{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29969/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29969","id":"gutenberg_29969","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29969","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Other","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Celtic Magazine","Clans -- Scotland -- Periodicals","Scotland -- Periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Tamise Totterdell and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CELTIC MAGAZINE.\n\nNo. III. JANUARY 1876.\n\n\nTHE STATE OF THE OSSIANIC CONTROVERSY.\n\n[CONTINUED.]\n\n\nMR ARNOLD in that handsome, but slightly ambiguous admission of his,\nthat the Celts in their intellectual capacity come very near the secret\nof nature and of natural magic, does not seem to imply more in reality\nthan that they have a subtler sense of certain natural affinities than\ntheir Anglo-Saxon brethren have; that they apprehend more surely when,\nwhere, and how the truest impress of physical nature occurs on the\npercipient faculties of the soul, than men of a more phlegmatic\nconstitution do; and that they can draw from such intuitions of their\nown a sort of inspiration, or second-sight of nature, comparable to\nprophecy, which gives their highest poetic utterance a rapt\nenthusiasm--and the accuracy of this estimate need not be disputed, but,\nso far as Ossian is concerned, it must be considerably extended. To read\nOssian as we do, from the text of Macpherson, there was another sort of\ninsight, purely scientific, into the mysteries of nature, inherited and\nexpressed by him; a certain acquaintance with her hidden powers, and a\ncertain augury of her possible future development, if men could only\nattain to it, far beyond the mere rapt enthusiasm of a poet, or the\nso-called second-sight of a seer. Whether this peculiar faith of his was\nderived by tradition, and if so, from whom; or whether it was the result\nof practical experiment in his own generation, is foreign for the moment\nto our present inquiry. But that it was relied upon as an endowment of\nthe most gifted heroes; that it was exercised by them in extremity, as\nif to subdue nature from whom they had borrowed it, and to wrest the\nvery power of destruction out of her hand; and that such practical\nconquest was sometimes achieved by them, or is said to have been\nachieved by them, is just as certain as that Macpherson's translation is\nbefore us now. What we refer to more especially for the present, is the\nsecret of extracting or discharging electricity from the atmosphere by\nmechanical means--by the thrust of a spear, or of a sword, into the\nbosom of the low-hanging cloud, or lurid vapour, and so dislodging the\nimaginary spirit of evil by which they were supposed to be tenanted.\nOnly the very best, and bravest, and wisest could prevail in such\nconflict with nature; but they did prevail, according to Ossian; and the\nweapons of their warfare, and the mode of their assault, were precisely\nsimilar to what an experimentalist in electricity might employ at the\npresent day, or to what the Egyptians employed in the days of Moses. We\nshall not now go further back in the prosecution of this inquiry, but\nwould seriously recommend the reader who has any difficulty on the\nsubject to compare, at his leisure, the work of Moses on the top of\nMount Sinai and elsewhere, with an Egyptian \"rod\" in his hand, and the\nexploits of Fingal in conflict with the Spirit of Loda on the heights of\nHoy, with a sword in his hand. There might have been a far-derived and\nlong traditional secret connection between the two, most edifying, or at\nleast most curious, to investigate; or they might both have resulted\nfrom that sort of intuition which only the most gifted of any nation\nenjoy independently, re-appearing again in Franklin, and now\nfamiliarised to the world. Let those who doubt, or who differ on this\npoint, satisfy themselves. What we are now concerned to maintain and\nprove is, that the fact is more than once described by Ossian, in\ncircumstances, in situations, and with instrumentalities, which render\nthe allegation of it at least indubitable. In the case above referred\nto, for example, Fingal, challenged and assaulted in a thunderstorm by\nthe Spirit of Loda, encounters his antagonist with a sword, on the very\nverge of a cliff overhanging the Atlantic; and by one or two scientific\nthrusts, with incredible daring, disarms the cloud, dissipates the\nstorm, and sends his atmospheric adversary shrieking down the wind with\nsuch violence that \"Innistore shook at the sound; the waves heard it on\nthe deep, and stopped on their course with fear.\" The scene is described\nin that well-known passage in _Carric-Thura_, which Macpherson himself\ncharacterises as \"the most extravagant fiction in all Ossian's poems.\"\n\nNow the question as regards the authenticity or reliability of this very\npassage, is whether Macpherson understood the meaning of it; what it\nrepresented, where the conflict occurred, or how it happened? It has\nbeen sufficiently demonstrated elsewhere--in \"Ossian and the Clyde,\" pp.\n311-324--that the encounter took place near the celebrated \"Dwarfie\nStone\" on the western headland of Hoy in the Orkneys--a region more\nremarkable for its sudden electric gatherings and violent atmospheric\ncurrents than almost any other in Great Britain, and at that particular\nspot so much so, that the very scene described in Ossian has been\nselected by Walter Scott for a similar electrical display in the\n\"Pirate.\" But of this obvious fact, and of all that is connected with it\nin his own translation, Macpherson is so ignorant that he not only does\nnot point it out, but does not understand it, and cannot even conjecture\nwhere it was. His great antagonist Laing is equally at fault on the\nsubject, and by way of exposing, as he believes, the dishonesty of\nMacpherson, endeavours to show that in patching up his account\nMacpherson had mistaken Thurso for Thura. Macpherson, in fact, knew\nnothing either about Thurso or Thura--even less than Laing did; and it\nis only in the work above cited that either the scene has been\nidentified, or the encounter explained.\n\nHere, then, is a question, not of linguistic criticism, but of\nscientific fact--of geographical position, of atmospheric agency--which\nshould be disposed of on its own merits, and which, like many others of\nthe same sort, must ultimately transfer the whole inquiry to a much\nhigher field than that of syllables and syntax.\n\nBut the description in question, it may be objected, is very much\nexaggerated, and therefore cannot be relied on: which is the very\nobjection Macpherson himself urged--that it is \"the most extravagant\nfiction in all Ossian's poems.\" But if that was the case in his opinion,\nhow could the passage be his own? It was easy enough either to remedy or\nexplain it, if he could explain it, or not to introduce it. On the other\nhand, when rightly understood, there is no undue exaggeration in the\naccount at all--not more than might be reasonably expected from a poet\nof the highest sensibility and the most vivid imagination in describing\nan incomprehensible natural phenomenon; not more, for example, than in\n\"the sound of a trumpet and the voice of words\" on Mount Sinai. Still it\nis not the question of descriptive exaggeration, but of scientific fact,\nthat is now before us; and if the whole of the so-called conflict of\nFingal with the Prince of the Power of the Air on Roraheid in Hoy was so\nutterly inexplicable to Macpherson, both as to place and character, that\nhe speaks of it hopelessly as a story \"concerning ghosts,\" on what\nprinciple of critical consistency, or of common sense, can he be said to\nhave been the author of it? If the Septuagint translators, for example,\nhad added a note of their own on the giving of the Law at Sinai, to the\neffect that it appeared \"the most extravagant fiction\" to them, at the\nsame time transferring, in defiance of their own text, the entire scene\nfrom one end of the Red Sea to the other, would any reader in his senses\naccuse the Seventy of having fabricated not only the two chapters in\nquestion, but the whole Book of Exodus--even although the original had\nbeen now lost? Their very simplicity and ignorance would have acquitted\nthem. Yet Macpherson, in similar circumstances, is to be held guilty,\nalthough he could have more easily cleared himself by altering or\nomitting the whole passage, than a man in London could prove by an\n_alibi_ that he had been guilty of no forgery at Inverness or Edinburgh\nsix hours before! But if this hitherto incomprehensible passage in\nOssian be genuine then the entire poem of _Carric-Thura_, which is\nidentified with it in every word and syllable from beginning to end,\nmust be genuine also.\n\nIn the same sort of field, but without the addition of supernatural\nagency, we have another scene of scientific import in the _War of\nInisthona_. Inisthona, according to Macpherson, was on the coast of\nNorway--he did not know where; Inisthona, according to Laing, was a\nwilful corruption of Inis-owen in Lough Foyle; Inisthona, in point of\nfact, was Iceland--as clearly and distinctly so in Macpherson's own\ntext, as latitude, longitude, and physical configuration can make it;\nfar more distinctly recognisable than any _Ultima Thule_ of the Romans.\nBut here, in this Inisthona, we have first a fountain surrounded with\nmossy stones, in a grassy vale, at the head of a bay; then a wilderness\nof half a day's journey inland; then a lake at the end of the wilderness,\nexhaling pestilential vapours, called Lake Lano--but no volcano visible\nas yet: and in Iceland we have still the basin of the fountain,\nsurrounded with its mossy stones, petrified and dried up by volcanic heat,\nat the head of the bay; we have still the dreary wilderness beyond it,\nnow scorched and blackened, ending in the Plain of Thingvalla, where the\nKing of Denmark was entertained more than a twelvemonth ago; we have\nstill the lake beyond that, where it should be, but now relieved of its\nsulphurous vapours by eruptive jets of steam in its neighbourhood; and\nbesides, we have now Mount Hecla in active operation, by whose accumulated\nfires and dreadful discharges, since Ossian's day, the whole island has\nbeen torn and desolated. Here, therefore, again, the same question of\nfact arises, and must be disposed of by all reasonable inquirers. In this\none identification we have geography, geology, history, and navigation\ncombined, beyond Macpherson's own comprehension--earthquakes, subterranean\nfires, latent volcanic forces; a beautiful island where there is now\ndesolation; and a warlike people occupying its soil, subject to the Danes\n600 years and more before the Danes themselves are supposed to have\ndiscovered it. In the face of such a revelation as this, nowhere else to\nbe found but in Ossian, what does it signify that the Gaelic text of\n_Inisthona_ has perished? The fact that it survives in English is only\na greater miracle, for which we are indebted solely to the patience and\nfidelity of a man who has been called a liar and an impostor.\n\nOne more miracle has yet to be added in the same field--viz., that Lake\nLego or Lough Neagh in Ireland, and Lake Lano in Iceland, both emitting\npestilential vapours, are geographically connected in Ossian with\nsubterranean volcanic movements which pass from Ireland, by the west\ncoast of Scotland, through the Orkneys to Inisthona; and thus the latest\ntheories of the most accomplished geologists have been anticipated more\nthan a hundred years before their announcement, by the work of a man who\nis supposed to have had no original to guide him, and who himself had\nnot the remotest idea of what his own words conveyed.\n\nIt remains then, after such illustrations, for those who still deny the\nauthenticity of Ossian to declare whether they have ever studied him;\nand for those who still wrangle about the style of Macpherson's\nso-called Gaelic to decide whether they will continue such petty warfare\namong vowels and consonants, and ill-spelt medi\u00e6val legends, when the\nscience, the history, the navigation, the atmospheric phenomena, and the\nimpending volcanic changes of Western Europe fifteen hundred years ago,\nare all unveiled and detailed, with an accuracy and a minuteness beyond\ncavil or competition, in the matchless English translation before them.\nWill our most erudite grammarians never understand? Would they abandon\nGenesis, shall we say, because _Elohim_ and _Jehovah_ are sometimes\ninterchanged in the text? Can they believe that any Jew, who could\nconcoct a book like Genesis, did not also know that _Elohim_ was a\nplural noun? Can they any more, then, believe that a Celtic man with\nbrains enough to fabricate poems like _Fingal_ and _Temora_ did not know\nthat the Gaelic name for the sun was feminine? Can they see no other way\nof accounting for such alleged variations of gender, and number, and\ncase, than by forgery, when the very forger himself must have seen them?\nOr do they seriously prefer some letter of the Gaelic alphabet to a law\nof nature? Will they forego the facts of an epoch, for the orthography\nof a syllable? If so, then the friends of Ossian, who is one great mass\nof facts, must turn once more to the common sense of the public, and\nleave his etymological detractors at leisure to indulge their own\npredilections, and to entertain one another.\n\nIn the present aspect of the controversy, indeed, the only antagonists\nentitled to anything like a patient hearing are the respectable,\nperhaps venerable, geologists and antiquarians who still lodge or\nlinger about the Roman Wall; who talk, with a solemn air, about stern\nfacts; who are also fortified by the authority of Hugh Miller and Smith\nof Jordanhill, and are led on to continuous defeat on their own ground,\nunder the auspices of the _Scotsman_, who knows well how to shut the\ndoor politely in any man's face who pursues them. These gentlemen are\nfar from being either unimportant or unworthy antagonists, if they would\nonly speak intelligently for themselves and not allow their credit to be\nusurped by some nameless reviewer in a newspaper, who may know less\nabout the whole matter in dispute than they do about Sanscrit. But let\nthem have patience. Their favourite haunts, and impregnable strongholds,\nabout Dunglass and Duntocher, shall be investigated with religious care;\nand the waters of the Clyde, as high as they will honestly flow, let in\nupon them without ceremony or remorse. As for the others, who, with no\ngreat semblance of either grace or grammar to support them, persist in\naffirming, with point-blank stolid effrontery, that Macpherson \"must\nhave been an impostor,\" and that Ossian is a \"fudge\"--they may safely be\nconsigned in silence to their legitimate fate.\n\n                                                     P. HATELY WADDELL.\n\n                   (_To be Concluded in our next._)\n\n\n\n\nTO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE.\n\nA LOCHABER LILT.\n\n\n    A health to thee, Stuart Blackie!\n      (I drink it in _mountain dew_)\n    With all the kindliest greetings\n      Of a heart that is leal and true.\n    Let happen what happen may\n      With others, by land or sea;\n    For me, I vow if I drink at all,\n      I'll drink a health to thee.\n\n    A health to thee, Stuart Blackie!\n      A man of men art thou,\n    With thy lightsome step and form erect,\n      And thy broad and open brow;\n    With thy eagle eye and ringing voice\n      (Which yet can be soft and kind),\n    As wrapped in thy plaid thou passest by\n      With thy white locks in the wind!\n\n    I greet thee as poet and scholar;\n      I greet thee as wise and good;\n    I greet thee ever lord of thyself--\n      No heritage mean, by the rood!\n    I greet thee and hold thee in honour,\n      That thou bendest to no man's nod--\n    Amidst the din of a world of sin,\n      Still lifting thine eye to God!\n\n    Go, search me the world and find me;\n      Go, find me if you can,\n    From the distant Faroes with their mists and snows,\n      To the green-clad Isle of Man;\n    From John O' Groats to Maidenkirk,\n      From far Poolewe to Prague--\n    Go, find me a better or wiser man\n      Than the Laird of Altnacraig.\n\n    Now, here's to the honest and leal and true,\n      And here's to the learned and wise,\n    And to all who love our Highland glens\n      And our Bens that kiss the skies;\n    And here's to the native Celtic race,\n      And to each bright-eyed Celtic fair;\n    And here's to the Chief of Altnacraig--\n      And hurrah! for the Celtic Chair!\n\n                                                       NETHER-LOCHABER.\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL SIR ALAN CAMERON, K.C.B.,\n\nCOLONEL 79th CAMERON HIGHLANDERS.\n\n\nA POPULAR writer[A] of the past generation, in some introductory\nobservations to his historical essay, makes the following on Scotland\nand its natives:--Considering the limited population and extent of that\ncountry, it has made a distinguished figure in history. No country in\nmodern times has produced characters more remarkable for learning,\nvalour, or ability, or for knowledge in the most important arts, both of\npeace and of war; and though the natives of that formerly independent,\nand hitherto unconquered kingdom, have every reason to be proud of the\nname of _Britons_, which they have acquired since the Union; yet they\nought not to relinquish all remembrance of the martial achievements, and\nthe honourable characteristics of their ancestors. Acting on the\nrecommendation embodied in the foregoing quotation; and as the\nconductors of the _Celtic Magazine_ have intimated their intention of\nmaking biographies form occasionally part of its contents, the following\nsketch of one who, in his day was not the least distinguished among our\nHighland countrymen, but of whose eminent services to his country,\nlittle or nothing has appeared, may prove interesting. Biography is\nadmitted to be one of the most interesting sections of literature. We\ntherefore trust that this feature in the Magazine will be appreciated.\nThe field will be found extensive, inasmuch that, happily for the\ncountry, its benefactors have been numerous, the record of whose deeds\ndeserve to be remembered in this Celtic periodical for the\nentertainment, and may be, the emulation of its readers.\n\nThe details of the life and public services of the gallant gentleman now\nsubmitted, and deserving record, are supplied partly from oral\ninformation collected at intervals, and partly from documents received\nby the writer, but which, although imperfect, it is hoped may be\nacceptable, even at this distance since the lifetime of the subject.\n\nThe absence of any adequate notice of Sir Alan Cameron's services, save\nthat in a couple of pages of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ at his death\n(1828) may be ascribed much to his own reticence in supplying\ninformation respecting them. Sir John Philliphart and Colonel David\nStewart, when collecting materials for their respective \"Military\nAnnals,\" expressed their regret that Sir Alan's reply to their\napplications for particulars of his life and career was of the most\nmeagre nature. Although in common with the majority of other\ndistinguished men, averse to giving publicity to the incidents of his\nlife, he was otherwise than reticent with his friends, and was never\nhappier than when surrounded by them. His house in Gloucester Place was\na rendezvous during many years for his companions in arms, and his\n\"Highland cousins\" (as he fondly termed them) were always received with\na genial welcome. Notwithstanding the general absence of his name from\nunofficial publications, it may be affirmed, without hesitation, that in\nhis day few were better known, and there was none whose fame stood\nhigher than _Ailean an Earrachd_. In the army he was held in universal\npopularity, where, in consequence of his familiar habit of addressing\nthe Irish and Highland soldiers with the Gaelic salute of \"_Cia mar tha\nthu_,\" he was known as \"Old cia mar tha.\" Indeed, he is so styled in Mr\nLever's novel of \"Charles O'Malley,\" where he is represented (vol. 1,\nchap, x.) as one of the friends of General Sir George Dashwood. Another\nwriter (Miss Sinclair's \"Scotland and the Scotch\") refers to him as \"a\nfrequent visitor at her father's house in London, and a celebrity of the\npast generation who was said to have been one of the principals in the\nlast duel fought with broadswords; and also known to his friends for the\nmore than hearty grasp he shook their hands with.\" These distinctions,\nno doubt, combined many incidents for their existence. A tragic\nadventure at the outset of his career; his imprisonment during the\nAmerican War; and afterwards his services with the Highlanders\nthroughout the wars of the period. He was remarkable for the immense\nsize and powerful structure of his person. In a verse from one of the\nmany Gaelic songs written in honour of _Fear an Earrachd_, alluding to\nhis majestic form and figure when in the Highland costume, the bard\nsays:--\n\n    Nuair theid thu 'n uidheam Gaidheil\n    Bu mhiann le Ban-Righ sealladh dhiot,\n    Le t-osan is math fiaradh,\n    Do chalp air fiamh na gallinn\u00e9:\n    Sporan a bhruic-fhiadhaich,\n    Gun chruaidh shnaim riamh ga theannachadh,\n    Gur tric thu tarruing iall as\n    'S ga riachaidh a measg aineartaich.\n\nHe was the firm friend of the soldier, and considered every man in his\nregiment committed to his personal care. In health he advised them; in\nsickness he saw that their wants were supplied; and once any became\ndisabled, he was incessant in his efforts till he secured a pension for\nthem. Numerous are the stories told of the encounters between Sir Harry\nTorrens (Military Secretary to the Commander-in-Chief) and himself for\nhis persistent applications for pensions and promotions. These poor\nfellows, for whom he was never tired of interceding, were naturally\ngrateful for his fatherly feeling towards them. Such is an outline of\nthe characteristics of the subject of the following Biographical sketch.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE sires of the subject of our memoir were of the tribe of Camerons'\nknown as _Sliochd Eoghainn 'ic Eoghainn_, and descended directly from\nthe parent stock of the chiefs of the clan, to whom they stood next in\nrelationship after the Fassiferns. The lands assigned for their\noccupation, and on which they lived from the earliest settlement of the\nCamerons in Lochaber, were within a short distance of the castle of the\nchiefs, and the homestead of Sir Alan's family was named _Earrachd_, and\nsituated on an elevated plateau at the entrance of _Gleann Laoidh_ (Glen\nLoy) which leads off in a westerly direction. It is close to, and seen\nfrom, the banks of that portion of the Caledonian Canal between\nGairlochy and Banavie Locks.\n\nThe parents of Alan were Donald Cameron and _Marsali_ (Marjory) MacLean\n(of the family of Drimnin in Morvern). Two incidents connected with the\ninfancy of both father and son are peculiarly remarkable. The father was\nan infant in the arms of his mother when she went to the gathering place\nto support the Earl of Mar (1715) to bid farewell to her husband the day\nthe clan left; and Alan was an infant in the arms of his mother when\n_his_ father marched out with the clan to meet Prince Charles at\nGlenfinnan (1745). The battle of Sheriffmuir ended the career of Alan's\ngrandfather, and the disasters on the field of Culloden made the father\na wanderer from his hearth and home for the next three years, while his\nfamily were subjected during that time to cruelties and indignities,\nwhich were a disgrace to men calling themselves the soldiers of the\nking. Domiciliary visits were made at frequent intervals, and on every\noccasion numbers of cattle were driven off the lands for the use of the\ngarrison at Fort-William. These spoliations continued for several months\nafter the _rising_ was suppressed, and proved ruinous to the poor people\nwhose only crime was that they risked their lives in support of the\nclaims of one whom they believed to be the rightful heir to the Crown of\nthe United Kingdom. Their descendants, a quarter of a century\nafterwards, risked their lives in another cause with equal fidelity and\nbravery, asserting the rights and defending the honour of the British\nCrown. It is known that the Clan Cameron was the first to appear in\nsupport of the standard of the Prince. The gathering place of the clan\nwas at _Drochaid Laoidh_, and there ten of the _twelve_ tribes promptly\nanswered the _Cothionnal_ \"_Thigibh a chlann na 'n con 's gheobh sibh\nfeoil._\" The absentees were, the Camerons of Fassifern, and the Camerons\nof Glen Nevis; the proverbial caution of the first forbade their\nadherence, while the influence of the Whig Clan Grant prevailed with the\nlatter. The defection of the Fassiferns gave the place of second in\ncommand, or Lieutenant of the clan, to Cameron of _Earrachd_ (Alan's\nfather). The clan turned out 600, but these were considerably augmented\na few days afterwards. After a spirited address from the chief (the\n\"gentle Lochiel\"), the first march of that eventful movement commenced\nwith pipers playing and banners flying, wending their way with steady\ndemeanour and elastic step up Glen Loy, and over the hills that\nseparated them from Glenfinnan.\n\nMany of the chiefs of Lochiel were, in addition to being men of great\nmilitary renown and martial ardour, shrewd politicians. They encouraged\nother septs to dwell on their lands that they might be serviceable to\nassist them in keeping the jealous or more turbulent spirits of their\nown clansmen in subjection. At any rate, with the Camerons in this\ncampaign, a third was composed of Maclachlans, Macmillans, Kennedies,\nMacphees, Mackinnons, &c.\n\nThe Governor of the garrison at Fort-William having heard of the\nintended gathering at Glenfinnan, sent out a company of soldiers by way\nof reconnoitring the proceedings. To avoid observance they followed a\ndevious path over the hills, and most opportunely fell in with the\nCamerons, by whom they were surrounded, and without much difficulty made\nprisoners. Besides the _eclat_ of this the first victory, the arms thus\npossessed were of considerable advantage to the Highlanders, most of\nwhom were miserably equipped for the exigencies of the campaign.\n\nA most cordial reception was given to Lochiel and his clan by the\nPrince, after which the Marquis of Tullibardine unfurled the standard,\namidst unbounded enthusiasm. It was made of white and blue silk.\nMeanwhile the Laird of Keppoch was observed advancing with a contingent\nof 300 of his Macdonells. At the head of the diminutive force thus made\nup, Prince Charles embarked on a contest with a power the most\nformidable in Europe. And the daring of this small band was even more\nconspicuous when they at once determined to march direct on the capital\nof the kingdom. Glenfinnan, formed not unlike an amphitheatre, and easy\nof access for all parts of the Western Highlands, was admirably fitted\nfor the rendezvous.\n\nThe morning march of the little army took the route alongside of an arm\nof the sea named Lochiel (the same from which the chief takes his modern\ntitle) to Corpach. Here they encamped the first night, afterwards\ncontinuing their way up the Braes of Lochaber, Blair Athole, and towards\nthe City of Perth, which they occupied as an intermediate resting place.\nA few days further march brought them within a short distance of\nEdinburgh. On nearing the capital a halt was made at Duddingston, and a\ncouncil was held, at which it was decided to detach Lochiel's force to\nmake the advance and demand the surrender of the city. The Camerons\nhaving been the first arrivals at Glenfinnan, may have been the cause of\nthis selection. Lochiel having received some injury from a fall off his\nhorse on the journey, he was unable to accompany his clansmen. Cameron\nof Earrachd consequently succeeded to the command of this important\nmission, and its success is matter of history. The events of the '45 are\nintroduced into the career of Alan (the son) somewhat irrelevantly, but\nonly to connect the latter with the singular incident that sixty-two\nyears afterwards it fell to _his_ lot to have been ordered by Sir Arthur\nWellesley to take possession of the Citadel of Copenhagen (1807). Taking\nleave now of Prince Charles and his Highlanders, with their fortunes and\ntheir failures, the narrative of Alan Cameron will proceed without\nfurther divergence.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nIT was during these turbulent times that Alan Cameron passed his\ninfantile years--he was four years of age before he saw his father, and,\nalthough it was hoped that the settlement of the difficulties which had\nexisted would favour his career in life, exempt from the toils and\nstrifes of war, it was not so ordained, as the narrative will prove.\n\nAlan was the oldest son of a family of three sons and three daughters,\nsome of whom found meet employment subsequently in his regiment. Their\neducation was conducted as customary in those days by resident tutors\nfrom Aberdeen and St Andrews. With one of these Alan, on reaching a\nsuitable age, went to the latter University for one or two sessions to\ncomplete his education. As the oldest son, it was intended that on\narriving at a certain age he should relieve his father of the care and\nmanagement of the lands and stock, and become the responsible\nrepresentative of the family at home; while it was arranged that of the\nother sons, Donald was to enter the naval service of the Dutch East\nIndia Company, and the youngest, Ewan, was to find a commission in one\nof the Fencible Corps of the county of Argyll. But this arrangement was\nnot to be, especially as regards the eldest and youngest sons. A\ncircumstance of melancholy interest occurred before the former had taken\nto the succession of the farm, or the other had arrived at the age to be\nan effective officer of his regiment, which had the effect of exactly\nreversing these intentions. The occurrence referred to was of a tragical\nnature, and caused the utmost sensation among the families of the\ndistrict, inasmuch as relationship was so general there that whatever\nbrought affliction to the hearth of one family, would leave its portion\nalso at the threshold of the others. Alan, like other youths, employed\nmuch of his juvenile years in the sports of a Highland country\nlife--fox-hunting, deer-stalking, and fishing for salmon on the Lochy;\nat all of which he was more than ordinarily successful. The nearest\nhouse to his father's was that of another Cameron--chieftain of a\nconsiderable tribe (_Mac Ile' Onaich_ or Sliochd Ile' Onaich), who had\nrecently died of wounds received at Culloden. His widow and children\noccupied the house at Strone. The lady is reputed to have been very\nhandsome, and would apparently answer _Donachadh Ban's_ description of\n_Isabel og an or fhuilt bhuidhe_, leastways, to borrow a word from the\nCockney--she was styled _par excellance_, _a Bhanntrach Ruadh_. Alan, like\na friendly kinsman, was most generous in sharing the successes of his\ngun and rod with the widowed lady, for which, no doubt, she expressed\nher acknowledgments to the youthful sportsman. The course of this\ncommendable neighbourship was rather unexpectedly interrupted by some\nwords of misunderstanding which occurred between Alan and a gentleman\n(also a Cameron) who was closely related to the widow's late husband. He\nwas known as _Fear Mhorsheirlich_; had been _out_ in the '45 when quite\na youth, and escaped to Holland, from which he had only returned a few\nmonths previous to the incident of this narrative. Contemporaries spoke\nof him as being most accomplished, and of gallant bearing. The real\nnature of the dispute has not descended sufficiently authentic to\njustify more minute reference than that rumour assigned it to have been\nan accusation that Alan was imprudently intimate with the handsome widow\nof Strone (_a Bhanntrach Ruadh_). The delicate insinuation was resented\nby Alan in language probably more plain than polite. Mr Cameron was\nAlan's senior by some twenty years or so, but notwithstanding this, his\nhigh spirit could not brook the rough retort of the accused; and, much\nto Alan's confusion, the result was that he received a peremptory demand\nto apologise or arrange a meeting for personal satisfaction. As he\ndeclined to return the one, he was obliged to grant the desperate\nalternative. Reading this account of men going out to engage in personal\ncombat for a cause so small, will lead us to consider that such a result\nought to have been prevented by the interposition of friends. But it\nmust not be overlooked that the customs of the times are very much\nameliorated from what prevailed in those days (1772). It is probable\nthat even then if the management of the affair had been confided to\nskilful diplomatists the meeting might have been averted. Friends of\nsuch conciliating habits were either not at hand, or they were not\nconsulted; and, as men equal in high spirits, the principals could not\nvolunteer any compromise. Alan's chief anxiety was how to keep the event\nsecret from his parents and family, therefore, he quietly repaired to a\nrelative to request his attendance the following morning as his friend\nfor the occasion. It is said that this gentleman used his utmost powers\nof dissuasion, although unsuccessful--determination had, in the interval\nof a few hours, become too settled for alteration. Alan, as the\nchallenged, was, according to duelling etiquette, entitled to the choice\nof weapons and place of meeting. Although the pistol had in a measure\nsuperseded the rapier in England, the broadsword remained the favourite\nweapon in the north when required for the purpose of personal\n_satisfaction_. Highlanders had always a preference for the weapon named\nby Ossian--_An Lann tanna_--and by the modern bards--_Tagha nan Arm_.\nAlan decided on making choice of the steel blade, and named a certain\nobscure spot on the banks of the Lochy for the meeting on the following\nday at the grey hour of the morning. His difficulty now was how to get\npossession of one of these implements of war without exciting suspicion\nor inquiries. They numbered more than one in the armory of every\nHighland household, and in the case of those in his father's house they\nwere preserved with a care due to articles which had been often used\nwith effect in the past. Among them was one which had been _out_ in the\ncampaigns of 1689 (Dundee's), 1715 (Mar's), and in 1745-6. It was of\nSpanish manufacture, and remarkable for the length and symmetry of its\nblade, in consequence of which it received the sobriquet of _Rangaire\nRiabhach_.[B] In his failure to find the keys of the arms depository, he\nbethought him to make a confident and enlist the sympathies of an\nelderly lady, who had been a member of the family since the days of his\nchildhood. The aged Amazon not only promised her aid, but highly\napproved, and even encouraged, the spirit of her youthful relative.\nHaving access to the keys of the armory, the _Rangaire_ was soon in\nAlan's hands, and with it he repaired to the place appointed, \"to\nvindicate his own honour and give _satisfaction_ to his antagonist.\"\n\nThe time of year when this event took place was in the early days of\nautumn. Daylight and the combatants arrived on the scene together. Vague\nparticulars of the preliminaries between them have been variously\nretailed, but they are not necessary to the narrative, and therefore not\nreferred to. The fact that the elder Cameron was reputed to be a skilled\nswordsman, also that it was not the first time he had met his foes in\nthe field, may have had some effect on the nerves of his younger\nopponent, but there was no outward indication of it. The home-taught\ncountryman, however, must have felt that he was standing face to face\nwith no ordinary opponent. Alan, like the generality of young men, had\nsuch practice in the use of the weapon as to make him acquainted with\nthe _cuts_ and _guards_. The superiority of Mr Cameron was at first\napparent and proved, inasmuch as he not only kept himself for some time\nuninjured, but inflicted a severe cut on Alan's left arm. This blow may\nbe said to have brought the conflict to its sudden and fatal\ntermination. The pain, together with the humiliation, roused Alan's\nwrath to desperation. It became manifest to the only two friends\npresent, that the life of one, if not of the two combatants, would be\nsacrificed; but they found themselves quite powerless to restrain the\nrage of the wounded principal. Their anticipations were not long in\nbeing confirmed. The elder Cameron fell from a blow delivered on the\nhead by the powerful arm of his opponent. The force may be imagined when\nit is stated that it was what is known as No. 7 cut, and that the\nwounded man's sword in defending was forced into his own forehead. He\nlived just long enough to reach Strone house--a mile or so distant. It\nis impossible, except to those who have experienced a similar trial, to\nestimate the state of feeling such a painful scene produced on the three\nnow remaining on the field. Time, however, was not to be trifled with,\nfor, although, there were no \"men in blue\" to make prisoners of the\nbreakers of the peace; yet the vanquished combatant had friends who\nwould not hesitate to take life for life. Alan's _achates_ at once\nthought of that probability, or of revenge in some form. They,\ntherefore, hurried him away from the field and across the river Lochy. A\nshort consultation decided that he should remove himself entirely from\nthe Cameron country for the time being. This was concurred in by Alan,\nwho girded his claymore and determined on making direct for his uncle's\nhouse in Morvern--(Maclean of Drimnin)--distant about sixty miles, where\nhe arrived without resting or drawing breath. The advice of his counsel,\nand the decision arrived at, proved to be not unnecessary, as the sequel\nproved. The fallen man was one of the cadets of a numerous tribe, and\nthey would naturally, in accordance with the habit of the times, seek to\navenge the death of their kinsman. They sought for the slayer of their\nfriend with diligence and zeal. Their search was far and wide; but,\nfortunately for the fugitive, and thanks to the vigilance of his\nrelatives, his pursuers were defeated in their attempt to capture their\nintended victim. The consternation of the uncle (Drimnin), on learning\nthe cause of his nephew's sudden visit, may be surmised; but what was\ndone could not be undone. When the Laird was satisfied with Alan's\nversion, that _Morsheirlich_ fell in fair fight, brought about by\nhimself, his displeasure somewhat relented. Affection and sympathy\nmingled in the old Laird's bosom, and he decided to befriend his\nunfortunate nephew at all hazard. It was conjectured that the search of\nthe avengers would be directed towards this district, where Alan's\nrelatives were numerous, and where he would likely betake himself in\nthis emergency. That he might elude his pursuers with greater certainty,\nthe Laird of Drimnin had him escorted across the Sound of Mull by some\ntrusty kinsmen, to the charge of another Maclean (Pennycross), and with\nwhom he was to remain until he received further instructions respecting\nhis future destination. The grief and revenge of _Morsheirlich's_\nfriends had not yet subsided, and would not, for years to come, so that\nAlan would be unwise to return to his native home, or place himself in\ntheir path.\n\nThe Collector of His Majesty's Customs at the Port of Greenock was an\nimmediate relation to the Laird of Drimnin by marriage, and a\ncorrespondence was entered on with him with the view of ascertaining his\nopinion as to what was best to be done for Alan. Negotiations occupied\nmore time for their conduct at that time than in the present day; at any\nrate nothing satisfactory was proposed to Alan, so that for a couple of\nyears he continued wandering up and down the island of Mull, and through\nthe glens of Morvern, entirely under the guidance of his uncle. At last\na request came from the Collector to send the fugitive to him, that he\nmight find employment for him in his own office. The uncle decreed,\nrather against Alan's grain, that the offer of clerkship should\nmeanwhile be accepted. He remained in this occupation for several\nmonths, until he received an invitation from another friend residing in\nLeith. This gentleman wrote to say that there was now an opportunity of\ngiving him service in an enterprise likely to be congenial to \"a man of\nmetal\" such as he conceived Alan to be. The war of American Independence\nhad commenced, and the employment which the Leith friend proposed was\nthat Alan should join a privateer which was fitting out in an English\nport, armed with letters of marque, to capture and destroy American\nshipping. Alan answered the invitation by repairing to Leith in person\nwith all speed. The nature of the service offered, however, did not\naccord with his ideas of honourable warfare; in fact, he considered it\nmore akin to piracy, and not such as a gentleman should take part in. He\nhad no affection, he said, for clerkship, but he had still less for the\nlife of a pirate.\n\nWhile Alan was oscillating in this manner, he learned that another\nrelative of his mother's, Colonel Alan Maclean of Torloisk, who had\nemigrated to one of the North American colonies some years previously,\nhad received a commission to embody a regiment of those of his\ncountrymen who had become residents on free-grants of land at the same\ntime with himself. To this gentleman Alan decided on going. Soldiering\nwas more genial to his nature than marine freebooting, and he calculated\non Colonel Maclean's assistance in that direction. (This Colonel\nMaclean's grand-daughter was Miss Clephane Maclean, afterwards\nMarchioness of Northampton.) Arrived in America, Alan was received\nkindly by his relative, and being a soldier himself he viewed the past\nevent in Alan's life as of a nature not entirely without a certain\namount of recommendation to a wanderer in search of fame. Alan was not\nlong in the country when Colonel Maclean added him to his list of\nvolunteers, in a body, which was soon afterwards enrolled as the \"Royal\nHighland Emigrant Corps.\"\n\n                         (_To be Continued._)\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote A: Sir John Sinclair.]\n\n[Footnote B: Brown or brindled wrangler.]\n\n\n\n\nA. R. wants to know \"the best standard for Gaelic orthography?\"\n\nCABAR-FEIDH would like to know if any of Grant's [_Bard Mor an\nt-Slagain_] Poems were ever published? If so, where? and by whom? It is\nbelieved many of his pieces, which were famous in his day, are still\nknown in the Lochbroom and Dundonnell districts. _Cabar_ requests that\nany of the readers of the _Celtic Magazine_ to whom any of the poems are\nknown would kindly forward them for publication. Grant knew more\nOssianic poetry than any man of his day--1746 to 1842. Any information\nregarding him would be of interest.\n\nMACAOIDH enquires to what sept of the clan the famous pipers--the\nMackays of Gairloch--belonged, and how did they find their way to that\npart of the country? Are there any of their descendants still living in\nthis country or in North British America, where the last famous piper of\nthe race emigrated? The \"Blind Piper\" and bard was the most famous of\nthis remarkable family, and was a pupil in the celebrated College of the\nMacrimmon's in Skye.\n\n\n\n\nREPLY TO \"GLENGARRY'S\" QUERY.--There are words in English to\n_Piobaireachd Mhic Ranuil_ or _Cilliechriost_, and they, with\nparticulars of the occasion on which the tune was composed, will appear\nin the next instalment of the HIGHLAND CEILIDH in the _Celtic\nMagazine_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HIGHLAND CEILIDH.\n\nBY ALASTAIR OG.\n\n[CONTINUED.]\n\n\nON the conclusion of the \"Spell of Cadboll\" Norman received the hearty\nand unanimous congratulations of the circle. The frail old bard, pulling\nhimself together, got up, went across the room, and shook him heartily\nwith both hands. This special honour was a most unusual one. It was\nclear that _Alastair_ was just in the mood when a little persuasion\nwould suffice to get him to recite one of his own compositions. This he\nwas generally very chary of doing, but Norman getting the hint from one\nof his immediate neighbours to ask the bard a special favour on this\noccasion at once begged the honour of hearing one of the bard's\ncompositions from his own lips. The venerable old man bent himself\nforward, began to work the fingers of both hands and beat time on his\nleg as on a chanter, humming a quiet _cronan_. This was his usual\npractice when composing or reciting poetry, and it was at once seen that\nhe would consent. \"I will give you,\" says he, \"a _Marbh-rann_, or Elegy\nwhich no one ever heard, and which I have recently composed to the late\n'Bailie Hector' of Dingwall, a son of my late esteemed friend\n'Letterewe,' on condition that you, Sir, will give us another story when\nI am done.\" Norman at once agreed, and the bard commenced as follows:--\n\n\nMARBHRANN.\n\nDO BHAILIDH EACHAINN, INBHIR-FEOTHARAN, MAC FEAR LEITIR-IUGH.\n\n          AIR FONN--\"_'S mi 'm shuidhe 'm 'onar._\"\n\n    O 's truagh an sgeula tha 'n diugh ri fheutainn,\n    Thug gal air ceudan a measg an t-sluaigh,\n    Mu Eachainn gleusta 'bha fearail, feumail,\n    Gun da ghlac an t-eug thu a threun-laoich chruaidh:\n    'S mor bron do Chinnidh, mar eoin na tuinne\n    Tha 'n cronan duilich 's an ullaidh uath\n    'S bho nach duisg an gair thu, 's nach cluinn thu 'n gailich,\n    Se chlaoidh do chairdean do bhas cho luath.\n\n    Tha do chairdean cianal, tha bron da'lionadh,\n    Tha 'n inntinn pianail bho n' ghlac thu 'm bas,\n    'S iad a ghnath fuidh thiorachd 's nach faigh iad sgial ort,\n    Ach thu bhi iosal an ciste chlar\n    Bu tu ceann na riaghailt 'us lamh na fialachd,\n    A sheoid gun fhiaradh, gun ghiamh gun sgath,\n    'Sa nis bho 'n thriall thu, 's sinn lan dha d' iargan,\n    'S nach eil 's na criochan fear a lionas d' ait.\n\n    Bha d' aite miaghail 's gach cas an iarrt' thu,\n    A reir mo sgiala bu teirc do luach:\n    Bha thu pairteach, briathrach, ri ard 's ri iosal,\n    Gun ch\u00e0s gun dioghaltas air an tuath.\n    Bha foghlum Iarl' agad 's ciall fear riaghlaidh\n    Bu mhor an diobhail nach da liath do ghruag,\n    'S ann a bharc an t-aog ort mas d' thainig aois ort,\n    A ghnuis bha faoilteach air chaochladh snuaidh.\n\n    Bha do shnuadh cho aillidh 's nach fhaodainn s' aireamh,\n    Mar r\u00f2s a gharaidh ri maduinn dhriuchd,\n    Bu chuachach, faineach, do ghruag an caradh--\n    Mar theudan clarsaich an' inneal ciuil\n    Do ghruaidh dhearg dhathte, do shuil mar dhearcag,\n    Fuidh ghnuis na maise bu tapaidh s\u00f9rd\n    Rasg aotram, geanach, bho 'm b'fhaoilteach sealladh\n    Beul muirneach tairis, 's deud thana dhluth.\n\n    O! 's dluth bha buaidhean a stri mu'n cuairt duit,\n    Cha b' eol dhomh suairceas nach robh 'do chr\u00e8\n    Bha thu ciallach, narach, 's tu briathrach, pairteach,\n    'S tu rianail, daimheil, ri d' chairdean fhein:\n    Bu tu firean, fallain, bha rioghail, geanach,\n    'Sa leoghann tapaidh bu ghlaine beus;\n    Bhiodh min 'us gairg' air, bhiodh sith 'us fearg air,\n    Nuair chit' air falbh e bhiodh colg na cheum.\n\n    Se do cheum bu bhrisge 's bu shubailt iosgaid,\n    Bha moran ghibhtean ri d' leasraidh fuaight.\n    Bu tu glas nan Gaidheal, bho mhuir gu braighe\n    Gu crioch Chinntaile 's na tha bho thuath.\n    O! 's lionmhor oigfhear tha 'n diugh gu bronach\n    A fasgadh dhorn, 'us ruith-dheoir le ghruaidh,\n    'Bhiodh dana, sgaiteach, gun sgath gun ghealtachd,\n    Na 'm bu namhaid pears' bheireadh Eachainn bh' uainn.\n\n    Bha thu mor an onair, bu mhor do mholadh,\n    Bu mhor do shonas, 's tu gun dolaidh gibht'\n    Bu mhor a b'fhiach thu, bu mhor do riaghailt,\n    Bu mhor do mhiagh ann an ciall 's an tuigs',\n    Bu mhor do churam, bu mhor do chuisean,\n    Bu mhor do chliu ann an cuirt 'sa meas,\n    Bu mhor do stata, 's bu mhor do nadur,\n    'S cha mhor nach d'fhag thu na Gaidheil brist'.\n\n    O! 's priseil, laidir, a ghibhte 'dh-fhag sinn--\n    'S mios'da Ghaeltachd b\u00e0s an t-seoid,\n    Tha Mhachair tursach bho n' chaidh an uir ort,\n    'S tu dh-fhuasgladh cuis do gach cuirt mu bhord,\n    Bha 'Ghalldachd deurach ri cainnt ma d' dheighinn,\n    Gu ruig Dun-eidin nan steud 's nan cleoc,\n    'S cha ghabhainn gealtachd, air son a chantuinn,\n    Gur call do Bhreatuinn nach eil thu beo.\n\n    'S tu chraobh a b'aillidh bha 'n tus a gharaidh\n    'S i \u00f9r a fas ann fuidh bhlath 's fuidh dhos,\n    O! 's truagh a dh-fhag thu ma thuath na Gaidheil\n    Mar uain gun mhathair ni'n sgath ri frois,\n    'S tu b'urr' an tearnadh bho chunnart gabhaidh,\n    'S an curaidh laidir, chuireadh spairn na tost,\n    Tha 'n tuath gu craiteach, 's na h-uaislean c\u00e0sai,\n    'S bho 'n chaidh am f\u00e0d ort 's truagh gair nam bochd.\n\n\"_Ma ta 's math sibh fhein Alastair Bhuidhe; 's grinn comhnard a\nbhardachd a th'air a mharbhrainn, ach cha 'n eil i dad nas fhearr na\nthoill brod a Ghaidheil agus am fior dhuin' uasal dha'n d'rinn sibh i,\"\narsa Ruairidh Mor._ (Well done yourself, _Alastair Buidhe_, the\ncomposition of the Elegy is beautifully elegant and even, but not any\nbetter than the memory of the best of Highlanders and the truest of\ngentlemen, to whom you composed it, deserved, said Big Rory). This was\nthe general verdict of the circle.\n\nNorman was now called upon to fulfil his part of the arrangement, which\nhe promptly did by giving the Legend, of which the following is a\ntranslation:--\n\n\nTHE RAID OF CILLIECHRIOST.\n\nTHE ancient Chapel of Cilliechriost, in the Parish of Urray, in Ross,\nwas the scene of one of the bloodiest acts of ferocity and revenge that\nhistory has recorded. The original building has long since disappeared,\nbut the lonely and beautifully situated burying-ground is still in use.\nThe tragedy originated in the many quarrels which arose between the two\nchiefs of the North Highlands--Mackenzie of Kintail and Macdonald of\nGlengarry. As usual, the dispute was regarding land, but it were not\neasy to arrive at the degree of blame to which each party was entitled,\nenough that there was bad blood between these two paladins of the north.\nOf course, the quarrel was not allowed to go to sleep for lack of action\non the part of their friends and clansmen. The Macdonalds having made\nseveral raids on the Mackenzie country, the Mackenzies retaliated by the\nspoiling of Morar with a large and overwhelming force. The Macdonalds,\ntaking advantage of Kenneth Mackenzie's visit to Mull with the view to\ninfluence Maclean to induce the former to peace, once more committed\ngreat devastation in the Mackenzie country, under the leadership of\nGlengarry's son Angus. From Kintail and Lochalsh the clan of the\nMackenzies gathered fast, but too late to prevent Macdonald from\nescaping to sea with his boats loaded with the foray. A portion of the\nMackenzies ran to Eilean-donan, while another portion sped to the narrow\nstrait of the Kyle between Skye and the mainland, through which the\nMacdonalds, on their return, of necessity, must pass. At Eilean-donan\nLady Mackenzie furnished them with two boats, one ten-oared and one\nfour-oared, also with arrows and ammunition. Though without their chief,\nthe Mackenzies sallied forth, and rowing towards Kyleakin, lay in wait\nfor the approach of the Macdonalds. The first of the Glengarry boats\nthey allowed to pass unchallenged, but the second, which was the\nthirty-two-oared galley of the chief was furiously attacked. The\nunprepared Macdonalds rushing to the side of the heavily loaded boat,\nswamped the craft, and were all thrown into the sea, where they were\ndespatched in large numbers, and those who escaped to the land were\ndestroyed \"by the Kintail men, who killed them like _sealchagan_.\"[A]\nThe body of young Glengarry was secured and buried in the very door-way\nof the Kirk of Kintail, that the Mackenzies might trample over it\nwhenever they went to church. Time passed on, Donald _Gruamach_, the\nold chief, died ere he could mature matters for adequate retaliation of\nthe Kyle tragedy and the loss of his son Angus. The chief of the clan\nwas an infant in whom the feelings of revenge could not be worked out by\naction; but there was one, his cousin, who was the Captain or Leader in\nwhom the bitterest thoughts exercised their fullest sway. It seems now\nimpossible that such acts could have occurred, and it gives one a\nstartling idea of the state of the country then, when such a terrible\ninstance of private vengeance could have been carried out so recent as\nthe beginning of the seventeenth century, without any notice being taken\nof it, even, in those days of general blood and rapine. Notwithstanding\nthe hideousness of sacrilege and murder, which, certainly, in magnitude\nof atrocity, was scarcely ever equalled, there are many living, even in\nthe immediate neighbourhood, who are ignorant of the cause of the act.\nMacranuil of Lundi, captain of the clan, whose personal prowess was only\nequalled by his intense ferocity, made many incursions into the\nMackenzie country, sweeping away their cattle, and otherwise doing them\nserious injury; but these were but preludes to that sanguinary act on\nwhich his soul gloated, and by which he hoped effectually to avenge the\nloss of influence and property of which his clan were deprived by the\nMackenzies, and more particularly wash out the records of death of his\nchief and clansmen at Kyleakin. In order to form his plans more\neffectually he wandered for some time as a mendicant among the\nMackenzies in order the more successfully to fix on the best means and\nspot for his revenge. A solitary life offered up to expiate the manes of\nhis relatives was not sufficient in his estimation, but the life's blood\nof such a number of his bitterest foemen, and an act at which the\ncountry should stand aghast was absolutely necessary. Returning home he\ngathered together a number of the most desperate of his clan, and by a\nforced march across the hills arrived at the Church of Cilliechriost on\na Sunday forenoon, when it was filled by a crowd of worshippers of the\nclan Mackenzie. Without a moments delay, without a single pang of\nremorse, and while the song of praise ascended to heaven from fathers,\nmothers, and children, he surrounded the church with his band, and with\nlighted torches set fire to the roof. The building was thatched, and\nwhile a gentle breeze from the east fanned the fire, the song of praise,\nmingled with the crackling of the flames, until the imprisoned\ncongregation, becoming conscious of their situation, rushed to the doors\nand windows, where they were met by a double row of bristling swords.\nNow, indeed, arose the wild wail of despair, the shrieks of women, the\ninfuriated cries of men, and the helpless screaming of children, these\nmingled with the roaring of the flames appalled even the Macdonalds, but\nnot so Allan Dubh. \"Thrust them back into the flames\" cried he, \"for he\nthat suffers ought to escape alive from Cilliechriost shall be branded\nas a traitor to his clan\"; and they were thrust back or mercilessly hewn\ndown within the narrow porch, until the dead bodies piled on each other\nopposed an unsurmountable barrier to the living. Anxious for the\npreservation of their young children, the scorching mothers threw them\nfrom the windows in the vain hope that the feelings of parents awakened\nin the breasts of the Macdonalds would induce them to spare them, but\nnot so. At the command of Allan of Lundi they were received on the\npoints of the broadswords of men in whose breasts mercy had no place.\nIt was a wild and fearful sight only witnessed by a wild and fearful\nrace. During the tragedy they listened with delight to the piper of the\nband, who marching round the burning pile, played to drown the screams\nof the victims, an extempore pibroch, which has ever since been\ndistinguished as the war tune of Glengarry under the title of\n\"Cilliechriost.\" The flaming roof fell upon the burning victims, soon\nthe screams ceased to be heard, a column of smoke and flame leapt into\nthe air, the pibroch ceased, the last smothered groan of existence\nascended into the still sky of that Sabbath morning, whispering as it\ndied away that the agonies of the congregation were over.\n\nEast, west, north, and south looked Allan Dubh Macranuil. Not a living\nsoul met his eye. The fire he kindled had destroyed, like the spirit of\ndesolation. Not a sound met his ear, and his own tiger soul sunk within\nhim in dismay. The Parish of Cilliechriost seemed swept of every living\nthing. The fearful silence that prevailed, in a quarter lately so\nthickly peopled, struck his followers with dread; for they had given in\none hour the inhabitants of a whole parish, one terrible grave. The\ndesert which they had created filled them with dismay, heightened into\nterror by the howls of the masterless sheep dogs, and they turned to\nfly. Worn out with the suddenness of their long march from Glengarry,\nand with their late fiendish exertions, on their return they sat down to\nrest on the green face of Glenconvinth, which route they took in order\nto reach Lundi through the centre of Glenmorriston by Urquhart. Before\nthey fled from Cilliechriost Allan divided his party into two, one\npassing by Inverness and the other as already mentioned; but the\nMacdonalds were not allowed to escape, for the flames had roused the\nMackenzies as effectually as if the fiery cross had been sent through\ntheir territories. A youthful leader, a cadet of the family of Seaforth,\nin an incredibly short time, found himself surrounded by a determined\nband of Mackenzies eager for the fray; these were also divided into two\nbodies, one commanded by Murdoch Mackenzie of Redcastle, proceeded by\nInverness, to follow the pursuit along the southern side of Loch Ness;\nanother headed by Alexander Mackenzie of Coul, struck across the country\nfrom Beauly, to follow the party of the Macdonalds who fled along the\nnorthern side of Loch Ness under their leader Allan Dubh Macranuil. The\nparty that fled by Inverness were surprised by Redcastle in a\npublic-house at Torbreck, three miles to the west of the town where they\nstopped to refresh themselves. The house was set on fire, and they\nall--thirty-seven in number--suffered the death which, in the earlier\npart of the day, they had so wantonly inflicted. The Mackenzies, under\nCoul, after a few hours' hard running, came up with the Macdonalds as\nthey sought a brief repose on the hills towards the burn of Aultsigh.\nThere the Macdonalds maintained an unequal conflict, but as guilt only\nbrings faint hearts to its unfortunate votaries they turned and again\nfled precipitately to the burn. Many, however, missed the ford, and the\nchannel being rough and rocky several fell under the swords of the\nvictorious Mackenzies. The remainder, with all the speed they could\nmake, held on for miles lighted by a splendid and cloudless moon, and\nwhen the rays of the morning burst upon them, Allan Dubh Macranuil and\nhis party were seen ascending the southern ridge of Glen Urquhart with\nthe Mackenzies close in the rear. Allan casting an eye behind him and\nobserving the superior numbers and determination of his pursuers, called\nto his band to disperse in order to confuse his pursuers and so divert\nthe chase from himself. This being done, he again set forward at the\nheight of his speed, and after a long run, drew breath to reconnoitre,\nwhen, to his dismay, he found that the avenging Mackenzies were still\nupon his track in one unbroken mass. Again he divided his men and bent\nhis flight towards the shore of Loch Ness, but still he saw the foe with\nredoubled vigour, bearing down upon him. Becoming fearfully alive to his\nposition, he cried to his few remaining companions again to disperse,\nuntil they left him, one by one, and he was alone. Allan, who as a mark\nof superiority and as Captain of the Glengarry Macdonalds, always wore a\nred jacket, was easily distinguished from the rest of his clansmen, and\nthe Mackenzies being anxious for his capture, thus easily singled him\nout as the object of their joint and undiverted pursuit. Perceiving the\nsword of vengeance ready to descend on his head he took a resolution as\ndesperate in its conception as unequalled in its accomplishment. Taking\na short course towards the fearful ravine of Aultsigh he divested\nhimself of his plaid and buckler, and turning to the leader of the\nMackenzies, who had nearly come up with him, beckoned him to follow,\nthen with a few yards of a run he sprang over the yawning chasm, never\nbefore contemplated without a shudder. The agitation of his mind at the\nmoment completely overshadowed the danger of the attempt, and being of\nan athletic frame he succeeded in clearing the desperate leap. The young\nand reckless Mackenzie, full of ardour and determined at all hazards to\ncapture the murderer followed; but, being a stranger to the real width\nof the chasm, perhaps of less nerve than his adversary, and certainly\nnot stimulated by the same feelings, he only touched the opposite brink\nwith his toes, and slipping downwards he clung by a slender shoot of\nhazel which grew over the tremendous abyss. Allan Dubh looking round on\nhis pursuer and observing the agitation of the hazel bush, immediately\nguessed the cause, and returning with the ferocity of a demon who had\nsucceeded in getting his victim into his fangs, hoarsely whispered, \"I\nhave given your race this day much, I shall give them this also, surely\nnow the debt is paid,\" when cutting the hazel twig with his sword, the\nintrepid youth was dashed from crag to crag until he reached the stream\nbelow, a bloody and misshapen mass. Macranuil again commenced his\nflight, but one of the Mackenzies, who by this time had come up, sent a\nmusket shot after him, by which he was wounded, and obliged to slacken\nhis pace. None of his pursuers, however, on coming up to Aultsigh, dared\nor dreamt of taking a leap which had been so fatal to their youthful\nleader, and were therefore under the necessity of taking a circuitous\nroute to gain the other side. This circumstance enabled Macranuil to\nincrease the distance between him and his pursuers, but the loss of\nblood, occasioned by his wound, so weakened him that very soon he found\nhis determined enemies were fast gaining on him. Like an infuriated wolf\nhe hesitated whether to await the undivided attack of the Mackenzies or\nplunge into Loch Ness and attempt to swim across its waters. The shouts\nof his approaching enemies soon decided him, and he sprung into its\ndeep and dark wave. Refreshed by its invigorating coolness he soon swam\nbeyond the reach of their muskets; but in his weak and wounded state it\nis more than probable he would have sunk ere he had crossed half the\nbreadth had not the firing and the shouts of his enemies proved the\nmeans of saving his life. Fraser of Foyers seeing a numerous band of\narmed men standing on the opposite bank of Loch Ness, and observing a\nsingle swimmer struggling in the water, ordered his boat to be launched,\nand pulling hard to the individual, discovered him to be his friend\nAllan Dubh, with whose family Fraser was on terms of friendship.\nMacranuil, thus rescued remained at the house of Foyers until he was\ncured of his wound, but the influence and the Clan of the Macdonalds\nhenceforth declined, while that of the Mackenzies surely and steadily\nincreased.\n\nThe heavy ridge between the vale of Urquhart and Aultsigh where Allan\nDubh Macranuil so often divided his men, is to this day called\n_Monadh-a-leumanaich_ or \"the Moor of the Leaper.\"\n\n                         (_To be Continued._)\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote A: Snails.]\n\n\n\n\nCAN THIS BE THE LAND?\n\n\n          \"_How are the mighty fallen!_\"\n\n    Can this be the land where of old heroes flourished?\n    Can this be the land of the sons of the blast?\n    Gloom-wrapt as a monarch whose greatness hath perished,\n    Its beauty of loneliness speaks of the past:--\n    Tell me ye green valleys, dark glens, and blue mountains,\n    Where now are the mighty that round ye did dwell?\n    Ye wild-sweeping torrents, and woe-sounding fountains,\n    Say, is it their spirits that wail in your swell?\n\n    Oft, oft have ye leaped when your children of battle,\n    With war-bearing footsteps rushed down your dark crests;\n    Oft, oft have ye thundered with far-rolling rattle,\n    The echoes of slogans that burst from their breasts:--\n    Wild music of cataracts peals in their gladness,--\n    Hoarse tempests still shriek to the clouds lightning-fired,--\n    Dark shadows of glory departed, in sadness\n    Still linger o'er ruins where dwelt the inspired.\n\n    The voice of the silence for ever is breaking\n    Around the lone heaths of the glory-sung braves;\n    Dim ghosts haunt in sorrow, a land all forsaken,\n    And pour their mist tears o'er the heather-swept graves:--\n    Can this be the land of the thunder-toned numbers\n    That snowy bards sung in the fire of their bloom?\n    Deserted and blasted, in death's silent slumbers,\n    It glooms o'er my soul like the wreck of a tomb.\n\n    SUNDERLAND.                                              WM. ALLAN.\n\n\n\n\nHIGHLAND FOLK-LORE.\n\nBY \"NETHER-LOCHABER.\"\n\n\nFOLK-LORE--a word of recent importation from the German--is a big word,\nand Highland Folk-Lore is a big subject, so big and comprehensive that\nnot one Magazine article, but a many-chaptered series of Magazine\narticles would be necessary ere one could aver that he had done his\n\"text\" anything like justice. On the present occasion, therefore, we do\nnot pretend to enter into the heart of a subject so extensive and\nmany-sided: we shall content ourselves with a little scouting and\nskirmishing, so to speak, along the borders of a territory which it is\npossible we may ask the readers at some future time to explore along\nwith us more at large. A few of the many proverbs, wisdom words, and\nmoral and prudential sentences in daily use shall, in clerical phrase,\nmeantime form \"the subject-matter of our discourse.\" Nor must the reader\nthink that the subject is in any wise _infra dignitate_, unworthy, that\nis, or undignified. Of the world-renowned Seven Wise Men of Greece, five\nat least attained to all their eminence and fame no otherwise than\nbecause they were the cunning framers of maxims and proverbs that\nrightly interpreted were calculated to advance and consolidate the moral\nand material welfare of the nation around them. Of the remaining two, it\nis true that one was an eminent politician and legislator, and the other\na natural philosopher of the first order; but it is questionable if\neither of them would have been considered entitled to their prominent\nplace in the Grecian _Pleiades_ of Wise Men had they not been\nproverb-makers and utterers of brief but pregnant \"wisdom-words\" as\nwell. Even Solomon, the wisest of men, was less celebrated as a botanist\nand naturalist, though he spake of trees, from the cedar that is in\nLebanon, even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall; and of\nbeasts, and of fowls, and of creeping things, and of fishes--less\ncelebrated even as a lyrist, though his songs were a thousand and five,\nthan for his proverbs and moral maxims of which the record takes care to\ntell us he spake no less than \"three thousand.\" So much then for the\ndignity of our subject: what engaged the attention of Solomon and the\nSeven Sages of Greece cannot surely be unworthy some small share of our\nregard.\n\n\"Six and half-a-dozen\" is an English phrase, implying either that two\nthings are exactly the same, or so very much alike as to be practically\nthe same. The old Gael was not much of an arithmetician, he rarely\nmeddled with numbers, and therefore no precisely similar phrase is to be\nfound in his language; but he could express the same idea in his own\nway, and so pithily and emphatically that his version of the proverbial\naxiom is, perhaps, as good as is to be found in any other language\nwhatever. The Gael's equivalent for \"six and half-a-dozen\" is, \"_Bo\nmhaol odhar, agus bo odhar, mhaol_\"--(A cow that is doddled and dun, and\na cow that is dun and doddled)--a phrase drawn, as are many of his most\nstriking proverbs and prudential maxims, and very naturally too, from\nhis pastoral surroundings. We recollect an admirable and very ludicrous\napplication of this saying in a story once told us by the late Dr Norman\nMacleod of Glasgow, \"old\" Norman that is, not the Barony Doctor, but his\nfather:--When a boy in Morven, of which parish his father was minister,\nthere was a well-known character in that part of the country called\n\"_Eoghann Gorach Chraigan Uibhir_,\" Daft Ewen of Craig-an-Ure in Mull, a\nborn \"natural,\" who, although a veritable \"fool,\" had yet in him much of\nthe quiet, keen-edged satire and roguery which is not unfrequently found\nin the better ranks of such \"silly ones.\" Ewen regularly perambulated\nMull and Morven, with an occasional raid into the neighbouring districts\nof Sunart and Ardnamurchan. He had sense enough to be able to carry the\ncurrent news of the day from district to district, and on this account\nwas always a welcome guest in every farm-house and hamlet on his beat;\nand as he sung a capital song, and was remarkable for much harmless\ndrollery and \"dafting,\" he was, it is needless to say, a great favourite\neverywhere. He took a great interest in ecclesiastical affairs, and\nalways attended the church when the state of his wardrobe and other\ncircumstances permitted. On one occasion Ewen was passing through\nMorven, and knowing that the annual communion time was approaching, he\ncalled upon the minister and begged to know who his assistants on that\nparticular occasion were to be. He was going to pay a visit, he said, to\nall the glens and outlying hamlets in the parish, and as the people were\nsure to ask him the important question, he wished to have the proper\nanswer direct from the minister himself. \"_Tha raghadh 'us taghadh nam\nministeiran, Eoghainn; An Doiteir A. B. a Inneraora, agus an Doiteir C.\nD. a Muille._\" (The pick and choice of ministers Ewen said the minister,\nDoctor A. B. from Inverary, and Doctor C. D. from Mull). \"Whe-e-we!\" in\na contemptuously prolonged low whistle replied Ewen. \"_An ann mar so a\ntha; Bo mhaol, odhar, agus bo odhar, mhaol!_\" (And is it even so; are\nthese to be your assistants? A cow that is doddled and dun, and a cow\nthat is dun and doddled!) Than which nothing could more emphatically\nconvey Ewen's very small opinion of the \"assistants\" mentioned. They\nwere much of a muchness; six and half-a-dozen; a cow doddled and dun,\nand a cow dun and doddled! The Gael was a keen observer of natural\nphenomena, and some of his best sayings were founded on the knowledge\nthus acquired. Meteorological \"wisdom-words\" for instance, are quite\ncommon. \"_Mar chloich a ruith le gleann, tha feasgar fann foghairidh_\"\nis an admirable example. (As is the headlong rush of a stone, atumbling\ndown the glen, so hurried and of short duration is an autumnal\nafternoon.) The philosophy of the saying is that you are to begin your\nwork betimes in the season of autumn; at early dawn if possible, and not\nto stop at all for dinner, seeing that once the day has passed its\nprime, the hour of sunset approaches with giant strides, and there is\nlittle or no twilight to help you if you have been foolish enough to\ndawdle your time in the hours of sunset proper. \"_'S fas a ch\u00f9il as nach\ngoirear_\" is another pregnant adage. (Desert, indeed, is the corner\nwhence no voice of bird is heard.) Some people are very quiet, almost\ndumb indeed, but on the occurrence of some event, or on the back of\nsome remark of yours, they speak, and speak so clearly and well that\nyou are surprised, and quote the saying that it is a solitary and silent\nglade indeed whence no voice is heard. \"_Am fear a bhios na thamh,\nsaoilidh e gur i lamh fhein as fhearr air an sti\u00f9ir_\" is a common saying\nof much meaning and wide application. (He that is idle [a mere\nspectator] thinks that he could steer the boat better than the man\nactually in charge.) And we all know how apt we are to meddle, and\ngenerally unwisely, with the proper labours of others. Nothing, for\ninstance, is more annoying and dangerous even than to put forth your\nhand by way of helping a driver in managing his horses, or to interfere\nwith the tiller of a boat at which a perfectly competent man is already\nseated. We have known the saying just quoted scores of times suffice to\nstop the unwise and gratuitous intermeddling of such as were disposed to\ninterfere with what did not properly belong to them. \"_Bidh fear an aon\nmhairt aig uairean gun bhainne_\" is a frequent saying, and implies more\nthan is at first sight apparent. (The man with only one cow will be at\ntimes without milk.) The import of the saying is something more than a\nmere statement of fact. You have only one cow, and you are certain to be\nat times without milk. Get by your industry and perseverance _two_ cows\nor three, and then you are pretty sure to have more or less milk all the\nyear round.\n\nWe have thus briefly touched the hem, so to speak, of a very interesting\nsubject--a subject that in the Highlands of Scotland, at least, has\nnever yet received a tittle of the attention it deserves. And let no one\nbe afraid to meddle with it to any extent he pleases, for we promise him\nthat he will meet with nothing in any way to shock his delicacy or\noffend his taste, no matter how fine so ever of edge and exquisite; and\nin this respect, at all events, the good old Gael is superior to that of\nany other people of whom we have any knowledge. We may, perhaps, deal\nmore at large with the subject in a future number. Meantime, we may\nstate that we are of the same opinion as the Editor of the _Inverness\nCourier_; there is abundance of room for the _Celtic Magazine_ if it\ncontinues to be well conducted, without, in the least degree,\nencroaching upon the territories of any other periodicals interested in\nCeltic affairs.\n\n    NETHER-LOCHABER, November 1875.\n\n\n\n\nIMAGINATION.\n\n_Dedicated by consent to_ ALFRED TENNYSON.\n\n\n    All hail! far-seeing and creative power,\n    Before whose might the universe bends low\n    In silent adoration! Guide my pen\n    While from my soul the sounds of music pour\n    Towards thy praises! For to thee belongs\n    The sounding stream of never-ending song.\n    When out of chaos rose the glorious world,\n    Sublime with mountains flowing from the skies,\n    On lonely seas, sweet with slow-winding vales,\n    Clasping the grandeur of the heavenly hills\n    With soft and tender arms, or lowly glens\n    Shrinking from glowing gaze of searching sun\n    Beneath the shade of the high-soaring hills;\n    Grand with great torrents roaring o'er fierce crags\n    In suicidal madness, sad with seas\n    That flash in silver of the gladdening sun,\n    Yet ever wail in sadness 'neath the skies\n    Of smiling heaven (like a lovely life\n    That wears a sunny face, and wintry soul),\n    Hopeful with fickle life renewing spring,\n    Gladden'd with summer's radiance, autumn's joy,\n    And sad and sullen with fierce winter's rain;\n    Ruled by the race of God-made men who rush\n    Towards eternity with half-shut eyes,\n    Blind to the glories of sweet sky and sea,\n    Wood-covered earth, and sun-reflecting hill,\n    Thou in the mind of God, almighty power!\n    Ruled, and directed his creative hand.\n    With thee the seas spread and the hills arose\n    To do thy Maker's will; the silvery stars\n    Like heavenly glow-worms, beautifully cold,\n    And gladly silent, gemmed the gloom of night,\n    And shed the gladdening glances of their eyes\n    On the sad face of the night-darken'd earth.\n    Without thy sweetening influence, the soul\n    Of nature's bard were like a sunless plain,\n    Or summer garden destitute of flowers,\n    A winter day ungladden'd by the gleam\n    Of flowing sun, or river searching wild\n    Through desert lands for ne'er appearing trees,\n    Or peaceful flowers that sandy scenes disdain.\n    No thought the philosophic mind imparts\n    To an enraptured world, but bears thy power,\n    And owns thee as the agent of its birth.\n    O'er the sweet landscape of the poet's mind\n    Thou sunlike shed'st the gladness of thy love,\n    Inspiring all the scenes that lie below,\n    Sweetening the bowers where Fancy loves to dwell,\n    And on the crest of some huge mountain-thought\n    Placing the glory of thy fleecy cloud,\n    To make its frowning grandeur greater still,\n    And heighten all its beauteous mystery.\n    Thro' the sweet-coloured plains of Poesy\n    Thou flowest like a sweetly-sounding stream,\n    Here, rushing furious o'er the rocky crags\n    Of wild, original thought, and there, 'neath bowers\n    Of imagery, winding on thy way\n    Peaceful and still towards the fadeless sea\n    Of all enduring immortality.\n    Like lightning flash for which no thunder-roar\n    Makes preparation, from th' astonished mind\n    On an astonished and admiring world\n    Thou dartest in thine overwhelming course,\n    Leaving a track of splendour in thy train,\n    And lighting up the regions of thy way.\n    With thee sweet music sings her various song,\n    And thrills the soul and elevates the mind\n    With \"thoughts that often lie too deep for tears,\"\n    And own a sadness sweeter than the rills,\n    A softer sweetness than the sinking sun\n    Gives to the sparkling face of pensive sea.\n    With thee great genius walketh hand in hand\n    Towards the loftiest thought, or sits in pride\n    Upon the golden throne of starry Fame.\n    Borne on thy wings the pensive poet flies\n    To the sweet-smiling land of sunny dreams,\n    Or pours his floods of music o'er the world.\n    With thy bright gleams his daily deeds are gemmed,\n    And by thy balmy influence, his life\n    Survives when he is dead!\n\n    MAIDENKIRK.                                       D. R. WILLIAMSON.\n\n\n\n\nLACHLAN MACKINNON,\n\nOR \"LACHLAN MAC THEARLAICH OIG,\" THE SKYE BARD.\n\n\nAMONG many who have distinguished themselves by their display of\npoetical talents, the subject of the present brief memoir, holds a\nprominent place as a Gaelic poet. It is true that he was but little\nknown to the world, but he was much admired as a bard, and greatly\nrespected as a gentleman in his native \"Isle of Mist.\"\n\nLachlan Mackinnon, patronimically designated \"Lachlan Mac Thearlaich\nOig,\" was born in the parish of Strath, Isle of Skye, in the year 1665.\nHe was son of Charles Mackinnon of Ceann-Uachdarach, a cadet of the old\nfamily of Mackinnon of Mackinnon of Strath. His mother was Mary Macleod,\ndaughter of John Macleod of Drynoch, in the same island. The poetical\ngenius of _Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ showed itself almost in his infancy.\nHis father, like all Skye gentlemen in those good olden times, was a\nvery social and hospitable man, who seemed never to be contented unless\nhe had his house at Ceann-Uachdarach full of neighbours to enjoy\nthemselves in his family circle. The company were often much amused with\nlittle Lachlan when a mere child, seeing the facility with which he\ncomposed couplets on any subject prescribed to him. At the age of eight\nhe possessed a vigour of mind, and a vivacity of imagination rarely to\nbe met with in youths of more than double his age. A predilection for\npoetry seemed to have gained an ascendency in his mind, over all other\npursuits and amusements of his tender years. He received the rudiments\nof his education, under a tutor in his father's family, and as his\nnative island had not, at that remote period, the advantage of public\nschools of any note, the young bard was sent, at the age of sixteen, to\nthe school of Nairn, which, from its reputation at the time as an\nexcellent seminary, was much resorted to by gentlemen's sons from all\nparts of the north. The young Hebridean remained at Nairn continuously\nfor three years, and was greatly distinguished, not merely by his bright\ntalents, but by his assiduity and perseverance in improving them. His\nstudious disposition and diligent application were amply testified by\nthe progress made by him, and no less duly appreciated by his superiors\nin the place. His love for study was enthusiastic, particularly in\nregard to the languages. He was by far the best Greek and Latin pupil at\nthe Nairn Academy. His moments of relaxation were spent in the\ncomposition of poems in the English language while at Nairn, although,\nundoubtedly, the Gaelic was the medium which was most congenial to his\nmind for giving expression in rhyme to his sentiments. At Nairn,\nhowever, he composed several beautiful little pieces, and among the\nrest a song which was much admired, to the air subsequently immortalized\nby Burns as \"Auld Lang Syne.\" Although his productions in English were\nmuch admired, yet, as it was to him an acquired language, they could\nbear no comparison with his truly superior compositions in Gaelic. It is\na matter of much regret that so few of his Gaelic poems are extant. Like\nmany bards he unfortunately trusted his productions to his memory; and\nalthough well qualified, as a Gaelic writer, to commit them to paper,\nyet he neglected it, and hence hundreds of our best pieces in Gaelic\npoetry are lost for ever. Had they been all preserved, and given to the\npublic in a collected shape, they would have raised the talented author\nto that high rank among the Celtic bards, which his genius so richly\nmerited.\n\nIn appearance _Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ was tall, handsome, and\nfascinating. He was distinguished by a winning gentleness and modesty of\nmanners, as well as by his generous sensibility and steadfast\nfriendship. His presence was courted in every company, and he was\neverywhere made welcome. Of most of the chieftains and Highland lairds\nhe was a very acceptable acquaintance, while no public assembly, or\nsocial meeting was considered complete if that object of universal\nfavour, the bard of Strath, were absent.\n\nWhen a very young man he was united in marriage to Flora, daughter of Mr\nCampbell of Strond, in the Island of Harris. Fondly attached to his\nnative isle, he rented from his chief the farm of Breakish, with the\ngrazing Island of Pabbay, at \u00a324 sterling annually. And as an instance\nof the many changes effected by time, it may be mentioned that the same\ntenement is now rented at about \u00a3250 a-year. From what has been said of\nthe bard's amiable disposition and gentle manners, it will seem no wise\nsurprising that he proved to be one of the most affectionate of\nhusbands, and dutiful of fathers. The happiness of the matrimonial state\nwas to him, however, but of short duration. His wife, to whom he was\ngreatly attached, died in the prime and vigour of life. He was rendered\nso disconsolate by means of his sudden and unexpected bereavement, that\nhe took a dislike to the scene of his transient happiness, and\nrelinquished his farm in Strath. Having removed from Skye, he took\npossession of a new tenement of lands from Mackenzie in Kintail. Greatly\nstruck by what he considered the unrefined manners of his new neighbours\nin that quarter, and contrasting them with the more genial deportment of\nhis own distinguished clan in Strath, he had the misfortune to exercise\nhis poetic genius in the composition of some pungent satires and\nlampoons directed against the unpolished customs of the natives of\nKintail. It is needless to add that by these means he gained for himself\nmany enemies, and forfeited the good wishes of all around him. Finding\nhimself thus disagreeably situated, after an absence of four years, he\nreturned to Skye, where he was cordially received by his chief, and put\nin possession of his former farm at Breakish. After being twelve years a\nwidower he went to Inverness for the purpose of visiting some of his\nschoolfellows who resided there. Previous to his leaving the capital of\nthe Highlands his acquaintances there urged upon him the propriety of\nmarrying a widow lady of the name of Mackintosh, whom they represented\nas being possessed of considerable means. He reluctantly complied with\ntheir wishes, but it became soon too apparent to him that he did so at\nthe expense of his own happiness. His bride was not only penniless but\ndeeply involved in debt. Next morning after his marriage he was visited\nby messengers who served him with summonses for a heavy debt due by his\nwife. In the impulse of the moment, while he held the summons in his\nhand, he seized a pen, and having taken his bride's Bible, wrote the\nfollowing expressive lines on the blank leaf:--\n\n    \"Tha'n saoghal air a roinn,\n    Tha d\u00e0 dh\u00e0n ann,\n    Tha d\u00e0n ann gu bhi sona,\n    Ach tha d\u00e0n an donuis ann.\"\n\nThis marriage proved, in every respect, an unhappy one. The lady, as a\nstepmother, was peevish, harsh, and undutiful. Her cruelty to her\nhusband's children was a continual source of grief to him, and of\nunhappiness to his domestic circle. On a certain day, the lady\nquarrelling with one of her step-daughters, told her she hated to see\nher face, and that she always considered the day an unlucky one on which\nshe had the misfortune to meet her first in the morning. The girl,\ninheriting no doubt a share of her father's power of repartee, quickly\nanswered her stepmother, and said, \"You have every cause to believe that\nit is unlucky to meet me, for I was first-foot to my dear father the\nunfortunate morning on which he left home to marry you.\"\n\nEven amid his misfortunes, which he endured with much forbearance,\n_Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ was renowned for his hospitality and genuine\nHighland friendship. Remote though the period be since he lived, still\nhis memory is fondly cherished in the place. He was possessed of so\nendearing accomplishments, that time itself can hardly wipe away his\nmemory from the minds of his countrymen and clan. Many fragments of his\nnumerous songs continued for ages to be repeated in the country, but it\nis feared, from all the changes which have taken place in the\ncircumstances of the natives, that these are now irretrievably lost.\nMany of his witty sayings became proverbial in the island. He was one of\nthe first sportsmen in the country, and was considered one of the most\nsuccessful deer stalkers of his day. Along with his other\naccomplishments he was an excellent performer on the violin, and in this\nrespect he had no equal in the Western Isles. Of him it may be justly\nsaid:--\n\n    \"To thee harmonious powers belong,\n    That add to verse the charm of song;\n    Soft melody with numbers join,\n    And make the poet half divine!\"\n\nAs a proof of Lachlan Mackinnon's loyalty, it may be mentioned that,\nquite contrary to the wishes of his chief, he went along with some other\nloyal subjects, all the way from Skye to Inverness, in the year 1717, to\nsign a congratulatory address to George I. on his succeeding to the\nBritish throne. He spent the remainder of his days in his native isle\nand parish, and died universally regretted in the year 1734, at the age\nof sixty-nine. His funeral was attended by most of the Highland\nchieftains, and their principal vassals. His cousin-german, Alasdair\nDubh of Glengarry, and all his gentlemen tacksmen were then present, as\nalso Macdonald of the Isles, Macleod of Dunvegan, Mackinnon of\nMackinnon, and Mackenzie of Applecross, with their chief retainers. A\nnumerous band of Highland pipers preceded the bier playing the usual\nmelancholy coronach. Amidst a vast assemblage of all ranks and classes\nhis remains were consigned to their kindred dust in the old churchyard\nof Gillchrist, being the burying-ground of the parish which gave him\nbirth. A rude flag, with an inscription, still marks the poet's grave;\nbut the memory of his many virtues will be handed down in the place to\ngenerations yet unborn.\n\n_Lachlan Mac Thearlaich_ composed a beautiful and pathetic song which is\nstill preserved, to \"Generosity, Love, and Liberality.\" He personified\nthose three, and pretended that he met them as lonely outcasts in a\ndreary glen, and addressed them:--\n\n    Latha siubhal sleibhe dhomh,\n      'S mi 'falbh leam fein gu dl\u00f9th,\n    A chuideachd anns an astar sin\n      Air gunna glaic a's c\u00f9,\n    Gun thachair clann rium anns a' ghleann,\n      A'gul gu fann chion i\u00f9il;\n    Air leam gur h-iad a b' aillidh dreach\n      A chunnacas riamh le m' sh\u00f9il.\n\n    Gu'm b' ioghnadh leam mar tharladh dhoibh\n      A'm f\u00e0sach fad air ch\u00f9l,\n    Coimeas luchd an aghaidhean,\n      Gu'n tagha de cheann i\u00f9il,\n    Air beannachadh neo-fhiata dhomh\n      Gu'n d' fhiaraich mi, \"C\u00f2 s\u00f9d?\"\n    'S fhreagair iad gu cianail mi\n      A'm br\u00efathraibh mine ci\u00f9in.\n\n    \"Iochd, a's Gr\u00e0dh, a's Fiughantas,\n      'Nar tri\u00f9ir gur h-e ar n-ainm,\n    Clann nan uaislean urramach,\n      A choisinn cliu 's gach ball,\n    'Nuair a ph\u00e0igh an fheile cis d'an Eug\n      'Sa chaidh i fein air ch\u00e0ll\n    'Na thiomnadh dh' fh\u00e0g ar n-athair sinn\n      Aig maithibh Innse-Gall.\"\n\n                                                           SGIATHANACH.\n\n\n\n\nFINGAL.\n\n\nIN the yellow sunset of ancient Celtic glory appear the band of warriors\nknown as the Ossianic heroes. Under the magnifying and beautifying\ninfluence of that sunset they tower upon our sight with a stature and\nillustriousness more than human. Of these heroes, the greatest and best\nwas _Fionn_ or Fingal. Unless our traditions are extensively falsified\nhe was a man in whom shone all those virtues which are the boast of our\nrace. The unflinching performance of duty, the high sense of honour, the\ntenderness more than woman's, and the readiness to appreciate the\nvirtues of others were among his more conspicuous characteristics. Now\nthat Celtic anthropology is being so extensively discussed, is it not\nremarkable that Fingal, who so truly personifies the character of that\nrace, is not adduced as the representative Celt? He was a Celt to the\nvery core, and Celtic character has been in no small degree moulded by\ncopying his example. He was, in truth, not the _ultimus_ but the _Primus\nGaelorum_.\n\nNevertheless, it must be confessed that to many English readers Fingal\nis nothing but a name, and that even to most of them he looms dark and\ndim through the mist of years. Unhappily, a nature so transcendently\nhumane and heroic as his is not the sort to win the admiration of the\nvulgar. Nay, so far is its simple grandeur removed above the common\nmaterialism of modern life that the most refined cannot, at first sight,\nappreciate its exalted loveliness.\n\nThe fullest and, we believe, the truest account of him is to be found in\nOssian's poems. That the poetry so denominated was, in substance,\ncomposed by Ossian we have no doubt. At any rate the descriptions of\nFingal therein contained are not only consistent throughout, but also in\naccordance with all that we know of him from other sources. But were we\neven to adopt the absurd theory that Fingal is a creation of\nMacpherson's imagination, the intrinsic beauty of the picture well\ndeserves our study.\n\nAn old man retaining all the energy, but not the rashness of youth; age\nwith vigour instead of decrepitude, delighting in the words of sound\nwisdom rather than the usual tattle of second childhood; and, withal, an\nold man who is prone to moralise as old men are; a man able and willing\nto do his duty in the present though his heart is left in the past; such\nis the most prominent figure in these poems. He is pourtrayed as of\ntall, athletic frame and kingly port, his majestic front and hoary locks\nsurmounted by the helm and eagle plume of the Celtic kings.\n\nThough the idea of Fingal pervades most of Ossian's poems he is seldom\nintroduced _in propria persona_. Even when attention is directed to him\nthe poet merely and meagerly sketches the herculean outline, and leaves\nour imagination to do the rest:--\n\n    At intervals a gleam of light afar\n    Glanced from the broad, blue, studded shield of war,\n    As moved the king of chiefs in stately pride;\n    With eager gaze his eye was turned aside\n    To where the warriors' closing ranks he sees;\n    Half-grey his ringlets floated in the breeze\n    Around that face so terrible in fight\n    And features glowing now with grim delight.--_Tem. B. V._\n\nIn order to introduce his hero with the greater _eclat_, the bard first\nplaces his friends in great straits; represents them, though brave, as\novercome by the enemy and without hope, apart from Fingal. Both friends\nand foes speak of him in terms of respect, and even the greatest leaders\nacknowledge his superiority. When Fingal appears on the scene the poet\nrouses himself to the utmost. He piles simile on simile to give an\nadequate idea of his first charge--\n\n    Through Morven's woods when countless tempests roar,\n    When from the height a hundred torrents pour,\n    Like storm-clouds rushing through the vault of heaven,\n    As when the mighty main on shore is driven,\n    So wide, so loud, so dark, so fierce the strain\n    When met the angry chiefs on Lena's plain.\n    The king rushed forward with resistless might,\n    Dreadful as Trenmor's awe-inspiring sprite,\n    When on the fitful blast he comes again\n    To Morven, his forefather's loved domain.\n    Loud in the gale the mountain oaks shall roar,\n    The mountain rocks shall fall his face before,\n    As by the lightning's gleam his form is spied\n    Stalking from hill to hill with giant stride.\n    More terrible in fight my father seemed\n    When in his hand of might his weapon gleamed,\n    On his own youth the king with gladness thought\n    When in the furious highland wars he fought.--_Fingal B. III._\n\nThe notion that Ossian drew in part, at least from real life, is\nfavoured by the wonderful calmness and absence of effort evinced in\ndelineating so great a character. Expressions that go far to heighten\nour admiration of Fingal are employed in a quiet matter of course way.\n\"The silence of the king is terrible,\" is an expressive sentence. Or\nthis again, \"The heroes ... looked in silence on each other marking the\neyes of Fingal.\"\n\nNor are the gentler feelings less fully brought out in Ossian's\nfavourite character. Nothing could speak more for his affability than\nthe attachment shown by his followers. \"Fear, like a vapour winds not\namong the host! for he, the king, is near; the strength of streamy\nSelma. Gladness brightens the hero. We hear his words with joy.\"[A]\n\nGallantry and philanthropy we might expect to find in his composition,\nbut the tenderness he frequently displays strikes us as remarkable in an\nuncivilized chief. His lamentation over the British city on the Clyde is\nas pathetic as any similar passage in our language.\n\nAnother surprising trait is the generosity he invariably displays to his\nvanquished foes. All the more surprising is it that a \"savage\" should\nshow magnanimity when the heroes of civilized Greece, Rome, and Judea,\ncounted it virtuous to torture their captured enemies. \"None ever went\nsad from Fingal,\" he says himself. Over and over he is represented as\nlamenting the death of enemies when they fall, or granting them freedom\nand his friendship when they yield--\"Come to my hill of feasts,\" he says\nto his wounded opponent Cathmor, \"the mighty fail at times. No fire am I\nto lowlaid foes. I rejoice not over the fall of the brave.\"\n\nA notable fact about Fingal is, that though he lived in times of war, in\ndisposition he was a man of peace. \"Fingal delights not in battle though\nhis arm is strong.\" \"When will Fingal cease to fight?\" he complains, \"I\nwas born in the midst of battles, and my steps must move in blood to the\ntomb.\" Under the influence of this desire for peace he formally gave up\nhis arms to Ossian--\n\n    My son, around me roll my byegone years,\n    They come and whisper in the monarch's ears.\n    \"Why does not grey-haired Fingal rest?\" they say\n    \"Why does he not within his fortress stay?\n    Dost thou in battle's gory wounds delight?\n    Lovest thou the tears of vanquished men of might?\"\n    Ye hoary years! I will in quiet lie,\n    Nor profit nor delight in blood have I.\n    Like blustering storms from wintry skies that roll,\n    Tears waste with grief and dreariness the soul.\n    But when I stretch myself to rest, I hear\n    The voice of war come thundering on my ear\n    Within the royal hall, with loud command,\n    To rouse and draw again th' unwilling brand.--_Tem. B. VIII._\n\nLimited as were the means of communication in those pre-telegraphic\ntimes the fame of such a man must have spread. Accordingly, we read of\nhis name being known and respected far and near. Foreign princes speak\nof him with admiration, and refugees from distant lands seek his\nprotection.\n\nBut it is on the power of his name in after times that we wish more\nparticularly to dwell. There have been no people who honoured their\nheroes so much as the Celts. With them _valour_ and _value_ were\nsynonymous terms. Theirs was not a nobility of money, or literature, or\n\u00e6sthetics, or even of territory. Nobleness should be the qualification\nof a nobleman, and strange as it may seem, it was among the uncivilised\nCelts of Ireland and Scotland that such a character was properly\nappreciated. But they held nobleness and heroism to be identical. They\nseem to have thoroughly believed that cowardice was but the result of\nvice. A fearless man, they felt, must be a true man, and he was honoured\naccordingly. _Flath-innis_, the _Isle of the Noble_, was their only name\nfor heaven. _Allail_ or _divine_ they applied to their heroic men. To\nimitate such was the old Celtic religion as it was the primitive\nreligion of most other peoples.\n\nAmong all the heroes whom the ancient Gael worshipped there was no name\nso influential as Fingal's. Through the ages he has been the idol and\nideal of the Celt. His example was their rule of justice. His maxims\nwere cited much as we would quote Scripture. To the youth he was held up\nas the model after which their lives should be patterned, and where\nChristianity had not yet eradicated the old creed, a _post mortem_\ndwelling with him in _Flath-innis_ was deemed no mean incentive to\ngoodness. He was, in fact, the god of the Gaelic people, worshipped with\nno outward altar, but enshrined in the hearts of his admirers. How far\nthe more admirable traits of Highland character may be attributed to the\nassimilating influence of the idea of Fingal we cannot decide. That our\ncharacter as a people has been largely influenced for good by the power\nof his example we have no doubt. The bards, an order of the old Druidic\nhierarchy, became the priests of the Fingalian hero-worship. Songs,\nelegies, and poetic legends formed their service of praise. To induce\ntheir countrymen to reverence and imitate so great and glorious a Gael\nas Fingal was the object of many of their bardic homilies. Taking into\naccount the nature and circumstances of the ancient Caledonians, we must\nconclude that from position and influence none were more suitable to\nbecome their ethical and \u00e6sthetical advisers than these minstrel\nministers of the Fingalian hero-olatry.\n\nOf course such a faith could not long withstand the more generous and\ncosmopolitan spirit of Christianity, yet we venture to assert that it\nwas vastly preferable in its effects to some abortions of our common\ncreed. That there was a conflict between the two religions we know. As\nlate as the sixteenth century a Christian ecclesiastic complains that\nthe leaders of Gaelic thought of the period were heathen enough to\ndelight in \"stories about the Tuath de Dhanond and about the sons of\nMilesius, and about the heroes and _Fionn_ (Fingal), the son of Cumhail\nwith his Fingalians ... rather than to write and to compose and to\nsupport the faithful words of God and the perfect way of truth.\"\n\nDown to the present day the name of _Fionn_ is reverenced by the less\nsophisticated Highlanders and Islanders. That his name will in future be\nmore extensively, if less intensely, respected we may confidently\npredict. As men's views become more broad and just, and their feelings\nbecome more cultivated and refined, we may hope that a superior\ncharacter such as Fingal will by-and-bye be appreciated. Even now he is\nwidely admired and we begin to read in the signs of the times the\nfulfilment of his own words:--\n\n        When then art crumbled into dust, O! stone;\n    Lost in the moss of years around thee grown;\n    My fame, which chiefs and heroes love to praise,\n    Shall shine a beam of light to future days,\n    Because I went in steel and faced th' alarms\n    Of war, to help and save the weak in arms.--_Tem. B. VIII._\n\n                                                     MINNIE LITTLEJOHN.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote A: The quotations in prose are from Macpherson's translation.]","title":"The Celtic Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 3, January 1876: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interests of the Celt at Home and Abroad","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":16879}