The 29th of March, _Anno Dom_., 1708, being the night this Sham Prophet had so impudently fixed for my last; which made little impression on myself, but I cannot answer for my whole family. For my wife, with a concern more than usual, prevailed on me to take somewhat to sweat for a cold; and between the hours of 8 and 9, to go to bed. The maid as she was warming my bed, with the curiosity natural to young women, runs to the window, and asks of one passing the street, "Who the bell tolled for?" "Dr. PARTRIDGE," says he, "the famous _Almanack_ maker, who died suddenly this evening." The poor girl provoked, told him, "He lied like a rascal!" The other very sedately replied, "The sexton had so informed him; and if false, he was to blame for imposing on a stranger." She asked a second, and a third as they passed; and every one was in the same tone. Now I don't say these were accomplices to a certain astrological Squire, and that one BICKERSTAFF might be sauntering thereabouts; because I will assert nothing here but what I dare attest, and plain matter of fact. My wife, at this, fell into a violent disorder; and I must own I was a little discomposed at the oddness of the accident. In the meantime, one knocks at the door. BETTY runneth down and opening, finds a sober grave person, who modestly inquires "If this was Dr. PARTRIDGE's?" She, taking him for some cautious City patient, that came at that time for privacy, shews him into the dining-room. As soon as I could compose myself, I went to him; and was surprised to find my gentleman mounted on a table with a two-foot rule in his hand, measuring my walls, and taking the dimensions of the room. "Pray, Sir," says I, "not to interrupt you, have you any business with me?" "Only, Sir," replies he, "to order the girl to bring me a better light: for this is but a dim one." "Sir," sayeth I, "my name is PARTRIDGE!" "Oh! the Doctor's brother, belike," cries he. "The staircase, I believe, and these two apartments hung in close mourning will be sufficient; and only a strip of Bays [cloth] round the other rooms. The Doctor must needs die rich. He had great dealings in his way, for many years. If he had no family Coat [of arms], you had as good use the scutcheons of the Company. They are as showish and will look as magnificent as if he were descended from the Blood-Royal." With that, I assumed a greater air of authority, and demanded, "Who employed him? and how he came there?" "Why, I was sent, Sir, by the Company of Undertakers," saith he, "and they were employed by the honest gentleman who is the executor to the good Doctor departed: and our rascally porter, I believe is fallen fast asleep with the black cloth and sconces or he had been here; and we might have been tacking up by this time."