and was ſo childiſhly eager to have his houſe fitted up with taſte, that he actually trifled away a month, before he went to ſeek for his friend.
But his negligence was now ſeverely puniſhed. He learned that he had been reduced to great diſtreſs, and thrown into the very gaol, out of which he took Townley, who, haſtening to it, only found his dead body there; for he died the day before. On the table was lying, amidſt ſome other ſcraps of paper, a letter, directed in an unſteady hand to Charles Townley. He tore it open. Few were the ſcarcely legible lines; but they ſmote his heart. He read as follows:—
"I have been reduced by unforeſeen misfortunes; yet when I heard of your arrival, a gleam of joy cheered my heart—I thought I knew your's, and that my latter days might ſtill have been made comfortable in your ſociety, for I loved you; I even expected pleaſure; but I was miſtaken; death is my only friend."
He read it over and over again; and cried out, Gracious God, had I arrived but
