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Rh days I received unremitted attentions from himself and his wife, formerly Miss Elizabeth Jarvis, a lady of a lovely spirit, accomplished education, and eminent piety, with whom his marriage in 1856 had given the climax to his earthly happiness.

But he, my disinterested, untiring friend, at the age of forty-four, laid down his noble head in the last slumber, on his own fair domain. Surrounded by his three little ones, their white monuments gleam out amid the evergreens he had reared, strewed with votive offerings of fresh flowers.

One of the scenes at his thronged funeral will not soon be effaced. Fifteen hundred or more of the laboring men, who had received from his hand bread for themselves and their families, reverently approached, two and two, to take the last farewell of their benefactor. Sadly they gazed upon the expressive countenance on its coffin-pillow, and, the tears coursing down their rugged cheeks, said: "We shall never look on his like again."

Still his palatial mansion exhibits its charms; the green-houses and graperies overflow with tropical wealth; the broad expanse of velvet turf, interspersed with statuary, delights the eye; the deer gambol in their park, upon the clear lakelet which he formed; the swans, so often fed by his hand, lead forth their young cygnets; but he, the master of all this beauty, for whom the heart of affection grieves, returns no more.