CHAPTER XXXIII.A non-“Laughing” Summer—Rheumatic Pains—Old Gaelic Incantation for Cattle Ailments.The best thing, perhaps, that can be said of our summer up to this date [July 1872], is that it has, upon the whole, been amiable and summer-like; has, after the manner of a love-lorn maiden, wept much and often smiled, although, until within the last day or two, it has never actually laughed. You loved it, and couldn’t help yourself, but your love wanted warmth and fervour, just because ofitswant of jocundity and joyousness. Even in our climate, summer is not summer by the mere reading of the thermometer, however sensitive and delicate its mercurial indications; one wants brilliant sunshine, with cloudless, or almost cloudless skies, to make up a summer as a summer proper ought to be. The poets of the East and South always speak of summer and summer scenes as “laughing,” while in more northern and less favoured lands your poet is content to describe otherwise exactly similar scenes and situations as simply “smiling,” “gentle,” “sweet,” “quiet,” and so forth, so that an acute critic, by attending to this alone, could tell, were other proofs entirely wanting, whether a poet was born under northern skies, or lived and loved, soared and sang, in sunnier and more southern climes. Horace has——“mihi angulus ridet.”His “corner,” observe, does not merely smile; it “laughs” under the bright blue Italian sky. Lucretius has——“tibi rident æquora ponti;”which Creech and Dryden, bards of a colder clime, have rendered “smiles,” but which literally and truly is honest, open, joyous “laughter” in the southern bard. Metaetasio has—“A te fiorisconoGli erbosi prati;E i flutti ridonoNel mar placati.”“Ridono,” observe—laughter again—like his earlier countrymen, Horace and Lucretius. Our British poets rarely venture to make spring or summer do more than smile; they are afraid of the laughter of the south, as beingquoad hocan over-bold hyperbole. We can only quote at this moment two instances in which the laughter of more favoured lands is boldly introduced. John Langhorne, a poet and miscellaneous writer of the last century, author of theFables of Flora, very beautifully says—“Where Tweed’s soft banks in liberal beauty lie,And Floralaughsbeneath an azure sky.”And Chaucer, the father of English poetry, has the following:—“The busy larkë, messager of daye,Salueth in hire song the morwe gray;And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,That al the orientlaughethof the light.”—Very finely modernised by Dryden thus:—“The morning lark, messenger of day,Saluted in her song the morning grey;And soon the sun arose with beams so brightThat all the horizon laughedto see the joyous sight.”Our summer, then, thus far, has not been a “laughing,” but, at the best, a merely smiling summer. There has been but little actual sunshine, rarely such a thing as a blue, unclouded sky; but, if we do not err, if the wish be not altogether father to the thought, a splendid autumn, glad and golden—summer and autumnin one, like the companion scenes in a stereoscope, in close and kindly combination—is in store for us. Even as it is, the country is very beautiful, and the rains of the west, if superabundant, are at least perfectly harmless to any one in ordinary health, no matter how often you get drenched through and through, as the saying is, provided always you do not idly saunter or sit down for any length of time in wet clothes; neglect this precaution, however, and you may look out for an attack of rheumatism, and the taste of pains to which the tortures of the rack were but a joke—pains as fiery and intense as those threatened against the foul-mouthed Caliban in theTempest. You recollect what Prospero says—“Hag-seed hence!Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert bestTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillinglyWhat I command,I’ll rack thee with old cramps;Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roarThat beasts shall tremble at thy din!”Get wet, then, as often and as much as you like, in the West Highlands, but don’t sit down or idle about in wet clothes, is a friend’s advice; otherwise, you will soon have a pretty correct idea of the nature of the cramps and aches of which even the brutal Caliban had such a horror that he exclaims:—“No, ‘pray thee!—I must obey: his art is of such power,It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,And make a vassal of him.”Supplementary to our last paper on the spells and incantations of the Highlands, the following has been sent to us by our kind correspondent, Mr. Carmichael, of the Inland Revenue, Island of Uist, a gentleman of whom highly honourable mention is made in Mr. Campbell’sWest Highland Tales, and in some of the notes to the Rev.Dr. Clerk’sOssian. Mr. Carmichael is more conversant,perhaps, than anybody else with the antiquities and folk-lore of the Outer Hebrides. The incantation that follows was taken down by Mr. Carmichael from the recitation of “an honest, unsophisticated oldBanarach, or dairymaid, in North Uist, who is even yet occasionally consulted about sickly cows”:—Rann Leigheas Galar Cruidh.Crìosd’ ’us Ostail ’us EoinAn triuir sin is binne gloirA dh-èirich a dheanada na h-òra,Roimh dhorus na Cathrach,No air glún deas De Mhic.Air na mnathan múr-shuileach,Air na feara geur shuileach,’Sair na saighdean sitheadach;Dithis a lasachadh alt agus ga ’na adhachadhAgus triuir a chuireas mi ’an urra rin sin,An t-Athair, ’sar Mac ’san Sprorad Naomh,Ceithir ghalara fichead ’an aoraibh duine ’s beathaich,Dia ga sgriobanh, Dia ga sguabadh,As t-fhail, as t-fheoil, ’sad ’chnàimh ’sad ’smuais;’Smar a thog Crìosd’ meas air bharra gach crann,Gum b’ann a thogas EdhiotsaGach sùil, gach gnù ’sgach farmad,On ’là u dingh gu latha deireannach do shaoghail. Amen.In English—A Healing Incantation for Diseases in Cattle.Christ and His Apostle and John,These three of most excellent glory,That ascended to make supplicationThrough the gateway of the city,Fast by the right knee of God’s own Son.As regards evil-eyed women;As regards blighting-eyed men;As regards swift-speeding elf-arrows;Two to strengthen and renovate the joints,And three to back (these two) as sureties—The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.To four-and-twenty diseases are the reins of man and beast (subject);God utterly extirpate, sweep away, and eradicate themFrom out thy blood and flesh, thy bones and marrow,And as Christ uplifted its proper foliageTo the extremities of the branches on each tree-top,So may He uplift from off and out of theeEach (evil) eye, each frowning look, malice and envy—From this day forth to the world’s last day. Amen.“It is not always an easy task,” writes our correspondent, “to write from the dictation of partially deaf and toothless old women,” and we perfectly agree with him. “Ostail,” in the first line of the above spell, we take to be an insular form ofAbstol, voc.—AbstoilorAbstail—theApostlepar excellence, namely, Paul. Mr. Carmichael appends the following elucidatory note:—“Thisòraor spell can be used for either man or beast, and is guaranteed to effect a cure in any case! In the case of a four-footed animal a worsted thread is tied round the tail, and theòraor incantation repeated. The “snàthaile” (snàthainn, a thread), as this charm is called, undergoes much mysterious spitting, handling, and incantation by the woman from whom it is got. Therannor spell is muttered over it at the time of “consecration.” Usually two threads (dà shnathaile) are given, and if the first is not quite successful, the second is sure to be effectual!”
CHAPTER XXXIII.A non-“Laughing” Summer—Rheumatic Pains—Old Gaelic Incantation for Cattle Ailments.The best thing, perhaps, that can be said of our summer up to this date [July 1872], is that it has, upon the whole, been amiable and summer-like; has, after the manner of a love-lorn maiden, wept much and often smiled, although, until within the last day or two, it has never actually laughed. You loved it, and couldn’t help yourself, but your love wanted warmth and fervour, just because ofitswant of jocundity and joyousness. Even in our climate, summer is not summer by the mere reading of the thermometer, however sensitive and delicate its mercurial indications; one wants brilliant sunshine, with cloudless, or almost cloudless skies, to make up a summer as a summer proper ought to be. The poets of the East and South always speak of summer and summer scenes as “laughing,” while in more northern and less favoured lands your poet is content to describe otherwise exactly similar scenes and situations as simply “smiling,” “gentle,” “sweet,” “quiet,” and so forth, so that an acute critic, by attending to this alone, could tell, were other proofs entirely wanting, whether a poet was born under northern skies, or lived and loved, soared and sang, in sunnier and more southern climes. Horace has——“mihi angulus ridet.”His “corner,” observe, does not merely smile; it “laughs” under the bright blue Italian sky. Lucretius has——“tibi rident æquora ponti;”which Creech and Dryden, bards of a colder clime, have rendered “smiles,” but which literally and truly is honest, open, joyous “laughter” in the southern bard. Metaetasio has—“A te fiorisconoGli erbosi prati;E i flutti ridonoNel mar placati.”“Ridono,” observe—laughter again—like his earlier countrymen, Horace and Lucretius. Our British poets rarely venture to make spring or summer do more than smile; they are afraid of the laughter of the south, as beingquoad hocan over-bold hyperbole. We can only quote at this moment two instances in which the laughter of more favoured lands is boldly introduced. John Langhorne, a poet and miscellaneous writer of the last century, author of theFables of Flora, very beautifully says—“Where Tweed’s soft banks in liberal beauty lie,And Floralaughsbeneath an azure sky.”And Chaucer, the father of English poetry, has the following:—“The busy larkë, messager of daye,Salueth in hire song the morwe gray;And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,That al the orientlaughethof the light.”—Very finely modernised by Dryden thus:—“The morning lark, messenger of day,Saluted in her song the morning grey;And soon the sun arose with beams so brightThat all the horizon laughedto see the joyous sight.”Our summer, then, thus far, has not been a “laughing,” but, at the best, a merely smiling summer. There has been but little actual sunshine, rarely such a thing as a blue, unclouded sky; but, if we do not err, if the wish be not altogether father to the thought, a splendid autumn, glad and golden—summer and autumnin one, like the companion scenes in a stereoscope, in close and kindly combination—is in store for us. Even as it is, the country is very beautiful, and the rains of the west, if superabundant, are at least perfectly harmless to any one in ordinary health, no matter how often you get drenched through and through, as the saying is, provided always you do not idly saunter or sit down for any length of time in wet clothes; neglect this precaution, however, and you may look out for an attack of rheumatism, and the taste of pains to which the tortures of the rack were but a joke—pains as fiery and intense as those threatened against the foul-mouthed Caliban in theTempest. You recollect what Prospero says—“Hag-seed hence!Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert bestTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillinglyWhat I command,I’ll rack thee with old cramps;Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roarThat beasts shall tremble at thy din!”Get wet, then, as often and as much as you like, in the West Highlands, but don’t sit down or idle about in wet clothes, is a friend’s advice; otherwise, you will soon have a pretty correct idea of the nature of the cramps and aches of which even the brutal Caliban had such a horror that he exclaims:—“No, ‘pray thee!—I must obey: his art is of such power,It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,And make a vassal of him.”Supplementary to our last paper on the spells and incantations of the Highlands, the following has been sent to us by our kind correspondent, Mr. Carmichael, of the Inland Revenue, Island of Uist, a gentleman of whom highly honourable mention is made in Mr. Campbell’sWest Highland Tales, and in some of the notes to the Rev.Dr. Clerk’sOssian. Mr. Carmichael is more conversant,perhaps, than anybody else with the antiquities and folk-lore of the Outer Hebrides. The incantation that follows was taken down by Mr. Carmichael from the recitation of “an honest, unsophisticated oldBanarach, or dairymaid, in North Uist, who is even yet occasionally consulted about sickly cows”:—Rann Leigheas Galar Cruidh.Crìosd’ ’us Ostail ’us EoinAn triuir sin is binne gloirA dh-èirich a dheanada na h-òra,Roimh dhorus na Cathrach,No air glún deas De Mhic.Air na mnathan múr-shuileach,Air na feara geur shuileach,’Sair na saighdean sitheadach;Dithis a lasachadh alt agus ga ’na adhachadhAgus triuir a chuireas mi ’an urra rin sin,An t-Athair, ’sar Mac ’san Sprorad Naomh,Ceithir ghalara fichead ’an aoraibh duine ’s beathaich,Dia ga sgriobanh, Dia ga sguabadh,As t-fhail, as t-fheoil, ’sad ’chnàimh ’sad ’smuais;’Smar a thog Crìosd’ meas air bharra gach crann,Gum b’ann a thogas EdhiotsaGach sùil, gach gnù ’sgach farmad,On ’là u dingh gu latha deireannach do shaoghail. Amen.In English—A Healing Incantation for Diseases in Cattle.Christ and His Apostle and John,These three of most excellent glory,That ascended to make supplicationThrough the gateway of the city,Fast by the right knee of God’s own Son.As regards evil-eyed women;As regards blighting-eyed men;As regards swift-speeding elf-arrows;Two to strengthen and renovate the joints,And three to back (these two) as sureties—The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.To four-and-twenty diseases are the reins of man and beast (subject);God utterly extirpate, sweep away, and eradicate themFrom out thy blood and flesh, thy bones and marrow,And as Christ uplifted its proper foliageTo the extremities of the branches on each tree-top,So may He uplift from off and out of theeEach (evil) eye, each frowning look, malice and envy—From this day forth to the world’s last day. Amen.“It is not always an easy task,” writes our correspondent, “to write from the dictation of partially deaf and toothless old women,” and we perfectly agree with him. “Ostail,” in the first line of the above spell, we take to be an insular form ofAbstol, voc.—AbstoilorAbstail—theApostlepar excellence, namely, Paul. Mr. Carmichael appends the following elucidatory note:—“Thisòraor spell can be used for either man or beast, and is guaranteed to effect a cure in any case! In the case of a four-footed animal a worsted thread is tied round the tail, and theòraor incantation repeated. The “snàthaile” (snàthainn, a thread), as this charm is called, undergoes much mysterious spitting, handling, and incantation by the woman from whom it is got. Therannor spell is muttered over it at the time of “consecration.” Usually two threads (dà shnathaile) are given, and if the first is not quite successful, the second is sure to be effectual!”
CHAPTER XXXIII.A non-“Laughing” Summer—Rheumatic Pains—Old Gaelic Incantation for Cattle Ailments.
A non-“Laughing” Summer—Rheumatic Pains—Old Gaelic Incantation for Cattle Ailments.
A non-“Laughing” Summer—Rheumatic Pains—Old Gaelic Incantation for Cattle Ailments.
The best thing, perhaps, that can be said of our summer up to this date [July 1872], is that it has, upon the whole, been amiable and summer-like; has, after the manner of a love-lorn maiden, wept much and often smiled, although, until within the last day or two, it has never actually laughed. You loved it, and couldn’t help yourself, but your love wanted warmth and fervour, just because ofitswant of jocundity and joyousness. Even in our climate, summer is not summer by the mere reading of the thermometer, however sensitive and delicate its mercurial indications; one wants brilliant sunshine, with cloudless, or almost cloudless skies, to make up a summer as a summer proper ought to be. The poets of the East and South always speak of summer and summer scenes as “laughing,” while in more northern and less favoured lands your poet is content to describe otherwise exactly similar scenes and situations as simply “smiling,” “gentle,” “sweet,” “quiet,” and so forth, so that an acute critic, by attending to this alone, could tell, were other proofs entirely wanting, whether a poet was born under northern skies, or lived and loved, soared and sang, in sunnier and more southern climes. Horace has——“mihi angulus ridet.”His “corner,” observe, does not merely smile; it “laughs” under the bright blue Italian sky. Lucretius has——“tibi rident æquora ponti;”which Creech and Dryden, bards of a colder clime, have rendered “smiles,” but which literally and truly is honest, open, joyous “laughter” in the southern bard. Metaetasio has—“A te fiorisconoGli erbosi prati;E i flutti ridonoNel mar placati.”“Ridono,” observe—laughter again—like his earlier countrymen, Horace and Lucretius. Our British poets rarely venture to make spring or summer do more than smile; they are afraid of the laughter of the south, as beingquoad hocan over-bold hyperbole. We can only quote at this moment two instances in which the laughter of more favoured lands is boldly introduced. John Langhorne, a poet and miscellaneous writer of the last century, author of theFables of Flora, very beautifully says—“Where Tweed’s soft banks in liberal beauty lie,And Floralaughsbeneath an azure sky.”And Chaucer, the father of English poetry, has the following:—“The busy larkë, messager of daye,Salueth in hire song the morwe gray;And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,That al the orientlaughethof the light.”—Very finely modernised by Dryden thus:—“The morning lark, messenger of day,Saluted in her song the morning grey;And soon the sun arose with beams so brightThat all the horizon laughedto see the joyous sight.”Our summer, then, thus far, has not been a “laughing,” but, at the best, a merely smiling summer. There has been but little actual sunshine, rarely such a thing as a blue, unclouded sky; but, if we do not err, if the wish be not altogether father to the thought, a splendid autumn, glad and golden—summer and autumnin one, like the companion scenes in a stereoscope, in close and kindly combination—is in store for us. Even as it is, the country is very beautiful, and the rains of the west, if superabundant, are at least perfectly harmless to any one in ordinary health, no matter how often you get drenched through and through, as the saying is, provided always you do not idly saunter or sit down for any length of time in wet clothes; neglect this precaution, however, and you may look out for an attack of rheumatism, and the taste of pains to which the tortures of the rack were but a joke—pains as fiery and intense as those threatened against the foul-mouthed Caliban in theTempest. You recollect what Prospero says—“Hag-seed hence!Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert bestTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillinglyWhat I command,I’ll rack thee with old cramps;Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roarThat beasts shall tremble at thy din!”Get wet, then, as often and as much as you like, in the West Highlands, but don’t sit down or idle about in wet clothes, is a friend’s advice; otherwise, you will soon have a pretty correct idea of the nature of the cramps and aches of which even the brutal Caliban had such a horror that he exclaims:—“No, ‘pray thee!—I must obey: his art is of such power,It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,And make a vassal of him.”Supplementary to our last paper on the spells and incantations of the Highlands, the following has been sent to us by our kind correspondent, Mr. Carmichael, of the Inland Revenue, Island of Uist, a gentleman of whom highly honourable mention is made in Mr. Campbell’sWest Highland Tales, and in some of the notes to the Rev.Dr. Clerk’sOssian. Mr. Carmichael is more conversant,perhaps, than anybody else with the antiquities and folk-lore of the Outer Hebrides. The incantation that follows was taken down by Mr. Carmichael from the recitation of “an honest, unsophisticated oldBanarach, or dairymaid, in North Uist, who is even yet occasionally consulted about sickly cows”:—Rann Leigheas Galar Cruidh.Crìosd’ ’us Ostail ’us EoinAn triuir sin is binne gloirA dh-èirich a dheanada na h-òra,Roimh dhorus na Cathrach,No air glún deas De Mhic.Air na mnathan múr-shuileach,Air na feara geur shuileach,’Sair na saighdean sitheadach;Dithis a lasachadh alt agus ga ’na adhachadhAgus triuir a chuireas mi ’an urra rin sin,An t-Athair, ’sar Mac ’san Sprorad Naomh,Ceithir ghalara fichead ’an aoraibh duine ’s beathaich,Dia ga sgriobanh, Dia ga sguabadh,As t-fhail, as t-fheoil, ’sad ’chnàimh ’sad ’smuais;’Smar a thog Crìosd’ meas air bharra gach crann,Gum b’ann a thogas EdhiotsaGach sùil, gach gnù ’sgach farmad,On ’là u dingh gu latha deireannach do shaoghail. Amen.In English—A Healing Incantation for Diseases in Cattle.Christ and His Apostle and John,These three of most excellent glory,That ascended to make supplicationThrough the gateway of the city,Fast by the right knee of God’s own Son.As regards evil-eyed women;As regards blighting-eyed men;As regards swift-speeding elf-arrows;Two to strengthen and renovate the joints,And three to back (these two) as sureties—The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.To four-and-twenty diseases are the reins of man and beast (subject);God utterly extirpate, sweep away, and eradicate themFrom out thy blood and flesh, thy bones and marrow,And as Christ uplifted its proper foliageTo the extremities of the branches on each tree-top,So may He uplift from off and out of theeEach (evil) eye, each frowning look, malice and envy—From this day forth to the world’s last day. Amen.“It is not always an easy task,” writes our correspondent, “to write from the dictation of partially deaf and toothless old women,” and we perfectly agree with him. “Ostail,” in the first line of the above spell, we take to be an insular form ofAbstol, voc.—AbstoilorAbstail—theApostlepar excellence, namely, Paul. Mr. Carmichael appends the following elucidatory note:—“Thisòraor spell can be used for either man or beast, and is guaranteed to effect a cure in any case! In the case of a four-footed animal a worsted thread is tied round the tail, and theòraor incantation repeated. The “snàthaile” (snàthainn, a thread), as this charm is called, undergoes much mysterious spitting, handling, and incantation by the woman from whom it is got. Therannor spell is muttered over it at the time of “consecration.” Usually two threads (dà shnathaile) are given, and if the first is not quite successful, the second is sure to be effectual!”
The best thing, perhaps, that can be said of our summer up to this date [July 1872], is that it has, upon the whole, been amiable and summer-like; has, after the manner of a love-lorn maiden, wept much and often smiled, although, until within the last day or two, it has never actually laughed. You loved it, and couldn’t help yourself, but your love wanted warmth and fervour, just because ofitswant of jocundity and joyousness. Even in our climate, summer is not summer by the mere reading of the thermometer, however sensitive and delicate its mercurial indications; one wants brilliant sunshine, with cloudless, or almost cloudless skies, to make up a summer as a summer proper ought to be. The poets of the East and South always speak of summer and summer scenes as “laughing,” while in more northern and less favoured lands your poet is content to describe otherwise exactly similar scenes and situations as simply “smiling,” “gentle,” “sweet,” “quiet,” and so forth, so that an acute critic, by attending to this alone, could tell, were other proofs entirely wanting, whether a poet was born under northern skies, or lived and loved, soared and sang, in sunnier and more southern climes. Horace has—
—“mihi angulus ridet.”
—“mihi angulus ridet.”
His “corner,” observe, does not merely smile; it “laughs” under the bright blue Italian sky. Lucretius has—
—“tibi rident æquora ponti;”
—“tibi rident æquora ponti;”
which Creech and Dryden, bards of a colder clime, have rendered “smiles,” but which literally and truly is honest, open, joyous “laughter” in the southern bard. Metaetasio has—
“A te fiorisconoGli erbosi prati;E i flutti ridonoNel mar placati.”
“A te fioriscono
Gli erbosi prati;
E i flutti ridono
Nel mar placati.”
“Ridono,” observe—laughter again—like his earlier countrymen, Horace and Lucretius. Our British poets rarely venture to make spring or summer do more than smile; they are afraid of the laughter of the south, as beingquoad hocan over-bold hyperbole. We can only quote at this moment two instances in which the laughter of more favoured lands is boldly introduced. John Langhorne, a poet and miscellaneous writer of the last century, author of theFables of Flora, very beautifully says—
“Where Tweed’s soft banks in liberal beauty lie,And Floralaughsbeneath an azure sky.”
“Where Tweed’s soft banks in liberal beauty lie,
And Floralaughsbeneath an azure sky.”
And Chaucer, the father of English poetry, has the following:—
“The busy larkë, messager of daye,Salueth in hire song the morwe gray;And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,That al the orientlaughethof the light.”—
“The busy larkë, messager of daye,
Salueth in hire song the morwe gray;
And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,
That al the orientlaughethof the light.”—
Very finely modernised by Dryden thus:—
“The morning lark, messenger of day,Saluted in her song the morning grey;And soon the sun arose with beams so brightThat all the horizon laughedto see the joyous sight.”
“The morning lark, messenger of day,
Saluted in her song the morning grey;
And soon the sun arose with beams so bright
That all the horizon laughedto see the joyous sight.”
Our summer, then, thus far, has not been a “laughing,” but, at the best, a merely smiling summer. There has been but little actual sunshine, rarely such a thing as a blue, unclouded sky; but, if we do not err, if the wish be not altogether father to the thought, a splendid autumn, glad and golden—summer and autumnin one, like the companion scenes in a stereoscope, in close and kindly combination—is in store for us. Even as it is, the country is very beautiful, and the rains of the west, if superabundant, are at least perfectly harmless to any one in ordinary health, no matter how often you get drenched through and through, as the saying is, provided always you do not idly saunter or sit down for any length of time in wet clothes; neglect this precaution, however, and you may look out for an attack of rheumatism, and the taste of pains to which the tortures of the rack were but a joke—pains as fiery and intense as those threatened against the foul-mouthed Caliban in theTempest. You recollect what Prospero says—
“Hag-seed hence!Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert bestTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillinglyWhat I command,I’ll rack thee with old cramps;Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roarThat beasts shall tremble at thy din!”
“Hag-seed hence!
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert best
To answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?
If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly
What I command,I’ll rack thee with old cramps;
Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din!”
Get wet, then, as often and as much as you like, in the West Highlands, but don’t sit down or idle about in wet clothes, is a friend’s advice; otherwise, you will soon have a pretty correct idea of the nature of the cramps and aches of which even the brutal Caliban had such a horror that he exclaims:—
“No, ‘pray thee!—I must obey: his art is of such power,It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,And make a vassal of him.”
“No, ‘pray thee!—
I must obey: his art is of such power,
It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.”
Supplementary to our last paper on the spells and incantations of the Highlands, the following has been sent to us by our kind correspondent, Mr. Carmichael, of the Inland Revenue, Island of Uist, a gentleman of whom highly honourable mention is made in Mr. Campbell’sWest Highland Tales, and in some of the notes to the Rev.Dr. Clerk’sOssian. Mr. Carmichael is more conversant,perhaps, than anybody else with the antiquities and folk-lore of the Outer Hebrides. The incantation that follows was taken down by Mr. Carmichael from the recitation of “an honest, unsophisticated oldBanarach, or dairymaid, in North Uist, who is even yet occasionally consulted about sickly cows”:—
Rann Leigheas Galar Cruidh.Crìosd’ ’us Ostail ’us EoinAn triuir sin is binne gloirA dh-èirich a dheanada na h-òra,Roimh dhorus na Cathrach,No air glún deas De Mhic.Air na mnathan múr-shuileach,Air na feara geur shuileach,’Sair na saighdean sitheadach;Dithis a lasachadh alt agus ga ’na adhachadhAgus triuir a chuireas mi ’an urra rin sin,An t-Athair, ’sar Mac ’san Sprorad Naomh,Ceithir ghalara fichead ’an aoraibh duine ’s beathaich,Dia ga sgriobanh, Dia ga sguabadh,As t-fhail, as t-fheoil, ’sad ’chnàimh ’sad ’smuais;’Smar a thog Crìosd’ meas air bharra gach crann,Gum b’ann a thogas EdhiotsaGach sùil, gach gnù ’sgach farmad,On ’là u dingh gu latha deireannach do shaoghail. Amen.
Crìosd’ ’us Ostail ’us Eoin
An triuir sin is binne gloir
A dh-èirich a dheanada na h-òra,
Roimh dhorus na Cathrach,
No air glún deas De Mhic.
Air na mnathan múr-shuileach,
Air na feara geur shuileach,
’Sair na saighdean sitheadach;
Dithis a lasachadh alt agus ga ’na adhachadh
Agus triuir a chuireas mi ’an urra rin sin,
An t-Athair, ’sar Mac ’san Sprorad Naomh,
Ceithir ghalara fichead ’an aoraibh duine ’s beathaich,
Dia ga sgriobanh, Dia ga sguabadh,
As t-fhail, as t-fheoil, ’sad ’chnàimh ’sad ’smuais;
’Smar a thog Crìosd’ meas air bharra gach crann,
Gum b’ann a thogas Edhiotsa
Gach sùil, gach gnù ’sgach farmad,
On ’là u dingh gu latha deireannach do shaoghail. Amen.
In English—
A Healing Incantation for Diseases in Cattle.Christ and His Apostle and John,These three of most excellent glory,That ascended to make supplicationThrough the gateway of the city,Fast by the right knee of God’s own Son.As regards evil-eyed women;As regards blighting-eyed men;As regards swift-speeding elf-arrows;Two to strengthen and renovate the joints,And three to back (these two) as sureties—The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.To four-and-twenty diseases are the reins of man and beast (subject);God utterly extirpate, sweep away, and eradicate themFrom out thy blood and flesh, thy bones and marrow,And as Christ uplifted its proper foliageTo the extremities of the branches on each tree-top,So may He uplift from off and out of theeEach (evil) eye, each frowning look, malice and envy—From this day forth to the world’s last day. Amen.
Christ and His Apostle and John,
These three of most excellent glory,
That ascended to make supplication
Through the gateway of the city,
Fast by the right knee of God’s own Son.
As regards evil-eyed women;
As regards blighting-eyed men;
As regards swift-speeding elf-arrows;
Two to strengthen and renovate the joints,
And three to back (these two) as sureties—
The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.
To four-and-twenty diseases are the reins of man and beast (subject);
God utterly extirpate, sweep away, and eradicate them
From out thy blood and flesh, thy bones and marrow,
And as Christ uplifted its proper foliage
To the extremities of the branches on each tree-top,
So may He uplift from off and out of thee
Each (evil) eye, each frowning look, malice and envy—
From this day forth to the world’s last day. Amen.
“It is not always an easy task,” writes our correspondent, “to write from the dictation of partially deaf and toothless old women,” and we perfectly agree with him. “Ostail,” in the first line of the above spell, we take to be an insular form ofAbstol, voc.—AbstoilorAbstail—theApostlepar excellence, namely, Paul. Mr. Carmichael appends the following elucidatory note:—“Thisòraor spell can be used for either man or beast, and is guaranteed to effect a cure in any case! In the case of a four-footed animal a worsted thread is tied round the tail, and theòraor incantation repeated. The “snàthaile” (snàthainn, a thread), as this charm is called, undergoes much mysterious spitting, handling, and incantation by the woman from whom it is got. Therannor spell is muttered over it at the time of “consecration.” Usually two threads (dà shnathaile) are given, and if the first is not quite successful, the second is sure to be effectual!”