Collins was released, by my father's request, after the question of my danger was over, and went I know not whither. From that day to this, I have never heard of him. The money of his in my possession was placed in the hands of a lawyer, and no trace can be found of his connections or of himself, by the most careful search.
We returned to my father's house. Hardly had we arrived, when we heard of the sudden death of Alice Clair. Worn out by fatigue and disappointment, she was attacked by fever, which was followed by delirium; and she went out of a cruel world, unconscious of her misery. My cup of bitterness was full. I neither hoped, nor excited expectation. I was considered a broken, ruined man. I remained some time a burthen upon my father's hands, leading a harmless but restless, good-for-nothing life, which only doubles the misery of existence.
Time works wonders. I began to have hopes of myself, and determined to leave my native city; to give up all old acquaintances; to go afar from all who knew me. I made arrangements to receive annually a small sum, to enable me to carry my projects into execution, and bidding adieu to all those I truly loved, and who I knew still loved me, I embarked on board a packet bound for New-Orleans.
[HOPE.]
Hope for Experience boldly steers,
And gains that chilling shore,
But only to be wrecked on ice,
And sink to rise no more.
This is that hope whose sordid views
To earth alone are given;
That hope which wreck nor ruin fears,
Her anchor casts in heaven.
For he that would outride the storm,
Though whirlwinds waked the blast,
Makes that his first and only hope,
That all must make their last.
[A PRACTITIONER, HIS PILGRIMAGE.]
PART TWO.