Part 24

"For a foul and a stalwart ghaist is he, Despair sits brooding aboon his e'e bree, And unchancie to light o' a maiden's e'e, Is the grim glower o' Aiken-drum."

"Puir slipmalabors! ye hae little wit; Is'tna Hallowmas now, and the crap out yet?" Sae she silenced them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit; "Sit yer wa's down, Aiken-drum."

Roun' a' that side what wark was dune, By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the moon; A word or a wish--and the Brownie cam' sune, Sae helpfu' was Aiken-drum.

But he slade ay awa' or the sun was up, He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup; They watched--but nane saw him his brose ever sup, Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum.

On Blednoch banks, and on crystal Cree, For mony a day a toiled wight was he; While the bairns played harmless roun' his knee, Sae social was Aiken-drum.

But a new-made wife, fu' o' rippish freaks, Fond o' a things feat for the first five weeks, Laid a mouldy pair o' her ain man's breeks; By the brose o' Aiken-drum.

Let the learned decide, when they convene, What spell was him and the breeks between; For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen, And sair missed was Aiken-drum.

He was heard by a herd gaun by the Thrieve, Crying "Lang, lang now may I greet and grieve; For alas! I hae gotten baith fee and leave, O, luckless Aiken-drum."

Awa'! ye wrangling sceptic tribe, Wi' your pros and your cons wad ye decide 'Gain the 'sponsible voice o' a hale country-side On the facts 'bout Aiken-drum?

Though the "Brownie o' Blednoch" lang be gane, The mark o' his feet's left on mony a stane; And mony a wife and mony a wean Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum.

E'en now, light loons that jibe and sneer At spiritual guests and a' sic gear, At the Glashnoch Mill hae swat wi' fear, And looked roun' for Aiken-drum.

And guidly fo'ks hae gotten a fright, When the moon was set, and the stars gied nae light, At the roaring linn in the howe o' the night, Wi' sughs like Aiken-drum.

CHAPTER V.

WRAITHS AND WARNINGS.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in our philosophy." --Hamlet.

In the bygone days of a more primitive and simple life, widespread belief existed in the outward and physical manifestation of the call of Death, which took the form of what were commonly known as "wraiths" and "warnings."

The "wraith" was the natural-looking semblance of one about to die, or just immediately dead, appearing life-like, usually at some distance from the body, but so realistic as to be unvaryingly mistaken for the actual person. A further point is, that such appearances gave rise to no fear or apprehension unless seen at some considerable distance from their usual surroundings.

The "warning," on the other hand, refers to noises and sounds heard within the immediate precincts of the sick-chamber, but without any physical explanation or evidence of the cause, although the nature of the sound or other phenomenon might be simple enough in character. Such unusual occurrences happening under usual circumstances carried with them the superstitious significance of the near presence of death.

In dealing, firstly, with the wraith, it may at once be noted that a great many accounts of such appearances are still existent in the south-west of Scotland.

The following is a hitherto unrecorded instance which happened in the early twenties of last century in the neighbourhood of Dalbeattie:--

"In the late autumn of the year 182--, an old man, a cottar on a farm in the parish of Buittle, was raising a basketful of potatoes in his 'yaird,' on the rise of the hill slope that lifts itself into rugged prominence as it stretches towards Palnackie past Kirkennan Woods. His son William was away at Glencaple Quay (a distance of twelve miles as the crow flies) with a Water of Urr sloop unloading timber, and was not expected home before the end of the week. The old man had just finished his task when he very distinctly saw the figure of his son passing from the roadway and turn round the end of the house as if to go inside. Somewhat surprised, the old man lifted his basket and walked down the garden path into the kitchen, where his daughter Margaret was preparing the mid-day meal.

'What brings Wullie hame 'ee noo, and whaur's he gaun?' was the double query he put to his daughter.

'Guidsake, faither! what are ye talkin' aboot? There's nae Wullie here,' answered Margaret, startled out of her usual composure.

'But I saw him come roon' the house-en', and he had a queer drawn look aboot his face that fairly fleyed me! I houp there's naething happened him!'

The old man, almost absently, looked at the brass-faced clock ticking in the corner between the fireplace and the white-scoured dresser, and saw that it was ten minutes to twelve. In the evening twilight a messenger rode up to the little homestead and broke the sad news of the death by drowning of 'Wullie,' a few minutes before twelve that day, when the tide was at its full, and almost at the very time that his father had seen his semblance, with drawn face, pass the house-en'. He had fallen between the side of the sloop and the quay wall, to almost immediately disappear, very probably having received serious injury as he fell."

Another typical example may be cited from the Glencairn district, the folk-lore of which has been so exhaustively collected by Mr John Corrie:--

"One afternoon a well-known lady, Mrs G----, was setting out to call upon a neighbour who lived about half-a-mile distant across the moor, when she saw her friend, evidently bent upon the same errand, coming towards herself. Retracing her steps, she entered the house again to wait her friend's arrival. Her expected visitor not appearing, Mrs G---- went to the door to see what detained her, but although she looked in every direction there was no one to be seen. As the afternoon was now well advanced, Mrs G---- decided to defer her visit until the following day. Walking across on the morrow, she remarked in the course of conversation:

'I saw you on the way to see me yesterday! What made you turn half-road?'