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I returned—his look was no more lofty, nor his step proud; his broken frame was like some ruined tower; his hairs were white and scattered; and his eye gazed vacantly upon what was passing around him. The vigour of his intellect was wasted, and of all that he had gained by study nothing remained. He feared when there was no danger, and when there was no sorrow he wept. His memory was decayed and treachcrous, and showed him only broken images of the glory that was departed. His house was to him like a strange land, and his friends were counted as his enemies; and he thought himself strong and healthful while his foot tottered on the verge of the grave. He said of his son—he is my brother; of his daughter—I know her not; and he enquired what was his own name. And one who supported his last steps, and ministered to his many wants, said to me, as I looked on the melancholy scene,—"Let thine heart receive instruction, for thou hast seen an end of all earthly perfection."
