That ready, cheerful, various and illuminating
conversation which we had before admired in him, was not always to be
found in the library or the drawing-room. He moved with difficulty,
and retired from company sooner than he had been used to do. On the
23rd of December his appetite began to fail him. He observed to me
that it was a very bad sign _with him_ when he could not eat his
breakfast, which he had done at all times very heartily; and this
seems to have been the strongest expression of apprehension that he
was ever observed to utter." He soon became too ill to remain beyond
the reach of the highest medical advice. On the 7th of January, 1794,
he left a houseful of company and friends for his lodgings in St.
James's Street. On arriving he sent the following note to Lord
Sheffield, the last lines he ever wrote:--
"ST. JAMES'S, FOUR O'CLOCK, TUESDAY.
"This date says everything. I was almost killed between
Sheffield Place and East Grinstead by hard, frozen, long, and
cross ruts, that would disgrace the approach of an Indian
wigwam. The rest was somewhat less painful, and I reached
this place half dead, but not seriously feverish or ill.
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