And more than this, being upbraided by a friend for his weakness in remaining on the spot where he had been betrayed, he made answer,* "She has left Mecklin, you say—what then?—the impression of her feet remain, and I shall be somewhat, at least, nearer to her."

That a temporary separation from those whom we love has been ordained as a merciful preparation for that great change which must one day be, is an idea which has pleased more than one writer. "Grieve not," says John, first Earl of Bristol, who wrote at the close of the sixteenth century—

"Grieve not, dear love, because we often part,

But know that nature kindly doth us sever,
Thereby to train us up with tender art

To brook the day when we must part for ever.

"For nature dreading we should be surprised

By that sad day, whose dread doth chiefly fear us,
Would keep us daily schooled and exercised,

Lest that the fright thereof should overbear us."

So also Donne, the satirist, some few years previously, had expressed a remarkably similar sentiment.

"Sweetest love, I do not go

For weariness of thee,

Or hoping that the world may show

A fitter love for me:

But since that I

Must die at last, 'tis best

Thus to use myself in jest,

By feigning death, to die."

And again, with a peculiar resemblance, and with a propriety of feeling seldom met with in the writings of the dramatic poets of that age, Pyramus to Thisbe, in an old play of that name, bearing date 1596

"The sealed religion which I bear to thee,

Doth let my footsteps: do I leave thy sight,

It seemeth to me a foretaste of hell.

And yet 'twere good that we should skill ourselves
T' the art of parting; lest that marrowless death,
Knocking untimely at our gate, should find
Our souls unripe to leave our loves behind."

*Life of Secundus. Edition 1731.

Z.

Sept. 1838.-VOL. XXIII.—NO. LXXXIX.

H

A VOYAGE TO ST. KILDA.

THREE days will now bring the English tourist from this huge metropolis of ours to the remote capital of the Scottish Highlands-the ancient town of Inverness. Once there, he may shape his course by sea or land to the depths of the mountain solitudes-those " Antres vast and deserts idle," where the sportsman loves to spend his superabundant energy, and—what is of more importance to Donald, if not to himself-his superfluous monies. The temptation of a steamvessel making the voyage to St. Kilda induced me to strike "off west last summer from Inverness-not to the Missouri or the Mississipi, but to the territory more solitary and less known even to Englishmen

To utmost Kilda's shore, whose lonely race
Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds.

The first day conducts the traveller to the western extremity of the Caledonian canal, near Fort William. Next day he is at Oban, with its beautiful bay, wooded and rocky eminences, and the stately romantic ruins of Dunolly Castle.* Thence our vessel bent its course through the Sound of Mull. The scenery on either hand now became bold and striking to a high degree. The ruins of Ardtornish Castle, the mountains of Morvern, the harbour of Tobermory, almost sealed up by an island, evidently of volcanic origin-each in its turn attracted and gratified our admiration. As we rounded the point of Ardnamurchan the sky darkened, the summits of the mountains were shrouded in clouds, and the sea became rough and blackened, almost as if threatening a storm; while the screaming of numerous sea-fowls mingling with the deep cadences of the gale, added a wild vitality to the exciting and romantic scene.

The vessel worked her way bravely, stemming the gale, and flinging the waves aside from her finely moulded prows; and we held on our course past the rocky shores of Eig and Rum, till we approached the coast of Skye, when she steered for the spar-cave of Strathaird. We landed immediately, partly in our own boats, and partly in boats

* Dunolly Castle was an ancient stronghold of the Macdougalls of Lorn, and the representative of that once-powerful family resides in a modern mansion close by the rugged ivy-clad fortress of his ancestors. Most of the Highland fortresses were built on jutting rocks and promontories, but few have such a commanding or beautiful situation as Dunolly. "A more delightful or romantic spot," says Sir Walter Scott," can scarce be conceived, and it receives a moral interest from the considerations attached to the residence of a family once powerful enough to confront and defeat Robert Bruce, and now sunk into the shade of private life." The Brooch of Lorn, celebrated in the "Lord of the Isles," being a studded brooch said to have been left in his mantle by Bruce when pressed in personal combat by the followers of Lorn, is said to have perished in a fire which consumed a temporary residence of the Macdougalls of Lorn; but it still lives in the strains of the poet, where it has attained a higher celebrity than if it had continued, without such commemoration, to beam for ages on the breast of Lorn.

from the island, and commenced exploring the interior of that romantic cavern. The approach leads between two rugged cliffs of limestone, and the landing-place is much impeded by fallen masses of rock. The immediate mouth has been half built up, on penetrating which the real entrance appears, in the form of a stately Gothic arch. Following a path, which winds to the left among blocks of stone, we arrive in front of a steep ascent, crowned with a stalactitic incrustation, which, gleaming in the torch-light, bore an exact resemblance to a glacier or ice-clad rock, glistening in the sunshine. To the summit of this ascent we climbed with little difficulty, owing to the rough coating of the sparry incrustation; and beheld above us a lofty dome, white as alabaster, and adorned all around with stalactitic columns, and frost-work of the most beautiful fantastic forms and groupings imaginable. A descent similar to the acclivity which we had scaled, leads down to a deep pool of the most limpid water, fed by the incessant distillation from above, and yielding a clear view to the very bottom of the starry goblet, white as marble, within which it is contained. Hours might be spent in exploring the beauties of this enchanting cave; but I regret to state that it has been greatly injured, and is in the process of being still more by the rude hands of thoughtless visiters breaking off the pendent stalactites, and even the roughened knobs and projections which adorn its pillared structure. Even the guides, who should be the protectors of these natural beauties, show no reluctance to sell specimens, which they must have obtained by the same rude and nefarious spoliation; and in many places the whiteness of the walls and columns has been sullied by the flame and smoke of the torches held carelessly too close in displaying, or rather in destroying, that softened transparency which gave a peculiar lightness and elegance to all its other attractions. We left the spar cave with feelings of strong admiration, not unmixed with pain, and steered for the Coolin hills, in a bay adjoining to which we anchored for the night.

The scene was shrouded in that twilight obscurity which is all the night experienced in these northern regions in summer. Some of the passengers, foreigners, were struck with this effect of a northern latitude, so different from what they were accustomed to observe. The partial indistinctness of vision added to the impression of the high mountain terraces on each hand; and as the evening was calm, and the water scarcely ruffled, the party spent several hours on deck. There was a military gentleman on board, and the son of a French colonel, and we had some interesting discussion on the respective merits of the French and English armies. Our countryman contended for the power of flogging in the army as a dernier ressort, which was necessary in grand cases of crime and insubordination. While men of all descriptions were admitted into the army, without a discretionary power being vested in the commanding officer, flogging was, he said, a necessary evil.

"But we have no such punishment in France," replied the other, "and the French army is inferior to none."

"True," rejoined the Englishman; "but your system of discipline is far more severe than ours. You imprison for one, two, and three

H 2

years you shoot a man if he strikes his officer. We have no such lengthened terms of punishment, and we never punish capitally in time of peace."

Both agreed in an opinion, which seems just, that the army would be raised in character by a power of dismissal being vested in superior officers; that as an honourable profession, affording the means of comfortable food and clothing, enlistment in the army might be rendered an object of interest, and even ambition, to a young man in the ordinary ranks of life, instead of being, as is too often the case, a badge of degradation, and a receptacle for the refuse of society; and that, when thus elevated in character by a simple but sure means, there would be no lack of respectable recruits to fill the ranks, and no necessity to have recourse to the harsh and debasing system of flogging.

Early next morning we went ashore, and bent our steps towards Corriskin. But what a scene now met our gaze! Around us towered mountainous cliffs of prodigious height, splintered, cleft, and pointed into a thousand wild and fearful forms; huge blocks of black granite lay scattered in all directions; down the rents that scarred the sides of the tremendous precipices, rushed many a rain-fed torrent, flickering in the sun, like waving lines of molten silver; and in the dark bosom of the Corri lay a loch as black and sullen in aspect as if its waves were liquid lead. Some of the party scaled the precipices by paths rarely trodden, returning by the bed of a mountain torrent at that time half lost in the chinks of its rocky channel; and for some time after their return were silent in the deep awe which the wild magnificence, the terrific sublimity of the scene, had cast over them.

After skirting several bold headlands, where cliffs of immense height rose sheer from the water's edge, and frowned over the vain chafings of the flood below, we stood for North Uist, and having got a pilot on board, steered safely round the rocky sound of Harris; and then bore away across the wide sea for St. Kilda. Here, again, we were met by a stiff breeze and a long heavy swell, through which we laboured steadily and even swiftly onward. This being Sunday, divine service was performed by a clergyman on board, the passengers and crew forming a considerably numerous and very attentive audience.

On the night of that day we reached St. Kilda, and entered within its bay; but as the wind blew right on shore, and the anchorage was unknown, the captain judged it best to stand out again, and cause the vessel to lie to in the offing. At daybreak we again entered the bay —a gun was fired, and the inhabitants were soon beheld running to and fro with the eager speed of extreme curiosity to gaze upon the unwonted form of the stately vessel, and to meet their visiters. No sooner did the boats reach the shore, than the natives hastened to assist them with the utmost alacrity. The mother-in-law of the

minister of St. Kilda was among the passengers; and it was very pleasing to witness the warm and even extravagant expressions of delight with which they crowded round her, grasped her hands, and uttered their fervent welcomings. Only one of them appeared to be

able to speak English, and he displayed the utmost readiness to conduct the passengers to the habitations on the island, and to point out whatever might excite interest or curiosity. The minister himself soon made his appearance, and was at least equally willing to bestow attention. He seemed a respectable man.

The natives of St. Kilda are undoubtedly placed in one of the lowest grades of civilisation. Like all semi-barbarous people, their sources of emotion are few, but the emotions themselves vivid and strong. Curiosity and wonder were depicted on their countenances in the most lively colours. The dresses of the ladies of the party called forth exclamations of surprise and delight. Sweetmeats, gaudy colours, and silver money, attracted equal attention; and some of them very speedily displayed considerable shrewdness in making what they thought a good bargain, in the sale of dogs, cheeses, brooches, &c., which the passengers were eager to purchase as memorials of the island. This proves them not deficient in natural capacity, however wanting in cultivation. In the latter respect, indeed, it is scarcely possible to imagine anything more deplorable. Their huts are of the most wretched description, resembling from a little distance a Hottentot kraal, except that they have not the regularity which marks the kraal.

Every hut is nearly inaccessible from the filth which lies before its door, consisting of putrid seafowl, and refuse of all disgusting kinds. The interior is scarcely better, consisting generally of two apartments, one being divided from the other by a rude partition of loose stones, within which is the dunghill, which is also the bed of the wretched inhabitants, and which is composed of alternate strata of feathers and long moss, new strata being added from time to time, as the others decay, and the whole gradually growing into a pile of manure, which is removed once a year to the tilled ground adjoining. The stench both inside and out, it may well be conceived, is intolerable.

The personal cleanliness of the islanders is upon a par with that of their houses. Their squalid attire, slovenly habits, and diminutive stature, give them a mean appearance; which is, however, somewhat redeemed by an expression of countenance considerably intelligent, and, when we saw them, lighted up with curiosity and kindness. There are about five or six different names indicative of different families among them; but, owing probably to their frequent intermarriages, their features have all what may be termed a family likeness. They marry young, yet their numbers do not seem to increase perceptibly, owing to the excessive mortality among the infants. Out of ten children born, not more than one survives the ninth day. This is caused probably, in a great measure, by the mephitic air which the new-born infant is compelled to breathe, and which absolutely poisons its tender lungs; together with the deleterious food, melted butter and milk, with which they are at first fed, instead of that nourishment with which nature blessed the bosom of the mother. Yet though they cannot shake off their pernicious habits, nature displays in them her own fine workings, despite their wretched customs. Every child which survives is regarded as a common boon, as might be seen in the eagerness which every female displayed to get into her arms