Chapter 24

           Itwasnounfitmessangerofdeath,whohaddisturbedthequietofthematron’sroom.Herbodywasbentbyage;herlimbstrembledwithpalsy;herface,distortedintoamumblingleer,resembledmorethegrotesqueshapingofsomewildpencil,thantheworkofNature’shand.

           Alas!HowfewofNature’sfacesareleftalonetogladdenuswiththeirbeauty!Thecares,andsorrows,andhungerings,oftheworld,changethemastheychangehearts;anditisonlywhenthosepassionssleep,andhavelosttheirholdforever,thatthetroubledcloudspassoff,andleaveHeaven’ssurfaceclear.Itisacommonthingforthecountenancesofthedead,eveninthatfixedandrigidstate,tosubsideintothelong-forgottenexpressionofsleepinginfancy,andsettleintotheverylookofearlylife;socalm,sopeaceful,dotheygrowagain,thatthosewhoknewthemintheirhappychildhood,kneelbythecoffin’ssideinawe,andseetheAngelevenuponearth.

           Theoldcronetotteredalonethepassages,andupthestairs,mutteringsomeindistinctanswerstothechidingsofhercompanion;beingatlengthcompelledtopauseforbreath,shegavethelightintoherhand,andremainedbehindtofollowasshemight:whilethemorenimblesuperiormadeherwaytotheroomwherethesickwomanlay.

           Itwasabaregarret-room,withadimlightburningatthefartherend.Therewasanotheroldwomanwatchingbythebed;theparishapothecary’sapprenticewasstandingbythefire,makingatoothpickoutofaquill.

           ‘Coldnight,Mrs.

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