PART VII.. Highland Festive Amusements.

Highland Festive Amusements.

Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain, The simple pleasures of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

GOLDSMITH.

HALLOWE’EN.

Ye powers of darkness and of hell, Propitious to the magic spell, Who rule in silence o’er the night, Be present now.

FRANCES.

Of the whole series of annual festivals, Hallowe’en forms the most important occasion in the Highlands of Scotland. The fascinating round of varied enjoyments the night presents to the young and juvenile--the delightful peeps into futurity it affords to the enchanted lover--and the fond recollections it revives in old age--all conspire to render its approach more interesting, and its celebration more joyful, than any other occasion within the compass of the year. Nor is the happy influence diffused by Hallowe’en confined to the human class of the inhabitants of the Highlands alone; most of the supernatural inhabitants are in some degree partakers in the general happiness. With the fairy community, in particular, it is an occasion of peculiar grandeur, as the great anniversary on which they are reviewed by Auld Nick, their nominal chief potentate, in person; whilst many others of the classes treated of in the foregoing pages regard it as a night of no ordinary pomp and joviality.

On this occasion of universal hilarity, the natural coldness and jealousy which generally subsist between the human species and their supernatural neighbours are changed into perfect harmony and benevolence. Like two belligerent armies, whose hostility towards each other is more the offspring of public duty than private resentment, and who, therefore, during the intervals of war, exhibit in their mutual intercourse the marks of personal good will; so, in like manner, those two classes forget for the night all animosity, in their more laudable zeal to contribute to each other’s gratification. Nay, stern Satan himself relaxes for this night his avarice; and, alive to no other object than the promotion of universal enjoyments, dispatches showers of his emissaries to the several kiln-pots, peat-stacks, and barn-yards in the Highlands, to afford to those adventurers who desire it a peep into the secrets of futurity.

Such a display of seeming benevolence, did it proceed from any other individual than Satan, could not fail to meet with some share of applause. But heads of families, whose opinions are entitled to some respect, have been known to affirm, that Satan’s affected generosity on this occasion is nothing but a mere stratagem for inveigling the more effectually the young and unwary into his vile snares, and that he gets more game by those specious artifices than he could realize by any other means. Hence it is that the anxious parent this night, instead of extolling Satan’s generosity, is so intent on magnifying his perfidy; and in order the better to dissuade his offspring and family from the dangerous practices of the night, details, without qualification, his numerous treacheries on similar occasions.

But these ebullitions of the parent’s jealousy of Satan’s practices are soon subdued. The big-bellied bottle and bumper-glass will have a great effect in relaxing his heart of its illiberal suspicions. Speedily animated by the conciliating qualities of the “barley-bree,” and softened by the recollection of his own youthful frolics and manly deeds on similar occasions, he no longer regards as a crime those practices which he recently condemned; and the good-natured matron, being happy at her husband’s felicity, and averse to chide, they both tacitly connive at the family’s indulgence in the customary arts of divination.

Generally the first spell they try is pulling the stock of kail. Joining hand in hand they go forth to the kail-yard, previously blind-folded, lads, lasses, and children, equally anxious to have their fortunes told as their seniors. Pulling the first stock they meet with, they immediately return to the light to have an examination of its qualities; its being large or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of its puller’s conjugal companion. If any earth adheres to the root, it indicates tocher or fortune; and the taste of the custoc or stem, whether sour or sweet, shows the nature of his disposition.

They go next to the barn-yard, and pull each a stalk of oats, and according to the number of grains upon the stalk the puller will have a corresponding number of children. It may be observed, that it is essential to a female’s good fame that her stalk should have the top-grain attached to it.

An individual goes to the barn, opens both its doors, then takes the instrument used in winnowing corn, called a wecht, and goes through all the gestures of letting down corn against the wind. This is repeated three several times, and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the one door and out at the other, having a retinue emblematical of his or her station in life.

A person goes privately to Tor-na-ha, or the kiln-pot, throws into it a clew of blue thread, which the person winds into a new clew. Towards the latter end something will hold the thread, on which the person demands, “Who holds?” An answer will be returned by the agent below, by naming the Christian name and sirname of the person’s future spouse.

A person steals out unperceived to the peat-stack--sows a handful of hemp-seed, calling out something to the following effect:--

“Hemp-seed, I saw thee, Hemp-seed, I saw thee, And he who is my true love, Come after me and pu’ thee.”

And, on looking over his shoulder, he sees the apparition of the person invoked in the attitude of pulling the hemp, which had immediately grown at the magic command. Or, if hemp-seed is not at hand, let the person take the floor-besom, which he will ride in the manner of a witch three times round the peat-stack, and the last time the apparition will appear to him.

They go one or more to what is called a dead and living ford, or, in other words, a ford which has been crossed by a funeral, and observing profound silence, dip the sleeve of their shirt in it. On returning home they go to bed in sight of a fire, and, lying awake in bed, they will observe an apparition, being an exact similitude of the grand object in question, turn the shirt-sleeve, as if to dry the other side.

An individual goes to a public road, which branches in three several directions, (i. e. the junction of three roads,) bearing with him the cutty or three-legged stool, on which the person seats himself just on the eve of twelve o’clock; and, as the hour strikes, he hears proclaimed the names of the several persons who shall die in the parish before the next anniversary. Nota.--If the person carries along with him articles of wearing-apparel, and throws an article away on the proclamation of each person’s name, it will rescue the person from his impending fate; and it will be wise to retain one article to the last, in case his own name may be called, when he has not the means of redemption at hand.

These and some other out-of-door spells having been tried, the parties return to the dwelling-house to burn the nuts. Burning the nuts is a very popular charm. They name a lad and a lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and, accordingly, as they burn quietly, or start from beside one another, so the issue of the courtship will be.

A person takes a candle and goes unattended to a looking-glass--eats an apple before it, combing his or her hair all the while, occasionally holding over the shoulder a table-fork with a piece of the apple upon it, and ultimately the adventurer’s conjugal partner will be seen in the glass, in the attitude of taking the proffered piece of apple.

These and some other spells of less note, such as dipping for the apple, groping for the clean dish, which are generally known, and, therefore, need not be particularly described, joined to each individual’s relation of the sights which he saw on the present and former occasions, together with the reflections they draw from “narrative old age,” bring the well-buttered sowans, or more favoured Banbrishd upon the table. The sonsie kebbock is roasted at the fire, and fangs cut down from end to end. Brandered bannocks, and every other luxury that can be procured, load the hospitable board. The welcome guests surround it; the silver head is bared with solemn reverence, and the temperate feast, qualified with a few rounds of the Boghtle dhu, is as much relished as if it consisted of the most delicious luxuries that crown a monarch’s board. But the hours are too happy to remain long;--they flee like a shadow, and call the guests to their respective homes. Each swain and damsel now repose themselves on their pillows, full of those tender emotions which the night’s amusements excited, and in their midnight slumbers see those objects whose image they so ardently wished to see in all their comeliness and beauty.

CHRISTMAS.

The children of years to come shall hear the fame of Carthon, when they sit round the burning oak, and the night is spent in songs of old.

OSSIAN.

Christmas Eve is chiefly spent in preparation for the succeeding days. The housewife is busily engaged in the provision and cooking of dainties. The flailman still chaps in the barn, desirous of providing the necessary store of fodder for the Christmas. The herd-boy’s axe resounds on the fir-stock, determined to prepare plenty of light, and the gudeman, and others, are abroad on a not less important errand.

This errand, on which we suppose the gudeman and his assistants employed, is the procuring of Calluch Nollic, or Christmas Old Wife, an indispensable requisite for this occasion; and it will perhaps puzzle some of our readers to guess the purpose for which the good woman is wanted. If they suppose it is to contribute to the hilarity of the time, or to assist in the festive preparations, the idea is not very erroneous--the old woman does so in a very effectual manner. But the return she meets with, however warm, will not be admired by the reader, when he is told that it consists in being stowed into a cartful of burning peats, with as little ceremony and feeling as an old broom. This usage, so inconsistent with the Highlander’s characteristic humanity, she does not, however, regard as a great punishment, for her feelings are as fire-proof as those of a Salamander. Indeed, it is no rare sight, though strange it must be, to see an honest woman, who has undergone the unpleasant process of being Christmas fire to a circle of unfeeling fellows, perhaps oftener than once, heartily spinning at her wheel, and gratifying those, it may be, who had a hand in the unfriendly act, with her marvellous tales. But to avoid a certain imputation which some may be inclined to fix on us, it will be proper to explain our meaning.

The reader will please understand, that this good woman only undergoes this process by representation. Among those valuable discoveries which distinguish former ages, that which gave rise to this custom deserves notice. Some wise-acre, by some lucky chance, discovered, that at this festive season, when the asperity of his character is probably much softened, even relentless death himself can be compromised with on very advantageous terms. By the sacrifice of an old woman, or any other body whom he wished in a better world, and whom, by the following process, he chose to send to it, death was debarred from any farther claim to himself, or his friends, until the return of the next anniversary. He went to the wood this night, fetched home the stump of some withered tree, which he regularly constituted the representative of some person of the description we have mentioned, and whose doom was inevitably fixed by the process, without resort or appeal. Such a simple mode of obtaining security from a foe whom every body fears, could not be supposed to fall into desuetude; and the custom is therefore retained, whatever faith may exist as to its utility, in some parts of the country, even to this day.

But to return to the busy fireside whence we set out, we shall suppose the goodman and the “carling” arrived, and the other members of the family now relieved from their eager toil, with the old wife in the centre. The question now is, how the remainder of the night is to be disposed of? The nature of it requires that it should be spent with gaiety; and a game at cards, the clod, or the bag, is generally fixed upon. At the ordinary hour, however, all retire to rest with minds bent on the morrow’s gratifications, and the house is soon changed from that scene of bustle and confusion it recently exhibited, to that of peaceful tranquillity, where nothing is heard but the slumbering of the inmates, and the growling bark of the faithful collie on the midden-head.

At length the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious housemaid of the approach of

CHRISTMAS DAY.

She rises full of anxiety at the prospect of her morning labours. The meal, which was steeped in the sowans-bowie a fortnight ago, to make the Prechdachdan sour, or sour scones, is the first object of her attention. The gridiron is put on the fire, and the sour scones are soon followed by hard cakes, soft cakes, buttered cakes, brandered bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking being once over, the sowans pot succeeds the gridiron, full of new sowans, which are to be given to the family, agreeably to custom, this day in their beds. The sowans are boiled into the consistence of molasses, when the Lagan-le-vrich, to distinguish it from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured into as many bickers as there are individuals to partake of it, and presently served to the whole, old and young. It would suit well the pen of a Burns, or the pencil of a Cruikshank, to paint the scene which follows. The ambrosial food is soon dispatched in aspiring draughts by the family, who soon give evident proofs of the enlivening effects of the Lagan-le-vrich. As soon as each dispatches his bicker, he jumps out of bed--the elder branches to examine the ominous signs of the day, and the younger to enter on its amusements. Flocking to the swing, a favourite amusement on this occasion, the youngest of the family gets the first “shouden,” and the next oldest to him, in regular succession. In order to add the more to the spirit of the exercise, it is a common practice with the person in the swing, and the person appointed to swing him, to enter into a very warm and humorous altercation. As the swinged person approaches the swinger, he exclaims, Ei mi tu chal, “I’ll eat your kail.” To this the swinger replies, with a violent shove, Cha ni u mu chal, “You shan’t eat my kail.” These threats and repulses are sometimes carried to such a height as to break down or capsize the threatener, which generally puts an end to the quarrel.

As the day advances, those minor amusements are terminated at the report of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs--the gun inviting the marksman to the “Kiavanuchd,” or prize-shooting, and the latter to “Luchd-vouil,” or the ball-combatants--both the principal sports of the day. A description of either of these sports is unnecessary, as nothing new distinguishes them from similar amusements in other places; unless it be a consummate precision in the marksman, and a vigorous intrepidity in the ball-combatants, that cannot perhaps be equalled by the peasantry of any other country.

Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they exchange them for the substantial entertainments of the table. Groaning under the “sonsy haggis,” and many other savoury dainties, unseen perhaps for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company, by the appearance of the festive board, is more easily conceived than described. The dinner once dispatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver’s shuttle. As it continues its rounds, the spirits of the company become the more jovial and happy. Animated by its cheering influence, even old decrepitude no longer feels his habitual pains--the fire of youth is in his eye, as he details to the company the exploits which distinguished him in the days of “auld langsyne;” while the young, with hearts inflamed with “love and glory,” long to mingle in the more lively scenes of mirth, to display their prowess and agility. Leaving the patriarchs to finish those professions of friendship for each other, in which they are so devoutly engaged, the younger part of the company will shape their course to the ball-room, or the card-table, as their individual inclinations suggest; and the remainder of the evening is spent with the greatest pleasure of which human nature is susceptible. Nor will this happy evening terminate the festivities of this occasion. Christmas mid-day awakes all but old age, to a renewal of former hilarity. To age, however, there is no permanent enjoyment ordained in this sublunary state. The transient gleam of happiness which animated his feeble frame has given place, with the cause of it, to a gloom proportionate to his former joys. Headaches, rheumatisms, and other wonted infirmities, are this day returned with more than usual virulence. He wakes only to recline his head on a pillow of sorrow, and to think on the days that are gone.

NEW-YEAR’S EVE.

“A gude New Year I wish thee, Maggy.”

BURNS.

The Highlander’s native proneness to festive enjoyments, far from being cloyed by recent series of feasts and diversions, only receives from their speedy recurrence an additional excitement. Anxious by all means to secure this occasion its accustomed share of hilarity, fresh schemes of amusement are studied and promoted with unabated avidity. The peculiar character of the time pre-eminently entitles it to every demonstration of satisfaction which mankind can evince; and it must be no small stimulus to the Highlander’s laudable zeal, to see that in this he is imitated by beings whose abilities are far inferior to his own.

We presume it is a circumstance that is very little known in other quarters of the kingdom, that, on this particular occasion, even the brute creation (if we may use the expression) have an instinctive knowledge of its auspices. In particular, that admirable object of Highland curiosity, the “Candlemas Bull,” manifests no small degree of respect for the occasion. This strange and curious animal, which has so long escaped the observation of all the Saxon naturalists and astronomers that ever lived, has been long since discovered by our Highland philosophers. We say astronomers! because, however strange it may appear, this bull forms an object of speculation connected with their department of science. It must not, however, be inferred from this circumstance, that it is of that celestial species of bulls designated by astronomers to distinguish a particular division of the zodiac; neither is it of that terrestrial species known to naturalists and cattle-dealers--it is of a species distinct from both. Partaking together of the aërial and terrestrial nature and qualities, both the earth and the air are equally its elements. This bull makes an annual excursion, in some latitude or other, about the twilight of this night, no doubt in honour of the occasion. He has, it is said, neither wings nor any other apparent buoyants; but he takes advantage of the course of the wind, on which he glides along in fellowship with the clouds, in a manner that would do credit to the best aeronaut of the day. The particular place of his ascension or descent, which varies with the direction of the wind, cannot be exactly ascertained. Nor can we favour the curious with a minute description of its bodily appearance, since we never had the good fortune to be present when it was seen. All our informants, however, agree in representing it as of a very large size, the colour of a dark cloud, and having all the limbs of a common bull.

As soon as night sets in, it is the signal for the suspension of common employments; and the Highlander’s attention is directed to more agreeable and important callings. Associating themselves into bands, the men, with tethers and axes, shape their course towards the juniper bushes, which are as much in request this night as kail is on Hallowe’en. Returning home with Herculean loads, the juniper is arranged around the fire to dry till the morning. Some careful person is also dispatched to the dead and living ford, who draws a pitcher of water, observing all the time the most profound silence. Great care must be taken that the vessel containing the water does not touch the ground, otherwise it would lose all its virtues. These and every other necessary peculiar to the occasion being provided, the inmates retire to rest for the night, full of the thoughts of the morrow.

The Highlander’s morning cheer this day is far less palatable than that with which he is served so comfortably on Christmas-day. But if it be not so agreeable to his temporal inclinations, it is far more beneficial to his spiritual interests. The Lagan-le-vrich, though very good in itself as a substantial dish, will do no more than satisfy for a time the cravings of nature. But the treat of which he partakes this day extends its effects to the good of both soul and body. This treat, if we may so call it, is divided into two courses, which are productive of the following good effects.

The first course, consisting of the Usque-Cashrichd, or water from the dead and living ford, by its sacred virtues, preserves the Highlander, until the next anniversary, from all those direful calamities proceeding from the agency of all infernal spirits, witchcraft, evil eyes, and the like. And the second course, consisting of the fumes of juniper, not only removes whatever diseases may affect the human frame at the time, but it likewise fortifies the constitution against their future attacks. These courses of medicine are administered in the following manner:--

Light and fire being kindled, and the necessary arrangements having been effected, the high priest of the ceremonies for the day, and his assistants, proceed with the hallowed water to the several beds in the house, and, by means of a large brush, sprinkles upon their occupants a profuse shower of the precious preservative, which, notwithstanding its salutary properties, they sometimes receive with jarring ingratitude.

The first course being thus served, the second is about to be administered, preliminary to which it is necessary to stuff all the crevices and windows in the house, even to the key-hole. This done, piles of juniper are kindled into a conflagration in the different apartments of the house. Rising in fantastic curls, the fumes of the blazing juniper spread along the roof, and gradually condense themselves into an opaque cloud, filling the apartment with an odoriferous fumigation altogether overpowering. Penetrating into the inmost recesses of the patient’s system, (for patients they may well be called,) it brings on an incessant shower of hiccupping, sneezing, wheezing, and coughing, highly demonstrative of its expectorating qualities. But it not unfrequently happens, that young and thoughtless urchins, not relishing such physic, and unmindful of the important benefits they reap from it, diversify the scene by cries of suffocation and the like, which never fail to call forth from the more reflecting part of the family, if able to speak, a very severe reproof. Well knowing, however, that the more intense the “smuchdan,” the more propitious are its effects, the high priest, with dripping eyes and distorted mouth, continues his operations, regardless of the feelings of his flock, until he considers the dose fully sufficient--upon which he opens the vent, and the other crevices, to admit the genial fluid, to recover the spirits of the exhausted patients. He then proceeds to gratify the horses, cattle, and other bestial stock in the town, with the same entertainment in their turn.

Meanwhile, the gudewife gets up, venting the most latent embryo of disease in a copious expectoration; and clapping her hand upon the bottle dhu, she administers a renovating cordial to the sufferers around her. The painful ordeal is, therefore, soon forgotten, and nothing is heard but the salutations of the season. All the family now get up, to wash their besmeared faces and prepare themselves for the festivities of the day, and for receiving the visits of their neighbours. These last soon arrive in bodies, venting upon the family broadsides of salutation peculiar to the day. Breakfast being served up, consisting of all the luxuries that can be procured, those of the neighbours not engaged are invited to partake of it; and the day is terminated with balls, drinking, card parties, and other sports too tedious to be mentioned.

FASTEN’S EVE.

“And oft I hear your dearest name Whispered in my troubled dream.”

The most substantial entertainment peculiar to this night is the matrimonial brose, which is a dish, we believe, well known throughout the country at large. This savoury dish is generally made of the bree of a good fat jigget of beef or mutton, which, being sometimes a good while in retentum, renders the addition of salt to the meal unnecessary. Before the bree is put in the bicker or plate, a ring is mixed with the meal, which it will be the aim of every partaker to get. The first bicker being discussed, the ring is put into two other bickers successively; and should any of the candidates for matrimony find the ring more than once, he may rest assured of his marrying before the next anniversary.

The brose, and plenty of other good cheer, being dispatched, the guests betake themselves to another part of the night’s entertainment. Soon as the evening circle convenes, the “Bannich Junit,” or “sauty bannocks,” are resorted to. The component ingredients of those dainties are eggs and meal, and a sufficient quantity of salt, in order to sustain their ancient and appropriate appellation of “sauty.” These ingredients, well mixed together, are baked or toasted on the gridiron, and are regarded by old and young as a most delicious treat; and, as may be expected, they have a charm attached to them, which enables the happy Highlander to discover the object of all his spells--his connubial bed-fellow.

A sufficient number of those designed for the palate being prepared, the great or matrimonial bannock is made, of which all the young people in the house partake. Into the ingredients of it there is some particle intermixed, which, in the distribution, will fall to the lot of some happy person, who may be sure, if not already married, to be so before the next anniversary.

Last of all are made the Bannich Bruader, or dreaming bannocks, to the ingredients composing which is added a little of that substance which chimney-sweeps call soot, and which contains some charm of which we have not yet come to the knowledge. In baking these last bannocks, the baker must be as mute as a stone--one word would destroy the charm of the whole concern. One is given to each individual, who slips off with it quietly to bed; and, reposing his head on his bannock, he will be gratified by the sight of his beloved in the course of his midnight slumbers.

BELTANE EVE.

“Now the sun’s gone out o’ sight, Beet the ingle, snuff the light; In glens the fairies skip and dance, And witches wallop o’er to France.”

RAMSAY.

Beltane Eve is a night of considerable importance and of much anxiety to the Highland farmer, as being the grand anniversary review night, on which all the tribes of witches, warlocks, wizards, and fairies, in the kingdom, are to be reviewed by Satan and his chief generals in person, and new candidates admitted into infernal orders. When such a troop, under such a commander, are let loose upon the community, it is natural to suppose that much misery and devastation will follow in their train; and when rewards are only conferred on those most consummate in wickedness, and those most adept in cutting diabolical cantrips, it is natural for every honest man to feel anxious that they may not obtain promotion at his expense. In order, therefore, to be perfectly secure from the machinations of so dangerous a society, every prudent man will resort to those safeguards that will keep them at the staff’s end. Messengers are therefore dispatched to the woods for cargoes of the blessed rowan tree, the virtues of which are well known. Being formed into the shape of a cross, by means of a red thread, the virtues of which too are very eminent, those crosses are, with all due solemnity, inserted in the different door-lintels in the town, and protect those premises from the cantrips of the most diabolical witch in the universe. Care should also be taken to insert one of them in the midden, which has at all times been a favourite site of rendezvous with the black sisterhood. This cheaply purchased precaution once observed, the people of those countries will now go to bed as unconcernedly, and sleep as soundly, as on any other night.

While those necessary precautions are in preparation, the matron or housekeeper is employed in a not less interesting avocation to the juvenile generation, i. e. baking the Beltane bannocks. Next morning the children are presented each with a bannock, with as much joy as an heir to an estate his title-deeds; and having their pockets well lined with cheese and eggs, to render the entertainment still more sumptuous, they hasten to the place of assignation, to meet the little band assembled on the brow of some sloping hill, to reel their bannocks, and learn their future fate. With hearty greetings they meet, and with their knives make the signs of life and death on their bannocks. These signs are a cross, or the sign of life, on the one side; and a cypher, or the sign of death, on the other. This being done, the bannocks are all arranged in a line, and on their edges let down the hill. This process is repeated three times, and if the cross most frequently present itself, the owner will live to celebrate another Beltane day; but if the cypher is oftenest uppermost, he is doomed to die of course. This sure prophecy of short life, however, seldom spoils the appetites of the unfortunate short-livers, who will handle their knives with as little signs of death as their more fortunate companions. Assembling around a rousing fire of collected heath and brushwood, the ill-fated bannocks are soon demolished, amidst the cheering and jollity of the youthful association.

CHRISTENINGS.

“When we sit bowsing at the nappy, And getting fu’ and unco happy, We think not on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, an’ stiles.”

BURNS.

Having travelled over the prominent features which distinguish public annual festivities in the Highlands of Scotland, we shall now briefly direct the reader’s attention to those particular occasions which only interest private circles of friends; and of all these it may be said, that the birth and christening of a child forms one of the most pleasant and important. The fond parent, filled with those visionary hopes and expectations which the imagination is so apt to conceive as the portion of those objects most dear to us, fancies he beholds in his new offspring the future hero or statesman, whose fragile hand may be destined to wield the sword of a general or the pen of a statesman. Such is the impression of the Highland parent in particular--an impression in which he is perhaps confirmed by superior authority. The great utility and comfort derived from having the assistance of those wise people, whose experience and judgment enable them to discover those great destinies in an infant, is abundantly apparent; and of this capacity most of the Highland matrons are possessed. It is no doubt this weighty consideration that induces every honest woman to have her own junto of matron counsellors, whose presence is as indispensable on the occasion of an accouchement as that of the accoucheur. If the offspring is a son, it is likely those sage physiognomists will already trace in his infantile lineaments clear signs of that future greatness which he is destined some happy day to display, as well as the striking resemblance he bears to his father and mother. The greatness of such a blessing as this they never fail to impress upon the overjoyed father, (though, by the bye, he may have had too many of these blessings before,) who is thus induced cheerfully to devote more of his little property than he can well afford, to give the occasion its deserved eclat. Filled with pleasure, elated with hope, Highland hospitality has no bounds--a score of lives are sacrificed at the shrine of festivity, and all the neighbours and kinsmen invited to the christening. The day arrived, the little great man destined to grace some name is arrayed in his robes of state, and confided to the care of the happy sponsors, who, (should the parson not attend the feast,) together with the company present, will proceed with him to the parsonage, to receive the ordinance of baptism. On their return, the guests assembled will pledge the health of their host and the Benheen, or the sick wife, in overflowing bumpers--not forgetting young Donald, who, “may he thrive,” every body praises for a fine child.

The seating and tables being next sorted in some snug place, the feast commences with a course of savoury soup, which is pronounced good by all. A succeeding course of broth is still better; and a third still better than the second. Mutton and beef follow, each good in its kind. Plenty of fowls, equally delicious, are next ushered in, calling forth the unqualified praise of the guests, who, upon the whole, pronounce the banquet the most luxurious which they have seen for a long time before. The dessert once dispatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and the rafters are made again to resound to the healths of the young hero and his parents. A long catalogue of those toasts and sentiments most congenial to the feelings of the company are next drank with the greatest glee; and bowl after bowl is speedily drained “to friendship’s growth,” the effects of which bespeak themselves in the aspect of the company.

Enveloped in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, in one corner a hamlet politician is retailing to his half-attentive neighbour the various news of the day. Another guest is as warmly engaged in the praise of his wife, his horses, or his cattle; and another is eagerly soliciting attention to his improved mode of ploughing his ground, sowing his turnips, and planting his potatoes. At length, when the house begins to revolve, each thinks it time to withdraw. The officious midwife then comes to the door, full of kind inquiries, if each has got his own plaid, bonnet, and staff; and being rewarded for her attention by the customary douceur, she wishes them all a good night and a pleasant journey.

WEDDINGS.

“Was ne’er in Scotland heard or seen Sic dancing and deray; Nouther at Falkland on the green, Nor Peebles at the play.”

KING JAMES I.

Interesting as a christening undoubtedly is to the parents of the child, it is, neither in a public nor private sense, so happy an occasion as that which we are about to describe. If there is any thing under the sun in which true happiness really consists, we are told it is in the consummation of a marriage, where the parties, uninfluenced by sordid motives, are entirely brought together by the magnetic power of love. Of such a description the Highland marriages are in general. The lower classes being pretty equal in their circumstances, policy and interest have less influence in their marriages than is the case with any other rank of people; and consequently the parties are left more to the unbiassed dictates of their own voluntary choice.

When a couple of young lovers propose to get married, the nearest relations of both parties meet to take the case into consideration; and, in general, it is no difficult matter for the lovers and their advocates to get a decision consonant to their inclinations. This is called the booking (“leuruch”) or contract, which is very often ratified by no other covenant than a few bottles of whisky. If the parties come to an understanding, the lovers are immediately declared bride and bridegroom; and some Tuesday or Thursday in the growth of the moon is fixed upon for the celebration of the nuptials. Meanwhile, to sustain the dignity of the bridal pair, from motives of policy as well as of state, they select from their kinsmen two trustworthy persons each, who are delegated to the other--the male to protect the party from being stolen, (a practice once common, and not yet extinct,) and the female to act as maid of honour and lady of the bedchamber on the bridal occasion.

A few days prior to the bridal day, the parties, with their attendants, perambulate the country, inviting the guests, on which occasion they meet with marked attention from old and young. The invitations are all delivered to the parties propria persona at their firesides; and if the wedding is to be a cheap one, a small present is sometimes offered to the bride, and accepted of.

On the morning of the wedding-day, some lady, who is above the ordinary level, and who has been constituted mistress of the ceremonies for the day, arrives to deck the bride in her splendid habiliments. She is received by the clean white bride, previously prepared for her by a ducking in the cold bath; and, retiring to the wardrobe chamber, she is speedily metamorphosed from a “sonsy country lassie” into a downright lady--at least, if muslins and ribbons are all that is requisite to confer this distinction, she is entitled to it. The bridegroom, too, at his apartments, has his own decorators, who deck him out most splendidly with marriage favours and other ornaments suitable to the occasion.

Meanwhile, repeated vollies of musketry summon the guests to the wedding. Mounted on his palfry, each “crony” shapes his course to the house to which he was invited; while droves of youngsters flock along the road, whose hearts at every shot are bounding with joy. On their arrival, they are ushered into the breakfasting apartment, to partake of the forenoon’s entertainment, consisting of good milk porridge and cream, on which they fare very sumptuously. After this mid-day repast, they are led to the ball-room, or dancing apartment, to share in its enjoyment. Here the bride or bridegroom is seated at the upper end of the ball-room, and receives the company, as they successively arrive, with great pomp and ceremony; and the dancing and mirth is prolonged for some hours.

At the time appointed, the bridegroom selects a party of young men, who are dispatched to summon the bride and her party to the marriage ceremony. Their approach is announced by showers of musketry opened upon them by some of the bride’s men, and returned, most of the guests being furnished with pistols. The bride’s party accordingly prepare themselves for the procession. The bride is mounted upon some canny charger behind an expert rider; drams go round to her health and prosperity; and, the company being all in readiness, she leaves her native residence for another, amidst the cheers and feu-de-joie of the assembly. Marching to the sound of the inspiring bagpipes, and the discharge of fire-arms, the bride’s party proceed to the place appointed for the marriage. The bridegroom’s party follow at some little distance; and both arrived at the appointed place of rendezvous, the bridegroom’s party stand in the rear till the bride’s party enter the meeting-house, agreeably to the rules of precedence, which on this occasion are decidedly in favour of the bride in all the proceedings of the day.

Soon as the hymeneal knot is tied, the candidates for the honour of wonning the kail, as they call it, drive off pell mell for the bridegroom’s house, horsemen and footmen promiscuously. Both parties, now mingled together, proceed with multitudinous jovialty towards the bridegroom’s, the scene of the future festivities of the night. A volley of fire-arms announces their arrival; and the company assembled at the door, to welcome the bride, assail her with a basket of the bridal bread and cheese, the properties of which are well known. The bridal pair are then seated at the upper end of the banquet, and the guests are arrayed, according to their quality, around the far-extended tables, formed of doors, chests, and cart bottoms, sustained by sturdy supporters of wood or stone; and wooden beams, and deals for chairs, in common form. The more plebeian part of the guests, freely disposed of in the stables or byres, make themselves very comfortable with their cheer.

Shortly the waiters come round the circle, presenting each with a spoon, which he must carefully return when done with it. The spoon is followed with the hardly-contested kail. After this, a remove of savoury broth is presently brought in; of which all having partaken, the still more delicious “hotch-potch” succeeds. Then follow fowl of every feather, and every beast and creeping thing--

“Hind and fore spalls of a sheep Drew whittles frae ilk sheath; Wi’ gravie a’ their beards did creep, They kempit wi’ their teeth.”

The dinner being over, the “shemit reel” is the next object of attention. All the company assemble on the lawn with flambeaux, and form into a circle. The bridal pair and their retinue then dance a sixsome reel, each putting a piece of silver into the musician’s hand. Those desirous may then succeed, and dance with the bride and the two maids of honour, and are gratified at the commencement and termination of each reel by the usual salutes.

In the meantime, the stewards of the feast having removed the temporary erections from the dancing apartments, the shemit reel being over, the guests re-occupy their seats in the original order, and dancing and mirth is again resumed. Tartan plaids, spreading in every corner, invite the fair to take shelter in those most congenial to their inclinations. The jovial smiling bowl, now reeking in a corner, allures to its side its votaries--the circling glass adds additional stimulus to the riotous spirit of the company. In short, pleasure presents herself for courtship in all her luring forms.

As the night advances, the company grows still more happy. The numerous ills of the human lot, which at other times so much afflict them, now cause them no concern; on the contrary, they are entirely full of its pleasures. Hence, all the corners of the house, instead of declamations against the infirmities of age, or the badness of the times, are full of the happiest communications. Opportunities long sought for declaring secret friendship have now occurred, and the warmth with which they are expressed forcibly bespeak their fervency. Two patriarchs “had long indulged the hope of seeing an honourable alliance betwixt their families. Both honest and respectable, the union of their children would be a highly suitable match; and should such a desirable event ever occur, there was a black stocking in secret, which would spew on the occasion of the wedding.” In another, you may see two hearty grey-beards, whose locked hands and contacting noddles show the closeness of their friendship, relating to each other, with much complacency, those tales of “auld langsyne” in which they themselves acted so prominent a part. In another corner, the fond lover, with his dearly beloved locked in his affectionate embrace, melting her heart with his wooing strains; and in another, the vocal choir, whose throats of steel vociferate their harmonious ditties on the gratified ears of the company; while, on the top of a bed, or at the back of the door, the juvenile part of the guests, assembled in tumultuous rabble, will also join their voices in the general uproar.

On the floor the dancers are beyond compare. Fixed with emulation who shall win the dance, every nerve and muscle is put in active exercise. The lads are gaining greater agility every successive reel; while, in the language of the poet,

“The lasses bab’d about the reel, Gart a’ their hurdies wallop, And swat like ponies when they speel Up braes, or when they gallop.”

This scene lasts for some hours, until the presence of day warns the bride to prepare for the bedding. Wishing, if possible, to elude the public gaze, she attempts to steal away privately, when, observed by some vigilant eye, her departure is announced, and all push to the bridal chamber.

The door is instantly forced open, and the devoted bride, divested of all her braws, and stripped nearly to the state of nature, is placed in bed in presence of the whole company. Her left stocking is then flung, and falls upon some individual, whose turn to the hymeneal altar will be the next. The bridegroom, next led in, is as rapidly demolished, and cosily stowed along-side of his darling. A bottle and glass being then handed to the bridegroom, he rewards the friendliness of those who come forward to offer their congratulations, with a flowing bumper. When the numerous levée have severally paid their court, they retire, and leave the young couple to repose.

On returning to the grand scene of festivity, we shall find that the aspect of the company there has suffered no small alteration during our absence. Overpowered by the peculiar influence of the ardent friendship which fills the elder branches of the company, those boisterous expressions of esteem which recently occupied them so much, have declined into the calmest complacency. Overcome by the most unspeakable sensations, the tongue, which was lately so voluble, has totally failed. Those legs, which but a few hours ago displayed the greatest agility, have now refused their office; and the whole machine is become perfectly unwieldy and unmanageable:

“In their mawes there was na mank; Upon the firms some snor’d; Ithers frae aff the bunkers sank, Wi’ een like collops scor’d.”

Seated by the victorious bowl, the Far Cuil is still engaged in his musical vocation. With bow alternately above and below the strings, he is earnestly employed at Tullochgorum, while cries for the same spring, proceeding from the dancers on the floor, incessantly ring on his ears. Insensible to time or measure, some of the young people still wallop on the floor, and unabated clamour reigns throughout the house.

Meanwhile, all the avenues leading from the town are thronged with retiring guests “careering” on their way home; and the company is ultimately reduced to the immediate friends and relations of the young couple, who wait to offer their morning congratulations. When the bridal pair are supposed to have reposed themselves sufficiently long, they are warned to get up, to prepare for the breakfast and the morning levée. On entering the grand breakfasting parlour, the whole concourse of friends receive them with showers of compliments and congratulations, accompanied by such gifts as may be convenient; and yesterday’s scene of festivity is again renewed, and prolonged for the day.

WAKES.

“But turn to yonder cloister’d gloom, Where pallid Sorrow leads the way, To muse upon some hallow’d tomb, Where Friendship’s dearest relics lie.”

W. S.

Short and unstable are the joys of man!--How often does it happen that such ardent scenes of pleasure as we have been just endeavouring to describe are but like the gleam which precedes the storm--a prelude to direful woe! Oft has the tender parent or loving child, who but yesterday animated such a scene of festivity, to-day exhibited the most desponding spectacle which human nature can witness. Those eyes, which then sparkled at the pibroch’s harmonious sounds, are now sealed for ever; and his relations and friends are involved in grief more vehement than their former joys.

Prone to partake in his neighbour’s joys, the Highlander, on such occasions as this, is equally ready to share in his sorrows, and will not grudge to contribute his exertions, by night as well as by day, to add to his comfort or consolation. On the last offices of friendship being performed, the body is laid on a bed in that apartment of the house most commodious and suitable for the company; and the neighbours immediately collect in bands, to watch over the remains of departed friendship. During the silent hours of midnight, the solemnity of the occasion is heightened by the sound of sacred praise, and reading of the blessed Gospel. Such are now the laudable employments which have assumed the place of that revelry which formerly disgraced the Highland wakes, when immoderate drinking, dancing, wanton levity, and profane amusements, were the prominent features of such an assembly. It is true, the moderate use of liquor and singing of songs are still tolerated, but excess on these occasions is now unknown. On the departure of every group, one of the friends in attendance conducts them to the melancholy bier, when each generally testifies the ardour of his friendship by shaking the hand, which now cannot feel his proffered kindness, and retires full of those solemn reflections which the scene is calculated to produce.

FUNERALS.

“In some fond breast still lives the face, Its wonted smile, the darling form, Which awful death cannot efface, However much it may deform.”

W. S.

On the third day after the defunct’s decease, if the person occupied no station above the ordinary level, the body will be led to its destined abode. This sorrowful day is early distinguished by melancholy arrangements. Verbal warnings having been previously circulated to the male inhabitants of the district, large and timeous preparations are necessary for their accommodation and entertainment. While the seating of the apartments destined to receive the company occupies the men, the arrangement of the entertainment occupies no less the attention of the women. In the meanwhile, the relations and family of the deceased attire themselves in the best mournings their circumstances can afford, and prepare themselves for going through the duties of the day with all possible fortitude and decency. The arrival of the wooden house of death, and the deposition of its inhabitant, early call forth many a sigh and tear at the parting which is about to take place. But the closing of the coffin is deferred till the eve of removal.

About twelve o’clock, the company, or, to speak more properly, the guests, successively arrive in scattered groups, dressed in all the variegated colours of the rainbow; and are received by some near connection of the deceased, who conducts them to the place appointed for their station.

With becoming gravity they take their seats, condoling very feelingly with the present friends on their lamentable loss, and carry on for a while a conversation very suitable to the business which brought them together. They are each served, on their arrival, with what is called a dram of “dry whisky,” and some fit person is appointed to keep the glass in active circulation. To him is also delegated a discretionary power of imposing extra penalties on late comers, who must compensate for their absence by drinking a double quantity on their arrival.

Thus, all equally well plied with the enlivening glass, the solemn aspect of the company is soon changed into a mixture of sorrow and joy. The moralist, who so recently uttered such sage reflections upon the shortness of life and its uncertainty, is transformed by some secret influence into the sprightly wit, whose humorous jokes and repartees continually agitate the risible powers of his audience. In short, the house of mourning is rapidly changing into a house of mirth; and such would be the opinion of any stranger who might visit the scene.

As soon as he approaches the door of the meeting-house, his ears are assailed with a confusion of sounds, which conveys to him the idea of entering a house full of bees. Seated in double rows, extending from one end of the house to the other, he finds it literally crammed, not with bees, but Highlandmen of every age and condition. In each end of the house he sees overflowing bowls, and walking to and fro, a host of waiters, bearing the full and empty glasses of the company, followed by others with bread and cheese, which are liberally distributed amongst the guests. Being seated in the place befitting his rank or station, if curiosity leads him to a closer examination of the complexion of his company, he will not be a little amused at the diversity of feelings and conversation distinguishing the individuals composing it. If the visitor or stranger whom we have supposed is of a serious cast of mind, and if he addresses himself to his elbow neighbour on the solemn character of the occasion, and laments the pitiful state of the family that may be thus deprived of their parent or provider--perhaps, if he listens for a moment with counterfeited seriousness, the sprightly sally of a rustic wit rings upon his ear, and a horse-laugh immediately shows the spectator he has no great relish for his subject. If, again, he addresses himself to one of a less jovial temperament, who has not yet been so much affected by the general infection upon the same subject, he will perhaps acknowledge the justness of his observations with a significant shake of the head, declaring at the same time the poignancy of his sorrow for the deceased, who, “new peace to him, was the best of souls.” But, at the same time, and in the same breath, he will make a digression to the alarming depreciation of agricultural produce, and the consequent inevitable ruin of poor farmers, if they do not immediately get a reduction of the one-half of their rents; and the concern he evinces for both matters makes it difficult to determine which loss he considers the greater calamity. Listening to the various topics of conversation discussed by the company in general, he will find seriousness form no part of it. Having already sufficiently moralized on the evils of life, they are now resolved to confine themselves entirely to its goods. Death, low prices, and high rents, have now given place to balls, feasts, and diversions. One group is warmly engaged in scheming a “dry or wet ball;” another group is warmly expatiating upon the good signs of the year, corroborated as they are by the “annual prognostic;” and others are as warmly engaged in recriminating each other for their notorious gallantries, and the like; while a good spring, a good harvest, and ready sale to sheep and cattle, are drunk by all with the greatest enthusiasm. All are become suddenly acquainted with the proverb, “A pound of care will not pay an ounce of debt;” and therefore they are determined to spend life in friendship and good hopes. In obedience to this wholesome resolution, each crony, as he gives his neighbour the hand, will also give him the pipe or the “sneeshan mill,” and would be very sorry to see him ill-used in a “pley,” or any such cause, without rendering him a helping hand.

As the drinking continues, the company become still more noisy. Repetitions of toasts, the vacant laugh, and incoherent exclamation, mingled with a few little oaths, are what perpetually burst upon the ear; and the sequel of such unhallowed carousals exhibit but too frequently a scene of the most improper levity.

Far different, however, are the feelings and conduct of those mournful individuals who occupy another apartment, where the affectionate widow or fatherless orphans are now assembled, to take the last and long farewell of the relics of love. In deep dismay, behold the sorrowing group bending over the dear remains, absorbed in frantic woe, bathing with their tears unfeeling death, insensible to all their sorrows.

When the weeping relatives have severally bade the corpse the last adieu, by imparting the farewell kiss to the cold and pallid lip of death, (which, nevertheless, is perhaps the sweetest we ever impart,) the dearest form is for ever concealed from their view.

“Long on the lip the kiss will dwell, And on the ear the mournful sigh, Which seal’d the last and fond farewell, And forg’d a bond time can’t untie.”

The necessary arrangements being effected, the coffin is brought forth, surrounded by the bereaved friends, and bound on the hanspecks on some convenient supports at the door; and when time will no longer permit the guests to indulge in their hilarity, an unwelcome summons invites them to their duty. Issuing forth tumultuously, they surround their charge; and all the riders being provided with their horses, the signal for setting off is given. The female relations, according to the custom of some countries, get the first lift; and the supports on which the body was bound being carefully overturned, for some reason best known to the wise men of the day, the multitudinous procession takes the road.

At this moment a scene presents itself to the cool spectator, wholly without a parallel. The various habiliments of the company--riders and pedestrians mingled together--the sound of the horses--and the united clamour of the multitude--are altogether striking. At one time, the expressions of mirth predominate; while, at others, the heart-rending lamentations of the female relations of the defunct prevail, and in their turn vibrate upon the ear. The women, at length unwillingly disentangled from the body, return home with mournful wailing, and the procession continues its course to its destination. Too many of the company are sometimes more intent upon their own pleasures than mindful of their business, roving about in scattered parties; while others exhibit, in their attention, a pattern of correctness and decorum; and, warmly enumerating the good qualities of the deceased, descant on the happy change he has made--at the same time walking with a careful step, lest an unfortunate fall beneath the body should doom themselves to share his enviable lot.

At length, arrived at the mansions of the dead, the body is lowered into its drear abode, amidst the sorrowing of some and the insensibility of others. The slate planted on the grave terminates its earthly career, and consigns it for ever to the land of forgetfulness.

“Yet, though consign’d to death’s dark shade, And ever hid from mortal view, Still constant Love, by Fancy led, The dreary scene will oft review.”

The End.

J. S. WITHERDEN, Lithographic and Letterpress Printer, Clifford’s Inn Passage, Fleet Street.

FOOTNOTES:

Nothing can appear more surprising to the refined reader, than that any human being, possessing the rational faculties of human nature, could for a moment entertain a notion so preposterous as that a ghost, which conveys the idea of an immortal spirit, could be killed, or rather annihilated, by an arrow, dirk, or sixpence. It was, however, the opinion of the darker ages, that such an exploit as killing a ghost was perfectly practicable. A spirit was supposed to be material in its nature, quite susceptible of mortal pain, and liable to death or annihilation from the weapons of man. Such an opinion is repeatedly expressed in several passages of the Poems of Ossian, and in the doctrine of the Seanachy, down to the present day.

John-o’-Groat’s House, Caithness.

We are informed that there is a woman still living in the parish of Abernethy, on whom this experiment was tried. She was found one night, rather unaccountably, as it appeared to her wise parents, on the outside of a window. No doubt, therefore, remained, but that she had been stolen by the fairies, and a stock left as her substitute. It was, therefore, unanimously resolved to carry the stock to the junction of the shires of Inverness, Moray, and Banff, where the poor child was left for a night to enjoy the pleasures of solitude. Being well rolled up in a comfortable blanket, she sustained no material injury from this monstrous exposure, and, accordingly, the result proved highly satisfactory to her enlightened guardians.

Mine is yours, and yours is mine.

The goats are supposed to be upon a very good understanding with the fairies, and possessed of more cunning and knowledge than their appearance bespeaks.

Witchcraft.

A Witch.

The present Lord Murray is supposed to have been the gentleman who discovered to Mr. Willox this convenient piece of information regarding the original nature and use of the stone.

North.

Since the first publication of this book, the renowned Mr. Mac Grigor Willox has been laid with his fathers, leaving the stone and bridle to his son and daughter, as heirlooms for the benefit of posterity. The goodman died full of years, if not full of any thing else which is coveted by the people of this world. But by his death it is believed that the spell which so long bound the northern community to his stone and bridle has been broken; and it is thought that those precious relics, which were scarcely “honestly come by,” may be returned to the kelpie and the mermaid, their original owners, should they or their representatives be disposed to claim restitution of them.

The highly curious and interesting collection of Criminal Trials, recently published by Robert Pitcairn, Esq., affords ample particulars of the modus operandi by which the workers of Satan in human shape accomplished their nefarious ends. The reader is particularly referred to the cases of those witches of quality, Lady Glammis and Lady Munro of Fowlis, and to the assistant hags of the latter, consisting of Laskie Loncart, Christy Ross, and others, all highly deserving of record. But Isobel Gowdie, the head witch of Auldearn, who, on her own confession, was condemned to be “worried and burned at a stake” in 1662, is the standard authority to refer to on these subjects. It appears that in those days Auldearn, near Nairn, now the locality of a virtuous community, was the great nursery that supplied Satan with cadets for his “Black Watch;” for so numerous were the members of the craft at that place, according to Isobel Gowdie, that on occasions of public inspection by the sovereign of the order, they were counted or told off in squads or “covines” (as Isobel called them), to each of which were appointed two adjutants or drill-sergeants, the brigade-major being a “well-favoured” wench of the name of “Nannie,” who occupied the seat of honour at Satan’s carousals. On such occasions of assembly, they dug up graves, possessed themselves of unchristened infants, using their joints and members in their incantations. They metamorphosed themselves into the forms of crows, cats, hares, &c., and played all manners of cantrips on live stock and farm produce. But it not unfrequently happened that those amusements turned out but indifferent sport to some of the probationers concerned,--several worthies, and Isobel Gowdie among the rest, having had unwittingly become the subjects of the chase, at the feet and mouths of the greyhounds of the day, who have “no respect of persons,” or the characters in which they enacted their parts. And it would also appear that the cadets in this Royal Military College formed any thing but an harmonious society--the Master General, and his Sappers and Miners, often quarrelling about very minor matters, such as titles of distinction; in the course of which the master often received many black names, and the apprentices many stripes. But it would appear that “one Margaret Wilson in Auldearn” was nearly match for him; for Isobel Gowdie declares she used to “bell the cat” with him stoutly; “defending herself finely” from the wool-cards and such other sharp instruments of punishment as he made use of on those occasions. “It was no doubt one of those ancient covines that encountered Macbeth (not far from the College) on his way to Forres.”

But since the days of Isobel Gowdie, Maggy Wilson, Bessy Hay, and Co, the union has been repealed, without the aid of any great agitator; for ever since their day, the people in this parish have died a natural death. But it is still mooted, “sotto voce,” that there are still some roots of the old tree scattered over neighbouring territories not far from the capital of the Highlands, who have been allowed to live quite as long as they deserved. And one Isabella Hay, probably a descendant of her namesake of Auldearn, has for many years levied blackmail on the inhabitants of Inverness, until having, by her imps, in autumn 1839, laid her enchantments on the goods and chattels of some people in Inverness (the author among the number), she was sentenced in September, 1839, by the Circuit Court of Justiciary--not to the stake, but to a punishment which, however, has served to put an end to her sorceries.

Among recent discoveries of the author as charms, or rather counter-charms against witchcraft, it deserves to be noticed, that if a knot tied against the sun be made on the tail of a quadruped, it is secure against the spells of necromancy. It is, or had been till recently, also a common practice to put a portion of the medicinal herb or plant called “saffron” under the churn while the process of churning the cream is undergoing, which will prevent the craft from taking the substance by means of their magical rope, by the operations of which they were wont to extract from a piece of wood in their own dwellings the soul and substance of what might belong to parties afar off, and who, without such precaution, might churn away till doomsday without the appearance of the yellow treasure. And moistening the mouth of a calf with the extract of the said vegetable, and setting it to suck a cow whose milk might go to the said rope, will instantly restore it to the proper owner.

It need scarcely be added, in conclusion, that scoring a witch crosswise on the forehead, or above her breath, divests her of all supernatural power. But the laws are now so strong, even at John-o’-Groat’s house, that the processes of trial by swimming and scoring cannot now be resorted to, except in extreme cases where the subjects have not the benefit of law or clergy. On a very recent occasion, however, in Ross-shire, a worthy fisher, whose nets suffered no small prejudice from the machinations of a neighbour, but no friend, performed on her, much against her consent, the operation of scoring on the forehead, for which the sheriff of Ross, in August 1845, sentenced him to undergo a short imprisonment in the gaol of Tain.

Switched cream.

The game called “Clodhan,” or Clod, is a favourite amusement with the youth in the Highlands. One of the company goes round the circle with a clod, or some other article, putting his hand into each person’s lap or hand, and leaves the clod with one of the number. The whole circle are then desired to guess the person who possesses the clod, (he guessing like the rest to prevent suspicion,) when all those who err are subjected to a small penalty, which shall be afterwards determined by an appointed judge; and in the meantime, he must deliver some pledge to enforce his compliance with the arbiter’s decision. When a sufficient number of pledges are obtained, judgment is pronounced against their owners, who must redeem them, by doing various little penances, some of which are sufficiently ludicrous.

The bag is another popular juvenile amusement. One pops his head into a bag, holding his hand spread on his back, and the palm uppermost. One of the company, in rotation, strikes his hand, not unfrequently with all his might, upon that of the person in the bag, who is desired to guess who struck him last. If his guessing proves correct, the last striker then puts his head in the bag in his turn.

Half-boiled sowans.

“A black Christmas makes a fat kirk-yard.” A windy Christmas and a calm Candlemas, or new year, are signs of a good year.

The term Candlemas is applied to the New Year in the Highlands. The origin of the term arose from some old religious ceremonies performed on this occasion by candle-light.

We are totally unable to account for the origin of this strange piece of superstition. It is unnecessary to remark, that the object of this delusion is nothing but a passing cloud, which the perverted imagination of the original Highlander shapes into the form of a bull. There is something very ominous as to the art or direction in which the bull rises or falls--we believe it to be prognostic of its being a good or bad year.

It is believed that this extraordinary entertainment is now administered in no part of the Highlands, except in Strathdown and its immediate neighbourhood. In that district, however, the inhabitants generally attend to it, merely, it is believed, from the influence of inveterate custom, and the author in his day had his share of the antidote, though it is doubtful whether those rites are now observed in his native district.

The literal expressions used in the salutation applicable to this day in the Gaelic language the writer could never perfectly comprehend. The literal translation of the words are, (Mu nasc choil orst,) “My Candlemas bond upon you.” The real meaning of the words, however, is, “You owe me a New-Year’s gift;” and it is a point of great emulation who will salute the other first--the one who does so being considered entitled to a gift from the person so saluted.

Beltane is derived from two Gaelic words conjoined: “Paletein,” signifying Pale’s fire, and not Baal’s fire, as some suppose. The strange relic of Pagan idolatry which gave rise to this feast was no doubt introduced into these countries, like many others of our more prominent superstitions, by the Druids. Pales (of whom we read in the heathenish mythologies) was the goddess of shepherds, and protectress of flocks. Her feast was always celebrated in the month of April, on which occasion no victim was killed, and nothing was offered but the fruits of the earth. The shepherds purified their flocks with the smoke of sulphur, juniper, boxwood, rosemary, &c. They then made a large fire, round which they danced, and offered to the goddess milk, cheese, eggs, &c., holding their faces towards the east, and uttering ejaculations peculiar to the occasion. Those interesting relics of the religious opinions of our ancestors, until of late, remained pretty entire in some parts of the Highlands. But they have now, however, declined into those childish ceremonies above described.

Mr. Pennant, in his Tour, vol. i. p. 111, notices the ceremony of the Bolteen or Beltane--the cakes baken with scrupulous attention to rites and forms, and dedicated to birds of prey, &c., or the being whose agents they were, to propitiate them to spare the lives of themselves and flocks. Within the last twenty or thirty years these observances have almost wholly disappeared. But the author himself is old enough to have reeled his bannock, and dived, by the foregoing spells, into the secrets of futurity.

Let not the Highland reader be led to view this description of a Highland funeral as casting any reflection on his moral or religious character. Whatever ill-timed levity he may manifest on such an occasion, the blame must be ascribed, not to him, but to that evil spirit, the usquebaugh, the real cause of it. We cannot, however, help regretting, that either the ill-judged hospitality of the entertainer, or his own social habits, should expose him on this particular occasion to the unruly influence of his demoralising countryman; and we are glad to add, that of late years much improvement has been effected in the conduct of Highland funerals--sobriety and decorum being much more the order of the day.

A fall sustained by a person, while supporting the body, is ominous of the person’s speedy death. It may also be remarked, that it is considered very imprudent to look at a passing funeral from the door of a house, or from the window having a stone lintel.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: italics.

Superscripted text is preceded by a carat character: M^cGLASHAN.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.