to be neglected, and too young to know what he has lost, divide my sorrows, and do not suffer my mind to be wholly engrossed by this dreadful privation, this chasm that I shudder to look into. A daughter, of all daughters the most dutiful and affectionate, in whom her father still lives (so truly does she inherit his virtues, and all the amiable peculiarities of his character); this daughter is wasting away with secret sorrow, while, "in smiles she hides her grief to soften mine." I was too much a veteran in affliction, and too sensible of the arduous task devolved upon me, to sit down in unavailing sorrow, overwhelmed by an event which ought to call forth double exertion. None, indeed, was ever at greater pains to console another, than I was to muster up every motive for action, every argument for patient suffering. No one could say to me, "the loss is common, common be the pain;" few, very few indeed, had so much happiness to lose. To depict a character so very uncommon, so little obvious to common observers, who loved and revered without comprehending him, would be difficult for a steadier hand than mine. With a kind of mild disdain, and philosophic tranquillity, he kept aloof from a world, for which the delicacy of his feelings, the purity of his integrity, and the intuitive discernment with which he saw into character, in a manner disqualified him; that is, from enjoying it. For who can enjoy the world without deceiving or being deceived? But recollections crowd on me, and I wander. I say, to be all the world to this superior mind, to constitute his happiness for twenty years now vanished like a vision; to have lived with

unabated affection together even thus long, when a constitution, delicate as his mind, made it unlikely that even thus long we should support each other through the paths of life, affords cause for much gratitude. What are difficulties, when shared with one whose delighted approbation gives one spirits to surmount them? Then to hear from every mouth his modest unobtrusive merit receive its due tribute of applause; to see him still in his dear children, now doubly dear; and to know that such a mind cannot perish, cannot suffer; nay, through the infinite merits of that Redeemer, in whom he trusted, enjoys what we cannot conceive! Dear Miss Dunbar, believe me, I would not give my tremulous hopes, and pleasing sad retrospections, for any other person's happiness. Forgive this; it is like the overflowing of the heart to an intimate; but your pity opens every source of anguish and of tenderness. Assure your kind mother of my grateful esteem; and, believe me, with sincere regard, much yours,

A. G.

LETTER LIV.

TO MRS. FURZER, BERNERS STREET, LONDON.

My dear Friend,

Laggan, January 12, 1802.

I have perused your affectionate letter again and again; but how shall I answer it? Day after day, week after week, I have deferred, in hopes of a serene hour. To you I could pour out my heart, and from

you expect the sympathy this cold world has not to bestow. But two things I see clearly: that mine is a growing sorrow, like other streams, widening as it proceeds; and that I am utterly incapable of arranging my thoughts at present: one overpowering recollection absorbs everything.

Now that I have gone through this bitter narrative,* you will be sensible how sudden, yet how aggravated, the stroke has been. Very delicate he was all summer, and much enfeebled, in consequence of his illness last spring. However, it was a delightful summer; we had got matters arranged to our satisfaction, and shook off some embarrassments that had arisen from

the expense of enclosing, improving, &c. Our farm was well regulated, and productive in consequence. Isabella came home, and her improvement, in every sense, afforded us great pleasure. In short, from different favourable turns with regard to our children and our affairs, we were relieved from many anxieties which had preyed on his delicate and sensible spirit. We We were indeed all cheerfulness, harmony, and peace, enjoying the highest domestic comfort, and the most pleasing prospect of a calm evening of life. He was delightfully pleasant; I never saw him enjoy himself and his family more. A boy, the most promising one, the greatest tie I have now to life, was sent us for a comfort when my dear John was taken away, and was the charm and amusement of this last fatal year. I never saw his fondness carried to such a pitch, though he treated all of them with the most endearing

* This narrative is here omitted.

tenderness. My dearest Nancy, were I to choose so long a period to live over again, at any time of my life, I think it would be the very half year, the close of which swallowed up my hopes of earthly happiness. I will not torture myself with particulars.

I had not ten minutes' warning; it was a thunderstroke. Yet if sudden, it was comparatively easy; the doctor was not alarmed till the last half hour. I cannot either leave off or go on. I thank God, no one can have better children. My friends, too, seem disposed to do all that can possibly alleviate what is incurable. The Duke of Gordon humanely indulges me in keeping the farm in the old way, till the period when it shall be found expedient for me to leave it. Our affairs are in better order than you could expect, when you consider a man so charitable and generous with so large a family. My intention is to hover round his remains here as long as I can; and when I remove, it shall be to a town. You will hear something of me hereafter, that will surprise you, yet not more than it has done myself. I use every means to calm my mind, but the hiatus is dreadful. Write to me soon; in this state one leans hard on friendship. Adieu.

A. G.

LETTER LV.

TO MISS DUNBAR OF BOATH.

Laggan, April 24, 1802.

Dear Madam,

I wrote a hasty scrawl to accompany the poetical fugitives you wished for, which I sent to Bar,* to be forwarded; but Bar, "whose meaner stars have shut her up in wishes," has every inclination, but no power, to transmit the important packet. So I must brandish the quill once more, though scarce able to lift it; for I have been, for ten days past, sick, spiritless, forlorn, and dejected. I am no whiner, and love my friends too well to inflict my sufferings upon them, when I suffer moderately. Indeed, when I do not positively suffer, I do positively enjoy; for which reason, it is more peculiarly my duty to suffer patiently, and enjoy gratefully. Now, you will reasonably expect a definition of what I call enjoyment. It is, when the sensibilities of my heart are excited, and find objects worthy of them; it is, when I can meditate in peace, and return to my first love, the fair face of nature, with serene complacency; at times heightened into an enthusiasm equally tender and solemn; it is when I can indulge recollections that exalt my mind while they soften it; it is when my sorrows are asleep, lulled by the

* "Bar" was a familiar abbreviation, in the Author's family, of the name of Miss Anne Dunbar, who taught, with much success, a school at Laggan, attended by the children of the Author, to whom she was endeared by many deserving qualities. She was well known to Miss Dunbar of Boath, and her name frequently occurs in Mrs. Grant's letters to that lady. Miss Anne Dunbar still survives; she lives at Elgin, in Morayshire, esteemed by many friends.-(1845.)