Chapter V: Modern Chips of the Old Blocks (2)

But the superstition which we find most constantly cropping up is the practice of the _deisul_, that is, a turn southward, following the course of the sun, such as the custom of rowing a boat sunwise, at first starting, or of walking thrice sunwise round any person to whom one wishes good luck. At the new year, when the sun begins its yearly revolution, a cow’s hide used in like manner to be carried thrice round the house, following the course of the sun.

The word _deisul_ is derived from _deas_, the right hand, and _sul_, the sun; the right hand being always kept next to that object round which the turn was made. I believe _deas_ literally means the _south_ which lies on the right hand when the face looks eastward; but the word is used to denote everything which is right and well doing. The Gaelic for east is _ear_, from _eiridh_, to rise. West, on the contrary, is _iar_, after. A person turning against the course of the sun faces the west, and everything becomes unlucky. His right hand will then be to the north, _tuath_, and the very word _tuathaisd_ denotes a stupid person; hence the words _deisul_ and _tuathail_ are in Gaelic equivalent to right and wrong.

This contrary turn from right to left was called _tuaphol_, or _widdershins_, or _cartua-sul_; and by the Latins _sinistrorum_. It was only made when invoking a curse on some particular object. Thus evil-doers and malignant witches began the devil’s work by so many turns against the course of the sun. Among the confessions of a wretched schoolmaster accused of witchcraft, and tortured in presence of James VI. and his Privy Council, he is shown to have gone round the Church of North Berwick in a contrary direction to the sun, after which he merely blew upon the lock, and the door opened. For this and similar offences the wretched man was burnt alive. Times had changed since a precisely similar action, wrought by St. Columba, had been extolled as a saintly miracle; at least there is a tradition to the effect that it was thus Columba gained admission to the presence of Brude, when that monarch refused him an audience. St. Adamnan, however, affirms that the cross signed on the palace gates was the sole talisman used on that occasion.

Whatever may have been the virtue ascribed to these singular solar turns, we find them again and again alluded to in the history of various ancient nations. Even in the sacred page we may trace their symbolical use; most notably in that strange account of the miraculous siege of Jericho, when by divine command the host of Israel was made to compass the city thirteen times in awful silence, unbroken save by the dread sound of the seven sacred trumpets borne by the seven priests who preceded the Holy Ark. On seven successive days were Joshua and his men of war bidden to form a vast procession, escorting the priests who bore the ark, and, having marched once round the doomed city in the sight of its wondering, and doubtless mocking, people, they were then to return silently to their camp. But on the seventh day they were commanded to compass the city seven times, and when the trumpets sounded, then the whole multitude joined in a shout so mighty that it seemed to rend the very heaven, and even as they did so the strong foundations were shaken, and the battlemented walls crumbled and fell to the ground, and the Israelites marched up straight before them and possessed the city that had been thus marvellously given into their hands.

Some idea of the mysterious virtue attached to these sunwise turns may perhaps be the reason that the Jews, in several different countries, thus march seven times round their newly-coffined dead. In Pagan records we find the same customs common to both Greeks and Romans. There is also historical evidence of their having been practised by the Gauls three thousand years ago. Virgil mentions them among the funeral rites of Pallas, when the mourners first marched thrice in sad procession round the funeral pile, then mounting their steeds, again made the same sad circuit three times, amid wails of sorrow.

Among the Santhals (aborigines of India) the corpse is carried thrice round the funeral pyre, and laid thereon; the next of kin then makes a torch of grass, and after walking three times round the pile in silence touches the mouth of the deceased with the flaming brand, averting his own face. After this the friends and kindred gather round, all facing the south, and set fire to the pyre. The same ceremony is observed by every devout Hindu. In the days of suttee, now happily gone by, the wretched young widow must thus go thrice sunwise round the funeral pyre whereon lay the body of her deceased lord, before she ventured to lie down beside him to await her horrible death. I have myself often watched either the Brahmins or the nearest relations of the dead walk thrice sunwise round the funeral pyre before they applied the torch. In their pilgrimage round the holy city of Benares and other places of pilgrimage they follow the same course. With them, however, this homage to the sun is a natural part of their daily worship, wherein he is adored as the true light of Brahma, filling earth and heaven, the foe of darkness, the destroyer of every sin. Therefore the worshipper bows to the great cause of day, and making a turn toward the south exclaims, “I follow the course of the sun. As he in his course moves through the world by the way of the south, so do I, in following him, obtain the merit of a journey round the world by way of the south.”

So in the Himalayas. The prayer-wheels are always turned sunwise, and it is held to be iniquitous to turn them in the opposite direction; hence the great unwillingness of the people to allow us to touch them. In Thibet also, where they build long terraces engraven with forms of adoration, there is always a path on each side of them, so that the people in passing by may go on one side and return by the other, sunwise. When they dance round their idols, or go in procession round their temples, the same course is always followed, just as it has been in all ages by the followers of Buddha, whether in Thibet, Nepaul, Burmah, or Ceylon, where it has ever been accounted an act of merit to walk sunwise round every dagoba, or relic shrine, in the land. I must, however, confess that on several occasions I observed the pious Buddhists of Ceylon making their circuit round the dagobas in the wrong direction. Whether malice to any neighbour prompted such a course must be ascertained by some one better versed in the Singhalese tongue. I was told that in the same isle there still exist tribes whose custom it is to carry their dead thrice sunwise round the newly-dug grave ere they are laid therein. Thus, too, the devout Mohammedan completes his meritorious pilgrimage to Mecca by making the circuit of the Caaba seven times sunwise.

In the Christian churches of Abyssinia the officiating priests, bearing the cross and incense, thus march three times round the altar; with slow and solemn step, at the end of each part of the service. I suppose the custom is common to all the Greek Church, as in the marriage ceremony (every part of which is thrice repeated), the young couple having thrice drank from the chalice and thrice kissed the cross, conclude by following the priest thrice sunwise round the altar.

All Russian sects likewise order their processions so as to follow the sun’s course, and I have little doubt that some insensible trace of homage to the _deisul_ has ordered the course of our own ecclesiastical processions round churches on the day of consecration, when, beginning at the east, they go round the south aisle to the west, a course which I believe is invariable, and not otherwise accounted for. That this was the daily custom of our ancestors is well known; and at Stonehenge we can still distinguish the earthen path encompassing the temple whereby the priests and people passed on their daily round.

We need not go far for instances of the _deisul_. At our own tables, the bottles are always sent round following the course of the sun, and to reverse their journey has always been held unlucky. Should a bottle be thoughtlessly diverted from its course, a true Highlander will turn it round before sending it on. Not that this feeling is peculiar to the north. The remark of a Lincolnshire servant concerning a helper whose waiting at table had been commended, shows that the old instinct is still alive; “Oh! I did not think much of his waiting! He went round the table against the sun.”

The idea of luck was, as we have seen, connected with the south, the right hand being described as the south hand. Therefore a bride must, at the marriage service, be led east by south, westward to the side of her future husband; and if the young couple hope for any luck in the future, they must begin their wedded life by making a turn sunwise. Likewise at the churching of women, and at burials, this custom was commonly observed, till quite recently. Every village had its lucky spot round which the dead were so carried.

Among the “Reminiscences of a Highland Parish,” mention is made of the fact that the bier must be thus carried thrice round the old Iona Cross, at the foot of which it then rested for a few minutes. This old custom had been continued without a break from the old pagan days; for in the life of St. Columba it is recorded that when he took possession of the Holy Isle of the Druids, every funeral procession that came to lay its dead in Iona, halted at a mound called Eala, whereon the corpse was laid, while the mourners marched thrice solemnly round the spot.

It appears also as if the unaccountable prejudice against burying the dead on the north side of a church was due to the same insensible reverence for the sun (the source of all purity and light); towards whose rising the sleepers were to look as they lay with their feet turned eastward. The abode of the evil spirit lay to the north, away from the sun’s gracious influences. Hence the crowd of graves invariably found on the south side of almost every country churchyard, whether in Scotland, Wales, or England, while on the north side there are probably none, save perhaps the tiny green mounds that mark the burial-place of some unbaptised infant, or the unhallowed tomb of a suicide. The same curious fact has been remarked by antiquaries in their researches among the graves of the Ancient Britons. They tell us that in examining their burial hills, all the interments, however numerous, are invariably on the south side. Out of several hundred barrows examined in different parts of the country, only two instances are recorded in which human remains were found to the north of the tumulus.

The perpetual recurrence of the terms _east_ and _west_, in the mouth of a genuine Highlander of course originate in the same feeling. If you ask a man into your house, you bid him “come west,” quite irrespective of the points of the compass. To bid him come east, however true geographically, would be gross insult, involving ill-luck. Once within the house, the host gives his guest a dram, and bids him “Put it west his throat,” implying goodwill in the swallowing of it. A lad courting a lass is said to be “putting it west upon her.” If you bid a man take some work in hand heartily, you bid him “put it west,” or “put west your foot.” Hence the answer of a poor old man to whom a bolus had been recommended for his often infirmities. Being asked if he had taken it, he replied, “Na, mem! it wadna gang east!” meaning that it was so utterly against the grain. I suppose, however, we must refer merely to the points of the compass, the question lately asked us by an old woman at the post-office, whether she must stamp her letter in the east or west corner!

The only exception to this rule of good and evil luck which has ever come to my knowledge is in the case of divination by smoke, when it seems to be accounted the luckiest omen that the smoke should drift eastward towards the rising sun. A quaint instance of this old superstition came under the notice of the minister of Nether-Lochaber in the autumn of 1872. An old man had gone to a distant market to sell a colt. He was absent so long that the wife grew anxious, more especially desiring to know whether he had been successful in getting the price they had agreed to ask for the colt. So she heaped up a big fire, and sent out her young daughter to gather a bundle of green alder boughs. These she placed on the fire; then going outside the cottage watched to see in what direction the smoke would drift as it issued from the chimney. It so chanced that it floated eastward, and the wifie turned to her daughter well pleased, saying she knew all was well, for she had never known that omen fail. Nor did it do so in this case, for a few hours later the gudeman returned, having sold his colt for a price considerably higher than he had expected. It seems that the only condition necessary to working this spell is, that the alder boughs must be gathered with definite reference to the case in point, and by the hand of a maiden. If these two points are not rigidly observed, the augury will fail, and the smoke will drift aimlessly to and fro; the direction of the wind is apparently a matter of no consequence. The ever-observant narrator of the above, adds that this particular form of witchcraft was common both among the Greeks and Romans, and was known to the students of magic as _capnomancy_, that is, divination of smoke. It seems, however, that when the priests drew auguries from the smoke of the sacrifices, the most hopeful omen was that the column of smoke should ascend direct heavenward. Perhaps the most remarkable use of the terms east and west occurs in the old version of the creed in Gaelic, which tells how our Lord “went east” into the place of the dead, and “went west” into heaven. (By the way, how curious in this land of rain to notice the derivation of the Gaelic word hell.—_I-frin_, from _I-bhuirn_; the island of incessant rain.)

You see, in great matters, as in the least, the same insensible reverence for the sun-god prevails. May I not even suggest a childish derivation in the similarity between the words _deisul_ and _daisy_ (day’s eye), as faithful a follower of the bright eye of light as the great sun-flower himself, the _Giro al Sole_—anglicé, _Jerusalem_ Artichoke!!

Of the use of the _deisul_ as a charm there are still frequent instances. When the cattle are sick, any wise woman consulted invariably begins her prescription by an order for three turns round the cow-byre, with other ceremonies. This was quite recently earnestly recommended by the cow-herd to a gentleman living on the Black Isle in Ross-shire, whose cows were ailing. Fishermen have also told me that whenever any accident befalls the boats, if a man is drowned, the older men are sure to try and prove that he turned out of bed the wrong way—or that he steered against the sun at starting!

I have just been told by a lady now living in Banffshire, that having in her childhood taken a strong aversion to her new nurse, the servants in the house agreed that she must have been bewitched by a previous attendant. They therefore set her on the floor, and drew a circle round her, with sundry ceremonies. These having failed to counteract the charm, they took her to the great kitchen fire, whence projected an iron crank and chain, by which the pots were suspended. This was solemnly turned round her nine times, sunwise. Even this potent spell failed—so she was next removed to the cow-byre, when the cow’s tail, adorned with red thread, was in like manner passed nine times sunwise round her neck!

In the same parish there is now living an old woman, who carries a live peat sunwise round her cottage every night, just as regularly as she says her prayers. Moreover she is most particular about keeping a red thread twisted round her cow’s tail, as otherwise she is convinced that the milk would pass from her cow to her neighbour’s. Also if it is sick, she at once kindles the old Need-fire.

A curious old book, relating Mr. Martin’s tour in the Hebrides in the year 1690, gives sundry particulars of these old customs. In Lewis he met the parish minister, who had just returned from his first visit to the distant Isle of St. Ronan, where the people had greeted him with the assurance that he was expected, as they had beheld him by second sight. In spite of his protests they made their sunwise turn round him. They then slew five sheep, one for each family—and making sacks of their skins, at once filled them with barley meal, which they presented to him as being a stranger. They told him that they always knew when either the minister or the Earl of Seaforth had died, by the coming of a cuckoo, which they never saw or heard at any other time. He also observed that when the men went to the island of St. Flannan, near Lewis, in pursuit of sea-fowl, as soon as they had effected the difficult landing, they uncovered their heads, and made a turn sunwise, thanking God for their safety. They then repaired to the little chapel of St. Flannan, on approaching which, they stripped off their upper garments and laid them on a great stone set there on purpose, after which they advanced on their knees towards the chapel, and so went round the little building in procession—just as the Hindus in the Himalayas do now. They then set to work rock-fowling till the hour of vespers, when the same ceremony was repeated. They held it unlawful to kill any sea-bird after evening prayer, and in any case might never kill a bird with a stone.

The islanders used to say that even the birds of the air were taught by nature to follow the _deisul_; more especially noting how the puffin, on its arrival in March, makes a tour round the island sunwise, before it will settle on the ground, and observes the same ceremony before its departure in August—therefore, they said it was assuredly right that they should make a similar turn with their boat before starting for the fishery.

One place where the _deisul_ is still kept up is at Kilbar in the Isle of Barra, where on St. Barr’s day (25th September), all the Roman Catholic population attend mass in the chapel at Borve, in honour of their tutelar saint, and then ride across the island to Kilbar, the ancient burial-place of the M‘Neils. Each rough pony carries not only his wild unkempt master, but also that master’s sweetheart or wife, who in her turn carries a bunch of wild carrots. This quaint procession marches thrice round the ruins to secure luck for the little island in the coming year.

Of the strong popular feeling as to the ill-luck attending any procession going contrary to the sun, an example was lately furnished in connection with the new cemetery near Inverness; on the top of the Fairies’ Hill (which now might rather be called, “the Hill of the Silent”), a hill moulded by nature into the form of a mighty tumulus, rising abruptly from the level vale below. It so strongly resembles an artificial mound, that you can scarcely discredit the old tradition which tells that here in long-forgotten days, certain old Scottish kings were buried: and that it really is an ancient tumulus, which now, after the lapse of a thousand years has been restored to its old use. A very peaceful and calm resting-place it is for these quiet sleepers; far above the cares and troubles of the town; already somewhat nearer heaven than their neighbours; and lying where every light seabreeze that sweeps up the valley from the Firth to Loch Ness, must kiss the green hillock on its way. The regular road to this city of the dead approaches the hill with a circuitous turn sunwise. There is, however, a shorter path to the corner where the very poor are buried, and it has sometimes been found convenient to bring their simple processions by this more direct line. In various instances the people have remonstrated against such infringement of all decency and old custom, as proposing thus to carry the corpse against the course of the sun; so the circuitous route must always be followed.

Another curious superstition is that the churchyard-gate (the Lych-gate) must on no account be made to open outwards—otherwise the spirits of the dead would pass out, and trouble the land. It must open inwards, and the dead must be carried in feet forwards.

The opening of a new churchyard always awakens some of these strange fancies; there is an especial dread of being the first laid in such new ground, as it is firmly believed that the Evil One claims all such first-fruits—so any strong-minded spirit who desires that his funeral should inaugurate a new kirkyard, is a public benefactor. When the sunny burial-ground, on the fir-clad hill above Forres, was first made, it waited long before a suitable victim could be found. At last a miserable old drunken soldier died, whose future prospects seemed so very poor, that they could not well be made worse; so he was forthwith installed in these new quarters. So too in the case of the new cemetery at Inverness. The anxious question was solved by the arrival of an American ship, in which a poor young officer had died of fever, and his shipmates buried him on the Fairies’ Green Hill, unheeding, or ignorant of the consequences.

Among the curious customs connected with funerals, one, still common in some counties (in Aberdeen and Banff invariably), is, that before the coffin leaves the house a couple of chairs are laid on the ground, and the coffin is set standing across them. Then when it is raised, the chairs are kicked over, to symbolize that the dead has no further use for anything on earth. The chairs must be left untouched till the mourners return from the grave, and it is sometimes a matter of difficulty to prevent the children from going near them in their play. What may be the origin of this curious “fret” no one has the smallest idea, but it is rarely if ever omitted in the districts I have named. In these it was also customary, till within the last thirty years, to let loose every animal on a farm, at the death of the owner; a faint trace, perhaps, of old days, when they might have been sacrificed to appease his spirit, or for his future use; as, when the Scythians and Scandinavians, or the wild tribes of Northern India and America slew the favourite horse of the dead, that he might find his accustomed steed awaiting him on the happy hunting grounds. Or, it may be, that the thought symbolized, was the newly found freedom of the spirit, in token of which those same Indians carried cages full of birds to the newly made grave, and there gave liberty to the captives, that by their joyous flight from the empty prison, they might tell of a glad unshackled life “in the fields of the viewless air.”

Formerly it was the custom immediately after a death to extinguish all fires in the house, while on the breast of the dead was set a wooden platter, whereon were placed a lighted candle, a handful of salt, and one of earth, not mixed; the former being the emblem of the spirit, the latter of the body, whose separation was hereby shown. Far more graceful is the type in use among such Jews as hold the resurrection of the body, and who symbolize its union with an immortal spirit, by a glass lamp with a burning flame—the notion being, that as the glass if broken into fragments may be restored to its original perfection by the glass-blower who first produced it, so the human body, though dissolved into dust, may, with equal ease, be re-created by its Maker. So the burning lamp is placed at the head of the dead, as a reminder to the living.

One remarkable practice which, till very recently, existed in Lewis and other isles, was that of carrying fire all round the houses and goods of different members of the community, men especially, round women after the birth of children, and round infants until baptized, to protect them from evil spirits. There can be no doubt that this was a trace of the old worship of Baal. Though the custom of encircling a cow with fire, after she has calved, is probably now extinct, one somewhat similar is still common in Shetland, where a cat being set on the cow’s neck, is drawn along by her tail, to that of the cow. Then the cat is placed on the middle of the cow’s back, and drawn down one side and up the other, tail foremost. Thus the interesting mother is inclosed in a magic circle, which makes her proof against the enchantments of the trows or trolls, and the elfin tribes who dwell in the green hillocks, and whose haunts no Shetlander would pass after nightfall, without carrying with him a live coal.

These islanders are said still to retain various strange superstitions, one of the most remarkable is described as “casting the heart,” which means that when anyone is wasting away from some vague consumptive disease, he assumes himself to be the victim of some witchcraft. He therefore calls in some skilled woman, who with many mystic ceremonies, melts lead, and pours it through a key, into cold water, repeating the operation till the lead assumes a form something like a heart, which the patient then wears as an amulet, hung round the neck, and next the skin. So you see you need not go to oriental lands in search of such charms. Though the custom of _encircling_ the cow is now probably extinct, and its meaning forgotten, many old farmers believe that to _measure_ her, is a certain cure for divers diseases; this doubtless being a trace of the former fire-circle.

Of course, in seeking for traces of the old fire-worship, we are most likely to find them on those days when the great fire festivals were celebrated. Of these, the four principal were held on the eve of May-day or Spring; on Midsummer’s-eve; on Hallow-E’en, the Autumn festival; and at Yule, the midwinter feast. There were also sundry lesser festivals. The first of which we still find some trace is “Brose-day,” which is one of the merriest farm holidays of the year—more commonly known perhaps by its Christian name of Fastern’s E’en—that is, the eve of Ash Wednesday. It is, in fact, the carnival of Scotland; and, like that merry saturnalia, is an undoubted relic of pre-Christian times. It is said to have been one of the Phœnician and Celtic Fire festivals, with ceremonies akin to Hallow-e’en and Yule. We all know how, on this day, all the farm servants and cottagers go from house to house, each carrying his own spoon and bowl to “sup brose;” that is, a thick gruel, wherein are placed divers objects of mystic meaning—buttons, coins, a thimble, a bit of red thread—which denote the future fate of whoever finds them in his portion. Similar objects are hidden in the bannocks or cakes, which every good wife distributes. These, like the pancakes of England, must be made with eggs and milk. The person who bakes them must not speak one word till her task is done. She may then tell the fortunes of all comers by dropping the white of an egg into water. Formerly this was a great day for cock-fighting; doubtless a relic of olden times when cocks were offered to the sun, and when these various preparations of flour, eggs, and oatmeal were also among the things sacrificed. Many an old wife in the Highlands, who never perhaps heard of Shrove Tuesday, can tell you the doggrel lines by which she finds that movable feast:—

“First comes Candlemas,
Then the New Moon,
The Tuesday after that
Is Fastern’s Ne’en.”[38]

In some parts of France we still find traces of this old feast; but, just as in Scotland, many of the observances of May-day are reserved for the following Sunday; so in this case, the ancient merry-makings have been adjourned till the first Sunday in Lent. Thus we find the “Faschenottes” a rural festival of the Vosges; when, immediately after vespers, all the young folk assemble on the open green. The lads and lassies in separate companies each form a chain, and commence wheeling round three times. They then sing in chorus, “Whom shall we marry?” and having elected a couple, they dance round them three times. This goes on, amid much kissing, till all the company are paired, and go whirling on like mad creatures. On a given signal, each girl receives a torch brought from the church, and all go up together to set fire to a pile of wood in the middle of the green. Then they resume their whirling dance; and when the bonfire is nearly extinct, each couple joins in the scramble for a brand, and those who succeed in getting one, carry it off in triumph to the home of the young woman.

A very similar custom is observed in the Lyonnois on the first Sunday in Lent, which is called the “Dimanche des Brandons,” from the fact that all the peasants on this night go into their orchards carrying fire-brands, and walk round every fruit tree, adjuring it to bear fruit abundantly the following season, lest it be cut down and burnt.

As to the Roman Carnival so strangely akin to the Eastern Sun-festival held at the same period, there can be little doubt that it was a feast of Carneus, under which name the Sun-god was sometimes worshipped, and the name also from which the Armoric _Carnac_, and the Gaelic _Carnach_, and _Carn_-fires were derived. The alteration of the word to Carne-vale, “adieu to flesh,” was simply the usual expedient of adapting Pagan feasts to Christian uses.

If we turn to the far East where Krishna, _alias_ Heri, the Sun-god, is also worshipped as Carna, “the radiant one,” we shall there find the identical feast still observed throughout the length and breadth of Hindoostan, where the Hooli festival is kept as the maddest saturnalia of the year. It is especially sacred to Bhavani, the goddess of the spring, in honour of whose re-awakening the people make merry, and hold a carnival, in which, instead of bonbons, they throw powders of every brilliant colour to represent how nature strews the earth with flowers of every hue. The effect of such a game on the white robes of the natives can be imagined. In an old book of Asiatic researches it is stated that on this day the Hindus invariably erected a Maypole hung with garlands, around which the people danced, precisely as in England. This may be the custom still in some districts. Such a practice seems clearly to point to a festival celebrated by the common ancestors of the Eastern and Western worlds. The custom of sending folk on fools’ errands (April fools in short), is one of the amusements of the Hooli.

The Buddhists likewise celebrate a great Spring festival in February, which they call the festival of the new year. It lasts fifteen days, during which sacrifices are offered of tea, butter, flour, and milk (animal sacrifices being prohibited), and great feasting is kept up, with dances and illuminations. In short, it is the great carnival of Thibet. They hold a second festival at the commencement of summer; a third at the beginning of autumn.

A somewhat similar Spring festival is observed among the snake-eating aborigines of India. I mean those hill tribes of the Eastern Highlands—the Coles, or Coels, and Santhals—whom Bishop Heber describes as the Gaels of the East. In the month of April they assemble by thousands, and devote several days to feasting and dancing. Captain Sherwill has described one of these wild midnight meetings by torchlight. There were about five thousand half-naked savages present. In the centre of an open plain was erected a high stage, whereon sat the more distinguished men. This seemed to be the axle of a wheel, whence radiated living spokes; in other words, long strings of women, twenty or thirty in a line, each holding her neighbour by the waistband. There were about four hundred women thus dancing at once—chanting in measured time; while the men danced wildly in a great outer circle, playing the maddest, wildest music on pipes, and flutes, and drums, covered with monkey skins. This huge living wheel rotates on its own axis, slowly turning from left to right—that is, sunwise—and fresh relays of dancers are always ready to take the place of the weary. The women wear graceful drapery, and adorn their hair with flowers, or bunches of red Tussore silk, while the men tie bunches of porcupine quills or tall peacock’s feathers round their heads; and these nodding plumes add a finishing touch to this strange wild scene, which no doubt bore some allusion to the great wheel of light, a symbol well understood by the Santhals, who at the commencement of their rebellion in 1855, declared that their god had appeared to them _as a flame of fire, in form like the wheel of a bullock-cart_.

The wheel, as a sacred emblem, is found on a considerable number of ancient sculptures in Southern India—generally on those of the Buddhists, who are supposed to have adopted this symbol from the sun-worshipping tribes who preceded them. It is also held sacred by the followers of Vishnu, who is, in fact an incarnation of the Sun-god, and whose temple-spire is distinguished by the mystic wheel which surmounts it. Moreover, every temple of Vishnu (_alias_ Juggernaut) is provided with a car raised on great wheels, whereon, at midsummer, the idol is drawn forth for an airing—the circuit it performs being held symbolic of the course of the heavenly bodies.

We also find the wheel carved on some of the gems of the Egyptian gnostics, and generally in connection with other recognised symbols of the sun. Sometimes a winged griffin, with triple human head, and riding on horseback, is shown rolling the wheel of eternity. Sometimes the griffin has the head of a cock, while his body terminates in a coil of serpents. Thus the principal emblems of sun-worship are condensed into the space of small gems.

It certainly is curious to observe how many nations have attached a religious signification to circular dances. There seems reason to believe that the sacred dancing of the Israelites was of this mystic figure; and we are told that the Hebrew word used by King David in the verse “Praise Him with timbrels and dances,” implies a circular dance. These were also commonly performed by the Druids in the oak groves and forests of Gaul and Britain; and I think we stumbled on some very curious nineteenth century chips of these old blocks at Helston, seven miles from Penryn in Cornwall, where, from time immemorial, the ancient Spring Festival has been observed on May Day old style, that is to say, the 8th May.

Helston derived its name from a huge boulder of dark granite, which erst (so runs the legend) lay at the mouth of hell, whence for some diabolical purpose it was brought to earth by the Arch Fiend. But as he passed over Cornwall, St. Michael, the faithful guardian saint of the land, espied him, and gave him battle, wherein the Prince of the Air, being worsted, fled, and in his flight dropped the hell-stone, which, as a matter of course, became thenceforth an object of superstitious reverence. The stone was broken up some years ago, as being handy building material, and its fragments were shown to us, built into the stables of the Angel Inn.

The Spring Festival is there known as the Furry or Floral Day and observed as a general holiday. The whole town is decorated with flowers and flags, long garlands of flowers are festooned across the road, shops are closed, bells are ringing, and the day is given up to festivity, of which the main feature is the Furry dance, formerly a circling twining dance, all holding hands and carrying a garland, now degenerated into a jiggy polka, which keeps time with the Furry tune, a quaint old Cornish air. The dancers, of course, are adorned with flowers. Every house in the town being thrown open to the revellers, the long procession starts from the old inn, headed by the musicians; these again being preceded by the lord of the manor and the civic authorities represented in these degenerate days by a common domestic “Bobby,” who clears the way for the dancers and leads them in and out of every house in all the main streets of the town. The furniture has all been previously cleared away, so as to leave ample space for the dancers, who, circling in at the back door, dance through the kitchen or parlour, and out at the front door into the street or garden, and thus visit every house in succession. As the procession whirls onward it is gradually increased by a multitude of bystanders, who at first had been too bashful to claim partners, but who, after a while, begin beating time to the irresistible Furry melody, and soon, yielding to the general excitement, find themselves whirling along to its quaint tuneful measure. This is called going the round of the town, and the ceremony is repeated several times in the course of the day. Whether the old bonfires still blaze at night I failed to learn.

Another trace of these old festivals is to be seen at Penzance, where the Midsummer Eve rejoicings, instead of being celebrated on the Eve of St. John, are transferred to that of St. Peter, which immediately follows, St. Peter being the patron saint of fishers. On this night the fishwives assemble with lighted torches in one hand, and, each grasping her neighbour with the disengaged hand, dances a curious circling dance, somewhat resembling those of the Himalayan girls, though lacking their elegance.

There can be no doubt that some similar fire festival of old gave rise to that mad scramble for the holy fire which the Greek and Armenian monks in Jerusalem pretend to receive from heaven on the Greek Easter Eve. Just as our forefathers were wont to gather round the Druid priests, to receive from them the Heaven-sent gift, so on this solemn night a vast multitude of pilgrims assemble in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and work themselves up to a state of frenzy and madness while waiting for the fire which shall ensure their salvation. The bishops and priests, bearing banners and crucifixes, smoking censers and lighted candles, _march thrice round the church_ in solemn procession, invoking the aid of every picture, altar, and relic, to win for them the fiery blessing. A Greek and an Armenian bishop now disappear into a small room adjoining the Holy Sepulchre, and presently heavenly flames are seen to issue from the door and from the small circular windows. Priests of the various sects stand waiting, torch in hand, ready to receive the holy fire; and all the multitude press forward in a tumultuous scramble, to kindle candles and torches, either from the torches of the priests or from the living flames that play round the inner chamber. In their frenzy they press forward, no matter at what cost, many of the feebler pilgrims being literally crushed to death, or trampled under foot in the confusion. Kinglake mentions that in one year two hundred people were killed in the awful struggle. When at length all the torches have been kindled, and when the atmosphere of the church has become stifling by reason of the smoke and heat of the flames, the bishops come forth from their hiding-place, and forming a solemn procession, they once more _march thrice round the church_, giving thanks to the Almighty for the fire so miraculously vouchsafed.

With the omission of the sham miracle, the observance of this night would seem to be much the same wherever the Greek Church rules, and awfully solemn in truth is the hushed silence when in great cities such as Moscow or Athens vast multitudes, holding in their hands unlighted torches, assemble in the streets or in the churches at the dark midnight hour, such perfect stillness being maintained that no sound breaks the deathlike silence, save the voices of the priests, chanting solemn _Misereres_. Suddenly the firing of a cannon announces that Easter Day has begun, and in one moment the oppressive darkness is succeeded by a blaze of light from thousands of torches and tapers, which seems to run along the length and breadth of the city in streams of fire, shedding a red glow on the multitudes who, with one voice, join in the triumphant shout of “Christ is risen! Christ is risen!”

The Church of Rome pretends to no miracle, when on Easter morning she rekindles the lights on the altar (which had been extinguished on Good Friday) with holy fire brought from the Sistine Chapel, where (according to the rubric) it has been kindled by sparks struck from a stone, in remembrance of Christ the Living Corner Stone. Nevertheless it is interesting to notice how very many pagan nations have observed the same custom of once a year extinguishing their holy fire, and then rekindling a new flame. We have already spoken of the practice in Britain and in Persia. We find it also amongst the ancient Peruvians, and the old Romans. The latter, we are told, always renewed the sacred fire of Vesta on the 1st of March.

Very similar is the practice of the modern Sun-worshippers in Chaldea, as described by Layard in his “Nineveh.” He found at Semil a vast concourse of people assembled at a temple known as the temple of Sheikh Shems, that is, the sun, round which pastured a drove of white oxen sacred to the sun, and never slain except at great festivals, when their flesh was given to the poor. As night drew on the priests lighted innumerable lamps, which were suspended from rocks and trees through all the valley, and which glittered from every recess of the dark forest and the mountain side. As they moved to and fro, carrying this sacred fire, the people pressed forward and passed their right hands through the flame, and touched their right eyebrows with the hands thus purified, which they then kissed devoutly. Those who carried children did likewise by them. Thousands of torches were then lighted, gleaming on stream and foliage as the people moved to and fro in the depths of the forest, while from every side rose a pathetic chant, with a melodious flute accompaniment, the effect of which was strangely melancholy and harmonious. This shortly changed into a wild, shrill chorus, accompanied by an insane dance, which was kept up till the worshippers fell exhausted to the ground.

It is from this great Spring Festival that we still retain our poetical name for the eve of May Day, Beltane or Beil-teine, which means Baal’s fire, a name familiar to every Highlander. So late as the beginning of the present century it was customary in some remote corners of the Highlands, especially in Stirlingshire and Perthshire, for the young folk to meet on the moors on the 1st of May, and after cutting a “round table” in the green sod by digging such a trench round it as to allow of their sitting in a great circle, to kindle a fire in the middle, and cook a mess of eggs and milk, which all shared. Then they baked oat cakes, a bit for each person present, and one bit was burnt black. These cakes were shuffled in a man’s bonnet, and each person, blindfold, drew one. Whoever got the black bit had to leap three times through the flames. The original meaning of which was that he became a sacrifice to Baal, and, doubtless, in old days was actually offered up; the object being to secure the favour of the Sun-god, and consequently a good harvest. I have been told by several persons that they have found traces of these Beltane circles in quite recent years, so probably the practice is not yet extinct.

The circular trench was of course only another form of the same symbolism as the Druidic stone circles, within which the fires of Baal were continually kept burning. A curious proof of this is the fact, recorded by the late Lady Baird, of Ferntower, in Perthshire, that every year at Beltane a number of men and women assembled at an ancient circle of stones on her property near Crieff, and, having lighted a fire in the centre, as their forefathers had been accustomed to do from time immemorial, proceeded to draw lots for the burnt oat-cake, as described above, he who drew it having straightway to leap through the flames. A strangely unmeaning ceremony if, as some learned men would have us believe, these circles are merely sepulchral, but very suggestive indeed, if we are content to accept the traditions of our fathers of their having been the temples on whose altars unhallowed fire was wont to burn.

In some districts the shepherds varied the Beltane festival. They cut the circular trench and kindled a fire like their neighbours, and after marching thrice _deas-sol_ round the fire, they sat in a great circle and shared the mess of eggs, milk and oatmeal, pouring out part thereof as a libation to the spirits. This done they each took pieces of oat-cake, specially prepared for the occasion, each cake having upon it nine raised knobs of mystic meaning. This they cast into the fire, dedicating it to the eagle, the gled, the weasel, the fox, the brock, and all other baneful creatures, who were thus bribed to spare the flocks. This custom was commonly observed up to the middle of last century, even in civilized Morayshire. When all the eggs were roasted and all the cakes baked, the surplus was carried home, and every man gathered certain herbs, which he tied to his staff, and fastened bunches of the same above his cow-byre to preserve his cattle from all disease until the following May Day. Every cow-herd was bound to wear a sprig of rowan, to keep off the warlocks from his charge, and the cattle were considered safe from witches provided there were sprays of rowan (mountain-ash) and honeysuckle in their byre.

I am told that in some parts of Perthshire it is still the custom for the cow-herd of the village to go his rounds on May morning collecting fresh eggs and meal, and then to lead the way to some hill top, where a hole is dug and a fire lighted therein; then lots are cast, and he on whom the lot falls must leap seven times over the fire, while the young folk dance round in a circle. Then they cook their eggs and cakes, and all “sit down to eat and drink and rise up to play.”

On the first Sunday in May, in olden days, the municipal corporations in every town elected an Abbot of Unreason to lead the sports of the people. Prior to the Reformation they acted miracle plays, but afterwards only such lawless and unseemly plays as turned Romanism into ridicule. So these were, after a while, put down. Nevertheless the municipal recognition of the day continued, and in Edinburgh, so late as fifty years ago, the magistrates used to walk down the Canongate in procession on the first Sunday after Beltane, decorated with flowers, and carrying large nosegays. Imagine the feelings of these grave men, if it had occurred to them that they were rejoicing over Bel’s new birth! This old custom has passed away with the mirth of the Maypoles, and now the day is only observed by young folk, who try to be astir, and to climb to some high ground in time to hail the first appearance of the May sun, and bathe their faces in May dew.

Many such walks you and I can remember in the balmy spring mornings, when we used all to be up and gathering the glistening dew-drops by the bonnie burn-side, or from the gossamers on the heathery hill, startling the roe from their sanctuary in the deep fir woods. Then home again in the sunlight, before idler folk were well awake to know what pleasure they had missed. In the middle ages this was the day for the Wapping-shaw, or weapon show, when all the king’s lieges were obliged to repair to the weapon-shawing with their hagbuts, culverins, and other ornaments!

Of the Swiss “Wapping-shaw” we still find a trace at Bürglen, the birthplace of Tell, where a certain meadow has for ages been set apart as the field of council of the men of Uri. Here, on the first Sunday in May, they assemble, marching thither in procession, bearing a huge bull’s head. They are accompanied by flags and music, and by ancient Switzers dressed in black and yellow, carrying buffalo horns on poles to represent the arms of the city.

In England, as might be expected from the multitude of their Druidical remains, Cornwall and Devon are the districts where Beltane and its kindred feasts have been most fully retained. And indeed their weird rites would seem strangely in keeping with such scenes of bleak desolation as you may find on Dartmoor, where an irregular ridge of grey granite forms a rocky backbone to the barren moor, studded here and there with enormous blocks, piled together in broken masses, or running up into sharp grey peaks, towering gaunt and grim above the mists and cloud-drift, which float around in ragged shreds.

These peaks are known as Tors. One of them bears the name of Belevor, in perpetual memory of the awful sacrifices once offered to Bel upon its rocky crest. A little further lies Great Mis Tor, especially sacred to Misor, a name under which Astarte, the moon-goddess, was worshipped in Britain. On the summit of this crag there is a singular circular pan excavated in the rock, probably for some sacrificial purpose. It is about three yards in circumference, and eight inches deep. In every direction you stumble on traces of the strange forgotten faith of our forefathers.

The most curious old custom still retained in this neighbourhood occurs in the village of Holne, on Dartmoor; at least, it was kept up so late as 1853, and probably continues to be observed. Before daybreak on May morning all the young men of the village assemble in a field sloping to face the east, where stands a mystic granite pillar (or menhir). Thence they all proceed together to the moor, where they run down a fine young ram, and bringing it in triumph to the pillar, there cut its throat, and roast it whole—skin, wool, and all. At midday they return thither with all the village lassies to celebrate the ram feast, and a grand struggle takes place for a slice of the ram, a taste of which is supposed to bring luck for the year to lad or lass. Then wrestling and other games commence, with abundant cider, and dancing is kept up till midnight. Here again is an obvious trace of oriental practice, a similar festival having been observed by the ancient Persians at this season; that is, when the sun entered the sign of Aries. The people sacrificed rams to Genshid, the reformer of their solar year, and in his honour stamped the ram’s head on their coins. Lord Herbert of Cherbury identifies the ram-god with the sun, but adds that _his_ worshippers would not eat mutton!

Perhaps the most graceful May morning custom still lingering in England, is one observed at Oxford, where before daybreak all the choristers and many students ascend Old Magdalen tower, and alternately facing north, south, east and west, greet the rising sun, and all awakening nature, with joyous chants.