Jan. A dead woman I dinna ken what like a body he is, but they say he’s a’ black, and they ca’ him auld nick, because he’s aulder nor Adam, and Adam was the first man in the warld, and they say the de’il will never die, nor yet be sick, nor yet tak sair een.
Mag. A wow Janet but ye’re a witty creature, but can ye tell me what way the blackamoors is made, some fouk says they’re a’ dipped in cats blood and burnt bear strae, but I’m ay thinking the litster doucks them in amang the broe that they lit the black claith wi’, and then sells them to the lairds and gentle folks to flee their bairns wi’, or dis the gentles eat them when they’re dead think ye.[128]
Jan. Hout awa daft creature, the blackamoors is fouk just like oursel, but only they hae a black skin on them, did ye never see black sheep and white sheep, black horse and white horse, ye think they’re a’ de’ils because the de’il’s black: I thought mysel lang syne, they were made for the penny, and sell’d the dearer o’ the black skin.
Mag. But Janet did ye ever see the de’il, I wad fain ken what like he is, some says he’s like a bill, a bear or an auld beggar man.
Jan. Indeed I never saw sae muckle as the de’il a’ my days, but I’ve heard the ministers flyting and misca’ing him, and whan they said a’ that they cou’d say o’ him, they ca’d him an ill spirit, and a great liar, mony a ane has war names than a’ that yet.[129]
Mag. But do you think there is ony de’ils but ane, every body’s speaking an crying on him, ane couldna answer them a’.
Jan. A deed they say there’s black anes and white anes o’ them, humel anes, and horn’d anes, the very witches is haf de’ils whan they’re living, and hail de’ils when they’re dead; the brownies is haf dogs haf de’ils, a’ rugh but the mouth, seeks na claise, ae man’s meat ’ill sair them, and they’ll work ten mens work in ae night, forby hob-goblins fairies and elfs, that shoots fouks beasts to dead, an no a hole to be seen in the skin o’ them;[130] hard na ye tell o’ the twa Highland wives, how the tane cry’d oh, on, oh on, Shenet my cows shot, houp, poup, co’ she, an wha shot her, a de’d it was the de’il, oh hough, oh hough, Shenet we’ll a’ be kill’d whan the de’il has gotten a gun.
Mag. A sweet be wi’ us woman, is nit an unco thing they dinna a’ flee on the minister, whan he flytes and misca’s them sae, do ye think they hear him?
Jan. A doubtless but they hear and sees too, they’re neither blind nor bleer-ey’d, but ay whan ye speak o’ them, name the day cry it’s wansday thro’ a’ the warld and there’s nae fear o’ you.[131]