; and then indeed would they come all flying back upon their
strong instinct, like black-sailed barks before the wind, some from the
depth of far-off fir-woods, where they had lain quaking at the ceaseless
cannonade, some from the furrows of the new-brairded fields aloof on the
uplands, some from deep dell close at hand, and some from the middle of
the moorish wilderness.

Happiest of all human homes, beautiful Craig-Hall! For so even now dost
thou appear to be--in the rich, deep, mellow, green light of imagination
trembling on tower and tree--art thou yet undilapidated and undecayed,
in thy old manorial solemnity almost majestical, though even then thou
hadst long been tenanted but by a humble farmer's family--people of low
degree. The evening-festival of the First Day of the Books--nay, scoff
not at such an anniversary--was still held in thy ample kitchen--of old
the bower of brave lords and ladies bright--while the harper, as he sung
his song of love or war, kept his eyes fixed on her who sat beneath the
dais. The days of chivalry were gone--and the days had come of curds and
cream, and, preferred by some people though not by us, of cream-cheese.
Old men and old women, widowers and widows, yet all alike cheerful and
chatty at a great age, for often as they near the dead, how more
lifelike seem the living! Middle-aged men and middle-aged women,
husbands and wives, those sedate, with hair combed straight on their
foreheads, sunburnt faces, and horny hands established on their
knees--these serene, with countenances many of them not unlovely--comely
all--and with arms decently folded beneath their matronly bosoms--as
they sat in their holiday dresses, feeling as if the season of youth had
hardly yet flown by, or were, on such a merry meeting, for a blink
restored! Boys and virgins--those bold even in their bashfulness--these
blushing whenever eyes met eyes,--nor would they--nor could they--have
spoken in the hush to save their souls; yet ere the evening star arose,
many a pretty maiden had, down-looking and playing with the hem of her
garment, sung linnet-like her ain favourite auld Scottish sang! and many
a sweet sang even then delighted Scotia's spirit, though Robin Burns was
but a youth--walking mute among the wildflowers on the moor--nor aware
of the immortal melodies soon to breathe from his impassioned heart!

Of all the year's holidays, not even excepting the First of May, this
was the most delightful. The First o