The Sun.
London, England, 1839-09-04 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1839

SMIRE'S DEATH.

On a fine, mild autumn day, when all was tranquil
and at peace, when the soft sweet air crept in at the
open window of the quiet room, and not a sound was
heard but the gentle rustling of the leaves, Nicholas
sat in his old place by the bedside, and knew that the
time was nearly come. So very still it was, that every
now and then he bent down his ear to listen for the
breathing of him who lay asleep, as if to assure himself
that life was still there, and that he had not fallen into
that deep slumber from which on earth there is no
waking.
While he was thus employed, the closed eyes opened,
and on the pale face there came a placid smile.
" That's well," said Nicholas. " The sleep has done
you good."
" I have had such pleasant dreams," was the answer.
" Such pleasant, happy dreams !"
" Of what ?" said Nicholas.
a boy turned towards him, and putting his
neck, made answer, " I shall soon be
tahrmeTrehae?llduytin

After a short silence be spoke again.
" I am not afraid to die," he said, " I am quite
contented. I almost think that if I could rise from
this bed quite well, I would not wish to do so now. You
have so often told me we shall meet again—so very often
lately, and now I feel the truth of that so strongly—that
I can even bear to part from you."
The trembling voice and tearful eye, and the closer
;rasp of the arm which accompanied these latter words,
showed how they filled the speaker's heart ; nor were
there wanting indications of how deeply they had
touched the heart of him to whom they were addressed.
You say well, returned Nicholas at length, " and
very much, dear fellow. Let me hear you
"
" I must tell you something first. I should not
seaoymyfoorut are happy, if you can."
me
have a secret from you. You would not blame me at a
time like this, I know."
" I blame you!" exclaimed Nicholas.

"I am sure you would not. You asked me why I
vas so changed, and—and sat so much alone. Shall I
tell you why ?"
" Not if it pains you," said Nicholas. " I only asked
that I might make you happier if I could."
" I know—l felt that at the time." He drew his
friend closer to him. " You will forgive me ; I could
not help it, but though I would have died to make her
happy, it broke my heart to see—l know he loves her
dearly—Oh ! who could find that out so soon as I "
The words which followed were feebly and faintly
uttered, and broken by long pauses ; but from them
Nicholas learnt, for the first time, that the dying boy,
with all the ardour of a nature concentrated on one ab-
sorbing, hopeless, secret passion, loved his sister Kate.
He had procured a lock of her hair, which hung at
her breast, folded in one or two slight ribaa ds she had
worn. He prayed that when he was dead Nicholas
Mould take it off, so that no eyes but his might see it,
and that when he was laid in his coffin, and about to be
placed in the earth, he would hang it round his neck
again, that it might rest with him in the grave.
Upon his knees Nicholas gave him this pledge, and
promised again that he should rest in the spot he
had pointed out. They embraced, and kissed each
other on the cheek. _

" Now," he murmured, " I am happy."
He fell into a slight slumber, and waking, smiled as
before ; the❑ spoke of beautiful gardens, which he said
stretched out before him, and were filled with figures of
men, women, and many children, all with light upon
their faces; then whispered it was Eden—and so died.
—Nicholas Nickleby.