He arrived in London on the 16th of November, and next day sent to Dr.
Burney, the following note:
“Mr. Johnson, who came home last night, send his respects to dear Dr.
Burney, and all the dear Burneys, little and great.”
Soon after his return to the metropolis, both the asthma and dropsy
became more violent and distressful. He had for some time kept a journal
in Latin, of the state of his illness, and the remedies which he had
used, under the title of “Aegri Ephemeris,” which he began on the 6th of
July, but continued it no longer then the 8th of November; finding,
probably, that it was a mournful and unavailing register.
Dr. Herberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter, physicians,
generously attended him, without accepting of any fees, as did Mr.
Cruikshank, surgeon; and all that could be done, from professional skill
and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so truly valuable. He himself,
indeed, having on account of his very bad constitution, been perpetually
applying himself to medical enquiries, united his own efforts with those
of the gentlemen who attended him; and imagining that the dropsical
collection of water which oppressed him, might be drawn off, by making
incisions in his body, he, with his usual resolute defiance of pain, cut
deep, when he thought that his surgeon had done it too tenderly.
About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid him
his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said, “I have
been as a dying man all night.” He then emphatically broke out, in the
words of Shakspeare,
“Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d?
“Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?
“Raze out the written troubles of the brain?
“And with some sweet oblivious antidote,
“Cleanse the full bosom of that perilous stuff,
“Which weighs upon the heart.”
To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered from the same great poet,
“------------therein the patient
“Must minister unto himself.”
Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application.
On another day after this, when talking on the same subject of prayer,
Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal,
“Orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano,”
and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly
over, he happened in the line
“Qui spatium vitæ extremum inter munera ponat,”
to pronounce “supremum,” for “extremum;” at which Johnson’s critical ear
infirmly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the unmetrical
effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as ever of the spirit
of the grammarian.
Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson’s intention
to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr. Francis
Barber, whom he had all along treated truly as an humble friend. Having
asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity to bequeath to a
favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on the
circumstances of the master; and that in the case of a nobleman fifty
pounds a-year was considered as an adequate reward for many years
faithful service. “Then,” said Johnson, “shall I be nobilissimus, for I
mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a-year, and I desire you to tell him
so.” It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from
that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he
delayed it from time to time; and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins’s
repeatedly urging it, it is probable that his kind resolution would not
have been fulfilled.
Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the mind of the dying
Johnson, his characteristical manner shewed itself on different
occasions.
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 is an idiot; he is as awkward
as a turnspit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a
dormouse.”
(_To be concluded in our next._)
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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._
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