Reminiscences of a Highland parish

 
9781154172348: Reminiscences of a Highland parish
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1867 edition. Excerpt: ...and nothing wanting save Donald's blithe face and merry trumps. Neither Mary nor Donald could write, nor could they speak any language except Gaelic. Their stock of English was barely sufficient to enable them to transact the most ordinary business. Was it this want, and the constant toil and uncertain marches of a soldier during war, which had prevented Donald from writing home to his wife? For, alas! two long years passed without her having once heard from him. After months of anxious hope had gone by, Mary began to look old and careworn. The minister scanned the weekly newspaper with intense anxiety, especially after a battle had been fought, to catch Donald's name among the list of the dead or wounded. He had written several times for information, but with little effect. All he could hear was that Donald was alive and well. At last the news came that he was married to another woman. A soldier journeying homewards from the same regiment, and passing through the parish, had said so to several persons in the village, after he had had " his glass." But the soldier was gone long before he could be cross-questioned. Mary heard the news, and though scorning the lie, as she said it was, she never alluded to the fearful story. Still the secret wound was evidently injuring her health; her cheek became paler, her " natural force abated" while at her work, and Kate Kitchen had on more than one occasion discovered tears dropping on the little girl's face, as her mother combed her hair, or laid her down to sleep. There was not a person in the house who did not carry poor Mary's burden, and treat her with the utmost delicacy. Many an expression, calculated to strengthen her faith in God, and to comfort her, was uttered at family prayers, which she always...

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Norman MacLeod

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