(of reply to Mrs. Bolland's letter, with books and knife in remembrance of her husband.) Taranaki. June 22nd. 1847. My dear Mrs. Bolland, Few events have happened to me throughout the course of my life, that have made such a strong and sorrowful impression on my mind, as the death of my esteemed and ever to be lamented clergyman and dear friend.; the remembrance of whom is deeply embittered from a certain consciousness that I have been too neglectful and disregardless of him in his last moments. I only saw him once during his illness. Could I then anticipate that that should be our last interview, I should have knelt by his bedside, and kissed him, and implored his blessing. Within myself I stand strongly convicted of hard-hearted cruelty towards him; for not pressing through the formal restrictions laid on his sick chamber, to assist, if I could, in alleviating his distress, and afford myself an opportunity of bidding him a last and final adieu. I cannot now describe how I felt when told that he enquired several times for me on the day of his death; of which I was ignorant till the following morning. Could I only have known it in time to hear his voice, feeble and inarticulate as it became, it would have relieved me from a heavy pressure of grief that must only now give vent in some retreat where we have rambled together; or over his cold, uncompromising grave. It is true there are many remembrances of him carefully treasured up in my bosom. Can I forget our various happy walks together; our bathes; our evening encampments along the coast; our conversations; and our undisturbed and increasing friendship, extending over a space of two or three years? These, in addition to various other circumstances, shall not be easily effaced or forgotten. It gives me the greatest satisfaction to find you are confident I should not do so; and the very nice tokens of remembrance, of his, which you have sent me, are, I can assure you, very highly prized and esteemed. His voice I can hear no more; but from his books I will derive something that he himself would have told me; and shall therefore set apart a portion of Sunday for their perusal; and shall request, when you leave the Parsonage,- a spot I have now, like yourself, a strong aversion to visit (were it not for its inmates) to write my name in the 2 volumes of Leighton; and ink over that in the testament. The pen-knife takes the place of one I have for some time carried. It and the Testament shall be my travelling companions over the roads I have walked with him who owned them. I need scarcely say that I sympathise and feel for you under your trying affliction; in which you will, however, have discerned the hand of a wonderful Providence; whose visitations and afflictions are intended