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436

THOUGHTS OF THE GRAVE.

the end was near.

The thought of being speedily gathered to his fathers seems to have stirred anew all his natural sense of fellow

ship with those of his relations who had gone before.

"TO MR. GREEN, APOTHECARY, AT LICHFIELD.

"DEAR SIR,

"Dec. 2, 1784.

"I have enclosed the Epitaph for my father, mother, and brother, to be all engraved on the large size, and laid in the middle aisle in St. Michael's church, which I request the clergyman and churchwardens to permit.

"The first care must be to find the exact place of interment, that the stone may protect the bodies. Then let the stone be deep, massy, and hard; and do not let the difference of ten pounds, or more, defeat our purpose.

"I have enclosed ten pounds, and Mrs. Porter will pay you ten more, which I gave her for the same purpose. What more is wanted shall be sent; and I beg that all possible haste may be made, for I wish to have it done while I am yet alive. Let me know, dear Sir, that you receive this. I am, Sir, "Your most humble servant,

"SAM. JOHNSON.”

During his last illness he was faithfully attended by four physicians and a surgeon; none of whom would take any fee. This man had made all who knew him feel that he had given far more than he could ever get.

About eight or ten days before his death, Dr. Brocklesby, on paying his morning visit, found his patient very low and desponding: he said, "I have been as a dying man all night." Then he broke out in the words of Macbeth's famous demand made of his physician :

"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased;

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?"

ON A DEATH-BED.

Dr. Brocklesby solemnly replied:—

"Therein the patient

Must minister to himself."

437

Johnson then asked what would be a proper annuity to a favourite servant; and, on being told that even in the case of a nobleman fifty pounds a year was considered a handsome legacy, replied, “Then shall I be nobilissimus, for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a year, and I desire you to tell him so." A will to this effect was made a few days afterwards.

With that strong natural fortitude which always characterised him, he now begged Dr. Brocklesby to tell him plainly whether or not he could recover. The doctor declared that, in his opinion, he could not recover without a miracle. "Then," said Johnson, “I will take no more physic, not even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to GOD unclouded."

Johnson had at length met with an opponent whom he could not even jostle down; but he would at least meet his last enemy face to face, with a steady brain and a clear eye. He did not really fear death; but he was loath to leave a world where there still seemed to be work for him to do: it was not punishment he dreaded, it was perfect purity of which he stood in awe—and these two terrors are worlds asunder. His whole life had been a struggle and a fight, and, in dull moments, the victory had seemed to be on the wrong side but let us see to it that we do justice to the noble man whose fine moral sensitiveness would not let him do justice to himself.

The Doctor, from the time that he was assured his death was near, appeared to be perfectly resigned, and was seldom or never fretful or out of temper. Occasionally, he was even half-jocular. When Dr. Warren, in the usual conventional style, hoped that he was better, his answer was, "No, Sir; you cannot conceive with what acceleration I advance towards death."

A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit up with him. Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant, his answer was, "Not at all, Sir; the fellow's an idiot;

438

RESIGNED-HALF-JOCULAR EVEN.

he is as awkward as a turnspit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse."

A friend having placed a pillow conveniently to support him, he thanked him for his kindness, and said, "That will do-all that a pillow can do."

Once, when his servant brought him a note, he cried, "An odd thought strikes me-we shall receive no letters in the grave.”

He repeated spiritedly a poem which he said he had composed some years before, on the occasion of a rich extravagant young gentleman's coming of age. He had never repeated it but once since its composition, and had given away only one copy of it. We quote the poem here, both for its own sake and because of the circumstances under which it was recited this second time.

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Call the Betseys, Kates, and Jennies,
All the names that banish care;
Lavish of your grandsire's guineas,
Show the spirit of an heir.

All that prey on vice and folly
Joy to see their quarry fly ;
There the gamester, light and jolly,
There the lender grave and sly.

Wealth, my lad, was made to wander,
Let it wander as it will;

Call the jockey, call the pander,

Bid them come and take their fill.

When the bonny blade carouses,
Pockets full, and spirits high-
What are acres? what are houses?
Only dirt, or wet or dry.

PARTINGS.

Should the guardian friend or mother

Tell the woes of wilful waste;

Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother,

You can hang or drown at last.

439

During all these last weary days the attachment of Johnson's numerous friends was steady, and their kindness unremitting. Mr. Langton's attentions were especially tender, and were as tenderly received :—“ Te teneam moriens deficiente manu" [Dying shall I hold thee with my failing hand], said the old man to this faithful Johnson kept none of his acquaintances away from his bedside; the sight of a human face looking upon him with affectionate respect had always been sweet, and was sweeter now than ever before. One day Langton found Burke and four or five more sitting with the dying man. Burke said to him, "I am afraid, Sir, such a number of us may be oppressive to you." "No, Sir," said Johnson, "it is not so; and I must be in a wretched state indeed when your company would not be a delight to me." Burke, with a trembling voice, replied, "My dear Sir, you have always been too good to me." Those were the last words that passed between these two noble men-perhaps the two noblest men of their time: and they were not the language of debate-they were a loving and everlasting farewell.

Sir Joshua Reynolds he requested to do three things in memory of him :-To forgive him thirty pounds which he had borrowed of him; to read the Bible; and never to use his pencil on a Sunday. Sir Joshua promised all three.

A few days before his death he asked one of his executors where he would be buried, and seemed pleased when it was answered, "Doubtless in Westminster Abbey."

The sacrament was administered to him in his own room, and before receiving it he composed and uttered the following prayer: "Almighty and most merciful Father, I am now, as to human eyes it seems, about to commemorate, for the last time, the death of thy Son, JESUS CHRIST, our Saviour and Redeemer. Grant, O LORD, that my whole hope and confidence may be in his merits, and thy mercy; enforce and accept my imperfect repentance;

440

LIPS SEALED FOR EVER.

make this commemoration available to the confirmation of my faith, the establishment of my hope, and the enlargement of my charity; and make the death of thy Son JESUS CHRIST effectual to my redemption. Have mercy upon me, and pardon the multitude of my offences. Bless my friends; have mercy upon all men. Support me by thy Holy Spirit, in the days of weakness, and at the hour of death; and receive me, at my death, to everlasting happiness, for the sake of JESUS CHRIST. Amen."

"Men might well seek

For purifying rites; even pious deeds
Need washing."

This was what the Church-symbols meant for Dr. Johnsonwhatever they may or may not mean for us: and he did well to hold by them to the end.

On Monday, the 13th of December, a Miss Morris, daughter of a particular friend of his, called, and begged Francis to ask the Doctor to let her see him, that she might receive his blessing. The request was granted; the young lady entered the room; and the Doctor, turning himself in his bed, said, “God bless you, my dear!" These were the last words he ever spoke.

His difficulty of breathing increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when Frank and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in the room, observed that the heavy respiration had ceased, and, on going to the bed, found that he had breathed his last. He had passed peacefully and painlessly away into the silent land: one more toiling brain and struggling heart for ever laid to rest.

Upon Monday, December 20th, his remains were deposited in Westminster Abbey, not far from the body of his friend and pupil, David Garrick; and over his grave was placed a large blue flagstone, with this inscription

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