And then ambition, with its lust of pelf and place and power, longing to put upon its breast distinction's worthless badge. Then keener thoughts of men, and eyes that see behind the smiling mask of craft--flattered no more by the obsequious cringe of gain and greed--knowing the uselessness of hoarded gold--of honor bought from those who charge the usury of self-respect--of power that only bends a coward's knees and forces from the lips of fear the lies of praise. Knowing at last the unstudied gesture of esteem, the reverent eyes made rich with honest thought, and holding high above all other things--high as hope's great throbbing star above the darkness of the dead--the love of wife and child and friend. Then locks of gray, and growing love of other days and half-remembered things--then holding withered hands of those who first held his, while over dim and loving eyes death softly presses down the lids of rest. And so, locking in marriage vows his children's hands and crossing others on the breasts of peace, with daughters' babes upon his knees, the white hair mingling with the gold, he journeys on from day to day to that horizon where the dusk is waiting for the night.--At last, sitting by the holy hearth of home as evening's embers change from red to gray, he falls asleep within the arms of her he worshiped and adored, feeling upon his pallid lips love's last and holiest kiss. ***** Fac-simile of the Last Letter written by Ingersoll Urn Containing the Ashes of Ingersoll