54 FROM A HIGHLAND STEATH 



and steps briskly over the sward, heeding the bitter 

 blast as little as if it were a zephyr of the ^Egean. 

 A harmony in rose and silver-grey. Roses are in her 

 cheeks such roses as only youth at its best can grow ; 

 grey her dress a thick, short skirt of homespun over 

 good serviceable boots a short cloak, held close to 

 the throat with one ungloved, well-shaped hand and a 

 grey Tarn- o'- Shan ter pulled well down over pale golden 

 hair. There is a flash of scarlet somewhere, not to be 

 denned is it handkerchief, or glimpse of petticoat, or 

 corner of ribbon ? a spark of vivid colour rendering 

 the rest more delicate. A prettier picture than this 

 lass marching through the storm you would not find in 

 all the streets and parks of London. One of Mr. Black's 

 braves must have come in captive on the spot. 



Will our dear, fine ladies not read a moral therein ? 

 Not, indeed, that they should wear Tam-o'-Shanters 

 at matindes, or forswear gloves in populous places, but 

 the old, threadbare precept simplex munditiis. 

 What return does anybody, except the milliners, 

 derive from the vast outlay in fine feathers and 

 ' picture ' hats ? It is shining eyes and hair, and 

 shapely limbs and je ne sfais quoi not ' ospreys ' 

 and humming-birds and aniline dyes that does for 

 the enemy. But the enemy is done for daily, in spite 

 of these detriments to fascination (for such, in most 

 cases, they really are). The plea here is not for him, 

 but on behalf of innumerable beautiful and harmless 

 creatures, who suffer by reason of extravagant adorn- 

 ment of ladies' hats. 



