her mother; others were kneeling about
the bedside: and what troubled me most, was, to see a little boy, who
was too young to know the reason, weeping only because his sisters did.
The only one in the room who seemed resigned and comforted was the dying
person. At my approach to the bedside, she told me, with a low broken
voice, "This is kindly done--take care of your friend--do not go from
him!" She had before taken leave of her husband and children, in a
manner proper for so solemn a parting, and with a gracefulness peculiar
to a woman of her character. My heart was torn to pieces, to see the
husband on one side suppressing and keeping down the swellings of his
grief, for fear of disturbing her in her last moments; and the wife even
at that time concealing the pains she endured, for fear of increasing
his affliction. She kept her eyes upon him for some moments after she
grew speechless, and soon after closed them for ever. In the moment of
her departure, my friend, who had thus far commanded himself, gave a
deep groan, and fell into a swoon by her bedside. The distraction of the
children, who thought they saw both their parents expiring together,
and now lying dead before them, would have melted the hardest heart; but
they soon perceived their father recover, whom I helped to remove into
another room, with a resolution to accompany him till the first pangs of
his affliction were abated. I knew consolation would now be impertinent;
and, therefore, contented myself to sit by him, and condole with him in
silence. For I shall here use the method of an ancient author, who in
one of his epistles, relating the virtues and death of Macrinus's wife,
expresses himself thus: "I shall suspend my advice to this best of
friends, till he is made capable of receiving it by those three great
remedies (necessitas ipsa, dies longa, et satietas doloris), the
necessity of submission, length of time, and satiety of grief."

In the meantime, I cannot but consider, with much commiseration, the
melancholy state of one who has had such a part of himself torn from
him, and which he misses in every circumstance of life. His condition is
like that of one who has lately lost his right arm, and is every moment
offering to help himself with it. He does not appear to himself the same
person in his house, at his table, in company, or in retirement; and
loses the relish of all the pleasures and diversions that were before
entertaining to him by her par