Mrs. Bewley, the excellent wife of this man of science, philosophy, and virtue, was fortunately, however unhappily, the companion of his tour; and his constant and affectionate nurse to his last moment.
It was afterwards known, that his pains, and their incurability, were produced by an occult and dreadful cancer.
The following account of him was written for the Norwich newspaper by Dr. Burney.
“On Friday last died, at the house of his friend, Dr. Burney, in St. Martin’s-street, where he had been on a visit, Mr. William Bewley, of Massingham, in Norfolk; whose death will be sincerely lamented by all men of science, to whom his great abilities, particularly in anatomy, electricity, and chemistry, had penetrated through the obscurity of his abode, and the natural modesty and diffidence of his disposition. Indeed, the depth and extent of his knowledge on every useful branch of science and literature, could only be equalled by the goodness of his heart, simplicity of his character, and innocency of his life; seasoned with a natural, unsought wit and humour, of a cast the most original, pleasant, and inoffensive.
“Hobbes, in the last century, whose chief writings were levelled against the religion of his country, was called, from the place of his residence, the Philosopher of Malmsbury; but with how much more truth and propriety has Mr. Bewley, whose life was spent in the laborious search of the most hidden and useful discoveries in art and nature, in exposing sophistry, and displaying talents, been distinguished in Norfolk by the respectable title of the Philosopher of Massingham.”[70]
After this harrowing loss, Dr. Burney again returned to melancholy Chesington; but—still its inmate—to his soothingly reviving Susanna.
These two admirable and bosom friends, the one of early youth, the other of early manhood, Mr.
Crisp and Mr. Bewley, both thus gone; both, in the same year, departed; Mr. Twining only now, for the union of musical with mental friendship, remained: but Mr. Twining, though capable to exhilarate as well as console almost every evil—except his own absence, was utterly unattainable, save during the few weeks of his short annual visit to London; or the few days of the Doctor’s yet shorter visits to the vicarage of Fordham.