At eleven o'clock Dr. L--called to see Mr. Hobart again, and found him rapidly sinking. Not a single symptom had been reached by his treatment. The poor man was in great pain. Every muscle in his body seemed affected by cramps and spasms. His mind, however, was perfectly clear. As the doctor sat feeling his pulse, Hobart said to him-- "Doctor L--, it is too late!" "Oh, no. It is never too late," replied the doctor. "Don't think of death; think of life, and that will help to sustain you. You are not, by any means, at the last point. Hundreds, worse than you now are, come safely through. I don't intend to let you slip through my hands." "Doctor," said the sick man, speaking in a solemn voice, "I feel that I am beyond the reach of medicine. I shall die. What I now say I do not mean as a reproach. I speak it only as a truth right for you to know. Do you see my poor wife?" The doctor turned his eyes upon Mrs. Hobart, who stood weeping by the bedside. "When she is left a widow, and my children orphans," continued the patient, "remember that you have made them such!" "Me! Why do you say that, Mr. Hobart?" The doctor looked startled. "Because it is the truth. I was a well man, when you, as my medical adviser, recommended me to drink brandy as a protection against disease. I was in fear of the infection, and followed your prescription. From the moment I took the first draught my body lost its healthy equilibrium; and not only my body, but my mind. I was a reformed man, and the taste inflamed the old appetite. From that time until now I have not been really sober." The doctor was distressed and confounded by this declaration. He had feared that such was the case; but now it was charged unequivocally. "I am pained at all this," he replied, "In sinning I sinned ignorantly." But, ere he could finish his reply, the sick man became suddenly worse, and sunk into a state of insensibility. "If it be in human power to save his life," murmured the doctor--"I will save it." Through the whole night he remained at the bed-side, giving, with his own hands, all the remedies, and applying every curative means within reach. But, when the day broke, there was little, if any change for the better. He then went home, but returned in a couple of hours. "How is your husband?" he asked of the pale-faced wife as he entered. She did not reply, and they went up to the chamber together. A deep silence reigned in the room as they entered. "Is he asleep?" whispered the doctor. "See!" The wife threw back the sheet. "O!" was the only sound that escaped the doctor's lips. It was a prolonged sound, and uttered in a tone of exquisite distress. The white and ghastly face of death was before him. "It is your work!" murmured the unhappy woman, half beside herself in her affliction. "Madam! do not say that!" ejaculated the physician. "Do not say that!" "It is the truth! Did he not charge it upon you with his dying breath?"