 this journey, she became so much attached, that she made her promise to come to her whenever the abode she was now going to should be inconvenient, or whenever she was under the necessity of changing it. An invitation so flattering was gratefully accepted; and Lady Horatia having shewn both her travelling friends every polite and generous attention, took leave of them with regret on their leaving Edinburgh with Elphinstone, who was there waiting for them. She gave Celestina directions whither to write to her for the remainder of the summer, and again made her promise to come to her in the winter, if she left her Scottish friends; and at all events to contrive to pass with her two or three months of the next summer. After taking leave of her, a very tedious and very dreary journey of many days brought the Elphinstone's and Celestina to the sea side, where they were to embark for the Isle of Skie. Mrs. Elphinstone, accustomed to see so many different countries,

was yet struck with dismay at the sight of the black and dreary heaths over which they travelled; and in spite of all her attempts to sustain her courage, she looked at her children with eyes where maternal anguish was too visibly expressed. Elphinstone, however, to whom novelty had always charms, was not yet weary of his situation, and he was as gay and unconcerned as if he had been leading his wife to the most beautiful estate in England. Celestina, though very little delighted with the country they had passed through, was determined to testify no dislike to it that might add to the painful dejection of her friend, and by making light of the inconveniencies of the journey, and putting their hopes and prospects in the fairest light, she supported her drooping spirits, which the thoughtless and somewhat unfeeling vivacity of Elphinstone himself, served rather to depress than to support.


ARRIVED at their insular abode after great fatigue, Mrs. Elphinstone, recalling all her fortitude, busied herself in making it as comfortable as she could; and assumed, at least, the appearance of cheerfulness, though Celestina saw with concern that it was often but appearance. Celestina herself, however, whose mind had too long been unpleasingly called off from that object on which she best loved to fix it, was far from being displeased by the perfect seclusion of the place. She could now wander whole days alone, amid the wild solitude in which she found herself, listening only to the rush of the cataract, which, dashing through broken stones, sparkled amid the dark heath on either side of it;

or the sullen waves of the
