The Celtic Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 1, November 1875

No life insurance policy is equal to a large and judicious plantation by a proprietor, as a provision for his younger children. The premium in this case will not need to run longer than twenty-five years, and he has not only beautified his estate and made it more valuable, but also transmitted it to his heir without incumbrance.

No wonder then that in the county of Inverness large proprietors, such as the Earl of Seafield, Mackintosh, Sir John Ramsden, and others, have taken this matter up on a great scale. To them large plantations ought to be in the same category as minerals are in England; and, unlike their English brethren, this source of wealth is not exhaustive but re-current.

To the public these plantations are not only objects of beauty and an amelioration of climate, but the thereby greatly increased wealth of the country ensures diminished taxation.

These remarks are purposely made in the simplest language, because chiefly intended to attract the intelligent attention of the commonality of the people resident in, or connected with, the Highlands, and the subject will be again brought up.

    C. F.-M.

MONTROSE AT INVERLOCHY

[We consider ourselves and our readers very fortunate indeed in having procured the following as the first of a series of contributions from Mr William Allan, Sunderland, whose recent publication—"Heather Bells, or Poems and Songs"—has been so favourably received by the Reviewers. A prior publication—"Hame-spun Lilts"—was also well received. Of the author, the Inverness Courier of 19th August, says—"You will fail, if you try, to find from first to last the slightest imitation of a single one of the many that, within the last hundred years, have so deftly handled the Doric lyre. Before the appearance of this volume, Mr Allan was already favourably known to us as the author of 'Hame-spun Lilts,' 'Rough Castings,' and by many lively lilts besides in the poets' column of the Glasgow Weekly Herald. There is about everything he has written a sturdy, honest, matter-of-fact ring, that convinces you that, whether you rank it high or low, his song—like the wild warblings of the song-thrush in early spring—is from the very heart. All he says and sings he really means; and it is something in these days of so many artificial, lack-a-daisical, 'spasmodic' utterances, to meet with anybody so manifestly honest and thoroughly in earnest as Mr William Allan." The Dundee Advertiser of August 17th concludes a long and very favourable review of "Heather Bells, &c."—"The 'Harp of the North,' so beautifully invoked by Sir Walter in his 'Lady of the Lake,' has been long asleep—her mountains are silent—and what if our Laureate of Calydon—our Modern Ossian—were destined to hail from Bonnie Dundee?" The Scotsman of Oct. 1st, says—"There is true pathos in many of the poems. Such a piece as 'Jessie's Leavin'' must find its way to the hearts in many a cottage home. Indeed, 'Heather Bells,' both deserves, and bids fair to acquire, popularity."]

Dark Winter's white shroud on the mountains was lying,
And deep lay the drifts in each corrie and vale,
Snow-clouds in their anger o'er heaven were flying,
Far-flinging their wrath on the frost-breathing gale;—
Undaunted by tempests in majesty roaring,
Unawed by the gloom of each path-covered glen,
As swift as the rush of a cataract pouring,
The mighty Montrose led his brave Highlandmen:—
Over each trackless waste,
Trooping in glory's haste,
Dark-rolling and silent as mist on the heath,
Resting not night nor day,
Fast on their snowy way
They dauntlessly sped on the pinions of death.

As loud as the wrath of the deep Corryvreckan,
Far-booming o'er Scarba's lone wave-circled isle,
As mountain rocks crash to the vale, thunder-stricken,
Their slogan arose in Glen Spean's defile;—
As clouds shake their locks to the whispers of Heaven;
As quakes the hushed earth 'neath the ire of the blast;
As quivers the heart of the craven, fear-riven,
So trembled Argyle at the sound as it passed;—
Over the startled snows,
Swept the dread word "Montrose,"
Deep-filling his soul with the gloom of dismay,
Marked he the wave of men,
Wild-rushing thro' the glen,
Then sank his proud crest to the coward's vile sway.

To Arms! rung afar on the winds of the morning,
Yon dread pennon streams as a lurid bale-star:
Hark! shrill from his trumpets an ominous warning
Is blown with the breath of the demon of war;—
Then bright flashed his steel as the eye of an eagle,
Then spread he his wings to the terror-struck foe;
Then on! with the swoop of a conqueror regal,
He rushed, and his talons struck victory's blow:—
Wild then their shouts arose,
Fled then their shivered foes,
And snowy Ben-Nevis re-echoed their wail;
Far from the field of dread,
Scattered, they singly fled,
As hound-startled deer, to the depths of each vale.

Where, where is Argyle now, his kinsmen to rally?
Where, where is the chieftain with timorous soul?
On Linnhe's grey waters he crouched in his galley,
And saw as a traitor the battle blast roll:—
Ungrasped was the hilt of his broadsword, still sleeping,
Unheard was his voice in the moment of need;
Secure from the rage of fierce foemen, death-sweeping,
He sought not by valour, his clansmen to lead.
Linnhe, in scornful shame,
Hissed out his humbled name,
As fast sped his boat on its flight-seeking course;
Sunk was his pride and flown,
Doomed then his breast to own
A coward-scarred heart, ever lashed with remorse.

    WM. ALLAN.
Sunderland.

Correspondence

[Open to all parties, influenced by none, except on religious discussions, which will not be allowed in these columns under any circumstances.]

TO THE EDITORS OF THE CELTIC MAGAZINE

    67 Rue de Richelieu, Paris, September 19, 1875.

Dear Sirs,—I am glad to hear that you contemplate the foundation of a Celtic Magazine at Inverness. It is very gratifying for the Celtic scholars on the Continent to see that the old spirit of Celtic nationality has not died out in all the Celtic countries, and especially that a country like the Highlands of Scotland—that may boast equally of the beauty of her mountains and glens, and of the gallantry of her sons—will keep her language, literature, and nationality in honour. The Gaelic Society of Inverness is doing much good already, but a Magazine can do even more, by its regularly bringing news and instruction.

A wide field is open to you. The Gaelic literature, the history—political, military, religious, social, economic, &c.—of the Scottish Gaels at home; the collecting of popular tunes, songs, proverbs, sayings, and even games; the history and the development of Gaelic colonies and settlements abroad; the history of Highland worthies, and also of Foreign worthies who are of Scotch descent (I think, for instance, of Macdonald, one of the best marechaux of Napoleon I.), &c. Although the other branches of the Celtic family be separated from the Scotch Gaels—the Irish by their religion, the Welsh by their dialect, the French Bretons by their religion and their dialect at the same time,—yet the moral, social, and literary state of these cousins of yours may form, from time to time, interesting topics to patriotic Highland readers. The field of Celtic literature extends far and wide, and awaits yet many reapers. You will not fail to make a rich harvest in your poetic and patriotic Scotland; and at Inverness, in the middle of the Gaelic country, you have the best opportunity of success.—I am, Dear Sirs, yours very faithfully,

    H. Gaidoz, Editor of the Revue Celtique.

THE OSSIANIC QUESTION

    Altnacraig, Oban, September 20, 1875.

Sir,—In the last number of The Gaedheal, a Gaelic periodical which may be known to some of your readers, I inserted a translation from the German of an essay on the authenticity of Macpherson's Ossian, appended to a poetical translation of Fingal by Dr August Ebrard, Leipsic, 1868. My object in doing this was to give Highlanders ignorant of German, as most of them unhappily are, an opportunity of hearing what a learned German had to say on the character of the most famous, though in my opinion far from the best, book in their language. I did not in the slightest degree mean to indicate my own views as to this vexed question. I know too well the philological conditions on which the solution of such a question depends to hazard any opinion at all upon the subject in the present condition of my Celtic studies. I am happy, however, to find that one good result has followed from the publication of this translation—a translation which, by the way, only revised by me, but made by a young lady of great intellectual promise—viz., the receipt of a letter from the greatest living authority on the Ossianic question, I mean John Campbell of Islay, traveller, geologist, and good fellow of the first quality. This letter, which I enclose, the learned writer authorises me to print, with your permission, in your columns; and I feel convinced you have seldom had a more valuable literary communication.—I am, &c.,

    John S. Blackie.
    Conan House, Dingwall, September, 1875.