CLOSING TEAKS. 461 



eye. He had risen to breakfast much in his usual state of health, 

 but, while taking it, a stroke of paralysis seized him. When I ar- 

 rived, his bed was being prepared for him, and he still lay in his 

 large chair. A mortal change was visible over his whole frame. 

 The shock affected one entire side, from his face downwards, and at 

 that moment he appeared quite unconscious. We laid him gently 

 in bed, composing that still powerful-looking body as comfortably 

 as possible, and in a few moments the medical attendants arrived. 

 There was no hope given us ; his hour had come. All that were 

 near and dear to him were in the house. Not a sound was heard 

 but the heavy and oppressed breathing of the dying man. No 

 change took place the whole of that day. His brother Robert 

 never left his bedside, but sat there holding the big hand, now 

 able only to return the pressure given it ; the last grateful sign of 

 still conscious love. 



We all watched through the night while some hours of natural 

 sleep fell upon him. Next day the same sad scene ; no change ; 

 morning's dawn brought no comfort. It was now Sunday ; time 

 hurried on, and we still hoped he knew us as we laid our hands 

 upon his, but he was unable to speak. The only sign we had that 

 consciousness had not left him was, that he continued to summon 

 his servant, according to his old habit, by knocking upon the small 

 table at his bedside. Several times during the day he made that 

 signal, and on its being answered, I could not say that it meant 

 more than that he desired his servant should now and then be in 

 the room. She had served him long, faithfully, and with a true 

 woman's kindness. It was the only way in which he could thank 

 her. At five o'clock his breathing became more difficult. Evening 

 sent its deepening shadows across his couch — darker ones were 

 soon to follow. Still that sad and heavy breathing, as if life were 

 unwilling to quit the strong heart. Towards midnight he passed 

 his hand frequently across his eyes and head, as if to remove some- 

 thing obstructing his vision. A bitter expression for one instant 

 crossed his face — the veil was being drawn down. A moment 

 more, and as the clock chimed the hour of twelve, that heaving 

 heart was still. 



The following lines came into my hands after my father's death. 

 They were written in youth ; but the fact that his prayer was grant 



