FOOTNOTES:[A]According to present and approved modes of valuation, no great time need elapse after planting before the wood becomes of admitted value. Ten years after, the valuation will, if the wood be thriving, equal three times the original cost, including interest and rent.
[A]According to present and approved modes of valuation, no great time need elapse after planting before the wood becomes of admitted value. Ten years after, the valuation will, if the wood be thriving, equal three times the original cost, including interest and rent.
[A]According to present and approved modes of valuation, no great time need elapse after planting before the wood becomes of admitted value. Ten years after, the valuation will, if the wood be thriving, equal three times the original cost, including interest and rent.
[Weconsider ourselves and our readers very fortunate indeed in having procured the following as the first of a series of contributions from Mr William Allan, Sunderland, whose recent publication—"Heather Bells, or Poems and Songs"—has been so favourably received by the Reviewers. A prior publication—"Hame-spun Lilts"—was also well received. Of the author, theInverness Courierof 19th August, says—"You will fail, if you try, to find from first to last the slightest imitation of a single one of the many that, within the last hundred years, have so deftly handled the Doric lyre. Before the appearance of this volume, Mr Allan was already favourably known to us as the author of 'Hame-spun Lilts,' 'Rough Castings,' and by many lively lilts besides in the poets' column of theGlasgow Weekly Herald. There is about everything he has written a sturdy, honest, matter-of-fact ring, that convinces you that, whether you rank it high or low, his song—like the wild warblings of the song-thrush in early spring—is from the very heart. All he says and sings he really means; and it is something in these days of so many artificial, lack-a-daisical, 'spasmodic' utterances, to meet with anybody so manifestly honest and thoroughly in earnest as Mr William Allan." TheDundee Advertiserof August 17th concludes a long and very favourable review of "Heather Bells, &c."—"The 'Harp of the North,' so beautifully invoked by Sir Walter in his 'Lady of the Lake,' has been long asleep—her mountains are silent—and what if our Laureate of Calydon—our Modern Ossian—were destined to hail from Bonnie Dundee?"The Scotsmanof Oct. 1st, says—"There is true pathos in many of the poems. Such a piece as 'Jessie's Leavin'' must find its way to the hearts in many a cottage home. Indeed, 'Heather Bells,' both deserves, and bids fair to acquire, popularity."]
Dark Winter's white shroud on the mountains was lying,And deep lay the drifts in each corrie and vale,Snow-clouds in their anger o'er heaven were flying,Far-flinging their wrath on the frost-breathing gale;—Undaunted by tempests in majesty roaring,Unawed by the gloom of each path-covered glen,As swift as the rush of a cataract pouring,The mighty Montrose led his brave Highlandmen:—Over each trackless waste,Trooping in glory's haste,Dark-rolling and silent as mist on the heath,Resting not night nor day,Fast on their snowy wayThey dauntlessly sped on the pinions of death.As loud as the wrath of the deep Corryvreckan,Far-booming o'er Scarba's lone wave-circled isle,As mountain rocks crash to the vale, thunder-stricken,Their slogan arose in Glen Spean's defile;—As clouds shake their locks to the whispers of Heaven;As quakes the hushed earth 'neath the ire of the blast;As quivers the heart of the craven, fear-riven,So trembled Argyle at the sound as it passed;—Over the startled snows,Swept the dread word "Montrose,"Deep-filling his soul with the gloom of dismay,Marked he the wave of men,Wild-rushing thro' the glen,Then sank his proud crest to the coward's vile sway.To Arms! rung afar on the winds of the morning,Yon dread pennon streams as a lurid bale-star:Hark! shrill from his trumpets an ominous warningIs blown with the breath of the demon of war;—Then bright flashed his steel as the eye of an eagle,Then spread he his wings to the terror-struck foe;Then on! with the swoop of a conqueror regal,He rushed, and his talons struck victory's blow:—Wild then their shouts arose,Fled then their shivered foes,And snowy Ben-Nevis re-echoed their wail;Far from the field of dread,Scattered, they singly fled,As hound-startled deer, to the depths of each vale.Where, where is Argyle now, his kinsmen to rally?Where, where is the chieftain with timorous soul?On Linnhe's grey waters he crouched in his galley,And saw as a traitor the battle blast roll:—Ungrasped was the hilt of his broadsword, still sleeping,Unheard was his voice in the moment of need;Secure from the rage of fierce foemen, death-sweeping,He sought not by valour, his clansmen to lead.Linnhe, in scornful shame,Hissed out his humbled name,As fast sped his boat on its flight-seeking course;Sunk was his pride and flown,Doomed then his breast to ownA coward-scarred heart, ever lashed with remorse.
Dark Winter's white shroud on the mountains was lying,And deep lay the drifts in each corrie and vale,Snow-clouds in their anger o'er heaven were flying,Far-flinging their wrath on the frost-breathing gale;—Undaunted by tempests in majesty roaring,Unawed by the gloom of each path-covered glen,As swift as the rush of a cataract pouring,The mighty Montrose led his brave Highlandmen:—Over each trackless waste,Trooping in glory's haste,Dark-rolling and silent as mist on the heath,Resting not night nor day,Fast on their snowy wayThey dauntlessly sped on the pinions of death.
As loud as the wrath of the deep Corryvreckan,Far-booming o'er Scarba's lone wave-circled isle,As mountain rocks crash to the vale, thunder-stricken,Their slogan arose in Glen Spean's defile;—As clouds shake their locks to the whispers of Heaven;As quakes the hushed earth 'neath the ire of the blast;As quivers the heart of the craven, fear-riven,So trembled Argyle at the sound as it passed;—Over the startled snows,Swept the dread word "Montrose,"Deep-filling his soul with the gloom of dismay,Marked he the wave of men,Wild-rushing thro' the glen,Then sank his proud crest to the coward's vile sway.
To Arms! rung afar on the winds of the morning,Yon dread pennon streams as a lurid bale-star:Hark! shrill from his trumpets an ominous warningIs blown with the breath of the demon of war;—Then bright flashed his steel as the eye of an eagle,Then spread he his wings to the terror-struck foe;Then on! with the swoop of a conqueror regal,He rushed, and his talons struck victory's blow:—Wild then their shouts arose,Fled then their shivered foes,And snowy Ben-Nevis re-echoed their wail;Far from the field of dread,Scattered, they singly fled,As hound-startled deer, to the depths of each vale.
Where, where is Argyle now, his kinsmen to rally?Where, where is the chieftain with timorous soul?On Linnhe's grey waters he crouched in his galley,And saw as a traitor the battle blast roll:—Ungrasped was the hilt of his broadsword, still sleeping,Unheard was his voice in the moment of need;Secure from the rage of fierce foemen, death-sweeping,He sought not by valour, his clansmen to lead.Linnhe, in scornful shame,Hissed out his humbled name,As fast sped his boat on its flight-seeking course;Sunk was his pride and flown,Doomed then his breast to ownA coward-scarred heart, ever lashed with remorse.
WM. ALLAN.
Sunderland.
[Open to all parties, influenced by none, except on religious discussions, which will not be allowed in these columns under any circumstances.]
67 Rue de Richelieu, Paris, September 19, 1875.
Dear Sirs,—I am glad to hear that you contemplate the foundation of a Celtic Magazine at Inverness. It is very gratifying for the Celtic scholars on the Continent to see that the old spirit of Celtic nationality has not died out in all the Celtic countries, and especially that a country like the Highlands of Scotland—that may boast equally of the beauty of her mountains and glens, and of the gallantry of her sons—will keep her language, literature, and nationality in honour. The Gaelic Society of Inverness is doing much good already, but a Magazine can do even more, by itsregularlybringing news and instruction.
A wide field is open to you. The Gaelic literature, the history—political, military, religious, social, economic, &c.—of the Scottish Gaels at home; the collecting of popular tunes, songs, proverbs, sayings, and even games; the history and the development of Gaelic colonies and settlements abroad; the history of Highland worthies, and also of Foreign worthies who are of Scotch descent (I think, for instance, of Macdonald, one of the bestmarechauxof Napoleon I.), &c. Although the other branches of the Celtic family be separated from the Scotch Gaels—the Irish by their religion, the Welsh by their dialect, the French Bretons by their religion and their dialect at the same time,—yet the moral, social, and literary state of these cousins of yours may form, from time to time, interesting topics to patriotic Highland readers. The field of Celtic literature extends far and wide, and awaits yet many reapers. You will not fail to make a rich harvest in your poetic and patriotic Scotland; and at Inverness, in the middle of the Gaelic country, you have the best opportunity of success.—I am, Dear Sirs, yours very faithfully,
H. Gaidoz,Editor of the Revue Celtique.
Altnacraig, Oban, September 20, 1875.
Sir,—In the last number ofThe Gaedheal, a Gaelic periodical which may be known to some of your readers, I inserted a translation from the German of an essay on the authenticity of Macpherson's Ossian, appended to a poetical translation of Fingal by Dr August Ebrard, Leipsic, 1868. My object in doing this was to give Highlanders ignorant of German, as most of them unhappily are, an opportunity of hearing what a learned German had to say on the character of the most famous, though in my opinion far from the best, book in their language. I did not in the slightest degree mean to indicate my own views as to this vexed question. I know too well the philological conditions on which the solution of such a question depends to hazard any opinion at all upon the subject in the present condition of my Celtic studies. I am happy, however, to find that one good result has followed from the publication of this translation—a translation which, by the way, only revised by me, but made by a young lady of great intellectual promise—viz., the receipt of a letter from the greatest living authority on the Ossianic question, I mean John Campbell of Islay, traveller, geologist, and good fellow of the first quality. This letter, which I enclose, the learned writer authorises me to print, with your permission, in your columns; and I feel convinced you have seldom had a more valuable literary communication.—I am, &c.,
John S. Blackie.
Conan House, Dingwall, September, 1875.
My Dear Professor Blackie,—In the last number ofThe GaelI find a translation by you from a German essay, and a quotation from a German writer who calls Macpherson's Ossian "the most magnificent mystification of modern times." The mists which surround this question need the light of knowledge to shine from the sitter on that rising Gaelic chair which you have done so much to uplift. In the meantime let me tell you three facts. On the 9th December 1872, I found out that Jerome Stone's Gaelic collection had been purchased by Mr Laing of the Signet Library, and that he had lent the manuscript to Mr Clerk of Kilmallie. On the 25th November 1872, I found a list of contents and three of the songs in the Advocates' Library, but too late to print them. The learned German relied on Stone's missing manuscript as proof of the antiquity of Macpherson's Ossian, because it was of older date. It contains versions of ten heroic ballads, of which I had printed many versions in "Leabhar na Feinne." There is not one line of the Gaelic printed in 1807 in thosesongs which I found. I presume that Mr Clerk would have quoted Stone's collection made in 1755 if he had found anything there to support his view, which is that Ossian's poems are authentic. Stone's translation is a florid English composition, founded upon the simple old Gaelic ballad which still survives traditionally. I got the old music from Mrs Mactavish at Knock, in Mull, last month. She learned it from a servant in Lorn, who sung to her when she was a girl.
2d, The essayist relied upon a lost manuscript which was named "A Bolg Solair" (the great treasure.) That designation seems to be a version of a name commonly given by collectors of Scotch and Irish popular lore to their manuscripts. The name seems rather to mean "rubbish bag." The idea was probably taken from the wallet of the wandering minstrel of the last century who sang for his supper. A very great number of paper manuscripts of this kind are in Dublin and in the British Museum. I own two; but not one of these, so far as I have been able to discover, contains a line of the Gaelic Ossian printed in 1807, which one learned German believed to be old and the other a mystification.
3d, The essayist relies upon the "Red Book." In 1873 Admiral Macdonald sent me the book, which he had recovered. Mr Standish O'Grady helped me to read it, and translated a great part of it in June and July 1874 in my house. It is a paper manuscript which does not contain one line of Macpherson's Ossian. It does contain Gaelic poems by known authors, of which copies are in other manuscripts preserved in Ireland. I do not question the merits of Ossian's poems. Readers can judge. They are Scotch compositions, for the English is Macpherson's, and the Gaelic is Scotch vernacular. A glance at old Gaelic, of which many samples are printed in late numbers of the ParisianRevue Celtique, ought to convince any reader of Ossian that modern Scotch vernacular Gaelic cannot possibly represent the language of St Patrick's time. I have hunted popular lore for many years, and I have published five volumes. I have gathered twenty-one thick foolscap volumes of manuscript. I have had able collectors at work in Scotland; I had the willing aid of Stokes, Hennessy, Standish O'Grady, Crowe, and other excellent Irish scholars in ransacking piles of Gaelic manuscripts in Dublin, London, Edinburgh, and elsewhere. I could never find an uneducated Highlander who could repeat any notable part of the Gaelic poems which were circulated gratis soon after 1807. Nobody ever has found one line of these poems in any known writing older than James Macpherson. I agree with many speakers of Scotch Gaelic who have studied this question. We hold that the Gaelic Ossian of 1807 is, on the face of it, a manifest translation from English; and that the English was founded upon an imperfect acquaintance with genuine old Scotch Gaelic ballads. These are still commonly sung. They are founded upon the mythical history which still is traditionally known all over Scotland and Ireland. It was old when Keating wrote; it was old when the Book of Leinster was written about 1130. It really is a strange thing that so little should be known in Great Britain about this curious branch of British literature. I suppose that no other country in Europe can produce uneducated peasants, fishers, and paupers, who sing heroic ballads as old as 1130 and 1520, which have been orally preserved. Some fragments about Cuchullin, which I have gathered can be traced inthe Book of Leinster. Many ballads which I have heard sung in the Scotch Isles were written by the Dean of Lismore in 1520. By travelling to Tobermory, you may still hear Wm. Robertson, a weaver there, tell the story of Cuchullin, and sing the song of "Diarmaid," the "Burning of the Fenian Women," and many other heroic ballads. I heard him sing them in 1872, when he said that he was eighty-seven.—I am, yours very truly,
J. F. Campbell.
Kilmallie Manse, September 25, 1875.
Sir,—There is no man living who has done so much for Gaelic literature as Mr Campbell, and, just in proportion to my sense of the greatness of his services, is my reluctance to put myself, even for a moment, in opposition to him. But his opinion on the Ossianic question, expressed in his letter, constrains me to oppose him.
One word as to what he says about Jerome Stone's MS. Dr Laing kindly lent it to me, and it is now in my possession. I referred to it frequently in my edition of Ossian, 1870. Had I known that Mr Campbell wished to see it, I would gladly place it at his service. There is no mystification about this MS.; and I am sorry to say that it will not turn the scale either way in the present controversy.
But to the main point. Mr Campbell holds "that the Gaelic Ossian of 1807 is a manifest translation from English." Dr Johnson expressed the same opinion more than a hundred years ago; but while Mr Campbell can speak with a thousandfold the authority of the great moralist, who knew nothing of Gaelic, yet even Mr Campbell submits no positive proofs to support his decision—no new fact of any kind. As far as external evidence goes, he founds his opinion entirely on what is negative. Now, I submit that the history of the case presents many undoubted facts all going to prove the priority of the Gaelic to the English Ossian, and these facts must be disposed of before Mr Campbell's conclusions can be adopted.
Let me say in one word that I do not for a moment pretend to solve the Ossianic mystery. Any theory which has yet been proposed presents serious difficulties, but I maintain that Mr Campbell's presents the greatest of all, and in the present state of our knowledge cannot be adopted.
For proof, I must submit a brief outline of facts certified in the report of the Highland Society on the subject, and which, though they are undeniable, are often unaccountably overlooked in the controversy.
1. It is the case that Macpherson, before publishing in English, got several Gaelic MSS., which he acknowledged in his letters still extant, and which he showed to his friends; further, that he asked and obtained the assistance of some of these friends—Captain Morison, Rev. Mr Gallie, and, above all, Strathmashie—to translate them into English.
2. It is a most important fact that when challenged to produce his Gaelic MSS., he advertised that they were deposited at his booksellers—Beckett & De Hondt, Strand, London—and offered to publish them if a sufficient number of subscribers came forward. The booksellers certify that his MSS. had lain for twelve months at their place of business.
3. It is a fact that several persons, well able to judge of the matter, and of unimpeachable character, such as the Rev. Dr Macpherson, of Sleat; Rev. Mr Macleod, of Glenelg; Rev. Mr Macneill, &c., &c., did, in 1763—that is, 44 years before the publication of the Gaelic Ossian—compare Macpherson's English with Gaelic recited by various persons in their respective neighbourhoods. They give the names of these persons, and they certify that they found the Gaelic poetry recited by these, who never had any correspondence with Macpherson, to correspond in many instances—to the extent of hundreds of lines—with his English. One very significant fact is brought out in these certifications, that Gaelic was found to agree with Macpherson's English in cases where he never gave Gaelic. The English Ossian contains various poems for which he never gave Gaelic; but here Gaelic, corresponding to his English, is found in the mouths of people with whom he never held any communication.
Now, what are we to say to all these things? Shall we believe that Macpherson advertised his MSS. when he had none? The belief implies that he was insane, which we know was not the case. And are we further to believe that such men as the above deliberately attested what they knew to be false, and what, if false, might easily be proved to be so? It is impossible for a moment to receive such a supposition.
But it is said these, though good men, were prejudiced, spoke loosely, and therefore are not to be relied on in this enlightened and critical age. This, however, is assuming a great deal, and in so doing isuncritical. Prejudice is at work in the nineteenth century even as it was in the eighteenth. These men had far better opportunities of judging the matter than we have. They give their judgment distinctly and decidedly, and I never yet saw any good reason for setting that judgment aside.
I must add further, on the historic evidence, that several Gaelic pieces, and these among the gems of Ossianic poetry, were published by Gillies in 1786; that some of these are found in the Irvine MS. about 1800; that there is no proof of Macpherson having furnished any of these; and that the genuineness of one of them, "The Sun Hymn," given seem to be beyond the possibility of cavil.
From all this it appears to me undoubted that Macpherson began his work with Gaelic MSS., that he founded his English on them, and that various portions of his work were known in several quarters of the country forty years before he published his Gaelic. The subsequent disappearance of all MSS. containing his Gaelic is very remarkable, and is much founded on by Mr Campbell. But the history of literature affords various instances of the preservation of a book depending on one solitary MS. The case of the great Niebelungen-Lied—unknown for centuries, and brought to light through the accidental discovery of a MS.—is quite in point; and to come nearer home, two years ago, only one perfect copy of the first Gaelic book ever printed, Bishop Carewell's translation of John Knox'sliturgy, was in existence. It may be, then, that when Macpherson destroyed his Gaelic MSS. he destroyed all in which his poetry was to be found. Again, it is asked, when Highlanders in the present day recite so many heroic ballads, why do they not recite Macpherson's? I answer that there being now forgotten is no proof that they were never remembered. A hundred years may obliterate many things among a people. The last hundred years have wrought such obliterations in the Highlands of Scotland as to make it no cause of wonder that heroic poetry then remembered should now be forgotten.
I must restrict myself to a very few words on the internal evidence—though it is on this the question must be finally decided, if it ever is to be decided. As to the inference from comparing the Gaelic and English, I am sorry to say that I am entirely at variance with Mr Campbell. The more I examine the subject, the deeper is my conviction that the freeness of the Gaelic, the fulness of its similes, and its general freshness incontestably prove it to be the original. I would refer especially to the sea-pieces (e.g., Carhon, ll. 48-52.) In Gaelic they are vivid and graphic—in English tame, and almost meaningless—a fact such as might naturally be expected from the words of a true mariner being translated by a thoroughly "inland bred man" like Macpherson, but absolutely irreconcilable with his having written the Gaelic. Mr Campbell himself in his admirable work of the "West Highland Tales," vol. 4, p. 142,et seq., has some striking and conclusive remarks on the internal evidence of the priority of the Gaelic to the English; and I sincerely hope, when he considers them again, they will induce him to return to his first faith.
Much might be said on the structure of the Gaelic—especially the Gaelic of the 7th Book of Temora, published by Macpherson in 1763, which differs widely from any other Gaelic that I have met with; and much of the whole character of Ossian, whether Gaelic or English, being so absolutely unlike all Macpherson's other compositions—many and well known; but I must conclude by repeating that Mr Campbell's theory "makes confusion worse confounded"—in asking us to set at nought the various facts which I have stated, demands a moral impossibility; and that whatever light may be thrown on the subject from the new Celtic Chair, we must in the present state of our knowledge admit Gaelic to be the original, and Macpherson to be the translator of the Ossianic poems.—I am, &c.,
Archibald Clerk, LL.D.
Thename of Lachlan Macpherson, Esq. of Strathmashie, is well known to those who are conversant with the dissertations on the poems of Ossian. About the year 1760 he accompanied his neighbour and namesake, James Macpherson, Esq. of Belville, in his journey through the Highlands in search of those poems, he assisted him in collecting them, and in taking them down from oral tradition, and he transcribed by far the greater part of them from ancient manuscripts to prepare them for the press, as stated by himself in a letter to Dr Hugh Blair of Edinburgh. He was beyond all doubt a man of great powers of mind, and a Celtic poet of no mean order. He died at the comparatively early age of forty years, greatly lamented by his contemporaries, leaving behind him no written literary production.
Fragments of Mr Lachlan Macpherson's poetry, hitherto unpublished, will be acceptable to those who have done so much of late to promote the interests of Celtic literature. In some of his poems, composed in the sportive exercise of his poetic genius, he makes the same objects the subjects of his praise and censure alternately. We give the following specimens:—
On the occasion of a marriage contract in his neighbourhood, the poet honoured the company with his presence. The important business of the occasion having been brought to a close, the bridegroom departed, but remembering that he had left on the table a bottle not quite empty, he returned and took it with him. The poet, viewing this as an act of extreme meanness, addressed the bridegroom as follows:—
Caineadh an Domhnullaich.'S toigh leam Dòmhnullach neo-chosdailO nach coltach e ri càch.'N uair bhios iadsan ag iarraidh fortainBidh esan 'n a phrop aig fear càisMa bha do mhàthair 'n a mnaoi chòirCha do ghleidh i 'n leabaidh phòsda glan,Cha 'n 'eil cuid agad do Chloinn Dòmhnuill,'S Rothach no Ròsach am fear.'N uair a bhuail thu aig an uinneigCha b' ann a bhuinnigeadh cliù,Dh' iarraidh na druaip bha 's a' bhotul,Mallachd fir focail a' d' ghiùr.
Caineadh an Domhnullaich.
'S toigh leam Dòmhnullach neo-chosdailO nach coltach e ri càch.'N uair bhios iadsan ag iarraidh fortainBidh esan 'n a phrop aig fear càisMa bha do mhàthair 'n a mnaoi chòirCha do ghleidh i 'n leabaidh phòsda glan,Cha 'n 'eil cuid agad do Chloinn Dòmhnuill,'S Rothach no Ròsach am fear.'N uair a bhuail thu aig an uinneigCha b' ann a bhuinnigeadh cliù,Dh' iarraidh na druaip bha 's a' bhotul,Mallachd fir focail a' d' ghiùr.
We give a free translation of the above into English, far inferior, however, to the Gaelic original:—
Macdonald Satirised.I like to see a niggard man,One of the great Macdonald clan;When others are in quest of gainThis man the needy will sustain.Your mother, if an honest dame,Has not retained her wedlock fame;No part is Mac from top to toe,You're either Rose or else Munro.When to the house you turned your face,Let it be told to your disgrace,'Twas for the dregs you had forgot,The Poet's curse be in your throat.
Macdonald Satirised.
I like to see a niggard man,One of the great Macdonald clan;When others are in quest of gainThis man the needy will sustain.Your mother, if an honest dame,Has not retained her wedlock fame;No part is Mac from top to toe,You're either Rose or else Munro.When to the house you turned your face,Let it be told to your disgrace,'Twas for the dregs you had forgot,The Poet's curse be in your throat.
The bridegroom, as we may well believe, smarted under the chastisement administered to him. He took an early opportunity of putting himself in the poet's way. Seeing Mr Macpherson riding past his place one day, he went to meet him with a bottle and glass, and importunately begged of him that he would have the goodness to say something now in his favour. Mr Macpherson complied with the request. Sitting on horseback, and taking the glass in his hand, he pronounced the ensuing eulogy on the bridegroom:—
Moladh an Domhnullaich.Bha na bàird riamh breugach, bòsdail,Beular sinn, gòrach, gun seadh,Lasgair gasd e Chloinn Dòmhnuill,Mac Ailein Mhòir as a Mhagh.Chuir e botul neo-ghortach a' m' dhorn,A chur iotadh mo sgòrnain air chùl,'S bàrd gun tùr a bh' air a' chòrdadhNach do sheinn gu mòr a chliù.Ach tha 'n seòrs' ud uile cho caillteach,Cho mi-thaingeil, 's cho beag ciall,'S ma thig a' chuach idir o 'n ceann,Nach fiach e taing na fhuair iad riamh.
Moladh an Domhnullaich.
Bha na bàird riamh breugach, bòsdail,Beular sinn, gòrach, gun seadh,Lasgair gasd e Chloinn Dòmhnuill,Mac Ailein Mhòir as a Mhagh.Chuir e botul neo-ghortach a' m' dhorn,A chur iotadh mo sgòrnain air chùl,'S bàrd gun tùr a bh' air a' chòrdadhNach do sheinn gu mòr a chliù.Ach tha 'n seòrs' ud uile cho caillteach,Cho mi-thaingeil, 's cho beag ciall,'S ma thig a' chuach idir o 'n ceann,Nach fiach e taing na fhuair iad riamh.
The above may be thus translated:—
Macdonald Eulogised.The bards, as we have ever seen,Liars and flatterers have been;Boasting, with little cause to glory,So empty is their upper storey.Of Clan Macdonald this is one,Of Allan Mor of Moy the son;He brought to me a sonsy vesselTo satiate my thirsty whistle.The poet proved himself unwiseWhen him he did not eulogise.The bards—I own it with regret—Are a pernicious sorry set,Whate'er they get is soon forgot,Unless you always wet their throat.
Macdonald Eulogised.
The bards, as we have ever seen,Liars and flatterers have been;Boasting, with little cause to glory,So empty is their upper storey.Of Clan Macdonald this is one,Of Allan Mor of Moy the son;He brought to me a sonsy vesselTo satiate my thirsty whistle.The poet proved himself unwiseWhen him he did not eulogise.The bards—I own it with regret—Are a pernicious sorry set,Whate'er they get is soon forgot,Unless you always wet their throat.
Mr Macpherson had a dairymaid of the name of Flora, whom he described in abusive language in a poem beginning,:—
Flòiri mhùgach, bhòtach, ghlùn-dubh.
He afterwards made amends for the offence he had given her by commending her in very flattering terms. He represents her as a most useful dairymaid, and as a young woman of surpassing beauty, who had many admirers, and, according to his description of her, such were her good qualities, and her personal attractions, that certain persons whom he names, among others the clergyman of the parish, expressed their desire to engage her in their own service. The poet rejects their solicitations, and informs them how unlikely a thing it is that Flora should engage with them, as she was intended for the King:—
Eulogy on Flora.Flòiri shùgach, bhòidheach, shùil-ghorm,A pòg mar ùbhlan as a' ghàradh,'N òg bhean, chliùiteach 's còmhnaird' giùlan,Dh' òlainn dùbailt a deoch-slàinte,Ge do shiubhail sibh 'n Roinn Eòrpa,'S na dùthchan mor' an taobh thall dith,Cha 'n fhaiceadh sibh leithid Flòiri,Cùl bachlach, glan, òr-bhuidhe na ban-righ.Maighdean bheul-dearg, foill cha leir dh' i,'S geal a deud o 'n ceutaich' gàire,Caoimhneil, beusach, trod neo-bheumach,'S ro mhaith leigeadh spréidh air àiridh,Clach-dhatha na h-Alba 's na h-Eirinn,Nach saltair air feur a h-àicheadh,Mar dhealt na maidne 'n a h-éirigh,'S mar aiteal na gréin a dealradh.A leadan dualach sìos m' a cluasaibhChuir gu buaireadh fir a' bhràighe,Fleasgaich uaisl' a' srì mu 'n ghruagaich,'N ti tha 'gruaim ris 's truagh a chàramh,Ach b' annsa leath' cuman 'us buarach,'S dol do 'n bhuaile mar chaidh h-àrach,Langanaich cruidh-laoigh m' an cuairt di,'S binne sud na uaisle chràiteach.'S gnìomhach, càirdeil, b' fhearr dhomh ràdhainn,'S glan a h-àbhaist, 's tearc a leithid,Muime shàr-mhaith nan laogh àluinn,Im 'us càise théid sud leatha,Banarach fhortain ghàbhaidhNam miosairean làn 's a' chèithe,Dheanadh i tuilleadh air càraid'S a phàidheadh dhomh màl Aonghuis Shaw.An t-àit' am faic sibh 'm bi gibht àraidhSùilean chàich bidh 'n sin 'n an luidhe,Dòmhnull Bàn o 'm mìne GailigBhuin rium làidir as an athar;Thuirt e, thoir dhomhs' i gu bealltuinn,Seall an t-earlas tha thu faighinnUam-sa, buannachd nan damh Gallda,No ma 's fearr leat na sin faidhir.Thuirt Dòmhnull Mac Bheathain 's e 's an éisdeachd,Nàile, 's fheudar dhomh-sa labhairt,'S mise 'n t-amadan thar cheud,A bheireadh cead dh' i 'n déigh a gabhail,Ach thoir-se nise dhomh féin i,'S théid nì 'us feudail a' d' lamhaibh,Gu 'n ruig a 's na tha tilgeadh réigh dhomhAnn am Banc Dhun-éidinn fathast.'N uair chual am Ministeir an t-srìA bha mu 'n rìomhainn thall an amhainn,Chuir e pìor-bhuic 'us ad shìod' air,'S chaidh e dìreach orm a dh' fheitheamh,'S thuirt e, thoir dhomh-s' an ath thìom dhìth,'S ni mi trì-fillte cho maith thu,'S ma shearmonaicheas tu féin do 'n sgìreachdGheibh thu 'n stìpean 's bean-an-tighe.Ge pròiseil sibh le 'r n-òr, 's le 'r nì,Le 'r mòran stìpein, 's le 'r cuid mhnathaibh,'S fearr leam Flòiri agam fhéinNa ge do chìt 'iad leis an amhainn,Dheanainn an còrdadh cho simplidh'S i dhol cinnteach feadh nan tighean,Cia mar tha i coltach ribh-se?'S gur h-e 'n righ tha dol g' a faighinn.
Eulogy on Flora.
Flòiri shùgach, bhòidheach, shùil-ghorm,A pòg mar ùbhlan as a' ghàradh,'N òg bhean, chliùiteach 's còmhnaird' giùlan,Dh' òlainn dùbailt a deoch-slàinte,Ge do shiubhail sibh 'n Roinn Eòrpa,'S na dùthchan mor' an taobh thall dith,Cha 'n fhaiceadh sibh leithid Flòiri,Cùl bachlach, glan, òr-bhuidhe na ban-righ.
Maighdean bheul-dearg, foill cha leir dh' i,'S geal a deud o 'n ceutaich' gàire,Caoimhneil, beusach, trod neo-bheumach,'S ro mhaith leigeadh spréidh air àiridh,Clach-dhatha na h-Alba 's na h-Eirinn,Nach saltair air feur a h-àicheadh,Mar dhealt na maidne 'n a h-éirigh,'S mar aiteal na gréin a dealradh.
A leadan dualach sìos m' a cluasaibhChuir gu buaireadh fir a' bhràighe,Fleasgaich uaisl' a' srì mu 'n ghruagaich,'N ti tha 'gruaim ris 's truagh a chàramh,Ach b' annsa leath' cuman 'us buarach,'S dol do 'n bhuaile mar chaidh h-àrach,Langanaich cruidh-laoigh m' an cuairt di,'S binne sud na uaisle chràiteach.
'S gnìomhach, càirdeil, b' fhearr dhomh ràdhainn,'S glan a h-àbhaist, 's tearc a leithid,Muime shàr-mhaith nan laogh àluinn,Im 'us càise théid sud leatha,Banarach fhortain ghàbhaidhNam miosairean làn 's a' chèithe,Dheanadh i tuilleadh air càraid'S a phàidheadh dhomh màl Aonghuis Shaw.
An t-àit' am faic sibh 'm bi gibht àraidhSùilean chàich bidh 'n sin 'n an luidhe,Dòmhnull Bàn o 'm mìne GailigBhuin rium làidir as an athar;Thuirt e, thoir dhomhs' i gu bealltuinn,Seall an t-earlas tha thu faighinnUam-sa, buannachd nan damh Gallda,No ma 's fearr leat na sin faidhir.
Thuirt Dòmhnull Mac Bheathain 's e 's an éisdeachd,Nàile, 's fheudar dhomh-sa labhairt,'S mise 'n t-amadan thar cheud,A bheireadh cead dh' i 'n déigh a gabhail,Ach thoir-se nise dhomh féin i,'S théid nì 'us feudail a' d' lamhaibh,Gu 'n ruig a 's na tha tilgeadh réigh dhomhAnn am Banc Dhun-éidinn fathast.
'N uair chual am Ministeir an t-srìA bha mu 'n rìomhainn thall an amhainn,Chuir e pìor-bhuic 'us ad shìod' air,'S chaidh e dìreach orm a dh' fheitheamh,'S thuirt e, thoir dhomh-s' an ath thìom dhìth,'S ni mi trì-fillte cho maith thu,'S ma shearmonaicheas tu féin do 'n sgìreachdGheibh thu 'n stìpean 's bean-an-tighe.
Ge pròiseil sibh le 'r n-òr, 's le 'r nì,Le 'r mòran stìpein, 's le 'r cuid mhnathaibh,'S fearr leam Flòiri agam fhéinNa ge do chìt 'iad leis an amhainn,Dheanainn an còrdadh cho simplidh'S i dhol cinnteach feadh nan tighean,Cia mar tha i coltach ribh-se?'S gur h-e 'n righ tha dol g' a faighinn.
The Mashie, a tributary of the Spey, in the parish of Laggan, runs close by Strathmashie house. It is a small river, but in harvest time, when in flood, it causes considerable damage. The poet takes occasion to censure the Mashie on this account; but he has his pleasant associations in connection with the charming banks of this mountain stream, as expressed in the following stanzas:—
Mathaisith Censured.Mhathaisith fhrògach dhubh,Fhrògach dhubh, fhrògach dhubh,Mhathaisith fhrògach dhubh,'S mòr rinn thu chall domh.Rinn thu m' eòrna a mhilleadh,'S mo chuid ghòrag air sileadh,'Us cha d' fhàg thu sguab tioramDo na chinnich do bhàrr dhomh.Mhathaisith, &c.Cha robh lochan no caochan,A bha ruith leis an aonach,Nach do chruinnich an t-aon lanA thoirt aon uair do shàth dhuit.Mhathaisith, &c.Rinn thu òl an tigh BheathainAir leann 's uisge-beatha,'S garbh an tuilm sin a sgeith thu'S a' ghabhail-rathaid Di-màirt oirnnMhathaisith, &c.Eulogy on Mathaisith.Mhathaisith bhòidheach gheal,Bhòidheach gheal, bhòidheach gheal,Mhathaisith bhòidheach gheal,B' ait leam bhi làimh riut.'N uair a rachainn a' m' shiubhalB' e sud mo cheann uidheNa bh' air bràigh Choire-bhuidheAgus ruigh Alt-na-ceàrdaich.Mhathaisith, &c.Gu 'm bu phailt bha mo bhuaileDo chrodh druim-fhion 'us guaill-fhionn,Mar sud 's mo chuid chuachagDol mu 'n cuairt dhoibh 's an t-samhradh.Mhathaisith, &c.
Mathaisith Censured.
Mhathaisith fhrògach dhubh,Fhrògach dhubh, fhrògach dhubh,Mhathaisith fhrògach dhubh,'S mòr rinn thu chall domh.
Rinn thu m' eòrna a mhilleadh,'S mo chuid ghòrag air sileadh,'Us cha d' fhàg thu sguab tioramDo na chinnich do bhàrr dhomh.
Mhathaisith, &c.
Cha robh lochan no caochan,A bha ruith leis an aonach,Nach do chruinnich an t-aon lanA thoirt aon uair do shàth dhuit.
Mhathaisith, &c.
Rinn thu òl an tigh BheathainAir leann 's uisge-beatha,'S garbh an tuilm sin a sgeith thu'S a' ghabhail-rathaid Di-màirt oirnn
Mhathaisith, &c.
Eulogy on Mathaisith.
Mhathaisith bhòidheach gheal,Bhòidheach gheal, bhòidheach gheal,Mhathaisith bhòidheach gheal,B' ait leam bhi làimh riut.
'N uair a rachainn a' m' shiubhalB' e sud mo cheann uidheNa bh' air bràigh Choire-bhuidheAgus ruigh Alt-na-ceàrdaich.
Mhathaisith, &c.
Gu 'm bu phailt bha mo bhuaileDo chrodh druim-fhion 'us guaill-fhionn,Mar sud 's mo chuid chuachagDol mu 'n cuairt dhoibh 's an t-samhradh.
Mhathaisith, &c.
SEANCHAIDH.
[Inthis Column we shall, from month to month, notice the most important business coming before our Highland Representative Institutions—such as the local Parliament of the Highland Capital, Gaelic and other Celtic Societies, and passing incidents likely to prove interesting to our Celtic readers. We make no pretence to give news; simply comments on incidents, information regarding which will be obtained through the usual channels.]
Wemake no apology for referring to the doings of the Town Council of the Capital of the Highlands. Anything calculated to interest the Highlander is included in our published programme; and surely the composition, conduct, dignity, and patriotism of the local Parliament of theHighland Capital, and the general ability, eloquence, intelligence, and independence of spirit displayed by its members is of more than mere local interest. We take it that the Scottish Gael, wherever located, is interested in the Capital of his native Highlands, and will naturally concern himself with the history and conduct of those whose duty it is as its leading men to shine forth as an example to places of lesser importance.
Last year a Gas and Water Bill was carried through Parliament, involving an expenditure of something like £80,000, and at least double taxation. We have no doubt whatever very good and satisfactory reasons will be given for this large expenditure, but hitherto not the slightest explanation has been vouchsafed to the public, and we are, in common with five-sixths of the community, at present quite ignorant of the reasons given for this enormous expenditure: that there must be unanswerable reasons we have no doubt whatever, for have not the Council been unanimous to a man throughout. Not a single protest was entered. Not a single speech was publicly made against it. But more wonderful still, not a single speech was made publicly in the Council in its favour. This did not arise from want of debating power on the part of the members. It must have arisen from the unanswerable nature of the arguments delivered in private committees, where, practically, no one heard them, or of them, except the members themselves. The only objection which can be raised to this theory is, that if the matter is so very clear and simple, and the expenditure so imperatively called for, it is most wonderful that some ingenuous simple-minded member had not thought of making himself popular at one bound, by giving a little information to the public as the matter proceeded, and so silence all the grumbling and general dissatisfaction felt outside.
TheGaelic Society of Inverness entered on its fifth session last month. The Society has of late shown considerable signs of popularity and progress; for close upon fifty members have been added to the roll during the first eight months of the Society's year, while only eighteen were added during the whole of the previous one. In 1873, seventy new members were elected. The following five Clans are the best represented—Mackenzies, 23 members; Frasers, 22; Mackays, 19; Macdonalds, 18; Mackintoshes, 14. This is not as it should be; for while the Mackays only occupy a little over a page of the Inverness Directory, the Mackintoshes two, and the Mackenzies about three and a-half; the Macdonalds occupy over four, and the Frasers seven pages. We would like to see the Clans taking their proper places, by the "levelling-up" process of course.
Weregret to announce the sudden death, on the 19th of August, of Dr Hermann Ebel, Professor of Comparative Philology at the University of Berlin. He superintended the new edition of Zeuss'sGrammatica Celtica, and was one of the four or five leading Celtic scholars of the age.
Itwill be seen that Logan's "Scottish Gael"—a book now getting very scarce, and which was never, in consequence of its high price, within the reach of a wide circle of readers—is to be issued by Mr Hugh Mackenzie, Bank Lane, in 12 monthly parts at 2s each, Edited, with Memoir and Notes, by the Rev. Mr Stewart, "Nether-Lochaber." In this way the work will be much easier to get. It only requires to be known to secure the demand such an authority on the Celt—his language, literature, music, and ancient costume—deserves.
Wetake the following from the late Dr Norman Macleod's "Reminiscences of a Highland Parish" on Highlanders ashamed of their country. We believe the number to whom the paragraph is now applicable is more limited than when it first saw the light, but we could yet point to a few of this contemptible tribe, of whom better things might be expected. We wish the reader to emphasize every line and accept it as our own views regarding these treacle-beer would-be-genteel excrescences of our noble race. A wart or tumour sometimes disfigures the finest oak of the forest, and these so-called Highlanders are just the warts and tumours of the Celtic races—they have their uses, no doubt:—"One class sometimes found in society we would especially beseech to depart; we mean Highlanders ashamed of their country. Cockneys are bad enough, but they are sincere and honest in their idolatry of the Great Babylon. Young Oxonians or young barristers, even when they become slashing London critics, are more harmless than they themselves imagine, and after all inspire less awe than Ben-Nevis, or than the celebrated agriculturist who proposed to decompose that mountain with acids, and to scatter the debris as a fertiliser over the Lochaber moss. But a Highlander born, who has been nurtured on oatmeal porridge and oatmeal cakes; who in his youth wore home-spun cloth, and was innocent of shoes and stockings; who blushed in his attempts to speak the English language; who never saw a nobler building for years than the little kirk in the glen, and who owes all that makes him tolerable in society to the Celtic blood which flows in spite of him through his veins;—for this man to be proud of his English accent, to sneer at the everlasting hills, the old kirk and its simple worship, and despise the race which has never disgraced him—faugh! Peat reek is frankincense in comparison with him; let him not be distracted by any of our reminiscences of the old country; leave us, we beseech of thee!"
(OCTOBER.)
Sweet Summer's scowling foe impatient standsOn the horizon near of Nature's view.At the sad sight the sweetly-coloured landsFilled with the glowing woodlands' dying hue,For Winter's darkening reign prepare the way.In the green garden the tall Autumn flowers,Filling with fragrant breath the beauteous bowers,With resignation wait their dying day;Bending their heads submissive to the willOf Him, at whose command the sun stands still,Nor dares to send to earth his gladd'ning ray.Filled with the feeling of the coming doomOf Nature's beauteous deeds, the heavenly hillHides its sad, shuddering face in cloudy gloom.A whispering silence overhangs the scene,As if awaiting the dark Winter stormThat fills with fear Hope's slowly-withering form.Sinking to wintry death—till, pure and green,Spring shall descend in song from sunny skies,Smiling her into life. The sad wind sighsThrough flowerless woods, glowing towards their death,In Winter's cruel, poison-breathing breath.Fierce grows the murmur of the woodland rill,Foaming in fury thro' the pensive trees,Down the steep glen of the mist-mantled hill;Deeper the roar of death-presageful seas;While in the changeful woods the rivers seemWandering for ever in a Winter dream!
DAVID R. WILLIAMSON.
Maidenkirk, 1875.
Thisis the third publication issued by the Gaelic Society since its establishment in 1871. The previous volumes were very creditable, especially the first, but the one now before us is out of sight superior not only in size, but in the quality of its contents. First we have an Introduction of eight pages giving the history of the movement in favour of establishing a Celtic Chair in one of our Scottish Universities, and the steps taken by the Gaelic Society of London, who appear to have worked single-handed to promote this object since 1835, when they presented their first petition to the House of Commons, down to 1870, when the Council of the Edinburgh University took the matter in hand. In December 1869 the Gaelic Society of London sent out circulars addressed to ministers of all denominations in Scotland asking for information as to the number of churches in which Gaelic was preached. The circulars were returned, the result being "that out of 3395 places of worship of all denominations in Scotland, 461 had Gaelic services once-a-day in the following proportions—Established Church, 235; Free Church, 166; Catholic Chapels, 36; Baptists, 12; Episcopalians, 9; Congregationalists, 3."
The first paper in the volume is a very interesting account, by Dr Charles Mackay, the poet, of "The Scotch in America." We give the following extract:—
I was invited to dine with a wealthy gentleman of my own name. There were present on that occasion 120 other Scotchmen, and most of them wore the Highland dress. My host had a piper behind the chair playing the old familiar strains of the pipes. The gentleman told me, in the course of the evening, that his father was a poor cottar in Sutherlandshire. "My mother," said he, "was turned out upon the moor on a dark cold night, and upon that moor I was born." My friend's family afterwards went to America, and my friend became a "dry" merchant, or as you would say in Scotland, a draper. I said to him, seeing that his position had so improved, "Well, I suppose you do not bear any grudge against the people by whose agency your family were turned upon the moor." "No," he replied, "I cannot say that I bear them any grudge, but at the same time I cannot say that I forgive them. If my position has improved, it is by my own perseverance, and not by their good deeds or through their agency." In every great city of Canada—Toronto, Kingstown, Montreal, New Brunswick, St John's, Nova Scotia, and in almost every town and village, you will find many Scotchmen; in fact, in the large towns they are almost as numerous as in Edinburgh and Inverness. You will see a Highland name staring you in the face in any or every direction. If you ask for the principal merchant or principal banker, you will be almost sure to find that he's a Scotchman; and no matter in what part of the world your fellow countrymen may be cast, they keep up the old manners and customs of their mother country. They never forget the good old times of "Auld lang syne;" they never forget the old songs they sung, the old tunes they played, nor the old reels and dances of Scotland.The Scotch, especially in Canada, take the Gaelic with them. They have Gaelic newspapers, which have a large circulation—larger, perhaps, than any Gaelic newspaper at home. They have Gaelic preachers. In fact, there is one part of Canada which might be called the new Scotland; and it is a Scotchman who is now at the head of the Canadian Government—John Macdonald.[A]
I was invited to dine with a wealthy gentleman of my own name. There were present on that occasion 120 other Scotchmen, and most of them wore the Highland dress. My host had a piper behind the chair playing the old familiar strains of the pipes. The gentleman told me, in the course of the evening, that his father was a poor cottar in Sutherlandshire. "My mother," said he, "was turned out upon the moor on a dark cold night, and upon that moor I was born." My friend's family afterwards went to America, and my friend became a "dry" merchant, or as you would say in Scotland, a draper. I said to him, seeing that his position had so improved, "Well, I suppose you do not bear any grudge against the people by whose agency your family were turned upon the moor." "No," he replied, "I cannot say that I bear them any grudge, but at the same time I cannot say that I forgive them. If my position has improved, it is by my own perseverance, and not by their good deeds or through their agency." In every great city of Canada—Toronto, Kingstown, Montreal, New Brunswick, St John's, Nova Scotia, and in almost every town and village, you will find many Scotchmen; in fact, in the large towns they are almost as numerous as in Edinburgh and Inverness. You will see a Highland name staring you in the face in any or every direction. If you ask for the principal merchant or principal banker, you will be almost sure to find that he's a Scotchman; and no matter in what part of the world your fellow countrymen may be cast, they keep up the old manners and customs of their mother country. They never forget the good old times of "Auld lang syne;" they never forget the old songs they sung, the old tunes they played, nor the old reels and dances of Scotland.
The Scotch, especially in Canada, take the Gaelic with them. They have Gaelic newspapers, which have a large circulation—larger, perhaps, than any Gaelic newspaper at home. They have Gaelic preachers. In fact, there is one part of Canada which might be called the new Scotland; and it is a Scotchman who is now at the head of the Canadian Government—John Macdonald.[A]
The next is a paper by Archibald Farquharson, Tiree, headed "The Scotch at Home and Abroad," but really a thrilling appeal in favour of teaching Gaelic in Highland Schools. It is impossible to give an idea of this excellent paper by quoting extracts. We, however, give the following on the teaching of Gaelic in the schools:—
Reading a language they do not understand has a very bad effect upon children. It leaves the mind indolent and lazy; they do not put themselves to any trouble to endeavour to ascertain the meaning of what they read; whereas, were they taught to translate as they went along, whenever a word they did not understand presented itself to their minds, they would have no rest until they would master it by finding out its meaning. And I am pretty certain that were the Gaelic-speaking children thus to be taught, that by the time they would reach the age of fourteen years, they would be as far advanced, if not farther, than those who have no Gaelic at all; so that, instead of the Gaelic being their misfortune, it would be the very reverse. It would, with the exception of Welshmen (were they aware of it), place them on an eminence above any in Great Britain, not only as scholars, but as having the best languages for the soul and for the understanding. And should they enter college, they would actually leave others behind them, because, in the first place, they acquired the habit of translating in their youth, which would make translating from dead languages comparatively easy; and in the second place, they would derive great aid from their knowledge of the Gaelic. If Professor Blackie has found 500 Greek roots in the Gaelic, what aid would they derive from it in studying that language? and they would find equally as much aid in studying Latin, and even Hebrew.
Comparing the melody of the English with that of the Gaelic, Mr Farquharson says:—
Certainly, compared with Gaelic and Broad Scotch, it [English] has no melody. It is true that it may be set off and adorned with artificial melody. What is the difference between natural and artificial melody? Natural melody is the appropriate melody with which a piece is sung which has true melody inherent in itself, and artificial melody is that with which a piece is sung that is destitute of real melody. In the former case the mind is influenced by what is sung, the music giving additional force and power to it; but in the latter case the mind is more influenced by the sound of the music than by what is sung. I may explain this by two young females; the one has, I do not call it a bonny face, but a very agreeable expression of countenance; the other has not. Were the former to be neatly and plainly dressed, her dress would give additional charms to her, but in looking at her you would not think of the dress at all, but of the charms of the young woman. But although the other were adorned in the highest style of fashion, with flowers and brocades, and chains of gold, and glittering jewels, in looking at her you would not think of the charms of the young woman, for charms she had none, your mind would be altogether occupied with what was artificial about her, with what did not belong to her, and not with what she was in herself. Both the natural and artificial melody elevate the mind, the one by what is sung, and the other by the grand sound of the music. There is real melody in "Scots wha hae," which is natural and appropriate, which gives additional power and force to the sentiment of the piece. In singing it the mind is not occupied with the sound, but with proud Edward, his chains and slavery—Scotia's King and law—the horrors of slavery—the blessing of liberty, and a fixed determination to act.
Dr Masson's description of "Tho Gael in the Far West" is a very readable paper, and gives an interesting account of his tour among the Canadian Gael, where he says, "the very names of places were redolent of the heather—in the land where, alas! the tenderest care has never yet been able to make the heather grow—Fingal, Glencoe, Lochiel, Glengarry, Inverness, Tobermory, St Kilda, Iona, Lochaber, and the rest!" We part with this paper perfectly satisfied that whether or not the Gael and his language are to be extirpated among his own native hills neither the race nor the language will yet become extinct in our British Colonies.
Sir Kenneth S. Mackenzie, Bart. of Gairloch, makes the following remarks on "The Church in the Highlands." He said that if they wished to improve the Highlands:—
There was no way in which it could be done better than by raising the class from which ministers were drawn. He remembered saying at the opening meeting of this Society, that one of its objects should be to excite the interest of the upper classes in the language of their forefathers, inducing them to retain that language, or acquire it if lost. Because, when the cultivated classes lost their interest in it, the leaven which leavens society ceased to influence the mass of the people; and it was one of the most unfortunate things in regard to a dying language, when the upper classes lost the use of it, and the uneducated classes came to be in a worse condition than in an earlier state of civilisation, when there was an element of refinement among them. It was an understood fact, that the clergy at this moment had a great influence in the Highlands; and although there were persons present of different persuasions, he thought they would all admit that the Free Church was the Church that influenced the great mass of Highlanders. There were Catholics in Mar, Lochaber, the Long Island, and Strathglass, and Episcopalians in Appin; but the people generally belonged to the Free Church, and if they wanted to influence the mass, it was through the clergy of the Free Church they could do it. Now, it was an unfortunate thing, and generally admitted, that the clergy of the Free Church—he believed it was the same in the Established Church—were not rising in intellect and social rank—that there was rather a falling off in that—that the clergy were drawn not so much from the manse as from the cottar's house; and though he knew a number of clergy, very excellent, godly men, and very superior, considering the station from which they had risen, he thought it was not advantageous, as a rule, to draw the clergy from the lower, uneducated classes. They did not start with that advantage in life which their sons would start with. There had been a talk of instituting bursaries for the advancement of Gaelic-speaking students. He did not see why they should not start a bursary or have a special subscription—he would himself contribute to it—a bursary for theological students sprung from parents of education—whose parents had been ministers, or who themselves had taken a degree in arts. That would tend to encourage the introduction of a superior class of clergymen. He wished to say nothing against the present ministers. He knew they were excellent men, but he thought their sons would be, in many cases, superior to themselves if they took to the ministry. He was sorry they did not take to it more frequently, and he would be glad if this Society offered them some encouragement.
Two learned papers appear from the Rev. John Macpherson, Lairg, and Dr M'Lauchlan, Edinburgh—the one on "The Origin of the Indo-European Languages," and the other—"Notices of Brittany." Space will not now allow us to give extracts long enough to give any idea of the value and interest of these papers, or of the one immediately following—a metrical translation into English of "Dan an Deirg"—by Lachlan Macbean, Inverness. We shall return to them in a future number.
The Rev. A. C. Sutherland gives one of the best written and most interesting papers in the volume on the "Poetry of Dugald Buchanan, the Rannach Bard." The following is a specimen of Mr Sutherland's treatment of the poet, and of his own agreeable style:—