markable instance, certainly, of "extremes meeting in a pleasant way."

In the issues of the Celtic Monthly for February, March, and April, 1896, Mr. Duncan Livingstone, Ohio, U.S.A., contributed a series. of intensely interesting articles on the "Stewarts of Appin at Culloden," in which he gave a full account of the history of the ancient banner, as well as extracts from all available sources of the part played by the Stewarts on that fatal day. The following quotation from the concluding chapter regarding the saving of the bratach will doubtless interest our many readers of the royal clan:

"It would be inferred from the language used by both Logan and M'Ian, in their accounts of the incident, that as soon as Dugald Stewart, the standard-bearer, was shot down, Livingstone took up the flag and tore it from the staff; but such was not the case. Dugald Stewart was killed in the charge; after the Highlanders failed to break the second line, and the retreat began, some member of the clan took up the flag. The fire of the enemy was then directed against the colour bearer, and one after another was shot down, almost as fast as the colours would be taken up, until in all, seventeen were killed under it. Donald Livingstone then turned back, under fire, to where it lay, and snatching it up, carried it safely from the field. Though under full fire of the enemy during this time he escaped without a scratch. The banner itself indicates that it was cut, not torn, from the staff. The writer never heard the persons above referred to say anything about the banner being cut or torn from the staff. The impression conveyed to him by Mrs. Boyd, Mrs. Burke, and the others most familiar with the story, is that the flag was cumbersome, heavy and difficult to carry, and on that account incommoded the retreat of the bearer, and caused him to lag behind, thus exposing him to the fire of the enemy. It is probable that when Donald saw this, in order to facilitate his retreat, he cut it from the staff. When a council of war was held by the Prince and Chiefs, after the Battle of Culloden, and Charles came to the conclusion that he would no longer prosecute the war, but disband the army, the men of Appin then disbanded, and after the Highland fashion, started home separately, each man to shift for himself. Donald took the banner, and on his journey home to Appin came suddenly upon an English soldier, an officer, who was fishing in one of the numerous streams with which the country abounded. Supposing that he had fallen into an ambuscade, he started to run, when the officer called on him to halt, and at the same time, struck at him with the fishing-pole and line. The hook passed entirely through Donald's nose; he drew his dirk, cut the line, and when he and the officer parted, tradition says there was one less soldier in the army of King George. Donald was unable to get the hook out of his nose until he reached Appin, where it was

cut out.

The flag was by him taken home to Appin, and it is supposed that Ardsheal, before he escaped to France, left it for safe keeping with Alexander Stewart of Ballachulish, in whose family it has ever since remained."

ALLAN'S QUEST.

HEN the wind blows cold, and the last brown leaf has fallen on the sodden ground, dreary indeed is the Sreang of Lorn. The white mists drift across that lonely tract of moorland like shrouded spirits that cannot rest, and embrace every hill and crag in their wet caress, as they glide on their noiseless way.

It was at this dreary time of year that Rob MacCallum's wife died, and his mother came over from Achnacarron to keep his house and look after his motherless bairn. It was some time after the funeral that she came, for Rob's wife had her own folk with her at the end, and what more was wanted? Besides old Mairi had never any liking for the woman whom Rob had brought to his fireside. She had always grudged her her share of Rob's heart, for such is the way of some women.

The wind was driving a cold rain before it the day Mairi came. The leafless trees in Dalavich woods were black and glistening, and up on the moor little streams ran amongst the roots of the brown heather. The water dripped off the thatched roof of Rob's house, and lay in pools before the door. Within the house everything showed the want of a woman's hand. It was cold and comfortless. The fire had burned down, and the hearth was thick with peat ashes.

Outside in the rain a lonely bairn crouched at the side of the peat stack. His wet, tangled hair fell over his eyes, and the folds of his rough kilt lay damp and heavy on his little brown knees. From the friendly shelter of the stack he had watched Mairi and Rob go into the house, and the sight of the stern-looking old woman had filled him with fear. So this was the woman who was to fill his mother's place. His mother! A great lump rose in the little throat, but it was bravely swallowed, and the burning tears were brushed away with a rough, little sleeve. Then wet and cold were for the time forgotten as he thought of the nights when he used to sit at his mother's feet before the blazing logs, and listened to the wonderful stories of the wee folk who danced on the Fairy Knowe in the moonlight, and stories of angels with great white wings, who stood round the throne of God up in the blue sky. That was where good folk went when they died. His mother would be there. If she had only taken him with her. "Mother, mother," he whispered; and the tears so bravely kept back, now ran unheeded down his cheeks, and great choking sobs shook the little figure, as he leant against the cold peats. His childish heart was so empty; oh, so empty, as he sat there in the fast falling darkness, yearning to creep into the warm, loving arms that were now

so cold and stiff. By and by he saw the cruisie lit in the house.

Allan," called Rob from the open door; "Allan, where are ye? Yer granny wants tae see ye, and its wet ye must be out there. Come in."

The boy rose and rubbed away the tears with two dirty little fists. "I wonder if father will be frightened for her too," he thought, as he went slowly towards the house.

The days passed quickly, and Mairi was quite settled in the little house on the moor. The kitchen was tidied now, and the old, blue patterned bowls were brought out from odd corners and placed in a row on the shelf. The hearth was kept clean, and everything was comfortable and home-like.

"Mother," said Rob one day, "what ails that bairn He seems tae have lost his spirit, and it wasn't little he had of it either. Maybe he's frettin' owre his mother."

"It's no that," answered Mairi, "he'll no even speak aboot his mother. He's forgotten her long ere this. Bairns' griefs are easy cured. But I'll tell you this, Rob; that bairn has been far owre much made of, and the sooner that dourness is taken out of him the better, baith for him and ither folk."

Poor, wee lonely Allan! Mairi meant to be kind to him in her own way, but could not understand his gentle, sensitive nature; and when she frightened him into silence with her rough speech and ways, it was put down for "dourness." Rob thought she was maybe right; so little did he, too, understand the ways of bairns.

The days grew shorter, and the wandering mists gave way to frosts, which made the surrounding hills stand out sharply against the sky. Allan was sitting on the Fairy Knowe whittling at a stick with an old sgian dubh of his father's. Then he got tired of this uninteresting occupation, and threw the stick away. He looked round at everything sparkling with hoar frost, and thought how pretty it was. This was the place the wee folk came and danced. How he would like to see them, and listen to their fairy piping; and then he could ask them

A

sudden thought struck him, and sent the warm blood tingling through his veins. His breath came quicker, and new life seemed to have come to the child. He rose from the stone on which he had been sitting; but as he did so, he caught sight of some one toiling slowly up the road from Dalavich. Allan watched the figure for a minute or two, then he set off down the hill as quickly as he could.

Allan had recognised the figure of Ian dubh, a wandering body, who went from place to place doing odd jobs, and getting in return a share of

the brochan that was going and a night's lodging. Folk said he was daft, but perhaps he knew more than they gave him credit for. He was a curious, old figure. His faded tartan trews were fringed round his bare ankles, and his roughly-made brogues were patched in many places; but it was his coat which caught the eye of the stranger. It had once been green,

but time and weather had mellowed it into a soft, bronze colour. However, neither time nor weather could dim the glittering buttons, which were Ian's pride. They were of different patterns, but that did not matter. They were a collection of years; and the old man was never happier than when he was gently rubbing them and making them shine in the sunlight.

Ian caught sight of Allan coming down the hill, and sat down on a moss-covered stone to wait for him, for the bairn had always been a favourite of his.

"Take care bairn," called Ian, as the boy tore down the hillside. "Ye'll break ye're neck, and that'll no be sae easy mended."

Allan did not pause for a second till he reached the road where the old man was, and had clambered up on the rock beside him.

"Are ye comin' up tae the house," the boy asked breathlessly.

"No, Allan; no the day. I'm going owre tae Calum Campbell's at the back o' the hill."

This did not require an answer; and Allan leant his rough head against Ian's arm, and looked up to the sky.

A minute or two passed, then Ian asked"What were ye doin' up the hill there?" "I was thinkin'"

"Thinkin'" said Ian, glancing at the child's serious face. "And what were ye thinkin' aboot?"

Allan sat up, and said eagerly—" Ian, did ye ever see an angel?"

The old man turned and stared at the child as he answered-"No, Allan; what makes ye ask?"

"Because ye ken aboot the wee folk, and I thought ye would ken aboot angels too."

There was a pause, and Allan asked again"Do ye think they'll come tae the Fairy Knowe whiles?"

"I wadna wonder," said Ian, polishing one of his buttons with the sleeve of his coat; "but wha's been telling ye aboot them, bairn?"

"Mother," answered the boy softly. "Ye ken, Ian, when folk die, they turn into angels and fly aboot wi' big, white wings; and, Ian," he went on eagerly, "if I was to go up the Fairy Knowe some night, maybe I would see them, and maybe mother would be there; and surely she would take me back wi' her, away up tae the blue sky. What dae ye think, Ian?"

The child gazed at the man's wizened, old face and waited anxiously for a reply.

"I dinna ken, Allan; but I think ye would be better in your bed, instead of trailin' aboot lookin' for angels; and what would yer granny say if she caught ye oot at that time of night? Na, na, bairn; keep cosy in the house, and let them alane."

Allan was sorely disappointed. When he had seen Ian coming up the road, hope had risen high in his breast, and he was sure he would get all the information he wanted, because the old man had always endless tales of the doings of the fairies; and Allan was sure angels must be closely connected with them. They would know them anyway.

"It's time I was

At last Ian rose to go. gettin' on my way," he said, "and dinna you bother ye're head aboot angels, Allan. It's owre cauld for them tae come oot in this frosty weather."

Allan watched the old man till he was out of sight, then slid down from the stone.

"Maybe Ian's wrong," he thought, "any way I'll go and see;" and having made up his mind on this point, he turned and went up to the little house on the hill.

The moon was hidden by heavy, snow-laden clouds, and Loch Avich lay cold and black in the hollow. Snow was beginning to fall, and had already covered the hard ground. It was surely not a night for anyone to be out; yet, when mid-night drew near, a little figure came stealthily out of the cottage on the hill, and closed the door gently behind him. After listening for a minute, he put on the brogues he had carried out in his hand, and ran rapidly towards the Fairy Knowe. The piercing wind blew round him with its icy breath, driving the fine, powdery snow into every fold of his clothes, and into the thick, tangled curls of his hair; but on he went, slipping occassionally as the snow clung in lumps to the soles of his brogues, but never pausing to rest till he reached the top of the hill. They're no here yet," he said to himself as he looked round; "but it's maybe owre soon." He brushed the snow from his favourite stone, and sat down to wait a lonely, little creature in that great, white world of snow. The time passed, but he could see nothing but darkness and the white snow falling steadily; and he was so cold. Perhaps Ian was right after all. It would be too cold for angels

to be out, but he would wait for a little while yet. He was afraid to move lest he should frighten them away, so still he sat waitingwaiting. He did not feel so cold now, but he was so very sleepy. If he lay down and slept for a little, he surely would not miss them; because, if his mother was there, she would

know him, and would not go away without him. Presently he slipt off the stone, and lay down in the snow. How soft it was!" "I know mother will come," he thought dreamily; then with a smile on his lips his dark eyes closed, and Allan fell asleep.

When morning dawned the white, glistening snow lay thick everywhere. On the Fairy Knowe it covered a little figure peacefully sleeping; for in the night God in His great goodness had taken to Himself the lonely bairn, who had gone in such childlike faith to wait for the angels on the Fairy Knowe.

THE CLAN CAMERON GATHERING takes place in the Waterloo Rooms, on 21st December, Lochiel in the Chair. A very attractive programme has been arranged and a large attendance is expected. Mr. Cameron Swan is presenting each life member of the clan with an artistic membership certificate designed by the eminent etcher, Mr. D. Y. Cameron.

THE LEWIS AND HARRIS CONCERT was, as usual, a great success. The hall was crowded, and the chairman was supported by a large number of the most prominent Gaels of the city. The excellence of the musical talent was specially noticed.

ANTIQUARIAN NOTES ON THE

MACKAY COUNTRY.

THE PARISH OF REAY.

P

TOLEMY, the Greek geographer, who flourished about A. D. 120, gives, in his map of Scotland, the earliest authentic information as to the geographical divisions of the North. He shows that what is now known as Sutherland and Caithness was divided then into four parts, or rather that four different tribes occupied that country. The "Caerini " possessed what is now called Assynt; the "Lugi and Mertae" possessed what is now called South Sutherland; while the "Curnavi" occupied what is now called Caithness and the Mackay country. The whole tract, from John o' Groat's to Cape Wrath, embracing the County of Caithness and the Sutherland parishes of Farr, Tougue, Durness, and Eddrachillis, appears to have been then one geographical unit inhabited by the "Curnavi." Some centuries later the Pictish chronicle states that Pictish Scotland was divided into seven provinces, under the seven sons of the Pictish King Cruidne, and that the ruler of one of the provinces was Cait," who gave his name to his own territory. It is generally It is generally acknowledged that this province consisted of Sutherland (or, as it is called in Gaelic, Catobh) and Caithness. This at least is certain, that for some centuries before the Norse occupation, which began in the ninth century, Sutherland and Caithness was one geographical unit, under the name of Caithnessia. Even after the Norse occupation that fact was acknowledged by the Romish Church forming the whole district into one bishopric, and is still acknowledged ecclesiastically by the one Presbyterian Synod of Sutherland and Caithness. The Norsemen, during their rule in the North, which lasted about 300 years, knew Caithness and the Mackay country as Katanes, and South Sutherland as Sudrland, or South Land, when they had to

distinguish different parts of the same country. It is interesting to notice that, as the whole district from Cape Wrath to John o' Groat's is marked by Ptolemy "Curnavi," so the Norsemen 1000 years after describe the same district as being in the possession of one people, the Katanes. About the 13th century, or when the Clan system began to be historically developed, the name Caithness became restricted to its present limits South-Sutherland was called "Sudrland," and the Mackay country was known as "Strathnaver," or "Strathnaverne." It was only about the year 1630 that the district of Strathnaver, comprising the following parishes: part of Reay, Farr, Tongue, Durness, and Eddrachillis, was declared by the Crown to be a part of Sutherland, and under the jurisdiction of a free Sheriff. The old district of Strathnaver is still always known in the vernacular as "Duthaich Mhic-Aoidh" (land of Mackay), although English-speaking people now call it "Lord Reay's Country," or simply "The Reay Country." THE LORDS OF REAY.

66

It may be of some interest to consider how it came about that the Chief of the Mackays, the owner of the ancient Strathnaver, took his title from Reay, and thus gave rise to the name 'Reay Country, although a part only of the Parish of Reay was then within the bounds of Strathnaver proper, and none to-day owing to the recent division of parishes. The natural and obvious title for Donald, First Lord Reay, was Lord Strathnaver. Such a title would be in keeping with the designation of his ancestors, who for centuries were called "Mackay of Strathnaver." But this could not be, as the title was already taken. Earl Alexander of Sutherland, in the year 1583, through Court influence, got himself proclaimed Lord Strathnaver, although he had not then a foot of land within that territory. The Gordon Earls of Sutherland, backed up by the Gordons of Huntly, were for years straining every nerve to oust Mackay, and, unfortunately, they were only too successful at last. When in 1628 the king raised Sir Donald Mackay of Strathnaver to the dignity of Baron, he gave him by charter "The whole of the lands of Sandsyde, Rea, with the milns of the same; Davochow, Borlum, Milton, with the miln and milnlands, multurers, and sequels of the same; Isauld, Acharasker, Achamurlane, and Shurarie, &c.," all in the Caithness part of the Parish of Reay. Four years before, or in the year 1624, Sir Donald bought "the lands of Spittal, Mybster, &c.," in the Parish of Halkirk, Caithness, from his relative Lord Forbes, and had, besides, the Castle of Dirlot and appertaining lands in the same parish, which came into his family some centuries previously. It was this Caithness

connection, and the grant from the king of so much land in Reay, that led to Sir Donald being styled Lord Reay. The reader may well ask how it happens that the Lords of Reay, who once had such extensive territories in Sutherland and Caithness, are now landless in the North? The answer is the usual time-worn one-simply extravagance. Lord Donald incurred great expenses in raising 5000 men to help the Protestant King of Sweden, Gustavus Adolphus; and besides this, engaged in many ruinous lawsuits, which compelled him to sell much of his land. What Lord Donald began others continued, until, bit by bit, the whole Mackay country passed into the hands of strangers. However, although the land was sold the people are still there, and refuse to call it by any other name than "Duthaich Mhic-Aoidh." As the future is in God's hands, they may yet have a better reason to call it by that name.

BATTLE OF SANDSIDE CHASE.

His

Sandside, in the neighbourhood of Reay village, was the scene of a very fierce conflict, called "Ruaig Shandsaid" (Chase of Sandside), between the Mackays and the Caithnessmen, in the year 1437. The occasion of the fight was probably this:-In the year 1426 Angus Du Mackay, with a great following, engaged the Caithnessmen at Harpsdale Hill, and caused terrible slaughter. The Caithness nobles, supported by the Earl of Sutherland, complained to the King, who commanded Angus to appear at Inverness, and there made him deliver up his son, Neil, as an hostage to peace. Poor Neil was left a prisoner on the Bass Rock for ten long years. When, in 1437, he made his escape, it may be imagined his feelings towards the Caithnessmen were not very charitable. clansmen appear to have been of the same mind, and rallying round his banner to a man, cried as they gathered, "Dioladh, Dioladh" (vengeance, vengeance). They poured into Caithness by way of Reay, and there divided into two columnsone column marching by the sea as far as Forss, the other skirting the base of the hills as far as Harpsdale, and both plundering as they go. The party who went by the foot of the hills encountered no resistance, but those who marched along the seaboard met the Caithnessmen at Forss, and had to fall back fighting before superior numbers. By the time they retired to Sandside they were joined by their hill comrades, and then the real battle began. They managed to corner the Caithnessmen between them and the sea, and to inflict a most merciless mauling, driving the survivors in confusion as far as Doun-Reay Castle. Around the ancient burialplace of Cnoc Stanger, between Sandside and

the seashore, where the fight was fiercest, the bleached bones of the slain are still to be seen after a storm has blown the sand loose.

ALASTAIR BALLOCH'S REvenge.

It is to be hoped, in all conscience, that Neil Bhass Mackay, as he was wont to be called, planned no further revenge for his ten years' imprisonment on the Bass Rock, and that he was content henceforward to bury that hatchet. It was not so, however, with one of his followers, if tradition be trustworthy. Often have I been told this wild tale concerning "Ruaig Shandsaid" which I am now to relate. Alastair Balloch (Alexander the Speckled) of Skail, Strathnaver, a man of enormous strength and stature, towards the close of the fight, chanced to encounter a small, lithe Caithnessman of the name of Gunn, who was bravely fighting and falling back. After a few smart passes, Gunn, with deft swordsmanship, managed to hamstring big Sandy, and left him lying helplessly wounded. Sandy's rage and disgust at such an ignominious quietus knew no bounds. After carrying everything before him during four hours' close band to hand fighting, and bringing down man after man, now to be gravelled by an insignificant little fellow, was a sorer wound to Sandy's pride than the swordcut on his leg. As his companions bore him home to Skail he vowed, by all the saints in the calendar, that he must needs have his change out of the little Caithnessman before he could die happy. By time the wound healed, and Alastair Balloch set out limping towards the borders of Caithness, where he prowled for many a long day on the look out for the little Caithnessman. But he was doomed to disappointment-he never met Gunn. Rage now gave place to grief, or rather rage and grief so preyed upon his mind that he sickened, took to his bed, and nursed his trusty battle-axe between him and the wall. His soul loathed food; he even ceased to take any notice of visitors; his only apparent interest was in handling and feeling his old battle-axe. His friends, seeing the end was near, sent for the priest to prepare the dying man to meet his Maker. The priest came, and told Alastair that if he would be pardoned by God, he must himself forgive any against whom he forgive any against whom he may have a grudge

"Surely you don't expect me to forgive everybody," said Alastair.

"Oh yes; everybody," replied the priest. "Well I can't, and won't, forgive that little Caithnessman. Would to God I had met him!" "Well, well," replied the priest, "you will probably meet him yet, if he be a wild savage like yourself."

"Where?" cried Alastair, springing to his elbow, and grasping his battle-axe, while the old fire blazed forth once more in his eyes.