And so the good, genial, loving man went away from the land he loved, notwithstanding the associations of thirty years life in another country; from his Hampshire home which was as dear to him now, though approaching sixty years of age, as when he played there as a little child; and from the newly done-up grave, where the dust of his parents was sleeping. At the bidding of his Master, into whose hands he had committed his entire life, he had moved from station to station in Australia. He had never doubted the will of God in the successive changes which had marked his colonial life. He believed that there was a work for him to do in every place to which he was called, though he went to station after station, not knowing the things which were to befall him there. Shall we doubt now that a voice in richest mercy towards others, summoned him to a station in which he was to do his last here for the Master who loved him, and who had need of him indeed for an awful service, but on which hung a reward and a blessing more glorious than heart can ever dream of? We believe that he had only been a few days out when he felt this, and summoned all his energies rightly to discharge the duty his Master had called him to, to make his last, his best. Serenely committing himself to the keeping of a merciful and faithful Creator, Daniel Draper perhaps never thought of his own wants, until he awoke up in glory, and found with sweet surprise that he had none, that he was in the likeness of his God, that he had exchanged corruption for incorruption, that mortality had been swallowed up in the deep, deep sea, and that around him were not shipwrecked mariners in their dripping garments and looks of agony, but faces bright with joy, and forms radiant with the glory of immortality. [Illustration] CHAPTER V. THE LIST OF PASSENGERS. We must pause yet once more before accompanying the voyagers, that we may know as many of them as we possibly can. Many we perhaps shall never know: their very names are already forgotten; or if we turn to look at them they tell of no history, and suggest no personal remembrance. On such a day they were in the _London_, on such a day they sank with her in the Bay of Biscay. This is all perhaps we shall ever know concerning them.