CHAPTER VIII 



ST. KILDA FROM WITHOUT 



' Where the waters never rest, 

 Where a fledgy sea-bird choir 

 Soars for ever.' KEATS. 



' MOTHER,' said a little boy, whose knowledge of life was 

 mainly confined to South Kensington, at the end of a 

 glowing description of Eden before the fall : 



' A happy rural seat of varied hue,' 



' Mother, I suppose it is all built over now ? ' 



The little fellow's remark fairly represents the state 

 of mind of the average country-bred Londoner towards 

 the end of June. This world by then seeins all bricks 

 and mortar ; and if in her better moments the uneasy 

 soul does ever try to look beyond present crowded 

 streets, and expatiate in a world to come, the chances 

 are that, even if the attendant body is not first knocked 

 down by a passing hansom cab, she is met and 

 frightened back to earth by bewildering thoughts of the 

 myriads of past generations of every shade from ivory 

 to ebony who have lived and passed on somewhere. 



At such times it is wholesome to remember, even if 

 with little hope of ever seeing it, that there is still in 



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