neglected the salmon, the labourers their
fields, the workmen their shops; and the
search for the lost girl was the business of
the whole population. The poor young girl
was found, sitting upon a ledge of rock in the
chasm, with her head just under the water,
and her rigid hands clutching the edge of
the ledge as if they were iron. How she
could have managed to climb down, and
where such a mild young creature could have
got the courage of despair to hold fast
while drowning, were subjects of discussion
often discussed by serious people for many
years afterwards. The explanation is in the
physiological nature of asphyxia. The moment
respiration ceases, the whole machine stops.
When what Professor Flourens calls the
brain of respiration, is touched; when this
vital knot is destroyed, the muscles retain
their position, just as all the wheels and both
the hands of the dial of a watch mark the
instant when the main-spring snapped. The
aged woman who performed the last offices
of the dead, found out that the girl had
been betrayed by her lover, her unpopular
fellow-servant. Proving his guilt by his
cowardice, the fellow fled from the
house. The enraged villagers suspected
he had taken refuge among the trees and
rocks of the northern cliff which over-hangs
the chasm, and the sullen stream flowing
through it. When his hiding-place was
discovered, the village young men started off
after him; and rarely has there been a more
fearful chace. His fears exaggerated his
danger; and, to escape the exposure of
riding the stang or pole through the
village, he risked death. Leaping from rock
to rock; swinging himself from tree to
tree; scrambling among shrubs and bushes;
concealed and discovered; now fancying
himself in security, anon perceiving his
pursuers to be surer-footed and more daring
than he was; he baffled the lads who hunted
him as if he were a badger or a weasel, until
he reached the very precipice beneath which
his victim had been found a corpse. The
crowd apprized him of the fact by their cries
of execration. Farther escape had become
impossible, for he was surrounded and hemmed
in on all sides. Remorse and terror deprived
him of his head. After staggering and spinning
round, he fell, and rolled from ledge to
ledge into the depths of the Black Nook.
When the boat which rowed swiftly to the
spot fished him up, the boatmen picked a
flattened corpse out of a red circle of water
in the river.

Except as regarded a few simple homely
household joys, the ideas of amusement and
recreation were sternly excluded from their
customs and manners. Youth was brought
up in accordance with the Miltonic line,

      "To scorn delights and live laborious days."

Their love of independence gave them
curious notions of hospitality. Diners-out
generally will deem their notions exceedingly
odd. Spongeington, of the ancient and noble
family of the Spongeingtons, will learn their
views with equal surprise and scorn; and I
fear he will say they are beneath contempt,
without deigning to specify precisely what
depth this may be. When an uninvited or
unexpected guest arrived, although a relative,
friend, or auld acquaintance, the circumstance
was not allowed to involve the family
in any unforeseen or unwelcome expenses.
He stood treat. It was not the host, but the
guest, who paid the extraordinary expense of
the social jollification. When the visitor
arrived, he wished to give the children a
treat, having been a child himself, although
now so big, and sent one of them to the
grocer's for the luxuries of the entertainment,
including tea, sugar, and spirits. The
children, grateful for their sweet things,
always boasted of the liberality of their
visitor. "Uncle Willie came on Saturday,
and was (spent) three shillings among us."
"Uncle Sandy was four shillings the last
time he was o'er the water"—across the
river. The Scottish coast notion is just the
opposite of the idea which reigned in Castle
Rackrent of Hibernian renown; and perhaps
it is none the worse for that. All over
England and Scotland, wherever there is
a neighbourhood, there is a conspiracy
among the gentry to give mutual dinner
parties. Many a struggling man, when
sunk into difficulties by them, has been
ready to fancy them plots to—although far
enough from games at—beggar my neighbour.

But, the fishers were hospitable at their
own times and in their own ways. Old
Christmas or "aul' yeel" was always a season
of good cheer. Labour ceased for several
days. No boats went to sea. The men lounged
about, and might be seen in the early part of
the day at the gable-ends of their houses,
keeping themselves warm by swinging their
arms with a movement which flaps or claps
the hands against the shoulders. They know
their places in the world too well to venture
to remain within doors in the way of
the women who were busy preparing the
feasts. Every boat's crew gave a treat on
yeel day to their wives, their children, and
a few invited guests. Generally, the guests
were persons whose lot in life was lonely—
such as single women, widows, and widowers.
The fare was capital. The soup was Scotch
broth, a soup only surpassed by Scotch
hotchpotch: of course I say this as an
unprejudiced Scotchman. The broth was ladled out
of the pot, which stood near the fire, as it
was wanted. The only fish eaten was a
dainty preparation of dried skate, herbs,
and other ingredients called tyawven. I
find myself sucking my lips at the recollection
of it. Did you ever eat it? No, of
course not. Well, never mind; we can't all
have eaten tyawven. However, I cannot see
why tyawven may not be used as an
expression of insolence as well as caviare.