My recovery was very slow—the dregs of the fever remained long about me, and it was at one time thought I was tainted with the subtle malice of consumption, and could never hope to be myself again,—such were the fears of my friends and the opinion of the doctor. But from the time I was disenchanted from the catalepsy, a more hopeful sentiment kindled within myself. The gloom that preceded the fever was dissipated, I was again on the bright south side of things, and enjoyed the sunshine of blue and breezy skies.

The only molestation that gave me any uneasiness, was my inability to return to business: my limbs were as feeble as a baby’s, and my head was liable at times to be light and vapoury, unfit for any sort of application. I was also now and then vexed, when I reflected that it had not yet been in my power to put the liberality of Mr. Hoskins to thrift, and that it was diminishing and dwindling, though hoarded with the utmost care: but disease is a strong master, and malady will have its will, so what could I do but submit?

After I had been some two or three weeks afoot, and gradually, though tardily, getting better, I was advised to try the effects of a sail to Albany in one of the steam-boats. The suggestion was certainly in itself reasonable, but to spend the money in such gallanting was a thing I had never thought of. However, as at this period I sometimes took a glass of wine for medicine, which I never tasted at any other time; in like manner I considered the voyage as a nostrum of pharmacy, and change of air a dose that might do me good.

Accordingly, it was determined, that on the first fine day I should embark for Albany, and come back by the same steamer on her return, by which I should not be obliged to change my bed more than once, for strange beds are to be eschewed by ill health.