ol air and resting his soul in the unbroken
silence, he looked across the courtyard shaded by beautiful trees,
filled with flowers and trellised vines, his heart revelling in the
riot of color, the wilderness of greenery, all bathed in golden floods
of sunshine and canopied with an ever-changing and ever-glorious
stretch of azure sky.

Father Ryan was never again to go out from this peaceful harbor into
the tumultuous billows of world-life. He had been there but a short
time when his physician told him that he must prepare for death.
"Why," he said, "I did that long years ago." The time of rest for
which he had prayed in years gone by was near at hand.

My feet are wearied and my hands are tired,
My soul oppressed--
And I desire, what I have long desired--
Rest--only rest.

* * * * *

The burden of my days is hard to bear,
But God knows best;
And I have prayed--but vain has been my prayer
For rest--sweet rest.

In his last days his mind was filled with reminiscences of the war and
he would arouse the monastery and tell the priests and brothers, "Go
out into the city and tell the people that trouble is at hand. War is
coming with pestilence and famine and they must prepare to meet the
invader."

On Thursday of Holy Week, April 22, 1886, the weary life drifted out
upon the calm sea of Eternal Peace.

"BACON AND GREENS"

DR. GEORGE WILLIAM BAGBY

We, the general and I, were the first to be informed of the supernal
qualities of bacon and greens. All Virginians were aware of the prime
importance of this necessary feature of an Old Dominion dinner, but
that "a Virginian could not be a Virginian without bacon and greens"
was unknown to us until the discoverer of that ethnological fact. Dr.
George William Bagby, read us his lecture on these cheerful
comestibles. We were the first to see the frost that "lies heavy on
the palings and tips with silver the tops of the butter-bean poles,
where the sere and yellow pods are chattering in the chilly breeze."

In the early days after the war Dr. Bagby had a pleasant habit of
dropping into our rooms at the Exchange Hotel in Richmond, and as soon
as the ink was dry on that combination of humor and pathos and wisdom
to which he gave the classic title of "Bacon and Greens" he brought it
and read it to us. I can still follow the pleasant ramble on which he
took us in fancy through a plantation road