So it was, that when happier days seemed to be dawning for the good man, that reprieve came too late.  Grief and years, and humiliation and care, had been too strong for him, and Thomas Newcome was stricken down.  Our Colonel was no more our friend of old days.  After some days the fever which had attacked him left him, but left him so weak and enfeebled that he could only go from his bed to the chair by his fireside.

Two more days and I had to take two advertisements to the Times on the part of poor Clive.  Among the announcements of births was printed, “On the 28th in Howland street, Mrs. Clive Newcome of a son, still born.”  And a little lower, in the third division of the same column, appeared the words, “On the 29th, in Howland street, aged 26, Rosaline, wife of Clive Newcome, Esq.”  So this poor little flower had bloomed for its little day, and pined and withered.

The days went on, and our hopes for the Colonel’s recovery, raised sometimes, began to flicker and fail.  One evening the Colonel left his chair for his bed in pretty good spirits, but passed a disturbed night, and the next morning was too weak to rise.  Then he remained in his bed and his friends visited him there.

Weeks passed away.  Our old friend’s mind was gone at intervals, but would rally feebly; and with his consciousness returned his love, his simplicity, his sweetness.  The circumstances of Clive’s legacy he never understood, but Ethel was almost always with him.

One afternoon in early spring, Thomas Newcome began to wander more and more.  He talked louder; he gave the word of command, spoke Hindustanee as if to his men.  Ethel and Clive were with him, and presently his voice sank into faint murmurs.

At the usual evening hour the chapel bell began to toll, and Thomas Newcome’s hands feebly beat time.  And just as the last bell struck a peculiar sweet smile shone over his face, and he lifted up his head a little, and quickly said “Adsum!” and fell back.  It was the word we used at school, when names were called; and lo, he, whose heart was as that of a little child, had answered his name, and stood in the presence of The Master.

* * * * *

The Virginians

“The Virginians” was published in 1859, and ranks as one of its author’s five great novels.  It contains some excellent description of fashionable life in England in the middle of the eighteenth century.  The “Lamberts” rank among Thackeray’s best character sketches.

I.—­Harry Warrington Comes Home

One summer morning in the year 1756, and in the reign of his Majesty King George the Second, the Young Rachel, Virginian ship, Edward Franks, master, came up the Avon river on her happy return from her annual voyage to the Potomac.  She proceeded to Bristol with the tide, and moored in the stream as near as possible to Frail’s wharf, and Mr. Frail, her part owner, who could survey his ship from his counting-house windows, straightway took boat and came up her side.