_His years are young, but his experience old.
His head unmellowed,--but his judgment ripe.
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth,
Come all the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman._
Shakspeare.
I was now in a situation which might have alarmed the fears even of one
born to penury and inured to hardship. Every day diminished a pittance
which I had no means of replacing; and, in an isolation which debarred
me alike from sympathy and protection, I was suffering the penalty of
that perverse temper, which had preferred exile among strangers to an
imaginary degradation among 'my own people.'
As it became absolutely necessary to discover some means of immediate
subsistence, I expended part of my slender finances in advertising my
wishes and qualifications; but not one enquiry did the advertisement
produce. Perhaps the Scottish mothers in those days insisted upon some
acquaintance with the woman to whom they committed the education of
their daughters, beyond what was necessary to ascertain her knowledge of
the various arts of squandering time. I endeavoured to ward off actual
want by such pastime work as had once ministered to my amusement, and
afterwards to my convenience; but I soon found that my labours were as
useless as they were light; for Edinburgh, at that time, contained no
market for the fruits of feminine ingenuity.
In such emergency, it is not to be wondered if my spirits faltered. My
improvident lightness of heart forsook me; and though I often resolved
to face the storm bravely, I resolved it with the tears in my eyes. I
asked myself a hundred times a day, what better dependence I could wish
than on goodness which would never withhold, and power which could never
be exhausted? And yet, a hundred times a day I looked forward as
anxiously as if my dependence had been upon the vapour tossed by the
wind. I felt that, though I had possessed the treasures of the earth,
the blessing of Heaven would have been necessary to me; and I knew that
it would be sufficient, although that earth should vanish from her
place. Yet I often examined my decaying means of support as mournfully
as if I had reversed the sentiment of the Roman; and 'to live,' had been
the only thing necessary.
I was thus engaged one morning, when I heard the voice of Murray
enquiring for me. Longing to meet once more the glance of a friendly
eye, I was more than half tempted to retract my general order for his
exclusion. I had only a moment to weigh the question, yet the prudent
side prevailed; because, if the truth must be told, I chanced just then
to look into my glass; and was ill satisfied with the appearance of my
swoln eyes and colourless cheeks; so well did the motives of my
unpremeditated actions furnish a clue to the original defects of my
mind. However, though I dare not say that my decision was wise, I may at
least call it fortunate; since it probably saved me from one of those
frothy passions which idleness, such as I was condemned to, sometimes
engenders in the heads of those whose hearts are by nature placed in
unassailable security. This ordinary form of the passion was certainly
the only one in which it could then have affected me; for what woman,
educated as I had been, early initiated like me into heartless
dissipation, was ever capable of that deep, generous, self-devoting
sentiment which, in retirement, springs amid mutual charities and mutual
pursuits; links itself with every interest of this life; and twines
itself even with the hopes of immortality? My affections and my
imagination were yet to receive their culture in the native land of
strong attachment, ere I could be capable of such a sentiment.
As I persevered in excluding Murray, the only being with whom I could
now exchange sympathies was my new Highland friend, Cecil Graham. I
often saw her; and when I had a little conquered my disgust at the filth
and disorder of her dwelling, I found my visits there as amusing as many
of more 'pomp and circumstance.' She was to me an entirely new specimen
of human character; an odd mixture of good sense and superstition,--of
minute parsimony and liberal kindness,--of shrewd observation, and a
land of romantic abstraction from sensible objects. Every thing that was
said or done, suggested to her memory an adventure of some 'gallant
Graham,' or, to her fancy, the agency of some unseen being.
I had heard Maitland praise the variety, grace, and vigour of the Gaelic
language. 'If we should ever meet again,' thought I, 'I should like to
surprise him pleasantly;' so, in mere dearth of other employment, I
obliged Cecil to instruct me in her mother-tongue. The undertaking was
no doubt a bold one, for I had no access to Gaelic books; nor if I had,
could Cecil have read one page of them, though she could laboriously
decipher a little English. But I cannot recollect that I was ever
deterred by difficulty. While Cecil was busy at her spinning, I made her
translate every name and phrase which occurred to me; tried to imitate
the uncouth sounds she uttered; and then wrote them down with vast
expense of consonants and labour. My progress would, however, have been
impossible, if Cecil's dialect had been as perplexing to me as that of
the Lowlanders of her own rank. But though her language was not exactly
English, it certainly was not Scotch. It was foreign rather than
provincial. It was often odd, but seldom unintelligible. 'I learnt by
book,' said she once when I complimented her on this subject; 'and I had
a good deal of English; though I have lost some of it now, speaking
among this uncultivate' people.'
Cecil, who had no idea that labour could be its own reward, was very
desirous to unriddle my perseverance in the study of Gaelic. But she
never questioned me directly; for, with all her honesty, Cecil liked to
exert her ingenuity in discovering by-ways to her purpose. 'You'll be
thinking of going to the North Country?' said she one day, in the tone
of interrogation. I told her I had no such expectation. 'You'll may be
get a good husband to take you there yet; and that's what I am sure I
wish,' said Cecil; as if she thought she had invocated for me the sum of
all earthly good.
'Thank you, Cecil; I am afraid I have no great chance.'
'You don't know,' answered Cecil, in a voice of encouragement. 'Lady
Eredine hersel' was but a Southron, with your leave.'
I laughed; for I had observed that Cecil always used this latter form of
apology when she had occasion to mention any thing mean or offensive.
'How came the laird,' said I, 'to marry one who was but a Southron?'
'Indeed, she was just his fortune, lady,' said Cecil, 'and he could not
go past her. And Mr Kenneth himsel' too is ordained, if he live, save
him, to one from your country.'
'Have you the second-sight, Cecil, that you know so well what is
ordained for Mr Kenneth?'
'No, no, lady,' said Cecil, shaking her head with great solemnity, 'if
you'll believe me, I never saw any thing _by_ common. But we have a word
that goes in our country, that "a doe will come from the strangers' land
to couch in the best den in Glen Eredine." And the wisest man in
Killifoildich, and that's Donald MacIan, told me, that "the loveliest of
the Saxon flowers would root and spread next the hall hearth of Castle
Eredine."'
'A very flattering prophecy indeed, Cecil; and if you can only make it
clear that it belongs to me, I must set out for Glen Eredine, and push
my fortune.'
'That's not to laugh at, lady,' said Cecil very gravely; 'there's nobody
can tell where a blessing may light. You might even get our dear Mr
Henry himsel', if he knew but what a good lady you are.'
Now this 'Mr Henry himsel' was Cecil's hero. She thought Mr Kenneth,
indeed, entitled to precedence as the elder brother and heir-apparent;
but her affections plainly inclined towards Henry. He was her constant
theme. Wherever her tales began, they always ended in the praises of
Henry Graham. She told me a hundred anecdotes to illustrate his contempt
of danger, his scorn of effeminacy, his condescension and liberality;
and twice as many which illustrated nothing but her enthusiasm upon the
subject. Her enthusiasm had, indeed, warmth and nature enough to be
contagious. Henry Graham soon ceased to be a mere stranger to me. I
listened to her tales till I knew how to picture his air and
gestures,--till I learned to anticipate his conduct like that of an old
acquaintance; and till Cecil herself was not more prepared than I, to
expect from him every thing noble, resolute, and kind.
To her inexpressible sorrow, however, this idol of her fancy was only an
occasional visiter in Glen Eredine; for which misfortune she accounted
as follows:--
'It will be twenty years at Michaelmas[3], since some of that Clan
Alpine, who, by your leave, were never what they should be, came and
lifted the cattle of Glen Eredine; and no less would serve them but they
took Lady Eredine's _oun_ cow, that was called Lady Eredine after the
lady's _oun_ sel'. Well! you may judge, lady, if Eredine was the man to
let them keep _that_ with peace and pleasure. Good troth, the laird
swore that he would have them all back, hoof and horn, if there was a
stout heart in Glen Eredine. Mr Kenneth was in the town then at his
learning; more was the pity--but it was not his fault that he was not
there to fight for's _oun_. So the laird would ha' won the beasts home
himsel', and that would _he_. But Mr Henry was just set upon going; and
he begged so long and so sore, that the laird just let him take's will.
Donald MacIan minds it all; for he was standing next the laird's own
chair when he laid's hand upon Mr Henry's head, and says he, "Boy," says
he, "I am sure you'll never shame Glen Eredine and come back
empty-handed." And then his honour gave a bit nod with's head to Donald,
as much as bid him be near Mr Henry; and Donald told me his heart grew
great, and it was no gi'en him to say one word; but thinks he, "I shall
be _cutted_ in inches before he miss me away from him."
'So ye see, there were none went but Donald and three more; for Mr Henry
said that he would make no more dispeace than enough; so much
forethought had he, although he was but, I may say, a child; and Donald
told me that he followed these cattle by the lay of the heather, just as
if he had been thirty years of age; for the eagle has not an eye like
his; ay, and he travelled the whole day without so much as stopping to
break bread, although you may well think, lady, that, in those days, his
teeth were longer than's beard. And at night he rolled him in's plaid,
and laid him down with the rest, as many other good gentles have done
before, when we had no inns, nor coaches, nor such like niceties.
'Well! in the morning he's astir before the roes; and, with grey light,
the first sight he sees coming down Bonoghrie is the Glen Eredine
cattle, and Lady Eredine the foremost. And there was Neil Roy Vich
Roban, and Callum Dubh, and five or six others little worth, with your
leave; and Donald knew not how many more might be in the shealing. Ill
days were then; for the red soldier were come in long before that, and
they had taken away both dirk and gun; ay, and the very claymore that
Ronald Graham wagged in's hand o'er Colin Campbell's neck, was taken and
a'. So he that was born to as many good swords, and targes, and dirks,
as would have busked all Glen Eredine, had no a weapon to lift but what
grew on's _oun_ hazels! But the Grahams, lady, will grip to their foe
when the death-stound's in their fingers. So Mr Henry he stood foremost,
as was well his due; and he bade Neil Roy to give up these beasts with
peace. Well! what think you, lady? the fellow, with your leave, had the
face to tell the laird's son that he had ta'en, and he would keep. "If
you can," quo' Mr Henry, "with your eight men against five." Then Neil
he swore that the like should never be said of him; and he bade Mr Henry
choose any five of his company to fight the Glen Eredine men. "A
bargain!" says Mr Henry, "so Neil I choose you; and shame befa' the
Graham that takes no the stoutest foe he finds." Och on! lady, if you
did but hear Donald tell of that fight. It would make your very skin
creep cold. Well, Mr Henry he held off himsel' so well that Neil at the
length flew up in a rage, and out with's dirk to stick her in our sweet
lamb's heart; but she was guided to light in's arm. Then Donald he got
sight of the blood, and he to Neil like a hawk on a muir-hen, and
gripped him with both's hands round the throat, and held him there till
the dirk fell out of's fingers; and all the time Callum Dubh was
threshing at Donald as had he been corn, but Donald never heeded. Then
Mr Henry was so good that he ordered to let Neil go, and helped him up
with's _oun_ hand; but he flung the dirk as far as he could look at her.
'Well! by this time two of the Macgregors had their backs to the earth;
so the Glen Eredine men that had settled them, shouted and hurra'd, and
away to the cattle. And one cried Lady Eredine, and the other cried
Dubhbhoidheach[4]; and the poor beasts knew their voices and came to
them. But Mr Henry caused save Janet Donelach's cows first, because she
was a widow, and had four young mouths to fill. Be's will, one way or
other, they took the cattle, as the laird had said, hoof and horn; and
the Aberfoyle men durst not lift a hand to hinder them, because Neil
had bound himsel' under promise, that none but five should meddle.'
'But Cecil,' interrupted I, growing weary of this rude story, 'what has
all this to do with Henry Graham's exile from Glen Eredine?'
'Yes, lady,' answered Cecil, 'it has to do; for it was the very thing
that parted him from's own. For, you see, the Southron sheriffs were set
up before that time; and the laird himsel' could not get's will of any
body, as he had a good right; for they must meddle, with your leave, in
every thing. The thistle's beard must na' flee by, but they must catch
and look into. So when the sheriff heard of the Glen Eredine spraith, he
sent out the red soldiers, and took Neil Roy, and Callum Dubh, and
prisoned them in Stirling Castle; and the word went that they were to be
hanged, with your leave, if witness could be had against them; and
Donald, and the rest of them that fought the Aberfoyle men, were bidden
come and swear again' them. Then the word gaed that the sheriff would
have Mr Henry too; but Lady Eredine being a Southron herself, with your
leave, was always wishing to send Mr Henry to the strangers, so now she
harped upon the laird till he just let her take her will.
'So, rather than spill man's life, Mr Henry left both friend and
foster-brother, and them that could have kissed the ground he trode
upon. Och hone! Either I mind that day, or else I have been well told
of; for it comes like a dream to me, how my mother took me up in her
arms, and followed him down the glen. Young and old were there; and the
piper he went foremost, playing the lament. Not one spake above their
breath. My mother wouldno' make up to bid farewell; but when she had
gone till she was no' able for more, she stood and looked, and sent her
blessing with him; wishing him well back, and soon. But the babies that
were in arms that day ran miles to meet him the next time he saw Glen
Eredine.'
'And what became of the two prisoners?' I enquired at the close of this
long story.
''Deed, lady,' replied Cecil, 'they were just forced to let them out
again; for two of our lads hid themselves not to bear witness; and as
for Donald MacIan and Duncan Bane, they answered so wisely that nobody
could make mischief of what they said. So Neil, that very night he was
let out, he lifted four of the sheriffs cows, just for a warning to him;
and drave them to Glen Eredine, in a compliment to Mr Henry.'
This tale, and twenty others of the same sort, while they strengthened
my interest in Cecil's hero, awakened some curiosity to witness the
singular manners which they described. I was not aware how much the
innovations and oppressions of twenty years had defaced the bold
peculiarities of Highland character; how, stripped of their national
garb, deprived of the weapons which were at once their ornament,
amusement, and defence, this hardy race had bent beneath their fate,
seeking safety in evasion, and power in deceit. Nor did I at all suspect
how much my ignorance of their language disqualified me from observing
their remaining characteristics.
But curiosity is seldom very troublesome to the poor; and the vulgar
fear of want was soon strong enough to divert my interest from all that
Cecil could tell me of the romantic barbarisms of her countrymen; or of
the bright eye, the manly port, the primitive hardihood, and the
considerate benevolence of Henry Graham.
I was soon obliged to apply to her for information of a different kind.
My wretched fund was absolutely exhausted, and still no prospect opened
of employment in any form. Having no longer the means of procuring a
decent shelter, I seemed inevitably doomed to be destitute and homeless.
One resource, indeed, remained to me in the plain but decent wardrobe
which I had brought to Scotland. It is true, this could furnish only a
short-lived abundance, since principle, no less than convenience, had
prescribed to me frugality in my attire: but our ideas accommodate
themselves to our fortunes; and I, who once should have thought myself
beggared if reduced to spend 500_l._ a year, now rejoiced over a
provision for the wants of one week as over treasure inexhaustible.
I found it easier, however, to resolve upon parting with my superfluous
apparel, than to execute my resolution. Ignorant of the means of
transacting this humbling business, I had not the courage to expose my
poverty, by asking instructions. I often argued this point with myself;
and proved, to my own entire conviction, that poverty was no disgrace,
since it had been the lot of patriots, endured by sages, and preferred
by saints. Nevertheless, it is not to be told with what contrivance I
obtained from Cecil the information necessary for my purpose, nor with
what cautious concealment I carried it into effect. Having once,
however, conquered the first difficulties, I went on without hesitation:
it was so much more easy to part with a superfluous trifle than to beg
the assistance, or sue for the patronage, of strangers.
My last resource, however, proved even more transient than I had
expected. I soon found it absolutely necessary to bend my spirit to my
fortunes, and to begin a personal search for employment. On a stern
wintry morning I set out for this purpose, with that feeling of dreary
independence which belongs to those who know that they can claim no
favour from any living soul. I applied at every music shop, and made
known my qualifications at every boarding-school I could discover. At
some I was called, with forward curiosity, to exhibit my talent; and the
disgust of my forced compliance was heightened by the coarse applause I
received. From some I was dismissed, with a permission to call again; at
others I was informed that every department of tuition was already
overstocked with teachers of preeminent skill.
At last I thought myself most fortunate in obtaining the address of a
lady who wanted a governess for six daughters; but having examined me
from head to foot, she dismissed me, with a declaration that she saw I
would not do. Before I could shut the room-door, I heard the word
'beauty' uttered with most acrimonious emphasis. The eldest of the young
ladies squinted piteously, and the second was marked with the small-pox.
All that I gained by a whole day wandering was the opportunity of
economising, by remaining abroad till the dinner hour was past. Heroines
of romance often show a marvellous contempt for the common necessaries
of life; from whence I am obliged to infer that their biographers never
knew the real evils of penury. For my part, I must confess that
remembrance of my better days, and prospects of the dreary future, were
not the only feelings which drew tears down my cheek, as I cowered over
the embers of a fire almost as low as my fortunes, and almost as cold as
my hopes. We generally make the most accurate estimate of ourselves when
we are stripped of all the externals which serve to magnify us in our
own eyes. I had often confessed that all my comforts were
undeserved,--that I escaped every evil only by the mitigation of a
righteous sentence; but I had never so truly felt the justice of this
confession as now, when nothing was left me which could, by any latitude
of language, be called my own. Yet, though depressed, I was not
comfortless; for I knew that my deserts were not the measure of my
blessings; and when I remembered that my severest calamities had led to
substantial benefit,--that even my presumption and self-will had often
been over-ruled to my advantage,--I felt at once a disposition to
distrust my own judgment of present appearances, and an irresistible
conviction that, however bereaved, I should not be forsaken. I fear it
is not peculiar to me to reserve a real trust in Providence for the time
which offers nothing else to trust. However, I mingled tears with
prayers, and doubtful anticipation with acts of confidence, till, my
mind as weary as my frame, I found refuge from all my cares in a sleep
more peaceful than had often visited my pillow when every luxury that
whim could crave waited my awaking.
I was scarcely dressed, next morning, when my landlady bustled into my
apartment with an air of great importance. She seated herself with the
freedom which she thought my situation entitled her to use; and abruptly
enquired, whether I was not seeking employment as a governess? A sense
of the helplessness and desolation which I had brought upon myself had
so well subdued my spirit, that I answered this unceremonious question
only by a meek affirmative. Mrs Milne then, with all the exultation of a
patroness, declared that she would recommend me to an excellent
situation; and proceeded to harangue concerning her 'willingness to
befriend people, because there was no saying how soon she herself might
need a friend.'
I submitted, resignedly enough, to the ostentation of vulgar patronage,
while Mrs Milne unfolded her plan. Her sister, she told me, was
waiting-maid to a lady who wanted a governess for her only child,--a
girl about ten years old. She added, that believing me to have come into
Scotland with a view to employment of that kind, she had mentioned me to
this sister; who, she hinted, had no small influence with her mistress.
Finally, she advised me to lose no time in offering my services;
because, as Mrs Boswell's plan of education was now full four-and-twenty
hours old, nobody who knew her could expect its continuance, unless
circumstances proved peculiarly favourable to its stability.
Though I could not help smiling at my new channel of introduction, I was
in no situation to despise any prospect of employment; and I immediately
proceeded to enquire into the particulars of the offered situation, and
into my chance of obtaining it. I was informed that Mr Boswell, having,
in the course of a long residence in one of the African settlements,
realised a competent fortune, had returned home to spend it among his
relations; that he was a good-natured, easy man, who kept a handsome
establishment, loved quiet, a good dinner, and a large allowance of
claret; that in the first of these luxuries he was rather sparingly
indulged by his lady, who, nevertheless, was a very endurable sort of
person to those who could suit themselves to her way. These, however,
were so few, that but for one or two persons made obsequious by
necessity, the Boswells would have eaten their ragouts and drunk their
claret alone.
All this was not very encouraging; but it was not for me to startle at
trifles; and I only expressed my fears that the recommendation of the
waiting-maid might not be thought quite sufficient to procure for me
such a trust as the education of an only child. 'Oh! for that matter,'
said my landlady, 'if you put yourself in luck's way, you have as good a
chance as another; for Mrs Boswell will never fash to look after only
but them that looks after her.'
Agreeably to this opinion, I had no sooner swallowed my spare breakfast
than I walked to George Square, to present myself to Mrs Boswell. I was
informed at her door that she was in bed; but that if I returned about
one o'clock, I should probably find her stirring. At the hour appointed,
I returned accordingly; and, after some demur and consultation between
the footman and the housemaid, I was shown into a handsome breakfast
parlour, where, upon a fashionable couch, half sat, half lay, Mrs
Boswell.
Her thin sharp face, high nose, and dark eyes, gave her at the first
glance, an air of intelligence; but when I looked again, her curveless
mouth, her wandering eyebrows, and low contracted forehead, obliged me
to form a different judgment. The last impression was probably
heightened by the employment in which I found her engaged. From a large
box of trinkets which stood before her, she was bedizening herself and a
pretty little fair-haired girl with every possible variety of bauble.
Each was decked with at least half a dozen necklaces, studded all over
with _mal-a-propos_ clasps and broaches, and shackled with a multitude
of rings and bracelets; so that they looked like two princesses of the
South Sea Islands. All this was surveyed with such gravity and
self-importance, as showed that the elder baby had her full share in the
amusement.
Mrs Boswell did not rise to receive me; but she stirred, which was a
great deal for Mrs Boswell. I made my obeisance with no very good will;
and told her, that hearing she wanted a governess for Miss Boswell, I
had taken the liberty to wait upon her.
Mrs Boswell only answered me by something which she intended for a
smile. Most smiles express either benevolence or gaiety; but Mrs
Boswell's did neither. It was a mere extension of the mouth; she never
used any other. 'My pretty love,' said she, addressing herself to the
child, 'will you go and tell Campbell to find my--a--my musk-box; and
you can help her to seek it, you know.'
'No, I won't!' bawled the child; 'for I know you only want to send me
away that you may talk to the lady about that nasty governess.'
'I an't going to talk about any nasty governess. Do go now, there's a
dear; and I'll take you out in the carriage, and buy you another new
doll,--a large one with blue eyes.'
'No you won't,' retorted miss; 'for you promised me the doll if I would
learn to write _O_, and you did not give it me then; no more will you
now.'
'A pretty ground-work for my labours!' thought I.
The altercation was carried on long and briskly, mingled with occasional
appeals to me. 'Miss Percy, did you ever see such a child?'
'Oh yes, madam,--a great many such.'
'She has, to be sure, such an unmanageable temper! But then' (in a half
whisper), 'the wonderfullest clever little creature! Now, do, Jessie, go
out of the room when you are bid.'
At last, command and stratagem being found equally unavailing, Mrs
Boswell was obliged to take the course which many people would have
preferred from the first; and proceeded to her business in spite of the
presence of Miss Jessie.
'Can you teach the _piano_?'
'I believe I understand music tolerably well; and though I am a very
inexperienced teacher, I would endeavour to show no want of patience or
assiduity.'
'And singing?' said Mrs Boswell, yawning.
'I have been taught to sing.'
'And French, and geography, and all the rest of it?'
I was spared the difficulty of answering this comprehensive question by
my pupil elect, who by this time had sidled close up to me, and was
looking intently in my face. 'You an't the governess your own self? Are
you?' said she.
'I hope I shall be so, my dear.'
'I thought you had been an ugly cross old thing! You an't cross. Are
you?'
'No. I do not think I am.'
'I dare say you are very funny and good-natured.'
Mrs Boswell gave me a glance which she intended should express sly
satisfaction. 'You would like to _larn_ music and every thing of that
pretty lady, wouldn't you?' said she to her daughter.
'No. I would never like to _larn_ nothing at all; but I should like her
to stay with me, if she would play with me, and never bother me with
that nasty spelling-book.'
'Well, she shan't bother you. Miss Percy, what terms do you expect?'
'These I leave entirely to you and Mr Boswell, madam. Respectable
protection is the more important consideration with me.'
'To be sure protection is very important,' said Mrs Boswell, once more
elongating her mouth; and she made a pause of at least five minutes, to
recruit after such an unusual expense of idea. This time I employed in
making my court so effectually to the young lady, that when her mother
at last mentioned the time of my removal to George Square, she became
clamorous for my returning that evening. A new set of stratagems was
vainly tried to quiet my obstreperous inviter; and then mamma, as usual,
gave up the point. 'Pray come to-night, if you can,' said she, 'or there
will be no peace.'
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: 'The tract of country which has been described appears,
however, to have enjoyed a considerable degree of tranquillity, till
about the year 1746. At that time it became infested with a lawless band
of depredators, whose fortunes had been rendered desperate by the event
of 1745, and whose habits had become incompatible with a life of
sobriety and honesty. These banditti consisted chiefly of emigrants from
Lochaber and the remoter parts of the Highlands.'
'In convenient spots they erected temporary huts, where they met from
time to time, and regaled themselves at the expense of the peaceable
and defenceless inhabitants. The ruins of these huts are still to be
seen in the woods. They laid the country under contribution; and
whenever any individual was so unfortunate as to incur their
resentment, he might lay his account with having his cattle carried off
before morning.'--_Graham's Sketches of Perthshire._]
[Footnote 4: Black beauty--pronounced tu voiach.]