He is a little better; but his fever is constant and violent; happily, the most dangerous symptoms have left him these two days. He has yet moments of delirium, in which he is very restless. Alas! he is not out of danger! I did not write to you yesterday; I can now scarce hold my pen; I am not myself; I have not tasted food. Shut up in my chamber, I admit no body; it is impossible for me either to listen to or to answer any one. They directed me very well: my Lord Ossory is at Sir Charles Halifax's, in the midst of as good assistance as London itself could have procured him. By a happy chance, Dr. Harrison is in the country; he is with him. John has wrote me word, that when he arrived, he found the whole family in tears. Alas! I believe him. Who can know my Lord Ossory, and not feel for him? How is it possible to avoid loving him? So noble in his manners, so gentle, so benevolent; the good qualities of his soul are painted on his countenance; he conquers all hearts: I never heard him mentioned, without an encomium following his name. What man ever more amiably joined true dignity with good nature, with that familiarity which is not afraid to condescend, and which impresses more deeply that respect, it seems to resign all claim to? Who but must lament that a being so worthy to exist, is going perhaps to perish! – I expect with fear, with impatience – But some body enquires for my woman – Ah! what happiness! – A tranquil night, five hours sleep, no delirium, the fever considerably abated: Dr. Harrison will answer for his life, and even for his quick recovery.