ballad-airs sung, except during
the mid-day hour of rest, in the corn or hay field--and rude singers are
they all--whether male or female voices--although sometimes with a touch
of natural pathos that finds its way to the heart. But as the
nightingale would sing truly its own variegated song, although it never
were to hear any one of its own kind warbling from among the
shrub-roots, and the lark, though alone on earth, would sing the hymn
well known at the gate of heaven, so all untaught but by the nature
within her, and inspired by her own delightful genius alone, did Mary
Morrison feel all the measures of those ancient melodies, and give them
all an expression at once simple and profound. People who said they did
not care about music, especially Scottish music, it was so monotonous
and insipid, laid aside their indifferent looks before three notes of
the simplest air had left Mary Morrison's lips, as she sat faintly
blushing, less in bashfulness than in her own emotion, with her little
hands playing perhaps with flowers, and her eyes fixed on the ground,
or raised, ever and anon, to the roof. "In all common things," would
most people say, "she is but a very ordinary girl--but her musical turn
is really very singular indeed;"--but her happy father and mother knew,
that in all common things--that is, in all the duties of an humble and
innocent life, their Mary was by nature excellent as in the melodies and
harmonies of song--and that while her voice in the evening-psalm was as
angel's sweet, so was her spirit almost pure as an angel's, and nearly
inexperienced of sin.

Proud, indeed, were her parents on that May-day to look upon her--and to
listen to her--as their Mary sat beside the young English boy--admired
of all observers--and happier than she had ever been in this world
before, in the charm of their blended music, and the unconscious
affection--sisterly, yet more than sisterly, for brother she had
none--that towards one so kind and noble was yearning at her heart.

Beautiful were they both; and when they sat side-by-side in their music,
insensible must that heart have been by whom they were not both admired
and beloved. It was thought that they loved one another too, too well;
for Harry Wilton was the grandson of an English Peer, and Mary Morrison
a peasant's child; but they could not love too well--she in her
tenderness--he in his passion--for, with them, life and love was a
delightful dream, out of which they