I had sat some time, thinking “of all the miseries that this world is heir to,” when gradually, my room became mazy, the tongs and fender were blended into one—the fire slowly disappeared, and, to my utter horror and astonishment, I found myself swinging upon the weather-cock of Trinity Church steeple.—How I came there, I could not tell, but there I was. Far, far below me, I saw the long rows of lamps in Broadway and the adjoining streets, shining in lines of fire; while here and there the glimmer of those upon the carriages, as they rolled along, resembled the ignis fatui in their ghostly revels upon the morass. The bay lay in the distance, glittering in the moonlight, a sea of silver, the islands and fortresses like huge monsters resting upon its bosom. All nature appeared at rest. An instant, and but an instant, I gazed in wild delight upon the scene; but as the novelty vanished, the dreadful reality of my situation became apparent. I looked above me—the stars were trembling in the realms of space. I looked below, and shuddered at the distance—I tried to believe that I was in a dream—but that relief was denied me. I grew wild with fear—I madly called for help—I screamed—I yelled in desperation. Alas! my voice could not be heard one half the distance to earth. I called on angels—Heaven, to assist me,—but the cold wind alone answered, as it rushed around the steeple in its whistle of contempt. As my animal spirits were exhausted, I became more calm. I perceived that the slender iron upon which the weather-cock was fixed was slowly bending with the weight of my body, already benumbed with cold. Although it was madness, I ventured a descent. Moving with extreme caution, I clasped the spire in my arms—I slid down inch by inch. The cold sweat poured off my brow, and the blood curdling in my veins, rushed back in thick and suffocating throbs upon my heart. I grasped the steeple tighter in my agony—my nails were clenched in the wood—but in vain; slip—slip—the steeple enlarged as I descended—my hold relaxed—the flat palms of my hands pressed the sides, as I slid down with frightful rapidity. Could I but catch the ledge below! I succeeded—I clutched it in my bleeding fingers—for a moment I thought that I was safe, but I swung over the immense height in an instant; the wind dashed me from side to side like a feather. I strove to touch the sides of the steeple with my knees—I could not reach it—my strength began to fail—I felt the muscles of my fingers growing weaker. The blackness of despair came over me. My fingers slid from the ledge—down—down I plunged—one dash upon the roof, and I was stretched motionless upon the pavement.