The grievous blight by the loss of Mrs. Thrale; and the irreparable blast by the death of Mr. Crisp, in the spring of 1783; followed, in the ensuing summer, by this alarming shake to the constitution and strength of Dr. Johnson; were now to be succeeded, in this same unhappy year, by a fearful and calamitous event, that made the falling leaves of its autumn corrosively sepulchral to Dr. Burney.

His erudite, witty, scientific, and truly dear friend, Mr. Bewley of Massingham, though now in the wane of life, had never visited the metropolis, except to pass through it upon business; his narrow income, and confined country practice, having hitherto stood in the way of such an excursion. Yet he had long desired to make the journey, not only for seeing the capital, its curiosities, its men of letters, and his own most highly prized friend, Dr. Burney, but, also, for calling a consultation amongst the wisest of his brethren of the Æsculapian tribe, upon the subject of his own health, which was now in a state of alarming deterioration.

Continual letters, upon the lighter and pleasanter part of this project, passed between Massingham and St. Martin’s-street, in preparatory schemes on one side, and hurrying persuasion on the other, before it could take place; though it was never-ceasingly the goal at which the hopes and wishes of Mr. Bewley aimed, when he permitted them to turn their course from business or science: but now, suddenly, an occult disease, which for many years had been preying upon the constitution of the too patient philosopher, began more roughly to ravage his debilitating frame: and the excess of his pains, with whatever fortitude they were borne, forced him from his Stoic endurance, by dismembering it, through bodily torture, from the palliations of intellectual occupation.

Irresolution, therefore, was over; and he hastily prepared to quit his resident village, and consult personally with two surgeons and two physicians of eminence, Messrs. Hunter and Potts, and Doctors Warren and John Jebb, with whom he had long been incidentally and professionally in correspondence.

There is, probably, no disease, save of that malignantly fatal nature that joins, at once, the malady with the grave, that may not, for a while, be parried, or, at least, diverted from its strait-forward progress, by the indefinable power of those inward impellers of the human machine, called the animal spirits; for no sooner was the invalid decided upon this long-delayed journey, than a wish occurred to soften off its vital solemnity, by rendering it mental and amical, as well as medicinal: and from this wish emanated a glow of courage, that enabled him to baffle his infirmities, and to begin his excursion by a tour to Birmingham; where he had long promised a visit to a renowned fellow-labourer in the walks of science, Dr. Priestley. And this he accomplished, though with not more satisfaction than difficulty.

From the high gratification of this expedition, he proceeded to one warmer, kindlier, and closer still to his breast, for he came on to his first favourite upon earth, Dr. Burney; with whom he spent about a week, under an influence of congenial feelings, and enlivening pursuits, that charmed away pains that had seemed insupportable, through the magic control of a delighted imagination, and an expanded heart.

His eagerness, from the vigour of his fancy, was yet young, notwithstanding his years, for every thing that was new to him, and, of its sort, ingenious. Dr. Burney accompanied him in taking a general view of the most celebrated literary and scientific institutions, buildings, and public places; and presented him to the Duke de Chaulnes, with whom a whole morning was spent in viewing specimens of Chinese arts and discoveries. And they passed several hours in examining the extensive paintings of Barry, which that extraordinary artist elucidated to them himself: while every evening was devoted to studying and hearing favourite old musical composers of Mr. Bewley; or favourite new ones of Dr. Burney, now first brought forward to his friend’s enraptured ears.

But that which most flattered, and exhilarated the Massingham philosopher, was an interview accorded to him by Dr. Johnson; to whom he was presented as the humble, but devoted preserver of the bristly tuft of the Bolt Court Hearth-Broom.

He then left St. Martin’s-street, to visit Mr. Griffith, Editor of the Monthly Review, who received him at Turnham Green.

Here, from the flitting and stimulating, though willing hurries of pleasure, he meant to dedicate a short space to repose.——But repose, here, was to be his no more! The visionary illusions of a fevered imagination, and the eclÂt of novelty to all his sensations, were passed away; and sober, severe reality, with all the acute pangs of latent, but excruciating disease, resumed, unbridled, their sway. He grew suddenly altered, and radically worse; and abruptly came back, thus fatally changed, to St. Martin’s-street; where Dr. Burney, who had returned to his work at Chesington, was recalled by an express to join him; and where the long procrastinated consultation at length was held.

But nor Hunter, nor Potts, nor Warren, nor Jebb could cure, could even alleviate pains, of which they could not discern the source, nor ascertain the cause. Nevertheless, from commiseration for his sufferings, respect to his genius, and admiration of his patience, they all attended him with as much zeal and assiduity as if they had grasped at every fee which, generously, they declined: though they had the mortification to observe that they were applied to so tardily, and that so desperate was the case, that they seemed hut summoned to acknowledge it to be beyond their reach, and to prognosticate its quick-approaching fatality. And, a very short time afterwards, Dr. Burney had the deep disappointment of finding all his joy at this so long desired meeting, reversed into the heartfelt affliction of seeing this valued friend expire under his roof!

Mrs. Bewley, the excellent wife of this man of science, philosophy, and virtue, was fortunately, however unhappily, the companion of his tour; and his constant and affectionate nurse to his last moment.

It was afterwards known, that his pains, and their incurability, were produced by an occult and dreadful cancer.

He was buried in St. Martin’s church.

The following account of him was written for the Norwich newspaper by Dr. Burney.