ce of mind was flown, in consequence of deviation
from his duty. A command had been laid upon him, which he had delayed to
perform. He felt as if a certain period of hesitation and reluctance
had been allowed him, but that this period was passed. He was no
longer permitted to obey. The duty assigned to him was transferred, in
consequence of his disobedience, to another, and all that remained was
to endure the penalty.

He did not describe this penalty. It appeared to be nothing more for
some time than a sense of wrong. This was sufficiently acute, and was
aggravated by the belief that his offence was incapable of expiation. No
one could contemplate the agonies which he seemed to suffer without the
deepest compassion. Time, instead of lightening the burthen, appeared to
add to it. At length he hinted to his wife, that his end was near. His
imagination did not prefigure the mode or the time of his decease, but
was fraught with an incurable persuasion that his death was at hand. He
was likewise haunted by the belief that the kind of death that awaited
him was strange and terrible. His anticipations were thus far vague and
indefinite; but they sufficed to poison every moment of his being, and
devote him to ceaseless anguish.

Chapter II

Early in the morning of a sultry day in August, he left Mettingen, to go
to the city. He had seldom passed a day from home since his return from
the shores of the Ohio. Some urgent engagements at this time existed,
which would not admit of further delay. He returned in the evening, but
appeared to be greatly oppressed with fatigue. His silence and dejection
were likewise in a more than ordinary degree conspicuous. My mother's
brother, whose profession was that of a surgeon, chanced to spend this
night at our house. It was from him that I have frequently received an
exact account of the mournful catastrophe that followed.

As the evening advanced, my father's inquietudes increased. He sat with
his family as usual, but took no part in their conversation. He appeared
fully engrossed by his own reflections. Occasionally his countenance
exhibited tokens of alarm; he gazed stedfastly and wildly at the
ceiling; and the exertions of his companions were scarcely sufficient
to interrupt his reverie. On recovering from these fits, he expressed no
surprize; but pressing his hand to his head, complained, in a tremulous
and terrified tone, that his brain was scorched to cinders. He would
then b