greatest merit on her side that ever was in one human creature toward another. Nay, if I were now near her, I would not see her; I could not behave myself tolerably, and should redouble her sorrow. Judge in what a temper of mind I write this. The very time I am writing, I conclude the fairest foul in the world has left its body. — Confusion! that I am this moment called down to a visitor, when I am in the country, and not in my power to deny myself. I have passed a very constrained hour, and now return to say I know not what. I have been long weary of the world, and shall for my small remainder of years be weary of life, having for ever lost that conversation, which alone could make it tolerable."
Soon after this, we have seen that he returned to Ireland, where he found the danger over, and was made happy by her recovery. But on his next journey to London in the following year, he was again alarmed with an account of a most dangerous relapse. The effect this had on him will be best described by his own expressions in his letter to Dr. Sheridan.
"I have had your letter of the 19th, and expect, before you read this, to receive another from you, with the most fatal news that can ever come to me, unless I should be put to death for some ignominious crime. I continue very ill with my giddiness and deafness, and I shall be perfectly content if God shall please to call me at this time. I beg, if you have not writ to me before you get this, to tell me no particulars, but the event in general: my weakness, my age, my friendship will bear no more. I do not intend to return to Ireland so soon as I purposed; I would not be there in the midst of grief. Neither my health nor grief will permit me
