The times., 1897-12-19

bell, of GoTromalt, in Strathglas, and for
his wife, and for Morag, their second
daughter, when the word came that Muireall
had the sorrow OF sorrows. What is pain,
and is death a thing to fear? But there is
sorrow that no man can have and yet go
free for evermore of shadow upon his
brow, and there is a sorro W that no W oman
can have, and keep the moonshDe in her
eyes. AND wnen woman has this sorrow,
it saves or mars her; though, for sure, none
OF Us may discern just what that saving
may be, or from whom or what, or what
may be that bitter or sweet ruin. We are
shaped as ciayiD the potter's hand: ancient
wisdom that we seldom learn till the hand
IS mercfully still, and the vessel, finished
for good or evil, is broken.
Ill Is d uue sa lug Ii,"U iiicInory is IKE
the sea-weeu when the tide Is in-Dut the
tide ebba Each frond, each thick spray,
each filHcaun or pulpy eiote, lives lightly
In the Save. the green W ater IL fulof strange
rulnor, OF sea-iuag1c ana se3-rnusic, the
hirher- flow and thither- surge gives con-
tinuity and connection to what is fluid
and dissolute. But when the ebb is far
gone, ana the wrack and the weed lie
sickly in the light, there is only one con-
fuse,i, internnangled nass. For Host of US.
memory is this tide left strand; though for
each there are pools, or shadows, which even
the ebb does not lick up in its thirsty way
deptnw ward-narrow, overshadowed chan
nels to which we have the intangible clews.
But for me there will never be any ebb-
Iide OF memory for ole black hour and one
black day.
A wild-lone place it was where we
lived; among the wet hills, in a country
capped by slate-bacS mountains. To the
stranger the whole scene must have ap-
peareu Sruuly y desolate. Weuwelers there,
ana those of our clan ami tue hili-tolk
about and beyond, knew that there We're
three fertile stratiIs hidden among the
wilderness of rock and brscken: Strath-
iuor, Strauhgorm and Stratigias- II was
in the last we lived. All Stratbglas was
owned by Archibald Campbell, and lie
leased StratngUrm 10 where the uorromalt
water cut il off from the Lead OF Glen
Aunet. The house we liScd in was
louG, two storied, white-washed building.
with two projecting flanks. There was no
garden, but only a tangled potato o-acre,
and a large unkempt space where the kali
and the bracSen Ilvurished side by side,
and the kali perisbing dag by day under
the spreading strangiiDg roots OF tie
uSurper. The rain In StrattIrlas fell when
most other spots were fair The gray OF
black cloud would slip over Ben-Vreac or
Melbeinn, and would become blue-black
while one Were wondering IL tie wind
would lift it on 10 Maol-Dunn, whose
gloomy ridge had two thin lines of pine
trees, which, from Strathgias, stood out
like bristiing eyebrows. But, more likely
than not, it would lean slowly eastward,
and sometimes lurch like waterlocged
vessel. and then spill, through a rising,
misty yapor, dreery downrour. oh, the
rain-the rain-the raini how weary /
grew of it there; and OF tie melancholy
melting of the sheep, that used II fill the
hills with a lamentation, terrible, at times,
to endure.
And vet, / know, and that well. too.
that l am thinking this vision of Teen
ahrae, as the house was called, and or
its dismal yicinage, in the light OF tragic
memory. For there were seasons when the
rain suspended, or came and went like
fugitive moist shadows, days when the
sunlight and the wind made the noun
tains wonderful, and wrought the wild
barren hills nearer US to take on a soft
ness and dear, familiar beauty: hours,
even, when, IN the hawthorn times, the
cuckoo called ioyousiy across the pine
girt scaurs and corFies on MelbeiDn, or,
in summer, the swallows filled the stfaths
as with the thridding OF myriad shut
ties.
sure enough, was too young TO he
there: though, indeed, MOrag was no
more than a year older, being twenty,
hut when my mother died and father went
upon the seas upon one of his long whaling
VOYAGES, I was glad to leave my lonely
home in the Carse o Gowrie and go to
Teenabrae in Stra thglas, and 10 be with
INV aunt, that was wife to Archibald
Mac Alasdair Rua adh-Archibald Campbell,
as would be called in the hwlaDd way,
or Gorromalt. as he was ma med by courtesy,
that being the name of his sheep farm
that ran into the two straths where the
Gorromalt water surged turbulently through
a narrow wilderness of waye-scooped, ed
dy-hollowed stones and ledges-
1 suppose no place could he called life
less that had always that sound OF Gorro-
malt water, that ceaseless lamentation or
the sheep crying upon the hills, that hoarse
croaking OF tho corbies that swan black in
the air betwixt us and Maol-Dunn, that
mournfuI planning OF the lapwings as they
wheeled querulously for ever and ever and
ever. But to young girl the whole Of
this was an unspe akable WEAKNESS.
Beside the servant-folk there were only
Archibald Campbell, his wife, who was my
aunt. Muirean the elder daughter, and
Morag. These We're my folk: but Morag L
loved. In appearance she and differed
wholly. My cousin Muireall and / were
like each other; both tall, dark aired, dark
browed. with dusky dark eyes, though mine
had no flame in them; and my face, too,
though comely. am glad to know, had not
that touch of wildness which made Muir
calls so strangely attractive. and at times
SO beautiful. Morag, however, was scarce
over medium height. Her thick, wary
hair always retained the captive gold that
the sunshine had spilled there; her soft,
white delicate, wild-rose face was like
none other that have ever seen; her eyes,
OF that heartlifting blue which spring
mornings have, held living light that was
fair to see. and gave pain, too, perhaps. be-
cause OF their plaintive, hillside wildness.
All, she was fawn, Morag-soft and
sweet, swift and dainty and exquisite
a. fawn in the green fern.
Gorromalt himself was a gaunt, stern
man. He was six feet three. but looked less,
because OF a stoop. 1t always seemed 70 me
as If his eyes pulled him forward: brooding
somber obscure eyes, OF a murky gloom.
His hair was iron-gray and matted: black
err hut matted and tangled, his thick beard
and his face was furrowed like Ben Scorain
of the Corries. I never saw him in an yother
dress than gray shepherd tweed with a
plaid, though no Campbell In Argyll was
pronder than he, and he allowed no plaid
ortunsg anywhere on hisland or in his house
that was not OF the tartan OF MacCaiiim
Nor. He was what, there, they called black
Protestant: for the people tn that part held
20 the ancient faith. True enough. for sure,
all the same: for his pity W as black. and he
milk Of kindness in him must have been like
Gorromalt water in spate.
Poor Aunt Elspeth! NY heart often bled
FOR her. do not think Archibald Campbell
was unkind to her: but he was harsh. and
his sex was like black wall to her, against
which her shallow waters surged OF crawied,
alike vainly. There was to her something
at once terrible and Biblical i'm this wall
or cruel strength, this steadfast inde-
pendencc OF love or the soft ways of the
faiterng speech OF love. There are women
who hate men with deep and appalling
hatred who Hive with their husbands wear
after wear: who fear and serve them: who
tend them IN life and minister to them in