same room, until his usual hour of rising. Amongst the prisoners was a physician from Cambray—a fortunate circumstance for the sick. He immediately declared Mr. Walker's case to be dangerous; his disorder increased rapidly, so as to alarm every one, for he was deservedly and universally esteemed. He fell into his agony the same evening, and breathed his last about two o'clock next morning, having been ill only twenty-four hours. His disorder was generally thought to be gout in the stomach, but the doctor who attended always affirmed that the many and great hardships he had undergone, together with want of food and requisites for a person of his age and declining health, had not a little contributed to hasten his death. This fatal catastrophe distressed us beyond expression; the circumstances we were then in made his loss still more deeply and severely felt and regretted.
He had for some years been as a father and exemplary friend to the community, having remained with us by choice in the very heat of the Revolution, when his life was particularly in danger—even at a time when he might, had he pleased, have lived comfortably in England.
During his long confinement he was never heard to let fall one word of complaint, although he suffered so much. He died as he had lived, a truly good religious, aged seventy-three. He had resided twenty years at Rome, and received distinguished tokens of esteem and favour from his late Holiness Pope Pius VI.
The last seventeen years of his life he had, with much honour to himself, and edification to his brethren, held the office of president general of the English Benedictine congregation.
The morning after Mr. Walker's decease, January 14th, whilst his corpse was unremoved, died Dame Anselm Ann, aged seventy-nine. The 21st of the same month also Dame Walmesley, aged fifty-five. About the same time
