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NOBLE DELIVERANCE OF BURKE'S.

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of a Bishop, though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not commanding such awe. Yet, Sir, many people who might have been benefited by your conversation, have been frightened away. A worthy friend of ours has told me, that he has often been afraid to talk to you."-JOHNSON: "Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he had anything rational to say. If he had not, it was better he did not talk."

And now, having reached almost the last stage of our hero's life, and taking a large look back over his long past, we are bound to confess that we see but little in the whole of it except what is grand and imposing on the one hand, or beautiful and affecting on the other. Those occasional outbursts of temper which have scandalised so many, seem to us so much a part of the man himself-the man we love and admire in spite of those weaknesses, to some extent because of them-that we cannot wish even them away. We therefore gladly endorse Edmund Burke's noble deliverance upon this often-alleged defect in his venerable friend's character: "It is well," said he, " if, when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon his conscience than having been a little rough in conversation." Samuel Johnson is perfectly safe, then; if the universe is governed in the interests of honesty and truth-as we are fain to believe that it is.

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A MOURNFUL DUTY DISCHARGED.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE DOCTOR'S LAST VISIT TO HIS NATIVE DISTRICT-RETURN

TO LONDON-DEATH-BED-SCENE CLOSED.

(1784.)

66 TO THE REVEREND MR. BAGSHAW, AT BROMLEY.

"SIR,

"July 12, 1784.

"Perhaps you may remember, that in the year 1753 you committed to the ground my dear wife. I now entreat your permission to lay a stone upon her; and have sent the inscription, that, if you find it proper, you may signify your allowance.

"You will do me a great favour by showing the place where she lies, that the stone may protect her remains.

66

Mr. Ryland will wait on you for the inscription, and procure it to be engraved. You will easily believe that I shrink from this mournful office. When it is done, if I have strength remaining, I will visit Bromley once again, and pay you a part of the respect to which you have a right from,

"Reverend Sir,

"Your most humble Servant,
"SAM. JOHNSON."

"You will easily believe that I shrink from this mournful office." There lies the reason of his having shrunk so long. It is thirty years now since he laid his beloved Tetty in the grave; and all this while he has not had courage to pay the dead its last sad due but there must be no more delay-for the shadows are lengthening apace.

Next day he set out for Staffordshire and Derbyshire, in the hope that change of air and scene might work him some good. A

THE DOCTOR'S LAST VISIT TO LICHFIELD. 431

few extracts from some of the many letters he wrote while on this jaunt will give all the needful account of his state during this period.

66 TO DR. BROCKLESBY.

"Ashbourne, July 20.

"The kind attention which you have so long shown to my health and happiness makes it as much a debt of gratitude as a call of interest to give you an account of what befalls me, when accident removes me from your immediate care. The journey of the first day was performed with very little sense of fatigue; the second day brought me to Lichfield, without much lassitude; but I am afraid that I could not have borne such violent agitation for many days together. I stayed five days at Lichfield, but, being unable to walk, had no great pleasure; and yesterday I came hither, where I am to try what air and attention can perform. Of any improvement in my health I cannot yet please myself with the perception. . . The asthma has no abatement. Opiates stop the fit, so as that I can sit and sometimes lie easy, but they do not now procure me the power of motion; and I am afraid that my general strength of body does not increase. The weather, indeed, is not benign; but how low is he sunk whose strength depends upon the weather!—I am now looking into Floyer, who lived with his asthma to almost his ninetieth year. His book, by want of order, is obscure; and his asthma, I think, not of the same kind with mine. Something, however, I may perhaps learn. appetite still continues keen enough; and, what I consider as a symptom of radical health, I have a voracious delight in raw summer fruit, of which I was less eager a few years ago.-Nowabite curæ ! let me inquire after the Club." . . . [The new Club at the Essex Head.]

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"The weather, you know, has not been balmy; I am now reduced to think, and am at last content to talk, of the weather. Pride must have a fall. I have lost dear Mr. Allen; and wherever I turn, the dead or the dying meet my notice, and force my atten

432 tion upon misery and mortality. Mrs. Burney's escape from so much danger, and her ease after so much pain, throw, however, some radiance of hope upon the gloomy prospect. May her recovery be perfect, and her continuance long. I struggle hard for life. I take physic, and take air; my friend's chariot is always ready. We have run this morning twenty-four miles, and could run forty-eight more. But who can run the race with death?"

"I STRUGGLE HARD FOR LIFE.”

Not so very long ago, the Doctor had run a race in the rain, and beat Baretti; but he has no chance of outstripping this competitor.

66 TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

"Ashbourne, August 19.

"Having had since our separation little to say that could please you or myself by saying, I have not been lavish of useless letters; but I flatter myself that you will partake of the pleasure with which I can now tell you, that about a week ago I felt suddenly a sensible remission of my asthma, and, consequently, a greater lightness of action and motion. Of this grateful alleviation I know not the cause, nor dare depend upon its continuance, but while it lasts I endeavour to enjoy it, and am desirous of communicating, while it lasts, my pleasure to my friends. Hitherto, dear Sir, I had written, before the post, which stays in this town but a little while, brought me your letter. Mr. Davies seems to have represented my little tendency to recover in terms too splendid. I am still restless, still weak, still watery, but the asthma is less oppressive. Poor Ramsay! On which side soever I turn, mortality presents its formidable frown. I left three old friends at Lichfield, when I was last there, and now found them all dead. I no sooner lost sight of dear Allan, than I am told that I shall see him no more. That we must all die, we always knew; I wish I had sooner remembered it. Do not think me intrusive or importunate if I now call, dear Sir, upon you to remember it."

"TO MR. LANGTON.

"August 25.

"The kindness of your last letter, and my omission to answer it, begins to give you, even in my opinion, a right to recriminate,

"A NARRATIVE OF MISERY.”

433

and to charge me with forgetfulness for the absent. I will, therefore, delay no longer to give an account of myself, and wish I could relate what would please either myself or my friend.-On July 13, I left London, partly in hope of help from new air and change of place, and partly excited by the sick man's impatience of the present. I got to Lichfield in a stage vehicle, with very little fatigue, in two days, and had the consolation to find that since my last visit my three old acquaintances are all dead.-July 20, I went to Ashbourne, where I have been till now; the house in which we live is repairing. I live in too much solitude, and am often deeply dejected. I wish we were nearer, and rejoice in your removal to London. A friend, at once cheerful and serious, is a great acquisition. Let us not neglect one another for the little time which Providence allows us to hope.-Of my health I cannot tell you, what my wishes persuaded me to expect, that it is much improved by the season or by remedies. I am sleepless; my legs grow weary with a very few steps, and the water breaks its boundaries in some degree. The asthma, however, has remitted; my breath is still much obstructed, but is more free than it was. Nights of watchfulness produce torpid days; I read very little, though I am alone; for I am tempted to supply in the day what I lost in bed. This is my history; like all other histories, a narrative of misery. Yet am I so much better than in the beginning of the year, that I ought to be ashamed of complaining. I now sit and write with very little sensibility of pain or weakness; but when I rise I shall find my legs betraying me. which you mentioned, I have no immediate need. ever, for me, unless some exigence requires it. will show you certainly, when you would see them; but I am a little angry at you for not keeping minutes of your own acceptum et expensum, and think a little time might be spared from Aristophanes for the res familiares. Forgive me, for I mean well. hope, dear Sir, that you and Lady Rothes, and all the young people, too many to enumerate, are well and happy. God bless you all."

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