MALCOLM.
I.
Sad, silent, broken down, longing for rest, His noble head bent meekly on his breast, Bent to the bitter storm that o'er it swept; I looked my last, and surely, then I thought, Surely the conflict's o'er, the battle's fought; To see him thus, the Saviour might have wept.
II.
His rest was near--his everlasting rest; No more I saw him weary and oppressed.
_There_ in the majesty of death he lay For ever comforted: I could not weep; He slept, dear father! his last blessed sleep, Bright in the dawn of the eternal day.
III.
And thou, whose hand _his_, groping, sought at last, The faithful hand that he might hold it fast! Once more, when parting on the eternal shore, It may be, when thy heart and hand shall fail, Entering the shadows of death's awful vale His hand shall grasp thine, groping then no more.
DEAN STANLEY to DEAN RAMSAY.
My dear Dean--Many thanks for your very interesting memoir of Bishop Terrot.

His remark about _humdrum_ and _humbug_ is worthy of the best days of Sydney Smith, and so is a hit about table-turning[10].

I once heard him preach, and still remember with pleasure the unexpected delight it gave to my dear mother and myself.

We did not know in the least what was coming, either from the man or the text, and it was excellent .-- Yours sincerely, A.P.

STANLEY.
Deanery, Westminster, 1872.
Right Hon.