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.
position of abiding pre-eminence amongst the illuminated manuscripts of
the world."—Sir Edward Sullivan, Bart.
Its Weird and commanding beauty . . . the unwearied and
patient labour that brought it into being . . . have raised it to a
Published by
An Comunn Gàidhealach (The Highland Association).
Glasgow.
1927.
l\iuj permission t i j " The Slmlio.
Poets IUIU heroes are of the same race; the latter do what the former conceive.
—Lamartim..
O
Cl a n na na n Gaid h ea l r i g ua il lib h a c hei le.
VER 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 a c c o l a d e
of the Gaelic Renaissance. The " I am!" of Taliessen ( T i l l i d h O i s e a n ,
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 p e n t e c o s t a l 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 foster-gods. 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 ge n r e 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 O s s i a n have somewhat subsided; but the
V o y a g e o f B r a n —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. T h e L a n d o f t h e L i v i n g H e a r t —perhaps the most beautiful
creation that ever left a poet's loom—is charted anew for the sons of
remembrance. " Why is Art, A o n - f h e a r —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 c u r a c h , 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.
O
N 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
1
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." viii. Editor's
Foreword.
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 r a t s o n 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
IX.
Editor's Foreword.
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 p a l a i s d e dans e?
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 oJ 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,
1
X.
Editor's Foreword.
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 o n e people, we should have but
o n e language," and, to crown the absurdity, he might have added that
we should be of o n e mind, and cast i n o n e 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 mother-tongue, 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 v o x p o pu l i declares that it is the wi l l of our people
Editor's Foreword.
XL
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 p a t r i a
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.
Editor's Foreword.
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.
Contents,
PAG
E
V. President's Foreword.
vii.
Editor's Foreword.
i . Wild Hills,
................................
2. Is toigh leam a' Ghaidhealtachd,
3- Message from Principal Sir Donald
D.C.L., D.Sc., Ph.D.
4 The Fèill—its purpose,
6. Message from The Right Hon.
7- Message from The Right Hon.
8. Message from The Right Hon.
9- St. Columba's Influence on
Scottish History,
i i . Astray in Appin,
1
5-
*72324.
3»35383942.
49.
5355-
Tuireadh an Usaoidh,
Dealachadh nan Rathad,
Ossianic Poetry,
Carmina Gadelica,
Our Traditional Racial SongLore,
...
..................
Looking Northward, ...
The Reaper, ...
Our Irish Civilization,
Gillias, ...
Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne,
The Golden Eagle,
A Highland Heroine for Highland Women,
Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.
Iain Caimbeul, Bàrd na Leadaig.
MacAlister, Bart., K.C.B." M.D., LL.D.,
Malcolm MacLeod.
Lord Alness, Lord Justice Clerk. David Lloyd
George M.P.
J. Ramsay MacDonald, M.P.
Rev. Prof. Main, D.Litt.. D.D.
Neil Mun ro, LL.D.
Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.)
Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach.
Translated by Thomas Pattison.
John Duncan, R.S.A.
Marjory Kennedy-Frascr, C.B.E.
Compton Mackenzie.
IVilliam Wordsworth.
Alice Stopford Green.
Countess of Cromartie.
Donnchadh Mac Iain.
Seton Gordon, B.A. (Oxon), F.Z.S.
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,
68.
6q.
76.
78.
80.
Is togarrach a dh' fbalbhainn,
The Return of Finn, ...
Tìr nam Beann,
The Gael in Scottish History,
What I think of the Gaelic
Movement,
Prof. William J. Watson, M.A., LL.D., D. Litt.,
Celt.
Domhnull MacLeoid, H.M.I.S.
John L. Kinloch, M.A.
Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach").
Prof. Rait, C.B.E., LL.D.
William MacKay, LL.D.
8387.
91.
92.
9798.
Christopher,
Seann Sgeul mu Eilean Hirt, Oran a'
Phrionnsa, ...
A Maker of Modern Gaeldom.
Message from Wales,
The Gael and His Song,
Rev. Lauchlan Maclean Watt, D.D.
Iain N. MacLeoid.
Alasdair Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair.
Lachlan MacBean.
Rev. H. Elvet Lewis, M.A.
Robert MacLeod, Mus. Bac, F.R.C.O.
Contents —continued.
XIV.
FACE An Dìleab,
T
rtrt
1 UVi
IOL
104.
106.
108.
Highlanders All,
.....................
To a Highland Girl, ...........................
The Life of a Crofter,
Rev. A. Boyd Scott, M.C., D.D. William
Wordsworth.
Alastair Cameron.
Bàrdachd Spioradail na Gàidhealtachd, -■■
An t-Urr. D. Mac GiU'Eathain, D.D.
112.
Ruairidh Mòr,
....................
Fèill,
...............................
117. Highland Depopulation,
122. The Return of the Exiles, ...
125. The Red Deer, ........................
128. Am Fiadh,
129. The Study of Scottish Gaelic,
III.
The Celtic Spirit,
.......................
135- Love's Last Request,
Slàinte bho Thoileachas1 jU.
inntinn,
1-1S. Then and Now,
.....................
1
Seumas Mac Thomais, M.A.
JU.
146.
152-
The Assynt Maid's Lament, ...
Pàruig Mòr,
..................................
Message from Cornwall,
Na h-Ailleagain 's an Calman,
157- Sean Cheatharnaich Lochabair,
'59-1 Sheiling Girl's Song,
60.
The Departure, (A Dream), ■•
162. In Our Parish—The King's
Pensioner
16S. The Canadian Boat Song, ..
169. Tìr nan Og, (Land of the Ever-
Alasdair Alpin MacGregor.
An t-Urr. C. MacGill'Innein, D.D.
Rev. Murdo Lamont.
M. E. M. Donaldson.
Major John Ross, F.S.A. (Scot.)
Seumas Mac-an-Rothaich.
Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D.
William Power.
Colonel John MacGregor.
Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach").
Sheriff MacMaster Campbell, C.B.E ,
F.S.A. (Scot.)
Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.
William D. Lamont, M.A. (Hons.) R. Morton
Nance.
Aonghas MacDhonnchaidh.
An t-Urr. D. A. Caimbeul, D-D.
Donald A. Mackenzie.
Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland.
Rev. Norman MacLean, D.D.
Anonymous.
Rev. Neil Ross, M.A., B.D. Murchadh Mac Ghille
Contents—continued.
Young),
... Na h-Eilthirich
175-1 Ghàidhealach,
77La Bretagnes et Les Celtes
Insulaires,
180. Highland Home Industries, ...
......................
184. Highland Pride,
>85. Gaelic in the Pulpit, ...........................
188. Taisbeanadh, ... Uilleam
190. MacDhunleibhe,
194. The Better Singer, .........................
195- The Song Battle,
........................
196.
The Song of the Blood,
197.
An Uiseag,
...................................
198. The Mòd,
................................
201. Differences between Gael and Ga
205. Sheiling Life in Lewis, The Call of the
209. Isles,
PAGE Seann Sgeul Gàidhealach,
...
2IO. Long nan Saighdearan,
213. The " Bothan " (The Highland
214. Cottage), .............................................
2l8. Crois-tàra (The Fiery Cross), Glasgow
226. Lassie's Visit to
228. CuUoden, ...
230. Mu Shòbhraig Oigh, ...........................
23.v
Ròs Aluinn,
241.
Notes on Celtic Place-Names,
245The Celtic Craftsmen,
248.
The Epithet " Celtic,"
252.
A Ghàidhlig anns na Sgoilean,
256.
Grianan,
257the
Imprisonment
of
261. On
xv.
Mhoire.
Le Docteur-Barde, M. Jaffrennou.
Mrs. W. J. Watson and Miss J. D. Bruce.
Lady MacAlister of Tarbert. Rev. John
MaeGilchrist, B.A., (Oxon.), D.D.
Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.) An t-Urr.
Gilleasbuig MacDhomhnaill, D.D.
Rev. Kenneth MacLeod. Rev. Kenneth MacLeod.
Rev. Kenneth MacLeod. Niall Mac Gille
Sheathanaich. U. M.
11, Prof. Douglas Hyde, LL.D., D.Litt. Norman
Morrison, D.ès. Sc., F.Z.S.
Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur.
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.
264.
264.
269.
270.
271.
278.
283.
285.
2S9.
290.
296.
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, ...
298. Song of the Stag,
........................
299. Sandy to Alasdair,
........................
300. Litir
Fhionnlaigh
Phiobaire
g'a Mhnaoi,
...............................
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra
303.
value
upon
the
Gaelic-speaking
Immigrant,
304. Gaol Duthcha, ...
Eachann MacDhùghaill.
T. D. MacDhomhnaill.
Aonghas MacDhomhnaill.
Archd. N. Currie, M.A., D.Sc, A.LC. Donald A .
Mackenzie. Domhnall Mac-a-Phì. Prof. Magnus
MacLean, M.A., D.Sc, LL.D.
Right Hon. lan MacPherson, P.C., K.C.,
M. r\
Donald A . Mackenzie. John Buchan,
LL.D.
Bho'n " Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Bertram W. Sinclair.
.4. Sinclair, ( A n Gàidheal, 1871).
1,
Illustrations.
Frontispiece,
...
Plate from the Book of Kells.
From " The Studio."
FACING
FACE
I. Sundown in Lome,
16. Burns and Highland Mary, ...
21. Columba and the Old Horse,
28. Dawn,—St. Martin's Cross,
lona,
53- The
Eaglet's
First
High
Venture, .......................
60. The Mermaid, ...
85- Autumn, Early Morning, Dugald
92. Buchanan's Cottage,
Sir D. Y. Cameron, R.A., R.S.A., LL.D.
Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.
John Duncan, R.S.A.
Archd. Kay, A.R.S.A., R.S.W.
Photo, by Seton Gordon, F.Z.S.
Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art.
James Cadenhead, R.S.A.
Photo, by Valentine & Co.
"3- Cup and Horn, Dunvegan, ...
128.
149.
149.
156.
177.
192.
197.
204.
213.
220.
The Home of the Red Deer,
Night Clouds in Mull,
Highlanders at Home,
Ancient Toward Castle,
A Heavy Sea at Staffa,
The Song of the Hill,
The Distant Hills,
The Road to the Glen,
Where Birches Wave,
The Valley of the Shadows,...
Culloden Moor,
....................
Photo, from Canon R. C. MacLeod o r
MacLeod.
V. R. Balfour-Browne.
Hugh Munro.
Photo, from Major John Ross.
Photo, by Sir N. Lamont, Bart.
Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.
Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S.
Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.
Photo, bv J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.
Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S.
Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.
Photo, by Valentine & Co.
240. Saint Bride.
261. Callanish Druid Circle, Lewis,
268. Shield and Sword,
{Glenmoriston),
Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art.
Photo, by Valentine & Co.
277.
284.
293300,
Harry W. Phillips.
Lockhart Boyle.
Photo, from " Glasgow Herald."
Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.
Sir Colin Campbell—Lord Clyde
Cogadh na Sith, (Quatrc Bras)
Sentinels of Enchanted Land,
The Duart Lighthouse,
From William MacKay, LL.D.
-J
p
i
5
5
WILD HILLS.
'T'HE great, wild hills !—
Old thunder notes of earth:
Dominating, brooding,
Over some mystic birth:
O
d
u
<
u
z ce
o -J
z
zo
Q Z
D
a
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.
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.
I
S 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 ceanalt5 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.
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.
H
IGH 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
THE FEILL ---------- ITS PURPOSE.
5
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
self-imposed task in many ways, within the limits prescribed by its restricted
resources, and there is a very real sense in which the 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 Gaelic-speaking 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) I Q2 6 .
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., Glasgow
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.
T
HE 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
University.
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 M i l e s C h r i s t i , 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 Fas-nacloich. 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 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 Dal-ness, 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 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 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 guide-posts, 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 Fas-nacloich," 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.
S
GRIOB 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.
29
ASTRAY IN APPIN.
ASTRAY IN APPIN.
15
■
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
L E D OMHNALL M AC N A C EARDAC H , (E ILEAN B HAR RAIDH ), U G HDAI R AN
D EALBH - CHLUICHE , " C ROIS - TA RA ," 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.
--
A
GUS 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-fhreag-airt. 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 RA THA D .
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 fheith-eamh 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 seann-duine '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
DEALACHADH NAN RA THA D .
'9
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!
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.. " I s 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-theangach-adh, a
Ghaoil, air chor is gun tuigeadh esan aobhar a' chlàir ud, ach mu'n gann a
chruinnich mi mo bhriathran air an ceart-dhlogh-adh, 'sann a chaidh dithis
òganach seachad oirnn, is iad ag comh-luadar cho àrd agus cho gob-chluasach
is ged a bhiodh iad le chèile bodhar. " A n 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
20
DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.
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? Saoil-ibh 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.
an ann gu dearbh ! Saoileam, a mhic, carson a tha athaill a chràidh fhathast an
21
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 dh5 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 mion-oilein-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; ' s e a tha mi ag ciallachadh gun do lorg mi
dhomh fèin aon oidheam phurpail, an comh-shìneadh 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 RA THA D .
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," ars5 esan, " is mise am fear mu dheireadh, —an t-eun mu dheireadh de
5n 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'
DEALACHADH NAN RA THA D .
23
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 bheannaich 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 POETRY. T RAN SLATED
BY
T HOMAS P ATTISON .
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.
»
2
CARMINA GADELICA .
T
5
Carmina Gadelica.*
O 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.
* NO TE . 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.
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.
27
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 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!
Jesu who ought to be praised.
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!
Jesu who ought to be praised.
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, e n d o w i n g 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 c o m p e l s 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, Honey-mouth, 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.
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.
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
So
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.
J OHN D UNCAN , R.S.A.
Our Traditional Racial Song-Lore.
By M A RJORY K ENNE DY - F RASER , C.B.E. " Songs of the
Hebrides."
T
HE 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 1 8th century, Kenneth MacLeod
is doing now for Scots Song. I say Scots Song advisedly. Why do
concert-givers sometimes advertise a programme of Highland a n d
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 rhythm-clang, 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.
t i 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.
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.
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. The:—
" All I long for Outsails my longing
far,"
of " Sea-Moods," culminates in:—
" Joy of seeking Joy of ne'er
finding."
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
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.
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 dulse-pulling 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 4 My 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 o f 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
LOOKING NORTHWARD.
37
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
(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, " Y ou 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 a t 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
THE REAPER.
LOOKING NORTHWARD.
38 to the Shiant Isles, and camping out on them as a boy, and it would have
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As i f 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.
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.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
Old Irish Civilization.
The Reaper.
BY ALICE* STOPFORD GREEN, Author of " Irish
B
EHOLD 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 ?
39
Nationality," etc.
T
HE 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 i n 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 o f
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 o f their own character. " Look unto the rock whence ye
were hewn," was the good old counsel o f the Bible.
OLD IRISH CIVILIZATION.
40
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
OLD IRISH CIVILIZATION.
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 remarkable.
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
4'
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.
58
GILLIAS
.
Gillias.
B Y THE C OUNTESS OF C ROMARTIE . 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.
C HAPTER I.
G
ILLIAS, 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
43
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.
C HAPTER II.
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
59
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 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.
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
60
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.
C HAPTER III.
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 leap. w I am so grateful," the boy had said, " to be able to show 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.
C HAPTER IV.
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
61
bracken he had stamped down. The rest rose high about them like a dank yellow
wall, pierced by the dim moonlight.
" 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.
C HAPTER 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 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.
Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne.
L E D ONNCHADH M AC I AIN , I LE .
JL^
'\TA 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."
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.
DOMHNULL RUADH A ' BHUINNE .
5'
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 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 ' seachd-feara-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.
DOMH NULL RUADH A ' BHUINNE .
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?"
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's-a
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 làimh-sa 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 ro-chinnteach
cò-dhiùbh 's i fhèin no manadh a' bh' ann),—" Do bheatha do'n bhaile, a Cheit!
DOMH NULL RUADH A ' BHUINNE .
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.
B Y S ETON G ORDON , B.A. (O XON .), F.Z.S.,
Author of " The Immortal Isles," etc., etc.
I
N 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
THE GOLDEN EAGLE .
THE GOLDEN EAGLE .
54
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
55
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.
B Y A D AUGHTER OF TH . E G AEL .
" Fhad's a dh' fhàsas flùr air machair, Mairidh
cliù na h-ainnir chaoimh."
T
HERE 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
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 MacDonald, 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.
A HIGHLAND
HEROINE FOR
HIGHLAND WOMEN .
57
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 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 storm-beaten 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.
A UGUSTA L AMONT .
60
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.
The Importance of Highland Folklore
With Apologies to the True Believer!
By B ESSIE J. B. M AC A RTHUR .
T
HERE'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;
B Y D ONALD A. M AC K ENZIE , Author of " Ancient
Man in Britain," etc., etc.
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.
wnat earthly use is folklore?" an old Highland minister
^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."
V
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 " water-off-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."
60
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.
6I
Campbell of fragrant memory, meeting an old Highland sailor-man. 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
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.
63
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
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.
THE SONG-BOOK OF THE PILLAGERS. B Y P ROFESSOR
W ILLIAM J. W ATSON , M.A., LL.D., D.L ITT . Celt.
T
HIS 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 MacGregor 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 Inch-adney, the ancient church of Kenmore, and that in 1529
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE .
65
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 aT 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
MacGregor, 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
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE .
66
DUANAIRE
NA
DUANAIRE
SRACAIRE .
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.
*
67
NA
SRACAIRE .
Giodh iomdha na h-andaoin^
ar tì millidh na tuatha, chan fhaghthar 'n a
chomaoin-se
aon rud 'san domhan uatha.
*
65
*
*
Na biodh isin domhan-sa de shagart no de
thuathach,
'g a bhfuil ni 'n a chomhghar-sa nach
cuirthear è 'san duanair.
*
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.
D UANAIRE .
*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.
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.
The Song-book.
T i o M N A 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 -
" Is Togarrach a dh' Fhalbhainn."
L E D OMHNULL M AC L EOID , H . M . I . S ., D UN -E IDEANN .
'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.
5 X T 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,
The Return of Finn.
By J OHN L. K INLOCH , M.A.,
Kilcreggan
I
N 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 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.
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE .
65
" 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 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.
" 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.
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
DUANAIRE NA SRACAIRE .
65
find there thoughts which set his feelings vibrating as no alien literature can
do. And the speaking 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
TIR NAM BEANN.
Tir nam Beann.
L E A LASDAIR
G LEANN ACH ").
T
M AC D HOMHNAILL ,
I NBHIRNIS ,
("
HA mo chridhe-s' an tìr na h-àilleachd, Tìr na
h-aoigheachd 's tìr na bàrdachd, Tìr mo chàirdeis agus m'
annsachd,— Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
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.
TIR NAM BEANN.
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 beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
Tìr nam boineid gorm's nam breacan,
Tìr an fhèilidh aotruim, phleataich;
Tìr nan osan geàrr's nan lann geal,
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
C' ait' am bòidhche dreach an t-samhraidh? C ait' an colgaich' stoirm a'
gheamhraidh? 'N tìr nan easan borb's nan allta,— Tìr nam beann, nan
gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
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.
B Y P ROFESSOR R AIT , C.B.E.,
LL.D., Glasgow University.
A
QUARTER 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 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
TIR NAM BEANN.
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.
B Y W ILLIAM M ACK AY , LL.D., I NVERNESS , Ex-President of An
Comunn.
I
T 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
8l.
WHAT I THINK OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT
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
I left Inverness to attend the law classes at Edinburgh University. I returned in
1875, anc^ ^ 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 early-training 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
8o
THE GAEL IN
8l.
WHAT I THINK OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT
SCOTTISH HISTOR /.
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 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.
B Y R EV . L AUCHLAN M AC L EAN W ATT , U.D., Glasgow
Cathedral.
I
N 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 hearths-stone 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
8o
THE GAEL IN
SCOTTISH HISTOR /.
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
8l.
WHAT I THINK OF THE GAELIC MOVEMENT
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 picture-galleries 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,
CHRISTOPHER.
scared to hear a herring-gull 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 repeated 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
CHRISTOPHER.
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 of1 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 ;
CHRISTOPHER.
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 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!
E ILEAN A ' C HAIT .
Seann Sgeul mu Aiteachadh Eilein Hirt.
L E I AIN N. M AC L EOID , A ' C HNUIC -B HAIN , I NBHIRNIS .
86
B
CHRISTOPHER.
HO 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 lùth-cheum 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 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,
CHRISTOPHER.
agus mhion-naich 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 coinneamhan-comhairle. *
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 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
86
CHRISTOPHER.
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-uach-daran, "
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> ag 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."
CHRISTOPHER.
go
SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT.
Oran a' Phrionnsa.
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.
o - ho ■ ro
m
Seisd.
:r jm
Kky C.
f:d» I
Hug
im
—
: :r .im
laithill
Rann.
Le A LASDAIR M AC M HAIGHISTIR A LASDAIR .
s .,f :n
:s
ro
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Seinn
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1
ro'n
aill - leibh.
àill - leibh
j: pi1 ..in1
j Moch
s'a Bho'n
a
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im' .r' :■
mhadainn
chuala
:IM
-m-
:r
miPrionnsa Thighinn do
Slàn gun
mi'm righ thu
s
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:dl
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lr
:im
dhùthaich
Chlann-till
a
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d' .r',d': t j
thu
Ranail).
aill
Theàrlaich.
6 'S bhiodh Lochial mar bu chòir dha, 'Cur
•J
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dùsgadh 'S mor mo Prionnsa Thighinn im'
gair
shunnd's mo cheol
Ra
dhùthaich Chlannn
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mi'm
gach
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
1
Is -,f :m
D.C.
Bho'n a chuala
Gràinne- mullaich
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.
Fine,
1,-iitiiii o - ho - ro
i
Hug
(
Tri coilceadha na Fèinne,—bàrr gheal chrann, còinneach, is ùr luachair.
The three Fingalian bed-stuffs,—fresh tree-tops, moss, and fresh rushes.
Hug
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.
Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle 'G èirigh suas le
deagh nàdur, 'S na'n tigeadh tu rithist, Bhiodh
gach tighearn' 'na àite.
9 Gum biodh "buidsear" na feòla Agus corcach
m'a bhràighe, 'S gun gibhtinn a' "
Mhaighdean " Mar oighreachd d'a bhràthair.
do
-—THE BARD BUCHANAN.
B Y L ACHLAN M ACBEAN , 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
A Maker of Modern Gaeldom.
knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers!"
—Goethe.
T
ALL, 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.
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
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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.
A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM.
95
" 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
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—
A . MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM .
9'
1
" 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."
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.
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.
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?
97
Message from Wales.
By Rev. H. E LVET L EWIS , M.A., Archdruid of Wales.
T
HIS 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).
The Gael and his Song.
B Y R OBERT M AC L EOD , 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.
THE GAEL AND HIS SONG .
IOO
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.
L E S EUMAS M AC T HOMAIS , E ILEAN L EODHAIS ,.
Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.
B
IDH 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.
B Y R EV . A. B OYD S COTT , M .C., D.D.
I
T 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 Mac-pherson had caustic
HIGHLANDERS ALL .
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 homiletical 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
HIGHLANDERS ALL .
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
I02
HIGHLANDERS ALL .
HIGHLANDERS ALL .
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.)
Highland girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy
SWEET
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
IO5
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!
W ILLIAM W ORDSWORTH .
THE LIFE OF A CROFTER .
The Life of a Crofter.
( BY ONE OF THEM ). A LASTAIR C AMERON ,
S TRONTIAN , A RGYLLSHIRE .
" 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.
T
HE 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 ha1, 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.
THE LIFE OF A CROFTER .
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 ). A LASTAIR C AMERON ,
S TRONTIAN , A RGYLLSHIRE .
•' 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.
T
HE 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
THE LIFE OF A CROFTER .
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 THE LIFE OF A CROFTER .
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.
L EIS AN U RR . AN T -O LLAMH D OMHNALL M AC G ILL 'E ATHAIN ,
O IL - THIGH E AGLAIS S HAOR NA H -A LBA , AN D UN -E IDEANN .
B
HO 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 a1 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 .
IO 9
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.
BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD.
II
I
" 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 cho-luchd-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 dubh-bhròn an dorchadais
iomallaich.
Le mac-meanmna neo-chumanta thug e mòrachd an Uile-chumhachdaich,
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
" 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.
B Y A LASDAIR A LPIN M AC G REGOR .
L
OVED 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.
T 4 9 3 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 1 4 9 3 , 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 MacLeods, 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.
L EIS AN U RR . AN T -O LLAMH C ALUM M AC G ILL ' 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.
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?"
FEILL .
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.
"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 cairdean?
" Tha ciadan mìle dìleas duit, Nach
dìobair thu's a' bhlàr."
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
Highland Depopulation.
B Y R EV . M URDO L AMONT , R OTHIEMURCHUS , S TRATHSPEY .
" 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.
L
ET 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 well-nigh
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
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.
119
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 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
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 re-cccupation of the glens and straths, under
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.
12 1
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.
B Y M. E. M. D ONALDSON , Author of " Wanderings in the Western Highlands
and Islands," " Islesmen of Bride," " Further Wanderings," etc., etc.
W
HAT 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
mid-ocean. 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."
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 Kil-choan, and after the exchange of warm
hand-clasps, the ferryboat bore me away from these two stalwart sons of Barra.
The Red Deer.
B Y M AJOR J OHN Ross, F.S .A., (S COT .) Editor of " The Book
of the Red Deer."
" Creag nan aighean 's nan damh siùbhlach, A' chreag ùrail,
aighearach, ianach.''
I
N 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 the^other 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.
THE RED DEER .
128
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."
Gur grinn air fuaran an eilid
chuanta, *S a laogh mu 'n
cuairt di ri luaineis
bhàidh.
Am Fiadh.
L E S EUMAS M AC AN R OTHAICH .
O
C 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;
V . R . RALFOUR - BROWNE
Chunnaic mi 'n damh donn S na h
èildean."
128
THE RED DEER .
"THE HOME OF THE RED DEER."
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 J OHN F RASER , 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
i
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 STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC .
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.) B Y W ILLIAM P OWER ,
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 STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC.
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 cWhat 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.) B Y W ILLIAM P OWER ,
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,
THE CELTIC SPIRIT.
'33
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 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
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..
B Y C OLONEL J OHN M AC G REGOR ,
Hon. Bard of Cian Gregor.
O
N 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
Thig Sonas is Slainte bho Thoileachas-inntinn.
L E A LASDAIR M AC D HOMHNAILL , I NBHIRNIS , (" G LEANNACH .")
F
AODAIDH 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-thoileach-aidh '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 chomharach-adh 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
BHO THOILEACHASINNTINN.
137
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 ^ir 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 .
Then and Now.
B Y S HERIFF J. M AC M ASTER C AMPBELL , C.B.E., F.S.A. (S COT ),
Campbeltown.
A
WAY 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
139
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 Glen-moriston 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 1 8 7 : 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,
THEN AND N O W .
141
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 i1lsuccess 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 A N D 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
THEN A N D NOW.
143
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.
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
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 M -\CGII,F,IVR:\Y.
Melody by N. T.
The Assynt Maid's Lament.
151
PARUIG MOR.
Paruig Mor.
B Y W ILLIAM D. L AMONT , M.A. (H ONS .),
Glasgow University.
S
UNSET 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 rock-fishing 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
An^us began to look a trifle less blue about the nose.
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."
153
PARUIG MOR.
" 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.
HUGH MUN RO-
NA GAIDHEAL AIG AN DACHAIDH.
Kind permission
Mfl/Jr John Ross,
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-
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 i n 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."
Na h-Ailleagain's an Calman.
Message from Cornwall
L E A ONGHAS M AC D HONNCHAIDH ,
B Y R. M ORTON N ANCE , Carbis Bay.
C EANN - SUIDHE A ' C HOMUINN G HAIDHEALACH .
O
UR 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,
m u s t 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 Cin-cinnatus, 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 steam-whistling. 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' fhad-aidh 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 duit-se 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 tràth-maidne. 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
NA H-AILLEAGAIN 's AN CALMAN.
*55
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.
eigh
" Mà! Mà!" dh'
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
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."
i
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
dh5 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 tal-mhaidh 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.
L EIS AN U RR . AN T -O LLAMH D. A. C AIMBEUL , D ROCHAID R UAIDH .
" 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."
T
HA 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 teis-meadhon
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-
1
58
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 fuil-se 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 grian-adh fhèin am measg nan
dearcag anns an Lag Odhar; tha BealachSEAN 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.
B Y D ONALD A. M ACKENZIE .
O
LITTLE 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).
B Y M ILLICENT , D UCHESS OF S UTHERLAND .
>~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.
B Y R EV . N ORMAN M AC L EAN , D.D.
T
HE 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
IN OUR PARISH
-- THE KING ' S PENSIONER .
1 63
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 7 4 and Mary 7 1—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 money, said he, "
bha mi 'nam cheò's y 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.
was making, and how everybody aged seventy was to get five shillings of a
pension.
■65
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.
" 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 con-sidereth 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.
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."
L
ISTEN 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.) B Y R EV .
N EIL Ross, M.A., B .D.
L
IKE 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."
TIR NAN OG.
171
"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
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 OG.
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:—
173
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 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
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.
TIR NAN OG .
L E M URCHADH M AC G HILLE M HOIRE , (N IAGARA F ALLS , N.Y.),
U GHDAIR " F EAR S IUBHAL NAN G LEANN ."
G
UR 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 STAF^A.
Pk»hi tty iK /I, MacCttllwh,
A"
I Uf/ f>t'r>irì.slìt»n nj /l
/c.v,
Mitf iMtfti (- Snits,
GftlSgOZV.
La Bretagne et les Celtes Insulaires.
PAR
L E D OCTEUR -B ARDE F R . " T ALDIR " J AFFRENNOU , DE
C ARHAIX , F INISTERE .
O
N 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 rè-publicaine. 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
redresse-ment dans l'esprit national, grace à la propagande des sociètès
rè-gionalistes.
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 Pour
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-
178
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 ren-contràmes 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. MacKinnon; 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' Estour-beillon, 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.
LA BRETAGNE ET LES CELTES INSULAIRES.
*79
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.
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. U n 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.
" T ALDIR ."
" 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 <lays, still merit this name :—(1) the inhabitants of
Wales and Cornwall; { 2 ) the Bretons, or dwellers in French Brittany (Armorican
Peninsula), who represent an emigration of the Cymry from Wales; (3) the Gaels of
Scotland; (4) the Irish. It is only necessary to open the authentic monuments of the
Gaelic genius to be convinced that in the great chorus of humanity no race equals this for
penetrative notes that gx> to the very heart."
Ernest Renan. "The poetry of the Celtic races."
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
1S1
Highland Home Industries.
B Y M RS . W. J. W ATSON AND M ISS J. D. B RUCE .
I
T 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 pre-cariousness 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 fellow-countrymen 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 well-known.
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
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
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 intimate-he 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 o t 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.
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 well-known.
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
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
I83
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 intimate-he 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.
B Y L ADY M ACALISTER OF T ARBERT ,
Glasgow University.
T
HE 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 o5 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.
B Y R EV . J OHN M AC G ILCHRIST , B.A. (O XON .), D.D.
T
HE 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.
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
GAELIC IN THE PULPIT.
i87
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 WOMAN-
r. 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.
L E I AIN M AC C ORMAIC , F.S.A. (Scot.)
B
HA 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 croma-gach '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 sheann-taidh, 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 .
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.
L EIS AN U RR . AN T -O LLAMH G ILLEASBUIG M AC D HOMHNAILL ,
U GHDAIR "E ACHDRAIDH C HLANN D OMHNAILL ."
R
UGADH 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 bhuach-ailleachd
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
UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE , AM BARD ILEACH .
I9I
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 cruinn-icheadh 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
UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD ILEACH.
1
93
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.
The Song Battle.
By ' R EV . K ENNETH M ACLEOD , of
B Y R EV . K ENNETH M ACLEOD , of
" Songs of the Hebrides."
M
ANY 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, long-ago. 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.
" Songs of the Hebrides."
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.
I
N 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 5by?
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.
B Y R EV . K ENNETH M ACLEOD , of
" Songs of the Hebrides."
T
HERE 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.
L E N IALL M AC G ILLE S HEATHANAICH ,
Rùnair a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.
U
ISEAG 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.
N
O 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
THE MOD.
199
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
)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. Wre 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 .
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
THE MOD .
SO I
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.
B Y P ROFESSOR D OUGLAS H YDE , 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
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
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.
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.
B Y N ORMAN M ORRISON , 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."
G
ENERALLY 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 old-world 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.
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.
Two-thirds 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
SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS.
20y
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 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
peat-hag'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 soul-stirring 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."
" 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.
B Y B ESSIE J. B. M AC A RTHUR .
O
l 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.
L E A LASDAIR M AC D HOMHNAILL , I NBHIRNIS , (" G LEANNACH .")
G
ED 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 mòr-shluagh 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 ro-ghlic 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
214
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
annam-sa 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
215
SEANN SGEUL GHAIDHEALACH.
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.
L E I AIN M AC P HAIDEIN , Bàrd a'
Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.
S EIS .
H
orò, tha sinn sunndach; B' fhada 'g altrum dùil sinn Gum biodh ar long
'ga stiùradh Gu 'r dachaidh chiùin o'n d' ghluais sinn.
R ANN .
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).
B Y C OLIN S INCLAIR , M.A., F.R.I.BA.
/^UL 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 .!.
2I5
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).
21
7
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
foid-fàil. 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.' Bunnacha-bac 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 described by the poetical name of fàirleus, i 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 eir-eachdas 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 mhnà-tighe.
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, B Y D ONALD S INCLAIR . Introductory Remarks
on Gaelic Drama. B Y THE H ON . R. E RSKINE
T
OF
M ARR .
HE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of Domh-null
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 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.
C ROIS - TARA .
Act I: Scene I. Translation by the Hon. R. E RSKINE
OF
S CENE I.
M ARR .
The Laird of Borrowdale 1 s House.
Room.
A Reception
(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).
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —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, B Y D ONALD S INCLAIR .
Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama. B Y THE
H ON . R. E RSKINE OF M ARR .
T
HE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of Domh-null
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 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 rathe-have skill without success, and that he got.
He was a true Gael, and a true artist.
C ROIS - TARA . Act I: Scene I. Translation by the Hon. R. E RSKINE
OF
S CENE I.
M ARR .
The Laird of Borrowdale' 1 s House.
Room.
A Reception
(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).
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —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 ).
220
E WEN M ACDONALD —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.
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —(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.)
A LASDAIR —Health in the house of the bards!
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —I thank you! You are welcome here!
E WEN M ACDONALD —(Regarding Alasdair with a sour look.) God
preserve us!
What have we here?
A LASDAIR —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?
CROIS - TARA ( THE FIERY CROSS ).
220
E WEN M ACDONALD —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!
A LASDAIR —(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?
E WEN M ACDONALD —(Furiously) Be not so hasty, man! Restrain thy
tongue!
Cease thine impertinence!
L AIRD
OF
B ORROWDALE —(pacifying the others) Come, friends,
recollect yourselves !
Be sensible!
E WEN M ACDONALD —(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 over-risky, it becomes my duty, as a leader, to
give them honest counsel.
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —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 !
220
CROIS - TARA ( THE FIERY CROSS ).
A LASDAIR —'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)
E WEN M ACDONALD —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.
CROIS - TARA ( THE FIERY CROSS :.
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.
C LANSMAN —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 ?
A LASDAIR —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!
C LANSMEN —God and Charlie !
A LASDAIR —(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
223
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!
C LANSMAN —(With enthusiasm) My blessing on thy soul, Alasdair! One
and all we'll rise! Young and old Gaels will rise—for victory or death !
E WEN M ACDONALD —Alas! 'Tis like enough they'll rise; but their place of
lying down, I fear, will be the woods and thickets of the fugitive!
A LASDAIR —(With hauteur, and laying a hand on the hilt of his
sword.) Ewen MacDonald! Thy speech dishonours thy father's cian !
Have a
care!
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —(Pacifying Alasdair.) Let him be, Alasdair!
He is not worth thy trouble! Heed him not! Give him not thine ear!
A LASDAIR —(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.)
222
CROIS - TARA I THE FIERY CROSS I.
CROIS - TARA ( THE FIERY CROSS :.
C LANSMAN —Hark! D'ye hear? Thank God !
A LASDAIR —(Joyfully, and drawing his sword.) The Young Prince's
salute! The Salute of the Prince!
(Alasdair and Clansmen go off, but return almost immediately.)
A LASDAIR —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.)
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —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.
223
CROIS - TARA ( THE FIERY CROSS ).
224
C LANSMEN —(Casting their bonnets into the air for joy.) Hòro
ghealladh! The Sun of Freedom! Prince Charles Stewart!
E WEN M ACDONALD —(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!
L AIRD OF B ORROWDALE —(Angrily.) Ewen MacDonald! I perceive
thou art minded to force a quarrel!
A LASDAIR —We will not belittle things of high intent by mean. Let us
away to meet His Royal Highness!
C LANSMAN —We're for the Prince ! Let us all away to salute the Prince of
the Gaels !
(Exeunt Clansmen)
A LASDAIR —(As he and Laird of Borrowdale go off.) God and Charlie!
224
CROIS - TARA ( THE FIERY CROSS ).
E WEN M ACDONALD —(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!
C URTAIN .
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.
C ATHERINE A. M AC D ONALD .
29-
291
NA
H - ORDUIGHEAN .
Na h-orduighean.
L E D OMHNULL M AC - A - P HI NACH MAIREANN .
I
S ann mu'n aimsir so de 'n bhliadhna a b' àbhaist do'n chom-anachadh 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 dh5 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 cheann-uidhe; agus so air là seachduine! Ciod e is ciall d'e?
Abraidh Philistich Shasuinn agus na Galldachd nach 'eil ann ach
ana-caith-eadh 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 chomh-chomunn 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-inn-tinn—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 glan-shnuadhach 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
29- H-ORDUIGHEAN.
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-fhiosrach-adh 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 " 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
29
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' choimh-thional, 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 P ROFESSOR M AGNUS M ACLEAN , M .A., D.Sc, LL.D.
W
HAT 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
29S
296
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL .
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 .
297
The Heritage of the Gael.
B Y THE R IGHT H ON . I AN M AC P HERSON , P .C., K.C., M.P., Chief of the
C
Gaelic Society of London.
ARLYLE 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
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 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.
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 J OHN B UCHAN , 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.
M
Y 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.
HE 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.
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.
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.
Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be!
Atween us two we hae couped the dyke; Gaelic for
you and Lallan for me,
Bv D ONALD A. M ACKENZIE .
T
29S
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL .
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.
29S
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL .
THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE.
A Mhairi, eudail nam ban,
Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad ionn-suidh, 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 ceileir-eadh 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
fhaoin-eas 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 tachd-adh 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
(Tigh'soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.)
Freagradh spiorad do-chlaoidheadh an duine do
dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain.
Phola bv
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.Wm-fllHuf'i-Kiiul permiss io n
Messrs. ìlatljm n, C<elit U.toliscllers
oi
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.
30 I
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
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.
30 I
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 .
Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh. Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach
gur mi
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 b5 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 Lach-ann. 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
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,
F IONNLAGH M AC -A ONGHAIS .
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon
the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant ?
B Y M R . B ERTRAM W. S INCLAIR , British Columbia.
T
HEY 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
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE .
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.
302
Gaol Duthcha.
Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter Scott, L E A.
S INCLAIR . ("An Gàidheal," 1871.)
'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.
A R : HJBALD S INCLAIR , "C ELTIC P RESS ." G LASGOW .
MU SHOBHRAIG OIG.
Mu Shobhraig Oig.
L E C ATRIONA G HRANND , AN T - O BAN .
E
ADAR 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 shòbh-ragan '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 d5 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
MU SHOBHRAIG OIG.
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.
B Y R EV . C HAS . M. R OBERTSON ,
Port Charlotte, Islay.
M
ATTHEW 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
"Achadh-an-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
< qualification', 1 accomplishment', 1 excellence', 1 beauty', 4 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.
MU SHOBHRAIG OIG.
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 Heckie-birnie ", (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.
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.
Bun-obhann 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 ". 44 Creag Ealasaid ", and 44 Ealasaid a' chuain"
are 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, 44 a wand of
rowan from the face of Ailsa". With or without additions, however, 4 Ealasaid' as
SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES.
235
applied to Ailsa is a misnomer, as is also the modern Irish designation, Carraig
Alasdair ", which means not Elizabeth's, but 44 Alexander's Rock." Be it 4
Ealasaid ' or be it 4 Alasdair ', it is a changeling that has been substituted for the
true name 4Allasa\ 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 representative
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. 4 Aldasa* as the name would
have been 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.
B Y H UGH M UNRO .
H
ISTORIANS 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
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 stone-using 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.
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 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
261
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 .
24I
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 J OHN F RASER , M.A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D., Professor
of Celtic, Oxford University.
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN .
24I
ATIN 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
L
<Ì
264
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.
THE EPITHET " CELTIC."
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, 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
265
THE EPITHET
u
CELTIC."
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
THE EPITHET " CELTIC."
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
Celtic-language, 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.
L E D AIBHIDH U RCHARDAINN , M.A., A N l
I
OISIGHEACHD .
S 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 à i t h n e 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 luchd-riaghlaidh 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
THE EPITHET " CELTIC ."
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
244
A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean.
L E D AIBHIDH U RCHARDAINN , M.A., A N T OISIGHEACHD .
JL
TS 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 luchd-riaghlaidh 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 aid-ichidh 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-fògh-luim 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.
A ' GHAIDHLIG ANNS NA SGOILEAN .
247
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 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 caoin-shuarach 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-ion-mhas 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
2 SO
GRIANAN.
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-bhuannach-dail
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?"
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 òig-earan 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
GRIANAN.
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
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 farsuing-eachd?" "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
2 SO
252
GRIANAN.
GRIANAN .
GRIANAN.
ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF
AR GYLL, IN
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.
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.
On the Imprisonment of Argyll, in 1661.
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.
By P ROFESSOR W ILLIAM J. W A TSON , M.A., LL.D., D.L ITT . 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
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
a ndiu mar bha thu a ndè.
thu
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
ON 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 1 661 .
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.
B Y R EV . D AVID R. W ILLIAMSON , Kirkmaiden, Wigtownshire.
K
ING 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." B Y A LASDAIR A LPIN
M AC G REGOR , Author of " Behold' the Hebrides," " Over the Sea to Skye," etc.
I
T 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.
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 fellow-huntsman, in
order to escape immediate vengeance at the hands of MacGregor's followers,
straightway fled with all speed into the
night-enshrouded mountains.
*
*
*
*
259
A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE.
*
*
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 lamentations, 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.
B Y L UDOVIC M AC L ELLAN M ANN , F.S .A. S COT .
E
«3
£c
?<u oc
■*- o o
o—
tu <*>
S.-S
o£
wc
a
9
VERYONE familiar with the Scottish Highlands and Hebrides has become
inquisitive as to the significance of the hundreds of standing stones, often in
groups, which ; -e to be found there. It is no exaggeration to say that up till
the present time no satisfactory explanation has been given as to who set up
these stones, and as to why, and when they were erected. The time is
approaching, however, when a fully reasoned explanation will be offered, and a
complete answer given to these three questions. Many of the stones bear
curious artificial carvings, some now so weathered and worn that they are
barely discernible. Like markings also are to be found cut upon rock-surfaces
and on ice-carried boulders. Some stone-slabs, similarly cut, have been found
built into prehistoric grave-structures. The markings— their date and
purpose—involve a problem as mysterious as that of the standing stones. Up
till the present time litde serious scientific research work has been attempted
towards an elucidation of these great mysteries. The stones and their markings
have certainly often been described in print, and photographs and
drawings—all of little scientific value —have frequently been published. The
research work has not been sufiìciendy thorough and exact, to enable progress
to be made. For some years, the present writer has been engaged in obtaining
exact ground-plans of the settings of stones, which occur in rows, circles, and
ovals, and he has made hundreds of exact rubbings of the markings. The
results obtained from examination of these rubbings have been amazing. The
carvings are invariably geometrical in design, and were certainly not the work
of ignorant barbarians. The identical geometrical system and the same linear
measures are now demonstrated to have been used by the ancient craftsmen in
every corner of the world. These units have been proved to be associated with
certain astronomical periods.
Progress made in the work of elucidation has been encouraging, and
indeed beyond expectations. The result is that the stones and the carvings can
now be read as precisely as a
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 crossing-place 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 rock-carvings 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 commem orated by the sculpturings, or by the erection of the monuments.
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.
263
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.
Sonnet to a Stone Circle.
Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the
River Eden. B Y W ILLIAM
W ORDSWORTH .
A
WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, Fell suddenly upon my
spirit,—<ast 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.
B Y A LISTER M AC D ONALD , I NVERNESS (" G LEANNACH "). Author
of " Story and Song from Lochness-side," etc., etc
I
T was the summer of the year 1746. Since the disaster at Drumossie Moor,
in the month of April previous, the Highlands of Scotland 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.
THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON .
265
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 ot 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 to desperation by the betrayal of their
262
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.
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 c 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.
Sonnet to a Stone Circle.
Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the
River Eden. B Y W ILLIAM
W ORDSWORTH .
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!
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.
263
The Seven Men of Glenmoriston.
B Y A LISTER M AC D ONALD , I NVERNESS (" G LEANNACH "). Author of
" Story and Song from Lochness-side," etc., etc
I
T 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.
THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON .
265
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.
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 Men.
{Kind ferinìuim t <i/ Dr. Win. MacKay.)
Still journeying drearily, the party at Glenshiel met a Glengarry man, who
was recognised as one who had been in the Prince's forces. Readily taking in the
position of matters, this * follower' suggested that Charles should be handed
over to the care of the Seven Men of Corrie-Dhodha, of whom he had heard. Two
of the party were told off to reconnoitre, and they soon met in with three of the
Seven—the two MacDonalds and Alexander Chisholm, who readily undertook to
provide shelter for the wanderers, although not knowing then that the Prince
was one of the weary travellers. Soon, however, these two parties were face to
face in the cave, and the unfortunate scion of the great House of Stuart was
instantly recognised.
"A Dhia! glèidh sinn! Mo Rìgh ! Mo Rìgh!"—"God save^ us! My King! My
King!"—exclaimed one after another of the astonished Highlanders. But,
immediately, amazement gave way to sympathy, and sympathy to affection and
loyalty. " Cha bhean nàmhaid no gnìomh nàmhaid da, cho fad' 's a bhios sinne
mar gheàrd air,"—" Neither an enemy nor an enemy's act shall touch him,
while we are guard over him"—was the firm resolve.
Charles, apparently not quite satisfied with matters, expressed a desire to
remove to another place, and not wait the arrival of the four men not yet seen by
his party. But the three others refused to forsake their fellows on any condition.
262
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.
Thus, his suspicions having been so far put to rest, he suggested that
these three should swear to fidelity and secrecy. To this they immediately
agreed, and the necessary oath was duly administered, their obligations under
which they observed so sacredly and faithfully that, for a year after Charles had
left for France, it was not known that he had been with them.
Charles and Glenaladale now suggested binding the ' Seven ' party by a
similar oath, but the Glen men refused, upon which Charles is said to have
remarked,—<c These are the first Privy Council I have sworn in since the Battle
of Culloden."
Next day, the four men who were absent arrived " with a live ox and a
dead deer," and they instantly fell into line. Additional comforts were now
available, and the Prince, worn out with fatigue of body and mind, rested for
three days, entering into the life and habits of his protectors, for most with
good spirits, but it would seem, not always appreciative of all the Gaelic
language he was hearing! The cave-men still foraged about, and did not forget
to bring Charles comforts, papers, and pleasant little surprises from as far
away as Fort-Augustus.
The party now removed to another cave in the Corrie, known as " The
Middle Cave," there being fear of impending danger. The notorious " Black
Campbell," Chamberlain of Kintail, was reported to be on the warpath; and it
was essential that he should not find them. Leaving Alexander MacDonald and
Alexander Chisholm behind to watch his movements, the others removed to
Strathglass. This was on the 7th of August, 1746. MacDonald and Chisholm
were, however, soon with them, after having discovered that Campbell was not
likely to give any trouble.
Charles, still hoping for news of the French ships, sent two messengers to
Poolewe to enquire.
Meantime, he passed two 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
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.
263
between Cameron
of Clunes and
Glenala-dale. 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
SHIELD AND SWORD CARRIED AT KILL1CRANKIE
BY JOHN GRANT , YOUNGER OF GLENMORISTON ,
IAIN A ' CHRAGAIN .)
( KNOWN AS
" 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."
~6S
THE SEVEN MEN OF C LEN MORISTON .
ATI M J pfrmissinn, irvm
Ur.
H'tlffnm .Uiltfc.iv'i lliilaty "ì Ur<,„ll„ll ami (.'frillunriWilll
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.
F EAR O BAIR - ARDAIR , AN L OCHABAR .
C
LUINNEAR 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
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,
blàth-chridheach so ri chèile, ach cha robh e cearbach.—I. M AC D H .
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.
Cumha air Raonall Fear Obair-Ardair.
B HO ' N
MHNAOI - UASAIL ,
S ILIS N IC D HOMHNAILL ,
L E E ACHANN M AC D HUGHAILL , G LASCHU .
AN
Loc HA BAR , IAR - OGHA DO FHEAR O BAIR-ARD AIR
M
OCH'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,
RAONALL MACDHOMHNAILL.
T
HA 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-shruth-adh a mach, ach cho rèidh, mail is gum bu
riarachadh do mhaigh-dinn òig, seach an sgàthan a b'fhearr a chunnacas
riamh, sìor-amharc 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 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—fìor-fhuil 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—Caoin-shùil—is cha b'aon eile
rogha Ghal-fionn, is a rèir coltais b'e Gal-fionn 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 sean-aicheadh 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 beul-aithris 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
deagh-rùn 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 bhriseadh 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 neoan 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—fìor-fhuil 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—Caoin-shùil—is cha b'aon eile
rogha Ghal-fionn, is a rèir coltais b'e Gal-fionn 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 sean-aicheadh 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 beul-aithris 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
deagh-rùn 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 bhriseadh 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-
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
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 Caoin-shuil 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 Caoin-shùil 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
I'OBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
275
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 clach-aoil 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 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
toileachas-inntinn 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.
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
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 Caoin-shùil 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 mar-caichean
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
I'OBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
275
2 76
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 gille-coise 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 Caoin-shùil, 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 cliar-chleas 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 !"
2 76
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
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 Ghal-fionn, 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
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
SIR COLIN CAMPBELL LORD CLYDE.
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 bliadh-nal 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
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
2"]"}
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 trom-dhathte
dearg, air thuar na fola, an gathan na grèine an àm dhi èirigh.
SIR CAILEAN
Sir Cailean Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh.
L E T. D. M AC D HOMHNAILL , A N T - O BAN .
C
O an Gàidheal nach dèan uaill às an Rìdir Cailean Caimbeul, Tighearna
Chluaidh? Cò anns a bheil smior a5 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 Chaim-beil." 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 bràthair-màthar 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
279
CAIMBEUL , TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH .
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, sochar-ach, '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 sgoil-airm an Gosport,
an Sasunn, oir b'e miann is dùrachd bràthair-a-mhàthar, 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
bhàigh-ealachd 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
282
SIR CAILEAN
28o SIR
CAIMBEUL , TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH .
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-Inn-seachan 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.
2M
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 luchd-dùthcha 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 do-àireamh 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?
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 cheann-feadhna. 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
fhear-sabaide, 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.
L E A ONGHAS D OMHNULLACH NACH MAIREANN , B ARD C HOMUINN
G HAIDHLIG I NBHIRNIS .
T
HA 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,
282
SIR CAILEAN
CAIMBEUL , TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH .
^4
DO ' N
MARBHRANN
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
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'
an cualas sparradh cath' Bu bhuadhaich' sgath na
Alma dhearg? Fuil is cuirp air
's air srath 'Nam mìltean
breath, fo 'n laoch 'na fheirg !"
turn—
ait'
beinn
*
*
*
*
*
*
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.
" 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."
LOCK . HART
BOYLE .
282
CAIMBEUL , TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH .
< I / Officer Cutnniti m littg. Citm eron Highlanders.
SIR CAILEAN
itv kind perm issi on
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.
B Y A RCHD . N. C URRIE , 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
287
AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY ---------- KELP-MAKING.
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 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
286
AN
OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY ------ KELP-MAKING.
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
287
AN OLD HIGHLAND INDUSTRY ---------- KELP-MAKING.
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
AN OLD
HIGHLAND INDUSTRY
----- KELP - MAKING .
---------------------------------------------- 289
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 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.
B Y D ONALD A. M ACKENZIE .
I
N 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.
SO-
29 I
NA
H - ORDUIGHEAN .
Na h-orduighean
L E D OMHNULL M AC - A - P HI NACH MAIREANN .
I
S ann mu'n aimsir so de 'n bhliadhna a b' àbhaist do'n chom-anachadh 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 cheann-uidhe; 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 chomh-chomunn 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
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-inn-tinn—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 glan-shnuadhach air a shon sin—duine tlachdmhor, ged
SO-
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN.
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.
= 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
SO-
NA H-ORDUIGHEAN.
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' choimh-thional, 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.
B Y P ROFESSOR M AGNUS M ACLEAN , M .A., D.Sc, LL.D.
W
HAT 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
294
NA H-0RDUIGHEAN .
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.
297
The Heritage of the Gael.
B Y THE R IGHT H ON . I AN M AC P HERSON , P .C., K.C., M.P., Chief of the
Gaelic Society of London.
C
ARLYLE 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
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.
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL .
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 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.
B Y D ONALD A. M ACKENZIE .
T
HE 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.
B Y J OHN B UCHAN , 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.
M
Y 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.
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL .
__
Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g'a Mhnaoi.
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL .
THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE.
A Mhairi, eudail nam ban,
Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad ionn-suidh, 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 ceileir-eadh 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
fhaoin-eas 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 tachd-adh 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
(Tigh-soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.)
Freagradh spiorad ao-chlaoidheadh an duine do
dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain
Photo bi I). II. Mm Cnllm h. Kìuil jicrntissit itì "/
Messrs, .ljnr/.iiivil, ««r/<V «<w«I«WrM
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
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.
30I
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 .
Mhinistear's do Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh. Chan abair mi tuilleadh
air an àm, ach gur mi
Fhuair mi cosnadh, 's a' chiad dol a mach, o thuathanach sè 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
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 cleòcaichean.
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 Lach-ann. 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
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,
F IONNLAGH M AC -A ONGHAIS .
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon
the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant ?
B Y M R . B ERTRAM W. S INCLAIR , British Columbia.
T
HEY 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
302
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE .
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.
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 Gleocaichean.
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 Lach-ann. 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
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,
F IONNLAGH M AC -A ONGHAIS .
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon
the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant ?
By M R . B ERTRAM W. S INCLAIR , British Columbia.
Fhuair mi cosnadh, 's a' chiad dol a mach, o thuathanach sè 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
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.
f 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
T
HEY 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
302
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE .
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? W7e do.
Gaol Duthcha.
Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter Scott, L E A.
S INCLAIR . ("An Gàidheal," 1871.)
'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 HI BALD S INCLAIR , "C ELTIC P RESS ," G LASGOW .