The Helena independent. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1875-1943, 1890-10-05


the theory that endless companionship
with anything az exasperating as intermit-
tant fog, sun and drixzle, in time, gives
the habit Of liking it, if not indeed Of love.
That the Scotch love their mists aad drix-
zles you have endless proof. Dear Auld
only the pridefai appellation for mist
wreathed, drizzle-sprinkled Edinburgh,
one of the most interesting cities of the
world, but it is the love-name of all old
Scotia itself. Any day in the year-for in
Scotland you will be caught in q shower
you will meet groups Of society ladies' or
business men gathered at crossings or near
important building entrances, CHEEKY a.
larks on June morning in their exchange
of oourtesies OF gossip. while tiny rills Of
rain are merrily coursing from their ears,
chins and noses, or seeking along tolerative
vertebrs the sequestered and spongy shades
skirts. While about George square, at
Glasgow, the old Iron Steeple, Dumfries,
the picturesque landing place at Oban, and
along High street or IN Waterloo Place,
Edinburgh, you will zee SCORES of people
standing idly in the rain. as though they
had come out of irksome and combining hab-
itations for an invigorating sup. literally
sup, of this sort of fresh air.
Perhaps it il the wizard witohery Of
Scott, as poet and novelist, perhaps the ra-
diant romance of all Scottish borderland,
but you never tire of Tweed-vale and its
first to feel this. The old monks loved the
valley and dotted the Tweed side with
splendid inconsistencies. Tho grazing lands
were the richest; their cattle the finest;
their grain of the plumpest kernel; their
fruit the sweetest; in all Britain. tradition
has it that the fine old apple orchards still
standing here-all Of them on the Tweed's
v,or%I, hGnho oud MANY If them "A vondar
full in their fruitage as in that marvellous
vale Of apples where once dwelt Gabriel
and Evangeline at the edge Of hinas Basin
nJa planted to by these g,.. ooS lied
been hundreds of years ago. But
gray enough for that. Little hamlets have
grown up in and about those ancient orch
ards. Weavers' villages they once were.
The clack of the dusty loom is now still;
but they are quaint old nests housing quaint
old folk, who have ripened and mellowed in
they At into their orchard environment as
the orchards themselves blend with the
restful Landscape. II you have wandered
up and down the Tweed, perhaps of all these
brae- side nests you have found Gattonslde,
by Melrose, the dreamiest and quaintest.
ssSn ss TO e euF
cool and fragrant. On the ono side
ls ancient st. Cuthbert's and moss
grown mill and dam. Tiny fields
with tidily-stooked grain rise in
patches Of yellow. gray and green on the
then flashes the blue Of the Tweed. Then
an old suspension bridge il crossed.
Above and below, anglers stand waist deep
in the river, and few carts are taking
gravel from its shining bed. A little far
Their on groups Of old peasant women,
scandal. are cutting thistles and weeds
with sickles at the waterside. These
brambles will be dried to help piece out the
meager fuel in the near winter days. At
the village edge the road ends; or rather
blends :. int 6 score Of oeatu1y-beste e1
Of its matched houses, as if with a touch
of Scotch obstinacy, sets its face towards
its own liking; but all have the Tweed
and it's songs just below them; and every
one has it's orchard enclosed with yellow
or white sinuous wall. Huge as oaks
well-pruned branches are bending even to
the c0ttage-roofs with such loads Of "rosy-
cheekit'' apples, that their scarlet blends
strangely with the red tiles, and gives
the whole village the appearance of q
gorgeous cloak spread upon the emerald
VI UA0 U4Al.8kAos W uou U00 U1O68OAA0 610
lush in the springtime, what glory Of
color must lie under the sun here in old
Gattonside! If men live in the village
your keenest gaze cannot find them. It is
shopless, save where in one little window
ssweeties" of ancient make and flavor are
mile away at Melrose disturbs the won
drous quiet of the place. All doors are
open to all IN Scotland, and you peer into
this cottage and that. The incarnation of
sweetness and cleanliness, but no human,
is beheld. Here is an old schoolhouse. de-
serted and silent. An orchard was its
play ground, but few sheep are grazing
among its tender grasses now. Uncon-
sciously you have begun to tip toe through
the hamlet. for it seems as though even Il
football might break the spell of silence
and repose; and you pass on to roach the
rough, red road that leads to the primeval
quaint old cottage that you halt again.
Something like an arched front from which
rises huge chimney arrests your attention.
On either side of the chimney is a tiny pane
of glass. You peep into one and see the
oldest ingle:nook in all Scotland. huge
taRe and the. chimney above enoloses
a cavernous fireplace. At each side
of this settle Of stone is
built in the bow beneath the arch. The
panes of glass are little outlooks from this
peasant fortalice of a snuggery. Opposite
old woman is asleep. She has been Knitting
and looking and dreaming out through the
apple-boughs across the sunlit vallev. Her
white old face is as white az her white old
"mutch" cap. She had knit to the
middle of her needle, and then
fallen asleep. But her thin old hands hold
the needles upright and clenched, as though
duty lasted beyond consciousness; and her
cat has come to the opposite settle to stare
at the silent face, as if doubtful of the
meaning when the clicking needles stopped.
Gattonside among the apple orchards and
their sunshine by the Tweed.
Edgar j.. WAKKEAN.
Copyright.
Nice line of carriage robes 1t A. J. David
son Co.'s.
The largest stock tho l0vvesf rricea n mill;