joined with his talents, his inoffensive wit, and the comprehensiveness
of his intelligence, made him the idol of all that knew him. In the
scene of his rural retreat, at least, he had no enemy. All mourned the
danger that now threatened him. He appeared to have had the prospect of
long life, and of going down to his grave full of years and of honour.
Perhaps these appearances were deceitful. Perhaps the intellectual
efforts he had made, which were occasionally more sudden, violent, and
unintermitted, than a strict regard to health would have dictated, had
laid the seed of future disease. But a sanguine observer would
infallibly have predicted, that his temperate habits, activity of mind,
and unabated cheerfulness, would be able even to keep death at bay for a
time, and baffle the attacks of distemper, provided their approach were
not uncommonly rapid and violent. The general affliction, therefore, was
doubly pungent upon the present occasion.

But no one was so much affected as Mr. Falkland. Perhaps no man so well
understood the value of the life that was now at stake. He immediately
hastened to the spot; but he found some difficulty in gaining admission.
Mr. Clare, aware of the infectious nature of his disease, had given
directions that as few persons as possible should approach him. Mr.
Falkland sent up his name. He was told that he was included in the
general orders. He was not, however, of a temper to be easily repulsed;
he persisted with obstinacy, and at length carried his point, being only
reminded in the first instance to employ those precautions which
experience has proved most effectual for counteracting infection.

He found Mr. Clare in his bed-chamber, but not in bed. He was sitting in
his night-gown at a bureau near the window. His appearance was composed
and cheerful, but death was in his countenance. "I had a great
inclination, Falkland," said he, "not to have suffered you to come in;