one who was neither visionary nor superstitious,—though from childhood possessing a strongly religious element of character,—but whose soul had, doubtless, during the terrible ordeal of that night, cried out in strong agony, to the Compassionate One, who never yet refused such an appeal, or failed to recognize the incense of true worship,—and thereafter, over her already excellent life, fell a new charm, "the beauty of Holiness." Her grief was intense, though very quiet, "showing itself only in the softer footfall, the added tenderness of voice, the gentler sympathy, the warmer pity with which she bound up the broken-hearted." She could not, for years, speak of the departed, nor did any approach a subject so sacred to her; yet she was, evidently, always uppermost in her thoughts. The old delightful employment of embodying in song the emotions of the heart and experiences of life, ceased to interest her, and was not resumed until towards the close of her own life, when, with sorrow sanctified by religion, she wrote, perhaps, some of the sweetest gems which ever emanated from her pen. Among these are the "River Echo" and the "Ring Doves," the latter written during a final visit to her native place and under a strong conviction that she should see it no more.
Shortly after her sad bereavement it became evident that her own health was rapidly declining, and a long-cherished desire to visit the home of her childhood was carried out. Again she breathed
