ut never
scorched, unless when it crossed the path of high-handed and determined
sin. _She_ was all calmness and quiet decision; yet in _her_ character
there ran a fire beneath the surface, sending up a glow into every
loving word and deed. She had never been beautiful, yet always
beautified by the radiance of true holiness. In her, seriousness had no
gloom, because it was the seriousness of a holy love. She made even
worldly people happy to be with her, because they felt the reality and
singleness of her religion--it was woven up with every hour's work, with
every duty, with every joy. She lived for heaven not by neglecting
earth, but by making earth the road to heaven. Her religion was pre-
eminently practical, while it was deeply spiritual; in fact, it was the
religion of sanctified common sense. The true grace of her character
gained the admiration which she never sought. As some simple unadorned
column rising in the midst of richly-carved sculptures arrests attention
by its mere dignity of height and grace of perfect proportion, so in the
unassuming wife of Bernard Oliphant there was a loftiness and symmetry
of character which made people feel that in her was the true beauty of
holiness.

And the children trod in the steps of their parents. Mary Oliphant was
the youngest; she was now just eighteen--slight in make, and graceful in
every movement. Her perfect absence of self-consciousness gave a
peculiar charm to all that she said and did; she never aimed at effect,
and therefore always produced it. You could not look into her face
without feeling that to her indifference and half-heartedness were
impossible things; and the abiding peace which a true faith in Christ
alone can give, was on those lovely features in their stillness. Such
was the family of the Reverend Bernard Oliphant.

Waterland was a rural parish in one of the midland counties. The
rectory stood near one end of the village, which was like a great many
other country villages. There were farm-houses, with their stack-yards
and clusters of out-buildings, with their yew-trees and apple-orchards.
Cottages, with low bulging white-washed walls and thatched roofs, were
interspersed among others of a more spruce and modern build, with slated
roofs, and neat little gardens. Then there were two or three shops
which sold all things likely to be wanted in everyday village life,
eatables and wearables nestling together in strange companionship; and,