Ardtaraig

married a Miss Campbell, Asknish. Her grave is beside that of her husband, an upright stone, and when I saw it last it bore that Susannah, wife of the Rev. Hugh Campbell, died in 1781. Here are buried both grandmamma and Aunt Maggie. Owing to the close relationship, the ground was placed at the disposal of the family.
Thus far, I have tried to set down my recollections of the daughters of old Ardtarig, giving them precedence, by reason of their, being of the “gentler sex,” as it was so called, in those days! The sons come next. Of them there were six in all, of whom five grew up. I remember them all, more or less clearly, except one, whose life had closed years before my birth, but what I know of him from hearsay I shall now carefully set down.
Uncle Duncan, to whom I have referred in another place, was the eldest of the family, and I have already tried to show what an exem¬plary son he was. He entered the Army at an early age, and went to India to join the 12th Regiment, Indian Native Infantry. Soon he showed conspicuous ability, and was recognised as a most promising young officer. He had just been appointed Hindustanee Interpreter to his Corps, when his career was cut short by an attack of fever. His prospects had been of the brightest, and he was deeply regretted by his brother officers, who wrote touching letters to his bereaved parents. Great sympathy was also shown to them by friends and neighbours, who remembered the bright boy in his early youth, and who could well understand what the loss meant to those nearest to him. There is a likeness of him extant – a miniature painted in India by a brother officer. It is not a triumph of art, but snows him to have had the fair complexion and regular features of his family. The fairness one can judge of from some of his hair, which I possess set in a marquise ring. This ring was given to my mother by grandmamma, not long before the latter’s death. It is now somewhat of an heirloom, having originally belonged to grandpapa’s sister, Elizabeth (Mrs Campbell, Kildalvin), for whom my mother was named. The initials “E.C.” are within the oval. She had long ago given it to grandmamma, who had Uncle Duncan’s hair set in it. I am sorry I know so little about this uncle, but his loss had been such a grievous blow to his parents that his name was probably seldom mentioned, and many little details regarding him were thus lost.
Uncle William, next in order, I also know little about personally, as he died while I was quite young. I remember, when almost an infant, his frightening me almost into fits by opening his eyes to their widest, and staring at me in what I then felt to be quite an outrageous manner. It was by way of fun (silly fun, I must say), and baby resented it, not only by screaming wildly, but by remembering it up to the present moment. He was for some years in Mexico, having gone out there about the time Mr. Martin, my mother’s first husband, went. He too had the terrible fever of the country, but I am told was saved by a native woman putting him into a bath of oil. How long he remained there I know not, but during that time he married a young Mexican lady, who, within a year afterwards, died (in childbed, I think), leaving him with a baby girl. He wrote pathetic letters to friends at home, giving an account of his loss, telling how his wife’s relations, according to the custom of the country, had dressed her, after death, in all her wedding finery, even to her little white satin shoes. After a time, he came home, a somewhat broken man, having left his child in the keep¬ing of her mother’s family. Their name was Lasqueraine, I think. They brought up the child, and in due time she married, and became Anna de la Serna. On this event taking place she made advances to her father’s friends (long after he was dead), and there followed some correspondence. I wonder what became of these letters. I remember hearing them read aloud, and they struck me as being singularly ardent and affectionate, somewhat after this fashion: “Dear aunt, what do you tell me? You are going to send me a likeness of my dear dear father; oh! it is too much to think that I should thus see his features, and know what he was like,” etc. These letters had been translated by her husband into English, and re-written by him, as she herself spoke only Spanish. The miniature, which subsequently came into my possession, had been duly copied by an artist, and sent to her, with, I think, a lock of his hair, and some trinkets; memorials of the father she so