and tyrannical government had forged for them, and which, but for their noble resistance, and that of their fellow-sufferers, might have this day been fastened around our necks, this per secuted family might have lived in peace in thei manse, undisturbed and uninjured by the troubles of the times. But their souls despised the thought. They had the glory of God in their view, they had the liberty of their country at their heart, they had the welfare of us, their posterity, before their eyes,-and, without a murmur, they laid down their lives in the righteous cause.

Is there no one that loves to wander about Žion, and the flowing brooks beneath, that wash her hallowed feet,' and to sing on sacred harps the achievements of the saints? Is there no one warmed with the flame of their devotion, and touched near the heart with their patriotic sufferings, that will twine laurels to their sacred memory into the sweet numbers of immortal melody? Is the theme not soft enough for the refined ear of modern taste, or is it too sacred for the song of the bard? But why should we call for the poet's lyre? Even now, their praises sound from harps angelic 'What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence come they?' 'These are

they,' respond the choirs of heaven, 'these are they which come out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They

shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.'

After the execution, Dalziel and Macduff having stood for a little, glutting their eyes with the effects of their cruelty, or rather, of the government under which they served, Macduff, sadly disappointed at the failure of this attempt to draw Mr. Bruce into his hands, said to Dalziel, Might we not try what torture would elicit from the daughter? She might be less obstinate; or the father, moved by her sufferings, might deliver himself up to us.'

'Inhuman man,' replied Dalziel, touched with some compunctious visitings of nature, wouldst thou lay thy hand on the distracted girl? No. I will not permit it. Let us find the father as we may. But the daughter shall not be touched.'

Macduff, being thus reproved by one who was noted for his inflexible rigor towards the covenanters, ignorant, savage, crocodile-like as he was, seemed to feel a slight movement of shame; and, without resuming the subject, said to Dalziel, 'Let us go and despatch the prisoners whom the soldiers brought in this morning.'

The corpse of the martyred youth was left hanging upon the tree till evening, when some of the villagers ventured to take it down; and, having dug a grave beneath the shade of the elm, laid the remains of the son of their minister in the narrow house.

CHAPTER VII.

ONE grand and peculiarly excellent characteristic of the christian religion is, that its resources are always in proportion to the wants of its true professors. If the wickedness and cruelty of men gather about them with a more frowning aspect, their Redeemer looks upon them with a kinder countenance. If the calamities and sufferings of life embattle themselves thicker and thicker around them, the objects on which they have fixed their hopes, beyond the grave, come into a better light, and fill their souls more abundantly with their heavenly relishes.

The truth of this remark was well illustrated in the conduct of Mr. Bruce. When he received the tidings of his son's death, with the account of the unmurmuring and triumphant manner in which he had closed his short life, the resigned father, looking to heaven, said, 'My son, thou hast died in a good cause. The name of the Lord be magnified.'

Having uttered these words, he turned suddenly to the peasant, who had brought the sad intelligence, and said, 'My son is now safe; but where is my daughter? Have they murdered her too?'

'Your daughter,' replied the peasant, is in the village, with the old woman whom she used to be so fond of. She was so overcome by her brother's cruel death, that she remained for

some time in a state of insensibility but she is now recovered somewhat although they are afraid she is still in a dangerous condition."

Do

'I knew it,' said Mr. Bruce, 'I knew she would never survive her brother's death. Her heart was too tender. It is broken: it is broken. O, my dear daughter! must I lose thee too? My two children in one day!' 'O, Father in heaven he then exclaimed, thou knowest what is best for me, and all that is mine. with us as seemeth good unto thee.' And then addressing himself to the peasant, said, 'Can I not see her once ere she depart? I must see her. I will venture into the village under the shadow of night. If I should fall into my enemies hands, the Lord will deliver my soul.'

'You must not venture,' said the peasant. 'If you fall into their hands, we will all lose a father, who is our instructer and comforter in all our sufferings. Your daughter may soon be able to meet you in a place where you shall be in no danger.'

Nay,' said the affectionate father, but I must see her to-night. She hath need of comfort. Perhaps she will not see another day.'

'Well, well, reverend sir,' said the peasant : · we will do all we can to get you into the village safely. We will let you know when the soldiers have gone to rest. Then will be the safest time for you.'

'Do accordingly,' replied the minister. 'I will approach the village after night-fall, and wait in the hazel glen till you or some of your friends come to me. Go. and be mindful of your appointment.'

When Mr. Bruce was left alone, he ventured out to the top of a hill hard by, whence he could espy the grave of his wife, and the smoke rising from the village, where his son had that day been put to death, and where his dear daughter, his only remaining earthly hope, lay on a bed of distress: And, truly, it needed something more than the mere firmness of natural fortitude to sustain his spirit, while he waited in anxious expectation the coming dark

ness.

Mary, to whom we now return, when she lived at the manse in peace, as we formerly remarked, was cheerful as the lark of the morning, and lovely as the flower on which hath never breathed aught but the purest and gentlest breezes from the chambers of the south. And, till her mother's death, she bore all the sufferings to which the family was subjected, with little change of spirit; and often did she cheer their wanderings by the sallies of her innocent mirth. Ever after her mother's death, however, although her father watched over her with the eye of a guardian angel, and her brother tended her with the most vigilant affection, she had lost much of her cheerfulness, and her health had been rather declining. The circumstances in which the family had been placed, had rendered her mother peculiarly dear to her; and her tender feelings never fully recovered from the shock they received by the sudden and cruel death of her mother. And now the still more untimely and cruel death of her brother, together with all the affecting circumstances with which it was connected, had