_means_ to work and
doesn't, but merely drifts; whereas, if he is idle on principle, I
don't much care. 'Do what you mean to do,' is what I have always told
him. If I hear that he is doing fairly well and making friends, and
finds himself at home, I shall be content, but nothing more. But if I
hear that he is influential and takes his own line, I shall be very
much pleased, even if that line is not quite the most respectable, or
that influence is not now for the best."

This letter was dated November 1st. On November the 9th, Edward Bruce
was killed by a fall from a dog-cart, driving into Cambridge from
Ely. He had driven over there with a friend, a pleasant but somewhat
reckless man. They had dined at Ely, and were returning in the
evening, both in the highest spirits. Edward was driving; the horse
took fright, in a little village called Drayton, at a dog that ran
across the road. Edward was thrown out on to his head, and, entangled
in the reins, was dragged for some distance. The other escaped with a
few bruises.

Arthur was acquainted with the terrible news by telegraph. He came up
to Cambridge at once, ill and broken with the shock as he was. They
told me that he looked terribly pale, but with a quiet self-possessed
manner he made all arrangements and settled all bills. The poor boy
was buried in the north-west corner of the cemetery at Cambridge.
Arthur put up a little tablet to him at Trinity and at St. Uny
Trevise.

In Memory of
E. B.,
BORN AT TEHERAN;
DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, NOV. 9, 1883.
"What I do thou knowest not now, but
thou shalt know hereafter."

Arthur had an interview with Edward's companion on the fatal
occasion. I subjoin the latter's account of it. He requested me, when
I wrote to him to ask him for some particulars relating to Edward
Bruce, to make what use I wished of the letter.

"I can't describe the effect the accident had on me. It half drove me
mad, I think. I was very much attached to Edward Bruce, as, indeed,
we all were. I don't attempt to condone the fault. It was due
entirely to my carelessness. I pressed him to drive faster than he
was willing to do. I laughed at his scruples. I whipped the horse on
myself. I never clearly knew what happened--for I was stunned
myself--till I woke up and was told.

"When Mr. Hamilton came to see me, I was sitting in my room, over my
breakfast, which I could not eat. His card was brough