som with all the most exquisite tenderness of natural affection, is very apparent from the following extract of a letter she wrote to Miss upon reaching Fernicarry after the funeral-with which I bring this memoir to a close :

“O my Isabella, my Isabella! I shall feel thy loss, I shall feel the want of thy dear society, so long as I sojourn in a strange and foreign land. Ah, yes! thou art gone, to be seen no more of mortals; the grassy turf now defends thy lovely form from the fury of the wintry blast, and though by the busy multitude thou shalt soon be forgotten, and though over thy grave they can tread with as much indifference as though nothing that was precious to Jehovah lay be. neath, yet thy brethren and sisters in Jesus shall remember thee still. By thy life and thy death they shall be encouraged to trust in the Lord for ever, and banish their every fear; and if in the providence of God, any of them are ever permitted to visit the dear spot where thy precious dust lies unnoticed, they will lift up their hearts with their voices, while they sing, 'This body which corrupted fell, shall uncorrupted rise.' I do indeed feel a blank which nothing in this world can ever fill. The eyes are closed in death, which wept when I wept, and always beamed with transport when I was glad; the lips are now closed, which so frequently said, 'O Mary! live above the smiles and the frowns of this world; and then you will make me happy. The arms in which I have been so frequently locked, which used with peculiar fondness to press me to a heart warm with the love of Jesus, now lie motionless, fast returning to their original nothing. But shall I murmur? No, Lord Jesus! the river which maketh glad the city of our God is still flowing plenteously from on high, and thou art thyself a satisfying portion."

THE END.