God himself offers to become our portion and sure defence: and, while the light of earthly happiness is fled, or gleams on our path, like meteors over a cold and desert waste, the beams of his favour will encircle us, growing brighter and brighter as time runs on its course. I long much to hear from you, my beloved Jane. Sincerely do I hope that your mind has been sustained under the bereavements of God's providence; and that, whatever may have been its feelings, when nature, exhausted, was tempted to believe that its hope was departed for ever, you will now be able to exclaim, 'all things work together for my good.'

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We

would have thought this season one of almost unvaried dulness, had not the arrival of my sisters from Greenock broken in upon our monotony. For the last few days, we have been blocked up by the snow, and, except in the lurid gleams of light which sometimes illuminate the summits of a distant mountain, or fall in beautiful variety upon the nearer hills, the country presents a scene of entire desolation. The snow is so deep on the Highland roads, and among the valleys, some of which lead to isolated cottages on the hills, that no one can attempt passing or repassing. Many of the poor creatures had left their homes on Friday last, to be present at an annual fair in Inverness, the only place of rendezvous for these poor Highlanders. The morning was not so bad; but the snow having fallen in great quantities during the day, and the night becoming very dark, some of them lost their way, and were found dead next morning, their bodies being partially covered with snow. The details of this melancholy evening have excited great distress in our neighbourhood; and it was truly heart-rending to see here and there a funeral procession winding its way slowly among the hills, or on the roads....Yours, &c. M. B."

The author of these letters had, indeed, the "pen of a ready writer," and in the weight and worth of her communications, she excelled most of her correspondents. She does not notice in them any engagements for the direct promotion of the cause of the Saviour; and, except as connected with the attempt to diffuse a

savour of holiness" in a small society, and the cultivation of Christian fellowship, she had, at the time at which they were written, few such to employ her. This circumstance did not

D

arise from any diminution in her Christian zeal, but from her inability to communicate religious instruction to the interesting Gaelic population of her neighbourhood. The limitation of their usefulness in the Highlands was one of the principal reasons which induced her and her sisters to determine to remove to Edinburgh, when arrangements could be made for their taking up their abode in that city.

CHAPTER III.

DEPARTURE FROM INVERNESS-SHIRE-VISIT TO GREENOCK-VIEWS OF THE CONNECTION BETWEEN FAITH AND PEACE-LETTERS WRITTEN FROM EDINBURGH-DEATH OF MISS ELIZA BAYNE.

MARGARET, with one of her sisters, left Inverness-shire for Edinburgh in August 1827. On their way to the metropolis, they visited Greenock, from which was written the following letter, principally devoted to the notice of the cordial welcome which they received from their numerous and beloved friends.

"MY DEAREST A.

GREENOCK, August 1827.

"I wrote C. a hurried letter last week, and as you are next in succession, I shall address my present lucubrations to you. I mean to write no sentiment, no profound disquisition, not even to amuse you with the vagaries of my own fancy, as the euphonious expression I have made use of may seem to intimate; but merely to give you a detail of facts, which can, I am persuaded, have no adornment equal to that which your own warm affections, and the glow of your fancy, can impart to them. Well, to resume the thread of my narrative:-I told you of our arrival at Greenock on Saturday morning, going to church, &c. &c. I felt for some days as if I were living and moving in a dream, so new and strange were the sensations of pleasure with which I gazed upon every object, and received the gratulations of friends, every one of whom seemed kinder than another. The kindness we have met with is actually overpowering; and, to heighten our enjoyment, the weather has been delightful, and the scenery looking more majestic than ever. We have had so many inquiries you all, that to tell you the one half of them would fill volumes; and, even were I to write them, the words would but

for

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here and there a few stragglers were coming slowly along the descent, carrying in their hands a Bible and stool, or piece of wood for a seat. They were, for the most part, old men, with their grey hairs streaming from under the blue bonnet which tially covered their heads, or women, bent by years and infirmities, looking more like a link to connect us with death, than any part of the chain of the living. I felt wet, and was almost disposed to retrace my steps homeward, till this scene roused me. When I saw the old and the feeble seated on the wet heath, with the rain-drops falling upon them, and nothing for shelter but a few trees almost bereft of their foliage, I was shamed out of my fears about suffering any paltry inconvenience, and advanced towards the church. When I entered, the clergyman had a large cloak wrapped about him, and so pale and emaciated was he, that it was not till he gave out the psalm, that I discovered that it was Mr S. He had been recovering from an illness, and was obliged to observe the precaution of keeping on his cloak. I was delighted with the variety, the depth, and the holiness of the feelings which were breathed in his sermon; but more of this again. We are going on an excursion, and I am unexpectedly called away. Adieu... Yours, &c. M. B.”

"To Miss S-.

MANSE OF ALNESS, 16th Aug. 1826. "MY DEAREST JANE,-It is impossible to express the anguish of my feelings, on receiving, a few hours ago, intelligence of your brother's death. To me, the shock was inexpressibly painful; but to you, my beloved friend, it must be an event so overwhelming, that I know not how to address you, or in what words to express my sympathy. I do, indeed, most deeply feel for you. under a bereavement which had circumstances so dreadful to embitter it; and, while I partake of your sorrow, I would implore God to sustain you by his omnipotent arm, and to impart the consolation which will dispel the gloom of your soul, and cause hope to spring up amid the ills that threaten its extinction. Never did I feel the pangs of a separation from you so bitterly as I do at this moment. Willingly would I mingle my tears with yours; but when I think of you in all the anguish of sorrow, and of myself in a far distant abode, uncertainty grows

darker, and sorrow, joined to all the tortures of suspense, brings a thousand forebodings to my soul. Often have I wished to see you, to enjoy one brief interview with you, clouded as that interview might be; but Providence has severed us, and instead of lamenting the destiny that we cannot control, let me submit to it, and look upwards to heaven, praying earnestly that God may sustain you, and make your earthly sorrows, which have been many, the means of detaching your mind from sublunary pleasures, and fixing it with earnest desire on the promises of the Gospel, and on the hope of that inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away. The dispensations of God's providence are ofttimes dark and mysterious. For purposes unknown to us, he hides himself amid clouds. His throne seems seated in an abyss of darkness; and when he looks down from its terrible majesty, it may seem in anger to us, who see only the awful symbols of his displeasure, and perceive not the hidden purposes of his glorious grace. But we must bear in remembrance, that he, who guides unseen the events of this world, is not only a Being of infinite power, but of long-suffering patience, and of most astonishing love. He bears with our infirmities, and the inflictions of his providence are but the chastenings of a father, who pities, while he loves, his weak but erring child. Our merciful Creator afflicts not willingly; and to be without chastisement is not the privilege of a child, but the curse of an alien who has lost the titles to his rightful inheritance, and has neither the name nor the character that would entitle him to a place in his father's house. It is not, therefore, to overturn the foundations of our happiness, to wither the prospects of our enjoyments, or to blight those hopes to which the mind, from its original constitution, must ever aspire after, that God sends us affliction. It is to withdraw us from the polluted springs which cannot impart a pure or immortal enjoyment, to fix our happiness on a stable foundation, and, by alluring us from a phantom, to substitute in its stead a reality which we may eagerly pursue.

"God has promised to sustain us amid affliction; and it is a privilege unspeakable, my dearest Jane, to repose upon his promise, to rely on his proffered might. We should submit with