Ardtaraig

the world, and as willing to enter upon matrimony as some of the others were the reverse. When not yet twenty, she accepted as her husband Mr John Macallister, a Glasgow merchant. The step pleased no one, except his young betrothed and himself. It was what is termed “a love match,” and was certainly entered upon without much thought or deliberation; the heedless young bride, on the wedding morning, exclaiming that now she was “to be happy for ever!” Far from it! For many years she was most unhappy. Latterly, matters rather improved. The husband had been weak and imprudent, but the wife’s character, under the teaching of experience, soon developed and told for good. She became strong, prudent, and tactful; managed her husband wisely, and ruled her family well. Aunt Ivie was comely, bright, fond of society, and the only one of the sisterhood who might be called ambitious, in the ordinary sense of the word. Had she got fair opportunities, it is hard to say what she might not have attempted and achieved. There were six children of the marriage, four of whom died in infancy. It happened more than once, in that sorely tried household, that while a dying child was in one room, the wail of a new-born infant was to be heard in another. The two youngest children, however, survived, and grew up to manhood. Alick, the eldest, was rather an amiable lad, but weak and easily led. He went to the Colonies, and died many years ago. James, the younger son, was bred a lawyer and had good abilities. He married, but both wife and son are dead, and, he himself has chosen to go his own way. Aunt Ivies husband felt his wife’s death bitterly, never quite resumed his former habits, and did not long survive her.
It so came about that there were, in all, seven sons-in-law gifted to the Ardtarig family – two of the five married sisters having been twice wedded. The spinsters, two in number, sometimes made merry over this, saying that the Fates had, with fairness, allotted seven husbands to the seven sisters, but that two of the number, more grasping, than the rest, had claimed for themselves a double share, hence two were left out! Of these, Aunt Grace was the elder. It is less easy for us, in these days of independent womanhood, to realise the trials and difficulties which were too often the lot of the “old maid” of former generations. She had to run the gauntlet of much unfeeling and vulgar ridicule. No matter although her lonely condition had arisen out of the noblest self-sacrifice, or from some dire misfortune, or even (incredible as it then was, and sometimes still is), from voluntary choice, she had yet to bear the flouts and jeers of those around her, many of whom were far her inferiors in every respect. Little wonder that she often grew soured under such treatment, and, smarting from a sense of hardship and injustice, her woman’s weakness turned her into the pitiful thing she sometimes became. Our two aunts were very nice old maids, and bore the position well. For one thing, they had a place clearly defined, a useful place, which only they themselves could rightly fill. I wish I had the glowing pen of that most able, genial, and large-hearted of men, the Rev. Dr Norman Macleod, of the Barony Church, Glasgow, wherewith to show, as he did, what an important, ay, even indispensable sphere is that of a noble-minded and unselfish spinster aunt, in a large family circle. He was a Highlander of the “first water,” and his estimate of his own dear old maiden aunties is well worth remembering. It occurs, I think, in his Reminiscences of a Highland Parish. Like many another, the family circle of Ardtarig, without these kind and helpful souls, would have suffered from many a storm and many a stress which their beneficent aid either softened down or warded off. Theirs was a magnified motherhood; they belonged to everybody, and everybody belonged to them.
Aunt Grace, who was the stronger and the more vigorous of the two, bore the brunt. She had a busy active life, with little time for aught save duty. She filled many a niche which, without her presence, would have been empty and desolate indeed. Possessed of good abilities, in some things cleverer than most, she had a dash and “go” which were entirely her own. Celtic she was, to her finger-tips; warm-hearted, impulsive, impetuous, and when “touched to fine issues,” extremely generous. She was claimed on all occasions; in sickness, in bereavement, in difficulty. Indeed, to be in straits of any sort was a sure passport to her sympathy and aid. It makes my heart ache when I think how many households she had to break up; how many dreary tasks she was called on to perform. As already said, she was stronger in constitution than most, and especially so, when compared with the other darling spinster (of whom I shall have more to tell presently), and, consequently, was able to undertake heavier