124 EXTRACT FROM LOCKHART.
We were told that the lamp over the mantel-piece, by which he wrote, he was in the habit of lighting him self. It was still partially filled with oil. But the eye that drew light from it, and threw the mental ray to distant regions, is shrouded in the darkness of the grave.
It was in this apartment that, after his mind had received its fatal shock from disease, he made his last ineffectual effort to write. The sad scene can never be as well described, as in the words of Lockhart.
" He repeated his desire so earnestly to be taken to his own room, that we could not refuse. His daugh ters went into his study, opened his writing-desk, and laid paper and pens in the usual order. I then moved him through the hall into the spot where he had always been accustomed to work. When the chair was placed at the desk, and he found himself in the old position, he smiled and thanked us, and said, * Now give me my pen, and leave me for a little to myself. Sophia put the pen into his hand, and he endeavored to close his fingers upon it. But they refused their office, and it dropped upon the paper. He sunk back among his pillows, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. But composing himself by and by, he motioned to me to wheel him out of doors again. After a little while he dropt into a slumber. On his awaking, Laidlaw said to me, Sir Walter has had a little repose. * No, Willie, he replied, ( no repose for Sir Walter but in the grave. "
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