Barons of Reay made it their aim to secure for their countrymen the services of the ablest and most enlightened ministers. In this way it was no unusual thing to find men who had not only passed through the Scottish Universities, but who had also drank deeply at the Continental seats of learning, labouring in the wilds of Reay. As an immediate result of this religious and intellectual revival, a great deal of our native literature assumed the form of religious poetry. Specimens of this exist in Macrae's MS., in the possession of Mr Skene, but the bulk of it has unquestionably disappeared. It is well known that Dugald Buchanan was first induced to try religious song on hearing the poems of a certain John Mackay recited by a company of Sutherlandshire Militia stationed in Rannoch. Again, by the wars of Gustavus Adolphus, a powerful impetus was given to the poetic faculty of the Reay country bards. Sir Donald, first Lord Reay, spared neither men nor money in the cause of freedom. As successive bands of these soldiers of fortune left their native glens, it is only natural to suppose that their virtues and prowess should become the theme of song. A wide field was opened up to the imagination of our native bards, and stories of fabulous wealth acquired in "the Hollands" soon began to circulate in prose and poetry. It is needless to say that only snatches of this fugitive literature have come down to our day. A third condition, favourable to the development of song, is to be found in the life of "the Sheiling," which played so prominent a part in the social and domestic economy of the Highlands. The Sheiling in the summer months, and the Ceilidh in the winter, were the literary societies of that day, and what was produced at the Sheiling was consumed at the Ceilidh, in the mental no less than in the material sphere. The Sheiling was the nursery-ground of the love-song. There are many remains of this period and phase of Highland life still surviving, and your Society is doing excellent service in the collection and publication of such materials. Traditions of this ideal life are still current among us; and the writer has heard on more occasions than one songs and legends which savour strongly of the Sheiling-bothy. There is, for example, the legend of "Amhlaidh na Časaidh," which had its origin in this fruitful imaginative period. Aulaidh was an unfortunate woman, who became demented, and, like Nebuchadnezzar, betook herself to the hills and roamed with the deer. On one occasion she led the herd to what formerly was her own cornfield; but her eldest son, getting tired of the raids made upon his farm, hounded them furiously away. On this Aulaidh made the impromptu "Fhir a thog an t-iolach ard, 'S chuir coin a' bhaile 'mo larg, 'S laidh thu naoi miosachan mo bhalg." Aulaidh was by no means purged of malice. She frequently tried. to do mischief in the dead hour of night to her household; but a wakeful guardian, in the shape of an "coileach dubh," always. anticipated her, and scared her away by his crowing: "A Choilich dhuibhe, a bhroillich dheirge 'N uair thainig mi, mo mheadhon oidhche Possibly to this period may be traced the following story, to be met with in one form or another throughout Sutherlandshire:A party of half-a-dozen hunters were benighted on one occasion in a wild and lonely glen. They lighted at length on a sheilingbothy, and having secured their horses for a night in the "bual," they proceeded to light a fire, and cook a supper from the product. of the chase. This over, they one and all expressed their regret that their lady-loves were not present to enjoy the fun, when,. suddenly, their trooped in one by one their lady friends, and sat each one upon her lover's knee. The night passed merrily in song. One of the young men, having occasion to stoop down for something which had dropped from him, discovered to his dismay that his partner was provided with the uncanny "hoof" instead of feet. He kept the seeret to himself, secured leave to have a look at the horses for a little, and forthwith galloped away. It was not a moment too soon. The baobh was soon on his track, but being well mounted on an "Each donn, deas-mhuingeach," and followed by a Cu dubh, bus-bhuidheach," he managed to make good his escape. He returned in the morning in search of his companions, but he found the bothy with its inmates burned to the ground. It was, however, in the department of love-songs that sheiling life was most productive; and more than one records the progress of love-making during the season. From these it would appear that the virtues most highly valued in the Reay country maids of the sheiling were hospitality, early rising, and expertness in managing dairy produce. When the economic changes of the latter half of the last century, and the early years of the present, took place, the decline of pastoral poetry began. So long as the Reay country was in possession of the ancient and hereditary chiefs, there always existed a certain amount of patronage of the Bards; but when it passed into the hands of the Sutherland family, who were reckoned Sassenachs, this patronage ceased, and the clearances of the interior effectually stemmed the lyric stream which had flowed for centuries. "The old order changeth," and giveth place to the new; but it would appear that with the change of ownership the Muses departed from the Reay country, and the bards "hanged their harps upon the willows." When the estate changed hands, and the Foresters of the Reay Country were summoned to Tongue to swear fealty to their new master, it is clear from the following song that the change was by no means to their taste. The author-Huistean Oag-was an old servant of Eric, Lord Reay, and resided in the Reay Forest :— Anns an fhaghair so chàidh, Ghabh mi turus no dhà mu'n cuairt Is thachair dhomh oidhch' bhi' mo thamh Air dhomh bhi air leth-taobh leam fhein N'am b'ann le iomairt nan lann Theidheadh tus thoir dhachaigh da Thunga a ris 'S cha bhitheadh Sasunnach fad 's an tir. Sud, is Ceann-Tsaile nam buadh, Agus Duirinish ghrinn, 'n aghaidh cunnart The bard here enumerates the various parishes which would rise to a man in order to restore to him his rightful territory—if that were possible; but soon he sees it a hopeless task, and concludes by a general complaint at the ill-luck which overtook them. Cha neil iasg air a bhuirn O'n shalaich iad sugh nam beann Cha neil meas a fas air crann. Ach bhuineadh dhuinne a bhi stuaim 'S gun 'Sa bhi toilichte mar a ta O nach fhaigh sinn na bha, a chaoidh. Fhir a rugadh, 's a dh' fhas Ann machair a chail, 's a ghuail, Ciamar a dh' fhuilings am brosgul ud da Ged a reubadh a' bheal gu 'chluais ? The reference to kail in the last stanza is the usual taunt with which the Reay countryman twits his East Coast neighbour. When the family seat became vacant at Tongue, the bards found their chief support and encouragement from the middle-class gentry of the country, who preserved for a time the ancient traditions of the clans. They were mostly all connected with the Reay family, and many of them were highly-educated men. Major Mackay, or "Fear-Eriboll," took a leading part among them for genuine hospitality. His fame is still fresh and fragrant, though three generations have passed away since his day. The following marbh-rann was supplied to the writer by Miss Findlater, relict of the Rev. William Findlater, pre-disruption minister of Durness, who made large collections of Highland songs. The first six stanzas are lost; it begins with the seventh Rinn do ghliocas bho t-oige Ach nuair chitheadh tu'm feumnach O'n bha thu comhnuidh ga chaitheadh O rinn am bàs da thoirt uainn. 'Nuair thigeadh àm na Fil-Martuinn, 'S iad ag ag iunndrainn a' mhaile, S cha bhiodh aon aun an eiginn, Gheibhte ceol agus aighear, Air mhead an t-sluaighs bhiodh fa chomh'r, 'S bhiodh gach fear a bha brachdail diu, Gabhail tlachd ann do ghloir. 'S mor t-iunndrain o 'n dh'fhalbh thu 'S ni iad t-iomradh an Sasuinn, A chaoidh da leithid air feill, Buadhan moltach do dhiadhachd 'S e mo chomhairle an drasda Do na thamh as do dheigh A leithid do ghras' is do cheill; 'N fheadh s' bhios iad beo air an talamh Bhiodh sin na bheannachd dhoibh fein 'S nuair a dh' fhalaicheas an ùir iad Mairidh 'n cliu as an deigh. |