[Sidenote: _Ruthven Castle._]
We stopped at the inn at Kingussie, one of the centres of sporting
interest, but drove on beyond to spread our luncheon upon the banks of
the Spey, close to the remains of Ruthven Castle, a fine ruin in this
beautiful valley. We walked to it after luncheon. It was here that the
Highland clans assembled after the defeat at Culloden Field and resolved
to disband, and the country was rid of the Stuarts forever. How far the
world has travelled since those days! The best king or family of kings
in the world is not worth one drop of an honest man's blood. If the
House of Commons should decide to-day that the Prince of Wales is not a
fit and proper figure-head and should vote that my Lord Tom Noddy is,
there is not a sane man in the realm who would move a finger for the
rightful heir; yet our forefathers thought it a religious duty to plunge
their country into civil war to restore the Stuarts,
"A coward race to honor lost;
Who knew them best despised them most."
But I suppose they were about a fair average of royal races. "Life can
be lived well even in a palace," sings Matthew Arnold, and the more
credit to such as do live it well there, like Queen Victoria, but it is
difficult work and needs a saint to begin with. It does one good to mark
such progress. I will not believe that man goes round in a circle as the
earth does; upon the king absurdity he has travelled a straight line.
When we made kings by act of Parliament (as the Guelphs were made),
another lesson was learned, that Parliament can unmake them too. That is
one bloody circle we need never travel again. Not one drop of blood for
all the royal families in Christendom. Carried, _nem. con._
There was a discussion to-day upon the best mode of enjoying life.
Sydney Smith's famous secret was mentioned. When asked why he was always
so bright and cheerful, he replied: The secret is "I take short views of
things." Somehow this is the Scriptural idea, "Sufficient unto the day
is the evil thereof." A good story was told of an old man who had
endured many of the ills of life in his long journey. His friends upon
one occasion, more trying than usual, condoled with him, saying that he
really had more troubles than other men. "Yes, my friends, that is too
true. I have been surrounded by troubles all my life long, but there is
a curious thing about them--_nine-tenths of them never happened_."
That is a story with a moral for you. How many of our troubles ever
happened! We dream of ten for every one that comes. One of the
Charioteers was ready with a verse to enforce the moral:
"When fortune with a smiling face
Strews roses on our way,
When shall we stop to pick them up?
To-day, my love, to-day.
But should she frown with face of care,
And speak of coming sorrow,
When shall we grieve, if grieve we must?
To-morrow, love, to-morrow."
[Sidenote: _Honeysuckle and Roses._]
This was received with evident approval, and just as it ended the huge
beds of honeysuckle lying on the hedge-rows we were passing, and the
wild roses rising above them on long graceful sprays, nodding their
heads as if desirous of doing us obeisance, caused one of the ladies to
cry out, "Oh, here are the roses on our way just now! Do let us stop and
pluck them to-day, as the poet advises." "Stop, Perry!" "Right, sir!"
"Steps, Joey!" "Right, sir!"--and down we are in a moment gathering the
spoils. "Do let the coach drive on and wait for us at the top of the
next hill." "But wait, ladies, let us all put our flowers inside and
arrange them when we stop for luncheon."
It is a superb morning, the hedge-rows prettier than ever; the larks are
rising; now and then a hare darts across the road in advance. The whirr
of the partridge or pheasant stirs the sportsman's blood, and upon every
tree some feathered songster pours forth his song. Faust need not have
sold himself to the devil for youth, after all. We find it here in this
glorious gypsy life.
Upon remounting the coach after an hour's frolic in the lane, some one
wanted the reciter to repeat the verse which had caused the stop, but he
said there was a second verse which also had its moral, and, if
permitted, he would give this instead. Agreed to, provided he would give
the ladies a copy of both verses for their books--one copy for the lot,
and this each would copy for herself. His terms, however, were that he
should repeat it alone to Miss ---- and teach it to her (sly dog), and
she could make the copies. He then gave us the second verse:
"If those who've wronged us own their faults
And kindly pity pray,
When shall we listen and forgive?
To-day, my love, to-day.
But if stern justice urge rebuke
And warmth from memory borrow,
When shall we chide, if chide we must?
To-morrow, love, to-morrow."
This was voted a fit companion for the first verse, so the Charioteers
to-day had two moral lessons.
[Sidenote: _Good Philosophy._]
The student said it was also good philosophy, and taught by no less an
authority than Herbert Spencer himself, who had exposed the folly of
postponing present enjoyments in the hope that they will be better if
enjoyed at a later date. Here are the words of the sage:
"Hence has resulted the belief that, irrespective of their kinds, the
pleasures of the present must be sacrificed to the pleasures of the
future. So ignorant is this belief, that it is wrong to seek immediate
enjoyments and right to seek remote ones only, that you may hear from a
busy man who has been on a pleasure excursion a kind of apology for his
conduct. He deprecates the unfavorable judgments of his friends by
explaining that the state of his health had compelled him to take a
holiday, nevertheless if you sound him with respect to his future, you
will find out his ambition is by and by to retire and devote himself
wholly to the relaxation which he is now somewhat ashamed of taking. The
current conception further errs by implying that a gratification which
forms a proper aim if it is remote, forms an improper aim if it is
proximate."
And this from the "Data of Ethics." So that the poet and the philosopher
are as one.
"Does Herbert Spencer write so clearly and simply as that upon such
subjects?" asked one of the young ladies. "I thought he was so
fearfully deep. His books sound so very learned and abstruse, I have
only read his work on 'Education'; that was splendid, and I understood
it all, every word. If that book you just quoted from had an easy name
I'd go to work at it--but 'Data of Ethics' frightens me. I don't know
exactly what Data means, and I'm mixed on Ethics."
The voice of the Coach was clear upon "Education," however, and I recall
just now the remark of my little nephew to his mother, when Mr. Spencer
did us the honor of visiting us: "Mamma, I want to see the man who wrote
in a book that there is no use studying grammar." Amid the thousands of
very grateful ones who feel what they owe to Herbert Spencer, may be
safely classed that young scion of our family. His gratitude is
profound, and with good reason.
Boat o' Garten was to be our refuge, a small, lovely inn on the moors,
the landlady of which had telegraphed us in a rather equivocal way in
response to our request for shelter. There was no other house for many
miles, so we pushed on, trusting to our star. We were all right. The
house was to be filled on the morrow with sportsmen, and we could be
entertained "for this night only." Such is luck. Even as it was, the
family rooms had to be given up to us; but then, dear souls, there is
nothing they would not do for the Americans. As for the coach, there was
no building on the moors high enough to take in the huge vehicle; but as
showing the extreme care taken of property in this country, I note that
heavy tarpaulins were obtained, and it was nicely covered for the night.
What a monster it seemed standing out in the darkness!
After dinner we received packages of the Dunfermline papers containing
the full account of the demonstration there and of the speeches. It goes
without saying that there was great anxiety to read the account of that
extraordinary ovation. Those who had made speeches and said they were
not very sure what, were seen to retire to quiet corners and bury
themselves in their copies. Ah, gentlemen, it is of no use! Read your
orations twenty times over, you are just as far as ever from being able
to gauge your wonderful performances; besides the speech made is nothing
compared to any of half a dozen you have since made to yourself on the
same subject. Ah! the Dunfermline people should have heard these. So
sorry! One can tell all about the speeches of his colleagues, however,
and we made each other happy by very liberal laudations, while we each
felt once more the generous rounds of applause with which we had been
greeted.
[Sidenote: _Last Night on the Moors._]
After mailing copies of the newspapers to numerous friends, there came a
serious cloud over all. This was to be our last night on the moors; the
end of our wayward life had come. One more merry start at the horn's
call, and to-morrow's setting sun would see the end of our happy dream.
Arcadia would be no more; the Charioteers' occupation would be gone. It
was resolved that something should be done to celebrate the night to
distinguish it from others. We would conform to the manners and customs
of the country and drink to our noble selves in whiskey toddy with
Highland honors. This proved a success. Songs were sung; Aaleek was in
his most admirable fooling; "your health and song" went round, and we
parted in tolerably good spirits.
There was an unusual tenderness in the grasp of the hand, and mayhap
something of a tremor in the kind "Good-night, happy dreams," with which
it was the custom of the members to separate for the night, and we went
to bed wondering what we had done to deserve so much happiness.
* * * * *
BOAT O' GARTEN, August 2.
Inverness at last! But most of us were up and away in advance of the
coach, for who would miss the caller air and the joy of the moors these
blessed mornings when it seems joy enough simply to breathe? But did not
we catch it this morning! No use trying to march against this blow; the
wind fairly beat us, and we were all glad to take refuge in the
school-house till the coach came; and glad were we that we had done so.
Was it not a sight to see the throng of sturdy boys and girls gathered
together from who knows where! For miles and miles there are seen but a
few low huts upon the moors; but as some one has said, "Education is a
passion" in Scotland, and much of the admitted success of the race has
its root in this truth. The poorest crofter in Scotland will see that
his child gets to school.
Note this in the fine old song:
"When Aaleck, Jock, and Jeanettie
_Are up and got their lair_,
They'll serve to gar the boatie row
And lichten a' our care."
[Sidenote: _Advantages of Poverty._]
Heavy is the load of care that the Scotch father and mother take upon
themselves and struggle with all the years of their prime that the
bairns "may get their lair." To the credit of the bairns let it be said
that the hope expressed in the verse just quoted is not often
disappointed. They do grow up to be a comfort to their parents in old
age when worn out with sacrifices made for them. Our great men come from
the cradles of poverty. I think he was a very wise man who found out
that the advantage of poverty was a great prize which a rich man could
never give his son. But we should not condemn the Marquises of Huntley,
the Dukes of Hamilton, and the rest of them; they never had a fair
chance to become useful men. It is the system that is at fault, and for
that we the people are responsible. The privileged classes might turn
out quite respectably if they had justice done them and were permitted
to start in life as other men are. For my part, I wonder that they
generally turn out as well as they do. The kite mounts only against the
wind.
Coaching brings us close to Nature's sweetest charms, and the good
universal mother is always so gracious to her children; the cawing of
the rook or the crowing of the cock awakens us; the green things and the
pretty flowers about the inn, which greet the eyes as we pull up the
blinds, and the sniff of fresh morning air which a short stroll before
breakfast gives us, make a splendid start for the day, so different from
the usual beginning of city life. The whole day is spent in the open
air, walking or driving, or lolling upon sunny braes at luncheon, amid
brooks and wild flowers, and the hum of bees, the songs of birds, and
the grateful scent of new-mown hay. And when night comes we fall asleep,
with the sense of dropping softly upon banks of flowers without a thorn.
Tell me if such a life for a few weeks now and then is not the best cure
for most of the serious ills of this high-pressure age! Every man who
can afford it should give it a trial. If overworked, he should go to
find the cure--if well, he should certainly go in order to keep so.
We all need to learn what the poet says:
"Better that man and nature were familiar friends;
That part of man is worst which touches this base life;
For though the ocean in its inmost depths be pure,
Yet the salt fringe which daily licks the shore
Is foul with sand."
I think the last line worthy of Shakespeare, even if it be the product
of a poor young Glasgow poet. In this coaching life we touch the base
every-day life of care and struggle at very few points indeed and hence
our joy. We are deep in love with Nature, and true worshippers at her
shrine have few sorrows.
[Sidenote: _Scotland's School Houses._]
While revelling in the exquisite beauty of England--such quiet and
peaceful beauty as we had never seen before--the thought often came to
me that I should be compelled to assume the apologetic strain for my
beloved Scotland. It could not possibly have such attractions to show as
the more genial South, but so far from this being so, as I have already
said, there was scarcely a morning or afternoon during which the
triumphant inquiry was not made, "What do you think of Scotland noo?" Of
all that earned for Scotland the first place in our hearts I mention the
pretty stone school-houses, with teacher's residence and garden
attached, which were seen in almost every village; and if I had no other
foundation than this upon which to predict the continued intellectual
ascendency of Scotland and an uninterrupted growth of its people in
every department of human achievement, I should unhesitatingly rest it
upon these school-houses. A people which passes through the parish
school in its youth cannot lose its grasp, or fall far behind in the
race. Indeed, compared with the thorough education of the masses, the
lives and quarrels of politicians seem petty in the extreme. It is with
education as with righteousness, seek it first and all political
blessings must be added unto you. It is the only sure foundation upon
which to rear the superstructure of a great State, and how happy I am to
boast that Scotland is not going to yield the palm in this most
important of all work! No, not even to the Republic. From what I saw of
the new schools, I'll back their scholars against any lot of American
children to-day; but I admit one great lack: the former would strike you
as somewhat too deferential, disposed to bow too much to their superiors
in station, while American boys are said to be born repeating the
Declaration of Independence. No more valuable lesson can be taught a lad
than this: that he is born the equal of the prince, and what privileges
the prince has are unjustly denied him. It would do Scotch boys good to
hear my young American nephews upon the doctrine that one man "is as
good as another and a good deal better." Of the sights which cause me to
lose temper, one is to see a splendid young Briton, a real manly fellow,
standing mum like a duffer when he is asked why the son of a Guelph or
of any other family should have a privilege denied to him. Are you less
a man? Have not you had as honest parents and a better grandfather? Why
do you stand this injustice? And then he has nothing to say. Well, I
have sometimes thought I have noticed the cheek a little redder. That is
always a consolation. Thank God! we have nothing like this in America.
Our young men carry in their knapsacks a President's seal, and no one is
born to any rank or position above them. Under the starry flag there
are equal rights for all. It will be so in Scotland perhaps ere I die
(D. V.). If I had the schooling of young Scotland I would make every
class repeat in the morning before lessons:
"If thou hast said I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Highland or lowland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied."
I would teach them the new meaning of that stirring verse, and tell them
that the lad who did not believe himself the peer of any man born and
entitled to every privilege "might do for an Austrian, a Russian, a
Prussian, or an Italian," but never would be much of a Scotchman--never.
[Sidenote: _Popular Amusements._]
I do not think I have spoken of the announcements of amusements seen
everywhere during the trip throughout the rural districts: band
competitions, cricket matches, flower shows, wrestling matches,
concerts, theatricals, holiday excursions, races, games, rowing matches,
football contests, and sports of all kinds. We are surprised at their
number, which gives incontestable evidence of the fact that the British
people work far less and play far more than their American cousins do.
No toilers, rich or poor, like the Americans! The band competitions are
unknown here, but no doubt we shall soon follow so good an example and
try them. The bands of a district meet and compete for prizes, which
stirs up wholesome rivalry and leads to excellence. We saw eight
gathered for competition in one little town which we passed, and the
interest excited by the meet was so great as to put the town _en fete_.
I do not know any feature of British life which would strike an American
more forcibly than these contests. We should try one here, and, by and
by, why not an international contest--the Dunfermline band playing the
"Star-Spangled Banner," and the Pittsburgh performers "Rule Britannia."
Yes, that's right; I insist upon "Rule Britannia"--that is the nation's
song; I am growing tired of "God Save the Queen"--even such a model as
the present one--for the strain is only personal, after all. I wish Her
Majesty well, but I love my country more. "Rule Britannia" is the
national song.
I hope Americans will find some day more time for play, like their wiser
brethren upon the other side.
We came to the crossing of the Spey to-day to find that the long high
bridge was undergoing extensive repairs and closed to travel. In America
it would never have occurred to us that a bridge could be closed while
being rebuilt, but in the science of bridge-building British engineers
are a generation behind us, because they have not had to build so many.
However, there was nothing for it but to follow down the stream until
another bridge was found. When we did find it, we saw a notice
prohibiting loads beyond two tons from crossing. It was a light iron
structure (perhaps a Tay blunder upon a small scale). The wind was
whistling like a fiend about our ears as it came roaring down the glen;
all pleasant while we were in the woods skirting the river with our
backs to it, but when we turned to cross it seemed as if we should be
blown bodily from the top of the coach. Everything was taken off the
top, and we all dismounted. Perry and Joe drove over, while we all
walked, some of us on the lee side of the coach for shelter, and in a
few minutes we were so sheltered in the glen again as scarcely to know
there was a breath of air stirring; but these "Highland homes where
tempests blow" know what gales are. We have had great blows now and then
at some high points crossing the moors, for the hills you rarely cross;
these you have to avoid, but to-day was the only time we were compelled
to dismount.
[Sidenote: _The Last Luncheon._]
We had not far to drive before we reached the pretty little burn which
falls into the Findhorn, the spot selected for the last luncheon.
This spot seemed made to order; the burn, the fire, the mossy grass, the
wild river, the moor and glen, all here. Down sat the Charioteers for
the last happy luncheon together. We were all so dangerously near the
brink of sad regret that a bold effort was necessary to steer clear of
thoughts which pressed upon us. We had to laugh for fear we might cry,
the smile ever lies so near the tear. It _had_ to be a lively luncheon,
that was all there was about it; and when duty calls it doesn't take
much to start our boys to frolic. A few empty bags which we had used for
horse-feed in emergencies suggested a sack-race. Such roars of laughter
when one or the other of the too ambitious contestants went to grass!
This was a capital diversion. Any one looking down upon us (but in these
lonely glens no eye is there to see) would never have imagined that this
sport was started only as a means to prevent the travellers becoming
mournful enough for a funeral. A little management is a great thing; it
pulled us through the last luncheon with only tears of laughter.
"In, Joe! Right, Perry! Sound the horn! All aboard for Inverness!" There
was something in the thought, "We have done it," which kept us from
regret, although the rebuke came sharply from the ladies, as one pointed
out another milestone, "Oh, don't, please!" With every white stone
passed there was a mile less of Arcadia to enjoy. Over moor and dale
lies the way, a beautiful drive, gradually descending for many miles,
from about twelve hundred and fifty feet above the sea level at
Dalwhinnie to a few hundred only near Inverness.
At last the call is made, "Stop, Perry! Capital of the Highlands, all
hail! Three rousing cheers for bonnie Inverness!" There she lies so
prettily upon the Moray Frith, surrounded by fields of emerald green, an
unusually grand situation and a remarkably beautiful town. We stopped
long upon the hill-top to enjoy the picture spread out below. The
Charioteers will forget much ere their entrance into Inverness fades
from the memory. A telegram from friend G., conveyed to us the
congratulations of our Wolverhampton connection upon the triumphant
success of our expedition, to which something like this was sent:
"Thanks! We arrived at the end of this earthly paradise at six o'clock
this evening. When shall we look upon its like again?"
* * * * *
INVERNESS, August 3.
[Sidenote: _Inverness._]
It was Saturday, 6 P.M., August 3d, exactly seven weeks and a day after
leaving Brighton, when we entered Inverness and sat down in our parlor
at the Caledonian Hotel. Up went the flags as usual; dinner was ordered;
then came mutual congratulations upon the success of the journey just
finished. Not one of the thirty-two persons who had at various times
travelled with us ever missed a meal, or had been indisposed from
fatigue or exposure. Even Ben had been improved by the journey. Nor had
the coach ever to wait five minutes for any one; we had breakfasted,
lunched, and dined together, and not one had ever inconvenienced the
company by failing to be in time.
How shall I render the unanimous verdict of the company upon the life we
had led?
"I never was so happy in my life. No, Aaleck, not even upon my wedding
journey." That is the verdict of one devoted young wife, given in
presence of her husband.
"I haven't been so happy since my father took me fishing, and I wasn't
as happy then," was Aaleck's statement.
"Oh, Andrew, I have been a young girl again!" We all know who said that,
Miss Velvety.
"I can't help it, but I don't want to speak of it just now. It's too
sad." Prima Donna, this was a slightly perilous line to follow, for the
heart was evidently near the mouth there.
"To think of it, Naig, I have to go home to-morrow." That was Eliza.
"Jerusalem the golden! it would make a wooden Indian jump, this life
would." No need of putting a name to that, Bennie, my lad.
"Andrew, I've just been in a dream of happiness all the time." That was
oor Davie.
"I never expect to be as happy for seven weeks again," met with a chorus
of supporters.
The Queen Dowager, however, put us all in a more gleeful mood by her
verdict: "Well, I expect to have another coaching trip yet. You'll see!
He can't help doing more of this, and I'll be there. He can't keep _me_
at home!" And her hearty laugh and a clap of her hands above her head
brought us all merrily to dinner. She is very often a true prophet. We
shall see, we shall see!
After dinner we strolled about the city and admired its many beauties,
especially the pretty Ness, which flows through the town to the sea. Its
banks and islands constitute one of the finest of pleasure-grounds for
the people, and many a lover's tale, I trow, has been told in the shady
walks beside it. I felt quite sentimental myself, sauntering along
between the gloaming and the mirk with one of the young ladies. The
long, long gloaming of the north adds immensely to the charms of such a
journey as this we have just taken. These are the sweetly precious hours
of the day.
[Sidenote: _Macbeth's Castle._]
At Inverness we are again on classic ground; for Macbeth had a castle
there, which good King Duncan visited, and of which he said:
"This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses."
It was razed by Malcolm III. or Canmore, Duncan's son, who built a new
castle not far from its site. This latter fortress existed until about
the middle of the last century, when it was blown up by the troops of
Charles Edward Stuart. Portions of its walls may still be seen. Culloden
field, too, is hard by, and all the country round is rich in ruined
keeps and towers.
On reassembling in our parlor an ominous lack of hilarity prevailed. We
did manage, however, to get the choir up to the point of giving this
appropriate song with a slight variation:
"Happy we've been a' thegither,
Happy we've been in ane and a',
Blyther folk ne'er coached thegither,
Sad are we to gang awa'."
(Chorus).
It wasn't much of a success. We were not in tune, nor in time either.
Joe and Perry were to come at ten to say good-by. Here the serious
business of life pressed upon us, escape being impossible. We had to
meet it at last. They came and received the thanks and adieux of all. I
handed them notes certifying to all coming coaching parties that
fortunate indeed would be their lot were Perry and Joe to take them in
charge. Joey responded in a speech which so riveted our attention during
delivery that not one of us could recall a sentence when he ceased. This
is one of the sincere regrets of the travellers, for assuredly a copy of
that great effort would have given the record inestimable value. It was
a gem. I have tried to catch it, but only one sentence comes to me: "And
has for the 'osses, sir, they are better than when we started, sir; then
they 'ad flabby flesh, sir; now they're neat an' 'ardy." So are we all
of us, Joey, just like the 'osses; "neat an' 'ardy," fit for walk, run,
or climb, and bang-up to everything.
We had all next day to enjoy Inverness. What a fine climate it has as
compared with the Highlands south of it! Vegetation is luxuriant here
and the land fertile. One would naturally expect all to be bleak and
bare so far north, but that Gulf Stream which America sends over to save
the precious tight little isle from being a region of ice makes it
delightful in summer and not extremely cold even in winter. We are
assured that the climate of Inverness is more genial than that of
Edinburgh, which is not saying very much for the capital of the North
surely, but still it is something.
* * * * *