Jane's request, that the consolation to be found, not
only in this passage, but in this book, may be applied to your hearts
when I am gone."

This effort, slight as it was, enfeebled her much, and she lay silent
for some time; and such was their anxiety, neither to excite nor
disturb her, that although their hearts were overflowing they restrained
themselves, so far as to permit no startling symptoms of grief to be
either seen or heard. After a little time, however, she spoke again:---

"My poor bird," said she, "I fear I have neglected it. Dear Agnes would
you let me see it--I long to see it." Agnes in a few minutes returned
and placed the bird in her bosom. She caressed it for a short time, and
then looking at it earnestly said--

"Is it possible, that you too, my Ariel, are drooping?"

This indeed was true. The bird had been for some time past as feeble
and delicate as if its fate were bound up with that of its unhappy
mistress--whether it was that the sight of it revived some recollection
that disturbed her, or whether this brief interval of reason was as much
as exhausted nature could afford on one occasion, it is difficult to
say; but the fact is, that after looking on it for some time, she put
her hand to her bosom and asked, "Where, where is the letter?"

"What letter, my darling?" said her father.

"Is not Charles unhappy and dying?" she said.

"He is ill, my love," said her father, "but not dying, we trust."

"It is not here," she said, searching her bosom, "it is not here--but it
matters nothing now--it was a message of death, and the message has been
delivered. Sorrow--sorrow--sorrow--how beautiful is that word--there is
but one other in the language that surpasses it, and that is mourn. Oh!
how beautiful is that too--how delicately expressive. Weep is violent;
but mourn, the graduated tearless grief that wastes gently--that
disappoints death, for we die not but only cease to be. I am the star
of sorrow, pale and mournful in the lonely sky--well, that is one
consolation--when I set I shall set in heaven."

They knew by experience that any attempt at comfort would then produce
more evil than good. For near two hours she uttered to herself in a low
chant, "I am the star of sorrow, etc.," after which she sank as before
into a profound slumber.

Her intervals of reason, as death approached, were mercifully extended.
Whilst they lasted, nothing could surpass the noble standard of
Christian duty by whic