even _his_ language rose in
purity of expression, as you may have remarked, if I have been accurate
in recording it, when the affairs which he discussed were of an agitating
and important nature; and it appears to me in his case, and in that of
some other Highlanders whom I have known, that, when familiar and
facetious, they used the Lowland Scottish dialect,--when serious and
impassioned, their thoughts arranged themselves in the idiom of their
native language; and in the latter case, as they uttered the
corresponding ideas in English, the expressions sounded wild, elevated,
and poetical. In fact, the language of passion is almost always pure as
well as vehement, and it is no uncommon thing to hear a Scotchman, when
overwhelmed by a countryman with a tone of bitter and fluent upbraiding,
reply by way of taunt to his adversary, "You have gotten to your
English."

Be this as it may, the wife of MacGregor invited us to a refreshment
spread out on the grass, which abounded with all the good things their
mountains could offer, but was clouded by the dark and undisturbed
gravity which sat on the brow of our hostess, as well as by our deep and
anxious recollection of what had taken place on the preceding day. It was
in vain that the leader exerted himself to excite mirth;--a chill hung
over our minds, as if the feast had been funereal; and every bosom felt
light when it was ended.

"Adieu, cousin," she said to Mr. Jarvie, as we rose from the
entertainment; "the best wish Helen MacGregor can give to a friend is,
that he may see her no more."

The Bailie struggled to answer, probably with some commonplace maxim of
morality;--but the calm and melancholy sternness of her countenance bore
down and disconcerted the mechanical and formal importance of the
magistrate. He coughed,--hemmed,--bowed,--and was silent.

"For you, stranger," she said, "I have a token, from one whom you can
never"--

"Helen!" interrupted MacGregor, in a loud and stern voice, "what means
this?--have you forgotten the charge?"

"MacGregor," she replied, "I have forgotten nought that is fitting for me
to remember. It is not such hands as these," and she stretched forth her
long, sinewy, and bare arm, "that are fitting to convey love-tokens, were
the gift connected with aught but misery. Young man," she said,
presenting me with a ring, which I well remembered as one of the few
ornaments that Miss Vernon sometimes wore, "this comes from one whom you
will