Some say Hobbes's last words were: "I shall be glad to find a hole to creep out of the world at." He clung warmly to his friends, had a horror of being left alone in his illness, bequeathed all his property to the faithful servant and friend who had been his amanuensis. He was not afraid of death but said he should willingly "find some hole to creep out of the world at," and was wont to amuse himself with choosing for the epitaph to be graven on his tombstone, "This is the true philosopher's stone." _Alger's "Genius of Solitude."_ HODGE (Charles, American theologian, for fifty-six years President of Princeton Theological Seminary. His "Systematic Theology" in three volumes, is one of the ablest compends of divinity in the English language. His "Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans" has been greatly prized by Bible-students), 1797-1878. "_My work is done, the pins of the tabernacle are taken out._" A moment later he was heard to whisper: "_A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, On Thy kind arms I fall._" HOFER (Andreas, Tyrolese patriot), 1767-1810. "_I stand in the presence of my Creator, and standing I will render back my spirit to God who gave it. Fire!_" to the officer who directed him to place himself on his knees. The first six shots wounded him but slightly. Dropping on his knees he received the remaining six, and was still struggling convulsively when a corporal, discharging a pistol close to his head, put an end to his sufferings.--_Markham._ HOGG (James, "the Ettrick Shepherd"), 1772-1835. "_It is likely you may never need to do it again_," to his wife, whom he had asked to watch by his bedside during the night. HOOD (Thomas), 1798-1845. "_Dying, Dying._" Like poor Yorick, he was "a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy." In his genius were united the intensely pathetic and the exquisitely humorous. His life was one of toil and suffering, and yet he was always joking and making those around him laugh. His wit did not forsake him on his death-bed; it is recorded that when a mustard plaster was applied to his attenuated feet, he was heard feebly to remark that there was "very little meat for the mustard." He died on the 3d of May, 1845, and on a July day nine years later Monckton Milnes unveiled the monument which stands above his grave in Kensal Green Cemetery. Beneath the bust there runs the legend, "He sang the Song of the Shirt," and on either side of the pedestal are bas-relief medallions of "Eugene Aram's Dream" and "The Bridge of Sighs"--all pertinent reminders of the fact that there was a serious as well as a humorous side to the genius of Hood. He himself, there can be no doubt, would have elected to live by his serious verse.