e the death, on the 27th February,
after only four days' illness, of Dr John Dickson, a half-pay surgeon
of the British navy, who had been upwards of thirty years a resident
at Tripoli, and where, such was the extent of his gratuitous
attendance on the indigent, that the mournful event cannot but be
looked upon as a great public calamity; and happening as it did, at
the very instant the first gun announced the anniversary of the birth
of the Prophet, not a few of the Mohammedans regarded the event with a
superstitious awe. On the 1st of March, the remains of the lamented
deceased were interred in the Protestant cemetery, which is distant
about two miles from the town, escorted by a military guard of honour,
sent by order of his Excellency the Pacha, and followed not only by
every foreign consul, but by all the European residents of every
class, and by several thousands of Jews and Mohammedans; and so
anxious were many whom he had attended professionally to pay this last
tribute of respect to his memory, that they actually rose from their
beds of sickness and joined the mournful procession. Whilst it passed
along the crowded streets, the shrieks and cries of the natives
bewailing his death were audible, issuing from the miserable hovels
which he had been wont to enter, to prescribe for suffering humanity.'

After this, it is needless to add anything in the way of exhortation.
The little history here given is full of encouragement. It is that of
a man who raised himself from humble life, not, it is true, to any
dazzling eminence, but to a respectable and respected position in
society; and this not by means of rare talent, but simply by industry,
perseverance, and general propriety of conduct. The interest of the
piece, we believe, would have been much lessened, had we, through
false delicacy, withheld the real name of the individual. It is
happily not the fashion in our day for self-educated and self-raised
men to blush for their origin; and we are quite sure that every word
of this narrative will be read both with pride and pleasure by the
flourishing and widely-scattered family of Dr John Dickson.

A DAY AT THE BATHS OF LUCCA.

The baths of Lucca, ever since the opening of the continent, have been
graced annually by the presence of from four to five hundred English,
who shew their good taste in selecting this miniature Switzerland for
their residence during the summer months. It is, in truth, a lovely
valley,