A fact recognised by numberless observing physicians is, that the last agony of a good man is rarely violent. It is probable, that in regard to all forms of death, mankind generally entertain the most erroneous conceptions. The vulgar, naturally embracing ideas that terrify them, believe that the dissolution of our earthly being is accompanied by all conceivable torments. It is probable, on the contrary, that, in entering upon eternal repose, we experience sensations analogous to those of a wearied man who feels the sweet influence of sleep stealing gently upon him. These sensations, it is true, can be imagined to belong only to the last moments. Cruel maladies may precede them. But it would seem that nature invariably employs some means to mitigate the evils which she inflicts. Among mortal diseases, those which are severely painful are equally rapid; while those which are slow in their progress are comparatively free from pain. They allow the patient time to accustom himself to the idea of his departure. It is common for those who die in this way to close their career in the indulgence of dreamy and melancholy musings, solacing themselves alternately by resignation and hope. A spectacle, touching to the heart, and, unhappily, too common, is presented in the case of a fair and florid young woman struck with a pulmonary malady. Absolute unconsciousness of danger often accompanies this cruel disease to the last moment. We are perfectly aware that the patient cannot survive the coming winter. We hear her pantingly discuss the projects which she expects to execute with her companions when health and spring shall return. The contrast of her daily increasing debility with her gentle gayety, and of her future projects, with the rapid approach of death, makes the heart bleed. Every one is pained for her but herself. The hectic fever imparts a kind of joyous inspiration; and nature, to absolve itself for inflicting death on one so young, leads her to her last hour in tranquil security. Death is to her as a sleep. It is certain that physical sufferings are not those which infuse the utmost bitterness into this last cup. The gloomy thoughts with which death is invested are excited much more keenly by those affections which attach us to earth and our kind. We may well hold the understanding of those ambitious persons in disdain who instruct us, that when they have finished their vast projects their days shall thenceforward glide in peace and serenity. Death uniformly surprises them, tormenting themselves in the pursuit of their shadows. Others, with less show of stupidity, repine because death strikes them reposing upon their pleasures. Their groans are caused by having forgotten the rapidity and evanescence of their joys. They had not known how to give them an additional charm in saying, ‘we possess them but for a day.’