[This is the last letter which I was destined to receive from my poor
friend. He started to spend the Christmas of that year (1884) with his
people, and on the journey was involved in the fatal railroad accident
at Sittingfleet, where the express ran into a freight train which was
standing in the depot. Dr. and Mrs. Munro were the only occupants of
the car next the locomotive, and were killed instantly, as were the
brakesman and one other passenger. It was such an end as both he and
his wife would have chosen; and no one who knew them would regret that
neither was left to mourn the other. His insurance policy of eleven
hundred pounds was sufficient to provide for the wants of his own
family, which, as his father was sick, was the one worldly matter which
could have caused him concern.--H. S.]