_FORMS A NATURAL HISTORY COLLECTION._
BANFF was the central point of Edward’s operations. Banff is a pleasant
country town, situated on the southern shore of the Moray Firth. It
lies on a gentle slope inclining towards the sea. In front of it is the
harbour. Although improved by Telford, it is rather difficult of access
and not much frequented except during the fishing season. Westward of
Banff, a low range of hills lies along the coast. The burns of the
Boyne, Portsoy, and Cullen cross the range, and run into the sea.
The fishing town of Macduff, which may be considered the port of Banff,
lies about a mile to the eastward. To reach it, the river Deveron is
crossed by one of Smeaton’s finest bridges. The harbour of Macduff
is more capacious and more easy of entrance than that of Banff. Many
foreign vessels are to be seen there in the fishing season, for the
purpose of transporting the myriads of herrings which are daily brought
in by the fishermen.
[Sidenote: _CLIFFS OF GAMRIE._]
Eastward of Macduff, the coast becomes exceedingly rocky. The ridges
of the hills, running down towards the sea, seem to have been broken
off by the tremendous lashings of the waves at their feet, and thus
the precipitous rocks descend in several places about six hundred feet
to the shore. The coast scenery at Gamrie is unrivalled on the eastern
shores of Scotland. The cliffs are the haunts of myriads of sea-fowl.
“On a fine day,” says Edward, “and under the mild influence of a vernal
and unclouded sun, the scene is particularly beautiful. The ocean
lies tranquil, and stretched out before the spectator like an immense
sheet of glass, smiling in its soft and azure beauty, while over its
surface the kittywake, the guillemot, the razor-bill, and the puffin,
conspicuous by the brilliant orange and scarlet of its bill and legs,
are beheld wheeling with rapid wing in endless and varying directions.
On firing a gun the effect is startling. The air is immediately
darkened with the multitudes of birds which are roused by the report.
The ear is stunned by the varied and discordant sounds which arise. The
wailing note of the kittywake, the shrill cry of the tammy-norie, and
the hoarse voice of the guillemot, resembling, as it were, the laugh
of some demon in mockery of the intrusion of man amid these majestic
scenes of nature;—all these combined, and mingled occasionally with the
harsh scream of the cormorant, are heard above the roar of the ocean,
which breaks at the foot of these tremendous and gigantic precipices.”
[Sidenote: _FISHING-BOAT FLEETS._]
The view from the heights of Gamrie on a summer evening is exceedingly
fine. The sea ripples beneath you. Far away it is as smooth as
glass. During the herring season, the fishing-boats shoot out from
the rocky clefts in which the harbours are formed. Underneath are the
fishing-boats of Gardenstown; to the right those of Crovie. Eastward,
you observe the immense fleet of Fraserburgh vessels, about a thousand
in number, creeping out to sea. Westward, are the fishing-boats of
Macduff, of Banff, Whitehills, Portsoy, Cullen, Sandend, Findochtie,
and the Buckies, all making their appearance by degrees. The whole
horizon becomes covered with fleets of fishing-boats. Across the Moray
Firth, in the far distance, the Caithness mountains are relieved
against the evening sky. The hills of Morven and the Maiden’s Pap are
distinctly visible. The sun, as it descends, throws a gleam of molten
gold across the bosom of the firth. A few minutes more and the sun goes
down, leaving the toilers of the sea to pursue their labours amidst the
darkness of the night.
Gamrie Head is locally called Mohr Head.[28] The bay of Gamrie is a
picturesque indentation of the coast, effected by the long operation
of water upon rocks of unequal solidity. The hills, which descend to
the coast, are composed of hard grauwacke, in which is deeply inlaid
a detached strip of mouldering old red sandstone. The waves of the
German Ocean, by perpetual lashing against the coast, have washed out
the sandstone, and left the little bay of Gamrie—the solid grauwacke
standing out in bold promontories—Mohr Head on the one side, and Crovie
Head on the other.
[Sidenote: _GARDENSTOWN AND CROVIE._]
The fishing village of Gardenstown lies at the foot of the Gamrie
cliffs. It is reached by a steep winding path down the face of the
brae. The road descends from terrace to terrace. The houses look like
eyries, built on ledges in the recesses of the cliff. As you proceed
towards the shore, you seem to look down the chimneys of the houses
beneath. The lower and older part of the village is close to the sea.
The harbour seems as if made in a cleft of the rocks. The fishers of
this village are a fine race of men, with a grand appearance. They
are thorough Northmen; and but for their ancestors having settled at
Gamrie, they might have settled in Normandy and “come in with the
Conqueror” at the other end of the island.
A little eastward of Gardenstown is the little fishing village of
Crovie, containing another colony of Northmen. Farther out to sea
is the majestic headland of Troup. It is the home of multitudes of
sea-birds. Its precipices are penetrated with caves and passages, of
which the most remarkable are Hell’s Lum and the Needle’s Eye. Hell’s
Lum[29] consists of a ghastly opening on the slope of the hill near
Troup Head. From this opening to the sea there is a subterranean
passage about a hundred yards long, up which, on the occasion of a
storm, the waves are forced with great fury, until they find their
escape by the “Lum” in the shape of dense spray. The other opening, the
Needle’s Eye, runs quite through the peninsular rocky height. It is
about a hundred and fifty yards long, and is so narrow that only one
person at a time can with difficulty make his way through it.
Eastward of Troup Head the scenery continues of the same character.
The fishing village of Pennan, like Gardenstown, lies at the foot of a
ledge of precipitous rocks, and is enclosed by a little creek or bay.
From the summit of the Red Head of Pennan the indentations of the coast
are seen to Kinnaird’s Head in the east, and to the Bin Hill of Cullen
in the west.
[Sidenote: _THE NORTHERN DENS._]
The scenery of this neighbourhood, besides its ruggedness and wildness,
is rendered beautiful by the Glens or Dens which break through the
ridges of rock, and form deep ravines,—each having its little streamlet
at the bottom, winding its way to the sea. The water is overhung
by trees or brushwood, sometimes by boulders or grey rocks like
buttresses, which seem to support the walls of the Den. These winding
hollows are rich to luxuriance with plants and flowers,—a very garden
of delight to the botanist. Heaths, furze, primroses, wild rasps, wild
strawberries, whortleberries, as well as many rare plants, are to be
found there; whilst the songsters of the grove—thrushes, blackbirds,
and linnets—haunt the brushwood in varying numbers.
[Illustration: BAY OF ABERDOUR.]
[Sidenote: _DEN OF ABERDOUR._]
The most picturesque and interesting of these Dens are those of Troup,
Auchmedden, and Aberdour. The Dens, when followed inland, are found
to branch out into various lesser Dens, until they become lost in the
moors and mosses of the interior. The Den of Aberdour is particularly
beautiful. At its northern extremity, near where it opens upon the sea,
the rift in the glen is almost overhung by the ruins of the ancient
Church of Aberdour,[30] said to have been founded by St. Columbanus,
who landed on this part of the coast to convert the pagan population to
Christianity. The bay of Aberdour, with its bold headland, forms the
sea entrance to this picturesque valley.
[Sidenote: _COAST-LINE OF BANFFSHIRE._]
The coast-line of Banffshire, without regarding the indentations of the
bays, extends for about thirty miles along the southern shores of the
Moray Firth. This was the principal scene of Edward’s explorations.
His rounds usually extended coastwise, for about seven miles in one
direction, and about six in another. He also went inland for six miles.
But he very often exceeded these limits, as we shall afterwards find.
Having referred to the coast-line, we may also briefly refer to the
inland portion of the county. Banffshire is of an irregular shape, and
extends from the southern shores of the Moray Firth in a south-westerly
direction toward Cairngorm and Ben Macdhui,—the highest mountain knot
of the Grampians. The middle portion of the county is moderately hilly.
Glen Fiddick, Glen Isla, and Strath Deveron, follow the line of hills
which descend in a north-westerly direction from the Grampians towards
the sea.
[Illustration: AND NORTH ABERDEENSHIRE.]
[Sidenote: _THE COUNTY OF BANFF._]
The county generally is under cultivation of the highest order. The
valleys are intersected with rich meadows and pasture-lands, which are
stocked with cattle of the choicest breeds. There are numerous woods
and plantations, both luxuriant and verdant, though there is a great
want of hedges. Agriculture is gradually extending upwards towards the
mountains. Moors and morasses are fast disappearing. In places where
the wail of the Plover, the birr of the Moorcock, and the scream of the
Merlin, were the only sounds,—the mellow voice of the Lark, the Mavis,
and the Blackbird, are now to be heard in the fields and the woods
throughout the country.
[Illustration: MAP OF BANFFSHIRE]
[Sidenote: _BEN MACDHUI._]
In the extreme south-western district lies the great mountain knot
to which we have already referred. The scenery of this neighbourhood
can scarcely be equalled, even in Switzerland, though it is at present
almost entirely unknown. Cairngorm, Benbuinach, Benaven, and Ben
Macdhui, surround Loch Avon and the forest of Glen Avon. The Banffshire
side of Ben Macdhui forms a magnificent precipice of 1500 feet, which
descends sheer down into the loch. This lonely and solemn lake is fed
by the streams flowing from the snows that lie all the year round
in the corries of the mountains above. These streams leap down from
the bare and jagged cliffs in the form of broken cataracts. One of
these falls has a descent of 900 feet. The parish of Kirkmichael,
in which this scenery occurs, is almost unpeopled. It has only one
village—Tomintoul—the highest in Scotland. The people who inhabit
it and the other hamlets of the parish, are of a different race and
religion, and speak a different language, from those who inhabit the
middle and lower parts of the county.[31]
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S ROUNDS._]
To return to the labours of our Naturalist. For about fifteen years
Edward made the greater part of his researches at night. He made them
in the late evening and in the early morning, snatching his sleep at
intervals between the departing night and the returning day.
His rounds, we have said, extended coastwise along the shore of the
Moray Firth, for about seven miles in one direction, and about six in
another. His excursions also extended inland for about five or six
miles. He had thus three distinct circuits. Although he only took one
of them at a time, he usually managed to visit each district twice a
week.
Having sometimes wandered too far, as he frequently did, he divested
himself of his hunting paraphernalia, rolled them up together, hid them
in a hole or some convenient place, and then ran home as fast as he
could, in order to be at his work at the proper time. He once ran three
miles in twenty minutes. He measured the time by his watch,—for he had
a watch then, though, like himself, it is worn out now.
Occasionally, when kept late at work, he was prevented from enjoying
his evening ramble. After going to bed, and taking a short sleep,
he would set out in the dark, in order to be at the place where he
had appointed; from whence he worked his way homeward in the morning
towards Banff.
[Sidenote: _THE TWO GEESE._]
But though he made it a general practice during his nightly excursions
to return home in time for the morning’s work, he occasionally found it
necessary to deviate a little from this rule. When he was in search of
some particular bird, he was never satisfied or at rest until he had
obtained it. On one occasion two Geese, the first of their kind that he
had ever seen, caused him to lose nearly a whole week before he could
run them down.
He first saw them whilst walking out one Sunday afternoon. They were
swimming about on a piece of water near the town. He went out before
daylight next morning to the same place. But he saw no geese. He waited
for an hour, and then they made their appearance. They alighted on the
water within a short distance of the bar, where he was sitting. Had his
object been to secure them at once, he could easily have shot them, for
they were both within reach of his gun. But he wished to observe their
habits, and he waited for some time. Having satisfied himself on this
head, he next endeavoured to possess them. He shot one of them; the
other flew away.
He now desired to possess the other bird; but it was with extreme
difficulty that he could accomplish his object. Though the goose
returned, it was so extremely shy that it could scarcely be approached.
It was only by making use of many precautions, and resorting to some
very curious stratagems, that Edward was able to capture the bird. A
week elapsed before he could secure it. He shot it on Saturday; but he
did not recover it until the following morning.
[Sidenote: _THE LITTLE STINT._]
On another occasion a Little Stint (the least of the Sandpipers) cost
him two days and a night. It was the first bird of the kind he had ever
seen,—and it was the last. Though he was occasionally within a mile
or two of Banff during the pursuit of the bird, and though he had not
tasted food during the whole of his absence, lying during part of the
night amongst the shingle on the sea-shore, yet he never once thought
of leaving the chase until final success crowned his efforts. We must
allow him to tell the story in his own words.
[Sidenote: _FLOCK OF BIRDS._]
“I once had a desperate hunt after a Little Stint (_Tringa minuta_).
Returning home one evening along the links,[32] I heard a strange cry
coming, as it seemed, from the shore. I listened for some time, as I
knew it was the season (September) for many of our migratory species
to visit us. Never having heard the cry before, I was speedily on the
beach. But it was growing dark, and I had not cat’s eyes. The sound,
too, ceased so soon as I had gained the beach. After groping about
for some time, I thought I espied a rather large flock of birds at
some distance along the shore. I approached cautiously, and found
that I was correct; the flock consisting chiefly of ringed plovers,
dunlins, and sanderlings. From the latter circumstance, and from the
fact that the cry was that of a sandpiper, I was pretty sure that a
stranger was amongst them. Although I could see well enough that the
birds were on the wet sand between me and the water, I could not make
them out distinctly. Once or twice I thought I could distinguish one
considerably smaller than the others, but I soon felt that I had been
mistaken. I was now in a state of great excitement. Every limb shook
like an aspen leaf, or a cock’s tail on a windy day. What was I to do?
True, I might have fired at them, but the odds were greatly against my
being successful.
[Sidenote: _GUNNERS FROM BANFF._]
“It was now fairly dark, and the birds had retired to rest on a ridge
of rocks which intervenes between the sands and the links. Instead of
returning home, as any one else would have done, I laid myself down in
a hollow till morning, to wait their first appearance, in the hope of
attaining my object. It proved a wet and windy night, but daylight
brought with it a fine morning. With it also came two gunners from
Banff, striding along the beach on a shooting excursion. This vexed
me to the very heart. The birds were not yet astir, but I knew they
would rise at the approach of the men, who would doubtless attempt to
shoot them. Just as I anticipated, up went the birds; crack, crack went
the shots; and down fell several birds. Rising from my stony couch, I
rushed at once to the spot to see the victims, and found them all to
consist of sanderlings, dunlins, and one ringed plover. The gunners
were strangers to me, but I ventured to ask them to abstain from
firing until I had satisfied myself about the bird I sought; but they
seemed unable to understand why one bird could be of more interest
than another, and they told me that, as there were plenty of them, I
could fire away, and take my chance. I declined to shoot with them, but
eagerly watched each time they fired, and if a bird fell I went and
examined it; but I did not meet with the one I sought. The men at last
got tired, and went away.
“It was now my turn; but unhappily the birds, from being so often fired
at, had become extremely shy, so that to get near them for my purpose
was all but impossible. By perseverance, however, I at length made out
one, as I thought, a good deal smaller than the others. I succeeded
in creeping a little nearer. They rose; I fired, and down fell four.
I rushed breathless, hoping to pick up the bird in which I took such
interest. But, alas! no. It was not there. Away went the remaining
birds to the sea; then turning, they rounded a point or headland called
Blackpots, and disappeared from view. From this and from their not
returning, I knew that they had gone to the sands at Whitehills, about
three miles distant, to which place I proceeded. But no sooner had I
reached there, than back they flew in the direction from which they had
come. Back I went also, and found them at the old place.
[Sidenote: _SHOOTS THE LITTLE STINT._]
“Just as I reached them, away they flew once more, and of course away
I went likewise. In this way we continued nearly the whole day,—they
flying to and fro, I following them. Towards evening, my strength
beginning to fail, and feeling quite exhausted, I gave up the chase,
and once more took up my abode amongst the shingle, in the hope that
they might again return there for the night. Just as I wished and
expected, and while it was yet light, they came and alighted about
thirty yards from where I lay. Away went fatigue, hunger, and thoughts
of home! In fact, the sight of this object of my day and night’s
solicitude made me a new creature. Off went the messengers of death.
Two of the birds fell; the rest fled once more to the sea. I followed,
but had not proceeded far when I observed one falter. Leaving its
companions, it bent its course towards where I stood, and suddenly
dropped almost at my feet. As I picked up the little thing, I could
not but feel thankful that my patience and perseverance had at last
been crowned with success. It was the first Little Stint I had ever
shot, and the only one I have ever seen in this neighbourhood.”
[Sidenote: _SHOEMAKING WORK._]
In thus pursuing his researches Edward lost much of his time, and, in
proportion to his time, he also lost much of his wages. But his master
used to assist him in making up his lost time. It was a common remark
of his, “Give Tam the stuff for a pair of pumps at night, and if he has
any of his cantrips in view, we are sure to have them in the morning
ready for the customer.” Edward took the stuff home with him, and,
instead of going to bed, worked at the shoes all night, until they were
finished and ready for delivery. He had another advantage in making
up for lost time. His part of the trade was of the lightest sort. He
made light shoes and pumps. He was one of those who, among the craft,
are denominated _ready_. He was thus able to accomplish much more
than those who were engaged at heavier work. This, together with his
practice of spending not a moment idly, was much in his favour.
He also contrived to preserve his specimens during his meal hours, or
in his idle times “betwixt pairs,”—whilst, as shoemakers would say,
they were “on the hing.” During the long winter nights, he arranged
the objects preserved, and put them in their proper cases. In order
the better to accomplish this work, he did not go to bed until a very
late hour. As he was not able to afford both fire and light, he put out
the lamp when engaged upon anything that could be done without it, and
continued his labours by the light of the fire.
When forced to go to bed, he went at once, and having slept at railway
speed for an hour or an hour and a half, he was up again and at work
upon his specimens. He felt as much refreshed, he said, by his sound
sleep, as if he had slept the whole night. And yet, during his sleep,
he must have had his mind fixed upon his work, otherwise he could not
have wakened up at the precise time that he had previously appointed.
Besides stuffing his own birds, he also stuffed the birds which other
people had sent him,—for which he was paid.
[Sidenote: _EDWARD’S TRAPS._]
One of the objects which he had in view in making his “rounds” so
frequently, was to examine the traps he had set, in order to catch the
beetles, grubs, and insects, which he desired to collect. His traps
were set with every imaginable organic material,—dead birds, rats,
rabbits, or hedgehogs; dead fish, crabs, or seaweed. He placed them
everywhere but on the public roads,—in fields and woods, both on the
ground and hung on trees; in holes, in old dykes, in water, both fresh
and stagnant. Some of these traps were visited daily, others once a
week, whilst those set in water, marshy places, and in woods, were only
visited once a month. He never passed any dead animal without first
searching it carefully, and then removing it to some sheltered spot.
He afterwards visited it from time to time. Fish stomachs, and the
refuse of fishermen’s lines, proved a rich mine for marine objects. By
these means he obtained many things which could not otherwise have been
obtained; and he thus added many rare objects to his gradually growing
collection.
[Sidenote: _COLLECTION OF INSECTS._]
He was, however, doomed to many disappointments. One of these may be
mentioned. Among his different collections was a large variety of
insects. He had these pinned down in boxes in the usual manner. He
numbered them separately. When he had obtained the proper names of the
insects, his intention was to prepare a catalogue. He knew that there
were sheets of figures sold for that and similar purposes, but he
could not afford to buy them. He accordingly got a lot of old almanacs
and multiplication tables, and cut out the numbers. It was a long and
tedious process, but at length he completed it.
[Sidenote: _THE COLLECTION DESTROYED._]
When the insects were fixed and numbered, Edward removed the cases into
his garret preparatory to glazing them. He piled them, one upon the
other, with their faces downwards, in order to keep out the dust. There
were twenty boxes, containing in all 916 insects. After obtaining the
necessary glass, he went into the garret to fetch out the cases. On
lifting up the first case, he found that it had been entirely stripped
of its contents. He was perfectly horrified. He tried the others. They
were all empty! They contained nothing but the pins which had held the
insects, with here and there a head, a leg, or a wing. A more complete
work of destruction had never been witnessed. It had probably been
perpetrated by rats or mice.
His wife, on seeing the empty cases, asked him what he was to do next.
“Weal,” said he, “it’s an awfu’ disappointment, but I think the best
thing will be to set to work and fill them up again.” To accumulate
these 916 insects had cost him four years’ labour! And they had all
been destroyed in a few days, perhaps in a single night!
It will be remembered that Audubon had once a similar disappointment.
On leaving Henderson in Kentucky, where he then lived, he left his
drawings, representing nearly a thousand inhabitants of the air, in the
custody of a friend. On returning a few months later, and opening his
box, he found that a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the
whole, and gnawed up the drawings into little bits of paper. Audubon
did what Edward now determined to do. He went out into the woods with
his gun, his notebook, and pencils, and in the course of about three
years he again filled his portfolio.
Edward duly carried out his purpose. He went moth-hunting as before; he
hunted the moors and the woods, the old buildings and the graveyards,
until, in about four more years, he had made another collection of
insects; although there were several specimens contained in the former
collection, that he could never again meet with.
[Sidenote: _CASES FOR THE COLLECTION._]
Edward had now been observing and collecting for about eight years. His
accumulations of natural objects had therefore become considerable.
By the year 1845, he had preserved nearly 2000 specimens of living
creatures found in the neighbourhood of Banff. About half the number
consisted of quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, fishes, crustacea, starfish,
zoophytes, corals, sponges, and other objects. He had also collected
an immense number of plants. Some of the specimens were in bottles,
but the greater number were in cases with glass fronts. He could not
afford to have the cases made by a joiner; so he made the whole of them
himself, with the aid of his shoemaker’s knife, a saw, and a hammer.
In order to make the smaller cases, he bought boxes from the merchants;
and in breaking them up, he usually got as many nails as would serve
to nail the new cases together. To make the larger cases, he bought
wood from the carpenters. He papered the insides, painted the outsides,
and glazed the whole of the cases himself. The thirty cases containing
his shells were partitioned off,—each species having a compartment
for itself. This was a difficult piece of work, but he got through it
successfully. There were about 300 cases in all.
His house was now filled with stuffed birds, quadrupeds, insects, and
such like objects. Every room was packed with the cases containing
them, his shoemaking apartment included. What was he to do with them?
He had, indeed, long had a project in his mind. In the first place,
he wished to abandon the shoemaking trade. He was desirous of raising
money for the purpose of commencing some other business. He also wished
to have some funds in hand, in order to prosecute his investigations
in Natural History. How could he raise the requisite money? He thought
that he might raise a part of it by exhibiting his collection. Hence
his large accumulation of specimens, and his large collection of cases.
[Sidenote: _EXHIBITS THE COLLECTION._]
There was a feeing fair held twice a year at Banff, on market
days,—called Brandon Fair. Young lads and lasses came in from the
country to be feed, and farmers and their wives came in to fee them.
It was a great day for Banff. All the shows and wild beasts, the
dwarfs and giants, the spotted ladies and pig-faced women, accompanied
by drums and trumpets, converged upon Banff on that day. The town,
ordinarily so quiet, became filled with people—partly to hire and be
hired, and partly to see what was to be seen. The principal streets
were kept in a continual row until the fair was over.
Edward gave an exhibition of his collection at the Brandon Fair in May
1845. He took a room in the Trades’ Hall, and invited the public to
inspect his “Collection of preserved Animals, comprising Quadrupeds,
Birds, Fishes, Insects, Shells, Eggs, and other curiosities.”
The local paper called the public attention to the rare and beautiful
objects contained in Edward’s Collection—“the results of his own
untiring efforts and ingenuity, without aid, and under discouraging
circumstances which few would have successfully encountered. . . . Our
young friends especially should visit the Collection: it will both
amuse and instruct them. They will learn more from seeing them in
half-an-hour, than from reading about them in half-a-year.”
Edward took the inhabitants by surprise. They had never been able
to understand him. His wanderings by night had been matter of great
wonderment to them. The exhibition fully explained the reason of his
frequent disappearances. When his public announcement was advertised,
some of the better classes called at his house in Wright’s Close, to
ascertain if it was true. True, indeed! He pointed to the cases of
stuffed birds and animals which nearly filled his house. Then the
question came—“What made you a Naturalist?”
[Sidenote: _NATURALISTS NOT “MADE.”_]
“When I was first asked this question,” says he, “I was completely
dumfoundered! I had no notion that a Naturalist could be _made_. What!
make a Naturalist as you would make a tradesman! I could not believe
that people became Naturalists for pecuniary motives. My answer to
those who put the question invariably was, and still is, _I cannot
tell_. I never knew of any external circumstance that had anything
to do with engendering, in my mind, the never-ceasing love which I
entertained for the universal works of the Almighty; so that the real
cause must be looked for elsewhere.”
[Sidenote: _LOSS OF DRIED PLANTS._]
In preparing for the exhibition of his Collection, Edward brushed up
his specimens, and cleaned his cases, before removing them to the
Trades’ Hall. But in looking over his Collection, he found that he
had sustained another serious loss. He regarded it at the time as a
heartrending catastrophe. Some time before, he had put nearly 2000
dried and preserved plants into a box, which he had placed at the
top of the stair, in order to be out of harm’s way. The plants were
all dried and preserved. They were the result of eight years’ labour
employed in collecting them. But when he went to overhaul the box,
he found that the lid had been shoved to one side, and that numerous
cats had entered it and made it their lair. The plants were completely
soaked, and rendered utterly worthless. The box smelt so abominably,
that he was under the necessity of making a bonfire of it in the
back-yard.
[Sidenote: _EXHIBITS THE COLLECTION._]
All this was exceedingly disheartening. Nevertheless he removed his
remaining collection to the place appointed for exhibiting it. He
had no allurements,—no music,—no drums nor trumpets, as the other
show-people had. His exhibition was held in an upper room, so that
the sight-seers had to mount a long stair before they could see the
Collection. Nevertheless, many persons went to see it; and the result
was, that Edward not only paid his expenses, but had something laid by
for future purposes.
He went on collecting for another exhibition, and increased his
specimens. He replaced, to a certain extent, the plants which had been
destroyed by the recklessness of the cats. He obtained some wonderful
fishes and sea-birds. His collection of eggs was greatly increased. He
now prepared for a second exhibition at the Brandon Fair, 1846. On that
occasion he was able to exhibit many old coins and ancient relics.
This exhibition was more attractive and more successful than the first.
It yielded a better remuneration; but, what was more satisfactory,
Edward was much complimented by those who had inspected his Collection.
It excited general applause. In short, it was considered by Edward
himself to be so successful as to induce him to remove the Collection
to Aberdeen, for exhibition in that important city.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] The Celtic name for _Big Head_.
[29] _Lum_, or chimney.
[30] The modern church is at New Aberdour, nearer the centre of the
population; but the churchyard at Old Aberdour is still used as the
parish burying-ground. Nothing can be more disgraceful than the state
of some of the country burying-places in Scotland. The graves at
Aberdour are covered with hemlocks and nettles! And yet some money
seems to have been spent in “ornamenting” the place. The ruins of the
ancient church have actually been “harled”—that is, bespattered with
a mixture of lime and gravel! Think of “harling” Melrose Abbey! The
money spent in whitewashing the ruins would certainly have been better
expended in removing the bits of old coffins, cutting down the hemlocks
and nettles, and putting the burying-ground into better order. The
Queen has shown a good example in ordering the churchyard of Crathie to
be improved. But that of Braemar is still in a wretched state, being
covered with hemlocks and nettles.
[31] Their race is Celtic, whereas the inhabitants of the sea-shore are
for the most part Scandinavian. Their language is Gaelic, whereas that
of the rest of the county is Scoto-English. Their religion is Roman
Catholic, whereas that of the lower part of the county is Protestant.
There are many districts in Scotland where, in consequence of the
inaccessibility of the roads, the Reformation never reached.
[32] _Links_—sandy flat ground, sometimes covered with grass, lying
along the sea-shore.