Year: 1865

It was on q fierce and bowling winter
day that was crossing the dreary moor of
Auchindown, on my way to the manse of
snow, which had been necessarily falling
for q week past, was drifted into beautiful
but dangerous wreaths, far and wide, over
the melancholy expanse- the scene
kept visibly shifting before me, as the
strong wind that blew from every point Of
the compass struck the dazzling masses,
and heaved them up and down in endless
Transformation. There was something in
spiriting in the labor with which, in the
buoyant strength Of youth, forced my
way through the storm-snd I could not
but enjoy those glesmings of sunlight that
ever and anon burst through some: unex-
pected openings in the sky, and gave
character Of cheerfulness, and even warmth,
to the sides or SUBMITS of the stricken
hills. Sometimes the wind stopped of a
sudden, and then the air was as silent as
the snow-not murmur to be heard from
spring or stream, now all frozen up over
those high moorlands. As the momentary
ceesations of tho sharp drift allowed my
eyes TO look onwsrds and around, saw
here and there, up the little opening val
leys, cottages just visible beneath the black
stems of their snow-covered clumps of
trees, or beside some small spot Of green
pasture kept open for the sheep. These
intimations of life and happiness came de-
lightfully to me in the midst of the desc
latiOn; and the barking of dog, attend
ing soCs shepherd in bis quest on the bill,
put fresh vigor into my limbs, telling me
that, lonely as I seemed to be, was sur
rounded by cheerful though anseen COM
pany. and that was not the only wan
derer over the SHOWS.


As I walked along, my mind was insen.
sibly filled with crowd Of pleasant images
of rural winter life, that helped me gladly
onwards over many miles Of moor. I
thought of the severe but cheerful labors
of the barn-the mending of farm-gear by
the fireside-the wheel turned by the foot
Of old age, less for gain than as thrifty
pastilne - the skillful mother, making
"auld claes look amaist as weel's the new {"
the ballad unconsciously listened to by
the family, all busy at their own tasks
around the singing maiden-the old tradi-
tionary tale told by some wayfarer hospit-
ably housed till the storm should blow by
the unexpected visit of neighbors on


eed or friendship-or the footstep of lover
undeterred by snow-drifts that have buried
up bis hocks; but above all, l thought of
those hours of religious worship that have
not yet escaped from the domestic life of
the peasantry of Scotland-of the sound
of psalms that the depth of snow cannot
deaden to the ear of Him to whom thew
are chanted-and of that sublime Sabbath.
keeping, which, on days too tempestuous
for the kirk, changes the cottage of tie
shepherd into the temple of God.


With such glad and peaceful images in
my heart, I travelled along the dreary
moor, with the cutting wind in NV face.
and my. feet sinking in the snow, or slid.
ing on the hard blue ice beneath it-as
cheerfully as ever l walked on the DENY
warmth of summer morning, through
fields of fragrance and of flowers And
now could discern, within half an hours
walk, before me, the spire. of the church
close to which stood the manse of my