Surely the soul of the hero rejoices
And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale."
I hear the lament of Ossian in the sough of the passing wind.
Ruthven Castle.
We stopped at the inn at Kingussie, one of the centres of sporting interest, but drove on beyond to spread our luncheon upon the banks of the Spey, close to the remains of Ruthven Castle, a fine ruin in this beautiful valley. We walked to it after luncheon. It was here that the Highland clans assembled after the defeat at Culloden Field and resolved to disband, and the country was rid of the Stuarts forever. How far the world has travelled since those days! The best king or family of kings in the world is not worth one drop of an honest man's blood. If the House of Commons should decide to-day that the Prince of Wales is not a fit and proper figure-head and should vote that my Lord Tom Noddy is, there is not a sane man in the realm who would move a finger for the rightful heir; yet our forefathers thought it a religious duty to plunge their country into civil war to restore the Stuarts,
"A coward race to honor lost;
Who knew them best despised them most."
But I suppose they were about a fair average of royal races. "Life can be lived well even in a palace," sings Matthew Arnold, and the more credit to such as do live it well there, like Queen Victoria, but it is difficult work and needs a saint to begin with. It does one good to mark such progress. I will not believe that man goes round in a circle as the earth does; upon the king absurdity he has travelled a straight line. When we made kings by act of Parliament (as the Guelphs were made), another lesson was learned, that Parliament can unmake them too. That is one bloody circle we need never travel again. Not one drop of blood for all the royal families in Christendom. Carried, nem. con.
There was a discussion to-day upon the best mode of enjoying life. Sydney Smith's famous secret was mentioned. When asked why he was always so bright and cheerful, he replied: The secret is "I take short views of things." Somehow this is the Scriptural idea, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." A good story was told of an old man who had endured many of the ills of life in his long journey. His friends upon one occasion, more trying than usual, condoled with him, saying that he really had more troubles than other men. "Yes, my friends, that is too true. I have been surrounded by troubles all my life long, but there is a curious thing about them—nine-tenths of them never happened."
That is a story with a moral for you. How many of our troubles ever happened! We dream of ten for every one that comes. One of the Charioteers was ready with a verse to enforce the moral: