“The natural columns of basalt, near the landing-place, lie in so many different directions that I cannot give a clear notion of them—erect, oblique, and horizontal; and sometimes in each of these positions they are curved. In the first cave which occurs, the columns are bent in such a manner as to have given rise to its name of the scollop; but I think they look still more like the inside of the timbers of a ship. On the other side, the wall which leads into the cave, is formed by ends of columns, which make it appear something like a honeycomb; and immediately beyond this cave, the broken ends form a sort of stairs to the causeway, and up to the great cave. Beneath this part of the cliff is situated a single rock, called Buachaille, (the herdsman) a name commonly applied in the Highlands to remarkable mountains and rocks. There is a very striking coincidence between the Gaëlic and the Greek languages, not only in this, but in other words; and my companion, who is well acquainted with the Gaëlic, thinks that they must have had a common origin.
“Of the three caves in the south-west side of the island, the westernmost is called the cave of Mackinnon; who seems, from the number of places to which he has given his name, to have been a hero of considerable celebrity. Its height is 50 feet, and length 224 feet; but although grand and sublime in general effect, it has not the beautiful regularity so remarkable in the cave of Fingal; which I will now endeavour to describe.
“The opening into this celebrated cave finishes above, in a sort of Gothic arch, which is 66 feet above the surface of the water. The breadth, at the entrance, is 42 feet; the whole length of the cave, 227; and the height within, from 40 to 50 feet. The sides, like the front, consist of groups of columns; and the ceiling, at least towards the middle, is composed of the sections, or broken ends of columns, which give it a very architectural appearance. The sea never ebbs entirely out, and, therefore, forms the only floor of the cave; but the broken range of columns which produces the exterior causeway, is continued on each side within, and admits of access over the broken summits to the farther end, if the water be not too high.
“After all, it is so impossible to describe this cave, that the very attempt is presumptuous.—The more it is studied, the greater is the admiration of the beholder. The richness arising from the multiplicity of the parts—the great extent—the twilight gloom—the varying effects of the reflected light—the transparent green of the water—the echo of the surge rising and falling—and the profound solitude of the whole scene, must make a strong impression on any mind at all sensible to beauty, in art or nature. I only wish you could all have seen it, my dear friends.”
18th.—This has been a most charming day; the mild calm dry feel of the air reminded me of the lovely weather that we are accustomed to at Rio. Here the days are very changeable; but then the nights have not that extreme chilliness that they have in Brazil.
It was resolved, at breakfast, in order to shew me a little of the country, that we should take a long walk—visit a farmer who lives about a mile and a-half from this—and then return by a different way, through a hamlet, inhabited by some of the poorest class.
We were all ready at one o’clock, which was the appointed hour.—My uncle dislikes very much that people should not be ready in time, and really considers it a fault not to be punctual; he says, it shews a selfish disregard of the wishes of others, and besides, that a great deal of time is wasted—melted away by waiting for each other.—I hope I shall learn to be more exact than I used to be, when with my indulgent mother.
We walked through several fields; but they all had a confined appearance, from being so much more fenced than the open country to which I have been accustomed. Some were all life and bustle; the reapers cutting the corn with their sickles, and dexterously laying it in a line, so that the binders who follow them can tie it up into sheaves without delay; several of these are then made to stand endways, in a little tight group, called a shock. In another place, horses and waggons were engaged in drawing home the corn which had been reaped first, and was now dry enough to preserve it, to the farmyard, where it was to be stacked; and they were succeeded by many little girls, who were gleaning the scattered ears. Farmer Moreland was in his farmyard, overseeing the stacking of his corn, and I could not but admire the neatness and regularity with which the sheaves were placed, with the tops pointing towards the centre, all being made quite firm, and the outside of the stack kept perfectly even. My uncle made me also observe that open passages, for the circulation of the air, were left in the stack, to prevent its fermenting or heating, which would spoil the grain. What a curious thing it is that decaying vegetables, when thus pressed together, without a free passage of air should produce such a chemical change, as to cause them to take fire!
After we had rested ourselves in Farmer Moreland’s comfortable house, we looked at his garden, where I observed several rows of large sunflowers, with the seed of which he feeds his fowls; and we then left him and Dame Moreland, as we saw they were very busy.
In the nice smooth green fields which we passed through, there are no beautiful flowers, like those which spread a brilliant carpet over our plains; nor is there any of that rank grass, nearly the height of a man, so common in some parts of Brazil. The hay was all made up some weeks ago, so that I cannot see the delicate flowers of the grasses, nor their slender stalks or culms. My aunt says, that grass contains a great deal of very nourishing sugary juice; and if the hay is cut and made up early, before that juice is exhausted by maturing the seed, it becomes much more strengthening food than when mowed late.