I dined with my friend; and we were quietly conversing, when Captain Nelson bursting into the room, said with agony, “it is all over with him! nothing can now save him!” I waited not for more intelligence, but seizing my hat, hastily made my way to the sick man, Nelson following me. It was, indeed, “all over with him;” all our care and attention availed nothing! For in a few hours he died. Poor Nelson, during this scene of painful suspense, lamented, in terms of the bitterest grief, that he had caused the relapse. He said, that he had found him quiet and apparently easy. “The nurse said George was sound asleep, and mentioned your orders,” added the captain. “I asked Charles what were his connexions with Mr. Flamall;” he calmly replied, that he had known him in his youth. “And was that all?” asked I; “come, be open with me, you have had George in your head, I dare say, and fancying to make a friend for the poor lad; but give yourself no concern about him. Let the worst come to the worst, he will never want a father whilst I have a guinea; so try and be a man again, and the brother of one who loves you as a brother.” He grasped my hand with convulsive strength. “My God!” said he aloud, “I thank thee, and die satisfied that thou art a God, merciful and gracious!” “The blood again gushed from his mouth; and I flew to Gilpin’s.” I will pass over the sorrow of his poor George, in order to hasten to the next still more serious and shocking event. _Mr. Sinclair_, the brother of my patient, Mrs. Flint, brought me a summons to “Upland,” the residence of the family, prepared to expect hourly the lady’s want of my assistance. I accompanied her brother home; but found Mrs. Flint, though in her own apartment, with her female friends, perfectly contented with my being within the house. The interval was devoted to my friend Philip’s amusement, whose anxiety for the safety of his wife was apparent. We were rallying him on this subject; and drinking to the health of his expected blessing, when Mr. Sinclair was called from the table. I will pass over the detail. Juba, an old and freed slave of the late Mr. Cowley’s, but who has from his master’s death remained in his post of superintendent at the Creek house, was the bearer of the intelligence which follows; and which you will conceive produced the most dreadful sensations of horror and surprise. “Mr. Flamall was dead, and by his own hand!” Sinclair and myself lost no time, in returning with Juba, leaving Mr. Flint to the care of Mr. Lindsey, and Mr. Montrose, his friends, and inmates.