CHAP. X.

Sunday morning.

Will my Lucy need from me the obvious reflexions, which will result from the perusal of this letter? “No:” nor have I time to make them, though the impressions on my mind are such as will indelibly remain, as admonitions to warn me against too much security in this world’s air bubbles!

I had so well sustained my part with my pen, in writing to Sir Murdoch, that I had produced a cheerfulness on the pensive brow of his wife; and she detained me with her, until it was too late to finishmy letter to you. I therefore continued to read and chat with my friend till near the dining hour. The appearance of Doctor Douglass was nothing new; but we were equally struck with his manner and countenance; and her ladyship, with alarm, asked him, whether Lucretia was worse. “No,” replied he, with visible distress, “there is no material change; but she has asked for you.” Lady Maclairn immediately quitted us to go to her sister’s room. “She is dying,” observed I, “you think so, I am certain; why do you flatter Lady Maclairn with hopes?” “Poor creature!” answered he, “I wish she had only this shock to support, there would then be little to justify my fears for her; but I am a coward, Miss Cowley, and you must assist me, and yet I tremble even in soliciting your aid; for these exertions can do you no good.” “Never think of me,” said I eagerly. “What are the dreadful tidings youbring?” “That a sinner is departed,” answered he with solemnity; “that Lady Maclairn has no longer a brother. Let me conduct you to your apartment,” continued he, seeing me pale and trembling, “I must consult you; and we shall be interrupted here.” I made no reply; but yielded to his assistance.

A burst of tears relieved me. “Wherefore is it,” observed poor Douglass, with compassion, “that you seem destined, by Providence, to be the support of this unfortunate family; and, by the continual exertions of your fortitude and humanity, thus to diminish your own comforts and weaken your health?” I admire you, and I reverence your Mrs. Hardcastle; but your strength of mind is uncommon! “Try it,” replied I, “let me hear the whole of this dreadful affair; it cannot be worse than I apprehend.” “Nor is it better,” answered he; “and we have to guard against surprises. It must be discovered.The public papers will have the intelligence, and Lady Maclairn must be prepared; are you equal to the task?” “I trust I am,” answered I, “otherwise my strength of mind is no virtue.” He grasped my hand, and said some words, expressive of his approbation, then proceeded to inform me, that Captain Flint had found on his table the preceding evening, on returning from his sister’s, the packet which he now produced. “I was sent for,” added the doctor, “and we passed nearly the whole night in reading the contents, and consulting the best means of communicating them to Lady Maclairn. The captain declared he was unable to do it; and thought himself peculiarly disqualified for the office, it being no secret, that he despised the man, and was not surprised at his end.” “I have no heart on such occasions,” continued Douglass, rising and pacing the room. “I have a trick of looking beyond “this diurnalsphere,” and I hate to announce the death of the wicked. There are the letters; I will leave you for an hour and then return; you may want me as a physician.”

To the hasty perusal of them, followed my thanks to Providence for the absence of Sir Murdoch; and without suffering the energy of my mind to relax, I sent for Lady Maclairn to my room. She instantly perceived my emotion, and I at once acknowledged that I had bad news to communicate from Jamaica; and which Captain Flint was unequal to the task of doing. She gasped for breath. “Nothing can equal,” continued I, “Mr. Philip Flint’s solicitude for you, thank God! he has stood the shock: his friends are without alarm for him. Mr. Flamall’s death must be supported, my dear Lady Maclairn; let me see you composed.” “It was sudden?” said she, fixing her eyes on my face, “It was——I made no other answer, than falling on her shoulder andweeping.” “It is enough,” said she, trembling and sinking from my embrace. I was terrified, for she did not faint as I expected, but with her eyes fixed, and with a deadly groan she articulated the name of Duncan. I immediately perceived the dreadful idea, which had taken possession of her mind. “He is at rest, my dear friend,” said I, “and now blessed for his faithfulness to you.” I was proceeding, but she heard me not. Horror had transfixed her to her seat. She was as cold as marble, and not a tear fell. I rang the bell with violence. The doctor entered at the same moment; he instantly bled her, and she was put into my bed. Douglass watched her, under great uneasiness, until she appeared to me to be dead. I really thought she was, when her eyes closed and her stiffened limbs relaxed. “Take courage,” said he, “the worst is passed; she will recover.” The event shewed his judgment;for in a few minutes she burst into violent sobbings, and the death-like coldness of her hand gave place to a friendly perspiration. He gave her a cordial; and ordering no one to disturb her by speaking, I was left with her. By his orders, I neither checked her tears, nor evaded her enquiries. I believe, however, that she dosed for some time, as not a sigh escaped her. At length, putting aside the curtain, she spoke, and I approached her. “Angel of mercy and goodness,” said she, kissing my hand, “tell me, has no one seen my distress?” “The servants saw you in a fainting state,” replied I. “But they never saw me so ill I believe,” observed she with anxiety, “Did nothing escape me?” I satisfied her at once on this point, and at her request briefly, and I think wisely, informed her of the leading events contained in the captain’s letters. She wept, and I proceeded. “In this trial of your faith and fortitude,” said I,“it is not possible you can overlook the merciful Being, who has secured Duncan from guilt, by removing him to an abode of peace.” “I cannot express my thankfulness,” replied she, “but I feel the gratitude.—But my wretched lost brother!” She shuddered anew— “He is before an unerring Judge,” replied I, interrupting her. “It neither becomes you nor myself to limit infinite mercy. You are now called upon, by that God of mercy, to submit to his power and to trust in his goodness and compassion. Let it be your concern to perform, with courage, the part assigned you. It has been a difficult one; but not beyond your strength. Remember that you are still a wife, and a mother; and your duties will give you patience and peace.”

Emulate the man in whose sorrows you have shared; “he was faithful to the end.” Deprive him not of the glory of having loved your reputation and your honourmore than his own. To Lady Maclairn he sacrificed his fondest hopes, his vengeance on his oppressor, his ease in life, and even the name of her faithful Duncan to his last moments. Weep for him! continued I, with my eyes streaming; neither religion nor virtue forbid this tribute to his memory; but live to preserve Sir Murdoch Maclairn’s peace. “I would die rather than disturb it,” said she with agony. “It is my misery, my past punishment, that whilst my soul mourns the fate of a man ruined by my affection,anothernot less worthy, not less beloved has been involved in all the perils of my miserable condition and conduct. I cannot live without Maclairn’s esteem and tenderness; I cannot die without affecting him. I must still wear the odious cloak of deceit; I must still impose on his noble unsuspecting nature. Oh fatal consequences of my quitting the paths of truth!” added she, with interrupted sighs;“wretched fruits of my weak credulity and childish fears! Had I been firm, had I shown myself to the world as the reprobated widow of poor Duncan, I should long ere this have smiled at its contempt, or been at peace in my grave. But for what am I not now answerable?” “Not for your brother’s wickedness,” replied I eagerly, “you have a fair account, my dear friend, to set against the errors of your youth; recollect the place you have filled in society, the years of suffering your tender cares have mitigated, the duties of the mother you have performed, the happiness you have administered; and I will add, the pangs your courage has sustained in order to effect the tranquillity of others. Secresy is now a duty, and an obligation enforced upon you, by every motive of virtue and utility. Let me see you, what you may be; unless, by recalling the past, you destroy your health, and my hopes. The storm is passed; andif you experience not the joy of an unclouded sky, yet the evening of your days may be serene and quiet.”

She promised me to be all I wished, and to brace every nerve against her husband’s return. I think she is more composed to day; and at her request I have been with Miss Flint. As I expected, she began by lamenting her ladyship’s sudden indisposition, and added, that Percival also had a cold which prevented her seeing him. I gave her hopes of her sister’s speedy recovery, and endeavoured to keep up the conversation; but she soon dosed, which I find she again does half her time, and I left her without being noticed.

Good night, I am going to bed, and to sleep if I can. Mrs. Allen will be with Lady Maclairn. I direct my letters to Sedley. You will understand by the accompaniments my reason for so doing. Mary might wonder at not being trusted; Mr. Sedley will give you this packet.Adieu. Let me know that the intelligence is secure in your hands. My friend wishes you to keep these with the other papers: she has read them.

I am really quite worn out with one or two night’s watching; but do not fancy me sick, should I be lazy. We expect Sir Murdoch the day after to-morrow; and I may have too much business on my hands to write to you before Saturday.

(Enclosed in the preceding.)

DEAR SIR,Kingston, Jamaica, &c.

The melancholy contents of this letter will sufficiently account for its being written by a stranger to you. The duty assignedto me will, however, at once show me the friend of Mr. Flint, and the painful witness of the distress, into which all his family are plunged.

The sudden death of Mr. Flamall, his uncle, is an event, which, under thecommoncircumstances of human life, would require precaution, in the communication of it atFarefield Hall. But my poor friend has to dread every thing, lest the catastrophe of his uncle’s end, should reach his mother through the channel of the public papers. He conjures you to consult his brother Malcolm in those measures which are necessary to prevent this blow reaching the hall too suddenly for his mother’s strength. Before I begin the detail of those particulars, which you will naturally wish to have before you, permit me to have the satisfaction of assuring you, that mypatient, and I may add mydearest friend, Philip Flint, is in a degree recovered from the illness brought on bythe first agitation of his spirits; his amiable wife is well, and as yet a stranger to the shocking tale. I will now begin my melancholy task.

The arrival of a large vessel in this port, from New York, and commanded by a Captain Nelson, may be assigned asoneof those cases which have produced the event before me. In consequence of Mr. Flamall’s having a concern in the cargo, he was induced to quit his retirement; and to come to the Creek plantation, near this place. To this circumstance I was a stranger, however, having, as Mr. Flint’s friend, dropped a man, generally condemned for his inflexibility; and at present forgotten by that society, which for some time he had so carefully, and gloomily avoided.

I happened to be at the general rendezvous, a coffee-house here, when a merchant, of the name of Gilpin, an intimate friend of mine, entered, with CaptainNelson, the newly arrived stranger. I was presented to him by my friend: and, in a way, which the captain and myself both appeared to understand. I found, that Mr. Gilpin had long known this gentleman; and in a few minutes I thought I had long known him myself, from the frankness of his manner. We were settling our plan for dining together; when one of the waiters told Mr. Nelson, that “Mr. Flamall was on horseback at the door, and wished to speak to him for a minute.” The captain instantly obeyed the summons, and, in a few minutes, he returned to the room, and I saw Flamall pass the window. I remarked to some one near me, that he looked ill and dejected. The captain, was now disturbed by a more serious business. Some one in the passage called loudly for assistance; and the captain was told, that “his steward was in the agonies of death in the corridor.” We flew to the spot; and, as a medical man, it became my duty to succourthe sick one. He had been suddenly surprised, by the bursting of a large blood vessel, and the case was critical and justly alarming. I was, however, struck by the uncommon interest which the captain appeared to take in the poor man’s preservation. Every accommodation the house could afford was speedily procured; and I saw my patient in a spacious bedroom, with a negro woman for his attendant, whom I knew was a good nurse. Some abatement of the hæmorrhage, having succeeded to bleeding in the arm, and other remedies, I left him to his repose; and joined my friends at Mr. Gilpin’s, whose house was not remote from my patient. Captain Nelson listened to my account of him with the utmost anxiety. “I would give half I am worth,” said he, grasping my hand, “to save this man.” This complaint came on in a moment, they tell me: he was apparently well when I passed him; and that was not five minutesbefore you saw him; those near him say it was a fit; for they heard him groan, and he rose from his seat, as if to seek air, when he fell back and the blood gushed from his mouth. I saw, in this account, his hopes of the man’s recovery; which I could not encourage, and wished not to depress.

After dinner he attended me to visit him. “I have known this man many years,” said he. “I have no doubt of his having been unfortunate; his education and manners speak the gentleman: his conduct and industry the honest man. His reserve and dejection have imposed on me a respect for his misfortunes; and to this hour I only know, that his name is Charles, and that he isa very extraordinary man; for his fidelity to me, has not lessened his influence with my people; who all love him as their best friend. To-morrow morning, I shall bring his boy on shore to be with him.” “Then he has ason?” observed I. “One of his adoption,” answered he; “and his motives for so doing, will give you his character. I had lost sight of him for some years, having left him in London. In his passage from thence to New York, where, as it appears, he was as poor as when I first saw him, he was a common seaman: one of the crew, a native of New York fell sick and died on the passage, recommending to Charles his aged mother, and his child,this boy. He promised to take care of them, and he kept his word; for taking up his abode in the old woman’s miserable hovel, he supported the family by his labour. In this situation, I again met him. The death of the woman, and my offer to take the boy with him, induced him to accept the post of ship steward on board my ship; where he has been several years. You will judge of him as a schoolmaster, when you see George.” “Poor lad!” continued thecaptain, “he will break his heart; but I will be his friend.”

I returned to my patient, but did not allow him to speak; he was told that his George would be with him in the morning, and his hand only was offered to the captain.

On entering the room the following day, I found George at his post. The patient was raised by his pillows; and one of the finest youths, my eyes ever beheld, filled the space they had left. He was bending over the sick man, in an attitude convenient for his head to rest on the lad’s shoulder, who was, as I judged, between fifteen and sixteen, and in the full vigour of youth. He raised his penetrating large black eyes to my face, whilst I made my enquiries of the woman, relative to the condition of his father. Her replies were not unfavourable; and never shall I forget the look of gratitude I then received! But overcome by his sensibility,he wept most bitterly, and hid his face. Captain Nelson entered at this moment. “Why, how is this, my boy,” cried he endeavouring to hide his feelings, “Did you not promise to have a good heart! The doctor will soon set us all to rights again; so have courage.” Thedoctor, my dear Sir, was not so sanguine; but recommending silence and repose took his leave: George assuring me, that he would watch his father’seyes, and those would tell him what he wanted. In the evening I was with him again. All was in order, and a silence, like death, prevailed in the room. George was reading a French Telemachus; the patient was dosing; and the negro woman was dismissed for some hours of needful rest. The next day I had hopes, that my patient had a chance; but the following morning I found, to my surprise, only the nurse with him. On enquiry, I learned from her, that his father had sent him with a letter to the Creekplantation. “Why did you not find a porter?” asked I. “Because he said,” answered she, in a low whisper, “he could not die contented, unless he knew that it was delivered to Mr. Flamall.” Though by no means pleased with this exertion of writing, I said but little to the sick man, contenting myself with his answer. “I shall write no more.” I prolonged my stay, partly to supply nurse’s absence, whom I sent for something needful, and partly to gratify my curiosity. The sick man’s person was calculated to excite it. His physiognomy was noble; his features regular; dark blue eyes, which, though sunk and dimmed by his condition, were expressive of manly fortitude; his hair was of a light chestnut colour, but in places, striped with the signs of age, for it was even changed to nearly white; he was extremely fair; and the paleness of death was relieved, by a lingering colour in his lips. Observing the beauty ofhis teeth, I asked him his age. He replied, that he believed he was turned of fifty. He was neatly dressed in a blue and white cotton waistcoat and trowsers; and reclined on the outside of the matrass. A statuary would not have wished for a more perfect model of the human form! He was in height, I should think, within six feet. I observed to him, that his chest was not made to oppress his lungs; and that I flattered myself, the malady which had so suddenly overtaken him, might have for its course, a less dangerous source. He smiled, and said, he had never had any tendency to consumptive symptoms; nor did he ever attribute his want of health to a weak constitution. At this instant George entered, covered with dust, and exhausted by heat and fatigue. He approached the bed, and said, “I have seen Mr. Flamall, and given your letter into his own hand.” “It is well:” replied my patient, with anemotion that alarmed me; for I was still feeling the pulse, and those would have betrayed it, without the suffusion which passed his cheek. I turned towards George, and after lecturing him with kindness, for his imprudent speed, I insisted on his leaving the room, and laying down for some hours. A sign, from his father which he understood, made him docile, and he retired. Soon after I left the sick room, cautioning the nurse, neither to admit Mr. Flamall nor any message from him or others to reach her charge; and taking some sherbet in my hand, I sought George’s little room. He had obeyed me, and had taken off his clothes. I told him the consequences which would result from any exertion or surprise to his father; warning him to be on the watch. He said, he did not believe his father expected either a visit, or an answer from the gentleman in question. He had told him not to wait for any orders; and had appearedonly anxious, that his own letter should reach him safely.

I proceeded to the coffee-house, where, as I expected, I met Captain Nelson. I gave him this detail; and he thought no more of it, I believe, for he was surrounded by busy faces; and he told me, that he should be with Charles soon, and would meet me at Mr. Gilpin’s before sunset.

I dined with my friend; and we were quietly conversing, when Captain Nelson bursting into the room, said with agony, “it is all over with him! nothing can now save him!” I waited not for more intelligence, but seizing my hat, hastily made my way to the sick man, Nelson following me. It was, indeed, “all over with him;” all our care and attention availed nothing! For in a few hours he died. Poor Nelson, during this scene of painful suspense, lamented, in terms of the bitterest grief, that he had caused the relapse. He said, that he had found himquiet and apparently easy. “The nurse said George was sound asleep, and mentioned your orders,” added the captain. “I asked Charles what were his connexions with Mr. Flamall;” he calmly replied, that he had known him in his youth. “And was that all?” asked I; “come, be open with me, you have had George in your head, I dare say, and fancying to make a friend for the poor lad; but give yourself no concern about him. Let the worst come to the worst, he will never want a father whilst I have a guinea; so try and be a man again, and the brother of one who loves you as a brother.” He grasped my hand with convulsive strength. “My God!” said he aloud, “I thank thee, and die satisfied that thou art a God, merciful and gracious!” “The blood again gushed from his mouth; and I flew to Gilpin’s.”

I will pass over the sorrow of his poor George, in order to hasten to the next stillmore serious and shocking event.Mr. Sinclair, the brother of my patient, Mrs. Flint, brought me a summons to “Upland,” the residence of the family, prepared to expect hourly the lady’s want of my assistance. I accompanied her brother home; but found Mrs. Flint, though in her own apartment, with her female friends, perfectly contented with my being within the house. The interval was devoted to my friend Philip’s amusement, whose anxiety for the safety of his wife was apparent. We were rallying him on this subject; and drinking to the health of his expected blessing, when Mr. Sinclair was called from the table. I will pass over the detail. Juba, an old and freed slave of the late Mr. Cowley’s, but who has from his master’s death remained in his post of superintendent at the Creek house, was the bearer of the intelligence which follows; and which you will conceive produced the most dreadful sensations of horror andsurprise. “Mr. Flamall was dead, and by his own hand!” Sinclair and myself lost no time, in returning with Juba, leaving Mr. Flint to the care of Mr. Lindsey, and Mr. Montrose, his friends, and inmates.

On the road Juba gave us the following particulars. On the preceding morning, he it was, who saw George, who enquired of him for Mr. Flamall, saying, he had a letter to deliver to him, which he was ordered to give to no other person. “I asked the lad from whom he had received his commission,” continued the faithful Juba, and he replied, from Captain Nelson’s steward. Knowing that we had many bales in his ship, I immediately concluded, that the letter referred to business, relative to these goods; and I was on the point of telling the young man, that I would be answerable for the safety of the letter; but at that moment, Mr. Flamall appeared, and took it himself. I shall beat Kingston to day, said he, holding the letter carelessly in his hand, and shall speak to your captain. The lad bowed, and was retreating; when Mr. Flamall asked him to rest, and take some refreshment. He declined the offer, replying that his father would want him. I entered the house; and he departed. Mr. Flamall was not long, I believe, before he went to his apartment. He saw no one for some hours; at length he rang his bell, and ordered his horse to be prepared. We have lately observed him as a man struggling with something wrong in his mind. He has been very odd at times; and his groom said, he was in one of his silent fits; and chose to go by himself. He did not return home, till a late hour in the evening. The horse appeared heated and fatigued. He went to his bed room, saying, that he wanted nothing then, and should ring in the morning, when he did. Hour succeeded hour. We heard him pacing inthe library; and we began to fear that all was not right with him. “His servant was curious, as well as uneasy; he stopped me on the staircase, to tell me, that he had peeped through the key hole, that his master was in his wrapping gown and night cap, and was writing, and with a countenance that made him tremble: another servant was going to make his observations by the same means,” continued poor Juba, “when the report of a pistol checked him, and appalled us all. We burst into the room. It was too late! you will see such a corpse! I lost not, however, my presence of mind; one look at the shattered mangled head of the poor wretch was enough for me! But whilst others were gazing on the scene of horror, I secured the written papers on his desk; which I will now give you.”

Juba drew the rumpled sheets of paper from his bosom, and presented them to Mr. Sinclair. It is needless for me toadd, that the horrid explosion, had done its work. The aim was sure!

Herewith, you have the copies of the two letters above mentioned. Mr. Sinclair recommends caution to you in respect to theirmysteriouscontents.

I shall have perhaps time to add something more to this letter; but lest I be mistaken, receive, Sir, the unfeigned regard, and sympathy of your very humble servant,

Thomas Paget.

(Enclosed in Mr. Paget’s.)To Mr. Flamall.

(Enclosed in Mr. Paget’s.)

To Mr. Flamall.

Shouldest thou start, Flamall, at the sight of these well known characters, for my hand, like my heart, has butonefor my purposes. Should thy knees tremble, and the blood recede in terror from thy cheek, bless Heaven! Hail these indications of its mercy! Thou hast not yet outlived humanity, thou art not yet abandoned to everlasting destruction. Be it so! Oh God, infinite in goodness, almighty in power!

Were I certain, Flamall, that with the form of man there were yet one single spark left unextinguished ofthe spirit of a man, I would invite thee to my dying couch, for it is near thee. I would bid thee compare it with thy nightly bed of prosperous villany. And here settle those accounts of the guardianship andgains. Though for years in bondage, I have been free from guilt. No parent will demand from me a ruined oppressed son; no confederate in vice and cruelty and treachery will pointto meas the betrayer of his soul! But thou wilt recall to memory the issueof thy crimes; and the names of thy agents in mischief.

I die in peace. My wife knows my innocence and my wrongs. If it be needful for thy repentance, apply to her; and with the tale of thy brotherly care, of an innocent, and virtuous orphan-sister, thou mayest have the relation of the woes thou hast inflicted on thyward Charles.

Detain not the messenger: I wait his return to breathe my last sigh on his faithful bosom. Thou hast been defeated, Flamall! The tear of affection will fall on my remains; and I shall be remembered as one who has not lived to be the fell destroyer of my fellow-man, nor as one abandoned by his Maker.

LETTER LXVII.From Mr. Flamall to Mr. Philip Flint.

(Enclosed in Mr. Paget’s.)

Horror! unutterable horror! anguish, despair! Twist not thus my brain! he is dead! and died with his hopes! expecting to be welcomed in a new existence, by assembled angels, hailed by spirits like his own, and received by a God of mercy who will recompense his long sufferings and faith.—Delusions all! The tales of the nursery made up for children! I reject them. When these atoms which compose this palpitating frame are disunited I shall be at peace: for I shall benothing. But wherefore do I pause?What is to me the world to which I now cleave? Why does my heart turn to thee, Philip? I know thoualsoabhorrest me, yet I would not have thee curse me, for of all men, I have a claim to thy pity. I love thee still. I would bless thee, but I dare not. For if there be a God, whose awful indignation takes cognizance of sin; my blessing would be converted into a malediction on thy head. Blot me from thy memory; acknowledge not the name of Flamall, nor permit thy children to know, that I was once thy guide, thy friend——Nay——Distraction! Why do I hesitate——

Mr. Paget in continuation.

It is needless to make any comments on the foregoing letters. It is but too apparent, that Flamall was the aggressor; beyond this all is conjecture. We have, on our part, acted with caution. Captain Nelson has been questioned closely, as tohis knowledge of the person, supposed to have been the cause of the dreadful end of Mr. Flamall. He repeated, on oath, his evidence in favour of this unknown, and adhered to the account he had before given me of his acquaintance with him; adding, that he had not a doubt of his having been an injured man. His sorrow, for his loss, was not concealed; for he even shed tears, and with an oath affirmed, that not only himself but every man in his ship had lost a brother. Poor George was with him, and looked the picture of despair: he was examined also: he had never heard his father and protector name Mr. Flamall until the morning he gave him the letter. Not a single paper was found in his chest, except a note, in which he gives, with his blessing, his little property of clothes, linen, and a few books to this boy. Thus, has every enquiry terminated. I cannot help believing, that you will be gratified by knowing, thatCaptain Nelson means to protect the lad in question.

Mr. Flamall has been careful to leave no traces behind him, that may help to elucidate this mystery, or throw a light on any other of his private concerns. Not a paper, nor a letter escaped his vigilant cautions. Juba tells us, that from the time his nephew’s marriage was announced, he has suspected his mind to have been deranged at times, and that he was continually reading and burning letters and papers when in his room. One striking proof of his former connexion with the unfortunate stranger, Charles, is much talked of. He called at the house where he lodged and died; and to the enquiries he made concerning the sick man, one of the servants answered, that he was dead. He said, he wished to see him, having known him in his youth. The negro woman attended him to the deceased man’s room. He looked attentivelyat the corpse; appeared agitated, and sighing said, “his troubles are over.” But such was the impression the object before him had produced, that he left the house, and forgot his horse, which he had tied to the door he had passed. A waiter perceiving it, followed him with the animal; he mounting, and without speaking, put him on his full speed.

Thomas Paget.

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