my creed; the reverse has been my experience. In my lonely wanderings-in the doleful solitudes of dens, and caves, and dungeons-amid the roar of winds and waters-amid the shouts and shrieks of battle, have not I heard his voice -have not I been impressed with his presence? -or was it delusion? His was an early tomb, and bitter were the the tears that I shed for his loss. Should not I rather have rejoiced? In the case of the Christian, is not early death a blessing? It was so in his. I had greater cause, certainly, to weep for myself, but when I needed tears for my own calamities, I had none to shed. There are griefs too big for utterance, too deep for tears; there are wrongs which tears would sanctify; there are times when to weep would be worse than weakness, when it is not tears that are demanded, but blood. Such times have I Such are the wrongs which I have endured. But to return to the narrative,-Quentin Rowallan, I have said, was about mine own age. His sisters, Isobel and Beatrice, were 'younger. In their personal appearance, these two sweet sisters presented an almost perfect contrast. Like her mother, Isobel was tall, her stature rising above the common height, while that of Beatrice fell somewhat short of it. Isobel's countenance, as to its cast, was perfect; it was, however, pale and passionless. The features of Beatrice were less regular and less intellectual, but they were more animated, and expressive of affection. Isobel had the piercing intellect of the eagle, Beatrice the gentle affections of the dove. While thus unlike in form and face, and even in mind, in one respect they were similar-their religious views, and, I may add, their religious experience. If

seen.

I was struck at first sight with their appearance, I was no less afterwards at the extent of their information, the ripeness of their judgment, but above all was I delighted with what I had almost said, the perfect purity of their feelings. They were not sinless creatures, it is true; all, alas! have sinned, and are stained with its sad sulliage, till at their death made perfect,"-but, beyond all I had seen, they were "washed and sanctified,” so much so, that I never saw nor conversed with them for an hour, without inwardly exclaiming, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God," without an inward and firm assurance, that the fair creatures whom I saw before me, would yet "walk in white" in heaven, which even here had set its seal so visibly upon them, as if not only claiming, but proclaiming them its own. Doubts, dark and distressing doubts, I have had of mine own election, of the election of others, who in the councils of the church and the camp, were considered as pillars,-but of theirs, I never did nor ever could entertain any. Without all controversy, they had been born from above. God was their Father, and Heaven was their home. Creatures of light, they were also creatures of love. They were true sisters of charity, and, like Him who redeemed them by his blood, and renewed them by his Spirit, they "went about doing good." Like Dorcas, the neighbourhood in which they lived could tell and point to the "coats and the garments" they had made; while by their instructions and benefactions they made a sunshine in a shady place," in the abodes of the miserable, by the beds of the sick, and in the souls of the dying.

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Such was the family into which I was introduced by the kind attention of my dear tutor and

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friend, Mr. Traill. "Mr. Welwood," said Mrs. Rowallan, on our rising to take leave, you will always be welcome here for many reasons. For your father's sake, of whom, and of whose services in the cause of our beloved church, I have long since heard, and more of which I have learned this day,-for Mr. Traill's sake,-for Quentin's, to whom I hope that you will prove a brother, and lastly, for your own." The welcome thus warmly given, I need scarcely say, was gratefully received and acknowledged. The kindness conferred upon me by this truly Christian woman, time would fail me to record. The happy hours I have spent in her holy and happy family, -the friendship I formed for Quentin, and which, in return, he cherished for me-a friendship which has been broken by the hand of death, but which will be renewed, I am confident, in the skies, it is not my object to describe, it was not for this I introduced this subject. I cannot hope that the reader of this narrative,—should it in after days be favoured with one,-I cannot, I say, hope that he will take the same interest in this family that I do. As for any interest that I venture to hope will be felt for the writer, it is not on account of any thing personal to himself, but because of the love he cherished for Kirk and Covenant, and because that for both-like Zebulun and Naphtali, along with Welsh and Douglas, Paton, Rathillet, and Nisbet, and others whose names will frequently occur in these pages, he loved not his life unto the death, but while others abode by the ships and among the bleatings of the sheep-folds, "jeoparded his life on the high places of the field." My object in introducing my connection with the family of Mrs. Rowallan, is to show,

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that in defect of just regard to higher motives and higher influences, the regard I had to my parents, and the communion I was privileged to enjoy with this holy family, were so powerful with me for good, that by these influences I was not only upheld in, but borne softly and sweetly onwards in the ways of wisdom, which even then I felt to be "ways of pleasantness and peace." May I not hope, however, that these motives and influences, though infinitely inferior to those supplied by the law and the love of God, were such as even He will not despise.

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CHAPTER V.

A CONFERENCE.

THOUGH the Church of Scotland had now fully entered the wilderness, there were seasons when Drops from heaven fell;

and when fainting under the sultry sky, and toiling amid the burning sands of persecution, she enjoyed a "refreshing from the presence of the Lord." Such a season was the year 1669. Up to this period the penalty against the outed ministers for preaching in private, and against hearing them, had merely been fines and imprisonment. Notwithstanding the risk of ruinous fines, and long imprisonment, many continued to preach, and many attended their ministry, which was followed with such signal success in the conversion of sinners, and in the comfort of saints, that enemies themselves acknowledged that "God was among them of a truth." The curates had by this time been "weighed and found wanting." They were indeed "wells without water, and clouds without rain." Nor was it their preaching only that was defective, but their personal character also. Many of them were not only ignorant but immoral, and were better versed in the Book of Sports, than in the Book of God.

Resisted at first by the people for the sins of others, it was not long till they were despised