of crowding beds in his sick-room, which should be so orderly and peaceful. What has the poor fellow done, that thus in his last hours he should be so thrust out of home and place? It is so pleasant to give the departing, the outward semblance of a Saturday-evening readiness and peace, in the arrangements of their rooms and persons, so that "early? to one so weary, "ere the day begins to dawn," the sweet repose of the Sabbath may be entered upon by anticipation.
William Dillon, what can I do for thee? poor, tired, dying emigrant! "Crowded!" crowded indeed! I come home to think of this new type of suffering. "If his brother if his brother could only be found!" I say, as in my powerlessness I come in to the care of my own slowly-recovering invalids. I excite their sympathies by telling them the story of tired, crowded, dying William Dillon, of Michigan. They forget their own miserable feelings, in view of his more desolate condition, and begin to recount the riches of the cabin.
Nov. 10th. You will be glad with me, my
