feeling of profound sorrow has pervaded our community.

She

was endeared to all by her kindliness and ceaseless activity in doing good among the young, the poor, and the sick. My sister, now in, and who, when here in December last, recognised in your beloved wife a kindred spirit, one born again, a co-worker with Christ, wrote to me as follows:-The sad intelligence of the removal of Mrs affected me much. For herself, it has been unspeakable gain. Though my acquaintance with her has not been of long duration, she will not soon be forgotten by me. The dear children will miss her very much. I trust her removal may be sanctified to each of them, and the seed that she has sown may bear abundant fruit. What a warning to us to be active-to work while it is day, for the night cometh when no man can work.'" One of the deserving young men whom she had been helping on in various ways, in his studies preparative to the ministry, states—“I can never forget those prayer meetings, and especially those evening classes, your beloved partner superintended. I felt that God was there. Her worth and her kindness to me shall ever live in

my remembrance. When a poor cast-away, without any to sympathise with my longings for mental improvement, she encouraged me to give myself to the acquisition of learning, and in part furnished me with the means, and directed me to the ways by which, with my own industry, adequate supply might be found. Amid all difficulties and discouragements, she always incited and cheered on. Her efforts and counsels were blessed. The Lord prospered that to which she instructed me to put my hand. My desire is to be grateful to God for what he has done to me by her and others, and to walk before God with a perfect heart."

Such excerpts shew the high estimation in which Maria was held by those who had the best opportunities of knowing her.

In her partner, the impression of loss deepened. Every object that was a matter of interest to her engrossed. The usual afternoon walk, with its ever-varying conversation on

books, the incidents of the hour, and the Gospel of the Son of God-its blessings, privileges, prospects, and the preparation indispensable for the immortality it reveals and affirms—was now stript of almost all its enjoyment. Every afternoon brought a painful reminiscence. Every object in the domestic arrangements which was of special interest to her, the plats of her recreative labour in the garden, the various materials of her teaching, the scenes to which she had occasion most frequently to resort, all served to keep emotion quick; and though these were ever cherished, and occasioned a pensive pleasure, yet their constant presence imperceptibly impaired the nervous energy. Relief for a season was sought from this incessant stimulation. Often had Maria resorted for relaxation, during a few weeks in autumn, to B, a clean and lively village, situated on the banks of the transparent and unsluggish Dee; and distinguished for the scopiness of its position, the dryness of the contiguous soil, the grandeur and beauty of its surrounding scenery, and the purity and salubriousness of the air. A rocky steep hill rises from the village, well mantled with oak and pine, and a little eastward stands the farm-house where Byron's "infancy grew," and the hill of which he sung

"When I saw some dark hill, point its crest to the sky,

I think of the rock that o'ershadows Colbleen;"

and, afar in the west, the gorgeous mountain which the aristocratic bard thus nobly transfers to the classic domain of Caledonia, is seen proudly to rear his rugged and snow-sprinkled summit :

LOCH NA GARR.

Away ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;

Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,
Though still, they are sacred to freedom and love:

Yet Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,

Round their white summits though elements war;
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd :
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,
As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade ;
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ;
My fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.
"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ?”
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale.
Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,
Winter presides in her cold icy car:

Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;

They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.
“Ill starr'd though brave, did no visions foreboding
Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ?”
Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause :
Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber,
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar ;
The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number,
Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,
Years must elapse ere I tread you again :
Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft you,
Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain.
England, thy beauties are tame and domestic

To one who has roved on the mountains afar :
Oh, for the crags that are wild and majestic !

The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.

If inclination should prompt to proceed upward along the meandering stream, a region is traversed, adorned by the Royal Highland Home, and its imposing environs, variegated by deer forests, vast treeless rocky wildernesses, narrow vales, precipitous glens, picturesque water-falls, massive feudal castles, and sprightly modern residences. When residing at this village, Maria had her chosen haunt, to which she almost daily repaired.

It lay on the banks of the Dee, nigh to the tabernacle in the wood-symbol of dastardly caprice and tyranny—and beside a weeping birch with its graceful branches, clothed with gentle foliage, and affording a grateful shade from the sunshine and heat. In an open and prominent position stands conspicuous the parochial manse. Fragrant woods are all around; and among the trees dimly appear towards the north an ancient graveyard. Secluded and peaceful spot! How fitted to encourage reflection, and to awaken into strange communings with the Omnipresent Spirit and the awful future, the latent powers of the human soul! It was a morn in May when he hastened to this quiet scene, now tenderly hallowed in his recollection, and closely interwoven with the intensest workings of his heart. There was no change, except what vegetative progress or decay occasions. All was as it had been when Maria frequented it. The admired birch, the flowing stream, the verdant forests, the brown hills, the deep blue of the firmament, with its fadeless glories unchanged. Violets of various hues are profusely scattered all around. The yellow primrose unfolds its richest gloss, the daisy shows itself in meekest aspect. The swallow sweeps from side to side, and up and down the stream, twittering in gladsome glee. The mavis warbles the deep-toned lay; and the cuckoo repeats in the distance the monotonous story. What a still and suggestive scene! Here Maria strolled and lingered. Here she read and meditated. God's material works filled her with wonder, and drew forth adoring praise. But her heavenly Father's special revelation of

mercy to sinners won her more, and could not be overlooked. There she revolved and treasured up its benign communications, and adored the wisdom and grace seen in the amazing and unsearchable provisions of redemption which it discloses. Many an instructive and pleasant hour did Maria and her nearest friend spend here. There were alternate readings. There was no langour, no weariness, no interruption to engagements or enjoyments. The freedom was complete. Maria's portable

library was not large; but usually it embraced the works of Milton, Cowper, Pollock, John Foster; the Church History of Waddington; Edwards on "The Freedom of the Will and Religious Affections;" Romaine's "Life, Walk, and Triumph of Faith;" M'Lawrin's, M'Crie's, Professor Butler's Sermons; with some of the leading new publications of the day, as the "Vestiges," "The Footprints of Creation," "The Eclipse of Faith," etcetera. The lonely pilgrim ruminated long and deeply in this, to him, ever sacred spot. "How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." In his enjoyment there was, however, a large chasm. In every object God, indeed, is to be seen, and may be communed with by meditation and faith. But it cannot fail to be felt that while the human mind has its fullest scope for develop.. ment and true pleasure in connection with the Infinite Spirit ; yet, as it is finite in its nature, and consequently in its capacities, it cannot realise all the immediate and sensible intercourse which its native aspirations crave. Nor can it attain the fullest and highest happiness by itself. Mind is, from its constitution, linked with fellow-minds, allied in powers, tendencies, and tastes; and needs, in any scene, even the richest and grandest, some such spirit with whom to hold enlivening communion of sentiment and emotion. A reciprocity of kindred mind is essential to the most exalted enjoyment. This peaceful, beauteous, and diversified scene is all it ever was; but Maria, who delighted in it, is not here to talk on the wondrous ways and works of God. From this lower world she has ascended to a higher, holier, happier region. "Maria! what strange mysterious communing is this into which I ever spontaneously enter? Thou gifted and light-robed spirit, what swaying spell is this thou still hast over me? Art thou cognizant of earth and the dwellers thereon? Of the ways and works of men? Of the Church and its ministries and developments of grace? If thou observest these, do they originate sensations in thy pure and happy mind? Art thou at times or always nigh, or transported