Chronicles of the Canongate, 1st SeriesScott, Walter
General
Chronicles of the Canongate, 1st Series
Scott, Walter
Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Scots -- Foreign countries -- Fiction
The neighbourhood was divided concerning the cause of her disappearance.
The credulous thought that the evil spirit, under whose influence she
seemed to have acted, had carried her away in the body; and there are
many who are still unwilling, at untimely hours, to pass the oak-tree,
beneath which, as they allege, she may still be seen seated according to
her wont. Others less superstitious supposed, that had it been possible
to search the gulf of the Corri Dhu, the profound deeps of the lake, or
the whelming eddies of the river, the remains of Elspat MacTavish might
have been discovered--as nothing was more natural, considering her state
of body and mind, than that she should have fallen in by accident, or
precipitated herself intentionally, into one or other of those places
of sure destruction. The clergyman entertained an opinion of his own.
He thought that, impatient of the watch which was placed over her, this
unhappy woman’s instinct had taught her, as it directs various domestic
animals, to withdraw herself from the sight of her own race, that
the death-struggle might take place in some secret den, where, in all
probability, her mortal relics would never meet the eyes of mortals.
This species of instinctive feeling seemed to him of a tenor with the
whole course of her unhappy life, and most likely to influence her when
it drew to a conclusion.
End of THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.
*****
MR. CROFTANGRY INTRODUCES ANOTHER TALE.
Together both on the high lawns appeared.
Under the opening eyelids of the morn
They drove afield. ELEGY ON LYCIDAS.
I have sometimes wondered why all the favourite occupations and pastimes
of mankind go to the disturbance of that happy state of tranquillity,
that OTIUM, as Horace terms it, which he says is the object of all men’s
prayers, whether preferred from sea or land; and that the undisturbed
repose, of which we are so tenacious, when duty or necessity compels
us to abandon it, is precisely what we long to exchange for a state of
excitation, as soon as we may prolong it at our own pleasure. Briefly,
you have only to say to a man, “Remain at rest,” and you instantly
inspire the love of labour. The sportsman toils like his gamekeeper,
the master of the pack takes as severe exercise as his whipper-in, the
statesman or politician drudges more than the professional lawyer; and,
to come to my own case, the volunteer author subjects himself to the
risk of painful criticism, and the assured certainty of mental
and manual labour, just as completely as his needy brother, whose
necessities compel him to assume the pen.
These reflections have been suggested by an annunciation on the part
of Janet, “that the little Gillie-whitefoot was come from the
printing-office.”
“Gillie-blackfoot you should call him, Janet,” was my response, “for he
is neither more nor less than an imp of the devil, come to torment
me for COPY, for so the printers call a supply of manuscript for the
press.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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