Few names call up warmer feelings of respect than that of Bishop McEachern. Full of years and wearied out with labor, he died at his residence, near Saint Andrews. He was laid in the old chapel; but, a few years ago, the remains were removed to the new church, where they rest within the sanctuary. The Reverend Donald McDonald died in 1867. He was born in Perthshire, Scotland, on the first of January, 1783; was educated at the University of Saint Andrews; and was ordained a minister of the Church of Scotland in 1816. He labored as a missionary in the Highlands until 1824, when he emigrated to Cape Breton. Here he preached two years. In 1826 he came to the island, and commenced his labors in the spirit of the true evangelist. To him, the toil of travelling over the country and ministering to the destitute was the highest pleasure. Multitudes flocked to hear him preach. In barns, dwelling-houses, schoolhouses, and in the open air he proclaimed his commission to eager hundreds. Here and there he organized his bands of workers and ordained elders. As years rolled on, his interest in his great work increased, and great success crowned his efforts. Spacious and elegant churches began to take the place of rude shanties. His people grew in numbers, in wealth, in respectability, and in love for their minister. To have him as a guest, or to drive him from one of his stations to another, was the highest honor. His eloquence was of a high order. Before commencing his sermon he generally gave an introductory address, in which he would refer to the national, political, and religious questions of the day, and comment freely on them. His sermons were masterpieces of logical eloquence. He would begin in a rather low conversational tone; but, as he proceeded, his voice would become stronger. Then the whole man would preach,—tongue, countenance, eyes, feet, hands, body,—all would grow eloquent! The audience would unconsciously become magnetized, convicted, and swayed at the speaker’s will. Some would cry aloud, some would fall prostrate in terror, while others would clap their hands, or drop down as if dead. Seldom has such pulpit power been witnessed since the preaching of Wesley, Whitfield, and Edward Irving.