she brought with her a nurse and a sister, our already thickly-peopled house was made inconveniently full and busy; yet we encountered the difficulty cheerfully, and struggled with it patiently. I was disordered by an asthmatic attack on the day when this new scene opened upon us, and had to resort to a rather strong dose of ipecacuanha at night in order to get relief. On the following morning I breathed with much more ease, and, although languid, set myself diligently and resolutely to work; our invalid son, as was his constant habit, did all he could to help us. He over-exerted himself, however, and, being further injured by a heavy fall, soon relapsed, and became seriously ill. Our friend also continued to get worse. This went on until the latter part of December, when our son died, and our friend followed him in about thirty-six hours afterwards both of them being worn down and exhausted by severe and almost unintermittent suffering. Our Christmas-day was a day of sadness, yet not wholly unrelieved, for, while we were grieved at our double bereavement, we felt assured that, in each case, we might

"Congratulate the dead, and crown the tomb
With wreaths triumphant."

The face of our deceased friend was marked by an expression of acute suffering, which made it painful to look upon; her last hours of life were, indeed, hours of sharp conflict with physical disorder, but her spirit was unbroken, for she looked confidently for a better and brighter state of being. On the countenance of our departed son, whose death was unatended by pain, there was, from the moment of his

departure until the close of the third day afterwards, an air of happy repose, such as I have never seen in any other instance. It forcibly brought to my mind that beautiful simile in Lord Byron's "Giaour :'

"He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death has fled;
Before Decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,
And mark'd the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there,
The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek—

He still might doubt the tyrant's power-
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd

The first, last look, by death reveal'd."

I was one of our deceased friend's executors, and, as my co-executor lived at a considerable distance, the sole direction of her funeral and the settlement of her

affairs devolved upon me. These duties, together with the funeral of our son, and the claims of all my other engagements, bore too heavily upon my feeble frame, and in consequence I was soon afterwards seriously ill. My asthmatic disorder came upon me with much force, and I was soon a good deal reduced in regard to strength. I wish to avoid even the semblance of affectation, and therefore will not enlarge upon the feelings produced by the decease of those whom I loved or esteemed. Yet it may, perhaps, be allowable to state, that these bereavements produced much painful emotion. I sometimes fancied that I heard the voices which Death had silenced, or saw the forms that had descended into the grave. Altogether I cannot help thinking that the very disor

dered state into which I now fell was, in part, the result of pensive recollections; at all events my health, from that time, has been in a very broken and disturbed condition. Throughout the year 1833 I was much afflicted by my asthmatic complaint; the attacks were repeated at intervals of little more than a month, and moreover were very violent-so much so indeed, on several occasions, as to threaten a fatal termination. Their effect upon both my person and my affairs was not a little injurious. Towards the close of the year, when I was slowly recovering from one of these attacks, I was considering what could be done to ward off a heavier disaster than any which had hitherto happened to us. The subject was both painful and complicated; and 1 knew not what to decide upon. All at once it occurred to me that there was a possibility of getting some help by the publication of what I had read before the Literary Society. The impression remaining with me, and growing stronger, I thought it well not to neglect it, -being inclined to regard it as an intimation of what I ought to do. I forthwith consulted the principal members of the Society; who advised me to publish, and promised to assist me in getting subscribers for the book. Their generous exertions herein were far more successful than I could have looked for; I did the best I could to prepare the manuscript for the press; and in the latter part of the summer of 1834 it was published. The subscribers' copies brought enough money to pay the printer's bill, and also to leave me a most useful and timely supply for my family. The copies remaining after

the subscribers were served amounted to about six hundred. These, partly by personal exertions, and partly by the help of friends, were gradually sold. The money they produced has oftentimes been the means of saving us from painful privations. The sale extended over a period of nearly six years. Here then I saw the utility of having, when young, sought amusement in reading and observation rather than in the foolish or vicious pursuits which, in general, are so eagerly followed by young men of my own class.

But there were other, and still more valuable, benefits which resulted from the publication of my little book. It was reviewed in a good many different journals, and, in each case, with much kindness on the part of the reviewer. Some of these notices did me good service; but none of them was nearly so useful as was one that appeared in a weekly Review, published by an eminent and liberal-minded London bookseller. I valued this the more, because I was an entire stranger both to this gentleman and the writer of the notice in his Review. By their assistance it was that I became known to several kind-hearted gentlemen, who, from that time to the present, have been my generous patrons: to one of them, indeed, I owe a very large debt of gratitude, for many and various favours. I will only add, that nearly all the tailoring business I have had for the last eight years has come to me through having published my small volume.

In the beginning of 1835 I had occasion to visit London, and while there was attacked by my im

placable enemy-asthma. At the commencement of the attack I was put into considerable danger by one of that reckless class of human beings-the cabmen. I was in the street, and unable to speak more than a word or two, on account of my very difficult respiration. I made signs that I wanted to ride, when the driver of the vehicle I had selected, who, I suppose, judged that I was intoxicated, tumbled me about in a way that was as unsafe as it was unpleasant. I received a heavy blow on one of my legs, but thought myself favoured in getting off without more serious injury. The attack was a severe one, and left me in a sadly enfeebled state: happily I was staying with a most kind-hearted friend, who spared neither trouble nor expense in order to relieve and restore me. About the middle of this year I was invited to read a lecture before a Society in a neighbouring town to which I became known through my recentlypublished book; I accepted the invitation, and had the pleasure of being both thanked and paid for my services. Subsequently, at the request of a similar Society, I read this lecture a second time. It was afterwards printed, and sold well enough to reward me fairly for all the time and labour I had bestowed upon it.

I am now brought to the year 1836-the last of my residence in the country, My sadly disordered state greatly hindered me in my efforts to earn a living. One of my kind patrons-a physician, who then took, as he still most kindly takes, a great interest in my well-being, advised me, if possible, to seek relief from a change of air. He assured me that nothing more