Since the day on which
the Rev. Robert Kirk, minister at Aberfoil, “went to his own herd,” in
1692, our knowledge of fairies has made no appreciable advance. When men
ceased to prosecute witches and burn them, the traditions of the past
were by mutual consent forgotten, and the prevalent type of Christianity
put curious prying into the unknown under a ban. So it happened that
during the latter half of the seventeenth, and the whole of the
eighteenth century Scotland, forgot its folk-lore. Old stories with a
spice of Paganism were deemed unsuited for grave and sober Presbyterian
households. Even the cherished traditions of the Roman Catholic church
were regarded as something more than harmless superstition, and treated
accordingly. In odd corners the older folk-lore stories remained. Men
could tell tales of battle where other heroes than the Great Twin
Brothers led the van, and record, with minute amplification of
circumstance, scenes of midnight carouse and revel, at which immortals
appeared and claimed the service and homage of those whose spirits were
congenial to the forgotten cult. Gradually the beliefs or superstitions
of Christianity displaced the ancestral spirits from their sylvan homes,
and substituted a kind of personal devil, clad in bull hide and smelling
evilly of brimstone, thus transforming beautiful legends and stories of
folk-lore of untold value into grotesque representations of a
Christianity little understood and rarely practised.
When science begun to
sift medieval and modern accretions from the ancient, little which was
of direct value was left; and only by infinite pains, and comparing
beliefs, customs, ceremonial acts and usages in widely separated
countries could a measure of certainty be arrived at, and this is
particularly the case in regard to the subject of this paper. Of
theories and writing we have enough and more than enough. Scattered
through the records of trials in court, enquiries before ecclesiastics,
theological dissertations on demonology, diaries and curious essays,
there is no lack of counsel; but any one who is acquainted with Kirk’s
essay on “Fairies, Elves, and Fauns,” and Martin’s “Description of the
Western Islands,” must feel that both ancient and modern theorists have
not much more to relate. That a great deal of good work has been done
since then every one knows, but this has been by way of wider research
in other fields, illustration and comparison of facts already recorded,
and a closer application of scientific methods to the elucidation of the
facts folk-lore has to teach. But this has not greatly added to our
direct knowledge of how our ancestors viewed the fairy world; that we
learn rather by inference than by fresh discovery within our own
borders.
In discussing the subject
of fairies we much approach it as antiquarians, folk-lorists, and
anthropologists; for beyond all doubt fairy cult is a complex thing, and
is based on material supplied by tradition going back thousands of
years: on the facts of nature and unexplained phenomena, as rappings,
loud noises, mysterious movement of bodies, lights and phantoms, and all
the complex powers of the unknown as these presented themselves to
primitive man as he looked out upon the world, and as they reshaped
themselves through ages upon ages of an evolution imperceptible in its
upward movement—here leaving an ancient belief behind forever, there
seizing on a new thought and clinging to it with the same tenacity with
which man clings to life itself.
In this paper I propose
to glance first at a few of the more common fairy beliefs and legends,
and then endeavour to trace their origin and how they are allied to
other phases of folk-lore and myth. And to revert to Robert Kirk. Before
he “went to his own herd,” he had no manner of doubt regarding the
actual physical existence of fairies, and with rare glimpses of the
scientific method, sets himself to explain the undoubted facts. His
evidence in this respect is of more value than Martin’s, who simply
records many Celtic beliefs and customs as a curious survival. Kirk’s
pamphlet does not appear to have been published till comparatively
recently, but Lord Reay saw it about the close of the seventeenth
century, and Scott had access to it at the time when he wrote the
letters to Lockhart. These, and a number of his poems and ballads, are
largely indebted to the minister of Aberfoil. When Kirk wrote, probably
about 1680, unseen beings abounded, castles were haunted, lakes and
rivers had their denizens, witches practised their evil arts, and kirk
sessions exercised their diligence in rooting out these public pests;
and to doubt the existence of fairies would have been to have exposed
his own orthodoxy to a severe strain. So his science must yield to
acknowledged facts.
His fairy bodies are
congealed air or essence. They have, or assume, the human form, but are
diminutive and most frequently invisible. They eat, but not our gross
material food, for only the finest spirituous essences serve to sustain
them. These they extract or suck out of ordinary substances, and neither
corn nor milk comes amiss to them. They have been known to impoverish
whole fields so that the meal made from the corn had no sustaining
power, nor would barley so affected make whisky. The little people can
work, and they have been heard striking with hammers as a smith at a
forge; but their only visible work is the elf arrow. They change their
place of residence quarterly, and where there is at one period of the
year high revel, with music and the dance, there is at another nothing
but the silence of the everlasting hills. As they migrate from place to
place they swim on air low down above the ground, and men, seers that
is, have often seen them travelling through space, and felt a rush as of
wings, with low musical notes which filled earth and air as they went.
Among fairies there are
orders, kings, more often queens, and commoners. The latter are divided
into various grades, chiefs, masters, servants, slaves. They attend at
all banquets, marriages, and funerals, and take part of the provision
made for those who attend, not in its gross material form—they simply
extract its essence and regale themselves on this ethereal fare. They
help to carry the body to the place of sepulture at funerals, and take
part in all the ceremonies connected therewith, except those of a
religious or Christian character. They go fishing on stream and tarn in
the guise of monks in cowl and hood. Men have fairies as their co-walker
or double, and these are never separate from their human second self. A
voracious eater does not require more food for his support than another
man, but an elf is his co-walker and must be daily fed. Our reverend
author prescribes no remedy for this form of possession, but there are
other fairy evils he knows how to cure. For example; when a cow calves,
if some of her dung is smeared on the calf’s mouth before it sucks, no
harm can come to the milk during the season. When a mother just begins
nursing her new born infant, a bible, iron, or a piece of bread placed
in her bed will prevent her being stolen by the fairies to nurse elf
children, a common occurrence in those old days at Aberfoil. Of all
substances the little people feared iron most; and that because hell
lies between the chill tempest and hot scalding metals, and no sooner
does a fairy smell iron than it fears and flies. Fairy clothing
resembles that of the country where they dwell. Its colour is always
green. At Aberfoil they wore kilts; in Ayrshire trews! They become old
and die, but not as we do ; for nothing ever perishes in fairyland.
Everything goes on in circles lesser or greater, but continuing for ever
and renewing all that revolves, every change being but a kind of
transmigration into new forms. Nor is the mystic land devoid of
literature ; but the books are so learned, involved, and abstruse, that
mortal man has never been able to unravel their contents.
The wraith, or death
messenger from elf-land may be insulted, and his vengeful rage knows no
bounds, only his wrath may be appeased by the death of an animal,
whether offered directly in sacrifice or not the record does not relate.
The coming of this elf land wraith seers can foretell. They have seen
him and have entered into combat with him. But he is impalpable and
invulnerable, for he may be cut through with a sword blade with no
resistance and no result; the blade simply passes as through the liquid
air. On the other hand he has wrestled with seers, and many a sore
combat has been waged on the heathery hill-side between those who could
see farther than their fellows, and the mysterious figures, half light,
half darkness, which met with them and maimed not a few of them for the
remainder of their days— which same may be a kind of Pagan paraphrase of
the well-known story Of Jacob by the Jabbock. The spirit-world messenger
inflicted his wounds with elf-arrows, and these left no visible mark
though the wound was mortal. The only hope of cure was to find the spot
where the arrow entered the body, and place one’s finger upon it. As men
were wounded to death by these fairyland weapons, so, too, were cows and
other domestic animals. After such wounds they pined and died with no
visible sign of injury.
Departed human souls
frequently dwell in fairy hills, and are identified with the fairy folk.
Numerous instances are related of their being seen and even recovered.
When our reverend historian “went to his own herd,” it was revealed to a
seer, after his supposed burial, that he was not dead, and that the
coffin contained nothing but leaves. On a certain night he was to
reappear, and f a relative, named to the seer, threw his dirk over him
he would remain; if not, vanish for ever to the land of mirth and song.
He did appear, but the man who alone could detain him among mortals got
so excited that he only threw the dirk as the minister vanished into
thin air. It was too late. He had gone to his own land, and was seen no
more. He still, doubtless, visits the scenes of his mortal life on
winter nights when the moon is full.
The vanished world of
those days could not get along without its seers. Men became soothsayers
by training. An essential part of the rites of initiation was, that the
novice should make himself a girdle from a horse hair tether which had
been used in binding a dead body to a bier. With this girdle about his
loins he must stoop downward and look backwards between his legs till he
saw a funeral approach and cross two marches between lands or farms.
Another method of watching an approaching funeral was through a hole in
a board where a wood knot had fallen out. Having attained to second
sight, the seer could tell the future by looking through the
shoulder-blade of a sheep, and this was a sure method of detecting any
misdemeanours in the owner’s household. A man who doubted his wife’s
fidelity, had but to present a shoulder of mutton to the seer, and the
facts were revealed.
But the erratic movements
of wives were not always the result of fancy for a handsome man. Fairies
stole them, and only a seer could restore the abducted spouse to her
sorrowing lord ; and our author puts one well-authenticated case on
record of a wife being stolen, and a fairy woman substituted in her
place. The elf-wife died and was buried. After a suitable period the
widower consoled himself with a “fair and comely maiden” as his second
wife. At the end of two years the original wife was restored, but
whether she proved a kind of Enoch Arden the history does not relate.
The author, however, adds that “there is an art, not superstition, for
recovering the stolen.” It is a pity he did not deem it worth while to
put the art on record, only being well known and authenticated, this was
unnecessary in his day, and it is to be feared it has been lost. He does
tell us a number of marvellous facts, of which the following is
one:—Lord Tarbat met a seer in the west of Ross-shire. He was working in
a field, and Tarbat having observed him looking intently towards a hill
above the place where he was working, asked him if he saw anything. He
replied that he saw a troop of soldiers leading their horses down the
hill, and turning them loose to graze in a field of barley. This was on
the 4th of May. In August of that same year, a party of soldiers under
Colonel Middleton led their horses down the hill in question, and turned
them loose to graze in the very field where the seer was sowing his
barley in the previous May when-he saw them.
This brief summary of the
contents of Mr Kirk’s pamphlet gives pretty well the substance of what
was known of fairies two centuries ago, and all the stories gathered
since then, may be regarded as a mere amplification and fuller
illustration of what was well-known and universally believed .about the
time of the Reformation.
In “Waifs and Strays of
Celtic Tradition” we have a number of familiar stories of work done by
fairies—their tireless energy, the spells they laid upon people, how
inanimate objects did their bidding, and how men outwitted them. The
same is found in the pages of Kennedy’s book regarding Irish fairies. As
we advance we see a kind of Christianised Paganism opposing itself to
the forces of demonology, and in accordance with the trend of the
prevalent theology prevailing. For example :—A diligent housewife is
busily engaged preparing yam for cloth. She is both careful and worldly.
Sleep has departed from her eyes, and as «he spins after the witching
hour has struck, she keeps wishing she had some one to help her in her
labours. Obedient to her wish a fairy enters and begins to spin, another
comes and takes to carding the wool, then another and another, till they
convert the house into a workshop, and the whirr of labour is heard
afar. The husband sleeps and snores, nor is his rest disturbed by the
busy scene. The wife provides refreshment for her guests, and they
devour all she can give them—they are more materialistic than Kirk’s.
She now wished to be rid of them but could not, so she hurried to a wise
man. The seer told her that her husband was under a spell, and that she
must return to the house, and before she enters shout three
times—“Burghill is on fire;” and when the fairies rushed out to see if
their house was destroyed she must enter and disarrange everything in
the house. This she did, and when the fairies returned one called out “
Spinning wheel open the door.” “I cannot, my band is off.” And so all
the other articles, wool cards, water pails, chairs, and tables.
Fairy visits did not
always end thus. The miller of Alva had his wife spirited away, and had
infinite labour before recovering her; while the smith of Tullibody saw
his never no more. Working a bar of iron he heard the abductors sing as
they flew up the chimney—
“Deedle Linkum Doddie,
We’ve gotten drunken Davie’s wife,
The smith of Tullibody.”
The theft of children was
more frequent than the abduction of wives, and when a child was taken an
elfin was substituted ; but they do not appear to have succeeded in
grafting our heavier mortality on to their own aerial bodies. Even
thefts were not always on one side, for a man rushing in upon a fairy
festival and carrying off their drinking goblet could keep it as an
heirloom and cornucopia for all time, if he only succeeded in crossing a
running stream before being overtaken by the revellers whom he
despoiled, a fact immortalised by the famous riding exploit of Tam o’
Shanter and his grey mare. One such fairy goblet is preserved at
Edenhall, in Cumberland. This was secured by one of the ancient family
of Musgrove, and while it is preserved prosperity attends their house;
but
“If this glass do break or
fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall.”
A more useful motto than
the rhyme of the Clydesdale ploughboys of a past generation, who
believed if they but sang as they turned at the end of the rig,
“Fairy, fairy, bake me a
baunock and roast me a collop,
And I'll gie ye a sportle aff my gad end,”
that at the fourth round
these desirable delicacies should be there waiting for them.
The fairies were on the
whole a good-natured sportive folk, but touchy on matters of names, and
revengeful of insults and injuries. They differed from brownies or
domestic spirit drudges. The latter were given to eavesdropping and
tale-bearing, and frequently accused others when they were themselves
the culprits. One who did drudgery for a very close-fisted Galloway
matron,, who gave her servants but poor fare and little of it, is a
typical example. Two servant girls stole a bowl of milk and a bannock.
In order to make a fair
division of the spoil, they sat on a bench and took alternate mouthfuls
of the bread and milk. Presently the one accused the other of taking
more than her fair share, aud was answered by a similar charge. Suddenly
they were startled by a “Ha, ha! Brownie has’t; Brownie tells.” These
domestic spirits and fairies blend together in many of our folk-lore
stories. For example:—A steward during the winter months steals small
quantities of his master’s grain. In spring he has enough to sow a field
for himself, which he does ; but when the corn is fully ripe, the
fairies from a neighbouring Shi pull up every stalk, thrash it clean,
and deposit the grain in the bam of the man from whom the seed was
stolen. This is doubtless Brownie’s work though attributed to fairies.
It has besides a modem flavour, and leaves an uncomfortable impression
of copy-book head-lines and adaptations, by some shrewd ecclesiastic in
the days when fairies were still real beings, and scientists had not
learned to call “brimstone” by its more modem name.
But our fairy cult as a
whole represents them as a free, rollicking, social pagan society—music
and the dance, midnight rides and wanderings, elvish pranks and light
laughter covers the canvas, and any departure from this cau only be
regarded as the growing spirit of austerity in the religious opinions of
the people, and that this gave a gloomy bias to certain traditions and a
moral or rather theological trend to others. This is borne out by the
well-known fact that modem English fairies are more sportive than their
Scotch cousins. Naturally the fairy legends tend all over Europe to
merge into the common doctrines of demonology, and this is the more
natural as the same process goes on among savage men, with every advance
of thought, as we shall see. The green patches called “the guidman’s
croft,” which our ancestors never disturbed with spade or ploughshare,
were, though not expressly avowed within historic times, sacred to
spirits, fairies, or pagan gods, and so passed over as by right of
inheritance to the more modern devil. This is all the more certain, as
beneficent gods were favourable to agriculture the world over, and the
fairy knowe and guid man’s croft were left untilled, first from
reverence ; then through fear of malign influences. Again, the Ourisk or
domestic spirit resembles Pan, and is something between a goat and a
man; hence a goat’s head being mode representative of the devil. One of
these Ourisks becomes troublesome to a miller down Lochlomond way. On
being caught red-handed and challenged, it gives its name as “Myself.”
Here we have the “Outis” of the Odyssey, transferred from the shores of
the Mediterranean to the banks of Lochlomond by a process of oral
tradition which has gone on, the world over, since first men dispersed
themselves and carried with them to their new abodes the little stock in
trade with which the race emerged from its cradle.
The working machinery of
tradition the world over is a dwarf race and their doings. A people
untamed and untamable, impalpable and invulnerable, and these we find in
England as in Scotland; dwelling in green glades in Dorset, in caves in
Shetland ; frequenting ancient ruins in the Highlands; *hid in the
depths of the forest in Germany; wandering on the mountain tops in East
Central Africa ; and making their home with the Bengal tiger on the
plains of India. They keep the Breton peasant in a state of perpetual
fear, and their favour must be bought in New Caledonia. Clearly we must
look for some explanation which will account for world-wide facts like
these elsewhere than among the Scottish “Pechts,” worthy burrowers as
they must have been.
The Celtic peoples of
Europe being essentially an imaginative race, ascribe to their sylvan
pigmies social and convivial qualities of which we hear nothing among
peoples of different origin But this is nothing more than a detail
resulting from special characteristics, both national and individual,
and these social qualities freely ascribed by tradition to its heroes
easily pass into an organised fairy society, corresponding to what
existed during the oldest memories of the race preserving the
traditions. Kings, queens, courts, courtiers, splendid halls, feasts,
brilliant surroundings, loyalty, love, revenge—these are the necessary
trappings in which the Celtic imagination clothes its puppets. These are
the things most loved and sought after by any typical Celt. It is only
when a seer—a seer of Christian times, be it observed—has a vision of
elfland, that its glory turns to dust and ashes, and its banquets to
tasteless and saltless insipidity. Then fairy bodies shrink into the
shrivelled decrepitude of old age, and intercourse with them is
converted into a social crime and deadly sin.
Nor could the Celtic
imagination be otherwise, for the Celt himself is a curious bundle of
contradictions. The man who in the early morning would commit the most
cold-blooded murder to save his chief the trouble or danger of slaying
an enemy later in the day, would spend the evening composing love
ditties with no sense of incongruity. The chief himself, impoverished
beyond the hope of solvency, assumes the airs of a man able to dispense
princely hospitality without the slightest inconvenience or financial
difficulty, and every clansman speaks of his chief as regal in dignity
and princely in fortune, even should he have suffered the deepest
indignities at his hands but a day before. Passion and poetry, love and
revenge, cruelty and pathos, individual independence and absolute
loyalty to the chief or the cause, blend together in the Celtic
character with no sense of incongruity left, and the Celt is the same to
day, or the breed and blood is the same, as when Somerled roved the
Western seas, giving short shrift and a long halter, to any unfortunate
wight who raised unnecessary scruples about adopting the clan name and
wearing the heather badge.
Sleeping on a dun-Shi
exposed one to the danger of being transported to fairyland, leaving no
trace of the unhappy wight’s whereabouts except his bonnet placed on the
top of some church steeple as he sped his aerial flight. But the journey
was not always through the limped blue, for Jane Thomas travelled to
elfland mounted on the “lady’s own milk white steed,” and left the north
wind behind. It was not so long after the Rhymer made his famous
pilgrimage to the farthest confines of elfland that a new bias was given
to the graphic stories of a long-forgotten past. We find the Earl of
Orrery sending his valet or butler to buy playing cards, which were now
veritable “devil’s books.” While on his errand he was invited to join a
fairy revel. This he refused to do, and hurried home; but he was almost
carried away bodily, though Lord Orrery and two bishops held him
down—rather a poor certificate to the power of book, bell, and candle.
It was possible to hold
converse with fairy-land without journeying thither and taking up one’s
abode there. Bessie Dunlop met Thomas Reid, who was killed at Pinkie,
and had long conferences with him. He stood by her and showed her fairy
horsemen when others saw nothing. Through him she became familiar with
all the mysteries of the unseen world, and at her trial gloried in her
knowledge and power. Poor Bessie, whether lunatic or driven mad by
torture we do not know, for all the record we have of her is a note
scrawled on the margin of the trial record—“Convict and burnt.” Alison
Pearson was another who had her familiars from fairy-land. One William
Simpson, a cousin, who was “taken away by a man of Egypt,* came to her
clad in green, and told her what men may not know nor maidens dreari. He
always left abruptly when adjured in God’s name, which is another copy
book headline if you please. Alison affected to cure diseases by elfine
arts, and Patrick Adamson, Bishop of St Andrews, who suffered from some
intractable malady, submitted to her cures. The old pagan was promptly
“libelled” by his peers. Besides effecting cures she delivered oracles.
She met Lethington and Buccleuch in fairyland, and we can only hope that
these turbulent spirits had a less stormy existence among the green
knowes and the elves who dwell there, than they had as courtiers and
rebels by turns. Alison’s fairy friends stole infants because they had
to pay a yearly tribute to Tartarus, and mortal infants stolen helped to
make up the tale. For her tamperi-ig with green men and dead politicians
Alison Pearson followed Bessie Dunlop, and went to her own herd in lurid
flames ; and men looked, and as they saw the smoke ascending, blessed
God who had given power to holy men to root out evil-doers.
Setting the legend of
“True Thomas” aside, which is simply a Scotch version of Numa and Egeria,
we have, in the statements of those who professed to hold converse with
the unseen world, the imagination run riot after a confession had been
wrung from them by torture. Once that was made, all subsequent
statements were simply the grouping together and localising of all the
folk-lore stories they knew. One can understand a woman with a distinct
individuality tortured into a confession, and knowing she had neither
love nor pity to expect, simply glorying in scandalising her legal and
clerical examiners by each enormity she confessed. At this distance of
time we cannot reduce to their original form the stories they adapted;
but certain it is that, after examination by torture, they personified
the heroes of ancient story, and even this throws us back a step, and
brings us nearer to the real fairyland we are in search of.
The Welsh Nicneven is but
a hag, a bad reproduction of the Greek Hecate, and has little in common
with the jolly and convivial Mab. The Morayshire trials do not add much
to what we learn from the two already referred to. But they all point
back to a time when woodland deities abounded, and when these passed
into elves, fauns, and fairies. They are sportive or malevolent,
according as the ideas of the Reformation or the pagan Renaissance were
pushed and almost forced upon the people. The old beliefs, deities,
superstitions, and traditions must be adapted or disposed of as the case
may be. A death by summary violence they refused to accept ; but being
violently driven out, and the tolerant indulgence of the older religion
and science being no longer possible, the gods retired to fairyland.
They continued to revisit mortals as guardian spirits, and in this form
the Church found some use for them. A Banshi gave Macleod of Dun-vegan a
fairy banner. It has already been in two battles, and each time was
borne to victory. When it is next carried to the field of combat,
Macleod will be carried away to fairyland, nevermore to revisit Dunvegan
with its scenes of song and story.
The guardian fairy
appears most frequently in Irish legend, and the minuteness of detail
regarding time, place, and circumstance, leaves no doubt as to the Irish
Celts being animal worshippers. Myth is never so graphic as when it
weaves actual facts into its narrative; and the creditable way in which
Irish domestic animals acquit themselves, reminds one of the Hottentot
wolf which appeared at places a hundred miles apart in a single night.
For example, a talented Irish bard satirised mice that troubled him, and
at the same time lampooned domestic cats for allowing such vermin to put
their noses into an egg he was eating. He was at Cruachan, in Connaught,
at the time. The King of the Cats was at Knowth on the Boyne. No sooner
did the senachan finish his rhymes than his feline majesty took the road
under a vow to eat nothing till he had chastised the poet. Arrived at
Cruachan, he seized the offender, carried him off, and swept across the
Shannon with him, and would doubtless have borne him to Knowth, to be
solemnly tried by a jury of cats, but St Kiaran, who was working a bar
of hot iron, seeing a baptised person being carried away, shot the bolt
at the abductor. It pierced the cat’s body just one inch behind the man.
He was saved, and the saint’s labour rewarded. In this narrative the
resolve to eat nothing, the timely appearance of the saint, and the fell
design of the cat being frustrated because the poet was baptised,
reminds us too forcibly of that band of Jewish enthusiasts who vowed
neither to eat nor drink till they had killed Paul. The ancient belief
in the supernatural powers of animals is used as a foil to the saint’s
intuitive knowledge regarding baptised persons, and his power against
all malign influences, the virtue of iron as a talisman being brought in
us an incidental circumstance.
Nor is this the only
manner in which the priest appears in those fairy legends. The minister
of Aberfoil did not record the method of recovering the stolen, but his
Irish confrere gives us a means of knowing whether we have changelings
in our cradles. One of these elfin imps was found to be always fretful
and wailing. It ate what was given it, but never seemed to be satisfied
or thrive. Doubts having arisen as to its being a fairy, it was arranged
to have it baptised, and for that purpose it was, on the way to the
priest’s residence, carried across a stream. When crossing, the imp
wriggled out of its wrappings, freed itself from the nurse’s arms, and
plunged into the water with a “ Ha! ha! ha ! ” of derisive laughter.
Reference has been made
to the more sportive tendencies of English fairies as compared to the
Scotch. The Irish have their own peculiar characteristics, and of these
one is a strong tendency to faction fights. The man who at Ballinasloe
fair asked the time of day, and then said, “Eleven O’clock, be jabers,
and the divil a foight yet! ” was no keener for a riot than are some of
these sylvan pigmies. Their hostile meetings were near streams, and a
rushing noise as of wing-flapping was heard by seers on either side.
This rushing noise moved and swayed from side to side, as do men when
settling a disputed matter at a fair. As the noise went to this side or
that, faint silvery bugling was heard as if to rally the combatants. The
notes were strange and weird, differing from all human music, and
impossible to reproduce on any known instrument. Their light bodies were
heard falling into the water with a noise resembling that made by an
angler’s fly when fishing. After such falling noises shouts of victory
could be heard filling the air, not as our harsh notes make the hills
reverberate, but as a kind of low, wafting sound, as if the air itself
moved and became audible, and so fell upon the senses like an enclosing
medium.
A prominent feature of
Irish fairy lore is the Ban-Shi, or Guardian Spirit. She appeared to
persons of pure Milesian origin, in whose veins there was not a trace of
Norman blood, and announced to them certain future events. When an
approaching death was to be made known, she appeared in mourning, and
evinced all the outward signs of bereavement and sorrow. Closely allied
to this guardian spirit is the fairy love. Respectable Presbyterians
have had their fairy loves, to the no small scandal of their wives. The
case of Fion’s daughter is well known. She, according to high courtly
etiquette, was, on being betrothed, given in charge to a trusted
guardian—this is a common custom among Africans at this day, and to the
guardian the bridegroom is responsible. The guardian consigns her to the
care of another for added security, and he to the bridegroom. The
bridegroom had a fairy love. She bullied and upbraided him ; told him
false stories about the bride, but all to no purpose, for he loved the
King’s daughter. The fairy then turned her into a hound, and a hound she
remained. The husband stormed and raged ; the wife whined piteously, but
all to no purpose. The fairy was obdurate till the husband came under a
dreadful vow to renounce his wife for ever. Then she was restored to
womanhood, while the husband vanished into elf-land, and still holds
courtly revel when the moon is at the full.
These general statements
and examples, which might be indefinitely multiplied, illustrate with
tolerable accuracy the fairy belief as it has come down to us in our own
land. The whole field of fairy cult is too wide to be touched upon in a
brief paper, and that just because we find similar traditions among
peoples differing from each other in race, language, religion,
institutions, customs, habits, and usages. And the question forces
itself upon us, Whence these legends so universal and persistent? Have
they a common origin, and if so, can we trace it back to a once
universal cult? or is it simply the result of a peculiar tendency of the
human mind? Do legends, as we possess them, represent the faded memory
of a lost race, or are they the dying flickers of a world religion? And
do the variations in details simply point to modifications and
adaptations, or do they mark radical differences ? Are the traditions
and accretions of Brahminism, Buddhism, Mohametanism, and Christianity,
as these are modified by race,, locality, and social institutions, part
of this once common cult?
These questions have been
variously answered, and men have not even now arrived at a universally
accepted solution. Only as. the sciences of antiquarian research,
ethnology, and anthropology eliminate the modem from the ancient and
pre-historic, can we hope to attain to definite results. If we look only
at the fairies of our own land and their German cousins, we find Mr
Macritchie and others arguing them into a race of dwarf inhabitants,
whose memory has been obliterated by time, as they themselves were
exterminated by the conquerors, and that they made their last retreat in
underground dwellings, which still exist to prove beyond dispute the
soundness of this conclusion. In order to identify the semi-mythical
Fions with the fairies, he is driven to the necessity of converting the
former into a race of dwarfs, and that on the sole ground that the
exploits of certain dwarfs of that famous race are preserved by
tradition. He reminds ns too that the knight-errants of old had each a
dwarf attendant, a statement fatal to the theory of a war of
extermination on the part of the conquerors. Sons of fairywomen take
service with the Fions, a somewhat unnecessary illustration if the Fions
were themselves the fairies!
A bishop of Orkney
appears to support the extermination theory, and gives names and places.
One Haarfayr, a ninth century worthy, obliterates all trace of a whole
people, and we are invited to believe that since then all memory of them
has perished, and that we find neither waif nor stray to give evidence
of their existence except the people clad in green. To the worthy
churchman the Peti were an exceedingly small people. They worked with
incredible energy at city building during the morning and evening, but
were in daylight devoid of all strength and energy, and reared to their
underground dwellings during the day. One asks with amazement why these
dwarfs should work with incredible energy at city building if their
homes were underground burrows? and whether the zeal for building was
inspired by the church? The bishop, it is clear, does not advance our
knowledge. Indeed, all ancient history lies under the suspicion of
adaptation, and the sins of ecclesiastical history are more aggravated
than those of secular narrative.
But any facts are useful
to support a theory, and the realists, or euhemerists, as they like to
be styled, find, in the loss of strength during the day and alleged
defective vision in sunlight by the good bishop’s dwarfs, a sound reason
for the identification of Fions and fairies. There is another line of
argument—that based on root words and vocables. The name for an
underground dwelling, in a language which could not be that of the
original inhabitants, but that of the conquerors, affords strong
presumption that they lived underground ; that they were dirty in their
habits; that their dens reeked of filth; and that they themselves were
but a modified kind of skunk as they emerged into the light of day, so
evilly did they smell.
It does not fall within
the scope of this paper to take account of underground human dwellings.
War and conquest, possibly partial extermination, may have given colour
to many fairy legends. It may be pointed out that certain south-east
African tribes live habitually underground in earth excavations. These
are not their only dwellings, and are used for security or concealment,
or both. The slight basket hut, with its straw roof, is a poor citadel
to defend. It is easily fired by an enemy, and then the inmates can be
speared at leisure as they emerge from the burning dwelling. The
underground burrow cannot be so easily destroyed, even if it is
discovered, no easy matter as a rule, and this is especially the case at
night. So the native in time of profound peace occupies the more airy
and healthy hut. In times of war or danger he lives in his hut by day,
but retires to his underground chamber at night. And any one seeing and
entering a sentry cell in Angoui land ceases to wonder at the small size
of many similar chambers found in underground dwellings in Scotland. A
man crouching with, his chin between his knees does not need a high
vaulted roof. Our own earth houses, doubtless, served a similar purpose
in the wild and lawless days of old, when clan feuds were rife and fire
the most effectual weapon in rooting out a troublesome sept. The
ordinary houses were wattle; the strongholds burrows. That fire was a
ready means of warfare within historic times we know, and the name of at
least one Highland parish is evidence of the fact.
The fairy cult is
world-wide, and to account for it we must travel farther afield than
Highland Brochs, Fion Kings, and Gaelic particles, and go back to a time
when man looked upon nature as the true divinity, and worshipped her in
the person of his chief, and then in sylvan deities who for him were the
personification of the powers of nature. To gain a clear understanding
of such worship our appeal must not be to Highland fairies, their
English cousins and German kinsfolk, where primitive beliefs have been
compelled into the service of the varying phases of the historical
religions professed from century to century, and made and re-made to
suit the predominant bias. Our appeal must be, in the first instance, to
people who have remained practically 'unchanged through millenniums, and
who to-day perform the same acts of worship, and revere the same deities
which inspired the world with awe in days when the remote ancestors of
the Chaldean astrologers gazed upon the stars and read the fate of
nations and individuals indifferently, as written in the heavens, or in
the spots found on the entrails of a decapitated cock.
Among such peoples we do
not expect to find a fairy tradition, for the fairies themselves are
there. Our popular tales are being daily enacted. Spirits live and move
and regulate the course of nature. They are beneficent or revengeful;
sportive or cruel, as they are treated. They know pride, anger,
jealousy, and revenge. They demand victims and abduct persons. They take
an active interest in the affairs of men, and insinuate themselves into
the most profound secrets. They feast on the essence of food, especially
that offered in sacrifice. Their bodies are aerial and impalpable, and
they have been known to raise the dead. These they carry away to spirit
land with their ghost bodies; and some of them have been seen after the
manner of the minister of Aberfoil, who appeared once, after he went to
his own herd.
Let us now illustrate
these general statements. The priest of primitive man was lord of the
world at will, and regulated the powers of nature for the benefit of his
people. He was spoken of as king, and his sphere of action as a kingdom,
and, so far as we know, all early kings performed priestly functions.
With the growth of thought, the offices were separated, and the
priesthood remained the sacred order who had 'to do with all
supernatural phenomena.
”The divine right of
kings appeared at a later period of the world’s history, and after men
had ceased to fear the supernatural power of the priest. The savage man
of to-day, like his savage forefather, does not distinguish accurately
between the natural and supernatural. To him the whole world is
regulated by supernatural agents, that is, by persons who act on
impulses like his own ; and these agents can be influenced by appeals
made to them. This speedily leads to the idea of a man god, and passes
in process of time into ancestor worship. These stages of progress we
can trace among existing races. Sacred men worshipped here, retire unto
the unknown by natural death or violence—more frequently the latter—when
the spirit of the departed king is supposed to enter his successor, and
still continue to take an interest in human affairs. A weak king
professes to have seen his predecessor and received oracles from him,
and the spot becomes a shrine. At these sacred places spirits reveal the
future to seers, and popular imagination makes the shrine the home of
the ancestors ; a kind of dwelling place for deity. The deities of
primitive man, in other words the priests, could control nature at will,
and this power every savage man has less or more. A Fiji Islander, who
fears to be belated, ties the tops of a handful of reeds together, and
this delays the going down of the sun. An Indian of Yucatan pulls out a
few of his eyelashes, and throw’s them sunward for a like purpose. By
placing a handful of grass on the path and a stone over it, the African
both retards the sunset and causes his friends at home to keep the
evening meal waiting his arrival. Conversely the setting of the sun can
be hastened when that is desired, as in a doubtful engagement. By
similar processes wind and rain, heat and cold, can be controlled, all
of which goes to show that savage man fails to recognise those
limitations to his own powers which are so obvious to us. But with the
advance of thought, and the evolution of a sacred caste, we find methods
of attaining to inspiration and power which bring us nearer our friends
the fairies. In the temple of Apollo at Argos, a lamb was slain once a
month. The prophetess tasted the blood, and then divined, being
god-inspired. In Achaia the earth priestess drank from the blood of a
bull, just slain, before descending into the cave of prophecy. In
Southern India the devil dancer drinks the blood of a slain goat,
putting his month to its throat, and is then inspired. He snorts, he
stares, he dances and gyrates. The demon takes complete possession of
him, and he is then worshipped as a present deity. All this brings us
nearer to Kirk’s account of fairy food as being the essence or life- m
giving properties of our common fare.
Nor is this till. In the
religious history of the Aryan races tree worship was one of the most
potent factors of national and domestic life, and supposes the forest
glades were the first sanctuaries of the human race. This we can easily
understand ; for even at the dawn of our own era the larger portion of
Europe consisted of dense forests, and what clearings were made must
have appeared as islets intau ocean of green. Need we wonder that fairy
folk ever dress in the universal nature colour. The Lithuanians, who
were not converted to Christianity till the fourteenth century, were at
that date tree worshippers, and begged St Jerome not to cut down their
sacred groves. A form of worship so common and so widespread must have
had some basis in which it rested—a philosophy such as satisfied the
instincts of millions, and that philosophy came down from savage man. To
him all nature is animate. The spirit of reproduction dwells in trees,
in com, and grass. Spirits of men do not difter essentially from these,
for here, too, reproduction is the great factor of existence, and as the
spirit of the decayed vegetation lives through the winter and
re-animates the world in spring, so human spirits retire to the unknown
depths of the forest, but not to perish. They live and re-appear.
Siamese monks believe trees have souls, and that to lop off a branch is
equivalent to severing a man’s hand from his body. These monks are, of
course, Buddhists; but the Animism of Buddhism is not a philosophic
theory evolved by itself. It is simply a common savage dogma
incorporated into the system of an historical religion. Buddhism simply
borrowed it from pagan savagery. And pagan savagery treats a clove tree
in blossom as it does a pregnant woman. No noise must be made near it,
and no light carried past it; whoever approaches it must uncover his
head. In the Philippine Islands the souls of the ancestors inhabit
well-known trees. In Kabongo the reigning monarch has a safe keeping
place for his soul in a grove. In Assam, when a child is lost, it has
been stolen by the spirits of the wood. In Sumatra, when a native fells
a tree he plants a young one in its place, and hangs some betal root
upon it. This is the new home offered to the spirit that dwelt in the
tree that has been cut down, and who otherwise might be homeless.
In these beliefs and
customs the tree itself is animate under the earlier forms of religious
thought. Then an important advance is made, and the tree becomes the
abode of a spirit, which can leave it and take up its home elsewhere.
These spirits dwelling in trees gradually resolve themselves into
departed souls, giving us the material on which the whole system of
ancestor worship is founded. It explains why the old Prussians believed
gods inhabited high oak trees, and why the Lithuanians begged St Jerome
not to cut down their sacred groves, as from the spirits dwelling there
they had obtained sunshine and rain, summer heat and winter snows. It
throws light on the well known dogma that tree spirits make horses
multiply and bless women with offspring.
At Gilgit there is an
annual custom at wheat-sowing, of which % the following are the
essential facts :—Branches of the sacred cedar are brought from the
mountain forest. After various ceremonies each villager goes home with a
few sprigs of the cedar, but to find the door of his house shut in his
face. The wife asks from within, “What do you bring,” to which he
replies, “Children if you wish them; food if you require it; cattle;
whatever you want;” she then opens the door and says, “Son of the
fairies, you have come from far,” and sprinkles him all over with flour.
Among civilized peoples tree festivals are continued in May-day and
midsummer customs. Men’s opinions change; their philosophy develops;
religious revolutions come suddenly or slowly; but customs and
ceremonial acts remain, and the old order weaves itself into myth and
legend, and myth is always most graphic when it describes what actually
took place and colours it in the imaginations of many centuries.
Our brief survey of tree
spirits leads us to this:—The tree spirit passes into a person. This
person is king of the wood ; under his influence vegetation revives,
rain falls, domestic animals increase, and people multiply. Festivals
are held in honour of this sylvan deity, who presently emerges into the
doctrine of souls and ancestral worship. Man at this stage has travelled
a long way on that upward ladder of progress which the race has followed
from its cradle.
The soul of primitive man
was exposed to various forms of danger, and against these precautions
were taken. A safe keeping-place for his soul was an essential to a
ruler. The soul was an exact reproduction of the body in miniature. It
was invisible except to seers. During sleep or a swoon it was absent
from the body, and its return might be prevented by an enemy who was a
magician, or through the person being removed from the place where the
soul left him. Then if a man saw his own reflection in a dark pool or
reflecting surface his soul might be snatched away and lost; so men,
kings more particularly, were surrounded with taboos to secure their
safety. Nor did this always suffice, for many rulers selected secure
keeping-places for their souls at a distance from their residence, as a
sacred grove, a spring, or an inaccessible pinnacle of rock. These
places the imagination peoples with spirits, the souls of the living and
the dead, for what more natural when a man died than that his soul
should continue to reside where he had placed it. It knew the locality,
and took an interest in it while its owner lived. And if it remained
there it's interest would continue unabated, and would influence the
course of events as when the king lived. It entered his successor it is
true, but duality of existence presents no difficulties to savage
philosophy. But there were frequently rival chieftains, and so a rivalry
among souls would naturally follow, and this suggests two things—First,
the frequent trials of strength among the gods of mythology, and the
doctrine of beneficent and evil spirits. To follow this further is
foreign to our present purpose.
While the country was
largely forest-clad, woodland deities ruled supreme, and could hardly be
said to divide their power with water spirits, which figure in all
mythologies. As clearings increase I and forest fires laid bare large
tracts of country, or as men wandered northwards to regions of ice and
snow, the altered conditions necessitated a re-adjustment of sacred
places and the homes of divinity. Where a sylvan shrine existed before a
great fire the spot would remain sacred, or the gods would betake
themselves to the shelter of an over-hanging cliff. Tradition peoples
such spots with the self-same divinities who dwelt in the forest glades
when youths and maidens worshipped dancing in the glinting moonlight.
Nor is this mere
conjecture, for we only need a haunted room in some baronial hall to
make it in after ages the scene of midnight revel and the home of
ghosts, whose pale outlines are seen by the fearful as a fitful light
shows athwart the open casements when winter winds are high. The
mountain slopes and low-lying fens, once covered with forests and
resonant with the songs of birds, now bare and lifeless, presented to
the cowering savage a picture of awful desolation, and he peopled them
with those spirits which his imagination pictured as solitary and evil,
while the good clung to any remaining clusters of trees or raised green
mounds.
Next comes the rude hand
and new religion of the conqueror to shatter all that remained of the
ancient faith. It perishes, vanishing as if it had never been, and the
new takes its place and retains it. But the memory of the old remains,
and men look back in a kindly way to the past, and children hear with
awestruck wonder stories of the ancient days when spirits walked at
noonday. They learn to reverence the spots where they dwelt, and in
their play rehearse the doings of the gods. And then some one hears in
the green mound where the ancestors hide, the strains of a forgotten
music, and before his fevered vision ghostly figures glint in the
moonlight, and he dreams dreams of a vanished glory. As he recounts his
vision, his enthusiasm kindles, his narrative becomes real, and the
youth who hear know he has been to fairyland. He saw the mighty dead; he
heard music sung by immortals; he is inspired: a seer for evermore.
By such processes does
tradition weave together the imaginary and the real, blending them into
a golden web of the past and a mysterious present, till with rude hand
the fabric is thrown down, and men make a new advance in thought. They
do not forget the past; they adapt it, and the adaptation is determined
by the new cult. Buddhism seizes on it, and claims it as its own.
Christianity bans it as of the devil, indulgently at first, then with
stern visage and legal sanctions. The dreams of the past are banished
into hidden comers, and men, women especially, fear the thumbscrew and
the faggot, if it should be suspected that they hold converse with this
forbidden world and eat its baneful fruit. If men do recount the deeds
of the past, and the frolics of spirits in the green woods, they are
careful to weave a kind of latter-day moral into the tale.
As the memory of sylvan
deities and guardian ancestors wanes and waxes dim while tradition
persists, men imagine that the tradition is but the distorted history of
a race of men who lived, and felt, and suffered, and vanished. Races of
men are created and then exterminated, leaving a few solitary wanderers,
the sole witnesses of a vanished world. A burrow is made and a human
dwelling found. It was the home of a chief of the vanished race. A name
of doubtful derivation is met with. It is a word preserved from a lost
language. The man who dwelt in that house was a fairy—the lost language
his speech; and so our sylvan denizens become mere eaters of flesh and
abductors of children to avenge political wrongs.
It has already been said
that our familiar fairy cult is a complex thing. It is composed of
materials supplied by tradition, and has no doubt drawn from stories of
battle, murder, and revenge ; and here prehistoric materials are to be
met with. But on the other hand it contains a vast mass of legend
regarding the older religious beliefs and unexplained phenomena. Man as
he advanced left behind him at each stage a whole world of unexplained
facts. He progressed along certain lines, and left collateral i>ranches
of knowledge to be the sport of tradition. This entered into popular
folk-lore, and became in a measure the common heritage of all nations.
We have also to take account of sudden noises, rappings, musical sounds,
movement of objects without apparent cause, and that curious group of
experiences we may class under second sight, as well as prolonged trance
or suspended animation. All these and many other factors enter into our
familar legends, and give to the fairies a local colour and historic
setting. That many unexplained facts exist, we, most of us, have had
experience, and though science may be moving in the direction of a more
rational explanation than hitherto, nothing very satisfactory has yet
appeared. The noises heard in Wesley’s house at Epworth are as well
authenticated as any fact can be, and yet no better than many similar
phenomena elsewhere. Our modem telepathy may do something to explain the
facts, or it may find itself worsted as the Wesleys did in their
attempts to set the spirits to do some useful work.
We now return to the
fairies and their habits as these are described by Kirk and Martin. The
former Went to his own herd in 1692 ; the latter wrote about 1695, so
that their evidence is contemporary. Both men were close observers, and
each in his own way had rare glimpses of science. To them fairy bodies
are congealed air, impalpable and invisible except to seers. They know
nothing of their having any built dwellings. Their habitations are fairy
hills, nothing more. They are diminutive and have the human form
reproduced in their miniature bodies. To the savage in Africa, India,
the South Seas, America, and Tartary the soul is a reproduction of the
body. It is in miniature, but is fat or lean, long or short as the man
is. It is aerial and impalpable ; it is invisible except to the magician
; it is capable of living apart from the body and going long journeys in
an incredible short space of time; it may breakfast in Senegal and dine
in America; it feeds on the essence of our grosser fare and impoverishes
what it eats of.
In fairy stories men are
often placed under spells and lose sense and reason till restored with
infinite labour by a seer. So are men whose souls are stolen and
detained in savage lands. When a funeral passes through a village the
Karens of Burmah tie their children to an article of furniture with a
special kind of string lest their souls should be drawn away with the
dead. And at the grave those who bring the body provide themselves with
a bamboo slit lengthwise, and a small stick. When the earth is filled iu
each man thrusts his bamboo down into the grave and draws his stick
along the groove to show his soul the way out should it by any chance be
down with the dead.
The good people of
Aberfoil heard a noise as if men were working on anvils, but the
Polynesian ancestral spirits can remodel a whole village in a single
night, while a Wazerema sylvan deity can box an offender’s ears till he
sees new constellations; and a Bougo spirit can make the forest resound
again to the beat of drum. Fairies change their abode quarterly; but the
Gaboon spirits are made to change, being driven out by the
long-suffering inhabitants. They, too, can float on air, and make a low,
musical noise, or a crepitating sound, should they leave in anger.
Fairies have their orders. African spirits have theirs, and settle
faction-fights like any Irish pigmies of them all. But these are the
usual trappings of ancestral deities the world over. Even men’s souls,
temporarily absent from their bodies, may meet and fight, with much
damage to their owners; and stories are on record of Burmese souls doing
each other grievous harm. Nor are such wandering souls absent at
banquets and funerals. They hover round the corpse to snatch away the
soul to join their own company. When seen, they may appear in any guise,
and seers have difficulty in distinguishing between the soul of a living
person and a disembodied spirit. The minister of Aberfoil does not
record the method of restoring the stolen, but the Karens know .all
about the recapture of an abducted soul; and a Samoan seer can fit a man
with another soul should his own be Jost or stolen beyond hope of
recovery. In Hawaii souls were caught and shut up in calabashes; and the
seers of Danger Island set soul traps fitted to catch those of different
sizes. Against these dangers charms must be used, from bits of reed to
iron ; and when these fail, the lost may be restored by means well known
to every savage man.
The death messenger from
Elf-land, so Mr Kirk tells us, might be appeased by the death of an
animal. A Pondo condemned to die may, with the consent of his chief,
redeem his life by the sacrifice of an ox and a fine; among other
tribes, by the substitution of a slave. Wounds inflicted by elf arrows
were mortal, and woe betide the savage who is touched by a weapon from
the spirit world. And the spirits of savage man have then-local
habitations, places where they have lived time out of mind, like our own
little hill folk.
In our fairy cult we meet
with facts not easily explained from the analogy of savage custom. Men
whose souls are stolen, and wander in forests in a kind of waking sleep,
give a clue to fairy spells ; but the abduction of wives and children
must belong to a later era, and may be a faint re-echo of old classic
stories, or the record of an experience not at all uncommon in lawless
lands. The changeling would follow as a kind of corollary to the
abduction; or it is a faint and fading memory of the savage dictum that
animals, as wolves, may, under the influence of evil spirits or wicked
magicians, substitute their own cubs for children they devour.
These parallel
illustrations, or some of them, are capable of being pushed too far; but
in regard to a world-wide cult, they appear to afford a more rational
explanation than the extermination of the inhabitants of whole
continents. For, if the theory holds good in regard to, the “Pechts,” it
must be true regarding aboriginal races the world over, whose very names
and memory have perished utterly. Yes, and their bones too, for of
fossil dwarfs we have none.
That the earliest objects
of worship were the chiefs who ruled and regulated nature for the
benefit of the tribe there seems no reasonable doubt. That this merged
into nature-worship, and that into adoration of ancestral spirits we
have ample evidence to support in the condition of savage lands of
to-day. To this rule the nations of Europe were no exception. From
well-known facts the world over, we are not permitted to doubt the
residence of ancestral spirits in particular localities, and by all the
rules of reasoning, in our own country also. These ancestral spirits
were diminutive, corresponding to the souls of living men. They migrated
from place to place, and their influence was felt in all directions.
A savage is nothing if he
is not religious, and when, with the development of thought, higher
religions claimed his homage, the past remained as a fading memory.
Imagination clothed it with a halo of glory, and the midnight revels of
elves and fauns and fairies preserve to us the more human and social
aspects of what was to primitive man a stem reality. Christianity, first
tolerant, for whatever be the merits or demerits of the Roman form of
it, it was in the early days wisely human and tolerant of the vanishing
paganism which it displaced, then less tolerant, and, finally4 reformed
and austere with its rigid code of morals and conduct, it obliterated
the last traces of pagan pageantry in its own worship and in social
life. It almost compelled fireside stories to take a kind of Hanoverian
hue to the glory of the Prince of Orange. So Scotland bade farewell, a
sorrowful farewell, it may be, to its satyrs and its elves; its fauns
and its fairies; its sunset wanderers and midnight revellers, and left
it to this and kindred societies to rescue from oblivion the last
remnants of a world to which we can hardly look back without a sigh, and
wish we could feel
“As free as nature first
made man,
When wild in woods the noble savage ran.” |