u 
 
 LUM T 
 
PR ii 
 
 I?17 
 
*h- 
 
 IONA, 13th CENTENARY 
 OF ST COLUMBA 
 
 5T COLUMBA BORN 7th September 521 
 
 FOUNDED DERRY 546 
 
 DURROW . . . .553 
 BATTLE OF CUL-DREMHNE . . 561 
 EXCOMMUNICATION AND EXILE . 563 
 CAME TO IONA . . . . .563 
 DIED . . . . . 9th June 597 
 
SOflGS 
 
 AND 
 
 TAIiES 
 
 OF 
 
 SAINTgCOLUMBA 
 AND HIS AGE 
 
 PATRICK GEDDES & COLLEAGUES 
 THE OUTLOOK TOWER, CASTLEHILL, EDINBURGH 
 
Read these faint runes of Mystery, 
 O Celt, at home and o'er the sea; 
 The bond is loosed — the poor are free — 
 The world's great future rests with thee I 
 
 Till the soil — bid cities rise — 
 Be strong, O Celt — be rich, be wise — 
 But still, with those divine grave eyes, 
 Respect the realm of Mysteries. 
 
 Tht Book of Ortn. 
 
CONTENTS 
 i. 
 
 SONGS OF THE COLUMBAN AGE page 
 
 Columcille cecenit 7 
 
 Columcille fecit ....... 9 
 
 The Song of Murdoch II 
 
 II. 
 THE THREE MARVELS OF IONA 
 
 The Festival of the Birds 12 
 
 The Sabbath of the Fisher and the Flies ... 21 
 
 The Moon-Child 30 
 
 Fiona Macleod 
 
 III. 
 THE LAST MEDITATION OF ST COLUMBA . 40 
 J. Arthur Thomson 
 
 IV. 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE CULDEES ... 45 
 Fiona Macleod 
 
 V. 
 ENVOY 53 
 
7 
 Columcille cecenit. 
 
 0, Son of my God, what a pride, what a pleasure 
 
 To plough the blue sea ! 
 The waves of the fountain of deluge to measure 
 
 Dear Eir6 to thee. 
 
 We are rounding Moy-n-Olurg, we sweep by its head, and 
 
 We plunge through Loch Foyle, 
 Whose swans could enchant with their music the dead, and 
 
 Make pleasure of toil. 
 
 The host of the gulls come with joyous commotion 
 
 And screaming and sport, 
 I welcome my own "Dewy- Red" from the ocean 
 
 Arriving in port.* 
 
 O Eir6, were wealth my desire, what a wealth were 
 
 To gain far from thee, 
 In the land of the stranger, but there even health were 
 
 A sickness to mel 
 
 Alas for the voyage O high King of Heaven 
 
 Enjoined upon me, 
 For that I on the red plain of bloody Cooldrevin 
 
 Was present to see. 
 
 How happy the son is of Dima ; no sorrow 
 
 For him is designed, 
 He is having, this hour, round his own hill in Durrow 
 
 The wish of his mind. 
 
 The sounds of the winds in the elms, like the strings of 
 
 A harp being played, 
 The note of the blackbird that claps with the wings of 
 
 Delight in the glade. 
 
 * Dearg-druchtach— Le. "Dewy- Red "—was the 
 
 name of St Columba's boat 
 
With him in Ros-Grencha the cattle are lowing 
 
 At earliest dawn, 
 On the brink of the summer the pigeons are cooing 
 
 And doves in the lawn. 
 
 Three things am I leaving behind me, the very 
 
 Most dear that I know, 
 Tir-Leedach I 'm leaving, and Durrow and Deny, 
 
 Alas, I must go 1 
 
 Yet my visit and feasting with Comgall have eased me 
 
 At Cainneach's right hand, 
 And all but thy government, Eir6, has pleased me, 
 
 Thou waterfall land. 
 
Columcille fecit. 
 
 Delightful would it be to me to be in Uchd Ailiun 
 
 On the pinnacle of a rock, 
 That I might often see 
 
 The face of the ocean ; 
 That I might see its heaving waves 
 
 Over the wide ocean, 
 When they chant music to their Father 
 
 Upon the world's course; 
 That I might see its level sparkling strand, 
 
 It would be no cause of sorrow; 
 That I might hear the song of the wonderful birds, 
 
 Source of happiness ; 
 That I might hear the thunder of the crowding waves 
 
 Upon the rocks ; 
 That I might hear the roar by the side of the church 
 
 Of the surrounding sea; 
 That I might see its noble flocks 
 
 Over the watery ocean; 
 That I might see the sea-monsters, 
 
 The greatest of all wonders ; 
 That I might see its ebb and flood 
 
 In their career; 
 That my mystical name might be, I say, 
 
 Cul ri Erin;* 
 That contrition might come upon my heart 
 
 Upon looking at her; 
 That I might bewail my evils all, 
 
 Though it were difficult to compute them; 
 That I might bless the Lord 
 
 Who conserves all, 
 Heaven with its countless bright orders, 
 
 Land, strand and flood; 
 
 * That is, " Back turned to Ireland." 
 
IO 
 
 That I might search the books all, 
 
 That would be good for my soul; 
 At times kneeling to beloved Heaven; 
 
 At times psalm singing; 
 At times contemplating the King of Heaven, 
 
 Holy the chief; 
 At times at work without compulsion, 
 
 This would be delightful. 
 At times plucking duilisc from the rocks; 
 
 At times at fishing; 
 At times giving food to the poor; 
 
 At times in a carcair :* 
 The best advice in the presence of God 
 
 To me has been vouchsafed. 
 The King whose servant I am will not let 
 
 Anything deceive me. 
 
 Solitary celL 
 
II 
 
 The Song of Murdoch the Monk. 
 
 Murdoch, whet thy knife, that we may shave our 
 
 crowns to the Great King. 
 Let us sweetly give our vow, and the hair of both our 
 
 heads to the Trinity. 
 I will shave mine to Mary ; this is the doing of a true 
 
 heart: 
 To Mary shave thou these locks, well -formed, soft-eyed 
 
 man. 
 Seldom hast thou had, handsome man, a knife on thy 
 
 hair to shave it; 
 Oftener has a sweet, soft queen comb'd her hair beside 
 
 thee. 
 Whenever it was that we did bathe, with Brian of the 
 
 well-curled locks, 
 And once on a time that I did bathe at the well of the 
 
 fair-haired Boroimhe, 
 I strove in swimming with Ua Chais, on the cold 
 
 waters of the Fergus. 
 When he came ashore from the stream, Ua Chais and 
 
 I strove in a race : 
 These two knives, one to each, were given us by 
 
 Duncan Cairbreach; 
 No knives were better: shave gently then, Murdoch. 
 Whet your sword, Cathal, which wins the fertile Banva ; 
 Ne'er was thy wrath heard without fighting, brave, red- 
 handed Cathal. 
 Preserve our shaved heads from cold and from heat, 
 
 gentle daughter of Iodehim, 
 Preserve us in the land of heat, softest branch of Mary. 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
12 
 
 II. 
 
 THE THREE MARVELS OF IONA 
 
 i 
 
 THE FESTIVAL OF THE BIRDS 
 
 Before dawn, on the morning of the hundredth 
 Sabbath after Colum the White had made glory- 
 to God in Hy, that was theretofore called Ioua 
 and thereafter I-shona and is now Iona, the 
 Saint beheld his own Sleep in a vision. 
 
 Much fasting and long pondering over the 
 missals, with their golden and azure and sea- 
 green initials and earth-brown branching letters, 
 had made Colum weary. He had brooded 
 much of late upon the mystery of the living 
 world that was not man's world. 
 
 On the eve of that hundredth Sabbath, which 
 was to be a holy festival in Iona, he had talked 
 long with an ancient greybeard out of a remote 
 isle in the north, the wild Isle of the Mountains, 
 where Scathach the Queen hanged the men of 
 Lochlin by their yellow hair. 
 
13 
 
 This man's name was Ardan, and he was of 
 the ancient people. He had come to Hy be- 
 cause of two things. Maolm6r, the King of 
 the northern Picts, had sent him to learn of 
 Colum what was this god-teaching he had 
 brought out of Eire : and for himself he had 
 come, with his age upon him, to see what 
 manner of man this Colum was, who had 
 made Ioua, that was " Innis-nan-Dhruidhneach " 
 — the Isle of the Druids — into a place of new 
 worship. 
 
 For three hours Ardan and Colum had 
 walked by the sea-shore. Each learned of the 
 other. Ardan bowed his head before the 
 wisdom. Colum knew in his heart that the 
 Druid saw mysteries. 
 
 In the first hour they talked of God. Colum 
 spake, and Ardan smiled in his shadowy eyes. 
 " It is for the knowing," he said, when Colum 
 ceased. 
 
 "Ay, sure," said the Saint: "and now, O 
 Ardan the wise, is my God thy God?" 
 
 But at that Ardan smiled not He turned 
 the grave, sad eyes of him to the west. With 
 his right hand he pointed to the Sun that 
 was like a great golden flower. "Truly, He 
 
is thy God and my God." Colum was silent. 
 Then he said : " Thee and thine, O Ardan, 
 from Maolmor the Pictish king to the least 
 of thy slaves, shall have a long weariness in 
 Hell. That fiery globe yonder is but the 
 Lamp of the World : and sad is the case of 
 the man who knows not the torch from the 
 torch-bearer." 
 
 And in the second hour they talked of Man. 
 Ardan spake, and Colum smiled in his deep, 
 grey eyes. 
 
 " It is for laughter that," he said, when Ardan 
 ceased. 
 
 " And why will that be, O Colum of Eire?" 
 said Ardan. Then the smile went out of Colum's 
 grey eyes, and he turned and looked about him. 
 
 He beheld, near, a crow, a horse, and a hound. 
 
 M These are thy brethren," he said scornfully. 
 
 But Ardan answered quietly, "Even so." 
 
 The third hour they talked about the beasts 
 of the earth and the fowls of the air. 
 
 At the last Ardan said : " The ancient wis- 
 dom hath it that these are the souls of men 
 and women that have been, or are to be." 
 
 Whereat Colum answered : " The new wisdom, 
 that is old as eternity, declareth that God created 
 
*5 
 
 all things in love. Therefore are we at one, 
 O Ardan, though we sail to the Isle of Truth 
 from the West and the East. Let there be 
 peace between us." 
 
 ■ Peace," said Ardan. 
 
 That eve, Ardan of the Picts sat with the 
 
 monks of Iona. Colum blessed him and said 
 
 a saying. Oran of the Songs sang a hymn of 
 
 beauty. Ardan rose, and put the wine of 
 
 guests to his lips, and chanted this rune : 
 
 O Colum and monks of Christ, 
 It is peace we are having this night : 
 Sure, peace is a good thing, 
 And I am glad with the gladness. 
 
 We worship one God, 
 Though ye call him Dc— 
 And I say not, O Dia I 
 But cry Beauil! 
 
 For it is one faith for man, 
 And one for the living world, 
 And no man is wiser than another— 
 And none knoweth much. 
 
 None knoweth a better thing than thisi 
 The Sword, Love, Song, Honour, Sleep. 
 None knoweth a surer thing than this i 
 Birth, Sorrow, Pain, Weariness, Death. 
 
 Sure, peace is a good thing ; 
 Let us be glad of Peace : 
 We are not men of the Sword, 
 But of the Rune and the Wisdom. 
 
i6 
 
 I have learned a truth of Colum, 
 He hath learned of me : 
 All ye on the morrow shall see 
 A wonder of the wonders. 
 
 The thought is on you, that the Cross 
 Is known only of you : 
 Lo, I tell you the birds know it 
 That are marked with the Sorrow. 
 
 Listen to the Birds of Sorrow, 
 They shall tell you a great Joy j 
 It is Peace you will be having, 
 With the Birds. 
 
 No more would Ardan say after that, though 
 all besought him. 
 
 Many pondered long that night. Oran made 
 a song of mystery. Colum brooded through the 
 dark; but before dawn he slept upon the fern 
 that strewed his cell. At dawn, with waking 
 eyes, and weary, he saw his Sleep in a vision. 
 
 It stood grey and wan beside him. 
 
 "What art thou, O Spirit?" he said. 
 
 "I am thy Sleep, Colum." 
 
 "And is it peace?" 
 
 a It is peace." 
 
 "What wouldest thou?" 
 
 " I have wisdom. Thy heart and thy brain 
 were closed. I could not give you what I 
 brought I brought wisdom." 
 
x 7 
 
 "Give it" 
 
 "Behold!" 
 
 And Colum, sitting upon the strewed fern 
 that was his bed, rubbed his eyes that were 
 heavy with weariness and fasting and long 
 prayer. He could not see his Sleep now. 
 It was gone as smoke that is licked up by 
 the wind. 
 
 But on the ledge of the hole that was in 
 the eastern wall of his cell he saw a bird. 
 He leaned his elbow upon the leabhar- 
 aifrionn that was by his side.* Then he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Is there song upon thee, O Bru-dhearg ? " 
 
 Then the Red-breast sang, and the singing 
 was so sweet that tears came into the eyes 
 of Colum, and he thought the sunlight that 
 was streaming from the east was melted into 
 that lilting sweet song. It was a hymn that 
 the Bru-dhearg sang, and it was this: 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 Christ upon the Cross : 
 My little nest was near, 
 
 Hidden in the moss. 
 
 # The w leabhar-aifrionn " (pron. lyo-ur eff-runn) is a missal : 
 literally a mass-book, or chapel-book. Bru-dhearg is literally 
 red-breast. 
 
i8 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 Christ was pale and wan t 
 His eyes beheld me singing 
 
 Br on, 'Bron, mo Br on I* 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 " Come near, O wee brown bird 1 ' 
 Christ spake : and lo, I lighted 
 
 Upon the Living Word. 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 I heard the mocking scorn! 
 But Holy, Holy, Holy 
 
 I sang against a thorn ! 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 Ah, his brow was bloody; 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 AH my breast was ruddy. 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 ChristVBird shalt thou be: 
 Thus said Mary Virgin 
 
 There on Calvary. 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 A wee brown bird am It 
 But my breast is ruddy 
 
 For I saw Christ die. 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 By this ruddy feather, 
 Colum, call thy monks, and 
 
 All the birds together. 
 
 * "O my Grief, my Grief," 
 
19 
 
 And at that Colum rose. Awe was upon 
 him, and joy. 
 
 He went out and told all to the monks. 
 Then he said Mass out on the green sward. 
 The yellow sunshine was warm upon his grey 
 hair. The love of God was warm in his 
 heart. 
 
 " Come, all ye birds ! " he cried. 
 
 And lo, all the birds of the air flew nigh. 
 The golden eagle soared from the Cuchullins 
 in far-off Skye, and the osprey from the 
 wild lochs of Mull ; the gannet from above 
 the clouds, and the fulmar and petrel from 
 the green wave : the cormorant and the skua 
 from the weedy rock, and the plover and 
 the kestrel from the machar : the corbie and 
 the raven from the moor, and the snipe 
 and the bittern and the heron : the cuckoo 
 and cushat from the woodland : the crane 
 from the swamp, the lark from the sky, and 
 the mavis and the merle from the green 
 bushes : the yellowyite, the shilfa, and the 
 lintie, the gyalvonn and the wren and the 
 redbreast, one and all, every creature of the 
 wings, they came at the bidding. 
 
 "Peace!" cried Colum. 
 
20 
 
 "Peace!" cried all the Birds, and even the 
 Eagle, the Kestrel, the Corbie, and the Raven 
 cried Peace, Peace! 
 
 "I will say the Mass," said Colum the 
 White. 
 
 And with that he said the Mass. And he 
 blessed the birds. 
 
 When the last chant was sung, only the 
 Bru-dhearg remained. 
 
 " Come, O Ruddy-Breast," said Colum, " and 
 sing to us of the Christ." 
 
 Through a golden hour thereafter the Red- 
 breast sang. Sweet was the joy of it. 
 
 At the end Colum said, "Peace! In the 
 name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy 
 Ghost." 
 
 Thereat Ardan the Pict bowed his head, 
 and in a loud voice repeated — 
 
 " Sith (shee) ! An ainm an Athar, 'J an mhtc, 
 } s an Spioraid Naoimh I " 
 
 And to this day the song of the Birds of 
 Colum, as they are called in Hy, is Sitk — 
 Sltk — Slth — an — ainm — Chriosd- 
 
 "Peace — Peace — Peace — in the name of 
 Christ!" 
 
21 
 
 THE SABBATH OF THE FISHES AND 
 THE FLIES 
 
 For three days Colum had fasted, save for a 
 mouthful of meal at dawn, a piece of rye- 
 bread at noon, and a mouthful of dulse and 
 spring-water at sundown. On the night of 
 the third day, Oran and Keir came to him 
 in his cell. Colum was on his knees, lost in 
 prayer. There was no sound there, save the 
 faint whispered muttering of his lips, and 01? 
 the plastered wall the weary buzzing of a fly. 
 
 "Master!" said Oran in a low voice, soft 
 with pity and awe, " Master ! " 
 
 But Colum took no notice. His lips still 
 moved, and the tangled hairs below his nether 
 lip shivered with his failing breath. 
 
 "Father!" said Keir, tender as a woman, 
 "Father!" 
 
 Colum did not turn his eyes from the 
 wall. The fly droned his drowsy hum upon 
 
22 
 
 the rough plaster. It crawled wearily for a 
 space, then stopped. The slow hot drone filled 
 the cell. 
 
 "Master," said Oran, "it is the will of the 
 brethren that you break your fast. You are 
 old, and God has your glory. Give us peace." 
 
 " Father," urged Keir, seeing that Colum 
 kneeled unnoticingly, his lips still moving 
 above his black beard, with the white hair 
 of him falling about his head like a snow- 
 drift slipping from a boulder. "Father, be 
 pitiful ! We hunger and thirst for your pre- 
 sence. We can fast no longer, yet have we 
 no heart to break our fast if you are not with 
 us. Come, holy one, and be of our company, 
 and eat of the good broiled fish that await- 
 eth us. We perish for the benediction of thine 
 eyes." 
 
 Then it was that Colum rose, and walked 
 slowly towards the wall. 
 
 "Little black beast," he said to the fly that 
 droned its drowsy hum and moved not at all ; 
 "little black beast, sure it is well I am know- 
 ing what you are. You are thinking you are 
 going to get my blessing, you that have come 
 out of hell for the soul of me ! " 
 
23 
 
 At that the fly flew heavily from the wall, 
 and slowly circled round and round the head 
 of Colum the White. 
 
 "What think you of that, brother Oran, 
 brother Keir ? " he asked in a low voice, hoarse 
 because of his long fast and the weariness 
 that was upon him. 
 
 "It is a fiend," said Oran. 
 
 "It is an angel," said Keir. 
 
 Thereupon the fly settled upon the wall 
 again, and again droned his drowsy hot hum. 
 
 "Little black beast," said Colum, with the 
 frown coming down into his eyes, "is it for 
 peace you are here, or for sin? Answer, I 
 conjure you in the name of the Father, the 
 Son, and the Holy Ghost!" 
 
 "An ainm an Athar, 's an mhic> V an Spioraid 
 Naoimh? repeated Oran below his breath, 
 
 "An ainm an Athar, 's an mhic, 's an Spioraid 
 Naoimk," repeated Keir below his breath. 
 
 Then the fly that was upon the wall flew 
 up to the roof and circled to and fro. And 
 it sang a beautiful song, and its song was this: 
 i 
 
 Praise be to God, and a blessing too at that, and a blessing ! 
 For Colum the White, Colum the Dove, hath worshipped $ 
 
2 4 
 
 Yea, he hath worshipped and made of a desert a garden, 
 And out of the dung of men's souls hath made a sweet savour 
 of burning. 
 
 II 
 
 A savour of burning, most sweet, a fire for the altar, 
 This he hath made in the desert 5 the hell-saved all gladden. 
 Sure he hath put his benison, too, on milch-cow and bullock, 
 On the fowls of the air, and the man-eyed seals, and the otter. 
 
 But where in his Dun in the great blue mainland of Heaven 
 God the All-Father broodeth, where the harpers are harping 
 
 his glory ; 
 There where He sitteth, where a river of ale poureth ever, 
 His great sword broken, His spear in the dust, He broodeth. 
 
 IV 
 
 And this is the thought that moves in his brain, as a cloud 
 
 filled with thunder 
 Moves through the vast hollow sky filled with the dust of the 
 
 stars : 
 What boots it the glory of Colum, since he maketh a Sabbath to 
 
 bless me, 
 And hath no thought of my sons in the deeps of the air and the 
 
 sea? 
 
 And with that the fly passed from their 
 vision. In the cell was a most wondrous sweet 
 song, like the sound of far-off pipes over water. 
 
 Oran said in a low voice of awe, "O our 
 God I" 
 
2 5 
 
 Keir whispered, white with fear, "O God, 
 my God!" 
 
 But Colum rose, and took a scourge from 
 where it hung on the wall. "It shall be for 
 peace, Oran," he said, with a grim smile flitting 
 like a bird above the nest of his black beard; 
 "it shall be for peace, Keir!" 
 
 And with that he laid the scourge heavily 
 upon the bent backs of Keir and Oran, nor 
 stayed his hand, nor let his three days' fast 
 weaken the deep piety that was in the might 
 of his arm, and because of the glory to God. 
 
 Then, when he was weary, peace came into 
 his heart, and he sighed "Amen/" 
 
 " Amen ! " said Oran the monk. 
 
 " Amen ! " said Keir the monk. 
 
 " And this thing hath been done," said Colum, 
 "because of the evil wish of you and the 
 brethren, that I should break my fast, and eat of 
 fish, till God willeth it. And lo, I have learned 
 a mystery. Ye shall all witness to it on the 
 morrow, which is the Sabbath." 
 
 That night the monks wondered much. Only 
 Oran and Keir cursed the fishes in the deeps 
 of the sea and the flies in the deeps of the 
 air. 
 
26 
 
 On the morrow, when the sun was yellow 
 on the brown sea-weed, and there was peace 
 on the isle and upon the waters, Colum and the 
 brotherhood went slowly towards the sea. 
 
 At the meadows that are close to the sea, 
 the Saint stood still. All bowed their heads. 
 
 u O winged things of the air," cried Colum, 
 u draw near ! " 
 
 With that the air was full of the hum of 
 innumerous flies, midges, bees, wasps, moths, 
 and all winged insects. These settled upon 
 the monks, who moved not, but praised God 
 in silence. "Glory and praise to God," cried 
 Colum, "behold the Sabbath of the children 
 of God that inhabit the deeps of the air ! 
 Blessing and peace be upon them." 
 
 "Peace! Peace!" cried the monks, with one 
 voice. 
 
 " In the name of the Father, the Son, and 
 the Holy Ghost!" cried Colum the White, 
 glad because of the glory to God. 
 
 "An aintn an Athar, 's an mhic, 's an Spioraid 
 Naoitnh" cried the monks, bowing reverently, 
 and Oran and Keir deepest of all, because 
 they saw the fly that was of Colum's cell lead- 
 ing the whole host, as though it were their 
 
2 7 
 
 captain, and singing to them a marvellous 
 sweet song. 
 
 Oran and Keir testified to this thing, and 
 all were full of awe and wonder, and Colum 
 praised God. 
 
 Then the Saints and the brotherhood moved 
 onward and went upon the rocks. When all 
 stood ankle-deep in the sea-weed that was 
 swaying in the tide, Colum cried : 
 
 " O finny creatures of the deep, draw near ! " 
 
 And with that the whole sea shimmered as 
 with silver and gold. 
 
 All the fishes of the sea, and the great 
 eels, and the lobsters and the crabs, came in 
 a swift and terrible procession. Great was 
 the glory. 
 
 Then Colum cried, "O fishes of the Deep, 
 who is your king?" 
 
 Whereupon the herring, the mackerel, and 
 the dog-fish swam forward, and each claimed 
 to be king. But the echo that ran from wave 
 to wave said, The Herring is King. 
 
 Then Colum said to the mackerel: "Sing 
 the song that is upon you ! " 
 
 And the mackerel sang the song of the wild 
 rovers of the sea, and the lust of pleasure. 
 
28 
 
 Then Colum said, "But for God's mercy, 
 I would curse you, O false fish." 
 
 Then he spake likewise to the dog-fish : 
 and the dog-fish sang of slaughter and he 
 chase, and the joy of blood. 
 
 And Colum said: "Hell shall be your 
 portion." 
 
 And there was peace. And the Herring 
 said: 
 
 "In the name of the Father, the Son, and 
 the Holy Ghost!" 
 
 Whereat all that mighty multitude, ere they 
 sank into the deep, waved their fins and their 
 claws, each after his kind, and repeated as 
 with one voice: 
 
 " An ainm an Athar % 's an mhic, 's an Spioraid 
 Naoimk!" 
 
 And the glory that was upon the Sound of 
 Iona was as though God trailed a starry net 
 upon the waters, with a shining star in every 
 little hollow, and a flowing moon of gold on 
 every wave. 
 
 Then Colum the White put out both his 
 arms, and blessed the children of God that 
 are in the deeps of the sea and that are in 
 the deeps of the air. 
 
29 
 
 That is how Sabbath came upon all living 
 things upon Hy that is called Iona, and within 
 the air above Hy, and within the sea that is 
 around Hy. 
 
 And the glory is Colum's. 
 
3<> 
 
 III 
 
 THE MOON-CHILD 
 
 A YEAR and a day before God bade Colum 
 arise to the Feast of Eternity, P61 the 
 Freckled, the youngest of the brethren, came 
 to him, on a night of the nights. 
 
 "The moon is among the stars, O Colum. 
 By his own will, and yours, old Murtagh that 
 is this day with God, is to be laid in the deep 
 dry sand at the east end of the isle." 
 
 So the holy Saint rose from his bed of 
 weariness, and went and blessed the place 
 that Murtagh lay in, and bade neither the 
 creeping worm nor any other creature to touch 
 the sacred dead. "Let God only," he said, 
 "let God alone strip that which he made to 
 grow." 
 
 But on his way back sleep passed from him. 
 The sweet salt smell of the sea was in his 
 nostrils : he heard the running of a wave in 
 all his blood. 
 
3i 
 
 At the cells he turned, and bade the 
 brethren go in. "Peace be with you," he 
 sighed wearily. 
 
 Then he moved downwards towards the 
 sea. 
 
 A great tenderness of late was upon Colum 
 the Bishop. Ever since he had blessed the 
 fishes and the flies, the least of the children 
 of God, his soul had glowed in a whiter flame. 
 There were deep seas of compassion in his 
 grey -blue eyes. One night he had waked, 
 because God was there. 
 
 "O Christ," he cried, bowing low his old 
 grey head. " Sure, ah sure, the gladness and 
 the joy, because of the hour of the hours." 
 
 But God said : " Not so, Colum, who keepest 
 me upon the Cross. It is Murtagh, Murtagh 
 the Druid that was, whose soul I am taking 
 to the glory." 
 
 With that Colum rose in awe and great 
 grief. There was no light in his cell. In the 
 deep darkness, his spirit quailed. But lo, the 
 beauty of his heart wrought a soft gleam 
 about him, and in that moonshine of good 
 deeds he rose and made his way to where 
 Murtagh slept 
 
32 
 
 The old monk slept indeed. It was a sweet 
 breath he drew — he, young and fair now, and 
 laughing with peace under the apples in 
 Paradise. 
 
 "O Murtagh," Colum cried, "and thee I 
 thought the least of the brethren, because 
 that thou wast a Druid, and loved not to see 
 thy pagan kindred put to the sword if they 
 would not repent. But, true, in my years 
 I am becoming as a boy who learns, knowing 
 nothing. God wash the sin of pride out of 
 my life!" 
 
 At that a soft white shining, as of one 
 winged and beautiful, stood beside the dead. 
 
 "Art thou Murtagh?" whispered Colum, in 
 deep awe. 
 
 " No, I am not Murtagh," came as the 
 breath of vanishing song. 
 
 "What art thou?" 
 
 " I am Peace," said the glory. 
 
 Thereupon Colum sank to his knees, sobbing 
 with joy, for the sorrow that had been and 
 was no more. 
 
 "Tell me, O White Peace," he murmured, 
 " can Murtagh hearken, there under the apples 
 where God is?" 
 
33 
 
 "God's love is a wind that blows hitherward 
 and hence. Speak, and thou shalt hear." 
 
 Colum spake. " O Murtagh my brother, tell 
 me in what way it is that I still keep God 
 crucified upon the Cross." 
 
 There was a sound in the cell as of the 
 morning-laughter of children, of the singing of 
 birds, of the sunlight streaming through the 
 blue fields of Heaven. 
 
 Then Murtagh's voice came out of Paradise, 
 sweet with the sweetness : honey-sweet it was, 
 and clothed with deep awe because of the glory. 
 
 "Colum, servant of Christ, arise!" 
 
 Colum rose, and was as a leaf there, a leaf 
 that is in the wind. 
 
 "Colum, thine hour is not yet come. I see 
 it, bathing in the white light which is the Pool 
 of Eternal Life, that is in the abyss where 
 deep-rooted are the Gates of Heaven." 
 
 "And my sin, O Murtagh, my sin?" 
 
 "God is weary because thou hast not 
 repented." 
 
 " O my God and my God ! Sure, Murtagh, if 
 that is so, it is so, but it is not for knowledge 
 to me. Sure, O God, it is a blessing I have 
 put on man and woman, on beast and bird 
 
34 
 
 and fish, on creeping things and flying things, 
 on the green grass and the brown earth and 
 the flowing wave, on the wind that cometh 
 and goeth, and on the mystery of the flame ! 
 Sure, O God, I have sorrowed for all my sins : 
 there is not one I have not fasted and prayed 
 for. Sorrow upon me! — Is it accursed I am, 
 or what is the evil that holdeth me by the 
 hand?" 
 
 Then Murtagh, calling through sweet dreams 
 and the rainbow-rain of happy tears that make 
 that place so wondrous and so fair, spake once 
 more: 
 
 "O Colum, blind art thou. Hast thou yet 
 repented because after that thou didst capture 
 the great black seal, that is a man undef 
 spells, thou, with thy monks, didst crucify 
 him upon the great rock at the place where, 
 long ago, thy coracle came ashore?" 
 
 "O Murtagh, favoured of God, will you not 
 be explaining to Him that is King of the 
 Elements, that this was because the seal who 
 was called Black Angus wrought evil upon a 
 mortal woman, and that of the sea-seed was 
 sprung one who had no soul?" 
 
 But no answer came to that, and when 
 
35 
 
 Colum looked about him, behold there was 
 no soft shining, but only the body of Mur- 
 tagh the old monk. With a heavy heart, 
 and his soul like a sinking boat in a sea 
 of pain, he turned and went out into the 
 night. 
 
 A fine, wonderful night it was. The moon 
 lay low above the sea, and all the flow- 
 ing gold and flashing silver of the rippling 
 running water seemed to be a flood going 
 that way and falling into the shining hollow 
 splendour. 
 
 Through the sea-weed the old Saint moved, 
 weary and sad. When he came to a sandy 
 place he stopped. There, on a rock, he saw a 
 little child. Naked she was, though clad with 
 soft white moonlight. In her hair were brown 
 weeds of the sea, gleaming golden because of 
 the glow. In her hands was a great shell, 
 and at that shell was her mouth. And she 
 was singing this song ; passing sweet to 
 hear it was, with the sea-music that was in 
 
 it: 
 
 A little lonely child am I 
 
 That have not any soul : 
 God made me but a homeless wave, 
 
 Without a goal. 
 
36 
 
 A seal my father was, a seal 
 
 That once was man : 
 My mother loved him tho' he was 
 
 'Neath mortal ban. 
 
 He took a wave and drowned herj 
 She took a wave and lifted him : 
 
 And I was born where shadows are 
 F the sea-depths dim. 
 
 All through the sunny blue-sweet hours 
 I swim and glide in waters green j 
 
 Never by day the mournful shores 
 By me are seen. 
 
 But when the gloom is on the wave 
 A shell unto the shore I bring: 
 
 And then upon the rocks I sit 
 And plaintive sing. 
 
 O what is this wild song I sing, 
 With meanings strange and dim I 
 
 No soul am I, a wave am I, 
 
 And sing the Moon-Child's hymn. 
 
 Softly Colum drew nigh. 
 
 "Peace," he said. "Peace, little one. Ah 
 tender little heart, peace ! " 
 
 The child looked at him with wide sea- 
 dusky eyes. 
 
 " Is it Colum the Holy you will be ? " 
 
 "No, my fawn, my white dear babe: it is 
 
37 
 
 not Colum the Holy I am, but Colum the 
 poor fool that knew not God!" 
 
 "Is it you, O Colum, that put the sorrow 
 on my mother, who is the Sea-woman that 
 lives in the whirlpool over there?" 
 
 "Ay, God forgive me!" 
 
 " Is it you, O Colum, that crucified the seal 
 that was my father : him that was a man once, 
 and that was called Black Angus?" 
 
 " Ay, God forgive me ! " 
 
 " Is it you, O Colum, that bade the children 
 of Hy run away from me, because I was a 
 moon-child, and might win them by the sea* 
 spell into the green wave?" 
 
 " Ay, God forgive me!" 
 
 "Sure, dear Colum, it was to the glory of 
 God, it was?" 
 
 " Ay, He knoweth it, and can hear it, too, 
 from Murtagh, who died this night." 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 And at that Colum looked, and in a moon- 
 gold wave he saw Black Angus, the seal-man, 
 drifting dark, and the eyes in his round head 
 were the eyes of love. And beside the man- 
 seal swam a woman fair to see, and she looked 
 at him with joy, and with joy at the Moon- 
 
38: 
 
 Child that was her own, and at Colum with 
 
 joy- 
 Thereupon Colum fell upon his knees and 
 cried— 
 
 "Give me thy sorrow, wild woman of the 
 sea!" 
 
 • Peace to you, Colum," she answered, and 
 sank into the shadow-thridden wave. 
 
 " Give my thy death and crucifixion, O 
 Angus-dhu ! " cried the Saint, shaking with 
 the sorrow. 
 
 "Peace to you, Colum," answered the man- 
 seal, and sank into the dusky quietudes of 
 the deep. 
 
 " Ah, bitter heart o' me ! Teach me the way 
 to God, O little child," cried Colum the old t 
 turning to where the Moon-Child was! 
 
 But lo, the glory and the wonder ! 
 
 It was a little naked child that looked at 
 him with healing eyes, but there were no sea- 
 weeds in her hair, and no shell in the little 
 wee hands of her. For now, it was a male 
 Child that was there, shining with a light 
 from within : and in his fair sunny hair was a 
 shadowy crown of thorns, and in his hand was 
 a pearl of great price. 
 
39 
 
 " O Christ, my God," said Colum, with failing 
 voice, 
 
 " It is thine now, O Colum," said the Moon* 
 Child, holding out to him the shining pearl 
 of great price. 
 
 "What is it, O Lord my God?" whispered 
 the old servant of God that was now glad with 
 the gladness : " what is this, thy boon ? " . ► , * 
 
 " Perfect Peace." • 
 
 And that is all, 
 (To God be the Glory, Amen.) 
 
40 
 
 III 
 
 THE LAST MEDITATION 
 OF COLUMBA 
 
 It is known to all that St Columba passed to the 
 Lord in the year of grace 597, on the Sabbath after 
 Whitsuntide, for it was in the season of the Pente- 
 cost, when the Holy Dove descended, that he who 
 was named of the dove went to his rest. 
 
 On the day before he died, the saint went to 
 bless the two heaps of corn which were still left in 
 the barn, for he was ever the best fore-looker, 
 whether to steer or to store. On his way back to 
 the monastery he rested by the wayside, and was 
 comforted by the old white pack-horse, which 
 came to him and leaned its head upon his breast, 
 for all living creatures were as kin to the saint. 
 
 Thereafter St Columba climbed to the hill above 
 the monastery, and, like the Christ on Olivet, he 
 thought of his past life and of what should follow 
 after. This was the last meditation of St Columba; 
 and though it may not be wholly well to break a 
 silence whose light is upon the depths of the un- 
 
4 i 
 
 spoken, we would reverently tell of that last 
 meditation, when the past rose up before the saint, 
 and the present became as a moment, and the 
 future began to be unrolled as from an endless 
 scroll. It was not long that he, who was all 
 weary, stood upon the hill, but even to man there 
 are times when one hour is as many years, and a 
 lifetime as one hour. Thrice happy those to 
 whom this time cometh in such an island as that 
 ofHy. 
 
 A light wind kissed the waves into smiling, and 
 whispered through the bracken both young and 
 withered ; the doves flew from their windows 
 beneath, and sailed to and fro above the saint's 
 head ; and his thoughts went back to Erin and to 
 Eithne who had borne him. He was once more 
 the fair child, quivering in keenness, alert to 
 every touch of life, hot as his father's blood, 
 zealous to every God-whisper. He was young 
 again with the spring-tide, which had now set in 
 at Hy. 
 
 The wind rose in a sudden gust, like a burst of 
 passion ; the great waves sounded dully from the 
 further side of the island ; the sea-gulls swept 
 inland with hoarse cries like eagles ; and the 
 clouds above seemed as if very God went out to 
 
42 
 
 war. Columba's thoughts went back to the time 
 of his awakening, when the water of life became 
 wine to him at Moville. He lifted his face to the 
 wind, his eyes flashed, his limbs were all tightened, 
 and he was once again the daring sailor, the swift 
 smiter, the cleaving thinker, the pioneer. Once 
 more he wrung out knowledge from the elements 
 of the world and did his miracles ; once more he 
 held men in the grip of his eyes and read their 
 secrets, cursing the ill-doer in words that sounded 
 thunder, yet comforting the weary in a voice that 
 seemed a dove's. He was minded of the oppressor 
 of maidens at Leinster, and biting his lip unto 
 blood he sent him a second time to Hell. He 
 fought again at Cul-Dremhne as in the fierce passion 
 of his youth. Once more, pro Christo peregrinari 
 volens, enavigavit ; and lived his manhood's years 
 again, sailing, sowing, singing, smiting, saving. 
 He fought once more at Cul-Rathain and Cul- 
 Fedha ; and sang to the whistling wind, as he had 
 sung before the Picts, the praises of the God of 
 Battles. 
 
 The gusts sank into a steady westward wind, 
 towards the setting sun, where the Gates of Para- 
 dise seemed to open themselves to the saint. The 
 work of his later years passed before him ; again 
 he was rowing against the stream, again he was 
 
43 
 
 sailing against the wind, again he was preaching 
 and teaching - , planting and building, preparing the 
 way of the Lord and binding into one the com- 
 munity of all saints. Once more he was strenuous 
 and untiring, brooking no resistance, impatient of 
 all foolishness, hard on all carelessness, ingenious 
 as a sailor to lose no point, unflinching as a soldier 
 to spare no foe, yet ever, as if glamoured, with 
 the sunshine in his eyes. As the wind sank, he 
 stood with both hands uplifted, and blessed the 
 monastery, saying : — " Small and mean though this 
 place is, yet it shall be held in great and universal 
 honour, not only by Scotic kings and people, but also by 
 tlie rulers of foreign and barbarous nations, and by 
 their subjects ; the saints also of other churches shall 
 regard it with no common reverence." 
 
 The wind sank to rest, the sun set, the birds 
 ceased from flying, and all was still, save the 
 lullaby of the now gently lapping waves and the 
 music of the silvery sands of Hy. It was then 
 that there came to St Columba the calm of those 
 who have fought the good fight, or have sailed 
 their craft into a quiet haven. Past, present, and 
 future became as one to him, for he knew no man, 
 but God only. 
 
 Returning to the monastery, St Columba busied 
 
44 
 
 himself, as was his untiring wont, with a tran- 
 scribing of the Psalter, ceasing- when he had 
 written the words — "They that seek the Lord 
 shall want no manner of things that is good." He 
 might well have gone on to the next verse, which 
 reads, M Come, ye children, hearken unto me, I 
 will teach you the fear of the Lord/' for he himself 
 was feared, even as he was loved. 
 
 Soon thereafter he took part in the nightly vigils, 
 and, these ended, spoke his last counsel to the 
 brethren. Shortly after midnight, he rose un- 
 sleeping from his stone pillow, and betook him- 
 self to the church, and died, as all the world 
 knows, by the altar, in the glimmer of the 
 Heavenly Lights which bespoke for him the dawn 
 of an everlasting morning. Once more, pro 
 Christo peregrinari volens, enavigavit Columba. 
 
 J. Arthur Thomson. 
 
45 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE 
 CULDEES 
 
 On the wane of noon, on the day following 
 the ruin of Bail'-tiorail, sails were descried far 
 east of Skipness. 
 
 Olaus called his men together. The boats 
 coming before the wind were doubtless his 
 own galleys which he had lost sight of 
 when the south-gale had blown them against 
 Skye : but no man can know when and how 
 the gods may smile grimly, and let the swords 
 that whirl be broken, or the spears that are 
 flat become a hedge of death. 
 
 An hour later, a startled word went from 
 viking to viking. The galleys in the offing 
 were the fleet of Sweno the Hammerer. Why 
 had he come so far southward, and why were 
 oars so swift and with the stained sails dis- 
 tended before the wind ? 
 
 They were soon to know. 
 
 Sweno himself was the first to land. A great 
 
4 6 
 
 man he was, broad and burly, with a sword- 
 slash across his face that brought his brows 
 together in a frown which made a perpetual 
 dusk above his savage blood -shot eyes. 
 
 In a few words he told how he had met a 
 galley, with only half its crew, and of these 
 many who were wounded. It was the last of 
 the fleet of Haco the Laugher. A fleet of 
 fifteen war-birlinns had set out from the Long 
 Island, and had given battle. Haco had gone 
 into the strife, laughing loud as was his wont, 
 and he and all his men had the berserk rage, 
 and fought with joy and foam at the mouth. 
 Never had the Sword sung a sweeter song. 
 
 « Well," said Olaus the White, grimly, " well, 
 how did the Raven fly ? " 
 
 " When Haco laughed for the last time, with 
 waving sword out of the death wherein he 
 sank, there was only one galley left. Of all 
 that company of vikings there were no more 
 than nine to tell the tale. These nine we took 
 out of their boat, which was below waves 
 soon. Haco and his men are all fighting the 
 sea-shadows by now." 
 
 A loud snarling went from man to man. 
 This became a wild cry of rage. Then savage 
 
47 
 
 shouts filled the air. Swords were lifted up 
 against the sky, and the fierce glitter of the 
 blue eyes and the bristling of the tawny beards 
 were fair to see, thought the captive women, 
 though their hearts beat against their ribs like 
 eaglets against the bars of a cage. 
 
 Sweno the Hammerer frowned a deep frown 
 when he heard that Olaus was there with only 
 the Svart-Alf out of the galleys which had 
 gone the southward way. 
 
 "If the islanders come upon us now with 
 their birlinns we shall have to make a running 
 fight," he said. 
 
 Olaus laughed. 
 
 "Ay, but the running shall be after the 
 birlinns, Sweno." 
 
 " I hear that there are fifty and nine men 
 of these Culdees yonder under the sword- 
 priest, Maoliosa?" 
 
 " It is a true word. But to-night, after the 
 moon is up, there shall be none." 
 
 At that, all who heard laughed, and were 
 less heavy in their hearts because of the slay- 
 ing and drowning of Haco the Laugher and 
 all his crew. 
 
 "Where is the woman Brenda that you 
 
48 
 
 took?" Olaus asked, as he stared at Sweno's 
 boat and saw no woman there. 
 
 "She is in the sea." 
 
 Olaus the White looked. It was his eyes 
 that asked. 
 
 " I flung her into the sea because she laughed 
 when she heard of how the birlinns that were 
 under Somhairle the Renegade drave in upon 
 our ships, and how Haco laughed no more, 
 and the sea was red with Lochlin blood." 
 
 " She was a woman, Sweno — and none more 
 fair in the isles, after Morna that is mine." 
 
 "Woman or no woman, I flung her into 
 the sea. The Gael call us Gall: then I will 
 let no Gael laugh at the Gall. It is enough. 
 She is drowned. There are always women : 
 one here, one there — it is but a wave blown 
 this way or that." 
 
 At this moment a viking came running 
 across the ruined town with tidings. Maoliosa 
 and his Culdees were crowding into a great 
 birlinn. Perhaps they were coming to give 
 battle : mayhap they were for sailing away 
 from that place. 
 
 Olaus and Sweno stared across the fjord. 
 At first they knew not what to think. If 
 
4£ 
 
 Maoliosa thought of battle he would scarce 
 choose that hour and place. Or was it that 
 he knew the Gael were coming in force, and 
 that the vikings were caught in a trap ? 
 
 At last it was clear. Sweno gave a great 
 laugh. 
 
 "By the blood of Odin," he cried, "they 
 come to sue for peace!" 
 
 Slowly across the loch the birlinn, filled 
 with white-robed Culdees, drew near. At 
 the prow stood a tall, old man, with stream- 
 ing hair and beard, white as sea-foam. In 
 his right hand he grasped a great Cross, 
 whereon was Christ crucified. 
 
 The vikings drew close one to the other. 
 
 " Hail them in their own tongue, Sweno," 
 said Olaus. 
 
 The Hammerer moved to the water-edge, as 
 the birlinn stopped, a short arrow-flight away. 
 
 "Ho, there, priests of the Christ-faith!" 
 
 " What would you, viking ? " It was Maoliosa 
 himself that spoke. 
 
 "Why do you come here among us, you 
 that are Maoliosa?" 
 
 "To win you and yours to God, Pagan." 
 
 "Is it madness that is upon you, old man? 
 
50 
 
 We have swords and spears here, if we lack 
 hymns and prayers." 
 
 All this time Olaus kept a wary watch in- 
 land and seaward, for he feared that Maoliosa 
 came because of an ambush. 
 
 Truly the old monk was mad. He had told 
 his Culdees that God would prevail, and that 
 the Pagans would melt away before the Cross. 
 
 The ebb-tide was running swift. Even while 
 Sweno spoke, the birlinn touched a low sea- 
 hidden ledge of rock. 
 
 A cry of consternation went up from the 
 white-robes. Loud laughter came from the 
 vikings. 
 
 "Arrows!" cried Olaus. 
 
 With that three-score men took their bows. 
 There was a hail of death-shafts. Many fell 
 into the water, but some were in the brains 
 and hearts of the Culdees. 
 
 Maoliosa, himself, stood in death, transfixed 
 to the mast. 
 
 With a wild cry the monks swept their oars 
 backward. Then they leaped to their feet, 
 and changed their place, and rowed for life 
 or death. 
 
 The summer-sailors sprang into their galley. 
 
$1 
 
 Sweno the Hammerer was at the bow. The 
 foam curled and hissed. 
 
 The birlinn grided upon the opposite shore 
 at the self-same moment when Sweno brought 
 down his battle-axe upon the monk who 
 steered. The man was cleft to the shoulder. 
 Sweno swayed with the blow, stumbled, 
 and fell headlong into the sea. A Culdee 
 thrust at him with an oar, and pinned him 
 among the sea-tangle. Thus died Sweno the 
 Hammerer. 
 
 Then all the white-robes leaped upon the 
 shore. Yet Olaus was quicker than they. 
 With a score of vikings he raced to the 
 Church of the Cells, and gained the sanct- 
 uary. The monks uttered a cry of despair, 
 and, turning, fled across the moor. Olaus 
 counted them. There were now forty in all. 
 
 " Let forty men follow," he cried. 
 
 Like white birds, the monks fled this way 
 and that Olaus, and those who watched, 
 laughed at them as they stumbled, because 
 of their robes. One by one fell, sword-cleft 
 or spear-thrust. The moorland was red. 
 
 At the last there were less than a score — 
 twelve only — tenl 
 
52 
 
 " Bring them back ! " Olaus shouted. 
 
 When the ten fugitives were captured and 
 brought back, Olaus took the crucifix that 
 Maoliosa had raised, and held it before each 
 in turn. 
 
 "Smite," he said to the first monk. But 
 the man would not. 
 
 " Smite ! " he said to the second ; but he 
 would not. And so it was to the tenth. 
 
 "Good," said Olaus the White, "they shall 
 witness to their god." 
 
 With that he bade his vikings break up 
 the birlinn, and drive the planks into the 
 ground, and shore them up with logs. 
 
 When this was done he crucified each 
 Culdee. With nails and with ropes he did 
 unto each what their god had suffered. Then 
 all were left there by the water-side. 
 
 That night, when Olaus the White and the 
 laughing Morna left the great bonfire where 
 the vikings sang and drank horn after horn 
 of strong ale, they stood and looked across 
 the loch. In the moonlight, upon the dim 
 verge of the farther shore, they could discern 
 ten crosses. On each was a motionless white 
 splatch. 
 
V. 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 1 In Iona of my heart, Iona of my love, 
 Instead of the voice of monks shall be lowing of cattle, 
 But ere the world come to an end 
 Iona shall be as it was.' 
 
PATRICK GEDDES AND COLLEAGUES. 
 
 Zhe Celtic Xibtat^ 
 
 THE SIN -EATER: and other Tales. By Fiona Macleod. 
 Cloth, 8vo, 6j- 
 
 LYRA CELTICA: an Anthology of Celtic Poetry. Edited by 
 Elizabeth A. Sharp. Cloth, 8vo, 6/- 
 
 THE FIDDLER OF CARNE : a Romance. By Ernest Rhys. 
 Cloth, 8vo, 61- 
 
 THE WASHER OF THE FORD. By Fiona Macleod. 
 Cloth, 8vo, 6/- 
 
 THE SHADOW OF ARVOR : Breton Legendary Romances. 
 Retold by E. Wingate Rinder. Cloth, 8vo, 6/- 
 
 FROM THE HILLS OF DREAM: Mountain Songs and 
 Island Runes. By Fiona Macleod. Cloth, 8vo, 4/- nett. 
 
 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN : MacPherson's Translation. Edited 
 and re-arranged, with Introductory Note, by William Sharp. 
 Cloth, 8vo, 6/- 
 
 RE-ISSUE of Miss FIONA MACLEOD'S Shorter Tales. 
 Re-arranged from the The Sin-Eater and The Washer 
 of the Ford, with added Tales. In 3 volumes : I. Spiritual 
 Tales; II. Barbaric Tales; III. Tragic Romances; 
 Bound in Artistic Paper Covers, separately at 2/6 each nett. 
 or the three in box, 7/6 nett. 
 
 Now Complete, THE EVERGREEN : a Northern Seasonal. 
 
 In four Parts : Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter. Each 
 Part, in Embosed Leather Cover, 5/- ; the four Parts, complete 
 in Case, 21/- nett. 
 
 PATRICK GEDDES AND COLLEAGUES. 
 THE OUTLOOK TOWER, CASTLEHILL, EDINBURGH. 
 
Sealy, Brye^s & Walker, 
 
 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN. 
 
 The Dictionary of Dublin. A Complete Guide to the City and Suburbs, with ioo 
 
 Illustrations. Cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 History of the Irish Wolf Dog. Illustrated. By the Rev. Edmund Hogan, S.J. 
 
 Cloth boards, 2s. 
 
 Waggish Tales. By Edwin Hamilton, M.A, is. 
 
 Adventures of a Luckless Fellow. By Rev. Donough MacNamara. In the original 
 Irish Text, with Translation. Edited by Thomas O'FIanney. is. 6d. 
 
 The Three Sorrows of Storytelling, and Ballads of St. Columkille. By Douglas 
 
 Hyde.LL.D. is. 
 
 The Story of Early Gaelic Literature. By Douglas Hyde, LL.D. is. 
 
 The Giant in his Causeway : a Romance of the Giant's Causeway. 6d. 
 
 Owen Roe O'Neill. By J. F. Taylor, Q.C. is. 
 
 Life of Patrick Sarsfield. By John Todhunter. is. 
 
 Swift in Ireland. By Richard Ashe King. is. 
 
 Bishop Doyle (J.K.L.). By M. MacDonagh. is. 
 
 The Case of Ireland being bound by Acts of Parliament, stated by William 
 
 Molyneux. 2s. 
 
 Life of Hugh O'Donnell. By Rev. Denis Murphy, S.J. 6s. 
 
 Life of St. Patrick. By Muirchee Maccu Mactheni ; translated and edited by Rev. 
 Albert Barry, CSS. is. 
 
 Irish Noinins (Daisies). A collection of Humorous and Historical Ballads. By 
 Patrick M'Call. is. 
 
 The Jacobite War in Ireland. Edited by Count Plunkett. is. 
 
 A Vision of Ireland : and other Poems. By Eugene Davis (Owen Roe), is. 
 
 The Irish before the Conquest. Second Edition. By Lady Ferguson. With Maps. 
 Enlarged, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Irish Phrase Book : illustrating the various meanings and use of verbs and prepositions 
 combined. By Rev. Edmund Hogan, S.J. is. 6d, 
 
Printed by McLaren & Co., at Ye Mercat Press, Edinburgh, 
 
I