chapter ix

. I have chronicled the events which led a very dear sister to make her home in Perthshire. On my return from my prolonged travels, that home became my headquarters. At that time Crieff (which has now become such a centre of attraction to summer visitors) was quite a small town, and pleasant open fields and shady lanes, overshadowed by fine old trees, extended in every direction; now most of the noble trees have been felled, and the quiet lanes are replaced by terraces of comfortable villas and small gardens, extending along the face of “the Knock,” so that there are few houses which do not command a fine view of either the Grampians or the Ochils.

Of all these houses, few are externally so unpromising as the ugly block of buildings at the top of the High Street known as “College Buildings” and entered from the street. They are as hideous as plaster and brown paint can make them—only from one attic window can we see one side of the tower, which has been spared by the plasterers, and reveals the fine rough blocks of red sandstone of which the college was built. We enter from the street, but so suddenly does the ground fall, that the back windows command the finest and most extensive view of Strath Earn, bounded on the horizon by the whole low range of the Ochils, stretching right from east to west.

The attention of strangers is often arrested by the ugly painted tower, capped by a small spire, and also by a church window, which looks strangely incongruous at the end of a wing, now transformed into a number of small flats, but any inquiry as to their origin will only elicit the information that it was once a ladies’ college. In order to rescue an interesting history from oblivion, I have noted the following details from the lips of one who lived in the college fifty years ago, and was vividly interested in all concerning it.

Its excellent site was selected towards the close of the eighteenth century by Dr. Malcolm, who thereon built a central house, with wings on either side, as a college for medical students. A high wall enclosed the large garden, sloping to the south, and forming the foreground to the grand panorama beyond. So the young men studied amid pleasant surroundings, but at Dr. Malcolm’s death the college was broken up. The buildings, however, long retained the name of “Malcolm’s Houses,” and the garden wall was known as “Malcolm’s Wall.”

The side wings of what had been the medical college were now divided into sets of two rooms, eight on each side of the central building. These were tenanted by sixteen families, almost all hand-loom weavers, whose busy shuttles and cheery songs were heard by those passing along the street. About a dozen more weavers and their families occupied small cottages facing the college.

One of these was owned by Duncan M‘Nab, who acted as “weavers’ agent.” Week by week he distributed the huge balls of cotton, which they wove into striped and checked ginghams for tropical countries. My informant vividly remembers how on a Saturday morning she often saw forty or more weavers, either receiving these huge balls, or bringing in their “cuts”—_i.e._, a portion of their “web” (pieces of gingham), for which they received part payment, or “subsistence-money,” for the next week, the balance being paid when the web, consisting of several pieces, was complete.

At that time there were upwards of six hundred hand-loom weavers living in Crieff—both men and women—their houses being all down the High Street, Comrie Street, Bridgend, Commissioner Street, Galvelmore Street, and Burrell Street. Now I believe that not one remains.

The centre of the college was next divided between the police and the Episcopalians of Crieff, the police-constables occupying the ground floor, and the basement (including the present kitchen, scullery, larder, etc.) being divided into cells for prisoners, while the large drawing-room on the upper floor was used on week-days as a school for about fifty children of Episcopalian parents, and on Sundays for services conducted by Mr. Wildman, who was curate to Mr. Lendrum, Vicar of the Episcopal Church at Muthill (three miles distant).

[Illustration:

ELLIOTT & FRY ]

Ere long Mr. Lendrum succeeded in getting the small Episcopal Church of St. Michael built in Lodge Street, in the lower part of the town. He then resigned his charge at Muthill, and came to live at Bank Place, in Crieff. Very soon he found an opportunity to buy the college buildings, and having ejected all the inhabitants, he remodelled the whole, transforming them into a commodious college, thenceforth known as St. Margaret’s College, for sixty Episcopalian girls, some of whom came from the south of England. They were taught by four resident governesses—two English, one French, and one German; also by music and drawing-masters, who came twice a week from Edinburgh and Glasgow, travelling by rail as far as Greenloaning, whence the coach brought them to Crieff, returning next day. The standard of teaching, as proved by printed examination papers and replies, was excellent. Dr. Wordsworth, Bishop of St. Andrews, was visiting director.

Externally the building now assumed a rigidly conventual aspect. With the exception of the lancet windows of the chapel in the east wing, with a door to admit favoured members of the congregation, and the entrance-door in the centre of the college, surmounted with a cross, nothing was seen from the street save a dead wall, without a single window. Those shown in a now very rare engraving were a survival of the older days, but all built up: the dormitories in each wing, and the other rooms on the street side being lighted only by skylight.

On either side of the entrance-door were music-rooms, glazed like a greenhouse, occupying the space which is now laid down in grass. The ecclesiastical-looking window, still so conspicuous as seen from Dollerie Terrace, and so incongruous in its present surroundings, was that of St. Margaret’s Chapel, where the girls met for daily morning and evening church service. A large organ in the loft between the dining-hall and chapel was played by one of the governesses, an excellent musician. But on Sundays and high festivals about seventy-five persons from the college marched two and two down to St. Michael’s Church, at the further end of the town. On Whitsunday all the girls wore white dresses, forming a pretty procession.

The central house was occupied by the Lendrum family, the resident governesses, and a family of boarders from Calcutta; and many leading members of the Episcopal Church, such as Bishop Wordsworth, Dean Torry, Provost Fortescue of St. Ninian’s Cathedral; and Captain the Hon. A. Hay Drummond of Cromlix, met from time to time in the large dining-room.

The kitchen and laundries were situated near the chapel; and here we touch on a weak point, for in those days the pure and abundant waters of Loch Turret had not been enlisted to bring health and cleanliness to the town, and in this large house, as in its humbler neighbours, there was neither water nor drainage. There was, indeed, a pump in the middle of the garden, but in summer it ran dry, so all the year round, twice or three times a day, a water-cart brought water from the burn at Tomaknock, on the Dollerie road.

But for drinking, the house-maidens fetched water in pails from a spring half-way down the High Street, and were much chaffed by the weavers on account of their caps. In the forenoon all, even the youngest girls, wore large “mutches,” such as were then invariably worn by old women; but in the afternoon these were replaced by smart caps, gaily trimmed, and having long streamers of bright-coloured ribbon. Neat white aprons were essential. Although there were thirteen of these maidens, their wages were not so serious an item as they would be now, as the majority only received £3 or £4, and the upper servants £8 per annum.

What with the very inadequate water-supply and other exceedingly defective sanitary arrangements, the school was subject to frequent outbreaks of illness—measles, scarlet fever, and whooping-cough. But after thirteen years typhoid fever broke out, of so virulent a type that two of the girls died, as did also the French governess. The latter was buried at Innerpeffray. Of course the students were dispersed, never to meet again, the financial affairs of the college being found to be in a hopeless muddle.

Mr. Lendrum continued for some years to carry on a similar school near London, on a larger and more expensive scale. It was known as St. Margaret’s College, Fulham. After a while that also came to grief financially.

Once more the college buildings in the High Street came into the market, and were next bought by the Roman Catholic Priest, who, with others, lived in them for a while.

Ere long they were sold to the Trustees of Morrison’s Academy, and used as a temporary house for the Rector (Rev. William Ogilvie) and his boarders, until the permanent house at the Academy was built. So Mr. Ogilvie occupied the central house, and his boys occupied the dormitories in the wings. He was succeeded by Mr. Tyacke, whose lamented death was partly attributed to his haste in removing into the new house aforesaid ere the plaster was fully dry.

The college buildings were next bought by Mr. Donaldson, builder, who once again transformed the two wings into a number of small flats, just as when they were purchased by Mr. Lendrum. The centre, which is distinguished as being “College House,” continues to be an old-fashioned private residence, which is let as lodgings. Its once sombre old dining-room is now my pleasant sitting-room, where, surrounded by the pictures and treasures collected in many climes, I can recall those sunny lands, while watching the ever-changing lights and shadows, all effects of sunshine or storm sweeping by turns over the fertile valley of the Earn and the peaceful Ochils.

As I am jotting down memories of matters of local interest, which are in danger of being forgotten in the rush of modern life, I think I must refer to an old Crieff legend, which, when I first knew the town some forty years ago, was generally known. It refers to the hill called “Callum’s Hill,” about ten minutes’ walk from my door. It faces the house and park of Fern Tower, which, like itself, is the property of our cousin, Lord Abercromby. In the park a few large boulders still remain, of what a hundred years ago was still a very fine Druidic circle, much frequented at Hallowe’en and May morning or “Beltane” (the ancient spring and autumn fire-festivals) by the lads and lassies, who here kept up the old customs of sun-wise turns, and sitting round a bonfire shuffling for bits of oat-cake, leaping across the fire, etc.

The legend was that St. Columba came to Crieff, and ascending the hill overlooking the stones whence the Druids worshipped the rising sun, he taught the people of the true Sun of Righteousness already risen to be the Light of the World. It was on account of this tradition, which he had known all his life, that old Mr. Murray of Dollerie suggested to the congregation of the new Episcopal Church at Crieff, very near this hill, that it should be called St. Columba—a suggestion which was at once adopted. But so little do the present generation know of old tradition, that you will probably find no one who knows anything beyond the fact that the hill is Callum’s Hill, but who Callum was they neither know nor care.

POSTSCRIPT

And now (having returned to that corner of Scotland in which I hope that my beloved body will some day be laid to rest in the sweet God’s-acre at Ochtertyre), for the benefit of friends who may not be acquainted with Mr. Cosmo Monkhouse’s address of a soul to its dying body, I cannot refrain from quoting lines which so exactly describe the feelings of one whose soul-case has for well-nigh seventy years ministered so faithfully to every requirement of an exacting mistress.

ANY SOUL TO ANY BODY.[74]

“So we must part, my body, you and I, Who’ve spent so many pleasant years together, ’Tis sorry work to lose your company, Who clove to me so close, whate’er the weather, From winter unto winter, wet or dry; But you have reached the limit of your tether, And I must journey on my way alone, And leave you quietly beneath a stone.

“They say that you are altogether bad (Forgive me, ’tis not my experience), And think me very wicked to be sad At leaving you, a clod, a prison, whence To get quite free I should be very glad. Perhaps I may be so some few days hence, But now, methinks, ’twere graceless not to spend A tear or two on my departing friend.

· · · · ·

“But you must stay, dear body, and I go. And I was once so very proud of you; You made my mother’s eyes to overflow When first she saw you, wonderful and new, And now, with all your faults, ’twere hard to find A slave more willing, or a friend more true. Ay, even they who say the worst about you Can scarcely tell what I shall do without you.”

AT LAST.

“When on my day of life the night is falling, And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown.

“THOU WHO hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; O LOVE DIVINE, O HELPER ever present, Be THOU my strength and stay.

“Be near me when all else is from me drifting— Earth, sky, home’s pictures, days of shade and shine, And kindly faces to my own unlifting The love which answers mine.

“I have but THEE, O FATHER! Let THY SPIRIT Be with me, then, to comfort and uphold, No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, Nor street of shining gold.

“Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned, And both forgiv’n through THY abounding grace— I find myself by hands familiar beckoned Unto my fitting place.

“Some humble door among THY many mansions, Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, And flows for ever through heaven’s green expansions The river of THY peace.

“There from the music round about me stealing, I fain would learn the new and holy song, And find, at last, beneath THY trees of healing, The LIFE for which I long.” WHITTIER.

“I know WHOM I have believed, and am persuaded that HE is able to keep that which I have committed unto HIM against that Day.”—2 TIMOTHY i. 12.

APPENDIX

NOTE A _The Wolf of Badenoch_

From the fact that the lands of Badenoch were so long held by my ancestors, the Comyns of Badenoch, it has often been assumed that the fierce “Wolfe of Badenoch” was a Comyn. This, happily, was not the case, though he held broad lands wrested from the Comyns, and dwelt in their old Castle of Lochindorb.

The ruthless Wolf was Lord Alexander Stewart, fourth son of King Robert the Second, who died A.D. 1390, by whom he was created Earl of Buchan, when that title was forfeited by Comyn in 1374. He was also made Earl of Ross in right of his wife, Eufame, Countess of Ross, in right of whom he held the Thanedom and Castle of Dingwall, the Baronies of Skye and the Lewes, lands in Caithness, Sutherland, Inverness, Nairn, Athol, Banffshire, and Perth, the latter including Forgandenny and Kinfauns, while from his royal father he obtained, besides Badenoch, Abernethy, and other lands of the Comyns, those of Robert de Chisholm in Inverness-shire, and Strathaven in Banffshire, and was created King’s Lieutenant for all the North of Scotland. So he was a most powerful noble, who could brook no contradiction.

When he found that his wife Eufame bore him no children, he sought another love, Mariota, daughter of Athyn, by whom he had five illegitimate sons, Sir Alexander, Sir Andrew, Walter, James, and Duncan. These all grew up as fierce as their father, each drawing to himself a company of wild Highlanders, reckless freebooters who carried fire and sword throughout the country. The eldest stormed the Castle of Kildrummy, which belonged to the Countess of Mar, and either compelled or prevailed on her to become his wife, whereupon he assumed the title of Earl of Mar. After this rude wooing, he employed his energies in the service of his country, and was twice ambassador to England.

But the chapter in the Wolf’s history which chiefly affected Morayshire was when, having incurred the censure of the Church for forsaking his wife, he in revenge took possession of the Bishop of Moray’s lands in Badenoch, whereupon he was solemnly excommunicated. To avenge this step, he swooped down from his mountain stronghold at Lochindorb, burnt the town of Forres, with the Church of St. Lawrence and the manor of the Archdeacon, and a month later dealt likewise with Elgin, which, being almost entirely built of wood, was quickly consumed, as were also the Church of St. Giles, “the House of God, ‘Domus Dei,’ near Elgyn, eighteen noble and beautiful manses of the canons and chaplains, and the noble and highly adorned Church of Moray, the delight of the country and ornament of the kingdom, with all the books, charters, and other goods of the country placed therein.”

Eventually the proud Wolf submitted to the Church, and by special commission from the Bishop of Moray to Lord Walter Trail, Bishop of St. Andrews, he was absolved from the sentence of excommunication, in presence of his royal brother and many great nobles at Perth, outside the doors of the Church of the Predicate Brothers, and afterwards before the High Altar, on condition that he should make satisfaction to the Church of Moray, and also that he should send to Rome to obtain the Pope’s special absolution.

He died in 1394, and was buried in the choir of the Cathedral Church of Dunkeld, where a mutilated but still stately monument of a knight recumbent in full armour bears his name as “Senescallus Comes de Buchan et Dominus de Badenoch, _bonæ memoriæ_.”

NOTE B _The Lowlands of Moray_

Probably in no part of Scotland has the whole face of Nature been so entirely changed within the last four hundred years, as in “The Laich of Moray,” namely, that low-lying portion of the county of Elgin or Moray traversed by the railway which connects Aberdeen with Inverness.

In comparing Moray of the present day with the ancient province of Morayland, we must first of all remember how very much larger was the tract of country formerly bearing this name, and which included the present counties of Inverness, Nairn, and Elgin, extending eastward to Buchan and Mar, and south along the valley of the Spey as far as Badenoch. Thus, when King Robert Bruce erected his lands in Moray into an earldom, they extended from Fochabers on the east to Glengarry and Glenelg on the western sea-coast. Early overrun by Norsemen, and often invaded by the Danes, Morayland has ever held a prominent position in the history of Scotland, and the blood of the old sea-kings doubtless accounts for much of the turbulence of the Moray men of old, and the vigour on which they pride themselves to this day.

Of their ancient turbulence there is proof enough in the record of kingly murders here perpetrated; for though history goes to prove that Macbeth killed King Duncan in fair open fight near Elgin, there is little doubt that King Malcolm the First and King Duffus were both murdered at the Castle of Forres, and a certain King Donald was slain in the same district.

In short, the men of Moray ever strove so hard for independence that it has been said to puzzle antiquarians to decide whether at length Scotland annexed Morayland, or Moray absorbed all the rest of Scotland! That the former was the true solution must, however, be conceded; inasmuch as we find that, A.D. 1160, King Malcolm IV., having conquered the men of Moray, endeavoured to break their power by transplanting large bodies into other counties, extending from Caithness in the north to Galloway in the south, thereby, of course, greatly benefiting these other races!

Having once obtained a footing in the province, these Scottish kings showed themselves so well pleased with it, that they established royal castles at Forres, Elgin, and Banff, and had other hunting-seats besides. The ecclesiastical powers also showed a full appreciation of a climate which has ever been accounted nearer to that of Devonshire than of any other part of Britain—in fact, local tradition gives it credit for forty days of fine weather in the twelvemonth in excess of any other part of Scotland.

Although always noted for this excellent climate, and also for the exceeding fertility of its soil, its agriculture appears to have continued greatly inferior to that of the Southern Lowlands till the beginning of the present century; so that Morayshire farmers may with just pride point to its present high state of cultivation and the perfection of their cattle as among the most notable changes of Moray.

As regards cultivation, Moray now acknowledges no superior in Britain, though she admits Lincoln and Norfolk to be her worthy rivals; while, as regards her herds of polled cattle, the Smithfield prize-list tells its tale year by year, and Morayshire farmers will not soon forget the unprecedented circumstance that _the two finest beasts_ in the Smithfield show for 1881, selected to compete for the Champion Medal[75] (the highest honour that can be attained by a British farmer) were _both_ bred and exhibited by the same man, and that he hailed from the Laich of Moray!

Altogether, there is a good deal to justify the pride with which the many Moray men scattered all over the earth ever speak of this their special fatherland, and their innate conviction that the world itself could not get on without “the Moray loons.”[76] The feeling was admirably exemplified by the reply of a Morayshire gardener when asked his opinion of the English among whom his lot was cast. “Weel,” said he, “I’ve nae great faut tae find with the Sassenach, but I maun remark that _for meenisters or gairdeners, or onything needing head-wark, ye maun come tae us in the North!_”

They will not, however, always give full credit even to the said ministers, for I remember the comment of an old man who kept my brother’s lodge, and whose verdict on his minister was that he was of no more account than the figure 9 with the tail cut off!

Craving forgiveness of all southern readers for quoting (of course sympathetically!) this tribute to the dear land which gave me birth, I would now draw attention to some really remarkable changes in the relations of flood and fell, land and water, which have here been effected, partly by drainage and partly by natural causes, and also to various alterations in the fauna of the province.

In the old historical days, vast tracts of the land now under cultivation were all beast-haunted forest, wherein wolves lingered long after they had been exterminated in more accessible regions. There were also great expanses of marsh-land dotted with numerous fresh-water lochs, while the coast was intersected by tidal channels and harbours, some of which have wholly vanished, while others are so altered as to render it difficult to trace their ancient boundaries.

Under the head of vanished waters, we may class the ancient lochs of Cotts, Inchstellie, Inverlochty, Keam, Outlet, Rose-isle, the Laveroch Loch, and the great Loch of Spynie, all of which have disappeared within the last two centuries, chiefly under the prosaic influence of drainage.

By far the largest of these, and the most important loch in the province of Moray, was that of Spynie, which has undergone such a singular succession of changes as to make its history one of unique interest. In the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries it figures as an estuary of the sea—a secure harbour of refuge, on whose shores stood the ancient burgh of Spynie—a fisher-town, whose inhabitants were vassals of those mighty lords temporal and spiritual, the Bishops of Moray.

Strange to say, as years rolled on, the ceaseless labour of the waves (aided by the rivers Lossie and Spey, which supplied a multitude of great boulders and masses of gravel) resulted in the formation along the coast of such enormous breakwaters in the form of great terraced banks of huge shingle that, by about the fifteenth century, the sea at last found itself excluded from the harbour by its own work.

Thenceforward the isolated loch gradually changed from salt water to brackish, and then became fresh. No longer tenanted by sea-fish and oysters, fresh-water creatures began to appear and to multiply. As the waters expanded more and more, they overspread the cultivated lands on every side, transforming them to sedgy swamps, which soon were peopled by shy, man-fearing wild creatures, and became the favourite breeding-ground of all manner of water-fowl—a true paradise for naturalists and sportsmen.

Towards the close of the eighteenth century the neighbouring proprietors united in such energetic efforts to recover their lost lands that extensive drainage-works were commenced, and the area of water greatly reduced. But such difficulties were encountered that, for the first half of the last century, the Loch of Spynie held its place as a most attractive feature in the landscape, as its blue waters faithfully mirrored the noble old tower of the Bishop’s Palace, and offered a resting-place to immense flocks of wild swans, wild geese, and rare birds innumerable. Many a day of delight have we spent among those reedy inlets, where all my brothers taught themselves the natural history of their own home ere seeking wider fields for sport in distant lands.

But about the year 1860 agricultural interest carried the day, and the prospective value of the reclaimable lands lent new energy to the proprietors. Now only one little corner of blue lake remains to tell of the vanished waters—a little lakelet covering about eighty acres, with reedy shores extending over half as much more. But all the rest is transformed into rich arable land, beautiful only to the eye of the farmer—a dead level, which for some years waved golden in the autumn sunlight with heavy wheat-crops. But Californian competition having taught the Moray farmers to rely rather on their beasts than on their grain, turnips now carry the day, and afford cover for the more commonplace game which has replaced the strange and interesting creatures, now for ever departed.

Both the climate and the soil of “the Laich of Moray” rank exceptionally high. Of the former, as I have already observed, it is locally said to have forty days more sunshine in the year than any other part of Scotland. The old records tell that in the grievous famine which caused so much suffering in the end of the sixteenth century, Moray alone was exempt, and that meal-merchants came all the way from Forfarshire to buy the surplus produce, for which they paid very heavily, and, moreover, had the great cost and toil of transport across the Grampians.

In the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries there was a grievous period of famine. For seven years the harvests were so bad that many of the poorest folk literally died of starvation. 1740, 1782, 1799, and 1800 were also famine years, and though in each case Morayshire fared better than the neighbouring counties, the sufferings of the people were very serious.

Even in normal years there was often grievous scarcity, for up to the middle of the eighteenth century turnips and potatoes were only known as garden vegetables; they were not grown as field-crops, and there was no sown grass. Cattle wandered over the stubble-fields and moors, and picked up a scanty living till the snow drove them to the byres, where they were kept alive on straw, marsh hay, and rushes. Sometimes the poor starving beasts were bled that their starving owners might keep themselves alive.

In Sir Robert Gordon’s accounts of his housekeeping at Dunrobin, when he was guardian to his nephew, the Earl of Sutherland, he enters orders to kill red deer in April and May (when the meat is unfit to eat), because household meal was exhausted. It was not till about 1760 that wheat was extensively grown, and that the clover, ryegrass, and turnips, now so abundant, began to be generally cultivated.

In those days, when our smart forefathers were so gaily apparelled with fine lace at breast and wrist, powdered periwig and cocked hat (terribly inconvenient in windy weather),[77] the peasantry were looked upon simply as slaves, bound to the soil, bought and sold with it. They were ill-housed, ill-fed, ill-clothed. To them a bad harvest surely brought famine, and famine brought pestilence, and marshfever and ague annually claimed many victims.

Sheriff Cosmo Innes told me that his own father had told him how the Highlanders who came in bands to shear his harvests at Leuchars and Dunkirty used generally to take home with them a shaking ague from working in the marshy land. Now, thanks to the farmer and his drainage, ague and intermittent fever have been banished from bonnie Moray.

While Spynie’s triple change from sea-harbour to fresh-water lake and from lake to corn-land was gradually taking place in the neighbourhood of Elgin, an equally remarkable transformation occurred along the coast between Forres and Nairn, whereby a broad tract of about four thousand acres of rich alluvial soil was overwhelmed by drifting sands forming a strange belt of desert. Prior to the winter of 1694 and the spring of 1695, this estate was so fertile as to be commonly called “the granary of Moray,” but is now known only as the Culbin Sandhills—a most lamentable example of what strange freaks Nature can occasionally indulge in! It is now a most desolate region of yellow hillocks, composed only of the very finest pale sea-sand, always in movement, and for the most part drifting eastward, stirred by every breath of wind, and carried along in clouds, or running down the hillsides from their summits in trickles, like rills of running water.

A walk on the pale, phantom hills is like a scene in some strange dream, where the very ground beneath one’s feet is all unstable, and runs away from one’s tread. Some of these great mounds are occasionally upwards of a hundred feet in height, and from such a summit we obtain a strange and most eerie view—nothing on every side but a most desolate, dreary waste of barren sand; but even as we mount our steps are loosening the sand beneath us, and inviting the play of the wind which, perchance, ere the morrow has swept the hillock and sportively scattered its atoms over the country miles away.

On the lesser hills there is a sprinkling of dry, tufted bent—that harshest of grasses—but the larger hills are entirely devoid of any vestige of vegetation, and one marvels how even the snails subsist, whose bright-coloured, delicate shells are here so numerous. But though food seems scarce, rabbits and hares contrive to flourish (the latter, however, have of late years greatly diminished in numbers). These in their turn provide an abundant larder for numerous foxes, to whom these lonely solitudes afford blissful hunting-grounds, and both the foxes and rabbits of Culbin are noted for their remarkable size.

Speaking of Morayshire rabbits, the trapping and shooting of which is now so serious a care, it is interesting to note the relation between their increase and the destruction of all the rabbit foes which gamekeepers account “vermin.” In the early part of this century all such wild creatures were allowed to hunt unmolested; consequently, although rabbits were tolerably numerous along the sea-coast, they were so scarce in the woods that their occasional appearance was noted with interest.

This was especially the case on my father’s estate of Altyre, on the Findhorn River; but about the year 1816 he engaged an English keeper for the express purpose of killing down vermin. The first year’s bag showed a return of sixty-five foxes, and almost innumerable wild cats, hunting domestic cats, weasels, and pole-cats. A second, third, and fourth year’s work went far towards clearing the woods of these depredators, greatly to the benefit of the neighbouring poultry yards.

Then it began to be observed that there were a few rabbits on the estate. In the second year there was no mistake about it. In the third, my father bagged twenty couple in a single field. As years wore on they increased so as to become a pest. It was almost like the story of New Zealand. All the young oaks, so carefully planted, were devoured, and soon the damage to the woods was estimated at several thousand pounds.

In the year 1840 William Reader, a Norfolk rabbitcatcher, was engaged, and _in the first year_, between April and September, he killed nearly seven thousand rabbits in the Altyre woods. The annual return for the two following years was about two thousand, and the number of rabbits was soon so far diminished that the services of the rabbitcatcher were dispensed with. Not for long, however, for soon the increase of the foe, and the destruction of valuable young wood, necessitated his recall, and from that day to the end of the century his work was never-ending. Then, handing over his work to his son, he retired on a pension from the laird. He died in 1902, in his eighty-eighth year, after sixty-two years of faithful service. It is worthy of note that during his brief absence the rabbits had contrived to make head again, notwithstanding a corresponding increase of vermin, the return for one year showing twenty foxes and a great multitude of weasels.

In that same year, 1840, the first squirrel was shot in the Altyre woods by my brother John, then a lad of fourteen, and the unknown animal was shown to the English trapper as a great curiosity. It was, however, assumed to have been a tame squirrel escaped from captivity, as these beautiful but mischievous little creatures were never seen north of the Grampians till about the year 1844, when they were introduced by Lady Lovat, and turned loose in Beaufort woods as pretty and ornamental little innocents.

Whether these were the progenitors of all the devouring host which now make havoc in the northern forests, or whether another couple were turned out by Lady Cawdor in the woods round Cawdor Castle, is not certain; but this I know, that when in the autumn of 1855 Sir Alexander Gordon-Cumming caught a glimpse of the first squirrel which appeared on his lawn at Altyre, he could scarcely believe he had seen aright, but with the instinct of a keen forester, he very quickly despatched this poor little precursor of the destructive army which so quickly followed.

The notion that this solitary visitor was only the herald of a rapidly multiplying host of immigrants was not at first realised, and the keepers, ever on the alert to destroy all game-consuming vermin, took small heed of these pretty newcomers, which, of course, were deemed very interesting strangers. Soon, however, it became known that the Beaufort and Cawdor woods were suffering severely from their depredations, and that rewards had been offered for every squirrel’s head produced.

All too quickly the nibbling armies made their way through Lord Moray’s forests of Darnaway, and, crossing the Findhorn River, invaded the Altyre woods, and there finding congenial quarters, increased and multiplied so rapidly that soon the forester reported very serious damage, and consequent pecuniary loss. The young shoots and buds of all coniferous trees find especial favour with these busy and most wasteful foragers, who destroy far more than they consume, leaping from bough to bough to secure some bud or cone more attractive than that which they have just tasted and dropped, so that the whole ground is thickly strewn with their rejected fragments.

Not content with this wholesale destruction of young shoots, the squirrels have a fancy for barking trees of a considerable size within eight or ten feet of the summit, which is so enfeebled by loss of sap as to offer small resistance to the next gale, so the snapping of many a good tree is laid to the account of these depredators. Even when the wounds heal over, and the tree appears to have recovered, it carries within it ineffaceable traces of its early sufferings, and when, twenty years later, it is sold as timber, the buyer finds to his cost how serious has been the damage done. Especially do young larch-plantations suffer in the early spring, when the winter store of nuts has run short. Then the ground is thickly strewn with the tender young shoots, and, when weary of these, the foliage is devoured; so, what with squirrels overhead and rabbits below, the poor trees have no lack of foes.

Ere long the increase of the squirrels in the Altyre woods was so marked as to necessitate the employment of an extra man, whose sole work was to destroy the invaders (and it required a good marksman to bring down these agile little creatures, in their never-ending games at hide-and-seek). Though the warfare has thenceforth been incessant, each autumn is marked by a special campaign, when the squirrels seek a change of diet, and, forsaking the fir-woods, assemble in force among the oaks, beeches, and other hard woods, to gather their winter store of acorns, nuts, and beech-mast. Then the squirrel-slayer and his assistants find their best opportunity, and wage war unsparingly.

I have no return of the annual squirrel-slaughter on the estate previous to 1870, but from that year till 1880 the average annual destruction was a thousand head. It has now been reduced to about one hundred.

This refers only to the Altyre woods. In those round Cawdor Castle the damage done was so great that a reward of threepence per head was offered, and for upwards of twenty years this price was paid on an annual average of one thousand one hundred squirrels. In the sixteen years between 1862 and 1878, a total of fourteen thousand one hundred and twenty-three squirrels were killed, for which was paid a sum of £213, 13s. And still they abound!

Strange to say, in the adjacent forests round Darnaway Castle these pretty pests were very rare till about 1875, when their numbers rapidly increased. The forester attributes this fact to their preference for fir-trees, “from prop-wood to spar-wood size,” and to the fact that, till recently, there were few trees in the forest of this favoured size. The fastidious creatures show a marked preference for young trees of vigorous growth and full of sap. Having once established themselves, the prolific invaders increased and multiplied so rapidly that it was found necessary to put on an extra keeper for their special destruction, besides offering a reward of one penny per head for every squirrel slain, notwithstanding which Darnaway still adds from four hundred to one thousand four hundred to the annual return of little victims. The total in 1901 was one thousand three hundred and fifty-eight. And the war of extermination has to be kept up steadily, in order to prevent a truly alarming increase.

At Beaufort Castle the annual return is almost always upwards of a thousand. In 1898 and 1899 it rose to one thousand seven hundred and eighty one, and one thousand six hundred and fifty-one.

The destructive little beauties have now invaded Ross-shire in such numbers, and have done such grievous damage to young plantations, that the owners of thirty-eight thousand acres of wood in that county have formed themselves into an Anti-Squirrel Club, allowing their gamekeepers fourpence for every tail (? brush) produced. The return for the first year, 1903, was four thousand six hundred and forty!

Changes in the natural history of a country creep in so silently and so unmarked, that it is only by looking back a few years that we become conscious that old friends have disappeared, and that new ones have taken their place. Members of the Society for the Destruction of Rooks and Pigeons in the North of Scotland, which pays a penny per bird on so many thousands annually, find it hard to realise that at the end of the eighteenth century, the arrival of one pair of wood-pigeons in certain fir-woods not far from the Lake of Spynie, furnished an interesting topic for the naturalists of Moray.

My uncle, Sir Alexander Dunbar, used to start on a long walk from the Duffus Woods to the loch, and would mention on his return that he had seen the two pigeons, or, as he preferred to call them, “the cushats.” By the time his eldest son was a bird-nesting lad, the descendants of the gentle pair were so numerous as to afford the boys good sport, and they noted with special interest that these new colonists bred all the year round, and there was not a single month in the year in which they did not find nests with newly-laid eggs. It was some time ere their quest was successful in the month of January, but at length a mild winter enabled them to complete the score of the twelve months.

Of course, the increase of “the cushie do’es” is largely due to the fact that proprietors began to protect their game by killing down the numerous hawks, kites, and buzzards which had hitherto preyed on all wild creatures. Hence the increase of hedgehogs, whose very existence in the country had scarcely been suspected.

Starlings too, now so abundant, were actually unknown, as was well proven by the absence of their eggs from the very perfect collection made by my bird-nesting brothers (at least from the eggs of their own finding in Morayshire). As the starlings increased, the larks (which had given their name to the Laveroch Loch) became fewer and fewer. They almost seem to have vanished with the waters. The hares, formerly so abundant in the cultivated lands of Gordonstoun and Duffus, have also greatly diminished since the extensive drainage of the neighbourhood; while, on the other hand, the increased area devoted to turnips, and the incessant war waged on the “hoodie craws” and other vermin, have been favourable to a corresponding increase of partridges.

Pheasants were in those days quite unknown in this part of Scotland, as also in the adjoining county of Banff, where now some five thousand are annually killed on the banks of the Deveron alone—an increase, however, which of course is in a great measure due to careful rearing on at least one large estate.

Here, too, starlings only made their appearance forty years ago, and the first squirrel was observed about sixty years ago. Except along the sea-board, rabbits were so scarce that when, in 1830, Lord Kintore introduced fox-hunting on the borders of Aberdeen and Banff, his keepers used to go all over the country carrying rabbits, which they dropped in couples, in order to provide tempting diet for the foxes! Indeed in these days of “Ground Game Acts” it seems difficult to realise that less than a century has elapsed since the British Parliament deemed it necessary to pass a special Act (A.D. 1792) for the “Protection of Rabbits” throughout the kingdom.

The said “conies” have tempted me to a long digression. To return from the woods to the sandhills.

To lovers of strange wild birds (naturalists, not bird-butchers) this Moravian desert has long been a paradise, for its unbroken solitude has attracted many a shy, rare visitor. Not only are migratory birds tempted to alight on such a feeding-ground as this sea-shore (shielded from man’s territory by this desert belt, with its outer barrier of low fir-woods), but there are also at the further extremity certain marshy lochs, and a tract of peat-moss and rank heather, which afford inviting shelter to a very varied game-list, from roe-deer to wild swans.

The latter have in recent years been greatly scared by over-zealous pursuit, and the disturbance of frequent trains rushing through the fir-woods; but from forty to fifty years ago, my brothers occasionally had the luck to see flocks of fifty or sixty of these noble birds quietly feeding in the sheltered little lochs aforesaid, their presence being, moreover, a sure guarantee for that of numerous wild-duck, ever on the watch to profit by the exertions of the swans in pulling up weeds from the deeper water, of which they could snatch their share.

Besides the commoner varieties of wild-duck, such as widgeon and mallard, the rarer scoter and velvet duck, the morillon and the golden-eye were prizes occasionally secured; as also the brent goose, the bean goose, and the gossander, a fish-eating bird of beautiful plumage, with cream-coloured breast and glossy green back, which found a breeding-ground just suited to its tastes among the rank herbage beside the fresh-water lochs, yet within easy distance of the sea.

The shore is still frequented by an astonishing variety of birds, teal and snipe, curlews, peewits, golden plovers, sandpipers, and red-shanks, and great flocks of oyster-catchers, with an occasional tall grey heron, though these last are fewer since the persistent attacks of the jackdaws succeeded in driving them from their heronry on the River Findhorn. Neither have we heard in recent years of such immense flocks of beautiful white wild swans as occasionally assembled in the Bay of Findhorn, where as many as three hundred birds have been seen to alight, at the time of their October migrations, there remaining for some hours, to feed and talk, ere dispersing to their several destinations; for after these great swan-parliaments they started in every direction, in

## parties of from four to twenty, uttering far-sounding musical calls.

Another shy creature which now rarely, if ever, approaches this shore, is the seal, which in the early part of the century haunted the bay, attracted thither by the salmon. The fishers consequently waged a war of extinction, with such results that it is recorded that in the year 1790 one man actually killed a hundred and thirty!

Many conflicting theories have been started to account for the existence of this strange desert. The work of destruction appears to have been due to divers agencies, for in some parts of this region of wind-blown sand we come on tracts of hard sand, sea-shells, and high ridges of water-worn shingle, which appear to have been deposited by an influx of the ocean at some much earlier period. Here and in the neighbouring peat-moss have been found various relics of a remote past. Numerous flint arrow-heads and strange ornaments of bronze—one of which, a ponderous serpentine bracelet, supposed to have belonged to some old Viking, was treasured by my mother, and to her children was ever a talisman to awaken wondering dreams concerning the pale mysterious sandhills which had given birth to such eerie legends of diabolic agency.

For, of course, the supernatural must needs claim a place in the popular tradition which accounts for their existence; and many a time have we listened, with ever-renewed interest, to the thrilling tale of the wicked laird of Culbin, whose iniquities were crowned by refusing to leave his cards on the Sabbath morning, vowing that he would play all day, if the devil himself were his partner—a challenge which was straightway followed by a thunder-clap and the appearance of so skilful a card-player that the wicked laird sat engrossed, hour after hour, and knew nothing of the awful sandstorm which had overwhelmed his dwelling; and there to this day he sits in his buried hall, playing a never-ending game!

Some of the old folks told us how once, as they crossed the sandhills for the first time after a great gale, they had suddenly come on the old mansion, the upper part of which had been laid bare, but a few days later it had again entirely disappeared, and there remained no landmark on the ever-moving desert to show even its whereabouts. From time to time, at long intervals, some of its chimneys have been laid bare by the wind, and once, about a hundred years ago, an old apple-tree came to light, and proved its vitality by blossoming and bearing fruit ere it again disappeared.

Rash is the man who counts on ever finding any one spot unchanged on the morrow! A case very much to the point was that of a whole cargo of smuggled goods having been landed on the shore, and there deposited till they could conveniently be removed. A few days elapsed ere the owners returned, and vainly sought for the spot where their stuff lay concealed. The whole shore seemed to have moved—hills were level, and the valleys were hills. So from that day to this nothing has been seen of the lost goods.

At another time a dispute arose as to the boundary between the estate of Culbin and one of its neighbours, and the disputants had the incredible folly to waste labour in transporting a number of stones, eight feet in height, which were placed on the principal hills to mark the line of march. It is needless to say that after a very short time had elapsed there remained no trace of the boundary-stones!

Before examining such records as we possess concerning the origin of this strange desert tract, it may be well to look back to some earlier chronicles concerning similar disasters that have from time to time befallen our shores. Thus in the Red Book or _Records of the Priory of Pluscarden_, preserved in the Advocates’ Library in Edinburgh, it is stated that in the year A.D. 1010 the whole low country of Moray was deluged by the sea.

Less than a century elapsed ere the coast of Britain was swept by that awful wave which submerged the lands of Earl Goodwin, and left in their place the dreaded sands which still bear his name. That this same “devastation by sand” wrought desolation on the coast of Moray is affirmed by three ancient chroniclers, Fordun, Buchanan, and Bœthius. The latter tells how “villages, castles, towns, _and extensive woods_, both in England and Scotland, were overwhelmed by an inundation of the German Ocean, by the weight of which tempest the lands of Godowine, near the mouth of the Thames, were overwhelmed by sand; and likewise THE LAND OF MORAY IN SCOTLAND WAS AT THAT TIME DESOLATED BY THE SEA, castles subverted from their foundation, some towns destroyed, and the labours of men laid waste by the discharge of sand from the sea; monstrous thunders also roaring, horrible and vast!”

Of the destruction of “extensive woods” all along the coast of Moray and Nairn there is ample proof, as not only are the broad expanses of peat-moss full of remains of fine old trees, both oak and pine, furnishing the best of firewood at the present day, but the same peat is known to extend far under the sea, and occasionally, after very rough weather, large masses of peat are washed up from the ocean bed. The same old forest is known to have extended right along the coast, and peat-moss crops out from beneath the great sandhills, which have existed for the last two centuries. On the other hand, the incursion of the sea has left its mark in various beaches of water-worn stones, and beds of sea-sand, with quantities of cockle and other marine shells, lying at distances of fully a mile from the present sea-board.

Probably this great volcanic or tidal wave deposited sand all over the country; but it would seem to have been gradually absorbed, as the ruined forest eventually became a great marshy peat-moss, and the once cultivated lands again gradually became overspread with vegetation and restored to fertility. As regards this low-lying estate of Culbin, we find no allusion to anything amiss when, in 1240, it was held by Richard de Moravia, or when, early in the fifteenth century, it passed to the Lady Egidia Moray. The heiress of Culbin bestowed her hand and fortune on Sir Thomas Kinnaird of that Ilk, and her descendants held the estates till the end of the seventeenth century, when they were as effectually destroyed as were those of Earl Goodwin.

There is a tradition to the effect that twenty years before the final catastrophe there had been several serious alarms, owing to the vast accumulations of sand which were cast up by the sea, and which, being carried inland by every gale from the west, gradually deteriorated the value of the farms nearest to the sea-board, destroying the pastures. The first grave alarm seems to have arisen in the autumn of 1676, when the harvest was fully ripe, and the farmers rejoiced in their good-fortune in holding the richest corn-lands of the north. On the westernmost farm the reapers had assembled with their sickles (there were no steam-reapers in those days), and great was their praise of the heavy crop of barley which was to be cut on the morrow. Its richness was noted with wonder, because the summer and autumn had been so exceptionally dry.

The same dry, warm weather still continued, and there was a brooding stillness in the air which excited the misgivings of some, who said it surely presaged storm. Well were their fears verified. Soon a terrific gale sprang up from the north-west, carrying blinding clouds of driving sand; and when the morning dawned, it revealed a level plain of sand, covering the corn-fields to a depth of fully two feet, so that only the tops of the barley were visible. Then the wind fell, and the reapers set about their heavy task of rescuing what they could of the grain, while compelled to sacrifice the straw.

No very serious damage seems to have occurred in the next few years, for up to 1693 the rental of the estates showed no diminution, the sixteen principal farmers each paying on an average two hundred pounds Scots in money, with forty bolls wheat, forty bolls bear (rye), forty bolls oats, and forty bolls oatmeal in kind. (Proprietors in those days needed ample storehouses, and were in fact compelled to be grain-merchants.) This rental represents a sum which may have been equal to about £6000 sterling.

But in the terrible winter of 1694–95 the awful calamity occurred, and in the following summer we find the poor ruined laird, Alexander Kinnaird, petitioning the Scottish Parliament for relief of cess and taxes, on the ground that “the two best parts of his estate of Culbin were quite ruined and destroyed by great and vast heaps of sand which had overblown the same, so that there was not a vestige to be seen of his manor-place of Culbin, yards, orchards, and mains thereof, and which within these twenty years were as considerable as many in the county of Moray; and the small remainder of his estate which yet remained uncovered was exposed to the like hazard, and the sand daily gained ground thereon, where-through he was like to run the hazard of losing the whole ... as a certificate produced under the hands of thirty of the most worthy gentlemen of the shire of Moray, Nairn, and Inverness, thereto can testify.”

Not only were the fruits of the land thus destroyed, but also part of the fishing, for in 1733 we find mention of the salmon-fishings on Findhorn being now quite lost by the alteration of the course of the river, and “having yielded no rent these several years bye past.”

Very different is the rent-roll in the barony of Culbin in this year from that which I have already quoted before the sandstorm. Now we find only thirteen tenants, no longer holding equally-divided portions of land, and of these only six make any payment in money, amounting to an average of five pounds. Very quaint are the terms of rental. Thus:—

1. William Falconer, Laich of Culbin, pays nine bolls, two firlots bear (_i.e._ rye), six hears of yarn, four capons _and a half_, two hens, and thirteen loads of peats.

2. Robert Duncan pays two bolls, one firlot, two pecks bear, two capons _and a half_, two hens, and three loads of peats.

3. Margaret Innes pays two firlots bear, _half a capon_,[78] and two loads of peats.

4. John Nicoll pays five pounds ten shillings money, _two hens, and six poultry_.

And so on. From the total of this singular rental, considerable deduction was made for payment of the minister of Dyke’s stipend, and altogether we can scarcely wonder that the poor laird found himself compelled to dispose of his estates for what they would fetch, and so in 1698 we find a lengthy legal deed of sale, by which he makes them over to Duff of Drummuir, accompanying the deed “_with my goodwill and blessing_”—a remarkable entry to appear in a legal document, and one which illustrates the existence of a curious old superstition, to the effect that it was exceedingly unlucky to enter into possession of any house or land which the last occupant had been obliged to leave unwillingly. The cause which had led to his being compelled to abandon his home was one which might well excuse the awakening of dormant superstition, and therefore was Kinnaird the more careful to avert any possible source of offence.

It would appear that the shock must have preyed on his mind, for he did not long survive the sale of his estates: within three months he was numbered with the dead.

Nor did the Duffs long retain possession of Culbin, notwithstanding poor Kinnaird’s goodwill and blessing. Only thirty-five years went by ere it was sold by public roup for the benefit of John Duff’s creditors, the sum thus realised being £11,366 Scots, which is somewhat less than £1000 sterling.

Within the last forty years much has been done to prevent the further extension of the sand, and to commence the reclamation of at least the borders of this great Sahara. The means adopted have been the planting of thick belts of young fir-trees, which seem as capable of deriving sustenance from these dry sands as their kindred in mountain districts are of existing on barren rocks.

Further efforts were also made to bind the light, shifting sands by transplanting to them large quantities of the hardy bent, which resembles a very dry rush. Its long fibrous roots throw out innumerable filaments, forming a fine net-work. To secure for it a fair start, quantities of broom and whins were laid on the sandhills and pegged down, so as in some measure to diminish their exposure to the wind. How these labours would be facilitated, if only it were possible to introduce a great family of Californian lupines, which have wrought such wonders in transforming the arid sands around San Francisco into fertile soil!

The formation of this strange desert has by no means been Nature’s only recent freak on these shores. Just beyond the sandhills lies the pleasant bay of Findhorn, at the mouth of the beautiful river of that name (not beautiful as seen at the dead level where it is crossed by the railway, but most romantic in its loveliness as it cuts its deep rock-channel through the great fir-forests). Prior to the year 1701 the fishing and seaport town of Findhorn stood upon a pleasant plain, a mile north-west from the present situation. That plain is now the bottom of the sea!

This great change occurred suddenly, when an unusually high tide burst through the natural sand-bar at the mouth of the river, and surging shoreward, overwhelmed the town. Fortunately, however, this danger had long been foreseen, so the majority of the inhabitants had already forsaken their homes; consequently few lives were endangered.

The old town of Findhorn was situated near a level peat-moss, wherein lay embedded roots and trunks of the great trees which had once nourished in the great forest whose very existence had been forgotten. In the middle of this moorland rose a conical artificial mound about forty fathoms high, called the Douff-hillock. It now lies deep beneath the waves, for that peat-moss is now the ocean bed, and the sea has encroached so far into the land, that instead of the fisher-folk, when bound for the town of Burghead, having a five-mile walk direct to that headland, they have to make a circuit of ten miles round the bay.

The last noteworthy effort of the great waters to pass their accustomed limits on these pleasant shores of Moray occurred in the year 1755, when the fearful earthquake at Lisbon spread terror far and near. Its effects were felt even here, in the form of a volcanic wave, which swept this coast; and it is especially recorded that in the parish of Dyke, near Forres, a flock of sheep, folded in apparent security far beyond the reach of any ordinary tide, were all drowned by the overwhelming wave.

On the other hand, the sea now appears to be steadily receding from these parts of the coast. Old men tell us how, in their youth, they were wont to gather shells and dig for bait on the wet sands between Campbelton and Nairn, where now sheep graze on the brine-sprinkled grass. Moreover, in cutting turf from the older pasture further inland, they were amazed to discover, beneath the thick turf, a paved way, leading to a rude pier, which still retained the iron ring to which boats had been moored at some forgotten time, ere the waters had retreated.

[Illustration:

_C. F. Gordon Cumming._

A CAVE AT COVESEA. ]

A far more remarkable instance of such recession is to be found a little further along the coast, beyond the fine Covesea Cliffs, whose fantastic caves and strangely water-quarried rocks tell of a time when they, too, must have lain for countless ages deep beneath the ocean.

But of the changes which have occurred in historic times, undoubtedly the most remarkable is that to which I have already alluded, whereby the ocean deliberately built up the mighty sea-wall which so effectually shut it out from the once beautiful harbour of Spynie.

Such are a few of the many singular changes which would doubtless amaze our ancestors considerably could they return in this nineteenth century to visit their favourite hunting-grounds in the Lowlands of Moray.

NOTE C _A Legend of Vanished Waters_

Although in speaking of the Lowlands of Moray I have briefly referred to the very remarkable changes which within the last five hundred years have befallen the beautiful Loch of Spynie, I think it well to record these in fuller detail.

The loch, which was about three miles from Gordonstoun, was till recently the fairest sheet of blue water in all the once great and important province of Moray. Now only a tiny lake, covering an area of about eighty acres, remains in that little corner, which alone of all the ancient province, still bears the name of Moray—a small lakelet in a small county.

Not fifty years have elapsed (I write in 1904) since this great fresh-water lake was one of the most important features in the scenery of the east coast. But the circumstance of chief interest connected with it is that within comparatively recent years, when our ancestors and their contemporaries built their castles on the shores of the lake, it was an estuary of the sea, a secure harbour, where fishing-smacks and sometimes trading-ships from far countries found secure refuge. And now, so complete is the transformation, and so utterly have the waters vanished, that the whole district is one wide expanse of rich arable land.

The two prominent objects in the midst of those level corn-fields, are the little hill on which stand the ruins of old Duffus Castle, and those of the Palace of Spynie. The former was once the fortified stronghold of Freskinus de Moravia, one of a race of barons of renown in the days of King David I. In later ages it passed to the possession of the Lords Duffus, who held it till the beginning of the eighteenth century.

One of their servants, who only died in 1760, used to tell of the time when Bonnie Dundee, the celebrated Claverhouse, was a guest in the castle, about the year 1689, and how she brought the claret from the cask in a _timber stoup_, and served it to the guests in a silver cup. She described Claverhouse as “a swarthy little man, with keen lively eyes, and black hair, tinged with grey, which he wore in locks which covered each ear, and were _rolled upon slips of lead twisted together at the ends_.”

The old castle was a square tower, with walls about five feet thick, and defended by parapet, ditch, and drawbridge; and round about it was an orchard and garden, noted for its excellent and abundant produce. The moss-grown fruit-trees remain to this day.

Speaking of this castle, my dear old friend Cosmo Innes, historian and antiquarian, and for many years Sheriff of Moray, said: “Of domestic comfort these great lords had not dreamt. This castle of Duffus had no chimneys nor any window glass. When the winter winds blew fiercely across the fen, they shut their stout window-boards—outside window-shutters—and crowded round a fire of peats in the middle of the hall, while the smoke found its way out as it could, and was welcome as communicating some feeling of heat to the upper chambers.” What a suggestive description of a cheerful home!

At a distance of about five miles, on another slightly raised site, stand the stately ruins of the Palace of Spynie, which, six hundred years ago, was the summer home of the Bishops of Moray, at a time ere their magnificent Cathedral of Elgin (still so beautiful in its decay) had been ruthlessly pillaged and destroyed. Notwithstanding its ecclesiastical character, this too was a stronghold, with loopholed walls of enormous thickness, watch-towers, and portcullis; and here baronial warrior-bishops, backed by a goodly company of armed retainers, held their supremacy over turbulent neighbours, not only by Divine right, but by very emphatic temporal force, for, as has been well said, “while holding the crosier in one hand, they could ever wield the sword with the other, and act the part of commanders of their stronghold at Spynie, whenever danger threatened.”

Various kings and great nobles had bestowed on the diocese of Moray grants of land, forests, and fishing, and the revenues and temporal power of its Bishops as “Lords of Regality of Spynie,” were so great, that they could well afford to live as princes, and accordingly they did so—their households including as many officials, with high-sounding titles, as those of the greatest nobles.

The title of “Lord of Regality” was no empty name. It was a grant from the Crown, conferring the right of legal jurisdiction in a specified district, both in matters civil and criminal. The Lord of Regality held the power of life and death, and was the arbitrary sovereign within its territory. These extraordinary and most dangerous powers were bestowed on various subjects, and in 1452 were granted by King James II. to the Bishop of Moray and his successors. The jurisdiction extended over the lands of the Church in the shires of Elgin, Nairn, Inverness, Ross, Banff, and Aberdeen, and included no fewer than nine baronies, besides other lands.

These magnificent Prelates were certainly “lords over God’s heritage” in a most literal sense. Their daily lives practically exemplified how “when a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace,” for dire experience had taught them the need of supplementing their spiritual armour with every efficient temporal defence. For though their tenants and vassals were so far privileged that they were not liable to be called upon to serve the king in time of war, they were not infrequently compelled to act on the defensive.

Thus it was that when David Stewart of Lorn was made Bishop in 1461, and was so sorely troubled by the Earl of Huntly as to be compelled to pass sentence of excommunication against him, the wrathful Clan Gordon threatened to pull the Prelate from his pigeon-holes (in allusion to the small rooms of the old palace). The Bishop replied that he would soon build a house out of which the Earl and all his clan should not be able to pull him. Thereupon he built the great tower which has ever since borne his name—“Davie’s Tower,” four stories high, with walls of solid masonry nine feet in thickness.

Even the large windows of the upper rooms were defended by strong iron bars, while the casement was occupied by vaulted rooms, doubtless for the use of the men-at-arms. The roof is also vaulted and surrounded with battlements. But neither devotion nor recreation were forgotten in the building of this lordly palace, for within its great quadrangle stood the Bishop’s Chapel, and also a spacious tennis-court, while round about the precincts were gardens well supplied with fruit-trees. Here the poor of the parish daily assembled at a given hour, when a bell was rung, and from the postern gate an abundant supply of bread and soup and other food was freely dispensed to all comers.

Many a strange change have these grey walls witnessed—ecclesiastical pomp and martial display—pious and benevolent lives contrasting with scenes of cruel warfare and outrage—but no such changes have been half so startling as those physical transformations which have altered the whole aspect of the land. In place of rich harvest-fields extending far as the eye can reach, much of the country round and all the distant high ground, was covered with dense natural forest, haunted by wolves, which were the terror of the peasants, and afforded worthier sport for the barons than their descendants can create for themselves in the slaughter of home-reared pheasants.

Even the older members of the present generation found true sport in abundance round the reedy shores of the great fresh-water Loch of Spynie—the largest loch in the land of Moray—a beautiful sheet of water which, after long resisting successive efforts at drainage, has within the last forty years yielded to a determined attack, to the joy of the farmers and the bitter regret of naturalists and sportsmen.

The latter might (but do not) find a corner of consolation in being saved from the temptation to lay up for themselves after years of agonising rheumatism, brought on by long hours spent in creeping among marshy shallows on bitter winter mornings—such expeditions as were deemed joy by my brothers, whose well-filled bag often included some rare bird—a chance visitor of these shores. For until the middle of this century the rushes and water-grasses and rank herbage of the swamps offered such favourable breeding-grounds as to attract wild-fowl in incalculable numbers; widgeon and mallard, pochard and pintail ducks, teal, moorhens, and great flocks of coot. The loch was also the resort of numerous wild swans, though these had already become rarer visitants than of yore.

Many were the grey-brindled wild cats which haunted the neighbouring fir-woods, and many the badgers, which burrowed like rabbits in the dry banks, thence emerging to dig up the soil after the fashion of pigs. So numerous must these creatures have been in bygone times, that they have bequeathed their name to the lands of Inch-brock, “The Isle of Badgers,” a name worthy of note in that it tells not only of the presence of an animal now well-nigh extinct, but also of the time when the sea covered these lowlands, and this now inland farm was a wave-washed isle.

The capercailzie, too (which, being interpreted from the Gaelic, means “the cock of the woods,” and which had entirely died out of Scotland till it was recently re-imported from Norway to Perthshire, where now twenty to twenty-five brace sometimes figure in a single day’s battue), was a regular winter guest in the pinewoods of Moray,[79] until the latter part of the eighteenth century, when it ceased to make its annual appearance, a loss not much regretted by the proprietors of the forests, in which this “cock of the woods” leaves his mark in the destruction of many a promising shoot.

But when we speak of the blue, fresh-water loch (familiar to many travellers from the fact that some fifty years ago the railroad from Elgin to Lossiemouth was constructed right across its shallow, half-drained bed, so that the passengers looked to right and left across its glassy waters),[80] we are speaking of a comparatively modern feature in the landscape. At the time when these two grey ruins, the Palace of Spynie, and the Castle of Duffus, were built, both stood on the brink of a broad estuary of the sea—indeed, there is little doubt that prior to A.D. 1200, the Castle of Duffus, on its green hill, was actually an island. Up to the year 1380, Spynie was a secure harbour, whence “the fishers of sea-fish” were in the habit of sailing with their wives and children to the sea, thence bringing back fish in boats.

Thither came trading-vessels from France, Flanders, and Holland, for until the fifteenth century this loch, known as the Bishop’s Port, was the seaport for Elgin, involving only two miles of land transport. After the closing up of the lake, Findhorn became the chief port. But in its earlier days the sea-lake extended about five miles eastward of the Palace of Spynie to a spot called Kintrae, a Gaelic name signifying “the top of the tide.”

Strange to say, there are actually four places bearing this name, each but a little distance from the other, and evidently marking the gradual recession of the tide, as the coast-line changed. Finally we come to a spot which still bears the name of Salterhill, and here, about fifty years ago, the remains of a salt factory were discovered, in the course of digging deep drains. There were also salt-works on the banks of Loch Spynie itself, for they are mentioned in a deed by Bishop Bricius, bearing date A.D. 1203.

Nearly two centuries later, in A.D. 1383, a protest was made by the Lord Bishop Alexander Bar, against Lord John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, and the burgesses of Elgin, respecting the right of the fishing and of the harbour of Spynie, which he maintained to be within the ecclesiastical marches, and to have ever been held by the Bishops of Moray, who, each in his time, had “fishers, with cobles and boats, for catching salmon, grilses, and finnacs, and other kinds of fish, with nets and hooks, without impediment or opposition, the present dispute excepted.”

Later documents, bearing date 1451, still speak of the fishermen and harbour of the town or burgh of Spynie.

All manner of shell-fish abounded in this ancient sea-loch, more especially cockles and oysters. The latter, alas! have long since disappeared from our shores, together with the alluvial mud in which they formerly flourished, the sea-coast being now essentially sandy; but their presence in older days is proven by the numerous shellmounds, marking where clusters of fishers’ huts once stood. These “kitchen-middens” have in recent years been discovered all along the banks of this great basin. One of these (at Briggsies), which covers a space nearly an acre, and is in many places about a foot in depth, consists of masses of periwinkles, mussels, limpets, razor-shell, cockles, and oysters, but especially oysters of very large growth, such as may well increase our regret that they should have ceased to exist on these shores. A good deal of charred wood mingled with the shells, tells of the kitchen fires of the consumers, and one bronze pin has been found, as if just to prove that these villagers were possessed of such treasures.

A very remarkable confirmation of the old records regarding the ancient bounds of the sea was obtained when the loch was drained, and _large beds of oysters and mussels were found buried beneath the deposit of fresh-water shells and mud_. Several anchors of vessels were found, and sundry skeletons. In the same connection we may notice the name of Scart-hill, _i.e._, the Cormorant’s hill, which now lies at some distance inland, but which assuredly was originally on the sea-shore.

When the recession of the ocean deprived the bishops of their natural harbour, and the fish-supply could no longer be landed at their very door, they still retained their right to the coast fishing; and so, in the year 1561, we find the Bishop and Chapter of Moray granting a charter for “the fishing called the Coifsea” (which we now call Covesea), to Thomas Innes, in consideration of certain payment in kind, the Bishop reserving the right of purchasing the fish caught at the rate of twenty haddocks or whitings for one penny, a skate or ling, twopence, a turbot, fourpence, and a _seleich_, or seal, for four shillings.

The harvest of the sea included cod, skate, halibut, haddocks, whitings, saiths, crabs, and lobsters. The latter continued abundant until the close of the eighteenth century, when an English company established a lobster-fishery in the bay of Stotfield, for the London market, and in the first season forwarded sixty thousand lobsters alive to town, in wells formed in the hold of the ship, the prisoners simply having their claws tied to their sides. They were captured in iron traps, which seem to have had the effect of frightening the lobsters away from the coast, for, like the oysters, their presence here is now a tale of the past.

The lobsters, when captured, were stored in a marine prison, till an opportunity presented itself for sending them to the southern market; and the lobster-catchers were apparently not very discriminating in their selection of a suitable spot where these cases should be sunk. Hence, in April 1677, we find an appeal from the Captain of a trading-ship, _The Margaret_ of Inverness, who, having occasion to call at the port of Crail, summoned a pilot to take in his vessel. He says: “Ane Inglish man being heir had two Lapister-kists[81] in the harbour-muth, and the boatmen towed close to them, and they aleadge that they did losse two hundred Lapisters, for which the Bailies heir has fyned me in thretie punds Scots, and arested and lodged me in prison till I will pay the same, which I doe think ought not to be payed by me, since that I had a Poileot, and the chists lay right in the midle of the harbour-muth.”

No historical record tells how or when the sea threw up the wide barrier of shingle and sand which in later ages separated it from the loch, transforming the broad estuary into a brackish lake with wide-spreading marshy shores, extending as far as Gordonstoun.

That the change was gradual seems proven by the formation of a series of raised beaches, distant about a mile inland from the present coast-line, and forming a succession of plateaus covered with large rounded stones, extending for about three miles along the shore. This curious ridge averages a height of twenty feet above the sea-level, and is from fifty to a hundred yards in width. It is known that in these remote times, the River Spey, which now enters the sea at Fochabers, flowed far more to the west, and probably brought down from the mountains those vast supplies of gravel and water-worn boulders. But though the Spey may have brought the material, the process by which the separation of the sea and lake was effected is all a mystery.

Whether, as some suppose, by sudden storms, or else by gradual recession of the ocean, certain it is that when Boece wrote his _History of Scotland_ (which, though not published till 1526, was probably written earlier, since we learn that the author was born in Forfarshire in 1465), the sea was shut out from the lake; and though he mentions that in his time old persons remembered the lake being stocked with sea-fish, and although the river Lossie continued to flow right through the loch, certainly as recently as 1586 even salmon had all forsaken the loch, and were replaced by pike and trout, and multitudes of eels.

The cockles and oysters, too (the possession of which the Bishops maintained as their right), had disappeared with all other denizens of the salt sea, and in place of the brown, tangled seaweeds, fresh-water plants had sprung up. The old historian specially noted the abundant growth of _swangirs_, whatever they may be, on the seeds of which the wild swans love to feed, and large flocks of these beautiful birds floated in stately pride in the calm blue loch, while multitudes of wild-duck and all manner of water-fowl found refuge among the tall bullrushes and sedges.

[Illustration:

_C. F. Gordon Cumming._

THE PALACE AT SPYNIE, 1860. ]

“In this region,” says he, “is a lake named Spiney, wherein is exceedingly plentie of swans. The cause of their increase in this place is ascribed to a certeine herbe, which groweth there in great abundance, and whose seed is verie pleasant unto the said fowle in the eating, wherefore they call it swangirs; and hereunto such is the nature of the same, that where it is once sowne or planted it will never be destroyed, as may be proved by experience. For albeit that this lake be five miles in length, and was some time within the rememberance of man verie well-stocked with salmon and other fish, yet after that this herbe began to multiplie upon the same, it became so shallow that one may now wade through the greatest part thereof, by means whereof all the great fishes there be utterlie consumed.”

Very lovely in those days must have been the view from “Bishop Davie’s Great Tower,” overlooking the wide expanse of quiet lake, fringed with willows and rustling reeds and dark green alders (precious to the fishers as yielding a valuable dye for their nets), while beyond the recently created ridge of shingle lay the great stormy ocean, and the watchers on the tower might mark the incoming of the fleet of brown-sailed fishing-smacks, or catch the first glimpse on the horizon of the approach of some gallant merchantman (or perchance a smuggler’s craft) bringing stores of claret and brandy, and other foreign goods. The lake extended from Aikenhead in the east, far to the west of the ancient salt-works at Salterhill, etc., close to Gordonstoun, and ferry-boats took passengers across from point to point.

About the centre of the loch rose the island of Fowl Inch, where multitudes of water-fowl found a quiet breeding-place, while the west end of the loch was dotted with green islets called holmes, which were covered with coarse, rank pasture, called star grass. In days when no foreign grasses had yet been imported, this natural growth was precious, so in the summer-time the cattle were carried by boat and turned loose on the isles to graze. Of these isles, the principal were those known as Wester Holme, Easter Holme, Tappie’s Holme, Skene’s Holme, Picture Holme, Long Holme, Little Holme, and Lint Holme. This precious star grass also grew luxuriantly on some parts of the shore at the west end of the loch, and gave its name to those favoured spots—such were the Star Bush of Balornie, the Star Bush of Salterhill, and the Star Bush of Spynie.

Now, he who has a steady head and sufficient nerve to venture on climbing the ruined and broken spiral stairs (through the gaps of which he looks down into the empty space left by the total disappearance of the rafters and flooring which once divided the great tower into four stories) may still stand on Bishop Davie’s battlement, but in place of the broad lake, he will see only one little corner of blue water, sparkling like a sapphire in a setting of yellow gold—the withered reeds of autumn.

This small lakelet, covering about a hundred and ten acres, of which eighty are open water, lies on the edge of the dark fir-woods of Pitgaveny, and is carefully preserved by means of strong embankments separating it from the broad main ditch, which has so effectually carried off most of the water. Small as it is, it suffices to attract a considerable number of wild-duck, and a number of black-headed gulls breed on its margin, notwithstanding that their nests are freely pillaged, as their beautiful green, russet, or brown eggs are in great request for the table. About eighty dozen are thus taken each week during the breeding-season.

A neighbouring tract of rush-land still shows that art has not yet wholly triumphed over nature, but to all intents and purposes Loch Spynie has vanished “like as a dream when one awaketh.” Gone are the quiet pools, well sheltered by tall reeds, where wild geese and ducks, herons and coots, were wont to rear their young; no longer does the otter haunt the shore, or the booming note of the bittern echo from the swamp whence the white mists rose so eerily, and where the fowlers devised cunning snares for the capture of wild-fowl.

The thick mud, once tenanted by multitudinous eels, and which afforded such excellent sport to the spearers, was turned to good account by large tile-works, and the waters are everywhere replaced by rich green pasture, dotted over with sheep and cattle or comfortable homesteads with well-filled stack-yards; while straight, dull roads take the place of the old ferries; the boatmen have vanished, the wayfarer trudges on mile after mile across a monotonous expanse of ploughed land or harvest-fields, and the wild cries of the water-fowl are replaced by the shrill steam-whistles that tell of railway-trains, steam-ploughs, or reaping-machines. In short, the days of romance and of ague are a dream of the past, and unpoetic wealth and health reign in their place.

The means by which in the course of many generations this transformation has been effected, form a curious chain of incidents in the history of reclaimed lands. For many years after the separation of the sea from the loch, the River Lossie continued to flow in its ancient channel, passing right through the loch, draining the surrounding land, and carrying superfluous water to the sea. There is reason to believe that the Bishops, who were then almost sole proprietors, assisted this natural drainage by the cutting of deep lateral ditches, by which means some land was reclaimed, and the loch became so shallow that a road of stepping-stones was constructed right across it, so that the Bishop’s Vicar, after preaching to his congregation at Kinnedar (or “The head of the water”) might thereon cross to hold another preaching in Oguestown (the ancient name for the parish church at Gordonstoun).

This road across the water was carefully constructed, and was known as “The Bishop’s Stepping-Stones.” These were three feet apart, and on them was laid a causeway of broad, flat stones, along which the great Church dignitaries might walk in safety. There was also an artificial island near the Palace of Spynie—measuring about sixty paces by sixteen. For what purpose it had been constructed no one can guess, but it was built of stone, bound together by crooked branches of oak—a strange survival of those oak-forests which flourished in this district at the time when the Danes occupied Burghead, and came to repair old galleys and build new ones at Rose Isle, compelling the inhabitants to cut timber for this purpose in the oak-forests.

Now only bleak, bent-clothed sandhills stretch along the shore, and from time to time an old root or log is upturned as if to prove that the tradition was not wholly a delusion.

Not only have the oak-forests disappeared, but the inlet of the sea where the galleys were constructed has been so wholly blocked up with sand, that not a trace of it is to be found, nor is there any mark to suggest at what period this portion of the coast can have been an island, as its name indicates.

Strange to say, however, the fisher-folk in the neighbouring village of Hopeman tell us that about forty years ago a foreign vessel (“we call them all foreigners unless they’re British,” say the fishers), bound for Burghead, being caught in a storm, ran right ashore near Lossiemouth, as the captain understood by his very old chart that he could run into Spynie harbour, and thence sail round under shelter by the back of Rose Isle.

A similar change, though in a smaller matter, is suggested by the name of Brae-mou, which was formerly Burn-mouth, at Hopeman, and also by the neighbouring farm of Burnside, which lies on rising ground near the sea-board of crags, but where now not the tiniest trickling brooklet is to be found, nor the faintest indication of any fresh-water stream having ever flowed.

There is, however, a tradition that two hundred years ago this and several other burns flowed westward into the lochs of Rose Isle and Outlet, both of which were filled up, and their very sites obliterated in the awful sand-storms which, in the autumn of 1694 and spring of 1695, overwhelmed so many miles of the most fertile land along the shores of Moray.

These streams, thus diverted from their natural channel, turned eastward, and thenceforward flowed into the Loch of Spynie, thus adding to its water-supply at the same time as the drifting sand had partly filled up its basin. Consequently the loch overflowed its bounds, and did vast damage to the surrounding lands. The Bishop’s causeway and other artificial roads, the Spynie islet and various homesteads, were lost to sight, and well-nigh to tradition.

After the Reformation, when Church and lands were divorced, the Protestant Bishops, shorn of all temporal power, might indeed inhabit the Palace of Spynie, but were compelled to be passive witnesses of the decay of the ancient drain-works, and the enlargement of the lake. The newly-created Lord Spynie never lived in the country, and suffered everything to go to ruin, so the accumulating waters encroached on the arable land to such an extent as to necessitate some very energetic measures—nothing less than turning the course of the river Lossie and providing it with a new seaward channel.

So in the year 1599 two of the proprietors, Sutherland of Duffus and Archibald Douglas of Pittendreich, whose lands chiefly suffered, agreed on this action.

How these “twa lairds” set about their work does not appear, but they evidently failed, for early in the seventeenth century most of the neighbouring proprietors combined, and having taken counsel with Anderson of Finzeach of Aberdeen, a skilful engineer, they succeeded in turning the Lossie into a new channel, separating it from the loch by a great embankment. A map of the province of Moray, published in 1640 by Sir Robert Gordon of Straloch, shows that this great work had been successfully accomplished.

After this the waters were fairly kept within bounds for half a century, during which men were too much occupied with stormy politics to give much heed to the care of their lands. But in 1694 their attention was rudely reawakened by the terrible calamity to which I have already referred. The drifting sands which desolated so wide a belt of the most fertile lands of Moray did similar damage, though in a less degree, in this district, and so effectually filled the channels of all streams and a great part of the bed of Loch Spynie, that its waters, now greatly enlarged, again overflowed their bounds, covering the cultivated lands, and presenting a wide but very shallow surface.

There was danger, too, lest the river Lossie should break its artificial banks, and return to its original channel. So in 1706 the neighbouring lairds bound themselves “to maintain and support the banks of the said river with earth, feal (_i.e._ turf), stone, creels, etc., ... in order to keep her in the channel where she now runs, and _where she had been put by art and force_.”

Dunbar of Duffus next attempted to reclaim his own swamped lands, which bore the appropriate name of Waterymains. He made great dykes and embankments, set up a windmill with pumping machinery, and all went well till a great tempest overthrew the mill and destroyed the machinery, whereupon the waters once more overswept the arable lands, of which they retained possession for many years, during which the neighbouring proprietors endeavoured to decide on some system of concerted action.

This, however, was effectually prevented by the counter interests of the family of Gordonstoun. It appears that when, in A.D. 1636, Sir Robert Gordon purchased these estates, he had obtained a charter from John Guthrie, Bishop of Moray, bestowing on him various lands, including those of Salterhill, otherwise called Little Drainie, “with all singular parts, pendicles, and pertinents, _together with the passage or ferry-boat in the Loch of Spynie, with the privileges, liberties, profits, and duties of the same_.”

In consequence of this charter, the family of Gordonstoun claimed the sole right, not only to the possession of boats on the loch, but also to the fishing and fowling and the use of the natural pastures on the shores, and the determination to preserve these rights was a fruitful source of litigation. It was therefore evident that whatever means were adopted to diminish the lake would infringe on the “profits and privileges” of the Gordons.

Thus matters were left until the year 1778, when we find local chroniclers bewailing the neglect which had suffered “the ancient ditch” to be so filled up that the loch was daily increasing westward, forming a level sheet of water upwards of four miles in length, and covering a space of 2500 acres, besides the broad margin of marshy land which, owing to occasional overflows, was rendered worthless.

In the following year Mr. Brander of Pitgaveny (whose low-lying lands near the loch suffered more severely than those of his neighbours), resolutely set to work at his own expense, aided by his brother, to restore the old drain, and enlarge it so as to form a canal of some importance. He succeeded in lowering the surface of the lake upwards of three feet, and recovered 1162 acres of land, of which eight hundred fell to his own share, and the remainder to Gordonstoun and other adjacent estates, which touched the shores of the loch.

Then it was that the stone causeway (which was dimly remembered in local tradition) reappeared, as did also the artificial islet aforesaid, and an isle at the west end of the loch, on which were the ruins of a turf cottage. On excavating these, there were found a quantity of peat-ashes and a number of coins, which had apparently been here buried on some sudden alarm. Little did their possessor dream what changes would pass over his humble home ere his hidden treasure was again brought to light!

For a while Sir William Gordon (the last of the strong-minded, energetic race of the Gordonstoun family) looked on with comparative indifference, supposing that this effort to drain the loch would prove as unsuccessful as those of the past. But when he found that the waters had actually fallen so low as to stop his ferry-boat, he deemed it necessary to take

## active steps for the protection of his rights; and by application to the

Crown he obtained a new charter, bearing date 22nd July 1780, giving him a right to “_the whole lake or loch of Spynie, and fishings of the same_, with all the privileges and pertinents thereof, together with the ferry-boat upon the said loch, with the privileges, liberties, profits, and duties of the same.” The granting of this charter was vehemently opposed by the neighbours, and the Messrs. Brander raised a counter-action and counter-claims, which kept all the lawyers busy for many years.

Meanwhile, nature and art continued in conflict. Three years after Mr. Brander’s canal was finished, a great flood occurred which did it considerable damage; the loch regained much of its lost ground, and the ferry-boat continued to ply even to Salterhill until the beginning of the nineteenth century.

By this time Sir William Gordon was dead, and the neighbouring proprietors awoke to a conviction that it would prove remunerative to unite their efforts in making a great new canal so as to reclaim more land. Telford, the most eminent engineer of his day, was consulted. (He was then engaged in the construction of the great Caledonian Canal.) His suggestion was that a canal should be cut through the high ramparts of shingle so as to give the loch a direct outlet to the sea, with mighty sluices at the mouth to keep back the tide.

It was determined to carry out this scheme, but a considerable time elapsed ere the neighbouring proprietors could come to an agreement respecting their several shares in the expenditure, and in the division of land to be reclaimed. This matter involved so much discussion, so many surveys and reports, such examination of witnesses, and other legal forms, that it dragged on, at an enormous expense, from 1807 to 1822! when the dispute was finally submitted to arbitration by the Dean of Faculty.

The work was, however, not allowed to suffer by these long legal proceedings, and by 1812 it was completed, at a cost of £12,740, a sum in which law-expenses formed a heavy item. The lowering of the waters put a stop to ferry-boats, so it became necessary to construct a turnpike road right across the loch. The workmen stood in some places breast-deep in the water: thus the Bishop’s stepping-stones, ere many years passed, were succeeded by a substantial turnpike road; and the eels and pike, which still found a home in the shallow water, were further disturbed by the construction of a pathway for “the iron horse.”

For about seventeen years all went well, and although the sluices at Lossiemouth were of wood and not self-acting, involving constant watchfulness on the part of the men in charge, the surface of the loch was maintained at an almost permanent level. Some expensive alterations were made in 1827 to avert a threatened danger of inundation in the fishing town of Lossiemouth; but all such minor fears were swallowed up in the reality of the great calamity which befell the whole land of Moray in the memorable floods of 1829, when very heavy rains on the high lands caused all the rivers to overflow their natural bounds and ravage the land. Even the little Lossie, usually so peaceful, was transformed into a raging torrent, and, bursting the barriers which had grown up between her and the loch, overflowed the canal, leaving it choked with great stones and earth; and rushing seaward, carried away the sluices. Thus in a few brief hours did the mocking waters destroy the labour of years.

In that widespread desolation, men had neither money nor inclination to return at once to the battle; but ere long the canal was partially cleared, the Lossie turned back into her accustomed channel, and high banks were raised to keep her therein. The sluices, however, had vanished, consequently the canal was simply a great tidal ditch, so that the loch itself rose and fell about three feet with every tide. The said ditch was, however, so far effectual that although the loch did overflow a considerable amount of cultivated ground, its limits were well defined, and the raised turnpike road continued perfectly dry.

As years passed by, however, the bottom of the canal gradually filled up, and the loch thereupon commenced to spread further and further, so that the neighbouring farms suffered severely, as field after field was inundated. Finally, in 1860 all the tenant-farmers united in a petition to the proprietors to set about a thorough drainage of the loch. This was agreed upon, and after many consultations, the landowners resolved to send a deputation to the fen-country of England, there to study the various methods successfully adopted for marsh drainage. Three reliable men were accordingly selected to represent the proprietors, the factors, the tenants, while a fourth was added to the number as professional adviser. These made a careful examination of the principal waterworks in England, and of all the various kinds of sluices in use, together with the methods of working them.

On their return they drew up a report, recommending, in the first instance, a partial drainage by means of self-acting sluices, which they calculated would, at a cost of £2430, so reduce the waters as to leave only a pool covering about a hundred acres near the old Palace of Spynie. Steam power, they considered, might, if requisite, be applied later to a final drainage.

As there were at that time two thousand acres of land either under water or so moist as to be worthless, there appeared a fair prospect of a good return for the outlay. The works were accordingly commenced. Sluices were put on at the sea, but months of toil and grievous expense were incurred ere they were in working order. In the first instance, a foundation of solid masonry had to be raised on what proved to be a quicksand, and an artificial foundation of heavy piles had to be prepared. Then the water poured into the cutting made through the shingly beach on the one hand, and through the sand on the other—so that the works were inundated both by sea and loch. The unhappy contractor, who had never calculated on such a contingency, pumped and pumped with might and main for months, till at length in despair, “out of heart and out of pocket,” he quietly disappeared from the country.

It was necessary, however, that the work, once begun, should be finished. It was accordingly undertaken by two local tradesmen, who in due time accomplished it satisfactorily, but at a very heavy loss on their contract. Four sluices of cast iron, each weighing eighteen hundredweight, were so finely poised as to be opened or closed by the rise or fall of a quarter of an inch in the surface of the water; and when shut not one drop of water could ooze through from the sea into the canal. Then followed the great labour of again digging and deepening the canal, and ere the works were finally accomplished, the expenditure was found to have been about £8000—rather an increase on the estimate! Nevertheless, the work is considered to have been remunerative, as the greater part of the two thousand acres thus reclaimed has proved first-class soil, and even the poorer portions are capable of considerable improvement.

Of course there is a necessity for some annual expenditure, as repairs are needed to keep the whole in working order; but so far the drainage of what was once the beautiful Loch of Spynie may be deemed a complete success from an agricultural point of view, though to the naturalist and the sportsman the farmer’s gain is an irreparable loss.

Much of the low-lying land thus reclaimed proved to be heavy clay, which produced rich wheat-crops, and till about thirty years ago a large proportion of this, and indeed of all the lowlands of Moray, was devoted to this grain. Now, however, since Russia and California furnish such abundant supplies, home-grown wheat is no longer a remunerative crop, so the wheat-fields have vanished, and are replaced by barley and oats, and especially by turnips, for Moray is now emphatically a stock-rearing district, and the farmer’s energies are concentrated on care of his beasts.

As concerns the fine old palace with “regality,” its glory rapidly waned after the date of the Reformation. The last Roman Catholic Bishop, Patrick Hepburn, was a man who fully understood the art of making friends with the unrighteous mammon, and, foreseeing the storm of 1560, he made provision in due season, and sought to secure a powerful ally against the day of need. He therefore presented a large part of the most valuable land of the diocese to the Earl of Moray, Regent of Scotland, with fishing and other privileges. He also handsomely endowed many of his own kinsfolks and friends, including his own sons, which was indeed adding injury to insult, so far as his relation to the church was concerned! Having thus disposed of her property for his own benefit, forestalling other robbers of church lands, he settled down to a less harassing life in the old palace, and there died at an advanced age.

At his death the remaining lands of the diocese were confiscated by the Crown, and in 1590 were granted to Sir Alexander Lindsay, son of the Earl of Crawford, who had found favour with King James VI. by advancing ten thousand gold crowns to help to defray his majesty’s travelling expenses when journeying to Denmark to wed the Princess Anne. Sir Alexander accompanied his sovereign as far as Germany, when he was attacked by severe illness, and had to remain behind. King James wrote from the castle of Croneburg, in Denmark, promising to bestow on him the lordship of Spynie, with all lands and honours pertaining thereto. “Let this,” said he, “serve for cure to your present disease.” Sir Alexander was accordingly created Lord Spynie, but not caring to live in the north, he appointed a neighbouring laird to act as constable of the Fortalice and Castle of Spynie. He himself afterwards lost favour with the king, and in 1607 had the misfortune to get mixed up in a family fight in the streets of Edinburgh, which resulted in his death.

This method of settling a family difficulty was curiously illustrative of the times. The Earl of Crawford had assassinated his kinsman, Sir Walter Lindsay, whereupon Sir David Lindsay of Edzell, nephew of the murdered man, assembled his armed retainers to avenge the death of his uncle. The two armed forces met at Edinburgh, whereupon Lord Spynie interposed and strove to bring about a reconciliation. Hot words soon resulted in a fray, and the mediator was accidentally slain, and fell pierced with eleven wounds. Altogether this is a very pretty picture of the mediæval method of settling such questions.

The title died out in the third generation, when the lands reverted to the Crown, and have since passed from one family to another, till both lands and ruined palace reached the hands of the present owner—Captain Brander Dunbar.

Three centuries have passed by since the death of Bishop Hepburn, for the first hundred of which the old palace was the seat of the Protestant Bishops, to whom it was transferred after the Reformation. One of these, John Guthrie of that Ilk (which means that he was the proprietor of Guthrie in Angus), held it in the year 1640, when the Covenanters took arms, whereupon he garrisoned the palace and prepared for a siege. But when General Munro arrived with a force of three hundred men, the Bishop was persuaded to surrender, so only his arms and riding-horses were carried off.

Again, in 1645, when Montrose laid waste the lands of Moray with fire and sword, the inhabitants of the neighbouring town of Elgin (the cathedral town of the diocese) fled at his approach, to seek shelter for themselves, their wives, and their treasure, in the Palace of Spynie, which continued to be the episcopal residence till the time of Bishop Colin Falconer, who died there in 1686.

Two years later, in the Revolution of 1688, the palace was annexed to the Crown, as the lands had already been, and since that date it has remained uninhabited. As a natural consequence, its timber and iron-work have gradually been removed by the neighbouring farmers—the doors and flooring, the oaken rafters, the iron gate, the iron chain of the portcullis, have all disappeared, and only a portion of the massive stone walls now remains to tell of the glory of this ancient palace. Even the best of the hewn stones, and the steps of the old stairs, have been thus appropriated. Never was transformation more complete than that which has changed this once mighty ecclesiastical fortress and palace of the sea-board into a peaceful inland ruin, whose grey walls, now tottering to their fall, re-echo only the scream of the night-owl, or the bleating of the sheep which crop the sweet grass within its courts.

Nevertheless, the position of those who occupy the reclaimed lands is by no means one of absolute security. Not only might another year of unwonted rainfall on the hills repeat the story of the floods of 1829, and restore the Lossie to its self-chosen channel through Loch Spynie, to the total destruction of all sea-sluices—but there exists the ever present and far more serious danger on the west, where only a narrow belt of low sandhills protects the cultivated lands from the sea, which in the eighteenth century made such serious encroachments on the neighbouring bay of Burghead.

When we note its ceaseless activity all along this coast (one year building up huge barriers of great boulders to a height of perhaps thirty feet or more, and in the following year carrying them all away, to leave only a gravelly shore), we cannot ignore the possibility that a day may very possibly come when, after a night of unwonted storm, the morning light may reveal a gap in the sandhills, and the fertile lands, which at eventide appeared so safe and so peaceful, may lie deep beneath the salt sea, which, reclaiming its rights, has once more resumed its original channel, passing round the back of Rose-isle, to restore to the ancient harbour of Spynie its long-lost character.

NOTE D _Elgin Cathedral and the Church of St. Giles._

There are some points of special interest connected with these ancient buildings, apart from the ruthless destruction by “the Wolf of Badenoch” of all that was beautiful in the town of Forres and the cathedral city of Elgin. (It is a moot-point whether the possession of a picturesque ruin still entitles the burgh of Elgin to this honorary title—a doubt carefully expressed by a conscientious young revivalist in his prayer for a special blessing on “this city of Elgin, _if it be a city_!” By the way, it is interesting to note that in the Chartulary of Moray, about A.D. 1190, the name Elgin was spelt as at present, although in various later writings it is called Elgyn, Helgun, and Aigin.)

The first bishop of the Roman Church in the diocese of Moray (dating about A.D. 1115) by some means obtained possession of the Culdee Church, which had long been established at Birnie, near Elgin—a simple building of wood and clay. The present church was built about A.D. 1150. Here the first four bishops lived and died in all simplicity; but Richard, the fifth bishop, removed the seat of the diocese to Spynie, and there a stately palace was erected overlooking the lake, and in 1215 a site was chosen for a cathedral. But Andrew de Moravia, the seventh bishop (a son of the powerful family of Duffus[82]), deeming this site too isolated, and otherwise inconvenient of access for the people, obtained the sanction of Pope Honorius (about 1224) to build the cathedral at Elgin on the fertile banks of the river Lossie. This was accordingly done, and the noble building was completed ere the middle of the century, as were also twenty-two manses as residences for the canons, all enclosed within the great precinct wall. The canons were the clergy of parishes in all parts of the diocese.

But misfortunes soon began, for the cathedral and the manses were

## partially burnt in 1270, and in 1390 the ruthless Wolf of Badenoch

(Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan) raided the town and set fire to the cathedral, destroying the nave and roof and all woodwork. The great steeple, which is said to have been a hundred and ninety-eight feet in height, was cracked by the heat, but the western steeples and beautiful stone arches resisted the fire. All the manses were totally destroyed.

Only twelve years elapsed ere the town was again raided by another “noble savage,” namely, Alexander Macdonald, son of the Lord of the Isles, who plundered whatever had escaped the covetous Wolf. After this the work of rebuilding the cathedral progressed slowly, the most energetic worker being Bishop John Innes, who was consecrated in 1407 and died in 1414—a brief seven years, in the course of which he also erected the Bishop’s House in Elgin, and carried out important works at Spynie.

At the time of the Reformation no damage was done to the noble pile, but eight years later, in 1568, the Privy Council ordered that all lead should be stripped from the cathedral churches of Elgin and Aberdeen and sold for the maintenance of soldiers, the sheriffs and bishops being commanded to assist the spoilers. It seems certain that the nave and side aisles were covered with slates and the chapterhouse with freestone slabs, and that the lead only covered wooden spires crowning the three steeples to protect them from rain and frost. Every trace of spires and steeples has disappeared, doubtless from that cause.

This mean and sacrilegious theft was the first step towards the destruction of the grand old cathedral, and met its just reward, in that the vessel on which the lead was shipped at Aberdeen for sale in Holland foundered on its voyage.

In 1637 a terrible gale unroofed the choir and blew down the rafters. On 28th December 1640 Gilbert Ross, the iconoclastic Presbyterian minister of Elgin, in company with the lairds of Brodie, of Innes, and others, took upon him to destroy the beautiful carved woodwork, their special spite being directed against the Rood screen, separating the nave from the choir, on one side of which was depicted the Day of Judgment, and on the other the Crucifixion—all in colours and gold so rich that neither had faded or tarnished, although for well-nigh eighty years they had been exposed to rain and snow, sun and frost, which had free access to the unroofed temple.

Mr. Ross, being of a utilitarian spirit, had the woodwork cut up and brought to his own house as fuel. In those days, ere lucifer matches were invented, it was very desirable to keep sufficient fire smouldering all night to secure a kindling for the following morning, but it was found that the wood so sacrilegiously hewn down would not keep alight, so that it was necessary each morning to kindle fresh fire by means of the cumbersome flint and steel, which required such patience ere light could be obtained.

When, ten or twelve years later, a party of Cromwell’s soldiers were quartered here, they could find nothing left for them to destroy save the beautiful stone tracery of the great windows, and this they did most effectually, especially in the western window over the grand porch.

In 1711 the great steeple fell, crushing the whole body of the building, and for the next hundred years this mass of finely-hewn stone served as a convenient quarry for the builders of modern houses in the town, while the cathedral precincts became the receptacle for all the dirt and rubbish of the town.

Not till the beginning of the present century was there a trace of even antiquarian reverence for this sacred spot. Then, happily, an enlightened provost was elected (Mr. King of New-mill) who commenced the work of protection, and in course of time the Board of Public Works was induced to take the matter in hand and undertake such repairs as have prevented further decay, and preserve at least a memorial of how nobly our ancestors could once build.

Though all the bishops were buried here, few of their tombs bear any inscriptions. Among those of most special interest are a large, bluish slab on the south side of the choir, beneath which lies the quiet dust of Bishop Andrew de Moravia, the founder, under whose energetic supervision it is probable that the stately building was completed. Once it was covered with fine brass, but that, of course, was soon pillaged.

Another grave of interest, which can still be recognised by a sculptured stone showing a recumbent figure in episcopal robes, is that of Columba Dunbar, who was Bishop in A.D. 1430. He was a son of the Earl of March, and nephew of John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, and was himself a powerful noble who, on his journeys to Rome and to the Council of Basle, travelled with a retinue of thirty servants. He died in his palace at Spynie, and was buried in the cathedral, in the north transept, in the aisle of St. Thomas the Martyr, now known as “Dunbar’s Aisle.”

Near his dust lies that of Sir Alexander Dunbar of Westfield, son of the fifth Earl of Moray. He died in 1498, and is represented as a recumbent figure in armour, having his armorial bearings on his breast-plate. Both these monuments were much injured by the fall of the great steeple, which totally destroyed so much that was interesting and beautiful.

Among the modern memorials is a slab of red granite in the chancel, above the high altar. It was placed there in 1868 to the memory of the Rev. Lachlan Shaw, who died in 1777, aged ninety-one, and was buried here. He was the author of a very valuable _History of the Province of Moray_, up to his own times.

Two burials of interest in the last century were those of the very latest Duke of Gordon and his wife. He died in London, 28th May 1836. His body was brought by sea, and landed near Gordon Castle, whence it was conveyed to Elgin. On 31st January 1864 Elizabeth, his widow, died at Huntly Lodge, and she was buried beside the Duke in the last available space in the family vault beneath the ruins of the cathedral.

Lastly, I must not fail to claim reverent notice for the humble grave of a truly devout lover of the cathedral, namely, John Shanks, one of the earliest keepers appointed to protect the ruins, when the whole place was still a wilderness of dirt and rubbish overgrown with tall grass, brambles, and rank nettles. By his own exertions, without any one to help him, this frail old man gradually cleared away the rubbish, laying bare the original outlines of the building, and collecting such sculptured stones as had escaped the spoilers. On his tomb is the epitaph written by Lord Cockburn:—

“Here lyes JOHN SHANKS, SHOEMAKER IN ELGIN, Who died 14th April 1841, aged 83 years.

“For seventeen years he was the keeper and the shower of this Cathedral, and while not even the Crown was doing anything for its preservation, he, with his own hands, cleared it of many thousand cubic yards of rubbish, disclosing the bases of the pillars, collecting the carved fragments, and introducing some order and propriety.

“Whoso reverences the Cathedral will respect the memory of this man.”

The fine parish church of St. Giles, which likewise was destroyed by the malignant “Wolf,” was ere long rebuilt, and held its position as “The Muckle Kirk” till the year 1826, an ugly but venerable building, which for six hundred years had been the centre of worship in its successive phases—Roman Catholic, Reformed, Episcopal, and Presbyterian. The two latter prevailed alternately from A.D. 1560 to the present day, changing seven times, and the internal fittings of the church having to be altered accordingly, with very quaint effect.

Of course the chief changes were effected after the Reformation, when all the altars were removed, and the side aisles, formerly left free for private worship, were filled with hideous pews, as were also the galleries erected in every available corner, and apportioned to all the trades. There was the shoemakers’ loft (always well filled), the glovers’ loft (these were once a numerous body, but they dwindled away till only two remained, and when they died that craft disappeared from the town). The blacksmiths had their loft, as had also the tailors and weavers, who sat in a corner so dark that they could see nothing. For the carpenters a special loft was erected, A.D. 1751, perched so very high as to seem extremely insecure. The merchants of the town occupied a gallery, which was hence called “the guildry loft,” and the magistrates sat in state in a great pew of carved oak, beneath a canopy of the same. There was a considerable amount of old carved oak about the church, and the emblems of the various crafts were carved on all the trades’ lofts. The north galleries were apportioned to the chief heritors of the parish, namely, the Earls of Fife, Seafield, and Moray, and their tenants and friends.

Prior to 1753 the roof of the church was of open woodwork, showing the strong rafters, from which hung antique brass chandeliers, suspended by chains of twisted iron. Though picturesque, the open roof was voted draughty, so it was then plastered, and altogether the appearance of the building was as unlike our reawakened views of seemly church architecture as could well be imagined, notwithstanding five massive pillars and arches on either side. Four of these on each side were square, and the central one circular. They and the walls were supposed to date from the twelfth century, having withstood the flames which destroyed the roof and all woodwork when, in 1390, the church was burnt by the ruthless Wolf of Badenoch.

Accustomed as we are to fine churches, brilliantly lighted for all evening services, it is strange to think that till a quarter of the nineteenth century had elapsed, this, the principal church of the county, was only lighted once a year,[83] on the evening of the first Sunday of November, when the half-yearly celebration of the Holy Communion involved extra services. Then only were candles placed in the four old chandeliers, twelve in each. The pulpit and the precentor’s seat were likewise illuminated. The magistrates and all master tradesmen had their own candlesticks, as had also each family and many private individuals, so that the gloom was in a measure dispelled by about five hundred flickering candles, most of which must have been tallow, with long wicks constantly requiring snuffing, while the poorer folk could only afford rush-lights, so the light could not have been very brilliant; and as doubtless many candles were snuffed with fingers, the result, combined with the then prevalent habit of spitting on the floor, is not suggestive of cleanliness!

Now that lightning has become man’s ministering servant, and one magic touch floods home, church, or street with vivid electric light, it is really very difficult to realise how different all this was even in the last century. I myself can recollect the housemaid’s box containing flint and steel and tinder, with which to kindle a spark should the smouldering kitchen fire have died out in the night. Just imagine how wearisome was such a process on a cold winter morning, and how great was the advance when the first large, coarse, lucifer matches were invented. Well do I remember their strong sulphurous smell, and that of the servants’ tallow candles, flaring and guttering. And in all the cottages the only lamp was that small iron cruisie, specimens of which are now treasured as antiquarian curios.

The old church narrowly escaped being the scene of a dire tragedy, for on a certain Sunday in 1669, just after the congregation had “scaled” (_i.e._ dispersed), the roof of the nave fell in with an awful crash. The timber (which for three hundred years had supported the heavy slabs of freestone which were used instead of slates) had decayed, and at last suddenly gave way. The annals of the burgh record a meeting, “in the South Yle of Saint Geilles Church,” for considering the rebuilding of the said church, “laittlie fallen.”

Five years elapsed ere the necessary repairs were effected, after which all was secure till 1826, when symptoms of decay were again detected in the roof, and though the walls, pillars, and arches were so strong that they would doubtless have stood for centuries, and the old church could have been preserved at comparatively small expense, the town authorities decided, to the dismay of the people, that the whole must be pulled down, and a modern church of Grecian design be erected in its stead. The Holy Communion was celebrated for the last time in the venerated building of such varied memories, on the 1st October 1826, and the following day our good old friend Dr. Rose, minister of Drainie (near Gordonstoun), preached the thanksgiving sermon, and few of his hearers failed to share in the regret he expressed at the doom of the time-hallowed building. But no time was allowed for reconsideration, and no sooner had the congregation dispersed than the contractor commenced his work of demolition by unslating the roof, and two months later the destruction was complete, and included the carting away of a vast quantity of human bones from beneath the church and the surrounding street, which for five hundred years had been the hallowed “God’s-acre” of the burgh.

Just two years later, October 1828, the first service was held in the new church, the congregation being summoned by the self-same bells which had called their forefathers for so many generations to worship. The account of them, culled by Mr. Robert Young from the annals of the burgh, is so interesting that I venture to quote it:—

“The larger one, for sweetness and clearness of tone, is equal to any in Scotland. It is said to have been recast in 1589 or 1593. The little bell, called ‘the minister’s bell,’ bears the following inscription—‘Thomas de Dunbar, me fecit. 1402.’ It therefore was the gift of the Earl of Moray, and is a venerable relic of Roman Catholic times.

“The big bell was rent in 1713 by a woman striking it violently with a large key, for the purpose of rousing the inhabitants to quench a fire which had broken out in the town during the night. It was recast 17th August 1713, at the head of Forsyth’s Close, by Albert Gelly, founder, from Aberdeen, the expense being defrayed by the magistrates; and it is stated that upon this occasion many of the rich inhabitants of Elgin repaired to the founding-place, and cast in guineas, crowns, and half-crowns, and the poorer people smaller silver coins during the time the metal was smelting, which contributed to enrich the sound as well as the substance.

“On the king’s birthday, 4th June 1784, it was over-rung and rent by the boys of the town, when it was taken down and recast at London on the 17th October the following year, having the names of the magistrates cast upon it. The expense was again paid by the town. Since that time no further accident has occurred. It has continued to pour out its sweet sounds daily, morning and evening, and to summon on Sundays the congregations of the various churches in the burgh to public worship, and may continue to do so for ages to come.”

It must be confessed that from a picturesque point of view Old Elgin in the first half of the seventeenth century must have been a very much more interesting town than it is now. Besides the fine old houses of the cathedral dignitaries—the dean and canons—all the principal county families had their “house in town,” occupying both sides of the High Street, and foot-passengers walked beneath low arcades formed under the projecting houses. All these were pulled down by degrees.

Curiously enough, though there is nothing to suggest that Elgin was ever enclosed by walls, it had four gateways, which were all standing till about a hundred years ago—namely, the East Port, the West Port, the Lossie Wynd Port, and the School Wynd Port. It is supposed that each had a portcullis, which was pulled down at night, but if so, they had been removed at some earlier period. These gateways being narrow, and a hindrance to modern traffic, their removal was decreed towards the end of last century.

Speaking of the separate “lofts” in the old church assigned to each trade, the gradual changes in these, as recorded in the annals, are interesting. In the thirteenth century we find mention of gardeners, carpenters, builders, armourers, shoemakers (called sutors), tailors (called cissors), and glaziers, whose rare art entitled them to a French or Latin name—_vitrearii_. About the year 1650 seven crafts were recognised in the burgh—_i.e._ saddlers, smiths, metallers, tailors, shoemakers, weavers, and butchers. But by the end of the century only six are named—namely, smiths, tailors, glovers, shoemakers, weavers, and carpenters—and these held the “exclusive right of exercising their own trade,” any outsider venturing to encroach on their privileges being forthwith prosecuted—a tyranny which became intolerable, and was finally swept away after the Reform Bill was passed.

While the Loch of Spynie was still an arm of the sea, bringing cargoes from France, Holland, and Germany, there and to Lossiemouth, within two miles of Elgin, there was a considerable foreign trade; but even allowing for a large export, the amount of malt manufactured in the town was startling. There were between thirty and forty kilns and barns, each substantial stone buildings about a hundred feet in length, for malting and drying the grain; and in A.D. 1697, out of a population of three thousand persons, no less than eighty were professional brewers and distillers. One of these showed that within three months he had brewed four thousand gallons of ale and four hundred gallons of _aqua vitæ_, _alias_ whisky. Considering the very large amount of foreign wines, brandy, and gin, which were imported from abroad, either above-board or by smugglers, we may infer that the home consumption of our ancestors was considerably in excess of that of their degenerate descendants.

I record this with something of the feeling of the man who, when he heard any very bad story, always said: “Now, I DO like to hear that. I say to myself, ‘I know I am bad, but I am NOT so bad as that!’”

It is, however, satisfactory and interesting to learn that early in the eighteenth century the malting-trade had so fallen off that the kilns were given over to the weavers, and were filled with their looms, each a centre of busy work, and this continued till well into the nineteenth century, when hand-looms gradually disappeared before the steady advance of spinning-jennies and other machinery.

It is really very difficult to realise how few of the modern comforts which we deem necessities existed a hundred years ago. Even in so important a burgh as Elgin there seems to have been no attempt at lighting the streets, and the first reference thereto in the burgh annals is in November 1775, when the Council considered the propriety of so doing, and decided to lay the matter before the principal inhabitants and the trades, in consequence of which, in the following February, “Mr. William Robertson was authorised, when he went to London, to purchase twenty lamps, and also to buy caps for these lamps.” This tentative effort was, however, soon given up, and once again the streets were left in total darkness through the long, long hours of winter nights.

Prior to eight o’clock, there was here and there a faint ray from a solitary lamp or candle in some shop window, but after that hour all was darkness, and if any convivial entertainment was prolonged till after dark (remember that sixty years ago the dinner-hour was generally about 3 P.M., and tea and card-parties began at 6), each party of guests was escorted home by a servant carrying a lantern; and very necessary was this precaution, for not only were there no side pavements for foot-passengers, and carts were left standing all night at the sides of the streets, but filth of every description was there accumulated.

But in 1830 a giant step in advance was made, and the town was lighted with gas. At that time almost every one who journeyed at all did so on horseback; so there were scarcely any private carriages in the town—only a few post-chaises for hire at the principal inn, and to hire one of these for conveyance to an evening party would have been deemed ostentatious extravagance. Even two sedan-chairs, which were imported for this purpose about 1818, obtained small patronage.

As regards the state of the streets, the town annals contain various suggestive entries. In September 1776 the magistrates resolved to stop the practice of thrashing and winnowing corn upon the street, and there depositing heaps of stones and manure. They therefore empowered “the officer who keeps the keys to secure and detain _whatever corn and straw may be found thrashing upon the street, and the dung or stones flung thereon, until trial_.”

In the following year the barking of dogs at night on the High Street was declared to be so annoying that their owners were required to keep them indoors, under a penalty of five shillings fine, and that the offending dog be shot.

In 1778 the Council took note of the spouts or scuttles projecting from holes in the side-walls of many houses, through which all manner of filth was constantly ejected into the street, endangering the clothes of passers-by. It was therefore ordained that these holes should all be filled up. Large dunghills or “middens” were, however, allowed to lie undisturbed in all the narrow wynds, at the doors of the houses, breeding frequent fevers.

In 1818 it was recorded that the streets were full of holes, dangerous to carriages and horses; and even so late as 1822 there were no side pavements, and the safest place to walk was the raised ridge in the centre of the street known as the “kantle of the causey,” or crown of the causeway, which was in fact a ridge of stepping-stones, which in wet weather afforded the only means of picking one’s way dryshod. The road sloping downward on either side ended in wide open gutters, which carried streams of rain-water and sewage to open ditches and larger gutters (which were often so flooded as to be impassable), whence they flowed into the river Lossie.

Yet—we must hope it was from some higher point!—water was daily brought from the Lossie in pails for cooking purposes, and clothes were carried to the river-bank to be washed. There were comparatively few wells in the town, either public or private, and it was not till 1850 that the town was fully supplied with pure water.

As regards firing, our ancestors were wholly dependent on peat and wood. It was not till the year 1754 that a ship loaded with coals came to Lossiemouth, the first cargo of the kind known to have been received at that port. The demand was so small that “the importer could not dispose of 100 barrels, but the country soon found out the value of the fuel. On 11th July 1768 the magistrates purchased from Thomas Stephen, senior, merchant in Elgin, 40 chalders of coals, deliverable at Lossiemouth, for behoof of the inhabitants of Elgin, at the price of 21 shillings and sixpence Scots (1s. 9½d. per barrel), a very considerable price for those days. On the 10th September they purchased 22 chalders additional from Alexander Davidson, shipmaster in Aberdeen, at 1s. 10d. per barrel.”

To ensure early hours, it was the duty of the town drummer to rouse the inhabitants at 4 A.M., and to go the round of the town a second time at 5 A.M., lest perchance they might have fallen asleep again; and in like manner at 9 P.M. he and his drum went round to give notice to all wise folk that it was time to sleep, because

“Early to bed and early to rise Makes a man healthy, and wealthy, and wise,”

and that

“He who would thrive must rise at five, Though he who has thriven may lie till seven.”

The town annals record that in 1769 George Edward, tailor, was appointed to this office, and as regards the healthiness of the system, there could not be a better example than himself, for he never knew ache or sickness till disabled by old age, and his son, who succeeded him in office, carried on the tradition of his father.

In those days few people ever left their homes. In the whole parish of Elgin there were not more than four gigs in use, and it was a very rare thing for any one to go so far as Edinburgh; few indeed had ever visited London. There was no public conveyance north of Aberdeen. A mail-coach was started about 1812 to run between Aberdeen and Inverness. This it did very slowly, being run by only a pair, and those between Elgin and Torres are said to have been very decrepit old horses.

About the year 1819 a four-horse coach was started, which, leaving Inverness at 6 A.M., reached Aberdeen at 10 P.M. The original mail-coach followed suit, and the competition improved matters. About 1826 “The Star” was started, to leave Aberdeen at 8 A.M. and reach Elgin at 5 P.M. Other local coaches were started, but were frequently half empty. In 1835 “The Defiance” was started. Well do I remember it with its first-class team, and the scarlet coats of the cheery driver and guard, whose brass horn was the signal that news from the south was arriving.

In those days postage was so costly that letters were few and far between. So small was the correspondence even in the beginning of the nineteenth century, that the mailbags containing a very few letters were carried by a post-rider on horseback three times a week. And now our half-a-dozen heavy posts each day are too few for the present generation, who must needs telegraph about every trifle, often to the exceeding disgust of the country recipients of totally unnecessary messages, for which they have to pay large sums as porterage.

“The Defiance” continued to keep up its credit, till it was driven aside by the arrival of the railway, which was somewhat late in the day, as the idea that so gigantic an undertaking could ever pay, was considered preposterous, more especially the Highland line between Forres and Perth, crossing barren mountains. However, energetic men pushed the matter, and bit by bit from the year 1846 onwards, local railways were made, and finally in 1865 all were amalgamated under the name of The Highland Railway Company, with branches in every direction, and crowds of busy folk and tourists from every corner of the world—a change indeed since 1800! with the solitary post-runner and an occasional gig or post-chaise.

One very important reason against travelling on wheels was that till quite recent times there were no bridges: small streams were crossed on stepping-stones, and large ones by ferry-boats, and when rivers were in flood, passengers had to wait till the waters subsided, sometimes being detained for days in most uncomfortable quarters, while each year had a record of persons drowned in rashly attempting to ford the rivers.

With the exception of an old wooden bridge which crossed the Spey at Boat of Bridge, and which was ruined at the time of the Reformation, and a few other slight wooden bridges, there were none north of Aberdeen till the early part of the sixteenth century, when the first stone bridge over the Lossie was erected—a single arch founded on each side on the rock, and consequently so secure that it remains in use to this day. Unmindful of the wisdom of the earlier builders, a two-arch stone bridge across the Lossie was built in 1814, but being founded on gravel, it was swept away in the flood of 1829. Now we have stone or metal bridges for road or rail in every direction.

NOTE E

Anne Seymour Conway was the only child and heiress of Field-Marshal Conway, second son of the first Lord Conway. In 1747 he married Lady Caroline Campbell, daughter of John, Duke of Argyle, and widow of the Earl of Aylesbury. By her previous marriage she had another daughter, who married the third Duke of Richmond. The mother and daughters were all beautiful.

Anne Seymour Conway married the Honourable John Damer, eldest son of Lord Damer, afterwards Earl of Dorchester. He proved a worthless spendthrift, and on his father refusing to pay £70,000 for his gambling debts, he shot himself, after a riotous supper at the Bedford Arms in Covent Garden. Thus his young widow was left free to devote her long life to her loved art, and to the congenial society of the most cultivated of her generation.

When quite a young girl she had been taught by Mrs. Samon to model dainty statuettes in wax; but when only eighteen, being provoked by a sneer from David Hume, the historian, she set herself to chisel his bust in marble, and succeeded so admirably that she then studied anatomy under the best masters available. Her uncle, Charles Fox, and her cousin, Horace Walpole, encouraged her wish to excel, and the former was wont to say that “he prided himself more upon her talent than upon his ancient descent.”

She worked very rapidly, and produced spirited groups of horses and deer. Among her best-known busts are those of Mrs. Siddons, Miss Berry, Miss Farren, Horace Walpole, one of Charles Fox, which she gave to Napoleon, three of Nelson, one of which she presented to William IV., and which is now at Windsor Castle; another is in the Council Chamber at the Guildhall. She executed a statue of George III., a bust of Queen Caroline, and many others.

The two heads of Thamesis and Isis on Henley Bridge are her handiwork, the latter being a portrait of her friend, Miss Freeman of Fawley Court. The Academy in Florence awarded high honour to her life-like dog; while Horace Walpole gave her osprey eagle the place of honour in his gallery at Strawberry Hill.

On his death he left to her that fascinating home with all its contents, but on the death of her mother, who lived there with her, she made it over to the next heir, Lord Waldegrave, together with £2000 per annum assigned for its upkeep. She then bought York House, Twickenham.

In 1828, being eighty years of age, she died and was buried in the church at Sundridge, Kent, where her mother was already laid, probably because Coombe Bank in that parish had long been in the possession of the Argyll family.

Her tablet in the chancel of the church describes her as

“Sculptrix et Statuaria Illustris Femina.”

By her desire, her working tools, apron, and the leash of her favourite little dog, Fidele, were buried with her.

NOTE F _Conditional Immortality_

Most Christians have been brought up to such implicit belief in our being all necessarily immortal, that the mere suggestion that the plain literal teaching of the Bible is that immortality is a conditional, special gift, is generally received with grave disapproval. Yet if the references to this subject are read without preconceived convictions, all seem to prove that although GOD created man capable of Eternal Life, man did not secure the gift, and I find nothing whatever to show that immortality either of soul or body was then conferred on him.

The story of man’s first disobedience simply records the warning, “In the day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die,” followed by the curse, “Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.” There is not a word that could possibly suggest that immortality was conferred on him, to enable him to endure eternal punishment for temporal sin. On the contrary, everything goes to show that the Gift of Immortality was specially reserved. “Lest” (having now sinned) “he take also of the Tree of Life, and eat, and live for ever,” man was driven out of Paradise, and cherubim and a flaming sword were placed to guard the approach to the Tree of Life.

Observe that before he sinned he was not debarred from eating of it. He had the option of doing so, but did not.

No sooner had the Devil succeeded in inducing man to subject himself to the penalty of death, than ONE stronger than he undertook to take man’s nature upon HIM that by HIS perfect Sacrifice HE might “destroy death, and him that had the power of death, that is, the Devil,” and obtain the right to bestow on man the Gift of Immortality. “For GOD so loved the world, that HE gave HIS only begotten SON, THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH ON HIM should not perish, but have EVERLASTING LIFE.” In Romans ii. 7 St. Paul says that to those who by patient continuance in well-doing, _seek for Immortality_, GOD gives ETERNAL LIFE.

Again, in the plainest and simplest words we are told that “The wages of sin is death” (simple death—not miraculously preserved life in torture), “but the Gift of GOD is Eternal Life, through JESUS CHRIST.” THIS GIFT OF LIFE IS THE KEY OF THE WHOLE GOSPEL—the “good news” concerning HIM, IN KNOWLEDGE OF WHOM STANDETH OUR ETERNAL LIFE. “WHOM TRULY TO KNOW, IS LIFE EVERLASTING.”

Having thus “brought Life and Immortality to light through the Gospel,” CHRIST is justly said to have abolished Death; and now HE proclaims to all, “Whosoever will, let him take the Water of Life freely.” Now, for the first time since the expulsion of man from Eden, do we hear again of the Tree of Life, no longer guarded by a flaming sword, but as the gift which CHRIST offers to HIS redeemed. “To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the Tree of Life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of GOD.” “Blessed are they that do HIS commandments, that they may have right to the Tree of Life.”

The horrible doctrine of the eternity of evil has developed as the natural sequence of a belief in inherent immortality. If once we fully grasp the grand central truth that everlasting life is ours solely through union with CHRIST, WHO IS OUR LIFE, the Pagan theories of a hell as meaning everlasting life in torture, crumble away almost of their own accord, yet by their lurid light men have for centuries distorted the words of Scripture, forcing them to fit their preconceived ideas.

Look, for instance, at the general character of the illustrations used by OUR LORD and HIS inspired servants, as symbols of the doom of the unsaved. If they intended to suggest continuity of existence under most adverse circumstances, they would certainly have made use of such figures as are most enduring in a furnace—such as minerals or metals. So far from this, every type seems purposely selected to denote utter frailty and the most perishable nature, or the most evanescent, such as “smoke,” “the early dew that passeth away,” “light clouds,” “a dream when one awaketh.”

Of enduring materials, such as metals, we hear only when they are “to be tried in the fire” for their own purification, to make them fit for the MASTER’S use, as when “HE sits as a Refiner of Silver,” patiently waiting till the purified metal reflects HIS own image.

But the swift destruction of those who will not accept HIS salvation is invariably compared to that of the most fragile substances—“an earthenware vessel broken to pieces” (frail, crumbling eastern pottery), “a garment eaten by the moth,” “thorns cut up and burned in the fire,” “bundles of tares tied up ready for burning, BEFORE the grain is garnered” (Matt. xiii. 30), “as stubble devoured by fire,” “like withered grass,” “as wax melteth before the fire,” “like burning tow,” “like chaff in the furnace of unquenchable fire” (that is, a fire which will burn till there is no more fuel to consume), like wood or hay—in short, every image suggests the most total and absolute destruction of whatsoever is cast into that furnace.

To those who refuse “HIM that speaketh from Heaven,” St. Paul has told us that “Our GOD is a Consuming Fire”—not a Preserving Fire which shall endow whatever is thrown into it with miraculous vitality in order to enable it to endure torture for EVER, and EVER, and EVER, without being consumed.

The same MASTER WHO told us that HE came to seek and to save lost men, told us that HE will also say: “Those MINE enemies which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before ME.” They would not accept HIS gift of enduring life, so even the life which they have is taken from them. That HE will utterly destroy HIS enemies is most plainly revealed, but by swift destruction, not prolonged existence in agony.

How can any one believe that HE WHOSE NAME IS LOVE would choose from HIS realm of perfect bliss, to look for ever and ever upon the beings HE once so dearly loved, enduring never-ending agony, which is only made possible by HIS miraculously endowing each with the capability of continued existence in ceaseless enmity to HIMSELF—or else uttering vain agonised prayers, to which (still more incredible) HE can listen unmoved throughout Eternity. Which of the creatures in whom HE has kindled one spark of HIS love could endure to know that this mass of individual misery was to continue day and night for ever and ever, while they themselves were in perfect bliss?

Apart from the certainty that the divine flower of mercy CANNOT thus wither and die in Heaven, the eternal suffering of human beings necessarily implies the eternal continuance of evil, and therein an everlasting triumph of the Devil, whereas we are expressly told by St. John that the SON OF GOD was manifested that HE might destroy the works of the Devil. And the same reason is given by St. Paul, “That through Death, HE might destroy him that had the power of Death, that is the Devil.” St. Paul has also told us that “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.”

Not till this is accomplished can Christ’s victory be completed. The Lord of all Creation must reign alone in HIS universe, and THAT CANNOT BE till every trace of the consequences of sin—the work of the usurper—has been utterly effaced.

Then, only when all things that do offend have been totally and for ever destroyed, can HIS perfect reign begin on that “new earth, wherein dwelleth only Righteousness.”

Then, too late, it will be known how large a share of antagonism to GOD has resulted from the false teaching about HIS revelation concerning future life and death. I doubt whether in any other way has HIS love been so persistently “wounded in the house of HIS Friends,” as by this unjust misconstruction of HIS words.

The marvel is how Christians can have gone on from generation to generation, blindly accepting such horrible tradition. It can only be accounted for by the belief that the devil has persuaded them to hold this dark, discoloured glass between themselves and GOD. Yet they do hold it, and cling to it, quite as strongly as to any article of the creed, and it is only too certain that a multitude of really earnest Christians will buzz like angry hornets round any one who ventures to suggest a future less appalling than the hell of their imagination—that most subtle device of the adversary to misrepresent GOD, and estrange men from HIS love.

Yet from the careless attitude of even earnest Christians it is impossible to believe that they in the smallest degree realise the meaning of the eternal duration of such a life in death, otherwise their whole lives would of necessity be absorbed in one agonised effort to rouse their fellows to repentance.

As an instance of the perverted meaning attributed to many passages, take such an one as 1 John v. 11–13: “GOD HATH given to us Eternal Life, and this Life is in HIS Son. He that hath the SON HATH LIFE; and he that hath not the SON OF GOD, _hath not Life_.” This statement is in the plainest words reiterated throughout the Gospel, yet so skilfully has the enemy sown his tares amid the good seed, that men’s perverted reading of this and all kindred verses is: “He that hath the SON _shall have Life after Death_, and he that hath not the SON _shall live for ever in torment_.”

Is not this precisely the meaning commonly attached to the same message as spoken by St. Paul? “As sin hath reigned unto Death, so might grace reign unto Eternal Life by JESUS CHRIST our LORD.” “The Wages of Sin is Death, but the Gift of GOD is Eternal Life, through JESUS CHRIST our LORD.” Surely these words are very clear; but the sower of tares has so skilfully added his evil grain, that wherever in the Holy Scriptures we find this contrast of death and eternal life, men mentally insert the word “Eternal” before “Death,” and thus entirely pervert GOD’S message of Love.

To me this view of CHRIST’S work, that THE ETERNAL LIFE NOW BEGUN IN ME BY HIM IS THE SPECIAL GIFT WHICH HE DIED TO OBTAIN FOR ME, is infinitely more precious and love-inspiring than was the belief that the primary object of HIS dying for us was to save us from an immeasurable intensity of punishment which in my secret heart I felt to be in excess of my own deserts, or those of my fellow-creatures. Whereas now I can realise that the life which I NOW live, I live by the faith of the SON OF GOD, WHO loved me, and gave HIMSELF for me. Thus the dreaded hour of the separation of body and soul which we call Death, becomes merely an unpleasant incident in life nowise affecting its continuity.

I believe the choice of life to be entirely in our own option. If any one prefers that death shall be to him the end of life and love, he has only to glide along, and (always allowing for the last awful awakening to judgment, and to realise what he has failed to secure) I believe that he will eventually cease to exist in any form.

For my own part, I prefer the certainty of an eternity in light and love, WHICH CAN ONLY BE SECURED BY ACCEPTING IT NOW, as the gift freely offered to each one of us. And having accepted it, with my whole heart, of course, I do most earnestly wish that all I care for here should do likewise, that we MAY BE TOGETHER FOR EVER in that life of light and gladness.

If any one cares to go deeper into this subject, I would refer them to the volume which first awoke my own interest in it, _The Glory of Christ in the Reconciliation of all things, with special reference to the Doctrine of Eternal Evil_, by the Rev. Samuel Minton, M.A., of Worcester College, Oxford, published in 1869 by Longmans, Green and Co. (Of course the doctrine of the Eternity of Evil is a natural sequence of a belief in Inherent Immortality.)

Amongst other authorities whom he quotes are MARTIN LUTHER and ARCHBISHOP WHATELY. The former says, “I permit the Pope to make articles of faith for himself and his faithful, such as, _that the soul is Immortal_.” The latter says, “To the Christian all this doubt would be instantly removed if he found that the Immortality of the Soul was revealed in the Word of God. _In fact, no such doctrine is revealed to us._”

_Life in Christ_, by the Rev. Edward White, published about thirty years ago, came as a revelation of undoubted truth to many perplexed Christians, who felt that their gravest difficulty crumbled to nothing if the human soul was not created immortal. But so certain was the storm of opposition which would encounter any Christian teacher or worker who ventured to proclaim the new light which had dawned on his own soul, that comparatively few had the courage to face it. (Just as men who love the Episcopal Church too dearly to leave it, are compelled to make such mental reservations as enable them to repeat that arrogant definition of the Christian faith said to have been composed by a French Archbishop in the fifth century, which is so unjustly attributed to poor St. Athanasius, and which, I am told, was not adopted at Rome till the middle of the tenth century, though it seems to have been accepted in England about the eighth century.)

In his _Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans_, vol. ii. p. 212, Bishop Gore says:—

“Careful attention to the origin of the doctrine of the necessary immortality or indestructibility of each human soul ... will probably convince us that it was no part of the original Christian message, or of really Catholic doctrine. It was rather a speculation of Platonism taking possession of the Church.”

In his book on Bishop Butler, the late W. E. Gladstone wrote:—

“_Another consideration of the highest importance is that the natural immortality of the soul is a doctrine wholly unknown to the Holy Scriptures_, and standing on no higher plane than that of an ingeniously sustained, but gravely and formidably contested, philosophical opinion.... We may perhaps find that we have ample warrant for declining to accept the tenet of natural immortality as a truth of Divine Revelation.”—_Studies on the Works of Bishop Butler_, p. 197.

As regards the teaching of the Old Testament, or even of Jewish tradition, it is certain that natural immortality could not possibly have been understood, else how could the Sadducees, who denied any life after death, have formed so strong a party?

The sect of the Sadducees seems to have originated about B.C. 250, and that of the Pharisees about B.C. 150. Whereas the former denied that there was any Resurrection, the Pharisees believed in an immortality which doomed the wicked to endless torment, and the righteous to transmigration. The latter doctrine is plainly implied in the question which was asked by the disciples regarding the blind man to whom Jesus gave sight, “DID THIS MAN SIN, or his parents, that he was born blind?” It is mentioned as an article of faith by several Jewish writers, including Josephus. (Quoted by Dr. Pusey, _Everlasting Punishment_, p. 69, 3rd edition.)

When Christ put the Sadducees to silence (Matt. xxii. 31–34), it was by telling them of the CONTINUITY OF LIFE of those who, while yet on earth, have attained to be the recognised servants of God.

In a volume of Biblical notes I find the following concerning the Sadducees:—

“‘_They divided the hierarchy with the Pharisees_, and the _Chief Council_ seems to have been equally balanced between the two’ (see Acts xxiii. 6–8). When Paul, in presence of the High Priest Ananias, perceived that the one part were Sadducees, and the other Pharisees, he cried out in the Council, ‘Men and brethren, I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee. Of the hope and resurrection of the dead, I am called in question.’ And when he had so said, there arose a dissension between the Pharisees and the Sadducees, and the multitude was divided. For the Sadducees say that there is _no_ resurrection, neither angel nor spirit, but the Pharisees confess both. In our Lord’s time _the family of Annas the High Priest_ belonged to this faction (Acts v. 17): ‘Then the High Priest rose up, and all that were with him (which is the sect of the Sadducees).’”

Mr. Minton points out the literal origin of many of the illustrations used concerning the awful fate of all who refuse to accept Christ’s gift of eternal life, and that His references to them were illustrations which those to whom they were addressed would certainly understand figuratively, such as those alluding to “unquenchable fires,” which all present knew to have long since burnt themselves out, having finished their work of destruction.

He quotes the Rev. H. Constable, who writes concerning the last judgment:—

“That awful scene represents the final destruction of evil, and not the eternal perpetuation of it in its most aggravated and malignant forms. All evil, physical as well as moral, represented by Death and Hades, has been cast into the Lake of Fire. All who have wilfully continued to be evil have been consigned to one awful place of punishment. According to their deserving is their chastisement—‘few stripes or many stripes.’ Gradually life dies out in that fearful prison. They who WOULD NOT find Life, have found Death, and the dead know not anything. There is no eternal antagonism of good and evil, no eternal jarring of the notes of praise and wailing. Evil has died out, and with it sorrow. Throughout GOD’S world of Life, all is joy and peace and love.”

“Then (after the accomplishment of the doom described in Rev. xx. 14, 15, and Rev. xxi. 8) there shall be no more curse, and no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. For GOD HIMSELF shall dwell with men, and shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. HE will swallow up Death in Victory.

“Is it not amazing that men should profess to believe these glorious and most blessed promises and yet for one moment conceive such a possibility as that their fulfilment should be co-existent with the Eternity of Evil, and of the continued existence through endless ages of countless myriads of GOD’S creatures, enduring the most appalling torture, and (so far from HIS wiping all tears from off all faces) that the weeping and gnashing of teeth (which our LORD has told us will accompany the terrible moment when HE has finally shut the door of mercy), shall continue through all eternity!

“Whereas HE has said that nothing shall then exist which is not reconciled to HIM.

“LORD, open the eyes of THY servants to see the horror of horrors that their imagination has substituted for the glorious future set before us in THY WORD of a universe reconciled to THEE, and THYSELF ALL IN ALL.”

“THY WILL BE DONE.”

While touching on such solemn subjects, I cannot refrain from referring to another matter in this present life, in which the GOD of infinite love and compassion is maligned. HE says of HIMSELF that, “Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear HIM. HE doth not willingly afflict the children of men.”

HE created everything in HIS world “very good” and very happy, and there was no pain or suffering till HIS enemy had succeeded in bringing in sin and consequent death. GOD’S will is the happiness of HIS children. And yet it is chiefly when horrible accidents occur, and in every form of sorrow and anguish, that we strive to say “THY WILL BE DONE,” ignoring the context “as it is done in Heaven,” where HIS Will is done, and there is no pain, nor any grief, because HIS enemy who causes the suffering has no power there.

On this subject Mrs. Josephine Butler writes:

“Not until we recognise that there are two ruling powers in the world can we ever be right in our estimate of or relation to the GOD of Love—never till we recognise the dual government can we see straight. It is a dual government which is at war now, but with a progressive victory for the Benign and Blessed One, and defeat (with our help) for the malign one....

“Have readers of the Gospel never fathomed the significance of the words of Jesus: ‘Shall not this woman, whom Satan hath bound these eighteen years, be healed?’ Again and again HE was angry with the evil spirit which afflicted men and women. GOD is not the author of sin, disease, pain, evil, death. These all come from another source. They are maliciously inflicted evil” [as we read in the story of poor Job and his trials—inflicted by Satan, though for some mysterious purpose permitted by GOD up to a certain limit]. “Yet GOD is ever mending, healing, bringing good out of Satan’s bad, making us heroic under pains inflicted by the enemy, walking with us through the flames and the floods of the Evil One’s creating, and making us HIS own companions, working for the final victory.

“Was it GOD who tortured the demoniac boy, whose father brought him to Christ? If it had been, would GOD’S Son have said: ‘Come out of him, thou foul spirit, and enter no more into him?’ ‘GOD anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Ghost and with power, who went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed of the devil, for GOD was with HIM.’”

On the other hand, of course we must not forget that some sufferings and trials are for our education. According to His own Word, “As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.” And those marvellous sayings regarding our LORD Himself in His human life—that “Though HE was the SON of GOD, yet learned HE obedience by the things which HE suffered,” and that HE, the Captain of our salvation, was made perfect through sufferings.”—Heb. v. 8; ii. 10.

But when in that awfully mysterious hour of HIS human agony HE cried, “THY will be done,” that surely was, because HE was about to “taste death for every man,” in order that “THROUGH DEATH HE MIGHT DESTROY HIM THAT HAD THE POWER OF DEATH, THAT IS, THE DEVIL” (Heb. ii. 9–14), and so by Himself enduring all, HE might conquer our enemy.

NOTE G _Intercessory Prayer_

Well did Tennyson write—

“More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of; Wherefore let thy voice rise for me like a fountain day and night.”

Little does the world know how many a mighty change has been wrought in answer to the unknown prayers of many a faithful heart. The guardian angel who thus ceaselessly pleaded for Roualeyn was a saintly woman, Davina M. ... who in her beautiful girlhood had been the one pure love of his life, and who loved him with such devotion that she stedfastly refused to link her life with his from a conviction that it would be to his disadvantage to marry beneath his own social rank. She lived to know that her life-long prayer had been granted, and soon after his death she also passed to the brighter world.

Something of that romance of sixty years ago is suggested in the poem of “Euphemia” by his niece Eisa (the Hon. Mrs. Willoughby, now Lady Middleton) in her volume _On the North Wind, Thistledown_, published by King and Co. In that volume and in _The Story of Alastair Bhan Comyn_, published by Blackwood, are woven many traditions of Morayland.

When travelling in the Hawaiian Isles, I chanced to see in a local paper some anonymous verses on intercessory prayer, which seemed to me so touching, that I will venture to reproduce them here:—

“I PRAY FOR THEE.

“When thou art very weak and weary, When it is dark and all seems dreary, And suddenly a light almost divine Upon thy doubting eyes and heart doth shine, And thou the way to go dost plainly see, Know, dearest heart, that then I pray for thee. Far off, in little chamber, I am saying These words, all softly, and GOD hears me praying: ‘Dear Lord, I do not know If all is well with him whom I love so, But Thou canst tell. O give him Light to see! O with him ever be Till all is well!’

“When with a weight of sorrow and of fears, Crushed to the earth, thou weepest bitter tears, Lo! gently round thee arms of tenderest love Raise thee from depths of woe, and far above Thou hearest a sweet voice saying ‘Trust in ME,’ Know, dearest heart, that then I pray for thee! Then, with full heart of love to GOD, I’m saying These words, all softly, and HE hears me praying: ‘O Lord, perhaps to-day, Down in the dust, He thinks not Thou didst say— “Heart, in ME trust.” O save him, LORD, in love, O lift him up above Out of the dust.’

“When all the answering beauty of the soul Is throbbing, thrilling with the rapturous whole Of Nature, as on odorous summer night The tremulous stars thy senses all delight; Thou feelest higher joys than these can be, Know, dearest heart, that then I pray for thee, For at my twilight window I am saying These words, all softly, and GOD hears me praying: ‘Dear Father, as to-night He sees the sky With glorious beauty light, To THEE on high, Who this rare radiance wrought, Raise his adoring thought Above the sky.’

“Thus always, with full heart of love to GOD, I’m saying These words, all softly, and HE hears me praying: ‘Dear Lord, both he and I Are far from strong; To each of us be nigh, The way is long. Perhaps he heeds not me, JESUS, we both need THEE; Make us more strong.’”

As these pages are not intended for publication during my lifetime, but are my last message to many friends personally unknown to me, I venture here to quote two letters addressed to a very dear friend, in the hope that they may possibly prove helpful to some one who finds the like difficulty in coming into personal touch with the Master.

“DEAR...,—The few words we exchanged last night have made me wonder whether the doubts you seemed to express were genuine, or just spoken for the sake of argument. But because I know too how many minds such as yours, intellectual difficulties do seem insuperable (their very wisdom raising earth-born clouds, which hide the truth, that to ‘babes’ seems so clear and simple), I feel that I am bound to say plainly that the result of my own fifty years of thinking on the subject has been to bind me more firmly than ever to the simplest child’s faith in the Old Story of the Cross and in THE FRIEND whose love and presence are to me infinitely more real and more precious than those of any human being.

“And I do feel that, knowing Him as I do, beyond all possibility of doubt—and loving Him, however unworthily—realising, as I have done even in the brightest years of life’s young morning, how utterly dark and cheerless my own life would be but for this ‘fellowship’ (St. John’s own word—1 John i. 3—so I may write it without presumption), it would be unpardonable in me not to say so plainly to any friend who may not yet have been able to realise this—the only Life-giving truth—the old, old story which Saul, the cultivated Roman Jew, the persecutor of the despised sect, was impelled to go and preach to the super-refined and learned Corinthians, that the crucified peasant Jew was in truth Incarnate GOD, Who saw fit ‘to humble Himself even to death on the Cross that He might make us the children of GOD and exalt us to everlasting life,’ and Who does care for each one of us individually.

“As concerns our intellectual difficulties, we can surely trust these to HIM who made our minds, till HE sees fit to make us capable of understanding all that now perplexes us. Our personal acquaintance with Himself is FAR CLOSER than any outside difficulty of that sort, and so I for one am content to believe that there are many things far beyond my comprehension in its present undeveloped capacity—things which I know I must accept on trust till I pass from the present caterpillar stage to the full, free-winged life when we shall know all the mysteries.

“Only once in my life was there a time—a long, weary time of sad darkness, when cold earth-born clouds closed round me, so as to shut out all the light of His companionship. I do not mean that I doubted His real presence any more than I doubt the shining of the sun beyond our visible rain-clouds, but for me there were only leaden skies, impenetrable and unresponsive, with only now and then a gleam of the blessed light. But I knew it was the just punishment of wilful wrong-doing—‘a needful time of trouble.’ (For of course in one who does know the Master and His love, sins which the world would not recognise as such, must rank very differently from the world’s standard, and though HE has promised to be our defence, that we may not GREATLY fall, we all know too well how continually we do stumble.) But at last the earnest of forgiveness was granted in the restored consciousness of His presence—a change quite as distinct as that from the darkness of a November fog to the glad summer sunlight.

“And now with my whole soul I do thank Him for His gift of light, and I do realise ever more and more, how closely HE does draw us to Himself when we WILL come to Him, and what a real and blessed possession is the Eternal Life, which is His gift to us NOW—the gift of Him ‘WHOM TRULY TO KNOW, IS LIFE EVERLASTING.’

“This is the truth which myriads have believed, acknowledging how unnecessary it is that they should understand how or why it should be, but have simply taken Him at His word, surrendering themselves wholly to Him, and have found in Him all-sufficient rest for their souls. And not only rest, but perfect sympathy and companionship.

“I know you do not class me as quite an idiot in other matters; surely, then, you can believe that it is no mere delusion which is to me so intensely real that it fills and satisfies my heart and all my being, and which makes what we call living or dying so entirely matters of contentment, because I am perfectly certain that nothing except my own wilful yielding to what I recognise as sin can possibly separate me from Him, and from the Love wherein He enfolds all who do willingly give themselves to Him to be His own.

“Though we all do instinctively shrink from revealing our inner lives to one another, yet those who have once realised all that this means, cannot but crave that all ‘who call them Friend’ should share the same secret of inward peace....”

On one occasion I sent this friend a very beautifully illuminated card with the words, “The Lord shall guide thee continually,” and “Underneath are the Everlasting Arms.” Much to my surprise, it called forth a letter so unlike her usual gentle courtesy, that I felt constrained to reply:—

“You and I are constituted so strangely alike in almost every respect, that from you, beyond any other friend I possess, I feel entitled to the sympathy of a true understanding all round. This is why I cannot bear that words which are to me the expression of all that is most precious and restful in life should seem to you merely ‘ridiculous charms.’ I know you only mean that keeping such words before one’s eyes is so, but when I look back over all the years of my past life, and recognise that the consciousness of ‘continual guiding’ and the sense of perfect safety in the enfolding of ‘the Everlasting Arms’ have been my own mainstay in almost every hour of every day, I feel that simply to keep such words where my outward eyes must often rest upon them does help me continually to remember that the events of my life are not a mere matter of chance, but are all being planned for me by One who loves me.

“Alas! dear, I know this does not come home to you as it does to me; and I fear that when you see me fussing over the trivial cares of every day, you must think that my daily outward life tells little of the inward peace that passeth understanding—a just inference, I own, judging from outward seeming—yet not really true, for though I so often forget for awhile, I do most truly believe that every tiny detail of everyday life IS over-ruled, and ordered for me in perfect wisdom, as I have proven through long years.

“When you told me how a very great botanist had asserted to you the impossibility of your having found the night-blowing Cactus in a country where you had actually sat up all night to paint it, I could not but think how exactly his reasoning coincided with that of the intellectual people who cannot believe what WE KNOW of the personal Love of our LORD. YOU KNOW these flowers grow there, because you saw them. We know the Love of our dear Lord because we are conscious that He is ALWAYS present with us, and never fails or forsakes us, in sunshade or in shade.

“I quite sympathise with you as to formal ‘saying prayers,’ but if you realise that you are always in the company of a dear Friend, whose sympathy is so perfect that he understands every thought and wish of your heart, so that all day long consciously, or even unconsciously, you instinctively refer everything to Him, how can you think of a special morning and evening talk with Him as ‘saying’ a form of words, no matter how perfect?

“I do fully enter into your delight in your garden, though I have none of your scientific knowledge of plants. But apart from joy in the loveliness of flowers, I find a wondrous fascination in the perpetual showing forth of ‘the resurrection of the body that shall be’ in the ever-new miracles of glorious colour and fragrance evolved from apparently dead sticks, ugly brown bulbs, and insignificant seeds.

“All such hints from the visible world become to me increasingly precious, for the last few years have been marked by so very many wrenches in parting from our nearest and dearest, that the whole life-plant feels uprooted, at least all its fibres are loosened from Mother Earth....”

NOTE H

Among the most noteworthy social changes within my memory, none is more marked than the diminution in the use of alcoholic drinks of all sorts in “respectable” society.

I cannot myself remember, what was a common occurrence up to a few years before my birth, when the ladies frequently left the drawing-room before the gentlemen left the dinner-table, knowing from their prolonged absence that they would not be pleasant company. But up to thirty or forty years ago the amount of wine which, as a matter of course, every girl took at luncheon, dinner, and dessert, and often also at bed-time, seems strange to remember, now that fashion has happily so greatly changed. And if the girl was delicate, instead of recommending hockey or tennis, the doctor’s prescription was generally an extra bumper of port at 11 A.M.

It needed a Sir Andrew Clark to have the courage to proclaim that “Alcohol is a poison, and as such must be classed with strychnine, arsenic, and similar drugs.”

Here I must remark that although the old practice of hospitably “pressing” guests to eat is happily an abomination of the past, this is by no means the case as regards drink. If I refuse white bread at dinner, no host expresses anxiety as to whether I would prefer brown bread, or Hovis, or French roll. But in regard to wine, the variety of offers is often wearisome, ending with, “Surely you are not a teetotaller?”

And yet we know that there are a multitude of men and women to whom the use of alcohol in any form is a really grave danger, and MANY WOULD WILLINGLY ESCHEW IT BUT FOR THE DREAD OF BEING PECULIAR, AND OF HAVING ATTENTION CALLED TO THEIR ABSTINENCE. It is partly with a view to helping such as these that it is so desirable to multiply the number of total abstainers, so that this fatal standard of good-fellowship may soon become obsolete, and that it may be as much a matter of indifference whether a guest drinks wine or not as whether he eats bread.

But since we know that

“Evil is wrought by want of thought As well as by want of heart,”

perhaps I may venture to point out to some hospitable ladies that the practice of saturating many of the most attractive sweets with brandy, rum, or liqueurs, is a most insidious source of danger to many who are honestly trying to conquer the “drink crave,” and whose good resolution has enabled them to resist the temptation when it comes undisguised, but who are thrown quite off their guard by the innocent-looking cream, or cake, or bon-bon, which contains quite enough of spirit to reawaken the craving for more. Surely this thought, together with the danger of temptation in our own kitchens, might avail to banish the use of alcohol from our cookery.[84]

But quite apart from any desire to benefit our tempted brethren, the strongest reasons for total abstinence are supplied by the plain statements of the very highest medical authorities on the evil effects on the human body of even the most moderate habitual use of alcohol, SIR ANDREW CLARK says that more than three-fourths of the disorders in what we call “fashionable life” arise from the use of alcohol, “a poison of which even very small daily doses are injurious to perfect health, and tend to gradually enfeeble various organs, whose breakdown some day is really due to no other cause.” HE ASSERTS THAT IT IS THE GREATEST ENEMY OF THE HUMAN RACE.

SIR WILLIAM GULL says: “I hardly know any more powerful source of disease than alcoholic drink. I should say that alcohol is the most destructive poison we are aware of.” DR. NORMAN KERR says he has been able to trace three-fourths of his cases of heart-disease to its use. SIR HENRY THOMPSON, in a letter to the late Archbishop of Canterbury (Temple), states that A VERY LARGE PROPORTION OF SOME OF THE MOST PAINFUL AND DANGEROUS DISEASES WHICH HAVE COME UNDER HIS NOTICE ARISE FROM THE DAILY USE OF ALCOHOLIC DRINKS, TAKEN IN THE QUANTITY WHICH IS ORDINARILY CONSIDERED MODERATE. “As to this fact,” he says, “I have a right to speak with authority, and I do so solely because it appears to me a duty not to be silent on a matter of such extreme importance.”

DR. MURCHISON ENUMERATES THE DISEASES OF VARIOUS ORGANS OF THE BODY WHICH RENDER LIFE A BURDEN, AND WHICH MIGHT NEVER HAVE OCCURRED HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR THE DAILY DOSE OF ALCOHOL. DR. ALFRED CARPENTER says: “Alcohol is a virulent poison, and as such should be placed in the list with arsenic, mercury and other dangerous drugs.”

May I advise all who are interested in the subject to invest one penny in Sir Andrew Clark’s pamphlet, _An Enemy of the Human Race_, and another in _Strong Drink and its Results_, by D. S. Govett, M.A., Archdeacon of Gibraltar, both published by the National Temperance Depot, 33 Paternoster Row, London, E.C. The latter contains the evidence of many leading medical men, and sums up thus: “Let no man think himself or his family safe from drink’s deadly fascination. Remember how in every generation men of the highest genius have become its slaves. _Every one of these was once a moderate drinker, and intended so to continue._ Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.”

Most noteworthy is the change in the attitude of the clergy in this matter. Fifty years ago it would have been considered _infra dig._ for a clergyman to be a total abstainer. Now a very large proportion of all denominations are so, and many of our Bishops and Archbishops throw the whole weight not only of their teaching, but of their very practical example into this effort to check the moral and physical ravages wrought in our own land, as well as in those other countries to which we so largely export the cruel fire-water.

This question in all its bearings formed the subject of many of Archbishop Temple’s most powerful appeals to his countrymen. But I cannot refrain from here quoting one passage from Dean Farrar, partly because of the one Scriptural quotation which is so frequently waged against total abstinence, namely concerning our Lord Himself having provided wine at the marriage-feast—wine which was probably the non-fermented juice of the vine. But few people seem ever to notice the Scriptural references to THE TEETOTALERS OF JUDEA.

Dean Farrar writes:—

“You sneer at Total Abstainers from the altitude of your worldly superiority, but the Scripture gives them its heartiest approbation. GOD commanded His prophets to pronounce ON THE RECHABITES a conspicuous blessing because they abstained from wine. Jeremiah speaks of the health and happiness of the NAZARITES as the flower of the youth of Jerusalem, for their strength and their beauty. SAMSON was a Total Abstainer, whose drink was only from the living brook, and he was the strongest man time records. JOHN THE BAPTIST, whom CHRIST calls ‘the greatest of those born of woman,’ was a Total Abstainer. The angel of the LORD in announcing his birth said, ‘He shall be great in the sight of the LORD, _and shall drink neither wine nor strong drink, and he shall be filled with the Holy Ghost_.’”

NOTE I _Use of the Rosary_

This widespread tendency to the telling of beads is certainly one of the strangest developments of devotion. We are apt to consider such vain repetitions as peculiar to the Church of Rome, whereas we find that not only do some four hundred and fifty million Buddhists find solace therein, but also a vast multitude of Brahmins and Mohammedans.

Now, that Brahmins and Buddhists should thus keep a numerical tally of their devotions is strange enough, but the adoption of this spiritual treadmill by Mohammedans is more remarkable (though whoever has heard the frenzied shouts of “_Allah el Allah! Allah el Allah!_” can never doubt their faith in the efficacy of much speaking.) But that a

practice so little in accordance with the spirit of Christianity could have been a spontaneous growth appears quite impossible, so it is only natural to assume that it was imported from some heathen land, just as the veneration for relics, the canonization of saints, the use of rosaries, the divers orders of monastic life, the rigid vows of poverty and asceticism, celibacy of the clergy, priestly robes and shaven crowns, processions carrying banners, chanted litanies, use of incense and holy water, and very many other ecclesiastical details—can only be accounted for on the supposition, which, indeed, is well-nigh a certainty, that they were adopted by the Christians of Egypt from the practice of the Buddhists, by whom all these things were as religiously observed long before the Christian era, as they continue to be at this day.

Concerning the origin of the use of the rosary in Christendom (not its Pagan origin, however!) Dr. Rock tells us that in early days the truly devout were in the habit of reciting the whole Psalter daily. But as a hundred and fifty psalms were certainly rather a lengthy recitation, it became customary to substitute short prayers, which might be uttered rapidly amid the stir and business of life, without requiring undivided attention. Hence a hundred and fifty short “Aves” varied by ten intervening Paternosters, and five Doxologies (thus dividing the whole into ten decades, came to be accounted as meritorious an act of devotion as the repetition of the whole Psalter.)

But as the omission of any of the number would have been esteemed sinful, and the calculation was apt to be inexact, some mechanical aid was desirable, and various expedients were devised. Thus Palladius has recorded how the Abbot Paul, who made a point of repeating the Paternoster three hundred times daily, that he kept count of his prayers by the aid of a number of small pebbles, which he dropped into his lap one by one till the tale was told. Then the simpler method of counting on a string of beads worn round the neck was suggested, and soon found favour with the devout.

The division of the Rosary into the fifteen decades of small beads for the _Ave Maria_, with the large intervening beads for the Paternoster, is generally ascribed to St. Dominic (born in Old Castille A.D. 1170); but there is little doubt that this use of beads was common in Spain before his time, and that it had been borrowed by the Spanish Catholics from the Mohammedan dervishes who accompanied the Moors on their invasion of Spain in A.D. 711, and who, in common with their Syrian brethren, had adopted it from nations further east.

The ordinary Mohammedan rosary or _tasbih_ numbers ninety-nine beads, often made of sacred earth brought from Mecca, but frequently only of date-stones. Instead of a large bead to mark each tenth, a silken tassel does this duty, and assists the pious Islamite in his repetition of the ninety-nine names of God.

The Mohammedan rosary figures in a very curious ceremony practised on the night immediately following a burial, commonly called “the night of desolation” while the soul is believed still to abide with the body, ere winging its flight to the place of spirits. About fifty devout men assemble to perform an act of merit on behalf of the dead. After reciting certain chapters of the Khoran, they repeat “_Allah el Allah_” three thousand times, while one of the party keeps count on a rosary of a thousand beads, each as large as a pigeon’s egg. Between each thousand the exhausted worshippers pause to rest and drink coffee. Afterwards several short prayers are uttered, each being repeated a hundred times. The whole merit of this very severe bodily exercise is formally assigned to the deceased; and on behalf of wealthy men it is sometimes repeated for three nights running—a fact rather suggestive of the pecuniary cost of such services!

How far Christianity has improved on this original may be somewhat a nice question, for in such means of acquiring merit for the dead neither Christians nor Buddhists are lacking, and in all Catholic countries oft-told rosaries number Christian prayers for the deceased by ten thousand times ten thousand.

It is believed that this celestial _abacus_—this method of reckoning with heaven—originated with the Hindoos, who certainly are known to have kept count of their oft-told prayers by means of bead-strings from very early ages; but whether the invention was due to Hindoo Buddhists or Hindoo Brahmins is not known. Probably, however, the former may claim this merit, as they were so long the dominant religion of India, and indeed three centuries before the Christian era they had overspread all Asia, so that traces of their influence and teaching are discernible even where successive waves of differing faith have overswept the land.

To this day, the Brahmins of Guzerat and some other parts of India carry chaplets of one hundred small and eight large beads, made of sacred wood; and a truly devout man recites the _gāyatri_ one hundred and eight times at the rising of the sun ere he proceeds to wash and dress his idols. This mystic sentence is a short extract from the _Rig Veda_—a meditation on the divine glory of the sun-god, and a prayer that the Divine Giver of Life and Light may enlighten his understanding.

The rosary commonly used by the worshippers of Vishnu numbers 108 smooth beads, made of the wood of the sacred Tulasi shrub.[85] These represent the 108 most sacred titles of Krishna. In the course of the elaborate daily morning ritual, certain formulas of worship are repeated 108 times, count being kept by the aid of the rosary, which, together with the counting-hand, is concealed under a cloth or in a bag (which is called a Go-mukhi). Why this concealment is necessary does not appear, unless there is some idea of not letting the left hand know what the right is doing!

But it is equally incumbent on the worshippers of Siva, who, while reciting his 1008 names and sacred attributes, keep count of their task on rosaries of 32 or 64 rough berries of the Rudrāska tree,[86] which are said to have originally been formed from the tears shed by Siva in passionate anger. These berries have five sides, which are considered symbolic of Siva’s five faces.

The hideous Saiva Yogis occasionally use grim rosaries of human teeth collected from funeral-pyres, a more agreeable variety allowed by the Vishnuvites being the use of lotus-seeds. The various sects have slight differences in this respect. One at least, (that of Vallabha) bestows the rosary of 108 Tulasi beads on each child as a token of church membership, when it attains the age of from three to four years, and is capable of repeating the eight-syllabled charm, “_Sri-Krishnah saranam mama_,” which is, being interpreted, “Great Krishna is the refuge of my soul.” Another Vishnuvite sect invests each member with two rosaries—one in honour of Krishna, and the other for the worship of Radhā.

The votaries of Ganesa, the elephant-headed god, use the seeds of the kumala, or lotus, for this purpose, while the worshippers of Surya, the Sun, prefer a string of small balls of crystal—miniatures of the great crystals which symbolize the sun on the Shinto altars of Japan.

NOTE J _Hair Offerings_

It is always interesting to note the same superstitions in divers countries. In my book on _The Hebrides_, page 39, I related the Gaelic-Danish legend of the “Whirlpool of Corrie Vreckan,” in which the young Danish prince might have anchored in safety had he been provided with a cable woven entirely of the long fair tresses of Danish maidens of faultless purity. But, alas! one lock had been shorn from the head of one whose fair fame was no longer spotless, so the cable parted, and the prince and his vessel were sucked down, down, in the raging waters.

I am told that in Malabar a cure for some diseases, and also a recognised penance, is being tied up to a tree and undergoing a severe flogging, after which a piece of growing hair is securely pegged into the bark, and by a sudden wrench it is torn from the head and left hanging on the tree as a votive offering.

Strange to say, this identical ceremony (minus the flogging) was long practised at the village of Berkhampstead in Hertfordshire. The object to be gained was the cure of ague, and a group of fine old oaks was the scene of action.

I am told that in Sunderland a popular cure for whooping-cough is to shave the crown of the head and hang the hair on a bush, in full faith that as the birds carry away the hair, so will the cough vanish. In Lincolnshire, a girl suffering from ague cuts a lock of her hair and binds it round an aspen tree, praying it to shake in her stead. In Ross-shire, where within the last fifty years living cocks were occasionally buried as a sacrificial remedy for epilepsy, some of the hair of the patient was generally added to the buried offering.

In Ireland, at Tubber Quan, near Carrick-on-Suir, there is a holy tree beside a holy well, which are held in the deepest veneration. Thither, chiefly on the last three Sundays in June, Roman Catholic peasants make pilgrimage to worship St. Quan (whoever he may be); and having gone thrice round the holy tree on their bare knees, each cuts off a lock of his own hair and ties it to a branch as a charm against headache. By the end of June the tree is fringed with countless locks of human hair of all shades.

A recent visitor to some of these Irish holy wells enumerated amongst many other votive offerings, thirty-nine crutches, six hand-sticks, and a pair of boots!

NOTE K _On the Medicinal Use of Animals in China and Britain_

These quaint druggists’ shops were indeed a strangely vivid illustration of what must have been the general appearance of the laboratory of the learned leeches of Britain from olden times until really quite recent days—literally until the eighteenth century—as we know from the official pharmacopœia of the College of Surgeons of London, published in A.D. 1724, that unicorn’s horn, human fat, human skulls, dog’s dung, toads, vipers, worms, and all manner of animal substances, either dried, seethed, or calcined, were accounted valuable medical stores. In the same medical directory for A.D. 1724, centipedes, vipers, and lizards are especially enumerated as possessing valued properties!

It will be interesting to glance at a few of these old prescriptions as compared with those still in favour in China. Here is a letter from a French Catholic Missionary in Mongolia. “May Heaven preserve us from falling ill here! It is impossible to conceive who can have devised remedies so horrible as those in use in the Chinese pharmacopœia, such as drugs compounded of toads’ paws, wolves’ eyes, vultures’ claws, human skin and fat, and other medicaments still more horrible, of which I spare you the recital. Never did witches’ den contain a collection of similar horrors!”

Mr. Mitford has told us how at Peking he saw a Chinese physician prescribe a decoction of three scorpions for a child struck down with fever; and W. Gill, in his _River of Golden Sand_, mentions having met a number of coolies laden with red-deers’ horns, some of them very fine twelve-tyne antlers. They are only hunted when in velvet, and from the horns in this state a medicine is made which is one of the most highly prized in the Chinese pharmacopœia.

With regard to the singular virtues supposed to attach to the medicinal use of tiger, my cousin, General Robert Warden, told me that on one occasion when, in India, he was exhibiting some trophies of the chase, some Chinamen who were present became much excited at the sight of an unusually fine tiger-skin. They eagerly inquired whether it would be possible to find the place where the carcase had been buried, because from the bones of tigers dug up three months after burial, a decoction may be prepared which gives immense muscular power to the fortunate man who swallows it.

I was indebted to the same informant for an interesting note on the medicine folklore of India, namely, that while camping in the jungle, one of his men came to entreat him to shoot a night-jar for his benefit, because from the bright, prominent eyes of this bird of night an ointment is prepared which gives great clearness of vision, and is therefore highly prized.

Miss Bird, when travelling in the Malay Peninsula, was eyewitness of a very remarkable scene when, a tiger having been killed, a number of Chinamen flew upon the body, cut out the liver, heart, and spleen, and carefully drained every drop of its blood. Those who failed to secure these, cut out the cartilage from the joints. She learnt that the blood, dried at a temperature of 110°, is esteemed the strongest of all tonics and gives strength and courage. The powdered liver and spleen are good for many diseases, but the centre of the tiger’s eyeball is supposed to possess well-nigh miraculous virtues. So all these treasured fragments were sold at high prices to Chinese doctors, who doubtless knew they would not lose on the retail price!

From the qualities here attributed to tigers’ blood, we can better understand how it came to pass that in the Tai-ping rebellion the Imperial troops, having captured a rebel leader at Shanghai, roasted him, and ate his heart and other vital organs in order to make them brave! The case is not unique, as in that same terrible civil war the Tai-pings were guilty of similar atrocities during the siege of Nanking, though cannibalism _per se_ is a crime as deeply abhorred in China as in Britain.

In Perak Miss Bird saw rhinoceros’ horn selling at a high price in the drug-market, a single horn being priced at fifty dollars; and in Japan a native doctor showed her a small box of unicorn’s horn which, he said, was worth its weight in gold. He also expressed his faith in the value of rhinoceros’ horn. One of the said rhinoceros’ horns was, as we have seen, among the most valued treasures of the old druggist of Osaka. This horn, and that of the unicorn, which seems generally to mean the narwhal,[87] have ever been held in high repute throughout the East as an antidote to poison, and cups carved from these horns were used as a safeguard, because they possessed the property of neutralising poison, or at least of revealing its presence.

And indeed the same virtue was attributed to them by the learned leeches of Europe. At the close of the sixteenth century, the doctors of medicine in Augsberg met in solemn conclave to examine a specimen of unicorn’s horn, which they found to be true _monoceros_ and not a forgery, the proof thereof being that they administered some of it to a dog which had been poisoned with arsenic, and which recovered after swallowing the antidote. They further administered _nux vomica_ to two dogs; and to one they gave twelve grains of unicorn horn, which effectually counteracted the poison; but the other poor dog got none, so he died. Similar statements concerning this antidote, and also concerning the value of elk’s and deer’s horns powdered, as a cure for epilepsy, appear in various old English medical works of the highest authority.

Not less remarkable is the efficacy supposed to attach to antediluvian ivory, more especially the tusks of the mammoths which have been so well preserved in Siberian ice that their very flesh has been found untainted. There they have lain hermetically sealed for many a long century, and now, when the rivers from time to time wash away fragments of the great ice-cliffs, they reveal the strange treasures of that wondrous storehouse. It may be a great woolly elephant with a mane like a lion, and curly tusks, or a huge unwieldy hippopotamus, or a rhinoceros, and the hungry Siberian bears and wolves fight and snarl over these dainty morsels.

Here, then, in these marvellous ice-fields lie inexhaustible stores of finest ivory, and this it is which the learned professors of the Celestial Medical Hall value so highly. So these precious tusks are dragged forth after thousands of years to be ground down and boiled to a jelly, for the cure of vulgar Chinese diseases of the twentieth century. Alas! poor mammoth!

Nor are these the only antediluvian relics which are thus turned to account. Professor H. N. Moseley tells us of the “Dragon’s teeth and bones” which he bought from the druggists of Canton, where they are sold by weight as a regular medicine, and are highly prized in the _materia medica_ both of China and Japan as specifics in certain diseases.

They proved, on examination, to be the fossil teeth and bones of various extinct mammalia of the tertiary period, including those of the rhinoceros, elephant, horse, mastodon, stag, hippotherium, and the teeth of another carnivorous animal unknown. He obtained a translation of the passage in the medical works of Li-She-Chan, which specially refers to the use of this medicine. It states that “Dragon’s bones come from the southern parts of Shansi, and are found in the mountains.” Dr. To-Wang-King says that if they are genuine, they will adhere to the tongue. This medicine must not come in contact with fish or iron. “It cures heart-ache, stomach-ache, drives away ghosts, cures colds and dysentery, irregularities of the digestive organs, paralysis, etc., and increases the general health.”

Another medical authority, _The Chinese Repository_, published in Canton A.D. 1832, states that the bones of dragons are found on banks of rivers, and in caves of the earth—places where the dragon died. Those of the back and brain are highly prized, being variegated with different streaks on a white ground. The best are known by slipping the tongue lightly over them. The horns are hard and strong, but if these are taken from damp places, or by women, they are worthless.

From his examination of these so-called relics of the dragon (which prove to belong to so many different animals which, in successive ages, have crept to the same cave to die), Mr. Moseley points out how some imaginative person probably first devised a fanciful picture of the mythical animal combining the body of the vast lizard with the wings of a bat, the head of a stag, and carnivorous teeth, which has become the stereotyped idea of the dragon in all lands.

Even in Europe, fossil bones thus found together in caves were long known as dragon’s bones, and accounted useful in medicine. Indeed, so great was the demand for these and similar relics, that our museums and scientific men have good cause to rejoice that their ancestors failed to discover what stores of old bones lay hidden in our own sea-board caves—as, for instance, in that wonderful Kirkdale cavern where the mortal remains of several hundred hyenas were found guarding the teeth of a baby mammoth, a patriarchal tiger, a rhinoceros, and a hippopotamus. Or the caves along the Norfolk coast where Hugh Miller tells us that within thirteen years the oyster-dredgers dragged up the tusks and grinders of five hundred mammoths! Or those wonderful zoological cemeteries where the fossil bones of cave-lions, cave-hyenas, elephants, mammoths, hippopotami, woolly rhinoceros, red deer and fallow deer, oxen, sheep, and horses, lay so securely stored for untold ages beneath Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square!

Of the firm belief of the Chinese in the efficacy of medicines compounded of the eyes and vitals of a human body we have had too terrible proof, for it is well known that one cause which led to the appalling Teintsin massacre in 1870 was the widespread rumour that the foreign doctors (whose skill all were forced to admit) obtained their medicines by kidnapping and murdering Chinese children and tearing out their hearts and eyes. As this nice prescription is actually described in their own books as a potent medicine, the story obtained ready credence, and we all remember the result. Moreover, the same accusation has repeatedly been spread on other occasions of popular excitement against foreign teachers, and we need scarcely wonder that it should obtain credence, when we find that one of the most esteemed acts of filial devotion is for a son or a daughter to bestow a good slice of his or her own flesh, to be administered, with other ingredients, to parents suffering from certain forms of disease, which are otherwise deemed incurable. Archdeacon Grey of Canton was personally acquainted with various persons who had endured this voluntary mutilation![88]

I am not aware whether the Lamas of Peking have there introduced the fashion of administering medicine from a drinking-cup fashioned from the upper part of a wise man’s skull, but such medicine-cups are greatly esteemed in Thibet and Mongolia, where they are mounted in gold, silver, or copper.

Such details as all these are apt to sound to us somewhat as far-fetched travellers’ tales, but it is certainly startling to realise how exactly they describe the medicine-lore of our own ancestors, of which traces survive amongst us even to this day. We know of several cases within recent years when in the north of Scotland the skull of a suicide was with great difficulty procured, and used as a drinking-cup for an epileptic patient. Still surer was it deemed to reduce part of the skull to powder and swallow it. Even the moss which grew on such skulls was deemed a certain cure for divers diseases. In the official prescription of the London College of Physicians, A.D. 1678, the _skull of a man who has died violent death_, and the horn of a unicorn, appear as highly approved medicines. In 1724 all human skulls are declared useful, and multitudes were exported from Ireland to Germany for the manufacture of a famous ointment.

Equally precious to the British leech of the last century were the ashes of a burnt witch collected from her funeral-pyre. Such were deemed a certain cure for gout or for fever, and eagerly were they gathered up and treasured.

But just as the Chinese doctor sets most store by the animals imported from foreign lands, so did our ancestors chiefly prize a preparation of long-deceased Egyptians, or, as they were described among the standard medicines quoted in the medical books of Nuremberg only two hundred years ago, “The embalmed bodies of man’s flesh, called _mumia_, which have been embalmed with costly salves and balsams, and smell strongly of myrrh, aloes, and other fragrant things.”

The learned doctors of France, Germany, Italy, and Britain all made great use of mummy, which was pronounced to be an infallible remedy for many diseases. And so great was the demand for this ingredient, as to lead to the establishment in Alexandria of a secret factory for converting all manner of dead bodies into such profitable articles of trade.

The apothecaries of England found an economical substitute in the bones of ancient Britons. Thus Dr. Toope of Oxford, writing in 1685, tells how, at the circles on Hakpen Hill, in Wiltshire, he had discovered a rare lot of human bones—skeletons—arranged in circles, with the feet towards the centre. He says, “The bones were large and nearly rotten, but the teeth extream and wonderfully white.” Undisturbed by any qualms of reverence for the ancestors of his race, he adds: “_I dug up many bushells_ WITH WHICH I MADE A NOBLE MEDICINE!”

In truth, the human form divine received small veneration from the philosophers of those days, when the bait most highly recommended for the luring of fish was a compound of _man’s fat_, cat’s fat, heron’s fat, powdered mummy, assafœtida, and various oils. In _The Angler’s Vade Mecum_, published in 1681, it is stated that man’s fat for this purpose could readily be obtained from the London chirurgeons concerned in anatomy!

Referring to the little shops of the old Japanese apothecaries; the most remarkable point of similarity between these and those of early English druggists is suggested by the extensive use of calcined animal-matter, recommended in the prescriptions which were most highly valued in England before the Norman Conquest, and which are recorded in the elaborate Saxon manuscripts, carefully preserved in our national archives.

These “Leechdoms” are written in ancient black-letter characters, and are curiously illustrated with pictures of the herbs and animals which are recommended for medicinal use. From these it appears that upwards of eight hundred years ago the Saxon hairdressers prevented the hair from falling by applying a wash of dead bees burnt to ashes, and seethed in oil with leaves of willow; but should hair be too thick, then must a swallow be burnt to ashes, and these be sprinkled on the hair.

Wood ashes seethed in resin, or goat’s flesh or goat’s horn burnt to ashes and “smudged on with water,” are recommended for any hard swelling. For pain in the jowl, burn a swallow to dust, and mingle him with field-bees’ honey, and give the man to eat frequently. For erysipelas, failing a plaister of earthworms, take a swallow’s nest and burn it, with its dung, rub it to dust, mingle with vinegar, and smear therewith.

But, in truth, all animals were turned to good account in these Saxon leechdoms, and the wolf seems to have been as highly esteemed as is the tiger in Japan—a wolf’s head under the pillow was a pleasant cure for sleeplessness, and the skull of a wolf, when burnt thoroughly and finely powdered, would heal racking pains in the joints. An ointment made from the right eye of a wolf was the best prescription the Saxon oculist could command.

The bite of a mad dog might be cured by laying on the ashes of a swine’s jaw; while the head of a mad dog, burnt to ashes and spread on the sore, was a cure for cancer. The ashes of the elder-tree were applied in cases of palsy, and imperfect sight was improved by an ointment of honey mixed with the ashes of burnt periwinkles, always provided that certain mystic words were uttered while gathering this plant (a wort which had special power to counteract demoniacal possession).

Such “Leechdoms” as these were all very well in the tenth and eleventh centuries; but it certainly is startling to find how little, if any, advance medical science had made by the early part of the eighteenth century, when the medical works most in repute contain numerous prescriptions of animal substances, so inexpressibly loathsome as to make it a matter of marvel how any one could be found either to prepare them or to submit to their application. Salts of ammonia in the crudest form were a favourite remedy for external or internal use.[89]

By far the least objectionable compounds were those prepared from carbonised animals in the Japanese or early Saxon manner. We find the ashes of burnt swallows and of their nests still in high favour for the cure of dangerous sore-throats, and among the remedies for beautifying the hair are enumerated, “burnt ashes of little froggs,” “ashes of bees mixt with oyl,” ashes of goat’s dung, goat’s hoof, and cow’s dung, as also the blood of a shell-crab. But a preparation of the burnt ashes of swan’s bones, and the blood of a bat or a little frog, with the milk of a bitch, is effectual for preventing the growth of hair.

For the disease called lethargie, the whole skin of a hare must be burnt, also “the smoak of kid’s leather burnt, holden to the nose.” The burnt hairs of the hare cures erysipelas, ashes of a hare burnt whole, with ashes of burnt willow or ashes of the bark of the elm-tree cureth scalding. The burnt hoofs of a cow or ankle-bones of a swine are the cure for colic. For cancer, nothing better has been discovered than the ashes of a dog’s head, or burnt human dung. As a valuable styptic to staunch bleeding of the nose, burn the blood of the patient and snuff up the powder thereof. Ashes of hen’s feathers burnt, and ashes of nettles are also beneficial. So likewise were spiders pulverised, or a dried toad worn round the neck. “Ashes of a burnt frog gleweth veins and arteries and cures burning.”

The merit of these simple remedies was greatly enhanced by the use of fine Latin names. Thus the most powerful known remedy in the treatment of smallpox and dropsy, both for internal and external use, was a preparation of powdered toad, administered under the name of _Pulvis Æthiopicus_. In fact, the more nonsensical the remedy, the more need was there for a high-sounding name!

We may well believe that for convenience sake many of these calcined plants and animals were prepared at leisure, and stored, ready for use, in cases of emergency. Consequently (though we can hardly flatter ourselves that our ancestors were as exquisite in their neatness as the Japanese) there is no doubt that the little druggist shops in Osaka gave us a very fair notion of the surroundings, not only of an ancient Saxon leech, but of the learned, Latin-quoting doctors of the last century, in whose magician-like laboratories were stored earthenware jars of every size containing the ashes of goat’s flesh, of dead bees, of wolf’s skull, or swine’s jaw, of divers shell-fish, of worts and rinds without number—nay, even of human skulls and bones. On the walls hung bunches of dried herbs, and remains of birds and lizards, rats, moles, and such small deer, together with skins of serpents, portions of mummies, horns of stags, rhinoceros, narwhal, elephants’ tusks, and many another item of the strange _materia medica_ of our own ancestors.

Nor need we at the beginning of the twentieth century (with all the amazing progress made by medical science in the last fifty years) pretend to have altogether extinguished faith in the old superlatively nasty remedies. Certainly the simple ingredients are now generally so refined as to be unrecognisable. Who that inhales the fragrance of _eau de mille fleurs_ remembers that its principal ingredient is the drainage of the cow-byre? or that the brilliant, transparent gelatine which enfolds our bonbons is made from the sweepings of the slaughter-house?

But what I allude to is the survival of the old specifics as popular folk-medicine, in use to this day among the peasantry in various districts of Great Britain. The catalogue is almost endless, including divers methods of applying black snails, eels’ blood, the hand of a dead child or of a suicide, living spiders, hairy caterpillars, and other strange remedies. For instance, there are places in England where the country people still believe that the best specific for all complaints of the human eye is to burn the flesh of a swallow and apply the ashes to the part affected. The Japanese, who carefully prepared his dried frogs, toads, and lizards, may learn with interest that the approved treatment for scrofula at the present day in Devonshire is to dry the hind leg of a toad and wear it round the neck in a silken bag, while for rheumatism the toad must be burnt to ashes, and its dust, wrapped in silk, is to be worn round the throat. Both in Cornwall and Northampton poor toads are still made to do duty for the cure of nose-bleeding and quinsy, while in various parts of England “toad-powder,” or even a live toad or spider shut up in a box, is accounted a charm against contagion.

Frogs are well-nigh as valuable as toads to the sick poor. In Aberdeenshire it is accounted a sure cure for sore eyes to lick the bright eyes of a live frog, while the peasants of Donegal find wondrous comfort in rubbing rheumatic limbs with dissolved frog’s spawn. It is also believed in Ireland that the tongue which has licked a lizard all over will thenceforth be endowed with a wondrous gift of healing whatsoever it touches.

But it is when we come to the mystic serpent that we find the most startling connection between the folk-medicine-lore of Britain and Japan. Considering what insignificant little creatures are our British snakes, it certainly is strange that they should be quite as highly esteemed as are the great python-skins in the Chinese school of medicine, wherein the skin of a white spotted snake is valued as the most efficacious remedy for palsy, leprosy, and rheumatism.

Strange to say, in our old Gaelic legends there is a certain white snake which receives unbounded reverence as the king of snakes; and another legend tells of a nest containing six brown adders and _one pure white one_, which latter, if it can be caught and boiled, confers wondrous medical skill on the lucky man who tastes of the serpent broth.[90]

In some of the Hebridean Isles, notably that of Lewis, the greatest faith prevails in the efficacy of water in which a so-called serpent-stone has been dipped. Should such a charmed stone be unobtainable, _the head of an adder may be tied to a string and dipped in the water with equally good result_.

In Devonshire any person bitten by a viper is advised at once to kill the creature, and rub the wound with its fat. I am told that this practice has survived in some of the Northern States of America, where the flesh of a rattlesnake, and especially its oil, are accounted the best cures for its own bite. Some of the sturdy New Englanders even wear a snake-skin round their neck, from a firm faith in its power of curing rheumatism, a faith certainly carried by their fathers from Britain, where the same remedy is still sometimes applied.

It is not many years since an old man used to sit on the steps of King’s College Chapel, at Cambridge, and earn his living by exhibiting common English snakes, and selling their cast-off sloughs to be bound round the forehead and temples of persons suffering from headache—a valuable remedy for overworked students!

In Durham an eel’s skin, worn as a garter round the naked leg, is considered a preventive of cramp, while in Northumberland it is esteemed the best bandage for a sprained limb.

So, too, in Sussex, the approved cure for a swollen neck is to draw a snake nine times across the throat of the sufferer, after which operation the snake is killed, and its skin is sewn in a piece of silk and worn round the patient’s neck. Sometimes the snake is put in a bottle, which is tightly corked and buried in the ground, and it is expected that as the victim decays the swelling will subside.

This, however, relates to a different class of subject to that which has led me into this long digression—namely the little drug-stores at Osaka, with all their curious contents. I can only hope that, should these pages ever meet the eye of my Japanese friend, he will acknowledge that my interest in the medicine-lore of his ancestors was certainly justifiable.

NOTE L _Magazine Articles_

My first experience of writing a magazine article was in 1869, when I sent a sketch of our “CAMP LIFE IN THE HIMALAYAS” to Dr. Norman Macleod, who promptly inserted it in _Good Words_.

In subsequent years I contributed many papers to a great variety of periodicals and newspapers, chiefly on topics which afterwards found a place in my books of travel, such as one on “OILING THE WAVES,” which appeared in the _Nineteenth Century_ for April 1882, and contained much information gleaned from many sea-captains, seamen, and fishers on the practical value of a very small amount of oil in preventing waves from breaking in white crests, and so swamping vessels. So many cases were quoted of ships which were undoubtedly saved by this simple safeguard, that Lord Cottesloe called the attention of the House of Lords to the paper, with the result that some small experiment by a lifeboat was ordered, but the result was _nil_. The principal evidence on the subject was reproduced in my book, _In the Hebrides_.

Of other oily papers I may mention one on “THE WORLD’S OIL SUPPLY,” which appeared in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ in September 1884, and some papers on “WASHING MADE EASY,” which told how some ingenious women in New Zealand had discovered that by adding a little paraffin to the water in which they were boiling their dirty linen all the dirt separated, and scarcely involved any further trouble.

I was told that those papers attracted much attention; and it was interesting to note how many new soaps straightway came into existence, and have ever since been enormously advertised. But only one of them gave any clue to the simple new ingredient to which they owe their success, and of that one I have never seen a single advertisement, therefore I have real pleasure in confiding to all my readers that it is called “Evelyn’s Paraffin Soap,” made by Messrs. Ogston and Sons, soap-makers, Aberdeen, and I consider it the best of any I know. (Of course it will be said that this is an advertisement, but it is simply the statement of a fact.)

In looking over a list of the subjects about which I wrote, not connected with any of my books, I see that NOW they would be quite commonplace; but they were by no means so at the time they were written—as, for instance, my paper on cremation in the _Contemporary Review_ for June 1883, “DE MORTUIS.”

So also in regard to a paper on “THE LEPER HOSPITALS OF BRITAIN,” which appeared in _The Gentleman’s Magazine_, September 1884. The subject was then so old as to be practically new to the current generation, so of course it was pleasant to have been the one to disinter it. Rather a curious thing occurred with regard to its publication. I had offered it to one of the principal periodicals, which detained it for so many months that I was satisfied that it had been accepted, and so I abstained from asking troublesome questions. At length, however, I ventured to do so, and my paper was at once returned to me, and at the same time I observed that an article on the same subject was advertised for the next number of the magazine in question. I at once despatched mine to _The Gentleman’s Magazine_, and by the exceeding courtesy of Messrs. Chatto and Windus (who at the very last moment managed to postpone an article and insert mine), it was launched on the same day as its rival. The similarity of the two was remarkable, all quotations being identical.

A paper of specially curious interest, and for which I collected a great number of very telling illustrations from ancient sculptures and from modern life in many countries, was one to prove the evolution of the tall pagoda from the original honorific umbrellas carried in procession before or after a great man, not for use, but as a badge of rank. At last, as in Burmah, seven or nine came to be placed above one another, and so doubtless led to these silken umbrellas being reproduced in stone erections of five, seven, nine, or even thirteen stories in height. This paper, which I called “UMBRELLAS, AURIOLES, AND PAGODAS,” was published in the June and July numbers of the _English Illustrated Magazine_ for 1888, and was very well received by the world which cares about such matters.

Of some interest also were such papers as—

SOME EVENTFUL VOYAGES. _Blackwood’s Magazine_, March 1890.

WOLVES AND WERE-WOLVES. _Temple Bar_, November 1890.

UNFATHOMED MYSTERIES. (Spiritualism at Boston.) _Blackwood’s Magazine_, May 1883.

MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS AND THEIR HOMES. _Blackwood’s Magazine_, April 1891.

PROFESSIONS FOR DOGS. _Blackwood’s Magazine_, November 1888.

STRANGE MEDICINES. _Nineteenth Century_, June 1887.

THE LOCUST WAR IN CYPRUS. _Nineteenth Century_, August 1883.

LOCUSTS AND FARMERS OF AMERICA. _Nineteenth Century_, January 1885.

THE WORLD’S WONDERLANDS. (In Wyoming and New Zealand.) _Overland Monthly_, January 1885.

IN THE OLD MUNIMENT ROOM OF WOLLATON HALL. _New Review_, October and December 1889.

OUR OLDEST COLONY, BOMBAY. _Macmillan’s Magazine_, January 1887.

SUNNY DAYS IN MALTA. _National Review_, September 1886.

OF FURRED AND FEATHERED FOES. (New Zealand.) _Gentleman’s Magazine_, May 1882.

REVERED FOOTPRINTS. (Held sacred.) _Time_, July 1886.

FOOTPRINTS OF OLD. (Fossil and other.) _Sun_, March 1891.

PROPHECIES BY A HIGHLAND SEER. (Very remarkable facts in Ross-shire.) _Belgravia_, September 1884.

A LEGEND OF INVERAWE AND TICONDEROGA. _Atlantic Monthly_, September 1884.

A NIGHT OF HORROR AT A HIGHLAND CASTLE. _Belgravia_, October 1886.

TWO BRITISH PILGRIMAGES IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY (to Iona and Lindisfarne). _Cornhill Magazine_, August 1883.

STRIKING “ILE.” (Petroleum springs.) _Atalanta_, July 1889.

EARTH’S FIERY FOUNTAINS OF MOLTEN ROCK. _Atalanta._

EARTH’S BOILING FOUNTAINS. _Atalanta_, February and March 1888.

A FIERY FLOOD IN PENNSYLVANIA. _Atalanta_, August 1892.

DIVINING RODS, ANCIENT AND MODERN. _Quiver_, July 1887.

THE POSTMEN OF THE WORLD. _Cassell’s Family Magazine_, July and August 1885.

THE NEWSPAPERS OF THE WORLD. _Cassell’s Family Magazine_, August 1884.

ON CUTTLE-FISH AS A DAINTY DISH. _Cassell’s Family Magazine_, July 1883.

ON THE SOCIAL POSITION OF DIVERS ANIMALS. _Cassell’s Family Magazine_, May 1887.

ALLIGATOR-FARMING. _Cassell’s Family Magazine_, June 1883.

DESTRUCTION OF THE AMERICAN BISON. _Good Words_, June 1884.

HOW MOTHER EARTH ROCKED HER CRADLE. (In Japan.) _Newberry House Magazine_, July and August 1892.

REAL ESTATE IN VOLCANIC REGIONS. (Japan.) _Cornhill Magazine_, February 1890.

VOLCANIC FROLICS. _Monthly Packet_, September 1886.

THE ERUPTION OF MOUNT TARAWERA. (Destruction of the Pink and White Terraces, New Zealand.) _Leisure Hour_, October 1886.

THE ENDING OF THE CARNIVAL. (On the Riviera.) _Leisure Hour_, May 1887.

EARTHQUAKES IN DIVERS PLACES. _Leisure Hour_, June 1887.

THE GREAT YELLOW RIVER INUNDATION. _Leisure Hour_, March 1886.

THE HOME OF THE BLIZZARD. _Leisure Hour_, April 1888.

OUR BORROWED PLUMES. (Fine feathers make fine birds in many lands.) _Leisure Hour_, August 1883.

THE HOT LAKES OF NEW ZEALAND. _Sunday at Home_, October and November 1886.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

INDEX

Abercromby, Louisa, Lady, 31.

Aberlour, 159.

—— Orphanage, 167.

Accident to my father, 124.

Adam’s Peak in Ceylon, 212.

Affectation, 33 and _note_.

Agnostic, 351, _note_.

Airthrie Castle, 151.

ALCOHOL, A DANGEROUS POISON—Evidence of Sir Andrew Clark, Sir William Gull, Dr. Norman Kerr, Dr. Murchison, Dr. Alfred Carpenter, etc., 462, 463.

Alexandria, 197.

Allahabad, 202.

Alma, The Battle of, 132.

ALNWICK CASTLE, 107, 141; school for wood-carving, 142; electric light even in dungeon, 146.

—— an Italian wedding, 143; coming of age, 143.

ALTYRE, 1, 6, 53.

—— Gardens, 35.

Anaradhapura, 211.

Anglesea, Marquis of, 16.

Anstruther in Fife, 229.

Ant-hills, 46.

Any Soul to any Body, 377.

Applecross in Ross-shire, 206.

Apprentice, quaint agreement, 80.

Archbishop of Athens, 86.

Archery, Japan, 339.

Ard Patrick, Campbells of, 24.

Argyll, Duke of, 144, 214.

Arndilly, 159.

Ashburton, Lady, 108.

“As it is done in Heaven,” 453.

“At Last,” 378.

Atlantic Cable, 153.

Auchintoul, 207.

Australia, 218.

BADENOCH, Lords of, 1.

Badgers, “Inch-Brock,” 407.

Barnscleugh, 157.

Bass Rock, 123.

Bathing in Japan, 286, 310, 330, 382.

Batticaloa, Ceylon, 174.

Belhaven, Baron, 21, 157.

Ben Agan, 159.

Benares on the Ganges, 201.

Ben Rinnes, 159.

Birdsall House, 205, 206 _note_.

Birnie near Elgin, Culdee Church, 427.

Bishops of ARGYLL AND THE ISLES, Ewing, 33, 45, 156.

—— BRECHIN, Forbes, 31; Jermyn, 33, 171 _note_, 207.

—— LONDON, Blomfield, 109.

—— MORAY AND ROSS, Eden, 158, 188, 191.

—— SAMOA, Elloi, 227.

Blind Chang of Manchuria, 362–364.

Bonnie Dundee at Duffus, 404.

Bothwell, Countess of, 85.

Boy nurses in Japan, 300.

Braille’s symbols adapted to Chinese, 355.

Brander, Mrs., 228.

Brechin, Forbes, Bishop of, 31.

Breechloaders, 117.

Bridge of Allan, 138.

Bridges, the lack of, 441.

Brief lives, 51.

Buddha’s tooth, 213.

Buddhist Pantheon, 275.

—— sects in Japan, 292.

Burghead, 69, 111, 402.

—— Burning the Clavie, 69.

Burning of New Testaments in Fiji, 224.

CADMAN, The Rev. William, 109.

Cadzow Park, 157.

Calcutta, 198.

California, 230.

Callum’s Hill, Crieff, Legend of, 376.

Campbell, Lady Charlotte, 15, 21; her daughters, 15; second marriage to Rev. Edward Bury, 19.

—— Lady Emma, 184.

Carbonised animal medicine, 297.

Castle Grant, 151.

Ceylon, first glimpse, 198.

—— two years in, 207.

Changes, 119.

Charleville, Countess of, 15.

“Chérie,” 43, 48, 103, 105.

Cherry blossom festival, 280.

CHILLINGHAM CASTLE, 107, 154.

—— cattle, 157.

Chrysanthemum shows, 283–286.

Circulating libraries in Japan, 253–263.

Clan Comyn or Cumming, 1.

—— Grant, last rising of, 161.

Claverhouse, 404.

Coaching days, 108, 440.

College House, Crieff, 371–375.

Compiègne, Life at, 154.

Comrie, village of, 192.

Comyn, The Red, 2.

CONDITIONAL IMMORTALITY, 443–452.

Consumption, 155, 156.

Conway, Anne Seymour (the Hon. Mrs. John Damer), 102, 422.

Cornish estates, 26.

Cornwall, 209.

Coronach, The Chieftain’s, 189.

Cothall, 6.

Covesea cliffs, 56, 57 _note_.

Craig-Ellachie, 159.

Cremation, 244–252.

CRESSWELL HALL, 102; old customs, 105, 141; dialect, 112.

Cresswell, Captain William, 125, 132.

Crieff, 192, 370.

Crimean War, 125.

CRUELTY of telling irreverent, or merely funny stories about sacred verses, 462 _note_.

Cryptomerias, 289, 313.

Crystal Palace of 1851, 115.

—— at Sydenham, opening ceremony, 127.

Culbyn Sandhills, 55, 387, 395, 398.

Cullen House, 164.

Cumming the Fair, Seventh Bishop of Iona, 13.

Cumming, varied spelling, 2.

CUMMING-BRUCE, 12.

—— Elma, Countess of Elgin, 12.

—— The Rev. Charles, 13.

“DAILY DOSE OF ALCOHOL, the cause of disease,” 463.

Dallas, 6, 70.

Darsie, Mrs., 229.

DEATH _of my mother_, 43; _of my father_, 136; _of Captain Cresswell_, 132; _of Oswin Cresswell_, 147; _of my sister Seymour Cresswell_, 156; _of The Master of Grant_, 164; _of Earl of Seafield_, 166; _of my sister Alice_, 171; _of my brother John_, 174; _of Roualeyn_, 175–181; _of Penrose_, 183–190; _of my sister Ida_, 180; _of my sister Eleanora and George Grant_, 193; of my half-brother Frederick, 194 _note_; of the Rev. Fred. and Mrs. Langham, 222–224.

Devie and Dorbach rivers, 53.

Doll festival in Japan, 301.

Dovecots, 73, 97, 98.

Drainie, 87.

—— Dr. Rose, minister of, reminiscence, 70; his last service in St. Giles’, 434.

Druggists’ shops of old Japan and old England, 296–299.

Duffus Castle, 404, 408.

Dunbar of Northfield and Duffus, 28–30.

Dungeons at Gordonstoun, 74, 94–96.

Dunphail, 8; old castle of, 9, 10.

Dunrobin, 87, 94.

Duthil, 165.

Dyer, Henry, 232.

Dysart, Countess of, 151.

EARTHQUAKES in Japan, 319–326.

Easter Elchies, 159; leave, 192.

Easy reading for illiterate Chinese, 359.

Ecclesiastical Censures, 83, 84.

Eddystone Rock, 207.

Elgin, formerly a picturesque old town, 435; very numerous malt-kilns, 436; street lamps, 437; condition of streets, 438; water-supply, 439; coals first imported, 439.

—— Church of St. Giles, 431; seats apportioned, 432; lighting, 433; bells, 435.

—— Cathedral built, 427; burnt, 428; rebuilt but lead stripped by order of Privy Council, 428.

Election, bitterly contested, 163.

Empress Eugenie and Louis Napoleon, 154.

—— Haruku, 240, 335.

“Enemy of the Human Race,” by Sir Andrew Clark, 463.

FAUTONG, wadded quilt, 315.

Feudal sports revived, 337.

Figure 9 minus a tail!, 383.

Fiji, “At home in,” 216.

—— in 1903, 225.

Findhorn Bay, 395, 401.

—— river, 53.

First Book, 204.

“Fish,” 37, 39.

—— Festival in Japan, 300.

Five o’clock tea an innovation, 115.

Flower festivals in Japan, 276–286.

Flowers, favourite, 136, 156.

—— Camelia trees in Japan, 243.

—— useful selection and packing, 113.

—— wild, 88, 105, 113, 312.

Folklore anent foxes, 290.

Footprint held sacred, 212.

Forres and Elgin, 382.

Fort Augustus, 175.

Fortune-telling, 15.

Forty-seven Rônins, 277.

Fox-god, his shrines, 288.

—— demoniacal possession by, 290.

Fujiyama, 109; ascent of, 307–330; view from summit, 318.

Funeral, a double, 164.

—— pall, 76.

GALLOWS HILL, 7, 87.

Garratt, the Rev. Mr., 109.

Geologists at Altyre, 38.

George Gordon, prentice to Robt. Blaikwood, 80.

Gibraltar, 203.

Gipsies, 63, 64.

Glass-works, 82, 153.

Glenelg, Lord, 32, 160.

Glenlee, Lord, 30.

Goodenough, Commodore, 218.

“Goodwill and Blessing,” 400.

Gordon-Cumming, Major Frederick, Note, 194.

—— John, William, and Frank, 42.

—— Henry, 32, 33, 196.

—— Jane, Lady, 107, 196.

—— double surname, Gordon of Gordonstoun, Cumming of Altyre, 26, Note.

—— clan tartans, badges, and mottoes, 14.

GORDONSTOUN, 27, 56, 72.

—— charter-room, 77.

—— lairds of, 85–100.

—— library, 99, note.

—— great picture by Gavin Hamilton, 75.

—— Sir William Gordon’s will, 100.

Gordon Castle, ancient name, 72, 102.

Grant, Field-Marshal Sir Patrick, 161.

—— General Ulysses, 333, 334, 342–346.

Grant, George, 125, 140.

—— of Glen Morriston, 189.

—— Lodge, 162, 159 _note_.

GRANT OF GRANT, Lady Ann and Lady Penuel rouse the clan, 160.

—— —— Earls of Findlater and Seafield, 27, 28.

Grantown on Spey, 159.

Granville, Earl, 16, 18.

_Great Eastern_, s.s., 152.

Gregory, Mrs., 211.

Grey, Sir George, New Zealand, 221.

Gull’s Castle, 65.

Gunning, the three beauties, 20.

HAIR, offerings of, 291, 467; court hairdressing in Japan, 241.

Hakoni Lake, 311.

Hamilton Gordon, the Hon. Lady, 216.

Handsome Hays, 124.

Hanlin Library burnt, 365.

Hara kiri, 178.

Hardwar on the Ganges, 201.

Harehope, 106, 140, 154.

Harford Battersby of Keswick, 130.

Havelock, Sir Arthur, 222.

Hawaiian Islands, 347.

Hell’s Hole, 63; seven hells of Buddhism, 331.

Helston in Cornwall, 25.

Hill Murray, the Rev. William, 353; inventions, 355, 359; blindness, 368.

Himalayas, 200.

_Hindoo_, s.s., 207; foundering of, 208.

Historic Festival, Japan, 336.

Hong Kong, 243.

Hooker, Sir Joseph, 350.

Hopeman, 57.

—— “Holy Well” of Brae-mou or Burn-mouth, 70, 416.

Hospitable days, 130.

Hunt, Alfred, R.A., 195.

IDOLS, how punished and rewarded, 303–306.

—— their intestines, 304.

Images under repair, 302.

IMMORTALITY, BY NATURE, NOT TAUGHT IN THE BIBLE, Archbishop Whately, Martin Luther, Bishop Gore, W. E. Gladstone, 449, 450.

Impenitence, 110.

Imperial College of Engineering, 232.

India, Life in, 198.

Indian Mutiny, 155.

Inkerman, Battle of, 134.

Intercessory Prayer, 454.

Inventor of the numeral-type for China, 353–370.

Inveraray, 214.

INVERNESS Gathering, 131–151; cathedral, 158.

Islay, Campbell of, 16, 18.

Ivy-leaves, their motto, 14.

JAPAN and China, 231–346; cremation and earth-burial, 244–252.

_Jessica’s First Prayer_, 186 _note_.

Jin-riki-ya, 236.

Jupp, the Rev. Charles, 168.

KANDY in Ceylon, 211.

Kinsfolk, numerous, 5.

Kite-flying in Japan, 302.

Kobu-dai-Gakko, 232.

Kwan-non, Goddess of Mercy, 275–6, 296.

LADY’S Cruise on a French Man-of-War, 227.

Langford Brooke of the Mere, 16.

Langham, The Rev. Fred., 219, 222.

Larks in Moray, fewer, 393.

Le Hunte, Sir George Ruthven, 221.

Lennox, Lady Arthur, 16.

—— Lady Walter Gordon, 193.

Le Seignelay, 227.

Letters, old, 3, 40–43.

“Letters of horning,” 83, 84.

Liddill, The Honble. Misses, 154.

Liddon, Canon, 205.

Lindisfarne, 140.

—— Archdeacon of, 141–148.

Longfellow, 348.

Lord Lovat’s cold bath, 79.

—— Scouts, 78.

“Lords of Regality,” 405.

Lotus blossom festival, 282.

—— emblem of Buddha, 253.

Lucifer matches, a recent blessing, 433.

Lyndhurst in 1854, 129.

MACDOWAL GRANT of Arndilly, 167.

M‘Gregor, Sir William, 221.

Macleod, Dr. Norman, 107.

Madame de Staël, 103.

Magazine Articles, 477–480.

Malta, 197, 202.

Manchuria, first copy of the Bible, 361.

—— 25,000 staunch Christians, 362.

Mandarin dialects in China, 361.

Maple, scarlet foliage, 286.

Mar and Kellie, Earl of, 31.

Marianne North, Miss, 350.

Martyrs, the noble army of, 366.

Medicines, quaint, 96, 290 _note_, 310, 468–477.

Medwyn, Lord (Forbes of), 30.

Menzies of Menzies, Sir Robert, 28, 192.

MICHAEL KIRK, 44 _note_, 92, 137, 182, 188.

Middleton, Lord, 205.

—— Lady, 455.

Mikado, the, 234, 239, 335.

Minton, the Rev. Samuel, 205 _note_.

Mission to the Blind in China, 352.

_Montana_, s.s., 209.

Monto, or Shin-shiû, reformed Buddhism, 292–295.

Montebello, Duc de, 22.

Monument over 5000 pairs of Korean ears, 276.

Moray Floods, 49, 421.

—— fertility, 385.

—— province of, 381.

Morrison, Lady Mary, 19.

Moy, The Moy Aunts, 31.

—— my first journey, 34.

Murray, The Rev. Will. Hill, 353; inventions, 355–359; blindness, 368.

NAVVIES on Speyside, 167.

Noel Paton (Sir), 188.

“Nô,” or Mythological Plays, 271.

North, Miss Marianne, 350.

Northern Meeting, 131, 151.

Northumberland, 102, 105, 140.

—— Dukes of, 141, 144.

‘Not so bad as that,’ 437.

Notes of a Naturalist, 175 (Roualeyn).

Numeral-type for China, 353.

Nurses, my, 48.

OAK FORESTS (Burghead), 415.

Ochtertyre, “God’s-acre,” 193, 376.

Ogilvie, Grant of Grant, 193.

Old Nan, 48.

Old Red Sandstone fossils, 38–39.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, 348.

Opera, crude criticism of, 121.

Ossulston, Lady Olivia, 154.

Otomitonga Pass, Japan, 311.

Oysters and Lobsters, no more, 410.

PARENTAGE, 5.

Parkes, Sir Harry, 333–334.

Penrose of Penrose, Grace Pearce, 25.

—— 209.

“Pen’s sylvania,” 158.

Perthshire, kind neighbours, 192, 193.

Percy, Earl, 144.

Pibroch, the last, 187.

Pigeons, superstitions concerning, 97.

“Pigs” of jam, school stores, 115.

Pilgrims in Japan, 309.

Pillows in Japan, etc., 292.

Pit and gallows, 87.

Pitgaveny, 414, 419.

Pittyvaich, 33, 196.

Planting Forests, 52.

Plymouth, 207.

Poetic heroes in Japan, 276.

Pollanarua, 211.

Portfolios, a wearisome possession, 203, 213, 351.

—— of China, 352.

Portland, Dukes of, 92.

Posting, 40, 103.

Prayer, a remarkable answer to, 365.

—— Wheels, 253–266.

Primitive Plays, 272.

Prisons, as reformatories in Japan, 239.

Punishment of obdurate idols, 303.

QUIRANG, 194.

RABBITS in Morayshire, 388; Protection Act, 393.

Raigmore, Mackintosh of, 28, 131.

Railway, first line completed in the north, 408 _note_.

—— Highland, 441.

Randolph’s Leap, 10.

Relugas, 10, 130.

Rheumatic Fever, 149.

Rheumatism, cure for, 149 _note_.

Rivers of Morayshire, 10.

Robinson (Clifford), 33.

Rosaries, 267–269, 309, 464–467.

Rose-isle, 6.

Roualeyn, 5, 36, 37, 42, 116–119, 152; his name, 41.

Round Square, 73.

_Royal Albert_, launch of, 126.

Russell, Lord William, 16.

—— Sir George, 16.

—— Mrs. William, 124.

Ruthven, Mary Lady, 22.

Ruyter, 116, 119.

SACRED BOOK WHEELS, 253–266.

Salisbury system of diet, 149 _note_.

Salt superstitions, 252.

Samuel Pepys, 89.

Samurai of Japan, 236, 238.

Sandhills, 55, 387, 395.

Sandwich Isles, 347.

“Says Tweed to Till,” 107.

School-days, 108.

Sculpture Cave, 59, 68.

Seafield, Earls of, 151 _note_, 159.

Seals, 395.

Sebastopol, 133.

_Sequoia Gigantea_, 230.

Sergison of Cuckfield Park, 191, 195.

Seventy-eighth Highlanders’ Welcome Home, 169.

Shawfield, Campbell of, 16, 18.

Shinto Worship, 270, 313.

Siege of the Legations, 367.

Simla, 200.

Sinclair, Jamie, Prince Worenzow’s Crimean gardener, 36.

Singapore, 217.

Sir Robert’s Stable, 66, 93.

Skipness, Campbells of, 24, 157.

Skye, Isle of, 194.

Slaginnan, Legend of, 9.

Sligachan in Skye, 194.

Smugglers, 67.

Social drinking customs, 461.

“Spate” on the Findhorn, 39.

Spey river, 159, 384.

Spiritualism, at Boston, 349.

Sporting trophies dispersed, 174 _note_.

Sportsman’s paradise, 407.

Sportsmen, true, 42, 117, 173.

Spurgeon, 152.

Spynie, Loch of, 87, 384, 403.

—— Lord, title created, 424; killed, 425.

—— Palace of, 384, 406, 413, 427.

Squirrel foes, 389–392.

Stanmore, Lord, 216.

Star-grass, 413.

Starlings in Moray, 393.

—— in Banff, 393.

Straw shoes, 329.

Stuart, Randolph, 9.

—— Alexander, Wolf of Badenoch, 9, 379.

St. Columba, Legend of, 376.

St. Margaret’s College, Crieff, _now_ College House, 373.

St. Quintin, Geoffrey, 193.

Sutherland, Earls of, 85, 87.

—— Duchess of, 124.

Sutledge river, 201.

Sutors of Cromarty, 60.

Swans, wild, 384, 395, 407, 412.

Sydney, 218.

TANKERVILLE, Earl, 157.

Tarbat, Viscount, 81.

TEETOTALERS IN JUDEA, COMMENDED, 464.

“The Lion Hunter,” 42, 116.

The _Te Deum_, 366.

Theatres in Japan, 270–274.

—— at Trincomalee, 272.

Titaua, 228.

Tonga, Taheiti, and Samoa, 227, 230.

TOTAL ABSTINENCE made difficult, 461.

—— commended by wise physicians, 462, 463.

—— commended in the Bible, 464.

Travel, wearisome, 13, 46, 86, 103, 170.

Trespass, 95.

Triangular Shadow of Adam’s Peak, 212.

—— of Fujiyama, 317.

Tulli Duvie (Relugas), 10 _note_.

Ugadale, Macneal of, 24.

Uxbridge, Countess of, 16, 102.

VANISHED WATERS, 383, 403.

Varna Bay, 133.

Volcanic activity in Japan, 319–326.

Von Hügel, Baron Anatole, 227.

Voyages, my first, 111, 123.

WAR-CRY of the Grants, 159.

Warkworth, Lord, coming of age, 144.

Wasp’s nests, 46.

WEDDINGS, my sisters: Seymour, 192; Eleanora, 141; Ida, 134; Emilia, 191; my brother William, 193.

Wemyss, Earl of, 21.

Wheels, sacred symbols, 260.

—— for images, 265.

White terraces, New Zealand, 221.

—— wild cattle, 157.

Wig, cost of a, 386 _note_.

“Wild men and wild beasts,” 155.

Willoughby, 205 _note_.

—— The Hon. Mrs., 454.

Winchester College, founder’s kin, 14.

Window-tax, 73, 99.

Winthrop, Mrs., 348.

Winton Castle, 22.

Wishaw, 157.

Wistaria blossom, 281.

Witch-burning, 91.

Wizard, Sir Robert, 89–92.

Woodhorne Church, 148, 156, 171.

Wood-pigeons in Moray, 392.

Wolf of Badenoch, Alexander Stuart, 9, 379.

Wollaton Hall, 206 _note_.

Worcester, climb the beacon, 150.

Worship by machinery, 253–269, and 464–467.

YEDDO, 235.

ZURICK, marriage at, 15.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.

-----

Footnote 1:

See Notes A and D in Appendix.

Footnote 2:

Sir Thomas Dick Lauder owned Relugas (formerly called Tulli Duvie) by right of his marriage with its heiress, Miss Cumming.

Footnote 3:

Truly, it is flesh!

Footnote 4:

In the very popular _Memoirs of a Highland Lady_ (Miss Grant of Rothiemurchus), there are on pp. 284–5 and 387 some statements and misstatements, which should be read by the light of pp. 163–4—namely the author’s own reference to Sir William’s fleeting attraction to herself in his early days.

No shadow ever marred the perfect love and happiness of this noble couple. The wonderfully gifted and beautiful woman was justly idolised by her husband and very large family, as well as by a wide outer circle, rich and poor.

Footnote 5:

In the magnificent Church of the old Knights of St. John in Malta, there is a beautiful monument to his memory.

Footnote 6:

So many misstatements have been unscrupulously published concerning these beauties, that I may be forgiven for quoting a few paragraphs from an excellent article on “THE BEAUTIFUL MISSES GUNNING,” which appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_ for 1867.

“The Gunnings were a branch of an old English family, which had settled in Ireland in the reign of James I., their estate being Castle Coote, in Roscommon.

“In 1731, Mr. Gunning married the Honourable Bridget Bourke, daughter of Lord Mayo—‘a lady of most elegant figure.’ In the two following years were born their daughters Maria and Elizabeth. At this time they were living at Hemingford Gray, in Huntingdonshire, but on the death of Mr. Gunning’s father, the family was transplanted to the wilds of Connaught, where two other beautiful daughters and a son were born. One of these daughters died as a child. Kitty married Mr. Travers in Ireland. The son distinguished himself in the American war, and became a General and K.C.B.

“In 1748, the family removed to Dublin, and (at the ages of fifteen and sixteen) the beauties appeared at the Vice-Regal Court, Lord Harrington being Lord Lieutenant.

“In 1750, they removed to London, and were presented at Court. Thenceforward they carried society by storm. Horace Walpole declared of ‘those goddesses’ that ‘they make more noise than any of their predecessors since the days of Helen of Troy.’ They could not walk in the parks on account of the crowds that surrounded them in sheer admiration. When travelling through the country, crowds lined the roads to gaze at them, and hundreds of people stayed up all night round the inns where they halted, on the chance of getting a peep at them in the morning. Imagine a shoemaker realising three guineas in one day by the exhibition, at a penny a head, of one of their shoes!

“In February 1752, Elizabeth married the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon. When she next appeared at Court, the excitement was so great that the highest ladies in the land climbed on chairs and tables to look at her. Her marriage with this proud but dissipated duke was not very happy. He died in 1758.

“At five-and-twenty she was handsomer than ever. The Duke of Bridgewater was among her suitors, and it was after her refusal that he devoted himself to the making of the Bridgewater Canal and other useful public works.

“In March 1759, she married Lord John Campbell, afterwards Duke of Argyll. After her second marriage she almost entirely disappeared from the fashionable world.

“In 1760, she was created Baroness Hamilton of Hambeldon, in Leicestershire. She was then in attendance upon Queen Charlotte. She died in 1790, aged fifty-seven.”

Footnote 7:

My happy memories of Machrihanish Bay were recorded in my first book, _In the Hebrides_, published by Chatto and Windus.

Footnote 8:

Quoted in the aforesaid book, page 299.

Footnote 9:

The double surname resulting from the union of these two estates was assumed only by my grandfather, and his son Sir William, consequently it belongs exclusively to my father’s direct descendants.

The only survivors of the last generation who bear it are myself and my brother Colonel William Gordon-Cumming, now living at Forres House. Of my other brothers, only three married, namely, Sir Alexander, Henry, and Frank; their only two daughters married respectively Lord Middleton and the Honourable Claude Portman. They, however, left nine sons, who are the fathers of my four little grand-nephews, and of ten little grand-nieces, four in Scotland, five in New Zealand, and one in Texas. These are the only members of the family who in 1904 own our name.

I mention this because we are so frequently asked, “What relation to you is So-and-so Gordon Cumming?” mentioning one of the many bearers of the name, unknown to us.

This seems to have arisen from the fact, that when my brother Roualeyn returned from his wonderful South African hunting expeditions, many members of Clan Cumming christened a son Gordon in his honour.

When these grew up, and the use of double names without any reference to property became the fashion, the families of these “namesakes” assumed the father’s Christian name as a surname.

Imitation is said to be the truest flattery, but it has its inconveniences, and in the case of names is liable to produce confusion.

Footnote 10:

See Appendix, Note H.

Footnote 11:

I do not know whether to class as affectation, or sheer vulgarity, a very offensive innovation which I have heard in some Scottish churches, whose choirs have been carefully taught to pronounce Jerusalem as Jerry-you-salem!

Footnote 12:

These quarries have long since been closed.

Footnote 13:

_Five Years of a Hunter’s Life in South Africa._ By R. Gordon-Cumming. Published by John Murray.

Footnote 14:

_Wild Men and Wild Beasts._ By Colonel W. G. Gordon-Cumming. Published by David Douglas.

Footnote 15:

The window of the room in which fifteen of my father’s children were born, and from which we saw first my mother, then my father, pass away. My sister Alice was born in London.

Footnote 16:

Her eldest son, Penrose, was at that time in Canada with his regiment, the 71st Highlanders. He wrote from Montreal, 27th May 1842: “I feel as if crushed to the earth. She was too young and beautiful, and too necessary to her family to be taken from them.... Oh may we, her children, profit by every advice and the example she showed us daily.... There never was a mother who loved her children more than she, or who thought of the absent ones with such affection, as her own letters show.”

Footnote 17:

St. Michael’s Chapel was erected in 1705 on the site of the ancient vicarage kirk of Ogston. The present small chapel, with a fine Gothic window at each end, was built simply as a mortuary chapel for the family of Gordonstoun.

Footnote 18:

See Note B in Appendix.

Footnote 19:

See Note C in Appendix.

Footnote 20:

“The lands of Ettles and fyshing, called the Coissey,” were granted to Thomas Innes of Pethrick by Patrick, Bishop of Moray, in a charter dated at Elgin and Drainie, the 8th and 18th May 1561, and signed by the bishop and twelve of the canons of Elgin cathedral, their seals being also appended. In 1638 these lands and fishings were sold to Sir Robert Gordon by the grandson of the said Thomas Innes.

Footnote 21:

Fisher’s basket.

Footnote 22:

Ancestor of the present Duke of Fife.

Footnote 23:

Forbears, _i.e._ ancestors.

Footnote 24:

Easter Day.

Footnote 25:

Curia vitæ et membrorum furca et fossa.

Footnote 26:

The library, which numbered about three thousand volumes, was sold in Edinburgh in the year 1801 for a small sum, but some years later the vendor—Mr. Constable—bought it back for £1000 and a pipe of port wine. It was finally dispersed in 1814 by J. G. Cockburn, when it realised £1530. But from the catalogue of that sale it is obvious that books of most curious interest had all been withdrawn.

Footnote 27:

Market.

Footnote 28:

See Appendix, Note E.

Footnote 29:

Kirn, a few, a handful. Perthshire and Morayshire.

Footnote 30:

I believe that many more owners of gardens would of their abundance send flowers to friends and hospitals in cities, were it not from the imaginary necessity of providing boxes. To such may I give some simple suggestions? Carefully select flowers scarcely half-blown. Remove all superfluous green from their stalks. _Tie them in bunches with a long strip of wet newspaper about three inches wide, tied round the ends, that they may drink on the journey. Leave them all in water for at least an hour before packing._

Spread on the floor a sheet of brown paper, and on that a stout newspaper. Then sprays of green things to protect the flowers and gladden the recipient. If you have long ferns, and iris buds, a stick of the same length is good protection. Then lay in your bunches of flowers and roll all up securely in the newspapers, and then in the brown paper, when your parcel will resemble a well-packed salmon, and will travel by parcel-post for a very moderate sum.

If you leave this to your gardener to do, he will probably supply as green useless prunings of Portugal and common laurels and unlovable mahonia, sadly tantalising to the recipient.

Here is a list of desirable out-of-door green things that will live. Sprays of beech-tree not too young; small trails of ivy. Most ferns, especially _Felix-mas_, provided old fronds are selected, free from seed; but not the lovely _Lastrea Dilatata_ or _Lastrea Felix Femina_, which invariably die. Sprigs of _Rosa Rugosa_, boxwood, Solomon’s seal, carrot-leaves, periwinkle, a few bits of glossy rhododendron, all varieties of _Aber-vitæ_, sprays of _Diodera_. Most precious of all are bits of _Retinospora Plumosa_ and _Thuyopsis Dolobrata_, which will live for months.

For home use, _where water is at once available_, I would add sprays of wild raspberry, and leaves of wild cow-parsley, strawberry and potentilla leaves, bishop’s weed, leaves of large lupins, of columbine, of blue delphinium, of _Dialitra Spectabilis_, of pyrethrium; and daintiest of all is the fumitory (_Fumaria officinalis_), which gardeners ruthlessly hoe up as a worthless weed, unless specially bidden to spare some for pet vases.

Perhaps many friends who have no gardens could, if they realised the above simple method of packing, send parcels of real Scotch heather (ling, NOT purple bell heather, which dies at once). Also yellow cornflowers, and Scottish bluebells: the latter carry very well, and all the buds will bloom. All they crave is a minute’s attention to their morning “toilette,” just to nip off the dead bells. But in remote districts, mercy to the walking postman must limit his parcels.

Footnote 31:

Appendix, Note F.

Footnote 32:

In Parker Gillmore’s letters on “The Game of South Africa” I find this passage:—“In many parts of this remote portion of Africa, I have come across natives who knew well the mighty Nimrod, Gordon-Cumming—some even that have hunted with him—and one and all agreed that he was the bravest and most daring white man they ever knew. To them I have recounted the principal episodes which he narrates in his work, and which have been condemned by many of his countrymen as utterly improbable, nay, impossible, but one and all, without a single dissenting voice, attested to their truth.

“Sicomey, the father of Khama, now King of Bamangwato, told me of deeds performed by Gordon-Cumming, which, if possible, outrivalled those he has recounted in his work, and I have often thought that these were withheld from the British public for the reason that he had not authentic witnesses to produce who could endorse his statements.”

Footnote 33:

Shoes.

Footnote 34:

“Shrieking in that style.”

Footnote 35:

For the benefit of possible sufferers, I may mention that if I ever do have a suggestion of rheumatism, I at once attribute it to unsuspected indigestion, and for a short while adopt Dr. Salisbury’s system of diet, which consists in refraining from all foods most liable to fermentation, _i.e._ all vegetables, milk, sugar, fish, alcohol in any form, and limiting the “menu” to three good meals daily of _very finely minced_ and _well-cooked beef_, with no accompaniment except some crisp toast, and if necessary a little strong meat-soup or black coffee.

But the less fluid with meals the better, as it weakens the gastric juices, and fluid is supplied by a good drink of hot water four times a day, _i.e._ on first awakening, in the middle of the forenoon and afternoon, and the last thing at night, always about an hour and a half before or after eating. This supplies a bath for the internal machinery, and acts on the same principle as washing the plate you have used at one meal before it is required for the next meal.

_N. B._—Always ask for a small jug of boiling water, a bottle of cold water, and a cup, that you may prepare your drink to suit your own taste, otherwise you are apt to get a tumbler of scalding water all ready poured out. By mixing for yourself and sipping slowly you can probably manage to swallow a double allowance, and soon learn to enjoy it. Some people think that a pinch of salt makes it more palatable. I may mention that I know of hundreds of people once martyrs to the many phases of indigestion, dyspepsia, and their _effects_ (called by many names, but all due to the same _cause_), who attribute their restoration to health to this simple course of dieting, as taught in this country by the late Mrs. Elma Stuart (daughter of a Cumming of Logie).

Footnote 36:

The principal home of the Earls of Seafield.

Footnote 37:

Published by David Douglas, Edinburgh.

Footnote 38:

This historic house has recently been purchased by Colonel Cooper, who on August 19, 1903, presented it, with forty-five acres of land, henceforth to be known as Cooper Park, to the city of Elgin. The boundary-wall, which separated the grounds from the ruins of the beautiful cathedral, has been removed, and the house itself adapted to the purposes of a public library, as also for the exhibition of a loan collection of pictures, curios, etc.

Footnote 39:

Amongst other old Highland customs which Lady Ann kept up at Castle Grant was dining in the great hall with “the salt” in the middle of the long table, and the diners placed above or below the salt according to their social standing.

Footnote 40:

Until the Reform Bill was passed, the burghs of Banff, Cullen, Elgin, Inverury and Kintore, were represented by one Member of Parliament, the town council of each burgh selecting a delegate to represent the community at the election, which took place at each town in rotation.

Footnote 41:

Lady Jane afterwards married General Sir Edward Forestier-Walker.

Footnote 42:

Hugh Willoughby Jermyn was subsequently Bishop of Colombo, in Ceylon, where for two delightful years his house was my headquarters, till total breakdown of health compelled his return to Britain, where in 1876 he was appointed to succeed our cousin, Alexander Forbes, as Bishop of Brechin. In 1886, on the death of Bishop Eden at Inverness, he was unanimously elected Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church. He entered into rest, September 17th, 1903, aged eighty-three.

His life for the last fifty years had been one long struggle of a brave, determined spirit for victory over a very frail body, which sorely hampered him.

Doubtless that ever brave, bright nature was in some mysterious manner being “made perfect through suffering,” but there we touch on one of the mysteries for the solution of which we must be content to wait.

Footnote 43:

Strange to say, ere one brief year had elapsed, his brother Roualeyn’s noble hunting-trophies were conveyed to London, there to be likewise sold by auction at a strangely ill-attended sale. Thus were scattered to the winds the treasures of two of the most successful hunters of dangerous wild beasts. Almost all Roualeyn’s trophies were purchased by Barnum, and, sad to say, were burnt in his great fire.

Footnote 44:

The grim grey fort has now been swept away, and on its site stands the large Roman Catholic Monastery and Church of St. Benedict.

Footnote 45:

Meadow pipit (_Anthus pratensis_).

Footnote 46:

See Appendix, Note G.

Footnote 47:

A few weeks later Sandy was enrolled as a police-constable in Liverpool, where for a brief period he worked well, then caught a fever and died.

Footnote 48:

He was generally acknowledged to be the most graceful reel-dancer, and to throw the lightest fly in salmon fishing, of any man in Scotland.

Footnote 49:

Lady Middleton.

Footnote 50:

I have just learnt that the sale of this pathetic little story by Hesba Stretton has reached the amazing figure of 1,747,000 copies.

Footnote 51:

He served in the 71st Highlanders, and the 4th Light Dragoons, and took a prominent part in the volunteer movement from its beginning.

Footnote 52:

Bishop of Moray and Ross. For many years Primus of the Episcopal Church in Scotland.

Footnote 53:

Major Frederick Gordon-Cumming of the Cheshire Regiment was shot dead while on convoy-duty against the Chins, a hill-tribe in Burmah, 23rd March 1890. Peace had actually been signed, and he was marching back to Fort White, when he was mortally wounded by a hill-man lying concealed among the rocks.

Footnote 54:

The Rev. S. Minton was one of the first who had courage to declare his own belief in CONDITIONAL IMMORTALITY. See Appendix, Note F.

Footnote 55:

Though I cannot give accurate details of Willoughby history, it is interesting to me, now that my headquarters are near some of the Willoughby D’Eresby estates (Drummond Castle and Glen Artney deer-forest), to know that at some period this great family divided itself and its numerous estates, one branch being now represented by the Earl of Ancaster, the other by Lord Middleton.

Although by far the most interesting Middleton property is the magnificent and quite unique old Wollaton Hall, near Nottingham, the family have lived chiefly at Birdsall as being the most convenient hunting-centre, the expensive honour of being M.F.H. being virtually hereditary. Lord Middleton’s hounds, kennels, hunters, stud-farm, and home-farm are all objects of keen interest in the hunting and agricultural world, the latter being especially interested in his splendid shire horses.

Footnote 56:

Afterwards Sir William Gregory.

Footnote 57:

In July 1904 he was appointed Governor and Commander-in-Chief of Newfoundland.

Footnote 58:

See _In the Himalayas_, C. F. Gordon-Cumming (published by Chatto and Windus).

Footnote 59:

See _In the Hebrides_, C. F. Gordon-Cumming (published by Chatto and Windus).

Footnote 60:

Ezekiel i. 16, 20, 21; x. 2, 10, 13, 16, 17, 19; xi. 22.

Footnote 61:

See Appendix, Note I.

Footnote 62:

Any one interested in Japanese rosaries can see some very remarkable specimens in the collection of Japanese treasures presented to the British Museum by Sir Augustus Wollaston Franks, K.C.B.

Footnote 63:

_Wistaria sinensis._

Footnote 64:

Very remarkable is the place assigned to the fox in the medicine folklore both of Britain and Japan. The Early English prescription for disease of the joints was to take _a living fox_ and seethe him till the bones alone be left, and then bathe repeatedly in this foxy essence. “Wonderfully it healeth!” says the old chronicler. The fox’s liver possessed special curative powers, and indeed each portion of the fox—his gall, the fat of his loin, his lung sodden, etc.—each had special virtues, while those who suffered from foot-addle, _i.e._ gout, were recommended to wear shoes lined with vixen hide.

Footnote 65:

See _Wanderings in China_, by C. F. Gordon-Cumming,