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hand, while he himself was evidently affected, he said, "Mr. Nicholls,—the report has been made, and—(here he would fain have paused,) I am sorry to inform you it has been unfavourable." Nicholls. "Lord, have mercy on me! God's will be done! I expected it, Mr. Newman,—it is no more than I expected.—When is it,—to suffer, Mr. Newman?" The latter replied, "on Wednesday next." Nicholls. "I could have wished, Mr. Newman, for a little longer time,—I'm not prepared to die,—I have some worldly affairs to settle,—but,—God help me!—I hope for more mercy from Him than the gentlemen of the bank have shewn me." Mr. Newman then assuring him of every attention in his power, commended him to my care, and took a tender leave of us both, promising to see Nicholls again in the morning. The reader will easily perceive I had not the prospect of a very agreeable night before me; my own situation was deplorable enough, but the distress of my unfortunate bed-fellow overpowered every other consideration but that of pity and grief for him. I had now my task to go through again, and to enforce all I repeated with greater energy and stronger assurances. At length, exhausted by contending passions, poor Nicholls fell asleep, and I had then recourse to my philosophy for self-consolation.
The next day, Mr. Newman requested, as a favour, that I would continue to bear the unfortunate Nicholls company during the week he had to live,
