AN INCIDENT. 371 



by way of apology for the interruption. She lingered, 

 however, at the door, and I saw her eyes fill with tears. 

 She was a widow, a native of the Western Highlands, 

 which were visited that year by scarcity ; and to avoid 

 starvation she had travelled as a mendicant with her 

 little family, which had consisted of three children, to 

 the low country, but in crossing the hills, a few days 

 before, her youngest child had taken ill and died. She 

 stated her simple story in a few words, and begged to be 

 permitted to look at the dead infant. The face accord- 

 ingly was again uncovered; but I want words to describe 

 to you what followed, and yet the scene was one of the 

 simplest possible. The poor woman, rather good-looking 

 and young, though much worn, with nothing of the 

 beggar in either her dress or expression, stood fronting 

 the dead, her hands clasped on her breast, and the tears 

 coursing down her cheeks. All the mother was roused 

 in her; and the feelings of the other mother, reawakened 

 by the excitement, were finding vent in a fresh burst of 

 sorrow. Every one present, even the firmest of us, were 

 affected ; while the two Highland children, holding by 

 the gown of their mother, were looking anxiously at the 

 object of an interest so general, the elder with more of 

 curiosity, the younger with more of terror. Would that 

 I were a painter ! 



' " It is sweet," says an old poet, " to be praised by 

 one whom all the world conspires in praising." Need I 

 say with what feelings I perused the letter- of Mrs Grant 

 of Laggan ? merely as a letter of hers, as affording an 

 instance of mind triumphing amid the decay of matter, 

 as furnishing a proof that the affection of a generous 

 heart, neither the chills nor shadows of old age can 

 darken or impair, I would have deemed it highly in- 

 teresting and valuable ; but to me it is all this and a 



