“LONDON. “_June the 28th, 1718._ “MY DEAR LIFE,—This is to let you understand my to help myself in any respect, or move either hand or foot, no more than had I been quite dead, being seized all over my body with the dead palsy, and now lying in St. Thomas’ Hospital in Southwark; and for my comfort they tell me I shall never be cured. My Dear, there would be nothing more pleasing, or a greater satisfaction to me, than to see you here by me before I part with this life, which I do not doubt but you will consider as soon as this comes to your hands. Pray, my Dear, I desire you may make my sister a present of three pounds: you know what you are to have when you come here, not that I think it too much for you but wishes it were more for your sake. Likewise, my Dear, be pleased to give my coat, waistcoat and two pair of breeches to my father, my silver buckles to my uncle Garrott, and the razors belong to my master: as for all the rest, you may do as you think convenient, but this I desire you’ll fulfil; and likewise give one of my shirts to my cousin John Monachon, and a pair of shoes: my sister will tell you who he is. “My duty to my dear father and mother, and I earnestly crave their blessing, and the prayers of my brother and sisters and all friends, and my love to them all, and the blessing of God be with them. I desire you may let my sister see this as soon as it comes to your hands, and to hasten your coming as soon as possible you can get ready; for to delay any time, and knowing my condition, you may perhaps not overtake me alive; for if I got England, I cannot put a bit of anything to my mouth, but as I am fed by others. This is all, my Dear, I can say, but I begs you will fulfil all that I desire in this, which is the earnest request of him who is, (without the miraculous assistance of my good God and Saviour,) on his death-bed.—Your constant and loving husband till that hour, THOMAS DIXON.” The veil is lifted from the last days of a dying man, but lifted for the moment only. Did the letter reach his wife in time? Did she hasten and reach him alive? We may hope she did, for Thomas Dixon lingered until the 8th of July; but thus wills constantly tantalise us, while they leave the more to the imagination. In 1603 the plague, which was to mark the century with its devastations, carried off in London over 41,000 souls. Nor did the neighbouring villages escape. As witnessed by the parish register, the Rector of Clapham, with his family, fell a prey. Within one month there died:—