him as he lay. His delight at seeing it alive and unhurt was intense; he
wept, he laughed, he hugged it to his bosom, and it was not till he grew
very faint and weary that he would suffer us to remove it.

A surgeon arrived; and pronounced that the poor man was so much hurt,
inwardly as well as outwardly, that nothing could be done to save him;
and desired us merely to give him cordials or cooling drink, as he
should appear to wish for either. He lingered for a few days.

I had been the cause, although innocently, of the poor fellow's death:
of course I took care that all was done that could alleviate his
sufferings; and, as long as he lasted, I went everyday to pass a few
hours by his bed-side. The rescued child, too, was brought to him each
day by his own desire. From the moment he had first ascertained that it
was unhurt, he had been calm and contented. He knew he was dying, but he
could part with life without regret; and the cloud which I had so often
observed upon his weather-beaten countenance before the accident never
after returned.

The day before he died, as I was watching alone by his side, he asked me
for a cordial. Soon after he had swallowed it, he laid his hand upon my
arm, and said,--"Sir, if you will not think it too great a trouble to
listen to an old man's talk, I think it will ease my mind to say a few
words to you."

He was of course encouraged to proceed.

"I die contented," he continued; "happier than I have for some years
lived. I have had a load upon my heart, which is not quite removed, but
it is a great deal lightened. I have been the means, under Providence,