CHAPTER VI.
HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.
It may seem strange for you to hear of me again, after the conclusion of the last chapter of my blunders.

But it was not I who made the last blunder--it was the druggist.

Quite by mistake the imbecile who waited upon me put up four ounces of the aromatic syrup of rhubarb.

I felt myself gradually sinking into the death-sleep after I had taken it; with the thought of Belle uppermost in my mind, I allowed myself to sink--"no more catastrophes after this last and grandest one--no more red faces--big mouth--tea-napkins--wonder--if she--will be--sorry!" and I became unconscious.
I was awakened from a comfortable slumber by loud screams; mother stood by my bed, with the vial labeled "laudanum" in one hand, my letter in the other.

Father rushed into the room.
"Father, John's committed suicide.