And I do not know whether occupations of this kind be not a spring of purer and nobler delight (certainly instances of a more disinterested virtue) than arises from what are called Friendships of Sentiment. Between two persons of liberal education, like opinions, and common feelings, oftentimes subsists a Vanity of Sentiment, which disposes each to look upon the other as the only being in the universe worthy of friendship, or capable of understanding it,--themselves they consider as the solitary receptacles of all that is delicate in feeling, or stable in attachment:--when the odds are, that under every green hill, and in every crowded street, people of equal worth are to be found, who do more good in their generation, and make less noise in the doing of it. It was in consequence of these benevolent propensities, I have been describing, that Allan oftentimes discovered considerable inclinations in favor of my way of life, which I have before mentioned as being that of a surgeon. He would frequently attend me on my visits to patients; and I began to think, that he had serious intentions of making my profession his study. He was present with me at a scene--a _death-bed scene_--I shudder when I do but think of it. CHAPTER XIII I was sent for the other morning to the assistance of a gentleman, who had been wounded in a duel,--and his wounds by unskilful treatment had been brought to a dangerous crisis. The uncommonness of the name, which was _Matravis_ suggested to me, that this might possibly be no other than Allan's old enemy. Under this apprehension, I did what I could to dissuade Allan from accompanying me--but he seemed bent upon going, and even pleased himself with the notion, that it might lie within his ability to do the unhappy man some service. So he went with me. When we came to the house, which was in Soho-Square, we discovered that it was indeed the man--the identical Matravis, who had done all that mischief in times past--but not in a condition to excite any other sensation than pity in a heart more hard than Allan's. Intense pain had brought on a delirium--we perceived this on first entering the room--for the wretched man was raving to himself--talking idly in mad unconnected sentences,--that yet seemed, at times, to have a reference to _past facts_. One while he told us his dream. "He had lost his way on a great heath, to which there seemed no end--it was cold, cold, cold--and dark, very dark--an old woman in leading-strings, _blind_, was groping about for a guide"--and then he frightened me,--for he seemed disposed to be _jocular_, and sang a song about "an old woman clothed in grey," and said "he did not believe in a devil."