But those who knew him were so well aware of his constant sufferings,
that, though they expected no sudden catastrophe, they were hardly
surprised when it came. His death was probably caused by those spasms of
which he had complained ten years before, in his letter to Mr. Reed. On
the last day but one of the year, a crowd of sorrowing friends stood
over his grave as he was laid to rest in Kensal Green; and, as quickly
afterwards as it could be executed, a bust to his memory was put up in
Westminster Abbey. It is a fine work of art, by Marochetti; but, as a
likeness, is, I think, less effective than that which was modelled, and
then given to the Garrick Club, by Durham, and has lately been put into
marble, and now stands in the upper vestibule of the club. Neither of
them, in my opinion, give so accurate an idea of the man as a statuette
in bronze, by Boehm, of which two or three copies were made. One of them
is in my possession. It has been alleged, in reference to this, that
there is something of a caricature in the lengthiness of the figure, in
the two hands thrust into the trousers pockets, and in the protrusion of
the chin. But this feeling has originated in the general idea that any
face, or any figure, not made by the artist more beautiful or more
graceful than the original is an injustice. The face must be smoother,
the pose of the body must be more dignified, the proportions more
perfect, than in the person represented, or satisfaction is not felt.
Mr. Boehm has certainly not flattered, but, as far as my eye can judge,
he has given the figure of the man exactly as he used to stand before
us. I have a portrait of him in crayon, by Samuel Lawrence, as like, but
hardly as natural.

A little before his death Thackeray told me that he had then succeeded
in replacing the fortune which he had lost as a young man. Ho had, in
fact, done better, for he left an income of seven hundred and fifty
pounds behind him.