Were there a discourse in broad Scotch delivered in the Lowlands after the superfine English, depend upon it your fine ladies and gentlemen would retire all in a band before their ears would be horrified by its sweet melody, and it would be a first-rate excuse to pretend that they had lost their broad Scotch.
“Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.”
You are in danger also, not from the chains and slavery of proud Edward’s power, but from another quarter you never suspect, namely, the Dominie’s tawse. Take care that he’ll not rob you of your wifies, weans; your Johnnies, Tammies, Willies; your Jessies, Katies, and Betsies; yes, your bonnie lammies, and from many other wee bits o’ things which you hae tingling about your hearths, and around your affections, which make you so sociable and happy, and moreover gives you such unparalleled tongues for melody and music. Again, as your friendly neighbour, I say take care.
I am convinced, that were the broad Scotch mixed with an English vocabulary, and pronounced as it is generally by educated Scotsmen, we would have a language for all the purposes of life, far surpassing the pure English, and which, instead of it being our envy, ours would actually be the envy of Englishmen. Such a language would not only give us clear heads, but also warm hearts; would not only be the best for the higher departments of literature, but the best for our homes, as husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters; for friends; and in the social circle; and put us in possession of lyric poetry, such as the English language has not, and never can produce. It is most extraordinary that intelligent well educated Scotsmen never attempt to speak their own language but when they wish to be humorous. Now, that really implies that they see something pretty in it after all, but that what is fashionable and customary amongst educated men prevents them from using it but for such a purpose. But I think that the pretty thing should not be altogether laid aside, but freely used, not merely for making the social circle smile, but also for warming their hearts, and making each feel that he is quite at home—in an honest, homely, cheerful Scotsman’s home.
How highly would I esteem that learned professor who, after delivering his lecture to the students in pure English, would no sooner leave his professional chair, and meet his friend, than he would salute him, not as the learned professor, but as the homely Scotsman;—that when he would enter his own dwelling and sit at the head of his family, he would appear there in the same garb, and would set an example before his children, not so much for correct speaking as for affability, kindness, and homeliness of manner;—who, when he would appear in the social circle, would be its life and soul—not indeed as the learned professor, but as the man of feeling, of intelligence, and of sociality. Is it not a known fact that great learning in a sermon actually destroys its effect, and that great scholarship in a man eclipses the affectionate friend, the social companion. A man brimful of learning we may admire but we cannot love.
Now, such is the English, a learned language. The Scholar is seen almost in every sentence. I may admire it, and in doing so I feel that it puffs me up, but love it I cannot. It is not like the Gaelic and the broad Scotch—the language of nature—but the language of art. In the Gaelic I see my own image reflected, but in the English the image of the scholar. As the Gaelic reflects the image of the Highlanders, and the broad Scotch that of the Lowlanders, I cannot but love them. I may admire the works of art, but love them I cannot; but the works of nature I not only admire, but actually love them also, and I cannot but do so.
The English language is not only to a great extent foreign to the Scotch people, but it is almost equally so to the great body of the people of England; and is it not extraordinary, that before men are considered qualified for preaching the gospel to the native inhabitants, they must do so in a language which they do not speak, and in a style of elocution which is not natural to them. An Englishman’s elocution is the most unlikely for moving a Scotchman, and far less a Highlander. I once attended an elocution class, whether the better of it or not I cannot say; but one day in the Highlands I opened the door and saw a woman within twenty yards, beyond a dyke—the upper part of the body only seen, her hair dishevelled, her hand raised, her fist shut, and scolding at a fearful rate. I heard her tones, caught her expressions, noticed the eloquence with which she spoke, and returned into the house, saying to myself—“It was quite needless for me to have attended Mr Hartley’s class, when elocution is to be found so near, and that of the right kind, the elocution of nature.”
Is it not a fact that some of the Methodists are sneered at by the Press for attempting to speak to the people in their provincialism. Go on, ye lively Methodists; never heed their sneers. You are doing the very thing which the Holy Ghost enabled the Apostles to do—to speak unto men in their own tongues. I question if the present style of preaching the Gospel will ever gain the hearts of the Scotch people to God. And I would not be surprised although God would show their folly to those who attempt to do so by raising up Evangelists—men endowed with a good fund of common sense and natural talent—men fired with zeal for the glory of God—moved on with warm hearts and compassionate souls, who will preach the Gospel to them in that language which is a part of their nature and the best medium for getting at their hearts. We know that conversion is the work of God, but when he deals with men he uses appropriate means. He does not lay aside the natural laws of their nature, but acts in accordance with them. When He unlocks the door of the heart He uses a key fitted for the purpose; and is it possible that a pure English style can be the proper key for unlocking the heart of that man who has been accustomed all his life long to speak broad Scotch. Had the Gospel ever such an effect as when it was preached in the native language of the country? There is not only an orthodox creed, but there must also be an orthodox language and even an orthodox elocution. It is to be feared that men with their orthodoxy will allow poor sinners to go to hell.
The orthodox creed, language, elocution, and even melodies, are all artificial—the handiwork of that being man, who would be as gods, and which are impossible to admire without being puffed up with a vain conceit of his great powers. O! how different the effects in admiring the handiwork of the Great Supreme as they are seen in nature—in birds, beasts, fish, flowers, mountains, and dales, the native languages and melodies of our races. The chattings of Highlanders and Lowlanders to one another is as much the language of nature as the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and the chirping of birds. And our native melodies are as much the melodies of nature as the singing of larks and nightingales. But proud man must do away with them by introducing his own artificial language and melodies, on which he puts the stamp of orthodoxy.
The pure English has not only committed a great havoc amongst us, both in the Highlands and Lowlands, but there is also an Englified style accompanying it in many places which is disgusting. Were there an English lady to settle in one of our Highland towns she would soon be surrounded by a goodly number of mimicking parrots. Cockneyism in Cockneydom does very well; I would almost dance with delight to listen to it there; but Cockneyism from the lips of a Scotchman, and far more from a Highlander, I abominate. I have been quite ashamed of some of my own countrymen, who, when they go South, are not satisfied with merely imitating Scotchmen, but they must become regular Cockneys. Ah! the pride of their hearts is contemptible. I would say to a Scotchman—if you wish to show yourself a man, show yourself a Scotchman; and I would say the same to a Highlander—if you also wish to show yourself a man, show yourself a Highlander. Is an Englishman alone to have the privilege and the honour of showing himself a man? Is he and his artificial English to be exalted as a god in every part of the United Kingdom? Must every knee bow and every tongue confess to him? I declare, in the name of my countrymen, that we shall not worship at his shrine; we shall not fall down and worship the golden image which he has set up. As a race, we and our language have hitherto been unjustly and contemptuously treated. But as we have in times past made others feel that we were alive, we shall not only make Scotland, but England also, feel that as a race we are still alive and have a language of our own. So that, from this time henceforward, should one Highlander show his peacock-tail to another by addressing him in any other language but his native Gaelic—considering it more genteel—let him be told at once without any ceremony, Tha mi ga fhaicinn, tha mi ga fhaicinn, ach ata mi faicinn cluasan fad na h-asail mar an ceudna; and in like manner, should a Scotchman show his peacock-tail to another by addressing him in any language but that of his native country, let him also be told at once, “I see it, I see it, but I see your long ears also.”