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.