"_March 30._ I was interrupted by company at the above pauses; and since then, dear N----, what a revolution in the state of things around me! It seems like a dream that I am again on the eve of departure for Europe. It is indeed a dream from which I should like to awake; and yet I am so sure that it is right to do just what we are doing, that the spirit faints not, nor even falters. I do not, indeed, dare to think, but have busied myself in visiting my parish, and do not fear but that power will be given. Yet, dear N----, what a lot is mine! Surely I ought to be better for all this various blessing. "Ever yours. "M. L. W." In closing the first and only year of Mary Ware's "parish life," we remember that it was also the first year of her married life, and an immediate entrance upon the office of a mother. To her views of this office we have already referred, but have feared to say all we know to be true of her discharge of its duties. There is a veil which we may not raise, a sanctuary which none can enter. Yet it is due to her and to her children,--it is due to the greatness of a trust whose difficulties all see, but few estimate kindly,--to speak of the glowing filial love, the reverent and grateful obligation, expressed by those who were permitted to call her "mother," and whose sense of indebtedness grows with their days. By the exercise of a sound discretion in exigencies unavoidable and seldom allowed for,--by freedom of intercourse through the day, and prayer and blessing at night,--by a tenderness that made counsel always kind and discipline never disheartening,--in a word, by a yearning affection which has caused a start and regret at any allusion to her not being "their own mother," she took possession of their hearts for life; and her death called forth, in the simple words of one, the unutterable sentiment of both,--"Surely God never gave a boy such a mother, or a man such a friend." IX. EUROPEAN TOUR.