Alek, poor Alek* is gone to his long home! It was to me like an electric shock. Well, he was a good man ; but his memory shall be dear and his worth had in remembrance by all who knew him. Death, like a thief, nips off our friends, kindred, and acquaintances, one by one, till the natural chain is broken, link after link, and leaves us scarce a wish to stop behind them. My brother Hugh and I are all that now remain at home with our old mother, bending under age and frailty, and but seven years back nine of us used to sit down at dinner together, (I still moralise sometimes). I cannot but remember that such things were and those most dear to me.
* An acquaintance of Tannahill's when he resided in Bolton.—Ed.