he had ceased to have himself formally dressed; had sat only in his dressing-gown, but I believe was still daily wheeled into his Library, and sat very calmly sorting and working there.  He sent me two Notes, and various messages, and gifts of little keepsakes to my Wife and myself:  the Notes were brief, stern and loving; altogether noble; never to be forgotten in this world.  His Brother Anthony, who had been in the Isle of Wight within call for several weeks, had now come up to Town again; but, after about a week, decided that he would run down again, and look.  He arrived on the Wednesday night, about nine o’clock; found no visible change; the brave Patient calm as ever, ready to speak as ever, —­to say, in direct words which he would often do, or indirectly as his whole speech and conduct did, “God is Great.”  Anthony and he talked for a while, then took leave for the night; in few minutes more, Anthony was summoned to the bedside, and at eleven o’clock, as I said, the curtain dropt, and it was all ended.—­Euge!

Whether the American Manuscripts had arrived I do not yet know, but probably shall before this Letter goes; for Anthony is to return hither on Tuesday, and I will inquire.  Our Friend is buried in Ventnor Churchyard; four big Elms overshadow the little spot; it is situated on the southeast side of that green Island, on the slope of steep hills (as I understand it) that look toward the Sun, and are close within sight and hearing of the Sea.  There shall he rest, and have fit lullaby, this brave one.  He has died as a man should; like an old Roman, yet with the Christian Bibles and all newest revelations present to him.  He refused to see friends; men whom I think he loved as well as any,—­me for one when I obliquely proposed it, he refused.  He was even a little stern on his nearest relatives when they came to him:  Do I need your help to die?  Phocion-like he seemed to feel degraded by physical decay; to feel that he ought to wrap his mantle round him, and say, “I come, Persephoneia; it is not I that linger!”—­His Sister-in-law, Anthony’s Wife, probably about a month ago, while they were still in Wight, had begged that she might see him yet once; her husband would be there too, she engaged not to speak.  Anthony had not yet persuaded him, when she, finding the door half open, went in:  his pale changed countenance almost made her shriek; she stept forward silently, kissed his brow in silence; he burst into tears.  Let us speak no more of this.—­A great quantity of papers, I understand, are left for my determination; what is to be done with them I will sacredly endeavor to do.