"The Dead Sea waters are noisome," he said; "and I have been
drinking of them by long draughts."

"Long draughts!" I answered, thinking to console him. "Draughts
have not been long which can have been swallowed in your years.
Your disease may be acute, but it cannot yet have become chronic. A
man always thinks at the moment of each misfortune that that special
misery will last his lifetime; but God is too good for that. I do
not know what ails you; but this day twelvemonth will see you again
as sound as a roach."

We then sat silent for a while, during which I was puffing at a
cigar. Smith, among his accomplishments, did not reckon that of
smoking,--which was a grief to me; for a man enjoys the tobacco
doubly when another is enjoying it with him.

"No, you do not know what ails me," he said at last, "and,
therefore, cannot judge."

"Perhaps not, my dear fellow. But my experience tells me that early
wounds are generally capable of cure; and, therefore, I surmise that
yours may be so. The heart at your time of life is not worn out,
and has strength and soundness left wherewith to throw off its
maladies. I hope it may be so with you."

"God knows. I do not mean to say that there are none more to be
pitied than I am; but at the present moment, I am not--not light-
hearted."

"I wish I could ease your burden, my dear fellow."