of its
premature decay. Pray that this may be averted, as I have this
night."[6]

On the following day the same friend writes: "I think I am a little
relieved about Southey to-day. I have seen him three times in the course
of the day, and on each occasion he was so easy and cheerful that I
should have said his manner and conversation did not differ, in the most
part, from what it would have been in former days, if he had happened to
be very tired. I say for the most part only, though, for there was once
an obvious confusion of ideas. He lost himself for a moment; he was
conscious of it, and an expression passed over his countenance which was
exceedingly touching--an expression of pain and also of resignation. I
am glad to learn from his brother that he is aware of his altered
condition, and speaks of it openly. This gives a better aspect to the
case than if he could believe that nothing was the matter with him.
Another favorable circumstance is, that he will deal with himself wisely
and patiently. The charm of his manner is perhaps even enhanced at
present (at least when one knows the circumstances), by the gentleness
and patience which pervade it. His mind is beautiful even in its
debility."

Much of my father's failure in its early stages was at first ascribed by
those anxiously watching him, to repeated attacks of the influenza--at
that time a prevailing epidemic--from which he had suffered greatly, and
to which he attributed his own feelings of weakness; but alas! the
weakness he felt was as much mental as bodily (though he had certainly
declined much in bodily strength), and after his return home it
gradually increased upon him. The uncertain step--the confused
manner--the eye once so keen and so intelligent, now either wandering
restlessly or fixed as it were in blank contemplation--all showed that
the over-wrought mind was worn out.

One of the plainest signs of this was the cessation of his accustomed
labors; but while doing nothing (with him how plain a proof that nothing
could be done), he would frequently anticipate a coming period of his
usual industry. His mind, while any spark of its reasoning powers
remained, was busy with its old day-dreams--the History of Portugal--the
History of the Monastic Orders--the Doctor--all were soon to be taken in
hand in earnest--all completed, and new works added to these.

For a considerable time after he had ceased to compose, he took pleasure
in reading, and the hab