as Jehu, and reminding you a little of _Times_ thunder even in
driving); consorted, after a fashion, with the powerful of the world;

saw in due vicissitude a miscellany of social faces round
him,--pleasant parties, which he liked well enough to garnish by a

lord; "Irish lord, if no better might be," as the banter went. For
the rest, he loved men of worth and intellect, and recognized them

well, whatever their title: this was his own patent of worth which
Nature had given him; a central light in the man, which illuminated

into a kind of beauty, serious or humorous, all the artificialities he
had accumulated on the surface of him. So rolled his days, not

quietly, yet prosperously, in manifoldcommerce with men. At one in
the morning, when all had vanished into sleep, his lamp was kindled in

his library; and there, twice or thrice a week, for a three-hours'
space, he launched his bolts, which next morning were to shake the

high places of the world.
John's relation to his Father, when one saw John here, was altogether

frank, joyful and amiable: he ignored the _Times_ thunder for most
part, coldlytaking the Anonymous for non-extant; spoke of it

floutingly, if he spoke at all: indeed a pleasant half-bantering
dialect was the common one between Father and Son; and they,

especially with the gentle, simple-hearted, just-minded Mother for
treble-voice between them, made a very pretty glee-harmony together.

So had it lasted, ever since poor John's voyagings began; his Father's
house standing always as a fixed sunny islet with safe harbor for him.

So it could not always last. This sunny islet was now also to break
and go down: so many firm islets, fixed pillars in his fluctuating

world, pillar after pillar, were to break and go down; till swiftly
all, so to speak, were sunk in the dark waters, and he with them! Our

little History is now hastening to a close.
In the beginning of 1843 news reached us that Sterling had, in his too

reckless way, encountered a dangerous accident: maids, in the room
where he was, were lifting a heavy table; he, seeing them in

difficulty, had snatched at the burden; heaved it away,--but had
broken a blood-vessel by the business; and was now, after extensive

hemorrhage, lying dangerously ill. The doctors hoped the worst was
over; but the case was evidently serious. In the same days, too, his

Mother had been seized here by some painful disease, which from its
continuance grew alarming. Sad omens for Edward Sterling, who by this

time had as good as ceased writing or working in the _Times_, having
comfortably winded up his affairs there; and was looking forward to a

freer idle life befitting his advanced years henceforth. Fatal
eclipse had fallen over that household of his; never to be lifted off

again till all darkened into night.
By dint of watchful nursing, John Sterling got on foot once more: but

his Mother did not recover, quite the contrary. Her case too grew
very questionable. Disease of the heart, said the medical men at

last; not immediately, not perhaps for a length of years, dangerous to
life, said they; but without hope of cure. The poor lady suffered

much; and, though affecting hope always, grew weaker and weaker. John
ran up to Town in March; I saw him, on the morrow or next day after,

in his own room at Knightsbridge: he had caught fresh cold overnight,
the servant having left his window up, but I was charged to say

nothing of it, not to flutter the already troubled house: he was
going home again that very day, and nothing ill would come of it. We

understood the family at Falmouth, his Wife being now near her
confinement again, could at any rate comport with no long absence. He

was cheerful, even rudely merry; himself pale and ill, his poor
Mother's cough audibleoccasionally through the wall. Very kind, too,

and gracefullyaffectionate; but I observed a certain grimness in his
mood of mind, and under his light laughter lay something unusual,

something stern, as if already dimmed in the coming shadows of Fate.
"Yes, yes, you are a good man: but I understand they mean to appoint

you to Rhadamanthus's post, which has been vacant for some time; and
you will see how you like that!" This was one of the things he said;

a strange effulgence of wild drollery flashing through the ice of
earnest pain and sorrow. He looked paler than usual: almost for the

first time, I had myself a twinge of misgiving as to his own health;
for hitherto I had been used to blame as much as pity his fits of

dangerous illness, and would often angrilyremonstrate with him that
he might have excellent health, would he but take reasonable care of

himself, and learn the art of sitting still. Alas, as if he _could_
learn it; as if Nature had not laid her ban on him even there, and

said in smiles and frowns manifoldly, "No, that thou shalt not learn!"
He went that day; he never saw his good true Mother more. Very

shortly afterwards, in spite of doctors' prophecies, and affectionate
illusions, she grew alarmingly and soon hopelessly worse. Here are

his last two Letters to her:--
"_To Mrs. Sterling, Knightsbridge, London_.

"FALMOUTH 8th April, 1843.
"DEAREST MOTHER,--I could do you no good, but it would be the greatest

comfort to me if I could be near you. Nothing would detain me but
Susan's condition. I feel that until her confinement is over, I ought

to remain here,--unless you wished me to go to you; in which case she
would be the first to send me off. Happily she is doing as well as

possible, and seems even to gain strength every day. She sends her
love to you.

"The children are all doing well. I rode with Edward to-day through
some of the pleasant lanes in the neighborhood; and was delighted, as

I have often been at the same season, to see the primroses under every
hedge. It is pleasant to think that the Maker of them can make other

flowers for the gardens of his other mansions. We have here a
softness in the air, a smoothness of the clouds, and a mild sunshine,

that combine in lovely peace with the first green of spring and the
mellow whiteness of the sails upon the quiet sea. The whole aspect of

the world is full of a quiet harmony, that influences even one's
bodily frame, and seems to make one's very limbs aware of something

living, good and immortal in all around us. Knowing how you suffer,
and how weak you are, anything is a blessing to me that helps me to

rise out of confusion and grief into the sense of God and joy. I
could not indeed but feel how much happier I should have been, this

morning, had you been with me, and delighting as you would have done
in all the little as well as the large beauty of the world. But it

was still a satisfaction to feel how much I owe to you of the power of
perceiving meaning, reality and sweetness in all healthful life. And

thus I could fancy that you were still near me; and that I could see
you, as I have so often seen you, looking with earnest eyes at wayside

flowers.
"I would rather not have written what must recall your thoughts to

your present sufferings: but, dear Mother, I wrote only what I felt;
and perhaps you would rather have it so, than that I should try to

find other topics. I still hope to be with you before long.
Meanwhile and always, God bless you, is the prayer of

"Your affectionate son,
"JOHN STERLING."

_To the same_.
"FALMOUTH, 12th April, 1843.

"DEAREST MOTHER,--I have just received my Father's Letter; which gives
me at least the comfort of believing that you do not suffer very much

pain. That your mind has remained so clear and strong, is an infinite
blessing.

"I do not know anything in the world that would make up to me at all
for wanting the recollection of the days I spent with you lately, when

I was amazed at the freshness and life of all your thoughts. It
brought back far-distant years, in the strangest, most peaceful way.

I felt myself walking with you in Greenwich Park, and on the seashore
at Sandgate; almost even I seemed a baby, with you bending over me.

Dear Mother, there is surely something uniting us that cannot perish.
I seem so sure of a love which shall last and reunite us, that even

the remembrance, painful as that is, of all my own follies and ill
tempers, cannot shake this faith. When I think of you, and know how

you feel towards me, and have felt for every moment of almost forty
years, it would be too dark to believe that we shall never meet again.

It was from you that I first learnt to think, to feel, to imagine, to
believe; and these powers, which cannot be extinguished, will one day

enter anew into communion with you. I have bought it very dear by the
prospect of losing you in this world,--but since you have been so ill,

everything has seemed to me holier, loftier and more lasting, more
full of hope and final joy.