Work on, then, Lord, till on my soul Eternal Light shall break; And in Thy likeness perfected, I 'satisfied' shall wake." On the evening of the 29th of January the duchess attempted to ask for something. Miss Sandilands repeated the words, "My Beloved is mine, and I am His." "Yes," she answered. This emphatic token of assent to a truth which was essentially her own by appropriation was the last attempt she made to speak. She fell asleep at half-past seven on the Sabbath evening, the 31st of January, 1864. She went to the land where time is no more, in her seventieth year, just reaching the allotted term of life, as she had certainly in no ordinary degree performed its allotted work. There was no need of hired mourners at her funeral. The depth of real grief was unprecedented. The sad procession was composed of many hundreds of mourners, and of nearly seven hundred children from her schools. The whole district was desolate and bereaved. The man was only speaking what many another was thinking when he said, "This is the greatest calamity that ever befell this district; of a' the dukes that reigned here there was never one like her; there's none in this neighbourhood, high or low, but was under some obligation to her, for she made it her study to benefit her fellow-men; and what crowds o' puir craturs she helped every day. And then for the spiritual, Huntly is Huntly still, in a great degree, but the gude that's been done in it is a' through her." All that was mortal of this mother in Israel was laid to rest in Elgin Cathedral. That noble fane contained the remains of no one more loved than she. "I can't understand how people should love me," she used to say. Others could understand it. And now that they could love her in person no longer, they love her memory. S.F. HARRIS, M.A., B.C.L. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Excellent Women, by Various