His death was characteristic. After making his will he sent for Mr. Taddy, the head usher, and addressed him as follows: “It is all over, Mr. Taddy--I am sinking fast--I am going from the terrestrial globe--to the celestial--and have promised Tomkins a flogging--mind he has it--and don’t let him pick off the buds--I have asked Aristotle”--(here his head wandered)--“and he says I cannot live an hour--I don’t like that black horse grinning at me--cane him soundly for not knowing his verbs--Castigo te, non quod odio habeam--Oh, Mr. Taddy, it’s breaking up with me--the vacation’s coming--There is that black horse again--Dulcis moriens reminiscitur--we are short of canes--Mr. Taddy, don’t let the school get into disorder when I am gone--I’m afraid, through my illness--the boys have gone back in their flogging--I feel a strange feeling all over me--Is the new pupil come?--I trust I have done my duty--and have made my will--and left all”--(here his head wandered again)--“to Mr. Souter, the school bookseller--Mr. Taddy, I invite you to my funeral--make the boys walk in good order--and take care of the crossings.--My sight is getting dim--write to Mrs. B. at Margate--and inform her--we break up on the 21st.--The school-door is left open--- I am very cold--where is my ruler gone--I will make him feel--John, light the school lamps--I cannot see a line--Oh Mr. Taddy--venit hora--my hour is come--I am dying--thou art dying--he--is dying.--We--are--dying--you--are--dy”----The voice ceased. He made a feeble motion with his hands, as if in the act of ruling a copy-book--“the _ruling_ passion strong in death”--and expired. An epitaph, composed by himself, was discovered in his desk,--with an unpublished pamphlet against Tom Paine. The Epitaph was so stuffed with quotations from Homer and Virgil, and almost every Greek or Latin author beside, that the mason who was consulted by the Widow declined to lithograph it under a Hundred Pounds. The Dominie consequently reposes under no more Latin than HIC JACET;--and without a single particle of Greek, though he is himself a Long Homer. [Illustration: IT MAY BE MY OWN CASE TO-MORROW.] [Illustration: OVER THE WAY.] OVER THE WAY. “I sat over against a window where there stood a pot with very pretty flowers; and I had my eyes fixed on it, when on a sudden the window opened and a young lady appeared whose beauty struck me.”--ARABIAN NIGHTS. Alas! the flames of an unhappy lover About my heart and on my vitals prey; I’ve caught a fever that I can’t get over, Over the way! Oh! why are eyes of hazel? noses Grecian! I’ve lost my rest by night, my peace by day, For want of some brown Holland or Venetian Over the way! I’ve gazed too often, till my heart’s as lost As any needle in a stack of hay: Crosses belong to love, and mine is crossed Over the way!