stairs to receive him. The first thing I heard was a voice so changed, that I said to myself, 'It is all over with him.' He was supported by the arms of two people, and had a stick, or two sticks, in his hands, and as he came up, panting for breath—ugh! ugh! I retreated little by little, not to put him to the pain of making a bow to me, or of speaking:—so much for his alacrity!
"After Mr. Pitt's death, I could not cry for a whole month and more. I never shed a tear, until one day Lord Melville came to see me; and the sight of his eyebrows turned grey, and his changed face, made me burst into tears. I felt much better for it after it was over.
"Mr. Pitt's bust was taken after his death by an Italian, named, I think, Tomino—an obscure artist, whom I had rummaged out. This man had offered me at one time a bust worth a hundred guineas, and prayed me to accept it, in order, as he said, to make his name known: I refused it, but recollected him afterwards. The bust turned out a very indifferent resemblance: so, with my own hand, I corrected the defects, and it eventually proved a strong likeness. The D. of C. happening to call when the artist was at work in my room, was so pleased, that he ordered one of a hundred guineas for himself, and another to be
