y third year — so young a man that the mother who blessed him in his first sleep blessed him in his last.
Twenty years before he had written, after being in a white squall--
"And when its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And, as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea; I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling, and making, A prayer at home for me."
Those little girls had grown to be women when the mournful day broke that saw their father lying dead.
In those twenty years of companionship with him they had learned much from him, and one has a literary course before her worthy of her famous name.
On the bright wintry day, the last but one of the old year, he was said in his grave at Kensal Green, there to mingle the dust which the mortal part of him had returned, with that of a third child, lost in her infancy, years ago. The heads of a great concourse of his fellow-workers in the arts were bowed around the tomb.