such a scene, who might not hope to find his last resting-place there? But, alas, the swell will soon sink. As I passed up I heard my name mentioned--I know not by whom. I recognised also an old servant of our family. I mention this to show how the swift glances of the mind never rest, even amidst the rush of feelings strong as these.... I saw my children, too. W---- gazed at me with wonder in his dark eyes, E---- with pleasure at discovering me.... At the grave, as I looked down on the coffin and read, 'Sir Rowland Hill. Born December 3rd, 1795. Died August 27, 1879,' I thought how much there was contained within those dates. The whole life of the dead man seemed to rise before me, from his childhood at Wolverhampton, when he played with her who was one day to be his wife and was now his widow; through his hard struggles, his poverty, the neglect under which he had suffered, up to the present glorious day when his countrymen thus honoured him.... I found the tears rising in my eyes; but they were not so much tears for him, as tears over our common humanity and mortality. The music flooded the soul with the sense of man's nothingness and his short stay on earth. I never once, as I looked down into the grave, thought that the dead man might now be living in some other world. Had he been a great writer, that thought would have come most naturally to me. But 'organisation is my forte,' he was wont to say; and what place is there for organisation in heaven? His, indeed, was a mind whose work lay in this working-day world. And yet, had I remembered his love of astronomy, I might have pictured him to myself as learning with delight the secret of the stars. 'Organisation is some one else's forte,' he might now be softly whispering to himself." We saw him then laid to rest in the little chapel in the venerable Abbey, beneath the statue of Watt. A memorial will one day be set up in this quiet spot, to show the stranger and the passer-by where Rowland Hill lies buried. In the great city hard by his statue will, before long, stand in the very centre of the trade of the world. In the charity that so many of his countrymen have founded for the relief of the widows and orphans of the servants of the Post Office his memory will be kept alive. But so long as men keep warm feelings, and the name of home has still its charm; so long as there are sorrowful partings and hearts that need comforting; so long as our high aim is towards peace on earth, good will toward men, Rowland Hill is not likely to be forgotten. For he has done almost more than any other man to bring near those who are far off, to bind the nations together, and to make the whole world kin. APPENDICES. APPENDIX A. [See p. 101.] _Letter to Postmaster-General Lord Clanricarde._ Hampstead, 3rd January, 1849.