engraved with appropriate quotations from Thoreau's writings. It was a pious thank-offering from the two brothers—one in the far West and the other in California; but Death was swifter than friendship, and the belated tribute was given to the dead man's dearest friend. X. Y. Z.'s notelet contains just sixteen words, not one of which will spell "Thanks"; but there are two and one-half pages of "Complementary mottoes," nineteen in all: as if this grateful friend of Thoreau had said, "Two can play at that game!" Verily, we are "fearfully and wonderfully made."
I hold in my hand Sophia Thoreau's last letter to the Western man. Her mother had died, the broken home had become to the solitary mourner as a grave; its every room was haunted by the "old familiar
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