User:Klarm768/Sandbox04

And again—

LAST LETTER OF THE POET. "To Mr. James Armour, Mauchline. ", 18th July, 1796.

—Do, for heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour here immediately. My wife is hourly expecting to be put to bed. Good God! what a situation for her to be in, poor girl (not yet thirty), without a friend. I returned from sea-bathing quarters to-day, and my medical friends would almost persuade me that I am better; but I think and feel that my strength is so gone, that the disorder will prove fatal to me. Your son-in-law, R. B."