dea that there was a being in
existence who was so nearly connected with him.

The time had come when that information was to be given; for, about six
weeks previous to the action we have described, in which Adams the
quarter-master was killed, Admiral De Courcy was attacked by a painful
and mortal disease. As long as he was able to move about, his
irritability of temper, increased by suffering, rendered him more
insupportable than ever; but he was soon confined to his room, and the
progress of the disease became so rapid, that the medical attendants
considered it their duty to apprise him that all hopes of recovery must
now be abandoned, and that he must prepare himself for the worst.

The admiral received the intelligence with apparent composure, and bowed
his head to the physicians as they quitted his room. He was alone, and
left to his own reflections, which were not of the most enviable nature.
He was seated, propped up in an easy chair, opposite the large French
window, which commanded a view of the park. The sun was setting, and
the long-extended shadows of the magnificent trees which adorned his
extensive domain were in beautiful contrast with the gleams of radiant
light, darting in long streaks between them on the luxuriant herbage.
The cattle, quietly standing in the lake, were refreshing themselves
after the heat of the day, and the deer lay in groups under the shade,
or crouching in their lairs, partly concealed by the underwood and fern.
All was in repose and beauty, and the dying man watched the sun, as it
fast descended to the horizon, as emblematical of his race, so shortly
to be sped. He surveyed the groups before him--he envied even the
beasts of the field, and the reclaimed tenants of the forest, for they
at least had of their kind, with whom they could associate; but he,
their lord and master, was alone--alone in the world, without one who
loved or cared for him, without one to sympathise in his sufferings and
administer to his wants, except from interested motives--without one to
soothe his anguish, and soften the pillow of affliction and disease--
without one to close his eyes, or shed a tear, now that he was dying.

His thoughts naturally reverted to his wife and children. He knew that
two of these individuals, out of three, were in the cold grave--and
where was the other? The certain approach of death had already
humanised and softened his flinty heart. The veil that had been drawn
by pa