***


WEDNESDAY, NINE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT.

The poor man had been in convulsions, terrible convulsions! for an hour
past. O Lord! Lovelace, death is a shocking thing! by my faith it is!--
I wish thou wert present on this occasion. It is not merely the concern
a man has for his friend; but, as death is the common lot, we see, in his
agonies, how it will be one day with ourselves. I am all over as if cold
water were poured down my back, or as if I had a strong ague-fit upon me.
I was obliged to come away. And I write, hardly knowing what.--I wish
thou wert here.


***


Though I left him, because I could stay no longer, I can't be easy by
myself, but must go to him again.


ELEVEN O'CLOCK.

Poor Belton!--Drawing on apace! Yet was he sensible when I went in--too
sensible, poor man! He has something upon his mind to reveal, he tells
me, that is the worst action of his life; worse than ever you or I knew
of him, he says. It must then be very bad!

He ordered every body out; but was seized with another convulsion-fit,