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accomplished by the combined influence of all the parish schools in Scotland, equally endowed, and supplied with adequate teachers? Popular education has made great advances in Scotland within a few years. The greatest zeal for learning exists among the people, and they require no compulsive acts, as in Germany, to induce them to send their children to school. Not to be able to read and write is regarded, in Scotland, as a great disgrace; and hence the poorest people are equally ready with the rich to avail themselves of the benefits of instruction. Good teachers are uniformly secured, because they receive an ample compensation, and none but well-educated and truly moral men would be accepted. In this respect their situation is greatly superior to that of parish schoolmasters in Germany or in the United States. On this subject, Kohl, the German traveller, mentions an amusing conversation which he had with the parish schoolmaster at Muthil. Having stated to the latter that the situation of Scottish teachers was far superior to that of teachers in his country, he inquired what was the average pay of schoolmasters there.

"It varies a good deal," was the reply of Kohl. "Some have a hundred, some a hundred and fifty, but many no more than fifty dollars."

"How many pounds go to a dollar?" asked he. "Seven dollars go to a pound."

"What!" he exclaimed, springing up from his chair, "do you mean to tell me that they pay a schoolmaster with seven pounds a year ?"

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"Even so, was the reply, seven pounds; but how much then do they get with you?"

"I know no one who has less than from forty to fifty pounds in all Scotland; but the average is seventy or eighty pounds; and many go as high as a hundred and fifty pounds."

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"What!" cried Kohl, springing up in his turn, a hundred and fifty pounds! that makes one thousand and fifty dollars. A baron would be satisfied in Germany with such a revenue as that; and do you mean to say that there are schoolmasters who grumble at it?"

"Yes," said he; "but recollect how dear things are with us. Sugar costs eighteenpence a pound; coffee two shillings; chocolate is still dearer, and tea not much cheaper. And then how dear are good beef, and pork, and plums, and puddings, and everything else!"

"I could not deny this," adds Kohl; "but I thought that our poor schoolmasters were content if they had but bread."

In former times the parish schoolmasters did not receive so much as they now do; but then they were clerks of the parish, frequently precentors in the church, and received a multitude of little perquisites. Their support has been made quite ample, having an average salary of a hundred pounds, with a free house.

But the sight of that school-house brings back the days of "lang syne." Well do I remember the old parish school-a long thatched building, at the "Kirk of Shotts," where I received my preparation

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for college, under the free and easy, but most efficient, administration of Dominie Meuross,' famed through all the country for his great classical attainments, his facetious disposition, his kind-heartedness, and his love of the pure Glenlivet.' Those were not the days of temperance societies, and the Dominie had so much to do with christenings and weddings, parish difficulties, "roups" and law-suits, that he was greatly tempted by the bottle. But he was a worthy man, and an enthusiastic teacher, especially of the classics. Teaching A, B, C, was rather a dull business to the Dominie; but oh, how merrily he would construe the Odes of Horace, what jokes he would crack over our lessons, and what effulgent light he would cast upon the classic page! Yet Dominie Meuross was a dignified man

-no one more so. The boys, indeed, enjoyed considerable latitude, especially at that end of the school opposite the one in which the Dominie sat, and many facetious tricks were played upon the duller boys, the "sumphs," as we used to call them. But the Dominie had only to pull down his glasses from his forehead, where they were usually perched, and direct a keen glance to "the other end," instantly to bring us all to perfect order. Dear old man! he has long ago "gone to the yird," but his memory is green as the grass which waves upon his grave.

The school and the church, the light of learning, and the light of religion, form the glory of Scotland. These have twined around her rustic brow a wreath of fadeless glory. These have given her stability and worth, beauty and renown.

But we have reached Dalhousie Castle, with its charming and romantic grounds, situated on a branch of the South Esk, a stream similar to the North Esk, and running in the same direction. These streams, after passing through scenery the most picturesque and beautiful, and watering a hundred spots consecrated by song and story, as if by a mutual attraction, unite a little above Dalkeith, and fall near the old town of Musselburgh into the Firth of Forth. Behind us, at the distance of a few miles, are the celebrated ruins of Borthwick and Crichtoun castles, the one on a branch of the South Esk, the other somewhat to the right, in the vale of Tyne. It was into Borthwick Castle that Queen Mary retired after the death of Darnley, and her unhappy marriage with Bothwell, and from which she was obliged, a few days afterwards, to flee to Dunbar in the guise of a page. Crichton Castle is beautifully described by Sir Walter Scott, in Marmion, and as we cannot visit this interesting ruin, take his description of it as the best substitute.

"That castle rises on a steep

Of the green vale of Tyne;

And far beneath, where slow they creep

From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders moist, and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine.

The towers in different ages rose;
Their various architecture shows
The builders' various hands;
A mighty mass, that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its foes,
The vengeful Douglas' bands.

"Crichtoun! though now thy miry court
pens the lazy steer and sheep,

But

Thy turrets rude and tottered Keep,
Have been the minstrel's loved resort.
Oft have I traced within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,
Scutcheons of honor or pretence,
Quartered in old armorial sort,
Remains of rude magnificence.
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced
Thy lordly gallery fair;
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted knots with roses laced,
Adorn thy ruined stair.

Still rises unimpaired below,
The court-yard's graceful portico:
Above its cornice, row and row,
of fair hewn facets richly show,
Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle go,
To shield them from the storm.
And shuddering still may we explore,
Where oft whilom were captives pent,
The darkness of thy Massy More ;*

Or from thy grass-grown battlement,
May trace, in undulating line,

The sluggish mazes of the Tyne."

Proceeding along the stream, we pass Cockpen, reminding us of the Laird of Cockpen and his amusing courtship, when

"Dumb-founder'd was he,

But nae word did he gae ;
He mounted his mare,

And he rade cannilie.

But aften he thought,

As he gaed through the glen,

* The prison vault.

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