The Highland monthly - National Library of Scotland

130 The Highland Monthly.
tion of the authorities to a part of the inquiry that had been
omitted in the regulations. Still I had no ambition of
teaching " my lords," and I dreaded another lapse of forget-
fulness which might bring a rebuke upon me. I dreaded
it all the more because a friend at head-quarters told me of
another blunder of mine not officially noticed. When I
am studying, I have an abominable custom of scribbling
odds and ends of thought on the sheets of blotting paper I
use, or on the margins of the manuscript itself. When
men, animals, or scenery enter into my meditations I draw
caricatures instead of descriptions. I was never taught
drawing, and my sketches are caricatures. Now, when
drawing up that first official report, I kept the margins
clean enough, and wrote out the manuscript in my most
clerkly hand, but by ill luck, on sending it away, I left
several tale-tell sheets of blotting paper between the leaves,
which astonished the secretary, and made " my lords"
laugh. Of course, I vowed sincerely to be more careful in
future, and took a wise step to prevent a breach of my vow.
My brother was blessed with a large, healthy, and noi.sy
family—dear nephews and nieces don't be angry that I tell
the truth, since I love you well. They interrupted me continually.
At one time baby quarrelled with mamma, and
only Uncle John could quiet it. At another time boisterous
Charlie and pertinacious Tommy rudely broke the thread
of my meditation to decide a difference of opinion on a
question of property in pocket knives and fishing tackle.
And Lucy—my quiet, inquisitive, best-loved niece—how
that child puzzled me with her earnest, dreamy look,
unearthly beauty, and mysterious imaginings and long-
ings ? I have sat by the bedside of the dying Christian
and of the insensible sinner, but in neither case did I ever
feel such awe, such faith, such hatred of sin, and such coii-
sciousness of immortality and a judgment to come as in
presence of the child who instinctively knew that the mark
of Azrael was upon her young brow, who died, to every-
thing but love and hope, long before she ceased to breathe