398 Alexander Goodman More. [i895 



An attack of bronchitis in March, which at first seemed 

 inclined to pass off, renewed itself on the lyth, and he was 

 too weak to battle through the crisis. It was not a long 

 one. On Friday, March 22nd, he peacefully expired. 



His had been a life spent for Natural History, and 

 little that lies outside that aspect of it has been touched 

 on in this Memoir. But it need never be supposed that his 

 thoughtful spirit was given wholly to the things of earth, 

 or that in the face of Nature herself he read no higher 

 parables. Of a Daisy's colouring he once wrote : 



Crimson edge, and crown all golden, 



But with purest white between : 

 Is there not a lesson holy 



In that little flow' ret seen ? 



Crimson was the blood that flowed from 



Our dear Saviour's wounded side ; 

 May our sins be changed to whiteness 



In its pure all-cleansing tide. 



White the robes which, with the angels, 



We shall wear, when hence we rise ; 

 Unto us a crown, all golden, 



In the realms of Paradise. 



At his funeral, on March 25th, was assembled a group 

 of mourners, not large, but representive of every branch of 

 Natural Science, and consisting of all naturalists resi- 

 dent in or near Dublin to whom the sudden tidings of his 

 death had been conveyed. 



In Mount Jerome Cemetery, "until the day break, and 

 the shadows flee away," a grey Irish cross marks the rest- 

 ing-place of " a distinguished Naturalist and an unselfish 

 Friend/' 



