Monday, Aug. 14

I AM extremely concerned for thy illness. I should be very sorry to lose thee. Yet if thou diest so soon, I could wish from my soul it had been before the beginning of last April: and this as well for thy sake as for the sake of the most excellent woman in the world: for then thou wouldst not have had the most crying sin of thy life to answer for. 

I was told on Saturday that thou wert very much out of order; and this made me forbear writing till I heard further. Harry, on his return from thee, confirmed the bad way thou art in. But I hope Lord M. in his unmerited tenderness for thee thinks the worst of thee. What can it be, Bob? A violent fever, they say; but attended with odd and severe symptoms. 

I will not trouble thee, in the way thou art in, with what passes here with Miss Harlowe. I wish thy repentance as swift as thy illness; and as efficacious if thou diest; for it is else to be feared that she and you will never meet in one place. 

I told her how ill you are. Poor man! said she. Dangerously ill, say you? 

Dangerously indeed, madam!--So Lord M. sends me word! 

God be merciful to him if he die! said the admirable creature--Then, after a pause, Poor wretch!--May he meet with the mercy he has not shown! 

I send this by a special messenger: for I am impatient to hear how it goes with thee--If I have received thy last letter, what melancholy reflections will that last, so full of shocking levity, give to