THE LATE SIR ROBERT MORANT.
[To roe Marro& OF FRB " 131.120TATOR."]
Sin,—To one whose privilege it was to know Robert Morant intimately for more than a quarter of a century, and who felt for him that peculiar affection which the blended strength and tenderness of his character so frequently inspired, it has been an unspeakable satisfaction to read the tributes which have been paid to him in the I'rees by writers of all shades of opinion. It is not often, I think, that the outstanding merits of a great public servant are so widely recognized and so keenly understood and appreciated by the spokesmen of that public, for whom, all the days of his life, he has toiled and wrought. Yet his lest and most appropriate epitaph, I think, are the following lines of George Eliot, which he scribbled on a post- card before going to bed, and which I received on the morning following a long evening spent in talk—the last time that we were destined ever to meet. It bears date July 10th, 1919, on the eve of my departure to take up my new post in Nigeria :- " Oh may I join the Choir Invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge men's search To vaster issues
This is life to come."
—I am, Sir, &c., Hums CLIFFORD- Government House, Lagos, Nigeria, May 22nd.
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