Mrs. Powis fell on her knees before him,--heart-rending sight!--her cap torn off,--her hair dishevell'd,--her eyes fix'd;--not a tear,--not a single tear to relieve the bitter anguish of her soul. Sir James had left the room;--Lady Powis was sunk almost senseless on the sopha;--Mr. Powis kneeling by his wife, clasping her to his bosom;--Mr. Morgan in a corner roaring out his affliction;--Mr. Watson with the voice of an angel speaking consolation.--I say nothing of my own feelings.--God, how great!--how inexpressible! when Mrs. Powis, still on her knees, turn'd to me with uplifted hands,--Oh Mr. Risby! cried she,--can _you,_--can _you_ speak comfort to the miserable?--Then again addressing Mr. Watson,--Dear, saint, only say she lives:--I ask no more; only say she lives.--My best love!--my life!--my Fanny! said Mr. Powis, lifting her to the sopha;--live,--live,--for my sake.--Oh!--Risby, are _you_ the messenger?--his head fell on my shoulder, and he sobb'd aloud. Lady Powis beckon'd him towards her, and, looking at Mrs. Powis with an expressive glance of tenderness,--said Compose yourself, my son;--what will become of _you, if_--He took the meaning of her words, and wrapping his arms about his wife, seem'd for a moment to forget his own sorrow in endeavours to. What an exalted woman is Lady Powis! My children, said she; taking a hand from each,--I am thankful: whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.--Let us follow his great example of patience,--of resignation.--What is a poor span?--_Ours_ will be eternity. I whisper'd Mr. Morgan, a female friend would be necessary to attend the Ladies;--one whom they lov'd,--whom they confided in, to be constantly with them in their apartments.--He knew just such a woman, he said; and went himself to fetch Mrs. Jenkings.--Lady Powis being unable longer to support herself, propos'd withdrawing.--I offered my arm, which she accepted, and led her to the dressing-room.--Mrs. Powis follow'd; almost lifeless, leaning on her husband: there I left them together, and walk'd out for a quarter of an hour to recover my confus'd senses. At my return to the library, I found Sir James and Mr. Watson in conversation.--The former, with a countenance of horror and distraction,--Oh Sir! said he, as I came near him,--do I see you again?--are you kind enough not to run from our distress? Run from it, Sir James! I reply'd;--no, I will stay and be a partaker. Oh Sir! he continued, you know not _my_ distress:--death only can relieve _me_--I am without _hope_, without _comfort_. And is this, Sir James, what you are arriv'd at? said the good chaplain--Is this what you have been travelling sixty years after?--Wish for death yet say you have neither hope or comfort.--Your good Lady, Sir, is full of both;--_she_ rejoices in affliction:--_she_ has long look'd above this world. So might I, he reply'd,--had I no more to charge myself with than she has.--_You_ know, Mr. Watson,--_you_ know how faulty I have been.