<p>ELEVEN O'CLOCK. <SPAN name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"></SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> LETTER II </h2>
<p>MR. BELFORD [IN CONTINUATION.]</p>
<p>The Colonel tells me that he had written to Mr. John Harlowe, by his
servant, 'That they might spare themselves the trouble of debating about a
reconciliation; for that his dear cousin would probably be no more before
they could resolve.'</p>
<p>He asked me after his cousin's means of subsisting; and whether she had
accepted of any favour from me; he was sure, he said, she would not from
you.</p>
<p>I acquainted him with the truth of her parting with some of her apparel.</p>
<p>This wrung his heart; and bitterly did he exclaim as well against you as
against her implacable relations.</p>
<p>He wished he had not come to England at all, or had come sooner; and hoped
I would apprize him of the whole mournful story, at a proper season. He
added, that he had thoughts, when he came over, of fixing here for the
remainder of his days; but now, as it was impossible his cousin could
recover, he would go abroad again, and re-settle himself at Florence or
Leghorn.</p>
<p>The lady has been giving orders, with great presence of mind, about her
body! directing her nurse and the maid of the house to put her in the
coffin as soon as she is cold. Mr. Belford, she said, would know the rest
by her will.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>She has just now given from her bosom, where she always wore it, a
miniature picture, set in gold, of Miss Howe. She gave it to Mrs. Lovick,
desiring her to fold it up in white paper, and direct it, To Charles
Hickman, Esq. and to give it to me, when she was departed, for that
gentleman.</p>
<p>She looked upon the picture, before she gave it her—Sweet and
ever-amiable friend!—Companion!—Sister!—Lover! said she—and
kissed it four several times, once at each tender appellation.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Your other servant is come.—Well may you be impatient!—Well
may you! —But do you think I can leave off, in the middle of a
conversation, to run and set down what offers, and send it away piece-meal
as I write? —If I could, must I not lose one half, while I put down
the other?</p>
<p>This event is nearly as interesting to me as it is to you. If you are more
grieved than I, there can be but one reason for it; and that's at your
heart!—I had rather lose all the friends I have in the world,
(yourself in the number,) than this divine lady; and shall be unhappy
whenever I think of her sufferings, and of her merit; though I have
nothing to reproach myself by reason of the former.</p>
<p>I say not this, just now, so much to reflect upon you as to express my own
grief; though your conscience I suppose, will make you think otherwise.</p>
<p>Your poor fellow, who says that he begs for his life, in desiring to be
dispatched back with a letter, tears this from me—else, perhaps,
(for I am just sent for down,) a quarter of an hour would make you—not
easy indeed—but certain—and that, in a state like your's, to a
mind like your's, is a relief.</p>
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