Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol 58, No. 357, July 1845Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol 58, No. 357, July 1845
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
The little farm whither old Bevan had retired, stood high in such a
desert as this, on the very verge of such a mountain-portal, (a _bwlch_,
pronounced boolch, the Welsh call it,) an antique stone cottage, hanging
like a nest on one of the side banks, dismal itself, but all that under
world of pastoral pleasantness below, in full though dim perspective. A
premature decay is always visible on these kind of wild, weather-beaten
homes, in the torn thatch; the walls tinged with green, and generally
propped to resist the effects of the powerful winds. If white-washed,
which they really are, broad streaks of green are visible, from the
frequent heavy rains, tinged by the mosses and weeds of the roof. The
clouds, attracted by the heights, career on the strong blast, so low and
close, as often to shut up the dingy human nest in a dreary day of its
own, while all below is blue serene.
To this melancholy abode, its few rustic chattels still standing there,
left since the death of its tenant, Winifred toiled up by a steep, wild,
but well-known track, but found not father, mother, or living thing,
except one, so much in unison with the wild melancholy of the scene, as
to exalt it almost to horror. This was a wretched idiot man, dressed in
female attire, perfectly harmless, and kept, as a parish pauper, at an
adjacent farm. He was noted for fidelity to any one who flattered him by
some little commission. This ragged object presented to her the key of
the padlock on the door, with the words "gone, gone, gone!" She entered,
and found, to her surprise, excellent refreshment provided in the
desolate house, evidently but lately deserted. But what riveted her
eyes, was a letter to herself in the handwriting of David, but
tremulously written, announcing his inability to keep an appointment,
(one more!) which they had made, to part for ever--her terrible
distress, it will be remembered, on the last occasion, deterring the
young man from any further trial of her feelings. He further informed
her that Mr Fitzarthur was certainly arrived, and had taken up his
temporary abode at the pretty house by the park, designed by Lewis Lewis
for his own residence. Moreover, she learned that her father and mother
anxiously expected her at that house to which they had removed, but did
not reveal that he had _been removed_ in the care of two bailiffs, and
the house named was but a resting place in his transit to jail.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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