everybody; Levett hates Desmoulins, and does not love Williams; Desmoulins
hates them both; Poll loves none of them." And he, the great, gruff and
mighty Ursa Major, listened to all their woes, caring for them in
sickness, wiping the death-dew from their foreheads, wearing crape upon
his sleeve for them when dead.

* * * * *

This man tasted all the fame that is one man's due; he had all the money
he needed, or knew how to use; the coveted LL.D. came from his Alma Mater;
and the patronage from Lord Chesterfield, for which he craved, only that
he might fling it back. He was the friend and confidant of the great and
proud, deferred to by the King and sought out by those who prized the
far-reaching mind and subtle imagination--the things that link us with the
Infinite. The fear of hell and dread of death that haunted him in youth
and middle age, finally gave way to faith and trust. When partial
paralysis came to him at midnight, his sanity did not fail him, and
knowing the worst, he yet hesitated to disturb the other members of the
household, but went to sleep, philosophizing on the phenomena of the
case--alert for more knowledge, as was his wont. Morning came and being
speechless, he wrote on his ever-ready pad of paper and handing the sheet
to his servant, watched with amused glances the perplexity and terror of
the man. He next wrote to his friend, Mrs. Thrale, that letter, a classic
of wit and resignation, wherein he explains his condition and excuses
himself for not calling upon her and explaining the matter by word of
mouth.

Such willingness to accept the inevitable is curative. He grew better and
recovered his speech. But old age is a disease that has no cure save
death. Johnson accepted the issue as a brave man should--thankful for the