Monday morning the deceased was worse; all the symptoms returned, and
he complained more of his fundament than before. He then desired the
assistance of some skilful physician, because he looked upon him to be
in the utmost danger, and apprehended this affair might come before a
court of judicature. He asked the deceased if he really thought he was
poisoned, to which he answered that he really believed so, and thought
he had taken it often, because his teeth rotted faster than usual; he
had frequent prickings and burnings in his tongue and throat, violent
heartburn, and frequent stools, that carried it off again by
unaccountable fits of vomiting and purging; that he had had these
symptoms, especially after his daughter had received a present of
Scotch pebbles from Mr. Cranstoun. He then asked the deceased who he
suspected had given the poison to him; the tears then stood in his
eyes, but he forced a smile and said, "A poor love-sick girl! I
forgive her; I always thought there was mischief in those cursed
Scotch pebbles."

Dr. Lewis came that evening, and Miss Blandy was sent into her
chamber, under a guard, and all papers in her pocket, and all
instruments with which she might hurt herself, or any other person,
and her keys, were taken from her, that nothing might be secreted; for
it was not then publicly known that Mr. Blandy was poisoned, and they
thought themselves accountable for her forthcoming. On Monday night
the deceased mended again, and grew better and worse, unaccountably,
as long as he lived. On Tuesday morning everything growing worse, he
became excessively weak, rambled in his discourse, and grew delirious,
had cold, clammy sweats, short cough, and a deep way of fetching his
breath; and he observed upon these occasions that an ulcerous matter
issued from his fundament. In the midst of all this, whenever he
recovered his senses he said he was better, and seemed quite serene,