They talked, as
usual, on various subjects; and twenty hours before his death Mr.
Gibbon happened to fall into a conversation not uncommon with him, on
the probable duration of his life. He said that he thought himself a
good life for ten, twelve, or perhaps twenty years. About six he ate
the wing of a chicken and drank three glasses of Madeira. After dinner
he became very uneasy and impatient, complained a good deal, and
appeared so weak that his servant was alarmed.
"During the evening he complained much of his stomach, and of a
feeling of nausea. Soon after nine, he took his opium draught and went
to bed. About ten he complained of much pain, and desired that warm
napkins might be applied to his stomach. He almost incessantly
expressed a sense of pain till about four o'clock in the morning, when
he said he found his stomach much easier. About seven the servant
asked whether he should send for Mr. Farquhar. He answered, No; that
he was as well as the day before. At about half-past eight he got out
of bed, and said he was 'plus adroit' than he had been for three
months past, and got into bed again without assistance, better than
usual.
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