Then follows, what I repeated,

Death could not a more sad retinue find,
Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind.

Alas! my dear Belford [inferred the unhappy deep-thinker] what poor creatures does this convince me we mortals are at best!—­But what then must be the case of such a profligate as I, who by a past wicked life have added greater force to these natural terrors?  If death be so repugnant a thing to human nature, that good men will be startled at it, what must it be to one who has lived a life of sense and appetite; nor ever reflected upon the end which I now am within view of?

What could I say to an inference so fairly drawn?  Mercy, mercy, unbounded mercy, was still my plea, though his repeated opposition of justice to it, in a manner silenced that plea:  and what would I have given to have had rise in my mind, one good, eminently good action to have remembered him of, in order to combat his fears with it?

I believe, Lovelace, I shall tire thee, and that more with the subject of my letter, than even with the length of it.  But really, I think thy spirits are so offensively up since thy recovery, that I ought, as the melancholy subjects offer, to endeavour to reduce thee to the standard of humanity, by expatiating upon them.  And then thou canst not but be curious to know every thing that concerns the poor man, for whom thou hast always expressed a great regard.  I will therefore proceed as I have begun.  If thou likest not to read it now, lay it by, if thou wilt, till the like circumstances befall thee, till like reflections from those circumstances seize thee; and then take it up, and compare the two cases together.

***

At his earnest request, I sat up with him last night; and, poor man! it is impossible to tell thee, how easy and safe he thought himself in my company, for the first part of the night:  A drowning man will catch at a straw, the proverb well says:  and a straw was I, with respect to any real help I could give him.  He often awaked in terrors; and once calling out for me, Dear Belford, said he, Where are you!—­Oh!  There you are!—­Give me your friendly hand!—­Then grasping it, and putting his clammy, half-cold lips to it—­How kind!  I fear every thing when you are absent.  But the presence of a friend, a sympathising friend—­Oh! how comfortable!

But, about four in the morning, he frighted me much:  he waked with three terrible groans; and endeavoured to speak, but could not presently—­and when he did,—­Jack, Jack, Jack, five or six times repeated he as quick as thought, now, now, now, save me, save me, save me—­I am going—­going indeed!

I threw my arms about him, and raised him upon his pillow, as he was sinking (as if to hide himself) in the bed-clothes—­And staring wildly, Where am I? said he, a little recovering.  Did you not see him? turning his head this way and that; horror in his countenance; Did you not see him?