From THE BOOK Of KELLS, (circa 600-900). (the book of colum cille.)
Its Weird and commanding beauty . . . the unwearied and patient labour that brought it into being . . . have raised it to a position of abiding pre-eminence amongst the illuminated manuscripts of the world."—Sir Edward Sullivan, Bart.
l\iuj permission tij " The Slmlio.
Voices from the Hills.
(Guthan o na Beanntaibh).
A Memento of the Gaelic Rally, I927.
Edited by
John MacDonald, M.A.
Published by
An Comunn Gàidhealach (The Highland Association).
Glasgow.
1927.
Clanna nan Gaidheal ri guaillibh a cheile.
Poets iuiU heroes are of the same race; the latter do what the former conceive.
—Lamartim..
OVER fifty years ago, Professor Blackie published his inspiring dissertation on "The Language and Literature of the Scottish Highlands." Tomes have been written on the same fascinating subjects since. To rouse his countrymen from the " deep slumber of decided opinions " was the work of this robust sponsor of our ethics. But while he found not a few who were " Highlanders in their core as in their kilt," the general attitude was more in the way of sentimental sympathy than practical aid. He, however, succeeded in his aim; and the Celtic chair in Edinburgh is an enduring monument to his enthusiastic and scholarly pleading of our cause.
Nevertheless, a change was in progress. Whitley Stokes, an Englishman, had already established his fame as a Celtic scholar, while his translation of the " Voyage of Maelduin " marked an epoch in classic literature. Matthew Arnold, with less benignity but greater force, created a receptive atmosphere in England —the England which, according to Richard Green, would not have produced its Shakespeare, but for the quickening infusion into its veins of the blood of Ossian's race—and enlightened Oxford, in consequence, gave us our first chair of Celtic. This event, indeed, may be said to be the academic accolade of the Gaelic Renaissance. The " I am!" of Taliessen (Tillidh Oisean, perhaps), together with his "I have been!" is now demonstrated to an astonished and admiring world by the Zimmers, Zeusses, Kuno-Meyers, Alfred Nutts, and others similarly gifted, who have engaged in Celtic research, and who have discovered and are discovering the " hidden and precarious genius" of the Celtic families to be amongst the most attractive of studies.
The hope of An Comunn is, that " Voices from the Hills " may come within hearing of all Gaeldom. Equally so is it their wish to acknowledge with gratitude the loyal and disinterested services of Mr. John MacDonald in preparing this book, as well as in having assisted in the preparation of Gaelic text-books for our schools. He has, with fine discrimination, "chosen his authors as he would his friends." As the result of his labours—and I am writing more with the fresh gaze of a child than as a qualified critic—we have this volume of rich and varied thoughts on matters Gaelic.
Besides taste, he has given proof of rare tact in having persuaded so many friends to advocate the claims of our Association. The following pages are, therefore, occupied by many helpers who, though not immediately of the blood, have joined the children of melody, and are thereby purified through initiation. " Voices from the Hills" is, in every respect, a notable book, and pentecostal in its import. The student and the casual reader alike will find it an illuminative companion. To me it suggests the magic lights of a cairngorm in a bard's chaplet—a fragrant censer to the Celtic soul, a votive tablet in the Hall of Shells.
So be it. Welcome is the appreciative spirit that casts its prophetic eyes over our beautiful heritage and the still surviving language of our people. Gaelic, which has enshrined the voices of unrecorded centuries, speaks with authority to her children, as the voice of a mother, which they know. Like Cuchullin's rebirth, it is now being nourished on the lap of protecting 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 genre of his mystic song. We shall then join with Emerson in saying that " the Celts are an old family of whose beginnings there is no memory, and their end is likely to be still more remote in the future ..."
It is true that the waves of enthusiastic raptures which greeted the advent of MacPherson's Ossian have somewhat subsided; but the Voyage of Bran—chronologically anterior in order of redaction—disclosed a key to other deeper and more alluring mysteries. And from the argosies of Tir-nan-Og—that " Isle which spreads large to the sun like a beautiful dream of the soul" —seeds, in which lie immortal blossoms of loveliest form and hue, have fallen upon many a fallow genius. The Land of the Living Heart—perhaps the most beautiful creation that ever left a poet's loom—is charted anew for the sons of remembrance. " Why is Art, Aon-fhear—The Lone One—named so till the Judgment?" is no longer a cry of sorrow to Coran, the Druid. A more enchanting trilogy is being intoned by the Birds of Rhiannon. The gleaming curach, with Fate at the helm and Love at the prow, is majestically bearing its soul-freights to the Isle of the Ever-living Living—the Happy Otherworld of the Celt, which lies in serene composure between the two eternities.
ANGUS ROBERTSON, President of \n Comunn Gàidhealach.
Editor's Foreword.
ON behalf of An Comunn Gàidhealach, I tender warmest thanks to each and all of those who have enabled us to make this record of "Voices from the Hills," voices old, yet ever new, as the cry of the sea, the cry of the wind, the cry of the curlew, or the cry of man's spirit; they are the voices of those who view from the heights a land of promise for the Gael, if he but march on, go in, and take possession. Personally, I thank the contributors for their kind, encouraging letters. Indeed, were I able to focus to a narrow compass the correspondence, apart from the articles in the book, it would make the most inspiring article of all, and would give An Comunn confidence that there is no lack of friendly feeling throughout the land, and thus give it renewed energy to go forward with unfaltering step.
Furthermore, one received the distinct impression that An Comunn may not have fully realised all the latent forces that may still be mobilised for the furtherance of their Cause. When the compilation was begun, for various reasons, it moved somewhat slowly, but as time went on, more and more eager and devoted helpers came forward with pen and brush. Indeed, towards the close of the work, one wished that the end had somehow been the beginning, as one felt as proud as Roderick Dubh, when he whistled shrill, and
" Instant, through copse and heath arose, Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows."
Any lengthy, elaborate " introduction " to the book might prove to be but wasteful and ridiculous excess, all that is really necessary being to introduce to readers (may we hope for hosts of them!) the gifted and leal-hearted friends of the Gael who so willingly responded to an invitation to take part in, what may be called, a symposium on the present position of all that affects the welfare of Gaeldom, and on the responsibility which every true Gael should feel and accept, with his whole heart and mind, with regard to it, unless he is resigned to looking on (if he looks at al!) in helpless inaction, while the most precious gifts from our heroic past are being borne away by the stream of modern life, which may too jauntily be called " Progress."
1
viii. 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 rats on d'etre for the work of An Comunn in its own special sphere. Some of us are strongly of opinion that, within our own memory, there has been in our Gaeldom a steady decrease in the production of " significant persons," and we believe that the decrease is in proportion to the decay of the expressive and soulful old language, and of the traditions of romance and heroism and of antique virtue and faith it enshrined. It is to be feared that the "Christopher" type of character is becoming rarer in the Highlands.
Without taking the extreme view of those who write and talk seriously of " Civilization—its cause, and cure," one may find ground to be apprehensive as to what shape our civilization may take if some of the modern modes of thought lead us into the hallucination that the way to advance is to make a clean break with the past, so that we turn a deaf ear to the great voices that echo < through the corridors of time,' and we treat as a thing outworn the spiritual attitude towards life of our wise and brave forefathers, who brought us where we are in the upward climb. Our belief is that our British, as well as our Scottish, civilization can have no more cleansing and elevating influence acting upon it than that of the spirit and the culture of the Gael We answer to the roll-call of more than one citizenship, and acute observers in lands overseas remark on the beneficent effect of Gaelic influence on Colonial life. In a notable manifesto recently issued by a Society in the Republic of the West, eloquent expression is given to a deep sense of debt to those of our race who took part in the founding and making of that great country. Like the leaven that the woman took and hid in the meal, their genius, both literary and spiritual, has worked potently, and on a historic scale, and will continue to do so, unless it is allowed to become extinct.
We are not greatly ruffled by the taunt that we are out of step with, or lagging far behind the march of modern thought, that we are unable to understand we are living in a changed world. We are quite awake, and never dream of clothing ourselves again in all the outward vesture of the thought and life of
Editor's Foreword.
IX.
our ancestors, though who would not say that much of it was more picturesque and had far more meaning than that of our contemporaries? Who would contend that the various forms of Highland dancing, even on the rough, clay floor of a barn, were not a far more graceful and dignified expression of the spirit of innocent merriment than the grotesque wriggling to be seen nowadays in a modern palais de danse? And a straw shows how the current goes! Or, to use a homely simile, may we not wish that a spinning-wheel, and song, and love and worship shall still be found in a Highland cottage, without demanding of the Legislature that it shall be thatched with the old time bent, bracken or heather, instead of the slate of these days? We believe that the chivalries, the loyalties, the hospitalities, and the spiritual values of our forefathers are not so very incompatible with the law of change.
Our contributors, besides entertaining us with song and story, have articulated clearly and convincingly the mind and purpose of An Comunn, and given many wise suggestions as to how best to deal with the whole Gaelic question; but "so many men, so many opinions." We do not expect, nor might it be well, that our readers should agree with all the views expressed in these pages. Our case, however, is in no danger from free, well-meant discussion, which, at least, serves to show that there is a live, active interest being taken in it, so that, like the ardent lover, we say, " Speak well 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,
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 one people, we should have but one language," and, to crown the absurdity, he might have added that we should be of one mind, and cast in one mould. We who think that the confusion of tongues at Babel became a powerful factor in the evolution process, rejoice in the " Braid Scots " movement of our time, and wish it all success.
In recent years, increasing numbers of Gaelic students have passed through the Celtic classes in our Universities, and through the higher classes in our Secondary Schools, and it is certain that the effect of higher education of the right kind will be to make these students set, not less, but far higher value on their 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 vox populi declares that it is the will of our people that the Gaelic Clause should become fully operative in all the schools of Gaeldom, and that it is their resolve that their race shall not perish from the earth, and that the land in which it was wont to be bred, and the language by which its spirit was wont to be nurtured shall be preserved at all costs.
We would make an earnest appeal to all patriotic ministers and teachers to assist in making this Gaelic Rally of 1927 memorable and lasting in its effects, by joining the membership of the Association, and becoming co-workers in a great cause. By precept and example, they would help greatly in forming, and in setting in motion that force of public opinion which is essential to the success of a Gaelic Renaissance.   We would, however, do
Editor's Foreword.
XL
well to keep in mind that the rise or fall of our hopes and aims should not be allowed to depend on mere numbers. In connection with the Bohemian movement for the freedom of the race spirit, it is told that at one stage the work was in the hands of a small group of scholars, who were writing in their native Czech, trying to awaken the spirit of their countrymen by calling their attention to their music, literature and history. So small was this band of patriots, through whose work a nation was ere long to be reborn, that one of them remarked at their little meeting, " If the ceiling of this room were to fall and crush us, there would be an end of our National movement."
Our Association is not exclusive, as we know many who have community of spirit with us, though their name or tongue may not show a direct Gaelic connection. They give us material, as well as moral support, so we cordially invite them into full fellowship, and will be proud to enter their names on our roll without applying any < Mac 5 or ' Shibboleth ' test. We also think that it would conduce to the creating of a lively race consciousness to cultivate fraternal relations with other peoples who claim race kinship, and show spiritual affinity with us, and expressly seek union with us. In a commonwealth of Bretons, Welsh, and Scottish and Irish Gaels there would be generated a high-temperature enthusiasm which would react on each group. In the literature, both past and present, of these kindred peoples, and in their traditions and history, there is always, apart from their universal interest, a note that strikes a responsive chord in the breast of every Gael.
While our main objective is the preserving and perpetuating of all in language, literature and music, that goes to the making up of a Gaelic culture, one cannot help thinking that some prac tical interest in questions vitally affecting the material welfare of Gaeldom might well come within the ambit of An Comunn's operations. We might make good use of the secret of the wonderful race consciousness of the Jews, who are willing to make any sacrifice to have their ancient patria restored, so that they may have a " homeland " to which their hearts may ever turn, though their eyes should never behold it. We shall have no Gaelic if the Highlands become "the silent hills of the vanished races," no songs when the songsters have all flown, no Gaels when " the nursery is emptied of its children."
Long live and flourish our Mods, but, though the walls of
xii.
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,
PAGE		
V.	President's Foreword.	
vii.	Editor's Foreword.	
i.	Wild Hills,      .........	Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.
2.	Is toigh leam a' Ghaidhealtachd,	Iain Caimbeul, Bàrd na Leadaig.
3-	Message from Principal Sir Donald   MacAlister,   Bart.,   K.C.B."   M.D., LL.D., D.C.L., D.Sc., Ph.D.	
4	The Fèill—its purpose,	Malcolm MacLeod.
6.	Message from The Right Hon.	Lord Alness, Lord Justice Clerk. David Lloyd George M.P.
7-	Message from The Right Hon.	
8.	Message from The Right Hon.	J. Ramsay MacDonald, M.P.
9-	St.   Columba's  Influence  on	
	Scottish History,	Rev. Prof. Main, D.Litt.. D.D.
ii.	Astray in Appin,	Neil Mun ro, LL.D.
15-	Tuireadh an Usaoidh,	Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.)
*7-	Dealachadh nan Rathad,	Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach.
23-	Ossianic Poetry,	Translated by Thomas Pattison.
24.	Carmina Gadelica,	John Duncan, R.S.A.
3»-	Our Traditional Racial Song-	
	Lore,       ...      ......	Marjory Kennedy-Frascr, C.B.E.
35-	Looking Northward,  ...	Compton Mackenzie.
38-	The Reaper,   ...	IVilliam Wordsworth.
39-	Our Irish Civilization,	Alice Stopford Green.
42.	Gillias,  ...	Countess of Cromartie.
49.	Domhnull Ruadh a' Bhuinne,	Donnchadh Mac Iain.
53-	The Golden Eagle,	Seton Gordon, B.A. (Oxon), F.Z.S.
55-	A Highland Heroine for High-	
	land Women,	Augusta Lamont, B.Sc.
56-	With  Apologies to  the True	
	Believer,   ...	Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur.
59-	The Importance of  Highland	
	Folklore, ...	Donald A. Mackenzie.
64.	Duanaire na Sracairc,	Prof. William J. Watson, M.A., LL.D., D. Litt., Celt.
68.	Is togarrach a dh' fbalbhainn,	Domhnull MacLeoid, H.M.I.S.
6q.	The Return of Finn,  ...	John L. Kinloch, M.A.
76.	Tìr nam Beann,	Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach").
78.	The Gael in Scottish History,	Prof. Rait, C.B.E., LL.D.
80.	What I think of the Gaelic	
	Movement,	William MacKay, LL.D.
83-	Christopher,	Rev. Lauchlan Maclean Watt, D.D.
87.	Seann Sgeul mu Eilean Hirt, Oran a' Phrionnsa,   ...	Iain N. MacLeoid.
91.		Alasdair Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair.
92.	A Maker of Modern Gaeldom.	Lachlan MacBean.
97-	Message from Wales,	Rev. H. Elvet Lewis, M.A.
98.	The Gael and His Song,	Robert MacLeod, Mus. Bac, F.R.C.O.
XIV.
Contents —continued.
Contents—continued.
xv.
FACE t rtrt	An Dìleab,	Seumas Mac Thomais, M.A.
1 UVi IOL 104. 106.	Highlanders All,       ...... To a Highland Girl,......	Rev. A. Boyd Scott, M.C., D.D. William Wordsworth.
	The Life of a Crofter,	Alastair Cameron.
108.	Bàrdachd Spioradail na Gàidh-	An t-Urr. D. Mac GiU'Eathain, D.D.
	ealtachd,  -¦¦	
112.	Ruairidh Mòr,          ......	Alasdair Alpin MacGregor.
	Fèill,    .........	An t-Urr. C. MacGill'Innein, D.D.
117. 122.	Highland Depopulation,	Rev. Murdo Lamont.
	The Return of the Exiles,   ...	M. E. M. Donaldson.
125. 128.	The Red Deer,......	Major John Ross, F.S.A. (Scot.)
	Am Fiadh,	Seumas Mac-an-Rothaich.
129. III.	The Study of Scottish Gaelic,	Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D.
	The Celtic Spirit,      ......	William Power.
135-	Love's Last Request,	Colonel John MacGregor.
	Slàinte   bho   Thoileachas-	Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach").
1 jU.	inntinn,	
1-1S.	Then and Now,         ......	Sheriff   MacMaster   Campbell,   C.B.E ,
1 ju.		F.S.A. (Scot.)
146. 152-	The Assynt Maid's Lament, ... Pàruig Mòr,    ......... Message from Cornwall, Na h-Ailleagain 's an Calman, Sean Cheatharnaich Lochabair,	Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.
		William D. Lamont, M.A. (Hons.) R. Morton Nance.
		Aonghas MacDhonnchaidh.
157-'59-160.		An t-Urr. D. A. Caimbeul, D-D.
	Sheiling Girl's Song, The Departure, (A Dream),  ¦•	Donald A. Mackenzie. Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland.
162.	In  Our  Parish—The  King's	Rev. Norman MacLean, D.D.
	Pensioner	
16S.	The Canadian Boat Song,   ..	Anonymous.
169.	Tìr nan Og, (Land of the Ever-	Rev. Neil Ross, M.A., B.D. Murchadh Mac Ghille Mhoire.
	Young),    ... Na h-Eilthirich Ghàidhealach,	
175-177-		
	La Bretagnes et  Les Celtes Insulaires,	Le Docteur-Barde, M. Jaffrennou.
180.	Highland Home Industries, ... Highland Pride,       ...... Gaelic in the Pulpit,......	Mrs. W. J. Watson and Miss J. D. Bruce.
184. >85.		Lady MacAlister of Tarbert. Rev. John MaeGilchrist, B.A., (Oxon.), D.D.
188. 190.	Taisbeanadh,   ... Uilleam MacDhunleibhe,	Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.) An t-Urr. Gilleasbuig  MacDhomhnaill, D.D. Rev. Kenneth MacLeod. Rev. Kenneth MacLeod.
194. 195-196. 197.	The Better Singer,   ...... The Song Battle,      ...... The Song of the Blood, An Uiseag,     .........	
		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.
198. 201. 205. 209.	The Mòd,        ......... Differences between Gael and Ga	
	Sheiling Life in Lewis, The Call of the Isles,	
		Bessie J. B. Mac Arthur.
PAGE 2IO. 213. 214. 2l8. 226. 228. 230. 23.v 241. 245-248. 252. 256. 257-261. 264. 264. 269. 270. 271. 278. 283. 285. 2S9. 290. 296.	Seann Sgeul Gàidhealach,   ... Long nan Saighdearan, The " Bothan " (The Highland Cottage),......... Crois-tàra (The Fiery Cross), Glasgow   Lassie's   Visit   to CuUoden, ... Mu Shòbhraig Oigh,...... Ròs Aluinn, Notes on Celtic Place-Names, The Celtic Craftsmen, The Epithet " Celtic," A Ghàidhlig anns na Sgoilean, Grianan, On    the    Imprisonment    of Argyll,     ......... The Eagle in Captivity,       ... ' A Tale of Old Glen Strae,   ... Druid Circles and Rock Carvings, Sonnet to a Stone Circle, The Seven Men of Glenmoriston, Raonall   MacDhomhnaill, Obair-àrdair,      ...... Cumha air Fear Obair-àrdair, Tobar Nighean an Rìgh, Sir Cailean Caimbeul, Marbhrann do'n Ridir Cailean Caimbeul,......... An Old Highland   Industry — Kelp-Making, The Land of Heather, Na h-Orduighean,     ...... The Gaelic Outlook,...... The Heritage of the Gael,   ...	Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, ("Gleannach"), lain Mac Phàidein. Colin Sinclair, M.A., F.R.LB.A. The Hon. R. Erskine of Marr. Catherine A. MacDonald. Catriona Ghrannd. Domhnall Mac-na-Ceardach. Rev. Chas. M. Roberston. Hugh Munro. Prof. John Fraser, M.A. (Oxon.), LL.D. Daibhidh Urchardainn, M.A. Seumas MacLeoid. Prof.  W.   J.   Watson,   M.A.,   LL.D., D.Litt., Celt. Rev. David R. Williamson. Alasdair Alpin MacGregor. Ludovic MacLellan Mann, F.S.A. [Scot.) William Wordsworth. Alister MacDonald, ("Gleannach. "ì I. MacDh. Gun urrainn. Eachann MacDhùghaill. T. D. MacDhomhnaill. Aonghas MacDhomhnaill. Archd. N. Currie, M.A., D.Sc, A.LC. Donald A. Mackenzie. Domhnall Mac-a-Phì. Prof. Magnus MacLean,  M.A.,   D.Sc, LL.D. Right Hon. lan MacPherson, P.C., K.C.,	
298. 299. 300. 303. 304.	Song of the Stag,     ...... Sandy to Alasdair,   ...... Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g'a Mhnaoi,      ...... Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon the Gaelic-speaking Immigrant, Gaol Duthcha, ...	M. r\ Donald A. Mackenzie. John Buchan, LL.D. Bho'n " Teachdaire Gàidhealach. Bertram W. Sinclair. .4. Sinclair, (An Gàidheal, 1871).	1,
Illustrations.
Frontispiece,   ...		
Plate from the Book of Kells.		From " The Studio."
FACING		
FACE		
I.	Sundown in Lome,	Sir D. Y. Cameron, R.A., R.S.A., LL.D.
16.	Burns and Highland Mary,  ...	Pittendrigh Macgillivray, R.S.A., LL.D.
21.	Columba and the Old Horse,	John Duncan, R.S.A.
28.	Dawn,—St.   Martin's   Cross,	
	lona,	Archd. Kay, A.R.S.A., R.S.W.
53-	The   Eaglet's    First    High	
	Venture,......	Photo, by Seton Gordon, F.Z.S.
60.	The Mermaid, ...	Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art.
85-	Autumn, Early Morning, Dugald Buchanan's  Cottage,	James Cadenhead, R.S.A.
92.		Photo, by Valentine & Co.
"3-	Cup and Horn, Dunvegan,  ...	Photo, from Canon R. C. MacLeod or
		MacLeod.
128.	The Home of the Red Deer,	V. R. Balfour-Browne.
149.	Night Clouds in Mull,	Hugh Munro.
149.	Highlanders at Home,	Photo, from Major John Ross.
156.	Ancient Toward Castle,	Photo, by Sir N. Lamont, Bart.
177.	A Heavy Sea at Staffa,	Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.
192.	The Song of the Hill,	Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S.
197.	The Distant Hills,	Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.
204.	The Road to the Glen,	Photo, bv J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.
213.	Where Birches Wave,	Photo, by John Baird, A.R.P.S.
220.	The Valley of the Shadows,...	Photo, by J. MacKissack, F.R.P.S.
	Culloden Moor,         ......	Photo, by Valentine & Co.
240.	Saint Bride.	Ancell Stronach, Glas. School of Art.
261.	Callanish Druid Circle, Lewis,	Photo, by Valentine & Co.
268.	Shield   and   Sword,    {Glen-	
	moriston),	From William MacKay, LL.D.
277.	Sir Colin Campbell—Lord Clyde	Harry W. Phillips.
284.	Cogadh na Sith, (Quatrc Bras)	Lockhart Boyle.
293-	Sentinels of Enchanted Land,	Photo, from " Glasgow Herald."
300,	The Duart Lighthouse,	Photo, by D. B. MacCulloch.
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WILD  HILLS.
'T'HE great, wild hills !—
Old thunder notes of earth:
Dominating, brooding,
Over some mystic birth:
Wind, and rain-swept heights;
Arid from fire, and ice-cap; Haunts of Eagle and Deer
Where the forests be-lap:
Dour walls of basalt crag—
Lochs, silent and deep— Shadowy glens remote,
Where the goblins keep:
Bracken-clad bosky dens
With chattering silver streams—
Nooks where the green fairies dance, With laughter and little screams:
O wonderful wild hills!—
In the sun or the moon's light;
How you forever allure me
With your silent, secret might!
pittendrigh macgillivray.
Kind permission oj "Glasgow Herald.1'
Is Toigh Leam a' Ghaidhealtachd
Le Iain Caimbeul nach maireann, bard na Leadaig.
IS toigh leam a' Ghàidhealtachd, is toigh leam gach gleann Gach eas agus coire an dùthaich nam beann; Is toigh leam na gillean 'nam fèileadh ghlan ùr, Is boineid Ghlinn-Garaidh mu 'n camagan dlùth.
Is toigh leam 'nan deis' iad o am mullach gu'm bonn, Am breacan, an t-osan, an sporan's an lann; Is toigh leam iad sgeadaicht' an èideadh an tìr, Ach 's suarach an deise seach seasmhachd an crìdh'.
Sheas iad an dùthaich 's gach cùis agus càs, Duais-bhrathaidh cha ghabhadh, ged chuirt' iad gu bàs; 'S ged shàraicht' an spiorad, 's ged leagte an ceann, Bha 'n cridhe cho daingeann ri carraig nam beann.
Is toigh leam na h-igheanagan, 's b'ainneamh an t-àm Nach bithinn 'nan cuideachd 'n uair gheibhinn bhi ann; 'S nam faighinn-se tè dhiubh a dùthaich mo chrìdh', Gun siùbhlainn-se leatha gu iomall gach tìr.
Is toigh leam a' Ghàidhlig, a bàrdachd's a ceòl, Is tric thog i nìos sinn 'n uair bhiodhmaid fo leòn; 'S i dh' ionnsaich sinn tràth ann an làithean ar n-òig, 'S nach fàg sinn gu bràth gus an laigh sinn fo 'n fhòid.
Is toigh leam na cleachdaidhean 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.
Message from Principal Sir Donald MacAlister, Bart.,
K.C.B., M.A., M.D., LL.D., D.C.L., D.Sc, Ph.D., Glasgow University.
As a Trustee of the Fèill Fund, from which An Comunn derives the chief part of its inadequate income, I am naturally desirous to see its capital increased. But my special interest in the success of its present effort to this end is not financial, but educational. An Comunn believes, and I believe, that the better educated, in the fullest sense of the word, the rising generation of Highlanders is, the more effective it will be in bringing the Celtic tradition and the Gaelic genius to bear on the intellectual life of the whole nation. We believe, nay we know from experience, that a Highland child, who is taught from the outset bilingually, is more susceptible of higher education in all subjects than a child, whether in Scotland or in England, whose elementary instruction is given through English only. We therefore urge that every child, whose home-language is Gaelic, should be taught in our Highland schools to read and write Gaelic as he is taught to read and write English. The effect of this training has proved to be, not only that he gains access to Celtic literature, but that his progress in English becomes surer and speedier, and his intellectual grasp becomes wider and stronger. Having already command of two tongues, differing in structure and idiom, he can make comparisons and observe analogies. He gains in fact the mental aptitude and versatility that, in the public schools of the south, the Southron is supposed to gain from his training in Latin or Greek. And he gains it the more certainly in that his ' second language' is to him a living vernacular, in which he can constantly exercise himself colloquially, and not a dead language that he never speaks. Moreover, his Gaelic is a language so rich phonetically, and so diverse from English in its grammar and phrasing, that he is thereby prepared, as no Englishman is, for the easy acquisition of other modern languages. Not only his tongue, but his mind, becomes adaptable, and he is the better fitted to make headway in foreign lands and new surroundings, wherever his lot may be cast.
4
message from  sir donald macalister.
I say nothing here, others will say it better elsewhere, of the treasures of Celtic poetry, art, and music, that are open to an educated Gael, and of the impoverishment of our civilisation, if these should cease to be cultivated and transmitted to our successors. My sole point now is that it is worth while to promote the teaching of Gaelic in Highland schools, because that will make for the surer success in life of the individual Highlander, and enable him to render fuller and better service to his nation and to the Empire.
The Feill —Its Purpose.
By Malcolm MacLeod, Ex-President of An Comunn.
HIGH hopes are being centred upon the Fèill, and great issues hang upon its success. Its purposes have been fully set forth in the documents issued by its promoters, and it is therefore not necessary to do more than merely refer to them. Indeed, they may all be summed up briefly in the statement that An Comunn has reached a stage at which it must have more money to carry on its work. As the Gaelic old-word puts it with rueful humour, "Cha ruig am beagan fuilt a th'ann air cùl a chinn 's air clàr an aodainn." Its available funds are inadequate to permit of the work to which it is already committed being performed efficiently; expansion of that work, for the time being, is absolutely barred. The truth is that curtailment rather than extension is the prospect that must be contemplated, failing a substantial addition being made to its resources.
No one who loves the Gaelic language, or who wishes to see it live, can regard that prospect with any other feeling than dismay. For, after all, An Comunn is the only corporate body which, organised on a national basis and operating on a national scale,, has for its main purpose to safeguard and promote the interests of the Gaelic language. It has endeavoured to carry out its self-imposed task in many ways, within the limits prescribed by its restricted resources, and there is a very real sense in which the
the feill-its purpose.
5
financial stringency from which it now suffers may be taken as one of the best evidences of its success. Its help is being constantly sought, and, while grateful acknowledgment ought to be made of the vast amount of labour devoted gratuitously and ungrudgingly to its work, there is much that can be done only by a judicious and generous monetary expenditure. What is needed now is that it should widen, not narrow the scope of its operations, that it should lengthen its cords and strengthen its stakes.
The experience of An Comunn in the course of its work for the Gael, while it has revealed the existence of a host of men and women who are in full and eager sympathy with its objects, and willing to devote their time and their means to the furtherance of these, has also disclosed the less agreeable fact that in quarters in which a different attitude might quite reasonably be expected, there is a condition of apathy and of Laodicean lukewarmness which is most difficult to conquer. What we have to do is to organize and direct the friendly feeling and the willingness to help, which so widely prevail, and to rouse the indifferent to a sense of their responsibility. That can be done only by propaganda work on a much more extensive and systematic plan than has hitherto been possible. Missionaries must be sent out who will reach the people directly, who will appeal to their racial self-respect, and who will strive to kindle in their hearts a glowing pride in their native language, and a resolute determination to preserve it. A revival of Gaelic in the home, at the domestic fireside, would be of inestimable value. If it dies in the home, it will not live anywhere else. Some of us will never cease to be grateful for the fact that we grew up speaking both languages from our earliest years, and there is no reason why the children of all 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) IQ26.
Dear Mr. MacDonald,
I was deeply interested in reading about the proposed Great Fèill in aid of the Fund of An Comunn Gàidhealach. Its intention is to aid a noble cause—the perpetuation of the language and customs of a part of the great race which has inhabited these Islands since the most distant and dim ages.
Old things have of themselves no right to continued existence if they become a drag on human progress, and especially so if they can easily be substituted by others which are more advantageous. No one, however, will dare contend that Scotland could be occupied by a finer race than the Gaelic-speaking Celt. If the manly qualities of that race are fostered by a knowledge of its language, then indeed your Fèill will fulfil a worthy object.
I have no doubt a knowledge of the language and customs of their ancestors will help each succeeding generation to maintain in their hearts and minds characteristics which have done so much for Scotland and the Empire. As a brother Celt, I wish the Fèill unbounded success.
Ever sincerely,
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.
St. Columba's Influence on Scottish History.
By Rev. Professor Main, D.Litt., D.D., Glasgow University.
THE Book of History tells us that in the year 563 St. Columba landed on the shores of Iona, that he built cells for himself and his twelve devoted companions, that he founded a little sanctuary for the worship and glory of God, that he sailed out and in amongst the isles of the Hebrides carrying the light of the Christian Evangel into dark places, that he crossed to the mainland and penetrated as far as the palace of Brude, King of the Northern Picts, whom he converted to the true faith, that he fought a victorious campaign against the pagan Druids and won a Kingdom for his Christ. But these were far-off days of legend and romance, and we narrowly scrutinise every legend and every romance in our era of criticism and sound sense. Learnedly we admit that there may have been a Columba, Saint of Erin.
The Book of Adamnan tells us a story of a Miles Christi, who won the hearts of his disciples, and held them for high and noble enterprise. It is a gem of inspired biography, and it enthrals the reader until he masters the epic of a brave apostle, who gave his life for Scot and Pict. And when he reaches the end, and sees Columba, leaning on the breast of the faithful Diormit, give his last blessing to the stricken monks, then he says with reverent voice—there must have been a St. Columba.
But the Book of Life tells us most of all. Go to the Sacred Isle, breathe its air laden with holy tradition, let well-nigh fourteen centuries roll past you as in a dream, and every doubt will vanish. Begin your pilgrimage at the green sward of Martyrs' Bay, where lay the bodies of fallen Kings and Chieftains on their way to burial; then walk past the Nunnery and St. Oran's Chapel, stand near the Abbey and gaze upon the Pisgah of Iona, then, in leisured mood, traverse the island till you reach the Bay where Columba landed,—and these ancient sites will force your verdict —there -was a St. Columba.
Our heroic man was a Monk, a Missionary, and a Statesman. His was a happy family of " Island-Soldiers." Some of these were alumni, novices of the faith; some were operarii, workers
IO ST.  COLUMBa's INFLUENCE ON SCOTTISH  HISTORY.
who cared for the wants of the Monastery; and some were senioreSy the equipped Monastics who performed the daily round of the priestly office. In that family St. Columba was the Abbot, but he was more than Abbot, he was undisputed King. There were in him a dignity that impressed all men, and a geniality that won all men, for never was autocrat and aristocrat more beloved; he was passionate and masterful, yet he was a saint and a servant; he was an Evangelist in foreign lands, but no man was greater patriot in love of Erin.
How great was the influence of that man! The history of Scotland began with him, and in the sixth-century conversion of the Picts the first step in the consolidation of our country was taken. It was he who restored and emancipated the Kingdom of the Scots in Dalriada, and, therefore, prepared the way for a union of Scot and Pict. In very truth, St. Columba was a founder of Nations.
" Well may the Celtic people remember Columba with grateful devotion—a devotion that seems folly to those who do not know his history. They are the better to this hour because he lived." John Campbell Shairp's words are true. The Gael with his precious heritage of a language brimful of poetry, of a land majestic in its rugged contours, of a religion reverent and tenacious—the Gael can never forget Columba. Nor can the Lowlander, for he too has shared many a blessing that overflowed from the riches of a noble and abiding tradition. So long as Scotsmen love their country and fear their God, the name of St. Columba will be remembered and upheld.
st. columba's benediction to ireland.
Carry with thee, thou noble youth, My blessing and my benediction, One half upon Erin, sevenfold, And half on Alba.
Take my blessing with thee to the West; Broken is my heart in my breast; Should sudden death overtake me It is from my great love of the Gaedhil; Gaedhil! Gaedhil! beloved name!
Astray in Appin
By Neil Munro, Author of " The Lost Pibroch," " The New Road," etc., etc.
IHAD 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
12
ASTRAY IN APPIN.
salmon and sea-trout multitudinously crashed all day, tempting and taunting the chagrined angler, and I pushed my boat into the embouchure of the inflowing river, from whose dim, cool, dripping, and mysterious recesses I could look as from a cave through a vista of dense overhanging trees to an Appin flooded with light and colour. Round me the fish plowted, and the water-vole, and in the calmest noon the foliage was full of curious whisperings, movements, hints of espionage.  What a place for love or murder!
But better still, more sane, more spacious, free, and fairy, was the spirit of the evening hour in Fasnacloich, when the yellow badger's moon hung over the scented valley, and the woods were sombre dark, and the hills became more close and lofty, and the little loch had a crossing causewayed with pure gold. In such an hour the pipes of Cameron, heard upon the shore, expressed most poignantly the soul and story of the land of Appin.
I tired of the glassy lake, though, indeed, my fishing was a sheer pretence, and set out one morning, early, on a visit to 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
ASTRAY IN APPIN.
13
glens in olden times, before the age of wheels, doubtless because it was easier walking there than in the troughs created by the burns, which would be hampered by stones and swamps, and wind-sown brush-wood. A wild and narrow glen, shut in by hills precipitous, it is only in jutting roots at intervals that it recalls its worn-out destiny as a place where the mountain archers one time got their yew.
That old tradition of Glenure, Mackay recalled, and many others of the district, for though young he had the spirit of the seanachie. Of pipes and pipe tunes, too, we talked (himself an adept), and Gaelic songs, and midway up the valley we saw, on the other side, a golden eagle swooping down upon her nest, at a lower altitude than our own. " And now," said my guide at last " you can easily find the way; go over the hill till you come to two small lochans, and go down the glen they are at the head of.'1 He must have said which side I was to keep the lochans on when I came to them, but he had wakened, by his talk, an interest in other things than those of the present moment, and I heard in an abstraction and pursued my way alone in dreams.
The most bewildering glen ! It was a cul-de-sac! I stared, disquieted, at the barrier which seemed a living avalanche of stones, the " fragments of an earlier world "; then, knowing I was wrong, but unable to amend my error, I painfully made my first essay at serious Alpine climbing. How long I took to reach the summit of the eol (and mostly on hands and knees), over this torrent of enormous boulders, I do not remember, but when I had reached the top and looked back in amazement and alarm at the glacis I had scaled, the sun was high in heaven, and the ardour of a hot day come. Before me lay a choice of glens and a bewildering array of lofty mountain tops, and I had neither map nor compass. The little lochs my guide had made so much of were invisible. But certain now that Dalness was no more than a couple of hours away, I plunged aqross the moor towards the most spacious and inviting opening between the hills. The lochans came at last to view; I passed them on the left, and now more confident that all was well, went gaily over heather and through dried-up hag.
Hours passed.
The way became more difficult, broken by rivulets and bogs, the opening in the hills I had been making for was now impracticable, and the hill itself (Ben Trilleachan, as I learned later) was
14
ASTRAY IN APPIN.
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
astray in appin.
15
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.
SGRIOB gun d' thug mi do'n doire Far an goireadh na h-eoin, Chunn'cas ann leam croinn allail A' sealltuinn maiseach fo'n cròic. Cuid diubh sleaghach àrd dìreach, Toirt deagh ìgh às a' ghrunnd, 'S duilleach bholtrach na cìr-oir A' moladh mìlseachd an driùchd.
Cuid a' nochdadh an spèireid Le 'bhi èigneach 'nan tighinn, Oir rinn langaid a' gheamhraidh Am maoth mheanglain a' mhilleadh. Cuid a sìor dhol an deachamh, 'S air fàs seachte gun sùgh, :S cluinnear crònan nam beachan A' tòrradh meala fo 'n rùsg.
Ach an rè bha mi 'siubhal
Feadh fireach nan crann,
Fhuair mi fòghlum thug fios domh
Gnè an lios so a bh' ann.
B'iad croinn-amhuil gach cànain
O linn Adhaimh a nuas.
¦
TUIREADH AN T-SAOIDH.
Is b'e 'chnead mi a' chraobh Ghàidhlig
A bhi gun àbhachd gun snuadh,
A freumhan sàighte anns an lombar,
Cuid diubh lobhta gun tuar.
I gun ùireadh gun todhar,
Gun aon chobhair o a sluagh,
Gun iad uiread's bhi rùnach
Ri duis ùr-ghlan nam buadh.
Ach iad uile 'g a dìobradh.—
'S mòr mo mhì-ghean 'g a luaidh.
Och! a shìol nan laoch tapaidh A sgaoileadh bratach ri gaoith, 'S a rùsgadh gòrm-lannan tana Gach uair a chasaidteadh ribh—¦ Nan do sheas sibh cho fearail Cùl ealdhain' 'ur saoidh, 'S a rinn sibh cho eudmhor Cùl beurl' nach buin duibh, Cha b' ann 'na sìneadh an euslaint', 'S an lèigh air bheag suim, A bhiodh cànain nam beur-bheann 'Tha cho geur-bhriathar grinn.
Ach a dh' aindeoin a' mhìobhaidh, A thug dì-mheas d' a cloinn, A chuir a thaobh i mar chrìonaich, 'S a leig air dìochuimhn' a loinn, Tha de neart-ghloir 'na fìon-fhuil Na chum ìoc-shlàint' r'a com, 'S chithear fhathast a geugan Làn èifeachd 's a' choill.
Wi' mom'e a Vow and locked embrace Our parting was ja tender;
And, pledging ajt to meet again, We tore oursels asunder."
by i'it'1 endrioh macgill[vray, sc.
Dealachadh nan Rathad
Le Domhnall Mac Na Ceardach, (Eilean Bharraidh), Ughdair an Dealbh-chluiche, " Crois-tara," etc.
Saoibhir sìth nan sian an nochd air Tìr an Aigh, Is ciùine ciùil nan Dul ag clùmhadh Innse Gràidh, Is èasgaidh gach sgiath air fianlach dian an Dàin Is slighe nan seann seun a' siaradh siar gun tàmh.
-
AGUS thall—fada thall, a Ghaoil, fhreagair Mac Talla,—" a> siaradh siar gu bràth." Sheas mi, a Ghaoil, fo iongnadh, oir bha rud-eigin anns a' ghuth agus ann an aigne a' chiùil a chuir gaoir air mo shiubhal, agus seun air nV aigne fèin. Bha rudeigin ann a bha mo spiorad fèin ag aithneachadh agus a' co-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 rathad.
d rithisd dh' èirich deò a' chiùil, a Ghaoil, agus dh' fhairich mi an aon seun a' tighinn orm o Innis na Fìrinn—
Sona com nan cruach le cuimhne làithean aosd' Sona gnùis nan cuan am bruadar uair a dh'aom, Aoibhinn an duan air meamhaìr bhuain nan gaoth O, làithean nam buadh ! 'ur n-uaill, 'ur n-uails', 'ur saors'! Agus a rithisd eile, a Ghaoil, fhreagair guth seachranach Mhic Talla,—« 'Ur luaths, 'ur luaidh, 'ur gaol!"
Thug mi a chreidsinn orm fèin gun robh aobhar a' chiùil na b' fhaisge dhomh an turus so, a Ghaoil, agus sùil gun tug mi air mo chùlaibh chunnacas ùghdair mo shonais agus m'iongnaidh leth-• fhalaichte fo sgeothall creige ri taobh an rathaid. " Mo bheannachd air t' anam, 'aois-cheoil nam buadh!" B' ann rium fèin a thug mi briathar mo bheannachaidh, a Ghaoil, oir bha mo chridhe làn, ionnas gun tugadh mo bhilean breith-buidheachais gun 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 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!
dealachadh nan rathad.
'9
B' fheudar nach robh mi 'ga thuigsinn, a Ghaoil, agus bu chinntiche dhomh mo fhreagairt a chur an càinnt a cheileadh an teagamh agus an neònachas a bha ag cur air m' inntinn.. "Is coigreach mi an taobh so gun teagamh," arsa mise, "agus tha mi ag iarraidh 'ur mathanais air son call 'ur ciùil a chur oirbh." Sheall e orm, a Ghaoil, mar gum biodh truas aige dhìom, oir bha cianalas mòr 'na shùilean agus 'na ghuth. " Call mo chiùil orm-sa, a ghràidh?" ars' esan. " 'Sann air chall a bha an ceòl ud o chionn fhada an t-saoghail, ach is dòcha gur ann mar sin is mìlse e. Gabh mo leisgeul, a mhic," ars' esan, " air son a bhi a' dol cho dàna air 'ur n-eòlas, ach an ceòl ud a chuala sibh cha teid a chrìochnachadh gu bràth." Mar dhealan athair, bhuail rud-eigin de'n eòlas 'nam inntinn, a Ghaoil. Lean an seann-duine air. " Sud an dàn mu dheireadh, a ghràidh,—an dàn a bhios gu sìorruidh gun cheann gun cheangal; an tiomnadh air nach ruig dìleabach."
Ghluais an seann-duine gu ceum an rathaid. Thuig mi, a Ghaoil, gun do rinn mi call nach ìeasaicheadh iùnntas an t-saoghail, agus thòisich dorran dubh air itheadh mo chridhe, oir mhothaich mi eadar mi is an leus gun robh aon de theudan na cruite briste air a ghàirdean. An dàn gun chrìochnachadh! Agus ùghdair an dàin ud nach do rugadh a' falbh ! An robh mi a' dol 'ga leigeil às m' fhianuis mar sud? Saoil an gabhadh e dhomh an còrr de'n dàn air chor is gun cuirinn sgrìobhadh air? Saoil an innseadh e dhomh eadhon susbaint nan smaointean a dhùisg an ceòl ud a thug às mo thoinneamh mì?
Cha ruig mi a leas, a Ghaoil, mo dhearbh-bhriathran fèin aithris dhuit an so; ach cearbach, lom is gun robh iad, dh' fheuch mi ri mo chridhe a rùsgadh dha. Dh' fheuch mi, a Ghaoil, an dorus a anma an iuchair ud a thug thu fèin dhomh o chionn fhada —an iuchair a dh' fhosgail dhomh iomadh glas; a fhuair dhomh iomadh rèidh-fhuasgladh o'n latha sin. Sheall esan orm, is a shùilean a' dèanamh tobar-sìolain an clàr m' aodainn, a Ghaoil, agus a' breith air dhà làimh orm thubhairt e an leth-chagar, " An teid sibh leam ceum de'n rathad?" Sud fèin na thubhairt e, a Ghaoil, ach shaoil mise gun do leugh mi barrachd is a chuala mi.
Bha a' ghrian air a sgiath a bhogadh an druim an t-saoghail, agus sinn a' fiaradh an rathaid sìos gu Cadha na h-Imriche. Bha sìth nan seachd seun air a ghleann. Bha sìth agus seuntachd air gach beò, a Ghaoil, eadhon air an tè òig ud a bha a' bleoghann na bà air taobh an rathaid. " Gum beannaicheadh Dia sibh," arsa mo chaomh chompanach, is sinn a' dol seachad oirre, ach freagairt,
20
DEALACHADH NAN RATHAD.
seadh an aon fhreagairt fhial ris an robh dùil agam fèin maraon, cha d' fhuaras, ged a shaoil mi, a Ghaoil, gun cuala mi srùthlag bheag chaol an t-sruthain a bha an taobh thall dhìom ag ràdh, " Dia dhuibh fèin."
Air taobh eile an rathaid mhothaich mi clàr sanais, a Ghaoil, a bha a' maoidheadh greim an lagha air neach 'sam bith a dhèanadh ùtraideachd. "An leugh sibh-se ana-cainnt na coigridh?" ars' an seann-duine, is esan e fèin a' toirt sùla air a' chlàr shanais. Bha rud-eigin 'na ghuth a bha coltach ri cothlamadh faiteachais agus gràine, a Ghaoil; ach a thaobh is nach cuala mi riamh roimhe am facal ud, seadh, ' na coigridh,' feumaidh mi aideachadh dhuit, air tàilleabh na thog am facal ud am inntinn, agus na thàinig a steach orm ri a linn, gun do dhìochuimhnich mi car tiotain gun deachaidh ceist neònach a chur orm. " Leughaidh mi beagan,—air èiginn," arsa mise, agus mi a' leigeil mo chudtruim, a Ghaoil, air an ' èiginn '; ach cha d' thàinig de fhreagairt eile às a cheann, a Ghaoil, ach, " Seadh, a ghràidh, seadh dìreach,—air èiginn."
Bha e 'nam bheachd 'ana-cainnt na coigridh' eadar-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. "An cuala sibh sud?" arsa an t-aosdàna, is crithinnich 'na cheann, agus a shùilean a' lasadh, a Ghaoil, mar a lasas teine smàilte. " Nach ann air mo chànain fèin-sa a thàinig an latha? Seadh, " dannsa ag gabhail àite"! O, a thàsga nam bàrd nach beò ! an èisdeadh sibh ri iasad facail cho claon agus ceacharra? O, an t-aineolas so thar gach aineolais!—O, an t-eòlas so as doille na'n t-aineolas!" Bha mi air mo nàrachadh, a Ghaoil. B' fheàrr leam 'san àm gun robh mo cheum air rathad eile, agus mi 'nam aonar, air chor is gum falaichmn an trioblaid a bha air m'aigne. Nach iomadh uair a chuala is a chunnaic mi fèin "an t-eòlas ud is doille nan t-aineolas?" Nach iomadh uair a rachainn fèin tuathal mar biodh gum bi do bheul caomh, carthannach-sa fòs 'gam stiùireadh, —'gam sheòladh air ceumaibh an t-seann rathaid eòlaich, anns am faic mi na leacan air am bleith is air an cnàmh lom agus laganach le triall agus tosgaireachd mo dhaoine.
" Ach saoilibh," arsa mise, " a bheil atharrach aca air? 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.
21
an ann gu dearbh ! Saoileam, a mhic, carson a tha athaill a chràidh fhathast an uchd Goirtean a' Bhliochd? Ach is mithich dhomh-sa, ¦ a ghràidh, a bhi ag greasad orm, oir tha mi cheana anmoch, is falamhachd an latha agus fuachd na h-oidhche a' fuadach mo dheòine bhàrr àrainn nan tràth caochlaideach so."
Thog mi mo shùil a null ri Goirtean a' Bhliochd, a Ghaoil, feuch am faighinn oidheam nam briathran. Thall ri bonn a' chnuic chunnaic mi leoba de ghlasrach ag imlich a steach do gharbh-fhraoch na mòintich, agus thug mi an aire gun robh an sud is an so beathach ag ionaltradh air a' mhìn-fheur. Ach mhothaich mi cuideachd, a Ghaoil, gun robh sean athailtean nan àiteach fhathast ri am faicinn 'na uchd; seadh, ' athailt a' chràidh.' Dh' fhuasgail an snaim dhomh! Seadh; gun chràdh cha tig is cha choisnear duais no toradh, a Ghaoil; eadhon mar sin a 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; 'sea 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 rathad.
cuideachd dhìom mo cheann-aodach fèin, a Ghaoil, oir bha annlainn mhòr 'gam ghluasad.
Theann e 'gam ìonnsuidh gus an do leag e a làmh air mo ghualainn. " A mhic," 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' e so uile na chuir neònachas orm, a Ghaoil, oir an sin thug e a mach às a bhroilleach rola meambrana air an robh làmh-sgrìobhadh de an do sfhabh mi annas ro-mhòr.
~Cha mhath a thog mi, a Ghaoil, na briathran a thuit uaidh an àm dha an rola so a chur 'nam làimh, ach ar leam gun d' ainmich e I agus rolan de mheambrana a chaidh air chall.
Ach is iomadh rud a chuala mi, a Ghaoil, aig dealachadh nan rathad air nach cubhaidh dhomh luaidh a dhèanamh aig an àm, agus, a chumail ri mo ghealltanas, cha mhotha a bheir mi guth riut air dealachadh nam beò, no seòladh air triall an fhir a bheann-
dealachadh nan rathad.
23
aich mi aig Cadha na h-Imriche. Ach so faodaidh mi innseadh dhuit, a Ghaoil, oir tha fhios agam gum bi thu ri feòraich. 'S e " Dàn nan Dul " is ainm do'n dàn ud air nach deachaidh crìoch, agus air nach motha a chuireas mise crìoch dhuit-sa, a Ghaoil, ged a bhiodh tu ag eirbhir orm sin a dhèanamh. Oir tuig nach tig crìoch air dàn a' Ghàidheil gu Là na Dìleann, agus ma thuigeas tu sin, tuigidh tu tuilleadh air na sgrìobhas mo làmh dhuit.
Tuig, a Ghaoil, seach gun teid teud eile 'sa chruit, gun gabh mi dhuit dheth na's aithne dhomh, oir is iomadh oidhche o'n uair ud a lìon ceòl an dàin so mo chridhe, agus a chuir cuspair an dàin cheudna lì is loinn gu là air m' aisling.
OSSIANIC POETRY. Translated by Thomas Pattison.
Sweet is man's voice in solitudes, and sweet The voice of birds amid the woods of spring— Sweet is the sound when rock and water meet, Where Bun-da-treor hears the surges sing: Sweet are the light winds softly murmuring: Sweet are the lonely heron's notes, and sweet The cuckoo's, with the aged thoughts they bring: Sweet the warm sun which whistling blackbirds greet— The sun that brightly shines on Cona's rocky steep.
Sweet is the eagle, with her far-heard cry, Sailing above great Morven's mighty sea, When sleeps the noonday in the deep-blue sky, And o'er the pool the hern bends silently: Sweet is the lark that sings from heaven on high; And one thing more is sweet,—Fingal's my sire! Seven valiant bands he leadeth far and nigh: When for the chase his hounds are all on fire, Sweet is their deep-mouthed bay—sweet as the bardic choir.
»
Carmina Gadelica.*
TO praise this book duly would be but to print it again in its own words, adding nothing and taking nothing away— it is its own best praise. From its first hymn, an act of adoration, " I am bending my knee in the eye of the Father who created me," to its last note at the end, " This is what I would ordain to thee, the daughter of a King, with gold and gems," it is a necklace for a King's daughter, of spiritual gold and jewels, to be worn like the talisman of Patrick, as a breastplate against all evil.
The imagery of its verse, drawn from Pagan and from Christian sources, is amazing—
Whatever would bear witness against thee at the last
On the other side of the great river of dark shadows.
# *       *
Be thou a hard triumphant glave
To shield us securely from wicked hell,
From the fiends and from the stieve, snell gullies,
And from the lurid smoke of the abyss.
* *       ?
Be thou a bright flame before me, Be thou a guiding star above me, Be thou a smooth path below me, And be a kindly shepherd behind me, To-day, to-night, and for ever.
I am tired, and I a stranger,
Lead thou me to the land of angels,
For me it is time to go home
To the Court of Christ, to the peace of heaven.
*note. CARMINA GAOELICA, Hymns and Incantations, with illustrative notes on words, rites, and customs, dying and obsolete: orally collected in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and translated into English by Alexander Carmichael. 2 vols., Edinburgh. Printed for the author by T. & A. Constable, printers to Her Majesty, and sold by Norman Macleod, 25, George IV. Bridge, 1900."   Out of print.
carmina gadelica.
25
I am bathing my face
In the mild rays of the sun,
As Mary bathed Christ
In the rich milk of Egypt.
* *       *
Whilst the body is dwelling in the sleep, The soul is soaring on the steeps of heaven.
And familiar images are cast in fresh and striking words—
0 Jesu, without offence, crucified cruelly,
Under ban of the wicked Thou wert scourged.
* *       #
Pilot my barque on the crest of the wave, To the restful haven of the waveless sea.
Where else would the sinner cry out to be punished—
Humble us at thy footstool;
Lord, chastise me with thy justice.
Mark the unusual words so full of force—
To whom shall I offer oblation In name of Michael on high?
1 will give tithe of my means
To the Forsaken Illustrious One.
* *       *
Some of the hymns have something Egyptian in their quality, as in * Soul Peace.' In its deep-toned solemnity it reads like the Book of the Dead—
At the time of yielding the life, At the time of pouring the sweat,
At the time of balancing the beam,
* #       *
And may Michael, white, kindly,
High King of the holy angels,
Take possession of the beloved soul,
And shield it home to the Three of surpassing love.
26
CARMINA GADELICA.
What a picture is this of earth, of air, and of waters, of God's glory, and of good-will to men—
I see the hills, I see the strand,
I see the host upon the wing.
I see angels on the waves,
Coming with speech and friendship to us!
And splendour of silver and of gold—
Thou art brighter than the waxing moon Rising over the mountains. Thou art brighter than the summer sun, Under his fulness of joy.
What words of tenderness are these—
The foam-white breastling beloved,
Without one home in the world.
*       *       *
Kiss ye his hands,
Dry ye his feet
With the hair of your heads.
I will not dwell upon the religious value of the book, and of the life it inculcates, its * practice of the presence of God,' its faith, hope and love, expressed in every single act of the day's routine, at getting up and lying down, lighting and smooring the fire, milking, herding and sailing. Its gentleness in the care of the domestic animals is expressed often in the most endearing terms—
My beloved shall get grass and shelter, My queen maiden of beauty.
and a mother's heart responds to the sorrow of a cow in the midst of her own sorrow,
The same disease afflicts me and thee, Thou weeping and wailing thy calf, I my darling son beneath the sea, Mine only son beneath the sea!
The runes and incantations for the cure of disease, which might so easily pass over into superstition, are shot through with spiritual light. They are informed by the idea that the good or ill health of the body expresses the condition of the spirit, and is amenable
CARMINA GADELICA.
27
to control. The immense gush of faith in the healing power of Jesus, poured forth by the poor woman in Harris we must quote entire—
It were as easy for Jesu To renew the withered tree As to wither the new, Were it His will so to do.
Jesu! Jesu ! Jesu!
Jesu who ought to be praised. There is no plant in the ground But is full of His virtue; There is no form on the strand But is full of His blessing.
Jesu! Jesu ! Jesu!
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, endowing her with the virtues of all natural and spiritual things. By repeating in movements, if not actually, the pouring of wine and honey, and by the touch of baptismal fire, he enriches and purifies her nature, and lays on her brows and eyes and mouth all the graces, with the softest pressure of his fingers. He does not merely tell her what she may become, but he asserts that she has already attained, and by a passionate act of faith he compels the heavenly sanction, and makes her, at his creative word, what he would have her be—" a shade in the heat and a shelter in the cold, eyes to the blind and a staff to the pilgrim, an island at sea and a fortress on shore, a well in the desert, and health to the ailing."  Is there
28
CARMINA GADELICA.
anywhere out of holy writ so rich an image of spiritual beauty? What a faith, and what a vision I   A faith that sees, and knows.
The father ransacks all nature and legend for his types and qualities; the housewifely virtue of Penelope, the skill of the fairy woman, the charm of the sweet-tongued singer, 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.
So
carmina gadelica.
The best hour or" the day be thine,
The best day of the week be thine,
The best week of the year be thine,
The best year in the Son of God's domain be thine.
Peter has come and Paul has come, James has come and John has come, Muriel and Mary Virgin have come, Uiriel, the all-beneficent, has come, Ariel, the beauteousness of the young has come, Gabriel, the seer of the virgin, has come, Raphael, the prince of the valiant, has come, And Michael, the chief of the hosts, has come,. And Jesus Christ, the mild, has come, And the Spirit of true guidance has come, And the King of Kings has come on the helm, To bestow on thee their affection and their love, To bestow on thee their affection and their love.
We have here the richest body of ancient spiritual poetry, given again to us in our own time. About this spiritual inheritance of the Gael will rise, we hope, seanachies, seers, singers, and artists of all kinds, as a strong guard of paladins, to protect it, and to shape it into ever fresh forms to speak to the changing generations, and chief of these paladins stands, and shall stand, Alexander Carmichael, seannachie, seer, singer and artist in one.
This book is the result of much search and much pondering. Alexander Carmichael was a true artist, and had the artist's hunger for perfection. He went for days, weighing the exact word to render the finest shade of the meaning of his original, the word that gave the colour and the quality of it. One may say of him what he said of Catherine Macaulay:—Alexander Carmichael was greatly gifted in speaking, and was marvellously endowed with memory for old tales and hymns, runes and incantations, and for literature and traditions of many kinds. He went from house to house, from townland to townland, warmly welcomed and cordially received wherever he went. May his book travel as he travelled, bringing joy, and beauty, and inspiration wherever it goes.
John Duncan, R.S.A.
Our Traditional Racial Song-Lore.
By Marjory Kennedy-Fraser, C.B.E. " Songs of the Hebrides."
THE fundamental, the long-enduring element in racial song is undoubtedly melody. Melodic inspiration and invention are rare, very rare indeed. But melodies, once they are forged are durable and mostly outlast by generations, if not by centuries, the words to which they may have been originally sung. And yet a melody alone is not a song! However fine a melody may be, the born poet, if he have as much understanding of the emotional possibilities of a tune as he has of the lyrical and hypnotic potentialities of words, can make of a melody, welded with his own infectiously inspired words, a great song.
To keep alive the traditionally preserved hoard of racial song, the national poet must be re-born every three or four generations at least, if not every couple of centuries. And, like Robert Burns in Lowland Scotland in the 18th century, he must use all that comes to hand, all that has survived of the finest lyrical output of the previous generations. Single lines, refrains, beautiful thoughts, heart-stirring local imagery, rhythms, metres, etc., must all be garnered and refashioned into lyrics that will be new and yet old. This calls for great artistry, but the songs thus fashioned, while original, will be still racial in character.
Of Burns's "My Love is like a red, red rose," Edmund Gosse says somewhere that not a line of it is original—that it was all fashioned out of the wreck, the flotsam and jetsam of earlier Scots song. Yet, is not this the law of life, that " there is nothing new under the sun," although, luckily for us, there is always possible a new blend.
And what Robert Burns did in the 18th century, Kenneth MacLeod is doing now for Scots Song. I say Scots Song advisedly. Why do concert-givers sometimes advertise a programme of Highland and Scots music? The Gaels in the earlier centuries of our era were the Scots, and Alba, our country, took its name latterly, did it not, from the Gaelic-speaking Scots who came over from the country we now call Ireland, but which was then known as Scotia?
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.
A full appreciation of Kenneth Macleod's work will be missed by those who regard it merely as translation.* Baldly translated songs, however, in any language, are as a rule worthless, alike as lyrics and as words for singing. The atmosphere, the emotional content of a lyric, depends as much on its sound-colour, its 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.
ti had to coach a singer once in this song, who had so little vision, so little imagination as to suppose that the " blades " here (with pirates in the offing) were blades of grass!
OUR TRADITIONAL RACIAL SONG-LORE.
How suggestively descriptive of the vessel's grating on the rocks, in her hurried outward quest, are the harsh gr's and cr's of the first couplet, and how contrastingly the soft liquid l's of the second depict the suavity of the open sea.
Remarkable restorations, too, are the condensed and vivified Island Cian Songs of the Macdonalds, Clanranald, Macleods and Macneills, as in " The Lord of the Isles," " Heart of Fire Love," " Caristiona," " Cradle Spell of Dunvegan," or " Macleod's Galley." This last is an example also of his genial resuscitation of the fame of the old Gaelic poetess, Mary Macleod, Màiri daughter of Alasdair Rua, who did so much to stimulate Gaelic song in the 17th century.
Many are his contributions to mystical lore, one of the loveliest being " The Vow Song of the Birds," and, to the cult of Columba, " The Iona Rainbow"; for communal singing there are the well-known tramping songs, and the as yet less known " Joy Invocation " and " Birlinn Health-drinking Chant."
His restorations of the pre-Christian Heroic include:— {t Aillte," an Ossianic ballad ; " Deirdre's Farewell," a still more ancient fragment; " Cuchullin's Lament for his Son," a story parallel to that of the Persian " Sohrab and Rustum " of Matthew Arnold's poem; and finest of all, perhaps, " Fionn's keening for his grandson, Oscar."
In the expression of Sea-joy he surely finds himself.  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.
ICAN 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 of a Grandfather.  Here at last were the enchanted pages for which my soul had been yearning, and the knowledge that they were genuine history was wonderful.  I was no longer flattering my imagination with the ' let's pretend' of novels and plays, but nourishing it now with solid, ineluctable facts.    Naturally, the behaviour of the Mackenzies was of paramount importance, and how my pride surged when, in the cian map at the end of the volume, I saw their territories—all Ross and Cromarty in pale yellow, with Mackenzies sprawling right across them, and only here and there a few Rosses or Munroes or Urquharts intruding. Nor was Ross-shire broad enough for their acres.  I rejoiced to see the name reaching from Loch Seaforth to the Butt of Lewis. How many hours I pursued the thread of their history through that thick volume!    It is on my desk as I write these words, but alas, the map has been worn away by childish porings. Yet there were moments of mortification.    I can see  myself now, reading by the  schoolroom window at the  top  of a tail London  house, the small print  beginning to  blur  in the grey November dusk.    My mind is troubled for Seaforth's battle with Montrose; and when in '15 the Mackenzies, held up by the Earl of Sutherland and his accursed Whifr clans, are prevented for a whole month of fatal delay from joining forces with
LOOKING NORTHWARD.
37
(he Earl of Mar, there are tears in my eyes for the glory of Scotland that is waning fast. I turn over the sticky pages of thin paper, to console myself for that failure of my chief by rtading of the battle of Glenshiel, and of how he was carried wounded from the field. Darkness descends upon the London room. The gas is lighted, and I search out some more cheerful subject. The '45 must be postponed for another day, when I can bear to read the lamentable story. I recover my spirits by cutting down Covenanters with Dundee, or unhorsing English knights at Bannockburn.
Mr. Healy said to me a year or two ago, "You must remember that we Irish never had a Bannockburn. "Whatever happened afterwards in Scotland, you always had Bannockburn to look back upon, and that kept you from hating so long and so hard." There is a wisdom in this, and I think that the consciousness of being a superior race to the English, which has always been stronger in Scotland than in the other Celtic countries, has helped to turn some of that hate into an almost kindly contempt. When I was sixteen, my Jacobite sympathies found some expression by joining every legitimist society that existed. I lived in a world of white roses and white carnations and white cockades; and then, little by little, I allowed modernity to smirch those loyalties, and ridicule those lost and fragrant causes. I count myself a fool now in middle age, because I understand at last that what seemed the shadow was the substance, but that what offered itself as the substance was indeed no more than a mean shadow.
And now in middle age, I find myself again the prey of a childish mortification. I find myself, as I struggle with Gaelic, resenting as bitterly as ever I used that I was not christened Kenneth, so that I might write my name authentically in its own language.
As an undergraduate staying at Compiègne for the Easter vacation, I met Osgood Mackenzie, whose delightful book, A Hundred Tears in the Highlands, I have never seen praised as it should be, and he told me how much he resented not having been called Hector. I shall always regret that I did not gain possession of the Shiant Isles before he died, so that I could have written and reminded him of our meeting, because it was to that meeting I owed my determination somehow to obtain land in the country of my forefathers.   He himself writes in his book of sailing over
38
looking northward.
to the Shiant Isles, and camping out on them as a boy, and it would have pleased him, I think, that one of his name should own them again, after a lapse of eighty years.    As we were driving back from a boar hunt, he urged me to learn Gaelic; but I told myself, ' the land first and the language second.'  And after all there is much to be said for beginning to learn a language when one is over forty, provided, of course, that one is still capable of learning with passion.  Language is but a symbol of the heart's desire, and, since now my heart's desire has been granted, I long for the only language in which that secret of years might haply be expressed.
The Reaper.
BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O Listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chant
More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again ?
the  reaper.
39
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending;
1 saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;
I listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
William Wordsworth.
Old Irish Civilization.
By Alice* Stopford Green, Author of " Irish Nationality," etc.
THE subject of old Irish civilization is one of profound interest to every Gael in Scotland, since from Ireland went out across the water, over fourteen centuries ago, the settlement of Scots which was to give its name to the " Scots Land," and to establish the traditions of Gaelic life there. Gaelic studies in Scotland still remain long behind the times, for reasons which are not far to seek.
Among many causes one or two may be recalled—the lack in Scotland of such ancient collections as were saved in Ireland from destruction, and have at all times drawn from every race a succession of scholars celebrated for their labours and learning; the disastrous breaking of the Scots in the sixteenth century into factions, political and religious, known as the " English Scots " against " Irish Scots;" the ruthless destruction of the clans and their historic traditions. The history is melancholy reading, but in Scotland as in Ireland, National life will be the richer for remembrance of the road which its people have travelled, and the ancestors who shaped their way, and impressed on Scotland something of their own character. " Look unto the rock whence ye were hewn," was the good old counsel of the Bible.
40
old irish civilization.
No people have been more over-praised and over-blamed than the Gaels. In the history of long conflicts for the subjection of Ireland, rulers and writers of the invading State spread their tales of a native race nursed in tribal barbarism, who remained unable, like other people, to shed ancient savage instincts and adopt the general advance to civilization. The Church on the other hand gave generous sympathy to a country whose desperate conflict for mere existence won little glamour of worldly success; for them consolation of human distress could be found in the idea of a spiritual genius, or an Irish mission of exalted faith.
In the course of time, however, historical research has begun to throw a new light on the story of the Gael. In the last score of years we have had scholars, home men and foreigners, who give us for the first time true translations of old laws (which have long been a stumbling-block of students), and of wise sayings and proverbs and poems, which explain what the Irish people in old time were thinking and doing. It now becomes our duty to cast aside prejudices and ignorances in the light of new knowledge opened to us. All our customary beliefs, whether in a special mission of genius, or in a savage barbarism, are undermined. And as old structures perish we are forced to build anew.
We have still much to learn of common vulgar facts about the Gael in Ireland—how he actually lived, his food, his possessions, his tillage, his home, his laws. The latest researches put an end to accepted fables of " nomads " and " barbarians," of a record of " broken skulls and stolen cattle," according to a modern writer. We read of land reclaimed from heavy forest and bog, fenced and tilled, and of farms from the substantial stretch of 720 acres owned by a rich proprietor, down to the ploughland worked by four men, each with a share in the plough, an ox, a ploughshare, a goad and halter, and a share in kiln, mill, barn, and cooking-pot. There was provision for common roads, water mills, all necessary utensils for the work of every season, and adequate shelters for the live stock. The house furniture and fittings of various ranks are described, the garments and bridles of state; and excellent advice is given as to manners worthy of the host and his company.
In a modern history Ireland appears as a mere terra incognita^ cut oflf by its barbarism and its position from the larger influences of Europe. It is told as a marvel that "of one Irish chieftain it was placed on record that he had accomplished the hazardous journey to Rome and back."  This prodigy, however, was not very re-
old irish civilization.
4'
markable.     Records of that time (1396-1452) tell of two companies of chiefs and men of the poorer sort journeying to Compostella (1445, 1452), and of two companies who travelled to Rome (1396, 1444); and apparently of yet a third company, who brought back to Ireland tales they had heard of the French wars " from prisoners at Rome " (1451).   Ireland, in fact, was in every century in close connection with the Continent.   " Do not repent," was the saying, " for going to acquire knowledge of a wise man; for merchants fare over the sea to add to their wealth" So far were the people from living without law, that we can comprehend no history of the Gaels through the middle ages without a clear understanding of what Law meant to them. Kuno Meyer first pointed out the remarkable fact that at an early time when England had as many codes of Law as it had kingdoms, and Wales  four codes  for its four provinces,  Ireland  had one national body of Law that extended from sea to sea, and ruled alike the multitude of petty kingdoms.    In its minute care for the protection of an agricultural society, and its ordered courts to enforce right dealing in every rank, Irish law gained obedience and the confidence of the people, who shewed the intensity of their fidelity through centuries of conflict against foreign systems.   Feudal law was the reversal of their whole tradition. The bitter conflict of centuries was not to the Irish, as the English supposed or alleged, a war against law, but a battle in defence of the law under which they had built up their civilization.
It is evident that there is much work waiting for Gaelic students in new fields, too long neglected, of the real Gaelic civilization.
i
Gillias.
By the Countess of Cromartie. Author of " The Golden Guard," etc., etc.
" Not for Tearlach alone the red broadsword was plying, But to bring back the old World, that comes not again."
—Andrew Lang.
Chapter I.
GILLIAS, that swarthy young member of a marauding Cian, always held a vague anxiety under his thatch of black hair concerning his Chief's youngest son, Aeneas, whom Gillias loved as his own soul. The boy was uncannily different from his fierce old father and brethren, who dwelt in the old grey tower, conveniently situated upon a high point of rock, over the waters of the firth.
Towards any other object but Aeneas, Gillias was simply a fierce comely young animal. But when the old Chief and his sons gibed at the gentle boy, over their wine in the hall, and he saw the hot flush on the thin dark young face, he would grow oddly sick at heart, as well as furious. It was not that Aeneas lacked courage, as they said. But that after hunting or foray he would be very tired, and cough in a way that infuriated his fiery old parent. " Like a sick sheep "—stormed old Ruairidh one night. Young Aeneas's first fight came when he was scarce fourteen. It had been the usual thing. Fire and blood, and the screams of women. Gillias had realised that Aeneas was at the end of his strength; also (odd thought) that Aeneas did not enjoy this part of his duty.
After the victory, Gillias had halted to dip his black head in a burn that ran below a hill-side of bracken and fir, for the day had been hot in more ways than one. Aeneas had stumbled towards him blindly, his young face drawn and piteous and his lips white.
« Don't let them see me, Gillias," he had gasped, " or I shall die of shame!"
He had subsided into Gillias's arms, half coughing and half
sobbing.
gillias.
43
"Heart's darling!" said the blood-stained Gillias, and he patted a shaking shoulder. Aeneas was so small and fragile— another cause of offence. The Cian ran to height. There the friendship between the oddly assorted pair had started. It was hardly the devotion of clansman to Chief's son on Gillias's part, but something even more on both sides. The old Chief made it another cause of fierce mockery.
" But there," said Gillias, referring to it with calm devilry, " By the Cross and Black Stone, he'll not be for killing his own blood and bones since . . . ." He went into shameless family history, and left his tribe staggered at his impudence: for old Ruairidh ruled his Cian with a heavy hand.
Chapter 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 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
44
gillias.
universe; till one night Gillias had left the huddled warmth of the piled bracken and plaids he shared with a dozen more, and crawled up through the darkness, to where Aeneas lay and coughed at racking intervals. An iron brazier was flaming in Gillias's hands, and between his strong white teeth the black knife, for any who might be ill-advised enough to oppose him. The boy, shivering in his bed, had sat up smiling.
"Art going to murder me, wild one?" he jested, amid a paroxysm of coughing. Gillias had thumped down the brazier on the stone floor, and gone out again without a word, to return with a steaming glass of some dark liquid in his hand. He removed his knife from his mouth, and spoke.
" Drink! 'Tis a recipe of my grandmother's, and may the Devil have my soul for not thinking of it before."
The boy gulped down the potion. The coughing had stopped suddenly, but he still shivered, though the thin hand that lay in Gillias's was hot, and the boy's head burned under the tossed, dark curls. There was an unearthly sweetness upon his face, that Gillias had often seen when he spoke of brave deeds and past glories. It awed the young man suddenly. Something burned within the boy's despised frailty, that Gillias dimly recognised was stronger than a sword.
Summer had come back now, and with the news of the Prince's landing, and for the first time, Gillias saw his beloved thirsty for blood. He laughed. This meant that the boy was better. Signals flared trom every hill, and the Fiery Cross was out.
Aeneas, with dark flames in his eyes, seemed untiring. He even gained credit with his fierce old father.
" If this change in the brat is thy doing, thou art to me as my son, thou bold dog!" said the old Chief to Gillias.
" Tis none of my doing, MacRuairidh," said Gillias darkly. " Whose then?" said the old Chief. " God's," said Gillias. The old man, who was spasmodically religious, answered, " To Whom be praise, forever and ever !" If Faith in the Cause meant that, of course it was so. His own forbears had been kings in the past, greater, doubtless, than Charlie Stewart. But in Charlie Stewart lay the prospect of old Ruairidh retaining his present despotism. Besides, apart from that—the old Song, and the old Dream, fair and brave—apart from sheer love of plunder, or their own advantage if they won. The few against the many. A fair-haired Iad the symbol of the old glory.    That was all.
gillias.
45
The fierce eyes flamed over Gillias, as he stood there, deferential but proud. Gillias was a beauty, thought the old man—cleanlimbed as a stag of the hills, the smooth hawk-face betraying the pride of blood, amid his shaggy-faced followers. Well—something must be done for him after the victory.  If . . .
The old man sneered at himself over that " if ." Was " if " a word for any gentleman at such a time? He continued his thoughts aloud in snapped Gaelic.
" A better post shall be found for thee after this battle. 'Tis not fitting that my son's friend, who is son of my brother, should, so to speak, run at my horse's tail." He saw the dark face flush hotly, then turn pale.
" I am content, MacRuairidh," said Gillias, " and I think
" Who art thou, to think?" shouted his Chief who hated any contradiction.
Gillias bowed, with a faint gleam of his white teeth.
" Ambitious as a cock on a dunghill," growled the old man. " Don't dare to answer me.  We all are."
Gillias bowed again, and withdrew, his dark head held high. The old man had praised his youngest son. That was all that mattered to him for the moment. They, too, had realised ac last of what stuff" young Aeneas was made. In his wild career, Gillias had, as he would have termed it, loved many women, always strictly outside his own Cian—daughters and wives of enemies, to put the matter frankly. It had always been an affair of fierce careless animality upon his part, redeemed, perhaps, from modern ugliness because he had usually risked his life upon each reprehensible adventure, being often in peril from the women themselves, and always so from their owners. Had not Morag of the Island, that fair dame, once utterly deceived him? In his very arms she had whipped out her knife, and screamed upon her husband and her brothers. He had barely escaped, leaving four ambushed men dead in the bracken behind him, and Morag's knife in his shoulder. He had paid her good man the compliment of a hideous Gaelic insult upon his wife's attainments as a decoy, and left him senseless but unwounded.
But now, without mentioning such things at all, young Aeneas had made him think differently of such escapades. They were not love, and therefore not worth it, was Gillias's sudden definition of some very dark chapters of his reckless past.
46
GILLIAS.
Chapter 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
gillias.
47
how much I love ..." His gesture embraced the wild landscape of rock, shore and sea, and with them Gillias.
And now in that wild scene of loyalty they stood hand-locked, with no words at all.
Chapter 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 bracken he had stamped down. The rest rose high about them like a dank yellow wall, pierced by the dim moonlight.
48
gillias.
" Gillias!" The faint young voice came to him out of the dream, as he tried to force himself awake. "Art—wounded?" Gillias was steady now, and the mist upon his brain cleared, steady enough to lie, for why hurt the child in the hour of death ?
" No!" he said, and wiped that thin trickle of blood away from the white lips, that whispered again,
" I am glad.  Escape with the dawn, my dear.  I—am going,
Gillias?"
" Heart's darling—little one!"
Forgetting that he, too, was dying, a low, hoarse wail of agony forced itself from him.
" Hush !" whispered the faint voice. " Thou'lt pray for me, Gillias! Maybe they'll leave the old Cross standing. But no, they'll not—they'll not! It is broken and gone. And—I—I've loved thee, passing the love of—, Gillias, don't cry!"
The broken young thing had struggled to his knees, before Gillias in his own weakness could prevent him, and his arms had gone about the neck of the figure crouched beside him. "Gillias! we've won!"
The whisper came to Gillias, with the sudden weight of the drooping slender figure against his breast. He could hear the drip of the cold rain upon the bracken above him. He held cold death to his heart, and this was—hell. He had loved nothing on earth as he had loved this gentle, innocent child,—a child always, in spite of his fifteen years, and now he was cold and dead as the Cause was.
Chapter V.
Te Deum Laudamus! The great chant of triumph thundered about him. But why was he walking in a marching throng of victors, since he lay dying in a wet ditch, with the beloved Aeneas cold in his arms? And why was old Ruairidh there, looking despotic as ever, but also rarely benignant, and, strangely, not old, and with him his two sons? And why was Aeneas walking also beside him, clinging to his arm? Rank upon rank, marched his clansmen, many of them too glorious to look upon easily; and there —it was all the incredible dream of a dying man ! There was old Father John, of Inverness, who, as a matter of fact, had fallen dead before his blazing altar, with his white head battered in under the gun-butts of Cumberland's troopers.    It was odd to turn
gillias.
49
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.
Le Donnchadh MacIain, Ile.
'\TA latha 's na linn bha mo sheanair, Dòmh'ull Ruadh a' JL^ 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.
Bha iad a' faotainn air an adhart gu gasda, Dòmh'ull ann am fonn ciatach, 's e a' dranndan air òran.
" Bha còrr agus fichead aig brònaig 'sa chiste, 's e na fhuair mi d'a gibhtean bò dhruimfhionn's cha b'lèir dhi."
" O ù ara ù à, bheir mi ù ara eile, O ù ara ù à."
Ceit,—" Nis, a Dhòmhuill, thigeadh na falbhadh a' roghainn,
cha teid thusa rèis."
Domh'all,—" Ud, a Cheit, nach e sin a' chainnt; dè air thalamh mar tha dùil agad a rachainn-sa a rèis agus thu fhèin 's do chuid bathar an crochadh rium. A dh' innseadh na firinn duit, cha robh a leithid de langaid orm fhèin's air Magaidh a' tilleadh bho mhargadh riamh roimhe.   Mise dhol a rèis!   Moire, b'e sin
domhnull ruadh a' bhuinne.
5'
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.
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 null ruadh a' bhuinne.
Domh'all ('s e a' tachas a chinn,—" Do mhàthair, a ghalad^ do mhàthair, a ghalad,—an-dà, saoil thu fhèin, bho'n thuit e dhuit iomradh a thoirt oirre, saoil thu fhèin, a ghalad, nach robh e a' ruith air m' aire gu faca mi'n àit-eigin i."
Mo mhàthair:—" Tha fhios gu faca sibh aig a' mhargadh i; gu dearbh 's ann bha mise 'ga cur 'na h-earalas an àm falbh, i a sheachnadh dol a mharcachd-cùil leibh air an làir-dhuinn."
Dòmh'ull:—M Tha mi agad a nis, tha mi agad a nis, Iseabail ghaolaich. An sealladh mu dheireadh a chunnaic mise de d' mhàthair, Ceit-nic-Mhaoilein chòir, agus a leòra, b' e sin ise, am boirionnach suairc, bha i an crochadh ri earball na làire-duinne air Tràigh-Laga."
Mo sheanmhair:—(agus i a' tighinn a steach còmhdaichte le gainmhich bho mhullach a cinn gu sàil a buinn). " Agus an sealladh ma dheireadh a chithear dhìot-sa, a Dhòmh'uill dhuibh, mhallaichte, bi tu an crochadh ri earball an fhir nach abair mi, mar dèan Nì-math tròcair ort. Am facas no an cualas riamh boirionnach a chaill a mothachadh cho mòr riumsa, agus tha a bhlàth'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! Nach mise a tha taingeil t' fhaicinn slàn, gun chreuchd, gun chiorram! Ach an cluinn thusa mise, a Cheit,—a bheil thusa a' dèanamh gun robh mise, aig a bheil urram na srèine bho chionn leth-chiad margadh, a' dol a leigeil le uipear nach do mharcaich riamh ach mar chlobha mu mhuinea! coin, mo mhaslachadh! Cha laighinn fo thàmailt de'n t-seòrsa sin ged a robh mi falbh air mo mhàgan. Cha laigheadh, is mì nach laigheadh, 's cha b' ann de Chloinn-Ghill'-Easbuig mi na'n laigheadh. Thig; thusa a nuas, a Cheit, a ghràidh, dèan suidhe,— is fìor agus ro-fhìor an seanfhacal,—
"Nach math nach caillear na chuirear an cunnart."
The Golden Eagle.
By Seton Gordon, B.A. (Oxon.), F.Z.S., Author of " The Immortal Isles," etc., etc.
IN many districts of the Scottish Highlands, the golden eagle has his home. On the Cairngorm hills I have seen this magnificent bird rise, with never a visible motion of his wings, until he became no larger than a wren, and finally was lost to view in the azure vault of heaven. A day I recall, on " Bruach na Frìthe," one of the Black Coolins, when the air was so clear that St. Kilda, eighty miles to the westward, could easily be seen rising from blue Atlantic plains. But swiftly a drifting cloud from the north approached the hill top, and, just as the mist-curtain was dropping, a golden eagle and his mate passed over, sailing unperturbed above dark precipices. They saw me, and at once mounted, so that in a few seconds they had entered the grey country of the mist. How did they steer thus? How might they avoid the mist-enshrouded cone of " Sgùrr Alasdair," the black moist walls of "Sgùrr nan Gillean?"
Swiftly does the eagle fly. More swift than the flight of any bird, is his splendid downward rush. One midsummer's day, I was concealed beside an eagle's eyrie. Suddenly I saw against the blue sky a minute black speck which I took for an insect. But with unbelievable speed the speck grew in size, until in a few seconds I saw that it was the cock eagle, rushing towards the eyrie from the high hills. In one claw —extended downward to its full extent—he held a ptarmigan. The sun shone full upon his golden plumage as he passed me, and, so great was his speed, he was unable to stop at the eyrie, but sailed on beyond it, swept round, and came in from below.
There is a Gaelic legend, that once, long ago, the birds decided to choose a king, and that honour was to go to the bird which should fly the highest. All imagined that the eagle would win easily, and, as he sailed higher and higher, he smiled proudly at those birds which he was leaving further and further below him. At last he had mounted to an incredible altitude, and then he called out (thinking no bird was in hearing) that he was certainly the king.  But a tiny brown wren had cunningly concealed
54 the golden eagle.
itself amongst the eagle's feathers, and now the small rival mounted high above the eagle, who was tired, and thus could not overtake it.  And so the wren, and not the eagle, was the king of birds.
It is said that the eagle attains to a very great age.    There is an old Highland rhyme:—
" Thrice the age of a dog, the age of a horse,
Thrice the age of a horse the age of a man,
Thrice the age of a man the age of a stag,
Thrice the age of a stag the age of an eagle,
Thrice the age of an eagle the age of an oak-tree."
But very few eagles die of old age.  They are, it is true, without enemies in the bird world, but they are shot, poisoned, or trapped, on sheep farms or grouse moors, and of recent years have been increasingly disturbed by egg collectors, who bribe keepers and others to locate eyries for them. But despite its enemies, the golden eagle is holding its own in most parts of the Highlands, and, in this respect, is more fortunate than its neighbour, the white-tailed or sea eagle, which is quite extinct in Scotland at the present day, although so late as 1860 it was numerous in Skye, nesting upon most of the rocky headlands of An t-Eilean Sgitheanach.    The golden eagle lays two eggs, and usually hatches out two young ones.  One of the eaglets mysteriously disappears a week or two after birth, and in the light of what my wife and I recently witnessed during an almost constant watch on an eyrie, the stronger eaglet pecks the weaker to death.  One of the eaglets in the eyrie we had under observation narrowly escaped this fate.  Daily his sister (the hen eaglet is larger and stronger than the male) pecked her brother unmercifully.  She tore out so much of his down that the eyrie and the ground below the tree were whitened by it. Each day that we visited the eyrie, we expected to find the unfortunate eaglet dead, but he survived, and after a time his sister gave up her bullying.  Curiously enough the mother eagle did no hunting for the family.  She left this entirely to the cock. The cock, every afternoon about three o'clock, sailed in, carrying a grouse, ptarmigan, or hare.   Several times he brought squirrels, though how he captured them was a mystery, and once he carried a jackdaw from the low ground.
His custom was to deposit his prey in the eyrie, stand there proudly for a minute, surveying his growing family with indifference, and then spring out into space, spreading his great
the golden eagle.
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.
By a Daughter of th.e Gael.
" Fhad's a dh' fhàsas flùr air machair, Mairidh cliù na h-ainnir chaoimh."
THERE are people who tell us that we should concern ourselves less with the history of bygone times, in order to devote our attention more exclusively to the living issues of to-day. To such an injunction the reply comes readily that only through a study of past processes can the present, to which these processes have led up, be understood, and that in a knowledge of the lives of the heroes of our country do we of the present find our best inspiration.
At the present time, therefore, when our minds are apt to be
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.
And we Gaels of to-day, are we without a national cause to inspire our hearts and to incite us to action? Even though a larger loyalty be now rendered to the descendant of the Stuarts who occupies their throne, have we not an inner shrine in our hearts for our own portion of his dominions—for our own Gàidhealtachd, which to us is a land above every land ? And the symbol of this land of ours, of that nationality which to us is sacred,— is it not the language of our fathers, in which is bound up the very
a highland  heroine for  highland women.
57
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.
Augusta Lamont.
With Apologies to the True Believer!
By Bessie J. B. MacArthur.
THERE'S a fashion that is growing, much as other fashions do> From the blatant admiration of the many for the few, From the ardour of the multitude for everything that's new.
Now this fashion that I speak of is a better thing by miles, Than many of those cults and vogues that curse us with their wiles,. And the name that I shall give it is the " Passion for the Isles."
And the object of this modern craze has cause for growing vain, For she carries poets, authors, and composers in her train, And they vow that they adore her, both in sunshine and in rain.
But I wonder, when I hear the wind come tearing down the lum,. And the rivers running riot till their roaring makes me dumb, If I asked them to go with me to Loch Boisdale, would they come ?
It is easy to sit tight at home and rave about the west,
The mist that makes the glamour, and the colour, and the rest;
But would they go and live there, if we put them to the test?
There's an artificial note about this cult of Island fame, That makes the true believer suffer silently in shame, For he would see the islands loved in spirit as in name.
And tho' there may be many one might designate as true, The glory of the Islands must be ever found anew, A fashion for the many—but a passion with the few.
The Importance of Highland Folklore
By Donald A. MacKenzie, Author of " Ancient Man in Britain," etc., etc.
wnat earthly use is folklore?" an old Highland minister V^y once protested, when I spent a pleasant holiday with him. " It is merely gross superstition and it is my duty to stamp cut that sort of thing." He wanted to interest me in his collections of butterflies and moths and bird's eggs. " At anyrate," I retorted, " it does not involve the taking of life." An.impaled butterfly was still struggling on a card on his study table. He shrugged his shoulders. " 1 am certain,'' he smiled, " you will not be able to collect superstitions in this parish. There isn't even a child who believes in fairies."
Things happen, however, in a Highland parish without the knowledge of either minister or doctor. I found that some members of the Revd. naturalist's congregation were perpetuating a custom which must be of some considerable antiquity. When an individual became seriously ill, the women baked cakes and left them on an ancient standing stone. If the cakes were "taken" before the next morning, it was believed that the patient would recover. I was not surprised to learn, too, that there was a fairy knoll in the minister's glebe which some of the parishioners did not care to approach by night without some " protection." The minister's man had always in a vest pocket a " Jew's harp," which he occasionally tried to play. Its cast-iron frame made it possible for him to " touch iron " when necessary. In the river was a "water wife;" she used to drown late farers who attempted to cross a ford of ill repute, when there happened to be a spate, and there was a sacred well, which was credited with effecting cures. Of all these things the minister was profoundly ignorant. Nor did I enlighten him.
I remember once cycling with a Highland doctor who similarly believed that " superstitious practices " were a thing of the past. He called at a white-washed cottage to see a baby who had taken seriously ill. As I waited outside, I saw an old man leaning against the gable, busily slicing a piece of wood with his
60 THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.
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."
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
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE. 6 I
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 locks were more yellow than the gold of an eastern sun in summer ")
It is a mistake to imagine, as some do, that the suppression of Gaelic has made for refinement of thought and feeling in the Highlands of Scotland. It might be argued that folk literature is a greater thing than written literature, because its influence goes deeper. The Highland habit of memorising the old poems and stories would appear to have caused these to influence deeply the
THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGHLAND FOLKLORE.
63
minds and characters of the Gaelic-speaking people as a whole. Few English speakers are able to quote pages of Shakespeare, Milton and Shelley, but it is possible to find Highlanders who can, without reference to a printed book, hold commune with the great minds of other days, repeating many thousands of words of ancient song and story.
To students of the past, the folk literature of the Highlands is a veritable gold mine.  There are survivals from remote antiquity, which throw light on the problems of culture drifting from ancient centres of civilization, and of culture mixing caused Dy racial contact and fusion in varying degrees in Western Europe.    One catches glimpses in the tales in prose and verse of ancient manners of life as well as of antique modes of thought, such as cannot be obtained merely by the study of archaeological relics.   There are withal many surviving customs that are of the deepest interest to anthropologists.     When these are fully explored, we shall hear less about the supposed backwardness of the Gaelic people.    At the dawn of the historical period, when the armies of Rome endeavoured in vain to wrest from our ancestors their ancient heritage of liberty, the people of Scotland were already possessed of a culture which was much higher than some historians have assumed.    At a time when England was divided among rival tribes, Scotland was united by the bonds of national sentiment.    Its warriors had chariots, and therefore had been influenced by " Chariot culture " from the East, and the archaeological relics of the period are eloquent of the high skill possessed by its artizans.    Scotland had, too, its sea-farers and traders. The idea that its inhabitants were merely "wild hillmen" and " half savage plunderers," is one which ignorant historians are responsible for disseminating.    The story of ancient Scotland has yet to be written, and when that work is seriously undertaken, it will be found that its folk-lore, including the traditional tales, with their internal evidence regarding ancient life, will supply much valuable material.   If there is one thing more certain than another, it is that the outstanding characteristics of the Highland people owe little to any set of intruders in historic times, but were inherited from an ancient " Golden Age," when Celtic ideals of thought and behaviour flourished freely in the " Land of the glens and the bens and the heroes."
Duanaire na Sracaire.
THE SONG-BOOK OF THE PILLAGERS. By Professor William J. Watson, M.A., LL.D., D.Litt. Celt.
THIS is a little poem the point and importance or' which have been hitherto overlooked. It is from the Book of the Dean ot Lismore, and concerns a proposal made by Finìay Macnab for compiling a book of poetry, which he calls the Duanaire, in the same way as in Irish we have Duanaire Finn, " the Book of the Lays of Fionn ". Three men are to collaborate in the compilation, Finlay Macnab himself, Dougall, son of John, and a certain Grigor. Some material has been collected by Finlay Macnab ; more is expected from the folk whom he calls na lorgànaigh, and whom I take to have been strolling bards such as were widely known in the Highlands and Islands as Cliar Sheanchain (See Celtic Review, vol. iv, p. 80). In addition all other sources available are to be tapped. The onerous task of writing down the material is to fall to Dougall, who has special influence with the lorgdnaigh.
Can the proposed collaborators be identified ?  I think that of two of them there can be no doubt whatever.  Dougall, son of John, was Dougall MacGregor, the Dean of Lismore's father, styled Dubhghall mac Eoin Riabhaigh at the end of the 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 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
duanaire na sracaire.
65
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
66
duanaire na sracaire.
Giodh iomdha na h-andaoin^
ar tì millidh na tuatha, chan fhaghthar 'n a chomaoin-se
aon rud 'san domhan uatha.
Do bhèasaibh na lorganach, gion gur beith uatha acht mile,
an teach 'g a mbia a gcomhdhàl-sa cha ruig iad è go h-oidhche.
*      *      *      *      *
Cha bhia mè 'g a sloinneadh-sa, chan fhuil agam d'a seanchas
acht a mbeith 'san choin fheasgar, agus na coin    a leanmhain.
A Dhubhghaill, a chompànaigh, a mhic Eoin na lann liomhtha,
'g a bhfuil uile na lorgànaigh,* dèan an duanaire sgriobhadh.
Sgriobh go nosach fireòlach a seanchas is a gcaithrèim ;
na beir duan ar mhisheòladh g'a lèigheadh go MacCailèin.
Cuimhnigh fèin an comunn-sa, a Ghriogòir, mar do chualais,
go bhfuil agam orad-sa
do chuid do chur 'san duanair.
Na biodh isin domhan-sa de shagart no de thuathach,
'g a bhfuil ni 'n a chomhghar-sa nach cuirthear è 'san duanair.
Duanaire.
*This line as restored has a syllable too many It might be amended by reading iùl na lorganach, "the guidance of the strollers, in which case we should have to read a chompanach above.
duanaire na sracaire.
67
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.
TioMNA GHuiLL. (Sean Dàna.)
A Chaothain nan solus àigh, Tha do lòchrains' an tràsa fo smal; Amhuil darag air crìonadh gu luath Tha do phàillinn, 's do shluagh air trèigsinn. Soir no siar air aghaidh d'aonaich Cha'n fhaighear do aon diu ach làrach. An Seallama, 'n Taura no 'n Tigh-mòr-righ Chan 'eil slige no òran no clàrsach. Tha iad uile 'nan tulachain uaine, 'S an clachan 'nan cluainean fèin -
" Is Togarrach a dh' Fhalbhainn."
Le Domhnull MacLeoid, h.m.i.s., Dun-Eideann.
5 XT UAIR bhios mi sgìth's an cadal 'dol clì
Le aimhreit is strì nan sràidean
'S tric m' inntinn 'toirt cuairt air sgiathan mo sm Do 'n ghleann anns' an d' fhuair mi m' àrach. Tha aoibhneas is tlachd's gach smuain agus beachd Tha fuaighte ri cleachdainnean m' òige; Ach thairis air càch tha aighear is àgh Dlù-cheang'lte ri blàr is mòinteach.
Tha àilleachd gun phrìs, tha sàmhchar gun chìs,
Tha beannachd na sìth's a ghleann so;
Tha ùrachd is slàint' an anail nam blàr
Nach fhaighear gu bràth air cabhsair.
Is caomh leam na h-uillt ri borbhan's a' bheinn,
'S a' lìonadh a' ghlinn le an crònan;
Is caomh leam na h-eòin a tha fialaidh le 'n ceòl,
'S nach cùlaich le deòin a chòsan.
'S an fhoghar dhonn chiar mun èireadh a' ghrian,
Bu shubhach mi 'fiaradh aonaich,
'S an uiseag gu h-àrd air a' mhaduinn 'cuir fàilt'
'S gach alltan ri dàn do'n t-saoghal.
Bhiodh coileach an fhraoich le a chèile r'a thaobh,
'Se ag innse dhi 'ghaol gu sùrdail;
'Us ealtuinn an t-slèibh ri ealaidh dhaibh fèin,
'S am monadh gu lèir air dùsgadh.
Bu shunntach mo cheum's mi 'leantuinn an fhèidh
Le m' ghunna caol, gleust' air m' ghualainn,
'S an oiteag tigh'nn rann o bhroilleach nan beann,
'Toirt fograidh gu danns' do'n luachair.
Bhiodh dàimh anns gach lus is fàilt' anns gach guth,,
A dh' èireadh o shruthan is gharbh-allt.
Bhiodh deadh-ghean is tlus air achadh is uchd
'S iad uile 'toirt cuiridh do'n t-sealgair.
" is togarrach a dh' fhalbhainn."
69
'Nuair laìghinn 'san fhraoch le m' ghunna ri m' thaobh, 'S fo m' chomhair air aodann tolmach, Damh allail nan cròic, geur-aireachail, seòlt' A' sgrùdadh's a' sròin'chadh na garbhlaich; Ged gheibhinn dhomh fhìn uil' ionmhas an rìgh, Cha reicinn air brìgh mo sholais;
Be m' roghainn is m' anns' bhi an comunn nam beann, Is coisir nan gleann ri ceòl dhomh.
The Return of Finn.
By John L. Kinloch, M.A., Kilcreggan
IN my heart were mingled joy and sadness. And the sadness was because the beauty of Inverlochy was torn with trenches, ugly sheds and bothies, poverty and squalor, while the quiet was broken by jarring, brawling noises. But the gladness was there because the new-found treasure of the mountains is bringing new hope to the Celtic race. For in future the people of the Highlands may live in prosperity in their beloved home land, now almost desolate. If the Highlands cannot shelter her own folk, then her Celtic race must end; for a race without a home land is like a disembodied spirit wandering lonely among men, hovering longingly ere it takes its flight into the intense inane.
And as I watched the work of those navvies, strong but broken men, children of the dead-end, I wondered if wealth could no longer be obtained without the accompaniment of ugliness, squalor and misery. Must beautiful Inverlochy become a slum town that work may be found for the Gael in the Highlands?
A young navvy touched me gently and said, " I too am sad, for I like not that beauty should be destroyed by squalor. You seek to know how wealth may be obtained in the Land of the Gael, while its romantic spirit remains. Come with me and I will show you the secret." His hands were the horny hands of the navvy, and his moleskins were covered with caked clay, but his eyes were the eyes of the Seer, his voice the voice of the Bard, and he knew the thoughts of my heart.  Without a word I turned and
THE RETURN OF FINN.
followed. Up the Glen he led, through the gorges, and along the dizzy narrow ledge, past tumbled rocks and seething pools. The music of the cataracts was in my ears, and in my heart the beauty of the moving waters, the gloom of the rugged rocks, and the brightness of the narrow sky; so that my soul soared through aeons of time, borne on the wings of the spirit of the everlasting hills, through the countless ages, to stand in awe and reverence before the mighty Forces that had worked since the world began, to create this miracle of beauty for the delight of man and the glory of God.
I turned to follow my Guide still further into the heart of the mountains. The spell of the place had worked a wonderful transformation upon him. Instead of the mudded navvy, there stood before me the handsomest youth I have ever seen; bare-headed, bare-limbed, ciad only in shirt and kilt. Sunshine was in his hair like the ripple of wind on the ripe harvest field. Life thrilled in every movement of the muscles of his arms, legs and well-formed neck. The eyes of the Seer, the voice of the Bard were still his, but great joy was in his face, and infinite kindness. Joy was in my heart, for Finn had returned, not as a mighty warrior leading to slaughter, nor as a hoary bard recalling the prowess of the dead, but in the glory of Youth, to lead his race with peace into the realms of joy and gladness, that the world might be born again in a great rebirth of happiness.
Onwards and upwards he led, I know not how or whither, till we stood on a great pinnacle of rock from which we could see the kingdoms of the world.
" Here you may learn the secret you seek," said he, touching my eyes so that they were opened, and I could read the hearts of men and see what before had been invisible.
Then sadness filled my heart. I saw men rearing buildings so high that they shut out the sun, and their children died in the shadow. They devised marvellous machines, but the smoke from their engines covered the people with a pall of death; beautiful valleys were turned to a desolation of squalid houses; shard heaps were the playgrounds of children.
" The pride of your age is the marvel of its engineering skill," said my guide. " Now look with your opened eyes," he said, and I saw more clearly than ever the marvel of the machinery, but I saw, too, that men were bound to the machines with chains, some of gold, some of iron.  " Master and man alike are slaves of the
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machine," said he, " so that none may rise to the full height of manhood, or freely help the other. And the chains of goid are heavier on the soul than the chains of iron, though they gall it less."
"But what of the achievements of science?" said I, "You cannot destroy my reverence for them, and man's pride in his wonderful skill."
" Your scientist is indeed a miracle-worker, but does not man sometimes degrade his powers?  Look !"
" Spare me!" I cried, covering my face, for I saw the ghastly work of a marvellous poison bomb; and men, women, and children writhing in a death agony.
" You thought only of constructive science," he replied, " Such a marvel as broadcasting, perhaps ? True it outruns the dreams of prophets, and man has never before been so Godlike as when he learned to speak across the world. Listen now, and you may hear a man talking in Australia, but it is not the message of a God."
A band struck up < jazz 9 music. Out there in the calm of nature it seemed noisy and vulgar, and I wished a nobler music could be sent as man's expression of joy and sorrow reverberating out into the silences of the stars, to mingle with the music of the spheres.
Then I understood the tragedy of mankind. He is like the little girl who was drowned trying to rescue her rag doll from the river—spendthrift of himself, careful of his toys—exalting the work of his hands, but holding life cheap.
" I have not shown you these things to grieve you," said my Guide, noting my sadness, " but that by emptying your soul of illusions I might fill it with joy and teach you the message which the Celtic Race has to contribute to the ennobling of mankind. People have pitied the poverty of the Highlanders, and, indeed, in terms of worldly wealth their lives seem bare and hard, but in their secret heart they have treasured a pearl of great price. In the beauty of their songs is it enshrined. They have loved their native mountains, and the mystery of the valleys; they have cherished the love of home and kin, the music of the ocean and the cataract, the sunshine and the breeze; they have loved the home for the true and kindly hearts beneath the roof of croft or castle. They have loved the things of the heart, thus honouring the work of God above the works of men.   As a people they have
72
THE RETURN OF FINN.
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.
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73
" 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.
74
THE RETURN OF FINN.
But the idealism must no longer be dependent on seclusion, for isolation must in the end mean death. It must plunge into the vortex of lite and wealth, and show that it can stem the stiffest current. X he wealth of the homeland must be fully developed. "Water power, afforestation, agriculture, transport, new industries springing up from electric power must all be developed. Prosperous industry must find a place in the Highlands, for only by work can man live, but it must be a new industrialism, not the industrialism of to-day that sacrifices men, women and children to its success, but an industrialism which gives life to the people, and gives that life more abundantly. Industrialism for the service of men, not men for the service of industrialism. The thought has already been beautifully expressed by the Poetess of Skye.
" Keep in mind that ye are people, and aye maintain your rights. There is wealth beneath the mountains where you were reared when young.
There is iron and there is coal there, there is grey lead and gold, And the mines were meant for your good, in the green Isle of the Mist."
The wealth was made for the joy of the people, not the people that they should produce wealth through sorrow. This in simple language is the message to the busy world from the lone dwellers among the mist-covered mountains. The Celtic race will not sell the birthright of its soul for wealth.
With the commercial development must go a rekindling of the Celtic fire among the people who return to the glens. For the I£ace impulses must be preserved and developed, and to do this the Highlander must mark off his race as a distinctive race, a race with a great mission, a message not yet fully delivered. They can keep alive the fire of race within their own souls by their language with its ancient literature and song; they can kindle it afresh among the young by restoring their distinctive dress which marks them off from others, giving their race an individuality not possessed by any other race in the world.
In song and literature are preserved the traditions of the race, giving the Highlander inspiration to carry on the work. For the Highlander in the Highlands, Gaelic must come before all other culture languages, and he will find there thoughts which set his feelings vibrating as no alien literature can do.   And the speaking
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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.
Le Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, Inbhirnis, (" Gleann ach ").
THA mo chridhe-s' an tìr na h-àilleachd, Tìr na h-aoigheachd 's tìr na bàrdachd, Tìr mo chàirdeis agus m' annsachd,— Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
TIR NAM BEANN.
Seisd:—
Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach. Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, }s nan gaisgeach: Thar gach tìr'5 i tìr mo gheall-sa, Tìr nam beann, nan gleann, '5 nan gaisgeach.
Tìr mo ghràidh's nan sàr-fhear gasda,
Tìr nan àrmunn làidir, tapaidh:
Tìr nam maithibh, 's cha bu ghann doibh
'N tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
Mo ghaol an comunn a bhiodh tlachdmhor, Subhach, sunndach, suilbhir, taitneach, 'Nuair a thàrladh dhuinn mu'n dram An tìr nam beann, nan gleann, 's nan gaisgeach.
Tir nam mnathan cèillidh, greannar,
Banail, beusach, ceutach, baindidh;
Tìr nan caileag maiseach, seanga,—
Tìr nam 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.
By Professor Rait, C.B.E., LL.D., Glasgow University.
AQUARTER of a century ago, in a short study of the relations between England and Scotland, I put forward a theory that the difference between Scottish Highlanders and Scottish Lowlanders has been misconceived and misinterpreted by a long series of distinguished historians, including Lord Macaulay, John Richard Green, E. A. Freeman, and John Hill Burton. These writers have asserted that the whole of the Lowlands have been, from an early date, inhabited by Saxons, that mediaeval Scotland was divided by the enmity of two hostile races, and that in the battle of Harlaw, in 1411, we are to see the final victory of Saxon over Celt.
This doctrine seems to me to break down for lack of evidence. A racial immigration of Saxons into Scotland is known to have occurred in one, but in only one, district of the Country, namely the region between the Firth of Forth and the River Tweed. In other parts of the Lowlands, we have no evidence of any immigration or dispossession.
Between the reign of Malcolm Canmore and the War of Independence, a series of far-reaching influences—An English Court, an adoption of English law and of an English system of land tenure, a Church which followed English models, and a growing commerce with England—profoundly changed the civilisation of the Lowlands, involved the gradual disappearance of the Gaelic tongue, and led, ultimately, to ill feeling between Highlander and Lowlander.
But Scottish writers, two centuries after the War of Independence, always speak of the Highlanders, not as a separate race, but as Scotsmen who retained the ancient Scottish tongue, and the old Scottish manners, which their Lowland fellow-countrymen had abandoned for English speech and customs. Until the 16th century, the phrase, " The Scots tongue n lingua Scotica, always meant Gaelic.
It is impossible here to enlarge upon the reasons which led me then, and still lead me to differ from the traditional historical view
the gael in  scottish history.
79
upon this important and fundamental point, but if Scotland, outside the Lothians, is racially a Celtic Country, it is obvious that the place of the Celt is a much greater one than has generally been admitted. Even apart from questions of racial origin, recent investigation has tended to assign a new emphasis to the part taken by the Highlander in the making of Scotland.
In his book on the Scottish War of Independence, Mr. E. M. Barron has disposed of Freeman's assertion that the Celt, out of hatred to the Saxons nearest him, leagued with the Saxons farther off, and has shown that the Highlanders made a notable contribution to Scottish Independence. The more we penetrate into the secrets of our national history, the more we shall realise how much has been lost by ignoring the Highlands; and a thorough study of Highland history, made by scholars expert in the Gaelic speech and acquainted with the results of Celtic studies outside the British Isles, is urgently required to enable historians to assign a true balance to the operative forces in Scottish story.
The interest and the value of such an investigation is not confined to early times, or even to the period prior to the Jacobite Risings. The Highlands have a modern as well as an ancient history, and it is not confined to their own region. In the last two hundred years, the Scottish Highlanders have taken a large part in the making of the British Empire, both in war and in peace. Not less is the part they have played in the marvellous development of the United Kingdom, in the building up of the industrial fabric upon which our prosperity, and, indeed, our existence depends. And all the time the people of the Highlands have retained not a little of their own traditional characteristics— speech and custom and habit of thought. The changes in the Highlands themselves since the Battle of Culloden, and the achievements of Highlanders outside the Highlands are an ample theme for an historian.
There is plenty of romance in Highland story, and, without the Highlanders, the romantic side of Scottish history would lose much of its fascination. But the Highlanders have contributed much more than romance to our records. The basis of the national life is Highland or Celtic, in the last two centuries we have preferred to say, and many mysterious questions of constitutional origins must be connected with the ancient Celtic or Scottish Kingdom, which was transformed by the descendants of Malcolm Canmore.
8o
the gael in  scottish histor/.
Throughout our whole troubled story, the attitude of the Highlanders towards the Government, from the reign of David I. to that of George II., has been an important factor in our history. The type of institution—the cian system—which developed in the Highlands centuries ago, and remained unchanged until the middle of the 18th century, has exercised a great influence upon the social and political life of Scotland as a whole, and that influence has not come to an end with the changes of modern civilization. To understand the problems which await solution in the Scotland of to-day, it is necessary to understand the history of the Highlands.
What I Think of the Gaelic Movement.
By William Mack ay, LL.D., Inverness, Ex-President of An Comunn.
IT gives me great pleasure to learn that An Comunn Gàidhealach are making arrangements for a grand Bazaar for the purpose of raising funds to enable them to extend their operations, and to come into closer grips with the requirements of the Gaelic movement.   I sincerely trust that their efforts will be crowned with much success.
I have been asked to write a few words for the Bazaar Book, and I have pleasure in doing so. Sixty years have passed since I began to take a practical interest in Gaelic, and to collect Gaelic legends and Gaelic songs in my native Parish of Urquhart and Glenmoriston. Some of these I made use of in my history of that Parish. In 1871, when I was serving my law apprenticeship in Inverness, I got in touch with Gaelic enthusiasts then in that town, and, with their approval, and after some newspaper correspondence, I issued a circular calling a meeting to consider a proposal to establish a Gaelic Society in Inverness. The meeting was held on 4th September of that year, when, on the motion of the late well-known Mr. John Murdoch, seconded by the late Mr. Alexander Mackenzie, the Cian historian, the Society was formed. J was appointed Secretary, an office which I held until 1873 when
what i think of the gaelic movement.
8l
I left Inverness to attend the law classes at Edinburgh University. 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 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
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what i think. of the gaelic movement.
the last census shows a decrease in the number of people who can speak Gaelic there are many thousands who still speak it; and they would, under the influence of a real revival, be still able to set the heather on fire. Highlanders generally have not the foolish idea that the Gaelic is a hindrance to success in life. In my own case I have found it to be very much the reverse. The people are showing a just pride of race, and learning that they have had a great ancestry, and are heirs to splendid traditions. Historians are showing more and more that the Highland race has played a great part in the history of the British Empire ; and learned men are eagerly studying Gaelic not only for its literary treasures, but also for its important place among the ancient Aryan languages. Higher Celtic studies, including Gaelic, are now regularly conducted in certain of our Universities.
It is perhaps not for me to suggest what line the Comunn should follow in its future activities ; but as one of its original members, who has for many years been on its council, and has been its President for five or six years, I may be allowed to express the hope that the Council will be able to concentrate its labours more and more on the problem of the teaching of Gaelic in schools. The higher education of Highlanders must also be encouraged. Celtic studies in the Universities should receive every support, with a view to making it possible for all gifted Gaelic-speaking students to pursue their studies to the highest stage of scholarship, and any money that An Comunn can in future spare for higher education cannot be put to better use than in founding substantial bursaries. The field before An Comunn is a wide one, and I sincerely trust that the coming Bazaar will be so successful that it will enable An Comunn to cultivate that field in all its parts and aspects.
Gu ma fada beò agus buadhmhor An Comunn Gàidhealach !
Christopher.
By Rev. Lauchlan MacLean Watt, U.D., Glasgow Cathedral.
IN a day when we see a brave peasantry leaving sites of ancient story, while strangers enter into time-old heritages, we cannot but recall some whom we knew, and, as we draw closer round dying fires, sorrow over the loss of fine types of men whose like shall no more move in the familiar places.
Well do we remember dear people to whom English was an alien tongue—dreaming of Gaelic croons and tales of wonder and mystery, through which beat still the throb of waters on lonely shores, touched with starlight, in a world of shadows, whose vocabulary was mystery. How they would rise from their dreaming when you opened the door, and, peering for a moment through their age-curtained eyes, would totter forward and kiss your hand, and bless you in the old wonder-phrase that I used to think must surely be the mother-tongue of angels.
Then, also, there were aged men who had sailed the world's seas, looked in the faces of people far away, and come back home, hauling heavy ropes, swinging on yard-arms, reefing sails in rolling storms, everywhere, till Old Age and they sat down at the 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 window, making eternally what seemed to me to be the same pair of shoes, with as great a mystery about them of finishing and re-beginning as hung about Penelope's web,—what times we had.  There he sat, always busy, yet
CHRISTOPHER.
never so busy that he was not able to pause, leaning forward to put his brown hand on your knee, and tell what he also remembered, —giving his views on world-wide affairs as seen from the window in front of him that looked across the loch. From that window he saw, perhaps, Russia—very sunnily sometimes, because the light fell radiantly over Ben Tarsuinn; or the relationships of Britain with France—with a threatening of rain, but with the hope of change shortly, because a rainbow arched the loch, touching that mirror of the mountains with wonder of beauty. He could give estimates of the character and characteristics of the leading modern politicians and kings,—but their portraits as drawn by him had slight reminiscences of the family 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, 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 re-
CHRISTOPHER.
S5
peated from the crag. If a wave broke, the rock became astir with the voice of many waters. A burn slipped over a high bank, out of sight, as if by accident; and at night it became very audible, always saying "Hush !", as though it did not want you to tell that it had tumbled in the dark, having been out too late, when all decent burns were sleeping,—but, like so many who take a false step and do not want it to be known, its whisper was caught by the " Speaking Rock " and flung out, even across the bay.
Not long since, they did a fine thing with that rock. Halfway up its face they set a grey granite cross, with an old Highland sword carved on the plinth of it, and round the base, in Gaelic and in English, the names that were dearest and closest in prayer, till surely God must have got them off by heart in the five long bitter years when Love's sweetest places at the fireside grew terribly empty there. We got a bugler to sound the " Last Post" from the top of the cliff, and a piper to play " Lochaber no more". The bugler had blown that most wonderful of all human cries over his own brothers, where the graves were growing crowded in the Land of Sorrow across the sea. It was no marvel, then, that when he blew it, all our hearts broke in the sunshine. As I stood by, I could not help wondering what the folk away in the glens, in the remote shepherds' houses up behind the hills on the other side of the loch, would be thinking, to hear the echoes of that cry, which I had heard so often over soldiers' graves, come wailing and whispering, brokenly, among the crags, that sweet day of summer sheen. The " Speaking Rock " that we knew so well, long ago, is now for ever charged with eloquence next to Sinai for all who love.
But why am I telling all this, except because I am thinking of Christopher,—with a heart like a chivalrous knight of old, a brain keenly alert, lips full of laughter and kindness, and eyes like the violet in the mossy haunts where the hill-road winds to the moor? As I think of him, it is through the glass of Memory that I look ; for he was not young when he died, but to me he never grew old. I can see him now, in the sunny stretch at the head of the Loch, beneath the hills.
When he saw you approaching, he would come along and lean on his scythe and give you welcome. Or maybe, in the evening, he would sit at the fireside or on the seat at the door, looking across the Strath ; and he would tell you of the old days, the old folk, the old songs and the old stories, till you felt that you were
86
CHRISTOPHER.
on the water-shed between two worlds—the one 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 ; for a man who lives as he had lived, amongst the hills with God, had learned every secret that life could give him of the great Beyond. It was not easy, ere we parted, to set up a Mizpah between us,—and it was not long ere the final message came.
So, he lies in the shadow of the trees at the old Kirk, whose roofless walls are haunted in the dark by shadowy generations. There are not many of those modern things with names upon them,—sometimes just a boulder from the sea-shore, sometimes
CHRISTOPHER.
just a water-worn stone from the bed of the stream that runs beneath the shadow of the kirkyard wall.
When all the world is quiet, and the stillness of the full tide hes along the shore, its songs are softly heard,—cradle-melodies that it has learned up in the misty corrie, for the dead who are sleeping there. And when the Trumpet sounds, there will not be one who shall leap from the dust with a more courageous gladness, even to meet God, than Christopher. I can see him give his look of love around,—welcoming again the loch, the hills, and the clachan, so familiar and so dear in days when he moved about them,—and as he used to look, ere he turned in the gloaming, at the door of home,—leaving all care behind him on the threshold stone. Soft be his slumber, yonder, till ihe dawn!
Eilean a' Chait.
Seann Sgeul mu Aiteachadh Eilein Hirt.
Le Iain N. MacLeoid, a' Chnuic-Bhain, Inbhirnis.
BHO chionn iomadh bliadhna, bha sgalag aig Mac Leoid, Dhùn-bheagain, ris an canadh iad " Murchadh Sgiobalta.'" Air toiseach foghair, chaidh e aon là do bhaile a bha air taobh thall a' mhonaidh a dh' iarraidh bhuanaichean. Rinn e a thurus gu treibhdhireach, agus dh' earb e riutha uile a bhi cho tràth agus a b' urrainn iad air an raon-bhuana an là 'r na mhàireach, agus an sin rinn e air an tigh.
Air dha fàs gu math sgìth air a shlighe dhachaidh, leig e a anait ann an àirigh a bha an cois an rathaid. Fhuair e an àirigh falamh fàs, agus an spaid tarsuinn anns an dorus, a chum gach ainmhidh a chumail a mach. Bha maighdean na h-àirigh air chèilidh, ach bha bradhadair brèagh teine ag gabhail gu cuilmeanach an ceann a' bhothain shamhraidh, agus rinn Murchadh e fhèin aig an tigh, is dùil aige a h-uile mionaid gu fidireadh e farum 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
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SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT.
faisg air an dorus, agus o'n thuig e gu ro-mhath nach b'i sud Mòrag, dh' fhalbh e agus dh'fholuich se e fhèin fo bhoitean fraoich a bha an ceann shuas na h-àirigh. Is gann a thàir e air a dhol am falach an uair a thàinig triùir dhaoine mòra, tapaidh a steach agus mart aca air adhaircean. Thug fear dhiubh buille chumhachdach dhi anns an eanchainn le òrd mòr, agus leag e fuar marbh air an ùrlar i. Cha b' fhada gus an robh i air a feannadh aca, agus gun dàil spàrr iad staoig dhi ann am poit a fhuair iad aig dorus na h-àirigh.
An uair a fhuair iad an obair sin seachad, shuidh iad timchioll air an teallach 'gan garadh fhèin. " Tha mi air mo mhealladh gu mòr," arsa fear dhiubh, " mur 'eil duine air chor-eigin a stigh anns an àirigh so." " Nach tu a tha gòrach," arsa fear eile, " chan 'eil an sin ach neònachas a tha ag èirigh 'na do cheann fhèin."
Bha Murchadh bochd air chrith le oillt, ach dè a b' urrainn da a dhèanamh ach stad a chur air a anail cho math agus a bha 'na chomas, oir bha fhios aige na faigheadh na curaidhean ud, air an robh e glè eòlach mar nàbuidhean, greim air, nach robh ann da ach am bàs. An ceann tiota, thuirt fear eile, " Cho cinnteach's a tha thu beò, tha mi a' faireachadh àileadh duine a stigh an so." "Eirich, ma thà," arsa aon eile, " agus rùraich gach cùil is cial, agus thoir t' amharus às co-dhiù."
Dh' èirich e, agus rinn e dìreach air an eallach fraoich, agus dh' fheuch se e, agus, cinnteach gu leoir, bha Murchadh 'na chrùban an sin, gun chomas gluasaid no labhairt le meud an eagail a bha air." " Gu dè a tha thu a' dèanamh an so ?" arsa esan. Dh' innis Murchadh facal air an fhacal mar thachair dha, agus 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
SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT.
89
thìodhlacadh beò. An uair a sheall iad uatha is 'gan ionnsaigh, cha robh aon spaid aca leis an cladhaicheadh iad slochd anns an tilgeadh iad am prìosanach, agus mar sin dh' fhalbh dithis dhiubh 'nan ruith a dh' ionnsaigh a' ohaile a dh' iarraidh spaide, agus dh' fhàgadh Murchadh ceangailte fo aire an treas fir. Bha mòr-thruas aig an fhear so ris a' phrìosanach bhochd, agus, mar sin, an uair a fhuair e an dithis eile greis air falbh, thuirt e ri Murchadh, " Fuasglaidh mise thu, agus teich le do bheatha; èighidh mise riutha gun d' fhairtlich thu orm, agus gun do theich thu."
Ruith Murchadh, agus ma ruith, dh' eigh a fhear-faire ris an dithis eile gun do theich e air. Dh' fhalbh an triùir às a dhèidh troimh bhotachan is troimh sniochdail, ach cha do chuir iad ite às. Chaidh e às an sealladh, is leis an oidhche a bhi cho dorch, cha bu lèir dhoibh gu dè an taobh a chaidh e. Ged shàbhail Murchadh bho a luchd-tòrachd, chaidh e an ribe eile. Bha sionnaich gu leoir anns an eilean aig an àm sin, agus b' àbhaist do na sealgairean a bhi ag cur lìn làidir ann am badan àraidh a chum an glacadh. Chaidh dà làimh Mhurchaidh an sàs an aon de na lìn so, agus às a sin chan fhaigheadh e.
Bha dùil aig muinntir a' bhaile gun do thrèig a lùths e air a' mhòintich an uair nach d' thàinig e dhachaidh an oidhche roimhe sin, agus mar sin dh' fhalbh na nàbaidhean air gach bealach 'ga mharbh-iarraidh. Fhuair iad e mu dheireadh, agus glas-làmh de lìon shionnach 'ga chumail an sàs. Choisich e dhachaidh gu h-èiginneach, ach chan fhaigheadh duine no bean, no eadhon Mòrag fhèin, ged bhiodh i an làthair, a mach fàth a ghearain.
Chuir MacLeoid, Dhùn-bheagain fios air, agus dh' iarr e air innseadh mar thachair dha air a shlighe dhachaidh. " Ma dh' innseas mise dhuibh mo chàradh agus na cunnartan troimh 'n d' thàinig mi," ars' esan ri Mac Leoid, " cha duine beò mi na's fhaide, oir tha mo luchd-tòrachd anns an aon bhaile rium ag gabhail còmhnuidh." " Na biodh eagal 'sam bith ort-sa," ars' an t-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."
go
SEANN SGEUL MU AITEACHADH EILEIN HIRT.
Dh' òrduich e gum biodh a h-uile duine de na mèirlich so air an togail agus air an aiseag gu Eilean Hirt air an là màireach, a chum js gum biodh gach crodh anns an Eilean Sgitheanach sàbhailte bho na spògan bradach aca.
Là no dhà mun do thachair so, bha fìor dhroch dhuine an Hirt a bha a' rùnachadh gum biodh an t-Eilean sin uile fo a cheannsal fèin, agus a chum an rùn sin a chur an cleachdadh, thog e ealain aon là am measg an t-sluaigh gu faca e soitheach a' tighinn gu tìr a chum gach mac màthar a bha air an eilean a thogail air falbh. Dh' iarr e orra cruinneachadh anns an eaglais cho luath's a dhèanadh an casan air son dìdein, agus cha b'fhada gus an robh gach Hirteach am broinn na h-eaglais, ach aon chailleach a bha a' tional fhaochag anns an tràigh nach cuala am fuaim a bha a' dol mu'n t-soithich.
An uair a fhuair am fear-fòirneirt so na h-Eileanaich cruinn anns an eaglais, ghlais e i, agus chuir e teine rithe, agus loisgeadh gach dùil a bha air an Eilean ach e fhèin agus a' chailleach.
Air do'n bhàta le mèirlich an Eilein Sgitheanaich a thighinn faisg air Hirt, chunnaic iad an teine, agus an uair a bhuail iad gu tìr, thachair orra a' chailleach bhochd a bha a' tighinn beò fad thrì làithean air maorach is air duileasg. Chuireadh na mèirlich air tìr an Hirt, agus thatar ag ràdh gu bheil an sliochd anns an eilean lethoireach sin gus an là an diugh. Rug sgioba a' bhàta air an eucorach an-iochdmhor a chuir teine ris an eaglais, agus thug iad leotha e fhèin agus a' chailleach. Chuir iad an droch chreutair air tìr air sgeir am meadhon a' chuain far am biodh e air a bhàthadh an uair a thigeadh an lìonadh, agus thug iad a' chailleach leotha gu tèaruinte do Dhùn-bheagain.
Tri coilceadha na Fèinne,—bàrr gheal chrann, còinneach, is ùr luachair.
The three Fingalian bed-stuffs,—fresh tree-tops, moss, and fresh rushes.
Is math nach 'eil iuchraichean an domhain fo chrios na h-aon mhnatha.
It's well that all the keys of the world are not under one wife's gfirdle.
Oran a' Phrionnsa.
Seisd.
Le Alasdair Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair.
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'S ann tha'n fhlor-fhuil gun truailleadh Anns a' ghruaidh is mor nàire.
4 'S ann tha'n fhlor-fhuil gun truailleadh Anns a' ghruaidh is mòr nàire,
Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle, *G eirich suas !e deagh nàdur.
5 Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle 'G èirigh suas le deagh nàdur, 'S na'n tigeadh tu rithist, Bhiodh gach tighearn' 'na àite.
6 'S bhiodh Lochial mar bu chòir dha, 'Cur an òrdugh nan Gàidheal,
'Us Clann-Dòmhnaill a' chruadail, 'Choisinn buaidh anns na blàraibh.
7 'Us Clann-Dòmhnaill a' chruadail, 'Choisinn buaidh anns na blàraibh, 'S iad gun cumadh a' chòmh-stri Ri luchd chòtaichean màdair.
8 'S nam faighinn mo dhùrachd. Bhiodh an Diùc air dhroch càramh; Gum biodh " buidsear " na feòla Agus corcach m'a bhràighe.
9 Gum biodh "buidsear" na feòla Agus corcach m'a bhràighe, 'S gun gibhtinn a' " Mhaighdean " Mar oighreachd d'a bhràthair.
A Maker of Modern Gaeldom.
THE BARD BUCHANAN.
By Lachlan Macbean, Editor, " The Fifeshire Advertiser."
" Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Nor spent with grief the midnight hours, Whose bed with tears has not been wet— He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers!"
—Goethe.
TALL, active, swarthy complexioned, with large black eyes, and black hair, swinging lighdy over the moorland slopes of Rannoch, always in his Highland dress, until the Government compelled men to discard it for the blue coat and trews, Dugald Buchanan was every inch a Gael, a true son of the Scottish Mountains, and, as such, his figure will long dwell in the memory of his fellow countrymen.
Not alone in their memory, for in their life to-day he is a constant power. He always had their sympathy, for like him they have an introspective, yet very steadfast mind, deep, earnest and not unacquainted with grief; while three special activities in his life—nay four—gave him a strong place in the heart of this most loveable people, and made him a true maker of modern Gaeldom.
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.
" Would'st thou have lasting joy restored? Commit thy ways unto the Lord, With faith and love and chastened will, And he will thy desires fulfil."
III.—THE TEACHER.
Not less wonderful was Buchanan, the Educator. He taught old and young, far and near, planning and travelling and setting great movements on foot.  He, the trembling child from the tiny
A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM.
95
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—
9'1
a. maker of modern gaeldom.
" Are thy passions unruly ? Thy youth wild and idle? Then thine age cannot truly Their growing strength bridle.
The young shoots, green and bending, Grown to trees will be stronger, Roots and boughs fast extending, Thou canst move them no longer."
IV.—A SOCIAL REFORMER.
All this within ten years after " Prince Charlie's Year." There were no buildings suitable for religious meetings, but Buchanan boldly approached the authorities of both Church and State for help, and within the ten years it was reported in the General Assembly of the Church that "the Country of Rannoch, from being possessed by a most lawless and thievish people, is now greatly civilized, and no thefts or robberies are heard of among the inhabitants, 2,000 in number." For the Gael does nothing by halves. From Buchanan's time, and probably to this day, there has been no dishonesty in all those parts, and for a family to lock, their house door when going to Church would be considered an insult to the whole Parish. Of how many districts in London could these things be said?
In this work the gentle hand of the Poet displayed quite unexpected strength. Alone, weaponless, and with no outward force to protect him from the astonished swashbucklers, Buchanan boldly attacked all kinds of lawlessness, and put them down, his fearless castigation of wrongdoers being unexpected and successful.
But, as a social worker, he was no less known in cases of distress. As a helper to all in want, and a sympathiser in cases of bereavement, he re-lived the life of his pious mother, imitating Him who formed the subject of one of his finest poems— " Fulangas an t-Slànuighear."
In all these activities of Buchanan, in his Poems, his Confessions, his teaching and his social services—one can trace a gradual growth in importance, for while his poetry is very attractive and even fascinating, the "Confessions" are really more profound, but the teaching and social service left the deepest impress on the life of the Highlands.
A MAKER OF MODERN GAELDOM. 97
The picturesqueness of Buchanan's personality is universally felt. His real claim, however, upon the respect and affection of his kinsmen, everywhere and in all time, must be this—that he, and he alone, was the man who awoke in this remarkable race its true self, re-kindled its imagination, refined its aspirations, tore away the noisome weeds beginning to grow rank amid the desolations caused by Civil War, restored its ancient love of knowledge, and with it the irresistible glamour of Celtic ideals.
Message from Wales.
By Rev. H. Elvet Lewis, M.A., Archdruid of Wales.
THIS is not merely a personal greeting and message of good will.  I know I am expressing the sentiment of hosts of my fellow countrymen and countrywomen in a fraternal word of encouragement to another branch of the one Celtic family.  In spite of geographical and historical separations, our common traditions spring from the same fountain-head.    Time and accidental influences have affected our different languages, but we can go back to a common stock, and find that we are much nearer than may seem at first.   Our love of liberty is as evident as our love of colour, and we have never allowed ourselves to forget the Unseen World.  We are striving hard in Wales to maintain Welsh as a spoken language; we would encourage you in a similar endeavour to maintain your characteristic ideals. Some day I wish I could attend one of your gatherings—when time is more merciful!   We wish you well.  Dutv, a phob daoni, (God, and al! goodness).
(Signed) Elfed.
The Gael and his Song.
By Robert MacLeod, Mus.Bac, F.R.C.O.
V\7"7HAT'S in a song?" they say, and careless, cast the gem aside—a gem enshrining noble thoughts, or thoughts of humble pleasure by the mountain side.
But stay! one moment 1 Let the idler of an idle hour take thought. The Gael who tuned his harp, and tossed forth strains to vibrate down the centuries, was prophet, priest and king among his fellows. His strain may lack the obvious cadence of to-day, which savours too frequently of ease, of indolence, and " pass the time away." But all his cadences ring clear and true to Nature and to the God who tuned his spirit thus to pour forth melody in crystal stream, to purify the thoughts of those whose hearts were touched to beat in unison with his.
A mission in his lay we fain would sing in words, but words can scarce replace the power of song.
The " listener-in " must " tune his ear " as he would " tune his set," or else the air is vibrant with a jingle, meaningless and cold.
The golden age of melody is past, some say. Our senses must be stirred by jolting rhyme and cumbrous harmonies (not divine). For those who think it so, remember that " a still small voice" once woke the soul of prophet in the olden time. " The still small voice " of music is the call of melody. Let singers put forth efforts now to catch the inward spirit of this song, and learn to cast its spell once more o'er all the land.
Instrumental music is not the natural medium of the Gael. For him the voice can stir the depths of human and spiritual experience.
" Folk Song is too limited." " Too limited " ! How can it be, when it is the true essence of music? It is concentrated musical thought, clearly and definitely expressed. To deliver its message requires a complete understanding of it as a perfect form of expression. To endeavour to make it take on the cloak of modernism, is not only to disguise it but to disfigure it. To know it, is to live with music and in the spirit of music.
THE GAEL AND HIS SONG.
99
Just as the greatest moral scoundrel may appear the perfect gentleman in the eyes of the world, so may the listener be deceived by the outward trappings of a melody. It is the soul-thought which really matters in both cases. The classics of the Gael enshrine a soul-thought.
This is what makes folk song so difficult to interpret. Its whole atmosphere is sincerity, and without sincerity it refuses to yield up its secret. It may be "decked out " in appropriate harmonic garb, if such garb be sympathetically selected. To some people this may enhance its " aural appearance," but it must not alter its inherent spirituality. A perfect feeling for the emotional value of pitch outline and a natural flow of rhythm are the essential equipments for the singer. Without these, the Song of the Gael (and any song) will but dimly reflect the vision vouchsafed to the composer in his moment of inspiration.
To coax it to reveal itself you must in the first instance ignore the words. Make the old melodies part and parcel of your emotional experience and expression. Croon them when you are sad, lilt them when you are glad. Where you find a poetic setting which fits the emotional mood, which you feel inherent in it, you will be able to communicate the glad tidings to others. You will meet with immediate response, because you will wake into consciousness the spirituality of a race whose melodic medium you have made your own.
The above explains why so many poets have written lyrics to well-known melodies. They have been captivated by the mood which the melody evoked in them, and in their joy they endeavour to impart that joy to others through their own medium,—words.
We have a wondrous heritage of melody, and with this heritage the art music of the future may be enriched. But it is in the home that the spirit of this racial music must be reawakened. When a true consciousness of its meaning is grasped, we may see a Scottish Schubert, Greig or Dvorak. May such a genius, when he arrives, be able to bless the work which our Highland Association has done, and is doing, in the way of preserving the -soul-thoughts of generations.
Let not the harps your fathers tuned Lie silent, lest their message, Once so magically caught in melody, Shall die.
IOO
the gael and his song.
Their mystic message from the plain.
The sea, the sunlit vapour
Hov'ring round the mountain crest,
From Nature's God, who whispered
In the harper's ear those wondrous notes,
Which stir the soul
And speak of Immortality,
Should we not hear,
Then will be severed
In the golden chain of Melody
A link which binds
The Alpha and the Omega of Time.
An Dileab.
Le Seumas Mac Thomais, Eilean Leodhais,. Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.
BIDH fear a' sireadh maoin is òir, Is fear an toir air inbh' is cliù: Le iargain airsnealaich gun treòir Tha cuid a' dleasadh còir nach fiù.
Ach fhuaradh leinne dìleab bhuan An cànain bhuadhmhoir Tìr nam Beann; Gu fonnmhor, ait, le iomadh buaidh, Is tairìseach a fuaim 's a' ghleann.
Tha gàir nan tonn air cladach mìn, Is borbhan bith nan allt 'na ceòl; Air euchd nan laoch air muir is tìr Tha cagarsaich a cridh' le deoin.
Is ealain bhrìoghmhor naomh is chliar, A dhleas gun fhiamh an còir do'n t-sluagh, Ghlèidh i do gach neach le'm miann, An tasgaidh riarachail, bith-bhuan.
Gur mùirneach leinn a eagair gaoil O bheul na h-aois' do'n tug sinn gràdh; A bratach rìoghail tog is sgaoil, Is dìon, is saor o àl gu h-àl.
Highlanders All.
By Rev. A. Boyd Scott, M.C., D.D.
IT is a very considerable honour for a ' Lallan ' Scot like myself to be asked to contribute to this Book, for there is no more aristocratic community than the people called the Gaels; and yet, look you, here am 1 in the forefront of this proud, though predatory, Highland host in their raid upon the lieges of Glasgow. I come of a race that both hated and loved those mountain clans, in which every tribesman was at once a gentleman and a sly or splendid robber! My people in Ayrshire spat when they spoke of the "Highland Host," but the same husbandmen and lairds sported the white cockade, did some of them, and left their bones by the dule tree of the castle of Carlisle, all for the forlorn sake of a bonny king " over the water." There is, indeed, a closer kinship between Highland and Lowland folk, at least in the western shires, than the average man among us recognises. The popular distinction between them grew and hardened by reason of certain accidents and fateful circumstances in Scottish history, such as I have just suggested. I wonder if it was not that lovable humbug, the creation of the chief of Scotland's creators, Bailie Nicol Jarvie, who instructed and confirmed us in that rude division of Lanarkshire folk and Argyllshire folk, which is still so carelessly taken for granted among us. As a matter of fact, if vou leave the Norse of Aberdeenshire out of it, and the Angles of Berwickshire as well, the rest of us are all sound Celts for the most part, whether we hail from far Loch Awe or derive from douce cottars in Kyle, beneath the shelter of aged trees. Words like "Goidelic" and " Brythonic" have all the monstrous look of the terms that affright and chill us in the books of those who amuse themselves, and confuse their friends with ethnological studies. But, with it all, please allow those sages to get it into our heads that, in blood and even in speech, there was not that cleavage between the Britons of Strathclyde and the Gaels beyond Loch Lomond, which was accepted by the latter when they contemned the 'Glesca keelies' as a despicable people apart, and by the former, when, to denote their uttermost scorn of their brother man or sister woman, they referred to them as Hielan' stots or as Hielan' as Mull! Both in Ayrshire and thereabouts, and in the Highlands, we are all the
I02
highlanders all.
children of those divers Celtic sires whose successive invasions into these islands have left us still with Britons south of Clyde and Gaels beyond it.
An indiscreet Ayrshire Celt might go on to claim that in matters of birth and breeding he comes of a loftier branch of the common stock than do the men of Inveraray or Lochaber ; but I for one will not be so unwise, whatever I may think of that matter. A very foolish Ayrshire-man, at a safe distance from Campbells, Buchanans, Camerons, et hoc genus omne gloriosunty might even wag defiantly that red rag of a theory which seeks to claim that the very kilt of the Gael was taken from the superior wardrobe of the Britons about Dunbarton.  I daresay, gentle or indignant reader, you know that theory.   It surmises shrewdly that it was among those " Romans" of Strathclyde, who, in the muddled 5th century in these parts, continued to call themselves by the imperial name, and to maintain the Roman titles in their hostings and harried commonwealth, that the "skirt" was preserved which, in due time and by various accidents, became the specific garb of the Gael.    Don't all shout at me at once, please!   I am not arguing for the theory.   Perhaps I am to blame for raising it at all.  In any case, if you don't like it, we'll drop it and go on to less contentious matters.   But, before I tuck that red rag away, let me say this, that such a theory affords a basis of sound historical principle to those " lowland bodies " in Strathclyde who long to wear the kilt, and indeed do wear it, but all with the uncomfortable feeling that they give themselves away to those who cry, "What the wonderful mischief do these little porcupines of the plains, whatever, do with the kilt to show their spindle shanks, I declare to my goodness!"—I translate this with difficulty from the Gaelic, and with discreet and printable modifications, but the sense is plain enough.  I have seen a chief of the great House of Kennedy in Carrick " in the kilt," and, on that occasion, a Mac-pherson had caustic observations to make. But the boot may very well be on the other foot, my masters!   And the Kennedy might say to his critic " Was it not you, noble sir, who took the breeks oft the Hielan'-man and attired him as one of us Romans?"  But as I said before, or meant to say, " Let that flie stick to the wa'!"
Hark back with me, and let us emphasise the community of our blood and spirit, you who are the children of Ossian, and we who are of the land and heritage of Burns! And perhaps you will allow me, who have difficulty in divesting myself of my homi-
highlanders all.
letical robes, to bring before you the manner in which we were all very much at one in that splendid prime, when Kentigern the Briton and Columba the Gael met in Glasgow town, and evidently had no difficulty in recognising their common birthright, not only in the matter of " one Lord, one faith, one baptism," but in the community of their race and tribal standards. There is a chapter in the history of that period which still awaits its student and scribe. He shall arise some day, and extend the truth to that obscure time in Zion, when gospellers of the British tribes and gospellers from the Gaelic tribes worked away happily and reciprocally in each other's areas, with so unrestricted an industry and freedom as to indicate that the community of which I spoke above was more vital than many have yet detected. Gaels went to school at the British Whithorn, and Britons came readily to Dalriada of the Gaels. If, in particular, you condescend on Bute, you shall find that the British paladins of the Gospel were active there before the Gaels had yet set sail from Erin ; but when the Gaelic speech came to possess the island, and its monks to occupy the British shrines, the names of the British saints were not superseded. Ninian and Maccaille were left in tutelary possession, by which is indicated an affectionate recognition on the part of the Gaels of the kinship of their forerunners. Indeed, in the wider area of Strathclyde and the Highland parts west of the Firth, the saints in the circuit of their labours follow a cycle, the centre of which can truly be found only in a kinship of tribal origin and culture such as is so apt to be lost in the customary rupture in popular thought between Highlands and Lowlands. The cycle wheels as follows:—Patrick, a Briton of Clydeside—I defy anyone to rob us of him, though the thief be as mighty in the kingdom of letters as Professor Bury himself—Patrick, a Briton of Clydeside, wends to South Britain and, in due course, to Erin; the Gael receives him and bears his heritage to Argyll ; from Argyll pass on these grateful cousins to Dunbarton and into Renfrew and Ayr of the Britons ; so that Patrick and Columba and Mirin and Fillan circulate as brethren of one household about our common territory.
In our own day the pervasive force of social and industrial circumstance, of Venus and Vulcan, has restored the kinship in a fashion which those who lived in the days of Highland Hosts and Nicol Jarvies would have thought utterly impossible. Glasgow is as much a Highland fair as a Lowland city.  That mingling
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.)
SWEET Highland girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head; And these grey rocks; this household lawn; These trees, a veil just half withdrawn; This fall of water, that doth make A murmur near the silent lake; This little bay, a quiet road, That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth, together ye do seem Like something fashion'd in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep ! Yet dream and vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart! God shield thee to thy latest years! I neither know thee nor thy peers; And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears.
to a highland girl. IO5
With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away: For never saw I mien or face, In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here, scatter'd like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarass'd look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness; Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer," A face with gladness overspread! Sweet looks, by human kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech; A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life ! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland cuil For thee, who art so beautiful? Oh, happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess!
******
Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland girl! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold,
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall;
And thee, the spirit of them all!
William Wordsworth.
The Life of a Crofter.
(by one of them). Alastair Cameron, Strontian, Argyllshire.
" It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure, The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O, that's the chief est world's treasure. Braw, braw lads."
—Burns.
THE life of the Highland crofter is peculiarly distinct from that found in other rural parts of the British Isles. The wild, romantic nature of his country isolates him from the restless, "madding crowd," and creates in him an industrious, independent, and freedom-loving spirit. As befits a true child of nature, always in close contiguity with scenes and forms untainted by drab artificiality, his life is free and natural, though not unmethodical; for work, spiritual duties, and recreation receive due attention at their proper time.
Surrounded by magnificent scenery, his work, though arduous, is rather attractive. W ithout a doubt, he toils hard for his living, for he has to contend against the erratic Highland weather, and work a generally unproductive soil. The poor return from his few acres forces him to engage in subsidiary employment, where such can be obtained, so that oft-times the stars see him finish his working day on his holding. Yet, under these conditions happiness exists, and we are left wondering how truly happy he might be, if the Highland peasant were assured of a more comfortable living in the land of his fathers.
Winter may be termed the crofter's season of indolence. Short days and unfavourable weather make much outdoor work impossible, but he can always find sufficient to do in feeding the cattle, carrying home fuel, and repairing the thatch on the roof of his cottage. Strangers may think that the crofter has a dreary, joyless existence during the long winter nights; yet, with the exception of solitary holdings in remote places, winter finds him at his happiest and best. Even in the fastnesses, which the far-removed places become in winter, existence is not so melancholy as their situation might indicate.  Fortified with the " Oban Times " and
the life of a crofter.
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.
Most of the sowing and planting is done during April, and, where good old seisreachs* are still the rule, much mirth prevails; for crofter lads and lassies are seldom encumbered with melancholia, however poor their lot or frugal their fare. These delightfully inspiring scenes of Highland rural life lend enchantment to the surroundings, and brighten the lot of the hardy crofter. Long may they survive in the land of the heather, the Highlander's proper environment!
The majority of the local cattle sales, which have superseded the one-time picturesque cattle fairs, are held in May. To the sale go old and young, male and female, and the higher the prices go, the merrier grows the throng. Here old friendships are renewed and new ones made, accounts are paid and bargains eagerly sought for. In May also, strenuous efforts are made to have the peat-cutting completed, and the drying of this ' classic' fuel commenced.
Autumn brings the crofter's most anxious and busy time. Up with the August sun and the morning lark, he sets forth to
*A gathering of crofters to give a day's work to one of their number who, for some reason, is behind with his croft work.
The Life of a Crofter.
(by one of them). Alastair Cameron, Strontian, Argyllshire.
•' It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure, The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O, that's the chief est world's treasure. Braw, braw lads."
—Burns.
THE life of the Highland crofter is peculiarly distinct from that found in other rural parts of the British Isles. The wild, romantic nature of his country isolates him from the restless, " madding crowd," and creates in him an industrious, independent, and freedom-loving spirit. As befits a true child of nature, always in close contiguity with scenes and forms untainted by drab artificiality, his life is free and natural, though not unmethodical; for work, spiritual duties, and recreation receive due attention at their proper time.
Surrounded by magnificent scenery, his work, though arduous, is rather attractive. Without a doubt, he toils hard for his living, for he has to contend against the erratic Highland weather, and work a generally unproductive soil. The poor return from his few acres forces him to engage in subsidiary employment, where such can be obtained, so that oft-times the stars see him finish his working day on his holding. Yet, under these conditions happiness exists, and we are left wondering how truly happy he might be, if the Highland peasant were assured of a more comfortable living in the land of his fathers.
"Winter may be termed the crofter's season of indolence. Short days and unfavourable weather make much outdoor work impossible, but he can always find sufficient to do in feeding the cattle, carrying home fuel, and repairing the thatch on the roof of his cottage. Strangers may think that the crofter has a dreary, joyless existence during the long winter nights; yet, with the exception of solitary holdings in remote places, winter finds him at his happiest and best. Even in the fastnesses, which the far-removed places become in winter, existence is not so melancholy as their situation might indicate.  Fortified with the " Oban Times " and
the life of a crofter.
the " People's Journal," the occupant can shut his ears to the whistle of the snow-wind, as he discourses on their contents to wife and family or aged mother, sitting snugly around the homely peat-fire. The inimitable cèilidh, at which youth oft in fancy lives, and the old feel young again, enlivens life in the glens. To these happy, unconventional, hreside gatherings old and young come, and hear again the tales of their grandfathers; tales of witches, watersprites, and fairies; legends of Celtic prowess in war and the chase; and true stories of Highland valour on many a hard-fought field.
With the spring comes an awakening to work. The crofter may be seen putting out manure by cart, wheelbarrow, or creel, o:~ his grassland. By March the work is in full swing. Day after day, the tenant of a holding which is substantial enough to keep a horse, is busy guiding the plough, co-operation with a neighbour having furnished him with a second horse to make up his pair. At the furrow-end, when for a brief moment he rests his horses, his thoughts turn to what his beloved strath may be like in years to come, if the present systematic depopulation of the Land of the Bens is allowed to continue.
Most of the sowing and planting is done during April, and, where good old seisreachs* are still the rule, much mirth prevails; for crofter lads and lassies are seldom encumbered with melancholia, however poor their lot or frugal their fare. These delightfully inspiring scenes of Highland rural life lend enchantment to the surroundings, and brighten the lot of the hardy crofter. Long may they survive in the land of the heather, the Highlander's proper environment!
The majority of the local cattle sales, which have superseded the one-time picturesque cattle fairs, are held in May. To the sale go old and young, male and female, and the higher the prices go, the merrier grows the throng. Here old friendships are renewed and new ones made, accounts are paid and bargains eagerly sought for. In May also, strenuous efforts are made to have the peat-cutting completed, and the drying of this ' classic' fuel commenced.
Autumn brings the crofter's most anxious and busy time. Up with the August sun and the morning lark, he sets forth to
*A gathering of crofters to give a day's work to one of their number who, for some reason, is behind with his croft work.
io8
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.
Leis an Urr. an t-Ollamh Domhnall Mac Gill'Eathain, Oil-thigh Eaglais Shaor na h-Alba, an Dun-Eideann.
BHO làithean Chaluim Chille gus an là an dè, b' àbhaist do chuid shònruichte de Ghàidheil a bhi ag cur an cèill ann am bàrdachd an creidimh agus am faireachaidhean mu thimchioll nithean mòra Dhè, agus b'àbhaist do chuid eile a bhi air an àrach air a bhàrdachd so mar le smior agus le saill, agus bu lèir 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. io9
As a' bhàrdachd so thug na Gàidheil an ceòl a bha aig a' chìbeir air a' bheinn, aig a' mharaiche air a' chuan, aig a bhantrach 'na bròn, agus aig an fhògarach 'na aonaranachd. Le sòlasan na bàrdachd so dh' fhuadaich cuid dhiubh an cianalas am measg choilltean ùdlaidh Chanada agus mhachraichean farsuing Astràlia, ann am bràithreachas a chiùil:—
" Ach m' anam fo gheilt no fo imcheist cha bhi, Oir an Dia tha mo mhuitighinn, cha dìobair e mi."
B' i a' bhàrdachd a chleachd Alasdair Rothach mar mheadhor gu bhi a' teagasg a' Bhìobuill do mhuinntir Shrath Nàbhair, ionnas gun robh e aig a' chloinn air an teangaidh, agus 'na riaghailt 'nar. caithe-beatha:—
" Ged tha mi gòrach, O Righ, treòraich, 'S le brìgh t' fhocail dìon mi."
Agus is ann mar so a dh' iarr " Donnchadh nam Pìos " dha fhèin agus do mhuinntir a dhùthcha an fhois air an robh iad ann am feum:—
" Gun cuirinn an sin air chùl
M' aobhar tùirse is m' ochanaìch."
Is ann le mànran blàth a bhàrdachd a mhol an t-Ollamh urramach Seumas MacGriogair an soisgeul do fhògaraich a' dhùthcha air taobh thall a' chuain:—
" Thoir sgeul do shlàinte, thoir fois do ghràidh dhoibh, Cuir feart do ghràsan 'nan dàil le buaidh."
Am measg ùghdairean nan dàn spioradail gheibhear am bochd 'sam beairteach, an sean 'san t-òg, an t-eòlach 'san t-aineolach. Gheibhear a' bhantrach 'na bothan falamh, a' tilgeil a h-uallaich Airsan a gheall fois a thoirt do'n dream a tha fo throm laallach-B' ann bho a fèin-fhiosrachadh air sin a sheinn " Bean Torra Dhamh, bho chùl nam beann am Bàideanach:—
" 'Nuair is trioblaidich' a' chual duit Amhairc suas ri Triath nam feartan."
Nach b' aoibhneach's nach bu bhinn a sheinn Mrs. Camshron, Raineach, mu'n Chraoibh sin air a bheil an duilleach nach searg a chaoidh, 's a tha chum leigheas nan cinneach:—
JIO BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD.
" Tha i brìoghmhor, 's mòr a mìlseachd anns gach linn is àl, 'S gach eun tha glan am measg na coill', gheibh iad fo'n chraoibh so sgàil."
Ann am binneas a chiùil agus teas a ghràidh, cha d' thàinig Pàdruig Grannd air dheireadh, a' moladh " Eifeachd fuil an Uain":—
" Cha bhi a h-aon ann nach cuir ris a sheula Gur ann tha 'n èifeachd am fuil an Uain."
Ach b'e am bàrd a thug barrachd air càch juile, Dùghall Bochannan. Mar thuirt Gàidheal cliùiteach, fòghluimte, is e a' labhairt mu'n charragh a chuireadh suas an Raineach mar chuimhneachan air an t-sàr bhàrd uasal so:—"An uair," ars' esan "a bhios a' chlach air crìonadh gu luaithre, tha mì an dòchas gum bi na Laoidhean aig Dùghall Bochannan a' toirt sòlais, misnich is rabhaidh do Ghàidheil anns gach ceàrn, mar thug iad cheana rè dheich agus.còig fichead bliadhna." Le eud a bha laiste le lasair gràidh, thug e earail is achmhasan, cuireadh is rabhadh d'a 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
BARDACHD SPIORADAIL NA GAIDHEALTACHD. I I I
" Gun chridh' aig na daoin'
Bh' air Iomadh le h-aois, Le'n claigeannan maola truagh,
Bhi seasamh ad chòir,
Gun bhoineid 'nan dòrn, Ged tholladh gaoth reòt' an cluas."
Tha gràdh ceudna a chridhe air fhaicinn 'na thagairt ris an òigridh iad srian a chur ri an toil, an uair a sheinn e:—
" Se an gaisgeach esan a bheir fo chìs A thoil chum strìochd' do reusan ceart."
Air chùl so, cò idir a b' fheàrr a dh' innis dhuinn cor saoghalta a h-uile a tha a' tarruing analach na esan, an uair a labhair e mar so:—
" Tha smùdan fèin os ceann gach fòid, Is dòruinn ceangailt' ris gach math; Tha'n ròs a' fàs air drisean geur, 'S an taic a chèil' tha 'mhil 'san gath."
Am measg an cheud triùir de bhàird na Gàidhealtachd tha àite urramach aig Iain Moireasdan, " Gobha Na h-Earradh." Chithear e, le buadhan nàdurra thar mòran, le inntinn ealanta, agus le teanga fhileanta a' rannsachadh a chridhe agus a' sgrùdadh a àirnean; a' leigeil's a' togail, a' strì's^' streap, le a chreideamh gun mheang agus le a shùil gun sgleò, an tràth a tha e a' dòrtadh a mach a theagasgan fialaidh agus soilleir, le dòchas maith nan gràs, eadhon an uair a bha fear a ghràidh car tiota air chall air:—
" Ged shèideadh stoirm is toirm ro bheur, 'Cur chreag gu lèir 'nan smùr, Beithir's crith-thalmhainn gharbh le chèil', Le'n criothnaicht' slèibht'n o'n grunnd: Ged thigeadh teine a losgadh gheug, Gach lus's gach feur 'nan smùid, Chan fhaigh mi fois gu'n cluinn mi fèin, An guth o'n bheul 'tha ciùin."
B'e sin a' bhàrdachd a chuir cumadh uasal air beatha na dh' fhalbh, a chum glan iad 'nan giùlan, agus a rinn an cridheachan fialaidh.   Is ann mar sin a bha, ge b'e air bith mar tha a nis.
Ruairidh Mor.
By Alasdair Alpin MacGregor.
LOVED in times of* peace and dreaded in war as were many or" the chieftains of our Highland Clans in the olden days, comparatively speaking, few of them have made as much history as Ruairidh Mòr of Dunvegan.
To a number of extraneous circumstances, as well as to his personal ability and prowess, was Ruairidh's pre-eminence due. In the first place, he lived at a transitional period in the history of the Highlands: in the second, he showed himself capable of dealing shrewdly and fearlessly with the innumerable problems that confronted his less resolute fellow-chieftains at a time when King James's Government sought to extend its control over the conduct of affairs in the Highlands and Islands generally.
But, apart altogether from matters of public import, Ruairidh Mòr was a man of considerable culture and aesthetic taste. Over his predecessors he had an advantage in these respects in that he could write, earlier chiefs at Dunvegan having been unable even to sign their names, except "with my hand led at ye pene of ye notar."
That Ruairidh was greatly esteemed by King James is proved by diverse documents contained in the Dunvegan Charter Chest. In 1613 he actually went to England, and received a knighthood at the King's hands. Three years later James gave him'a standing invitation " to coome oute of our Kingdome of Scotland and repaire to our Courte at aine time or times which he shal think conveniente: Provided alwise that he coome not at such time as he shal be by our Counsall of Scotland required to coome before them "—so favourable an impression had Rory Mòr made during his sojourn in England.
Ruairidh's aesthetic proclivities are attested by the number of relics associated with him, and still preserved at Dunvegan Castle. Not the least interesting of these relics are his Drinking Cup and his Horn.
The Drinking Cup is made out of a solid piece of oak, delicately embossed with silver, and upon a time studded with jewels.  It stands on four little silver feet, and is ioè inches in
RUAIRIDH MOR.
height. On the four panels of the rim is engraved in beautiful style an inscription that has been the subject of many readings, perhaps the most accurate and reliable of which is the following:—
" Katherina ingen ui Neill uxor Johannis Meguighir principis de Firmanach me fieri fecit. Anno Domini 1493. Oculi omnium in te spectant Domine et tu das escam illorum in tempore opportuno."
(Katherine, daughter of Neil, wife of John MacGuire, chief of Fermanagh, caused me to make this. In the year of our Lord 1493. The eyes of all wait upon Thee, O Lord: and Thou givest them their meat in due season.)
Though Pennant, Johnson, and Boswell visited Dunvegan Castle during the eighteenth century, it is remarkable that not one cf them mentions having seen this celebrated Cup. I believe the earliest literary reference to it is to be found in The Lord of the Isles, where Sir Walter Scott speaks of the " mighty cup . . . erst owned by royal Somerled." In his explanatory note, however, Scott committed (innocently, no doubt) a number of errors that prove the extent to which he misinterpreted the inscription on this Cup, which, he tells us, was at one time the property of Neil Ghlune-dhubh, or Black-knee. The Cup, in point of feet, is frequently alluded to as the cup of Neil Glùn-dubh, who was King of Ulster during part of the tenth century, and who is regarded as having been the founder of the Irish family of O'Neill.
That the Cup was once the property of the O'Neills is clearly borne out by at least two fairly reliable authorities. Gregory tells us that in 1595 Rory Mòr and Hugh MacDonald of Sleat went over to Ireland to assist some rebels against Queen Elizabeth, and that while there the former made friends with Shane O'Neill, who afterwards visited Dunvegan Castle and brought the Cup there with him. In support of Gregory's statement is a tradition in the O'Neill family—a tradition that only the other day was communicated by Lady O'Neill to my esteemed friend and helper, Canon Roderic MacLeod of MacLeod.
T493 is actually the date on the Cup. Scott gives the date, 993. Experts have declared the Cup to be a remarkably fine specimen of early Irish workmanship, probably belonging to the ninth or tenth century. It has been suggested that the rim may have been added in 1493, and that the inscription, therefore, refers to
H
ii4
ruairidh mor.
that date. How the Cup found its way into the possession of the MacLeods of Dunvegan is uncertain, though it has been urged that during the military operations in northern Ireland in the sixteenth century (in which the Dunvegan MacLeods took a notable part), it may have been a reward tor services rendered, or a trophy of war. Herein we need not enter into the legends and remaining details of the Dunvegan Cup; but I would refer those interested to the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries (1912-13), where will be found a delightfully illustrated account of the Cup and of the traditions connected with it.
With the Drinking Horn of Ruairidh Mòr many traditional tales are associated, one being that it was taken from the head of a wild bull, slain in the woods at Glen Elg by Malcolm, the third Chief. From this incident is said to have originated both the bull's head cabossed between two flags, which is the crest of the 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.
Leis an Urr. an t-Ollamh Calum MacGill'innein,
dun-El deann.
ABHEIL 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?"
"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 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."
feill.
Tha am facal CELT tric gu leoir air ar bilean an diugh, ach chan 'eil mi cho cinnteach gu bheil fhios againn gu lèir air a bhrìgh. Tha amharus agam nach b'e na Ceiltich fhèin idir a thug an sloinneadh sin orra fhèin. Ma tha Holder ceart is e ' uachdaran,' ' gaisgeach airm,' as ciall do'n fhacal, agus a chionn 's gur h-è, tha mise dhe'n bheachd gun d' fhuair iad an sloinneadh sin an toiseach bho na treubhan a chuir iad fo smachd. Chan 'eil teagamh nach d'thàinig am facal gu bhi ag ciallachadh, cuideachd, ' duine uasal.' Buinidh an cliù sin fhathast do shliochd a' Ghàidheil—thug MacAmhlaidh fhèin an teist sin orra—agus bu leoir leinne gum mealadh iad an ainm's a bhrìgh. Ma nì iad sin, bidh an tuille fèille orra fhèin agus air a' Ghàidhlig.
Highland Depopulation.
By Rev. Murdo Lamont, Rothiemurchus, Strathspey.
" Och ! mar thà mi, 's mi so 'nam ònar, A' dol troimh 'n choill far an robh mi eòlach, Nach fhaigh mi àite am fhearann dùthchais Ged phàidhinn crùn air son leud mo bhròige."
Dr. MacLachlan, Rahoy.
LET it be said at once that this is no narrow, political party question, such as may sometimes be agitated for ulterior ends: it is essentially patriotic, and but part of a momentous national problem which is exercising the anxious thought of our foremost statesmen, irrespective of party. Is it because the poets have sung so frequently and so passionately about it, that so many regard the call of the deserted glens as of mere sentimental interest, rather than as a matter of supremely urgent national importance? It would be well if we could dismiss the subject so easily, but we cannot and dare not.
n8
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.
The evidence is yearly accumulating that modern civilisation is " becoming like a pyramid on its apex."  Its healthy contact with the soil is attenuating more and more as the generations pass, so that true patriots in all vVestern nations are becoming perturbed. The latest Census taken in France, contrary to common opinion, shows a dimunition of the peasant population, and the same problem confronts the other European nations.    Even in our own Colonies, and in the United States, the same tendency is manifest. There were, for example, twenty thousand vacant farms in the State of New York twenty years ago; there are now over thirty thousand.  In both Australia and Canada the complaint is heard, and alarm prevails, that the cities grow at the expense of the country, endangering true national welfare and progress.   In our own country leading journals, like the "Spectator," issue periodical warnings.
What renders the matter more disturbing, is that healthy contact with the soil is essential to the well-being and continuity of every nation. In some countries, as in our own Highlands, it takes a good deal of pressure, of one kind or another, to draw people away from the land, but, once away from it, there is, in all cases, something in the very nature of things which makes it 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 200,000 boys become old enough to start their job in life. What happens to them in a country where there are still over a million unemployed? To-day there are large numbers of boys living with parents who can ill afford to keep them, in danger of becoming idlers and wastrels, not through any fault of their own, but owing to conditions which do not give them r. fair chance of a decent career."
It is more than half-a-century since Carlyle pictured the starving cities crying for bread, and the vacant acres crying, "Come
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.
119
and till us." A great statesman said recently, " I am one of those who believe that the salvation of this country depends on the restoration of the countryside, for the nation that has not got a live, vigorous countryside is ultimately doomed. We have ignored the countryside for generations in our mad pursuit of wealth and prosperity, but our apparent prosperity has been gained very largely at the expense of the vitality of our people." Another first-rank and far-seeing statesman, and of the Gaelic race, said not long ago that " more and more the towns, large and small, scattered up and down Great Britain, would look for recruitment year by year from the country districts for the maintenance, not only of their physical, but also of their intellectual and moral efficiency." But with this steady depletion of our Highland Glens, where, say in the case of Glasgow, are the precious supplies of fresh, clean blood and of high thought to come from?
Is it not time, then, that we were wakening up to realise the problem? Brushing aside many fine-spun theories of economics, and closely scrutinising many views as to the uses to which our Highlands were meant to be put in the plan of Creation, should we not set ourselves to " exploring every avenue," so that every opportunity for wellbeing, and all the conditions of happy contentment, may be afforded to those of our Gaelic-speaking kinsmen who are willing to remain on their native soil?
The problem is admittedly a most difficult and complicated one, but, while the present writer does not for a moment presume to offer a full or final solution, he believes that our responsibility tor thinking and working out the best solution remains. Among the remedies suggested, one of the most popular is that of emigration, but this must be ruled out as inadequate, because our Colonies are not willing to accept the type of emigrant we can afford to offer, and ask for the very men most needed at home. The fact is, in so far as wisely regulated emigration is beneficial for the home country and the Colonies, we are killing it by allowing the depopulation of the glens whence the successful colonists went forth. We are exporting the seed instead of sowing it, and so have no harvest—the old story of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs!
" Back to the land " is naturally the next suggestion, but here we are met by the same difficulty as is experienced in our Colonies. The men who will succeed on the land are the men who have been brought up on it.  The descent from country to city is easy; the
120
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.
f
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 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
HIGHLAND DEPOPULATION.
12 1
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.
By M. E. M. Donaldson, Author of " Wanderings in the Western Highlands and Islands," " Islesmen of Bride," " Further Wanderings," etc., etc.
WHAT can be more gracious in the Western Highlands— outside their native population—than an early morning in June? Then the light of the infant day is soft and rosy, the sky smiles benignly upon a smooth sea, and the mountains are already aglow with the promise of royal splendour. It is with some such picture in his heart that the Scottish Gael may anticipate his home-coming in early summer, only to be welcomed back by deluges of relentless rain. Does this in any way damp the delight he expected to feel on his return  from  exile?     We shall see .  .  .
Last year, a little before six in the morning, according to "Lloyd George's time" (as opposed to "God's time") I stepped out from the hotel on to the pier at Oban, to board the "Cygnet." The morning was steeped in gloom, for the rain was descending in a steady downpour, in a persistent determination so to continue without allowing itself any rest. Besides myself, there were straggling on board some few passengers unfortunate enough to be bound for the Isles that morning by the most comfortless and inhospitable of all the wretched service that reserves its best boats for tourist traffic. A few poor folk—obviously from Glasgow— a former or so, two other men, a young Englishman—the only one on the boat to have paid cabin fare for purely delusive cabin accommodation—these with myself made up the passenger roll. I took a seat under the bridge that is all the meagre shelter the upper deck affords, apart from the scant accommodation aft, obviously intended for the uninitiated payers of cabin fares.
Sitting on the side of the boat, looking over to where Mull should be, not a trace of that island was visible through the dense curtain of the rain that, still pouring pitilessly down, pitted the sea with monotonous drops. Indeed, since no sign of land was to be seen in any direction, we might have been far out in mid-ocean. It was in all respects save one—the knowledge that it was the homeland—a thoroughly miserable day on the most miserable
the return of the exiles.
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."
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the return of the exiles.
He went on to tell me that he had been earning good money in the States, but that this could not compensate him tor his dislike of Americans, their climate, and all their ways, including Prohibition, so that the call of Barra becoming more and more insistent, at last proved irresistible. At this point he went off to fetch the fellow-islander who was returning with him, and whom he wished to introduce to me.
In his absence I dreamily analysed his eulogy of "typical West Highland weather," which is so commonly and so ignorantly execrated by the average Sasunnach tourist. These know nothing of the unique exhilaration that arises from tramping in the soft caressing rain of the Highlands. They are incapable of appreciating its refreshment: they do not realise that to rain and tempest are due those marvellous atmospheric effects which are the glory of the Highlands. Where else does nature make such lightning change from tears to laughter? Is not the light and laughter of Highland scenery all the more exquisite because it has followed, with such marvellous rapidity, fresh and clean, upon fretfulness and weeping? And is not one day of gloriously fine weather in the Highlands more than sufficient to wipe out all memory of any monotony of wet weather ?
Here my interesting acquaintance returned with his friend, and the introduction made, and after we had shaken hands, I expressed my unfeigned pleasure in being able to welcome back fellow Gaels, more especially in face of a rising tide of emigration that was depleting Scotland of some of the best of her sons. They were, in fact, being driven out, often sorely against their will, by the force of circumstances that made life in the remote parts of the Highlands, and in the Isles, almost an impossibility. Was it not time for Scottish Gaels once more to stand shoulder to shoulder, uniting this time to demand for their country that serious consideration of her special problems which has, so far, been shirked? Of what use is the propaganda of Gaelic if it be not allied with some sustained effort to stem the tide of emigration of those whose mother tongue is the Gaelic? What will avail any success in the Gaelic movement if, in the glens of the Gael, the only sound left is the sough of the wind round the ruined and rotting homesteads of a vanished people ? So we talked, in perfect accord one with the other, till the boat drew into the bay of 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.
By Major John Ross, F.S.A., (Scot.) Editor of " The Book of the Red Deer."
" Creag nan aighean 's nan damh siùbhlach, A' chreag ùrail, aighearach, ianach.''
IN this brief sketch of the Red Deer, it is altogether foreign to my intention to raise any question of a controversial nature regarding this beautful animal. It may have made a chapter in the economic history of this country, which gives rise to un happy thoughts in the mind of the Gael, but in the romantic history of the land of the mountain and the flood, the red deer makes an irresistible appeal to his imagination. I leave it to philosophers to reconcile this contradiction. In the trenches of Flanders, with the thought of home, just as the Australian would associate the Southern Cross, shining down on the' bush,' with the kangaroo, so the Gael would inevitably associate the Polar Star and the circling Plough, glittering over his native hills, with the red deer.
Professor Watson writes:—" Among the Gaels of old, hunting was a recreation and something more: it served as a means of acquiring that individual dexterity and prowess of which they were always fond, and as a training for the sterner work of the battle-field. While the Gael was not singular in these respects, it is probably true that of all the Western peoples, they took most joy in this pastime, and that their literature, ancient and modern, was most strongly affected by it." Who can find words to describe the thrill the old poacher feels, as his adventures in silent corrie or by lonely tarn rise in memory! The deer has been from time immemorial the joy of the hunter and the choice theme of the bard. To every true Gael it is emblematic of his free, proud, energetic, Nature-loving race. It never fails to suggest to him the open spaces, with far horizons, and the silent majesty of Nature which gives him that great emotion called the feeling of the sublime.
At one time the red deer were common all over the British Isles, both in England and Ireland, as well as in Scotland, but, as
120
THE RED DEER.
the population increased, they gradually retreated to the high hills and secluded spots that provided the shelter, food, and freedom they love so well. Their particular home is the Highlands of Scotland, especially the lofty bens and the deep corries northward from the Grampians, those ramparts that defied, the might of Rome, and behind whose barriers have been retained traditions and characteristics of race and language that have endowed our hills and valleys with world-wide fame.
Deer of course, differ, like human beings, according to environment. The deer that are reared on the English parks, or that are carted for the chase on Exmoor, are " tame and domestic " compared with the noble animal which dwells in the mountain solitudes of Scotland. There it is found with the golden eagle, which builds his eyrie in the rugged crags and sometimes takes toll of the fawn?; or with the wild cat, which is still to be seen in the hills, sharing with the wily fox his depredations on the smaller game.
The red deer is one of the most graceful of animals. Keen of scent, swift of foot, and beautiful in form, it might well be taken as an object lesson in eugenics. The hind (the female deer) is undoubtedly one of the most interesting and beautiful creatures in the animal world, not even excepting her lord and master, the stag. If the terms " form divine " and " poetry of motion " can be applied to any creature, surely the hind has a claim upon them. In movement, whether walking, trotting, or galloping, her action is perfect. She is more alert in every sense than the stag, which is well aware of this, as, when accompanied by a bevy of anything up to fifteen hinds, he knows he can safely browse or rest,, when guarded by such trustworthy outposts.
The hind is about a third less in weight than the male deer, which is called the stag, and has no antlers. They have only a single young one at a birth, and the new-born calves are speckled with white spots, which, however, gradually disappear by the time they are three months old. From the beginning of August till about the middle of September, the coat of the deer assumes that rich, glossy red which harmonises so closely with the surrounding autumn tints. As the winter advances, the red passes gradually into brown. For the first year—and the second also, if the calf is a male—the calf runs with its mother. In its third year the male calf develops antlers, and joins his own sex. At six or seven years, he is full-grown, and is then spoken of as a hart.
THE RED DEER. I 27
From that time till he is twelve years old, the stag is in his prime, and, with his ten, or twelve-pointed antlers he looks " every inch a king," and proves his right to the title, " Monarch of the Wild."
When the stag becomes old, he is ousted by the younger and stronger stags, and wanders about alone in the wilds, suggesting something of the sadness felt at the sight of departed glory. The melancholy Jacques seems to have observed that the deer tribe was lacking in pity for their fellows who became disabled through age or other ills:—" To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, that from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, did come to languish;" * * * * " Anon, a careless herd, full of the pasture, jumps along by him, and never stays to greet him."
Standing on the skyline, or moving along the side of a mountain, perhaps near some foaming torrent, with lofty peaks all round, shooting up into the silent sky, and the rays of the sun lighting up his lithe and superb form, the red stag provides one of the grandest animated sights that nature can present. Not far off are a dozen or more hinds which belong to his 'seraglio,' and on whom he often relies for a warning that danger is imminent.
A great deal has been written about the " challenge " of the stag in the mating season, when as Duncan Bàn sings:—
" And no organ sends a roll so delightful to my soul As the branchy-crested race, when they quicken their proud pace, And bellow in the face of Beinn Dòrain."
They do have their grim battles at that time, and fight furiously, but it is seldom to the death. After some preliminary roaring and a great clash of antlers, they push and thrust till the one or 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.
128
the red deer.
Why does Nature show this apparent waste of time and material in growing, and then casting off these mighty antlers every season ? Darwin thought that antlers were developed mainly for the offensive in fighting, but it is known that the baid, or hummei stag is more than a match for his heavily antlered rival. My own opinion is that the antlers have persisted from primitive times as a defensive equipment, when the stag, by throwing back his head, could protect his neck and back against the sudden spring of the leopard, or similar beast of prey.
In conclusion let me give briefly a human touch. " Where," writes Sir Iain Colquhoun in the " Book of the Red Deer," " will you find a companion and friend to equal the Highland stalker? You have in him a man whose mind has felt the wonder of Nature in its ever-changing moods, and is untouched by the vulgarity of a commercial age, and who during the long winter evenings has found time to think things out for himself?'' There is a similar thought from a writer in the " Times," who says:—" Everywhere you may go in the Highlands, it will always amaze you how deeply every labourer has thought out his life."
Am Fiadh.
Le Seumas Mac an Rothaich.
OC ait' am facas a' falbh air faiche, A' siubhal leacainn no 'g astar slèibh, 5 Le 'bhian dearg maiseach, le 'sheang-chruth bras-mhear, Bu bhòidhche pearsa na mac an fhèidh ?
A chuinnean fiata 'sa ghaoith, 's e dian-ruith Feadh thoman riabhach nan cian-bheann ceò;
Le 'àrd uchd àluinn, le 'chabar cràcach, 'S le 'eangaibh sàr-chlis an àm na tòir.
Gur binn am chluasaibh an langan uaibhreach A thig o 'n ruadh-ghreigh o 'n chruachan àrd;
Gur grinn air fuaran an eilid chuanta, *S a laogh mu 'n cuairt di ri luaineis bhàidh.
"THE HOME OF THE RED DEER."
v. r. ralfour-browne
Chunnaic mi 'n damh donn S na h èildean."
am fiadh. 129
An cluas gu clàisteachd, an sùil gu faicinn;
An cinn 's an casan comh-ghrad gu lèir. B' i an obair uasal a bhi 'gan cuartach
'S a' caitheamh luaidhe le buaidh 'nan dèidh."
Gur tric a dh' èirich mi 'shiubhal slèibhe
Roimh shoillse grèine, 's a rinn mo làmh An làn-damh nuallach a chur 'na thuaineal,
'S a thoirt gu h-uallach o 'n fhuaran bhlàr.
Ach, nis o 'n ghèill iad, mo neart's mo spèiread,
'S nach dèan mi èirigh ach mail gu triall, Cha tog mi aonach le gadhar aotrom,
'S cha dèan mi faobhach air sreud nam bian.
The Study of Scottish Gaelic.
By Professor John Fraser, M%A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D., Professor of Celtic, Oxford University.
AGREAT deal of enthusiasm and energy has been devoted for many years to the task of resuscitating the Gaelic lan guage in the Highlands, but little has been heard of the duty and necessity of preparing for the worst by studying the language while we still can do so. The latter is a much easier and more practicable task than the former. Whether Gaelic will be a dead language within a hundred years or not will depend in the main on factors which the most unwearied propaganda can do little to influence. A language cannot be kept alive simply by being made a subject of school instruction; any doubt on that point will be dispelled if one considers how few school children who have been taught French or German—languages which can be, and are, taught more easily and efficiently than Gaelic—can use those languages as a medium of conversation in later life. The only place where the future of a language can be secured is the home, and it is pretty evident that in most Highland homes sentiment is less powerful than the, as a rule unsuspected, pressure of social and economic realities.
i
i30
the study of scottish gaelic.
On the other hand every speaker or" Gaelic can help, directly or indirectly, and without compromising his own or his children's prospects, in preserving a record of Gaelic as a living language. There is a very general superstition that this sort of work must be left entirely to scholars who have been specially trained. It is, of course, true that, in the end, when the facts of a language have been collected, they can be arranged properly, and the correct inferences drawn from them, only by a man who has been taught how to do so. But for the collection of material very little training or instruction is necessary; and, at the same time, the collection of material calls for the collaboration of as many hands as possible. This, it appears to me, is a field in which the numerous Gaelic Societies up and down the country, as well as individual Gaelic speakers, could do very useful preliminary work, which would be of the utmost service to Celtic scholarship.
The nature of linguistic investigations is not perhaps generally understood, and I venture to indicate in as few words as possible the method of dealing with one particular kind of problem. I shall take a concrete example, but the principles involved are of general application.
A correspondent inquired recently whether the expression, bha iad air an òran a sheinn ''nuair a rainig sinn is, in point of syntax, more correct than, bha iad air an t-òran a sheinn, etc.     To this question there can be no simple answer till we have defined the term " correct."    If by this we mean " in accordance with earlier usage," then we can say at once that the former of the two sentences is the more correct.  In saying so we make a statement about the history of the Gaelic language, viz., that at one period all native speakers said air an òran a sheinn.  But a living language is constantly changing; innovations in pronunciation, morphology, and syntax are being constantly made.  Some of them are at once suppressed, others are adopted and become part and parcel of the language.    Every innovation is a " mistake," and remains one till it is adopted in general usage, and we can say that the development of every language consists in, so to speak, legalising an unending series of " mistakes."     When, therefore, it is asked whether a particular syntactical construction, which is a departure from earlier usage, is correct, we must inquire whether it is in common and recognised use among native speakers.    If it is, then it is correct.  Naturally, the question whether it should be employed in formal literature is a question for the stylist; the
the study of scottish gaelic.
business of the student of language is to ascertain the facts, not to make rules.
Whether air an t-òran a sheinn is correct I cannot say, for I do not know whether the construction is in common use among good native speakers.*
And that brings me to the object of this short article. There are innumerable questions like the above, concerning the Gaelic language, which cannot be answered for lack of knowledge of the facts. It is quite clear that the facts could be collected by any one. What is wanted is a certain amount of organisation, directed by a body which could count on the assistance of competent Gaelic speakers in all parts of the Gaelic-speaking area, and the distribution to the latter of a simple statement of the kind of information required.
*The question 'What degree of " goodness " as a speaker of a language is necessary to constitute a norm ?' is an interesting one, but cannot be discussed here.
The Celtic Spirit.
(WHAT IT MEANS TO A LOWLANDER.) By William Power, Editor, " The Scots Observer."
IHAVE often wondered what the Gael's very private opinion is of people who, like myself, have neither the Gaelic nor an authentic strain of Highland blood, but only what is called a " sympathetic interest" in the Highlands and in things Celtic. The Gael, of course, is too polite to tell me. But I cannot think that his opinion of me is very different from my own, and in making an appearance in a book of this kind I feel that I am an impostor, a humbug of the deepest dye. In extenuation I can only plead that I am not the slightest bit interested in grouse or deer or what is called " sport," that I am less interested in Highland fauna than in Highland scenery, and that I am interested in the scenery mainly because of the human life, the music, the
i3°
THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC.
On the other hand every speaker of Gaelic can help, directly or indirectly, and without compromising his own or his children's prospects, in preserving a record of Gaelic as a living language. There is a very general superstition that this sort of work must be left entirely to scholars who have been specially trained. It is, of course, true that, in the end, when the facts of a language have been collected, they can be arranged properly, and the correct inferences drawn from them, only by a man who has been taught how to do so. But for the collection of material very little training or instruction is necessary; and, at the same time, the collection of material calls for the collaboration of as many hands as possible. This, it appears to me, is a field in which the numerous Gaelic Societies up and down the country, as well as individual Gaelic speakers, could do very useful preliminary work, which would be of the utmost service to Celtic scholarship.
The nature of linguistic investigations is not perhaps generally understood, and I venture to indicate in as few words as possible the method of dealing with one particular kind of problem. I shall take a concrete example, but the principles involved are of general application.
A correspondent inquired recently whether the expression, bha iad air an òran a sheinn 'nuair a ràinig sinn is, in point of syntax, more correct than, bha iad air an t-òran a sheinn, etc.     To this question there can be no simple answer till we have defined the term " correct."    If by this we mean " in accordance with earlier usage," then we can say at once that the former of the two sentences is the more correct.  In saying so we make a statement about the history of the Gaelic language, viz., that at one period all native speakers said air an òran a sheinn.  But a living language is constantly changing; innovations in pronunciation, morphology, and syntax are being constantly made.  Some of them are at once suppressed, others are adopted and become part and parcel of the language.    Every innovation is a " mistake," and remains one till it is adopted in general usage, and we can say that the development of every language consists in, so to speak, legalising an unending series of " mistakes."     When, therefore, it is asked whether a particular syntactical construction, which is a departure from earlier usage, is correct, we must inquire whether it is in common and recognised use among native speakers.    If it is, then it is correct.  Naturally, the question whether it should be employed in formal literature is a question for the stylist; the
THE STUDY OF SCOTTISH GAELIC.
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.) By William Power, Editor, « The Scots Observer."
T HAVE often wondered what the Gael's very private opinion ± is of people who, like myself, have neither the Gaelic nor an authentic strain of Highland blood, but only what is called a " sympathetic interest " in the Highlands and in things Celtic. The Gael, of course, is too polite to tell me. But I cannot think that his opinion of me is very different from my own, and in making an appearance in a book of this kind I feel that I am an impostor, a humbug of the deepest dye. In extenuation I can only plead that I am not the slightest bit interested in grouse or deer or what is called « sport," that I am less interested in Highland fauna than in Highland scenery, and that I am interested in the scenery mainly because of the human life, the music, the
132
THE CELTIC SPIRIT.
literature, the legends, of which it is the background and very largely the inspiration.
I believe strongly in the teaching of Gaelic, and in its use among the Highland people. "Why, then, have I not learned it myself ? That is a straight question, to which I will give a straight answer. When 1 was at the plastic age the cultural value of Gaelic was not recognised, and I did not know anyone who spoke Gaelic and could teach me. My environment was not Highland. Later, when I had acquired mental initiative, I was repelled by two things. One was my impression that the Gaelic literature of Scotland had been narrowed and spoiled by the spirit of Presbyterian evangelicalism; every poet I heard of seemed to be a writer of hymns or didactic verse. The other obstacle was the fantastic system of orthography, the real origin and reason of which no one has managed to make clear to me: had Gaelic a century or two ago been boldly phonetised on the Roman system, as Finnish was, it might have been the language of all Scotland to-day. I am a poor linguist: German very nearly beat me, and German is child's play compared to Gaelic. Every Gaelic speaker I met, also, said of every other Gaelic-speaker: " He doesn't know Gaelic." At times I wondered if anybody really knew it.
Things have changed now, I believe. There are at least half a dozen Highlanders whose claim to know Gaelic is admitted by the Highlanders. The subject-matter of contemporary Gaelic literature has extended; the treasures of the pre-Presbyterian period are being unearthed: also, the key to Highland Gaelic may, with a little turning, unlock the richer store-house of Irish Gaelic. Old and stupid as I am, I would set myself even yet to the learning of the language, were a rational system of orthography adopted.
And why should I have the slightest desire to load my lazy head with a language which many " sensible " people—some of them Highlanders, alas!—declare to be of no use whatever in modern life? Why am I intensely interested in the activities of a Society which has for its primary aim the preservation of Gaelic among those who have the opportunity of oral instruction in their childhood?
Well, it began when I was about eight years old, with the reading of " Lord Ullin's Daughter," and a day excursion to Ardentinny and Loch Goil. That is not the Loch Goil of the poem, of course, but there was something about those dark, rugged mountains, with their fleeting, mysterious shadows, and that dark
THE CELTIC SPIRIT.
'33
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..
By Colonel John MacGregor, Hon. Bard of Cian Gregor.
ON the Braes of fair Balquhidder,* Braes of ever famed renown, When my mortal race has ended, Dig my grave and lay me down, That my dust at last may mingle With the sod that I have loved Through the changing moods of fortune, Or where'er my footsteps roved.
Other loves have flourished, vanished,
Leaving scarce a trace behind; Having lived their day, they faded
Like a shade from off my mind: Far from so the love of country,
Of the lakes and mountains blue, Which, the more the world I wandered,
Only strong and stronger grew.
On it spread no flimsy roses,
Fresh and fragrant though they bloom, Since they're not the tribal emblems,
That should grace my Highland tomb: Place instead some purple heather,
Plant a sprig of stately pine, For they're both supremely loyal,
And, by birthright, both are mine !
*As the first Bard of Cian Gregor since the resuscitation of the name of MacGregor by Act of Parliament in 1775, after a suppression that lasted nearly two centuries, the author of this poem has been granted a lair in the old, historic churchyard of Balquhidder, where Rob Roy is buried. The fact that his mother was a MacDonald explains the reference to the purple heather; while, of course, the pine is the emblem of the MacGregors.
Thig Sonas is Slainte bho Thoileachas-inntinn.
Le Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, Inbhirnis, (" Gleannach.")
FAODAIDH e a bhi gun robh an seann sgeul so aig daoine glice na h-Aird'-an-Ear o shean ann an cànain eile; ach chuala mise i o chionn àireamh bhliadhnaichean air ais, ann an Gàidhlig ghrinn, ghleusda, am measg an t-seann sluaigh, anns a' ghleann 'san robh mi òg:—
Anns na seann tìmeannan fada o chian, bha duine mòr an sud nach robh a' faighinn a shlàinte gu maith idir. Chuir e fios air lighiche an dèidh lighiche 'ga fhaicinn, ach cha robh sgil no eòlas aig neach seach neach dhiùbh, a bha a chum feuma do'n fhear nach robh slàn.
Chuala e gun robh duine ann an dùthaich eile a bha ro sgilear agus glic a thaobh thinneasan agus iomadh trioblaid eile de na bhios a' leigeil àmhghair air clann-daoine. Chaidh e air thurus gun dàil, a dh' fhaotainn comhairle bho 'n duine ainmeil a bha an sud.
Mu dheireadh fhuair e an duine air an robh e an tòir, agus dh' innis e dha gach puing mu dhèidhinn a thrioblaid. Cheasnaich an duine glic e gu min-eòlach mu a phàrantan, mu a aois, mu a chaitheadh-beatha, agus mu a chleachdaidhean gu lèir, agus air dha freagairt chiallach fhaotainn do gach ceist, is e a thubhairt e ris an duine a bha ag gearan:—
" Is e a tha ort-sa trioblaid a tha glè iongantach, agus chan 'eil leigheas air do shon ach a h-aon, agus is e sin gu faigh thu r'a caitheadh an lèine aig an fhear sin a their riut le uile fhirinn gu bheil e làn shàsuichte le a staid shaoghalta—fear a tha gun nì 'sam bith ag cur dragha no bruaillein air, no a' toirt mi-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,
THIC SONAS IS SLAINTE  BHO THOILEACHASINNTINN.
137
chaidh innseadh dha gun robh aon duine anns a' choimhearsnachd a bha fo 'n ainm a bhi uile-thoilichte 'na bheatha gu h-iomlan. Rinn e air an duine so air ball. 'Nuair a thachair an dithis, thubhairt am fear a bha an tòir air slàinte ris an duine ^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.
By Sheriff J. MacMaster Campbell, C.B.E., F.S.A. (Scot ),
Campbeltown.
AWAY back in the early « Seventies "—seventy-two to be precise—my schoolmaster at Inverness asked me if I would be willing to go up for the winter months to assist his brother who was teacher at Findhorn Bridge. With youthful temerity I agreed to go, and some days before I took the fateful journey by Macgillivray's Mail-gig I foregathered with a companion, who expressed his surprise that I should make the adventure. On questioning him to find the reason for his objection, his answer was, "You're sure to learn Gaalic," for thus it was frequently pronounced in mid-Victorian Inverness. Andrew Fraser but voiced the prevailing attitude among the school boys of the town: they regarded Gaelic as something to escape from. I can recall how his surprise was increased when I told him that the opportunity of learning Gaelic (which during the succeeding four months was mine in full measure) was the more potent of the inducements about to impel me to brave the rigours of a winter in Strathdearn.
My conversation with Andrew Fraser took place just one year after the institution of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, and, although the leaven of the new Society was already operating among our seniors, its influence had not reached the schools, and I should have viewed the language in the manner of my companions but for the fortunate circumstance that, while English was the language of our home, my father was a Sutherlander, and my mother a perfect speaker and writer of the Gaelic of her native Argyll.
Since those far-off days, the Gaelic Society has, in its own well-defined way, done magnificent work in the rehabilitation of Gaelic, not alone in Inverness and the home country, but in every wide-flung land where Highlanders sojourn or reside. The Society became a leading contributor to the success of the movement instituted and personally conducted by Professor Blackie for the endowment of the Chair of Celtic in the University of Edinburgh. And it is appropriate to make the observation that the prime mover in the establishment of the Gaelic Society was Mr. William Mackay (now Dr. William Mackay), happily still
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with us, who for a period, too, filled with distinction the Presidentship of An Comunn. The cause of Gaelic culture is under many obligations to Dr. Mackay: his work on Urquhart and 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 187: had reflexes which for many subsequent years marked the everyday language of the people as an intruder in the schools of the Highlands: and these competitions gradually faded away. It is really by the pathway of research and written (and subsequentlv published) communication that the Gaelic Society has pursued its distinguished course, whereas An Comunn set out to fulfil its mission by giving opportunity to the speakers and singers of
HO
THEN AND NOW.
Gaelic to engage in Annual Contests, concentrated for the first few years in the National Mòd, but forming after a while the pro gramme of a multiplication of Provincial Mods.
In the passing of the years, An Comunn has added, and added with effect, other schemes to its original plan, but, while the competitions inaugurated by the Gaelic Society languished and ceased, the Mods, I take it, still continue the outstanding project of An Comunn Gàidhealach, growing annually in the weight of their service—National and Provincial Mods alike—to that cause which in these days makes such forceful appeal to all true Highlanders.
Let me interpolate here the recollection that, during the first four years of An Comunn, the authorities of the Inverness Society were not quite certain that the movement was well and truly founded, and it was not till 1897 that An Comunn was successful in inducing the Gaels of Inverness to give sanctuary to the Annual Mòd, and the Inverness Mòd of that year was the fifth of the series.  It is but fair to say, that it was the Gaelic Society of Glasgow which gave first aid to the group of  Oban  enthusiasts who, temerariously, sought to follow in the wake of their fellow-Celts of Wales.    And of the Glasgow Society Executive particular mention should be made of the President and the Secretary of the time, Professor Magnus McLean and Mr. Malcolm Macfarlane.  Likewise, acknowledgment must be made that since the Mod of 1897, Inverness has never wavered in its loyalty to An Comunn, and it is to Inverness we are indebted for that great singer, who combines, in an extraordinary degree, the Ossianic-like inspiration of the old Bards with the musical culture which pertains to modern method, these together giving Roderick MacLeod an influence on the emotions of the listening Gael which uge does not wither nor custom stale.
In retrospect of the earlier Mods I recall that the Executive were frequently perturbed by the disappointments, frequently expressed by competitors, individual and collective. Not that we omitted the possible results of these disappointments from our calculation. We were aware that, except in athletics and pipe music, Highlanders were unaccustomed to competitive tests of skill, and, Highlanders ourselves, we had no delusions as to the chance that the disappointments of contestants in competitions of a literary and vocally musical sort might arrest the subsequent flow of competitors. But it is gratifying to record that, except in a few regrettable instances, the unhappiness which followed i1l-
THEN AND NOW.
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success at one Mòd did not prevent the unsuccessful competitor from entering at the next. As Mòd has followed Mòd, indeed, the feeling of sportsmanship has developed from strength to strength, and this in itself is an achievement upon which An Comunn has good and sufficient cause to congratulate itself. I should like to say, too, that so far as my observations inform me, the same good feeling among competitors, which characterises the National Mòd, prevails also at the numerous Provincial Mods.
A milestone in the career of An Comunn, the Fèill of 190" carried two, at least, notable consequences. It put the Association under perpetual obligation to Mrs. Burnley Campbell of Ormidale, to whose energies as Convener the success of the Fèill was large!} due. Then, the substantial amount which it yielded enabled An Comunn to employ a Secretary whose whole time should be devoted te the work. And to this latter circumstance is to be ascribed the very substantial increase in the number of the Branches.
In association with successive Presidents, Mr. Neil Shaw has proved himself an excellent propagandist, and, in my judgment, the Branches which have materialised in course of his journeyings, constitute a department of An Comunn's activities which, for its value to the Cause for which An Comunn stands, cannot be over estimated. When the resources of An Comunn are enlarged by the results of the Great Fèill, Mr. Shaw should be enabled, through delegation of the office work, to keep in regular contact with the Branches, paying each of them at least one annual visit, and thus acquainting the remotest of the Branches with such new plans for promoting the movement as from time to time are evolved at Headquarters.
I speak from experience of the work and influence of one of the Branches, when I say that the Branches of An Comunn have proved themselves of no small cultural and social value to the communities in whose midst they are to be found. And, with adequate liaison with the centre, certain advantages not hitherto experienced, might be expected to ensue, as well to the localities, as to the general movement. One immediate result would be the bracing up of the organisation of the Branches, and incidentally there would develop a closer intimacy with Headquarters. Then, contributions from the Branches to the Central Fund might be multiplied without discomfort, and occasional conference with the General Secretary could not fail to promote this financial improvement.
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THEN AND NOW.
The circulation of "An Gàidheal " would speedily respond to the regular visitation of the Branches, for Mr. Shaw could be trusted to broadcast the merits of the Magazine, and to organise means for its delivery to subscribing Branch members. In respect of "An Gàidheal" itself I make two observations; the matter of it provides good, solid reading, but, literary medium as it is, for an Association with a broad, popular basis, the Magazine might with advantage provide alongside the more substantial matter such as now appears, articles and sketches—consonant always with the scheme of An Comunn—of a lighter variety. The Editor should be put in the position that he could invite contributions from writers of standing, in sympathy with the Gaelic Renaissance, and whose inspiration is in no small measure to be traced to the troubling of the waters which produced the Renaissance. The sequent improvement would produce a twofold result: but " An Gàidheal" would become a more effective auxiliary to the Gaelic Cause, and, its potential constituency becoming actual, the Magazine would be quickly transformed into a revenue producing department.
After all, the fundamental mission of An Comunn is to maintain where it still persists, and where the language is approaching, or has approached, obsolescence, to revive, the knowledge and the use of Gaelic among the young people of Scottish Gaeldom. Without the statutory machinery of the Education Act of 1918, this task would have been insuperable, and it is common knowledge that it was the zeal and activity of the Executive of An Comunn during the period immediately preceding the passing of the Act, which influenced the Scottish Grand Committee to the enactment of the Gaelic Clause. My residence at the circumference prevented me from taking any share in the work, and I am thus free to offer tribute of admiration and gratitude to those ladies and gentlemen of the Executive, who, at a period of high crisis, performed such momentous service to their countrymen. Professor Watson, in particular, was distinguished for his untiring devotion to the work, and, though I dread the mention of names in case there may be unjust omissions, I must not refrain from telling how much Highlanders are indebted to these other active members of the Executive for their whole-hearted service to Gaelic Education in connection with the Bill of 1918, viz:—Mrs. Burnley Campbell, Mrs. Watson, Mr. Malcolm MacLeod, Rev. George MacKay, and Mr. John N. MacLeod.
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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
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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.
The Assynt Maid's Lament.
PjTTKNI>R!GH m-\CGII,F,IVR:\Y.
Melody by N. T.
Paruig Mor.
By William D. Lamont, M.A. (Hons.), Glasgow University.
SUNSET viewed from the western coast of Kintyre is a glorious sight. A gossamer veil is being drawn across the blue-grey Irish coast; beyond Gigha, the Paps of Jura stand cut against a reddening sky. By some curious whim of the wind, a wandering fragment of cloud has been transformed into a white wreath above Islay, and as the sun slowly sinks behind the island, it turns the wreath to a crown of gold.
Somewhere over there, under that crown, Old Peter, or Paruig Mòr as the Islay folks call him, will be having supper with the boys. A wonderful fellow, Peter. He had the keenness and energy of the capable shepherd, balanced by the unworldliness of the mystic. What a wonderful attraction he possessed for everyone—especially for the youngsters! I had felt this from the beginning, but it was only on the last occasion I saw him that I began to understand.
It was a blustering night, late in October. The memory of the events of that night begins with a vivid recollection of my stumbling clumsily across the moor, in what I hoped to be the direction of Peter's cottage.
A glimmer of light from the window appeared once more, dispelling my fears, and I cut across in its direction; for, to tell the truth, I had begun to have some doubts as to my position. To find old Peter's cottage was not a simple matter on such a night as this, and by a shy and unobtrusive path which often retired modestly under the longish heather of the undulating moor.
" Come in!" bawled Peter in answer to my knock, and I heard the scraping of chairs and stools, as the inmates prepared to inspect a new arrival. " Ah, Peter entertaining as usual," I thought; "the little beggars rally round the old idol even on a night like this." As I unlatched the door, the wind slammed it against the wall and set in violent motion the line of large coloured
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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.
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The hours flew past, in Peter's kitchen; and by the time the laddies had finished extracting promises from their hero, it seemed to me that, had he been addicted to the practice of noting his engagements, Peter's diary would be incapable of accommodating another pencil-mark for the next ten months.
Someone spoke about the big trawler which had been dashed to pieces on the Mull of Oa, a few months previously, and from that Peter easily drifted into telling stories. If you haven't heard him, you must just take my word for it that Peter was the boy to make you lie back and dream dreams; or to make you sit forward, your eyes bulge, and your flesh creep,—as the mood took him. To-night he told about ' a strange light that used to appear at the Mull of Kintyre in stormy weather, when me and two Tarbert lads owned a herring-skiff and worked about Gigha and Kintyre,' and about ' some queer wee folk that used to be seen in the hills above Glencoe.' At last the old shepherd, with a glance out of the window, remarked that it was getting late. " Had you boys not better be getting home ? Your folks'll be getting anxious about ye on a night like this."
" Och, no, Peter we'll manage fine. Tell us about the time j-ou and Duncan MacDonald was on the moor, and met himself." '* "Who's Himself?" enquired the latest recruit to the privileged
company of the Peterians; " Is't the laird?      That's no-."
" W hisht, ye know nothing about it, Chicken," Jamie interrupted, " It wasna the laird Peter met.   It was a Something."
" Isn't it a bittie late to begin that one?" said Peter; "ye've all heard it before, but the Chicken. Besides it's a wild night, and you and Angus has to go over the road by the Black Hill."
" Ach, we don't mind. We're not frightened of Him," Jamie declared boldly, and Angus simply shivered in glorious anticipation of Peter's most creepy spell-binder.
" Well," began Peter, " it was when me and Duncan Mac-donald 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,
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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.
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
PARUIG MOR.
wrong. Myth, legend, and fairy-tale are the only language in which the feeling of the Sublime can be expressed. That such language is still spoken, and that we still have, and always will have, those emotions which can be uttered only in such language, makes life worth living; and so long as there are Peters to tell, and Angus Campbells to listen, we can smile good-naturedly at the pessimist who avers that man has become the slave of created and uncreated Mechanism.
A distinguished statesman, whom no one would think of as * dreamy ' or unpractical, although of Gaelic descent, said recently that he desired to suggest " that the time had come when the old stories, the old songs, the old customs, and the racial beliefs and floating traditions,—and dreams and visions, if they liked—of the past of the Gael should be collated and recorded, as precious heritages, worthy of being perpetuated as monuments of the human mind, dedicated not only to the past, but to a useful present, and a still more useful future." Of the educative value of legendary lore, and of the potently suggestive background it forms for the creative imagination there can be no doubt. Says Sir Arthur Machen, "The love of mystery and wonder is the sure foundation, the only foundation, of Art."
" Of the educational value of the legendary and romantic element in the national history there can hardly be any question . . . Without a knowledge of the legend and romance of any nation, we cannot adequately apprehend the essential characteristics which distinguish it from every other."—Prof. P. Hume Brown,
" Extremes may meet in the intellectual as certainly as in the moral world. I find, in tracing to its first beginnings the slowly accumulated magazine of facts and inferences which forms the stock in trade on which my mind carries on its work of speculation and exchange, that my greatest benefactors have been the philosophic Bacon and an ignorant old woman, who, of all the books ever written, was acquainted only with the Bible. As I look back on the comparatively brief space of twenty years of the past, I see the stream of tradition gradually lessening as it flows onward. It has often been a subject of regret to me that this oral tradition of the past, which I deem so interesting, should be thus suffered to be lost."
Hugh Miller.—" Scenes and Legends of the North."
Message from Cornwall
By R. Morton Nance, Carbis Bay.
OUR deep sense of our own loss begets in us the fullest sympathy with your cause. I only wish that we had even a tiny village, full of Cornish speakers, here in Cornwall— all that we have is a number of names and words, two or three traditional phrases, and a memory of the numerals; a small spark from which to relight Cornish as a spoken language. I fear that for us it can never be the popular language again.
I am myself of the opinion that the Celtic languages, like the handicrafts, must be kept alive somehow through this dismal mechanical age that refuses them sustenance. The time must come again when individuality will be sought for as much as it is now being crushed out, and the Celt then will have his part to play again.
In Cornwall—though in nearly all our place-names, in hundreds of our dialect words, and in the intonation of West Cornwall speech, we have still the means of learning to read our Cornish literature as Cornishmen, and not as strangers—there are few in whom the Celtic spirit is strong enough to make them take up the task of re-learning their old language. ^ Our old Cornish Societies are seeking to preserve what remains of our " Cornishness," but they come late, and our message to you in Scotland, given in Cornish, is:—Gwitheugh ages tavas^ why gans ol ages nerth—" Keep your language with all your might."
" Hand-labour on the earth, the work of the husbandman and of the shepherd;—to dress the earth and to keep the flocks of it—the first task of man, and the final one—the education always of noblest lawgivers, kings and teachers; the education of Moses, of David, of all the true strength of Rome, and all its tenderness; the pride of 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.
Na h-Ailleagain's an Calman.
Le Aonghas Mac Dhonnchaidh, Ceann-suidhe a' Chomuinn Ghaidhealach.
AFHLORAG, 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 crùn de rionnagan air a cheann—is thug e Flòrag air falbh anns na neòil. Mà! bha Miss Emma ag innseadh dhuinn anns an sgoil-Shàbaid, gur e an calman a thug Spiorad Dhè a dh' ionnsaigh Chriosda an uair a chaidh a bhaisteadh."
"Mo bheannachd   sìorruidh air do bhan-oide!" labhair a màthair, mar ri fèin, agus facail dhrùidhteach eile, fo a h-anail, air nach d' fhuaireas greim-aithris. Thionndaidh i a ceann air falbh.
NA H-AILLEAGAIN 's AN CALMAN.
*55
" Mà! Mà!" dh' eigh Annag is i a' bualadh nam bois le toileachas. " Nach coimhead sibh an calman air gualainn Flòraig I Chan 'eil Dia crosda ri cloinn bhig a dh' innseas an fhìrinn. Theid an calman do'n sgoil còmhla ri Flòraig an diugh. A bheil an là an diugh fuar?" dh' fhaighnich i car ealamh, is i ag glacadh a cinn eadar a dà làimh.
" Beannaich mi! gu dè a tha thu a' faireachadh? An e do cheann a tha goirt ?" thuirt a màthair, is i a nis air a cur mun cuairt; agus cha b' ann gun aobhar, oir bha fiabhrus gabhaltach 's a' choimhearsneachd.
Tha mo cheann goirt; nach 'eil?" fhreagair i, is a sùil air a' chalman a bha air spiris air gualainn a peathair a b'òige, is fuaim borbhain-tuinn 'na ghob. " Bidh tusa còmhla ri Flòrag tuilleadh. Mà, cha chreid mi nach 'eil mi tinn. Na cuiribh Flòrag do'n sgoil idir."
Chaidh a màthair car 'na boile; ged bha i ag èisdeachd, thàinig lapadh air a h-inntinn air son tiota. Agus gus am faca i a pàisde ag atharrachadh nan dath, cha do thuig i gun robh an galar crait -each air tighinn a dh' ionnsaigh a tighe.
" Cha bhi dad ort am màireach," thuirt a màthair le guth anns an robh misneachd nach robh i idir ag altrum. "Theid thu air ais do'n leabaidh; fuirichidh Flòrag às an sgoil còmhla riut, agus gheibh sinn an dotair 'san fheasgair."
" Cha leighis an dotair sin idir mi," fhreagair Annag, is i a' sealltainn dian air falbh. " Na cuiribh a laighe fhathast mi. Tha mi air son na dìtheanan fhaicinn an diugh. Seallaidh mi do Fhlòraig ciamar a nì i paidrean."
Bha i 'na tosd air son mionaid.
" A mhàthair!" thòisich i a rithisd; cha dubhairt i am facal sc. riamh roimhe. " Carson nach bi feadhainn ag gabhail òran 's a' mhaduinn?"
"Dè chuir sin 'na do cheann, eudail?" fhreagair a màthair, is i a' feitheamh an ath fhacail le eagal.
" Nach aithne duibh an t-òran a bha Iain Ruairidh ag ionnsachadh do m' athair?"
" Co am fear diubh?" arsa a màthair.
" Caidil thusa, a luaidh!"
" Chan urrainn mi an dràsda," thuirt a màthair, air son a cur seachad.
" Canaidh Flòrag e, ma leigeas sibh leatha."
" 'S mi-fhèin, eudail, a leigeas," fhreagair a màthair, ged bha
'56
NA H-AILLEAGAIN 5s 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.
Leis an Urr. an t-Ollamh D. A. Caimbeul, Drochaid Ruaidh.
" Is truagh an diugh nach beò an fheadhainn, Gun ann ach an ceò de'n bhuidhinn, Leis'm bu mhiannach glòir nan gadhar, Gun mheoghaìl, gun òl, gun bhruidhinn."
THA mi glè chinnteach nach 'eil Abrach 'sam bith ann nach cuala uair-eigin aig na seann daoine naidheachd mu dhèidhinn laoich d' am b' ainm Iain Odhar, a bha a' tàmh anns a' Bhràighe ri àm Murt na Ceapaich.  Bha a dhachaidh aig Iain ann an Gleann Ruaidh, air goirtean bòidheach, gorm, ris an abrar A' Bhriagach, far am faicear fhathast làrach an seòrsa tighe a bha aige.
Beagan fodha, tha Abhainn Ruaidh i fhèin, far am faighear am bradan tàrr-gheal, a' bhànag sheòlta, 's an dubh-bhreac diùid, an uair a tha an abhainn air at leis an tuil, agus a' ruith's a' leum le cabhaig aig Boinne-an-Tàilleir, a' sguabadh seachad air Allt-Uilleim, an Stac-Buidhe, a' Chreag-Dhearg, is Dail-Bhuchaidh, a' taomadh eadar coille challtuinne is bruachan fheàrna, a' dannsadh aig Torran-na-Mòna ri ceòl nam bras-shruthan feargach; an sin a' tarruing air a rathad, le braise nach caisgear, a sìos gu Torran-nan-Ceap, is Linne-na-Nighinn, gu doimhneachd is sàmhchair Amhainn Spiothain.
A nis, ged bha Iain a' fuireach ann an Gleann Ruaidh, an 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-
158    sean cheatharnaich braighe lochabair iain odhar.
Mhadaidh, lean e a lorg troimh Cho-Lairig, agus air Lòn-a'-Bhoicinn, ann an Inbhir-Kuaidh, chuir e an t-saighead ann is thug e am boicionn dheth air an lòn.
Uair a bha 'n sud, thachair do dh* Iain gun do thuit e fhèin is Mac-Ic-Raonaill a mach air a chèile, agus bha an tòir air. Aig an dearbh àm so, cò a thàinig rathad na Ceapaich ach Sasunnach àraid, agus, anns na cuir a bha ann, chuir e geall ruithe air Mac-Ic-Raonaill. Bha Fear na Ceapaich 'na èiginn, ag gabhail beachd air an t-Sasunnach mhòr a bha a' ruith gu spaideil air ais's air adhart air Dail-nan- Ubhal. Ach, ged bha an tòir air Iain, cha robh e fad air falbh; bha e am falach an Coille-Innse. Thuig e gu math ciamar a bha cùisean, cheum e Spiothain, agus thòisich e fhèin is an Sasunnach mòr air an rèis. Bha an dàrna fear cho luath ris an fhear eile, ach, mu dheireadh, thug Iain buille le a uilinn mu'n chridhe do'n t-Sasunnach, ionnas gun do thuit e marbh air làrach nam bonn. " Mur 'eil mi air mo mhealladh," arsa Mac-Ic-Raonaill, " sud agaibh sàr leuman Iain Odhair." Rinn na daoine an rèite agus bha iad còirdte aon uair eile.
Chan 'eil aon teagamh air nach ìobh Iain Odhar an treun a neirt aig àm Murt na Ceapaich, oir thàinig na murtairean 'ga ionnsaigh a dh' iarraidh a chuideachd is a chomhairle. " Cha tèid, cha tèid," fhreagair an sionnach; "ma chuireas mise mo làmh 'nar 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 Bealach-
sean cheatharnaich braighe lochabair iain odhar.    i 59
an-Ladhar 'na fheadan aig a' ghaoith thuath; Coire Bochàsgaidh a'leigeil a chudtruim air Breabaig, agus Casan a' Ghinne* a' tarruing nan coigreach a bhios a' rannsachadh iongantasan na cruinne, ach, ged b' eòlach Iain orra uile 'na latha fhèin, tha e an diugh ag; crìonadh an Clachan a' Bhràighe, air taobh thall a' Mhàim, gus an là 'san crathar na h-uaighean aosmhor, agus a liùbhras iad na fhuair iad.
Shiubhail Iain Odhar, agus às a dhèidh, dh' fhàg e eachdraidh a ghnìomhan, agus cuide ri sin, eagal roimh ainm. Aig glomnaich na h-oidhche bidh na giullain 'ga fhaicinn, le ceann àrd, sùil fhaicillich, ceum aotrom; am bogha 'na dhòrn, a' bhiodag r'a chliathaich, is mialchu r'a shàil,
'Se a' dìreadh a' ghlinne, an tòir às a dhèidh, No a' siubhal a' bhealaich air lorgan an fhèidh.
*Casan a Ghlinne, The Gaelic name given in Lochaber to the Parallel Roads of Glen Roy.
Shelling Girl's Song.
By Donald A. Mackenzie.
OLITTLE brown boatie Out on the bay, The wind of the twilight Wafts you away, While longing and sighing, I watch from the brae, And the sky that was golden Turns silver and grey.
A birdie comes singing
And sweet is the song As nigh comes the night-time,
Lonesome and long, For it sings of my true love,
The wind wafts away In the little brown boatie
Out on the bay.
The Departure (A Dream).
By Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland.
>~rlHE Light of the Star in the North—the orange streak of X  dawn, the Sea like a winding sheet.     Day, when 1 went away.
The drums muffled, the melancholy chanter, tears unshed, tear:, restrained like gushing fountains frozen. I walked into a new life —morning blended into afternoon. I heard the rooks cawing, the wild starlings: over the bogs I walked, the moor bogs—over the heather, myrtle, stagshorn.
I reached the road in the Strath; the muffled drums followed, the pipes, the whispers in voices, voices of each brother, sister, mother, father, all akin, and the hearts of children. Through the hearts of children I passed in silence. Then they spoke—all. As seagulls and cormorants scream, the silence screamed.
" You are alone, dusty your march and far and wide you go. In your pack you carry love. Love of the crofter, of the cottar, of the wandering tinker: you are a gypsy of the world, but from the lone sheilings love envelops you as clear smoke: we stand for you like beacons blazing. No feet may follow yours—needs must you pass by shores forlorn. It is the law, succession, the Now of yesterday. All is not gold that glitters. Fare ye well, fare ye well. In our hearts planted, you are a tail Lily, in our hands a wallet of gold, round our necks an amulet, in our eyes the glint of a precious stone."
" You may forget—aye—grow deaf, blind, pass from what is not to what is. You will live because we bless you. You passed over the bridge of the Curse, you called to us as playmates. Lo ! the bridge crumbled and on silver rays you walked. Your head was crowned, your heart enshrined. We saw the Shadow of your will—the will of Love. With your will you smoothed the Face of Silence, of Brooding.—You taught love: innocently you arraigned love."
" From the topmost peaks, you threw us your name. You threw your name to the Eagle, the ptarmigan, the grouse, to the little singing bird,—a name clear on the moan of the wind, on the sigh of the breeze for ever. You go hence, but you never go. You pass, but you never pass. You are dumb, yet you never leave speaking."
So they spoke to me.
the departure.
161
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.
By Rev. Norman MacLean, D.D.
THE old man sat in a sunnag (straw chair) by the chimney corner in his new house, and we talked of the old, old days •—was it hundreds of years ago ?—before the war, and of the old house I knew and loved. His sons built the new house ere they scattered to the ends of the earth, but the old man's heart is in the old. In that old house you went in through the byre, where the cows softly chewed the eud, to the fire in the centre of the floor, beyond the 'hallan,' where fifteen could sit in a circle round the grìosach of red embers on the stones that never were cold. Twelve children the old man reared, strong and swift as deer, in that thatched house, and now some lie in graves with the legend —" Here lies an unknown British soldier." But he never complains: " It is not one man's sorrow," he says. For still he has an old saying for whatever befalls. I remember long ago a ragged, orphan boy coming in when the circle was full round the fire—there was no room for more. " Get a stool for Sammy," said Murdo, " and make room for him: ' Is mairg a bheireadh droch mheas air gille luideagach no loth pheallagach ' " (Foolish is the man who would despise a ragged boy or a shaggy filly.) Not long ago that boy came back from New Zealand, the captain of a great transport, and he came and sat beside Murdo and told him how he fought the submarines. " Did not I say," exclaimed Murdo, " that he would be a great man yet?" And the captain told me that the most intelligent man he found in our parish, on his return after many years, was old Murdo. And Murdo can neither read nor write.
I.
After the new house was built the sons and daughters went far and wide to seek their fortune, and though they did not forget the old home, yet Murdo and his wife Mary had their difficult days. For each of the children had his own to provide for, and what they could spare got less. And with the passing years Murdo could no longer go to Peterhead to the fishing, and the summers, as he grew old, were no longer like the good, warm summers that
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 74 and Mary 71—never a doubt. He remembered the year of the great flood, and the year of the separation of the Churches, and the year the potatoes failed —never a doubt, and nobody doubted. Then came the question —" Were you ever in prison?"
" Me in prison!" cried Murdo; " it is insulting me you are, Master-."
" It is not I who am asking," explained the schoolmaster, " it is this schedule."
"Who put it in the schedule?" asked Murdo, clenching his •fists.
" The schedule is put out by an Act of the King's Parliament," explained the schoolmaster.
" The King, blessed be he," cried Murdo, " would never ask an ill-mannered question like that of a man like me, who reared twelve children for him; I think better of him than that."
And the schoolmaster explained how the King would never think of such a thing, and how some ill-bred politician or clerk put the question in, unknown to the King. So Murdo was pacified, and the schedule filled, and he signed it with a X, £ his mark.' In course of time, word was sent to Murdo that there were 5s. for himself and 5s. for Mary in the Post Office, and that all "he had to do was to come and fetch it. And Murdo went down again and got the money, counting it over and over. " I never saw such shining money," said he; " will I get this every week?" " Yes, every Friday," said the schoolmaster, who was postmaster and registrar and lawyer and letter-writer, for miles and miles. Afterwards Murdo described his feelings. " When I got that money, said he, " bha mi 'nam cheò's ynam bhreislich, ( I was like a man in a mist and in a dream), I could not believe it.
I 64 IN  OUR PARISH-THE KING'S PENSIONER.
When I got home to Mary I handed her ios.—her own and my OWn—and I said to her, ' Mary,' says I ' this cannot last. Think of all the old people like lis in the three kingdoms—thousands and thousands—and each getting 5s. a week from the King. The King himself cannot stand that. God bless him, he will be ruined. I won't go back next week; it is no use.' But when Friday came again Mary says to me—< Go you, Murdo, again; have more faith in the good King, for who knows how much money he has got in his boxes?' And I went, upon her word, and there it was again, and it has gone on ever since . . . only Mary has now gone home to the King Eternal. But what I said to her that second time was this—* The blessed King, I hope that he is keeping a little for himself.'" (An Rìgh beannaichte, tha mi 'n dòchas gu bheil e ag cumail beagain aige fèin.)
II.
That was ten years or so ago, and Murdo renewed his youth. He had his potatoes and his milk, and with a rod he could get fish, sitting on the rocks. " I am as well off as the King himself, blessings be on him," he would say. And as the folk along the braes grew old, Murdo kept a tally of their years, for he was anxious lest the King should be taken advantage of. For it seemed that everybody had suddenly got older. So Murdo kept a tally. The story he loves best to tell is that of lan Dubh (Black John)—who was still known as Dubh, though his hair was white. They met on that fateful year when the King opened his purse. lan Dubh was going to the hill for a creel of peats, and Murdo was going to the rocks to fish. And they stopped to talk, as people will, where time is not, and the summer evening far away.
" Well, lan, said Murdo, " it is yourself that walks with the light step for so old a man."
" Me old," exclaimed lan; " I am not old .... "
" You are sixty-five if a day," said Murdo; " I remember wel! when you were born."
" Sixty-five!" cried lan. " I am only sixty-one; it is myself who knows."
" Sixty-one," says Murdo; " yes you are—and four more."
The two men parted quicker than they thought they would. But up thè hill lan Dubh met Seòras an saoilear (George the student), and George told lan the news of the new law the King
IN  OUR PARISH-THE KING'S PENSIONER.
¦65
was making, and how everybody aged seventy was to get five shillings of a pension.
The fishing was a failure, and Murdo, on his way back with one rock-fish, met lan Dubh again, now returning with his creel on his back, full of peats.   Murdo tells the story thus:—
"When he saw me he began to walk heavily like an old, old man very tired; and again we stood to pass the time of day."
" Murdo," says he, " since I saw you I have been thinking."
" You had much need to think of your age," says I.
" It was just of that I was thinking," says he, " and I began to remember things. I remember when Donald, son of Ewen, son of Donald, son of lan, got married. That was sixty-six years ago if a day, and I must have been five to remember. I am now sure that I am seventy-one years of age....."
" You are not that," says I. " You are sixty-five, but not a day more. . . ."
" But he got quite angry. An hour before he was angry because I said he was old, but that was nothing to his anger now, when I said he was young. I never knew a man grow old so quick. In the course of taking home one creel of peats, lan Dubh aged ten years!"
" Did he get the pension at once?" I asked.
" Aye, that did he," said Murdo; " for lan Dubh—God rest him—was a man of quirks and twists. He was like an eel; you could get hold of him nowhere."
" Are the folk still getting old fast?" I asked Murdo the other
day.
" No," said he; " it is no use now. For they now turn up the registers that began to be written seventy-one years ago. Nobody can get the better of a register! It is a sore temptation removed from the path of godly folk. That was a wise move of the King long ago—that register. Nobody can take advantage of the King now—God keep him !"
III.
When the war came, Murdo walked the hills with a light foot, and cast his peats just as in his youth. And bordering on eighty years he went to Port-a-Rìgh and offered himself as a soldier. "I can see as good as ever," said he; "and I could shoot these hounds of Germans right enough."    But he had to be content that his
106 IN  OUR PARISH-THE KING'S PENSIONER.
sons and grandsons should fight and die. At last all the young men went, and nobody was left to repair the roof of the new house. So the old man got his ladder and tools ready, and climbed to the chimney head. But the ladder slipped and Murdo fell, breaking the brittle bones of age. As he lay on his bed he moaned—"That cursed Kaiser, I could not wish him in his latter end greater sufferings than I have had, and I owe them him. Were it not for that man of Belial, I would not have been on that roof." Everybody said Murdo would die; they counted up old men who broke their bones and died. But Murdo's spirit was unquenchable. "I must see the end of the war," said he. And he got crutches, and crawled at last to the door, and there gazed with a hungry look at the sea shimmering in the summer haze, and at the hills that stood sentinel all around. " What a beautiful world," said he; " the good God be praised." And he composed a song, wherein he set forth the glory of the meeting of day and night, and of the mingling of light and shadow. When the great victory came, he made another. " Fionn," said he, " never made war without a victorious peace; and the King, Heaven be praised, is Fionn come again."
IV.
The other day I sat beside Murdo at his door, gazing at a great splash of silver on the shadow-flecked Sound, while a sheep fleece lay softly above Dùn-Càn.
" So the Master is away," said Murdo. " God rest him. Many a day he read me the news out of The Scotsman, and there was no word too difficult for him to put into the Gaelic. If they would only put a bit Gaelic in The Scotsman, I would get it myself, and my granddaughter would read it me, but some folk don't know the right thing to do. . . . The Master, well, it was only once I was angry with him, and that was when he asked me if I had ever been in prison, me that never broke a law, for, mark you, shooting a heather-hen (grouse) is no crime, for God only made and feeds them. . . . Aye, he was good at The Scotsman and the news."
And I, taking up the task in my turn, began to tell Murdo the news.   But the coal strikes had no interest for him.
" Look at my peat stack—as dry as powder," said he. "What do I care about miners? I never burnt a bit of coal in my house all my life."
IN  OUR PARISH-THE KING'S PENSIONER.
167
Then I remembered an odd bit of news in that day's paper.
" You know about King Ferdinand of Bulgaria," said I, "and how he fought along with the Turks against us?"
" Well that," said he; " the old fox, and glad was I that he lost everything."
" Long before the war," said I, " he placed ^500,000 in a bank in London that he might have money if his kingdom went against him."
" The nasty quirker," exclaimed Murdo; " he is as great a liar as the rat is a thief."
" Well, with all his scheming, he has lost this time," I rejoined.
" The old cheat," said Murdo, " he was always tacking, and light would be the breeze that he couldn't sail with."
" He made for the wrong port this time," I explained, " for the Law Lords in London have taken his money from him, and they are to hand it over to the King."
"To King George," cried Murdo, brandishing his crutch; " how much did you say it was?"
" Half a million," I replied.
" What a power of money," said Murdo, slowly; " and the King is to get it. Well, he deserves it; there never was such a King. What does the Holy Book say?—' Blessed is he that 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.
LISTEN to me, as when ye heard our father Sing long ago the songs of other shores; Listen to me, and then in chorus gather All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars;
Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand; But we are exiles from our father's land.
From the lone sheiling of the misty island Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas— . Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, And we in dreams behold the Hebrides.
We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley. Where 'tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream, In arms around the patriarch banner rally, Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam.
When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanish'd, Conquer'd the soil and fortified the keep, No seer foretold the children would be banish'd That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep.
Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter! O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore:— The hearts that would have given their blood like water, Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar.
Tir Nan Og.
(The Land of the Ever-Young.) By Rev. Neil Ross, M.A., B.D.
LIKE all mortals the pagan Gael was confronted with the problem of " that undiscovered country trom whose bourne no traveller returns.'¦" The solution which he offered was the congenial theory of 'Tìr nan Og,' the Land of the Ever-Young. "I he ancient remnants of his literature abound in allusions to a mystic country to which various names were given, the ' Plain of Happiness,' the ' Land of the Living,' the ' Island of Breasil.' So full was the old mythology of the beauty of that place, and so tenacious were the traditions regarding it, that the pioneers of the Spanish Main called the new continent Brazil, thinking that at last they had reached the fabled shores. And there may still be found on the Atlantic border of Scotland and of Ireland, a remnant who would not deny that some gifted seer, gazing westward, might trace the faint outline of the ( Isle of Bliss,' in the purple of the setting sun. The conception of the Elysium of the Gael is distinguished by an ethereal charm and fanciful atmosphere. The sterner facts of life are exchanged for the joy and brightness of wonderland. We are transported to a region of delight, where the mind is entertained at every turn ; where the figures that confront us are of marvellous beauty ; where the fierceness of passion is allayed, the sorrows of mortals dispelled, or their happiness intensified, according to the wish of the poet. The glamour of Tìr nan Og reveals the expansiveness of Gaelic fancy, to postulate a continuance of life in a world of beauty and felicity. The rehearsal of those pagan survivals was long a formative influence, moulding the conduct of life, and inspiring a generous code of honour.
In the Book of Leinster there is an account of the departure to Tìr nan Og of Connla, the son of King Conn of the Hundred Battles. While father and son, together with the royal retinue, are on the hill of Usna, there appears to the young prince a beautiful maiden, who is invisible to all save himself alone. When he has enquired of her whence she comes the maiden answers:
TIR NAN OG.
Maiden:—" I am come from the lands of the living, in which there is neither death nor sin nor strife ; we enjoy perpetual feasts without anxiety, and delightful fellowship without contention."
When the king enquires who is it that speaks to his son, the maiden replies that she is nobly-born and immortal, and that she invites the young prince to Mag Mell, the Plain of' Happiness. Coran the druid, by the power of speil and incantation, succeeds in resisting the power of the invisible lady, but after the lapse of a month her voice is heard again:
Maiden:—"It is nobly that Gonnla sits among transient, mortals, waiting for fearful death. But the immortal ones invite thee to be chief among the people of Tethra."
When the king calls again for the druid to exert his power against the maiden, she further replies:—
Maiden:—" O Conn of the Hundred Battles, druidism is not esteemed, for it has not attained to honour on the great Strand."
The King, being anxious concerning his son, desires to know the attitude of the prince:—
King:—" Has thy mind been moved by the lady's words, O Connla?"
: Connla:—" I am perplexed; for though I love my people above all, yet I entertain an affection for the lady."
The maiden repeats her invitation to Connla:—
Maiden:—"There is another country which it would be delightful to visit ; I see the bright sun going down, but though far away, we shall reach it before night comes ; it is a country that charms the soul of every one who accompanies me."
"In answer to the lady's advice, Connla leaped suddenly from them until he was in the boat of glass (which the maiden had brought). They saw them in the distance, as far as the sight of their eyes could reach. They sailed on the sea away from the company, and have not since been seen, nor is it known whither they have gone."
Probably the fullest presentation of the ancient Gaelic Elysium is contained in a seventh century poem entitled " The Voyage of Bran." The poem has been edited and translated by Kuno Meyer. A beautiful and mysterious lady appears one day in the court of King Bran, the son of Febal. She recites the praise of Tìr nan Og with such effect that the king is moved to set sail for those delectable shores. On the voyage he meets the sea-god, Manannan, who further relates the charms of the happy
TIR NAN OG.
171
Other-world. The features of the fair country itself are described in such words as these:—
Splendours of every colour glisten Throughout the gentle-voiced plains ; Joy is known, ranked around music, In the southern plain of Silver-cloud.
It Is a day of lasting weather
That showers silver on the lands ;
A pure white cliff on the range of the sea,
Which from the sun receives its heat.
A wood with blossoms and fruit, On which is the vine's veritable fragrance, A wood without decay, without defect, On which are leaves of golden hue.
There will come happiness with health To the land against which laughter peals ; To the place of peace at every season Will come everlasting joy.
In the ancient tale, " Serglige Conchulaind," the Sickbed of Cuchulainn, from the Book of the Dun Cow (published in Windisch's " Irische Texte " vol. I.), Fand, the forsaken wife of Manannan, the Gaelic Neptune, falls in love with Cuchulainn, and sends an embassy to the hero, inviting him to Tìr nan Og. Cuchulainn sends Laeg, his charioteer, that he may bring an account of the country, and the messenger returns with a glowing report of what he has seen:—
" There wave by the eastern door Three crystal-crimson trees, Whence the warbling bird all day is heard On the wings of the perfumed breeze.
And before the central door
Is another, of gifts untold,
All silvern-bright in the warm sunlight,
Its branches gleam like gold."*
*{Translation by Dr. Douglas Hyde).
172
TIR NAN OC.
These old poems not only portray the appearance of that mystical country, but they also describe in choice language the enviable lot of its inhabitants. It is to be noted that the fragments have even a greater value than that of technical beauty, great as that is. They are a spontaneous expression of certain ideals of happiness ; and they are, therefore, significant as pointing out the trend of thought and the goal of conduct in the Gaelic pagan world:—
The host race over the Plain of Sports, A beautiful game not feeble, In the variegated land over a mass of beauty, They look for neither decay nor death.
Unknown is wailing or treachery In the familiar cultivated land ; There is nothing rough or harsh, But sweet music striking the ear.
(Voyage of Bran.)
The fair Etain, wife of the god Midir, is born as a mortal and is married to Eochaid Airem, High-king of Ireland. The god still loves his wife, appears before her as a young man of noble presence and splendid figure, and tries to lure her back to the Land of the Young. In these ancient remnants there are traces of consummate art, not only in the rhythm of the language and the aptness of the comparisons, but even in the subtle touch by which a mere reference to the appearance of the dwellers in Tìr nan Og is made to cast an imaginative halo on that desirable country:—
O lady fair would'st thou come with me To the wondrous land where there is harmony; "Where the hair is as the blossom of the primrose, Where the tender body is as fair as snow.
There shall be no grief nor sorrow; White are the teeth there, black are the eyebrows, A delight to the eye is the number of our host, And on every cheek is the hue of the foxglove.
An eighteenth century Irish poet, Michael Comyn, has skilfully retouched this attractive subject in his Gaelic poem of
TIR NAN OG.
173
six hundred and thirty-six lines entitled, "Oisin an Tìr nan Og," Ossian in the Land of the Young. Niamh, the daughter of the god Manannan, sets her heart on a mortal lover, Ossian the son of Fionn. He accompanies her to the delightful land from which she came. When ages had passed (during which no inhabitant of that place grows old) a strong desire comes on Ossian to see once more the land of his birth. He is permitted to come back on condition that he does not dismount from his white horse, nor set foot on the soil of Erin. He rides through the country, marvelling at all the changes that have taken place in his absence. He observes a few workmen trying to raise a slab of stone on end. The task is too much for them. The rider, without dismounting, lends a helping hand. But here an unfortunate accident occurs, with dramatic results:—
With the force of the very large flag The golden girth broke on the white steed,
I came down full suddenly On the soles of my two feet on the lea.
I lost the sight of my eyes,
My form, my countenance, and my vigour ; I was an old man, poor and blind,
Without strength or understanding or esteem.
In the ancient poems bearing on the Gaelic Elysium one may observe the tendency to make the scene more concrete to the imagination by graphic pictures of locality. It is interesting to note that there is a definite geography of Tìr nan Og. We are introduced into lldathach the district of variegated colours, and into Imchiuin, the place of repose. We behold the far-extending cliff of a coast that is lost in golden haze ; and there is no desire to pass beyond that glorious horizon while we stand on the sunlit shore, by the southern plain of Silver-cloud. The interest of splendour is reflected in every aspect of this ideal theme. It is not enough for the ancient Gael that he should create that ineffable country, and that he should people it with blissful inhabitants; but he must further display a rich pictorial instinct—he must locate the " gathering where there is no sorrow " in a region whose features are made so familiar to the mind that even the different fields are designated by appropriate names:—
J74
tir nan og.
Carpait ordi hi Maig Rein, taircet la tuli don grein ; carpait arggait i Maig Mow ocus credumi cen on.
Golden chariots in the Plain by the sea, Rising with the tide to the sun ; Chariots of silver in the Plain of sports, And of bronze without blemish.
(Voyage of Bran.)
It is characteristic of Gaelic imagination that it should express its deepest yearning in such a noble picture as that of Tìr nan Og ; that it should create a mystic world of its own beyond the visible ; that it should endow that region with the most sublime attributes, and people it with beings of glorious aspect and attractive race. And who shall say but that this fascinating dream still haunts the Gaelic heart? Would it not be a pity if the gleam of such a fair creation were to pass for ever from our minds? When will the genius arise, who with due power of vision and construction, will cast into an abiding form that wonderful thing of beauty? Here indeed is abundant material, not lacking in scope of interest, for the finest type of musical drama. What Wagner has done for the Asgard of the gods, and for the ideals of pagan thought, it is surely possible for some other genius to do for the records that still survive of the Gaelic Tìr nan Og. An adequate musical interpretation of that Elysium would find a warm and loving response in Gaelic hearts. For the glamour of the Land of Youth still haunts the Gael, the child of dreams, whose spirit can never be entirely led captive by visible things. In the sweetest lyrics of modern Scottish bards, like Maclachlan of Rahoy, we trace the longing that is surely a heritage from the days of old:—
Mi air m'uilinn air an t-shabh, 'S mi ri iargain na bheil bhuam ; 'S tric mo shùil a sealltuinn siar, Far an laigh a' ghrian's a' chuan !
I recline upon the hill, And I yearn for what is lost ; Gazing wistful on the West Where the sun sets in the sea!
Na h-Eilthirich Ghaidhealach.
Le Murchadh Mac Ghille Mhoire, (Niagara Falls, N.Y.), Ughdair " Fear Siubhal nan Gleann."
GUR tric mi 'smaoineachadh gach là Air tìr nam bàgh's nan gleann, Air tìr an fhraoich's nam fuaran làn, Air tìr nam blàr 's nam beann; 'S 'nuair chluinn mi 'n òigridh bhi 's a bhàt',
Ri tighinn thar sàl a nall, Ged ni mi aoibhneas air an sgàth, Tha an àitean falamh thall.
Tha màthraichean an taobhs' de 'n chuan
D' an aobhar uaill an còir, 'S an aois ged thig i air an gruaidh,
'Tha 'g cumail suas na h-òig': Tha 'n teaghlaichean a thog iad suas
Mu'n cuairt orra gach lò, 'Gan cumail aoibhneach 'nan sean aois,
'S ri 'n taobh ag cosnadh loin.
Ach chi mi pàrantan's a' ghleann
Air fàs cho crom le bròn, Ri cuimhneachadh gun d' thog iad clann
Cuid nach 'eil ann na's mò; 'S an taic bu chòir 'bhi aig an ceann,
'Nuair tha iad gann de threòir, Tha 'nis air fàgail tìr nam beann;
Chan fhaigh iad thall 'bhi beò.
An e nach dèan iad obair chruaidh,
'S nach toigh leo gluas'd nan làmh ? 'S an sàs an obair tìr is cuain
Nach cum iad suas ri càch ? Ge b'e ait' 's an dèanar luaidh
Air luchd nam buadhan àrd, Togaidh 'n Gàidheal a cheann le uaill,
'Measg sluaigh bho iomadh ceàrn.
A HEAVY SEA AT 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
Le Docteur-Barde Fr. " Taldir " Jaffrennou, de Carhaix, Finistere.
ON peut dimcilement se faire une idee en Grande-Bretagne et en Irlande, de la difficultè que le Bretagne a eu, et a encore, pour conserver son caractère national en face de la centralisation napolèonique de la France impèrialiste ou 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-
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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.
Les Pan-Celtes des lies Britanniques, sous 1'impulsion de Mr. Edward T. John, d'Anglesey, rèussirent a crèer une nouvelle Association Celtique en 1919. Malheureusement eile ne publie aucun journal, et c'est dommage, car il manque un lien vivant entre les nationalistes celto-gaèls.
LA BRETAGNE ET LES CELTES INSULAIRES.
*79
Les congrès de la nouvelle Association se sont tenus a Edinburgh (1920), à 1' Ile de Man; à Quimper, Bretagne (1924), a Dublin (1925). Ce fut un grand honneur pour 1'Union Règionaliste Bretonne de recevoir a Quimper plusieurs dames dèlèguèes de notre soeur PEcosse: je cite Mrs. Burnley Campbell, Miss L. E. Farquharson, Mrs. Christison, Miss Augusta Lamont.
A mon point de vue, ces rècents congrès n'ont pas eu le mème eclat que ceux de la pèriode d'avant-guerre. II y manque les giandes manifestations populaires, chceurs, corteges, palabres, joueurs de pibrochs, assemblèe des druides et bardes, etc. Le mouvement semble uniquement universitaire, et orientè vers les questions scientifiques. II faut populariser le Pan-Celtisme, et par des concours y intèresser le commun peuple. D'autre part, je crois que la situation financière de la Sociètè actuelle n'est pas briJlante.
Malgrè tout, l'idèal celtique continue son chemin, à travers bi en des obstacles. II marche lentement, mais surement, vers son but. Un jour viendra où les Celtes et les Gaels se connaitront mieux, et de leur frèquentation dècoulera un grand bien pour 1'esprit de 1'Occident.
Tra bo garreg war aòd ar mor Kano ar barzwar dreuz e zor.
As long as rocks remain on the sea-shore, The bard will sing on his door-step.
" Taldir."
" By the word Celtic, I designate here, not the whole of that great race which, at a remote epoch, formed the population of nearly the whole of Western Europe, but simply these four groups which, in our <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.
By Mrs. W. J. Watson and Miss J. D. Bruce.
IT is not unnatural that, with a great effort before us to raise funds for the benefit of Gaeldom, we should permit ourselves to indulge in a litde retrospect, and ask. ourselves a few searching questions.
We have held a Fèill in the past, the object being to provide capital for the adequate teaching of our mother tongue, the preservation and encouragement of our Gaelic literature, the cultivation of our arts and crafts, and the propagation of any knowledge which can benefit our fellow Gaels in Scotland. Have these objects been achieved to any extent? No doubt each one would find an advocate, but on one in particular—the cultivation of our inherited arts and crafts—the writers feel that they are entitled to answer the questions, and there is no more fitting place to do so than this Fèill Book, for there may be some of our readers who do not know that the " Highland Home Industries," as it exists to-day, is the direct outcome of the Fèill held in Glasgow in 1908.
The late Captain E. K. Carmichael, who was the honorary organizer of the Arts and Industries section of the 1908 Fèill, was much impressed, not only by the high quality and variety of much of the work sent in, but also by the number of ladies and gentlemen who were trying to help their tenants and neighbours by finding a market for their goods, and especially by the 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
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
1S1
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
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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 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.
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
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 ot living will have probably begun to recover, in their own souls an ri nerves, by practice of a craft the rhythm of creative life.
To thatch a roof and lay a fire, to plough, to harrow, sow and reap, to bake bread, to tend young lambs and clip a rising fleece, to' spin, dye and weave for household or township, is to enter organically into the actual making of the world."
/. A. Campbell, Barbreck, Argyll, in "The Hibbert Journal."
1$2
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
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 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.
HIGHLAND HOME INDUSTRIES.
I83
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.
By Lady Macalister of Tarbert, Glasgow University.
THE pride of the Highlander is proverbial. He is proud of his family, his cian, his language, and his country. His pride in these is a flame that nothing can quench—not time, nor distance, nor exile. And it seems sometimes as if the exile's pride of race grew stronger from dwelling in Kedar's tents. Something of k passes to his children and their children, although their Highland blood may be diluted with alien strains, and they may never have breathed Highland air. No matter what they may forget about their ancestry, they will never forget that they are " partly Scottish." To the unseeing eye, they may appear to be American, Canadian, or even Cockney, but they know that in their veins runs the blood of the elect. Like the Lantern Bearers, they cherish the secret feeling of romance, the consciousness of being different from those among whom their lot is cast. They are Highlanders, and belong to one of the greatest—no!—to the greatest people on earth.
As a Highlander myself, I see nothing in this attitude of mind that is not natural and reasonable. How can we help being proud, with so much to be proud of? After all, " we needs must love the highest when we see it."
Yet, strictly between ourselves, may we not admit that our pride does sometimes take strange forms, or forms that look odd to the uncomprehending outsider?
For instance, even the most respectable and law-abiding High lander, who would hesitate to assault even a Campbell, is delighted if he can count a few gallows-birds on his ancestral tree. He takes a perverse pleasure in telling that among his forbears he has, say, a man-skyer, a cattle-thief, or an outlaw or two. And if it should have come to pass that one of his rascally forbears had paid the due penalty of his misdeeds, he is not averse from boasting of the incident. He would simply hate a present-day scandal or judicial tragedy in his family, but it is quite true that
"Time's twilight glory hallows The blots on records of the cian,
And even gilds the gallows."
highland pride.
¦85
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.
By Rev. John MacGilchrist, B.A. (Oxon.), D.D.
THE force of Gaelic as a pulpit language was strikingly illustrated by a remark recently made to the writer by a lady of culture after a Gaelic service in a Scottish University chapel, when she said that she felt more moved by the sermon in Gaelic, of which she understood not a word, than by a previous sermon in English which she understood perfectly. Mackenzie in his introduction to the " Beauties of Gaelic Poetry " notes the same effect. " So expressive is the language, and with such skill did the bard compose his address (or war-song), that the very sound echoes the sense: it could never, we apprehend, be mistaken even by one totally unacquainted with the Gaelic, for a gentle
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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 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
GAELIC IN THE PULPIT.
i87
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.
Le Iain Mac Cormaic, F.S.A. (Scot.)
BHA maduinn^ àluinn ann, is grian shomalt an fhoghair a' deàrrsadh a nìos air an tir, 'n uair a thog mi a mach ri broilleach Sliabh nam Ban Fionn. Cha b' ann gun m' aonach a' iahearan a bha mi, mun do bhuidhinn mi mullach na crùlaist, agus im uair a shuidh mi air creig luim, a' tharruing m' analach, sheall mi bhuam air an t-sealladh òirdhearc a bha a' sgaoileadh gu ruig am fàire glas os cionn a' chuain.
Thuit mi ann an trom smuain, agus sùil gun d' thug thar mo ghuaille, chunnaic mi seann duine le ceum trom, a' tighinn am ionnsuidh. Bha e ceann-ruisgte, agus a fhalt cleiteach geal 'na chaisreagan a sìos m' a ghuaillean. Bha feusag mhòr liath a' taomadh a sìos m' a bhroilleach leathainn, agus bata mòr 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
TAISBEANADH.
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 Tuinny Brùchdaich fhathast craobh a' ghrunnd, Is labhraidh i an càinnt bhios fallain, Ceart mar rinn i ri linn Chaluim, 'N uair bu shiùbhlach iomadh deòraidh, An cùiltean iomallach na h-Eòrpa."
Sheall e a rithist am aodann agus ars' esan, "Sin agad tairgneachd, a ghille òig!   Imich air do thurus a nis, agus liubhair do sgeul."
Leis na facail sin a ràdh, ar leam gun do shìolaich e air falbh às mo shealladh. Thog an ceò. Bha an t-soilleireachd a bh' ann roimhe mun cuairt orm. Dh' fharaich mi mi-fhèin trom, mar gum bithinn air dùsgadh a cadal luaineach. Dh' fhaisg mi mo shùilean, agus an uair a sheall mi mun cuairt, fhuair mi mi-fhèin 's a cheart àite 's an robh mi mun d'thàinig an seann duine am ghair. Thuirt mi rium fhèin gum b'e taisbeaneadh a bh'ann, agus b'e.
Uilleam MacDhunleibhe, am Bard Deach.
Leis an Urr. an t-Ollamh Gilleasbuig Mac Dhomhnaill, Ughdair "Eachdraidh Chlann Domhnaill."
RUGADH am bàrd ainmeil so an Sgìr Chille Rubha an Ile, an t-eilean iomraiteach sin, Innis nan Ard Flath a bhuinig " Baile is leth Albainn," agus a thug tulgadh nach bu bheag do chathair rìoghail nan Stiùbhartach.   An làithean òige cha robh e >na sgoilear glè shanntach, oir b' ann air dha tighinn gu ìre a thionail e an tomhas bu mhò de'n fhòghlum a fhuair e.
Mun robh e ceithir bliadhna deug chuireadh Uilleam a 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
Wi.<l.< I'y I "Im lluml. /l.tt.f'.S,
UILLEIM MACDHUNLEIBHE, AM BARD ILEACH. 193
a bha ag gluasad spiorad a' bhàird. Nach tiamhaidh am pong a tha am fihdh a' bualadh an uair a tha e ag caoidh fàsachadh a dhùthcha:—
" Tha an nathair bhreac 'na lùban
Air na h-ùrlaìr far an d' fhàs
Na fir mhòr' a chunnaic mise.
Thoir am fios so chun a' bhàird." Bha dreach agus cruth Nàduir, an uair a bha fuaim a' chatha 'na thosd, ag cur seuna air a anam; agus troimh neoil bhagarrach na strì, tha gathan blàtha a' bristeadh. Eadhon aig toiseach Blàr Shunadail, fuilteach agus uamharra, tha an leughadair a' tighinn air seud ro òirdhearc mu mhaise an àite:—
" Cò nach sireadh do ghlacan uaine,
A chunnaic aon uair iad
'Nan culaidh Shamhraidh?
Cruitheachd nan lusan mar gum b'ann a' strì
Cò is rìomhaiche a sgeadaicheas
Gach ìsleach is bruach,
Bho tholman nead na h-uiseig'
Gu aisridh doireachan nan earb." Tha " Cuimhneachan Bràghad Albainn " a' nochadh duis agus caomhalachd a tha mar thobar fìor-uisge a' sruthadh a mach 'na chaochan soilleir bho a anam; ach chan fhaodar a bhi a' leudachadh na's fhaide.
Bha Uilleam pòsda ri cèile dhìlis, ach cha do sheinn e mu ghaol: coltach ri Iain Mac Codruim, chaidh e seachad air mar osaig de'n ghaoith. Tha neach a thadhail air uair an Glaschu ag innseadh gur e " a chearcag fhraoich " a theireadh am bàrd air uairean ri a' mhnaoi-chèile.
Bha a mhodh sgrìobhaidh ao-coltach ri bàird eile. Cha do lean e rannaidheachd nan sgoilean anns na dàin mhòra, ach bha na rainn, ciod air bith an cruth, daonnan ag èirigh air sgiathan neartmhor, ceòlmhor. Bha e a ghnàth bochd 'na chrannchur, ach bha oighreachd àrd smuaintean agus àrd ghnìomhan, bho na làithean o shean agus bho maise agus mòralachd Naduir, 'na sheilbh, agus dh'fhàg e sin againne mar dhìleib nach truaill meirg agus nach slad fear-reubainn.
Chaochail am bàrd anns a' bhliadhna 1870. Tha e air a thiodhlacadh anns a' chladh an Glaschu ris an abrar " Janefield," agus chuir cuid de Ghàidheil Ghlaschu carragh-cuimhne suas aig an leabaidh far a bheil e a nis ag cadal gu foistinneach.
N
The Better Singer.
By ' Rev. Kenneth Macleod, of " Songs of the Hebrides."
MANY years ago there was trouble in the bird-world over a question of art.    In tree, in meadow, and in heathland, there were heated discussions as to whether the mavis or the skylark was the better singer of the two.
At last, the wise little wren put in his word. " My mind is going back," said he, " to something that happened long, 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.
Next morning, at dawn, the strange thing happened. I heard the song of the mavis sung by the skylark to a different tune, and I praised the Good Being for the beautiful singer who was carrying it towards the heights." The Redbreast paused for a moment. " I know so little," he continued, " but I have the love of my heart for such as are pulling thorns out of wounded brows." "By your leave," whispered the wren, " I am going away to tell a little story to the mavis and the skylark."
He found the two side by side, drinking dew-drops at the foot of an old cross.
The Song Battle.
By Rev. Kenneth Macleod, of " Songs of the Hebrides."
IN the days when the Cian of Donald and the Seed of Leod were uat each other's throats in the Isle of Skye, a band of women once met on a neutral green, overlooking the sea, to waulk the cloth and to sing the songs which the bards had made long before blade or dirk was forged.
In the very heart of the company was a little old woman, with ;"bright eyes and more than her share of wrinkles, whom nobody there could put a name on, but who was not the slackest among them at the fulling and the singing.
y As they plied the song and the cloth and the jest, a great galley came round the headland, as if making for Dunvegan. " "Who is she?" cried a woman of Cian Donald, flinging the taunt into the song she was singing. " Who is she, yon great galley sailing by ? Sure, hers is the banner we do not know."
Quick as thought, the little old woman of the bright eyes and the many wrinkles, snatching the taunt out of the singer's mouth, flung it back in her face, with the sore things, forbye, that only a bard can say.  "Who is she, yon great galley sailing by?  Yon is the galley of the golden rudder and the silver masts and silken 'sails—the galley of a king.  Who is she, yon great galley sailing 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.
By Rev. Kenneth Macleod, of " Songs of the Hebrides."
THERE was once a woman-bird in the Isles, who was known in bird circles as the Genteel Stranger, because of her manners and her music.     She had spent part of her youth near a Lowland town, and to the end of her days she sang tunes which nobody else had ever heard, and sang them, too, with all the little graces of the trained singer.
So proud was she of her Lowland breeding that, shortly before mating time, she went down south to hatch her young, and bring them up in her own genteel ways. " Yes, it's laughing I am," laughed the wise little wren, when he heard of the daft trip. But for a while, at any rate, the laugh seemed to be against him. Not only did the little ones come out of the shell in due time, but they grew up into as bonnie chicks as any fond mother could wish to lull into sleep.
Sorrow upon me! Why should so many of the true stories end so sadly? "When the singing time came, did not those same chicks put the black shame upon their mother by being unable to sing; anything under the sun but the queer old tunes of the Isles. " Yeel-a-vee, yeel-a-voo," cried the mavis, when she heard the droll news, " the song of the blood, the song of the blood, it will out, even should the genteel mothers burst!"
Ged *s cian mi air m' aìneol o'n dachaidh fo'n fhuar bheinn, Is miann le mo bhruadar, mo bhruadar bhi 'd cheò,
An nìonag is tàladh a gràidh ghil 'gam dhuanadh, 'S am fuaran a' nuallan am chluais ri mo bheò.
Coinneach MacLeoid.
An Uiseag.
Le Niall Mac Gille Sheathanaich, Rùnair a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.
UISEAG riabhach, àrd 'san iarmailt, Leam is ciatach t' òran Air maduinn ghrianaich air an t-sliabh Moch ag iarraidh sòlais. Do ghuth miadhail leam as miannaich' Thar gach ian de m' eòlas, A' toirt fianuis mar am briathran Air na dh' iarradh òirrne.
Ciod is lèir dhuit às na speuran ? Innis fèin e dhomhsa 'S an cuir mi'n cèill e do na leughas— 'S mòr ar feum air eòlas. An e do spèis bhi 'faicinn sprèidh— Crodh is fèidh air lòintean, Uain bheag èibhinn 'measg nan treud A' mire leum le sòlas.
An fhreagairt.
Is binn am chluasan fead a' bhuachaill, 'S moch a ghluais e còmhl' rium, Is guth nan gruagach tighinn o'n bhuail' 'S iad 'giùlan cuachan lòd-mhor. An sgalag-thuath a' treabhadh cruaidh Le seisreach ghuailneach òg-each, Is sgaoth m'a chuairt de eoin a' chuain,— 'S neo-bhinn am chluais an ceòl-san!
Am bàrr gach gèig's an doire lèith Tha ioma gleus 'sa' chòisir, Mar phongan teud na clàrsaich rèidh An àird ag èirigh ceòlmhor. Ach's binne 'n t-sèisd na iad gu lèir Air salm o bheul a' chreòthluinn, 'Cur fàilt air grèin na maidne Chèit 'Bheir slàinte 'n dèidh na dòruinn.
198
AN UISEAG.
Chan e na's lèir a nì dhuit feum, Mur tuig thu 'rèir an òrduigh Gum b' i a chreud cho maith's an lèigh Rinn slàn a chreuchd do'n deòiridh. Na cum do bheul o mholadh Dhè; O èirigh grèin gu glòmainn. 'S e sin mo sgeuls' mum paisg mi sgèith Am neadan fèin 'sa mhòintich.
The Mod.
By M. M.
NO Highlander requires to be told at this date what the Mod is, and what it means—to him. Amongst recurring Highland events in the home-land, the Mòd undoubtedly holds the first place in the heart of every true Gael. For nearly forty years he has been familiar with it, and, in the annual round of Gatherings, Concerts and other functions with which his Celtic soul is regaled, he looks upon the Mòd as the crowning course of the banquet. For others, however, who have heard of the Mòd, and jprobably heard of it often, but have never quite understood what it is, and what its precise place is in the scheme of things Highland, a brief explanation may serve a useful purpose.
The Mòd then may be described shortly as the Great Annual Gaelic Festival, devoted to literary and musical competitions in that language. These competitions are open to every lover of the Gaelic tongue who considers himself or herself qualified to participate in them. " Am Mòd " is not to be confused, as is so often done, with "An Comunn Gàidhealach," the organization under whose auspices the Mòd is held.
The Mòd was instituted thirty-five years ago, and, except during the War years, has been held annually since. The first Mòd was held at Oban, the total number of entrants for the various competitions being 40; a truly modest beginning. At the Mòd held in the Autumn of 1926, the number of competitors was over 1,000.  The venue of the Mòd changes from year to
THE MOD.
199
)ear. The gatherings, however, have now reached such dimensions that only a few of the larger centres of population can provide the necessary accommodation. However much the Executive would like to visit smaller centres within the Highland area, the lack of suitable accommodation forbids. This disadvantage is happily being compensated for to a large extent by the growth of Provincial Mods, which have been held with great success in various districts.
The literary and musical competitions are each divided into two sections—Junior and Senior. In both sections the competitions follow somewhat similar lines:—Essays on prescribed subjects, Poetry, Recitations, Story-telling, Acted Dialogues; Solo, Duet and Choral Singing. In the Junior Section prizes are also given for letters on prescribed subjects, for writing to dictation, and for reading at sight. While it is true that the musical side bulks large in the Mòd programme, it is not to be supposed that the literary side is not receiving due attention.
The isolated and unsettled state of Gaeldom in the olden cays was not conducive to a large or varied output of general literature. Then, from the Jacobite days up till a comparatively recent date, social, economic, political, and even educational forces were operating against the language of the Gael, " freezing the genial current of his soul," and preventing the free and full exercise of his undoubted natural literary gifts through the medium of his native tongue. That he had a language, and possessed both intellect and imagination for fiction, drama and other forms of literary expression is abundantly proved by the quality of a large part of the poetry that was produced, notwithstanding the unfavourable conditions. 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 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
the mod.
SO I
awakened interest among adult Highlanders generally in the fortunes of the old tongue, and surely it is not unreasonable to look for gratifying results in the near future, as the fruit of having secured for every Gaelic-speaking boy and girl attending schools in Gaelic-speaking districts the right to instruction in reading and writing their mother-tongue. Undoubtedly, while there is still much to be done, the Gaelic worker is able to answer the question, "Am faigh a' Ghàidhlig bàs?", with a more emphatic and confident negative to-day than at any time during the past twenty or thirty years.
Differences between the Gael and the Gall.
By Professor Douglas Hyde, LL.D., D. Litt., Dublin. Author of " A Literary History of Ireland," etc.
T BELIEVE that everybody feels instinctively that there is a JL temperamental difference between the Gael and the Gall,
between the Highlander and the Lowlander. But it is not so easy to say just wherein the difference lies. Many people are satisfied when they say it is a " racial" difference, but I think it would be too rash to determine offhand how much of it is conditioned by race and how much by history. My own opinion is that history, not race, will be found to be the supreme factor. The temperament of people who have no towns or cities near them, is different from that of town dwellers. The people of the mountains are never quite like the people of the plains, nor are those who dwell by the sea quite the same as those who dwell far inland. The outlook of people governed by Chieftains, each tribe a little nation, must be different from that of a people governed by a central established law.
I have been led into these reflections by looking again through the volumes of Donald Macintosh and of Nicolson, and comparing their proverbs with our Irish ones. The proverbs of a race throw much light on its past. How, for instance, could such an apparently unworthy saying as, Bìonn an sonas indiaidh  na
102 DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL.
siraoiligheachta, i.e., " Luck follows slovenliness," get into Irish except at the time when a neat house and farm brought almost certainly a demand for increased rent from a rapacious landlord or factor. How came the saying, Is fiùntaighe poll na paiste, i.e., "A hole is worthier than a patch," except from a people among whom so many considered themselves gentlemen,
" Gillies seventy-five and sixty duine-wassals."
Any gentleman might have a hole in his coat, but a patch meant premeditated poverty.
A great many Scottish Gaelic proverbs are the same as, or resemble, proverbs found also in Ireland, and it would be chiefly in these that those who would distinguish " racial" traits from traits due to history would find their account. I certainly will not tread upon such thin ice here. But there are two peculiarities which distinguish us Gaels from other Europeans, of which our Lowland or Saxon friends have probably never even heard, of which, in fact, they have no conception whatever. It is of them I wish to speak here. One is of our counting of time; the other is of our songs.
There is a German Novel—it was a great favourite of Bismarck's— called, Durch Nacht zum Licht, " Through dark to the Light," and it was thus the Gael counted his hours, beginning with the night and finishing with the day. Those who are keen over racial characteristics may find a good opportunity here for giving a free rein to their imagination. They may find for it some deep underlying psychological cause. It is easy to spin a supposition that it is the character of the Celt to face death, danger and difficulty, before he settles down to life, safety and enjoyment, and that with him the shadow, gloom, and danger of night are given first place, as leading to the light, pleasure and sunshine of the morning. This sounds fantastic enough, but there is no denying the fact that, while other races counted time from the revolution of the earth on its axis, beginning with the morning, he counted time, beginning with the night. The Gael talks in Gaelic of Oidhche Nollaig, which, being translated, means " Christmas Night." But it is not Christmas night, it is the night before Christmas night, it is Christmas eve. In the same way all Gaels speak of Oidhche Shamhna, literally " November night."  But it is not November night, it is the 31st of October.
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL. 2G*3
November commenced for the Gael with sunset on the 31st of October, and Christmas with sunset on the 24th of December. Oidhche Challuinn is not "New Year's Night," but the night before, the night of December 31st. This method of counting the twenty-four hours was the practice as far back as Caesar's time, for he mentions observing it among the Gauls, so it cannot be derived from the Biblical, Agus b'iad am feasgar agus a' mhaduinn an ceud la, i.e., " The evening and the morning were the first day," although this parallelism, still observable in the timing of Jewish Festivals, might provoke speculation as to some spiritual kinship between the Gaelic and the Semitic mind.
But more important than anything I have mentioned yet, because it faces us every day and everywhere, is the fact that the Gael constructed all his songs and all his poetry upon principles which the Gall not only does not recognise, but does not even understand. It is the most successful attempt to reproduce music in speech that has been made by any European nation. I am not now alluding to the fact that while English, French and German require full rhymes, that is both the same vowel and consonant, the Gael only requires a vowel or an assonantal rhyme. He has that in common with the Spaniard. What I want to call attention to is rather the places in the verse or line where the rhymes occur. Thus the Gall only seeks for end-rhymes, i.e., a rhyme at the end of every line, while the Gael is nearly as much concerned in having a rhyme in the middle of the line, sometimes two or three of them.
When the Irish first began to make songs in English, they had no idea of any other possible way of making them than the methods used in Gaelic. I could give fifty instances of this kind of composition, and this fashion continued until comparatively recently. A local poet, addressing Smith O'Brien—I found the poem amongst his papers at Cahermoyle—prophesied:—
O'Brien is coming to release us From hardships, sad slavery and woe,
Taxes are daily decreasing, And Rackrents are ceasing also:—
" release," pronounced re-lace, makes a vowel rhyme with " slavery." " taxes " with " rackrents," and " decreasing," pronounced decracing, with " ceasing " pronounced sacing.
204 DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE GAEL AND THE GALL.
The following is an attempt to explain the Gaelic system to the English reader. I take the beautiful poem on Prince Charlie, by D. B. MacLeoid, and I have tried to translate the first verse of it into the rhythm of the original, which I give here from lan MacCoinnich's K Bliadhna Thearlaich." The poem is not in his " Sàr-obair nam bàrd."
" Gu cladach a' chuain, Ri fuar-ghaoth an anmoich, Thriall Tearlach gun dealradh.
Air allaban's e sgith, Gun reull air a bhroilleach, No freiceadan a' falbh leis, Ach ainnir nan gorm-shùl,
Bu dealbhaiche lìth. Mar dhaoimean 'san oidhche,
Bha a' mhaighdean fo thùrsa, 'S i cràiteach mu Thearlach
Bhi a' fàgail a dhùthcha; Bu trom air a h-osna,
'S bu ghoirt deoir a sùilean, 'Nuair chunnaic i an iùbhrach
A' dlùthadh ri tìr."
" To a far mountain harbour, Prince Charlie comes flying, Whilst winds from the Highlands
Wailed wild in the air; On his breast was no star And no guard was beside him, But a girl by him gliding
Who guided him there. Like a ray went the maiden,
Still faithful, but mourning, For Charlie was parting
From hearts that adored him ; And sighing beside him,
She spied over Ocean The oarsmen before them,
Approaching their lair.
differences between the gael and the gall. 205
All the beautiful Gaelic poetry is composed more or less upon modifications of this principle of internal rhyme. I know nothing else so melodious. I do not think that anyone who cannot appreciate the metric of these poems, and the system upon which they are composed, has any right to criticise Gaelic poetry. This conclusion, if right, would seem to exclude all Englishmen, and most Lowlanders, from acting as our critics, at least until they have thoroughly mastered our language.
Sheiling Life in Lewis.
By Norman Morrison, D. ès. Sc., F.Z.S., Author of " The Life Story of the Adder," etc.
" Thug mi 'n oidhche raoir 's mi bruadar Mar ri nlonagan na buaile."
GENERALLY speaking, the word "Sheiling," to the ordinary person, means nothing more than a romantic term, a poetical expression for some vague thing which has no longer any existence in modern life. Of course, some of us, when in a reflective mood, delight to feast our imagination on that exquisite poem, " The lonely Sheiling on the Misty Isle," which has touched a responsive chord in the hearts of tens of thousands of exiled Celts, stirring their emotions and love of homeland to white heat intensity. Yet in this materialistic age, all that beautiful sentiment we associate with the abstract and the intangible—a mere echo of the long past.
But some readers will be probably surprised to hear that Sheiling life has still concrete form in the Island of Lewis, and for the benefit of those who are ignorant of this charming 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
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SHEILING JuIFE IN LEWIS.
from view the coiled tresses,—"like the cloud's yellow wreath on the mountain's high brow"—which, happily, the "bobbing" vogue had not yet touched. As might be expected, they are in a happy, frolicsome frame of mind, laughing and making merry, as maidens always do in similar circumstances.
Then they lapse into silence and seem to be in a meditative mood, gazing with spellbound admiration at the entrancing scene around them. In the depths of their quiet, clear eyes, which may now and again sparkle with innocent merriment, there lie serious thoughts, for the average Lewis lassie is a mystic, with a romantic and poetic turn of mind. " Like white lilies floating in the 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."
SHEILING LIFE IN LEWIS.
209
" Mo shoraidh slàn gun robh gu bràth 'Na fàrdaich is 'na stòr!v
Tha 'h-iomhaigh ghràidh 'nam chùimhn' a ghnàth,
Is briathran blàth a beoil;
Bidh m'aigne làn de ghaol nach cnàmh,
Gus an càirear mi fo 'n fhòd,
Do 'n ghruagaich bhàin a dhùisg mo dhàn
Air àirigh Bhail' a' Chrò."
The Call of the Isles.
By Bessie J. B. MacArthur.
Ol SOME folk dream of Italy and skies of sapphire blue, And some they rave of Samarkand, and Cities of Peru ; But I would have the islands that lie dreaming in the West,. For din of the Atlantic surf is beating in my breast.
There's Jura with her wooded heights, and green romantic glens, There's beauty-haunted Isla too, and Mull of many bens ; And round by Ardnamurachan, where seas are running high, There's Rum, and Eigg, and Canna, and the misty Isle of Skye.
Across the Minch to Erisort, the * blue men ' are at play, And sure, we hear their laughter from the Lews to Castlebay ; While midway on the sea-path to Loch Broom and Loch Maree, The Summer Isles lie shimmering like jewels in the sea.
We never want for music there, and far though we may roam, There's aye a haunting melody to lure us back to home— The iorram and the crònan in the gentle Gaelic tongue, From ages immemorial the islanders have sung.
There's music in the Gaelic like the crooning of the wind, There's soothing for the sorrowful, and seeing for the blind ; The heart of Youth is singing there the song that never dies, And Age will find her dreams again 'neath Hebridean skies.
O ! travel South, and travel North, and travel where you may, Across the Himalayas, or to shores of far Cathay, And choose the place in all the world where you would be at rest, But leave to me the islands that lie dreaming in the West!
Seann Sgeul Ghaidhealach.
Le Alasdair MacDhomhnaill, Inbhirnis, (" Gleannach.")
GED tha an sgeul so a leanas 'ga h-inn seadh am measg sgeulachdan o shean an Eirinn (faic leabhar grinn le Seumas Mac Mhanuis), is cuimhneach leam-sa gu maith a cluinntinn an làithean m'òige mu Thaobh-Loch-Nis:—
Bha duine mòr ann aon uair aig an robh anabarr measa air daoine glice agus ionnsuichte a bhi mu'n cuairt da; agus bho thìm gu tìm bhiodh comh-fharpuisean aca am measg a chèile, a dh' fheuchainn co bu ghlice 's a b'ealanta dhiùbh fhèin. Ach là de na làithean chualas ainm air duine air leth glic anns gach eòlas agus ealantas, a bhi a' dol cuairt na tìre a' tairgsinn dùbhlain do neach 'sam bith a sheasadh 'na aghaidh a fhreagairt a cheistean. Chuir an ceann-uidhe fios 'ga ionnsuidh e a thighinn an aghaidh fir no fir eile de a chuid daoine; ach an uair a bha an là a' teachd dlùth air an robh an sgoilear ainmeil a' tighinn, 'sann a ghabh na fir roinn sgàtha roimhe, a mheud agus nach rachadh neach idir dhiùbh 'na choinneamh.
Chaidh an sin an ceòl feadh na fìdhle, agus is e a chinnich aig a' cheann-uidhe a chomhairle a chur ri seann duine glic a bha anns a' choimhearsnachd. An dèidh an suidheachadh anns an robh iad uile gu lèir a chnuasachadh bho a thoiseach gu a dheireadh, is e an co-dhùnadh gus an d' thàinig iad gun cuireadh iad gille càrn a' chruidh an aghaidh an sgoileir mhòir, mar gum b' ann a' magadh air a bhiodh iad.
Thàinig là a' cheasnachaidh mu'n cuairt, agus thionail 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,
seann sgeul ghaidhealach.
2 i i
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
212
SEANN SGEUL GHAIDHEALACH.
fagail. Gabhaibh cùram de bhur gille cam; chan 'eil fear eile de a leithid am bun a h-uile teallaich."
Ach chinn aig an t-sluagh an dèidh so mìneachadh a' ghille chàirn fhaotainn air na ceistean agus na freagraidhean, a rèir a bheachd-sa dhiùbh, agus dh' iarradh air a inntinn a leigeil ris dhoibh.
" B'e am fior bhraidean e," arsa an gille càrn. " Chunnaic sibh e ag cur a mach aon mheòir, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh agam-sa ach aon sùil; ach chuir mise a mach mo dhà mheoir, a leigeil fhaicinn dhà-san gun robh dà shùil ann fhèin. Chuir esan an sin a mach trì meoir, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh trì sùilean againn le chèile. Ghabh mi fhèin an fhearg, is chuir mi a mach mo dhòrn, a dh' fheuchainn da gu dè a bha a' frithealadh air, mar sguireadh e de a bhi a' magadh orm-sa."
" Thug esan an sin a mach sùibheag-thalmhainn, a dh' fheuchainn gun robh sud aige-san a bhàrr orm-sa; ach chuir mise a mach gròiseid, a leigeil fhaicinn da gun robh uibhir agam-sa ris 'nam làimh fhèin. B'e an ath nì a rinn e, an droch stic a bha e ann, ubhal a chur a mach, a dh' fheuchainn nach robh 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 ùbhlan mo sheanmhair, 's gan itheadh, cha b' urrainn domh m' fhearg a chumail fodha na b' fhaide, agus 'sann a thilg mi an geamht arain a bha agam 'nam làimh air 'san aodainn. Bhuail mi eadar an dà shùil e cho nàimhdeil agus gun do chuir a' bhuille preathal air, agus thuit e mar neach ann an neul."
" Cha robh ann ach baothair gun diù, gun oilean, gun tuigse; chan earbainn an crodh ris fad aon mhaidne. Chan è a mhàin nach robh e glic, cha robh dòighean laghach aige."
An sin chaidh a' chuideachd mu sgaoil, agus a' chuid mhor dhiùbh ag ràdh riutha fhèin gum b' iongantach an saoghal a bh* ann, agus gun robh inntinn an duine de na h-iongantasan bu mhò.
Long nan Saighdearan a' Seoladh Dhachaidh.
Le Iain MacPhaidein, Bàrd a' Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich.
Seis.
Horò, tha sinn sunndach; B' fhada 'g altrum dùil sinn Gum biodh ar long 'ga stiùradh Gu 'r dachaidh chiùin o'n d' ghluais sinn.
Rann.
Gun d' fhàg sinn Calais sòlasach 'Sa mhaduinn moch Di-dòmhnaich, 'S 'nuair chaidh muir ghorm gu crònan duinn, Bu bhinn a ceòl 'nar cluasan.
An caol gu plubach, faoileagach, 'S a bhi air 'uchd 'toirt faochaidh dhuinn; 'S bha spriod na fairge chaoir-ghealaich 'Tighinn oirnn o thaobh an fhuaraidh.
Bu duan an long's a h-ìnnleachdan, 'S i 'gearradh thonn 'na sìnteagan, 'S a' chòbhrag 'cagairt dìomhair rium, 'S na still a bha m' a guaillean.
An Fhraing 'nar dèidh a' fannachadh— Gur geàrr gun caill sinn sealladh oirr'— Ach dh' fhàg sinn cuimhne mhaireannach An tasgadh anns an uaigh aic'.
Dh' fhàg sinn smior na fiùghantachd Bha rìoghail, reachdail, rùnach ann, Blàth nam faillean ùrmhoireach; B'e an dùthchas a bhi buadhach.
214
long nan saighdearan a' seoladh dhachaidh.
An càs no 'n cruas cha strìochdamaid, Ach's crùnadh ar toil-inntinn e, Nach d' fhuiling cliù ar sinnsearachd. Ged 's iomadh strì a fhuair sinn.
Tha Sasunn aoibheil, fonnar ruinn; Gach machair gorm ged 's geamhradh e; Gidheadh tha m' inntinn annsachdail Air gleanntan nam beann tuathach.
Ar mnathan is ar màthraichean, Ar leannain is ar càirdean ann; 'S tha fuinn is òrain Ghàidhlig ann, A chuireas pràmh air fuadach.
The "Bothan" (The Highland Cottage).
By Colin Sinclair, M.A., F.R.I.BA.
(( /^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.!. 2 i 5
On the Mainland, however, where the oak and the fir were abundant, the roofing was more elaborate and more highly developed in design. Indeed, in the region of the pine forests of the North, the traditional house was often constructed entirely of timber, the walls and roof being built of forest pine, ply over ply; and the silver grey tones which years of exposure to the weather have imparted to the wood, are agreeable and pleasing to behold.
Of the old houses of the West, three types may be recognised, these having reference chiefly to the formation of the roof. In the Isles of the Hebrides, where Atlantic gales sweep up the ocean, and drive the seabirds to their abodes among the rocks, the houses are built with walls of great thickness, designed to withstand the furious impact of the storm. The roofs are of soft outline, and rounded off at the angles to deflect the wild west winds; and a peculiar device is employed in the setting back of the springing of the roof to the inner edge of the walls, which results in a broad ledge being formed along the wall tops. By this arrangement— and it has science behind it—the roofing is preserved intact, for the wind current is swept upwards on striking the face of the wall.
The second type is found in the houses of the Western seaboard and in those of some of the inner Isles. No longer is seen the flat ledge of the wall top so characteristic of the Hebridean house, for here the roofing is arranged to form overhanging eaves, while the rounded hip-ends of the former type are retained.
In the more southern and inland parts, the third type is represented in the development of the triangular gable end, against which the roof abuts. In these houses, the picturesque overhanging eaves are also displayed.
In the later examples of this type of bothan, the fireplace and smoke flue were placed against the gable, the chimney being formed of a timber hood and shaft, terminating in a fanciful top. This kind of chimney was called similear-crochaidh, ' hanging chimney,' but often the exit for the smoke was a hole in the ridge, druim-àrd, directly over the fire-place, an teintean.
As with the plan and with the structure, the furnishings of the house were governed by utility rather than by luxury. The common articles of furniture were the box-beds, the dresser with its presses, plate-racks and shaped ends, the bench or settle; the meal barrel, water-stoup, and the three-legged pot suspended from the slabhraidh—a chain attached to a crossbeam in the roof.
It is interesting to attempt to recall some of the descriptive
2l6
THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE).
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
THE " BOTHAN " (THE HIGHLAND COTTAGE). 217
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, By Donald Sinclair. Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama. By the Hon. R. Erskine of Marr.
THE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of 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
crois-tara (the fiery cross'.
219
to make. The first relates to Gaelic Drama in general; the second to our people's part with regard to that matter; and the third to the spirit in which he who thinks to compose Gaelic drama should go about to write it.
With regard to the first head, my belief is that a bright future is in store for Gaelic drama, if our stage keeps clear of " commercialism," and reaches out to the psychological values of life, in order to which end it possesses in the Gaelic language an instrument of uncommon force and unrivalled beauty. With regard to the public, their duty is to support Gaelic drama, remembering always that as great things often have small beginnings, so, to reach the first through the channel of the last, there must be understanding mixed with encouragement in the reception accorded those first essays. My last counsel refers to the dramatists themselves, and it is this:—Remember the answer which the Black Lad Mac-Crimmon returned to the faery who promised him his wish. " Which would'st thou prefer," says she, " skill without success or success without skill " ? The Black Lad said he would rather have skill without success, and that he got. He was a true Gael, and a true artist.
Crois-tara.   Act I: Scene I. Translation by the Hon. R. Erskine of Marr.
Scene I.   The Laird of Borrowdale1 s House.  A Reception
Room.
(The Laird of Borrowdale and Ewen Macdonald are discovered. Ewen Macdonald is restlessly pacing the floor. Laird of Borrowdale is seated, and appears deep in thought).
Laird of Borrowdale—To go out against Fate, Ewen, is useless. Neither is there any need for it. If the Prince has come, 'tis not without events concurring with him in his design, and 'tis not—as well I know—without pressing on the part of those who wished him here, and have invited him to it.
Crois Tara (The Fiery Cross).
GAELIC PLAY, By Donald Sinclair. Introductory Remarks on Gaelic Drama. By the Hon. R. Erskine of Marr.
THE following is my translation of Scene I, Act I of 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
crois-tara (the fiery cross.!.
219
to make. The first relates to Gaelic Drama in general; the second to our people's part with regard to that matter; and the third to the spirit in which he who thinks to compose Gaelic drama should go about to write it.
With regard to the first head, my belief is that a bright future is in store for Gaelic drama, if our stage keeps clear of " commer cialism," and reaches out to the psychological values of life, in order to which end it possesses in the Gaelic language an instrument of uncommon force and unrivalled beauty. With regard to the public, their duty is to support Gaelic drama, remembering always that as great things often have small beginnings, so, to reach the first through the channel of the last, there must be understanding mixed with encouragement in the reception accorded those first essays. My last counsel refers to the dramatists themselves, and it is this:—Remember the answer which the Black Lad Mac-Crimmon returned to the faery who promised him his wish. " Which would'st thou prefer," says she, " skill without success or success without skill " ? The Black Lad said he would rathe-have skill without success, and that he got. He was a true Gael, and a true artist.
Crois-tara.  Act I: Scene I. Translation by the Hon. R. Erskine of Marr.
Scene I.   The Laird of Borrowdale'1 s House.  A Reception
Room.
(The Laird of Borrowdale and Ewen Macdonald are discovered, Ewen Macdonald is restlessly pacing the floor. Laird of Borrowdale is seated, and appears deep in thought).
Laird of Borrowdale—To go out against Fate, Ewen, is useless. Neither is there any need for it. If the Prince has come, *tis not without events concurring with him in his design, and 'tis not—as well I know—without pressing on the part of those who wished him here, and have invited him to it.
220
crois-tara (the fiery cross).
Ewen Macdonald—Fate! . . . 'Tis often that he who shapens mischief fashions his own fate; and 'tis often that into an unskilful heart the warmth of the fire puts the hardiness of fools. But this " pressing " . . .May God forgive those who have used it, for much they stand in need of pardon who have shown so little wisdom, and held so little conduct! . . . Sheer madness! This affair will work us woe.
Laird of Borrowdale—(Rising) Press not thy words Ewen MacDonald! Put not the race of Cian Donald to the blush. Pay heed to what thou sayest, and give not cause of offence to the rightful Royal house.
(Enter Mac Mhaighistir Alasdair. He is in full dress, and carries himself with spirit.)
Alasdair—Health in the house of the bards!
Laird of Borrowdale—I thank you! You are welcome here!
Ewen Macdonald—(Regarding Alasdair with a sour look.) God preserve us!   What have we here?
Alasdair—To feign ignorance of that, ill becomes you; and he who, knowing, asks, does worse than theft. In me, you see one of the race of Colla, who has come to welcome his Prince to the country of Cian Ranald. Who is he from whom I should conceal it?  Who will take exception when he hears it?
Ewen Macdonald—Listen! Thou who art without sense, and without discretion. Cian Colla! Cian Colla forsooth! , . . Well, be it so! For sure, Cian Colla was ever the first to drink of the cup of discord; Cian Colla was ever the first to be seized by the fever and riot of things hapless and forbidden!
Alasdair—(With anger and hauteur) Seadh! Claq Colla! Cian Ranald for sure, if thou likest it so 1 But, in the name of all curses and cold ruin, is thy creed the creed of pigs? Is thy creed—thou on whom is MacDonald for name—unrighteousness and the Evil One? Hast sold thyself, body and soul, to the Prince of slaves and the dregs of mankind?
crois-tara (the fiery cross I .
221
Ewen Macdonald—(Furiously) Be not so hasty, man! Restrain thy tongue!   Cease thine impertinence!
Laird of Borrowdale—(pacifying the others) Come, friends, recollect yourselves !   Be sensible!
Ewen Macdonald—(To Alasdair.) As for thy creed, a laochain, 'tis but that of thy breeding; remember that small is the spark that works loss and ruin. I have sold neither my soul nor my body; but reason and common-sense tell me that it is not to the advantage of the Gaels that they should have a hand in this madness that's now a-foot, or yield themselves up to the Prince's design. I have seen him, and I have heard the persuasions that are used; and this is my advice—the advice of reason—that you turn a deaf ear to him, till you see, and till you get stronger warranty of succours and support than he now can show you. There's not a man of the race of Cian Ranald more willing than I am to stand out for justice and our lawful King; but when I see men doing their best to botch a business which is already over-risky, it becomes my duty, as a leader, to give them honest counsel.
Laird of Borrowdale—Thy spirit, Ewen MacDonald, is unmanly; and to forecast failure for this attempt which Scotland is about to make in behalf of freedom and her rightful King, is dishonourable. Thy forebodings, and the fears thou art nursing up, are baseless.  Vain is thy pleading in the ear of Cian Ranald !
Alasdair—'Tis vain—and foolish ! For him to think to stem the torrent of our great design is useless. Neither he, nor any one else—save God Almighty—can think to control the storm that rages in the bosom of the clans; for this is the hour in which the blow must be struck; now's the time when the son of the Gael shall show forth the terror of his might against the despoilers of his country, and the violators of his rights!
(Enter Armed Clansmen)
Ewen Macdonald—May God then undo your intents; and may He, in His own good time, give you light, so that you may
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crois-tara I the fiery cross I.
come to know where the true path or* your interest lies ! So be it— now's the hour! Now's the hour, I fear me, which shall bewitch the sword of the Gael; and, thereafter, bewitched it shall remain till the end of all things.
Clansman—Say not so! Ewen MacDonald, disgrace it not! Who is he that would not raise his sword in behalf of Charles Stewart, Prince of the Gaels ?
Alasdair—Men ! Lift up your hearts above mean, unworthy things! Let not one of you yield to the suggestions of a mind whose ignoble fears keep him bowed as low as earth 1 Men ! Prepare yourselves to march, to meet and welcome our Prince, Charles Stewart, son of King James! Och! Och! God and Charlie!
Clansmen—God and Charlie !
Alasdair—(with vehemence and inciting zeal.)     O, ye— children of the Gael!  O, ye who are of the seed of the heroes of a hundred battles—remember !   Remember your wrongs, and the wrongs of your race !      Remember freedom !  . .  . Revenge ! Revenge from the ends of all times past is flooding my soul, and is calling upon me to avenge with all the strength of my right hand, wrongs and injuries past all bearing!   But, by my sword and by my shield, the hour is come!   The doors of the hate and fury of Scotland are flung wide open !     The spark is in the heather! and the reek and smell of the burning roll far and wide through the land of the bens ! As the wind stirs the leaf, so does the war-cry of a countless host stir the drum of my hearing! Eyes without number—flaming with the lust of slaughter—fill my vision!  I hear the matchless music of the Gael, as it goes forth to battle, bursting from a hundred chanters, and challenging to combat the weaponed might of the hosts of earth.  Och!  A Mhoire ! Behold the lads who wear the tartan ! Watch the prowess of the true and perfect men !   See the faces—lowering as the storm—of the champions who wreak vengeance!   Like wolves from the shoulders of the hills, foregathering, so gather together m sight of all. the seed of heroes, intent to deliver, irresistibly, the sure and final stroke of vengeance!
crois-tara (the fiery cross:.
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Clansman—(With enthusiasm) My blessing on thy soul, Alasdair! One and all we'll rise! Young and old Gaels will rise—for victory or death !
Ewen Macdonald—Alas! 'Tis like enough they'll rise; but their place of lying down, I fear, will be the woods and thickets of the fugitive!
Alasdair—(With hauteur, and laying a hand on the hilt of his sword.) Ewen MacDonald! Thy speech dishonours thy father's cian !    Have a care!
Laird of Borrowdale—(Pacifying Alasdair.) Let him be, Alasdair! He is not worth thy trouble! Heed him not! Give him not thine ear!
Alasdair—(To Ewen MacDonald.) Chief! Thy speech disgraces thee, and faint is the beat of thy pulse! But, despite thy fears and thy seducing words, the powerful Cian of Colla will rise—aye, branch, twig and stem, that noble and victorious tree will rise; and with united voice all will cry—" Crois-tàra!" (The distant sound of pipes playing " The young Prince's Salute " is heard.)
Clansman—Hark!  D'ye hear?  Thank God !
Alasdair—(Joyfully, and drawing his sword.) The Young Prince's salute!  The Salute of the Prince!
(Alasdair and Clansmen go off, but return almost immediately.)
Alasdair—Thanks be to God! 'Tis true! The White Rose of our hopes! Sweet to mine ear is the music of the distance—the sound that brings the tidings of the Prince's coming to the land of Cian Ranald!
(Ewen MacDonald paces the room distractedly, and regarding Alasdair with menacing eye.)
Laird of Borrowdale—Men! 'Tis time for us to be going te salute His Royal Highness! 'Tis our duty to welcome our Prince to the House of Mac-'ic-Ailein.
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crois-tara (the fiery cross).
Clansmen—(Casting their bonnets into the air for joy.) Hòro ghealladh! The Sun of Freedom! Prince Charles Stewart!
Ewen Macdonald—(With a sneer.) Al Seadh! To the House of Mac-'ic-Ailein! (To Laird of Borrowdale.) Is it not thou that hast the unperceiving mind, notwithstanding all that I have said to thee? How hard it is to prevail on thee to open thine eyes!
Laird of Borrowdale—(Angrily.) Ewen MacDonald! I perceive thou art minded to force a quarrel!
Alasdair—We will not belittle things of high intent by mean.  Let us away to meet His Royal Highness!
Clansman—We're for the Prince ! Let us all away to salute the Prince of the Gaels !
(Exeunt Clansmen)
Alasdair—(As he and Laird of Borrowdale go off.) God and Charlie!
Ewen Macdonald—(Alone.) Nature has opened no fount of sense in yon men. Gaels! God . . . yet, my own race. And their King—is he not mine also? ... I hear the baying of the hounds of woe—warning of grief unspeakable, warnings of tribulations, and hangings and slaughterings. O God, if it is Thy Will, divert from our land and race this destroying flame that now approaches! (As he goes off.) God be about us, and favour us! May He grant to each one the counsel that befits his state, and guide the hearts of all to the goal of His Justice!
Curtain.
A Glasgow Lassie's Visit to Culloden—1918
ASTRETCH of barren moor, pine woods it hemming, Marks thy drear waste, Drummossie, grave of valiant men Haunt of the lapwing, ever restless wheeling O'er its deserted nest amid the heather, then Crying wild for the fate of those there sleeping.
Rude stones, uncarved, grown o'er with moss and lichen, Show where MacLachlans and MacGilvrays fighting fell; Frasers, MacLeans, and sons of brave Lochaber Sleep side by side, in death, old feuds forgotten, Clasped in the swelling turf's green, quiet bosom.
Yonder, beside the fir-trees' darkened shadow, Towers the cairn 'neath which in simple grandeur Sleep plaided chiefs—leal hearts, yet warriors doughty; And round the cairn hang wreaths of withered yew-tree, Sere as the blighted hopes the heroes cherished.
Still, stagnant well, round thy green marge once gathered A baffled host, athirst, with glazed eyes staring Deep through thy sparkling waters, once clear flowing: Dark woe hath dimmed, methinks, thy shining mirror That thou ne'er more canst show fair summer's dawning.
And thou, historic stone, cruel Cumberland's watch-tow'r, From thy round top he scanned the heaving battle, Followed with anxious eye the wav'ring clansmen, Leapt down in savage joy, as round Prince Charlie Surged his last hope, war-weary, hopeless, frantic.
And on the battle's edge a small thatched ruin Sheltered the Prince that Caledonia loved; Cannon shot pierced thy walls, yet still thou standest, Sign of the steadfastness of loyal hearts, Thou seem'st their emblem in thy loneliness.
Still keep, bleak moor, thy wealth of high tradition, Guard thy great dead, and keep their memory green: Precious to mountaineers thy lone grey cairns, Ne'er shall thy fair fame fade, nor name depart, For aye, the wide world o'er, Gaels think of thee.
Catherine A. MacDonald.
Na h-orduighean.
Le Domhnull Mac-a-Phi nach maireann.
IS 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
na  h-orduighean.
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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  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
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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 Professor Magnus Maclean, M.A., D.Sc, LL.D.
WHAT to do with the Gaelic heritage in its modern survivals^—language, dress, music, literature, customs, traditions—is a question that seems to be stirring in many minds. In any useful discussion of this question certain broad facts have to be recognised. Since the introduction of the steamboat and the railway, and more especially of education and the press, the Highlands have been gradually Anglicised. Gaelic is no longer in the main the language of business, of the home, of public life, or even of religion. It is evident that the decline of the language as a spoken speech is proceeding more rapidly than ever, and that unless the process is delayed, it is doomed very soon, like the Cornish, to go the way of the heroes.
Fortunately, however, outside the Highlands a remarkable interest is being evolved in the Gaelic. This is due to the researches of scholars, both in Britain and on the Continent, and to the better and fuller knowledge which is being disseminated regarding the language and its literature. In view of this revival of public interest, some well-meaning enthusiasts may be in danger of fostering extravagant notions, and propounding visionary schemes for the resuscitation of the Gaelic as the one language of the North, and for the restoration of it to its ancient sway. Gaelic was the fitting medium of expression in the old order which is passing away, but while it may still be preserved to exert its influence on the life and thought of the people, and to have an important place in the education of the young, that place can be wisely determined only by accepting the fact that the old language is not adequate to the new order.
Learned men value Gaelic for its rich stores of ancient lore: the cultured and intelligent no longer despise it as a barbarous tongue, but many of them would fain know it themselves as an additional linguistic accomplishment. It is, therefore, to be hoped that this interest evinced by Celtic Scholars and Celtic enthusiasts, even outside the Highlands, will gradually filter down to the average man on the spot.
Friends of the Gaelic would be well advised, instead of aiming at the impraticable and impossible, to consider what really is wanted at the present stage, and what can be done with any hope of success. At present, the majority of the Highlanders are amazingly ignorant
296
the gaelic outlook.
of the great past of their race—of its language, history and literature. In fact, they are far more intimately acquainted with the history and literature of the Jews than with those of their own early ancestors. They do not know the high place Gaelic occupies in the Aryan group of languages, or the value philologists and mythologists at home and abroad attach to its study. Very many of the common people cannot read the native tongue, and very few can write it, although they may be able both to read and to write fairly in English. As for the grammar and spelling of Gaelic, they are as incomprehensible to the average Highlander as those of Welsh or Sanscrit.
Clearly, then, the first requisite is to create a sound, healthy public opinion on the subject in the Highlands itself, and to enlist the sympathies of the people generally in favour of their native tongue. The first great need is to awaken a more intelligent interest in Gaelic in the people themselves, to show them that their language is ancient and beautiful, and that, far from retarding the English education and the future prospects of their children, it is a powerful means of developing the mental faculties, and producing a vigorous as well as an interesting type of mind.
It should be constantly impressed upon Highland parents that bi-lingualism gives increased intellectual power, and that, therefore, they should encourage their children to speak the living vernacular as much as possible in the home, and should see to it that full advantage is taken of the provision made by the Education Department for the teaching of Gaelic in the Elementary Schools. Meanwhile, much could be done by the various Gaelic agencies by instituting popular lectures throughout the Highland area, supplying the libraries of the Highlands with readable books on the history and literature of the Gael, and preparing and giving as prizes in the various schools beautifully bound copies of the same. In this way a living interest in the mother-tongue and its lore would be fostered among both old and young.
The Heritage of the Gael.
By the Right Hon. Ian MacPherson, P.C., K.C., M.P., Chief of the Gaelic Society of London.
CARLYLE said, in one of those impressive moods of his, that it was our grand business not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what clearly lies at hand. The Sage of
the heritage of the gael.
297
Chelsea thought and fulminated but a few yards away from where I write. If 1 met him on my walk of a morning, 1 think that I should gain his valiant and rugged sympathy for our great cause, that I should get him to fulminate in his own great style against the lethargy, the aloofness, the ignorance, nay, the snobbishness of those of our own people who can, but will not help; and, greatly daring, I should, as a Gael, venture to argue with him, taking that dictum of his as a test.
There is an indefinable and subtle relationship between the language and the soul of a people. No one can describe that relationship in words, but it exists; and it exists, and has existed, in our life in Gaeldom with a force and intensity almost unparalleled.
It has been urged against us, as if it were a crime, that we are children who dwell in the past, that we are always seeing the past and little else, that, as a race, 'we went into battle and always fell.' But that past of ours is a proud and precious one, a past with the vibrant soul and language of our people inexplicably interwoven, and unless we see it in that light now, however 1 dimly at a distance,' we cannot see * what already lies at hand.' Indeed it is our £ grand business,' as it is our greatest inspiration, to see that past, to appreciate its value for ourselves and for mankind, and, realising that value, to preserve and perpetuate it.
I do not know who it was, but some one has said that those who live on the mountain have a longer day than those who live in the valley, and if a man wishes to brighten his day, all that he has to do is to rise a little higher. This has often consoled me as a Highlander, as it is bound to console those who are in the van of our movement, with an imperishable faith in what that movement means, and with an indomitable courage to give expression to that faith. In fancy and in fact, our stronghold is on the mountain-side—in the home, in the school, in the pew, where youth, hope, promise and aspirations dwell. It is there we must look for the longer day. It is there alone we can most surely expect to get it. It is there alone we can find the real strength and power to do 4 what clearly lies at hand,' and it is for us who labour in the valley to aid and, if need be, to guide that power in its struggles to shape its great destiny.
I have a profound belief in sentiment as a force that dominates the world, a belief that has been strengthened by my recent experiences when visiting our kith and kin beyond the seas.   The
29S
the heritage of the gael.
spirit of our race knows no barriers. It lives and moves and has its being in every corner of our far flung Empire, admired and trusted by all. It has been a buoyant and powerful force in every step of national and imperial expansion and progress, displaying to the eyes of men the finer qualities of vision, imagination, courage and idealism.
The language is the sign and symbol of that spirit, carrying with it, clothed in its sonorous beauty, memories ringing with poetry and music, memories of the elevating influences of the sanctuary, memories of the simple yet dignified annals of daily life in «clachan,' glen and strath. It is d great and priceless heritage of which we are the trustees in this generation. It is for us to honour that trust, and to maintain it, not only untarnished, but to hand it on in ever-growing power and strength to those who follow.
Song of the Stag.
Bv Donald A. Mackenzie.
THE monarch of the forest, chief of the antlered cian, Roars far through deep Strathconon and bounds through fair Strathbran;
He'll breast the waves of Fannich though rain-storms lash and blind,
Then round the bens and up the glens go racing like the wind.
A red flame in the sunshine, a thunder-cloud by night, A vision of the moorland, this lord of speed and might; He reigns alone, a ben his throne, and rises in his pride, Deep-black against the golden dawn, with antlers high and wide.
If e'er a vain usurper should dare dispute his sway In boastful challenge from afar, he rages for the fray; A forest fire in fury, he sweeps adown the ben, And bellows loud for battle across the echoing glen.
In daylight and in starlight his fame comes down the breeze, Sung loud by stream and torrent and harped by tuneful trees; The King of cliff and corrie in regal glory crowned, The antlered lord Imperial, unvanquished and renowned.
Sandy to Alasdair.
By John Buchan, Author of " Greenmantle," " The Marquis of Montrose,"
etc., etc.
Rieland—a term of reproach, used in the Lowlands to signify something freakish, wild, uncertain, barbarous.
Scots Dictionary.
MY faither cam frae Sanquhar ways, My mither's folk frae the Loudon hill, I played as a wean on the Cairnsmuir braes, And got my lear at the Deuchrae schule. Weel I mind, when at ilk ran-dan
I'd tak the muir like a young peesweep, My faither sighed, and said he, " My man, Ye're far ower Hieland to wark wi' sheep."
But the herding wasna the fate for me:
Wi' the Fusil Jocks I went to the war; Sune we were flitted ayont the sea,
Jinkin' death in the stour and the glaur. There was lads frae the West and lads frae the North,
Frae mill and muirland and pleugh and pit, And the youngest callant frae 'yont the Forth
Was far ower Hieland to yield a fit.
Yon day when, smoored wi' the deil's ain reeks,
We broke ower Loos like a wave o' the sea, Anither Sandy wi'oot the breeks
Keepit me company knee to knee; Roarin' words that nae man could ken,
Through trench and wire we gae'd side by side, And when I drapped like a shot greyhen
He was far ower Hieland to let me bide.
Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be!
Atween us two we hae couped the dyke; Gaelic for you and Lallan for me,
But the back o' our heids is unco like. Scotland's braid, and the differ's big,
Lorn and Carrick are no the same; But sune as the pipes play up their sprig
We're a' ower Hieland to hunker at name.
Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g' a Mhnaoi.
A Mhairi, eudail nam ban,
Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad 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
THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE. (Tigh'soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.)
Freagradh spiorad do-chlaoidheadh an duine do dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain.
Phola bv />¦      .Wm-fllHuf'i-Kiiul permission oi
Messrs. ìlatljmn, C<elit U.toliscllers
LITIR FHIONNLAIGH PHIOBAIRE.
30i
am farum—fonn air leth aig gach aon diubh—agus a h-uile h-aon a' strì cò a b'àirde pong. A mach bhrùchd an sluagh, às a h-uile cùil agus caol-shràid, a' taosgadh a mach 'nam mìltean sruth, agus saobh-shruth a sìos agus a suas air gach sràid, carbadan air an ais agus air an adhart, saighdearan le 'n drumachan tartarach, agus na cluig ag cur nan smùid diubh. An e so, deir mise, Là na Sàbaid ? O ! nach robh mise aon uair eile ann an Uladal, fo sgàile a' bharraich ri taobh an uillt shàmhaich, an t-athar àrd os mo chionn, na beanntan mòra mu'm choinne—mo dhaoine, mo chàirdean, 's mo leanaban ri m' thaobh, sìth agus sàmhchair na Sàbaid a muigh air an t-saoghal; fear-teagaisg mo ghràidh fo sgàile na creige; anam gach aoin ann am fonn an Dòmhnaich, agus an co-thional caomh, càirdeil, a' togail le Somhairle rùnach an fhuinn thiamhaidh a sheinn iad gu tric leis na daoine o'n d'thàinig iad.
'S mòr an cothrom a th' aig na Gàidheil anns a' Bhaile mhòr so: thigeadh iad o'n ear no o'n iar, gheibh iad Gàidhlig an dùthcha fhèin ann an eaglais a' bhaile.
An saoil thu, 'Mhàiri, nach do theab Para Mòr agus mise a bhi 'sa phrìosan an oidhche roimhe. Bha sinn a' dol dachaidh gu sàmhach, ciallach, gun fhacal às ar ceann: mise ag giùlan bocsa na pìoba fo m' bhreacan, 'nuair a thàinig triùir no cheathrar mu'n cuairt duinn, agus mun abradh tu seachd, spìonar uam bocsa na pìoba, agus glacar mi fhèin air sgòrnan. Mar bha'n tubaist air Para Mòr, dh' èirich e air càch le a bhata daraich, agus rinn e pronnadh nam meanbh-chuileag orra. Bha clach-bhalg air fear dhiubh, 's cha luaithe thug e srann aisde, na thàinig sgaoth dhiubh mu'n cuairt duinn, agus giùlainear air falbh sinn do dh' àite ris an abrar am Police Office. Aite an uamhais ! Tha oillt orm fhathast smaointeach' air. Daoine 'nan sìneadh air dall na daoraich thall agus a bhos, ag call fola, is mallachadh 'nam beul; mnathan—b' e sin an sealladh gràineil—air an dallanaich, cuid diubh ag caoineadh 's a' rànaich; is cuid eile ag gabhail òran, agus, Ni-math d'ar teasairginn ! duine marbh 'na shìneadh air an ùrlar. Dh' fheòraich mi fhèin, cho modhail 's a b' urrainn domh, c'arson a thugadh an so sinn. " Chì thu sin a thiota," deir fear dhiubh, 's e ag cur a làimhe ann am bocsa na pìoba. Thug a' phìob ran brònach aisde, agus chlisg e mar gum biodh nathair innte. "Faodaidh tusa, 'ille mhaith, a ràdh," arsa Para Mòr, " mar thuirt an sionnach a bha ag itheadh na pìoba, ' Is biadh's is ceòl so dhomh-sa.' " Ciod a tha agad air, 's ann a shaoil iad gur corp leinibh a bh' againn ach 'nuair a thuig iad mar bha a' chùis leig iad às sinn.
302 litir fhionnlaigh phiobaire.
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant ?
By Mr. Bertram W. Sinclair, British Columbia.
THEY do. Could they do otherwise? Primitive man regarded as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue. Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead, and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or tragedy or triumph' to the gathered folk in a common tongue.
So, how should we not set greater store on such as come among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond ?
It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks. He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes, MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of a Caledonian Society.
He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia.
A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers ?   We do.
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 Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh. Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach gur mi
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,
Fionnlagh Mac-Aonghais.
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Gaol Duthcha.
Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter Scott, Le A. Sinclair. ("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.
Ar:hjbald Sinclair, "Celtic Press." Glasgow.
Mu Shobhraig Oig.
Le Catriona Ghrannd, an t-Oban.
EADAR na freumhan aig sean chraoibh dharaich chrotaich, bha còsan beag, grinn, iìnigte le crotal glas. Air an ùrlar, agus m' a thimchioll, bha cluasagan de chòinnich mhaoith, ghuirm, le boinne de dhriùchd air bàrr a h-uile bidean. Air bhi do'n chraoibh cinntinn air taobh deas a' mhonaidh, bha an còsan < air chùl gaoithe, 's ri aodann grèine,' mar a theireadh an seanfhacal e. Air beulaibh an doruis bha torn de chòinnich ghlais, le duilleagan seargta de luibhean eadar-dhealaichte air an taobh a b' fhaide a stigh.
Fo'n torn so, domhain anns an talamh, bha buidheann 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
MU SHOBHRAIG OIG.
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 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.
By Rev. Chas. M. Robertson, Port Charlotte, Islay.
MATTHEW ARNOLD remarks that, "whereas Saxon names of* places have the wholesome smack of the soil in them, as Weathersfield, Thackstead, Shalford, etc., Celtic names of places have often a penetrating, lofty beauty." In a somewhat similar strain, Emerson speaks of the Celts as " having planted Britain, and given to the seas and mountains names which are poems, and imitate the pure voices of nature."
Numerous examples might be given of place names in which, with his quick, sensitive eye for natural beauty, the Celt caught the charm or * magic ' of nature, as exhibited in river, loch or hill, and fixed it in a name which is both harmonious in sound, and vividly descriptive as to form and colour. It is certainly not the fault of the Celt that such pretty and expressive names as "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,"
some notes on celtic place-names.
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.
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 abhainny = frWtr\ 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 ay 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 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 repre-
SOME NOTES ON CELTIC PLACE-NAMES.
235
sentative of the Early Irish form, which was a noun declined like gobha-' a smith', genitive gobhann, and is found in the Book of Leinster in the dative case Aldasain, not Aldafain, as the name has sometimes been misread. 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.
By Hugh Munro.
HISTORIANS and writers of  romance  have  so long accustomed us to stirring accounts of the warlike qualities of the Gael, that we are in danger, in these days, of thinking that his name in history has no other significance than that it sustains for the race a long record of valorous achievements in the field.
But it should be remembered that over the thousand or more years in which that reputation was made, the Gael was really passing through his prodigal period, and was literally spending his substance and dissipating the inheritance of his fathers. For he had allowed qualities that had made the name of his people famous throughout Europe fall into desuetude; and, by following the wasteful ways of war, had caused the fame of his fathers in the arts of Peace, if not to be forgotten, then by many to be over looked and neglected.
The centuries immediately following the introduction of
236
the celtic craftsmen.
Christianity into Britain were glorious for his people. The Celtic Church had sent its fame over Europe and parts of Asia; and the name of the Gael, for five hundred years, was synonymous with culture and the propagation of the spirit and the arts of Peace.
By the year 597 a.d.—the time of the Conversion of the Saxons to Christianity by St. Augustine,—the Celts had a hundred years of Christian activity to their history, and, by another hundred, the Churches of Lindisfarne, Iona, Kells, and ' Candida Casa' were known abroad. From each of those churches the stream of missionaries was continuous to the monastic centres of the Continent, and these bore the Crafts Spirit of the scribes with them.
The Books of Lindisfarne, Kells, Armagh, Deer and Durrow show the extents to which that Art spirit was carried. Giraldus Cambrensis, a distinguished scholar of the 12th Century, in describing these illuminated Manuscripts, remarks with something like rapture on the glory of the colouring, the endless variety of the figures, the elaborate intricacies of the interlaced ornamentation, all of which, as he goes on to say, " one would be ready to pronounce the work of angelic, and not human skill." On the earlier Pagan Art there was engrafted a new outlook, which an uninterrupted immunity from war for the Craftsmen and Scribes alone could give, and, as a result, we have a wide range of illuminated manuscripts bearing the Celtic decorative motif at its fullest glory.
The Book of Kells is the Museum and Art Gallery of the Art. It combines the full range of Celtic design, from the crude decorative forms of the Neoliths, (the Iberian inhabitants of the Country, who were in occupancy when the Goidelic peoples, the racial progenitors of the modern Gael, arrived)—those simple "V," "S," and "C" forms, used by the craftsmen of the 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.
the celtic craftsmen.
237
Celtic Art had nominally two great periods, Pagan and Christian; but archaeology differentiates much more narrowly between those stages of its development. Its landmarks are the tumuli of Europe, and the findings therefrom denote the influences that shaped it, over the bronze-using age to that of iron, and later, to the period of its maturity under the Church, and to that of its decay.
The remains taken from the great Halstatt tumuli (near Salzburg) revealed the culture of the bronze and iron-using Celts at an earlier period of their development than those taken from the oppidum of La Tene in Switzerland, and that of the Valley of the Marne in France, so that the Archaeologists classify the Art motifs of the objects of the first as 4 early,' and those of the two latter as ' late ' Celtic in design.
Early Celtic Art evinces a vast variety of influences; late Celtic shows the gradual perfecting of it to the fuller and more racially representative vehicle it became as a means of expression under the influence of the illuminators of the Scottish and Irish Churches.
Early Celtic emerged from the crude beginnings I have indicated, and as an art, it was in use among the tribes in the time of their ' wanderjahre,' when from the Hindu Kush region, and from the valleys of the rivers Don, Dniester, Dnieper and Danube, they pushed their way westward to the Iberian peninsula, and thence over to Wales and Cornwall, to Ireland and here.
The motives of the designs of this period were mainly martial: the arms and trappings of the soldier having first call on the craftsman, so that the warrior might be dignified in panoply, in keeping with the prowess of his race.
But, besides the accoutrements of the warrior, a comprehensive range of domestic articles—utensils, tools and objects of adornment—received the skill of the decorator in metal, wood, stone, bone and leather, and frequently there were added—when the wealth of the patron permitted it—articles in costlier metals and materials, involving special treatment at the hands of the designers and craftsmen.
The design motives of the various things that were unearthed after more than two thousand years of burial under the soil were in part decorative and symbolical. In style they display contact with the culture of other peoples, as there are in the various motives traces of Phoenician, Greek, Assyrian, Egyptian and Scandinavian
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN.
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
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN.
239
development, mirroring, as it did, their lives and their thought.
How complete the Art had become is seen in the magnificent group of crosses in our country—and Scotland in that respect is happy in the possession of the largest number of decorated crosses in the Kingdom. To mention but a few, good opportunity of studying the decorative forms of the Art is afforded in the Barrochan example in Renfrewshire; St. Martin's Cross in Iona; the Dupplin in Perthshire; the Nigg Cross in Ross-shire, and the many fine examples in the Scottish National Museum and the Art Gallery of Glasgow. Those pertain to the period when the Art was at its zenith, having in them the best of the thought of the designer, the illuminator, and the metal worker, plus the appropriate Art of the architect in uniting the conceptions of the former to the requirements of stone.
Some of those, particularly the Nìgg example, are profuse, even to riot, in Celtic forms, as ornate in the individual designs, and with the spaces as fully decorated, as any of the missals of the Books of Kells or Lindisfarne or the Golden Gospels of St. Columba. The full range from the simple chevron—the " V " form, like the single stripe denoting lance-corporal rank on the sleeve of the soldier's coat—repeated in a travelling band formation horizontally or vertically; the curves of " S " and " C " form, worked into elaborate spirals, concentrics, interlacings, knots, plaits and frets; and, indeed, every curious form and twist and break that the treatment of line and curve could take, are in this magnificent example of the Art in stone.
Added to these, there are the symbols of the Celtic people, denoting the evolution of their crude Pagan philosophy of life, to the fuller and more beatific contemplation of the ways and thought of Christ. The full range of that evolution is displayed in the highly evolved free crosses of the Clanmacnoise and Iona groups. Indeed, throughout that vast range of work in stone, there are the traces of the attitude of the earlier tribesmen to the great Infinite in thought; their superstitious dread of the unseen forces, and their conceptions of the monsters of the animal world. ^
There is also indication of the forms of their worship, and in this direction we can detect the various outside influences that were engrafted on the Celtic outlook, such as, for instance, the use of the form of the hammer head as a symbol, indicating the thought of a people like the Scandinavians, (with whom they came in contact), in their worship of Thor, or of some other hammer using
240
THE CELTIC CRAFTSMEN.
deity. And, although there is the evidence of a departure from the cruder symbols of the Pagan period in the later ones,—the use of the swastika, the triskele, the ship, the wheel, the axe, the comb, and the mirror—we can detect the forms of these, even after the incoming of Christianity, in the general treatment of the designs in the more highly evolved work.
The Celt of Pagan days, even as far back as the Bronze and early Iron ages, had his philosophy of life. He was no mere savage, with language no greater than a cry, sitting by his pit dwelling, impervious to the suggestions of the forces of nature. He saw the sun blaze in splendour, the waters by his dwelling, and the star, pale and incandescent, pendulous in the sky; and he noted that the firm earth on which he stood was neither fixed nor indeterminate in its relationship to the heavens.
Those quaint cup-and-ring-like markings on the rock formations throughout the country are his simple attempts to solve the riddle of the motion of the universe.
Charts they are now said to be of solar time, and not the cipherings of primitive man to decorate stone. The concentrics of the highly evolved free crosses have these as a base in the design, but the Art has become so perfected that the treatment of them on the great stone crosses of Scotland indicate a craftsmanship of a surer hand and a more accurate eye.
After the Christianising of the Art the treatment of the symbols entirely changed. The ship remained—symbol of the soul's avatar to Tìr-nan-Og, and, later, of the Church sailing heavenward to God; as likewise was the use of the stag, symbolising the soul thirsting for the well-springs of life, 'as the hart panteth after the water-brooks'; but the pagan forms of centaurs, sirens, griffins and other fabulous monsters—these departed gradually, and in their stead there were the pictorialised incidents of the Bible. Daniel in the lion's den was a favourite subject of the designer, as also was that of David, rending the jaws of a lion; the raising of Lazarus, the Virgin and Child, Pharaoh's overthrow, the ascension of Elijah,—representations, all of them, having inspiration obviously from the catacombs of Rome.
After the mission of Palladius as the envoy of the Roman Pontiffs to bring the Celtic Church to the Roman polity, the Art became centrally controlled, and, as a result, fell into decay. It was used in the decoration of the Irish crosses particularly, to portray the lives of the Saints, and to incorporate portraits of the
SAINT BRIDE.
May the girdle oj Brigit behind my back, And the mantle oj Mary before me be.
the celtic craftsmen.
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 John Fraser, M.A., (Aberdeen and Oxon.), LL.D., Professor of Celtic, Oxford University.
LATIN and Greek writers, when they speak of the " Celts " think of them, clearly, as a political or social community, not as a distinct race. It is true that some of them, Caesar and Tacitus, for example, have left us descriptions of the physical appearance of both " Celts " and " Germans," but that must not mislead us into believing that, in the first centuries of our era, observers could distinguish among the barbarians of Northern Europe two distinct racial types, coinciding with two distinct political and social groups. In the first place, it is dangerous to speak of " race " at all if we mean to imply comparatively recent common origin. It would be rash to maintain that the inhabitants of no matter how restricted an area of modern Europe are
<ì
242
THE EPITHET u CELTIC."
racially homogeneous. Two thousand years is a very short period in the history of man in Europe; and we have no reason to believe that the ethnic conditions in Northern Europe were any simpler two thousand years ago than they are now. In the second place, neither Tacitus nor Julius Caesar was interested in ethnology, and neither of them made a detailed examination of the physical features of either Celts or Germans. It is evident that when they speak of tail stature, red or fair hair, and blue eyes, they are not necessarily speaking of the average individual. It is possible— and this is the general view—that they are describing the physical appearance of an aristocratic caste. It may be noted in passing that, from their descriptions, it would appear that " Celts " and " Germans " did not differ very much in appearance. We may, if we like, claim that one of those aristocratic castes did, in fact, represent the original " Celts," and ruled over a subject people of alien race who had, at least in part, adopted the language of their " Celtic " conquerors. As we must start somewhere, we may do so here. There cannot have existed so late as the first century of our era a homogeneous race peopling the whole of Gaul; let us assume that there did exist at that time a military caste, numerically weak, but strong in traditional discipline and the arts of government, composed of n Celts."
When we use an epithet like " Celtic," we must have a clear idea of what we mean by it. When we speak of a " Celtic " language we know exactly what kind of language we have in view, and what characteristics distinguish it from other languages. .We know, too, that modern Celtic languages are so called because they are historically related to a language spoken in the area ruled by the Celtae of Caesar and other ancient writers, and present some of the same characteristics. In this case the epithet implies something which we know to be a historical fact, namely that certain modern languages are closely related to an ancient one.
It has, however, been for a long time fashionable to apply this epithet to other things than certain languages. People speak of "Celtic melancholy," "Celtic culture," "Celtic peoples"; and I propose to ask what is implied in these expressions. They all Involve the same difficulty, and I shall for that reason examine only the last.
When we speak of a " Latin people " we mean a people who sDeak one or other of the languages into which Latin has developed; we do not, and cannot, mean that the Latin peoples,
THE EPITHET " CELTIC."
as such, form a racial unity. For reasons with which the fact of a common name has no direct relation, we shall find the same physical type in Southern France and in Northern Spain; and, at the same time, we shall find that, physically, the Southern Frenchman may resemble the Italian more than he does the Norman who speaks his language. So, a Rumanian and a Mexican are both Latins in the sense that they speak a Latin language. All the Latin peoples have also in common the tradition of the Roman Empire and Latin Literature, and this makes for a certain community of sentiment and outlook. But to speak of " Latin races" is to use a meaningless expression. However we are to account for the rapid spread of the Latin language in Gaul or Spain, we cannot account for it by the assumption of a vast immigration of Italians into those countries and the extirpation of the native population.
But when we use the words " Celtic peoples," or " Celtic race," we use an expression which is, if possible, even more meaningless. People who use it certainly do not mean peoples who speak a Celtic language. The expression is certainly not intended to exclude the great majority of the inhabitants of Ireland and of the Highlands of Scotland, of nearly all Manxmen, of all Cornishmen. Whether it would be held to include Englishmen who have learnt to speak Welsh, I do not know. There is no political organisation which could justify the expression " Celtic people " in the sense in which we can use "Yujoslavonic." There is no common literary tradition which could make a Scottish Highlander feel that he had something in common with a Breton.  And finally, there is no racial community.
It is important that this should be recognised, for there is room to suspect that when enthusiasts speak of themselves as " pure Celts," they do imagine that there is a Celtic race as opposed, let us say, to the Anglo-Saxon race. Now, so far as the British Islands are concerned, there are no grounds whatever for such a view. We know that Celtic languages were introduced into those islands from the Continent, and that they, in time, displaced an earlier language, or earlier languages, just as they themselves have been, and are being, displaced by English. We do not know the numbers of the Celtic-speaking invaders, and we have no reason to suppose that they formed a racially homogeneous body. The probability is all the other way. It is known that Britain and Ireland had been inhabited for thousands of years
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244 the epithet " celtic."
Cuimhnich air na daoine bho'n d'thàinig thu. Remember the men from -whom thou art sprung.
A rèir do mheas ort fhèin, measaidh càch thu. As thou valuest thyself, others will esteem thee.
A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean.
Le Daibhidh Urchardainn, M.A., An l oisigheachd.
IS fhada bho thòisich an Comunn Gàidhealach air dùsgadh nan Gàidheal gu sùim a chur 'nan cànain fhèin, agus air agart bho luchd-riaghlaidh na dùthcha cead a' Ghàidhlig a theagasg anns na sgoilean. Bu e buil na saothrach sin gu bheil againn an diugh ann an Achd Pàrlamaid, cha'n e a mhàin cead ach àithne eòlas leughaidh agus sgrìobhaidh a thoirt do òigridh Tìr nam Beann air sean chainnt an aithrichean.
Ach is e a h-aon de na cunnartan a tha ag cuairteachadh ar cànain, gun robh luchd-dèanamh an lagha, agus gu bheil 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 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
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.
A' Ghaidhlig anns na Sgoilean.
Le Daibhidh Urchardainn, M.A., An Toisigheachd.
TS fhada bho thòisich an Comunn Gàidhealach air dùsgadh nan JL Gàidheal gu sùim a chur 'nan cànain fhèin, agus air agart bho
luchd-riaghlaidh na dùthcha cead a' Ghàidhlig a theagasg anns na sgoilean. Bu e buil na saothrach sin gu bheil againn an diugh ann an Achd Pàrlamaid, cha'n e a mhàin cead ach àithne eòlas leughaidh agus sgrìobhaidh a thoirt do òigridh Tìr nam Beann air sean chainnt an aithrichean.
Ach is e a h-aon de na cunnartan a tha ag cuairteachadh ar cànain, gun robh luchd-dèanamh an lagha, agus gu bheil 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
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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.
Co-dhùnaidh sinn bho so gur e mullach na h-amaideachd leabhar Beurla a chur air tùs an Tàimh an leinibh aig nach 'eil facal Beurla 'na chlaigeann, ach gur e tùs a' ghliocais a' chànain fhèin a chleachdadh, mar an cladhan troimh am bi e air a threòrachadh a dh' ionnsaigh a chala ion-mhiannaichte sin is crìoch àraidh do sgoilearachd.
Aon uair agus gum faigh an Gàidheal òg cho fada air adhart agus gun cleachd e an dà chainnt gu ceart agus gu rèidh, tha a inntinn na's gèire, agus a bhuadhan uile na's treise na's urrainn iad sin a bhi aig fear aon-teanga.    Tha, mar gum b'eadh, sealladh aig a
a' ghaidhlig anns na sgoilean.
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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 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?"
2 SO
GRIANAN.
eachd ri guth Mhìlread na Glaice. Mhothaich e na bha 'na cridhe is 'na h-inntinn, ach cha bu lèir da na deoir thoirteil a bha a' ruith a sìos air a dà ghruaidh. " Nach coma leat-sa, a Ghrianain, ged nach biodh ceòl 's a' chlàrsaich! Nach 'eil teas-ghràdh 'nad chridhe, is nach leoir sin!
Bha rachd am muineal Mhìlread, is i a' sealltainn air an aghaidh chiùin, shìochail air an robh smal a' mhulaid. Agus cha bu luaithe a bhiodh a h-aghaidh air Grianan na bhiodh a sùilean fuaighte air mac an Tuairneir Ruaidh,—am fear a bha gu a bhi còmhla rithe gus an sgaradh am bàs o chèile iad.
Cha d' thàinig smid à beul Mhìlread tuilleadh. Chaidh Buaidh a mach, oir bha i an còmhnuidh furachail mu thimchioll a mic. Mhothaich i do Mhìlread ag coiseachd air falbh còmhla ri a leannan. Laigh geilt air a gnùis. Bu mhotha gu mòr a chuir aogasg na cailin oirre na a gineal, a bha air tuiteam seachad le laigse cuirp. Choisich Buaidh air ais do'n tigh, ag giùlan a' bhalaich 'na h-uchd.
Ach bha Donn Og air a sàil, oir bha e fhèin agus dithis 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 bhiodh e mothachail orra-san a bu dlùithe dha. " Chaochail mi, a athair; choisich mi troimh ghleann dorcha sgàil a' bhàis,—ach tha mi a nis beò. Cha bhi àmhghar agam-sa tuilleadh. Fhuair mi seachad air gach bròn is trioblaid, agus tha mi a nis ag èisdeachd ri comh-sheirm nan ainglean anns na Flaitheas."
Cha do chuir na pàrantan diù anns na focail dhìomhair ud. Chuala iad guth caoin, milis am mic, agus bu leoir sin. Ach fhuair iad aobhar air smuaineachadh orra an dèidh làimhe, agus bha iad 'nam beannachd agus 'nan sòlas dhoibh. Shuidh Buaidh ri taobh na leapa, is gach mionaid a bha a' dol seachad a' treòrachadh a smuain gu bun na craoibhe, agus gu giùlan agus snuadh
GRIANAN.
Mhìlread aig an àm sin. Carson a theich i ? Ciod a chuir air falbh i, is an cuspair a ghràdhaich i fad a' bheatha air sìoladh seachad le laigse ?
Fhad's a bha Buaidh a' meòrachadh air na ceistean sin bha Donn Og an ceann eile an tighe ag èisdeachd ris na coigrich a thàinig le bàta beag gu oisinn na tràghad. Bha iad òg, sunndach, agus a rèir coslais cha robh nì fainear doibh ach ceàrn air choir-eigin de'n t-saoghal a lorg a bheireadh dhoibh tìoralachd is teachd-an-tìr. B'e ainm a h-aon diubh Brian agus an t-aon eile Conn. Cha robh eun air iteig nach cuireadh Brian gu nàire air cùl na clàrsaich. " Thachair an t-aon nì dhomh-sa 'nam òige," bha Brian ag ràdh, " ach cho luath's a thog m' athair an clàrsach's a chuala mi fonn uan teud ghlac mi misneach. ' Bàs no beatha,' arsa m' athair, ' chan eil mi ag creidsinn nach cluinn Brian Bàn an ceòl so.' "
Agus mun do chiar an tràth bha Grianan air ais aig bun na craoibhe, agus fallus sìos air a dhà shùil. Bha na h-eoin air gach gèig, a' sìneadh an cinn le iongnadh, oir bha mac Clàrsair na h-Aillse ag gleusadh ciùil air gnàths a chuir an cridheachan beaga air mhire. Chaidh Mìlread ball-dìreach gu tigh a h-athar. Bha i air innseadh dhoibh fada roimh sud nach pòsadh i gu bràth ach fear a bhiodh teò-chridheach ri Grianan, agus bha iad mar sin làn imcheist m' a deidhinn. Cha robh i a' tagradh às leth Grianaìn leud na ròine seachad air a gràdh fèin,—gràdh a bha làn bàigh is iochd.
" Tha thu air mise is t' athair a mhaslachadh," thubhairt a mathair rithe aon là; " tha an treas fear agad air a chur dachaidh-A bheil iongantas ort ged bhiodh t' ainm am fad is am 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
252
grianan.
am bu dèine ceileir nan eun, is a mheoir chaithte, thana an glaic an neach a b' òige a bha a stigh; oir bha Grianan beag eile le dòrlach mhìosan thairis air a cheann anns an tigh ud a nis, agus bu mhòr gràdh Brian is Mhìlread dha. Ach cha robh e na bu mhotha na gràdh an fhir a thug gu chèile iad, agus a bha a nis air siubhal.
Chunnaic mise iad anns an rath-dorcha le leadain fhliuch aig bun craoibhe. Bliadhnachan an dèidh sin lorg mi a mach aobhar am pràimh;—bha ceòl os mo chionn o chòisir nan crann, agus dian-theas na grèine ag crìonadh an fheoir uaine far an robh Grianan 'na chadal.
On the Imprisonment of Argyll, in 1661.
By Professor William J. Watson, M.A., LL.D., D.Litt. Celt.
This poem is from the Edinburgh MS. xxxvi, 114a (National Library of Scotland). An inaccurate version taken from a copy by the Rev. D. Mackintosh (in MS. lxxxix) is printed in Leabhar na Fèinne, p, 211. Mackintosh's copy is headed, "Upon Archibald, Earl of Argyll, the last Earl who was beheaded at Edinburgh, 30th June, 1685." The internal evidence, however, and especially the reference to the Tower, goes rather to indicate that it was composed on the occasion of the imprisonment of Archibald, the first Marquis of Argyll, in 1661. Argyll had placed the crown on the head of Charles II in 1651, and had suffered much in his cause. After the Restoration he was induced by an apparently friendly letter from the king to go to London to pay homage. While waiting in the privy chamber for permission to kiss the king's hand, he was arrested and committed to the Tower as a traitor, and thereafter sent down to Edinburgh to be tried. He was brought before the Scottish Parliament, found guilty, and executed on the 27 th day of May. His memory was long revered by the Scottish Covenanters.
Is maith mo leaba, is olc mo shuain,
an sgèal-sa chualas òs n-aird: Gill-easbuig, buachaill an Chrùin,
ar n-a ghlasadh 'san Tùir fa gheard.
ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF  ARGYLL, IN
Dia cobhair ar ar bhfeidhm, cuir tualas na mbrèag ar chàird;
cuir car na conspòid mun gcuart, beir consbòil na sluagh a bàrd.
Fuasgail e ò dhoirsibh bàis,
rèitigh an rod dhà go deas; Iehòbha phrìseil na sluagh,
ort ni fhuil ni cruaidh no ceast.
Do ghàirdean làidir 'n a thòir
air gach pòr 'ga bhfaighte an fhoill,
dh' aimhdheoin rìogh Phàro is a shluagh, dh' fhosgail an Mhuir Ruadh do'n chloi
Shuidheadh iad eangach an bhàis mu Dhomhnall an àigh le neart ;
dh' aimhdheoin a mioruin>s a gcealg, gabh na leòghain gharg mad smacht.
Impire Bhabilòin mhòir, chuir an iomhaigh òir 'san leirg,
i n-eimhuin lasrach 'na choig, thug aist na h-òighe ò fheirg.
Dh' fhuasgail thu na geimhle cruaidh do Pheadar na mbuadh 'n a fheidhm ;
charn thu an fhairge suas le sruth: thà thu a ndiu mar bha thu a ndè.
Fàgfuidh mè a chùram fad dhion, a Ri na rìogh 'ga bhfuil an neart ;
leòghan do shìiocht Smèrbi mhòir, chunnarc mè na slòigh fad smacht.
Seobhag de'n ealtain dob fhearr, ò dhreim Artùir bu gharg coig ;
onchù thrèan rè buan na gcreach, fèinidh fearail na bhfeacht mborb.
Ua Duibhne ò Dhùn na gCuach, 'g a dtiocfadh na sluaigh fad iocht;
brugh solus ba niamhdha bèas, a mbiodh coimhling na gcèad go tric.
254 ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN   l66l.
Iomdha tòiseach trèan ad mhagh,
fa lionmhor a sleagh is lann ; àrmuinn fa dhfdion do sgiath,
dh' èireadh le triath Dhùin dà Bheann.
Do bhantracht ad bhaile dèarach,
'gam biodh do theach 'n a thigh stòir ; gaisgigh go h-uaibhreach 'n a gclèas:
mar Ghuaire do bhèas tràth nòin.
Ba deathach calma do-n Chrun
sibh 6 thùs ò linn go linn ; bhi 'ga fhreasdail an sgach buaidh:
is ro bheag liom do dhuais d'a chionn.
Tuirseach me tuireamh do bhèas,
chraobh-thuinidh nach deireadh rath; Iosa le mbeirear gach buaidh,
tabhair èisdeacht dom dhuan go math.
Good is my bed, but ill my sleep, such the tale that 1 have heard set forth, how Gill-easbuig, shepherd of the Crown, lies locked in the Tower under guard.
Do thou, God, help us in our need; cause lying tales for a space to cease; cause the quarrel to take another turn; bring the people's hero out of ward.
Set him free from the doors of death, make the way clear before him readily; revered Jehovah, Lord of hosts, for thee there is no difficulty or trouble.
Thy mighty arm pursueth every seed in whom is found deceit; despite king Pharaoh and his hosts, it opened the Red Sea for Israel's children.
Let them set the net of death by means of might around the chief of fortune blessed; do thou, despite their malice and their deceit, take these fierce lions under thy control.
When the Emperor of mighty Babylon set up the golden image in the plain, thou didst rescue the pure young men from his wrath, when they were in the flaming furnace through the king's fury.
Thou didst loose the hard fetters from holy Peter in his need; thou didst heap up the sea with a current; thou art to-day as thou wert yesterday.
ON THE IMPRISONMENT OF ARGYLL, IN  1661.
255
I will leave his care to thy protection, thou King of kings, who hast the might ; thou lion of the seed of great Smèrbi, I have seen the hosts under thy control.
Thou hawk of noblest brood, sprung from the race of Arthur of fierce swords; thou war-hound mighty to seize the spoils, thou manly warrior of stern war-bands.
Thou scion of Duibhne from Dùn nan Cuach, to whom the people were wont to make submission ; a bright mansion of brilliant custom, where often hundreds were wont to strive in sport.
Many a mighty captain stood on thy plain, numerous were their spears and blades; gentlemen under thy shields' protection would rise with the lord of Dùn Dà Bheann (Fort of two Peaks).
Thy women are tearful within thy stead, for whom thy house was a house of treasure; a house where warriors proudly stood in. their array (?); thy manner at even was the match of Guaire's.
Ye were stout champions of the Crown from the beginning throughout the ages; ye were wont to serve it in every triumph: over small I deem thy reward therefor.
I am sad as I recount thy qualities, thou firm-set tree whose fortune is not yet spent; do thou, Jesus, who winnest every triumph, give good ear to my lay.
Chan 'eil torn no tulach, No cnocan buidhe fiarach, Nach bi seal gu subhach, 'Us seal gu dubhach diarach.
There is no knoll nor mound, Nor hillock dight -with flowers, That sometimes is not bright, And sometimes dark with showers.
Cha d' fhàg claidheamh Fhinn riamh fuidheall beuma. Fingal's sword never had to cut twice.
Bha dorus Fhinn do'n ànrach fial. Fingal's door was free to the needy.
The Eagle in Captivity.
By Rev. David R. Williamson, Kirkmaiden, Wigtownshire.
KING of the air, that in thy narrow cage, Broodest on visions that are now no more ! The virgin leaves are on the vernal trees; The air is filled with voices of the birds; The fairest flowers are wakening from their birth; The skylark soars amid the heavenly blue; The mists are lifting from the mountain-peaks, Whose loftiest summits are thy rocky thrones; Apollo glides in silver o'er the sea; But thou, the joy of the Olympian Jove, Who lives for ever in Homeric strains, Canst scan no more with calm and steadfast eyes The flaming splendour of the mid-day sun, Or soar serene, the sovereign of the sky, On mighty wings, whose movement is repose.
Napoleon, in his Oceanic Isle, Environed by the vast and moaning sea, Dark-brooding on the greatness of the Past, While sorrow surged within him like the waves That rose and fell around his hopeless doom, Knew not a sadder solitude than thine. He was an autocrat who forged his chains; Thy life was authorised by Nature's laws,
And thou, the august emperor of the air,
Whose motions were the wonder of the Earth,
Art made by man, the prey of curious eyes.
Beauty and grandeur call for thee in vain;
Even as of old, the upland tarns gleam,
Touched by the moon-rays, when weird night has come,
Beneath thine eyrie on the glimmering crags;
The gracious sylvan valleys loom below;
The mountain-crests, o'er which thy greatness came,
On out-stretched silent wings that scorned the clouds,
Serenely soar, like mightiest minds, to heaven,
—And in thy soul thou hearest that great Voice
Which man has made thee powerless to obey.
A Tale of Old Glen Strae.
" Far Past Cian Alpin's Outmost Guard." By Alasdair Alpin MacGregor, Author of " Behold' the Hebrides," " Over the Sea to Skye," etc.
IT was at Coilantogle Ford, the old-time crossing-place on the Teith, that Roderic Dubh, having in safety conducted James Fitz-James through watch and ward and "far past Cian Alpin's outmost guard," revealed himself to be the head of a murderous and rebellious cian: here it was that Roderic, having discharged his trust in good faith, summoned the unsuspecting Knight of Snowdoun to mortal combat—
" See, here, all vantageless I stand, Armed, like thyself, with single brand; For this is Coilantogle Ford, And thou must keep thee with thy sword."
But it may not be known generally that the Wizard developed his graceful theme from an incident of real, historical fact. The only discrepancy—and it is a slight discrepancy such as the scheme of any artist might reasonably demand, but which only the most skilful could have introduced with so much force and precision— occurs in the nature of the actual challenge: in the real story the MacGregor protagonist gave his foeman a fairer fighting chance and a more generous opportunity of escape than did Roderic, who, without any warning, threw down the gauntlet before the trustful Knight of Snowdoun, and provoked him " man to man, and steel to steel."
Well, my story is a story of long, long ago, because the earliest scenes of it were enacted before the MacGregors were driven by the trickery of their Campbell adversaries from their ancestral home in Glen Strae, and when the Lamonts, those stout-hearted and resolute Lairds of Cowal, were still in residence in Castle Toward, their ancient stronghold at the eastern entrance to the Kyles of Bute.
A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE.
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.
*    *     *     *     *    *
Is it not wonderful what a man will do when he is being chased for his life? Lamont, in his anxiety to return to Casde Toward lest his enemies should overtake him, found himself at a dark morning hour in Glen Strae, nearly twenty miles away from Kingshouse as the crow flies.
Not knowing where he was and to whom to turn for protection from young MacGregor's followers, who came at his heels, he arrived at the door of a house in the Glen, whither he had been attracted by a light that glowed in the window. Here, in despair, he entered and begged for protection.
Little was Lamont aware that he had sought refuge in the house of the Chief of Glen Strae, whose son he had just murdered; and it was not until young MacGregor's men came to the same door shortly afterwards, demanding the refugee to be handed over to them, that the Chief learned that the man to whom he had given hospitality, and whom he had vowed to defend from the wrath of his pursuers, had killed his very own son.
" Here this night you will be safe, whoever you be," were the words with which MacGregor of Glen Strae had received Lamont before he knew the reason of his flight. And, although MacGregor's wife and family filled the house with their lamenta-
A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE.
259
tions, and remonstrated with him, and would have had him deliver the fugitive into the hands of those whom he had bereft, the Chief replied that already he had given his word, and could not betray his trust—a MacGregor's word meant something in those far-off days!
* * \i * «
" But he has slain your son," was the retort of his clansmen, who besieged the door of the house and clamoured disappointedly without.
"Let no one hurt a hair of the lad's head," replied Glen Strae. " MacGregor has vowed that he will shield him; and, as I live, he shall be safe while he remains under my roof!"
How long Lamont remained under MacGregor's roof I am unable to say; but we know that at daybreak, one morning, the broken-hearted Chief ordered Lamont to prepare himself for a journey, and in person escorted him from Glen Strae, across many a hill and down many a dale, until at length they arrived at a little place on Loch Fyne, Dundarave, the Castle of the Two Oars—an ancient, turreted keep of the MacNaughtons, not far distant from Inveraray.
Here, at the ferry, MacGregor procured a boat and oars for Lamont, that he might row himself over to Cowal, on the opposite side of Loch Fyne, and have a sporting chance of reaching Castle Toward without being overtaken.
And, when taking leave of him, MacGregor turned to his guest and said:—" Lamont, when thou art safe in thine own country, I can promise to defend thee no longer; so keep out of the reach of the clansmen . . . Flee for thy life; and may God forgive thee!"
******
For many a long day Lamont escaped the vengeance of Cian Gregor, because he seldom ventured far afield from Castle Toward. But some years afterwards circumstances in old Scotland were changed; and misfortunes of a different nature dogged the footsteps of the bereaved MacGregors of Glen Strae—in efficiency, in un scrupulousness, in cunning the tactics of the wily Campbells had increased a hundred-fold; and it was a sad, sad day for Cian Alpin, when, by rapacity and treachery, the Wry-Mouthed —though not without encountering the fiercest opposition—were successful at last in establishing themselves at the doors of Glen Lyon, Glen Orchy, and Glen Strae.
260 A TALE OF OLD GLEN STRAE.
Then came the wholesale forfeiture of lands and the persecution and proscription of the whole of Cian Alpin. No one dared bear the name of MacGregor under pain of death; and those who were known to be of their race were pursued with beagles and with the ruthless cruelties that so characterised the vehemence of their oppressors.
******
Such were the circumstances that drove MacGregor of Glen Strae, now an old man, into the wilds of Cowal: such were the events that brought him, pale and woe-begone, to the threshold of Castle Toward: such were the ill-fortunes that compelled him to beg for asylum and hospitality at the hands of the once fugitive Lamont.
For many years the broken-hearted and venerable MacGregor of Glen Strae sojourned at Castle Toward as the guest of Lamont: the guest had forgiven; and the host was eager to repay his guest who had spared his life, and had conducted him in safety " far past Cian Alpin's outmost guard."
And it was under the roof of Lamont, when the boughs of the ever-green pine had been bent and distorted by craft more powerful than the winds of Caledon, that the aged MacGregor of Glen Strae breathed his last.
And there, near Castle Toward, and far away from the tomb of his royal ancestors, the old Chief quietly was kid to rest in the mools that are hidden among the long, waving grasses of Cowal.
There the wind is heavy-laden with sal ten tears; and the wheeling seabirds scream their coronach !
" The red oak is in a blaze; the spire of its flame is high. The traveller sees its light on the dusky heath, as night spreads round him her raven wings. He sees it and is glad; for he knows the hall of the king. ' There,' he says to his companion, 'we pass the night; the door of Fionn is always open. The name of his hall is the stranger's home.' The feast is spread; the king wonders that no stranger from the darkly heath is come. ' I will listen,' says he, ' if I may hear their wandering steps.' "
Dr. Smith's Ossianic Sean Dàna.
-
u Lest the Gael might have an enemy under the roof, to whom they were equally bound by the honour and the rules of hospitality, the name and business of a stranger were not required until after a considerable sojourn."
Logan's Introduction to MacKensie's Beauties of Gaelic Poetry.
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" Druid Circles" and Rock-Carvings.
By Ludovic MacLellan Mann, F.S.A. Scot.
EVERYONE 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 com-
DRUID CIRCLES AND ROCK-CARVINGS.
263
mem orated by the sculpturings, or by the erection of the monuments.
The stone-circles and cup-marked stones, therefore, are emblems of a bygone pagan religion, antedating the Christian religion by thousands of years.
The standing-stones and rock-markings must not be looked upon merely as mementos of what our prehistoric ancestors accomplished in the way of astronomical and geometrical science, but as symbols of their religion—not a puerile, elementary, or semi-savage sun-worship, as is commonly believed. There is reason to think that the students and builders of the Ages >f Stone and of Bronze had arrived at a definite and profound conception of a Great Supreme Power who guided the movements of the celestial bodies and the destinies of the universe. This religion was of the highest order, and was not associated with savage butchery and sacrifice—things referred to so frequently by classical writers ignorant of the true conditions in ancient Britain.
There is reason to believe that when our pre-Celtic and Celtic ancestors worked out, as they did with extraordinary accuracy and subtlety, astronomical portrayals in stone—the portrayals in less durable materials have not survived—they believed that they were copying the examples set forth by the Master Architect, and that thev were indeed doing on earth as it is done in hea\'en. They worked out on the mundane surface, not only over small areas, but over large stretches of territory, portrayals of what they had patiently observed in the heavenly vault. Such, at anyrate, are the thoughts that persistently force themselves upon one after years of study of the handiwork of early man in Scotland and elsewhere, and after much effort, not only to reconstruct early man's work itself, but to recover the ideas which underlay it.
Sonnet to a Stone Circle.
Commonly called Long Meg and her Daughters, near the
River Eden. By William Wordsworth.
AWEIGHT 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.
By Alister MacDonald, Inverness (" Gleannach "). Author of " Story and Song from Lochness-side," etc., etc
IT was the summer of the year 1746. Since the disaster at Drumossie Moor, in the month of April previous, the Highlands of 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 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. By William Wordsworth.
AWEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, Fell suddenly upon my spirit,—cast From the dread bosom of the unknown past, When first I saw that family forlorn. Speak thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn The power of years—pre-eminent, and placed Apart, to overlook the circle vast.— Speak, Giant-mother ! tell it to the Morn While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night; Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;— At whose behest uprose on British ground That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite The inviolable God, that tames the proud!
The Seven Men of Glenmoriston.
By Alister MacDonald, Inverness (" Gleannach "). Author of " Story and Song from Lochness-side," etc., etc
IT was the summer of the year 1746. Since the disaster at Drumossie Moor, in the month of April previous, the Highlands of Scotiand had been in a state of the utmost unrest, and anxiety. Prince Charles Edward Stuart was a wanderer somewhere in Western Inverness-shire, only a few personally in touch with him knowing where. Hanoverian soldiers were searching for him, like sleuth-hounds, in every part where he was likely to be found, on sea or land; while the few who were not afraid or ashamed to own him, risked danger and death for his sake.
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.
266
THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON.
Meanwhile, Prince Charles, with the assistance of a few faithful friends, was making his way from the Western sea-board inland, with a view, apparently, to getting to Poolewe, where he had heard that some French ships had just been seen. He had got so far as to fall into the safe keeping of MacDonald of Borrodale, and MacDonald of Glenaladale and his brother. There was a reward °f ^3°>ooo offered for his person—dead or alive, and he had passed through dangers and discomforts untold. His most faithful friends were nervously apprehensive for his safety, but he still hoped royally.
Patrick Grant—one of the Seven Men.
{Kind ferinìuimt <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.
THE SEVEN  MEX OF GLENMORISTON.
2 67
"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. 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
~6S
THE SEVEN MEN OF CLEN MORISTON .
days in a vacant sheiling, sleeping soundly at night on a bed of turf. After resting in another sneiling the following night, he, next morning, entered Glen-Cannaich, where he remained for one night. \\ hile here, his party was joined by Hugh MacMillan, a native of Glenmoriston, who also had been "out'- with the Prince. Two days or so later, the men who had been sent to Poolewe returned with the news that a French vessel had put in there, but had again sailed, after landing two officers who were making for Locheil's country, in search of the Prince, in order to help him to escape.
Charles was naturally anxious to meet those Frenchmen, and after hiding for some three days longer, returned to Glenmoriston, whence he sent messengers to Glengarry and Lochaber, with a view to arranging a meeting between Cameron of Clunes and 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, (known as iain a' chragain.)
" He 'n clo dubh, b' fheàrr am breacan.— Air 'uachdar gur a sgiamhach A laigheadh an sgiath chruinn bhreacte; 'S claidheamh air crios ciatach Air fhiaradh os cionn a phleatan."
atimj pfrmissinn, irvm
Ur.   H'tlffnm .Uiltfc.iv'i lliilaty "ì Ur<,„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.
Fear Obair-ardair, an Lochabar.
CLUINNEAR iomadh sgeul fhathast am measg an t-seann sluaigh an Lochabar nan sonn is nam bàrd mu chuspair a' chumha ghrinn, dhrùightich so, Raonall Mac Dhomhnaill, Fear Obair-àrdair.  B' ann a mach a teaghleach uasal na Ceapach a shìolaich Raoghall Mac Iain, mar theirte ris. Bha e ro ainmeil 'na là, an dà chuid a thaobh a threunachd agus a fhialaidheachd.
Bitear ag innseadh an diugh fhathast mar bha dithis, là a bha '1. sud, a' deasbaireachadh mu fhialaidheachd, goirid an dèidh bàis Raonaill. Arsa a h-aon diubh mu dheireadh. " Tha mi fhèin de 'n bheachd gun deach Raoghall Mac Iain do Phàrras mar urchair a gunna, do bhrìgh a fhialaidheachd."
Bha e anns an fheachd a chruinnich an Gleann-Fhionain, an uair a chaidh suaicheantas Prionnsa Tearlach a thogail ri crann le caithream, agus ged tha e coltach gun do bhac rudeigin e o a bhi
2;o
RAONALL MACDHOMHNAILL.
aig Blàr Chùil-lodair, dh' fhuiling e crois is creach gu leoir air son na cuid a ghabh e anns an ar-amach mhi-shealbhach sin. Tha sgeul fhathast air mar thug e fichead là air a thurus gu ruig Lunnainn, a' marcachd air a ghearran Gàidhealach, a chum a bhi a' tagradh air beulaibh nam morairean nan còraichean a chaidh a thoirt uaith.
Tha cuimhne aig a' mhnaoi-uasail, Silis Nic Dhomhnaill, air mar bhiodh a h-athair ag innseadh gum biodh e fhèin agus a bhràithrean is iad 'nam balaich ag cluich, a' dèanamh targaid de 'n " chlogaid's de 'n lùirich " air a bheil an cumha a' dèanamh luaidh.
Chan 'eil fhios cò e am bàrd a chuir na rannan snasmhor, blàth-chridheach so ri chèile, ach cha robh e cearbach.—I. MacDh.
Cumha air Raonall Fear Obair-Ardair.
Bho'n   mhnaoi-uasail,  Silis  Nic  Dhomhnaill,   an
Loc ha bar, iar-ogha do fhear ObAIR-ARD air
MOCH's a' mhaduinn Di-ciadain, 'S math mo chuimhne air a' bhliadhna— Bhrist cùl-taic 'bhios mi 'g iargain gu bràth.
Air a' bhruaich anns a' chlachan,
Chaidh an diùlnach a thasgadh,
Sàr dhuin-uasal, is gaisgeach fo spàirn.
Chunnaic mise le m' shùilean,
Sàr chlogaid is lùireach,
Sgiath bhreac nam ball dlùth air do làimh,
A bhliadhn' a chruinnich na Gàidheil,
'Bhualadh buille le Teàrlach,—
'S mairg a chasadh ort àrdan no greann.
Bu leat gunna nach diùltadh,
'S cha robh spàirn ort a giùlan,
'Nuair a chaogadh tu 'n t-sùil air a h-earr.
'S ann an ùir Chill-a-Chaoraill
Chaidh do dhùnadh mu dheireadh,—
Mo mhòr dhiùbhail, mo ghearan, 's mo chall.
Tobar Nighean an Righ.
Le Eachann MacDhughaill, Glaschu.
THA Tobar Nighean an Rìgh mu leth-cheud slat os cionn na mara, ri aghaidh na h-àirde 'n-iar-thuath. Ri àm gailleann a' gheamhraidh tha siaban na mara is cobhar geal nan tonn a' toirt sad mu a bhruachan; ach air an fheasgar chiùin shamhraidh so tha an cruinne is gach dùil aig fois; a mach bho mhonmhar a' bhrisidh-mhara air an tràigh is guileag nan eun, tha fuaimean nan astar air chall.
Suidheam a nis ri taobh mo thobair, is òlam mo shàth de'n fhìor-uisge fhionnar, shoilleir, ghlan a tha a' sìor-shileadh a nuas ann bho oir na creige ud 'na thaic. Seadh, tha e a' sìor-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
2J2
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
an Rìgh, aon chuid ri ùrlar fèille no ri achadh blàir. Bha a thighinn is àrach de'n aon chraoibh ris an Rìgh Art e fèin—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 bhris-
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
273
eadh sìth air na bu lugha aobhair na làmh maighdinn, ach ma bha foidhidinn ri a cur an cleachdadh an nithean beaga, nach bu ro-fheumail an t-subhailc sin a chur an cleachdadh is sonas càraid chaoimh rè an làithean air thalamh anns a' gheall.
"Tha Rìgh Lochlainn is an Rìgh Art, t'athair, aig sìth s'an àm so," arsa Gal-fionn ri Caoin-shùil uair is dà uair; " cha bhi iad an sin daonnan, is cuiridh sinne dàil 'nar gluasad ged nach cuir sinn dearmad ann. 'Nuair a thig an là sin, is a theid fosadh air gach meadhair ach meadhair nam beum-sgèith, is e mo lann-sa a bhios air thoiseach a' sireadh nan cliar-chleas bho làimh Thormuill Mhic Aiteil, agus ma dh' fhàgas a h aon, cha mheas mi gu fàg a dhà faiche na gàir's iad beò."
Ach bha an ùine a' ruith, is gun cònspaid a' faotainn àite gu a guth a thogail. Seadh, lean an t-sìth is lean i, agus bha an ùine a' sìor dhol seachad.
Mu dheireadh bha e air a dhèanamh follaiseach is aithnichte 'san dùthaich uile gu lèir gur e Tormull na Lochlainn a bha ri làmh Chaoin-shùil—àilleag gach nighean flaith an Albainn uile gu lèir—fhaotainn 'na ghlaic. Seadh, ach Caoin-shùil fèin, an robh ise leagte dha so ? O, nach ise a bha, mo thruaighe, nach feumadh i! Cha b'iad sud na làithean a bha a facal fèin aig nighean rìgh na's mò na nighean fir eile. Cha robh aig nighinn rìgh ach a bhi a' dèanamh mar a dh' iarradh a h-athair oirre, »s cha robh ach gabhail an ulla ris an rath mar a thigeadh e mun cuairt; is e sin mur tachradh-.
Ach sin agad e. Bha an sùil daonnan, na caomhagan, ris an fhear a leumadh 'san eadraiginn, is cò esan nach rachadh an sin fèin ma bha e airidh air gràdh cridhe maighdinn, is gu sònraichte air nighinn rìgh, is a rùn-se dhà. Cha mhò a b'e Gal-fionn am fear a dhiùltadh, is am b' fhiach e curaidh a ràdh ris no bhi air ainmeachadh air Sìol nan Sonn ma bha e a' dol a' leigeil le Tormull Mac Aiteil, Lochlannach, Teutonach, allamharrach gun fhios cò e, a leannan a thoirt leis às a dhùthaich gun don fheòraich?
Thuig a nis an Rìgh Art mar bha cùisean. Thuig e gun robh Gal-fionn an geall air Caoin-shùil, a nighean, is gum bu rùn a clèibh-se Gal-fionn. Is e a nis a rinn e leigeil rìs 'na dhòigh fèin do Ghal-fionn ma bha e am beachd a m'ghean-san—an tè a bu shine— a bhi aige mar mhnaoi, gun robh an t-àm aige a mhiann a dhèanamh follaiseach; gun robh tuille na aon fhlath eile a bha an geall oirre mar thà, is nach fuiricheadh òige daonnan ri dùil gun dol clì air uairean.     Leig e ris mar an ceudna dha, is sin gu neo-
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
an Rìgh, aon chuid ri ùrlar fèille no ri achadh blàir. Bha a thighinn is àrach de'n aon chraoibh ris an Rìgh Art e fèin—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 bhris-
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
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eadh sìth air na bu lugha aobhair na làmh maighdinn, ach ma bha foidhidinn ri a cur an cleachdadh an nithean beaga, nach bu ro-fheumail an t-subhailc sin a chur an cleachdadh is sonas càraid chaoimh rè an làithean air thalamh anns a' gheall.
"Tha Rìgh Lochlainn is an Rìgh Art, t'athair, aig sìth s'an àm so," arsa Gal-fionn ri Caoin-shùil uair is dà uair; " cha bhi iad an sin daonnan, is cuiridh sinne dàil 'nar gluasad ged nach cuir sinn dearmad ann. 'Nuair a thig an là sin, is a theid fosadh air gach meadhair ach meadhair nam beum-sgèith, is e mo lann-sa a bhios air thoiseach a' sireadh nan cliar-chleas bho làimh Thormuill Mhic Aiteil, agus ma dh' fhàgas a h-aon, cha mheas mi gu fàg a dhà faiche na gàir's iad beò."
Ach bha an ùine a' ruith, is gun cònspaid a' faotainn àite gu a guth a thogail. Seadh, lean an t-sìth is lean i, agus bha an ùine a' sìor dhol seachad.
Mu dheireadh bha e air a dhèanamh follaiseach is aithnichte 'san dùthaich uile gu lèir gur e Tormull na Lochlainn a bha ri làmh Chaoin-shùil—àilleag gach nighean flaith an Albainn uile gu lèir—fhaotainn 'na ghlaic. Seadh, ach Caoin-shùil fèin, an robh ise leagte dha so ? O, nach ise a bha, mo thruaighe, nach feumadh i! Cha b'iad sud na làithean a bha a facal fèin aig nighean rìgh na's mò na nighean fir eile. Cha robh aig nighinn rìgh ach a bhi a' dèanamh mar a dh' iarradh a h-athair oirre, »s cha robh ach gabhail an ulla ris an rath mar a thigeadh e mun cuairt; is e sin mur tachradh—--••
Ach sin agad e. Bha an sùil daonnan, na caomhagan, ris an fhear a leumadh 'san eadraiginn, is cò esan nach rachadh an sin fèin ma bha e airidh air gràdh cridhe maighdinn, is gu sònraichte air nighinn rìgh, is a rùn-se dhà. Cha mhò a b'e Gal-fionn am fear a dhiùltadh, is am b' fhiach e curaidh a ràdh ris no bhi air ainmeachadh air Sìol nan Sonn ma bha e a' dol a' leigeil le Tormull Mac Aiteil, Lochlannach, Teutonach, allamharrach gun fhios cò e, a leannan a thoirt leis às a dhùthaich gun don fheòraich?
Thuig a nis an Rìgh Art mar bha cùisean. Thuig e gun robh Gal-fionn an geall air Caoin-shùil, a nighean, is gum bu rùn a clèibh-se Gal-fìonn. Is e a nis a rinn e leigeil ris 'na dhòigh fèin do Ghal-fionn ma bha e am beachd a nighean-san—an tè a bu shine— a bhi aige mar mhnaoi, gun robh an t-àm aige a mhiann a dhèanamh follaiseach; gun robh tuille na aon fhlath eile a bha an geall oirre mar thà, is nach fuiricheadh òige daonnan ri dùil gun dol clì air uairean.     Leig e ris mar an ceudna dha, is sin gu neo-
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 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
I'OBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH.
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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.
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
276
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 !"
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
SIR COLIN CAMPBELL  LORD CLYDE.
TOBAR NIGHEAN AN RIGH. 2"]"}
a thaobh so a tha e air a ràdh gun do cho-mheasgadh fuil rìoghail Albainn an lùib gach fola eile an là ud an Tobar Nighean an Rìgh.
"Gu làr e, gu làr e!" ghlaodh barrachd is an t-aon a rithist, is bha sealladh teinnteach a' leum bho shùilean nuagach, is bho aghaidhean tuasaideach am measg na bha de Lochlannaich cho math ri Gàidheil 'sa chuideachd.
" Cothrom na Fèinne dha," dh'èigh an Rìgh Art ged a bha e fèin air a lot: " cothrom na Fèinne do Thormull is do Fhir Lochlainn, 's iad fada bho'n dìlsean." Ach bha an Lochlannach cheana ri làr, gun bhuille eile air a bhualadh, is làr gun èirigh air.
Chladhaicheadh uaigh fo bhonn a' bhruthaich, ri taobh sruth an tobair, agus tha i air a comharrachadh a mach shìos an sud fathast.
Is gann gun ruigear a leas aithris gun deach rèite a dhèanamh eadar an Rìgh Art is Gal-fionn an sin fèin, agus cha b' fhada an ùine gus an robh dìlseachd nam flòran òga da chèile air a daingneachadh le snaim nach fuasgladh làmh no lann, is iad fèin fathast beò. Is ann a thaobh a' phòsaidh sin a tha muinntir an taoibh so de'n dùthaich a' tagar gu bheil fuil rìoghail na h-Alba a' ruith 'nan cuislean, oir bheir iad uile 'nan dòigh fèin dearbhadh seachad gun d'thàinig gach aon fa leth dhiùbh bho Ghal-fionn is bho Chaoin-shùil, nighean an Rìgh.
Tha iad mar so ag gabhail nàduir de chòir anns an tobar, is mar sin chan 'eil cùram gun tèid dearmad a dhèanamh air, no a chur am mì-shùim 'nan aithris, 'nan seanchas, no air sheòl air bith eile. Tha cailean na dùthcha 'ga chunntadh 'na dhleasnas 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 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 Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh.
Le T. D. MacDhomhnaill, An t-Oban.
CO an Gàidheal nach dèan uaill às an Rìdir Cailean Caimbeul, Tighearna Chluaidh? Cò anns a bheil smior 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
sir cailean  caimbeul, tighearna chluaidh.
279
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
28o
SIR  CAILEAN  CAIMBEUL, TIGHEARNA CHLUAIDH.
dèidh sin do Dhùn-Ei deann, far an do chaochail e 'na sheann duine. Gu là a bhàis, bha a mhac, an saighdear urramach, 'ga chumail an suidheachadh duin'-uasail.
B' ann aig Blàr Vimiera a fhuair " Cailean Caimbeul " a bhaisteadh le teine, agus mar gun rachadh a cruadhachadh 'na dhreuchd an uair sin, cha do thill e buille tuilleadh, ach daonnan a' faotainn air aghaidh. Bha e 'san ruaig ainmeil ud a chrìochnaich aig Corunna, agus bha a chuid aige de'n bhlàr sin fo chomannd Shir Iain Moore, an uair " a shil iad na deoir gu sàmhach, ag amharc air creubh an trèin a thug buaidh." Cha robh Cailean an uair sin ach 'na fhìor bhalach, sè bliadhna deug a dh' aois, ach eadhon aig an aois sin, nochd e gaisgealachd loinnreach an duine.
Tha luchd-eachdraidh a' chogaidh mhì-shealbhach sin a' tarruing aire an leughadairean ri beachdaireachd " Lieut. Campbell " air an ( ruaig ' gu Corunna. Ann an sgrìobhadh a chuir e gu a chuideachd aig an tigh, dh' innis e mar b' fheudar da a bhi a' piocadh leathrach nam bròg a bonn a choise, an uair a thàinig an t-arm gu ceann-slighe. Fo chomannd an Diùc Wellington chaidh e troimh chogadh a' ' Pheninsula,' o thoiseach gu dheireadh, agus b'iomadh blàr fuilteach anns an do ghabh e cuid.
Ach eadar gach caithream anns an robh e, is ann ri linn Cogadh a' " Chrimea " a bhaoisg a chliù a mach, gus an d' thàinig a bhuadhan 'sa threunadas mar shaighdear neo-sgàthach, is mar sheanailear innleachdach, fo chomhair sùilean a luchd-dùthcha 'sa nàimhdean. Anns a' bhliadhna roimh so, chaidh Ridire a dhèanamh dheth, a thaobh cho gleusda's cho geurchuiseach 's a dhealbh e gach blàr, gus an do theòraich e a dhaoine mar " Bhrigadier-General," o'n àm a bhi ag cogadh anns na h-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?
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sir cailean  caimbeul, tighearna chluaidh.
An dèidh an euchd òirdheirc so, dh* àrdaicheadh cliù an t-saighdeir mhòir, agus thaomadh urram air bho uachdarain is bho ìochdarain, chan ann a mhàin am Breatann ach an tìrean coimheach. Mar ghràinne-mullaich air a shaothair, rinneadh " Field Marshal " deth, agus thog Ban-rìgh Victoria e gu ionad Moraire, is roghnaich e mar ainm urraim, " Tighearna Chluaidh "
'Na làithean deireannach ghabh Cailean ' Ceud-chathach ' fois is socair, agus an dèidh na thàinig e troimh, chaochail e an sìth air a leabaidh anns a' bhliadhna 1863, an uair a bha e trì fichead bliadhna 's a h-aon-deug de aois. Cha do thog an Roinn-Eòrpa saighdear a bu ghaisgeile na Cailean Caimbeul. Chithear comharaidhean air sin an diugh, eadhon 'na dhealbh,—fearalachd an t-saighdeir anns na malaichean troma, agus anns an t-sùil gheur, nuagach, gun gheilt; agus cha ruigear a leas ach leth-shùil a thoirt air an dealbh aige gu fhaicinn gur e fuil an fhìor Ghàidheil a bha a' ruith 'na chuislean.
Ann an tomhas saoi bhi r, bhuilicheadh air gach feart a tha feumail do cheann-feachd mòr. Bha e bras, neo-sgàthach mar shaighdear, ach aig an aon àm ciùin, faicilleach mar 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.
Le Aonghas Domhnullach nach maireann, Bard Chomuinn Ghaidhlig Inbhirnis.
THA airm an laoich fo mheirg 'san tùr, Chòmhdaich ùir an curaidh treun, Bhuail air Alba speach às ùr— A feachd trom, tùrsach, 'sileadh dheur, Mu Ghaisgeach Ghàidheil nan sàr bheart, Fo ghlais a' bhàis, mar dhùil gun toirt: Triath na Cluaidh bu bhuadhach feart, 'G a chaoidh gu trom, le cridhe goirt.
Air oidhche's mi am laidhe am shuain, 'S mo smuaintean air luathas na dreig— Uair agam's an sin uam— Bhruadair mi a bhi shuas air creig. Thoir leam gun robh 'teachd 'nam chòir, Fo bhratach bròin de shròl dubh, Sàr mhaighdean mhaiseach, mhòr; Tiamhaidh, leònt' bha ceòl a guth. Mar dhrìlseadh rèil bha a gorm shùil, A glan ghnùis cho geal ri sneachd; Bha falt donn air snìomh m' a cùl, Tiugh chiabha dlùth nan iomadh cleachd. M' a ceann bha clogaid de fhìor chruaidh, Ri 'bàrr bha dualach o'n each ghlas; A làmh dheas chum sleagh na buaidh, 'S claidheamh truailte suas r'a leis; Sgiath chopach, obair sheòlt', Le mòrchuis 'na làimh chlì; Lùireach mhàilleach, grèìst le h-òr, Bu chòmhdach do nighinn rìgh.
******
Chrom mi sìos le mòr mheas, Is dh' fhiosraich mi de thrèin' na mais', Cia fàth mu 'n robh a h-airm 'nan crios,
^4 marbhrann  Do'n   ridir cailean caimbeul.
Mar shonn chum sgrios, a dèanamh deas. Ged bha a gnùis mar òigh fo leòn, No ainnir òig 'chur gaol fo chràdh, Sheall i rium le plathadh bròin, Measgte le mòralachd is gràdh. Lasaich air mo gheilt is m' fhiamh 'N uair labhair 1 am briathraibh ciùin—
" Bha agam-sa curaidh treun, Gun chomhalt fo 'n ghrèin am beart, Ceannard armailt nam mòr euchd, Thug buaidh's gach streup, le cèill thar neart. Do Ghàidheil ghaisgeìl ceannard còir, Am builsgean còmhraig mòr 'nam beachd; A' toirt na buaidh, 's ag cosnadh glòir A dh' aindeoin seòl is mòrachd feachd. Mar chogadh Oscar flathail garg, Is Conn 'na fheirg a' dol 'san spàirn, No Diarmad donn a thuit 'san t-sealg, 'S an Sonn a mharbh an Garbh-mac-Stàirn. Gach buaidh 'bha annta sud gu lèir, An neart, an trèin', an gleus, 's am mùirn—-Bha cliù a' Chaimbeulaich d' an rèir 'Dol thart an èifeachd anns gach turn— Ciùin mar mhaighdinn ghràidh's an t-sìth, Uasal, sìobhalt, mìn am beus; Gaisgeil, gargail, teòm' 's an strì, Le cumhachd rìgh 'g cur feachd air ghleus.
" C' ait' an cualas sparradh cath' Bu bhuadhaich' sgath na Alma dhearg? Fuil is cuirp air beinn's air srath 'Nam mìltean breath, fo 'n laoch 'na fheirg !"
******
Chrìochnaich sgeul na h-ainnir' mhòir, Mu euchdan glòirmhor an laoich thrèin; Mhosgail mi a mo shuain le bròn A' sileadh dheur gum b' fhìor an sgeul.
A Ghàidheil Ghlaschu, 'shliochd nan sonn, A dh' fhuadaicheadh o Thìr nam Beann, D'an dual le còir an sruth 's am fonn,— Dhùibh-se coisrigeam mo rann.
"COGADH NA SITH," AT QUATRE BRAS.
lock.hart boyle.
" 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."
itv kind permission <i/ Officer Cutnnitimlittg. Citmeron Highlanders.
marbhrann   do'n   ridir cailean  caimbeul.
Dearbhaibh gur sibh àl nan treun,
Ginealach do rèir nan sonn,
A bhuannaich cliù thar sliochd fo 'n ghrèin,
Am blàr nam beum, 's an streup nan tonn.
Cumaibh cuimhn' air laoch an airm,
A ghairmeadh air an abhainn Chluaidh,
'S a' meal e urram 'thèid a sheirm
'S gach linn le toirm ri sgeul a bhuaidh.
An Old Highland Industry—Kelp-Making.
By Archd. N. Currie, M.A., D.Sc., A.I.C.
T T NTIL about a hundred years ago, when chemical methods \_)   of investigation underwent a radical change, seaweed was of little use beyond helping the farmer in the enrichment of his soil.
The far-seeing chemist, however, realised that in this waste substance there might be endless economic possibilities. His first step was to discover sodium and potassium in the burnt ash of the seaweed. Thereafter, in 1812, an important element, iodine, was discovered by Courtois, a salt-petre maker of Paris, during his investigations of the mother-liquor of kelp. This discovery marked the starting-point of a period of successful progress in the kelp industry.
Iodine is very uniformly distributed throughout the sea, it being present to the extent of 1 part in 280,000,000. In certain types of seaweed, the laminariae and the fuci,—quite common round our western shores—iodine is found in much higher concentration than in the surrounding water.
In Britain, the kelp industry flourished long before iodine was discovered. It was introduced into Tiree in 1746, and from this island it spread all over the Outer Hebrides. It was the sole source of soda for many years, but in 1825 barilla was introduced from Spain, and at the same time the tax on salt was repealed. By the Leblanc process, sodium carbonate, of which formerly kelp was the sole source, could be more economically prepared from
286
AN   OLD  HIGHLAND  INDUSTRY-KELP-MAKING.
common salt. This brought about a decline in kelp prices. While in 1800 the price of kelp was ,£20 per ton, in 1825 when barilla was introduced, it fell to £10 ios. Later, when the salt-tax was repealed, the price fell to ^3, and ultimately in 1831 reached £1 per ton.
At this price there could be no profit on the manufacture, and, as a source of soda, kelp could no longer be used.
Kelp, however, contained potassium salts and from this date the manufacture of these, as well as of iodine from it, began to assume importance. The difficulty was that the kelp which contained the highest percentage of sodium contained the least percentage of potassium. Different weeds had now to be used, and this involved a different process of kelping. In the first process, for the manufacture of soda, the dried weeds were burned to a bluish-grey, brittle slag, and the burning was done at a high temperature. This burning at a high temperature was favourable for the production of sodium carbonate, but 50 per cent, of the volatile iodine and a large proportion of the potassium salts were lost to the air as a result of the excessive heat. A yield of 4 lbs. of iodine per ton was obtained under good kelping conditions.
The process was very simple. The weed was dried in sheds, as exposure to rain in the case of laminariae washed away some of the most valuable salts. It was then piled into long, shallow pits and allowed to smoulder for a few days. After a time, a silicated mass of blue-grey colour was obtained. This mass was crushed, and from it the various salts present were extracted in the conventional manner.
The seaweed has also been treated by other methods by Stanford. In 1863, he set up works in Tiree for the carbonisation of the tangle. The weed was placed in iron retorts and distilled destructively. The products of distillation consisted of tar, paraffin, naphtha and ammonium sulphate. One ton of kelp, treated in this manner, yielded from 8 to 10 gallons of paraffin, and about 3 gallons of naphtha.
The residue consisted of a very porous charcoal, somewhat similar to bone-ash. This residue contained the same salts as obtained by the first process, and in addition, in the second process all the organic material in the weed was utilised. Owing to the insular nature of the district in which this process was carried out, it did not prove a success. Because of transport difficulties, there could be no central carbonising works, and the erection of one on
AN  OLD  HIGHLAND INDUSTRY-KELP-MAKING.
287
each island did not appear a sound financial proposition, since the supply of tangle was not continuous.
The third method of dealing with the seaweed was a wet method. It was found that on treating the tangle with water (simple maceration), all the alkaline salts present could be dissolved out.  The residue was a complex substance called Algin.
Algin could have many commercial applications, but, so far, it has been very little used. W'hen it is mixed with the charcoal obtained from the second process and potassium silicate, a very good cement is formed. This cement is a very bad conductor of heat, and, as a result, has been used effectively as a coating for ships' boilers.
When alginic acid is left in a moderately warm place, it dries to a hard, horny mass after a time. This hard substance can be easily turned, takes on a good polish, and has been used as a substitute for bone buttons.
Alginic acid can also be obtained in thin water-proof sheets by a simple method. Its salts have been used in the arts and in medicine. The calcium salt hardens up in similar fashion to the acid, can be turned, polished, and used as a substitue for ivory. The ammonium salt has been used as an insecticide, and the iron as a styptic. There is no doubt that biological preparations could be made from the seaweed, which could find a useful place in the pharmacopoeia because of their richness in vitamine and other substances of importance in the animal economy.
This last method of treating the seaweed undoubtedly yields important results. Its promoter, E. C. C. Stanford, carried on with it successfully for some time. Unfortunately for this industry, he decided to devote his great pioneering talents to other chemical spheres, and, as a result, the Alginic acid process came to an end. The short testing period which it enjoyed was demonstrative of its latent possibilities; and it has always been a matter of surprise to the writer that no one has elected to continue the work which had just emerged from its preliminary phase under Stanford's able guidance.
The practical results achieved, and the potential industrial uses of the various products isolated, seemed to favour a new lease of life for the industry, but local apathy and a certain scepticism among industrialists stifled it in its adolescence.
From time to time, our sentimentalists wail over the steadily increasing depopulation of our Highland glens, and the degree
288
an  old   highland' industry-kelf-making.
or" wailing is generally in inverse proportion to the amount of energy expended by them in attempting to stem the outflow. The sentimentalist is more concerned with the concomitant, or rather resultant, passing of the old customs and traditions associated with a peacefully living agrarian community. True, it is sad to contemplate the decay of these grand old insignia of our ancient glory, so indicative of a unique national spirit, but we must consider at the outset the operative causes which bring about this change.
There are many. The Highlander, naturally ambitious, finds little to satisfy his aims in the glens, and, therefore, migrates to a more promising sphere. His native land is unkind in its yield from tilth; it is for the most part barren, though beautiful and wild; his lochs and seas yield a fickle harvest, and their beauty does not compensate. Grouse, sheep and deer are the pampered denizens of the wild, but it is doubtful if the stocking of the Highlands with these presents an economic obstacle of sufficient magnitude ro influence adversely the yield of the soil. It seems that most of the available arable land is being steadily cultivated, yet the basic industries of agriculture and fishing do not yield a sufficiency for the needs of the community.
There is, therefore, an urgent need for the fostering of minor industries. Some of these, such as spinning, weaving and crottle dyeing have the appeal of native colouring, but there must be a deflection of pride and an abrogation of conservatism on the part of the Highlander, in order to admit of the entrance of seemingly exotic but useful industries into his land.
The Highlands cannot enjoy a full and equilibrated economic life on agriculture and fishing alone. There must be a stimulation of the minor industries enumerated above; there must be an introduction of others, such as kelp, which has been tried and not found wanting, and which could supply useful products for the increasingly complex demands of a modern civilisation; there must be a consideration of our mineral resources, especially in the direction of the ores of manganese, silver and lead, which are abundant in the South-western Highlands; there must be a reorganisation of inter-insular transport.
If the lack of these necessities stirred the national conscience sufficiently, and if effort towards their realisation received the blessing of official sanction, then the Highlands would become a haven of peace and content—not the insubstantial Utopia of the sentimental economist, who would stem the outflow of population
an old  highland industry-kelp-making. 289
mechanically, without considering the factors from which it arose.
In conclusion, the alginic acid method of dealing with seaweed yields results of value, and in any scheme for the economic reorganisation of the Highlands, the re-establishment of this once flourishing industry should receive every consideration. The writer of this short article has tried out the alginic acid method on a laboratory scale, and is confident that its adoption under modern conditions would help to bring a fair degree of prosperity to our insular seaboards.
The Land of Heather.
By Donald A. Mackenzie.
IN yon dear land of lochs and bens, Of foam-girt isles and winding glens, O'er wistful moors in Autumn weather Bonnily blooms the purple heather.
True hearts that dream of other days, Of Highland homes and Highland ways, Have hopes and memories twined together When bonnily blooms the purple heather.
Though city-pent they chance to be, Or exiled far across the sea, In Highland hearts in Autumn weather Bonnily blooms the purple heather.
The hearts that dream are hearts that dare For freedom dear and homeland fair, And love and valour twine together Where bonnily blooms the purple heather.
Na h-orduighean
Le Domhnull Mac-a-Phi nach maireann.
IS 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
na  h-orduighean.
29i
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
SO-
NA  H-ORDUIGHEAN.
ama iad, tha an acarsaid acasan diongmhalta, agus tha am beatha, spioradail crochte rithe.
Mar is trice, is e Di-haoine là na coinneimh-cheiste—là a tha ro thaitneach leis an t-sluagh. Is è gu h-àraidh " Là nan Daoine," mar a theirear—daoine diadhaidh a mhuinntir na sgìreachd, no bràithrean o sgìreachdan eile a tha astar fada air falbh. Tha iad deas-bhriathrach, agus ainmeil 'nan crìochan fhèin. Chan 'eil an teisteanas folaichte. Ciamar a bhitheadh, is iad aithnichte mar dhaoine a chaith mòran de'n tìm ri fèin-rannsachadhr Bidh cuid ag cur às an leth gu bheil iad air an sèideadh suas le uabhar spioradail, ach faodar a ràdh gun do chinnich annta feartan a chaidh a chleith air càch, air chor agus gu bheil iad uidheamaichte air son dleasnas an dreuchd. Math dh' fhaoidte nach 'eil mòran eòlais aca air leabhraichean, no air rudan a bhios ag cur imcheist air creutairean a tha ag gleachd ri nithean saoghalta. Tha aon leabhar ann air a bheil iad mion-eòlach, agus tha mòran dheth aca air am meomhair—Leabhar nan leabhraichean. Ma tha leabhar eile ann fosgailte dhaibh, is e sin leabhar an doilgheis agus a' chràidh-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  H-ORDUIGHEAN.
= 93
agus rannsaicheadh e a' phuing agus sgrùdadh e na beachdan. Mar chùl-taic d'a bhreithneachadh dh' fhosgladh e a suas fèin-ffiosrachadh a bheatha—fiosrachadh beatha an neach a tha 'na chòmhnuidh ann an ionad dìomhair an Tì is Airde.
Bitear ag cur às leth nan " Daoine " air a' Ghàidhealtachd, gu bheil iad cumhang 'nam beachdan, agus gu bheil uabhar spioradail a' faotainn làimh an uachdar orra. Biodh sin mar dh' fhaodas e, cha ghabh e a chleith gu bheil an caithe-beatha a rèir an aideachaidh. Choisrig iad an aire's an aigne gu bhi ag cnuasachd air an Fhìrinn, agus tha i a' riaghladh an dol-a-mach agus an teachd-a-steach. Chan 'eil neach a dh' èisd ri aon diubh ag gleachd ann an ùrnuigh, nach aithnich so. Tha an athchuinge làn de dhìomhaireachd am beatha; dùrachdach, brìoghmhor leis an t-seadh a thig o bhi a' meamhrachadh air nithean neo-fhaicsinneach—guidhe nach 'eil fed o dheireadh na rèise, iriosal 'na h-iarrtus, macanta 'na spiorad, ach làn de 'n dòchas air an do ghabh iad greim an toiseach. Chì gach aon de 'n luchd-èisdeachd an cor anns an ùrnuigh ud mar ann an sgàthan, oir is e a tha innte taomadh anama neach do 'n aithne a h-uile ceum de 'n t-slighe. Faodaidh gum b' ùrnuigh duine neo-fhòghluimte i—mar a mheasas daoine an t-saoghail fòghlum —ach foillsichidh i toradh na gleachd air nach 'eil e aineolach, agus tha i air a blàthachadh le ungadh an Spioraid Naoimh. Tha mòran de shean chleachdannan ciatach a' dol am mùthadh 'nar linn, ach chan 'eil cor na dùthcha a' dol na's feàrr.
Is e là na Sàbaid là mòr na Cuirme. Bidh an coimhthional na's motha na air na làithean eile, agus ma bhios an sìd idir freagarrach, thèid pàilliun a shuidheachadh air lianaig ghuirm, gu tric aig ìochdar cnuic. Tha na "bùird " air an còmhdach le lìon anart cho geal ri sneachda na h-aon oidhche, ach bidh iad falamh an toiseach —gus an tig an "cuireadh." Air amannan bidh suas ri dà mhìle anns an èisdeachd—an cnoc còmhdaichte le gillean òga, agus nigheanan cho rìomhach 'nan èideadh's ged b'e bean-baile a bha anns gach tè. Cha'n fhaicear an diugh na curraicean geala air na sean mhnathan mar a b' àbhaist, ged a b' eireachdail an sealladh e 'san àm. 'Nan aite thàinig itean, is ribeanan, is flùraichean, is rudan rìomhach eile. Is cinnteach gu bheil cuimhne aig cuid de ar luchd-leughaidh air mar a loisgeadh na sean mhinistearan air luchd nan " gum floors" is nam bòtainnean dìosganach.
Cha leigear a leas a ràdh nach d' thàinig am pobull a tha 'nan suidhe cho stòlda air an lianaig, uile fo bhuaidh an rùin a tha an chridhe an athraichean agus am màthraichean.  B'e mìorbhuil a
294
na  h-0RDuighean.
bhiodh 'na chaochladh. An uair a bhios foidhidinn a fàilneachadh, èiridh grunnan no dhà an dràsda's a rithist a mach às a' 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.
By Professor Magnus Maclean, M.A., D.Sc, LL.D.
WHAT to do with the Gaelic heritage in its modern survivals^—language, dress, music, literature, customs, traditions—is a question that seems to be stirring in many minds. In any useful discussion of this question certain broad facts have to be recognised. Since the introduction of the steamboat and the railway, and more especially of education and the press, the Highlands have been gradually Anglicised. Gaelic is no longer in the main the language of business, of the home, of public life, or even of religion. It is evident that the decline of the language as a spoken speech is proceeding more rapidly than ever, and that unless the process is delayed, it is doomed very soon, like the Cornish, to go the way of the heroes.
Fortunately, however, outside the Highlands a remarkable interest is being evolved in the Gaelic. This is due to the researches of scholars, both in Britain and on the Continent, and to the better and fuller knowledge which is being disseminated regarding the language and its literature. In view of this revival of public interest, some well-meaning enthusiasts may be in danger of fostering extravagant notions, and propounding visionary schemes for the resuscitation of the Gaelic as the one language of the North, and for the restoration of it to its ancient sway. Gaelic was the fitting medium of expression in the old order which is passing away, but while it may still be preserved to exert its influence on the life and thought of the people, and to have an important place in the education of the young, that place can be wisely determined only by accepting the fact that the old language is not adequate to the new order.
Learned men value Gaelic for its rich stores of ancient lore: the cultured and intelligent no longer despise it as a barbarous tongue, but many of them would fain know it themselves as an additional linguistic accomplishment. It is, therefore, to be hoped that this interest evinced by Celtic Scholars and Celtic enthusiasts, even outside the Highlands, will gradually filter down to the average man on the spot.
Friends of the Gaelic would be well advised, instead of aiming at the impraticable and impossible, to consider what really is wanted at the present stage, and what can be done with any hope of success. At present, the majority of the Highlanders are amazingly ignorant
296
THE GAELIC OUTLOOK.
of the great past of their race—of its language, history and literature. In fact, they are far more intimately acquainted with the history and literature of the Jews than with those of their own early ancestors. They do not know the high place Gaelic occupies in the Aryan group of languages, or the value philologists and mythologists at home and abroad attach to its study. Very many of the common people cannot read the native tongue, and very few can write it, although they may be able both to read and to write fairly in English. As for the grammar and spelling of Gaelic, they are as incomprehensible to the average Highlander as those of Welsh or Sanscrit.
Clearly, then, the first requisite is to create a sound, healthy public opinion on the subject in the Highlands itself, and to enlist the sympathies of the people generally in favour of their native tongue. The first great need is to awaken a more intelligent interest in Gaelic in the people themselves, to show them that their language is ancient and beautiful, and that, far from retarding the English education and the future prospects of their children, it is a powerful means of developing the mental faculties, and producing a vigorous as well as an interesting type of mind.
It should be constantly impressed upon Highland parents that bi-lingualism gives increased intellectual power, and that, therefore, they should encourage their children to speak the living vernacular as much as possible in the home, and should see to it that full advantage is taken of the provision made by the Education Department for the teaching of Gaelic in the Elementary Schools. Meanwhile, much could be done by the various Gaelic agencies by Instituting popular lectures throughout the Highland area, supplying the libraries of the Highlands with readable books on the history and literature of the Gael, and preparing and giving as prizes in the various schools beautifully bound copies of the same. In this way a living interest in the mother-tongue and its lore would be fostered among both old and young.
The Heritage of the Gael.
By the Right Hon. Ian MacPherson, P.C., K.C., M.P., Chief of the Gaelic Society of London.
CARLYLE said, in one of those impressive moods of his, that it was our grand business not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what clearly lies at hand. The Sage of
THE HERITAGE OF THE GAEL.
297
Chelsea thought and fulminated but a few yards away from where I write. If 1 met him on my walk of a morning, 1 think that I should gain his valiant and rugged sympathy for our great cause, that I should get him to fulminate in his own great style against the lethargy, the aloofness, the ignorance, nay, the snobbishness of those of our own people who can, but will not help; and, greatly daring, I should, as a Gael, venture to argue with him, taking that dictum of his as a test.
There is an indefinable and subtle relationship between the language and the soul of a people. No one can describe that relationship in words, but it exists; and it exists, and has existed, in our life in Gaeldom with a force and intensity almost unparalleled.
It has been urged against us, as if it were a crime, that we are children who dwell in the past, that we are always seeing the past and little else, that, as a race, 'we went into battle and always fell.' But that past of ours is a proud and precious one, a past with the vibrant soul and language of our people inexplicably interwoven, and unless we see it in that light now, however «dimly at a distance,' we cannot see ' what already lies at hand.' Indeed it is our « grand business,' as it is our greatest inspiration, to see that past, to appreciate its value for ourselves and for mankind, and, realising that value, to preserve and perpetuate it.
I do not know who it was, but some one has said that those who live on the mountain have a longer day than those who live in the valley, and if a man wishes to brighten his day, all that he has to do is to rise a little higher. This has often consoled me as a Highlander, as it is bound to console those who are in the van of our movement, with an imperishable faith in what that movement means, and with an indomitable courage to give expression to that faith. In fancy and in fact, our stronghold is on the mountain-side—in the home, in the school, in the pew, where youth, hope, promise and aspirations dwell. It is there we must look for the longer day. It is there alone we can most surely expect to get it. It is there alone we can find the real strength and power to do ' what clearly lies at hand,' and it is for us who labour in the valley to aid and, if need be, to guide that power in its struggles to shape its great destiny.
I have a profound belief in sentiment as a force that dominates the world, a belief that has been strengthened by my recent experiences when visiting our kith and kin beyond the seas.   The
the heritage of the gael.
spirit of our race knows no barriers. It lives and moves and has its being in every corner of our far-flung Empire, admired and trusted by all. It has been a buoyant and powerful force in every step of national and imperial expansion and progress, displaying to the eyes of men the finer qualities of vision, imagination, courage and idealism.
The language is the sign and symbol of that spirit, carrying with it, clothed in its sonorous beauty, memories ringing with poetry and music, memories of the elevating influences of the sanctuary, memories of the simple yet dignified annals of daily life in * clachan,' glen and strath. It is a great and priceless heritage of which we are the trustees in this generation. It is for us to honour that trust, and to maintain it, not only untarnished, but to hand it on in ever-growing power and strength to those who follow.
Song of the Stag.
By Donald A. Mackenzie.
THE monarch of the forest, chief of the antlered cian, Roars far through deep Strathconon and bounds through fair Strathbran;
He'll breast the waves of Fannich though rain-storms lash and blind,
Then round the bens and up the glens go racing like the wind.
A red flame in the sunshine, a thunder-cloud by night, A vision of the moorland, this lord of speed and might; He reigns alone, a ben his throne, and rises in his pride, Deep-black against the golden dawn, with antlers high and wide.
If e'er a vain usurper should dare dispute his sway In boastful challenge from afar, he rages for the fray; A forest fire in fury, he sweeps adown the ben, And bellows loud for battle across the echoing glen.
In daylight and in starlight his fame comes down the breeze, Sung loud by stream and torrent and harped by tuneful trees; The King of cliff and corrie in regal glory crowned, The antlered lord Imperial, unvanquished and renowned.
Sandy to Alasdair.
By John Buchan, Author of " Greenmantle," " The Marquis of Montrose,"
etc., etc.
Hieland—a term of reproach, used in the Lowlands to signify
something freakish, wild, uncertain, barbarous.
Scots Dictionary.
MY faither cam frae Sanquhar ways, My mither's folk frae the Loudon hill, I played as a wean on the Cairnsmuir braes, And got my lear at the Deuchrae schule. Weel I mind, when at ilk ran-dan
I'd tak the muir like a young peesweep, My faither sighed, and said he, " My man, Ye're far ower Hieland to wark wi' sheep."
But the herding wasna the fate for me:
Wi' the Fusil Jocks I went to the war; Sune we were flitted ayont the sea,
Jinkin' death in the stour and the glaur. There was lads frae the West and lads frae the North,
Frae mill and muirland and pleugh and pit, And the youngest callant frae 'yont the Forth
Was far ower Hieland to yield a fit.
Yon day when, smoored wi' the deil's ain reeks,
We broke ower Loos like a wave o' the sea, Anither Sandy wi'oot the breeks
Keepit me company knee to knee; Roarin' words that nae man could ken,
Through trench and wire we gae'd side by side, And when I drapped like a shot greyhen
He was far ower Hieland to let me bide.
Here's to ye, freend, whaure'er ye be!
Atween us two we hae couped the dyke; Gaelic for you and Lallan for me,
But the back o' our heids is unco like. Scotland's braid, and the differ's big,
Lorn and Carrick are no the same; But sune as the pipes play up their sprig
We're a' ower Hieland to hunker at name.
__
Litir Fhionnlaigh Phiobaire g'a Mhnaoi.
A Mhairi, eudail nam ban,
Gheall mi sgrìobhadh ad 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
THE DUART LIGHTHOUSE. (Tigh-soluis na Duibh-Hirtich.)
Freagradh spiorad ao-chlaoidheadh an duine do dhùbhlan cumhachdan nadurra an domhain
Photo bi I). II. MmCnllmh. Kìuil jicrntissititì "/
Messrs,   .ljnr/.iiivil,  ««r/<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 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.
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 Mhinistear's do Fhear-a'-bhaile mar dh' èirich dhomh. Chan abair mi tuilleadh air an àm, ach gur mi
D' fhear-pòsda dìleas,
Fionnlagh Mac-Aonghais.
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant ?
By Mr. Bertram W. Sinclair, British Columbia.
THEY do. Could they do otherwise? Primitive man regarded as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue. Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead, and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or tragedy or triumph'to the gathered folk in a common tongue.
So, how should we not set greater store on such as come among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond ?
It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks. He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes, MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of a Caledonian Society.
He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia.
A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers ?  We do.
302
litir fhionnlaigh phiobaire.
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 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,
Fionnlagh Mac-Aonghais.
Bho'n Teachdaire Gàidhealach.
Do Gaels of Canada place an extra value upon the Gaelic-Speaking Immigrant ?
By Mr. Bertram W. Sinclair, British Columbia.
THEY do. Could they do otherwise? Primitive man regarded as enemies all outside the tribe or cian. The mark of a tribesman was his usage of the common tongue. Civilized man no longer makes so simple a distinction between friend and foe. But no man may escape his racial heritage, and the Gael has a racial heritage of blood, language, folk-lore and custom, which extends in an unbroken chain back into the misty past. Generation by generation, since long before Hadrian built his great wall against the forays of an unconquered and unconquerable people, Gael mothers crooned to their offspring, Gael chiefs thundered at fellow clansmen, women bewailed their dead, and old men, by little fires in rude halls, told tales of terror or tragedy or triumph" to the gathered folk in a common tongue.
So, how should we not set greater store on such as come among us from the cradle of our race, speaking the old, old tongue of our kin, a language which some of us have forgotten, or indeed have never known, but to whose melody our hearts ever respond ?
It is a far cry from Ben Lomond to British Columbia, one third around the earth. Yet if a Gael were plucked from his native glen, and set here in the streets of Vancouver, he would not stand long in amaze, feeling himself in a foreign land, among an alien people. He could lift his eyes and behold granite-tipped mountains, brooding over pleasant valleys, and there would perhaps be familiar mists on the rugged shoulders of these peaks. He would look over the roster of this city, and he would find the professions, the industries, the law and politics speckled with MacRaes, MacDonalds, Campbells, Camerons, Macintoshes, MacKenzies, MacPhersons,—all the old cian names. With his ears up-pricked, our new-come Gael would hear the pipes, lulling a Scot to his last rest, or making a brave skirl for the gathering of a Caledonian Society.
He would find men to speak his tongue, and be glad to hear it spoken. And though far from his native soil, he would find men of his blood bear with them to the ends of the earth a proud affection for the race they sprang from. It is not for nothing that British Columbia was once known as New Caledonia.
A man does not forget his mother because he cleaves to a wife. How should we not set greater store by one who comes among us speaking the tongue of our forefathers?  W7e do.
Gaol Duthcha.
Air eadar-theangachadh o' Bheurla Sir Walter Scott, Le A. Sinclair. ("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 hibald Sinclair, "Celtic Press," Glasgow.