As for the Solitary, who survived his brother many years, he could never be weaned from the mode of life he had adopted. As long as James Armstrong lived, they were frequently together, few days passing without one seeking the other, as if both were striving to make up for their long separation, but yet George Armstrong preferred the rude simplicity of his hut, and his hard couch, to the elegant chamber and yielding bed, nor could he be persuaded to stop more than a night or two at any one time, either at the house of his brother or of his son. The efforts made to change this feeling were soon found to be unavailing, and his commanding temper, as usual, had its way. After the death of his brother, his visits to the village became less frequent, and he was seldom to be met with, except at the house of his son. It was a strange sight to see him, with two or three grand-children on his knees, and playing, perhaps, with one of the little ones, amusing itself with hiding behind the flowing majesty of his long beard. A great part of his time was passed among the Indians living on the banks of the Severn, to the amelioration of whose condition and Christianization he devoted himself to the last. And some insist that he never quite gave up the expectation of the Millennium during his life, for early fishermen, passing his hut before sunrise, are said to have reported that they had seen the Solitary more than once, waiting for the rising sun, and heard his bursts of passionate expectation. An occurrence, too, at his death, which happened at the house of his son, justifies this opinion--when sitting up suddenly in his bed, he stretched out his arms, and exclaiming with a wild energy, "Lord, Thou art faithful and true, for I behold Thy coming," he fell back upon the pillow and expired. From respect to the memory of his father, his son bought the island where the Solitary lived so many years, and having planted it with trees, declares it shall never pass out of the family during his own life, and so long as it can be protected by his will. Judge Bernard, his wife, the doctor, and the Pownals are gone, and the three former repose with their friends in the romantic burial ground, to which we once before conducted our readers; the two latter in the cemetery of the thronged city, undisturbed by the sounding tread of the multitudes who daily pass their graves.