Of the whole series of annual festivals, Hallowe’en forms the most important occasion in the Highlands of Scotland. The fascinating round of varied enjoyments the night presents to the young and juvenile—the delightful peeps into futurity it affords to the enchanted lover—and the fond recollections it revives in old age—all conspire to render its approach more interesting, and its celebration more joyful, than any other occasion within the compass of the year. Nor is the happy influence diffused by Hallowe’en confined to the human class of the inhabitants of the Highlands alone; most of the supernatural inhabitants are in some degree partakers in the general happiness. With the fairy community, in particular, it is an occasion of peculiar grandeur, as the great anniversary on which they are reviewed by Auld Nick, their nominal chief potentate, in person; whilst many others of the classes treated of in the foregoing pages regard it as a night of no ordinary pomp and joviality.
On this occasion of universal hilarity, the natural coldness and jealousy which generally subsist between the human species and their supernatural neighbours are changed into perfect harmony and benevolence. Like two belligerent armies, whose hostility towards each other is more the offspring of public duty than private resentment, and who, therefore, during the intervals of war, exhibit in their mutual intercourse the marks of personal good will; so, in like manner, those two classes forget for the night all animosity, in their more laudable zeal to contribute to each other’s gratification. Nay, stern Satan himself relaxes for this night his avarice; and, alive to no other object than the promotion of universal enjoyments, dispatches showers of his emissaries to the several kiln-pots, peat-stacks, and barn-yards in the Highlands, to afford to those adventurers who desire it a peep into the secrets of futurity.
Such a display of seeming benevolence, did it proceed from any other individual than Satan, could not fail to meet with some share of applause. But heads of families, whose opinions are entitled to some respect, have been known to affirm, that Satan’s affected generosity on this occasion is nothing but a mere stratagem for inveigling the more effectually the young and unwary into his vile snares, and that he gets more game by those specious artifices than he could realize by any other means. Hence it is that the anxious parent this night, instead of extolling Satan’s generosity, is so intent on magnifying his perfidy; and in order the better to dissuade his offspring and family from the dangerous practices of the night, details, without qualification, his numerous treacheries on similar occasions.
But these ebullitions of the parent’s jealousy of Satan’s practices are soon subdued. The big-bellied bottle and bumper-glass will have a great effect in relaxing his heart of its illiberal suspicions. Speedily animated by the conciliating qualities of the “barley-bree,” and softened by the recollection of his own youthful frolics and manly deeds on similar occasions, he no longer regards as a crime those practices which he recently condemned; and the good-natured matron, being happy at her husband’s felicity, and averse to chide, they both tacitly connive at the family’s indulgence in the customary arts of divination.
Generally the first spell they try is pulling the stock of kail. Joining hand in hand they go forth to the kail-yard, previously blind-folded, lads, lasses, and children, equally anxious to have their fortunes told as their seniors. Pulling the first stock they meet with, they immediately return to the light to have an examination of its qualities; its being large or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of its puller’s conjugal companion. If any earth adheres to the root, it indicates tocher or fortune; and the taste of the custoc or stem, whether sour or sweet, shows the nature of his disposition.
They go next to the barn-yard, and pull each a stalk of oats, and according to the number of grains upon the stalk the puller will have a corresponding number of children. It may be observed, that it is essential to a female’s good fame that her stalk should have the top-grain attached to it.
An individual goes to the barn, opens both its doors, then takes the instrument used in winnowing corn, called a wecht, and goes through all the gestures of letting down corn against the wind. This is repeated three several times, and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the one door and out at the other, having a retinue emblematical of his or her station in life.
A person goes privately to Tor-na-ha, or the kiln-pot, throws into it a clew of blue thread, which the person winds into a new clew. Towards the latter end something will hold the thread, on which the person demands, “Who holds?” An answer will be returned by the agent below, by naming the Christian name and sirname of the person’s future spouse.
A person steals out unperceived to the peat-stack—sows a handful of hemp-seed, calling out something to the following effect:—
And, on looking over his shoulder, he sees the apparition of the person invoked in the attitude of pulling the hemp, which had immediately grown at the magic command. Or, if hemp-seed is not at hand, let the person take the floor-besom, which he will ride in the manner of a witch three times round the peat-stack, and the last time the apparition will appear to him.
They go one or more to what is called a dead and living ford, or, in other words, a ford which has been crossed by a funeral, and observing profound silence, dip the sleeve of their shirt in it. On returning home they go to bed in sight of a fire, and, lying awake in bed, they will observe an apparition, being an exact similitude of the grand object in question, turn the shirt-sleeve, as if to dry the other side.
An individual goes to a public road, which branches in three several directions, (i. e. the junction of three roads,) bearing with him the cutty or three-legged stool, on which the person seats himself just on the eve of twelve o’clock; and, as the hour strikes, he hears proclaimed the names of the several persons who shall die in the parish before the next anniversary. Nota.—If the person carries along with him articles of wearing-apparel, and throws an article away on the proclamation of each person’s name, it will rescue the person from his impending fate; and it will be wise to retain one article to the last, in case his own name may be called, when he has not the means of redemption at hand.
These and some other out-of-door spells having been tried, the parties return to the dwelling-house to burn the nuts. Burning the nuts is a very popular charm. They name a lad and a lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and, accordingly, as they burn quietly, or start from beside one another, so the issue of the courtship will be.
A person takes a candle and goes unattended to a looking-glass—eats an apple before it, combing his or her hair all the while, occasionally holding over the shoulder a table-fork with a piece of the apple upon it, and ultimately the adventurer’s conjugal partner will be seen in the glass, in the attitude of taking the proffered piece of apple.
These and some other spells of less note, such as dipping for the apple, groping for the clean dish, which are generally known, and, therefore, need not be particularly described, joined to each individual’s relation of the sights which he saw on the present and former occasions, together with the reflections they draw from “narrative old age,” bring the well-buttered sowans, or more favoured Banbrishd[J] upon the table. The sonsie kebbock is roasted at the fire, and fangs cut down from end to end. Brandered bannocks, and every other luxury that can be procured, load the hospitable board. The welcome guests surround it; the silver head is bared with solemn reverence, and the temperate feast, qualified with a few rounds of the Boghtle dhu, is as much relished as if it consisted of the most delicious luxuries that crown a monarch’s board. But the hours are too happy to remain long;—they flee like a shadow, and call the guests to their respective homes. Each swain and damsel now repose themselves on their pillows, full of those tender emotions which the night’s amusements excited, and in their midnight slumbers see those objects whose image they so ardently wished to see in all their comeliness and beauty.
The children of years to come shall hear the fame of Carthon, when they sit round the burning oak, and the night is spent in songs of old.
Ossian.
Christmas Eve is chiefly spent in preparation for the succeeding days. The housewife is busily engaged in the provision and cooking of dainties. The flailman still chaps in the barn, desirous of providing the necessary store of fodder for the Christmas. The herd-boy’s axe resounds on the fir-stock, determined to prepare plenty of light, and the gudeman, and others, are abroad on a not less important errand.
This errand, on which we suppose the gudeman and his assistants employed, is the procuring of Calluch Nollic, or Christmas Old Wife, an indispensable requisite for this occasion; and it will perhaps puzzle some of our readers to guess the purpose for which the good woman is wanted. If they suppose it is to contribute to the hilarity of the time, or to assist in the festive preparations, the idea is not very erroneous—the old woman does so in a very effectual manner. But the return she meets with, however warm, will not be admired by the reader, when he is told that it consists in being stowed into a cartful of burning peats, with as little ceremony and feeling as an old broom. This usage, so inconsistent with the Highlander’s characteristic humanity, she does not, however, regard as a great punishment, for her feelings are as fire-proof as those of a Salamander. Indeed, it is no rare sight, though strange it must be, to see an honest woman, who has undergone the unpleasant process of being Christmas fire to a circle of unfeeling fellows, perhaps oftener than once, heartily spinning at her wheel, and gratifying those, it may be, who had a hand in the unfriendly act, with her marvellous tales. But to avoid a certain imputation which some may be inclined to fix on us, it will be proper to explain our meaning.
The reader will please understand, that this good woman only undergoes this process by representation. Among those valuable discoveries which distinguish former ages, that which gave rise to this custom deserves notice. Some wise-acre, by some lucky chance, discovered, that at this festive season, when the asperity of his character is probably much softened, even relentless death himself can be compromised with on very advantageous terms. By the sacrifice of an old woman, or any other body whom he wished in a better world, and whom, by the following process, he chose to send to it, death was debarred from any farther claim to himself, or his friends, until the return of the next anniversary. He went to the wood this night, fetched home the stump of some withered tree, which he regularly constituted the representative of some person of the description we have mentioned, and whose doom was inevitably fixed by the process, without resort or appeal. Such a simple mode of obtaining security from a foe whom every body fears, could not be supposed to fall into desuetude; and the custom is therefore retained, whatever faith may exist as to its utility, in some parts of the country, even to this day.
But to return to the busy fireside whence we set out, we shall suppose the goodman and the “carling” arrived, and the other members of the family now relieved from their eager toil, with the old wife in the centre. The question now is, how the remainder of the night is to be disposed of? The nature of it requires that it should be spent with gaiety; and a game at cards, the clod,[K] or the bag, is generally fixed upon. At the ordinary hour, however, all retire to rest with minds bent on the morrow’s gratifications, and the house is soon changed from that scene of bustle and confusion it recently exhibited, to that of peaceful tranquillity, where nothing is heard but the slumbering of the inmates, and the growling bark of the faithful collie on the midden-head.
At length the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious housemaid of the approach of
CHRISTMAS DAY.
She rises full of anxiety at the prospect of her morning labours. The meal, which was steeped in the sowans-bowie a fortnight ago, to make the Prechdachdan sour, or sour scones, is the first object of her attention. The gridiron is put on the fire, and the sour scones are soon followed by hard cakes, soft cakes, buttered cakes, brandered bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking being once over, the sowans pot succeeds the gridiron, full of new sowans, which are to be given to the family, agreeably to custom, this day in their beds. The sowans are boiled into the consistence of molasses, when the Lagan-le-vrich,[L] to distinguish it from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured into as many bickers as there are individuals to partake of it, and presently served to the whole, old and young. It would suit well the pen of a Burns, or the pencil of a Cruikshank, to paint the scene which follows. The ambrosial food is soon dispatched in aspiring draughts by the family, who soon give evident proofs of the enlivening effects of the Lagan-le-vrich. As soon as each dispatches his bicker, he jumps out of bed—the elder branches to examine the ominous signs of the day,[M] and the younger to enter on its amusements. Flocking to the swing, a favourite amusement on this occasion, the youngest of the family gets the first “shouden,” and the next oldest to him, in regular succession. In order to add the more to the spirit of the exercise, it is a common practice with the person in the swing, and the person appointed to swing him, to enter into a very warm and humorous altercation. As the swinged person approaches the swinger, he exclaims, Ei mi tu chal, “I’ll eat your kail.” To this the swinger replies, with a violent shove, Cha ni u mu chal, “You shan’t eat my kail.” These threats and repulses are sometimes carried to such a height as to break down or capsize the threatener, which generally puts an end to the quarrel.
As the day advances, those minor amusements are terminated at the report of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs—the gun inviting the marksman to the “Kiavanuchd,” or prize-shooting, and the latter to “Luchd-vouil,” or the ball-combatants—both the principal sports of the day. A description of either of these sports is unnecessary, as nothing new distinguishes them from similar amusements in other places; unless it be a consummate precision in the marksman, and a vigorous intrepidity in the ball-combatants, that cannot perhaps be equalled by the peasantry of any other country.
Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they exchange them for the substantial entertainments of the table. Groaning under the “sonsy haggis,” and many other savoury dainties, unseen perhaps for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company, by the appearance of the festive board, is more easily conceived than described. The dinner once dispatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver’s shuttle. As it continues its rounds, the spirits of the company become the more jovial and happy. Animated by its cheering influence, even old decrepitude no longer feels his habitual pains—the fire of youth is in his eye, as he details to the company the exploits which distinguished him in the days of “auld langsyne;” while the young, with hearts inflamed with “love and glory,” long to mingle in the more lively scenes of mirth, to display their prowess and agility. Leaving the patriarchs to finish those professions of friendship for each other, in which they are so devoutly engaged, the younger part of the company will shape their course to the ball-room, or the card-table, as their individual inclinations suggest; and the remainder of the evening is spent with the greatest pleasure of which human nature is susceptible. Nor will this happy evening terminate the festivities of this occasion. Christmas mid-day awakes all but old age, to a renewal of former hilarity. To age, however, there is no permanent enjoyment ordained in this sublunary state. The transient gleam of happiness which animated his feeble frame has given place, with the cause of it, to a gloom proportionate to his former joys. Headaches, rheumatisms, and other wonted infirmities, are this day returned with more than usual virulence. He wakes only to recline his head on a pillow of sorrow, and to think on the days that are gone.
“A gude New Year I wish thee, Maggy.”
Burns.
The Highlander’s native proneness to festive enjoyments, far from being cloyed by recent series of feasts and diversions, only receives from their speedy recurrence an additional excitement. Anxious by all means to secure this occasion its accustomed share of hilarity, fresh schemes of amusement are studied and promoted with unabated avidity. The peculiar character of the time pre-eminently entitles it to every demonstration of satisfaction which mankind can evince; and it must be no small stimulus to the Highlander’s laudable zeal, to see that in this he is imitated by beings whose abilities are far inferior to his own.
We presume it is a circumstance that is very little known in other quarters of the kingdom, that, on this particular occasion, even the brute creation (if we may use the expression) have an instinctive knowledge of its auspices. In particular, that admirable object of Highland curiosity, the “Candlemas[N] Bull,” manifests no small degree of respect for the occasion. This strange and curious animal, which has so long escaped the observation of all the Saxon naturalists and astronomers that ever lived, has been long since discovered by our Highland philosophers. We say astronomers! because, however strange it may appear, this bull forms an object of speculation connected with their department of science. It must not, however, be inferred from this circumstance, that it is of that celestial species of bulls designated by astronomers to distinguish a particular division of the zodiac; neither is it of that terrestrial species known to naturalists and cattle-dealers—it is of a species distinct from both. Partaking together of the aërial and terrestrial nature and qualities, both the earth and the air are equally its elements. This bull makes an annual excursion, in some latitude or other, about the twilight of this night, no doubt in honour of the occasion. He has, it is said, neither wings nor any other apparent buoyants; but he takes advantage of the course of the wind, on which he glides along in fellowship with the clouds, in a manner that would do credit to the best aeronaut of the day. The particular place of his ascension or descent, which varies with the direction of the wind, cannot be exactly ascertained. Nor can we favour the curious with a minute description of its bodily appearance, since we never had the good fortune to be present when it was seen. All our informants, however, agree in representing it as of a very large size, the colour of a dark cloud, and having all the limbs of a common bull.[O]
As soon as night sets in, it is the signal for the suspension of common employments; and the Highlander’s attention is directed to more agreeable and important callings. Associating themselves into bands, the men, with tethers and axes, shape their course towards the juniper bushes, which are as much in request this night as kail is on Hallowe’en. Returning home with Herculean loads, the juniper is arranged around the fire to dry till the morning. Some careful person is also dispatched to the dead and living ford, who draws a pitcher of water, observing all the time the most profound silence. Great care must be taken that the vessel containing the water does not touch the ground, otherwise it would lose all its virtues. These and every other necessary peculiar to the occasion being provided, the inmates retire to rest for the night, full of the thoughts of the morrow.
The Highlander’s morning cheer this day is far less palatable than that with which he is served so comfortably on Christmas-day. But if it be not so agreeable to his temporal inclinations, it is far more beneficial to his spiritual interests. The Lagan-le-vrich, though very good in itself as a substantial dish, will do no more than satisfy for a time the cravings of nature. But the treat of which he partakes this day extends its effects to the good of both soul and body. This treat, if we may so call it, is divided into two courses, which are productive of the following good effects.
The first course, consisting of the Usque-Cashrichd, or water from the dead and living ford, by its sacred virtues, preserves the Highlander, until the next anniversary, from all those direful calamities proceeding from the agency of all infernal spirits, witchcraft, evil eyes, and the like. And the second course, consisting of the fumes of juniper, not only removes whatever diseases may affect the human frame at the time, but it likewise fortifies the constitution against their future attacks. These courses of medicine are administered in the following manner:—
Light and fire being kindled, and the necessary arrangements having been effected, the high priest of the ceremonies for the day, and his assistants, proceed with the hallowed water to the several beds in the house, and, by means of a large brush, sprinkles upon their occupants a profuse shower of the precious preservative, which, notwithstanding its salutary properties, they sometimes receive with jarring ingratitude.
The first course being thus served, the second is about to be administered, preliminary to which it is necessary to stuff all the crevices and windows in the house, even to the key-hole. This done, piles of juniper are kindled into a conflagration in the different apartments of the house. Rising in fantastic curls, the fumes of the blazing juniper spread along the roof, and gradually condense themselves into an opaque cloud, filling the apartment with an odoriferous fumigation altogether overpowering. Penetrating into the inmost recesses of the patient’s system, (for patients they may well be called,) it brings on an incessant shower of hiccupping, sneezing, wheezing, and coughing, highly demonstrative of its expectorating qualities. But it not unfrequently happens, that young and thoughtless urchins, not relishing such physic, and unmindful of the important benefits they reap from it, diversify the scene by cries of suffocation and the like, which never fail to call forth from the more reflecting part of the family, if able to speak, a very severe reproof. Well knowing, however, that the more intense the “smuchdan,” the more propitious are its effects, the high priest, with dripping eyes and distorted mouth, continues his operations, regardless of the feelings of his flock, until he considers the dose fully sufficient—upon which he opens the vent, and the other crevices, to admit the genial fluid, to recover the spirits of the exhausted patients. He then proceeds to gratify the horses, cattle, and other bestial stock in the town, with the same entertainment in their turn.[P]
Meanwhile, the gudewife gets up, venting the most latent embryo of disease in a copious expectoration; and clapping her hand upon the bottle dhu, she administers a renovating cordial to the sufferers around her. The painful ordeal is, therefore, soon forgotten, and nothing is heard but the salutations of the season. All the family now get up, to wash their besmeared faces and prepare themselves for the festivities of the day, and for receiving the visits of their neighbours. These last soon arrive in bodies, venting upon the family broadsides of salutation peculiar to the day.[Q] Breakfast being served up, consisting of all the luxuries that can be procured, those of the neighbours not engaged are invited to partake of it; and the day is terminated with balls, drinking, card parties, and other sports too tedious to be mentioned.