Of his last moments, my brother, Thomas David, has furnished me with the following particulars:—
'The Doctor, from the time that he was certain his death was near, appeared to be perfectly resigned, was seldom or never fretful or out of temper, and often said to his faithful servant, who gave me this account, "Attend, Francis, to the salvation of your soul, which is the object of greatest importance:" he also explained to him passages in the scripture, and seemed to have pleasure in talking upon religious subjects.
'On Monday, the 13th of December, the day on which he died, a Miss Morris, daughter to a particular friend of his, called, and said to Francis, that she begged to be permitted to see the Doctor, that she might earnestly request him to give her his blessing.
Francis went into his room, followed by the young lady, and delivered the message. The Doctor turned himself in the bed, and said, "GOD bless you, my dear!"
These were the last words he spoke. His difficulty of breathing increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when Mr. Barber and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were sitting in the room, observing that the noise he made in breathing had ceased, went to the bed, and found he was dead.'
About two days after his death, the following very agreeable account was communicated to Mr. Malone, in a letter by the Honourable John Byng, to whom I am much obliged for granting me permission to introduce it in my work.
'DEAR SIR,
'Since I saw you, I have had a long conversation with Cawston {William Windham’s servant – Editor}, who sat up with Dr. Johnson, from nine o'clock, on Sunday evening, till ten o'clock, on Monday morning. And, from what I can gather from him, it should seem, that Dr. Johnson was perfectly composed, steady in hope, and resigned to death. At the interval of each hour, they assisted him to sit up in his bed, and move his legs, which were in much pain; when he regularly addressed himself to fervent prayer; and though, sometimes, his voice failed him, his senses never did, during that time.
The only sustenance he received, was cyder and water. He said his mind was prepared, and the time to his dissolution seemed long. At six in the morning, he enquired the hour, and, on being informed, said that all went on regularly, and he felt he had but a few hours to live.
'At ten o'clock in the morning, he parted from Cawston, saying, "You should not detain Mr. Windham's servant:— I thank you; bear my remembrance to your master." Cawston says, that no man could appear more collected, more devout, or less terrified at the thoughts of the approaching minute.
'This account has given us the satisfaction of thinking that that great man died as he lived, full of resignation, strengthened in faith, and joyful in hope.'
A few days before his death, he had asked Sir John Hawkins, as one of his executors, where he should be buried; and on being answered, 'Doubtless, in Westminster-Abbey,' seemed to feel a satisfaction, very natural to a Poet; and indeed in my opinion very natural to every man of any imagination, who has no family sepulchre in which he can be laid with his fathers. Accordingly, upon Monday, December 20, his remains were deposited in that noble and renowned edifice; and over his grave was placed a large blue flag-stone, with this inscription:—
'SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
Obiit XIII die Decembris,
Anno Domini M. DCC. LXXXIV.
Aetatis suoe LXXV.'
His funeral was attended by a respectable number of his friends, particularly such of the members of the LITERARY CLUB as were then in town; and was also honoured with the presence of several of the Reverend Chapter of Westminster. Mr. Burke, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr. Windham, Mr. Langton, Sir Charles Bunbury, and Mr. Colman, bore his pall. His schoolfellow, Dr. Taylor, performed the mournful office of reading the burial service.
I trust, I shall not be accused of affectation, when I declare, that I find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss of such a 'Guide, Philosopher, and Friend.' {The quoted phrase is from Pope’s Essay on Man. – Editor} I shall, therefore, not say one word of my own, but adopt those of an eminent friend {William Gerard Hamilton – Editor}, which he uttered with an abrupt felicity, superior to all studied compositions:—
'He has made a chasm, which not only nothing can fill up, but which nothing has a tendency to fill up. Johnson is dead. Let us go to the next best:— there is nobody; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson.'
The End
(classix comix™ is made possible in part through the generous assistance of the Bob’s Bowery Bar Fund for Indigent Artists and Littérateurs: “I should like to invite all of our studio and at-home audience to stop by Bob’s Bowery Bar this Thursday night for our annual Halloween party! Special prizes will be awarded for the most creative costumes, and for the occasion Bob will be breaking out a few kegs of his proprietary seasonal ‘pumpkin spice’ bock! Yours truly will be on hand as master of ceremonies, and musical entertainment will be provided by the Tony Winston Trio with special guest the lovely chanteuse Shirley De LaSalle! Free candy will be distributed within reason to all paying customers.”
– Horace P. Sternwall, host and narrator of Bob’s Bowery Bar Presents Philip Morris Commander’s “Blanche Weinberg, Lady Psychiatrist”, broadcast live 8pm Sundays {EST} exclusively on the Dumont Television Network. This week’s play: “The Man Who Thought He Was Dead”, by Hughie P. Stumpf, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with special guest star Boris Karloff.)
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