The moment my father got up into his chamber, he threw himself prostrate across the bed in the wildest disorder imaginable, but at the same time in the most lamentable attitude of a man borne down with sorrows, that ever the eye of pity dropp'd a tear for. ----The palm of his right hand, as he fell upon the bed, receiving his forehead, and covering the greatest part of both his eyes, gently sunk down with his head (his elbow giving way backwards) till his nose touch'd the quilt; ----his left arm hung insensible over the side of the bed, his knuckles reclining upon the handle of the chamber-pot, which peep'd out beyond the valance--his right leg (his left being drawn up towards his body) hung half over the side of the bed, the edge of it pressing upon his shin-bone --He felt it not. A fix'd, inflexible sorrow took possession of every line of his face. --He sigh'd once----heaved his breast often--but uttered not a word.

The moment my father got into his chamber, he wildly threw himself prostrate across the bed in the attitude of a man borne down with sorrows. - The palm of his right hand covering both his eyes, he gently sunk down till his nose touched the quilt; his left arm hung over the side of the bed, his knuckles reclining upon the handle of the chamber-pot - his right leg dangled half over the bed, the edge of it pressing on his shin-bone.
- He felt it not. Sorrow took possession of every line of his face. He sighed once - heaved his breast often - but uttered not a word.
