In Memoriam 1867. DEATH is a commonplace-a commonplace, however, of eternal interest. The shadow of death is near the writer as he pens these lines; for in the next house to his a gifted one in intellect, eloquence, and literary talent, rests,— "The vase of earth, the trembling clod, Ordained to hold the breath of God,” "ready unto burial;" and thereby another friend of years has become to him a memory. How the beat of the heart slackens when one thinks of the man of yesterday being the dust of to-day! one to whom to-morrows of aspirations, plans, endeavours, labours, endurances, come no more; to whom the hopes, the aims, the loves, the charities of yesterday are as if they were not; and for whom the tear is shed, the sigh is heaved, the heart is pierced, and "the mourners go about the streets" uselessly and vain. In the midst of life we are in death," and in the midst of death we are in life! and we know not which sand-grain in the glass of time shall fix our fate for ever; for we are of those "Things which are made to fade and fall away 66 When they have blossomed but a few short hours." Change is the law of life, and the last great change is deathmysterious death, whose viewless might is everywhere, and outdarts upon the victim he has chosen. There is as truly "a time to be born and a time to die as there is for the lark to make its nest in the corn-field, and anon to flash up into the flush of the new-arisen day to become in the blue heavens "a sightless song.' The day of man's nestlement near to the earth is not to be for ever; he is to wing his flight far hence, and to be removed. In the valley of humiliation he is to be laid, the fruit of the tree of life is to fall from the branch, the husk is to be laid in the grave; but the quick kernel is to be transferred to another country. The day of mortal care is to close upon the eye, and the light of another morning is to bring to the human ear a song of deliverance, "When, freed from earth, unlimited its powers, Mind shall with mind direct communion hold, As "the footmarks of time" increase in number, so do the mounds which fill the churchyard's hallowed soil; so do the memories of the heart; so do the reckonings of the dead aboundingly multiply, and the loneliness of life becomes the more striking to us because of the footfalls that are heard no more by us; the voices which were music to our souls we listen to only in dreams,fthe loose and unknit nerves which quiver with the agonies of separation. This it is 1868. I which causes the eye to turn from the earth as a field of graves to the sky as a glory of God-set stars,-from earth as the home of sadness to eternity as the home of hope. Thus the soul sings, "My hopes are with the dead; anon With them my place shall be, And I with them shall travel on Yet leaving here a name, I trust, Which will not perish in the dust." For eight years now this hand has acted as the registrar of death, numbering the departing lights whose brilliancy has gathered into fame-a fame which, like the light of the space-distant stars, comes to us and gladdens us, cheering our lonely nights long after they have removed from the place whence their outflash left them. In none of these eight years, however, has the hand of death been laid so lightly on the roll of renown which holds the names of those who have attained eminence in the records of literature, science, and culture. The earliest rays of the New Year's morning sent their level slants of struggling light into the sick room of one who had been but a short time before stricken with the grave-chill, to which he rapidly yielded. In the home of love which artistic taste had beautified, poetic genius had embellished, the hearty charities of life had sanctified, and the hopes of a country surrounded, Alexander Smith lay in the struggle of the "strait betwixt two"-home-staying and home-going to which the spirit at the mid-journey of life's pilgrimage is prone. He had not passed a week of his thirty-seventh year (he was born 31st of December, 1830) before the dreamthorp of earth was exchanged for the dreamlessness of the grave. He was one of the favourites of the gods-the poets; but he was much more: he was a free, fresh, frank, friendly spirit, whose most earnest wish was to fill his place in the universe and fulfil the duties of that place. He had found the world a hard school, with privation for the master of it, but he determined to learn the taskwork of life and to prepare for being a man. His early genius was lyrical, like that of the lark, but he sobered down into a thinker, and seemed to be maturing faculties which might have made him one of the keenest-witted of critics in literature and philosophy. He did a terrible amount of bread-winning work in a calm, useful way, and he let his heart sing its own songs only in the hours of leisure and in vacation days. From the time when as a stripling we first met him in the early years of his life, when the "Life Drama" was unwritten and he was a member of one of those self-culture training schools to which he owed much-debating societies,-till the last time we saw him in the quadrangle of the university to which he was secretary, his mind was ripening. He heard Lord Rector Carlyle's address on the 22nd of April, and was told therein,— But he could scarcely guess then that "the dark portal, goal of all mortal," was so near to him. The poetry of life gladdened his home and heart, the everlasting epic of fatherhood and love was ringing and singing within him, but around him the catastrophe of the tragedy of death was thickening. The voice said, "Come," and his spirit arose and went; earth said" Farewell" to him, eternity greeted him with welcome, the outstretched plans of futurity were left behind, and he entered into a land of new and continual song without fear, for he knew the Elder Brother of men. Another of the large family of Smith shortly afterwards (January 17th), too, went down before the resistless mower. James Smith's researches into "The life and travels of St. Paul," and his endeavour to discover the route by which he was taken along the Mediterranean, are known to all who value Biblical studies, and was one of the earliest works which attempted to realize the narrative of the holy Word by bringing it into contact with the actual experiences of life. He was an old and valued patron of the boyhood of the writer, and in his splendid library he has often learned the wealth and luxury of thought which books contain, and not a little of the book-greed of his soul is due to the days spent in shelf-laden repositories of thought which were opened to him as a boy in the library of the laird of Jordan Hill. Among the other losses of the month we may record William Kidd, the genial gossiper about animals, the friend of the animal creation, and the humane and kindly expositor of beneficence to the lower order of created things; Solomon Munck, the blind Hebraist, who succeeded Rénan; and Dr. Robert MacPherson, one of the divinity lights of Aberdeen University. Among the losses of the literary world in February Frederick Kohlrausch is perhaps the greatest. For more than half a century he had held a high place among German historians for his ability to present a vivid and succinct account of the eventful course of time, to awaken a sympathetic interest in the results of life, and to narrate with impartiality and justice the facts of history. In his History of Germany-nearly a quarter of a century ago translated by our able and earnest teacher of German, J. D. Haas-he has composed a book for the young which has met the wants of Protestant and Romanist alike in its graphic pictoriality and its freedom from prejudice. A long life of industry was his, and he departed from this scene of time into the realm of reality like an autumn fruit fully ripe. One of Britain's most learned Egyptologists, R. S. Poole, also resigned his studies in the far past of the era of the Pharaohs for the knowledge that is to be found "beyond the veil." We shall only note a friend's name more, that of one of the humbler toilers in the field of letters; a grammarian, a lexicographer, and a preacher, in all of which characters the Rev. John Oswald did good though unobtrusive service to scholars, and to the generations who were taught by his help the growth of words, the structure of sentences, and the methods of God's grace in the salvation of mankind. To Mr. William Dargan a word of remembrance is due. He did not write books, but he has inscribed his name on the heart of Ireland as one of her self-raised sons and one of her most notable patriots, for he taught all men not only the art of making a successful career, but of making-what is much more difficult-willing selfsacrifice. Like his master, Telford, he had genius, industry, and nobility of spirit; and had Ireland a few Dargans among her children, a nobler independence than she ever dreamed of would be hers before many years had clad his grave with the glorious green of his native island. If in March-the month of boisterous winds and preparatory dust and industry-we mention only one name as that of national concernment, it shall be because that one man in his heroic heart had a wealth and plenitude of life, of productiveness, of energy and power which few can equal. On 20th March the Rev. John Campbell "fell on sleep." It is difficult to conceive his restless spirit quieted even by the all-compelling might of death, he seemed so gladiatorial and massively minded. He certainly never lost the sense of the swing of the sledge-hammer, or the verity of the lesson learned in his youth of striking the iron while it is hot. The indomitable energy and the flagless perseverance which led him from the forge and the anvil to the University of St. Andrew's, and enabled him to attain a living recognition in London which spread itself into all the corners of Christian civilization, speak to his power more emphatically than words can. Clear in his aim and unwearied in the exertions he was called on to make in the gaining of it, he was a sort of St. Peter of the Nonconformists, full of earnest love to Jesus, but rash, headlong, and headstrong; mighty in the ardour of his faith, narrow in his interpretation of the doctrines of his Lord, but willing to follow to the utmost verge the results to which they led or seemed to lead him. He was not perhaps altogether "the British standard" of Christian life, but he was an able "ensign" bearer in the Church militant and a "Christian witness" against many of the errors of the age. His was a keenly controversial spirit, and he wielded the whole armory of argument with dexterity, force, fearlessness, and guileless faith, and it must be confessed that he "fought a good fight." He has "finished his course," and the peace of eternity rests in his heart. To the memory of the Very Rev. Richard Dawes, Dean of Hereford, perhaps a word is due, as an earnest and enthusiastic educationist, and a man not only of culture, but of singularly lucid intelligence. He was not, so far as we are aware, a brilliant writer or an engaging, popular preacher; but he was a dutiful, earnest, and thoughtful worker in the cause of man, and for the glory of his God. A highly meritorious, versatile, and able journalist, playwright, novelist, and literary critic passed away from among his busy compeers. Though all his efforts had not been able to place his foot, except in imagination, on a "ladder of gold," he has effectively inscribed his name on the roll of literary celebrities. He was a native of Cork, but early transferred to Dublin, and in his youth had a Civil Service engagement; but he loved literature, the stage,and oratory, and he revived the Historical Society of Dublin, as well as produced comedies for the theatres. He outgrew Dublin, and went eager-heartedly to London, where he entered upon a course of hard, bread-winning work, and yet found time to do a little to gain the favours of fame. He was a working editor of singular efficiency, and almost exhaustless fertility. He finished the naval history left incomplete by Southey, and the "History of England" which Sir James Mackintosh was called away from by death. Histories, comedies, novels, memoirs, travels, &c., seemed to rush from his pen-point with equal facility. His "Lives of the English Poets," and his edition of their "Works," give him a claim to the gratitude of all to whom poetry is dear and honest work is precious." A brain as versatile and as active was taken away from France,the author of "Eloges" on Montaigne and Montesquieu, the biographer of Cromwell and of Gregory VII., the critic of criticism, and the Cicero of modern France,-Abel François Villemain. Possessed of an inimitable style, remarkable for purity of diction and attractiveness of phrase, for extent of knowledge and ingenuity of thought, for clearness of perception and uprightness of sentiment, he has attained an almost unrivalled place among the modern classics of France. He is moderate yet independent, and free at once from the rashness of unreason and the timidity of over-scrupulousness; and the singular equability of his faculties have led to his being allotted a first place among the notable thinkers and writers of France in which country letters are so often the ladders of states men. The surly cold of an ungenial May struck its fangs into the lungs of one of Britain's most eminent historians, essayists, and lawyers; and on the 23rd thereof, after a fortnight's illness, he expired. Well born and highly cultured, Sir Archibald Alison "scorned delights and lived laborious days," doing, as the work of his leisure, that which is ordinarily looked upon as the most difficult task to which the human mind can be set. His "History of Europe," with its immense array of facts, statistics, geographical description, resonant with the shouts of revolution, with the march of armies, and the collision of host with host, was only begun in the quiet of an advocate's study, but was afterwards continued amid the busy avocations which fall to the lot of the sheriff of Lanarkshire, and the social and civic engagements which such a position involves. Yet, after days in the crowded court-house, amidst the squabbles of petty dealers and their customers, listening patiently to the mass of details, intrinsic and extraneous, which enter into the evidence given in |