The Portland daily press., 1874-09-30
Letter From Scotland.
A WALK THROUGH ITHE HEATHER.
NAIRN, SCOTLAND, Sept. 5, 1874

was called TO the door yesterday forenoon
to see poor woman who asked for charity.
She was aged, and seemed much agitated, so
much so, indeed, that it was difficult to un-
derstand her broken speech. Her home was
at Moss-side, hamlet at some distance; her
occupation that of teld-laborer.
She told her story in a few words, but they
were full of pathos. She had "never troubled
the world BEFORE" A widow-she had lived
alone with a son, forty years of age who had
been "sily" from his birth. Last summer
he overworked himself under the severe,
pitiless eye of newly appointed overseer of
the farm, and probably had something like
sunstroke. His poor feeble brain became en-
tirely deranged, and remains so. OF late hs
could not.sleep, but would start from his bed
and wander out in the night under the i'm
preston that he was being urged to work.
The old mother would follow him in the dark
ness, pleading with him to come back and lie
down, and ooh, how 1 did greet" she said,
the tears streaming down her wrinkled brown
cheeks. The parish, that tender foster par
ent, aids her 10 the nxtAnt of tuAnts srA nnn.s
per week, but did not think it amiss to add
something to that muniAcent bounty. She
seemed quite overpowered by the sum pat
in her shaking hand; perhaps the words of
sympathy which were given with it had more
to do with her feeling. She clasped my hand,
said "God bless you," and went off crying.
I could not forget her, and this morning "we
three" started off on "wild goose chase"
tor we had quite forgotten to ask her name or
any particular direction to her home.
Now, if you know anything more delight
full than the walk in an early September
morning through green lanes, and lonely
roads. with the dark mountains framing the
landscape on one side, and the waters of the
Moray Firth sparkling on the other hand, the
pine woods giving out their sweetness, and
the wild flowers springing in every nook, and
woods, the velvety moss and the purple
heather giving way under your tread, if you
do know anything better than this, 1 give you
joy of it, but go with the poet. singing,
Fair flowers the gowan in our glens,
The heather on the mountains;
The blue-bells deck our wizard dens,
An kiss sparkling fountains.
On knock an knowe, the whin and broom,
An on the braes the breckan;
Not even Eden's flowers in bloom
Could sweeter flowers reckon.
We had thought walk of a mile would
bring us near our puir aud bodie, but we
could get no trace of her. We asked mum.
berless questions of the few travellers we met.
No one had ever heard of her. We faltered
little. Could it be that we had been imposed
upon? Was that sad story and those tears
''got up" for effect? We wouldn't think so
and we kept on. The last person interviewed,
by the way, was well-dressed, comfortable
looking man, who might have been small
proprietor or the factor of some wealthy
aird.
l put the usual questions, adding rather
faint-heartedly, 81 think she told me the
truth, but we don't always hear the truth,
you know" "Ah ma'am, the more's the
pity," was his response with very grave
shake of the head. 1 got some fresh direc-
tions from him, and compliment for my
good intentions, and we said ''gooG morn
ing"
How some folks II won't mention names)
would have laughed to see your correspond
ent squirming through wire fences, stumbling
over ploughed ground, and skipping over
potato hills as we took the short cut to a road
pointed out. The juvenile member refreshed
himself and kept my nerves in lively state
by disappearing every now and then, and bel
lowing from some remote corner like furi-
Gus bull, or rushing suddenly out with loud
barking, dlsagreeably suggestive of watch
full mastiff. The exercise was wholesome for
him, but not conclusive TO my comfort.
All at once, we came upon an old woman,
raking with huge rake, the scattered grain.
She had evidently numbered her three-score
years and ten, but here she was at her daily
task, and so intent on it that she did not no.
tice us till we spoke. In the same field was
the most singular structure for human babi
taton had ever seen. 1t was building. a
house, hut, or whatever one could name
it, made of sods, the matched roof almost
touching the grond, looking a little like
very dngy tent. The chief of the party pro-
posed that we should see the interior, and we
walked toward it. A woman was bringing
out the small iron pot, in which her dinner had
been cooked. The fragments remaining,
showed that potatoes alone had been cooked.
We exchanged few good-natured words,an
she invited us to walk in. IL was good deal
like cropping our way into cave for the one
small window admitted but little light. A
few bits of coal were smouldering in the fire
place and one or two iron pots and pans
stood on the hearth. A bed filled up dark
nook, and chest of drawers occupied most
of the space on one side the room. A couple
of chairs and small table completed the
furniture. The Woman was very civil. She