From time to time, he held this kind of language, placidly awaiting the awful mandate. The bursting of a blood vessel in the temple is not attended by much pain, and he suffered none that was not incident to the remedies employed. On Tuesday he gave me a key, and told me where I should find all his papers regularly labelled, adding, “George’s character is not one of shew. He will be sorry for me in the bottom of his heart: give him assistance now, and he will not need it long. Religion has taken fast hold upon him, and her consolations will quickly restore the equilibrium of his spirits. He will never _forget_, but he will soon cease to _grieve_.” After so saying, he fell into a tranquil slumber, and spoke no more, except to ask for certain portions of the sacred volume. He repeated the 15th chapter of St. John with fervour; desired us to read the 53d of Isaiah, the 23d Psalm, and other favourite parts of scripture. A restless night proclaimed the approach of death, and the last afternoon witnessed his peaceful exit. He left his affectionate regards for all of you, and has bequeathed, he told me, some little memorial of respectful esteem to each individual at Glenalta and Lisfarne. Thus has passed away our kind-hearted neighbour Roger Bentley, and his loss would be too sad to dwell upon, if his excellent nephew were not heir to his uncle’s virtues, as well as property. No change will be felt, I venture to assert, by any one who depended on the bounty of our departed friend. Poor George is absorbed in silent sorrow; he neither weeps nor talks, but the chalky paleness of his countenance, is a faithful index to what passes within. He courts solitude, and wishes no other companionship than his Bible. When the last ceremony is performed, I shall write to my dear friend, Mrs. Douglas, and in the mean time, with the most affectionate remembrances to her, the General, and _my pupils_, believe me, my dear sir, Yours most sincerely, J. OLIPHANT. LETTER XXXVIII. FROM EDWARD OTWAY, ESQ. TO REV. MR. OLIPHANT. My dear Oliphant, I cannot describe the shock which your intelligence imparted. It was but a week before that day, on which his final summons was issued, that I received a letter from my valued and lamented friend, full of project and futurity; warm with friendship, and seasoned with that peculiar and pungent humour which rendered him so singularly entertaining and lively a companion. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_ In middle age, rich, healthy, divested of care, and happy in the society of that good young man, who would have thought the end so near? Who could have anticipated this sudden wreck of human hope? Such is life! And does not such a tragedy, as it often presents, call upon the actors in the drama for serious thoughts of what may follow? I will not say that “We could have better spared a better man,”