This day I
understand to be the ultimate limit of the American Mail;
yesterday, had it not been Sunday, would have been the limit: I
write a line, therefore, though in very great haste.
Poor Sterling, even I now begin to fear, is in a very bad way.
He had two successive attacks of spitting of blood, some three
months ago or more; the second attack of such violence, and his
previous condition then so weak, that the Doctor as good as gave
up hope,--the poor Patient himself had from the first given it
up. Our poor Friend has had so many attacks of that nature, and
so rapidly always rallied from them, I gave no ear to these
sinister prognostics; but now that I see the summer influences
passing over him without visible improvement, and our good
weather looking towards a close without so much strength added as
will authorize even a new voyage to Madeira;--I too am at last
joining in the general discouragement; all the sadder to me that
I shut it out so long. Sir James Clark, our best-accredited
Physician for such diseases, declares that Life, for certain
months, may linger, with great pain; but that recovery is not to
be expected.
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