a visit at Islington, where he was waiting for his sister, whom he
had directed to meet him. There was then nothing of disorder
discernible in his mind by any but himself; but he had withdrawn
from study, and travelled with no other book than an English
Testament, such as children carry to the school. When his friend
took it into his hand, out of curiosity to see what companion a man
of letters had chosen, 'I have but one book,' said Collins, 'but
that is the best.'"

Such was the fate of Collins, with whom I once delighted to
converse, and whom I yet remember with tenderness.

He was visited at Chichester, in his last illness, by his learned
friends Dr. Warton and his brother, to whom he spoke with
disapprobation of his "Oriental Eclogues," as not sufficiently
expressive of Asiatic manners, and called them his "Irish Eclogues."
He showed them, at the same time, an ode inscribed to Mr. John Home,
on the superstitions of the Highlands, which they thought superior
to his other works, but which no search has yet found. His disorder
was no alienation of mind, but general laxity and feebleness--a
deficiency rather of his vital than his intellectual powers. What
he spoke wanted neither judgment nor spirit; but a few minutes
exhausted him, so that he was forced to rest upon the couch, till a
short cessation restored his powers, and he was again able to talk
with his former vigour. The approaches of this dreadful malady he
began to feel soon after his uncle's death; and, with the usual
weakness of men so diseased, eagerly snatched that temporary relief
with which the table and the bottle flatter and seduce. But his
health continually declined, and he grew more and more burthensome
to himself.