<br />
a' toirt sad mu a bhruachan; ach air an fheasgar chiùin shamhraidh<br />
so tha an cruinne is gach dùil aig fois; a mach bho mhonmhar a'<br />
bhrisidh-mhara air an tràigh is guileag nan eun, tha fuaimean nan<br />
astar air chall.<br />
Suidheam a nis ri taobh mo thobair, is òlam mo shàth de'n<br />
fhìor-uisge fhionnar, shoilleir, ghlan a tha a' sìor-shileadh a nuas<br />
ann bho oir na creige ud 'na thaic. Seadh, tha e a' sìor-shruthadh<br />
a mach, ach cho rèidh, mail is gum bu riarachadh do mhaighdinn<br />
òig, seach an sgàthan a b'fhearr a chunnacas riamh, sìoramharc<br />
ann air a faileas fèin 'na uile àillead. Ach fathast tha a<br />
shruthadh cho pailt is gu faigh gach creutair a thèid chuige a dh'<br />
òl a riarachas; is tha am pailteas r'a sheachnadh, eadhon do'n bhiolair<br />
uaine, do'n trì-bhileach, is do'n t-seilisdeir a tha ag còmhdach<br />
gach taoibh de'n t-sruthan a tha a' ruith bhuaithe le crònan<br />
mìn sìos gu tràigh.<br />
Seadh, suidheam-sa a nis ri taobh Tobar Nighean an Rìgh,<br />
is smuainicheam air na làithean ud a tha a nis cho fada an cèin,<br />
'nuair a shuidh nighean rìgh an so, far a bheil mise fèin an diugh,<br />
is air an dòigh 'san d' fhuair an tobar lurach an t-ainm a lean ris<br />
bho sin gu ruig an là so.<br />
Tha fuar-uisge Tobar Nighean an Rìgh glè shoilleir, glan an<br />
diugh, ach bha là ann nach robh e cho so-mhiannaichte gu suidhe<br />
sìos ri a thaobh is òl às. An sud bha là is b'ann glè dhearg le fuil a<br />
bha a chuid uisgeachan; ach, mar thubhairt an seann duine, is ann<br />
a tha an sin naidheachd.<br />
Cha bu rìgh ach rìghrean a bha an Albainn an uair ud. Cha<br />
robh iad cho pailt ris na craobhan feàrna gun teagamh, ach bha iad<br />
cho pailt is gu faodadh curaidh dealbhach, measail, beusach an<br />
cùirt nam fleadh, is buadhmhor, misneachail meanmnach air raon<br />
nan cath a shùil a bhi ri nighinn rìgh mar leannain is mar rùn a<br />
chlèibh, seadh, is mar mhnaoi-phòsda le deagh chead an rìgh fèin<br />
a h-athair 'na dhèidh.<br />
Bha Gal-fionn Mac Milidh air cho gaisgeil is a sheas an làthair
2J2<br />
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.<br />
an Rìgh, aon chuid ri ùrlar fèille no ri achadh blàir. Bha a<br />
thighinn is àrach de'n aon chraoibh ris an Rìgh Art e fèin—fìorfhuil<br />
is fìon-fhuil a' Ghàidheil, is a bha 'san dùthaich fada, fada<br />
mun robh eachdraidh nan seanchaidhean a' faotainn a freumha,<br />
agus is fada gun teagamh, agus is domhain, a ruigeadh na freumhan<br />
sin fèin!<br />
Bha trì nigheanan aig an Rìgh Art, gach tè dhiùbh a' toirt<br />
bàrr air a' chòrr, is an tè a b'òige a' toirt bàrr orra uile; agus cha<br />
robh taìach an Rìgh idir air Gal-fionn mar chliamhuinn do aon<br />
dhiùbh. B' i an t-aon so a rèir coltais an tè a bu shine, ged nach<br />
d' iomchair beul-aithris a h-ainm a bhàn cho fada ris an linn so.<br />
Ach an t-aon sin a bu mhath leis an Rìgh a thoirt seachad cha<br />
b' i idir a bha Ghal-fionn an geall oirre: b'i an tè a b' òige—Caoinshùil—is<br />
cha b'aon eile rogha Ghal-fionn, is a rèir coltais b'e Galfionn<br />
seach gach aon eile rogha Chaoin-shùil. Dh' fhaodadh gun<br />
robh so ceart is glè cheart; ach is ann a chionn is nach robh e a rèir<br />
beachd an Rìgh a thug, tha mise cinnteach, air an eachdraidh so a<br />
bhi air a h-ìnnseadh idir, agus a chuir iomradh gus an là an diugh<br />
air nighean so an Rìgh, is eadhon an tobar fìor-uisge aig a bheil<br />
mise an dràsd am shuidhe a bhi air ainmeachadh oirre-se. Mur<br />
bitheadh sin, is cinnteach gu fasadh i, gum pòsadh i, gun seanaicheadh<br />
i, is gun caochlaidheadh i mar gach nighinn rìgh no<br />
nighinn fir eile a bha riamh air thalamh, is a thuit a mach a cuimhne<br />
uile gu lèir.<br />
Ach a nis is e a thachair do ainm Chaoin-shùil ri linn an rùin<br />
a thugadh dhi is a thug i, nach d'thàinig caochladh air a snuadh,<br />
nach do thuit aois oirre, is gu bheil i fathast, an làn mhaise na<br />
h-òige is am bòidhcheid a cruth, buan-mhaireannach am beulaithris<br />
nan Gàidheal<br />
Cha bu lugha na Prionnsa a bha an Rìgh Art an dèidh air do<br />
Chaoin-shùil, a nighean a b'òige, is cò a b'e so seach prionnsa eile<br />
'san dùthaich ach Tormull Mac Aiteil, prionnsa Lochlannach, is<br />
oighre crùn na dùthcha sin an dèidh athar. Agus an uair a thuig<br />
Gal-fionn mar bha cùisean, cha bu dùth gum biodh e an deaghrùn<br />
do Thormull, (na's mò na bhiodh Tormull an deagh-rùn dhàsan),<br />
is e làn-fhiosrach gum bu leis-san cion Chaoin-shùil, ged bu<br />
le Tormull gealladh a h-athar.<br />
Ged thà, cha robh ach am mì-ghean so air an dà thaobh a<br />
chumail fo cheanglaichean aig an àm, oir a nis is rè mòran bhliadhnachan,<br />
ni nach robh ach annamh anns na linntean ud, bha sìth<br />
eadar Albainn is Lochlainn. Is iomadh uair gun teagamh a bhris-<br />
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 273<br />
eadh sìth air na bu lugha aobhair na làmh maighdinn, ach ma<br />
bha foidhidinn ri a cur an cleachdadh an nithean beaga, nach bu<br />
ro-fheumail an t-subhailc sin a chur an cleachdadh is sonas càraid<br />
chaoimh rè an làithean air thalamh anns a' gheall.<br />
"Tha Rìgh Lochlainn is an Rìgh Art, t'athair, aig sìth s'an àm<br />
so," arsa Gal-fionn ri Caoin-shùil uair is dà uair; " cha bhi iad an<br />
sin daonnan, is cuiridh sinne dàil 'nar gluasad ged nach cuir sinn<br />
dearmad ann. 'Nuair a thig an là sin, is a theid fosadh air gach<br />
meadhair ach meadhair nam beum-sgèith, is e mo lann-sa a bhios<br />
air thoiseach a' sireadh nan cliar-chleas bho làimh Thormuill Mhic<br />
Aiteil, agus ma dh' fhàgas a h aon, cha mheas mi gu fàg a dhà<br />
faiche na gàir's iad beò."<br />
Ach bha an ùine a' ruith, is gun cònspaid a' faotainn àite gu<br />
a guth a thogail. Seadh, lean an t-sìth is lean i, agus bha an ùine<br />
a' sìor dhol seachad.<br />
Mu dheireadh bha e air a dhèanamh follaiseach is aithnichte<br />
'san dùthaich uile gu lèir gur e Tormull na Lochlainn a bha ri<br />
làmh Chaoin-shùil—àilleag gach nighean flaith an Albainn uile<br />
gu lèir—fhaotainn 'na ghlaic. Seadh, ach Caoin-shùil fèin, an<br />
robh ise leagte dha so O, nach ise a bha, mo thruaighe, nach<br />
feumadh i! Cha b'iad sud na làithean a bha a facal fèin aig<br />
nighean rìgh na's mò na nighean fir eile. Cha robh aig nighinn<br />
rìgh ach a bhi a' dèanamh mar a dh' iarradh a h-athair oirre, »s<br />
cha robh ach gabhail an ulla ris an rath mar a thigeadh e mun<br />
cuairt; is e sin mur tachradh .<br />
Ach sin agad e. Bha an sùil daonnan, na caomhagan, ris an<br />
fhear a leumadh 'san eadraiginn, is cò esan nach rachadh an sin<br />
fèin ma bha e airidh air gràdh cridhe maighdinn, is gu sònraichte<br />
air nighinn rìgh, is a rùn-se dhà. Cha mhò a b'e Gal-fionn am<br />
fear a dhiùltadh, is am b' fhiach e curaidh a ràdh ris no bhi air<br />
ainmeachadh air Sìol nan Sonn ma bha e a' dol a' leigeil le Tormull<br />
Mac Aiteil, Lochlannach, Teutonach, allamharrach gun fhios cò<br />
e, a leannan a thoirt leis às a dhùthaich gun don fheòraich<br />
Thuig a nis an Rìgh Art mar bha cùisean. Thuig e gun robh<br />
Gal-fionn an geall air Caoin-shùil, a nighean, is gum bu rùn a<br />
clèibh-se Gal-fionn. Is e a nis a rinn e leigeil rìs 'na dhòigh fèin do<br />
Ghal-fionn ma bha e am beachd a m'ghean-san—an tè a bu shine—<br />
a bhi aige mar mhnaoi, gun robh an t-àm aige a mhiann a dhèanamh<br />
follaiseach; gun robh tuille na aon fhlath eile a bha an geall<br />
oirre mar thà, is nach fuiricheadh òige daonnan ri dùil gun dol<br />
clì air uairean. Leig e ris mar an ceudna dha, is sin gu neo-
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.<br />
an Rìgh, aon chuid ri ùrlar fèille no ri achadh blàir. Bha a<br />
thighinn is àrach de'n aon chraoibh ris an Rìgh Art e fèin—fìorfhuil<br />
is fìon-fhuil a' Ghàidheil, is a bha 'san dùthaich fada, fada<br />
mun robh eachdraidh nan seanchaidhean a' faotainn a freumha,<br />
agus is fada gun teagamh, agus is domhain, a ruigeadh na freumhan<br />
sin fèin!<br />
Bha trì nigheanan aig an Rìgh Art, gach tè dhiùbh a' toirt<br />
bàrr air a' chòrr, is an tè a b'òige a' toirt bàrr orra uile; agus cha<br />
robh falach an Rìgh idir air Gal-fionn mar chliamhuinn do aon<br />
dhiùbh. B' i an t-aon so a rèir coltais an tè a bu shine, ged nach<br />
d' iomchair beul-aithris a h-ainm a bhàn cho fada ris an Jinn so.<br />
Ach an t-aon sin a bu mhath leis an Rìgh a thoirt seachad cha<br />
b' i idir a bha Ghal-fionn an geall oirre: b'i an tè a b' òige—Caoinshùil—is<br />
cha b'aon eile rogha Ghal-fionn, is a rèir coltais b'e Galfionn<br />
seach gach aon eile rogha Chaoin-shùil. Dh' fhaodadh gun<br />
robh so ceart is glè cheart; ach is ann a chionn is nach robh e a rèir<br />
beachd an Rìgh a thug, tha mise cinnteach, air an eachdraidh so a<br />
bhi air a h-ìnnseadh idir, agus a chuir iomradh gus an là an diugh<br />
air nighean so an Rìgh, is eadhon an tobar fìor-uisge aig a bheil<br />
mise an dràsd am shuidhe a bhi air ainmeachadh oirre-se. Mur<br />
bitheadh sin, is cinnteach gu fasadh i, gum pòsadh i, gun seanaicheadh<br />
i, is gun caochlaidheadh i mar gach nighinn rìgh no<br />
nighinn fir eile a bha riamh air thalamh, is a thuit a mach a cuimhne<br />
uile gu lèir.<br />
Ach a nis is e a thachair do ainm Chaoin-shùil ri linn an rùin<br />
a thugadh dhi is a thug i, nach d'thàinig caochladh air a snuadh,<br />
nach do thuit aois oirre, is gu bheil i fathast, an làn mhaise na<br />
h-òige is am bòidhcheid a cruth, buan-mhaireannach am beulaithris<br />
nan Gàidheal<br />
Cha bu lugha na Prionnsa a bha an Rìgh Art an dèidh air do<br />
Chaoin-shùil, a nighean a b'òige, is co a b'e so seach prionnsa eile<br />
'san dùthaich ach Tormull Mac Aiteil, prionnsa Lochlannach, is<br />
oighre crùn na dùthcha sin an dèidh athar. Agus an uair a thuig<br />
Gal-fionn mar bha cùisean, cha bu dùth gum biodh e an deaghrùn<br />
do Thormull, (na's mò na bhiodh Tormull an deagh-rùn dhàsan),<br />
is e làn-fhiosrach gum bu leis-san cion Chaoin-shùil, ged bu<br />
le Tormull gealladh a h-athar.<br />
Ged thà, cha robh ach am mi-ghean so air an dà thaobh a<br />
chumail fo cheanglaichean aig an àm, oir a nis is rè mòran bhliadhnachan,<br />
nì nach robh ach annamh anns na linntean ud, bha sìth<br />
eadar Albainn is Lochlainn. Is iomadh uair gun teagamh a bhris-<br />
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 273<br />
eadh sìth air na bu lugha aobhair na làmh maighdinn, ach ma<br />
bha foidhidinn ri a cur an cleachdadh an nithean beaga, nach bu<br />
ro-fheumail an t-subhailc sin a chur an cleachdadh is sonas càraid<br />
chaoimh rè an làithean air thalamh anns a' gheall.<br />
"Tha Rìgh Lochlainn is an Rìgh Art, t'athair, aig sìth s'an àm<br />
so," arsa Gal-fionn ri Caoin-shùil uair is dà uair; " cha bhi iad an<br />
sin daonnan, is cuiridh sinne dàil 'nar gluasad ged nach cuir sinn<br />
dearmad ann. 'Nuair a thig an là sin, is a theid fosadh air gach<br />
meadhair ach meadhair nam beum-sgèith, is e mo lann-sa a bhios<br />
air thoiseach a' sireadh nan cliar-chleas bho làimh Thormuill Mhic<br />
Aiteil, agus ma dh' fhàgas a h-aon, cha mheas mi gu fàg a dhà<br />
faiche na gàir's iad beò."<br />
Ach bha an ùine a' ruith, is gun cònspaid a' faotainn àite gu<br />
a guth a thogail. Seadh, lean an t-sìth is lean i, agus bha an ùine<br />
a' sìor dhol seachad.<br />
Mu dheireadh bha e air a dhèanamh follaiseach is aithnichte<br />
'san dùthaich uile gu lèir gur e Tormull na Lochlainn a bha ri<br />
làmh Chaoin-shùil—àilleag gach nighean flaith an Albainn uile<br />
gu lèir—fhaotainn 'na ghlaic. Seadh, ach Caoin-shùil fèin, an<br />
robh ise leagte dha so O, nach ise a bha, mo thruaighe, nach<br />
feumadh i! Cha b'iad sud na làithean a bha a facal fèin aig<br />
nighean rìgh na's mò na nighean fir eile. Cha robh aig nighinn<br />
rìgh ach a bhi a' dèanamh mar a dh' iarradh a h-athair oirre, »s<br />
cha robh ach gabhail an ulla ris an rath mar a thigeadh e mun<br />
cuairt; is e sin mur tachradh— ••<br />
Ach sin agad e. Bha an sùil daonnan, na caomhagan, ris an<br />
fhear a leumadh 'san eadraiginn, is cò esan nach rachadh an sin<br />
fèin ma bha e airidh air gràdh cridhe maighdinn, is gu sònraichte<br />
air nighinn rìgh, is a rùn-se dhà. Cha mhò a b'e Gal-fionn am<br />
fear a dhiùltadh, is am b' fhiach e curaidh a ràdh ris no bhi air<br />
ainmeachadh air Sìol nan Sonn ma bha e a' dol a' leigeil le Tormull<br />
Mac Aiteil, Lochlannach, Teutonach, allamharrach gun fhios cò<br />
e, a leannan a thoirt leis às a dhùthaich gun don fheòraich<br />
Thuig a nis an Rìgh Art mar bha cùisean. Thuig e gun robh<br />
Gal-fionn an geall air Caoin-shùil, a nighean, is gum bu rùn a<br />
clèibh-se Gal-fìonn. Is e a nis a rinn e leigeil ris 'na dhòigh fèin do<br />
Ghal-fionn ma bha e am beachd a nighean-san—an tè a bu shine—<br />
a bhi aige mar mhnaoi, gun robh an t-àm aige a mhiann a dhèanamh<br />
follaiseach; gun robh tuille na aon fhlath eile a bha an geall<br />
oirre mar thà, is nach fuiricheadh òige daonnan ri dùil gun dol<br />
clì air uairean. Leig e ris mar an ceudna dha, is sin gu neo-
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.<br />
mhearachdach, nach robh e ach gun stà dha fèin, no do aon air<br />
bith eile a thachradh a bhi de'n aon bheachd ris, smuaintean faoine<br />
altrum a thaobh na nighinn a b'òige, oir gun robh i ri bhi pòsda<br />
ri Prionnsa na Lochlainn a nis am beagan uine.<br />
Is e an fhreagairt a thug Gal-fionn dha—bha a àrdan air lasadh,<br />
is dhiochuimhnich e gach foidhidinn a chuir iad le chèile rompa<br />
a chleachdadh—nach pòsadh prionnsa Lochlannach no prionnsa<br />
eile i, ach gur e a bha 'na bheachd-san fèin Caoin-shùil, a nighean<br />
a b'òige, a bhi pòsda aige, is sin le a saor thoil fèin. Agus a<br />
bhàrr air sin, mur am faigheadh e air chead a h-athar i, gun toireadh<br />
e leis a dh'aindeoin i, ged a b'ann anns an t-seòmar a b'fhaide a<br />
stigh an lùchairt an Rìgh Art a dh' fheumadh e a sireadh. Leis<br />
na briathraibh sin dh'fhàg e a fhianuis.<br />
Bha na briathran dàna is ceann-làidir, agus air sgàth Caoinshuil<br />
fèin cha robh e gun an t-aithreachas ri an linn mun deach<br />
mòran ùine seachad.<br />
Bha Caoin-shùil a nis air a cumail ionnas 'na prìosanach an<br />
aon de sheòmraichean-mullach lùchairt a h-athar, le faire air a<br />
gluasad a là is a dh' oidhche. Ach mar thubhairt an sean-fhacal e,<br />
" thig fear an t-saoghail fhada às gach càs," is " ruigidh an gaol<br />
a cheann-uidhe ged a b'ann cas-ruisgte."<br />
Chuir Gal-fionn a nis fios le teachdaire dìleas gu ruig Caoinshùil<br />
ag aslachadh oirre, ma bha a gaol-se dhà-san cho deòthasach,<br />
làidir is a bha a ghaol-san dhi-se, i bhi deas gu teicheadh leis an<br />
oidhche roimh an là a bha air a shuidheachadh mar là a pòsaidh ri<br />
Tormull Mac Aiteil. Cè air bith ciamar a bhiodh i air a suidheachadh,<br />
bha a sùil ri bhi ris-san no ri a dhaoine an oidhche sin.<br />
Liùbhradh dhi an teachdaireachd a dh'aindeoin a freiceadain,<br />
is bha sud ceart gu leoir* ach ciamar a bha an gnìomh sin r'a thoirt<br />
gu buil Bha fear-faire dlùth d'a dorus a là is a dh'oidhche, gu<br />
rabhadh a thoirt seachad na'n èireadh an eugmhail ris an robh a<br />
nis sùil a luchd-coimhid gach là.<br />
Thàinig an oidhche; is leis an oidhche thàinig na gillean.<br />
" Far am bi toil bidh gnìomh," is "far am bi gaol, is faoineas clachaoil<br />
is balla." Faodar a thuigsinn nach robh a h-aon an lùchairt<br />
an Rìgh an seilbh air an sgeul-rùin ach Caoin-shùil i fèin, seadh,<br />
gur i so an oidhche seach oidhche eile, ged nach robh an dàil ach<br />
ro ghoirid a nis, is na h-oidhcheannan glè thearc gu an taghadh.<br />
Bhatar uile gu lèir fiosrach air na maoidhean, ach ma chuir iad am<br />
mì-shùim iad, cha do thuig iad cò a bha aca an Gal-fionn, is nach<br />
do thrèig esan riamh fhacal a liubhair e an èisdeachd cluaise. Cha<br />
I'OBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 275<br />
b'ann an uair a bhiodh sùil ris a thigeadh Mac Rùslainn dhachaidh,<br />
is cha b'ann an uair a bha sùil ris a thàinig Gal-fionn na bu mhò.<br />
Is e a thachair air a' cheart latha sin, mar a bha 'na chleachdadh<br />
'san àm, gun do ràinig Tormull Mac Aiteil, le còmhlan beag<br />
;<br />
na dhàil, lùchairt an Rìgh Art, gu bhi deas air cheann a' phòsaidh<br />
an là-arn-a-mhàireach. Chaidh oidhche chridheil a chur seachad,<br />
is an uair a bha e air tighinn anmoch is an t-òl's an toileachasinntinn<br />
a' sìor-dhol air aghaidh, chuireadh Caoin-shùil a suas gu<br />
a seòmar fèin, gu ise a bhi tèaruinte cò-dhiùbh, gus an rachadh<br />
gach nì an leth-taobh. Ach aig meadhon oidhche, an uair a bu<br />
mhò ùidh 'sa chòrn na 'san fhaire, ràinig esan nach do chuir riamh<br />
dearmad 'na dhleas; bha Gal-fionn is a ghille le dà each am fochair<br />
na lùchairt. Bha a chlaidheamh gun teagamh air leis gach fir, ach<br />
cha bu chlaidheamh a mhàin às an robh an earbsa an nochd. Bha<br />
ceirsle de shnàth làidir lìn is ròpa cainbe aca. Chan 'eil a' bheag<br />
de aobhar air an innleachd a chuir iad an cleachdadh a shoilleireachadh.<br />
Is cinnteach nach b'iad a chiad fheadhainn a rinn a' cheart<br />
chleas, is tha sinn uile dearbhte nach b'iad an fheadhainn mu dheireadh<br />
a rinn no a nì e.<br />
Bha uinneag an t-seòmair a bu phrìosan do Chaoin-shùil ri<br />
taobh cùl a' chaisteil. Cha bu ghnìomh do-dhèanta ceirsle le<br />
cloich 'na cridhe a thilgeadh bhàrr a mhullaich, àrd 'gan robh e.<br />
Agus cha bu duilgheadas eadhon do nighinn rìgh ceann ròpa a<br />
thogail gu ruig an uinneag, crochte ri dual de shnàth làidir lìn;<br />
ach nach coma leibh, cha b'fhada gus an robh Gal-fionn an seòmar<br />
Chaoin-shùil, agus na bu mhò, cha b'fhada gus an robh Caoinshùil<br />
air beulaibh Ghal-fionn, air muin an deagh eich, is an<br />
aghaidhean ri sliabh. Bha an gille aig an sàil, is a shùil 'na dhèidh<br />
gu faireamhanadh a thoirt dhoibh ma bha an tòrachd a' tighinn:<br />
agus thàinig an rabhadh is chunnacas an tòir. Cha mhò bha fada<br />
chuige, is gun aon eile air a ceann ach Tormull Mac Aiteil fèin,<br />
Prionnsa na Lochlainn.<br />
Bha a' mhaduinn air soilleireachadh an uair a ràinig na marcaichean<br />
Tobar Nighean an Rìgh, ged nach bu sin a b'ainm dha<br />
air a' mhaduinn ud. Thug Gal-fionn sùil 'na dhèidh is bha an<br />
tòrachd aig an sàil, ri aghaidh na machrach.<br />
"O!" arsa Caoin-shùil. " òlam deoch is faigheam bàs fo do<br />
chlaidheamh fèin, a ghaoil, gun tuiteam beò an làmhan an Lochlannaich<br />
ud, is m'athair fèin gun iochd 'na chrè r'a chùl."<br />
Bha cheana a chlaidheamh 'na dhòrn aig Gal-fionn, ach cha<br />
b'ann gu fuil a leannain a dhòrtadh; bha aghaidh air Prionnsa na
2 7<br />
6 TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.<br />
Lochlainn, is cò ach esan fèin a bha nis air thoiseach a nuas 'nan<br />
dàil.<br />
" Cha lean an t-sìth gu bràth," dh' eigh Gal-fionn. " Lean<br />
i ro fhada mar tha," arsa Tormull. " Tha nis mo chlaidheamh-sa<br />
rùisgte 'nad aghaidh, a Thormuill Thuathaich, is a mhic na mnaoi<br />
Lochlannaich," arsa Gal-fionn.<br />
"Mar sin fèin bitheadh e, fhir chrìon nach 'eil fhios cò thu,"<br />
fhreagair Tormull, agus an sin fèin thòisich an iomairt.<br />
Mar gum biodh iad a' fàgail na cùise gu a rèiteach aig an dà<br />
cheatharnach iad fèin, sheas an còrr de 'n luchd-tòrachd, is an Rìgh<br />
Art air an ceann, air na cluaineagan mun cuairt, an claidhmhnean<br />
fo'n uchd, is an cuid each ag ionaltradh air an raon. Chuir gillecoise<br />
Ghal-fionn dìon air Caoin-shùil bho'n t-sealladh oillteil a<br />
bha a nis air fosgladh fa chomhair a sùla, is thionndaidh e a h-aire<br />
ris a' chuan, an cuan ud shìos a tha fathast a' bruchdadh is a'<br />
taomadh mar bha e an là ud, na ceudan bliadhna air ais, a nunn ri<br />
cùirt nan sgàil.<br />
Lean an iomairt mar a thòisich i, mu bhruachan an tobair, is<br />
ma bha a chuid fìor-uisge gu glan soilleir an uair a dh'òl Caoinshùil,<br />
nighean an Rìgh, a riarachadh às, am briseadh an latha,<br />
eadhon mar a tha e an diugh fèin an cromadh an fheasgair, cha<br />
b'fhada gus an robh e dearg gu leoir le taosgadh toradh nan cliarchleas<br />
a bha a' drùdhadh ann thar a bhruachan: agus bu mhòid de<br />
fhuil an Lochlannaich a bha ann: ged is cinnteach gu bheil i cho<br />
dearg ri fuil a' Ghàidheil fèin!<br />
B'e Tormull a chuir a ghlùn ri talamh an toiseach, ged nach<br />
robh Gal-fionn na's mò às eugmhais a chuid lot.<br />
" An strìochd thu" arsa Gal-fionn.<br />
" Cha strìochd mi do isean cuain Gàidhealach a dh'àraich<br />
Alba," arsa Tormull.<br />
" Buail gu làr e !"<br />
Thàinig an glaodh bho bharrachd is aon sgòrnan, oir thuig<br />
na bha de Ghàidheil 'san tòrachd gun robh dùbhlan an Lochlannaich<br />
is a thailceas orra fèin uile cho math ri Gal-fionn.<br />
Cha robh an Lochlannach air chomas èirigh, ach 'na fhuath<br />
is 'na bhreun-ghamhlas, thilg e a chlaidheamh an aodann Ghalfionn,<br />
agus mur bitheadh ealamhachd a shùla-san, 's gun<br />
do chrom e 'na àm, is an lann a leigeil thairis air, dh'<br />
fheumadh gu'm biodh a bheatha ris. Mar a bha, is e<br />
a thachair gun do bhuail faobhar a' chlaidheimh an aghaidh<br />
slèisde an Rìgh Art fèin, is shil a fhuil gu làr. Is ann
SIR COLIN CAMPBELL<br />
LORD CLYDE.<br />
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 2"]"}<br />
a thaobh so a tha e air a ràdh gun do cho-mheasgadh fuil<br />
rìoghail Albainn an lùib gach fola eile an là ud an Tobar Nighean<br />
an Rìgh.<br />
"Gu làr e, gu làr e!" ghlaodh barrachd is an t-aon a rithist, is<br />
bha sealladh teinnteach a' leum bho shùilean nuagach, is bho<br />
aghaidhean tuasaideach am measg na bha de Lochlannaich cho<br />
math ri Gàidheil 'sa chuideachd.<br />
" Cothrom na Fèinne dha," dh'èigh an Rìgh Art ged a bha e<br />
fèin air a lot: " cothrom na Fèinne do Thormull is do Fhir Lochlainn,<br />
's iad fada bho'n dìlsean." Ach bha an Lochlannach cheana<br />
ri làr, gun bhuille eile air a bhualadh, is làr gun èirigh air.<br />
Chladhaicheadh uaigh fo bhonn a' bhruthaich, ri taobh sruth<br />
an tobair, agus tha i air a comharrachadh a mach shìos an sud<br />
fathast.<br />
Is gann gun ruigear a leas aithris gun deach rèite a dhèanamh<br />
eadar an Rìgh Art is Gal-fionn an sin fèin, agus cha b' fhada an<br />
ùine gus an robh dìlseachd nam flòran òga da chèile air a daingneachadh<br />
le snaim nach fuasgladh làmh no lann, is iad fèin fathast<br />
beò. Is ann a thaobh a' phòsaidh sin a tha muinntir an taoibh so<br />
de'n dùthaich a' tagar gu bheil fuil rìoghail na h-Alba a' ruith<br />
'nan cuislean, oir bheir iad uile 'nan dòigh fèin dearbhadh seachad<br />
gun d'thàinig gach aon fa leth dhiùbh bho Ghal-fionn is bho<br />
Chaoin-shùil, nighean an Rìgh.<br />
Tha iad mar so ag gabhail nàduir de chòir anns an tobar, is<br />
mar sin chan 'eil cùram gun tèid dearmad a dhèanamh air, no a<br />
chur am mì-shùim 'nan aithris, 'nan seanchas, no air sheòl air bith<br />
eile. Tha cailean na dùthcha 'ga chunntadh 'na dhleasnas bliadhnal<br />
orra fèin am pathadh a bhriseadh is a chasg, air ceud mhaduinn<br />
a' Mhàigh, an Tobar Nighean an Rìgh. Le sin a dhèanamh tha<br />
làn-dearbhadh aca gum bi cèile an dàn doibh, is cèile nach toir<br />
tàmailt do dheagh ainm Ghal-fionn's a leanas gu dlùth ri a àrd<br />
chliù.<br />
Agus tha e air a ràdh gu bheil là sònraichte anns an t-samh-<br />
* radh, an uair a tha an seilisdeir fo bhlàth, comh-ainm an là ud<br />
eile an tràth mhaduinn ar n-eachdraidh, agus mu bhriseadh an<br />
latha, gu bheil snuadh dearg de gach flùr mun cuairt an tobair is<br />
an t-srutha. Eadhon mu'n t-seilisdeir fèin, òrbhuidh ga bheil<br />
fiamh a chuid bhlàthan, bitear ag ràdh gu bheil car tiota a lì tromdhathte<br />
dearg, air thuar na fola, an gathan na grèine an àm dhi<br />
èirigh.
SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH. 279<br />
Sir Cailean Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh.<br />
LE T. D. MACDHOMHNAILL, AN T-OBAN.<br />
CO an Gàidheal nach dèan uaill às an Rìdir Cailean Caimbeul,<br />
Tighearna Chluaidh Cò anns a bheil smior a 5 Ghàidheil,<br />
agus a tha uaibhreach mu threuntas sluagh a dhùthcha, nach<br />
tig toic 'na uchd le mòralachd gach uair a chluinneas e iomradh<br />
air a ghaisgeach urramach a dh' èirich a suas a uaigneas is a luime<br />
nam beann anns a' Ghàidhealtachd, gus an robh rìghrean agus<br />
maithean na h-Eòrpa ag cur urraim air mar shaighdear 's mar<br />
dhuine<br />
B'ann de mhuinntir Ile ghlas an fheoir a bha an ceatharnach<br />
airm so, ach mar thachras daonnan aig gach àm, 's am measg gach<br />
cinnidh, tagraidh an dùthaich air fad neach a dh' èireas gu inbhe<br />
às a com, dìreach mar thagras i a' bheinn as àirde, an abhainn as<br />
motha, no an ceàrn sin dhi as òirdhearca sealladh, agus bidh uaill<br />
aice asda air fad.<br />
B'e Mac-an-Liubhair sloinneadh baistidh " Chailein Chaimbeil."<br />
B'e athair Iain Mac-an-Liubhair, agus b'e Muile<br />
dùthaich a shliochd. Bu bhan-Chaimbeulach a mhàthair, agus mar<br />
an ceudna de fhìor fhuil uasal Ile, a shìolaich o shean o theaghlach<br />
Earraghàidheil. Bha mar sin tighinn à mhàthair mòran na<br />
b' fheàrr na tighinn a athar, ach ged bha, agus ged nach robh 'na<br />
athair ach fear-cosnaidh an deagh shuidheachadh, bha Iain Mac<br />
an-Liubhair 'na ghille cho snasmhor, eireachdail's gun tàlaidheadh<br />
a ghiùlan agus loinnealas a chinn aire maighdinn uasail's am bith.<br />
An uair a phòs Mac-an-Liubhair, chaidh e fhèin 's a bhean-òg<br />
air chòmhnuidh do Ghlaschu, far an robh e ag obair aig a chèird<br />
mar shaor-àirneis (cabinet-maker). An toiseach an teaghlaich, 'sa<br />
bhliadhna 1792, thàinig càraid chloinne orra—mac agus nighean.<br />
B'e am mac sin cuspair na h-oidhirp so, agus a ainm a nis sgrìobhte<br />
sìos gu sìor-mhaireannach 'nar n-eachdraidh mar Sir Cailean<br />
Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh.<br />
B'e daonnan an t-arm ceaird nan uaislean. Ri linn Chailein-<br />
Chaimbeil, b'e ach gann ceaird nan ìslean mar an ceudna. Bha<br />
cuideachd màthair Chailein 'nan oifigich 'san arm. Bha bràthairmàthar<br />
aige 'na chornaileir, agus bha de thlachd aige do Chailein,<br />
's e 'na bhalach, is gun d' fhuair e làn chead athar a chum a thogail<br />
mar a dhuine-cloinne fhèin. B'ann mar sin a thàinig e mun cuairt<br />
gun robh ainm a' bhalaich air a atharrachadh bho " Cailean<br />
Mac-an-Liubhair " gu " Cailean Caimbeul," an t-ainm a tha a nis<br />
cho iomraiteach anns gach ceàrn de'n t-saoghal anns am faighear<br />
Breatannach.<br />
Fhuair Cailean fòghlum 'òige an Ard-Sgoil Ghlaschu, agus<br />
chan 'eil iomradh air nì sonraichte 'sam bith 'na ghiùlan aig an àm<br />
sin seach balaich eile anns an sgoil. An uair a thachradh dha<br />
sgrìob a thoirt do Ile a choimhead a chàirdean, b'e am beachd a<br />
bha aig sluagh dheth gun robh e 'na bhalach car sàmhach, socharach,<br />
's gun dad de a choltach air gum biodh e là-eigin, air ceann<br />
fiùrain an fhèilidh, is iolach an t-sàr-laoich 'gam brosnachadh gu<br />
a bhi ag giùlan bratach Bhreatainn gu buadhach air iomadh blàr.<br />
An uair a thàinig Cailean gu inbhe, chaidh a chur gu sgoilairm<br />
an Gosport, an Sasunn, oir b'e miann is dùrachd bràthair-amhàthar,<br />
an Cornaileir Caimbeul, a thogail ris an arm. Ri ùine,<br />
chaidh a cheangal rìs an Rèisimeid ris an abrar an 77th. Anns an<br />
àm ud cha robh e comasach do ghille òg, gun sporan trom, 's gun<br />
deagh chùl-taic faotainn 'na oifigeach 'san arm, ach a thaobh<br />
Chailein, sheas bràthair-a-mhàthar an dà chuid da.<br />
Beagan ùine an dèidh a cheangal ris an arm, agus an uair nach<br />
robh e ach mu she bliadhna deug de aois, chaidh a dhèanamh 'na<br />
Ensign anns an 8mh Rèisimeid. B'e sin anns an àm ceud cheum<br />
an oifigich, ach ri linn a' Chogaidh Mhòir mu dheireadh, 'se 2 nd<br />
Lieutenant a theirte ris a' phost so. Ghlèidh athair, fhad 'sa bha<br />
e beò, a' cheud bhoineid i<br />
chocte ' a bha aig Cailean an uair a<br />
chaidh e do'n arm.<br />
Tha sean bhean-uasal beò 'san Ros Mhuileach an diugh<br />
fhathast (màthair Gàidheil gasda an Glaschu) a chaidh a thogail<br />
bho'n bha i 'na caileig òig le athair is cuideachd Chailein, an dà<br />
chuid 'san Ros Mhuileach agus an Dùn-Eideann, eadhon gus an<br />
do dhùin i sùilean Iain Mhic-an-Liubhair, an uair a chaochail e.<br />
Tha cuimhne mhaith aice air a' bhoineid, agus air mar bhiodh an<br />
t-seann duine ag innseadh dhi, agus Cailean aig an àm so 'na<br />
sheanailear mòr, ainmeil, mar bhiodh e, a cheud uair a thainig e<br />
dhachaidh às an arm, is e 'na ghille òg, a' leigeil fhaicinn daibh, air<br />
an ùrlar, na lùth-chleasan a bha co-cheangailte ri oileanachadh an<br />
airm. Chithear bho nithean beaga mar so an gràdh 'sa bhàighealachd<br />
a bha 'san teaghlach, agus lean sin gus an do sgar am<br />
bàs iad.<br />
Cha robh Cailean ach glè òg an uair a chaill e a mhàthair. An<br />
uair a dh' fhàs 'athair sean, 's a chaidh e bhàrr cosnaidh, chaidh e<br />
a dh' fhuireach le càirdean da anns an Ros Mhuileach, agus an
28o SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH.<br />
dèidh sin do Dhùn-Ei deann, far an do chaochail e 'na sheann duine.<br />
Gu là a bhàis, bha a mhac, an saighdear urramach, 'ga chumail an<br />
suidheachadh duin'-uasail.<br />
B' ann aig Blàr Vimiera a fhuair " Cailean Caimbeul " a<br />
bhaisteadh le teine, agus mar gun rachadh a cruadhachadh 'na<br />
dhreuchd an uair sin, cha do thill e buille tuilleadh, ach daonnan a'<br />
faotainn air aghaidh. Bha e 'san ruaig ainmeil ud a chrìochnaich<br />
aig Corunna, agus bha a chuid aige de'n bhlàr sin fo chomannd<br />
Shir Iain Moore, an uair " a shil iad na deoir gu sàmhach, ag<br />
amharc air creubh an trèin a thug buaidh." Cha robh Cailean an<br />
uair sin ach 'na fhìor bhalach, sè bliadhna deug a dh' aois, ach<br />
eadhon aig an aois sin, nochd e gaisgealachd loinnreach an duine.<br />
Tha luchd-eachdraidh a' chogaidh mhì-shealbhach sin a'<br />
tarruing aire an leughadairean ri beachdaireachd " Lieut.<br />
Campbell " air an ( ruaig ' gu Corunna. Ann an sgrìobhadh a<br />
chuir e gu a chuideachd aig an tigh, dh' innis e mar b' fheudar da<br />
a bhi a' piocadh leathrach nam bròg a bonn a choise, an uair a<br />
thàinig an t-arm gu ceann-slighe. Fo chomannd an Diùc<br />
Wellington chaidh e troimh chogadh a' ' Pheninsula,' o thoiseach<br />
gu dheireadh, agus b'iomadh blàr fuilteach anns an do ghabh e<br />
cuid.<br />
Ach eadar gach caithream anns an robh e, is ann ri linn Cogadh<br />
a' " Chrimea " a bhaoisg a chliù a mach, gus an d' thàinig a<br />
bhuadhan 'sa threunadas mar shaighdear neo-sgàthach, is mar<br />
sheanailear innleachdach, fo chomhair sùilean a luchd-dùthcha 'sa<br />
nàimhdean. Anns a' bhliadhna roimh so, chaidh Ridire a<br />
dhèanamh dheth, a thaobh cho gleusda's cho geurchuiseach 's a<br />
dhealbh e gach blàr, gus an do theòraich e a dhaoine mar<br />
" Bhrigadier-General," o'n àm a bhi ag cogadh anns na h-Innseachan<br />
Shuas.<br />
Bha e a nis ainmeil mar sheanailear, agus an uair a thòisich<br />
cogadh goirt a' Chrimea chaidh a chur air ceann a Highland<br />
Brigade, a' bhuidheann airm Ghàidhealach sin a choisinn a<br />
leithid de chliù anns gach cogadh garbh anns an robh iad, a nuas<br />
gus a' Chogadh Mhor. Chaidh seirm air feadh na Gàidhealtachd<br />
uile, agus bha e iomraiteach o cheann gu ceann de 'n Roinn-Eòrpa,<br />
an uair a chualas gun robh fìor Ghàidheal bho na h-Eileanan 'na<br />
cheann-feadhna aif armailt de ghillean an fhèilidh. Ach ged bu<br />
mhor toil-inntinn na dùthcha, cha bu lugha toil-inntinn Shir<br />
Chailein fhèin, a bhi a' dol a threòrachadh ceatharnaich nan gleann<br />
's nan srath gu aghaidh bualaidh.<br />
SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH. 2 M<br />
Aig Alma rinn e fhèin 'sa chuid daoine euchdan a chuir iong<br />
nadh air an t-saoghal, agus a choisinn cliù neo-bhàsmhor do Shir<br />
Cailean 's do na Gàidheil. Agus an tèid dìochuimhne air<br />
Balaclava, a bha 'na chuspair aig gach bòrd, agus aig gach<br />
eachdraiche is gach dealbhadair Bidh an Sreath Chaol Dhearg,<br />
leis a' ' chìrean stàilinn,' gu bràth cho deàrrsach an eachdraidh<br />
Bhreatainn 'sa tha na fir-chiis anns na speuran.<br />
Mun gann a bha cogadh a' Chrimea seachad, bhris trioblaid<br />
iT.hòr a mach anns na h-Innseachan Shìos, agus bha ar luchddùthcha<br />
an àmhuinn mhòir. Cha do rinn Sir Cailean ach dol air<br />
tìr an Sasunn, an dèidh tilleadh bho 'n Chrimea, an uair a dh'<br />
fhaighnicfid am Prìomh Ministear, Lord Palmerston, deth, c'uin<br />
a bhiodh e comasach da dol air ceann airm anns na h-Innseachan,<br />
a thoirt fuasglaidh do na Breatannaich an sin, is iad an suidheachadh<br />
dhòrainneach. " Am màireach," fhreagair Sir Cailean,<br />
agus an ath là bha an laoch air ceann a shlighe do'n Airde-'n-Ear,<br />
gun uiread agus ùine a ghabhail a theachd do Dhùn-Eideann a<br />
dh' fhaicinn athar's a pheathar, an òigh Alicia. Cha b'e saighdear<br />
sìoda a bha an Cailean, cha robh srad de uabhar no de àrdan ann.<br />
Ged bha gille 'na chois a' dol a dh' ionnsaigh a' bhàta, ghiùlain e<br />
a mhàileid-thuruis 'na làimh fhèin. A thaobh an turuis so, cha<br />
robh ùine r'a call, oir bha na Breatannaich air an dùnadh a suas<br />
leis na h-Innseanaich anns na bailtean, gus an robh iad a' bàsachadh<br />
le gainne bidh is dibhe. Ach bha Sir Cailean air ceann a chuid<br />
Ghàidheal a rithist, agus cha b' fhada gus an d' thug e saorsa do a<br />
luchd-dùthcha.<br />
Bha e ullamh gu dhol troimh theine is uisge air an<br />
sgàth aig Lucknow. B'e gnothach ro dhoirbh da-rìreadh<br />
a bha m' a choinneamh, a dol an aghaidh fheachdan doàireamh<br />
de Innseanaich, is iad air bhoile, agus gun a bhi<br />
aige ach mu she mile duine; ach cha d' thàinig fàilinn<br />
tuigse no misnich air a' churaidh ud. An dèidh na's mò<br />
na aon ionnsaigh a thoirt a chum bristeadh a steach do 'n bhaile,<br />
agus an uair a chaidh a chuid ghunnachan a chur 'nan tàmh fo<br />
theine nan ceannairceach, chaidh Sir Cailean e fhèin air ceann na<br />
h-ionnsaigh mu dheireadh, agus air dhaibh faighinn a steach do'n<br />
bhaile, bha na nàimhdean air an sgapadh, agus na càirdean air an<br />
saoradh o'n champar is o'n chunnart mhòir anns an robh iad. Co<br />
aig a bheil cho beag de mhac-meanmna, 's nach cuir e gluasad air<br />
a chridhe is air aigne an uair a leughas e mar chuala " Jessie Brown<br />
in Lucknow," anns a bhreislich 'san robh i, sgal na pìoba a' tighinn<br />
am fagus
282 SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH.<br />
An dèidh an euchd òirdheirc so, dh* àrdaicheadh cliù an<br />
t-saighdeir mhòir, agus thaomadh urram air bho uachdarain is<br />
bho ìochdarain, chan ann a mhàin am Breatann ach an<br />
tìrean coimheach. Mar ghràinne-mullaich air a shaothair,<br />
rinneadh " Field Marshal " deth, agus thog Ban-rìgh Victoria e<br />
gu ionad Moraire, is roghnaich e mar ainm urraim, " Tighearna<br />
Chluaidh "<br />
'Na làithean deireannach ghabh Cailean ' Ceud-chathach ' fois<br />
is socair, agus an dèidh na thàinig e troimh, chaochail e an sìth air<br />
a leabaidh anns a' bhliadhna 1863, an uair a bha e trì fichead<br />
bliadhna 's a h-aon-deug de aois. Cha do thog an Roinn-Eòrpa<br />
saighdear a bu ghaisgeile na Cailean Caimbeul. Chithear<br />
comharaidhean air sin an diugh, eadhon 'na dhealbh,—fearalachd<br />
an t-saighdeir anns na malaichean troma, agus anns an t-sùil gheur,<br />
nuagach, gun gheilt; agus cha ruigear a leas ach leth-shùil a thoirt<br />
air an dealbh aige gu fhaicinn gur e fuil an fhìor Ghàidheil a bha<br />
a' ruith 'na chuislean.<br />
Ann an tomhas saoi bhi r, bhuilicheadh air gach feart a tha<br />
feumail do cheann-feachd mòr. Bha e bras, neo-sgàthach mar<br />
shaighdear, ach aig an aon àm ciùin, faicilleach mar cheannfeadhna.<br />
Bha meas mòr aig a choimpirean air, agus bu ro chaomh<br />
leis na saighdearan e. Bha e uasal, mòr-chridheach 'na ghnè is na<br />
ghiùlan, oir cha b' eòl da farmad no mìodhoireachd. 'Na aghaidh<br />
ghlain, fhearail chithear a' tighinn am follais gach buadh a tha<br />
ionmholta.<br />
Cluinnear gu tric moladh mòr aig muinntir air a' Ghàidheal<br />
mar shaighdear, ach sin an leithid de dhòigh is gun saoileadh neach<br />
nach 'eil dad tuille de mhaith ann. Ach chan fheudar a leigeil leis<br />
an t-saoghal a bhi de 'n bheachd nach bi an còrr feuma do'n<br />
Ghàidheal an uair a thig na làithean ion-mhiannaichte sin anns<br />
am " buailear an claidheamh gu coltar." Bha, agus tha fhathast,<br />
an Gàidheal 'na fhear-oibre a cheart cho maith ri a bhi 'na fhearsabaide,<br />
agus leanaidh e air a bhi a' nochdadh an ealainean<br />
na sìthe an smioralais is an treubhantais a nochd e an gnothaichean<br />
cogaidh. Is e a chliù a tha air a cheana gu bheil a làmh cho seòlta<br />
is cho foghainnteach leis an tuaigh no an spaid air fearann ùr nan<br />
dùthchannan thar sàile, 's a b' àbhaist dhi a bhi leis an lann anns a'<br />
bhlàr.<br />
Gu ma fada a bhios ar Gàidheil ag cur measa is urraim air a<br />
leithid de shàr dhuine's a bha an Cailean Caimbeul.<br />
Marbhrann do Chailean Caimbeul,<br />
Tighearna Chluaidh.<br />
LE AONGHAS DOMHNULLACH NACH MAIREANN,<br />
BARD CHOMUINN GHAIDHLIG INBHIRNIS.<br />
THA airm an laoich fo mheirg 'san tùr,<br />
Chòmhdaich ùir an curaidh treun,<br />
Bhuail air Alba speach às ùr—<br />
A feachd trom, tùrsach, 'sileadh dheur,<br />
Mu Ghaisgeach Ghàidheil nan sàr bheart,<br />
Fo ghlais a' bhàis, mar dhùil gun toirt:<br />
Triath na Cluaidh bu bhuadhach feart,<br />
'G a chaoidh gu trom, le cridhe goirt.<br />
Air oidhche's mi am laidhe am shuain,<br />
'S mo smuaintean air luathas na dreig—<br />
Uair agam's an sin uam—<br />
Bhruadair mi a bhi shuas air creig.<br />
Thoir leam gun robh 'teachd 'nam chòir,<br />
Fo bhratach bròin de shròl dubh,<br />
Sàr mhaighdean mhaiseach, mhòr;<br />
Tiamhaidh, leònt' bha ceòl a guth.<br />
Mar dhrìlseadh rèil bha a gorm shùil,<br />
A glan ghnùis cho geal ri sneachd;<br />
Bha falt donn air snìomh m' a cùl,<br />
Tiugh chiabha dlùth nan iomadh cleachd.<br />
M' a ceann bha clogaid de fhìor chruaidh,<br />
Ri 'bàrr bha dualach o'n each ghlas;<br />
A làmh dheas chum sleagh na buaidh,<br />
'S claidheamh truailte suas r'a leis;<br />
Sgiath chopach, obair sheòlt',<br />
Le mòrchuis 'na làimh chlì;<br />
Lùireach mhàilleach, grèìst le h-òr,<br />
Bu chòmhdach do nighinn rìgh.<br />
* * * * * *<br />
Chrom mi sìos le mòr mheas,<br />
Is dh' fhiosraich mi de thrèin' na mais',<br />
Cia fàth mu 'n robh a h-airm 'nan crios,
^4<br />
MARBHRANN DO'N RIDIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL.<br />
Mar shonn chum sgrios, a dèanamh deas.<br />
Ged bha a gnùis mar òigh fo leòn,<br />
No ainnir òig 'chur gaol fo chràdh,<br />
Sheall i rium le plathadh bròin,<br />
Measgte le mòralachd is gràdh.<br />
Lasaich air mo gheilt is m' fhiamh<br />
'N uair labhair 1 am briathraibh ciùin—<br />
" Bha agam-sa curaidh treun,<br />
Gun chomhalt fo 'n ghrèin am beart,<br />
Ceannard armailt nam mòr euchd,<br />
Thug buaidh's gach streup, le cèill thar neart.<br />
Do Ghàidheil ghaisgeìl ceannard còir,<br />
Am builsgean còmhraig mòr 'nam beachd;<br />
A' toirt na buaidh, 's ag cosnadh glòir<br />
A dh' aindeoin seòl is mòrachd feachd.<br />
Mar chogadh Oscar flathail garg,<br />
Is Conn 'na fheirg a' dol 'san spàirn,<br />
No Diarmad donn a thuit 'san t-sealg,<br />
'S an Sonn a mharbh an Garbh-mac-Stàirn.<br />
Gach buaidh 'bha annta sud gu lèir,<br />
An neart, an trèin', an gleus, 's am mùirn—-<br />
Bha cliù a' Chaimbeulaich d' an rèir<br />
'Dol thart an èifeachd anns gach turn—<br />
Ciùin mar mhaighdinn ghràidh's an t-sìth,<br />
Uasal, sìobhalt, mìn am beus;<br />
Gaisgeil, gargail, teòm' 's an strì,<br />
Le cumhachd rìgh 'g cur feachd air ghleus.<br />
" C' ait' an cualas sparradh cath'<br />
Bu bhuadhaich' sgath na Alma dhearg<br />
Fuil is cuirp air beinn's air srath<br />
'Nam mìltean breath, fo 'n laoch 'na fheirg !"<br />
* * * * * *<br />
Chrìochnaich sgeul na h-ainnir' mhòir,<br />
Mu euchdan glòirmhor an laoich thrèin;<br />
Mhosgail mi a mo shuain le bròn<br />
A' sileadh dheur gum b' fhìor an sgeul.<br />
A Ghàidheil Ghlaschu, 'shliochd nan sonn,<br />
A dh' fhuadaicheadh o Thìr nam Beann,<br />
D'an dual le còir an sruth 's am fonn,—<br />
Dhùibh-se coisrigeam mo rann.<br />
"COGADH NA SITH," AT QUATRE BRAS.<br />
LOCK.HART<br />
" But with the breath which jills<br />
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers<br />
With the fierce native daring which instils<br />
The stirring memory of a thousand years."<br />
BOYLE.<br />
itv kind permission
MARBHRANN DO'N<br />
RIDIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL.<br />
Dearbhaibh gur sibh àl nan treun,<br />
Ginealach do rèir nan sonn,<br />
A bhuannaich cliù thar sliochd fo 'n ghrèin,<br />
Am blàr nam beum, 's an streup nan tonn.<br />
Cumaibh cuimhn' air laoch an airm,<br />
A ghairmeadh air an abhainn Chluaidh,<br />
'S a' meal e urram 'thèid a sheirm<br />
'S gach linn le toirm ri sgeul a bhuaidh.<br />
An Old Highland Industry—Kelp-Making.<br />
BY ARCHD. N. CURRIE, M.A., D.Sc., A.I.C.<br />
T T NTIL about a hundred years ago, when chemical methods<br />
\_) of investigation underwent a radical change, seaweed was<br />
of little use beyond helping the farmer in the enrichment of<br />
his soil.<br />
The far-seeing chemist, however, realised that in this waste<br />
substance there might be endless economic possibilities. His<br />
first step was to discover sodium and potassium in the burnt ash<br />
of the seaweed. Thereafter, in 1812, an important element,<br />
iodine, was discovered by Courtois, a salt-petre maker of Paris,<br />
during his investigations of the mother-liquor of kelp. This<br />
discovery marked the starting-point of a period of successful<br />
progress in the kelp industry.<br />
Iodine is very uniformly distributed throughout the sea, it<br />
being present to the extent of 1 part in 280,000,000. In certain<br />
types of seaweed, the laminariae and the fuci,—quite common<br />
round our western shores—iodine is found in much higher concentration<br />
than in the surrounding water.<br />
In Britain, the kelp industry flourished long before iodine was<br />
discovered. It was introduced into Tiree in 1746, and from this<br />
island it spread all over the Outer Hebrides. It was the sole<br />
source of soda for many years, but in 1825 barilla was introduced<br />
from Spain, and at the same time the tax on salt was repealed. By<br />
the Leblanc process, sodium carbonate, of which formerly kelp<br />
was the sole source, could be more economically prepared from
286 AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY KELP-MAKING.<br />
common salt. This brought about a decline in kelp prices. While<br />
in 1800 the price of kelp was ,£20 per ton, in 1825 when barilla<br />
was introduced, it fell to £10 ios. Later, when the salt-tax was<br />
repealed, the price fell to ^3, and ultimately in 1831 reached £1<br />
per ton.<br />
At this price there could be no profit on the manufacture, and,<br />
as a source of soda, kelp could no longer be used.<br />
Kelp, however, contained potassium salts and from this date<br />
the manufacture of these, as well as of iodine from it, began to<br />
assume importance. The difficulty was that the kelp which contained<br />
the highest percentage of sodium contained the least percentage<br />
of potassium. Different weeds had now to be used, and<br />
this involved a different process of kelping. In the first process,<br />
for the manufacture of soda, the dried weeds were burned to a<br />
bluish-grey, brittle slag, and the burning was done at a high<br />
temperature. This burning at a high temperature was favourable<br />
for the production of sodium carbonate, but 50 per cent, of the<br />
volatile iodine and a large proportion of the potassium salts were<br />
lost to the air as a result of the excessive heat. A yield of 4 lbs.<br />
of iodine per ton was obtained under good kelping conditions.<br />
The process was very simple. The weed was dried in sheds,<br />
as exposure to rain in the case of laminariae washed away some of<br />
the most valuable salts. It was then piled into long, shallow pits<br />
and allowed to smoulder for a few days. After a time, a silicated<br />
mass of blue-grey colour was obtained. This mass was crushed,<br />
and from it the various salts present were extracted in the conventional<br />
manner.<br />
The seaweed has also been treated by other methods by<br />
Stanford. In 1863, he set up works in Tiree for the carbonisation<br />
of the tangle. The weed was placed in iron retorts and distilled<br />
destructively. The products of distillation consisted of tar,<br />
paraffin, naphtha and ammonium sulphate. One ton of kelp,<br />
treated in this manner, yielded from 8 to 10 gallons of paraffin,<br />
and about 3 gallons of naphtha.<br />
The residue consisted of a very porous charcoal, somewhat<br />
similar to bone-ash. This residue contained the same salts as obtained<br />
by the first process, and in addition, in the second process<br />
all the organic material in the weed was utilised. Owing to the<br />
insular nature of the district in which this process was carried out,<br />
it did not prove a success. Because of transport difficulties, there<br />
could be no central carbonising works, and the erection of one on<br />
AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY KELP-MAKING. 28 7<br />
each island did not appear a sound financial proposition, since the<br />
supply of tangle was not continuous.<br />
The third method of dealing with the seaweed was a wet<br />
method. It was found that on treating the tangle with water<br />
(simple maceration), all the alkaline salts present could be dissolved<br />
out. The residue was a complex substance called Algin.<br />
Algin could have many commercial applications, but, so far,<br />
it has been very little used. W'hen it is mixed with the charcoal<br />
obtained from the second process and potassium silicate, a very<br />
good cement is formed. This cement is a very bad conductor of<br />
heat, and, as a result, has been used effectively as a coating for<br />
ships' boilers.<br />
When alginic acid is left in a moderately warm place, it dries<br />
to a hard, horny mass after a time. This hard substance can be<br />
easily turned, takes on a good polish, and has been used as a<br />
substitute for bone buttons.<br />
Alginic acid can also be obtained in thin water-proof sheets by<br />
a simple method. Its salts have been used in the arts and in medicine.<br />
The calcium salt hardens up in similar fashion to the acid,<br />
can be turned, polished, and used as a substitue for ivory. The<br />
ammonium salt has been used as an insecticide, and the iron as a<br />
styptic. There is no doubt that biological preparations could be<br />
made from the seaweed, which could find a useful place in the<br />
pharmacopoeia because of their richness in vitamine and other<br />
substances of importance in the animal economy.<br />
This last method of treating the seaweed undoubtedly yields<br />
important results. Its promoter, E. C. C. Stanford, carried on with<br />
it successfully for some time. Unfortunately for this industry, he<br />
decided to devote his great pioneering talents to other chemical<br />
spheres, and, as a result, the Alginic acid process came to an end.<br />
The short testing period which it enjoyed was demonstrative of<br />
its latent possibilities; and it has always been a matter of surprise<br />
to the writer that no one has elected to continue the work which<br />
had just emerged from its preliminary phase under Stanford's able<br />
guidance.<br />
The practical results achieved, and the potential industrial uses<br />
of the various products isolated, seemed to favour a new lease of<br />
life for the industry, but local apathy and a certain scepticism<br />
among industrialists stifled it in its adolescence.<br />
From time to time, our sentimentalists wail over the steadily<br />
increasing depopulation of our Highland glens, and the degree
288 AN OLD HIGHLAND' INDUSTRY KELF-MAKING.<br />
or" wailing is generally in inverse proportion to the amount of<br />
energy expended by them in attempting to stem the outflow. The<br />
sentimentalist is more concerned with the concomitant, or rather<br />
resultant, passing of the old customs and traditions associated with<br />
a peacefully living agrarian community. True, it is sad to contemplate<br />
the decay of these grand old insignia of our ancient glory,<br />
so indicative of a unique national spirit, but we must consider at<br />
the outset the operative causes which bring about this change.<br />
There are many. The Highlander, naturally ambitious, finds<br />
little to satisfy his aims in the glens, and, therefore, migrates to a<br />
more promising sphere. His native land is unkind in its yield<br />
from tilth; it is for the most part barren, though beautiful and wild;<br />
his lochs and seas yield a fickle harvest, and their beauty does not<br />
compensate. Grouse, sheep and deer are the pampered denizens<br />
of the wild, but it is doubtful if the stocking of the Highlands<br />
with these presents an economic obstacle of sufficient magnitude<br />
ro influence adversely the yield of the soil. It seems that most of<br />
the available arable land is being steadily cultivated, yet the basic<br />
industries of agriculture and fishing do not yield a sufficiency for<br />
the needs of the community.<br />
There is, therefore, an urgent need for the fostering of minor<br />
industries. Some of these, such as spinning, weaving and crottle<br />
dyeing have the appeal of native colouring, but there must be a<br />
deflection of pride and an abrogation of conservatism on the part<br />
of the Highlander, in order to admit of the entrance of seemingly<br />
exotic but useful industries into his land.<br />
The Highlands cannot enjoy a full and equilibrated economic<br />
life on agriculture and fishing alone. There must be a stimulation<br />
of the minor industries enumerated above; there must be an introduction<br />
of others, such as kelp, which has been tried and not<br />
found wanting, and which could supply useful products for the<br />
increasingly complex demands of a modern civilisation; there must<br />
be a consideration of our mineral resources, especially in the<br />
direction of the ores of manganese, silver and lead, which are<br />
abundant in the South-western Highlands; there must be a reorganisation<br />
of inter-insular transport.<br />
If the lack of these necessities stirred the national conscience<br />
sufficiently, and if effort towards their realisation received the<br />
blessing of official sanction, then the Highlands would become a<br />
haven of peace and content—not the insubstantial Utopia of the<br />
sentimental economist, who would stem the outflow of population<br />
AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY KELP-MAKING. 289<br />
mechanically, without considering the factors from which it arose.<br />
In conclusion, the alginic acid method of dealing with seaweed<br />
yields results of value, and in any scheme for the economic reorganisation<br />
of the Highlands, the re-establishment of this once<br />
flourishing industry should receive every consideration. The<br />
writer of this short article has tried out the alginic acid method on<br />
a laboratory scale, and is confident that its adoption under modern<br />
conditions would help to bring a fair degree of prosperity to our<br />
insular seaboards.<br />
The Land of Heather.<br />
BY DONALD A.<br />
MACKENZIE.<br />
IN yon dear land of lochs and bens,<br />
Of foam-girt isles and winding glens,<br />
O'er wistful moors in Autumn weather<br />
Bonnily blooms the purple heather.<br />
True hearts that dream of other days,<br />
Of Highland homes and Highland ways,<br />
Have hopes and memories twined together<br />
When bonnily blooms the purple heather.<br />
Though city-pent they chance to be,<br />
Or exiled far across the sea,<br />
In Highland hearts in Autumn weather<br />
Bonnily blooms the purple heather.<br />
The hearts that dream are hearts that dare<br />
For freedom dear and homeland fair,<br />
And love and valour twine together<br />
Where bonnily blooms the purple heather.
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 29I<br />
Na h-orduighean<br />
LE DOMHNULL MAC-A-PHI NACH MAIREANN.<br />
IS ann mu'n aimsir so de 'n bhliadhna a b' àbhaist do'n chomanachadh<br />
a bhi air a chumail ann am mòran cheàrnan de'n<br />
Ghàidhealtachd, agus chan 'eil seirbhis chràbhach eile ann a<br />
mhaireas cho fada an cuimhne an t-sluaigh, no aon a dh' fhàgas<br />
boladh cho cùbhraidh 'na dèidh. Dùisgidh i urram sònruichte<br />
am measg shean is òg, nach faighear ach tearc an àitean eile.<br />
Là grianach gun àile gaoithe—an sgìreachd uile fuidh thàmh,<br />
ged tha an sìd ro fhreagarrach air son oibre—an sluagh 'nan aodach<br />
sàbaid—grunnan an sud 's an so ag imeachd air an socair air na<br />
rathaidean mòra, no air an fhrith-rathad tarsuinn air cliathaich<br />
na beinne—a h-uile neach a' dèanamh dìreach air an aon cheannuidhe;<br />
agus so air là seachduine! Ciod e is ciall d'e Abraidh<br />
Philistich Shasuinn agus na Galldachd nach 'eil ann ach ana-caifheadh<br />
air tràth—dìmeas air a' chothrom a thug sìd math do dhaoine<br />
gu bhi a' saothrachadh mu 'n chroit no mu iasgach. Chan 'eil<br />
e soirbh do shluagh a chaidh a thogail am measg straighlich is<br />
malairt nam bailtean mòra, a chreidsinn gum bu chòir làithean<br />
'sam bith a choisrigidh do nithean spioradail ach là na Sàbaide a<br />
mhàin; agus tha'n là sin fèin an cunnart dol a mùthadh am measg<br />
chreutairean a thug iad fèin thairis—anam is corp—do Mhamon.<br />
Tha seadh nan cleachdannan cràbhach a bha measail aig Gàidheil,<br />
agus mòran de Ghoill, leth cheud bliadhna roimh 'n diugh, annasach<br />
leo. Tha a' chuid nach gabh ris na nòsan nuadha acasan<br />
cumhang am beachd. Faodaidh gu bheil ceàrnan de 'n Ghàidhealtachd<br />
a'^ leantuinn eisimpleir nan Gall a thaobh so, mar tha iad<br />
'ga leantuinn an^ dòighean eile gun mhòran buannachd 'na lorg.<br />
Bu chòir do Ghàidheil a bhi eudmhor a thaobh an rian agus an<br />
dòighean fèin, chan e a mhàin a thaobh cràbhaidh, ach a thaobh<br />
rudan eile air nach bi sinn a' leudachadh an dràsda.<br />
Ach beachdaicheamaid air an là so—là na traisg—mar a b'<br />
àbhaist a bhi 'ga chumail. Bidh a' chuid is mò de 'n t-sluagh a'<br />
dèanamh deiseil air a shon mar gum bu là Sàbaid e. Feumaidh<br />
luchd-còmhnuidh ìochdar na sgìreachd—seann daoine is sean<br />
mhnathan co-dhiù—ullachadh a dhèanamh air son an rathaid. Am<br />
fear aig am biodh cairt agus gearran, bheireadh e cuireadh do<br />
neach a bhiodh ro lag-chuiseach air son coiseachd. Air son<br />
ghillean is nigheanan, cha chuireadh coiseachd deich no dusan mìle<br />
dragh 'sam bith orra. A dh' aon rud, bha iad air slighe<br />
dleasnais, an cuideachd a' chèile suas an rathad air an socair, a'<br />
seanchas fad an t-siubhail, no is dòcha 'nan suidhe air bruaich, car<br />
tiotain, an dèidh ùrachadh fhaotainn a tobar fìor-uisge a bha<br />
brùchdadh a stuth fhallain faisg orra. Co-dhiù 'se na bha rompa<br />
a b'fhaisg air an inntinn, no dùil ri bhi a' coinneachadh ri sean<br />
chàirdean, cha 'n abair sinn. Ach nam mothaicheadh iad air, dh'<br />
fhaodadh an sealladh a bha mu 'n cuairt an cridhe a' lìonadh le a<br />
bhòidhcheid. Nach 'eil am monadh fèin, ged tha e air amannan<br />
gruamach do 'n t-sùil, air amannan eile, mar an aimsir so, fo bhlàth<br />
le fraoch is còinnich is luibhean—badanan buidhe is uaine a'<br />
deàrrsadh na's àilne le gathan na grèine. Fad air falbh tha<br />
binneanan sgorach, creagach nam beann, mar gum biodh iad fhèin<br />
agus an t-athar air coinneachadh r'a chèile—dubhar maoth mar<br />
chorcuir air an aodann. Saoil nach drùidh tomhas de sheadh an<br />
t-seallaidh so—òirdhearc, farsuing, làn de'n dìomhaireachd a tha<br />
ceangailte ris na nithean a tha folaichte—air inntinnean sluaigh air<br />
an do bhuilicheadh cuibhrionn shònraichte de spiorad a' chràbhaidh.<br />
Chuireadh an cèill gu tric le muinntir a bhios ag gabhail mothachaidh<br />
air aigne an comh-chreutairean, gu bheil nàdur de chomhchomunn<br />
eadar sluagh na h-àirde tuath is nan eileanan, agus an<br />
cruthachadh Nàduir mu choinneamh an sùl—na siantan, an dubhar<br />
a bhios a' laighe air glaic nam beann, na sgàilean a bhios a' ruith<br />
air an aodann, gàir tiamhaidh nan tonn, no nuallan na fairge, is i<br />
'ga maistreadh fèin am broinn nan uaimhean. Ach bidh an anam<br />
ag ath-fhreagradh ris an t-sàmchair a thuiteas air Nàdur 'na h-àm<br />
fèin, mar thachair aig an àm so.<br />
Is e là na traisg là mòr an ullachaidh air son na cuirme naoimh<br />
a tha rompa air an t-Sàbaid. Bidh an eaglais làn de choimhthional<br />
stòlda, rianail. 'S e ministear a mhuinntir sgìreachd eile a bhios<br />
a' searmonachadh, agus gu dearbh 'sea dh'fheumas a bhi faicilleach<br />
mus tuit lideadh o a bhilean a bheir oilbheum do na daoine còire<br />
a tha 'nan suidhe faisg air a' chùbaid, no an crò nam foirfeach. Tha<br />
iadsan cho domhain 'nan eòlas air an Fhìrinn; tha an comas breithneachaidh<br />
cho geur, is nach e a h-uile ministear a ghabhadh air an<br />
ladarnas sanas bu lugha a thairgse an aghaidh bheachdan<br />
a ghabh greim orrasan o 'n cheud là anns an d' fhuair iad eòlas<br />
spioradail. Abradh diadhairean nan colaisdean mar a thogradh iad,<br />
shuidhich na daoine còire so dòchas am beatha air bunait nach<br />
gabhadh carachadh. Biodh càch a' seòladh mar a stiùras sruth an
SO NA H-ORDUIGHEAN.<br />
ama iad, tha an acarsaid acasan diongmhalta, agus tha am beatha,<br />
spioradail crochte rithe.<br />
Mar is trice, is e Di-haoine là na coinneimh-cheiste—là a tha<br />
ro thaitneach leis an t-sluagh. Is è gu h-àraidh " Là nan Daoine,"<br />
mar a theirear—daoine diadhaidh a mhuinntir na sgìreachd, no<br />
bràithrean o sgìreachdan eile a tha astar fada air falbh. Tha iad<br />
deas-bhriathrach, agus ainmeil 'nan crìochan fhèin. Chan 'eil an<br />
teisteanas folaichte. Ciamar a bhitheadh, is iad aithnichte mar<br />
dhaoine a chaith mòran de'n tìm ri fèin-rannsachadhr Bidh cuid<br />
ag cur às an leth gu bheil iad air an sèideadh suas le uabhar<br />
spioradail, ach faodar a ràdh gun do chinnich annta feartan a chaidh<br />
a chleith air càch, air chor agus gu bheil iad uidheamaichte air<br />
son dleasnas an dreuchd. Math dh' fhaoidte nach 'eil mòran eòlais<br />
aca air leabhraichean, no air rudan a bhios ag cur imcheist air<br />
creutairean a tha ag gleachd ri nithean saoghalta. Tha aon leabhar<br />
ann air a bheil iad mion-eòlach, agus tha mòran dheth aca air am<br />
meomhair—Leabhar nan leabhraichean. Ma tha leabhar eile ann<br />
fosgailte dhaibh, is e sin leabhar an doilgheis agus a' chràidh-inntinn—leabhar<br />
a tha, a thaobh cuid, do-sgaradh o'n bheatha a tha<br />
làthair. Ann an seadh, faodar a ràdh nach 'eil aig a' chinne-daonna<br />
ach an dà leabhar so.<br />
Air Di-haoine, tha an raon aig na daoine doibh fèin. Chan<br />
'eil am ministear ach mar fhear-riaghlaidh air a' choinneimh, ged<br />
a sgioblaicheas e suas air deireadh na seirbhis na beachdan a<br />
chuireadh fo chomhair an luchd-èisdeachd. An uair a dhearcas<br />
e mu 'n cuairt, iarraidh e air fear de na " Daoine " a bhi ag èirigh<br />
—" bithibh ag èirigh, a Choinnich." Cha bhi Coinneach còir ro<br />
dheònach; tha e 'ga mheas fhèin neo-airidh, ach cha dèan diùltadh<br />
an gnothuch. Mu dheireadh, tilgidh e a bhreacan bhàrr a ghualainn;<br />
putaidh e a mheoir roimh a fhalt cràsgach, liath—ach glanshnuadhach<br />
air a shon sin—duine tlachdmhor, ged bha aghaidh<br />
còmhdaichte le preasan na h-aoise, agus air a seachdadh le uisg, is<br />
gaoith is grèin, a' strì am measg bochdainn is uireasbhuidhean a'<br />
chrannchuir. Nan robh an t-sùil lèirsinneach aig neach, chiteadh<br />
spiorad na h-irisleachd ag iathadh m' a cholainn, air dha a bhi a'"<br />
dol an glaic nithean dìomhair. Eiridh e gu diùid, mar gum biodh<br />
e fo throm uallach le truimeid an dleasnais a ghabh e os làimh, agus ,<br />
bidh gach sùil anns a' choimhthional air. Math dh' fhaoidte gun<br />
robh e fo incheist a thaobh puing spioradail air choreigin, agusb'e<br />
a mhiann solus fhaotainn o na bràithrean. Gheibheadh e sin,<br />
agus ùrachadh 'na chois. 'Na dhèidh dh' èireadh fear mu seach,.
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN.<br />
= 93<br />
agus rannsaicheadh e a' phuing agus sgrùdadh e na beachdan. Mar<br />
chùl-taic d'a bhreithneachadh dh' fhosgladh e a suas fèin-ffiosrachadh<br />
a bheatha—fiosrachadh beatha an neach a tha 'na chòmhnuidh<br />
ann an ionad dìomhair an Tì is Airde.<br />
Bitear ag cur às leth nan " Daoine " air a' Ghàidhealtachd, gu<br />
bheil iad cumhang 'nam beachdan, agus gu bheil uabhar spioradail<br />
a' faotainn làimh an uachdar orra. Biodh sin mar dh' fhaodas e,<br />
cha ghabh e a chleith gu bheil an caithe-beatha a rèir an aideachaidh.<br />
Choisrig iad an aire's an aigne gu bhi ag cnuasachd air an Fhìrinn,<br />
agus tha i a' riaghladh an dol-a-mach agus an teachd-a-steach.<br />
Chan 'eil neach a dh' èisd ri aon diubh ag gleachd ann an ùrnuigh,<br />
nach aithnich so. Tha an athchuinge làn de dhìomhaireachd am<br />
beatha; dùrachdach, brìoghmhor leis an t-seadh a thig o bhi a'<br />
meamhrachadh air nithean neo-fhaicsinneach—guidhe nach 'eil<br />
fed o dheireadh na rèise, iriosal 'na h-iarrtus, macanta 'na spiorad,<br />
ach làn de 'n dòchas air an do ghabh iad greim an toiseach. Chì<br />
gach aon de 'n luchd-èisdeachd an cor anns an ùrnuigh ud mar ann<br />
an sgàthan, oir is e a tha innte taomadh anama neach do 'n aithne<br />
a h-uile ceum de 'n t-slighe. Faodaidh gum b' ùrnuigh duine<br />
neo-fhòghluimte i—mar a mheasas daoine an t-saoghail fòghlum<br />
—ach foillsichidh i toradh na gleachd air nach 'eil e aineolach, agus<br />
tha i air a blàthachadh le ungadh an Spioraid Naoimh. Tha mòran<br />
de shean chleachdannan ciatach a' dol am mùthadh 'nar linn, ach<br />
chan 'eil cor na dùthcha a' dol na's feàrr.<br />
Is e là na Sàbaid là mòr na Cuirme. Bidh an coimhthional na's<br />
motha na air na làithean eile, agus ma bhios an sìd idir freagarrach,<br />
thèid pàilliun a shuidheachadh air lianaig ghuirm, gu tric aig<br />
ìochdar cnuic. Tha na "bùird " air an còmhdach le lìon anart cho<br />
geal ri sneachda na h-aon oidhche, ach bidh iad falamh an toiseach<br />
—gus an tig an "cuireadh." Air amannan bidh suas ri dà mhìle anns<br />
an èisdeachd—an cnoc còmhdaichte le gillean òga, agus nigheanan<br />
cho rìomhach 'nan èideadh's ged b'e bean-baile a bha anns gach tè.<br />
Cha'n fhaicear an diugh na curraicean geala air na sean mhnathan<br />
mar a b' àbhaist, ged a b' eireachdail an sealladh e 'san àm. 'Nan<br />
aite thàinig itean, is ribeanan, is flùraichean, is rudan rìomhach<br />
eile. Is cinnteach gu bheil cuimhne aig cuid de ar luchd-leughaidh<br />
air mar a loisgeadh na sean mhinistearan air luchd nan " gum<br />
floors" is nam bòtainnean dìosganach.<br />
Cha leigear a leas a ràdh nach d' thàinig am pobull a tha 'nan<br />
suidhe cho stòlda air an lianaig, uile fo bhuaidh an rùin a tha an<br />
chridhe an athraichean agus am màthraichean. B'e mìorbhuil a
294<br />
NA H-0RDUIGHEAN.<br />
bhiodh 'na chaochladh. An uair a bhios foidhidinn a fàilneachadh,<br />
èiridh grunnan no dhà an dràsda's a rithist a mach às a' choimhthional,<br />
a chum ceum a ghabhail mu chùl a' chnuic, oir mairidh an<br />
t-seirbhis o dhà-uair-dheug gu còig uairean. Ach fanaidh a' chuid<br />
is motha gu deireadh na cuirme—cuid diubh mar a bha a' bhuidheann<br />
aig lochan Shiloaim, a' feitheamh air a' ghluasad a thig o<br />
spiorad an Dè bheo. Cha'n urrainn creutair toinisgeil amharc air<br />
a leithid so de shluagh ach le urram—sluagh a tha fo bhuaidh inntinn<br />
nach tuig ach an neach a dh'fhairich e 'na bheatha fhèin.<br />
Mun toir am ministear cuireadh chun a' bhùird do'n treud leis<br />
an àill Suipeir an Tighearna a ghabhail gu h-iomchuidh, cuiridh e<br />
an cèill gu neo-sgàthach comharadh na muinntir a tha freagarrach,<br />
agus an fheadhainn nach 'eil. Chan fhaod an cogull a bhi am measg<br />
a' chruithneachd. Tha'n gàradh-criche soilleir. Is ann air an uair<br />
so a thòisicheas imcheist spioraid air an luchd-comanachaidh, agus<br />
cha'n iongnadh ged bhiodh iad 'ga meas fèin neo-airidh air an<br />
{.-sochair, an dèidh èisdeachd ri briathran teinnteach. Ach cuirear<br />
impidh ri cuireadh, agus am feadh's a bhios salm 'ga seinn, thig<br />
fear air adhart, air a shocair, leis fhèin. Leanaidh càch e air an<br />
aon dòigh, agus theid an t-seirbhis shòluimte a thòiseachadh. Chan<br />
'eil deas-ghnàthan 'gan cleachdadh a bharrachd air dòigh na ceud<br />
suipearach, agus cha'n fhaicear fraoidhneas de sheòrsa 'sam bith.<br />
Tha a h-uile rud aon-fh ill teach agus rianail.<br />
Is e so a ghnè dhaoine—neo-ealanta, agus bochd 'nan crannchur,<br />
ach saoibhir, air mhodh eile— a tha coigrich a' saoilsinn<br />
saobh-chràbhach, aineolach, agus fo bhuaidh cumhangachd inntinn<br />
! Chan 'eil guth air cuinge na foirmealachd a tha mu'n<br />
amhaich fhèin. Stèidhich na daoine ud am muinghinn air nithibh<br />
a tha sìorruidh. Ged nach deach an inntinnean a ghèurachadh an<br />
colaisdean, tha faobhar orra a dh' aindeoin sin, agus gheibh neach<br />
a thig 'nan caraibh a mach e. Tha iad 'nan eisimpleir do'n àl a<br />
th ig 'nan dèidh. Chuir iad eireachdas air a' Ghàidhlig, agus air a<br />
cumhachd gu cridhe an t-sluaigh a ruigsinn. A bheil na<br />
h-Eaglaisean a' tuigsinn na cùise An gabh iad rabhadh 'na àm<br />
The Gaelic Outlook.<br />
BY PROFESSOR MAGNUS MACLEAN, M.A., D.Sc,<br />
LL.D.<br />
WHAT to do with the Gaelic heritage in its modern survivals^—language,<br />
dress, music, literature, customs,<br />
traditions—is a question that seems to be stirring in many<br />
minds. In any useful discussion of this question certain broad<br />
facts have to be recognised. Since the introduction of the steamboat<br />
and the railway, and more especially of education and the<br />
press, the Highlands have been gradually Anglicised. Gaelic is<br />
no longer in the main the language of business, of the home, of<br />
public life, or even of religion. It is evident that the decline of<br />
the language as a spoken speech is proceeding more rapidly than<br />
ever, and that unless the process is delayed, it is doomed very soon,<br />
like the Cornish, to go the way of the heroes.<br />
Fortunately, however, outside the Highlands a remarkable<br />
interest is being evolved in the Gaelic. This is due to the researches<br />
of scholars, both in Britain and on the Continent, and to<br />
the better and fuller knowledge which is being disseminated<br />
regarding the language and its literature. In view of this revival<br />
of public interest, some well-meaning enthusiasts may be in danger<br />
of fostering extravagant notions, and propounding visionary<br />
schemes for the resuscitation of the Gaelic as the one language of<br />
the North, and for the restoration of it to its ancient sway. Gaelic<br />
was the fitting medium of expression in the old order which is<br />
passing away, but while it may still be preserved to exert its<br />
influence on the life and thought of the people, and to have an<br />
important place in the education of the young, that place can be<br />
wisely determined only by accepting the fact that the old language<br />
is not adequate to the new order.<br />
Learned men value Gaelic for its rich stores of ancient lore:<br />
the cultured and intelligent no longer despise it as a barbarous<br />
tongue, but many of them would fain know it themselves as an<br />
additional linguistic accomplishment. It is, therefore, to be hoped<br />
that this interest evinced by Celtic Scholars and Celtic enthusiasts,<br />
even outside the Highlands, will gradually filter down to the<br />
average man on the spot.<br />
Friends of the Gaelic would be well advised, instead of aiming<br />
at the impraticable and impossible, to consider what really is wanted<br />
at the present stage, and what can be done with any hope of success.<br />
At present, the majority of the Highlanders are amazingly ignorant
296 THE GAELIC OUTLOOK.<br />
of the great past of their race—of its language, history and<br />
literature. In fact, they are far more intimately acquainted with<br />
the history and literature of the Jews than with those of their own<br />
early ancestors. They do not know the high place Gaelic occupies<br />
in the Aryan group of languages, or the value philologists and<br />
mythologists at home and abroad attach to its study. Very many<br />
of the common people cannot read the native tongue, and very<br />
few can write it, although they may be able both to read and to<br />
write fairly in English. As for the grammar and spelling of<br />
Gaelic, they are as incomprehensible to the average Highlander as<br />
those of Welsh or Sanscrit.<br />
Clearly, then, the first requisite is to create a sound, healthy<br />
public opinion on the subject in the Highlands itself, and to enlist<br />
the sympathies of the people generally in favour of their native<br />
tongue. The first great need is to awaken a more intelligent<br />
interest in Gaelic in the people themselves, to show them that their<br />
language is ancient and beautiful, and that, far from retarding the<br />
English education and the future prospects of their children, it is<br />
a powerful means of developing the mental faculties, and producing<br />
a vigorous as well as an interesting type of mind.<br />
It should be constantly impressed upon Highland parents that<br />
bi-lingualism gives increased intellectual power, and that, therefore,<br />
they should encourage their children to speak the living vernacular<br />
as much as possible in the home, and should see to it that full<br />
advantage is taken of the provision made by the Education Department<br />
for the teaching of Gaelic in the Elementary Schools.<br />
Meanwhile, much could be done by the various Gaelic agencies by<br />
Instituting popular lectures throughout the Highland area,<br />
supplying the libraries of the Highlands with readable books on the<br />
history and literature of the Gael, and preparing and giving as<br />
prizes in the various schools beautifully bound copies of the same.<br />
In this way a living interest in the mother-tongue and its lore<br />
would be fostered among both old and young.<br />
The Heritage of the Gael.<br />
BY THE RIGHT HON. IAN MACPHERSON, P.C., K.C., M.P.,<br />
Chief of the Gaelic Society of London.<br />
CARLYLE said, in one of those impressive moods of his, that<br />
it was our grand business not to see what lies dimly at a<br />
distance, but to do what clearly lies at hand. The Sage of<br />
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL. 297<br />
Chelsea thought and fulminated but a few yards away from where<br />
I write. If 1 met him on my walk of a morning, 1 think that I<br />
should gain his valiant and rugged sympathy for our great cause,<br />
that I should get him to fulminate in his own great style against the<br />
lethargy, the aloofness, the ignorance, nay, the snobbishness of<br />
those of our own people who can, but will not help; and, greatly<br />
daring, I should, as a Gael, venture to argue with him, taking that<br />
dictum of his as a test.<br />
There is an indefinable and subtle relationship between the<br />
language and the soul of a people. No one can describe that<br />
relationship in words, but it exists; and it exists, and has existed,<br />
in our life in Gaeldom with a force and intensity almost unparalleled.<br />
It has been urged against us, as if it were a crime, that we are<br />
children who dwell in the past, that we are always seeing the past<br />
and little else, that, as a race, 'we went into battle and always fell.'<br />
But that past of ours is a proud and precious one, a past with the<br />
vibrant soul and language of our people inexplicably interwoven,<br />
and unless we see it in that light now, however «dimly at a<br />
distance,' we cannot see ' what already lies at hand.' Indeed it<br />
is our « grand business,' as it is our greatest inspiration, to see that<br />
past, to appreciate its value for ourselves and for mankind, and,<br />
realising that value, to preserve and perpetuate it.<br />
I do not know who it was, but some one has said that those<br />
who live on the mountain have a longer day than those who live<br />
in the valley, and if a man wishes to brighten his day, all that he<br />
has to do is to rise a little higher. This has often consoled me as<br />
a Highlander, as it is bound to console those who are in the van<br />
of our movement, with an imperishable faith in what that movement<br />
means, and with an indomitable courage to give expression<br />
to that faith. In fancy and in fact, our stronghold is on the<br />
mountain-side—in the home, in the school, in the pew, where<br />
youth, hope, promise and aspirations dwell. It is there we must<br />
look for the longer day. It is there alone we can most surely<br />
expect to get it. It is there alone we can find the real strength and<br />
power to do ' what clearly lies at hand,' and it is for us who labour<br />
in the valley to aid and, if need be, to guide that power in its<br />
struggles to shape its great destiny.<br />
I have a profound belief in sentiment as a force that dominates<br />
the world, a belief that has been strengthened by my recent experiences<br />
when visiting our kith and kin beyond the seas. The
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL.<br />
spirit of our race knows no barriers. It lives and moves and has<br />
its being in every corner of our far-flung Empire, admired and<br />
trusted by all. It has been a buoyant and powerful force in every<br />
step of national and imperial expansion and progress, displaying<br />
to the eyes of men the finer qualities of vision, imagination,<br />
courage and idealism.<br />
The language is the sign and symbol of that spirit, carrying<br />
with it, clothed in its sonorous beauty, memories ringing with<br />
poetry and music, memories of the elevating influences of the<br />
sanctuary, memories of the simple yet dignified annals of daily<br />
life in * clachan,' glen and strath. It is a great and priceless<br />
heritage of which we are the trustees in this generation. It is for<br />
us to honour that trust, and to maintain it, not only untarnished,<br />
but to hand it on in ever-growing power and strength to those<br />
who follow.<br />
Song of the Stag.<br />
BY DONALD A. MACKENZIE.<br />
THE monarch of the forest, chief of the antlered cian,<br />
Roars far through deep Strathconon and bounds through<br />
fair Strathbran;<br />
He'll breast the waves of Fannich though rain-storms lash and<br />
blind,<br />
Then round the bens and up the glens go racing like the wind.<br />
A red flame in the sunshine, a thunder-cloud by night,<br />
A vision of the moorland, this lord of speed and might;<br />
He reigns alone, a ben his throne, and rises in his pride,<br />
Deep-black against the golden dawn, with antlers high and wide.<br />
If e'er a vain usurper should dare dispute his sway<br />
In boastful challenge from afar, he rages for the fray;<br />
A forest fire in fury, he sweeps adown the ben,<br />
And bellows loud for battle across the echoing glen.<br />
In daylight and in starlight his fame comes down the breeze,<br />
Sung loud by stream and torrent and harped by tuneful trees;<br />
The King of cliff and corrie in regal glory crowned,<br />
The antlered lord Imperial, unvanquished and renowned.<br />
Sandy to Alasdair.<br />
BY JOHN BUCHAN,<br />
Author of " Greenmantle," " The Marquis of Montrose,"<br />
etc., etc.<br />
Hieland—a term of reproach, used in the Lowlands to signify<br />
something freakish, wild, uncertain, barbarous.<br />
Scots Dictionary.<br />
MY faither cam frae Sanquhar ways,<br />
My mither's folk frae the Loudon hill,<br />
I played as a wean on the Cairnsmuir braes,<br />
And got my lear at the Deuchrae schule.<br />
Weel I mind, when at ilk ran-dan<br />
I'd tak the muir like a young peesweep,<br />
My faither sighed, and said he, " My man,<br />
Ye're far ower Hieland to wark wi' sheep."<br />
But the herding wasna the fate for me:<br />
Wi' the Fusil Jocks I went to the war;<br />
Sune we were flitted ayont the sea,<br />
Jinkin' death in the stour and the glaur.<br />
There was lads frae the West and lads frae the North,<br />
Frae mill and muirland and pleugh and pit,<br />
And the youngest callant frae 'yont the Forth<br />
Was far ower Hieland to yield a fit.<br />
Yon day when, smoored wi' the deil's ain reeks,<br />
We broke ower Loos like a wave o' the sea,<br />
Anither Sandy wi'oot the breeks<br />
Keepit me company knee to knee;<br />
Roarin' words that nae man could ken,<br />
Through trench and wire we gae'd side by side,<br />
And when I drapped like a shot greyhen<br />
He was far ower Hieland to let me bide.<br />
Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be!<br />
Atween us two we hae couped the dyke;<br />
Gaelic for you and Lallan for me,<br />
But the back o' our heids is unco like.<br />
Scotland's braid, and the differ's big,<br />
Lorn and Carrick are no the same;<br />
But sune as the pipes play up their sprig<br />
We're a' ower Hieland to hunker at name.
Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g'a Mhnaoi.<br />
A Mhairi, eudail nam ban,<br />
Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad ionnsuidh,<br />
agus da-rìreadh is faochadh do m' chridhe conaltradh<br />
beag a bhi agam riut. Chan 'eil thu fhèin no na pàisdean<br />
tiota às mo chuimhne. Am chadal no'm fhaireachadh tha sibh fa<br />
chomhair mo shùla agus ann am beachd m' inntinn. Is taitneach<br />
leam uaigneas gu a bhi a smaointeach' oirbh. Is minic a ghoideas<br />
mi a mach san anmoch, gu bruach an uillt, a tha dlùth do 'n àite<br />
anns a' bheil mi, chum conaltradh dìomhair a chumail ribh; saoilidh<br />
mi gur e torman an uillt againn fhèin a th' ann, agus ceileireadh<br />
nan eun buchallach a dh' fhàg mi às mo dhèidh. Fhuair mi<br />
o chionn oidhche no dhà, bàta beag seilisdeir a' snàmh 'san linne,<br />
's ge faoin e r'a ràdh, shil mo dheòir, oir thug i mo lurachan<br />
gaolach, Lachann beag, am chuimhne. A Mhàiri, a ghràidh, ma<br />
dheònaicheas am Freasdal dhomh-sa dol dachaidh, cha bhi e soirbh<br />
mo chur a rithist o'n tigh. Tha mi taingeil nach d' thàinig mòran<br />
riamh eadarainn, oir is gann gu bheil facal crosda no ath-ghoirid<br />
a labhair mi riut nach 'eil a' tighinn gu m' chuimhne; 's chan 'eil<br />
e am chomas am fuadach; ach thoir thusa, eudail, maitheanas<br />
domh.<br />
Bha mi seachduin ann an Glaschu mun d' fhuair mi cosnadh.<br />
Chunnaic mi Rìgh Uilleam's an t-Each Odhar—an Eaglais Mhòr<br />
an Tigh-eiridinn, 's am Prìosan. Chunnaic mi iad a' snìomh an<br />
tcmbaca 's a' chotain—a' dèanamh nan gloineachan; chunnaic<br />
mi beairtean a' figheadh leo fhèin, 's a' falbh cho ciallach<br />
's ged bhiodh Iain Figheadair e fhèin aig ceann gach snàithne.<br />
Stad thus', a Mhàiri, 's mur toir mise dhuitse naidheachd, ma tha<br />
'n dàn domh dol dachaidh. Bha mi ann an tighean mòran d'ar<br />
luchd-dùthcha, agus b' iad sin, am bitheantas, na frògan dorcha<br />
às nach facas riamh gnùis na grèine; cha b'ionann's mo bhothan<br />
bòidheach. A Mhàiri, a rùin, biomaid taingeil; cha b' i 'n fhaoineas<br />
a chuireadh do 'n bhaile mhòr mi; ged nach bi againn ach a'<br />
chearc bhadanach, maorach a' chladaich, fàile glan nam beann, agus<br />
sàmhchair bheannaichte, seach mar tha iad ann an so, air an tachdadh<br />
le toit, 's air am bodradh le gleadhraich. Cha d'fhuair mi fhèin<br />
cadal socrach, sàmhach o'n oidhche a dhealaich mi riut. Shaoil<br />
leam gum biodh fois ann air là an Tighearna, ach mun gann a dh'<br />
èirich mi thòisich na cluig, agus ma thòisich, 's ann an sin a bha<br />
THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE.<br />
(Tigh-soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.)<br />
Freagradh spiorad ao-chlaoidheadh an duine<br />
do dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain<br />
Photo bi I). II. MmCnllmh.<br />
Kìuil jicrntissititì "/<br />
Messrs, .ljnr/.iiivil, ««r/
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.<br />
30I<br />
am farum—fonn air leth aig gach aon diubh—agus a h-uile h-aon<br />
a' strì cò a b'àirde pong. A mach bhrùchd an sluagh, às a h-uile<br />
cùil agus caol-shràid, a' taosgadh a mach 'nam mìltean sruth, agus<br />
saobh-shruth a sìos agus a suas air gach sràid, carbadan air an ais<br />
agus air an adhart, saighdearan le 'n drumachan tartarach, agus na<br />
cluig ag cur nan smùid diubh. An e so, deir mise, Là na Sàbaid<br />
O ! nach robh mise aon uair eile ann an Uladal, fo sgàile a' bharraich<br />
ri taobh an uillt shàmhaich, an t-athar àrd os mo chionn, na beanntan<br />
mòra mu'm choinne—mo dhaoine, mo chàirdean, 's mo leanaban<br />
ri m' thaobh, sìth agus sàmhchair na Sàbaid a muigh air an<br />
t-saoghal; fear-teagaisg mo ghràidh fo sgàile na creige; anam gach<br />
aoin ann am fonn an Dòmhnaich, agus an co-thional caomh, càirdeil,<br />
a' togail le Somhairle rùnach an fhuinn thiamhaidh a sheinn<br />
iad gu tric leis na daoine o'n d'thàinig iad.<br />
'S mòr an cothrom a th' aig na Gàidheil anns a' Bhaile mhòr<br />
so: thigeadh iad o'n ear no o'n iar, gheibh iad Gàidhlig an dùthcha<br />
fhèin ann an eaglais a' bhaile.<br />
An saoil thu, 'Mhàiri, nach do theab Para Mòr agus mise a<br />
bhi 'sa phrìosan an oidhche roimhe. Bha sinn a' dol dachaidh gu<br />
sàmhach, ciallach, gun fhacal às ar ceann: mise ag giùlan bocsa na<br />
pìoba fo m' bhreacan, 'nuair a thàinig triùir no cheathrar mu'n<br />
cuairt duinn, agus mun abradh tu seachd, spìonar uam bocsa na<br />
pìoba, agus glacar mi fhèin air sgòrnan. Mar bha'n tubaist air<br />
Para Mòr, dh' èirich e air càch le a bhata daraich, agus rinn e<br />
pronnadh nam meanbh-chuileag orra. Bha clach-bhalg air fear<br />
dhiubh, 's cha luaithe thug e srann aisde, na thàinig sgaoth dhiubh<br />
mu'n cuairt duinn, agus giùlainear air falbh sinn do dh' àite ris an<br />
abrar am Police Office. Aite an uamhais! Tha oillt orm fhathast<br />
smaointeach' air. Daoine 'nan sìneadh air dall na daoraich thall<br />
agus a bhos, ag call fola, is mallachadh 'nam beul; mnathan—b' e<br />
sin an sealladh gràineil—air an dallanaich, cuid diubh ag caoineadh<br />
's a' rànaich; is cuid eile ag gabhail òran, agus, Ni-math d'ar teasairginn<br />
! duine marbh 'na shìneadh air an ùrlar. Dh' fheòraich mi<br />
fhèin, cho modhail 's a b' urrainn domh, c'arson a thugadh an<br />
fo sinn. " Chì thu sin a thiota," deir fear dhiubh, 's e ag cur a<br />
làimhe ann am bocsa na pìoba. Thug a' phìob ran brònach aisde,<br />
agus chlisg e mar gum biodh nathair innte. "Faodaidh tusa, 'ille<br />
mhaith, a ràdh," arsa Para Mòr, " mar thuirt an sionnach a bha<br />
ag itheadh na pìoba, 4 Is biadh's is ceòl so dhomh-sa.' " Ciod a<br />
tha agad air, 's ann a shaoil iad gur corp leinibh a bh' againn<br />
ach 'nuair a thuig iad mar bha a' chùis leig iad às sinn.
302 LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.<br />
Fhuair mi cosnadh, 's a' chiad dol a mach, o thuathanach sè<br />
mìle a mach a Glaschu. Thug e sinne agus sgaoth Eireannach,<br />
agus dòrlach bhan leis. An uair a thàinig an oidhche, chuireadh<br />
air fad sinn a laighe do'n t-sabhal. Is Fad' o 'n chuala mi mu<br />
leabaidh mhòir na h-àirigh, agus da-rìreadh b' i so i—na mnathan<br />
air an dara taobh, agus nam biodh meas ceart aig na mnathan orra<br />
fhèin, ghabhadh iad fasgadh an tuim a roghainn air a leithid a dh'<br />
àite; ach is iomadh aon a tha modhail, nàrach na's leòir, do rèir<br />
coltais, nan dùthaich fhèin—cò ach iad, le 'm boineidean connlaich,<br />
le 'n gnùis-bhrat uaine ag cleith an aodainn—a tha glè<br />
shuarach m' an gnàthachadh 'nuair a thig iad gu Galldachd Ged<br />
bhiodh fichead nighean agam—chan e idir, a Mhàiri, gum bu<br />
mhiann leam an uiread sin a bhi ann—cha leiginn am feasd gu<br />
fogharadh iad air an dòigh so. Gheibhinn doibh—nì a tha soirbh<br />
r'a fhaotainn—cosnadh math, seasmhach, ann an teaghlaichean<br />
measail; ach an cur a mach am measg Eireannach agus bhèistean<br />
o bhaile gu baile, nar leig am Freasdal gum faicinn-se a h-aon a bu<br />
mhath leam gu math air an dòigh so.<br />
Dh' fhàg mi tigh an duine ud, agus fhuair mi fhèin agus Para<br />
Mòr cosnadh a mhaireas gu Samhain, ma chaomhnar sinn, ann an<br />
tigh an duine bheannaichte mu'n cuala tu Anna Mhòr, nighean<br />
Eòghann 'ic Ailein, cho tric a' labhairt—fear Mr. Ponton. Tha<br />
deagh thuarasdal againn, agus cha bhi e cruaidh orm am màl a chur<br />
r' a chèile. An saoil thu, a Mhàiri, nach faca mise bùth ann an<br />
Glaschu, far nach robh sìon saoghalta ach boineidean connlaich,<br />
agus bha mi a' feòraich luach an aodaich sgàrlaid a bhios anns na<br />
cleòcaichean. Chan abair mì 'bheag, ach cum thusa, 'eudail, sùil<br />
air na pàisdean, agus chan 'eil fhios ciod a dh' fhaodas tachairt.<br />
Tha tuiltean coimheach againn 'san àite so; bi furachail air Lachann.<br />
Slàn leat, a ghràidh; na bi fo iomaguin do m' thaobh; tha<br />
mi gun dìth, gun deireas. Is e am Freasdal a chuir do'n teaghlach<br />
so mi, far a' bheil iomadh deagh chleachdadh r'a fhaicinn. Leig<br />
fios do'n Mhinistear's do Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh.<br />
Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach gur mi<br />
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.<br />
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,<br />
FIONNLAGH MAC-AONGHAIS.<br />
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon<br />
the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant <br />
BY MR. BERTRAM W. SINCLAIR, British Columbia.<br />
THEY do. Could they do otherwise Primitive man regarded<br />
as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark<br />
of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue.<br />
Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between<br />
friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and<br />
the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and<br />
custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty<br />
past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built<br />
his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable<br />
people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael<br />
chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead,<br />
and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or<br />
tragedy or triumph'to the gathered folk in a common tongue.<br />
So, how should we not set greater store on such as come<br />
among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue<br />
of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed<br />
have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond <br />
It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one<br />
third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his<br />
native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would<br />
not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among<br />
an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped<br />
mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps<br />
be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks.<br />
He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the<br />
professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with<br />
MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes,<br />
MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his<br />
ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling<br />
a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of<br />
a Caledonian Society.<br />
He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear<br />
it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men<br />
of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud<br />
affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that<br />
British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia.<br />
A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a<br />
wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes<br />
among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers We do.
302 LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.<br />
Fhuair mi cosnadh, 's a' chiad dol a mach, o thuathanach sè<br />
mile a mach a Glaschu. Thug e sinne agus sgaoth Eireannach,<br />
agus dòdach bhan leis. An uair a thàinig an oidhche, chuireadh<br />
air fad sinn a laighe do'n t-sabhal. Is fad' o 'n chuala mi mu<br />
leabaidh mhòir na h-àirigh, agus da-rìreadh b' i so i—na mnathan<br />
air an dara taobh, agus nam biodh meas ceart aig na mnathan orra<br />
fhèin, ghabhadh iad fasgadh an tuim a roghainn air a leithid a dh'<br />
àite; ach is iomadh aon a tha modhail, nàrach na's leòir, do rèir<br />
coltais, nan dùthaich fhèin—cò ach iad, le 'm boineidean connlaich,<br />
le 'n gnùis-bhrat uaine ag cleith an aodainn—a tha glè<br />
shuarach m' an gnàthachadh 'nuair a thig iad gu Galldachd Ged<br />
bhiodh fichead nighean agam—chan e idir, a Mhàiri, gum bu<br />
mhiann leam an uiread sin a bhi ann—cha leiginn am feasd gu<br />
fogharadh iad air an dòigh so. Gheibhinn doibh—nì a tha soirbh<br />
r'a fhaotainn—cosnadh math, seasmhach, ann an teaghlaichean<br />
measail; ach an cur a mach am measg Eireannach agus bhèistean<br />
o bhaile gu baile, nar leig am Freasdal gum faicinn-se a h-aon a bu<br />
mhath leam gu math air an dòigh so.<br />
f<br />
Dh' fhàg mi tigh an duine ud, agus fhuair mi fhèin agus Para<br />
Mòr cosnadh a mhaireas gu Samhain, ma chaomhnar sinn, ann an<br />
tigh an duine bheannaichte mu'n cuala tu Anna Mhòr, nighean<br />
Eòghann 'ic Ailein, cho tric a' labhairt—fear Mr. Ponton. Tha<br />
deagh thuarasdal againn, agus cha bhi e cruaidh orm am màl a chur<br />
r' a chèile. An saoil thu, a Mhàiri, nach faca mise bùth ann an<br />
Glaschu, far nach robh sìon saoghalta ach boineidean connlaich,<br />
agus bha mi a' feòraich luach an aodaich sgàrlaid a bhios anns na<br />
Gleocaichean. Chan abair mì 'bheag, ach cum thusa, 'eudail, sùil<br />
air na pàisdean, agus chan 'eil fhios ciod a dh' fhaodas tachairt.<br />
Tha tuiltean coimheach againn 'san àite so; bi furachail air Lachann.<br />
Slàn leat, a ghràidh; na bi fo iomaguin do m' thaobh; tha<br />
mi gun dìth, gun deireas. Is e am Freasdal a chuir do'n teaghlach<br />
so mi, far a' bheil iomadh deagh chleachdadh r'a fhaicinn. Leig<br />
fios do'n Mhinistear's do Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh.<br />
Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach gur mi<br />
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.<br />
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,<br />
FIONNLAGH MAC-AONGHAIS.<br />
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon<br />
the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant <br />
By MR. BERTRAM W. SINCLAIR, British Columbia.<br />
THEY do. Could they do otherwise Primitive man regarded<br />
as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark<br />
of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue.<br />
Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between<br />
friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and<br />
the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and<br />
custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty<br />
past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built<br />
his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable<br />
people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael<br />
chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead,<br />
and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or<br />
tragedy or triumph" to the gathered folk in a common tongue.<br />
So, how should we not set greater store on such as come<br />
among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue<br />
of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed<br />
have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond <br />
It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one<br />
third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his<br />
native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would<br />
not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among<br />
an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped<br />
mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps<br />
be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks.<br />
He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the<br />
professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with<br />
MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes,<br />
MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his<br />
ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling<br />
a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of<br />
a Caledonian Society.<br />
He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear<br />
it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men<br />
of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud<br />
affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that<br />
British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia.<br />
A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a<br />
wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes<br />
among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers W 7 e do.
Gaol Duthcha.<br />
Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter<br />
LE A. SINCLAIR. ("An Gàidheal," 1871.)<br />
Scott,<br />
'Bheil neach air bith, 's an deò 'na chrè,<br />
Cho fuar's nach d'thuirt e riamh ris fèin,<br />
" Mo dhùthaich chaomh d'an tug mi gaol!"<br />
Aon nach do las a chridh' 'na chòrn,<br />
Dhachaidh 'nuair ghluais le ceum neo-thròm,<br />
Bho ànradh cianail feadh an t-saoghail:<br />
Ma tha, rach's beachdaich air gu dlùth,<br />
Ri laoidh no ceòl cha tog e 'shùil:<br />
Ged bhiodh e àrd an ainm 'san inbh',<br />
'S a mhaoin cho mòr's a dh'iarradh miann;<br />
A dh'aindeoin 'airgid, 'ainm is 'òir,<br />
'S e an t-ùmaidh truagh bhios ann r'a bheò,<br />
Chan fhaigh e meas, no miadh no cliù,<br />
'S 'nuair thig am bàs theid sìos do'n ùir,<br />
Gun chuimhn' no iomradh air am feasd,<br />
'S cha chaoidhear air a shon gun cheisd.<br />
O! Albainn chaomh, nan stùc's nan càrn!<br />
A mhuime 'dh'àraicheas na bà'rd !<br />
A thìr a' bharraich is an fhraoich<br />
A thìr nam beann, nan tuil, 's nan craobh,<br />
Tìr mo shinnsre, tìr nan sàr!<br />
Cò dh'fhuasglas an ceangal gràidh<br />
Ri d'thràigh a dh'aonas mi gu bràth r<br />
Lean gu dluth ri "i^M^^^ms cliu do shinnsre<br />
An HIBALD SINCLAIR, "CELTIC PRESS," GLASGOW.