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that great work he had meant should round the circle of his scientific labours—“The Geology of Scotland.” But it had been otherwise determined, and that bright particular star which had hitherto shone with so lustrous a light, suddenly sunk amidst the murkiest gloom; and not the broken arch nor the fallen column, tells the story of the ruin of earth's mightiest empires in language more impressive than do the tragic circumstances in which the editor of the Witness was taken hence, teach the vanity of even the loftiest human ambition. One feels that there is something of awe and mystery about the departure of so gentle a spirit from amongst the generations of the living, in this sudden and violent

Chalmers went his way in an equally unexpected moment; but he was found sleeping his last sleep upon the couch of rest. His latter end was peace, and he went up from that Assembly he was so eager to meet, to “ the general assembly and church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven.” In the case of Hugh Miller death did its work by more violent means, and that heart which erewhile throbbed with the noblest and most generous emotion, is torn by bullets, shattered by a revolver.

Through the kindness of a personal friend of Mr. Miller, the Rev. Mr. Mackenzie of Dunfermline, we are enabled to close this memorial with one of the last of Mr. Miller's letters, so characteristic of the man, so


genuine in its affection, and so genial in the touch of humour which irradiates it. Mr. Mackenzie will let the reader understa:l its point and allusions :

Mr. Miller had engaged to be present at a lecture to be delivered in my church by Alexander Macansh, a self-taught genius, in whom Mr. Miller took much interest. His letter was in reply to one from me, fixing the day. He had arranged an excursion to Fordel, three or four miles from Dunfermline, to see what the country folks called a fossil man, found some time before in a quarry there. The fossil is, of course, nothing more than ferruginous stains in the rock, presenting the rude outline of a human figure.-Yours, &c.


To the Rev. James Mackenzie, Dunfermline.

Shrubmount, Portobello, 16th Dec., 1856. MY DEAR JAMES,—I have been set aside by one of my severe colds for a fortnight, and on Saturday, when I got your note, did not exactly know what to say in reply to it. But I have been getting steadily better for the last three days, and trust I may be able to be with you on the 29th. You may at least depend on my making an exertion; and if, notwithstanding, the fates forbid, must just get somebody else to sit in my place. Try, meanwhile, and find out the whereabouts of the Fordel man. With kind regards to Mrs. M.

Yours affectionately,


On the 29th December a funeral procession is taking its way from Shrubmount, Portobello, to the Grange cemetery. The funeral is such as has not been seen in Edinburgh since the death of Chalmers, and it is the dust of the editor of the Witness that is about to be laid by the dust of the great Scottish theologian. In that general assembly of the inhabitants of the metropolis that followed his bier, men of all ranks, all classes, and of all creeds, vied with each other in doing homage to the mighty dead. It was no common loss the land mourned; and, amidst a nation's lamentation, was he borne to his long rest.

"He is gone who seem'd so great
Gone! but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own,
Being here; and we believe him
Something far advanced in state,
And that he wears a truer crown
Than any wreath that man can weave him.
But speak no more of his renown;
Lay your earthly fancies down,
And in the vast cathedral leave him:
God accept, and Christ receive him 1"


The articles contributed to the Witness by its editor, during the last month of his existence, exhibit all the great powers of the great journalist in the fullest play. His papers on “The Forces of Russia,” “The Felons of the Country,” and “Modern Poetry,” are characterized by the same wide grasp of thought, the same powerful sweep of imagination, the same felicitous grouping, and the same richness of literary allusion that had ever distinguished his finest productions. We give-all our limits will permit—the last thing he penned for the Witness, written only three days before in such sadlytragic manner he bade farewell to earth. We also subjoin his favourite prayer :


6 THE POLE STAR OF FAITH. Bath: Binns & Goodwin. London:

Hamilton, Adams, & Co.

This is a sound little volume-simple in its plan, but excellent in its matter. It at once introduces the reader to an interesting circle of neighbours in a country locality, representative, in the several mem

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