hing and raving in the frenzy of brain fever;
a hundred times I stood tottering at the brink of death, and long
after my restoration to bodily health was assured, it appeared doubtful
whether I should ever be restored to reason. But God dealt very
mercifully with me; His mighty hand rescued me from death and from
madness when one or other appeared inevitable. As soon as I was
permitted pen and ink, I wrote to the bereaved mother in a tone
bordering upon frenzy. I accused myself of having made her childless; I
called myself a murderer; I believed myself accursed; I could not find
terms strong enough to express my abhorrence of my own conduct. But,
oh! what an answer I received, so mild, so sweet, from the
desolate, childless mother! its words spoke all that is beautiful in
Christianity--it was forgiveness--it was resignation. I am convinced
that to that letter, operating as it did upon a mind already
predisposed, is owing my final determination to devote myself to that
profession in which, for more than half a century, I have been a humble
minister.

Years roll away, and we count them not as they pass, but their influence
is not the less certain that it is silent; the deepest wounds are
gradually healed, the keenest griefs are mitigated, and we, in
character, feelings, tastes, and pursuits, become such altered beings,
that but for some few indelible marks which past events must leave
behind them, which time may soften, but can never efface; our very
identity would be dubious. Who has not felt all this at one time or
other? Who has not mournfully felt it? This trite, but natural train of
reflection filled my mind as I approached the domain of Castle Connor
some ten years after the occurrence of the events above narrated.
Everything looked the same as when I had left it; the old trees stood
as graceful and as grand as ever; no plough had violated the soft green
sward; no utilitarian hand had constrained the wanderings of the clear
and sportive stream, or disturbed the lichen-covered rocks through
which it gushed, or the wild coppice that over-shadowed its sequestered
nooks--but the eye that looked upon these things was altered, and memory
was busy with other days, shrouding in sadness every beauty that met my
sight.

As I approached the castle my emotions became so acutely painful that
I had almost returned the way I came, without accomplishing the purpose
for which I had gone thus far; and nothing but the conviction tha