succeeded by an extreme dryness and burning heat of the skin. He was
next covered with small livid spots: symptoms of shivering followed, but
these he drove away with a determined resolution. He then became
tranquil and composed, and, after some time, decided to go to bed, it
being already night. "Falkland," said he, pressing his hand, "the task
of dying is not so difficult as some imagine. When one looks back from
the brink of it, one wonders that so total a subversion can take place
at so easy a price."

He had now been some time in bed, and, as every thing was still, Mr.
Falkland hoped that he slept; but in that he was mistaken. Presently Mr.
Clare threw back the curtain, and looked in the countenance of his
friend. "I cannot sleep," said he. "No, if I could sleep, it would be
the same thing as to recover; and I am destined to have the worst in
this battle.

"Falkland, I have been thinking about you. I do not know any one whose
future usefulness I contemplate with greater hope. Take care of
yourself. Do not let the world be defrauded of your virtues. I am
acquainted with your weakness as well as your strength. You have an
impetuosity, and an impatience of imagined dishonour, that, if once set
wrong, may make you as eminently mischievous as you will otherwise be
useful. Think seriously of exterminating this error!

"But if I cannot, in the brief expostulation my present situation will
allow, produce this desirable change in you, there is at least one thing
I can do. I can put you upon your guard against a mischief I foresee to
be imminent. Beware of Mr. Tyrrel. Do not commit the mistake of
despising him as an unequal opponent. Petty causes may produce great
mischiefs. Mr. Tyrrel is boisterous, rugged, and unfeeling; and you are