LETTER CCXCIII.

To Mrs. THRAL E.

DEAR LADY,

I HOPE the worst is at last over.

Dec. 20, 1782.

I had a very

good night, and flept very long. You can hardly think how bad I have been while you were in all your altitudes, at the Opera, and all the fine places, and thinking little of me. Saftres has been very good. Queeney never fent me a kind word. I hope however to be with you in a short time, and fhew you a man again.

I am, Madam,

Your, &c.

LETTER CCXCIV.

Mrs. THRALE to Dr. JOHNSON.

My health, my children, and my fortune, Dear

Sir, are coming faft to an end I think

-not fo

my forrows: Harriet is dead, and Cicely is dying:

N 2

I had

I had taken an emetic when the exprefs came, and have ordered a post-chaife and chamomile tea at this inftant. A letter from London bids me make hafte thither, and not fit philofophically at Bath. This is from one of the guardians. I am more ill now than I can exprefs, of which Dr. Woodward is witnefs; who fays, if I do go, and add the hooping-cough to that which already has worn me to a skeleton, it will be my last trouble in this world. So much the better; I am as tired of life as can be, but will talk with dear Dr. Pepys once more before I leave it. If he cannot fave Cecilia, nobody can I am fure; Sir Richard is with her twice a-day befides: when I am there I will not touch her, nor tempt death fo madly though weary of living.

Was it not Torquato Taffo who was asked once what use he made of his philofophy? and did he not reply thus? I have learned from it to endure your malice? It ought to have been my answer to the epiftle of to-day.

Adieu, Dear Sir, I must lie down a moment, then get into the chaife, and drive all night till I reach Ray and Fry's school: no need to fee hateful London, is there? I will avoid it, if poffible, to be fure.

This is Good Friday night, and no Christian ought to complain of hard fufferings on this anniverfary of harder fufferings inflicted on his Saviour himself. I will therefore cease repining, and do my duty cheerfully.

My dear Sir, a fudden illness prevents my ability to get into the chaife, fo I'll fend this letter by the coach. If I have any life left I will ufe it to go fee Cecilia to-morrow. I am then and always equally your obliged and faithful servant,

H. L. THRALE. You will not know me when I do come. Sharp mifery has worn me to the bone.

I

LETTER

I

LETTER. CCXCV.

To Mrs. THRALE.

DEAR MADAM,

London, May-day, 1783.

AM glad that you went to Streatham, though you could not fave the dear pretty little girl. I loved her, for fhe was Thrale's and your's, and by her dear father's appointment in fome fort mine: I love you all, and therefore cannot without regret fee the phalanx broken, and reflect that you and my other dear girls are deprived of one that was born your friend. To fuch friends, every one that has them, has recourse at last, when it is difcovered, and difcovered it feldom fails to be, that the fortuitous friendships of inclination or vanity are at the mercy of a thousand accidents. But we must still our difquiet with remembering that, where there is no guilt, all is for the best. I am glad to hear that Cecily is fo near recovery.

For fome days after your departure I was pretty well, but I have begun to languish again, and last night was very tedious and oppreffive. excufed myself to-day from dining with General Paoli, where I love to dine, but I was griped by the talons of neceffity.

-On Saturday I dined, as is ufual, at the opening of the Exhibition. Our company was fplendid; whether more numerous than at any former time I know not. Our tables feem always full. On Monday, if I am told truth, were received at the door one hundred and ninety pounds, for the admiffion of three thoufand eight hundred fpectators. Suppofing the fhew open ten hours, and the spec

tators

tators staying one with another each an hour, the rooms never had fewer than three hundred and eighty juftling against each other. Poor Lowe met fome difcouragement, but I interpofed for him, and prevailed.

Mr. Barry's exhibition was opened the fame day, and a book is published to recommend it, which, if you read it, you will find decorated with fome fatirical pictures of Sir Jofhua Reynolds and others. I have not efcaped. You muft however think with fome efteem of Barry for the comprehenfion of his defign.

I am, Madam,

Your, &c.

LETTER CCXCVI.

I

To Mrs.

THRA LE.

London, May 8, 1783.

DEAR MADAM,

THOUGHT your letter long in coming. I fuppofe it is true that I looked but languid at the exhibition, but have been worse fince. Laft Wed, nesday, the Wednesday of laft week, I came home ill from Mr. Jodrel's, and after a tedious, oppref five, impatient night, fent an excufe to General Paoli, and took on Thursday two brifk catharticks and a dofe of calomel. Little things do me no

good.

good. At night I was much better. Next day cathartick again, and the third day opium for my cough. I lived without flefh all the three days. The recovery was more than I expected. I went to church on Sunday quite at ease.

The exhibition profpers fo much, that Sir Joshua fays it will maintain the academy. He estimates the probable amount at three thousand pounds. Steevens is of opinion that Croft's books will fell for near three times as much as they coft, which however is not more than might be expected..

Favour me with a direction to Mufgrave of Ireland; I have a charitable office to propofe to him. Is he Knight or Baronet?!

My prefent circle of enjoyment is as narrow for me as the Circus for Mrs. Montague. When I first fettled in this neighbourhood I had Richardson and Lawrence, and Mrs. Allen at hand. I had Mrs. Williams, then no bad companion, and Levet for a long time always to be had. If I now go out I muft go far for company, and at last come back to two fick and difcontented women, who can hardly talk, if they had any thing to fay, and whofe hatred of each other makes one great exercife of their faculties. i

But, with all thefe evils, pofitive and privative, my health in its prefent humour promifes to mend, and I, in my prefent humour, promise to take care of it, and if we both keep our words, we may yet have a brush at the cobwebs in the sky.

Let my dear loves write to me, and do you write often yourself to,