Boswell's Life of Johnson
always one of his great favourites, had, during his last illness, the
satisfaction of contributing to soothe and comfort him. That
gentleman's house, at Islington, of which he is Vicar, afforded Johnson,
occasionally and easily, an agreeable change of place and fresh air; and
he attended also upon him in town in the discharge of the sacred offices
of his profession.
Mr. Strahan has given me the agreeable assurance, that, after being in
much agitation, Johnson became quite composed, and continued so till his
death.
Dr. Brocklesby, who will not be suspected of fanaticism, obliged me with
the following account:--
'For some time before his death, all his fears were calmed and absorbed
by the prevalence of his faith, and his trust in the merits and
propitiation of JESUS CHRIST.'
Johnson having thus in his mind the true Christian scheme, at once
rational and consolatory, uniting justice and mercy in the Divinity,
with the improvement of human nature, previous to his receiving the
Holy Sacrament in his apartment, composed and fervently uttered this
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; 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.'
Having, as has been already mentioned, made his will on the 8th and 9th
of December, and settled all his worldly affairs, he languished till
Monday, the 13th of that month, when he expired, about seven o'clock
in the evening, with so little apparent pain that his attendants hardly
perceived when his dissolution took place.
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, 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 inquired 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, which is so much more agreeable than, and somewhat
different from, yours, 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 suae 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
school-fellow, 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.' I shall, therefore, not say one word
of my own, but adopt those of an eminent friend, 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.'