minutes in the evening, to have his bed made.
He complained of no pain or sickness, but seemed sinking beneath an
easy and gradual decay. It was only at intervals he could converse
with his daughter. His conversation was then calculated to
strengthen her fortitude and resignation, and prepare her for an
approaching melancholy event. Whenever she received a hint of it,
her agony was inexpressible....]

Her father observed her emotion. "Alida, my dear child," said he, "do
not be alarmed, as I appear much worse than I am in reality at present;"
but she had drawn these words from the physician that morning, that his
malady had increased greatly since the day before. Perceiving a visible
change in his appearance, she scarcely left the room of her father till
a late hour, when he, perceiving her almost fainting with fatigue,
requested her to retire to rest. Albert supplied the place of his
sister, and remained with his father, while the affectionate care of his
only surviving son was grateful to the bosom of a fond parent.

[_Children of the Abbey_:

her father who saw her ill, and almost sinking with fatigue,
requested her to retire to rest....]

The slumbers of Alida were broken, and fearing to leave her father too
long, she arose very early next morning to attend him. He was evidently
much worse next day, which was Sunday, and intimated that he wished all
the family sent for. He then requested Alida to read some passages in
the bible, as was his daily custom.

"'Leave thy fatherless children to me and I will be their father,' what
words of consolation are these," said he, "what transport do they convey
to the heart of a parent, burthened with anxiety. Yes, divine Disposer,"
he exclaimed, "I will, with grateful joy, commit my children to thy kind
care and protection."

[_Children of the Abbey_:

It was now Sunday, and he desired the service of the day to be read.
A small bible lay on the table before him, and Amanda complied with
his desire. In the first lesson were these words: "Leave thy
fatherless children to me, and I will be their father." The tears
gushed from Fitzalan; he laid his hand, which appeared convulsed
with agitation, on the book. "Oh! what words of comfort," cried he,
"are these; what transport do they convey to the heart of a parent
burthened with anxiety! Yes, merciful Power I will, with grateful
joy, commit my children to thy care, for thou art the frien