The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

202 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
The descent, however, still continued, turned, winded, left the more open
heaths, and got into steeper ravines, which promised soon to lead us to the
banks of some brook or river, and ultimately made good their presage.
We found ourselves at length on the bank of a stream, which rather resembled one of my native English rivers than those I had hitherto seen in Scotland. It was narrow, deep, still, and silent; although the imperfect light,
as it gleamed on its placid waters, showed also that wre were now among
the lofty mountains which formed its cradle. " That's the Forth," said the
Bailie, with an air of reverence, which Ihave observed the Scotch usually
pay to their distinguished rivers. The Clyde, the Tweed, the Forth, the
Spey, are usually named by those who dwell on their banks with a sort of
respect and pride, and I have known duels occasioned by any word of disparagement. I cannot say I have the least quarrel with this sort of harimless enthusiasm. I received my friend's communication with the importance which:he seemed to think appertained to it. In fact, I was not a
little pleased, after so long and dull a journey, to approach a region which
promised to engage the imagination. My faithful squire, Andrew, did not
seem to be quite of the same opinion, for he received the solemn information, "That is the Forth," with a "Umph i - an he had said that's the
public house, it wad hae been mair to the purpose."
The Forth, however, as far as the imperfect light permitted me to judge,
seemed to merit the admiration of those who claimed an interest in its
stream. A beautiful eminence of the most regular round shape, and
clothed with copsewood of hazels, mountain.-ash, and dwarf-oak, intermixed
with a few magnificent old trees, which, rising above the underwood, ex:posed their forked and bared branches to the silver moonshine, seemed
to protect the sources from which the river sprung. If I could trust the
tale of my companion, which, while professing to disbelieve every word of
it, he told under his breath, and with an air of something like intimidation,
this hill, so regularly formed, so richly verdant, and garlanded with such a
beautiful variety of ancient trees and thriving copsewood, was held by the
neighbourhood to contain, within its unseen caverns, the palaces of the
fairies a race of airy beings, who formed an intermediate class between
men and demons, and who, if not positively malignant to humanity, were
yet to be avoided and feared, on account of their capricious, vindictive, and
irritable disposition.*
The takes and precipices amidst which the Avon-Dhu, or River Forth, has its birth, are still, according to
popular tradition. haunted by the Elfin people, the most peculiar, but most pleasing, of the creations of Celtic
superstitions. The opinions entertained about these beings, are much the same with those of the Irish, so
exquisitely well narrated by Mr. Crofton Croker. An eminently beaut:iful little conical hill, near the eastern
extremity of the valley of Aberfoil, is supposed to be one of their peculiar haunts, and is the scene which
awakens, in Andrew Fairservice, the terror of their plower. It is remarkable, that two successive clergvlmenl
of this parish of Aberfoil have employed themnselves in writing about this fairy superstition. The eldest
of these was Robert Kil-rke, a nan of some talents, who translated the Psalms into Gaelic verse. He -htd
formerly been rrlinister at thle neighbouring parish oi Balquidder, and died at Aberfoil, in 1688, at the early
age of forty-two.
He was aluthor of the Secret Commonwealth, which was printed after his death, in 1691-(an edition which
I have never seen)-and was reprinted in Edinburgh, 1815. Ttis is a work concerning the fairy people, in
whose existence Mr. Kirke appears to have been a devout believer. He describes them with the usual
powers and qualities ascribed to such beings in Highland tradition.
tut what is sufficiently singular, the Rev. Robert Kirke, author of the said treatise, is believed himself to
have been taken away by the fairies,-in revenge. perhaps, for having let in too much light. uponr the secrets
of their commonwealth. We learn this'catastrophe from the information of his successor, the late amiable
and learned Dr. Patrick'Grahame, also minister at Aberfoil, who, in his Sketches of Perthshire, has not firgotten to touch- upon the Daoine Schie, or men of peace.
The Rev. Robert Kirke was, it seems,'walking upon a little eminence to the west of the -present manse,
which is still held a Dun SShie, or fairy mound, when he sunk down, in what seenled to mortals a fit, and was
supposed to be dead''lTis, however, was not his real fate.' r. Kirke was the near relation of Graham of Ducilray, the ancestor of the present General Graham
Stirling. Shortly after his funeral, he appeared in the dress in which hle had sunk down, to a nledical rela
tien of his own, and of Ducliray.' Go,' said he to him,'to my cousin Duchlrav, and tell linm that I am not
dead. I fell down it' a swoon, and was carried into Fairyland, where I now am. Tell him, that whel he
anl ndy friends are assembled at the baptism of my child (for he had -left his wife pregnant), I will appear in
the room. and that if lie throws the knife which he holds in his hand over my head, I will be released, and
restored to ihumarn soc.iety.' The man, it seemls, neglected, for sonle time, to deliver the message. Mr. Kirke'appeared to him a second tinme, threatening to haunt him night and day till he executed his commissiol,
which at lengtth he did. The time of the baptisrm arrived. They were seated at table; the figure of MIr.
Kirke entered, but the Laird of Duchray, by some unaccountable'fatality, neglected to perform the prescribed
ceremonv. Mr. Kirke retired by another door,-and was seen no more. It is firmly believed that he is, at this
day, in Fairyland."'-( Sktches of Perthshire, p. 254.)