WILLIAM ROSS. C9 



getting,' such as is rarely met with in any rank of life ? In 

 a letter written shortly afterwards, we have this note of 

 that master's conduct : ' I came here to furnish brushes for 

 the work, but my master would sell me none.' Brushes, 

 however, were obtained, and he proceeds : ' I am happier 

 in my mind than usual. There are glimpses of sun- 

 shine breaking out upon me, and a less troubled sky 

 overhead. Oh, how grateful ought I to be to that boun- 

 teous Benefactor who knows our wants, and can and will 

 supply them. I hardly know, my dear Miller, how to 

 conclude. I trust I am grateful to Him for you too.' It 

 must have been a sweetly -toned nature which unkindness 

 so bitter did not provoke to one angry word, and which 

 was so easily stimulated to childlike gladness and to 

 pious gratitude. In the deep forest one beam penetrates 

 to the wounded bird, and it breaks on the instant into 



song. 



We shall take another extract from these letters of 

 William Ross. It is interesting not only from its refer- 

 ences to himself, but on account of the few bold and vigor- 

 ous strokes with which it sketches Miller's uncles, James 

 and Alexander Wright, and still more because of its 

 vivid glimpse of the boy Miller: 'I trust I am no 

 misanthrope; but, with one exception and on that one 

 I need not be very explicit in writing to you it is dead 

 and inanimate nature that I derive all my pleasures from, 



not the world of men. I have but one friend 



Really, my clear Miller, I am one of the weakest young 

 fellows I ever knew. All that is worth anything in me 

 lies on the surface of my character a little taste, perhaps, 

 a little fancy, and more than a little warmth of heart ; 

 but I have no energy of will, no strength of judgment ; 

 I feel I cannot come in contact with superior men with- 

 out sinking into a mere nonentity, and losing all com- 



