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appearance of the sinking body, the bleating of the goat, my friend's dying efforts among the sea-weed!

"It is nearly seven and thirty years now; yet, day or night, I may almost say, a waking hour has not passed, in which I have not felt part of the suffering that I witnessed convulsing the body of my poor friend, under the agonies of a strangely protracted death.

"The body of Campbell was found, but the distracting particulars of his fate were unknown. They were treasured in my own bosom, with the same secrecy with which a catholic bigot conceals the discipline, or whip of wire, which, in execution of his private penance, is so often dyed in his blood. I avoided every allusion to the subject, when the ordinary general enquiries had been answered, and it was too painful a subject for any one to press upon me for particulars. It was soon forgotten by all but me; and a long period has passed away, if not of secret guilt, at least of secret remorse. Accident led me some time since to disclose the painful state of my mind to a friend in my neighbourhood, who pretends to some philosophy and know. ledge of the human heart. I hardly knew how I was surprised into the communication of feelings which I had kept so long secret. The discourse happened to turn upon such moods of the mind, as that under which I have suffered. I was forced into my narrative almost involuntarily, and might apply to myself the wellknown lines:

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Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a strange agony,

Which forc'd me to begin my tale,

And then it left me free.

My friend listened to the detail of my feelings

with much sympathy. I do not,' he said, when my horrid narrative was closed, 'attempt by reasoning to eradicate from your mind feelings so painfully disproportioned to the degree of blame which justly attaches to your conduct. I do not remind you, that your involuntary panic palsied you as much as the unfortunate sufferer's cramp, and that you were in the moment as little able to give him effectual assistance, as he was to keep afloat without it. I might add in your apology, that the instinct of self-preservation is uncommonly active, in cases where we ourselves are exposed to the same sort of danger with that in which we see others perishing. I once witnessed a number of swimmers amusing themselves in the entrance of Leith harbour, when one was seized with the cramp and went down. In one instant the pier was crowded with naked figures, who had fled to the shore to escape the supposed danger; and in the next as many persons, who were walking on the pier, had thrown off part of their clothes, and plunged in to assist the perishing man. The different effect upon the bystanders, and on those who shared the danger, is to be derived from their relative circumstances, and from no superior benevolence of the former, or selfishness of the latter. Your own understanding must have often suggested these rational grounds of consolation, though the strong impression made on your imagination by circumstances so deplorable, has prevented your receiving benefit from them. The question is, how this disease of the mind (for such it is) can be effectually removed?'

"I looked anxiously in his face, as if in expectation of the relief he spoke of. 'I was once,' said he, when a boy, in the company of an old military officer,

who had been, in his youth, employed in the service of apprehending some outlaws, guilty of the most deliberate cruelties. The narrative told by one so nearly concerned with it, and having all those minute and circumstantial particulars which seize forcibly on the imagination, placed the shocking scene as it were before my very eyes. My fancy was uncommonly lively at that period of my life, and it was strongly affected. The tale cost me a sleepless night, with fervour and tremour on the nerves. My father, a man of uncommonly solid sense, discovered, with some difficulty, the cause of my indisposition. Instead of banishing the subject which had so much agitated me, he entered upon the discussion, showed me the volume of the state trials which contained the case of the outlaws, and, by enlarging repeatedly upon the narrative, rendered it familiar to my imagination, and of consequence more indifferent to it. I would advise you, my friend, to follow a similar course. It is the secrecy of your sufferings which goes far to prolong them. Have you never observed, that the mere circumstance of a fact, however indifferent in itself, being known to one, and one only, gives it an importance in the eyes of him who possesses the secret, and renders it of much more frequent occurrence in the progress of his thoughts, than it could have been from any direct interest which it possesses? Shake these fetters therefore from your mind, and mention this event to one or two of our common friends; hear them, as you now hear me treat your remorse, relatively to its extent and duration, as a mere disease of the mind, the consequence of the impressive circumstances of that melancholy event over which you have suffered your fancy to brood in

solemn silence and secrecy. Hearing it thus spoken of by others, their view of the case will end by becoming familiar and habitual to you, and you will then get rid of the agonies which have hitherto operated like a night-mare to hag-ride your imagination.'

"Such was my friend's counsel, which I heard in silence, inclined to believe his deductions, but feeling abhorrent to make the communications he advised."

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