Footsteps of Dr. Johnson (Scotland)

by George Birkbeck Norman Hill

“Yon solitary Highland lass

Reaping and singing by herself.”

Even so far back as the reign of James VI. both languages were spoken in Nairn. “It was one of that king’s witticisms to boast that in Scotland he had a town ‘sae lang that the folk at the tae end couldna understand the tongue spoken at the tother.’”[555] Gaelic is no longer heard in its streets. The verge of the Higher lands must now be fixed farther to the west. Nine years before Johnson’s visit the little town had been stirred up by Wesley. On Monday, June 11, 1764, he recorded in his journal: “While we were dining at Nairn, the innkeeper said, ‘Sir, the gentlemen of the town have read the little book you gave me on Saturday, and would be glad if you would please give them a sermon.’ Upon my consenting, the bell was immediately rung, and the congregation was quickly in the kirk.”[556]

CAWDOR MANSE.

From Nairn our travellers turned a few miles out of their course to visit the Rev. Kenneth Macaulay in his manse at Cawdor. To Johnson he was known by his History of St. Kilda—“a very pretty piece of topography” as he called it to the author, “who did not seem much to mind the compliment.” To us he is interesting as the great-uncle of Lord Macaulay. “From his conversation,” says Boswell, “Dr. Johnson was convinced that he had not written the book which goes under his name. ‘There is a combination in it’ (he said) ‘of which Macaulay is not capable.’” “To those who happen to have read the work,” writes Sir George Trevelyan, “Johnson’s decision will give a very poor notion of my ancestor’s abilities.”[557] Let him take comfort. The present minister of Cawdor, to whose civility I am indebted, told me that in the Kirk Session Records is a minute by Macaulay “most beautifully expressed.” I had hoped to sit in the very parlour where Johnson had reproached him with being “a bigot to laxness,” and where he had given his little son a Sallust, promising at the same time to get him a servitorship at Oxford when he was ready for the University. But hopes that are based on the permanence of buildings are often disappointed. Of the old manse nothing remains. The minister, who rejoiced in having a more comfortable home than his predecessors, refused to share in my sentimental regrets. The situation seemed a pleasant one, as I saw it on a fine evening in July, with the sun setting behind the hills on the other side of the Moray Firth. The haymakers were busy at their work close to the house, in a field which is bounded on one side by a deep hollow, with a little brook flowing at the bottom, and in front by a row of old ash trees.

CAWDOR.

TALK IN CAWDOR MANSE.

In the company of Macaulay Boswell “had dreaded that a whole evening would be heavy. However,” he adds, “Mr. Grant, an intelligent and well-bred minister in the neighbourhood, was there, and assisted us by his conversation.” His grandson is Colonel Grant, who shares with Captain Speke the glory of having discovered the sources of the Nile. It was indeed an unusual gathering that August evening in the parlour of the quiet manse—Johnson, the first of talkers, Boswell, the first of biographers, the great-uncle of our famous historian, and the grandfather of our famous discoverer. My hopes rose high when I was told that a diary which Mr. Grant kept was still in existence. Of this evening’s talk some record surely would have been made. With sorrow I learnt from his grandson that “accounts of expenses, sermons preached, peat-cutting, stipends, washing twice a year, births, &c., are the principal things which are mentioned.” This washing twice a year must not be taken as a proof that this divine “had no passion for clean linen.” A Scotch friend of mine remembers a man who owned three farms in the neighbourhood of Campbeltown. In his house they only washed twice a year, though both he and his three sons who lived with him changed their shirts every second day. A time was chosen when there was a slackness in the ordinary work, and then the female servants were gathered from the three farms for a week’s hard washing. This same custom exists, I believe, to the present day in Norway. CAWDOR CHURCH. In the churchyard I found Mr. Grant’s tombstone. He lived till 1828—fifty-five years after he had met Johnson. He used to tell a story about the doctor which happily has been preserved. He had supped with him, as we learn from Boswell, at the inn at Inverness. Johnson, who was in high spirits, gave an account of the kangaroo, which had lately been discovered in New South Wales, “and volunteered an imitation of the animal. The company stared; Mr. Grant said nothing could be more ludicrous than the appearance of a tall, heavy, grave-looking man like Dr. Johnson standing up to mimic the shape and motions of a kangaroo. He stood erect, put out his hands like feelers, and gathering up the tails of his huge brown coat so as to resemble the pouch of the animal, made two or three vigorous bounds across the room.”[558]