Julian expressed his real sorrow at Mr Carden's failing health. "If you go away," he said, "it will seem as if the chief tie which bound me to dear old Harton was suddenly snapped." He chose as his memento a small volume of sermons which Mr Carden had published in former days, and asked him to write his name on the title-page. "Yes," said the master, "you shall have that book if you like; but I mean you to have also a more substantial memorial of my library. Here, Julian, this book I always destined to be yours some day; you may as well have it now." He took down from the shelves a richly bound copy of Coleridge's works, in ten volumes, which Julian knew to be the one book of his library which he most deeply prized. His marginal comments enriched almost every page, and Julian was ashamed to take what he knew that the owner so highly valued. "But I thought you told me once that you were thinking of publishing a biography of Coleridge, and an edition of his writings," said Julian. "Surely, sir, you will want these manuscript notes, won't you?" "Ah, Julian! that is one of the many plans which have floated through my mind unfulfilled. My life, I fear, will have been an incomplete one. Thank God that there is no such thing as a necessary man--_il n'y a point d'hommes necessaires_; others will be found to do a thousandfold better the work which I had purposed to do." And then he murmured half to himself-- "Till, in due time, one by one, Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone, Death came suddenly, and took them where men never see the sun." His eyes filled with tears. "No," he said, "take the book, Julian. If it does you all the good it has done me, it will have been more useful than I could ever have made it. And when you hang on the eloquent and earnest words of the great poet philosopher, mingle his teachings with some few memories of me; it will be like a drop of myrrh, perhaps, in the cup, but I should like," he added, with faltering voice, "to leave at least _one_ to think of me with affection." He turned away as his old pupil grasped his hand; and Julian, as he went back in the train to Camford, could not help a feeling of real pity that one so generous and upright in heart and life should be destined to so lonely and sorrowful a lot. As he had said, he resigned his Harton mastership at the end of the term, and sailed to Madeira for his health. He begged Julian to continue his correspondence with him, and to tell him all about his old Harton and Camford friends. During Easter week, while Julian was at Ildown, he received from him a letter to the following effect:--