of Christ, what can be expected to be the consequence?... There is no wind so proper to winnow Christ’s corn as that of the gospel.... I might say a great deal on this subject, but one thing I find is, when some would maintain that never man spake like this Man, yet when Christ would address Himself with particular homeliness the very same lips would cry out, _Crucify Him! Crucify Him!_ And this is come on the Church of Scotland, that she is now filled with a silly general strain of preaching when and where soundest fearing if truth is told so homely as to say like Nathan to David ‘Thou art the man,’ the speaker would become a prey; and if such is the case with such as can preach orthodox law and gospel, what can be said of such as can but lecture out harangues that are neither true morality nor gospel?... I think some, and no small part, of the distinction between a picture and the real being of grace is first in the begetting, next in the birth, then in the feeding, next in the growth, &c.” This letter, like his poetry, shows what a keen insight into human nature the bard possessed, and how well he understood the causes of the religious deadness of his day throughout the Church of Scotland. The poet makes here the “silly general strain of preaching” the cause of this deadness; elsewhere, in one of his poems he attributes the sad state of things in the Church to patronage. He was right in both cases. It was the patron that forced on the people preachers of the “silly general strain” stamp. The revival of religion in the first quarter of this century owes much to the good seed sowed by such earnest, faithful men, as MacLauchlan; and not a few of our ablest ministers of the present day have descended from such worthy ancestry. The late Rev. Dr Thomas MacLauchlan of Edinburgh, the eminent Celtic scholar and eloquent preacher, was a grandson of the poet-evangelist of Abriachan; and one of the doctor’s sons, Hugh, is possessed of poetical endowments and literary talents worthy of his great-grandfather. It is very difficult to give satisfactory translations of any poetry, but Gaelic measures and turns of expression present peculiar difficulties. I have endeavoured in what follows to give renderings of some verses of all the poems of MacLauchlan that have come down to us. The longest is the “Elegy” on Macphail of Resolis; but much of his poetry is said to have been lost. After committing several of his poems to writing, the author, forming but a low estimate of his own abilities, committed the MS. to the flames. We first give a few verses of the “Elegy” above referred to, although it cannot be said to be the best specimen of the poet’s productions— MACPHAIL’S “ELEGY.” Well may Resolis deeply mourn; We share her sorrow o’er his urn; Our holy feasts shall ne’er henceforth Enjoy the great Light of the North.