I am still a mourner--such an one as I hope, as I earnestly pray, none of you may ever be. My poor heart is desolate! I have no home in this world, and I long for Heaven. I would gladly lay me down in the grave, but God knows what is best for me, and He does all things well. Then to my task, for I have a portrait to make--a portrait for you to look at, to imitate, to love, and to reverence. Not a likeness of the external man: you have that to perfection--so perfect that a friend, who knew him well, remarked, upon looking at it, that the artist must have been inspired. But to show the inner life and the daily walk of that dear man who, for twenty-seven years, six months and twenty-seven days, was the sharer of my joys and sorrows, and the prop of my earthly existence, is a more delicate task. In a few words I could sum up his life and character, for there was nothing extraordinary in it, excepting extraordinary goodness; but, then, how could my dear children, from a few abstract ideas thrown hastily together, see the path he trod, in all its windings, compare it with that of others, and with their own, and learn the lessons it teaches? I do not mean by "extraordinary goodness" that your grandfather had no faults--that he never did wrong--for then, you know, he would have been an angel, not a man. With these preliminaries, I shall endeavor, in much weakness, to set him before you in such a light that you will not fail to see and understand him, and to feel, too, the sweet influences of a presence that always brought with it happiness and peace.