your daughters have this silence by temper, do not let them have it by principle; show them that it is a perverse and inordinate disposition, which must be counteracted and reformed. Have I said enough?

Poor Dr. Taylor represents himself as ill; and I am afraid he is worse than in the summer.-My nights are very bad; but of the sarcocele I have now little except the memory.

The life of my dear, lovely miss Sophy is safe! let us return thanks to the great Giver of existence; and that her continuance amongst us may be a blessing to herself, and to those who love her.

pray

Now she is recovered, she must write me a little bistory of her sufferings, and impart her schemes of study. and improvement. Life, to be worthy of a rational being, must be always in progression; we must always purpose to do more or better than in time past. The mind is enlarged and elevated by mere purposes, though they end as they begin, by airy contemplation. We compare and judge, though we do not practise.

She will go back to her arithmetic again: a science, which will always delight her more, as by advancing further she discerns more of its use; and a science suited to Sophy's ease of mind, for you told me, last winter, that she loved metaphysics more than romances. Her choice is certainly as laudable as it is uncommon.

God bless you and your children! so says, dear

madam, your old friend,

Samuel Johnson.

LETTER XXVIII.

To Mrs. Thrate.

London, Dec. 27, 1783.

Dear madam,

The time of the year, for I hope the fault is rather in the weather than in me, has been very hard upon me. The muscles of my breast are much convulsed. Dr. Heberden recommends opiates, of which I have such horrour that I do not think of them but in extremes. I was however driven to them last night for refuge. Having taken the usual quantity, I durst not go to bed, for fear of that uneasiness to which a supine posture exposes me: but I rested all night in a chair, with much relief; and I have been to-day more warm, active, and cheerful.

You have more than once wondered at my complaint of solitude, when you hear that I am crowded with visits. Visiters are no proper companions in the cham ber of sickness. They come when I could sleep or read ; they stay till I am weary; they force me to attend when my mind calls for relaxation, and to speak when my powers will hardly actuate my tongue. The amusements and consolations of languor and depression, are conferred by familiar and domestic companions; who can be visited or called at will, and can occasionally be quitted or dismissed; who do not obstruct accommodation by ceremony, or destroy indolence by awakening effort.

Such society I had with Levet and Williams; such I had where--I am never likely to have it more.

I wish, dear lady, to you and your dear girls many

a cheerful and pious Christmas.

What can be the reason that I do not hear from you? I hope nothing disables you from writing. Do not omit giving me the comfort of knowing, that, after all my losses, I have yet a friend left.

My life is very solitary, and very cheerless. Though it has pleased God wonderfully to deliver me from the dropsy, I am still very weak; and I have not passed the door since the thirteenth of December. I hope for some help from warm weather, which will surely come in time. I could not have the consent of the physicians to go to church yesterday; I therefore received the holy sacrament at home, in the room where I communicated with dear Mrs. Williams, a little before her death.

It is vain to look round for that help which cannot be had. Yet we hope and hope, and fancy that he who has lived to-day may live to-morrow. But let us learn

to derive our hope only from God.

In the mean time, let us be kind to one another. I have no friend now living, but you and Mr. Hector, that was the friend of my youth. Do not neglect, dear sir,

Yours affectionately,

Samuel Johnson.

CHAPTER XIII.

LETTERS OF MISS SEWARD.

LETTER I.

To miss Emma

Lichfield, June 2, 1764.

O! my kind friend, my dear sister* is dangerously ill! Thursday next was fixed for her marriage. About three o'clock yesterday morning, I was awakened by her taking my hand, and telling me that she was very ill. Her dear hands felt of a parching heat, and so did her forehead and temples.

I called assistance instantly. We are all very much alarmed. Medicine has hitherto unsuccessfully contended with the disease, which I am afraid gains ground instead of abating. Her spirits have been too much hurried for a constitution so delicate.

We are a sad family; distracted with fears, that we dare not communicate to each other. I will not, while any hope remains, send away this letter; that, if it please Heaven to restore the dear sufferer, you may be spared those grievous apprehensions which your sympathy will excite, should you know our situation before you are informed that its terrors are removed.

*Her only sister, miss Sarah Seward, who died at the age of nineteen, on the eve of her intended marriage with Mr. Porter, a merchant at Leghorn, brother of Mrs. Lucy Porter of Lichfield, and son-in-law of Dr. Johnson.

Thursday morning.-Congratulate me, dearest Emma! The intended bridal day has arisen auspiciously, averting from my Sally's bosom the arrows of death, whose aim has been deprecated with our prayers and tears. There is a remission in the fever ;-a balmy moisture upon her temples, bosom, and hands. She breathes freely; is able to sit up in an arm chair; to smile with her wonted serenity; and cheerfully to tell us that she shall soon be well.

Thursday night.-O! my friend, our hopes are vanished!-While I was changing my gown, and preparing to carry neatness and a cheerful countenance to my sister's arm chair, she relapsed; the fever returned with redoubled violence!

In the distraction with which the servants fled different ways to recall the medical people, nobody came near my apartment to reveal the sad tidings, and I entered the sick room with all the alacrity of hope. What did I behold there!--Alas! my precious sister sunk back in her bed, just recovering from a fainting-fit!-sweet Honora* supporting with her arm the dear sufferer's head, her silent tears falling, in large drops, upon her Sally's pillow; my father and mother standing by the bed-side, the deepest wo in their countenance; Mr. Porter sitting in the window, leaning upon his hand, which covered his forehead.

The dear creature opened her languid eyes, and, looking at me earnestly, said: "My Nancy, you are dressed!—are you going out ?-Do not leave me long."

* Miss Honora Sneyd, daughter of Edward Sneyd, esq. She was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Seward, and educated in their family. She married Richard Lovell Edgeworth, esq.