They said that a great family had a bard and a senachi, who were the poet and historian of the house; and an old gentleman told me that he remembered one of each. Here was a dawn of intelligence. Of men that had lived within memory, some certain knowledge might be attained. Though the office had ceased, its effects might continue; the poems might be found, though there was no poet.
Another conversation, indeed, informed me, that the same man was both bard and senachi. This variation discouraged me; but as the practice might be different in different times, or at the same time in different families, there was yet no reason for supposing that I must necessarily sit down in total ignorance.
Soon after I was told by a gentleman, who is generally acknowledged the greatest master of Hebridian antiquities, that there had, indeed, once been both bards and senachies; and that senachi signified the man of talk, or of conversation; but that neither bard nor senachi had existed for some centuries. I have no reason to suppose it exactly known at what time the custom ceased, nor did it probably cease in all houses at once. But whenever the practice of recitation was disused, the works, whether poetical or historical, perished with the authors; for in those times nothing had been written in the Erse language.
Whether the man of talk was an historian, whose office was to tell truth, or a story-teller, like those which were in the last century, and, perhaps, are now among the Irish, whose trade was only to amuse, it now would be vain to inquire.
Most of the domestick offices were, I believe, hereditary; and probably the laureate of a clan was always the son of the last laureate. The history of the race could no otherwise be communicated or retained; but what genius could be expected in a poet by inheritance?
The nation was wholly illiterate. Neither bards nor senachies could write or read; but if they were ignorant,
