THE EAGLE'S NEST. BY C. A. M. W. "One grief, and one alone, "We never met again, Since the mournful hour we parted; "We never met again, Though my heart is still unchanging : "We ne'er shall meet again, Or forgiveness e'er be spoken; And the hearts that love had formed to twine, My brother Philip and myself were orphans; he was many years my junior, and we resided in a quiet country town. Philip was a practitioner of medicine, assisting an old established doctor, to whose excellent practice he was eventually to succeed. I was my brother's housekeeper, and our neat, pretty dwelling stood on the outskirts of the town. We were an attached brother and sister, and so cheerful and contented with our situation that neither of us had any desire to change it, nor did we give a thought towards matrimony. This, on my own account, was not singular, as I was a decidedly plain person, between thirty and forty years of age, and, truth to tell, I had never received an offer of marriage in my life; but with Philip the case was far different, for, if ladies were privileged to make offers of hands and hearts, I am quite sure that he would have been puzzled among the numerous candidates. However, the young ladies of our neighbourhood made not the least impression, and the case was very hard upon them, poor things for Philip was beautiful in person, and engaging in manner, with a sweet disposition, and an ardent, romantic turn of character. I use the term "beautiful" applied to him because it the best expresses his feminine and delicate appearance, fair and slender to a fault. He was peculiarly gentle in demeanour; and the sick people all looked for his visits as if he were a ministering angel, soothing and pouring balm on their wounds. There were some individuals who judged him devoid of manly spirit; but I, who knew him well, felt certain that Philip would prove himself resolute and heroic, were those qualities ever called into action, -nay, as brave and dauntless, though inferior in mere physical strength, as any giant of vaunted prowess. It seemed, indeed, unlikely that Philip would ever be enabled to prove whether he was really deficient in courage or daring; for the even tenor of our way was undisturbed, and life presented an unruffled routine of daily duties, Philip's consisting in witnessing and alleviating human suffering, to which he was not hardened or inured (he never could be hardened), with unfailing patience, cheerfulness, and unflinching nerve, these being the only means by which his character could be tested. Our maternal aunt had married Mr. Seaforth, a minister of the gospel, resident in the Hebrides, the office being a truly laborious one, parochial duty often extending to several distant islands. On our aunt Seaforth's decease, the pastor's sister, Miss Danser Seaforth, had become the manager of his domestic affairs, taking charge of his little daughter, our cousin Taffline. Mr. Seaforth's father had held the same sacred office to which his son succeeded; and the homestead in a green valley of St. Kilda's Isle, which he inhabited, was an ancestral one, having descended to him in right of his mother, the heiress of a wealthy proprietor (to speak comparatively) of the soil. When Philip was a child, he had sojourned some months with these relatives, at St. Kilda; nor had he ever forgotten his strange wild playfellow, Taffy Seaforth, her quaint, worthy aunt, Miss Danser, or the grave, simple-hearted minister. Philip well remembered the barren hills and the pasturegrounds, so well stocked with cows and sheep; the springs of pure water amidst the mountain heather, the fishing and the fowling; but, above all else, he remembered the high precipitous rocks and rugged cliffs, the surging ocean, and savage scenery, which had left an impression on his mind never to be effaced. In all things connected with the sea, Philip felt an unbounded interest; over the mantel-piece of his study, hung a fine large sea-piece, representing a storm, and a noble ship going to pieces on the rocks, with all the terrific accessories of such a scene. Falconer's "Shipwreck" was his favourite poem, and I used to joke him sometimes, and say he must have a mermaiden bride, for none else would suit the romantic fancy of Philip Bowes ! "We must seek her in some lonely isle, Annie," he would smilingly say, "when the sun is setting over the solitude of waves, and the desolate creature sings her wild songs, combing her long hair meanwhile." "Ah! we must visit St. Kilda, by-and-bye, Philip," said I; "who knows but we may find a mermaiden there? You have not forgotten Taffline, your early playfellow? You were dear loves in those days-you two; and you used to call her 'little wife!' but Taffy vowed she would never take mortal man for her husband, till he found an eagle's nest, and presented her with the eggs." "And is that so difficult an exploit, Annie?" demanded Philip. "So hazardous and difficult, that the most noted fowlers of the islands would hesitate ere they undertook to surprise the sea-eagle in her nest, building as she does among the most inaccessible nooks. The legendary lore of the Hebrides is full of dread tales concerning the hair-breadth escapes, or disastrous fate of the daring adventurers, whose perilous but familiar avocation forms the topic of daily interest to the inhabitants. But you, Philip," added I, laughingly, "did promise little Taffline, that when you were a 'man grown,' she should have the prize so much coveted; for that you would reach the eyrie, were it guarded by the most tremendous precipice the world contained !" "Did I say so ?" answered Philip, quite excited by the reminiscence; "well, Annie, if our cousin Taffline is as beautiful now as she was in childhood, I may, perchance, be tempted yet to redeem my promise." "Heaven forbid, my dear Philip, that you should ever risk your life for such folly !" ejaculated I, somewhat nervous at the bare thought of such a possibility; but speedily comforted by recollecting, that St. Kilda's Isle, Taffline, and the eagle's eggs, were as the unsubstantial shadows of a dream, vanishing faintly away in the far distance. We had, indeed, received many hospitable invitations to visit our relatives, but without the slightest prospect of being able to avail ourselves of them, though Philip often said, when he could take summer holidays we would together seek the Western Isles. Our intercourse with the Seaforths had been of rare and formal occurrence of late years. We all evidently disliked epistolary communications; while distance, the changes and chances of life, and the pre-occupation of Mr. Seaforth, tended to this result. But circumstances at length occurred, which enabled us to gratify our long-contemplated wish. The old surgeon died; Philip took an active partner; and the ensuing summer being a particularly idle one for the medical men, we determined on a six weeks' or two months' leave of absence, for once in a way, and set off for the Hebrides! Time and space do not permit a detailed account of scenery, or mode of life; and those who are desirous of ascertaining these particulars, may find them in Dr. Johnson's highly interesting account of a tour to the Western Isles of Scotland. We must become acquainted, however, with the individuals beneath Mr. Seaforth's low-roofed dwelling in St. Kilda's, shut in as it was by gently-swelling hills, and facing the south; surrounded, too, by a pleasant garden, protected by high hedge rows, so that it really became difficult to imagine we were in the immediate vicinity of "foaming water and splitting rock." Our cousin Taffline realized the promise of her childhood, both as regarded beautiful exterior, and wild capricious ways; tempered indeed by gentleness and the affections of a warm, guileless heart. Her education had been strangely conducted; and though not absolutely neglected, yet she was certainly far better versed in the legendary lore of the Islands, than in aught else—save, indeed, the piscatorial and ornithological matters connected in some measure with it—and also in having an oral collection of thrilling Ossianni lays, which she warbled most enchantingly. I soon saw that Philip had found his "Mermaiden;" but whether the island beauty would ever be transformed into a "bride," seemed a very doubtful contingency; nor could I help fearing such an event might not in the end contribute to my dear brother's happiness; for, with all her fine, generous qualities, Taffline was a self-willed, spoilt girl; but Philip loved at first sight; each day the chains became more strongly rivetted, and the trite, common-place saying, that "love is blind," in his case was perfectly exemplified. As to Taffline, she was not long before she discovered her power, for Philip had no dissimulation in his nature; and though I had many reasons to believe that she returned his affection, I could not help feeling very angry when she continually twitted him about his peaceable profession, his ignorance of what she termed "manly sports," and his want of bravery and chivalrous daring. Like many of her sex she loved to exert her power, but she was not aware of the pain she was inflicting, nor did Taffline fully appreciate the depth and intensity of Philip's love; and there were many excuses for her, brought up as she had been. Mr. Seaforth's duties occupied him so entirely, they were so arduous and incessant, occasioning frequent absences from home, that he had not been enabled to devote the time and observation necessary to forming the character of his beloved and only child, which he would have earnestly desired to do. He was, moreover, a simple and single-hearted man, and saw little to find fault with in his darling Taffy; she was, indeed, an affectionate, dutiful daughter, she alone had power to soothe her father's jaded spirits, for the minister's frame was not robust, and he often suffered mental as well as physical weariness, for his labours were too often thankless ones. When Miss Danser assured her brother that their Taffy was "just well enough," a "good girl in the main," he was ready enough to believe her, and also to coincide with her sagacious observation, "that it was a pity to break down youthful spirits, for trouble was sure enough to come, and do it without help." In short, Miss Danser Seaforth was one of those kind-hearted, easy, sociable old ladies, who take delight in seeing every-body happy in their own way, and so much dislike fault-finding or rebuking, that they fall into the other extreme, and spoil and pet all animated creatures within their reach. Miss Danser had but one point in her character by which it is possible to distinguish her from the whole race of sleek, comely, conserve, cake, wine-making, elderly spinsters; and this was the peculiar interest and excessive veneration, amounting to idolatry, which she cherished for each and every member of the royal family. The good lady had never been beyond her native islands, but she read the newspapers regularly, and knew all about the Queen's movements, and the health of the royal children, as if she had been a member of the household. Their pictures, or what were sold for such, hung in her bedroom; and when a royal birth or christening took place, Miss Danser became excited to tears; her most gracious Majesty was "poor dear"-or "pretty soul !" but when these melting words were over, no titles or epithets of reverence or grandeur could be found in her vocabulary sufficiently expressive to denote her loyalty and humble attachment. Once, indeed, on reading that the inmates of the royal nurseries were suffering from some of the usual ailments incidental to children, she shut herself up in the store-room, concocting a mysterious preparation, which was carefully placed in a crystal jar, and then thrice carefully packed in a strong, new basket. A letter was written, (poor Miss Danser! she sat up privately all night to indite that letter) and fastened on the lid, the basket being solemnly confided to the care of a captain, whose vessel was bound direct for the port of London ! The missive was addressed to her majesty the Queen! and the captain promised he would forward the sacred package to the Palace. Miss Danser implicitly believed him; and in a few |