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LAST WORDS.
the Atlantic, to be placed with our own flowers on that dear grave; and it is twenty-six years now since my father died!
And for his epitaph what better than my father's own words:
"Of the loved, revered and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, nor make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous and true, the heart brave, warm and tender, and the pulse a man's. Strike! shadow, strike! and see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal."
THE END.
