would not go.  They said they would bring me home, for Lewis, who was living with me near Boston, sent for my son, T. M. Pengilly, who is proprietor of a drug store in St. John.  I suppose he discovered I was fasting, and saw me failing so fast he telegraphed to Tom to come to his assistance.  I remember I kissed him when he came, asked him what he came for, and bade him leave me.  I know now how unreasonable that was, for we had no other room but Lewis’ bed-room, and in it there was no fire.  We had rented rooms, as Lewis took his meals at a boarding-house near.  Poor boys, they went in and out; it seemed to me they did not eat or sleep for some days; I thought they were as crazy as I was in the cars.

They brought Dr. Hunter to see me.  I had been acquainted with him some time previous.  I told him I was sorry they had brought him to see me, for I needed no physicians, I only needed to fast and pray.  “I know you are a good man, Dr. Hunter, but you need not come to see me again; I will be all right in time; God and His angels will keep me always.”  These were my words to him; I know not what prompted me; I suppose it was my insanity.  I think I told them to nail up the doors and leave me there till summer.  That was the last week of October.  My poor boys, how tried and worried they must have been.  They watched me night and day alternately.  I told them I had not talked with them enough of my own religion.  I begged Tom to read the Bible and kneel and pray, but he would not; I think he fell asleep in my rocking-chair (how often I have wished for that rocking-chair since I came here).

On Sunday morning I heard them say, “We will go home in the first train.”  Lewis went out to see about it, and I told Tom I wished to take the sacrament, and he should give it to me, for he would yet be bishop of St. John—­“St. Thomas” he should be called.  I can but laugh when I think of it now, but it was very real to me then.  I had been a member—­a communicant—­of St. James’ Church, Episcopal, some years; I had taken my boys to Sunday School, to receive that religious instruction which I was not qualified to give.  They had accompanied me to church, always, but I felt as if I had not spoken to them on religious subjects as I ought to have done.

It is fourteen years, I think, since I was christened in St. James’ Church, by Rev. William Armstrong, whose voice I always loved to hear in the beautiful service of our church.  I was confirmed by Bishop John Fredricton, in Trinity Church.  I well remember the pressure of that reverend hand upon my head, and the impressive words of his address to us who were that day received into the church—­“Let your inner life be as good or better than your outer life, if you would be worthily known as His children.”  He desired the young men in particular to take up some useful study, to occupy their leisure hours—­something outside of their every-day business of life.  What better words could have been said; I would that the young men of the present day should often hear those words and accept them as a rule of their life.  I float away from thoughts of my insanity to the days when I was at home going to church with my children.  I must return to my subject.