He wrote as merrily as ever to Miss Harcourt:--
"Neither of us, dear Georgiana, would consent to survive the ruin of
the Church. You would plunge a poisoned pin into your heart, and I
should swallow the leaf of a sermon dipped in hydro-cyanic acid."
In October, after an alarming attack of breathlessness and giddiness, he
returned to London. In Green Street he was happy in the proximity and skill
of his son-in-law, Dr. Holland, and "a suite of rooms perfectly fitted up
for illness and death." This phrase occurs in the last of his published
letters, dated the 7th of November 1844. It was now pronounced that his
disease was water on the chest, caused by an unsuspected affection of the
heart. He was entirely confined to his bed, perfectly aware of his
condition, and keenly grateful for the kindness and sympathy of friends.
His daughter writes:--
"My father died at peace with himself and with all the world; anxious, to
the last, to promote the comfort and happiness of others. He sent messages
of kindness and forgiveness to the few he thought had injured him. Almost
his last act was, bestowing a small living of L120 per annum on a poor,
worthy, and friendless clergyman, who had lived a long life of struggle
with poverty on L40 per annum. Full of happiness and gratitude, the
clergyman entreated he might be allowed to see my father; but the latter so
dreaded any agitation that he most unwillingly consented, saying, 'Then he
must not thank me; I am too weak to bear it.
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