aughter only had they, and we could charm our heart even
now, by evoking the vanished from oblivion, and imaging her over and
over again in the light of words; but although all objects, animate and
inanimate, seem always tinged with an air of sadness when they are
past--and as at present we are resolved to be cheerful--obstinately to
resist all access of melancholy--an enemy to the pathetic--and a scorner
of shedders of tears--therefore let Mary Morrison rest in her grave, and
let us paint a pleasant picture of a May-Day afternoon, and enjoy it as
it was enjoyed of old, beneath that stately Sycamore, with the
grandisonant name of THE GLORY OF MOUNT PLEASANT.

There, under the murmuring shadow round and round that noble stem, used
on MAY-DAY to be fitted a somewhat fantastic board, all deftly arrayed
in home-spun drapery, white as the patches of unmelted snow on the
distant mountain-head; and on various seats--stumps, stones, stools,
creepies, forms, chairs, armless and with no spine, or high-backed and
elbowed, and the carving-work thereof most intricate and
allegorical--took their places, after much formal ceremony of scraping
and bowing, blushing and curtsying, old, young, and middle-aged, of high
and low degree, till in one moment all were hushed by the Minister
shutting his eyes, and holding up his hand to ask a blessing. And "well
worthy of a grace as lang's a tether," was the MAY-DAY meal spread
beneath the shadow of the GLORY OF MOUNT PLEASANT. But the Minister
uttered only a few fervent sentences, and then we all fell to the curds
and cream. What smooth, pure, bright burnished beauty on those
horn-spoons! How apt to the hand the stalk--to the mouth how apt the
bowl! Each guest drew closer to his breast the deep broth-plate of
delft, rather more than full of curds, many million times more
deliciously desirable even than blanc-mange, and then filled to
overflowing with a blessed outpouring of creamy richness that
tenaciously descended from an enormous jug, the peculiar expression of
whose physiognomy, particularly the nose, we will carry with us to the
grave! The dairy at MOUNT PLEASANT consisted of twenty cows--almost all
spring calvers, and of the Ayrshire breed--so you may guess what cream!
The spoon could not stand in it,--it was not so thick as that--for that
was too thick,--but the spoon, when placed upright in it, retained its
perpendicularity for a while, and then, when uncertain on which side to
fall, was