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FROM THE BOOK Of KELLS, (CIRCA 600-900). 

(THE BOOK OF COLUM CILLE.) 

Voices from the Hills. 

(Guthan o na Beanntaibh). 

A Memento of the Gaelic Rally, 

I927. 

Edited by 

John MacDonald, M.A. 

Its Weird and commanding beauty . . . the 

unwearied and patient labour that brought it into 

being . . . have raised it to a position of abiding 

pre-eminence amongst the illuminated manuscripts 

of the world."—Sir Edward Sullivan, Bart. 

Published by 

An Comunn Gàidhealach (The Highland Association). 

Glasgow. 

1927. 

l\iuj permission tij " The Slmlio.

Clanna nan Gaidheal ri guaillibh a cheile. 

Poets IUIU heroes are of the same race; the latter do what the former conceive. 

—Lamartim.. 

OVER fifty years ago, Professor Blackie published his inspiring 

dissertation on "The Language and Literature of the 

Scottish Highlands." Tomes have been written on the same 

fascinating subjects since. To rouse his countrymen from the 

" deep slumber of decided opinions " was the work of this robust 

sponsor of our ethics. But while he found not a few who were 

" Highlanders in their core as in their kilt," the general attitude 

was more in the way of sentimental sympathy than practical aid. 

He, however, succeeded in his aim; and the Celtic chair in Edinburgh 

is an enduring monument to his enthusiastic and scholarly 

pleading of our cause. 

Nevertheless, a change was in progress. Whitley Stokes, an 

Englishman, had already established his fame as a Celtic scholar, 

while his translation of the " Voyage of Maelduin " marked an 

epoch in classic literature. Matthew Arnold, with less benignity 

but greater force, created a receptive atmosphere in England 

—the England which, according to Richard Green, would not 

have produced its Shakespeare, but for the quickening infusion 

into its veins of the blood of Ossian's race—and enlightened 

Oxford, in consequence, gave us our first chair of Celtic. This 

event, indeed, may be said to be the academic accolade of the 

Gaelic Renaissance. The " I am!" of Taliessen (Tillidh Oisean, 

perhaps), together with his "I have been!" is now demonstrated 

to an astonished and admiring world by the Zimmers, Zeusses, 

Kuno-Meyers, Alfred Nutts, and others similarly gifted, who have 

engaged in Celtic research, and who have discovered and are discovering 

the " hidden and precarious genius" of the Celtic 

families to be amongst the most attractive of studies. 

The hope of An Comunn is, that " Voices from the Hills " 

may come within hearing of all Gaeldom. Equally so is it their 

wish to acknowledge with gratitude the loyal and disinterested 

services of Mr. John MacDonald in preparing this book, as well 

as in having assisted in the preparation of Gaelic text-books for 

our schools. He has, with fine discrimination, "chosen his 

authors as he would his friends." As the result of his labours—and 

I am writing more with the fresh gaze of a child than as a qualified 

critic—we have this volume of rich and varied thoughts on 

matters Gaelic.

Besides taste, he has given proof of rare tact in having persuaded 

so many friends to advocate the claims of our Association. 

The following pages are, therefore, occupied by many helpers who, 

though not immediately of the blood, have joined the children 

of melody, and are thereby purified through initiation. " Voices 

from the Hills" is, in every respect, a notable book, and pentecostal 

in its import. The student and the casual reader alike will find 

it an illuminative companion. To me it suggests the magic 

lights of a cairngorm in a bard's chaplet—a fragrant censer to the 

Celtic soul, a votive tablet in the Hall of Shells. 

So be it. Welcome is the appreciative spirit that casts its 

prophetic eyes over our beautiful heritage and the still surviving 

language of our people. Gaelic, which has enshrined the voices 

of unrecorded centuries, speaks with authority to her children, 

as the voice of a mother, which they know. Like Cuchullin's 

rebirth, it is now being nourished on the lap of protecting fostergods. 

And, when the quickening current has charged the ethereal 

circuit, the soul of the Gaelic hero, chanting a refrain, will appear 

once again to the " fifty queens " who loved him; they will understand 

the genre of his mystic song. We shall then join with 

Emerson in saying that " the Celts are an old family of whose 

beginnings there is no memory, and their end is likely to be still 

more remote in the future ..." 

It is true that the waves of enthusiastic raptures which greeted 

the advent of MacPherson's Ossian have somewhat subsided; but 

the Voyage of Bran—chronologically anterior in order of redaction—disclosed 

a key to other deeper and more alluring 

mysteries. And from the argosies of Tir-nan-Og—that " Isle 

which spreads large to the sun like a beautiful dream of the soul" 

—seeds, in which lie immortal blossoms of loveliest form and hue, 

have fallen upon many a fallow genius. The Land of the Living 

Heart—perhaps the most beautiful creation that ever left a poet's 

loom—is charted anew for the sons of remembrance. " Why is Art, 

Aon-fhear—The Lone One—named so till the Judgment" is 

no longer a cry of sorrow to Coran, the Druid. A more enchanting 

trilogy is being intoned by the Birds of Rhiannon. The 

gleaming curach, with Fate at the helm and Love at the prow, is 

majestically bearing its soul-freights to the Isle of the Ever-living 

Living—the Happy Otherworld of the Celt, which lies in serene 

composure between the two eternities. 

ANGUS ROBERTSON, 

President of \n Comunn Gàidhealach. 

Editor's Foreword. 

ON behalf of An Comunn Gàidhealach, I tender warmest thanks 

to each and all of those who have enabled us to make this record 

of "Voices from the Hills," voices old, yet ever new, as 

the cry of the sea, the cry of the wind, the cry of the curlew, or 

the cry of man's spirit; they are the voices of those who view from 

the heights a land of promise for the Gael, if he but march on, 

go in, and take possession. Personally, I thank the contributors 

for their kind, encouraging letters. Indeed, were I able to focus 

to a narrow compass the correspondence, apart from the articles 

in the book, it would make the most inspiring article of all, and 

would give An Comunn confidence that there is no lack of friendly 

feeling throughout the land, and thus give it renewed energy 

to go forward with unfaltering step. 

Furthermore, one received the distinct impression that 

An Comunn may not have fully realised all the latent 

forces that may still be mobilised for the furtherance of 

their Cause. When the compilation was begun, for various 

reasons, it moved somewhat slowly, but as time went on, more 

and more eager and devoted helpers came forward with pen and 

brush. Indeed, towards the close of the work, one wished that 

the end had somehow been the beginning, as one felt as proud as 

Roderick Dubh, when he whistled shrill, and 

" Instant, through copse and heath arose, 

Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows." 

Any lengthy, elaborate " introduction " to the book might 

prove to be but wasteful and ridiculous excess, all that is really 

necessary being to introduce to readers (may we hope for hosts of 

them!) the gifted and leal-hearted friends of the Gael who so 

willingly responded to an invitation to take part in, what may be 

called, a symposium on the present position of all that affects the 

welfare of Gaeldom, and on the responsibility which every true 

Gael should feel and accept, with his whole heart and mind, with 

regard to it, unless he is resigned to looking on (if he looks at al!) 

in helpless inaction, while the most precious gifts from our heroic 

past are being borne away by the stream of modern life, which 

may too jauntily be called " Progress."

1 

viii. 



IX. 

According to a brilliant American sociologist, the only relevant 

question in considering the reality of human progress is, " Have 

we evidence of a richer and more profound human experience" 

—and to this question he gives a direct negative, adding that 

society must now realise that true progress is to be measured in 

terms of " significant persons." This view alone is a sufficient 

rats on d'etre for the work of An Comunn in its own special 

sphere. Some of us are strongly of opinion that, within our own 

memory, there has been in our Gaeldom a steady decrease in the 

production of " significant persons," and we believe that the decrease 

is in proportion to the decay of the expressive and soulful 

old language, and of the traditions of romance and heroism and 

of antique virtue and faith it enshrined. It is to be feared that 

the "Christopher" type of character is becoming rarer in the 

Highlands. 

Without taking the extreme view of those who write and talk 

seriously of " Civilization—its cause, and cure," one may find 

ground to be apprehensive as to what shape our civilization may 

take if some of the modern modes of thought lead us into the 

hallucination that the way to advance is to make a clean break with 

the past, so that we turn a deaf ear to the great voices that echo 

< through the corridors of time,' and we treat as a thing outworn 

the spiritual attitude towards life of our wise and brave forefathers, 

who brought us where we are in the upward climb. Our 

belief is that our British, as well as our Scottish, civilization can 

have no more cleansing and elevating influence acting upon it 

than that of the spirit and the culture of the Gael We answer 

to the roll-call of more than one citizenship, and acute observers 

in lands overseas remark on the beneficent effect of Gaelic influence 

on Colonial life. In a notable manifesto recently issued by 

a Society in the Republic of the West, eloquent expression is 

given to a deep sense of debt to those of our race who took part 

in the founding and making of that great country. Like the 

leaven that the woman took and hid in the meal, their genius, both 

literary and spiritual, has worked potently, and on a historic scale, 

and will continue to do so, unless it is allowed to become extinct. 

We are not greatly ruffled by the taunt that we are out of 

step with, or lagging far behind the march of modern thought, 

that we are unable to understand we are living in a changed 

world. We are quite awake, and never dream of clothing ourselves 

again in all the outward vesture of the thought and life of 

our ancestors, though who would not say that much of it was 

more picturesque and had far more meaning than that of our 

contemporaries Who would contend that the various forms of 

Highland dancing, even on the rough, clay floor of a barn, were 

not a far more graceful and dignified expression of the spirit 

of innocent merriment than the grotesque wriggling to be seen 

nowadays in a modern palais de danse And a straw shows how the 

current goes! Or, to use a homely simile, may we not wish that 

a spinning-wheel, and song, and love and worship shall still be 

found in a Highland cottage, without demanding of the Legislature 

that it shall be thatched with the old time bent, bracken or 

heather, instead of the slate of these days We believe that the 

chivalries, the loyalties, the hospitalities, and the spiritual values 

of our forefathers are not so very incompatible with the law of 

change. 

Our contributors, besides entertaining us with song and story, 

have articulated clearly and convincingly the mind and purpose 

of An Comunn, and given many wise suggestions as to how best 

to deal with the whole Gaelic question; but "so many men, so 

many opinions." We do not expect, nor might it be well, that 

our readers should agree with all the views expressed in these 

pages. Our case, however, is in no danger from free, well-meant 

discussion, which, at least, serves to show that there is a live, 

active interest being taken in it, so that, like the ardent lover, we 

say, " Speak well o J 

my love, speak ill o' my love, only 

aye be speaking!" In a page here and there one may 

hear a hint of the approaching decease of the Gaelic 

language, but even then the writer seems to turn an 

attentive ear to the strange, rich harmonies of the dying man's 

tongue. With regard to what may seem more severe criticism, 

let us remember that " A good horse may be forgiven a kick." 

We need not fear differences of opinion among our friends, so 

long as beneath there is evidence of mutual understanding on vital 

points. 

Something like alarm is expressed as to the rapidly diminishing 

number of Gaelic speakers throughout Scotland, and especially 

within the Gaelic area, as shown by each succeeding Census, but 

this admittedly disquieting fact should only rouse An Comunn 

to more vigorous activity, and the fact that we can count moral 

gains that outweigh numerical losses should be a spur to more 

determined effort. Leading statesmen who hold that character,

X. Editor's Foreword. 


XL 

rather than material wealth, is the real source of" the strength or" a 

people, regard our work as supremely important national service. 

Although the 1921 Census shows a decline'in Gaelic that is serious 

enough, it is not likely that a Registrar-General would comment 

upon it now, as did the gentleman of the 1871 Census, when he 

wrote:—"The Gaelic language stands in the way of the success 

of the natives in life; it shuts them up from the paths open to 

their fellow-countrymen who speak the English tongue." We 

might try to find a half truth in his statement had he not gone 

on, " We are one people, we should have but one language," and, 

to crown the absurdity, he might have added that we should be of 

one mind, and cast in one mould. We who think that the confusion 

of tongues at Babel became a powerful factor in the 

evolution process, rejoice in the " Braid Scots " movement of our 

time, and wish it all success. 

In recent years, increasing numbers of Gaelic students have 

passed through the Celtic classes in our Universities, and through 

the higher classes in our Secondary Schools, and it is certain that 

the effect of higher education of the right kind will be to make 

these students set, not less, but far higher value on their mothertongue, 

so that we may look for an intellectual factor working 

more and more in the Gaelic Movement, and greatly reinforcing 

it. The Registrar-General of 1871 proposed that "Gaelic should 

cease to be taught in all our national schools." How changed 

the scene in the Education (Scotland) Act of 1918, in which we 

read that " Local Authorities are required to include in their 

educational schemes adequate facilities for teaching Gaelic in 

Gaelic-speaking areas "—still a wide field, and now an open 

field for action, if only the vox populi declares that it is the will 

of our people that the Gaelic Clause should become fully operative 

in all the schools of Gaeldom, and that it is their resolve 

that their race shall not perish from the earth, and that the land 

in which it was wont to be bred, and the language by which its 

spirit was wont to be nurtured shall be preserved at all costs. 

We would make an earnest appeal to all patriotic ministers 

and teachers to assist in making this Gaelic Rally of 1927 memorable 

and lasting in its effects, by joining the membership of the 

Association, and becoming co-workers in a great cause. By 

precept and example, they would help greatly in forming, and in 

setting in motion that force of public opinion which is essential 

to the success of a Gaelic Renaissance. We would, however, do 

well to keep in mind that the rise or fall of our hopes and aims 

should not be allowed to depend on mere numbers. In connection 

with the Bohemian movement for the freedom of the race spirit, 

it is told that at one stage the work was in the hands of a small 

group of scholars, who were writing in their native Czech, trying 

to awaken the spirit of their countrymen by calling their attention 

to their music, literature and history. So small was this band of 

patriots, through whose work a nation was ere long to be reborn, 

that one of them remarked at their little meeting, " If the ceiling 

of this room were to fall and crush us, there would be an end 

of our National movement." 

Our Association is not exclusive, as we know many who have 

community of spirit with us, though their name or tongue may 

not show a direct Gaelic connection. They give us material, as 

well as moral support, so we cordially invite them into full fellowship, 

and will be proud to enter their names on our roll without 

applying any < Mac 5 

or ' Shibboleth ' test. We also think that it 

would conduce to the creating of a lively race consciousness to 

cultivate fraternal relations with other peoples who claim race 

kinship, and show spiritual affinity with us, and expressly seek 

union with us. In a commonwealth of Bretons, Welsh, and 

Scottish and Irish Gaels there would be generated a high-temperature 

enthusiasm which would react on each group. In the 

literature, both past and present, of these kindred peoples, and in 

their traditions and history, there is always, apart from their 

universal interest, a note that strikes a responsive chord in the 

breast of every Gael. 

While our main objective is the preserving and perpetuating 

of all in language, literature and music, that goes to the making 

up of a Gaelic culture, one cannot help thinking that some prac 

tical interest in questions vitally affecting the material welfare of 

Gaeldom might well come within the ambit of An Comunn's 

operations. We might make good use of the secret of the wonderful 

race consciousness of the Jews, who are willing to make 

any sacrifice to have their ancient patria restored, so that they may 

have a " homeland " to which their hearts may ever turn, though 

their eyes should never behold it. We shall have no Gaelic if the 

Highlands become "the silent hills of the vanished races," no 

songs when the songsters have all flown, no Gaels when " the 

nursery is emptied of its children." 

Long live and flourish our Mods, but, though the walls of

xii. 


Thebes rose to the music or* Amphion's lyre, the heroic young 

patriot, Nehemiah, took the practical way to rebuild the walls or" 

the dear city of his fathers—" every man with one of his hands 

wrought in the work, and with the other held a weapon." While 

we seek to have Gaelic taught in our schools as part of a truly 

* liberal * education, it would be in line with a re-peopling policy 

to lead our Highland children into finding new meanings in the 

saying, " God made the country, and man made the town." It 

is encouraging to know that educationists in England are of 

opinion that " too little is being done to make agriculture attractive 

as a vocation to country boys and girls." 

It is hoped that this volume may be in some small way a 

memorial of what is being done in 1927, A.D. to pass on the 

Gaelic heritage to our children, and it is also hoped that such 

a Fund will be raised for An Comunn's work as will be an impressive 

memorial that we are earnest in deed as well as in word. 

This year 1927 may prove a decisive one as to the future fortunes 

of Gaelic. 

I tender to Mr. A. J. Sinclair, of the Celtic Press, my sincere 

thanks, as this work was made much easier for a tyro editor by 

his unvarying patience and courtesy. 

An Comunn will also be glad to see grateful mention made of 

the names of a few gentlemen who took a special interest in this 

compilation. Mr. Robert Bain kindly gave free access to the 

treasures of the Mitchell Library, which helped greatly in 

securing illustrations. Mr. Ancell Stronach, of the Glasgow 

School of Art, generously undertook the making of the 

Cover design, besides giving two striking examples of his art. To 

Dr. Pittendrigh Macgillivray and to Mr. John Duncan I am much 

indebted for having written me, time after time, with valuable 

suggestions as to the illustrations. I wish to make reverent 

mention of the name of Mr. James Cadenhead, who, in sending 

an exquisite hill picture, wrote most kindly only a few days before 

he passed, to see, no longer "through a glass, darkly," the beauty 

which, as was said of him, was " ever the quest of his soul." 

JOHN MACDONALD. 

PAGE 

Contents, 

1 

V. President's Foreword. 

vii. Editor's Foreword. 

i. Wild Hills, Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D. 

2. Is toigh leam a' Ghaidhealtachd, Iain Caimbeul, Bàrd na Leadaig. 

3- Message from Principal Sir Donald MacAlister, Bart., K.C.B." M.D., 

LL.D., D.C.L., D.Sc., Ph.D. 

4 The Fèill—its purpose, Malcolm MacLeod. 

6. Message from The Right Hon. Lord Alness, Lord Justice Clerk. 

7- Message from The Right Hon. David Lloyd George M.P. 

8. Message from The Right Hon. J. Ramsay MacDonald, M.P. 

9- St. Columba's Influence on 

Scottish History, 

Rev. Prof. Main, D.Litt.. D.D. 

ii. Astray in Appin, Neil Mun ro, LL.D. 

5- Tuireadh an Usaoidh, Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.) 

*7- Dealachadh nan Rathad, Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach. 

23- Ossianic Poetry, Translated by Thomas Pattison. 

24. Carmina Gadelica, John Duncan, R.S.A. 

3»- Our Traditional Racial Song- 

Lore, ... Marjory Kennedy-Frascr, C.B.E. 

35- Looking Northward, ... Compton Mackenzie. 

38- The Reaper, ... IVilliam Wordsworth. 

39- Our Irish Civilization, Alice Stopford Green. 

42. Gillias, ... Countess of Cromartie. 

49. Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne, Donnchadh Mac Iain. 

53- The Golden Eagle, Seton Gordon, B.A. (Oxon), F.Z.S. 

55- A Highland Heroine for Highland 

Women, 

Augusta Lamont, B.Sc. 

56- With Apologies to the True 

Believer, ... Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur. 

59- The Importance of Highland 

Folklore, ... 

Donald A. Mackenzie. 

64. Duanaire na Sracairc, Prof. William J. Watson, M.A., LL.D., 

D. Litt., Celt. 

68. Is togarrach a dh' fbalbhainn, Domhnull MacLeoid, H.M.I.S. 

6q. The Return of Finn, ... John L. Kinloch, M.A. 

76. Tìr nam Beann, Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach"). 

78. The Gael in Scottish History, Prof. Rait, C.B.E., LL.D. 

80. What I think of the Gaelic 

Movement, 

William MacKay, LL.D. 

83- Christopher, Rev. Lauchlan Maclean Watt, D.D. 

87. Seann Sgeul mu Eilean Hirt, Iain N. MacLeoid. 

91. 

Oran a' Phrionnsa, ... Alasdair Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair. 

92. A Maker of Modern Gaeldom. Lachlan MacBean. 

97- Message from Wales, Rev. H. Elvet Lewis, M.A. 

98. The Gael and His Song, Robert MacLeod, Mus. Bac, F.R.C.O.

XIV. 

Contents —continued. Contents—continued. xv. 

FACE 

T rtrt An Dìleab, Seumas Mac Thomais, M.A. 

1 UVi 

Highlanders All, 

Rev. A. Boyd Scott, M.C., D.D. 

IOL 

To a Highland Girl, 

William Wordsworth. 

104. 

106. The Life of a Crofter, Alastair Cameron. 

108. Bàrdachd Spioradail na Gàidhealtachd, 

-•• An t-Urr. D. Mac GiU'Eathain, D.D. 

112. Ruairidh Mòr, Alasdair Alpin MacGregor. 

Fèill, 

An t-Urr. C. MacGill'Innein, D.D. 

117. Highland Depopulation, 

Rev. Murdo Lamont. 

122. The Return of the Exiles, ... M. E. M. Donaldson. 

125. The Red Deer, 

Major John Ross, F.S.A. (Scot.) 

128. Am Fiadh, Seumas Mac-an-Rothaich. 

129. The Study of Scottish Gaelic, Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D. 

III. The Celtic Spirit, William Power. 

Love's Last Request, Colonel John MacGregor. 

135- 

Slàinte bho Thoileachas- 

1 jU. 

inntinn, 

Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach"). 

1-1S. Then and Now, 

Sheriff MacMaster Campbell, C.B.E , 

1 J U . 

F.S.A. (Scot.) 

The Assynt Maid's Lament, ... Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D. 

146. 

Pàruig Mòr, 

William D. Lamont, M.A. (Hons.) 

R. Morton Nance. 

152- 

Message from Cornwall, 

Na h-Ailleagain 's an Calman, Aonghas MacDhonnchaidh. 

Sean Cheatharnaich Lochabair, An t-Urr. D. A. Caimbeul, D-D. 

157- 

Sheiling Girl's Song, 


'59- 

160. The Departure, (A Dream), •• Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland. 

162. In Our Parish—The King's 

Pensioner 

Rev. Norman MacLean, D.D. 

16S. The Canadian Boat Song, .. Anonymous. 

169. Tìr nan Og, (Land of the Ever- 

Young), ... 

Rev. Neil Ross, M.A., B.D. 

Na h-Eilthirich 

Ghàidhealach, 

Murchadh Mac Ghille Mhoire. 

175- 

La Bretagnes et Les Celtes 

177- 

Insulaires, 

Le Docteur-Barde, M. Jaffrennou. 

180. Highland Home Industries, ... Mrs. W. J. Watson and Miss J. D. Bruce. 

184. 

Highland Pride, 

Lady MacAlister of Tarbert. 

>8 5 

. 

Gaelic in the Pulpit, 

Rev. John MaeGilchrist, B.A., (Oxon.), 

D.D. 

188. Taisbeanadh, ... 

Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.) 

190. Uilleam MacDhunleibhe, 

An t-Urr. Gilleasbuig 

MacDhomhnaill, 

D.D. 

194. 

The Better Singer, 

Rev. Kenneth MacLeod. 


195- 

The Song Battle, 

196. 

The Song of the Blood, 


197. 

An Uiseag, 

Niall Mac Gille 

Sheathanaich. 

198. The Mòd, 

U. M. 

201. Differences between Gael and Ga 

11, Prof. Douglas Hyde, LL.D., D.Litt. 

205. 

Sheiling Life in Lewis, 

Norman Morrison, D.ès. Sc., F.Z.S. 

209. 

The Call of the Isles, Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur. 

PAGE 

2IO. 

213. 

214. 

2l8. 

226. 

228. 

230. 

2 

3.v 

241. 

2 

45- 

248. 

252. 

256. 

257- 

261. 

264. 

264. 

269. 

270. 

271. 

278. 

283. 

285. 

2S9. 

290. 

296. 

298. 

299. 

300. 

303. 

304. 

Seann Sgeul Gàidhealach, ... 

Long nan Saighdearan, 

The " Bothan " (The Highland 

Cottage), 

Crois-tàra (The Fiery Cross), 

Glasgow Lassie's Visit to 

CuUoden, ... 

Mu Shòbhraig Oigh, 

Ròs Aluinn, 

Notes on Celtic Place-Names, 

The Celtic Craftsmen, 

The Epithet " Celtic," 

A Ghàidhlig anns na Sgoilean, 

Grianan, 

On the Imprisonment of 

Argyll, 

The Eagle in Captivity, ... ' 

A Tale of Old Glen Strae, ... 

Druid Circles and Rock Carvings, 

Sonnet to a Stone Circle, 

The Seven Men of Glenmoriston, 

Raonall MacDhomhnaill, 

Obair-àrdair, 

Cumha air Fear Obair-àrdair, 

Tobar Nighean an Rìgh, 

Sir Cailean Caimbeul, 

Marbhrann do'n Ridir Cailean 

Caimbeul, 

An Old Highland Industry — 

Kelp-Making, 

The Land of Heather, 

Na h-Orduighean, 

The Gaelic Outlook, 

The Heritage of the Gael, ... 

Song of the Stag, 

Sandy to Alasdair, 

Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire 

g'a Mhnaoi, 

Do Gaels of Canada place an 

extra value upon the 

Gaelic-speaking Immigrant, 

Gaol Duthcha, ... 

Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach"), 

lain Mac Phàidein. 

Colin Sinclair, M.A., F.R.LB.A. 

The Hon. R. Erskine of Marr. 

Catherine A. MacDonald. 

Catriona Ghrannd. 

Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach. 

Rev. Chas. M. Roberston. 

Hugh Munro. 

Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D. 

Daibhidh Urchardainn, M.A. 

Seumas MacLeoid. 

Prof. W. J. Watson, M.A., LL.D., 

D.Litt., Celt. 

Rev. David R. Williamson. 

Alasdair Alpin MacGregor. 

Ludovic MacLellan Mann, F.S.A. [Scot.) 

William Wordsworth. 

Alister MacDonald, ("Gleannach. "ì 

I. MacDh. 

Gun urrainn. 

Eachann MacDhùghaill. 

T. D. MacDhomhnaill. 

Aonghas 

MacDhomhnaill. 

Archd. N. Currie, M.A., D.Sc, A.LC. 


Domhnall Mac-a-Phì. 

Prof. Magnus MacLean, M.A., D.Sc, 

LL.D. 

Right Hon. lan MacPherson, P.C., K.C., 

M. r\ 


John Buchan, LL.D. 

Bho'n " Teachdaire Gàidhealach. 1, 

Bertram W. Sinclair. 

.4. Sinclair, (An Gàidheal, 1871).

Illustrations. 

Frontispiece, ... 

Plate from the Book of Kells. From " The Studio." 

FACING 

FACE 

I. Sundown in Lome, Sir D. Y. Cameron, R.A., R.S.A., LL.D. 

16. Burns and Highland Mary, ... Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D. 

21. Columba and the Old Horse, John Duncan, 

R.S.A. 

28. Dawn,—St. Martin's Cross, 

lona, 

Archd. Kay, A.R.S.A., R.S.W. 

53- The Eaglet's First High 

Venture, 

Photo, by Seton Gordon, F.Z.S. 

60. The Mermaid, ... Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art. 

85- Autumn, Early Morning, James Cadenhead, R.S.A. 

92. 

Dugald Buchanan's Cottage, Photo, by Valentine & Co. 

"3- Cup and Horn, Dunvegan, ... Photo, from Canon R. C. MacLeod or 

MacLeod. 

128. The Home of the Red Deer, V. R. Balfour-Browne. 

149. Night Clouds in Mull, Hugh Munro. 

149. Highlanders at Home, Photo, from Major John Ross. 

156. Ancient Toward Castle, Photo, by Sir N. Lamont, Bart. 

177. A Heavy Sea at Staffa, Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch. 

192. The Song of the Hill, Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S. 

197. The Distant Hills, Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S. 

204. The Road to the Glen, Photo, bv J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S. 

213. Where Birches Wave, Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S. 

220. The Valley of the Shadows,... Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S. 

Culloden Moor, 

Photo, by Valentine & Co. 

240. Saint Bride. Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art. 

261. Callanish Druid Circle, Lewis, Photo, by Valentine & Co. 

268. Shield and Sword, {Glenmoriston), 

From William MacKay, LL.D. 

277. Sir Colin Campbell—Lord Clyde Harry W. Phillips. 

284. Cogadh na Sith, (Quatrc Bras) Lockhart Boyle. 

293- Sentinels of Enchanted Land, Photo, from " Glasgow Herald." 

300, The Duart Lighthouse, Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.

-J 

WILD 

HILLS. 

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'T'HE great, wild hills !— 

Old thunder notes of earth: 

Dominating, brooding, 

Over some mystic birth: 

Wind, and rain-swept heights; 

Arid from fire, and ice-cap; 

Haunts of Eagle and Deer 

Where the forests be-lap: 

Dour walls of basalt crag— 

Lochs, silent and deep— 

Shadowy glens remote, 

Where the goblins keep: 

Bracken-clad bosky dens 

With chattering silver streams— 

Nooks where the green fairies dance, 

With laughter and little screams: 

O wonderful wild hills!— 

In the sun or the moon's light; 

How you forever allure me 

With your silent, secret might! 

PITTENDRIGH 

MACGILLIVRAY. 

Kind permission oj "Glasgow Herald. 1 '

Is Toigh Leam a' Ghaidhealtachd 

LE IAIN CAIMBEUL NACH MAIREANN, BARD NA LEADAIG. 

IS toigh leam a' Ghàidhealtachd, is toigh leam gach gleann 

Gach eas agus coire an dùthaich nam beann; 

Is toigh leam na gillean 'nam fèileadh ghlan ùr, 

Is boineid Ghlinn-Garaidh mu 'n camagan dlùth. 

Is toigh leam 'nan deis' iad o am mullach gu'm bonn, 

Am breacan, an t-osan, an sporan's an lann; 

Is toigh leam iad sgeadaicht' an èideadh an tìr, 

Ach 's suarach an deise seach seasmhachd an crìdh'. 

Sheas iad an dùthaich 's gach cùis agus càs, 

Duais-bhrathaidh cha ghabhadh, ged chuirt' iad gu bàs; 

'S ged shàraicht' an spiorad, 's ged leagte an ceann, 

Bha 'n cridhe cho daingeann ri carraig nam beann. 

Is toigh leam na h-igheanagan, 's b'ainneamh an t-àm 

Nach bithinn 'nan cuideachd 'n uair gheibhinn bhi ann; 

'S nam faighinn-se tè dhiubh a dùthaich mo chrìdh', 

Gun siùbhlainn-se leatha gu iomall gach tìr. 

Is toigh leam a' Ghàidhlig, a bàrdachd's a ceòl, 

Is tric thog i nìos sinn 'n uair bhiodhmaid fo leòn; 

'S i dh' ionnsaich sinn tràth ann an làithean ar n-òig, 

'S nach fàg sinn gu bràth gus an laigh sinn fo 'n fhòid. 

Is toigh leam na cleachdaidhean ceanalt 5 

a bh'ann, 

Na biodh iad an dìochuimhn' a nis aig an cloinn,— 

An coibhneas, an càirdeas, am bàigh is an t-eud, 

Tha cliù dhoibh 's gach dùthaich fo chuairtean nan speur. 

Nis tha dùthaich ar gaoil 'dol fo chaoraich's fo fhèidh, 

'S sinn 'gar fuadach thar sàile mar bhàrlach gun fheum; 

Ach thigeadh an cruaidh-chàs, 's cò sheasas an stoirm — 

O cò ach na balaich le'm boineidean gorm. 

Canar an gaisge's an domhan mun cuairt, 

Air sgiathaibh nan gaoithean 'ga sgaoileadh thar chuan, 

Is fhad 'sa bhios rìoghachd 'na seasamh air fonn, 

Bidh cuimhne gu dìlinn air euchdan nan sonn. 

Message from 

Principal Sir Donald MacAlister, Bart., 

K.C.B., M.A., M.D., LL.D., D.C.L., D.Sc, Ph.D., 

Glasgow University. 

As a Trustee of the Fèill Fund, from which An Comunn 

derives the chief part of its inadequate income, I am naturally 

desirous to see its capital increased. But my special interest in 

the success of its present effort to this end is not financial, but 

educational. An Comunn believes, and I believe, that the better 

educated, in the fullest sense of the word, the rising generation 

of Highlanders is, the more effective it will be in bringing the 

Celtic tradition and the Gaelic genius to bear on the intellectual 

life of the whole nation. We believe, nay we know from experience, 

that a Highland child, who is taught from the outset 

bilingually, is more susceptible of higher education in all subjects 

than a child, whether in Scotland or in England, whose elementary 

instruction is given through English only. We therefore urge 

that every child, whose home-language is Gaelic, should be taught 

in our Highland schools to read and write Gaelic as he is taught 

to read and write English. The effect of this training has proved 

to be, not only that he gains access to Celtic literature, but that 

his progress in English becomes surer and speedier, and his intellectual 

grasp becomes wider and stronger. Having already 

command of two tongues, differing in structure and idiom, he 

can make comparisons and observe analogies. He gains in fact 

the mental aptitude and versatility that, in the public schools of 

the south, the Southron is supposed to gain from his training in 

Latin or Greek. And he gains it the more certainly in that his 

' second language' is to him a living vernacular, in which he can 

constantly exercise himself colloquially, and not a dead language 

that he never speaks. Moreover, his Gaelic is a language so rich 

phonetically, and so diverse from English in its grammar and 

phrasing, that he is thereby prepared, as no Englishman is, for 

the easy acquisition of other modern languages. Not only his 

tongue, but his mind, becomes adaptable, and he is the better fitted 

to make headway in foreign lands and new surroundings, wherever 

his lot may be cast.

4 

MESSAGE FROM SIR DONALD MACALISTER. 

I say nothing here, others will say it better elsewhere, of the 

treasures of Celtic poetry, art, and music, that are open to an 

educated Gael, and of the impoverishment of our civilisation, if 

these should cease to be cultivated and transmitted to our successors. 

My sole point now is that it is worth while to promote 

the teaching of Gaelic in Highland schools, because that will make 

for the surer success in life of the individual Highlander, and 

enable him to render fuller and better service to his nation and to 

the Empire. 

The Feill —Its Purpose. 

BY MALCOLM MACLEOD, 

Ex-President of An Comunn. 

HIGH hopes are being centred upon the Fèill, and great issues 

hang upon its success. Its purposes have been fully set 

forth in the documents issued by its promoters, and it is 

therefore not necessary to do more than merely refer to them. 

Indeed, they may all be summed up briefly in the statement 

that An Comunn has reached a stage at which it must have more 

money to carry on its work. As the Gaelic old-word puts it with 

rueful humour, "Cha ruig am beagan fuilt a th'ann air cùl a chinn 

's air clàr an aodainn." Its available funds are inadequate to permit 

of the work to which it is already committed being performed 

efficiently; expansion of that work, for the time being, is 

absolutely barred. The truth is that curtailment rather than extension 

is the prospect that must be contemplated, failing a 

substantial addition being made to its resources. 

No one who loves the Gaelic language, or who wishes to see 

it live, can regard that prospect with any other feeling than dismay. 

For, after all, An Comunn is the only corporate body which, 

organised on a national basis and operating on a national scale,, 

has for its main purpose to safeguard and promote the interests 

of the Gaelic language. It has endeavoured to carry out its selfimposed 

task in many ways, within the limits prescribed by its 

restricted resources, and there is a very real sense in which the 

THE FEILL ITS PURPOSE. 

5 

financial stringency from which it now suffers may be taken as 

one of the best evidences of its success. Its help is being 

constantly sought, and, while grateful acknowledgment ought to 

be made of the vast amount of labour devoted gratuitously and 

ungrudgingly to its work, there is much that can be done only by 

a judicious and generous monetary expenditure. What is needed 

now is that it should widen, not narrow the scope of its operations, 

that it should lengthen its cords and strengthen its stakes. 

The experience of An Comunn in the course of its work for 

the Gael, while it has revealed the existence of a host of men and 

women who are in full and eager sympathy with its objects, and 

willing to devote their time and their means to the furtherance of 

these, has also disclosed the less agreeable fact that in quarters 

in which a different attitude might quite reasonably be expected, 

there is a condition of apathy and of Laodicean lukewarmness 

which is most difficult to conquer. What we have to do is to 

organize and direct the friendly feeling and the willingness to help, 

which so widely prevail, and to rouse the indifferent to a sense of 

their responsibility. That can be done only by propaganda work 

on a much more extensive and systematic plan than has hitherto 

been possible. Missionaries must be sent out who will reach the 

people directly, who will appeal to their racial self-respect, and 

who will strive to kindle in their hearts a glowing pride in their 

native language, and a resolute determination to preserve it. A 

revival of Gaelic in the home, at the domestic fireside, would be 

of inestimable value. If it dies in the home, it will not live 

anywhere else. Some of us will never cease to be grateful for 

the fact that we grew up speaking both languages from our earliest 

years, and there is no reason why the children of all Gaelicspeaking 

parents should not enjoy this boon. That is one of the 

things the value of which we must impress strongly on parents 

throughout the Highlands. 

The Gaelic-speaking area in the Highlands of Scotland is 

narrowing at a pace which is very disquieting to all lovers of the 

language. The figures revealed by successive Census returns are 

an imperative call to those who set any store by the preservation 

of the national language, to support every legitimate endeavour 

put forth for its retention. It is not yet too late to stop the process 

of decay. We have the opportunity now of doing something to 

help the efforts that are being made towards this end. Let us 

avail ourselves of it.

Message from 

The Right Hon. Lord Alness, 

Lord Justice Clerk. 

Message from 

The Right Hon. David Lloyd George. 

25, OLD QUEEN STREET, 

WESTMINSTER, 

LONDON, 

S.W.I. 

ph August) IQ26. 

Dear Mr. MacDonald, 

I was deeply interested in reading about the proposed 

Great Fèill in aid of the Fund of An Comunn Gàidhealach. Its 

intention is to aid a noble cause—the perpetuation of the language 

and customs of a part of the great race which has inhabited these 

Islands since the most distant and dim ages. 

Old things have of themselves no right to continued existence 

if they become a drag on human progress, and especially so if 

they can easily be substituted by others which are more advantageous. 

No one, however, will dare contend that Scotland could 

be occupied by a finer race than the Gaelic-speaking Celt. If the 

manly qualities of that race are fostered by a knowledge of its 

language, then indeed your Fèill will fulfil a worthy object. 

I have no doubt a knowledge of the language and customs 

of their ancestors will help each succeeding generation to maintain 

in their hearts and minds characteristics which have done 

so much for Scotland and the Empire. As a brother Celt, I wish 

the Fèill unbounded success. 

Ever sincerely,

St. Columba's Influence on Scottish History. 

BY REV. PROFESSOR MAIN, D.LITT., 

D.D., 

Message from 

The Right Hon. J. Ramsay Macdonald. 

HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

I am delighted to hear of" the efforts that are being made to 

preserve for Scotland and the world both the tongue and the 

spirit of the Highlander. Every man and woman who has any 

sense of the ultimate blessings of life, will strive, in these days of 

vain and impractical materialism, to keep alive those feelings of 

reverence for the worthy, and awe for the beautiful and tender, 

which are an essential part of the make up of the true Highlander. 

Worship is the creative power of the world. Men must 

either worship God or false gods, and the folk of the hills and 

the heather, the mists and the evening twilight, the sheiling, with 

the background of moor and the pine trees, have something in 

their inheritance which makes it natural for them to worship after 

the spirit. Our land may have fallen on evil days, but let us 

keep the spirit of our people. 


THE Book of History tells us that in the year 563 St. Columba 

landed on the shores of Iona, that he built cells for himself 

and his twelve devoted companions, that he founded a little 

sanctuary for the worship and glory of God, that he sailed out and 

in amongst the isles of the Hebrides carrying the light of the 

Christian Evangel into dark places, that he crossed to the mainland 

and penetrated as far as the palace of Brude, King of the 

Northern Picts, whom he converted to the true faith, that he 

fought a victorious campaign against the pagan Druids and won 

a Kingdom for his Christ. But these were far-off days of legend 

and romance, and we narrowly scrutinise every legend and every 

romance in our era of criticism and sound sense. Learnedly we 

admit that there may have been a Columba, Saint of Erin. 

The Book of Adamnan tells us a story of a Miles Christi, who 

won the hearts of his disciples, and held them for high and noble 

enterprise. It is a gem of inspired biography, and it enthrals the 

reader until he masters the epic of a brave apostle, who gave his 

life for Scot and Pict. And when he reaches the end, and sees 

Columba, leaning on the breast of the faithful Diormit, give his 

last blessing to the stricken monks, then he says with reverent 

voice—there must have been a St. Columba. 

But the Book of Life tells us most of all. Go to the Sacred 

Isle, breathe its air laden with holy tradition, let well-nigh fourteen 

centuries roll past you as in a dream, and every doubt will 

vanish. Begin your pilgrimage at the green sward of Martyrs' 

Bay, where lay the bodies of fallen Kings and Chieftains on their 

way to burial; then walk past the Nunnery and St. Oran's Chapel, 

stand near the Abbey and gaze upon the Pisgah of Iona, then, in 

leisured mood, traverse the island till you reach the Bay where 

Columba landed,—and these ancient sites will force your verdict 

—there -was a St. Columba. 

Our heroic man was a Monk, a Missionary, and a Statesman. 

His was a happy family of " Island-Soldiers." Some of these 

were alumni, novices of the faith; some were operarii, workers

IO ST. COLUMBA'S INFLUENCE ON SCOTTISH HISTORY. 

who cared for the wants of the Monastery; and some were 

senioreSy the equipped Monastics who performed the daily round 

of the priestly office. In that family St. Columba was the Abbot, 

but he was more than Abbot, he was undisputed King. There 

were in him a dignity that impressed all men, and a geniality that 

won all men, for never was autocrat and aristocrat more beloved; 

he was passionate and masterful, yet he was a saint and a servant; 

he was an Evangelist in foreign lands, but no man was greater 

patriot in love of Erin. 

How great was the influence of that man! The history of 

Scotland began with him, and in the sixth-century conversion of 

the Picts the first step in the consolidation of our country was 

taken. It was he who restored and emancipated the Kingdom of 

the Scots in Dalriada, and, therefore, prepared the way for a union 

of Scot and Pict. In very truth, St. Columba was a founder of 

Nations. 

" Well may the Celtic people remember Columba with grateful 

devotion—a devotion that seems folly to those who do not 

know his history. They are the better to this hour because he 

lived." John Campbell Shairp's words are true. The Gael with 

his precious heritage of a language brimful of poetry, of a land 

majestic in its rugged contours, of a religion reverent and 

tenacious—the Gael can never forget Columba. Nor can the 

Lowlander, for he too has shared many a blessing that overflowed 

from the riches of a noble and abiding tradition. So long as 

Scotsmen love their country and fear their God, the name of St. 

Columba will be remembered and upheld. 

ST. COLUMBA'S BENEDICTION TO IRELAND. 

Carry with thee, thou noble youth, 

My blessing and my benediction, 

One half upon Erin, sevenfold, 

And half on Alba. 

Take my blessing with thee to the West; 

Broken is my heart in my breast; 

Should sudden death overtake me 

It is from my great love of the Gaedhil; 

Gaedhil! Gaedhil! beloved name! 

Astray in Appin 

By NEIL MUNRO, 

Author of " The Lost Pibroch," " The New Road," etc., etc. 

I 

HAD been fishing for a week, with moderate success, in Loch 

Daile Mhic Chailein, private water which belonged to Fasnacloich. 

The weather had been dry for weeks ; the sun 

glared hatefully on Appin all the day, and only in the evenings was 

the place restored to that condition of romantic mystery, that 

agreement with its history, which renders Appin always so peculiarly 

fascinating. 

Glen Creran—heaven be thanked !—lies out of the way of 

common traffic, and the woods of Fasnacloich are even yet as 

lonely and remote as when the cry arose round the House of Fear, 

and the Stewarts trembled guiltily at the news of the death of 

Colin Campbell. A new house has been built at Fasnacloich, they 

tell me, and Fasnacloich itself has found a new proprietor; but 

when I was there a guest of Stewarts, the house was little more 

than a single cottage with some iron bungalows in the grounds 

about it to accommodate the overflow of shooting and fishing 

visitors. 

They were—myself included—the oddest, most incongruous 

mixture—soldiers, artists, attaches, lawyers, ladies, and even a 

lord or two. I remember one particularly, a Cecil, who looked so 

like his brother Salisbury, though in truth a simple, genial English 

farmer squire, that I never could be at ease with him. A gay party 

of good souls, quite ready to swop flies or lies, or gaff a salmon 

for you, but someway I was out of it, since the atmosphere was 

wholly English, and my quest in Appin was the " genus loci." 

No matter though a piper played the rouse each morning, and at 

dinner made the others doleful by parading round the table 

playing pibrochs, I felt this wasn't strictly speaking Appin. 

It could be Appin only when I was alone, when I climbed to 

Ben Mhir na Ceisich, or rambled in the woods, walked over the 

ruins of the sheilings, or by the otter-haunted river to Loch 

Creran-head. But even more particularly was it Appin when the 

little lake in front of Fasnacloich was like a mirror through which

12 ASTRAY IN APPIN. 

salmon and sea-trout multitudinously crashed all day, tempting 

and taunting the chagrined angler, and I pushed my boat into the 

embouchure of the inflowing river, from whose dim, cool, dripping, 

and mysterious recesses I could look as from a cave through 

a vista of dense overhanging trees to an Appin flooded with light 

and colour. Round me the fish plowted, and the water-vole, and 

in the calmest noon the foliage was full of curious whisperings, 

movements, hints of espionage. What a place for love or murder! 

But better still, more sane, more spacious, free, and fairy, 

was the spirit of the evening hour in Fasnacloich, when the yellow 

badger's moon hung over the scented valley, and the woods were 

sombre dark, and the hills became more close and lofty, and the 

little loch had a crossing causewayed with pure gold. In such an 

hour the pipes of Cameron, heard upon the shore, expressed most 

poignantly the soul and story of the land of Appin. 

I tired of the glassy lake, though, indeed, my fishing was a 

sheer pretence, and set out one morning, early, on a visit to Dalness, 

a place I had written about, but at the time had never seen. 

Dalness lies over a dozen miles away, in an angle of Glen 

Etive, across a trackless country, utterly forsaken, save by bird and 

deer, and it was necessary that part of the way at least I should have 

a guide. I found one wholly to my mind in the tenant of Glenure. 

The house he dwelt in is renowned in Highland history, for 

it was the home of the Red Fox—Colin Campbell, and Campbell's 

blood cries from the floor. It was from here, as judicial factor, 

that he squeezed the rents from the reluctant Stewarts; it was to an 

upper chamber of it that his corpse was carried after he had fallen 

before the bullet of the assassin. The story of "Kidnapped" 

would never have been written, if there had not been 

this little farmhouse under the sinister shadow of the 

last of the mighty yew-trees which have given Glenure 

its name. A little farmhouse, I have called it, but in 

truth it had in some respects the aspect of a keep, with enormous 

fire recesses, massive walls and shutters, and an entrance barred 

by beams of oak that slid into channels in the masonry. If the 

house was built for Colin Campbell, it was built for a man who 

knew he stood alone, and had to sleep at night among his enemies. 

Mackay took me up the glen, which has no road, since it really 

leads to nowhere, and his house at the entrance is the only one it 

holds. We walked high up on the hill-side on a shepherd's track, 

as the old Highlanders seem to have done in nearly all the narrower 

ASTRAY IN APPIN. 

13 

glens in olden times, before the age of wheels, doubtless because 

it was easier walking there than in the troughs created by the 

burns, which would be hampered by stones and swamps, and 

wind-sown brush-wood. A wild and narrow glen, shut in by 

hills precipitous, it is only in jutting roots at intervals that it recalls 

its worn-out destiny as a place where the mountain archers 

one time got their yew. 

That old tradition of Glenure, Mackay recalled, and many 

others of the district, for though young he had the spirit of the 

seanachie. Of pipes and pipe tunes, too, we talked (himself an 

adept), and Gaelic songs, and midway up the valley we saw, on 

the other side, a golden eagle swooping down upon her nest, at a 

lower altitude than our own. " And now," said my guide at last 

" you can easily find the way; go over the hill till you come to 

two small lochans, and go down the glen they are at the head of.' 1 

He must have said which side I was to keep the lochans on when 

I came to them, but he had wakened, by his talk, an interest in 

other things than those of the present moment, and I heard 

in an abstraction and pursued my way alone in dreams. 

The most bewildering glen ! It was a cul-de-sac! I stared, 

disquieted, at the barrier which seemed a living avalanche of 

stones, the " fragments of an earlier world "; then, knowing I was 

wrong, but unable to amend my error, I painfully made my first 

essay at serious Alpine climbing. How long I took to reach the 

summit of the eol (and mostly on hands and knees), over this 

torrent of enormous boulders, I do not remember, but when I 

had reached the top and looked back in amazement and alarm at 

the glacis I had scaled, the sun was high in heaven, and the ardour 

of a hot day come. Before me lay a choice of glens and a bewildering 

array of lofty mountain tops, and I had neither map nor compass. 

The little lochs my guide had made so much of were invisible. 

But certain now that Dalness was no more than a couple 

of hours away, I plunged aqross the moor towards the most 

spacious and inviting opening between the hills. The lochans 

came at last to view; I passed them on the left, and now more 

confident that all was well, went gaily over heather and through 

dried-up hag. 

Hours passed. 

The way became more difficult, broken by rivulets and bogs, 

the opening in the hills I had been making for was now impracticable, 

and the hill itself (Ben Trilleachan, as I learned later) was

1 

4 

ASTRAY IN 

APPIN. 

ASTRAY IN APPIN. 

15 

shouldering me for miles on a course that left the sun far behind 

me, where I feared it should not be. 

At three o'clock in the afternoon I stood on a dreary waste 

of moor that, from all appearance, might have never known the 

foot of man, and realised that I was lost in Appin. I had been 

lost in the hills before at night, but in that there was no ignominy, 

and at worst it was there a case of waiting till the dawn; here I 

was lost in dazzling sunshine through a shameful want of observation, 

and every step appeared to make my state more hopeless. 

There is, in us, who daily walk on beaten roads and paths well 

marked, a singular dependence on the engineer, that utterly destroys 

a sense most precious to the traveller in desert places—the 

instinct for the way, the power to see in various features of the 

landscape—run of rivulets, or inclination of the hills—or in bird 

flight, or sun or wind, a certain kindly guidance Nature gives to 

all who understand her. But take your man of roads and guideposts, 

and leave him to himself in many of the countless moors 

that lie between the beaten tracks of the Highlands, and he will 

learn with fear the limitations of a modern education. 

There is only one way of being lost in such circumstances, 

and I need not dwell on the sensation, with its curious mingling 

of amazement, panic, self-contempt, recrimination, and hysteric 

humour. I was lost, and there was, for the time, an end of it, 

until at last a fragment of the savage common-sense came back to 

me, and I recalled that the water from the tiniest mountain well 

can find its way to sea, that rivulets run to burns, and burns to 

rivers, and that never a decent river flows in Scotland but has a 

road beside it. 

Late that evening I came plunging down the lower slopes of 

Trilleachan, and found myself upon the shores of dark Loch 

Etive. There was only one house visible, and a woman working 

in a field. 

" What do you call this place" I asked, and she regarded me 

with some surprise. 

" Barrs," she replied. 

" How far is it to Dalness" I asked her then. 

She thought a while, and then said, " Twelve or thirteen miles, 

but there's no road there from here." " But how do you get out of 

here when you want" I asked, and then she told me nobody ever 

wanted out of there except sometimes the shooting tenant, and 

then he put up a flag and stopped a passing steamer. There was 

no steamer till the following day, she added, quite unnecessarily. 

I went up to the shooting lodge of Barr, and was met at the 

door by a man in evening clothes. " I have walked from Fasnacloich," 

I remarked, with eloquent simplicity, " and I got lost." 

" By George, that's fine!" he said, with a kindling eye; "come 

in and have some dinner. This is the loveliest day! My regiment's 

just got the route for Africa, and I must flag the boat tomorrow." 

We flagged the boat on the morrow, and a few months 

later he was dead on the battlefield. 

Tuireadh an t-Saoidh. 

LE IAIN MACCORMAIC, F.S.A. (Scot.) 

Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidealaich. 

SGRIOB gun d' thug mi do'n doire 

Far an goireadh na h-eoin, 

Chunn'cas ann leam croinn allail 

A' sealltuinn maiseach fo'n cròic. 

Cuid diubh sleaghach àrd dìreach, 

Toirt deagh ìgh às a' ghrunnd, 

'S duilleach bholtrach na cìr-oir 

A' moladh mìlseachd an driùchd. 

Cuid a' nochdadh an spèireid 

Le 'bhi èigneach 'nan tighinn, 

Oir rinn langaid a' gheamhraidh 

Am maoth mheanglain a' mhilleadh. 

Cuid a sìor dhol an deachamh, 

'S air fàs seachte gun sùgh, 

: 

S cluinnear crònan nam beachan 

A' tòrradh meala fo 'n rùsg. 

Ach an rè bha mi 'siubhal 

Feadh fireach nan crann, 

Fhuair mi fòghlum thug fios domh 

Gnè an lios so a bh' ann. 

B'iad croinn-amhuil gach cànain 

O linn Adhaimh a nuas. 

•

TUIREADH AN 

T-SAOIDH. 

Is b'e 'chnead mi a' chraobh Ghàidhlig 

A bhi gun àbhachd gun snuadh, 

A freumhan sàighte anns an lombar, 

Cuid diubh lobhta gun tuar. 

I gun ùireadh gun todhar, 

Gun aon chobhair o a sluagh, 

Gun iad uiread's bhi rùnach 

Ri duis ùr-ghlan nam buadh. 

Ach iad uile 'g a dìobradh.— 

'S mòr mo mhì-ghean 'g a luaidh. 

Och! a shìol nan laoch tapaidh 

A sgaoileadh bratach ri gaoith, 

'S a rùsgadh gòrm-lannan tana 

Gach uair a chasaidteadh ribh—• 

Nan do sheas sibh cho fearail 

Cùl ealdhain' 'ur saoidh, 

'S a rinn sibh cho eudmhor 

Cùl beurl' nach buin duibh, 

Cha b' ann 'na sìneadh an euslaint', 

'S an lèigh air bheag suim, 

A bhiodh cànain nam beur-bheann 

'Tha cho geur-bhriathar grinn. 

Ach a dh' aindeoin a' mhìobhaidh, 

A thug dì-mheas d' a cloinn, 

A chuir a thaobh i mar chrìonaich, 

'S a leig air dìochuimhn' a loinn, 

Tha de neart-ghloir 'na fìon-fhuil 

Na chum ìoc-shlàint' r'a com, 

'S chithear fhathast a geugan 

Làn èifeachd 's a' choill. 

Wi' mom'e a Vow and locked embrace 

Our parting was ja tender; 

And, pledging ajt to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder." 

BY I'IT'1 ENDRIOH MACGILL[VRAY, SC.

Dealachadh nan Rathad 

LE DOMHNALL MAC NA CEARDACH, (EILEAN 

BHARRAIDH), 

UGHDAIR AN DEALBH-CHLUICHE, " CROIS-TARA," etc. 

Saoibhir sìth nan sian an nochd air Tìr an Aigh, 

Is ciùine ciùil nan Dul ag clùmhadh Innse Gràidh, 

Is èasgaidh gach sgiath air fianlach dian an Dàin 

Is slighe nan seann seun a' siaradh siar gun tàmh. 

AGUS thall—fada thall, a Ghaoil, fhreagair Mac Talla,—" a> 

siaradh siar gu bràth." Sheas mi, a Ghaoil, fo iongnadh, oir 

bha rud-eigin anns a' ghuth agus ann an aigne a' chiùil a 

chuir gaoir air mo shiubhal, agus seun air nV aigne fèin. Bha rudeigin 

ann a bha mo spiorad fèin ag aithneachadh agus a' co-fhreagairt. 

B' fheàrr leam na rud air an t-saoghal, a Ghaoil, gum b' 

urrainn mi an t-aigne ud ainmeachadh dhuit,—aigne a dh' agallas 

ri spiorad mac a' Ghàidheil mu àilleachd na Fìrinn, a tha os cionn 

eòlais; aigne a chruinnicheas fa chomhair oidheam dìomhair gach 

teud a bhuineas do chruit mion-oilean nan cinneach Ceilteach,— 

seadh, a Ghaoil, Cruit Chiùil na Dìleann ! 

Ach cò a bh' ann Cha robh neach, a Ghaoil, 'nam shealladh. 

Bha grian deireadh foghair ag èaladh le leathad nan speur, agus 

thall ri bunnacha-bac bha Innse-Sgeoil agus Tìr-an-Aigh, laiste 

le lasair solus nan seann sòlas. Sìos troimh Ghleann Sianta, bha 

rathad soilleir an triall a' siùdan mu bhonn nan cnocan, gus an 

robh e a' dol às orm 'na stiallan caola aig iochdar Cadha na h- 

Imriche. Leum clacharan, a Ghaoil, a mach às an toll; às an 

bhothan bheag anns an do thog e a theaghlach, agus gun ghuth 

idir a thighinn às a cheann, a Ghaoil, ghabh e le aon si fheadh sìth 

tarsuinn a' ghlinne, is aghaidh do'n deas. 

Chuir mo smaoin trioblaid orm, a Ghaoil. Gu dè a thàinig 

air an t-saoghal Carson nach d' thubhairt an clacharan ud, 

" Seach !—Seach !—Seachainn !" mar a b' àbhaist dha Gu dè 

a chuir cho balbh e an diugh, agus a dh' fhàg cho geal leathann an 

sgrìob air an robh mi cho eòlach na earball, is e a' taisdeal às Ach

i8 

DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD. 

d rithisd dh' èirich deò a' chiùil, a Ghaoil, agus dh' fhairich mi an 

aon seun a' tighinn orm o Innis na Fìrinn— 

Sona com nan cruach le cuimhne làithean aosd' 

Sona gnùis nan cuan am bruadar uair a dh'aom, 

Aoibhinn an duan air meamhaìr bhuain nan gaoth 

O, làithean nam buadh ! 'ur n-uaill, 'ur n-uails', 'ur saors'! 

Agus a rithisd eile, a Ghaoil, fhreagair guth seachranach Mhic 

Talla,—« 'Ur luaths, 'ur luaidh, 'ur gaol!" 

Thug mi a chreidsinn orm fèin gun robh aobhar a' chiùil na 

b' fhaisge dhomh an turus so, a Ghaoil, agus sùil gun tug mi air 

mo chùlaibh chunnacas ùghdair mo shonais agus m'iongnaidh leth- 

• fhalaichte fo sgeothall creige ri taobh an rathaid. " Mo bheannachd 

air t' anam, 'aois-cheoil nam buadh!" B' ann rium fèin a 

thug mi briathar mo bheannachaidh, a Ghaoil, oir bha mo chridhe 

làn, ionnas gun tugadh mo bhilean breith-buidheachais gun fheitheamh 

idir ri rian mo thoile. 

A dh' aindeoin gach fìamha, faiteachais, agus taom eile a 

thàinig a steach orm, ghabh mi a null 'ga ionnsuidh, a Ghaoil. 

Saoil an robh mi a dèanamh na còrach 

A' leigeil às na cruite às an tug e an ceòl, dh' èirich an seannduine 

'na sheasamh, a Ghaoil, 'gam bheannachadh, agus, an càinnt 

uasal oileanta nan daoine, dh' fhàiltich e mi fèin agus mo thurus 

mar bu mhodh agus deas-ghnàth riamh do chlann a' Ghàidheil a 

chur roimh choigreach. 'Na ghnùis dh' aithnich mi, a Ghaoil, 

oighreachd òirdhearc mo chinnich; flathalachd, fiù agus feardhachd 

nam fear fìrinneach, agus 'na cheann an dà shùil a bu shoilleire, 

ach eadhon fòs a bu duatharaiche a chunnacas riamh an cruthachd 

bàird. Am fianuis urra cho ainneamh, a Ghaoil, 'sann a dh' fhàs 

mi diùid, nàrach, oir chomh-luath agus a theann mi ri a fhreagairt 

dh' fhairich mi blas mo theangaidh 'gam bhrath agus 'gam dhìteadh. 

Ach naisg mi mo chomain, a Ghaoil, anns na briathran a 

bu deise a dh' èireadh leam, ged is iomadh là o 'n uair sin fèin a 

chuir cuimhne a shùla-san biorgadh troimh m' aigne. 

" Is dòcha leam gur coigreach sibhse air na rathaidean so," 

ars' esan, is e ag cromadh a thogail na cruite agus 'ga cur fo a achlais, 

"ach tha mi an dòchas nach dìomoì sibh dhomh-sa a bhi ag 

iarraidh fàth air fois an fheasgair, a dhèanamh mo thiomnaidh 'san 

ionad àraid so." Cha ruig mi a leas innseadh dhuit, a Ghaoil, 

gun do chuir na briathran neònachas orm. Carson a leigeadh urra 

air an t-saoghal rium-sa gnothach cho dìomhair Tiomnadh 'san 

ionad àraid so! 


'9 

B' fheudar nach robh mi 'ga thuigsinn, a Ghaoil, agus bu 

chinntiche dhomh mo fhreagairt a chur an càinnt a cheileadh an 

teagamh agus an neònachas a bha ag cur air m' inntinn.. "Is 

coigreach mi an taobh so gun teagamh," arsa mise, "agus tha mi ag 

iarraidh 'ur mathanais air son call 'ur ciùil a chur oirbh." Sheall 

e orm, a Ghaoil, mar gum biodh truas aige dhìom, oir bha cianalas 

mòr 'na shùilean agus 'na ghuth. " Call mo chiùil orm-sa, a 

ghràidh" ars' esan. " 'Sann air chall a bha an ceòl ud o chionn 

fhada an t-saoghail, ach is dòcha gur ann mar sin is mìlse e. Gabh 

mo leisgeul, a mhic," ars' esan, " air son a bhi a' dol cho dàna air 

'ur n-eòlas, ach an ceòl ud a chuala sibh cha teid a chrìochnachadh 

gu bràth." Mar dhealan athair, bhuail rud-eigin de'n eòlas 'nam 

inntinn, a Ghaoil. Lean an seann-duine air. " Sud an dàn mu 

dheireadh, a ghràidh,—an dàn a bhios gu sìorruidh gun cheann 

gun cheangal; an tiomnadh air nach ruig dìleabach." 

Ghluais an seann-duine gu ceum an rathaid. Thuig mi, a 

Ghaoil, gun do rinn mi call nach ìeasaicheadh iùnntas an t-saoghail, 

agus thòisich dorran dubh air itheadh mo chridhe, oir mhothaich 

mi eadar mi is an leus gun robh aon de theudan na cruite briste air 

a ghàirdean. An dàn gun chrìochnachadh! Agus ùghdair an 

dàin ud nach do rugadh a' falbh ! An robh mi a' dol 'ga leigeil às 

m' fhianuis mar sud Saoil an gabhadh e dhomh an còrr de'n dàn 

air chor is gun cuirinn sgrìobhadh air Saoil an innseadh e dhomh 

eadhon susbaint nan smaointean a dhùisg an ceòl ud a thug às mo 

thoinneamh mì 

Cha ruig mi a leas, a Ghaoil, mo dhearbh-bhriathran fèin 

aithris dhuit an so; ach cearbach, lom is gun robh iad, dh' fheuch 

mi ri mo chridhe a rùsgadh dha. Dh' fheuch mi, a Ghaoil, an 

dorus a anma an iuchair ud a thug thu fèin dhomh o chionn fhada 

—an iuchair a dh' fhosgail dhomh iomadh glas; a fhuair dhomh 

iomadh rèidh-fhuasgladh o'n latha sin. Sheall esan orm, is a 

shùilean a' dèanamh tobar-sìolain an clàr m' aodainn, a Ghaoil, agus 

a' breith air dhà làimh orm thubhairt e an leth-chagar, " An teid 

sibh leam ceum de'n rathad" Sud fèin na thubhairt e, a Ghaoil, 

ach shaoil mise gun do leugh mi barrachd is a chuala mi. 

Bha a' ghrian air a sgiath a bhogadh an druim an t-saoghail, 

agus sinn a' fiaradh an rathaid sìos gu Cadha na h-Imriche. Bha 

sìth nan seachd seun air a ghleann. Bha sìth agus seuntachd air 

gach beò, a Ghaoil, eadhon air an tè òig ud a bha a' bleoghann na 

bà air taobh an rathaid. " Gum beannaicheadh Dia sibh," arsa 

mo chaomh chompanach, is sinn a' dol seachad oirre, ach freagairt,

20 DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD. 

seadh an aon fhreagairt fhial ris an robh dùil agam fèin maraon, 

cha d' fhuaras, ged a shaoil mi, a Ghaoil, gun cuala mi srùthlag 

bheag chaol an t-sruthain a bha an taobh thall dhìom ag ràdh, 

" Dia dhuibh fèin." 

Air taobh eile an rathaid mhothaich mi clàr sanais, a Ghaoil, 

a bha a' maoidheadh greim an lagha air neach 'sam bith a dhèanadh 

ùtraideachd. "An leugh sibh-se ana-cainnt na coigridh" ars' an 

seann-duine, is esan e fèin a' toirt sùla air a' chlàr shanais. Bha 

rud-eigin 'na ghuth a bha coltach ri cothlamadh faiteachais agus 

gràine, a Ghaoil; ach a thaobh is nach cuala mi riamh roimhe am 

facal ud, seadh, ' na coigridh,' feumaidh mi aideachadh dhuit, air 

tàilleabh na thog am facal ud am inntinn, agus na thàinig a steach 

orm ri a linn, gun do dhìochuimhnich mi car tiotain gun deachaidh 

ceist neònach a chur orm. " Leughaidh mi beagan,—air èiginn," 

arsa mise, agus mi a' leigeil mo chudtruim, a Ghaoil, air an 

' èiginn '; ach cha d' thàinig de fhreagairt eile às a cheann, a Ghaoil, 

ach, " Seadh, a ghràidh, seadh dìreach,—air èiginn." 

Bha e 'nam bheachd 'ana-cainnt na coigridh' eadar-theangachadh, 

a Ghaoil, air chor is gun tuigeadh esan aobhar a' chlàir ud, 

ach mu'n gann a chruinnich mi mo bhriathran air an ceart-dhloghadh, 

'sann a chaidh dithis òganach seachad oirnn, is iad ag comhluadar 

cho àrd agus cho gob-chluasach is ged a bhiodh iad le chèile 

bodhar. "An cuala sibh sud" arsa an t-aosdàna, is crithinnich 

'na cheann, agus a shùilean a' lasadh, a Ghaoil, mar a lasas teine 

smàilte. " Nach ann air mo chànain fèin-sa a thàinig an latha 

Seadh, " dannsa ag gabhail àite"! O, a thàsga nam bàrd nach beò ! 

an èisdeadh sibh ri iasad facail cho claon agus ceacharra O, an 

t-aineolas so thar gach aineolais!—O, an t-eòlas so as doille na'n 

t-aineolas!" Bha mi air mo nàrachadh, a Ghaoil. B' fheàrr leam 

'san àm gun robh mo cheum air rathad eile, agus mi 'nam aonar, 

air chor is gum falaichmn an trioblaid a bha air m'aigne. Nach 

iomadh uair a chuala is a chunnaic mi fèin "an t-eòlas ud is doille 

nan t-aineolas" Nach iomadh uair a rachainn fèin tuathal mar 

biodh gum bi do bheul caomh, carthannach-sa fòs 'gam stiùireadh, 

—'gam sheòladh air ceumaibh an t-seann rathaid eòlaich, anns am 

faic mi na leacan air am bleith is air an cnàmh lom agus laganach 

le triall agus tosgaireachd mo dhaoine. 

" Ach saoilibh," arsa mise, " a bheil atharrach aca air Saoilibh 

an ann de'n deoin fèin a tha iad sud aineolach air teangaidh, 

air tighinn, agus air mion-oilean an sinnsir—" " Seadh," ars' 

esan, is e ag gabhail a leisgeil a chur casg air mo chainnt, " saoileam

DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD. 21 

an ann gu dearbh ! Saoileam, a mhic, carson a tha athaill a chràidh 

fhathast an uchd Goirtean a' Bhliochd Ach is mithich dhomh-sa, 

• a ghràidh, a bhi ag greasad orm, oir tha mi cheana anmoch, is 

falamhachd an latha agus fuachd na h-oidhche a' fuadach mo 

dheòine bhàrr àrainn nan tràth caochlaideach so." 

Thog mi mo shùil a null ri Goirtean a' Bhliochd, a Ghaoil, 

feuch am faighinn oidheam nam briathran. Thall ri bonn a' 

chnuic chunnaic mi leoba de ghlasrach ag imlich a steach do 

gharbh-fhraoch na mòintich, agus thug mi an aire gun robh an 

sud is an so beathach ag ionaltradh air a' mhìn-fheur. Ach 

mhothaich mi cuideachd, a Ghaoil, gun robh sean athailtean nan 

àiteach fhathast ri am faicinn 'na uchd; seadh, ' athailt a' chràidh.' 

Dh' fhuasgail an snaim dhomh! Seadh; gun chràdh cha tig is 

cha choisnear duais no toradh, a Ghaoil; eadhon mar sin a dh 5 

fhulaing Goirtean a' Bhliochd a chliabh a bhi air a reubadh agus 

air a fhosgladh a dhèanamh cobhair am beoil do na h-àil,—agus 

eadhon fòs mar sin a chaidh goirtean ar càllachaidh agus ar mionoilein-ne 

àiteachadh, a dhèanamh cobhair ar càile spioradail agus 

chinneadail dhuinne. 

Agus mar sin uidh air n-uidh, a Ghaoil, lorg mi slighe nan 

smaointean a chaidh troimh aigne a' bhàird; 'sea tha mi ag ciallachadh 

gun do lorg mi dhomh fèin aon oidheam phurpail, an comhshìneadh 

ri mo chomas agus m' eòlas air aignidhean duatharach 

a rannsachadh. 

B' ann aig Cadha na h-Imriche, aig dealachadh nan rathad, a 

thàinig mi gu mo shuim às na beachd-smaointean ud, a Ghaoil, 

agus cha b' ann gun arraban agus mulad a thuig mi gun robh esan 

air an do ghabh mi a leithid de ghràdh air thuar m' fhàgail. "Tha 

sinn a nis aig dealachadh nan rathad, matà, a ghràidh," ars' esan, 

is e ag cur tosd air a cheum, " agus o'n a tha impidh is crannchur 

an dàin 'gar tabhairt-sa taobh eile, is èiginn dhomh an rathad gu 

Port na h-Iubhraich a dhèanamh air luirg na lacha. J ' Chaidh 

sgaoth eun seachad os ar cionn, a Ghaoil. Lean a shùil an triall 

gus an deachaidh am fear mu dheireadh i sealladh thar ghuala na 

h-Airde. Chuir e dheth a cheann-aodach, a Ghaoil, agus le blas 

nach buineadh do'n t-saoghal 'na ghuth, thuirt e na briathran nach 

dìochuimhnich mise gu bràth; " Beannachd leibh a chlann an 

t-samhraidh,—sonas leibh 'nar siubhal sìth. Tillidh sibh-se fòs 

gu 'r n-annsa,—gu mo chall-sa, gleann mo chridh'." 

Bha a mheuran ag cniadachadh teudan na cruite 'na achlais mar 

gum biodh e ag iarraidh puing nach robh e ag amas. Chuir mise

22 DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD. 

cuideachd dhìom mo cheann-aodach fèin, a Ghaoil, oir bha 

annlainn mhòr 'gam ghluasad. 

Theann e 'gam ìonnsuidh gus an do leag e a làmh air mo 

ghualainn. " A mhic," ars 5 esan, " is mise am fear mu dheireadh, 

—an t-eun mu dheireadh de 5 n àl. Is mise am fear mu dheireadh 

de'n dream ud nach deachaidh an call an ribe na coigridh; an 

dìleabach aig an do sguir an dìleab. Dearbh-oighre chan 'eil ann. 

Is ro-fhada a tha mi às dèidh chàich." 

Bha mi air mo lìonadh le uamhas, a Ghaoil. Sann a bha 

cianalas neònach a' teannadh ri criomadh mo chridhe. Ciod è an 

dìleab Ciod è a bha air chùl nam briathran iongantach so Aig 

sean bhreac nan sruth a bha dà thrian de'n eòlas, agus an treasa 

trian aig an tè nach innseadh do na faoileagan e; aig a' chorra. 

" Ach fòs," ars' an seann duine, is e a' dèanamh nàduir de 

ghreim air mo ghàirdean, " bidh àil eile am dhèidh, agus eadhon 

air glùin fhuair na banaltruim gun dàimh their leanabh a' Ghàidheil, 

' dath ! dath!' mar a rinn mise an uchd blàth mo mhàthar fèin. 

Agus fòs thig diolacha-dèirce le cridheachan acrach agus crogan 

sanntach a dhùsgadh m' uaghach-sa, a dh' iarraidh nan ulaidhean 

a thug mi leam 'nam bhroilleach." 

" Fòs tuigidh an saoghal dàn duatharach mo chinnich am beul 

an là agus air bhilean na h-oidhche, agus thar sheachd buidhrichean 

ciana an domhain thig iad a shireadh lorg mo cheum,—a chomharrachadh 

taibhsealan mo ghabhalach, eadhon am fliche nan tonn, 

eadhon fòs gu ceann na slighe a theid siar gu Tìr nan Og." 

Ach mar gun tigeadh rud-eigin de allaghrabadh air ruith a 

sheanchais, a Ghaoil, chaochail e gnùis a bhriathran, agus ag càradh 

na cruite a bha e ag caidreamh 'na achlais fèin ann am achlais-sa, 

thuirt e rium car mar so—" Ach so, sud dhùibh-se mo dhìleab-sa; 

mo dhìleab-sa o chraoibh nan cliar, le m' dheoin, le m' bhriathar's 

le beannachd Dhia,—le beannachd Dhia." Agus cha b' e so uile 

na chuir neònachas orm, a Ghaoil, oir an sin thug e a mach às a 

bhroilleach rola meambrana air an robh làmh-sgrìobhadh de an 

do sfhabh mi annas ro-mhòr. 

~Cha mhath a thog mi, a Ghaoil, na briathran a thuit uaidh an 

àm dha an rola so a chur 'nam làimh, ach ar leam gun d' ainmich 

e I agus rolan de mheambrana a chaidh air chall. 

Ach is iomadh rud a chuala mi, a Ghaoil, aig dealachadh nan 

rathad air nach cubhaidh dhomh luaidh a dhèanamh aig an àm, 

agus, a chumail ri mo ghealltanas, cha mhotha a bheir mi guth 

riut air dealachadh nam beò, no seòladh air triall an fhir a bheann- 


23 

aich mi aig Cadha na h-Imriche. Ach so faodaidh mi innseadh 

dhuit, a Ghaoil, oir tha fhios agam gum bi thu ri feòraich. 'S e 

" Dàn nan Dul " is ainm do'n dàn ud air nach deachaidh crìoch, 

agus air nach motha a chuireas mise crìoch dhuit-sa, a Ghaoil, ged 

a bhiodh tu ag eirbhir orm sin a dhèanamh. Oir tuig nach tig 

crìoch air dàn a' Ghàidheil gu Là na Dìleann, agus ma thuigeas tu 

sin, tuigidh tu tuilleadh air na sgrìobhas mo làmh dhuit. 

Tuig, a Ghaoil, seach gun teid teud eile 'sa chruit, gun gabh 

mi dhuit dheth na's aithne dhomh, oir is iomadh oidhche o'n uair 

ud a lìon ceòl an dàin so mo chridhe, agus a chuir cuspair an dàin 

cheudna lì is loinn gu là air m' aisling. 

OSSIANIC 

TRANSLATED BY THOMAS 

POETRY. 

PATTISON. 

Sweet is man's voice in solitudes, and sweet 

The voice of birds amid the woods of spring— 

Sweet is the sound when rock and water meet, 

Where Bun-da-treor hears the surges sing: 

Sweet are the light winds softly murmuring: 

Sweet are the lonely heron's notes, and sweet 

The cuckoo's, with the aged thoughts they bring: 

Sweet the warm sun which whistling blackbirds greet— 

The sun that brightly shines on Cona's rocky steep. 

Sweet is the eagle, with her far-heard cry, 

Sailing above great Morven's mighty sea, 

When sleeps the noonday in the deep-blue sky, 

And o'er the pool the hern bends silently: 

Sweet is the lark that sings from heaven on high; 

And one thing more is sweet,—Fingal's my sire! 

Seven valiant bands he leadeth far and nigh: 

When for the chase his hounds are all on fire, 

Sweet is their deep-mouthed bay—sweet as the bardic choir.

» 

CARMINA GADELICA. 25 

Carmina Gadelica.* 

TO praise this book duly would be but to print it again in 

its own words, adding nothing and taking nothing away— 

it is its own best praise. From its first hymn, an act of 

adoration, " I am bending my knee in the eye of the Father who 

created me," to its last note at the end, " This is what I would 

ordain to thee, the daughter of a King, with gold and gems," it 

is a necklace for a King's daughter, of spiritual gold and jewels, 

to be worn like the talisman of Patrick, as a breastplate against all 

evil. 

The imagery of its verse, drawn from Pagan and from 

Christian sources, is amazing— 

Whatever would bear witness against thee at the last 

On the other side of the great river of dark shadows. 

# * * 

Be thou a hard triumphant glave 

To shield us securely from wicked hell, 

From the fiends and from the stieve, snell gullies, 

And from the lurid smoke of the abyss. 

* * • 

Be thou a bright flame before me, 

Be thou a guiding star above me, 

Be thou a smooth path below me, 

And be a kindly shepherd behind me, 

To-day, to-night, and for ever. 

I am tired, and I a stranger, 

Lead thou me to the land of angels, 

For me it is time to go home 

To the Court of Christ, to the peace of heaven. 

*NOTE. CARMINA GAOELICA, Hymns and Incantations, 

with illustrative notes on words, rites, and customs, dying and 

obsolete: orally collected in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, 

and translated into English by Alexander Carmichael. 

2 vols., Edinburgh. Printed for the author by T. & A. Constable, 

printers to Her Majesty, and sold by Norman Macleod, 25, 

George IV. Bridge, 1900." Out of print. 

I am bathing my face 

In the mild rays of the sun, 

As Mary bathed Christ 

In the rich milk of Egypt. 

* * * 

Whilst the body is dwelling in the sleep, 

The soul is soaring on the steeps of heaven. 

And familiar images are cast in fresh and striking words— 

0 Jesu, without offence, crucified cruelly, 

Under ban of the wicked Thou wert scourged. 

* * # 

Pilot my barque on the crest of the wave, 

To the restful haven of the waveless sea. 

Where else would the sinner cry out to be punished— 

Humble us at thy footstool; 

Lord, chastise me with thy justice. 

Mark the unusual words so full of force— 

To whom shall I offer oblation 

In name of Michael on high 

1 will give tithe of my means 

To the Forsaken Illustrious One. 

* * * 

Some of the hymns have something Egyptian in their quality, as 

in * Soul Peace.' In its deep-toned solemnity it reads like the 

Book of the Dead— 

At the time of yielding the life, 

At the time of pouring the sweat, 

At the time of balancing the beam, 

* # * 

And may Michael, white, kindly, 

High King of the holy angels, 

Take possession of the beloved soul, 

And shield it home to the Three of surpassing love.

26 CARMINA GADELICA. 

What a picture is this of earth, of air, and of waters, of God's 

glory, and of good-will to men— 

I see the hills, I see the strand, 

I see the host upon the wing. 

I see angels on the waves, 

Coming with speech and friendship to us! 

And splendour of silver and of gold— 

Thou art brighter than the waxing moon 

Rising over the mountains. 

Thou art brighter than the summer sun, 

Under his fulness of joy. 

What words of tenderness are these— 

The foam-white breastling beloved, 

Without one home in the world. 

* * * 

Kiss ye his hands, 

Dry ye his feet 

With the hair of your heads. 

I will not dwell upon the religious value of the book, and of the 

life it inculcates, its * practice of the presence of God,' its faith, 

hope and love, expressed in every single act of the day's routine, 

at getting up and lying down, lighting and smooring the fire, 

milking, herding and sailing. Its gentleness in the care of the 

domestic animals is expressed often in the most endearing terms— 

My beloved shall get grass and shelter, 

My queen maiden of beauty. 

and a mother's heart responds to the sorrow of a cow in the midst 

of her own sorrow, 

The same disease afflicts me and thee, 

Thou weeping and wailing thy calf, 

I my darling son beneath the sea, 

Mine only son beneath the sea! 

The runes and incantations for the cure of disease, which might 

so easily pass over into superstition, are shot through with spiritual 

light. They are informed by the idea that the good or ill health 

of the body expresses the condition of the spirit, and is amenable 

CARMINA GADELICA. 27 

to control. The immense gush of faith in the healing power of 

Jesus, poured forth by the poor woman in Harris we must quote 

entire— 

It were as easy for Jesu 

To renew the withered tree 

As to wither the new, 

Were it His will so to do. 

Jesu! Jesu ! Jesu! 

Jesu who ought to be praised. 

There is no plant in the ground 

But is full of His virtue; 

There is no form on the strand 

But is full of His blessing. 

Jesu! Jesu ! Jesu! 


There is no life in the sea, 

There is no creature in the river, 

There is naught in the firmament, 

But proclaims His goodness. 

Jesu! Jesu! Jesu! 


This intense belief in the immanence of God finds many 

expressions in these hymns ; God is not far off but very near. 

The loveliest of these hymns we keep to the end, *The 

Invocation of the Graces." 

It is spoken by a father to his daughter, about to be married, 

setting before her a pattern of the perfect woman—nay—more 

than that—by a succession of rituals, endowing her with the virtues 

of all natural and spiritual things. By repeating in movements, 

if not actually, the pouring of wine and honey, and by 

the touch of baptismal fire, he enriches and purifies her nature, 

and lays on her brows and eyes and mouth all the graces, with 

the softest pressure of his fingers. He does not merely tell 

her what she may become, but he asserts that she has already 

attained, and by a passionate act of faith he compels the heavenly 

sanction, and makes her, at his creative word, what he would have 

her be—" a shade in the heat and a shelter in the cold, eyes to the 

blind and a staff to the pilgrim, an island at sea and a fortress on 

shore, a well in the desert, and health to the ailing." Is there

28 CARMINA GADELICA. 

anywhere out of holy writ so rich an image of spiritual beauty 

What a faith, and what a vision I A faith that sees, and knows. 

The father ransacks all nature and legend for his types and 

qualities; the housewifely virtue of Penelope, the skill of the 

fairy woman, the charm of the sweet-tongued singer, Honeymouth, 

the tenderness of Deirdre, the imperial beauty of the noble 

wife of Cuchulainn, the courage of Queen Maebh, as well as 

the calm spirit of Bride, and the faith of Mary. 

He sees and reads all this vivid imagery in the face and form 

of his own child, and he sings, in a kind of rapture of love and 

praise, a hymn to Eternal Beauty, incarnated before him. This 

swan in swimming, this steed of the plain and deer of the hill, 

this auspicious and smiling wonder, in all the grace of her choice 

maidenliness and whole-souled loveliness, seems to him in the 

intensity of his mystic vision in which all veils are drawn away, 

to be indeed that Perfection, the Beauty of that Spirit of Grace and 

Truth that dwelt amongst men, 

" The loveliest likeness that was upon earth." 

And in the last verse he calls the heavenly host to stand about her 

ever to guard and shield her,—virgins, apostles, angels, archangels, 

the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. 

THE 

INVOCATION OF THE.GRACES. 

I bathe thy palms 

In showers of wine, 

In the lustral fire, 

In the seven elements, 

In the juice of the rasps, 

In the milk of honey; 

And I place the nine pure choice graces 

In thy fair fond face, 

The grace of form, 

The grace of voice, 

The grace of fortune, 

The grace of goodness, 

The grace of wisdom, 

The grace of charity, 

The grace of choice maidenliness, 

The grace of whole-souled loveliness, 

The grace of goodly speech. 

DAWN—ST. MARTIN'S CROSS. IONA 

ARCH D. 

KAY, A.R.S.A., R 

That man is little to be envied whose piety would not grow 

warmer among the rains of lona."—Dr. Samuel Johnson.

CARMINA 

CADELICA. 

Dark is yonder town 

Dark are those therein, 

Thou art the brown swan, 

Going in among them. 

Their hearts are under thy control, 

Their tongues are beneath thy sole, 

Nor will they even utter a word 

To give thee offence. 

A shade art thou in the heat, 

A shelter art thou in the cold, 

Eyes art thou to the blind, 

A staff art thou to the pilgrim, 

An island art thou at sea, 

A fortress art thou on land, 

A well art thou in the desert, 

Health art thou to the ailing. 

Thine is the skill of the Fairy Woman, 

Thine is the virtue of Bride the calm, 

Thine is the faith of Mary the mild, 

Thine is the tact of the woman of Greece, 

Thine is the beauty of Emir the lovely, 

Thine is the tenderness of Darthula delightful, 

Thine is the courage of Maebh the strong;, 

Thine is the charm of Binne-bheuT. 

Thou art the joy of all joyous things, 

Thou art the light of the beam of the sun, 

Thou art the door of the chief of hospitality, 

Thou art the surpassing star of guidance, 

Thou art the step of the deer of the hill, 

Thou art the step of the steed of the plain, 

Thou art the grace of the swan of swimming, 

Thou art the loveliness of all lovely desires. 

The lovely likeness of the Lord 

Is in thy pure face, 

The loveliest likeness that 

Was upon earth.

So 

CARMINA 

GADELICA. 

The best hour or" the day be thine, 

The best day of the week be thine, 

The best week of the year be thine, 

The best year in the Son of God's domain be thine. 

Our Traditional Racial Song-Lore. 

By MARJORY KENNEDY-FRASER, C.B.E. 

" Songs of the Hebrides." 

Peter has come and Paul has come, 

James has come and John has come, 

Muriel and Mary Virgin have come, 

Uiriel, the all-beneficent, has come, 

Ariel, the beauteousness of the young has come, 

Gabriel, the seer of the virgin, has come, 

Raphael, the prince of the valiant, has come, 

And Michael, the chief of the hosts, has come,. 

And Jesus Christ, the mild, has come, 

And the Spirit of true guidance has come, 

And the King of Kings has come on the helm, 

To bestow on thee their affection and their love, 

To bestow on thee their affection and their love. 

We have here the richest body of ancient spiritual poetry, given 

again to us in our own time. About this spiritual inheritance 

of the Gael will rise, we hope, seanachies, seers, singers, and 

artists of all kinds, as a strong guard of paladins, to protect it, 

and to shape it into ever fresh forms to speak to the changing 

generations, and chief of these paladins stands, and shall stand, 

Alexander Carmichael, seannachie, seer, singer and artist in one. 

This book is the result of much search and much pondering. 

Alexander Carmichael was a true artist, and had the artist's hunger 

for perfection. He went for days, weighing the exact word to 

render the finest shade of the meaning of his original, the word 

that gave the colour and the quality of it. One may say of him 

what he said of Catherine Macaulay:—Alexander Carmichael was 

greatly gifted in speaking, and was marvellously endowed with 

memory for old tales and hymns, runes and incantations, and for 

literature and traditions of many kinds. He went from house to 

house, from townland to townland, warmly welcomed and cordially 

received wherever he went. May his book travel as he 

travelled, bringing joy, and beauty, and inspiration wherever it 

goes. 

JOHN DUNCAN, R.S.A. 

THE fundamental, the long-enduring element in racial song 

is undoubtedly melody. Melodic inspiration and invention 

are rare, very rare indeed. But melodies, once they are 

forged are durable and mostly outlast by generations, if not by 

centuries, the words to which they may have been originally sung. 

And yet a melody alone is not a song! However fine a melody 

may be, the born poet, if he have as much understanding of the 

emotional possibilities of a tune as he has of the lyrical and hypnotic 

potentialities of words, can make of a melody, welded with 

his own infectiously inspired words, a great song. 

To keep alive the traditionally preserved hoard of racial song, 

the national poet must be re-born every three or four generations 

at least, if not every couple of centuries. And, like Robert Burns 

in Lowland Scotland in the 18th century, he must use all that 

comes to hand, all that has survived of the finest lyrical output 

of the previous generations. Single lines, refrains, beautiful 

thoughts, heart-stirring local imagery, rhythms, metres, etc., must 

all be garnered and refashioned into lyrics that will be new and 

yet old. This calls for great artistry, but the songs thus fashioned, 

while original, will be still racial in character. 

Of Burns's "My Love is like a red, red rose," Edmund Gosse 

says somewhere that not a line of it is original—that it was all 

fashioned out of the wreck, the flotsam and jetsam of earlier Scots 

song. Yet, is not this the law of life, that " there is nothing new 

under the sun," although, luckily for us, there is always possible 

a new blend. 

And what Robert Burns did in the 18th century, Kenneth 

MacLeod is doing now for Scots Song. I say Scots Song advisedly. 

Why do concert-givers sometimes advertise a programme of 

Highland and Scots music The Gaels in the earlier centuries 

of our era were the Scots, and Alba, our country, took its name 

latterly, did it not, from the Gaelic-speaking Scots who came over 

from the country we now call Ireland, but which was then known 

as Scotia

OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE. 

A full appreciation of Kenneth Macleod's work will be missed 

by those who regard it merely as translation.* Baldly translated 

songs, however, in any language, are as a rule worthless, alike as 

lyrics and as words for singing. The atmosphere, the emotional 

content of a lyric, depends as much on its sound-colour, its rhythmclang, 

as on its verbal meaning. Merely to reproduce the dictionary 

meaning of such a lyric is to make of it a crude caricature. 

Now, Kenneth Macleod has not merely used the Gaelic lines 

that happened to be attached to the tunes as we found them—at 

times in a very chaotic condition—he has done, in the Gaelic, 

what Burns seems to have done in the Lowland Scots. He has 

gathered and " hained " for many years all the beautiful lines 

and couplets that found place from time to time in his note-books 

throughout years of sojourning and research in the Isles, and, 

selecting what was most valuable for our purpose, has fitted them, 

with my help, to the tunes. Further, to fine tunes, he has written 

also original lyrics, embodying the beautiful ancient Hebrides 

lore, and using Island imagery. The work, however, could not 

end there. If the songs were to get from the outside world the 

recognition they merited on the purely musical side, they had to 

be furnished with adequate lyrical expression in a tongue familiar 

to singers who had no Gaelic—English verses had to be supplied. 

In rendering faithfully, in another tongue, the spirit of such 

ancient lore as the Rune of Sea-daring, Sea-quest, which recurs so 

frequently in the old Gaelic hero-tales, note how he uses the 

English to suggest the sonorous qualities of the original. 

Describing in the " The Reiving Ship " (Vol. II, Songs of the 

Hebrides), the vessel's exultant, headlong, reckless, outward 

course, his lines run:— 

" Grinds beneath her grey-blue limpets, 

Crunches curving whelks to sand-drift." 

and, clearing the rocks and getting into quieter waters:— 

" Sweeps she gaily Moola's waters, 

Kyles and Moyles, to fair green Isla, 

Leaps her way to Isles of daring, 

Gleaming Isles of bladest and laughter." 

*Some literal translation certainly he did, in such ancient lore as " The Lay 

of Diarmad and one or two other things included in our first volume, lore which 

was interesting chiefly from a historical point of view. 

ti had to coach a singer once in this song, who had so little vision, so little 

imagination as to suppose that the " blades " here (with pirates in the offing) were 

blades of grass! 


How suggestively descriptive of the vessel's grating on the rocks, 

in her hurried outward quest, are the harsh gr's and cr's of the 

first couplet, and how contrastingly the soft liquid l's of the 

second depict the suavity of the open sea. 

Remarkable restorations, too, are the condensed and vivified 

Island Cian Songs of the Macdonalds, Clanranald, Macleods and 

Macneills, as in " The Lord of the Isles," " Heart of Fire Love," 

" Caristiona," " Cradle Spell of Dunvegan," or " Macleod's 

Galley." This last is an example also of his genial resuscitation 

of the fame of the old Gaelic poetess, Mary Macleod, Màiri 

daughter of Alasdair Rua, who did so much to stimulate Gaelic 

song in the 17th century. 

Many are his contributions to mystical lore, one of the loveliest 

being " The Vow Song of the Birds," and, to the cult of 

Columba, " The Iona Rainbow"; for communal singing there are 

the well-known tramping songs, and the as yet less known " Joy 

Invocation " and " Birlinn Health-drinking Chant." 

His restorations of the pre-Christian Heroic include:— 

{t 

Aillte," an Ossianic ballad ; " Deirdre's Farewell," a still more 

ancient fragment; " Cuchullin's Lament for his Son," a story 

parallel to that of the Persian " Sohrab and Rustum " of Matthew 

Arnold's poem; and finest of all, perhaps, " Fionn's keening for 

his grandson, Oscar." 

In the expression of Sea-joy he surely finds himself. 

" All I long for 

Outsails my longing far," 

of " Sea-Moods," culminates in:— 

" Joy of seeking 

Joy of ne'er finding." 

The:— 

And in his Sailing Song Cycle of our recent Fourth Volume, he 

voices the universal human longing to escape from the humdrum 

of our daily round:— 

" All the wonders yont our croft dykes 

I will see if I but may; 

All the ships that sail to Lochlan 

I will steer if I but may;

34 


All the sunsets yont the Coolins 

I will reach if I but may." 

and through "The Kyle of Moole " we sail, until on the "Leaping 

Galley " we find ourselves at last exultantly sailing seaward. 

Of his prose tales, the beautiful "Christ Child's Lullaby" and 

" The Death of Oscar " are notable examples. Of the quality of 

his prose, Lady Alix. Egerton, herself a poetess, has said that it is 

finer than many a one's verse, that it is indeed at times comparable 

ro a rosary of moonstones. 

The nature of his work of restoration may be summed up in 

a parable of his own from our Second Volume. It alludes most 

quaintly to an 18th century gathering up of the wreckage of a 

very ancient St. Donnan* Song—attributed in legend to the angels 

—a song which he himself re-fashioned, over a century later. 

" The Isle of Eigg, as the sheep know but too well, has its 

own share of bramble bushes. A hundred years ago, a woman 

who had a name for thrift as well as for art, went wool-gathering 

in those same bramble bushes as regularly as others went dulsepulling 

on the shore. And in due time there came out of her 

loom a web of blues and greens and crotals, which a king might 

envy. Generally, the web .went to a neighbour of her own, Iain 

Og Morragh, who had an eye for art, if not for thrift, and who, 

like herself, was a weaver, but of song-threads blown about bj 

the four winds of heaven. It was he who, standing one day by 

the tomb of St. Donnan, and looking across to the face of 

Corravine,^ weaved old threads into new so cunningly that 

none could tell what of the web was his own and what the angels'. 

If, after a hundred years, the loosened threads have been put once 

more through the loom, it is still the same web that comes out 

of it—' Youth on age, on the face of Corravine.' " 

(1) St. Donnan was martyred in Eigg. 

(2) A hill in Eigg. 

Looking Northward. 

BY COMPTON MACKENZIE. 

I 

CAN scarcely remember the time when I was not a perfervid 

Gael; but I have never attempted to express this passion of race 

in words. The consciousness of being landless in Alba, coupled 

with ignorance of the language, forbade me out of pride to assume 

what I should have felt would appear no more than the trappings 

of a mock romanticism. So this is actually the first time that I 

have ventured to speak of something that has long lain nearer to 

my heart than rank or fortune or reputation. If the exiled Gael 

has been a frequent sorrow for poets, I can recall no poet who has 

sung of an exile betweetì whom and his country stretched 

not the bitter estranging sea, but time itself. Yet though nearly 

two hundred years had passed since that younger son from whom 

I sprang, like so many younger sons of Alba, left his country, 

and though my grandfather, to placate disapproving relatives, had 

abandoned his own name when he went on the stage, I was 

always, even as a child of three, most insistent that I should be 

called Mackenzie and not Compton. Indeed, through all my 

childhood I insisted so successfully on this, that from the time T 

went to a public school at eleven, neither I nor my brother nor 

my sisters were ever called by the assumed name to which 

my father more filial than myself clung. I can remember being 

made jealous by the discovery that my brother had never even been 

given Compton as a first name, and my wrath when he, quick to 

take advantage of this, claimed that he was a more genuine Highlander 

than myself. I was sorry when my sister Fay assumed the 

' Compton * again for stage purposes, and when I saw her first in 

Mary Rose I regretted her defection more than ever. 

If only when I was eight or nine some Gaelic enthusiast had 

come my way, what a pupil I should have made! Here am I now, 

at forty-three, wrestling with the language too late, I fear, ever to 

write poetry in it. Yet at twelve I could put any speech out of 

Shakespeare into Greek iambics almost at sight. Heaven forbid 

I should regret learning Greek at nine and Latin at four; but who 

would not regret that such facility should never have been given 

a chance with the language of all others at which it would have

36 

LOOKING 

NORTHWARD. 

worked with ten times the fervour The fire in my heart was 

never cherished nor fanned by any individual, and my love of race 

had to subsist as well as it could on a play called Rob Roy, which 

I found on my father's shelves, in Oxberry's British Drama or 

some such collection. I begged him to put this stirring affair into 

his repertory, and was much depressed by his failure to grant my 

request, especially when he told me that as a young man he had 

often played the part of Rob Roy himself during stock seasons in 

Scotland. I listened enthralled to his account of the costume he 

had worn, and after hearing him declare for my benefit My 

4 

foot's upon my native heath! My name's Macgregor!' I was 

more puzzled than ever how he could bring himself to appear 

in such dull productions as The School for Scandal and She Stoops 

to Conquer, when he might really enjoy himself by playing Rob 

Roy. Soon after this, I told him that when I grew up I intended 

to write a play in eighteen acts (I considered the shortness of 

plays to be one of the great faults of the contemporary theatre) 

about Prince Charles Edward. 

Then, on my seventh birthday, an aunt gave me Scott's Tales of 

a Grandfather. Here at last were the enchanted pages for which 

my soul had been yearning, and the knowledge that they were 

genuine history was wonderful. I was no longer flattering my 

imagination with the ' let's pretend' of novels and plays, but 

nourishing it now with solid, ineluctable facts. Naturally, the 

behaviour of the Mackenzies was of paramount importance, and 

how my pride surged when, in the cian map at the end of the 

volume, I saw their territories—all Ross and Cromarty in pale 

yellow, with Mackenzies sprawling right across them, and only 

here and there a few Rosses or Munroes or Urquharts intruding. 

Nor was Ross-shire broad enough for their acres. I rejoiced to 

see the name reaching from Loch Seaforth to the Butt of Lewis. 

How many hours I pursued the thread of their history through 

that thick volume! It is on my desk as I write these words, 

but alas, the map has been worn away by childish porings. 

Yet there were moments of mortification. I can see myself 

now, reading by the schoolroom window at the top of a 

tail London house, the small print beginning to blur in 

the grey November dusk. My mind is troubled for Seaforth's 

battle with Montrose; and when in '15 the Mackenzies, held up 

by the Earl of Sutherland and his accursed Whifr clans, are prevented 

for a whole month of fatal delay from joining forces with 

LOOKING NORTHWARD. 

37 

(he Earl of Mar, there are tears in my eyes for the glory of 

Scotland that is waning fast. I turn over the sticky pages of 

thin paper, to console myself for that failure of my chief by 

rtading of the battle of Glenshiel, and of how he was carried 

wounded from the field. Darkness descends upon the London 

room. The gas is lighted, and I search out some more cheerful 

subject. The '45 must be postponed for another day, when I can 

bear to read the lamentable story. I recover my spirits by cutting 

down Covenanters with Dundee, or unhorsing English knights 

at Bannockburn. 

Mr. Healy said to me a year or two ago, "You must 

remember that we Irish never had a Bannockburn. "Whatever 

happened afterwards in Scotland, you always had Bannockburn 

to look back upon, and that kept you from hating so long and so 

hard." There is a wisdom in this, and I think that the consciousness 

of being a superior race to the English, which has 

always been stronger in Scotland than in the other Celtic countries, 

has helped to turn some of that hate into an almost kindly contempt. 

When I was sixteen, my Jacobite sympathies found some 

expression by joining every legitimist society that existed. I 

lived in a world of white roses and white carnations and white 

cockades; and then, little by little, I allowed modernity to smirch 

those loyalties, and ridicule those lost and fragrant causes. I 

count myself a fool now in middle age, because I understand at 

last that what seemed the shadow was the substance, but that what 

offered itself as the substance was indeed no more than a mean 

shadow. 

And now in middle age, I find myself again the prey of a 

childish mortification. I find myself, as I struggle with Gaelic, 

resenting as bitterly as ever I used that I was not christened 

Kenneth, so that I might write my name authentically in its own 

language. 

As an undergraduate staying at Compiègne for the Easter 

vacation, I met Osgood Mackenzie, whose delightful book, A 

Hundred Tears in the Highlands, I have never seen praised as it 

should be, and he told me how much he resented not having been 

called Hector. I shall always regret that I did not gain possession 

of the Shiant Isles before he died, so that I could have written and 

reminded him of our meeting, because it was to that meeting I 

owed my determination somehow to obtain land in the country 

of my forefathers. He himself writes in his book of sailing over

38 

LOOKING 

NORTHWARD. 

to the Shiant Isles, and camping out on them as a boy, and it 

would have pleased him, I think, that one of his name should own 

them again, after a lapse of eighty years. As we were driving 

back from a boar hunt, he urged me to learn Gaelic; but I told 

myself, ' the land first and the language second.' And after all 

there is much to be said for beginning to learn a language when 

one is over forty, provided, of course, that one is still capable of 

learning with passion. Language is but a symbol of the heart's 

desire, and, since now my heart's desire has been granted, I long 

for the only language in which that secret of years might haply 

be expressed. 

The Reaper. 

BEHOLD her, single in the field, 

Yon solitary Highland lass! 

Reaping and singing by herself; 

Stop here, or gently pass! 

Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 

And sings a melancholy strain; 

O Listen ! for the vale profound 

Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chant 

More welcome notes to weary bands 

Of travellers in some shady haunt, 

Among Arabian sands: 

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 

In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 

Breaking the silence of the seas 

Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings 

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 

For old, unhappy, far-off things, 

And battles long ago: 

Or is it some more humble lay, 

Familiar matter of to-day 

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 

That has been, and may be again 

THE REAPER. 39 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 

As if her song could have no ending; 

1 saw her singing at her work, 

And o'er the sickle bending; 

I listen'd, motionless and still; 

And, as I mounted up the hill, 

The music in my heart I bore, 

Long after it was heard no more. 

Old Irish Civilization. 

BY ALICE* STOPFORD GREEN, 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

Author of " Irish Nationality," etc. 

THE subject of old Irish civilization is one of profound 

interest to every Gael in Scotland, since from Ireland went 

out across the water, over fourteen centuries ago, the settlement 

of Scots which was to give its name to the " Scots Land," 

and to establish the traditions of Gaelic life there. Gaelic studies 

in Scotland still remain long behind the times, for reasons which 

are not far to seek. 

Among many causes one or two may be recalled—the lack in 

Scotland of such ancient collections as were saved in Ireland from 

destruction, and have at all times drawn from every race a 

succession of scholars celebrated for their labours and learning; the 

disastrous breaking of the Scots in the sixteenth century into factions, 

political and religious, known as the " English Scots " 

against " Irish Scots;" the ruthless destruction of the clans and 

their historic traditions. The history is melancholy 

reading, but in Scotland as in Ireland, National life will 

be the richer for remembrance of the road which its people 

have travelled, and the ancestors who shaped their way, and impressed 

on Scotland something of their own character. " Look 

unto the rock whence ye were hewn," was the good old counsel 

of the Bible.

40 

OLD IRISH CIVILIZATION. 

No people have been more over-praised and over-blamed than 

the Gaels. In the history of long conflicts for the subjection of 

Ireland, rulers and writers of the invading State spread their tales 

of a native race nursed in tribal barbarism, who remained unable, 

like other people, to shed ancient savage instincts and adopt the 

general advance to civilization. The Church on the other hand 

gave generous sympathy to a country whose desperate conflict for 

mere existence won little glamour of worldly success; for them consolation 

of human distress could be found in the idea of a spiritual 

genius, or an Irish mission of exalted faith. 

In the course of time, however, historical research has begun 

to throw a new light on the story of the Gael. In the last score of 

years we have had scholars, home men and foreigners, who give 

us for the first time true translations of old laws (which have long 

been a stumbling-block of students), and of wise sayings and proverbs 

and poems, which explain what the Irish people in old time 

were thinking and doing. It now becomes our duty to cast aside 

prejudices and ignorances in the light of new knowledge opened 

to us. All our customary beliefs, whether in a special mission of 

genius, or in a savage barbarism, are undermined. And as old 

structures perish we are forced to build anew. 

We have still much to learn of common vulgar facts about the 

Gael in Ireland—how he actually lived, his food, his possessions, 

his tillage, his home, his laws. The latest researches put an end 

to accepted fables of " nomads " and " barbarians," of a record 

of " broken skulls and stolen cattle," according to a modern 

writer. We read of land reclaimed from heavy forest and bog, 

fenced and tilled, and of farms from the substantial stretch of 720 

acres owned by a rich proprietor, down to the ploughland worked 

by four men, each with a share in the plough, an ox, a ploughshare, 

a goad and halter, and a share in kiln, mill, barn, and cooking-pot. 

There was provision for common roads, water mills, all necessary 

utensils for the work of every season, and adequate shelters for 

the live stock. The house furniture and fittings of various ranks 

are described, the garments and bridles of state; and excellent 

advice is given as to manners worthy of the host and his company. 

In a modern history Ireland appears as a mere terra incognita^ 

cut oflf by its barbarism and its position from the larger influences 

of Europe. It is told as a marvel that "of one Irish chieftain it was 

placed on record that he had accomplished the hazardous journey 

to Rome and back." This prodigy, however, was not very re- 

OLD IRISH CIVILIZATION. 

4' 

markable. Records of that time (1396-1452) tell of two 

companies of chiefs and men of the poorer sort journeying to 

Compostella (1445, 1452), and of two companies who travelled 

to Rome (1396, 1444); and apparently of yet a third company, 

who brought back to Ireland tales they had heard of the French 

wars " from prisoners at Rome " (1451). Ireland, in fact, was in 

every century in close connection with the Continent. " Do not 

repent," was the saying, " for going to acquire knowledge of a 

wise man; for merchants fare over the sea to add to their wealth" 

So far were the people from living without law, that we can 

comprehend no history of the Gaels through the middle ages 

without a clear understanding of what Law meant to them. Kuno 

Meyer first pointed out the remarkable fact that at an early time 

when England had as many codes of Law as it had kingdoms, and 

Wales four codes for its four provinces, Ireland had one 

national body of Law that extended from sea to sea, and ruled 

alike the multitude of petty kingdoms. In its minute care for 

the protection of an agricultural society, and its ordered courts to 

enforce right dealing in every rank, Irish law gained obedience 

and the confidence of the people, who shewed the intensity 

of their fidelity through centuries of conflict against foreign 

systems. Feudal law was the reversal of their whole tradition. 

The bitter conflict of centuries was not to the Irish, as the English 

supposed or alleged, a war against law, but a battle in defence of 

the law under which they had built up their civilization. 

It is evident that there is much work waiting for Gaelic 

students in new fields, too long neglected, of the real Gaelic 

civilization.

I 

GILLIAS. 43 

Gillias. 

BY THE COUNTESS OF CROMARTIE. 

Author of " The Golden Guard," etc., etc. 

" Not for Tearlach alone the red broadsword was plying, 

But to bring back the old World, that comes not again." 

—Andrew Lang. 

CHAPTER I. 

GILLIAS, that swarthy young member of a marauding Cian, 

always held a vague anxiety under his thatch of black hair 

concerning his Chief's youngest son, Aeneas, whom Gillias 

loved as his own soul. The boy was uncannily different from his 

fierce old father and brethren, who dwelt in the old grey tower, 

conveniently situated upon a high point of rock, over the waters 

of the firth. 

Towards any other object but Aeneas, Gillias was simply a 

fierce comely young animal. But when the old Chief and his 

sons gibed at the gentle boy, over their wine in the hall, and he 

saw the hot flush on the thin dark young face, he would grow 

oddly sick at heart, as well as furious. It was not that Aeneas 

lacked courage, as they said. But that after hunting or foray he 

would be very tired, and cough in a way that infuriated his fiery 

old parent. " Like a sick sheep "—stormed old Ruairidh one 

night. Young Aeneas's first fight came when he was scarce fourteen. 

It had been the usual thing. Fire and blood, and the 

screams of women. Gillias had realised that Aeneas was at the 

end of his strength; also (odd thought) that Aeneas did not enjoy 

this part of his duty. 

After the victory, Gillias had halted to dip his black head in 

a burn that ran below a hill-side of bracken and fir, for the day 

had been hot in more ways than one. Aeneas had stumbled 

towards him blindly, his young face drawn and piteous and his 

lips white. 

« Don't let them see me, Gillias," he had gasped, " or I shall 

die of shame!" 

He had subsided into Gillias's arms, half coughing and half 

sobbing. 

"Heart's darling!" said the blood-stained Gillias, and he 

patted a shaking shoulder. Aeneas was so small and fragile— 

another cause of offence. The Cian ran to height. There the 

friendship between the oddly assorted pair had started. It was 

hardly the devotion of clansman to Chief's son on Gillias's part, 

but something even more on both sides. The old Chief made it 

another cause of fierce mockery. 

" But there," said Gillias, referring to it with calm devilry, 

" By the Cross and Black Stone, he'll not be for killing his own 

blood and bones since . . . ." He went into shameless family 

history, and left his tribe staggered at his impudence: for old 

Ruairidh ruled his Cian with a heavy hand. 

CHAPTER 

Perhaps if Aeneas's gentle mother had lived, life might have 

been easier for him. Now he was touchingly grateful for Gillias's 

strange understanding. Like all their kind, they were not without 

love of music, and strange traditional lore came down from an 

earlier day of Knowledge. Books and such things were the joy 

of Aeneas's life. He loved them even as he loved his country 

and the old Fort, and would speak of them to Gillias with 

smouldering fire in his dark, too brilliant eyes. " Our people 

were so great once—so great," he said, in the hushed voice of an 

awed child. " Thinkest thou . . . " and then he would stop. 

"What, my little king" Gillias would remark, rather 

puzzled. 

" That it will ever come back" Aeneas would say dreamily, 

" great kings, and gold, and—happy things." 

" But you are happy" said Gillias jealously. 

" Quite now—but Gillias . . . ." 

« Yes," said Gillias. 

" I wonder why I am—so—weak." The words came through 

shut teeth. Gillias shook his head. Surely the young face, so 

beautiful in that dreaming of past glories, was thinner of late, and 

no potions of the Wise Women, often very effectual, had stopped 

the cough, stifled so painfully by day, but tearing at the overtaxed 

young body by night. This winter was a hard one. The 

old Fort was warm enough to the others, with a roaring fire in the 

great hall. But to the youngest of the family, the topmost turret 

of the Tower, where he slept, was to him the coldest place in the 

II.

44 

GILLIAS. 

universe; till one night Gillias had left the huddled warmth of the 

piled bracken and plaids he shared with a dozen more, and crawled 

up through the darkness, to where Aeneas lay and coughed at 

racking intervals. An iron brazier was flaming in Gillias's 

hands, and between his strong white teeth the black knife, for 

any who might be ill-advised enough to oppose him. The boy, 

shivering in his bed, had sat up smiling. 

"Art going to murder me, wild one" he jested, amid a 

paroxysm of coughing. Gillias had thumped down the brazier 

on the stone floor, and gone out again without a word, to return 

with a steaming glass of some dark liquid in his hand. He removed 

his knife from his mouth, and spoke. 

" Drink! 'Tis a recipe of my grandmother's, and may the 

Devil have my soul for not thinking of it before." 

The boy gulped down the potion. The coughing had stopped 

suddenly, but he still shivered, though the thin hand that lay in 

Gillias's was hot, and the boy's head burned under the tossed, dark 

curls. There was an unearthly sweetness upon his face, that 

Gillias had often seen when he spoke of brave deeds and past 

glories. It awed the young man suddenly. Something burned 

within the boy's despised frailty, that Gillias dimly recognised 

was stronger than a sword. 

Summer had come back now, and with the news of the Prince's 

landing, and for the first time, Gillias saw his beloved thirsty for 

blood. He laughed. This meant that the boy was better. 

Signals flared trom every hill, and the Fiery Cross was out. 

Aeneas, with dark flames in his eyes, seemed untiring. He 

even gained credit with his fierce old father. 

" If this change in the brat is thy doing, thou art to me as 

my son, thou bold dog!" said the old Chief to Gillias. 

" Tis none of my doing, MacRuairidh," said Gillias darkly. 

" Whose then" said the old Chief. " God's," said Gillias. 

The old man, who was spasmodically religious, answered, 

" To Whom be praise, forever and ever !" If Faith in the Cause 

meant that, of course it was so. His own forbears had been 

kings in the past, greater, doubtless, than Charlie Stewart. But 

in Charlie Stewart lay the prospect of old Ruairidh retaining his 

present despotism. Besides, apart from that—the old Song, and 

the old Dream, fair and brave—apart from sheer love of plunder, 

or their own advantage if they won. The few against the many. 

A fair-haired Iad the symbol of the old glory. That was all. 

GILLIAS. 

45 

The fierce eyes flamed over Gillias, as he stood there, deferential 

but proud. Gillias was a beauty, thought the old man—cleanlimbed 

as a stag of the hills, the smooth hawk-face betraying the 

pride of blood, amid his shaggy-faced followers. Well—something 

must be done for him after the victory. If . . . 

The old man sneered at himself over that " if ." Was " if " 

a word for any gentleman at such a time He continued his 

thoughts aloud in snapped Gaelic. 

" A better post shall be found for thee after this battle. 'Tis 

not fitting that my son's friend, who is son of my brother, should, 

so to speak, run at my horse's tail." He saw the dark face flush 

hotly, then turn pale. 

" I am content, MacRuairidh," said Gillias, " and I think 

" Who art thou, to think" shouted his Chief who hated any 

contradiction. 

Gillias bowed, with a faint gleam of his white teeth. 

" Ambitious as a cock on a dunghill," growled the old man. 

" Don't dare to answer me. We all are." 

Gillias bowed again, and withdrew, his dark head held high. 

The old man had praised his youngest son. That was all that 

mattered to him for the moment. They, too, had realised ac 

last of what stuff" young Aeneas was made. In his wild career, 

Gillias had, as he would have termed it, loved many women, 

always strictly outside his own Cian—daughters and wives of 

enemies, to put the matter frankly. It had always been an affair 

of fierce careless animality upon his part, redeemed, perhaps, from 

modern ugliness because he had usually risked his life upon each 

reprehensible adventure, being often in peril from the women 

themselves, and always so from their owners. Had not Morag 

of the Island, that fair dame, once utterly deceived him In his 

very arms she had whipped out her knife, and screamed upon her 

husband and her brothers. He had barely escaped, leaving four 

ambushed men dead in the bracken behind him, and Morag's 

knife in his shoulder. He had paid her good man the compliment 

of a hideous Gaelic insult upon his wife's attainments as a decoy, 

and left him senseless but unwounded. 

But now, without mentioning such things at all, young 

Aeneas had made him think differently of such escapades. They 

were not love, and therefore not worth it, was Gillias's sudden 

definition of some very dark chapters of his reckless past.

46 

GILLIAS. 

CHAPTER 

The night before the long march, old Ruairidh expanded in 

regal hospitality, even to former enemies bound to the same Cause. 

In the hall of the old Fort, there was feasting and dancing. 

Young Aeneas was in wild spirits. His laughter was good to 

hear to Gillias, as the boy danced indiscriminately with everybody; 

with his brothers, with Gillias, then with the oldest and most 

bloodthirsty of the Cian, Red Tormad, aged at least eighty, 

whose name was not from his appearance (he was still dark as a 

crow) but through his reputation, and then with a dozen Spaniards 

from a ship in the haven. Last of all he danced again with Gillias. 

They both danced wonderfully, both graceful as wild cats, the 

lithe strength of the one against the active fragility of the other. 

And Ruairidh, the Chief, watching in state from his old, carved 

oak seat at the end of the hall, was looking benignantly for once 

upon his youngest son, and even more so upon his companion. 

Feasting and song and dancing were over. The breeze from 

the sea stirred the old Chief's white locks, as he stood upright 

facing his Cian, the silver cup held high in his hand. 

" Gentlemen! the King!" 

He spoke first in Spanish in honour of his guests, then in 

Gaelic. A wild yell answered him, save from that bloody old 

villain, Tormad, who happened to be both drinking and weeping 

at the same time. Not that he was drunk for the moment, but 

what held them all was too much for his fierce aged heart. 

Tears trickled unrestrainedly down his grey beard when the other 

Ruairidh, the Chief's eldest son, spoke with the drawn sword, and 

bade them drink to their Chief, the father of their tribe, son of 

Ruairidh, son of Ruairidh, son of ..... . He flashed 

down through the ages to remote and misty kings, his passionate 

voice drowned by a shriek of loyalty that seemed to shake the old 

tower. He himself led in the pledge of loyalty, as he stood tail, 

and tense as a strung bow, with upflung arms. 

Little Aeneas was clinging to Gillias's arm. 

Gillias looked down at him with eyes like dark flame. He 

remembered how in the interval of hard work the previous evening, 

he had found young Aeneas kneeling at the foot of the huge 

pre-Christian Cross that stood upon the moor above the rocks. 

His thin face was so radiant that Gillias's heart had given a strange 

w 

leap. I am so grateful," the boy had said, " to be able to show 

III. 

GILLIAS. 

how much I love ..." His gesture embraced the wild landscape 

of rock, shore and sea, and with them Gillias. 

And now in that wild scene of loyalty they stood hand-locked, 

with no words at all. 

CHAPTER 

The rout after Culloden. The Dream shattered and gone. 

Old Ruairidh's despotic white head was lying still in a pool of 

blood. His three sons as still as he. The tribe scattered and 

dead. Gillias, who had fought like a devil, and had been left for 

dead on the blood-stained heather, had struggled to his knees in 

the cold moon-pierced shadows of the night, to claw savagely 

among the bodies of his kinsmen. He pushed aside the 

shattered bodies of the two elder sons. Huddled beneath them, 

as they had all three fought and fallen about their grim old sire, 

was Aeneas, little Aeneas with blood upon his lips. 

The starry eyes opened and looked up at him, as Gillias lifted 

him clear of the heap of shattered dead, and laid him like a child 

back across his knees, as he crouched there. 

" Go ... go 1" gasped the faint voice. " They have slain the 

wounded, but me they will not kill in the morning, because ..." 

He paused, gasping, but his meaning was obvious. 

Gillias rose to his feet, the boy in his arms. He staggered 

once, but then set off steadily away from the blood stained horror 

of Culloden Moor. There was a strange feeling of lightness and 

unreality with every step he took, the knowledge that something 

was draining away from him unseen and steadily. But only one 

thought remained. It was bitter cold. He must get his burden 

into shelter before anything happened. "What would happen 

He heard Aeneas imploring him to save himself, and he 

laughed and walked on. 

" No !" He must rest for a moment. He did not know 

where he was going. There was a deep ditch hidden by bracken 

on his right. He had noticed it the years ago, that were only 

yesterday, the years ago when the old Macdonald's dying cry of 

despair had rung in men's ears through the blind lust of battle. 

" Oh God! Have the Children of my tribe deserted me" 

" Swine—swine," muttered Gillias dreamily, as he plunged 

into the ditch, and laid what he carried upon the bracken he had 

stamped down. The rest rose high about them like a dank yellow 

wall, pierced by the dim moonlight. 

IV. 

47

48 GILLIAS. 

" Gillias!" The faint young voice came to him out of the 

dream, as he tried to force himself awake. "Art—wounded" 

Gillias was steady now, and the mist upon his brain cleared, 

steady enough to lie, for why hurt the child in the hour of death 

" No!" he said, and wiped that thin trickle of blood away 

from the white lips, that whispered again, 

" I am glad. Escape with the dawn, my dear. I—am going, 

Gillias" 

" Heart's darling—little one!" 

Forgetting that he, too, was dying, a low, hoarse wail of agony 

forced itself from him. 

" Hush !" whispered the faint voice. " Thou'lt pray for me, 

Gillias! Maybe they'll leave the old Cross standing. But no, 

they'll not—they'll not! It is broken and gone. And—I—I've 

loved thee, passing the love of—, Gillias, don't cry!" 

The broken young thing had struggled to his knees, before 

Gillias in his own weakness could prevent him, and his arms had 

gone about the neck of the figure crouched beside him. "Gillias! 

we've won!" 

The whisper came to Gillias, with the sudden weight of the 

drooping slender figure against his breast. He could hear the 

drip of the cold rain upon the bracken above him. He held cold 

death to his heart, and this was—hell. He had loved nothing on 

earth as he had loved this gentle, innocent child,—a child always, 

in spite of his fifteen years, and now he was cold and dead as the 

Cause was. 

CHAPTER V. 

Te Deum Laudamus! The great chant of triumph thundered 

about him. But why was he walking in a marching throng 

of victors, since he lay dying in a wet ditch, with the beloved 

Aeneas cold in his arms And why was old Ruairidh there, looking 

despotic as ever, but also rarely benignant, and, strangely, not old, 

and with him his two sons And why was Aeneas walking also 

beside him, clinging to his arm Rank upon rank, marched his 

clansmen, many of them too glorious to look upon easily; and there 

—it was all the incredible dream of a dying man ! There was 

old Father John, of Inverness, who, as a matter of fact, had fallen 

dead before his blazing altar, with his white head battered in under 

the gun-butts of Cumberland's troopers. It was odd to turn 

GILLIAS. 

from Father John's radiant face to the old deer-hound which had 

followed the Cian to Culloden Moor. 

" But—I have sinned," muttered Gillias bewildered, and it 

was now sunrise 1 

He felt Aeneas's hand give his arm a little squeeze, as he 

often did over his friend's rare and blurted confessions. 

" We have won, Gillias!" he whispered again. 

So this was the transit from a damp ditch and agony to thi* 

—the old World that they had died to gain. 

' \ T A 

JL^ 

Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne. 

LE DONNCHADH 

MACIAIN, ILE. 

latha 's na linn bha mo sheanair, Dòmh'ull Ruadh a' 

Bhuinne, air a chomharrachadh air son nì no dhà, ach gu 

seachd sònraichte air son a bhi 'na mharcach barraichte. 

Cha bu bheò le Dòmh'ull mar an robh e rèis ri cuid-eigin, 's 

cha bu bheò leis gach fear nach biodh a' strì ri Dòmh'ull. 

Cha robh oidhche mhargaidh nach robh Dòmh'ull Ruadh agus 

an làir-dhonn, Magaidh-dhonn Bhail'-an-Abaidh, air toiseach 's 

air deireadh na cuideachd air-neo chaineadh iad thairis e. 

Bha Dòmh'ull agus an làir-dhonn a' fàs sean, ach a mhàin gun 

robh iad a' fàs òg le cheile a h-uile là margaidh, agus ghabhadh 

e a bhi math ann fhèin, am fear a chuireadh riutha 'nuair a gheibh 

eadh iad fo astar. 

Bha an strì agus an udag a bh' ann ag cur iomaguin mhòir air 

mo sheanmhair, am boirionnach còir, oir bha eagal oirre gun 

rachadh Dòmh'ull Ruadh à cnàimh a mhuineil oidhch'-eigin a' 

rèis air Tràigh-Laga. 

Aon là margadh Samhna thuirt i ri mo mhàthair,— 

" Tha dùil agam fhèin, eudail, gun teid mi thun a' mhargadh 

an diugh. Tha beagan dheireasan a dhìth orm air son an tighe, 

agus dh' fhaoidte ma thachras t' athair orm gun teid agam air 

a mhealladh leam dhachaidh mun tòisich na fir air an strì agus air 

an eachlaireachd is àbhaist a bhi aca a' tilleadh bho'n mhargadh." 

49

5° 

DOMHNULL RUADH A' BHUINNE. 

" An-dà, dèanaibh," arsa mo rnhàthair, " agus ma chì sibh 

muinntir Thigh-na-Cachla bibh dhachaidh 'nan cuideachd; 

feuch air na chunnaic sibh riamh nach meall m' athair sibh gu 

cùl-marcachd leis air an làir-dhuinn. 

" Och! eudail, eudail, nach mise bhiodh air m' fhaotainn 

socharach na smaointichinn air a leithid; cò is eòlaiche air na mi 

fhèin " arsa an t-seana-bhean chòir 's i ag gabhail air falbh. 

Ràinig i am margadh, rinn i a gnothuch, is thachair Domh'- 

ull Ruadh oirre agus saod anabarrach math air. Bha iad 

tacan a' dol sìos 's a suas, air an ais 's air an aghaidh, 

ach, air " deireadh na beurla," chaidh aice air Dòmh'ull a' chomhairleachadh 

gu dol dachaidh. 

Chuir Domhull an t-srian ri Magaidh-dhonn is tharruing iad 

air falbh air an socair. 

An uair a fhuair iad a mach bho'n mhargadh, thuirt Dòmh- 

"Chan 'eil mise a' faicinn gu bheil ann ach amaideachd dhuit, 

a Cheit, a ghalad, a bhi ag giùlan na basgaide thruim sin ad chois 

air astar cho fada, agus an capull donn comasach gu leoir air ar 

giùlan 'nar dithis." 

Saor no daor, cha rachadh Ceit air mharcachd, ach le mòran 

pliotairt chaidh aig Dòmh'ull Ruadh air Ceit thruagh iompachadh. 

Tharruing e Magaidh-dhonn an taic bruaich àird, agus fhuair 

e Ceit a chur gu socair air a chùlaibh. 

" Nis, a Dhòmhuill," arsa Ceit, " geallaidh tu dhomhsa gum 

falbh thu gu socrach, ciallach leis an ainmhidh, chan 'eil cabhag 

'sam bith's a' chùis; tha an t-astar fada, ach tha an oidhche math 

's chan 'eil duine ag cur oirnn. 

Bha iad a' faotainn air an adhart gu gasda, Dòmh'ull ann 

am fonn ciatach, 's e a' dranndan air òran. 

" Bha còrr agus fichead aig brònaig 'sa chiste, 's e na fhuair 

mi d'a gibhtean bò dhruimfhionn's cha b'lèir dhi." 

" O ù ara ù à, bheir mi ù ara eile, O ù ara ù à." 

Ceit,—" Nis, a Dhòmhuill, thigeadh na falbhadh a' roghainn, 

cha teid thusa rèis." 

Domh'all,—" Ud, a Cheit, nach e sin a' chainnt; dè air thalamh 

mar tha dùil agad a rachainn-sa a rèis agus thu fhèin 's do 

chuid bathar an crochadh rium. A dh' innseadh na firinn duit, 

cha robh a leithid de langaid orm fhèin's air Magaidh a' tilleadh 

bho mhargadh riamh roimhe. Mise dhol a rèis! Moire, b'e sin 

DOMHNULL RUADH A' BHUINNE. 

an gnothuch, 's fhada ghabhainn-sa bhuam e, theid mise fodha 

dhuit." 

Ach is gann a' labhair Dòmh'ull 'nuair a chaidh marcach 

seachad orra le sitheadh uamhasach. Mharcaich e cho dlùth gus 

nach mòr nach do thilg e Dòmh'ull Ruadh is Magaidh-dhonn anns 

an dìg. 

Thionndaidh Dòmh'ull gu frionasach, "A Cheit, co bha 

sin" "Coma leat-sa, a Dhòmh'uill, cò a bh'ann; falbh thusa 

gu rèidh, ciallach leis an ainmhidh." 

" An d' aithnich thu e, a Cheit" 

" Och, a chiall, cha d' aithnich," arsa Ceit, " nach d' thàinig 

e orm cho bras an comhair mo chùil 's ged bhiodh na ' seachdfeara-fichead 

' an tòir air; ach dòcha gur e fear de mhuinntir na 

Ranna a th'ann, a bhios a' dèanamh griollaim air son a bhi dhachaidh 

car amail." 

Dòmh'ull:—"Chan è gu dearbh, a Cheit, duine de mhuinntir 

na Ranna a thàinig riamh cho dàna sin orm-sa, ach nach mise a 

dh' fhaodadh aithneachadh,—an driamlach ghrànnda ud shìos aig 

Ceann-na-Tràgha. 

Tha e ag gabhail brath na socharaidh orm-sa an nochd bho'n tha 

e a' faicinn gu bheil cas-bheag orm. Nach ann aige a bhios an 

naidheachd am màireach, ach ged robh seachd mnathan air mo 

chùlaibh-sa, gun tighinn air nach 'eil ann ach an t-aon, ' am fear 

ud' mise, ma gheibh e an naidheachd sin leis gu dorus a dhà 

sheanair, agus, a Mhagaidh-dhonn, Bhail'-an-Abaidh, cha d' 

fhàgadh riamh air deireadh sinn." 

Leig Dòmh'ull Ruadh an t-srian le Magaidh-dhuinn, 's mar 

eun air iteig, mar mhial-chù an dèidh na faghaide, cho dian 's a 

bheireadh a ceathrar chaoil i, bha Magaidh-dhonn ri astar. 

A' dìreadh ri bruthach na Creige-Duibhe, bha Magaidh-dhonn 

ag casadh teann, ach mun d' ràinig iad Uisge-an-t-Suidhe dh' fhàg 

i beannachd aig falaire mòr Cheann-na-Tràgha, 's ghabh i an ceum 

toisich gus an d' ràinig i a' Bhuinne 'na deann. 

'Nuair a rinn Dòmh'ull Ruadh e fhèin cinnteach nach robh 

dìth no deireas air an làir-dhuinn, chaidh e a steach, agus e gu 

sunndach. 

Bha e treis ag gabhail òrain, treis a' seanchas mu'n mhargadh, 

treis a' moladh an lair-dhuinn, 's treis eile ag càineadh an fhir a 

bha rèis ris, ach 'nuair a fhuair mo mhàthair cothrom, ars' ise:— 

"Ach stad oirbh, athair: eadar dhà sgeul, am faca sibh mo 

mhàthair an diugh" 

5'

DOMH NULL RUADH A' BHUINNE. 

Domh'all ('s e a' tachas a chinn,—" Do mhàthair, a ghalad^ 

do mhàthair, a ghalad,—an-dà, saoil thu fhèin, bho'n thuit e dhuit 

iomradh a thoirt oirre, saoil thu fhèin, a ghalad, nach robh e a' 

ruith air m' aire gu faca mi'n àit-eigin i." 

Mo mhàthair:—" Tha fhios gu faca sibh aig a' mhargadh i; 

gu dearbh 's ann bha mise 'ga cur 'na h-earalas an àm falbh, i a 

sheachnadh dol a mharcachd-cùil leibh air an làir-dhuinn." 

Dòmh'ull:— M 

Tha mi agad a nis, tha mi agad a nis, Iseabail 

ghaolaich. An sealladh mu dheireadh a chunnaic mise de d' 

mhàthair, Ceit-nic-Mhaoilein chòir, agus a leòra, b' e sin ise, 

am boirionnach suairc, bha i an crochadh ri earball na làire-duinne 

air Tràigh-Laga." 

Mo sheanmhair:—(agus i a' tighinn a steach còmhdaichte le 

gainmhich bho mhullach a cinn gu sàil a buinn). " Agus an 

sealladh ma dheireadh a chithear dhìot-sa, a Dhòmh'uill dhuibh, 

mhallaichte, bi tu an crochadh ri earball an fhir nach abair mi, 

mar dèan Nì-math tròcair ort. Am facas no an cualas riamh boirionnach 

a chaill a mothachadh cho mòr riumsa, agus tha a bhlàth'sa 

bhuil, nach 'eil mi a nis air mo chiabhadh's air mo shluaisreadh 

mar eun a thuiteadh bho'n chroman, ach bheir mise mo dhà làimhsa 

dhuit-sa, gun dèan thusa ' eag anns an t-siabhraidh le sgithinn 

mhaide,' ma chì thu mise air làir dhuibh no dhuinn leat ri mo bheò 

tuille!» 

Dòmh'ull:—(Agus e ag amharc air Ceit, agus gun e a bhi rochinnteach 

cò-dhiùbh 's i fhèin no manadh a' bh' ann),—" Do 

bheatha do'n bhaile, a Cheit! Nach mise a tha taingeil t' fhaicinn 

slàn, gun chreuchd, gun chiorram! Ach an cluinn thusa mise, 

a Cheit,—a bheil thusa a' dèanamh gun robh mise, aig a bheil 

urram na srèine bho chionn leth-chiad margadh, a' dol a leigeil le 

uipear nach do mharcaich riamh ach mar chlobha mu mhuinea! 

coin, mo mhaslachadh! Cha laighinn fo thàmailt de'n t-seòrsa 

sin ged a robh mi falbh air mo mhàgan. Cha laigheadh, is mì 

nach laigheadh, 's cha b' ann de Chloinn-Ghill'-Easbuig mi na'n 

laigheadh. Thig; thusa a nuas, a Cheit, a ghràidh, dèan suidhe,— 

is fìor agus ro-fhìor an seanfhacal,— 

"Nach math nach caillear na chuirear an cunnart."

The Golden Eagle. 

BY SETON GORDON, B.A. (OXON.), F.Z.S., 

Author of " The Immortal Isles," etc., etc. 

IN many districts of the Scottish Highlands, the golden eagle 

has his home. On the Cairngorm hills I have seen this magnificent 

bird rise, with never a visible motion of his wings, 

until he became no larger than a wren, and finally was lost to view 

in the azure vault of heaven. A day I recall, on " Bruach na 

Frìthe," one of the Black Coolins, when the air was so clear that 

St. Kilda, eighty miles to the westward, could easily be seen rising 

from blue Atlantic plains. But swiftly a drifting cloud from the 

north approached the hill top, and, just as the mist-curtain was 

dropping, a golden eagle and his mate passed over, sailing unperturbed 

above dark precipices. They saw me, and at once 

mounted, so that in a few seconds they had entered the grey 

country of the mist. How did they steer thus How might 

they avoid the mist-enshrouded cone of " Sgùrr Alasdair," the 

black moist walls of "Sgùrr nan Gillean" 

Swiftly does the eagle fly. More swift than the flight of any 

bird, is his splendid downward rush. One midsummer's day, I 

was concealed beside an eagle's eyrie. Suddenly I saw against 

the blue sky a minute black speck which I took for an insect. But 

with unbelievable speed the speck grew in size, until in a few 

seconds I saw that it was the cock eagle, rushing towards the eyrie 

from the high hills. In one claw —extended downward to its full 

extent—he held a ptarmigan. The sun shone full upon his golden 

plumage as he passed me, and, so great was his speed, he was 

unable to stop at the eyrie, but sailed on beyond it, swept round, 

and came in from below. 

There is a Gaelic legend, that once, long ago, the birds 

decided to choose a king, and that honour was to go to the bird 

which should fly the highest. All imagined that the eagle would 

win easily, and, as he sailed higher and higher, he smiled proudly 

at those birds which he was leaving further and further below 

him. At last he had mounted to an incredible altitude, and then 

he called out (thinking no bird was in hearing) that he was certainly 

the king. But a tiny brown wren had cunningly concealed

54 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

itself amongst the eagle's feathers, and now the small rival mounted 

high above the eagle, who was tired, and thus could not overtake 

it. And so the wren, and not the eagle, was the king of birds. 

It is said that the eagle attains to a very great age. There is 

an old Highland rhyme:— 

" Thrice the age of a dog, the age of a horse, 

Thrice the age of a horse the age of a man, 

Thrice the age of a man the age of a stag, 

Thrice the age of a stag the age of an eagle, 

Thrice the age of an eagle the age of an oak-tree." 

But very few eagles die of old age. They are, it is true, without 

enemies in the bird world, but they are shot, poisoned, or trapped, 

on sheep farms or grouse moors, and of recent years have been 

increasingly disturbed by egg collectors, who bribe keepers and 

others to locate eyries for them. But despite its enemies, the golden 

eagle is holding its own in most parts of the Highlands, and, in 

this respect, is more fortunate than its neighbour, the white-tailed 

or sea eagle, which is quite extinct in Scotland at the present day, 

although so late as 1860 it was numerous in Skye, nesting upon 

most of the rocky headlands of An t-Eilean Sgitheanach. The 

golden eagle lays two eggs, and usually hatches out two young 

ones. One of the eaglets mysteriously disappears a week or two 

after birth, and in the light of what my wife and I recently witnessed 

during an almost constant watch on an eyrie, the stronger 

eaglet pecks the weaker to death. One of the eaglets in the eyrie 

we had under observation narrowly escaped this fate. Daily his 

sister (the hen eaglet is larger and stronger than the male) pecked 

her brother unmercifully. She tore out so much of his down that 

the eyrie and the ground below the tree were whitened by it. 

Each day that we visited the eyrie, we expected to find the unfortunate 

eaglet dead, but he survived, and after a time his sister 

gave up her bullying. Curiously enough the mother eagle did 

no hunting for the family. She left this entirely to the cock. 

The cock, every afternoon about three o'clock, sailed in, carrying 

a grouse, ptarmigan, or hare. Several times he brought squirrels, 

though how he captured them was a mystery, and once he carried 

a jackdaw from the low ground. 

His custom was to deposit his prey in the eyrie, stand there 

proudly for a minute, surveying his growing family with indifference, 

and then spring out into space, spreading his great 

THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

wings as he did so. His mate watched him from a tree near, and, 

a minute or two after he had left, she sailed down to the eyrie 

and commenced to feed her young on the prey left by the cock. 

In May, when the eaglets were small balls of white down, 

the weather was often stormy. Sometimes a westerly gale brought 

with it stinging hail showers that pattered like small shot against 

our hiding tent. During these squalls the mother eagle brooded 

her young closer, and quickly became a bedraggled object. The 

melting hail ran down her bill in a steady stream, but she was 

heedless of the discomfort, and sometimes slept with her head 

sunk low, and not, like other birds, tucked away beneath the wing 

feathers. At last there came a day when the larger of the two 

eaglets was ready to leave the eyrie. But the second bird—he 

who, in his early youth had been bullied so much by his sister— 

was not yet able to fly, and his parents after feeding him in the 

eyrie for a few days, commenced to cut down his rations. Indeed, 

during the last two or three days, no food at all was brought 

to the unfortunate eaglet, who called repeatedly, until his voice 

was husky and weak, and he was on the verge of starvation. Thus 

was he compelled by hunger to take his first flight. It was a 

Spartan up-bringing, but a wise one, for amongst birds of prey 

none but the most virile have any chance of surviving the stern 

struggle for existence. 

A Highland Heroine for Highland Women. 

BY A DAUGHTER OF TH.E GAEL. 

" Fhad's a dh' fhàsas flùr air machair, 

Mairidh cliù na h-ainnir chaoimh." 

THERE are people who tell us that we should concern ourselves 

less with the history of bygone times, in order to 

devote our attention more exclusively to the living issues of 

to-day. To such an injunction the reply comes readily that only 

through a study of past processes can the present, to which these 

processes have led up, be understood, and that in a knowledge of 

the lives of the heroes of our country do we of the present find 

our best inspiration. 

At the present time, therefore, when our minds are apt to be 

55

56 

A HIGHLAND HEROINE FOR HIGHLAND WOMEN. 

somewhat bewildered by the complexity of modern life with its 

many calls and interests, and when our energies tend to be diffused 

and squandered owing to the fitful restlessness of the age, is there 

not special need for us to halt and ask ourselves whether we are 

not departing from, rather than aspiring to, the singleness of heart 

and the steady activity and devotion which characterised so many 

of our prominent national figures, even within recent historic 

times 

Looking back into the past, therefore, to find inspiration for 

the future, it seems to the writer that the figure of Flora Mac 

Donald, oft though her story has been told, is one which we 

Highland women of to-day would do well to consider, and to regard 

in a new light. She was only an ordinary young Highland 

woman when she first stepped out on to the stage of history—much 

like the rest of us who, generation after generation, have lived 

out our lives in the land of the Gael. In the same way that we so 

often timidly draw back, and refuse to take responsibility when 

opportunity offers, she at first declined to perform the service which 

opportunity offered to her. But she differed from the ordinary 

type in bravely overcoming her reluctance, in risking all, and in 

faithfully performing the task allotted to her in support of the 

cause which she held dear. 

In this brief story two central ideas impress themselves on 

us: there was a cause to inspire, and unstinted devotion in support 

of that cause. 

Flora MacDonald, like all true Highlanders of her day, was 

an ardent supporter of the Stuart cause, because, as it now seems 

to us, the representative of the Stuart dynasty was not only the 

legitimate sovereign who could command allegiance, but the 

living symbol of nationality—a nationality the love of which could 

kindle a burning enthusiasm, and inspire the utmost devotion, a 

nationality which was to be upheld by every sacrifice rather than 

that an easy acquiescence should be given to an alien regime. 

And we Gaels of to-day, are we without a national cause to 

inspire our hearts and to incite us to action Even though a 

larger loyalty be now rendered to the descendant of the Stuarts 

who occupies their throne, have we not an inner shrine in our 

hearts for our own portion of his dominions—for our own Gàidhealtachd, 

which to us is a land above every land And the symbol 

of this land of ours, of that nationality which to us is sacred,— 

is it not the language of our fathers, in which is bound up the very 

A HIGHLAND 

HEROINE FOR HIGHLAND WOMEN. 

spirit of the past which has gone to make us what we are What 

can we do for the preservation of this precious heritage which for 

centuries has given expression to the thoughts, the ideals and the 

aspirations of the Scottish Gael, this sign and symbol of our Celtic 

origin Is it not worthy of preservation, this ancient tongue 

which binds us so closely to our forefathers, our country and our 

kin If we do not love it, are not the ties which bind us to the 

soil,—the soil of ancient Albainn—weakened, so that we drift 

easily away, allowing ourselves to be absorbed by another people, 

serving another land as readily as our own, enjoying the luxury 

offered by an alien hand rather than learn endurance on the stormbeaten 

shores of our own land 

A cause, then, is here, as real, as living, as was the cause of 

Prince Charlie nigh on two centuries ago, as worthy of support 

as any which called forth the devotion of the heroes of history in 

bygone times. The cause of the Gaelic language calls for support 

because it is inextricably bound up with the national ideals of the 

Gael, and because by fostering the old tongue we foster also a 

national spirit—a spirit of love and service to our own land. 

And if we have now a cause, no less compelling, no less enthralling 

and full of romance than was the Stuart cause which 

called forth the devotion of our ancestors, who is it who, in this 

modern age, is to give it support and serve it with the same unstinted 

devotion with which Flora MacDonald served her Prince 

Is it not the women of the Highlands who can best respond, too, 

to this call If the spirit of patriotism still burns within their 

hearts, they will not fail to pass on the torch, for no outside influence 

will hinder the true mother from instilling her most 

cherished ideals into the mind of the child of her love. From the 

lips of its mother the child learns its mother-tongue, and thus in 

a special degree the Gaelic cause is in the hands of the daughters 

of the Gael. Can they be trusted to serve that cause well, or will 

they fail Will they, like Flora MacDonald, first profess loyalty, 

then shrink and draw back, but finally go forward unflinchingly to 

perform their service, and devote themselves whole-heartedly to 

the work fostered by An Comunn Gàidhealach, but enlarging it, 

and taking to themselves a more comprehensive motto in the form 

of:— 

Ar Dùthaich's ar Sluagh; 

Ar Cànain's ar Ceòl. 

AUGUSTA LAMONT. 

57

With Apologies to the True Believer! 

By BESSIE J. B. MACARTHUR. 

The Importance of Highland Folklore 

BY DONALD A. MACKENZIE, 

Author of " Ancient Man in Britain," etc., etc. 

THERE'S a fashion that is growing, much as other fashions do > 

From the blatant admiration of the many for the few, 

From the ardour of the multitude for everything that's new. 

Now this fashion that I speak of is a better thing by miles, 

Than many of those cults and vogues that curse us with their wiles,. 

And the name that I shall give it is the " Passion for the Isles." 

And the object of this modern craze has cause for growing vain, 

For she carries poets, authors, and composers in her train, 

And they vow that they adore her, both in sunshine and in rain. 

But I wonder, when I hear the wind come tearing down the lum,. 

And the rivers running riot till their roaring makes me dumb, 

If I asked them to go with me to Loch Boisdale, would they come 

It is easy to sit tight at home and rave about the west, 

The mist that makes the glamour, and the colour, and the rest; 

But would they go and live there, if we put them to the test 

There's an artificial note about this cult of Island fame, 

That makes the true believer suffer silently in shame, 

For he would see the islands loved in spirit as in name. 

And tho' there may be many one might designate as true, 

The glory of the Islands must be ever found anew, 

A fashion for the many—but a passion with the few. 

w n a t 

earthly use is folklore" an old Highland minister 

V^y once protested, when I spent a pleasant holiday with him. 

" It is merely gross superstition and it is my duty to stamp 

cut that sort of thing." He wanted to interest me in his collections 

of butterflies and moths and bird's eggs. " At anyrate," I 

retorted, " it does not involve the taking of life." An.impaled 

butterfly was still struggling on a card on his study table. He 

shrugged his shoulders. " 1 am certain,'' he smiled, " you will 

not be able to collect superstitions in this parish. There isn't 

even a child who believes in fairies." 

Things happen, however, in a Highland parish without the 

knowledge of either minister or doctor. I found that some 

members of the Revd. naturalist's congregation were perpetuating 

a custom which must be of some considerable antiquity. When 

an individual became seriously ill, the women baked cakes and 

left them on an ancient standing stone. If the cakes were "taken" 

before the next morning, it was believed that the patient would 

recover. I was not surprised to learn, too, that there was a fairy 

knoll in the minister's glebe which some of the parishioners did 

not care to approach by night without some " protection." The 

minister's man had always in a vest pocket a " Jew's harp," 

which he occasionally tried to play. Its cast-iron frame made it 

possible for him to " touch iron " when necessary. In the river 

was a "water wife;" she used to drown late farers who attempted 

to cross a ford of ill repute, when there happened to be a spate, 

and there was a sacred well, which was credited with effecting 

cures. Of all these things the minister was profoundly ignorant. 

Nor did I enlighten him. 

I remember once cycling with a Highland doctor who 

similarly believed that " superstitious practices " were a thing of 

the past. He called at a white-washed cottage to see a baby who 

had taken seriously ill. As I waited outside, I saw an old man 

leaning against the gable, busily slicing a piece of wood with his

60 THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE. 

pocket knife. He was making something which looked like a 

small ladle, and I guessed the truth. The baby was suspected to 

be suffering from the effects of the " Evil Eye." Having passed 

some remarks about the weather and the crops, I lowered my 

voice and said, " I respect Dr. X., and admire his skill. But he 

does not know everything. A little 'water off silver' will do the 

child no harm." The old man darted at me a shrewd piercing 

glance, his eyebrows lowering over his deep, grey eyes. " I'll 

say nothing to the doctor," I added. " W hen I was a child, I 

was given the cure by my grandmother, and I still have 

the wooden ladle (which is a fact). Where do you get the water 

hereabout" He pointed with his knife towards Achilty Bridge 

and said, " Beneath that bridge, over which the dead and the 

living pass," which meant that funerals went over the bridge. I 

nodded and made no comment, nor did I inform the doctor that 

his powders would not be given to the child if the ancient " wateroff-silver 

cure " were found to be effective. A drink of cold 

water may really restore to normal a child who suffers from the 

effects of a disordered stomach. 

"Of what earthly use is folklore" some readers may ask, 

as did the minister who slew moths and butterflies, and robbed 

wild birds of their eggs. As one who has resided in different 

parts of the Highlands, I have found, in the first place, that an 

interest in folklore brings one into close touch with the people. 

When, as a youth, I migrated from the North Highlands to 

Argyll, I already possessed a stock of folk tales which I had 

received mainly from my grandmother. As soon as I began to 

tell a story at a peat-fire, it was as if I had poured a little water 

into a pump. A deluge of local stories followed. Then to these 

Highlanders I became " one of themselves." It was considered 

unnecessary to hide anything from me. Had I, however, begun 

by asking, " Have you people any superstitions Do you believe 

in fairies" as do some enthusiasts, who think they can be folklore 

collectors, I should have remained a rank outsider, and 

leported to some society that " all folk customs and folk-tales 

have vanished from this area." 

I have vivid memories of friendships formed with old Highlanders 

in Argyll, who knew me as "the Iad from the north," 

(an gille tuathach). 

I remember one wonderful night, when I was returning from 

the cave of the good, grey, Gaelic "Bard of Leidaig," John 

A' MHAIGHDEAN-MHARA—THE MERMAID. 

Tha'n ròn rioghail ag gusgal,— 

'S an eala 'guileag r'a thaobh, 

S a' mhaighdean-mhara 's i 'bruadar 

Anns an uaigneas air laoch."

THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE. 

6 I 

Campbell of fragrant memory, meeting an old Highland sailorman. 

The moon was rising red and large above Ben Lora, 

silvering the peat-moor pools of Benderloch, and transforming 

the little wooded islands of Loch Etive into fairy isles. It was 

in that lovely land that Deirdre had her earliest home in Alba, 

and there the folk spoke of her as if she had sailed away " in 

dark sorrow " but a few years previously. From the ancient 

sailorman I first heard of the " Blue men of the Minch," who 

haunt "Sruth nam Fear Gorm" ("The Stream of the Blue Men"), 

between Harris and the Shiant Isles. He believed in the 

existence of these mythical beings, and could name men who had 

seen them. They had been brought to his mind by the Falls of 

Lora, which were beginning to " growl," as he put it, and he 

whispered, as we crossed in the ferry-boat, which was struggling 

with the rapid tide, that there was a monster—a " beast " 

resembling a serpent—in Loch Etive, which, like the " Blue Men," 

was responsible for the troubled condition of the waters. 

Folklore which has always brought me into close touch with 

the folk, not only provides an " Open Sesame " in the Highlands, 

but has an undoubted poetic value. The greatest poets have 

came under its spell. Shakespeare's " Midsummer Night's 

Dream " and Milton's " Comus " could not have been written 

except by poets who were familiar in their early days with what 

prosaic people refer to as " superstitions." Only those who 

have at one time seriously believed in fairies can sing convincingly 

about them. 

In recent years full recognition has been given to the 

scientific and historical value of folklore. " The marvellous 

persistence of traditional and immemorial modes of thought"— 

to quote a Celtic writer—has engaged the interest of not a few 

profound scholars. That vast work, " The Golden Bough," is 

wholly concerned with superstitions and superstitious practices— 

with the history of human thought and human institutions. The 

world has been "raked" for evidence which can throw light on the 

problem of early man's experiences, ideas, speculations, inventions 

and discoveries. Archaeologists collect and study the artifacts 

fiarticles made by man); anthropologists collect and study the 

stories and customs that have come down through the ages. 

The folktales of the Highlands bring us into closer touch 

with the past, than do flint arrowheads or bronze implements and 

weapons. They reveal to us the minds and hearts of an ancient

62 

THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND 

FOLKLORE. 

people. In a collection like Campbell's " Popular Tales of the 

West Highlands " are many traces of what are called by some 

" superstitious practices " and " wild imaginings." But certain 

of these and other stories have, in the first place, a historical value, 

for they reveal ancient modes of life, as well as ancient modes ot 

thought. They reflect the ideals of the past, and inspire us with 

their heroism, their poetry and their humour. " Give me a 

people's stories," one might say, " and I will tell you much about 

them." The people who told the Highland stories, and the people 

who loved to hear these stories, imparted to them their own outstanding 

characteristics. 

The stories are, as a rule, good stories, well told and well 

constructed. They are not the stories of an ignorant or uncultured 

people. Although they were not written down to be 

read—the majority of the old people could neither read nor write 

—they have artistic excellencies which are not found in much of 

the published popular literature of to-day. The versions in poetry 

were as popular as those in prose, and the poetry was no less 

appreciated, if it reached, as it often did, a high standard of excellence. 

In fact, it would appear that among the unlettered 

Highlanders of the fine old days good poetry was more 

appreciated than it is by many educated people in our own time. 

A Gaelic-speaking man,—perhaps a labourer at the roadside, a 

gillie on a sporting moor, or a crofter on a lonely isle,—may repeat 

to one with relish and appreciation passages of much poetic beauty. 

The late Dr. Alexander Carmichael tells us, for instance, of the 

folk on Loch Etiveside, who, when referring: to Deirdre, whom 

they called " Dearduil " or "Dearthula," quoted,— 

" Dearthula nan cneasa geala, bu 

bhuidhe loinn na òr soir ghrèin 

an t-samhraidh," (" Dearthula of the white breasts, 

whose beauteous locks were more yellow than the 

gold of an eastern sun in summer ") 

It is a mistake to imagine, as some do, that the suppression 

of Gaelic has made for refinement of thought and feeling in the 

Highlands of Scotland. It might be argued that folk literature 

is a greater thing than written literature, because its influence goes 

deeper. The Highland habit of memorising the old poems and 

stories would appear to have caused these to influence deeply the 

THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE. 

63 

minds and characters of the Gaelic-speaking people as a whole. 

Few English speakers are able to quote pages of Shakespeare, 

Milton and Shelley, but it is possible to find Highlanders who 

can, without reference to a printed book, hold commune with the 

great minds of other days, repeating many thousands of words of 

ancient song and story. 

To students of the past, the folk literature of the Highlands 

is a veritable gold mine. There are survivals from remote 

antiquity, which throw light on the problems of culture drifting 

from ancient centres of civilization, and of culture mixing caused 

Dy racial contact and fusion in varying degrees in Western 

Europe. One catches glimpses in the tales in prose and verse 

of ancient manners of life as well as of antique modes of thought, 

such as cannot be obtained merely by the study of archaeological 

relics. There are withal many surviving customs that are of the 

deepest interest to anthropologists. When these are fully explored, 

we shall hear less about the supposed backwardness of 

the Gaelic people. At the dawn of the historical period, when 

the armies of Rome endeavoured in vain to wrest from our 

ancestors their ancient heritage of liberty, the people of Scotland 

were already possessed of a culture which was much higher than 

some historians have assumed. At a time when England was 

divided among rival tribes, Scotland was united by the bonds of 

national sentiment. Its warriors had chariots, and therefore had 

been influenced by " Chariot culture " from the East, and the 

archaeological relics of the period are eloquent of the high skill 

possessed by its artizans. Scotland had, too, its sea-farers and 

traders. The idea that its inhabitants were merely "wild hillmen" 

and " half savage plunderers," is one which ignorant historians 

are responsible for disseminating. The story of ancient Scotland 

has yet to be written, and when that work is seriously undertaken, 

it will be found that its folk-lore, including the traditional 

tales, with their internal evidence regarding ancient life, will 

supply much valuable material. If there is one thing more 

certain than another, it is that the outstanding characteristics of 

the Highland people owe little to any set of intruders in historic 

times, but were inherited from an ancient " Golden Age," when 

Celtic ideals of thought and behaviour flourished freely in the 

" Land of the glens and the bens and the heroes."

DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE. 

65 

Duanaire na Sracaire. 

THE SONG-BOOK OF THE PILLAGERS. 

BY PROFESSOR WILLIAM J. WATSON, M.A., LL.D., D.LITT. Celt. 

THIS is a little poem the point and importance or' which have 

been hitherto overlooked. It is from the Book of the Dean ot 

Lismore, and concerns a proposal made by Finìay Macnab for 

compiling a book of poetry, which he calls the Duanaire, in the same 

way as in Irish we have Duanaire Finn, " the Book of the Lays 

of Fionn ". Three men are to collaborate in the compilation, 

Finlay Macnab himself, Dougall, son of John, and a certain 

Grigor. Some material has been collected by Finlay Macnab ; 

more is expected from the folk whom he calls na lorgànaigh, and 

whom I take to have been strolling bards such as were widely 

known in the Highlands and Islands as Cliar Sheanchain (See 

Celtic Review, vol. iv, p. 80). In addition all other sources 

available are to be tapped. The onerous task of writing down 

the material is to fall to Dougall, who has special influence with 

the lorgdnaigh. 

Can the proposed collaborators be identified I think that of 

two of them there can be no doubt whatever. Dougall, son of 

John, was Dougall MacGregor, the Dean of Lismore's father, 

styled Dubhghall mac Eoin Riabhaigh at the end of the Mac 

Gregor genealogy in the Dean's book, and elsewhere in the same 

book Dubhghall Maol. That he was a man of leading and of 

public spirit appears from the facts recorded in the Chronicle of 

Fortingall, that in 1526 he restored the base of the cross in Inchadney, 

the ancient church of Kenmore, and that in 1529 he placed 

a cross in Larkmonemerkyth, now called Làirig Mìle Marcachd, 

the pass between Kenmore and Glen Quaich, Amulree. In these 

notices he is styled Dougall Johnson. He was well qualified to 

write the book, for he was a notary public. This position, too, 

may have given him a special hold on the lorgdnaigh, whose 

thigging proclivities sometimes brought them within the reach 

of the law. There is also the fact that he lived at Tulach a T 

Mhuilinn, where the Dean was born, hard by the Clachan of 

Fortingall, which must have been an ideal resort of strolling bards. 

Finlay Macnab was chief of that name, styled of Bovain in 

Glen Dochart. In 1486 the king confirmed a charter of Patrick 

Macnab, whereby he granted to his son and heir apparent, Finlay 

Macnab, the lands of Bovane, Ardkelze-Estir, and Doinch, in the 

barony of Glen Dochart. In 1502 Finlay Macnab is " de 

Bowan ". In 1511 the king confirmed a charter of Sir Robert 

Menzies, whereby he sold to Sir Duncan Campbell of Glenurquhy 

his lands of Crandnycht (Crannich on Loch Tay) with the mill, 

and among the witnesses were Finlay Macnab de Bowane, Dugall 

Jhonnesoun notary, and Dominus Jacobus Makgregoure, notary 

public. The charter is dated at the Isle of Loch Tay. The witness 

named second is the Dean's father ; next comes the Dean 

himself. 

I have not identified Grigor ; he may be conjectured to have 

been a relative of Dougall MacGregor, and he appears to have been 

a poet. 

The note of warning as to MacCailin indicates that Argyll 

was reckoned a judge of technique and a competent critic. This 

was Gille-easbuig, who fell at Flodden in 1513. A stirring Brosnachadh 

Catha, " incitement to battle," addressed to him appears 

at p. 204 of the Dean's Book (McLauchlan, p. 102). 

We may now go a little further, for it is a reasonable inference 

that the Duanaire projected by the Chief of Macnab has come down 

to us under the name of the Book of the Dean of Lismore, compiled 

and written by James MacGregor and his poet brother Duncan, 

sons of Dougall, who was originally designed to write the 

book. Nothing would be more natural than that Dougall Mac 

Gregor, feeling the task of writing too heavy for himself, should 

have passed it on to his two scholarly sons. The book was begun 

before 1512, the date when Duncan wrote the genealogy referred 

to, which is at p. 144, the work being then well advanced. 

The title, Duanaire na Sracaire, I take to refer in a humorous 

way to the activities of the compilers, who propose to seize and 

appropriate all material within their reach. 

The poem is at p. 143 of the Dean's manuscript, and the text 

has been printed by Dr. McLauchlan on pp. 94, 96 of his edition; 

Dr. Cameron's transcript is in Reliquiae Celticae, vol. i, p. 99. 

Auctor Huius Fionnlagh Mac an Aba. 

Duanaire na Sracaire 

dà mbadh ail Iibh a sgriobhadh, 

fuaras de an phacaire 

ni da bhfèadar a lionadh. 

R

66 

DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE. 

Giodh iomdha na h-andaoin^ 

ar tì millidh na tuatha, 

chan fhaghthar 'n a chomaoin-se 

aon rud 'san domhan uatha. 

Do bhèasaibh na lorganach, 

gion gur beith uatha acht mile, 

an teach 'g a mbia a gcomhdhàl-sa 

cha ruig iad è go h-oidhche. 

* * * * * 

Cha bhia mè 'g a sloinneadh-sa, 

chan fhuil agam d'a seanchas 

acht a mbeith 'san choin fheasgar, 

agus na coin a leanmhain. 

A Dhubhghaill, a chompànaigh, 

a mhic Eoin na lann liomhtha, 

'g a bhfuil uile na lorgànaigh,* 

dèan an duanaire sgriobhadh. 

Sgriobh go nosach fireòlach 

a seanchas is a gcaithrèim ; 

na beir duan ar mhisheòladh 

g'a lèigheadh go MacCailèin. 

Cuimhnigh fèin an comunn-sa, 

a Ghriogòir, mar do chualais, 

go bhfuil agam orad-sa 

do chuid do chur 'san duanair. 

Na biodh isin domhan-sa 

de shagart no de thuathach, 

'g a bhfuil ni 'n a chomhghar-sa 

nach cuirthear è 'san duanair. 

DUANAIRE. 

*This line as restored has a syllable too many It might be amended 

by reading iùl na lorganach, "the guidance of the strollers, in which 

case we should have to read a chompanach above. 

DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE. 6 7 

The Author of this is FINLAY 

MACNAB. 

As to the song-book of the pillagers, should you be pleased 

to write it, I have got from the packman somewhat that may go 

to fill it. 

Though many are the evil men who are set on spoiling the 

countryside, not one thing in the world will be got from them in 

respect of it. 

It is a custom of the strollers, though they should have but a 

mile to go, that they will not reach till nightfall the house at 

which they make their tryst. 

I shall not name their names ; I have nought of their story, 

save their being in the evening with the dogs in their train. 

Thou Dougall, my comrade, son of John of polished blades, 

thou who hast the strollers all at thy command, write thou the 

song-book. 

Write expertly, learnedly, their lore and their tuneful works ; 

bring no poem lacking artistry to be read to MacCailin. 

Remember thou, too, Grigor, this partnership, even as thou 

hast heard, that thou art owing to me to put thy share in the 

song-book. 

Let there not be in this world one single priest or layman 

who has ought by him that is not put in the song-book. 

TioMNA GHuiLL. (Sean 

Dàna.) 

A Chaothain nan solus àigh, 

Tha do lòchrains' an tràsa fo smal; 

Amhuil darag air crìonadh gu luath 

Tha do phàillinn, 's do shluagh air trèigsinn. 

Soir no siar air aghaidh d'aonaich 

Cha'n fhaighear do aon diu ach làrach. 

An Seallama, 'n Taura no 'n Tigh-mòr-righ 

Chan 'eil slige no òran no clàrsach. 

Tha iad uile 'nan tulachain uaine, 

'S an clachan 'nan cluainean fèin - 

The Song-book.

" IS TOGARRACH A DH' FHALBHAINN." 6 9 

" Is Togarrach a dh' Fhalbhainn." 

LE DOMHNULL MACLEOID, H.M.I.S., DUN-EIDEANN. 

5 XT UAIR bhios mi sgìth's an cadal 'dol clì 

Le aimhreit is strì nan sràidean 

'S tric m' inntinn 'toirt cuairt air sgiathan mo sm 

Do 'n ghleann anns' an d' fhuair mi m' àrach. 

Tha aoibhneas is tlachd's gach smuain agus beachd 

Tha fuaighte ri cleachdainnean m' òige; 

Ach thairis air càch tha aighear is àgh 

Dlù-cheang'lte ri blàr is mòinteach. 

Tha àilleachd gun phrìs, tha sàmhchar gun chìs, 

Tha beannachd na sìth's a ghleann so; 

Tha ùrachd is slàint' an anail nam blàr 

Nach fhaighear gu bràth air cabhsair. 

Is caomh leam na h-uillt ri borbhan's a' bheinn, 

'S a' lìonadh a' ghlinn le an crònan; 

Is caomh leam na h-eòin a tha fialaidh le 'n ceòl, 

'S nach cùlaich le deòin a chòsan. 

'S an fhoghar dhonn chiar mun èireadh a' ghrian, 

Bu shubhach mi 'fiaradh aonaich, 

'S an uiseag gu h-àrd air a' mhaduinn 'cuir fàilt' 

'S gach alltan ri dàn do'n t-saoghal. 

Bhiodh coileach an fhraoich le a chèile r'a thaobh, 

'Se ag innse dhi 'ghaol gu sùrdail; 

'Us ealtuinn an t-slèibh ri ealaidh dhaibh fèin, 

'S am monadh gu lèir air dùsgadh. 

Bu shunntach mo cheum's mi 'leantuinn an fhèidh 

Le m' ghunna caol, gleust' air m' ghualainn, 

'S an oiteag tigh'nn rann o bhroilleach nan beann, 

'Toirt fograidh gu danns' do'n luachair. 

Bhiodh dàimh anns gach lus is fàilt' anns gach guth,, 

A dh' èireadh o shruthan is gharbh-allt. 

Bhiodh deadh-ghean is tlus air achadh is uchd 

'S iad uile 'toirt cuiridh do'n t-sealgair. 

'Nuair laìghinn 'san fhraoch le m' ghunna ri m' thaobh, 

'S fo m' chomhair air aodann tolmach, 

Damh allail nan cròic, geur-aireachail, seòlt' 

A' sgrùdadh's a' sròin'chadh na garbhlaich; 

Ged gheibhinn dhomh fhìn uil' ionmhas an rìgh, 

Cha reicinn air brìgh mo sholais; 

Be m' roghainn is m' anns' bhi an comunn nam beann, 

Is coisir nan gleann ri ceòl dhomh. 

The Return of Finn. 

By JOHN L. KINLOCH, 

Kilcreggan 

M.A., 

IN my heart were mingled joy and sadness. And the sadness 

was because the beauty of Inverlochy was torn with trenches, 

ugly sheds and bothies, poverty and squalor, while the quiet 

was broken by jarring, brawling noises. But the gladness was there 

because the new-found treasure of the mountains is bringing new 

hope to the Celtic race. For in future the people of the Highlands 

may live in prosperity in their beloved home land, now almost 

desolate. If the Highlands cannot shelter her own folk, then her 

Celtic race must end; for a race without a home land is like a disembodied 

spirit wandering lonely among men, hovering longingly 

ere it takes its flight into the intense inane. 

And as I watched the work of those navvies, strong but 

broken men, children of the dead-end, I wondered if wealth could 

no longer be obtained without the accompaniment of ugliness, 

squalor and misery. Must beautiful Inverlochy become a slum 

town that work may be found for the Gael in the Highlands 

A young navvy touched me gently and said, " I too am sad, 

for I like not that beauty should be destroyed by squalor. You 

seek to know how wealth may be obtained in the Land of the 

Gael, while its romantic spirit remains. Come with me and I will 

show you the secret." His hands were the horny hands of the 

navvy, and his moleskins were covered with caked clay, but his 

eyes were the eyes of the Seer, his voice the voice of the Bard, and 

he knew the thoughts of my heart. Without a word I turned and

THE 

RETURN OF FINN. 

THE RETURN OF FINN. 

71 

followed. Up the Glen he led, through the gorges, and along 

the dizzy narrow ledge, past tumbled rocks and seething pools. 

The music of the cataracts was in my ears, and in my heart the 

beauty of the moving waters, the gloom of the rugged rocks, and 

the brightness of the narrow sky; so that my soul soared through 

aeons of time, borne on the wings of the spirit of the everlasting 

hills, through the countless ages, to stand in awe and reverence 

before the mighty Forces that had worked since the world began, 

to create this miracle of beauty for the delight of man and the 

glory of God. 

I turned to follow my Guide still further into the heart of the 

mountains. The spell of the place had worked a wonderful transformation 

upon him. Instead of the mudded navvy, there stood 

before me the handsomest youth I have ever seen; bare-headed, 

bare-limbed, ciad only in shirt and kilt. Sunshine was in his hair 

like the ripple of wind on the ripe harvest field. Life thrilled in 

every movement of the muscles of his arms, legs and well-formed 

neck. The eyes of the Seer, the voice of the Bard were still his, 

but great joy was in his face, and infinite kindness. Joy was in my 

heart, for Finn had returned, not as a mighty warrior leading to 

slaughter, nor as a hoary bard recalling the prowess of the dead, 

but in the glory of Youth, to lead his race with peace into the 

realms of joy and gladness, that the world might be born again in 

a great rebirth of happiness. 

Onwards and upwards he led, I know not how or whither, till 

we stood on a great pinnacle of rock from which we could see the 

kingdoms of the world. 

" Here you may learn the secret you seek," said he, touching 

my eyes so that they were opened, and I could read the hearts of 

men and see what before had been invisible. 

Then sadness filled my heart. I saw men rearing buildings so 

high that they shut out the sun, and their children died in the 

shadow. They devised marvellous machines, but the smoke from 

their engines covered the people with a pall of death; beautiful 

valleys were turned to a desolation of squalid houses; shard heaps 

were the playgrounds of children. 

" The pride of your age is the marvel of its engineering skill," 

said my guide. " Now look with your opened eyes," he said, 

and I saw more clearly than ever the marvel of the machinery, but 

I saw, too, that men were bound to the machines with chains, some 

of gold, some of iron. " Master and man alike are slaves of the 

machine," said he, " so that none may rise to the full height of 

manhood, or freely help the other. And the chains of goid are 

heavier on the soul than the chains of iron, though they gall it 

less." 

"But what of the achievements of science" said I, "You 

cannot destroy my reverence for them, and man's pride in his 

wonderful skill." 

" Your scientist is indeed a miracle-worker, but does not man 

sometimes degrade his powers Look !" 

" Spare me!" I cried, covering my face, for I saw the ghastly 

work of a marvellous poison bomb; and men, women, and 

children writhing in a death agony. 

" You thought only of constructive science," he replied, 

" Such a marvel as broadcasting, perhaps True it outruns the 

dreams of prophets, and man has never before been so Godlike as 

when he learned to speak across the world. Listen now, and you 

may hear a man talking in Australia, but it is not the message of 

a God." 

A band struck up < jazz 9 music. Out there in the calm of 

nature it seemed noisy and vulgar, and I wished a nobler music 

could be sent as man's expression of joy and sorrow reverberating 

out into the silences of the stars, to mingle with the music of the 

spheres. 

Then I understood the tragedy of mankind. He is like 

the little girl who was drowned trying to rescue her rag doll from 

the river—spendthrift of himself, careful of his toys—exalting 

the work of his hands, but holding life cheap. 

" I have not shown you these things to grieve you," said my 

Guide, noting my sadness, " but that by emptying your soul of 

illusions I might fill it with joy and teach you the message which 

the Celtic Race has to contribute to the ennobling of mankind. 

People have pitied the poverty of the Highlanders, and, indeed, in 

terms of worldly wealth their lives seem bare and hard, but in 

their secret heart they have treasured a pearl of great price. In 

the beauty of their songs is it enshrined. They have loved their 

native mountains, and the mystery of the valleys; they have 

cherished the love of home and kin, the music of the ocean and 

the cataract, the sunshine and the breeze; they have loved the 

home for the true and kindly hearts beneath the roof of croft or 

castle. They have loved the things of the heart, thus honouring 

the work of God above the works of men. As a people they have

72 


lost the world, but they have saved the soul of the race alive, 

though now nigh unto death. But the fulness of the time is at 

hand. That soul shall rise to new life, and with its message 

revivify the world. And 1 will give you the words of its message 

which An Comunn Gàidhealach must carry to the thoughts of men. 

You have seen the imperfections of man's handiwork; now, with 

newly opened eyes behold the supreme handiwork of God on 

earth." Then standing with his bronzed and naked breast open 

to sun and breeze—a glory of healthy manhood—he continued 

solemnly:— 

" The Health of the Body, the Thoughts of the Mind, the 

Feelings of the Soul, these are the greatest things on earth. All 

the wealth of the world is not to be weighed against the full Life 

of one human being." That is the message of the Celtic Race to the 

world. In the secret recesses of the race mind has it been hidden. 

Partially has it found expression in song and dance, in music and 

sport, in dress and life. " Remember that ye are People!" sang 

the Poetess of Skye, gathering these thoughts in a wonderful 

phrase. 

Then a miracle befell. His body seemed stripped from his 

mind, and I beheld the form of his spirit. For the first time I 

understood that greater than broadcasting is the indrawing power 

of the mind. From near and far, from the ends of the earth, from 

the dawn of history, in-radiating on this mind were the thoughts 

of men. and from the mountains and the rocks, the ocean and the 

moors, from the sun and stars, from every material thing around 

him were emanations of knowledge concentrating upon him. 

" Thus," said he, " the virile mind, at one with Nature, may draw 

to itself the sources of all wisdom, of music and of art. Thus can 

the mind learn thoughts worthy to be broadcast to the world, and 

music that will touch the finest heart." 

And within the mind was the Soul, in tune with the Infinite, 

drawing to itself from the Source of all life, the forces of Love, 

and courage, and those generous feelings which make life worth 

living. And the Soul was communing with the Spirit of all Life, 

that it might know and choose the good, and thus live like to God. 

I fell on my face to worship before the mystery and the wonder 

of it all, but my Guide raised me to my feet. He smiled as I 

gazed in wonder; for there stood before me, in shirt and kilt, a 

typical Highland Iad, such as one might see, except for the dress, 

at any of our Universities. 

THE 


" Have I been dreaming" I asked. 

" No, but you have been seeing, and even the eyes of the Seer 

can only bear to look on Truth in short glimpses. Your vision 

has passed. He that would help his fellows cannot live and worship 

on a mountain of transfiguration. He must go down and 

translate his vision into simple acts of everyday life. You have 

seen the Exaltation of man, estimate him not as of lower value 

than the wealth he produces. That is the answer to your quest." 

" It is easy to dream dreams and to see visions, but the distinction 

of genius is that it gives these a material shape. The 

second part lies before us. First we must note that the mind of 

a race is often very different from the minds of the men and women 

who compose that race. This is peculiarly so among Celts. Few 

men are more successful in a material sense than the Celts scattered 

throughout the world, and they owe this to race qualities; yet in 

a material sense the race is a languishing race; it is a race of dreams, 

of visions, of poetry and song—a race of ideals. But out of 

weakness must come strength. The idealism of the race, not the 

success of the individual Celts, can redeem the world. Man's 

material success has been his undoing. The simple Highlander 

owes it to the majesty of nature which surrounds him that he has 

kept unconsciously in his heart the true proportion of things. In 

the city and the workshop one sees only the marvels of man's 

handiwork; and the pride in the work of his hands has become so 

great that he worships that as a God. But ships, factories, castles 

and wealth are like graven images, the handiwork of the worshipper. 

The mighty masses of the mountains, and the awe of 

the giant forces which went to their making, the beauty and 

mystery of the valley and the waterfall, the loneliness of the moors, 

and the splendours of the lochs have taught the Highlander instinctively 

to give first place to God's work and second place to 

the works of man. And from this has grown a great reverence for 

man himself, the greatest of all God's work. This it is that gives 

that remarkable dignity alike to the typical chief and the poorest 

crofter. This it is that puzzles and frets the successful worldly 

man when he is opposed by the home-hunger of the crofter, 

who would rather live in poverty, maintaining the dignity of 

man, than purchase ease by the sale of man's birthright. 

The Race mind is much greater than the individual mind. 

To overcome the materialism of this age with the idealism inspired 

by their beautiful home-land is the work of the Celtic Race to-day. 

73

74 


But the idealism must no longer be dependent on seclusion, for 

isolation must in the end mean death. It must plunge into the 

vortex of lite and wealth, and show that it can stem the stiffest 

current. X he wealth of the homeland must be fully developed. 

"Water power, afforestation, agriculture, transport, new industries 

springing up from electric power must all be developed. Prosperous 

industry must find a place in the Highlands, for only by 

work can man live, but it must be a new industrialism, not the 

industrialism of to-day that sacrifices men, women and children to 

its success, but an industrialism which gives life to the people, and 

gives that life more abundantly. Industrialism for the service of 

men, not men for the service of industrialism. The thought has 

already been beautifully expressed by the Poetess of Skye. 

" Keep in mind that ye are people, and aye maintain your rights. 

There is wealth beneath the mountains where you were reared 

when young. 

There is iron and there is coal there, there is grey lead and gold, 

And the mines were meant for your good, in the green Isle of 

the Mist." 

The wealth was made for the joy of the people, not the people that 

they should produce wealth through sorrow. This in simple 

language is the message to the busy world from the lone dwellers 

among the mist-covered mountains. The Celtic race will not sell 

the birthright of its soul for wealth. 

With the commercial development must go a rekindling of 

the Celtic fire among the people who return to the glens. For 

the I£ace impulses must be preserved and developed, and to do 

this the Highlander must mark off his race as a distinctive race, 

a race with a great mission, a message not yet fully delivered. 

They can keep alive the fire of race within their own souls by their 

language with its ancient literature and song; they can kindle it 

afresh among the young by restoring their distinctive dress which 

marks them off from others, giving their race an individuality not 

possessed by any other race in the world. 

In song and literature are preserved the traditions of the race, 

giving the Highlander inspiration to carry on the work. For the 

Highlander in the Highlands, Gaelic must come before all other 

culture languages, and he will find there thoughts which set his 

feelings vibrating as no alien literature can do. And the speaking 

THE 


of the language will forge links of brotherhood among the Gaels, 

so that the race spirit may revive and live more fully. 

With the Celtic spirit thus rekindled, our lads will wish to 

don the kilt, realising its great value in keeping the claims of the 

race before the world. 1 hose who wished to destroy the Celtic 

race after the '45, knew the significance of the kilt in the life of 

the Highlander, and the Act forbidding its wear was a deadly blow 

at the race. Those who wished the help of the Celt in their armies 

knew its significance when they revived the kilt for the Highland 

regiments; an act which has given these regiments conspicuous 

pre-eminence and exceptional popularity. It is strange, therefore, 

that those lovers of the race who would revive the race consciousness 

have undervalued it as a factor, yet it is the most conspicuous, 

if not the most vital factor, marking them as a distinctive race in 

the eyes of the world. 

A man's words are the expression of his own thoughts, but his 

actions are most often an expression of the traditions and philosophy 

of his race. This is especially true of the distinctive garb 

the Gaels wore until the race habit was broken by a cruel law. It 

is significant of their great reverence for Manhood that, for two 

thousand years, they instinctively preserved the respect for the 

human body, so that throughout the dark centuries of the Middle 

Ages the Celt alone wore a dress consciously designed for health 

and for the development of a fine physique. 

These thoughts were not thus clearly defined in the minds of 

our forefathers. Their actions were rather the result of their subconscious 

mind guided by race philosophy through tradition; but 

it produced a race of marvellous physique, and from it has 

developed a garb the most healthy, the most picturesque, and the 

most beloved. The modern kilt is thus a symbol of the race and 

its high idealism. Let our Highland boys and lads be taught a 

love for it, and the courage to wear it. Ought not An Comunn 

Gàidhealach to work earnestly to revive not only Celtic language, 

Celtic Culture, but the significant dress of the Gael The language 

is a bond of the heart, but the kilt is a visible symbol. It is a 

rallying standard to our boys; unlike the language, it can be acquired 

at once, and is a public declaration of purpose from the 

first moment it is worn. Thus will the Iad who regularly wears 

the kilt, become verily a maker of history. 

With the spirit of the race revived and quickened by An 

Comunn, the development of the Highlands may go on without 

75

TIR NAM BEANN. 

Seisd:— 

Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach. 

Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 

} 

s nan gaisgeach: 

Thar gach tìr'5 i tìr mo gheall-sa, 

Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, '5 nan gaisgeach. 

Tìr mo ghràidh's nan sàr-fhear gasda, 

Tìr nan àrmunn làidir, tapaidh: 

Tìr nam maithibh, 's cha bu ghann doibh 

'N tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach. 

Mo ghaol an comunn a bhiodh tlachdmhor, 

Subhach, sunndach, suilbhir, taitneach, 

'Nuair a thàrladh dhuinn mu'n dram 

An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach. 

Tir nam mnathan cèillidh, greannar, 

Banail, beusach, ceutach, baindidh; 

Tìr nan caileag maiseach, seanga,— 


Tìr nam boineid gorm's nam breacan, 

Tìr an fhèilidh aotruim, phleataich; 

Tìr nan osan geàrr's nan lann geal, 


Tir nam Beann. 

LE ALASDAIR MACDHOMHNAILL, INBHIRNIS, (" GLEANN ACH "). 

THA mo chridhe-s' an tìr na h-àilleachd, 

Tìr na h-aoigheachd 's tìr na bàrdachd, 

Tìr mo chàirdeis agus m' annsachd,— 


C' ait' am bòidhche dreach an t-samhraidh 

C ait' an colgaich' stoirm a' gheamhraidh 

'N tìr nan easan borb's nan allta,— 


C' ait an ceum a' Cheit le aiteas, 

Feadh nan doire rèidh's nan glacag, 

Ri ceòl binn nan eun air chrann — 

An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach. 

Ged bu leam-sa Sasunn bheairteach, 

A cuid stòir, is òir, is chaisteal, 

B' fheàrr leam beagan aig mo làimh 

An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.

The Gael in Scottish History. 

BY PROFESSOR RAIT, C.B.E., LL.D., 


AQUARTER of a century ago, in a short study of the relations 

between England and Scotland, I put forward a 

theory that the difference between Scottish Highlanders 

and Scottish Lowlanders has been misconceived and misinterpreted 

by a long series of distinguished historians, including 

Lord Macaulay, John Richard Green, E. A. Freeman, and John 

Hill Burton. These writers have asserted that the whole of the 

Lowlands have been, from an early date, inhabited by Saxons, that 

mediaeval Scotland was divided by the enmity of two hostile 

races, and that in the battle of Harlaw, in 1411, we are to see the 

final victory of Saxon over Celt. 

This doctrine seems to me to break down for lack of evidence. 

A racial immigration of Saxons into Scotland is known to have 

occurred in one, but in only one, district of the Country, namely 

the region between the Firth of Forth and the River Tweed. In 

other parts of the Lowlands, we have no evidence of any immigration 

or dispossession. 

Between the reign of Malcolm Canmore and the War of 

Independence, a series of far-reaching influences—An English 

Court, an adoption of English law and of an English system of 

land tenure, a Church which followed English models, and a 

growing commerce with England—profoundly changed the 

civilisation of the Lowlands, involved the gradual disappearance 

of the Gaelic tongue, and led, ultimately, to ill feeling between 

Highlander and Lowlander. 

But Scottish writers, two centuries after the War of Independence, 

always speak of the Highlanders, not as a separate race, 

but as Scotsmen who retained the ancient Scottish tongue, and the 

old Scottish manners, which their Lowland fellow-countrymen had 

abandoned for English speech and customs. Until the 16th 

century, the phrase, " The Scots tongue n lingua Scotica, always 

meant Gaelic. 

It is impossible here to enlarge upon the reasons which led me 

then, and still lead me to differ from the traditional historical view 

THE GAEL IN SCOTTISH HISTORY. 

79 

upon this important and fundamental point, but if Scotland, outside 

the Lothians, is racially a Celtic Country, it is obvious that 

the place of the Celt is a much greater one than has generally been 

admitted. Even apart from questions of racial origin, recent 

investigation has tended to assign a new emphasis to the part taken 

by the Highlander in the making of Scotland. 

In his book on the Scottish War of Independence, Mr. E. M. 

Barron has disposed of Freeman's assertion that the Celt, out of 

hatred to the Saxons nearest him, leagued with the Saxons farther 

off, and has shown that the Highlanders made a notable contribution 

to Scottish Independence. The more we penetrate into the 

secrets of our national history, the more we shall realise how much 

has been lost by ignoring the Highlands; and a thorough study 

of Highland history, made by scholars expert in the Gaelic speech 

and acquainted with the results of Celtic studies outside the 

British Isles, is urgently required to enable historians to assign a 

true balance to the operative forces in Scottish story. 

The interest and the value of such an investigation is not 

confined to early times, or even to the period prior to the Jacobite 

Risings. The Highlands have a modern as well as an ancient 

history, and it is not confined to their own region. In the last 

two hundred years, the Scottish Highlanders have taken a large 

part in the making of the British Empire, both in war and in 

peace. Not less is the part they have played in the marvellous 

development of the United Kingdom, in the building up of the 

industrial fabric upon which our prosperity, and, indeed, our 

existence depends. And all the time the people of the Highlands 

have retained not a little of their own traditional characteristics— 

speech and custom and habit of thought. The changes in the 

Highlands themselves since the Battle of Culloden, and the 

achievements of Highlanders outside the Highlands are an ample 

theme for an historian. 

There is plenty of romance in Highland story, and, without 

the Highlanders, the romantic side of Scottish history would lose 

much of its fascination. But the Highlanders have contributed 

much more than romance to our records. The basis of the national 

life is Highland or Celtic, in the last two centuries we have 

preferred to say, and many mysterious questions of constitutional 

origins must be connected with the ancient Celtic or Scottish 

Kingdom, which was transformed by the descendants of Malcolm 

Canmore.

8o THE GAEL IN SCOTTISH HISTOR/. 

Throughout our whole troubled story, the attitude of the 

Highlanders towards the Government, from the reign of David I. 

to that of George II., has been an important factor in our history. 

The type of institution—the cian system—which developed in 

the Highlands centuries ago, and remained unchanged until the 

middle of the 18th century, has exercised a great influence upon 

the social and political life of Scotland as a whole, and that influence 

has not come to an end with the changes of modern civilization. 

To understand the problems which await solution in the Scotland 

of to-day, it is necessary to understand the history of the Highlands. 

What I Think of the Gaelic Movement. 

BY WILLIAM MACK AY, LL.D., INVERNESS, 

Ex-President of An Comunn. 

IT gives me great pleasure to learn that An Comunn Gàidhealach 

are making arrangements for a grand Bazaar for the purpose 

of raising funds to enable them to extend their operations, 

and to come into closer grips with the requirements of the Gaelic 

movement. I sincerely trust that their efforts will be crowned 

with much success. 

I have been asked to write a few words for the Bazaar Book, 

and I have pleasure in doing so. Sixty years have passed since I 

began to take a practical interest in Gaelic, and to collect Gaelic 

legends and Gaelic songs in my native Parish of Urquhart and 

Glenmoriston. Some of these I made use of in my history of 

that Parish. In 1871, when I was serving my law apprenticeship 

in Inverness, I got in touch with Gaelic enthusiasts then in that 

town, and, with their approval, and after some newspaper correspondence, 

I issued a circular calling a meeting to consider a proposal 

to establish a Gaelic Society in Inverness. The meeting was 

held on 4th September of that year, when, on the motion of the 

late well-known Mr. John Murdoch, seconded by the late Mr. 

Alexander Mackenzie, the Cian historian, the Society was formed. 

J was appointed Secretary, an office which I held until 1873 when 

WHAT I THINK OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT. 8l 

I left Inverness to attend the law classes at Edinburgh University. 

a n c 

I returned in 1875, ^ ^ have ever since been an honorary 

secretary of the Society. Perhaps I may be allowed to say that 

the Society has, since 1871, done splendid work in keeping alive 

an interest in the language and literature of the Gael, and in 

collecting and preserving in its Transactions, which now form a 

valuable Highland library of thirty volumes, much Gaelic poetry 

and legendary and historical lore which, were it not for the Society's 

efforts, would ere now have been lost. To me the share which I 

took in that work has always been a great joy, and, I believe, a 

healthy recreation in the midst of the hurry and stress of a busy 

professional life. 

I have always thought myself happy in having had an earlytraining 

which led me to love things Gaelic, so as to find a world of 

romantic interest and beauty, as a retreat for the spirit, which we 

all seek now and again from the exacting common round, and 

which may be one of the great needs of our modern civilisation. 

My father, although born in Ireland of a Lowland mother, but of 

a Highland father, and although ignorant of Gaelic until 

after his fifth or sixth year, came to be a ripe Gaelic 

scholar, who sang Gaelic and English songs and told Gaelic 

legends until his death at the age of 84; and my mother, who was 

a daughter of Charles Eraser, tenant of the sheep farm of Ruskich, 

Glen Urquhart, and a niece of John Macdougall, author of the 

popular song "Oran Bràigh Rusgaich," had a store of old Gaelic 

legends. 

Although there were unfavourable influences working from 

without, one cannot help thinking that the Gaelic situation, viewed 

from within, looked more promising in the Sixties and Seventies 

of last century than it does now. The Gaelic-speaking population 

had not begun to show so marked a decrease ; the decline in the 

general use of the language had not become so manifest; and 

there were then more men and women than there are to-day who 

could write Gaelic prose, and even Gaelic poetry, in something 

like the good old style. In my own home the old tongue was 

spoken at the fireside, and the daily family worship was in Gaelic, 

which was generally looked upon as peculiarly appropriate for 

worship. 

But, notwithstanding unfavourable changes, there is still much 

to encourage An Comunn to continue and extend the excellent 

work that it has been doing since its.foundation in 1891. Though

82 WHAT I THINK. OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT. 

the last census shows a decrease in the number of people who can 

speak Gaelic there are many thousands who still speak it; and 

they would, under the influence of a real revival, be still able to 

set the heather on fire. Highlanders generally have not the 

foolish idea that the Gaelic is a hindrance to success in life. In 

my own case I have found it to be very much the reverse. The 

people are showing a just pride of race, and learning that they 

have had a great ancestry, and are heirs to splendid traditions. Historians 

are showing more and more that the Highland race has 

played a great part in the history of the British Empire ; and 

learned men are eagerly studying Gaelic not only for its literary 

treasures, but also for its important place among the ancient Aryan 

languages. Higher Celtic studies, including Gaelic, are now 

regularly conducted in certain of our Universities. 

It is perhaps not for me to suggest what line the Comunn 

should follow in its future activities ; but as one of its original 

members, who has for many years been on its council, and has been 

its President for five or six years, I may be allowed to express the 

hope that the Council will be able to concentrate its labours more 

and more on the problem of the teaching of Gaelic in schools. 

The higher education of Highlanders must also be encouraged. 

Celtic studies in the Universities should receive every support, 

with a view to making it possible for all gifted Gaelic-speaking 

students to pursue their studies to the highest stage of scholarship, 

and any money that An Comunn can in future spare for 

higher education cannot be put to better use than in founding 

substantial bursaries. The field before An Comunn is a wide one, 

and I sincerely trust that the coming Bazaar will be so successful 

that it will enable An Comunn to cultivate that field in all its parts 

and aspects. 

Gu ma fada beò agus buadhmhor An Comunn Gàidhealach ! 

Christopher. 

BY REV. LAUCHLAN MACLEAN WATT, U.D., 

Glasgow Cathedral. 

IN a day when we see a brave peasantry leaving sites of ancient 

story, while strangers enter into time-old heritages, we cannot 

but recall some whom we knew, and, as we draw closer round 

dying fires, sorrow over the loss of fine types of men whose like 

shall no more move in the familiar places. 

Well do we remember dear people to whom English was an 

alien tongue—dreaming of Gaelic croons and tales of wonder and 

mystery, through which beat still the throb of waters on lonely 

shores, touched with starlight, in a world of shadows, whose 

vocabulary was mystery. How they would rise from their dreaming 

when you opened the door, and, peering for a moment through 

their age-curtained eyes, would totter forward and kiss your hand, 

and bless you in the old wonder-phrase that I used to think must 

surely be the mother-tongue of angels. 

Then, also, there were aged men who had sailed the world's 

seas, looked in the faces of people far away, and come back home, 

hauling heavy ropes, swinging on yard-arms, reefing sails in rolling 

storms, everywhere, till Old Age and they sat down at the hearthsstone 

together. Or, they would slowly climb the hill-track to the 

moorland, to sit half a summer day on the sheltered side of a 

peat-stack, with a far-off gaze in eyes that were touched with 

dream, thinking and remembering. Just for a little help at the 

building, what stories I would get from Donald the Sailor,— 

what the folk were like in Baltic ports, what a big country 

America was, and how he had seen the blue smoke rising 

from many a fireside up in the glen beyond, where now are only 

nettles and moss and a few heaps of stones, with wild things of 

the mountain places burrowing where the children played. 

Then, at night,—are there ever nights like them, now— 

down at the end of the village, under the thatched roof, where 

the shoemaker sat always at the window, making eternally what 

seemed to me to be the same pair of shoes, with as great a mystery 

about them of finishing and re-beginning as hung about Penelope's 

web,—what times we had. There he sat, always busy, yet

CHRISTOPHER. 

never so busy that he was not able to pause, leaning forward to put 

his brown hand on your knee, and tell what he also remembered, 

—giving his views on world-wide affairs as seen from the window 

in front of him that looked across the loch. From that window 

he saw, perhaps, Russia—very sunnily sometimes, because the 

light fell radiantly over Ben Tarsuinn; or the relationships of 

Britain with France—with a threatening of rain, but with the 

hope of change shortly, because a rainbow arched the loch, touching 

that mirror of the mountains with wonder of beauty. He 

could give estimates of the character and characteristics of the 

leading modern politicians and kings,—but their portraits as 

drawn by him had slight reminiscences of the family picturegalleries 

of the Pharoahs and Abraham, and the monarchs of 

Assyria and Persia, with glimpses of half-forgotten ministers and 

elders. And if anybody discussed the question of Naval Supremacy, 

the " Great Eastern " was the last big ship he knew about; 

and somehow he measured its capacity in accordance with the Ark, 

and the perils of its navigation were associated with Ararat. 

How late we sat around the cobbler's lighted lamp! The 

people on the other side of the loch, if ever any of them were 

troubled with sleeplessness, must have wondered to see the red 

curtain glowing, with long wavering reflections thrown across the 

ebbing or the flowing tide. Colin of the Mill would be there, and 

Malcolm the Fox-hunter, who was not a fox-hunter at all, but 

whose grandfather had been a keeper,—and Hector the tailor, 

and Dugald who had the merchant's shop, although it by no means 

followed that he was a merchant. And when, slowly and with 

much puffing of a pipe that never seemed to go well, a funny 

story about Archie the Skye-man, who played many * pliskies ' 

on the Lairds there, had come to its conclusion—which we all 

had known since our infancy, but at which we always laughed— 

sometimes we would look at one another, scared to hear a herringgull 

chuckle its weird mirth in the dark, above the waters, as 

though it knew the story too. 

I imagine we sat so late as we did, because we were some 

times a little afraid to go home. There were places on the road 

that seemed of a sudden so weirdly vocal,—places where the echo 

of your own footfall became multiplied till you would think a 

large company of men, invisible, were marching by. There was 

one rock, mid-way in the village, always full of sound. If a tree 

swayed, every leaf seemed to send its message and have it re-

CHRISTOPHER. 

S5 

peated from the crag. If a wave broke, the rock became astir 

with the voice of many waters. A burn slipped over a high bank, 

out of sight, as if by accident; and at night it became very audible, 

always saying "Hush !", as though it did not want you to tell that it 

had tumbled in the dark, having been out too late, when all decent 

burns were sleeping,—but, like so many who take a false step 

and do not want it to be known, its whisper was caught by the 

" Speaking Rock " and flung out, even across the bay. 

Not long since, they did a fine thing with that rock. Halfway 

up its face they set a grey granite cross, with an old Highland 

sword carved on the plinth of it, and round the base, in Gaelic 

and in English, the names that were dearest and closest in prayer, 

till surely God must have got them off by heart in the five long 

bitter years when Love's sweetest places at the fireside grew 

terribly empty there. We got a bugler to sound the " Last Post" 

from the top of the cliff, and a piper to play " Lochaber no more". 

The bugler had blown that most wonderful of all human cries 

over his own brothers, where the graves were growing crowded 

in the Land of Sorrow across the sea. It was no marvel, then, 

that when he blew it, all our hearts broke in the sunshine. As 

I stood by, I could not help wondering what the folk away in 

the glens, in the remote shepherds' houses up behind the hills on 

the other side of the loch, would be thinking, to hear the echoes 

of that cry, which I had heard so often over soldiers' graves, 

come wailing and whispering, brokenly, among the crags, that 

sweet day of summer sheen. The " Speaking Rock " that we 

knew so well, long ago, is now for ever charged with eloquence 

next to Sinai for all who love. 

But why am I telling all this, except because I am thinking 

of Christopher,—with a heart like a chivalrous knight of old, 

a brain keenly alert, lips full of laughter and kindness, and eyes 

like the violet in the mossy haunts where the hill-road winds to 

the moor As I think of him, it is through the glass of Memory 

that I look ; for he was not young when he died, but to me he 

never grew old. I can see him now, in the sunny stretch at the 

head of the Loch, beneath the hills. 

When he saw you approaching, he would come along and 

lean on his scythe and give you welcome. Or maybe, in the evening, 

he would sit at the fireside or on the seat at the door, looking 

across the Strath ; and he would tell you of the old days, the old 

folk, the old songs and the old stories, till you felt that you were

86 CHRISTOPHER. 

on the water-shed between two worlds—the one of 1 

mist and 

mystery with some familiarity of memory about it, and the other 

modern and strange. 

When they were looking for those who knew and understood, 

to form a Commission of Inquiry into the rights and wrongs of 

deer-forests and the people of the country, they chose some who 

were noble and wise, some commercial men, and some who had 

studied history and the life of the nation, from books,—but there 

was one kind of person whom they needed more than any, and 

that was the man who knew the people, and their history, and 

where the old homes had been before the day of the fences. And 

Christopher was the man. So, into the quiet clachan came the 

letter " On His Majesty's Service ", asking him to join their 

Council. He could not believe it was meant for him, but everybody 

who knew him knew otherwise. And so, this simple man, 

from the quiet Highland cottage, sat beside the best of them, and 

his knowledge gave a heart to their decision. 

But one night, in the City, he came to my house with the far 

look in his face. After some time of talk, we had songs of the 

old day, Gaelic melodies, in which he joined. Then, at last, he 

told me that the hand of the Grey Reaper had touched him, and 

he had come down out of the land of the hills, the long journey, 

with the Mystery sitting beside him all the way, to hear the 

judgment of the greatest skill that Britain holds. To-morrow 

he was to know whether life or death was to be his. So we 

quietly sang our song of the shepherding of God, and the Valley 

of the Shadow with the light of Love in it. And we prayed together,—a 

poor halting, stumbling prayer, because we loved each 

other, not because we were afraid. Then, after a while, he set his 

face homeward, and the long weeks dragged their burden behind 

us here,—till again, in the light of the setting sun, we were 

together in the old home. I saw the Shadow which had taken up 

his tenancy with him, though still there was no fear within his 

heart ; for a man who lives as he had lived, amongst the hills with 

God, had learned every secret that life could give him of the 

great Beyond. It was not easy, ere we parted, to set up a Mizpah 

between us,—and it was not long ere the final message came. 

So, he lies in the shadow of the trees at the old Kirk, whose 

roofless walls are haunted in the dark by shadowy generations. 

There are not many of those modern things with names upon 

them,—sometimes just a boulder from the sea-shore, sometimes 

CHRISTOPHER. 

just a water-worn stone from the bed of the stream that runs beneath 

the shadow of the kirkyard wall. 

When all the world is quiet, and the stillness of the full tide 

hes along the shore, its songs are softly heard,—cradle-melodies 

that it has learned up in the misty corrie, for the dead who are 

sleeping there. And when the Trumpet sounds, there will not 

be one who shall leap from the dust with a more courageous 

gladness, even to meet God, than Christopher. I can see him 

give his look of love around,—welcoming again the loch, the 

hills, and the clachan, so familiar and so dear in days when 

he moved about them,—and as he used to look, ere he turned 

in the gloaming, at the door of home,—leaving all care behind 

him on the threshold stone. Soft be his slumber, yonder, till 

ihe dawn! 

EILEAN A' CHAIT. 

Seann Sgeul mu Aiteachadh Eilein Hirt. 

LE IAIN N. 

MACLEOID, A' CHNUIC-BHAIN, INBHIRNIS. 

BHO chionn iomadh bliadhna, bha sgalag aig Mac Leoid, 

Dhùn-bheagain, ris an canadh iad " Murchadh Sgiobalta.'" 

Air toiseach foghair, chaidh e aon là do bhaile a bha air 

taobh thall a' mhonaidh a dh' iarraidh bhuanaichean. Rinn e a 

thurus gu treibhdhireach, agus dh' earb e riutha uile a bhi cho 

tràth agus a b' urrainn iad air an raon-bhuana an là 'r na mhàireach, 

agus an sin rinn e air an tigh. 

Air dha fàs gu math sgìth air a shlighe dhachaidh, leig e a anait 

ann an àirigh a bha an cois an rathaid. Fhuair e an àirigh falamh 

fàs, agus an spaid tarsuinn anns an dorus, a chum gach ainmhidh 

a chumail a mach. Bha maighdean na h-àirigh air chèilidh, ach 

bha bradhadair brèagh teine ag gabhail gu cuilmeanach 

an ceann a' bhothain shamhraidh, agus rinn Murchadh e fhèin 

aig an tigh, is dùil aige a h-uile mionaid gu fidireadh e farum lùthcheum 

a teannain a' tighinn a dh' ionnsaigh an doruis, oir b' i so 

àirigh Mòraig, an òigh annsanta ris an d' rinn e cumhnantan 

pòsaidh beagan ùine roimhe so. 

An tiota dh'fhairich e tartar mòr agus monmhar 

bruidhne

88 SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT. 

faisg air an dorus, agus o'n thuig e gu ro-mhath nach b'i sud 

Mòrag, dh' fhalbh e agus dh'fholuich se e fhèin fo bhoitean 

fraoich a bha an ceann shuas na h-àirigh. Is gann a thàir e air a 

dhol am falach an uair a thàinig triùir dhaoine mòra, tapaidh a 

steach agus mart aca air adhaircean. Thug fear dhiubh buille 

chumhachdach dhi anns an eanchainn le òrd mòr, agus leag e fuar 

marbh air an ùrlar i. Cha b' fhada gus an robh i air a feannadh 

aca, agus gun dàil spàrr iad staoig dhi ann am poit a fhuair iad aig 

dorus na h-àirigh. 

An uair a fhuair iad an obair sin seachad, shuidh iad timchioll 

air an teallach 'gan garadh fhèin. " Tha mi air mo mhealladh gu 

mòr," arsa fear dhiubh, " mur 'eil duine air chor-eigin a stigh anns 

an àirigh so." " Nach tu a tha gòrach," arsa fear eile, " chan 'eil 

an sin ach neònachas a tha ag èirigh 'na do cheann fhèin." 

Bha Murchadh bochd air chrith le oillt, ach dè a b' urrainn da 

a dhèanamh ach stad a chur air a anail cho math agus a bha 'na 

chomas, oir bha fhios aige na faigheadh na curaidhean ud, air an 

robh e glè eòlach mar nàbuidhean, greim air, nach robh ann da 

ach am bàs. An ceann tiota, thuirt fear eile, " Cho cinnteach's 

a tha thu beò, tha mi a' faireachadh àileadh duine a stigh an so." 

"Eirich, ma thà," arsa aon eile, " agus rùraich gach cùil is cial, agus 

thoir t' amharus às co-dhiù." 

Dh' èirich e, agus rinn e dìreach air an eallach fraoich, agus 

dh' fheuch se e, agus, cinnteach gu leoir, bha Murchadh 'na 

chrùban an sin, gun chomas gluasaid no labhairt le meud an eagail 

a bha air." " Gu dè a tha thu a' dèanamh an so " arsa esan. Dh' 

innis Murchadh facal air an fhacal mar thachair dha, agus mhionnaich 

e dhoibh air gach cumhachd, àrd is ìosal, nach robh lochd air 

an talamh air aire, agus nach motha a dh' innseadh e dad de na 

chunnaic no chuala e an oidhche ud. 

Shuidh e an sin aig an teine còmhla riutha, agus thairg iad 

staoig de'n fheòil bhradaidh dha, ach faodaidh sinn a thuigsinn 

nach robh mòran càile aig Murchadh air son nì 'sam bith aig an 

àm ud, oir bha e làn-chinnteach nach fhaiceadh duine a bheò no a 

mharbh tuilleadh. Bha dithis mu seach dhiubh a' dol a mach gach 

tiota, agus ag cur an comhairle cuideachd, agus is math a bha 

prìosanach an eu-dòchais a' tuigsinn ceann-fàth an coinneamhancomhairle. 

* 

Mu dheireadh, rug iad air Murchadh, agus am prioba na sùla 

cheangail iad e cho cruinn ri moit, agus thug iad a mach e gu 

cnocan beag ri taobh na h-àirigh, far an do rùnaich iad a 

SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT. 89 

thìodhlacadh beò. An uair a sheall iad uatha is 'gan ionnsaigh, 

cha robh aon spaid aca leis an cladhaicheadh iad slochd anns an 

tilgeadh iad am prìosanach, agus mar sin dh' fhalbh dithis dhiubh 

'nan ruith a dh' ionnsaigh a' ohaile a dh' iarraidh spaide, agus dh' 

fhàgadh Murchadh ceangailte fo aire an treas fir. Bha mòr-thruas 

aig an fhear so ris a' phrìosanach bhochd, agus, mar sin, an uair 

a fhuair e an dithis eile greis air falbh, thuirt e ri Murchadh, 

" Fuasglaidh mise thu, agus teich le do bheatha; èighidh mise 

riutha gun d' fhairtlich thu orm, agus gun do theich thu." 

Ruith Murchadh, agus ma ruith, dh' eigh a fhear-faire ris 

an dithis eile gun do theich e air. Dh' fhalbh an triùir às a 

dhèidh troimh bhotachan is troimh sniochdail, ach cha do chuir 

iad ite às. Chaidh e às an sealladh, is leis an oidhche a bhi cho 

dorch, cha bu lèir dhoibh gu dè an taobh a chaidh e. Ged 

shàbhail Murchadh bho a luchd-tòrachd, chaidh e an ribe eile. 

Bha sionnaich gu leoir anns an eilean aig an àm sin, agus b' àbhaist 

do na sealgairean a bhi ag cur lìn làidir ann am badan àraidh a 

chum an glacadh. Chaidh dà làimh Mhurchaidh an sàs an aon 

de na lìn so, agus às a sin chan fhaigheadh e. 

Bha dùil aig muinntir a' bhaile gun do thrèig a lùths e air a' 

mhòintich an uair nach d' thàinig e dhachaidh an oidhche roimhe 

sin, agus mar sin dh' fhalbh na nàbaidhean air gach bealach 'ga 

mharbh-iarraidh. Fhuair iad e mu dheireadh, agus glas-làmh 

de lìon shionnach 'ga chumail an sàs. Choisich e dhachaidh gu 

h-èiginneach, ach chan fhaigheadh duine no bean, no eadhon 

Mòrag fhèin, ged bhiodh i an làthair, a mach fàth a ghearain. 

Chuir MacLeoid, Dhùn-bheagain fios air, agus dh' iarr e air 

innseadh mar thachair dha air a shlighe dhachaidh. " Ma dh' 

innseas mise dhuibh mo chàradh agus na cunnartan troimh 'n d' 

thàinig mi," ars' esan ri Mac Leoid, " cha duine beò mi na's fhaide, 

oir tha mo luchd-tòrachd anns an aon bhaile rium ag gabhail 

còmhnuidh." " Na biodh eagal 'sam bith ort-sa," ars' an t-uachdaran, 

" dad 'sam bith innseadh dhomh-sa. Thèid mise eadar thu 

's an luchd-tòrachd, air dhòigh 's nach bi iad comasach air coire 

'sam bith a dhèanamh dhuit." 

An uair a fhuair Murchadh bochd am barantas làidir so bho 

Mac Leoid, Dhùn-bheagain, dh'aithris e facal air an fhacal mar 

thachair dha, agus an dòigh anns an robh laoich a' bhaile's an robh 

e 

> a g g°id cruidh gun fhios bho chionn iomadh bliadhna. " Mo 

bheannachd buan agad," arsa Mac Leoid, "cha bhi mise fada ag 

cur stad air an obair sin a nis."

w 

go 

SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT. 

Dh' òrduich e gum biodh a h-uile duine de na mèirlich so air 

an togail agus air an aiseag gu Eilean Hirt air an là màireach, a 

chum JS gum biodh gach crodh anns an Eilean Sgitheanach sàbhailte 

bho na spògan bradach aca. 

Là no dhà mun do thachair so, bha fìor dhroch dhuine an Hirt 

a bha a' rùnachadh gum biodh an t-Eilean sin uile fo a cheannsal 

fèin, agus a chum an rùn sin a chur an cleachdadh, thog e ealain 

aon là am measg an t-sluaigh gu faca e soitheach a' tighinn gu tìr 

a chum gach mac màthar a bha air an eilean a thogail air falbh. 

Dh' iarr e orra cruinneachadh anns an eaglais cho luath's a dhèanadh 

an casan air son dìdein, agus cha b'fhada gus an robh gach 

Hirteach am broinn na h-eaglais, ach aon chailleach a bha a' tional 

fhaochag anns an tràigh nach cuala am fuaim a bha a' dol mu'n 

t-soithich. 

An uair a fhuair am fear-fòirneirt so na h-Eileanaich cruinn 

anns an eaglais, ghlais e i, agus chuir e teine rithe, agus loisgeadh 

gach dùil a bha air an Eilean ach e fhèin agus a' chailleach. 

Air do'n bhàta le mèirlich an Eilein Sgitheanaich a thighinn 

faisg air Hirt, chunnaic iad an teine, agus an uair a bhuail iad gu 

tìr, thachair orra a' chailleach bhochd a bha a' tighinn beò fad thrì 

làithean air maorach is air duileasg. Chuireadh na mèirlich air tìr an 

Hirt, agus thatar ag ràdh gu bheil an sliochd anns an eilean lethoireach 

sin gus an là an diugh. Rug sgioba a' bhàta air an 

eucorach an-iochdmhor a chuir teine ris an eaglais, agus thug iad 

leotha e fhèin agus a' chailleach. Chuir iad an droch chreutair air 

tìr air sgeir am meadhon a' chuain far am biodh e air a bhàthadh 

an uair a thigeadh an lìonadh, agus thug iad a' chailleach leotha gu 

tèaruinte do Dhùn-bheagain. 

Tri coilceadha na Fèinne,—bàrr gheal chrann, còinneach, is ùr 

luachair. 

The three Fingalian bed-stuffs,—fresh tree-tops, moss, and fresh 

rushes. 

Is math nach 'eil iuchraichean an domhain fo chrios na h-aon 

mhnatha. 

It's well that all the keys of the world are not under one wife's 

gfirdle. 

Kky C. 

Seisd. 

Hug 

f:d» 

I Hug 

Rann. 

j: pi 1 ..in 1 

j Moch s'a 

Bho'n a 

•J * 

im : — 

im' .r' :• 

mhadainn 

chuala 

1 :1 

chuala 

mullaich 

Oran a' Phrionnsa. 

:r jm 

1,-iitiiiii 

:r .im 

laithill 

s mi 

mi'm 

:d' 

mi'm 

gach 

m 

s .,f :n 

o - ho • ro 

Le ALASDAIR MAC MHAIGHISTIR ALASDAIR. 

Is -,f :m :d 

o - ho - ro 

3 Giàinne-mullaich gach righ thu 

Slàn gun till thu, a Theàrlaich, 

'S ann tha'n fhlor-fhuil gun truailleadh 

Anns a' ghruaidh is mor nàire. 

4 'S ann tha'n fhlor-fhuil gun truailleadh 

Anns a' ghruaidh is mòr nàire, 

Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle, 

*G eirich suas !e deagh nàdur. 

5 Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle 

'G èirigh suas le deagh nàdur, 

'S na'n tigeadh tu rithist, 

Bhiodh gach tighearn' 'na àite. 

Hug 

Seinn 

:IM : S 

ho 

r 1 :r' .-im 1 .,im' im' : r 1 

dùsgadh 'S mor mo 

Prionnsa Thighinn do 

(:dl ,t 

I Bho'n a 

Gràinne- 

-m- 

1 

: s I 1 :I ì 

ro "n àill - leibh J 

ro'n 

shunnd's mo cheol 

dhùthaich Chlann- 

S : I M : r lr :im :s 

Prionnsa Thighinn do dhùthaich Chlanntill 

thu righ thu Slàn gun 

a 

9 Gum biodh "buidsear" na feòla 

Agus corcach m'a bhràighe, 

'S gun gibhtinn a' " Mhaighdean " 

Mar oighreachd d'a bhràthair. 

Fine, 

1 :1 

aill - leibh. 

• f- 

d' .r',d': t j 

gair 

Ran 

aill 

D.C. 

Ranail). 

Theàrlaich. 

6 'S bhiodh Lochial mar bu chòir dha, 

'Cur an òrdugh nan Gàidheal, 

'Us Clann-Dòmhnaill a' chruadail, 

'Choisinn buaidh anns na blàraibh. 

7 'Us Clann-Dòmhnaill a' chruadail, 

'Choisinn buaidh anns na blàraibh, 

'S iad gun cumadh a' chòmh-stri 

Ri luchd chòtaichean màdair. 

8 'S nam faighinn mo dhùrachd. 

Bhiodh an Diùc air dhroch càramh; 

Gum biodh " buidsear " na feòla 

Agus corcach m'a bhràighe.

-—- 

A Maker of Modern Gaeldom. 

THE BARD BUCHANAN. 

BY LACHLAN 

MACBEAN, Editor, " The Fifeshire Advertiser." 

" Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, 

Nor spent with grief the midnight hours, 

Whose bed with tears has not been wet— 

He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers!" 

—Goethe. 

TALL, active, swarthy complexioned, with large black eyes, 

and black hair, swinging lighdy over the moorland slopes 

of Rannoch, always in his Highland dress, until the Government 

compelled men to discard it for the blue coat and trews, 

Dugald Buchanan was every inch a Gael, a true son of the 

Scottish Mountains, and, as such, his figure will long dwell in the 

memory of his fellow countrymen. 

Not alone in their memory, for in their life to-day he is a 

constant power. He always had their sympathy, for like him 

they have an introspective, yet very steadfast mind, deep, earnest 

and not unacquainted with grief; while three special activities in 

his life—nay four—gave him a strong place in the heart of this 

most loveable people, and made him a true maker of modern 

Gaeldom. 

X 

u 

O 

2 

X 

u 

o 

-J 

2 

uJ 

O 

< 

H 

Tì 

2 

< 

2 

I._HIS 

POEMS. 

His poetry was more than brilliant. In its clearness of vision 

and in imaginative force, it embodied the racial genius of the Gael. 

It included in its sweep the scenery of earth, the grandeur of the 

starry heavens, and the awful destinies of men. Moving amid 

such themes, he was qualified to discuss with Hume the comparative 

majesty of Shakespeare and the Book of Revelation, and 

to become the poet-prophet of his people, setting forth in glowing 

words that world of splendour which we shall behold only when 

the mists of the present have rolled away from the Moorland. 

The Gael, as the Bard of the spirit, is found in Buchanan as 

nowhere else; would that we had more, and even more varied 

examples of his muse. It is a pity that, misled by a false view of 

D 

CQ 

Q 

< 

O 

D 

Q 

1 

s 

•. 

I 

i 

h 

i

A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 93 

his true responsibility for God-given powers, he destroyed all his 

poems whose themes he considered too worldly; for surely man has 

relationships, and therefore duties, regarding the shadowy world 

without, as well as the more real world within. 

Happily the poems of Buchanan that survive, show the spirit 

of his people at its highest; intensely earnest, and revealing the 

changing colours and massiveness of the hills as well as the restless 

movement of the sea; now vivid with the awful light of " The 

Day of Doom," now incisive with the felicitous philosophy of 

" The Skull," presenting a true portrait of the complete " Hero," 

with pictorial delineations of the scenes of " Winter," and the 

rapid changes of "The Dream "; clothing in fitting phrases the 

story of the Gospel, the " Majesty of God " and the meditative 

spirit of " The Prayer." These poems have left an indelible mark 

on the religious conceptions of the Scottish Highlander, shaping 

them to that unquestioning earnestness which we so readily 

recognise:— 

" Awake and take thine arms, my soul! 

And emulate this Hero true, 

Thy passions conquer and control, 

A Kingdom in thyself subdue." 

II.—THE 

CONFESSIONS. 

These are the supreme expression of the seriousness of the 

Gael. At the age of six years and onwards, Buchanan's soul 

learned to tremble at the terror and the reality of eternity and 

all that it may mean. Poor child! His intense realisation of 

their significance arose from a gloomy imagination, and the 

terrible logic that never doubted, never hesitated, never compromised, 

but rather magnified his mental pictures by clothing them 

with the awe-inspiring scenery through which he had often to 

wend his homeward journeys through the darksome glens. His 

" Cave in the Rock " was a fitting stage for the tragedies of his 

conscience, as the flaming furnaces of burning heather on steep 

mountain sides set forth the final catastrophe of the elements consumed 

by fervent heat. These are pictures to impress a people 

reared among such scenes. 

It may be admitted that, as a writer in the " Times " has 

forcefully shown, Buchanan's spiritual terrors, and his agonies of

94 

A MAKER OF MODERN 

GAELDOM. 

self-abasement, may convey to dwellers in more comfortable surroundings, 

a shock as of something incredible. 

For town-dwellers are accustomed to more comfortable 

travelling, with constant artificial lighting, so that the dark 

mediaeval forests, with their strange perils, fail to appal them. We 

seem no longer to need self-examination, and we spare ourselves 

the discomforts of solemn meditations in lonesome caves. The 

discomfort is gone, and with it something of the depth, the dignity 

and the reality of life. It is true that in comfortable modern 

cities one often finds empty hearts, so that, perhaps, the great 

English newspaper is right, for there the deepest realities do seem 

" incredible." But in many a Highland home the vivid sense of 

the unseen world, roused and nursed by Dugald Buchanan, still 

remains. 

The " Confessions " are a human document of incalculable 

value, which must deeply impress the tender-hearted Gael, and 

one should not too greatly regret that it should be so. A. 

glance at our newspapers any day of the week will afford ample 

proof that the sense of sin, which the "Times" sees to be the chief 

feature of that document, has little place in the large city, but 

even to-day, thanks to Dugald Buchanan, it shows no sign of 

dying out in the Glens. Right and wrong have still a meaning 

for us, we can feel the glow of the one and the shadow of the 

other; and we can follow with sympathetic interest the spiritual 

itinerary of poor Buchanan, until he emerges at last in the sunshine 

of peace—the same glad consummation which in all ages 

and in all faiths, ancient and modern, has awaited the human 

spirit. In thus moulding the Highland temper, Buchanan the 

Pilgrim has been even greater than Buchanan the Poet, and not 

less successful in inculcating true piety. 

" Would'st thou have lasting joy restored 

Commit thy ways unto the Lord, 

With faith and love and chastened will, 

And he will thy desires fulfil." 

III.—THE 

TEACHER. 

Not less wonderful was Buchanan, the Educator. He taught 

old and young, far and near, planning and travelling and setting 

great movements on foot. He, the trembling child from the tiny 

A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 

Highland Village of Ardoch; he, the miller's boy; he, the young 

wandering joiner; he became the organiser of education, and the 

public speaker, appealing to, and drawing out, the minds of his 

people, changing the whole mentality of his generation, and of 

many generations to follow. For, far in advance of future reformers, 

he discovered early the importance in human affairs of 

the influence of education and set himself to organise it in his 

own country. The dreamer and poet became a very practical and 

active person, and undertook the great work of redeeming his folk 

by educating the children of landless caterans, and giving them 

the outlook of useful citizens. Of course he had always been 

capable of great enthusiasm, but he now developed staying power, 

patience, organising skill. He had to be practical, he had to act 

swiftly and do the work of ten men. He did it well. In two 

years he had schools busy in the Glens. Where there had been 

24 pupils, he gathered 350; where there had been one school, he 

built six. The minds of young Highlanders were awakened, and 

the usefulness of Gaelic, as an instrument of education, was once 

more demonstrated. The books were rapidly made as they proceeded. 

Arithmetic, grammar, and the broader fields of literature 

were re-opened, for Buchanan was widely read. Along with the 

minds of the youths, their morals were trained, and families 

formerly notorious for " dishonesty and licentiousness " became 

" sober and honest " and, what was more significant, "industrious.'' 

As a teacher and leader of thought the Gael thus appeared in 

his true character. No one ever filled the place as did Buchanan. 

First as the boy of twelve, acting as a tutor in a duller family, then 

the young travelling catechist, and the missionary-preacher imposing 

a truce of God on hostile tribes lining the two sides of the 

River Gaur; next as the skilful organiser, opening six new schools; 

finally, as the translator, giving the Scottish Highlanders the New 

Testament in their own tongue—these were some aspects of this 

young Gael as an Instructor. Says a French Magazine (Revue 

•de la Quinzaine), " This big peasant with his black hair and black 

eyes, with a touch of the buccaneer in his kilt, this mystic and 

pragmatic, this victor over humanity, who imposed peace on others, 

what a splendid example of the Celt! on week-days adored by 3 50 

scholars, and on Sundays 500 country folk heard him and 

trembled." He certainly knew how to combine the education of 

the heart and of the habits with the mere instruction of the intellect— 

95

1 A. MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 

9' 

" Are thy passions unruly 

Thy youth wild and idle 

Then thine age cannot truly 

Their growing strength bridle. 

The young shoots, green and bending, 

Grown to trees will be stronger, 

Roots and boughs fast extending, 

Thou canst move them no longer." 

IV.—A SOCIAL REFORMER. 

All this within ten years after " Prince Charlie's Year." 

There were no buildings suitable for religious meetings, but 

Buchanan boldly approached the authorities of both Church and 

State for help, and within the ten years it was reported in the 

General Assembly of the Church that "the Country of Rannoch, 

from being possessed by a most lawless and thievish people, is now 

greatly civilized, and no thefts or robberies are heard of among 

the inhabitants, 2,000 in number." For the Gael does nothing by 

halves. From Buchanan's time, and probably to this day, there 

has been no dishonesty in all those parts, and for a family to lock, 

their house door when going to Church would be considered an 

insult to the whole Parish. Of how many districts in London 

could these things be said 

In this work the gentle hand of the Poet displayed quite unexpected 

strength. Alone, weaponless, and with no outward force 

to protect him from the astonished swashbucklers, Buchanan 

boldly attacked all kinds of lawlessness, and put them down, his 

fearless castigation of wrongdoers being unexpected and 

successful. 

But, as a social worker, he was no less known in cases of 

distress. As a helper to all in want, and a sympathiser in cases of 

bereavement, he re-lived the life of his pious mother, imitating 

Him who formed the subject of one of his finest poems— 

" Fulangas an t-Slànuighear." 

In all these activities of Buchanan, in his Poems, his Confessions, 

his teaching and his social services—one can trace a 

gradual growth in importance, for while his poetry is very 

attractive and even fascinating, the "Confessions" are really more 

profound, but the teaching and social service left the deepest impress 

on the life of the Highlands. 

A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 97 

The picturesqueness of Buchanan's personality is universally 

felt. His real claim, however, upon the respect and affection of 

his kinsmen, everywhere and in all time, must be this—that he, 

and he alone, was the man who awoke in this remarkable race its 

true self, re-kindled its imagination, refined its aspirations, tore 

away the noisome weeds beginning to grow rank amid the desolations 

caused by Civil War, restored its ancient love of knowledge, 

and with it the irresistible glamour of Celtic ideals. 

Message from Wales. 

By Rev. H. ELVET LEWIS, M.A., Archdruid of Wales. 

THIS is not merely a personal greeting and message of good 

will. I know I am expressing the sentiment of hosts of my 

fellow countrymen and countrywomen in a fraternal word 

of encouragement to another branch of the one Celtic family. In 

spite of geographical and historical separations, our common 

traditions spring from the same fountain-head. Time and 

accidental influences have affected our different languages, but 

we can go back to a common stock, and find that we are much 

nearer than may seem at first. Our love of liberty is as evident 

as our love of colour, and we have never allowed ourselves to forget 

the Unseen World. We are striving hard in Wales to maintain 

Welsh as a spoken language; we would encourage you in a similar 

endeavour to maintain your characteristic ideals. Some day I wish 

I could attend one of your gatherings—when time is more 

merciful! We wish you well. Dutv, a phob daoni, (God, and al! 

goodness). 

(Signed) 

ELFED.

THE GAEL AND HIS SONG. 

99 

The Gael and his Song. 

BY ROBERT MACLEOD, Mus.Bac, F.R.C.O. 

V\7"7HAT'S in a song" they say, and careless, cast the gem 

aside—a gem enshrining noble thoughts, or thoughts of 

humble pleasure by the mountain side. 

But stay! one moment 1 Let the idler of an idle hour take 

thought. The Gael who tuned his harp, and tossed forth strains 

to vibrate down the centuries, was prophet, priest and king among 

his fellows. His strain may lack the obvious cadence of to-day, 

which savours too frequently of ease, of indolence, and " pass the 

time away." But all his cadences ring clear and true to Nature 

and to the God who tuned his spirit thus to pour forth melody in 

crystal stream, to purify the thoughts of those whose hearts were 

touched to beat in unison with his. 

A mission in his lay we fain would sing in words, but words 

can scarce replace the power of song. 

The " listener-in " must " tune his ear " as he would " tune 

his set," or else the air is vibrant with a jingle, meaningless and 

cold. 

The golden age of melody is past, some say. Our senses 

must be stirred by jolting rhyme and cumbrous harmonies (not 

divine). For those who think it so, remember that " a still small 

voice" once woke the soul of prophet in the olden time. 

" The still small voice " of music is the call of melody. Let 

singers put forth efforts now to catch the inward spirit of this 

song, and learn to cast its spell once more o'er all the land. 

Instrumental music is not the natural medium of the Gael. 

For him the voice can stir the depths of human and spiritual experience. 

" Folk Song is too limited." " Too limited " ! How can it 

be, when it is the true essence of music It is concentrated musical 

thought, clearly and definitely expressed. To deliver its message 

requires a complete understanding of it as a perfect form of expression. 

To endeavour to make it take on the cloak of 

modernism, is not only to disguise it but to disfigure it. To 

know it, is to live with music and in the spirit of music. 

Just as the greatest moral scoundrel may appear the perfect 

gentleman in the eyes of the world, so may the listener be deceived 

by the outward trappings of a melody. It is the soul-thought 

which really matters in both cases. The classics of the Gael enshrine 

a soul-thought. 

This is what makes folk song so difficult to interpret. Its 

whole atmosphere is sincerity, and without sincerity it refuses to 

yield up its secret. It may be "decked out " in appropriate harmonic 

garb, if such garb be sympathetically selected. To some 

people this may enhance its " aural appearance," but it must not 

alter its inherent spirituality. A perfect feeling for the emotional 

value of pitch outline and a natural flow of rhythm are the essential 

equipments for the singer. Without these, the Song of the Gael 

(and any song) will but dimly reflect the vision vouchsafed to the 

composer in his moment of inspiration. 

To coax it to reveal itself you must in the first instance ignore 

the words. Make the old melodies part and parcel of your 

emotional experience and expression. Croon them when you are 

sad, lilt them when you are glad. Where you find a poetic setting 

which fits the emotional mood, which you feel inherent in it, you 

will be able to communicate the glad tidings to others. You will 

meet with immediate response, because you will wake into consciousness 

the spirituality of a race whose melodic medium you 

have made your own. 

The above explains why so many poets have written lyrics to 

well-known melodies. They have been captivated by the mood 

which the melody evoked in them, and in their joy they endeavour 

to impart that joy to others through their own medium,—words. 

We have a wondrous heritage of melody, and with this heritage 

the art music of the future may be enriched. But it is in the 

home that the spirit of this racial music must be reawakened. 

When a true consciousness of its meaning is grasped, we may see 

a Scottish Schubert, Greig or Dvorak. May such a genius, when 

he arrives, be able to bless the work which our Highland 

Association has done, and is doing, in the way of preserving the 

-soul-thoughts of generations. 

Let not the harps your fathers tuned 

Lie silent, lest their message, 

Once so magically caught in melody, 

Shall die.

IOO 

THE GAEL AND HIS SONG. 

Their mystic message from the plain. 

The sea, the sunlit vapour 

Hov'ring round the mountain crest, 

From Nature's God, who whispered 

In the harper's ear those wondrous notes, 

Which stir the soul 

And speak of Immortality, 

Should we not hear, 

Then will be severed 

In the golden chain of Melody 

A link which binds 

The Alpha and the Omega of Time. 

An Dileab. 

LE SEUMAS MAC THOMAIS, EILEAN LEODHAIS,. 

Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich. 

BIDH fear a' sireadh maoin is òir, 

Is fear an toir air inbh' is cliù: 

Le iargain airsnealaich gun treòir 

Tha cuid a' dleasadh còir nach fiù. 

Ach fhuaradh leinne dìleab bhuan 

An cànain bhuadhmhoir Tìr nam Beann; 

Gu fonnmhor, ait, le iomadh buaidh, 

Is tairìseach a fuaim 's a' ghleann. 

Tha gàir nan tonn air cladach mìn, 

Is borbhan bith nan allt 'na ceòl; 

Air euchd nan laoch air muir is tìr 

Tha cagarsaich a cridh' le deoin. 

Is ealain bhrìoghmhor naomh is chliar, 

A dhleas gun fhiamh an còir do'n t-sluagh, 

Ghlèidh i do gach neach le'm miann, 

An tasgaidh riarachail, bith-bhuan. 

Gur mùirneach leinn a eagair gaoil 

O bheul na h-aois' do'n tug sinn gràdh; 

A bratach rìoghail tog is sgaoil, 

Is dìon, is saor o àl gu h-àl. 

Highlanders All. 

BY REV. A. BOYD SCOTT, M.C., D.D. 

IT is a very considerable honour for a ' Lallan ' Scot like myself 

to be asked to contribute to this Book, for there is no more 

aristocratic community than the people called the Gaels; and 

yet, look you, here am 1 in the forefront of this proud, though 

predatory, Highland host in their raid upon the lieges of Glasgow. 

I come of a race that both hated and loved those mountain clans, 

in which every tribesman was at once a gentleman and a sly or 

splendid robber! My people in Ayrshire spat when they spoke 

of the "Highland Host," but the same husbandmen and lairds 

sported the white cockade, did some of them, and left their bones 

by the dule tree of the castle of Carlisle, all for the forlorn sake 

of a bonny king " over the water." There is, indeed, a closer 

kinship between Highland and Lowland folk, at least in the 

western shires, than the average man among us recognises. The 

popular distinction between them grew and hardened by reason 

of certain accidents and fateful circumstances in Scottish history, 

such as I have just suggested. I wonder if it was not that lovable 

humbug, the creation of the chief of Scotland's creators, Bailie 

Nicol Jarvie, who instructed and confirmed us in that rude division 

of Lanarkshire folk and Argyllshire folk, which is still so carelessly 

taken for granted among us. As a matter of fact, if vou 

leave the Norse of Aberdeenshire out of it, and the Angles of 

Berwickshire as well, the rest of us are all sound Celts for the most 

part, whether we hail from far Loch Awe or derive from douce 

cottars in Kyle, beneath the shelter of aged trees. Words like 

"Goidelic" and " Brythonic" have all the monstrous look of the 

terms that affright and chill us in the books of those who amuse 

themselves, and confuse their friends with ethnological studies. 

But, with it all, please allow those sages to get it into our heads that, 

in blood and even in speech, there was not that cleavage between the 

Britons of Strathclyde and the Gaels beyond Loch Lomond, which 

was accepted by the latter when they contemned the 'Glesca keelies' 

as a despicable people apart, and by the former, when, to denote 

their uttermost scorn of their brother man or sister woman, they 

referred to them as Hielan' stots or as Hielan' as Mull! Both 

in Ayrshire and thereabouts, and in the Highlands, we are all the

I02 

HIGHLANDERS ALL. 

children of those divers Celtic sires whose successive invasions 

into these islands have left us still with Britons south of Clyde 

and Gaels beyond it. 

An indiscreet Ayrshire Celt might go on to claim that in 

matters of birth and breeding he comes of a loftier branch of the 

common stock than do the men of Inveraray or Lochaber ; but I 

for one will not be so unwise, whatever I may think of that matter. 

A very foolish Ayrshire-man, at a safe distance from Campbells, 

Buchanans, Camerons, et hoc genus omne gloriosunty might even 

wag defiantly that red rag of a theory which seeks to claim that 

the very kilt of the Gael was taken from the superior wardrobe 

of the Britons about Dunbarton. I daresay, gentle or indignant 

reader, you know that theory. It surmises shrewdly that it was 

among those " Romans" of Strathclyde, who, in the muddled 

5th century in these parts, continued to call themselves by the 

imperial name, and to maintain the Roman titles in their hostings 

and harried commonwealth, that the "skirt" was preserved which, 

in due time and by various accidents, became the specific garb of 

the Gael. Don't all shout at me at once, please! I am not 

arguing for the theory. Perhaps I am to blame for raising it at 

all. In any case, if you don't like it, we'll drop it and go on to 

less contentious matters. But, before I tuck that red rag away, 

let me say this, that such a theory affords a basis of sound historical 

principle to those " lowland bodies " in Strathclyde who 

long to wear the kilt, and indeed do wear it, but all with the uncomfortable 

feeling that they give themselves away to those who 

cry, "What the wonderful mischief do these little porcupines of 

the plains, whatever, do with the kilt to show their spindle shanks, 

I declare to my goodness!"—I translate this with difficulty from 

the Gaelic, and with discreet and printable modifications, but the 

sense is plain enough. I have seen a chief of the great House of 

Kennedy in Carrick " in the kilt," and, on that occasion, a Macpherson 

had caustic observations to make. But the boot may very 

well be on the other foot, my masters! And the Kennedy might 

say to his critic " Was it not you, noble sir, who took the breeks 

oft the Hielan'-man and attired him as one of us Romans" But 

as I said before, or meant to say, " Let that flie stick to the wa'!" 

Hark back with me, and let us emphasise the community of 

our blood and spirit, you who are the children of Ossian, and we 

who are of the land and heritage of Burns! And perhaps you will 

allow me, who have difficulty in divesting myself of my homi- 


letical robes, to bring before you the manner in which we were 

all very much at one in that splendid prime, when Kentigern the 

Briton and Columba the Gael met in Glasgow town, and evidently 

had no difficulty in recognising their common birthright, not only 

in the matter of " one Lord, one faith, one baptism," but in the 

community of their race and tribal standards. There is a chapter 

in the history of that period which still awaits its student and 

scribe. He shall arise some day, and extend the truth to that 

obscure time in Zion, when gospellers of the British tribes and 

gospellers from the Gaelic tribes worked away happily and 

reciprocally in each other's areas, with so unrestricted an industry 

and freedom as to indicate that the community of which I spoke 

above was more vital than many have yet detected. Gaels went 

to school at the British Whithorn, and Britons came readily to 

Dalriada of the Gaels. If, in particular, you condescend on Bute, 

you shall find that the British paladins of the Gospel were active 

there before the Gaels had yet set sail from Erin ; but when the 

Gaelic speech came to possess the island, and its monks to occupy 

the British shrines, the names of the British saints were not superseded. 

Ninian and Maccaille were left in tutelary possession, by 

which is indicated an affectionate recognition on the part of the 

Gaels of the kinship of their forerunners. Indeed, in the wider 

area of Strathclyde and the Highland parts west of the Firth, the 

saints in the circuit of their labours follow a cycle, the centre of 

which can truly be found only in a kinship of tribal origin and 

culture such as is so apt to be lost in the customary rupture in 

popular thought between Highlands and Lowlands. The cycle 

wheels as follows:—Patrick, a Briton of Clydeside—I defy anyone 

to rob us of him, though the thief be as mighty in the kingdom 

of letters as Professor Bury himself—Patrick, a Briton of 

Clydeside, wends to South Britain and, in due course, to Erin; the 

Gael receives him and bears his heritage to Argyll ; from Argyll 

pass on these grateful cousins to Dunbarton and into Renfrew and 

Ayr of the Britons ; so that Patrick and Columba and Mirin and 

Fillan circulate as brethren of one household about our common 

territory. 

In our own day the pervasive force of social and industrial 

circumstance, of Venus and Vulcan, has restored the kinship in a 

fashion which those who lived in the days of Highland Hosts and 

Nicol Jarvies would have thought utterly impossible. Glasgow 

is as much a Highland fair as a Lowland city. That mingling


of Gaelic clans which has made it possible for a chief's name to 

be such as Lamont-Campbell } 

has produced quite a multitude of 

Glasgow citizens with such a name as Robert Roy MacGregor 

Jarvie, The two great streams of the Celtic acquisition of this 

fair territory of ours south and north-west of Clyde, which 

seemed for a time destined to flow ever farther apart, have crept 

back to join each other again; so that all Lowlanders of this city, 

whose most romantic episode is the mutual kiss of Kentigern of 

the Britons and Columba of the Gaels, are simply engaging in 

their own domestic enterprise and supporting their fellow-tribesmen, 

when they advance to support, as they intend to do right 

royally, the splendid undertaking in connection with which this 

Book is issued. 

To a Highland Girl. 

(At Inversnaid, upon Loch Lomond.) 

SWEET Highland girl, a very shower 

Of beauty is thy earthly dower! 

Twice seven consenting years have shed 

Their utmost bounty on thy head; 

And these grey rocks; this household lawn; 

These trees, a veil just half withdrawn; 

This fall of water, that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake; 

This little bay, a quiet road, 

That holds in shelter thy abode; 

In truth, together ye do seem 

Like something fashion'd in a dream; 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep ! 

Yet dream and vision as thou art, 

I bless thee with a human heart! 

God shield thee to thy latest years! 

I neither know thee nor thy peers; 

And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. 

TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 

For thee when I am far away: 

For never saw I mien or face, 

In which more plainly I could trace 

Benignity and home-bred sense 

Ripening in perfect innocence. 

Here, scatter'd like a random seed, 

Remote from men, thou dost not need 

The embarass'd look of shy distress, 

And maidenly shamefacedness; 

Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 

The freedom of a mountaineer," 

A face with gladness overspread! 

Sweet looks, by human kindness bred! 

And seemliness complete, that sways 

Thy courtesies, about thee plays; 

With no restraint but such as springs 

From quick and eager visitings 

Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 

Of thy few words of English speech; 

A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife 

That gives thy gestures grace and life ! 

So have I, not unmoved in mind, 

Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, 

Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cuil 

For thee, who art so beautiful 

Oh, happy pleasure! here to dwell 

Beside thee in some heathy dell; 

Adopt your homely ways and dress, 

A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! 

* * * * * * 

Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, 

Sweet Highland girl! from thee to part; 

For I, methinks, till I grow old, 

As fair before me shall behold, 

As I do now, the cabin small, 

The lake, the bay, the waterfall; 

And thee, the spirit of them all! 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

IO5

THE LIFE OF A CROFTER. 

The Life of a Crofter. 

(BY ONE OF THEM). 

ALASTAIR CAMERON, STRONTIAN, ARGYLLSHIRE. 

" It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth 

That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure, 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 

O, that's the chief est world's treasure. Braw, braw lads." 

—Burns. 

THE life of the Highland crofter is peculiarly distinct from 

that found in other rural parts of the British Isles. The 

wild, romantic nature of his country isolates him from the 

restless, "madding crowd," and creates in him an industrious, 

independent, and freedom-loving spirit. As befits a true child of 

nature, always in close contiguity with scenes and forms untainted 

by drab artificiality, his life is free and natural, though not unmethodical; 

for work, spiritual duties, and recreation receive due 

attention at their proper time. 

Surrounded by magnificent scenery, his work, though arduous, 

is rather attractive. W ithout a doubt, he toils hard for his living, 

for he has to contend against the erratic Highland weather, and 

work a generally unproductive soil. The poor return from his few 

acres forces him to engage in subsidiary employment, where such 

can be obtained, so that oft-times the stars see him finish his 

working day on his holding. Yet, under these conditions happiness 

exists, and we are left wondering how truly happy he might be, if 

the Highland peasant were assured of a more comfortable living 

in the land of his fathers. 

Winter may be termed the crofter's season of indolence. Short 

days and unfavourable weather make much outdoor work impossible, 

but he can always find sufficient to do in feeding the cattle, 

carrying home fuel, and repairing the thatch on the roof of his 

cottage. Strangers may think that the crofter has a dreary, joyless 

existence during the long winter nights; yet, with the exception 

of solitary holdings in remote places, winter finds him at his 

happiest and best. Even in the fastnesses, which the far-removed 

places become in winter, existence is not so melancholy as their 

situation might indicate. Fortified with the " Oban Times " and 

the " People's Journal," the occupant can shut his ears to the 

whistle of the snow-wind, as he discourses on their contents to 

wife and family or aged mother, sitting snugly around the homely 

peat-fire. The inimitable cèilidh, at which youth oft in fancy lives, 

and the old feel young again, enlivens life in the glens. To these 

happy, unconventional, hreside gatherings old and young come, 

and hear again the tales of their grandfathers; tales of witches, 

watersprites, and fairies; legends of Celtic prowess in war and the 

chase; and true stories of Highland valour on many a hard-fought 

field. 

With the spring comes an awakening to work. The crofter 

may be seen putting out manure by cart, wheelbarrow, or creel, OM 

his grassland. By March the work is in full swing. Day after 

day, the tenant of a holding which is substantial enough to keep 

a horse, is busy guiding the plough, co-operation with a neighbour 

ha 1 , ing furnished him with a second horse to make up his pair. At 

the furrow-end, when for a brief moment he rests his horses, his 

thoughts turn to what his beloved strath may be like in years to 

come, if the present systematic depopulation of the Land of the 

Bens is allowed to continue. 

Most of the sowing and planting is done during April, and, 

where good old seisreachs* are still the rule, much mirth prevails; 

for crofter lads and lassies are seldom encumbered with melancholia, 

however poor their lot or frugal their fare. These 

delightfully inspiring scenes of Highland rural life lend enchantment 

to the surroundings, and brighten the lot of the hardy 

crofter. Long may they survive in the land of the heather, the 

Highlander's proper environment! 

The majority of the local cattle sales, which have superseded 

the one-time picturesque cattle fairs, are held in May. To the 

sale go old and young, male and female, and the higher the prices 

go, the merrier grows the throng. Here old friendships are 

renewed and new ones made, accounts are paid and bargains eagerly 

sought for. In May also, strenuous efforts are made to have the 

peat-cutting completed, and the drying of this ' classic' fuel 

commenced. 

Autumn brings the crofter's most anxious and busy time. 

Up with the August sun and the morning lark, he sets forth to 

*A gathering of crofters to give a day's work to one of their number 

who, for some reason, is behind with his croft work.


The Life of a Crofter. 

(BY ONE OF THEM). 

ALASTAIR CAMERON, STRONTIAN, ARGYLLSHIRE. 

•' It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth 

That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure, 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 

O, that's the chief est world's treasure. Braw, braw lads." 

—Burns. 

THE life of the Highland crofter is peculiarly distinct from 

that found in other rural parts of the British Isles. The 

wild, romantic nature of his country isolates him from the 

restless, " madding crowd," and creates in him an industrious, 

independent, and freedom-loving spirit. As befits a true child of 

nature, always in close contiguity with scenes and forms untainted 

by drab artificiality, his life is free and natural, though not unmethodical; 

for work, spiritual duties, and recreation receive due 

attention at their proper time. 

Surrounded by magnificent scenery, his work, though arduous, 

is rather attractive. Without a doubt, he toils hard for his living, 

for he has to contend against the erratic Highland weather, and 

work a generally unproductive soil. The poor return from his few 

acres forces him to engage in subsidiary employment, where such 

can be obtained, so that oft-times the stars see him finish his 

working day on his holding. Yet, under these conditions happiness 

exists, and we are left wondering how truly happy he might be, if 

the Highland peasant were assured of a more comfortable living 

in the land of his fathers. 

"Winter may be termed the crofter's season of indolence. Short 

days and unfavourable weather make much outdoor work impossible, 

but he can always find sufficient to do in feeding the cattle, 

carrying home fuel, and repairing the thatch on the roof of his 

cottage. Strangers may think that the crofter has a dreary, joyless 

existence during the long winter nights; yet, with the exception 

of solitary holdings in remote places, winter finds him at his 

happiest and best. Even in the fastnesses, which the far-removed 

places become in winter, existence is not so melancholy as their 

situation might indicate. Fortified with the " Oban Times " and 

the " People's Journal," the occupant can shut his ears to the 

whistle of the snow-wind, as he discourses on their contents to 

wife and family or aged mother, sitting snugly around the homely 

peat-fire. The inimitable cèilidh, at which youth oft in fancy lives, 

and the old feel young again, enlivens life in the glens. To these 

happy, unconventional, hreside gatherings old and young come, 

and hear again the tales of their grandfathers; tales of witches, 

watersprites, and fairies; legends of Celtic prowess in war and the 

chase; and true stories of Highland valour on many a hard-fought 

field. 

With the spring comes an awakening to work. The crofter 

may be seen putting out manure by cart, wheelbarrow, or creel, o:~ 

his grassland. By March the work is in full swing. Day after 

day, the tenant of a holding which is substantial enough to keep 

a horse, is busy guiding the plough, co-operation with a neighbour 

having furnished him with a second horse to make up his pair. At 

the furrow-end, when for a brief moment he rests his horses, his 

thoughts turn to what his beloved strath may be like in years to 

come, if the present systematic depopulation of the Land of the 

Bens is allowed to continue. 

Most of the sowing and planting is done during April, and, 

where good old seisreachs* are still the rule, much mirth prevails; 

for crofter lads and lassies are seldom encumbered with melancholia, 

however poor their lot or frugal their fare. These 

delightfully inspiring scenes of Highland rural life lend enchantment 

to the surroundings, and brighten the lot of the hardy 

crofter. Long may they survive in the land of the heather, the 

Highlander's proper environment! 

The majority of the local cattle sales, which have superseded 

the one-time picturesque cattle fairs, are held in May. To the 

sale go old and young, male and female, and the higher the prices 

go, the merrier grows the throng. Here old friendships are 

renewed and new ones made, accounts are paid and bargains eagerly 

sought for. In May also, strenuous efforts are made to have the 

peat-cutting completed, and the drying of this ' classic' fuel 

commenced. 

Autumn brings the crofter's most anxious and busy time. 

Up with the August sun and the morning lark, he sets forth to 

*A gathering of crofters to give a day's work to one of their number 

who, for some reason, is behind with his croft work.

io8 


mow the hay. The fragrance of the new-mown hay and the hum 

of the bumble bee make winnowing a pleasant task for the household. 

On the completion of haymaking, the scythes are again 

sharpened, and soon the corn stands safely in the stackyard. By 

the time the potato crop has been lifted and pitted, the chill of 

November has come into the glens, but the crofter can joyfully 

survey the fruits of his labour, and feel safe for the coming bleak 

days. 

Here, amid the hills he loves, where every knoll has its 

associations dear for him, he can find satisfactions for heart and 

mind which the prairie lands of Canada cannot give him. It is 

not the decrepit aged, nor the timorous young, who choose to 

remain in the land of " the Bens, the Glens, and the Heroes." 

They are c 

hefty ' lads all, as swift and agile in a game of shinty as 

their fathers who have passed to rest, and as full of the same adventurous 

spirit. Voluntary emigration is right, and ought to be 

supported, but lives there a Highlander so devoid of love for his 

native land that he would give his assent to, and support reckless 

schemes of emigration which would soon result in the extinction 

of the Celtic race, that race from which have been drawn such 

splendid types of British manhood and womanhood. 

Bardachd Spioradail na Gaidhealtachd. 

LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH DOMHNALL MAC GILL'EATHAIN, 

OIL-THIGH EAGLAIS SHAOR NA H-ALBA, AN DUN-EIDEANN. 

BHO làithean Chaluim Chille gus an là an dè, b' àbhaist do 

chuid shònruichte de Ghàidheil a bhi ag cur an cèill ann am 

bàrdachd an creidimh agus am faireachaidhean mu thimchioll 

nithean mòra Dhè, agus b'àbhaist do chuid eile a bhi air an 

àrach air a bhàrdachd so mar le smior agus le saill, agus bu lèir a 1 

bhuil air an còmhradh is an caithe-beatha. 

B'e an chrìoch a bha aig na bàird 'san amharc a bhi a' teagasg 

an t-sluaigh, a chum gum biodh aca bealach ceart fo'n cois mar 

eilthirich ag iarraidh na dùthcha as fheàrr, a chum a bhi ag aotromachadh 

deuchainnean an turuis, agus a bhi a' fosgladh dorus 

dochais do'n mhuinntir leòinte agus breòite. 

BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD. 

IO9 

As a' bhàrdachd so thug na Gàidheil an ceòl a bha aig a' 

chìbeir air a' bheinn, aig a' mharaiche air a' chuan, aig a bhantrach 

'na bròn, agus aig an fhògarach 'na aonaranachd. Le sòlasan na 

bàrdachd so dh' fhuadaich cuid dhiubh an cianalas am measg 

choilltean ùdlaidh Chanada agus mhachraichean farsuing Astràlia, 

ann am bràithreachas a chiùil:— 

" Ach m' anam fo gheilt no fo imcheist cha bhi, 

Oir an Dia tha mo mhuitighinn, cha dìobair e mi." 

B' i a' bhàrdachd a chleachd Alasdair Rothach mar mheadhor 

gu bhi a' teagasg a' Bhìobuill do mhuinntir Shrath Nàbhair, ionnas 

gun robh e aig a' chloinn air an teangaidh, agus 'na riaghailt 'nar. 

caithe-beatha:— 

" Ged tha mi gòrach, O Righ, treòraich, 

'S le brìgh t' fhocail dìon mi." 

Agus is ann mar so a dh' iarr " Donnchadh nam Pìos " dha 

fhèin agus do mhuinntir a dhùthcha an fhois air an robh iad ann 

am feum:— 

" Gun cuirinn an sin air chùl 

M' aobhar tùirse is m' ochanaìch." 

Is ann le mànran blàth a bhàrdachd a mhol an t-Ollamh urramach 

Seumas MacGriogair an soisgeul do fhògaraich a' dhùthcha 

air taobh thall a' chuain:— 

" Thoir sgeul do shlàinte, thoir fois do ghràidh dhoibh, 

Cuir feart do ghràsan 'nan dàil le buaidh." 

Am measg ùghdairean nan dàn spioradail gheibhear am bochd 

'sam beairteach, an sean 'san t-òg, an t-eòlach 'san t-aineolach. 

Gheibhear a' bhantrach 'na bothan falamh, a' tilgeil a h-uallaich 

Airsan a gheall fois a thoirt do'n dream a tha fo throm laallach- 

B' ann bho a fèin-fhiosrachadh air sin a sheinn " Bean Torra 

Dhamh, bho chùl nam beann am Bàideanach:— 

" 'Nuair is trioblaidich' a' chual duit 

Amhairc suas ri Triath nam feartan." 

Nach b' aoibhneach's nach bu bhinn a sheinn Mrs. Camshron, 

Raineach, mu'n Chraoibh sin air a bheil an duilleach nach searg a 

chaoidh, 's a tha chum leigheas nan cinneach:—

JIO BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD. 

" Tha i brìoghmhor, 's mòr a mìlseachd anns gach linn is àl, 

'S gach eun tha glan am measg na coill', gheibh iad fo'n 

chraoibh so sgàil." 

Ann am binneas a chiùil agus teas a ghràidh, cha d' thàinig 

Pàdruig Grannd air dheireadh, a' moladh " Eifeachd fuil an 

Uain":— 

" Cha bhi a h-aon ann nach cuir ris a sheula 

Gur ann tha 'n èifeachd am fuil an Uain." 

Ach b'e am bàrd a thug barrachd air càch juile, Dùghall 

Bochannan. Mar thuirt Gàidheal cliùiteach, fòghluimte, is e a' 

labhairt mu'n charragh a chuireadh suas an Raineach mar chuimhneachan 

air an t-sàr bhàrd uasal so:—"An uair," ars' esan "a 

bhios a' chlach air crìonadh gu luaithre, tha mì an dòchas gum bi 

na Laoidhean aig Dùghall Bochannan a' toirt sòlais, misnich is 

rabhaidh do Ghàidheil anns gach ceàrn, mar thug iad cheana rè 

dheich agus.còig fichead bliadhna." Le eud a bha laiste le lasair 

gràidh, thug e earail is achmhasan, cuireadh is rabhadh d'a choluchd-dùthcha, 

ann an càinnt dheas agus shòlaimte, iad teicheadh 

gu achlaisean gràidh Fir-saoraidh, bho'n fheirg a tha ri teachd, 

is e ag cur an cèill dhoibh, am briathran a tha araon òirdhearc agus 

cudthromach, uamhasan do-labhairt a' Bhreitheanais, agus dubhbhròn 

an dorchadais iomallaich. 

Le mac-meanmna neo-chumanta thug e mòrachd an Uilechumhachdaich, 

òirdhearcas glòir an t-Slànuigheir, saoghal ag 

udal agus a' leaghadh às o dhian-fheirg Dhè, no luchd-dearmad a 

theagasgan air an sgiùrsadh's air am pianadh fo dhìteadh an coguis 

fèin ann an eu-dòchas bithbhuan—b' iad sin na nithean mòra a thug 

e fa chomhair inntinn an t-sluaigh, agus dhearg so orra mar nach d' 

rinn teagasg- bàird 'sam bith eile, roimhe no às a dhèidh. Is ann, 

cuideachd, fe deur a' ghràidh 'na shùil do mhuinntir a dhùthcha, a 

thug e dhoibh na seallaidhean uamhasach ud air corruich Dhè. 

Mar thuirt e fhèin le bàidh is le caomhalachd:— 

" Is beannaich an dàn so do gach neach 

Bheir èisdeachd dha le gràdh." 

Agus b' ionann a fhaireachadh an uair a bha a chridhe briste le 

cor èiginneach an t-sluaigh, an uair a bha e 'gam faicinn air là a' 

mhàil 

BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD. I I I 

" Gun chridh' aig na daoin' 

Bh' air Iomadh le h-aois, 

Le'n claigeannan maola truagh, 

Bhi seasamh ad chòir, 

Gun bhoineid 'nan dòrn, 

Ged tholladh gaoth reòt' an cluas." 

Tha gràdh ceudna a chridhe air fhaicinn 'na thagairt ris an 

òigridh iad srian a chur ri an toil, an uair a sheinn e:— 

" Se an gaisgeach esan a bheir fo chìs 

A thoil chum strìochd' do reusan ceart." 

Air chùl so, cò idir a b' fheàrr a dh' innis dhuinn cor saoghalta a 

h-uile a tha a' tarruing analach na esan, an uair a labhair e mar 

so:— 

" Tha smùdan fèin os ceann gach fòid, 

Is dòruinn ceangailt' ris gach math; 

Tha'n ròs a' fàs air drisean geur, 

'S an taic a chèil' tha 'mhil 'san gath." 

Am measg an cheud triùir de bhàird na Gàidhealtachd tha àite 

urramach aig Iain Moireasdan, " Gobha Na h-Earradh." Chithear 

e, le buadhan nàdurra thar mòran, le inntinn ealanta, agus le teanga 

fhileanta a' rannsachadh a chridhe agus a' sgrùdadh a àirnean; a' 

leigeil's a' togail, a' strì's^' streap, le a chreideamh gun mheang 

agus le a shùil gun sgleò, an tràth a tha e a' dòrtadh a mach a 

theagasgan fialaidh agus soilleir, le dòchas maith nan gràs, eadhon 

an uair a bha fear a ghràidh car tiota air chall air:— 

" Ged shèideadh stoirm is toirm ro bheur, 

'Cur chreag gu lèir 'nan smùr, 

Beithir's crith-thalmhainn gharbh le chèil', 

Le'n criothnaicht' slèibht'n o'n grunnd: 

Ged thigeadh teine a losgadh gheug, 

Gach lus's gach feur 'nan smùid, 

Chan fhaigh mi fois gu'n cluinn mi fèin, 

An guth o'n bheul 'tha ciùin." 

B'e sin a' bhàrdachd a chuir cumadh uasal air beatha na dh' 

fhalbh, a chum glan iad 'nan giùlan, agus a rinn an cridheachan 

fialaidh. Is ann mar sin a bha, ge b'e air bith mar tha a nis.

Ruairidh Mor. 

BY ALASDAIR ALPIN MACGREGOR. 

LOVED in times of* peace and dreaded in war as were many 

or" the chieftains of our Highland Clans in the olden days, 

comparatively speaking, few of them have made as much 

history as Ruairidh Mòr of Dunvegan. 

To a number of extraneous circumstances, as well as to his 

personal ability and prowess, was Ruairidh's pre-eminence due. In 

the first place, he lived at a transitional period in the history of the 

Highlands: in the second, he showed himself capable of dealing 

shrewdly and fearlessly with the innumerable problems that confronted 

his less resolute fellow-chieftains at a time when King 

James's Government sought to extend its control over the conduct 

of affairs in the Highlands and Islands generally. 

But, apart altogether from matters of public import, Ruairidh 

Mòr was a man of considerable culture and aesthetic taste. Over 

his predecessors he had an advantage in these respects in that he 

could write, earlier chiefs at Dunvegan having been unable even 

to sign their names, except "with my hand led at ye pene of ye 

notar." 

That Ruairidh was greatly esteemed by King James is proved 

by diverse documents contained in the Dunvegan Charter Chest. 

In 1613 he actually went to England, and received a knighthood 

at the King's hands. Three years later James gave him'a standing 

invitation " to coome oute of our Kingdome of Scotland and 

repaire to our Courte at aine time or times which he shal think 

conveniente: Provided alwise that he coome not at such time as 

he shal be by our Counsall of Scotland required to coome before 

them "—so favourable an impression had Rory Mòr made during 

his sojourn in England. 

Ruairidh's aesthetic proclivities are attested by the number of 

relics associated with him, and still preserved at Dunvegan Castle. 

Not the least interesting of these relics are his Drinking Cup and 

his Horn. 

The Drinking Cup is made out of a solid piece of oak, 

delicately embossed with silver, and upon a time studded with 

jewels. It stands on four little silver feet, and is ioè inches in

RUAIRIDH 

MOR. 

height. On the four panels of the rim is engraved in beautiful 

style an inscription that has been the subject of many readings, 

perhaps the most accurate and reliable of which is the following:— 

" Katherina ingen ui Neill uxor Johannis Meguighir 

principis de Firmanach me fieri fecit. Anno Domini 1493. 

Oculi omnium in te spectant Domine et tu das escam illorum 

in tempore opportuno." 

(Katherine, daughter of Neil, wife of John MacGuire, 

chief of Fermanagh, caused me to make this. In the year of 

our Lord 1493. The eyes of all wait upon Thee, O Lord: 

and Thou givest them their meat in due season.) 

Though Pennant, Johnson, and Boswell visited Dunvegan 

Castle during the eighteenth century, it is remarkable that not one 

cf them mentions having seen this celebrated Cup. I believe the 

earliest literary reference to it is to be found in The Lord of the 

Isles, where Sir Walter Scott speaks of the " mighty cup . . . erst 

owned by royal Somerled." In his explanatory note, however, 

Scott committed (innocently, no doubt) a number of errors that 

prove the extent to which he misinterpreted the inscription on 

this Cup, which, he tells us, was at one time the property of Neil 

Ghlune-dhubh, or Black-knee. The Cup, in point of feet, is 

frequently alluded to as the cup of Neil Glùn-dubh, who was King 

of Ulster during part of the tenth century, and who is regarded 

as having been the founder of the Irish family of O'Neill. 

That the Cup was once the property of the O'Neills is clearly 

borne out by at least two fairly reliable authorities. Gregory tells 

us that in 1595 Rory Mòr and Hugh MacDonald of Sleat went 

over to Ireland to assist some rebels against Queen Elizabeth, and 

that while there the former made friends with Shane O'Neill, who 

afterwards visited Dunvegan Castle and brought the Cup there 

with him. In support of Gregory's statement is a tradition in the 

O'Neill family—a tradition that only the other day was communicated 

by Lady O'Neill to my esteemed friend and helper, Canon 

Roderic MacLeod of MacLeod. 

T493 is actually the date on the Cup. Scott gives the date, 

993. Experts have declared the Cup to be a remarkably fine specimen 

of early Irish workmanship, probably belonging to the ninth 

or tenth century. It has been suggested that the rim may have 

been added in 1493, and that the inscription, therefore, refers to 

H

ii4 

RUAIRIDH MOR. 

that date. How the Cup found its way into the possession of the 

MacLeods of Dunvegan is uncertain, though it has been urged 

that during the military operations in northern Ireland in the 

sixteenth century (in which the Dunvegan MacLeods took a 

notable part), it may have been a reward tor services rendered, or 

a trophy of war. Herein we need not enter into the legends and 

remaining details of the Dunvegan Cup; but I would refer those 

interested to the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries 

(1912-13), where will be found a delightfully illustrated account 

of the Cup and of the traditions connected with it. 

With the Drinking Horn of Ruairidh Mòr many traditional 

tales are associated, one being that it was taken from the head of 

a wild bull, slain in the woods at Glen Elg by Malcolm, the third 

Chief. From this incident is said to have originated both the bull's 

head cabossed between two flags, which is the crest of the Mac 

Leods, and their device " Hold Fast!" According to another 

tradition anent the origin of the Horn, MacLeod had gone to 

Inveraray, where he discovered within a fenced arena a young man, 

whom Argyll had condemned to be gored to death by a bull. 

MacLeod remarked to Argyll that his victim was far too fine a 

fellow to be done to death in such a manner; but, to his pleadings 

that his life should be spared, Argyll replied that it was now too 

late. 

" Will you give him to me if I save him" asked MacLeod. 

" Yes, but you go to your death," retorted Argyll. Thereupon 

MacLeod sprang into the arena, and gripped the enraged 

bull by the horns.—"Hold Fast!" shrieked the auditorium, as 

MacLeod proceeded to lodge his sgian-dubh in the bull's heart 

and to lop or one of its horns. 

And I am informed that to this day there resides at Dunvegan 

a family of Campbells claiming descent from the young man 

whom MacLeod rescued so valiantly. 

The Horn is a large ox horn, rimmed with a deep, silver band 

on which is engraved a familiar Celtic interlacing pattern. In 

ancient days every youngr heir, on succeeding to the chieftainship, 

was required to prove his worth by draining to the lees, and in a 

single gulp, the brimful Horn; but in more temperate times this 

ordeal was mitigated considerably by the insertion within the Horn 

of a wooden lining. 

To-day the bumpering of Ruairidh Mòr's Horn is entirely 

discontinued. 

Feill. 

LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH CALUM MACGILL'INNEIN, 

DUN-El DEANN. 

A 

BHEIL fèill air a' Ghàidheal Chan 'eil teagamh nach 'eil 

fèill air an di asda's a rithisd, ach is ann an uair a tha an 

Crùn ann an cunnart. Chan e a mhàin gun do sheas e 

còraichean a' Chrùin o chionn iomadh linn, mar nach do rinn 

tear eile, ach is e a choisinn cuid dhe na neamhnaidean as luachmhoire 

a tha a' dèanamh Crùn Bhreatainn na's glòrmhoire na crùn 

eile air an t-saoghal. Tha a chliù is a euchdan air an sgrìobhadh 

an litrichean òir air feadh eachdraidh na rìoghachd. Bha, agus tha, 

fèill air a' Ghàidheal an uair a tha nàmhaid aig a' gheata, agus 

a chabhlach air sàl. Ach cò is urrainn a ràdh gu bheil fèill air 

uair air bith eile Ciamar a tha an Crùn a pàigheadh na comain 

Siubhail an t-Eilean Fada ach am faic thu. Bheir sgarbh agus 

faoileag an teachd-an-tìr a cladach na h-Earadh, agus is dòcha gum 

fasadh caora agus gobhar culach air a leacan, ach aig Dia thu fhios 

ciamar is urrainn daoine am beò a thoirt asda. Tha an Crùn 

deònach na ceudan mìle a chosg air roidean a bhios cho leathann 

ri croit-fhearainn a' Ghàidheil air son nan Gall, ach cha toir an 

sùilean fhèin a chreidsinn orra nach 'eil sgùd maith gu leoir 

air a' Chuan Sgithe. Ma ni an Gàidheal gearan air faradh no air 

fearann, nach e a theirear rium an comhairlean na rìoghachd, àrd is 

ìosal: " Tha fearann gu leoir an Canada agus an Astràilia, agus 

iasg gu leòir ri cladach Prince Rupert, 's nach toir thu a chomhairle 

air do luchd-dùthcha imrich a dhèanamh." "Imrich": 

sin am facal as fhaisge air an teangaidh. Chan 'eil guth air 

dùthchas, no idir air cho daor 's a cheannaich mo luchd-dùthcha 

air na neamhnaidean luachmhor a chuir iad an crùn Bhreatainn. 

" Dèan imrich. Fàg ar tìr agus do dhùthchas, agus dèan do 

thoil an tìr air bith eile, cho fada 's nach cuir thu dragh oirnne:" 

Sin mar a tha an Crùn a' pàigheadh na comain. 

A bheil fèill air a' Ghàidhlig 

Is dàna leam a ràdh gu bheil. Cò chanas gu bheil meas mor 

oirre 'n a tìr fhèin Fèill cho maith's a chunnaic mise oirre is 

ann is i air a h-aineol. Ach cha do chuir sin iongantas orm. 

Thug mi fhèin lethchrun air caoran mòna, is e air choigrich anns 

a' Bhaile mhòr, o chionn beagan bhliadhnachan. Bha uair is

u6 

FEILL. 

FEILL. 

thug h-Earach làn clèibh dhi gu mullach a' Chliseam air sia 

sgillinn: dà chliabh 'san là air tasdan, ged a bha mu mhìle eadar 

a thigh agus bonn na beinne. Chunnaic mi cruinneachadh gasda 

de Ghàidheil aig cèilidh an Winnipeg a' bhliadhna roimhe, ach 

bha moran a bharrachd anns an t-searmon Ghàidhlig a bha againn 

anns a' bhaile sin air an t-Sàbaid. Bha fèill mhaith oirre an 

Vancouver cuideachd an t-Sàbaid a bha mi ann. Ach cha chan 

a caraid gu bheil fèill mhòr oirre an Glaschu no an Dun-Eideann. 

Nach aithne dhuit feadhainn agus dh' ionnsaicheadh bloigh 

sgoileir a' Ghàidhlig o'n cuid Beurla, gidheadh, their iad riut gun 

do chaill iad a' Ghàidhlig. Ma chaill, is e nach robh mòran meas 

aca fhèin oirre, no mòran eanchainn gu a bhi 'ga glèidheadh. Is 

àill leo a bhi ag atharrais air luirgneach Lunnuinneach, na Beurla 

cheart a chur an achlais Gàidhlig ghlan am màthar, agus meas a 

chosnadh dhaibh fhèin o Ghall is o Ghàidheal. Cha bhi fèill a 

chaoidh air Gàidhlig fhad 's a tha a càirdean 'g a reic air " deich 

buinn fhichead airgid." 

Cha robh e riamh furasda dhomh a bhi air eadar-dhealachadh 

beachd ri mo sheana charaid caomh, Niall MacLeòid, am Bàrd 

Sgitheanach; ach is e mo mhòr bheachd gun atharraicheadh e an 

diugh sreath no dhà anns an dàn urramach a rinn e do'n Ghàidhlig: 

" Am Faigh a' Ghàidhlig Bàs" 

"Am fan sinn dìomhanach gun sùim, 

Is daoi 'g a cur gu bàs" 

An e dha-rìreadh daoi a tha 'ga cur gu bàs, no an e 

" Tha ciadan mìle dìleas duit, 

Nach dìobair thu's a' bhlàr." 

cairdean 

Tha fuaim binn aig an lethrann sin, ach tha eagal orm nach 'ei! 

ann ach bàrdachd. Chan e nach 'eil fhios agam gu bheil tuath is 

clèir is foghlumaich air feadh mo dhùthcha a tha dìleas agus treun 

air a cùl, agus tha mo bheannachd orra air a shon. Chan e nach 

'eil fhios agam gu bheil ' cath ' ghaisgeach anns na bailtean mòra, 

thall's a bhos, a tha a' seasamh dìleas air a taobh. Ach, a charaid, 

c' àite a bheil na ciadan mìle a thug am mionnan air an claidheamh 

"nach fhaigh a' Ghàidhlig bàs" An àite: "Dùisg suas, a 

Ghàidhlig, 's tog do ghuth," abramaid le fuaim na trombaide a 

dhùisgeas nam marbh: 

" Dùisg suas, a Ghàidheil, 's tog do ghuth, 

Na biodh ort geilt no sgàig." 

Tha am facal CELT tric gu leoir air ar bilean an diugh, ach 

chan 'eil mi cho cinnteach gu bheil fhios againn gu lèir air a 

bhrìgh. Tha amharus agam nach b'e na Ceiltich fhèin idir a thug an 

sloinneadh sin orra fhèin. Ma tha Holder ceart is e ' uachdaran,' 

' gaisgeach airm,' as ciall do'n fhacal, agus a chionn 's gur h-è, 

tha mise dhe'n bheachd gun d' fhuair iad an sloinneadh sin an 

toiseach bho na treubhan a chuir iad fo smachd. Chan 'eil 

teagamh nach d'thàinig am facal gu bhi ag ciallachadh, cuideachd, 

' duine uasal.' Buinidh an cliù sin fhathast do shliochd a' 

Ghàidheil—thug MacAmhlaidh fhèin an teist sin orra—agus bu 

leoir leinne gum mealadh iad an ainm's a bhrìgh. Ma nì iad sin, 

bidh an tuille fèille orra fhèin agus air a' Ghàidhlig. 

Highland Depopulation. 

BY REV. MURDO LAMONT, ROTHIEMURCHUS, STRATHSPEY. 

" Och ! mar thà mi, 's mi so 'nam ònar, 

A' dol troimh 'n choill far an robh mi eòlach, 

Nach fhaigh mi àite am fhearann dùthchais 

Ged phàidhinn crùn air son leud mo bhròige." 

Dr. MacLachlan, Rahoy. 

LET it be said at once that this is no narrow, political party 

question, such as may sometimes be agitated for ulterior 

ends: it is essentially patriotic, and but part of a momentous 

national problem which is exercising the anxious thought of 

our foremost statesmen, irrespective of party. Is it because the 

poets have sung so frequently and so passionately about it, that 

so many regard the call of the deserted glens as of mere sentimental 

interest, rather than as a matter of supremely urgent national 

importance It would be well if we could dismiss the subject so 

easily, but we cannot and dare not.

n8 

HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION. 

The evidence is yearly accumulating that modern civilisation 

is " becoming like a pyramid on its apex." Its healthy contact 

with the soil is attenuating more and more as the generations pass, 

so that true patriots in all vVestern nations are becoming perturbed. 

The latest Census taken in France, contrary to common opinion, 

shows a dimunition of the peasant population, and the same problem 

confronts the other European nations. Even in our own 

Colonies, and in the United States, the same tendency is manifest. 

There were, for example, twenty thousand vacant farms in the 

State of New York twenty years ago; there are now over thirty 

thousand. In both Australia and Canada the complaint is heard, 

and alarm prevails, that the cities grow at the expense of the 

country, endangering true national welfare and progress. In our 

own country leading journals, like the "Spectator," issue periodical 

warnings. 

What renders the matter more disturbing, is that healthy contact 

with the soil is essential to the well-being and continuity of 

every nation. In some countries, as in our own Highlands, it 

takes a good deal of pressure, of one kind or another, to draw 

people away from the land, but, once away from it, there is, in all 

cases, something in the very nature of things which makes it wellnigh 

impossible to renew the contact; so that there is grim truth 

in the classic poet's fable:—the giant son of Ge (the Earth), once 

separated from the soil, was soon deprived of the life that would 

have enabled him to restore contact. 

Thus was the fall of the Roman Empire hastened. The nation 

that became too urban to win its food from its own soil, became too 

feeble to induce other nations to feed it. Our rural population, 

even in the already almost depopulated Highlands, is yearly 

diminishing, while our rapidly increasing urban population is 

yearly becoming more discontented, in spite of doles and games— 

"panem et circenses !" Thus a recent newspaper article:—"Every 

year in Great Britain 200,000 boys become old enough to start 

their job in life. What happens to them in a country where there 

are still over a million unemployed To-day there are large 

numbers of boys living with parents who can ill afford to keep 

them, in danger of becoming idlers and wastrels, not through any 

fault of their own, but owing to conditions which do not give them 

r. fair chance of a decent career." 

It is more than half-a-century since Carlyle pictured the 

starving cities crying for bread, and the vacant acres crying, "Come 

HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION. 119 

and till us." A great statesman said recently, " I am one of those 

who believe that the salvation of this country depends on the 

restoration of the countryside, for the nation that has not got a 

live, vigorous countryside is ultimately doomed. We have 

ignored the countryside for generations in our mad pursuit of 

wealth and prosperity, but our apparent prosperity has been gained 

very largely at the expense of the vitality of our people." Another 

first-rank and far-seeing statesman, and of the Gaelic race, said not 

long ago that " more and more the towns, large and small, scattered 

up and down Great Britain, would look for recruitment year by 

year from the country districts for the maintenance, not only of 

their physical, but also of their intellectual and moral efficiency." 

But with this steady depletion of our Highland Glens, where, say 

in the case of Glasgow, are the precious supplies of fresh, clean 

blood and of high thought to come from 

Is it not time, then, that we were wakening up to realise the 

problem Brushing aside many fine-spun theories of economics, 

and closely scrutinising many views as to the uses to which our 

Highlands were meant to be put in the plan of Creation, should 

we not set ourselves to " exploring every avenue," so that every 

opportunity for wellbeing, and all the conditions of happy contentment, 

may be afforded to those of our Gaelic-speaking kinsmen 

who are willing to remain on their native soil 

The problem is admittedly a most difficult and complicated 

one, but, while the present writer does not for a moment presume 

to offer a full or final solution, he believes that our responsibility 

tor thinking and working out the best solution remains. Among 

the remedies suggested, one of the most popular is that of 

emigration, but this must be ruled out as inadequate, because our 

Colonies are not willing to accept the type of emigrant we can afford 

to offer, and ask for the very men most needed at home. The fact 

is, in so far as wisely regulated emigration is beneficial for the home 

country and the Colonies, we are killing it by allowing the depopulation 

of the glens whence the successful colonists went forth. 

We are exporting the seed instead of sowing it, and so have no 

harvest—the old story of killing the goose that laid the golden 

eggs! 

" Back to the land " is naturally the next suggestion, but here 

we are met by the same difficulty as is experienced in our Colonies. 

The men who will succeed on the land are the men who have been 

brought up on it. The descent from country to city is easy; the

120 

HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION. 

f 

HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION. 12 1 

climb back is almost impossible. The man with flabby muscles, 

trained to a mechanical time-table, with a thirst for city amusements 

incompatible with farm life, is greatly handicapped. " I am 

sorry," said a Canadian farmer to a Glasgow boy, " but you must 

work better, or I cannot afford to keep you." In a few minutes, 

the boy was carried fainting from the field. As an efficient remedy, 

the cry " Back to the land " is far from being enough. It may 

produce officials and " training centres " and faddists, but not a 

healthy, successful peasantry. Something like a true solution may 

lie in the direction of checking the townward drift by such a land 

policy as will enable the true sons of the soil to remain on it. 

That there is a Highland land hunger " enables us to see at 

least one bright spot in a gloomy situation. This land hunger, 

at least within the Highland area, is fully attested by statistics given 

recently by " Eoin " in the " Scots Observer." He says:—"That 

Highlanders are not urgent—but the reverse—to leave the Highlands, 

is proved by the figures set forth in the last annual report of 

the Board of Agriculture, and the comment by the Board itself on 

these figures is that the demand for land settlement shows no sign 

of abating, more applications being received than the Board can 

hope to satisfy under present conditions. The truth is that the 

desire for fixed and secure homes on the land is not weakening, 

but is growing with the years." Let there, then, be an inquiry into 

the obstacles. 

It has been objected that small holdings will not generally 

succeed without skilfully organised co-operation and a revival of 

Rural Industries. Without discounting the truth of this, (and on 

all grounds wishing the revival of Rural Industries every success), 

one may fairly reply that if those numerous applicants, the men 

on the spot, are willing to try, why should outsiders shake their 

heads and interfere! It is highly probable that Co-operation and 

Rural Industries would naturally follow a full and proper recccupation 

of the glens and straths, under the changed conditions 

looming ahead. The time has come when those who seek the 

removal of the causes of rural depopulation, whatever they may 

be, should demand a hearing, and when those who wish to settle 

on the land should be allowed to do so under conditions which no 

other interests would affect adversely. 

The details of a suitable scheme are being worked out by men 

who know what is required, and all barriers should be removed 

from their path. It might be necessary to make small cash advances 

for stock and building material, but the return would be such as 

silver and gold could not buy. The first practical step is to open 

up the Highland glens to the descendants of those who once 

occupied them—men in whose veins still runs the blood of those 

who went forth with high adventure from these same glens, to 

stand among the best soldiers and colonists and Empire-builders 

the world has ever seen. " Give us the land of our fathers," they 

say, "and it will be done again." 

Farewell of the Emigrant, Chomas 

Pattison). 

Farewell to the land where my childhood was passed, 

And to the sweet scene these dim clouds o'ercast; 

Farewell to its hills, and its dark rocky cave, 

Whose shelter is music when loud tempests rave. 

Thou fair green valley, sad parting to thee, 

Oh ! fill it, loud ocean, with wailing for me; 

And, winds, the bare copses that moaningly greet, 

Sad tone, ye wild singers, I ne'er shall forget. 

For, fast-sweeping breezes, and thou rushing stream, 

At this moment of parting, like old friends ye seem, 

As now for the last time the sound's in my ear 

That mov'd my young soul to a rapture so dear. 

Stoop down then, grey heaven—stoop down in thy gloom; 

And haste, coming tempest—haste over the tomb, 

Where slumber my fathers and kinsmen, and sigh 

As if mourning with me o'er the place where they lie. 

Oh ! land that my memory fills with delight, 

On whose soil strode those fathers before me in might, 

As I dreamed in my youth on thy green swelling breast 

That wraps their cold dust in its mantle of rest. 

Farewell now to all that embraces thy shore, 

Dear land of my race that I ne'er shall see more; 

Lands richer there may be before me than thine, 

But no other country can ever be mine.

THE RETURN OF THE EXILES. 

The Return of the Exiles. 

BY M. E. M. DONALDSON, 

Author of " Wanderings in the Western Highlands and Islands," 

" Islesmen of Bride," " Further Wanderings," etc., etc. 

WHAT can be more gracious in the Western Highlands— 

outside their native population—than an early morning 

in June Then the light of the infant day is soft and 

rosy, the sky smiles benignly upon a smooth sea, and the mountains 

are already aglow with the promise of royal splendour. 

It is with some such picture in his heart that 

the Scottish Gael may anticipate his home-coming in early 

summer, only to be welcomed back by deluges of relentless 

rain. Does this in any way damp the delight he expected 

to feel on his return from exile We shall see . . . 

Last year, a little before six in the morning, according to 

"Lloyd George's time" (as opposed to "God's time") I stepped 

out from the hotel on to the pier at Oban, to board the "Cygnet." 

The morning was steeped in gloom, for the rain was descending 

in a steady downpour, in a persistent determination so to continue 

without allowing itself any rest. Besides myself, there were 

straggling on board some few passengers unfortunate enough to 

be bound for the Isles that morning by the most comfortless and 

inhospitable of all the wretched service that reserves its best boats 

for tourist traffic. A few poor folk—obviously from Glasgow— 

a former or so, two other men, a young Englishman—the only one 

on the boat to have paid cabin fare for purely delusive cabin 

accommodation—these with myself made up the passenger roll. 

I took a seat under the bridge that is all the meagre shelter the 

upper deck affords, apart from the scant accommodation aft, 

obviously intended for the uninitiated payers of cabin fares. 

Sitting on the side of the boat, looking over to where Mull 

should be, not a trace of that island was visible through the dense 

curtain of the rain that, still pouring pitilessly down, pitted the 

sea with monotonous drops. Indeed, since no sign of land was to 

be seen in any direction, we might have been far out in midocean. 

It was in all respects save one—the knowledge that it was 

the homeland—a thoroughly miserable day on the most miserable 

of boats; cold as well as wet, extremely dull, and with no prospect 

of any improvement, but rather the reverse, throughout the long 

voyage. 1 was thus meditating when one of the men whom I had 

noticed on embarking, but had not been able to place, approached 

me. In the most natural manner possible, as though he sensed 

that in me he would find a fellow Gael who would heartily echo 

his sentiments, he spoke to me. Without any preliminaries, he 

said:— 

" Was it not the fine thing to be back again in this beautiful 

country" and here, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, he 

indicated the enveloping curtains of dense rain, and there was the 

love-light of home in his eyes as he spoke. 

I agreed with him heartily, and there came to my mind a few 

lines of Neil Munro's fine virile verse in " To Exiles ":— 

" We tread the miry road, the rain-drenched heather, 

We are the men, we battle, we endure! 

God's pity for you, exiles, in your weather, 

Of swooning winds, calm seas, and skies demure t* 5 

As I sat soaking there, and somewhat shivering, the enthusiastic 

Gael stood dripping beside me, perfectly indifferent to the rain, 

and went on:— 

"I was missing it all that terribly in America that was a 

dreadful country. After eight years, indeed, I could not be 

standing it any longer." 

Was not this fine fellow just such a one as Neil Munro 

apostrophised:—• 

" Are you not weary of your distant places, 

Far, far from Scotland of the mist and storm, 

In stagnant airs, the sunsmite on your faces, 

The days so long and warm 

When all around you lie the strange fields sleeping, 

The ghastly woods where no dear memories roam, 

Do not your sad hearts overseas come leaping 

To the highlands and lowlands of your Home" 

My companion continued:— 

" So here I was on my way back to Barra. Uch, there was 

nothing like all this "—and again he waved his arm—" in the 

United States—nothing at all, and it was for the mists I was 

wearying, and all the other beautiful things of the Islands."

124 THE RETURN OF THE EXILES. 

He went on to tell me that he had been earning good money in 

the States, but that this could not compensate him tor his dislike of 

Americans, their climate, and all their ways, including Prohibition, 

so that the call of Barra becoming more and more insistent, at 

last proved irresistible. At this point he went off to fetch the 

fellow-islander who was returning with him, and whom he wished 

to introduce to me. 

In his absence I dreamily analysed his eulogy of "typical 

West Highland weather," which is so commonly and so 

ignorantly execrated by the average Sasunnach tourist. These 

know nothing of the unique exhilaration that arises from tramping 

in the soft caressing rain of the Highlands. They are incapable 

of appreciating its refreshment: they do not realise that to rain 

and tempest are due those marvellous atmospheric effects which 

are the glory of the Highlands. Where else does nature make 

such lightning change from tears to laughter Is not the light 

and laughter of Highland scenery all the more exquisite because 

it has followed, with such marvellous rapidity, fresh and clean, 

upon fretfulness and weeping And is not one day of gloriously 

fine weather in the Highlands more than sufficient to wipe out 

all memory of any monotony of wet weather 

Here my interesting acquaintance returned with his friend, 

and the introduction made, and after we had shaken hands, I expressed 

my unfeigned pleasure in being able to welcome back 

fellow Gaels, more especially in face of a rising tide of emigration 

that was depleting Scotland of some of the best of her sons. They 

were, in fact, being driven out, often sorely against their will, by 

the force of circumstances that made life in the remote parts of 

the Highlands, and in the Isles, almost an impossibility. Was it 

not time for Scottish Gaels once more to stand shoulder to 

shoulder, uniting this time to demand for their country that serious 

consideration of her special problems which has, so far, been 

shirked Of what use is the propaganda of Gaelic if it be not 

allied with some sustained effort to stem the tide of emigration of 

those whose mother tongue is the Gaelic What will avail any 

success in the Gaelic movement if, in the glens of the Gael, the 

only sound left is the sough of the wind round the ruined and 

rotting homesteads of a vanished people So we talked, in perfect 

accord one with the other, till the boat drew into the bay of Kilchoan, 

and after the exchange of warm hand-clasps, the ferryboat 

bore me away from these two stalwart sons of Barra. 

The Red Deer. 

BY MAJOR JOHN Ross, F.S.A., (SCOT.) 

Editor of " The Book of the Red Deer." 

" Creag nan aighean 's nan damh siùbhlach, 

A' chreag ùrail, aighearach, ianach.'' 

IN this brief sketch of the Red Deer, it is altogether foreign to 

my intention to raise any question of a controversial nature regarding 

this beautful animal. It may have made a chapter in 

the economic history of this country, which gives rise to un 

happy thoughts in the mind of the Gael, but in the romantic 

history of the land of the mountain and the flood, the red deer 

makes an irresistible appeal to his imagination. I leave it to 

philosophers to reconcile this contradiction. In the trenches of 

Flanders, with the thought of home, just as the Australian would 

associate the Southern Cross, shining down on the' bush,' with the 

kangaroo, so the Gael would inevitably associate the Polar Star 

and the circling Plough, glittering over his native hills, with the 

red deer. 

Professor Watson writes:—" Among the Gaels of old, hunting 

was a recreation and something more: it served as a means of 

acquiring that individual dexterity and prowess of which they 

were always fond, and as a training for the sterner work of the 

battle-field. While the Gael was not singular in these respects, it 

is probably true that of all the Western peoples, they took most 

joy in this pastime, and that their literature, ancient and modern, 

was most strongly affected by it." Who can find words to describe 

the thrill the old poacher feels, as his adventures in silent corrie 

or by lonely tarn rise in memory! The deer has been from time 

immemorial the joy of the hunter and the choice theme of the 

bard. To every true Gael it is emblematic of his free, proud, 

energetic, Nature-loving race. It never fails to suggest to him 

the open spaces, with far horizons, and the silent majesty of Nature 

which gives him that great emotion called the feeling of the 

sublime. 

At one time the red deer were common all over the British 

Isles, both in England and Ireland, as well as in Scotland, but, as

120 

THE RED DEER. 

the population increased, they gradually retreated to the high hills 

and secluded spots that provided the shelter, food, and freedom 

they love so well. Their particular home is the Highlands of 

Scotland, especially the lofty bens and the deep corries northward 

from the Grampians, those ramparts that defied, the might of Rome, 

and behind whose barriers have been retained traditions and 

characteristics of race and language that have endowed our hills and 

valleys with world-wide fame. 

Deer of course, differ, like human beings, according to environment. 

The deer that are reared on the English parks, or that 

are carted for the chase on Exmoor, are " tame and domestic " 

compared with the noble animal which dwells in the mountain 

solitudes of Scotland. There it is found with the golden eagle, 

which builds his eyrie in the rugged crags and sometimes takes 

toll of the fawn; or with the wild cat, which is still to be seen in 

the hills, sharing with the wily fox his depredations on the smaller 

game. 

The red deer is one of the most graceful of animals. Keen of 

scent, swift of foot, and beautiful in form, it might well be taken 

as an object lesson in eugenics. The hind (the female deer) is 

undoubtedly one of the most interesting and beautiful creatures 

in the animal world, not even excepting her lord and master, the 

stag. If the terms " form divine " and " poetry of motion " can 

be applied to any creature, surely the hind has a claim upon them. 

In movement, whether walking, trotting, or galloping, her action 

is perfect. She is more alert in every sense than the stag, which 

is well aware of this, as, when accompanied by a bevy of anything 

up to fifteen hinds, he knows he can safely browse or rest,, when 

guarded by such trustworthy outposts. 

The hind is about a third less in weight than the male deer, 

which is called the stag, and has no antlers. They have only a 

single young one at a birth, and the new-born calves are speckled 

with white spots, which, however, gradually disappear by the time 

they are three months old. From the beginning of August till 

about the middle of September, the coat of the deer assumes that 

rich, glossy red which harmonises so closely with the surrounding 

autumn tints. As the winter advances, the red passes gradually 

into brown. For the first year—and the second also, if the 

calf is a male—the calf runs with its mother. In its third year 

the male calf develops antlers, and joins his own sex. At six or 

seven years, he is full-grown, and is then spoken of as a hart. 

THE RED DEER. I 27 

From that time till he is twelve years old, the stag is in his prime, 

and, with his ten, or twelve-pointed antlers he looks " every inch 

a king," and proves his right to the title, " Monarch of the Wild." 

When the stag becomes old, he is ousted by the younger and 

stronger stags, and wanders about alone in the wilds, suggesting 

something of the sadness felt at the sight of departed glory. The 

melancholy Jacques seems to have observed that the deer tribe 

was lacking in pity for their fellows who became disabled through 

age or other ills:—" To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 

that from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, did come to languish;" 

* * * * " Anon, a careless herd, full of the pasture, jumps along by 

him, and never stays to greet him." 

Standing on the skyline, or moving along the side of a mountain, 

perhaps near some foaming torrent, with lofty peaks all round, 

shooting up into the silent sky, and the rays of the sun lighting 

up his lithe and superb form, the red stag provides one of the 

grandest animated sights that nature can present. Not far off are 

a dozen or more hinds which belong to his 'seraglio,' and on whom 

he often relies for a warning that danger is imminent. 

A great deal has been written about the " challenge " of the 

stag in the mating season, when as Duncan Bàn sings:— 

" And no organ sends a roll so delightful to my soul 

As the branchy-crested race, when they quicken their proud pace, 

And bellow in the face of Beinn Dòrain." 

They do have their grim battles at that time, and fight furiously, 

but it is seldom to the death. After some preliminary roaring 

and a great clash of antlers, they push and thrust till the one or 

theôther feels he is having the worst of it, when with great agility 

he jumps clear, leaving the field to his rival. While the combat is 

proceeding, the vain " ladies of the harem " move about and feed 

with apparently entire indifference. 

Mention of these fights brings me to the interesting question 

as to the origin and the utility of the antlers. These are shed 

every year in the Spring, and grow again so rapidly that by the 

beginning of August they are again full size. Some antlers stop 

at four or five < points,' there being great variations in number, 

as well as in shape and size. A very good head may have only 

eight to ten points, the shape and symmetry of the antlers and tines, 

and the general set of the head being the important criteria.

128 THE RED DEER. 

Why does Nature show this apparent waste of time and material 

in growing, and then casting off these mighty antlers every season 

Darwin thought that antlers were developed mainly for the 

offensive in fighting, but it is known that the baid, or hummei 

stag is more than a match for his heavily antlered rival. My own 

opinion is that the antlers have persisted from primitive times as 

a defensive equipment, when the stag, by throwing back his head, 

could protect his neck and back against the sudden spring of the 

leopard, or similar beast of prey. 

In conclusion let me give briefly a human touch. " Where," 

writes Sir Iain Colquhoun in the " Book of the Red Deer," " will 

you find a companion and friend to equal the Highland stalker 

You have in him a man whose mind has felt the wonder of Nature 

in its ever-changing moods, and is untouched by the vulgarity of 

a commercial age, and who during the long winter evenings has 

found time to think things out for himself'' There is a similar 

thought from a writer in the " Times," who says:—" Everywhere 

you may go in the Highlands, it will always amaze you how deeply 

every labourer has thought out his life." 

"THE HOME OF THE RED DEER." 

O 

C 

Am Fiadh. 

LE SEUMAS MAC AN ROTHAICH. 

ait' am facas a' falbh air faiche, 

A' siubhal leacainn no 'g astar slèibh, 

5 Le 'bhian dearg maiseach, le 'sheang-chruth bras-mhear, 

Bu bhòidhche pearsa na mac an fhèidh 

A chuinnean fiata 'sa ghaoith, 's e dian-ruith 

Feadh thoman riabhach nan cian-bheann ceò; 

Le 'àrd uchd àluinn, le 'chabar cràcach, 

'S le 'eangaibh sàr-chlis an àm na tòir. 

Gur binn am chluasaibh an langan uaibhreach 

A thig o 'n ruadh-ghreigh o 'n chruachan àrd; 

Gur grinn air fuaran an eilid chuanta, 

*S a laogh mu 'n cuairt di ri luaineis bhàidh. 

Chunnaic mi 'n damh donn 

S na h èildean." 

V. R. RALFOUR-BROWNE

AM FIADH. 129 

An cluas gu clàisteachd, an sùil gu faicinn; 

An cinn 's an casan comh-ghrad gu lèir. 

B' i an obair uasal a bhi 'gan cuartach 

'S a' caitheamh luaidhe le buaidh 'nan dèidh." 

Gur tric a dh' èirich mi 'shiubhal slèibhe 

Roimh shoillse grèine, 's a rinn mo làmh 

An làn-damh nuallach a chur 'na thuaineal, 

'S a thoirt gu h-uallach o 'n fhuaran bhlàr. 

Ach, nis o 'n ghèill iad, mo neart's mo spèiread, 

'S nach dèan mi èirigh ach mail gu triall, 

Cha tog mi aonach le gadhar aotrom, 

'S cha dèan mi faobhach air sreud nam bian. 

The Study of Scottish Gaelic. 

By Professor JOHN FRASER, M % 

A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D., 

Professor of Celtic, Oxford University. 

A 

GREAT deal of enthusiasm and energy has been devoted 

for many years to the task of resuscitating the Gaelic lan 

guage in the Highlands, but little has been heard of the 

duty and necessity of preparing for the worst by studying the 

language while we still can do so. The latter is a much easier and 

more practicable task than the former. Whether Gaelic will be a 

dead language within a hundred years or not will depend in the 

main on factors which the most unwearied propaganda can do 

little to influence. A language cannot be kept alive simply by 

being made a subject of school instruction; any doubt on that 

point will be dispelled if one considers how few school children 

who have been taught French or German—languages which can 

be, and are, taught more easily and efficiently than Gaelic—can 

use those languages as a medium of conversation in later life. The 

only place where the future of a language can be secured is the 

home, and it is pretty evident that in most Highland homes sentiment 

is less powerful than the, as a rule unsuspected, pressure of 

social and economic realities. 

i

i30 

THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC. 


On the other hand every speaker or" Gaelic can help, directly 

or indirectly, and without compromising his own or his children's 

prospects, in preserving a record of Gaelic as a living language. 

There is a very general superstition that this sort of work must 

be left entirely to scholars who have been specially trained. It is, 

of course, true that, in the end, when the facts of a language have 

been collected, they can be arranged properly, and the correct inferences 

drawn from them, only by a man who has been taught 

how to do so. But for the collection of material very little 

training or instruction is necessary; and, at the same time, the 

collection of material calls for the collaboration of as many hands 

as possible. This, it appears to me, is a field in which the 

numerous Gaelic Societies up and down the country, as well as 

individual Gaelic speakers, could do very useful preliminary 

work, which would be of the utmost service to Celtic scholarship. 

The nature of linguistic investigations is not perhaps 

generally understood, and I venture to indicate in as few words as 

possible the method of dealing with one particular kind of problem. 

I shall take a concrete example, but the principles involved 

are of general application. 

A correspondent inquired recently whether the expression, 

bha iad air an òran a sheinn ''nuair a rainig sinn is, in point of syntax, 

more correct than, bha iad air an t-òran a sheinn, etc. To 

this question there can be no simple answer till we have defined 

the term " correct." If by this we mean " in accordance with 

earlier usage," then we can say at once that the former of the two 

sentences is the more correct. In saying so we make a statement 

about the history of the Gaelic language, viz., that at one period 

all native speakers said air an òran a sheinn. But a living language 

is constantly changing; innovations in pronunciation, morphology, 

and syntax are being constantly made. Some of them are at once 

suppressed, others are adopted and become part and parcel of the 

language. Every innovation is a " mistake," and remains one 

till it is adopted in general usage, and we can say that the development 

of every language consists in, so to speak, legalising an unending 

series of " mistakes." When, therefore, it is asked 

whether a particular syntactical construction, which is a departure 

from earlier usage, is correct, we must inquire whether it is in 

common and recognised use among native speakers. If it is, 

then it is correct. Naturally, the question whether it should be 

employed in formal literature is a question for the stylist; the 

business of the student of language is to ascertain the facts, not 

to make rules. 

Whether air an t-òran a sheinn is correct I cannot say, for I 

do not know whether the construction is in common use among 

good native speakers.* 

And that brings me to the object of this short article. There 

are innumerable questions like the above, concerning the Gaelic 

language, which cannot be answered for lack of knowledge of the 

facts. It is quite clear that the facts could be collected by any one. 

What is wanted is a certain amount of organisation, directed by a 

body which could count on the assistance of competent Gaelic 

speakers in all parts of the Gaelic-speaking area, and the distribution 

to the latter of a simple statement of the kind of information 

required. 

*The question 'What degree of " goodness " as a speaker of 

a language is necessary to constitute a norm ' is an interesting one, 

but cannot be discussed here. 

The Celtic Spirit. 

(WHAT IT MEANS TO A LOWLANDER.) 

BY WILLIAM POWER, 

Editor, " The Scots Observer." 

I 

HAVE often wondered what the Gael's very private opinion 

is of people who, like myself, have neither the Gaelic nor an 

authentic strain of Highland blood, but only what is called a 

" sympathetic interest" in the Highlands and in things Celtic. 

The Gael, of course, is too polite to tell me. But I cannot think 

that his opinion of me is very different from my own, and in 

making an appearance in a book of this kind I feel that I am an 

impostor, a humbug of the deepest dye. In extenuation I can 

only plead that I am not the slightest bit interested in grouse or 

deer or what is called " sport," that I am less interested in Highland 

fauna than in Highland scenery, and that I am interested in 

the scenery mainly because of the human life, the music, the

i3° 

THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH 

GAELIC. 

On the other hand every speaker of Gaelic can help, directly 

or indirectly, and without compromising his own or his children's 

prospects, in preserving a record of Gaelic as a living language. 

There is a very general superstition that this sort of work must 

be left entirely to scholars who have been specially trained. It is, 

of course, true that, in the end, when the facts of a language have 

been collected, they can be arranged properly, and the correct inferences 

drawn from them, only by a man who has been taught 

how to do so. But for the collection of material very little 

training or instruction is necessary; and, at the same time, the 

collection of material calls for the collaboration of as many hands 

as possible. This, it appears to me, is a field in which the 

numerous Gaelic Societies up and down the country, as well as 

individual Gaelic speakers, could do very useful preliminary 

work, which would be of the utmost service to Celtic scholarship. 

The nature of linguistic investigations is not perhaps 

generally understood, and I venture to indicate in as few words as 

possible the method of dealing with one particular kind of problem. 

I shall take a concrete example, but the principles involved 

are of general application. 

A correspondent inquired recently whether the expression, 

bha iad air an òran a sheinn 'nuair a ràinig sinn is, in point of syntax, 

more correct than, bha iad air an t-òran a sheinn, etc. To 

this question there can be no simple answer till we have defined 

the term " correct." If by this we mean " in accordance with 

earlier usage," then we can say at once that the former of the two 

sentences is the more correct. In saying so we make a statement 

about the history of the Gaelic language, viz., that at one period 

all native speakers said air an òran a sheinn. But a living language 

is constantly changing; innovations in pronunciation, morphology, 

and syntax are being constantly made. Some of them are at once 

suppressed, others are adopted and become part and parcel of the 

language. Every innovation is a " mistake," and remains one 

till it is adopted in general usage, and we can say that the development 

of every language consists in, so to speak, legalising an unending 

series of " mistakes." When, therefore, it is asked 

whether a particular syntactical construction, which is a departure 

from earlier usage, is correct, we must inquire whether it is in 

common and recognised use among native speakers. If it is, 

then it is correct. Naturally, the question whether it should be 

employed in formal literature is a question for the stylist; the 


business of the student of language is to ascertain the facts, not 

to make rules. 

Whether air an t-òran a sheinn is correct I cannot say, for I 

do not know whether the construction is in common use among 

good native speakers.* 

And that brings me to the object of this short article. There 

are innumerable questions like the above, concerning the Gaelic 

language, which cannot be answered for lack of knowledge of the 

facts. It is quite clear that the facts could be collected by any one. 

What is wanted is a certain amount of organisation, directed by a 

body which could count on the assistance of competent Gaelic 

speakers in all parts of the Gaelic-speaking area, and the distribution 

to the latter of a simple statement of the kind of information 

required. 

*The question c What degree of " goodness " as a speaker of 

a language is necessary to constitute a norm ' is an interesting one, 

but cannot be discussed here. 

The Celtic Spirit. 

(WHAT IT MEANS TO A LOWLANDER.) 

BY WILLIAM POWER, 

Editor, « The Scots Observer." 

T HAVE often wondered what the Gael's very private opinion 

± is of people who, like myself, have neither the Gaelic nor an 

authentic strain of Highland blood, but only what is called a 

" sympathetic interest " in the Highlands and in things Celtic. 

The Gael, of course, is too polite to tell me. But I cannot think 

that his opinion of me is very different from my own, and in 

making an appearance in a book of this kind I feel that I am an 

impostor, a humbug of the deepest dye. In extenuation I can 

only plead that I am not the slightest bit interested in grouse or 

deer or what is called « sport," that I am less interested in Highland 

fauna than in Highland scenery, and that I am interested in 

the scenery mainly because of the human life, the music, the

132 

THE 

CELTIC SPIRIT. 

literature, the legends, of which it is the background and very 

largely the inspiration. 

I believe strongly in the teaching of Gaelic, and in its use 

among the Highland people. "Why, then, have I not learned it 

myself That is a straight question, to which I will give a straight 

answer. When 1 was at the plastic age the cultural value of Gaelic 

was not recognised, and I did not know anyone who spoke Gaelic 

and could teach me. My environment was not Highland. Later, 

when I had acquired mental initiative, I was repelled by two things. 

One was my impression that the Gaelic literature of Scotland had 

been narrowed and spoiled by the spirit of Presbyterian evangelicalism; 

every poet I heard of seemed to be a writer of hymns or 

didactic verse. The other obstacle was the fantastic system of 

orthography, the real origin and reason of which no one has 

managed to make clear to me: had Gaelic a century or two ago 

been boldly phonetised on the Roman system, as Finnish was, it 

might have been the language of all Scotland to-day. I am a poor 

linguist: German very nearly beat me, and German is child's play 

compared to Gaelic. Every Gaelic speaker I met, also, said of 

every other Gaelic-speaker: " He doesn't know Gaelic." At 

times I wondered if anybody really knew it. 

Things have changed now, I believe. There are at least half 

a dozen Highlanders whose claim to know Gaelic is admitted by 

the Highlanders. The subject-matter of contemporary Gaelic 

literature has extended; the treasures of the pre-Presbyterian period 

are being unearthed: also, the key to Highland Gaelic may, with 

a little turning, unlock the richer store-house of Irish Gaelic. Old 

and stupid as I am, I would set myself even yet to the learning of 

the language, were a rational system of orthography adopted. 

And why should I have the slightest desire to load my lazy 

head with a language which many " sensible " people—some of 

them Highlanders, alas!—declare to be of no use whatever in 

modern life Why am I intensely interested in the activities of 

a Society which has for its primary aim the preservation of Gaelic 

among those who have the opportunity of oral instruction in their 

childhood 

Well, it began when I was about eight years old, with the 

reading of " Lord Ullin's Daughter," and a day excursion to 

Ardentinny and Loch Goil. That is not the Loch Goil of the 

poem, of course, but there was something about those dark, rugged 

mountains, with their fleeting, mysterious shadows, and that dark 

THE 

CELTIC SPIRIT. 

and stormy water, flecked with white waves, that at the same time 

explained the poem to me and deepened the mystery of its appeal. 

Then came the story of the Jacobite risings. The Highlanders 

had sacrificed themselves in a losing cause: they had fought for the 

Stuarts, the only interesting dynasty since the Angevins: they had 

defied the smug and beefy might of Hanoverian England. Then 

came walking tours in the Highlands, days of wonderful dreams 

amid cobalt hills and purple moors, and blue-dancing burns and 

lochs. How this wonderful beauty was enhanced—vocalised— 

humanised—by the little crofts, and the cows, and the women with 

soft voices and gentle eyes! The smell of peat-reek was an enchantment. 

And then, to my amazement, I learned that there were men to 

whom those crofts were a blot on the landscape, a useless impediment 

to the hunting and shooting which brought in big rents from 

English brewers and railway directors. I was puzzled and shocked. 

I read up the land history of the Highlands, and became aware of 

the depth of the tragedy we were allowing to be enacted at our 

doors. I read on, and discovered that it was part of a bigger 

tragedy, the tragedy of the Celtic races. Proud, valiant, dreamy, 

and chivalrous, they had once been masters of the whole West of 

Europe. 

Less sensitive and more business-like peoples had done them 

out of their possessions, and driven them to the barren shores of 

the Atlantic. And there, having lost nearly all else, they had 

found their soul. 

What that soul represents in the intellectual and spiritual 

history of Europe was first divined by critics like Renan and 

Matthew Arnold. They were derided as vain theorists, and " the 

Celtic Spirit " became a jest among smart young journalists. 

Nowadays we are discovering that, for lack of sufficient documentation, 

Renan and Arnold understated their case. The 

" Celtic Spirit " has become less capable than ever of separation or 

definition—for the simple reason that European literature, at 

its highest, is drenched with it. It envelops us like an atmosphere. 

Its golden track runs through all our history, from the beautiful 

names given by the old Celts to our hills and rivers, down to the 

beautiful poetry and prose that has been written by Irish authors 

during the last thirty years. 

In a recent play by the author of "Campbell of Kilmhor" there 

is a thrilling passage in which a vagrant poet describes the eerie 

'33

THE CELTIC SPIRIT. 

desolation of a Highland countryside emptied of its inhabitants, 

whose ghosts haunt every turn of the road. Though not Highland 

born, 1 have often experienced this sensation in the glens of 

Argyllshire and Inverness-shire. The landscape seemed mute, 

and worse than mute: the articulate soul had gone out of it. Its 

beauty had become a mockery and a sadness: the flying sunshine 

on the hillside seemed a lonely spirit, vainly seeking the responsive 

human element; and the wind in the glen was a plaintive cry. 

Spirits for a time, they say, haunt the graves or cenotaphs of 

the dead. But only for a time. "When the generations that 

remembered them in life have passed away, an empty solitude 

reigns. There are parts of the Highlands, once centres of active 

life, from which even legends and memories have departed. They 

have become as barren of human interest as the cliffs and gullies 

of Labrador. Is the whole of the Highlands to become like that 

If so, then that precious spiritual element which redeems our life 

from dull mechanical materialism is in danger of extinction. The 

Highlands were not the accidental repository of the Celtic Spirit, 

but its garden and seed-plot. The Highlander and the Highlands 

have an even closer complementary relation to each other than the 

words and music of a perfect song. The Highlands, the Highland 

people, and the Gaelic tongue: these are the essential, inseparable 

components of the Celtic spirit in Scotland. Keep them together, 

and the Celtic spirit survives. Separate them, and it will evaporate 

like some precious essence that only Nature can compound and 

distil. It is for that reason, and because of my spontaneous love 

for the Highlands and for Scotland, that I will do anything in my 

power to further the cause for which An Comunn stands. But 

if the salt hath lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted It is 

on the Highlanders themselves that the preservation of Gaelic 

culture depends. 

Na triùir mharbh as bòidhche air bith, leanabh beag, breac geal, 

is coileach-dubh. 

The three prettiest dead,—a little child, a salmon and a black-cock. 

Gaoth roimh 'n aiteamh, gaoth roimh tholl, is gaoth nan long a' 

dol fo sheòl,—na tri gaoithean a b'fhuaire a dh' fhairich Fionn riamh. 

Wind before thaw, wind through hole, wind of ship when hoisting 

sail,—the three coldest winds Fingal ever felt. 

Love's Last Request.. 

BY COLONEL JOHN MACGREGOR, 

Hon. Bard of Cian Gregor. 

ON the Braes of fair Balquhidder,* 

Braes of ever famed renown, 

When my mortal race has ended, 

Dig my grave and lay me down, 

That my dust at last may mingle 

With the sod that I have loved 

Through the changing moods of fortune, 

Or where'er my footsteps roved. 

Other loves have flourished, vanished, 

Leaving scarce a trace behind; 

Having lived their day, they faded 

Like a shade from off my mind: 

Far from so the love of country, 

Of the lakes and mountains blue, 

Which, the more the world I wandered, 

Only strong and stronger grew. 

On it spread no flimsy roses, 

Fresh and fragrant though they bloom, 

Since they're not the tribal emblems, 

That should grace my Highland tomb: 

Place instead some purple heather, 

Plant a sprig of stately pine, 

For they're both supremely loyal, 

And, by birthright, both are mine ! 

*As the first Bard of Cian Gregor since the resuscitation of 

the name of MacGregor by Act of Parliament in 1775, after a 

suppression that lasted nearly two centuries, the author of this 

poem has been granted a lair in the old, historic churchyard of 

Balquhidder, where Rob Roy is buried. The fact that his mother 

was a MacDonald explains the reference to the purple heather; 

while, of course, the pine is the emblem of the MacGregors.

THIC SONAS IS SLAINTE BHO THOILEACHASINNTINN. 

137 

Thig Sonas is Slainte bho Thoileachas-inntinn. 

LE ALASDAIR 

MACDHOMHNAILL, INBHIRNIS, (" GLEANNACH.") 

FAODAIDH e a bhi gun robh an seann sgeul so aig daoine 

glice na h-Aird'-an-Ear o shean ann an cànain eile; ach chuala 

mise i o chionn àireamh bhliadhnaichean air ais, ann an 

Gàidhlig ghrinn, ghleusda, am measg an t-seann sluaigh, anns a' 

ghleann 'san robh mi òg:— 

Anns na seann tìmeannan fada o chian, bha duine mòr an sud 

nach robh a' faighinn a shlàinte gu maith idir. Chuir e fios air 

lighiche an dèidh lighiche 'ga fhaicinn, ach cha robh sgil no eòlas 

aig neach seach neach dhiùbh, a bha a chum feuma do'n fhear 

nach robh slàn. 

Chuala e gun robh duine ann an dùthaich eile a bha ro sgilear 

agus glic a thaobh thinneasan agus iomadh trioblaid eile de na 

bhios a' leigeil àmhghair air clann-daoine. Chaidh e air thurus 

gun dàil, a dh' fhaotainn comhairle bho 'n duine ainmeil a bha an 

sud. 

Mu dheireadh fhuair e an duine air an robh e an tòir, agus 

dh' innis e dha gach puing mu dhèidhinn a thrioblaid. Cheasnaich 

an duine glic e gu min-eòlach mu a phàrantan, mu a aois, 

mu a chaitheadh-beatha, agus mu a chleachdaidhean gu lèir, agus 

air dha freagairt chiallach fhaotainn do gach ceist, is e a thubhairt 

e ris an duine a bha ag gearan:— 

" Is e a tha ort-sa trioblaid a tha glè iongantach, agus chan 

'eil leigheas air do shon ach a h-aon, agus is e sin gu faigh thu 

r'a caitheadh an lèine aig an fhear sin a their riut le uile fhirinn 

gu bheil e làn shàsuichte le a staid shaoghalta—fear a tha gun nì 

'sam bith ag cur dragha no bruaillein air, no a' toirt mi-thoileachaidh 

'sam bith dha, a là no dh' oidhche." 

Rinn e oidhirp agus oidhirp le 'uile dhìchill 'na dhùthaich 

fhèin air a leithid de dhuine fhaighinn's a chaidh a chomharachadh 

dha, ach cha do thachair aon neach ris, fad ùine mhòir, a 

b' urrainn a ràdh gun robh e idir làn-thoilichte le a staid-bheajtha 

'san t-saoghal. Bha nì air choir-eigin a dhìth air a h-uile fear 

ris an do chuir e a' cheist. 

Shiubhail e an sin dùthchannan eile air an aon ghnothach, gun 

a iarrtas a bhi air a shàsuchadh. Ach anns an tilleadh dhachaidh, 

chaidh innseadh dha gun robh aon duine anns a' choimhearsnachd 

a bha fo 'n ainm a bhi uile-thoilichte 'na bheatha gu h-iomlan. 

Rinn e air an duine so air ball. 'Nuair a thachair an dithis, 

thubhairt am fear a bha an tòir air slàinte ris an duine îr an d' 

fhuair e a nis eòlas:— 

" Tha mi a' tuigsinn," ars' esan, " gu bheil thusa làn-thoilichte 

le do chrannchur saoghalta,—gun nì ag cur mi-thaitneis, iomagain, 

no tuairgne 'na do rathad, a là no dh' oidhche." 

" Tha sin mar sin," fhreagair an duine, is e a' leigeil as a 

làimh na tuaighe leis an robh e a' bristeadh connaidh—" tha mi 

cho toilichte 'sa tha an là fada; chan 'eil fhios agam ciod e is ciall 

do a bhi mì-thoilichte." 

" Matà," arsa fear na h-easlainte, " a chum agus gu faigh 

mise mo shlàinte, a tha nis o chionn ùine mhòir a dhìth orm, tha 

e air innseadh dhomh le duine glic gu feum thu do lèine a thoirt 

dhomh, a chum mi fhèin 'ga caitheadh; agus ma gheibh mise an 

lèine agad-sa, agus mo shlàinte 'na cois, gu cinnteach ni mi duine 

beairteach dhìot-sa." 

" Gu dearbh, gheibheadh tusa sin, a dhuine chòir, le làn thoil, 

nam biodh a leithid de rud agam fhèin, ach a dh' innseadh na firinn 

duit, cha robh lèine riamh air mo chroit." 

Sud an fhreagairt a fhuair an duine mòr, agus is e a thubhairt 

e, " Seadh! seadh ! an ann mar so a tha Tha mi air aon bheachd 

co-dhiùbh—gur ann mar is lugha an t-seilbh, 'sann is aotruime 

an cridhe." 

Is fhearr am beumach beag leis a' bheannachd, na'm bonnach mòr 

leis a' mhallachd. 

The little bannock with a blessing is better than the big one with a 

curse. 

Am fear as fhaide 'chaidh o'n tigh, 's e an ceòl 'bu bhinne 'chuala 

e riamh, " Tiugainn dachaidh." 

To him that furthest did roam, the sweetest music he ever heard 

7vas, " Come Home."

THEN AND NOW. 139 

Then and Now. 

BY SHERIFF J. MACMASTER CAMPBELL, C.B.E., F.S.A. (SCOT ), 

Campbeltown. 

AWAY 

back in the early « Seventies "—seventy-two to be 

precise—my schoolmaster at Inverness asked me if I would 

be willing to go up for the winter months to assist his 

brother who was teacher at Findhorn Bridge. With youthful 

temerity I agreed to go, and some days before I took the fateful 

journey by Macgillivray's Mail-gig I foregathered with a companion, 

who expressed his surprise that I should make the adventure. 

On questioning him to find the reason for his objection, his 

answer was, "You're sure to learn Gaalic," for thus it was frequently 

pronounced in mid-Victorian Inverness. Andrew Fraser but voiced 

the prevailing attitude among the school boys of the town: they regarded 

Gaelic as something to escape from. I can recall how his 

surprise was increased when I told him that the opportunity of 

learning Gaelic (which during the succeeding four months was 

mine in full measure) was the more potent of the inducements 

about to impel me to brave the rigours of a winter in Strathdearn. 

My conversation with Andrew Fraser took place just one year 

after the institution of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, and, 

although the leaven of the new Society was already operating among 

our seniors, its influence had not reached the schools, and I should 

have viewed the language in the manner of my companions but 

for the fortunate circumstance that, while English was the language 

of our home, my father was a Sutherlander, and my mother 

a perfect speaker and writer of the Gaelic of her native Argyll. 

Since those far-off days, the Gaelic Society has, in its own 

well-defined way, done magnificent work in the rehabilitation of 

Gaelic, not alone in Inverness and the home country, but in every 

wide-flung land where Highlanders sojourn or reside. The 

Society became a leading contributor to the success of the movement 

instituted and personally conducted by Professor Blackie 

for the endowment of the Chair of Celtic in the University of 

Edinburgh. And it is appropriate to make the observation that 

the prime mover in the establishment of the Gaelic Society was 

Mr. William Mackay (now Dr. William Mackay), happily still 

with us, who for a period, too, filled with distinction the Presidentship 

of An Comunn. The cause of Gaelic culture is under many 

obligations to Dr. Mackay: his work on Urquhart and Glenmoriston 

occupies supreme position among the parochial histories 

of Scotland. 

Not many years after the Gaelic Society entered upon its 

mission, the feeling became articulate that, learned Society as it 

was, its appeal was to a constituency necessarily circumscribed, 

and there was call for a separate effort in the interest of Gaelic, 

which would not only intrigue the patriotic student, but would 

address itself as well to the general body of the people who continued 

to speak the language, and were presumably favourable to 

measures for its preservation. From time to time, schemes of 

varying kinds were discussed among those by whom Gadic was 

regarded as a pious trust, but it was not till 1891 that a definite 

course of action was agreed upon: and it was peculiarly appropriate 

that, while the first step in the Gaelic revival was taken at Inverness, 

the phase of the movement more distinctively popular was 

inaugurated at Oban, the town which bears the same relation to 

the Western Highlands that Inverness possesses in respect of the 

Highlands of the East. 

Since I " mind the biggin o't," and have been a member of 

the Executive from the commencement, I respond gladly to the 

invitation of the Editor, to write down some recollections of the 

early days of An Comunn, and to make note of some reflections 

born of the procession of successes which has rewarded its 

operations right down to its culminating triumph at the Oban Mòd 

of 1926. And, in thus making short survey of the career of An 

Comunn Gàidhealach, it is convenient to distinguish between the 

type of operations which has mainly engaged the Gaelic Society, 

and the method of action decided upon by An Comunn. 

In its earlier years the Gaelic Society did institute Competitions 

in Gael ic in the schools in the district around Inverness, but the 

unconcern for Gaelic which qualified the Education Act of 187: 

had reflexes which for many subsequent years marked the everyday 

language of the people as an intruder in the schools of the Highlands: 

and these competitions gradually faded away. It is really 

by the pathway of research and written (and subsequentlv 

published) communication that the Gaelic Society has pursued its 

distinguished course, whereas An Comunn set out to fulfil its 

mission by giving opportunity to the speakers and singers of

HO 

THEN AND NOW. 

Gaelic to engage in Annual Contests, concentrated for the first few 

years in the National Mòd, but forming after a while the pro 

gramme of a multiplication of Provincial Mods. 

In the passing of the years, An Comunn has added, and added 

with effect, other schemes to its original plan, but, while the competitions 

inaugurated by the Gaelic Society languished and ceased, 

the Mods, I take it, still continue the outstanding project of An 

Comunn Gàidhealach, growing annually in the weight of their 

service—National and Provincial Mods alike—to that cause which 

in these days makes such forceful appeal to all true Highlanders. 

Let me interpolate here the recollection that, during the first 

four years of An Comunn, the authorities of the Inverness Society 

were not quite certain that the movement was well and truly 

founded, and it was not till 1897 that An Comunn was successful 

in inducing the Gaels of Inverness to give sanctuary to the Annual 

Mòd, and the Inverness Mòd of that year was the fifth of 

the series. It is but fair to say, that it was the Gaelic Society of 

Glasgow which gave first aid to the group of Oban enthusiasts 

who, temerariously, sought to follow in the wake of 

their fellow-Celts of Wales. And of the Glasgow Society 

Executive particular mention should be made of the President and 

the Secretary of the time, Professor Magnus McLean and Mr. 

Malcolm Macfarlane. Likewise, acknowledgment must be made 

that since the Mod of 1897, Inverness has never wavered in its 

loyalty to An Comunn, and it is to Inverness we are indebted for 

that great singer, who combines, in an extraordinary degree, the 

Ossianic-like inspiration of the old Bards with the musical culture 

which pertains to modern method, these together giving Roderick 

MacLeod an influence on the emotions of the listening Gael which 

uge does not wither nor custom stale. 

In retrospect of the earlier Mods I recall that the Executive 

were frequently perturbed by the disappointments, frequently 

expressed by competitors, individual and collective. Not that we 

omitted the possible results of these disappointments from our 

calculation. We were aware that, except in athletics and pipe 

music, Highlanders were unaccustomed to competitive tests of 

skill, and, Highlanders ourselves, we had no delusions as to the 

chance that the disappointments of contestants in competitions of 

a literary and vocally musical sort might arrest the subsequent flow 

of competitors. But it is gratifying to record that, except in a 

few regrettable instances, the unhappiness which followed i1l- 

THEN AND NOW. 141 

success at one Mòd did not prevent the unsuccessful competitor 

from entering at the next. As Mòd has followed Mòd, indeed, 

the feeling of sportsmanship has developed from strength to 

strength, and this in itself is an achievement upon which An 

Comunn has good and sufficient cause to congratulate itself. I 

should like to say, too, that so far as my observations inform me, 

the same good feeling among competitors, which characterises the 

National Mòd, prevails also at the numerous Provincial Mods. 

A milestone in the career of An Comunn, the Fèill of 190" 

carried two, at least, notable consequences. It put the Association 

under perpetual obligation to Mrs. Burnley Campbell of Ormidale, 

to whose energies as Convener the success of the Fèill was large!} 

due. Then, the substantial amount which it yielded enabled An 

Comunn to employ a Secretary whose whole time should be devoted 

te the work. And to this latter circumstance is to be ascribed the 

very substantial increase in the number of the Branches. 

In association with successive Presidents, Mr. Neil Shaw has 

proved himself an excellent propagandist, and, in my judgment, 

the Branches which have materialised in course of his journeyings, 

constitute a department of An Comunn's activities which, for its 

value to the Cause for which An Comunn stands, cannot be over 

estimated. When the resources of An Comunn are enlarged by 

the results of the Great Fèill, Mr. Shaw should be enabled, through 

delegation of the office work, to keep in regular contact with the 

Branches, paying each of them at least one annual visit, and thus 

acquainting the remotest of the Branches with such new plans for 

promoting the movement as from time to time are evolved at 

Headquarters. 

I speak from experience of the work and influence of one of 

the Branches, when I say that the Branches of An Comunn have 

proved themselves of no small cultural and social value to the 

communities in whose midst they are to be found. And, with 

adequate liaison with the centre, certain advantages not hitherto 

experienced, might be expected to ensue, as well to the localities, 

as to the general movement. One immediate result would be the 

bracing up of the organisation of the Branches, and incidentally 

there would develop a closer intimacy with Headquarters. Then, 

contributions from the Branches to the Central Fund might be 

multiplied without discomfort, and occasional conference with the 

General Secretary could not fail to promote this financial improvement.

142 

THEN AND 

NOW. 

The circulation of "An Gàidheal " would speedily respond to 

the regular visitation of the Branches, for Mr. Shaw could be 

trusted to broadcast the merits of the Magazine, and to organise 

means for its delivery to subscribing Branch members. In respect 

of "An Gàidheal" itself I make two observations; the matter of it 

provides good, solid reading, but, literary medium as it is, for an 

Association with a broad, popular basis, the Magazine might with 

advantage provide alongside the more substantial matter such as 

now appears, articles and sketches—consonant always with the 

scheme of An Comunn—of a lighter variety. The Editor should 

be put in the position that he could invite contributions from 

writers of standing, in sympathy with the Gaelic Renaissance, and 

whose inspiration is in no small measure to be traced to the 

troubling of the waters which produced the Renaissance. The 

sequent improvement would produce a twofold result: but " An 

Gàidheal" would become a more effective auxiliary to the 

Gaelic Cause, and, its potential constituency becoming actual, the 

Magazine would be quickly transformed into a revenue producing 

department. 

After all, the fundamental mission of An Comunn is to maintain 

where it still persists, and where the language is approaching, 

or has approached, obsolescence, to revive, the knowledge and the 

use of Gaelic among the young people of Scottish Gaeldom. 

Without the statutory machinery of the Education Act of 1918, 

this task would have been insuperable, and it is common knowledge 

that it was the zeal and activity of the Executive of An Comunn 

during the period immediately preceding the passing of the Act, 

which influenced the Scottish Grand Committee to the enactment 

of the Gaelic Clause. My residence at the circumference prevented 

me from taking any share in the work, and I am thus free to offer 

tribute of admiration and gratitude to those ladies and gentlemen 

of the Executive, who, at a period of high crisis, performed such 

momentous service to their countrymen. Professor Watson, in 

particular, was distinguished for his untiring devotion to the work, 

and, though I dread the mention of names in case there may be 

unjust omissions, I must not refrain from telling how much Highlanders 

are indebted to these other active members of the 

Executive for their whole-hearted service to Gaelic Education in 

connection with the Bill of 1918, viz:—Mrs. Burnley Campbell, 

Mrs. Watson, Mr. Malcolm MacLeod, Rev. George MacKay, and 

Mr. John N. MacLeod. 

THEN AND 

NOW. 

Nor, on an occasion like this, ought An Comunn to forget the 

valued co-operation that was lent by the Church of Scotland, the 

U.F. Church, and the Free Church, and the Educational Institute 

of Scotland. Arid, having been furnished with the names of those 

of each of the Churches, and of the Institute, who were most intimately 

associated with the movement which fructified in the 

Gaelic Clause, I have pleasure in acknowledging the indebtedness 

of the Highlands to the late Right Rev. Dr. Russell of the Church 

of Scotland, Right Rev. Principal Martin, Rev. Dr. MacLennan 

of the U.F. Church, and Rev. Dr. Donald MacLean of the Free 

Church, together with Dr. Duncan MacGillivray, a good Highlander, 

and a former leader of the E.I.S. 

Occasionally, I know, there are expressions of disappointment 

that the Gaelic Clause has not yielded better results. Frankly I 

do not think there is the slightest reason for depression. Gaelic 

is now a subject of instruction in scores of Highland schools where, 

till 1919, it was a stranger; and if there be supineness on the part of 

any of the Authorities, it will be the business of An Comunn, when 

its sinews of war are strengthened, to inform any recalcitrants, by 

the methods most certain of effect, of their statutory duty, and of 

the consequences which will follow their persistence in the neglect 

of this duty. 

I do not possess detailed statistics to show the total number of 

pupils under instruction in Gaelic, but I can make useful reference 

to two leading cases. By the courtesy of the Headmasters of the 

Royal Academy of Inverness and of the High School of Oban, 

I am enabled to tell the exact number at the commencement of 

1927, on the Register of each Institution as Gaelic pupils. In the 

Royal Academy, the number is 25, and these, I gather, are all in the 

secondary department. The number is not large, but in estimating 

its quality, it must be remembered that the Academy is but one of 

a group of Higher Grade schools in Inverness-shire where 

Gaelic forms a subject of curriculum. To an Invernessian of 

my period, the number is really a gratifying one, for it is no 

exaggeration to say, that, sixty years ago, Chinese, for its presumed 

'counting-house' value, would have a stronger chance than Gaelic 

of a place in the Academy time-table. The Oban figures are, as 

would be expected, better. In the Primary Department (Senior 

Division) the number learning Gaelic is 59, and in the Secondary 

Department 51, or no in all. Be it expected that Inverness will 

seek to overtake Oban, and that all over the areas where Gaelic 

143

144 THEN AND NOW. 

survives, or merely lingers, parents will discover that their sons 

and daughters will grow up better and more highly cultured me>; 

and women for a knowledge of the language of their race. 

My allotted space but admits of the shortest allusion to the. 

distinguished service An Comunn has been privileged to perform 

in the direction of improved musical culture. The founders of 

the movement were, it may with modesty be said, wise in their 

calculation that Gaelic music was the vehicle of propaganda most 

certain of success; and a backward glance recalls the legion of those 

constrained to learn the language, the better to enable them to 

interpret the music. The activities of An Comunn, while employing 

Music as a means towards an end, have, in the process, 

advanced materially the interests of Musical Culture. Already 

there is in existence a band of distinguished concert singers, all of 

them past prize-winners at the National Mòd, and, when it is 

financially possible to offer musical scholarships to Gaelic-speaking 

youths, anticipation may fairly be entertained of a school of 

classical composition, inspired by the folk music of the Gael, not 

second, as it is, for beauty and expressivness to the folk music of 

any country in Europe. It is but fair to say that, during the most 

difficult period of the life of An Comunn, the department of music 

was under the direction of Rev. M. N. Munro, of Taynuilt, 

and much of the success which has attended the National Mods 

in course of his long convenership, which, ending in 1924, may 

justly be ascribed to his cultured supervision, and that constant 

urbanity which has gained for him the respect and esteem of troops 

of devoted friends. 

My closing observation is that, when An Comunn completes 

its re-organisation, it may find it practicable to associate itself with 

the beneficent operations towards the development of the Highlands 

of the Board of Agriculture and the Forestry Commission. 

The purposes of these authorities are closely germane to the purpose 

of An Comunn which projects the encouragement of home 

industries. 

PjTTKNI>R!GH 

The Assynt Maid's Lament. 

M-\CGII,F,IVR:\Y. 

Melody by N. T.

PARUIG MOR. 147 

Paruig Mor. 

BY WILLIAM D. LAMONT, M.A. (HONS.), 


SUNSET viewed from the western coast of Kintyre is a 

glorious sight. A gossamer veil is being drawn across the 

blue-grey Irish coast; beyond Gigha, the Paps of Jura stand 

cut against a reddening sky. By some curious whim of the wind, 

a wandering fragment of cloud has been transformed into a white 

wreath above Islay, and as the sun slowly sinks behind the island, 

it turns the wreath to a crown of gold. 

Somewhere over there, under that crown, Old Peter, or Paruig 

Mòr as the Islay folks call him, will be having supper with the 

boys. A wonderful fellow, Peter. He had the keenness and 

energy of the capable shepherd, balanced by the unworldliness of 

the mystic. What a wonderful attraction he possessed for everyone—especially 

for the youngsters! I had felt this from the 

beginning, but it was only on the last occasion I saw him that I 

began to understand. 

It was a blustering night, late in October. The memory of 

the events of that night begins with a vivid recollection of my 

stumbling clumsily across the moor, in what I hoped to be the 

direction of Peter's cottage. 

A glimmer of light from the window appeared once more, 

dispelling my fears, and I cut across in its direction; for, to tell the 

truth, I had begun to have some doubts as to my position. To 

find old Peter's cottage was not a simple matter on such a night 

as this, and by a shy and unobtrusive path which often retired 

modestly under the longish heather of the undulating moor. 

" Come in!" bawled Peter in answer to my knock, and I 

heard the scraping of chairs and stools, as the inmates prepared to 

inspect a new arrival. " Ah, Peter entertaining as usual," I 

thought; "the little beggars rally round the old idol even on a 

night like this." As I unlatched the door, the wind slammed it 

against the wall and set in violent motion the line of large coloured 

handkerchiefs with which the kitchen was usually decorated on 

Peter's washing day. Beneath the waving banners sat the old 

shepherd, surrounded by about half-a-dozen assorted boys. As 

* a friend of Peter,' I was tolerated by the laddies. They allowed 

me a place by the fire, and wee Angus Campbell, who had once got 

his eye blacked in defence of Peter's good name, kindly presented 

me with a bowl of tea and a scone. 

Peter and his boys.—The schoolmaster called him * Peter 

Pan,' and anyone with half an eye could see that the schoolmaster 

was right. Peter was over sixty, and almost baid; but he was 

straight as an arrow, and, when it came to the matter of a day on 

the hill, could hold his own with any young shepherd on the island. 

Most of the youngsters swore by him; they might lift their bonnets 

to the laird, but no one really counted as Peter did. 

To-night, a sense of deep satisfaction ruled in the breasts of 

the ' Peterians,' for the idol had granted certain favours, in his 

own cautious and discerning way. " Me and Andrew Calder has 

to go and see the dead stirk, up by the Green Loch," I was informed 

by Robert Macgregor, in a voice muffled by a large mouthful 

of treacle-scone. " Aye, to-morrow after the school," 

cautioned Peter, " if ye're no' wanted at home." Jamie and Angus 

Campbell drew mental pictures of the tremendous * fushes ' they 

were going to catch down at the Glenastle shore. Peter's rockfishing 

expeditions were highly popular events. The day's takings 

were not of much account as a rule, but that didn't matter. The 

adventure was the thing, and there was always a taste of romance 

about the proceedings. On that wild, rocky coast, it did not 

demand too great a stretch of imagination to turn yourself into a 

ship-wrecked sailor. The fire kindled on the rocks, for the purpose 

of boiling up the limpets used as bait, was just the thing to 

attract a rescue-ship; and, of course, the limpets weren't really 

for bait. There's nothing an unfortunate mariner likes better 

than a nicely cooked limpet for dinner. On one of these fishing 

expeditions, Angus Campbell's passion for thoroughness so overcame 

his prudence as to make him doff his shirt and tie it, as a 

distress signal, to a spare fishing-rod. But the day wasn't too 

warm, and poor wee Angus was greatly relieved to hear, from 

Peter, that castaways only resorted to such desperate expedients 

when their bonnets had been lost in the ship-wreck. So Peter's 

old double-peaked cap was substituted for the shirt, and Anûs 

began to look a trifle less blue about the nose.

148 PARUIG MOR. 

The hours flew past, in Peter's kitchen; and by the time the 

laddies had finished extracting promises from their hero, it seemed 

to me that, had he been addicted to the practice of noting his engagements, 

Peter's diary would be incapable of accommodating 

another pencil-mark for the next ten months. 

Someone spoke about the big trawler which had been dashed 

to pieces on the Mull of Oa, a few months previously, and from 

that Peter easily drifted into telling stories. If you haven't 

heard him, you must just take my word for it that Peter was the 

boy to make you lie back and dream dreams; or to make you sit 

forward, your eyes bulge, and your flesh creep,—as the mood took 

him. To-night he told about ' a strange light that used to appear 

at the Mull of Kintyre in stormy weather, when me and two 

Tarbert lads owned a herring-skiff and worked about Gigha and 

Kintyre,' and about ' some queer wee folk that used to be seen in 

the hills above Glencoe.' At last the old shepherd, with a glance 

out of the window, remarked that it was getting late. " Had you 

boys not better be getting home Your folks'll be getting anxious 

about ye on a night like this." 

" Och, no, Peter we'll manage fine. Tell us about the time 

j-ou and Duncan MacDonald was on the moor, and met himself." 

'* "Who's Himself" enquired the latest recruit to the privileged 

company of the Peterians; " Is't the laird That's no ." 

" W hisht, ye know nothing about it, Chicken," Jamie interrupted, 

" It wasna the laird Peter met. It was a Something." 

" Isn't it a bittie late to begin that one" said Peter; "ye've 

all heard it before, but the Chicken. Besides it's a wild night, and 

you and Angus has to go over the road by the Black Hill." 

" Ach, we don't mind. We're not frightened of Him," Jamie 

declared boldly, and Angus simply shivered in glorious anticipation 

of Peter's most creepy spell-binder. 

" Well," began Peter, " it was when me and Duncan Macdonald 

was keepers to this laird's father, 

" And that," concluded the shepherd, highly gratified with the 

impression made, " that was how me and Duncan put the spoke in 

the wheel of Himself. And now ye'll need to be off, boys It's, 

late."

NIGHT 

CLOUDS IN MULL. 

PARUIG MOR. 149 

HUGH 

NA GAIDHEAL AIG AN DACHAIDH. 

MUN RO- 

The boys had gone. We had left them down at the crossroads, 

and Peter ana I were strolling back to the cottage together. 

" Why do you fill their heads witft those tales, Peter," 1 asked, 

"especially tnat last one You've told me yourself that you've never 

seen a real ghost in your life, and the boys' minds are just being 

filled with superstitions. They go away believing these things, 

and, no matter who tries to tell them differently, they'll go on 

believing them, ' because Peter says so, and Peter knows.' " 

" Whisht, Mr. Grant, ye know nothing about it, as Jamie 

says;"— Peter's tone killed any sting the words might otherwise 

have held,—" Never you fear, I understand the boys. At the 

back of their minds they know that what I'm telling them is just 

tales. But I'm trying to tell them something else that I can't put 

into words. But I ken fine you know what it is, and so does the 

boys. And why for should 1 not tell them fancy tales"—his pace 

had quickened perceptibly,—" they'll learn other things quick 

enough. They'll learn that life on the island is hard, hard; and 

that if they want to make money they'd best stick in at their 

lessons and get a trade in Glasgow. Is that what I've to tell 

them" 

I felt a little surprised and embarrassed that my remarks had 

moved him so, but in a moment he was walking and talking in his 

normal calmly reflective manner: " I suppose you'll be wondering 

why an old man like me wants to fool away his time 

with these children Well, Mr. Grant," Peter's voice 

sounded as though his eye held a twinkle, " that's what 

Duncan Macdonald asked me about yourself. ' What for 

d'ye go stalking about the hills, blethering and wasting 

your time with that Edinburgh youngster, Peter,' says 

Duncan; 'is he learning ye how professors would shear a sheep 

by the latest rules of science' Ye see, Duncan doesn't understand, 

because he's always thinking about sheeps and stirks. I think 

about them too, but I think about other things as well: and unless 

the children gets to feel something about the hills, and the mists, 

and the island, that has nothing to do with the price of wool and 

the poor crops, they'll grow up hard-bitten and crabit like Duncan, 

or they'll go off to Glasgow and never come back. Of course, the 

lads—some of the clever ones—will go away. But I'm not cari tig 

about that, and I'm not wanting them to stop and struggle like us 

old folks has struggled. What I am caring about is that they'll 

want to put by' getting on ' for a whilie, forget that they're grown- 

Kind permission Mfl/Jr John Ross,

PARUIG 

MOR. 

PARUIG 

MOR. 

up, and just want to come back and wish they was boys again, 

listening to stories beside old Peter's fire."—I became conscious 

of Peter's hand on my shoulder,—"What is't you come here for, 

Mr. Grant, and what was't ye wanted to sleep out in the big Glen 

for, yon night You tell me that, and Pll tell you why the boys 

like the fancy stories, and why I like the telling of them." 

The sun has gone, the red sky taken on a darker hue, the outline 

of Jura has lost its distinctness; and slowly, land, sky, and sea 

have become merged in the uniform darkness which 1 

creeps after 

the sun.' Lighthouses and beacons flash and wink to each other. 

That bold fellow over there is a Rathlin man, and this up here a 

Gigha fisher-lass. There ought to be others.—Aye, there's a dim 

glow over there in the west, but you have to watch closely for it. 

That's one of the Islay lights, and somewhere behind that light, 

old Peter will be making his way home from the cross-roads. 

Old Peter, Peter Pan,—so unlearned and so wise. Does not 

the mantle of the great prophets and philosophers rest upon his 

shoulders Does he not possess that wisdom, without which 

learning is barren and lifeless And is he not expounding in his 

own way the ' word which quickeneth ' To stand apart and contemplate, 

not with fear, but with wonder, the might of the ocean, 

the mountain, and the storm, the passionless fury which can crush 

man and make desolate his habitation,—is not such contemplation 

possible only to a spirit against which pain, persecution, famine, 

peril, and blind fury hurl themselves in vain " External nature 

is not estimated as sublime, so far as exciting fear, but rather 

because it challenges our power to regard as small those things of 

which we are wont to be solicitous, and hence to regard its might 

as exercising over us and our personality no such rude dominion 

that we should bow down before it." So wrote the great German 

philosopher in whose veins flowed Scottish blood; and it is this 

sense of the Sublime in life (whose significance the philosopher was 

attempting to understand), which " Peter's boys " are learning to 

feel. Legends and tales, which have been born and nurtured as 

men sat round the hearth and camp-fire, are the natural result of 

man's instinctive longing to express his feelings of the Sublime; 

and to the falsely sophisticated rationalist who characterises those 

tales as * superstitious,' Peter's answer is direct, and not wholly 

wrong. Myth, legend, and fairy-tale are the only language in 

which the feeling of the Sublime can be expressed. That such 

language is still spoken, and that we still have, and always will have, 

those emotions which can be uttered only in such language, makes 

life worth living; and so long as there are Peters to tell, and Angus 

Campbells to listen, we can smile good-naturedly at the pessimist 

who avers that man has become the slave of created and uncreated 

Mechanism. 

A distinguished statesman, whom no one would think of as 

* dreamy ' or unpractical, although of Gaelic descent, said recently 

that he desired to suggest " that the time had come when the old 

stories, the old songs, the old customs, and the racial beliefs and 

floating traditions,—and dreams and visions, if they liked—of the 

past of the Gael should be collated and recorded, as precious 

heritages, worthy of being perpetuated as monuments of the human 

mind, dedicated not only to the past, but to a useful present, and a 

still more useful future." Of the educative value of legendary 

lore, and of the potently suggestive background it forms for the 

creative imagination there can be no doubt. Says Sir Arthur 

Machen, "The love of mystery and wonder is the sure foundation, 

the only foundation, of Art." 

" Of the educational value of the legendary and romantic element 

in the national history there can hardly be any question . . . Without a 

knowledge of the legend and romance of any nation, we cannot 

adequately apprehend the essential characteristics which distinguish it 

from every other."—Prof. P. Hume Brown, 

" Extremes may meet in the intellectual as certainly as in the moral 

world. I find, in tracing to its first beginnings the slowly accumulated 

magazine of facts and inferences which forms the stock in trade on 

which my mind carries on its work of speculation and exchange, that 

my greatest benefactors have been the philosophic Bacon and an ignorant 

old woman, who, of all the books ever written, was acquainted 

only with the Bible. As I look back on the comparatively brief space 

of twenty years of the past, I see the stream of tradition gradually 

lessening as it flows onward. It has often been a subject of regret to 

me that this oral tradition of the past, which I deem so interesting, 

should be thus suffered to be lost." 

Hugh Miller.—" Scenes and Legends of the North."

Message from Cornwall 

BY R. MORTON NANCE, Carbis Bay. 

Na h-Ailleagain's an Calman. 

LE AONGHAS MAC DHONNCHAIDH, 

CEANN-SUIDHE A' CHOMUINN GHAIDHEALACH. 

OUR deep sense of our own loss begets in us the fullest sympathy 

with your cause. I only wish that we had even a 

tiny village, full of Cornish speakers, here in Cornwall— 

all that we have is a number of names and words, two or three 

traditional phrases, and a memory of the numerals; a small spark 

from which to relight Cornish as a spoken language. I fear that 

for us it can never be the popular language again. 

I am myself of the opinion that the Celtic languages, like the 

handicrafts, must be kept alive somehow through this dismal 

mechanical age that refuses them sustenance. The time must 

come again when individuality will be sought for as much as it is 

now being crushed out, and the Celt then will have his part to 

play again. 

In Cornwall—though in nearly all our place-names, in 

hundreds of our dialect words, and in the intonation of West 

Cornwall speech, we have still the means of learning to read our 

Cornish literature as Cornishmen, and not as strangers—there 

are few in whom the Celtic spirit is strong enough to make them 

take up the task of re-learning their old language. ^ Our old 

Cornish Societies are seeking to preserve what remains of our 

" Cornishness," but they come late, and our message to you in 

Scotland, given in Cornish, is:—Gwitheugh ages tavas^ why gans 

ol ages nerth—" Keep your language with all your might." 

" Hand-labour on the earth, the work of the husbandman and of 

the shepherd;—to dress the earth and to keep the flocks of it—the first 

task of man, and the final one—the education always of noblest lawgivers, 

kings and teachers; the education of Moses, of David, of all 

the true strength of Rome, and all its tenderness; the pride of Cincinnatus, 

and the inspiration of Virgil. Hand-labour on the earth, 

and the harvest of it brought forth with singing:—not steam-piston 

labour on the earth, and the harvest of it brought forth with steamwhistling. 

You will have no prophet's voice accompanied by that 

shepherd's pipe." 

John Ruskin. 

A 

FHLORAG, tha an calman air bonn na h-uinneig!" bu 

chiad bristeadh facail do dh' Annaìg ri piuthair, is i a' 

suathadh a sùilean bho lèireadh a' chadail. 

Gu minig b'e so an fhàilt-maidne bhiodh eadar an dithis 

pheathraichean aig àm èirigh. 

" Ma thà, tha an tìde agam-sa a bhi air mo chois," fhreagair 

Flòrag, is i a' tilgeadh a h-aodach-leapa gu h-èasgaidh an dàrna 

taobh. 

B' iad an dà lurag an da-rìreadh. Ged bha bliadhna-gu-leth 

de dh' aois eatorra, cha mhòr nach canadh coigreach gun chuimse 

gum bu chàraid co-bhreith iad: bha an gnè, an cruth, 's an cumadh 

cho dlùth air an aon ruith. Bha iad fhathast ann am maoth na 

h-òige, le an gruagan donn-bhuidhe a' dannsadh ri solus na grèine 

mar bhogha-froise an làimh draoidh. Na fhuair iad de'n 

t-saoghal so—is cha robh sin ach cian ro ghoirid, ged bha e fada gu 

leoir leotha-san a bhiodh 'gam feitheamh thall—bha e buileach sona. 

Agus air daibh an luchd-gràidh air thalamh fhàgail, ma bhios duais 

an ionrai'c a rèir na fianuis, chuir iad gu beachd ri àireimh nan 

aingeal air taobh Arois de'n aiseag bhuan. 

Tha còinneach a nis a' fàs mu'n liath-lic air an do dh' fhadaidh 

Annag is Flòrag an teine-càisg mu dheireadh. Ach tha 

freumh nan dìthean de an tric a rinn iad paidreanan d'a chèile, le 

caoil nan dialtagan mar shnàithean-ceangail, ri fhaicinn air iomadh 

cluan d'am b' aithne comharradh an casan beaga. Oir, nach ann 

an sud a bhiodh leannain-shìth a' dèanamh falach-fead mun tigeadh 

ceann-dubh air a' ghealaich, is mireadh na h-àirigh gu a bhi ag cur 

mactalla às a chèill le cion cadail 

" Thàinig a' mhaduinn a steach gun fhios domh—agus duitse 

cuideachd," thuirt Flòrag mun d' rinn i ceart a sùilean. Oir 

bha ait thar tomhas aice air eagnadh nam facal a thuigsinn 's a 

labhairt. Chan fhacas riamh iad còmhla ach air làmhan a chèile, 

is fiamh trom a ghàire mar bhuaiìe-tàlaidh 'nan gnùis. 'S ann mar 

sud a chìteadh am falbh's an tighinn bho'n sgoil.

154 

NA H-AILLEAGAIN 's AN CALMAN. 

Bha an gluasad's an dol-a-mach cho sèimh, suairce, blàth's 

gun tug cuideigin "Na h-àilleagain 's an calman," mar ainm 

coibhneis orra. Oir ge b'e àite's am biodh iad bhiodh an calman 

leotha. 

Cha robh là ar n-iomraidh a' dèanamh suaicheantais às leth 

d'an taobh seach làithean eile. Co-dhiù, chaidh iad, mar a rinn 

iad iomadach maduinn eile, gu h-eallamh 'nan còmhdach-siubhail. 

Shuidh iad sìos, mar b' àbhaist, taobh ri taobh, aig bòrd tràthmaidne. 

Cha luaithe a shuidh na gheàrr an calman iteag bho'n 

uinneig, is laigh e air gualainn Annaig. 

" Tha fhios agam cò a dhùisg air thoiseach an diugh," thuirt 

am màthair, 's i a' toirt sùl air a' chalman. B'ann air a' mhodh so 

a bhiodh i a' tarruing asda, le cridhe a bha ag cur thairis le gràdh; 

oir cha d' thug tè seach tè diubh riamh dhi aobhar cronachaidh. 

" Mà! chan 'eil sibh crosda ri Flòraig" dh' fheòraich Annag 

le cùram. " Cuimhnichibh gur h-i Flòrag a dhùisg an toiseach. 

Bha mo shùilean-sa dùinte 'nuair a thionndaidh mi a mach às an 

leabaidh. Agus chunnaic an calman mi cuideachd." "Nach faca" 

thuirt i, is i a' togail a corraig ris. " Cuimhnich, chan abair mise 

* Gur-a-tù ' riut tuilleadh mur a h-innis thu'n fhìrinn." 

" Ach ciamar, eudail nan nighean, is urrainn do'n chalman sin 

innseadh duit" dh' fhaighnich a màthair le athadh smuain a thug 

leum air a cuisle. 

" O! 's math sin," fhreagair Annag air a socair, is i ag cur a 

dà bhois air oir a' bhùird. " S'ann le Dia a tha na calmain," lean 

i air adhart—le fuaim an dàin 'na guth. " Coimheadaibh anns na 

sùilean aige, is chì sibh dealbh neimh annta. Chunnaic mise 

Flòrag annta. Bha gùn geal, geal oirre, sìos fada, fada. Cha 

robh brògan idir oirre. Chan 'eil fhios agam c'àite an robh i a' 

seasamh; ach bha flùraichean, na's briagha na chunnaic sibh riamh 

idir, timchioll a casan. Bha paidrean dhìthean aice 'na làimh. 

Shaoil leam gun robh i a dol 'ga shìneadh domh 'nuair a thàinig 

aingeal—tha mi cinnteach gur e aingeal a bh' ann; oir bha crùn de 

rionnagan air a cheann—is thug e Flòrag air falbh anns na neòil. 

Mà! bha Miss Emma ag innseadh dhuinn anns an sgoil-Shàbaid, 

gur e an calman a thug Spiorad Dhè a dh' ionnsaigh Chriosda an 

uair a chaidh a bhaisteadh." 

"Mo bheannachd sìorruidh air do bhan-oide!" labhair a 

màthair, mar ri fèin, agus facail dhrùidhteach eile, fo a h-anail, 

air nach d' fhuaireas greim-aithris. 

Thionndaidh i a ceann air falbh. 

NA H-AILLEAGAIN 's AN CALMAN. 

*55 

" Mà! Mà!" dh' eigh Annag is i a' bualadh nam bois le toileachas. 

" Nach coimhead sibh an calman air gualainn Flòraig I 

Chan 'eil Dia crosda ri cloinn bhig a dh' innseas an fhìrinn. Theid 

an calman do'n sgoil còmhla ri Flòraig an diugh. A bheil an là an 

diugh fuar" dh' fhaighnich i car ealamh, is i ag glacadh a cinn 

eadar a dà làimh. 

" Beannaich mi! gu dè a tha thu a' faireachadh An e do 

cheann a tha goirt " thuirt a màthair, is i a nis air a cur mun cuairt; 

agus cha b' ann gun aobhar, oir bha fiabhrus gabhaltach 's a' 

choimhearsneachd. 

Tha mo cheann goirt; nach 'eil" fhreagair i, is a sùil air 

a' chalman a bha air spiris air gualainn a peathair a b'òige, is fuaim 

borbhain-tuinn 'na ghob. " Bidh tusa còmhla ri Flòrag tuilleadh. 

Mà, cha chreid mi nach 'eil mi tinn. Na cuiribh Flòrag do'n sgoil 

idir." 

Chaidh a màthair car 'na boile; ged bha i ag èisdeachd, thàinig 

lapadh air a h-inntinn air son tiota. Agus gus am faca i a pàisde 

ag atharrachadh nan dath, cha do thuig i gun robh an galar crait - 

each air tighinn a dh' ionnsaigh a tighe. 

" Cha bhi dad ort am màireach," thuirt a màthair le guth anns 

an robh misneachd nach robh i idir ag altrum. "Theid thu air ais 

do'n leabaidh; fuirichidh Flòrag às an sgoil còmhla riut, agus 

gheibh sinn an dotair 'san fheasgair." 

" Cha leighis an dotair sin idir mi," fhreagair Annag, is i a' 

sealltainn dian air falbh. " Na cuiribh a laighe fhathast mi. Tha 

mi air son na dìtheanan fhaicinn an diugh. Seallaidh mi do 

Fhlòraig ciamar a nì i paidrean." 

Bha i 'na tosd air son mionaid. 

" A mhàthair!" thòisich i a rithisd; cha dubhairt i am facal sc. 

riamh roimhe. " Carson nach bi feadhainn ag gabhail òran 's a' 

mhaduinn" 

"Dè chuir sin 'na do cheann, eudail" fhreagair a màthair, 

is i a' feitheamh an ath fhacail le eagal. 

" Nach aithne duibh an t-òran a bha Iain Ruairidh ag ionnsachadh 

do m' athair" 

" Co am fear diubh" arsa a màthair. 

" Caidil thusa, a luaidh!" 

" Chan urrainn mi an dràsda," thuirt a màthair, air son a cur 

seachad. 

" Canaidh Flòrag e, ma leigeas sibh leatha." 

" 'S mi-fhèin, eudail, a leigeas," fhreagair a màthair, ged bha

'56 NA H-AILLEAGAIN 5 S AN CALMAN. 

fios aice air an uamhas mulaid a bheireadh na facail d'a cridhe 'gan 

èisdeachd. 

Thòisich Flòrag gun iarraidh idir, is sheinn i an dà rann a 

leanas le guth cho tiamhaidh, gleusda agus gur gann nach toireadh 

i an dealt air an ròs ri aghaidh grian samhraidh: 

Caidil thusa, 'luaidh, 

Caidil thusa, 'luaidh; 

Caidil thusa, 'luaidh 

An ciste fhuair nan clàr. 

Cha bhi mise bhuat, 

Cha bhi mise bhuat; 

Cha bhi mise bhuat 

Ach car uair no dhà. 

Caidil thusa, 'luaidh. 

Stad i air ball; oir chunnaic i a màthair, is na deoir 'gan sileadh 

gu trom. 

Dè th' agaibh air Thàinig an galar gu ionad, agus an t-eug 

'na bhun. Thromaich am fiabhrus air Annaig; ach an ceann dà 

sheachduin dh' iarr i a togail mu choinneamh na h-uinneige. Bha 

a guth 'sa com air fannachadh. Chuireadh an sin air ais do'n leabaidh 

i; is thuit i ann an coltas cadail. 'Nuair a dh 5 fhosgail i a 

sùilean bha a h-athair 'sa màthair 'ga dur amharc. Shìn i làmh an 

urra dhaibh. Thug iad an aire d' a bilean ag gluasad, is chrom iad 

an cinn dlùth oirre, a dh' èisdeachd. " Tha mise a' dol dachaidh," 

thuirt i le saothair, ach gu sona, ciùin. " Cha bhi Flòrag fada." 

Mun d' thàinig mìos eile bha reilig air a fosgladh às ùr, agus 

chàradh Flòrag, le puinsean an aona ghalair, ri taobh na bha talmhaidh 

de a piuthair. 

Chan fhacas an calman riamh air ais aig an uinneig no air 

fàireadh eile. Ach an ceann na bliadhna, thug aobhar caoidh is 

cuimhne càraid do chladh Aisig; agus fhuair iad ann an sin an 

calman is e marbh eadar an ceap aig Annaig is Flòraig. 

" Chaochail i—mar ghuth na clàrsaich 

'N uair as drùidhtiche 's as mìlse; 

Chaochail i—mar sgeulachd àluinn 

Mun gann 'thòisichear r' a h-innseadh." 

Eoghann MacColla.

Sean Cheatharnaich Braighe Lochabair 

Iain Odhar. 

LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH D. A. CAIMBEUL, DROCHAID RUAIDH. 

" Is truagh an diugh nach beò an fheadhainn, 

Gun ann ach an ceò de'n bhuidhinn, 

Leis'm bu mhiannach glòir nan gadhar, 

Gun mheoghaìl, gun òl, gun bhruidhinn." 

THA mi glè chinnteach nach 'eil Abrach 'sam bith ann nach 

cuala uair-eigin aig na seann daoine naidheachd mu dhèidhinn 

laoich d' am b' ainm Iain Odhar, a bha a' tàmh anns a' 

Bhràighe ri àm Murt na Ceapaich. Bha a dhachaidh aig Iain ann 

an Gleann Ruaidh, air goirtean bòidheach, gorm, ris an abrar A' 

Bhriagach, far am faicear fhathast làrach an seòrsa tighe a bha aige. 

Beagan fodha, tha Abhainn Ruaidh i fhèin, far am faighear am 

bradan tàrr-gheal, a' bhànag sheòlta, 's an dubh-bhreac diùid, an 

uair a tha an abhainn air at leis an tuil, agus a' ruith's a' leum le 

cabhaig aig Boinne-an-Tàilleir, a' sguabadh seachad air Allt- 

Uilleim, an Stac-Buidhe, a' Chreag-Dhearg, is Dail-Bhuchaidh, a' 

taomadh eadar coille challtuinne is bruachan fheàrna, a' dannsadh 

aig Torran-na-Mòna ri ceòl nam bras-shruthan feargach; an sin a' 

tarruing air a rathad, le braise nach caisgear, a sìos gu Torran-nan- 

Ceap, is Linne-na-Nighinn, gu doimhneachd is sàmhchair 

Amhainn Spiothain. 

A nis, ged bha Iain a' fuireach ann an Gleann Ruaidh, an teismeadhon 

nan Dòmhnallach, 's e Caimbeulach a bh' ann, ach a rèir 

coltais, bha e fhèin agus Mac-Ic-Raonaill, mar bu tric, aig rèite 

agus a stigh air a chèile. 

Is iomadh naidheachd a bhios iad ag innseadh fhathast aig àm 

cèilidh anns a' Bhràighe mu dhèidhinn gaisgeachd is euchdan Iain 

Odhair. Bha e 'na shealgair treun agus cuimseach, 'na dhuine 

làidir agus calma, agus mar an ceudna, 's cha b' uilear dha sin, bha 

e gu math gleusda, seòlta is faicilleach. Ma bha teanntachd 'sam 

bith anns an tachradh do Iain a bhi, ag cur feuma air seòltachd, 

gu a bhi 'na shionnach cha robh a dhìth air an laoch ach an t-earball! 

B' esan a mharbh am madadh-allaidh a bha mu dheireadh anns 

a' Bhràighe. Fhuair e a' chiad sealladh dheth aig Achadh-a-

158 SEAN CHEATHARNAICH BRAIGHE LOCHABAIR IAIN ODHAR. 

Mhadaidh, lean e a lorg troimh Cho-Lairig, agus air Lòn-a'- 

Bhoicinn, ann an Inbhir-Kuaidh, chuir e an t-saighead ann is thug 

e am boicionn dheth air an lòn. 

Uair a bha 'n sud, thachair do dh* Iain gun do thuit e fhèin is 

Mac-Ic-Raonaill a mach air a chèile, agus bha an tòir air. Aig an 

dearbh àm so, cò a thàinig rathad na Ceapaich ach Sasunnach àraid, 

agus, anns na cuir a bha ann, chuir e geall ruithe air Mac-Ic- 

Raonaill. Bha Fear na Ceapaich 'na èiginn, ag gabhail beachd air 

an t-Sasunnach mhòr a bha a' ruith gu spaideil air ais's air adhart 

air Dail-nan- Ubhal. Ach, ged bha an tòir air Iain, cha robh e fad 

air falbh; bha e am falach an Coille-Innse. Thuig e gu math 

ciamar a bha cùisean, cheum e Spiothain, agus thòisich e fhèin is 

an Sasunnach mòr air an rèis. Bha an dàrna fear cho luath ris an 

fhear eile, ach, mu dheireadh, thug Iain buille le a uilinn mu'n 

chridhe do'n t-Sasunnach, ionnas gun do thuit e marbh air làrach 

nam bonn. " Mur 'eil mi air mo mhealladh," arsa Mac-Ic- 

Raonaill, " sud agaibh sàr leuman Iain Odhair." Rinn na daoine 

an rèite agus bha iad còirdte aon uair eile. 

Chan 'eil aon teagamh air nach ìobh Iain Odhar an treun a 

neirt aig àm Murt na Ceapaich, oir thàinig na murtairean 'ga ionnsaigh 

a dh' iarraidh a chuideachd is a chomhairle. " Cha tèid, cha 

tèid," fhreagair an sionnach; "ma chuireas mise mo làmh 'nar fuilse 

an diugh, cuiridh sibh-se bhur làmh 'nam fhuil-se am màireach." 

Ach ged nach deach e còmhla ris na murtairean, is iomadach 

murt a rinn e air a leth fhèin. B'e a bhràthair-cèile a' chiad duine 

anns an do chuir e a bhiodag, ach b' i a bhean, a bha cho fuilteach 

ris fhèin, a stuig e gu a bhi a' dèanamh sin. Air leabaidh a bhàis, 

theann e ris a' bhiodag a bha aige fo'n chluasaig a chur ann an 

duine a thàinig 'ga fhaicinn, ach faodar a bhi ag creidsinn gun robh 

e am breislich 'san àm sin. 

Nàmhaid cha robh riamh ann a thug buaidh air Iain ach an 

t-aon nàmhaid, agus, a rèir coltais, tha e a nis air a chàradh an 

Cill-a-Chaoraill. Aig mullach an fhrith-rathaid a tha a' fiaradh 

ri taobh Allt-a'-Mhuilinn gu ruig druim a' Mhàim, tha a chàrn 

'na sheasamh fhathast. Tha an laoch an sin, ma-tà, 'na throm 

chadal, còmhla ri Domhnall Mac Fhionnlaigh (a rinn * Oran na 

Comhachaig '), Iain Lom, agus iomadh gaisgeach eile a bha 'nan 

latha fhèin, mar thuirt Domhnall, " dòmhail, taiceil." 

Tha an damh donn a' bùirich fhathast an Coire Ruaidh, an 

sionnach ri saobhaidh am Beinn Iaruinn, a' mhaigheach 'ga grianadh 

fhèin am measg nan dearcag anns an Lag Odhar; tha Bealach- 

SEAN CHEATHARNAICH BRAIGHE LOCHABAIR IAIN ODHAR. I 59 

an-Ladhar 'na fheadan aig a' ghaoith thuath; Coire Bochàsgaidh 

a'leigeil a chudtruim air Breabaig, agus Casan a' Ghinne* a' 

tarruing nan coigreach a bhios a' rannsachadh iongantasan na 

cruinne, ach, ged b' eòlach Iain orra uile 'na latha fhèin, tha e an 

diugh ag; crìonadh an Clachan a' Bhràighe, air taobh thall a' Mhàim, 

gus an là 'san crathar na h-uaighean aosmhor, agus a liùbhras iad 

na fhuair iad. 

Shiubhail Iain Odhar, agus às a dhèidh, dh' fhàg e eachdraidh 

a ghnìomhan, agus cuide ri sin, eagal roimh ainm. Aig glomnaich 

na h-oidhche bidh na giullain 'ga fhaicinn, le ceann àrd, sùil 

fhaicillich, ceum aotrom; am bogha 'na dhòrn, a' bhiodag r'a 

chliathaich, is mialchu r'a shàil, 

'Se a' dìreadh a' ghlinne, an tòir às a dhèidh, 

No a' siubhal a' bhealaich air lorgan an fhèidh. 

*Casan a Ghlinne, The Gaelic name given in Lochaber to the Parallel 

Roads of Glen Roy. 

Shelling Girl's Song. 

BY DONALD A. MACKENZIE. 

OLITTLE brown boatie 

Out on the bay, 

The wind of the twilight 

Wafts you away, 

While longing and sighing, 

I watch from the brae, 

And the sky that was golden 

Turns silver and grey. 

A birdie comes singing 

And sweet is the song 

As nigh comes the night-time, 

Lonesome and long, 

For it sings of my true love, 

The wind wafts away 

In the little brown boatie 

Out on the bay.

THE DEPARTURE. 161 

The Departure (A Dream). 

BY MILLICENT, DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND. 

>~rlHE Light of the Star in the North—the orange streak of 

X dawn, the Sea like a winding sheet. Day, when 1 went 

away. 

The drums muffled, the melancholy chanter, tears unshed, tear:, 

restrained like gushing fountains frozen. I walked into a new life 

—morning blended into afternoon. I heard the rooks cawing, the 

wild starlings: over the bogs I walked, the moor bogs—over the 

heather, myrtle, stagshorn. 

I reached the road in the Strath; the muffled drums followed, 

the pipes, the whispers in voices, voices of each brother, sister, 

mother, father, all akin, and the hearts of children. Through the 

hearts of children I passed in silence. Then they spoke—all. 

As seagulls and cormorants scream, the silence screamed. 

" You are alone, dusty your march and far and wide you go. 

In your pack you carry love. Love of the crofter, of the cottar, of 

the wandering tinker: you are a gypsy of the world, but from the 

lone sheilings love envelops you as clear smoke: we stand for you 

like beacons blazing. No feet may follow yours—needs must you 

pass by shores forlorn. It is the law, succession, the Now of yesterday. 

All is not gold that glitters. Fare ye well, fare ye well. In 

our hearts planted, you are a tail Lily, in our hands a wallet of 

gold, round our necks an amulet, in our eyes the glint of a precious 

stone." 

" You may forget—aye—grow deaf, blind, pass from what is 

NOT to what is. You will live because we bless you. You passed 

over the bridge of the Curse, you called to us as playmates. Lo ! 

the bridge crumbled and on silver rays you walked. Your head 

was crowned, your heart enshrined. We saw the Shadow of your 

will—the will of Love. With your will you smoothed the Face 

of Silence, of Brooding.—You taught love: innocently you 

arraigned love." 

" From the topmost peaks, you threw us your name. You 

threw your name to the Eagle, the ptarmigan, the grouse, to the 

little singing bird,—a name clear on the moan of the wind, on the 

sigh of the breeze for ever. You go hence, but you never go. 

You pass, but you never pass. You are dumb, yet you never 

leave speaking." 

So they spoke to me. 

I stood in the Machar, against the great fire of sunrise: in the 

birchwood, in the rowan trees near the burns. Passed me the 

stags,—rose to me the silver trout,—under my feet, hither and 

thither, seeking shelter, ran the soft-eyed rabbit,—upon me fell 

the grateful shower. 

Their words came through loneliness: I shivered. I peered 

among the pebbles. « All is not gold that glitters." My fingers 

could not grasp. I lifted dust as agate, coal dust as onyx, seaweed 

as jade. I filled my weak hands, but not my heart, nor the pack 

upon my back. I am alone—always alone. 

The year changes. The New Year breaks. Tens of thousands 

of drums rumble in the valleys, in the townships, in the Burghs. 

The drums are no longer muffled,—the pipes skirl.—The bonnets 

are lifted—they come running, running: they come towards me. 

The wail of sorrow, the beil and the book is their doom; but 

they run with laughter filtered through vague fear. They run 

with laughter and bright courage. I run with them; they draw 

me into a vast crowd; each one, passing, touches my right hand. 

I am irradiated,—revived,—alive. Lifeless, I live,—a concourse 

around me. O ! tens of thousands, I go with you to war. 

I am the tenth-thousandth, the twentieth ! I am like an insect in a 

nest of ants. Yet, to the pale, dun doom of foreign lands I go with 

you. I pray, to the rustle of a million marching feet. I pray to 

the sunrise and the sunset of the much loved home: and I carry 

Love in my pack. I am one with your fate, your valour, your 

darkness, your death. You pray my prayer, you children of the 

rainbow in the North. Blown to atoms, you will be renewed. 

Over the fog on Scottish cities, in the pale air above the Highland 

mountains, eternally you live. I, your comrade, your Mother of 

experience. Ours is the Land Loyal. Ours the gleaming smile of 

hope. Never knowing age, you are the companions of all lovers, 

the companions of weeping women. By valiant deeds you are 

freed from the distress of the road. You impeached the hours, 

and cannot be harmed by Time. The sweetness of your memory 

is sweeter than the honey of the heather bee. I follow still, but my 

steps falter—and the young world comes leaping after. Whither 

Whither From birth we mingle with death. Dry your tears, 

pass through the mist of tears. Lower your cries at nightfall, 

spiritualize your songs at noon. 

Hush! Hush! 

The Countenance of God !

IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 1 63 

In our Parish—The King's Pensioner. 

BY REV. NORMAN MACLEAN, D.D. 

THE old man sat in a sunnag (straw chair) by the chimney 

corner in his new house, and we talked of the old, old days 

•—was it hundreds of years ago —before the war, and of the 

old house I knew and loved. His sons built the new house ere 

they scattered to the ends of the earth, but the old man's heart is 

in the old. In that old house you went in through the byre, where 

the cows softly chewed the eud, to the fire in the centre of the 

floor, beyond the 'hallan,' where fifteen could sit in a circle round 

the grìosach of red embers on the stones that never were cold. 

Twelve children the old man reared, strong and swift as deer, in 

that thatched house, and now some lie in graves with the legend 

—" Here lies an unknown British soldier." But he never complains: 

" It is not one man's sorrow," he says. For still he has 

an old saying for whatever befalls. I remember long ago a 

ragged, orphan boy coming in when the circle was full round the 

fire—there was no room for more. " Get a stool for Sammy," 

said Murdo, " and make room for him: ' Is mairg a bheireadh 

droch mheas air gille luideagach no loth pheallagach ' " (Foolish 

is the man who would despise a ragged boy or a shaggy filly.) 

Not long ago that boy came back from New Zealand, the captain 

of a great transport, and he came and sat beside Murdo and told 

him how he fought the submarines. " Did not I say," exclaimed 

Murdo, " that he would be a great man yet" And the captain 

told me that the most intelligent man he found in our parish, on 

his return after many years, was old Murdo. And Murdo can 

neither read nor write. 

I. 

After the new house was built the sons and daughters went 

far and wide to seek their fortune, and though they did not forget 

the old home, yet Murdo and his wife Mary had their difficult 

days. For each of the children had his own to provide for, and 

what they could spare got less. And with the passing years Murdo 

could no longer go to Peterhead to the fishing, and the summers, 

as he grew old, were no longer like the good, warm summers that 

were. But whatever loss or difficulty came, Murdo always said— 

"Never a door shuts but another opens," and so took heart again. 

At last a wonderful and undreamt-of door opened for Murdo and 

Mary, his wife—a door opening upon a land flowing with milk and 

honey. One day, marvel of marvels, he was told that if he went 

down to the schoolmaster, and answered a few questions on a bit 

of paper, he would get a pension—five shillings for himself and 

five for Mary every week until they died. It seemed too good to 

be true, but God was over all, and with Him nothing was too good 

to be true. So Murdo went down the steep brae, and along the road 

to the schoolmaster, who produced a big schedule with many questions 

that Murdo answered. He was 74 and Mary 71—never a 

doubt. He remembered the year of the great flood, and the year 

of the separation of the Churches, and the year the potatoes failed 

—never a doubt, and nobody doubted. Then came the question 

—" Were you ever in prison" 

" Me in prison!" cried Murdo; " it is insulting me you are, 

Master ." 

" It is not I who am asking," explained the schoolmaster, " it 

is this schedule." 

"Who put it in the schedule" asked Murdo, clenching his 

•fists. 

" The schedule is put out by an Act of the King's Parliament," 

explained the schoolmaster. 

" The King, blessed be he," cried Murdo, " would never ask 

an ill-mannered question like that of a man like me, who reared 

twelve children for him; I think better of him than that." 

And the schoolmaster explained how the King would never 

think of such a thing, and how some ill-bred politician or clerk 

put the question in, unknown to the King. So Murdo was 

pacified, and the schedule filled, and he signed it with a X, £ 

his 

mark.' In course of time, word was sent to Murdo that there were 

5s. for himself and 5s. for Mary in the Post Office, and that all 

"he had to do was to come and fetch it. And Murdo went down 

again and got the money, counting it over and over. " I never 

saw such shining money," said he; " will I get this every week" 

" Yes, every Friday," said the schoolmaster, who was postmaster 

and registrar and lawyer and letter-writer, for miles and miles. 

Afterwards Murdo described his feelings. " When I got that 

y 

money, said he, " bha mi 'nam cheò's nam bhreislich, ( I was 

like a man in a mist and in a dream), I could not believe it.

I 64 IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 

When I got home to Mary I handed her ios.—her own and my 

OWn—and I said to her, ' Mary,' says I ' this cannot last. Think 

of all the old people like lis in the three kingdoms—thousands 

and thousands—and each getting 5s. a week from the King. The 

King himself cannot stand that. God bless him, he will be ruined. 

I won't go back next week; it is no use.' But when Friday came 

again Mary says to me— < 

Go you, Murdo, again; have more faith 

in the good King, for who knows how much money he has got in 

his boxes' And I went, upon her word, and there it was again, 

and it has gone on ever since . . . only Mary has now gone home 

to the King Eternal. But what I said to her that second time was 

this—* The blessed King, I hope that he is keeping a little for 

himself.'" (An Rìgh beannaichte, tha mi 'n dòchas gu bheil e 

ag cumail beagain aige fèin.) 

II. 

That was ten years or so ago, and Murdo renewed his youth. 

He had his potatoes and his milk, and with a rod he could get 

fish, sitting on the rocks. " I am as well off as the King himself, 

blessings be on him," he would say. And as the folk along the 

braes grew old, Murdo kept a tally of their years, for he was 

anxious lest the King should be taken advantage of. For it 

seemed that everybody had suddenly got older. So Murdo kept 

a tally. The story he loves best to tell is that of lan Dubh (Black 

John)—who was still known as Dubh, though his hair was white. 

They met on that fateful year when the King opened his purse. 

lan Dubh was going to the hill for a creel of peats, and Murdo was 

going to the rocks to fish. And they stopped to talk, as people 

will, where time is not, and the summer evening far away. 

" Well, lan, said Murdo, " it is yourself that walks with the 

light step for so old a man." 

" Me old," exclaimed lan; " I am not old .... " 

" You are sixty-five if a day," said Murdo; " I remember wel! 

when you were born." 

" Sixty-five!" cried lan. " I am only sixty-one; it is myself 

who knows." 

" Sixty-one," says Murdo; " yes you are—and four more." 

The two men parted quicker than they thought they would. 

But up thè hill lan Dubh met Seòras an saoilear (George the 

student), and George told lan the news of the new law the King 

IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 

•65 

was making, and how everybody aged seventy was to get five 

shillings of a pension. 

The fishing was a failure, and Murdo, on his way back with 

one rock-fish, met lan Dubh again, now returning with his creel 

on his back, full of peats. Murdo tells the story thus:— 

"When he saw me he began to walk heavily like an old, old man 

very tired; and again we stood to pass the time of day." 

" Murdo," says he, " since I saw you I have been thinking." 

" You had much need to think of your age," says I. 

" It was just of that I was thinking," says he, " and I began 

to remember things. I remember when Donald, son of Ewen, 

son of Donald, son of lan, got married. That was sixty-six years 

ago if a day, and I must have been five to remember. I am now 

sure that I am seventy-one years of age " 

" You are not that," says I. " You are sixty-five, but not 

a day more. . . ." 

" But he got quite angry. An hour before he was angry because 

I said he was old, but that was nothing to his anger now, 

when I said he was young. I never knew a man grow old so 

quick. In the course of taking home one creel of peats, lan Dubh 

aged ten years!" 

" Did he get the pension at once" I asked. 

" Aye, that did he," said Murdo; " for lan Dubh—God rest 

him—was a man of quirks and twists. He was like an eel; you 

could get hold of him nowhere." 

" Are the folk still getting old fast" I asked Murdo the other 

day. 

" No," said he; " it is no use now. For they now turn up 

the registers that began to be written seventy-one years ago. 

Nobody can get the better of a register! It is a sore temptation removed 

from the path of godly folk. That was a wise move of 

the King long ago—that register. Nobody can take advantage 

of the King now—God keep him !" 

III. 

When the war came, Murdo walked the hills with a light foot, 

and cast his peats just as in his youth. And bordering on eighty 

years he went to Port-a-Rìgh and offered himself as a soldier. "I 

can see as good as ever," said he; "and I could shoot these hounds 

of Germans right enough." But he had to be content that his

106 IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 

sons and grandsons should fight and die. At last all the young 

men went, and nobody was left to repair the roof of the new house. 

So the old man got his ladder and tools ready, and climbed to the 

chimney head. But the ladder slipped and Murdo fell, breaking 

the brittle bones of age. As he lay on his bed he moaned—"That 

cursed Kaiser, I could not wish him in his latter end greater 

sufferings than I have had, and I owe them him. Were it not for 

that man of Belial, I would not have been on that roof." Everybody 

said Murdo would die; they counted up old men who broke 

their bones and died. But Murdo's spirit was unquenchable. "I 

must see the end of the war," said he. And he got crutches, and 

crawled at last to the door, and there gazed with a hungry look 

at the sea shimmering in the summer haze, and at the hills that 

stood sentinel all around. " What a beautiful world," said he; 

" the good God be praised." And he composed a song, wherein 

he set forth the glory of the meeting of day and night, and of the 

mingling of light and shadow. When the great victory came, he 

made another. " Fionn," said he, " never made war without a 

victorious peace; and the King, Heaven be praised, is Fionn come 

again." 

IV. 

The other day I sat beside Murdo at his door, gazing at a 

great splash of silver on the shadow-flecked Sound, while a sheep 

fleece lay softly above Dùn-Càn. 

" So the Master is away," said Murdo. " God rest him. 

Many a day he read me the news out of The Scotsman, and there 

was no word too difficult for him to put into the Gaelic. If they 

would only put a bit Gaelic in The Scotsman, I would get it myself, 

and my granddaughter would read it me, but some folk don't 

know the right thing to do. . . . The Master, well, it was only 

once I was angry with him, and that was when he asked me if I 

had ever been in prison, me that never broke a law, for, mark you, 

shooting a heather-hen (grouse) is no crime, for God only made 

and feeds them. . . . Aye, he was good at The Scotsman and 

the news." 

And I, taking up the task in my turn, began to tell Murdo the 

news. But the coal strikes had no interest for him. 

" Look at my peat stack—as dry as powder," said he. "What 

do I care about miners I never burnt a bit of coal in my house 

all my life." 

IN OUR PARISH THE KING'S PENSIONER. 167 

Then I remembered an odd bit of news in that day's paper. 

" You know about King Ferdinand of Bulgaria," said I, "and 

how he fought along with the Turks against us" 

" Well that," said he; " the old fox, and glad was I that he 

lost everything." 

" Long before the war," said I, " he placed ^500,000 in a 

bank in London that he might have money if his kingdom went 

against him." 

" The nasty quirker," exclaimed Murdo; " he is as great a liar 

as the rat is a thief." 

" Well, with all his scheming, he has lost this time," I rejoined. 

" The old cheat," said Murdo, " he was always tacking, and 

light would be the breeze that he couldn't sail with." 

" He made for the wrong port this time," I explained, " for 

the Law Lords in London have taken his money from him, and 

they are to hand it over to the King." 

"To King George," cried Murdo, brandishing his crutch; 

" how much did you say it was" 

" Half a million," I replied. 

" What a power of money," said Murdo, slowly; " and the 

King is to get it. Well, he deserves it; there never was such a 

King. What does the Holy Book say—' Blessed is he that considereth 

the poor.' He is indeed blessed." 

" There never was so blessed a thing as that pension," I said. 

"Aye," went on Murdo; "and he now gives me 7s. 6d. a week; 

but Mary is away . . . and the boll of meal I used to get for 

15s. now costs me 45s. If the blessed King only knew; but how 

should he know; it is the Queen, blessings on her, who will know 

the price of meal . . . and she has not had time to tell him yet." 

" It is very hard," I said. 

But Murdo suddenly brightened up. 

" The old fox's money ! Five hundred thousand pounds !" 

he exclaimed. "And the King is to get it. That is the best news 

I have heard for many a day. Who knows but the King will now 

be able to give us a little more, and yet leave a little for himself!"

The Canadian Boat Song. 

LISTEN to me, as when ye heard our father 

Sing long ago the songs of other shores; 

Listen to me, and then in chorus gather 

All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars; 

Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand; 

But we are exiles from our father's land. 

From the lone sheiling of the misty island 

Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas— 

. Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, 

And we in dreams behold the Hebrides. 

We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley. 

Where 'tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream, 

In arms around the patriarch banner rally, 

Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam. 

When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanish'd, 

Conquer'd the soil and fortified the keep, 

No seer foretold the children would be banish'd 

That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep. 

Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter! 

O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore:— 

The hearts that would have given their blood like water, 

Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar. 

Tir Nan Og. 

(The Land of the Ever-Young.) 

BY REV. NEIL Ross, M.A., B.D. 

LIKE all mortals the pagan Gael was confronted with the 

problem of " that undiscovered country trom whose bourne 

no traveller returns.'•" The solution which he offered was 

the congenial theory of 'Tìr nan Og,' the Land of the Ever-Young. 

"I he ancient remnants of his literature abound in allusions to a 

mystic country to which various names were given, the ' Plain 

of Happiness,' the ' Land of the Living,' the ' Island of Breasil.' 

So full was the old mythology of the beauty of that place, and so 

tenacious were the traditions regarding it, that the pioneers of the 

Spanish Main called the new continent Brazil, thinking that at 

last they had reached the fabled shores. And there may still be 

found on the Atlantic border of Scotland and of Ireland, a remnant 

who would not deny that some gifted seer, gazing westward, 

might trace the faint outline of the ( 

Isle of Bliss,' in the purple 

of the setting sun. The conception of the Elysium of the Gael 

is distinguished by an ethereal charm and fanciful atmosphere. 

The sterner facts of life are exchanged for the joy and brightness 

of wonderland. We are transported to a region of delight, where 

the mind is entertained at every turn ; where the figures that confront 

us are of marvellous beauty ; where the fierceness of passion 

is allayed, the sorrows of mortals dispelled, or their happiness intensified, 

according to the wish of the poet. The glamour of 

Tìr nan Og reveals the expansiveness of Gaelic fancy, to postulate 

a continuance of life in a world of beauty and felicity. The 

rehearsal of those pagan survivals was long a formative influence, 

moulding the conduct of life, and inspiring a generous code of 

honour. 

In the Book of Leinster there is an account of the departure 

to Tìr nan Og of Connla, the son of King Conn of the Hundred 

Battles. While father and son, together with the royal retinue, 

are on the hill of Usna, there appears to the young prince a 

beautiful maiden, who is invisible to all save himself alone. When 

he has enquired of her whence she comes the maiden answers:

TIR NAN OG. 

Maiden:—" I am come from the lands of the living, in which 

there is neither death nor sin nor strife ; we enjoy perpetual feasts 

without anxiety, and delightful fellowship without contention." 

When the king enquires who is it that speaks to his son, the 

maiden replies that she is nobly-born and immortal, and that she 

invites the young prince to Mag Mell, the Plain of' Happiness. 

Coran the druid, by the power of speil and incantation, succeeds 

in resisting the power of the invisible lady, but after the lapse 

of a month her voice is heard again: 

Maiden:—"It is nobly that Gonnla sits among transient, 

mortals, waiting for fearful death. But the immortal ones invite 

thee to be chief among the people of Tethra." 

When the king calls again for the druid to exert his power 

against the maiden, she further replies:— 

Maiden:—" O Conn of the Hundred Battles, druidism is not 

esteemed, for it has not attained to honour on the great Strand." 

The King, being anxious concerning his son, desires to know 

the attitude of the prince:— 

King:—" Has thy mind been moved by the lady's words, O 

Connla" 

: Connla:—" I am perplexed; for though I love my people 

above all, yet I entertain an affection for the lady." 

The maiden repeats her invitation to Connla:— 

Maiden:—"There is another country which it would be delightful 

to visit ; I see the bright sun going down, but though 

far away, we shall reach it before night comes ; it is a country that 

charms the soul of every one who accompanies me." 

"In answer to the lady's advice, Connla leaped suddenly from 

them until he was in the boat of glass (which the maiden had 

brought). They saw them in the distance, as far as the sight of 

their eyes could reach. They sailed on the sea away from the 

company, and have not since been seen, nor is it known whither 

they have gone." 

Probably the fullest presentation of the ancient Gaelic 

Elysium is contained in a seventh century poem entitled " The 

Voyage of Bran." The poem has been edited and translated by 

Kuno Meyer. A beautiful and mysterious lady appears one day 

in the court of King Bran, the son of Febal. She recites the 

praise of Tìr nan Og with such effect that the king is moved to 

set sail for those delectable shores. On the voyage he meets the 

sea-god, Manannan, who further relates the charms of the happy 

TIR NAN OG. 171 

Other-world. The features of the fair country itself are described 

in such words as these:— 

Splendours of every colour glisten 

Throughout the gentle-voiced plains ; 

Joy is known, ranked around music, 

In the southern plain of Silver-cloud. 

It Is a day of lasting weather 

That showers silver on the lands ; 

A pure white cliff on the range of the sea, 

Which from the sun receives its heat. 

A wood with blossoms and fruit, 

On which is the vine's veritable fragrance, 

A wood without decay, without defect, 

On which are leaves of golden hue. 

There will come happiness with health 

To the land against which laughter peals ; 

To the place of peace at every season 

Will come everlasting joy. 

In the ancient tale, " Serglige Conchulaind," the Sickbed of 

Cuchulainn, from the Book of the Dun Cow (published in 

Windisch's " Irische Texte " vol. I.), Fand, the forsaken wife of 

Manannan, the Gaelic Neptune, falls in love with Cuchulainn, 

and sends an embassy to the hero, inviting him to Tìr nan Og. 

Cuchulainn sends Laeg, his charioteer, that he may bring an account 

of the country, and the messenger returns with a glowing report 

of what he has seen:— 

" There wave by the eastern door 

Three crystal-crimson trees, 

Whence the warbling bird all day is heard 

On the wings of the perfumed breeze. 

And before the central door 

Is another, of gifts untold, 

All silvern-bright in the warm sunlight, 

Its branches gleam like gold."* 

*{Translation by Dr. Douglas Hyde).

172 TIR NAN OC. 

These old poems not only portray the appearance of that 

mystical country, but they also describe in choice language the 

enviable lot of its inhabitants. It is to be noted that the fragments 

have even a greater value than that of technical beauty, great 

as that is. They are a spontaneous expression of certain ideals of 

happiness ; and they are, therefore, significant as pointing out the 

trend of thought and the goal of conduct in the Gaelic pagan 

world:— 

The host race over the Plain of Sports, 

A beautiful game not feeble, 

In the variegated land over a mass of beauty, 

They look for neither decay nor death. 

Unknown is wailing or treachery 

In the familiar cultivated land ; 

There is nothing rough or harsh, 

But sweet music striking the ear. 

(Voyage of Bran.) 

The fair Etain, wife of the god Midir, is born as a mortal 

and is married to Eochaid Airem, High-king of Ireland. The 

god still loves his wife, appears before her as a young man of 

noble presence and splendid figure, and tries to lure her back to 

the Land of the Young. In these ancient remnants there are 

traces of consummate art, not only in the rhythm of the language 

and the aptness of the comparisons, but even in the subtle touch 

by which a mere reference to the appearance of the dwellers in 

Tìr nan Og is made to cast an imaginative halo on that desirable 

country:— 

O lady fair would'st thou come with me 

To the wondrous land where there is harmony; 

"Where the hair is as the blossom of the primrose, 

Where the tender body is as fair as snow. 

There shall be no grief nor sorrow; 

White are the teeth there, black are the eyebrows, 

A delight to the eye is the number of our host, 

And on every cheek is the hue of the foxglove. 

An eighteenth century Irish poet, Michael Comyn, has 

skilfully retouched this attractive subject in his Gaelic poem of 

TIR NAN OG. 173 

six hundred and thirty-six lines entitled, "Oisin an Tìr nan Og," 

Ossian in the Land of the Young. Niamh, the daughter of the 

god Manannan, sets her heart on a mortal lover, Ossian the son 

of Fionn. He accompanies her to the delightful land from which 

she came. When ages had passed (during which no inhabitant of 

that place grows old) a strong desire comes on Ossian to see once 

more the land of his birth. He is permitted to come back on 

condition that he does not dismount from his white horse, nor 

set foot on the soil of Erin. He rides through the country, marvelling 

at all the changes that have taken place in his absence. 

He observes a few workmen trying to raise a slab of stone on end. 

The task is too much for them. The rider, without dismounting, 

lends a helping hand. But here an unfortunate accident occurs, 

with dramatic results:— 

With the force of the very large flag 

The golden girth broke on the white steed, 

I came down full suddenly 

On the soles of my two feet on the lea. 

I lost the sight of my eyes, 

My form, my countenance, and my vigour ; 

I was an old man, poor and blind, 

Without strength or understanding or esteem. 

In the ancient poems bearing on the Gaelic Elysium one may 

observe the tendency to make the scene more concrete to the 

imagination by graphic pictures of locality. It is interesting to 

note that there is a definite geography of Tìr nan Og. We are 

introduced into lldathach the district of variegated colours, and 

into Imchiuin, the place of repose. We behold the far-extending 

cliff of a coast that is lost in golden haze ; and there is no desire 

to pass beyond that glorious horizon while we stand on the sunlit 

shore, by the southern plain of Silver-cloud. The interest of 

splendour is reflected in every aspect of this ideal theme. It is 

not enough for the ancient Gael that he should create that ineffable 

country, and that he should people it with blissful inhabitants; but 

he must further display a rich pictorial instinct—he must locate the 

" gathering where there is no sorrow " in a region whose features 

are made so familiar to the mind that even the different fields are 

designated by appropriate names:—

J74 

TIR NAN OG. 

Carpait ordi hi Maig Rein, 

taircet la tuli don grein ; 

carpait arggait i Maig Mow 

ocus credumi cen on. 

Golden chariots in the Plain by the sea, 

Rising with the tide to the sun ; 

Chariots of silver in the Plain of sports, 

And of bronze without blemish. 

(Voyage of Bran.) 

It is characteristic of Gaelic imagination that it should express 

its deepest yearning in such a noble picture as that of Tìr 

nan Og ; that it should create a mystic world of its own beyond 

the visible ; that it should endow that region with the most sublime 

attributes, and people it with beings of glorious aspect and 

attractive race. And who shall say but that this fascinating dream 

still haunts the Gaelic heart Would it not be a pity if the gleam 

of such a fair creation were to pass for ever from our minds 

When will the genius arise, who with due power of vision and 

construction, will cast into an abiding form that wonderful thing 

of beauty Here indeed is abundant material, not lacking in 

scope of interest, for the finest type of musical drama. What 

Wagner has done for the Asgard of the gods, and for the ideals 

of pagan thought, it is surely possible for some other genius to 

do for the records that still survive of the Gaelic Tìr nan Og. 

An adequate musical interpretation of that Elysium would find 

a warm and loving response in Gaelic hearts. For the glamour 

of the Land of Youth still haunts the Gael, the child of dreams, 

whose spirit can never be entirely led captive by visible things. 

In the sweetest lyrics of modern Scottish bards, like Maclachlan 

of Rahoy, we trace the longing that is surely a heritage from the 

days of old:— 

Mi air m'uilinn air an t-shabh, 

'S mi ri iargain na bheil bhuam ; 

'S tric mo shùil a sealltuinn siar, 

Far an laigh a' ghrian's a' chuan ! 

I recline upon the hill, 

And I yearn for what is lost ; 

Gazing wistful on the West 

Where the sun sets in the sea! 

Na h-Eilthirich Ghaidhealach. 

LE MURCHADH MAC GHILLE MHOIRE, (NIAGARA FALLS, N.Y.), 

UGHDAIR " FEAR SIUBHAL NAN GLEANN." 

GUR tric mi 'smaoineachadh gach là 

Air tìr nam bàgh's nan gleann, 

Air tìr an fhraoich's nam fuaran làn, 

Air tìr nam blàr 's nam beann; 

'S 'nuair chluinn mi 'n òigridh bhi 's a bhàt', 

Ri tighinn thar sàl a nall, 

Ged ni mi aoibhneas air an sgàth, 

Tha an àitean falamh thall. 

Tha màthraichean an taobhs' de 'n chuan 

D' an aobhar uaill an còir, 

'S an aois ged thig i air an gruaidh, 

'Tha 'g cumail suas na h-òig': 

Tha 'n teaghlaichean a thog iad suas 

Mu'n cuairt orra gach lò, 

'Gan cumail aoibhneach 'nan sean aois, 

'S ri 'n taobh ag cosnadh loin. 

Ach chi mi pàrantan's a' ghleann 

Air fàs cho crom le bròn, 

Ri cuimhneachadh gun d' thog iad clann 

Cuid nach 'eil ann na's mò; 

'S an taic bu chòir 'bhi aig an ceann, 

'Nuair tha iad gann de threòir, 

Tha 'nis air fàgail tìr nam beann; 

Chan fhaigh iad thall 'bhi beò. 

An e nach dèan iad obair chruaidh, 

'S nach toigh leo gluas'd nan làmh 

'S an sàs an obair tìr is cuain 

Nach cum iad suas ri càch 

Ge b'e ait' 's an dèanar luaidh 

Air luchd nam buadhan àrd, 

Togaidh 'n Gàidheal a cheann le uaill, 

'Measg sluaigh bho iomadh ceàrn.

A HEAVY SEA AT STAFÂ. 

La Bretagne et les Celtes Insulaires. 

PAR 

LE DOCTEUR-BARDE FR. " TALDIR " JAFFRENNOU, 

DE CARHAIX, FINISTERE. 

ON peut dimcilement se faire une idee en Grande-Bretagne 

et en Irlande, de la difficultè que le Bretagne a eu, et a 

encore, pour conserver son caractère national en face de la 

centralisation napolèonique de la France impèrialiste ou rèpublicaine. 

Eile forme, en face d'une masse de 37 millions de 

Francais, une petite presqu'ile de 3 millions de Celtes seulement. 

Sa voix se perd dans les revendications universelles des foules 

gouvernèes et mècontentes de leur sort materiel. Eile ne peut 

songer à exercer aucun recours auprès de la Sociètè des Nations. 

Eile est rèduite à dèfendre elle-mème son heritage sans espoir 

d'etre aidèe par aucun Parti; mais on constate ici un certain redressement 

dans l'esprit national, grace à la propagande des sociètès règionalistes. 

La Bretagne, sèparèe du tronc de ses origines, rameau 

ìsolè de la race celto-brittanìque implantè sur la terre francaise, ne 

peut s'associer aussi fermement qu'elle l'eut desire à 1'Irlande, à 

I'Ecosse, au Pays de Galles, qui sont trop èloignèes d'elle. Eile 

mène elle-mème sa lutte pour la vie contre un voisin redoutable et 

bien servi par sa langue universelle, sa civilisation raffinèe, sa 

littèrature colossale, ses journaux et ses ècoles. Par quel miracle 

parle-t-elle encore breton Dieu seul pourrait le dire. 

La Bretagne a essayè à plusieurs reprises de se rapprocher de 

ses soeurs insulaires. Appuyèe sur elles, peut-ètre serait-elle plus 

forte. En tous cas, eile a retire de leur frèquentations des lecons 

profitables pour sa littèrature et sa musique nationales. 

Le premier contact littèraire entre nous et vous eut lieu en 

1837 à Abergavenny (Pays de Galles) au cours d'une "Eisteddfod." 

Puis., ce fut le Congrès Celtique de Saint Brieuc en 1867. 

Mais il faut arriver à 1899 P o u r trouver des Celtes de toutes 

les nations rèunis à Cardiff (Pays de Galles.) La Bretagne v 

envoya 22 dèlèguès dont j'avais l'honneur d'etre. Nous y ren- 

Pk»hi tty iK /I, 

MacCttllwh, 

A" IUf/ f>t'r>irì.slìt»n nj /l/c.v, Mitf iMtfti (- Snits, GftlSgOZV.

1 7 

8 LA BRETAGNE ET LES CELTES INSULAIRES. 

contràmes de nombreux Ecossais, entre autres MM. Th. Napier, 

J. MacKay, A. S. MacBride, J. MacKintosh, Malcolm Mac- 

Farlane, en leur costume national. 

Ce rut ensuite la creation à Dublin par Lord Castletown, 

Fournier d'Albe, le Comte Plunkett, de la premiere Sociètè 

Celtique. Eile tint son congrès en Irlande en aoùt 1901. La 

Bretagne y envoya six dèlèguès, dont deux dames. Nous y rencontràmes 

encore des Ecossais, parmi lesquels MM. Carmichael 

père et fils, Mademoiselle Ella Carmichael, l'honorable Stuart 

Erskine, Archibald Sinclair, Neill Orr, W. Monro, James Grant, 

Misses MacBride et MacLean, Prof. Geddes, J. Stuart Glennie, 

Dr. MacGregor, etc. 

Le Pan-Celtisme rut dèfinitivement constituè par ce congrès, 

qui mit en contact les " leaders " du nationalisme celto-gaèl. La 

Sociètè manifesta d'abord une grande vitalitè. Eile publia un 

organe mensuel, Celtia, qui vècut sept ans. 

Sa seconde manifestation eut lieu à Carnarvon en 1904. 

Nous y allàmes cinq dèlèguès Bretons: Botrel, le grand barde mort 

cette annèe; Hamonle, le peintre cèlèbre; Francis Even, le 

linguiste; l'àbbè Henry, et moi. Nous eùmes le plaisir d'y trouver 

encore l'Ecosse representee par Theodore Napier; Alex. Carmichael 

et sa fille; Dr. MacDougal; Miss Hay; Prof. Mac 

Kinnon; Rev. MacLennan; John MacKay (editor of the Celtic 

Monthly, Glasgow); J. Macintosh; Alex. MacBain; Roderick 

MacLeod; et beaucoup d'autres, dont je m'excuse d'oublier les 

noms. 

L'Ecosse rut designee pour ètre le rendez-vous des Pan-Celtes 

en 1907. La ville d'Edinburgh offrit l'hospitalìtè aux dèlèguès 

venus des quatre nations. Notre Bretagne ètait encore prèsente 

malgrè la grande distance. Eile y dèlègua le Marquis d' Estourbeillon, 

president de l'Union Règionaliste; les Bardes Andrew 

Mellac, Louis Herrieu, Pol Diverrès; Mademoiselle Riou; le 

grammairier Ab Hervè Vallèe. Le congrès d'Edinburgh fut un 

beau succès, surtout dans la partie concert. Ce fut le dernier que 

tint la sociètè; celle-ci mourut l'annèe suivante sans que les causes 

de sa disparition aient jamais ètè èlucidèes clairement. 

Les Pan-Celtes des lies Britanniques, sous 1'impulsion de Mr. 

Edward T. John, d'Anglesey, rèussirent a crèer une nouvelle 

Association Celtique en 1919. Malheureusement eile ne publie 

aucun journal, et c'est dommage, car il manque un lien vivant 

entre les nationalistes celto-gaèls. 

LA BRETAGNE ET LES CELTES INSULAIRES. *79 

Les congrès de la nouvelle Association se sont tenus a Edinburgh 

(1920), à 1' Ile de Man; à Quimper, Bretagne (1924), a 

Dublin (1925). Ce fut un grand honneur pour 1'Union 

Règionaliste Bretonne de recevoir a Quimper plusieurs dames 

dèlèguèes de notre soeur PEcosse: je cite Mrs. Burnley 

Campbell, Miss L. E. Farquharson, Mrs. Christison, Miss 

Augusta Lamont. 

A mon point de vue, ces rècents congrès n'ont pas eu le mème 

eclat que ceux de la pèriode d'avant-guerre. II y manque les 

giandes manifestations populaires, chceurs, corteges, palabres, 

joueurs de pibrochs, assemblèe des druides et bardes, etc. Le 

mouvement semble uniquement universitaire, et orientè vers les 

questions scientifiques. II faut populariser le Pan-Celtisme, et par 

des concours y intèresser le commun peuple. D'autre part, je 

crois que la situation financière de la Sociètè actuelle n'est pas 

briJlante. 

Malgrè tout, l'idèal celtique continue son chemin, à travers 

bi en des obstacles. II marche lentement, mais surement, vers son 

but. Un jour viendra où les Celtes et les Gaels se connaitront 

mieux, et de leur frèquentation dècoulera un grand bien pour 

1'esprit de 1'Occident. 

Tra bo garreg war aòd ar mor 

Kano ar barzwar dreuz e zor. 

As long as rocks remain on the sea-shore, 

The bard will sing on his door-step. 

" TALDIR." 

" By the word Celtic, I designate here, not the whole of that great 

race which, at a remote epoch, formed the population of nearly the 

whole of Western Europe, but simply these four groups which, in our 

to the 

very heart." 

Ernest Renan. "The poetry of the Celtic races."

HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES. 

1S1 

Highland Home Industries. 

BY MRS. W. J. WATSON AND MISS J. D. BRUCE. 

IT is not unnatural that, with a great effort before us to raise 

funds for the benefit of Gaeldom, we should permit ourselves 

to indulge in a litde retrospect, and ask. ourselves a few 

searching questions. 

We have held a Fèill in the past, the object being to provide 

capital for the adequate teaching of our mother tongue, the preservation 

and encouragement of our Gaelic literature, the cultivation 

of our arts and crafts, and the propagation of any knowledge 

which can benefit our fellow Gaels in Scotland. Have these 

objects been achieved to any extent No doubt each one 

would find an advocate, but on one in particular—the 

cultivation of our inherited arts and crafts—the writers feel that 

they are entitled to answer the questions, and there is no more 

fitting place to do so than this Fèill Book, for there may be some 

of our readers who do not know that the " Highland Home Industries," 

as it exists to-day, is the direct outcome of the Fèill 

held in Glasgow in 1908. 

The late Captain E. K. Carmichael, who was the honorary 

organizer of the Arts and Industries section of the 1908 Fèill, 

was much impressed, not only by the high quality and variety of 

much of the work sent in, but also by the number of ladies and 

gentlemen who were trying to help their tenants and neighbours 

by finding a market for their goods, and especially by the precariousness 

of this method, so far as the workers were concerned. 

He, therefore, planned out a scheme under which these ladies and 

gentlemen and local societies should co-operate, to form an 

Association which would work on a more permanent basis and on 

a business footing. In consultation with Miss Campbell of 

Inverneill, the rules and constitution were framed as they stand 

to-day, and the Co-operative Council of Highland Home 

Industries was formed in 1909. In 1911 the Association had 

twenty-three local societies affiliated to it. 

The Co-operative Council received the substantia] sum of 

half of the profits of the Highland Clachan organized by 

Mrs. Burnley Campbell, at the International Exhibition held in 

Glasgow. For some years the Council carried on work with considerable 

success by holding sales in various localities. But in 

191^., by means of the Clachan fund and about an equal sum 

loaned by friends, the Co-operative Council of Highland Home 

Industries was enabled to purchase the stock and good-will of the 

Scottish Home Industries Association of which Millicent, 

Duchess of Sutherland, was President, but which her many war 

activities compelled her to give up. 

The Co-operative Council has never looked back but has 

gathered momentum with the passing years. To such an extent 

had the business grown, that in 1921 it was formed into a Company 

limited by guarantee, under the shortened title of " Highland 

Home Industries, Limited." The directors of the company give 

voluntary service, and in this connection it is right to mention in 

particular the names of Sir Kenneth and Lady Marjory Mackenzie 

of Gairloch, Miss Campbell of Inverneill, and Mr. J. Maxtone 

Graham. The company does not work for profit, but aims only 

at paying the running expenses of the depots, and it finds that by 

selling at an average market price and eliminating middleman's 

profits, it can pay a very fair price indeed to the workers. 

Have the "Highland Home Industries" been just stewards 

of the sums entrusted to them The audited accounts 

of the Company speak for themselves. Since the war, taking off 

the necessary sums for the payment of rents, salaries and running 

expenses, the sum of over 100,000 has been paid direct to Highland 

and Island workers. It is not necessary to point out to our 

Highland readers what a boon this must have been to our fellowcountrymen 

and women. Many a poor woman, bereft of support 

in these terrible years of war, has thanked the " Industries " for 

helping her to keep a roof over her head. Many a hard-working 

mother, by means of her industry, has.laid by enough to supplement 

bursaries and to send her clever boy or girl to college, and 

many a smallholder in post-war days has been able to complete the 

equipment of his new and more fertile croft by means of the 

" stocking-foot" of his thrifty wife. 

There is another and not less useful way in which the Company 

has helped. For years past, our organizers have gone into the 

farthest parts of the Highlands and Islands to get into personal 

touch with the workers. The moral effect of this has been very 

great. The workers in these lonely Islands no longer feel that they 

are dealing with a far-off abstraction. They are guided as to what

182 HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES. 

colourings are likely to be asked for in the coming season, whether 

pattern weaving is fashionable, and such details as tend to increase 

their market. They know that they can always get into touch 

with those who are anxious to help them, who have their interests 

at heart, and who are ready, as money is available, to buy their 

products and to pay them a sure sum for these products. 

Of the industries themselves it is almost unnecessary to speak. 

They are world-famous. The age-old crafts of spinning, weaving, 

vegetable dyeing, knitting—all by hand—are known and appreciated, 

and we send them to most parts of the world. The wearing 

qualities of a good piece of hand-made tweed, with the strand 

of wool unbroken by any machinery, the resistance to wet offered 

by the natural oil of the wool unaffected by chemicals, are wellknown. 

Socks made of such wool are said by residents in e.g., 

S. Africa, to be the most comfortable wear, having an almost antiseptic 

effect on the skin, and preventing chafing. There are also 

rug-making, basket-making, wood-work, metal-work, leather, 

lace and other small crafts which the "Industries" are doing their 

best to keep alive or to revive. 

By our constitution we are bound to start new industries in 

suitable localities as we have capital available, but though we have 

been able to do something in this direction, our activities are at 

present restricted owing to lack of reserve capital. One of the 

most important rules of the society is that we must strive not only 

to keep up, but to improve the standard of the work, and must 

accept only work of a high quality. By adhering to this rule we 

have had notable success. It has become a matter of pride in the 

Islands to be recognised as a worker of the Highland Home 

Industries, and buyers understand that when they come to us, they 

get, not only a genuine article, but one of good workmanship. 

We also pay cash for all work taken. There is no waiting for the 

chance of the tweed, or the stockings, or the chair of " muran "* 

or of straw being sold, and this is in itself a great inducement to 

good work and to continued production. 

But we want to see more men, as well as women, set to work 

on crafts which would interest them and employ profitably their 

leisure hours, and we would wish to be in a position to absorb more 

handiwork, as at present our buying powers are strictly confined 

to the amount realized by sales. The energies of the Company 

are directed to making those sales as extensive as possible, so that 

*\1nran—sen-bent, 

sea-matweed, sometimes used in thatching Hebridean cottages. 


more goods may be bought and from more people. Three depots 

are now in existence. The original one in Edinburgh, the one in 

Strathpeffer, and the one in Glasgow. The last named and most 

recent, in the same building as the Highlanders' Institute, promises, 

thanks to the loyal support of friends in Glasgow and 

neighbouring towns, to grow into a strong, vigorous concern. 

Every year we hold sales in many towns in Scotland and England, 

which have been invariably successful. We hope we shall not 

seem boastful if we say that our organization has been taken as a 

model by Societies developing hand industries in England and the 

Colonies. 

But the industrial unrest at the present time is causing serious 

anxiety to the directors of the company. Our public are 

tightening their purse-strings, which means that the "Industries" 

in turn must restrict their buying. We would appeal to all who 

appreciate the individuality and charm of the hand-made, rather 

than the uniformity of the machine production, as well as to all 

lovers of the Highlands, to support this movement, and to make 

it known to their friends. By doing so, they may feel confident 

that they are directly helping to brighten the lives, by lightening 

the anxieties of the craftsmen of Gaeldom. 

" The attachment between man and the earth is very intimatehe 

has lived for long: ages between green and blue, and among- his 

children some will always be found to seek instinctively after the old 

paths. 

The brightest hope for the future seems to lie in colonisation of 

estates in the homeland, by groups of young men and women, such as 

are prepared to face the hardships borne by pioneers in other parts of 

the Empire, in order to obtain the health and freedom of open-air life 

upon the ground where they were born. 

Some of those who feel the attraction of a more natural way ot 

living will have probably begun to recover, in their own souls an ri 

nerves, by practice of a craft the rhythm of creative life. 

To thatch a roof and lay a fire, to plough, to harrow, sow and reap, 

to bake bread, to tend young lambs and clip a rising fleece, to' spin, 

dye and weave for household or township, is to enter organically into 

the actual making of the world." 

/. A. Campbell, Barbreck, Argyll, in "The Hibbert Journal."

1$2 HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES. 


I83 

colourings are likely to be asked for in the coming season, whether 

pattern weaving is fashionable, and such details as tend to increase 

their market. They know that they can always get into touch 

with those who are anxious to help them, who have their interests 

at heart, and who are ready, as money is available, to buy their 

products and to pay them a sure sum for these products. 

Of the industries themselves it is almost unnecessary to speak. 

They are world-famous. The age-old crafts of spinning, weaving, 

vegetable dyeing, knitting—ail by hand—are known and appreciated, 

and we send them to most parts of the world. The wearing 

qualities of a good piece of hand-made tweed, with the strand 

of wool unbroken by any machinery, the resistance to wet offered 

by the natural oil of the wool unaffected by chemicals, are wellknown. 

Socks made of such wool are said by residents in e.g., 

S. Africa, to be the most comfortable wear, having an almost antiseptic 

effect on the skin, and preventing chafing. There are also 

rug-making, basket-making, wood-work, metal-work, leather, 

lace and other small crafts which the "Industries" are doing their 

best to keep alive or to revive. 

By our constitution we are bound to start new industries in 

suitable localities as we have capital available, but though we have 

been able to do something in this direction, our activities are at 

present restricted owing to lack of reserve capital. One of the 

most important rules or the society is that we must strive not only 

to keep up, but to improve the standard of the work, and must 

accept only work of a high quality. By adhering to this rule we 

have had notable success. It has become a matter of pride in the 

Islands to be recognised as a worker of the Highland Home 

Industries, and buyers understand that when they come to us, they 

get, not only a genuine article, but one of good workmanship. 

We also pay cash for all work taken. There is no waiting for the 

chance of the tweed, or the stockings, or the chair of " muran "* 

or of straw being sold, and this is in itself a great inducement to 

good work and to continued production. 

But we want to see more men, as well as women, set to work 

on crafts which would interest them and employ profitably their 

leisure hours, and we would wish to be in a position to absorb more 

handiwork, as at present our buying powers are strictly confined 

to the amount realized by sales. The energies of the Company 

are directed to making those sales as extensive as possible, so that 

*Muran—sea-bent, 

sea-matweed, sometimes used in thatching Hebridean cottages. 

more goods may be bought and from more people. Three depots 

are now in existence. The original one in Edinburgh, the one in 

Strathpeffer, and the one in Glasgow. The last named and most 

recent, in the same building as the Highlanders' Institute, promises, 

thanks to the loyal support of friends in Glasgow and 

neighbouring towns, to grow into a strong, vigorous concern. 

Every year we hold sales in many towns in Scotland and England, 

which have been invariably successful. We hope we shall not 

seem boastful if we say that our organization has been taken as a 

model by Societies developing hand industries in England and the 

Colonies. 

But the industrial unrest at the present time is causing serious 

anxiety to the directors of the company. Our public are 

tightening their purse-strings, which means that the "Industries" 

in turn must restrict their buying. We would appeal to all who 

appreciate the individuality and charm of the hand-made, rather 

than the uniformity of the machine production, as well as to all 

lovers of the Highlands, to support this movement, and to make 

it known to their friends. By doing so, they may feel confident 

that they are directly helping to brighten the lives, by lightening 

the anxieties of the craftsmen of Gaeldom. 

"The attachment between man and the earth is very intimatehe 

has lived for long- ages between green and blue, and among his 

children some will always be found to seek instinctively after the old 

paths. 

The brightest hope for the future seems to lie in colonisation of 

estates in the homeland, by groups of young men and women, such a* 

are prepared to face the hardships borne by pioneers in other parts of 

the Empire, in order to obtain the health and freedom of open-air life 

upon the ground where they were born. 

Some of those who feel the attraction of a more natural way of 

living will have probably begun to recover, in their own souls and 

nerves, by practice of a craft the rhythm of creative life. 

To thatch a roof and lay a fire, to plough, to harrow, sow and reap, 

to bake bread, to tend young lambs and clip a rising fleece, to spin, 

dye and weave for household or township, is to enter organically into 

the actual making of the world." 

/. A. Campbell, Barbreck, Argyll, in "The Hibbert Journal."

HIGHLAND PRIDE. •85 

Highland Pride. 

BY LADY MACALISTER OF TARBERT, 


THE pride of the Highlander is proverbial. He is proud of 

his family, his cian, his language, and his country. His 

pride in these is a flame that nothing can quench—not time, 

nor distance, nor exile. And it seems sometimes as if the exile's 

pride of race grew stronger from dwelling in Kedar's tents. 

Something of k passes to his children and their children, although 

their Highland blood may be diluted with alien strains, and they 

may never have breathed Highland air. No matter what they 

may forget about their ancestry, they will never forget that they 

are " partly Scottish." To the unseeing eye, they may appear to 

be American, Canadian, or even Cockney, but they know that in 

their veins runs the blood of the elect. Like the Lantern Bearers, 

they cherish the secret feeling of romance, the consciousness of 

being different from those among whom their lot is cast. They 

are Highlanders, and belong to one of the greatest—no!—to 

the greatest people on earth. 

As a Highlander myself, I see nothing in this attitude of 

mind that is not natural and reasonable. How can we help being 

proud, with so much to be proud of After all, " we needs must 

love the highest when we see it." 

Yet, strictly between ourselves, may we not admit that our 

pride does sometimes take strange forms, or forms that look odd 

to the uncomprehending outsider 

For instance, even the most respectable and law-abiding High 

lander, who would hesitate to assault even a Campbell, is delighted 

if he can count a few gallows-birds on his ancestral tree. He 

takes a perverse pleasure in telling that among his forbears he 

has, say, a man-skyer, a cattle-thief, or an outlaw or two. And 

if it should have come to pass that one of his rascally forbears 

had paid the due penalty of his misdeeds, he is not averse from 

boasting of the incident. He would simply hate a present-day 

scandal or judicial tragedy in his family, but it is quite true that 

"Time's twilight glory hallows 

The blots on records of the cian, 

And even gilds the gallows." 

Bailie Nicol Jarvie, the Glasgow Magistrate, took a just pride 

in his civic position and responsibilities, and the sacred memory 

of his worthy father the Deacon. But he took an almost equal 

pride in his relationship to Rob Roy the outlaw. " It's a queer 

thing o 5 

me, gentlemen," he said, " that am a man o' peace my sell, 

and a peacefu' man's son,—it's a queer thing, I say, but I think 

the Hieland blude o' me warms at thae daft tales, and whiles I 

like better to hear them than a word o' profit, gude forgie me!" 

R. L. Stevenson was in like case. He denied that " a poet has 

died young in the breast of the most stolid," and contended that 

" this (somewhat minor) bard in almost every case survives, and is 

the spice of life to his possessor." And he makes the wistful confession: 

" I cannot conceal from myself the possibility that James 

Stevenson in Glasgow, my first authentic ancestor, may have had 

a Highland alias upon his conscience and a claymore in his back 

parlour." His private bard crooned to a Celtic air. 

I suppose it is to the poetic survivor in each of us that " thae 

daft tales " appeal, and this vicarious participation in the old wild 

doings of the glens and bens satisfies (to use the modern jargon) 

seme romantic " complex " that we Highlanders inherit. 

Gaelic in the Pulpit. 

BY REV. JOHN MACGILCHRIST, B.A. (OXON.), D.D. 

THE 

force of Gaelic as a pulpit language was strikingly 

illustrated by a remark recently made to the writer by a lady 

of culture after a Gaelic service in a Scottish University 

chapel, when she said that she felt more moved by the sermon in 

Gaelic, of which she understood not a word, than by a previous 

sermon in English which she understood perfectly. Mackenzie in 

his introduction to the " Beauties of Gaelic Poetry " notes the 

same effect. " So expressive is the language, and with such skill 

did the bard compose his address (or war-song), that the very 

sound echoes the sense: it could never, we apprehend, be mistaken 

even by one totally unacquainted with the Gaelic, for a gentle

i86 

GAELIC IN THE PULPIT. 

GAELIC IN THE PULPIT. 

i87 

pastoral." So Gaelic possesses just those qualities which move 

the hearts of men, and make it eminently suitable for the pulpit. 

What, then, is the secret of this power of the Gaelic tongue, 

whereby it appears to be, in Matthew Arnold's phrase, "drenched 

in the dew of natural magic " 

It will be generally admitted that every language is, to a great 

extent, the product of the temperament of the race or nation whose 

utterance it is. The Greek language, for example, was full of 

grace and beauty, largely because it was the expression of the mind 

of a people to whom the graceful and the beautiful in myriad forms 

in Nature and in humanity made their appeal. The Roman, of 

course, took no pains to conceal his contempt for the Greek,— 

" Graeculus esuriens,"—while he borrowed from him, " Graecia 

capta ferum victorem cepit,"— and so the Latin tongue bore the 

impress of the peculiarly Roman type of mind. The stately, 

dignified, massive and sonorous roll of the Latin periods was the 

natural expression of a practical people, whose ideals were 

sovereignty and power. The Celts, on the other hand, were a 

people of keen sensibility, passionate, emotional, impressible, 

imaginative, with a fuil share of the " perfervidum ingenium." 

Their language, therefore, rich in poetic diction, now soft and 

musical and anon vehement and intense, was the natural expression 

of a people steeped in poetry and music, and readily swayed by the 

eloquence of passion and emotion. 

Not only, however, is Gaelic in itself an effective pulpit language, 

but the Gaelic preacher has at least three additional 

powerful allies to help him in enforcing his appeal. There is, 

first of all, the well-known Celtic love of Nature. The Celt is 

familiar with Nature in all her moods. He regards her as his 

comrade and friend, to whom he may turn for sympathy at all 

times. He is a born word-painter, so that Gaelic has been called 

by one " the Voice of Nature." Her wild and weird notes appeal 

to him, and this close intercourse with her in her various aspects 

is reflected in his pulpit utterances, and at once rouses a responsive 

echo in the breasts of his audience. 

There is, again, the impressibility of the Celtic temper. The 

Gaelic preacher does not depend upon the cold logic of argument, 

or of Philosophy, or of the Higher criticism, to carry conviction. 

He uses his language, which is the child of an emotional tempera 

ment, to play upon the heart-strings of his hearers, as the skilled 

musician plays upon the strings of his instrument. In this way 

he calls up at will such emotions as joy, sorrow, love, sympathy, 

pathos, passion. He transforms the gloom—so dear to the Celtic 

heart—into a sense of comfort and even of luxury. He stirs up 

a loyalty, too, to ideals that may be unattainable, and to causes that 

are lost beyond hope of recovery, so that the Celt easily becomes 

the most romantic and chivalrous of beings. 

There is, moreover, the keenness of the Celtic spiritual vision. 

From classical times and the days of the Druids, the Celts have 

been devoted to religion, and this religious devotion has descended 

through the early Celtic Church to our own day. The Celt has 

ever been a seeker after God, musing on the unknown and peering 

into the unseen. Because of the quickness of his spiritual insight, 

the Celt has been described as " the quicksilver of Scotland." 

He has, indeed, always been a dreamer, a visionary, an idealist— 

to the very verge even of being unpractical, but with his dreams 

and visions he has inspired much of the world's social and religious 

progress. Because of his disunion he could never found a material 

empire, notwithstanding his magnificent fighting qualities, but in 

the region of the spirit his empire is far-flung, and many peoples 

are to-day his debtors. 

When we remember, then, that not only is Gaelic in itself 

an admirable means of utterance,—fashioned, as it has been, on 

the anvil of the Celtic temperament by the repeated blows of circumstance, 

joy, sorrow, love, passion and the rest—but that, 

reinforcing it now, as in the days when it was being forged, there 

is that same true love of Nature, that same intense human sympathy, 

that same eager spiritual longing, is there any wonder that 

such an instrument in the pulpit, wielded by men of even moderate 

ability, is capable of moving the hearers' hearts, as the hundred 

winds of Ossian's fancy shook the oaks of woody Morven And 

may this not, partly at least, explain why Gaelic speaking preachers 

are so frequently invited to fill the foremost pulpits in our land 

The Muse of old Maro hath pathos and splendour, 

The long lines of Homer in majesty roll; 

But to me Donnchadh Bàn breathes a feeling more tender. 

More akin to the child-heart that sleeps in my soul. 

Principal Shairp.—-Aspects of Poetry-

NA H-EILTHIRICH 

GHAIDHEALACH. 

A' chuid dhiubh nach do thuit 'nan suain 

Air machair fhuair a' bhlàir, 

'S a thàinig dhachaidh do'n taobh tuath, 

Le bratach buaidh an àird,— 

Bho'n rìoghachd sin a dhìon iad cruaidh 

Bho chlaidheamh gheur an nàimh, 

Am mòr an nì 'bhi ac' mar dhuais 

'Bhi suaimhneach 'n cois na tràigh 

'N e innleachdan's na cùirtean àrd' 

Tha 'g cur nam bàt air dòigh, 

'S 'tha 'toirt air falbh bho thìr nan sàr 

A' mhuinntir làidir òig 

Ma leigear leis na glinn 'dhol fàs, 

Cha mhair a' Ghàidhlig beò, 

Gun ìobrar leinn air altair ghalld' 

Ar cànain is ar ceòl. 

THE VISION OF A FAIR WOMANr. 

Smith's Ossianic Sean Dàna, translated by Dr. K 

Macneill, 

Tell us some of the charms of the stars; 

Close and well-set were her ivory teeth; 

White as the canach upon the moor 

Was her bosom the tartan bright beneath. 

Her well-rounded forehead shone 

Soft and fair as the mountain snow; 

Her two breasts were heaving full; 

To them did the hearts of the heroes flow. 

Her lips were ruddier than the rose, 

Tender and tunefully sweet her tongue; 

White as the foam adown her side 

Her delicate fingers extended hung. 

Smooth as the dusky down of the elk 

Appeared her two narrow brows to me; 

Lovely her cheeks were, like berries red; 

From every guile she was wholly free. 

Her countenance looked like the gentle buds 

Unfolding their beauties in early spring; 

Her yellow locks like the gold-browed hills, 

And her eyes like the radiance the sunbeams brin

TAISBEANADH. 

Taisbeanadh. 

LE IAIN MAC CORMAIC, F.S.A. (Scot.) 

BHA 

maduinn^ àluinn ann, is grian shomalt an fhoghair a' 

deàrrsadh a nìos air an tir, 'n uair a thog mi a mach ri broilleach 

Sliabh nam Ban Fionn. Cha b' ann gun m' aonach a' 

iahearan a bha mi, mun do bhuidhinn mi mullach na crùlaist, agus 

im uair a shuidh mi air creig luim, a' tharruing m' analach, sheall 

mi bhuam air an t-sealladh òirdhearc a bha a' sgaoileadh gu ruig am 

fàire glas os cionn a' chuain. 

Thuit mi ann an trom smuain, agus sùil gun d' thug thar 

mo ghuaille, chunnaic mi seann duine le ceum trom, a' tighinn 

am ionnsuidh. Bha e ceann-ruisgte, agus a fhalt cleiteach geal 'na 

chaisreagan a sìos m' a ghuaillean. Bha feusag mhòr liath a' 

taomadh a sìos m' a bhroilleach leathainn, agus bata mòr cromagach 

'na làimh. Shuidh e air a' chreig ri mo thaobh, is e a' 

toirt sùla bhlàth choibhneil orm, ach aig an àm cheudna sùil a 

chuir seòrsa de chrith orm. Ar leam mar gun cuireadh an seann 

laoch draoidheachd orm, agus aig an àm cheudna dh' fhairich mi 

mar gum biodh seòrsa de cheò glas ag iathadh mun cuairt oirnn, 

agus crith an dìobairtean anns an athar. " Is coigreach thu air 

na crìochan so, a ghille òig" ars' an seann duine, is e a' bristeadh 

seanachais, agus a' toirt sùla fhiar, nuagach orm. 

" Seadh," arsa mise, le seòrsa de fhiamh, « a thàinig a dh' 

fhaotuinn seallaidh air an dùthaich, o'n mheall mhòr uaibhreach 

so." " An dà," ars' esan, " chan 'eil Sliabh nam Ban Fionn a' 

freiceadan seallaidh a choimeasadh tu ris an t-sealladh a nochdas 

mise duit. Na bi fo chùram air bith, a charaid. Lean mise." 

Labhair e na facail's e ag èiridh 'na sheasamh, 's ag cumail 

a shùla orm. B'e mo mhiann a bhi cùidhte's e, ach bha a leithid 

de bhuaidh aig orm, agus a leithid de thàladh 'na shùil mhealladh 

's nach b' urradh dhomh a dhiùltadh. Lean mi e, agus 

rinneadh dhomh mar gun tigeadh atharrachadh obann air an 

t-sealladh mun cuairt oirnn. Am priobadh na sùla bha sinn le 

chèile ann an craobh-lios cho àillidh's air an do dhearc sùil duine 

riamh, agus sluagh mòr, fir is mnathan is clann, ag obair 's ag 

ùslainn mun cuairt. Mar nach biodh iad 'g ar lèirsinn idir, cha 

d' thug neach sùil oirnn. Cha robh fios agam ciod è an suidheachadh 

neònach 's an robh mi, ach thuig mi gun robh mi fo 

fhìor chumhachd mo chompanaich. Mar gun luigeadh e mo 

smuain, sheall e orm, agus ars' esan, " Na cuireadh sìon a chì thu 

cùram ort. Gabh beachd air gach nì air an leag thu do shùil agus 

gheibh thu fòghlum. Gabh beachd air na craobhan sin. A 

bheil thu a' faicinn mar tha cuid diubh trom fo bhlàth, cuid a' 

tighinn gu h-èiginneach, agus cuid 'nan stocan loma fo chìs aig 

langaid na h-aois" "Tha," arsa mise. "A bheil e ag cur 

iongnaidh ort" ars' esan. "Chan 'eil," arsa mise, "chan 'eil 

coill gun chrìonaich." 

" 'S math a fhreagair thu, a ghille òig. Lean mise." 

Ràinig sinn an aithghearr cuid eile de 'n lios, a bha lom garbh 

riasgail, gun chinneas tlusail 'sam bith, ach fraoch agus millteach 

nan gleann. Air a shon sin, bha mòran dhaoine ann, ag cladhach 

's a' bùrach 's a' rannsachadh am measg seann chrannsaichean 

chraobh a bha air an tiodhlacadh o chian. Thigeadh sgonn 

freumha an uachdar. Bhreithnicheadh na fir, is mheamhraicheadh 

iad an ulaidh. Sheas sinn le chèile a' shealltuinn air na 

saoidhean. " A bheil thu a' tuigsinn, a ghille òig, ciod a tha 

craobhan an liosa so ag ciallachadh" dh' fharraid an sean 

fhear an guth trom socrach. 

" Chan 'eil," arsa mise. " Sin agad matà," ars' esan, " samhlaidhean 

air cànainean an t-saoghail o thùs. Seall air na dannsaichean 

sin. Sin agad cànainean a bhàsaich o chian. Gabh beachd 

air mar tha na saoidhean ag coimeas freumha ri freumh am measg 

nan craobh a tha fhathast an làthair, agus a' fòghlum mar a chinn 

cànain à cànain o 'n toiseach." 

Ged bha fiamh orm, ghabh mi beachd air na chunnaic mi. 

Thill sinn air ar n-ais. Leag mi mo shùil air aon chraoibh sheanntaidh, 

ach bhrèagha, le geugan òirdhearc, ach air bheag snodhaich. 

Dh' fhaighnichd mi de 'n t-seanchaidh ciod i a' ghnè 

chraoibhe a bh' ann. Sheas an saoidh, 's am bata fo uchd, 's a 

shùil 's an làr. An tiota thog e a cheann gu grad. " 'S math do 

shùil, a ghille òig," ars' esan. " Sin agad do chànain fhèin. Sin 

agad samhladh na Gàidhlige. Dearc air a geugan sgaoilteach. 

Dearc air òirdhearcas a blàth, ged is fann an diugh e. Ach a 

charaid, seall air Craobh thar Tuinn 'na taic, agus a' deoghal sùgh 

na talmhainn o shìolachadh àluinn a' ghrunnd. Seall sean is òg 

de d' ghnè, a' streup r'a chèile, a' bhuidhinn a meas's a blàth. O, 

mo chreach lèireadh. Nach seall thu iad a rithist a' toirt tumaidh 

an craoibh na dùthcha. Seall iad, mo thruaighe, ri mire-chatha's ri 

beadradh, am beachd gu bheil an dleas dèanta, 'n uair a chuireas

i9o 

TAISBEANADH. 

UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD ILEACH. 

I9I 

iad bileag no blàth de chraoibh an sinnsre 'nam broilleach! 'S e 

sin, mo thruaighe, a dh* fhàg a h-aogasg cho fann, a geugan cho 

lom, >s a duilleach cho tearc air a h-òganan. " Ach, ach," ars' an 

saoidh, 's ca' togail a chinn an àirde, a' sgaoileadh a mach a làmh, 

's a' sealltainn anns na speuran, "Ach, a ghille òig, gabh beachd air 

mo thairgneachd, agus aithris do chàch i:— 

A dh' aindeoin tarruing Craoibh thar Tuinn y 

Brùchdaich fhathast craobh a' ghrunnd, 

Is labhraidh i an càinnt bhios fallain, 

Ceart mar rinn i ri linn Chaluim, 

'N uair bu shiùbhlach iomadh deòraidh, 

An cùiltean iomallach na h-Eòrpa." 

Sheall e a rithist am aodann agus ars' esan, "Sin agad tairgneachd, 

a ghille òig! Imich air do thurus a nis, agus liubhair do sgeul." 

Leis na facail sin a ràdh, ar leam gun do shìolaich e air falbh às 

mo shealladh. Thog an ceò. Bha an t-soilleireachd a bh' ann 

roimhe mun cuairt orm. Dh' fharaich mi mi-fhèin trom, mar 

gum bithinn air dùsgadh a cadal luaineach. Dh' fhaisg mi mo 

shùilean, agus an uair a sheall mi mun cuairt, fhuair mi mi-fhèin 

's a cheart àite 's an robh mi mun d'thàinig an seann duine am 

ghair. Thuirt mi rium fhèin gum b'e taisbeaneadh a bh'ann, 

agus b'e. 

Uilleam MacDhunleibhe, am Bard Deach. 

LEIS AN URR. AN T-OLLAMH GILLEASBUIG MAC DHOMHNAILL, 

UGHDAIR "EACHDRAIDH CHLANN 

DOMHNAILL." 

RUGADH am bàrd ainmeil so an Sgìr Chille Rubha an Ile, 

an t-eilean iomraiteach sin, Innis nan Ard Flath a bhuinig 

" Baile is leth Albainn," agus a thug tulgadh nach bu bheag 

do chathair rìoghail nan Stiùbhartach. An làithean òige cha robh 

e >na sgoilear glè shanntach, oir b' ann air dha tighinn gu ìre a 

thionail e an tomhas bu mhò de'n fhòghlum a fhuair e. 

Mun robh e ceithir bliadhna deug chuireadh Uilleam a bhuachailleachd 

bhò, agus is ann an uair a bha e ag cuallach na taine a 

chaidh e air thùs an caidreamh na Ceòlraidh, agus a thaisbean an 

teine a bha 'na uchd srad bheag de spiorad na bàrdachd, a bha anns 

an aimsir ri teachd air a fadadh gu a bhi 'na lasair mhòir. B'e 

cuspair a dhàin an cù Bran, a chompanach dìleas do'n d' thug e 

deagh theisteanas mar chuilean glic, stuama, onarach:— 

" Chan iarr thu snaoisean no tombaca, 

Cha bhrist thu glas, 's cha bhi thu 'g òl." 

Chuireadh Uilleam a dh' fhòghlum na tàillearachd; b'e sin 

druideadh an fhìreoin anns an eunlainn! Ach dh' ionnsaich e 

barrachd air an t-snàthaid. B' iad sud na làithean anns an cruinnicheadh 

luchd na cèilidh mu'n chagailt an dèidh do'n fheasgar 

ciaradh, agus bhiodh uirsgeul is òran, seanfhacal, toimhseachan 

agus beul-aithris, euchdan Fhinn agus Oscair, agus eachdraidh an 

dùthcha fèin, air an innseadh leis na seanchaidhean. 

Tha an dàn maiseach a rinn e mu "Ghuil Eirinn" a' nochdadh 

na buaidhe a bha aig na làithean sin air inntinn a' bhàird:— 

" Am maduinn neo-chiontach na h-òige, 

Fhuair mi sgeoil nan linn a dh' fhalbh, 

Aig cagailtean Ile Chlann Dòmhnaill, 

Mu'n a' fhògradh na Gàidheil bho'n sealbh: 

A' chòisridh fhuranach do'm b' èibhinn 

Aithris sgeulachd Innisfàil, 

Uirsgeulan nan aoidhean còir, 

An tèisean ceòlmhor nam bàrd." 

Thàinig sgaradh nach robh càirdeil eadar Uilleam agus a 

mhaighistir, agus an ùine gheàrr dh' fhàg e " Ile ghorm an 

fheoir," a shiubhal an t-saoghail, agus a dh' iarraidh an fhortain le 

a shnàthaid! Shiubhail e iomadh taobh dùthcha agus baile ag 

cosnadh a bheò-shlainte, gus mu dheireadh an d' thug e a mach 

Glaschu, far an do chaith e a' chuid a bu mhò dhe a làithean. Anns 

a' bhaile mhor fhuair e cothrom air a fhòghlum a leasachadh, gu 

h-àraidh mu eachdraidh a dhùthcha, agus a chinnich fèin, agus 

gach spàirn is strì a rinn iad an agaidh naimhdeas agus fòirneart 

nan Gall. 

Bha Uilleam dian-thogarrach air fòghlum a bhi aige, agus 

deas gu a bhi 'ga thogail, mar is dual do'n fhìor Ghàidheal. Mar 

sin, ged bha aige ri obair gach là, chuir e roimhe gun dèanadh e 

suas an dearmad a rinn e air sgoil an làithean òige. Thug e 

aghaidh air an Laidinn agus air a' Ghreugais, agus air cànainean 

eile, air dhòigh 's gun dèanadh e an eadar-theangachadh na b' 

fheàrr na iomadh aon a bu mhò cothrom air sgoil. Sgrìobh e 

" Eachdraidh na h-Alba," a bha ri teachd a mach gach mìos 'na

192 UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD I LEACH. 

h-earrannan, ach chaidh stad oirre le dìth airgid. Ach chan an:- 

mar fhear-eachdraidh a bhios cuimhne Uilleim air a cumail beò, 

ach mar shàr-bhàrd. 

Tha e air a ràdh gun robh a' chuid bu mhotha de a bhàrdachd 

air a cur an tàth a chèile an dèidh dha teachd gu meadhon aois, 

agus tha a bhàrdachd a' dearbhadh gu bheil an tuairisgeul fìor. 

Còrr is aon uair tha e ag innseadh mar thuit a cheòlraidh 'na suain 

chadail. Am " Blàr Dhail-Rìgh " tha e a' togail na casaid na 

h-aghaidh:— 

"'S iomadh bliadhn' o nach d' fhuair mi 

Oran, iorram no duan bhuat," 

agus anns na rannan a rinn e do Eòghann MacCuirich, Fear 

teagasg Gàidhlig am Baile-ath-cliath, tha e ag ràdh:— 

" Ged bha mo cheòlraidh 'na smùrach 

Còrr is fichead bliadhna, dhùisg ì." 

Ach ma bha an dùsgadh fadalach, cha robh e mi-tharbhach, agus 

tha Mac Dhunleibhe 'na sheasamh an diugh anns an t-sreath as 

àirde de fhilidhean ceòlmhor nam beann. Dhùisg caochladh 

chuspairean a chlàrsach gu ceòl—cor a dhùthcha agus còirichean an 

t-sluaigh—agus b' ann da fhèin a b'aithne briathran garga agus 

brosnachail, tiamhaidh agus drùidhteach, a chleachdadh mu na 

nithean sin. 

Ach tha earrann mhor de a shaothair mu chogadh. Bu chaomh 

leis innseadh mu ghleadhar nan arm agus gaoir a' chatha, an 

( 

crann-tàra ' air a ghiùlan bho ghleann gu gleann, a' brosnachadh 

nan sonn agus 'gan gairm gu ionad na stri. Bha boilisg a' chlaidh • 

eimh agus euchdan nan gaisgeach a' tarruing a mach a bhuaidhean 

's a' toirt neirt is dian-luatnais d' a bhriathran. Tha a chainnt 

neartmhor, brìoghmhor, agus air a deagh thaghadh. An làmhan 

Mhic Dhunleibhe tha a' Ghàidhlig 'na h-inneal cumhachdach, 

mar an làimh fìor mhaighistir, gu cùisean àrda agus toirteil a chur 

an cèill, beò, soilleir mar dhealbh. 

Tha " Blàr Tràigh Ghruinneart " a' tòiseachadh air pong 

gaisgeanta, mar fhuaim trombaide:— 

" An latha mu dheireadh de 'n t-samhradh, 

Là is fad' air am bi cuimhne, 

Aig sgarthanaich nan tràth 'san ear 

Thàinig freiceadan a dhùisg na fir, 

Ag innseadh gun robh Siol Chuinn ag gluasad 

Fo'm brataich shean do'm b' ainm a' bhuadhach." 

Ach cha b' iad batailtean no cruinneachadh nam feachd a mhàin Wi.

UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD ILEACH. 193 

a bha ag gluasad spiorad a' bhàird. Nach tiamhaidh am pong a 

tha am fihdh a' bualadh an uair a tha e ag caoidh fàsachadh a 

dhùthcha:— 

" Tha an nathair bhreac 'na lùban 

Air na h-ùrlaìr far an d' fhàs 

Na fir mhòr' a chunnaic mise. 

Thoir am fios so chun a' bhàird." 

Bha dreach agus cruth Nàduir, an uair a bha fuaim a' chatha 

'na thosd, ag cur seuna air a anam; agus troimh neoil bhagarrach 

na strì, tha gathan blàtha a' bristeadh. Eadhon aig toiseach Blàr 

Shunadail, fuilteach agus uamharra, tha an leughadair a' tighinn 

air seud ro òirdhearc mu mhaise an àite:— 

" Cò nach sireadh do ghlacan uaine, 

A chunnaic aon uair iad 

'Nan culaidh Shamhraidh 

Cruitheachd nan lusan mar gum b'ann a' strì 

Cò is rìomhaiche a sgeadaicheas 

Gach ìsleach is bruach, 

Bho tholman nead na h-uiseig' 

Gu aisridh doireachan nan earb." 

Tha " Cuimhneachan Bràghad Albainn " a' nochadh duis agus 

caomhalachd a tha mar thobar fìor-uisge a' sruthadh a mach 'na 

chaochan soilleir bho a anam; ach chan fhaodar a bhi a' leudachadh 

na's fhaide. 

Bha Uilleam pòsda ri cèile dhìlis, ach cha do sheinn e mu 

ghaol: coltach ri Iain Mac Codruim, chaidh e seachad air mar osaig 

de'n ghaoith. Tha neach a thadhail air uair an Glaschu ag innseadh 

gur e " a chearcag fhraoich " a theireadh am bàrd air uairean ri a' 

mhnaoi-chèile. 

Bha a mhodh sgrìobhaidh ao-coltach ri bàird eile. Cha do 

lean e rannaidheachd nan sgoilean anns na dàin mhòra, ach bha na 

rainn, ciod air bith an cruth, daonnan ag èirigh air sgiathan 

neartmhor, ceòlmhor. Bha e a ghnàth bochd 'na chrannchur, ach 

bha oighreachd àrd smuaintean agus àrd ghnìomhan, bho na 

làithean o shean agus bho maise agus mòralachd Naduir, 'na 

sheilbh, agus dh'fhàg e sin againne mar dhìleib nach truaill meirg 

agus nach slad fear-reubainn. 

Chaochail am bàrd anns a' bhliadhna 1870. Tha e air a 

thiodhlacadh anns a' chladh an Glaschu ris an abrar " Janefield," 

agus chuir cuid de Ghàidheil Ghlaschu carragh-cuimhne suas aig 

an leabaidh far a bheil e a nis ag cadal gu foistinneach. 

N

The Better Singer. 

By ' REV. KENNETH 

MACLEOD, 

of " Songs of the Hebrides." 

MANY years ago there was trouble in the bird-world over a 

question of art. In tree, in meadow, and in heathland, 

there were heated discussions as to whether the mavis or 

the skylark was the better singer of the two. 

At last, the wise little wren put in his word. " My mind is 

going back," said he, " to something that happened long, longago. 

A little bird was flying over the hill which is called Calvary, 

and what saw he but a great crowd of people, and in the midst of 

them a Man nailed to a Cross, with a crown of thorns on his head. 

In a passion of love and of anger, the little bird made straight for 

the Cross. ' I cannot,' thought he, < pull out the nails, but I can, 

at any rate, pull out the thorns, one by one, and lessen the Man's 

pain.' And he did, and in so doing dyed his own breast red. I 

am thinking, fellow-birds, that the Redbreast could tell us, if he 

chose, of the song that is better than another." 

Slowly and shyly the Redbreast came forward, and when he 

began to speak, it was like one in a dream. "The other day," he 

said, " there was sorrow upon me, because of the leaves that will 

soon be falling and the flowers that will soon be fading. But 

when it was towards evening the mavis began, after her manner, 

to put the day's story into song, the good and the bad of it, and I 

praised the Good Being for the beautiful singer who was giving 

voice to our thoughts and yearnings who are still on earth. 

Next morning, at dawn, the strange thing happened. I heard 

the song of the mavis sung by the skylark to a different tune, and 

I praised the Good Being for the beautiful singer who was carrying 

it towards the heights." The Redbreast paused for a moment. 

" I know so little," he continued, " but I have the love of my 

heart for such as are pulling thorns out of wounded brows." "By 

your leave," whispered the wren, " I am going away to tell a little 

story to the mavis and the skylark." 

He found the two side by side, drinking dew-drops at the foot 

of an old cross. 

The Song Battle. 

BY REV. KENNETH 

MACLEOD, 


IN the days when the Cian of Donald and the Seed of Leod were 

uat each other's throats in the Isle of Skye, a band of women 

once met on a neutral green, overlooking the sea, to waulk 

the cloth and to sing the songs which the bards had made long 

before blade or dirk was forged. 

In the very heart of the company was a little old woman, with 

;"bright eyes and more than her share of wrinkles, whom nobody 

there could put a name on, but who was not the slackest among 

them at the fulling and the singing. 

y As they plied the song and the cloth and the jest, a great galley 

came round the headland, as if making for Dunvegan. " "Who is 

she" cried a woman of Cian Donald, flinging the taunt into the 

song she was singing. " Who is she, yon great galley sailing by 

Sure, hers is the banner we do not know." 

Quick as thought, the little old woman of the bright eyes and 

the many wrinkles, snatching the taunt out of the singer's mouth, 

flung it back in her face, with the sore things, forbye, that only a 

bard can say. "Who is she, yon great galley sailing by Yon 

is the galley of the golden rudder and the silver masts and silken 

'sails—the galley of a king. Who is she, yon great galley sailing 

5 

by Yon is the galley of harp and song, of gleaming candle and 

silver goblet—the Galley of Dunvegan. Who is she, yon great 

galley sailing by Yon is the galley whose music-of-laughter, in 

the ebb, in the flow, puts the fine swelling on wind and wave—the 

•galley of my little child." 

Truth of me ! ye listening ones, but yon was the chorus which 

leaped high into the air, when it burst upon the women that she 

of the many wrinkles was none other than Màiri herself, Daughter 

of Alastair Rua, queen of them all. " Màiri of my heart," cried 

the woman of Cian Donald, making the stately courtesy of her 

race, " Am I not the proud one to-day, and evermore, to have put 

the light into thine eye and the beautiful song into thy mouth."

The Song of the Blood. 

BY REV. KENNETH MACLEOD, 


THERE was once a woman-bird in the Isles, who was known 

in bird circles as the Genteel Stranger, because of her manners 

and her music. She had spent part of her youth near a 

Lowland town, and to the end of her days she sang tunes which 

nobody else had ever heard, and sang them, too, with all the little 

graces of the trained singer. 

So proud was she of her Lowland breeding that, shortly before 

mating time, she went down south to hatch her young, and bring 

them up in her own genteel ways. " Yes, it's laughing I am," 

laughed the wise little wren, when he heard of the daft trip. But 

for a while, at any rate, the laugh seemed to be against him. Not 

only did the little ones come out of the shell in due time, but they 

grew up into as bonnie chicks as any fond mother could wish to 

lull into sleep. 

Sorrow upon me! Why should so many of the true stories 

end so sadly "When the singing time came, did not those same 

chicks put the black shame upon their mother by being unable to 

sing; anything under the sun but the queer old tunes of the Isles. 

" Yeel-a-vee, yeel-a-voo," cried the mavis, when she heard the 

droll news, " the song of the blood, the song of the blood, it will 

out, even should the genteel mothers burst!" 

Ged *s cian mi air m' aìneol o'n dachaidh fo'n fhuar bheinn, 

Is miann le mo bhruadar, mo bhruadar bhi 'd cheò, 

An nìonag is tàladh a gràidh ghil 'gam dhuanadh, 

'S am fuaran a' nuallan am chluais ri mo bheò. 

Coinneach MacLeoid.

An Uiseag. 

LE NIALL MAC GILLE SHEATHANAICH, 

Rùnair a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich. 

UISEAG riabhach, àrd 'san iarmailt, 

Leam is ciatach t' òran 

Air maduinn ghrianaich air an t-sliabh 

Moch ag iarraidh sòlais. 

Do ghuth miadhail leam as miannaich' 

Thar gach ian de m' eòlas, 

A' toirt fianuis mar am briathran 

Air na dh' iarradh òirrne. 

Ciod is lèir dhuit às na speuran 

Innis fèin e dhomhsa 

'S an cuir mi'n cèill e do na leughas— 

'S mòr ar feum air eòlas. 

An e do spèis bhi 'faicinn sprèidh— 

Crodh is fèidh air lòintean, 

Uain bheag èibhinn 'measg nan treud 

A' mire leum le sòlas. 

An 

fhreagairt. 

Is binn am chluasan fead a' bhuachaill, 

'S moch a ghluais e còmhl' rium, 

Is guth nan gruagach tighinn o'n bhuail' 

'S iad 'giùlan cuachan lòd-mhor. 

An sgalag-thuath a' treabhadh cruaidh 

Le seisreach ghuailneach òg-each, 

Is sgaoth m'a chuairt de eoin a' chuain,— 

'S neo-bhinn am chluais an ceòl-san! 

Am bàrr gach gèig's an doire lèith 

Tha ioma gleus 'sa' chòisir, 

Mar phongan teud na clàrsaich rèidh 

An àird ag èirigh ceòlmhor. 

Ach's binne 'n t-sèisd na iad gu lèir 

Air salm o bheul a' chreòthluinn, 

'Cur fàilt air grèin na maidne Chèit 

'Bheir slàinte 'n dèidh na dòruinn.

198 AN UISEAG. 

Chan e na's lèir a nì dhuit feum, 

Mur tuig thu 'rèir an òrduigh 

Gum b' i a chreud cho maith's an lèigh 

Rinn slàn a chreuchd do'n deòiridh. 

Na cum do bheul o mholadh Dhè; 

O èirigh grèin gu glòmainn. 

'S e sin mo sgeuls' mum paisg mi sgèith 

Am neadan fèin 'sa mhòintich. 

The Mod. 

By M. M. 

NO Highlander requires to be told at this date what the Mod 

is, and what it means—to him. Amongst recurring Highland 

events in the home-land, the Mòd undoubtedly holds 

the first place in the heart of every true Gael. For nearly forty 

years he has been familiar with it, and, in the annual round of 

Gatherings, Concerts and other functions with which his Celtic 

soul is regaled, he looks upon the Mòd as the crowning course of 

the banquet. For others, however, who have heard of the Mòd, and 

jprobably heard of it often, but have never quite understood what 

it is, and what its precise place is in the scheme of things Highland, 

a brief explanation may serve a useful purpose. 

The Mòd then may be described shortly as the Great Annual 

Gaelic Festival, devoted to literary and musical competitions in 

that language. These competitions are open to every lover of 

the Gaelic tongue who considers himself or herself qualified to 

participate in them. " Am Mòd " is not to be confused, as is 

so often done, with "An Comunn Gàidhealach," the organization 

under whose auspices the Mòd is held. 

The Mòd was instituted thirty-five years ago, and, except 

during the War years, has been held annually since. The first 

Mòd was held at Oban, the total number of entrants for the 

various competitions being 40; a truly modest beginning. At 

the Mòd held in the Autumn of 1926, the number of competitors 

was over 1,000. The venue of the Mòd changes from year to 

THE MOD. 199 

)ear. The gatherings, however, have now reached such dimensions 

that only a few of the larger centres of population can provide 

the necessary accommodation. However much the Executive 

would like to visit smaller centres within the Highland area, the 

lack of suitable accommodation forbids. This disadvantage is 

happily being compensated for to a large extent by the growth of 

Provincial Mods, which have been held with great success in 

various districts. 

The literary and musical competitions are each divided into 

two sections—Junior and Senior. In both sections the competitions 

follow somewhat similar lines:—Essays on prescribed 

subjects, Poetry, Recitations, Story-telling, Acted Dialogues; 

Solo, Duet and Choral Singing. In the Junior Section prizes are 

also given for letters on prescribed subjects, for writing to dictation, 

and for reading at sight. While it is true that the musical 

side bulks large in the Mòd programme, it is not to be supposed 

that the literary side is not receiving due attention. 

The isolated and unsettled state of Gaeldom in the olden 

cays was not conducive to a large or varied output of general 

literature. Then, from the Jacobite days up till a comparatively 

recent date, social, economic, political, and even educational forces 

were operating against the language of the Gael, " freezing the 

genial current of his soul," and preventing the free and full 

exercise of his undoubted natural literary gifts through the 

medium of his native tongue. That he had a language, and 

possessed both intellect and imagination for fiction, drama and 

other forms of literary expression is abundantly proved by the 

quality of a large part of the poetry that was produced, notwithstanding 

the unfavourable conditions. W r e need mention only 

such names as MacDonald, Maclntyre and Buchanan, to make 

us think what might have been, in happier circumstances. 

As a result of the adverse forces with which Gaelic had to 

contend in the past, is it any wonder that the number of Gaels 

who can acquit themselves passably well in the writing of Gaelic, 

is at present comparatively limited But we still believe in, and 

work and hope for, the development of Gaelic literature, as well 

as for the spread of Gaelic ideals of thought and life. Our 

Comunn movement is now being supported by our Educational 

system, both in School and University, in a way that could hardly 

be hoped for about fifty years ago. We are concentrating attention 

more and more on instruction being given to our boys and girls in

2O0 

THE MOD. 

THE MOD. 

SO I 

reading and writing their mother-tongue, and we aim at making 

our Mòd a powerful means of awakening ana inspiring both 

young and old, to hold fast to the best traditions of the ancient 

race trom which they are sprung. Many of the best of the 

Gaelic writers who have come into prominence during recent years, 

have been Mòd competitors, and they are ready to acknowledge 

gratefully what they owe to the encouragement derived by them 

from the success of their Mòd efforts. 

Even were the Mòd exclusively a Musical Festival, justification 

for its existence could be found in the great amount of work 

cf first-class importance it has done for Gaelic Music. It has 

raised Gaelic singing to a high level, while preserving its peculiar 

native characteristics; it has rescued from neglect many of our 

loveliest melodies; it has helped effectively to reveal to the world 

the great wealth and variety of Gaelic music and song; and it has 

given Highlanders themselves a new interest and enhanced pride 

in these precious possessions of theirs. 

Socially, the Mòd serves a highly useful purpose. It brings 

together, for the four days covered by its proceedings, all sorts 

and conditions of people, who have a common bond of union in 

love for the old tongue. The years have not withered, nor custom 

staled its attractiveness; it is anticipated year by year with the 

keenest interest, and enjoyed—every hour of it—with the utmost 

zest. For the Highlander who loves the traditions, the language 

and the music of his people, the Mòd is a feast of fat things, 

which nourishes his spirit and stimulates his self-respect. For a 

brief space, he rejoices in the fellowship of kindred spirits, and 

surrenders himself unreservedly to the spell of the past. 

As a propaganda agent the Mòd is invaluable. While 

fulfilling its own function of directly encouraging Gaelic singing 

and Gaelic poetic and prose competitions, it advertises the work 

of An Comunn, and wins for it a measure of sympathy which it 

would not otherwise so easily obtain. 

But, after all, the chief object of the Mòd, as of the work of 

An Comunn generally, is not only to help to preserve the Gaelic 

language from extinction, but to extend its use as the vehicle of 

oral and written communication between Highlander and High 

lander. While each succeeding Census Return in the past forty 

years has furnished melancholy evidence of the magnitude of the 

task which confronts workers in the cause of Gaelic, grounds for 

optimism are not wanting. There is ample evidence of an 

awakened interest among adult Highlanders generally in the 

fortunes of the old tongue, and surely it is not unreasonable to 

look for gratifying results in the near future, as the fruit of having 

secured for every Gaelic-speaking boy and girl attending schools 

in Gaelic-speaking districts the right to instruction in reading and 

writing their mother-tongue. Undoubtedly, while there is still 

much to be done, the Gaelic worker is able to answer the question, 

"Am faigh a' Ghàidhlig bàs", with a more emphatic and confident 

negative to-day than at any time during the past twenty 

or thirty years. 

Differences between the Gael and the Gall. 

BY PROFESSOR DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., D. Litt., Dublin. 

Author of " A Literary History of Ireland," etc. 

T BELIEVE that everybody feels instinctively that there is a 

JL temperamental difference between the Gael and the Gall, 

between the Highlander and the Lowlander. But it is not so 

easy to say just wherein the difference lies. Many people are 

satisfied when they say it is a " racial" difference, but I think it 

would be too rash to determine offhand how much of it is conditioned 

by race and how much by history. My own opinion is 

that history, not race, will be found to be the supreme factor. 

The temperament of people who have no towns or cities near 

them, is different from that of town dwellers. The people of 

the mountains are never quite like the people of the plains, nor 

are those who dwell by the sea quite the same as those who dwell 

far inland. The outlook of people governed by Chieftains, each 

tribe a little nation, must be different from that of a people 

governed by a central established law. 

I have been led into these reflections by looking again through 

the volumes of Donald Macintosh and of Nicolson, and comparing 

their proverbs with our Irish ones. The proverbs of a race throw 

much light on its past. How, for instance, could such an 

apparently unworthy saying as, Bìonn an sonas indiaidh na

102 DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 

siraoiligheachta, i.e., " Luck follows slovenliness," get into Irish 

except at the time when a neat house and farm brought almost 

certainly a demand for increased rent from a rapacious landlord 

or factor. How came the saying, Is fiùntaighe poll na paiste, 

i.e., "A hole is worthier than a patch," except from a people 

among whom so many considered themselves gentlemen, 

" Gillies seventy-five 

and sixty duine-wassals." 

Any gentleman might have a hole in his coat, but a patch meant 

premeditated poverty. 

A great many Scottish Gaelic proverbs are the same as, or 

resemble, proverbs found also in Ireland, and it would be chiefly 

in these that those who would distinguish " racial" traits from 

traits due to history would find their account. I certainly will 

not tread upon such thin ice here. But there are two peculiarities 

which distinguish us Gaels from other Europeans, of which our 

Lowland or Saxon friends have probably never even heard, of 

which, in fact, they have no conception whatever. It is of them 

I wish to speak here. One is of our counting of time; the other 

is of our songs. 

There is a German Novel—it was a great favourite of 

Bismarck's— called, Durch Nacht zum Licht, " Through dark to 

the Light," and it was thus the Gael counted his hours, 

beginning with the night and finishing with the day. Those who 

are keen over racial characteristics may find a good opportunity 

here for giving a free rein to their imagination. They may find 

for it some deep underlying psychological cause. It is easy to 

spin a supposition that it is the character of the Celt to face death, 

danger and difficulty, before he settles down to life, safety and 

enjoyment, and that with him the shadow, gloom, and danger of 

night are given first place, as leading to the light, pleasure and 

sunshine of the morning. This sounds fantastic enough, but 

there is no denying the fact that, while other races counted time 

from the revolution of the earth on its axis, beginning with the 

morning, he counted time, beginning with the night. The Gael 

talks in Gaelic of Oidhche Nollaig, which, being translated, means 

" Christmas Night." But it is not Christmas night, it is the 

night before Christmas night, it is Christmas eve. In the same 

way all Gaels speak of Oidhche Shamhna, literally " November 

night." But it is not November night, it is the 31st of October. 

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 2G*3 

November commenced for the Gael with sunset on the 31st of 

October, and Christmas with sunset on the 24th of December. 

Oidhche Challuinn is not "New Year's Night," but the night 

before, the night of December 31st. This method of counting 

the twenty-four hours was the practice as far back as Caesar's time, 

for he mentions observing it among the Gauls, so it cannot be 

derived from the Biblical, Agus b'iad am feasgar agus a' mhaduinn 

an ceud la, i.e., " The evening and the morning were the first day," 

although this parallelism, still observable in the timing of Jewish 

Festivals, might provoke speculation as to some spiritual kinship 

between the Gaelic and the Semitic mind. 

But more important than anything I have mentioned yet, 

because it faces us every day and everywhere, is the fact that the 

Gael constructed all his songs and all his poetry upon principles 

which the Gall not only does not recognise, but does not even 

understand. It is the most successful attempt to reproduce music 

in speech that has been made by any European nation. I am not 

now alluding to the fact that while English, French and German 

require full rhymes, that is both the same vowel and consonant, 

the Gael only requires a vowel or an assonantal rhyme. He has 

that in common with the Spaniard. What I want to call attention 

to is rather the places in the verse or line where the rhymes occur. 

Thus the Gall only seeks for end-rhymes, i.e., a rhyme at the 

end of every line, while the Gael is nearly as much concerned in 

having a rhyme in the middle of the line, sometimes two or three 

of them. 

When the Irish first began to make songs in English, they had 

no idea of any other possible way of making them than the 

methods used in Gaelic. I could give fifty instances of this 

kind of composition, and this fashion continued until comparatively 

recently. A local poet, addressing Smith O'Brien—I 

found the poem amongst his papers at Cahermoyle—prophesied:— 

O'Brien is coming to release us 

From hardships, sad slavery and woe, 

Taxes are daily decreasing, 

And Rackrents are ceasing also:— 

" release," pronounced re-lace, makes a vowel rhyme with 

" slavery." " taxes " with " rackrents," and " decreasing," pronounced 

decracing, with " ceasing " pronounced sacing.

204 DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 

The following is an attempt to explain the Gaelic system to 

the English reader. I take the beautiful poem on Prince Charlie, 

by D. B. MacLeoid, and I have tried to translate the first verse of 

it into the rhythm of the original, which I give here from lan 

MacCoinnich's K Bliadhna Thearlaich." The poem is not in his 

" Sàr-obair nam bàrd." 

" Gu cladach a' chuain, 

Ri fuar-ghaoth an anmoich, 

Thriall Tearlach gun dealradh. 

Air allaban's e sgith, 

Gun reull air a bhroilleach, 

No freiceadan a' falbh leis, 

Ach ainnir nan gorm-shùl, 

Bu dealbhaiche lìth. 

Mar dhaoimean 'san oidhche, 

Bha a' mhaighdean fo thùrsa, 

'S i cràiteach mu Thearlach 

Bhi a' fàgail a dhùthcha; 

Bu trom air a h-osna, 

'S bu ghoirt deoir a sùilean, 

'Nuair chunnaic i an iùbhrach 

A' dlùthadh ri tìr." 

" To a far mountain harbour, 

Prince Charlie comes flying, 

Whilst winds from the Highlands 

Wailed wild in the air; 

On his breast was no star 

And no guard was beside him, 

But a girl by him gliding 

Who guided him there. 

Like a ray went the maiden, 

Still faithful, but mourning, 

For Charlie was parting 

From hearts that adored him ; 

And sighing beside him, 

She spied over Ocean 

The oarsmen before them, 

Approaching their lair.

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 205 

All the beautiful Gaelic poetry is composed more or less upon 

modifications of this principle of internal rhyme. I know nothing 

else so melodious. I do not think that anyone who cannot 

appreciate the metric of these poems, and the system upon which 

they are composed, has any right to criticise Gaelic poetry. This 

conclusion, if right, would seem to exclude all Englishmen, and 

most Lowlanders, from acting as our critics, at least until they 

have thoroughly mastered our language. 

Sheiling Life in Lewis. 

BY NORMAN MORRISON, D. ès. Sc., F.Z.S., 

Author of " The Life Story of the Adder," etc. 

" Thug mi 'n oidhche raoir 's mi bruadar 

Mar ri nlonagan na buaile." 

GENERALLY speaking, the word "Sheiling," to the 

ordinary person, means nothing more than a romantic term, 

a poetical expression for some vague thing which has no 

longer any existence in modern life. Of course, some of us, when 

in a reflective mood, delight to feast our imagination on that 

exquisite poem, " The lonely Sheiling on the Misty Isle," which 

has touched a responsive chord in the hearts of tens of thousands 

of exiled Celts, stirring their emotions and love of homeland to 

white heat intensity. Yet in this materialistic age, all that 

beautiful sentiment we associate with the abstract and the 

intangible—a mere echo of the long past. 

But some readers will be probably surprised to hear that 

Sheiling life has still concrete form in the Island of Lewis, and 

for the benefit of those who are ignorant of this charming oldworld 

custom, which, as I have already mentioned, has been 

immortalised in poetical lore, I should like to give here a brief 

description of Sheiling life, or rather what it stands for. 

During the months of June and July, the cattle of the various

2o6 SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS. 

SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS. 

20y 

townships in Lewis are sent out to the interior of the Island from 

four to seven miles, or, to use a colloquial phrase, are sent to the 

àirigh (sheiling), in order to allow the common grazing ground 

round the villages to recuperate, so as to have it in good condition 

for pasturing the flock during the Autumn. 

The villages and hamlets in Lewis are situated along the seaboard, 

while the inland areas are a vast expanse of rich, brown 

moorland, generally speaking, flat, without road, fence, or dyke, 

but lit up with the gleam of fresh-water lochs, and interpersed with 

a network of streams and rivers, giving a romantic and picturesque 

touch to the brown-haired landscape. When the cattle are sent 

out to this stretch of purple heath and heather, usually every 

family has a sheiling erected in some charming corrie. These 

huts are almost circular in design, measuring 10 by 8 feet, and 

constructed of a double wall of undressed stone, with a layer of 

soil between the outer and inner walls, the roof being covered over 

with turf, leaving an aperture for the smoke at one end. There 

are also two small openings, opposite each other, about 

4 ft. in height by 2^ in width, which serve as doors. The 

opening on the windward side is always built up with a mossy 

turf, while the other opening stands open night and day. Twothirds 

of the interior are taken up with the bed, which is simply 

a shake-down of heather and coarse grass. Owing to the 

springy nature of the heather, the bed is almost as comfortable as 

an up-to-date spring bed. Two layers of turf, running along the 

front of the bed, are used as a kind of settee, and the fireplace is 

opposite the bed, up against the end wall. 

There is always some one out to herd the cattle and milk 

the cows, which, through force of habit, gather at the sheiling 

night and morning to be milked. The milk is set in dishes in 

recesses in the wall, and carried home each morning. 

Sheiling custom has been in existence in Lewis for fully 400 

years, and it is interesting to note that with few exceptions the 

institution is still preserved in all its ancient purity—and in no 

way tainted with modern ideas. 

Recently, when holidaying in Lewis, I spent a week in a 

sheiling ten miles from ' anywhere,' and I should like to describe 

briefly the environments and general atmosphere of sheiling life. 

I am writing this at the door of my lonely sheiling hut (bothan 

àirigh), which is built on a green knoll overlooking a fresh-water 

loch, studded with islands. These islands are the abodes of 

nymphs, which, however, are seen only by those who have a certain 

kind of eye to see them. 

It was a perfect June evening, calm and peaceful, with a serene 

sky of the purest blue, while the sun curved down on the western 

sky like a flaming ball of molten gold, painting moor, loch, hill 

and dale in a radiant sheen of golden glory, ranging from orange 

tints to exquisite shades of purple, with a faint trace of violet to 

be seen on the distant hills. The surface of the loch took on 

first a pinkish hue, changing gradually into dark crimson. 

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, a soft, transparent 

unearthly light illuminated the terraqueous vision, robing land 

and water in an ethereal shade, so subtle and mystical in character 

as to mock the poet's fancy, and baffle the painter's art. Everything 

seemed to be touched by the hand of enchantment. 

Again, the solitude and awesome silence of the moor was 

impressive, and even bewitching beyond words. I could see in 

all directions miles of heather-clad landscape, intermixed with 

bog-down or cotton sedge (the < 

canach ' of the Gaelic bards), so 

that it looked as if it had been sprayed with snow-flakes. 

No sign of the handiwork of man could be seen anywhere, 

except two primitive edifices, in one of which I was to lodge for 

the night. Nature in her majestic glory and virgin purity 

was all around me. Add to this glorious picture the fragrant 

odour of heather, wild thyme and other moor plants, wafted on 

the genial evening air; and, to complete the magic scene, the 

shrill note of a snipe and the harsh cry of a belated moor-fowl 

could be heard now and again, giving a touch of life and animation 

to the wonderful panorama. 

It was truly an evening calculated to soothe the unquiet 

passions into rest, and to calm the restless mind of man. One would 

need to be an earth-bound mortal who could not for the moment 

indulge ìn dreams of delight and beauty, and appreciate in spellbound 

bewilderment the dazzling glory of a perfect summer 

evening on a Lewis moor. 

In conclusion, may I give just a glimpse of the social and 

human side of a Highland sheiling. On a neighbouring knoll, 

about a hundred yards away, stands another sheiling, at the door 

of which two young girls are sitting, having just finished milking 

the cows. Both are tail and strikingly handsome, and dressed in 

short gowns and coloured blouses. Their garb shows off 

admirably their well-proportioned figure, and no headgear hides

208 SHEILING JuIFE IN LEWIS. 

from view the coiled tresses,—"like the cloud's yellow wreath on 

the mountain's high brow"—which, happily, the "bobbing" vogue 

had not yet touched. As might be expected, they are in a happy, 

frolicsome frame of mind, laughing and making merry, as 

maidens always do in similar circumstances. 

Then they lapse into silence and seem to be in a meditative 

mood, gazing with spellbound admiration at the entrancing scene 

around them. In the depths of their quiet, clear eyes, which may 

now and again sparkle with innocent merriment, there lie serious 

thoughts, for the average Lewis lassie is a mystic, with a romantic 

and poetic turn of mind. " Like white lilies floating in the peathag's 

dark waters," these daughters of the moorland are no 

common milkmaids. They are in the direct line of spiritual 

descent from the Hebridean maidens of earlier days, who always 

had a lively sense of the " infinite," of unseen powers, coming 

into the tasks of common life, and who had for the most of the 

domestic duties such wonderful prayer-songs or blessing-hymns 

as are preserved for us in Dr. Alexr. Carmichael's " Carmina 

Gadelica." When the cattle were taken to the sheilings, the 

sheiling-feast was prepared, after which a dedicatory hymn was 

sung:— 

" Mary beloved! Mother of the White Lamb, 

Protect us, thou Virgin of nobleness, 

Queen of beauty, Shepherdess of the flocks, 

Keep our cattle, surround us together." 

After this pause for contemplation, to which I have referred, 

one of the damsels began singing that beautiful Gaelic lyric 

" Airigh Bhail' a' Chrò." In a rich soprano voice, with no "College 

of Music " training, her sweet notes were borne on the wings 

of the evening zephyr, and the melody thrilled me to the core of 

my being. Who that has heard the Lewis girls sing a Gaelic 

psalm to the tune of " Stornoway " can ever forget the soulstirring 

music Then, amidst the placid stillness of a perfect 

June night, as the moon appeared on the southern horizon, and 

began climbing the tranquil sky, my fair companions and myself 

retired to our respective huts, to enjoy the " silence that is in the 

starry sky, the sleep that is among the lonely hills," and to dream 

of this Paradise of sheer delight, undisturbed by any sounds 

from " Vanity Fair." 

SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS. 209 

" Mo shoraidh slàn gun robh gu bràth 

'Na fàrdaich is 'na stòr! v 

Tha 'h-iomhaigh ghràidh 'nam chùimhn' a ghnàth, 

Is briathran blàth a beoil; 

Bidh m'aigne làn de ghaol nach cnàmh, 

Gus an càirear mi fo 'n fhòd, 

Do 'n ghruagaich bhàin a dhùisg mo dhàn 

Air àirigh Bhail' a' Chrò." 

The Call of the Isles. 

BY BESSIE J. B. MACARTHUR. 

Ol SOME folk dream of Italy and skies of sapphire blue, 

And some they rave of Samarkand, and Cities of Peru ; 

But I would have the islands that lie dreaming in the West,. 

For din of the Atlantic surf is beating in my breast. 

There's Jura with her wooded heights, and green romantic glens, 

There's beauty-haunted Isla too, and Mull of many bens ; 

And round by Ardnamurachan, where seas are running high, 

There's Rum, and Eigg, and Canna, and the misty Isle of Skye. 

Across the Minch to Erisort, the * blue men ' are at play, 

And sure, we hear their laughter from the Lews to Castlebay ; 

While midway on the sea-path to Loch Broom and Loch Maree, 

The Summer Isles lie shimmering like jewels in the sea. 

We never want for music there, and far though we may roam, 

There's aye a haunting melody to lure us back to home— 

The iorram and the crònan in the gentle Gaelic tongue, 

From ages immemorial the islanders have sung. 

There's music in the Gaelic like the crooning of the wind, 

There's soothing for the sorrowful, and seeing for the blind ; 

The heart of Youth is singing there the song that never dies, 

And Age will find her dreams again 'neath Hebridean skies. 

O ! travel South, and travel North, and travel where you may, 

Across the Himalayas, or to shores of far Cathay, 

And choose the place in all the world where you would be at rest, 

But leave to me the islands that lie dreaming in the West!

SEANN SGEUL GHAIDHEALACH. 

2 I I 

Seann Sgeul Ghaidhealach. 

LE ALASDAIR MACDHOMHNAILL, INBHIRNIS, (" GLEANNACH.") 

GED tha an sgeul so a leanas 'ga h-inn seadh am measg sgeulachdan 

o shean an Eirinn (faic leabhar grinn le Seumas 

Mac Mhanuis), is cuimhneach leam-sa gu maith a cluinntinn 

an làithean m'òige mu Thaobh-Loch-Nis:— 

Bha duine mòr ann aon uair aig an robh anabarr measa air 

daoine glice agus ionnsuichte a bhi mu'n cuairt da; agus bho thìm 

gu tìm bhiodh comh-fharpuisean aca am measg a chèile, a dh' 

fheuchainn co bu ghlice 's a b'ealanta dhiùbh fhèin. Ach là de 

na làithean chualas ainm air duine air leth glic anns gach eòlas 

agus ealantas, a bhi a' dol cuairt na tìre a' tairgsinn dùbhlain do 

neach 'sam bith a sheasadh 'na aghaidh a fhreagairt a cheistean. 

Chuir an ceann-uidhe fios 'ga ionnsuidh e a thighinn an aghaidh 

fir no fir eile de a chuid daoine; ach an uair a bha an là a' teachd 

dlùth air an robh an sgoilear ainmeil a' tighinn, 'sann a ghabh 

na fir roinn sgàtha roimhe, a mheud agus nach rachadh neach idir 

dhiùbh 'na choinneamh. 

Chaidh an sin an ceòl feadh na fìdhle, agus is e a chinnich aig 

a' cheann-uidhe a chomhairle a chur ri seann duine glic a bha anns 

a' choimhearsnachd. An dèidh an suidheachadh anns an robh iad 

uile gu lèir a chnuasachadh bho a thoiseach gu a dheireadh, is e 

an co-dhùnadh gus an d' thàinig iad gun cuireadh iad gille càrn a' 

chruidh an aghaidh an sgoileir mhòir, mar gum b' ann a' magadh 

air a bhiodh iad. 

Thàinig là a' cheasnachaidh mu'n cuairt, agus thionail mòrshluagh 

na tìre a dh' èisdeachd ri na daoine glice a' fuasgladh 

ceistean a chèile. Thàinig a' cheud cheist bho an sgoilear mhòr; 

ach feumar a thuigsinn nach robh e air a cheadachadh aon fhocal 

bruidhne a bhi idir anns a' chomh-dheuchainn. Thog esan, màta, 

a lamh dheas, is chuir e a mach aon mheur. Thog am buachaille 

càrn a làmh dheas mar an ceudna, agus chuir e a mach dà 

mheoir. An sin chuir am fear eile a mach trì meoir, agus 

fhreagair an gille càrn le a dhòrn a dhùnadh, agus gleus feirge 'na 

shùilean. Shìn an sgoilear an sin a mach a làmh a' feuchainn 

sùibheig-thalmhainn; agus mu choinneamh sud dh' fheuch am 

brogach càrn gròiseid. Bha an sgoilear mòr ag gabhail an eagail, 

tha e coltach, nach robh e gu bhi cho buadhach 'sa bha e an dùil; 

ach a dhèanamh oidhirp eile, thug e ubhal a mach às a phòcaid, 

agus dh' fheuch se e 'na làimh. Am priobadh na sùla thug an 

gille càrn a mach geamht arain mu choinneamh an ubhail. An 

sin thug an sgoilear caob às an ubhal; ach ma thug, thilg am 

buachaille càrn an geamht arain air, agus bhuail e cho trom eadar 

an dà shùil e agus gun do thuit e gu làr ann an neul. 

Air dha èirigh air a chasan a rithist, chaidh e far an robh an 

ceann-uidhe, agus thubhairt e ris, "Tha mi a' dèanamh làn aideachaidh 

gu bheil mi air mo chur fodha leis an fhear ro anabarrach 

glic a chuir sibh am chomhair an diugh. Ged is iomadh 

rìoghachd a shiubhail mi, is duine ainmeil an eòlas 's an gliocas 

air an do chuir mi an ruaig, cha do thachair neach riamh rium cho 

domhain ann an eòlas ris an fhear so ris an do choinnich mi an so 

an diugh. 'Se ollamh air leth da-rìreadh a tha ann. 'S fhiach 

e mòr onair a bhuileachadh air." 

" Innis dhuinn matà," arsa an ceann-uidhe, brìgh nan ceistean 

agus nam freagraidhean a bha eadar thu fhèin agus an duine roghlic 

so." 

" Ni mise sin," ars' esan.—" Chuir mise a mach m' aon 

chorrag, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh ann aon Dia a mhàin. Chuir 

esan- a mach dà chorraig, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh dà phearsa 

eile anns an Diadhachd. Chuir mise a mach trì chorragan, a 

dh' fheuchainn gun robh trì pearsachan uile 's an Diadhachd. 

Dhùin esan a dhòrn, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh iad sin uile 'nan 

aon. Chuir mise an sin a mach sùibheag-thalmhainn a dh' 

fheuchainn gun robh a bhi beò taitneach. Chuir esan a mach 

gròiseid, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh a bhi beò gu lèir taitneach— 

gun robh cuid de ghoirteas ann a bhi beò mar an ceudna. Chuir 

mise a mach ubhal, a dh' fheuchainn gur ann bho mheasan an 

talmhainn a tha an cinne-daonna air am beathachadh. Chuir esan 

a mach pìos arain, a dh' fheuchainn gum b'e aran biadh-beatha 

chlann-daoine. Thug mise an sin caob às an ubhal, a dh' fheuchainn 

gur ann mar sud a thàinig am peacadh thun an t-saoghail. 

An sin thilg esan am pìos arain orm-sa, 'ga mo bhualadh gu trom, 

a dh' fheuchainn gun d' thàinig peanas an cois a' pheacaidh." 

ct 

Mar sin," arsa esan, 's e a' leantainn air adhart, " bha mise 

aig ceann mo theadhrach. Fhreagair e m' uile cheistean le 

doimhne gliocais air nach d' fhuair mise aithne riamh roimhe. 

'S ann tha an gille làn dìomhaireachd gliocais os cionn a leithid 

'sam bith a bhuineas do chlann-daoine. Tha mise a nis 'gar

212 SEANN SGEUL GHAIDHEALACH. 

fagail. Gabhaibh cùram de bhur gille cam; chan 'eil fear eile de 

a leithid am bun a h-uile teallaich." 

Ach chinn aig an t-sluagh an dèidh so mìneachadh a' ghille 

chàirn fhaotainn air na ceistean agus na freagraidhean, a rèir a 

bheachd-sa dhiùbh, agus dh' iarradh air a inntinn a leigeil ris 

dhoibh. 

" B'e am fior bhraidean e," arsa an gille càrn. " Chunnaic 

sibh e ag cur a mach aon mheòir, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh 

agam-sa ach aon sùil; ach chuir mise a mach mo dhà mheoir, a 

leigeil fhaicinn dhà-san gun robh dà shùil ann fhèin. Chuir esan 

an sin a mach trì meoir, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh trì sùilean 

againn le chèile. Ghabh mi fhèin an fhearg, is chuir mi a mach 

mo dhòrn, a dh' fheuchainn da gu dè a bha a' frithealadh air, mar 

sguireadh e de a bhi a' magadh orm-sa." 

" Thug esan an sin a mach sùibheag-thalmhainn, a dh' 

fheuchainn gun robh sud aige-san a bhàrr orm-sa; ach chuir mise 

a mach gròiseid, a leigeil fhaicinn da gun robh uibhir agam-sa 

ris 'nam làimh fhèin. B'e an ath nì a rinn e, an droch stic a bha 

e ann, ubhal a chur a mach, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh annamsa 

ach mac a' bhodaich bhochd a tha a' reic mheasan anns a' bhaile 

bheag ud shìos; ach thug mise làmh air criomaig arain a bha mi 

a' toirt dhachaidh, a dh' fheuchainn da gun toirinn-se dha e mu'n 

bheul's an t-sròin mur leigeadh e dheth gu tur a bhi a' dèanamh 

buill-magaidh dhìom-sa. Agus 'nuair a thug e caob às an ubhal, 

a dh' fheuchainn gum bithinn-se ag goid ùbhlan mo sheanmhair, 

's gan itheadh, cha b' urrainn domh m' fhearg a chumail fodha 

na b' fhaide, agus 'sann a thilg mi an geamht arain a bha agam 

'nam làimh air 'san aodainn. Bhuail mi eadar an dà shùil e cho 

nàimhdeil agus gun do chuir a' bhuille preathal air, agus thuit e 

mar neach ann an neul." 

" Cha robh ann ach baothair gun diù, gun oilean, gun tuigse; 

chan earbainn an crodh ris fad aon mhaidne. Chan è a mhàin nach 

robh e glic, cha robh dòighean laghach aige." 

An sin chaidh a' chuideachd mu sgaoil, agus a' chuid mhor 

dhiùbh ag ràdh riutha fhèin gum b' iongantach an saoghal a bh* 

ann, agus gun robh inntinn an duine de na h-iongantasan bu mhò.

Long nan Saighdearan a' Seoladh Dhachaidh. 

LE IAIN MACPHAIDEIN, 

Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich. 

SEIS. 

Horò, tha sinn sunndach; 

B' fhada 'g altrum dùil sinn 

Gum biodh ar long 'ga stiùradh 

Gu 'r dachaidh chiùin o'n d' ghluais sinn. 

RANN. 

Gun d' fhàg sinn Calais sòlasach 

'Sa mhaduinn moch Di-dòmhnaich, 

'S 'nuair chaidh muir ghorm gu crònan duinn, 

Bu bhinn a ceòl 'nar cluasan. 

An caol gu plubach, faoileagach, 

'S a bhi air 'uchd 'toirt faochaidh dhuinn; 

'S bha spriod na fairge chaoir-ghealaich 

'Tighinn oirnn o thaobh an fhuaraidh. 

Bu duan an long's a h-ìnnleachdan, 

'S i 'gearradh thonn 'na sìnteagan, 

'S a' chòbhrag 'cagairt dìomhair rium, 

'S na still a bha m' a guaillean. 

An Fhraing 'nar dèidh a' fannachadh— 

Gur geàrr gun caill sinn sealladh oirr'— 

Ach dh' fhàg sinn cuimhne mhaireannach 

An tasgadh anns an uaigh aic'. 

Dh' fhàg sinn smior na fiùghantachd 

Bha rìoghail, reachdail, rùnach ann, 

Blàth nam faillean ùrmhoireach; 

B'e an dùthchas a bhi buadhach.

214 

LONG NAN SAIGHDEARAN A' SEOLADH DHACHAIDH. 

An càs no 'n cruas cha strìochdamaid, 

Ach's crùnadh ar toil-inntinn e, 

Nach d' fhuiling cliù ar sinnsearachd. 

Ged 's iomadh strì a fhuair sinn. 

Tha Sasunn aoibheil, fonnar ruinn; 

Gach machair gorm ged 's geamhradh e; 

Gidheadh tha m' inntinn annsachdail 

Air gleanntan nam beann tuathach. 

Ar mnathan is ar màthraichean, 

Ar leannain is ar càirdean ann; 

'S tha fuinn is òrain Ghàidhlig ann, 

A chuireas pràmh air fuadach. 

The "Bothan" (The Highland Cottage). 

BY COLIN SINCLAIR, M.A., 

F.R.I.BA. 

( ( 

/ÛL ri gaoithe, aghaidh ri grèine,"—back to the wind, face 

V^,/ to the sun,—the " bothan beag " seems to form as much a 

part of the natural landscape as the grey rock behind it or 

the grassy knoll on which it stands. So truly, indeed, is the old 

house of the Gael attuned in harmony to its setting, that it might 

well be a part of the primeval order, and the handiwork of Nature 

herself. 

The bothan calls for no elaborate description. It was of simple 

form and of humble dimensions. It furnished but the bare 

essentials for a people whose material wants were few. Bounded 

by four rude walls, it usually contained two apartments; its fireplace 

was set on the middle of the floor, its lighting was scanty, 

and hygienic devices were absent. 

In the houses of the Outer Isles, the roof was of the simplest 

construction, scarcity of timber being a factor which would limit 

any attempt at the ornate; for, in the matter of this material, 

the island people were largely dependent upon wood washed ashore 

from passing ships. 

THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE.!. 2 I 5 

On the Mainland, however, where the oak and the fir were 

abundant, the roofing was more elaborate and more highly 

developed in design. Indeed, in the region of the pine forests of 

the North, the traditional house was often constructed entirely of 

timber, the walls and roof being built of forest pine, ply over ply; 

and the silver grey tones which years of exposure to the weather 

have imparted to the wood, are agreeable and pleasing to behold. 

Of the old houses of the West, three types may be recognised, 

these having reference chiefly to the formation of the roof. In the 

Isles of the Hebrides, where Atlantic gales sweep up the ocean, and 

drive the seabirds to their abodes among the rocks, the houses are 

built with walls of great thickness, designed to withstand the 

furious impact of the storm. The roofs are of soft outline, and 

rounded off at the angles to deflect the wild west winds; and a 

peculiar device is employed in the setting back of the springing 

of the roof to the inner edge of the walls, which results in a broad 

ledge being formed along the wall tops. By this arrangement— 

and it has science behind it—the roofing is preserved intact, for 

the wind current is swept upwards on striking the face of the wall. 

The second type is found in the houses of the Western seaboard 

and in those of some of the inner Isles. No longer is seen 

the flat ledge of the wall top so characteristic of the Hebridean 

house, for here the roofing is arranged to form overhanging eaves, 

while the rounded hip-ends of the former type are retained. 

In the more southern and inland parts, the third type is represented 

in the development of the triangular gable end, against 

which the roof abuts. In these houses, the picturesque overhanging 

eaves are also displayed. 

In the later examples of this type of bothan, the fireplace 

and smoke flue were placed against the gable, the chimney being 

formed of a timber hood and shaft, terminating in a fanciful top. 

This kind of chimney was called similear-crochaidh, ' hanging 

chimney,' but often the exit for the smoke was a hole in the ridge, 

druim-àrd, directly over the fire-place, an teintean. 

As with the plan and with the structure, the furnishings of the 

house were governed by utility rather than by luxury. The 

common articles of furniture were the box-beds, the dresser with 

its presses, plate-racks and shaped ends, the bench or settle; the 

meal barrel, water-stoup, and the three-legged pot suspended from 

the slabhraidh—a chain attached to a crossbeam in the roof. 

It is interesting to attempt to recall some of the descriptive

2l6 

THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE). 

THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE). 217 

names by which the various parts of* his house were known to the 

old Gael. The foundation was bunntair or stèidh, and the top of 

the wall inside, anainn. The walls were often built of two thicknesses, 

filled in with earth and clay. This interfilling was termed 

glutadh. The sods of turf on the wall were called foidfàil. 

The roofing consisted of main rafters or couples, na ceangail 

or lànain, each leg being a cas-cheangail. The legs of the 

couples were tied across by a small stick at the apex, called an 

spàrr. This was placed immediately below the gobhlag or fork, 

and lower down, a cross tie, called am maide-tarsuinn, was fixed. 

The hip or corner rafters were known as an roinn-oisinn. The 

ridge, dronn, was formed by a ridge pole, am maide-droma, and 

the longitudinal purlins, fixed across the couples, were described 

as na taobhanan. Na taobhanan in turn supported na cleithean or 

cabair, the light timber fabric upon which the thatch, tughadh, was 

laid, which might consist of only a covering of tough divots or 

clods, called sgrathan. 

To make the roof more waterproof, there was often over the 

divots a tughadh of bracken (raineach), or heather (fraoch), or of 

sea-bent (muran), and the man who showed skill in this work was 

regarded as master of a fine art. The stones acting as weights to 

hold down the thatch were called acraichean, ' anchors.' Bunnachabac 

was the position above the eaves where the weights were set, 

and an dragh was a straw rope, laid longitudinally above the eaves, 

around which rope, the heather loops, sìomain-fraoich, were bound, 

prior to the fixing of the weights. 

Sgolb was the name given to the pins required for the fixing 

of the thatch; and the peg at each end of the ridge, round which 

the sìomain-fraoich were passed, was called am maide-feannaig. 

Crann-tairgnean were the pins employed in the fixing together of 

the roof timbers. 

The lintel of the door was called àrd-dhorus, the wood lintel, 

am maide aide, a term whereon hangs a tale: briefly, persons who 

held their heads too high when entering, were to take care of their 

hats! Clàidhean was the wooden door 1 sneck,' called in Uist, 

deit. The hearth slab was known as an cagailte, and the aperture 

formed in the roof for the egress of the smoke is in some places 

i 

described by the poetical name of fàirleus, dawn or morning 

light.' 

As already mentioned, the * bothan ' was devoid of architectural 

embellishment, yet it was constructed on sound principles 

of structural design, and the builders seem to have been endowed 

with a natural sense of the elementary mechanical requirements of 

the problem set before them. Indeed, the inherent scientific sense 

of a race whose intelligence was ever on a high plane, produced 

buildings, rude and unadorned as they were, embodying many of 

the same structural devices as are employed in the complex architecture 

of the present day. 

Notwithstanding the absence of those aids to the promotion 

of physical wellbeing which the laws of modern hygiene demand, 

a happy and healthy manhood was destined to spring from the 

primitive conditions of life associated with the humble * bothan 

beag,' and the fact cannot be gainsaid that the old house preserved 

the sanctity of home life in a surpassingly high degree. 

" An tomhas mòr, bha an obair-san anns an àile ghlan; bha 

am biadh neo-thruailte. B' iad càirdeas is coibhneas air 

air an robh meas, agus cha b' e òr no inbhe àrd, no eireachdas 

air an taobh a muigh a b* àill leo." 

Around the peat fire, the cèilidh, that ancient and peculiarly 

Gaelic institution, was wont to be held; there the song was sung, 

and the ancient tales were told; tales which set old heads to noble 

thinking, and filled young hearts with pride of race. 

Overhead, amid the mystic darkness of the canopy of thatch, 

were the blackened rafters, relieved by the gleams from the fitful 

flames of the peat-fire which threw weird shadows across and 

around. 

From such surroundings the Gael emerges, imbued with 

attributes peculiarly his own; and not the least of these is that 

marked tendency to spiritual meditation, and profound contemplation 

of the eternal, which has helped him, amid the vicissitudes 

of his lot, to turn his gaze towards the higher things of life. 

Cas air creathaill 's làmh air cuigeil, comharradh na deagh mhnàtighe. 

Foot to cradle, hand to distaff, mark the good housewife. 

Is fheairrd' an luch sàmhchair, mar thuirt luch a' mhonaidh ri luch 

a' bhaile. 

The mouse is the better of quietness, as the moor mouse said to the 

town mouse. 

Chan e gogadh nan ceann a ni an t-iomradh. 

It is not the nodding of heads that does the rowing.

Crois Tara (The Fiery Cross). 

GAELIC 

PLAY, BY DONALD SINCLAIR. 

Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama. 

BY THE HON. R. ERSKINE OF MARR. 

THE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of Domhnull 

Mac-na-Cèardach's Play, " Crois-tàra." Mr. Sinclair 

has written other plays since he composed the one a portion 

of which I here give in English. Not long ago, a very charming 

piece of his was staged in his native Barra, and acted to applauding 

audiences. This distinguished poet and dramatist has also tried 

his hand at a play for children; but it is in the more ambitious 

forms of the dramatic art that he has experimented most. 

With regard to " Crois-tàra," which, as will be collected from 

the portion I give, is a Jacobite play, it is cast in a good mould. 

The opening Scene strikes notes that run, like the refrain of an 

Opera, through the whole; and some of the situations conceived 

by the dramatist are strong; while some of the language held by 

the characters under stress of their emotions is intensely vivid, 

and of great figurative beauty. Some of those beauties I have 

laboured to capture in my translation of them; but, as everyone 

knows who has tried his hand at turning Gaelic into English, to 

do justice to the first by the second is no easy task. Mr. 

Sinclair is one of the ablest of the few dramatists we have. I hope 

he will be encouraged to go on writing Gaelic drama, the more so as 

he is a poet of great parts, and as his work shows much improvement 

with every successive example of it. The present play 

has in it some faulty passages and some situations weakly conceived, 

but these spots on the sun Mr. Sinclair will doubtless 

remove when the time comes for him, (which I hope may happen 

very shordy), to produce his plays in a single volume. 

Obviously here is no place in which to embark on 

any detailed disquisition touching Gaelic drama. Indeed, 

I have here little more room than is necessary to write 

down the names of author and play, and to give some 

few brief particulars about both. Nevertheless there are 

three observations, which, before I conclude, I crave permission 

CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS'. 219 

to make. The first relates to Gaelic Drama in general; the second 

to our people's part with regard to that matter; and the third 

to the spirit in which he who thinks to compose Gaelic drama 

should go about to write it. 

With regard to the first head, my belief is that a bright future 

is in store for Gaelic drama, if our stage keeps clear of " commercialism," 

and reaches out to the psychological values of life, in 

order to which end it possesses in the Gaelic language an instrument 

of uncommon force and unrivalled beauty. With regard to the 

public, their duty is to support Gaelic drama, remembering always 

that as great things often have small beginnings, so, to reach the 

first through the channel of the last, there must be understanding 

mixed with encouragement in the reception accorded those first 

essays. My last counsel refers to the dramatists themselves, and 

it is this:—Remember the answer which the Black Lad Mac- 

Crimmon returned to the faery who promised him his wish. 

" Which would'st thou prefer," says she, " skill without success 

or success without skill " The Black Lad said he would rather 

have skill without success, and that he got. He was a true Gael, 

and a true artist. 

CROIS-TARA. Act I: Scene I. 

Translation by the Hon. 

R. ERSKINE OF MARR. 

SCENE I. The Laird of Borrowdale 1 s House. A Reception 

Room. 

(The Laird of Borrowdale and Ewen Macdonald are discovered. 

Ewen Macdonald is restlessly pacing the floor. Laird 

of Borrowdale is seated, and appears deep in thought). 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—To go out against Fate, Ewen, is 

useless. Neither is there any need for it. If the Prince has come, 

'tis not without events concurring with him in his design, and 

'tis not—as well I know—without pressing on the part of those 

who wished him here, and have invited him to it.

Crois Tara (The Fiery Cross). 

GAELIC 

PLAY, BY DONALD SINCLAIR. 

Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama. 

BY THE HON. R. ERSKINE OF MARR. 

THE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of Domhnull 

Mac-na-Cèardach's Play, " Crois-tàra." Mr. Sinclair 

has written other plays since he composed the one a portion 

of which I here give in English. Not long ago, a very charming 

piece of his was staged in his native Barra, and acted to applauding 

audiences. This distinguished poet and dramatist has also tried 

his hand at a play for children; but it is in the more ambitious 

forms of the dramatic art that he has experimented most. 

With regard to " Crois-tàra," which, as will be collected from 

the portion I give, is a Jacobite play, it is cast in a good mould. 

The opening Scene strikes notes that run, like the refrain of an 

Opera, through the whole; and some of the situations conceived 

by the dramatist are strong; while some of the language held by 

the characters under stress of their emotions is intensely vivid, 

and of great figurative beauty. Some of those beauties I have 

laboured to capture in my translation of them; but, as everyone 

knows who has tried his hand at turning Gaelic into English, to 

do justice to the first by the second is no easy task. Mr. 

Sinclair is one of the ablest of the few dramatists we have. I hope 

he will be encouraged to go on writing Gaelic drama, the more so as 

he is a poet of great parts, and as his work shows much improvement 

with every successive example of it. The present play 

has in it some faulty passages and some situations weakly conceived, 

but these spots on the sun Mr. Sinclair will doubtless 

remove when the time comes for him, (which I hope may happen 

very shordy), to produce his plays in a single volume. 

Obviously here is no place in which to embark on 

any detailed disquisition touching Gaelic drama. Indeed, 

I have here little more room than is necessary to write 

down the names of author and play, and to give some 

few brief particulars about both. Nevertheless there are 

three observations, which, before I conclude, I crave permission 

CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS.!. 219 

to make. The first relates to Gaelic Drama in general; the second 

to our people's part with regard to that matter; and the third 

to the spirit in which he who thinks to compose Gaelic drama 

should go about to write it. 

With regard to the first head, my belief is that a bright future 

is in store for Gaelic drama, if our stage keeps clear of " commer 

cialism," and reaches out to the psychological values of life, in 

order to which end it possesses in the Gaelic language an instrument 

of uncommon force and unrivalled beauty. With regard to the 

public, their duty is to support Gaelic drama, remembering always 

that as great things often have small beginnings, so, to reach the 

first through the channel of the last, there must be understanding 

mixed with encouragement in the reception accorded those first 

essays. My last counsel refers to the dramatists themselves, and 

it is this:—Remember the answer which the Black Lad Mac- 

Crimmon returned to the faery who promised him his wish. 

" Which would'st thou prefer," says she, " skill without success 

or success without skill " The Black Lad said he would rathehave 

skill without success, and that he got. He was a true Gael, 

and a true artist. 

CROIS-TARA. Act I: Scene I. 

Translation by the Hon. R. ERSKINE OF MARR. 

SCENE I. The Laird of Borrowdale' 1 s House. A Reception 

Room. 

(The Laird of Borrowdale and Ewen Macdonald are discovered, 

Ewen Macdonald is restlessly pacing the floor. Laird 

of Borrowdale is seated, and appears deep in thought). 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—To go out against Fate, Ewen, is 

useless. Neither is there any need for it. If the Prince has come, 

*tis not without events concurring with him in his design, and 

'tis not—as well I know—without pressing on the part of those 

who wished him here, and have invited him to it.

220 CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS). 

EWEN MACDONALD—Fate! . . . 'Tis often that he who 

shapens mischief fashions his own fate; and 'tis often that into an 

unskilful heart the warmth of the fire puts the hardiness of fools. 

But this " pressing " . . .May God forgive those who have used 

it, for much they stand in need of pardon who have shown so 

little wisdom, and held so little conduct! . . . Sheer madness! 

This affair will work us woe. 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(Rising) Press not thy words Ewen 

MacDonald! Put not the race of Cian Donald to the blush. Pay 

heed to what thou sayest, and give not cause of offence to the 

rightful Royal house. 

(Enter Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair. He is in full dress, and 

carries himself with spirit.) 

ALASDAIR—Health in the house of the bards! 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—I thank you! 

here! 

You are welcome 

EWEN MACDONALD—(Regarding Alasdair with a sour look.) 

God preserve us! What have we here 

ALASDAIR—To feign ignorance of that, ill becomes you; and 

he who, knowing, asks, does worse than theft. In me, you see 

one of the race of Colla, who has come to welcome his Prince to 

the country of Cian Ranald. Who is he from whom I should 

conceal it Who will take exception when he hears it 

EWEN MACDONALD—Listen! Thou who art without sense, 

and without discretion. Cian Colla! Cian Colla forsooth! , . . 

Well, be it so! For sure, Cian Colla was ever the first to drink 

of the cup of discord; Cian Colla was ever the first to be seized 

by the fever and riot of things hapless and forbidden! 

ALASDAIR—(With anger and hauteur) Seadh! Claq Colla! 

Cian Ranald for sure, if thou likest it so 1 But, in the name of 

all curses and cold ruin, is thy creed the creed of pigs Is thy 

creed—thou on whom is MacDonald for name—unrighteousness 

and the Evil One Hast sold thyself, body and soul, to the 

Prince of slaves and the dregs of mankind

CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS I . 221 

EWEN MACDONALD—(Furiously) Be not so hasty, man! 

Restrain thy tongue! Cease thine impertinence! 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(pacifying the others) Come, 

friends, recollect yourselves ! Be sensible! 

EWEN MACDONALD—(To Alasdair.) As for thy creed, a 

laochain, 'tis but that of thy breeding; remember that small is the 

spark that works loss and ruin. I have sold neither my soul nor 

my body; but reason and common-sense tell me that it is not to 

the advantage of the Gaels that they should have a hand in this 

madness that's now a-foot, or yield themselves up to the Prince's 

design. I have seen him, and I have heard the persuasions that 

are used; and this is my advice—the advice of reason—that you 

turn a deaf ear to him, till you see, and till you get stronger 

warranty of succours and support than he now can show you. 

There's not a man of the race of Cian Ranald more willing than 

I am to stand out for justice and our lawful King; but when I 

see men doing their best to botch a business which is already overrisky, 

it becomes my duty, as a leader, to give them honest 

counsel. 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—Thy spirit, Ewen MacDonald, is unmanly; 

and to forecast failure for this attempt which Scotland is 

about to make in behalf of freedom and her rightful King, is 

dishonourable. Thy forebodings, and the fears thou art nursing 

up, are baseless. Vain is thy pleading in the ear of Cian Ranald ! 

ALASDAIR—'Tis vain—and foolish ! For him to think to 

stem the torrent of our great design is useless. Neither he, nor 

any one else—save God Almighty—can think to control the 

storm that rages in the bosom of the clans; for this is the hour 

in which the blow must be struck; now's the time when the son 

of the Gael shall show forth the terror of his might against the 

despoilers of his country, and the violators of his rights! 

(Enter Armed Clansmen) 

EWEN MACDONALD—May God then undo your intents; and 

may He, in His own good time, give you light, so that you may

222 CROIS-TARA I THE FIERY CROSS I. 

come to know where the true path or* your interest lies ! So be it— 

now's the hour! Now's the hour, I fear me, which shall bewitch 

the sword of the Gael; and, thereafter, bewitched it shall remain 

till the end of all things. 

CLANSMAN—Say not so! Ewen MacDonald, disgrace it not! 

Who is he that would not raise his sword in behalf of Charles 

Stewart, Prince of the Gaels 

ALASDAIR—Men ! Lift up your hearts above mean, unworthy 

things! Let not one of you yield to the suggestions of a mind 

whose ignoble fears keep him bowed as low as earth 1 Men ! 

Prepare yourselves to march, to meet and welcome our Prince, 

Charles Stewart, son of King James! Och! Och! God and 

Charlie! 

CLANSMEN—God and Charlie ! 

ALASDAIR—(with vehemence and inciting zeal.) O, ye— 

children of the Gael! O, ye who are of the seed of the heroes of 

a hundred battles—remember ! Remember your wrongs, and the 

wrongs of your race ! Remember freedom ! . . . Revenge ! 

Revenge from the ends of all times past is flooding my soul, and 

is calling upon me to avenge with all the strength of my right 

hand, wrongs and injuries past all bearing! But, by my sword 

and by my shield, the hour is come! The doors of the hate and 

fury of Scotland are flung wide open ! The spark is in the 

heather! and the reek and smell of the burning roll far and wide 

through the land of the bens ! As the wind stirs the leaf, so does the 

war-cry of a countless host stir the drum of my hearing! 

Eyes without number—flaming with the lust of slaughter—fill 

my vision! I hear the matchless music of the Gael, as it goes 

forth to battle, bursting from a hundred chanters, and challenging 

to combat the weaponed might of the hosts of earth. Och! A 

Mhoire ! Behold the lads who wear the tartan ! Watch the prowess 

of the true and perfect men ! See the faces—lowering as the 

storm—of the champions who wreak vengeance! Like wolves 

from the shoulders of the hills, foregathering, so gather together 

m sight of all. the seed of heroes, intent to deliver, irresistibly, 

the sure and final stroke of vengeance! 

CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS:. 223 

CLANSMAN—(With enthusiasm) My blessing on thy soul, 

Alasdair! One and all we'll rise! Young and old Gaels will 

rise—for victory or death ! 

EWEN MACDONALD—Alas! 'Tis like enough they'll rise; but 

their place of lying down, I fear, will be the woods and thickets 

of the fugitive! 

ALASDAIR—(With hauteur, and laying a hand on the hilt of 

his sword.) Ewen MacDonald! Thy speech dishonours thy 

father's cian ! Have a care! 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(Pacifying Alasdair.) Let him be, 

Alasdair! He is not worth thy trouble! Heed him not! Give 

him not thine ear! 

ALASDAIR—(To Ewen MacDonald.) Chief! Thy speech 

disgraces thee, and faint is the beat of thy pulse! But, despite 

thy fears and thy seducing words, the powerful Cian of Colla will 

rise—aye, branch, twig and stem, that noble and victorious tree 

will rise; and with united voice all will cry—" Crois-tàra!" 

(The distant sound of pipes playing " The young Prince's 

Salute " is heard.) 

CLANSMAN—Hark! D'ye hear Thank God ! 

ALASDAIR—(Joyfully, and drawing his sword.) The Young 

Prince's salute! The Salute of the Prince! 

(Alasdair and Clansmen go off, but return almost 

immediately.) 

ALASDAIR—Thanks be to God! 'Tis true! The White 

Rose of our hopes! Sweet to mine ear is the music of the distance—the 

sound that brings the tidings of the Prince's coming 

to the land of Cian Ranald! 

(Ewen MacDonald paces the room distractedly, and regarding 

Alasdair with menacing eye.) 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—Men! 'Tis time for us to be going 

te salute His Royal Highness! 'Tis our duty to welcome our 

Prince to the House of Mac-'ic-Ailein.

224 CROIS-TARA (THE FIERY CROSS). 

CLANSMEN—(Casting their bonnets into the air for joy.) 

Hòro ghealladh! The Sun of Freedom! Prince Charles 

Stewart! 

EWEN MACDONALD—(With a sneer.) Al Seadh! To the 

House of Mac-'ic-Ailein! (To Laird of Borrowdale.) Is it not 

thou that hast the unperceiving mind, notwithstanding all that I 

have said to thee How hard it is to prevail on thee to open 

thine eyes! 

LAIRD OF BORROWDALE—(Angrily.) Ewen MacDonald! I 

perceive thou art minded to force a quarrel! 

ALASDAIR—We will not belittle things of high intent by 

mean. Let us away to meet His Royal Highness! 

CLANSMAN—We're for the Prince ! Let us all away to salute 

the Prince of the Gaels ! 

(Exeunt 

Clansmen) 

ALASDAIR—(As he and Laird of Borrowdale go off.) God 

and Charlie! 

EWEN MACDONALD—(Alone.) Nature has opened no fount 

of sense in yon men. Gaels! God . . . yet, my own race. And 

their King—is he not mine also ... I hear the baying of the 

hounds of woe—warning of grief unspeakable, warnings of 

tribulations, and hangings and slaughterings. O God, if it is 

Thy Will, divert from our land and race this destroying flame 

that now approaches! (As he goes off.) God be about us, and 

favour us! May He grant to each one the counsel that befits 

his state, and guide the hearts of all to the goal of His Justice! 

CURTAIN.

A Glasgow Lassie's Visit to Culloden—1918 

A 

STRETCH of barren moor, pine woods it hemming, 

Marks thy drear waste, Drummossie, grave of valiant men 

Haunt of the lapwing, ever restless wheeling 

O'er its deserted nest amid the heather, then 

Crying wild for the fate of those there sleeping. 

Rude stones, uncarved, grown o'er with moss and lichen, 

Show where MacLachlans and MacGilvrays fighting fell; 

Frasers, MacLeans, and sons of brave Lochaber 

Sleep side by side, in death, old feuds forgotten, 

Clasped in the swelling turf's green, quiet bosom. 

Yonder, beside the fir-trees' darkened shadow, 

Towers the cairn 'neath which in simple grandeur 

Sleep plaided chiefs—leal hearts, yet warriors doughty; 

And round the cairn hang wreaths of withered yew-tree, 

Sere as the blighted hopes the heroes cherished. 

Still, stagnant well, round thy green marge once gathered 

A baffled host, athirst, with glazed eyes staring 

Deep through thy sparkling waters, once clear flowing: 

Dark woe hath dimmed, methinks, thy shining mirror 

That thou ne'er more canst show fair summer's dawning. 

And thou, historic stone, cruel Cumberland's watch-tow'r, 

From thy round top he scanned the heaving battle, 

Followed with anxious eye the wav'ring clansmen, 

Leapt down in savage joy, as round Prince Charlie 

Surged his last hope, war-weary, hopeless, frantic. 

And on the battle's edge a small thatched ruin 

Sheltered the Prince that Caledonia loved; 

Cannon shot pierced thy walls, yet still thou standest, 

Sign of the steadfastness of loyal hearts, 

Thou seem'st their emblem in thy loneliness. 

Still keep, bleak moor, thy wealth of high tradition, 

Guard thy great dead, and keep their memory green: 

Precious to mountaineers thy lone grey cairns, 

Ne'er shall thy fair fame fade, nor name depart, 

For aye, the wide world o'er, Gaels think of thee. 

CATHERINE A. 

MACDONALD.

NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 291 

Na h-orduighean. 

LE DOMHNULL MAC-A-PHI NACH MAIREANN. 

IS ann mu'n aimsir so de 'n bhliadhna a b' àbhaist do'n chomanachadh 

a bhi air a chumail ann am mòran cheàrnan de'n 

Ghàidhealtachd, agus chan 'eil seirbhis chràbhach eile ann a 

mhaireas cho fada an cuimhne an t-sluaigh, no aon a dh 5 

fhàgas 

boladh cho cùbhraidh 'na dèidh. Dùisgidh i urram sònruichte 

am measg shean is òg, nach faighear ach tearc an àitean eile. 

Là grianach gun àile gaoithe—an sgìreachd uile fuidh thàmh, 

ged tha an sìd ro fhreagarrach air son oibre—an sluagh 'nan aodach 

sàbaid—grunnan an sud 's an so ag imeachd air an socair air na 

rathaidean mòra, no air an fhrith-rathad tarsuinn air cliathaich 

na beinne—a h-uile neach a' dèanamh dìreach air an aon cheannuidhe; 

agus so air là seachduine! Ciod e is ciall d'e Abraidh 

Philistich Shasuinn agus na Galldachd nach 'eil ann ach ana-caitheadh 

air tràth—dìmeas air a' chothrom a thug sìd math do dhaoine 

gu bhi a' saothrachadh mu 'n chroit no mu iasgach. Chan 'eil 

e soirbh do shluagh a chaidh a thogail am measg straighlich is 

malairt nam bailtean mòra, a chreidsinn gum bu chòir làithean 

'sam bith a choisrigidh do nithean spioradail ach là na Sàbaidc a 

mhàin; agus tha'n là sin fèin an cunnart dol a mùthadh am measg 

chreutairean a thug iad fèin thairis—anam is corp—do Mhamon. 

Tha seadh nan cleachdannan cràbhach a bha measail aig Gàidheil, 

agus mòran de Ghoill, leth cheud bliadhna roimh 'n diugh, annasach 

leo. Tha a' chuid nach gabh ris na nòsan nuadha acasan 

cumhang am beachd. Faodaidh gu bheil ceàrnan de 'n Ghàidhealtachd 

a' leantuinn eisimpleir nan Gall a thaobh so, mar tha iad 

'ga leantuinn an dòighean eile gun mhòran buannachd 'na lorg. 

Bu chòir do Ghàidheil a bhi eudmhor a thaobh an rian agus an 

dòighean fèin, chan e a mhàin a thaobh cràbhaidh, ach a thaobh 

rudan eile air nach bi sinn a' leudachadh an dràsda. 

Ach beachdaicheamaid air an là so—là na traisg—mar a b' 

àbhaist a bhi 'ga chumail. Bidh a' chuid is mò de 'n t-sluagh a' 

dèanamh deiseil air a shon mar gum bu là Sàbaid e. Feumaidh 

luchd-còmhnuidh ìochdar na sgìreachd—seann daoine is sean 

mhnathan co-dhiù—ullachadh a dhèanamh air son an rathaid. Am 

fear aig am biodh cairt agus gearran, bheireadh e cuireadh do 

neach a bhiodh ro lag-chuiseach air son coiseachd. Air son 

ghillean is nigheanan, cha chuireadh coiseachd deich no dusan mìle 

dragh 'sam bith orra. A dh' aon rud, bha iad air slighe 

dleasnais, an cuideachd a' chèile suas an rathad air an socair, a' 

seanchas fad an t-siubhail, no is dòcha 'nan suidhe air bruaich, car 

tiotain, an dèidh ùrachadh fhaotainn a tobar fìor-uisge a bha 

brùchdadh a stuth fhallain faisg orra. Co-dhiù 'se na bha rompa 

a b'fhaisg air an inntinn, no dùil ri bhi a' coinneachadh ri sean 

chàirdean, cha 'n abair sinn. Ach nam mothaicheadh iad air, dh' 

fhaodadh an sealladh a bha mu 'n cuairt an cridhe a' lìonadh le a 

bhòidhcheid. Nach 'eil am monadh fèin, ged tha e air amannan 

gruamach do 'n t-sùil, air amannan eile, mar an aimsir so, fo bhlàth 

le fraoch is còinnich is luibhean—badanan buidhe is uaine a' 

deàrrsadh na's àilne le gathan na grèine. Fad air falbh tha 

binneanan sgorach, creagach nam beann, mar gum biodh iad fhèin 

agus an t-athar air coinneachadh r'a chèile—dubhar maoth mar 

chorcuir air an aodann. Saoil nach drùidh tomhas de sheadh an 

t-seallaidh so—òirdhearc, farsuing, làn de'n dìomhaireachd a tha 

ceangailte ris na nithean a tha folaichte—air inntinnean sluaigh air 

an do bhuilicheadh cuibhrionn shònraichte de spiorad a' chràbhaidh. 

Chuireadh an cèill gu tric le muinntir a bhios ag gabhail mothachaidh 

air aigne an comh-chreutairean, gu bheil nàdur de chomhchomunn 

eadar sluagh na h-àirde tuath is nan eileanan, agus an 

cruthachadh Nàduir mu choinneamh an sùl—na siantan, an dubhar 

a bhios a' laighe air glaic nam beann, na sgàilean a bhios a' ruith 

air an aodann, gàir tiamhaidh nan tonn, no nuallan na fairge, is i 

'ga maistreadh fèin am broinn nan uaimhean. Ach bidh an anam 

ag ath-fhreagradh ris an t-sàmchair a thuiteas air Nàdur 'na h-àm 

fèin, mar thachair aig an àm so. 

Is e là na traisg là mòr an ullachaidh air son na cuirme naoimh 

a tha rompa air an t-Sàbaid. Bidh an eaglais làn de choimhthional 

stòlda, rianail. 'S e ministear a mhuinntir sgìreachd eile a bhios 

a' searmonachadh, agus gu dearbh 'sea dh'fheumas a bhi faicilleach 

mus tuit lideadh o a bhilean a bheir oilbheum do na daoine còire 

a tha 'nan suidhe faisg air a' chùbaid, no an crò nam foirfeach. Tha 

iadsan cho domhain 'nan eòlas air an Fhìrinn; tha an comas breithneachaidh 

cho geur, is nach e a h-uile ministear a ghabhadh air an 

. ladarnas sanas bu lugha a thairgse an aghaidh bheachdan 

a ghabh greim orrasan o 'n cheud là anns an d' fhuair iad eòlas 

spioradail. Abradh diadhairean nan colaisdean mar a thogradh iad, 

shuidhich na daoine còire so dòchas am beatha air bunait nach 

gabhadh carachadh. Biodh càch a' seòladh mar a stiùras sruth an

29- 

NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 

ama iad, tha an acarsaid acasan diongmhalta, agus tha am beatha 

spioradail crochte rithe. 

Mar is trice, is e Di-haoine là na coinneimh-cheiste—là a tha 

ro thaitneach leis an t-sluagh. Is è gu h-àraidh " Là nan Daoine," 

mar a theirear—daoine diadhaidh a mhuinntir na sgìreachd, no 

bràithrean o sgìreachdan eile a tha astar fada air falbh. Tha iad 

deas-bhriathrach, agus ainmeil 'nan crìochan fhèin. Chan 'eil an 

teisteanas folaichte. Ciamar a bhitheadh, is iad aithnichte mar 

dhaoine a chaith mòran de'n tìm ri fèin-rannsachadh Bidh cuid 

ag cur às an leth gu bheil iad air an sèideadh suas le uabhar 

spioradail, ach faodar a ràdh gun do chinnich annta feartan a chaidh 

a chleith air càch, air chor agus gu bheil iad uidheamaichte air 

son dleasnas an dreuchd. Math dh' fhaoidte nach 'eil mòran eòlais 

aca air leabhraichean, no air rudan a bhios ag cur imcheist air 

creutairean a tha ag gleachd ri nithean saoghalta. Tha aon leabhar 

ann air a bheil iad mion-eòlach, agus tha mòran dheth aca air am 

meomhair—Leabhar nan leabhraichean. Ma tha leabhar eile ann 

fosgailte dhaibh, is e sin leabhar an doilgheis agus a' c'hràidh-inntinn—leabhar 

a tha, a thaobh cuid, do-sgaradh o'n bheatha a tha 

làthair. Ann an seadh, faodar a ràdh nach 'eil aig a' chinne-daonna 

ach an dà leabhar so. 

Air Di-haoine, tha an raon aig na daoine doibh fèin. Chan 

'eil am ministear ach mar fhear-riaghlaidh air a' choinneimh, ged 

a sgioblaicheas e suas air deireadh na seirbhis na beachdan a 

chuireadh fo chomhair an luchd-èisdeachd. An uair a dhearcas 

e mu 'n cuairt, iarraidh e air fear de na " Daoine " a bhi ag èirigh 

—" bithibh ag èirigh, a Choinnich." Cha bhi Coinneach còir ro 

dheònach; tha e 'ga mheas fhèin neo-airidh, ach cha dèan diùltadh 

an gnothuch. Mu dheireadh, tilgidh e a bhreacan bhàrr a ghualainn; 

putaidh e a mheoir roimh a fhalt cràsgach, liath—ach glanshnuadhach 

air a shon sin—duine tlachdmhor, ged bha aghaidh 

còmhdaichte le preasan na h-aoise, agus air a seachdadh le uisg, is 

gaoith is grèin, a' strì am measg bochdainn is uireasbhuidhean a* 

chrannchuir. Nan robh an t-sùil lèirsinneach aig neach, chiteadh 

spiorad na h-irisleachd ag iathadh m' a cholainn, air dha a bhi a' 

dol an glaic nithean dìomhair. Eiridh e gu diùid, mar gum biodh 

e fo throm uallach le truimeid an dleasnais a ghabh e os làimh, agus 

bidh gach sùil anns a' choimhthional air. Math dh' fhaoidte gun 

robh e fo incheist a thaobh puing spioradail air choreigin, agus 

b'e a mhiann solus fhaotainn o na bràithrean. Gheibheadh e sin, 

agus ùrachadh 'na chois. 'Na dhèidh dh' èireadh fear mu seach,.

NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 293 

agus rannsaicheadh e a' phuing agus sgrùdadh e na beachdan. Mar 

chùl-taic d'a bhreithneachadh dh' fhosgladh e a suas fèin-fhiosrachadh 

a bheatha—fiosrachadh beatha an neach a tha 'na chòmhnuidh 

ann an ionad dìomhair an Tì is Airde. 

Bitear ag cur às leth nan " Daoine " air a' Ghàidhealtachd, gu 

bheil iad cumhang 'nam beachdan, agus gu bheil uabhar spioradail 

a' faotainn làimh an uachdar orra. Biodh sin mar dh' fhaodas e, 

cha ghabh e a chleith gu bheil an caithe-beatha a rèir an aideachaidh. 

Choisrig iad an aire's an aigne gu bhi ag cnuasachd air an Fhìrinn, 

agus tha i a' riaghladh an dol-a-mach agus an teachd-a-steach. 

Chan 'eil neach a dh' èisd ri aon diubh ag gleachd ann an ùrnuighj 

nach aithnich so. Tha an athchuinge làn de dhìomhaireachd am 

beatha; dùrachdach, brìoghmhor leis an t-seadh a thig o bhi a' 

meamhrachadh air nithean neo-fhaicsinneach—guidhe nach 'eil 

fad o dheireadh na rèise, iriosal 'na h-iarrtus, macanta 'na spiorad, 

ach làn de 'n dòchas air an do ghabh iad greim an toiseach. Chì 

gach aon de 'n luchd-èisdeachd an cor anns an ùrnuigh ud mar ann 

an sgàthan, oir is e a tha innte taomadh anama neach do 'n aithne 

a h-uile ceum de 'n t-slighe. Faodaidh gum b' ùrnuigh duine 

neo-fhòghluimte i—mar a mheasas daoine an t-saoghail fòghlum 

—ach foillsichidh i toradh na gleachd air nach 'eil e aineolach, agus 

tha i air a blàthachadh le ungadh an Spioraid Naoimh. Tha mòran 

de shean chleachdannan ciatach a' dol am mùthadh 'nar linn, ach 

chan 'eil cor na dùthcha a' dol na's feàrr. 

Is e là na Sàbaid là mòr na Cuirme. Bidh an coimhthional na's 

motha na air na làithean eile, agus ma bhios an sìd idir freagarrach, 

thèid pàilliun a shuidheachadh air lianaig ghuirm, gu tric aig 

ìochdar cnuic. Tha na "bùird " air an còmhdach le lìon anart cho 

geal ri sneachda na h-aon oidhche, ach bidh iad falamh an toiseach 

—gus an tig an "cuireadh." Air amannan bidh suas ri dà mhìle anns 

an èisdeachd—an cnoc còmhdaichte le gillean òga, agus nigheanan 

cho rìomhach 'nan èideadh's ged b'e bean-baile a bha anns gach tè. 

Cha'n fhaicear an diugh na curraicean geala air na sean mhnathan 

mar a b' àbhaist, ged a b' eireachdail an sealladh e 'san àm. 'Nan 

aite thàinig itean, is ribeanan, is flùraichean, is rudan rìomhach 

eile. Is cinnteach gu bheil cuimhne aig cuid de ar luchd-leughaidh 

air mar a loisgeadh na sean mhinistearan air luchd nan " gumfloors," 

is nam bòtainnean dìosganach. 

Cha leigear a leas a ràdh nach d' thàinig am pobull a tha 'nan 

suidhe cho stòlda air an lianaig, uile fo bhuaidh an rùin a tha an 

chridhe an athraichean agus am màthraichean. B'e mìorbhuil a

2 9 

4 

NA 

H-ORDUIGHEAN. 

bhiodh 'na chaochladh. An uair a bhios foidhidinn a fàilneachadh, 

èiridh grunnan no dhà an dràsda's a rithist a mach às a' choimhthional, 

a chum ceum a ghabhail mu chùl a' chnuic, oir mairidh an 

t-seirbhis o dhà-uair-dheug gu còig uairean. Ach fanaidh a' chuid 

is motha gu deireadh na cuirme—cuid diubh mar a bha a' bhuidheann 

aig lochan Shiloaim, a' feitheamh air a' ghluasad a thig o 

spiorad an Dè bheo. Cha'n urrainn creutair toinisgeil amharc air 

a leithid so de shluagh ach le urram—sluagh a tha fo bhuaidh inntinn 

nach tuig ach an neach a dh'fhairich e 'na bheatha fhèin. 

Mun toir am ministear cuireadh chun a' bhùird do'n treud leis 

an àill Suipeir an Tighearna a ghabhail gu h-iomchuidh, cuiridh e 

an cèill gu neo-sgàthach comharadh na muinntir a tha freagarrach, 

agus an fheadhainn nach 'eil. Chan fhaod an cogull a bhi am measg 

a' chruithneachd. Tha'n gàradh-criche soilleir. Is ann air an uair 

so a thòisicheas imcheist spioraid air an luchd-comanachaidh, agus 

cha'n iongnadh ged bhiodh iad 'ga meas fèin neo-airidh air an 

l-sochair, an dèidh èisdeachd ri briathran teinnteach. Ach cuirear 

impidh ri cuireadh, agus am feadh *s a bhios salm 'ga seinn, thig 

fear air adhart, air a shocair, leis fhèin. Leanaidh càch e air an 

aon dòigh, agus theid an t-seirbhis shòluimte a thòiseachadh. Chan 

'eil deas-ghnàthan 'gan cleachdadh a bharrachd air dòigh na ceud 

suipearach, agus cha'n fhaicear fraoidhneas de sheòrsa 'sam bith. 

Tha a h-uile rud aon-fh ill teach agus rianail. 

Is e so a ghnè dhaoine—neo-ealanta, agus bochd 'nan crannchur, 

ach saoibhir, air mhodh eile— a tha coigrich a' saoilsinn 

saobh-chràbhach, aineolach, agus fo bhuaidh cumhangachd inntinn 

! Chan 'eil guth air cuinge na foirmealachd a tha mu'n 

amhaich fhèin. Stèidhich na daoine ud am muinghinn air nithibh 

a tha sìorruidh. Ged nach deach an inntinnean a ghèurachadh an 

colaisdean, tha faobhar orra a dh' aindeoin sin, agus gheibh neach 

a thig 'nan caraibh a mach e. Tha iad 'nan eisimpleir do'n àl a 

th ig 'nan dèidh. Chuir iad eireachdas air a' Ghàidhlig, agus air a 

cumhachd gu cridhe an t-sluaigh a ruigsinn. A bheil na 

h-Eaglaisean a' tuigsinn na cùise An gabh iad rabhadh 'na dm 

The Gaelic Outlook. 

By PROFESSOR MAGNUS MACLEAN, M.A., D.Sc, LL.D. 

WHAT to do with the Gaelic heritage in its modern survivals^—language, 

dress, music, literature, customs, 

traditions—is a question that seems to be stirring in many 

minds. In any useful discussion of this question certain broad 

facts have to be recognised. Since the introduction of the steamboat 

and the railway, and more especially of education and the 

press, the Highlands have been gradually Anglicised. Gaelic is 

no longer in the main the language of business, of the home, of 

public life, or even of religion. It is evident that the decline of 

the language as a spoken speech is proceeding more rapidly than 

ever, and that unless the process is delayed, it is doomed very soon, 

like the Cornish, to go the way of the heroes. 

Fortunately, however, outside the Highlands a remarkable 

interest is being evolved in the Gaelic. This is due to the researches 

of scholars, both in Britain and on the Continent, and to 

the better and fuller knowledge which is being disseminated 

regarding the language and its literature. In view of this revival 

of public interest, some well-meaning enthusiasts may be in danger 

of fostering extravagant notions, and propounding visionary 

schemes for the resuscitation of the Gaelic as the one language of 

the North, and for the restoration of it to its ancient sway. Gaelic 

was the fitting medium of expression in the old order which is 

passing away, but while it may still be preserved to exert its 

influence on the life and thought of the people, and to have an 

important place in the education of the young, that place can be 

wisely determined only by accepting the fact that the old language 

is not adequate to the new order. 

Learned men value Gaelic for its rich stores of ancient lore: 

the cultured and intelligent no longer despise it as a barbarous 

tongue, but many of them would fain know it themselves as an 

additional linguistic accomplishment. It is, therefore, to be hoped 

that this interest evinced by Celtic Scholars and Celtic enthusiasts, 

even outside the Highlands, will gradually filter down to the 

average man on the spot. 

Friends of the Gaelic would be well advised, instead of aiming 

at the impraticable and impossible, to consider what really is wanted 

at the present stage, and what can be done with any hope of success. 

At present, the majority of the Highlanders are amazingly ignorant

296 THE GAELIC OUTLOOK. 

of the great past of their race—of its language, history and 

literature. In fact, they are far more intimately acquainted with 

the history and literature of the Jews than with those of their own 

early ancestors. They do not know the high place Gaelic occupies 

in the Aryan group of languages, or the value philologists and 

mythologists at home and abroad attach to its study. Very many 

of the common people cannot read the native tongue, and very 

few can write it, although they may be able both to read and to 

write fairly in English. As for the grammar and spelling of 

Gaelic, they are as incomprehensible to the average Highlander as 

those of Welsh or Sanscrit. 

Clearly, then, the first requisite is to create a sound, healthy 

public opinion on the subject in the Highlands itself, and to enlist 

the sympathies of the people generally in favour of their native 

tongue. The first great need is to awaken a more intelligent 

interest in Gaelic in the people themselves, to show them that their 

language is ancient and beautiful, and that, far from retarding the 

English education and the future prospects of their children, it is 

a powerful means of developing the mental faculties, and producing 

a vigorous as well as an interesting type of mind. 

It should be constantly impressed upon Highland parents that 

bi-lingualism gives increased intellectual power, and that, therefore, 

they should encourage their children to speak the living vernacular 

as much as possible in the home, and should see to it that full 

advantage is taken of the provision made by the Education Department 

for the teaching of Gaelic in the Elementary Schools. 

Meanwhile, much could be done by the various Gaelic agencies by 

instituting popular lectures throughout the Highland area, 

supplying the libraries of the Highlands with readable books on the 

history and literature of the Gael, and preparing and giving as 

prizes in the various schools beautifully bound copies of the same. 

In this way a living interest in the mother-tongue and its lore 

would be fostered among both old and young. 

The Heritage of the Gael. 

BY THE RIGHT HON. IAN MACPHERSON, P.C., K.C., M.P., 

Chief of the Gaelic Society of London. 

CARLYLE said, in one of those impressive moods of his, that 

it was our grand business not to see what lies dimly at a 

distance, but to do what clearly lies at hand. The Sage of 

THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL. 297 

Chelsea thought and fulminated but a few yards away from where 

I write. If 1 met him on my walk of a morning, 1 think that I 

should gain his valiant and rugged sympathy for our great cause, 

that I should get him to fulminate in his own great style against the 

lethargy, the aloofness, the ignorance, nay, the snobbishness of 

those of our own people who can, but will not help; and, greatly 

daring, I should, as a Gael, venture to argue with him, taking that 

dictum of his as a test. 

There is an indefinable and subtle relationship between the 

language and the soul of a people. No one can describe that 

relationship in words, but it exists; and it exists, and has existed, 

in our life in Gaeldom with a force and intensity almost unparalleled. 

It has been urged against us, as if it were a crime, that we are 

children who dwell in the past, that we are always seeing the past 

and little else, that, as a race, 'we went into battle and always fell.' 

But that past of ours is a proud and precious one, a past with the 

vibrant soul and language of our people inexplicably interwoven, 

and unless we see it in that light now, however 1 

dimly at a 

distance,' we cannot see * what already lies at hand.' Indeed it 

is our £ 

grand business,' as it is our greatest inspiration, to see that 

past, to appreciate its value for ourselves and for mankind, and, 

realising that value, to preserve and perpetuate it. 

I do not know who it was, but some one has said that those 

who live on the mountain have a longer day than those who live 

in the valley, and if a man wishes to brighten his day, all that he 

has to do is to rise a little higher. This has often consoled me as 

a Highlander, as it is bound to console those who are in the van 

of our movement, with an imperishable faith in what that movement 

means, and with an indomitable courage to give expression 

to that faith. In fancy and in fact, our stronghold is on the 

mountain-side—in the home, in the school, in the pew, where 

youth, hope, promise and aspirations dwell. It is there we must 

look for the longer day. It is there alone we can most surely 

expect to get it. It is there alone we can find the real strength and 

power to do 4 

what clearly lies at hand,' and it is for us who labour 

in the valley to aid and, if need be, to guide that power in its 

struggles to shape its great destiny. 

I have a profound belief in sentiment as a force that dominates 

the world, a belief that has been strengthened by my recent experiences 

when visiting our kith and kin beyond the seas. The

29S 

THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL. 

spirit of our race knows no barriers. It lives and moves and has 

its being in every corner of our far flung Empire, admired and 

trusted by all. It has been a buoyant and powerful force in every 

step of national and imperial expansion and progress, displaying 

to the eyes of men the finer qualities of vision, imagination, 

courage and idealism. 

The language is the sign and symbol of that spirit, carrying 

with it, clothed in its sonorous beauty, memories ringing with 

poetry and music, memories of the elevating influences of the 

sanctuary, memories of the simple yet dignified annals of daily 

life in «clachan,' glen and strath. It is d great and priceless 

heritage of which we are the trustees in this generation. It is for 

us to honour that trust, and to maintain it, not only untarnished, 

but to hand it on in ever-growing power and strength to those 

who follow. 

Song of the Stag. 

Bv DONALD A. MACKENZIE. 

THE monarch of the forest, chief of the antlered cian, 

Roars far through deep Strathconon and bounds through 

fair Strathbran; 

He'll breast the waves of Fannich though rain-storms lash and 

blind, 

Then round the bens and up the glens go racing like the wind. 

A red flame in the sunshine, a thunder-cloud by night, 

A vision of the moorland, this lord of speed and might; 

He reigns alone, a ben his throne, and rises in his pride, 

Deep-black against the golden dawn, with antlers high and wide. 

If e'er a vain usurper should dare dispute his sway 

In boastful challenge from afar, he rages for the fray; 

A forest fire in fury, he sweeps adown the ben, 

And bellows loud for battle across the echoing glen. 

In daylight and in starlight his fame comes down the breeze, 

Sung loud by stream and torrent and harped by tuneful trees; 

The King of cliff and corrie in regal glory crowned, 

The antlered lord Imperial, unvanquished and renowned. 

Sandy to Alasdair. 

By JOHN BUCHAN, 

Author of " Greenmantle," " The Marquis of Montrose," 

etc., etc. 

Rieland—a term of reproach, used in the Lowlands to signify 

something freakish, wild, uncertain, barbarous. 

Scots Dictionary. 

MY faither cam frae Sanquhar ways, 

My mither's folk frae the Loudon hill, 

I played as a wean on the Cairnsmuir braes, 

And got my lear at the Deuchrae schule. 

Weel I mind, when at ilk ran-dan 

I'd tak the muir like a young peesweep, 

My faither sighed, and said he, " My man, 

Ye're far ower Hieland to wark wi' sheep." 

But the herding wasna the fate for me: 

Wi' the Fusil Jocks I went to the war; 

Sune we were flitted ayont the sea, 

Jinkin' death in the stour and the glaur. 

There was lads frae the West and lads frae the North, 

Frae mill and muirland and pleugh and pit, 

And the youngest callant frae 'yont the Forth 

Was far ower Hieland to yield a fit. 

Yon day when, smoored wi' the deil's ain reeks, 

We broke ower Loos like a wave o' the sea, 

Anither Sandy wi'oot the breeks 

Keepit me company knee to knee; 

Roarin' words that nae man could ken, 

Through trench and wire we gae'd side by side, 

And when I drapped like a shot greyhen 

He was far ower Hieland to let me bide. 

Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be! 

Atween us two we hae couped the dyke; 

Gaelic for you and Lallan for me, 

But the back o' our heids is unco like. 

Scotland's braid, and the differ's big, 

Lorn and Carrick are no the same; 

But sune as the pipes play up their sprig 

We're a' ower Hieland to hunker at name.

Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g' a Mhnaoi. 

A Mhairi, eudail nam ban, 

Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad ionnsuidh, 

agus da-rìreadh is faochadh do m' chridhe conaltradh 

beag a bhi agam riut. Chan 'eil thu fhèin no na pàisdean 

tiota às mo chuimhne. Am chadal no'm fhaireachadh tha sibh fa 

chomhair mo shùla agus ann am beachd m' inntinn. Is taitneach 

leam uaigneas gu a bhi a smaointeach' oirbh. Is minic a ghoideas 

mi a mach san anmoch, gu bruach an uillt, a tha dlùth do 'n àite 

anns a' bheil mi, chum conaltradh dìomhair a chumail ribh; saoilidh 

mi gur e torman an uillt againn fhèin a th' ann, agus ceileireadh 

nan eun buchallach a dh* fhàg mi às mo dhèidh. Fhuair mi 

o chionn oidhche no dhà, bàta beag seilisdeir a' snàmh 'san linne, 

's ge faoin e r'a ràdh, shil mo dheòir, oir thug i mo lurachan 

gaolach, Lachann beag, am chuimhne. A Mhàiri, a ghràidh, ma 

dheònaicheas am Freasdal dhomh-sa dol dachaidh, cha bhi e soirbh 

mo chur a rithist o'n tigh. Tha mi taingeil nach d' thàinig mòran 

riamh eadarainn, oir is gann gu bheil facal crosda no ath-ghoirid 

a labhair mi riut nach 'eil a' tighinn gu m' chuimhne; 's chan 'eil 

e am chomas am fuadach; ach thoir thusa, eudail, maitheanas 

domh. 

Bha mi seachduin ann an Glaschu mun d' fhuair mi cosnadh. 

Chunnaic mi Rìgh Uilleam's an t-Each Odhar—an Eaglais Mhòr 

an Tigh-eiridinn, 's am Prìosan. Chunnaic mi iad a' snìomh an 

tcmbaca 's a' chotain—a' dèanamh nan gloineachan; chunnaic 

mi beairtean a' flgheadh leo fhèin, >s a' falbh cho ciallach 

's ged bhiodh Iain Figheadair e fhèin aig ceann gach snàithne. 

Stad thus', a Mhàiri, 's mur toir mise dhuitse naidheachd, ma tha 

'n dàn domh dol dachaidh. Bha mi ann an tighean mòran d'ar 

luchd-dùthcha, agus b' iad sin, am bitheantas, na frògan dorcha 

às nach facas riamh gnùis na grèine; cha b'ionann's mo bhothan 

bòidheach. A Mhàiri, a rùin, biomaid taingeil; cha b' i 'n fhaoineas 

a chuireadh do 'n bhaile mhòr mi; ged nach bi againn ach a' 

chearc bhadanach, maorach a' chladaich, faile glan nam beann, agus 

sàmhchair bheannaichte, seach mar tha iad ann an so, air an tachdadh 

le toit, 's air am bodradh le gleadhraich. Cha d'fhuair mi fhèin 

cadal socrach, sàmhach o'n oidhche a dhealaich mi riut. Shaoil 

leam gum biodh fois ann air là an Tighearna, ach mun gann a dh' 

èirich mi thòisich na cluig, agus ma thòisich, 's ann an sin a bha 

THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE. 

(Tigh'soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.) 

Freagradh spiorad do-chlaoidheadh an duine 

do dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain. 

Phola bv />• .Wm-fllHuf'i- 

Kiiul permission oi 

Messrs. ìlatljmn, C

LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE. 

30I 

am farum—fonn air leth aig gach aon diubh—agus a h-uile h-aon 

a' strì cò a b'àirde pong. A mach bhrùchd an sluagh, às a h-uile 

cùil agus caol-shràid, a' taosgadh a mach 'nam mìltean sruth, agus 

saobh-shruth a sìos agus a suas air gach sràid, carbadan air an ais 

agus air an adhart, saighdearan le 'n drumachan tartarach, agus na 

cluig ag cur nan smùid diubh. An e so, deir mise, Là na Sàbaid 

O ! nach robh mise aon uair eile ann an Uladal, fo sgàile a' bharraich 

ri taobh an uillt shàmhaich, an t-athar àrd os mo chionn, na beanntan 

mòra mu'm choinne—mo dhaoine, mo chàirdean, 's mo leanaban 

ri m' thaobh, sìth agus sàmhchair na Sàbaid a muigh air an 

t-saoghal; fear-teagaisg mo ghràidh fo sgàile na creige; anam gach 

aoin ann am fonn an Dòmhnaich, agus an co-thional caomh, càirdeil, 

a' togail le Somhairle rùnach an fhuinn thiamhaidh a sheinn 

iad gu tric leis na daoine o'n d'thàinig iad. 

'S mòr an cothrom a th' aig na Gàidheil anns a' Bhaile mhòr 

so: thigeadh iad o'n ear no o'n iar, gheibh iad Gàidhlig an dùthcha 

fhèin ann an eaglais a' bhaile. 

An saoil thu, 'Mhàiri, nach do theab Para Mòr agus mise a 

bhi 'sa phrìosan an oidhche roimhe. Bha sinn a' dol dachaidh gu 

sàmhach, ciallach, gun fhacal às ar ceann: mise ag giùlan bocsa na 

pìoba fo m' bhreacan, 'nuair a thàinig triùir no cheathrar mu'n 

cuairt duinn, agus mun abradh tu seachd, spìonar uam bocsa na 

pìoba, agus glacar mi fhèin air sgòrnan. Mar bha'n tubaist air 

Para Mòr, dh' èirich e air càch le a bhata daraich, agus rinn e 

pronnadh nam meanbh-chuileag orra. Bha clach-bhalg air fear 

dhiubh, 's cha luaithe thug e srann aisde, na thàinig sgaoth dhiubh 

mu'n cuairt duinn, agus giùlainear air falbh sinn do dh' àite ris an 

abrar am Police Office. Aite an uamhais ! Tha oillt orm fhathast 

smaointeach' air. Daoine 'nan sìneadh air dall na daoraich thall 

agus a bhos, ag call fola, is mallachadh 'nam beul; mnathan—b' e 

sin an sealladh gràineil—air an dallanaich, cuid diubh ag caoineadh 

's a' rànaich; is cuid eile ag gabhail òran, agus, Ni-math d'ar teasairginn 

! duine marbh 'na shìneadh air an ùrlar. Dh' fheòraich mi 

fhèin, cho modhail 's a b' urrainn domh, c'arson a thugadh an 

so sinn. " Chì thu sin a thiota," deir fear dhiubh, 's e ag cur a 

làimhe ann am bocsa na pìoba. Thug a' phìob ran brònach aisde, 

agus chlisg e mar gum biodh nathair innte. "Faodaidh tusa, 'ille 

mhaith, a ràdh," arsa Para Mòr, " mar thuirt an sionnach a bha 

ag itheadh na pìoba, ' Is biadh's is ceòl so dhomh-sa.' " Ciod a 

tha agad air, 's ann a shaoil iad gur corp leinibh a bh' againn 

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 

the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant 

Fhuair mi cosnadh, 's a' chiad dol a mach, o thuathanach sè 

mìle a mach à Glaschu. Thug e sinne agus sgaoth Eireannach, 

agus dòrlach bhan leis. An uair a thàinig an oidhche, chuireadh 

air fad sinn a laighe do'n t-sabhal. Is fad' o 'n chuala mi mu 

leabaidh mhòir na h-àirigh, agus da-rìreadh b 5 

i so i—na mnathan 

air an dara taobh, agus nam biodh meas ceart aig na mnathan orra 

fhèin, ghabhadh iad fasgadh an tuim a roghainn air a leithid a dh' 

àite; ach is iomadh aon a tha modhail, nàrach na's leòir, do rèir 

coltais, nan dùthaich fhèin—cò ach iad, le 'm boineidean connlaich, 

le 'n gnùis-bhrat uaine ag cleith an aodainn—a tha glè 

shuarach m' an gnàthachadh 'nuair a thig iad gu Galldachd Ged 

bhiodh fichead nighean agam—chan e idir, a Mhàiri, gum bu 

mhiann leam an uiread sin a bhi ann—cha leiginn am feasd gu 

fogharadh iad air an dòigh so. Gheibhinn doibh—nì a tha soirbh 

r'a fhaotainn—cosnadh math, seasmhach, ann an teaghlaichean 

measail; ach an cur a mach am measg Eireannach agus bhèistean 

o bhaile gu baile, nar leig am Freasdal gum faicinn-se a h-aon a bu 

mhath leam gu math air an dòigh so. 

Dh' fhàg mi tigh an duine ud, agus fhuair mi fhèin agus Para 

Mòr cosnadh a mhaireas gu Samhain, ma chaomhnar sinn, ann an 

tigh an duine bheannaichte mu'n cuala tu Anna Mhòr, nighean 

Eòghann 'ic Ailein, cho tric a' labhairt—fear Mr. Ponton. Tha 

deagh thuarasdal againn, agus cha bhi e cruaidh orm am màl a chur 

r' a chèile. An saoil thu, a Mhàiri, nach faca mise bùth ann an 

Glaschu, far nach robh sìon saoghalta ach boineidean connlaich, 

agus bha mi a' feòraich luach an aodaich sgàrlaid a bhios anns na 

cìeòcaichean. Chan abair mì 'bheag, ach cum thusa, 'eudail, sùil 

air na pàisdean, agus chan 'eil fhios ciod a dh' fhaodas tachairt. 

Tha tuiltean coimheach againn 'san àite so; bi furachail air Lachann. 

Slàn leat, a ghràidh; na bi fo iomaguin do m' thaobh; tha 

mi gun dìth, gun deireas. Is e am Freasdal a chuir do'n teaghlach 

so mi, far a' bheil iomadh deagh chleachdadh r'a fhaicinn. Leig 

fios do'n Mhinistear's do Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh. 

Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach gur mi 

Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach. 

D' fhear-pòsda dìleas, 

FIONNLAGH MAC-AONGHAIS. 

BY MR. BERTRAM W. SINCLAIR, British Columbia. 

THEY do. Could they do otherwise Primitive man regarded 

as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark 

of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue. 

Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between 

friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and 

the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and 

custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty 

past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built 

his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable 

people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael 

chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead, 

and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or 

tragedy or triumph' to the gathered folk in a common tongue. 

So, how should we not set greater store on such as come 

among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue 

of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed 

have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond 

It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one 

third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his 

native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would 

not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among 

an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped 

mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps 

be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks. 

He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the 

professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with 

MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes, 

MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his 

ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling 

a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of 

a Caledonian Society. 

He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear 

it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men 

of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud 

affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that 

British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia. 

A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a 

wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes 

among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers We do.

Gaol Duthcha. 

Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter 

LE A. SINCLAIR. ("An Gàidheal," 1871.) 

Scott, 

'Bheil neach air bith, 's an deò 'na chrè, 

Cho fuar's nach d'thuirt e riamh ris fèin, 

" Mo dhùthaich chaomh d'an tug mi gaol!" 

Aon nach do las a chridh' 'na chom, 

Dhachaidh 'nuair ghluais le ceum neo-thròm, 

Bho ànradh cianail feadh an t-saoghail: 

Ma tha, rach's beachdaich air gu dlùth, 

Ri laoidh no ceòl cha tog e 'shùil: 

Ged bhiodh e àrd an ainm 'san inbh', 

'S a mhaoin cho mor's a dh'iarradh miann; 

A dh'aindeoin 'airgid, 'ainm is 'òir, 

'S e an t-ùmaidh truagh bhios ann r'a bheò, 

Chan fhaigh e meas, no miadh no cliù, 

'S 'nuair thig am bàs theid sìos do'n ùir, 

Gun chuimhn' no iomradh air am feasd, 

'S cha chaoidhear air a shon gun cheisd. 

O! Albainn chaomh, nan stùc's nan càrn! 

A mhuime 'dh'àraicheas na bà'rd ! 

A thìr a' bharraich is an fhraoich 

A thìr nam beann, nan tuil, 's nan craobh, 

Tìr mo shinnsre, tìr nan sàr! 

Co dh'fhuasglas an ceangal gràidh 

Ri d'thràigh a dh'aonas mi gu bràth 

Lean gu dluth ri 

cliu do shinnsre. 

AR:HJBALD SINCLAIR, "CELTIC PRESS." GLASGOW.

MU SHOBHRAIG OIG. 

Mu Shobhraig Oig. 

LE CATRIONA GHRANND, AN T-OBAN. 

EADAR na freumhan aig sean chraoibh dharaich chrotaich, 

bha còsan beag, grinn, iìnigte le crotal glas. Air an ùrlar, 

agus m' a thimchioll, bha cluasagan de chòinnich mhaoith, 

ghuirm, le boinne de dhriùchd air bàrr a h-uile bidean. Air bhi 

do'n chraoibh cinntinn air taobh deas a' mhonaidh, bha an còsan 

< air chùl gaoithe, 's ri aodann grèine,' mar a theireadh an seanfhacal 

e. Air beulaibh an doruis bha torn de chòinnich ghlais, 

le duilleagan seargta de luibhean eadar-dhealaichte air an taobh a 

b' fhaide a stigh. 

Fo'n torn so, domhain anns an talamh, bha buidheann shòbhragan 

'nan suain,—uile ach aon tè. Bha ise trang a' bruadar mu 

na nithe glòrmhor a bha a' feitheamh oirre an uair a gheibheadh i 

a ceann os cionn an talaimh, gu soillse solus na grèine; gu beatha 

is cùbhraidheachd a dheoghal às an àile, le cuideachd do-àireamh 

d' a comhaoisean. 

Mhosgail a bruadar i. " Chan 'eil fhios a bheil e 'n t-àm 

èirigh" thuirt i an eagar; agus chaidh gaoir sòlais troimhpe, a 

thug oirre gluasad. 

" Cum sàmhach, agus caidil!" thuirt a màthair. " Cha bhi 

e 'n t-àm èirigh fad mhìosan fhathast; 's e an geamhradh a th' 

ann!" 

" Chan urrainn domh cadal na's fhaide," ars' an t-sòbhrag, 

" feumaidh mi falbh." 

" Cuiridh tu dragh air do pheathraichean a tha 'nan suain. 'S 

fheàrr dhuit feitheamh gus am bi an teaghlach gu h-iomlan ag 

èirigh." 

" Gluaisidh mi cho sèimh agus nach dùisg mi càch; chan 'eil 

e am chomas fuireach na's fhaide," agus thòisich i ri dìreadh. 

Uidh air n-uidh, là an dèidh latha, neartaichte le dòchas, gu 

foighidneach dh' oibrich si i fhèin suas gus an d' fhuair i a ceann 

os cionn an talaimh. 

'S i an oidhche a bh'ann, oidhche chiùin reòdhtach. Bha an 

speur dubh-ghorm drìllseach le reul-sholus. Bha an reodhadh 

ann, ach bha an t-sòbhrag suainte gu blàth ann am filleadh no dhà 

de dhuilleagan tiugha, preasach, agus curracan gorm air a ceann, 

agus bha a' chòinneach mar bhaideal 'ga dìon o'n fhuachd. Thug 

i an leth-phlaosgadh ud a mach air na rionnagan a bha ag caogadh 

rithe. 

" Tha a' mhachair sin àillidh le blàthan soillseach," ars' an t- 

sòbhrag, " chan 'eil mi idir leam fhèin. 'S mi a tha toilichte gun 

d' thàinig mi, ach is duilich leam nach 'eil cuid de mo pheathraichean 

an so gu na blàthan maiseach fhaicinn; na'n robh fios aca 

mu'n deidhinn cha b' urrainn daibh cadal na b'fhaide." Mar so, 

an co-chomunn nan rionnag, chaidh an oidhche thairis. 

An sin bhris an fhaire. Dh' èirich a ghrian, agus gun dàil 

thòisich i air sgeadachadh an talaimh le maise nuaidh. An cfisgeadh, 

bha'n riasg, an luachair, agus gach preas mu'n cuairt, a bha geal 

le neamhnaidean an liath-reodhaidh, air an crochadh le daoimeanan, 

ametistean, agus clachan luachmhor eile de a h-uile dath air an do 

dhearc sùil mac an duine riamh. Thàinig eun beag le broilleach 

dearg, shuidh e air preas, agus sheinn e sreath no dhà de luinneig 

mholaidh. An sin thàinig gath-grèine agus phòg e an t-sòbhrag; 

rud a thug oirre fosgladh a mach le aoibh. 

" Nach mise a tha toilichte gun d 5 thàinig mi!" thuirt i an 

eagar rithe fhèin a rithis; agus dh' fhàs i na bu mhotha is na bu 

bhòidhche fad na h-ùine. 

Air feadh an latha chaidh maigheach 'na leum seachad, ach 

cha do bhean i dhi. Thàinig na caoirich ag criomadh nam 

bileagan feòir tearca a gheibheadh iad fo'n fhraoch; agus 

thàinig an crodh le an casan troma ag ionaltradh mu'n cuairt oirre, 

ach cha do ghabh iad suim dhi; is coma leis a chrodh na sòbhragan. 

An sin laigh a' ghrian, agus aon uair eile bha raon mòr nan rionnag 

sgaoilte gu farsuing os a cionn. Chaidh là no dhà seachad, agus 

dh' fhàs an t-sòbhrag da-rìreadh briagh. 

Mu mheadhon an treas là thàinig cuideigin eadar an t-sòbhrag 

agus a' ghrian. Chrom aghaidh bhòidheach òg thairis oirre, 

aghaidh cho màlda, fhìorghlan ri aodann na sòbhraige fhèin. " A 

ghaoilein," arsa guth tlàth, " nach mi a tha aoibhinn do choinneachadh 

!" Bhuain a' mhaighdean i gu cùramach, agus thug i 

leatha i, cha robh fhios aig an t-sòbhrag ceana. 

" Chan ionann so," ars' ise le osann, M ris an nì a bha fiuthair 

agam a thachradh. Shaoil leamsa gum faighinn fuireach far an 

do chinn mi gus am fàsainn sean, agus gun tuitinn am chadal 

maille ri mo chàirdean. Chan 'eil fios ciod an ath nì a bhios an 

dàn domh"

SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES. 

Some Notes on Celtic Place-Names. 

BY REV. CHAS. M. 

ROBERTSON, 

Port Charlotte, Islay. 

MATTHEW ARNOLD remarks that, "whereas Saxon 

names of* places have the wholesome smack of the soil in 

them, as Weathersfield, Thackstead, Shalford, etc., Celtic 

names of places have often a penetrating, lofty beauty." In a 

somewhat similar strain, Emerson speaks of the Celts as " having 

planted Britain, and given to the seas and mountains names which 

are poems, and imitate the pure voices of nature." 

Numerous examples might be given of place names in which, 

with his quick, sensitive eye for natural beauty, the Celt caught 

the charm or * magic ' of nature, as exhibited in river, loch or hill, 

and fixed it in a name which is both harmonious in sound, and 

vividly descriptive as to form and colour. It is certainly not the 

fault of the Celt that such pretty and expressive names as "Achadhan-t-seagail 

" (the rye field), and " Tigh-an-droma " (the watershed 

house) should have been changed in another tongue into 

such barbarous and unmelodious sounds as Achenshuggle and 

Taindrum, respectively ! My main purpose, however, in this brief 

article is to give some instances of the * curiosities ', and even 

* vagaries » of place-name etymology. The study of the origin 

and meaning of place-names has its interest enhanced at times in 

different ways and by various circumstances. Many of our Celtic 

names of places are of Gaelic origin, and vary in age, from those 

that were bestowed in recent times to those that date 

from the Gael's first arrival in Scotland. Many come 

down from pre-historic times, and are non-Gaelic, though still 

Celtic. A residuum of our most ancient names has hitherto baffled 

every effort to determine their character and origin. Whether 

these are pre-Celtic or non-Celtic remains to be proved. To call 

them Basque, or Iberian, or what not, is inept. 

Names like Ure, Urie, connected with rivers and lochs, have 

been supposed to come from Basque, because ur, in that language, 

so it is said, means £ water.' The name of Urie Loch in Arran has 

been thus regarded, but this loch takes its name from the place at 

which it is situated, which is called in Gaelic "An Iubhraigh," 

the Yew Wood. The old road from Lamlash to Kilmory goes 

through this place, and is called * Rathad na h-Iubhraigh', the loch 

being " Loch na h-Iubhraigh ",—road, and loch of the 'Iubhraigh'. 

The word enters into the names of several places in Argyllshire, 

as does also the simple word, 'iubhar '=yew. Of the 

latter, Glen Ure in Appin is the best known instance. The latter 

is found in innumerable names in Ireland. The name of the 

English city York, anciently written Eburacum, has the same 

meaning and derivation as ' iubhrach ', and it is curious that one 

of the great tributaries received by the River Ouse, before it 

reaches York, is the River Ure. 

The name Hebrides, first met with in that form in Hector 

Boece's " History of Scotland," is a printer's error for Hebudes, 

a name which has come down through Latin from Greek writers, 

and which was used by them as the name of one or more of the 

islands on the west of Scotland. There is much uncertainty as to 

its meaning and derivation. The best suggestion is that the name 

survives in that of the island of Bute, Gaelic Bod, and that the root 

is the same that is found in Boadicea or Boudicca = Victrix, and in 

Gaelic buaidh =victory, Welsh budd=profit, gain. That makes 

Bute mean " victory isle". Buadh or buaidh, in Gaelic, also means 

1 

1 

< qualification', accomplishment', excellence', 1 

4 

beauty', gift', 

< talent'; e.g., « buadhan inntinn " = mental gifts. These suggest 

that ' victory ' is only a secondary meaning, and that the primary 

and real sense is * excellence' or ' superiority', so that both Bute 

and Boudicca may really have been expressive of worth, excellence, 

or superiority. 

The name Iona, of so many sacred associations, owes its 

form to a copyist, who either carelessly or wilfully, in transcribing 

Adamnan's Latin Ioua Insula, altered Ioua into Iona. As the 

Hebrew word for ' dove ' is ionah, and as the name of St. Columba 

also means 'dove', the new form, Iona, speedily became popular, 

and completely displaced the old form Ioua. 

To take a Norse instance, sometimes an etymology receives 

support or confirmation from an unthought of quarter. Dr. Alex. 

MacBain, in opposition to such authorities as Dr. Alex. Cameron, 

Brodick, and Professor Kuno Meyer, derived the name of Loch 

Ranza, in Gaelic Raonasa, from Norse reynis-a, meaning 4 rowan 

water'. Afterwards it came to light that the geologists found the 

remains of three successive forests of rowan in the glen whose 

waters flow into Loch Ranza!

232 SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES. 

Taking something like a reverse instance, the name Corriegills, 

in 1561 Corregelieis, etc., in the same island, has by its Norse 

look misled nearly everyone who has written about it. The 

Gaelic is ' Coire a } 

Ghoill," corrie of the * Gall' or Lowlander, 

and shows how unreliable the Anglicised form of a Gaelic name 

may be. And it cannot be even argued in this instance that the 

Gaelic name is corrupt, for its correctness is supported by old 

records. The lands of Corriegills are frequently mentioned from 

the year 1400 onwards as a perquisite of the sheriff of Bute and 

Arran. In 1549, e.g., James Stewart, owing to political troubles, 

was obliged to sell his lands in Arran and elsewhere, but the lands 

of Corriegills, as pertaining to the office of sheriff, which he was 

to retain, were exempted from the sale. In connection with those 

transactions, it comes out that this sheriff, of royal descent, could 

not write even his own name! In 1681 the lands of the Stewarts 

in Bute, along with the sheriff's portion, Corriegills in Arran, were 

assigned to Sir George Mackenzie, " The Bluidy Mackenzie," 

who, however, never completed or registered his title to them. 

In the " Book of Islay ", which is by far the best edited and 

best indexed book of the kind known to me, the following names, 

in chronological order, are to be met with at various dates from 

1509 to 1760; Coyf, Owo, Ovimag and Overnag, Wavernak, 

Uaberneik, and Cove. Different as those forms appear, they all 

not only designate one and the same place, but are in reality one 

and the same name in longer or shorter form. Coyf is only an 

earlier spelling of Cove, and both forms really stand for < Cave', 

a translation from the Gaelic Uamh— 1 

cave', at which the next 

form, Owo is a brave attempt, and which is the first syllable of all 

the remaining forms. The full name, written * Uah Vearnag ' 

by Martin, appears to have been ' Uamh Bhèarnaig.' The place 

meant is the Big Cave of Bolsa called by some recent writers 

' Uamh Bhearnasaig,' near the extreme north end of Islay. 

Pennant, who visited it in 1772, reports that he found three 

farmers residing in it with their stock, and that, during the summer 

months, as many as twelve families lived in it. In legendary times, 

a piper set out with his dog to explore it. He was heard playing 

for some distance, but the tune then changed to, " Cha till mi 

tuille "—7 shall ne'er return, and he was heard of no more. The 

names How and Oa, occurring in the same volume, are quite 

distinct from the above. The latter which appears as " Oo " and 

as " E " is at the opposite extremity of the island. 

SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES. 2 33 

In Ross-shire, near Lochmaree Hotel, is Loch na Fideil. Long 

aquatic grass is a feature of it. Man or beast, happening to wade 

into it, becomes entangled, and while uprooting the grass by 

struggling, can hardly escape being overcome and drowned in the 

end. Celtic fancy playing about that sort of occurrence, has produced 

a dramatic version of it, which is quoted in the original 

Gaelic, and translated in Dr. Watson's "Place Names of Ross 

and Cromarty." The ' Fideal' was a dangerous water monster, 

and was encountered by a strong man named Eòghann. A combat 

took place between Ewen and the Fideal. " A step on your step, 

Ewen," said the Fideal, pressing on the man. " A step on your 

step, Fideal," said Ewen, pressing in turn on the Fideal. Ewen 

killed the Fideal, and the Fideal killed Ewen! 

There is an echo in this legend of the alleged encounter of 

Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel with the * Cailleach', as those 

familiar with that story will observe. 

The word fidealadh is used both in the district and elsewhere, 

and means 'entangling', 'intertwining'. The word fideal is not 

known to be in use, but it may have been a local name for the 

species of grass in question. 

Those are a very few illustrations of the interest that may 

attach to a place-name apart from, or over and above its meaning 

and translation. To them may be added some notice of a curious 

name which has been supposed to be of Celtic origin, but which 

is not of Gaelic origin, though the attempt has been made to 

regard it as such. In the East of Scotland, to any such imprecation 

as " Go to the devil", the retort is, " Go you to Heckiebirnie 

", (or Hecklebirnie). There have been attempts to make 

out that the name means " Church (Eaglais) of St. Birnie ", and 

that it was situated in Aberdeenshire. On the other hand, legend 

has busied itself in various ways with the name, and declares it 

to be that of a locality that is three miles beyond the ' ill place '. 

A Danish imprecation, gaa ad Hekkenfeldt till, meaning literally 

' Go to Heckla ', makes it evident that Heckie—or Hecklebirnie 

is a Scottish designation of the burning mountain of Iceland. 

The word eaglais, church, has also been supposed to 

form the latter part of Gleneagles, that name so fetching to the 

golfing world. This name is correctly Gleneagis, as it was written 

of old, and as it is still, or, at least, was recently, pronounced 

locally. It is translated into Latin, we are told, in the Chartulary 

of Cambuskenneth Abbey as " Vallum Ecclesiae ", but if that is

SOME NOTES ON CELTIC 

PLACE-NAMES. 

SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES. 235 

so, it only shows that the error of connecting the name with 

eaglais is no new one. In Gaelic the name is Gleann-eigis. The 

old word eigeas means ' a learned man **, 4 a poet ', etc. It is 

found in some names of places in Ireland, and has been used to 

explain Aigas near Beauly in Inverness-shire. The Gaelic of this 

last is 4 Aigeis ' which may be a local pronunciation of eigeis. 

Gleneagles may have been the residence of some learned man, or 

of a succession of such. 

Different spellings of Dunoon are met with in Gaelic. The 

best is Dunobhantty which is paralleled by Bun-obhann, the Gaelic 

name of the village in Islay called Port Wemyss in English. 

Obhainn, genitive obhann, is a pronunciation of abhainn y 

= 

f 

rWtr\ 

that is still current in Islay, and that is written othainn, correctly 

enough so far as pronunciation is concerned, in MacAlpine's Dictionary, 

and denned fancifully as the largest kind of river. Bunobhann 

means River-foot and Dun-obhann, River-fort. 

Until near the end of the 18th century Ailsa Craig was called 

simply 44 

Ailsa " without the superfluous and tautological addition 

Craig. If Robert Burns was not the originator of the addition he 

was one of the earliest to use it in his line:— 

" Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig." 

Nowadays the addition is ousting the original. Ailsa is dropping 

out of use in Ayrshire, and the islet is spoken of simply as " The 

Craig ". Creag Ealasaid ", and 44 Ealasaid a' chuain" are 

44 

current in Gaelic. The former is in all probability an imitation 

of the English form 4 

Ailsa Craig', but owes its currency as does 

also the other form Ealasaid a y chuain- 4 Elizabeth of the ocean', 

to the feeling of ambiguity caused by the fact that Ealasaid is 

identical with the Gaelic of the name Elizabeth. The name occurs 

also without either of those additions, for instance, in a formula 

prescribing where the rowan that is to be used against witchcraft 

should be procured from,—Slat de'n chaorann nall o aodann 

Ealasaid, a wand of rowan from the face of Ailsa". With or 

44 

without additions, however, 4 

Ealasaid' as applied to Ailsa is a 

misnomer, as is also the modern Irish designation, Carraig Alasdair 

", which means not Elizabeth's, but Alexander's Rock." 

44 

Be it 4 Ealasaid ' or be it 4 Alasdair ', it is a changeling that has 

been substituted for the true name 4 Allasa\ How or when the 

substitution took place is a mystery, but 4 

Allasa', which, with its 

oblique case Allasan, is heard to this day in Arran, the nearest 

Gaelic-speaking district, is the direct and true and lawful repre- 

sentative of the Early Irish form, which was a noun declined like 

gobha-' a smith', genitive gobhann, and is found in the Book of 

Leinster in the dative case Aldasain, not Aldafain, as the name has 

sometimes been misread. Aldasa* as the name would have been 

4 

in the nominative of old, now 4 

Allasa', is an extension of the 

same root as that of all= < rock ', preserved in mac-talla, mac-alla, 

= 44 echo ". 

These fragmentary notes may serve to give some idea of the 

fascinating interest there is in the study of our Celtic place-names. 

As the study of Comparative Philology advances, these names 

will more and more yield secrets of historic and legendary lore, 

and thus flash light back on the ways and thoughts of our ancestors 

in the remote and dim past, when, as Trench says in his 

4 

Study of Words,' other records and memorials of vanished 

generations of men have been swept away or submerged by the 

floods of the passing centuries. 

The Celtic Craftsmen. 

BY HUGH MUNRO. 

HISTORIANS and writers of romance have so long 

accustomed us to stirring accounts of the warlike qualities 

of the Gael, that we are in danger, in these days, of thinking 

that his name in history has no other significance than that it 

sustains for the race a long record of valorous achievements in the 

field. 

But it should be remembered that over the thousand or more 

years in which that reputation was made, the Gael was really passing 

through his prodigal period, and was literally spending his 

substance and dissipating the inheritance of his fathers. For he had 

allowed qualities that had made the name of his people famous 

throughout Europe fall into desuetude; and, by following the 

wasteful ways of war, had caused the fame of his fathers in the 

arts of Peace, if not to be forgotten, then by many to be over 

looked and neglected. 

The centuries immediately following the introduction of

236 THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 

Christianity into Britain were glorious for his people. The Celtic 

Church had sent its fame over Europe and parts of Asia; and the 

name of the Gael, for five hundred years, was synonymous with 

culture and the propagation of the spirit and the arts of Peace. 

By the year 597 A.D.—the time of the Conversion of the 

Saxons to Christianity by St. Augustine,—the Celts had a hundred 

years of Christian activity to their history, and, by another 

hundred, the Churches of Lindisfarne, Iona, Kells, and ' Candida 

Casa' were known abroad. From each of those churches the 

stream of missionaries was continuous to the monastic centres of 

the Continent, and these bore the Crafts Spirit of the scribes with 

them. 

The Books of Lindisfarne, Kells, Armagh, Deer and Durrow 

show the extents to which that Art spirit was carried. Giraldus 

Cambrensis, a distinguished scholar of the 12th Century, in describing 

these illuminated Manuscripts, remarks with something 

like rapture on the glory of the colouring, the endless variety of 

the figures, the elaborate intricacies of the interlaced ornamentation, 

all of which, as he goes on to say, " one would be ready to 

pronounce the work of angelic, and not human skill." On the 

earlier Pagan Art there was engrafted a new outlook, which an 

uninterrupted immunity from war for the Craftsmen and Scribes 

alone could give, and, as a result, we have a wide range of 

illuminated manuscripts bearing the Celtic decorative motif at its 

fullest glory. 

The Book of Kells is the Museum and Art Gallery of the Art. 

It combines the full range of Celtic design, from the crude 

decorative forms of the Neoliths, (the Iberian inhabitants of the 

Country, who were in occupancy when the Goidelic peoples, the 

racial progenitors of the modern Gael, arrived)—those simple 

"V," "S," and "C" forms, used by the craftsmen of the stoneusing 

age in decorating the rims of their burial urns; the more 

highly evolved schemes of the later bronze and iron periods, and 

the ornate spirals, curves, concentrics, bosses, interlacings, reliefs 

and pictorialised incidents of the Art at its apogee in the service 

of the Church. 

Well might we inquire how this Art developed; and in telling 

briefly its story, we indicate the travail of the Celtic spirit in its 

emergence from barbarism, and give at the same time, the history 

of its trend westward to its final habitation in our fastnesses and 

in the green vales of Ireland. 

THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 237 

Celtic Art had nominally two great periods, Pagan and 

Christian; but archaeology differentiates much more narrowly 

between those stages of its development. Its landmarks are the 

tumuli of Europe, and the findings therefrom denote the influences 

that shaped it, over the bronze-using age to that of iron, 

and later, to the period of its maturity under the Church, and to 

that of its decay. 

The remains taken from the great Halstatt tumuli (near 

Salzburg) revealed the culture of the bronze and iron-using Celts 

at an earlier period of their development than those taken from 

the oppidum of La Tene in Switzerland, and that of the Valley 

of the Marne in France, so that the Archaeologists classify the 

Art motifs of the objects of the first as 4 

early,' and those of the 

two latter as ' late ' Celtic in design. 

Early Celtic Art evinces a vast variety of influences; late 

Celtic shows the gradual perfecting of it to the fuller and more 

racially representative vehicle it became as a means of expression 

under the influence of the illuminators of the Scottish and Irish 

Churches. 

Early Celtic emerged from the crude beginnings I have indicated, 

and as an art, it was in use among the tribes in the time of 

their ' wanderjahre,' when from the Hindu Kush region, and 

from the valleys of the rivers Don, Dniester, Dnieper and Danube, 

they pushed their way westward to the Iberian peninsula, and 

thence over to Wales and Cornwall, to Ireland and here. 

The motives of the designs of this period were mainly martial: 

the arms and trappings of the soldier having first call on the 

craftsman, so that the warrior might be dignified in panoply, in 

keeping with the prowess of his race. 

But, besides the accoutrements of the warrior, a comprehensive 

range of domestic articles—utensils, tools and objects of adornment—received 

the skill of the decorator in metal, wood, stone, 

bone and leather, and frequently there were added—when the 

wealth of the patron permitted it—articles in costlier metals and 

materials, involving special treatment at the hands of the designers 

and craftsmen. 

The design motives of the various things that were unearthed 

after more than two thousand years of burial under the soil were 

in part decorative and symbolical. In style they display contact 

with the culture of other peoples, as there are in the various motives 

traces of Phoenician, Greek, Assyrian, Egyptian and Scandinavian

THE CELTIC 

CRAFTSMEN. 

THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 239 

ideas. Where that contact revealed itself in the Art of the Celts, 

was when, to the curves and spiral decorations of the purely Celtic 

ideas of design, there were added the floriated patternings—the 

introduction of the forms of fruit and leaves, such as the lotus, 

the vine, and other forms that pertained more to Asia than to the 

colder regions of Europe, and by the introduction of symbols 

more associable with the cultured ideas of other races than the 

Celts. 

The story of the various stages of the transition over the 

Bronze and Iron ages to the purely Christian forms of the Art 

would necessitate a volume of considerable dimensions. It comprises 

all that had been done in the way of decorating the burial 

urns pertaining to the periods of inhumation and cremation, for 

over a thousand years. It involves the gradual development in 

the artistic conception of the articles, from the cruder forms of the 

earlier implements and utensils to more improved ones in material 

of war, such as shields, swords, horse trappings and clothing; and 

«n the things of domestic use, ornaments, and votive monuments. 

To tell how the Celtic penannular brooch evolved would take 

more space than can be allotted here; and to describe the beauty 

of the ' lunulae '—the adornment for the hair and bosoms of the 

beauties of the time, which were often wrought in gold, and engraved 

with the close and carefully designed forms of the missals 

of the Book of Kells—would necessitate the descriptive powers 

of the poet, the romanticist, and the historian, with the pencil of 

the artist in attendance, to illustrate the features of the designs 

that are beyond description in words. 

But it is in the votive monuments, and in the vast field of work 

on stone done by the Celtic craftsmen, that we see the Art achievement 

of the race most clearly. The magnificent range of Crosses 

which this country possesses, exemplifies the history of the Art, 

and the people who brought it to perfection. Indeed, the history 

of the Gael is inwrought in stone. From the undecorated monoliths 

of the Neolithic Period to those magnificent free crosses of 

the Iona and Clanmacnoise groups, there is a vast space of time in 

the evolution, and the evidence of a network of influences at work 

in directing the advancement of the style. It is from the designs 

of these crosses that we get to know all we now know of how the 

warriors of the time went to battle; how they were attired; the 

weapons they bore; and how their horses were accroutremented. 

It is the really graphic Art of the Celts over this period of their 

development, mirroring, as it did, their lives and their thought. 

How complete the Art had become is seen in the magnificent 

group of crosses in our country—and Scotland in that respect is 

happy in the possession of the largest number of decorated crosses 

in the Kingdom. To mention but a few, good opportunity of 

studying the decorative forms of the Art is afforded in the 

Barrochan example in Renfrewshire; St. Martin's Cross in Iona; 

the Dupplin in Perthshire; the Nigg Cross in Ross-shire, and the 

many fine examples in the Scottish National Museum and the 

Art Gallery of Glasgow. Those pertain to the period when the 

Art was at its zenith, having in them the best of the thought of 

the designer, the illuminator, and the metal worker, plus the appropriate 

Art of the architect in uniting the conceptions of the 

former to the requirements of stone. 

Some of those, particularly the Nìgg example, are profuse, 

even to riot, in Celtic forms, as ornate in the individual designs, 

and with the spaces as fully decorated, as any of the missals of the 

Books of Kells or Lindisfarne or the Golden Gospels of St. 

Columba. The full range from the simple chevron—the " V " 

form, like the single stripe denoting lance-corporal rank on the 

sleeve of the soldier's coat—repeated in a travelling band formation 

horizontally or vertically; the curves of " S " and " C " form, 

worked into elaborate spirals, concentrics, interlacings, knots, 

plaits and frets; and, indeed, every curious form and twist and 

break that the treatment of line and curve could take, are in this 

magnificent example of the Art in stone. 

Added to these, there are the symbols of the Celtic people, 

denoting the evolution of their crude Pagan philosophy of life, to 

the fuller and more beatific contemplation of the ways and thought 

of Christ. The full range of that evolution is displayed in the 

highly evolved free crosses of the Clanmacnoise and Iona groups. 

Indeed, throughout that vast range of work in stone, there are the 

traces of the attitude of the earlier tribesmen to the great Infinite 

in thought; their superstitious dread of the unseen forces, and 

their conceptions of the monsters of the animal world. ^ 

There is also indication of the forms of their worship, and in 

this direction we can detect the various outside influences that were 

engrafted on the Celtic outlook, such as, for instance, the use of 

the form of the hammer head as a symbol, indicating the thought 

of a people like the Scandinavians, (with whom they came in 

contact), in their worship of Thor, or of some other hammer using

240 

THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 

deity. And, although there is the evidence of a departure from 

the cruder symbols of the Pagan period in the later ones,—the 

use of the swastika, the triskele, the ship, the wheel, the axe, 

the comb, and the mirror—we can detect the forms of these, even 

after the incoming of Christianity, in the general treatment of 

the designs in the more highly evolved work. 

The Celt of Pagan days, even as far back as the Bronze and 

early Iron ages, had his philosophy of life. He was no mere 

savage, with language no greater than a cry, sitting by his pit 

dwelling, impervious to the suggestions of the forces of nature. 

He saw the sun blaze in splendour, the waters by his dwelling, 

and the star, pale and incandescent, pendulous in the sky; and 

he noted that the firm earth on which he stood was neither fixed 

nor indeterminate in its relationship to the heavens. 

Those quaint cup-and-ring-like markings on the rock formations 

throughout the country are his simple attempts to solve the 

riddle of the motion of the universe. 

Charts they are now said to be of solar time, and not the 

cipherings of primitive man to decorate stone. The concentrics 

of the highly evolved free crosses have these as a base in the 

design, but the Art has become so perfected that the treatment of 

them on the great stone crosses of Scotland indicate a craftsmanship 

of a surer hand and a more accurate eye. 

After the Christianising of the Art the treatment of the symbols 

entirely changed. The ship remained—symbol of the soul's 

avatar to Tìr-nan-Og, and, later, of the Church sailing heavenward 

to God; as likewise was the use of the stag, symbolising the soul 

thirsting for the well-springs of life, 'as the hart panteth after the 

water-brooks'; but the pagan forms of centaurs, sirens, griffins 

and other fabulous monsters—these departed gradually, and in 

their stead there were the pictorialised incidents of the Bible. 

Daniel in the lion's den was a favourite subject of the designer, 

as also was that of David, rending the jaws of a lion; the raising 

of Lazarus, the Virgin and Child, Pharaoh's overthrow, the 

ascension of Elijah,—representations, all of them, having inspiration 

obviously from the catacombs of Rome. 

After the mission of Palladius as the envoy of the Roman 

Pontiffs to bring the Celtic Church to the Roman polity, the 

Art became centrally controlled, and, as a result, fell into decay. It 

was used in the decoration of the Irish crosses particularly, to 

portray the lives of the Saints, and to incorporate portraits of the 

SAINT 

BRIDE. 

May the girdle oj Brigit behind my back, 

And the mantle oj Mary before me be.

THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN. 2 4 

I 

Fathers, and there was, as a result, a gradual lessening of the flamboyant 

forms, and a departure from the purely Celtic conceptions 

to Byzantine ideas. 

More frequent coming and going between the Continent and 

here brought ideas that eventually removed the sheerly Celtic 

characteristics, and introduced cosmopolitan forms, with the result 

that it might well be termed, after the Norman encroachment, a 

composite Art. 

We do not ask for a revival of this highly specialised form 

of Art. To revive the art of a past age, and apply it to modern 

requirements, implies often no more than providing work for the 

c 

{utilitarian,' as each age should provide the Art it needs. But 

we should hope for a return of the spirit that impelled the craftsman 

of these early days of the Church; and the Gaelic people have 

that spiritualised Art potentiality, which needs but a quickening 

to link them with their forefathers in that Art spirit, so as to give 

to this and subsequent generations something that is representative 

of their outlook upon the life of to-day. 

The Epithet "Celtic." 

By Professor JOHN FRASER, M.A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D., 

Professor of Celtic, Oxford University. 

LATIN and Greek writers, when they speak of the " Celts " 

think of them, clearly, as a political or social community, 

not as a distinct race. It is true that some of them, Caesar 

and Tacitus, for example, have left us descriptions of the physical 

appearance of both " Celts " and " Germans," but that must not 

mislead us into believing that, in the first centuries of our era, 

observers could distinguish among the barbarians of Northern 

Europe two distinct racial types, coinciding with two distinct 

political and social groups. In the first place, it is dangerous to 

speak of " race " at all if we mean to imply comparatively recent 

common origin. It would be rash to maintain that the inhabitants 

of no matter how restricted an area of modern Europe are 

242 

THE EPITHET u CELTIC." 

racially homogeneous. Two thousand years is a very short period 

in the history of man in Europe; and we have no reason to believe 

that the ethnic conditions in Northern Europe were any simpler 

two thousand years ago than they are now. In the second place, 

neither Tacitus nor Julius Caesar was interested in ethnology, and 

neither of them made a detailed examination of the physical 

features of either Celts or Germans. It is evident that when they 

speak of tail stature, red or fair hair, and blue eyes, they are not 

necessarily speaking of the average individual. It is possible— 

and this is the general view—that they are describing the physical 

appearance of an aristocratic caste. It may be noted in passing 

that, from their descriptions, it would appear that " Celts " and 

" Germans " did not differ very much in appearance. We may, 

if we like, claim that one of those aristocratic castes did, in fact, 

represent the original " Celts," and ruled over a subject people 

of alien race who had, at least in part, adopted the language of 

their " Celtic " conquerors. As we must start somewhere, we may 

do so here. There cannot have existed so late as the first century 

of our era a homogeneous race peopling the whole of Gaul; let 

us assume that there did exist at that time a military caste, 

numerically weak, but strong in traditional discipline and the arts 

of government, composed of n 

Celts." 

When we use an epithet like " Celtic," we must have a clear 

idea of what we mean by it. When we speak of a " Celtic " 

language we know exactly what kind of language we have in view, 

and what characteristics distinguish it from other languages. .We 

know, too, that modern Celtic languages are so called because they 

are historically related to a language spoken in the area ruled by 

the Celtae of Caesar and other ancient writers, and present some of 

the same characteristics. In this case the epithet implies something 

which we know to be a historical fact, namely that certain 

modern languages are closely related to an ancient one. 

It has, however, been for a long time fashionable to apply this 

epithet to other things than certain languages. People speak of 

"Celtic melancholy," "Celtic culture," "Celtic peoples"; and 

I propose to ask what is implied in these expressions. They all 

Involve the same difficulty, and I shall for that reason examine only 

the last. 

When we speak of a " Latin people " we mean a people who 

sDeak one or other of the languages into which Latin has 

developed; we do not, and cannot, mean that the Latin peoples, 

THE EPITHET " CELTIC." 

as such, form a racial unity. For reasons with which the fact of 

a common name has no direct relation, we shall find the same 

physical type in Southern France and in Northern Spain; and, at 

the same time, we shall find that, physically, the Southern Frenchman 

may resemble the Italian more than he does the Norman 

who speaks his language. So, a Rumanian and a Mexican are 

both Latins in the sense that they speak a Latin language. All 

the Latin peoples have also in common the tradition of the Roman 

Empire and Latin Literature, and this makes for a certain community 

of sentiment and outlook. But to speak of " Latin races" 

is to use a meaningless expression. However we are to account 

for the rapid spread of the Latin language in Gaul or Spain, we 

cannot account for it by the assumption of a vast immigration of 

Italians into those countries and the extirpation of the native 

population. 

But when we use the words " Celtic peoples," or " Celtic 

race," we use an expression which is, if possible, even more 

meaningless. People who use it certainly do not mean peoples 

who speak a Celtic language. The expression is certainly not 

intended to exclude the great majority of the inhabitants of 

Ireland and of the Highlands of Scotland, of nearly all Manxmen, 

of all Cornishmen. Whether it would be held to include Englishmen 

who have learnt to speak Welsh, I do not know. There is 

no political organisation which could justify the expression 

" Celtic people " in the sense in which we can use "Yujoslavonic." 

There is no common literary tradition which could make a 

Scottish Highlander feel that he had something in common with a 

Breton. And finally, there is no racial community. 

It is important that this should be recognised, for there is 

room to suspect that when enthusiasts speak of themselves as 

" pure Celts," they do imagine that there is a Celtic race as 

opposed, let us say, to the Anglo-Saxon race. Now, so far as the 

British Islands are concerned, there are no grounds whatever for 

such a view. We know that Celtic languages were introduced into 

those islands from the Continent, and that they, in time, displaced 

an earlier language, or earlier languages, just as they themselves 

have been, and are being, displaced by English. We 

do not know the numbers of the Celtic-speaking invaders, and we 

have no reason to suppose that they formed a racially homogeneous 

body. The probability is all the other way. It is known that 

Britain and Ireland had been inhabited for thousands of years

244 THE EPITHET " CELTIC." 

before the coming of the " Celts," and it is highly improbable 

that the native population was not immensely more numerous 

than the invaders. W hat happened in Gaul, where the language 

of the Roman armies and traders and settlers killed out the native 

language, happened also in Britain. The Celtic languages of a 

comparatively small but highly civilised and organised body of 

invaders displaced the language, or languages, of the earlier population. 

But, in either case, the invaders themselves were absorbed. 

When it is a question of physical characteristics, the big battalions 

must always win. 

To put the matter briefly, we have no reason to suppose that 

the introduction into these islands of two Celtic languages had any 

substantial effect on the racial characteristics of the population. 

They remained, in the main, what they had been. North American 

negroes have remained negroes despite the fact that they 

speak English; and the fact that our ancestors at one period learned 

to speak a Celtic language, as they later learned to speak English, 

made very little difference to them in point of " race." 

Not many years ago a self-made publicist gave as the explanation 

of the success with which an English statesman met French 

diplomatists the fact that the former was " not an Englishman 

but a Frenchman." As a matter of fact, he was a W'elshman, and, 

therefore, a " Celt." Frenchmen, some of whom speak a Celticlanguage, 

are, by the same process of reasoning, "Celts " as well 

as " Latins," and Mr. Lloyd George could be, therefore, described 

as a " Frenchman." 

This kind of loose thinking can be found almost invariably 

wherever the word " Celtic " is found. It can be avoided only by 

using the epithet solely of the Celtic languages, or in relation to 

the Celtic languages. The expression "Celtic language" or 

" Celtic speaker " is clear and definite. On the other hand, an 

expression like " Celtic temperament " implies a long and complicated 

series of historical facts which it would be exceedingly 

difficult to establish, and has no justification in our present 

knowledge. 

Cuimhnich air na daoine bho'n d'thàinig thu. 

Remember the men from -whom thou art sprung. 

A rèir do mheas ort fhèin, measaidh càch thu. 

As thou valuest thyself, others will esteem thee. 

A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean. 

LE DAIBHIDH URCHARDAINN, M.A., AN l OISIGHEACHD. 

IS fhada bho thòisich an Comunn Gàidhealach air dùsgadh nan 

Gàidheal gu sùim a chur 'nan cànain fhèin, agus air agart bho 

luchd-riaghlaidh na dùthcha cead a' Ghàidhlig a theagasg anns 

na sgoilean. Bu e buil na saothrach sin gu bheil againn an diugh 

ann an Achd Pàrlamaid, cha'n e a mhàin cead ach àithne eòlas 

leughaidh agus sgrìobhaidh a thoirt do òigridh Tìr nam Beann air 

sean chainnt an aithrichean. 

Ach is e a h-aon de na cunnartan a tha ag cuairteachadh ar 

cànain, gun robh luchd-dèanamh an lagha, agus gu bheil luchdriaghlaidh 

nan sgoilean de an bheachd gur e crìoch àraidh an teagaisg 

so eòlas eagnaidh a thoirt do an Ghàidheal air a^ Bheurla 

Shasunnaich. Agus cha ghabh e idir àicheadh nach 'eil e buileach 

feumail gum biodh na Gàidheil cho ullamh, fileanta anns a' 

Bheurla agus a ghabhas dèanamh, ach tha an t-àmgum biodh na 

Gàidheil fhèin, agus na Goill mar an ceudna, a' tuigsinn nach 'eil 

eòlas air an cainnt fhèin 'na chnap-starra anns an t-slighe a tha 

treòrachadh gu aithne air a' Bheurla. 

Bho chionn leth-cheud bliadhna, chromadh Gàidheil òga an 

cinn, agus thigeadh rudha 'nan gruaidh, nan canadh neach riu gun 

robh blas na Gàidhlig air a' Bheurla aca. Agus cò nach fhaca 

gillean agus nigheanan òga a chaill an Gàidhlig an dèidh a bhi 

bliadhna air mhuinntearas air Ghalldachd, agus nach ann orra fhèin 

a bhiodh an uaill nan cainteadh riu gun robh a' Bheurla aca cho 

blasda is a chluinnteadh air bruachan Abhainn Chluaidh! Dh' 

fhalbh an doille uamhasach ud, agus an diugh, mar thoradh air 

obair a' Chomuinn, tha ar n-òigridh deònach agus ullamh gu an 

eòlas air an t-sean chànain aideachadh, agus a chur an cleachdadh 

ann an conaltradh ri càch a chèile. 

An diugh fhèin, chì sinn tuilleadh is a' chòir a their nach 'eil 

feum anns a' Ghàidhlig air son faighinn air adhart ann an gnothaichean 

saoghalta, agus còrdaidh sinn riu gu bheil e iomchuidh, 

a chum adhartas talmhaidh, do neach e fhèin uidheamachadh 

anns an dòigh as acfhuinniche a chum soirbheachadh aimsireil a 

bhuannachadh; agus is cinnteach gun ruig e air an inbhe so leis an 

fhòghlum as freagarraiche air son an aobhair fhaotainn anns an 

sgoil. 

Cha do bheachdaich duine glic riamh air teagasg cloinne, nach 

aidich gur e crìoch àraidh an fhoghluim òigridh a leigeil mu

A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean. 

LE DAIBHIDH URCHARDAINN, M.A., AN TOISIGHEACHD. 

TS fhada bho thòisich an Comunn Gàidhealach air dùsgadh nan 

JL Gàidheal gu sùim a chur 'nan cànain fhèin, agus air agart bho 

luchd-riaghlaidh na dùthcha cead a' Ghàidhlig a theagasg anns 

na sgoilean. Bu e buil na saothrach sin gu bheil againn an diugh 

ann an Achd Pàrlamaid, cha'n e a mhàin cead ach àithne eòlas 

leughaidh agus sgrìobhaidh a thoirt do òigridh Tìr nam Beann air 

sean chainnt an aithrichean. 

Ach is e a h-aon de na cunnartan a tha ag cuairteachadh ar 

cànain, gun robh luchd-dèanamh an lagha, agus gu bheil luchdriaghlaidh 

nan sgoilean de an bheachd gur e crìoch àraidh an teagaisg 

so eòlas eagnaidh a thoirt do an Ghàidheal air a' Bheurla 

Shasunnaich. Agus cha ghabh e idir àicheadh nach 'eil e buileach 

feumail gum biodh na Gàidheil cho ullamh, fileanta anns a' 

Bheurla agus a ghabhas dèanamh, ach tha an t-àm gum biodh na 

Gàidheil fhèin, agus na Goill mar an ceudna, a' tuigsinn nach 'eil 

eòlas air an cainnt fhèin 'na chnap-starra anns an t-slighe a tha 

treòrachadh gu aithne air a' Bheurla. 

Bho chionn leth-cheud bliadhna, chromadh Gàidheil òga an 

cinn, agus thigeadh rudha 'nan gruaidh, nan canadh neach riu gun 

robh blas na Gàidhlig air a' Bheurla aca. Agus cò nach fhaca 

gillean agus nigheanan òga a chaill an Gàidhlig an dèidh a bhi 

bliadhna air mhuinntearas air Ghalldachd, agus nach ann orra fhèin 

a bhiodh an uaill nan cainteadh riu gun robh a' Bheurla aca cho 

blasda is a chluinnteadh air bruachan Abhainn Chluaidh! Dh' 

fhalbh an doille uamhasach ud, agus an diugh, mar thoradh air 

obair a' Chomuinn, tha ar n-òigriah deònach agus ullamh gu an 

eòlas air an t-sean chànain aideachadh, agus a chur an cleachdadh 

ann an conaltradh ri càch a chèile. 

An diugh fhèin, chì sinn tuilleadh is a' chòir a their nach 'eil 

feum anns a' Ghàidhlig air son faighinn air adhart ann an gnothaichean 

saoghalta, agus còrdaidh sinn riu gu bheil e iomchuidh, 

a chum adhartas talmhaidh, do neach e fhèin uidheamachadh 

anns an dòigh as acfhuinniche a chum soirbheachadh aimsireil a 

bhuannachadh; agus is cinnteach gun ruig e air an inbhe so leis an 

fhòghlum as freagarraiche air son an aobhair fhaotainn anns an 

sgoil. 

Cha do bheachdaich duine glic riamh air teagasg cloinne, nach 

aidich gur e crìoch àraidh an fhoghluim òigridh a leigeil mu

246 A' GHAIDHLIG ANNS NA SGOILEAN. 

sgaoil a choimhlionaSj anns an dòigh as iomlaine, an dleasdanas 

anns an ionad a dh' ionnsaigh am bi iad air an gairm; agus aidichidh 

an dream so mar an ceudna nach e comas na h-òigridh air 

tional ionmhais, mar tha airgead, òr is maoin, fìor dhearbhadh 

gu bheil iad 'nam buill fheumail de'n chomh-fhiai theachd. 

Ma bheachdaicheas sinn air ainmean nan daoine air a bheil 

mòran iomraidh an eachdraidh an t-saoghail, na daoine 

a thoill agus a choisinn dhaibh fhèin gu sònruichte an 

cliù sin ris an abrar mòr, chì sinn gur e ro bheag de ionmhas a 

chruinnich iad ri chèile. Bha Mac Dhè, an uair a bha e air chuairt 

am measg dhaoine, cho bochd 'na chrannchur agus ged " tha tuill 

aig na sionnaich agus nid aig eunlaith an athair, chan 'eil aig Mac 

An Duine ionad anns an cur e a cheann fodha." 

Dh' iomlaid Maois lùchairtean rìoghail agus greadhneachas 

na h-Eiphit air son arraban agus àmhgharan an fhàsaich. Chuir 

ceudan, chuir mìlltean, de na sàir ud an cùl ri beartas saoghalta, 

a chum am buadhan ionmholta a thairgse gu saor agus an asgaidh 

do'n chinne-daonna. 

Ciod è matà, an t-àite a tha aig a' Ghàidhlig anns an rian-fòghluim 

as fheàrr do na Gàidheil An è an t-sean dòigh a chleachdas 

sinn, anns an robh cainnt choimheach air a bruidhinn ris a' chloinn 

bho an cheud là air an deachaidh iad a steach air dorus-mòr an 

tigh-sgoile, agus an cànain ùr so air a dhèanamh 'na meadhon air 

eòlas a thoirt daibh air nithean aimsireil agus spioradail Tha 

an dòigh ud calg dhìreach an aghaidh reusain agus gach lagha air 

a bheil oibreachadh na h-inntinne an crochadh. Is e fear de 

phrìomh laghan oideachaidh, gun tòisich am fear-teagaisg air 

togail air a' bhunait a tha ag co-sheasamh anns an eòlas a 

tha cheana aig an leanabh agus a thoirt ceum air cheum a dh' 

ionnsaigh an eòlais fharsuing sin a ni duine tuigseach de an neach 

aig a bheil e. 

Co-dhùnaidh sinn bho so gur e mullach na h-amaideachd 

leabhar Beurla a chur air tùs an Tàimh an leinibh aig nach 'eil facal 

Beurla 'na chlaigeann, ach gur e tùs a' ghliocais a' chànain fhèin 

a chleachdadh, mar an cladhan troimh am bi e air a threòrachadh 

a dh' ionnsaigh a chala ion-mhiannaichte sin is crìoch àraidh do 

sgoilearachd. 

Aon uair agus gum faigh an Gàidheal òg cho fada air adhart agus 

gun cleachd e an dà chainnt gu ceart agus gu rèidh, tha a inntinn 

na's gèire, agus a bhuadhan uile na's treise na's urrainn iad sin a 

bhi aig fear aon-teanga. Tha, mar gum b'eadh, sealladh aig a 

A' GHAIDHLIG ANNS NA SGOILEAN. 247 

nis air dà shaoghal, agus tha a bhuadhan inntinne air am meudachadh 

agus air an leudachadh, ann an seòl nach 'eil comasach do 

neach do nach aithne ach aon teanga a mhàin, a dh' aindeoin a 

ealantachd agus a chomasan an gnothaichean saoghalta; 

agus tha sinn ag creidsinn gu bheil iadsan ceart a tha anns an 

dùil gur ann tre eòlas a thoirt do na Gàidheil air smuaintean agus 

subhailcean an daoine fhèin a thig iad gu làn shaorsa, air dhòigh 

's gu fàg iad dìleab sheasmhach, neo-thruaillidh aig na linntean a 

thig 'nan dèidh, " a chlann a ta gun bhreith." 

Tha e 'na chunnart gu bheil mòran de na pàrantan caoinshuarach 

mu na subhailcean neo-bhàsmhor nach gabh meas le 

cothromaichean aimsireil. Ciamar a dhùisgear an sluagh gu 

thuigsinn nach iad rudan a theid am mugha a choisneas inbhe àrd 

daibh, ach gur iad duinealas, fìreantachd agus uaisle an t-ionmhas 

as luachmhoire, agus nach cuir an t-eòlas prìseil so bacadh 

orra 'nan gnothaichean saoghalta 

Rinn maighstirean-sgoile Gallda mòran croin ann a bhi a' 

sparradh air an òigridh beachdan coimheach a bha ag cur an suarachas 

gach nì a bhuineadh dhaibh mar shluagh sònruichte, ged bha 

mòran de na daoine so a thuig spiorad na dùthcha, agus a thug 

àite urramach do bheusan nàistinneach 'nan teagasg. Ged dh' 

fhalbh mòran de an ghamhlas eu-cneasda so, tha roinn mhòr de 

a bhuil ag iadhadh mun cuairt air a' Ghàidheal fhathast, agus 

feumar oidhirp sgairteil a chum ceann na nathrach theinntich so 

a phronnadh. Their cuid nach teirig spiorad a' Ghàidheil fhad 

agus a bhios fuil chraobhach a shinnsre a' sruthadh troimh a 

chuislibh, ach tha eachdraidh a' dearbhadh gun caill sluagh tomad 

de am beusan sònruichte an là a chailleas iad an teanga. 

Tha roinn mhòr de na beachdan a tha an comaidh aig sluagh 

an t-saoghail a b'fheàrr dhuinn bhuainn no againn, agus bu 

bhuannachd shìorruidh dhuinn nan rachadh againn air an seachnadh 

mar bhuil air an fhòghlum a dh' fhuaigheadh buadhan ar 

cinnich fhèin an dlùth's an inneach ar bith. Fhad agus a chumar 

an cànain beò seachnaidh an Gàidheal an dìleab neò-bhuannachdail 

a tha a' sruthadh bho bheusan coimheach, agus gu ma fad 

às an là anns nach cluinnear an tìr an fhraoich pongan na Gàidhlige 

air bilean a luchd-àiteachaidh. 

" An leig sinn eachdraidh chaomh ar tìr 

A sgrìobadh de gach clàr, 

'S a' Ghàidhlig chòir a chur a dhìth 

Le dream nach tuig a gnàths"

2 SO GRIANAN. 

eachd ri guth Mhìlread na Glaice. Mhothaich e na bha 'na cridhe 

is 'na h-inntinn, ach cha bu lèir da na deoir thoirteil a bha a' ruith 

a sìos air a dà ghruaidh. " Nach coma leat-sa, a Ghrianain, ged 

nach biodh ceòl 's a' chlàrsaich! Nach 'eil teas-ghràdh 'nad 

chridhe, is nach leoir sin! 

Bha rachd am muineal Mhìlread, is i a' sealltainn air an aghaidh 

chiùin, shìochail air an robh smal a' mhulaid. Agus cha bu luaithe 

a bhiodh a h-aghaidh air Grianan na bhiodh a sùilean fuaighte air 

mac an Tuairneir Ruaidh,—am fear a bha gu a bhi còmhla rithe 

gus an sgaradh am bàs o chèile iad. 

Cha d' thàinig smid à beul Mhìlread tuilleadh. Chaidh 

Buaidh a mach, oir bha i an còmhnuidh furachail mu thimchioll a 

mic. Mhothaich i do Mhìlread ag coiseachd air falbh còmhla ri a 

leannan. Laigh geilt air a gnùis. Bu mhotha gu mòr a chuir 

aogasg na cailin oirre na a gineal, a bha air tuiteam seachad le 

laigse cuirp. Choisich Buaidh air ais do'n tigh, ag giùlan a' 

bhalaich 'na h-uchd. 

Ach bha Donn Og air a sàil, oir bha e fhèin agus dithis òigearan 

a thachair ris aig a' chladach, air mothachadh dhi aig bun na 

craoibhe. Bha a' chlàrsach an làimh fir diubh. Chaidh iad a 

steach do'n tigh, agus chaidh Donn gu taobh na leapa, agus bha 

oillt air a' ghnùis ag coimhead a ghille, is a dheud dùinte. Bha 

gathan tlàtha na grèine a' deàrrsadh air troimh 'n luidhear bheag, 

agus chaidh smuain Dhuinn air ais chum na maidne a thàinig 

Grianan a dh' ionnsaigh an t-saoghail. 

Aig ceann eile an tighe chualas fonn binn o chlàr nan teud,— 

ceòl a lìon suas an tigh le cùbhraidheachd nach gabh cur an cainnt. 

Ghrad labhair Grianan, is a làmhan togte ri a athair a bha ag 

cromadh gu h-iomagaineach os a chionn. Chuireadh Grianan 

coigrich air leth, agus cha robh iongantas ged bhiodh e mothachail 

orra-san a bu dlùithe dha. " Chaochail mi, a athair; choisich mi 

troimh ghleann dorcha sgàil a' bhàis,—ach tha mi a nis beò. Cha 

bhi àmhghar agam-sa tuilleadh. Fhuair mi seachad air gach bròn 

is trioblaid, agus tha mi a nis ag èisdeachd ri comh-sheirm nan 

ainglean anns na Flaitheas." 

Cha do chuir na pàrantan diù anns na focail dhìomhair ud. 

Chuala iad guth caoin, milis am mic, agus bu leoir sin. Ach 

fhuair iad aobhar air smuaineachadh orra an dèidh làimhe, agus 

bha iad 'nam beannachd agus 'nan sòlas dhoibh. Shuidh Buaidh 

ri taobh na leapa, is gach mionaid a bha a' dol seachad a' treòrachadh 

a smuain gu bun na craoibhe, agus gu giùlan agus snuadh 

GRIANAN. 

Mhìlread aig an àm sin. Carson a theich i Ciod a chuir air 

falbh i, is an cuspair a ghràdhaich i fad a' bheatha air sìoladh 

seachad le laigse 

Fhad's a bha Buaidh a' meòrachadh air na ceistean sin bha Donn 

Og an ceann eile an tighe ag èisdeachd ris na coigrich a thàinig le 

bàta beag gu oisinn na tràghad. Bha iad òg, sunndach, agus a 

rèir coslais cha robh nì fainear doibh ach ceàrn air choir-eigin de'n 

t-saoghal a lorg a bheireadh dhoibh tìoralachd is teachd-an-tìr. 

B'e ainm a h-aon diubh Brian agus an t-aon eile Conn. Cha robh 

eun air iteig nach cuireadh Brian gu nàire air cùl na clàrsaich. 

" Thachair an t-aon nì dhomh-sa 'nam òige," bha Brian ag ràdh, 

" ach cho luath's a thog m' athair an clàrsach's a chuala mi fonn 

uan teud ghlac mi misneach. ' Bàs no beatha,' arsa m' athair, 

' chan eil mi ag creidsinn nach cluinn Brian Bàn an ceòl so.' " 

Agus mun do chiar an tràth bha Grianan air ais aig bun na 

craoibhe, agus fallus sìos air a dhà shùil. Bha na h-eoin air gach 

gèig, a' sìneadh an cinn le iongnadh, oir bha mac Clàrsair na 

h-Aillse ag gleusadh ciùil air gnàths a chuir an cridheachan beaga 

air mhire. Chaidh Mìlread ball-dìreach gu tigh a h-athar. Bha 

i air innseadh dhoibh fada roimh sud nach pòsadh i gu bràth ach 

fear a bhiodh teò-chridheach ri Grianan, agus bha iad mar sin làn 

imcheist m' a deidhinn. Cha robh i a' tagradh às leth Grianaìn 

leud na ròine seachad air a gràdh fèin,—gràdh a bha làn bàigh is 

iochd. 

" Tha thu air mise is t' athair a mhaslachadh," thubhairt a 

mathair rithe aon là; " tha an treas fear agad air a chur dachaidh- 

A bheil iongantas ort ged bhiodh t' ainm am fad is am farsuingeachd" 

"Pòsaidh mise Tearlach an Tuairnear," fhreagair 

Mìlread; "ach cha bhi ann ach pòsadh is adhlacadh aig an aon àm. 

Chan i bean-phòsda a bhios còmhla ri Tearlach an àm dùsgaidh, 

ach dus deiseil air son na cille." 

Bha Mìlread fo uallach a thaobh Grianain fad an fheasgair. 

Chaidh i air ais gu Arisaig anns a' mhaduinn, agus bha i taingeil 

an uair a chunnaic i gun robh a companach mùirneach a' dol am 

feabhas; ach thàinig rudha 'na gruaidh an uair a shìn Brian Bàn 

a làmh d' a h-ionnsaigh. 

An ceann bliadhna eile bha Donn Og agus Buaidh anns an 

t-seòmar cheudna, agus Grianan air leabaidh a' bhàis.—" Caidlidh 

mise an Tigh na Glaice," thubhairt e mochthrath. " Bidh Brian 

còmhla rium leis a' chlàrsaich, agus bidh ceum Mhìlread 'nam 

chluasan gus an till mi dhachaidh." Thug e a suas a spiorad rau'c

252 GRIANAN. 

am bu dèine ceileir nan eun, is a mheoir chaithte, thana an glaic an 

neach a b' òige a bha a stigh; oir bha Grianan beag eile le dòrlach 

mhìosan thairis air a cheann anns an tigh ud a nis, agus bu mhòr 

gràdh Brian is Mhìlread dha. Ach cha robh e na bu mhotha na 

gràdh an fhir a thug gu chèile iad, agus a bha a nis air siubhal. 

Chunnaic mise iad anns an rath-dorcha le leadain fhliuch aig 

bun craoibhe. Bliadhnachan an dèidh sin lorg mi a mach aobhar 

am pràimh;—bha ceòl os mo chionn o chòisir nan crann, agus 

dian-theas na grèine ag crìonadh an fheoir uaine far an robh 

Grianan 'na chadal. 

On the Imprisonment of Argyll, in 1661. 

By PROFESSOR WILLIAM J. WATSON, M.A., LL.D., D.LITT. Celt. 

This poem is from the Edinburgh MS. xxxvi, 114a (National 

Library of Scotland). An inaccurate version taken from a copy 

by the Rev. D. Mackintosh (in MS. lxxxix) is printed in Leabhar 

na Fèinne, p, 211. Mackintosh's copy is headed, "Upon 

Archibald, Earl of Argyll, the last Earl who was beheaded at 

Edinburgh, 30th June, 1685." The internal evidence, however, 

and especially the reference to the Tower, goes rather to indicate 

that it was composed on the occasion of the imprisonment 

of Archibald, the first Marquis of Argyll, in 1661. Argyll had 

placed the crown on the head of Charles II in 1651, and had 

suffered much in his cause. After the Restoration he was induced 

by an apparently friendly letter from the king to go to London to 

pay homage. While waiting in the privy chamber for permission 

to kiss the king's hand, he was arrested and committed to the 

Tower as a traitor, and thereafter sent down to Edinburgh to be 

tried. He was brought before the Scottish Parliament, found 

guilty, and executed on the 27 th day of May. His memory was 

long revered by the Scottish Covenanters. 

Is maith mo leaba, is olc mo shuain, 

an sgèal-sa chualas òs n-aird: 

Gill-easbuig, buachaill an Chrùin, 

ar n-a ghlasadh 'san Tùir fa gheard. 

ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN 

Dia cobhair ar ar bhfeidhm, 

cuir tualas na mbrèag ar chàird; 

cuir car na conspòid mun gcuart, 

beir consbòil na sluagh a bàrd. 

Fuasgail e ò dhoirsibh bàis, 

rèitigh an rod dhà go deas; 

Iehòbha phrìseil na sluagh, 

ort ni fhuil ni cruaidh no ceast. 

Do ghàirdean làidir 'n a thòir 

air gach pòr 'ga bhfaighte an fhoill, 

dh' aimhdheoin rìogh Phàro is a shluagh, 

dh' fhosgail an Mhuir Ruadh do'n chloi 

Shuidheadh iad eangach an bhàis 

mu Dhomhnall an àigh le neart ; 

dh' aimhdheoin a mioruin>s a gcealg, 

gabh na leòghain gharg mad smacht. 

Impire Bhabilòin mhòir, 

chuir an iomhaigh òir 'san leirg, 

i n-eimhuin lasrach 'na choig, 

thug aist na h-òighe ò fheirg. 

Dh' fhuasgail thu na geimhle cruaidh 

do Pheadar na mbuadh 'n a fheidhm ; 

charn thu an fhairge suas le sruth: 

thà thu a ndiu mar bha thu a ndè. 

Fàgfuidh mè a chùram fad dhion, 

a Ri na rìogh 'ga bhfuil an neart ; 

leòghan do shìiocht Smèrbi mhòir, 

chunnarc mè na slòigh fad smacht. 

Seobhag de'n ealtain dob fhearr, 

ò dhreim Artùir bu gharg coig ; 

onchù thrèan rè buan na gcreach, 

fèinidh fearail na bhfeacht mborb. 

Ua Duibhne ò Dhùn na gCuach, 

'g a dtiocfadh na sluaigh fad iocht; 

brugh solus ba niamhdha bèas, 

a mbiodh coimhling na gcèad go tric.

254 O N T H E IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN l66l. 

Iomdha tòiseach trèan ad mhagh, 

fa lionmhor a sleagh is lann ; 

àrmuinn fa dhfdion do sgiath, 

dh' èireadh le triath Dhùin dà Bheann. 

Do bhantracht ad bhaile dèarach, 

'gam biodh do theach 'n a thigh stòir ; 

gaisgigh go h-uaibhreach 'n a gclèas: 

mar Ghuaire do bhèas tràth nòin. 

Ba deathach calma do-n Chrun 

sibh 6 thùs ò linn go linn ; 

bhi 'ga fhreasdail an sgach buaidh: 

is ro bheag liom do dhuais d'a chionn. 

Tuirseach me tuireamh do bhèas, 

chraobh-thuinidh nach deireadh rath; 

Iosa le mbeirear gach buaidh, 

tabhair èisdeacht dom dhuan go math. 

Good is my bed, but ill my sleep, such the tale that 1 have 

heard set forth, how Gill-easbuig, shepherd of the Crown, lies 

locked in the Tower under guard. 

Do thou, God, help us in our need; cause lying tales for a 

space to cease; cause the quarrel to take another turn; bring the 

people's hero out of ward. 

Set him free from the doors of death, make the way clear 

before him readily; revered Jehovah, Lord of hosts, for thee there 

is no difficulty or trouble. 

Thy mighty arm pursueth every seed in whom is found deceit; 

despite king Pharaoh and his hosts, it opened the Red Sea for 

Israel's children. 

Let them set the net of death by means of might around the 

chief of fortune blessed; do thou, despite their malice and their 

deceit, take these fierce lions under thy control. 

When the Emperor of mighty Babylon set up the golden 

image in the plain, thou didst rescue the pure young men from 

his wrath, when they were in the flaming furnace through the 

king's fury. 

Thou didst loose the hard fetters from holy Peter in his 

need; thou didst heap up the sea with a current; thou art to-day 

as thou wert yesterday. 

ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN 1661. 255 

I will leave his care to thy protection, thou King of kings, 

who hast the might ; thou lion of the seed of great Smèrbi, I 

have seen the hosts under thy control. 

Thou hawk of noblest brood, sprung from the race of Arthur 

of fierce swords; thou war-hound mighty to seize the spoils, thou 

manly warrior of stern war-bands. 

Thou scion of Duibhne from Dùn nan Cuach, to whom the 

people were wont to make submission ; a bright mansion of 

brilliant custom, where often hundreds were wont to strive in 

sport. 

Many a mighty captain stood on thy plain, numerous 

were their spears and blades; gentlemen under thy shields' protection 

would rise with the lord of Dùn Dà Bheann (Fort of two 

Peaks). 

Thy women are tearful within thy stead, for whom thy house 

was a house of treasure; a house where warriors proudly stood in. 

their array (); thy manner at even was the match of Guaire's. 

Ye were stout champions of the Crown from the beginning 

throughout the ages; ye were wont to serve it in every triumph: 

over small I deem thy reward therefor. 

I am sad as I recount thy qualities, thou firm-set tree whose 

fortune is not yet spent; do thou, Jesus, who winnest every 

triumph, give good ear to my lay. 

Chan 'eil torn no tulach, 

No cnocan buidhe fiarach, 

Nach bi seal gu subhach, 

'Us seal gu dubhach diarach. 

There is no knoll nor mound, 

Nor hillock dight -with flowers, 

That sometimes is not bright, 

And sometimes dark with showers. 

Cha d' fhàg claidheamh Fhinn riamh fuidheall beuma. 

Fingal's sword never had to cut twice. 

Bha dorus Fhinn do'n ànrach fial. 

Fingal's door was free to the needy.

The Eagle in Captivity. 

BY REV. DAVID R. WILLIAMSON, Kirkmaiden, Wigtownshire. 

KING of the air, that in thy narrow cage, 

Broodest on visions that are now no more ! 

The virgin leaves are on the vernal trees; 

The air is filled with voices of the birds; 

The fairest flowers are wakening from their birth; 

The skylark soars amid the heavenly blue; 

The mists are lifting from the mountain-peaks, 

Whose loftiest summits are thy rocky thrones; 

Apollo glides in silver o'er the sea; 

But thou, the joy of the Olympian Jove, 

Who lives for ever in Homeric strains, 

Canst scan no more with calm and steadfast eyes 

The flaming splendour of the mid-day sun, 

Or soar serene, the sovereign of the sky, 

On mighty wings, whose movement is repose. 

Napoleon, in his Oceanic Isle, 

Environed by the vast and moaning sea, 

Dark-brooding on the greatness of the Past, 

While sorrow surged within him like the waves 

That rose and fell around his hopeless doom, 

Knew not a sadder solitude than thine. 

He was an autocrat who forged his chains; 

Thy life was authorised by Nature's laws, 

And thou, the august emperor of the air, 

Whose motions were the wonder of the Earth, 

Art made by man, the prey of curious eyes. 

Beauty and grandeur call for thee in vain; 

Even as of old, the upland tarns gleam, 

Touched by the moon-rays, when weird night has come, 

Beneath thine eyrie on the glimmering crags; 

The gracious sylvan valleys loom below; 

The mountain-crests, o'er which thy greatness came, 

On out-stretched silent wings that scorned the clouds, 

Serenely soar, like mightiest minds, to heaven, 

—And in thy soul thou hearest that great Voice 

Which man has made thee powerless to obey. 

A Tale of Old Glen Strae. 

" Far Past Cian Alpin's Outmost Guard." 

BY ALASDAIR ALPIN MACGREGOR, 

Author of " Behold' the Hebrides," " Over the Sea to Skye," etc. 

IT was at Coilantogle Ford, the old-time crossing-place on the 

Teith, that Roderic Dubh, having in safety conducted James 

Fitz-James through watch and ward and "far past Cian Alpin's 

outmost guard," revealed himself to be the head of a murderous 

and rebellious cian: here it was that Roderic, having discharged 

his trust in good faith, summoned the unsuspecting Knight of 

Snowdoun to mortal combat— 

" See, here, all vantageless I stand, 

Armed, like thyself, with single brand; 

For this is Coilantogle Ford, 

And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

But it may not be known generally that the Wizard developed 

his graceful theme from an incident of real, historical fact. The only 

discrepancy—and it is a slight discrepancy such as the scheme of 

any artist might reasonably demand, but which only the most 

skilful could have introduced with so much force and precision— 

occurs in the nature of the actual challenge: in the real story the 

MacGregor protagonist gave his foeman a fairer fighting chance 

and a more generous opportunity of escape than did Roderic, 

who, without any warning, threw down the gauntlet before the 

trustful Knight of Snowdoun, and provoked him " man to man, 

and steel to steel." 

Well, my story is a story of long, long ago, because the earliest 

scenes of it were enacted before the MacGregors were driven by 

the trickery of their Campbell adversaries from their ancestral 

home in Glen Strae, and when the Lamonts, those stout-hearted 

and resolute Lairds of Cowal, were still in residence in Castle 

Toward, their ancient stronghold at the eastern entrance to the 

Kyles of Bute.

A TALE OF OLD GLEN 

STRAE. 

A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE. 259 

Now, it so happened that in the days of his early manhood 

young Lamont and a single companion from Cowal were hunting 

in the Forest of Etive, through which, it is said, they were passing 

on their way to Inverlochy; and whom should they meet in the 

valley below the Greyfir Shoulder but Glen Strae's son and heir, 

who along with one or two of his followers was on a similar 

errand. 

MacGregor and Lamont pursued the chase together; and, 

when it was toward dusk and the mists were deploying among the 

barren, lofty places of Argyll, they and their retainers betook 

themselves to Kingshouse Inn. Here they resolved to put up for 

the night; and here, before their henchmen could intervene, an 

unhappy episode ensued, for young MacGregor and Lamont had 

a violent quarrel that terminated only when the former fell to the 

ground under the weight of Lamont's sgian-dubh. 

Lamont, when he perceived that he had murdered his fellowhuntsman, 

in order to escape immediate vengeance at the hands 

of MacGregor's followers, straightway fled with all speed into the 

night-enshrouded mountains. 

* * * * * * 

Is it not wonderful what a man will do when he is being chased 

for his life Lamont, in his anxiety to return to Casde Toward 

lest his enemies should overtake him, found himself at a dark 

morning hour in Glen Strae, nearly twenty miles away from 

Kingshouse as the crow flies. 

Not knowing where he was and to whom to turn for protection 

from young MacGregor's followers, who came at his heels, he 

arrived at the door of a house in the Glen, whither he had been 

attracted by a light that glowed in the window. Here, in despair, 

he entered and begged for protection. 

Little was Lamont aware that he had sought refuge in the 

house of the Chief of Glen Strae, whose son he had just murdered; 

and it was not until young MacGregor's men came to the same 

door shortly afterwards, demanding the refugee to be handed over 

to them, that the Chief learned that the man to whom he had given 

hospitality, and whom he had vowed to defend from the wrath of 

his pursuers, had killed his very own son. 

" Here this night you will be safe, whoever you be," were 

the words with which MacGregor of Glen Strae had received 

Lamont before he knew the reason of his flight. And, although 

MacGregor's wife and family filled the house with their lamenta- 

tions, and remonstrated with him, and would have had him deliver 

the fugitive into the hands of those whom he had bereft, the Chief 

replied that already he had given his word, and could not betray 

his trust—a MacGregor's word meant something in those far-off 

days! 

* * \i * « 

" But he has slain your son," was the retort of his clansmen, 

who besieged the door of the house and clamoured disappointedly 

without. 

"Let no one hurt a hair of the lad's head," replied Glen Strae. 

" MacGregor has vowed that he will shield him; and, as I live, 

he shall be safe while he remains under my roof!" 

How long Lamont remained under MacGregor's roof I am 

unable to say; but we know that at daybreak, one morning, the 

broken-hearted Chief ordered Lamont to prepare himself for a 

journey, and in person escorted him from Glen Strae, across many 

a hill and down many a dale, until at length they arrived at a little 

place on Loch Fyne, Dundarave, the Castle of the Two 

Oars—an ancient, turreted keep of the MacNaughtons, not far 

distant from Inveraray. 

Here, at the ferry, MacGregor procured a boat and oars for 

Lamont, that he might row himself over to Cowal, on the opposite 

side of Loch Fyne, and have a sporting chance of reaching Castle 

Toward without being overtaken. 

And, when taking leave of him, MacGregor turned to his 

guest and said:—" Lamont, when thou art safe in thine 

own country, I can promise to defend thee no longer; so keep 

out of the reach of the clansmen . . . Flee for thy life; and may 

God forgive thee!" 

* * * * * * 

For many a long day Lamont escaped the vengeance of Cian 

Gregor, because he seldom ventured far afield from Castle 

Toward. But some years afterwards circumstances in old Scotland 

were changed; and misfortunes of a different nature dogged 

the footsteps of the bereaved MacGregors of Glen Strae—in 

efficiency, in un scrupulousness, in cunning the tactics of the wily 

Campbells had increased a hundred-fold; and it was a sad, sad day 

for Cian Alpin, when, by rapacity and treachery, the Wry-Mouthed 

—though not without encountering the fiercest opposition—were 

successful at last in establishing themselves at the doors of Glen 

Lyon, Glen Orchy, and Glen Strae.

260 A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE. 

Then came the wholesale forfeiture of lands and the persecution 

and proscription of the whole of Cian Alpin. No one dared 

bear the name of MacGregor under pain of death; and those who 

were known to be of their race were pursued with beagles and 

with the ruthless cruelties that so characterised the vehemence of 

their oppressors. 

* * * * * * 

Such were the circumstances that drove MacGregor of Glen 

Strae, now an old man, into the wilds of Cowal: such were the 

events that brought him, pale and woe-begone, to the threshold 

of Castle Toward: such were the ill-fortunes that compelled him 

to beg for asylum and hospitality at the hands of the once fugitive 

Lamont. 

For many years the broken-hearted and venerable MacGregor 

of Glen Strae sojourned at Castle Toward as the guest of Lamont: 

the guest had forgiven; and the host was eager to repay his guest 

who had spared his life, and had conducted him in safety " far 

past Cian Alpin's outmost guard." 

And it was under the roof of Lamont, when the boughs of the 

ever-green pine had been bent and distorted by craft more powerful 

than the winds of Caledon, that the aged MacGregor of Glen 

Strae breathed his last. 

And there, near Castle Toward, and far away from the tomb 

of his royal ancestors, the old Chief quietly was kid to rest in the 

mools that are hidden among the long, waving grasses of Cowal. 

There the wind is heavy-laden with sal ten tears; and the 

wheeling seabirds scream their coronach ! 

" The red oak is in a blaze; the spire of its flame is high. The 

traveller sees its light on the dusky heath, as night spreads round him 

her raven wings. He sees it and is glad; for he knows the hall of the 

king. ' There,' he says to his companion, 'we pass the night; the 

door of Fionn is always open. The name of his hall is the stranger's 

home.' The feast is spread; the king wonders that no stranger from 

the darkly heath is come. ' I will listen,' says he, ' if I may hear their 

wandering steps.' " 

Dr. Smith's Ossianic Sean Dàna. 

- 

u 

Lest the Gael might have an enemy under the roof, to whom 

they were equally bound by the honour and the rules of hospitality, the 

name and business of a stranger were not required until after a considerable 

sojourn." 

Logan's Introduction to MacKensie's Beauties of Gaelic Poetry.

" Druid Circles" and Rock-Carvings. 

BY LUDOVIC MACLELLAN MANN, F.S.A. SCOT. 

« 

3 

£ c 

 

c 

a 

9 

262 DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS. 

modern printed book, an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph, a cuneiform 

inscription, or a Maya carving. It is found that the ancient 

knowledge of astronomy was both exact and extensive, and that 

astronomical lore was bound up with religious conceptions. Moreover, 

the date of the monuments (far back into the centuries 

before this era) can be made out. 

The information enshrined in the monuments is of great 

variety. In this brief note it is impossible to go into details. 

Perhaps the best plan will be to describe in outline a typical carving. 

The recent analysis of a fine rock-sculpturing shows that it is an 

almanac for a year of particular importance. The fixed sacred 

days dictated by the position of the sun in the year, such as the 

days of the Equinoxes and Solstices, are unmistakably indicated. 

Even more interesting is the marking of the movable days in 

which the moon was in crucial positions, especially those of new 

moon. 

Again, the days in which the moon was at a node (a crossingplace 

of the path of the moon and that of the sun) are shown. 

As the moon may be in eclipse when full and very near one of 

her nodes, this means that the almanac in question served to register 

eclipses. 

The knowledge of astronomy shown by the ancient sculptors 

and builders was not, in certain departments, far short of what the 

modern observer is now aware of by means of naked-eye observations. 

The monuments reveal to us the outline of the ancient 

knowledge, which extended to the movements of the five planets, 

as well as to those of the sun, the moon, and the moon's nodes. 

Prehistoric religion and science were closely connected. Our 

forebears worshipped the Supreme Source of Power, associated 

with a pantheon of divinities connected with the sun, moon, and 

five planets. Most of the large stone-settings, monoliths and rockcarvings 

in Scotland were the work of the highly intelligent 

Neolithic inhabitants. Their science and art and religious ideas 

were carried on and encouraged by the later Celts, who entered this 

country in several successive waves of immigration. 

The ancient astronomy largely dealt with the computation and 

registration of long cycles of recurrent astronomical time. These 

cycles and their sub-cycles are registered in rock-markings and 

stone-circles, which thus functioned as astronomical clocks. It is 

thus possible for the up-to-date student to tell correctly, within 

one year, and occasionally to the day and the hour, the date com- 

DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS. 263 

mem orated by the sculpturings, or by the erection of the 

monuments. 

The stone-circles and cup-marked stones, therefore, are 

emblems of a bygone pagan religion, antedating the Christian 

religion by thousands of years. 

The standing-stones and rock-markings must not be looked 

upon merely as mementos of what our prehistoric ancestors 

accomplished in the way of astronomical and geometrical science, 

but as symbols of their religion—not a puerile, elementary, or 

semi-savage sun-worship, as is commonly believed. There is 

reason to think that the students and builders of the Ages >f 

Stone and of Bronze had arrived at a definite and profound conception 

of a Great Supreme Power who guided the movements of 

the celestial bodies and the destinies of the universe. This religion 

was of the highest order, and was not associated with savage 

butchery and sacrifice—things referred to so frequently by 

classical writers ignorant of the true conditions in ancient Britain. 

There is reason to believe that when our pre-Celtic and Celtic 

ancestors worked out, as they did with extraordinary accuracy and 

subtlety, astronomical portrayals in stone—the portrayals in less 

durable materials have not survived—they believed that they were 

copying the examples set forth by the Master Architect, and that 

thev were indeed doing on earth as it is done in hea\'en. They 

worked out on the mundane surface, not only over small areas, but 

over large stretches of territory, portrayals of what they had 

patiently observed in the heavenly vault. Such, at anyrate, are 

the thoughts that persistently force themselves upon one after years 

of study of the handiwork of early man in Scotland and elsewhere, 

and after much effort, not only to reconstruct early man's work 

itself, but to recover the ideas which underlay it.

THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 265 

Sonnet to a Stone Circle. 

Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the 

River Eden. 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

A 

WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, 

Fell suddenly upon my spirit,—

THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 265 

Sonnet to a Stone Circle. 

Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the 

River Eden. 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

A 

WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, 

Fell suddenly upon my spirit,—cast 

From the dread bosom of the unknown past, 

When first I saw that family forlorn. 

Speak thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn 

The power of years—pre-eminent, and placed 

Apart, to overlook the circle vast.— 

Speak, Giant-mother ! tell it to the Morn 

While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night; 

Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;— 

At whose behest uprose on British ground 

That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round 

Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite 

The inviolable God, that tames the proud! 

The Seven Men of Glenmoriston. 

BY ALISTER MACDONALD, INVERNESS (" GLEANNACH "). 

Author of " Story and Song from Lochness-side," etc., etc 

IT was the summer of the year 1746. Since the disaster at 

Drumossie Moor, in the month of April previous, the Highlands 

of Scotiand had been in a state of the utmost unrest, and 

anxiety. Prince Charles Edward Stuart was a wanderer somewhere 

in Western Inverness-shire, only a few personally in touch with 

him knowing where. Hanoverian soldiers were searching for him, 

like sleuth-hounds, in every part where he was likely to be found, 

on sea or land; while the few who were not afraid or ashamed to 

own him, risked danger and death for his sake. 

In Glenmoriston, the effects of the Hanoverian victory were 

being felt bitterly. Cumberland's Redcoats were writing a 

history in fire and blood all over the Glen. Some seventy of its 

able-bodied men, who had surrendered on a promise of pardon, 

had been shipped off to Barbadoes, the great majority of them 

never to return. The military were everywhere murdering, mutilating 

and outraging man, woman and child. Death and torture 

stalked about, seeking whom they could devour. Mac-Phàdruig's 

beautiful glen was in a tremor of fear and apprehension. 

Those were the circumstances in which seven men of the Glen 

resolved upon making a stand. They were:—Patrick Grant, of 

Craskie, a near relative of Mac-Phàdruig; Alexander MacDonald 

of Aonach, a descendant of the ancestral MacDonalds of the Glen, 

and of the family of " Clann Iain Chaoil"; Hugh, Alexander, 

and Donald Chisholm, sons of Paul Chisholm, in Blairie; John 

MacDonald or Campbell, in Craskie; and Grigor MacGregor, a 

deserter from the Earl of Loudon's regiment. They had all had 

some military training, and had been " out " with the Prince. 

Stirred lo desperation by the betrayal of their countrymen, the 

slaughter of their kith and kin, and the destruction of their homes 

and means, they bound themselves, under oath, never to surrender 

to their enemies, but to stand or fall as one man, even unto the 

death. They, therefore, made their lair in a cave known as " Leac 

Ruairidh "—Rory's Cave—in Corrie-Dhodha, far into the wilds 

of Upper Glenmoriston. The " Rory " here commemorated had 

been a famous old-world hunter, whose place of refuge was this 

lonely hiding-place. 

From this centre of operations the famous ' Seven ' made excursions, 

east, west, north and south, as might be found necessary, 

in search of food, clothing, and sometimes adventure. These 

outings brought them from time to time into conflict with many 

who were not of their order, their pet aversions being the Redcoats 

and such Highlanders as helped the enemy in any shape or 

form. On one occasion they spied a party of soldiers journeying 

to Glenelg; they killed two of them and took possession of the 

booty. A few days later, a third life fell to their arms, and they 

placed his head on a tree at Blairie, as a warning to others. Soon 

afterwards, some cattle belonging to Craskie's uncle were stolen. 

This coming to their ears, they went in pursuit, and after some 

skirmishing and surprise movements, they recovered the cattle, 

and appropriated a horse laden with spoil.

266 THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 

Meanwhile, Prince Charles, with the assistance of a few faithful 

friends, was making his way from the Western sea-board inland, 

with a view, apparently, to getting to Poolewe, where he had heard 

that some French ships had just been seen. He had got so far as 

to fall into the safe keeping of MacDonald of Borrodale, and 

MacDonald of Glenaladale and his brother. There was a reward 

°f ^3°>ooo offered for his person—dead or alive, and he had 

passed through dangers and discomforts untold. His most 

faithful friends were nervously apprehensive for his safety, but he 

still hoped royally. 

Patrick Grant—one of the Seven 

{Kind ferinìuimt

SHIELD AND SWORD CARRIED AT KILL1CRANKIE 

~6S THE SEVEN MEN OF CLEN MORISTON . 

days in a vacant sheiling, sleeping soundly at night on a bed of 

turf. After resting in another sneiling the following night, he, 

next morning, entered Glen-Cannaich, where he remained for one 

night. \\ hile here, his party was joined by Hugh MacMillan, a 

native of Glenmoriston, who also had been "out'- with the Prince. 

Two days or so later, the men who had been sent to Poolewe 

returned with the news that a French vessel had put in there, but 

had again sailed, after landing two officers who were making for 

Locheil's country, in search of the Prince, in order to help him to 

escape. 

Charles was naturally anxious to meet those Frenchmen, and 

after hiding for some three days longer, returned to Glenmoriston, 

whence he sent messengers to Glengarry and Lochaber, with a view 

to arranging a meeting between Cameron of Clunes and Glenaladale. 

1 he Glengarry man reporting favourably, Charles and his 

little band left Glenmoriston for the West. On the following day 

they were met by the other messenger at Loch Arkaig, where they 

arrived hungry and tired, but cheered much by the news that 

Clunes would meet Glenaladale next morning, and by the arrival 

of a loyal friend, MacDonald of Lochgarry. Clunes joined them 

the following morning as promised, and led them to a place where 

Charles was put in communication with Locheil. 

The Glenmoriston men now prepared to return to their cave. 

Before parting with them, the Prince wished to gift them some 

money. Patrick Grant was kept behind till the Prince should be 

in funds; but after a few days, he was back with three guineas for 

himself, and an equal sum for each of his brave comrades, which 

was much more in their eyes than all the ^30,000 of prize money 

on earth. 

Hugh Chisholm, one of those noble men, spent some time in 

Edinburgh, where he met Sir Walter Scott. He would never 

give his right hand to anybody after taking farewell of his Prince. 

The subsequent life-story of the others was, on the whole, 

uneventful. 

These brave men left with the Highlands and Scotland a 

heritage that sheds a glorious lustre over both. The story of their 

heroism should be written in stars, and the memory of their unfaltering 

loyalty cherished as worthy of imperishable honour. 

As can be imagined, the conditions experienced by Charles, 

during the three weeks or so that he was sheltered by the Seven 

Men of Glenmoriston, were necessarily rather primitive. His 

BY JOHN GRANT, YOUNGER OF GLENMORISTON, 

(KNOWN AS IAIN A' CHRAGAIN.) 

" He 'n clo dubh, b' fheàrr am breacan.— 

Air 'uachdar gur a sgiamhach 

A laigheadh an sgiath chruinn bhreacte; 

'S claidheamh air crios ciatach 

Air fhiaradh os cionn a phleatan." 

ATIMJ pfrmissinn, irvm 

Ur. H'tlffnm .Uiltfc.iv'i lliilaty "ì Ur

TH* SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 269 

food would have been mostly steaks roasted on fir or birch embers, 

except when meat was boiled. It is not perhaps generally known 

that the black pot in which the meat was cooked, has come down 

through the MacDonald of Aonach connection, and is now in Glenmoriston 

House. His drink was the bright, sparkling water from 

the Corrie wells, flavoured with whisky, which would very 

probably have been distilled in the " black pot" of* some 

smuggler. 

He was miserably ciad, for we read that, after leaving the 

Glen, "he was barefooted, wearing an old black kilt, a plaid, 

philibeg, and waistcoat, a dirty shirt and a long red beard, a gun 

in his hand, a pistol and dirk by his side." He always retained 

his wonderful spirits, and required but little rest. He frequently 

suffered from ailments brought on by the continual worry and 

discomforts he was experiencing. 

In about a month after Charles left Glenmorison—during 

which time he had " hairbreadth 'scapes," and " Flora kept watch 

by his weary head"—he was on his way back to France, on board 

one of the two French war-ships that had come into Loch-nan 

Uamh to rescue him. 

Raonall MacDhomhnaill. 

FEAR OBAIR-ARDAIR, AN LOCHABAR. 

CLUINNEAR iomadh sgeul fhathast am measg an t-seann 

sluaigh an Lochabar nan sonn is nam bàrd mu chuspair a' 

chumha ghrinn, dhrùightich so, Raonall Mac Dhomhnaill, 

Fear Obair-àrdair. B' ann a mach a teaghleach uasal na Ceapach a 

shìolaich Raoghall Mac Iain, mar theirte ris. Bha e ro ainmeil 'na 

là, an dà chuid a thaobh a threunachd agus a fhialaidheachd. 

Bitear ag innseadh an diugh fhathast mar bha dithis, là a bha 

'1. sud, a' deasbaireachadh mu fhialaidheachd, goirid an dèidh bàis 

Raonaill. Arsa a h-aon diubh mu dheireadh. " Tha mi fhèin de 

'n bheachd gun deach Raoghall Mac Iain do Phàrras mar urchair a 

gunna, do bhrìgh a fhialaidheachd." 

Bha e anns an fheachd a chruinnich an Gleann-Fhionain, an 

uair a chaidh suaicheantas Prionnsa Tearlach a thogail ri crann le 

caithream, agus ged tha e coltach gun do bhac rudeigin e o a bhi

2;o RAONALL MACDHOMHNAILL. 

aig Blàr Chùil-lodair, dh' fhuiling e crois is creach gu leoir air 

son na cuid a ghabh e anns an ar-amach mhi-shealbhach sin. Tha 

sgeul fhathast air mar thug e fichead là air a thurus gu ruig 

Lunnainn, a' marcachd air a ghearran Gàidhealach, a chum a bhi 

a' tagradh air beulaibh nam morairean nan còraichean a chaidh a 

thoirt uaith. 

Tha cuimhne aig a' mhnaoi-uasail, Silis Nic Dhomhnaill, air 

mar bhiodh a h-athair ag innseadh gum biodh e fhèin agus a 

bhràithrean is iad 'nam balaich ag cluich, a' dèanamh targaid de 'n 

" chlogaid's de 'n lùirich " air a bheil an cumha a' dèanamh luaidh. 

Chan 'eil fhios cò e am bàrd a chuir na rannan snasmhor, blàthchridheach 

so ri chèile, ach cha robh e cearbach.—I. MACDH. 

Cumha air Raonall Fear Obair-Ardair. 

BHO'N MHNAOI-UASAIL, SILIS NIC DHOMHNAILL, AN 

Loc HA BAR, IAR-OGHA DO FHEAR 

OBAIR-ARD AIR 

MOCH's a' mhaduinn Di-ciadain, 

'S math mo chuimhne air a' bhliadhna— 

Bhrist cùl-taic 'bhios mi 'g iargain gu bràth. 

Air a' bhruaich anns a' chlachan, 

Chaidh an diùlnach a thasgadh, 

Sàr dhuin-uasal, is gaisgeach fo spàirn. 

Chunnaic mise le m' shùilean, 

Sàr chlogaid is lùireach, 

Sgiath bhreac nam ball dlùth air do làimh, 

A bhliadhn' a chruinnich na Gàidheil, 

'Bhualadh buille le Teàrlach,— 

'S mairg a chasadh ort àrdan no greann. 

Bu leat gunna nach diùltadh, 

'S cha robh spàirn ort a giùlan, 

'Nuair a chaogadh tu 'n t-sùil air a h-earr. 

'S ann an ùir Chill-a-Chaoraill 

Chaidh do dhùnadh mu dheireadh,— 

Mo mhòr dhiùbhail, mo ghearan, 's mo chall. 

Tobar Nighean an Righ. 

LE EACHANN MACDHUGHAILL, GLASCHU. 

THA Tobar Nighean an Rìgh mu leth-cheud slat os cionn na 

mara, ri aghaidh na h-àirde 'n-iar-thuath. Ri àm gailleann 

a' gheamhraidh tha siaban na mara is cobhar geal nan tonn 

a' toirt sad mu a bhruachan; ach air an fheasgar chiùin shamhraidh 

so tha an cruinne is gach dùil aig fois; a mach bho mhonmhar a' 

bhrisidh-mhara air an tràigh is guileag nan eun, tha fuaimean nan 

astar air chall. 

Suidheam a nis ri taobh mo thobair, is òlam mo shàth de'n 

fhìor-uisge fhionnar, shoilleir, ghlan a tha a' sìor-shileadh a nuas 

ann bho oir na creige ud 'na thaic. Seadh, tha e a' sìor-shruthadh 

a mach, ach cho rèidh, mail is gum bu riarachadh do mhaighdinn 

òig, seach an sgàthan a b'fhearr a chunnacas riamh, sìoramharc 

ann air a faileas fèin 'na uile àillead. Ach fathast tha a 

shruthadh cho pailt is gu faigh gach creutair a thèid chuige a dh' 

òl a riarachas; is tha am pailteas r'a sheachnadh, eadhon do'n bhiolair 

uaine, do'n trì-bhileach, is do'n t-seilisdeir a tha ag còmhdach 

gach taoibh de'n t-sruthan a tha a' ruith bhuaithe le crònan 

mìn sìos gu tràigh. 

Seadh, suidheam-sa a nis ri taobh Tobar Nighean an Rìgh, 

is smuainicheam air na làithean ud a tha a nis cho fada an cèin, 

'nuair a shuidh nighean rìgh an so, far a bheil mise fèin an diugh, 

is air an dòigh 'san d' fhuair an tobar lurach an t-ainm a lean ris 

bho sin gu ruig an là so. 

Tha fuar-uisge Tobar Nighean an Rìgh glè shoilleir, glan an 

diugh, ach bha là ann nach robh e cho so-mhiannaichte gu suidhe 

sìos ri a thaobh is òl às. An sud bha là is b'ann glè dhearg le fuil a 

bha a chuid uisgeachan; ach, mar thubhairt an seann duine, is ann 

a tha an sin naidheachd. 

Cha bu rìgh ach rìghrean a bha an Albainn an uair ud. Cha 

robh iad cho pailt ris na craobhan feàrna gun teagamh, ach bha iad 

cho pailt is gu faodadh curaidh dealbhach, measail, beusach an 

cùirt nam fleadh, is buadhmhor, misneachail meanmnach air raon 

nan cath a shùil a bhi ri nighinn rìgh mar leannain is mar rùn a 

chlèibh, seadh, is mar mhnaoi-phòsda le deagh chead an rìgh fèin 

a h-athair 'na dhèidh. 

Bha Gal-fionn Mac Milidh air cho gaisgeil is a sheas an làthair

2J2 

TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 

an Rìgh, aon chuid ri ùrlar fèille no ri achadh blàir. Bha a 

thighinn is àrach de'n aon chraoibh ris an Rìgh Art e fèin—fìorfhuil 

is fìon-fhuil a' Ghàidheil, is a bha 'san dùthaich fada, fada 

mun robh eachdraidh nan seanchaidhean a' faotainn a freumha, 

agus is fada gun teagamh, agus is domhain, a ruigeadh na freumhan 

sin fèin! 

Bha trì nigheanan aig an Rìgh Art, gach tè dhiùbh a' toirt 

bàrr air a' chòrr, is an tè a b'òige a' toirt bàrr orra uile; agus cha 

robh taìach an Rìgh idir air Gal-fionn mar chliamhuinn do aon 

dhiùbh. B' i an t-aon so a rèir coltais an tè a bu shine, ged nach 

d' iomchair beul-aithris a h-ainm a bhàn cho fada ris an linn so. 

Ach an t-aon sin a bu mhath leis an Rìgh a thoirt seachad cha 

b' i idir a bha Ghal-fionn an geall oirre: b'i an tè a b' òige—Caoinshùil—is 

cha b'aon eile rogha Ghal-fionn, is a rèir coltais b'e Galfionn 

seach gach aon eile rogha Chaoin-shùil. Dh' fhaodadh gun 

robh so ceart is glè cheart; ach is ann a chionn is nach robh e a rèir 

beachd an Rìgh a thug, tha mise cinnteach, air an eachdraidh so a 

bhi air a h-ìnnseadh idir, agus a chuir iomradh gus an là an diugh 

air nighean so an Rìgh, is eadhon an tobar fìor-uisge aig a bheil 

mise an dràsd am shuidhe a bhi air ainmeachadh oirre-se. Mur 

bitheadh sin, is cinnteach gu fasadh i, gum pòsadh i, gun seanaicheadh 

i, is gun caochlaidheadh i mar gach nighinn rìgh no 

nighinn fir eile a bha riamh air thalamh, is a thuit a mach a cuimhne 

uile gu lèir. 

Ach a nis is e a thachair do ainm Chaoin-shùil ri linn an rùin 

a thugadh dhi is a thug i, nach d'thàinig caochladh air a snuadh, 

nach do thuit aois oirre, is gu bheil i fathast, an làn mhaise na 

h-òige is am bòidhcheid a cruth, buan-mhaireannach am beulaithris 

nan Gàidheal 

Cha bu lugha na Prionnsa a bha an Rìgh Art an dèidh air do 

Chaoin-shùil, a nighean a b'òige, is cò a b'e so seach prionnsa eile 

'san dùthaich ach Tormull Mac Aiteil, prionnsa Lochlannach, is 

oighre crùn na dùthcha sin an dèidh athar. Agus an uair a thuig 

Gal-fionn mar bha cùisean, cha bu dùth gum biodh e an deaghrùn 

do Thormull, (na's mò na bhiodh Tormull an deagh-rùn dhàsan), 

is e làn-fhiosrach gum bu leis-san cion Chaoin-shùil, ged bu 

le Tormull gealladh a h-athar. 

Ged thà, cha robh ach am mì-ghean so air an dà thaobh a 

chumail fo cheanglaichean aig an àm, oir a nis is rè mòran bhliadhnachan, 

ni nach robh ach annamh anns na linntean ud, bha sìth 

eadar Albainn is Lochlainn. Is iomadh uair gun teagamh a bhris- 

TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 273 

eadh sìth air na bu lugha aobhair na làmh maighdinn, ach ma 

bha foidhidinn ri a cur an cleachdadh an nithean beaga, nach bu 

ro-fheumail an t-subhailc sin a chur an cleachdadh is sonas càraid 

chaoimh rè an làithean air thalamh anns a' gheall. 

"Tha Rìgh Lochlainn is an Rìgh Art, t'athair, aig sìth s'an àm 

so," arsa Gal-fionn ri Caoin-shùil uair is dà uair; " cha bhi iad an 

sin daonnan, is cuiridh sinne dàil 'nar gluasad ged nach cuir sinn 

dearmad ann. 'Nuair a thig an là sin, is a theid fosadh air gach 

meadhair ach meadhair nam beum-sgèith, is e mo lann-sa a bhios 

air thoiseach a' sireadh nan cliar-chleas bho làimh Thormuill Mhic 

Aiteil, agus ma dh' fhàgas a h aon, cha mheas mi gu fàg a dhà 

faiche na gàir's iad beò." 

Ach bha an ùine a' ruith, is gun cònspaid a' faotainn àite gu 

a guth a thogail. Seadh, lean an t-sìth is lean i, agus bha an ùine 

a' sìor dhol seachad. 

Mu dheireadh bha e air a dhèanamh follaiseach is aithnichte 

'san dùthaich uile gu lèir gur e Tormull na Lochlainn a bha ri 

làmh Chaoin-shùil—àilleag gach nighean flaith an Albainn uile 

gu lèir—fhaotainn 'na ghlaic. Seadh, ach Caoin-shùil fèin, an 

robh ise leagte dha so O, nach ise a bha, mo thruaighe, nach 

feumadh i! Cha b'iad sud na làithean a bha a facal fèin aig 

nighean rìgh na's mò na nighean fir eile. Cha robh aig nighinn 

rìgh ach a bhi a' dèanamh mar a dh' iarradh a h-athair oirre, »s 

cha robh ach gabhail an ulla ris an rath mar a thigeadh e mun 

cuairt; is e sin mur tachradh . 

Ach sin agad e. Bha an sùil daonnan, na caomhagan, ris an 

fhear a leumadh 'san eadraiginn, is cò esan nach rachadh an sin 

fèin ma bha e airidh air gràdh cridhe maighdinn, is gu sònraichte 

air nighinn rìgh, is a rùn-se dhà. Cha mhò a b'e Gal-fionn am 

fear a dhiùltadh, is am b' fhiach e curaidh a ràdh ris no bhi air 

ainmeachadh air Sìol nan Sonn ma bha e a' dol a' leigeil le Tormull 

Mac Aiteil, Lochlannach, Teutonach, allamharrach gun fhios cò 

e, a leannan a thoirt leis às a dhùthaich gun don fheòraich 

Thuig a nis an Rìgh Art mar bha cùisean. Thuig e gun robh 

Gal-fionn an geall air Caoin-shùil, a nighean, is gum bu rùn a 

clèibh-se Gal-fionn. Is e a nis a rinn e leigeil rìs 'na dhòigh fèin do 

Ghal-fionn ma bha e am beachd a m'ghean-san—an tè a bu shine— 

a bhi aige mar mhnaoi, gun robh an t-àm aige a mhiann a dhèanamh 

follaiseach; gun robh tuille na aon fhlath eile a bha an geall 

oirre mar thà, is nach fuiricheadh òige daonnan ri dùil gun dol 

clì air uairean. Leig e ris mar an ceudna dha, is sin gu neo-


an Rìgh, aon chuid ri ùrlar fèille no ri achadh blàir. Bha a 

thighinn is àrach de'n aon chraoibh ris an Rìgh Art e fèin—fìorfhuil 

is fìon-fhuil a' Ghàidheil, is a bha 'san dùthaich fada, fada 

mun robh eachdraidh nan seanchaidhean a' faotainn a freumha, 

agus is fada gun teagamh, agus is domhain, a ruigeadh na freumhan 

sin fèin! 

Bha trì nigheanan aig an Rìgh Art, gach tè dhiùbh a' toirt 

bàrr air a' chòrr, is an tè a b'òige a' toirt bàrr orra uile; agus cha 

robh falach an Rìgh idir air Gal-fionn mar chliamhuinn do aon 

dhiùbh. B' i an t-aon so a rèir coltais an tè a bu shine, ged nach 

d' iomchair beul-aithris a h-ainm a bhàn cho fada ris an Jinn so. 

Ach an t-aon sin a bu mhath leis an Rìgh a thoirt seachad cha 

b' i idir a bha Ghal-fionn an geall oirre: b'i an tè a b' òige—Caoinshùil—is 

cha b'aon eile rogha Ghal-fionn, is a rèir coltais b'e Galfionn 

seach gach aon eile rogha Chaoin-shùil. Dh' fhaodadh gun 

robh so ceart is glè cheart; ach is ann a chionn is nach robh e a rèir 

beachd an Rìgh a thug, tha mise cinnteach, air an eachdraidh so a 

bhi air a h-ìnnseadh idir, agus a chuir iomradh gus an là an diugh 

air nighean so an Rìgh, is eadhon an tobar fìor-uisge aig a bheil 

mise an dràsd am shuidhe a bhi air ainmeachadh oirre-se. Mur 

bitheadh sin, is cinnteach gu fasadh i, gum pòsadh i, gun seanaicheadh 

i, is gun caochlaidheadh i mar gach nighinn rìgh no 

nighinn fir eile a bha riamh air thalamh, is a thuit a mach a cuimhne 

uile gu lèir. 

Ach a nis is e a thachair do ainm Chaoin-shùil ri linn an rùin 

a thugadh dhi is a thug i, nach d'thàinig caochladh air a snuadh, 

nach do thuit aois oirre, is gu bheil i fathast, an làn mhaise na 

h-òige is am bòidhcheid a cruth, buan-mhaireannach am beulaithris 

nan Gàidheal 

Cha bu lugha na Prionnsa a bha an Rìgh Art an dèidh air do 

Chaoin-shùil, a nighean a b'òige, is co a b'e so seach prionnsa eile 

'san dùthaich ach Tormull Mac Aiteil, prionnsa Lochlannach, is 

oighre crùn na dùthcha sin an dèidh athar. Agus an uair a thuig 

Gal-fionn mar bha cùisean, cha bu dùth gum biodh e an deaghrùn 

do Thormull, (na's mò na bhiodh Tormull an deagh-rùn dhàsan), 

is e làn-fhiosrach gum bu leis-san cion Chaoin-shùil, ged bu 

le Tormull gealladh a h-athar. 

Ged thà, cha robh ach am mi-ghean so air an dà thaobh a 

chumail fo cheanglaichean aig an àm, oir a nis is rè mòran bhliadhnachan, 

nì nach robh ach annamh anns na linntean ud, bha sìth 

eadar Albainn is Lochlainn. Is iomadh uair gun teagamh a bhris- 

TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 273 

eadh sìth air na bu lugha aobhair na làmh maighdinn, ach ma 

bha foidhidinn ri a cur an cleachdadh an nithean beaga, nach bu 

ro-fheumail an t-subhailc sin a chur an cleachdadh is sonas càraid 

chaoimh rè an làithean air thalamh anns a' gheall. 

"Tha Rìgh Lochlainn is an Rìgh Art, t'athair, aig sìth s'an àm 

so," arsa Gal-fionn ri Caoin-shùil uair is dà uair; " cha bhi iad an 

sin daonnan, is cuiridh sinne dàil 'nar gluasad ged nach cuir sinn 

dearmad ann. 'Nuair a thig an là sin, is a theid fosadh air gach 

meadhair ach meadhair nam beum-sgèith, is e mo lann-sa a bhios 

air thoiseach a' sireadh nan cliar-chleas bho làimh Thormuill Mhic 

Aiteil, agus ma dh' fhàgas a h-aon, cha mheas mi gu fàg a dhà 

faiche na gàir's iad beò." 

Ach bha an ùine a' ruith, is gun cònspaid a' faotainn àite gu 

a guth a thogail. Seadh, lean an t-sìth is lean i, agus bha an ùine 

a' sìor dhol seachad. 

Mu dheireadh bha e air a dhèanamh follaiseach is aithnichte 

'san dùthaich uile gu lèir gur e Tormull na Lochlainn a bha ri 

làmh Chaoin-shùil—àilleag gach nighean flaith an Albainn uile 

gu lèir—fhaotainn 'na ghlaic. Seadh, ach Caoin-shùil fèin, an 

robh ise leagte dha so O, nach ise a bha, mo thruaighe, nach 

feumadh i! Cha b'iad sud na làithean a bha a facal fèin aig 

nighean rìgh na's mò na nighean fir eile. Cha robh aig nighinn 

rìgh ach a bhi a' dèanamh mar a dh' iarradh a h-athair oirre, »s 

cha robh ach gabhail an ulla ris an rath mar a thigeadh e mun 

cuairt; is e sin mur tachradh— •• 

Ach sin agad e. Bha an sùil daonnan, na caomhagan, ris an 

fhear a leumadh 'san eadraiginn, is cò esan nach rachadh an sin 

fèin ma bha e airidh air gràdh cridhe maighdinn, is gu sònraichte 

air nighinn rìgh, is a rùn-se dhà. Cha mhò a b'e Gal-fionn am 

fear a dhiùltadh, is am b' fhiach e curaidh a ràdh ris no bhi air 

ainmeachadh air Sìol nan Sonn ma bha e a' dol a' leigeil le Tormull 

Mac Aiteil, Lochlannach, Teutonach, allamharrach gun fhios cò 

e, a leannan a thoirt leis às a dhùthaich gun don fheòraich 

Thuig a nis an Rìgh Art mar bha cùisean. Thuig e gun robh 

Gal-fionn an geall air Caoin-shùil, a nighean, is gum bu rùn a 

clèibh-se Gal-fìonn. Is e a nis a rinn e leigeil ris 'na dhòigh fèin do 

Ghal-fionn ma bha e am beachd a nighean-san—an tè a bu shine— 

a bhi aige mar mhnaoi, gun robh an t-àm aige a mhiann a dhèanamh 

follaiseach; gun robh tuille na aon fhlath eile a bha an geall 

oirre mar thà, is nach fuiricheadh òige daonnan ri dùil gun dol 

clì air uairean. Leig e ris mar an ceudna dha, is sin gu neo-


mhearachdach, nach robh e ach gun stà dha fèin, no do aon air 

bith eile a thachradh a bhi de'n aon bheachd ris, smuaintean faoine 

altrum a thaobh na nighinn a b'òige, oir gun robh i ri bhi pòsda 

ri Prionnsa na Lochlainn a nis am beagan uine. 

Is e an fhreagairt a thug Gal-fionn dha—bha a àrdan air lasadh, 

is dhiochuimhnich e gach foidhidinn a chuir iad le chèile rompa 

a chleachdadh—nach pòsadh prionnsa Lochlannach no prionnsa 

eile i, ach gur e a bha 'na bheachd-san fèin Caoin-shùil, a nighean 

a b'òige, a bhi pòsda aige, is sin le a saor thoil fèin. Agus a 

bhàrr air sin, mur am faigheadh e air chead a h-athar i, gun toireadh 

e leis a dh'aindeoin i, ged a b'ann anns an t-seòmar a b'fhaide a 

stigh an lùchairt an Rìgh Art a dh' fheumadh e a sireadh. Leis 

na briathraibh sin dh'fhàg e a fhianuis. 

Bha na briathran dàna is ceann-làidir, agus air sgàth Caoinshuil 

fèin cha robh e gun an t-aithreachas ri an linn mun deach 

mòran ùine seachad. 

Bha Caoin-shùil a nis air a cumail ionnas 'na prìosanach an 

aon de sheòmraichean-mullach lùchairt a h-athar, le faire air a 

gluasad a là is a dh' oidhche. Ach mar thubhairt an sean-fhacal e, 

" thig fear an t-saoghail fhada às gach càs," is " ruigidh an gaol 

a cheann-uidhe ged a b'ann cas-ruisgte." 

Chuir Gal-fionn a nis fios le teachdaire dìleas gu ruig Caoinshùil 

ag aslachadh oirre, ma bha a gaol-se dhà-san cho deòthasach, 

làidir is a bha a ghaol-san dhi-se, i bhi deas gu teicheadh leis an 

oidhche roimh an là a bha air a shuidheachadh mar là a pòsaidh ri 

Tormull Mac Aiteil. Cè air bith ciamar a bhiodh i air a suidheachadh, 

bha a sùil ri bhi ris-san no ri a dhaoine an oidhche sin. 

Liùbhradh dhi an teachdaireachd a dh'aindeoin a freiceadain, 

is bha sud ceart gu leoir* ach ciamar a bha an gnìomh sin r'a thoirt 

gu buil Bha fear-faire dlùth d'a dorus a là is a dh'oidhche, gu 

rabhadh a thoirt seachad na'n èireadh an eugmhail ris an robh a 

nis sùil a luchd-coimhid gach là. 

Thàinig an oidhche; is leis an oidhche thàinig na gillean. 

" Far am bi toil bidh gnìomh," is "far am bi gaol, is faoineas clachaoil 

is balla." Faodar a thuigsinn nach robh a h-aon an lùchairt 

an Rìgh an seilbh air an sgeul-rùin ach Caoin-shùil i fèin, seadh, 

gur i so an oidhche seach oidhche eile, ged nach robh an dàil ach 

ro ghoirid a nis, is na h-oidhcheannan glè thearc gu an taghadh. 

Bhatar uile gu lèir fiosrach air na maoidhean, ach ma chuir iad am 

mì-shùim iad, cha do thuig iad cò a bha aca an Gal-fionn, is nach 

do thrèig esan riamh fhacal a liubhair e an èisdeachd cluaise. Cha 

I'OBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 275 

b'ann an uair a bhiodh sùil ris a thigeadh Mac Rùslainn dhachaidh, 

is cha b'ann an uair a bha sùil ris a thàinig Gal-fionn na bu mhò. 

Is e a thachair air a' cheart latha sin, mar a bha 'na chleachdadh 

'san àm, gun do ràinig Tormull Mac Aiteil, le còmhlan beag 

; 

na dhàil, lùchairt an Rìgh Art, gu bhi deas air cheann a' phòsaidh 

an là-arn-a-mhàireach. Chaidh oidhche chridheil a chur seachad, 

is an uair a bha e air tighinn anmoch is an t-òl's an toileachasinntinn 

a' sìor-dhol air aghaidh, chuireadh Caoin-shùil a suas gu 

a seòmar fèin, gu ise a bhi tèaruinte cò-dhiùbh, gus an rachadh 

gach nì an leth-taobh. Ach aig meadhon oidhche, an uair a bu 

mhò ùidh 'sa chòrn na 'san fhaire, ràinig esan nach do chuir riamh 

dearmad 'na dhleas; bha Gal-fionn is a ghille le dà each am fochair 

na lùchairt. Bha a chlaidheamh gun teagamh air leis gach fir, ach 

cha bu chlaidheamh a mhàin às an robh an earbsa an nochd. Bha 

ceirsle de shnàth làidir lìn is ròpa cainbe aca. Chan 'eil a' bheag 

de aobhar air an innleachd a chuir iad an cleachdadh a shoilleireachadh. 

Is cinnteach nach b'iad a chiad fheadhainn a rinn a' cheart 

chleas, is tha sinn uile dearbhte nach b'iad an fheadhainn mu dheireadh 

a rinn no a nì e. 

Bha uinneag an t-seòmair a bu phrìosan do Chaoin-shùil ri 

taobh cùl a' chaisteil. Cha bu ghnìomh do-dhèanta ceirsle le 

cloich 'na cridhe a thilgeadh bhàrr a mhullaich, àrd 'gan robh e. 

Agus cha bu duilgheadas eadhon do nighinn rìgh ceann ròpa a 

thogail gu ruig an uinneag, crochte ri dual de shnàth làidir lìn; 

ach nach coma leibh, cha b'fhada gus an robh Gal-fionn an seòmar 

Chaoin-shùil, agus na bu mhò, cha b'fhada gus an robh Caoinshùil 

air beulaibh Ghal-fionn, air muin an deagh eich, is an 

aghaidhean ri sliabh. Bha an gille aig an sàil, is a shùil 'na dhèidh 

gu faireamhanadh a thoirt dhoibh ma bha an tòrachd a' tighinn: 

agus thàinig an rabhadh is chunnacas an tòir. Cha mhò bha fada 

chuige, is gun aon eile air a ceann ach Tormull Mac Aiteil fèin, 

Prionnsa na Lochlainn. 

Bha a' mhaduinn air soilleireachadh an uair a ràinig na marcaichean 

Tobar Nighean an Rìgh, ged nach bu sin a b'ainm dha 

air a' mhaduinn ud. Thug Gal-fionn sùil 'na dhèidh is bha an 

tòrachd aig an sàil, ri aghaidh na machrach. 

"O!" arsa Caoin-shùil. " òlam deoch is faigheam bàs fo do 

chlaidheamh fèin, a ghaoil, gun tuiteam beò an làmhan an Lochlannaich 

ud, is m'athair fèin gun iochd 'na chrè r'a chùl." 

Bha cheana a chlaidheamh 'na dhòrn aig Gal-fionn, ach cha 

b'ann gu fuil a leannain a dhòrtadh; bha aghaidh air Prionnsa na

2 7 

6 TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 

Lochlainn, is cò ach esan fèin a bha nis air thoiseach a nuas 'nan 

dàil. 

" Cha lean an t-sìth gu bràth," dh' eigh Gal-fionn. " Lean 

i ro fhada mar tha," arsa Tormull. " Tha nis mo chlaidheamh-sa 

rùisgte 'nad aghaidh, a Thormuill Thuathaich, is a mhic na mnaoi 

Lochlannaich," arsa Gal-fionn. 

"Mar sin fèin bitheadh e, fhir chrìon nach 'eil fhios cò thu," 

fhreagair Tormull, agus an sin fèin thòisich an iomairt. 

Mar gum biodh iad a' fàgail na cùise gu a rèiteach aig an dà 

cheatharnach iad fèin, sheas an còrr de 'n luchd-tòrachd, is an Rìgh 

Art air an ceann, air na cluaineagan mun cuairt, an claidhmhnean 

fo'n uchd, is an cuid each ag ionaltradh air an raon. Chuir gillecoise 

Ghal-fionn dìon air Caoin-shùil bho'n t-sealladh oillteil a 

bha a nis air fosgladh fa chomhair a sùla, is thionndaidh e a h-aire 

ris a' chuan, an cuan ud shìos a tha fathast a' bruchdadh is a' 

taomadh mar bha e an là ud, na ceudan bliadhna air ais, a nunn ri 

cùirt nan sgàil. 

Lean an iomairt mar a thòisich i, mu bhruachan an tobair, is 

ma bha a chuid fìor-uisge gu glan soilleir an uair a dh'òl Caoinshùil, 

nighean an Rìgh, a riarachadh às, am briseadh an latha, 

eadhon mar a tha e an diugh fèin an cromadh an fheasgair, cha 

b'fhada gus an robh e dearg gu leoir le taosgadh toradh nan cliarchleas 

a bha a' drùdhadh ann thar a bhruachan: agus bu mhòid de 

fhuil an Lochlannaich a bha ann: ged is cinnteach gu bheil i cho 

dearg ri fuil a' Ghàidheil fèin! 

B'e Tormull a chuir a ghlùn ri talamh an toiseach, ged nach 

robh Gal-fionn na's mò às eugmhais a chuid lot. 

" An strìochd thu" arsa Gal-fionn. 

" Cha strìochd mi do isean cuain Gàidhealach a dh'àraich 

Alba," arsa Tormull. 

" Buail gu làr e !" 

Thàinig an glaodh bho bharrachd is aon sgòrnan, oir thuig 

na bha de Ghàidheil 'san tòrachd gun robh dùbhlan an Lochlannaich 

is a thailceas orra fèin uile cho math ri Gal-fionn. 

Cha robh an Lochlannach air chomas èirigh, ach 'na fhuath 

is 'na bhreun-ghamhlas, thilg e a chlaidheamh an aodann Ghalfionn, 

agus mur bitheadh ealamhachd a shùla-san, 's gun 

do chrom e 'na àm, is an lann a leigeil thairis air, dh' 

fheumadh gu'm biodh a bheatha ris. Mar a bha, is e 

a thachair gun do bhuail faobhar a' chlaidheimh an aghaidh 

slèisde an Rìgh Art fèin, is shil a fhuil gu làr. Is ann

SIR COLIN CAMPBELL 

LORD CLYDE. 

TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 2"]"} 

a thaobh so a tha e air a ràdh gun do cho-mheasgadh fuil 

rìoghail Albainn an lùib gach fola eile an là ud an Tobar Nighean 

an Rìgh. 

"Gu làr e, gu làr e!" ghlaodh barrachd is an t-aon a rithist, is 

bha sealladh teinnteach a' leum bho shùilean nuagach, is bho 

aghaidhean tuasaideach am measg na bha de Lochlannaich cho 

math ri Gàidheil 'sa chuideachd. 

" Cothrom na Fèinne dha," dh'èigh an Rìgh Art ged a bha e 

fèin air a lot: " cothrom na Fèinne do Thormull is do Fhir Lochlainn, 

's iad fada bho'n dìlsean." Ach bha an Lochlannach cheana 

ri làr, gun bhuille eile air a bhualadh, is làr gun èirigh air. 

Chladhaicheadh uaigh fo bhonn a' bhruthaich, ri taobh sruth 

an tobair, agus tha i air a comharrachadh a mach shìos an sud 

fathast. 

Is gann gun ruigear a leas aithris gun deach rèite a dhèanamh 

eadar an Rìgh Art is Gal-fionn an sin fèin, agus cha b' fhada an 

ùine gus an robh dìlseachd nam flòran òga da chèile air a daingneachadh 

le snaim nach fuasgladh làmh no lann, is iad fèin fathast 

beò. Is ann a thaobh a' phòsaidh sin a tha muinntir an taoibh so 

de'n dùthaich a' tagar gu bheil fuil rìoghail na h-Alba a' ruith 

'nan cuislean, oir bheir iad uile 'nan dòigh fèin dearbhadh seachad 

gun d'thàinig gach aon fa leth dhiùbh bho Ghal-fionn is bho 

Chaoin-shùil, nighean an Rìgh. 

Tha iad mar so ag gabhail nàduir de chòir anns an tobar, is 

mar sin chan 'eil cùram gun tèid dearmad a dhèanamh air, no a 

chur am mì-shùim 'nan aithris, 'nan seanchas, no air sheòl air bith 

eile. Tha cailean na dùthcha 'ga chunntadh 'na dhleasnas bliadhnal 

orra fèin am pathadh a bhriseadh is a chasg, air ceud mhaduinn 

a' Mhàigh, an Tobar Nighean an Rìgh. Le sin a dhèanamh tha 

làn-dearbhadh aca gum bi cèile an dàn doibh, is cèile nach toir 

tàmailt do dheagh ainm Ghal-fionn's a leanas gu dlùth ri a àrd 

chliù. 

Agus tha e air a ràdh gu bheil là sònraichte anns an t-samh- 

* radh, an uair a tha an seilisdeir fo bhlàth, comh-ainm an là ud 

eile an tràth mhaduinn ar n-eachdraidh, agus mu bhriseadh an 

latha, gu bheil snuadh dearg de gach flùr mun cuairt an tobair is 

an t-srutha. Eadhon mu'n t-seilisdeir fèin, òrbhuidh ga bheil 

fiamh a chuid bhlàthan, bitear ag ràdh gu bheil car tiota a lì tromdhathte 

dearg, air thuar na fola, an gathan na grèine an àm dhi 

èirigh.

SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH. 279 

Sir Cailean Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh. 

LE T. D. MACDHOMHNAILL, AN T-OBAN. 

CO an Gàidheal nach dèan uaill às an Rìdir Cailean Caimbeul, 

Tighearna Chluaidh Cò anns a bheil smior a 5 Ghàidheil, 

agus a tha uaibhreach mu threuntas sluagh a dhùthcha, nach 

tig toic 'na uchd le mòralachd gach uair a chluinneas e iomradh 

air a ghaisgeach urramach a dh' èirich a suas a uaigneas is a luime 

nam beann anns a' Ghàidhealtachd, gus an robh rìghrean agus 

maithean na h-Eòrpa ag cur urraim air mar shaighdear 's mar 

dhuine 

B'ann de mhuinntir Ile ghlas an fheoir a bha an ceatharnach 

airm so, ach mar thachras daonnan aig gach àm, 's am measg gach 

cinnidh, tagraidh an dùthaich air fad neach a dh' èireas gu inbhe 

às a com, dìreach mar thagras i a' bheinn as àirde, an abhainn as 

motha, no an ceàrn sin dhi as òirdhearca sealladh, agus bidh uaill 

aice asda air fad. 

B'e Mac-an-Liubhair sloinneadh baistidh " Chailein Chaimbeil." 

B'e athair Iain Mac-an-Liubhair, agus b'e Muile 

dùthaich a shliochd. Bu bhan-Chaimbeulach a mhàthair, agus mar 

an ceudna de fhìor fhuil uasal Ile, a shìolaich o shean o theaghlach 

Earraghàidheil. Bha mar sin tighinn à mhàthair mòran na 

b' fheàrr na tighinn a athar, ach ged bha, agus ged nach robh 'na 

athair ach fear-cosnaidh an deagh shuidheachadh, bha Iain Mac 

an-Liubhair 'na ghille cho snasmhor, eireachdail's gun tàlaidheadh 

a ghiùlan agus loinnealas a chinn aire maighdinn uasail's am bith. 

An uair a phòs Mac-an-Liubhair, chaidh e fhèin 's a bhean-òg 

air chòmhnuidh do Ghlaschu, far an robh e ag obair aig a chèird 

mar shaor-àirneis (cabinet-maker). An toiseach an teaghlaich, 'sa 

bhliadhna 1792, thàinig càraid chloinne orra—mac agus nighean. 

B'e am mac sin cuspair na h-oidhirp so, agus a ainm a nis sgrìobhte 

sìos gu sìor-mhaireannach 'nar n-eachdraidh mar Sir Cailean 

Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh. 

B'e daonnan an t-arm ceaird nan uaislean. Ri linn Chailein- 

Chaimbeil, b'e ach gann ceaird nan ìslean mar an ceudna. Bha 

cuideachd màthair Chailein 'nan oifigich 'san arm. Bha bràthairmàthar 

aige 'na chornaileir, agus bha de thlachd aige do Chailein, 

's e 'na bhalach, is gun d' fhuair e làn chead athar a chum a thogail 

mar a dhuine-cloinne fhèin. B'ann mar sin a thàinig e mun cuairt 

gun robh ainm a' bhalaich air a atharrachadh bho " Cailean 

Mac-an-Liubhair " gu " Cailean Caimbeul," an t-ainm a tha a nis 

cho iomraiteach anns gach ceàrn de'n t-saoghal anns am faighear 

Breatannach. 

Fhuair Cailean fòghlum 'òige an Ard-Sgoil Ghlaschu, agus 

chan 'eil iomradh air nì sonraichte 'sam bith 'na ghiùlan aig an àm 

sin seach balaich eile anns an sgoil. An uair a thachradh dha 

sgrìob a thoirt do Ile a choimhead a chàirdean, b'e am beachd a 

bha aig sluagh dheth gun robh e 'na bhalach car sàmhach, socharach, 

's gun dad de a choltach air gum biodh e là-eigin, air ceann 

fiùrain an fhèilidh, is iolach an t-sàr-laoich 'gam brosnachadh gu 

a bhi ag giùlan bratach Bhreatainn gu buadhach air iomadh blàr. 

An uair a thàinig Cailean gu inbhe, chaidh a chur gu sgoilairm 

an Gosport, an Sasunn, oir b'e miann is dùrachd bràthair-amhàthar, 

an Cornaileir Caimbeul, a thogail ris an arm. Ri ùine, 

chaidh a cheangal rìs an Rèisimeid ris an abrar an 77th. Anns an 

àm ud cha robh e comasach do ghille òg, gun sporan trom, 's gun 

deagh chùl-taic faotainn 'na oifigeach 'san arm, ach a thaobh 

Chailein, sheas bràthair-a-mhàthar an dà chuid da. 

Beagan ùine an dèidh a cheangal ris an arm, agus an uair nach 

robh e ach mu she bliadhna deug de aois, chaidh a dhèanamh 'na 

Ensign anns an 8mh Rèisimeid. B'e sin anns an àm ceud cheum 

an oifigich, ach ri linn a' Chogaidh Mhòir mu dheireadh, 'se 2 nd 

Lieutenant a theirte ris a' phost so. Ghlèidh athair, fhad 'sa bha 

e beò, a' cheud bhoineid i 

chocte ' a bha aig Cailean an uair a 

chaidh e do'n arm. 

Tha sean bhean-uasal beò 'san Ros Mhuileach an diugh 

fhathast (màthair Gàidheil gasda an Glaschu) a chaidh a thogail 

bho'n bha i 'na caileig òig le athair is cuideachd Chailein, an dà 

chuid 'san Ros Mhuileach agus an Dùn-Eideann, eadhon gus an 

do dhùin i sùilean Iain Mhic-an-Liubhair, an uair a chaochail e. 

Tha cuimhne mhaith aice air a' bhoineid, agus air mar bhiodh an 

t-seann duine ag innseadh dhi, agus Cailean aig an àm so 'na 

sheanailear mòr, ainmeil, mar bhiodh e, a cheud uair a thainig e 

dhachaidh às an arm, is e 'na ghille òg, a' leigeil fhaicinn daibh, air 

an ùrlar, na lùth-chleasan a bha co-cheangailte ri oileanachadh an 

airm. Chithear bho nithean beaga mar so an gràdh 'sa bhàighealachd 

a bha 'san teaghlach, agus lean sin gus an do sgar am 

bàs iad. 

Cha robh Cailean ach glè òg an uair a chaill e a mhàthair. An 

uair a dh' fhàs 'athair sean, 's a chaidh e bhàrr cosnaidh, chaidh e 

a dh' fhuireach le càirdean da anns an Ros Mhuileach, agus an

28o SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH. 

dèidh sin do Dhùn-Ei deann, far an do chaochail e 'na sheann duine. 

Gu là a bhàis, bha a mhac, an saighdear urramach, 'ga chumail an 

suidheachadh duin'-uasail. 

B' ann aig Blàr Vimiera a fhuair " Cailean Caimbeul " a 

bhaisteadh le teine, agus mar gun rachadh a cruadhachadh 'na 

dhreuchd an uair sin, cha do thill e buille tuilleadh, ach daonnan a' 

faotainn air aghaidh. Bha e 'san ruaig ainmeil ud a chrìochnaich 

aig Corunna, agus bha a chuid aige de'n bhlàr sin fo chomannd 

Shir Iain Moore, an uair " a shil iad na deoir gu sàmhach, ag 

amharc air creubh an trèin a thug buaidh." Cha robh Cailean an 

uair sin ach 'na fhìor bhalach, sè bliadhna deug a dh' aois, ach 

eadhon aig an aois sin, nochd e gaisgealachd loinnreach an duine. 

Tha luchd-eachdraidh a' chogaidh mhì-shealbhach sin a' 

tarruing aire an leughadairean ri beachdaireachd " Lieut. 

Campbell " air an ( ruaig ' gu Corunna. Ann an sgrìobhadh a 

chuir e gu a chuideachd aig an tigh, dh' innis e mar b' fheudar da 

a bhi a' piocadh leathrach nam bròg a bonn a choise, an uair a 

thàinig an t-arm gu ceann-slighe. Fo chomannd an Diùc 

Wellington chaidh e troimh chogadh a' ' Pheninsula,' o thoiseach 

gu dheireadh, agus b'iomadh blàr fuilteach anns an do ghabh e 

cuid. 

Ach eadar gach caithream anns an robh e, is ann ri linn Cogadh 

a' " Chrimea " a bhaoisg a chliù a mach, gus an d' thàinig a 

bhuadhan 'sa threunadas mar shaighdear neo-sgàthach, is mar 

sheanailear innleachdach, fo chomhair sùilean a luchd-dùthcha 'sa 

nàimhdean. Anns a' bhliadhna roimh so, chaidh Ridire a 

dhèanamh dheth, a thaobh cho gleusda's cho geurchuiseach 's a 

dhealbh e gach blàr, gus an do theòraich e a dhaoine mar 

" Bhrigadier-General," o'n àm a bhi ag cogadh anns na h-Innseachan 

Shuas. 

Bha e a nis ainmeil mar sheanailear, agus an uair a thòisich 

cogadh goirt a' Chrimea chaidh a chur air ceann a Highland 

Brigade, a' bhuidheann airm Ghàidhealach sin a choisinn a 

leithid de chliù anns gach cogadh garbh anns an robh iad, a nuas 

gus a' Chogadh Mhor. Chaidh seirm air feadh na Gàidhealtachd 

uile, agus bha e iomraiteach o cheann gu ceann de 'n Roinn-Eòrpa, 

an uair a chualas gun robh fìor Ghàidheal bho na h-Eileanan 'na 

cheann-feadhna aif armailt de ghillean an fhèilidh. Ach ged bu 

mhor toil-inntinn na dùthcha, cha bu lugha toil-inntinn Shir 

Chailein fhèin, a bhi a' dol a threòrachadh ceatharnaich nan gleann 

's nan srath gu aghaidh bualaidh. 

SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH. 2 M 

Aig Alma rinn e fhèin 'sa chuid daoine euchdan a chuir iong 

nadh air an t-saoghal, agus a choisinn cliù neo-bhàsmhor do Shir 

Cailean 's do na Gàidheil. Agus an tèid dìochuimhne air 

Balaclava, a bha 'na chuspair aig gach bòrd, agus aig gach 

eachdraiche is gach dealbhadair Bidh an Sreath Chaol Dhearg, 

leis a' ' chìrean stàilinn,' gu bràth cho deàrrsach an eachdraidh 

Bhreatainn 'sa tha na fir-chiis anns na speuran. 

Mun gann a bha cogadh a' Chrimea seachad, bhris trioblaid 

iT.hòr a mach anns na h-Innseachan Shìos, agus bha ar luchddùthcha 

an àmhuinn mhòir. Cha do rinn Sir Cailean ach dol air 

tìr an Sasunn, an dèidh tilleadh bho 'n Chrimea, an uair a dh' 

fhaighnicfid am Prìomh Ministear, Lord Palmerston, deth, c'uin 

a bhiodh e comasach da dol air ceann airm anns na h-Innseachan, 

a thoirt fuasglaidh do na Breatannaich an sin, is iad an suidheachadh 

dhòrainneach. " Am màireach," fhreagair Sir Cailean, 

agus an ath là bha an laoch air ceann a shlighe do'n Airde-'n-Ear, 

gun uiread agus ùine a ghabhail a theachd do Dhùn-Eideann a 

dh' fhaicinn athar's a pheathar, an òigh Alicia. Cha b'e saighdear 

sìoda a bha an Cailean, cha robh srad de uabhar no de àrdan ann. 

Ged bha gille 'na chois a' dol a dh' ionnsaigh a' bhàta, ghiùlain e 

a mhàileid-thuruis 'na làimh fhèin. A thaobh an turuis so, cha 

robh ùine r'a call, oir bha na Breatannaich air an dùnadh a suas 

leis na h-Innseanaich anns na bailtean, gus an robh iad a' bàsachadh 

le gainne bidh is dibhe. Ach bha Sir Cailean air ceann a chuid 

Ghàidheal a rithist, agus cha b' fhada gus an d' thug e saorsa do a 

luchd-dùthcha. 

Bha e ullamh gu dhol troimh theine is uisge air an 

sgàth aig Lucknow. B'e gnothach ro dhoirbh da-rìreadh 

a bha m' a choinneamh, a dol an aghaidh fheachdan doàireamh 

de Innseanaich, is iad air bhoile, agus gun a bhi 

aige ach mu she mile duine; ach cha d' thàinig fàilinn 

tuigse no misnich air a' churaidh ud. An dèidh na's mò 

na aon ionnsaigh a thoirt a chum bristeadh a steach do 'n bhaile, 

agus an uair a chaidh a chuid ghunnachan a chur 'nan tàmh fo 

theine nan ceannairceach, chaidh Sir Cailean e fhèin air ceann na 

h-ionnsaigh mu dheireadh, agus air dhaibh faighinn a steach do'n 

bhaile, bha na nàimhdean air an sgapadh, agus na càirdean air an 

saoradh o'n champar is o'n chunnart mhòir anns an robh iad. Co 

aig a bheil cho beag de mhac-meanmna, 's nach cuir e gluasad air 

a chridhe is air aigne an uair a leughas e mar chuala " Jessie Brown 

in Lucknow," anns a bhreislich 'san robh i, sgal na pìoba a' tighinn 

am fagus

282 SIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH. 

An dèidh an euchd òirdheirc so, dh* àrdaicheadh cliù an 

t-saighdeir mhòir, agus thaomadh urram air bho uachdarain is 

bho ìochdarain, chan ann a mhàin am Breatann ach an 

tìrean coimheach. Mar ghràinne-mullaich air a shaothair, 

rinneadh " Field Marshal " deth, agus thog Ban-rìgh Victoria e 

gu ionad Moraire, is roghnaich e mar ainm urraim, " Tighearna 

Chluaidh " 

'Na làithean deireannach ghabh Cailean ' Ceud-chathach ' fois 

is socair, agus an dèidh na thàinig e troimh, chaochail e an sìth air 

a leabaidh anns a' bhliadhna 1863, an uair a bha e trì fichead 

bliadhna 's a h-aon-deug de aois. Cha do thog an Roinn-Eòrpa 

saighdear a bu ghaisgeile na Cailean Caimbeul. Chithear 

comharaidhean air sin an diugh, eadhon 'na dhealbh,—fearalachd 

an t-saighdeir anns na malaichean troma, agus anns an t-sùil gheur, 

nuagach, gun gheilt; agus cha ruigear a leas ach leth-shùil a thoirt 

air an dealbh aige gu fhaicinn gur e fuil an fhìor Ghàidheil a bha 

a' ruith 'na chuislean. 

Ann an tomhas saoi bhi r, bhuilicheadh air gach feart a tha 

feumail do cheann-feachd mòr. Bha e bras, neo-sgàthach mar 

shaighdear, ach aig an aon àm ciùin, faicilleach mar cheannfeadhna. 

Bha meas mòr aig a choimpirean air, agus bu ro chaomh 

leis na saighdearan e. Bha e uasal, mòr-chridheach 'na ghnè is na 

ghiùlan, oir cha b' eòl da farmad no mìodhoireachd. 'Na aghaidh 

ghlain, fhearail chithear a' tighinn am follais gach buadh a tha 

ionmholta. 

Cluinnear gu tric moladh mòr aig muinntir air a' Ghàidheal 

mar shaighdear, ach sin an leithid de dhòigh is gun saoileadh neach 

nach 'eil dad tuille de mhaith ann. Ach chan fheudar a leigeil leis 

an t-saoghal a bhi de 'n bheachd nach bi an còrr feuma do'n 

Ghàidheal an uair a thig na làithean ion-mhiannaichte sin anns 

am " buailear an claidheamh gu coltar." Bha, agus tha fhathast, 

an Gàidheal 'na fhear-oibre a cheart cho maith ri a bhi 'na fhearsabaide, 

agus leanaidh e air a bhi a' nochdadh an ealainean 

na sìthe an smioralais is an treubhantais a nochd e an gnothaichean 

cogaidh. Is e a chliù a tha air a cheana gu bheil a làmh cho seòlta 

is cho foghainnteach leis an tuaigh no an spaid air fearann ùr nan 

dùthchannan thar sàile, 's a b' àbhaist dhi a bhi leis an lann anns a' 

bhlàr. 

Gu ma fada a bhios ar Gàidheil ag cur measa is urraim air a 

leithid de shàr dhuine's a bha an Cailean Caimbeul. 

Marbhrann do Chailean Caimbeul, 

Tighearna Chluaidh. 

LE AONGHAS DOMHNULLACH NACH MAIREANN, 

BARD CHOMUINN GHAIDHLIG INBHIRNIS. 

THA airm an laoich fo mheirg 'san tùr, 

Chòmhdaich ùir an curaidh treun, 

Bhuail air Alba speach às ùr— 

A feachd trom, tùrsach, 'sileadh dheur, 

Mu Ghaisgeach Ghàidheil nan sàr bheart, 

Fo ghlais a' bhàis, mar dhùil gun toirt: 

Triath na Cluaidh bu bhuadhach feart, 

'G a chaoidh gu trom, le cridhe goirt. 

Air oidhche's mi am laidhe am shuain, 

'S mo smuaintean air luathas na dreig— 

Uair agam's an sin uam— 

Bhruadair mi a bhi shuas air creig. 

Thoir leam gun robh 'teachd 'nam chòir, 

Fo bhratach bròin de shròl dubh, 

Sàr mhaighdean mhaiseach, mhòr; 

Tiamhaidh, leònt' bha ceòl a guth. 

Mar dhrìlseadh rèil bha a gorm shùil, 

A glan ghnùis cho geal ri sneachd; 

Bha falt donn air snìomh m' a cùl, 

Tiugh chiabha dlùth nan iomadh cleachd. 

M' a ceann bha clogaid de fhìor chruaidh, 

Ri 'bàrr bha dualach o'n each ghlas; 

A làmh dheas chum sleagh na buaidh, 

'S claidheamh truailte suas r'a leis; 

Sgiath chopach, obair sheòlt', 

Le mòrchuis 'na làimh chlì; 

Lùireach mhàilleach, grèìst le h-òr, 

Bu chòmhdach do nighinn rìgh. 

* * * * * * 

Chrom mi sìos le mòr mheas, 

Is dh' fhiosraich mi de thrèin' na mais', 

Cia fàth mu 'n robh a h-airm 'nan crios,

^4 

MARBHRANN DO'N RIDIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL. 

Mar shonn chum sgrios, a dèanamh deas. 

Ged bha a gnùis mar òigh fo leòn, 

No ainnir òig 'chur gaol fo chràdh, 

Sheall i rium le plathadh bròin, 

Measgte le mòralachd is gràdh. 

Lasaich air mo gheilt is m' fhiamh 

'N uair labhair 1 am briathraibh ciùin— 

" Bha agam-sa curaidh treun, 

Gun chomhalt fo 'n ghrèin am beart, 

Ceannard armailt nam mòr euchd, 

Thug buaidh's gach streup, le cèill thar neart. 

Do Ghàidheil ghaisgeìl ceannard còir, 

Am builsgean còmhraig mòr 'nam beachd; 

A' toirt na buaidh, 's ag cosnadh glòir 

A dh' aindeoin seòl is mòrachd feachd. 

Mar chogadh Oscar flathail garg, 

Is Conn 'na fheirg a' dol 'san spàirn, 

No Diarmad donn a thuit 'san t-sealg, 

'S an Sonn a mharbh an Garbh-mac-Stàirn. 

Gach buaidh 'bha annta sud gu lèir, 

An neart, an trèin', an gleus, 's am mùirn—- 

Bha cliù a' Chaimbeulaich d' an rèir 

'Dol thart an èifeachd anns gach turn— 

Ciùin mar mhaighdinn ghràidh's an t-sìth, 

Uasal, sìobhalt, mìn am beus; 

Gaisgeil, gargail, teòm' 's an strì, 

Le cumhachd rìgh 'g cur feachd air ghleus. 

" C' ait' an cualas sparradh cath' 

Bu bhuadhaich' sgath na Alma dhearg 

Fuil is cuirp air beinn's air srath 

'Nam mìltean breath, fo 'n laoch 'na fheirg !" 

* * * * * * 

Chrìochnaich sgeul na h-ainnir' mhòir, 

Mu euchdan glòirmhor an laoich thrèin; 

Mhosgail mi a mo shuain le bròn 

A' sileadh dheur gum b' fhìor an sgeul. 

A Ghàidheil Ghlaschu, 'shliochd nan sonn, 

A dh' fhuadaicheadh o Thìr nam Beann, 

D'an dual le còir an sruth 's am fonn,— 

Dhùibh-se coisrigeam mo rann. 

"COGADH NA SITH," AT QUATRE BRAS. 

LOCK.HART 

" But with the breath which jills 

Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 

With the fierce native daring which instils 

The stirring memory of a thousand years." 

BOYLE. 

itv kind permission

MARBHRANN DO'N 

RIDIR CAILEAN CAIMBEUL. 

Dearbhaibh gur sibh àl nan treun, 

Ginealach do rèir nan sonn, 

A bhuannaich cliù thar sliochd fo 'n ghrèin, 

Am blàr nam beum, 's an streup nan tonn. 

Cumaibh cuimhn' air laoch an airm, 

A ghairmeadh air an abhainn Chluaidh, 

'S a' meal e urram 'thèid a sheirm 

'S gach linn le toirm ri sgeul a bhuaidh. 

An Old Highland Industry—Kelp-Making. 

BY ARCHD. N. CURRIE, M.A., D.Sc., A.I.C. 

T T NTIL about a hundred years ago, when chemical methods 

\_) of investigation underwent a radical change, seaweed was 

of little use beyond helping the farmer in the enrichment of 

his soil. 

The far-seeing chemist, however, realised that in this waste 

substance there might be endless economic possibilities. His 

first step was to discover sodium and potassium in the burnt ash 

of the seaweed. Thereafter, in 1812, an important element, 

iodine, was discovered by Courtois, a salt-petre maker of Paris, 

during his investigations of the mother-liquor of kelp. This 

discovery marked the starting-point of a period of successful 

progress in the kelp industry. 

Iodine is very uniformly distributed throughout the sea, it 

being present to the extent of 1 part in 280,000,000. In certain 

types of seaweed, the laminariae and the fuci,—quite common 

round our western shores—iodine is found in much higher concentration 

than in the surrounding water. 

In Britain, the kelp industry flourished long before iodine was 

discovered. It was introduced into Tiree in 1746, and from this 

island it spread all over the Outer Hebrides. It was the sole 

source of soda for many years, but in 1825 barilla was introduced 

from Spain, and at the same time the tax on salt was repealed. By 

the Leblanc process, sodium carbonate, of which formerly kelp 

was the sole source, could be more economically prepared from

286 AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY KELP-MAKING. 

common salt. This brought about a decline in kelp prices. While 

in 1800 the price of kelp was ,£20 per ton, in 1825 when barilla 

was introduced, it fell to £10 ios. Later, when the salt-tax was 

repealed, the price fell to ^3, and ultimately in 1831 reached £1 

per ton. 

At this price there could be no profit on the manufacture, and, 

as a source of soda, kelp could no longer be used. 

Kelp, however, contained potassium salts and from this date 

the manufacture of these, as well as of iodine from it, began to 

assume importance. The difficulty was that the kelp which contained 

the highest percentage of sodium contained the least percentage 

of potassium. Different weeds had now to be used, and 

this involved a different process of kelping. In the first process, 

for the manufacture of soda, the dried weeds were burned to a 

bluish-grey, brittle slag, and the burning was done at a high 

temperature. This burning at a high temperature was favourable 

for the production of sodium carbonate, but 50 per cent, of the 

volatile iodine and a large proportion of the potassium salts were 

lost to the air as a result of the excessive heat. A yield of 4 lbs. 

of iodine per ton was obtained under good kelping conditions. 

The process was very simple. The weed was dried in sheds, 

as exposure to rain in the case of laminariae washed away some of 

the most valuable salts. It was then piled into long, shallow pits 

and allowed to smoulder for a few days. After a time, a silicated 

mass of blue-grey colour was obtained. This mass was crushed, 

and from it the various salts present were extracted in the conventional 

manner. 

The seaweed has also been treated by other methods by 

Stanford. In 1863, he set up works in Tiree for the carbonisation 

of the tangle. The weed was placed in iron retorts and distilled 

destructively. The products of distillation consisted of tar, 

paraffin, naphtha and ammonium sulphate. One ton of kelp, 

treated in this manner, yielded from 8 to 10 gallons of paraffin, 

and about 3 gallons of naphtha. 

The residue consisted of a very porous charcoal, somewhat 

similar to bone-ash. This residue contained the same salts as obtained 

by the first process, and in addition, in the second process 

all the organic material in the weed was utilised. Owing to the 

insular nature of the district in which this process was carried out, 

it did not prove a success. Because of transport difficulties, there 

could be no central carbonising works, and the erection of one on 

AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY KELP-MAKING. 28 7 

each island did not appear a sound financial proposition, since the 

supply of tangle was not continuous. 

The third method of dealing with the seaweed was a wet 

method. It was found that on treating the tangle with water 

(simple maceration), all the alkaline salts present could be dissolved 

out. The residue was a complex substance called Algin. 

Algin could have many commercial applications, but, so far, 

it has been very little used. W'hen it is mixed with the charcoal 

obtained from the second process and potassium silicate, a very 

good cement is formed. This cement is a very bad conductor of 

heat, and, as a result, has been used effectively as a coating for 

ships' boilers. 

When alginic acid is left in a moderately warm place, it dries 

to a hard, horny mass after a time. This hard substance can be 

easily turned, takes on a good polish, and has been used as a 

substitute for bone buttons. 

Alginic acid can also be obtained in thin water-proof sheets by 

a simple method. Its salts have been used in the arts and in medicine. 

The calcium salt hardens up in similar fashion to the acid, 

can be turned, polished, and used as a substitue for ivory. The 

ammonium salt has been used as an insecticide, and the iron as a 

styptic. There is no doubt that biological preparations could be 

made from the seaweed, which could find a useful place in the 

pharmacopoeia because of their richness in vitamine and other 

substances of importance in the animal economy. 

This last method of treating the seaweed undoubtedly yields 

important results. Its promoter, E. C. C. Stanford, carried on with 

it successfully for some time. Unfortunately for this industry, he 

decided to devote his great pioneering talents to other chemical 

spheres, and, as a result, the Alginic acid process came to an end. 

The short testing period which it enjoyed was demonstrative of 

its latent possibilities; and it has always been a matter of surprise 

to the writer that no one has elected to continue the work which 

had just emerged from its preliminary phase under Stanford's able 

guidance. 

The practical results achieved, and the potential industrial uses 

of the various products isolated, seemed to favour a new lease of 

life for the industry, but local apathy and a certain scepticism 

among industrialists stifled it in its adolescence. 

From time to time, our sentimentalists wail over the steadily 

increasing depopulation of our Highland glens, and the degree

288 AN OLD HIGHLAND' INDUSTRY KELF-MAKING. 

or" wailing is generally in inverse proportion to the amount of 

energy expended by them in attempting to stem the outflow. The 

sentimentalist is more concerned with the concomitant, or rather 

resultant, passing of the old customs and traditions associated with 

a peacefully living agrarian community. True, it is sad to contemplate 

the decay of these grand old insignia of our ancient glory, 

so indicative of a unique national spirit, but we must consider at 

the outset the operative causes which bring about this change. 

There are many. The Highlander, naturally ambitious, finds 

little to satisfy his aims in the glens, and, therefore, migrates to a 

more promising sphere. His native land is unkind in its yield 

from tilth; it is for the most part barren, though beautiful and wild; 

his lochs and seas yield a fickle harvest, and their beauty does not 

compensate. Grouse, sheep and deer are the pampered denizens 

of the wild, but it is doubtful if the stocking of the Highlands 

with these presents an economic obstacle of sufficient magnitude 

ro influence adversely the yield of the soil. It seems that most of 

the available arable land is being steadily cultivated, yet the basic 

industries of agriculture and fishing do not yield a sufficiency for 

the needs of the community. 

There is, therefore, an urgent need for the fostering of minor 

industries. Some of these, such as spinning, weaving and crottle 

dyeing have the appeal of native colouring, but there must be a 

deflection of pride and an abrogation of conservatism on the part 

of the Highlander, in order to admit of the entrance of seemingly 

exotic but useful industries into his land. 

The Highlands cannot enjoy a full and equilibrated economic 

life on agriculture and fishing alone. There must be a stimulation 

of the minor industries enumerated above; there must be an introduction 

of others, such as kelp, which has been tried and not 

found wanting, and which could supply useful products for the 

increasingly complex demands of a modern civilisation; there must 

be a consideration of our mineral resources, especially in the 

direction of the ores of manganese, silver and lead, which are 

abundant in the South-western Highlands; there must be a reorganisation 

of inter-insular transport. 

If the lack of these necessities stirred the national conscience 

sufficiently, and if effort towards their realisation received the 

blessing of official sanction, then the Highlands would become a 

haven of peace and content—not the insubstantial Utopia of the 

sentimental economist, who would stem the outflow of population 

AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY KELP-MAKING. 289 

mechanically, without considering the factors from which it arose. 

In conclusion, the alginic acid method of dealing with seaweed 

yields results of value, and in any scheme for the economic reorganisation 

of the Highlands, the re-establishment of this once 

flourishing industry should receive every consideration. The 

writer of this short article has tried out the alginic acid method on 

a laboratory scale, and is confident that its adoption under modern 

conditions would help to bring a fair degree of prosperity to our 

insular seaboards. 

The Land of Heather. 

BY DONALD A. 

MACKENZIE. 

IN yon dear land of lochs and bens, 

Of foam-girt isles and winding glens, 

O'er wistful moors in Autumn weather 

Bonnily blooms the purple heather. 

True hearts that dream of other days, 

Of Highland homes and Highland ways, 

Have hopes and memories twined together 

When bonnily blooms the purple heather. 

Though city-pent they chance to be, 

Or exiled far across the sea, 

In Highland hearts in Autumn weather 

Bonnily blooms the purple heather. 

The hearts that dream are hearts that dare 

For freedom dear and homeland fair, 

And love and valour twine together 

Where bonnily blooms the purple heather.

NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 29I 

Na h-orduighean 

LE DOMHNULL MAC-A-PHI NACH MAIREANN. 

IS ann mu'n aimsir so de 'n bhliadhna a b' àbhaist do'n chomanachadh 

a bhi air a chumail ann am mòran cheàrnan de'n 

Ghàidhealtachd, agus chan 'eil seirbhis chràbhach eile ann a 

mhaireas cho fada an cuimhne an t-sluaigh, no aon a dh' fhàgas 

boladh cho cùbhraidh 'na dèidh. Dùisgidh i urram sònruichte 

am measg shean is òg, nach faighear ach tearc an àitean eile. 

Là grianach gun àile gaoithe—an sgìreachd uile fuidh thàmh, 

ged tha an sìd ro fhreagarrach air son oibre—an sluagh 'nan aodach 

sàbaid—grunnan an sud 's an so ag imeachd air an socair air na 

rathaidean mòra, no air an fhrith-rathad tarsuinn air cliathaich 

na beinne—a h-uile neach a' dèanamh dìreach air an aon cheannuidhe; 

agus so air là seachduine! Ciod e is ciall d'e Abraidh 

Philistich Shasuinn agus na Galldachd nach 'eil ann ach ana-caifheadh 

air tràth—dìmeas air a' chothrom a thug sìd math do dhaoine 

gu bhi a' saothrachadh mu 'n chroit no mu iasgach. Chan 'eil 

e soirbh do shluagh a chaidh a thogail am measg straighlich is 

malairt nam bailtean mòra, a chreidsinn gum bu chòir làithean 

'sam bith a choisrigidh do nithean spioradail ach là na Sàbaide a 

mhàin; agus tha'n là sin fèin an cunnart dol a mùthadh am measg 

chreutairean a thug iad fèin thairis—anam is corp—do Mhamon. 

Tha seadh nan cleachdannan cràbhach a bha measail aig Gàidheil, 

agus mòran de Ghoill, leth cheud bliadhna roimh 'n diugh, annasach 

leo. Tha a' chuid nach gabh ris na nòsan nuadha acasan 

cumhang am beachd. Faodaidh gu bheil ceàrnan de 'n Ghàidhealtachd 

a'^ leantuinn eisimpleir nan Gall a thaobh so, mar tha iad 

'ga leantuinn an^ dòighean eile gun mhòran buannachd 'na lorg. 

Bu chòir do Ghàidheil a bhi eudmhor a thaobh an rian agus an 

dòighean fèin, chan e a mhàin a thaobh cràbhaidh, ach a thaobh 

rudan eile air nach bi sinn a' leudachadh an dràsda. 

Ach beachdaicheamaid air an là so—là na traisg—mar a b' 

àbhaist a bhi 'ga chumail. Bidh a' chuid is mò de 'n t-sluagh a' 

dèanamh deiseil air a shon mar gum bu là Sàbaid e. Feumaidh 

luchd-còmhnuidh ìochdar na sgìreachd—seann daoine is sean 

mhnathan co-dhiù—ullachadh a dhèanamh air son an rathaid. Am 

fear aig am biodh cairt agus gearran, bheireadh e cuireadh do 

neach a bhiodh ro lag-chuiseach air son coiseachd. Air son 

ghillean is nigheanan, cha chuireadh coiseachd deich no dusan mìle 

dragh 'sam bith orra. A dh' aon rud, bha iad air slighe 

dleasnais, an cuideachd a' chèile suas an rathad air an socair, a' 

seanchas fad an t-siubhail, no is dòcha 'nan suidhe air bruaich, car 

tiotain, an dèidh ùrachadh fhaotainn a tobar fìor-uisge a bha 

brùchdadh a stuth fhallain faisg orra. Co-dhiù 'se na bha rompa 

a b'fhaisg air an inntinn, no dùil ri bhi a' coinneachadh ri sean 

chàirdean, cha 'n abair sinn. Ach nam mothaicheadh iad air, dh' 

fhaodadh an sealladh a bha mu 'n cuairt an cridhe a' lìonadh le a 

bhòidhcheid. Nach 'eil am monadh fèin, ged tha e air amannan 

gruamach do 'n t-sùil, air amannan eile, mar an aimsir so, fo bhlàth 

le fraoch is còinnich is luibhean—badanan buidhe is uaine a' 

deàrrsadh na's àilne le gathan na grèine. Fad air falbh tha 

binneanan sgorach, creagach nam beann, mar gum biodh iad fhèin 

agus an t-athar air coinneachadh r'a chèile—dubhar maoth mar 

chorcuir air an aodann. Saoil nach drùidh tomhas de sheadh an 

t-seallaidh so—òirdhearc, farsuing, làn de'n dìomhaireachd a tha 

ceangailte ris na nithean a tha folaichte—air inntinnean sluaigh air 

an do bhuilicheadh cuibhrionn shònraichte de spiorad a' chràbhaidh. 

Chuireadh an cèill gu tric le muinntir a bhios ag gabhail mothachaidh 

air aigne an comh-chreutairean, gu bheil nàdur de chomhchomunn 

eadar sluagh na h-àirde tuath is nan eileanan, agus an 

cruthachadh Nàduir mu choinneamh an sùl—na siantan, an dubhar 

a bhios a' laighe air glaic nam beann, na sgàilean a bhios a' ruith 

air an aodann, gàir tiamhaidh nan tonn, no nuallan na fairge, is i 

'ga maistreadh fèin am broinn nan uaimhean. Ach bidh an anam 

ag ath-fhreagradh ris an t-sàmchair a thuiteas air Nàdur 'na h-àm 

fèin, mar thachair aig an àm so. 

Is e là na traisg là mòr an ullachaidh air son na cuirme naoimh 

a tha rompa air an t-Sàbaid. Bidh an eaglais làn de choimhthional 

stòlda, rianail. 'S e ministear a mhuinntir sgìreachd eile a bhios 

a' searmonachadh, agus gu dearbh 'sea dh'fheumas a bhi faicilleach 

mus tuit lideadh o a bhilean a bheir oilbheum do na daoine còire 

a tha 'nan suidhe faisg air a' chùbaid, no an crò nam foirfeach. Tha 

iadsan cho domhain 'nan eòlas air an Fhìrinn; tha an comas breithneachaidh 

cho geur, is nach e a h-uile ministear a ghabhadh air an 

ladarnas sanas bu lugha a thairgse an aghaidh bheachdan 

a ghabh greim orrasan o 'n cheud là anns an d' fhuair iad eòlas 

spioradail. Abradh diadhairean nan colaisdean mar a thogradh iad, 

shuidhich na daoine còire so dòchas am beatha air bunait nach 

gabhadh carachadh. Biodh càch a' seòladh mar a stiùras sruth an

SO NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 

ama iad, tha an acarsaid acasan diongmhalta, agus tha am beatha, 

spioradail crochte rithe. 

Mar is trice, is e Di-haoine là na coinneimh-cheiste—là a tha 

ro thaitneach leis an t-sluagh. Is è gu h-àraidh " Là nan Daoine," 

mar a theirear—daoine diadhaidh a mhuinntir na sgìreachd, no 

bràithrean o sgìreachdan eile a tha astar fada air falbh. Tha iad 

deas-bhriathrach, agus ainmeil 'nan crìochan fhèin. Chan 'eil an 

teisteanas folaichte. Ciamar a bhitheadh, is iad aithnichte mar 

dhaoine a chaith mòran de'n tìm ri fèin-rannsachadhr Bidh cuid 

ag cur às an leth gu bheil iad air an sèideadh suas le uabhar 

spioradail, ach faodar a ràdh gun do chinnich annta feartan a chaidh 

a chleith air càch, air chor agus gu bheil iad uidheamaichte air 

son dleasnas an dreuchd. Math dh' fhaoidte nach 'eil mòran eòlais 

aca air leabhraichean, no air rudan a bhios ag cur imcheist air 

creutairean a tha ag gleachd ri nithean saoghalta. Tha aon leabhar 

ann air a bheil iad mion-eòlach, agus tha mòran dheth aca air am 

meomhair—Leabhar nan leabhraichean. Ma tha leabhar eile ann 

fosgailte dhaibh, is e sin leabhar an doilgheis agus a' chràidh-inntinn—leabhar 

a tha, a thaobh cuid, do-sgaradh o'n bheatha a tha 

làthair. Ann an seadh, faodar a ràdh nach 'eil aig a' chinne-daonna 

ach an dà leabhar so. 

Air Di-haoine, tha an raon aig na daoine doibh fèin. Chan 

'eil am ministear ach mar fhear-riaghlaidh air a' choinneimh, ged 

a sgioblaicheas e suas air deireadh na seirbhis na beachdan a 

chuireadh fo chomhair an luchd-èisdeachd. An uair a dhearcas 

e mu 'n cuairt, iarraidh e air fear de na " Daoine " a bhi ag èirigh 

—" bithibh ag èirigh, a Choinnich." Cha bhi Coinneach còir ro 

dheònach; tha e 'ga mheas fhèin neo-airidh, ach cha dèan diùltadh 

an gnothuch. Mu dheireadh, tilgidh e a bhreacan bhàrr a ghualainn; 

putaidh e a mheoir roimh a fhalt cràsgach, liath—ach glanshnuadhach 

air a shon sin—duine tlachdmhor, ged bha aghaidh 

còmhdaichte le preasan na h-aoise, agus air a seachdadh le uisg, is 

gaoith is grèin, a' strì am measg bochdainn is uireasbhuidhean a' 

chrannchuir. Nan robh an t-sùil lèirsinneach aig neach, chiteadh 

spiorad na h-irisleachd ag iathadh m' a cholainn, air dha a bhi a'" 

dol an glaic nithean dìomhair. Eiridh e gu diùid, mar gum biodh 

e fo throm uallach le truimeid an dleasnais a ghabh e os làimh, agus , 

bidh gach sùil anns a' choimhthional air. Math dh' fhaoidte gun 

robh e fo incheist a thaobh puing spioradail air choreigin, agusb'e 

a mhiann solus fhaotainn o na bràithrean. Gheibheadh e sin, 

agus ùrachadh 'na chois. 'Na dhèidh dh' èireadh fear mu seach,.

NA H-ORDUIGHEAN. 

= 93 

agus rannsaicheadh e a' phuing agus sgrùdadh e na beachdan. Mar 

chùl-taic d'a bhreithneachadh dh' fhosgladh e a suas fèin-ffiosrachadh 

a bheatha—fiosrachadh beatha an neach a tha 'na chòmhnuidh 

ann an ionad dìomhair an Tì is Airde. 

Bitear ag cur às leth nan " Daoine " air a' Ghàidhealtachd, gu 

bheil iad cumhang 'nam beachdan, agus gu bheil uabhar spioradail 

a' faotainn làimh an uachdar orra. Biodh sin mar dh' fhaodas e, 

cha ghabh e a chleith gu bheil an caithe-beatha a rèir an aideachaidh. 

Choisrig iad an aire's an aigne gu bhi ag cnuasachd air an Fhìrinn, 

agus tha i a' riaghladh an dol-a-mach agus an teachd-a-steach. 

Chan 'eil neach a dh' èisd ri aon diubh ag gleachd ann an ùrnuigh, 

nach aithnich so. Tha an athchuinge làn de dhìomhaireachd am 

beatha; dùrachdach, brìoghmhor leis an t-seadh a thig o bhi a' 

meamhrachadh air nithean neo-fhaicsinneach—guidhe nach 'eil 

fed o dheireadh na rèise, iriosal 'na h-iarrtus, macanta 'na spiorad, 

ach làn de 'n dòchas air an do ghabh iad greim an toiseach. Chì 

gach aon de 'n luchd-èisdeachd an cor anns an ùrnuigh ud mar ann 

an sgàthan, oir is e a tha innte taomadh anama neach do 'n aithne 

a h-uile ceum de 'n t-slighe. Faodaidh gum b' ùrnuigh duine 

neo-fhòghluimte i—mar a mheasas daoine an t-saoghail fòghlum 

—ach foillsichidh i toradh na gleachd air nach 'eil e aineolach, agus 

tha i air a blàthachadh le ungadh an Spioraid Naoimh. Tha mòran 

de shean chleachdannan ciatach a' dol am mùthadh 'nar linn, ach 

chan 'eil cor na dùthcha a' dol na's feàrr. 

Is e là na Sàbaid là mòr na Cuirme. Bidh an coimhthional na's 

motha na air na làithean eile, agus ma bhios an sìd idir freagarrach, 

thèid pàilliun a shuidheachadh air lianaig ghuirm, gu tric aig 

ìochdar cnuic. Tha na "bùird " air an còmhdach le lìon anart cho 

geal ri sneachda na h-aon oidhche, ach bidh iad falamh an toiseach 

—gus an tig an "cuireadh." Air amannan bidh suas ri dà mhìle anns 

an èisdeachd—an cnoc còmhdaichte le gillean òga, agus nigheanan 

cho rìomhach 'nan èideadh's ged b'e bean-baile a bha anns gach tè. 

Cha'n fhaicear an diugh na curraicean geala air na sean mhnathan 

mar a b' àbhaist, ged a b' eireachdail an sealladh e 'san àm. 'Nan 

aite thàinig itean, is ribeanan, is flùraichean, is rudan rìomhach 

eile. Is cinnteach gu bheil cuimhne aig cuid de ar luchd-leughaidh 

air mar a loisgeadh na sean mhinistearan air luchd nan " gum 

floors" is nam bòtainnean dìosganach. 

Cha leigear a leas a ràdh nach d' thàinig am pobull a tha 'nan 

suidhe cho stòlda air an lianaig, uile fo bhuaidh an rùin a tha an 

chridhe an athraichean agus am màthraichean. B'e mìorbhuil a

294 

NA H-0RDUIGHEAN. 

bhiodh 'na chaochladh. An uair a bhios foidhidinn a fàilneachadh, 

èiridh grunnan no dhà an dràsda's a rithist a mach às a' choimhthional, 

a chum ceum a ghabhail mu chùl a' chnuic, oir mairidh an 

t-seirbhis o dhà-uair-dheug gu còig uairean. Ach fanaidh a' chuid 

is motha gu deireadh na cuirme—cuid diubh mar a bha a' bhuidheann 

aig lochan Shiloaim, a' feitheamh air a' ghluasad a thig o 

spiorad an Dè bheo. Cha'n urrainn creutair toinisgeil amharc air 

a leithid so de shluagh ach le urram—sluagh a tha fo bhuaidh inntinn 

nach tuig ach an neach a dh'fhairich e 'na bheatha fhèin. 

Mun toir am ministear cuireadh chun a' bhùird do'n treud leis 

an àill Suipeir an Tighearna a ghabhail gu h-iomchuidh, cuiridh e 

an cèill gu neo-sgàthach comharadh na muinntir a tha freagarrach, 

agus an fheadhainn nach 'eil. Chan fhaod an cogull a bhi am measg 

a' chruithneachd. Tha'n gàradh-criche soilleir. Is ann air an uair 

so a thòisicheas imcheist spioraid air an luchd-comanachaidh, agus 

cha'n iongnadh ged bhiodh iad 'ga meas fèin neo-airidh air an 

{.-sochair, an dèidh èisdeachd ri briathran teinnteach. Ach cuirear 

impidh ri cuireadh, agus am feadh's a bhios salm 'ga seinn, thig 

fear air adhart, air a shocair, leis fhèin. Leanaidh càch e air an 

aon dòigh, agus theid an t-seirbhis shòluimte a thòiseachadh. Chan 

'eil deas-ghnàthan 'gan cleachdadh a bharrachd air dòigh na ceud 

suipearach, agus cha'n fhaicear fraoidhneas de sheòrsa 'sam bith. 

Tha a h-uile rud aon-fh ill teach agus rianail. 

Is e so a ghnè dhaoine—neo-ealanta, agus bochd 'nan crannchur, 

ach saoibhir, air mhodh eile— a tha coigrich a' saoilsinn 

saobh-chràbhach, aineolach, agus fo bhuaidh cumhangachd inntinn 

! Chan 'eil guth air cuinge na foirmealachd a tha mu'n 

amhaich fhèin. Stèidhich na daoine ud am muinghinn air nithibh 

a tha sìorruidh. Ged nach deach an inntinnean a ghèurachadh an 

colaisdean, tha faobhar orra a dh' aindeoin sin, agus gheibh neach 

a thig 'nan caraibh a mach e. Tha iad 'nan eisimpleir do'n àl a 

th ig 'nan dèidh. Chuir iad eireachdas air a' Ghàidhlig, agus air a 

cumhachd gu cridhe an t-sluaigh a ruigsinn. A bheil na 

h-Eaglaisean a' tuigsinn na cùise An gabh iad rabhadh 'na àm 

The Gaelic Outlook. 

BY PROFESSOR MAGNUS MACLEAN, M.A., D.Sc, 

LL.D. 

WHAT to do with the Gaelic heritage in its modern survivals^—language, 

dress, music, literature, customs, 

traditions—is a question that seems to be stirring in many 

minds. In any useful discussion of this question certain broad 

facts have to be recognised. Since the introduction of the steamboat 

and the railway, and more especially of education and the 

press, the Highlands have been gradually Anglicised. Gaelic is 

no longer in the main the language of business, of the home, of 

public life, or even of religion. It is evident that the decline of 

the language as a spoken speech is proceeding more rapidly than 

ever, and that unless the process is delayed, it is doomed very soon, 

like the Cornish, to go the way of the heroes. 

Fortunately, however, outside the Highlands a remarkable 

interest is being evolved in the Gaelic. This is due to the researches 

of scholars, both in Britain and on the Continent, and to 

the better and fuller knowledge which is being disseminated 

regarding the language and its literature. In view of this revival 

of public interest, some well-meaning enthusiasts may be in danger 

of fostering extravagant notions, and propounding visionary 

schemes for the resuscitation of the Gaelic as the one language of 

the North, and for the restoration of it to its ancient sway. Gaelic 

was the fitting medium of expression in the old order which is 

passing away, but while it may still be preserved to exert its 

influence on the life and thought of the people, and to have an 

important place in the education of the young, that place can be 

wisely determined only by accepting the fact that the old language 

is not adequate to the new order. 

Learned men value Gaelic for its rich stores of ancient lore: 

the cultured and intelligent no longer despise it as a barbarous 

tongue, but many of them would fain know it themselves as an 

additional linguistic accomplishment. It is, therefore, to be hoped 

that this interest evinced by Celtic Scholars and Celtic enthusiasts, 

even outside the Highlands, will gradually filter down to the 

average man on the spot. 

Friends of the Gaelic would be well advised, instead of aiming 

at the impraticable and impossible, to consider what really is wanted 

at the present stage, and what can be done with any hope of success. 

At present, the majority of the Highlanders are amazingly ignorant

296 THE GAELIC OUTLOOK. 

of the great past of their race—of its language, history and 

literature. In fact, they are far more intimately acquainted with 

the history and literature of the Jews than with those of their own 

early ancestors. They do not know the high place Gaelic occupies 

in the Aryan group of languages, or the value philologists and 

mythologists at home and abroad attach to its study. Very many 

of the common people cannot read the native tongue, and very 

few can write it, although they may be able both to read and to 

write fairly in English. As for the grammar and spelling of 

Gaelic, they are as incomprehensible to the average Highlander as 

those of Welsh or Sanscrit. 

Clearly, then, the first requisite is to create a sound, healthy 

public opinion on the subject in the Highlands itself, and to enlist 

the sympathies of the people generally in favour of their native 

tongue. The first great need is to awaken a more intelligent 

interest in Gaelic in the people themselves, to show them that their 

language is ancient and beautiful, and that, far from retarding the 

English education and the future prospects of their children, it is 

a powerful means of developing the mental faculties, and producing 

a vigorous as well as an interesting type of mind. 

It should be constantly impressed upon Highland parents that 

bi-lingualism gives increased intellectual power, and that, therefore, 

they should encourage their children to speak the living vernacular 

as much as possible in the home, and should see to it that full 

advantage is taken of the provision made by the Education Department 

for the teaching of Gaelic in the Elementary Schools. 

Meanwhile, much could be done by the various Gaelic agencies by 

Instituting popular lectures throughout the Highland area, 

supplying the libraries of the Highlands with readable books on the 

history and literature of the Gael, and preparing and giving as 

prizes in the various schools beautifully bound copies of the same. 

In this way a living interest in the mother-tongue and its lore 

would be fostered among both old and young. 

The Heritage of the Gael. 

BY THE RIGHT HON. IAN MACPHERSON, P.C., K.C., M.P., 

Chief of the Gaelic Society of London. 

CARLYLE said, in one of those impressive moods of his, that 

it was our grand business not to see what lies dimly at a 

distance, but to do what clearly lies at hand. The Sage of 

THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL. 297 

Chelsea thought and fulminated but a few yards away from where 

I write. If 1 met him on my walk of a morning, 1 think that I 

should gain his valiant and rugged sympathy for our great cause, 

that I should get him to fulminate in his own great style against the 

lethargy, the aloofness, the ignorance, nay, the snobbishness of 

those of our own people who can, but will not help; and, greatly 

daring, I should, as a Gael, venture to argue with him, taking that 

dictum of his as a test. 

There is an indefinable and subtle relationship between the 

language and the soul of a people. No one can describe that 

relationship in words, but it exists; and it exists, and has existed, 

in our life in Gaeldom with a force and intensity almost unparalleled. 

It has been urged against us, as if it were a crime, that we are 

children who dwell in the past, that we are always seeing the past 

and little else, that, as a race, 'we went into battle and always fell.' 

But that past of ours is a proud and precious one, a past with the 

vibrant soul and language of our people inexplicably interwoven, 

and unless we see it in that light now, however «dimly at a 

distance,' we cannot see ' what already lies at hand.' Indeed it 

is our « grand business,' as it is our greatest inspiration, to see that 

past, to appreciate its value for ourselves and for mankind, and, 

realising that value, to preserve and perpetuate it. 

I do not know who it was, but some one has said that those 

who live on the mountain have a longer day than those who live 

in the valley, and if a man wishes to brighten his day, all that he 

has to do is to rise a little higher. This has often consoled me as 

a Highlander, as it is bound to console those who are in the van 

of our movement, with an imperishable faith in what that movement 

means, and with an indomitable courage to give expression 

to that faith. In fancy and in fact, our stronghold is on the 

mountain-side—in the home, in the school, in the pew, where 

youth, hope, promise and aspirations dwell. It is there we must 

look for the longer day. It is there alone we can most surely 

expect to get it. It is there alone we can find the real strength and 

power to do ' what clearly lies at hand,' and it is for us who labour 

in the valley to aid and, if need be, to guide that power in its 

struggles to shape its great destiny. 

I have a profound belief in sentiment as a force that dominates 

the world, a belief that has been strengthened by my recent experiences 

when visiting our kith and kin beyond the seas. The

THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL. 

spirit of our race knows no barriers. It lives and moves and has 

its being in every corner of our far-flung Empire, admired and 

trusted by all. It has been a buoyant and powerful force in every 

step of national and imperial expansion and progress, displaying 

to the eyes of men the finer qualities of vision, imagination, 

courage and idealism. 

The language is the sign and symbol of that spirit, carrying 

with it, clothed in its sonorous beauty, memories ringing with 

poetry and music, memories of the elevating influences of the 

sanctuary, memories of the simple yet dignified annals of daily 

life in * clachan,' glen and strath. It is a great and priceless 

heritage of which we are the trustees in this generation. It is for 

us to honour that trust, and to maintain it, not only untarnished, 

but to hand it on in ever-growing power and strength to those 

who follow. 

Song of the Stag. 

BY DONALD A. MACKENZIE. 

THE monarch of the forest, chief of the antlered cian, 

Roars far through deep Strathconon and bounds through 

fair Strathbran; 

He'll breast the waves of Fannich though rain-storms lash and 

blind, 

Then round the bens and up the glens go racing like the wind. 

A red flame in the sunshine, a thunder-cloud by night, 

A vision of the moorland, this lord of speed and might; 

He reigns alone, a ben his throne, and rises in his pride, 

Deep-black against the golden dawn, with antlers high and wide. 

If e'er a vain usurper should dare dispute his sway 

In boastful challenge from afar, he rages for the fray; 

A forest fire in fury, he sweeps adown the ben, 

And bellows loud for battle across the echoing glen. 

In daylight and in starlight his fame comes down the breeze, 

Sung loud by stream and torrent and harped by tuneful trees; 

The King of cliff and corrie in regal glory crowned, 

The antlered lord Imperial, unvanquished and renowned. 

Sandy to Alasdair. 

BY JOHN BUCHAN, 

Author of " Greenmantle," " The Marquis of Montrose," 

etc., etc. 

Hieland—a term of reproach, used in the Lowlands to signify 

something freakish, wild, uncertain, barbarous. 

Scots Dictionary. 

MY faither cam frae Sanquhar ways, 

My mither's folk frae the Loudon hill, 

I played as a wean on the Cairnsmuir braes, 

And got my lear at the Deuchrae schule. 

Weel I mind, when at ilk ran-dan 

I'd tak the muir like a young peesweep, 

My faither sighed, and said he, " My man, 

Ye're far ower Hieland to wark wi' sheep." 

But the herding wasna the fate for me: 

Wi' the Fusil Jocks I went to the war; 

Sune we were flitted ayont the sea, 

Jinkin' death in the stour and the glaur. 

There was lads frae the West and lads frae the North, 

Frae mill and muirland and pleugh and pit, 

And the youngest callant frae 'yont the Forth 

Was far ower Hieland to yield a fit. 

Yon day when, smoored wi' the deil's ain reeks, 

We broke ower Loos like a wave o' the sea, 

Anither Sandy wi'oot the breeks 

Keepit me company knee to knee; 

Roarin' words that nae man could ken, 

Through trench and wire we gae'd side by side, 

And when I drapped like a shot greyhen 

He was far ower Hieland to let me bide. 

Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be! 

Atween us two we hae couped the dyke; 

Gaelic for you and Lallan for me, 

But the back o' our heids is unco like. 

Scotland's braid, and the differ's big, 

Lorn and Carrick are no the same; 

But sune as the pipes play up their sprig 

We're a' ower Hieland to hunker at name.

Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g'a Mhnaoi. 

A Mhairi, eudail nam ban, 

Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad ionnsuidh, 

agus da-rìreadh is faochadh do m' chridhe conaltradh 

beag a bhi agam riut. Chan 'eil thu fhèin no na pàisdean 

tiota às mo chuimhne. Am chadal no'm fhaireachadh tha sibh fa 

chomhair mo shùla agus ann am beachd m' inntinn. Is taitneach 

leam uaigneas gu a bhi a smaointeach' oirbh. Is minic a ghoideas 

mi a mach san anmoch, gu bruach an uillt, a tha dlùth do 'n àite 

anns a' bheil mi, chum conaltradh dìomhair a chumail ribh; saoilidh 

mi gur e torman an uillt againn fhèin a th' ann, agus ceileireadh 

nan eun buchallach a dh' fhàg mi às mo dhèidh. Fhuair mi 

o chionn oidhche no dhà, bàta beag seilisdeir a' snàmh 'san linne, 

's ge faoin e r'a ràdh, shil mo dheòir, oir thug i mo lurachan 

gaolach, Lachann beag, am chuimhne. A Mhàiri, a ghràidh, ma 

dheònaicheas am Freasdal dhomh-sa dol dachaidh, cha bhi e soirbh 

mo chur a rithist o'n tigh. Tha mi taingeil nach d' thàinig mòran 

riamh eadarainn, oir is gann gu bheil facal crosda no ath-ghoirid 

a labhair mi riut nach 'eil a' tighinn gu m' chuimhne; 's chan 'eil 

e am chomas am fuadach; ach thoir thusa, eudail, maitheanas 

domh. 

Bha mi seachduin ann an Glaschu mun d' fhuair mi cosnadh. 

Chunnaic mi Rìgh Uilleam's an t-Each Odhar—an Eaglais Mhòr 

an Tigh-eiridinn, 's am Prìosan. Chunnaic mi iad a' snìomh an 

tcmbaca 's a' chotain—a' dèanamh nan gloineachan; chunnaic 

mi beairtean a' figheadh leo fhèin, 's a' falbh cho ciallach 

's ged bhiodh Iain Figheadair e fhèin aig ceann gach snàithne. 

Stad thus', a Mhàiri, 's mur toir mise dhuitse naidheachd, ma tha 

'n dàn domh dol dachaidh. Bha mi ann an tighean mòran d'ar 

luchd-dùthcha, agus b' iad sin, am bitheantas, na frògan dorcha 

às nach facas riamh gnùis na grèine; cha b'ionann's mo bhothan 

bòidheach. A Mhàiri, a rùin, biomaid taingeil; cha b' i 'n fhaoineas 

a chuireadh do 'n bhaile mhòr mi; ged nach bi againn ach a' 

chearc bhadanach, maorach a' chladaich, fàile glan nam beann, agus 

sàmhchair bheannaichte, seach mar tha iad ann an so, air an tachdadh 

le toit, 's air am bodradh le gleadhraich. Cha d'fhuair mi fhèin 

cadal socrach, sàmhach o'n oidhche a dhealaich mi riut. Shaoil 

leam gum biodh fois ann air là an Tighearna, ach mun gann a dh' 

èirich mi thòisich na cluig, agus ma thòisich, 's ann an sin a bha 

THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE. 

(Tigh-soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.) 

Freagradh spiorad ao-chlaoidheadh an duine 

do dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain 

Photo bi I). II. MmCnllmh. 

Kìuil jicrntissititì "/ 

Messrs, .ljnr/.iiivil, ««r/

LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE. 

30I 

am farum—fonn air leth aig gach aon diubh—agus a h-uile h-aon 

a' strì cò a b'àirde pong. A mach bhrùchd an sluagh, às a h-uile 

cùil agus caol-shràid, a' taosgadh a mach 'nam mìltean sruth, agus 

saobh-shruth a sìos agus a suas air gach sràid, carbadan air an ais 

agus air an adhart, saighdearan le 'n drumachan tartarach, agus na 

cluig ag cur nan smùid diubh. An e so, deir mise, Là na Sàbaid 

O ! nach robh mise aon uair eile ann an Uladal, fo sgàile a' bharraich 

ri taobh an uillt shàmhaich, an t-athar àrd os mo chionn, na beanntan 

mòra mu'm choinne—mo dhaoine, mo chàirdean, 's mo leanaban 

ri m' thaobh, sìth agus sàmhchair na Sàbaid a muigh air an 

t-saoghal; fear-teagaisg mo ghràidh fo sgàile na creige; anam gach 

aoin ann am fonn an Dòmhnaich, agus an co-thional caomh, càirdeil, 

a' togail le Somhairle rùnach an fhuinn thiamhaidh a sheinn 

iad gu tric leis na daoine o'n d'thàinig iad. 

'S mòr an cothrom a th' aig na Gàidheil anns a' Bhaile mhòr 

so: thigeadh iad o'n ear no o'n iar, gheibh iad Gàidhlig an dùthcha 

fhèin ann an eaglais a' bhaile. 

An saoil thu, 'Mhàiri, nach do theab Para Mòr agus mise a 

bhi 'sa phrìosan an oidhche roimhe. Bha sinn a' dol dachaidh gu 

sàmhach, ciallach, gun fhacal às ar ceann: mise ag giùlan bocsa na 

pìoba fo m' bhreacan, 'nuair a thàinig triùir no cheathrar mu'n 

cuairt duinn, agus mun abradh tu seachd, spìonar uam bocsa na 

pìoba, agus glacar mi fhèin air sgòrnan. Mar bha'n tubaist air 

Para Mòr, dh' èirich e air càch le a bhata daraich, agus rinn e 

pronnadh nam meanbh-chuileag orra. Bha clach-bhalg air fear 

dhiubh, 's cha luaithe thug e srann aisde, na thàinig sgaoth dhiubh 

mu'n cuairt duinn, agus giùlainear air falbh sinn do dh' àite ris an 

abrar am Police Office. Aite an uamhais! Tha oillt orm fhathast 

smaointeach' air. Daoine 'nan sìneadh air dall na daoraich thall 

agus a bhos, ag call fola, is mallachadh 'nam beul; mnathan—b' e 

sin an sealladh gràineil—air an dallanaich, cuid diubh ag caoineadh 

's a' rànaich; is cuid eile ag gabhail òran, agus, Ni-math d'ar teasairginn 

! duine marbh 'na shìneadh air an ùrlar. Dh' fheòraich mi 

fhèin, cho modhail 's a b' urrainn domh, c'arson a thugadh an 

fo sinn. " Chì thu sin a thiota," deir fear dhiubh, 's e ag cur a 

làimhe ann am bocsa na pìoba. Thug a' phìob ran brònach aisde, 

agus chlisg e mar gum biodh nathair innte. "Faodaidh tusa, 'ille 

mhaith, a ràdh," arsa Para Mòr, " mar thuirt an sionnach a bha 

ag itheadh na pìoba, 4 Is biadh's is ceòl so dhomh-sa.' " Ciod a 

tha agad air, 's ann a shaoil iad gur corp leinibh a bh' againn 

ach 'nuair a thuig iad mar bha a' chùis leig iad às sinn.

302 LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE. 


mìle a mach a Glaschu. Thug e sinne agus sgaoth Eireannach, 

agus dòrlach bhan leis. An uair a thàinig an oidhche, chuireadh 

air fad sinn a laighe do'n t-sabhal. Is Fad' o 'n chuala mi mu 

leabaidh mhòir na h-àirigh, agus da-rìreadh b' i so i—na mnathan 






















cleòcaichean. Chan abair mì 'bheag, ach cum thusa, 'eudail, sùil 











Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon 


BY MR. BERTRAM W. SINCLAIR, British Columbia. 













tragedy or triumph'to the gathered folk in a common tongue. 


























among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers We do.

302 LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE. 


mile a mach a Glaschu. Thug e sinne agus sgaoth Eireannach, 

agus dòdach bhan leis. An uair a thàinig an oidhche, chuireadh 

air fad sinn a laighe do'n t-sabhal. Is fad' o 'n chuala mi mu 

leabaidh mhòir na h-àirigh, agus da-rìreadh b' i so i—na mnathan 














f 









Gleocaichean. Chan abair mì 'bheag, ach cum thusa, 'eudail, sùil 











Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon 


By MR. BERTRAM W. SINCLAIR, British Columbia. 













tragedy or triumph" to the gathered folk in a common tongue. 


























among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers W 7 e do.

Gaol Duthcha. 

Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter 

LE A. SINCLAIR. ("An Gàidheal," 1871.) 

Scott, 

'Bheil neach air bith, 's an deò 'na chrè, 

Cho fuar's nach d'thuirt e riamh ris fèin, 

" Mo dhùthaich chaomh d'an tug mi gaol!" 

Aon nach do las a chridh' 'na chòrn, 

Dhachaidh 'nuair ghluais le ceum neo-thròm, 

Bho ànradh cianail feadh an t-saoghail: 

Ma tha, rach's beachdaich air gu dlùth, 

Ri laoidh no ceòl cha tog e 'shùil: 

Ged bhiodh e àrd an ainm 'san inbh', 

'S a mhaoin cho mòr's a dh'iarradh miann; 

A dh'aindeoin 'airgid, 'ainm is 'òir, 

'S e an t-ùmaidh truagh bhios ann r'a bheò, 

Chan fhaigh e meas, no miadh no cliù, 

'S 'nuair thig am bàs theid sìos do'n ùir, 

Gun chuimhn' no iomradh air am feasd, 

'S cha chaoidhear air a shon gun cheisd. 

O! Albainn chaomh, nan stùc's nan càrn! 

A mhuime 'dh'àraicheas na bà'rd ! 

A thìr a' bharraich is an fhraoich 

A thìr nam beann, nan tuil, 's nan craobh, 

Tìr mo shinnsre, tìr nan sàr! 

Cò dh'fhuasglas an ceangal gràidh 

Ri d'thràigh a dh'aonas mi gu bràth r 

Lean gu dluth ri "i^M^^^ms cliu do shinnsre 

An HIBALD SINCLAIR, "CELTIC PRESS," GLASGOW.

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