46 
EDITORIAL OBSERVATIONS. 
Although our obituary is not so large as it has been in 
some antecedent years, we see in it the names of several 
friends with whom we were once associated, and of others 
to whom we were privileged to render assistance in their 
studies. Yet we are left: why. we ask not. Nature in- 
stinetively shrinks back from death; but were the subject 
rightly viewed, this would not be the case. The real man 
never dies. We do but “ shuffle off our mortal coil,” to let 
our immortal part go free. It has been said— 
“ Death is the only thing in death that dies.” 
Death, in fact, is the first stepping forth into life. 
Dying, we begin to live. “ It is as the Psyche bursting 
her shell to float in the sunlight, to sip the dews and 
inhale the fragrance of the flowers that bloom in the new 
creation, and to revel in all the beauty and splendour of 
the celestial world.” 
t( Those pangs of birth, 
Which men call death, unveil life’s mysteries.” 
Some depart in the morning of life, others at high noon, 
and only a few reach its evening, when the sun sets in 
splendour, tinting the curtained clouds with roseate hues. 
It has been said, “ Men for the most part die in the midst 
of their labours: the farmer leaves his field half ploughed; 
the artist dies with unformed figures on his canvas; the 
tradesman is cut down in the midst of his merchandize, and 
the statesman is arrested with great political measures in 
his head.” But all this is more seeming than real, for the 
work of each is done, or it is then too late to accomplish 
it; and thus we are taught that “ whatsoever the hand findeth 
to do, to do it with all our might, for there is no work, nor 
device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, whither we are all 
going.” 
We close our address with a quotation from the same 
poet—Tennyson—with which we commenced it, it being 
in accordance with our sentiments and feelings—• 
“But we grow old. All! when shall all men’s good 
Be each man’s rule, and universal peace 
Lie like a shaft of light across the land, 
And like a lane of beams athwart the sea/ 
Through all the circle of the golden year ?” 
