Heaven help us! In the midst of life, &c.,—you
know the rest. My nieces are beginning to know
you better, which was only what I always expected.
You are a good youth—puer bonæ indolis, as the
Latins say— and Heaven, I know, will reward you,
and advance you in this life, as well as in another.
Our poor brother may not last out the night,— may
be in extremis before morning.

Yours ever,
RICHARD TWEAKMINSTER.

That day wore on. I wandered about
absently, down the street, through the green
fields, by the river, but could not rest.
Somebody passed me,—it was Reverend
C. B. McCuddy, with a darkling brow. At
another season, perhaps, I could have exulted
over my fallen enemy: but now, my eye
rested vacantly on him. I heard him, but
I heeded not. My thoughts were far away.
What were such earthly passions, when
human life was quivering in the balance?

There was permanence of council all day
long at Miss Bridles's. I came in and out
ceaselessly; and we could read in each
other's eyes the same question, Any news?
It was the same the next day, and the next.
I was worn to a shadow. The anxiety was
growing too much for me. About noon on
the third day, one of those curiously-attired
blue pages, bound with white braiding,
placed in my hands an envelope. It was a
telegram from my good friend. With
trembling fingers I opened this telegrarn, and
proceeded to decipher the lead-pencil characters
of the telegram. It was in the curt language
peculiar to such documents.

This morning he awoke from the stupor, called
for some soup, looked about him, and said he felt
better on the whole.

Wretched Hoblush! Was all thy anxiety,
then, for nothing ? I took the open telegram
straight to where the permanent council was
sitting. It was received with disgust— with
loud execration, even. Nay, there was a
tone of hostility towards myself personally,
as though I was at the bottom of the business.

"Ugh! " said the person called Sophia
Dorothea, " you should have known better,
you should! What do you mean, bringing
your cock-and-bull stories here, frightening
us out of our senses!"

"Sister, sister! " said gentle Jemima, in
whose manner I had nevertheless observed
a certain acridity.

"Madam," I replied to the House of Zell,
"these matters are not in my hands. Why
add to my sorrows by this violence? Do you
wish for a fellow creature's death?"

She glared at me with her furious eyes:
and, it struck me at the time, that she had
intentions of wreathing her fingers in my
hair. I stepped back a pace or two,
trembling in every limb; when to us enters a
maid, with word that one of the little blue-coated
pages was waiting below. Telegram
once more. Curiosity suspended hostilities;
and, after signing the proper receipt, with
beating heart I read aloud (rather Sophia
Dorothea, who had snapped it from me in
her impatience):

Stupor again, deeper than ever. Desire for food
merely superficial— general break up— not expected
to last over the night.

I am ashamed to say, that on receipt of
this news, there was tumultuous, if not
indecent, joy in the countenance of the elder
Miss Bridles. She forgot her hostility on
the instant, and at once became cordial in
her manner. We sat together the whole
of that day, waiting for further intelligence.

In the gloaming of the evening I returned
for a short time to my own modest mansion.
Perhaps I was dejected; for I was thinking
of the aged incumbent, then, perhaps,
wrestling with death. Old men must
succumb, I believe, without a struggle. That
was the usual, the understood thing. But if
he should rally? O, no— no— no— impossible.
Better for him, poor soul, to be
released at once from his sufferings— far
better.

A knock. It made my heart jump. Yes;
another telegram, announcing the end. These
melancholy, short-hand dispatches should
have mourning borders, like other mourning
letters. Yes; all was over. " Sir," it
said, " I am grieved to inform you of the
sudden death (poor, poor soul! )— the sudden
death from apoplexy, of your excellent relation,
the Right Reverend Doctor Bridles,
Bishop of Tweakminster! " The telegraphic
characters— always indistinct— now swam
before my eyes. I was stunned; knew not
where I was; and, crushing up the fatal
bit of tissue paper, sank back into my chair.
If I had read on, I should have seen that the
bishop had been found by his servants after
dinner, with his head back, having been
carried off quite suddenly. Pah! what boots
the manner? No; I don't mean that; but
it was a cruel blow it must be confessed; the
most inopportune demise that ever took
place. For only that same night the incumbent
of Tepidstone closed his long and weary
pilgrimage. Break it to the sisters Bridles ?
Ha, ha, ha! Break it to them tenderly, of
course. Pah! Let them break it to
themselves. They will bear ironing! Was I
growing delirious?

Next morning, moving slowly in the direction
of the Bridles' mansion, McCuddy
passed me. The oily monster looked at me
with a leer of triumph. He had learnt the
news. So had the whole town, who looked
on me with a compassionate interest. But I
drew my robes about me, and surveyed him
with a quiet look of dignity, such as misfortune
imparts to those who have great souls.
He passed on cowering.

Miss Jemima Bridles was in the parlour.
"You know," I said, falling into my