post brought the following
letter, which my sister and myself glanced over by the candle-light,
just as we were listening to his decreasing breath. At the moment it did
not strike me with the astonishment, at such an extraordinary
coincidence, that when we came to read it afterwards it did.

"'_Brighton, Dec. 7th, 1859_.

"'My Dear De Quincey,--Before I quit this world, I most ardently
desire to see your handwriting. In early life, that is, more than
sixty years ago, we were school-fellows together and mutually
attached; nay, I remember a boyish paper ("The Observer") in which
we were engaged. Yours has been a brilliant literary career, mine
far from brilliant, but I hope not unuseful as a theological
student. It seems a pity we should not once more recognize one
another before quitting the stage. I have often read your works,
and never without remembering the promise of your talents at
Winkfield. My life has been almost a domestic tragedy. I have four
children in lunatic-asylums. Thank God, it is now drawing to a
close; but it would cheer the evening of my days to receive a line
from you, for I am, with much sincerity,

"'Your old and attached friend,

"'E.H.G.'

"I do not remember the name of G., but the name of Edward constantly
recurred in his wanderings.

"Half an hour after the reading of that letter we heard those last
pathetic sighs, so terrible from their very softness, and saw the poor,
worn-out garment laid aside." Just before he died, he looked around the
room, and said very tenderly to the nurse, the physician, and his
daughters, who were present, "Thank you,--thank you all!" Sensible thus
to the very last of kindness, he breathed out his life in simple thanks,
swayed even in death by the spirit of profound courtesy that had ruled
his life.

MRS. LEWIS.

A STORY IN THREE PARTS.

PART I.

I.

"Here's something Gus Lewis would like to send by you, mother," said my
hasty boy John, plunging into the room at nine in the evening, and
stumbling over two trunks, three valises, and bandboxes countless.

The floor was strewn with bundles, and the mantel-piece adorned with
letters, directed to Springfield, Hartford, New Haven, and New York.

"Oh! ah! yes. Any packages, if not too large," said I, wistfully eying
the box, (a foot square,) full of fresh maple-sugar, with its card of
direction to "_Mrs. Lulu L., by the