258 HAZLITT'S DEATH-BED. 



me : and think, Basilius, think what the world will say when it is 

 known that you lent a dying man forty pounds without a hope of 

 being repaid. 



The argument of Hazlitt did not prevail. Very shortly after he 

 said to Martin (whose attendance was constant), " Martin, come 

 here/' 



Martin approached. 



Hazlitt. Martin, I want you to write a letter for me (starting up 

 with energy). Swear you'll do it ! 



Martin went through the ceremony of an oath. 



Hazlitt. Now write, Dear sir." 



Martin. " Dear sir." 



Hazlitt. " I am at the last gasp." 



Martin. " I am at the last gasp." 



Hazlitt. " Pray send me a hundred pounds." 



Martin. " Pray send me a hundred pounds.'* 



Hazlitt. " Yours truly " 



Martin. " Yours truly" 



Hazlitt. " William Hazlitt." 



Martin. " William Hazlitt." 



Hazlitt. Now, fold the letter. 



Martin folded it. 



Hazlitt. Write : " To Francis Jeffrey, Esq. Edinburgh." 



Martin superscribed the letter. 



Hazlitt. Now I am satisfied. 



Martin. Shall I not put in a word, Hazlitt, explaining who 

 wrote it ? 



Hazlitt, starting up. Swear, Martin, you won't do so ; swear you'll 

 send it as it is ! 



Martin sent the letter : Hazlitt died very soon after ; and on the 

 day subsequent to his death, a letter from Jeffrey arrived with an 

 enclosure of fifty pounds.* 



* Hone called on the previous day : he met a physician, who had attended 

 Hazlitt, at the door, about to depart. " How is your patient, sir ?" inquired 

 Hone. " 'Tis all over," replied the medical man. " Clinically speaking, he 

 ought to have died two days ago : he seemed to live, during the last eight-and- 

 forty hours, purely in obedience to his own will." A third person, who had 

 just come up, here observed, " He was waiting, perhaps, until return of post, 

 for Jeffrey's reply. What he could have wanted with that forty pounds, is a 

 perfect mystery." 



A few months before, Hone had met Hazlitt in the street, and kindly inquired 

 as to his health and circumstances. Both were bad. " You are aware," said 

 Hazlitt, " of some of my difficulties (those dreadful bills those back accounts) 

 but no human being knows ALL. I have carried a volcano in my bosom, up 

 and down Paternoster-Row, for a good two hours and a half. Even now I 

 struggle struggle mortally to quench to quell it but I can't. Its pent-up 



throes and agonies, I fear, will break out Can you lend me A SHILLING ? / 



have been WITHOUT FOOD THESE TWO DAYS !" 



To state what Hone felt and did, on hearing this, would be needless. 





