The Highland monthly - National Library of Scotland

74 T-he Highland Monthly
ballad-poet and clansman — I jogged along as
pleasantly as if 1 did not expect to find my young friend
dying. I have frequently thought that we have been
naturally provided, not with an antidote, but with an opiate
for sorrow, applicable for the mitigation of every grief, but
the remorse of a self-accusing conscience. Perhaps, how-
ever, my isolation in the social world prevents me from
estimating the strength of grief under circumstances to
which I have been a stranger. I know, however, that the
practice of the peasantry confirms my personal experience,
and that like myself and the ferce naiiiro!, they enjoy the
fleeting hour of sunshine, and bravely trust heaven in the
storm, be it of poverty or family affliction.
When I reached the muirland village where Mrs Ellis
resided, I left my horse at the inn (I forgot to say that I
had a Government allowance for the expense of horse and
gig for the road), asked the way to the widow's house, and
directed m}- steps towards it at once. The question
blistered my tongue, but some way I could not utter it
Is Willie living ?" The talkative landlord would have
told without asking, but I disliked to hear the worst from
his lips, especially since he seemed to be a Boniface that
had grown callous, drinking whiskey. The cottage to which
I was directed was on the outskirts of a straggling village.
As I stood by the garden fence, a girl came tripping from
a rivulet at a little distance, carrying a pitcher of water,
and accompanied by a merry boy, who was telling some
drolleries that made both laugh. They approached the
cottage. The boy, when he saw a stranger at their gate,
suddenly sunk his voice, and hesitated to adva-^ce. The
girl, who was older, took the lead. Here, I thought, are
Willie's sister and brother. Kate was much as I imagined.
Her eye had rather a roguish cast, but though the smile
raised by her brother's jokes flitted yet about her lips, her
face had signs of anxiety and care that were little in keep-
ing with her buoyant step as she tripped from the well. I
talked to the children, and soon learned their story. Kate
—