Esther and her husband, Mrs. Ellis and Caddy, and even Kinch, were
unremitting in their attentions, and did all in their power to amuse and
comfort him. Day by day he faded perceptibly, grew more and more feeble,
until at last Doctor Burdett began to number days instead of weeks as his
term of life. Clarence anticipated death with calmness--did not repine or
murmur. Father Banks was often with him cheering him with hopes of a
happier future beyond the grave.
One day he sent for his sister and desired her to write a letter for him.
"Em," said he, "I am failing fast; these fiery spots on my cheek, this
scorching in my palms, these hard-drawn, difficult breaths, warn me that
the time is very near. Don't weep, Em!" continued he, kissing her--"there,
don't weep--I shall be better off--happier--I am sure! Don't weep now--I
want you to write to little Birdie for me. I have tried, but my hand
trembles so that I cannot write legibly--I gave it up. Sit down beside me
here, and write; here is the pen." Emily dried her eyes, and mechanically
sat down to write as he desired. Motioning to him that she was ready, he
dictated--
"My Dear Little Birdie,--I once resolved never to write to you again, and
partially promised your father that I would not; then I did not dream that
I should be so soon compelled to break my resolution.
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