fragrance of his character was felt only by those who heard him talk, who saw the large presence of the man, who felt the warm clasp of his generous hand, and who saw the rich humour of his jovial eye."
Ebsworth also wrote on the 5th of July:—
J. W. Ebsworth."From my earliest knowledge of your husband, long years ago, he had been to me dear beyond expression. You will forgive me, therefore, for what is almost an intrusion in the midst of your overwhelming trouble, when there must be multitudinous correspondents that need a reply; but I wish you to feel that all I personally require is your simple acceptance of my tribute, like a
white rosebud laid upon his hallowed grave. Nay, it was already awaiting him, with my hearty best love, whilst I knew that he still breathed with his dear family around him. . . . I have been longing to send to you and Mrs. Robertson the poem . . . .which I now transcribe . . . . as intensely applicable to our best of men Joe
Knight:—
In Anticipative Memory of the Beloved Joseph Knight, F.S.A.
WHOM HAVE I KNOWN?
'Whom Have I known?'
Whom have I known that I remember best?Whom do I feel that I most truly loved?Who fixed his image never to be movedFrom the clasp'd cabinet of my brain and breast?Was it not he of wise and chaste desire—Of brightest thought, yet sweetest modesty;With tongue of eloquence and eye of fire?Yet unaware of how he stood so high,From never looking down on any guest.
Was it not he who, as a gracious KnightCurbs his steed, proudly reined his temper in;Whose simple presence was rebuke to sin;Whose manly charity was death to spite;Who looked on morbid foibles with a glance,Of tenderness ; who knew to list as wellAs to discourse with kingly utterance;Who scorn' d to wound where, if a harsh word fell,The wound were deadly as the adder's bite?
To greatest minds the least is ever knownOf their own greatness; theirs the towering thoughtThat dwarfs each noble deed themselves have wrought.Likest to god, and nearest to His throne,Are they who under blatant calumniesKeep mute the tongue can fulmine to the skiesFor others' right; whom simple pleasures please,And who, o'er heights of toil and sacrifice,Find their chief meed in thoughts of duty done.
