ds nor
relations (his wife having died about two years before) Thomas had never
cared for to-morrow: he was destitute of the means to support himself
during his illness. The night before he died, he called for a
half-mutchkin of whisky; and (as an acquaintance of his sat by his
bed-side, and who personally informed me) he, taking a glass of it in
his hand, held it between him and the light, and eyed it for some time
with a peculiarly exhilarated expression of countenance, even at such a
crisis;--then, while pleasure sparkled in his eyes, he took his friend
by the hand, and pressing it warmly, exclaimed, "This is the last whisky
I, in all probability, will ever drink, and many and often is the times
I have felt its power. Here's to thee, Jamie, and may thou never want a
drap when thou art dry!" He died the next morning, about eight o'clock.

J.R.S.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

* * * * *

RECOLLECTIONS OF A WANDERER. NO. V.

_Dawlish's Hole:--An Incident._

The eye looked out upon the watery world--
With fearful glance looked east and west, but all
Was wild and solitary, and the surge
Dashed on the groaning cliff, and foaming rose
And roared, as 'twere triumphing.

N.T. CARRINGTON.

The coast scene near Landwithiel[3] was of so varied and interesting
a character that I was irresistibly led on to examine it very fully
in detail. My sojourn therefore at Mr. Habbakuk Sheepshanks', of the
"Ship-Aground'; (whom I have formerly introduced to the reader) was
prolonged to an extent which sometimes surprised myself, and the various
local stories and traditions of times past, with which mine host,
especially when under the exciting influence of an extra glass of grog,
almost nightly entertained me, essentially contributed to while away
the time. The spot too was so secluded--comparatively unknown: there
is something inseparable from a temperament like mine in so deep a
retirement. To its inhabitants the world and its busy haunts are but as
a tale; yet man in all his varieties is essentially the same. Many a day
have I wandered along the sea-beaten coast--dining perhaps on a headland
stretching far into the sea--or in some secluded little bay, by the side
of a gushing spring; the ocean spread out before me--what object is so
boundlessly or beautifully inspiring? It may be mighty fine philosophy
for those who have passed through the cu