Last, and perhaps most curious,
the sons of chieftains were often educated on the continent of
Europe. They went abroad speaking Gaelic; they returned speaking,
not English, but the broad dialect of Scotland. Now, what idea had
they in their minds when they thus, in thought, identified
themselves with their ancestral enemies? What was the sense in
which they were Scotch and not English, or Scotch and not Irish?
Can a bare name be thus influential on the minds and affections of
men, and a political aggregation blind them to the nature of facts?
The story of the Austrian Empire would seem to answer, NO; the far
more galling business of Ireland clenches the negative from nearer
home. Is it common education, common morals, a common language or
a common faith, that join men into nations? There were practically
none of these in the case we are considering.
The fact remains: in spite of the difference of blood and language,
the Lowlander feels himself the sentimental countryman of the
Highlander. When they meet abroad, they fall upon each other's
necks in spirit; even at home there is a kind of clannish intimacy
in their talk. But from his compatriot in the south the Lowlander
stands consciously apart. He has had a different training; he
obeys different laws; he makes his will in other terms, is
otherwise divorced and married; his eyes are not at home in an
English landscape or with English houses; his ear continues to
remark the English speech; and even though his tongue acquire the
Southern knack, he will still have a strong Scotch accent of the
mind.
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