OBITUARY.
IN memory of Maria Theresa Rice, wife of Samuel Rice, Esq., of Boston, who died on the morning of the 30th of November, 1868.
Those who have never seen the face, or heard the voice, or shared in the hospitalities of her home, beneath the shelter of her love, will feel no more than a momentary grief when reading a brief tribute of tried affection for the memory of this genial, generous, and gifted woman. But alas! there are many who will never cease to forget or fail to appreciate what a beautiful treasure of energy, of life and hope and love, of warmth of affection and grace, now lies buried in her new- made grave. To the latter class, friends and acquaintances not a few, who knew her inward heart and enjoyed her sympathies and affections, the writer would hope to place on record for their benefit a sincere and faithful portraiture of her virtues, her attractions, and varied accomplishments.
Mrs. Rice was a lady of no ordinary endowments of mind. With a genius undeveloped, she gave evidence of much culture and mental training. Her tastes were pure, simple, and refined. She had read much, and her judgment was strengthened by a clear and well-defined appreciation of real merit. She loved nature with an intense passion, 'and from her sweet communion with all of nature's works, she was able to throw off into sparkling verse, striking and beautiful sentiments worthy the genius of a true Christian poetess.
The broad, rich landscape, with its diversified hill and dale, stimulated the purer aspirations of her heart; and the wild flowers springing from the mould in the clefts of the rocks, created in her deep and sublime religious thoughts. She loved flowers in sunshine and in shade, "in camp and festival, before the altar and beside the hearth." If before she died the angel of death had asked her where she wished to be buried, whether in the tomb or under the shade of cathedral domes, she would have replied in unaffected simplicity, "O, no! no! Bury me—
For I love the drip of the wetted trees;
I love not the gales, but a gentle breeze
To freshen the turf; put no tombstone there,
But green sods decked with daisies fair.'"
