DID you ever hear the story of the would-be thief of Poynzfield? I had it from the worthy James Thomson, the revered catechist of Resolis, who knew the man. A crofter he was, on the estate of Poynzfield. He was not very well off, and at the same time he lacked the low cunning of the thieves of the present day, who, by fraud, get possession of what they never pay for. This man, having some errand to the heights above Beauly, saw there on a tether a cow, which he thought would make good provision for himself and his friends during the Christmas and New Year feasting days; and under cover of night he took the cow away with him. Instead of taking the high road, it was more in keeping with his purpose to lead the cow by a rope through woods and unfrequented paths until, passing through Mounthigh Wood, he heard, or thought he heard, behind him, in a distinct voice:
“Ceann a naimhde brisidh Dia.”
[But surely God shall wound the head
Of those that are His foes.]
He staggered, looked back, but saw nothing; so he continued his journey, determined to stick to his prey. In a little, however, the voice sounded more awfully:
“Ceann a naimhde brisidh Dia;
Is claigionn greannach cruaidh
An fhir a dh’ imicheas gu dàn
‘Na chionta fein gach uair.”
[But surely God shall wound the head
Of those that are His foes;
The hairy scalp of him that still
On in his trespass goes.]
This felled him to the ground, where he lay for some time unconscious, the cow thus getting her liberty. After a while he was able to make home of it, but with a more dreadful load, which could not be concealed, and for which there was no place in view but hell, and that for ever. In that state the man lay in bed for weeks in the agonies of despair; in which conscience would make him confess to what the gallows would not. To the shame and distress of this poor man’s wife, he would be telling all who came to see him his evil deeds from his youth; and, with warnings, telling them what those deeds had brought him to—hell, and that for ever. The wife could only say that he was out of his mind, and that what he was saying about himself was not true.
At last, however, it pleased the Lord, in His infinite mercy, to reveal Himself to him, pardoning iniquity, transgression, and sin; at the same time covering him with shame, and filling him with sorrow for his rebellion against the Most High. Although forgiven, he could not forgive himself, but, walking humbly till his death, took to himself the name, “Claigionn greannach cruaidh.”
[Copied from a manuscript of the late Mr. Duncan MacIver, Inverness.—J. R. M.]