Up to the last he had taken part in his college work, and in spite of severe suffering had gone through the irksome labour of examinations. Months of all but constant pain followed, brightened only by short intervals of ease. Whenever these occurred he turned to his old studies for refreshment, and only a little while before his death he began a paper on the analogy between differential equations and those in finite differences. As the weeks passed, the watchful eyes of his sister could see the gradual failing of his strength, and at five o’clock on the morning of February 23rd, 1844, he passed away in his sleep. He died at Canaan Lodge. His sister, Miss Georgina Gregory, made a collection of the poems written by her brothers. Some of Mr Duncan Gregory’s verses would have made delightful children’s poetry. One time when they had gone to the English lakes together for change of air, they, as is not an entirely unknown experience in that part of the world, had to spend most of their time in the inn, and as a last resource fell to writing doggerel. ‘The fields are one extensive bog, The roads are just as bad; I wish I were a little frog, Then rain would make me glad. But I am of the human race, Which ever since the flood Prefers a firm, dry resting-place To wading in the mud. But yet at last a little gleam Of sunshine did appear, And did most treacherously seem As if the sky would clear. And trusting to its specious face To walk Georgina tried, But soon returned in piteous case To have her garments dried.’