There was a young girl on board whose last words were not spoken, but written. Was she the one of whom we read as standing bareheaded in the wild storm, with holy resignation depicted in every feature? She hurriedly wrote a few words on a slip of paper, and said to one who was about to leap into the boat, “Give this to my mother.” Her last wish was sacredly obeyed, and there came to a mourning mother this serene message from one who had gone down in a stormy sea--“Dear mother, you must not grieve for me: I am going to Jesus.” Miss Brooker, of Pimlico, spoke her last words, and they were those of quiet resignation to the will of God. We hear of her, during those days and nights of fearful suspense, doing what she could to soothe a fellow-passenger whose mind at times seemed on the very verge of delirium, the absence of which among the passengers generally, while it is matter of devoutest gratitude, is also matter of greatest wonder,--unless explained by the presence of Him who walketh upon the wings of the wind, and who, in answer to prayer, was shedding abroad in many hearts a tranquillity so deep and hallowed as to be beyond the reach of the wildest tempest. As the end drew rapidly near, Miss Brooker clasped her hands, and was heard to say, as if to herself,--but, oh! there was One by that heard all that was said during that awful last hour,--“Well, I have done all that I could; I can do no more!” Nothing now, except trust, and hope for the life beyond this troubled one. Nothing now, but to make the most of those exhortations which, with trumpet-clearness, rise every now and then above the howling of the gale--“There is hope that we may ALL get safe to heaven. Those of you who are not converted, now is the time: not a moment to be lost, for in a few minutes we shall all be in the presence of our Judge.” There were more last words still, and they were those of Mr. G. V. Brooke. Only a few days before,--on the 23rd of December,--he had sustained the character of Richard the Third. The walls were not placarded with the announcement, “The last appearance of Mr. G. V. Brooke upon any stage,” but they might have been so; and how would the hundreds who listened to his farewell address that night have felt, could they have caught the double meaning which the opening sentences of that address contained, at least as we read it now?