repeated. Amidst the sufferings he endured, what a consolatory balm did that friend afford him!
"Dear Dr. Lovesworth," said he, "I thank you most cordially for your constant kind attentions to me, and particularly for this present one, the benevolent motive which has urged your coming to see me. When we last parted I was much out of health, perhaps more so than you, in common with my other friends, might believe; and you formed no supposition that when we next met you would find me so near my end—even on the brink of eternity."
These words were spoken in a voice so firm, so free from human weakness, that Dr. Lovesworth instantly perceived the heart of his young friend was where it ought to be. It may be well supposed that the Doctor in his reply mingled the warmth of friendship with the piety and zeal of the true Christian, and yet maintained a hope, a possibility that the thread of life was not wholly spun.
"At present," resumed Philimore, "it is more uneasiness I feel than acute pain; experience however of the past holds out no favourable expectation, and leaves me but patience as a principal support, and which I hope to be favoured with an increasing share of as the exigences may require; at the same time I do not wish, my good Doctor, that you should deceive yourself; that blessed moment which will release me from all earthly cares is nearer at hand than you imagine; and as the time permitted me to see and speak to you is but short, I wish to
