Dear Mrs. Byron
spent the evening with me, and Mr. Crutchley came from Sunning-hill
to be ready for the morrow's flash. Johnson was at the Bishop of
Chester's. I went down in the course of the afternoon to see after my
master as usual, and found him not asleep, but sitting with his legs
up--_because_, as he express'd it. I kissed him, and said how good he
was to be so careful of himself. He enquired who was above, but had
no disposition to come up stairs. Miss Owen and Mrs. Byron now took
their leave. The Dr. had been gone about twenty minutes when Hester
went down to see her papa, and found him on the floor. What's the
meaning of this? says she, in an agony. I chuse it, replies Mr.
Thrale firmly; I lie so o' purpose. She ran, however, to call his
valet, who was gone out--happy to leave him so particularly _well_,
as he thought. When my servant went instead, Mr. Thrale bid him
begone, in a firm tone, and added that he was very well and chose to
lie so. By this time, however, Mr. Crutchley was run down at Hetty's
intreaty, and had sent to fetch Pepys back. He was got but into Upper
Brook Street, and found his friend in a most violent fit of the
apoplexy, from which he only recovered to relapse into another, every
one growing weaker as his strength grew less, till six o'clock on
Wednesday morning, 4th April, 1781, when he died. Sir Richard Jebb,
who was fetched at the beginning of the distress, seeing death
certain, quitted the house without even prescribing.
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