of her locks. But she used to say herself to her mother that there was
already to be found a grey hair among them now and again, and she would
at times shew one, declaring that she would be an old woman before her
mother was middle-aged.

Her life at Ardkill Cottage was certainly very dull. Memory did but
little for her, and she hardly knew how to hope. She would read, till
she had nearly learned all their books by heart, and would play such
tunes as she knew by the hour together, till the poor instrument,
subject to the sea air and away from any tuner's skill, was discordant
with its limp strings. But still, with all this, her mind would become
vacant and weary. "Mother," she would say, "is it always to be like
this?"

"Not always, Kate," the mother once answered.

"And when will it be changed?"

"In a few days,--in a few hours, Kate."

"What do you mean, mother?"

"That eternity is coming, with all its glory and happiness. If it were
not so, it would, indeed, be very bad."

It may be doubted whether any human mind has been able to content itself
with hopes of eternity, till distress in some shape has embittered life.
The preachers preach very well,--well enough to leave many convictions
on the minds of men; but not well enough to leave that conviction. And
godly men live well,--but we never see them living as though such were