er still; and I would bless you--bless you!

"I grow weak, but my heart seems within me to grow stronger--I go--I go,
to the Home of Heart, where He that sits upon the throne is Love, and
where all the pulses of all the beings there thrill in unison with him,
the Great Heart of Heaven! I, even I, am one of the redeemed--my heart
is fixed, I will sing and give praise; I, even I, the hardest and the
worst, forgiven, accepted! Who are ye, bright messengers about my bed,
heralds of glory? I go--I go--one--one more, Maria--one last kiss; we
meet--again--in Heaven!"

Had he fainted? yes--his countenance looked lustrous, yet diminishing in
glory, even as a setting sun; the living smile faded gradually away, and
a tranquil cold calm crept over his cheeks: the angelic light which made
his eyes so beautiful to look at, was going out--going out: all was
peace--peace--deep peace.

O death, where is thy victory? O grave, where is thy sting?

CHAPTER XVI.

A WORD ABOUT ORIGINALITY AND MOURNING.

When a purely inventive genius concocts a fabulous tale, it is clearly
competent to him so to order matters, that characters shall not die off
till his book is shortly coming to an end: and had your obedient servant
now been engaged in the architecture of a duly conventional story,
arranged in pattern style, with climax in the middle and a brace of ups
and downs to play supporters, doubtless he might easy have kept alive
both father and mother to witness the triumph of innocence, and have
produced their deaths at the last as a kind of "sweet sorrow," or honied
sting, wherewithal to point his moral. Such, however, was not my
authorship's intention; and, seeing that a wilful pen must have its way,
I have chosen to construct my own veracious tale, respecting the
incidents of life and death, much as such events not unfrequently occur,
that is, at an inconvenient season: for though such accessories to the
fact of dying, as triumphant conversion, or a tranquil going out, may
appear to be a little out of the common way, still the circumstance of
death itself often in real life seems to come as out of time, as your
wisdom thinks in the present book of Heart. People will die untowardly,
and people will live provokingly, notwithstanding all that novelists
have said and poets sung to the contrary: and if two characters out of
our principal five have already left the mimic scene, it will now be my
duty only to show, as nature and society do