The commissioner: or, de Lunatico inquirendo / With twenty-eight illustrations on steel by Phiz [i.e. H.K. Browne] [Anon].

  • George Payne Rainsford James
Date:
1843
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The commissioner: or, de Lunatico inquirendo / With twenty-eight illustrations on steel by Phiz [i.e. H.K. Browne] [Anon]. Source: Wellcome Collection.

    509/526 (page 429)
    arni-clmir. Mr. Longslianks then hurried towards‘Mr. Fitzurse, who was hy tliis time raised from the ground, while the peer gazed at liiin in liorror, and wrung his trembling hands. “ Cm-ry him into the next room,” cried the surgeon—‘‘ carry him into the next room, and lay him on the sofa ; he may be only stunned —Why, Avhat the devil is this ?” he continued, starting back as he kicked his feet against a pair of legs in black silk stockings sticking out from below the table—“some d—d coward crept under the table ! Pull him out—pull him out—pull him out by the heels !” and one of the men seizing the legs, to the surprise of all, drew out the long and stately form of Mr. Darius, with a face which at first was excessively white, but soon turned excessively red. “ I dropped my snuff-box,” he said ; “ that’s the fact.” “ Pooh!” said Tom Hamilton with a look of contempt, and followed the inanimate form of his unfortunate friend into the drawing-room. They laid him upon a sofa, while almost all the male part of the lately gay party flocked in from the dining-room ; and ]\lr. Longshanks, kneeling down put his hand upon the back of his head. Then lifting up his eyes towards the peer, he said to Tom Hamilton and the rest, “ Take the old man away.” “ No, no,” cried the viscount. “ I won’t go—I can bear it—I de- serve to bear it—I won’t go. He is dying. Longshanks—he is dying, isn’t he ?” Mr. Longshanks made no reply, but shook his head. “ It is happy,” he said, after a pause of more than a minute—“ it is happy when death comes upon a bad man at the moment that he has taken some steps in a better path. God’s mercy is infinite; Ave see his love towards us in all his works, we know by our own experience how often he forgives all our offences, and we may trust that ‘ the wicked man Avhen he turneth away from the Avickedness he hath committed, shall save his soul alive.’” “ Is he dead, then—is he dead ?” asked the peer. “ Can nothing be done ?” “ His skull is fractured,” replied Mr. Longshanks; “his brain is irreparably injured. He may live for a few minutes, but the fcAver they are the better, for the life of life is at an end.” As he pronounced these sad and solemn Avords, a Avild cry issued from the ding-room, and poor Jane, spite of all that could be done to detain her, rushed in, and cast herself upon her knees beside her expiring husband. She took the hand from Avhich the Avarmth of life Avas departing, she covered it Avith her kisses, she dcAved it Avith her tears. There Avas one in the Avorld that loved him ! but, in the simple Avords of the old ballad, “all Avould not avail.” After they had stood round him for about ten minutes, and various things had been done by Mr. Longshanks to satisfy the unhappy father, the lips of the dying man murmured for a moment or tAvo, but Avhat Avere the Avords that he uttered no one heard. Jane started up, crying, “ He speaks—he speaks! Do you not hear him ? He is recovering! Hark ! he is recovering!”