And death! we shudder when we speak the word; 'Tis all the same to them--or life, or death; They breathe them both with every fevered breath; When have they heard, That cool Bethesda's waters might be stirred! They live among us--live and die to-day; We brush them with our garments on the street, And track their footsteps with our dainty feet; 'Poor common clay!' We curl our lips--and that is what we say. God's pity on them! and on us as well: They live and die like brutes, and we like men: Both go alone into the dark--what then? Or heaven, or hell? They suffered in this life! Stop! Who can tell? * * * * * The last stranger who visited Washington Irving, before his death, was Theodore Tilton, who published shortly afterward an account of the interview. Mr. Tilton wrote also a private letter to a friend, giving an interesting reminiscence, which he did not mention in his published account. The following is an extract from this letter, now first made public: As I was about parting from Mr. Irving, at the door-step, he held my hand a few moments, and said: 'You know Henry Ward Beecher?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'he is an intimate friend.' 'I have never seen him,' said he, 'tell me how he looks.' I described, in a few words, Mr. Beecher's personal appearance; when Mr. Irving remarked: 'I take him to be a man always in fine health and cheery spirits.' I replied that he was hale, vigorous, and full of life; that every drop of his blood bubbled with good humor. 'His writings,' said Knickerbocker, 'are full of human kindness. I think he must have a great power of enjoyment.' 'Yes,' I added, 'to hear him laugh is as if one had spilt over you a pitcher of wine.' 'It is a good thing for a man to laugh well,' returned the old gentleman, smiling. He then observed: 'I have read many of your friend's writings; he draws charming pictures; he inspires and elevates one's mind; I wish I could once take him by the hand.' At which I instantly said: 'I will ask him to make you a visit.' 'Tell him I will give him a Scotch welcome; tell him that I love him, though I never have seen his face.' These words were spoken with such evident sincerity, that Sunnyside will always have a sunnier place in my memory, because of the old man's genial tribute to my dear friend. I am ever yours, THEODORE TILTON. * * * * * The following paragraph from the _Boston Traveller,_ contains a few facts well worth noting: