Is this thy kindness to thy once professed much loved friend, surely I never, never did deserve such cruel treatment at you hands; why not speak to me last night in James-street when you heard me call, Stop! stop! Ned! do, pray do; but cruel, cruel Ned, deaf to all intreaties—O why was I permitted to pass the door of Mr. Gibbons when you and West were coming out. Why was I permuted to tramp up and down the New Cut after you; I only wanted to speak one bitter heart breaking painful distressing word, farewell; I only wanted to pour my sorrows into your bosom, to shake hands with you once more, but I was denied this indulgence. I never, never thought you would deceive me—O what an unhappy man am I; the thing that I most feared is come upon me, no excuse can justify such apparent duplicity; O my distress is great indeed. O my God! what shall I do? O Christ! O God! support me in this trying hour, what a night am I passing through, I cannot sleep, tis near three o’clock; alas! sleep is departed, how great my grief, how bitter my sorrows, the loss of my character {20} is nothing to the loss of one dearer to me than my thing else. O let me give vent to tears, but I am too, too much distressed to cry, O that I could. I feel this like a dagger; never, never can I forgive the unhappy instrument of my distress in Charlotte-street. Why did my dear friend Edward deceive me? O how my mind was eased on Wednesday night; alas, how distressed on Thursday. I have lost my only bosom friend, nearest dearest friend, bosom from bosom torn, how horrid. Ah, dear Suffolk-court, never surely can I see you again. How the Philistines will triumph; there, so would we have it; how Ebeir, Calvin, Thompson, Edwards, Bridgman, all will rejoice, and I have lost my friend, my all in this world, except the other part of myself, my wife and poor babes; never did I expect this from my dear E— B—. O for a calm mind, that I might sleep till day light; but no, this I fear will be denied me. How can I bear the piercing thought, parted; a dreadful word, worst of sensations, the only indulgence, the only confident, the only faithful, the only kind and indulgent sympathising friend, to lose you. O what a stroke, O what a cut, what shall I do for matter for Sunday; O that I could get some one to preach for me; how can I lift up my head. O Sir, if you have a grain of affection left for me, do, do intreat of God to support me; this is a worse affliction than the loss of my character nine months ago. A man cannot lose his character twice. O I did think you knew better; I did think I had found one in you that I could not find elsewhere; but no, the first object presented to you seen suddenly gained your mind, gained your affections; and I, poor unhappy distressed I, am left to deplore your loss.