Vastly active was he, it seems, in the great undertaking of obtaining
tickets for one of Mrs. Cornely's entertainments--the "thing" to go to
at that particular time--for his friends the Jameses. He writes them
on Monday that he has not been a moment at rest since writing the
previous day about the Soho ticket. "I have been at a Secretary of
State to get one, have been upon one knee to my friend Sir George
Macartney, Mr. Lascelles, and Mr. Fitzmaurice, without mentioning
five more. I believe I could as soon get you a place at Court, for
everybody is going; but I will go out and try a new circle, and if
you do not hear from me by a quarter to three, you may conclude I
have been unfortunate in my supplications." Whether he was or was not
unfortunate history does not record. A week or two later the old round
of dissipation had apparently set in. "I am now tied down neck and
heels by engagements every night this week, or most joyfully would
have trod the old pleasing road from Bond to Gerrard Street. I am
quite well, but exhausted with a roomful of company every morning till
dinner." A little later, and this momentary flash of health had died
out; and we find him writing what was his last letter to his daughter,
full, evidently, of uneasy forebodings as to his approaching end.
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