On the boat thence to Philadelphia the dying man—for such now he was—ate heartily of _fried clams_, asked an acquaintance to read for him and criticised every incorrect accent or pronunciation, and talked freely about men, measures, and especially about his horses, which were very fast. The closing scene took place in Philadelphia, in a hotel, among strangers,—fit finale of his desolate, homeless life. He lingered several days, during which time he took, with great care, the necessary legal steps to confirm his will for the manumission of his slaves. This finally done, he seemed to feel easier in mind and body. The account of the strange end of the eventful history proceeds: He now made his preparations to die. He directed John to bring him his father’s breast button; he then directed him to place it in the bosom of his shirt. It was an old-fashioned, large-sized gold stud. John placed it in the button hole of the shirt bosom—but to fix it completely required another hole on the other side. “Get a knife,” said he, “and cut one.” A napkin was called for, and placed by John, over his breast. For a short time he lay perfectly quiet, with his eyes closed. He suddenly roused up and exclaimed: “_Remorse!_ REMORSE!” It was thrice repeated—the last time, at the top of his voice, with great agitation. He cried out, “Let me see the word. Get a dictionary! Let me see the word!” “There is none in the room, sir.” “Write it down then—let me see the word.” The Doctor picked up one of his cards, “Randolph, of Roanoke.” “Shall I write on this?” “Yes; nothing more proper.” The word _remorse_ was then written in pencil. He took the card in a hurried manner, and fastened his eyes on it with great intensity. “Write it on the back,” he exclaimed. It was so done and handed him again. He was extremely agitated. “Remorse! you have no idea what it is; you can form no idea of it whatever; it has contributed to bring me to my present situation. But I have looked to the Lord Jesus Christ, and hope I have obtained pardon. Now let John take your pencil and draw a line under the word,” which was accordingly done. “What am I to do with the card,” inquired the Doctor. “Put it in your pocket, take care of it, and when I am dead, look at it.” The dying man was propped up in the bed with pillows, nearly erect. Being extremely sensitive to cold, he had a blanket over his head and shoulders; and he directed John to place his hat on over the blanket, which aided in keeping it close to his head.