Chapter I: Part 1

AN
ADDRESS TO HIGHLANDERS
RESPECTING THEIR
NATIVE GAELIC:
SHOWING
ITS AND THE BROAD SCOTCH’S SUPERIORITY
OVER THE ARTIFICIAL ENGLISH
FOR THE
FAMILY AND THE SOCIAL CIRCLE,
AND ALSO FOR
LYRIC POETRY.

BY
ARCHIBALD FARQUHARSON.

EDINBURGH: MACLACHLAN AND STEWART.
GLASGOW: W. LOVE. OBAN: J. MILLER.
INVERNESS: J. NOBLE. STORNOWAY: MACPHERSON & CO.
1868.

GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS,

Aware of your great powers, I stand before your bar to plead, that ye may plead for my countrymen, that they may be taught first to read their mother tongue, which would not only be the most rational, but also the most natural way of teaching them.

What an encouragement would it be to children to find their mother tongue in their lessons—the very words they heard from her lips and their playmates. How different from groping their way in the dark, in reading a language they know nothing about. In the former case their judgment would not only be in exercise, but would also assist and help to keep them right; whereas in the latter case their judgment would give them no aid, the whole depending upon their memory.

Were they thus taught first to read the Gaelic, and then to commence with the English alphabet and the English pronunciation, and when reading, to translate every word into Gaelic, it would not only exercise their memory, but their judgment also, and encourage them to persevere, seeing they were enabled to master the difficulties, being aided by one another as well as by the teacher.

Is there no native Scotchman also that will stand at your bar to plead for his mother tongue? Is that not the tongue, gentlemen, that many of you heard from your mother’s lips, and that soothed you in the days of your childhood? And ought you not to have the natural instinct to plead for it yourselves?—to plead that the Broad Scotch should be the first language taught in every part of Scotland, except where the Gaelic is spoken; and when they could read their mother tongue, to commence at once with the English alphabet and the English pronunciation, and when reading it to translate every word into broad Scotch, such as _have_, hae; _so_, sae; _of_, o’; _with_, wi, &c.

Before the time of the singing of birds shall ever dawn upon Scotland, the Scotch must not only return to their native tongue but to their native melodies also. Is it not a fact that there are no songs listened to in the city of London with so much pleasure as the Scotch. I would not be surprised although the native language and the native melodies of Scotland are destined to give songs of praise to every part of the world where the English language is spoken.

ADDRESS TO HIGHLANDERS.

MY FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN,

I lately considered it my duty to address the Highland Proprietors on a subject which has been most painful to us all, namely, on “Highland Clearances,”[1] and the same spirit which urged me to write that address, urges me to write the present. A lover of my country I am, and ever have been; and if there is anything more than another that is peculiar to my native country which I love, it is the language. It was the language that gave us a name, and that made us to differ from the rest of Scotland. If there is anything more than another that makes me feel proud as a man, it is this: that the Gaelic is my native tongue, and the Highlands of Scotland my native country. A language more glittering with a refined imagination than the former, and a country more glittering with the same than the latter, in the names given to the different places, is not, I believe, to be found on earth. I am also a great lover of the native melodies of my country. I am aware that many of a serious turn of mind, not putting a distinction between songs and the melodies accompanying them, have been led to look upon them as something bad, calling them cursed songs and cursed bagpipes. But they might as well call the Gaelic by the same name, because wicked men use it for a bad purpose. The Gaelic may be used for a good purpose, and so may these beautiful melodies. There are many who use instruments of music in their parlours for a good purpose, and why might not the bagpipes be used in the same way? Any music that surpasses the melody of the bagpipes, in a Highland glen, resounding from rocks, I have never listened to. I am sorry that the old beautiful melodies of the Highlands are only to be found now, in most places, amongst the aged, and that the young race have lost them almost entirely. As the friend of our race, I would say to them: Gather them all up, that none of them be lost. You can scarcely leave a better inheritance for your children. I would willingly part with everything I have in the world to be in possession of them.

Do not suppose that when a man becomes a Christian he ceases to be a patriot—a lover of his country. No doubt he ceases to be a lover of everything sinful peculiar to his countrymen, but I have no idea of that religion that would make a man cease to be a man. Did the great Apostle of the Gentiles ever forget that he was a Hebrew of the Hebrews? No doubt he renounced it as the foundation of his hope before God, but to the latest day of his life he never forgot it. The highest degree of patriotism that ever existed in the soul of man existed in his great heart. Hear his language: “I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart, for I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ [was willing to be appointed by Christ to suffering and death, if by that means he could save his countrymen.—_Barnes_], for my brethren and kinsmen according to the flesh.” _Romans_ ix. 1-3. Did religion drive away patriotism from the hearts of Jeremiah, Daniel, and Nehemiah? No; instead of that, it made them patriots in the highest sense of the term.

As a lover of my country, I cannot but be grieved to see the Gaelic dying away in many parts. In several districts where, thirty or forty years ago, the great body of the people remained after the English service, now the great body of the people retire. In those districts where Buchanan’s, Grant’s, and M’Gregor’s poems were read and sung, now the great body of the people cannot read a word of them; and as for their beautiful airs, they have lost them almost entirely. This has arisen, no doubt, from the youth not having been taught to read it in their schools; and the reason of that again is, that it is generally considered as a barrier in the way of their education. Parents wish to make scholars of their children, and they think the best way to do so is by renouncing the Gaelic altogether. This, I have no hesitation in saying, is a false, and quite an erroneous view of the subject. The Germans, the greatest scholars in the world—I have been told that the first language which many of them study is the Gaelic; and I can tell those parents who wish to make scholars of their children, by all means to give them a good English education, but never, never lay aside the Gaelic, but have them well grounded in it. Where is the man that ever attempted to acquire the knowledge of Latin, Greek, or Hebrew, that did not feel how greatly he was aided in doing so by a knowledge of it? Were one to see two boys at school together enjoying equal advantages, the one having the Gaelic and the other not, he would generally see the Highlander actually rising above his fellow; and I believe that were Highlanders to enjoy equal advantages with others, they would be found generally rising above their fellows at college. Were there two brothers of equal talents—the one to neglect the Gaelic entirely, and to commence with the English, then Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; and the other with greater patience, while engaged with the English, to have himself well grounded in the Gaelic, and then, although more tardy and apparently behind his brother, to commence with Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, he would in the long run fairly outstrip his brother. It has been remarked that, in the time of the Peninsular war, none in the British army could more readily hold intercourse with the inhabitants than the Highland regiments. The Governor of Auckland, New Zealand, is a Highlander, and the reason why he succeeded to that honourable post was because he was enabled to act as an interpreter between the British and the natives. How was he so successful? His knowledge of the Gaelic accounts for it.

Another thing that has a tendency to do away with the Gaelic is because individuals from the low country are getting in amongst them, and as they find the people able to converse with them, they do not put themselves to the trouble of acquiring a knowledge of their language. I would not wish my countrymen to act uncivilly towards such, yet I think they might show them at least that they respect their own language; and as they have chosen the Highlands as their place of residence, they would also choose their language as their own. I have known many who could not speak one word of Gaelic, and who in a short time could speak it quite well.

Another thing that has a tendency to do away with the Gaelic, is, that many Highland ministers marry wives who cannot speak one word of Gaelic. Their children, especially their daughters, follow the mother, and not one word of Gaelic is spoken in the family, nothing but genteel pure English. So that the man, however hearty a Highlander he might have been, is fairly vanquished in his own house. He loses heart in the Gaelic; not accustomed to speak it in his family, he loses his relish to preach in it. He gets careless about it in his sermons, in the school, and in the whole parish; and perhaps whispers in the ears of some that it is in vain attempting to keep it up, and that it is as well that it should die a natural death. The daughters are no doubt taught music and drawing, and, of course, French, but not one word of Gaelic, which is considered too vulgar for young Misses. And these the daughters of a Highland clergyman—a Gaelic preaching minister! Tell it not in London, publish it not in the streets of Paris, lest the daughters of the former rejoice, lest the daughters of the latter triumph. I think that a minister’s wife should be humble, and so condescending as that when she enters the manse she should provide herself with Munro’s Grammar and M’Alpine’s Dictionary, and with the aid of her husband and female servants, to master the Gaelic, which would be more to her credit than—while their union lasted—to be in the habit of leaving her pew, and retiring with the genteel, the fashionable, and the gay, when her husband was about to commence the Gaelic service; proving to a demonstration that she had no great regard either for himself or for the truths which he preached.

It has a tendency likewise to do away with the Gaelic that the genteel, the polite, and the fashionable do not speak it. Genteel! That man does not deserve the name of a Highland gentleman who does not speak, not only the English, but the Gaelic properly. It is true that there are many Highland proprietors going about through the country dressed in the Highland garb, who cannot speak one sentence properly in the Gaelic. Were I to meet any such I think I would be disposed to give them the following salutation:—“I am glad, sir, to see you in that dress, but how dare you wear that kilt without speaking the Gaelic?” Were these gentlemen to know the commanding influence which the Gaelic would give them in the affection and esteem of the people, and how their very names would be cherished by them, not only during their life-time, but embalmed after their death, they would consider it a perquisite to a Highland proprietor to speak the Gaelic. If there is an individual on earth that I would be disposed to envy, he is a Highland proprietor who speaks the Gaelic, who appears among his tenants,—not as the haughty lord, not as the sectarian bigot, not as the foreigner, not in his representative, the factor—but in his precious self; as the warm-hearted, the noble, the homely Highland gentleman. The command of such a man would move the whole country, because he who gave it had a place in the affections of the inhabitants. His threatenings would have a greater influence in keeping down roguery than all the police in the world, and his frown would be more dreaded than transportation for life. There was a very touching account given in the _Perthshire Advertiser_ of the late John Stewart Menzies, Esq., of Chestill, not more touching than true. I know the thrill of delight it spread, not only amongst his own tenants, but over the whole country, when it was known that he would not allow his servants to speak anything to his children but the Gaelic. I remember seeing him upwards of twenty years ago, when in the prime of manhood—the day that the Queen arrived at Taymouth Castle. The impression is still fresh upon my mind,—the noble appearance of the man dressed in the Highland garb, the sonorous sound of his voice as he addressed the Highlanders in Gaelic, requesting them to give three hearty cheers, so loud as to be heard at Benmore (a mountain upwards of twenty miles distant.) He gave a similar address in English, but it made no impression on me compared with the Gaelic. There was a majestic tone that accompanied the Gaelic which the English could not imitate. The Breadalbane Gaelic is the most appropriate that could be used from the lips of commanding officers of any in the Highlands. I could easily conceive what a powerful effect an address from a Chieftain would have over his clan in ancient times.

I know that we have been accustomed to look upon ourselves as a sociable and warm-hearted race, and to look upon our neighbours as cold-hearted. Now, the Lowland Scotch are anything but cold-hearted; they are also warm-hearted; but compared with us they are cold—at least we think them so. We cannot be called a cruel people; no doubt there are such among us—it is not our characteristic. We cannot be called proud or haughty. There is a good deal of that amongst us, but it is generally confined to a certain class, and more in the west than in the east—it is not our characteristic. We cannot be called a deceitful race; there is certainly too much of that amongst us, but it is not universal, it is confined to certain individuals. I have known some long-headed fellows amongst us, as perfectly up to the art of deception as any I have ever seen—still it is not our characteristic. Revenge cannot be called the characteristic of Highlanders. Revengeful certainly they are, and perhaps as much so as any in Britain, so that I cannot, I dare not say that revenge may not be characteristic of some of them—still it is not their characteristic. This then is the characteristic of our race—_a warm-hearted Highlander_. I know, without fear of contradiction, that this will find a response in every mind that knows them properly. It is also characteristic of the native Irish. If Robert Burns saw that nasty thing amongst us which he called “Hieland pride,” he saw something else that caught his attention, namely, “a Hieland Welcome;” and what can that be but the welcome that the warm-hearted give to their friends. I know a young lad who was in a certain glen for a week in search of sheep who had wandered. He was in many a house, but in none of them did they ask him “Had he dined?” No such questions were put, but in every house they put meat on the table, and urged him with a heartiness peculiar to themselves, to partake of it. Now, I ask, where in Scotland or in England would a man meet with such warm-hearted hospitality. The same lad was in a house at another time, where the wife was a Baptist, who asked him, “Have you breakfasted?” He reasoned with himself—If I say “No,” it will be the same as asking my breakfast, so he said “Yes.” The consequence was that he was that day in the hills without breakfast, well chastised for telling a falsehood. But was the good woman to be justified after all; ought she not to have entered more into the feelings of bashful youth. I know two ministers who were in a certain glen preaching the Gospel together. The one a Highlander, the other asked him two or three times, “Where shall we rest all night?” The other had no anxiety on the subject, knowing that the difficulty would be how to refuse invitations, answered, “Do you see that slated house on the other side of the river?” “Yes,” he replied. “Well, I do not know who is there, but if we get no other place we’ll go there.”

Now, a warm heart is one of the most agreeable features of human nature. Whatever a man may have, if this be awanting in him, he is destitute of that which would render him an object of affection. A man may be wise, shrewd, clever, intelligent, patient, and even sincere; but if he has not a warm heart, he is destitute of the brightest ornament that can adorn his nature. Now, I ask, what is it that gives us this feature in our character? Is it because we entered into the world with kinder dispositions than others? I have no idea of that. I believe it is our Gaelic that has done it. Whether it was our warm hearts that gave us the Gaelic, or the Gaelic that gave us the warm hearts, is a difficult question. The influence, I believe, has been mutual. And I am certain, if there is a language upon earth that might be called the language of a warm-hearted people, it is the Gaelic. So that, as a race, we have received our shape from the mould into which we have been cast, by the lips of our fond mothers pouring the eloquence of their affectionate souls into our tender minds. I have known mothers in the Highlands, who could speak the English as well as any in Edinburgh who, when their children, being hurt, came crying to them, would fling away their grammatical English as quite unsuited for the occasion, and begin to address them in the endearing epithets of the Gaelic, which alone could express their feelings.

Let any person compare the endearing epithets in the Gaelic with those in the English, and even in the broad Scotch, which is far in advance of the English in that respect, and he cannot but see how far short they come. They are few in the English—“love,” “my love;” “dear,” “my dear;” “darling,” “my darling.” They are not only few, but they are entirely without melody. There is no melody in “love:” the lips are closed in pronouncing it, and entirely exclude melody. “Dear” is equally destitute of melody: it ends with the driest, and the letter that has the least melody in the whole alphabet. “Darling” is not so bad, but comparatively has no melody. Now, to say that melody has no effect upon the human mind the whole world would contradict. It is a principle of nature’s teaching, that melody affects the human mind. The English language is artificial, and not the language of nature, and consequently is entirely without melody.

Let these endearing epithets be put into the lips of that enchantress, the Scotchwoman, who sets to music almost everything that passes through her fingers:—“Love,” “lovie,” “my lovie;” “dear,” “dearie,” “my dearie;” “my wee darling,” “my darling petty,” “my darling Johnnie;” “my wee lammie,” “my darling lammie;” “my sweetie,” “my sweet babie.” There is melody for you that would charm the very adders. Ah! but it is vulgar. “They are sour, they are sour,” said the fox, when he could not reach at the grapes. It is vulgar when the pride of a refined style of pure English prevents many from using it. If there is vulgarity in it, it is such as the English language cannot produce—not indeed, on account of its vulgarity, but on account of its true refinement.

Let us turn now to the endearing epithets in the Gaelic, and we shall find them towering as high above the English and the broad Scotch as our Highland mountains tower high above theirs. _Gradh_, _a ghraidh_ (love, my love), the _dh_ almost silent; _a ghraidh_ is equally strong with “my love,” and full of melody; _gaol_, _a ghaoil_ (love, my love, or dear, my dear). “_Ghaoil, a ghaoil, do na fearaibh_,” (M’Lachlan), the most endearing expression which could come from the lips of man, which the English cannot imitate, and which it is impossible properly to translate. The nearest approach that can be made to it—“Thou dearest, or most beloved, or most loving of men.” How touching _Mo ghaolan_, _mo ghaolag_, the former the diminutive masculine, the latter the diminutive feminine, the _an_ being the sign of the one and the _ag_ the sign of the other, and being the same as in broad Scotch affectionate. _Cheist_, _a cheist_, _mo cheist_, _mo cheistean_, _mo cheisteag_ (the question, thou art the question, thou art my question, thou art my wee question, boy or girl). What is the question with the fond mother? What shall I do with my child? How shall I comfort him? How shall I make him happy? _Eudail_, _m’ eudail_, _m’ eudail bheag_—(thou art property, thou art my property, thou art my wee property). _Eudail_ literally means cattle or property of any kind. _Run_ literally means intention, secret, disposition, inclination, regard; but when used as an endearing epithet, it is the strongest in any language, and means an object where all the desires and affections of the soul meet as in a focus, an object on which they are fixed.

O’n bha Iosa, mo rùn,
Greis ’n a luidh anns an ùir,
Rinn e’n leaba so cùbhraidh dhomhs.—M’GREGOR.

This is the epitaph which I wish to place on my grave-stone, which cannot properly be translated.

Because Jesus, my run,
Was asleep in the uir (dust),
This bed he perfumed to me.

How often such expressions as the following are heard from the lips of mothers, and are still more powerful when they come from the lips of a father:—_O! a ruin, gabh mo chomhairle_ (O my child, take my advice); _Mo runan beag_ (My wee dear boy); _Mo runag bheag_ (My wee dear girl); and, used as an adjective, _Runach, mo bhalachan runach_ (My wee loving boy); _Mo chaileag runach_ (My wee loving girl). We have another word, which is the sweetest in the language and full of melody, _Luaidh_, the _dh_ being almost silent. It literally means “mention,” “to make mention;” but when used as a noun it means “a beloved person,” “an object of praise,” “an object on which to expatiate or to talk about by way of praise.” How powerful from the lips of parents or friends—_Mo luaidh, a luaidh nan gillean_ (thou dearest of lads); _a luaidh nan nighean_ (thou dearest of girls).

It adds greatly to the force of these epithets when used along with _mo chridhe_ (my heart), as _a ghraidh_, _a ghaoil_, _a cheist_, _eudail_, _a run_, _a luaidh mo chridhe_. Any one of these epithets used along with _mo chridhe_, from the lips of an affectionate mother, is as much calculated to soften the heart, and to bring tears from the eyes, as any sounds that can come from the lips of a human being. And equally strong, if not more so, _a laoidh mo chridhe_ (thou calf of my heart). Do not laugh at us, ye Lowland mothers—ye have your ain “wee lammies,” and we have our ain “wee calfies,” and recollect that our calfies are bonnier than yours. And, besides, I suppose it is seldom you give milk to the ewe’s lammies; that is not, however, the case with our mammies—they frequently give milk to the cow’s calfies, and hence it cannot but occur to them that each has a calfie of her own to give milk to. The proper pronunciation of this word is impossible for an Englishman to come to, and might be called the shibboleth. There is no sound in the Gaelic that has more of that melody that subdues and softens. The tongue has scarcely anything to do but merely to touch the upper teeth in pronouncing the _l_, and then to withdraw, and, remaining passive, the sound is made by the gullet, and is as if it proceeded from the heart.

For “my sweet lammie,” we have _m’uanan_, _m’uanag mhilis_, masculine and feminine. For “darling,” “my darling,” we have _chiall_, _mo chiallan_, _mo chiallag_—both in the diminutive masculine and feminine; and let it be borne in mind that the diminutive in the Gaelic is expressive of affection like the broad Scotch. For “kind,” “kindness,” we have _caoimhneas_, _caoimhneil_, full of melody. But we have also _caoin_ (kind), which is taken from the verb _caoineadh_ (weeping). We know that weeping is generally expressive of kindness. It is very extraordinary that _guil_ (to weep), is taken from _guth shuil_ (the voice of the eyes). There is another word still, and equally melting, and more soothing to the feelings, _caomh_ (kind), _caomhail_ (kindly), _caomhach_ (a kind person), _caomhan_, _caomhag_, masculine and feminine diminutive. _Mo dhuine caomh_ (my kind man), the most endearing expression that can come from the lips of a woman to her husband. I have never had the pleasure of listening to the endearing epithets expressive of the maternal feelings of a Northumberland, a Yorkshire, or an Essex mother; but I am pretty certain that nature has supplied them with something more expressive of their feelings than the English language can do.

Ye Lowland Scotch, look at our language! Many surly critics amongst you have hitherto been listening to it with the ear, and looking at it with the scowling eye of contempt. Look at it again—look at it aright, and that contempt will give place to admiration! Ye refined, ye learned Englishmen, enter this our vale of Athol through the Highland mouth’s paradise, Dunkeld; not with railway speed, but at your leisure. Let your ears be charmed with the melody of our groves, and let your cold hearts be warmed with the comforts of our Highland homes.

Now, my countrymen, look at your own language. Have you any cause to be ashamed of it? Have you not cause rather to be proud of it, and even to bless God for giving you such a language? Would you wish to renounce that language, so expressive of the kindest feelings of the heart, and which has made us what we are—a warm-hearted, sociable race? Would you wish to renounce it, and to receive in its place the language taught in your schools? Should you ever do so, let me tell you that you will renounce your warm hearts along with it—both shall be buried in the same grave together, and you will make but a very poor exchange; as poor, as if you passed from sunny France to Greenland, the land of snow and frost. The language taught in your schools is for the head, but not for the heart—for the understanding, not for the soul; yes, for the mental faculties, not for the affections. And as such study it; you will never be great scholars without a knowledge of it; it is essential to obtaining the knowledge of the different branches of education. But let it never be the language of your firesides, of your parlours, of your social gatherings. The language taught in your schools is the language of scholars, of learned men (these dry mortals); and may be called the language of art, or an artificial language. But your language is the language of nature, of affectionate parents, kind-hearted companions, of your countrymen; and while speaking it you act as natural a part as the sheep in bleating.

Men’s great effort in the present time is to do away, not only with the Highland Gaelic, but also with the Provincial dialects in Scotland and in England; and to substitute in their place pure English. All are drilled with the same grammars—regulated by the same vocabularies, without one word but proper English; and every word to be pronounced with the same accuracy. This is what they aim at, and rejoice in their success; and are apt to pity those poor creatures that are not willing to be ruled by them. Well, should they be successful and reach the summit of their ambition, to which they no doubt look forward with pleasure; when they shall get every man, woman, and child, from John o’ Groat’s to Land’s End, under the sway of pure English, and, standing on the highest pinnacle of the pyramid which they have reared, what shall they behold? One universal, uniform level. No rising ground, no elevated spots, no sloping eminences, no ranges of mountains to relieve the mind and please the eye. Should they be successful, instead of being a source of rejoicing to them, they would have a greater cause to weep over the havoc they have made in the beautiful variety of nature; more resembling the work of locusts than of rational men. Man’s great effort is uniformity, perfect uniformity. God’s method is variety. Which the most glorious—man’s uniformity or God’s variety? The former like the work of a man, the latter like the work of a God. The former would sicken my soul, the latter would put me in ecstasy. And the same effort is made by all the different denominations of Christians. Uniformity of creed and of worship is their great aim and wish; and the more successful they are, the more they are pleased with themselves. But by persevering in the course they are taking, never, never shall they reach millennial glory. Before they shall reach that, they must not only give over their present attempt, but retrace their steps, and rest satisfied with God’s method of a glorious variety. In this way, and in this way alone, shall God’s people be properly united, and enjoy one another.

Who is not delighted with the different varieties of Gaelic spoken in the Highlands? Is it not much more agreeable than were the whole under the sway of our standard Gaelic. The same words used, the same pronunciation, the same tones everywhere; which would make the whole Highlands, as regards the Gaelic, a perfect level. Whereas, in its present state, there is a variety of scenery to relieve the mind—towering mountains here and there.

There Ben Nevis lifting its head above the rest, as if bidding defiance to the whole for having the best Gaelic. That was the native place of M’Lachlan, one of the best Gaelic scholars that ever lived, and a first-rate poet too. The Fort-William people may ascend the top of Ben Nevis with the elegy that he composed to Professor Beattie, Aberdeen, and defy, not only the English, but even the broad Scotch to produce its equal. The air of that piece is one of the most plaintive that ever I have listened to, being the air of that old song called “The Massacre of Glencoe.”

Ben Cruachan, again, at the other end of that range of magnificent mountains, representing the mainland of Argyleshire. And although it may not vie with the other in point of height, it may surpass it in point of rich pasture, and be almost its equal in point of an extensive survey from its summit.

Ben Lawers represents the Breadalbane Gaelic, _a’ chainnt shocrach, choir_. Some consider it too drawling; yet I am delighted with it, being the best suited and the most appropriate that could come from the lips of a Breadalbanite. They are the best people for being heard in the distance that I know. A person would be almost led to think they acquired that habit by their forefathers having been accustomed to talk with one another across Loch Tay.

_Si-chailinn_, again, representing the Glenlyon, the Strathtummel, and the Rannoch Gaelic, which I believe is a corruption of “_Ciche chailinn_.” Our Lowland neighbours have retained the sense, “The Maiden’s pap.” Rannoch has perhaps the best Gaelic in Perthshire.

_Benaglo_ represents the Blair Athol and the Strathardle Gaelic. May a race ever surround it that will understand

Beinn a ghlodh nan eag,
Beinn a bheag ’us airgead mheann,
Beinn a bhuirich ’us damh na croic ann,
’S allt nead ’n coin ri ceann.

_Beinn a bhrachdaidh_ represents the Athol Gaelic, rich in pasture, noble in appearance; but let it take care of a colony forming at its base, that they will not undermine it and blow it up. Pitlochrie is extending its cottages, filled with foreigners. May it ever be a source of protection to the Atholites from the cold northern blasts of the language taught in their schools.

_Ghlaismhaol_, on whose summit the three counties of Perth, Forfar, and Aberdeen meet, we may almost score out of our list, as it has almost deserted us.

_Benmacdui_, representing the Badenoch and the Braemar Gaelic; but let it take care that it will not be in the descending scale.

_Beinn Bhiogair_, in Islay, raises its head as high as it can, representing the Islay Gaelic, which is certainly good. The females in Islay, with the exception of those in North Uist, are the sweetest speakers of Gaelic that I know. Islay is the native place of M’Alpine, the author of the pronouncing dictionary, which is very good, only there are a few words with the Islay pronunciation which do not suit other places.

_’Bheinnmhor_, in Mull, raises its head high, and so it may, for its Gaelic is excellent. Its inhabitants speak it generally with great correctness and fluency. But I am not sure if it can look down upon all its neighbours. There is an island beyond it, namely, Tiree, which, though it has no large mountains like those in Mull to boast of, still the few it has are beautiful, and green to the top, whose inhabitants are amongst the prettiest and the most fluent speakers in the Highlands. They have no tone whatever like many others, and it is seldom they commit a grammatical blunder; their very peculiarities are pretty; a person would be almost led to think that they are born grammarians. A boy six or eight years of age might teach grammar to one-third of the Highland population. Their only fault is having too many English words in their vocabulary. As this is not a fault peculiar to the Tiree people, I would caution Highlanders against the practice. If they can find a Gaelic word to suit the purpose, why use an English word? I have known Highlanders that had dogs, and that disdained to call them by an English name, or to speak one word to them in English, and who pitied those poor fellows that thought their dogs could not be taught to answer in Gaelic.

_Chuillinn Sgiathanach_, the chief mountain in Skye, raising its head aloft as if saying, “We have the best Gaelic in the Highlands.” Certainly they have good Gaelic, and they speak it in a way peculiar to themselves, which is delightful to listen to, but still no one but a simpleton would attempt to imitate them.

_Hough mor_, South Uist (_Hough_ means mountain), raises its head as if determined not to be behind the rest; and so it may, for it is second to no other place in the Highlands. As for Lewes, it is like a kingdom by itself. There we have the only individual that attempted to write the history of Scotland in Gaelic. Thanks to him for his effort. May he not be disappointed in his expectation. Let my countrymen show that they appreciate his labours, by putting themselves in possession of his work. Should he publish a second edition, the names of places, I think, would be better as they are in English, or, if translated, to be put in the margin. As there is a good deal of provincialism in the Gaelic of Lewes, I think, in writing, it would be better if possible to follow our standard of Gaelic.

As I have never been in Sutherlandshire, nor on the mainland of Ross and Inverness-shires, I am not prepared to speak from personal knowledge of the various shades of difference there, resembling their chief mountains; but I know there are differences. Let each class not be ashamed of their own peculiarity. It is the language of their nature, and they act according to their nature when they speak it. For a Ross-shire man to attempt to imitate an Argyleshire man would make him ridiculous, and for the latter to attempt to imitate the former would make him equally so. I have known men who, when they sold their stirks, spoke their own language, but when engaged in prayer to God, spoke in the language and tones of Ross-shire. Are they so stupid as not to know that it is not to the tones of the voice that God will listen, but to the earnest pleadings of believing hearts? There are several districts in the Highlands where the Gaelic has sadly degenerated; their best plan would be to get teachers from those parts where it is not so.

The great object, then, at present is not only to do away with our Gaelic in all its beautiful variety, but to do away with the broad Scotch in all its beautiful variety likewise, and to establish upon their ruins pure English. Now, I have not one word to say against the English. I admire it as the best that could be used for our halls of learning, for discussing any public question, and for handling any intricate subject. But I must declare that it has a baneful effect on society. It is the worst language that could be used for parents, children, brothers, sisters, companions, and for the social gathering. Being an artificial language, it makes society so too. It has a tendency to puff them up with pride. Instead of making them pliable, it makes them stiff; distant and reserved instead of being homely; unnatural instead of natural; unsociable instead of sociable; and instead of making them easy, imposes its own yoke of ceremonial bondage upon its votaries; and I have no hesitation in affirming, without fear of contradiction, that pure English, instead of regenerating society, has the contrary effect. It is probable that I may be sneered at for so affirming, but it will remain a fact when the sneering is over, and will yet be acknowledged when I am dead and laid in the grave. Let any person seriously consider the fearful havoc it has made, not only in the Highlands, but also in our large cities. It has divided society into two—the refined and the vulgar; the genteel and the homely; the upper and the lower class; the select and the common. What has it made of the most of our Highland proprietors? Are they what they used to be, the men of the people, standing on a common level with them in speaking their native Gaelic? No, they are now as if they were a race of foreigners amongst them, high up above their heads, without any sympathy with them, disdaining to speak one word to them but in pure English. It has likewise a baneful effect on the middle class of society, those who aspire after it, who put themselves amongst “the would-be genteel,” who in the pride of their hearts, although they can speak Gaelic, deny that they can, and become ashamed of it at home and abroad. The consequence is, that when the English sermon is over, they must retire with the genteel and the fashionable, and disdain to remain amongst a company of vulgar Highlanders, listening to a vulgar discourse in Gaelic. To what shall I compare these “would-be gentlemen and ladies?” Shall I compare them to the vain peacock showing his beautiful tail, or to the ass showing its long ears? I think I will compare them to both. There they are retiring as if saying, “See what beautiful tails we have got.” “O yes, yes,” might those within say to them, “we see them, we see them, but we see your long ears likewise.”

Were there a discourse in broad Scotch delivered in the Lowlands after the superfine English, depend upon it your fine ladies and gentlemen would retire all in a band before their ears would be horrified by its sweet melody, and it would be a first-rate excuse to pretend that they had lost their broad Scotch.

“Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.”

You are in danger also, not from the chains and slavery of proud Edward’s power, but from another quarter you never suspect, namely, the _Dominie’s tawse_. Take care that he’ll not rob you of your wifies, weans; your Johnnies, Tammies, Willies; your Jessies, Katies, and Betsies; yes, your bonnie lammies, and from many other wee bits o’ things which you hae tingling about your hearths, and around your affections, which make you so sociable and happy, and moreover gives you such unparalleled tongues for melody and music. Again, as your friendly neighbour, I say take care.

I am convinced, that were the broad Scotch mixed with an English vocabulary, and pronounced as it is generally by educated Scotsmen, we would have a language for all the purposes of life, far surpassing the pure English, and which, instead of it being our envy, ours would actually be the envy of Englishmen. Such a language would not only give us clear heads, but also warm hearts; would not only be the best for the higher departments of literature, but the best for our homes, as husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters; for friends; and in the social circle; and put us in possession of lyric poetry, such as the English language has not, and never can produce. It is most extraordinary that intelligent well educated Scotsmen never attempt to speak their own language but when they wish to be humorous. Now, that really implies that they see something pretty in it after all, but that what is fashionable and customary amongst educated men prevents them from using it but for such a purpose. But I think that the pretty thing should not be altogether laid aside, but freely used, not merely for making the social circle smile, but also for warming their hearts, and making each feel that he is quite at home—in an honest, homely, cheerful Scotsman’s home.

How highly would I esteem that learned professor who, after delivering his lecture to the students in pure English, would no sooner leave his professional chair, and meet his friend, than he would salute him, not as the learned professor, but as the homely Scotsman;—that when he would enter his own dwelling and sit at the head of his family, he would appear there in the same garb, and would set an example before his children, not so much for correct speaking as for affability, kindness, and homeliness of manner;—who, when he would appear in the social circle, would be its life and soul—not indeed as the learned professor, but as the man of feeling, of intelligence, and of sociality. Is it not a known fact that great learning in a sermon actually destroys its effect, and that great scholarship in a man eclipses the affectionate friend, the social companion. A man brimful of learning we may admire but we cannot love.

Now, such is the English, a learned language. The Scholar is seen almost in every sentence. I may admire it, and in doing so I feel that it puffs me up, but love it I cannot. It is not like the Gaelic and the broad Scotch—the language of nature—but the language of art. In the Gaelic I see my own image reflected, but in the English the image of the scholar. As the Gaelic reflects the image of the Highlanders, and the broad Scotch that of the Lowlanders, I cannot but love them. I may admire the works of art, but love them I cannot; but the works of nature I not only admire, but actually love them also, and I cannot but do so.

The English language is not only to a great extent foreign to the Scotch people, but it is almost equally so to the great body of the people of England; and is it not extraordinary, that before men are considered qualified for preaching the gospel to the native inhabitants, they must do so in a language which they do not speak, and in a style of elocution which is not natural to them. An Englishman’s elocution is the most unlikely for moving a Scotchman, and far less a Highlander. I once attended an elocution class, whether the better of it or not I cannot say; but one day in the Highlands I opened the door and saw a woman within twenty yards, beyond a dyke—the upper part of the body only seen, her hair dishevelled, her hand raised, her fist shut, and scolding at a fearful rate. I heard her tones, caught her expressions, noticed the eloquence with which she spoke, and returned into the house, saying to myself—“It was quite needless for me to have attended Mr Hartley’s class, when elocution is to be found so near, and that of the right kind, the elocution of nature.”

Is it not a fact that some of the Methodists are sneered at by the Press for attempting to speak to the people in their provincialism. Go on, ye lively Methodists; never heed their sneers. You are doing the very thing which the Holy Ghost enabled the Apostles to do—to speak unto men in their own tongues. I question if the present style of preaching the Gospel will ever gain the hearts of the Scotch people to God. And I would not be surprised although God would show their folly to those who attempt to do so by raising up Evangelists—men endowed with a good fund of common sense and natural talent—men fired with zeal for the glory of God—moved on with warm hearts and compassionate souls, who will preach the Gospel to them in that language which is a part of their nature and the best medium for getting at their hearts. We know that conversion is the work of God, but when he deals with men he uses appropriate means. He does not lay aside the natural laws of their nature, but acts in accordance with them. When He unlocks the door of the heart He uses a key fitted for the purpose; and is it possible that a pure English style can be the proper key for unlocking the heart of that man who has been accustomed all his life long to speak broad Scotch. Had the Gospel ever such an effect as when it was preached in the native language of the country? There is not only an orthodox creed, but there must also be an orthodox language and even an orthodox elocution. It is to be feared that men with their orthodoxy will allow poor sinners to go to hell.

The orthodox creed, language, elocution, and even melodies, are all artificial—the handiwork of that being man, who would be as gods, and which are impossible to admire without being puffed up with a vain conceit of his great powers. O! how different the effects in admiring the handiwork of the Great Supreme as they are seen in nature—in birds, beasts, fish, flowers, mountains, and dales, the native languages and melodies of our races. The chattings of Highlanders and Lowlanders to one another is as much the language of nature as the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and the chirping of birds. And our native melodies are as much the melodies of nature as the singing of larks and nightingales. But proud man must do away with them by introducing his own artificial language and melodies, on which he puts the stamp of orthodoxy.

The pure English has not only committed a great havoc amongst us, both in the Highlands and Lowlands, but there is also an Englified style accompanying it in many places which is disgusting. Were there an English lady to settle in one of our Highland towns she would soon be surrounded by a goodly number of mimicking parrots. Cockneyism in Cockneydom does very well; I would almost dance with delight to listen to it there; but Cockneyism from the lips of a Scotchman, and far more from a Highlander, I abominate. I have been quite ashamed of some of my own countrymen, who, when they go South, are not satisfied with merely imitating Scotchmen, but they must become regular Cockneys. Ah! the pride of their hearts is contemptible. I would say to a Scotchman—if you wish to show yourself a man, show yourself a Scotchman; and I would say the same to a Highlander—if you also wish to show yourself a man, show yourself a Highlander. Is an Englishman alone to have the privilege and the honour of showing himself a man? Is he and his artificial English to be exalted as a god in every part of the United Kingdom? Must every knee bow and every tongue confess to him? I declare, in the name of my countrymen, that we shall not worship at his shrine; we shall not fall down and worship the golden image which he has set up. As a race, we and our language have hitherto been unjustly and contemptuously treated. But as we have in times past made others feel that we were alive, we shall not only make Scotland, but England also, feel that as a race we are still alive and have a language of our own. So that, from this time henceforward, should one Highlander show his peacock-tail to another by addressing him in any other language but his native Gaelic—considering it more genteel—let him be told at once without any ceremony, _Tha mi ga fhaicinn, tha mi ga fhaicinn, ach ata mi faicinn cluasan fad na h-asail mar an ceudna_; and in like manner, should a Scotchman show his peacock-tail to another by addressing him in any language but that of his native country, let him also be told at once, “I see it, I see it, but I see your long ears also.”