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Epistle Dedicatory to the
Presidents and Members of the Perthshire Societies of Edinburgh, Glasgow and
Dundee
Gentlemen,—I think it right
to explain to you, at some length, the reasons that have led me to dedicate
the following Essays to your esteemed associations.
Perthshire men must form the primary link of the chain which attaches you to
your native county. Its mountains are picturesque, and its valleys fertile,
but in its men dwells the first principle of that inner life which leads all
that are of a common stock to associate. Perthshire men are the lights that
sparkle on the picture which you so fondly cherish. When Sir Walter Scott
returned from his final continental tour, and was driven down the vale of
Gala, he was uneasy and listless, but when he saw the countenance and
grasped the hand of his friend Laidlaw, he exclaimed, “Now I know that I am
at Abbotsford.”
“The proper study of mankind is man.” His steps are tremulous when he essays
to go higher; at that beach his proud waves are stayed. All his visions of
angels and gods are mere reflexes of himself in a condition of physical
refinement. The spiritual life, so congenial to his nature, and so solacing
to his dread of annihilation, he is incapable of realising. The endless
existence is beyond his grasp. He finds these more objects of primary belief
than of assiduous research, nay of death itself he is utterly ignorant,
although it meets him in the street and in his own chamber. The abode in the
grave he cannot comprehend. He calls it “ the cold grave,” because in his
devious imaginings he is Dot able to realise a cold corpse placed in it, but
himself with his hot, bounding blood. He knows the grave is only cold when
viewed in combination with life, and he shuts his eyes, like a school-boy,
to realise the darkness, and compresses his nostrils to brave the terrible
mools.
Hence, “The proper study of mankind is man.” Himself and his utmost known
destiny, all that is characteristic of the age in which he is moving. How
the divine has preached ; how the soldier has fought; how the politician has
gone down to the house; how the poet has sung, gladdened the ear and
starved; how the painter has delighted the eye and fattened on chiaro-oscuro,
are all matters of deep interest, and no less so is the man who is born to
affluence, an exalted rank, and a countless following, or the poor man who,
in his coat of hodden gray, holds his own in the battle of life, if his
doing so has been marked by traits of character, that render him the type of
a class. “The working man” is a mere pseudonym. He who does not work, either
with head or hammer, is of no account. The distinctive talent is often lost
in the rich man by lack of motive, and driven out of the poor man by lack of
bread. Lord Byron was an erratic legislator, but his love of letters and
facility of pen sent him to his study, and he became the very greatest poet
of modern times. The brightest jewels in the coronets of Winchilsea and
Derby, are their studyings of Milton and Homer, and the present, and the
late premier have both been prominent contributors to our literature,
although their voices are rarely heard through the tocsin of politics which
never ceases sounding.
In these essays there are no strainings after literary skill or superior
knowledge of human life, but an earnest attempt to embody the character of a
whole people by very restricted personal incidents in the history of a few.
The princely hospitality of Lord Breadalbane, the gallant soldiering of
Baron Lynedoch, the refined tastes of Sir William Stirling Maxwell the
sculpturing of Lawrence Macdonald, the painting of Thomas Duncan, the poetry
of Lady Nairne and Robert Nicoll, the love stories of Bonnie Margaret
Drummond, and Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, together with the quaint
eccentricities of John Scott and William Glendinning, are interesting
themes, however dull I may have been in unfolding them, and amply justify
you in the partiality you have formed for the land of your birth, and me in
inscribing to such bodies of men my impressions of their interest and value.
The people of Perthshire take pride in the unions you have formed, not
merely as demonstrations of local partiality, but because love of country is
a normal condition in man, and the lack of it indicates a turning aside.
Lord Byron has written,
England, with all thy faults I love thee still.
Robert Burns in the fulness of his heart says,
Auld Ayr whom ne’er a toun surpasses,
For honest men and honnie lasses.
And in Sir Walter Scott’s famous passage on love of country, he denounces in
indignant terms the character of the man in whom it is found wanting,
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
But in every movement of your societies its presence is manifest, not only
as a primary condition, but as a vital, kindred impulse. The bird of passage
returns year by year and perches under his native eaves, but the lord of
creation goes out for life. He struggles for a name, and a position, and a
family carriage, and to the scene of that struggle he becomes partially
naturalised, but still retains in its pristine force the love of his
birth-place, and of the companions of his youthful days. It is highly
gratifying to all who remain as fixed denizens of our interesting county, to
hear from day to day that groups of intellectual citizens are being formed
in the more important business communities of our immediate country for
social and generous purposes connected with it, and that their sentiments
have been echoed from every land to which a Perthshire man has found his
way, and that embraces a wide area.
The county of Perth has little under-ground value. Neither coal, nor iron,
nor lime has been found within its boundaries; no mines of gold or silver,
only one of lead; but it is self-supporting beyond any other Scottish
county. It contains thriving homesteads and well-tilled lands, parks covered
with cattle, and carses waving with corn, hills clad with sheep, moors
fruitful of grouse, and rivers swarming with fish. It is studded with
palatial residences, and abbeys grey with age and full of historical
interest. Its scenery is unrivalled, its rivers and lakes limpid as crystal,
and its cities, towns and villages alluring to the welcome stranger. Besides
these enviable possessions, Perthshire has a thousand well-educated young
men, eager as hounds in the slips, to go out into the world and work for
their places at the counter, at the desk, or at the bar, at the bench or on
the bench, in the pulpit or the senate, on the ocean or the tented field. “
And many respected houses in Perthshire, and many individuals distinguished
in arts and arms, record with pride their descent from the Gow Ghrom
and the Pair Maid of Perth.”
With this explanation, Gentlemen, I inscribe these papers to you, confident
that when you read them you will feel encouraged in the preference which
your societies have hitherto shown for the land of your birth.
I have the honour to be,
Gentlemen,
With the utmost respect,
Your humble servant and countryman,
P. R. DRUMMOND.
Ellengowen, Almond-valley,
Perthshire, August 1879.
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