He then animated, and talked on, upon this milk-woman, upon a once as famous shoemaker, and upon our immortal Shakspeare, with as much fire, spirit, wit, and truth of criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard him.  How delightfully bright are his faculties, though the poor and infirm machine that contains them seems alarmingly giving way.

Yet, all brilliant as he was, I saw him growing worse, and offered to go, which, for the first time I ever remember, he did not oppose; but, most kindly pressing both my hands,—­

“Be not,” he said, in a voice of even tenderness, “be not longer in Coming again for my letting you go now.”

I assured him I would be the sooner, and was running off. but he called me back, in a solemn voice, and, in a manner the most energetic, said,—­

“Remember me in your prayers!”

I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not dare.  I gave him my promise, and, very heavily indeed, I left him.  Great, good, and excellent that he Is, how short a time will he be our boast!  Ah, my dear Susy, I see he is going!  This winter will never conduct him to a more genial season here!  Elsewhere, who shall hope a fairer?  I wish I had bid him pray for me, but it seemed to me presumptuous.

Dr. Johnson dying.  His death.

Wednesday, Dec. 8.-At night my father brought us the most dismal tidings of dear Dr. Johnson.  Dr. Warren had seen him, and told him to take what opium he pleased!  He had thanked and taken leave of all his physicians.  Alas!—­I shall lose him, and he will take no leave of me!(184) My father was deeply depressed ; he has himself tried in vain for admission this week.  Yet some people see him—­the Hooles, Mr. Sastres,

286

Mr. Langton;—­but then they must be in the house, watching for one moment, whole hours.  I hear from every one he is now perfectly resigned to his approaching fate, and no longer in terror of death.  I am thankfully happy in hearing that he speaks himself now of the change his mind has undergone, from its dark horror—­and says—­“He feels the irradiation of hope,” Good, and pious, and excellent Christian—­who shall feel it if not he?

Dec. 11.-We had a party to dinner, by long appointment, for which, indeed, none of us were well disposed, the apprehension of hearing news only of death being hard upon us all.  The party was, Dr. Rose, Dr. Gillies, Dr. Garthshore, and Charles.

The day could not be well—­but mark the night.

My father, in the morning, saw this first of men!  I had not his account till bed-time; he feared over-exciting me.  He would not, he said, but have seen him for worlds!  He happened to be better, and admitted him.  He Was up, and very composed.  He took his hand very kindly, asked after all his family, and then, in particular, how Fanny did?  “I hope,” he said, “Fanny did not take it amiss that I did not see her?  I was very bad!”