greater part of the night, during which he slept soundly; but in the morning I found he had crept from his bed, and was lying uncovered, and in a state of delirium, on the cold sand. We immediately put him to bed in his own room, and he appeared to rally again. On the 20th we got a fowl, of which we made a little soup for him; and while he was taking it, a man came in, and told me a courier had arrived from Tripoli with letters. I went out, but returned, to my sad disappointment, empty-handed, the man having no despatches for us. The broth which Mr. Ritchie drank was the first nourishment he had taken for ten days, though we had used all our endeavours to prevail on him to eat. He said he felt much revived by it, and turned round to go to sleep. I placed my bed at the entrance of his room, and remained watching him. He seemed to breathe with difficulty; but as I had often observed this during his former maladies, I was not so much alarmed as I should otherwise have been. At about nine o’clock, Belford, on looking at him, exclaimed in a loud voice, “He is dying!” I begged him to be more cautious, lest he should be overheard, and immediately examined Mr. Ritchie, who appeared to me to be still in a sound sleep; I therefore lay down on my bed, and continued listening. At ten I rose again, and found him lying in an easy posture, and breathing more freely: five minutes, however, had scarcely elapsed before his respiration appeared entirely to cease; and on examination I found that he had actually expired, without a pang or groan, in the same position in which he had fallen asleep.