“He passed through the vestibule and then paused a moment to glance over the empty benches. His heart was still proud and high, and he walked up to the seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat down there to collect his thoughts. The memories of eight years were all dancing through his brain, while his heart was throbbing with a dull sense of a great loss that could never be made up to him. The rays of the evening sun came solemnly through the painted windows over his head and fell in gorgeous colors on the opposite wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit. And he turned to the pulpit and looked at it; and then leaning forward, with his head on his hands, groaned aloud. ‘If he could have only seen the doctor for one five minutes, have told him all that was in his heart, what he owed him, how he loved and reverenced him, and would, by God’s help, follow his steps in life and death, he could have borne it all without a murmur. But that he should have gone away forever, without knowing it all, was too much to bear.’ ‘But am I sure that he does not know it all?’ The thought made him start. ‘May he not even now be near me in this chapel?’” And with some such feelings as these I suppose many a boy will come back to the college and stand in this chapel, and recall the impressions he has received from President Allen here. But his voice will never be heard here again. Nothing remains but to “remember how he spake unto you.” I am sure you will never forget the day he lay in his coffin in the chapel, and you all looked on his face for the last time. What could be more impressive than the funeral? The crowded house, the waiting people, the bowed heads, the solemn strains of the organ, the sweet voices of children singing their beautiful hymns, the open coffin, the appropriate address given by one of his own college boys, the thousand and more boys standing in open ranks for the procession to pass through to the college gates, the burial at Laurel Hill cemetery, where many of his pupils already lie, and where many more will follow him in the coming years――all these thoughts make that funeral day one long to be remembered. Let us accept this as the will of Providence. There is nothing to regret for him; but for us, the void left by his withdrawal. He is leading a better life now than ever before. He has just begun to live, and the best words I can say to you are, “remember how he spake unto you.” * * * * * “But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war With arms reversed and muffled drums Follow the funeral car. They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute gun.