Soon after, I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick stroke, and that my speech was taken from me.  I had no pain, and so little dejection, in this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and considered that, perhaps, death itself, when it should come, would excite less horrour than seems now to attend it.

In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams.  Wine has been celebrated for the production of eloquence.  I put myself into violent motion, and, I think, repeated it; but all was vain.  I then went to bed, and, strange as it may seem, I think, slept.  When I saw light, it was time to contrive what I should do.  Though God stopped my speech, he left me my hand:  I enjoyed a mercy, which was not granted to my dear friend Lawrence, who now, perhaps, overlooks me, as I am writing, and rejoices that I have what he wanted.  My first note was, necessarily, to my servant, who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend, why he should read what I put into his hands.

I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend at hand, to act as occasion should require.  In penning this note, I had some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters.  I then wrote to Dr. Taylor, to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden, and I sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour.  My physicians are very friendly and very disinterested, and give me great hopes, but you may imagine my situation.  I have so far recovered my vocal powers, as to repeat the Lord’s prayer, with no very imperfect articulation.  My memory, I hope, yet remains as it was; but such an attack produces solicitude for the safety of every faculty.

How this will be received by you, I know not.  I hope you will sympathize with me; but, perhaps,

  “My mistress, gracious, mild, and good,
  Cries:  Is he dumb?  ’Tis time he shou’d.”

But can this be possible?  I hope it cannot.  I hope that what, when I could speak, I spoke of you, and to you, will be, in a sober and serious hour, remembered by you; and, surely, it cannot be remembered but with some degree of kindness.  I have loved you with virtuous affection; I have honoured you with sincere esteem.  Let not all our endearments be forgotten, but let me have, in this great distress, your pity and your prayers.  You see, I yet turn to you with my complaints, as a settled and unalienable friend; do not, do not drive me from you, for I have not deserved either neglect or hatred.

To the girls, who do not write often, for Susy has written only once, and Miss Thrale owes me a letter, I earnestly recommend, as their guardian and friend, that they remember their creator in the days of their youth.

I suppose, you may wish to know, how my disease is treated by the physicians.  They put a blister upon my back, and two from my ear to my throat, one on a side.  The blister on the back has done little, and those on the throat have not risen.  I bullied and bounced, (it sticks to our last sand,) and compelled the apothecary to make his salve according to the Edinburgh dispensatory, that it might adhere better.  I have two on now of my own prescription.  They, likewise, give me salt of hartshorn, which I take with no great confidence, but I am satisfied that what can be done, is done for me.