What conversation followed! When he saw me fearless, he grew more and more alive, and made me walk close by his side, away from the attendants, and even the Willises themselves, who, to indulge him, retreated. I own myself not completely composed, but alarm I could entertain no more.
Everything that came uppermost in his mind he mentioned; he seemed to have just such remains of his flightiness as heated his imagination without deranging his reason, and robbed him of all control over his speech, though nearly in his perfect state Of mind as to his opinions. What did he not say!—He opened his whole heart to me,—expounded all his sentiments, and acquainted me with all his intentions.
The heads of his discourse I must give you briefly, as I am sure you will be highly curious to hear them, and as no accident can render of much consequence what a man says in such a state of physical intoxication. He assured me he was quite well—as well as he had ever been in his life; and then inquired how I did, and how I went on? and whether I was more comfortable? If these questions, in their implications, surprised me, imagine how that surprise must increase when he proceeded to explain them! He asked after the coadjutrix, laughing, and saying “Never mind her!—don’t be oppressed—I am your friend! don’t let her cast you down!—I know you have a hard time of it—but don’t mind her!”
Almost thunderstruck with astonishment, I merely curtsied to his kind “I am your friend,” and said nothing. Then presently he added, “Stick to your father—stick to your own family—let them be your objects.”
How readily I assented! Again he repeated all I have just written, nearly in the same words, but ended it more seriously: He suddenly stopped, and held me to stop too, and putting his hand on his breast. in the most solemn manner, he gravely and slowly said, “I will protect you!—I promise you that—and therefore depend upon me!”
I thanked him; and the Willises, thinking him rather too elevated, came to propose my walking on. “No, no, no!” he cried, a hundred times in a breath and their good humour prevailed, and they let him again walk on with his new Companion.
He then gave me a history of his pages, animating almost into a rage, as he related his subjects of displeasure with them, particularly with Mr. Ernst, who he told me had been brought up by himself. I hope his ideas upon these men are the result of the mistakes of his malady.
Then he asked me some questions that very greatly &stressed me, relating to information given him in his illness, from various motives, but which he suspected to be false, and which I knew he had reason to suspect: yet was It most dangerous to set anything right, as I was not aware what might be the views of their having been stated wrong. I was as discreet as I knew how to be, and I hope I did no mischief; but this was the worst part of the dialogue. He next talked to me a great deal of my dear father, and made a thousand inquiries concerning his “History of Music.” This brought him to his favourite theme, Handel; and he told me innumerable anecdotes of him, and particularly that celebrated tale of Handel’s saying of himself, when a boy, “While that boy lives, my music will never want a protector.” And this, he said, I might relate to my father. Then he ran over most of his oratorios, attempting to sing the subjects of several airs and choruses, but so dreadfully hoarse that the sound was terrible.
Dr. Willis, quite alarmed at this exertion, feared he would do himself harm, and again proposed a separation.
“No! no! no!” he exclaimed, “not yet; I have something I must just mention first.”