But mixes harmless with the bubbling rills.’
Dauntless he spoke, and, bending as he stood,
Drank with cool courage the suspected flood.”
Celsus, an older writer still, and styled the “Roman Hippocrates,” tells us in his great work, De Medicinâ, that the poison of serpents may be safely enough sucked by the mouth from the wound, warning the operator, however, to be careful that the lips and palate are free from any cut or excoriation by which the venom might find its way into the blood, in which case it might be just as dangerous as if introduced into the circulation by the fang itself. It should be stated that the grass or ringed snake spoken of above is not in the least poisonous, though ugly enough to look at, and ready enough to assume a threatening attitude if rudely disturbed. Nor, by the way, is the date of the present writing inappropriate to the discussion of such a subject, as we have at this moment discovered by the merest accident. The 6th of May you will find is a Saint’s day in the Calendar, being dedicated to St. John ante Portam Latinam, the legend connected with which is as follows:—The Beloved Disciple, after preaching the Gospel in various parts of the world, was in his old age taken to Rome by the Emperor Domitian, and because he refused to renounce the religion of Christ, was put into a cauldron of boiling oil before the Latin Gate—Porta Latina—which, however, did him no more harm than did Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego; on the contrary, John came out of the cauldron rejuvenated, younger, fairer, and more beautiful than before. Afterwards a cup of deadliest poison was given him to drink, but as he was putting it to his lips, the poison, assuming the appropriate shape of a venomous serpent, glided from the cup, leaving the draught harmless and pure. He was finally banished to Patmos, where he wrote the Apocalypse.
Old Fingalian rhymes and proverbs having reference to dogs and the hunting of the stag, as it was then pursued, are very common in the Highlands, and show how devoted to the chase were our Celtic ancestors. Our neighbour, the Rev. Mr. Clerk of Kilmallie, in his splendid edition of Ossian, gives some of these old rhymes in his very interesting and learned notes on Fingal. The following was sent us a short time ago, and as it has never appeared in print, we present it to the reader with a liberal translation. We are always glad to be able to rescue from oblivion even the smallest shred of the folk-lore of the olden time. The story goes that this rhyme was first of all taught by a fairy to a gay young hunter “of the period,” under the following circumstances:—Once upon a time, a sprightly, green-robed fairy, a sort of princess in her way, fell in love with a young Fingalian hunter, who had frequent occasion, on his way to and from the chase, to pass the shian or green knoll in which the fairy band of the glen had taken up their abode. The fairy and her hunter lover had frequent opportunities of meeting in secret, until some evil-disposed sister fairy divulged Brianag’s—for that was the fairy’s name—imprudent and unfairy-like conduct to the powerful fairy prince Aërlunn, who was himself over head and ears in love with the beautiful Brianag, though she gave him no encouragement at all; on the contrary, she flatly told him that, great and powerful as he was, she did not love him in the least, and would have nothing to do with him. On hearing how things were going on, Aërlunn was very jealous and very angry, just as a mortal might be under similar circumstances, and he issued an edict, as Prince of the Fairies of that glen, by which, after reflecting severely on the unfairy-like conduct of Brianag and others of the band, he prohibited Brianag from leaving the shian on any pretence whatever, except for the one hour before midnight on the night when the moon completed her first quarter—perfect liberty to do as they like during this one hour in the month is every fairy’s birthright, and no power can deprive them of it. He would have done something very dreadful to Brianag’s lover, only the latter was protected from any evil a fairy enemy could do to him by a talisman of extraordinary value, which his uncle, a priest of the Druids, had given him, and which he always carried on his person. Brianag and her lover were thus able to meet for one hour in every month, despite the opposition of the angry Aërlunn, whose jealousy became at last so insupportable, that he resolved to shift his court and people from that glen to another at a great distance. To this arrangement, much as she regretted it, as it separated herself and her lover, Brianag dare not object. It is a prerogative appertaining to the Princes of Fairyland that they can shift their court at will, when and whither they please. The fairy palace thus forsaken is still to be seen in Glen Etive, and has ever since been called An Sithean Samhach—the Quiet or Deserted Fairy Knoll. On parting with her lover at their last interview, Brianag presented him with a silver horn, whose blast could be heard, loud and clear, over the Seven Hills and across the Seven Glens; and knowing that it was his ambition to excel all others in the chase, she instructed him as to the best kind of dog to have and hunt withal as follows:—
Cuilean bus-dubh, buidhe,
Ceud mhac na saidhe,
Air àrach air meog ’s air bainne ghabhar,
Cha deach’ air sliabh air nach beireadh.
Which may stand in English thus:—