The Remarkable Rise of the Scottish Stonecutter

n                       There are giants in the pantheonnof Victorian scientists – Darwin, Huxley, Faraday, Owen, Buckland, Paley,nLyell, Maxwell et al. Unfortunately, some names are now almost forgottennand figures of immense influence and importance in their day have now been relegatednto undeserved obscurity. One such is Hugh Miller, a complex and fascinatingncharacter, whose name was once mentioned in the same breath as those of Agassiznand Hutton but who has since fallen from former glory. 

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nMiller was born innCromarty, Scotland on October 10^th 1802; his father Hugh, a seancaptain, was forty-four and his mother Harriet was eighteen when they hadnmarried. Five years later, the captain was drowned at sea, leaving his youngnwidow with a son and two infant daughters to raise, which she did with the helpnof her brothers, Uncles Sandy and James, and by what little needlework shencould find. Young Hugh was a voracious reader but a poor scholar, with but ansmattering of arithmetic, poor spelling and grammar, and firm, clearnhandwriting after ten years of schooling. 

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nIn 1819, his mother remarried and thenfollowing year Hugh ‘a slim, loose-jointed boy’ was apprenticed to hisnmother’s brother-in-law Donald Wright, a stonemason, working in a local quarry,nwhere the work was back-breaking and dangerous. In later life, Hugh wrote thatnit was at this time his love of nature was founded, and as his apprenticeshipnprogressed he became disciplined, earnest and skilled. Late in 1822, hisnindenture ended and after coming of age, the journeyman mason moved tonEdinburgh, where a building boom furnished work aplenty and good wages, butnHugh’s views on working men were forever soured by the example of hisncolleagues who wasted their weekly pay on weekend drinking binges, gambling andnloose women. 

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nHe returned home to Cromarty with his lungs damaged by stone-dustnand was so ill it was thought he may not live, but after some rest he continuednto work locally and began to write poetry. He also began to take an interest innreligion, and resolved to read his father’s Bible. In the spring of 1828, henwrote a list of things he intended to do, a strange compilation of desires thatnincludes studies of antique architecture, a memoir of his father, taking up oilnpainting, writing a book about the Psalms and writing an ode to the Ness. Hencontinued to earn his living by cutting inscriptions on gravestones in countrynchurchyards and published a book of poetry; in 1830 a Mrs Fraser wrote to herndaughter Lydia with a note describing Cromarty, 

nWhen Lydia came to Cromarty she met, and was captivated by, the poetical mason,na six-footer with a shock of red hair and immense physical strength who wasnhumble, soft-spoken and thoughtful. He, in turn, was fascinated by thenintelligent, fashionable lady, some ten years his junior, but with typicalnchivalry, he resolved to improve his station in life before pressing his suit,nas he could not envisage the marriage of such a lady to a manual labourer. Byncoincidence, at a breakfast with a banker friend, Mr Ross, in 1834, he was offeredna position as an accountant, not least because of his diligent reputation.nAfter some prevarication, he accepted and went to work at the Commercial Banknin Linlithgow; he began a correspondence with Lydia Fraser and started to writenhis first prose work Scenes and Legends in the North of Scotland, hopingnto emulate White’s Natural History of Selborne. 

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nThe work was wellnreceived by subscribers and critics alike, which encouraged Miller to continuenwriting and, on January 7^th 1837, he finally married Lydia. Onenchapter in Scenes and Legends, concerning geology, drew the greatestninterest from other writers and scientists and Miller began to correspond withnseveral of them. His Evangelical writings also began to attract attention andnin 1839 he was invited to Edinburgh, to become the editor of the religiousnnewspaper the Witness, which soon became immensely popular with thenScottish public, who took pride in the ‘commonality’ of the writings of anself-educated Scot. The paper was published twice a week and Miller often wrotenin excess of ten thousand words a week for the paper, in editorials, reportsnand features, and when Lydia and their daughter Harriet joined Hugh atnEdinburgh in April 1840, his domestic happiness and no longer having to dealnwith the stultifying boredom of balance sheets at the bank inspired hisnwriting. 

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nIn September 1840 he began a series of articles entitled The OldnRed Sandstone, a geological formation that had long been held to be barrennof fossils – Miller’s work proved otherwise, as he found countless marinenfossils in the stone. In September 1840, Miller’s discoveries were brought tonthe attention of the British Association for the Advancement of Science at itsnannual meeting, thrusting Miller into unexpected fame. His work was praised bynthe finest scientists of the day, William Buckland was so in awe of Miller’snprose style that he said he was,  

nThe columns were collected and expanded to anwork of over 300 pages, called The Old Red Sandstone; or New Walks in an OldnField (1840), a truly fascinating book that, idiosyncratically for a worknof geology, begins with an exhortation to working men to avoid trade unions andnthe Chartist movement, and to work hard to better themselves by hard work andninstructive reading, “ … upper and lower classes there must be, so long asnthe World lasts,” and to try to upset this balance invites disaster and thenpossibility of a ‘second Cromwell or Napoleon.’ Such a view was entirelyntypical of the Victorian zeitgeist, echoing the earlier concept of the GreatnChain of Being; the hymn All Things Bright and Beautiful reflects the view innits third verse –

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nBut Miller’s politicalnstance belongs in, and is a consequence of, its time; it is the descriptivenwriting in The Old Red Sandstone that places it in the category ofnClassic. It is vivid, rich and disciplined, the product of an expert andnenthusiast, self-educated but phenomenally well read, and always informed bynhis practical experiences in the quarries and stone pits. Many more worksnfollowed (his collected works run to thirteen thick volumes), the mostnenjoyable perhaps being First impressions of England and its people (1847),nwhich, from its title, one may be forgiven for expecting a hackneyed,ncliché-ridden screed from a Highland Scot, but which is, instead, a work ofnstaggering beauty; intelligent, civilized and so poetic it approaches thenmusical. The prose is elegant, fresh and restrained, perfectly illustratingneach point or impression with economy and ease. 

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nMiller’s geological writingsnare based on his observations, and although he believed the Earth to be ofngreat age, he strongly held the Biblical view of God’s creation, that speciesnhad superseded each other but not that they were descended from earlier ones.nThe similarities of animals were manifestations of the mind of God and, rathernlike William Jennings Bryan at the Scopes Monkey Trial, he thought the ‘days’nof creation were metaphorical eras of millions of years.  But we should not dismiss him as a muddlednVictorian Evangelical; his works are learned and incisive, many of hisnobservations remain relevant and his descriptions of fossils are timeless. 

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nInnlater life, Miller began to worry about his mental stability and the safety ofnhis family. His overlapping scientific and religious worlds began to divergenand he found it increasingly difficult to reconcile his views. There is somenevidence that he was experiencing the early stages of a degenerative brainndisease, and on Christmas Eve 1856 he took his customary bath and went to bed.nAt some hour during the night he awoke, went to his study table and wrote on ansheet of paper,  

nHe took his revolver, raised the left side of hisnsweater and placed the barrel against his chest. The single shot pierced hisnlung, grazed his heart, cut through the pulmonary artery at its root, andnlodged in the rib on the right side. He died instantly.

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nThe scientific and literarynworlds mourned the loss of a Titan; his widow received letters of consolationnfrom, amongst others, Dickens, Carlyle and Ruskin, and the largest crowd ofnmourners in living memory attended his funeral in Edinburgh. There is not spacenenough in a single blog post to honour this remarkable man to extent hendeserves, but if I might, may I direct you to the Discover Hugh Miller website,nwhich contains much more information. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.nAnd The Old Red Sandstone is still in press – do read it if you possiblyncan.

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