***** still lives at about the same age, cheerful, slender as a grasshopper, and so much without memory, that he scarcely recognizes the members of his household.

An intimate friend of his called on him, not long since.

It was difficult to make him recollect who he was, and sitting one hour, he told him the same story four times over.

Is this life ?--with laboring step 'To tread our former footsteps?
pace the round Eternal ?--to beat and beat The beaten track--to see what we have seen To taste the tasted--o'er our palates to decant Another vintage ?' "It is, at most, but the life of a cabbage, surely not worth a wish.

When all our faculties have left, or are leaving us, one by one, sight, hearing, memory, every avenue of pleasing sensation is closed, and athumy, debility, and malaise left in their places, when the friends of our youth are all gone, and a generation is risen around us whom we know not, is death an evil?
'When one by one our ties are torn, And friend from friend is snatch'd forlorn; When man is left alone to mourn, Oh, then, how sweet it is to die! 'When trembling limbs refuse their weight, And films slow gathering dim the sight; When clouds obscure the mental light, 'Tis nature's kindest boon to die!' "I really think so.