imself well enough to omit the opium
draught which he had been used to take for some time. He slept very
indifferently; before nine the next morning he rose, but could not eat
his breakfast. However, he appeared tolerably well, yet complained at
times of a pain in his stomach. At one o'clock he received a visit of
an hour from Madame de Sylva; and at three, his friend, Mr. Craufurd,
of Auchinames (whom he always mentioned with particular regard),
called, and stayed with him till past five o'clock. 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. About nine he said he would rise. The servant, however,
persuaded him to remain in bed till Mr. Farquhar, who was expected at
eleven, should come. Till about that hour he spoke with great
facility. Mr. Farquhar came at the time appointed, and he was then
visibly dying. When the _valet-de-chambre_ returned, after attending
Mr. Farquhar out of the room, Mr. Gibbon said, 'Pourquoi est ce que
vous me quittez?' This was about half-past eleven. At twelve he drank
some brandy and water from a teapot, and desired his favourite servant
to stay with him. These were the last words he pronounced
articulately. To the last he preserved his senses; and when he could
no longer speak, his servant having asked a question, he made a sign
to show that he understood him. He was quite tranquil, and did not
stir, h