268 A SUNDAY WALK. CHAP. xvii. 



One Sunday morning, when wearied out with his 

 week's work, he went out to take a walk. He described 

 it in a letter to his friend Peach, written in the month 

 of July. He begins with the quotation : 



" ' God blames not him who toils six days in seven, 

 Where smoke and dust bedim the golden day, 

 If he delight beneath the dome of heaven 



To see the clouds and hear the winds at play.' 



"To-day," he said, "the wind blew hard, and as I 

 had been wearied with heat, sweat, and confinement 

 during the week, it struck me that a walk of about eight 

 miles up the country would do me good in every way. 



"Well, I had got about eight miles out. Some 

 beautiful tufts of Erica Tetralix grew temptingly a few 

 paces off, along the high road. So, without a moment's 

 hesitation, I stepped aside among them, and, stooping 

 down, began pulling at them admiringly. From my 

 reverie of delight, amidst beauties blushing crimson, I 

 was suddenly startled by a rough voice accosting me in 

 Gaelic. I looked round, and saw one of the ugliest- 

 faced Highlanders that ever ' cam doon' staring wildly 

 at me. 'A blowy day,' said I. 'Ach, ach,' said he. 

 A brief silence ensued. 'Why are ye no at sermon?' 



a cavern with a very .small entrance. The mother was out. One 

 Highlandman went in to slay the pigs ; the other kept watch outside. 

 The mother-pig, hearing the screams of her family, came up suddenly 

 and rushed into the hole. The Highlandman outside took fast hold 

 of the animal's tail, and held hard, occasionally using his dirk. 

 Hence the noise from the inside : " Donald, man, Donald ! what is it 

 that ye'll aye be shutting out ta light ? " and the answer from the out. 

 tiide was, " If ta tail pe brak, ye'll find that !" 



