Amiss!—­what a Word!  Oh that I had been present to have answered it!  My father stayed, I suppose, half an hour, and then was coming away.  He again took his hand, and encouraged him to come again to him ; and when he Was taking leave, said—­“Tell Fanny to pray for me!”

Ah! dear Dr. Johnson! might I but have your prayers!  After which, still grasping his hand, he made a prayer for himself,—­ the most fervent, pious, humble, eloquent, and touching, my father says, that ever was composed.  Oh, would I had heard it!  He ended it with Amen! in which my father joined, and was echoed by all present.  And again, when my father was leaving him, he brightened up, something of his arch look returned, and he said--"I think I shall throw the ball at Fanny yet!”

Little more passed ere my father came away, decided, most tenderly, not to tell me this till our party was done.

This most earnestly increased my desire to see him; this kind and frequent Mention of me melted me into double sorrow and regret.  I would give the world I had but gone to him that day!  It was, however, Impossible, and the day was over before I knew he had said what I look upon as a call to me.  This 287

morning,(185) after church time, I went.  Frank(186) said he was very ill, and saw nobody; I told him I had understood by my father the day before that he meant ’to see me.  He then let me in.  I went into his room up stairs; he was in his bedroom.  I saw it crowded, and ran hastily down.  Frank told me his master had refused seeing even Mr. Langton.  I told him merely to say I had called, but by no means to press my admission.  His own feelings were all that should be consulted ; his tenderness, I knew, Would be equal, whether he was able to see me or not.

I went into the parlour, preferring being alone in the cold, to any company with a fire.  Here I waited long, here and upon the stairs, which I ascended and descended to meet again with Frank, and make inquiries ; but I met him not.  At last, upon Dr. Johnson’s ringing his bell, I saw Frank enter his room, and Mr. Langton follow.  “Who’s that?” I heard him say; they answered, “Mr. Langton,” and I found he did not return.

Soon after, all the rest went away but a Mrs. Davis, a good sort of woman, whom this truly charitable soul had sent for to take a dinner at his house.  I then went and waited with her by the fire ; it was, however, between three and four o’clock before I got any answer.  Mr. Langton then came himself.  He could not look at me, and I turned away from him.  Mrs. Davis asked how the doctor was?  “Going on to death very fast!” was his mournful answer.  “Has he taken,” said she, “anything?” “Nothing at all!  We carried him some bread and milk—­he refused it, and said—­’The less the better.’” She asked more questions, by which I found his faculties were perfect, his mind composed, and his dissolution was quick drawing on. . . .