It was a clear, cold morning. I went out to a little barber's shop and got shaved. I did not feel in want of food--and took none. At ten o'clock shareholders began to arrive: got their cheques, and went away satisfied. One of them, who would gain about 30,000_l._, actually gave me a 5_l._ note for the clerks, which was the only expression of gratitude of a practical character, so far as I remember, now. About noon Mr. Henry Houldsworth, the father of the present member for Manchester, called for his cheque; and, chatting with him at the time, as I was making the upstroke of the letter H in "Houldsworth," I felt as if my whole body was forced up into my head, and that was ready to burst. I raised my head, and this strange feeling went away. I thought, how strange! I tried again, the same feeling came again and again, till, with a face white as paper, that alarmed those about me, I fell forward on the desk. Water was given me; but I could not swallow it. I never lost entire consciousness; but I thought I was going to die. I never can forget all that in those moments passed through my brain. They put me into a carriage, and took me to the consulting room, in Mosley Street, of my old friend William Smith, the celebrated Manchester surgeon, nephew of the great Mr. Turner, the surgeon. He placed me on a sofa, and asked me what it was,--feeling, or trying to find, my pulse the while. I whispered, "Up all night--over-anxious--no food." He gave me brandy and soda water, and a biscuit, and told me to lie still. I had never tasted this popular drink before. In about a quarter of an hour I felt better, got up, and said, "Oh! I am all right now." But Mr. Smith, nevertheless, ordered me to go home at once, go to bed, take a pill--I assume, a narcotic--which he gave me, and not to get up till he had seen me in the morning. I insisted on calling at the office. I felt able to go on with my work. But at the office, something in my looks induced them to send a faithful clerk with me in the cab to our house, Woodland Cottage, Higher Broughton. So he and I went away. I found afterwards, that some of the clerks said, "We shall never see him again." But they did--shaky and seedy, as he was, for many a long day. Well, just as our cab mounted the small hill on which our house stood, the faithful clerk, with more zeal than discretion, said, "You look awful ill, sir; why your face is as white as my shirt." I looked at his shirt, seemingly guiltless, for days past, of the washerwoman. But I was within three minutes of home: and I was distressed at the thought of alarming my wife, who was not in a condition to be alarmed. So, with what little strength I had left, I rubbed my forehead, face, nose, lips, chin, with my clenched fist, to restore some slight colour. Entering our door, I said, "I am rather worn out, and will go to bed. Up all night. Work done. Now, please, I will go to bed."