s,' pasture the sheep and
cattle on the upland moors, and live on milk and meal, and the fish from
the lake, with an occasional hare, rabbit, or bird when Heaven thought fit
to send it.

They were not prepared for my father's sweeping innovations. They stared
in astonishment to see the bare hillsides planted with sheltering spruce
and pine trees; to see moss and morass turned inside out, drained and made
to yield crops of waving grain, where all was moving bog before; to see
comfortable cottages spring up here and there, with real stone walls and
smiling gardens front and rear, in place of the turf and tree shielings of
bygone days; and to see a new school-house, where English--real
English--was spoken and taught, pour forth a hundred happy children almost
every weekday all the year round.

This was 'tempting Providence, and no good could come of it;' so spoke the
grumblers, and they wondered indeed that the old warlike chiefs of
M'Crimman did not turn in their graves. But even the grumblers got fewer
and further between, and at last long peace and plenty reigned contentedly
hand in hand from end to end of Glen Coila, and all around the loch that
was at once the beauty and pride of our estate.

Improvements were not confined to the crofters' holdings; they extended to
the castle farm and to the castle itself. Nothing that was old about the
latter was swept away, but much that was new sprang up, and rooms long
untenanted were now restored.

A very ancient and beautiful castle was that of Coila, with its one huge
massive tower, and its dark frowning embattled walls. It could be seen
from far and near, for even the loch itself was high above the level of
the sea. I speak of it, be it observed, in the past tense, solely because
I am writing of the past--of happy days for ever fled. The castle is still
as beautiful--nay, even more so, for my aunt's good taste has completed
the improvements my father began.

I do not think any one could have come in contact with father, as I
remember him during our early days at Coila, without loving and respecting
him. He was our hero--my brothers' and mine--so tall, so noble-looking, so
handsome, whether ranging over the heather in autumn with his gun on his
shoulder, or labouring with a hoe or rake in hand in garden or meadow.

Does it surprise any one to know that even a Highland chieftain, descended
from a long line of warriors, could handle a hoe as deftly as a claymore?
I grant h