to the sweet whispering voice of interior self-complacency. A fine prospect is a very fine thing, but a fine retrospect is

"The sober certainty of waking bliss."

I can easily conceive the blank you must feel from being confined to the society of a companion who is neither cultivated, nor capable of culture, however goodnatured or well-meaning. One regrets to see one's companion excluded from sharing one's best pleasures. Then you try to remedy matters, but find it sowing in the sand. I found a good soil, and was richly rewarded in Charlotte; but it cost me no little pains to unspoil what early prejudices had done so much to spoil.

I have not leisure to describe to you the dreadful fate of Captain Macpherson of Ballochroan, who, with four others, set out before Christmas to hunt for deer in a chase of the Duke of Gordon's, between this country and Athol. There was a shooting-lodge or cottage, of great strength and solidity, built in that place to shelter the Duke on his summer excursions. There the hunters repaired every night to sleep, having provided fire and food to keep them comfortable for the three days they were to remain. But on the third evening, December 2d, there came on a stormy night; next morning, the father of one of the young men of the Captain's party, went up to see how they fared, but could not see even the house, the roof, timber, and every stone of which had been carried more than two hundred yards distance. The whole country was summoned out to discover and bring home the mortal remains, and the Captain and

his associates were found dead, covered with snow, where the house had stood. The story is almost miraculous, and every one hereabout was filled with superstitious horror. We account for it from a whirlwind or avalanche. You can have no idea what a gloom has overspread us; Mr. Grant was always partial to him. There are so many tender, as well as strange circumstances involved in this dismal tale, that the mind cannot shake off the impression.

son.

My dear little good boy has cost me little in nursing, he was so peaceable. Yet, in March, I found it necessary to banish him, as I began to give way fast. Anxiety for the dubious state of many poor people about us preyed upon my mind; even my unconquered spirit began to fail. Indeed, my heart trembled all winter for poor Charlotte,* who was in a very declining state; but Monday last I had the comfort to hear that on the 29th April she was safely delivered of a I am greatly relieved, and have heard since that she was in a fair way; I thank God I am hourly growing better since. She has been soliciting for one of the children all winter; I am going to send Anne for a few months. Mrs. Macintosh expected you would be much enriched by your uncle, the Admiral's, death; but I told her to cherish no such vain expectations. Mr. Grant sends his love, and wishes you to know what an excellent fisherman he is become. I am quite serious; we are never without a dish extraordinary of his procuring. Our lilacs and laburnums bloomed last summer, and will now be in full

*Mrs. John Smith.

beauty. We had such showers of roses! and we are so pleased with our little flower nurseries, under the windows! and all this in the very teeth of climate; while you sail on your botanic voyage, with wind and tide in your favour. How much have I still to say! But I will leave it all unsaid, to beg that you may not wed yourself too much to your hermitage. Too much ease, convenience, and dominion, breed either apathy or peevishness, just as people are formed. Spend a little time with Miss Malliet in London; the revival of early and tender friendship renews the springs of life. You will relish your cot the more when you return to it. Adieu!

Dear Madam,

LETTER XLVI.

TO MRS. MACINTOSH, GLASGOW.

Laggan, June 2, 1800.

How has your letter soothed and fed my sorrows, my hopeless, helpless sorrows!* For how can I remember without pain, and how can I forget her, whom long habit, ardent affection, and perpetual solicitude, had mixed with my very being, and entwined with every thought! Have I been a single hour awake, for twelve years past, without thinking of her? I did not meet with an occurrence at home, I did not see a flower in my walks, without considering what

*Referring to the death of Mrs. John Smith (formerly Miss Charlotte Grant), which took place at Glasgow, on 20th May 1800, three weeks after the birth of a son.

she would think of it. Everything is full of her; and it is so, and will be so. Still I see her graceful form; still I hear the language of truth and rectitude, expressed with artless elegance, and forcible simplicity. Dear, ever dear, lovely Charlotte, whose purity of heart was too congenial to superior natures to remain long here! I would not give up the sad satisfaction of constant retrospect, ideal conversation, and anticipated reunion, for all that apathy avoids, or vanity enjoys. Your feelings are so much mine, that to you, of all others, I will not attempt to describe them. What was she not to me, daughter, sister, friend, counsellor, —and, what of all binds closest, fellow-sufferer, and fellow-mourner! Have I been so many years shedding tears for her unequalled sufferings, and shall I now weep because she is released from them! The fleeting and unsatisfactory nature of all earthly things, will drive me for refuge and consolation to that Source from which all that was lovely and estimable first emanated, and to which it hastens to return; and then short will be our separation, and great my reward. Dearest, best child of my heart! how wonderfully has she been led into light, through the gloomiest and most intricate paths. With the highest spirit and the strongest feelings, she was made to drink the cup of adversity of its bitterest ingredients. Prosperity, we are told, is a harder trial; of that she barely tasted, and was summoned to share the abundant mercies of her Redeemer, in whose salvation I have reason to think she humbly trusted.

I envy you, however, the last poor comfort of knowing what she said, and felt, and looked, when the

great change was approaching. I feel much, much for you; her affections were your dear-bought own. You were entitled to them, and could hope to enjoy them to the last and true affection is no small matter to one who knows its value and its rarity. The Divine Goodness supported her to the last,-when she was enabled (at the very time when nature had sunk so low that she could not attend to her own infant, even in this extremity) to entreat you to bear no remembrance of the unkindness she had experienced from others. May we be enabled to imitate her noble example! Yours, dear Madam, very truly,

A. G.

LETTER XLVII.

TO HER DAUGHTER, MARY, THEN IN GLASGOW.

My dear Mary,

Laggan, June 20, 1800.

I suppose Catherine has written to you fully, which will in some measure supply my deficiency, who am totally disqualified for everything, and have scarcely recollection enough to thank you for your letters, or to remark upon anything they contain. Yet it is no particular malady I complain of; merely want of. rest, a kind of hurry and trepidation in my spirits, and great weakness. I wish I saw you; and you would set some value on that, if you knew how few things I wish for. Indeed, indifference to most things is my chief complaint, which you must allow to be very new to me, who enter with much ardour into other people's concerns.