odd fancies—he might have had a monomania on the subject of his departed idol; but on every other point his wits were as sound as mine.
"I shall not know that, till it comes," he said, "I'm only half conscious of it now."
"You have no feeling of illness, have you?" I asked.
"No, Nelly, I have not," he answered.
"Then, you are not afraid of death?" I pursued.
"Afraid?" No!" he replied. "I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death—Why should I? With my hard constitution, and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably shall remain above ground, till there is scarcely a black hair on my head—And yet I cannot continue in this condition!—I have to remind myself to breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring. . .it is by compulsion, that I
