ared
their spirits, in the depths of silence and seclusion, for proclaiming
in the sanctuary the glad tidings of salvation.

It was a tempestuous night; and, though the blast was completely
excluded from the manse by the dense masses of trees with which it was
surrounded, the wind howled and moaned through their branches and on
their summits, and, like the thunder, gave forth a solemn music to the
soul. I did not sleep, but listened to the sounds of the tempest with
that pleasure which philosophy cannot explain. Ere long, the current of
thought reverted to my own former relations, to the dwelling in which I
reposed; and busy memory, in the watches of the night, supplied, with
all the freshness of a recent event, the circumstances which chequered
the life and marked the character of my father. Though, perhaps, in the
estimation of many, these were commonplace, yet, to me, they were still
full of interest; and, as they seem to afford a true and undistorted
picture of a Scottish clergyman's real character and fortunes, I have
written them down to fill a spare corner in the _Tales of the Borders_.

William Douglas was the eldest son of a farmer in one of the northern
counties of Scotland. The family had been tenants of the farm of Mains
for five successive generations; and, so far as tradition and the humble
annals of the parish could be relied on, had borne an unspotted name,
and acquired that hereditary character for worth, which, in their humble
station, maybe regarded as constituting the moral nobility of human
nature. Just and devout in their lives--sincere, unpretending, and
unaffected in their manners--they were never spoken of but with respect
and goodwill by their neighbours; and were often, in the domestic and
rural affairs of the vicinity, the counsellors and umpires, in whose
good sense, and integrity, and kindness of heart, their humble friends
trusted with confidence. Such characters and families are to be found in
almost every rural district of this country; for, "though grace gangs
no' by generation, yet there is sic a thing as a hawk o' a guid nest." I
believe in the homely proverb, though some metaphysicians may dispute
it, but whether debatable or not in the abstract, William Douglas had
the good fortune, as he deemed it, to grow up in the bosom of a family
in which the characteristic of worth was cherished and transmitted as an
heirloom.

The eldest son of the guidman of Mains showed an early fondness