{cut off} OF THE SCOTTISH TONGUE

{cut off} the uncommon thing in England as in America to hear educated men and even {cut off}, remonstrating against the continuance of a Scottish literature. "Why," it is argued, "continue to use a language, and dialect which must soon become obsolete?" Well, we answer, it has a charm to us which we are not willing to sacrifice to utiliarianism. Practical as the world is, our tastes are happily not entirely so, and so we prefer holding fast those ideal things which to us are a joy forever. The memories of our early day are yet the morning sunshine of our lives. Where is the kindly heart that has not felt that

"There's aye a bit gleam o the gude and the true. As we dream the bit dream of our childhood anew."

And what brings this feeling home to a Scot at home or abroad -- like Scottish writings? When Tannahill wrote that simple line, "The midges dance abune the burn, " he set a living image before thousands of his countryment which all the gnats above the brooks in England could never have conveyed an idea of.

The Scot is notably sicker, but no people so frequently give up wealthy and desirable positions to enjoy on a moderate competence their fondly cherished home associations, nor do any more readily make sacrifices to attain cherished ideas. The Highland woman who asked here gudeman to "gang up and be hanged to please the Laird," is an exaggerated illustration of this feeling, while the history of "The Forty-five" Rebellion showed a national self sacrifice probably without a parallel. From the sage, Lociel, who foresaw and pointed out the terrible dangers imminent yet could not resist -- the wild poetical feeling swept, irresistibly through the people, who staked all in their devoted enthusiam, the world knows with what result. Yet from that great uprising, and the merciless down-trampling that followed it, what a glorious heritage of national poetry sprung! we do not say the people did wisely in linking their fate with that of the "Young Chevalier," but they were borne away impulsively by sympathy and love of right, the noblest impulses that stir the human heart. So whether it be wise or no, we feel that there is something grandly loyal in our enthusiastic love of our mother-tongue. This much for the ideal.

Yet are we not without reason for the faith to which we cling, for there are virtues in the Scottish language well worthy of preservation. Uttered by rude tongues it may be harsh, but from modulated lips it is very musical, and we have often heard people of other nations speak of the pleasure it gave them. There is a tender pathos in the dialect, and a fine rythmical flow in the strong simple words , with their profusion of vowels, to which we proudly cling. If any one doubts the truth of this let them read Hogg's "Bonny Kilmeny," and believer: or Tannahill's "Bonnie Wood o'Craigielea," or "Gloomy Winter's now awa;" Burns' "Nannie O;" or Robert Nicoll's__

"There nane like you, theres nane like you

The youngsters blithe around me now,

Are bonnie a', baith great an' sma',

But auld gudewife there's nane like you"

Simple thoughts enough , but tenderly expressed and touchingly grand in their simple homely woreds.

Willie Laidlaw', "Lucy's Flittin', is another fine illustration of the expressive tenderness of our venaculara:

"O what is that pits my puir heart a flutter

And what {missing}ars the tear come sae fast to my e'e

If I was'na {missing}ettlet to be only better,

Than what gars me wish ony better to be."

"The Braes o'Gleniffer," and "When the Kye come hame," are equally beautiful . How that verse beginning "When the bluart bears a pearl," take hold of the Scottish heart, and where is the Scot whose ambition would not be fired to write as musically. The first four verses of Miss Blamire's "What ails this heart o'mine," Lady Ann Lindsay's "Auld Robin Gray,"the Countess of Nairn's "I'm wearin' awa," "The Rowan Tree," and many others have excellencies and beauties enough to stimulate the Scotch to follow in such footsteps for generations to come.

Nor does the Scottish muse of modern days lag far behind. Henry Scott Riddell's "Scotland Yet," " I'll awa hame to my ain folk," and other pieces, are worthy of her palmiest days. W. Cameron's "Meet me on the Gowan Lea," "Jessie o' the Dell," and "Morag's Faery Glen,"--

"Ye ken whar you, we burnie rins roarin' to the sea,"--

are brimming with gladness and beauty as the birdies and the burnies themselves.

Many of the Scottish idioms are very expressive and there is a pith in the language, as there has always been in the race which uses it. Take for example Burns' "Address to the Deil," "Tam o'Shanter," or "Death and Dr. Hornbook," or Nicoll's "We'll mak' the warld better yet."

There are not a few useful Scottish words which have no English synonym, while many are indifferently represented. "Wersh" cannot be expressed in English; its best representative is saltless, but this is a thoroughly negative condition, whilst wersh is a very positive flavor, as every one who tastes unsalted bread or brose is apt to testify. "Douse" expresses at once a pleasant and tranquil disposition, with a well-conditioned body. "Crouse" is nearly untranslateable; it is conceited, sprightly and inclined to braggart. "Dinnle," the painful sensation caused by the return of warm blood to very cold fingers. Who knows the English of it? Is it tingle: How indefinite, while dinnle or dinnlin expresses the exact feeling sharp as the sensation itself. "Toom" is empty, but specially applicable to wood vessels, the word itself being the very echo of an empty barrel. "Braw" is better than any word we know to represent it. "Bonnie" is better than pretty, and not always so much as beautiful, commonly denoting kindliness of countenance, with beauty, when applied to living things. "Blithe;" this Saxon word may be claimed as thoroughly Scotch, the English having neglected it. It has no equal in its place, as Scotch authors have well proved. "Threepit" expresses enforcing as well as maintaining, and is very pithy. "Birkle;" In a Burns Glossary we have seen this interpreted "a clever fellow." Had Burns with "a Hieland gill in his cheek" caught this gomoral at his translation, what a loundering the cuif had got A "birkle" is a proud upsetting fellow, more guilty of lack of brains than their possession. We all know how finely sarcastic it is. "D'ye see you birkie ca'd a Lord." "Leal" is the very essence of loyal affection, and a word of rare merit. "Biel" is a shelter from the wind and a very expressive word. "Pawky" may be rendered artful, dodging; we know no better. It is full of meaning, generally implying humorous cunning. "Eerie;" Whoever in a dark and lonely place has felt a vague, undefined dread, a creepiness of the hair, though not really in fear, has been eerie. The feeling is well-known, but not expressible in English. "Glamour;" Let him who knows the English of this explain it. The "evil eye" of the gipsy and the killing glance of the lover possess it. "Gleg" is quick sharp and active, concentrated. "Gowk" is a simple foolish person; goose is the only translation. "Kep" is neither catches nor receives, but both. How perfectly poetical is the proverb "Ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew." "Gawkie" is a thoughtless and awkward lassie or woman. "Gowpin," as much as can be lifted in both hands placed together. "Gancie" is at once handsome, sprightly, and of ample proportions. There are scores of such words which might be quoted. Where shall we find haffets for an Englishman, or a word to make him mensfn'; how set him hotchin' by a cozie ingle, or rinnin' pechin' upa brae, which is not a hill. While others dodge we will jouk; they may be big and sturdy fellows, we can set against them strappin', buirdly chiels. They dinna ken our grips and clours and cowps for carles "dour an'din," nor how we can daud and dirl the croons o' Dae-nae guids and gar them sough and swither. aye, and wauble as feckless as a tewed and wuzzent runch. As little ken they what a cantie hit bodie auld Grannie is, or how she loes to tent the toddlin weans. They may court their gentle girls on pretty hillocks or vales; we'll woo our canny lassies on the bonnie knowes or in the bieldy howes; while their children go to pluck the pretty daisies, our 'ill gang to "pu the gowans fine:" while brooks ripple between their flowery hanks, burns shall wimple by the broomie hraes where goslins cheep and linties chirl, and laverocks lilting sing. What Scot would not prefer a brumel to a brambleberry; or a hine to a rasp (the mention of which might se one's teeth on edge instead of a watering); or gloaming to twilight; or a scaur to a precipice, which might be a linn; or guidwife to good wife; or lowe to flame, which is also bleeze; or agley to crooked, which is different; or birr, or eident, or couthie, or vauntie, or rowth or gear, or girn or glower, or Laird, or Bailie, to any corresponding English, and there are many other words equally expressive.

It is easy however to have too much of a good thing, and Scotticized Scotchis as unpalateable to a Scot as would be an over-stuffed haggis. Hately Waddell's version of the twenty-third Psalm is sadly overdone. The man who renders drookit for anoint, might aiblins dook till he dreeps in a Liddisdale dow and be nae the dafter for it.

Though "old times" or "long ago" can never be taken as an equivalent for "Auld Lang Syne," the Scotch have long been cognizant of and adopted many of the excellencies of the English language, and we are quite willing to play a give-and-take game. Let England and Scotland unite in language as they did in government. We shall not even insist upon kinging them this time as at the last union, but will meet them and treat them frankly as though they were our very equals. If England is not sufficiently enlightened for this, Scotland can well afford to wait, resting on her dignity, and great as is her penuriousness (she has long been a thrifty banker), from her overflowing wealth so carefully garnered she will continue to sent her sones, as she has done for ages past to beautify and enrich English literature in all its branches, and the world shall be gladdened by her bounty.

But as an Arab after offering his favorite steed for sale begins ruefully thinking over its many good qualities, so do we of our Scottish muse. A verse of John Imlah's song "There lives a young lassie far down in yon glen," springs to our lips:

"Red, red as the rowan her milling wee mon

And white as the gowan her breast and her brow

Wi' the foot of a fairy she links ower the lea

Ah! weel I loe Mary, and Mary loes me."

And while that music floats though our brain we swither about the agreement rushly proposed, and really don't think Scotland could ever afford to give up her native Doric. Life without it would not be worth having. J.H.P.

{in hand writing} March 1865

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