The end of a great career was, unhappily, now approaching. Mr and Mrs Garrick had been invited to spend the Christmas of 1778 at the country seat of Earl Spencer, where they were honoured guests. In the midst of the festivities, Garrick was seized with a return of an old disorder--an affection of the kidneys. Early in January, however, he had so far recovered that he was able to travel to London. He arrived at his house in the Adelphi on January 15, and several physicians were called in. One of them, seeing that the illness was serious, and knowing that its course was certain, thought it necessary to tell the actor that, if he had any worldly affairs to settle, "it would be prudent to dispatch them as soon as possible." But Garrick made answer that nothing of that sort lay on his mind, that he was not afraid to die. About two days before his death, he was visited by an old friend, who was persuaded to stay and dine with Mrs Garrick, who was greatly fatigued by her long and constant attendance upon her husband, a duty to which she invariably attended. While she was talking to the friend, the dying actor came into the room; "but, oh! how changed! divested of that vivacity and sprightliness which used to accompany everything he said and everything he did! His countenance was sallow and wan, his movements slow and solemn. He was wrapped in a rich night-gown, not unlike that which he always wore in Lusignan, the venerable old king of Jerusalem [in _Zara_]; he presented himself to the imagination of his friend as if he was just ready to act that character. He sat down; and during the space of an hour, the time he remained in the room, he did not utter a word. He rose, and withdrew to his chamber. Mrs Garrick and the Gentleman dined." What a sad dinner that must have been! Just before his death, Garrick confided to a friend that he did not regret being childless, for he knew that the quickness of his feelings was so great that, in case it had been his misfortune to have disobedient children, he could not have borne such an affliction. On seeing a number of gentlemen in his apartment a few hours before the end, he enquired who they were, and, on being told that they were physicians who sought to do him service, he shook his head, and repeated the following lines from Nicholas Rowe's _Fair Penitent_:-- "Another, and another, still succeeds; And the last fool is welcome as the former." He died, with great composure, at eight o'clock on the morning of January 20, 1779. On Monday, February 1, the body was conveyed from the Adelphi to Westminster Abbey, and interred in Poet's Corner, a spot made still further memorable in the annals of the stage by the burial here--and close by the graves of David Garrick and Samuel Johnson--of the remains of Henry Irving.