On entering the room the following day, I found George at his post. The patient was raised by his pillows; and one of the finest youths, my eyes ever beheld, filled the space they had left. He was bending over the sick man, in an attitude convenient for his head to rest on the lad’s shoulder, who was, as I judged, between fifteen and sixteen, and in the full vigour of youth. He raised his penetrating large black eyes to my face, whilst I made my enquiries of the woman, relative to the condition of his father. Her replies were not unfavourable; and never shall I forget the look of gratitude I then received! But overcome by his sensibility, he wept most bitterly, and hid his face. Captain Nelson entered at this moment. “Why, how is this, my boy,” cried he endeavouring to hide his feelings, “Did you not promise to have a good heart! The doctor will soon set us all to rights again; so have courage.” The _doctor_, my dear Sir, was not so sanguine; but recommending silence and repose took his leave: George assuring me, that he would watch his father’s _eyes_, and those would tell him what he wanted. In the evening I was with him again. All was in order, and a silence, like death, prevailed in the room. George was reading a French Telemachus; the patient was dosing; and the negro woman was dismissed for some hours of needful rest. The next day I had hopes, that my patient had a chance; but the following morning I found, to my surprise, only the nurse with him. On enquiry, I learned from her, that his father had sent him with a letter to the Creek plantation. “Why did you not find a porter?” asked I. “Because he said,” answered she, in a low whisper, “he could not die contented, unless he knew that it was delivered to Mr. Flamall.” Though by no means pleased with this exertion of writing, I said but little to the sick man, contenting myself with his answer. “_I shall write no more._” I prolonged my stay, partly to supply nurse’s absence, whom I sent for something needful, and partly to gratify my curiosity. The sick man’s person was calculated to excite it. His physiognomy was noble; his features regular; dark blue eyes, which, though sunk and dimmed by his condition, were expressive of manly fortitude; his hair was of a light chestnut colour, but in places, striped with the signs of age, for it was even changed to nearly white; he was extremely fair; and the paleness of death was relieved, by a lingering colour in his lips. Observing the beauty of his teeth, I asked him his age. He replied, that he believed he was turned of fifty. He was neatly dressed in a blue and white cotton waistcoat and trowsers; and reclined on the outside of the matrass. A statuary would not have wished for a more perfect model of the human form! He was in height, I should think, within six feet. I observed to him, that his chest was not made to oppress his lungs; and that I flattered myself, the malady which had