but a few weeks back was sitting among you as one of yourselves. But,
for myself, I do _not_ mourn over his death. Many a time have I mourned
for him in past days, when I marked how widely he went astray,--but I do
not mourn now; for after his fiery trials he died penitent and happy,
and at last his sorrows are over for ever, and the dreams of ambition
have vanished, and the fires of passion have been quenched, and for all
eternity the young soul is in the presence of its God. Let none of you
think that his life has been wasted. Possibly, had it pleased heaven to
spare him, he might have found great works to do among his fellow-men,
and he would have done them as few else could. But do not let us fancy
that our work must cease of necessity with our lives. Not so; far rather
must we believe that it will continue for ever; seeing that we are all
partakers of God's unspeakable blessing, the common mystery of
immortality. Perhaps it may be the glorious destiny of very many here to
recognise that truth, more fully when we meet and converse with our dear
departed brother in a holier and happier world."

I have preserved some faint echo of the words he used, but I can give no
conception of the dignity and earnestness of his manner, or the intense
pathos of his tones.

The scene passed before me again as I looked at him, while he lingered
over Eric's verses, and seemed lost in a reverie of thought.

At last he looked up and sighed. "Poor Eric!--But no, I will not call
him poor; after all he is happier now than we. You loved him well," he
continued; "why do you not try and preserve some records of his life?"

The suggestion took me by surprise, but I thought over it, and at once
began to accomplish it. My own reminiscences of Eric were numerous and
vivid, and several of my old schoolfellows and friends gladly supplied
me with other particulars, especially the Bishop of Roslyn, Mr. Rose,
Montagu, and Wildney. So the story of Eric's ruin has been told, and
told as he would have wished it done, with simple truth. Noble Eric! I
do not fear that I have wronged your memory, and you I know would
rejoice to think how sorrowful hours have lost something of their
sorrow, as I wrote the scenes in so many of which we were engaged
together in our school-boy days.

I visited Roslyn a short time ago, and walked for hours along the sands,
picturing in my memory the pleasant faces, and recalling the joyous
tones of the many whom I had know