Hi Lachie Well, it made my scalp tingle anyway, but with my Matheson (Tanera Mor) background, I think maybe that's not so surprising.. Kate PS You can get psalm singing tapes here at least and probably on the web. Whenever I go to a funeral here on the Island, it's hard to sing when you've got goosebumps - and that is how I am after the precentor starts. ----- Original Message ----- From: <Lachiemunro@aol.com> To: <ROSSGEN-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Friday, April 08, 2005 11:27 AM Subject: [RossGen] Away With the Færies Dear All, I've just sent this little snippet to Chris in Ohio, prior to her visit to Avoch in the Black Isle, and thought it might be of interest to other subscribers. I've always found the Black Isle a 'magical' place, there's something very primitive and mysterious lying below its lush landscape. Somewhere at the beginning of the 19th Century, The Black Isle's most famous son, Hugh Miller recorded what was supposed to be the final departure of the fairies from Scotland at the Burn of Eathie (a deep ravine leading down to the sea near Cromarty). It is to be found in The Old Red Sandstone as a footnote in Chapter 11. On a Sabbath morning . . . . the inmates of this little hamlet had all gone to church, all except a herd boy, and a little girl, his sister, who were lounging beside one of the cottages; when, just as the shadow of the garden-dial had fallen on the line of noon, they saw a long cavalcade ascending out of the ravine through the wooded hollow. It winded among the knolls and bushes; and, turning around the northern gable of the cottage beside which the sole spectators of the scene were stationed, began to ascend the eminence toward the south. The horses were shaggy, diminutive things, speckled dun and grey; the riders, stunted, misgrown, ugly creatures, attired in antique jerkins of plaid, long grey cloaks, and little red caps, from under which their wild uncombed locks shot out over their cheeks and foreheads. The boy and his sister stood gazing in utter dismay and astonishment, as rider after rider, each one more uncouth and dwarfish than the one that had preceded it, passed the cottage, and disappeared among the brushwood which at that period covered the hill, until at length the entire rout, except the last rider, who lingered a few yards behind the others, had gone by. ‘What are ye, little mannie? Said the creature, turning for a moment in his saddle: ‘the People of Peace shall never more be seen in Scotland.’ Lachie ==== ROSSGEN Mailing List ==== To remove your email address from this list, visit this url: http://homepages.rootsweb.com/~cheps/maillist.htm