The record-union., 1894-01-27
LADY MAC TAVITT'S WIG.


the ragged northern edge of the shire Of
Inverness, lies the romantic and majestic
Valley of Strathglass.
1t was the Strathglass or "gray valley"
of the ancient Gaels, nearly always gray
in the skies above it; gray in it's valley
bed where the stubble fields, banks of clay
and dreamful winding river blend; gray
despite its splashes of crimson laid by
the watching pencils of the early frost;
gray in it's masses of birch, in its myriad
lichened crags, and almost gray in the
very mists Of its boundless mournful
waterfalls.
At the edge Of great crag overhanging
the northern valley highway, where the
strath breaks away into the sunny Glen
Cannach to the southwest. and the higher,
gloomier, grander Glen Affrick to the
northwest, two persons were standing
in the warm sunlight of an early Septem-
Der day.
One was the young artist, Hugh Ritchie,
a guest among a score Of titled folk at
Lord Glebemoth's hunting lodge, Guesa-
chan, at the edge of Glen Cannach. He
had lust finished his last study for his
great landscape of Strathglass, which
now hangs in the National Gallery at
London.
The other was highland lassie. Joan
Saunders, who, to the scorn and envy OF
some of the great folk at Guesachan. had
been his inseparable companion in his
summer Sketchings which had all been
made from this overhanging cliff above
her own roadside cottage home below.
The artist had just handed the girl a
roll OF sketches and was standing with
one arm around the trunk of a dwarfed
fir, leaning forward with shaded eyes to
lastingly impress the scene with its min
utest detail of nature touch and tint upon
his memory.
Joan was waiting,behind him, calmly
gazing as if from simple habit wherever
the artist might gaze, but with some
thing like a look of settled, hopeless
patience in her face-a fine, frank, hon.
est face, perhaps more beautiful for GER
tain way in which she poised her head,
outward, betokening expectancy; up
ward, as if her nature was strong from
storms that had been, to brave all storms
to come.
What glorious scenes were those they
looked upon! For a score of miles the
entire southern horizon of the strath was
q serrated edge of nr-crowned mountain
nights, above escarpments Of steel-gray
stone; of lichened masses of rock and OF
dead trees uprooted by howling tempests;
of alder oak and birch, like hanging
banks of moss in the distance; of frs SO
darkly green that they took on the guise
of upright beds of purple heather, here
and there furrowed by foaming waterfalls,
all these giving place in the east TO mount
ain masses in gigantic swaths, or like
emerald headlands in endless succession
above some peaceful shore, advancing,
retreating, and, with interstices OF opal
inc hue, where the glens and mighty
chasms were as if color in nature thro Dbed
and ebbed until it faded in languorous
death in blue and purple and ghostly
mist.
To the west were strath and mountain
views more glorious still. From the
north a wild torrent poured out OF Glen
Cannach through gorge so deep and vast
that even the roaring of the waters was
muffied and still. Thousands of feet
above loomed grand Knockfin, its sum-
NIT girdled with caStle-Iike walls OF
stone. Beyond. uplands rose and rolled
in matchleSs valley ascents TO lone Glen
Affrick's wilds.
Far in the north Ben Wyvis, giant mon
arch of the region, thrust its grlzzied cone
above stately mountain piles. Nam Sull,
s'hill of the eye," stood guard in the west,
while the whole far horizon beyond,
pierced by hundreds OF grim old peaks
wreathed in endless bands and wings O1
mist. seemed like some vast archipelago
OF massive erags endlessly beaten by the
spume OF laundering seas.
Glittering peak, Dlanched cliff and
threatening precipice, burst through the
heather and sea-green copse. Away
among the nights the eagle wheeled
above the gorges, calling to the echoing
Deaks for companiOnship in its Solltudes.
Tumbling burns quiyered and flashed,
or showed cascades like t1ecks OF lace
from within the shadows. And over all
songs of rivulet, burn and river, over
covert, copse and glen, over islet. bog and
tarn. Hooded the September sunshine,
painting for the artist and the Iassle
there, the whole transcendent scene III
unbound dyes.
The artist turned from the wondrous
panorama as if almost despairing OF trans
ferring its ever-changing seemings and
hues to canvas, and shaking his head
sadly, said gravely the girl:
Joan, am afraid we never can do itl''
The word I'VE" sent the blood into her
face grandly.
lsGin yam misdoubts theirsels-"
Don't say 'gin.' Joan. Say if in
stead"
''Gif-"
''There, there. Joan. Remember 'gif'
is worse than 'gin.'
81 ken na ither way, when / speyk GOT
nv hearts thochts, Meester Ritchie, y
She replied, bridling up a little. ''Ablins,
eef yam misdoubts theirsep, they're
a,ready half whippit. Th' Laird ha' gle q
We MIGHTY geefts, Hugh. Dinna hyle i
His face wiz sic chirmins am baelins. PIT
a stoot heart tae sty brae, am th' wark's
a. bit dinl'
.srrue enough, Joan; true enough,
Upon my honor believe you could paint
StrathgIass yourself. / could, too, If
could have you with me ell the time"
aye can ha' me, an ye wull!"
She said it as impassively as she would
have said it was about to rain, the river
was low. or that she heard her father, by
adoption. singing a Gaelic song of wal
avn there in his half cottage, half store
by the roadside beneath them.
"Rut what of my art, OF London, o
eoo Joan?'' He said it fairly, like al
hanest man that he was, naming his
In strength and weakness without {
I'VE Gamma ha' a., Hugh Ritchie. Wul
hide i Strathglass."
Oi..Gl .sRlass YOU for noble girl, Joan. Ii
.o,, mt this valley on canvas, and l will
I'll II he free OF poverty's clutches forever
Tban ), he continued, grasplng her @ hanol
l..s,tilv. .sl,ll be back here IN Jlffy, bul
navv Saunders little croft for you and l
nJ nns we'll let the great folk"-this with al
;,,natient motion of his head toward lI'l tul'
.ata5 Guesachan at the edge OF Glen Can
.'easceI,-..f London and all the world go t1
She dell together!