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.