of affection, and all the little cares which were put in exercise to
soothe the languor or pain were more flattering and pleasing than the
consequences of the illness were disagreeable. It was a new sense to be
watched and attended, and I used to think that the _Malade imaginaire_
gained something by his humour. It is different in the latter stages.
The old post-chaise gets more shattered and out of order at every turn;
windows will not be pulled up; doors refuse to open, or being open will
not shut again--which last is rather my case. There is some new subject
of complaint every moment; your sicknesses come thicker and thicker;
your comforting or sympathising friends fewer and fewer; for why should
they sorrow for the course of nature? The recollection of youth, health,
and uninterrupted powers of activity, neither improved nor enjoyed, is a
poor strain of comfort. The best is, the long halt will arrive at last,
and cure all.

We had a long sitting in the Court. Came home through a cold easterly
rain without a greatcoat, and was well wet. A goodly medicine for my
aching bones.[433] Dined at Mr. Adam Wilson's, and had some good singing
in the evening. Saw Dr. Stokoe, who attended Boney in Saint Helena, a
plain, sensible sort of man.[434]

_December_ 17.--This was a day of labour, agreeably varied by a pain
which rendered it scarce possible to sit upright. My Journal is getting
a vile chirurgical aspect.

I begin to be afraid of the odd consequences complaints in the _post
equitem_ are said to produce. Walter and Jane dined. Mrs. Skene came in
the evening.

_December_ 18.--Almost sick with pain, and it stops everything. I shall
tire of my Journal if it is to contain nothing but biles and plasters
and unguents. In my better days I had stories to tell; but death has
closed the long dark avenue upon loves and friendships; and I can only
look at them as through the grated door of a long burial-place filled
with monuments of those who were once dear to me, with no insincere wish
that it may open for me at no distant period, provided such be the will
of God. My pains were those of the heart, and had something flattering
in their character; if in the head, it was from the blow of a bludgeon
gallantly received and well paid back.

I went to the meeting of the Commissioners;[435] there was none to-day.
The carriage had set me down; so I walked from the college in one of the
sourest and most unsocial days which I ever felt. W