MEMOIR. 



Was this valley the valley of death for our friend, or 

 were the seeds of death already within him ? I know not. 

 Next morning, Wednesday, he did not feel well enough to 

 get up. His kind hostess, and host, the Vicar of the parish, 

 did all that kindness — kindness made harder and there- 

 fore more kind by ten miles' distance from a railway 

 station — could do. John sent for his wife, who came at 

 once, with her baby in her arms. On Saturday at mid- 

 night he received his last Communion. The next day 

 he seemed to brighten and gave us hopes. On Monday 

 there was a change for the worse, and on Tuesday morning 

 he passed away in perfect peace. 



At the wish of his wife, his grave was prepared at West 

 Wickham. The Solemn Requiem, by her wish also, was 

 at the church he loved and served so well, St. Alban's, 

 Holborn. That church has witnessed many striking 

 scenes, but few more impressive than the great gather- 

 ing at his funeral. The lovely children's pall that John 

 Sedding had himself designed and Rose Sedding had 

 embroidered, covered the coffin, and on the right of it 

 in a dark mass were gathered his comrades of the Art 

 Workers' Guild. 



The tragedy does not end here. On that day week, at 

 that very same hour and spot, beneath the same pall, lay 

 the body of his dear and devoted wife. 



Side by side, near the tall elms of the quiet Kentish 

 churchyard, the bodies of John and Rose Sedding are 

 sleeping. The spot was in a sense chosen by Rose 

 Sedding, if we may use the term 'choice' for her simple 

 wish that it might be where the sun shines and flowers \\\\\ 

 grow. The western slope of the little hill was fixed upon, 

 and alread>- the flowers they loved so well are blooming 

 over them. 



Among the papers of Rose Sedding was found, pencilled 



