Year: 1877

Among the Scottish Hills.


In some parts of Scotland there are


great many high hills or mountains


crowded together, only divided from


each other by deep valleys. They al


grow out Of one root-thst is, the
earth. The tops Of these hills are


high up and lonely, with the stars
above them; and The wind roaring and
raving among them makes such q
noise against the hard rocks, running
into the holes in them and out again,
that their steep sides are sometimes
very awful places. But in the sun
sh;r q, alihou sh they look lonely, they
are so bright and beautiful, that all the
boys and girls fancy the way to heaven
lies up those hills.


In the winter, on the other hand
they are such wild, bowling places,
with the hard haiiStOnes beating upon
them, and the soft, sinothering snow
fakes heaping up dreadful wastes OF
whitenesS upon them, that il ever
there was child out on them he
would die with fear, if he did not die
with cold. But there are only sheep
there, and as soon AS winter comes
over the tops of the hills the sheep
come down their sides, because it is
warmer the lower down you come;
even foot thick of wool on their backs
and sides could not keep out the terri
BILE cold up there.


But the sheep are not very knowing
creatures, so they are something better
instead. They are wise-that is, they
are Observation-Disclosures, obedience
often being the very best wisdom.
Because they are not knowing, they
have man to take care Of them, es-
pecially when a storm comes on. Not
that the sheep are 50 very silly as not
to know where to go to get out Of the
wind, but they don't and can't think
that some ways of getting out of danger
are more dangerous still. They would
lie down In quiet place, and stay there
till the snow settled down over them
and smother them. Or they would
tumble down steep places and be killed
or carried away by the stream at the
bottom. So, though they snow a lit
tie, they don't know enough, and
therefore need shepherd to take care
of them.


Now the shepherd, though he is
wise, is not quite clever enough for all
that is wanted of him up in those
strange, terrible hills, and he needs his
dog to help him. s--


Well. the shepherd tells the dog
what he wants ldone, and of
the dog runs to do it; for he can run
three times as fast as the shepherd, and
can get up and down places much bet
ter. am not sure that he can see
better than the shepherd, but 1 know
he can smell better. So that he is just
four legs and long nose to the shep-
herd, besides the love he gives him,
which would comfort any good man,
even if il were offered him by hedge
hog or hen.


One evening, in the beginning of
April, the weakly sun of the season had
gone down with pale face behind the
shoulder OF a hill in the background OF
my story. And because he was gone
down, the peat-fres upon the heartfs
OF the cottages all began to glow more
brightly, as if they were glad he was
gone at last and had left them their
work to DOOR, rather, as II they
wanted to do all they could to make up
for his absence. Aud on one hearth In
particular the peat-f1re glOwed very
brightly. There was a pot hanging
over it. with supper in it; and there
was little girl sitting by it, with a
sweet, thoughtful face. Her hair was
done up in a silken net, for it was the
custom with Scotch girls to have their
hair so arranged, many years before it
became fashion in other lands. She
was busy with a blue ribbed stocking,
which she was knitting for her father.


He WAS out on the hills. He had
that morning taken his sheep higher
up than before, and Ellen knew this;
but it could not be long now before she
would hear his footsteps, and measure
the long stride between which brought
him and happiness home together.


But hadn't she any mother.


Oh! yes, she had. If you had been
in the cottage that night you would
have beard cough every now and
then, and would have found that
Ellen's mother was lying in bed in
the roOm,-not bed with curtains,
but bed with doors like press. This
does not seem nice way of having
bed; but we should all be glad of the
wooden curtains about US at night, if
we lived in such Il cottage, on the side
of hill along which the wind swept
like wild river, only ten times faster
than any river would run, even down
a hillside. Through the cottage it
would be spouting, and streaming, and
and fighting all night long;
and poor woman with a cough, or a
man who has been out in the cold all
day, is very glad to lie in a sheltered
place and leave the rest of the house to
the wind and the fairies.-E From
"Gone Astray," by George Macdonald,
st. Nicholas for September.