Pooree, April 26, 1845.

FATAL ILLNESS OF AUTHOR.

I have had another attack similar to last year; it came on in the same way and whilst I was in the pulpit. In the midst of the sermon my teeth began to chatter; I could not speak; my face became perfectly white; a cold blast seemed to enter my left side and spread over the surface of my body, and then gradually penetrate to the very innermost part, whilst I was obliged to cling to the sides of the pulpit for support. It did not last above a minute and a half, and I managed to finish my sermon; but it was enough to astonish the congregation and to warn me of what was coming. All my old symptoms returned, though not so strongly as before—utter restlessness at night and heavy sleepiness during the day, a painful cough when I lay down, and other alarming signs. We came down to Pooree, where my favourite doctor lives, and I already feel much better.

There is a billiard-table in the house where we are now staying, and the doctor desires me to play as much as I can every day. Of course playing for money is never allowed. The game of billiards is about the best exercise for India. It is not too violent, yet it gives a man about three miles of walking in the hour, and brings all the limbs into play.