"The benevolent and accomplished Dr. Arnold was taken from us by _angina pectoris_. He awoke in the morning with a sharp pain across his chest, which he had felt slightly on the preceding day, before and after bathing. He composed himself to sleep for a short time; but the pain seemed to increase, and to pass down the left arm, which called to Mrs. Arnold's remembrance what she had heard of this fatal disease. Their usual medical attendant, Dr. Bucknill, was sent for, and found Dr. Arnold lying on his back--his countenance much as usual--his pulse, though regular, was very quick, and there was cold perspiration on the brow and cheeks. He apologized in a cheerful manner for troubling Dr. Bucknill at so early an hour, and inquired as to the nature and danger of his illness: he was told it was a spasm of the heart. The physician quitted the house to furnish himself with remedies. On his return, Dr. Arnold said, 'If the pain is again as severe as it was before you left, I do not know how I can bear it.' He again questioned Dr. Bucknill as to the danger of his complaint--he was told of his danger--inquired as to the remedies, and on being told, answered, 'Ah! very well.' The physician, who was dropping the laudanum into a glass, turned around, and saw him quite calm, but his eyes were shut. In another minute he heard a rattle in his throat, and a convulsive struggle,--flew to the bed, and called to one of the servants to fetch Mrs. Arnold. The family soon arrived; but the sobs and cries of his children were unable to affect him--the eyes were fixed, the countenance was unmoved, there was a heaving of the chest, deep gasps escaped at prolonged intervals, and just as the usual medical attendant arrived, and as the old school-house servant, in an agony of grief, rushed with the others into the room in the hope of seeing his master once more, he breathed his last." _Stanley's Life of Arnold._ ARRIA (wife of Caecina Paetus, a consul under Claudius), died about the year B. C., 42. When her husband was condemned to die by his own hand, seeing that he hesitated, she seized the dagger, and plunged it into her own breast. Then withdrawing it, she presented it to her husband, saying with a smile: "_It is not painful, Paetus._" When to her husband Arria gave the steel, Which from her chaste, her bleeding breast she drew; She said--"My Paetus, this I do not feel, But, oh! the wound that must be given by you!"[1] _Martial._ [1] Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Paeto Quem de visceribus traxerat ipsa suis, Si qua fides, vulnus, quod feci, non dolet, inquit; Sed quod tu facies, hoc mihi, Paete, dolet.