[CONTINUED.]

Far an seall Beinn Nibheais air a h' aghaidh ard,
An sgathan airgiodach na'n oirean grinn,

Fa comhair thall air bruthach soillear reidh,
'Sa bhaile anns nach eirich neach ri ceol.

Fo'n Chaibeal aosd' ud tha ri taobh a chnuic

Bha Caibeal eile o chionn ioma linn,

Mu'm bheil seann eachdruidh dhuinn ag innseadh sgeoil, Gun do thogadh e le aonrachdan gun ainm

Bha air a ghintinn eadar marbh is beo;

Is naigheachd dhoirbh i, ach ma 's breug no fior,
Bheir mise dhuibh an sgeula mar a chual.

Bha Eamhair ghuamach, gruagach an fhuilt reidh,
Ri faire spreidh oidhch' anns a cheitein chaoin,
Air Cnoc-nam-faobh is boiche fraoch is feur,
Le ioma maighdean cheutach, 's oigfhear ur,
Le mire 's sugradh bha cuir dhiu na h' oidhch',
Gu cuirteal, caoimhneal, comhlan aoibhneach grinn,
Luinneag ga seinn, sgeulachd aig aon, is duan,
Is deoch a cuach do dhealta cruaidh na'm beann,
'S mirean neo-ghann, do dh' aran corn is cais,
Bha 'n comunn manrannach ra 'n suidhe dlu
Do 'n teine las iad chum an smuid ga 'n dion
O Chuileag gheur-ghobach na 'n sgiathan meanbh.
'S ioma ceum garbhluich air an d' fhalbh na laoich,
O'n cheanguill iad tri-chaoil gu docuir teann,
Aig buachaille chruidh-laoigh an gleann na'n cro,
Sa chreach iad leo na h' uile bo a b' fhiach,
Is thug iad dhachaidh iad gu tearuinnt beo.
'S ged tha iad nise air a chnoc gu cuannt,
Gach fear le ghruagach aig' na bhreachdan fein,
Dlu ris tha gheur-lann air an fheur, 's a sgiath,
Sa laimh dheas 'g-iathadh tric mu chos na tuaigh,
'S e cumail cluaise air son fuaim na toir.
Nuair anns an ear bha chamhanaich fas dearg,
Is o 's cionn gharbhain, bu dealrach 's an speur
*An Sealgair treun, le choin nan reis, 's an aird,
A reultan oir, is airgid a cuir sgiamh

Air na neoil chiar a bha 's an iar a snamh,
↑ Suil lainnireach, airgiodach a mhaduidh mhoir,
A dearsadh boidheach ann an ciabh na h'oidhch,
Mur dhealras daoimean ann an cuailean tla,
Ainnir aillidh ann an seomar danns'.

Bu trath 's an oidhche 'thog iad faoighead shios,
Air faiche liath-ghorm na'n speuran seimh,
Far an seall Beinn-Nibheas air a h'aghaidh ard,
+ Sir us.

* Orion.

Ach theich gach sgaile 's dh'iathlaidh iad air falbh, 'S tharruing an latha a chaoin gheala-bhrat fein,

Thair aghaidh na 'n speur-a folach feachd na 'n neamh,
'S nuair bha e 'g oradh mu cheann ard na'n sliabh,
Sa chorra-riabhach gabhail sgiath sa chaol,

O Chnoc-na-Faobh gun cualas caismeachd gharbh,
An toir gu doirbh a teachd mur stoirm sa mhairt,
Ghrad leum na h' armuinn thoirt na co-dhail chruaidh,
Is theich na gruagaichean thoirt fios na stri,
Do chairdean is do dhilsean na 'm fear og.

Dh'fhan Eamhair ghuamach, gruagach an fhuilt reidh,
Na h-aonar leatha fein air Cnoc-nam-Faobh,
Eagal mu gaol a claoidh na caomhaig oig,
Oir 's math a b'eol di gun robh Domhnull treun,
Sa chaoidh nach geilleadh e 's an streup 's e beo.
Chriothnaich a ghuamag ro' ard fhuaim na gair,
A bha 's an arfhaich, 's shuidh i fasg nan dorn,
'S i cuimhneachadh le deothas, briodal gaoil,
An fhleasguich aoidheal ga 'n na gheall i 'lamh.
Sa nuair chaidh fuaim an air ni b' fhaid air falbh,
A measg na 'm marbh, fhuair i an calm fhear og,
Is leis an amhghair shearg ros dearg a gruaidh,
'S cha d' thainig snuadh air fhad 's bu bhuan i beo.
Chaidh miosan seachad 's dh'fhas a luth cheum trom,

'S cha chluinnt' a binn ghuth le fonn sa cheol,

'S an cas-fhalt boidheach chleachd air dhreach na 'n teud,
Bhi ceangailte le h'-eill na sguaib gu sliom-
Bha dhuallan toinnt a nis an cir fo bhreid,
Is i gu deurach gun aon chreutair beo
Ga 'n innseadh i an diuras 'leon a cridh ;

Is ged nach cuala neach o bilean riamh,

Ainm an oig chiataich ga 'n tug i 'n trom ghaol,

Be sgread a cridhe feadh gach latha 's oidhch,

"Mo chreach 's m' an-aoibhneos 's gun thu Dhomhnuill beo. Cha be 'bron fein bha 'n ribhinn og a caoidh,

Ach esan-esan bhi na shuain fo'n fhoid,

'S nach cluinneadh i am feasd a mhanran gaoil,
'S nach faigheadh i ri thaobh sa chodal bhuan
Ged dheanadh sud an uaigh mur leaba mhin,
'S ged be a miann a deoir a fhrasadh geur
O's cionn na seisde anns an robh a shuain,

Chan fheudadh an truaghan sud, neo dh'aithneadh cach
Gur h' esan 'bu chion-fath g'a leon.

TRADITIONS

OF STRATHGLASS.

BY COLIN CHISHOLM.

III.

THERE is a very old tradition in Strathglass to the effect that the Chisholm's men and those of the Earl of Seaforth, in Kintail, held different opinions relative to the proper boundary on the hills between the estates of their respective chiefs. This contention was periodically renewed, sometimes at long intervals. The chiefs were always on good terms with each other, and never encouraged the perpetuation of the smallest misunderstanding among their vassals. The importunities of a few on both sides continued, however, and the usual council of wise men was called together, each of the two chiefs being surrounded by a select band of twenty advisers. Where or when the meeting was held is not recorded, but probably it was on one of those open seats of justice anciently called Toman-moid, or Stol-ceartais. This court of equity entered on the business of the day with a determination to settle the marches and prevent any disputes about them in all time coming. After a variety of suggestions by the most eminent men on both sides, it was ultimately agreed to leave the whole question to the wisdom of the two chiefs. This was probably the very thing the chiefs wished for. They now had an opportunity of showing their good sense and proving that they were worthy of the unlimited confidence reposed in them. And this is how they arranged to settle the question in dispute. Seaforth said "We ought to shame these fellows who cannot agree among themselves about a bit of hill grazing." "Indeed, yes," said the Chisholm. "Have you any old dairymaid in Comar?" asked Seaforth. "Indeed I have several," replied Chisholm. "Well," said Seaforth, "so have I; let us send a Kintail old woman away from Caisteal Donnan and a Strathglass one from Beinnvean, and wherever they meet that shall be the boundary between us for ever." This arrangement proved quite satisfactory to all concerned, so, without loss of time, the old women were sent off in the interest of their respective masters. In due course they met in the west end of GlenAffaric, on a hillock between Loch-a-bheallaich and Altbeatha. Seaforth's dairymaid accosted her opponent thus :-"You have come too far towards Kintail, and I will go still further towards Strathglass," upon which the Chisholm's servant vowed that if the other dared to advance one step further it would prove worse for her. Regardless of threats, and as if the Kintail old woman were deaf, she attempted to pass on her eastward journey. Incensed by such a departure from the arrangements of their respective chiefs, the Cailleach Ghlaiseach dealt a desperate blow with her staff at the skull of her obstinate adversary, felling her flat to the ground, at the same time saying:-"Mar a cluinn, fairich;" If you do not hear, feel. It is recorded that she never recovered consciousness after receiving the blow. It is said, however, that the old crone from Strathglass made quite sure that her antagonist could do no more mischief, and before parting with her, she stuck her staff in the ground beside the lifeless body, tied a filleag or guaillachan as a signal on the top of her staff, and marched in triumph back to Comar. Here she related all that had happened in con

sequence of the obstinacy of her opponent. The Strathglass men repaired in all haste to the spot indicated, and found the story fully verified. The stick was found with its flying signal, which greatly facilitated the finding of the dead body of the Kintail woman. Cuaille is the Gaelic name for bludgeon, or ponderous staff. From that time until now the spot where the staff was found is called Cnoc-a-chuaille, or the hillock of the bludgeon.

Such is the tradition about Cnoc-a-chuaille, and from time immemorial this hillock has formed the acknowledged hill-march in Glen-Affaric between the Earl of Seaforth and the Chisholm, and any one who knows the locality will readily own that the latter has the lion's share of the hills in question.

This mode of settling such an important question will no doubt appear to modern readers very antiquated and almost incredible; but when we consider the intimate and friendly relations which had so long existed between the Chiefs of Chisholm and Kintail, and the close marriage alliances which repeatedly took place between the two families, there is nothing extraordinary in their agreeing to such a friendly settlement of their differences. Alexander Chisholm of Comar was married, in 1577, to Janet, daughter of Kenneth Mackenzie, Xth of Kintail. The second Chisholm after this Alexander married a daughter of Alexander Mackenzie, progenitor of Coul and Applecross, and son of Colin Cam Mackenzie, XIth of Kintail; while his immediate successor married a sister of Alexander Mackenzie, fourth of Gairloch.

It is related that a party of young men from Strathglass on a certain occasion agreed to have a few days' deer shooting through the corries and hills of Glen-Affaric. Accordingly they all arranged to meet on the following evening in a shieling at a central place called Athnamuileach. Whether some of the party had good sport on their way nearer home, whether they were induced to follow a herd of deer in direction quite contrary to what they intended when leaving home, or whether they had reason to believe that by sleeping out that night in the heather there would be a certainty of sport by break of day on the following morning is not related in the legend. But it is stated that only one of the whole party put in an appearance at the bothy in Athnamuileach, as arranged on the previous day. Night came on and the solitary hunter in a fasghleann-monidh began singing to himself:

Tired of singing and no companions coming, all alone save his faithful staghound, Bran, and his trusty long Spanish cuilbhear caol that never missed fire, and never wounded without killing, his ban-spainteach at his elbow, and his dog at his side, he spoke thus:-"We have already had singing, let us now have some music," and taking a pair of Jewish harps from his pocket, he began to play the plaintive tune of Cumha-an-aona

mhic-i.e., The Lament of the only son. While playing this ancient tune the hunter was startled by the sudden appearance at the door of a lady dressed in green, who introduced herself in the following terms :—

'S math an ceol an tromb

Mar bhiodh a chuing tha na deigh,

Gur miannach le fear gun toirt,

I bhi mar stob na bheul.

The Gaelic readers of this legend will observe at once that the lady who intruded herself on the hunter's presence was anything but complimentary to him who was thus whiling away the ennui of the evening. Stung by her reproaches, he raised his gun to his shoulder, and his faithful dog, Bran, leaped in between his master and the spectre in green. The warlike appearance of the hunter at once convinced the hag that immediate capitulation was the best policy, and absolutely necessary, and she sued for peace on the following conditions ;

Leag do ghunna,

Caisg do chu,
Thoir naigheachd,

'S gheibh thu naigheachd.

"Put down your gun, curb your dog. Impart news and you shall receive news." The hunter complied with the terms, entered into conversation with her, and soon found that she was able to relate every act of his past life, and after she had satisfied him as to this, she volunteered to enlighten him as to his future, She revealed everything that was to happen to him during the rest of his days, fortelling him that he would leave Strathglass, go abroad, and when and where he would die. She told him he would never return to Affaric, and bade him, as he valued his life, to leave the glen with all possible speed, assuring him, at the same time, that she was the only friend he had near him that night; and on condition that he would not look behind him, gu gairm choileach; i.e.. till the cock would crow, she would do all in her power to save his life. Having said this she disappeared.

From

Instantly he heard an unearthly noise and heavy stampede surrounding the bothy. Hastily wrapping his plaid about his shoulders, clutching and cocking his gun, he walked out and determined if need be to die hard. He could see neither friend nor foe outside, but the noise seemed, if possible, louder and nearer than before. The night was pitch dark, with heavy showers of rain and hailstones. But go he must, there was no alternative but leave Affaric at once and for ever. With all possible speed he began his hasty exit out of the glen he loved so much. the moment he turned his back to Athnamuileach his dog, Bran, covered his retreat, apparently fighting, but never flinching from enormous odds, In the darkness of the stormy night the hunter made all haste to the south side of Loch Affaric, expecting that the edge of the lake would form an unerring guide for him, and so it did. But he paid the penalty of many an involuntary plunge into the water before he left its long and dreary margin several miles in length. Then he had to pass through the dark and very rough regions of Altgarbh, Pollan-bui, and Ladhar, running all the way as best he could, while the dog barked, fought, and keeping in check the dreadful, noisy and indescribable powers which so closely