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HAZLITT'S DEATH-BED. 



THE late William Hazlitt was hailed at the commencement of 

 his term of authorship as a star. Vast things were predicted of him : 

 and he, looking at the flattering picture, presaged a happy voyage 

 through life; but how soon was the scene changed! His deter- 

 mined bent of thought having been ascertained to be on the popular 

 side, he was soon marked down as a fit object for legal calumny 

 the fitter because the more conspicuous. I use the term legal ca- 

 lumny with the intention of distinguishing that sort of wrong from 

 illegal calumny, or libel. To say he was an infidel, that his asso- 

 ciates were the same, to assail the integrity of his opinions and the 

 motives from which he supported them, were the lightest missiles 

 hflrled at him by his enemies. Would he had lived to see his prin- 

 ciples triumphant ! 



The harassing nature of his occupation, the periodical supply of a 

 certain quantum of copy, at length produced its effect. Those alone 

 who are doomed to the same drudgery can appreciate my simile 

 when I liken the press to " the horse-leech, which cries Give ! Give !" 

 and this eternal cry, together with the application of stimuli to en- 

 able him to supply the demand, brought on that depravation of the 

 stomach which is the usual effect of such a course of life. 



Reluctantly, nay, tremblingly, do I lift the veil which now hangs 

 over the death-bed of poor Hazlitt. Imagine this highly-gifted 

 man stretched on a couch in the back room of a second floor, his only 

 child, and Martin, his faithful companion and friend, watching over 

 him. Others were not deficient in their attentions, and in providing 

 the means of existence for him ; for know, reader, that the death-bed 

 of this author was not distinguished by the circumstance of his pos- 

 sessing wherewith to support life when exertion was not in his 

 power. It seems that some sudden turn of memory caused a pang in 

 the dying man's bosom, and calling to one, whom I shall conceal 

 under the name of Basilius,* he gently said, " Basilius, stoop down 

 and let me talk to you." 



Basilius, crouching by the bedside. What can I do for you, my dear 

 Hazlitt? 



Hazlitt. Rid me of a pang. 



Basilius. Willingly, dear friend. 



Hazlitt. Lend me forty pounds. 



Basilius. Forty pounds ! Dear Hazlitt, what can you want with 

 forty pounds ? 



Hazlitt. Lend me forty pounds. 



Basilius. Do not talk so, my dear Hazlitt. You cannot want forty 

 pounds. 



Hazlitt. I know I know, Basilius, what I ask. Lend it me 

 lend it me I want it. 'Twill ease my mind I want it. Lend it 



* To the gentleman thus designated, poor Hazlitt was already under deep 

 obligations. Ed. 



M.M. No. 87- 2 C 



