worships him. If there is any finer recipe for matrimonial happiness than that, it has not come in the present writer’s way. His practice as a solicitor has grown large. Mrs. Paine is of opinion that he is rightly regarded with even fulsome reverence by the entire bench and bar. Since he would not dream of contesting any opinion which happened to be his wife’s, the position of affairs could not possibly be improved.
Mr. Benjamin Batters lies in Kensal Green Cemetery. In a deep grave, and in a full-sized coffin. Surrounded by dignitaries and respectabilities. In his coffin were placed the broken pieces of the curiosity which he called the God of Fortune. So they are still together. A handsome monument has been raised above him. There is no hint, in the inscription, that below are but the mangled fragments of what was once a human body; or any reference to the fact that he ever posed as a joss; or a god; or was ever believed, even by savages, to have put on immortality before his time. It simply says:
"BENEATH THIS STONE
REPOSES
BENJAMIN BATTERS,
WHO,
AFTER A LIFE OF VARIED ADVENTURE
IN DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE WORLD,
SLEEPS WELL.
We will hope that it is so.
THE END
