racter of Molly Macaulay. It is a picture of
humble, kind-hearted, thorough-going devotion and long-suffering,
indefatigable gentleness, of which, perhaps, no sinner of our gender
could have adequately filled up the outline. Miss Ferrier appears
habitually in the light of a hard satirist, but there is always a fund
of romance at the bottom of every true woman's heart who has tried to
stifle and suppress that element more carefully and pertinaciously, and
yet who has drawn, in spite of herself, more genuine tears than the
authoress of _Simple Susan.' "_

The story of _Destiny,_ like its predecessors, is laid in Miss Ferrier's
favourite Highlands, and it contains several picturesque and vivid
descriptions of scenery there, --Inveraray, and its surroundings
generally, forming the model for her graphic pen. Much of this novel was
written at Stirling Castle, when she was there on a visit to her sister,
Mrs. Graham, [1] whose husband, General Graham, was governor of that
garrison. After the publication of this last work, and the offer of a
thousand pounds from a London publisher for anything from her pen, [2]
she entirely ceased from her literary labours, being content to rest
upon the solid and enduring reputation her three "bantlings" (as she
called her novels) had won for her. The following fragment, however, was
found among her papers, and is the portrait of another old maid, and
might serve as a companion to Miss Pratt. As it is amusing, and in the
writer's satirical style, I lay it before my readers:--

[1] Celebrated by Burns, the poet, for her beauty. She inspired his muse
when turning the corner of George Street, Edinburgh. The lines addressed
to her are to be found in his _Poems._ She was also a highly-gifted
artist. The illustrations in the work called the _Stirling Heads_ are
from her pencil. It was published by Blackwood, 1817.

[2] She says (1837) "I made two attempts to write _something_, but could
not please myself, and would not publish _anything_."

"Miss Betty Landon was a single lady of small fortune, few personal
charms, and a most jaundiced imagination. There was no event, not even
the most fortunate, from which Miss Betty could not extract evil;
everything, even the milk of human kindness, with her turned to gall and
vinegar. Thus, if any of her friends were married, she sighed over the
miseries of the wedded state; if they were single, she bewailed their
solitary, useless condition; if they were par