epitaph. I am very glad I die before the d--d Revolution that must come;
I don't want to take wine with the Member for Holborn Bars. I am a type
of a system; I expire before the system; my death is the herald of its
fall."

With these expressions--not continuously uttered, but at short
intervals--Saville turned away his face: his breathing became thick: he
fell into the slumber he had deprecated; and, after about an hour's
silence, died away as insensibly as an infant. Sic transit glories mundi!

The first living countenance beside the death-bed on which Godolphin's eye
fell was that of Fanny Millinger; she (who had been much with Saville
during his latter days, for her talk amused him, and her good-nature made
her willing to amuse any one) had been, at his request, summoned also with
Godolphin at the sudden turn of his disease. She was at the theatre at
the time, and had only just arrived when the deceased had fallen into his
last sleep. There, silent and shocked, she stood by the bed, opposite
Godolphin. She had not stayed to change her stage-dress; and the tinsel
and mock jewels glittered on the revolted eye of her quondam lover. What
a type of the life just extinguished! What a satire on its mountebank
artificialities!

Some little time after, she joined Godolphin in the desolate apartment
below. She put her hand in his, and her tears--for she wept
easily--flowed fast down her cheeks, washing away the lavish rouge which
imperfectly masked the wrinkles that Time had lately begun to sow on a
surface Godolphin had remembered so fair and smooth.

"Poor Saville!" said she, falteringly; "he died without a pang. Ah! he
had the best temper possible."