Part 2

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.”