CHAPTER I.

[Illustration]

THE

POPULAR

SUPERSTITIONS

AND

FESTIVE AMUSEMENTS

OF THE

HIGHLANDERS OF SCOTLAND.

BY

WILLIAM GRANT STEWART.

NEW EDITION.

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

_Gawin Douglas._

LONDON:

AYLOTT AND JONES, 8, PATERNOSTER, ROW.

EDINBURGH: OLIVER AND BOYD. GLASGOW:

MUCKLEHOSE. DUBLIN: M^cGLASHAN. INVERNESS:

SMITH DOUGLAS. ELGIN: RUSSELL.

LONDON:

JOHN KING, PRINTER, 120, FLEET STREET.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE COUNTESS OF SEAFIELD.

This new Edition of the Popular Superstitions and Festive Amusements of

the Highlanders of Scotland is humbly and appropriately dedicated:--as

being the Lady Patroness of the Brave and Intelligent Highlanders of

Strathspey, and its Tributaries, into whom her Ladyship’s genuine

benevolence and condescension have infused the most devoted attachment,

By her Ladyship’s

Grateful humble servant,

THE AUTHOR.

Viewville, Glen Urquhart,

June, 1851.

ADVERTISEMENT.

A new and revised Edition of the following Treatise on the

superstitions and amusements of the Highlanders, which was very

favourably received by the Public on its original publication, has

often been called for; but the Author’s urgent professional avocations

did not permit of earlier attention to the matter. At the request of

many friends and countrymen, the Author has now, however, been induced

to reprint the present Edition, in order to record more fully the

fast-fading Tales and Traditions which lately formed, and still to a

certain extent form, the Winter’s Evening Entertainments of the happy

Highland Homes.

_Viewville, Glen Urquhart,

July, 1851._

PREFACE.

No part of the United Kingdom has of late years attracted a greater

portion of public attention than the Highlands of Scotland. Formerly

isolated as the inhabitants were from their fellow subjects, by a

different language and separate interests, their character was but

little known and less admired. Devoted to their chiefs and feudal

institutions, they entertained a sovereign contempt for their

neighbours; and, in their occasional intercourse with them, displayed

feelings and manners little calculated to gain confidence or secure

esteem.

But when the Rebellion in 1745, and its consequences, nearly

annihilated feudal power, and broke down the wall of partition, by

which the mountaineer was so long divided from the inhabitant of

the plain, a new light was reflected upon his manners and habits.

The gradual establishment of commercial and friendly relations with

the inhabitants of other countries, accelerated the decay of mutual

prejudices; and the virtues of the Highlander, which were previously

reserved for home consumption, were now duly appreciated by the

world. He no longer appeared the rude and unprincipled depredator,

but the generous and disinterested character, whose romantic and

chivalrous habits were rendered peculiarly interesting, as the remains

of those boldly defined virtues which distinguished our primitive

ancestors. Accordingly, the genius of the age became speedily alive to

the importance of so novel and interesting a character. Shaping its

course to the Highland mountains, it discovered among their unexplored

recesses, those plentiful materials, on which are founded some of the

most splendid works which adorn the circle of British literature.

Nor have all those superstructures yet exhausted so fertile a mine.

Notwithstanding all the research that has been employed in tracing

the origin, and delineating the manners of the inhabitants, and the

many ingenious descriptions we have had of their local scenery, there

are still many hidden treasures left for discovery, which presently

languish in obscurity. This observation applies with great truth to

those more remote and romantic regions, which, from their secluded

situations, had been long inaccessible to the approach of learning and

genius; and where the native inhabitants, from want of intercourse

with their more refined and effeminate countrymen, are the true

representatives of our ancient forefathers in their various feelings

and habits.

Of the manners and character of this noble and poetic race of

mountaineers, little was known further than what may be collected from

the manners of their contemporaries, in more accessible parts of the

country. The great defect which especially exists in the delineation of

the Highlander’s superstitions, becomes peculiarly apparent to one, who

had an opportunity of investigating those relics of the less polished

ages of the world, as they are still exhibited in the habits of the

people of whom we are writing. Many of the more prominent and common

features of this branch of our national peculiarities have, indeed,

been long ago celebrated by the pens of the immortal Burns, Ramsay, Sir

Walter Scott, and others of less note, while much light has been thrown

on the general character of the Scottish Highlander, by the ingenious

Mrs. Grant of Laggan, and the gallant General Stewart of Garth; but

the more interesting and latent peculiarities have been left to expire

in the dark. The want of a complete and systematic account of the

Highland and Scottish Superstitions, is a desideratum in our national

literature, which the philosophic mind will readily regret; and this

regret will be the more sincere on reflecting, that, from the fading

aspects those interesting relics have now assumed, it is a desideratum

which, in the course of a few years, cannot be supplied. The decline

of popular romance is keeping pace with the progress of knowledge and

civilization,--which, as they illumine the unenlightened mind, open

it to the folly of its prejudices; and thus the time is hastening its

approach, when the natives of our remotest glens shall be no longer

inspired with reverence for the fairy turret, nor shall their social

circle be contracted by the frightful tale.

Far be it, however, from the writer of these pages to wish the reign

of superstition prolonged. But, while he would hail with delight,

the total extirpation of every prejudice tending to enslave the

mental energy of the noble Gael, he would as ardently desire their

perpetuation on the page of history, as his ancient peculiarities.

Divested as they will soon be of their formidable character, we would

preserve them as the most ancient relics we could transmit to our

posterity, to whom, in the course of a few centuries, they may appear

as preposterous and incredible, as the Poems of Ossian do now to the

more sceptical part of the present generation.

It was not, however, the writer’s conviction of the utility of such a

work as this alone, that induced him to undertake a task for which, he

is afraid, he will be found to have been ill qualified. A considerable

time ago, and at a very early period of life, an impaired state of

health rendered it necessary for him to abandon his professional

labours for a time, and to retire from the metropolis to the place of

his nativity. The lassitude of mind consequent on a total remission

from all employment, induced him to seek some rational source of

amusement; and the idea of investigating the opinions and customs

of his countrymen, was suggested to him by various circumstances,

as likely to afford instruction as well as entertainment. His

opportunities were most ample, and his task of course, comparatively

easy. Surrounded by the most original, brave, and ingenious class of

Highlanders existing, and possessing considerable knowledge of their

language and manners, the writer found it no difficult matter to become

completely acquainted with their prejudices and habits. By visiting

the most celebrated professors of traditional lore in the district,

he speedily acquired not only a fundamental knowledge of the reigning

principles of superstition but likewise an inexhaustible store of tales

and traditions. And by mingling occasionally with the peasantry in

their public and private festivities, he was enabled, from personal

observation, to draw faithful portraits of those scenes of mirth and

festivity, for which the inhabitants are so eminently distinguished.

The result of his observations afforded him so much satisfaction that

he thought it worth while from time to time, to commit the particulars

to paper,--not with the view of urging them on the public, but for his

own private amusement. But the increasing avidity with which traits

of the Highland Superstitions have been received as developed in the

tales of the day, suggested to him the idea of submitting his gleanings

to the public, in the form of a detailed account of the Superstitions

and Festivities of the Highlanders of Scotland; and he hopes, however

defective may be its execution, the design is not altogether unworthy

of public patronage.

To arrange his gleanings in a connected and systematic order, was an

undertaking far more tedious than the collection of them. The traits of

Highland superstition are of so various and heterogeneous a character,

that it appeared almost wholly impracticable to connect and digest them

into the form of a connected narrative; and yet in any other shape

they would necessarily loose much of the interest which they possess

in their present form. Sensible of this he has endeavoured to the best

of his ability, to arrange the different traits under their proper

heads, in the most systematic and connected manner practicable, without

introducing extraneous matter, which would not only destroy the native

complexion of the subject, but also swell the limits of the work. By

excluding solemn dissertation from such ludicrous relations as the

following, he has been enabled to compress many particulars into little

space, while his delineations possess a greater degree of truth and

fidelity. To illustrate the various traits set forth, the writer has

interspersed his delineations with a collection of the most popular

tales of the day. These tales, whether they be the creation of the

imagination, or the offspring of the credulity of their own original

authors, cannot now fail to interest the philosopher or the antiquary,

while they may amuse the less profound. For, utterly destitute of all

probability, and broadly ludicrous as they may appear to the polished

reader, they are, nevertheless, those interesting channels, by which

the feelings and habits of our earliest forefathers have been kept

alive and transmitted down, through so many changeful ages, to their

posterity of the present day.

The length of those primitive relations is necessarily much abridged,

but a strict regard has been had to their original style and

phraseology. The language is almost entirely borrowed from the mouth

of the Highland narrator, and translated, it is hoped, in a manner so

simple and unvarnished, as to be perfectly intelligible to the capacity

of the peasant, for whose fire-side entertainment this little volume

may, perhaps, be peculiarly adapted.

CONTENTS.

Page.

PART I.--GHOSTS

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

2.--Of the Ghost in his co-existent State--His

personal Similitudes and Habits 10

3.--Of the Ghost in his Intermediate State--His

Similitudes and Habits 18

4.--Of the Ghost in his Post-existent State 24

Safeguards from Ghosts 34

PART II.--FAIRIES 37

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

2.--Similitude of the Fairy 43

3.--Of the Fairies as a Community--Their

Political Principles and Ingenious

Habits 49

4.--Of their Domestic Economy and Festive

Habits 61

5.--Of the Passions and Propensities of

the Fairies 69

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

Propensities 73

PART III.--BROWNIES 93

PART IV.--WATER-KELPIES 99

PART V.--SPUNKIES 109

PART VI.--WITCHCRAFT 113

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

2.--Of the Agents, Qualifications, and

Ceremonies of their Constitution 118

3.--Of the Personal Similitude of the

Agents or Members of the Craft 125

4.--Of their Professional Powers and

Practices 127

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

6.--Safeguards from Witchcraft 145

PART VII.--HIGHLAND FESTIVE AMUSEMENTS 157

Hallowe’en 159

Christmas 165

New-Year’s Eve 172

Fasten’s Eve 178

Beltane Eve 180

Christenings 183

Weddings 186

Wakes 195

Funerals 197

THE

HIGHLAND SUPERSTITIONS.

PART I.

“The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The

form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke which the staff

of the boy disturbs as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace.”

OSSIAN.

THE

HIGHLAND SUPERSTITIONS.

CHAPTER I.

OF THE HIGHLAND GHOSTS IN GENERAL.

Of whatever country, station, or character the reader may be, we

presume it will be unnecessary for us, on this our outset, to intrude

upon his time by entering into a logical definition of the term

_Ghost_. There is perhaps no nation or clime, from California to

Japan, where that very ancient and fantastic race of beings called

Ghosts is not, under different terms and different characters, more or

less familiar to the inhabitants. We do not mean, however, to follow

this fleeting race of patriarchs throughout their wide course of

wandering and colonisation from the beginning of time to the present

day--as, in all likelihood, our research would turn out equally arduous

and unprofitable; we confine our lucubrations to the colony of the

tribe which, from time immemorial, have settled themselves among the

inhabitants of the Highland Mountains.

Be it known then to the reader, that, so early as the days of Ossian,

the son of Fingal, and ever since, ghosts have been at all times

a plentiful commodity among the hills of Caledonia. Every native

Highlander has allied to him, from his birth, one of those airy

beings in the character of an auxiliary or helpmate, who continues

his companion, not only during all the days of the Highlander’s life,

but also for an indefinite period of time after his decease. It will

be readily believed that this ancient class of our mountaineers

cannot have descended through so many changeful ages of the world

without sharing, in some measure, those revolutions of manners and

habits to which all classes and communities of people are equally

liable. Accordingly the ghost has suffered as great a degeneracy

from that majesty of person and chivalry of habits which anciently

distinguished the primitive inhabitants of Caledonia, as his mortal

contemporary, man. Unlike the present puny, green, worm-eaten effigies

that now-a-days stalk about our premises, and, like the cameleon, feed

upon the air, the ancient race of Highland ghosts were a set of stout,

lusty, sociable ghosts, “_as tall as a pine, and as broad as a house_.”

Differing widely in his habits from those of his posterity, the ghost

of antiquity would enter the habitation of man, descant a lee-long

night upon the news of the times, until the long-wished-for supper was

once prepared, when this pattern of frankness and good living would

invite himself to the table, and do as much justice to a bicker of

Highland crowdie as his earthly contemporaries. Indeed, if all tales be

true, many centuries are not elapsed since those social practices of

the ghosts of the day proved an eminent pest to society. With voracious

appetites, those greedy gormandizers were in the habit of visiting the

humble hamlets, where superabundance of store seldom resided, and of

ravishing from the grasp of a starving progeny the meagre fare allotted

to their support.

Beyond their personal attractions, however, it is believed they

displayed few enviable qualities; for, besides their continual

depredations on the goods and chattels of the adjacent hamlets, they

were ill-natured and cruel, and cared not a spittle for woman or child.

The truth of this remark is well exemplified in the history of two

celebrated ghosts, who “_once upon a time_” lived, or rather existed,

in the Wilds of _Craig-Aulnaic_, a romantic place in the district of

Strathdown, Banffshire. The one was a male, and the other a female. The

male was called _Fhua Mhoir Bein Baynac_, after one of the mountains

of Glenavon, where at one time he resided; and the female was called

_Clashnichd Aulnaic_, from her having had her abode in _Craig-Aulnaic_.

But, although the great ghost of _Ben-Baynac_ was bound, by the

common ties of nature and of honour, to protect and cherish his

weaker companion, _Clashnichd Aulnaic_, yet he often treated her in

the most cruel and unfeeling manner. In the dead of night, when the

surrounding hamlets were buried in deep repose, and when nothing else

disturbed the solemn stillness of the midnight scene, “oft,” says our

narrator, “would the shrill shrieks of poor _Clashnichd_ burst upon the

slumberer’s ears, and awake him to any thing but pleasant reflections.”

But of all those who were incommoded by the noisy and unseemly quarrels

of these two ghosts, James _Owre_ or Gray, the tenant of the farm of

Balbig of Delnabo, was the greatest sufferer. From the proximity of his

abode to their haunts, it was the misfortune of himself and family to

be the nightly audience of _Clashnichd’s_ cries and lamentations, which

they considered any thing but agreeable entertainment.

One day, as James Gray was on his rounds looking after his sheep, he

happened to fall in with _Clashnichd_, the Ghost of Aulnaic, with whom

he entered into a long conversation. In the course of this conversation

he took occasion to remonstrate with her on the very disagreeable

disturbance she caused himself and family, by her wild and unearthly

cries,--cries which, he said, few mortals could relish in the dreary

hours of midnight. Poor _Clashnichd_, by way of apology for her

conduct, gave James Gray a sad account of her usage, detailing at full

length the series of cruelties committed upon her by _Ben-Baynac_. From

this account, it appeared that her cohabitation with the latter was

by no means a matter of choice with _Clashnichd_; on the contrary, it

appeared that she had, for a long time, led a life of celibacy with

much comfort, residing in a snug dwelling, as already mentioned, in the

wilds of Craig-Aulnaic; but _Ben-Baynac_ having unfortunately taken

it into his head to pay her a visit, he took a fancy, not to herself,

but her dwelling, of which, in his own name and authority, he took

immediate possession, and soon after expelled poor _Clashnichd_, with

many stripes, from her natural inheritance; while, not satisfied with

invading and depriving her of her just rights, he was in the habit of

following her into her private haunts, not with the view of offering

her any endearments, but for the purpose of inflicting on her person

every degrading torment which his brain could invent.

Such a moving relation could not fail to affect the generous heart

of James Gray, who determined from that moment to risk life and limb

in order to vindicate the rights and revenge the wrongs of poor

_Clashnichd_ the Ghost of Craig-Aulnaic. He therefore took good care to

interrogate his new _protegé_ touching the nature of her oppressor’s

constitution, whether he was of that _killable_ species of ghost

that could be shot with a silver sixpence, or if there was any other

weapon that could possibly accomplish his annihilation. _Clashnichd_

informed him that she had occasion to know that _Ben-Baynac_ was

wholly invulnerable to all the weapons of man, with the exception of

a large mole on his left breast, which was no doubt penetrable by

silver or steel; but that, from the specimens she had of his personal

prowess and strength, it were vain for mere man to attempt to combat

_Ben-Baynac_ the great ghost. Confiding, however, in his expertness as

an archer--for he was allowed to be the best marksman of his age--James

Gray told _Clashnichd_ he did not fear him with all his might,--that

_he_ was his man; and desired her, moreover, next time he chose to

repeat his incivilities to her, to apply to him, James Gray, for

redress.

It was not long ere he had an opportunity of fulfilling his

promises. _Ben-Baynac_ having one night, in the want of better

amusement, entertained himself by inflicting an inhuman castigation

on _Clashnichd_, she lost no time in waiting on James Gray, with a

full and particular account of it. She found him smoking his _cutty_,

and unbuttoning his habiliments for bed; but, notwithstanding the

inconvenience of the hour, James needed no great persuasion to induce

him to proceed directly along with _Clashnichd_ to hold a communing

with their friend _Ben-Baynac_ the great ghost. _Clashnichd_ was a

stout sturdy hussey, who understood the knack of travelling much

better than _our_ women do. She expressed a wish that, for the sake of

expedition, James Gray would mount himself on her ample shoulders, a

motion to which the latter agreed; and a few minutes brought them close

to the scene of _Ben-Baynac’s_ residence. As they approached his haunt,

he came forth to meet them, with looks and gestures which did not at

all indicate a cordial welcome. It was a fine moonlight night, and they

could easily observe his actions. Poor _Clashnichd_ was now sorely

afraid of the great ghost. Apprehending instant destruction from his

fury, she exclaimed to James Gray that they would be both dead people,

and that immediately, unless James could hit with an arrow the mole

which covered _Ben-Baynac’s_ heart. This was not so difficult a task as

James had hitherto apprehended it. The mole was as large as a common

bonnet, and yet nowise disproportioned to the natural size of his body,

for he certainly was a great and a mighty ghost. _Ben-Baynac_ cried out

to James Gray, that he would soon make eagle’s-meat of him; and certain

it is, such was his intention, had not James Gray so effectually

stopped him from the execution of it. Raising his bow to his eye when

within a few yards of _Ben-Baynac_, he took an important aim; the

arrow flew--it hit--a yell from _Ben-Baynac_ announced its fatality. A

hideous howl re-echoed from the surrounding mountains, responsive to

the groans of a thousand ghosts; and _Ben-Baynac_, like the smoke of a

shot, evanished into air.[A]

_Clashnichd_, the Ghost of Aulnaic, now found herself emancipated

from the most abject state of slavery, and restored to freedom and

liberty, through the invincible courage of James Gray. Overpowered

with gratitude, she fell at James Gray’s feet, and vowed to devote

the whole of her time and talents towards his service and prosperity.

Meanwhile, being anxious to have her remaining goods and furniture

removed to her former dwelling, whence she had been so iniquitously

expelled by _Ben-Baynac_ the great ghost, she requested of her new

master the use of his horses to remove them. James observing on the

adjacent hill a flock of deer, and wishing to have a trial of his new

servant’s sagacity or expertness, told her those were his horses,--she

was welcome to the use of them; desiring, when she had done with them,

that she would inclose them in his stable. _Clashnichd_ then proceeded

to make use of the horses, and James Gray returned home to enjoy his

night’s rest.

Scarce had he reached his arm-chair, and reclined his cheek on

his hand, to ruminate over the bold adventure of the night, when

_Clashnichd_ entered, with her “breath in her throat,” and venting the

bitterest complaints at the unruliness of his horses, which had broken

one-half of her furniture, and caused more trouble in the stabling of

them than their services were worth. “Oh! they are stabled, then?”

inquired James Gray. _Clashnichd_ replied in the affirmative. “Very

well,” rejoined James, “they shall be tame enough to-morrow.”

From this specimen of _Clashnichd_ the Ghost of Craig-Aulnaic’s

expertness, it will be seen what a valuable acquisition her service

proved to James Gray and his young family; of which, however, they were

too speedily deprived by a most unfortunate accident. From the sequel

of the story, and of which the foregoing is but an extract, it appears

that poor _Clashnichd_ was but too deeply addicted to those guzzling

propensities which at that time rendered her kin so obnoxious to their

human neighbours. She was consequently in the habit of visiting her

friends much oftener than she was invited, and, in the course of such

visits, was never very scrupulous in making free with any eatables that

fell within the circle of her observation.

One day, while engaged on a foraging expedition of this description,

she happened to enter the Mill of Delnabo, which was inhabited in those

days by the miller’s family. She found the miller’s wife engaged in

roasting a large gridiron of fine savoury fish, the agreeable effluvia

proceeding from which perhaps occasioned her visit. With the usual

inquiries after the health of the miller and his family, _Clashnichd_

proceeded, with the greatest familiarity and good humour, to make

herself comfortable at the expense of their entertainment. But the

miller’s wife, enraged at the loss of her fish, and not relishing such

unwelcome familiarity, punished the unfortunate _Clashnichd_ rather

too severely for her freedom. It happened that there was at the time

a large caldron of boiling water suspended over the fire, and this

caldron the beldam of a miller’s wife overturned in _Clashnichd’s_

bosom! Scalded beyond recovery, she fled up the wilds of Craig-Aulnaic,

uttering the most melancholy lamentations, nor has she been ever since

heard of to the present day.

CHAPTER II.

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

HABITS.

Having, in the preceding chapter, endeavoured, as briefly as possible,

to throw some light upon the general character of the primitive race

of Highland ghosts in order to enable the reader to judge of the

difference of manners which distinguished them from the modern ghosts,

we shall now proceed to the consideration of the latter during the

interval betwixt the birth and the eve of the death of the mortal, and

which, for the sake of illustration, we shall call his co-existent

state.

From the birth of the mortal to the eve of his death, the ghost, in

point of similitude, is a perfect counterpart or representative of his

earthly yoke-fellow. As the child grows towards manhood, his ghost

keeps pace with him, and so exactly do they resemble each other in the

features, complexions, and aspect, when seen by a third party, that,

without the use of prescribed spells, no human observer can distinguish

the mortal from the immortal. Nor is this resemblance confined to the

personal appearance alone--it is likewise extended to the habiliments.

Whether the mortal equips himself in the Highland garb or Lowland

costume, the imitative ghost instantly assumes the same attire. The

bonnet or the hat, the philibeg or the trews, are equally convenient

and agreeable to him; for in this solitary particular he has never been

known to dissent from his human partner.

During this period the ghost is supposed either to accompany or

precede, at some distance, his human partner (of course invisible

to those not possessing the second-sight) in all those multifarious

journeys and duties which the mortal performs throughout the course

of his eventful life, and the moral utility of the ghost is supposed

to consist in propitiating the mortal’s undertakings by guarding them

from the influence of evil spirits. But, however this may be, it is a

well-known fact, that _all_ ghosts do not devote the whole of their

time to the discharge of this commendable duty. Common fame errs much

if those capricious beings do not love their own pleasures more than

their partner’s interest; and this their negligence is a subject of

still deeper regret, when we consider the nature of those practices in

which they employ their time.

If the appetites of the modern ghost are better restrained than those

of his predecessors were in the “greedy times” we have written of,

the mischievous habits he has acquired in lieu of his predecessor’s

social accomplishments are to some far more calamitous than even

_Clashnichd’s_ practices. It is true, a dose of Highland crowdie would

but ill agree with the refined delicacy of the stomach of the former.

Such squeamish appetites must look out for more delicate and savoury

food. But if the modern ghost does not possess those keen digestive

powers which distinguished _Clashnichd_, he inherits all the ill

nature of _Ben-Baynac_, without one-third of his might; and we question

much if his regard for the fair sex is a bit more tender.

Instead of being the peaceable and industrious associate of his

yoke-fellow, it is a common practice with the ghost of the present day

to prowl about the country with the laudable intention of committing

all the mischief in his power to the friends and acquaintances of

his partner. Planting himself in some wild and convenient position,

he will open on the ears of the slumbering inhabitants, or the more

unfortunate traveller, his wild and unearthly cries, highly gratified,

no doubt, at the paralyzing effect they produce on his audience. Of the

hideousness of these cries nothing short of auric demonstration can

convey an adequate conception. Partaking at once of all that is horrid

and unnatural, if any resemblance to them can be figured, we are told

it is the “expiring shrieks of a goat under the butcher’s knife, or the

howling of a dog in a solitary cavern.” Proportioned to the strength

of the ghost, the cry is loud or faint, and has something so peculiar

in it, that the least note never fails to give the hearer a temporary

palsy.

But were his practices confined to those comparatively harmless

proceedings, the conduct of the ghost would be far less intolerable

than it is. His vocal entertainments, however hurtful they sometimes

prove to those unfortunate enough to hear them, are not sufficiently

iniquitous to satisfy the extent of his malice. Being, no doubt, well

disciplined in the noble and fashionable art of pugilism by long

experience and practice among his kindred species, never remarkable

for their social harmony, he is, perhaps, the best bruiser in the

universe, and will never be backward in showing those people who come

in his way his expertness in this science. As, however, the greatest

part of his human contemporaries are, perhaps, too _strikingly_

convinced of his decided superiority, few of them are disposed to

hazard a _set-to_ with so pithy a combatant, and it is consequently no

easy matter for the ghost to fall in with those who are inclined to

fight merely for fighting’s sake. Finding, therefore, so few willing

to quarrel with him in that open and gentlemanlike manner usual in

those countries, the fertility of his noddle suggests to him the more

indirect or Irish mode of proceeding; and it is to this ingenious mode

of raising a row that the Modern Ghost owes the most of his laurels.

Presenting himself before the unsuspecting traveller in the servile

appearance of a scabbed colt, or some such equally contemptible animal,

he will in this guise place himself in the passenger’s way, as if to

graze by the road’s side. Raising his staff, the passenger will very

aptly apply it to the colt’s back to clear his way, when the malicious

animal will instantly retort, and a conflict ensues, in which the

unwary transgressor is severely punished for his indiscretion.

In former times, however, and even in recent times, we have heard

of some instances where these wanton pugilists proceeded upon more

honourable and systematic principles than they do at present. Instead

of the dastardly mode of cajoling his adversary into a fight by

stratagem, and conquering him by surprise, the warlike bogle of the

last century carried about with him flails, cudgels, and such other

pithy weapons as were suitable to the spirit of the times,--and on his

meeting with a human adventurer who had no objection to become his

antagonist, his choice of weapons was left with the latter. Hence it

followed that this equitable and impartial mode of proceeding ended not

unfrequently to the ghost’s great disadvantage; for the _human_ bullies

of those days were so diligently trained up to the handling of a flail

or the wielding of a cudgel, that their ghostly combatants, with all

their might and dexterity, have often been the first to propose an

armistice. To multiply details of such encounters would be as tedious

as they are numerous and similar; a single narrative, communicated to

the compiler by the grand-nephew of the person concerned, will, we

suppose, be sufficient to confirm our statements.

“Late one night, as my grand-uncle Lachlan _Dhu_ Macpherson, who was

well known as the best fiddler of his day, was returning home from a

ball, at which he had acted as a musician, he had occasion to pass

through the once haunted Bog of Torrans. Now, it happened at that time

that that Bog was frequented by a huge bogle or ghost, who was of a

most mischievous disposition, and took particular pleasure in abusing

every traveller who had occasion to pass through the place betwixt the

twilight at night and cock-crowing in the morning. Suspecting much that

he would also come in for a share of his abuse, my grand-uncle made up

his mind, in the course of his progress, to return him any _civilities_

which he might think meet to offer him. On arriving on the spot, he

found his suspicions were too well grounded; for whom did he see but

the Ghost of Bogandoran, apparently ready waiting him, and seeming by

his ghastly grin not a little overjoyed at the meeting? Then marching

up to my grand-uncle, the bogle clapt a huge club into his hand, and

furnishing himself with one of the same dimensions, he put a spittle

in his hand, and deliberately commenced the combat. My grand-uncle

returned the salute with equal spirit, and so ably did both parties ply

their batons, that for a while the issue of the combat was extremely

doubtful. At length, however, the fiddler could easily discover that

his opponent’s vigour was much in the fagging order. Picking up renewed

courage in consequence, my grand-uncle, the fiddler, plied the ghost

with renovated vigour, and after a stout resistance, in the course of

which both parties were seriously handled, the Ghost of Bogandoran

thought it prudent to give up the night.

“At the same time, filled, no doubt, with great indignation at this

signal defeat, it seems the ghost resolved to re-engage my grand-uncle

on some other occasion, under more favourable circumstances. Not long

after, as my grand-uncle was returning home quite unattended from

another ball in the Braes of the country, he had just entered the

hollow of Auldichoish, well known for its ‘_eery_’ properties, when

lo! who presented himself to his view on the adjacent eminence but his

old friend of Bogandoran, advancing as large as the gable of a house,

putting himself in the most threatening and fighting attitudes?

“Looking on the very dangerous nature of the ground in which they were

met, and feeling no anxiety for a second encounter with a combatant

of his weight, in a situation so little desirable, the fiddler would

have willingly deferred the settlement of their differences till a

more convenient season. He, accordingly, assuming the most submissive

aspect in the world, endeavoured to pass by his champion in peace,

but in vain. Longing, no doubt, to retrieve the disgrace of his late

discomfiture, the bogle instantly seized the fiddler, and attempted

with all his might to pull the latter down the precipice, with the

diabolical intention, it is supposed, of drowning him in the river Avon

below. In this pious design the bogle was happily frustrated by the

intervention of some trees which grew in the precipice, and to which my

unhappy grand-uncle clung with the zeal of a drowning man. The enraged

ghost finding it impossible to extricate him from those friendly trees,

and resolving, at all events, to be revenged of him, he fell upon

maltreating the fiddler with his hands and feet in the most inhuman

manner.

“Such gross indignities my worthy grand-uncle was not accustomed

to, and being incensed beyond all measure at the liberties taken by

Bogandoran, he resolved again to try his mettle, whether life or

death should be the consequence. Having no other weapon wherewith to

defend himself but his _biodag_, which, considering the nature of his

opponent’s constitution, he suspected much would be of little avail

to him--I say, in the absence of any other weapon, he sheathed the

_biodag_ three times in the Ghost of Bogandoran’s belly. And what

was the consequence? why, to the great astonishment of my courageous

forefather, the ghost fell down cold-dead at his feet, and was never

more seen or heard of.”

Thus it will be seen that in those chivalrous days the stout and

energetic sons of Caledonia had courage and prowess enough to cope with

those powerful warriors, however unequally matched, with spirit and

even with success. In the present effeminate times, we hear of none

that will even contend with those miserable scarecrows of the present

day. Overcome, more by fear than by force, at the first encounter they

throw themselves down, and, like the lamb beneath the fox, tamely

submit to the most abusive treatment. Hence, encouraged by those

servile submissions, it is almost incredible to what extent those

invincible _corps_ sometimes carry their audacity. We have heard of not

a few of them, who having, in the first place, intruded their company

on peaceable travellers on the public road, in the next place offered

them the most provoking indignities,--one time piping their unearthly

cries into the passenger’s ears, at another time tripping him up by

the heels, and even committing indecencies which delicacy forbids us

to repeat, while the fears and agitation manifested by the traveller

constituted a subject of great merriment to the mischievous ghost.

CHAPTER III.

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

A short time previous to the mortal’s death, and when just on the

eve of dissolution, the ghost undergoes a striking revolution in his

appearance and habits. Seized with the _locked jaw_, and all the other

disabilities common to the dead, he then becomes the awful emblem of

death in all its similitudes. Attired in a shroud and all the ensigns

of the grave, the ghost nocturnally proceeds to the narrow house of his

future residence, and there disappears. He is lighted on his way by a

pale azure-coloured light, of the size of that emitted by a _tallow_

candle, which is of a flickering unsteady nature, sometimes vivid, and

sometimes faint, as the mortal inhales and respires his breath; and,

in his course towards the grave, he will follow minutely the line of

march destined to be followed by his earthly partner’s approaching

funeral. His pace is slow, and his footsteps imperceptible even to a

passenger; who, although he sees clearly all his trappings, cannot

discern his mode of travelling. To the naked eye the ghost’s visage is

not discernible, by reason of the _face-cloth_. There is a very simple

process, however, which has been discovered for enabling a spectator to

discern whose ghost he is, although we never heard of more than one

person who had the hardihood to put the experiment in practice.

It is an admitted fact, in those countries, that a ghost may be

recognised, in the appearance of his human partner, on his passing a

spectator, by the latter’s reversing the cuff of his own coat, or any

other part of his raiment, which puts an instant stop to the ghost’s

career, and clearly exposes him to the recognition of the courageous

experimenter.

A sage philosopher, who had long desired an opportunity of practising

this bold experiment, found, “late one night,” when returning home from

a market, a very convenient one. Observing a stout lusty ghost stalking

very majestically along the public road, this bold adventurer hesitated

not a moment. Clapping himself into a defensive attitude, he reversed

his cuff--when, lo! his next-door neighbour’s wife was instantly

confronted to his face--clad in death’s awful apparel--the death-candle

lowing in her throat, and mouth full distended. Such an exhibition was

too appalling to wish for a long interview; and, accordingly, Donald

Doul, the adventurer, made a motion to be off, but in vain. The unhappy

man, as if transformed into a stone, could no more move than Lot’s

wife, and was obliged to stand confronted to his loving companion, both

equally sparing of their talk, until the crowing of the cock in the

morning. Finding himself then released from his uncomfortable stance,

he was about to make the best of his way home, to communicate the

result of his experiment, when the friendly wife’s ghost thus addressed

him: “Donald Doul--Donald Doul--Donald Doul--hear me, and tremble.

Great is the hindrance you have caused me this night,--a hindrance for

which you should have been severely punished, but for the friendship

which formerly subsisted between yourself and my partner. Dare not

again to pry into the mysteries of the dead. The time will come when

you’ll know those secrets.” To this poetical harangue Donald Doul made

no other reply than a profound obeisance. It is possible, however,

the ghost would have proposed a rejoinder, had not a chanticleer, in

the adjacent hamlet, emitted his third clarion, at the magic sound of

which the wife’s ghost fairly took to her heels, leaving Donald Doul

to resume his course homewards without further advice. Satisfied of

the interesting nature of the occurrence, and that his reputation for

courage and veracity would suffer no diminution from the relation,

Donald Doul made no secret of what happened. This clearly foretold what

speedily took place, the dissolution of the neighbour’s wife, (who, by

the way, was dangerously ill at the time,) to the great grief of her

husband, and the credit of Donald Doul’s name.

A short time after the ghost, bearing the death-candle, has thus

been seen, the house of the undertaker who is to make the mortal’s

coffin will be nightly disturbed by the sounds of saws and knocking

of hammers, no doubt proceeding from the ghost of the undertaker and

his assistants preparing the coffin of the ghost; while invisible

messengers will parade the country for necessaries for the ghost’s

funeral, or foregoing. And a very imposing and interesting spectacle

may be looked for.

The mortal resigns his breath, and is about to follow the course of the

dead-candle to his new abode, when _Taish na Tialedh_, or the funeral

foregoing, takes the road. This is not a paltry spectacle of one ghost,

a sight so common in those countries, but a superb assemblage of them,

all drest in their best attire, each reflecting lustre on the other. On

this occasion, the ghost of every man who is destined to accompany the

mortal’s funeral will attend, dressed in apparel of the same colour,

and mounted on a horse of the same appearance, (if he is to have

one,) as his mortal companion on the day of the corporeal interment.

On this occasion, too, their characteristic austerity of manners is

dispensed with. Mellowed, no doubt, by the generous qualities of the

_Usquebaugh_, the jocund laugh, the jest, and repartee, go slapping

round, responsive to some mournful dirge proceeding from the defunct’s

immediate friends and relations.

In the motley group, the ghost of a father or brother is easily

recognised by his well-known voice and Sabbath vestment. Nay, the

spectator may even recognise himself, if his senses enable him to

discriminate, joyous or sorry, as occasion suggests, mingling in the

throng. In the middle of the procession the coffin is seen, containing,

we presume, the _dead ghost_, circled by mourning relatives; and on

the front, flanks, and rear of the burden, the company are likewise

seen approaching and retiring, relieving each other by turns. At

length, the noise of horses and tongues, horsemen and footmen, mingled

indiscriminately together, closes the procession.

The following account of the _foregoing_ of the funeral of an

illustrious chief, who died some few score of years ago, (witnessed

by a man whose veracity was a perfect proverb,) will not, we trust, be

unacceptable:

“A smith, who had a large family to provide for, was often necessitated

to occupy his smithy till rather a late hour. One night, in particular,

as he was turning the key of his smithy door, his notice was attracted

to the public road, which lay contiguous to the smithy, by a confusion

of sounds, indicative of the approach of a great concourse of people.

Immediately there appeared the advanced ranks of a procession, marching

four men deep, in tolerable good order, unless occasionally some

unaccountable circumstance occasioned the fall of a lusty fellow, as

if he had been shot by a twenty-four pounder. Thunderstruck at the

nature and number of the marvellous procession, the smith, honest man,

reclined his back to the door, witnessing a continuation of the same

procession for nearly an hour, without discovering any thing further

of the character of those who composed it, than that they betokened a

repletion of the _Usquebaugh_. At length, the appearance of the hearse

and its awful ensigns, together with the succeeding line of coaches,

developed the nature of the concern. It was then that the smith’s

knees began to smite each other, and his hair to stand on an end. The

recent demise of this venerable chieftain confirmed his conviction of

its being a _Taish_, and a very formidable one too. Not choosing to

see the rear, he directed his face homewards, whither he fled with

the swiftness of younger years, and was not backward in favouring his

numerous acquaintances with a full and particular account of the whole

scene. This induced many honest people to assume the smithy door as

their stance of observation on the day of the funeral, which took place

a few days after; and, to his honour be it told, every circumstance

detailed by the smith in his relation accurately happened, even to the

decanting of two dogs, and this established the smith’s veracity in all

time thereafter.”

Akin to this are all the relations of those good people whose evil

destiny it has been to fall in with those ghostly processions, some

of whom having inadvertently involved themselves into the crowd, were

repulsed in every attempt to extricate themselves, until carried along,

nobody knows how far, by the tumultuous rabble, who seemed to enjoy

themselves vastly at the standing hair, protruding eyes, and awry

visage of the unconscious intruder.

In concluding this part of our subject, it is hardly necessary to add,

that in two or three days after the ghostly procession, the human or

corporeal procession will succeed it, following most minutely and

accurately every course, winding, and turn taken by the foregoing,

while the dress, conversation, and every other incident attending the

company will be precisely the same.

CHAPTER IV.

OF THE GHOST IN HIS POST-EXISTENT STATE.

It might, no doubt, be readily supposed by the ingenious reader, that

the mortal’s decease should be the term of dissolution assigned to the

copartnery connection subsisting between the mortal and his ghost, as

it generally terminates every other engagement into which the people

of this world enter. The event, however, only serves to blend their

interests still more strictly together. Whatever doubt may exist as

to the ghost’s attention to his partner’s worldly interests in his

lifetime, his solicitude for his spiritual interest, after the mortal’s

death, is universally acknowledged. He then becomes the sole means of

remedying past errors, and obtaining redress for past injuries. To

enable one fully to appreciate a ghost’s utility in the “land of the

leal,” he must acquaint himself with the nature of the life which the

defunct led, whether regular in his habits and moral in his life, or

otherwise, and the particular situation of his affairs at death. If,

for instance, a man falls suddenly, like a tree in a storm, whatever

may be the situation or circumstances in which he happens to drop,

so he must lie. In this respect, then, the peculiar advantage of the

Highlander over his Lowland neighbour becomes perfectly apparent.

Through the medium of a faithful ghost and a confidential friend,

transactions, as intricate and ravelled as those of the Laird of Coul,

can be easily simplified and assorted.

No man should, therefore, be surprised, if the ghost of some departed

friend should take an opportunity of saluting him, and for his own sake

he should also lose no time in enabling the awful emissary to declare

the purpose of his mission; whoever will defer doing so only increases

his own misery, and it is a task, however uncomfortable, that is

sacredly due to departed friendship; for how many, by yielding to the

influence of cowardly fear, have exposed themselves and their household

to those nocturnal rackets sometimes raised by those disappointed

ambassadors, whereas a little resolution would not only have averted

it, but have also greatly conduced to the repose and quietude of an old

and esteemed acquaintance. The following statement of a circumstance

which, we are told, happened in Strathspey not a great many years ago,

will best enforce this counsel:

“Not many years ago there lived in Kincardine of Strathspey a poor

man, who contracted a severe and sudden illness, which, to the great

grief of his family, terminated in his death. From the suddenness of

the honest man’s call, he had not time to settle his affairs, and

this circumstance, it seems, as might have been supposed, caused him

no small disquietude in the eternal world. He wished, in particular,

to have had an axe and a whisky barrel, which he had borrowed of a

friend, restored to him; for iron, you must know, in such cases, is

very bad. In order, therefore, to have this matter adjusted, the

dead man commissioned his ghost to wait on a particular friend to

disclose to him the circumstance, not doubting in the least but the

friend would have bestowed his best attention on the subject. The

faithful ghost lost no time in proceeding to get the object of his

mission accomplished, which, however, turned out rather a difficult

undertaking, for it was no easy matter for the ghost to procure a

conference with the friend on the business. One glimpse of the former

never failed to communicate to the latter the feet of a roe, nor could

all his dexterity bring the matter to a bearing. At length, exasperated

by a long course of night watching and useless travelling, the wily

commissioner had recourse to an expedient which ultimately effected

his purpose. As soon as the sun went down every evening, the ghost

opened a cannonade of bricks and stones upon the unhappy friend and the

inmates of his house, which did not terminate till cock-crowing in the

morning; and so expert an archer was this pawky ghost, that he scarcely

ever missed an aim, while every stroke would kill a bullock. Smarting

under the effect of this unseasonable chastisement, the friend and

his family raised the most outrageous clamour at their unaccountable

misfortune, which induced some of their neighbours nightly to assemble

in considerable bodies to protect them from this nocturnal warfare. But

the wily ghost, far from relaxing his operations on that account, only

plied them with additional vigour, sparing neither sex nor age in his

sweeping career. All sorts of missiles announced themselves, rebounding

on the shoulders of the protectors as well as the protected, the pithy

weight of which, and the unaccountable manner in which they were

flung, convinced the sufferers they were not flung by mortal hand. All

the acquaintances of the friend, therefore, urged on him to challenge

the invisible demon who thus savagely persecuted him at the hour of

midnight, in order to afford the latter an opportunity of explaining

his business, and the reason of his cruel and unchristian conduct.

But this advice the friend of the deceased was disposed to consider

a dernier resort, and one that required some cool consideration.

At length, rendered quite desperate by a series of unparalleled

persecutions, which rendered him as thin in body as a silver sixpence,

the goodman came to a final determination to call the ghost to account

the very first opportunity, for his mean and pusillanimous attacks on

himself and poor family. Accordingly, one night, on receiving a tart

pill on the cheek, which gave him an ear-ache, and which wonderfully

improved his courage, the goodman marched forth, with a mixture of rage

and fear, demanding of the unfeeling ghost, in a voice resembling the

falling notes of the gamut, ‘Wha-a-t i-i-s you-r bus-n-ess wi’ m-my

ho-use a-and fa-fa-fa-mi-ly?’ The ghost instantly appeared happy to

answer the question; but, ere he could do so, it was necessary to go

through a ceremony, which is no less curious than it is disagreeable to

the feelings of the parties concerned. This ceremony consists in the

_mortal’s_ embracing the ghost, and raising his feet from the ground,

so as to allow the wind to pass between the soles of his feet and the

ground, which enables the tongue-tied ghost to speak a volume. What was

then to be done in this particular case? Encouraged by the eloquent

cheers and arguments held forth to him, through the crevices of his

house, by his anxious family, he made several attempts to encircle the

awful emissary in his arms, which, by a sort of mechanical motion,

receded from the embrace; and it was not without great difficulty he

could persuade himself to give a friendly embrace to this mischievous

ghost; this, however, he did at last,--seizing him as he would a

bush of thorns. The ghost’s long-locked jaws now began to speak in

so sepulchral a tone as to palsy all who heard it. The friend of the

deceased promised strict attention to all the ghost’s injunctions,

upon which he evanished in a flame of fire, leaving the unhappy man

scarce able to totter to his chair. A minute compliance with all his

instructions rendered a second visit from the ghost unnecessary--and

this was no small matter of comfort to the friend.”

This frigid display of a Highlandman’s courage will appear very

contemptible when compared to the undaunted resolution of the female

alluded to in the following story:

“About forty or fifty years ago, a native of Strathdown, whose manner

of living (like that of other folks) did not qualify him for a sudden

death, was unfortunately drowned in the following manner: While in

the act of cutting down a tree, in a steep precipice pending over the

river Avon, he slipped his footing--fell headlong into the abyss below,

and rose no more. His lamentable fate was speedily discovered, his

body interred, and his affairs arranged in the best possible order.

Time, the parent of oblivion, soon rendered his name extinct among

the living, and he was no longer heard of; when, on a certain day, in

the height of it, the deceased appeared in his human likeness at the

window of a female friend. On the woman’s exhibiting some surprise

and terror at his appearance, the drowned man called to her to fear

nothing, but to come forth and speak with him,--for it seems he had

been enabled to speak without the ‘_dead-lift_.’ The honest woman

suspecting, no doubt, that, if she did not go out to him, he would make

the best of his way to her, obeyed his summons; and, in the course

of a long convoy she gave him, he divulged to her several acts of

misconduct he had been guilty of towards an old master and some others,

which disturbed much his repose. Anxious, no doubt, to get rid of his

company, she promised to exert the best of her endeavours to atone for

his misconduct, on condition he would leave her, and never again renew

his visit,--a promise which she faithfully performed, and the dead

friend gave her no farther trouble.”

But the settlement of unassorted affairs, after death, is not the only

thing in which the ghost is extremely useful. As an ambassador ever

ready to discharge any piece of useful service--such as appeasing the

unavailing grief of lamenting relatives--he is ever ready and expert,

and the delicate manner in which the ghost sometimes executes this

commission indicates that he is far more friendly and conciliatory

in his behaviour when _dead_ than he was when alive. Sometimes, but

rarely, he leaves his abode to benefit an old acquaintance or friend

of his partner; but it will no doubt be done at the instigation of the

devoted latter. We present the particulars of a favour of this sort

conferred on an inhabitant of Strathspey, no doubt a long time ago,

which deserved a better return than what the ghost at first met with.

“Engaged one night in the arrangement of his farming affairs, a certain

farmer, living in the parish of Abernethy, was a good deal surprised

at seeing an old acquaintance, who had a considerable time previously

departed this life, entering quite coolly at his dwelling-house door.

Instead of following his old acquaintance into his house, to receive

an explanation from himself of the marvellous circumstance, his

curiosity led him into the church-yard where his friend was buried,

and which was near by, to see if he had actually risen from the dead.

On examination, he not only found the grave, but also the coffin _wide

open_, which left no doubt on his mind of the reality of the vision

which he thought had deluded his sight. Making the sign of the cross on

the grave, he returned to his house, not caring whether he found his

friend before him or not. He was not, however, to be seen; but, in the

course of a short time, he returned, and upbraided the farmer for his

improper interference with his grave, explaining to him the cause of

his resurrection. It appeared that a scabbed stirk, which had a greedy

custom of prowling about the doors, seeking what he might devour,

thief-like entering the dwelling-house in the absence of the family,

and, finding no better subject of entertainment, attacked the straw in

the cradle which stood by the fireside, and in which his only child was

sleeping at the time. The tugging of the stirk at the straw would have

inevitably overturned the cradle and the child into the fire but for

the generous interposition of the ghost. The farmer expressed his most

grateful acknowledgments for so signal an instance of his kindness;

and immediately retraced his steps to the grave, on which he made a

counter-sign to that which he formerly made, and the good-hearted ghost

obtained admission into his dreary abode.”

But these are not all the ghost’s useful qualities. He possesses

another very important one in this unchristian and uncharitable age,

in which the repositories of the dead are exposed to the nocturnal

spoliation of the ruthless resurrectionist. It is vain for the

church-sexton to plant _steel-traps_ and _spring-guns_ in the field of

his labours,--the wily depredator will contrive to elude them all when

the vigilant watchman is wanted to direct them. To show the vigilance

of this agent’s attention to his own interest, and that of his friends,

on such occasions, take the following narration:--

“There was at one time a woman, who lived in Camp-del-more of

Strathavon, whose cattle were seized with a murrain, or some such

fell disease, which ravaged the neighbourhood at the time, carrying

off great numbers of them daily. All the _forlorn fires and hallowed

waters_ failed of their customary effects; and she was at length

told by the wise people whom she consulted on the occasion, that it

was evidently the effect of some infernal agency, the power of which

could not be destroyed by any other means than the never-failing

specific--the juice of a _dead head_ from the church-yard,--a nostrum

certainly very difficult to be procured, considering the head must

needs be abstracted from a grave in the hour of midnight. Being,

however, a woman of a stout heart and strong faith, native feelings of

delicacy towards the blessed sanctuary of the dead had more weight in

restraining her for some time from resorting to this desperate remedy

than those of fear. At length, seeing that her bestial stock would soon

be completely annihilated by the destructive career of the disease,

the wife of Camp-del-more resolved to put the experiment in practice,

whatever the result might be. Accordingly, having, with considerable

difficulty, engaged a neighbouring woman to be her companion in this

hazardous expedition, they set out, about midnight, for the parish

church-yard, distant about a mile and a half from her residence,

to execute her determination. On arriving at the church-yard, her

companion, whose courage was not so notable, appalled by the gloomy

prospect before her, refused to enter among the habitations of the

dead. She, however, agreed to remain at the gate till her friend’s

business was accomplished. This circumstance, however, did not

stagger our heroine’s resolution. She, with the greatest coolness and

intrepidity, proceeded towards what she supposed an old grave,--took

down her spade, and commenced her operations. After a good deal of toil

she arrived at the object of her labour. Raising the first head, or

rather skull, that came in her way, she was about to make it her own

property, when, lo! a hollow, wild, sepulchral voice exclaimed, ‘That

is _my_ head--let it alone!’ Not wishing to dispute the claimant’s

title to this head, and supposing she could be otherwise provided,

she very good-naturedly returned it, and took up another. ‘That is my

father’s head,’ bellowed the same voice. Wishing, if possible, to avoid

disputes, the wife of Camp-del-more took up another head, when the

same voice instantly started a claim to it as his grand-father’s head.

‘Well,’ replied the wife, nettled at her disappointments, ‘although it

were your grand-mother’s head, you shan’t get it till I am done with

it.’--‘What do you say, you limmer?’ says the ghost, starting up in

his awry habiliments; ‘What do you say, you limmer?’ repeated he in a

great rage. ‘By the great oath, you had better leave my grand-father’s

head.’ Upon matters coming this length, the wily wife of Camp-del-more

thought it proper to assume a more conciliatory aspect. Telling the

claimant the whole particulars of the predicament in which she was

placed by the foresaid calamity, she promised faithfully, that, if his

Honour would only allow her to carry off his grand-father’s skull, or

head, in a peaceable manner, she would restore it again when done with

it. Here, after some communing, they came to an understanding, and she

was allowed to take the head along with her, on condition she should

restore it before cock-crowing, under the heaviest penalties.

“On coming out of the church-yard, and looking for her companion,

she had the mortification to find her ‘without a mouthful of breath

in her body;’ for, on hearing the dispute between her friend and the

guardian of the grave, and suspecting much that she was likely to

share the unpleasant punishments with which he threatened her friend,

at the bare recital of them she fell down in a faint, from which it

was no easy matter to recover her. This proved no small inconvenience

to Camp-del-more’s wife, as there were not above two hours to elapse

ere she had to return the head in terms of her agreement. Taking

her friend upon her back, she carried her up a steep acclivity to

the nearest adjoining house, where she left her for the night; then

repaired home with the utmost speed--made _dead bree_ of the _dead

head_, and, ere the appointed time had expired, she restored the head

to its guardian, and placed the grave in its former condition. It is

needless to add, that, as a reward for her exemplary courage, the

‘_bree_’ had its desired effect--the cattle speedily recovered--and,

so long as she retained any of it, all sorts of diseases were of short

duration.”

SAFEGUARDS FROM GHOSTS.

Having now briefly described the leading features of a ghost’s

character in those countries, we shall close our account of him by

annexing a few of those safeguards which protect us from those wanton

encounters and impertinent interferences which we have related,

and which must be far from being palatable to the more effeminate

inhabitants of the Highland mountains at the present day.

One simple plan of obtaining perfect security from supernatural agents

of any kind is, (whenever we apprehend the approach or presence of

a ghost,) to repeat certain words, which can be taught by any wise

patriarch or matron, the powerful charm of which instantly repercusses

the ghost back to his own proper abode, and, for the time, defeats all

his machinations. Note--If in the house, the words must be repeated

three times behind the door. A ghost then can neither enter at the

door, window, nor any other crevice of the house. The operation of

the words is like that of an infeftment, which, taken on one part of

the property, affects the whole. Were it not for this grand discovery,

vain would be the attempt of any man to bar out a ghost as he might do

a _mortal_. A ghost can enter in at the key-hole--nay, even through the

wall of the house, if there is no other caveat to arrest him in his

career.

Another safeguard consists in forming a piece of the _rowan tree_ into

the shape of a cross with a red thread. This cross you will insert

between the lining and cloth of your garment, and, so long as it lasts,

neither ghost nor witch shall ever interfere with you.

PART II.

Fairies.

There are fairies, and brownies, and shades Amazonian,

Of harper, and sharper, and old Cameronian;

Some small as pigmies, some tall as a steeple:

The spirits are all gone as mad as the people.

HOGG.

CHAPTER I.

ORIGIN AND GENEALOGY OF THE FAIRIES.

Though the ghost is confessedly entitled to no small degree of

consideration from his intimate connection with our own species, no one

will pretend to deny that the fairy is a character whose _greatness of

descent_ renders him equally interesting and respectable. The genealogy

of the ghost can no doubt be traced back to the earliest ages of the

world, and it is pretty certain that he has been amongst the first of

its inhabitants; still, on the score of antiquity, he cannot pretend

to compete with the fairy, who, it seems, existed long before the

world itself. The origin and descent of the fairies, which had so long

proved such knotty subjects of controversy in other quarters of the

kingdom, are points which have been finally settled and disposed of

in these countries. No doubt now remains, in the minds of those who

have bestowed any attention on the important subject, of there being

those unhappy angels whose diabolical deeds produced their expulsion

from Paradise. In support of this rational theory, the wise men of the

day never fail to quote the highest authority. Scripture, they say,

tells us those angels were cast down; and although, indeed, it does

not mention to what place, sad experience proves the fact, that the

Highland mountains received an ample share of them. Here, wandering up

and down, like the hordes of Tartary, they pitch their camp where spoil

is most plentiful; and taking advantage of the obstinate incredulity of

some of their human neighbours, contrive to make themselves perfectly

comfortable at the latter’s expense. To dispel any doubt that may

remain on the mind of the reader as to the soundness of this doctrine,

we present him with the following particulars:

“Not long since, as a pious clergyman was returning home, after

administering spiritual consolation to a dying member of his flock,

it was late of the night, and he had to pass through a good deal of

_uncanny_ ground. He was, however, a good and conscientious minister

of the gospel, and feared not all the spirits in the country. On his

reaching the end of a lake which stretched alongst the road-side for

some distance, he was a good deal surprised to have his attention

arrested by the most melodious strains of music. Overcome by pleasure

and curiosity, the minister coolly sat down to listen to the harmonious

sounds, and try what new discoveries he could make with regard to

their nature and source. He had not sitten many minutes when he could

distinguish the approach of the music, and also observe a light in the

direction from whence it proceeded, gliding across the lake towards

him. Instead of taking to his heels, as any faithless wight would

have done, the pastor, fearless, determined to await the issue of the

phenomenon. As the light and music drew near, the clergyman could at

length distinguish an object resembling a human being walking on the

surface of the water, attended by a group of diminutive musicians,

some of them bearing lights, and others of them instruments of music,

on which they continued to perform those melodious strains which

first attracted his attention. The leader of the band dismissed

his attendants, landed on the beach, and afforded the minister the

amplest opportunities of examining his appearance. He was a little

primitive-looking grey-headed man, clad in the most grotesque habit

he ever witnessed, and such as led the venerable minister all at once

to suspect his real character. He walked up to the minister, whom he

saluted with great grace, offering an apology for his intrusion. The

pastor returned his compliments, and, without farther explanation,

invited the mysterious stranger to sit down by his side. The invitation

was complied with, upon which the minister proposed the following

question: ‘_Who art thou, stranger, and from whence?_’ To this

question the fairy, with downcast eye, replied, that he was one of

those sometimes called ‘_Doane Shee_, or men of peace, or good men,

though the reverse of this title was a more fit appellation for them.

Originally angelic in his nature and attributes, and once a sharer

of the indescribable joys of the regions of light, he was seduced by

Satan to join him in his mad conspiracies; and as a punishment for his

transgression, he was cast down from those regions of bliss, and was

now doomed, along with millions of fellow-sufferers, to wander through

seas and mountains, until the coming of the great day; what their fate

would be then they could not divine, but they apprehended the worst.

And,’ continued he, turning to the minister, with great anxiety, ‘the

object of my present intrusion on you is to learn your opinion, as an

eminent divine, as to our final condition on that dreadful day.’ Here

the venerable pastor entered upon a long conversation with the fairy,

(the particulars of which we shall be excused for omitting,) touching

the principles of faith and repentance. Receiving rather unsatisfactory

answers to his questions, the minister desired the ‘_Sheech_’ to

repeat after him the Paternoster; in attempting to do which, it was

not a little remarkable that he could not repeat the word ‘_art_,’ but

‘_wert_,’ in heaven. Inferring from every circumstance that their fate

was extremely precarious, the minister resolved not to puff the fairies

up with presumptuous and perhaps groundless expectations. Accordingly,

addressing himself to the unhappy fairy, who was all anxiety to know

the nature of his sentiments, the reverend gentleman told him that he

could not take it upon him to give them any hopes of pardon, as their

crime was of so deep a hue as scarcely to admit of it. On this the

unhappy fairy uttered a shriek of despair, plunged headlong into the

loch, and the minister resumed his course to his home.”

CHAPTER II.

SIMILITUDE OF THE FAIRY.

Of all the different species of supernatural tribes which inhabit those

countries, none of them could ever vie with the fairy community for

personal elegance. Indeed, this seems to be the only remaining vestige

they possess of their primitive character. Though generally low in

stature, they are exceedingly well proportioned, and prepossessing in

their persons. The females, in particular, are said to be the most

enchanting beings in the world, and far beyond what the liveliest

fancy can paint. Eyes sparkling as the brightest of the stars, or the

polished gem of Cairngorm,--cheeks in which the whiteness of the snow

and red of the reddan are blended with the softness of the Cannoch

down,--lips like the coral, and teeth like the ivory,--a redundant

luxuriance of auburn hair hanging down the shoulders in lovely

ringlets, and a gainly simplicity of dress, always of the colour of

green, are prominent features in the description of a Highland fairy

nymph.

But while we agree in some measure with our fellow historians who

have described the fairy race as they exist in other quarters of the

country, in so far as regards their personal beauty, we widely differ

from those historians as to the splendour of their dress as exhibited

in the character of the Highland fairies. Instead of the gorgeous

habiliments of “white and gold dropped with diamonds, and coats of the

threads of gold,” which we are told are worn by those more luxurious

and refined fairies living within the sphere of splendour and fashion

in the Lowlands of Scotland; the Highland fairies, more thrifty and

less voluptuous, clothe themselves in plain worsted green, not woven

by the “_shuttle of Iris_,” but by the greasy shuttle of some Highland

weaver. This description, let it be understood, however, applies only

to the portion of them inhabiting _terra firma_; for the dress of those

whose lot it was to fall in the deep is of a very different nature,

consisting entirely of seal-skins, and such other _marine_ apparel as

is most suitable and appropriate to their element.

The following story will throw some light upon the manners and _habits_

of this portion of the fairy tribes.

There was once upon a time a man who lived on the northern coasts, not

far from “_Taigh Jan Crot Callow_,”[B] and he gained his livelihood

by catching and killing fish, of all sizes and denominations. He had

a particular liking to the killing of those wonderful beasts, half

dog half fish, called “Roane,” or Seals, no doubt because he got a

long price for their skins, which are not less curious than they are

valuable. The truth is, that most of these animals are neither dogs nor

cods, but downright fairies, as this narration will show; and, indeed,

it is easy for any man to convince himself of the fact by a simple

examination of his _tobacco-spluichdan_,--for the dead skins of those

beings are never the same for four-and-twenty hours together. Sometimes

the “_spluichdan_” will erect its bristles almost perpendicularly,

while, at other times, it reclines them even down; one time it

resembles a bristly sow, at another time a _sleekit cat_; and what dead

skin, except itself, could perform such cantrips? Now, it happened

one day, as this notable fisher had returned from the prosecution

of his calling, that he was called upon by a man who seemed a great

stranger, and who said he had been dispatched for him by a person

who wished to contract for a quantity of seal-skins, and that it was

necessary for the fisher to accompany him (the stranger) immediately

to see the person who wished to contract for the skins, as it was

necessary that he should be served that evening. Happy in the prospect

of making a good bargain, and never suspecting any duplicity in the

stranger, he instantly complied. They both mounted a steed belonging

to the stranger, and took the road with such velocity that, although

the direction of the wind was towards their back, yet the fleetness

of their movement made it appear as if it had been in their faces. On

reaching a stupendous precipice which overhung the sea, his guide told

him they had now reached the point of their destination. “Where is the

person you spoke of?” inquired the astonished seal-killer. “You shall

see that presently,” replied the guide. With that they immediately

alighted, and, without allowing the seal-killer much time to indulge

the frightful suspicions that began to pervade his mind, the stranger

seized him with irresistible force, and plunged headlong with the

seal-killer into the sea. After sinking down--down--nobody knows

how far, they at length reached a door, which, being open, led them

into a range of apartments, filled with inhabitants--not people, but

seals, who could nevertheless speak and feel like human folk; and how

much was the seal-killer surprised to find that he himself had been

unconsciously transformed into the like image! If it were not so, he

would probably have died, from the want of breath. The nature of the

poor fisher’s thoughts may be more easily conceived than described.

Looking on the nature of the quarters into which he was landed, all

hopes of escape from them appeared wholly chimerical, whilst the

degree of comfort and length of life which the barren scene promised

him were far from being flattering. The “Roane,” who all seemed in

very low spirits, appeared to feel for him, and endeavoured to soothe

the distress which he evinced, by the amplest assurances of personal

safety. Involved in sad meditation on his evil fate, he was quickly

roused from his stupor, by his guide’s producing a huge gully or

joctaleg, the object of which he supposed was to put an end to all his

earthly cares. Forlorn as was his situation, however, he did not wish

to be killed; and, apprehending instant destruction, he fell down,

and earnestly implored for mercy. The poor generous animals did not

mean him any harm, however much his former conduct deserved it; and he

was accordingly desired to pacify himself, and cease his cries. “Did

you ever see that knife before?” says the stranger to the fisher. The

latter instantly recognising his own knife, which he had that day stuck

into a seal, and with which it made its escape, acknowledged it was

formerly his own, for what would be the use of denying it? “Well!”

rejoins the guide, “the apparent seal, which made away with it, is my

father, who lies dangerously ill ever since, and no means could stay

his fleeting breath, without your aid. I have been obliged to resort

to the artifice I have practised to bring you hither, and I trust that

my filial duty to my father will readily operate my excuse.” Having

said this, he led into another apartment the trembling seal-killer,

who expected every minute a return of his own favour to the father;

and here he found the identical seal, with which he had the encounter

in the morning, suffering most grievously from a tremendous cut in

its hind-quarter. The seal-killer was then desired, with his hand, to

cicatrize the wound; upon doing which, it immediately healed, and the

seal arose from its bed in perfect health. Upon this, the scene changed

from mourning to rejoicing,--all was mirth and glee. Very different,

however, were the feelings of the unfortunate seal-catcher, expecting,

no doubt, to be a seal for the remainder of his life, until his late

guide accosted him as follows: “Now, sir, you are at liberty to return

to your wife and family, to whom I am about to conduct you; but it

is on this express condition, to which you must bind yourself by a

solemn oath, viz., that you shall never maim or kill a seal in all your

lifetime hereafter.” To this condition, hard as it was, he joyfully

acceded; and the oath being administered in all due form, he bade his

new acquaintance most heartily and sincerely a long farewell. Taking

hold of his guide, they issued from the place, and swam up--up--till

they regained the surface of the sea; and, landing at the said

stupendous pinnacle, they found their former riding steed ready for

a second canter. The guide breathed upon the fisher, and they became

like men. They mounted their horse; and fleet as was their course

towards the precipice or pinnacle, their return from it was doubly

swift; and the honest seal-killer was laid down at his own door-cheek,

where his guide made him such a present as would have almost reconciled

him to another similar expedition, and such as rendered his loss of

profession, in so far as regarded the seals, a far less intolerable

hardship than he had at first contemplated it.

CHAPTER III.

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

HABITS.

From the description the reader may have seen of the fairy community

in general, as drawn in the works of the eminent writers of the day,

he may have been led to form very erroneous estimates not only of the

dress of the _Highland_ fairies, but also of their political economy

and government.

There are few who have not heard of the illustrious and divine beauty

of the Queen of the Fairies, and the splendid and dazzling courts

with which her majesty is surrounded on all occasions of intercourse

with the inhabitants of this world. It appears, however, from all

that the compiler can learn, that the empire of Queen Mab, like that

of the renowned Cæsar, never was extended to the northern side of the

Grampians, for she is entirely unknown in those countries. Indeed, it

is believed that the Highland fairies acknowledge no distinctions of

this sort. As there were originally none such amongst them in Paradise,

so they are not disposed to create any on earth,--and a more complete

republic never was.

It is true, Satan, no doubt, exercises a sort of impotent chieftainship

over them as his once rebellious confederates,--but, it is believed,

his laws and his edicts are as much despised by them as those of the

Great Mogul. In spite of all his power and policy, like the Israelites

of old, each does what is right in his own eyes; and, unless on a

Halloweven, or such occasion of state, they may submit to a pageant

review more from motives of vanity than of loyalty, Auld Nick’s ancient

sovereignty over the fairy community in this land of freedom has fallen

into desuetude.

The fairies are a very ingenious people. As may be expected from the

nature of their origin and descent, they are possessed of very superior

intellectual powers, which they know well enough how to apply to useful

purposes. Nor are they so vain of their abilities as to scorn to direct

them to the prosecution of those more ignoble employments, on which the

politer part of mankind commonly look down with contempt. Whether this

condescension, on the part of the fairy, be more the result of choice

or necessity, it is hard for us to determine; but certain it is, that

few communities can boast of a more numerous or more proficient body of

artisans. We are told, indeed, by some of those well acquainted with

their manners, that every individual fairy combines all the necessary

arts in his own person--that he is his own weaver, his own tailor, and

his own shoemaker. Whether this is truly the case public opinion is

rather divided; but all our informants concur in this conclusion--that

by far the greater number of them understand well enough those several

callings; and the expertness they display in handling the shuttle, the

needle, and the awl, evidently demonstrate their practical knowledge of

these implements. In support of this conclusion, we have the authority

of a decent old man, whose veracity, on subjects of this description,

has never been questioned in the district in which he lived, who

favoured the compiler with the following narration:

“My great-grandfather, (peace to his manes!) who was by profession a

weaver, and, by the bye, a very honest man, though I should not say it,

was waked one night from his midnight sleep by a tremendous noise. On

looking ‘_out over_’ the bed, to see whence it proceeded, he was not

a little astonished to find the house full of operative fairies, who,

with the greatest familiarity, had made free with his manufacturing

implements. Having provided themselves with a large sack of wool,--from

whence it came they best knew,--they were actively employed in

converting it into cloth. While one teethed it, another carded it;

while another span it, another wove it; while another dyed it, another

pressed it; while the united bustle of their several operations, joined

to the exclamations uttered by each expressive of his avocation,

created a clamour truly intolerable to the gudeman of the house, with

whom they used so unacceptable a freedom. So diligent were they, that

long ere day they decamped with a web of green cloth, consisting of

fifty ells and more, without even thanking my venerable grandfather for

the use of his machinery.”

Another narrative, with which we were favoured, related the activity

of a fairy shoemaker, who sewed a pair of shoes for a “_mountain

shepherd_” during the time the latter mealed a bicker of pottage

for them. And another narrative related the expertness of a fairy

_barber_, who shaved an acquaintance so effectually with no sharper a

razor than the palm of his hand, that he never afterwards required to

undergo the same operation. These, and a number of equally creditable

stories, confirm their transcendent superiority as artisans over any

other class of people in Christendom.

Nor in the more honourable and learned professions are they less

dexterous. As architects they stand quite unrivalled. To prove their

excellence in this art we have only to consider the durability of

their habitations. Some of these, it is said, have outlived the

ravages of time and vicissitudes of weather for some thousand years,

without sustaining any other injury than the suffocation of the

smoke-vents--defects which could no doubt be repaired with little

trouble. But as the relics of former ages receive additional interest

from their rude and ruinous appearance, so must these monuments of

fairy genius excite in the breasts of the community the most profound

sentiments of respect and veneration.

Nor are these the only monuments remaining calculated to perpetuate

their excellence as architects and engineers,--there are others of

too lasting and extraordinary a character to escape the notice of the

traditional historian. We allude to those stupendous superstructures

built by the fairies under the auspices of that distinguished

arch-architect Mr. Michael Scott, which sufficiently demonstrate the

skill of the designer and the ability of the workmen. As the history

of this celebrated character (rendered not the less interesting by the

notices of him written by the Minstrel of Minstrels) is not yet quite

complete, we shall make no apology for submitting to the reader the

following anecdotes of his life, which we have collected in the course

of our peregrinations.

MICHAEL SCOTT.

In the early part of Michael Scott’s life he was in the habit, as is

not yet uncommon with northern tradesmen, of emigrating annually to the

Scottish metropolis, for the purpose of being employed in his capacity

of mason. One time, as himself and two companions were journeying to

the place of their destination for a similar object, they had occasion

to pass over a high hill, the name of which is not mentioned, but

supposed to be one of the Grampians, and being fatigued with climbing,

they sat down to rest themselves. They had no sooner done so than they

were warned to take to their heels by the hissing of a large serpent,

which they observed revolving itself towards them with great velocity.

Terrified at the sight, Michael’s two companions fled, while he, on

the contrary, resolved to encounter the serpent. The appalling monster

approached Michael Scott with distended mouth and forked tongue; and,

throwing itself into a coil at his feet, was raising its head to

inflict a mortal sting, when Michael, with one stroke of his stick,

severed its body into three pieces. Having rejoined his affrighted

comrades, they resumed their journey; and, on arriving at the next

public-house, it being late, and the travellers being weary, they took

up their quarters at it for the night. In the course of the night’s

conversation, recurrence was naturally had to Michael’s recent exploit

with the serpent, when the landlady of the house, who was remarkable

for her “arts,” happened to be present. Her curiosity appeared much

excited by the conversation; and, after making some inquiries regarding

the colour of the serpent, which she was told was _white_, she offered

any of them, that would procure her the middle piece, such a tempting

reward, as induced one of the party instantly to go for it. The

distance was not very great; and, on reaching the spot, he found the

middle and tail piece in the place where Michael left them; but the

head piece was gone, it is supposed, to a contiguous stream, to which

the serpent is said always to resort, after an encounter with the human

race, and, on immersing itself into the water, “like polypus asunder

cut,” it again regenerates and recovers. On the other hand, it is a

circumstance deserving the attention of the medical world, that should

an individual, unfortunate enough to be bitten by this galling enemy

of mankind, reach the water before the serpent, his recovery from the

effects of the calamity is equally indubitable.

The landlady, on receiving the piece, which still vibrated with life,

seemed highly gratified at her acquisition; and, over and above the

promised reward, regaled her lodgers very plentifully with the choicest

dainties in her house. Fired with curiosity to know the purpose for

which the serpent was intended, the wily Michael Scott was immediately

seized with a severe fit of indisposition,--an excruciating colic, the

pains of which could only be alleviated by continual exposure to the

fire, the warmth of which, he affirmed, was in the highest degree

beneficial to him.

Never suspecting Michael Scott’s hypocrisy, and naturally supposing

that a person so severely indisposed should feel very little curiosity

about the contents of any cooking utensils which might lie around the

fire, the landlady consented to his desire of being allowed to recline

all night along the fireside. As soon as the other inmates of the house

were retired to bed, the landlady resorted to her darling occupation;

and, in this feigned state of indisposition, Michael had a favourable

opportunity of watching most scrupulously all her actions, through

the key-hole of a door leading to the next apartment where she was.

He could see the rites and ceremonies with which the serpent was put

into an oven, along with many mysterious ingredients. After which,

the unsuspicious landlady placed it by the fireside, where lay our

distressed traveller, to stove till the morning.

Once or twice, in the course of the night, the “wife of the

change-house,” under pretence of inquiring for her sick lodger, and

administering to him some renovating cordials, the beneficial effects

of which he gratefully acknowledged, took occasion to dip her finger in

her saucepan, upon which the cock, perched on his roost, crowed aloud.

All Michael’s sickness could not prevent him from considering very

inquisitively the landlady’s cantrips, and particularly the influence

of the sauce upon the crowing of the cock. Nor could he dissipate some

inward desires he felt to follow her example. At the same time that he

suspected that Satan had a hand in the pye, yet he liked very much to

be at the bottom of the concern; and thus his reason and his curiosity

clashed against each other for the space of several hours. At length,

passion, as is too often the case, became the conqueror. Michael,

too, dipt his finger in the sauce, and applied it to the tip of his

tongue, and immediately the cock perched on the _spardan_ announced the

circumstance in a mournful clarion. Instantly his mind received a new

light to which he was formerly a stranger, and the astonished dupe of a

landlady now found it her interest to admit her sagacious lodger into a

knowledge of the remainder of her secrets.

Endowed with the knowledge of “_good and evil_,” and all the

“_second sights_” that can be acquired, Michael left his lodgings in

the morning, with the philosopher’s stone in his pocket. By daily

perfecting his supernatural attainments, by new series of discoveries,

he was more than a match for Satan himself. Having seduced some

thousands of Satan’s best workmen into his employment, he trained them

up so successfully to the architective business, and inspired them

with such industrious habits, that he was more than sufficient for the

architectural work of the empire. To establish this assertion, we need

only refer to some remains of his workmanship still existing north of

the Grampians, some of them stupendous bridges built by him in one

short night, with no other visible agents than two or three workmen.

As the following anecdote is so applicable to our purpose, we shall

submit it to the reader as a specimen of the expertness of Mr. Scott

and his agents.

On one occasion, work was getting scarce, as might have been naturally

expected, and his workmen, as they were wont, flocked to his doors,

perpetually exclaiming, Work! work! work! Continually annoyed by their

incessant entreaties, he called out to them in derision to go and make

a dry road from Fortrose to Arderseir over the Moray Firth. Immediately

their cry ceased, and as Mr. Scott supposed it wholly impracticable for

them to execute his order, he retired to rest, laughing most heartily

at the chimerical sort of employment he had given to his industrious

workmen. Early in the morning, however, he got up and took a walk down

at the break of day to the shore, to divert himself at the fruitless

labours of his zealous workmen. But on reaching the spot, what was his

astonishment to find the formidable piece of work allotted to them only

a few hours before almost quite finished. Seeing the great damage the

commercial class of the community would sustain from the operation, he

ordered them to demolish the most part of their work; leaving, however,

the point of Fortrose to show the traveller to this day the wonderful

exploit of Michael Scott’s fairies.

On being thus again thrown out of employment, their former clamour was

resumed, nor could Michael Scott, with all his sagacity, devise a plan

to keep them in innocent employment. He at length discovered one. “Go,”

says he, “and manufacture me ropes that will carry me to the back of

the moon, of those materials, _miller’s-sudds_ and sea-sand.” Michael

Scott here obtained rest from his active operators; for, when other

work failed them, he always dispatched them to their rope-manufactory.

“But,” says our relator, “though these agents could never make proper

ropes of those materials, their efforts to that effect are far from

being contemptible,--for some of their ropes are seen by the seaside

till this blessed day.”

We shall close our notice of Michael Scott by reciting one anecdote of

him in the latter end of his life, which, on that account, will not be

the less interesting.

In consequence of a violent quarrel which Michael Scott once had with

a person whom he conceived to have caused him some injury, Michael

resolved, as the highest punishment he could inflict upon him, to send

his adversary to that evil place designed only for Satan and his black

companions. He, accordingly, by means of his supernatural machinations,

sent the poor unfortunate man thither; and had he been sent by any

other means than those of Michael Scott, he would no doubt have met

with a warm reception. Out of pure spite to Michael, however, when

Satan learned who was his billet-master, he would no more receive him

than he would receive the Wife of Beth; and, instead of treating the

unfortunate man with that harshness characteristic of him, he showed

him considerable civilities. Introducing him to his “_Ben Taigh_,” he

directed her to show the stranger any curiosities he might wish to see,

hinting very significantly that he had provided some accommodations for

their mutual friend Michael Scott, the sight of which might afford him

some gratification. The polite housekeeper, accordingly, conducted the

stranger through the principal apartments in the house, where he saw

sights which, it is hoped, the reader will never witness. But the bed

of Michael Scott!--his greatest enemy could not but feel satiate with

revenge at the sight of it. It was a place too horrid to be described,

filled promiscuously with all the horrid brutes imaginable. Toads

and lions, lizards and leeches, and, amongst the rest, not the least

conspicuous, a large serpent gaping for Michael Scott, with its mouth

wide open. This last sight having satisfied the stranger’s curiosity,

he was led to the outer gate, and came off with far more agreeable

reflections than when he entered.

He reached his friends, and, among other pieces of news touching his

travels, he was not backward in relating the entertainment that awaited

his friend Michael Scott, as soon as he would _stretch his foot_ for

the other world. But Michael did not at all appear disconcerted at

his friend’s intelligence. He affirmed that he would disappoint the

d--l and him both in their expectations. In proof of which, he gave

the following signs: “When I am just dead,” says he, “open my breast,

and extract my heart. Carry it to some place where the public may see

the result. You will then transfix it upon a long pole, and if Satan

will have my soul, he will come in the likeness of a black raven, and

carry it off; and if my soul will be saved, it will be carried off by

a white dove.” His friends faithfully obeyed his instructions. Having

exhibited his heart in the manner directed, a large black raven was

observed to come from the east with great fleetness; while a white dove

came from the west with equal velocity. The raven made a furious dash

at the heart, missing which, it was unable to curb its force, till it

was considerably past it; and the dove, reaching the spot at the same

time, carried off the heart amidst the cheers and ejaculations of the

spectators.

CHAPTER IV.

OF THEIR DOMESTIC ECONOMY AND FESTIVE HABITS.

It is well known that the fairies are a sociable people, passionately

given to festive amusements and jocund hilarity. Hence, it seldom

happens that they cohabit in pairs, like most other species, but rove

about in bands, each band having a stated habitation or residence, to

which they resort as occasion suggests.

Their habitations are generally found in rough irregular precipices and

broken caverns, remarkable for wildness of scenery, from whence we may

infer that they are particularly fond of what we term the Romantic.

These habitations are composed of stones, in the form of irregular

turrets, of such size and shapes as the nature of the materials and

the taste of the architect happened to suggest, and so solid in their

structure as frequently to resemble “masses of rocks or earthen

hillocks.”

Their doors, windows, smoke-vents, and other conveniences, are so

artfully constructed, as to be invisible to the naked eye in day-light,

though in dark nights splendid lights are frequently reflected through

their invisible casements.

Within those “_Tomhans_,” or, as others term them, “Shian,” sociality

and mirth are ever the inmates,--and they are so much addicted to

dancing, that it forms their chief and favourite amusement. The length

of their reels will be judged of from the following narrative:

“Once upon a time, a tenant in the neighbourhood of Cairngorm in

Strathspey emigrated with his family and cattle to the forest of

Glenavon, which is well known to be inhabited by many fairies as well

as ghosts. Two of his sons having been one night late out in search

of some of their sheep which had strayed, they had occasion to pass

a fairy turret, or dwelling, of very large dimensions; and what was

their astonishment on observing streams of the most refulgent light

shining forth through innumerable crevices in the rock--crevices which

the sharpest eye in the country had never seen before. Curiosity led

them towards the turret, when they were charmed by the most exquisite

sounds ever emitted by a fiddle-string, which, joined to the sportive

mirth and glee accompanying it, reconciled them in a great measure to

the scene, although they knew well enough the inhabitants were fairies.

Nay, overpowered by the enchanting jigs played by the fiddler, one

of the brothers had even the hardihood to propose that they should

pay the occupants of the turret a short visit. To this motion the

other brother, fond as he was of dancing, and animated as he was by

the music, would by no means consent, and very earnestly inculcated

upon his brother many pithy arguments well calculated to restrain his

curiosity. But every new jig that was played, and every new reel that

was danced, inspired the adventurous brother with additional ardour;

and at length, completely fascinated by the enchanting revelry,

leaving all prudence behind, at one leap he entered the ‘Shian.’ The

poor forlorn brother was now left in a most uncomfortable situation.

His grief for the loss of a brother whom he dearly loved suggested to

him more than once the desperate idea of sharing his fate, by following

his example. But, on the other hand, when he coolly considered the

possibility of sharing very different entertainment from that which

rung upon his ears, and remembering, too, the comforts and conveniences

of his father’s fireside, the idea immediately appeared to him any

thing but prudent. After a long and disagreeable altercation between

his affection for his brother and his regard for himself, he came to

the resolution of trying a middle course;--that is, to send in at the

window a few remonstrances to his brother, which if he did not attend

to, let the consequences be upon his own head. Accordingly, taking his

station at one of the crevices, and calling upon his brother, three

several times, by name, as use is, he sent in to him, as aforesaid,

the most moving pieces of elocution he could think upon,--imploring

him, as he valued his poor parent’s life and blessing, to come forth

and go home with him, Donald Macgillivray, his thrice affectionate and

unhappy brother. But, whether it was he could not hear this eloquent

harangue, or, what is more probable, that he did not choose to attend

to it, certain it is, that it proved totally ineffectual to accomplish

its object,--and the consequence was, that Donald Macgillivray found

it equally much his duty and his interest to return home to his family

with the melancholy tale of poor Rory’s fate. All the prescribed

ceremonies calculated to rescue him from the fairy dominion were

resorted to by his mourning relatives without effect, and Rory was

supposed as lost for ever, when a _wise man_ of the day having learned

the circumstance, set them upon a plan of having him delivered at the

end of twelve months from his entry. ‘Return,’ says the _Duin Glichd_

to Donald, ‘to the place where you lost your brother, a year and a day

from the time. You will insert in your garment a Rowan Cross, which

will protect you from the fairies’ interposition. Enter the turret

boldly and resolutely, in the name of the Highest claim your brother,

and, if he does not accompany you voluntarily, seize him and carry him

off by force,--none dare interfere with you.’”

The experiment appeared to the cautious contemplative brother as one

that was fraught with no ordinary danger, and he would have most

willingly declined the prominent character allotted to him in the

performance of it, but for the importunate entreaty of his friends, who

implored him, as he valued their blessing, not to slight such excellent

advice. Their entreaties, together with his confidence in the virtues

of the Rowan Cross, overcame his scruples, and he, at length, agreed to

put the experiment in practice, whatever the result might be.

Well then, the important day arrived, when the father of those two

sons was destined either to recover his lost son, or to lose the only

son he had, and, anxious as the father felt, Donald Macgillivray,

the intended adventurer, felt no less on the occasion. The hour of

midnight approached, when the drama was to be acted, and Donald

Macgillivray, loaded with all the charms and benedictions in his

country, took mournful leave of his friends, and proceeded to the scene

of his intended enterprise. On approaching the well-known turret, a

repetition of that mirth and those ravishing sounds, that had been the

source of so much sorrow to himself and family, once more attracted

his attention, without at all creating in his mind any extraordinary

feelings of satisfaction. On the contrary, he abhorred the sounds most

heartily, and felt much greater inclination to recede than to advance.

But what was to be done? courage, character, and every thing dear to

him, were at stake--so that to advance was his only alternative. In

short, he reached the “_Shian_,” and after twenty fruitless attempts,

he at length entered the place with trembling footsteps, and, amidst

the brilliant and jovial scene, the not least gratifying spectacle

which presented itself to Donald was his brother Rory earnestly

engaged at the Highland Fling on the floor, at which, as might have

been expected, he had greatly improved. Without losing much time in

satisfying his curiosity, by examining the quality of the company, he

ran to his brother, repeating, most vehemently, the words prescribed

to him by the “_Wise man_”--seized him by the collar, and insisted he

should immediately accompany him home to his poor afflicted parents.

Rory assented, provided he would allow him to finish his single reel,

assuring Donald, very earnestly, that he had not been half an hour in

the house. In vain did the latter assure the former, that, instead of

half an hour, he had actually remained twelve months. Nor would he have

believed his overjoyed friends on reaching home, “did not the calves,

now grown into stots, and the newborn babes, now travelling the house,

at length convince him, that in his single reel he had danced for a

twelvemonth and a day.”

This reel, however, in which Rory Macgillivray had been engaged,

although it may be considered of pretty moderate length, will form but

a short space in a night’s entertainment, of which the following is a

brief account:

“Nearly three hundred years ago, there lived in Strathspey two men,

greatly celebrated for their performances on the fiddle. It happened

upon a certain Christmas time that they had formed the resolution of

going to Inverness, to be employed in their musical capacities during

that festive season. Accordingly, having arrived in that great town,

and secured lodgings, they sent round the newsman and his bell, to

announce to the inhabitants their arrival in town, and the object of

it, their great celebrity in their own country, the number of tunes

they played, and their rate of charge per day, per night, or hour.

Very soon after, they were called upon by a venerable-looking old man,

grey-haired and somewhat wrinkled, of genteel deportment and liberal

disposition; for, instead of grudging their charges, as they expected,

he only said that he would double the demand. They cheerfully agreed

to accompany him, and soon they found themselves at the door of a very

curious dwelling, the appearance of which they did not at all relish.

It was night, but still they could easily distinguish the house to be

neither like the great Castle Grant, Castle Lethindry, Castle Roy,

or Castle-na-muchkeruch at home, nor like any other house they had

seen on their travels. It resembled a huge fairy ‘Tomhan,’ such as

are seen in Glenmore. But the mild persuasive eloquence of the guide,

reinforced by the irresistible arguments of a purse of gold, soon

removed any scruples they felt at the idea of entering so novel a

mansion. They entered the place, and all sensations of fear were soon

absorbed in those of admiration of the august assembly which surrounded

them; strings tuned to sweet harmony soon gave birth to glee in the

dwelling. The floor bounded beneath the agile ‘_fantastic toe_,’ and

gaiety in its height pervaded every soul present. The night passed on

harmoniously, while the diversity of the reels and the loveliness of

the dancers presented to the fiddlers the most gratifying scene they

ever witnessed; and in the morning, when the ball was terminated, they

took their leave, sorry that the time of their engagement was so short,

and highly gratified at the liberal treatment which they experienced.

But what was their astonishment, on issuing forth from this strange

dwelling, when they beheld the novel scene which surrounded them.

Instead of coming out of a castle, they found they had come out of a

little hill, they knew not what way; and on entering the town they

found those objects which yesterday shone in all the splendour of

novelty, to-day exhibit only the ruins and ravages of time, while the

strange innovations of dress and manners displayed by their numerous

spectators filled them with wonder and consternation. At last a mutual

understanding took place between themselves and the crowd assembled to

look upon them, and a short account of their adventures led the more

sagacious part of the spectators to suspect at once that they had been

paying a visit to the inhabitants of _Tomnafurich_, which, not long

ago, was the grand rendezvous of many of the fairy bands inhabiting

the surrounding districts; and the arrival of a very old man on the

spot set the matter fairly at rest. On being attracted by the crowd,

he walked up to the two poor old oddities, who were the subject of

amazement, and having learned their history, thus addressed them: ‘You

are the two men my great-grandfather lodged, and who, it was supposed,

were decoyed by Thomas Rymer to Tomnafurich. Sore did your friends

lament your loss--but the lapse of a hundred years has now rendered

your name extinct.’

“Finding every circumstance conspire to verify the old man’s story,

the poor fiddlers were naturally inspired with feelings of reverential

awe at the secret wonders of the Deity--and it being the Sabbath-day,

they naturally wished to indulge those feelings in a place of worship.

They, accordingly, proceeded to church, and took their places, to

hear public worship, and sat for a while listening to the pealing

bells, which, while they summoned the remainder of the congregation to

church, summoned them to their long homes. When the ambassador of peace

ascended the sacred place, to announce to his flock the glad tidings of

the Gospel--strange to tell, at the first word uttered by his lips, his

ancient hearers, the poor deluded fiddlers, both crumbled into dust.”

CHAPTER V.

OF THE PASSIONS AND PROPENSITIES OF THE FAIRIES.

The ingenious reader must not suppose that, because the fairies were

once angelic, they have continued so in this corrupt world to the

present day. They will be found to exhibit in their conduct as signal

proofs of degeneracy from their original innocence and worth as their

mortal contemporary, man; and, as may be concluded, this degeneracy

has entailed upon them those passions and infirmities, from which they

were, no doubt, once on a time exempt.

The fairies are remarkable for the amorousness of their dispositions,

and are not very backward in forming attachments and connections with

the people that cannot with propriety be called their own species. We

are told it is an undeniable fact, that it was once a common practice

with both sexes of the fairy people to form intimacies with human

swains and damsels, whom they would visit at times and in places

highly unbecoming and suspicious; and these improper intimacies

not unfrequently produced, as may be well believed, _their natural

consequences_. It exposed the fairy-females to that indisposition to

which, before their fall, they were no doubt strangers--we mean the

pains of child-birth, which, it seems, they suffer in common with

their earthly neighbours. To the more sceptical part of our readers,

the idea of fairy fruition may appear somewhat incredible. In order,

however, to remove any doubt on the subject, we submit the particulars

of a fairy accouchement, which took place, no doubt, “a considerable

time ago,” in the wilds of Cairngorm:

“A considerable time ago there was a woman living in the neighbourhood

of Cairngorm in Strathspey, by profession a midwife, of extensive

practice, and esteemed, indeed, the best midwife in the district. One

night, while she was preparing for bed, there came a loud knocking

to her door, indicating great haste in the person that knocked. The

midwife was accustomed to such late intrusions, and concluded, even

before she opened the door, that her presence was too much required

at a _sick-bed_. She found the person that knocked to be a rider and

his horse, _both out of breath_, and most impatient for her company.

The rider entreated the midwife to make haste, and jump up behind him

without a single moment’s delay, else that the life of an amiable

woman was lost for ever. But the midwife, having a great regard to

cleanliness and decorum, requested leave to exchange her apparel before

she set out; a motion which, on the part of the rider, was met with

a decided negative, and nothing would satisfy the rider but that the

midwife would immediately jump up behind him on his grey horse. His

importunities were irresistible, the midwife mounted, and off they

flew at full gallop. The midwife being now seated, and fleeing on the

road, she began naturally to question her guide what he was--where he

was going--and how far. He, however, declined immediately making any

other reply to her questions than merely saying that she would be well

rewarded, which, however consoling, was far from being satisfactory

information to the midwife. At length the course they pursued, and the

road they took, alarmed the midwife beyond measure, and her guide found

it necessary to appease her fears by explaining the matter, otherwise

she would, in all probability, prove inadequate to the discharge of

her duty. ‘My good woman,’ says the fairy to the midwife, ‘be not

alarmed; though I am conducting you to a fairy habitation to assist a

fairy lady in distress, be not dismayed, I beseech you; for I promise

you, by all that is sacred, you shall sustain no injury, but will

be safely restored to your dwelling when your business is effected,

with such boon or present as you shall choose to ask or accept of.’

The fairy was a sweet good-looking young fellow, and the candour of

his speech and the mildness of his demeanour soothed her fears, and

reconciled the _Ben Ghlun_, in a great measure, to the enterprise.

They were not long in reaching the place, when the midwife found the

fairy lady in any thing but easy circumstances, and soon proved the

auspicious instrument of bringing to the world a fine lusty boy. All

was joy and rejoicing in consequence, and all the fairies in the

turret flattered and caressed the midwife. She was desired to choose

any gift in the power of fairies to grant, which was instantly to be

given her. Upon which she asked, as a boon, that whomsoever she or her

posterity should attend in her professional capacity, a safe and speedy

delivery should be insured them. The favour was instantly conferred on

her, and all know to this day that _Muruch-na-Ban_, the man-midwife,

possesses, in no inconsiderable degree, the professional talents of his

great-grandmother.”

Before concluding this chapter, we owe it, in justice to both the human

and fairy communities of the present day, to say, that such intercourse

as that described to have taken place betwixt them is now extremely

rare; and, with the single exception of a good old shoemaker, now or

lately living in the village of Tomantoul, who confesses having had

some dalliances with a “_lanan shi_” in his younger days, we do not

know personally any one who has carried matters this length.

CHAPTER VI.

OF THE FAIRY’S EMBEZZLING AND CRIMINAL PROPENSITIES.

But, although the correspondence now subsisting between the human and

fairy people is much more chaste and innocent than it was of old, still

it appears that the strong predilection which the fairies entertained

for human society is far from being yet extinguished. It is no doubt

the existence of this predilection on the part of the former, and the

increasing shyness on the part of the latter, that could induce the

fairies to resort to those dishonest methods to which they now recur,

to have their passion for human society gratified.

We presume the reader is aware that the fairies are much addicted to

that heinous crime child-stealing--a crime which these people, in

consequence, no doubt, of their long experience in the practice, commit

with wonderful address. Often have they robbed the inexperienced mother

of her tender babe in the height of day, while his place is taken by an

impudent impostor, whose sham sickness and death entail on the unhappy

parent an additional load of misery. To warn unsuspicious mothers of

the dangers to which themselves and their offspring are exposed from

fairy practices, the following narrative may be of use:

“There were once two natives of Strathspey who were in the habit

of dealing a little in the whisky way--that is to say, they were

accustomed occasionally to visit a family in Glenlivat, from whom they

would buy a few barrels, which they would again dispose of among the

gentlemen of Badenoch and Fort-William, to pretty good account; and on

those occasions, for reasons well known to every district gauger, (an

evil death to him!) the Strathspeymen always found it most convenient

to travel by night. Well, then, on one of those occasions, as they

were busy measuring the whisky in the friend’s house at Glenlivat, a

little child belonging to the goodman, and which lay in the cradle,

uttered a piteous cry, as if it had been shot. The goodwife, according

to custom, blessed her child, and, as she supposed, raised it from the

cradle. Ascribing the cry merely to infantine frailty or fretfulness,

the Strathspeymen took no particular notice of it, and having their

business transacted, they proceeded on their way with their cargo.

A short distance from their friend’s house, they were not a little

astonished to find a little child abandoned on the high road, without a

being in sight of it. One of the lads took it up in his arms, on which

it ceased its plaintive cries, and with great fondness clasped his

little hands round his neck, and smiled. This naturally excited some

curiosity, and on closer examination they clearly recognised it to be

their friend’s child. Suspicion was instantly attached to the fairies,

and this suspicion was a great deal strengthened by the circumstance of

the cry uttered by the child, as already mentioned. Indeed, they came

to an immediate conclusion that the fairies, having embezzled the real

child, then in their possession, and deposited a stock or substitute in

its place, it was the lucky presence of mind discovered by its mother

in blessing it, on its having uttered the cry, that rescued it from

fairy dominion, for no sooner was the blessing pronounced than they

were compelled to abandon the child. As their time was limited, they

could not with convenience immediately return to their friend’s house

to solve the mysterious occurrence, but proceeded on their journey,

taking special care of their little foundling.

“In about a fortnight thereafter, having occasion for a few barrels

more, they returned to Glenlivat, taking the child along with them,

which, however, they concealed on arriving at the father’s house.

In the course of mutual inquiries for each other’s welfare, the

goodwife took occasion to lament very bitterly a severe and protracted

illness which seized her child on the night of their preceding visit,

the nature of which illness could not be ascertained, but, at all

events, certain death was the consequence to the child. During this

lamentation, the impostor uttered the most piteous cries, and appeared

in the last stage of his sufferings; upon this, the lads, without any

preliminary remarks, produced their little charge, telling the mother

to take courage, that they now presented her with her real child, as

healthy and thriving as a trout, and that the object of her great

solicitude was nothing more than a barefaced fairy impostor. A short

statement of facts induced the happy mother to agree to an exchange,

she receiving back her child, and the lads the stock or impostor,

to whom his new proprietors proceeded to administer a warm specific

commonly given to his kin on similar occasions. They procured an old

creel and a bunch of straw, in order to try the effects the burning

element would have in curing him of his grievous complaints. But at the

appearance of those articles, the stock took the hint, and not choosing

to wait a trial of its effects, flew out at the smoke-hole, telling the

exulting spectators, on attaining the top of the ‘_Lum_,’ that, had it

not been for the unfortunate arrival of the two travellers, he should

have given the inmates very different entertainment.”

When we reflect upon the extreme covetousness manifested by the fairies

for human children, the frequent instances of their embezzlement, and,

on the other hand, the ease and simplicity by which these robberies

can be foiled, we feel persuaded neither mother nor nurse will now

neglect the safeguards prescribed for the preservation of children

from such practices. It is universally allowed by people conversant in

those important matters, that suspending the child’s head downwards,

on its being dressed in the morning, is an excellent preservative from

every species of supernatural agency, and this is certainly a cheap and

simple process. A red thread tied about its neck, or a rowan cross,

are said to be equally efficacious in preventing the influence of evil

spirits, evil eyes, and other calamities of the same description.

But as it is natural to suppose that those precautions will still

be sometimes neglected, as they have always too often been, it is

fortunate that a remedy has been discovered for those desperate cases,

where repentance for past imprudence would not avail. When a child has

actually been stolen, and a stock or substitute left in its stead,

the child may be recovered in the following manner:--Let the stock be

carried to the junction of three shires, or the confluence of three

rivers, where it is to be left for the night; and it is a certain fact,

that if the child has been stolen by the fairies, they must, in the

course of the night, return the genuine offspring, and take away the

spurious one.[C]

But children are not the only objects of their envy. They are equally

covetous of pregnant females at a certain juncture, when they embrace

every opportunity of securing them, well knowing that, by such

acquisitions, they obtain a double bargain. The process of stealing

women is the same as that of stealing children, only their ranges in

quest of such prizes are much more extensive, as the following story

will show:

“There was once a courageous clever man, of the name of John Roy, who

lived in Glenbrown, in the parish of Abernethy. One night, as John

Roy was out traversing the hills for his cattle, he happened to fall

in with a fairy banditti, whose manner of travelling indicated that

they carried along with them some booty. Recollecting an old, and, it

seems, a faithful saying, that the fairies are obliged to exchange

any booty they may possess for any return, however unequal in value,

on being challenged to that effect, John Roy took off his bonnet, and

threw it towards them, demanding a fair exchange in the emphatic Gaelic

phrase, _Sluis sho slumus Sheen_.[D] It was, no doubt, an unprofitable

barter for the fairies. They, however, it would appear, had no other

alternative but to comply with John Roy’s demand; and in room of the

bonnet, they abandoned the burden, which turned out to be nothing more

nor less than a fine fresh lady, who, from her dress and language,

appeared to be a _Sasonach_. With great humanity, John Roy conducted

the unfortunate lady to his house, where she was treated with the

utmost tenderness for several years; and the endearing attentions paid

to her by John and his family won so much her affections as to render

her soon happy in her lot. Her habits became gradually assimilated to

those of her new society; and the Saxon lady was no longer viewed in

any other character than as a member of John Roy’s family.

“It happened, however, in the course of time, that the _new king_ found

it necessary to make the great roads through those countries by means

of soldiers, for the purpose of letting coaches and carriages pass to

the northern cities; and those soldiers had officers and commanders

in the same way as our fighting army have now. Those soldiers were

never great favourites in these countries, particularly during the

time that our own kings were alive; and, consequently, it was no easy

matter for them, either officers or men, to procure for themselves

comfortable quarters. But John Roy forgot the national animosity

of his countrymen to the _Cotton Darg_ (red coat), when the latter

appealed to his generosity as an individual; and he, accordingly,

did not hesitate to offer an asylum under his roof to a _Saxon_

captain and his son, who commanded a party employed in his immediate

neighbourhood. His offer was thankfully accepted of, and while the

strangers were highly delighted at the cleanliness and economy of the

house and family of their host, the latter was quite satisfied with

the frankness and urbanity of manners displayed by his guests. One

thing, however, caused some feelings of uneasiness to John Roy, and

that was the extreme curiosity manifested by them, whenever they were

in the company or presence of his English foundling, on whom their eyes

were continually rivetted, as if she were a ghost or a fairy. On one

occasion, it happened that the captain’s son lapsed into a state of

the profoundest meditation, gazing upon this lady with silent emotion.

‘My son,’ says the captain, his father, ‘tell me what is the cause of

your deep meditation?’--‘Father,’ replies the sweet youth, ‘I think on

the days that are gone; and of my dearest mother, who is now no more.

I have been led into those reflections by the appearance of that lady

who is now before me. Oh, father! does she not strikingly resemble

the late partner of your heart; she for whom you so often mourn in

secret?’--‘Indeed, my son,’ replied the father, ‘the resemblance has

frequently recurred to me too forcibly. Never were twin sisters more

like; and, were not the thing impossible, I should even say she was my

dearest departed wife;’--pronouncing her name as he spoke, and also

the names of characters nearly connected to both parties. Attracted by

the mention of her real name, which she had not heard repeated for a

number of years before, and attracted still more by the nature of their

conversation, the lady, on strict examination of the appearance of the

strangers, instantly recognised her tender husband and darling son.

Natural instinct could be no longer restrained. She threw herself upon

her husband’s bosom; and Ossian, the son of Fingal, could not describe

in adequate terms the transports of joy that prevailed at the meeting.

Suffice it to say, that the _Saxon_ lady was again restored to her

affectionate husband, pure and unblemished as when he lost her, and

John Roy gratified by the only reward he would accept of--the pleasure

of doing good.”

From the sequel of the story, it appears that some of the hordes of

fairies, inhabiting the “Shian of Coir-laggack,” found it convenient,

for purposes which may be easily guessed at, to take a trip to the

south of England, and made no scruple to kidnap this lady in the

absence of her husband, and on the occasion of her accouchement. A

stock was, of course, deposited in her stead--which, of _course_, died

in a few days after--and which, of _course_, was interred in the full

persuasion of _its_ being the lady in question, with all the splendour

which her merits deserved. Thus would the perfidious fairies have

enjoyed the fruits of their cunning, without even a suspicion of their

knavery, were it not for the “cleverness and generosity of John Roy,

who once lived in Glenbrown.”

The natural passions, lusts, and covetousness of which we have now

shown the fairies to be possessed, are not, however, our only grounds

for calling in question the fitness of their title to angelic nature

and attributes. For it will be seen, from some traits in their

character about to be detailed, that their appetites are as keen and

voluptuous as their inclinations are corrupt and wicked. Our readers

would be apt to believe, from the first outline of their character,

that they were an amiable, harmless race of people, strictly honest,

and given entirely to innocent amusements. But it is a fact too well

known, that many of them are employed in very different avocations

from mirth and dancing; for, to repeat an old Scottish proverb, “if

a’ tales be true,” thieving and blackguarding occupy fully as much of

their time as mirth and dancing. And what is still worse, it is much

suspected that their proneness to theft and knavery is not so much the

effect of necessity, as it is the effect of wanton depravity. However

base and degrading in the eyes of society appears the thief, even when

his deviation from honesty is the result of _sheer_ necessity, he

appears infinitely more so when he is solely led to the commission of

crimes from wanton levity. Hence the indignation which a worthy man

feels, whenever those pilfering depredators embezzle the fruits of his

honest industry. The _whirlwind_ is not the alone engine of robbery to

which the fairies resort; they recur to others of a more direct and

ruinous character; while the loser, from the speciousness of their

artifices, is seldom conscious of the true cause of his loss. In order

to expose the wantonness of such pillage as they will be shown to be

guilty of, we need only call our reader’s attention to the extent of

the indisputable perquisites which they derive from fire and other

calamities incident to the estate of man, many of which calamities, we

are told, are accomplished by their agency. As, however, we would not

readily accuse them of crimes so atrocious, without some foundation,

we submit the following particulars to the judgment of our readers,

leaving them to draw their own inferences.

“One day a fairy woman, residing in the turrets of Craig-Aulnaic,

called on one of the tenants’ wives in Delnabo, in her neighbourhood,

and requested of her the loan of a firlot of oatmeal for meat to her

family, promising she would return it in a very short time, as she

herself hourly expected a considerable supply. Not choosing, for so

small a trifle, to incur the fairy’s displeasure, the tenant’s wife

complied with her request, from the same motives as if she had been the

exciseman. After regaling the fairy with a dram and bread and cheese,

as is the custom of the country, she went out to give her the customary

convoy. On ascending the eminence above the town, the ‘_Benshi_’

paused, and, with apparent exultation, told the tenant’s wife that she

might take her meal home with her, as she herself was now supplied as

she expected. The woman, without putting any impertinent questions

to the lady as to the source whence her supply proceeded, cheerfully

agreed to receive back her meal, and took leave of her visitor. She

was not a little surprised, however, to observe, in a few minutes

thereafter, the corn-kiln of an adjacent farm in total conflagration,

with all its contents.”

Over and above this, all liquids spilled on the ground are supposed

to go to their use; and there are some people even so charitable as

purposely to reserve for their participation a share of the best they

possess. It is not unlikely that such generous actions were in some

degree influenced by such returns as the following:--

“Once upon a time, a farmer, in Strathspey, was engaged sowing a field

upon his farm, and, as is not uncommon, he accompanied his labours

with a cheerful song. Now the fairies are very fond of music, and

not less so of spoil,--and whether it was the music or the seed that

attracted her most to the spot, certain it is, that a fairy damsel,

of great beauty and elegance, presented herself to the farmer. She

requested of him, as a particular favour, to sing her an old Gaelic

song, ‘_Nighan Donne na Bual_;’ and, when this favour was granted

her, she sought of him a present of corn. Although he had far less

objections to her first request than he had to her second, he did

not flatly refuse her, but he did what any prudent man would do in

similar circumstances,--he inquired what she would give him in return.

She answered, that, provided he granted her request, his seed would

not the more speedily fail him; and this assurance she enforced with

a look so significant, as to induce him at once to supply her very

liberally from his bag. She then departed, and he resumed his work.

He was soon after very agreeably surprised, when he found that, after

sowing abundantly a large field, wont to take five times the bulk

of his bag, it appeared equal in size and weight to what it was when

he met with the fairy nymph. Far from being in the least confounded

at the agreeable circumstance, he threw his bag over his shoulder,

highly satisfied at the act of munificence he did in the morning, and

sowed with it another field of equal extent, without its exhibiting

any appearance of diminution. Perfectly satisfied now with his day’s

labour, he returned home, fully determined to take care of his bag.

But, just as he was entering the barn door, who met him but his wife,

‘who was a foolish talkative hussey, having a tongue as long, and a

head as empty, as the parish church bell.’ With her usual loquacity she

accosted him, expressing her astonishment at the unaccountable nature

of the sack, that had thus sown half their farm,--expressing, moreover,

very notable suspicions of the cause. Now it is well known that,

whenever any supernatural agency is challenged, the spell is instantly

broken. So that the clashmaclavering Jezebel had scarcely uttered those

inconsiderate and highly reprehensible words, when the burden on the

farmer’s back became an empty bag. ‘I’ll be your death, you foolish,

foolish woman,’ exclaimed her woe-struck husband; ‘were it not for your

imprudent talk, this bag were worth its weight of gold.’”

Such relations as the foregoing should go very far to induce every

prudent and foreseeing man to be on as friendly a footing as possible

with those capricious and all-powerful people, especially when their

friendship is to be purchased on such reasonable terms as those of

which we have just read. The unhappy hero of the following narrative

was convinced, when too late, of the truth of this observation.

“A farmer, who at one time occupied the farm of Auchriachan, of

Strathavon, was one day searching for his goats in a remote hill

in Glenlivat, and what came on but a thick hazy fog, which marred

his way, and bewildered his senses. Every stone, magnified by the

delusion of the moment, appeared a mountain; every rivulet seemed

to him to run in an opposite direction to its usual course; and the

unhappy traveller thought of his fireside, which he expected never to

see more. Night came on apace; its horrific gloom, as it approached,

dispelled the unhappy wanderer’s forlorn hopes, and he now sat down to

prepare for the world that has no end. Involved in perplexity at his

unhappy situation, he threw a mournful look on the gloomy scene around

him, as if to bid the world an eternal adieu,--when, lo! a twinkling

light glimmered on his eye. It was a cheering blink that administered

comfort to his soul. His frigid limbs, which lately refused their

office, recovered their vigour. His exhausted frame became animated

and energetic: and he immediately directed his course towards the

light, which, from its reflection, seemed not far distant. On reaching

the place, however, his joy was a good deal damped when he examined

the nature of the place whence the light reflected. A human foot

never seemed to have visited the scene; it was one of wildness and

horror. Life, however, is exceedingly sweet when we are on the brink

of losing it, and necessity had so far subdued every vestige of fear,

that _Auchriachan_ resolved at all hazards to take a night’s lodging

with the inmates, whatever their nature or calling might be. The door

was open, and he entered the place. His courage, however, was a good

deal appalled, on meeting at the door an old female acquaintance,

whose funeral he had recently attended, and who, it appeared, acted in

this family in the capacity of housewife. But this meeting, however

disagreeable it proved to Auchriachan in one respect, ultimately turned

out a fortunate circumstance for him, inasmuch as his old acquaintance

was the happy means of saving his life. On observing Auchriachan--for

that was the farmer’s title--enter the abode, she instantly ran towards

him, and told him he was done for, unless he chose to slip in into a

bye-corner off the principal apartment, where he had better remain

until she found an opportunity of effecting his escape. The advice of

the friendly housekeeper he thought it prudent to adopt, and he was

accordingly content to hide himself in a crevice in the apartment.

Scarce had he done so, when there entered the dwelling an immense

concourse of fairies, who had been all day absent upon some important

expedition; and being well appetized by their journey, they all cried

out for some food. Having all sat in council, the question proposed

for discussion was, ‘What was their supper to consist of?’--When an

old sagacious looking fairy, who sat in the chimney corner, spoke as

follows: ‘Celestial gentlemen, you all know and abhor that old miserly

fellow the taxman of Auchriachan. Mean and penurious, he appropriates

nothing to us; but, on the contrary, disappoints us of our very dues.

By learning too well the lesson taught him by his old and wizened

grand-mother, nothing escapes a blessing and a safeguard; and the

consequence is, that we cannot interfere with the gleanings on his

fields, far less the stock and produce. Now, Auchriachan himself is not

at home this night; he is in search of his goats, our allies,[E]--his

less careful household have neglected the customary safeguards; and,

lo! his goods are at our mercy. Come, let us have his favourite ox to

supper.’--‘Bravo!’ exclaimed the whole assembly; ‘the opinion of Thomas

Rymer is always judicious; Auchriachan is certainly a miserable devil,

and we shall have his favourite ox to supper.’--‘But whence shall we

procure bread to eat with him?’ inquired a greedy-looking fairy. ‘We

shall have the new baken bread of Auchriachan,’ replied the sagacious

and sage counsellor, Mr. Rymer; ‘for he is a miserly old fellow--he

himself is not at home, and his wife has forgot to cross the first

bannock.’--‘Bravo!’ exclaimed the whole assembly. ‘By all means, let us

have the new baken bread of Auchriachan.’

“Thus did Auchriachan, honest man, who, indeed, was not at home,

with no very grateful feelings, learn the fate of his favourite ox,

without, however, dissenting from the general voice that pronounced

his doom. And, in pursuance of the same unpleasant decision, he had

the additional mortification to see his ill-fated ox deliberately

introduced by the nose and killed in his presence. Meantime,

when all were engaged cooking the ox, the officious housekeeper

took occasion, under pretence of some other errand, to relieve

Auchriachan from his uncomfortable seclusion. On issuing forth from

Mr. Rymer’s council-chamber, Auchriachan found the mist had entirely

disappeared--the stones were now of their natural size--the rivulets

now ran their usual course--the moon threw her silver mantle over the

lately murky scene, and he had now no difficulty to make his way home,

lamenting most sincerely the lot of his favourite ox.

“On arriving at home, he was cordially welcomed by his happy family,

whose great anxiety for his safety was probably the cause of the

omission of that duty that poor Auchriachan had so much cause to

deplore. His overjoyed wife, supposing her husband to be no doubt in a

hungry case, provided a basket of new baked bread and milk, and urged

him to eat, for sure he might well be hungry. He did not, however, mind

her solicitude for his comfort--he was sorry and sullen, and cared not

for the provision, particularly the bread, well knowing it was only

an abominable phantom. At last he inquired, ‘Which of you served the

oxen this night, my lads?’--‘It was I, my father,’ replied one of his

sons. ‘And did you mind the customary safeguard?’--‘Indeed,’ says the

son, ‘from my great agitation for the fate of my father, I believe I

forgot.’--‘Alas! alas!’ exclaimed the affectionate farmer, ‘my dear

and favourite ox is no more!’--‘What!’ exclaims one of his sons, ‘I

saw him alive not two hours ago!’--‘It was only a fairy stock,’ says

Auchriachan. ‘Bring him out here until I dispatch him.’ The farmer

then, venting the most unqualified expressions of his indignation upon

the stock and its knavish proprietors, struck it such a pithy blow on

the forehead as felled it to the ground. Rolling down the brae, at the

back of the house, to the bottom, there it lay and the bread along with

it, both unmolested; for it was a remarkable circumstance, that neither

dog nor cat ever put a tooth on the carcase.”

It now only remains for us to describe the most heinous of all their

crimes, a crime which we are peculiarly reluctant to bring so openly

to light, did not our impartiality as an historian compel us. This

crime consists in their destruction of human beings, and their cattle,

by means of their magical dart, commonly called an elf-bolt. Those

bolts are of various sizes, of a hard yellowish substance, resembling

somewhat the flint, for which they are no bad substitutes. The bolt

is very frequently of the shape of a heart, its edges being indented

like a saw, and very sharp at the point. This deadly weapon the wicked

fairy will throw at man or beast with such precision as seldom to

miss his aim; and whenever it hits, the stroke is fatal. Such is the

great force with which it is flung, that on its striking the object it

instantaneously perforates it to the heart, and a sudden death is the

consequence. In the blinking of an eye, a man or an ox is struck down

cold-dead, and, strange to say, the wound is not discernible to an

ordinary person, unless he is possessed of the charm that enables some

wise people to trace the course of the bolt, and ultimately discover it

in the dead body.--Note, whenever this fatal instrument is discovered,

it should be carefully preserved, as it defends its possessor from the

fatal consequences of the “_Fay_,” so long as he retains it about him.

Having now travelled over the leading traits of the fairy’s character,

publicly and privately, we shall now conclude our treatise of him by

subjoining a few of the most approved cures and safeguards, which

afford protection from his dangerous practices. An abler historian

might be disposed to offer some learned observations on the strange

incongruity of character exhibited by the fairy in the preceding

sketches, and endeavour, if he could, to reconcile them so as to form

any thing like a rational subject. As a plain unvarnished compiler,

however, we have discharged our duty; we have detailed, to the best

of our ability, the fairy’s character, according to the nature of our

materials; and if our delineations are strange and inconsistent, the

fault lies either with the fairy or his professed historians, and not

with the mere machine, _ourself_, the compiler.

Go to the summit of some stupendous cliff or mountain, where any

species of quadruped has never fed nor trod, and gather of that herb

in the Gaelic language called “_Mohan_,” which can be pointed out by

any “_wise_ person.” This herb you will give to a cow, and of the milk

of that cow you are to make a cheese, and whoever eats of that cheese

is for ever after, as well as his gear, perfectly secure from every

species of fairy agency.

A piece of torch fir carried about the person, and a knife made of

iron which has never been applied to any purpose, are both excellent

preservatives.

A piece of cold iron or steel put into the bed of a lady “_uneasy

in her circumstances_” will protect mother and offspring from being

“_Fayed_.”

PART III.

Brownies.

Brownie has got a cowl and coat,

And never more will work a jot.

BROWNIES.

Although this mysterious and very useful agent has now become very

rare among the Highland mountains, it appears that, at one time, he

was the common appendage of every family of rank in those countries.

Hence, his history and character are well known; and his memory still

retains a powerful interest in the minds of the inhabitants. It may

not, therefore, be improper to give a condensed account of the most

prominent traits of the Highland Brownie’s character, to enable the

reader to compare his manners and habits with those of the Brownie of

Bodspeck, or any other Brownie with the manners of whom he may happen

to be acquainted.

With regard to the Brownie’s origin, it is a point that is involved in

much obscurity. It was always a peculiar trait in his character, that

he never would favour his earthly acquaintances with any information

regarding his own private affairs. From some resemblance the Brownie

bore to the Fairy, joined to a similarity of habits, it was shrewdly

suspected by the more discriminating sort of people, that if he were

not actually a member of the Fairy people, he was, at least, a mongrel

species of them. But on this important topic the sagacious Brownie

himself opened not his mouth; leaving them to argue the matter as they

thought proper.

In his personal appearance, the Highland Brownie was highly

interesting. His person was not quite so tall as that of the Fairy, but

it was well proportioned and comely; and, from the peculiar brownness

of his complexion, he received the appellation of _Brownie_.

In his manners and habits he differed widely from all the supernatural

beings of his day; inasmuch as he was laborious and faithful to his

master’s interest--content to labour day and night for no other fee

or reward than a scanty diet, and occasionally a suit of cast-off

apparel. Hence, the possession of so cheap and useful an agent was

an acquisition highly desirable. But he was what neither money nor

interest could procure. Having once united himself to the founder of an

ancient family, he adhered to him and to his issue so long as he had

any lineal posterity; and hence it is, that the Brownie was only found

the heir-loom of an ancient and honourable family.

Unexampled for his fidelity, he was the indefatigable guardian and

promoter of his adopted master’s interest; and, from his powers of

prophecy and information, his services were truly invaluable. Over the

servants he was always a vigilant and faithful spy, ready to give a

faithful account of their good or bad actions; and hence it followed,

that with these he was very seldom on a good understanding. So that,

if the Brownie was left to the servants’ mercy, he would not, in all

likelihood, fare the better for his fidelity. But if the master had any

regard to his own interest, he was careful to have seen him properly

cared for in his meat and in his drink, which care was rewarded by the

most unlimited devotion to his interest.

The last two brownies known in this quarter of the Highlands were long

the appendages of the ancient family of Tullochgorm in Strathspey. They

were male and female, and, for aught we know, they might likewise have

been man and wife. The male was of an exceedingly jocose and humorous

disposition, often indulging in little sports at the expense of his

fellow-servants. He had, in particular, a great trick of flinging clods

at the passengers, and from thence he got the name of “_Brownie-Clod_.”

He had, however, with all his humour, a great deal of simplicity about

him, and became, in his turn, the dupe of those on whom he affected

to play. An eminent instance of this appears from a contract into

which he foolishly entered with the servants of Tullochgorm, whereby

he bound and obliged himself to thrash as much corn and straw as two

men could do for the space of a whole winter, on condition he was to

be gratified with an old coat and a Kilmarnock cowl, pieces of apparel

for which, it seems, he had a great liking. While the servants were

reclining themselves at their ease upon the straw, poor Brownie-Clod

thrashed on unremittingly, and performed such Herculean tasks as no

human constitution could bear for a week together. Some time before the

expiry of the contract, the lads, out of pure gratitude and pity, left

the coat and cowl for him on a mow of corn in the barn, on receipt of

which he instantly struck work, and with the greatest triumph at the

idea of taking in his acquaintances, he sneeringly told them, that,

since they were so foolish as to give him the coat and cowl before he

had wrought for them, he would now decline to thrash another sheaf.

“Huar Prownie coad agus curochd

Agus cha dian Prownie opar tullidh.”

The female was more pawky in her ways; and, instead of being a

laughing-stock to the female-servants with whom she wrought, she

was a sort of a mistress over them. She was seldom on good terms

with them, in consequence of the fidelity with which she reported

their neglect of duty to their master or mistress. It was her custom

to wear a superabundance of hair, in consequence of which, she was

commonly called “_Maug Vuluchd_,” or “Hairy Mag.” Mag was an honest

and excellent housekeeper, and had the service of the table generally

assigned her, in which capacity she was extremely useful. The dexterity

and care with which she covered the table, always invisible, was

not less amusing to strangers than it was convenient to their host.

Whatever was called for came as if it floated on the air, and lighted

on the table with the utmost ease and celerity; and, for cleanliness

and attention, she had not her equal in this land.

PART IV.

Water-Kelpies.

When thaws dissolve the snawy hoord,

An’ float the jingling icy boord,

The water-kelpies haunt the foord,

By your direction,

And nightly travellers are allur’d

To their destruction.

BURNS’ _Address to the Deil_.

WATER-KELPIES.

In the former and darker ages of the world when people had not half

the wit and sagacity they now possess, and when, consequently, they

were much easier duped by such designing agents, the “Ech Uisque,”

or _Water-Horse_, as the Kelpie is commonly called, was a well-known

character in those countries. The Kelpie was an infernal agent,

retained in the service and pay of Satan, who granted him a commission

to execute such services as appeared profitable to his interest. He

was an amphibious character, and generally took up his residence in

lochs and pools, bordering on public roads and other situations, most

convenient for his professional calling.

His commission consisted in the destruction of human beings, without

affording them time to prepare for their immortal interests, and thus

endeavour to send their souls to his master, while he, the Kelpie,

enjoyed the body. However, he had no authority to touch a human being

of his own free accord, unless the latter was the aggressor. In order,

therefore, to delude public travellers and others to their destruction,

it was the common practice of the Kelpie to assume the most fascinating

form, and assimilate himself to that likeness which he supposed most

congenial to the inclinations of his intended victim. The likeness

of a fine riding steed was his favourite disguise. Decked out in the

most splendid riding accoutrements, the perfidious Kelpie would place

himself in the weary traveller’s way, and graze by the road-side with

all the seeming innocence and simplicity in the world. The traveller,

supposing this fine horse to have strayed from his master, and

considering him as a good _catch_ for carrying him a part of the way,

would approach the horse with the greatest caution, soothing it with

_proogy proogy_, and many other terms of endearment, in the event of

his taking to his heels, as wild horses are sometimes apt to do. But

this horse knew better what he was about; he was as calm and peaceable

as a lamb, until his victim was once fairly mounted on his back; with

a fiend-like yell he would then announce his triumph, and plunging

headlong with his woe-struck rider into an adjacent pool, enjoy him

for his repast. The following curious relation, communicated to the

compiler by the celebrated Mr. Wellox, who possesses the precious relic

captured from the kelpie alluded to in the story, will complete all the

information that is necessary regarding this once formidable entrapper

of mankind:

“In the time of my renowned ancestor, Mr. James Macgrigor, (rest to his

soul!) who was well known to be a good man, and a man of great strength

and courage in his day, there was a most mischievous water-kelpie that

lived in Lochness, and which committed the most atrocious excesses on

the defenceless inhabitants of the surrounding districts. It was the

common practice of this iniquitous agent to prowl about the public

roads, decked out in all the trappings of a riding horse, and in this

disguise place himself in the way of the passenger, who often took it

into his head to mount him, to his no small prejudice; for upon this

the vicious brute would immediately fly into the air, and in a jiffy

light with his rider in Lochnadorb, Lochspynie, or Lochness, where he

would enjoy his victim at his leisure. Filled with indignation at the

repeated relations he had heard of the kelpie’s practices, my ancestor,

Mr. Macgrigor, ardently wished to fall in with his kelpieship, in order

to have a bit of a communing with him touching his notorious practices.

And Providence, in its wise economy, thought it meet that Mr. Macgrigor

should be gratified in his wish.

“One day as he was travelling along ‘_Slochd Muichd_,’ a wild and

solitary pass on the road between Strathspey and Inverness, whom did

he observe but this identical water-kelpie, browsing away by the

road-side with the greatest complacency, thinking, no doubt, in his

mind, that he would kidnap Mr. Macgrigor as he had done others. But

in this idea he found himself wofully mistaken! For no sooner did Mr.

Macgrigor espy him, than he instantly determined to have a trial of

his mettle. Accordingly, marching up to the horse, who thought, no

doubt, he was just coming to mount him, Mr. Macgrigor soon convinced

him of the contrary by drawing his trusty sword, with which he dealt

the kelpie such a pithy blow on the nose, as almost felled him to the

ground. The stroke maltreated the kelpie’s jaw very considerably,

cutting through his bridle, in consequence of which, one of the bits,

being that which you have just examined, fell down on the ground.

Observing the bit lying at his feet, Mr. Macgrigor had the curiosity

to pick it up, whilst the astonished kelpie was recovering from the

effects of the blow, and this bit Mr. Macgrigor carelessly threw

into his pocket. He then prepared for a renewal of his conflict with

its former owner, naturally supposing the kelpie would return him

his compliment. But what was Mr. Macgrigor’s surprise, when he found

that, instead of retorting his blow, and fighting out the matter to

the last, the kelpie commenced a cool dissertation upon the injustice

and illegality of Mr. Macgrigor’s proceedings. ‘What is your business

with me?’ says he. ‘What is your business with me, Mr. Macgrigor? I

have often heard of you as a man of great honour and humanity; why,

therefore, thus abuse a poor defenceless animal like me, let me be

a horse, or let me be a kelpie, so long as I did you no harm? In my

humble opinion, Mr. Macgrigor,’ continued the kelpie, ‘you acted both

cruelly and illegally; and certainly your conduct would justify me, if

I should return you twofold your assault upon me. However, I abominate

quarrels of this sort,’ says the conciliatory kelpie, ‘and if you

peaceably return me the bit of my bridle, we shall say no more on the

subject.’ To this learned argument of the kelpie Mr. Macgrigor made

no other reply than flatly denying his request, in the first place;

and, in the second place, mentioning, in pretty unqualified terms,

his opinion of his character and profession. ‘It is true,’ replied

the other, ‘that I am what you call a kelpie; but it is known to my

heart, that my profession was never quite congenial to my feelings.

We kelpies engage in many _disagreeable undertakings_. But, as the

proverb says, Necessity has no law; and there is no profession that

a man or spirit will not sometimes try, _for the sake of an honest

livelihood_: so you will please have the goodness to give me the bit of

my bridle.’ Observing the great anxiety evinced by the kelpie to have

the bit of his bridle restored to him, and feeling anxious to learn

its properties, my sagacious ancestor immediately concocted a plan,

whereby he might elicit from the poor dupe of a kelpie an account of

its virtues. ‘Well, Mr. Kelpie,’ says Mr. Macgrigor, ‘all your logic

cannot change my opinion of the criminality of your profession, though,

I confess, it has somewhat disarmed me of my personal hostility to

you as a member of it; I am, therefore, disposed to deliver up to you

the bit of your bridle, but it is on this express condition, that you

will favour me with an account of its use and qualities, for I am

naturally very _curious_, do you know.’ To this proposition the kelpie

joyfully acceded, and thus addressed Mr. Macgrigor: ‘My dear sir, you

must know that such agents as I are invested by our Royal Master with

a particular commission, consisting of some document delivered to us

by his own hand. The commission delivered to a kelpie consists in a

bridle invested with all those powers of transformation, information,

and observation, necessary for our calling; and wherever we lose

this commission, whether voluntarily or by accident, our power is

at an end, and certain annihilation within four and twenty hours is

the consequence. Had it not been that my bridle was broken by your

matchless blow, I must be so candid as to declare, I might have broken

every bone in your body; but now you are stronger than myself, and you

can be half a kelpie at your pleasure: only please to look through the

holes of the bit of the bridle, and you will see myriads of invisible

agents, fairies, witches, and devils, all flying around you, the

same as if you had been gifted with the second-sight, and all their

machinations clearly exposed to your observation.’--‘My dear sir,’

replied my ancestor, ‘I am much obliged to you for your information;

but I am sorry to inform you, that your relation has so endeared the

bit of your bridle to myself, that I have resolved to keep it for your

sake. I could not persuade myself to part with it for any consideration

whatever.’--‘What!’ exclaimed the petrified Kelpie, ‘do you really

mean, in the face of our solemn agreement, to retain the bit of my

bridle?’--‘I not only mean it, but I am resolved on it,’ replies my

ancestor, who immediately proceeded to make the best of his way home

with the bit. ‘Come, come,’ the Kelpie would perpetually exclaim, ‘you

have carried the joke far enough, you surely do not mean to keep my

bridle?’--‘Time will show,’ was always his laconic answer. The Kelpie

still continued his earnest entreaties, interlarded with anecdotes of

great squabbles which he had formerly had with as powerful characters

as Mr. Macgrigor, and which always ended to his eminent advantage,

but which, he politely insinuated, he would be sorry to see repeated.

But when his grief and solicitude for his bridle began to evince

themselves in a threatening aspect, a single flourish of his trusty

sword disarmed him of all his might, and made him calm as a cat. At

length, when they arrived in sight of Mr. Macgrigor’s house, his grief

and despair for his bridle became perfectly outrageous. Galloping off

before Mr. Macgrigor, the Kelpie told him as he went, that he and the

bit should never pass his threshold together; and, in pursuance of

this assurance, he planted himself in Mr. Macgrigor’s door, summoning

up all his powers for the impending conflict. However, James Macgrigor

resolved, if possible, to evade the Kelpie’s decree; and accordingly

going to a back window in his house, he called his wife towards him,

and threw the bit of the Kelpie’s bridle into her lap. He then returned

to the Kelpie, who stood sentry at his door, and told him candidly he

was a miserable legislator; for that, in spite of his decree, the bit

of his bridle was that moment in his wife’s possession. The Kelpie, now

finding himself fairly outwitted, saw the vanity of contending with

James Macgrigor and his claymore, for what could not be recovered. As

there was a rowan cross above the door, his kelpieship could no more

enter the house than he could pass through the eye of a needle; and he,

therefore, thought it best to take himself off, holding forth, at the

same time, the most beastly language to my ancestor, which he most

sincerely despised.”

PART V.

Spunkies.

An’ oft your moss-traversing spunkies

Decoy some wight that late and drunk is;

The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies

Delude his eyes,

Till in some miry slough he sunk is,

Ne’er more to rise.

BURNS’ _Address to the Deil_.

SPUNKIES.

The Spunkie is another of those now-retired ministers, formerly

employed by the Enemy of mankind to accomplish their destruction.

And, in all truth, he could not have taken into his pay a servant

more faithful to his trust than the spunkie. Whenever the traveller

had the misfortune to lose his way, or whenever there was a prospect

of deluding him from it, this vigilant _link-boy_ was ever at hand,

to light him into far worse quarters than even the purlieus of Covent

Garden.

Suddenly the traveller’s attention was arrested by the most resplendent

light, apparently reflected from a window not far distant; which,

however, as the traveller approached, receded from him like the

rainbow. Still pursuing his course towards it, the wily spunkie

manœuvred so dexterously, that the unhappy wanderer was speedily

decoyed into the nearest moss or precipice. Plunging headlong into some

fatal abyss, the deluded victim never returned to his mourning wife and

family, to relate to them the spunkie’s perfidy.

Happily now, however, the roads are better, and travellers more

cautious. All the glittering meteors of the spunkie cannot make the

knowing Highlander of the present day turn to the right or to the left.

So that the spunkie has now shut shop, and become bankrupt in his

department.

PART VI.

Witchcraft.

When Satan, for weighty dispatches,

Sought messengers cunning and bold,

He pass’d by the beautiful faces,

And pick’d out the ugly and old.

VOLLE.

CHAPTER I.

ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT.

We are now come to consider and describe the ancient and well-known

order of Witchcraft; the nature and object of which require very little

explanation in a country where it has been so long established as in

Scotland. Taking a retrospective view of the rise and progress of this

once flourishing institution, we are told it was founded by the Grand

Master, shortly after the creation of the world. That the wickedness

of the inhabitants having kept pace with their increase, Satan found

work multiplying so fast on his hands, that his own spiritual minions,

numerous as they were, became inadequate to their employment. Being

seldom blind to his own interest, the idea of enlisting a few human

instruments to supply their deficiencies naturally suggested itself to

his fertile genius, and such has been the thirst for magic and power,

which has at all times pervaded the old women of those countries, that

he never had great difficulty in procuring abundance of volunteers to

join his banners.

Having thus established his new order of emissaries, Satan found them

to answer his purposes uncommonly well. They drudged on in his work

so laboriously, and with such good success, that he found them more

profitable tools, for deluding and _hooking-in_ the best portion of

mankind, than his own proper agents, whose means of communication and

seduction were much more confined and disadvantageous. Accordingly, he

has found it his interest to continue the institution to this day.

It will, no doubt, prove a matter of some astonishment to the amiable

and considerate reader, how any body that has the honour of wearing

a human face could think of espousing so desperate a cause, for the

sake of any gratification which Satan’s kingdom affords. Common fame

errs too much, if he is at all a liberal master to those who are his

servants, for it is said he seldom or never fulfils his conditions with

any one of them. Though mighty forward to enter into pactions, and

extraordinarily liberal in his terms while making a bargain, he is said

to be far less ready to perform his share of the conditions when it is

once concluded; and what is still worse, when he forfeits a penalty,

there is no law that can exact it of him. Accordingly, we have heard of

not a few deluded mortals, who sold themselves to him for sums of money

and other considerations, but never yet heard of his having paid the

purchase money.

So once fared a poor needy wretch of a Highlandman, that bartered his

soul to Satan for a cow, and who never could get the latter to fulfil

his bargain. It is no doubt true, that after much importunity he did at

length perform his stipulation, in a way not very creditable to him.

Urgently importuned by the disponer to give him his cow, he ultimately

fetched him one, which was but a few hours in his possession, when it

was challenged by a third party as his stolen property; unwilling to

explain how he came by it, the poor fellow was flung into a prison,

and speedily brought before the laird for trial. In this distressing

situation, the disponer was compelled to tell the truth and the manner

he came by the cow, not doubting but that the disclosure would have

at once exculpated him from the charge. But unfortunately for him,

his ingenuous confession failed of its object, and the poor man was

condemned to the _wuddie_, reserving to him such recourse against Satan

as he might be advised to adopt.