man. I could say nothing in reply; for who could offer hope, or

consolation, to the abject being before me?

'I sat there for upwards of two hours, during which time he tossed

about, murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience, restlessly

throwing his arms here and there, and turning constantly from side to

side. At length he fell into that state of partial unconsciousness, in

which the mind wanders uneasily from scene to scene, and from place

to place, without the control of reason, but still without being able to

divest itself of an indescribable sense of present suffering. Finding

from his incoherent wanderings that this was the case, and knowing

that in all probability the fever would not grow immediately worse, I

left him, promising his miserable wife that I would repeat my visit next

evening, and, if necessary, sit up with the patient during the night.

I kept my promise. The last four-and-twenty hours had produced a

frightful alteration. The eyes, though deeply sunk and heavy, shone

with a lustre frightful to behold. The lips were parched, and cracked in

many places; the hard, dry skin glowed with a burning heat; and there

was an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety in the man's face,

indicating even more strongly the ravages of the disease. The fever was

at its height.

'I took the seat I had occupied the night before, and there I sat for

hours, listening to sounds which must strike deep to the heart of the

most callous among human beings - the awful ravings of a dying man.

From what I had heard of the medical attendant's opinion, I knew

there was no hope for him: I was sitting by his death-bed. I saw the

wasted limbs - which a few hours before had been distorted for the

amusement of a boisterous gallery, writhing under the tortures of a

burning fever - I heard the clown's shrill laugh, blending with the low

murmurings of the dying man.

It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the ordinary

occupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies before you

weak and helpless; but when those occupations are of a character the

most strongly opposed to anything we associate with grave and

solemn ideas, the impression produced is infinitely more powerful.

The theatre and the public-house were the chief themes of the

wretched man's wanderings. It was evening, he fancied; he had a part

to play that night; it was late, and he must leave home instantly. Why

did they hold him, and prevent his going? - he should lose the money

he must go. No! they would not let him. He hid his face in his

burning hands, and feebly bemoaned his own weakness, and the

cruelty of his persecutors. A short pause, and he shouted out a few

doggerel rhymes - the last he had ever learned. He rose in bed, drew

up his withered limbs, and rolled about in uncouth positions; he was

acting - he was at the theatre. A minute's silence, and he murmured

The Pickwick Papers