Picts

“ While the Picts, or Pechts, are remembered to a great extent as the builders of the subterranean and half-subterranean dwellings with which they are associated, these are far from being the only structures which popular tradition has stamped as the work of their hands. ”

“ It seems to me beyond question that a people living this underground life must have differed very distinctly from ourselves in the matter of vision; and to them the brightness of noonday must have been blinding. This physical fact—if it be a fact—would explain much that is otherwise strange and incredible in the traditions relating to the Picts—or Pechts, as they were formerly called in Scotland. However, it is sufficient for my present purpose to note that this peculiarity associates, and indeed identifies, the Picts with the dwarfs or fairies of tradition. ”

“ III. The Language of the Ancient Picts.—The evidence from which we can draw any conclusions as to the affinities of the language of the Picts is so extremely scanty that the question has been the subject of great controversy. The Picts are first mentioned by Eumenius (a.d. 297) , who regarded them as having inhabited Britain in the time of Caesar. In the year 368 they are described by Ammianus Marcellinus as invading the Roman province of Britain in conjunction with the Irish Scots. ”

“ In one thing only we were all equal. No matter what arms we had used before we came to the Wall, on the Wall we were all archers, like the Scythians. The Pict cannot run away from the arrow, or crawl under it. He is a bowman himself. He knows!’
‘I suppose you were fighting Picts all the time,’ said Dan.
‘Picts seldom fight. I never saw a fighting Pict for half a year. The tame Picts told us they had all gone North.’
‘What is a tame Pict?’ said Dan.
‘A Pict—there were many such—who speaks a few words of our tongue, and slips across the Wall to sell ponies and wolf-hounds. ”

“ SCOTLAND: The Picts and Scots. "Cæsar tells us that the inhabitants of Britain in his day painted themselves with a dye extracted from woad; by the time, however, of British independence under Carausius and Allectus, in the latter part of the third century, the fashion had so far fallen off in Roman Britain that the word 'Picti,' Picts, or painted men, had got to mean the peoples beyond the Northern wall. ... Now, all these Picts were natives of Britain, and the word Picti is found applied to them for the first time, in a panegyric by Eumenius, in the year 296 ”

“ In a reference to the popular traditions of Northumberland, the Picts are spoken of as "a race of people who are represented, in such legends, as endowed with supernatural power, and holding, in the scale of beings, an intermediate rank between men and fairies." ”

“ The Cymric origin of the Picts, besides Garnett and Taylor, is supported by such names as Innes, Chalmers, Ritson, Whittaker, Grub, and others.
Pinkerton, it is well known, is the great and unscrupulous upholder of the Gothic origin of the Picts; while the Gaelic theory has for its supporters such writers, of undoubted ability and acuteness, as Skene, E. W. Robertson, Forbes-Leslie, &c. Burton [72] is of opinion that the Highlanders of the present day are the true representatives of the Dalriadic Scots of the West. ”

“ On the extinction of their monarchy, and the fabled extirpation of the whole race by Kenneth II., King of the Scots, after the battle of the Tay, two Picts became his prisoners, a father and his son, who alone knew the secret of manufacturing this beverage.
Urged by promises of liberal reward, continues the tradition, the father consented to reveal it, on condition that first they slew his son, whom a Scottish warrior thereupon shot through the heart with an arrow.
"Now," said the stern Pict, "do your worst; for never will I be prevailed upon to disclose a secret known to myself alone." ”

“ The exact date of this statement is at present doubtful, but it is quite in accordance with the widespread ideas held throughout Scotland and Northumberland with regard to the Picts: that they were great as builders, but were of very low stature, and closely akin to Fairies. [52] Moreover, they are famous for doing their work during the night. ”

“ He suggests, for example, that certain "fairy herds" in Sutherlandshire were probably reindeer, that the "fairies" who milked those reindeer were probably of the same race as Lapps, and that not unlikely they were the people historically known as Picts. The fact that Picts once occupied northern Scotland formed no obstacle to his theory. ”

“ Given that a people dwelt beyond the Wall, it would be commonly classed with the Picts whether it was racially Pictish or otherwise. These two peoples entered Britannia from over the water, [46] the Scots invading the west coast and effecting settlements in various districts ; [47] and the Picts starting from due north and landing on the seaboard from Anglesey to the mouth of the river Dee. ”

“ At any rate, the size fully justifies the tradition prevalent here, as well as in the south of Scotland, that the Picts were a diminutive race." Of the Broch of Mousa he says: "The uppermost gallery is so narrow and low that it was with great difficulty I crept through it,"—a feat which baffled the present writer. [94] In all those cases, of course, it is understood one has to crawl. As with the Lapps and the Eskimos, creeping was much more a matter of course with the builders of those places than it is with us. ”

“ But Piquette had not lived in the streets of Paris all these years for nothing. A few months of warfare would not change a man's soul. What was this strangeness? What had come over him? He had packed her home in a fiacre, just when she was becoming most interested in this extraordinary transformation. She had never before suffered from pique, and it annoyed her that he shouldn't have been more eager to resume their ancient fellowship. Who was this unshaven fellow with the slouch hat and worn clothing who had so great a claim upon his attention? ”

“ Of a sudden, foils turn to swords, M. Picot to a masked man, and Boston to the northland forest. I fall, and when I awaken M. Picot is standing, candle in hand, tincturing my wounds.
Or the dark is filled with a multitude—men and beasts; and the beasts wear a crown of victory and the men are drunk with the blood of the slain.
Or stealthy, crouching, wolfish forms steal through the frost mist, closer and closer till there comes a shout—a groan—a rip as of teeth—then I am up, struggling with Le Borgne, the one-eyed, who pushes me back to a couch in the dark. ”

“ I ran to M. Picot's house; he was not up; I made such a fine racket that I awakened him.
"Oh! oh!" he said, as he got into his corduroy breeches and fine leather gaiters, "you here already, lad?"
"It is late, Monsieur Picot; it is seven o'clock."
"Yes, but it has been snowing, and the larks will not rise before noon."
"What! must we wait till noon?" I cried.
[Pg 434]
"Well, not quite so long as that; but we will have breakfast first."
"What for?"
"Why, to eat, child," M. Picot replied. "I am far too old a sportsman to set out on an empty stomach; it is well enough at your age." ”

“ It’s uncommonly cold after the rain, isn’t it?’
‘It really is,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.
‘It wouldn’t be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire, would it?’ said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon aforesaid.
‘It would be particularly comfortable, I think,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Mr. Pott, what do you say?’
Mr. Pott yielded a ready assent; and all four travellers, each with his glass in his hand, at once betook themselves to the kitchen, with Sam Weller heading the procession to show them the way.
The stranger was still reading; he looked up and started. Mr. Pott started. ”

“ Being very near-sighted and erratic, the prey of his thieving servant, Madame Lambert, his family thought that he needed a protector. Being instructor of Felix Phellion, with whom he took a trip to England, Picot made known his pupil's great ability, which the boy had modestly kept secret, at the home of the Thuilliers, Place de la Madeleine, before an audience composed of the Collevilles, Minards and Phellions. Celeste Colleville's future was thus determined. As Picot was decorated late in life, his marriage to a wealthy and eccentric Englishwoman of forty was correspondingly late. ”

“ Leger," said Picton, smiling. He liked the doctor, fancied he resembled some one he knew. "Will you come to Haverton and have a shot on the moor?" he asked.
"You are very kind, Mr. Woodridge, but perhaps when you hear my name you may be prejudiced against me."
"A name can make no difference," said Picton. "What is it?"
"Bernard Elroy."
Picton started; he was much surprised.
"I am the brother-in-law of Mrs. Elroy. Now do you understand?"
"Yes," said Picton. "It makes no difference; all that is past." ”

“ Pickwick, "on the strange mutability of human affairs."
"Ah! I see—in at the palace door one day, out at the window the next. Philosopher, Sir?"
"An observer of human nature, Sir," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've little to do and less to get. Poet, Sir?"
"My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn," said Mr. Pickwick.
"So have I," said the stranger. "Epic poem—ten thousand lines—revolution of July—composed it on the spot—Mars by day, Apollo by night—bang the field-piece, twang the lyre." ”

“ Pickwick,’ interrupted Pott, drawing back his chair, ‘your friend is not buff, sir?’
‘No, no,’ rejoined Bob, ‘I’m a kind of plaid at present; a compound of all sorts of colours.’
‘A waverer,’ said Pott solemnly, ‘a waverer. I should like to show you a series of eight articles, Sir, that have appeared in the Eatanswill Gazette. I think I may venture to say that you would not be long in establishing your opinions on a firm and solid blue basis, sir.’ ‘I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the end of them,’ responded Bob. ”

“ Pickwick, looking up. ‘Is the Angel! We alight here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Order a private room, and do not mention my name. You understand.’
‘Right as a trivet, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, with a wink of intelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick’s portmanteau from the hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when they joined the coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on his errand. A private room was speedily engaged; and into it Mr. Pickwick was ushered without delay. ”

“ Pott. ‘Permit me, Mrs. Pott, Mr.—’
‘Winkle,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Winkle,’ echoed Mr. Pott; and the ceremony of introduction was complete.
‘We owe you many apologies, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘for disturbing your domestic arrangements at so short a notice.’
‘I beg you won’t mention it, sir,’ replied the feminine Pott, with vivacity. ‘It is a high treat to me, I assure you, to see any new faces; living as I do, from day to day, and week to week, in this dull place, and seeing nobody.’
‘Nobody, my dear!’ exclaimed Mr. Pott archly.
‘Nobody but you,’ retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity. ”

“ Pickwick was no sluggard; and he sprang like an ardent warrior from his tent—bedstead.
“Pleasant, pleasant country,” sighed the enthusiastic gentleman, as he opened his lattice window. “Who could live to gaze from day to day on bricks and slates, who had once felt the influence of a scene like this? Who could continue to exist, where there are no cows but the cows on the chimney-pots; nothing redolent of Pan but pan-tiles; no crop but stone-crop? Who could bear to drag out a life in such a spot? ”

“ An hostler stood near, holding by the bridle another immense horse—apparently a near relative of the animal in the chaise—ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.
‘Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the pavement while the coats were being put in. ‘Bless my soul! who’s to drive? I never thought of that.’
‘Oh! you, of course,’ said Mr. Tupman.
‘Of course,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
‘I!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Not the slightest fear, Sir,’ interposed the hostler. ‘Warrant him quiet, Sir; a hinfant in arms might drive him.’
‘He don’t shy, does he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick. ”

“ Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr. Pickwick, said—
‘Wery queer life is a pike-keeper’s, sir.’
‘A what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘A pike-keeper.’
‘What do you mean by a pike-keeper?’ inquired Mr. Peter Magnus.
‘The old ‘un means a turnpike-keeper, gen’l’m’n,’ observed Mr. Samuel Weller, in explanation.
‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I see. Yes; very curious life. Very uncomfortable.’
‘They’re all on ‘em men as has met vith some disappointment in life,’ said Mr. Weller, senior. ”

“ Weller, aside.
‘Then this garden,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick. ‘How am I to get into it?’
‘The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a leg up.’
My servant will give me a leg up,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick mechanically. ‘You will be sure to be near this door that you speak of?’
‘You cannot mistake it, Sir; it’s the only one that opens into the garden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open it instantly.’
‘I don’t like the plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I see no other, and as the happiness of this young lady’s whole life is at stake, I adopt it. ”

“ Pickwick, his countenance lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman, or child, could resist: himself the happiest of the group: shaking hands over and over again with the same people, and when his own hands were not so employed, rubbing them with pleasure; turning round in a different direction at every fresh expression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring everybody with his looks of gladness and delight. ”

“ Pott, archly.
“Nobody but you,” retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity.
“You see, Mr. Pickwick,” said the host in explanation of his wife’s lament, “that we are in some measure cut off from many enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake. My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, the position which that paper holds in the country, my constant immersion in the vortex of politics——”
“P. my dear—” interposed Mrs. Pott. ”