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to know, if she can render Mr. — any Service.” The servant went in, and returned in a moment, saying—“Entrez, milady, entrez, s'il vous plait,” and leading the way, conducted her into a small library, whose windows looked upon the lawn. There was a large easy-chair in the middle of the room, on one side of which stood an elderly man, seemingly a physician, and on the other was lord Burton's English gardener. In the chair sat the philosopher, whose life seemed waning fast. His eyes, at first were closed as lady, Mary entered, the room, but hearing a step, he turned slowly round towards her—“You are very, kind to visit me,” said he, in a faint, low voice; but at the same time a transient, light passed over his countemance, which appeared at one time to have been most expressive; “you have come to conclude: the kindnesses with which your brother has covered me.” Mary scarcely knew what to answer, / but but she spoke kindly, and said, she hoped that he would be better, that the ap: proaching summer would quite restore. him; but when she had said it, she aecused herself of its being commonplace.
“Madam," he answered, fixing his eyes
full upon her—“madam, I am dying " and taking her hand as she stood beside him, he put it gently to his heart, and added, with a calm smile—“There is not half an hour's life in it.” He paused for a moment, and again closed his eyes, while his head sunk upon his breast; but after a minute or two, he raised it, and pointed to a sealed letter that lay on the table. It was directed to lord Burton, and, Mary took it, saying she would deliver it herself. He bowed his head in sign of acquiescence, and turning to those who stood by
—“Take me out into the air,” said he;
“take me out, and set me in the sun, that I may catch the last glimpse of the glorious daylight before I go.” He spoke with difficulty; but as they wheeled out his chair to the little lawn before the window, he turned, with an inquiring look, towards Mary.—“You will not go, madam?” he said; “I think I should like my eyes to be closed by such hands as yours.” - - “I will not go—indeed I will not * answered Mary; and what with having been ill, and the pain of the scene before her, the tears came into her eyes, and one or two trickled over her cheek. “You are very like your brother,” said the old man faintly; “but it is all passing away;” and he again closed his eyes. “The sun shone full upon him, in the clear, soft glow of the early year; all was still, and quiet, and sweet, and full of calmness and repose, and Mary could not help thinking—“What a scene to die in " The soft freshness of the air seemed to restore him to a moment's energy, and raising his pale, thin hands towards the unclouded sky, he exclaimed—“Oh, my God,
God, who hast surrounded me with blessings undeserved, continue to me thy mercy, and receive me to thyself! Forgive me, if ever I have repined at thy dispensations—pardon me, if I have not appreciated thy bounty. Thou, who hast been my hope in life, redeem me even in death—Thou, who hast been my consolation on earth, take me unto thy kingdom, which is in heaven.” f As he uttered the last words, he sunk back in the chair. It was done—the struggle was over, and the last effort of the departing spirit turned towards its Creator. There had been something so bright, so energetic, so much partaking of that world on whose brink he stood, in the countenance of the dying man, as he addressed his God, that it was quite overpowering, and when that address and his life ended together, the tears were streaming rapidly from Mary's eyes, and turning round to hide them, she found that all the rest were weeping also. What was it made made her weep? she asked herself: it was not pity, for he was happy—it was not sorrow, for she had no cause; but it was that sympathetic feeling that makes the heart lend its pulse to every thing that is great and good, and the eye give its tear as well to what is bright as what is sad. -3 Mary performed the office the old man had requested, and having closed the eyes now bereft of the light of being, she returned to Paris; but she had suffered a severe shock, - which, in her yet unconfirmed state of health, continued to affect her for several days.