That evening, as soon as it was dark, I could not help going round by the old boarding-house.  The “gahs” was lighted, but the curtains, or more properly, the painted shades; were not down.  And so I stood there and looked in along the table where the boarders sat at the evening meal,—­our old breakfast-table, which some of us feel as if we knew so well.  There were new faces at it, but also old and familiar ones.—­The landlady, in a wonderfully smart cap, looking young, comparatively speaking, and as if half the wrinkles had been ironed out of her forehead.—­Her daughter, in rather dressy half-mourning, with a vast brooch of jet, got up, apparently, to match the gentleman next her, who was in black costume and sandy hair,—­the last rising straight from his forehead, like the marble flame one sometimes sees at the top of a funeral urn.—­The Poor Relation, not in absolute black, but in a stuff with specks of white; as much as to say, that, if there were any more Hirams left to sigh for her, there were pin-holes in the night of her despair, through which a ray of hope might find its way to an adorer.  —­Master Benjamin Franklin, grown taller of late, was in the act of splitting his face open with a wedge of pie, so that his features were seen to disadvantage for the moment.—­The good old gentleman was sitting still and thoughtful.  All at once he turned his face toward the window where I stood, and, just as if he had seen me, smiled his benignant smile.  It was a recollection of some past pleasant moment; but it fell upon me like the blessing of a father.

I kissed my hand to them all, unseen as I stood in the outer darkness; and as I turned and went my way, the table and all around it faded into the realm of twilight shadows and of midnight dreams.

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And so my year’s record is finished.  The Professor has talked less than his predecessor, but he has heard and seen more.  Thanks to all those friends who from time to time have sent their messages of kindly recognition and fellow-feeling!  Peace to all such as may have been vexed in spirit by any utterance these pages have repeated!  They will, doubtless, forget for the moment the difference in the hues of truth we look at through our human prisms, and join in singing (inwardly) this hymn to the Source of the light we all need to lead us, and the warmth which alone can make us all brothers.

A sun-day hymn.

     Lord of all being! throned afar,
     Thy glory flames from sun and star,
     Centre and soul of every sphere,
     Yet to each loving heart how near!

     Sun of our life, thy quickening ray
     Sheds on our path the glow of day;
     Star of our hope, thy softened light
     Cheers the long watches of the night.

     Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;
     Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;
     Our rainbow arch thy mercy’s sign;
     All, save the clouds of sin, are thine!