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diff --git a/76786-h/76786-h.htm b/76786-h/76786-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2fc4d72 --- /dev/null +++ b/76786-h/76786-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9303 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Summer in Skye, Volume I, +by Alexander Smith +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 85%; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 5% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +.sidenote { left: 0%; + right: 0%; + font-size: 90%; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0%; + width: 15%; + float: left; + clear: left; + padding-left: 1%; + padding-right: 1%; + padding-top: 1%; + padding-bottom: 1%; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + border: solid; + border-width: 1px; + margin-right: 1%; + background: #FAFAD2; + font-variant: normal; } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76786 ***</div> + +<h1> +<br><br> + A SUMMER IN SKYE<br> +</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t2"> + BY ALEXANDER SMITH<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + AUTHOR OF "A LIFE DRAMA," ETC.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + VOLUME I.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + ALEXANDER STRAHAN, PUBLISHER<br> + 148 STRAND, LONDON<br> + 1865<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap01">EDINBURGH</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap02">STIRLING AND THE NORTH</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap03">OBAN</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap04">SKYE AT LAST</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap05">AT MR M'IAN'S</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap06">A BASKET OF FRAGMENTS</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap07">THE SECOND SIGHT</a> +</p> + +<p> +<a href="#chap08">IN A SKYE BOTHY</a> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> + +<p class="t2"> +A SUMMER IN SKYE. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +<i>EDINBURGH.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +Summer has leaped suddenly on Edinburgh +like a tiger. The air is still and hot above +the houses; but every now and then a breath of +east wind startles you through the warm +sunshine—like a sudden sarcasm felt through a strain +of flattery—and passes on detested of every organism. +But, with this exception, the atmosphere is +so close, so laden with a body of heat, that a +thunderstorm would be almost welcomed as a relief. +Edinburgh, on her crags, held high towards +the sun—too distant the sea to send cool breezes +to street and square—is at this moment an +uncomfortable dwelling-place. Beautiful as ever, of +course—for nothing can be finer than the +of the Old Town etched on hot summer azure—but +close, breathless, suffocating. Great volumes +of white smoke surge out of the railway station; +great choking puffs of dust issue from the houses +and shops that are being gutted in Princes Street. +The Castle rock is gray; the trees are of a dingy +olive; languid "swells," arm-in-arm, promenade +uneasily the heated pavement; water-carts +everywhere dispense their treasures; and the only +human being really to be envied in the city is the +small boy who, with trousers tucked up, and +unheeding of maternal vengeance, marches coolly in +the fringe of the ambulating shower-bath. Oh for +one hour of heavy rain! Thereafter would the +heavens wear a clear and tender, instead of a dim +and sultry hue. Then would the Castle rock +brighten in colour, and the trees and grassy slopes +doff their dingy olives for the emeralds of April. +Then would the streets be cooled, and the dust be +allayed. Then would the belts of city verdure, +refreshed, pour forth gratitude in balmy smells; +and Fife—low-lying across the Forth—break from +its hot neutral tint into the greens, purples, and +yellows that of right belong to it. But rain won't +come; and for weeks, perhaps, there will be +nothing but hot sun above, and hot street beneath; +and for the respiration of poor human lungs an +atmosphere of heated dust, tempered with east +wind. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Joy of vacation. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, one is tired and jaded. The whole +man, body and soul, like sweet bells jangled, out +of tune, and harsh, is fagged with work, eaten up of +impatience, and haunted with visions of vacation. +One "babbles o' green fields," like a very +Falstaff; and the poor tired ears hum with sea-music +like a couple of sea-shells. At last it comes, the +1st of August, and then—like an arrow from a +Tartar's bow, like a bird from its cage, like a lover +to his mistress—one is off; and before the wild +scarlets of sunset die on the northern sea, one is in the +silence of the hills, those eternal sun-dials that tell +the hours to the shepherd, and in one's nostrils is +the smell of peat-reek, and in one's throat the flavour +of usquebaugh. Then come long floating summer +days, so silent the wilderness, that one can hear +one's heart beat; then come long silent nights, the +waves heard upon the shore, although <i>that</i> is a +mile away, in which one snatches the "fearful joy" +of a ghost story, told by shepherd or fisher, who +believes in it as in his own existence. Then one +beholds sunset, not through the smoked glass of +towns, but gloriously through the clearness of +enkindled air. Then one makes acquaintance with +sunrise, which to the dweller in a city, who +conforms to the usual proprieties, is about the rarest +of this world's sights. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Idleness in the North. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Mr De Quincey maintains, in one of his essays, +that dinner—dinner about seven in the evening, +for which one dresses, which creeps on with +multitudinous courses and <i>entrées</i>, which, so far +from being a gross satisfaction of appetite, is +a feast noble, graceful, adorned with the +presence and smile of beauty, and which, from +the very stateliness of its progress, gives +opportunities for conversation and the encounter +of polished minds—saves over-wrought London +from insanity. This is no mere humorous +exaggeration, but a very truth; and what dinner is +to the day the Highlands are to the year. +Away in the north, amid its green or stony +silences, jaded hand and brain find repose—repose, +the depth and intensity of which the idler can +never know. In that blessed idleness you become +in a strange way acquainted with yourself; for in +the world you are too constantly occupied to spend +much time in your own company. You live abroad +all day, as it were, and only come home to sleep. +Away in the north you have nothing else to +do, and cannot quite help yourself; and conscience, +who has kept open a watchful eye, although her +lips have been sealed these many months, gets +disagreeably communicative, and tells her mind +pretty freely about certain little shabby +selfishnesses and unmanly violences of temper, which +you had quietly consigned—like a document +which you were for ever done with—to the +waste-basket of forgetfulness. And the quiet, the +silence, the rest, is not only good for the soul, it +is good for the body too. You flourish like a +flower in the open air; the hurried pulse beats +a wholesome measure; evil dreams roll off your +slumbers; indigestion dies. During your two +months' vacation, you amass a fund of superfluous +health, and can draw on it during the ten months +that succeed. And in going to the north, and +wandering about the north, it is best to take +everything quietly and in moderation. It is better to +read one good book leisurely, lingering over the +finer passages, returning frequently on an exquisite +sentence, closing the volume, now and then, to run +down in your own mind a new thought started by +its perusal, than to rush in a swift perfunctory +manner through half a library. It is better to sit +down to dinner in a moderate frame of mind, to +please the palate as well as satisfy the appetite, to +educe the sweet juices of meats by sufficient +mastication, to make your glass of port "a linked +sweetness long drawn out," than to bolt everything +like a leathern-faced Yankee for whom the cars +are waiting, and who fears that before he has had +his money's worth, he will be summoned by the +railway bell. And shall one, who wishes to extract +from the world as much enjoyment as his nature +will allow him, treat the Highlands less respectfully +than he will his dinner? So at least will not +I. My bourne is the island of which Douglas +dreamed on the morning of Otterburn; but even to +it I will not unnecessarily hurry, but will look on +many places on my way. You have to go to London; +but unless your business is urgent, you are a +fool to go thither like a parcel in the night train +and miss York and Peterborough. It is very fine +to arrive at majority, and the management of your +fortune which has been all the while accumulating +for years; but you do not wish to do so at a +sudden leap—to miss the April eyes and April +heart of seventeen! +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Preparations for Highland travel. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The Highlands can be enjoyed in the utmost +simplicity; and the best preparations are—money +to a moderate extent in one's pocket, a knapsack +containing a spare shirt and a toothbrush, and a +courage that does not fear to breast the steep of +the hill, and to encounter the pelting of a +Highland shower. No man knows a country till he +has walked through it; he then tastes the sweets +and the bitters of it. He beholds its grand and +important points, and all the subtler and concealed +beauties that lie out of the beaten track. Then, +O reader, in the most glorious of the months, the +very crown and summit of the fruitful year, +hanging in equal poise between summer and autumn, +leave London or Edinburgh, or whatever city +your lot may happen to be cast in, and +accompany me on my wanderings. Our course will +lead us by ancient battle-fields, by castles +standing in hearing of the surge; by the bases of +mighty mountains, along the wanderings of +hollow glens; and if the weather holds, we may see +the keen ridges of Blaavin and the Cuchullin +hills; listen to a legend old as Ossian, while +sitting on the broken stair of the castle of Duntulm, +beaten for centuries by the salt flake and the +wind; and in the pauses of ghostly talk in the +long autumn nights, when the rain is on the hills, +we may hear—more wonderful than any legend, +carrying you away to misty regions and half-forgotten +times—the music which haunted the Berserkers +of old, the thunder of the northern sea! +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Books written about Edinburgh. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +A perfect library of books has been written +about Edinburgh. Defoe, in his own matter-of-fact, +garrulous way, has described the city. +Its towering streets, and the follies of its +society, are reflected in the inimitable pages of +"Humphrey Clinker." Certain aspects of city +life, city amusements, city dissipations, are +mirrored in the clear, although somewhat shallow, +stream of Fergusson's humour. The old life of +the place, the traffic in the streets, the +old-fashioned shops, the citizens with cocked hats and +powdered hair, with hospitable paunches and +double chins, with no end of wrinkles, and hints +of latent humour in their worldly-wise faces, +with gold-headed sticks, and shapely limbs +encased in close-fitting small-clothes, are found in +"Kay's Portraits." Passing Scott's other services +to the city—the magnificent description in +"Marmion," the "high jinks" in "Guy Mannering," +the broils of the nobles and wild chieftains who +attended the Court of the Jameses in "The +Abbot"—he has, in "The Heart of Mid-Lothian," made +immortal many of the city localities; and the +central character of Jeanie Deans is so unassumingly +and sweetly <i>Scotch</i>, that she seems as much +a portion of the place as Holyrood, the Castle, or +the Crags. In Lockhart's "Peter's Letters to his +Kinsfolk," we have sketches of society nearer our +own time, when the <i>Edinburgh Review</i> flourished, +when the city was really the Modern Athens, and +a seat of criticism giving laws to the empire. In +these pages, we are introduced to Jeffrey, to +John Wilson, the Ettrick Shepherd, and Dr +Chalmers. Then came <i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>, the +"Chaldee Manuscript," the "Noctes," and +"Margaret Lindsay." Then the "Traditions of +Edinburgh," by Mr Robert Chambers; thereafter the +well-known <i>Edinburgh Journal</i>. Since then we +have had Lord Cockburn's chatty "Memorials +of his Time." Almost the other day we had Dean +Ramsay's Lectures, filled with pleasant +antiquarianism, and information relative to the men and +women who flourished half a century ago. And +the list may be closed with "Edinburgh Dissected," +written after the fashion of Lockhart's +"Letters,"—a book containing pleasant reading +enough, although it wants the brilliancy, the +acuteness, the eloquence, and possesses all the +ill-nature, of its famous prototype. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Sir Walter Scott. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Scott has done more for Edinburgh than all her +great men put together. Burns has hardly left a +trace of himself in the northern capital. During his +residence there his spirit was soured, and he was +taught to drink whisky-punch—obligations which +he repaid by addressing "Edina, Scotia's darling +seat," in a copy of his tamest verses. Scott +discovered that the city was beautiful—he sang its +praises over the world—and he has put more coin +into the pockets of its inhabitants than if he had +established a branch of manufacture of which +they had the monopoly. Scott's novels were to +Edinburgh what the tobacco trade was to +Glasgow about the close of the last century. +Although several labourers were before him in +the field of the Border Ballads, he made +fashionable those wonderful stories of humour and +pathos. As soon as "The Lay of the Last +Minstrel" appeared, everybody was raving about +Melrose and moonlight. He wrote "The Lady of the +Lake," and next year a thousand tourists +descended on the Trosachs, watched the sun setting +on Loch Katrine, and began to take lessons on +the bagpipe. He improved the Highlands as +much as General Wade did when he struck +through them his military roads. Where his muse +was one year, a mail-coach and a hotel were the +next. His poems are grated down into +guidebooks. Never was an author so popular as +Scott, and never was popularity worn so lightly +and gracefully. In his own heart he did not +value it highly; and he cared more for his +plantations at Abbotsford than for his poems and +novels. He would rather have been praised by Tom +Purdie than by any critic. He was a great, +simple, sincere, warm-hearted man. He never +turned aside from his fellows in gloomy scorn; +his lip never curled with a fine disdain. He +never ground his teeth save when in the agonies +of toothache. He liked society, his friends, +his dogs, his domestics, his trees, his historical +nick-nacks. At Abbotsford, he would write a +chapter of a novel before his guests were out +of bed, spend the day with them, and then, +at dinner, with his store of shrewd Scottish +anecdote, brighten the table more than did +the champagne. When in Edinburgh, any one +might see him in the streets or in the Parliament +House. He was loved by everybody. No +one so popular among the souters of Selkirk as the +Shirra. George IV., on his visit to the northern +kingdom, declared that Scott was the man he +most wished to see. He was the deepest, +simplest, man of his time. The mass of his +greatness takes away from our sense of its height. +He sinks like Ben Cruachan, shoulder after +shoulder, slowly, till its base is twenty miles in +girth. Scotland is Scott-land. He is the light in +which it is seen. He has proclaimed over all the +world Scottish story, Scottish humour, Scottish +feeling, Scottish virtue; and he has put money +into the pockets of Scottish hotel-keepers, Scottish +tailors, Scottish boatmen, and the drivers of the +Highland mails. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Beauty of Edinburgh. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Every true Scotsman believes Edinburgh to be +the most picturesque city in the world; and truly, +standing on the Calton Hill at early morning, when +the smoke of fires newly-kindled hangs in azure +swathes and veils about the Old Town—which +from that point resembles a huge lizard, the +Castle its head, church-spires spikes upon its scaly +back, creeping up from its lair beneath the Crags +to look out on the morning world—one is quite +inclined to pardon the enthusiasm of the North +Briton. The finest view from the interior is +obtained from the corner of St Andrew Street, looking +west. Straight before you the Mound crosses the +valley, bearing the white Academy buildings; +beyond, the Castle lifts, from grassy slopes and +billows of summer foliage, its weather-stained towers +and fortifications, the Half-Moon battery giving +the folds of its standard to the wind. Living +in Edinburgh there abides, above all things, a +sense of its beauty. Hill, crag, castle, rock, blue +stretch of sea, the picturesque ridge of the Old +Town, the squares and terraces of the New—these +things seen once are not to be forgotten. +The quick life of to-day sounding around the relics +of antiquity, and overshadowed by the august +traditions of a kingdom, makes residence in +Edinburgh more impressive than residence in any other +British city. I have just come in—surely it never +looked so fair before? What a poem is that Princes +Street! The puppets of the busy, many-coloured +hour move about on its pavement, while across the +ravine Time has piled up the Old Town, ridge on +ridge, gray as a rocky coast washed and worn by +the foam of centuries; peaked and jagged by +gable and roof; windowed from basement to cope; +the whole surmounted by St Giles's airy crown. +The New is there looking at the Old. Two Times +are brought face to face, and are yet separated by +a thousand years. +<span class="sidenote"> +Edinburgh at night. +</span> +Wonderful on winter nights, +when the gully is filled with darkness, and out of +it rises, against the sombre blue and the frosty +stars, that mass and bulwark of gloom, pierced +and quivering with innumerable lights. There is +nothing in Europe to match that, I think. Could +you but roll a river down the valley it would be +sublime. Finer still, to place one's-self near the +Burns Monument and look toward the Castle. It is +more astonishing than an Eastern dream. A city +rises up before you painted by fire on night. High in +air a bridge of lights leaps the chasm; a few emerald +lamps, like glow-worms, are moving silently about +in the railway station below; a solitary crimson one +is at rest. That ridged and chimneyed bulk of +blackness, with splendour bursting out at every +pore, is the wonderful Old Town, where Scottish +history mainly transacted itself; while, opposite, the +modern Princes Street is blazing throughout its +length. During the day the Castle looks down +upon the city as if out of another world; stern +with all its peacefulness, its garniture of trees, its +slopes of grass. The rock is dingy enough in +colour, but after a shower, its lichens laugh out +greenly in the returning sun, while the rainbow is +brightening on the lowering sky beyond. How +deep the shadow which the Castle throws at noon +over the gardens at its feet where the children +play! How grand when giant bulk and towery +crown blacken against sunset! Fair, too, the New +Town sloping to the sea. From George Street, +which crowns the ridge, the eye is led down sweeping +streets of stately architecture to the villas and +woods that fill the lower ground, and fringe the +shore; to the bright azure belt of the Forth with +its smoking steamer or its creeping sail; beyond, +to the shores of Fife, soft blue, and flecked with +fleeting shadows in the keen clear light of spring, +dark purple in the summer heat, tarnished gold in +the autumn haze; and farther away still, just +distinguishable on the paler sky, the crest of some +distant peak, carrying the imagination into the +illimitable world. Residence in Edinburgh is +an education in itself. Its beauty refines one like +being in love. It is perennial, like a play of +Shakespeare's. Nothing can stale its infinite variety. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Canongate. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +From a historical and picturesque point of +view, the Old Town is the most interesting part of +Edinburgh; and the great street running from +Holyrood to the Castle—in various portions of its +length called the Lawnmarket, the High Street, and +the Canongate—is the most interesting part of the +Old Town. In that street the houses preserve their +ancient appearance; they climb up heavenward, +story upon story, with outside stairs and wooden +panellings, all strangely peaked and gabled. With +the exception of the inhabitants, who exist amidst +squalor, and filth, and evil smells undeniably +modern, everything in this long street breathes of the +antique world. If you penetrate the narrow wynds +that run at right angles from it, you see traces of +ancient gardens. Occasionally the original names +are retained, and they touch the visitor pathetically, +like the scent of long-withered flowers. Old +armorial bearings may yet be traced above the +doorways. Two centuries ago fair eyes looked down +from yonder window, now in possession of a +drunken Irishwoman. If we but knew it, every +crazy tenement has its tragic story; every crumbling +wall could its tale unfold. The Canongate is +Scottish history fossilised. What ghosts of kings +and queens walk there! What strifes of steel-clad +nobles! What wretches borne along, in the sight +of peopled windows, to the grim embrace of the +"maiden!" What hurrying of burgesses to man +the city walls at the approach of the Southron! +What lamentations over disastrous battle days! +James rode up this street on his way to Flodden. +Montrose was dragged up hither on a hurdle, and +smote, with disdainful glance, his foes gathered +together on the balcony. Jenny Geddes flung her +stool at the priest in the church yonder. John +Knox came up here to his house after his interview +with Mary at Holyrood—grim and stern, and +unmelted by the tears of a queen. In later days +the Pretender rode down the Canongate, his eyes +dazzled by the glitter of his father's crown, +while bagpipes skirled around, and Jacobite ladies, +with white knots in their bosoms, looked down +from lofty windows, admiring the beauty of the +"Young Ascanius," and his long yellow hair. +Down here of an evening rode Dr Johnson and +Boswell, and turned in to the White Horse. David +Hume had his dwelling in this street, and trod its +pavements, much meditating the wars of the Roses +and the Parliament, and the fates of English +sovereigns. One day a burly ploughman from +Ayrshire, with swarthy features and wonderful +black eyes, came down here and turned into +yonder churchyard to stand, with cloudy lids and +forehead reverently bared, beside the grave of poor +Fergusson. Down the street, too, often limped a +little boy, Walter Scott by name, destined in after +years to write its "Chronicles." The Canongate +once seen is never to be forgotten. The visitor +starts a ghost at every step. Nobles, grave +senators, jovial lawyers, had once their abodes here. +In the old, low-roofed rooms, half-way to the stars, +philosophers talked, wits corruscated, and gallant +young fellows, sowing wild oats in the middle of last +century, wore rapiers and lace ruffles, and drank +claret jovially out of silver stoups. In every room +a minuet has been walked, while chairmen and +linkmen clustered on the pavement beneath. But +the Canongate has fallen from its high estate. +Quite another race of people are its present +inhabitants. The vices to be seen are not genteel. +Whisky has supplanted claret. Nobility has fled, +and squalor taken possession. Wild, half-naked +children swarm around every door-step. Ruffians +lounge about the mouths of the wynds. Female +faces, worthy of the "Inferno," look down from +broken windows. Riots are frequent; and drunken +mothers reel past scolding white atomies of +children that nestle wailing in their bosoms—little +wretches to whom Death were the greatest benefactor. +The Canongate is avoided by respectable +people, and yet it has many visitors. The tourist +is anxious to make acquaintance with it. Gentlemen +of obtuse olfactory nerve, and of an antiquarian +turn of mind, go down its closes and climb +its spiral stairs. Deep down these wynds the +artist pitches his stool, and spends the day +sketching some picturesque gable or doorway. The +fever-van comes frequently here to convey some +poor sufferer to the hospital. Hither comes the +detective in plain clothes on the scent of a burglar. +And when evening falls, and the lamps are lit, +there is a sudden hubbub and crowd of people, +and presently from its midst emerge a couple of +policemen and a barrow with a poor, half-clad, +tipsy woman from the sister island crouching +upon it, her hair hanging loose about her face, +her hands quivering with impotent rage, and her +tongue wild with curses. Attended by small +boys, who bait her with taunts and nicknames, +and who appreciate the comic element which so +strangely underlies the horrible sight, she is +conveyed to the police cell, and will be brought +before the magistrate to-morrow—for the twentieth +time perhaps—as a "drunk and disorderly," +and dealt with accordingly. This is the kind of +life the Canongate presents to-day—a contrast +with the time when the tall buildings enclosed the +high birth and beauty of a kingdom, and when the +street beneath rang to the horse-hoofs of a king. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Cowgate +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The New Town is divided from the Old by a +gorge or valley, now occupied by a railway station; +and the means of communication are the Mound, +Waverley Bridge, and the North Bridge. With the +exception of the Canongate, the more filthy and +tumble-down portions of the city are well kept out of +sight. You stand on the South Bridge, and looking +down, instead of a stream, you see the Cowgate, the +dirtiest, narrowest, most densely peopled of +Edinburgh streets. Admired once by a French +ambassador at the court of one of the Jameses, and yet +with certain traces of departed splendour, the +Cowgate has fallen into the sere and yellow leaf of +furniture brokers, second-hand jewellers, and +vendors of deleterious alcohol. These second-hand +jewellers' shops, the trinkets seen by bleared +gaslight, are the most melancholy sights I know. +Watches hang there that once ticked comfortably +in the fobs of prosperous men, rings that were once +placed by happy bridegrooms on the fingers of +happy brides, jewels in which lives the sacredness of +death-beds. What tragedies, what disruptions of +households, what fell pressure of poverty brought +them here! Looking in through the foul windows, +the trinkets remind one of shipwrecked gold +embedded in the ooze of ocean—gold that speaks +of unknown, yet certain, storm and disaster, of the +yielding of planks, of the cry of drowning men. +Who has the heart to buy them, I wonder? The +Cowgate is the Irish portion of the city. +Edinburgh leaps over it with bridges; its inhabitants +are morally and geographically the lower orders. +They keep to their own quarters, and seldom come +up to the light of day. Many an Edinburgh man +has never set his foot in the street; the condition +of the inhabitants is as little known to respectable +Edinburgh as are the habits of moles, earth-worms, +and the mining population. The people of the +Cowgate seldom visit the upper streets. You may +walk about the New Town for a twelvemonth +before one of these Cowgate pariahs comes between +the wind and your gentility. Should you wish to +see that strange people "at home," you must visit +them. The Cowgate will not come to you: you +must go to the Cowgate. The Cowgate holds high +drunken carnival every Saturday night; and to +walk along it then, from the West Port, through +the noble open space of the Grassmarket—where +the Covenanters and Captain Porteous suffered—on +to Holy rood, is one of the world's sights, and one +that does not particularly raise your estimate of +human nature. For nights after your dreams will +pass from brawl to brawl, shoals of hideous faces +will oppress you, sodden countenances of brutal +men, women with loud voices and frantic gesticulations, +children who have never known innocence. +It is amazing of what ugliness the human face is +capable. The devil marks his children as a +shepherd marks his sheep—that he may know them +and claim them again. Many a face flits past +here bearing the sign-manual of the fiend. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Intellectual greatness of Edinburgh. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +But Edinburgh keeps all these evil things out +of sight, and smiles, with Castle, tower, church-spire, +and pyramid rising into sunlight out of garden +spaces and belts of foliage. The Cowgate has +no power to mar her beauty. There may be a canker +at the heart of the peach—there is neither pit +nor stain on its dusty velvet. Throned on crags, +Edinburgh takes every eye; and, not content with +supremacy in beauty, she claims an intellectual +supremacy also. She is a patrician amongst British +cities, "A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree." She +has wit if she lacks wealth: she counts great +men against millionaires. The success of the actor +is insecure until thereunto Edinburgh has set her +seal. The poet trembles before the Edinburgh +critics. The singer respects the delicacy of the +Edinburgh ear. Coarse London may roar with +applause: fastidious Edinburgh sniffs disdain, +and sneers reputations away. London is the +stomach of the empire—Edinburgh the quick, +subtle, far-darting brain. Some pretension of this +kind the visitor hears on all sides of him. It is +quite wonderful how Edinburgh purrs over her +own literary achievements. Swift, in the dark +years that preceded his death, looking one day +over some of the productions of his prime, +exclaimed, "Good heaven! what a genius I once +was!" Edinburgh, looking some fifty years back +on herself, is perpetually expressing astonishment +and delight. Mouldering Highland families, +when they are unable to retain a sufficient +following of servants, fill up the gaps with ghosts. +Edinburgh maintains her dignity after a similar +fashion, and for a similar reason. Lord-Advocate +Moncreiff, one of the members for the city, hardly +ever addresses his fellow-citizens without recalling +the names of Jeffrey, Cockburn, Rutherfurd, and +the other stars that of yore made the welkin +bright. On every side we hear of the brilliant +society of forty years ago. Edinburgh considers +herself supreme in talent—just as it is taken for granted +to-day that the present English navy is the most +powerful in the world, because Nelson won Trafalgar. +The Whigs consider the <i>Edinburgh Review</i> +the most wonderful effort of human genius. The +Tories would agree with them, if they were not +bound to consider <i>Blackwood's Magazine</i> a still +greater effort. It may be said that Burns, Scott, +and Carlyle are the only men really great in +literature—taking <i>great</i> in a European sense—who, +during the last eighty years, have been connected +with Edinburgh. I do not include Wilson in the +list; for although he was as splendid as any of these +for the moment, he was evanescent as a Northern +light. In the whole man there was something +spectacular. A review is superficially very like a +battle. In both there is the rattle of musketry, +the boom of great guns, the deploying of endless +brigades, charges of brazen squadrons that shake the +ground—only the battle changes kingdoms, while +the review is gone with its own smoke-wreaths. +Scott lived in or near Edinburgh during the whole +course of his life. Burns lived there but a few +months. Carlyle went to London early, where +he has written his important works, and made +his reputation. Let the city boast of Scott—no +one will say she does wrong in that—but it is not +so easy to discover the amazing brilliancy of her +other literary lights. Their reputations, after all, +are to a great extent local. What blazes a sun at +Edinburgh, would, if transported to London, not +unfrequently become a farthing candle. +<span class="sidenote"> +Lord Jeffrey. +</span> +Lord Jeffrey—when shall we cease to hear his praises? With +perfect truthfulness one may admit that his +lordship was no common man. His "vision" was +sharp and clear enough within its range. He was +unable to relish certain literary forms, as some men +are unable to relish certain dishes—an inaptitude +that might arise from fastidiousness of palate, or +from weakness of digestion. His style was +perspicuous; he had an icy sparkle of epigram and +antithesis, some wit, and no enthusiasm. He +wrote many clever papers, made many clever +speeches, said many clever things. But the man +who could so egregiously blunder as to "Wilhelm +Meister," who hooted Wordsworth through his +entire career, who had the insolence to pen the +sentence that opens the notice of the "Excursion" +in the <i>Edinburgh Review</i>, and who, when writing +tardily, but really well, on Keats, could pass over +the "Hyperion" with a slighting remark, might be +possessed of distinguished parts, but no claim can +be made for him to the character of a great critic. +Hazlitt, wilful, passionate, splendidly-gifted, in +whose very eccentricities and fierce vagaries there +was a generosity which belongs only to fine +natures, has sunk away into an almost unknown +London grave, and his works into unmerited +oblivion; while Lord Jeffrey yet makes radiant with +his memory the city of his birth. In point of +natural gifts and endowment—in point, too, of +literary issue and result—the Englishman far +surpassed the Scot. Why have their destinies +been so different? One considerable reason is +that Hazlitt lived in London—Jeffrey in +Edinburgh. Hazlitt was partially lost in an impatient +crowd and rush of talent. Jeffrey stood, patent +to every eye, in an open space in which there +were few competitors. London does not brag +about Hazlitt—Edinburgh brags about Jeffrey. +The Londoner, when he visits Edinburgh, is +astonished to find that it possesses a Valhalla +filled with gods—chiefly legal ones—of whose +names and deeds he was previously in ignorance. +The ground breaks into unexpected flowerage +beneath his feet. He may conceive to-day +to be a little cloudy—may even suspect east +wind to be abroad—but the discomfort is balanced +by the reports he hears on every side of the +beauty, warmth, and splendour of yesterday. +He puts out his hands and warms them, if he can, +at that fire of the past. "Ah! that society of +forty years ago! Never on this earth did the like +exist. Those astonishing men, Horner, Jeffrey, +Cockburn, Rutherfurd! What wit was theirs—what +eloquence, what genius! What a city this +Edinburgh once was!" +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +A Scottish Weimar. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Edinburgh is not only in point of beauty the +first of British cities—but, considering its population, +the general tone of its society is more intellectual +than that of any other. In no other city will you +find so general an appreciation of books, art, music, +and objects of antiquarian interest. It is peculiarly +free from the taint of the ledger and the counting-house. +It is a Weimar without a Goethe—Boston +without its nasal twang. But it wants variety; +it is mainly a city of the professions. London, for +instance, contains every class of people; it is the +seat of legislature as well as of wealth; it +embraces Seven Dials as well as Belgravia. In that +vast community class melts imperceptibly into +class, from the Sovereign on the throne to the +wretch in the condemned cell. In that finely-graduated +scale, the professions take their own place. +In Edinburgh matters are quite different. It +retains the gauds which royalty cast off when it +went South, and takes a melancholy pleasure +in regarding these—as a lady the love-tokens of +a lover who has deserted her to marry into a +family of higher rank. A crown and sceptre lie +up in the Castle, but no brow wears the diadem, +no hand lifts the golden rod. There is a palace +at the foot of the Canongate, but it is a hotel +for her Majesty, <i>en route</i> for Balmoral—a place +where the Commissioner to the Church of +Scotland holds his phantom Court. With these +exceptions, the old halls echo only the footfalls +of the tourist and sight-seer. When royalty +went to London, nobility followed; and in +Edinburgh the field is left now, and has been so left +for a long time back, to Law, Physic, and Divinity. +<span class="sidenote"> +The professions in Edinburgh. +</span> +The professions predominate: than these there is +nothing higher. At Edinburgh a Lord of Session +is a Prince of the Blood, a Professor a Cabinet +Minister, an Advocate an heir to a peerage. The +University and the Courts of Justice are to +Edinburgh what the Court and the Houses of Lords and +Commons are to London. That the Scottish +nobility should spend their seasons in London is not +to be regretted for the sake of Edinburgh shopkeepers +only—their absence affects interests infinitely +higher. In the event of a superabundance of princes, +and a difficulty as to what should be done with them, +it has been frequently suggested that one should +be stationed in Dublin, another in Edinburgh, to +hold Court in these cities. Gold is everywhere +preferred to paper; and in the Irish capital royalty in +the person of Prince Patrick would be more +satisfactory than its shadow in the person of a +Lord-Lieutenant. A Prince of the Blood in Dublin would +be gratefully received by the warm-hearted Irish +people. His permanent presence amongst them +would cancel the remembrance of centuries of +misgovernment; it would strike away for ever the +badge and collar of conquest. In Edinburgh we +have <i>had</i> princes of late years, and seen the uses of +them. A prince at Holyrood would effect for the +country what Scottish Rights' Associations and +University reformers have so long desired. The +nobility would again gather—for a portion of +the year at least—to their ancient capital; and +their sons, as of old, would be found in the +University class-rooms. Under the new +influence, life would be gayer, airier, brighter. The +social tyranny of the professions would to some +extent be broken up, the atmosphere would +become less legal, and a new standard would be +introduced whereby to measure men and their +pretensions. For the Prince himself, good results +might be expected. He would at the least have +some specific public duties to perform; and he +would, through intercourse, become attached to +the people, as the people in their turn would +become attached to him. Edinburgh needs some +little gaiety and courtly pomp to break the coldness +of gray stony streets; to brighten a somewhat +sombre atmosphere; to mollify the east wind that +blows half the year, and the "professional +sectarianism" that blows the whole year round. You +always suspect the east wind, somehow, in the +city. You go to dinner: the east wind is blowing +chillily from hostess to host. You go to church, +a bitter east wind is blowing in the sermon. The +text is that divine one, GOD IS LOVE; and the +discourse that follows is full of all uncharitableness. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Spiritual atmosphere of the city. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Of all British cities, Edinburgh—Weimar-like in +its intellectual and æsthetic leanings, Florence-like +in its freedom from the stains of trade, and more +than Florence-like in its beauty—is the one best +suited for the conduct of a lettered life. The +city as an entity does not stimulate like London, +the present moment is not nearly so intense, +life does not roar and chafe—it murmurs only; +and this interest of the hour, mingled with +something of the quietude of distance and the +past—which is the spiritual atmosphere of the +city—is the most favourable of all conditions for +intellectual work or intellectual enjoyment. You have +libraries—you have the society of cultivated men +and women—you have the eye constantly fed by +beauty—the Old Town, jagged, picturesque, piled +up; and the airy, open, coldly-sunny, unhurried, +uncrowded streets of the New Town—and, above +all, you can "sport your oak," as they say at +Cambridge, and be quit of the world, the gossip, +and the dun. In Edinburgh, you do not require to +create quiet for yourself; you can have it ready-made. +Life is leisurely; but it is not the leisure +of a village, arising from a deficiency of ideas +and motives—it is the leisure of a city reposing +grandly on tradition and history, which has +done its work, which does not require to weave its +own clothing, to dig its own coals, to smelt its own +iron. And then, in Edinburgh, above all British +cities, you are released from the vulgarising dominion +of the hour. The past confronts you at every +street corner. The Castle looks down out of history +on its gayest thoroughfare. The winds of fable are +blowing across Arthur's Seat. Old kings dwelt in +Holyrood. Go out of the city where you will, +the past attends you like a cicerone. Go down to +North Berwick, and the red shell of Tantallon +speaks to you of the might of the Douglases. +Across the sea, from the gray-green Bass, through +a cloud of gannets, comes the sigh of prisoners. +From the long sea-board of Fife—which you can +see from George Street—starts a remembrance of +the Jameses. Queen Mary is at Craigmillar, +Napier at Merchiston, Ben Jonson and Drummond +at Hawthornden, Prince Charles in the +little inn at Duddingston; and if you go out +to Linlithgow, there is the smoke of Bothwellhaugh's +fusee, and the Great Regent falling in the +crooked street. Thus the past checkmates the +present. +<span class="sidenote"> +Influence of the past. +</span> +To an imaginative man, life in or near +Edinburgh is like residence in an old castle:—the +rooms are furnished in consonance with modern +taste and convenience; the people who move about +wear modern costume, and talk of current events +in current colloquial phrases; there is the last +newspaper and book in the library, the air from the +last new opera in the drawing-room; but while the +hour flies past, a subtle influence enters into +it—enriching, dignifying—from oak panelling and +carvings on the roof—from the picture of the +peaked-bearded ancestor on the wall—from the picture of +the fanned and hooped lady—from the old suit of +armour and the moth-eaten banner. On the +intellectual man, living or working in Edinburgh, the +light comes through the stained window of the +past. To-day's event is not raw and <i>brusque</i>; it +comes draped in romantic colour, hued with ancient +gules and or. And when he has done his six +hours' work, he can take the noblest and most +renovating exercise. He can throw down his pen, +put aside his papers, and walk round the Queen's +Drive, where the wind from the sea is always fresh +and keen; and in his hour's walk he has wonderful +variety of scenery—the fat Lothians—the +craggy hillside—the valley, which seems a bit of +the Highlands—the wide sea, with smoky towns +on its margin, and islands on its bosom—lakes +with swans and rushes—ruins of castle, palace, and +chapel—and, finally, homeward by the high towering +street through which Scottish history has rushed +like a stream. There is no such hour's walk as +this for starting ideas, or, having started, captured, +and used them, for getting quit of them again. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Summer in Edinburgh. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Edinburgh is at this moment in the full blaze of +her beauty. The public gardens are in blossom. +The trees that clothe the base of the Castle rock +are clad in green: the "ridgy back" of the Old +Town jags the clear azure. Princes Street is warm +and sunny—'tis a very flower-bed of parasols, +twinkling, rainbow-coloured. Shop windows are +enchantment, the flag streams from the Halfmoon +Battery, church-spires sparkle sun-gilt, gay +equipages dash past, the military band is heard +from afar. The tourist is already here in +wonderful Tweed costume. Every week the wanderers +increase, and in a short time the city will be +theirs. By August the inhabitants have fled. The +University lets loose, on unoffending humanity, a +horde of juvenile M.D.'s warranted to dispense—with +the sixth commandment. Beauty listens to +what the wild waves are saying. Valour cruises +in the Mediterranean; and Law, up to the knees in +heather, stalks his stag on the slopes of +Ben-Muich-dhui. Those who, from private and most urgent +reasons, are forced to remain behind, put brown +paper in their front windows; inform the world by +placard that letters and parcels may be left at +No. 26 round the corner, and live fashionably in their +back-parlours. At twilight only do they adventure +forth; and if they meet a friend—who ought +like the rest of the world to be miles away—they +have only of course come up from the sea-side, or +their relation's shooting-box, for a night, to look +after some imperative business. Tweed-clad +tourists are everywhere: they stand on Arthur's +Seat, they speculate on the birthplace of Mons +Meg, they admire Roslin, eat haggis, attempt +whisky-punch, and crowd to Dr Guthrie's church +on Sundays. By October the last tourist has +departed, and the first student has arrived. Tailors +put forth their gaudiest fabrics to attract the eye +of ingenuous youth. Whole streets bristle with +"lodgings to let." Edinburgh is again filled. The +University class-rooms are crowded; a hundred +schools are busy; and Young Briefless, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Who never is, but always to be, fee'd,"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +the sun-brown yet on his face, paces the floor of +the Parliament House, four hours a day, in his +professional finery of horse-hair and bombazine. +During the winter-time are assemblies and +dinner-parties. There is a fortnight's opera, with the +entire fashionable world in the boxes. The +Philosophical Institution is in full session; while a +whole army of eloquent lecturers do battle with +ignorance on public platforms—each effulging like +Phœbus, with his waggon-load of blazing day—at +whose coming night perishes, shot through with +orient beams. Neither mind nor body is neglected +during the Edinburgh season. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Scottish Academy. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +In spring time, when the east winds blow, and +grey walls of <i>haar</i>—clammy, stinging, heaven-high, +making disastrous twilight of the brightest +noon—come in from the German Ocean, and when +coughs and colds do most abound, the Royal +Scottish Academy opens her many-pictured walls. +From February to May this is the most fashionable +lounge in Edinburgh. The rooms are warm, +so thickly carpeted that no footfall is heard, and +there are seats in abundance. It is quite +wonderful how many young ladies and gentlemen get +suddenly interested in art. The Exhibition is a +charming place for flirtation; and when Romeo +is short in the matter of small talk—as Romeo +sometimes will be—there is always a picture at hand +to suggest a topic. Romeo may say a world of +pretty things while he turns up the number of a +picture in Juliet's catalogue—for without a +catalogue Juliet never appears in the rooms. Before +the season closes, she has her catalogue by heart, +and could repeat it to you from beginning to end +more glibly than she could her Catechism. Cupid +never dies; and fingers will tingle as sweetly when +they touch over an Exhibition catalogue as over +the dangerous pages of "Lancelot of the Lake." If +many marriages are not made here, there are +gay deceivers in the world, and the picture of +deserted Ophelia—the blank smile on her mouth, +flowerets stuck in her yellow hair—slowly sinking +in the weedy pool, produces no suitable moral effect. +To other than young ladies and gentlemen the rooms +are interesting, for Scottish art is at this moment +more powerful than Scottish literature. Perhaps +some half-dozen pictures in each Academy's +Exhibition are the most notable intellectual products that +Scotland can present for the year. The Scottish +brush is stronger than the Scottish pen. It is in +landscape and—at all events up till the other day, +when Sir John Watson Gordon died—in portraiture +that the Scotch school excels. It excels in the +one in virtue of the national scenery, and in the +other in virtue of the national insight and humour. +For the making of a good portrait a great deal +more is required than excellent colour and +dexterous brush-work—shrewdness, insight, +imagination, common sense, and many another mental +quality besides, are needed. No man can paint +a good portrait unless he knows his sitter +thoroughly; and every good portrait is a kind of +biography. It is curious, as indicating that the +instinct for biography and portrait-painting are +alike in essence, that in both walks of art the +Scotch have been unusually successful. It would +seem that there is something in the national +character predisposing to excellence in these +departments of effort. Strictly to inquire how far this +predisposition arises from the national shrewdness +or the national humour, would be needless; +thus much is certain, that Scotland has at various +times produced the best portrait-painters and the +best writers of biography to be found in the +compass of the islands. In the past, she can point to +Boswell's "Life of Johnson" and Raeburn's +portraits: she yet can claim Thomas Carlyle; +and but lately she could claim Sir John Watson +Gordon. Thomas Carlyle is a portrait-painter, +and Sir John Watson Gordon was a biographer. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Scottish portraiture. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +On the walls of the Exhibition, as I have said, +will be found some of the best products of the +Scottish brain. There, year after year, are to be +found the pictures of Mr Noel Paton—some, of the +truest pathos, like the "Home from the Crimea;" or +that group of ladies and children in the cellar at +Cawnpore, listening to the footsteps of deliverers, +whom they conceive to be destroyers; or "Luther at +Erfurt," the gray morning light breaking in on him +as he is with fear and trembling working out his +own salvation—and the world's. We have these, +but we have at times others quite different from +these, and of a much lower scale of excellence, +although hugely admired by the young people +aforesaid—pictures in which attire is painted +instead of passion; where the merit consists +in exquisite renderings of unimportant details—jewels, +tassels, and dagger hilts; where a landscape +is sacrificed to a bunch of ferns, a tragic situation +to the pattern on the lady's zone, or the slashed +jacket and purple leggings of the knight. Then +there are Mr Drummond's pictures from Scottish +history and ballad poetry—a string of wild +moss-troopers riding over into England to lift cattle; +John Knox on his wedding-day leading his +wife home to his quaint dwelling in the Canongate; +the wild lurid Grassmarket, crowded with +rioters, crimson with torchlight, spectators filling +every window of the tall houses, while Porteous is +being carried to his death—the Castle standing +high above the tumult against the blue midnight and +the stars; or the death procession of Montrose—the +hero seated on hurdle, not on battle-steed, with +beard untrimmed, hair dishevelled, dragged through +the crowded street by the city hangman and his +horses, yet proud of aspect, as if the slogans of +Inverlochy were ringing in his ears, and flashing +on his enemies on the balcony above him the fires +of his disdain. Then there are Mr Harvey's solemn +twilight moors, and covenanting scenes of marriage, +baptism, and funeral. +<span class="sidenote"> +Mr Macculloch's pictures. +</span> +And drawing the eye with a +stronger fascination—because they represent the +places in which we are about to wander—the +landscapes of Horatio Macculloch—stretches of Border +moorland, with solitary gray peels on which the +watery sunbeam strikes, a thread of smoke rising +far off from the gipsy's fire; Loch Scavaig in its +wrath, the thunder gloom blackening on the peaks +of Cuchullin, the fierce rain crashing down on +white rock and shingly shore; sunset on Loch +Ard, the mountains hanging inverted in the golden +mirror, a plump of water-fowl starting from the +reeds in the foreground, and shaking the splendour +into dripping wrinkles and widening rings; Ben +Cruachan wearing his streak of snow at mid-summer, +and looking down on Kilchurn Castle and +the winding Awe. He is the most national of the +northern landscape-painters; and although he can, +on occasion, paint grasses and flowers, and the +shimmer of reed-blades in the wind, he loves +vast desolate spaces, the silence of the +Highland wilderness where the wild deer roam, the +shore on which subsides the last curl of the +indolent wave. He loves the tall crag wet and +gleaming in the sunlight, the rain-cloud on the moor, +blotting out the distance, the setting sun raying +out lances of flame from behind the stormy clouds—clouds +torn, but torn into gold, and flushed with +a brassy radiance. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The General Assembly +</span> +</p> + +<p> +May is an exciting month in Edinburgh, for, +towards its close, the Assemblies of the Established +and Free Churches meet. For a fortnight or so +the clerical element predominates in the city. +Every presbytery in Scotland sends up its +representative to the metropolis, and an astonishing +number of black coats and white neckcloths flit about +the streets. At high noon the gaiety of Princes +Street is subdued with innumerable suits of sable. +Ecclesiastical newspapers let the world wag as it +pleases, so intent are they on the debates. +Rocky-featured elders from the far north come up +interested in some kirk dispute; and junior counsel +waste the midnight oil preparing for appearance at +the bar of the House. The opening of the General +Assembly of the Church of Scotland is attended +with a pomp and circumstance which seems a +little at variance with Presbyterian quietude of +tone and contempt of sacerdotal vanities. Her +Majesty's Lord High Commissioner resides at +Holyrood, and on the morning of the day on which the +Assembly opens he holds his first levee. People +rush to warm themselves in the dim reflection of +the royal sunshine, and return with faces happy +and elate. On the morning the Assembly opens, +the military line the streets from Holyrood to the +Assembly Hall. A regimental band and a troop +of lancers wait outside the palace gates while the +procession is slowly getting itself into order. The +important moment at length arrives. The Commissioner +has taken his seat in the carriage. Out bursts +the brass band, piercing every ear; the lancers +caracole; an orderly rides with eager spur; the long +train of carriages begins to crawl forward in an +intermittent manner, with many a dreary pause. At +last the head of the procession appears along the +peopled way. First come, in hired carriages, the +city councillors, clothed in scarlet robes, and +with cocked hats upon their heads. The very +mothers that bore them could not recognise them +now. They pass on silent with dignity. Then +comes a troop of halberdiers in mediæval costume, +and looking for all the world as if the Kings, Jacks, +and Knaves had walked out of a pack of cards. Then +comes a carriage full of magistrates, wearing their +gold chains of office over their scarlet cloaks, and +eyeing sternly the small boy in the crowd who, +from a natural sense of humour, has given vent to +an irreverent observation. Then comes the band; +then a squadron of lancers, whose horses the music +seems to affect; then a carriage occupied with +high legal personages, with powder in their hair, +and rapiers by their sides, which they could not draw +for their lives. Then comes the private carriage of +his Grace, surrounded by lancers, whose mercurial +steeds plunge and rear, and back and sidle, and +scatter the mob as they come prancing broadside +on to the pavement, smiting sparks of fire from the +kerbstones with their iron hoofs. Thereafter, Tom, +Jack, and Harry, for every cab, carriage, and +omnibus of the line of route is now allowed to fall +in—and so, attended by halberdiers, and soldiers, +and a brass band, her Majesty's Commissioner +goes to open the General Assembly of the +Church of Scotland. As his Grace has to attend +all the sittings of the reverend court, the Government, +it is said, generally selects for the office a +nobleman slightly dull of hearing. The Commissioner +has no power, he has no voice in the deliberations; +but he is indispensable, as a corporation +mace is indispensable at a corporation meeting. +While the debate is going on below, and two reverend +fathers are passionately throttling each other, +he is not unfrequently seen, with spectacles on nose, +placidly perusing the <i>Times</i>. He is allowed two +thousand pounds a year, and his duty is to spend +it. +<span class="sidenote"> +The Commissioner's levee. +</span> +He keeps open table for the assembled clergymen. +He holds a grand evening levee, to which +several hundred people are invited. If you are +lucky enough to receive a card of invitation, you fall +into the line of carriages opposite the Register House +about eight o'clock, you are off the High School at +nine, ten peals from the church-spires when you are +at the end of Regent Terrace, and by eleven your +name is being shouted by gorgeous lackeys—whose +income is probably as great as your +own—through the corridors of Holyrood as you advance +towards the presence. When you arrive you find +that the country parson, with his wife and daughter, +have been before you, and you are a lucky man if, +for refreshment, you can secure a bit of remainder +sponge-cake and a glass of lukewarm sherry. On +the last occasion of the Commissioner's levee the +newspapers inform me that seventeen hundred +invitations were issued. Think of it—seventeen +hundred persons on that evening bowed before +the Shadow of Majesty, and then backed in +their gracefulest manner. On that evening the +Shadow of Majesty performed seventeen hundred +genuflections! I do not grudge the Lord +Commissioner his two thousand pounds. Verily, the +labourer is worthy of his hire. The vale of life is +not without its advantages. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>STIRLING AND THE NORTH.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +Edinburgh and Stirling are spinster sisters, +who were both in their youth beloved by +Scottish kings; but Stirling is the more wrinkled +in feature, the more old-fashioned in attire, and +not nearly so well to do in the world. She smacks +more of the antique time, and wears the ornaments +given her by royal lovers—sadly broken and worn +now, and not calculated to yield much if brought +to the hammer—more ostentatiously in the public +eye than does Edinburgh. On the whole, perhaps, +her stock of these red sandstone gew-gaws +is the more numerous. In many respects there is +a striking likeness between the two cities. +Between them they in a manner monopolise Scottish +history; kings dwelt in both—in and around both +may yet be seen traces of battle. Both have +castles towering to heaven from the crests of +up-piled rocks; both towns are hilly, rising +terrace above terrace. The country around Stirling +is interesting from its natural beauty no less than +from its historical associations. Many battles were +fought in the seeing of the castle towers. Stirling +Bridge, Carron, Bannockburn, Sauchieburn, Sheriffmuir, +Falkirk—these battle-fields lie in the +immediate vicinity. From the field of Bannockburn +you obtain the finest view of Stirling. The +Ochills are around you. Yonder sleeps the +Abbey Craig, where, on a summer day, Wight +Wallace sat. You behold the houses climbing +up, picturesque, smoke-feathered; and the +wonderful rock, in which the grace of the lily and +the strength of the hills are mingled, and on +which the castle sits as proudly as ever did +rose on its stem. Eastward from the castle +ramparts stretches a great plain, bounded on +either side by mountains, and before you the vast +fertility dies into distance, flat as the ocean when +winds are asleep. It is through this plain that the +Forth has drawn her glittering coils—a silvery +entanglement of loops and links—a watery +labyrinth—which Macneil has sung in no ignoble +numbers, and which every summer the whole world +flocks to see. Turn round, look in the opposite +direction, and the aspect of the country has +entirely changed. It undulates like a rolling sea. +Heights swell up into the blackness of pines, and +then sink away into valleys of fertile green. At +your feet the Bridge of Allan sleeps in azure +smoke—the most fashionable of all the Scottish <i>spas</i>, +wherein, by hundreds of invalids, the last new +novel is being diligently perused. Beyond are the +classic woods of Keir; and ten miles farther, what +see you? A multitude of blue mountains climbing +the heavens! The heart leaps up to greet +them—the ramparts of a land of romance, from +the mouths of whose glens broke of old the foray +of the freebooter; and with a chief in front, with +banner and pibroch in the wind, the terror of the +Highland war. Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps +Highlands and Lowlands together. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +View from Stirling. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Standing on the ramparts of Stirling Castle, the +spectator cannot help noticing an unsightly +excresence of stone and lime rising on the brow +of the Abbey Craig. This is the Wallace Tower. +Designed to commemorate the war for independence, +the building is making but slow progress. +It is maintained by charitable contributions, like +a lying-in hospital. It is a big beggar man, like +O'Connell. It is tormented by an eternal lack +of pence, like Mr Dick Swiveller. It sends round +the hat as frequently as ever did Mr Leigh Hunt. +The Wallace Monument, like the Scottish Rights' +Association, sprang from the desire—a good deal +stronger a few years ago than now—to preserve +in Scotland something of a separate national +existence. Scotland and England were married at the +Union; but by many Scotsmen it is considered +more dignified that, while appearing as "one flesh" +on great public occasions, the two countries should +live in separate apartments, see their own circles +of friends, and spend their time as to each other it +may seem fit. Whether any good could arise from +such a state of matters it is needless to inquire—such +a state of matters being a plain impossibility. +It is apparent that through intimate connexion, +community of interest, the presence of one common +government, and in a thousand other ways, Time +is crumbling down Scotland and England into—Britain. +<span class="sidenote"> +Narrowness of Scottish feeling. +</span> +We may storm against this from platforms, +declaim passionately against it in "Lays of the +Cavaliers," lift up our voices and weep over it in +"Braemar Ballads," but necessity cares little for +these things, and quietly does her work. In Scotland +one is continually coming into contact with an +unreasonable prejudice against English manners, +institutions, and forms of thought; and in her +expression of these prejudices Scotland is frequently +neither great nor dignified. There is a narrowness +and touchiness about her which is more frequently +found in villages than in great cities. She continually +suspects that the Englishman is about to touch her +thistle rudely, or to take liberties with her unicorn. +Some eight years ago, when lecturing in Edinburgh, +Mr Thackeray was hissed for making an allusion +to Queen Mary. The audience knew perfectly +well that the great satirist was correct in what he +stated; but being an Englishman it was impertinent +in him to speak the truth about a Scottish +Queen in the presence of Scotsmen. When, on the +other hand, an English orator comes amongst us, +whether as Lord Rector at one of our universities, +or the deliverer of an inaugural address at the +Philosophical Institution in Edinburgh, and winds +up his harangue with flowing allusions to Wallace, +Bruce, Burns, our blue hills, John Knox, Caledonia +stern and wild, the garb of old Gaul—the closing +sentences are lost to the reporters in the frantic +cheers of the audience. Several years ago the +Scottish Rights' Association, headed by the most +chivalric nobleman, and by the best poet in +Scotland, surrounded by a score of merchant +princes, assembled in the City Hall of Glasgow, +and for a whole night held high jubilee. The +patriotic fervours, the eloquent speeches, the +volleys of cheers, did not so much as break a single +tea-cup or appoint a new policeman. Even the +eloquent gentleman who volunteered to lay down +his head at Carlisle in support of the good cause +has never been asked to implement his promise. +The patriot's head is of more use to himself than +it can possibly be to any one else. +<span class="sidenote"> +University reform +</span> +And does not +this same prejudice against England, this indisposition +to yield up ancient importance, this standing +upon petty dignity, live in the cry for Scottish +University reform? Is not this the heart of the +matter—because England has universities, rich with +gifts of princes and the bequests of the charitable, +should not Scotland have richly-endowed +universities also? In nature the ball fits into the +socket more or less perfectly; and the Scottish +universities are what the wants and requirements +of the Scottish people have made them. We +cannot grow in a day an Oxford or a Cambridge +on this northern soil; and could Scotsmen +forget that they are Scotsmen they would see +that it is not desirable so to do. Our universities +have sent forth for generations physicians, lawyers, +divines, properly enough qualified to fulfil their +respective duties; and if every ten years or so some +half-dozen young men appear with an appetite for +a higher education than Scotland can give, and +with means to gratify it, what then? In England +there are universities able and willing to supply +their wants. Their doors stand open to the +Scottish youth. Admitting that we could by +governmental interference or otherwise make our Scottish +universities equal to Oxford or Cambridge in +wealth and erudition, would we benefit thereby +the half-dozen ambitious Scottish youth? Not +one whit. Far better that they should conclude +their education at an English university—in that +wider confluence of the streams of society—amid +those elder traditions of learning and civility. +</p> + +<p> +And yet this erection of the Wallace Tower +on the Abbey Craig has a deeper significance +than its promoters are in the least degree aware +of. There <i>is</i> a certain propriety in the building +of a Wallace Monument. Scotland has been +united to England, and is beginning to lose +remembrance of her independence and separate +history—just as the matron in her conjoint duties +and interests begins to grow unfamiliar with the +events of her girlhood, and with the sound of +her maiden name. It is only when the memory of +a hero ceases to be a living power in the hearts of +men that they think of raising a monument to +him. Monuments are for the dead, not for the +living. When we hear that some venerable sheik +has taken to call public meetings in Mecca, to +deliver speeches, and to issue subscription lists for +the purpose of raising a monument to Mohammed, +and that these efforts are successful, we shall be +quite right in thinking that the crescent is in its +wane. Although the subscribers think it something +quite other, the building of the Wallace Monument +is a bidding farewell to Scottish nationality. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Doune Castle. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +It is from Stirling that I start on my summer +journey, and the greater portion of it I purpose +to perform on foot. There is a railway now to +Callander, whereby time is saved and enjoyment +destroyed—but the railway I shall in nowise +patronise, meaning to abide by the old coach +road. In a short time you are beyond the Bridge +of Allan, beyond the woods of Keir, and holding +straight on to Dunblane. Reaching it, you +pause for a little on the old bridge to look at the +artificial waterfall, and the ruined cathedral on +the rising ground across the stream, and the walks +which Bishop Leighton paced. There is really not +much to detain one in the little gray city, and +pressing on, you reach Doune, basking on the hill-side. +Possibly the reader may never have heard of +Doune, yet it has its lions. What are these? +Look at the great bulk of the ruined castle! +These towers, rising from miles of summer foliage +into fair sunlight, a great Duke of Albany beheld +for a moment, with a shock of long-past happiness +and home, as he laid down his head on the block +at Stirling. Rage and shame filled the last heave +of the heart, the axe flashed, and——. As you go +down the steep town road, there is an old-fashioned +garden, and a well close to the wall. Look into +it steadily—you observe a shadow on the sandy +bottom, and the twinkle of a fin. 'Tis a trout—a +blind one, which has dwelt, the people will tell +you, in its watery cage, for ten years back. It is +considered a most respectable inhabitant, and the +urchin daring to angle for it would hardly escape +whipping. You may leave Doune now. A Duke +of Albany lost his head in the view of its castle, a +blind trout lives in its well, and visitors feel more +interested in the trout than in the duke. The +country in the immediate vicinity of Doune is +somewhat bare and unpromising, but as you advance +it improves, and a few miles on, the road +skirts the Teith, the sweetest voiced of all the +Scottish streams. The Roman centurion heard +that pebbly murmur on his march even as you +now hear it. The river, like all beautiful things, +is coquettish, and just when you come to love her +music, she sweeps away into the darkness of the +woods and leaves you companionless on the dusty +road. Never mind, you will meet her again at +Callander, and there, for a whole summer day, +you can lean on the bridge and listen to her +singing. Callander is one of the prettiest of Highland +villages. It was sunset as I approached it first, +years ago. Beautiful the long crooked street of +white-washed houses dressed in rosy colours. +Prettily-dressed children were walking or running +about. The empty coach was standing at the door +of the hotel, and the smoking horses were being led +up and down. And right in front stood King +Benledi, clothed in imperial purple, the spokes of +splendour from the sinking sun raying far away +into heaven from behind his mighty shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Callander. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Callander sits like a watcher at the opening +of the glens, and is a rendezvous of tourists. +To the right is the Pass of Leny—well worthy +of a visit. You ascend a steep path, birch-trees +on right and left; the stream comes brawling +down, sleeping for a moment in black pools +beloved by anglers, and then hasting on in foam and +fury to meet her sister in the Vale of Menteith +below. When you have climbed the pass, you enter +on a green treeless waste, and soon approach Loch +Lubnaig, with the great shadow of a hill +blackening across it. The loch is perhaps cheerful +enough when the sun is shining on it, but the sun +in that melancholy region is but seldom seen. +Beside the road is an old churchyard, for which no one +seems to care—the tombstones being submerged in +a sea of rank grass. The loch of the rueful +countenance will not be visited on the present occasion. +My course lies round the left flank of Benledi, +straight on for the Trosachs and Loch Katrine. +Leaving Callander, you cross the waters of the +Leny—changed now from the fury that, with raised +voice and streaming tresses, leaped from rock to +rock in the glen above—and walk into the +country made immortal by the "Lady of the Lake." Every +step you take is in the footsteps of Apollo: +speech at once becomes song. There is Coilantogle +Ford; Loch Venachar, yonder, is glittering +away in windy sunshine to the bounding hills. +Passing the lake you come on a spot where the +hill-side drops suddenly down on the road. On +this hill-side Vich Alpine's warriors started out +of the ferns at the whistle of their chief; and +if you travelled on the coach, the driver would +repeat half the poem with curious variations, +and point out the identical rock against which +Fitz-James leaned—rock on which a dozen +eyeglasses are at once levelled in wonder and +admiration. The loveliest sight on the route to the +Trosachs is about to present itself. +<span class="sidenote"> +Loch Achray—the Trosachs. +</span> +At a turn of +the road Loch Achray is before you. Beyond +expression beautiful is that smiling lake, mirroring +the hills, whether bare and green or plumaged +with woods from base to crest. Fair azure gem in +a setting of mountains! the traveller—even if a +bagman—cannot but pause to drink in its fairy +beauty; cannot but remember it when far away +amid other scenes and associations. At every +step the scenery grows wilder. Loch Achray +disappears. High in upper air tower the summits of +Ben-Aan and Ben-Venue. You pass through the +gorge of the Trosachs, whose rocky walls, born in +earthquake and fiery deluge, the fanciful summer +has been dressing these thousand years, clothing +their feet with drooping ferns and rods of foxglove +bells, blackening their breasts with pines, feathering +their pinnacles with airy birches, that dance in the +breeze like plumage on a warrior's helm. The +wind here becomes a musician. Echo sits +babbling beneath the rock. The gorge, too, is but +the prelude to a finer charm; for before you are +aware, doubling her beauty with surprise, there +breaks on the right the silver sheet of Loch +Katrine, with a dozen woody islands, sleeping +peacefully on their shadows. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Inversneyd +</span> +</p> + +<p> +On the loch, the steamer <i>Rob Roy</i> awaits you, +and away you pant and fume towards a wharf, +and an inn, with an unpronounceable name, at the +farther end. The lake does not increase in beauty +as you proceed. All its charms are congregated +at the mouth of the Trosachs, and the upper +reaches are bare, desolate, and uninteresting. You +soon reach the wharf, and after your natural +rage at a toll of twopence exacted from you +on landing has subsided, and you have had a +snack of something at the inn, you start on the +wild mountain road towards Inversneyd. The +aspect of the country has now changed. The hills +around are bare and sterile, brown streams gurgle +down their fissures, the long yellow ribbon of road +runs away before you, dipping out of sight sometimes, +and reappearing afar. You pass a turf hut, +and your nostrils are invaded by a waft of peat +reek which sets you coughing, and brings the +tears into your eyes; and the juvenile natives +eye you askance, and wear the airiest form of the +national attire. In truth, there is not a finer bit +of Highland road to be found anywhere than that +which runs between the inn—which, like the Russian +heroes in "Don Juan," might be immortal if the +name of it could be pronounced by human +organs—and the hotel at Inversneyd. When you have +travelled some three miles, the scenery improves, +the hills rise into nobler forms with misty wreaths +about them, and as you pursue your journey a +torrent becomes your companion. Presently, a +ruin rises on the hill-side, the nettles growing on +its melancholy walls. It is the old fort of +Inversneyd, built in King William's time to awe the +turbulent clans. Nothing can be more desolate +than its aspect. Sunshine seems to mock it; it is +native and endued into its element when wrapt in +mist, or pelted by the wintry rain. Passing the +old stone-and-lime mendicant on the hill-side—by +the way, Tradition mumbles something about +General Wolfe having been stationed there at the +beginning of his military career—you descend +rapidly on Loch Lomond and Inversneyd. The road +by this time has become another Pass of Leny: on +either side the hills approach, the torrent roars +down in a chain of cataracts, and, in a spirit +of bravado, takes its proudest leap at the last. +Quite close to the fall is the hotel; and on the +frail timber bridge that overhangs the cataract, +you can see groups of picturesque-hunters, the +ladies gracefully timid, the gentlemen gallant and +reassuring. Inversneyd is beautiful, and it +possesses an added charm in being the scene of one +of Wordsworth's poems; and he who has stood +on the crazy bridge, and watched the flash and +thunder of the stream beneath him, and gazed +on the lake surrounded by mountains, will ever +after retain the picture in remembrance, although +to him there should not have been vouchsafed +the vision of the "Highland Girl." A steamer +picks you up at Inversneyd, and slides down +Loch Lomond with you to Tarbet, a village +sleeping in very presence of the mighty Ben, +whose forehead is almost always bound with a +cloudy handkerchief. Although the loch is finer +higher up, where it narrows toward Glen Falloch—more +magnificent lower down, where it widens, +many-isled, toward Balloch—it is by no means to +be despised at Tarbet. Each bay and promontory +wears its peculiar charm; and if the scenery +does not astonish, it satisfies. Tarbet can boast, +too, of an excellent inn, in which, if the traveller +be wise, he will, for one night at least, luxuriously +take his ease. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The "Cobbler". +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Up betimes next morning, you are on the +beautiful road which runs between Tarbet and +Arrochar, and begin, through broken, white +upstreaming mists, to make acquaintance with the +"Cobbler" and some other peaks of that rolling +country to which Celtic facetiousness has given the +name of "The Duke of Argyle's Bowling-green." Escaping +from the birches that line the road, and +descending on Arrochar and Loch Long, you can +leisurely inspect the proportions of the mountain +Crispin. He is a gruesome carle, and inhospitable +to strangers. He does not wish to be intruded +upon—is a very hermit, in fact; for when, after wild +waste of breath and cuticle, a daring mortal climbs +up to him, anxious to be introduced, behold he +has slipped his cable, and is nowhere to be seen. +And it does not improve the temper of the climber +that, when down again, and casting up his eyes, he +discovers the rocky figure sitting in his accustomed +place. The Cobbler's Wife sits a little way off—an +ancient dame, to the full as withered in appearance +as her husband, and as difficult of access. They +dwell in tolerable amity the twain, but when they +do quarrel it is something tremendous! The whole +county knows when a tiff is in progress. The sky +darkens above them. The Cobbler frowns black +as midnight. His Wife sits sulking in the mist. +His Wife's conduct aggravates the Cobbler—who +is naturally of a peppery temper—and he gives +vent to a discontented growl. Nothing loath, and +to the full as irascible as her spouse, his Wife spits +back fire upon him. The row begins. They flash +at one another in the savagest manner, scolding +all the while in the grandest Billingsgate. +Everything listens to them for twenty miles round. At +last the Wife gives in, and falls to downright +weeping, the crusty old fellow sending a shot into her +at intervals. She cries, and he grumbles, into the +night. Peace seems to have been restored somehow +when everybody is asleep; for next morning +the Cobbler has renewed his youth. He shines in +the sun like a very bridegroom, not a frown on the old +countenance of him, and his Wife opposite, the tears +hardly dried upon her face yet, smiles upon him +through her prettiest head-dress of mist; and for +the next six weeks they enjoy as bright, unclouded +weather as husband and wife can expect in a +world where everything is imperfect. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Glencroe. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +You leave the little village of Arrochar, trudge +round the head of Loch Long, and proceeding downward, +along the opposite shore, and skirting the base +of the Cobbler, strike for the opening of Glencroe, +on your road to Inverary. Glencoe is to the other +Highland glens what Tennyson is to contemporary +British poets. If Glencoe did not exist, Glencroe +would be famous. It is several miles long, lonely, +sterile, and desolate. A stream rages down the +hollow, fed by tributary burns that dash from +the receding mountain-tops. The hill-sides are +rough with boulders, as a sea-rock is rough with +limpets. Showers cross the path a dozen times during +the finest day. As you go along, the glen is +dappled with cloud-shadows; you hear the bleating +of unseen sheep, and the chances are, that, +in travelling along its whole extent, opportunity +will not be granted you of bidding "good-morrow" +to a single soul. If you are a murderer, you could +shout out your secret here, and no one be a bit the +wiser. At the head of the glen the road becomes +exceedingly steep; and as you pant up the incline, +you hail the appearance of a stone seat bearing +the welcome motto, "Rest, and be thankful." You +rest, and are thankful. This seat was erected +by General Wade while engaged in his great work +of Highland road-making; and so long as it exists +the General will be remembered—and Earl Russell +too. At this point the rough breast of a hill +rises in front, dividing the road; the path to the left +runs away down into the barren and solitary Hell's +Glen, in haste to reach Loch Goil; the other to +the right leads through bare Glen Arkinglass, +to St Catherine's, and the shore of Loch Fyne, at +which point you arrive after a lonely walk of two +hours. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +John Campbell. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The only thing likely to interest the stranger at +the little hostelry of St Catherine's is John +Campbell, the proprietor of the same, and driver of the +coach from the inn to the steamboat wharf at Loch +Goil. John has a presentable person and a sagacious +countenance; his gray eyes are the homes of +humour and shrewdness; and when seated on the +box, he flicks his horses and manages the ribbons +to admiration. He is a good story-teller, and he +knows it. He has not started on his journey a +hundred yards when, from something or another, he +finds you occasion for a story, which is sure to +produce a roar of laughter from those alongside of, and +behind, him. Encouraged by success, John +absolutely coruscates, anecdote follows anecdote as +flash of sheet-lightning succeeds flash of +sheet-lightning on a summer night; and by the time he is +half-way, he is implored to desist by some sufferer +whose midriff he has convulsed. John is naturally +a humorist; and as every summer and autumn the +Highlands are overrun with tourists, he, from St +Catherine's to Loch Goil, surveys mankind with +extensive view. In his time he has talked with most of +our famous men, and can reproduce their tones to +perfection. It is curious to notice how literary and +political greatness picture themselves in the eyes +of a Highland coachman! The lion who entrances +the <i>soirées</i> has his mane clipped. For John Campbell, +cliques and coteries, and the big guns of the +reviews, exist not. To him Fame speaks in Gaelic, +and concerns herself mainly with sheep and black +cattle. What is the good of being a distinguished +novelist if you cannot swallow a glass of bitters of +a morning? John will distinguish between Tupper +and Tennyson, and instruct you which is the better +man, but he will draw his conclusions from their +"tips" rather than from their poetry. He will +agree with you that Lord Palmerston is a distinguished +individual; but while you are thinking of +the Premier's statesmanship, he is thinking of the +Premier's jauntiness on the morning he had the +honour of driving him. John's ideas of public +men, although arrived at after a curious fashion, +are pretty generally correct. Every one who +tarries at St Catherine's should get himself driven +across to Loch Goil by John Campbell, and should +take pains to procure a seat on the box beside +him. When he returns to the south, he can relate +over again the stories he hears, and make himself +the hero of them. The thing has been done +before, and will be again. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Inverary. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +A small wash-tub of a steamer carries you across +Loch Fyne to Inverary in an hour. Arriving, you +find the capital of the West Highlands a rather +pretty place, with excellent inns, several churches, +a fine bay, a ducal residence, a striking conical +hill—Duniquoich the barbarous name of it—wooded +to the chin, and with an ancient watch-tower +perched on its bald crown. The chief seat of the +Argyles cannot boast of much architectural beauty, +being a square building with pepper-box-looking +towers stuck on the corners. The grounds are +charming, containing fine timber, winding walks, +stately avenues, gardens, and through all, spanned +by several bridges, the Airy bubbles sweetly to +the sea. Scott is here. If the "Lady of the +Lake" rings in your ears at the Trosachs, the +"Legend of Montrose" haunts you at Inverary. +Every footstep of ground is hallowed by that noble +romance. It is the best guide-book to the place. +No tourist should leave Inverary before he ascends +Duniquoich—no very difficult task either, for a +path winds round and round it. When you emerge +from the woods beside the watch-tower on the summit, +Inverary, far beneath, has dwindled to a toy town—not +a sound is in the streets; unheard the steamer +roaring at the wharf, and urging dilatory passengers +to haste by the clashes of an angry bell. Along +the shore nets stretched from pole to pole wave in +the drying wind. The great boatless blue loch +stretches away flat as a ballroom floor; and the +eye wearies in its flight over endless miles of brown +moor and mountain. Turn your back on the +town, and gaze towards the north! It is still "a +far cry to Loch Awe," and a wilderness of mountain +peaks tower up between you and that noblest of +Scottish lakes!—of all colours too—green with +pasture, brown with moorland, touched with the +coming purple of the heather, black with a +thunder-cloud of pines. What a region to watch the +sun go down upon! But for that you cannot wait; +for to-day you lunch at Cladich, dine at Dalmally, +and sleep in the neighbourhood of Kilchurn—in +the immediate presence of Ben Cruachan. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Kilchurn Castle. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +A noble vision of mountains is to be obtained +from the road above Cladich. Dalmally is a very +paradise of a Highland inn,—quiet, sequestered, +begirt with the majesty and the silence of +mountains,—a place where a world-weary man may +soothe back into healthful motion jarred pulse and +brain; a delicious nest for a happy pair to waste +the honeymoon in. Dalmally stands on the shores +of Loch Awe, and in the immediate vicinity of +Kilchurn Castle and Ben Cruachan. The castle +is picturesque enough to please the eye of the +landscape-painter, and large enough to impress +the visitor with a sense of baronial grandeur. +And it is ancient enough, and fortunate enough +too—for to that age does not always attain—to +have legends growing upon its walls like the +golden lichens or the darksome ivies. The vast +shell of a building looks strangely impressive +standing there, mirrored in summer waters, with +the great mountain looking down on it. It was +built, it is said, by a lady in the Crusade times, +when her lord was battling with the infidel. The +most prosaic man gazing on a ruin becomes a poet +for the time being. You incontinently sit down, +and think how, in the old pile, life went on for +generations—how children were born and grew up +there—how brides were brought home there, the +bridal blushes yet on their cheeks—how old men +died there, and had by filial fingers their eyes +closed, as blinds are drawn down on the windows of +an empty house, and the withered hands crossed +decently upon the breasts that will heave no more +with any passion. The yule fires, and the feast +fires that blazed on the old hearths have gone out +now. The arrow of the foeman seeks no longer +the window slit. To day and night, to winter and +summer, Kilchurn stands empty as a skull; yet +with no harshness about it; possessed rather of a +composed and decent beauty—reminding you of a +good man's grave, with the number of his ripe +years, and the catalogue of his virtues chiselled on +the stone above him: telling of work faithfully +done, and of the rest that follows, for which all the +weary pine. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Loch Awe. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Ben Cruachan, if not the monarch of Scottish +mountains, is, at all events, one of the princes of +the blood. He is privileged to wear a snow-wreath +in presence of the sun at his midsummer +levee, and like a prince he wears it on the rough +breast of him. Ben Cruachan is seen from +afar: is difficult to climb, and slopes slowly down +to the sea level, his base being twenty miles in +girth, it is said. From Ben Cruachan and +Kilchurn, Loch Awe, bedropt with wooded islands, +stretches Obanwards, presenting in its course +every variety of scenery. Now the loch spreads +like a sea, now it shrinks to a rapid river—now +the banks are wooded like the Trosachs, now +they are bare as the "Screes" at Wastwater; and +consider as you walk along what freaks light and +shade are playing every moment—how shadows, +hundred-armed, creep along the mountain-side—how +the wet rock sparkles like a diamond, and +then goes out—how the sunbeam slides along a +belt of pines—and how, a slave to the sun, the lake +quivers in light around her islands when he is +unobscured, and wears his sable colours when a cloud +is on his face. On your way to Oban there are +many places worth seeing: Loch Etive, with its +immemorial pines, beloved by Professor Wilson; +Bunawe, Taynult, Connel Ferry, with its sea view +and salt-water cataract; and Dunstaffnage Castle, +once a royal residence, and from which the stone +was taken which is placed beneath the coronation +chair at Westminster. And so, if the whole journey +from Inverary is performed on foot, Luna will +light the traveller into Oban. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>OBAN.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Oban. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Oban, which, during winter, is a town of +deserted hotels, begins to get busy by the end +of June. Yachts skim about in the little bay; +steamers, deep-sea and coasting, are continually +arriving and departing; vehicles rattle about in the +one broad, and the many narrow streets; and in +the inns, boots, chamber-maid, and waiter are +distracted with the clangour of innumerable bells. +Out of doors, Oban is not a bad representation +of Vanity Fair. Every variety of pleasure-seeker is +to be found there, and every variety of costume. +Reading parties from Oxford lounge about, smoke, +stare into the small shop windows, and consult +"Black's Guide." Beauty, in light attire, perambulates +the principal street, and taciturn Valour in +mufti accompanies her. Sportsmen in knickerbockers +stand in groups at the hotel doors; Frenchmen +chatter and shrug their shoulders; stolid Germans +smoke curiously-curved meerschaum pipes; and +individuals who have not a drop of Highland +blood in their veins flutter about in the garb of the +Gael, "a hundredweight of cairngorms throwing a +prismatic glory around their persons." All kinds of +people, and all kinds of sounds are there. From +the next street the tones of the bagpipe come on +the ear; tipsy porters abuse each other in Gaelic. +Round the corner the mail comes rattling from +Fort William, the passengers clustering on its roof; +from the pier the bell of the departing steamer urges +passengers to make haste; and passengers who have +lost their luggage rush about, shout, gesticulate, and +not unfrequently come into fierce personal collision +with one of the tipsy porters aforesaid. A more +hurried, nervous, frenzied place than Oban, during +the summer and autumn months, it is difficult to +conceive. People seldom stay there above a night. +The old familiar faces are the resident population. +The tourist no more thinks of spending a week in +Oban than he thinks of spending a week in a railway +station. When he arrives his first question is +after a bedroom; his second, as to the hour at +which the steamer from the south is expected. +</p> + +<p> +And the steamer, be it said, does not always +arrive at a reasonable hour. She may be detained +some time at Greenock; in dirty weather she may +be "on" the Mull of Cantyre all night, buffeted by +the big Atlantic there; so that he must be a bold +man, or a man gifted with the second sight, who +ventures anything but a vague guess as to the hour +of her arrival at Oban. And the weather <i>is</i> dirty; +the panes are blurred with raindrops; outside one +beholds an uncomfortable sodden world, a spongy +sky above, and midway, a gull sliding sideways +through the murky atmosphere. The streets are +as empty now as they will be some months hence. +Beauty is in her own room crying over "Enoch Arden," +and Valour, taciturn as ever, is in the smoking +saloon. The Oxford reading party—which, under +the circumstances, has not the slightest interest in +Plato—attempts, with no great success, to kill the +time by playing at pitch-and-toss. The gentlemen +in the Highland dress remain indoors—birds with +fine feathers do not wish to have them draggled—and +the philabeg and an umbrella would be a +combination quite too ridiculous. The tipsy +porter is for the time silent; but from the next +street the bagpipe grows in volume and torture. +How the sound of it pains the nervous ear of a +man half-maddened by a non-arriving steamer and +a rainy day at Oban! Heavily the hours creep +on; and at last the <i>Clansman</i> does steam in with +wet decks—thoroughly washed by Atlantic brine +last night—and her hundred and fifty passengers, +two-thirds of whom are sea-sick. +</p> + +<p> +I do not, however, proceed with the <i>Clansman</i>. +I am waited for at Inverness; and so, when the +weather has cleared, on a lovely morning, I am +chasing the flying dazzle of the sun up the lovely +Linnhe Loch; past hills that come out on one +and recede; past shores that continually shift +and change; and am at length set down at Fort +William in the shadow of Ben Nevis. +</p> + +<p> +When a man goes to Caprera, he, as a matter of +course, brings a letter of introduction to +Garibaldi—when I went to Fort William, I, equally as a +matter of course, brought a letter of introduction +to Long John. This gentleman, the distiller of +the place, was the tallest man I ever beheld out +of an exhibition—whence his familiar <i>sobriquet</i>—and +must, in his youth, have been of incomparable +physique. The German nation has not yet decided +whether Goethe or Schiller is the greater poet—the +Highlander has not yet decided whether "Long +John" or "Talisker" is the finer spirit. I +presented my letter and was received with the +hospitality and courteous grace so characteristic of the +old Gael. He is gone now, the happy-hearted +Hercules—gone like one of his own drams! His +son distils in his stead—but he must feel that +he is treading in the footsteps of a greater man. +The machinery is the same, the malt is of +quality as fine, but he will never produce whisky +like him who is no more. The text is the same, +but Charles Kean's Hamlet will never be like his +father's. +</p> + +<p> +I saw Inverlochy Castle, and thought of the +craven Argyle, the gallant Montrose, the slaughtered +Campbells. I walked up Glen Nevis; and then, +one summer morning, I drove over to Bannavie, +stepped on board a steamer, and was soon in the +middle of the beautiful Loch Lochy. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Culloden. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +And what a day and what a sail that was! What +a cloudless sky above! What lights and shadows +as we went! On Fort Augustus we descended by +a staircase of locks, and while there I spent half +an hour in the museum of Roualeyn Gordon-Cumming. +We then entered Loch Ness—stopped +for a space to visit the Fall of Foyers, which, from +scarcity of water, looked "seedy" as a moulting +peacock; saw further on, and on the opposite +shore, a promontory run out into the lake like +an arm, and the vast ruin of Castle Urquhart +at the end of it like a clenched fist—menacing all +and sundry. Then we went on to Inverness, where +I found my friend Fellowes, who for some time +back had been amusing himself in that pleasant +Highland town reading law. We drove out to +Culloden, and stood on the moor at sunset. Here +the butcher Cumberland trod out romance. Here +one felt a Jacobite and a Roman Catholic. The +air seemed scented by the fumes of altar-incense, +by the burning of pastiles. The White Rose +was torn and scattered, but its leaves had not +yet lost their odours. "I should rather have died," +I said, "like that wild chief who, when his clan +would not follow him, burst into tears at the +ingratitude of his children, and charged alone on the +English bayonets, than like any other man of whom +I have read in history." +</p> + +<p> +"He wore the sole pair of brogues in the possession +of his tribe," said my companion. "I should +rather have died like Salkeld at the blowing in of +the Delhi gate." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>SKYE AT LAST.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +While tarrying at Inverness, a note which +we had been expecting for some little time +reached Fellowes and myself from M'Ian junior, +to the effect that a boat would be at our service at +the head of Loch Eishart on the arrival at Broadford +of the Skye mail; and that six sturdy boatmen +would therefrom convey us to our destination. +This information was satisfactory, and +we made our arrangements accordingly. The +coach from Inverness to Dingwall—at which place +we were to catch the mail—was advertised to start +at four o'clock in the morning, and to reach its +bourne two hours afterwards; so, to prevent all +possibility of missing it, we resolved not to go to +bed. At that preposterous hour we were in the +street with our luggage, and in a short time the +coach—which seemed itself not more than half +awake—came lumbering up. For a while there +was considerable noise; bags and parcels of various +kinds were tumbled out of the coach office, +mysterious doors were opened in the body of the +vehicle into which these were shot. The coach +stowed away its parcels in itself, just as in itself +the crab stows away its food and <i>impedimenta</i>. +We clambered up into the front beside the driver, +who was enveloped in a drab great-coat of many +capes; the guard was behind. "All right," and +then, with a cheery chirrup, a crack of the whip, a +snort and toss from the gallant roadsters, we were +off. There is nothing so delightful as travelling on +a stage coach, when you start in good condition, +and at a reasonable hour. For myself, I never tire +of the varied road flashing past, and could dream +through a country in that way from one week's +end to the other. On the other hand, there is +nothing more horrible than starting at four A.M., +half-awake, breakfastless, the chill of the morning +playing on your face as the dewy machine spins +along. Your eyes close in spite of every effort, +your blood thick with sleep, your brain stuffed +with dreams; you wake and sleep, and wake +again; and the Vale of Tempe itself, with a +Grecian sunrise burning into day ahead, could not +rouse you into interest, or blunt the keen edge of +your misery. I recollect nothing of this portion of +our journey save its disagreeableness; and alit +at Dingwall, cold, wretched, and stiff, with a +cataract of needles and pins pouring down my right +leg, and making locomotion anything but a pleasant +matter. However, the first stage was over, +and on that we congratulated ourselves. Alas! we +did not know the sea of troubles into which we +were about to plunge—the Iliad of misfortune of +which we were about to become the heroes. We +entered the inn, performed our ablutions, and sat +down to breakfast with appetite. Towards the +close of the meal my companion suggested that, +to prevent accidents, it might be judicious to secure +seats in the mail without delay. Accordingly I +went in quest of the landlord, and after some difficulty +discovered him in a small office littered with +bags and parcels, turning over the pages of a +ledger. He did not lift his eyes when I entered. +I intimated my wish to procure two places toward +Broadford. He turned a page, lingered on it with +his eye as if loath to leave it, and then inquired my +business. I repeated my message. He shook his +head. "You are too late; you can't get on +to-day." "What! can't two places be had?" "Not for love +or money, sir. Last week Lord Deerstalker +engaged the mail for his servants. Every place is +took." "The deuce! do you mean to say that +we can't get on?" The man, whose eyes had +returned to the page, which he held all the while +in one hand, nodded assent. "Come, now, this +sort of thing won't do. My friend and I are anxious +to reach Broadford to-night. Do you mean to say +that we must either return or wait here till the +next mail comes up, some three days hence?" "You +can post, if you like: I'll provide you with +a machine and horses." "You'll provide us with +a machine and horses," said I, while something +shot through my soul like a bolt of ice. +</p> + +<p> +I returned to Fellowes, who replied to my recital +of the interview with a long whistle. When the +mail was gone, we formed ourselves into a council +of war. After considering our situation from every +side, we agreed to post, unless the landlord should +prove more than ordinarily rapacious. I went to +the little office and informed him of our resolution. +We chaffered a good deal, but at last a bargain +was struck. I will not mention what current coin +of the realm was disbursed on the occasion; the +charge was as moderate as in the circumstances +could have been expected. I need only say that +the journey was long, and to consist of six stages, +a fresh horse at every stage. +</p> + +<p> +In due time a dog-cart was brought to the door, +in which was harnessed a tall raw-boned white +horse, who seemed to be entering in the sullen +depths of his consciousness a protest against our +proceedings. We got in, and the animal was set +in motion. There never was such a slow brute. +He evidently disliked his work: perhaps he snuffed +the rainy tempest imminent. Who knows! At +all events, before he was done with us he took +ample revenge for every kick and objurgation +which we bestowed on him. Half an hour after +starting, a huge rain-cloud was black above us; +suddenly we noticed one portion crumble into a +livid streak which slanted down to earth, and in a +minute or two it burst upon us as if it had a +personal injury to avenge. A scold of the Cowgate, +emptying her wrath on the husband of her bosom, +who has reeled home to her tipsy on Saturday +night, with but half his wages in his pocket, +gives but a faint image of its virulence. +Umbrellas and oil-skins—if we had had them—would +have been useless. In less than a quarter +of an hour we were saturated like a bale of +cotton which has reposed for a quarter of a century +at the bottom of the Atlantic; and all the while, +against the fell lines of rain, heavy as bullets, +straight as cavalry lances, jogged the white horse, +heedless of cry and blow, with now and again but +a livelier prick and motion of the ear, as if to him +the whole thing was perfectly delightful. The +first stage was a long one; and all the way from +Strathpeffer to Garve, from Garve to Milltown, the +rain rushed down on blackened wood, hissed in +marshy tarn, boiled on iron crag. At last the +inn was descried afar; a speck of dirty white in +a world of rainy green. Hope revived within us. +Another horse could be procured there. O Jarvie, +cudgel his bones amain, and Fortune may yet +smile! +</p> + +<p> +On our arrival, however, we were informed that +certain travellers had, two hours before, possessed +themselves of the only animal of which the +establishment could boast. At this intelligence hope +fell down stone dead as if shot through the heart. +There was nothing for it but to give our steed a +bag of oats, and then to hie on. While the white +was comfortably munching his oats, we noticed +from the inn-door that the wet yellow road made a +long circuit, and it occurred to us that if we struck +across country for a mile or so at once, we could +reach the point where the road disappeared in the +distance quite as soon as our raw-boned friend. +In any case waiting was weary work, and we +were as wet now as we could possibly be. +Instructing the driver to wait for us should we +not be up in time—of which we averred there +was not the slightest possibility—we started. +We had firm enough footing at first; but after +a while our journey was the counterpart of the +fiend's passage through chaos, as described by +Milton. Always stick to beaten tracks: short +cuts, whether in the world of matter, or in the +world of ethics, are bad things. In a little time +we lost our way, as was to have been expected. +The wind and rain beat right in our faces, we had +swollen streams to cross, we tumbled into morasses, +we tripped over knotted roots of heather. When, +after a severe march of a couple of hours, we +gained the crest of a small eminence, and looked +out on the wet, black desolation, Fellowes took out +a half-crown from his waistcoat pocket, and +expressed his intention there and then to "go in" for +a Highland property. From the crest of this +eminence, too, we beheld the yellow road beneath, and +the dog-cart waiting; and when we got down to it, +found the driver so indignant that we thought it +prudent to propitiate him with our spirit flask. A +caulker turneth away wrath—in the Highlands at +least. +</p> + +<p> +Getting in again the white went at a better pace, +the rain slackened somewhat, and our spirits rose +in proportion. Our hilarity, however, was +premature. A hill rose before us, up which the yellow +road twisted and wriggled itself. This hill the +white would in nowise take. The whip was of no +avail; he stood stock-still. Fellowes applied his +stick to his ribs—the white put his fore legs +steadily out before him and refused to move. I +jumped out, seized the bridle, and attempted +to drag him forward; the white tossed his head +high in air, showing at the same time a set of +vicious teeth, and actually backed. What was to +be done? Just at this moment, too, a party of +drovers, mounted on red uncombed ponies, with +hair hanging over their eyes, came up, and had the +ill-feeling to <i>tee-hee</i> audibly at our discomfiture. +This was another drop of acid squeezed into the +bitter cup. Suddenly, at a well-directed whack, +the white made a desperate plunge and took the +hill. Midway he paused, and attempted his old +game, but down came a hurricane of blows, and he +started off— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Twere long to tell and sad to trace"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +the annoyance that raw-boned quadruped wrought +us. But it came to an end at last. And at parting +I waved the animal, sullen and unbeloved, my last +farewell; and wished that no green paddock should +receive him in his old age, but that his ill-natured +flesh should be devoured by the hounds; that +leather should be made of his be-cudgelled hide, +and hoped that, considering its toughness, of it +should the boots and shoes of a poor man's +children be manufactured. +</p> + +<p> +Late in the afternoon we reached Jean-Town, +on the shores of Loch Carron. 'Tis a tarry, scaly +village, with a most ancient and fish-like smell. +The inhabitants have suffered a sea-change. The +men stride about in leather fishing-boots, the women +sit at the open doors at work with bait-baskets. +Two or three boats are moored at the stone-heaped +pier. Brown, idle nets, stretched on high poles +along the beach, flap in the winds. We had +tea at the primeval inn, and on intimating to the +landlord that we wished to proceed to Broadford, +he went off to engage a boat and crew. In a short +time an old sea-dog, red with the keen breeze, and +redolent of the fishy brine, entered the apartment +with the information that everything was ready. +We embarked at once, a sail was hoisted, and on +the vacillating puff of evening we dropped gently +down the loch. There was something in the dead +silence of the scene and the easy motion of the +boat that affected one. Weary with travel, worn +out with want of sleep, yet, at the same time, far +from drowsy, with every faculty and sense rather +in a condition of wide and intense wakefulness, +everything around became invested with a singular +and frightful feeling. <i>Why</i>, I know not, for I have +had no second experience of the kind; but on this +occasion, to my overstrained vision, every object +became instinct with a hideous and multitudinous +life. The clouds congealed into faces and human +forms. Figures started out upon me from the +mountain-sides. The rugged surfaces, seamed with +torrent lines, grew into monstrous figures, and arms +with clutching fingers. The sweet and gracious +shows of nature became, under the magic of lassitude, +a phantasmagoria hateful and abominable. +Fatigue changed the world for me as the microscope +changes a dewdrop—when the jewel, pure from the +womb of the morning, becomes a world swarming +with unutterable life—a battle-field of unknown +existences. As the aspects of things grew indistinct +in the fading light, the possession lost its pain; but +the sublimity of one illusion will be memorable. +For a barrier of mountains standing high above the +glimmering lower world, distinct and purple +against a "daffodil sky," seemed the profile of a +gigantic man stretched on a bier, and the features, +in their sad imperial beauty, seemed those of the +first Napoleon. Wonderful that mountain-monument, +as we floated seaward into distance—the +figure sculptured by earthquake, and fiery deluges +sleeping up there, high above the din and strife of +earth, robed in solemn purple, its background the +yellow of the evening sky! +</p> + +<p> +About ten we passed the rocky portals of the +loch on the last sigh of evening, and stood for the +open sea. The wind came only in intermitting puffs, +and the boatmen took to the oars. The transparent +autumn night fell upon us; the mainland was +gathering in gloom behind, and before us rocky +islands glimmered on the level deep. To the +chorus of a Gaelic song of remarkable length and +monotony the crew plied their oars, and every +plash awoke the lightning of the main. The +sea was filled with elfin fire. I hung over the +stern, and watched our brilliant wake seething up +into a kind of pale emerald, and rushing away into +the darkness. The coast on our left had lost form +and outline, withdrawing itself into an +undistinguishable mass of gloom, when suddenly the lights +of a village broke clear upon it like a bank of +glow-worms. I inquired its name, and was +answered, "Plockton." In half an hour the scattered +lights became massed into one; soon that died out +in the distance. Eleven o'clock! Like one man +the rowers pull. The air is chill on the ocean's face, +and we wrap ourselves more closely in our cloaks. +There is something uncomfortable in the utter +silence and loneliness of the hour—in the phosphorescent +sea, with its ghostly splendours. The boatmen, +too, have ceased singing. Would that I were +taking mine ease with M'Ian! Suddenly a strange +sighing sound is heard behind. One of the crew +springs up, hauls down the sail, and the next +moment the squall is upon us. The boatmen hang +on their oars, and you hear the rushing rain. +Whew! how it hisses down on us, crushing +everything in its passion. The long dim stretch of +coast, the dark islands, are in a moment shut +out; the world shrinks into a circumference of +twenty yards; and within that space the sea is +churned into a pale illumination—a light of misty +gold. In a moment we are wet to the skin. The +boatmen have shipped their oars, drawn their +jacket-collars over their ears, and there we lie at +midnight shelterless to the thick hiss of the rain. +But it has spent itself at last, and a few stars are +again twinkling in the blue. It is plain our fellows +are somewhat tired of the voyage. They cannot +depend upon a wind; it will either be a puff, dying +as soon as born, or a squall roaring down on the +sea, through the long funnels of the glens; and to +pull all the way is a dreary affair. The matter is +laid before us—the voices of the crew are loud for +our return. They will put us ashore at Plockton—they +will take us across in the morning. A cloud +has again blotted the stars, and we consent. Our +course is altered, the oars are pulled with redoubled +vigour; soon the long dim line of coast rises before +us, but the lights have burned out now, and the +Plocktonites are asleep. On we go; the boat +shoots into a "midnight cove," and we leap out +upon masses of slippery sea-weed. The craft is +safely moored. Two of the men seize our luggage, +and we go stumbling over rocks, until the +road is reached. A short walk brings us to the +inn, or rather public-house, which is, however, +closed for the night. After some knocking we +were admitted, wet as Newfoundlands from the +lake. Wearied almost to death, I reached my +bedroom, and was about to divest myself of my +soaking garments, when, after a low tap at the +door, the owner of the boat entered. He stated his +readiness to take us across in the morning; he would +knock us up shortly after dawn; but as he and his +companions had no friends in the place, they would, +of course, have to pay for their beds and their +breakfasts before they sailed; "an' she was shure +the shentlemens waana expect her to pay the +same." With a heavy heart I satisfied the +cormorant. He insisted on being paid his full hire +before he left Jean-Town, too! Before turning in, +I looked what o'clock. One in the morning! In +three hours M'Ian will be waiting in his galley at +the head of Eishart's Loch. Unfortunates that +we are! +</p> + +<p> +At least, thought I when I awoke, there is +satisfaction in accomplishing something quite peculiar. +There are many men in the world who have +performed extraordinary actions; but Fellowes and +myself may boast, without fear of contradiction, +that we are the only travellers who ever arrived +at Plockton. Looking to the rottenness of most +reputations nowadays, our feat is distinction +sufficient for the ambition of a private man. We ought +to be made lions of when we return to the abodes +of civilisation. I have heard certain beasts roar, +seen them wag their tails to the admiration of +beholders, and all on account of a slighter matter +than that we wot of. Who, pray, is the pale +gentleman with the dishevelled locks, yonder, in the +flower-bed of ladies, to whom every face turns? +What! don't you know? The last new poet; +author of the "Universe." Splendid performance. +Pooh! a reed shaken by the wind. Look at us. +We are the men who arrived at Plockton! But, +heavens! the boatmen should have been here ere +this. Alarmed, I sprang out of bed, clothed in +haste, burst into Fellowes' room, turned him out, +and then proceeded down stairs. No information +could be procured, nobody had seen our crew. +That morning they had not called at the house. +After a while a fisherman sauntered in, and in +consideration of certain stimulants to be supplied by +us, admitted that our fellows were acquaintances +of his own; that they had started at day-break, and +would now be far on their way to Jean-Town. +The scoundrels, so overpaid too! Well, well, +there's another world. With some difficulty we +gathered from our friend that a ferry from the +mainland to Skye existed at some inconceivable +distance across the hills, and that a boat perhaps +might be had there. But how was the ferry to be +reached? No conveyance could be had at the +inn. We instantly despatched scouts to every +point of the compass to hunt for a wheeled vehicle. +At height of noon our messengers returned with +the information that neither gig, cart, nor +wheelbarrow could be had on any terms. What was to +be done? I was smitten by a horrible sense of +helplessness; it seemed as if I were doomed to +abide for ever in that dreary place, girdled by these +gray rocks scooped and honey-combed by the +washing of the bitter seas—were cut off from +friends, profession, and delights of social intercourse, +as if spirited away to fairyland. I felt myself +growing a fisherman, like the men about me; +Gaelic seemed forming on my tongue. Fellowes, +meanwhile, with that admirable practical philosophy +of his, had lit a cigar, and was chatting away +with the landlady about the population of the +village, the occupations of the inhabitants, their +ecclesiastical history. I awoke from my gloomy dream +as she replied to a question of his—"The last +minister was put awa for drinkin'; but we've got +a new ane, a Mr Cammil, an' verra weel liket he +is." The words were a ray of light, and suggested +a possible deliverance. I slapped him on the +shoulder, crying, "I have it! There was a +fellow-student of mine in Glasgow, a Mr Donald +Campbell, and it runs in my mind that he was preferred +to a parish in the Highlands somewhere; what if +this should prove the identical man? Let us call +upon him." The chances were not very much in +our favour; but our circumstances were desperate, +and the thing was worth trying. The landlady +sent her son with us to point the way. We +knocked, were admitted, and shown to the tiny +drawing-room. While waiting, I observed a couple +of photograph cases on the table. These I +opened. One contained the portrait of a gentleman +in a white neckcloth, evidently a clergyman; +the other that of a lady, in all likelihood his spouse. +Alas! the gentleman bore no resemblance to my +Mr Campbell: the lady I did not know. I laid +the cases down in disappointment, and began to +frame an apology for our singular intrusion, when +the door opened—and my old friend entered. He +greeted us cordially, and I wrung his hand with +fervour. I told him our adventure with the +Jean-Town boatmen, and our consequent helplessness; +at which he laughed, and offered his cart to convey +ourselves and luggage to Kyleakin ferry, which +turned out to be only six miles off. Genial talk +about college scenes and old associates brought on +the hour of luncheon; that concluded, the cart was +at the door. In it our things were placed; +farewells were uttered, and we departed. It was a +wild, picturesque road along which we moved; +sometimes comparatively smooth, but more +frequently rough and stony, as the dry torrent's bed. +Black dreary wastes spread around. Here and +there we passed a colony of turf-huts, out of which +wild ragged children, tawny as Indians, came +trooping, to stare upon us as we passed. But the +journey was attractive enough; for before us rose +a permanent vision of mighty hills, with their +burdens of cloudy rack; and every now and then, +from an eminence, we could mark, against the +land, the blue of the sea flowing in, bright with +sunlight. We were once more on our way; the +minister's mare went merrily; the breeze came +keen and fresh against us; and in less than a +couple of hours we reached Kyleakin. +</p> + +<p> +The ferry is a narrow passage between the +mainland and Skye; the current is powerful there, +difficult to pull against on gusty days; and the +ferrymen are loath to make the attempt unless +well remunerated. When we arrived, we found +four passengers waiting to cross; and as their +appearance gave prospect of an insufficient supply +of coin, they were left sitting on the bleak windy +rocks until some others should come up. It was +as easy to pull across for ten shillings as for two! +One was a girl, who had been in service in the +south, had taken ill there, and was on her way home +to some wretched turf-hut on the hill-side, in all +likelihood to die; the second a little cheery +Irishwoman, with a basketful of paper ornaments, with +the gaudy colours and ingenious devices of which +she hoped to tickle the æsthetic sensibilities, and +open the purses, of the Gael. The third and fourth +were men, apparently laborious ones; but the +younger informed me he was a schoolmaster, and +it came out incidentally in conversation that his +schoolhouse was a turf-cabin, his writing-table a +trunk, on which his pupils wrote by turns. +Imagination sees his young kilted friends kneeling on +the clay floor, laboriously forming pot-hooks there, +and squinting horribly the while. The ferrymen +began to bestir themselves when we came up; and +in a short time the boat was ready, and the party +embarked. The craft was crank, and leaked +abominably, but there was no help; and our bags +were deposited in the bottom. The schoolmaster +worked an oar in lieu of payment. The little +Irishwoman, with her precious basket, sat high in +the bow, the labourer and the sick girl behind us +at the stern. With a strong pull of the oars we +shot out into the seething water. In a moment +the Irishwoman is brought out in keen relief +against a cloud of spray; but, nothing daunted, +she laughs out merrily, and seems to consider a +ducking the funniest thing in the world. In another, +I receive a slap in the face from a gush of blue +water, and emerge, half-blinded, and soaked from +top to toe. Ugh, this sea-waltz is getting far from +pleasant. The leak is increasing fast, and our +carpet-bags are well-nigh afloat in the working +bilge. We are all drenched now. The girl is +sick, and Fellowes is assisting her from his +brandy-flask. The little Irishwoman, erst so cheery and +gay, with spirits that turned every circumstance +into a quip and crank, has sunk in a heap at the +bow; her basket is exposed, and the ornaments, +shaped by patient fingers out of coloured papers, +are shapeless now; the looped rosettes are ruined; +her stock-in-trade, pulp—a misfortune great to her +as defeat to an army, or a famine to a kingdom. +But we are more than half-way across, and +a little ahead the water is comparatively smooth. +The boatmen pull with greater ease; the uncomfortable +sensation at the pit of the stomach is +redressed; the white lips of the girl begin to +redden somewhat; and the bunch forward stirs +itself, and exhibits signs of life. Fellowes bought +up the contents of her basket; and a contribution +of two-and-sixpence from myself made the +widow's heart to sing aloud for joy. On landing, +our luggage is conveyed in a cart to the inn, and +waits our arrival there. Meanwhile we warm our +chilled limbs with a caulker of Glenlivet. "Blessings +be with it, and eternal praise." How the fine +spirit melts into the wandering blood, like "a +purer light in light!" How the soft benignant fire +streams through the labyrinthine veins, from brain +to toe! The sea is checkmated; the heart beats +with a fuller throb; and the impending rheumatism +flies afar. When we reached the inn, we seized our +luggage, in the hope of procuring dry garments. +Alas! when I went up-stairs, mine might have +been the carpet-bag of a merman; it was wet to +the inmost core. +</p> + +<p> +Soaked to the skin, it was our interest to +proceed without delay. We waited on the landlord, +and desired a conveyance. The landlord informed +us that the only vehicle which he possessed was a +phæton, at present on hire till the evening, and +advised us, now that it was Saturday, to remain in +his establishment till Monday, when he could send +us on comfortably. To wait till Monday, however, +would never do. We told the man our story, how +for two days we had been the sport of fortune, +tossed hither and thither; but he—feeling he had +us in his power—would render no assistance. We +wandered out toward the rocks to hold a consultation, +and had almost resolved to leave our things +where they were, and start on foot, when a son of +the innkeeper's joined us. He—whether cognisant +of his parent's statement, I cannot say—admitted +that there were a horse and gig in the stable; that +he knew Mr M'Ian's place, and offered to drive us +to a little fishing village within three miles of it, +where our things could be left, and a cart sent to +bring them up in the evening. The charge was—never +mind what!—but we closed with it at once. +We entered the inn while our friend went round to +the stable to bring the machine to the door; met +the landlord on the stairs, sent an indignant +broadside into him, which he received with the utmost +coolness. The imperturbable man! he swallowed +our shot like a sandbank, and was nothing the +worse. The horse was now at the door, in a few +moments our luggage was stowed away, and we +were off. Through seventeen miles of black +moorland we drove almost without beholding a single +dwelling. Sometimes, although rarely, we had a +glimpse of the sea. The chief object that broke +the desolation was a range of clumsy red hills, +stretching away like a chain of gigantic dust-heaps. +Their aspect was singularly dreary and depressing. +They were mountain <i>plebs</i>. Lava hardens into +grim precipice, bristles into jagged ridge, along +which the rack drives, now hiding, now revealing +it; but these had no beauty, no terror, ignoble +from the beginning; dull offspring of primeval +mud. About seven P.M. we reached the village, +left our things, still soaked in sea-water, in one of +the huts, till Mr M'Ian could send for them, and +struck off on foot for the three miles which we +were told yet remained. By this time the country +had improved in appearance. The hills were +swelling and green; up these the road wound, +fringed with ferns, mixed with the purple bells of +the foxglove. A stream, too, evidently escaped +from some higher mountain tarn, came dashing +along in a succession of tiny waterfalls. A quiet +pastoral region, but so still, so deserted! Hardly a +house, hardly a human being! After a while we +reached the lake, half covered with water-lilies, +and our footsteps startled a brood of wild-ducks +on its breast. How lonely it looked in its dark +hollow there, familiar to the cry of the wild bird, +the sultry summer-cloud, the stars and meteors of +the night—strange to human faces, and the sound +of human voices. But what of our three miles? +We have been walking for an hour and a half. +Are we astray in the green wilderness? The idea +is far from pleasant. Happily a youthful native +came trotting along, and of him we inquired our +way. The boy looked at us, and shook his head. +We repeated the question, still the same shy +puzzled look. A proffer of a shilling, however, +quickened his apprehension, and returning with us +a few paces, he pointed out a hill-road striking up +through the moor. On asking the distance, he +seemed put out for a moment, and then muttered, +in his difficult English, "Four mile." Nothing more +could be procured in the way of information; so +off went little Bare-legs, richer than ever he had +been in his life, at a long swinging trot, which +seemed his natural pace, and which, I suppose, he +could sustain from sunrise to sunset. To this +hill-road we now addressed ourselves. It was sunset +now. Up we went through the purple moor, and +in a short time sighted a crimson tarn, bordered +with long black rushes, and as we approached, a +duck burst from its face on "squattering" wings, +shaking the splendour into widening circles. Just +then two girls came on the road with peats in their +laps: anxious for information, we paused—they, +shy as heath-hens, darted past, and, when fifty +yards' distant, wheeled suddenly round, and burst +into shrieks of laughter, repeated and re-repeated. +In no laughing mood we pursued our way. The +road now began to dip, and we entered a glen +plentifully covered with birchwood, a stream +keeping us company from the tarn above. The sun +was now down, and objects at a distance began to +grow uncertain in the evening mist. The horrible +idea that we had lost our way, and were doomed +to encamp on the heather, grew upon us. On! on! +We had walked six miles since our encounter +with the false Bare-legs. Suddenly we heard a +dog bark; that was a sign of humanity, and our +spirits rose. Then we saw a troop of horses +galloping along the bottom of the glen. Better and +better. "'Twas an honest ghost, Horatio!" All +at once we heard the sound of voices, and Fellowes +declared he saw something moving on the road. +The next moment M'Ian and a couple of shepherds +started out of the gloom. At sight of them +our hearts burned within us, like a newly-poked +fire. Sincere was the greeting, immense the +shaking of hands; and the story of our adventures +kept us merry till we reached the house. +</p> + +<p> +Of our doughty deeds at supper I will not sing, +nor state how the toddy-jugs were drained. Rather +let me tell of those who sat with us at the board—the +elder Mr M'Ian, and Father M'Crimmon, then +living in the house. Mr M'Ian, senior, was a man +past eighty, but fresh and hale for his years. His +figure was slight and wiry, his face a fresh pink, +his hair like snow. Age, though it had bowed +him somewhat, had not been able to steal the fire +from his eye, nor the vigour from his limbs. He +entered the army at an early age; carried colours +in Ireland before the century came in; was with +Moore at Corunna; followed Wellington through the +Peninsular battles; was with the 42d at Quatre +Bras, and hurt there when the brazen cuirassiers +came charging through the tall rye-grass; and, +finally, stood at Waterloo in a square that crumbled +before the artillery and cavalry charges of +Napoleon—crumbled, but never flinched! It was +strange to think that the old man across the table +breathed the same air with Marie-Antoinette; saw +the black cloud of the French Revolution torn to +pieces with its own lightnings, the eagles of +Napoleon flying from Madrid to Moscow, Wellington's +victorious career—all that wondrous time which +our fathers and grandfathers saw, which has +become history now, wearing the air of antiquity +almost. We look upon the ground out yonder +from Brussels, that witnessed the struggle; but +what the insensate soil, the woods, the monument, +to the living eye in which was pictured the fierce +strife? to the face that was grimed with the +veritable battle-smoke? to the voice that mingled in +the last cheer, when the whole English line moved +forward at sunset? M'Ian was an isle-man of the +old school; penetrated through every drop of blood +with pride of birth, and with a sense of honour +which was like a second conscience. He had all +the faults incidental to such a character. He was +stubborn as the gnarled trunk of the oak, full of +prejudices which our enlightenment laughs at, but +which we need not despise, for with our knowledge +and our science, well will it be for us if we go to +our graves with as stainless a name. He was +quick and hasty of temper, and contradiction +brought fire from him like steel from flint. Short +and fierce were his gusts of passion. I have seen +him of an evening, with quivering hands and +kindling eye, send a volley of oaths into a careless +servant, and the next moment almost the reverend +white head was bowed on his chair as he knelt at +evening prayer. Of these faults, however, this +evening we saw nothing. The old gentleman was +kind and hospitable; full of talk, but his talk +seemed to us of old-world things. On Lords +Palmerston and Derby he was silent; he was +eloquent on Mr Pitt and Mr Fox. He talked of +the French Revolution and the actors thereof as +contemporaries. Of the good Queen Victoria (for +history is sure to call her that) he said nothing. +His heart was with his memory, in the older days +when George III. was king, and not an old king +neither. +</p> + +<p> +Father M'Crimmon was a tall man, being in +height considerably above six feet. He was thin, +like his own island, where the soil is washed away +by the rain, leaving bare the rock. His face was +mountainously bony, with great pits and hollows +in it. His eyes were gray, and had that depth of +melancholy in them which is so often observed in +men of his order. In heart he was simple as a +child; in discourse slow, measured, and stately. +There was something in his appearance that +suggested the silence and solitude of the wilderness; +of hours lonely to the heart, and bare spaces lonely +to the eye. Although of another, and—as I think, +else I should not profess it—a purer faith, I +respected him at first, and loved him almost when I +came to know him. Was it wonderful that his +aspect was sorrowful, that it wore a wistful look, +as if he had lost something which could never be +regained, and that for evermore the sunshine was +stolen from his smile? He was by his profession +cut off from all the sweet ties of human nature, +from all love of wife or child. His people were +widely scattered: across the black moor, far up the +hollow glens, blustering with winds or dimmed with +the rain-cloud. Thither the grim man followed +them, officiating on rare festival occasions of +marriage and christening; his face bright, not like a +window ruddy with a fire within, rather like a wintry +pane tinged by the setting sun—a brief splendour +that warms not, and but divides the long cold day +that has already passed from the long cold night +to come. More frequently he was engaged +dispensing alms, giving advice in disaster, waiting by +the low pallets of the fever-stricken, listening to +the confession of long-hoarded guilt, comforting +the dark spirit as it passed to its audit. It is not +with viands like these you furnish forth life's +banquet; not on materials like these you rear +brilliant spirits and gay manners. He who looks +constantly on death and suffering, and the unspiritual +influences of hopeless poverty, becomes infected +with congenial gloom. Yet cold and cheerless as +may be his life, he has his reward; for in his +wanderings through the glens there is not an eye but +brightens at his approach, not a mourner but feels +he has a sharer in his sorrow; and when the tall, +bony, seldom-smiling man is borne at last to his +grave, round many a fireside will tears fall and +prayers be said for the good priest M'Crimmon. +All night sitting there, we talked of strange +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Unhappy far-off things,<br> + And battles long ago,"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +blood-crusted clan quarrels, bitter wrongs and +terrible revenges: of wraiths and bodings, and pale +death-lights burning on the rocks. The conversation +was straightforward and earnest, conducted +with perfect faith in the subject-matter; and I +listened, I am not ashamed to confess, with a curious +and not altogether unpleasant thrill of the blood. +For, I suppose, however sceptical as to ghosts the +intellect may be, the blood is ever a believer as it +runs chill through the veins. A new world and +order of things seemed to gather round us as we sat +there. One was carried away from all that makes up +the present—the policy of Napoleon III., the death +of President Lincoln, the character of his successor, +the universal babblement of scandal and personal +talk—and brought face to face with tradition; with +the ongoings of men who lived in solitary places, +whose ears were constantly filled with the sough of +the wind, the clash of the wave on the rock; whose +eyes were open on the flinty cliff, and the floating +forms of mists, and the dead silence of pale sky +dipping down far off on the dead silence of black +moor. One was taken at once from the city streets +to the houseless wilderness; from the smoky sky +to the blue desert of air stretching from mountain +range to mountain range, with the poised eagle +hanging in the midst, stationary as a lamp. Perhaps +it was the faith of the speakers that impressed +me most. To them the stories were much a matter +of course; the supernatural atmosphere had +become so familiar to them that it had been +emptied of all its wonder and the greater part of +its terror. Of this I am quite sure, that a ghost +story, told in the pit of a theatre, or at +Vauxhall, or walking through a lighted London +street, is quite a different thing from a ghost +story told, as I heard it, in a lone Highland +dwelling, cut off from every habitation by eight +miles of gusty wind, the sea within a hundred feet +of the walls, the tumble of the big wave, and +the rattle of the pebbles, as it washes away back +again, distinctly heard where you sit, and the +talkers making the whole matter "stuff o' the +conscience." Very different! You laugh in the +theatre, and call the narrator an ass; in the other +case you listen silently, with a scalp creeping as +if there were a separate life in it, and the blood +streaming coldly down the back. +</p> + +<p> +Young M'Ian awoke me next morning. As I +came down stairs he told me, had it not been +Sunday he would have roused me with a performance +on the bagpipes. Heaven forfend! I never +felt so sincere a Sabbatarian. He led me some +little distance to a favourable point of rock, and, +lo! across a sea, sleek as satin, rose a range of hills, +clear against the morning, jagged and notched like +an old sword-blade. "Yonder," said he, pointing, +"beyond the black mass in front, just where the +shower is falling, lies Lake Coruisk. I'll take +you to see it one of these days." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>AT MR M'IAN'S.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Mr M'Ian's porch. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The farm which Mr M'Ian rented was, in +comparison with many others in the island, +of but moderate extent; and yet it skirted the +seashore for a considerable distance, and comprised +within itself many a rough hill, and many a green +valley. The house was old-fashioned, was <i>harled</i> +all over with lime, and contained a roomy porch, +over which ivies clustered, a dining-room, a +drawing-room, a lot of bedrooms, and behind, and +built out from the house, an immense kitchen, with +a flagged floor and a huge fire-place. A whole +colony of turf-huts, with films of blue smoke +issuing from each, were scattered along the +shore, lending a sort of homely beauty to the +wild picturesqueness. Beside the house, with a +ruined summer-seat at one end, was a large +carelessly-kept garden, surrounded by a high +stone wall. M'Ian kept the key himself; and on +the garden door were nailed ravens, and other +feathered malefactors in different stages of decay. +Within a stone's throw from the porch, were one +or two barns, a stable, a wool-house, and other +out-houses, in which several of the servants slept. +M'Ian was careful of social degree, and did not +admit every one to his dining-room. He held his +interviews with the common people in the open air +in front of the house. When a drover came for +cattle he dined solitarily in the porch, and the +dishes were sent to him from M'Ian's table. +The drover was a servant, consequently he could +not sit at meat with my friend; he was more than +a servant for the nonce, inasmuch as he was his +master's representative, and consequently he could +not be sent to the kitchen—the porch was +therefore a kind of convenient middle place; neither +too high nor too humble, it was, in fact, a sort +of social purgatory. But Mr M'Ian did not +judge a man by the coat he wore, nor by the +amount of money in his purse. When Mr Macara, +therefore, the superannuated schoolmaster, who +might have been a licentiate of the Church +thirty years before, had he not brought his studies +in divinity to a close by falling in love, marrying, +and becoming the father of a large family; or +when Peter, the meek-faced violinist, who was +of good descent, being the second cousin of a +knight-bachelor on his mother's side, and of an +Indian general on his father's—when these men +called at the house, they dined—with obvious +trepidation, and sitting at an inconvenient distance, +so that a morsel was occasionally lost on its +passage from plate to mouth—at M'Ian's own +table; and to them the old gentleman, who would +have regarded the trader worth a million as nothing +better than a scullion, talked of the old families +and the old times. M'Ian valued a man for +the sake of his grandfather rather than for the +sake of himself. The shepherds, the shepherds' +dogs, and the domestic servants, dined in the large +kitchen. The kitchen was the most picturesque +apartment in the house. There was a huge +dresser near the small dusty window; in a dark +corner stood a great cupboard in which crockery +was stowed away. +<span class="sidenote"> +The black kitchen. +</span> +The walls and rafters were black +with peat smoke. Dogs were continually sleeping +on the floor with their heads resting on their +outstretched paws; and from a frequent start and +whine, you knew that in dream they were chasing +a flock of sheep along the steep hill-side, their +masters shouting out orders to them from the +valley beneath. The fleeces of sheep which had +been found dead on the mountain were nailed on +the walls to dry. Braxy hams were suspended +from the roof; strings of fish were hanging above +the fire-place. The door was almost continually +open, for by the door light mainly entered. +Amid a savoury steam of broth and potatoes, the +shepherds and domestic servants drew in long +backless forms to the table, and dined innocent +of knife and fork, the dogs snapping and snarling +among their legs; and when the meal was +over the dogs licked the platters. Macara, who +was something of a poet, would, on his occasional +visits, translate Gaelic poems for me. On one +occasion, after one of these translations had been +read, I made the remark that a similar set of ideas +occurred in one of the songs of Burns. His gray +eyes immediately blazed up; he rushed into a +Gaelic recitation of considerable length; and, at its +close, snapping defiant fingers in my face, +demanded, "Can you produce anything out of your +Shakespeare or your Burns equal to <i>that</i>?" Of +course, I could not; and I fear I aggravated my +original offence by suggesting that in all +likelihood my main inability to produce a passage of +corresponding excellence from the southern authors +arose from my entire ignorance of the language of the +native bard. When Peter came with his violin +the kitchen was cleared after nightfall; the forms +were taken away, candles stuck into the battered +tin sconces, the dogs unceremoniously kicked out, +and a somewhat ample ballroom was the result. +Then in came the girls, with black shoes and white +stockings, newly-washed faces and nicely-smoothed +hair; and with them came the shepherds and +men-servants, more carefully attired than usual. +<span class="sidenote"> +The reel of hoolichan. +</span> +Peter +took his seat near the fire; M'Ian gave the signal +by clapping his hands; up went the inspiriting +notes of the fiddle and away went the dancers, +man and maid facing each other, the girl's feet +twinkling beneath her petticoat, not like two +mice, but rather like a dozen; her kilted partner +pounding the flag-floor unmercifully; then man +and maid changed step, and followed each other +through loops and chains; then they faced each +other again, the man whooping, the girl's hair +coming down with her exertions; then suddenly the +fiddle changed time, and with a cry the dancers +rushed at each other, each pair getting linked arm +in arm, and away the whole floor dashed into the +whirlwind of the reel of Hoolichan. It was dancing +with a will,—lyrical, impassioned; the strength of +a dozen fiddlers dwelt in Peter's elbow; M'Ian +clapped his hands and shouted, and the stranger +was forced to mount the dresser to get out of +the way of whirling kilt and tempestuous petticoat. +</p> + +<p> +Chief amongst the dancers on these occasions +were John Kelly, Lachlan Roy, and Angus-with-the-dogs. +John Kelly was M'Ian's principal +shepherd—a swarthy fellow, of Irish descent, +I fancy, and of infinite wind, endurance, and +capacity of drinking whisky. He was a solitary +creature, irascible in the extreme; he crossed and +re-crossed the farm I should think some dozen +times every day, and was never seen at church or +market without his dog. With his dog only was +John Kelly intimate, and on perfectly confidential +terms. I often wondered what were his thoughts +as he wandered through the glens at early morning, +and saw the fiery mists upstreaming from the +shoulders of Blaavin; or when he sat on a sunny +knoll at noon smoking a black broken pipe, and +watching his dog bringing a flock of sheep down +the opposite hill-side. Whatever they were, John +kept them strictly to himself. In the absorption of +whisky he was without a peer in my experience, +although I have in my time encountered some +rather distinguished practitioners in that art. If +you gave John a glass of spirits, there was a flash, +and it was gone. For a wager I once beheld him +drink a bottle of whisky in ten minutes. He +drank it in cupfuls, saying never a word. When +it was finished, he wrapt himself in his plaid, went +out with his dog, and slept all night on the +hillside. I suppose a natural instinct told him that +the night air would decompose the alcohol for +him. When he came in next morning his swarthy +face was a shade paler than was its wont; but he +seemed to suffer no uneasiness, and he tackled to +his breakfast like a man. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Lachlan Roy. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Lachlan Roy was a little cheery, agile, red +squirrel of a man, and like the squirrel, he had a +lot of nuts stowed away in a secret hole against the +winter time. A more industrious little creature I +have never met. He lived near the old castle of +Dunsciach, where he rented a couple of crofts or +so; there he fed his score or two of sheep, and +his half dozen of black cattle; and from thence he +drove them to Broadford market twice or thrice +in the year, where they were sure to fetch good +prices. He knew the points of a sheep or a stirk +as well as any man in the island. He was about +forty-five, had had a wife and children, but they +had all died years before; and although a widower, +Lachlan was as jolly, as merry-eyed and +merry-hearted as any young bachelor shepherd in the +country. He was a kindly soul too, full of +pity, and was constantly performing charitable +offices for his neighbours in distress. A poor +woman in his neighbourhood had lost her suckling +child, and Lachlan came up to M'Ian's house +with tears in his eyes, seeking some simple cordials +and a bottle of wine. "Ay, it's a sad thing, Mr +M'Ian," he went on, "when death takes a child +from the breast. A full breast and an empty +knee, Mr M'Ian, makes a desolate house. Poor +Mirren has a terrible rush of milk, and cold is the +lip to-day that could relieve her. And she's all +alone too, Mr M'Ian, for her husband is at Stornoway +after the herring." Of course he got the cordials +and the wine, and of course, in as short a space +of time as was possible, the poor mother, seated on +an upturned creel, and rocking herself to and fro +over her clasped hands, got them also, with what +supplementary aid Lachlan's own stores could +afford. Lachlan was universally respected; and +when he appeared every door opened cheerfully. +At all dance gatherings at M'Ian's he was +certain to be present; and old as he was comparatively, +the prettiest girl was glad to have him for a +partner. He had a merry wit, and when he joked, +blushes and titterings overspread in a moment +all the young women's faces. On such occasions +I have seen John Kelly sitting in a corner +gloomily biting his nails, jealousy eating his heart. +But Lachlan cared nothing for John's mutinous +countenance—he meant no harm, and he feared +no man. Lachlan Roy, being interpreted, means +red Lachlan; and this cognomen not only drew +its appropriateness from the colour of his hair +and beard; it had, as I afterwards learned, a yet +deeper significance. Lachlan, if the truth must +be told, had nearly as fierce a thirst for strong +waters as John Kelly himself, and that thirst +on fair days, after he had sold his cattle at +Broadford, he was wont plentifully to slake. His +face, under the influence of liquor, became red +as a harvest moon; and as of this physiological +peculiarity in himself he had the most perfect +knowledge, he was under the impression that if he +drew rein on this side of high alcoholic inflammation +of countenance he was safe, and on the whole +rather creditably virtuous than otherwise. And so, +perhaps, he would have been, had he been able to +judge for himself, or had he been placed amongst +boon companions who were ignorant of his weakness, +or who did not wish to deceive him. Somewhat +suspicious, when a fresh jorum was placed +on the table, he would call out—"Donald, is +my face red yet?" Donald, who was perfectly +aware of the ruddy illumination, would hypocritically +reply, "Hoot, Lachlan dear, what are ye +speaking about? Your face is just its own +natural colour. What should it be red for?" +</p> + +<p> +"Duncan, you scoundrel," he would cry fiercely +at a later period, bringing his clenched fist down +on the table, and making the glasses dance—"Duncan, +you scoundrel, look me in the face!" Thus +adjured, Duncan would turn his uncertain +optics on his flaming friend. "Is my face red yet, +Duncan?" Duncan, too far gone for speech, +would shake his head in the gravest manner, +plainly implying that the face in question was +not red, and that there was not the least +likelihood that it would ever become red. And so, +from trust in the veracity of his fellows, Lachlan +was, at Broadford, brought to bitter grief twice +or thrice in the year. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Angus-with-the-dogs. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Angus-with-the-dogs was continually passing +over the country like the shadow of a cloud. If +he had a home at all, it was situated at Ardvasar, +near Armadale; but there Angus was found but +seldom. He was always wandering about with +his gun over his shoulder, his terriers, Spoineag +and Fruich, at his heels, and the kitchen of +every tacksman was open to him. The tacksmen +paid Angus so much per annum, and Angus spent +his time in killing their vermin. He was a dead +shot; he knew the hole of the fox, and the cairn +in which an otter would be found. If you wanted +a brace of young falcons, Angus would procure +them for you; if ravens were breeding on one of +your cliffs, you had but to wait till the young ones +were half-fledged, send for Angus, and before +evening the entire brood, father and mother included, +would be nailed on your barn door. He knew the +seldom-visited loch up amongst the hills which +was haunted by the swan, the cliff of the +Cuchullins on which the eagles dwelt, the place where, +by moonlight, you could get a shot at the shy +heron. He knew all the races of dogs. In the +warm blind pup he saw, at a glance, the future +terrier or staghound. He could cure the +distemper, could crop ears and dock tails. He +could cunningly plait all kinds of fishing tackle; +could carve <i>quaichs</i>, and work you curiously-patterned +dagger-hilts out of the black bog-oak. +If you wished a tobacco-pouch made of the skin +of an otter or a seal, you had simply to apply to +Angus. From his variety of accomplishment he +was an immense favourite. The old farmers liked +him because he was the sworn foe of pole-cats, +foxes, and ravens; the sons of farmers valued him +because he was an authority in rifles and +fowling-pieces, and knew the warm shelving rocks on +which bullet-headed seals slept, and the cairns +on the sea-shore in which otters lived; and +because if any special breed of dog was wanted he +was sure to meet the demand. He was a little, +thick-set fellow, of great physical strength, and +of the most obliging nature; and he was called +Angus-with-the-dogs, because without Spoineag +and Fruich at his heels, he was never seen. The +pipe was always in his mouth,—to him tobacco +smoke was as much a matter of course as peat +reek is to a turf-hut. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Waiting for Angus. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +One day, after Fellowes had gone to the Landlord's, +where I was to join him in a week or ten +days, young M'Ian and myself waited for +Angus-with-the-dogs on one of the rising grounds at a +little distance from the house. Angus in his +peregrinations had marked a cairn in which he thought +an otter would be found, and it was resolved that +this cairn should be visited on a specified day about +noon, in the hope that some little sport might be +provided for the Sassenach. About eleven A.M., +therefore, on the specified day we lay on the +heather smoking. It was warm and sunny; M'Ian +had thrown beside him on the heather his gun +and shot-belt, and lay back luxuriously on his +fragrant couch, meerschaum in mouth, his Glengary +bonnet tilted forward over his eyes, his left +leg stretched out, his right drawn up, and his +brown hands clasped round the knee. Of my own +position, which was comfortable enough, I was not +at the moment specially cognisant; my attention +being absorbed by the scenery around, which +was wild and strange. We lay on couches of +purple heather, as I have said; and behind were the +sloping birch-woods—birch-woods always remind +one somehow of woods in their teens—which ran +up to the bases of white cliffs traversed only by +the shepherd and the shadows of hawks and +clouds. The plateau on which we lay ran +toward the sea, and suddenly broke down to it +in little ravines and gorges, beautifully grassed +and mossed, and plumed with bunches of ferns. +Occasionally a rivulet came laughing and dancing +down from rocky shelf to shelf. Of course, +from the spot where we lay, this breaking down +of the hill-face was invisible, but it was in my +mind's eye all the same, for I had sailed along +the coast and admired it a couple of days before. +Right in front flowed in Loch Eishart, with its islands +and white sea-birds. Down in the right-hand +corner, reduced in size by distance, the house sat +on its knoll, like a white shell; and beside it +were barns and outhouses, the smoking turf-huts +on the shore, the clumps of birch-wood, the +thread of a road which ran down toward the +stream from the house, crossed it by a bridge a +little beyond the turf-huts and the boat-shed, +and then came up towards us till it was lost in +the woods. Right across the Loch were the round +red hills that rise above Broadford; and the entire +range of the Cuchullins—the outline wild, +splintered, jagged, as if drawn by a hand shaken by +terror or frenzy. A glittering mesh of sunlight +stretched across the Loch, blinding, palpitating, +ever-dying, ever-renewed. The bee came booming +past, the white sea-gull swept above, silent as +a thought or a dream. Gazing out on all this, +somewhat lost in it, I was suddenly startled by +a sharp whistle, and then I noticed that a figure +was crossing the bridge below. M'Ian got up; +"That's Angus," he said; "let us go down to +meet him;" and so, after knocking the ashes out +of his pipe and filling it anew, picking up his gun +and slinging his shot-belt across his shoulder, he +led the way. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Arrival of Angus. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +At the bridge we found Angus seated, with his +gun across his knee, and Spoineag and Fruich +coursing about, and beating the bushes, from +which a rabbit would occasionally bounce and +scurry off. Angus looked more alert and intelligent +than I had ever before seen him—probably +because he had business on hand. We started +at once along the shore at the foot of the cliffs +above which we had been lying half an hour +before. Our way lay across large boulders which +had rolled down from the heights above, and +progression, at least to one unaccustomed to such +rough work, was by no means easy. Angus +and M'Ian stepped on lightly enough, the dogs +kept up a continual barking and yelping, and +were continually disappearing in rents and crannies +in the cliffs, and emerging more ardent than +ever. At a likely place Angus would stop +for a moment, speak a word or two to the dogs, +and then they rushed barking at every orifice, +entered with a struggle, and ranged through all +the passages of the hollow cairn. As yet the +otter had not been found at home. +<span class="sidenote"> +The otter hunt. +</span> +At last when +we came in view of a spur of the higher ground +which, breaking down on the shore, terminated in +a sort of pyramid of loose stones, Angus dashed +across the broken boulders at a run, followed by +his dogs. When they got up, Spoineag and +Fruich, barking as they had never barked before, +crept in at all kinds of holes and impossible +fissures, and were no sooner out than they were +again in. Angus cheered and encouraged them, +and pointed out to M'Ian traces of the otter's +presence. I sat down on a stone and watched the +behaviour of the terriers. If ever there was an insane +dog, it was Fruich that day; she jumped and +barked, and got into the cairn by holes through +which no other dog could go, and came out by +holes through which no other dog could come. +Spoineag, on the other hand, was comparatively +composed; he would occasionally sit down, and +taking a critical view of the cairn, run barking to +a new point, and to that point Fruich would rush +like a fury and disappear. Spoineag was a +commander-in-chief, Fruich was a gallant general of +division. Spoineag was Wellington, Fruich was +the fighting Picton. Fruich had disappeared for +a time, and from the muffled barking we concluded +she was working her way to the centre of +the citadel, when all at once Spoineag, as if moved +by a sudden inspiration, rushed to the top of the +cairn, and began tearing up the turf with teeth +and feet. Spoineag's eagerness now was as +intense as ever Fruich's had been. Angus, who had +implicit faith in Spoineag's genius, climbed up +to assist, and tore away at the turf with his +hands. In a minute or so Spoineag had effected +an entrance from the top, and began to work his +way downwards. Angus stood up against the +sky with his gun in readiness. We could hear the +dogs barking inside, and evidently approaching +a common centre, when all at once a fell tumult +arose. The otter was reached at last, and was +using teeth and claws. Angus made a signal to +M'Ian, who immediately brought his gun to his +shoulder. The combat still raged within, and +seemed to be coming nearer. Once Fruich came +out howling with a bleeding foot, but a cry from +Angus on the height sent her in again. All at +once the din of barking ceased, and I saw a black +lurching object flit past the stones towards the sea. +Crack went M'Ian's gun from the boulder, crack +went Angus's gun from the height, and the black +object turned half round suddenly and then lay still. +It was the otter; and the next moment Spoineag +and Fruich were out upon it, the fire of battle in +their eyes, and their teeth fixed in its bloody throat. +They dragged the carcase backwards and forwards, +and seemed unable to sate their rage upon it. +What ancient animosity existed between the families +of otters and terriers? What wrong had been +done never to be redressed? Angus came forward +at last, sent Spoineag and Fruich howling right +and left with his foot, seized the otter by the tail, +and then over the rough boulders we began our +homeward march. Our progress past the turf-huts +nestling on the shore at the foot of the +cliffs was a triumphal one. Old men, women, +and brown half-naked children came out to +gaze upon us. When we got home the otter +was laid on the grass in front of the house, +where the elder M'Ian came out to inspect it, +and was polite enough to express his approval, +and to declare that it was not much inferior in +bulk and strength to the otters he had hunted and +killed at the close of last century. +<span class="sidenote"> +Skinning the otter. +</span> +After dinner +young M'Ian skinned his trophy, and nailed and +stretched the hide on the garden gate amid the +dilapidated kites and ravens. In the evening, +Angus, with his gun across his shoulder, and +Spoineag and Fruich at his heels, started for that +mysterious home of his which was supposed to be +at Ardvasar, somewhere in the neighbourhood of +Armadale Castle. +</p> + +<p> +A visit to Loch Coruisk had for some little time +been meditated; and in the evening of the day on +which the otter was slain the boat was dragged +from its shed down towards the sea, launched, and +brought round to the rude pier, where it was +moored for the night. We went to bed early, for +we were to rise with the sun. We got up, +breakfasted, and went down to the pier where two or +three sturdy fellows were putting oars and rowlocks +to rights, tumbling in huge stones for +ballast, and carefully stowing away a couple of guns +and a basket of provisions. In about an hour +we were fairly afloat; the broad-backed fellows +bent to their oars, and soon the house began +to dwindle in the distance, the irregular winding +shores to gather into compact masses, and the +white cliffs, which we knew to be a couple of miles +inland, to come strangely forward, and to overhang +the house and the surrounding stripes of pasturage +and clumps of birchwood. +<span class="sidenote"> +Loch Eishart. +</span> +On a fine morning +there is not in the whole world a prettier sheet of +water than Loch Eishart. Everything about it is +wild, beautiful, and lonely. You drink a strange +and unfamiliar air. You seem to be sailing out of +the nineteenth century away back into the ninth. +You are delighted, and there is no remembered +delight with which you can compare the feeling. +Over the Loch the Cuchullins rise crested +with tumult of golden mists; the shores are green +behind; and away out, towards the horizon, the +Island of Rum—ten miles long at the least—shoots +up from the flat sea like a pointed +flame. It is a granite mass, you know, firm as +the foundations of the world; but as you gaze +the magic of morning light makes it a glorious +apparition—a mere crimson film or shadow, so +intangible in appearance you might almost suppose +it to exist on sufferance, and that a breath +could blow it away. Between Rum, fifteen miles +out yonder, and the shores drawing together and +darkening behind, with the white cliffs coming +forward to stare after us, the sea is smooth, and +flushed with more varied hues than ever lived +on the changing opal—dim azures, tender pinks, +sleek emeralds. It is one sheet of mother-of-pearl. +The hills are silent. The voice of man +has not yet awoke on their heathery slopes. +But the sea, literally clad with birds, is vociferous. +They make plenty of noise at their work, these +fellows. Darkly the cormorant shoots across +our track. The air is filled with a confused +medley of sweet, melancholy, and querulous +notes. As we proceed, a quick head ducks; +a troop of birds sinks suddenly to reappear far +behind, or perhaps strips off the surface of the +water, taking wing with a shrill cry of complaint. +Occasionally, too, a porpoise, or "fish that hugest +swims the ocean stream," heaves itself slowly out +of the element, its wet sides flashing for a +moment in the sunlight, and then heeling lazily over, +sinks with never a ripple. As we approached the +Strathaird coast, M'Ian sat high in the bow +smoking, and covering with his gun every now and +again some bird which came wheeling near, while +the boatmen joked, and sang snatches of +many-chorused songs. As the coast behind became +gradually indistinct, the coast in front grew bolder +and bolder. You let your hand over the side of +the boat and play listlessly with the water. You +are lapped in a dream of other days. Your heart is +chanting ancient verses and sagas. The northern +sea wind that filled the sails of the Vikings, and +lifted their locks of tarnished gold, is playing in +your hair. And when the keel grates on the +pebbles at Kilmaree you are brought back to +your proper century and self—for by that sign +you know that your voyage is over for the present, +and that the way to Coruisk is across the steep +hill in front. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Camasunary. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The boat was moored to a rude pier of stones, +very similar to the one from which we started a +couple of hours before, the guns were taken out, so +was also the basket of provisions, and then the +party, in long-drawn straggling procession, began to +ascend the hill. The ascent is steep and laborious. +At times you wade through heather as high as your +knee; at other times you find yourself in a bog, +and must jump perforce from solid turf to turf. +Progress is necessarily slow; and the sun coming +out strongly makes the brows ache with intolerable +heat. The hill-top is reached at last, and you +behold a magnificent sight. Beneath, a blue Loch +flows in, on the margin of which stands the +solitary farm-house of Camasunary. Out on the +smooth sea sleep the islands of Rum and Canna—Rum +towered and mountainous, Canna flat and +fertile. On the opposite side of the Loch, and +beyond the solitary farm-house, a great hill breaks +down into ocean with shelf and precipice. On the +right Blaavin towers up into the mists of the +morning, and at his base opens the desolate Glen +Sligachan, to which Glencoe is Arcady. On the +left, the eye travels along the whole south-west +side of the island to the Sound of Sleat, to the +hills of Knoydart, to the long point of Ardnamurchan, +dim on the horizon. In the presence of +all this we sink down in heather or on boulder, and +wipe our heated foreheads; in the presence of all +this M'Ian hands round the flask, which is received +with the liveliest gratitude. In a quarter of an +hour we begin the descent, and in another quarter +of an hour we are in the valley, and approaching +the solitary farm-house. While about three +hundred yards from the door a man issued therefrom +and came towards us. It would have been difficult +to divine from dress and appearance what order of +man this was. He was evidently not a farmer, he +was as evidently not a sportsman. His countenance +was grave, his eye was bright, but you could +make little out of either; about him there was +altogether a listless and a weary look. He seemed +to me to have held too constant communion with +the ridges of Blaavin and the desolations of Glen +Sligachan. He was not a native of these parts, for +he spoke with an English accent. +<span class="sidenote"> +The tobacco-less man. +</span> +He addressed +us frankly, discussed the weather, told us the +family was from home, and would be absent for +some weeks yet; that he had seen us coming down +the hill, and that, weary of rocks and sheep and +sea-birds, he had come out to meet us. He then +expressed a wish that we would oblige him with +tobacco, that is, if we were in a position to spare +any: stating that tobacco he generally procured +from Broadford in rolls of a pound weight at a +time; that he had finished his last roll some ten +days ago, and that till this period, from some +unaccountable accident, the roll, which was more +than a week due, had never arrived. He feared +it had got lost on the way—he feared that the +bearer had been tempted to smoke a pipe of it, +and had been so charmed with its exquisite +flavour that he had been unable to stir from the +spot until he had smoked the entire roll out. He +rather thought the bearer would be about the end +of the roll now, and that, conscious of his atrocious +conduct, he would never appear before him, but +would fly the country—go to America, or the Long +Island, or some other place where he could hold +his guilt a secret. He had found the paper in +which the last roll had been wrapt, had smoked +<i>that</i>, and by a strong effort of imagination had +contrived to extract from it considerable enjoyment. +And so we made a contribution of bird's-eye +to the tobacco-less man, for which he returned us +politest thanks, and then strolled carelessly toward +Glen Sligachan—probably to look out for the +messenger who had been so long on the way. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is our friend?" I asked of my companion. +"He seems to talk in a rambling and fanciful +manner." +</p> + +<p> +"I have never seen him before," said M'Ian; +"but I suspect he is one of those poor fellows who, +from extravagance, or devotion to opium or strong +waters, have made a mull of life, and who are sent +here to end it in a quiet way. We have lots of +them everywhere." +</p> + +<p> +"But," said I, "this seems the very worst place +you could send such a man to—it's like sending a +man into a wilderness with his remorse. It is only +in the world, amid its noise, its ambitions, its +responsibilities, that men pick themselves up. +Sea-birds, and misty mountains, and rain, and silence +are the worst companions for such a man." +</p> + +<p> +"But then, you observe, sea-birds, and misty +mountains, and rain, and silence hold their tongues, +and take no notice of peccadilloes. Whatever may +be their faults, they are not scandal-mongers. The +doings in Skye do not cause blushes in London. +The man dies here as silently as a crow; it is +only a black-bordered letter, addressed in a strange +hand, that tells the news; and the black-bordered +epistle can be thrown into the fire—if the poor +mother does not clutch at it and put it away—and +no one be a bit the wiser. It is sometimes to the +advantage of his friends that a man should go into +the other world by the loneliest and most +sequestered path." +</p> + +<p> +So talking, we passed the farm-house, which, +with the exception of a red-headed damsel, who +thrust her head out of a barn to stare, seemed +utterly deserted, and bent our steps towards the +shore of the Loch. Rough grass bordered a crescent +of yellow sand, and on the rough grass a boat +lay on its side, its pitchy seams blistering in the +early sunshine. Of this boat we immediately took +possession, dragged it down to the sea margin, got +in our guns and provisions, tumbled in stones +for ballast, procured oars, and pushed of. We had +to round the great hill which, from the other side +of the valley, we had seen breaking down into the +sea; and as we sailed and looked up, sheep +were feeding on the green shelves, and every +now and again a white smoke of sea-birds +burst out dangerously from the black precipices. +Slowly rounding the rocky buttress, which on +stormy days the Atlantic fillips with its spray, +another headland, darker still and drearier, drew +slowly out to sea, and in a quarter of an hour we +had passed from the main ocean into Loch Scavaig, +and every pull of the oars revealed another +ridge of the Cuchullins. Between these mountain +ramparts we sailed, silent as a boatful of +souls being conveyed to some Norse hades. +<span class="sidenote"> +Lock Coruisk. +</span> +The +Cuchullins were entirely visible now; and the sight +midway up Loch Scavaig is more impressive even +than when you stand on the ruined shore of Loch +Coruisk itself—for the reason, perhaps, that, +sailing midway, the mountain forms have a +startling unexpectedness, while by the time you have +pulled the whole way up, you have had time +to master them to some extent, and familiarity +has begun to dull the impression. In half an +hour or so we disembarked on a rude platform of +rock, and stepped out on the very spot on which, +according to Sir Walter, the Bruce landed: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Where a wild stream with headlong shock<br> + Comes brawling down a bed of rock<br> + To mingle with the main."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Picking your steps carefully over huge boulder +and slippery stone, you come upon the most savage +scene of desolation in Britain. Conceive a large +lake filled with dark green water, girt with torn +and shattered precipices; the bases of which are +strewn with ruin since an earthquake passed that +way, and whose summits jag the sky with grisly +splinter and peak. There is no motion here save +the white vapour steaming from the abyss. The +utter silence weighs like a burden upon you: you +feel an intruder in the place. The hills seem to +possess some secret; to brood over some unutterable +idea which you can never know. You cannot +feel comfortable at Loch Coruisk, and the +discomfort arises in a great degree from the +feeling that you are outside of everything—that the +thunder-splitten peaks have a life with which you +cannot intermeddle. The dumb monsters sadden +and perplex. Standing there, you are impressed +with the idea that the mountains are silent +because they are listening so intently. And the +mountains are listening, else why do they echo +our voices in such a wonderful way? Shout +here like an Achilles in the trenches. Listen! +The hill opposite takes up your words, and repeats +them one after another, and curiously tries them +over with the gravity of a raven. Immediately +after, you hear a multitude of skyey voices. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Methinks that there are spirits among the peaks."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +How strangely the clear strong tones are repeated +by these granite precipices! Who could conceive +that Horror had so sweet a voice! Fainter and +more musical they grow; fainter, sweeter, and +more remote, until at last they come on your ear +as if from the blank of the sky itself. M'Ian fired +his gun, and it reverberated into a whole battle of +Waterloo. We kept the hills busy with shouts +and the firing of guns, and then M'Ian led us to a +convenient place for lunching. As we trudge +along something lifts itself off a rock—'tis an +eagle. See how grandly the noble creature soars +away. What sweep of wings! What a lord of +the air! And if you cast up your eyes you +will see his brother hanging like a speck +beneath the sun. Under M'Ian's guidance, we +reached the lunching-place, unpacked our +basket, devoured our bread and cold mutton, drank +our bottled beer, and then lighted our pipes and +smoked—in the strangest presence. Thereafter we +bundled up our things, shouldered our guns, and +marched in the track of ancient Earthquake +towards our boat. Embarked once again, and sailing +between the rocky portals of Loch Scavaig, I +said, "I would not spend a day in that solitude +for the world. I should go mad before evening." +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense," said M'Ian. "Sportsmen erect +tents at Coruisk, and stay there by the week—capital +trout, too, are to be had in the Loch. The +photographer, with his camera and chemicals, +is almost always here, and the hills sit steadily +for their portraits. It's as well you have seen +Coruisk before its glory has departed. Your friend, +the Landlord, talks of mooring a floating hotel at the +head of Loch Scavaig full of sleeping apartments, +the best of meats and drinks, and a brass band +to perform the newest operatic tunes on the +summer evenings. At the clangour of the brass +band the last eagle will take his flight for Harris." +</p> + +<p> +"The Tourist comes, and poetry flies before him +as the red man flies before the white. His Tweeds +will make the secret top of Sinai commonplace +some day." +</p> + +<p> +In due time we reached Camasunary, and drew +the boat up on the rough grass beyond the yellow +sand. The house looked deserted as we passed. +Our friend of the morning we saw seated on a +rock, smoking, and gazing up Glen Sligachan, still +looking out for the appearance of his messenger +from Broadford. At our shout he turned his head +and waved his hand. We then climbed the hill +and descended on Kilmaree. It was evening now, +and as we pulled homewards across the rosy frith, +I sat in the bow and watched the monstrous bulk +of Blaavin, and the wild fringe of the Cuchullins +bronzed by sunset. M'Ian steered, and the rowers, +as they bent to their work, sang melancholy Gaelic +songs. It was eleven at night by the time we +got across, and the hills we had left were yet +cutting, with dull purple, a pale yellow sky; for in +summer in these northern latitudes there is no +proper night, only a mysterious twilight of an hour +and a sparkle of short-lived stars. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Broadford Fair. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Broadford Fair is a great event in the island. +The little town lies on the margin of a curving +bay, and under the shadow of a somewhat celebrated +hill. On the crest of the hill is a cairn of +stones, the burying-place of a Scandinavian woman, +tradition informs me, whose wish it was to be laid +high up there, that she might sleep right in the +pathway of the Norway wind. In a green glen at +its base stands the house of Corachatachin, breathing +reminiscences of Johnson and Boswell. Broadford +is a post town, containing a lime kiln, an inn, +and perhaps three dozen houses in all. It is a place +of great importance. If Portree is the London of +Skye, Broadford is its Manchester. The markets, +held four times a year, take place on a patch of +moorland, about a mile from the village. Not only +are cattle sold, and cash exchanged for the same, +but there the Skye farmer meets his relations, +from the brother of his blood to his cousin forty +times removed. To these meetings he is drawn, +not only by his love of coin, but by his love of +kindred, and—the <i>Broadford Mail</i> and the <i>Portree +Advertiser</i> lying yet in the womb of time—by his +love of gossip also. The market is the Skye-man's +exchange, his family gathering, and his newspaper. +From the deep sea of his solitude he comes up to +breathe there, and, refreshed, sinks again. This +fair at Broadford I resolved to see. The day +before the market the younger M'Ian had driven +some forty stirks from the hill, and these, under +the charge of John Kelly and his dog, started early +in the afternoon that they might be present at the +rendezvous about eight o'clock on the following +morning, at which hour business generally began. +I saw the picturesque troop go past—wildly-beautiful +brutes of all colours,—black, red, cream-coloured, +dun and tan; all of a height, too, and +so finely bred that, but for difference of colour, +you could hardly distinguish the one from the +other. What a lowing they made! how they +tossed their slavering muzzles! how the breaths +of each individual brute rose in a separate +wreath! how John Kelly shouted and objurgated, and how +his dog scoured about! At last the bellowings +of the animals—the horde chanting after that +fashion their obscure "<i>Lochaber no more</i>"—grew +fainter and fainter up the glen, and finally on +everything the wonted silence settled down. +<span class="sidenote"> +On the way to the fair. +</span> +Next morning before sunrise M'Ian and I followed +in a dog-cart. We went along the glen down +which Fellowes and I had come; and in the meadows +over which, on that occasion, we observed a +troop of horses galloping through the mist of +evening, I noticed, in the beamless light that +preceded sunrise, hay coops by the river side, and +an empty cart standing with its scarlet poles in +the air. In a field nearer, a couple of male +blackcocks with a loud <i>whirr-rr</i> were knocking their +pugnacious heads together. Suddenly, above the +hill in front the sun showed his radiant face, the +chill atmosphere was pierced and brightened by +his fires, the dewy birch-trees twinkled, and there +were golden flickerings on the pools of the +mountain stream along whose margin our road ascended. +We passed the lake near which the peat-girls had +laughed at us; I took note of the very spot on +which we had given Bare-legs a shilling, and +related the whole story of our evening walk to my +companion as we tooled along. +</p> + +<p> +A mile or two after we had passed the little +fishing village with which I had formerly made +acquaintance, we entered on a very dismal district +of country. It was precisely to the eye what the +croak of the raven is to the ear. It was an utter +desolation in which nature seemed deteriorated, +and at her worst. Winter could not possibly +sadden the region; no spring could quicken it +into flowers. The hills wore but for ornament +the white streak of the torrent; the rocky soil +clothed itself in heather to which the purple never +came. Even man, the miracle-worker, who transforms +everything he touches, who has rescued a +fertile Holland from the waves, who has reared a +marble Venice out of salt lagoon and marsh, was +defeated there. Labour was resultless—it went +no further than itself—it was like a song without +an echo. A turf-hut with smoke issuing from the +roof, and a patch of green round about, which +reminded you of the smile of an ailing child, and +which would probably ripen, so far as it was +capable of ripening, by November, was all that +man could wrest from nature. +<span class="sidenote"> +Broadford Fair. +</span> +Gradually, however, +as we proceeded, the aspect of the country +changed, it began to exhibit traces of cultivation; +and before long, the red hill with the Norwegian +woman's cairn atop, rose before us, suggesting +Broadford, and the close of the journey. In a +little while the road was filled with cattle, driven +forward with oath and shout. Every now and +then a dog-cart came skirring along, and infinite +was the confusion, and dire the clangour of tongues, +when it plunged into a herd of sheep or skittish +"three-year-olds." At the entrance to the fair, +the horses were taken out of the vehicles, and +left, with a leathern thong fastened round their +fore-legs, to limp about in search of breakfast. On +either side of the road stood hordes of cattle, the +wildest-looking creatures, with fells of hair hanging +over their eyes, and tossing horns of preposterous +dimensions. On knolls, a little apart, women +with white caps and wrapped in scarlet tartan +plaids, sat beside a staked cow or pony, or perhaps +a dozen sheep, patiently waiting the advances of +customers. Troops of horses neighed from stakes. +Sheep were there, too, in restless throngs and +masses, continually changing their shapes, scattering +hither and thither like quicksilver, insane dogs +and men flying along their edges. What a hubbub +of sound! what lowing and neighing! what bleating +and barking! Down in the hollow ground tents +had been knocked up since dawn; there potatoes +were being cooked for drovers who had been travelling +all night; there also liquor could be had. +To these places, I observed, contracting parties +invariably repaired to solemnise a bargain. At +last we reached the centre of the fair, and there +stood John Kelly and his animals, a number of +drovers moving around them and examining their +points. By these men my friend was immediately +surrounded, and much chaffering and bargain-making +ensued; visits to one of the aforesaid +tents being made at intervals. It was a strange +sight that rude primeval traffic. John Kelly kept +a sharp eye on his beasts. Lachlan Roy passed +by, and low was his salute, and broad the smile +on his good-natured countenance. I wandered +about aimlessly for a time, and began to weary of +the noise and tumult. M'Ian had told me that he +would not be able to return before noonday at +earliest, and that all the while he would be engaged +in bargain-making on his own account, or on the +account of others, and that during those hours I +must amuse myself as best I could. As the +novelty of the scene wore off, I began to fear +that amusement would not be possible. Suddenly +lifting my eyes out of the noise and confusion, +there were the solitary mountain tops, and the +clear mirror of Broadford Bay, the opposite coast +sleeping green in it with all its woods; and lo! the +steamer from the south sliding in with her red funnel, +and breaking the reflection with a track of foam, +and disturbing the far-off morning silence with the +thunders of her paddles. That sight solved my +difficulty for me in a moment. I thought of Dr +Johnson and Boswell. "I shall go," I said, "and +look at the ruins of the House of Corachatachin, +that lies in the green glen beneath the red hill, +on the top of which the Norse woman is buried;" +and so saying I went. +</p> + +<p> +To me, I confess, of all Hebridean associations, +Dr Johnson's visit is the pleasantest. How the +doctor ever got there is a matter for perpetual +wonder. He liked books, good cheer, club-life, the +roar of Fleet Street, good talk, witty companions. +One cannot imagine what attractions the rainy and +surge-beaten islands possessed for the author of +the "Vanity of Human Wishes." Wordsworth +had not yet made fashionable a love for mountain +and lake, and the shapes of changing cloud. Scott +had not yet thrown the glamour of romance over +the northern land, from the Sark to the Fitful +Head. +Sidenote: Dr Johnson in Skye.] +For fine scenery Johnson did not care one +rush. When Boswell in the fulness of his delight +pointed out "an immense mountain," the doctor +sincerely sneered, "an immense protuberance." He +only cared for mountains in books, and even +in books he did not care for them much. The +rain-cloud, which would put Mr Ruskin into +ecstasies, could only suggest to the moralist the +urgent necessity of an umbrella or a coach. +Johnson loved his ease; and a visit to the Western +island, was in his day a serious matter—about +as serious as a visit to Kamtschatka would be in +ours. In his wanderings he was exposed to rain +and wind, indifferent cookery, tempestuous seas, +and the conversation of persons who were neither +witty nor learned—who were neither polished like +Beauclerk, nor amusing like Goldsmith—and who +laughed at epigram as Leviathan laughs at the +shaking of the spear. I protest, when I think of +the burly doctor travelling in these regions, +voluntarily resigning for a while all London delights, I +admire him as a very hero. Boswell commemorates +certain outbreaks of petulance and spleen; +but, on the whole, the great man seems to have +been pleased with his adventure. Johnson found +in his wanderings beautiful and high-bred women, +well-mannered and cultivated men—and it is more +than probable that, if he were returning to the +islands to-day, he would not find those admirable +human qualities in greater abundance. What +puzzles me most is the courage with which the +philosopher encountered the sea. I have, in a +considerable steamer more than once, shivered at the +heavy surge breaking on Ardnamurchan; and yet +the doctor passed the place in an open boat on his +way to Mull, "lying down below in philosophical +tranquillity, with a greyhound at his back to keep +him warm," while poor Bozzy remained in the rain +above, clinging for dear life to a rope which, a +sailor gave him to hold, quieting his insurgent +stomach as best he could with pious considerations, +and sadly disturbed when a bigger wave than +usual came shouldering onward, making the boat +reel, with the objections which had been taken to +a particular providence—objections which Dr +Hawkesworth had lately revived in his preface to +"Voyages to the South Seas." Boswell's journal of +the tour is delicious reading; full of amusing +egotism; unconsciously comic when he speaks for +himself, and at the same time valuable, memorable, +wonderfully vivid and dramatic in presentment +when the "Majestic Teacher of Moral and +Religious Wisdom" appears. What a singular +capacity the man had to exhibit his hero +as he lived, and at the same time to write +himself complacently down an ass! It needed +a certain versatility to accomplish the feat, one +would think. In both ways the most eminent +success attends him. And yet the absurdity of +Boswell has all the effect of the nicest art. +Johnson floats, a vast galleon, in the sea of Boswell's +vanity; and in contrast with the levity of the +element in which it lives, its bulk and height +appear all the more impressive. In Skye one is +every now and again coming on the tract of the +distinguished travellers. They had been at +Broadford—and that morning I resolved I should go +to Broadford also. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Corachatachin. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Picking my steps carefully through the +fair—avoiding a flock of sheep on the one side, and a +column of big-horned black cattle on the other, +with some difficulty getting out of the way of +an infuriated bull that came charging up the +road, scattering everything right and left, a dozen +blown drovers panting at its heels—I soon got +quit of the turmoil, and in half an hour passed the +lime-kiln, the dozen houses, the ten shops, the inn, +and the church, which constitute Broadford, and +was pacing along the green glen which ran in the +direction of the red hills. At last I came to a +confused pile of stones, near which grew a solitary +tree whose back the burden of the blast had bent, +and which, although not a breath of wind was stirring, +could no more regain an upright position than +can a round-shouldered labourer on a holiday. +That confused pile of stones was all that remained +of the old house of Corachatachin. I wandered +around it more reverently than if it had been the +cairn of a chief. It is haunted by no ghost. So +far as my knowledge extends, no combat ever took +place on the spot. But there Boswell, after Dr +Johnson had retired to rest, in company with some +young Highland bloods—ah, me! their very +grandchildren must be dead or gray by this!—brewed and +quaffed five gigantic bowls of punch, with what +wild talk we can fancy; and the friend of the +"Majestic Teacher of Moral and Religious +Wisdom" went to bed at five in the morning, and +awoke with the headache of the reprobate. At +noon the doctor burst in with the exclamation, +"What, drunk yet?" "His tone of voice was not +that of severe upbraiding," writes the penitent +Bozzy, "so I was relieved a little." Did they fancy, +these young men, as they sat that night and drank, +that a hundred years after people would write of +their doings?—that the odour of their punch-bowls +would outlive themselves? No man knows what +part of his life will be remembered, what forgotten. +A single tear, hurriedly brushed away mayhap, is +the best thing we know of Xerxes. Picking one's +steps around the ruin, one thought curiously of the +flushed faces which death has cooled for so long. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Fair at Broadford. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +When I got back to the fair about noon, it was +evident that a considerable stroke of business +had been done. Hordes of bellowing cattle were +being driven towards Broadford, and drovers were +rushing about in a wonderful manner, armed with +tar-pot and stick, and smearing their peculiar mark +on the shaggy hides of their purchases. Rough-looking +customers enough these fellows, yet they want +not means. Some of them came here this morning +with £500 in their pocket-books, and have spent +every paper of it, and this day three months they +will return with as large a sum. As I advanced, +the booths ranged along the side of the road—empty +when I passed them several hours before—were +plentifully furnished with confections, ribbons, +and cheap jewellery, and around these fair-headed +and scarlet-plaided girls swarmed thickly as bees +round summer flowers. +</p> + +<p> +The fair was running its full career of +bargain-making, and consequent dram-drinking, rude +flirtation, and meeting of friend with friend; when +up the middle of the road, hustling the passengers, +terrifying the cattle, came three misguided young +gentlemen—medical students, I opined, engaged +in botanical researches in these regions. But too +plainly they had been dwellers in tents. One of +them, gifted with a comic genius—his companions +were desperately solemn—at one point of the road +threw back the collar of his coat, after the fashion +of Sambo when he brings down the applauses of the +threepenny gallery, and executed a shuffle in front +of a bewildered cow. Crummie backed and shied, +bent on retreat. He, agile as a cork, bobbed up +and down in her front, turn whither she would, with +shouts and hideous grimaces, his companions standing +by the while like mutes at a funeral. The feat +accomplished, the trio staggered on, amid the scornful +laughter and derision of the Gael. In a little +while I encountered M'Ian, who had finished his +business and was anxious to be gone. "We must +harness the horse ourselves," he said, "for that +rascal, John Kelly, has gone off somewhere. He has +been in and out of tents ever since the cattle were +sold, and I trust he won't come to grief. He has +a standing quarrel with the Kyle men, and may get +a broken head." +<span class="sidenote"> +Lachlan Roy. +</span> +Elbowing our way through the +crowd, we reached the dog-cart, got the horse +harnessed, and were just about to start, when +Lachlan Roy, his bonnet off, his countenance +inflamed, came flying up. "Maister Alic, Maister +Alic, is my face red yet?" cried he, as he laid his +hand on the vehicle. "Red enough, Lachlan; +you had better come with us, you may lose your +money if you don't." "Aw, Maister Alic dear, don't +say my face is red—it's no red, Maister Alic—it's +no vera red," pled the poor fellow. "Will you +come with us, or will you not?" said M'Ian, as he +gathered up the reins in his hand and seized the +whip. At this moment three or four drovers issued +from a tent in the neighbourhood, and Lachlan +heard his name shouted. "I maun go back for +my bonnet. It wouldna do to ride with gentlemen +without a bonnet;" and he withdrew his +hand. The drovers shouted again, and that second +shout drew Lachlan towards it as the flame draws +the moth. "His face will be red enough before +evening," said M'Ian, as we drove away. +</p> + +<p> +After we had driven about a quarter of an hour, +and got entirely free of the fair, M'Ian, shading +his eyes from the sun with a curved palm, +suddenly exclaimed, "There's a red dog sitting by +the road-side a little forward. It looks like John +Kelly's." When we got up, the dog wagged its tail +and whined, but retained its recumbent position. +"Come out," said M'Ian. "The dog is acting the +part of a sentinel, and I daresay we shall find its +master about." We got out accordingly, and soon +found John stretched on the heather, snoring +stertorously, his neck-tie unloosened, his bonnet +gone, the sun shining full on the rocky countenance +of him. " +<span class="sidenote"> +John Kelly. +</span> +He's as drunk as the Baltic," said +M'Ian; "but we must get him out of this. Get up, +John." But John made no response. We pinched, +pulled, and thumped, but John was immovable. +I proposed that some water should be poured on his +face, and did procure some from a wet ditch near, +with which his countenance was splashed copiously—not +to its special adornment. The muddy water +only produced a grunt of dissatisfaction. "We must +take him on his fighting side," said M'Ian, and then +he knelt down and shouted in John's ear, "Here's +a man from Kyle says he's a better man than +you." John grunted inarticulate defiance. "He says +he'll fight you any day you like." "Tell him to +strike me, then," said John, struggling with his +stupor. "He says he'll kick you." Under the +insult John visibly writhed. "Kick him," whispered +M'Ian, "as hard as you can. It's our only +chance." I kicked, and John was erect as a dart, +striking blindly out, and when he became aware +against whom he was making such hostile demonstrations +his hands dropped, and he stood as if he +had seen a ghost. "Catch him," said M'Ian, "his +rage has sobered him, he'll be drunk next moment; +get him into the dog-cart at once." So the lucid +moment was taken advantage of, he was hoisted +into the back seat of the vehicle, his bonnet was +procured—he had fallen asleep upon it—and placed +on the wild head of him; we took our places, and +away we started, with the red dog trotting behind. +John rolled off once or twice, but there was no +great harm done, and we easily got him in again. +As we drove down the glen toward the house we +set him down, and advised him to dip his +wildly-tangled head in the stream before he went home. +</p> + +<p> +During the last few weeks I have had opportunity +of witnessing something of life as it passes +in the Skye wildernesses, and have been struck +with its self-containedness, not less than with its +remoteness. A Skye family has everything within +itself. The bare mountains yield mutton, which +possesses a flavour and delicacy unknown in the south. +The copses swarm with rabbits; and if a net is set +over-night at the Black Island, there is abundance +of fish to breakfast. The farmer grows his own +corn, barley, and potatoes, digs his own peats, +makes his own candles; he tans leather, spins +cloth shaggy as a terrier's pile, and a hunchbacked +artist in the place transforms the raw materials +into boots or shepherd garments. Twice every +year a huge hamper arrives from Glasgow, stuffed +with all the little luxuries of housekeeping—tea, +sugar, coffee, and the like. At more frequent +intervals comes a ten-gallon cask from Greenock, +whose contents can cunningly draw the icy fangs +of a north-easter, or take the chill out of the +clammy mists. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What want they that a king should have?"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And once a week the <i>Inverness Courier</i>, like a +window suddenly opened on the roaring sea, brings +a murmur of the outer world, its politics, its +business, its crimes, its literature, its whole +multitudinous and unsleeping life, making the stillness +yet more still. +<span class="sidenote"> +The islesman's year. +</span> +To the Islesman the dial face of +the year is not artificially divided, as in cities, by +parliamentary session and recess, college terms, +vacations short and long, by the rising and sitting +of courts of justice; nor yet, as in more fortunate +soils, by imperceptible gradations of coloured +light—the green flowery year deepening into the sunset +of the October hollyhock; the slow reddening of +burdened orchards; the slow yellowing of wheaten +plains. Not by any of these, but by the higher +and more affecting element of animal life, with its +passions and instincts, its gladness and suffering; +existence like our own, although in a lower key, +and untouched by solemn issues; the same +music and wail, although struck on rude and +uncertain chords. To the Islesman the year rises +into interest when the hills, yet wet with melted +snows, are pathetic with newly-yeaned lambs, and +it completes itself through the successive steps of +weaning, fleecing, sorting, fattening, sale, final +departure, and cash in pocket. The shepherd life +is more interesting than the agricultural, inasmuch +as it deals with a higher order of being; for I +suppose—apart from considerations of profit—a +couchant ewe, with her young one at her side, or +a ram, "with wreathed horns superb," cropping the +herbage, is a more pleasing object to the æsthetic +sense than a field of mangel-wurzel, flourishing +ever so gloriously. The shepherd inhabits a mountain +country, lives more completely in the open air, +and is acquainted with all the phenomena of storm +and calm, the thunder-smoke coiling in the wind, +the hawk hanging stationary in the breathless blue. +He knows the faces of the hills, recognises the +voices of the torrents as if they were children of +his own, can unknit their intricate melody as he +lies with his dog beside him on the warm slope at +noon, separating tone from tone, and giving this +to rude crag, that to pebbly bottom. From long +intercourse, every member of his flock wears to his +eye its special individuality, and he recognises the +countenance of a "wether" as he would the +countenance of a human acquaintance. Sheep-farming +is a picturesque occupation: and I think a +multitude of sheep descending a hill-side, now +outspreading in bleating leisure, now huddling +together in the haste of fear—the dogs, urged more +by sagacity than by the shepherd's voice, flying +along the edges, turning, guiding, changing the +shape of the mass—one of the prettiest sights in +the world. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The fold. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The milking of the cows is worth going a +considerable distance to see. The cows browse about +on the hills all day, and at sunset they are driven +into a sort of green oasis, amid the surrounding +birch-wood. The rampart of rock above is +dressed in evening colours, the grass is golden +green; everything—animals, herds, and milkmaids +are throwing long shadows. All about, the cows +stand lowing in picturesque groups. The milkmaid +approaches one, caresses it for a moment, +draws in her stool, and in an instant the rich milk +is hissing in the pail. All at once there arises a +tremendous noise, and pushing through the clumps +of birch-wood down towards a shallow rivulet which +skirts the oasis, breaks a troop of wild-looking calves, +attended by a troop of wilder-looking urchins armed +with sticks and the branches of trees. The cows +low more than ever, and turn their wistful eyes; +the bellowing calves are halted on the further side +of the rivulet, and the urchins stand in the water +to keep them back. An ardent calf, however, +breaks through the cordon of urchins, tumbles +one into the streamlet, climbs the bank amid much +Gaelic exclamation, and ambles awkwardly toward +his dam. Reaching her, he makes a wild push at +the swollen udder, drinks, his tail shaking with +delight; while she, turning her head round, licks +his shaggy hide with fond maternal tongue. In +about five minutes he is forced to desist, and with +a branch-bearing urchin on each side of him, is +marched across the rivulet again. One by one +the calves are allowed to cross, each makes the same +wild push at the udder, each drinks, the tail ecstatically +quivering; and on each the dam fixes her great +patient eyes, and turning licks the hide whether it +be red, black, brindled, dun, or cream-coloured. +When the calves have been across the rivulet and +back again, and the cows are being driven away to +their accustomed pasturage, a milk-maid approaches +with her pail, and holding it up, gives you to drink, +as long ago Rebecca gave to drink the servant of +Abraham. By this time the grass is no longer +golden green; the red light has gone off the rocky +ramparts, and the summer twilight is growing in +the hollows, and in amongst the clumps of birchwood. +Afar you hear the noise of retiring calves +and urchins. The milk-maids start off in long +procession with their pails and stools. A rabbit starts +out from a bush at your feet, and scurries away +down the dim field. And when, following, you +descend the hill-side toward the bridge you see the +solemn purple of the Cuchullins cutting the yellow +pallor of evening sky—perhaps with a feeling of +deeper satisfaction you notice that a light is +burning in the porch of Mr M'Ian's house. +<span class="sidenote"> +Lamb-weaning. +</span> +"The fold," +as the milking of the cows is called, is pretty +enough; but the most affecting incident of shepherd +life is the weaning of the lambs—affecting, +because it reveals passions in the fleecy flocks, the +manifestation of which we are accustomed to +consider ornamental in ourselves. From all the hills +men and dogs drive the flocks down into a fold, +or <i>fank</i>, as it is called here, consisting of several +chambers or compartments. Into these compartments +the sheep are huddled, and then the separation +takes place. The ewes are returned to the +mountains, the lambs are driven away to some +spot where the pasture is rich, and where they +are watched day and night. Midnight comes +with dews and stars; the lambs are peacefully +couched. Suddenly they are restless, ill at ease, +goaded by some sore unknown want, and seem +disposed to scatter wildly in every direction; but +the shepherds are wary, the dogs swift and sure, +and after a little while the perturbation is allayed, +and they are quiet again. Walk up now to the +fank. The full moon is riding between the hills, +filling the glens with lustres and floating mysterious +glooms. Listen! you hear it on every side of you, +till it dies away in the silence of distance—the +fleecy Rachel weeping for her children! The turf +walls of the fank are in shadow, but something +seems to be moving there. As you approach, it +disappears with a quick short bleat, and a hurry +of tiny hooves. Wonderful mystery of instinct! +Affection all the more affecting that it is so wrapt +in darkness, hardly knowing its own meaning. For +nights and nights the creatures will be found +haunting; about those turfen walls seeking the young +that have been taken away. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Mr M'Ian. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +But my chief delight here is my friend, Mr +M'Ian. I know that I described him when I first saw +him in his own house; but knowing him better now, +as a matter of course I can describe him better. +He would strike one with a sense of strangeness +in a city, and among men of the present generation; +but here he creates no surprise—he is a +natural product of the region, like the red heather, +or the bed of the dried torrent. He is master of +legendary lore. He knows the history of every +considerable family in the island; he circulates +like sap through every genealogical tree; he is an +enthusiast in Gaelic poetry, and is fond of reciting +compositions of native bards, his eyes lighted up, +and his tongue moving glibly over the rugged clots +of consonants. He has a servant cunning upon +the pipes; and, dwelling there this summer, I heard +Ronald wandering near the house, solacing himself +with their music: now a plaintive love-song, +now a coronach for chieftain borne to his grave, +now a battle march, the notes of which, +melancholy and monotonous at first, would soar into +a higher strain, and then hurry and madden as +if beating time to the footsteps of the charging +clan. I am the fool of association; and the tree +under which a king has rested, the stone on which +a banner was planted on the morning of some +victorious or disastrous day, the house in which +some great man first saw the light, are to me the +sacredest things. This slight, gray, keen-eyed +man—the scabbard sorely frayed now, the blade sharp +and bright as ever—gives me a thrill like an old +coin with its half-obliterated effigy, a Druid stone +on a moor, a stain of blood on the floor of a palace. +He stands before me a living figure, and history +groups itself behind by way of background. He +sits at the same board with me, and yet he lifted +Moore at Corunna, and saw the gallant dying +eyes flash up with their last pleasure when the +Highlanders charged past. He lay down to sleep +in the light of Wellington's watch-fires in the +gorges of the Pyrenees; around him roared the +death-thunders of Waterloo. There is a certain +awfulness about very old men; they are amongst +us, but not of us. They crop out of the living soil +and herbage of to-day, like rocky strata bearing +marks of the glacier or the wave. Their roots +strike deeper than ours, and they draw sustenance +from an earlier layer of soil. They are lonely +amongst the young; they cannot form new friendships, +and are willing to be gone. They feel the +"sublime attractions of the grave;" for the soil of +churchyards once flashed kind eyes on them, heard +with them the chimes at midnight, sang and +clashed the brimming goblet with them; and the +present Tom and Harry are as nothing to the Tom +and Harry that swaggered about and toasted the +reigning belles seventy years ago. We are +accustomed to lament the shortness of life; but it is +wonderful how long it is notwithstanding. Often +a single life, like a summer twilight, connects two +historic days. Count back four lives, and King +Charles is kneeling on the scaffold at Whitehall. +To hear M'Ian speak, one could not help thinking +in this way. In a short run across the mainland +with him this summer, we reached Culloden Moor. +The old gentleman with a mournful air—for he is +a great Jacobite, and wears the Prince's hair in a +ring—pointed out the burial-grounds of the clans. +Struck with his manner, I inquired how he came +to know their red resting-places. As if hurt, he +drew himself up, laid his hand on my shoulder, +saying, "Those who put them in told me." Heavens, +how a century and odd years collapsed, +and the bloody field—the battle-smoke not yet +cleared away, and where Cumberland's artillery +told the clansmen sleeping in thickest swathes—unrolled +itself from the horizon down to my very +feet! For a whole evening he will sit and speak +of his London life; and I cannot help contrasting +the young officer, who trod Bond Street with +powder in his hair at the end of last century, +with the old man living in the shadow of Blaavin +now. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Skye stories. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Dwellers in cities have occasionally seen a house +that has the reputation of being haunted, and heard +a ghost story told. City people laugh when these +stories are told, even although the blood should +run chill the while. But in Skye one is steeped +in a ghostly atmosphere; men walk about here +gifted with the second sight. There has been +something weird and uncanny about the island +for some centuries. Douglas, on the morning of +Otterbourne, according to the ballad, was shaken +with superstitious fears:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "But I hae dream'd a dreary dream—<br> + Beyond the Isle of Skye,<br> + I saw a dead man win a fight,<br> + And I think that man was I."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Then the whole country is full of stories of the +Norwegian times and earlier—stories it might be +worth Dr Dasent's while to take note of, should he +ever visit the Hebrides. Skye, more particularly, +is haunted of legends. It is as full of noises as +Prospero's Island. One such legend, concerning +Ossian and his poems, struck me a good deal. +Near Mr M'Ian's place is a ruined castle, a mere +hollow shell of a building, Dunscaich by name, +built in Fingalian days by the chieftain Cuchullin, +and so called by him in honour of his wife. The +ruin stands on a rocky headland bearded by gray-green +lichens. It is quite desolate, and but seldom +visited. The only sounds heard there are the +whistle of the salt breeze, the bleat of a strayed +sheep, the cry of wheeling sea-birds. M'Ian and +myself sat one summer day on the ruined stair. +Loch Eishart lay calm and bright beneath, the +blue expanse broken only by a creeping sail. +Across the Loch rose the great red hill, in the +shadow of which Boswell got drunk, on the top of +which is perched the Scandinavian woman's cairn; +and out of the bare heaven, down on the crests +of the Cuchullins, flowed a great white vapour +which gathered in the sunlight in mighty fleece +on fleece. The old gentleman was the narrator, +and the legend goes as follows:—The castle was +built by Cuchullin and his Fingalians in a single +night. The chieftain had many retainers, was a +great hunter, and terrible in war. With his own +arm he broke battalions; and every night at feast +the minstrel Ossian sang his exploits. Ossian, on +one occasion, wandering among the hills, was +attracted by strains of music which seemed to issue +from a round green knoll on which the sun shone +pleasantly. He sat clown to listen, and was lulled +asleep by the melody. He had no sooner fallen +asleep than the knoll opened, and he beheld the +under-world of the fairies. That afternoon and +night he spent in revelry, and in the morning he +was allowed to return. Again the music sounded, +again the senses of the minstrel were steeped in +forgetfulness; and on the sunny knoll he awoke, +a gray-haired man, for into one short afternoon +and evening had been crowded a hundred of our +human years. In his absence the world had been +entirely changed, the Fingalians were extinct, +and the dwarfish race whom we now call men +were possessors of the country. Longing for +companionship, and weary of singing his songs to the +earless rocks and sea waves, Ossian married the +daughter of a shepherd, and in process of time a +little girl was born to him. Years passed on, his +wife died, and his daughter, woman grown now, +married a pious man—for the people were +Christianised by this time—called, from his love of +psalmody, Peter of the Psalms. Ossian, blind with +age, and bearded like the cliff yonder, went to +reside with his daughter and her husband. Peter +was engaged all day in hunting, and when he +came home at evening and the lamp was lighted, +Ossian, sitting in a warm corner, was wont to recite +the wonderful songs of his youth, and to celebrate +the mighty battles and hunting feats of the +big-boned Fingalians—and in these songs Cuchullin +stood with his terrible spear upraised, and his +beautiful wife sat amid her maids plying the distaff. +To these songs Peter of the Psalms gave attentive +ear, and, being something of a penman, carefully +inscribed them in a book. One day Peter had +been more than usually successful in the chase, +and brought home on his shoulders the carcass of +a huge stag. Of this stag a leg was dressed for +supper, and when it was picked bare, Peter triumphantly +inquired of Ossian, "In the Fingalian days +you sing about, killed you ever a stag so large as +this one?" Ossian balanced the bone in his hand, +then sniffing intense disdain, replied, "This bone, +big as you think it, could be dropped into the +hollow of a Fingalian blackbird's leg." Peter of +the Psalms, enraged at what he considered an +unconscionable crammer on the part of his +father-in-law, started up, swearing that he would not +peril his soul by preserving any more of his lying +songs, and flung the volume in the fire: but his +wife darted forward and snatched it up, half-charred, +from the embers. At this conduct on the +part of Peter, Ossian groaned in spirit and wished +to die, that he might be saved from the envies and +stupidities of the little people whose minds were +as stunted as their bodies. When he went to bed +he implored his ancient gods—for he was a sad +heathen, and considered psalm-singing no better +than the howling of dogs—to resuscitate, if but for +one hour, the hounds, the stags, and the blackbirds +of his youth, that he might confound and astonish +the unbelieving Peter. His prayers done, he fell +on slumber, and just before dawn a weight upon +his breast awoke him. He put forth his hands and +stroked a shaggy hide. Ossian's prayers were +answered, for there, upon his breast, in the dark of +the morning, was couched his favourite hound. +He spoke to it, called it by name, and the faithful +creature whimpered and licked his hands and face. +Swiftly he got up and called his little grandson, +and they went out with the hound. When they +came to the top of a little eminence, Ossian said +to the child, "Put your fingers in your ears, little +one, else I will make you deaf for life." The boy +put his fingers in his ears, and then Ossian whistled +so loud that the whole sky rang as if it had been +the roof of a cave. He then asked the child if he +saw anything. "Oh, such large deer!" said the +child. "But a small herd by the trampling of it," +said Ossian; "we will let that herd pass." Presently +the child called out, "Oh, such large deer!" Ossian +bent his ear to the ground to catch the +sound of their coming, and then, as if satisfied, he +let slip the hound, who speedily overtook and tore +down seven of the fattest. When the animals +were skinned and dressed, Ossian groped his way +toward a large lake, in the centre of which grew a +wonderful bunch of rushes. He waded into the +lake, tore up the rushes, and brought to light the +great Fingalian kettle, which had lain there for +more than a century. Returning to his quarry, +a fire was kindled, the kettle containing the seven +carcasses was placed thereupon; and soon a most +savoury smell, like a general letter of invitation, +flew abroad on all the winds. When the animals +were stewed after the approved fashion of his +ancestors, Ossian sat down to his repast. Now as, +since his sojourn with the fairies, and the +extermination of the Fingalians, he had never enjoyed +a sufficient meal, it was his custom to gather up +the superfluous folds of his stomach by wooden +splints, nine in number. As he now fed and +expanded, splint after splint was thrown away, as +button after button burst on the jacket of the +feasting boy in the story-book, till at last, when +the kettle was emptied, he lay down on the grass +perfectly satisfied, and silent as the ocean when +the tide is full. Recovering himself, he gathered +all the bones together—set fire to them, and the +smoke which ascended made the roof of the firmament +as black as the roof of the turf-hut at home. +"Little one," then said Ossian, "go up to the +knoll and tell me if you see anything." "A great +bird is flying hither," said the child; and +immediately the great Fingalian blackbird alighted at +the feet of Ossian, who at once caught and throttled +it. The fowl was carried home, and was in the +evening dressed for supper. After it was devoured, +Ossian called for the stag's thigh-bone which had +been the original cause of quarrel, and before the +face of the astonished and convicted Peter of the +Psalms, dropped it into the hollow of the blackbird's +leg. Ossian died on the night of his triumph, +and the only record of his songs is the volume +which Peter in his rage threw into the fire, and +from which, when half-consumed, it was rescued +by his wife. +</p> + +<p> +"But," said I, when the old gentleman had +finished his story, "how came it that the big-boned +Fingalians were extirpated during the hundred +years that Ossian was asleep amongst the fairies?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said the old gentleman, "a woman was +the cause of that, just as a woman is the cause of +most of the other misfortunes that happen in the +world. I told you that this castle was built by +Cuchullin, and that he and his wife lived in it. +Now tallest, bravest, strongest, handsomest of all +Cuchullin's warriors was Diarmid, and many a +time his sword was red with the blood of the little +people who came flocking over here from Ireland +in their wicker and skin-covered boats. Now, when +Diarmid took off his helmet at feast, there was a +fairy mole right in the centre of his forehead, just +above the eyes and between his curling locks; and +on this beauty spot no woman could look without +becoming enamoured of him. One night Cuchullin +gave a feast in the castle; the great warrior was +invited; and while he sat at meat with his helmet +off, Cuchullin's wife saw the star-like mole in +the centre of his forehead, and incontinently fell +in love with him. Cuchullin discovered his wife's +passion, and began secretly to compass the death +of Diarmid. He could not slay him openly for +fear of his tribe; so he consulted an ancient witch +who lived over the hill yonder. Long they +consulted, and at last they matured their plans. Now, +the Fingalians had a wonderful boar which browsed +in Gasken—the green glen which you know leading +down to my house—and on the back of this +boar there was a poisoned bristle, which, if it +pierced the hand of any man, the man would certainly +die. No one knew the secret of the bristle +save the witch, and the witch told it to Cuchullin. +One day, therefore, when the chief and his warriors +were sitting on the rocks here about, the +conversation was cunningly led to the boar. Cuchullin +wagered the magic whistle which was slung around +his neck, that the brute was so many handbreadths +from the snout to the tip of the tail. Diarmid +wagered the shield that he was polishing—the +shield which was his mirror in peace, by the aid +of which he dressed his curling locks, and with +which he was wont to dazzle the eyes of his +enemies on a battle day—that it was so many +handbreadths less. The warriors heard the dispute +and were divided in opinion; some agreeing +with Cuchullin, others agreeing with Diarmid. At +last it was arranged that Diarmid should go and +measure the boar; so he and a number of the +warriors went. In a short time they came back +laughing and saying that Diarmid had won his +wager, that the length of the boar was so many +handbreadths, neither more nor less. Cuchullin +bit his white lips when he saw them coming; and +then he remembered that he had asked them to +measure the boar from the snout to the tail, being +the way the pile lay; whereas, in order to carry out +his design, he ought to have asked them to measure +the boar <i>against</i> the pile. When, therefore, +he was told that he had lost his wager, he flew +into a great rage, maintained that they were all +conspiring to deceive him, that the handbreadths he +had wagered were the breadths of Diarmid's own +hands, and declared that he would not be satisfied +until Diarmid would return and measure the boar +from the tip of tail to the snout. Diarmid and the +rest went away; and when he reached the boar he +began measuring it from the tail onward, his friends +standing by to see that he was measuring properly, +and counting every handbreadth. He had measured +half way up the spine, when the poisoned +bristle ran into his hand. 'Ah,' he said, and +turned pale as if a spear had been driven into his +heart. To support himself, he caught two of his +friends round the neck, and in their arms he died. +Then the weeping warriors raised the beautiful +corpse on their shoulders and carried it to the +castle, and laid it down near the drawbridge. +Cuchullin then came out, and when he saw his best +warrior dead he laughed as if a piece of great good +fortune had befallen him, and directed that the +corpse should be carried into his wife's chamber. +</p> + +<p> +"But Cuchullin had cause to repent soon after. +The little black-haired people came swarming +over from Ireland in their boats by hundreds and +thousands, but Diarmid was not there to oppose +them with his spear and shield. Every week a +battle was fought, and the little people began to +prevail; and by the time that Ossian made his +escape from the fairies, every Fingalian, with the +exception of two, slept in their big graves—and at +times the peat digger comes upon their mighty +bones when he is digging in the morasses." +</p> + +<p> +"And the two exceptions?" said I. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, that's another story," said M'Ian, "and +I getting tired of legends.—Well, if you will have +it, the two last Fingalians made their escape +from Skye, carrying with them the magic whistle +which Cuchullin wore around his neck, and took +up their abode in a cave in Ross-shire. Hundreds +of years after a man went into that cave, and in +the half twilight of the place saw the whistle on +the floor, and lifted it up. He saw it was of the +strangest workmanship, and putting it to his lips +he blew it. He had never heard a whistle sound +so loudly and yet so sweetly. He blew it a +second time, and then he heard a voice, 'Well +done, little man blow; the whistle a third time;' +and turning to the place from which the sound +proceeded, he saw a great rock like a man leaning +on his elbow and looking up at him. 'Blow it +the third time, little man, and relieve us from our +bondage!' What between the voice, and the +strange human-looking rock, the man got so +terrified that he dropped the whistle on the floor +of the cave, where it was smashed into a thousand +pieces, and ran out into the daylight. He told his +story; and when the cave was again visited, neither +he nor his companions could see any trace of the +broken whistle on the floor, nor could they discover +any rock which resembled a weary man leaning on +his elbow and looking up." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>A BASKET OF FRAGMENTS.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +The month of August is to the year what +Sunday is to the week. During that month +a section of the working world rests. <i>Bradshaw</i> is +consulted, portmanteaus are packed, knapsacks are +strapped on, steamboats and railway carriages are +crammed, and from Calais to Venice the tourist +saunters and looks about him. It is absolutely +necessary that the Briton should have, each year, +one month's cessation from accustomed labour. He +works hard, puts money in his purse, and it is his +whim, when August comes, by way of recreation, +to stalk deer on Highland corries, to kill salmon in +Norwegian fiords, to stand on the summit of Mont +Blanc, and to perambulate the pavements of +Madrid, Naples, and St Petersburg. To rush over the +world during vacation is a thing on which the +respectable Briton sets his heart. To remain at +home is to lose caste and self-respect. People +do not care one rush for the Rhine; but that sacred +stream they must behold each year or die. Of all +the deities Fashion has the most zealous votaries. +No one can boast a more extensive martyrology. +Her worshippers are terribly sincere, and many a +secret penance do they undergo, and many a +flagellation do they inflict upon themselves in +private. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Vacation in Skye. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Early in the month in which English tourists +descend on the Continent in a shower of gold, it +has been my custom, for several years back, to +seek refuge in the Hebrides. I love Loch Snizort +better than the Mediterranean, and consider +Duntulme more impressive than the Drachenfels. I +have never seen the Alps, but the Cuchullins +content me. Haco interests me more than Charlemagne. +I confess to a strong affection for those +remote regions. Jaded and nervous with eleven +months' labour or disappointment, there will a man +find the medicine of silence and repose. Pleasant, +after poring over books, to watch the cormorant at +early morning flying with outstretched neck over the +bright frith; pleasant, lying in some sunny hollow at +noon, to hear the sheep bleating above; pleasant at +evening to listen to wild stories of the isles told by +the peat-fire; and pleasantest of all, lying awake +at midnight, to catch, muffled by distance, the +thunder of the northern sea, and to think of all the +ears the sound has filled. In Skye one is free +of one's century; the present wheels away into +silence and remoteness; you see the ranges of +brown shields, and hear the shoutings of the Bare +Sarks. +</p> + +<p> +The benefit to be derived from vacation is a +mental benefit mainly. A man does not require +change of air so much as change of scene. It is +well that he should for a space breathe another +mental atmosphere—it is better that he should get +release from the familiar cares that, like swallows, +build and bring forth under the eaves of his mind, +and which are continually jerking and twittering +about there. New air for the lungs, new objects for +the eye, new ideas for the brain—these a vacation +should always bring a man; and these are to be +found in Skye rather than in places more remote. +In Skye the Londoner is visited with a stranger sense +of foreignness than in Holland or in Italy. The +island has not yet, to any considerable extent, been +overrun by the tourist. To visit Skye is to make a +progress into "the dark backward and abysm of +time." You turn your back on the present and walk +into antiquity. You see everything in the light +of Ossian, as in the light of a mournful sunset. +With a Norse murmur the blue Lochs come running +in. The Canongate of Edinburgh is Scottish +history in stone and lime; but in Skye +you stumble on matters older still. Everything +about the traveller is remote and strange. You +hear a foreign language; you are surrounded by +Macleods, Macdonalds, and Nicolsons; you come +on gray stones standing upright on the moor—marking +the site of a battle, or the burial-place +of a chief. You listen to traditions of ancient +skirmishes; you sit on ruins of ancient date, in +which Ossian might have sung. The Loch yonder +was darkened by the banner of King Haco. Prince +Charles wandered over this heath, or slept in that +cave. The country is thinly peopled, and its +solitude is felt as a burden. The precipices of the +Storr lower grandly over the sea; the eagle has +yet its eyrie on the ledges of the Cuchullins. +The sound of the sea is continually in your ears; +the silent armies of mists and vapours perpetually +deploy; the wind is gusty on the moor; and ever +and anon the jags of the hills are obscured by +swirls of fiercely-blown rain. +<span class="sidenote"> +Spiritual atmosphere of Skye. +</span> +And more than all, +the island is pervaded by a subtle spiritual +atmosphere. It is as strange to the mind as it is to the +eye. Old songs and traditions are the spiritual +analogues of old castles and burying-places—and +old songs and traditions you have in abundance. +There is a smell of the sea in the material air; and +there is a ghostly something in the air of the +imagination. There are prophesying voices amongst +the hills of an evening. The raven that flits across +your path is a weird thing—mayhap by the spell +of some strong enchanter, a human soul is balefully +imprisoned in the hearse-like carcass. You hear +the stream, and the voice of the kelpie in it. You +breathe again the air of old story-books; but they +are northern, not eastern ones. To what better +place, then, can the tired man go? There he will +find refreshment and repose. There the wind blows +out on him from another century. The Sahara +itself is not a greater contrast from the London +street than is the Skye wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +The chain of islands on the western coast of +Scotland, extending from Bute in the throat of the +Clyde, beloved of invalids, onward to St Kilda, +looking through a cloud of gannets toward the +polar night, was originally an appanage of the +crown of Norway. +<span class="sidenote"> +The Norse element in Skye. +</span> +In the dawn of history there +is a noise of Norsemen around the islands, as there +is to-day a noise of sea-birds. There fought, as +old sagas tell, Anund, the stanchest warrior that +ever did battle on wooden leg. <i>Wood-foot</i> he was +called by his followers. When he was fighting his +hardest, his men used to shove toward him a block +of wood, and resting his maimed limb on that, he +laid about him right manfully. From the islands +also sailed Helgi, half-pagan, half-Christian. Helgi +was much mixed in his faith; he was a good +Christian in time of peace, but the aid of Thor he +was always certain to invoke when he sailed on +some dangerous expedition, or when he entered +into battle. Old Norwegian castles, perched on +the bold Skye headlands, yet moulder in hearing of +the surge. The sea-rovers come no longer in their +dark galleys, but hill and dale wear ancient names +that sigh to the Norway pine. The inhabitant of +Mull or Skye perusing the "Burnt Njal," is struck +most of all by the names of localities—because +they are almost identical with the names of localities +in his own neighbourhood. The Skye headlands +of Trotternish, Greshornish, and Vaternish, look +northward to Norway headlands that wear the +same or similar names. Professor Munch, of +Christiania, states that the names of many of the islands, +Arran, Gigha, Mull, Tyree, Skye, Raasay, Lewes, +and others, are in their original form Norwegian and +not Gaelic. The Hebrides have received a Norse +baptism. Situated as these islands are between +Norway and Scotland, the Norseman found them +convenient stepping-stones, or resting-places, on his +way to the richer southern lands. There he erected +temporary strongholds, and founded settlements. +Doubtless, in course of time, the son of the +Norseman looked on the daughter of the Celt, and saw +that she was fair, and a mixed race was the result +of alliances. To this day in the islands the Norse +element is distinctly visible—not only in old castles, +the names of places, but in the faces and entire +mental build of the people. Claims of pure +Scandinavian descent are put forward by many of the old +families. Wandering up and down the islands you +encounter faces that possess no Celtic characteristics; +which carry the imagination to +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Noroway ower the faem;"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +people with cool calm blue eyes, and hair yellow +as the dawn; who are resolute and persistent, slow +in pulse and speech; and who differ from the +explosive Celtic element surrounding them as the iron +headland differs from the fierce surge that washes +it, or a block of marble from the heated palm pressed +against it. The Hebrideans are a mixed race; in +them the Norseman and the Celt are combined, and +here and there is a dash of Spanish blood which +makes brown the cheek and darkens the eye. This +southern admixture may have come about through +old trading relations with the Peninsula—perhaps +the wrecked Armada may have had something to do +with it. The Highlander of Sir Walter, like the Red +Indian of Cooper, is to a large extent an ideal being. +But as Uncas does really wear war-paint, wield a +tomahawk, scalp his enemies, and, when the time +comes, can stoically die, so the Highlander possesses +many of the qualities popularly ascribed to him. +Scott exaggerated only; he did not invent. He +looked with a poet's eye on the district north of the +Grampians—a vision keener than any other for +what <i>is</i>, but which burdens, and supplements, +and glorifies—which, in point of fact, puts a +nimbus around everything. The Highlander +stands alone amongst the British people. For +generations his land was shut against civilisation +by mountain and forest and intricate pass. +While the large drama of Scottish history was +being played out in the Lowlands, he was busy in +his mists with narrow clan-fights and revenges. +<span class="sidenote"> +Highland characteristics. +</span> +While the southern Scot owed allegiance to the +Jameses, he was subject to Lords of the Isles, +and to Duncans and Donalds innumerable; while +the one thought of Flodden, the other remembered +the "sair field of the Harlaw." The Highlander +was, and is still so far as circumstances permit, a +proud, loving, punctilious being: full of loyalty, +careful of social distinction; with a bared head for +his chief, a jealous eye for his equal, an armed +heel for his inferior. He loved the valley in which +he was born, the hills on the horizon of his childhood; +his sense of family relationship was strong, +and around him widening rings of cousinship +extended to the very verge of the clan. The +Islesman is a Highlander of the Highlanders; modern +life took longer in reaching him, and his weeping +climate, his misty wreaths and vapours, and the +silence of his moory environments, naturally +continued to act upon and to shape his character. He +is song-loving, "of imagination all compact;" and +out of the natural phenomena of his mountain +region—his mist and rain-cloud, wan sea-setting of the +moon, stars glancing through rifts of vapour, +blowing wind and broken rainbows—he has drawn his +poetry and his superstition. His mists give him +the shroud high on the living heart, the sea-foam +gives him an image of the whiteness of the breasts +of his girls, and the broken rainbow of their +blushes. To a great extent his climate has made +him what he is. He is a child of the mist. His +songs are melancholy for the most part; and you +may discover in his music the monotony of the +brown moor, the seethe of the wave on the rock, the +sigh of the wind in the long grasses of the deserted +churchyard. The musical instrument in which he +chiefly delights renders most successfully the +coronach and the battle-march. The Highlands +are now open to all the influences of civilisation. +The inhabitants wear breeches and speak English +even as we. Old gentlemen peruse their <i>Times</i> +with spectacles on nose. Young lads construe +"Cornelius Nepos," even as in other quarters of +the British islands. Young ladies knit, and +practise music, and wear crinoline. But the old +descent and breeding are visible through all modern +disguises: and your Highlander at Oxford or +Cambridge—discoverable not only by his rocky +countenance, but by some dash of wild blood, or +eccentricity, or enthusiasm, or logical twist and turn +of thought—is as much a child of the mist as +his ancestor who, three centuries ago, was called +a "wilde man" or a "red shanks;" who could, if +need were, live on a little oatmeal, sleep in snow, +and, with one hand on the stirrup, keep pace with +the swiftest horse, let the rider spur never so +fiercely. It is in the Isles, however, and +particularly amongst the old Islesmen, that the +Highland character is, at this day, to be found in its +purity. There, in the dwelling of the proprietor, +or still more in that of the large sheep farmer—who +is of as good blood as the laird himself—you +find the hospitality, the prejudice, the generosity, +the pride of birth, the delight in ancient traditions, +which smack of the antique time. Love of wandering, +and pride in military life, have been characteristic +of all the old families. The pen is alien to +their fingers, but they have wielded the sword +industriously. They have had representatives in +every Peninsular and Indian battle-field. India has +been the chosen field of their activity. Of the +miniatures kept in every family more than one-half +are soldiers, and several have attained to no +inconsiderable rank. The Island of Skye has +itself given to the British and Indian armies at +least a dozen generals. And in other services the +Islesman has drawn his sword. Marshal Macdonald +had Hebridean blood in his veins; and my friend +Mr M'Ian remembers meeting him at Armadale +Castle while hunting up his relations in the island, +and tells me that he looked like a Jesuit in his +long coat. And lads, to whom the profession of +arms has been shut, have gone to plant indigo in +Bengal or coffee in Ceylon, and have returned with +gray hairs to the island to spend their money there, +and to make the stony soil a little greener; and +during their thirty years of absence Gaelic did not +moulder on their tongues, nor did their fingers +forget their cunning with the pipes. The palm +did not obliterate the memory of the birch; nor +the slow up-swelling of the tepid wave, and its +long roar of frothy thunder on the flat red sands +at Madras, the coasts of their childhood and the +smell and smoke of burning kelp. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Macdonald and Macleod. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The important names in Skye are Macdonald +and Macleod. Both are of great antiquity, and it +is as difficult to discover the source of either in +history as it is to discover the source of the Nile +in the deserts of Central Africa. Distance in the +one case appals the geographer, and in the other +the antiquary. Macdonald is of pure Celtic +origin, it is understood; Macleod was originally +a Norseman. Macdonald was the Lord of the +Isles, and more than once crossed swords with +Scottish kings. Time has stripped him of royalty, +and the present representative of the family is a +Baron merely. He sits in his modern castle of +Armadale amid pleasant larch plantations, with +the figure of Somerlid—the half mythical founder +of his race—in the large window of his hall. The +two families intermarried often and quarrelled +oftener. They put wedding rings on each other's +fingers and dirks into each other's hearts. Of the +two, Macleod had the darker origin; and around +his name there lingers a darker poetry. Macdonald +sits in his new castle in sunny Sleat with a +southern outlook—Macleod retains his old eyrie +at Dunvegan, with its drawbridge and dungeons. +At night he can hear the sea beating on the base +of his rock. His "maidens" are wet with the sea +foam. His mountain "tables" are shrouded with +the mists of the Atlantic. He has a fairy flag in +his possession. The rocks and mountains around +him wear his name even as of old did his clansmen. +"Macleod's country," the people yet call the +northern portion of the island. In Skye song and +tradition Macdonald is like the green strath with +milkmaids milking kine in the fold at sunset, with +fishers singing songs as they mend brown nets +on the shore. Macleod, on the other hand, is of +darker and drearier import—like a wild rocky spire +of Ouirang or Storr, dimmed with the flying vapour +and familiar with the voice of the blast and the +wing of the raven. "Macleod's country" looks +toward Norway with the pale headlands of Greshornish, +Trotternish, and Durinish. The portion of +the island which Macdonald owns is comparatively +soft and green, and lies to the south. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +King Haco. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The Western Islands lie mainly out of the region +of Scottish history, and yet by Scottish history +they are curiously touched at intervals, Skye more +particularly so. In 1263 when King Haco set out +on his great expedition against Scotland with one +hundred ships and twenty thousand men—an Armada, +the period taken into consideration, quite as +formidable as the more famous and ill-fated Spanish +one some centuries later—the multitude of his sails +darkened the Skye lochs. Snizort speaks of him +yet. He passed through the Kyles, breathed for a +little while at Kerrera, and then swept down on +the Ayrshire coast, where King Alexander awaited +him, and where the battle of Largs was fought.[<a id="chap06fn1text"></a><a href="#chap06fn1">1</a>] +After the battle Haco, grievously tormented by +tempests, sailed for Norway, where he died. +<span class="sidenote"> +Ceding of the Hebrides to Scotland. +</span> +This was the last invasion of the Northmen, and a few +years after the islands were formally ceded to +Scotland. Although ceded, however, they could +hardly be said to be ruled by the Scottish kings. +After the termination of the Norway government, +the Hebrides were swayed by the Macdonalds, who +called themselves Lords of the Isles. +<span class="sidenote"> +The Lords of the Isles. +</span> +These chieftains +waxed powerful, and they more than once +led the long-haired Islesmen into Scotland, where +they murdered, burned, and ravaged without +mercy. In 1411 Donald, one of those island kings, +descended on the mainland, and was sorely +defeated by the Earl of Mar at Harlaw, near Aberdeen. +By another potentate of the same stock the +counties of Ross and Moray were ravaged in 1456. +In the Western Islands the Macdonalds exercised +authentic sovereignty; they owned allegiance to +the Scottish king when he penetrated into their +remote dominions, and disowned it whenever he +turned his back. The Macdonald dynasty, or +quasi dynasty, existed till 1536, when the last +Lord of the Isles died without an heir, and when +there was no shoulder on which the mantle of his +authority could fall. +</p> + +<p> +How the Macdonalds came into their island +throne it would be difficult, by the flickering +rushlight of history, to discover. But wandering up +and down the islands, myself and the narrator +swathed in a film of blue peat-smoke, a ray of +dusty light streaming in through the green bull's-eye +in the window, I have heard the following +account given:—The branches of the Macdonald +family, Macdonald of Sleat, Clanranald, who wears +the white heather in his bonnet, the analogue of +the white rose, and which has been dipped in blood +quite as often, Keppoch, one of whose race fell +at Culloden, and the rest, were descended from a +certain Godfrey, King of Argyll. This Godfrey +had four sons, and one of them was named Somerlid, +youngest, bravest, handsomest of all. But +unhappily Somerlid was without ambition. While +his brothers were burning and ravaging and +slaying, grasping lands and running away with rich +heiresses, after the fashion of promising young +gentlemen of that era, the indolent and handsome +giant employed himself in hunting and fishing. +His looking-glass was the stream; his drinking-cup +the heel of his shoe; he would rather spear a +salmon than spear his foe; he burned no churches, +the only throats he cut were the throats of deer; +he cared more to caress the skins of seals and +otters than the shining hair of women. Old +Godfrey liked the lad's looks, but had a contempt +for his peaceful ways, and, shaking his head, +thought him little better than a ne'er-do-weel or a +silly one. But for all that, there was a deal of +unsuspected matter in Somerlid. At present he was +peaceful as a torch or a beacon—unlit. The hour +was coming when he would be changed; when he +would blaze like a brandished torch, or a beacon +on a hill-top against which the wind is blowing. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Somerlid. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +It so happened that the men of the Western +Isles had lost their chief. There was no one to lead +them to battle, and it was absolutely necessary that +a leader should be procured. Much meditating +to whom they should offer their homage they +bethought themselves of the young hunter chasing +deer on the Argyllshire hills. A council was held; +and it was resolved that a deputation should be +sent to Somerlid to state their case, and to offer that +if he should accept the office of chieftain, he and +his children should be their chieftains for ever. In +some half-dozen galleys the deputation set sail, +and finally arrived at the court of old Godfrey. +When they told what they wanted, that potentate +sent them to seek Somerlid; and him they found +fishing. Somerlid listened to their words with an +unmoved countenance; and when they were done, +he went aside a little to think over the matter. +That done he came forward: "Islesmen," he said, +"there's a newly-run salmon in the black pool +yonder. If I catch him, I shall go with you as +your chief; if I catch him not, I shall remain where +I am." To this the men of the Isles were agreeable, +and they sat down on the banks of the river +to watch the result. Somerlid threw his line over +the black pool, and in a short time the silvery mail +of the salmon was gleaming on the yellow sands +of the river bank. When they saw this the Islesmen +shouted; and so after bidding farewell to his +father, the elect of the thousands stepped into the +largest galley, and with the others in his wake, +sailed toward Skye a chief! +</p> + +<p> +When was there a warrior like Somerlid? He +spoiled and ravaged like an eagle. He delighted +in battle. He rolled his garments in blood. He +conquered island after island; he went out with +empty galleys, and he returned with them filled +with prey, his oarsmen singing his praises. He +built up his island throne. He was the first Lord +of the Isles; and from his loins sprung all the +Lords of the Isles that ever were. He was a +Macdonald, and from him the Macdonalds of Sleat +are descended. He wore a tartan of his own, +which only the Prince of Wales and the young +Lord Macdonald, sitting to-day in Eton school, +are entitled to wear. And if at any time I +ventured to impugn the truth of this legend, I was +told that if I went to Armadale Castle I should see +the image of Somerlid in the great window of the +hall. That was surely confirmation of the truth of +the story. He must surely be a sceptical Sassenach +who would disbelieve after witnessing <i>that</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Although the Lords of the Isles exercised virtual +sovereignty in the Hebrides, the Jameses made +many attempts to break their power and bring +them into subjection. James I. penetrated into +the Highlands, and assembled a Parliament at +Inverness in 1427. He enticed many of the chiefs +to his court, and seized, imprisoned, and executed +several of the more powerful. Those who escaped +with their lives were forced to deliver up hostages. +In fact, the Scottish kings looked upon the +Highlanders very much as they looked upon the +borderers. In moments of fitful energy they broke +on the Highlands just as they broke upon Ettrick +and Liddesdale, and hanged and executed right +and left. One of the Acts of Parliament of James +IV. declared that the Highlands and Islands had +become savage for want of a proper administration +of justice; and James V. made a voyage to the +Islands in 1536, when many of the chiefs were +captured and carried away. It was about this +time that the last Lord of the Isles died. The +Jameses were now kings of the Highlands and +Islands, but they were only kings in a nominal +sense. Every chief regarded himself as a sort of +independent prince. The Highland chieftains +appeared at Holyrood, it is true; but they drew +dirks and shed blood in the presence; they were +wanting in reverence for the sceptre; they brought +their own feuds with them to the Scottish court, and +when James VI. attempted to dissolve these feuds +in the wine cup, he met with but indifferent success. +So slight was lawful authority in 1589 that the +island of the Lewes was granted by the crown to a +body of Fife gentlemen, if they would but take and +hold possession—just as the lands of the rebellious +Maories might be granted to the colonists at the +present day. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Spanish Armada. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Many a gallant ship of the Spanish Armada was +wrecked on the shores of the Western Islands, on +the retreat to Spain; and a gun taken from one +of these, it is said, lies at Dunstaffnage Castle. In +the Islands you yet come across Spanish names, +and traces of Spanish blood; and the war ships of +Spain that came to grief on the bleak headlands +of Skye and Lewes, may have something to do +with that. Where the vase is broken there still +lingers the scent of the roses. The connexion +between Spain and the Western Islands is little more +than a mere accident of tempest. Then came the +death of Elizabeth and the accession of James to +the English throne; and the time was fast +approaching when the Highlander would become a +more important personage than ever; when the +claymore would make its mark in British History. +</p> + +<p> +At first sight it is a matter of wonder that the +clans should ever have become Jacobite. They +were in nowise indebted to the house of Stuart. +With the Scottish kings the Highlands and Islands +were almost continually at war. When a James +came amongst the northern chieftains he carried an +ample death-warrant in his face. The presents he +brought were the prison key, the hangman's rope, +the axe of the executioner. When the power +departed from the Lords of the Isles, the clans +regarded the king who sat in Holyrood as their +nominal superior; but they were not amenable to any +central law; each had its own chief—was self-contained, +self-governed, and busy with its own private +revenges and forays. When the Lowland burgher +was busy with commerce, and the Lowland farmer +was busy with his crops, the clansman walked his misty +mountains very much as his fathers did centuries +before; and his hand was as familiar with the hilt of +his broadsword as the hand of the Perth burgher with +the ellwand, or that of the farmer of the Lothians +with the plough-shaft. The Lowlander had become +industrious and commercial; the Highlander still +loved the skirmish and the raid. The Lowlands +had become rich in towns, in money, in goods; the +Highlands were rich only in swordsmen. +<span class="sidenote"> +Montrose. +</span> +When Charles's troubles with his Parliament began, the +valour of the Highlands was wasting itself; and +Montrose was the first man who saw how that +valour could be utilised. Himself a feudal chief, +and full of feudal feeling, when he raised the +banner of the king he appealed to the ancient +animosities of the clans. His arch-foe was Argyll; +he knew that Campbell was a widely-hated name; +and that hate he made his recruiting sergeant. He +bribed the chiefs, but his bribe was revenge. The +mountaineers flocked to his standard; but they came +to serve themselves rather than to serve Charles. +The defeat of Argyll might be a good thing for the +king; but with that they had little concern—it was +the sweetest of private revenges, and righted a +century of wrongs. The Macdonalds of Sleat fought +under the great Marquis at Inverlochy; but the +Skye shepherd considers only that on that occasion +his forefathers had a grand slaying of their +hereditary enemies—he has no idea that the +interest of the king was at all involved in the matter. +While the battle was proceeding, blind Allan sat +on the castle walls with a little boy beside him; +the boy related how the battle went, and the bard +wove the incidents into extemporaneous song—full +of scorn and taunts when the retreat of Argyll in +his galley is described—full of exultation when the +bonnets of fifteen hundred dead Campbells are +seen floating in the Lochy—and blind Allan's song +you can hear repeated in Skye at this day. When +the splendid career of Montrose came to an end +at Philiphaugh, the clansmen who won his battles +for him were no more adherents of the king than +they had been centuries before: but then they had +gratified hatred; they had had ample opportunities +for plunder; the chiefs had gained a new importance; +they had been assured of the royal gratitude +and remembrance; and if they received but scant +supplies of royal gold, they were promised argosies. +By fighting under Montrose they were in a sense +committed to the cause of the king; and when at +a later date Claverhouse again raised the royal +standard, that argument was successfully used. +They had already served the house of Stuart; +they had gained victories in its behalf: the king +would not always be in adversity; the time would +come when he would be able to reward his friends; +having put their hands to the plough it would be +folly to turn back. And so a second time the clans +rose, and at Killiecrankie an avalanche of kilted +men broke the royal lines, and in a quarter of +an hour a disciplined army was in ruins, and the +bed of the raging Garry choked with corpses. By +this time the Stuart cause had gained a footing in +the Highlands, mainly from the fact that the clans +had twice fought in its behalf. Then a dark +whisper of the massacre of Glencoe passed through +the glens—and the clansmen believed that the +princes <i>they</i> had served would not have violated +every claim of hospitality, and shot them down so +on their own hearthstones. All this confirmed +the growing feeling of attachment to the king +across the water. When the Earl of Mar rose in +1715, Macdonald of Sleat joined him with his men; +and being sent out to drive away a party of the +enemy who had appeared on a neighbouring height, +opened the battle of Sheriffmuir. +<span class="sidenote"> +"The Forty-five." +</span> +In 1745, when +Prince Charles landed in Knoydart, he sent letters +to Macdonald and Macleod in Skye soliciting +their aid. Between them they could have brought +2000 claymores into the field; and had the prince +brought a foreign force with them, they might have +complied with his request. As it was, they hesitated, +and finally resolved to range themselves on +the side of the Government. Not a man from +Sleat fought under the prince. The other great +branches of the Macdonald family, Clanranald, +Keppoch, and Glengarry, joined him however; +and Keppoch at Culloden, when he found that his +men were broken, and would not rally at the call +of their chief, charged the English lines alone, +and was brought down by a musket bullet. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Flora Macdonald and Prince Charles. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The Skye gentlemen did not rise at the call of +the prince, but when his cause was utterly lost, a +Skye lady came to his aid, and rendered him +essential service. Neither at the time, nor +afterwards, did Flora Macdonald consider herself a +heroine, (although Grace Darling herself did not bear +a braver heart;) and she is noticeable to this day +in history, walking demurely with the white rose in +her bosom. When the prince met Miss Macdonald +in Benbecula, he was in circumstances sufficiently +desperate. The lady had expressed an anxious +desire to see Charles; and at their meeting, which +took place in a hut belonging to her brother, it +struck Captain O'Neil, an officer attached to the +prince, and at the moment the sole companion of +his wanderings, that she might carry Charles with +her to Skye in the disguise of her maid-servant. +Miss Macdonald consented. She procured a +six-oared boat, and when she and her companions +entered the hovel in which the prince lay, they +found him engaged in roasting for dinner with a +wooden spit the heart, liver, and kidneys of a +sheep. They were full of compassion, of course; +but the prince, who possessed the wit as well as +the courage of his family, turned his misfortunes +into jests. The party sat down to dinner not +uncareless of state. Flora sat on the right hand, +and Lady Clanranald, one of Flora's companions, +on the left hand of the prince. They talked of +St James's as they sat at their rude repast; and +stretching out hands of hope, warmed themselves +at the fire of the future. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner Charles equipped himself in the +attire of a maid-servant. His dress consisted of a +flowered linen gown, a light-coloured quilted +petticoat, a white apron, and a mantle of dun camlet, +made after the Irish fashion, with a hood. They +supped on the sea-shore; and while doing so a +messenger arrived with the intelligence that a +body of military was in the neighbourhood in quest +of the fugitive, and on hearing this news Lady +Clanranald immediately went home. They sailed +in the evening with a fair wind, but they had not +rowed above a league when a storm arose, and +Charles had to support the spirits of his companions +by singing songs and making merry speeches. +They came in sight of the pale Skye headlands +in the morning, and as they coasted along the +shore they were fired on by a party of Macleod +militia. While the bullets were falling around, +the prince and Flora lay down in the bottom of +the boat. The militia were probably indifferent +marksmen; at all events no one was hurt. +</p> + +<p> +After coasting along for a space, they landed +at Mugstot, the seat of Sir Alexander Macdonald. +Lady Macdonald was a daughter of the Earl of +Eglinton's, and an avowed Jacobite; and as it was +known that Sir Alexander was at Fort Augustus +with the Duke of Cumberland, they had no scruple +in seeking protection. Charles was left in the boat, +and Flora went forward to apprise Lady Macdonald +of their arrival. Unhappily, however, there was a +Captain Macleod, an officer of militia, in the house, +and Flora had to parry as best she could his +interrogations concerning Charles, whose head was +worth £30,000. Lady Macdonald was in great +alarm lest the presence of the prince should be +discovered. Kingsburgh, Sir Alexander's factor, +was on the spot, and the ladies took him into their +confidence. After consultation, it was agreed that +Skye was unsafe, and that Charles should proceed +at once to Raasay, taking up his residence at +Kingsburgh by the way. +</p> + +<p> +During all this while Charles remained on the +shore, feeling probably very much as a Charles of +another century did, when, shrouded up in oak +foliage, he heard the Roundhead riding beneath. +Kingsburgh was anxious to acquaint him with the +determination of his friends, but then there was +the pestilent captain on the premises, who might +prick his ear at a whisper; and whose suspicion, if +once aroused, might blaze out into ruinous action. +Kingsburgh had concerted his plan, but in carrying +it into execution it behoved him to tread so +lightly that the blind mole should not hear a +footfall. He sent a servant down to the shore to +inform the strange maid-servant with the mannish +stride that he meant to visit her, but that in the +meantime she should screen herself from observation +behind a neighbouring hill. Taking with him +wine and provisions, Kingsburgh went out in search +of the prince. He searched for a considerable time +without finding him, and was about to return to +the house, when at some little distance he observed +a scurry amongst a flock of sheep. Knowing that +sheep did not scurry about after that fashion for +their own amusement, he approached the spot, +when all at once the prince started out upon him +like another Meg Merrilees, a large knotted stick +in his fist. "I am Macdonald of Kingsburgh," +said the visitor, "come to serve your highness." "It +is well," said Charles, saluting him. Kingsburgh +then opened out his plan, with which the +prince expressed himself satisfied. After Charles +had partaken of some refreshment, they both +started towards Kingsburgh House. +</p> + +<p> +The ladies at Mugstot were all this while in sad +perplexity, and to that perplexity, on account of +the presence of the captain of militia, they could +not give utterance. As Kingsburgh had not +returned, they could only hope that he had +succeeded in finding the prince, and in removing him +from that dangerous neighbourhood. Meanwhile +dinner was announced, and the captain politely +handed in the ladies. He drank his wine, paid +Miss Macdonald his most graceful compliments, for +a captain—if even of militia only—can never, in +justice to his cloth, be indifferent to the fair. It +belongs to his profession to be gallant, as it +belongs to the profession of a clergyman to say grace +before meat. We may be sure, however, that his +roses of compliment stung like nettles. He talked +of the prince, as a matter of course—the prince +being the main topic of conversation in the Islands +at the period—perhaps expressed a strong desire to +catch him. All this the ladies had to endure, hiding, +as the way of the sex is, fluttering hearts under +countenances most hypocritically composed. After +dinner, Flora rose at once, but a look from Lady +Macdonald induced her to remain for yet a little. +Still the gallant captain's talk flowed on, and <i>he</i> +must be deceived at any cost. At last Miss Flora +was moved with the most filial feelings. She was +anxious to be with her mother, to stay and comfort +her in these troublous times. She must really be +going. Lady Macdonald pressed her to stay, got +the gallant captain to bring his influence to bear, +but with no effect. The wilful young lady would +not listen to entreaty. Her father was absent, and +at such a time the claim of a lone mother on a +daughter's attention was paramount. Her apology +was accepted at last, but only on the condition that +she should return soon to Mugstot and make a +longer stay. The ladies embraced each other, and +then Miss Macdonald mounted, and attended by +several servants rode after Prince Charles, who +was now some distance on the road to Kingsburgh. +Lady Macdonald returned to the captain, +than whom seldom has one—whether of the line +or the militia—been more cleverly hoodwinked. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Macdonald's party, when she rode after +the prince and Kingsburgh, consisted of Neil +M'Eachan, who acted as guide, and Mrs +Macdonald, who was attended by a male and female +servant. They overtook the prince, and Mrs +Macdonald, who had never seen him before, was +anxious to obtain a peep of his countenance. +This Charles carefully avoided. Mrs Macdonald's +maid, noticing the uncouth appearance of the tall +female figure, whispered to Miss Flora that she +"had never seen such an impudent-looking woman +as the one with whom Kingsburgh was talking," +and expressed her belief that the stranger was +either an Irishwoman, or a man in woman's clothes. +Miss Flora whispered in reply, "that she was right +in her conjecture—that the amazon was really an +Irishwoman, that she knew her, having seen her +before." The abigail then exclaimed, "Bless me, +what long strides the jade takes, and how +awkwardly she manages her clothes!" Miss +Macdonald, wishing to put an end to this conversation, +urged the party to a trot. The pedestrians then +struck across the hills, and reached Kingsburgh +House about eleven o'clock,—the equestrians +arriving soon after. +</p> + +<p> +When they arrived there was some difficulty +about supper, Mrs Macdonald of Kingsburgh +having retired to rest. When her husband told +her that the prince was in the house, she got up +immediately, and under her direction the board +was spread. The viands were eggs, butter, and +cheese. Charles supped heartily, and after +drinking a few glasses of wine, and smoking a pipe of +tobacco, went to bed. Next morning there +was a discussion as to the clothes he should wear; +Kingsburgh, fearing that his disguise should +become known, urged Charles to wear a Highland +dress, to which he gladly agreed. But as there were +sharp eyes of servants about, it was arranged that, +to prevent suspicion, he should leave the house in +the same clothes in which he had come, and that +he should change his dress on the road. When he +had dressed himself in his feminine garments and +come into the sitting-room, Charles noticed that +the ladies were whispering together eagerly, +casting looks on him the while. He desired to +know the subject of conversation, and was +informed by Mrs Macdonald that they wished a +lock of his hair. The prince consented at once, +and laying down his head in Miss Flora's lap, a +lock of yellow hair was shorn off—to be treasured +as the dearest of family relics, and guarded as +jealously as good fame. Some silken threads of +that same lock of hair I have myself seen. Mr +M'Ian has some of it in a ring, which will probably +be buried with him. After the hair was cut off, +Kingsburgh presented the prince with a new pair +of shoes, and the old ones—through which the +toes protruded—were put aside, and considered as +only less sacred than the shred of hair. They +were afterwards bought by a Jacobite gentleman +for twenty guineas—the highest recorded price +ever paid for that article. +</p> + +<p> +Kingsburgh, Flora, and the prince then started +for Portree, Kingsburgh carrying the Highland +dress under his arm. After walking a short +distance Charles entered a wood and changed his +attire. He now wore a tartan short coat and +waistcoat, with philabeg and hose, a plaid, and a +wig and bonnet. Here Kingsburgh parted from the +prince, and returned home. Conducted by a guide, +Charles then started across the hills, while Miss +Macdonald galloped along the common road to +Portree to see how the land lay, and to become +acquainted with the rumours stirring in the +country. +</p> + +<p> +There was considerable difficulty in getting the +prince out of Skye; a Portree crew could not be +trusted, as on their return they might blab the +whereabouts of the fugitive. In this dilemma a +friend of the prince's bethought himself that there +was a small boat on one of the neighbouring Lochs, +and the boat was dragged by two brothers, aided +by some women, across a mile of boggy ground to +the sea-shore. It was utterly unseaworthy—leaky +as the old brogues which Kingsburgh valued so +much—but the two brothers nothing fearing got +it launched, and rowed across to Raasay. +</p> + +<p> +When the news came that the prince was at +hand, Young Raasay, who had not been out in the +rebellion, and his cousin, Malcolm Macleod, who +had been, procured a strong boat, and with two +oarsmen, whom they had sworn to secrecy, pulled +across to Skye. They landed about half a mile +from Portree, and Malcolm Macleod, accompanied +by one of the men, went towards the inn, where +he found the prince and Miss Macdonald. It had +been raining heavily, and before he arrived, Charles +was soaked to the skin. The first thing the prince +called for was a dram; he then put on a dry shirt, +and after that he made a hearty meal on roasted +fish, bread, cheese, and butter. The people in the +inn had no suspicion of his rank, and with them he +talked and joked. Malcolm Macleod had by this +time gone back to the boat, where he waited the +prince's coming. The guide implored Charles to +go off at once, pointed out that the inn was a +gathering place for all sorts of people, and that +some one might penetrate his disguise—to all this +the prince gave ready assent; but it rained still, +and he spoke of risking everything and waiting +where he was all night. The guide became yet +more urgent, and the prince at last expressed his +readiness to leave, only before going he wished to +smoke a pipe of tobacco. He smoked his pipe, +bade farewell to Miss Macdonald, repaid her a small +sum which he had borrowed, gave her his miniature, +and expressed the hope that he should yet welcome +her at St James's. Early in the dawn of the July +morning, with four shirts, a bottle of brandy tied to +one side of his belt, a bottle of whisky tied to the +other, and a cold fowl done up in a pocket-handkerchief, +he, under the direction of a guide, went +down to the rocky shore, where the boat had +so long been waiting. In a few hours they +reached Raasay. +</p> + +<p> +In Raasay the prince did not remain long. He +returned to Skye, abode for a space in Strath, +dwelling in strange places, and wearing many +disguises—finally, through the aid of the chief of the +Mackinnons, he reached the mainland. By this +time it had become known to the Government that +the prince had been wandering about the island, +and Malcolm Macleod, Kingsburgh, and Miss +Macdonald were apprehended. Miss Macdonald +was at first confined in Dunstaffnage Castle, and +was afterwards conveyed to London. Her imprisonment +does not seem to have been severe, and +she was liberated, it is said, at the special request +of Frederick Prince of Wales. She and Malcolm +Macleod returned to Scotland together. In 1750 +Flora married Allan Macdonald, young Kingsburgh, +and on the death of his father in 1772 the +young people went to live on the farm. Here +they received Dr Johnson and Boswell. Shortly +after, the family went to America, and in 1775 +Kingsburgh joined the Royal Highland Emigrant +Regiment. He afterwards served in Canada, and +finally returned to Skye on half-pay. Flora had +seven children, five sons and two daughters, the +sons after the old Skye fashion becoming soldiers, +and the daughters the wives of soldiers. She died +in 1790, and was buried in the churchyard of +Kilmuir. To the discredit of the Skye gentlemen—in +many of whom her blood flows—the grave is in +a state of utter disrepair. When I saw it two or +three months ago it was covered with a rank +growth of nettles. These are untouched. The +tourist will deface tombstones, and carry away +chips from a broken bust, but a nettle the boldest +or the most enthusiastic will hardly pluck and +convey from even the most celebrated grave. A +line must be drawn somewhere, and Vandalism +draws the line at nettles—it will not sting its own +fingers for the world. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The old House of Kingsburgh. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +O Death! O Time! O men and women of +whom we have read, what eager but unavailing +hands we stretch towards you! How we would +hear your voices, see your faces, but note the +wafture of your garments! With a strange feeling +one paces round the ruins of the House of +Corrichatachin, thinking of the debauch held therein a +hundred years ago by a dead Boswell and young +Highland bloods, dead too. But the ruin of the +old house of Kingsburgh moves one more than the +ruin of the old house of Corrichatachin. On the +shore of Loch Snizort—waters shadowed once by +the sails of Haco's galleys—we stumble on the +latter ancient site. The outline of the walls is +distinguished by a mere protuberance on the grassy +turf; and in the space where fires burned, and +little feet pattered, and men and women ate and +drank, and the hospitable board smoked, great trees +are growing. To this place did Flora Macdonald +come and the prince—his head worth thirty +thousand pounds—dressed in woman's clothes; there +they rested for the night, and departed next +morning. And the sheets in which the wanderer slept +were carefully put aside, and years after they +became the shroud for the lady of the house. And +the old shoes the prince wore were kept by +Kingsburgh till his dying day, and after that a "zealous +Jacobite gentleman" paid twenty guineas for the +treasure. That love for the young Ascanius!—the +carnage of Culloden, and noble blood reddening +many scaffolds, could not wash it out. Fancy +his meditations on all that devotion when an old +besotted man in Rome—the glitter of the crown of +his ancestors faded utterly away out of his bleared +and tipsy eyes! And when Flora was mistress of it, +to the same place came Boswell, and Johnson with +a cold in his head. There the doctor saluted Flora, +and snivelled his compliments, and slept in the +bed the prince occupied. There Boswell was in a +cordial humour, and, as his fashion was, "promoted +a cheerful glass." And all these people are ghosts +and less. And, as I write, the wind is rising on +Loch Snizort, and through the autumn rain the +yellow leaves are falling on the places where the +prince and the doctor and the toady sat. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Flora Macdonald and Dr Johnson. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +One likes to know that Pope saw Dryden +sitting in the easy-chair near the fire at Will's +Coffee-house, and that Scott met Burns at Adam +Ferguson's. It is pleasant also to know that Doctor +Johnson and Flora Macdonald met. It was like +the meeting of two widely-separated eras and +orders of things. Fleet Street, and the Cuchullins +with Ossianic mists on their crests, came face to +face. It is pleasant also to know that the sage +liked the lady, and the lady liked the sage. After +the departure of the prince the arrival of Dr +Johnson was the next great event in Hebridean +history. The doctor came, and looked about him, +and went back to London and wrote his book. +Thereafter there was plenty of war; and the Islesmen +became soldiers, fighting in India, America, +and the Peninsula. The tartans waved through +the smoke of every British battle, and there were +no such desperate bayonet charges as those which +rushed to the yell of the bagpipe. At the close of the +last and the beginning of the present century, half +the farms in Skye were rented by half-pay officers. +The Army List was to the island what the Post-office +Directory is to London. Then Scott came +into the Highlands with the whole world of tourists +at his back. Then up through Skye came Dr John +M'Culloch—caustic, censorious, epigrammatic—and +dire was the rage occasioned by the publication +of his letters—the rage of men especially who +had shown him hospitality and rendered him +services, and who got their style of talk mimicked, +and their household procedures laughed at for their +pains. Then came evictions, emigrations, and the +potato failure. Everything is getting prosaic as +we approach the present time. Then my friend +Mr Hutcheson established his magnificent fleet of +Highland steamers. While I write the iron horse +is at Dingwall, and he will soon be at Kyleakin—through +which strait King Haco sailed seven centuries +ago. In a couple of years or thereby +Portree will be distant twenty-four hours from +London—that time the tourist will take in coming, +that time black-faced mutton will take in going. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Macpherson's "Ossian". +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Wandering up and down the Western Islands, +one is brought into contact with Ossian, and is +launched into a sea of perplexities as to the +genuineness of Macpherson's translation. That +fine poems should have been composed in the +Highlands so many centuries ago, and that these +should have existed through that immense period +of time in the memories and on the tongues of the +common people, is sufficiently startling. The +Border Ballads are children in their bloom compared +with the hoary Ossianic legends and songs. On +the other hand, the theory that Macpherson, whose +literary efforts when he did not pretend to +translate are extremely poor and meagre, should have, +by sheer force of imagination, created poems +confessedly full of fine things, with strong local +colouring, not without a weird sense of remoteness, with +heroes shadowy as if seen through Celtic mists: +poems, too, which have been received by his +countrymen as genuine, which Dr Johnson scornfully +abused, and which Dr Blair enthusiastically praised; +which have been translated into every language in +Europe; which Goethe and Napoleon admired; +from which Carlyle has drawn his "red son of the +furnace," and many a memorable sentence besides; +and over which, for more than a hundred years +now, there has raged a critical and philological +battle, with victory inclining to neither side—that +the poor Macpherson should have created these +poems is, if possible, more startling than their +claim of antiquity. If Macpherson created Ossian, +he was an athlete who made one surprising leap +and was palsied ever afterwards; a marksman who +made a centre at his first shot, and who never +afterwards could hit the target. It is well enough +known that the Highlanders, like all half-civilised +nations, had their legends and their minstrelsy; +that they were fond of reciting poems and runes; +and that the person who retained on his memory +the greatest number of tales and songs brightened +the gatherings round the ancient peat-fires as your +Sydney Smith brightens the modern dinner. And +it is astonishing how much legendary material a +single memory may retain. In illustration, Dr +Brown, in his "History of the Highlands," informs +us that "the late Captain John Macdonald of +Breakish, a native of the Island of Skye, declared +upon oath, at the age of seventy-eight, that he +could repeat, when a boy between twelve and fifteen +years of age, (about the year 1740,) from one to +two hundred Gaelic poems, differing in length and +in number of verses; and that he learned them +from an old man about eighty years of age, who +sang them for years to his father when he went to +bed at night, and in the spring and winter before +he rose in the morning." The late Dr Stuart, +minister of Luss, knew "an old Highlander in the +Isle of Skye, who repeated to him for three +successive days, and during several hours each day, +without hesitation, and with the utmost rapidity, +many thousand lines of ancient poetry, and would +have continued his repetitions much longer if the +doctor had required him to do so." From such a +raging torrent of song the doctor doubtless fled +for his life. Without a doubt there was a vast +quantity of poetic material existing in the islands. +But more than this, when Macpherson, at the +request of Home, Blair, and others, went to the +Highlands to collect materials, he undoubtedly +received Gaelic MSS. Mr Farquharson, (Dr Brown +tells us,) Prefect of Studies at Douay College in +France, was the possessor of Gaelic MSS., and in +1766 he received a copy of Macpherson's "Ossian," +and Mr M'Gillivray, a student there at the time, +saw them (Macpherson's "Ossian" and Mr +Farquharson's MSS.) frequently collated, and heard +the complaint that the translations fell very far +short of the energy and beauty of the originals; +and the said Mr M'Gillivray was convinced that +the MSS. contained all the poems translated by +Macpherson, because he recollected very distinctly +having heard Mr Farquharson say, after having +read the translations, "that he had all these +poems in his collection." Dr Johnson could +never talk of the matter calmly. "Show me the +original manuscripts," he would roar. "Let Mr +Macpherson deposit the manuscript in one of +the colleges at Aberdeen where there are people +who can judge; and if the professors certify the +authenticity, then there will be an end of the +controversy." Macpherson, when his truthfulness +was rudely called in question, wrapped himself +up in proud silence, and disdained reply. At +last, however, he submitted to the test which +Dr Johnson proposed. At a bookseller's shop +he left for some months the originals of his +translations, intimating by public advertisement +that he had done so, and stating that all persons +interested in the matter might call and examine +them. No one, however, called; Macpherson's +pride was hurt, and he became thereafter more +obstinately silent and uncommunicative than ever. +There needed no such mighty pother about the +production of manuscripts. It might have been +seen at a glance that the Ossianic poems were not +forgeries—at all events that Macpherson did not +forge them. Even in the English translation, to a +great extent, the sentiments, the habits, the modes +of thought described are entirely primeval; in +reading it, we seem to breathe the morning air of +the world. The personal existence of Ossian is, +I suppose, as doubtful as the personal existence +of Homer; and if he ever lived, he is great, +like Homer, through his tributaries. Ossian +drew into himself every lyrical runnel, he +augmented himself in every way, he drained centuries +of their songs; and living an oral and gipsy +life, handed down from generation to generation, +without being committed to writing and having +their outlines determinately fixed, the authorship of +these songs becomes vested in a multitude, every +reciter having more or less to do with it. For +centuries the floating legendary material was reshaped, +added to, and altered by the changing spirit and +emotion of the Celt. Reading the Ossianic +fragments is like visiting the skeleton of one of the +South American cities; like walking through the +streets of disinterred Pompeii or Herculaneum. +These poems, if rude and formless, are touching +and venerable as some ruin on the waste, the names +of whose builders are unknown: whose towers and +walls, although not erected in accordance with the +lights of modern architecture, affect the spirit and +fire the imagination far more than nobler and more +recent piles; its chambers, now roofless to the +day, were ages ago tenanted by life and death, +joy and sorrow; its walls have been worn and +rounded by time, its stones channelled and fretted +by the fierce tears of winter rains; on broken +arch and battlement every April for centuries has +kindled a light of desert flowers; and it stands +muffled with ivies, bearded with mosses, and +stained with lichens by the suns of forgotten +summers. So these songs are in the original—strong, +simple, picturesque in decay; in Mr Macpherson's +English they are hybrids and mongrels. They +resemble the Castle of Dunvegan, an amorphous +mass of masonry of every conceivable style of +architecture, in which the ninth century jostles the +nineteenth. +</p> + +<p> +In these poems not only do character and habit +smack of the primeval time, but there is +extraordinary truth of local colouring. The Iliad is +roofed by the liquid softness of an Ionian sky. +In the verse of Chaucer there is eternal May and +the smell of newly-blossomed English hawthorn +hedges. In Ossian, in like manner, the skies +are cloudy, there is a tumult of waves on the +shore, the wind sings in the pine. This truth of +local colouring is a strong argument in proof of +authenticity. I for one will never believe that +Macpherson was more than a somewhat free +translator. Despite Gibbon's sneer, I do "indulge +the supposition that Ossian lived and Fingal +sung;" and, more than this, it is my belief that +these misty phantasmal Ossianic fragments, with +their car-borne heroes that come and go like +clouds on the wind, their frequent apparitions, the +"stars dim-twinkling through their forms," their +maidens fair and pale as lunar rainbows, are, in +their own literary place, worthy of every recognition. +If you think these poems exaggerated, go +out at Sligachan and see what wild work the +pencil of moonlight makes on a mass of shifting +vapour. Does <i>that</i> seem nature or a madman's +dream? Look at the billowy clouds rolling off +the brow of Blaavin, all golden and on fire with +the rising sun! Wordsworth's verse does not more +completely mirror the Lake Country than do the +poems of Ossian the terrible scenery of the Isles. +Grim, and fierce, and dreary as the night-wind is +the strain, for not with rose and nightingale had +the old bard to do; but with the thistle waving +on the ruin, the upright stones that mark the +burying-places of heroes, weeping female faces +white as sea-foam in the moon, the breeze mourning +alone in the desert, the battles and friendships +of his far-off youth, and the flight of the +"dark-brown years." These poems are wonderful +transcripts of Hebridean scenery. They are as full of +mists as the Hebridean glens themselves. Ossian +seeks his images in the vapoury wraiths. Take the +following of two chiefs parted by their king:—"They +sink from their king on either side, like two +columns of morning mist when the sun rises +between them on his glittering rocks. Dark is +their rolling on either side, each towards its reedy +pool." You cannot help admiring the image; +and I saw the misty circumstance this very +morning when the kingly sun struck the earth +with his golden spear, and the cloven mists rolled +backwards to their pools like guilty things. +</p> + +<p> +That a large body of poetical MSS. existed in +the Highlands we know; we know also that, when +challenged to do so, Macpherson produced his +originals; and the question arises, Was Macpherson +a competent and faithful translator of these MSS.? +Did he reproduce the original in all its strength +and sharpness? On the whole, perhaps Macpherson +translated the ancient Highland poems +as faithfully as Pope translated Homer, but his +version is in many respects defective and untrue. +The English Ossian is Macpherson's, just as the +most popular English Iliad is Pope's. Macpherson +was not a thoroughly-equipped Gaelic scholar; his +version is full of blunders and misapprehensions +of meaning, and he expressed himself in the +fashionable poetic verbiage of his day. You find +echoes of Milton, Shakespeare, Pope, and Dryden, +and these echoes give his whole performance +a hybrid aspect. It has a particoloured look; +is a thing of odds and ends, of shreds and +patches; in it antiquity and his own day are +incongruously mixed—like Macbeth in a periwig, or +a ruin decked out with new and garish banners. +Here is Macpherson's version of a portion of the +third book of Fingal:— +</p> + +<p> +"Fingal beheld the son of Starno: he remembered +Agandecca. For Swaran with the tears of +youth had mourned his white-bosomed sister. He +sent Ullin of Songs to bid him to the feast of +shells. For pleasant on Fingal's soul returned +the memory of the first of his loves! +</p> + +<p> +"Ullin came with aged steps, and spoke to +Starno's son. 'O thou that dwellest afar, +surrounded like a rock with thy waves! Come to the +feast of the king, and pass the day in rest. +To-morrow let us fight, O Swaran, and break the +echoing shields.' 'To-day,' said Starno's wrathful +son, 'we break the echoing shields: to-morrow my +feast shall be spread; but Fingal shall lie on +earth.' 'To-morrow let the feast be spread,' said +Fingal, with a smile. 'To-day, O my sons, we +shall break the echoing shields. Ossian, stand +thou near my arm. Gaul, lift thy terrible sword. +Fergus, bend thy crooked yew. Throw, Fillan, +thy lance through heaven. Lift your shields like +the darkened moon. Be your spears the meteors +of death. Follow me in the path of my fame. +Equal my deeds in battle.' +</p> + +<p> +"As a hundred winds on Morven; as the +streams of a hundred hills; as clouds fly successive +over heaven; as the dark ocean assails the +shore of the desert; so roaring, so vast, so terrible +the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath. The +groan of the people spread over the hills; it was +like the thunder of night when the clouds burst on +Cona, and a thousand ghosts shriek at once on the +hollow wind. Fingal rushed on in his strength, +terrible as the spirit of Trenmore, when in a +whirlwind he comes to Morven to see the children of +his pride. The oaks resound on their mountains, +and the rocks fall down before him. Dimly seen +as lightens the night, he strides largely from hill +to hill. Bloody was the hand of my father when +he whirled the gleam of his sword. He remembered +the battles of his youth. The field is wasted +in the course. +</p> + +<p> +"Ryno went on like a pillar of fire. Dark is the +brow of Gaul. Fergus rushed forward with feet of +wind. Fillan, like the mist of the hill. Ossian, +like a rock, came down. I exulted in the strength +of the king. Many were the deaths of my +arm! dismal the gleam of my sword! My locks were +not then so gray; nor trembled my hands with +age. My eyes were not closed in darkness; my +feet failed not in the race. +</p> + +<p> +"Who can relate the deaths of the people, +who the deeds of mighty heroes, when Fingal, +burning in his wrath, consumed the sons of Lochlin? +Groans swelled on groans from hill to hill, +till night had covered all. Pale, staring like a herd +of deer, the sons of Lochlin convene on Lena." +</p> + +<p> +So writes Macpherson. I subjoin a more literal +and faithful rendering of the passage, in which, to +some extent, may be tasted the wild-honey flavour +of the original:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Fingal descried the illustrious son of Starn,<br> + And he remember'd the maiden of the snow:<br> + When she fell, Swaran wept<br> + For the young maid of brightest cheek.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ullin of songs (the bard) approach'd<br> + To bid him to the feast upon the shore.<br> + Sweet to the king of the great mountains<br> + Was the remembrance of his first-loved maid.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ullin of the most aged step (the step of feeblest age) came nigh,<br> + And thus address'd the son of Starn:<br> + 'Thou from the land afar, thou brave,<br> + Like, in thy mail and thy arms,<br> + To a rock in the midst of the billows,<br> + Come to the banquet of the chiefs;<br> + Pass the day of calm in feasting;<br> + To-morrow ye shall break the shields<br> + In the strife where play the spears.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'This very day,' said the son of Starn, 'this very day<br> + I shall break in the hill the spear;<br> + To-morrow thy king shall be low in the dust,<br> + And Swaran and his braves shall banquet.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'To-morrow let the hero feast,'<br> + Smiling said the king of Morven;<br> + 'To-day let us fight the battle in the hill,<br> + And break the mighty shield.<br> + Ossian, stand thou by my side;<br> + Gall, thou great one, lift thy hand;<br> + Fillan, throw thy matchless lance;<br> + Lift your shields aloft<br> + As the moon in shadow in the sky;<br> + Be your spears as the herald of death.<br> + Follow, follow me in my renown;<br> + Be as hosts (as hundreds) in the conflict.'<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "As a hundred winds in the oak of Morven;<br> + As a hundred streams from the steep-sided mountain;<br> + As clouds gathering thick and black;<br> + As the great ocean pouring on the shore,<br> + So broad, roaring, dark and fierce,<br> + Met the braves, a-fire, on Lena.<br> + The shout of the hosts on the shoulders (bones) of the mountains<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Was as a torrent in a night of storm<br> + When bursts the cloud on glenny Cona,<br> + And a thousand ghosts are shrieking loud<br> + On the viewless crooked wind of the cairns.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Swiftly the king advanced in his might,<br> + As the spirit of Trenmore, pitiless spectre,<br> + When he comes in the whirl-blast of the billows<br> + To Morven, the land of his loved sires.<br> + The oak resounds on the mountain,<br> + Before him falls the rock of the hills;<br> + Through the lightning-flash the spirit is seen—<br> + His great steps are from cairn to cairn.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Bloody, I ween, was my sire in the field,<br> + When he drew with might his sword;<br> + The king remember'd his youth,<br> + When he fought the combat of the glens.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ryno sped as the fire of the sky,<br> + Gloomy and black was Gall, (wholly black;)<br> + Fergus rush'd as the wind on the mountain;<br> + Fillan advanced as the mist on the woods;<br> + Ossian was as a pillar of rock in the combat.<br> + My soul exulted in the king,<br> + Many were the deaths and dismal<br> + 'Neath the lightning of my great sword in the strife.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "My locks were not then so gray,<br> + Nor shook my hand with age.<br> + The light of my eye was unquench'd,<br> + And aye unwearied in travel was my foot.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Who will tell of the deaths of the people?<br> + Who the deeds of the mighty chiefs?<br> + When kindled to wrath was the king;<br> + Lochlin was consumed on the side of the mountain.<br> + Sound on sound rose from the hosts,<br> + Till fell on the waves the night.<br> + Feeble, trembling, and pale as (hunted) deer,<br> + Lochlin gather'd on heath-clad Lena."[<a id="chap06fn2text"></a><a href="#chap06fn2">2</a>]<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +To English readers the sun of Ossian shines +dimly through a mist of verbiage. It is to be +hoped that the mist will one day be removed—it +is the bounden duty of one of Ossian's learned +countrymen to remove it. +</p> + +<p> +It is not to be supposed that the Ossianic +legends are repeated often now around the island +peat-fires; but many are told resembling in essentials +those which Dr Dasent has translated to us +from the Norse. As the northern nations have a +common flora, so they have a common legendary +literature. Supernaturalism belongs to their tales +as the aurora borealis belongs to their skies. +<span class="sidenote"> +Skye legends. +</span> +Those stories I have heard in Skye, and many others, +springing from the same roots, I have had related +to me in the Lowlands and in Ireland. They are +full of witches and wizards; of great wild giants +crying out, "Hiv! Haw Hoagraich! It is a drink +of thy blood that quenches my thirst this night;" +of wonderful castles with turrets and banqueting +halls; of magic spells, and the souls of men and +women dolefully imprisoned in shapes of beast and +bird. As tales few of them can be considered +perfect; the supernatural element is strong in +many, but frequently it breaks down under some +prosaic or ludicrous circumstance: the spell +exhales somehow, and you care not to read further. +Now and then a spiritual and ghastly +imagination passes into a revolting familiarity and +destroys itself. In these stories all times and +conditions of life are curiously mixed, and this +mixture shows the passage of the story from tongue to +tongue through generations. If you discover on +the bleak Skye shore a log of wood with Indian +carvings peeping through a crust of native barnacles, +it needs no prophet to see that it has crossed +the Atlantic. Confining your attention merely to +Skye—to the place in which the log is found—the +Indian carvings are an anachronism; but there +is no anachronism when you arrive at the idea +that the log belongs to another continent, and +that it has reached its final resting-place through +blowing winds and tossing waves. These old +Highland stories, beginning in antiquity, and +quaintly ending with a touch of the present, are +lessons in the science of criticism. In a ballad +the presence of an anachronism, the cropping out +of a comparatively modern touch of manners or +detail of dress, does not in the least invalidate +the claim of the ballad to antiquity—provided it +can be proved that before being committed to +writing it had led an oral existence. Every ballad +existing in the popular memory takes the colour +of the periods through which it has lived, just as +a stream takes the colour of the different soils +through which it flows. The other year Mr +Robert Chambers attempted to throw discredit on +the alleged antiquity of Sir Patrick Spens from +the following verse:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Oh, laith, laith were our guid Scots lords<br> + To weet their cork-heel'd shoon;<br> + But lang ere a' the play was o'er,<br> + They wat their heads abune,"—<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +cork-heeled shoes having been worn neither by the +Scots lords, nor by the lords of any other nation, +so early as the reign of Alexander III., at which +period Sir Patrick Spens sailed on his disastrous +voyage. But the appearance of such a comparatively +modern detail of personal attire throws no +discredit on the antiquity of the ballad, because in +its oral transmission each singer or reciter would +naturally equip the Scots lords in the particular kind +of shoes which the Scots lords wore in his own day. +Anachronism of this kind proves nothing, because +such anachronism is involved in the very nature of +the case, and must occur in every old composition +which is frequently recited, and the terms of which +have not been definitely fixed by writing. In the +old Highland stories to which I allude, the wildest +anachronisms are of the most frequent occurrence; +with the most utter scorn of historical accuracy all +the periods are jumbled together; they resemble +the dance on the outside stage of a booth at a +country fair before the performances begin, in which +the mailed crusader, King Richard III., a barmaid, +and a modern "swell" meet, and mingle, and +cross hands with the most perfect familiarity and +absence from surprise. And some of those violations +of historical accuracy are instructive enough, +and throw some light on the cork-heeled shoes of +the Scots lords in the ballad. In one story a +mermaiden and a General in the British army are +represented as in love with each other and holding +clandestine meetings. Here is an anachronism +with a vengeance, enough to make Mr Robert +Chambers stare and gasp. How would he compute +the age of that story? Would he make it as +old as the mermaiden or as modern as the British +General? Personally, I have not the slightest +doubt that the story is old, and that in its original +form it concerned itself with certain love passages +between a mermaiden and a great warrior. But +the story lived for generations as tradition, was +told around the Skye peat-fires, and each relater +gave it something of his own, some touch drawn +from contemporary life. The mermaiden remains +of course, for she is <i>sui generis</i>; search nature and +for her you can find no equivalent—you can't +translate her into anything else. With the warrior it +is entirely different; he loses spear and shield, and +grows naturally into the modern General with +gilded spur, scarlet coat, and cocked hat with +plumes. The same sort of change, arising from +the substitution of modern for ancient details, of +modern equivalents for ancient facts, must go on +in every song or narrative which is orally +transmitted from generation to generation. +</p> + +<p> +Many of these stories, even when they are +imperfect in themselves, or resemble those told +elsewhere, are curiously coloured by Celtic scenery +and pervaded by Celtic imagination. In listening +to them, one is specially impressed by a bare, +desolate, woodless country; and this impression is +not produced by any formal statement of fact; it +arises partly from the paucity of actors in the +stories, and partly from the desert spaces over +which the actors travel, and partly from the +number of carrion crows, and ravens, and malign +hill-foxes which they encounter in their journeyings. +The "hoody," as the crow is called, hops and flits +and croaks through all the stories. His black +wing is seen everywhere. And it is the frequent +appearance of these beasts and birds, never familiar, +never domesticated, always outside the dwelling, +and of evil omen when they fly or steal across +the path, which gives to the stories much of their +weird and direful character. The Celt has not +yet subdued nature. He trembles before the +unknown powers. He cannot be sportive for the fear +that is in his heart. In his legends there is no +merry Puck, no Ariel, no Robin Goodfellow, no +half-benevolent, half-malignant Brownie even. +These creatures live in imaginations more emancipated +from fear. The mists blind the Celt on his +perilous mountain-side, the sea is smitten white on +his rocks, the wind bends and dwarfs his pine +wood; and as Nature is cruel to him, and as his +light and heat are gathered from the moor, and +his most plenteous food from the whirlpool and +the foam, we need not be surprised that few are +the gracious shapes that haunt his fancy. +</p> + +<p><p class="poem"></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a id="chap06fn1"></a> +[<a href="#chap06fn1text">1</a>] This battle occupies the same place in early Scottish annals +that Trafalgar or Waterloo occupies in later British ones. It stands +in the dawn of Scottish history—resonant, melodious. Unhappily, +however, the truth must be told—the battle was a drawn one, neither +side being able to claim the victory. Professor Munch, in his notes +to "The Chronicle of Man and the Sudreys," gives the following +account of the combat, and of the negotiations that preceded it:— +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +"When King Hacon appeared off Ayr, and anchored at Arran, +King Alexander, who appears to have been present himself at Ayr, +or in the neighbourhood of the town, with the greater part of his +forces, now opened negotiations, sending several messages by Franciscan +or Dominican Friars for the purpose of treating for peace. Nor +did King Hacon show himself unwilling to negotiate, and proved this +sufficiently by permitting Eogan of Argyll to depart in peace, +loading him, moreover, with presents, on the condition that he should +do his best to bring about a reconciliation,—Eogan pledging +himself, if he did not succeed, to return to King Hacon. Perhaps it +was due to the exertions of Eogan, that a truce was concluded, in +order to commence negotiations in a more formal manner. King +Hacon now despatched an embassy, consisting of two bishops, +Gilbert of Hamar, and Henry of Orkney, with three barons, to +Alexander, whom they found at Ayr. They were well received, but +could not get any definite answer,—Alexander alleging that, before +proposing the conditions, he must consult with his councillors; this +done, he should not fail to let King Hacon know the result. The +Norwegian messengers, therefore, returned to their king, who +meanwhile had removed to Bute. The next day, however, messengers +arrived from King Alexander, bringing a list of those isles which he +would not resign,—viz., Arran, Bute, and the Cumreys, (that is, +generally speaking, the isles inside Kentire,) which implies that he +now offered to renounce his claim to all the others. It is certainly +not to be wondered at that he did not like to see those isles, which +commanded the entrance to the Clyde, in the hands of another +power. King Hacon, however, had prepared another list, which +contained the names of all those isles which he claimed for the crown +of Norway; and although the exact contents are not known, there +can be no doubt that at least Arran and Bute were among the +number. The Saga says that, on the whole, there was, after all, +no great difference, but that, nevertheless, no final reconciliation +could be obtained,—the Scotchmen trying only to protract the +negotiations because the summer was past, and the bad weather was +begun. The Scotch messengers at last returned, and King Hacon +removed with the fleet to the Cumreys, near Largs, in the direction +of Cuningham, no doubt with a view of being either nearer at hand +if the negotiations failed, and a landing was to be effected, or only +of intimidating his opponents and hastening the conclusion of the +peace, as the roadstead in itself seems to have been far less safe than +that of Lamlash or Bute. King Alexander sent, indeed, several +messages, and it was agreed to hold a new congress a little farther +up in the country, which shows that King Alexander now had +removed from Ayr to a spot nearer Largs, perhaps to Camphill, (on +the road from Largs to Kilbirnie,) where a local tradition states the +king encamped. The Norwegian messengers were, as before, some +bishops and barons; the Scotch commissaries were some knights +and monks. The deliberations were long, but still without any +result. At last, when the day was declining, a crowd of Scotchmen +began to gather, and, as it continued to increase, the Norwegians, +not thinking themselves safe, returned without having obtained +anything. The Norwegian warriors now demanded earnestly that the +truce should be renounced, because their provisions had begun to +be scarce, and they wanted to plunder. King Hacon accordingly +sent one of his esquires, named Kolbein, to King Alexander with +the letter issued by this monarch, ordering him to claim back that +given by himself, and thus declare the truce to be ended, previously, +however, proposing that both kings should meet at the head of their +respective armies, and try a personal conference before coming to +extremities; only, if that failed, they might go to battle as the last +expedient. King Alexander, however, did not declare his intention +plainly, and Kolbein, tired of waiting, delivered up the letter, +got that of King Hacon back, and thus rescinded the truce. He +was escorted to the ships by two monks. Kolbein, when reporting +to King Hacon his proceedings, told him that Eogan of Argyll +had earnestly tried to persuade King Alexander from fighting with +the Norwegians. It does not seem, however, that Eogan went +back to King Hacon according to his promise. This monarch now +was greatly exasperated, and desired the Scottish monks, when +returning, to tell their king that he would very soon recommence the +hostilities, and try the issue of a battle. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +"Accordingly, King Hacon detached King Dugald, Alan M'Rory +his brother, Angus of Isla, Murchard of Kentire, and two Norwegian +commanders, with sixty ships, to sail into Loch Long, and ravage +the circumjacent ports, while he prepared to land himself with the +main force at Largs, and fight the Scottish army. The detachment +does not appear to have met with any serious resistance, all the +Scotch forces being probably collected near Largs. The banks of +Loch Lomond and the whole of Lennox were ravaged. Angus even +ventured across the country to the other side, probably near Stirling, +killing men and taking a great number of cattle. This done, +the troops who had been on shore returned to the ships. Here, +however, a terrible storm, which blew for two days, (Oct. 1 and 2,) +wrecked ten vessels; and one of the Norwegian captains was taken +sick, and died suddenly. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +"Also the main fleet, off Largs, suffered greatly by the same +tempest. It began in the night between Sunday (Sept. 30) and +Monday (Oct. 1,) accompanied by violent showers. A large transport +vessel drifted down on the bow of the royal ship, swept off the +gallion, and got foul of the cable; it was at last cast loose and drifted +toward the island; but on the royal ship it had been necessary to +remove the usual awnings and covers, and in the morning (Oct. 1) +when the flood commenced, the wind likewise turned, and the +vessel, along with another vessel of transport and a ship of war, +was driven on the main beach, where it stuck fast, the royal ship +drifting down while with five anchors, and only stopped when the +eighth had been let go. The king had found it safest to land in a +boat on the Cumrey, with the clergy, who celebrated mass, the +greater part believing that the tempest had been raised by witchcraft. +Soon the other ships began to drift; several had to cut away +the masts; five drifted towards the shore, and three went aground. +The men on board these ships were now dangerously situated, +because the Scotch, who from their elevated position could see very +well what passed in the fleet, sent down detachments against them, +while the storm prevented their comrades in the fleet from coming +to their aid. They manned, however, the large vessel which had +first drifted on shore, and defended themselves as well as they could +against the superior force of the enemy, who began shooting at them. +Happily the storm abated a little, and the king was not only able +to return on board his ships, but even sent them some aid in boats; +the Scotch were put to flight, and the Norwegians were able to pass +the night on shore. Yet, in the dark, some Scots found their way +to the vessel and took what they could. In the morning (Tuesday, +Oct. 2,) the king himself, with some barons and some troops, went +to shore in boats to secure the valuable cargo of the transport, or +what was left of it, in which they succeeded. Now, however, the +main army of the Scots was seen approaching, and the king, who +at first meant to remain on shore and head his troops himself, was +prevailed upon by his men, who feared lest he should expose +himself too much, to return on board his ship. The number of the +Norwegians left on shore did not exceed 1000 men, 240 of whom, +commanded by the Baron Agmund Krokidans, occupied a hillock, +the rest were stationed on the beach. The Scotch, it is related in +the Saga, had about 600 horsemen in armour, several of whom had +Spanish steeds, all covered with mail; they had a great deal of +infantry, well armed, especially with bows and Lochaber axes. +The Norwegians believed that King Alexander himself was in the +army: perhaps this is true. We learn, however, from Fordun that +the real commander was Alexander of Dundonald, the Stewart of +Scotland. The Scotch first attacked the knoll with the 240 men, +who retired slowly, always facing the enemy and fighting; but in +retracing their steps down hill, as they could not avoid accelerating +their movement as the impulse increased, those on the beach +believed that they were routed, and a sudden panic betook them +for a moment, which cost many lives; as the boats were too +much crowded they sank with their load; others, who did not +reach the boats, fled in a southerly direction, and were pursued by +the Scotch, who killed many of them; others sought refuge in the +aforesaid stranded vessel: at last they rallied behind one of the +stranded ships of war, and an obstinate battle began; the +Norwegians, now that the panic was over, fighting desperately. Then +it was that the young and valiant Piers of Curry, of whom even +Fordun and Wyntown speak, was killed by the Norwegian baron +Andrew Nicholasson, after having twice ridden through the +Norwegian ranks. The storm for a while prevented King Hacon from +aiding his men, and the Scotch being tenfold stronger, began to +get the upper hand; but at last two barons succeeded in landing +with fresh troops, when the Scotch were gradually driven back +upon the knoll, and then put to flight towards the hills. This done, +the Norwegians returned on board the ships; on the following +morning (Oct. 3) they returned on shore to carry away the bodies of +the slain, which, it appears, they effected quite unmolested by the +enemy; all the bodies were carried to a church, no doubt in Bute, +and there buried. The next day, (Thursday, Oct. 4,) the king +removed his ship farther out under the island, and the same day the +detachment arrived which had been sent to Loch Long. The +following day, (Friday, Oct. 5,) the weather being fair, the king sent +men on shore to burn the stranded ships, which likewise appears to +have been effected without any hindrance from the enemy. On the +same day he removed with the whole fleet to Lamlash harbour." +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +With what a curious particularity the Saga relates the events of +this smokeless ancient combat—so different from modern ones, where +"the ranks are rolled in vapour, and the winds are laid with +sound"—and how Piers of Curry, "who had ridden twice through the +Norwegian ranks," towers amongst the combatants! As the describer +of battles, since the invention of gunpowder, Homer would be no +better than Sir Archibald Alison. We have more explicit information +as to this skirmish on the Ayrshire coast in the thirteenth century +than we have concerning the battle of Solferino; and yet King +Hacon has been in his grave these five centuries, and Napoleon +III. and Kaiser Joseph yet live. And "Our Own Correspondent" had +not come into the world at that date either. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a id="chap06fn2"></a> +[<a href="#chap06fn2text">2</a>] For this translation I am indebted to my learned and +accomplished friend the Rev. Mr Macpherson of Inverary. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>THE SECOND SIGHT.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Quirang. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The Quirang is one of the wonderful sights of +Skye, and if you once visit it you will believe +ever afterwards the misty and spectral Ossian +to be authentic. The Quirang is a nightmare of +nature; it resembles one of Nat Lee's mad tragedies; +it might be the scene of a Walpurgis night; +on it might be held a Norway witch's Sabbath. +Architecture is frozen music, it is said; the Quirang +is frozen terror and superstition. 'Tis a huge +spire or cathedral of rock some thousand feet in +height, with rocky spires or needles sticking out of +it. Macbeth's weird sisters stand on the blasted +heath, and Quirang stands in a region as wild +as itself. The country around is strange and +abnormal, rising into rocky ridges here, like the +spine of some huge animal, sinking into hollows +there, with pools in the hollows—glimmering +almost always through drifts of misty rain. On +a clear day, with a bright sun above, the ascent of +Quirang may be pleasant enough; but a clear day +you seldom find, for on spectral precipices and +sharp-pointed rocky needles, the weeping clouds of +the Atlantic have made their chosen home. When +you ascend, with every ledge and block slippery, +every runnel a torrent, the wind taking liberties +with your cap and making your plaid stream like a +meteor to the troubled air, white tormented mists +boiling up from black chasms and caldrons, rain +making disastrous twilight of noon-day,—horror +shoots through your pulses, your brain swims on +the giddy pathway, and the thought of your room +in the vapoury under world rushes across the soul +like the fallen Adam's remembrance of his paradise. +Then you learn, if you never learned before, that +nature is not always gracious; that not always +does she out-stretch herself in low-lying bounteous +lands, over which sober sunsets redden and heavy-uddered +cattle low; but that she has fierce hysterical +moods in which she congeals into granite precipice +and peak, and draws around herself and her +companions the winds that moan and bluster, veils +of livid rains. If you are an Englishman you will +habitually know her in her gracious, if a Skye +man in her fiercer, moods. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Saxon and the Celt. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +No one is independent of scenery and climate. +Men are racy of the soil in which they grow, even +as grapes are. A Saxon nurtured in fat Kent +or Sussex, amid flats of heavy wheat and +acorn-dropping oaks, must of necessity be a different +creature from the Celt who gathers his sustenance +from the bleak sea-board, and who is daily +drenched by the rain-cloud from Cuchullin. The +one, at his best, becomes a broad-shouldered, +clear-eyed, ruddy-faced man, slightly obese, who meets +danger gleefully, because he has had little experience +of it, and because his conditions being hitherto +easy, he naturally assumes that everything will go +well with him;—at worst, a porker contented with +his mast. The other, take him at his best, of +sharper spirit, because it has been more keenly +whetted on difficulty; if not more intrepid, at least +more consciously so; of sadder mood habitually, +but <i>when</i> happy, happier, as the gloomier the +cloud the more dazzling the rainbow;—at his +worst, either beaten down, subdued, and nerveless, +or gaunt, suspicious, and crafty, like the +belly-pinched wolf. On the whole, the Saxon is likely +to be the more sensual; the Celt the more +superstitious: the Saxon will probably be prosaic, +dwelling in the circle of the seen and the +tangible; the Celt a poet: while the anger of the +Saxon is slow and abiding, like the burning of coal; +the anger of the Celt is swift and transient, like +the flame that consumes the dried heather: both +are superior to death when occasion comes—the +Saxon from a grand obtuseness which ignores the +fact; the Celt, because he has been in constant +communion with it, and because he has seen, measured, +and overcome it. The Celt is the most melancholy +of men; he has turned everything to superstitious +uses, and every object of nature, even the +unreasoning dreams of sleep, are mirrors which flash +back death upon him. He, the least of all men, +requires to be reminded that he is mortal. The +howling of his dog will do him that service. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Superstitious feelings. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +In the stories which are told round the island +peat-fires it is abundantly apparent that the Celt +has not yet subdued nature. In these stories you +can detect a curious subtle hostility between man +and his environments; a fear of them, a want of +absolute trust in them. In these stories and songs +man is not at home in the world. Nature is too +strong for him; she rebukes and crushes him. +The Elements, however calm and beautiful they +may appear for the moment, are malign and deceitful +at heart, and merely bide their time. They are +like the paw of the cat—soft and velvety, but with +concealed talons that scratch when least expected. +And this curious relation between man and nature +grows out of the climatic conditions and the forms +of Hebridean life. In his usual avocations the +Islesman rubs clothes with death as he would with an +acquaintance. Gathering wild fowl, he hangs, like +a spider on its thread, over a precipice on which +the sea is beating a hundred feet beneath. In +his crazy boat he adventures into whirlpool and +foam. He is among the hills when the snow comes +down making everything unfamiliar, and stifling +the strayed wanderer. Thus death is ever near +him, and that consciousness turns everything to +omen. The mist creeping along the hill-side by +moonlight is an apparition. In the roar of the +waterfall, or the murmur of the swollen ford, he +hears the water spirit calling out for the man +for whom it has waited so long. He sees death-candles +burning on the sea, marking the place at +which a boat will be upset by some sudden squall. +He hears spectral hammers clinking in an outhouse, +and he knows that ghostly artificers are preparing +a coffin there. Ghostly fingers tap at his +window, ghostly feet are about his door; at midnight +his furniture cries out as if it had seen a sight +and could not restrain itself. Even his dreams are +prophetic, and point ghastly issues for himself or for +others. And just as there are poets who are more +open to beauty than other men, and whose duty +and delight it is to set forth that beauty anew; so +in the Hebrides there are seers who bear the same +relation to the other world that the poet bears to +beauty, who are cognisant of its secrets, and who +make those secrets known. The seer does not +inherit his power. It comes upon him at haphazard, +as genius or as personal beauty might come. He +is a lonely man amongst his fellows; apparitions +cross his path at noon-day; he never knows into +what a ghastly something the commonest object +may transform itself—the table he sits at may +suddenly become the resting-place of a coffin; and the +man who laughs in his cups with him may, in the +twinkling of an eye, wear a death-shroud up to his +throat. He hears river voices prophesying death, +and shadowy and silent funeral processions are +continually defiling before him. When the seer +beholds a vision his companions know it; for "the +inner part of his eyelids turn so far upwards that, +after the object disappears, he must draw them +down with his fingers, and sometimes employs +others to draw them down, which he finds to be +much the easier way." From long experience of +these visions, and by noticing how closely or +tardily fulfilment has trodden upon their heels, the +seer can extract the meaning of the apparition that +flashes upon him, and predict the period of its +accomplishment. Other people can make nothing +of them, but <i>he</i> reads them, as the sailor in possession +of the signal-book reads the signal flying at +the peak of the High Admiral. These visions, +it would appear, conform to rules, like everything +else. If a vision be seen early in a morning, it +will be accomplished in a few hours,—if at noon, +it will usually be accomplished that day,—if in the +evening, that night,—if after candles are lighted, +certainly that night. When a shroud is seen about +a person it is a sure prognostication of death. And +the period of death is estimated by the height of +the shroud about the body. If it lies about the +legs, death is not to be expected before the +expiry of a year, and perhaps it may be deferred +a few months longer. If it is seen near the +head, death will occur in a few days, perhaps +in a few hours. To see houses and trees in a +desert place is a sign that buildings will be erected +there anon. To see a spark of fire falling on the +arms or breast of a person is the sign that a +dead child will shortly be in the arms of those +persons. To see a seat empty at the time of +sitting in it is a sign of that person's death being +at hand. The seers are said to be extremely +temperate in habit; they are neither drunkards +nor gluttons; they are not subject to convulsions +nor hysterical fits; there are no madmen amongst +them; nor has a seer ever been known to commit +suicide. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The second sight. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +The literature of the second sight is extremely +curious. The writers have perfect faith in the +examples they adduce; but their examples are far +from satisfactory. They are seldom obtained at +first hand, they almost always live on hearsay; and +even if everything be true, the professed fulfilment +seems nothing other than a rather singular +coincidence. Still these stories are devoutly believed +in Skye, and it is almost as perilous to doubt the +existence of a Skyeman's ghost as to doubt the +existence of a Skyeman's ancestor. In "Treatises +on the Second Sight," very curious tracts, compiled +by Theophilus Insulanus, Rev. Mr Frazer, Mr +Martin, and John Aubrey, Esq., F.R.S., and which +hint that a disbelief in apparitions is tantamount +to disbelief in the immortality of the soul, the +following stories are related:— +</p> + +<p> +"John Campbell, younger of Ardsliguish, in +Ardnamorchuann, in the year 1729, returning home +with Duncan Campbell, his brother, since deceased, +as they drew near the house, in a plain surrounded +with bushes of wood, where they intended to +discharge their fusees at a mark, observed a young +girl, whom they knew to be one of their domestics, +crossing the plain, and having called her by name, +she did not answer, but ran into the thicket. As +the two brothers had been some days from +home, and willing to know what happened in their +absence, the youngest, John, pursued after, but +could not find her. Immediately, as they arrived +at home, having acquainted their mother they saw +the said girl, and called after her, but she avoided +their search, and would not speak to them; upon +which they were told she departed this life that +same day. I had this relation from James Campbell +in Girgudale, a young man of known modesty +and candour, who had the story at several times +from the said John Campbell." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr Anderson assured me, that upon the 16th +of April 1746, (being the day on which his Royal +Highness the Duke of Cumberland obtained a +glorious victory over the rebels at Culloden,) as +he lay in bed with his spouse towards the dawning +of the day, he heard very audibly a voice at +his bed-head inquiring if he was awake; who +answered he was, but then took no further notice of +it. A little time thereafter, the voice repeated, +with greater vehemence, if he was awake. And +he answering, as formerly, he was, there was some +stop, when the voice repeated louder, asking the +same question, and he making the same answer, +but asking what the voice had to say; upon which +it replied, The prince is defeated, defeated, +defeated! And in less than forty-eight hours +thereafter an express carried the welcome tidings of the +fact into the country." +</p> + +<p> +"Captain Macdonald of Castletown (allowed by +all his acquaintances to be a person of consummate +integrity) informed me that a Knoydart man +(being on board of a vessel at anchor in the sound +of the Island Oransay) went under night out of +the cabin to the deck, and being missed by his +company, some of them went to call him down; but +not finding him, concluded that he had dropt from +the ship's side. When day came on, they got a +long line furnished with hooks, (from a tenant's +house close by the shore,) which having cast from +the ship's side, some of the hooks got hold of his +clothes, so that they got the corpse taken up. +The owner of the long line told Captain Macdonald +that for a quarter of a year before that +accident happened, he himself and his domestics, +on every calm night, would hear lamentable +cries at the shore where the corpse was landed; +and not only so, but the long lines that took +up the corpse being hung on a pin in his +house, all of them would hear an odd jingling of +the hooks before and after going to bed, and that +without any person, dog, or cat touching them; +and at other times, with fire light, see the long +lines covered over with lucid globules, such as are +seen drop from oars rowing under night." +</p> + +<p> +The foregoing are examples of the general +superstitions that prevail in the islands; those +that follow relate to the second sight. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lady Coll informed me that one M'Lean +of Knock, an elderly reputable gentleman, living +on their estate, as he walked in the fields before +sunset, he saw a neighbouring person, who had +been sick for a long time, coming that way, +accompanied by another man; and, as they drew +nearer, he asked them some questions, and how far +they intended to go. The first answered they +were to travel forward to a village he named, and +then pursued his journey with a more than ordinary +pace. Next day, early in the morning, he was +invited to his neighbour's interment, which surprised +him much, as he had seen and spoke with him the +evening before; but was told by the messenger +that came for him, the deceased person had been +confined to his bed for seven weeks, and that he +departed this life a little before sunset, much about +the time he saw him in a vision the preceding day." +</p> + +<p> +"Margaret Macleod, an honest woman advanced +in years, informed me that when she was a young +woman in the family of Grishornish, a dairy-maid, +who daily used to herd the calves in a park close +to the house, observed, at different times, a woman +resembling herself in shape and attire, walking +solitarily at no great distance from her; and being +surprised at the apparition, to make further trial, +she put the back part of her garment foremost, and +anon the phantom was dressed in the same manner, +which made her uneasy, believing it portended +some fatal consequence to herself. In a short time +thereafter she was seized with a fever, which +brought her to her end; but before her sickness, +and on her deathbed, declared this second sight to +several." +</p> + +<p> +"Neil Betton, a sober, judicious person, and +elder in the session of Diurinish, informed me, as +he had it from the deceased Mr Kenneth Betton, +late minister in Trotternish, that a farmer in the +village of Airaidh, on the west side of the country, +being towards evening to quit his work, he observed +a traveller coming towards him as he stood close +to the highway; and, as he knew the man, waited +his coming up; but when he began to speak with +him, the traveller broke off the road abruptly to the +shore that was hard by; which, how soon he entered, +he gave a loud cry; and, having proceeded on the +shore, gave a loud cry at the middle of it, and so +went on until he came to a river running through +the middle of it, which he no sooner entered than +he gave a third cry, and then saw him no more. +On the farmer's coming home he told all that he +had heard and seen to those of his household: so +the story spread, until from hand to hand it came +to the person's own knowledge, who, having seen +the farmer afterwards, inquired of him narrowly +about it, who owned and told the same as above. +In less than a year thereafter, the same man, going +with two more to cut wattling for creels, in +Coille-na-Skiddil, he and they were drowned in the river +where he heard him give the last cry." +</p> + +<p> +"Some of the inhabitants of Harris sailing +round the Isle of Skye, with a design to go to the +opposite mainland, were strangely surprised with +an apparition of two men hanging down by the +ropes that secured the mast, but could not +conjecture what it meant. They pursued the voyage; +but the wind turned contrary, and so forced them +into Broadford, in the Isle of Skye, where they +found Sir Donald Macdonald keeping a sheriff's +court, and two criminals receiving sentence of death +there. The ropes and masts of that very boat +were made use of to hang those criminals." +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Death sights and omens. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Such are some of the stories laboriously gathered +together and set down in perfect good faith by +Theophilus Insulanus. It will be seen that they +are loosely reported, are always at second or third +hand, and that, if the original teller of the stories +could be placed in the witness-box, a strict +cross-examination would make sad havoc with him and +them. But although sufficiently ridiculous and +foolish in themselves, they exemplify the strange +ghostly atmosphere which pervades the western +islands. Every one of the people amongst whom +I now live believes in apparitions and the second +sight. Mr M'Ian has seen a ghost himself, but he +will not willingly speak about it. A woman gifted +with the second sight dwells in one of the smoking +turf huts on the shore. At night, round a precipitous +rock that overhangs the sea, about a hundred +yards from the house, a light was often seen to +glide, and evil was apprehended. For years the +patient light abode there. At last a boy, the son +of one of the cotters, climbing about the rock, +missed his footing, fell into the sea and was drowned, +and from that hour the light was never more visible. +At a ford up amongst the hills, the people tell me +doleful cries have been heard at intervals for years. +The stream has waited long for its victim, but I +am assured that it will get it at last. That a man +will yet be drowned there is an article of faith +amongst the cotters. But who? I suspect <i>I</i> am +regarded as the likely person. Perhaps the withered +crone down in the turf hut yonder knows the +features of the doomed man. This prevailing +superstitious feeling takes curious possession of one +somehow. You cannot live in a ghostly atmosphere +without being more or less affected by it. Lying +a-bed you don't like to hear the furniture of your +bedroom creak. At sunset you are suspicious of +the prodigious shadow that stalks alongside of you +across the gold-green fields. You become more +than usually impressed by the multitudinous and +unknown voices of the night. Gradually you get +the idea that you and nature are alien; and it is +in that feeling of alienation that superstition lives. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Father M'Crimmon's story. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +Father M'Crimmon and I had been out rabbit-shooting, +and, tired of the sport, we sat down to +rest on a grassy knoll. The ghostly island stories +had taken possession of my mind, and as we sat +and smoked I inquired if the priest was a believer +in ghosts generally and in the second sight in +particular. The gaunt, solemn-voiced, melancholy-eyed +man replied that he believed in the existence +of ghosts just as he believed in the existence of +America—he had never seen America, he had +never seen a ghost, but the existence of both he +considered was amply borne out by testimony. +"I know there is such a thing as the second sight," +he went on, "because I have had cognisance of it +myself. Six or seven years ago I was staying with +my friend Mr M'Ian, as I am staying now, and just +as we were sipping a tumbler of punch after dinner +we heard a great uproar outside. We went out and +found all the farm-servants standing on the grass +and gazing seawards. On inquiry, we learned that +two brothers, M'Millan by name, who lived down +at Stonefield, beyond the point yonder, fishermen +by trade, and well versed in the management of a +boat, had come up to the islands here to gather +razor-fish for bait. When they had secured plenty +of bait, they steered for home, although a stiff +breeze was blowing. They kept a full sail on, and +went straight on the wind. A small boy, Hector, +who was employed in herding cows, was watching +the boat trying to double the point. All at once +he came running into the kitchen where the +farm-servants were at dinner. 'Men, men,' he cried, +'come out fast; M'Millan's boat is sinking—I saw +her heel over.' Of course the hinds came rushing +out bareheaded, and it was the noise they made +that disturbed my friend and myself at our punch. +All this we gathered in less time than I have +taken to tell you. We looked narrowly seaward, +but no boat was to be seen. Mr M'Ian brought out +his telescope, and still the sea remained perfectly +blue and bare. Neither M'Ian nor his servants could +be brought to believe Hector's story—they thought +it extremely unlikely that on a comparatively +calm day any harm could befall such experienced +sailors. It was universally agreed that the boat +<i>had</i> rounded the point, and Mr M'Ian rated the +herd-boy for raising a false alarm. Hector still +persisting that he had seen the boat capsize and +go down, got his cars soundly boxed for his +obstinacy, and was sent whimpering away to his +cows, and enjoined in future to mind his own business. +Then the servants returned to their dinner in +the kitchen, and, going back with me to our punch, +which had become somewhat cold, Mr M'Ian +resumed his story of the eagle that used to come +down the glen in the early mornings and carry +away his poultry, and told how he shot it at last +and found that it measured six feet from wing-tip +to wing-tip. +</p> + +<p> +"But although Hector got his ears boxed it turned +out that he had in all probability spoken the truth. +Towards the evening of next day the M'Millan +sisters came up to the house to inquire after the +boat, which had never reached home. The poor +girls were in a dreadful state when they were told +that their brothers' boat had left the islands the +previous afternoon, and what Hector the cow-herd +averred he had seen. Still there was room for +hope; it was possible that Hector was mistaken, it +was possible that the M'Millans might have gone +somewhere, or been forced to take shelter +somewhere—and so the two sisters, mustering up the +best heart they could, went across the hill to +Stonefield when the sun was setting, and the sea a sheet +of gold leaf, and looking as it could never be +angry or have the heart to drown anything. +</p> + +<p> +"Days passed, and the boat never came home, +nor did the brothers. It was on Friday that the +M'Millans sailed away on the fresh breeze, and on +the Wednesday following the bay down there was +a sorry sight. The missing sailors were brave, +good-looking, merry-hearted, and were liked along +the whole coast; and on the Wednesday I speak +of no fewer than two hundred and fifty boats were +sailing slowly up and down, crossing and re-crossing, +trawling for the bodies. I remember the day +perfectly. It was dull and sultry, with but little +sunshine; the hills over there (Blaavin and the +others) were standing dimly in a smoke of heat; +and on the smooth pallid sea the mournful multitude +of black boats were moving slowly up and +down, across and back again. In each boat two +men pulled, and the third sat in the stern with the +trawling-irons. The day was perfectly still, and +I could hear through the heated air the solemn +pulses of the oars. The bay was black with the +slowly-crawling boats. A sorry sight," said the +good priest, filling his second pipe from a +tobacco-pouch made of otter's skin. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know how it was," went on the Father, +holding his newly-filled pipe between his forefinger +and thumb; "but looking on the black dots of +boats, and hearing the sound of their oars, I +remembered that old Mirren, who lived in one of the +turf huts yonder, had the second sight; and so I +thought I would go down and see her. When I +got to the hut, I met Mirren coming up from the +shore with a basket full of whelks, which she had +been gathering for dinner. I went into the hut +along with her, and sat down. 'There's a sad +business in the bay to-day,' said I. 'A sad +business,' said Mirren, as she laid down her basket. +'Will they get the bodies?' Mirren shook her +head. 'The bodies are not there to get; they have +floated out past Rum to the main ocean.' 'How +do you know?' 'Going out to the shore about a +month ago I heard a scream, and, looking up, saw +a boat off the point, with two men in it, caught in +a squall, and going down. When the boat sank +the men still remained in it—the one entangled in +the fishing-net, the other in the ropes of the sails. +I saw them float out to the main sea between the +two wines,'—that's a literal translation," said the +Father, parenthetically. "You have seen two liquors +in a glass—the one floating on the top of the other? +Very well; there are two currents in the sea, and +when my people wish to describe anything sinking +down and floating between these two currents, +they use the image of two liquors in a wine-glass. +Oh, it's a fine language the Gaelic, and admirably +adapted for poetical purposes,—but to return. +Mirren told me that she saw the bodies float out +to sea between the two wines, and that the trawling +boats might trawl for ever in the bay before they +would get what they wanted. When evening +came, the boats returned home without having +found the bodies of the drowned M'Millans. Well," +and here the Father lighted his pipe, "six weeks +after, a capsized boat was thrown on the shore in +Uist, with two corpses inside,—one entangled in +the fishing-net, the other in the ropes of the sails. It +was the M'Millans' boat, and it was the two brothers +who were inside. Their faces were all eaten away +by the dog-fishes; but the people who had done +business with them in Uist identified them by their +clothes. This I know to be true," said the Father +emphatically, and shutting the door on all argument +or hint of scepticism. "And now, if you are not +too tired, suppose we try our luck in the copses +down there? 'Twas a famous place for rabbits +when I was here last year." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> + +<h3> +<i>IN A SKYE BOTHY.</i> +</h3> + +<p> +I am quite alone here. England may have been +invaded and London sacked, for aught I know. +Several weeks since a newspaper, accidentally +blown to my solitude, informed me that the <i>Great +Eastern</i>, with the second American telegraphic +cable on board, had got under way, and was +about to proceed to sea. There is great joy, I +perceive. Human nature stands astonished at +itself—felicitates itself on its remarkable talent, and +will for months to come complacently purr over its +achievement in magazines and reviews. A fine +world, messieurs, that will attain to heaven—if in +the power of steam. A very fine world; yet for +all that, I have withdrawn from it for a time, and +would rather not hear of its remarkable exploits. +In my present mood, I do not value them the coil +of vapour on the brow of Blaavin, which, as I gaze, +smoulders into nothing in the fire of sunrise. +</p> + +<p> +Goethe informs us that in his youth he loved to +shelter himself in the Scripture narratives from the +marching and counter-marching of armies, the +cannonading, fighting, and retreating, that went on +everywhere around him. He shut his eyes, as it +were, and a whole war-convulsed Europe wheeled +away into silence and distance; and in its place, +lo! the patriarchs, with their tawny tents, their +man-servants and maid-servants, and countless flocks +in perceptible procession whitening the Syrian +plains. In this, my green solitude, I appreciate +the full sweetness of the passage. Everything here +is silent as the Bible plains themselves. I am cut +off from former scenes and associates as by the +sullen Styx and the grim ferrying of Charon's +boat. The noise of the world does not touch me. +I live too far inland to hear the thunder of the reef. +To this place no postman comes; no tax-gatherer. +This region never heard the sound of the church-going +bell. The land is Pagan as when the yellow-haired +Norseman landed a thousand years ago. I +almost feel a Pagan myself. Not using a notched +stick, I have lost all count of time, and don't know +Saturday from Sunday. Civilisation is like a +soldier's stock, it makes you carry your head a +good deal higher, makes the angels weep a little +more at your fantastic tricks, and half suffocates +you the while. I have thrown it away, and breathe +freely. My bed is the heather, my mirror the +stream from the hills, my comb and brush the sea +breeze, my watch the sun, my theatre the sunset, +and my evening service—not without a rude natural +religion in it—watching the pinnacles of the +hills of Cuchullin sharpening in intense purple +against the pallid orange of the sky, or listening to +the melancholy voices of the sea-birds and the +tide; that over, I am asleep, till touched by the +earliest splendour of the dawn. I am, not +without reason, hugely enamoured of my vagabond +existence. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +In a Skye bothy. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +My bothy is situated on the shores of one of the +Lochs that intersect Skye. The coast is bare and +rocky, hollowed into fantastic chambers; and when +the tide is making, every cavern murmurs like a +sea-shell. The land, from frequent rain, green as +emerald, rises into soft pastoral heights, and about +a mile inland soars suddenly up into peaks of +bastard marble, white as the cloud under which +the lark sings at noon, and bathed in rosy light at +sunset. +<span class="sidenote"> +The Cuchullins. +</span> +In front are the Cuchullin hills and the +monstrous peak of Blaavin; then the green strath +runs narrowing out to sea, and the Island of Rum, +with a white cloud upon it, stretches like a gigantic +shadow across the entrance of the loch, and +completes the scene. Twice every twenty-four hours +the Atlantic tide sets in upon the hollowed shores; +twice is the sea withdrawn, leaving spaces of +smooth sand on which mermaids, with golden +combs, might sleek alluring tresses; and black +rocks, heaped with brown dulse and tangle, and +lovely ocean blooms of purple and orange; and bare +islets—marked at full of tide by a glimmer of pale +green amid the universal sparkle—where most the +sea-fowl love to congregate. To these islets, on +favourable evenings, come the crows, and sit in +sable parliament; business despatched, they start +into air as at a gun, and stream away through the +sunset to their roosting-place in the Armadale +woods. The shore supplies for me the place of +books and companions. Of course Blaavin and +the Cuchullin hills are the chief attractions, and I +never weary watching them. In the morning they +wear a great white caftan of mist; but that lifts +away before noon, and they stand with all their +scars and passionate torrent-lines bare to the blue +heavens, with perhaps a solitary shoulder for a +moment gleaming wet to the sunlight. After a +while a vapour begins to steam up from their +abysses, gathering itself into strange shapes, knotting +and twisting itself like smoke; while above, the +terrible crests are now lost, now revealed, in a stream +of flying rack. In an hour a wall of rain, gray as +granite, opaque as iron to the eye, stands up from sea +to heaven. The loch is roughening before the wind, +and the islets, black dots a second ago, are patches +of roaring foam. You hear fierce sound of its +coming. Anon, the lashing tempest sweeps over you, +and looking behind, up the long inland glen, you +can see the birch-woods and over the sides of the +hills, driven on the wind, the white smoke of the +rain. Though fierce as a charge of Highland +bayonets these squalls are seldom of long duration, +and you bless them when you creep from your +shelter, for out comes the sun, and the birch-woods +are twinkling, and more intensely flash the levels +of the sea, and at a stroke the clouds are scattered +from the wet brow of Blaavin, and to the whole a new +element has been added; the voice of the swollen +stream as it rushes red over a hundred tiny +cataracts, and roars river-broad into the sea, making +turbid the azure. Then I have my amusements in +this solitary place. The mountains are of course +open, and this morning, at dawn, a roe swept past +me like the wind, with its nose to the dewy +ground—"tracking," they call it here. Above all, +I can wander on the ebbed beach. Hogg speaks +of that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Undefined and mingled hum,<br> + Voice of the desert, never dumb."<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +But far more than the murmuring and insecty air +of the moorland does the wet <i>chirk-chirking</i> of +the living shore give one the idea of crowded +and multitudinous life. +<span class="sidenote"> +Hunting razor-fish. +</span> +Did the reader ever hunt +razor-fish?—not sport like tiger-hunting, I admit; +yet it has its pleasures and excitements, and can +kill a forenoon for an idle man agreeably. On the +wet sands yonder the razor-fish are spouting like +the fountains at Versailles on <i>fête</i> day. The shy +fellow sinks on discharging his watery <i>feu de joie</i>. +If you are quickly after him through the sand, you +catch him, and then comes the tug of war. Address +and dexterity are required. If you pull vigorously, +he slips out of his sheath a "mother-naked" +mollusc, and escapes. If you do your +spiriting gently, you drag him up to light, a long +thin case, with a white fishy bulb protruding at +one end like a root. Rinse him in sea water, toss +him into your basket, and plunge after another +watery flash. These razor-fish are excellent eating, +the people say, and when used as bait no fish that +swims the ocean stream—cod, whiting, haddock, +flat skate, broad-shouldered crimson bream—no, not +the detested dog-fish himself, this summer swarming +in every Loch and becursed by every fisherman—can +keep himself off the hook, and in an hour +your boat is laden with glittering spoil. Then, if +you take your gun to the low islands—and you +can go dry-shod at ebb of tide—you have your +chance of sea-fowl. Gulls of all kinds are there, +dookers and divers of every description, flocks of +shy curlews, and specimens of a hundred tribes to +which my limited ornithological knowledge cannot +furnish a name. The solan goose yonder falls +from heaven into the water like a meteor-stone. +See the solitary scart, with long narrow wing and +outstretched neck, shooting towards some distant +promontory. Anon, high above head, come wheeling +a covey of lovely sea-swallows. You fire, one +flutters down, never more to skim the horizon or +to dip in the sea-sparkle. Lift it up; is it not +beautiful? The wild, keen eye is closed, but you +see the delicate slate-colour of the wings, and the +long tail-feathers white as the creaming foam. +There is a stain of blood on the breast, hardly +brighter than the scarlet of its beak and feet. +Lay it down, for its companions are dashing round +and round, uttering harsh cries of rage and sorrow; +and had you the heart, you could shoot them one +by one. At ebb of tide wild-looking children, from +turf cabins on the hill-side, come down to hunt +shell-fish. Even now a troop is busy; how their +shrill voices go the while! +<span class="sidenote"> +Old Effie. +</span> +Old Effie I see is out +to-day, quite a picturesque object, with her white +cap and red shawl. With a tin can in one hand, +an old reaping-hook in the other, she goes poking +among the tangle. Let us see what sport she has +had. She turns round at our salutation—very old, +old almost as the worn rocks around. She might +have been the wife of Wordsworth's +"Leech-gatherer." Her can is sprawling with brown crabs; +and, opening her apron, she exhibits a large black +and blue lobster—a fellow such as she alone can +capture. A queer woman is Effie, and an awesome. +She is familiar with ghosts and apparitions. +She can relate legends that have power +over the superstitious blood, and with little coaxing +will sing those wild Gaelic songs of hers—of dead +lights on the sea, of fishing-boats going down in +squalls, of unburied bodies tossing day and night +upon the gray peaks of the waves, and of girls that +pray God to lay them by the sides of their drowned +lovers, although for them should never rise mass +nor chant, and although their flesh should be torn +asunder by the wild fishes of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Rain is my enemy here; and at this writing I +am suffering siege. For three days this rickety +dwelling has stood assault of wind and rain. +Yesterday a blast breached the door, and the tenement +fluttered for a moment like an umbrella caught in a +gust. All seemed lost; but the door was got closed +again, heavily barred across, and the enemy foiled. +An entrance, however, had been effected, and that +portion of the attacking column which I had +imprisoned by my dexterous manœuvre, maddened +itself into whirlwind, rushed up the chimney, +scattering my turf-fire as it went, and so escaped. +Since that time the windy columns have retired +to the gorges of the hills, where I can hear them +howl at intervals; and the only thing I am exposed +to is the musketry of the rain. How viciously +the small shot peppers the walls! Here must I +wait till the cloudy armament breaks up. One's +own mind is a dull companion in such circumstances. +A Sheridan himself—wont with his wit to +brighten the feast, whose mind is a phosphorescent +sea, dark in its rest, but when touched giving out a +flash of splendour for response—if cooped up here +would be dull as a Lincolnshire fen at midnight, +unenlivened by a single Jack-o'-Lantern. Books +are the only refuge on a rainy day; but in Skye +bothies books are rare. +<span class="sidenote"> +The "Monthly Review." +</span> +To me, however, the gods +have proved kind—for in my sore need I found on +a shelf here two volumes of the old <i>Monthly Review</i>, +and I have sauntered through those dingy literary +catacombs with considerable satisfaction. What a +strange set of old fogies the writers are! To read +them is like conversing with the antediluvians. +Their opinions have fallen into disuse long ago, and +resemble to-day the rusty armour and gimcracks +of an old curiosity shop. Mr Henry Rogers has +written a fine essay on the "<i>Glory and Vanity of +Literature</i>"—in my own thoughts, out of this dingy +material before me I can frame a finer. These +essays and criticisms were thought brilliant, I +suppose, when they appeared last century; and authors +praised therein doubtless considered themselves +rather handsome flies preserved in pure critical +amber for the inspection and admiration of +posterity. The volumes were published, I notice, from +1790 to 1792, and exhibit a period of wonderful +literary activity. Not to speak of novels, histories, +travels, farces, tragedies, upwards of two hundred +poems, short and long, are brought to judgment; +and several of these—with their names and the +names of their authors I have, during the last two +days, made acquaintance for the first time—are +assured of immortality. Perhaps they deserved it; but +they have gone down like the steamship <i>President</i> +and left no trace. On the whole, these Monthly +Reviewers worked hard, and with proper spirit and +deftness. They had a proud sense of the importance +of their craft, they laid down the law with +great gravity, and from critical benches shook their +awful wigs on offenders. How it all looks <i>now</i>! +"Let us indulge ourselves with another extract," +quoth one, "and contemplate once more the tear of +grief before we are called upon to witness the tear +of rapture." <i>Both</i> tears dried up long ago—like +those that may have sparkled on a Pharaoh's cheek. +Hear this other, stern as Rhadamanthus. Behold +Duty steeling itself against human weakness! "It +grieves us to wound a young man's feelings: but +our judgment must not be biased by any plea +whatsoever. Why will men apply for our opinion +when they know that we cannot be silent, and that +we will not lie?" Listen to this prophet in Israel, +one who has not bent the knee to Baal, and say if +there be not a plaintive touch of pathos in +him:—"Fine words do not make fine poems. Scarcely a +month passes in which we are not obliged to issue +this decree. But in these days of universal heresy +our decrees are no more respected than the bulls +of the Bishop of Rome." Oh that men would hear, +that they would incline their hearts to wisdom! +One peculiarity I have noticed—the advertisement +sheets which accompanied the numbers are bound +up with them, and form an integral portion of +the volumes. And just as the tobacco-less man +whom we met at the entrance to Glen Sligachan +smoked the paper in which his roll of pigtail had +been wrapped, so when I had finished the criticisms +I attacked the advertisements, and found them +much the more amusing reading. Might not the +magazine-buyer of to-day follow the example of +the unknown Islesman? Depend upon it, to the +reader of the next century the advertising sheets +will be more interesting than the poetry, or the +essays, or the stories. The two volumes were a +godsend; but at last I began to weary of the old +literary churchyard in which the poet and his +critic sleep in the same oblivion. When I closed +the books, and placed them on their shelves, the +rain peppered the walls as pertinaciously as when +I took them down. +</p> + +<p> +Next day it rained still. It was impossible to +go out; the volumes of the <i>Monthly Review</i> were +sucked oranges, and could yield no further +amusement or interest. What was to be done? I took +refuge with the Muse. Certain notions had got into +my brain,—certain stories had taken possession of +my memory,—and these I resolved to versify and +finally to dispose of. Here are "Poems Written in +a Skye Bothy." The competent critic will see at a +glance that they are the vilest plagiarisms,—that +as throughout I have called the sky "blue" and +the grass "green," I have stolen from every English +poet from Chaucer downwards; he will observe +also, from occasional uses of "all" and "and," that +they are the merest Tennysonian echoes. But +they served their purpose,—they killed for me +the languor of the rainy days, which is more than +they are likely to do for the critic. Here they +are:— +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +The Well. +</span> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + THE WELL.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The well gleams by a mountain road<br> + Where travellers never come and go<br> + From city proud, or poor abode<br> + That frets the dusky plain below.<br> + All silent as the mouldering lute<br> + That in a ruin long hath lain;<br> + All empty as a dead man's brain—<br> + The path untrod by human foot,<br> + That, thread-like, far away doth run<br> + To savage peaks, whose central spire<br> + Bids farewell to the setting sun,<br> + Good-morrow to the morning's fire.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The country stretches out beneath<br> + In gloom of wood and gray of heath;<br> + The carriers' carts with mighty loads<br> + Black dot the long white country roads;<br> + The stationary stain of smoke<br> + Is crown'd by spire and castle rock;<br> + A silent line of vapoury white,<br> + The train creeps on from shade to light;<br> + The river journeys to the main<br> + Throughout a vast and endless plain,<br> + Far-shadow'd by the labouring breast<br> + Of thunder leaning o'er the west.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A rough uneven waste of gray,<br> + The landscape stretches day by day;<br> + But strange the sight when evening sails<br> + Athwart the mountains and the vales;<br> + Furnace and forge, by daylight tame,<br> + Uplift their restless towers of flame,<br> + And cast a broad and angry glow<br> + Upon the rain-cloud hanging low;<br> + As dark and darker grows the hour,<br> + More wild their colour, vast their power,<br> + Till by the glare in shepherd's shed,<br> + The mother sings her babe a-bed:<br> + From town to town the pedlar wades<br> + Through far-flung crimson lights and shades.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As softly fall the autumn nights<br> + The city blossoms into lights;<br> + Now here, now there, a sudden spark<br> + Sputters the twilight's light-in-dark;<br> + Afar a glimmering crescent shakes;<br> + The gloom across the valley breaks<br> + In glow-worms; swiftly, strangely fair,<br> + A bridge of lamps leaps through the air,<br> + And hangs in night; and sudden shines<br> + The long street's splendour-fretted lines.<br> + Intense and bright that fiery bloom<br> + Upon the bosom of the gloom;<br> + At length the starry clusters fail,<br> + Afar the lustrous crescents pale,<br> + Till all the wondrous pageant dies<br> + In gray light of damp-dawning skies.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + High stands that lonely mountain ground<br> + Above each babbling human sound;<br> + Yet from its place afar it sees<br> + Night scared by angry furnaces;<br> + The lighting up of city proud,<br> + The brightness o'er it in the cloud.<br> + The foolish people never seek<br> + Wise counsel from that silent peak,<br> + Though from its height it looks abroad<br> + All-seeing as the eye of God,<br> + Haunting the peasant on the down,<br> + The workman in the busy town;<br> + Though from the closely-curtain'd dawn<br> + The day is by the mountain drawn—<br> + Whether the slant lines of the rain<br> + Fill high the brook and shake the pane;<br> + Or noonday reapers, wearied, halt<br> + On sheaves beneath a blinding vault,<br> + Unshaded by a vapour's fold—<br> + Though from that mountain summit old<br> + The cloudy thunder breaks and rolls,<br> + Through deep reverberating souls;<br> + Though from it comes the angry light,<br> + Whose forky shiver scars the sight,<br> + And rends the shrine from floor to dome,<br> + And leaves the gods without a home.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And ever in that under-world,<br> + Round which the weary clouds are furl'd,<br> + The cry of one that buys and sells,<br> + The laughter of the bridal bells<br> + Clear-breaking from cathedral towers;<br> + The pedlar whistling o'er the moors;<br> + The sun-burnt reapers, merry corps,<br> + With stocks behind and grain before;<br> + The huntsman cheering on his hounds,<br> + Build up one sound of many sounds.<br> + As instruments of diverse tone,<br> + The organ's temple-shaking groan,<br> + Proud trumpet, cymbal's piercing cry,<br> + Build one consummate harmony:<br> + As smoke that drowns the city's spires,<br> + Is fed by twice a million fires;<br> + As midnight draws her complex grief<br> + From sob and wail of bough and leaf:<br> + And on those favourable days<br> + When earth is free from mist and haze,<br> + And heaven is silent as an ear<br> + Down-leaning, loving words to hear,<br> + Stray echoes of the world are blown<br> + Around those pinnacles of stone—<br> + The saddest sound beneath the sun,<br> + Earth's thousand voices blent in one.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And purely gleams the crystal well<br> + Amid the silence terrible;<br> + On heaven its eye is ever wide,<br> + At morning and at eventide;<br> + And as a lover in the sight<br> + And favour of his maiden bright,<br> + Bends till his face he proudly spies<br> + In the clear depths of upturn'd eyes—<br> + The mighty heaven above it bow'd,<br> + Looks down and sees its crumbling cloud;<br> + Its round of summer blue immense,<br> + Drawn in a yard's circumference,<br> + And lingers o'er the image there,<br> + Than its once self more purely fair.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Whence come the waters, garner'd up<br> + So purely in that rocky cup?<br> + They come from regions high and far,<br> + Where blows the wind, and shines the star.<br> + The silent dews that Heaven distils<br> + At midnight on the lonely hills;<br> + The shower that plain and mountain dims,<br> + On which the dazzling rainbow swims:<br> + The torrents from the thunder gloom,<br> + Let loose as by the crack of doom,<br> + The whirling waterspout that cracks<br> + Into a scourge of cataracts,<br> + Are swallow'd by the thirsty ground,<br> + And day and night without a sound,<br> + Through banks of marl, and belts of ores,<br> + They filter through a million pores,<br> + Losing each foul and turbid stain:<br> + So fed by many a trickling vein,<br> + The well, through silent days and years,<br> + Fills softly, like an eye with tears.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + AUTUMN.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Happy tourist, freed from London,<br> + The planets' murmur in the <i>Times</i>!<br> + Seated here with task work undone,<br> + I must list the city chimes<br> + A fortnight longer. As I gaze<br> + On Pentland's back, where noon-day piles his<br> + Mists and vapours: old St Giles's<br> + Coronet in sultry haze:<br> + A hoary ridge of ancient town<br> + Smoke-wreathed, picturesque, and still;<br> + Cirque of crag and templed hill,<br> + And Arthur's lion couching down<br> + In watch, as if the news of Flodden<br> + Stirr'd him yet—my fancy flies<br> + To level wastes and moors untrodden<br> + Purpling 'neath the low-hung skies.<br> + I see the burden'd orchards, mute and mellow:<br> + I see the sheaves; while, girt by reaper trains,<br> + And blurr'd by breaths of horses, through a yellow<br> + September moonlight, roll the swaggering wanes.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + While in this delicious weather<br> + The apple ripens row on row,<br> + I see the footsteps of the heather<br> + Purpling ledges: to and fro<br> + In the wind the restless swallows<br> + Turn and twitter; on the crag<br> + The ash, with all her scarlet berries,<br> + Dances o'er a burn that hurries<br> + Foamily from jag to jag:<br> + Now it babbles over shallows<br> + Where great scales of sunlight flicker;<br> + Narrow'd 'gainst the bank it quicker<br> + Runs in many a rippled ridge;<br> + Anon in purple pools and hollows<br> + It slumbers: and beyond the bridge,<br> + On which a troop of savage children clamber,<br> + A sudden ray comes out<br> + And scuds a startled trout<br> + O'er golden stones, through chasms brilliant amber.<br> + To-day one half remembers<br> + With a sigh,<br> + In the yellow-moon'd Septembers<br> + Long gone by,<br> + Many a solitary stroll<br> + With an ever-flowing soul<br> + When the moonbeam, falling white<br> + On the wheat fields, was delight;<br> + When the whisper of the river<br> + Was a thing to list for ever;<br> + When the call of lonely bird<br> + Deeper than all music stirr'd;<br> + When the restless spirit shook<br> + O'er some prophesying book,<br> + In whose pages dwelt the hum<br> + Of a life that was to come;<br> + When I, in a young man's fashion,<br> + Long'd for some excess of passion—<br> + Melancholy, glory, pleasure,<br> + Heap'd up to a lover's measure;<br> + For some unknown experience<br> + To unlock this mortal fence,<br> + And let the coop'd-up spirit range<br> + A world of wonder, sweet and strange:<br> + And thought, O joy all joys above!<br> + Experience would be faced like Love.<br> + When I dream'd that youth would be<br> + Blossom'd like an apple-tree,<br> + The fancy in extremest age<br> + Would dwell within the spirit sage.<br> + Like the wall-flower on the ruin,<br> + With its smile at Time's undoing,<br> + Like the wall-flower on the ruin,<br> + The brighter from the wreck it grew in.<br> + Ah, how dearly one remembers<br> + Memory-embalm'd Septembers!<br> + But I start, as well I may,<br> + I have wasted half a day.<br> + The west is red above the sun,<br> + And my task work unbegun.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Nature will not hold a truce<br> + With a beauty without use:<br> + Spring, though blithe and ebonair,<br> + Ripens plum and ripens pear.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O mellow, mellow orchard bough!<br> + O yellow, yellow wheaten plain!<br> + Soon will reaper wipe his brow,<br> + Gleaner glean her latest grain,<br> + October, like a gipsy bold,<br> + Pick the berries in the lane,<br> + And November, woodman old,<br> + With fagots gather'd 'gainst the cold,<br> + Trudge through wind and rain.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + WARDIE—SPRING-TIME.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In the exuberance of hope and life,<br> + When one is play'd on like an instrument<br> + By passion, and plain faces are divine;<br> + When one holds tenure in the evening star,<br> + We love the pensiveness of autumn air,<br> + The songless fields, brown stubbles, hectic woods:<br> + For as a prince may in his splendour sigh,<br> + Because the splendours are his common wear,<br> + Youth pines within the sameness of delight:<br> + And the all-trying spirit, uncontent<br> + With aught that can be fully known, beguiles<br> + Itself with melancholy images,<br> + Sits down at gloomy banquets, broods o'er graves,<br> + Tries unknown sorrow's edge as curiously<br> + (And not without a strange prophetic thrill)<br> + As one might try a sword's, and makes itself<br> + The Epicurus of fantastic griefs.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But when the blood chills and the years go by,<br> + As we resemble autumn more, the more<br> + We love the resurrection time of spring.<br> + And spring is now around me. Snowdrops came;<br> + Crocuses gleam'd along the garden walk<br> + Like footlights on the stage. But these are gone.<br> + And now before my door the poplar burns,<br> + A torch enkindled at an emerald fire.<br> + The flowering currant is a rosy cloud;<br> + One daffodil is hooded, one full blown:<br> + The sunny mavis from the tree top sings;<br> + Within the flying sunlights twinkling troops<br> + Of chaffinches jerk here and there; beneath<br> + The shrubbery the blackbird runs, then flits,<br> + With chattering cry: demure at ploughman's heel,<br> + Within the red-drawn furrow, stalks the rook,<br> + A pale metallic glister on his back;<br> + And, like a singing arrow upwards shot<br> + Far out of sight, the lark is in the blue.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + This morning, when the stormy front of March,<br> + Is mask'd with June, and has as sweet a breath,<br> + And sparrows fly with straws, and in the elms<br> + Rooks flap and caw, then stream off to the fields,<br> + And thence returning, flap and caw again,<br> + I gaze in idle pleasantness of mood,<br> + Far down upon the harbour and the sea—<br> + The smoking steamer half-way 'cross the Firth<br> + Shrank to a beetle's size, the dark-brown sails<br> + Of scatter'd fishing-boats, and still beyond,<br> + Seen dimly through a veil of tender haze,<br> + The coast of Fife endorsed with ancient towns,—<br> + As quaint and strange to-day as when the queen,<br> + In whose smile lay the headsman's glittering axe,<br> + Beheld them from her tower of Holyrood,<br> + And sigh'd for fruitful France, and turning, cower'd<br> + From the lank shadow, Darnley, at her side.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Behind, the wondrous city stretches dim<br> + With castle, spire, and column, from the line<br> + Of wavy Pentland, to the pillar'd range<br> + That keeps in memory the men who fell<br> + In the great war that closed at Waterloo.<br> + Whitely the pillars gleam against the hill,<br> + While the light flashes by. The wondrous town,<br> + That keeps not summer, when the summer comes,<br> + Without her gates, but takes it to her heart!<br> + The mighty shadow of the castle falls!<br> + At noon athwart deep gardens, roses blow<br> + And fade in hearing of the chariot-wheel.<br> + High-lifted capital that look'st abroad,<br> + With the great lion couchant at thy side,<br> + O'er fertile plains emboss'd with woods and towns;<br> + O'er silent Leith's smoke-huddled spires and masts;<br> + O'er unlink'd Forth, slow wandering with her isles<br> + To ocean's azure, spreading faint and wide,<br> + O'er which the morning comes—if but thy spires<br> + Were dipp'd in deeper sunshine, tenderer shade,<br> + Through bluer heavens rolled a brighter sun,<br> + The traveller would call thee peer of Rome,<br> + Or Florence, white-tower'd, on the mountain side.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Burns trod thy pavements with his ploughman's stoop<br> + And genius-flaming eyes. Scott dwelt in thee,<br> + The homeliest-featured of the demigods;<br> + Apollo, with a deep Northumbrian burr,<br> + And Jeffrey with his sharp-cut critic face,<br> + And Lockhart with his antique Roman taste,<br> + And Wilson, reckless of his splendid gifts,<br> + As hill-side of its streams in thunder rain;<br> + And Chalmers, with those heavy slumberous lids,<br> + Veiling a prophet's eyes; and Miller, too,<br> + Primeval granite amongst smooth-rubb'd men;<br> + Of all the noble race but one remains,<br> + Aytoun—with silver bugle at his side,<br> + That echo'd through the gorges of romance—<br> + Pity that 'tis so seldom at his lip!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + This place is fair; but when the year hath grown<br> + From snow-drops to the dusk auricula,<br> + And spaces throng'd to-day with naked boughs,<br> + Are banks of murmuring foliage, chestnut-flower'd,<br> + Far fairer. Then, as in the summer past,<br> + From the red village underneath the hill,<br> + When the long daylight closes, in the hush<br> + Comes the pathetic mirth of children's games:<br> + Or clear sweet trebles, as two lines of girls<br> + Advance and then retire, singing the while<br> + Snatches of some old ballad sore decay'd,<br> + And crumbling to no-meaning through sheer age—<br> + A childish drama watch'd by labouring men,<br> + In shirt-sleeves, smoking at the open doors,<br> + With a strange sweetness stirring at their hearts.<br> + Then when the darkness comes and voices cease,<br> + The long-ranged brick-kilns glow, the far-stretch'd pier<br> + Breaks out, like Aaron's rod, in buds of fire;<br> + And with a startling suddenness the light,<br> + That like a glow-worm slumbers on Inchkeith,<br> + Broadens, then to a glow-worm shrinks again.<br> + The sea is dark, but on the darker coast<br> + Beyond, the ancient towns Queen Mary knew<br> + Glitter, like swarms of fire-flies, here and there.<br> + Come, Summer, from the south, and grow apace<br> + From flower to flower, until thy prime is reach'd,<br> + Then linger, linger, linger o'er the rose!<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + DANSCIACH.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Upon a ruin by the desert shore,<br> + I sat one autumn day of utter peace,<br> + Watching a lustrous stream of vapour pour<br> + O'er Blaavin, fleece on fleece.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The blue frith stretch'd in front without a sail,<br> + Huge boulders on the shore lay wreck'd and strown;<br> + Behind arose, storm-bleach'd and lichen-pale,<br> + Buttress and wall of stone.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And sitting on the Norseman's ruin'd stair,<br> + While through the shining vapours downward roll'd,<br> + A ledge of Blaavin gleam'd out, wet and bare,<br> + I heard this story told:—<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "All night the witch sang, and the castle grew<br> + Up from the rock, with tower and turret crown'd:<br> + All night she sang—when fell the morning dew<br> + 'Twas finish'd round and round.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "From out the morning ambers opening wide,<br> + A galley, many-oar'd and dragon-beak'd,<br> + Came, bearing bridegroom Sigurd, happy-eyed,<br> + Bride Hilda, brilliant-cheek'd.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And in the witch's castle, magic-built,<br> + They dwelt in bridal sweetness many a year,<br> + Till tumult rose in Norway, blood was spilt,—<br> + Then Sigurd grasp'd his spear.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The Islesmen murmur'd 'gainst the Norseman's tax;<br> + Jarl Sigurd led them—many a skull he cleft,<br> + Ere, 'neath his fallen standard, battle-axe<br> + Blood-painted to the heft,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "He lay at sunset propp'd up by his slain,<br> + (Leader and kerne that he had smitten down,)<br> + Stark, rigid; in his haut face scorn and pain,<br> + Fix'd in eternal frown.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When they brought home the bloody man, the sight<br> + Blanch'd Hilda to her hair of bounteous gold;<br> + That day she was a happy bride, that night<br> + A woman gray and old.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The dead man left his eyes beneath the brows<br> + Of Hilda, in a child whose speech<br> + Prattled of sword, spear, buckler, idle rows<br> + Of galleys on the beach.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And Hilda sang him songs of northern lands,<br> + Weird songs of foamy wraith and roaming sail,<br> + Songs of gaunt wolves, clear icebergs, magic brands,<br> + Enchanted shirts of mail.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The years built up a giant broad and grave,<br> + With florid locks, and eyes that look'd men through;<br> + A passion for the long lift of the wave<br> + From roaming sires he drew.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Amongst the craggy islands did he rove,<br> + And, like an eagle, took and rent his prey;<br> + Oft, deep with battle-spoil, his galleys clove<br> + Homeward their joyous way.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "He towering, full-arm'd, in the van, with spear<br> + Outstretch'd, and hair blown backward like a flame:<br> + While to the setting sun his oarsmen rear<br> + The glory of his name.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Once, when the sea his battle galleys cross'd,<br> + His mother, sickening, turn'd from summer light,<br> + And faced death as the Norse land, clench'd with frost,<br> + Faces the polar night.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "At length his masts came raking through the mist:<br> + He pour'd upon the beach his wild-eyed bands:<br> + The fierce, fond, dying woman turn'd and kiss'd<br> + His orphan-making hands,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And lean'd her head against his mighty breast<br> + In pure content, well knowing so to live<br> + One single hour was all that death could wrest<br> + Away, or life could give;<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And murmur'd as her dying fingers took<br> + Farewell of cheek and brow, then fondly drown'd<br> + Themselves in tawny hair—'I cannot brook<br> + To sleep here under ground.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "My women through my chambers weep and wail:<br> + I would not waste one tear-drop though I could:<br> + When they brought home that lordly length of mail<br> + With bold blood stain'd and glued,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I wept out all my tears. Amongst my kind<br> + I cannot sleep; so upon Marsco's head,<br> + Right in the pathway of the Norway wind,<br> + See thou and make my bed!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The north wind blowing on that lonely place<br> + Will comfort me. Kiss me, my Torquil! I<br> + Feel the big hot tears plashing on my face.<br> + How easy 'tis to die!'<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The farewell-taking arms around him set<br> + Clung closer; and a feeble mouth was raised,<br> + Seeking for his in darkness—ere they met<br> + The eyeballs fix'd and glazed.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Dearer that kiss, by pain and death forestall'd,<br> + Than ever yet touch'd lip! Beside the bed<br> + The Norseman knelt till sunset, then he call'd<br> + The dressers of the dead,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Who, looking on her face, were daunted more<br> + Than when she, living, flash'd indignant fires;<br> + For in the gathering gloom the features wore<br> + A look that was her sire's.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And upward to a sea-o'erstaring peak<br> + With lamentation was the Princess borne,<br> + And, looking northward, left with evening meek,<br> + And fiery-shooting morn."<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In this wise ran the story full of breaks:<br> + And brooding o'er that subtle sense of death<br> + That sighs through all our happy days, that shakes<br> + All raptures of our breath,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Methought I saw the ancient woman bow'd<br> + By sorrow in her witch-built home—and still<br> + The radiant billows of autumnal cloud<br> + Flow'd on the monstrous hill.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + EDENBAIN.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Young Edenbain canter'd<br> + Across to Kilmuir,<br> + The road was rough,<br> + But his horse was sure.<br> + The mighty sun taking<br> + His splendid sea-bath,<br> + Made golden the greenness<br> + Of valley and strath.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He cared not for sunset,<br> + For gold rock nor isle:<br> + O'er his dark face their flitted<br> + A secretive smile.<br> + His cousin, the great<br> + London merchant was dead,<br> + Edenbain was his heir—<br> + "I'll buy lands," he said.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Men fear death. How should I!<br> + We live and we learn—<br> + I' faith, death has done me<br> + The handsomest turn.<br> + Young, good-looking, thirty—<br> + (Hie on, Roger, hie!)<br> + I'll taste every pleasure<br> + That money can buy.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Duntulm and Dunsciach<br> + May laugh at my birth.<br> + Let them laugh! Father Adam<br> + Was made out of earth.<br> + What are worm-eaten castles<br> + And ancestry old,<br> + 'Gainst a modern purse stuff'd<br> + With omnipotent gold?"<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He saw himself riding<br> + To kirk and to fair,<br> + Hats lifting, arms nudging,<br> + "That's Edenbain there!"<br> + He thought of each girl<br> + He had known in his life,<br> + Nor could fix on which sweetness<br> + To pluck for a wife.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Home Edenbain canter'd,<br> + With pride in his heart,<br> + When sudden he pull'd up<br> + His horse with a start.<br> + The road, which was bare<br> + As the desert before,<br> + Was cover'd with people<br> + A hundred and more.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'Twas a black creeping funeral;<br> + And Edenbain drew<br> + His horse to the side of<br> + The roadway. He knew<br> + In the cart rolling past<br> + That a coffin was laid—-<br> + But whose? the harsh outline<br> + Was hid by a plaid.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The cart pass'd. The mourners<br> + Came marching behind:<br> + In front his own father,<br> + Greyheaded, stone-blind;<br> + And far-removed cousins,<br> + His own stock and race,<br> + Came after in silence,<br> + A cloud on each face.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Together walk'd Mugstot<br> + And fiery-soul'd Ord,<br> + Whom six days before<br> + He had left at his board.<br> + Behind came the red-bearded<br> + Sons of Tormore<br> + With whom he was drunk<br> + Scarce a fortnight before.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Who is dead? Don't they know me?"<br> + Thought young Edenbain,<br> + With a weird terror gathering<br> + In heart and in brain.<br> + In a moment the black<br> + Crawling funeral was gone,<br> + And he sat on his horse<br> + On the roadway alone.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Tis the second sight," cried he;<br> + "'Tis strange that I miss<br> + Myself 'mong the mourners!<br> + Whose burial is this?<br> + "My God! 'tis my own!"<br> + And the blood left his heart,<br> + As he thought of the dead man<br> + That lay in the cart.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The sun, ere he sank in<br> + His splendid sea-bath,<br> + Saw Edenbain spur through<br> + The golden-green strath.<br> + Past a twilighted shepherd<br> + At watch rush'd a horse,<br> + With Edenbain dragged<br> + At the stirrup a corse.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PEEBLES.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I lay in my bedroom at Peebles<br> + With my window curtains drawn,<br> + While there stole over hill of pasture and pine<br> + The unresplendent dawn.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And through the deep silence I listen'd,<br> + With a pleased, half-waking heed,<br> + To the sound which ran through the ancient town—<br> + The shallow-brawling Tweed.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + For to me 'twas a realisation<br> + Of dream; and I felt like one<br> + Who first sees the Alps, or the Pyramids,<br> + World-old, in the setting sun;<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + First, crossing the purple Campagna,<br> + Beholds the wonderful dome<br> + Which a thought of Michael Angelo hung<br> + In the golden air of Rome.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And all through the summer morning<br> + I felt it a joy indeed<br> + To whisper again and again to myself,<br> + This is the voice of the Tweed.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Of Dryburgh, Melrose, and Neidpath,<br> + Norham Castle brown and bare,<br> + The merry sun shining on merry Carlisle,<br> + And the Bush aboon Traquair,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I had dream'd: but most of the river,<br> + That, glittering mile on mile,<br> + Flow'd through my imagination,<br> + As through Egypt flows the Nile.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Was it absolute truth, or a dreaming<br> + That the wakeful day disowns,<br> + That I heard something more in the stream, as it ran,<br> + Than water breaking on stones?<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now the hoofs of a flying mosstrooper,<br> + Now a bloodhound's bay, half caught,<br> + The sudden blast of a hunting horn,<br> + The burr of Walter Scott?<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Who knows? But of this I am certain,<br> + That but for the ballads and wails<br> + That make passionate dead things, stocks and stones,<br> + Make piteous woods and dales,<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Tweed were as poor as the Amazon,<br> + That, for all the years it has roll'd,<br> + Can tell but how fair was the morning red,<br> + How sweet the evening gold.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + JUBILATION OF SERGEANT M'TURK ON WITNESSING<br> + THE HIGHLAND GAMES.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + INVERNESS, 1864.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Hurrah for the Highland glory!<br> + Hurrah for the Highland fame!<br> + For the battles of the great Montrose,<br> + And the pass of the gallant Graeme!<br> + Hurrah for the knights and nobles<br> + That rose up in their place,<br> + And perill'd fame and fortune<br> + For Charlie's bonny face!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Awa frae green Lochaber<br> + He led his slender clans:<br> + The rising skirl o' our bagpipes fley'd<br> + Sir John at Prestonpans.<br> + Ance mair we gather'd glory<br> + In Falkirk's battle stoure,<br> + Ere the tartans lay red-soak'd in bluid<br> + On black Drumossie Moor.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' when the weary time was owre,<br> + When the head fell frae the neck,<br> + Wolfe heard the cry, "They run, they run!"<br> + On the heights aboon Quebec.<br> + At Ticonderoga's fortress<br> + We fell on sword and targe:<br> + Hurt Moore was lifted up to see<br> + "His Forty-second" charge.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' aye the pipe was loudest,<br> + An' aye the tartans flew,<br> + The first frae bluidy Maida<br> + To bluidier Waterloo.<br> + We have sail'd owre many a sea, my lads,<br> + We have fought 'neath many a sky,<br> + And it's where the fight has hottest raged<br> + That the tartans thickest lie.<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We landed, lads, in India,<br> + When in our bosom's core<br> + One bitter memory burn'd like hell—<br> + The shambles at Cawnpore.<br> + Weel ye mind our march through the furnace-heats,<br> + Weel ye mind the heaps of slain,<br> + As we follow'd through his score of fights<br> + Brave "Havelock the Dane."<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Hurrah for the Highland glory!<br> + Hurrah for the Highland names!<br> + God bless you, noble gentlemen!<br> + God love you, bonny dames!<br> + And sneer not at the brawny limbs,<br> + And the strength of our Highland men—<br> + When the bayonets next are levell'd,<br> + They may all be needed then.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +These verses I had no sooner copied out in my +best hand than, looking up, I found that the rain +had ceased from sheer fatigue, and that great white +vapours were rising up from the damp valleys. +Here was release at last—the beleaguering army +had raised the siege; and, better than all, pleasant +as the sound of Blucher's cannon on the evening of +Waterloo, I heard the sound of wheels on the boggy +ground: and just when the stanched rain-clouds +were burning into a sullen red at sunset, I had the +Brians, father and son, in my bothy, and pleasant +human intercourse. They came to carry me off +with them. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="sidenote"> +Blaavin. +</span> +</p> + +<p> +I am to stay with Mr M'Ian to-night. A wedding +has taken place up among the hills, and the +whole party have been asked to make a night of it. +The mighty kitchen has been cleared for the +occasion; torches are stuck up, ready to be lighted; +and I already hear the first mutterings of the +bagpipes' storm of sound. The old gentleman wears a +look of brightness and hilarity, and vows that he +will lead off the first reel with the bride. +Everything is prepared; and even now the bridal party +are coming down the steep hill-road. I must go +out to meet them. To-morrow I return to my +bothy to watch; for the weather has become fine +now, the sunny mists congregating on the crests of +Blaavin—Blaavin on which the level heaven seems +to lean. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +END OF VOLUME I. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76786 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + diff --git a/76786-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/76786-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c426e2a --- /dev/null +++ b/76786-h/images/img-cover.jpg |
