have a prophetic feeling that she was on her way to him, saying, "Has M.
got to that town yet, that we stopped at when we went to Ireland? How
many hours will it be before she can be here? Let me see,--there are
eight hours before I can see her, and three added to that!" His daughter
came sooner than the family expected; but the time tallied very nearly
with the computation he had made. On the morning his daughter arrived
occurred the first intimation his family had seen that the hand of death
was laid upon him. He had passed a quiet, but rather sleepless night,
appearing "much the same, yet more than ordinarily loving." After
greeting his child, he said, "And how does mamma's little girl like her
leaving her?" "Oh, they were very glad for me to come to grandpapa, and
they sent you this kiss,--which they did of their own accord." He seemed
much pleased. It was evident that M. presented herself to him as the
mother of children, the constant theme of his wanderings. Once when his
daughter quitted the room, he said, "They are all leaving me but my
_dear_ little children." "I heard him call, one day, distinctly,
'Florence! Florence! Florence!'--again, 'My dear, dear mother!'--and to
the last he called us 'my love,' and it sounded like no other sound
ever uttered. I never heard such pathos as there was in it, and in every
tone of his voice. It gave me an idea of a love that passeth all
understanding."

[Footnote A: De Quincey, at his death, had two sons and three daughters.
The, eldest of the daughters became the wife of Robert Craig of Ireland.
It was this one, and the youngest, who were present during his last
hours. The second daughter, Florence, was with her husband (a colonel of
the British army) in India. The two sons were both absent: one in India,
a captain in the army; the other, a physician, in Brazil.]

During the next night he was thought dying, "but he lingered on and on
till half past nine the next morning. He told me something about
'to-morrow morning,' and something about sunshine; but the thought that
he was talking about what he would never see drove the exact idea out of
my head, though I am sure it was morning in another world he was talking
of."

"There was an extraordinary appearance of youth about him, both for some
time before and after death. He looked more like a boy of fourteen, and
very beautiful. We did not like to let in the morning light, and the
candle was burning at nine o'clock, when the