"No, no," they both exclaimed; and, weeping, clasping their hands about their father's neck, alarmed to hear their mother speaking of their leaving him.

Andrew was at this time in his thirteenth year, a fine smart-looking boy; stout at his age, his hair black and bushy, and his eye full, dark, and penetrating. Of his talents we have already spoken. They were of a high order; and, under his father's assiduous culture, he had already made considerable progress in learning. Indeed his acquirements of every kind were beyond his years. His father was his only companion, as well as instructor; and his attention had thus been turned, at all times, to something useful. His susceptible mind had rapidly imbibed his father's ideas, and, in fact, had already stored up most of his knowledge. In piety, in the love of learning, in the amiableness of his disposition, Andrew resembled his father; but his mind gave indications of more boldness and originality. Indeed, there already appeared in him a decision of character, a steady adherence to his resolutions, and a firm perseverance in the pursuit of whatever caught his attention, which, in union with his religious spirit, promised a life of the highest usefulness.

Mary, who was now in her eleventh year, with cheeks fair and rosy, a fine soft blue eye, and a profusion of golden ringlets flowing on her shoulders, had all the light-hearted gayety, and innocent loveliness, which girls, properly educated, generally have at that age. Impressed thus early with the sacredness of religion, its purity, seemed to beam from her eye. Her love to her relations was in proportion to her tenderness of heart. To please her mother, her father, and her brother, to hear them say she had done well, made her happy. A fairer and a sweeter plant hath nature no where; and, in the retirement of the secluded manse, she looked like one of those flowers which the traveller may sometimes meet in the desert, so lovely that he cannot feel in his heart to pull it, and yet knows not how to leave it behind.

Mr. Bruce, perceiving it was needless to say any thing more about his family leaving him, turned their attention, for a considerable time, to those truths of the Christian religion which are best fitted to prepare us for bearing changes and trials with fortitude and resignation. And then the family, after joining, as usual, in the worship of God, withdrew to repose.

CHAPTER III.

He stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart,
Ard, armed himself in panoply complete
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms
Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,
The sacramental host of God's elect!"

Cowper.

EARLY on the Monday morning Mr. Bruce and his family arose; and having committed their way to God, prepared to leave their house. The furniture was dispersed among the neighbors, except a few articles necessary for their comfort, which were sent to Braeside, a farm house, situated in a romantic glen, about four miles from the village, whither Mr. Bruce had chosen to retire. Every thing was soon put in order for their departure. And now the venerable pastor, with Andrew and Mary holding each other by the hand, before him, and his wife by his side, slowly and silently left the manse. The two youngsters tript on cheerfully, happy enough that they were going with their parents. Mrs. Bruce could not be very sad when her husband was by her side: and the min

ister had prepared himself, too well for this event, to show much uneasiness. Yet neither he nor his wife could help dropping a tear as they passed the church, and entered the street of the little village, through which their road lay. But the grief of the villagers was excessive. They saw their spiritual guide, their comforter, their adviser, their friend, in the coldness and severity of a winter morning, with his wife and children, driven from his comfortable dwelling, and about to leave them. Would he assemble them no more on the Sabbath, to refresh their souls with the water of life? Would they see him no more going from door to door through the village, relieving the poor, comforting the sick, and instructing all? What hardships would these children, and that amiable woman, who although by no means unhealthy, appeared to them so delicate, have probably to endure! And was his pulpit to be filled, and his house and living seized, by some time-serving, cold-hearted stranger?

Full of these sorrowful thoughts, every inhabitant of the village, both old and young, crowded about Mr. Bruce and his family. So anxious was every one to be near their beloved minister, that they eagerly pressed forward, and often compelled

him to stop. He conjured them to leave him: but it was not till they had accompanied him more than a mile out of the village, that he could prevail on them to think of parting with him. Here he shook hands with each of them; exhorted them to avoid all evil; and lifted up his voice and blessed them, while they stood drowned in tears.

Now Mr. Bruce and his family, with a few who had determined to accompany him, set forward to Braeside, while the villagers and peasants returned to their homes, sorrowing in heart, and determined rather to suffer all, than make any compliance to an ecclesiastical government, which had begun so harshly. Such were many of the people, and such many of their pastors, whom the unwise politicians of those times thought to force into their measures by the violence of persecution.

Mr. Hill, the farmer of Braeside, a worthy old bachelor, had rendered his house as comfortable as he possibly could for the reception of the new-comers; and, with what articles they brought along with them, and with Mrs. Bruce's ready hand, under which every thing about a house seemed at once to take its proper place, they found themselves, although not very well lodged, yet as