Mr. C—­has offered Mr. P—­money, but it was not wanted.  I hope we shall all do all we can to make you less unhappy, and you must do all you can for yourself.  What we, or what you can do, will, for a time, be but little; yet, certainly, that calamity which may be considered as doomed to fall inevitably on half mankind, is not finally without alleviation.

It is something for me, that, as I have not the decrepitude, I have not the callousness of old age.  I hope, in time, to be less affected.  I am, &c.

XLVIII.—­To MRS. THRALE.

London, April 9, 1781.

DEAR MADAM,—­That you are gradually recovering your tranquillity is the effect to be humbly expected from trust in God.  Do not represent life as darker than it is.  Your loss has been very great, but you retain more than almost any other can hope to possess.  You are high in the opinion of mankind; you have children, from whom much pleasure may be expected; and that you will find many friends you have no reason to doubt.  Of my friendship, be it worth more or less, I hope you think yourself certain, without much art or care.  It will not be easy for me to repay the benefits that I have received; but I hope to be always ready at your call.  Our sorrow has different effects; you are withdrawn into solitude, and I am driven into company.  I am afraid of thinking what I have lost.  I never had such a friend before.  Let me have your prayers and those of my dear Queeney.

The prudence and resolution of your design to return so soon to your business and your duty, deserves great praise; I shall communicate it, on Wednesday, to the other executors.  Be pleased to let me know, whether you would have me come to Streatham to receive you, or stay here till the next day.  I am, &c.

XLIX.—­To THE SAME.

Bolt court, Fleet street, June 19, 1783.

DEAR MADAM,—­I am sitting down, in no cheerful solitude, to write a narrative, which would once have affected you with tenderness and sorrow, but which you will, perhaps, pass over now with a careless glance of frigid indifference.  For this diminution of regard, however, I know not whether I ought to blame you, who may have reasons which I cannot know; and I do not blame myself, who have, for a great part of human life, done you what good I could, and have never done you evil.

I have been disordered in the usual way, and had been relieved, by the usual methods, by opium and catharticks, but had rather lessened my dose of opium.

On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture, and walked a considerable way, with little inconvenience.  In the afternoon and evening, I felt myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of life.  Thus I went to bed, and, in a short time, waked and sat up, as has been long my custom, when I felt a confusion and indistinctness in my head, which lasted, I suppose, about half a minute; I was alarmed, and prayed God, that, however he might afflict my body, he would spare my understanding.  This prayer, that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin verse.  The lines were not very good, but I knew them not to be very good:  I made them easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired in my faculties.