arose. Otis, calm and sound in mind, stood leaning on his cane in the front door of the house where he resided. A single flash glared on the family assembled near, and Mr. Otis fell instantaneously dead in the arms of Mr. Osgood, who sprang forward as he saw him sink. The body was brought to Boston, and his funeral was attended by one of the most numerous processions ever seen in New England. Peace had just been concluded. The great battle of the Revolution had been fought and won, when the great mind which had incurred the most fearful affliction in the early strife, permitted at length to gaze in placid joy on the glorious result, was then by a bright bolt snatched to Heaven without a pang. A cotemporary poet wrote a commemorative ode, which closed as follows: "Yes! when the glorious work which he begun, |