The horrors of that night unman me.

I cannot proceed." He rose from his seat, and walked several times across the room: at length, attaining more composure, he cried--"What a mere infant I am! Why, Sir, I never felt thus in the day of battle." "No," said Temple; "but the truly brave soul is tremblingly alive to the feelings of humanity." "True," replied the old man, (something like satisfaction darting across his features) "and painful as these feelings are, I would not exchange them for that torpor which the stoic mistakes for philosophy.

How many exquisite delights should I have passed by unnoticed, but for these keen sensations, this quick sense of happiness or misery?
Then let us, my friend, take the cup of life as it is presented to us, tempered by the hand of a wise Providence; be thankful for the good, be patient under the evil, and presume not to enquire why the latter predominates." "This is true philosophy," said Temple.
"'Tis the only way to reconcile ourselves to the cross events of life," replied he.

"But I forget myself.

I will not longer intrude on your patience, but proceed in my melancholy tale.
"The very evening that I was taken to prison, my son arrived from Ireland, where he had been some time with his regiment.