Ullapool, Mr. Roderick
Mackenzie, has made an excellent collection of romantic incidents
associated with the neighbourhood, and has told them in a very quaint
and effective fashion. From his collection I now cite a specimen or two.
I by no means recommend them as reading for the small hours of the
morning.

THE DANCE OF DEATH.

Three young fellows belonging to Strathmore, in the parish of Loch
Broom, were returning from the Low Country, where they had been living
for some time. It was long before the days of Watt and Macadam; roads
were not good, progress was slow, and rain was frequent. When they, in
the final lap of their journey, arrived at the green hillside of
Lochdrom, the weather was extremely inclement. Seeing a commodious
shieling on the braeface, the young men entered, and one of them, with
the object of driving dull care away, struck up a lightsome tune on his
pipes. His two comrades at once began to fling their legs about and
caper merrily. Soon, having succeeded in dancing themselves dry, they
all agreed that female partners would be a great acquisition. The wish
was at once gratified. Three women mysteriously glided into the
shieling, and the dancing began in earnest. One of the women stood close
by the piper, while the other two skipped about, with their partners,
all round the building. Outside it thundered and lightened in terrific
fashion. Tired and sweating, the two couples were at length fain to
stop, and they sat down to rest on seats of turf and heather. The piper
stopped too: he felt some malign influence coming over him; he was
certain some devilish deed was a-doing. Stealing a glance at his two
friends, he perceived that they were both stark dead, and that the two
infernal huzzies were smiling a hideous smile of triumph. Action, he
felt, was immediately necessary: he flung the still groaning bagpipes
full in the face of the witch near him, stunned her thus for an instant,
and with one wild leap cleared the threshold. And now began a hot race
and hot pursuit. Like another Tam o' Shanter, but without the mare, the
piper sped over the moor and through the rain, plying a foot as good as
wings. Not till they came in sight of the clachan of Fasagrianach, did
the witches relinquish the chase. The exhausted piper had a sad tale to
tell to the mothers of his two hapless friends. Next day a company of
mourners went to the scene of the infernal dance, and, amid much
mourning, they sang a weird wail wit