at no season of the year is more enheartening than at the present. The great variety of occupations here, makes it still more cheering and interesting; in one field, they are still gathering the olives, in another pruning the vines, in a third ploughing for their Turkey wheat, in a fourth preparing the ground with the spade for some other sowing. Labourers are mingled of both sexes. The plough is most primitively rude; the grey oxen have a primitive beauty, that seems to suit it. Nothing makes me more impatient of my restraints, than the sight of these fields; for I feel far greater curiosity to know the ways and habits of this peasantry and their husbandry, and to understand a little the frame of a society, so unlike what we have at home in the most essential respects, than to penetrate into the Campo Santo, with all its treasures of art. I regret that we have lost Mr. Oswald, to whose assistance I looked forward in walking out to the Pisan farms, when I can walk; he is gone to Rome.

We have not heard of you later than the 7th ult., the date of Fanny's kind and entertaining letter to me. But we trust you are well, and we hope getting off with a mild winter. My best love to my mother, and all the

rest.

My dear Sir,

Most affectionately yours,

FRA. HORNER.

The cheering hopes of renovated strength, and of future enjoyment of health, expressed in this letter, were also apparent in the greater degree of confidence with which Mr. Horner looked forward to his future plans for

the spring; and he even spoke of being unable to resist a visit to Rome, before he returned to England. He at no time appeared to despair of ultimate recovery, and never uttered a word indicating apprehension that he was labouring under a fatal disease; but on more than one occasion he expressed a belief, that his recovery would be slow; and that he should have a long interval of repose, before he should be able to resume his active duties. Under the influence of those feelings, he drew out a sketch of a plan for the occupation of that expected period of retirement, in a small book which he headed, "DESIGNS," adding, "At Pisa, 2d February, 1817, under the auspices of opium and returning spring." The whole of this curious and interesting document will be found in the Appendix to this volume.*

But it was ordained, that none of these designs should ever be accomplished; his feelings of improving health were an illusion; his disease was fast approaching to its fatal termination; and in four days from the date of the preceding letter, he closed his earthly career.

Two days after he had written the last letter to his father, the difficulty of breathing and the cough reappeared with some severity; on the following morning they were somewhat abated; but towards the evening they returned, accompanied by drowsiness. I slept in a room next to his own, with an open door between us. In the night I heard him moaning, and on going to him, he said, that he moaned from difficulty of breathing; but that he wished to be left to sleep. I sent for Dr. Vaccà, who came at seven in the morning;-it was Saturday, the 8th of February. He found his patient labouring greatly in his breathing, with strong palpita

tions of the heart, and a low, intermittent, and irregular pulse; his forehead covered with a cold sweat, and his face and hands of a leaden colour. He was, however, perfectly sensible, and spoke in a clear, distinct manner; expressing neither apprehension nor anxiety about himself. Various stimulating applications were tried, but they afforded no relief; the difficulty of breathing gradually increasing.

Although I had entire confidence in the skill of Dr. Vacca, I requested, towards the afternoon, that there might be a consultation with another physician. They came together soon after four o'clock, and I left the bed-side of the patient, to receive them in the adjoining room; I was absent about ten minutes, and returned alone, to prepare him for seeing the new physician. On drawing aside the curtain, I found his face deadly pale, his eyes fixed, and his hand cold; for a few moments I flattered myself that he had only fainted from weakness; but the sad reality was soon revealed to me, the precious object of my care was taken from us for ever.

On the following Monday I assented to the request of Dr. Vaccà, that there might be an examination of the body. It was then discovered that his disease was not consumption, but an enlargement of the air cells, and a condensation of the substance of the lungs, (which the sagacity of Baillie had suggested as the probable cause of the worst symptoms,) a malady which no medical skill could have cured.*

Notwithstanding the symptoms of organic disease, and their long continuance, I had no serious apprehensions of a fatal termination; on the contrary, I felt an assu

* For the information of medical men, I have given in the Appendix (F) a copy of Dr. Vaccà's report, together with some observations made upon it by Dr. Warren.

rance that renovated health would come with the genial weather of spring in that climate. My brother's cheerfulness, his activity of mind, and the absence of all alarm about himself, had deluded me into this belief; nor had any warning expression of his acute and watchful physician prepared me for the sudden and afflicting blow which fell upon me, aggravated as it was by all that my imagination brought before me, of the agony of those in my distant home when the sad intelligence should arrive. I should do injustice to my feelings, were I to omit to say that, upon this trying occasion, I derived the greatest comfort from the more than friendly attentions of Mrs. Drewe, (the sister of Lady Mackintosh,) her daughters, and the Miss Allens, her sisters, who had come to Pisa on a similar melancholy errand. They did not leave the last duties to their departed friend to be performed by strangers; and they stood by my side, when I laid the mortal remains of my dear brother in his grave, in the Protestant cemetery at Leghorn.