sensible. "I then left him to recover from the excitement caused by our visit, and returned to his bedside late in the evening. He was then quite calm-like a person half asleep-but perfectly I told him several incidents that had happened amongst his London friends since he left them, with the kind messages of which I was the bearer. To these he listened with much interest, but made no reply. The only question he had strength to ask was respecting the health of a much valued friend at Sydenham; and my answer being satisfactory, he expressed himself much comforted. * * * * * "June 6th.-This morning he appeared to have rallied a little. He looked cheerful-expressed his pleasure at the sight of familiar faces-and made an effort to maintain a little conversation, but in a feeble voice. He was deeply sensible, as usual, of any kindness done or intended-and in his mind, a trivial service assumed undue importance. In the course of the morning he spoke more freely of himself. . . . His strength was more reduced than I had imagined; for while assisting him to change his posture and get out of bed, he fell back in a fainting fit, and remained insensible for some minutes. This I was told had occurred before-and the least effort sufficed to produce it. The fact was very discouraging; and, coupled with the actual condition of the digestive organs, left in our minds but a faint glimmer of hope-if hope it might be called. He had seen no private or professional friend but Dr. Allatt for many weeks." "It was curious to observe a Religieuse—one of the Sisters of Charity-keeping watch at the Poet's bedside during the night-expressing a tender solicitude for his comfort, and performing the duties of an experienced nurse. But yet it was a sad proof of exile-sick and a stranger to be thus watched. Her attention, however, was rendered doubly acceptable by its motive-that of Christian charity.* "I have passed great part of the day at the sufferer's bedside. The conversation was very limited, carried on in whispers; he is not able to connect more than two or three sentences * These charitable "Sisters" are very useful to the community. Wherever sickness holds its victim to the couch, their services are bestowed; they shrink from no danger, and in the discharge of their duties, evince much fortitude and self-denial. ET. 66-7.] BOULOGNE-THE CLOSING SCENE. 459 at a time. It was thought doubtful at one time this morning whether he was quite conscious of what was said in his presence. Of the fact, however, a little artifice soon furnished us with proof. We were speaking of his poems. Hohenlinden was named; when, affecting not to remember the author of that splendid lyric, a guess was hazarded that it was by a Mr. Robinson. No,' said the Poet, calmly, but distinctly, "June 7th.-There was little or no abatement of the symptoms this morning. The position and arrangement of this house are neither healthy nor convenient. Should he recover even partially, it is proposed to have him removed to lodgings near the sea, where he may have the benefit of fresh air and free ventilation. He was pleased with the thought of changebut incredulous as to its accomplishment. He felt and saw what no other could feel or see; and I was struck with the tacit expression of his countenance while we spoke of a change.... "His conversation, resumed and dropt at short intervals, was deeply interesting. His respiration, however, was more impeded than yesterday; and a new symptom-ædema of the right ankle-made its appearance-or rather became more apparent this morning. He continued serene-neither expressing hope nor fear-but reminding us of his own lines: 'Envying-fearing-hating none, I asked him if there was anything I could do by writing to his friends. He answered, 'No,' and then considering for a minute, he added, 'Yes, write to *". * *, mentioning the friend already alluded to, and say ** "In reply to my inquiry if his mind was quite easy, he said, with a remarkable expression of energy, Yes-I have entire control over my mind;' adding, after a little pause, 'I am quite.... I supposed him to have added, inaudibly, 'resigned.' A few desultory sentences followed, which he uttered with difficulty-and then with shut eyes, and a placid expression of countenance, he remained silent, but thoughtful... "His pulse, hitherto rather steady, has fluttered a little today. When I took leave, about eleven at night, his eye followed me anxiously to the door, as if to say, 'Shall we meet to-morrow?' He seems fully aware of his situation, and is remarkably tranquil and composed." "June 8th.-This morning a new prescription was tried, from which some alleviation is expected. He takes cheerfully and gratefully whatever is offered in the way of food or medicine; but never asks a question as to the nature of his ailment or the prospect of recovery. To-day an English nurse has replaced the religieuse. "In the morning he expressed a faint wish for a cigar, [thinking, perhaps, it would relieve his breathing;] but the wish was not repeated. There is now considerable adema of the left leg and foot. He has taken only tea and jelly during the day. On his niece's cheerfully observing, that we thought him a little better-he observed, slowly, 'I am-glad-you think so.' But his own feelings seemed to contradict our hopes." "June 9th.-Continued near the Poet all day. Dr. Allatt has seen him again; and, owing to the relief afforded by some medicine, we have been indulging hopes of his temporary amendment. "But it is only a question of time. We are, in truth, flattering ourselves with hopes that can never be realized. There is no important amelioration; organic disease exists in its worst form. The most that can be done is to palliate one or two urgent symptoms-to treat with the inexorable besieger, and obtain a surrender on as easy terms as we may." * “June 10th. At the Poet's bedside all night. The favorable symptoms have nearly all disappeared. The only sustenance taken has been a little beef tea-with now and then a few drops of cognac diluted-for which he frequently asks, as if he felt his strength sinking." * [From this time I continued to sit up with him every night-retiring for an hour or two about five in the morning, and returning after breakfast. The mornings have been uniformly bright and beautiful. The roses in the little court below were in full blossom; the elms that threw their shade over the wall were rustling with the light sea breeze; external nature appeared in all its freshness and beauty; but within a few steps lay the Poet on his death-bed-unable to participate in any of nature's joys which he the priest of nature-had so often felt and sung. It was the scene he loved-the season to which he once looked forward with hope.-ED.] ET. 66-7.J BOULOGNE-THE CLOSING SCENE. 461 "To the anxious questions of those around him, his reply was-Tolerably well,' slowly enunciated-and then repeated in a whisper. Not a murmur-no complaint-no expression of pain or dissatisfaction has escaped his lips. He has still, in his own words, 'entire control over his mind,' and presents a picture of placid resignation. At last, on its being remarked that he showed great patience under suffering,' he said, in an under tone, and for the first time-'I do suffer.' "Between ten and eleven o'clock he fell into a calm, refreshing sleep; and in that state I ventured to leave him for the night. The nurse is very attentive; she is a soldier's widow— has had much experience with the sick, as well as the wounded-and is devoted to her present charge. Under these circumstances, whether at his bedside or in my own chamber, the spirit and sentiment of his poetry were continually before me; they were the lasting record of his own solemn convictions, and the hour was at hand when they were to be taken in evidence for eternity.* Were they not-if I may so express it-the living sign held up by the dying hand, ready to seal its testimony? "Ah, me! the laurell'd wreath that murder rears, 2 "June 11th. He passed a rather comfortable, refreshing night-looked cheerful-thought he felt a little stronger.' Those around him were consequently predicting a recoveryand where hope was so pleasing, it was hard to despair. Later in the day, however, he varied considerably, both in his personal feelings and outward appearance. The difficulty of breathing, though partially relieved by artificial means, prevented his speaking more than a few words. His mind, he tells me, 'is quite easy.' He took-or rather tasted cheerfully-whatever was offered him in the way of food or medicine; and at 11 P. M. he was so apparently relieved and tranquil, that I retired for a few hours, while Miss Campbell and the nurse kept watch at his bedside." * See Conversations in this volume, page 373. "June 12th. He has passed a tolerable night-sleeping at intervals and taking a little food when it was offered to him; but there is nothing encouraging-no actual improvement; and if at all changed since yesterday, it is for the worse. We have altered his position frequently-from a recumbent to a half sitting posture, by which the respiration is somewhat relieved. "By his desire, I again read the prayers for the sick; followed by various texts of Scripture, to which he listened with deep attention; suppressing, as much as he could, the sound of his own breathing, which had become almost laborious. At the conclusion he said: 'It is very soothing! At another time I read to him passages from the Epistles and Gospels; directing his attention, as well as I could, to the comforting assurance they contained of the life and immortality brought to light by the Savior. When this was done I asked him, 'Do you believe all this? Oh yes!' he replied, with emphasis-' I do!' His manner all this time was deeply solemn and affecting. When I began to read the prayers, he raised his hand to his head-took off his nightcap-then clasping his hands across his chest, he seemed to realize all the feeling of his own triumphant lines: 'This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark; Who robb'd the Grave of victory And took the sting from Death! "Later in the day he spoke with less difficulty-he said something to every one near him. To his niece, who was leaning over him in great anxiety, and anticipating every little want, he said,-Come-let us sing praises to Christ!'-then pointing to the bedside, he added-Sit here.'-'Shall I pray for you?" she said 'Oh, yes,' he replied; 'let us pray for one another!" "In the evening, a relation of my own,* whom he had known many years, and who accompanied us from London on this visit, read prayers from the Liturgy at his bedside, and that Liturgy, of which the Poet had so often expressed his admiration in health, was a source of comfort in the hour of sickness. He *The Rev. C. S. Hassells, M.A., Trin. Coll., Oxon. |