But he has told me something of it, and I have heard from those who lived with him how continual were his sufferings.

In 1854, he says in one of his letters to Mr.Reed,--the only private letters of his which I know to have been published; "I am to-day just out of bed after another, about the dozenth, severe fit of spasms which I have had this year.

My book would have been written but for them." His work was always going on, but though not fuller of matter,--that would have been almost impossible,--would have been better in manner had he been delayed neither by suffering nor by that palsying of the energies which suffering produces.
This ought to have been the happiest period of his life, and should have been very happy.

He had become fairly easy in his circumstances.

He had succeeded in his work, and had made for himself a great name.