few moments, for the
devil of suffocation was always lying in wait to bring him back for
fresh tortures. Over and over again this was repeated, varied by him
being steadied on his feet or sitting on the couch opposite the berth.
In spite of his suffering, two dominant characteristics remained--the
sense of humor, and tender consideration for another.

Once when the ship rolled and his hat fell from the hook, and made the
circuit of the cabin floor, he said:

"The ship is passing the hat."

Again he said:

"I am sorry for you, Paine, but I can't help it--I can't hurry this
dying business. Can't you give me enough of the hypnotic injunction to
put an end to me?"

He thought if I could arrange the pillows so he could sit straight up it
would not be necessary to support him, and then I could sit on the couch
and read while he tried to doze. He wanted me to read Jude, he said, so
we could talk about it. I got all the pillows I could and built them
up around him, and sat down with the book, and this seemed to give him
contentment. He would doze off a little and then come up with a start,
his piercing, agate eyes searching me out to see if I was still there.
Over and over--twenty times in an hour--this was repeated. When I could
deny him no longer I administered the opiate, but it never completely
possessed him or gave him entire relief.

As I looked at him there, so reduced in his estate, I could not but
remember all the labor of his years, and all the splendid honor which
the world had paid to him. Something of this may have entered his mind,
too, for once, when I offered him some of the milder remedies which we
had brought, he said:

"After forty years of public effort I have become just a target for
medicines."

The program of change from berth to the floor, from floor to the couch,
from the couch back to the berth among the pillows, was repeated again
and again, he always thinking of the trouble he might be making, rarely
uttering any complaint; but once he said:

"I never guessed that I was not going to outlive John Bigelow." And
again:

"This is such a mysterious disease. If we only had a bill of particulars
we'd have something to swear at."

Time and again he picked up Carlyle or the Cardigan Memoirs, and read,
or seemed to read, a few lines; but then the drowsiness would come and
the book would fall. Time and again he attempted to smoke, or in his
drowse simulated the motion of placing a cigar to his li