“Deep silence pervaded the apartment. Caroline sat at the head of the bed, with her eyes immovably fixed on the face of her beloved husband. Otto had retired, and the nephew sat with Plato’s _Phaedon_ in his hand, open at the death of Socrates. At that moment a tall and beautiful form entered the chamber; and, at the foot of the bed, with his hands raised to heaven, and deeply moved, he repeated aloud the prayer of his Mosaic faith. It was Emanuel, and next to Otto, the most beloved of Richter’s friends. “About six o’clock the physician entered. Richter yet appeared to sleep; his features became every moment holier, his brow more heavenly, but it was cold as marble to the touch; and as the tears of his wife fell upon it, he remained immovable. At length his respiration became less regular, but his features always calmer, more heavenly. A slight convulsion passed over the face; the physician cried out--‘That is death!’ and all was quiet. The spirit had departed! “All sank, praying, upon their knees. This moment, that raised them above the earth with the departing spirit, admitted of no tears! “‘Thus Richter went from earth, great and holy as a poet, greater and holier as a man!’ “Involuntarily we recall the deathbed of another great poet, on that delicious summer’s day when the windows were all open, and the only sound the ripple of the Tweed upon its stony bed. _Here_, in the midst of winter, a deeper repose must have consecrated the deathbed of Richter, as if Nature herself stood reverently still, when her worshipper and interpreter laid down the garment in which he had ministered in her temple. “Richter was buried by torch light: the unfinished manuscript of _Selina_[5] borne upon his coffin, and the noble ode of Klopstock-- ‘Thou shalt arise, my soul!’ was sung by the students of the Gymnasium at the burial vault.”