The Recreations of Christopher North
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Li THE RECREATIONS EDINBURGH! PRINTED HY BAI.LANTYNE AND IIUOHRs, PAUL'S WORK, OANONGATE. THE RECREATI (J N S IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON. M.DCCC.XLII. CONTENTS. Page I. THE MOORS, PROLOGUE, ....... I FLIGHT FIRST GLEN ETIVE, . 4t FLIGHT SECOND THE COVES OF CRCACHA.V, ... 80 FLIGHT THIRD STILL LIFE, ..... 108' FLIGHT FOURTH DOWN RIVER AD UP LOCH, . 152 II. HIGHLAND SNOW STORM, ... 191 III. THE HOLT CHILD, ..... 220 IV. OUR PARISH, .... 2.3T V. MAY-DAT, 2GG. VI. SACRED POETRT, CHAPTER I., . .320 CHAPTER II., . .342 CHAPTER 373 III., ....... CHAPTER IV 391 RECREATIONS CHRISTOPHER NORTH. THE MOORS. PROLOGUE. ONCE we knew the Highlands absolutely too well not a nook that was not as familiar to us as our brown study. We had not to complain of the lochs, glens, woods, and mountains alone, for having so fastened themselves upon us on a great scale that we found it impossible to shake them off; but the hardship in our case was, that all the subordinate parts of the scenery, many of them dull and dreary enough, and some of them intolerably tedious, had taken it upon themselves so to thrust their intimacy upon us, in all winds and weathers, that without giving them the cut direct there was no way of escaping from the burden of their friendship. To VOL. II. A 2 RECREATIONS OF CHRISTOPHER NORTH. courteous and humane Christians, such as \ve have al- ways been both by name and nature as far back as we can recollect, it is painful to cut even an impudent stone, or an upsetting tree that may cross our path uncalled for, or obtrude itself on our privacy when we wish to be alone in our meditations. Yet, we confess, they used sometimes sorely to try our temper. It is all very well for you, our good sir, to say in excuse for them that such objects are inanimate. So much the worse. Were they animate, like yourself, they might be reasoned with on the impropriety of interrupting the stream of any man's soliloquies. But being not merely inanimate but irra- tional, objects of that class know not to keep their own place, which indeed, it may be said in reply, is kept for them by nature. But that Mistress of the Ceremonies, though enjoying a fine green old age, cannot be ex- pected to be equally attentive to the proceedings of all the objects under her control. Accordingly, often when she is not looking, what more common than for a huge hulking fellow of a rock, with an absurd tuft of trees on his head, who has observed you lying half-asleep on the greensward, to hang eavesdropping, as it were, over your most secret thoughts, which he whispers to the winds, and they to all the clouds ! Or for some grotesque and fantastic ash, with a crooked back, and arms dis- proportionately long, like a giant in extreme old age dwindling into a dwarf, to jut out from the hole in the wall, and should your leaden eye chance at the time to love the ground, to put his mossy fist right in your philo- sophical countenance ! In short, it is very possible to THE MOORS. 6 know a country so thoroughly well, outside and in, from mountain to molehill, that you get mutually tired of one another's company, and are ready to vent your quarrel in reciprocal imprecations. So was it once with us and the Highlands. That " too much familiarity breeds contempt" we learned many when to write text a long year ago, learning large ; and passages in our life have been a running commentary on the theme then set us by that incomparable caligraphist, " Butterworth. All the old familiar faces" occasionally in for a of that and on that come portion feeling ; ac- count, we are glad that we saw, but for one day and one night, Charles Lamb's. Therefore, some dozen years ago we gave up the Highlands, not wishing to quarrel with them, and confined our tender assiduities to the Lowlands, while, like two great Flats as we were, we kept staring away at each other, with our lives on the same level. All the consequences that might naturally have been expected have ensued; and we are now as heartily sick of the Lowlands, and they of us. What can we do but return to our First Love? Allow us to offer another view of the subject. There is not about Old Age one blessing more deserving gratitude to Heaven, than the gradual bedimming of memory brought on by years. In youth, all things, in- ternal and external, are unforgetable, and by the per- petual presence of passion oppress the soul. The eye of a woman haunts the victim on whom it may have given a glance, till he leaps perhaps out of a four-story window. A beautiful lake, or a sublime mountain, 4 RECREATIONS OF CHRISTOPHER NORTH. drives a young poet as mad as a March hare. He loses himself in an interminable forest louring all round the horizon of a garret six feet square. It matters not to him whether his eyes be open or shut. He is at the mercy of all Life and all Nature, and not for one hour can he escape from their persecutions. His soul is the slave of the Seven Senses, and each is a tyrant with instruments of torture, to whom and to which Phalaris, with his brazen bull, was a pointless joke. But in old age "the heart of a man is oppressed with care" no the Seven have lost their and longer ; Tyrants sceptres, dethroned and the feels are ; greyheaded gentleman " that his soul has set up its rest." His eyes are dazzled no more with insufferable light no more his ears tingle with music too exquisite to be borne no more his touch is transport. The scents of nature, stealing from the balmy mouths of lilies and roses, are deadened in his nos- trils. He is above and beyond the reach of all the long arms of many-handed misery, as he is out of the convulsive clutch of bliss. And is not this the state of best hap- piness for mortal man ? Tranquillity ! The peaceful air that we breathe as we are westering towards the sunset-regions of our Being, and feel that we are about to drop down for ever out of sight behind the Sacred Mountains. All this may be very fine, but cannot be said to help us far on with our Prologue. Let us try it again. Old men, we remarked, ought to be thankful to Heaven for their dim memories. Never do we feel that more pro- foundly than when dreaming about the Highlands. All THE MOORS. 5 is confusion. Nothing distinctly do we remember not even the names of lochs and mountains. Where is Ben Cru Cru Cru what's-his-name ? Ay ay Crua- chan. At this blessed moment we see his cloud-capped head but we have clean forgotten the silver sound of the name of the county he encumbers. Ross-shire ? Nay, that won't do he never was at Tain. We are assured by Dr Reid's, Dr Beattie's, and Dugald Stewart's great Instinctive First Principle Belief, that oftener than once, or ten times either, have we been in a day-long hollow among precipices dear to eagles, called Glen- " Etive. But where begins or where ends that severe sojourn," is now to us a mystery though we hear the sound of the sea and the dashing of cataracts. Yet though all is thus dim in our memory, would you believe it that nothing is utterly lost ? No, not even the thoughts that soared like eagles vanishing in the light or that dived like ravens into the gloom. They all re-appear those from the Empyrean these from Hades remind- ing us of the good or the evil borne in other days, within the spiritual regions of our boundless being. The world of eye and ear is not in reality narrowed because it ever and anon as a di- glimmers ; years advance, light rect from heaven dissipates the gloom, and bright and glorious as of yore the landscape laughs to the sea, the sea to heaven, and heaven back again to the gazing spirit that leaps forward to the hailing light with something of the same divine passion that gave wings to our youth. All this may be still finer, yet cannot be said, any more with than the preceding paragraph, much to help us on 6 RECREATIONS OF CHRISTOPHER NORTH. our Prologue. To come then, if possible, to the point at once We are happy that our dim memory and our dim imagination restore and revive in our mind none but the characteristic features of the scenery of the High- lands, unmixed with baser matter, and all floating mag- nificently through a spiritual haze, so that the whole is more than ever idealized and in of region now ; spite all his present, past, and future prosiness Christopher North, soon as in thought his feet touch the heather, becomes a poet. It has long been well known to the whole world that we are a sad egotist yet our egotism, so far from being a detraction from our attraction, seems to be the very soul of it in it, making impossible nature for any reason- able being to come within its sphere, without being drawn by sweet compulsion to the old wizard's heart He is so humane ! Only look at him for a few minutes, and liking becomes love love becomes veneration.