114 THE JOURNEYMAN. 



'Gairloch, July, 1823. 



' 'Twas as well you didn't wait dinner with us yester- 

 day ! We have quarrelled with the minister's wife, who, 

 to avenge herself, magnanimously refuses to sell us any 

 milk, and so our only food, in the material at least, is 

 oatmeal, prepare it as we may. The carter steals fish 

 and potatoes, and contrives to fare pretty well, but we 

 who are honest come on badly enough. For my own 

 part, however, I am not far from being happy, notwith- 

 standing. Do look round, just for one minute, and see 

 the sort of place in which a man can be happy. The sun 

 is looking in at us through the holes in the roof, 

 speckling the floor with bright patches, till it resembles 

 a piece of calico. There are two windows in the 

 apartment ; one of them filled up with turf and stone, the 

 other occupied by an old unglazed frame. The fire is 

 placed against the rough unplastered gable, into which 

 we have stuck a pin for suspending our pot over it, the 

 smoke finds its way out through the holes of the roof 

 and the window. Our meal-sack hangs by a rope from 

 one of the rafters, at the height of a man's head from the 

 floor, our only means of preserving it from our thievish 

 cohabitants, the rats. As for our furniture, 'tis altogether 

 admirable. The two large stones are the steadiest seats 

 I ever sat on, though, perhaps, a little ponderous when 

 we have occasion to shift them; and the bed, which 

 pray observe, is perfectly unique. It is formed of a 

 pair of the minister's harrows, with the spikes turned 

 down, and covered with an old door and a bunch of 

 straw ; and as for culinary utensils, yonder is a wooden 

 cog, and here a pot. We are a little extravagant, to be 

 sure, in our household expenses, for times are somewhat 

 hard ; but meal and salt, and every other item included, 

 none of us have yet exceeded half a crown per week. 



