He came now to announce to us the completion of his Essay on the Pericyclical Motions of the Earth’s Axis, and the precession of the equinoctial points.  If an old Roman of the period of the Republic had returned to life, and talked of the impending election of some laurel-crowned consul, or of the last battle with Mithridates, his ideas would not have been more alien to the times, than the conversation of Merrival.  Man, no longer with an appetite for sympathy, clothed his thoughts in visible signs; nor were there any readers left:  while each one, having thrown away his sword with opposing shield alone, awaited the plague, Merrival talked of the state of mankind six thousand years hence.  He might with equal interest to us, have added a commentary, to describe the unknown and unimaginable lineaments of the creatures, who would then occupy the vacated dwelling of mankind.  We had not the heart to undeceive the poor old man; and at the moment I came in, he was reading parts of his book to Idris, asking what answer could be given to this or that position.

Idris could not refrain from a smile, as she listened; she had already gathered from him that his family was alive and in health; though not apt to forget the precipice of time on which she stood, yet I could perceive that she was amused for a moment, by the contrast between the contracted view we had so long taken of human life, and the seven league strides with which Merrival paced a coming eternity.  I was glad to see her smile, because it assured me of her total ignorance of her infant’s danger:  but I shuddered to think of the revulsion that would be occasioned by a discovery of the truth.  While Merrival was talking, Clara softly opened a door behind Idris, and beckoned me to come with a gesture and look of grief.  A mirror betrayed the sign to Idris—­she started up.  To suspect evil, to perceive that, Alfred being with us, the danger must regard her youngest darling, to fly across the long chambers into his apartment, was the work but of a moment.  There she beheld her Evelyn lying fever-stricken and motionless.  I followed her, and strove to inspire more hope than I could myself entertain; but she shook her head mournfully.  Anguish deprived her of presence of mind; she gave up to me and Clara the physician’s and nurse’s parts; she sat by the bed, holding one little burning hand, and, with glazed eyes fixed on her babe, passed the long day in one unvaried agony.  It was not the plague that visited our little boy so roughly; but she could not listen to my assurances; apprehension deprived her of judgment and reflection; every slight convulsion of her child’s features shook her frame —­if he moved, she dreaded the instant crisis; if he remained still, she saw death in his torpor, and the cloud on her brow darkened.

The poor little thing’s fever encreased towards night.  The sensation is most dreary, to use no stronger term, with which one looks forward to passing the long hours of night beside a sick bed, especially if the patient be an infant, who cannot explain its pain, and whose flickering life resembles the wasting flame of the watch-light,