John Walter.

Third of the name, and worthy heir To the Great Journal's power—and care, He, too, has passed, and left a void None else can fill. A life employed In arduous duty to that page Which holds the history of an age, Is sound State-service, and demands Acclaim from British hearts and hands. A sober, serious Englishman, Steadfast of purpose, firm of plan, He held his great inheritance With strong clean hands, with cool clear glance. Unmoved by the hot moment, blown By no chance wind, he held his own Determined course, despite disfame From lips whose praise he held as shame, Or right or wrong, his high intent, Shaken by no weak sentiment, To manly souls was manifest; And now he passes to his rest Punch lays his laurel on the bier Of one whom sorrow shook, not fear; Whose record o'er earth's realms and climes Lives in those words "He was The Times!"