My neighbour, Mr. Fraser, tells me that by my looks and speaking he cannot think me so ill as imagined. You will think the same by my writing the above. My distemper is owing to Gravelly Ulcers and it is a great chance at my time of life to recover, so [we] should be prepared for the worst.
It is a satisfaction to me to have been able to write this letter, such as it is. My thoughts are every day and every night with my sisters and [I] figure myself frequently at your fireside. Remember I am not to write any more unless I get a great deal better. [I] shall refer you to Christine to correspond and to tell you all you would wish to know from this country. And now I have nothing but Compts. and love to send to all my friends—to Robie Hepburn as my oldest and nearest my heart—my blessings to his family, as to the Kers and Congaltons. And once more to Anny you and Mary and Mrs. Ker and my Polly and Tom. God bless you all. I am truly my dear Madie with much affection,
Yours for aye,
John Nairne.
Nairne was not mistaken in his view that the end was near. He writes about this time to his physician at Quebec (there was no practitioner at Murray Bay) describing his symptoms and ends: "Now, dear Doctor, I dare say you think some apologies necessary for my troubling you so particularly with the complaints of an old man of 71, as his inward machinery is probably wore out and irreparable." In a last vain hope they took him to Quebec for medical care. But the machinery was, indeed, "wore out," and at Quebec, on July 14th, 1802, he closed his eyes on a world which, though it brought him labour and sorrow, he thought to be very good.
Among his own letters is preserved the printed invitation to his funeral:
Quebec, Wednesday, 14th July, 1802.
Sir,—