344 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



whole of this dreadful story of long-continued 

 agony. Take, however, the end of it. At 

 last his wounds were somehow made to heal. 



" Now imagine my joy. The wounds were 

 well at last. I was free. I could walk and 

 sit actually sit down. I could work. I was 

 very faint and ill, but fresh air would soon set 

 that right. All these expenses had swallowed 

 up a large share of my savings, and I had 

 practically to begin life again. But I did not 

 mind that. I went to work joyously. 



"Now judge again of my disappointment. 

 Within two months in February I was 

 seized with a mysterious wasting disease, ac- 

 companied by much pain. I gradually wasted 

 away to mere bones. By degrees this pain 

 increased till it became almost insupportable. 

 I can compare it to nothing but the flame of a 

 small spirit lamp continually burning within 

 me. Sometimes it seemed like a rat always 

 gnaw, gnaw, night and day. I had no sleep. 

 Everything I ate or drank seemed to add fuel 

 to the flame. The local doctors could do 

 nothing, so I went to London again, and in 



