the island a plighted couple. Now, it so happened-such, alas! is fate-that, just at the time when a clergyman chanced to be present, and Hymen especially welcomed their approach-at this very time, I say, arose a most unseasonable "lovers' quarrel," not yet succeeded by "the renewal of love." Two years had elapsed since a minister had last called at the island; two more might pass ere another returned. What steps could be taken? What assistance invoked? The bride seemed inexorable, but fortunately relented. Whether, as fell slander whispered, the offer of the Duke of Athol to officiate as groomsman at all contributed to this happy result, far be it from me to insinuate. One thing is certain-the marriage rites were duly performed; and the Duke and a St. Kilda young lady played the important parts of "best man" and bridesmaid. The bride, my fair readers may be interested to learn, was gaily attired; the trousseau in the latest Paris fashions which the wardrobes of the Porcupine could supply; and altogether the ceremony went off with such éclat that, had the Morning Post received sufficiently early intimation of the event, it would, I doubt not, have despatched "a special correspondent" to the scene. That the wedding-cake, which usually forms a prominent feature on such occasions, was not dispensed with, I gather from the fact that I myself saw, in one of the houses at St. Kilda, a compact mass of that familiar compound, which, at a distance, I well-nigh mistook for whitewashed peat.

The description of this marriage naturally leads me to make a few remarks upon the famous "lover's stone," which may be still seen, situated towards the south, at no great distance from the village. The origin of this name it will be necessary to explain. In the early ages of this little commonwealth, when lovers were more diffident than in the times in which we live, it was held a highly commendable thing in a young aspirant for an island belle, to lay at her feet, not, as in some of our English counties, his pedigree and rent-roll, but some

doubted proof of courage and address. With this view, he assembled his friends -probably, also, the young lady herself-around the inner margin of the "lover's stone," the outshot cornice of a frowning precipice. With dauntless step, he then advanced, and firmly planted his left heel upon its edge, the sole of the foot remaining wholly unsupported. He then extended his right leg beyond the left, and firmly grasped the foot between his hands. In this position he continued sufficiently long to impress upon his spectators the conviction that fair lady" would in him gain no "faint heart." Had Newton been present at this performance, he would have learned that, though the force of gravitation might cause an apple to fall from a tree, a lover can still cling to a stone-Gravity yielding to Love, as the stronger force of attraction. That the exploit I have been describing is not so simple as it appears, the reader will understand by ascending the Duke of York's column, getting outside the railing, and trying it for himself. After this heroic deed, writes Martin, "the "adventurous youth is accounted worthy "of the finest woman in the world." He adds, that one of the islanders strongly urged him to attempt the feat; "but I "told him that it would have quite the

contrary effect upon me, robbing me "of my life and mistress at the same "moment." Thrice simple youth, thrice happy innocence, which would fain read in the breast of a canny factor the impassioned ardour of thine own!

After spending some little time in conversation with the villagers, we proceeded to ascend the shoulder of Connagher, a mountain lying towards the north-west. On reaching the summit a startling prospect opened before us. Behind, the moss-grown sides of the hill gradually terminated in the richer. hues of the village pastures: before, in outstretched majesty, the wide Atlantic foamed and eddied at our feet-one step beneath our feet-but what a step!800 feet-without one break-without one resting place-steep mural precipices, adamantine ramparts of this sea-girt isle.

To obtain a good view of the face of the cliffs, we lay down on a large flat slab of rock, and looked over its side. A plumb line suspended from this spot would have alighted in the sea. The side of the island facing the harbour is, with one slight exception, the only portion of the coast not girded with precipitous cliffs. These cliffs vary considerably, both in height and abruptness, ranging from about 1,200 to 400 feethere cold and bare, there padded with narrow, moss-clad terraces, rising one above the other, their sides decked with yellow primroses. On these terraces the Fulmars (a species of Petrel almost peculiar to St. Kilda) lay basking in the warm sunshine, and looked like countless eggs, deposited on the shelves of some giant's storehouse. Macaulay, in describing the rock on which we were now seated, says, "A view of it from the sea "fills a man with astonishment, and a "look over it from above strikes him "with horror." In addition to the Fulmars, we saw great numbers of little Puffins, who amused us by their intrusive and impertinent mode of scrutinizing our movements. From a small hole under the stone on which we were sitting, four came running out, one after the other; turned one eye towards us; seemed much surprised to find us there; and then flew repeatedly round our heads. A very striking feature, in wandering about St. Kilda, is the marvellous tameness of the whole animal creationeven the hooded crows in the village hopping about like barn-door fowls. It is from the height on which we were now mounted that the natives are accustomed to descend in quest of the seabird. Two of them quietly saunter up the mountain till they reach the site of the cliffs. One of them then adjusts a rope round his waist, and hands the remainder of the coil to his comrade. another moment he has crossed the narrow line that separates earth and air. He soon arrives at the dwellings of the Fulmars, who bask in the sun in happy ignorance of the impending danger. The fowler carries in his hand a short fishing rod, with a hair noose attached to its

In

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lower extremity. This he dexterously insinuates around the neck of a bird, and instantly draws it towards him. The Fulmar is provided with a curious means of defending itself when assailed. This consists in its ejecting at the face of its enemy, often to a distance of many feet, a peculiarly pungent oil, which is most irritating to the eyes. To guard against this danger, and likewise to obtain the oil, which is much valued, the cragsman is wont to envelope the head of the bird in a small bag. St. Kilda is the only portion of Great Britain which the Fulmar selects as its home. Vast numbers of them soared around our heads, as we stood above their nests, stretching out their necks in that stiff awkward manner peculiar to sea-gulls. Of all the feathered hosts that dwell around the cliffs none at all equal the Fulmar in the estimation of the people. Macaulay relates that a St. Kildean thus expressed himself on this subject. "Can "the world exhibit a more valuable commodity? The Fulmar furnishes "oil for the lamp, down for the bed, "the most salubrious food, and the "most efficacious ointments for healing "wounds. Deprive us of the Fulmar, "and St. Kilda is no more!" The lazy, or foolish Guillemot, though not at the present time much sought after, is usually taken in the following manner. A man with a white cloth about his neck is let down from the summit of the crags at night, and hangs, like the weight of a clock, immediately before the nests. The birds, attracted by the bright colour, mistake the intruder for a projecting portion of rock, and settle upon him in great numbers, a freedom the cragsman resents by quietly dislocating their necks. In this manner 300 or 400 are sometimes taken by a single fowler in the course of a night. The Solan Geese, or Gannets, do not inhabit St. Kilda proper, but Borrera, and Stach, small dependencies of the parent state, situated to the north. From the summits of the St. Kilda heights we could distinctly see these islands, covered with Solan Geese, their bright plumage glistening in the sun, pure and white like drifted snow.

These birds arrive about the beginning of March, and are among the earliest comers. As the opening of Parliament rouses the metropolis from its winter slumbers, so does the return of the sea fowl rekindle life and animation at St. Kilda. Then, says Macaulay, "the most "considerable persons in this small state "assemble together to congratulate one "another on this great occasion." Soon after a select band of St. Kilda youth visit the homes of the Solan. Here they find sentinels posted at regular intervals, like the outlying pickets of hostile hosts. To surprise these guard-birds is the great object of the fowler. The number of Fulmars and Solans annually salted for winter consumption is upwards of 12,000, or 150 birds for each man, woman, and child. From the breast of the young Solans, which are thickly covered with fat, a rich lard, called Giben, is melted down; which is used instead of butter, and enters into the composition of many of their most dainty dishes.

In consequence of our visit to this island being in the month of June, when the natives experience heavy losses if the nests are disturbed, we had not an opportunity of seeing the cragsmen exhibit. Their performances were nevertheless described to us by numerous eye-witnesses. As the sailor feels in his element at sea, and the Highlander rejoices in the springy softness of the heather, so the St. Kilda fowler feels especially at his ease when poised from the extremity of his rope. Not content with the mere routine discharge of his calling, he swings and careers down the cliffs like a plaything jerked by an elastic cord. Sometimes, when the portion of the crag to be visited lies within the perpendicular, that is, under that portion of the rock from which his comrade tightly grasps the oft-tried cord, he strikes out from the cliff with the steady sweep of a pendulum, the impetus landing him at the wished-for ledge. About the age of twelve or fourteen they first essay the cliffs-no unimportant day to a St. Kilda youth. During the last thirty years, five men have, in the language of the island,

gone over the rocks." In these words are registered the deaths of those daring spirits who fall victims to the dangers of their calling. Their bodies are seldom, if ever recovered, ruthlessly engulfed by the voracious deep. The ropes, formed of tightly-twisted horsehair, covered with cowhide to protect them from the rocks, are a highly valued possession - handed down as heir-looms in families; or a favourite daughter receives one as her dowry.

After spending some little time in surveying the cliffs from several prominent points which commanded a good view of the face of the precipices, we retraced our steps to the village. The schoolmaster urgently pressed us to spend the night under the shelter of his roof; but the somewhat threatening aspect of the sky, and the general insecurity of the harbour, made us fear the possibility of a lengthened detention; we accordingly deemed it more prudent to return to the yacht and

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'get under weigh" while the wind was favourable. After several fruitless attempts to get off from the shore, in which we well-nigh 66 stove-in the

sides of our boat, the islanders came to our aid. They speedily hauled her a short way up the slippery ledge of the rock, set her high and dry on her keel, and persuaded us "to take our seats." In another moment they ran down with her towards the sea, and launched her with such an impetus as fairly carried us beyond the reach of the surf. We were soon once more on board the vessel, and, with the exception of a somewhat heavy sea, had a prosperous voyage to Harris.

I have now touched upon a few of the more striking points in which, as it seemed to me, "the manners and cus

toms of the people of the island of "St. Kilda differ from those of the ad"jacent islands of Great Britain and "Ireland." In the time of Martin, the population was more than double what it is at the present time: the finest barley in the Hebrides then ripened upon its fertile slopes; the harvest was housed by the beginning of September

far earlier than is usual along the northwest coast; the "sorriest folk in the country of Macleod" were sent like Highland sheep to Lowland pastures, to gain renewed vigour from the salubrious freshness of the air, and renovating properties which attended the use of its oleaginous diet. Some thirty years later, the small-pox carried off, at one fell swoop, more than half the inhabitants. From that time the population has rarely exceeded one hundred; never, as far as I can discover, one hundred and eight. But, though much of the pristine prosperity of this lonely isle has passed away, one inheritance handed down from their ancestors they still retain, in the spotless purity of their lives, their hos

pitality to all who may be cast upon their shores, and the happiness and contentment which reign in their homes. One hundred and sixty years ago, Martin was able to say, "This only is wanting "to make them the happiest people in "the habitable globe, that they them"selves do not know how happy they "are." Seventy years later, Macaulay could exclaim, "If all things are fairly 'weighed in the balance of unpreju"diced reason, the St. Kildeans possess "an equal share of true substantial happiness to any equal number of the "creation." May this boast long apply to them, that ignorance of the extent of their happiness is alone wanting to render it complete!

BY HENRY KINGSLEY,

CHAPTER XVIII.

MARSTON'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

MARY did not wonder at Marston's silence. She thought that perhaps he had been sobered by being cast on shore so unceremoniously, and thought but little more of it. Then she dressed for dinner, and went and stood in one of the deep windows of the entrance-hall, looking out.

The great fire which leapt and blazed in the hall chimney was fast superseding the waning daylight outside. It was very pleasant to look at the fire, and the firelight on wall and ceiling, on antler and armour, and then to get behind the curtain and look out into the howling winter's evening, over the darkening raging sea, and the tossing trees, and think how all the boats were safe in, and the men sitting round the pleasant fires with their wives and children, and that the dogs were warm in the kennels, and the horses in the stable; and to pity the poor birds, and hope they had good

warm nooks and corners to get to; and then to think of the ships coming up the channel, and hope they might keep a good offing.

This brought her to thinking, for the first time, of her own little selfhow, so many years ago, she had been cast up like a little piece of sea-weed out of that awful ocean. She thought of the Warren Hastings, and how she and Charles, on summer-days, when out gathering shells on the rocks, used to look over to where the ship lay beneath the sea, and wonder whereabout it was. Then she had a kindly smile on her face as she thought of Mr. Archer, the brave and good (now I am happy to say Captain Archer), and looked over the hall to a hideous and diabolical graven image, which he had sent the year before, among some very valuable presents, and had begged her to be particularly careful of, as he had risked his life in getting it; and which she and Charles had triumphantly placed in the hall, and maintained there, too, in spite of the sarcasms of Father Mackworth, and the

pious horror of the servants and villagers. And so she went on thinkingthinking of her dead parents, of the silence maintained by her relations, of old Densil's protection, and then of the future. That protection must cease soon, and then

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A governess! There were many stories about governesses not being well treated! Perhaps it was their own fault, or they were exceptional cases! She would like the nursery best, and to keep away from the drawing-room altogether! Yes," she said, "I will make them love me; I will be so gentle, patient, and obliging. I am not afraid of the children-I know I can win them-or of my mistress much; I believe I can win her. I am most afraid of the superior servants; but surely kindness and submission will win them in time.

"My sheet-anchor is old Lady Ascot. She got very fond of me during that six months I staid with her; and she is very kind. Surely she will get me a place where I shall be well treated; and, if not, why then-I shall only be in the position of thousands of other girls. I must fight through it. There is another life after this.

"It will be terribly hard parting from all the old friends though! After that, I think I shall have no heart left to suffer with. Yes; I suppose the last details of the break-up will be harder to bear than anything which will follow. That will tear one's heart terribly. That over, I suppose my salary will keep me in drawing materials, and give me the power, at every moment of leisure, of taking myself into fairy land.

"I suppose actual destitution is impossible. I should think so. Yes, yes; Lady Ascot would take care of that. If that were to come though? They say a girl can always make fourpence a day by her needle. How I would fight and strive and toil! And then how sweet death would be!"

She paused, and looked out on the darkening ocean. "And yet," she thought again, "I would follow-follow him to the world's end.—

"Across the hills, and far away,

Beyond their utmost purple rim ; Beyond the night, across the day,

The happy princess followed him.""

A door opened into the hall, and a man's step was on the stone-floor: she raised the curtain to see who it was. It was Marston; and he came straight towards her, and stood beside her, looking out over the wild stormy landscape.

"Miss Corby" he said, "I was coming to try and find you."

"You were very lucky in your search," she said, smiling on him. "I was alone here with the storm; and, if I had not raised the curtain, you would never have seen me. How it blows! I am glad you are not out in this. This is one of your lucky days."

Will

"I should be glad to think so. you listen to me for a very few minutes, while I tell you something?"

"Surely," she said. "Who is there that I would sooner listen to ?"

"I fear I shall tire your patience now though. though. I am a comparatively poor

man.

แ

"And what of that, my dear Mr. Marston? You are rich in honour, in future prospects. You have a noble future before you."

"Will you share it, Mary?"

"Oh, Mr. Marston, what do you mean?” "Will you be my wife? I love you beyond all the riches and honours of the world-I love you as you will never be loved again. It is due to you and to myself to say that, although I call myself poor, I have enough to keep you like a lady, and all my future prospects beside. Don't give me a hasty answer, but tell me is it possible you can become my wife?"

"Oh, I am so sorry for this!" said poor Mary. "I never dreamt of this. Oh, no! it is utterly and entirely impossible, Mr. Marston possible, Mr. Marston utterly and hopelessly impossible! You must forgive me, if you can; but you never, never think about me more." "Is there no hope?" said Marston. "No hope, no hope!" said Mary. "Please never think about me any

must