Strangely enough, there were last words spoken, which, upon being repeated by the survivor to whom they were addressed, will doubtless carry a value which, had the speaker known, would much have soothed him during his closing hours of life. A son was on board the _London_, who, with death staring him in the face, thought tenderly of the old man his father, whose declining years would have been rendered all the happier for possessing money that must now, as the speaker thought, sink with him, and be lost. Among the second cabin passengers were two, Mr. Munro and Mr. Eastwood, who had been acquainted previous to the voyage. As the little boat was being filled with all it could hold, Eastwood, addressing his fellow-passenger, said, “Well, Jack, I think we are going to go.” “I think we are, Eastwood.” “Well, we cannot help it,” the other went on. “There’s only one thing I regret about it: of a draft for 500_l._ on the Bank of Victoria, Ballarat, I only received 20_l._, which I gave to the Captain, in the office of Money Wigram and Co. I should have liked my poor father to have got the balance.” These were the last words of a son, who soon after perished in the waves, but his friend escaped, remembering exactly the words which filial tenderness had inspired. There were some last words spoken which we cannot record, words of the sufferers to each other, and words addressed to Him whose ear is never heavy to the cry of distress. Husbands and wives, parents and children, friends and acquaintances,--what words of farewell passed amongst these! What last words of prayer mingled even with the sighs of death! With what tender compassion and sympathy have those been thought of whose _heroic actions_ on board the doomed ship were the last words that will be sacredly cherished in the loving memory of those who knew them. The picture of that brave young officer, Mr. Angell, standing to his post to the last at the donkey-engine, which was used in working the pumps, calmly keeping there while the billows thundered their spray around him, and going down into the dark whirling water with his hands still on the engine;--this is a picture which no artist, however gifted, can paint strong and beautiful enough for us. It was his last sermon--and how eloquent was it--to all the young officers of our Navy upon a sense of duty, making him who possesses it superior to all thoughts of danger.