For some time after the death of Mr. Buchanan no particular incident occurred that deserves to be related. But the sinking value of my consignments seriously affected my income, and Mr. Ascomy found himself unable to fulfil the marriage settlement. Perplexity was embarrassing every interest of the country, and I was taxed with my share. Bookmaking again occurred to me, but only to be abandoned; the animadversions which had escaped from Mr. Adage respecting the risks of authorship sufficiently convinced me, as I have already intimated, that I was too sensitive to preserve equanimity under such manifold annoyances. Nor is ambition an element of my mind. I can call myself nothing but a quiet absorbent of easy pleasures—far more addicted to observe the conduct of others than to be alert in my own actions. Perhaps the scenes through which the current of my life has passed have contributed to give my thoughts this habitude; be that, however, as it may, I was roused from the indulgence of reverie to more earnest employment, arising from the pressure of the times upon those with whom I was connected.

The increasing distresses of the West Indians, partly arising from their own improvident habits, and the tameness with which they permitted their most important interests to be treated, at last dried up all the income I derived from that quarter. Had I possessed capital enough to make my needy constituents advances on mortgage, doubtless it might have been different with me; but as it was, they dropped off one by one, and the full sense of the misfortune I had suffered by the death of Mr. Buchanan was soon felt.