But let it be understood, and handed down to posterity, that Lady Adelaide was no bigot, her feelings and her religion were by far too Christian to permit her to be one. Piety, charity, toleration, and benevolence, accompanied withal a mild, gentle, and conciliatory temper, adorned her character; and with a truly devout feeling softened the asperities and disappointments which she had to encounter in her mournful passage and pilgrimage through the thorny vale of life. Pure, unaffected piety, and the slow hand of time, united to the kind attentions of her relatives, especially of her mother the duchess, and Lady Lucy, gradually succeeded in mitigating her grief. While humbly and cheerfully submitting to the will of heaven, and occupied in the exercise of the mild and tolerant spirit of the Christian faith, she found that internal comfort and consolation that was denied her in the world. Adelaide did not long survive her husband, and upon her death-bed made a confession, previous to which disclosure none but the confidential ear of her beloved mother had heard. In this she disclosed all those events which have been already developed by the extraordinary and affecting interview and separation which we witnessed to have passed between Bruce and Adelaide. Having received the last rites of the church, Adelaide surrendered her last breath, with hope and humble resignation, to Him who gave it! Lady Adelaide Bruce was born the 31st of October, 1600 and----, upon _the Eve of All-Hallows_; was married the 31st of October, 1600 and ----; and died the 31st of October, 1600 and----, upon the _Eve of All-Hallows_! Upon the demise of the Lady Adelaide the following verses were found in her escritoir by her afflicted mother, which had been written evidently subsequent to the death of Bruce: He is gone!---- I'm ne'er to behold him! And, oh! never more to enfold him Within these widowed arms! The spring shall bloom, the summer glow With all their brilliant charms; For my poor heart, too well, I trow, No peace nor pleasure waits below; But cold neglect, like winter snow! Each blast my breast alarms! My soul is sad, my spirits fail, It much relieves me to bewail! My only rest lies in HIS tomb!-- My hope--a better world to come! When wafted to blest realms on high, Where pain and sorrow come not nigh; May thus a contrite Christian die! (_Signed_) ADELAIDE.