Part 2
Staffa, one of the Hebrides, or Western Isles of Scotland, lies a few miles to the west of Mull, within a sort of bay formed by the two projecting extremities of that island, and a short distance to the north-east of the more celebrated islet of the same group, Iona, or Icolmkill. It forms part of the county of Argyle, and of the parish of Kilninian, the principal portion of which is in Mull. Staffa is a very small island, scarcely a mile in length from north to south, and about half that extent at its greatest breadth from east to west. Although one of the most wonderful natural curiosities in the world, and lying so near our own shores, this island appears to have remained almost entirely unnoticed till a comparatively very recent period. It is said, in most of the late accounts of it (which are in great part copied from one another,) that its columns and caverns are shortly described by Buchanan. In point of fact, however, that historian merely mentions its name. It is not, we believe, so much as named by Martin in his account of the Western Isles, published in the beginning of last century. Its existence was first made generally known by Sir Joseph Banks who visited it in August, 1772, and whose account was printed in the second volume of ‘Pennant’s Tour in Scotland.’ Banks, in the course of a voyage to Iceland, in company with Dr. Uno von Troil (afterwards Archbishop of Upsal,) was induced to put in at a port in Mull, where he was very hospitably received by Mr. Maclean, the principal proprietor of the island. At Mr. Maclean’s the travellers met with a Mr. Leach, an Irish gentleman, who told them that the day before, in the course of a fishing excursion, he had fallen in with what, in his opinion, was one of the greatest wonders in the world, though none of his Highland acquaintances seemed ever to have had their attention attracted to it. His account so greatly excited the curiosity of Banks and his friend, that it was resolved forthwith to make an expedition to the island. They reached it, and found it to be by far the most stupendous example of that striking production of nature, basaltic architecture, of which they had ever heard.
At that time the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland was the chief collection of pillars of basalt which was generally known either to the public or among scientific inquirers. Since then, many other specimens of the same phenomenon have been described by travellers and geologists in Wales, Iceland, Germany, Italy, France, and other countries. Various theories have been suggested to account for the origin and formation of these pillars. They may be described generally as consisting of a greyish or brownish stone, of finer or coarser grain, formed into clusters of angular columns, having each from three or four to six or seven sides or faces, and in many cases so regularly cut, if we may so express ourselves, as to rival the symmetry of human architecture. Sometimes these columns are found as it were chopped down into fragments, and lying scattered and in confusion like a heap of ruins; in other instances, although the several blocks which compose each shaft still adhere firmly together, the inclination of the whole from the perpendicular is so considerable as to present at best only the appearance of an edifice half fallen down; but in some rare specimens the magnificent pile stands almost as erect as any work of human hands, thus forming a structure in which all the regularity of art is combined with a grandeur which art never reached. From the circumstance of lava being always an accompaniment of these basaltic formations, it is now commonly held that they are a volcanic product, or in other words have been thrown up from the earth by the action of internal fire. It does not, however, seem so easy to explain how the fused stone, in the process of cooling, crystallized into the regular shapes which it now exhibits. This effect can only be supposed to have taken place in virtue of certain affinities or mutual tendencies naturally belonging to the atoms of which the material consists.
The island of Staffa is a mere mass of lava and basalt. The columns of the latter substance, which compose the chief part of it, are generally hidden beneath a thin layer of soil; but in many places, even of the surface of the island, they are to be found shooting out through this acquired covering; and the stone is every where come at on digging a few feet down. Around almost the whole circumference of the island the rock stands bare to the view. The grassy top of the isle seems to be supported nearly all round on a range of pillars, in some places indeed so low as to be almost on a level with the surface of the water, but for the greater part elevated far above it, and in some places rising into the air to the lofty height of 150 feet. The name of this extraordinary isle, accordingly, describes it by its most remarkable feature. Staffa is a Norse term, meaning staffs or columns.
[Illustration: Entrance to Fingal’s Cave.]
The highest part of the line of pillars is at the southern end of the island; and it is here that the celebrated natural excavation called Fingal’s Cave is situated. Its opening is very near the south-east corner, and it extends nearly due north. The name by which it is commonly known, we may remark in passing, would rather appear to be merely a modern and accidental designation. Sir Joseph Banks states, that upon asking his Highland guide what it was called, the boy answered in Gaelic, the Cave of Finlin; and in reply to a second question, explained Finlin to be Finlin-Mac-Coul; or, as he had been called by the English translator of Ossian’s poems, Fingal. This fragment of criticism, however, we may fairly suppose to have been really the remark, not of the guide, but of the interpreter. A subsequent visitor of Staffa, the French geologist, M. Faujas Saint Fond, says, that on making minute and careful inquiry into the matter, on the spot and in the neighbourhood, he could not learn that any person there knew the cave by the name which Banks had given it. It was universally called Uamh an Binn, that is, the Cave of Music. And the explanation which he received of Banks’s error, or rather that of his interpreter, was, that _binn_ being pronounced _vinn_, and _Finlin_ being in the genitive _Fin_, of which the sound is nearly the same, the one word had been mistaken for the other. This is a curious and not an uninstructive example of the degree of certainty that belongs to information thus obtained. However, it is not impossible, whatever be the common name of the cave, that there may be also a tradition of its having been the work of the great Fingal, to whom other such stupendous miracles of nature in various other parts of the Highlands of Scotland are popularly ascribed, and who has also, we believe, the credit of being the architect of the Giant’s Causeway in the sister island. This conjecture is rather confirmed by an anecdote which is related by another traveller among the Hebrides, Dr. Thomas Garnett, who has also given us an account of Staffa. “Our interpreter,” says he, “on hearing me express my admiration of this wonder of nature, told me that it was generally considered as the work of Fion-macool, but that for his part he thought it had been built by St. Columba!”
The excavation in question, at all events, is a vast opening, 42 feet in width at the mouth, extending 227 feet in depth, and gradually diminishing from nearly 100 to about 50 feet in height, supported throughout on both sides by perpendicular columns of extraordinary regularity. The opening is surmounted by a noble arch, and from this to the farther extremity of the cave the roof extends in an unbroken surface, composed in some parts of smooth and unvariegated rock, in others at the ends of pillars stuck together in groups or bunches, and with the stalagmitic substance which fills up the interstices, displaying a species of mosaic work of great regularity and beauty. On the west side the wall of pillars is 36 feet in height; but on the east, although the roof is of the same elevation, they spring from a much higher base, and are themselves only 18 feet in length. Along this side is a narrow footpath, raised above the water which covers the floor, along which it is possible for an expert climber to make his way to the farther end of the cave, although the attempt is rather hazardous. The proper and usual mode of viewing the cave is by entering it in a boat; but even this can only be done with safety when the weather is tolerably calm. From the opening being so spacious there is abundance of light to the extremity; and from the same cause the waves, when there is a heavy sea, roll into it with great force. Dr. von Troil, who has given us a description of it in his Letters on Iceland, states that, very far in, there is a hole in the rock below the water, which makes a singularly agreeable sound on the flux and reflux of the tide. It is this melodious murmur of the waters passing into it, which has doubtless given origin to its common name of the Cave of Music.
According to Dr. Macculloch, who, in his Description of the Western Islands, has given the latest and most accurate account of Staffa that has appeared, the basaltic pillars of this cave are “of one ingredient only, which is a granular splintery material resembling clinkstone, highly coloured with iron, but of a greenish black hue.” Between the several pillars has exuded a yellowish substance, producing everywhere a deep contrast of two distinctly defined colours, which admirably relieves what would otherwise be the sombre aspect of the cave. The stone, according to Dr. Garnett, is in many places richly coloured with light green, yellow, and orange, produced by different species of lichen growing on it. Dr. Macculloch says, in concluding his account, “It would be no less presumptuous than useless to attempt a description of the picturesque effect of that to which the pencil itself is inadequate. But if this cave were even destitute of that order and symmetry, that richness arising from multiplicity of parts, combined with greatness of dimensions and simplicity of style, which it possesses; still the prolonged length, the twilight gloom, half concealing the playful and varying effects of reflected light, the echo of the measured surge as it rises and falls, the transparent green of the water, and the profound and fairy solitude of the whole scene, could not fail strongly to impress a mind gifted with any sense of beauty in art or in nature. If to those be added that peculiar sentiment with which nature perhaps most impresses us when she allows us to draw comparisons between her works and those of art, we shall be compelled to own it is not without cause that celebrity has been conferred on the Cave of Fingal.”
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SCOTTISH HUSBANDMEN OF THE LAST CENTURY
The patriarchal simplicity of manners which about the middle of last century, so especially characterised the Scottish husbandmen of the Lowlands, was calculated, in a high degree, to foster deep affections, and a sober but manly earnestness both of principle and deportment; and it may be fairly stated as one of the happy privileges of the Scottish church, that so large a number of its ministers have sprung from this virtuous and valuable order of men. The following brief description of the mode of life and household discipline of a Scottish farmer of former days, is a sketch, by an eye-witness, from early recollections of scenes long gone by:--
“When old simplicity was yet in prime; For now among our glens the faithful fail, Forgetful of their sires in olden time; That grey-haired race is gone, of look sublime, Calm in demeanour, courteous, and sincere, Yet stern when duty called them, as their clime, When it flings off the autumnal foliage sere, And shakes the shuddering woods with solemn voice severe.”
The habitation of a Scottish husbandman in the southern counties, sixty or seventy years ago, was generally a plain, substantial stone building, holding a middle rank between the residences of the inferior gentry and the humble cottages of the labouring peasantry. The farm-house, with the small windows of its second story often projecting through the thatched roof, occupied for the most part, the one side of a quadrangle, in which the young cattle were folded; the other three sides being enclosed and sheltered by the barns, stables, and other farm offices. A kitchen-garden stocked with the common potherbs then in use, and sometimes with a few fruit trees, extended on one side, sheltered perhaps by a hedge of boortree or elder, and often skirted by a few aged forest trees; while the low, thatched dwellings of the hinds and cotters stood at a little distance, each with its small cabbage-garden, or _kail-yard_, behind, and its stack of peat, or turf fuel in front.
An upland farm, of the common average size, extending to three, four or five hundred acres, partly arable and partly pastoral, usually employed three or four ploughs; and the master’s household, exclusive of his own family, consisted of six or seven unmarried servants, male and female. The married servants--namely, a head shepherd, and a _hind_ or two (as the married ploughmen were termed)--occupied cottages apart; as likewise did the _cotters_, who were rather a sort of farm-retainers than servants, being bound only to give the master, in lieu of rent, their services in hay-time and harvest, and at other stated periods. The whole, however, especially in remote situations, formed a sort of little independent community in themselves, deriving their subsistence almost exclusively from the produce of the farm. The master’s household alone usually amounted to fifteen or twenty souls; and the whole population of the farm, or _onstead_, to double or treble that number,--a number considerably greater, perhaps, than will now be commonly found on a farm of the same extent,--but maintained with much frugality, and always industriously occupied, though not oppressed with labour.
Little of the jealous distinction of ranks which now subsists between the farming class and their hired servants, was then known. The connexion between master and servant had less of a commercial, and more of a patriarchal character. Every household formed but one society. The masters (at that time generally a sober, virtuous, and religious class) extended a parental care over their servants, and the servants cherished a filial affection for their masters. They sat together, they ate together, they often wrought together; and after the labours of the day were finished, they assembled together around the blazing fire in the “farmer’s ha’,” conversing over the occurrences of the day, the floating rumours of the country, or “auld warld stories;” and not unfrequently religious subjects were introduced, or the memory of godly men, and of those who, in evil times, had battled or suffered for the right, was affectionately commemorated. This familiar intercourse was equally decorous as it was kindly,--for decent order and due subordination were strictly maintained. It was the great concern of masters and mistresses, when new servants were required, to obtain such as were of sober and religious habits: if one of a different character got in, his dismissal, at the first term, was certain. Servants in those days never thought of changing masters, unless something occurred which rendered the change indispensable.
At ordinary meals, the master (or _good-man_, as he was termed) took his seat at the head of the large hall table, the mistress sitting on his right hand, the children on his left, the men-servants next in station, and the maid-servants at the bottom,--one of the latter serving. The use of tea was then unknown, except in the houses of the gentry. Porridge was the constant dish at breakfast and supper; at dinner broth and meat, milk, cheese, and butter. Twice in the year, exclusive of extraordinary occasions, there was a farm festival, in which every inhabitant of the place partook; namely, the _kirn_ or harvest-home, at the close of autumn, and the celebration of the new year. On these occasions, an abundant feast of baked and boiled cheered the heart of the humblest labourer on the land, and was closed with decent hilarity by a cheerful beaker or two of home-brewed ale.
But the religious order of the family was the distinguishing trait. The whole household assembled in the hall (or kitchen) in the morning, before breakfast, for family worship, and in the evening before supper. The good-man, of course, led their devotions, every one having his Bible in his hand. This was the stated course even in seed-time and harvest; between five and six in the morning was the hour of prayer in these busy seasons.
On Sabbath all went to church, however great the distance, except one person, in turn, to take care of the house or younger children, and others to tend the cattle. After a late dinner, on their return, the family assembled around the master, who first catechised the children and then the servants. Each was required to tell what he remembered of the religious services in which they had joined; each repeated a portion of the shorter catechism; and all were then examined on heads of divinity, from the mouth of the master. Throughout the whole of the Sabbath, all worldly concerns except such as necessity or mercy required to be attended to, were strictly laid aside; and nothing was allowed to enter into conversation save subjects of religion.
These homely details may perhaps seem, at first sight, calculated to corroborate, in some respects, the exaggerated notions which prevail in England, respecting the religious austerity of the old Presbyterians; and readers, looking exclusively to the strictness of their discipline, their alleged “proscription of all amusements,” the limited education, the want of books, and, above all, the want of refinement which, according to our modern notions, might be expected to be the necessary result of familiar association with menial servants,--may possibly picture to themselves a state of society altogether clownish, melancholy, and monotonous. Yet this would be a very false estimate of the real character and condition of the old Scottish tenantry.
The life of the husbandman and his dependents, in those days, were so far from being unenlivened by mirth and enjoyment, that there was in truth much more real enjoyment than is now often to be witnessed. They had more _leisure_ to be merry than their descendants, and there was, in reality, no proscription of _innocent_ amusements. Spring and autumn were the only seasons that required _very_ arduous labour in the old system of husbandry; and then those seasons came round with an air of more festivity, and more of a heart-stirring aspect about them, and their toils were encountered with a more grateful alacrity than in our days:--at least so it appears to one who looks back upon them. At other seasons of the year the labours were comparatively light. The _winning_ of peats and hay, ewe-milking, sheep-shearing, the dairy, and the tending of the flocks and herds, chiefly occupied the jocund days of summer. In winter their leisure was still greater, and their enjoyments not less diversified. Field-sports were eagerly followed in the intervals of labour, or when frost and snow had stopped the progress of the plough; nor were the peasantry then restrained from such hardy amusements by the enforcement of demoralizing game-laws. At other times, the grave good-man would toss down to his sons and servant-lads the foot-ball or the _kitticat_, and bid them take a bout to warm their youthful blood. And in the long winter evenings, when seated around the fire, harmless mirth and jocularity pleasantly alternated with more grave and instructive conversation; nor did any puritanical sourness forbid the recitation of the old romantic border ballads and legends, or the singing of the sweet pastoral songs, of which both the poetry and the music were, like the broom and birch of the braes around them, the spontaneous and unsophisticated growth of their own beautiful country. And thus, with very few books of mere amusement, and without any games of chance, or stimulating liquors, our simple ancestors managed to beguile their hours of leisure and relaxation cheerfully and innocently; and, on the whole perhaps, quite as rationally, if not quite so elegantly, as their more bustling and ambitious offspring. Amidst the manifold improvements of more recent times, (the value of which, in many respects, we are far from denying,) it may yet be considered very questionable, whether _all_ that has been abandoned of former manners has been equally well replaced, and whether even our progress in refinement has not been but too dearly purchased by the sacrifice of qualities still more valuable.
⁂ The preceding article is extracted from a ‘Memoir of the Rev. Dr. Waugh,’ and has been furnished to us, with some alterations, by the writer, himself the son of a Scottish farmer.
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INSCRIPTION.
Pizarro here was born; a greater name The list of glory boasts not, toil and pain, Famine, and hostile elements, and hosts Embattled, failed to check him in his course; Not to be wearied, not to be deterred, Not to be overcome. A mighty realm He overran, and with relentless arms Slew or enslaved its unoffending sons, And wealth, and power, and fame, were his rewards. There is another world beyond the grave, According to their deeds where men are judged. O reader! if thy daily bread be earned By daily labour,--yea however low, However wretched be thy lot assigned, Thank thou, with deepest gratitude, the God Who made thee, that thou art not such as he.
SOUTHEY.
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THE WEEK.
[Illustration: Marshal Turenne.]