my head, in consequence of the new phrenological development already mentioned. But now, dear S----, comes the most wonderful part of my narrative. This little incident happened twenty years ago; and to my certain knowledge, since that date, the bell in that steeple has been replaced four times; and yet to this very day, whenever I pass within hearing of its tones, my ears begin to ring, my head violently to oscillate, and straitway I am seized with a stupor and dizziness that continue until I can get beyond the reach of its sound. You will recollect you once asked me why old Major N---- called me sometimes 'Captain Hardhead,' and sometimes 'Captain Waghead?' You have now the answer.' * * * * * THE water stood in our eyes, reader, (and it will stand in yours if you have a heart to feel,) as we perused the subjoined eloquent passage of a letter from a friend to whom our readers have often been indebted for amusement, entertainment, and instruction. What a startling picture it presents of the first approaches of that 'hectic,' 'phthisic,' 'consumption,' or whatever be the favorite title of that most wily and fatal foe, who in one hand presents the insidious olive-branch, and in the other conceals his inevitable sword, cutting down youth in its blossom and manhood in its fruit! 'For very many years, from twelve to two have been my hours of retiring, and my exercise has been nothing, or nearly so, during the day. One result has been, that I have read one half of the Greek and Roman classics, and feasted largely in modern literature. A parallel result has been, that owing to corporeal sluggishness and nervousness, the curse of the sedentary, I have no doubt reaped less pleasure and profit than I might have done from half that assiduity coupled with a due regard to the wants of the body. The final result is, that an iron constitution is now largely disorganized; and from the constant presence of a dull, deep, stationary pain in my left side beneath the ribs, and fixed I fear upon the lungs, I begin to indulge in sad and deep forebodings. Often, when wakened by its painful urgency, I lie in the silence of the night, listening to my heart's deep beatings, and recall my early and yet unfulfilled dreams--dreams oh! how glorious!--and array before my unsated eyes this world, with all its lovely learning, and sweet poetry, and burning passion; and reflect how unfit I am to die, and try the conditions of a new existence, before I have fulfilled the duties and perused the mysteries of this, and then think of the wormy bed, and anticipate the hour when I shall lie there, closing my eyes to coloring and my ears to sound; the impatient longing I have sometimes felt for death is repaid by an indefinable horror; and between the tenderness of natural regret and the shudderings of unconquerable awe, passion masters pride, and both sink to meekness