March Dust--Moons of Mars--Planetoids--Occultation of Alpha
Leonis--Zodiacal Light--Snow Bunting--Old Gaelic Ballad of
"Deirdri:" Its Topography.
If for the first few days March [1878] seemed inclined to emulate
the peaceful calm and sunshine of its predecessor, it very suddenly
assumed a more warlike aspect; a change came over the spirit of its
dream; it became boisterous and rude; snow, and sleet, and rain, and
storm battling in wild comminglement. It still continued what is called
"open" weather, however; there was no frost, no razor-edged and biting
winds, and vegetation was rather temporarily checked than seriously
hurt or hindered. After this wild burst, in vindication, it is to
be presumed, of the month's right to be called after the bellicose
Mars, things slowly but steadily improved, and the weather is now
such as permits us to get on with our spring work uninterruptedly and
pleasantly enough. We have not yet, however, had a sufficiency of the
"March dust," so proverbially invaluable at seed-time; and nowhere
perhaps so invaluable, so absolutely essential indeed, in its proper
season, as in the West Highlands. The day, however, is now lengthening
apace, and with a bright warm sun overhead, and brisk north-easterly
breezes, we shall doubtless soon have dust enough and to spare.
Our reference to Mars the war-god, reminds us that Mars the planet,
with whose fiery effulgence every one is familiar, has recently
had an accession of dignity such as the old-world star-gazers never
dreamt of in connection with the ruddy orb. It is found to have at
least two attendant moons, small, and so exceedingly difficult of
detection even by the aid of the best instruments, that it is only
under the most favourable circumstances that they can be observed. It
is more than suspected that a third, and even a fourth satellite,
exists, and the planet will in consequence be subjected to the
closest possible scrutiny at all the observatories at home and
abroad for some time to come, in order to determine with certainty
the number of its attendant moons, and whether they be two or more,
to decide their sidereal revolutions, their diameters, masses,
and inclinations of orbits. By reason of his retinue of satellites,
Mars is now exalted to equal dignity with Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus,
and Neptune; and by the discovery another point is scored in favour of
the nebular hypothesists. It was on the night of the 1st January 1801
that the first of the planetoids, Ceres, was discovered by Piazzi of
Palermo. Next year Olbers of Bremen discovered the second planetoid,
Pallas, and so constant and searching has been the scrutiny to
which the planetoidal zone, situated between the orbits of Mars and
Jupiter, has been subjected, that the number of these minor worlds
is now no less than 182, the last three in the series, Nos. 180,
181, and 182, having been discovered since the beginning of February
last. Of these three, two were discovered by French observers; the
third by Professor Peters of Hamilton College, U.S., America. This
last, however, is suspected to be only a rediscovery, so to speak;
to be identical with Antigone, discovered five years ago by the same
indefatigable observer. If this be so, the asteroidal series amounts
at present date to 181. In favour of the ingenious hypothesis that
accounted for the existence of these minor orbs by suggesting that
they might be the fragments of a large disrupted world--of a large
planet rent asunder by some terrible internal convulsion--a great deal
could be said while the number of fragments was under half a dozen
or even double that number, but when the fleet of orblets began to
be counted by the score, the disrupted world theory was dropped as
no longer tenable in the circumstances. The hypothesis of Olbers,
however--for it originated with the discoverer of Pallas--led to a
great deal of curious research that resulted in no little gain to
astronomical science; and if it had to be given up as insufficient
in the case of a planetoidal zone, it left us a legacy that may yet
be turned to good account, that such a catastrophe, namely, as the
disruption of a planetary world into fragments that in the shape of
minor orbs would continue to revolve in orbits coincident with that
of the parent globe, is not only possible, but, under certain easily
enough conceivable circumstances, a probable enough occurrence.
Occultations by the moon of planets and first magnitude stars are
always interesting phenomena, and for many years we have rarely
missed observing such conjunctions as they became due, even if
the hour was otherwise inconvenient, if only the weather chanced
to be favourable. Last week there were two occultations, which for
particular reasons we were very anxious to observe, and as the weather
was clear and bright we had but little fear of disappointment. The
stars to be occulted were Alpha and Delta Leonis, the one on the
night of the 16th, the other on the night succeeding. Alpha Leonis
is of the first magnitude, distinguished, like some others of its
class, from the mere alphabetical order of stars by its proper name
of Regulus. Up to within a quarter of an hour of the computed moment
of occultation or disappearance of the star behind the moon's disc,
the sky was clear; and as we stood at our post everything promised
a highly satisfactory and successful observation; but alas, as the
moon and star, in nautical phrase, were close aboard each other,
a huge bank of cloud, driven by a north-westerly breeze, swept over
the scene, effectually occulting moon and stars alike from the most
penetrating gaze. It was provoking enough, but there was no help
for it. An observer in our climate must make up his mind to frequent
disappointments of this kind. We were still in hopes that although the
immersion was thus hidden from us we might be more fortunate in the
case of the emersion--the reappearance, that is--of the star on the
moon's western limb. But it was no use. Two or three times, indeed,
the moon shone forth for a minute or two together from through an old
cathedral porch-like rent in the intervening wall of cloud, but only to
be again obscured; and thus it continued so tantalisingly promising,
that we stood to our post until a glance at the clock showed that
the moment of emersion was already past, and it was useless waiting
or watching any longer. The great object in closely watching these
occultations is to observe, with all possible certainty, if there
is any distortion or momentary projection on the moon's disc of the
planet or star occulted at the instant of immersion and emersion,
in order to decide if the moon has an atmosphere or not. We have seen
enough, we think, from our own observations during the last five and
twenty years, to lead us to the conclusion that such distortion and
projection is occasionally to be seen, and that therefore, contrary to
the general belief of astronomers, a lunar atmosphere very probably
exists, though it may be of greatly less weight and density than
our own. Looking over our astronomical note-book, we find that the
winter just past--let us hope that at this date we may so speak of
it--was remarkable for two things--the almost total absence, namely,
of auroral displays, and the exceeding brilliancy of the zodiacal
light. We have only two recorded instances of the occurrence of
the aurora borealis, both in December, and both but partial, faint,
and ill-defined. The zodiacal light, on the contrary, was remarkably
bright and noticeable on almost every evening in February and early
March, its apex reaching up to and beyond the Pleiades, and with an
outline clear and sharply defined as ever was sheaf of the brightest
auroral light. So noticeable was it on several occasions, that all
the people of the hamlet began to speak about it, and inquire what
it could mean, for its perfect quiescence, its appearance night after
night in the same quarter of the heavens, and the absence of anything
like accompanying storms or aerial disturbance, satisfied even them
that it was not the fir-chlis or "merry-dancers" as they used to know
them. Let us assure our Celtic readers that an attempt on our part to
explain the nature of the zodiacal light in Gaelic was no easy task;
and if the truth were known, we fear our prelection quoad hoc was a
sad failure.
We have received the following note from "A Constant Reader:"--
"Nether Lochaber.
"Sir--Would you kindly let us know, through the columns of the
Inverness Courier, the proper name of the accompanying little bird,
and what part of this country it is properly a native of. It is never
seen in Ross-shire but during very heavy snow, and then they fly about
in large flocks, and disappear again as soon as the snow is gone.--I
am, yours respectfully,
"A Constant Reader."
Neatly packed in a couple of lucifer match-boxes ingeniously conjoined,
the bird reached us, and the locale of its being shot or captured we
can only approximately indicate by the fact that the package bore the
post-mark "Garve." There was no difficulty in at once recognising
the bird as the snow-fleck or snow bunting, the Emberiza nivalis
of Linnæus, a common enough bird in early winter over the whole of
Scotland. Although it has been known to breed in Scotland, a few
being found all the year round along the summits of the Grampians,
and other mountain ranges to the north and north-west, it is probably
a bird of considerably higher latitudes than ours; visiting our shores
as a migrant in October or November, according as the winter is early
and severe or otherwise, and leaving us again in March or April. It
is a hardy little bird, of plain and rather sombre plumage, prettiest
in the act of flight, when the white on the edges and tips of the
tail-feathers, and quills, and secondaries, comes out in pretty bars,
contrasting pleasantly with the dark and chestnut brown, which may
be said to be the prevailing colour. The snow-fleck has hardly any
song beyond a tremulous twittering, and a few call-notes so loud and
shrill that in the strange and solemn calm that sometimes precedes a
snow-storm, they may be heard at a great distance. Our correspondent
should have stated where, when, and how the bird was got, a knowledge
of such matters vastly enhancing the interest and value of a specimen,
especially if it has any claims to be accounted a rara avis.
We are indebted to our excellent Celtic friend, Mr. William Mackay,
Inverness, for a copy of his exceedingly interesting monograph on
The Glen and Castle of Urquhart, one of the most interesting spots
in the Highlands. Mr. Mackay attempts to make Glen Urquhart classic
ground by associating the story of Dearduil and Clann-Uisneachean,
as related in the mediæval Gaelic ballads, with the locality, by
pointing out that there is a Dun Dearduil in the neighbourhood--a
place so called after the hapless heroine of the ballad story. But in
the old and unquestionably authentic ballads her name is not Dearduil
but Deirdri; Deirdir and Daordir. Dearduil is a much later form of
the name, not older, Mr. J. F. Campbell hints, than the Darthula of
"Ossian" Macpherson. But there are other Dun Dearduils besides that
referred to by Mr. Mackay; one, for instance, near us in Glenevis;
and it is to be observed that all the places so called are vitrified
forts. An old man in our neighbourhood, one of our best seannachies,
always speaks of the Glenevis vitrified fort as Dun Dearsail
or Dearsuil, and this is probably the correct form of the term,
closely connecting it with dears and dearsadh, to shine, a shining;
to beam and be effulgently aglow like flame of fire. Remembering
that all the places so called present more or less marked traces
of vitrifaction, in the formation of which fire and flame, on a
large scale, must have been the chief and most remarkable agents,
the name comes to have a fitting and appropriate enough meeting,
without the necessity of taking in the name of Deirdri or Dearduil
at all. Mr. Mackay next gives a translation of a couple of quatrains
from the oldest known version of the Clann-Uisneachan ballad; that,
namely, of the vellum manuscript in the Advocates' Library, bearing
the date 1238, and quoted in the Highland Society's Report on Ossian:--
"Beloved land, that eastern land,
Alba, with its lakes;
Oh, that I might not depart from it;
But I go with Naois.
Glen Urchain, O Glen Urchain,
It was the straight glen of smooth ridges:
Not more joyful was a man of his age
Than Naois in Glen Urchain."
Mr. Mackay will have it, of course, that this "Glen-Urchain" is his
Glen Urquhart. The Gaelic name of Urquhart, however, is invariably a
trisyllable; but this apart, the Glen-Urchain of Mr. Mackay has no
existence in the ballad from which he professes to translate. The
quatrain stands thus in the original:--
"Mo chen Glen Urchaidh,
Ba hedh in Glen direach dromchain;
Uallcha feara aoisi
Ma Naise an Glend Urchaidh."
It is Glen Urchaidh, observe, not Urchain; the Glenurchay
of Argyllshire, in short, not the Glen Urquhart or Urchadan of
Inverness-shire. This is further proved by the context, the immediately
preceding and succeeding stanzas, which speak of Glen Mason and
Glendaruel in Cowal; of Duntroon; of Innisstrynich on Loch Awe; of Eite
or Etive, &c. In so far, in short, as this story of Clann-Uisneachan of
Ireland has to do with Scotland, we find it connected with Argyllshire,
where indeed we should most naturally look for it; and chiefly with
Glen Etive and Loch Etive, where we have Dun-Mhac-Uisneachan; Grianan
Dheirdir; Caoille Naois; Eilean Uisneachan, &c. &c. In Argyllshire,
too, it was that the Clann-Uisneachan ballads were preserved till
discovered and taken down from oral recitation by the collectors. And
if Dun-Dearduil and "Glen-Urchain" must be given up as having no
connection with the ballads in question, so would it seem to follow
that some other etymology than any connection with the name of Naois,
must be found for Loch Ness, Inverness, &c.