his imperfect account, it appeared, that while engaged in silent
orisons, with thoughts full of confusion and anxiety, a faint
gleam suddenly shot athwart the apartment. His fancy
immediately pictured to itself, a person bearing a lamp. It
seemed to come from behind. He was in the act of turning to
examine the visitant, when his right arm received a blow from a
heavy club. At the same instant, a very bright spark was seen
to light upon his clothes. In a moment, the whole was reduced
to ashes. This was the sum of the information which he chose to
give. There was somewhat in his manner that indicated an
imperfect tale. My uncle was inclined to believe that half the
truth had been suppressed.

Meanwhile, the disease thus wonderfully generated, betrayed
more terrible symptoms. Fever and delirium terminated in
lethargic slumber, which, in the course of two hours, gave place
to death. Yet not till insupportable exhalations and crawling
putrefaction had driven from his chamber and the house every one
whom their duty did not detain.

Such was the end of my father. None surely was ever more
mysterious. When we recollect his gloomy anticipations and
unconquerable anxiety; the security from human malice which his
character, the place, and the condition of the times, might be
supposed to confer; the purity and cloudlessness of the
atmosphere, which rendered it impossible that lightning was the
cause; what are the conclusions that we must form?

The prelusive gleam, the blow upon his arm, the fatal spark,
the explosion heard so far, the fiery cloud that environed him,