either to blame or to praise Garrick in his presence, without contradicting him.

Having fallen into a very serious frame of mind, in which mutual expressions of kindness passed between us, such as would be thought too vain in me to repeat, I talked with regret of the sad inevitable certainty that one of us must survive the other. Johnson. Yes, Sir, that is an affecting consideration. I remember Swift, in one of his letters to Pope, says, "I intend to come over, that we may meet once more; and when we must part, it is what happens to all human beings." Boswell. The hope that we shall see our departed friends again must support the mind. Johnson. Why, yes, Sir. Boswell. There is a strange unwillingness to part with life, independent of serious fears as to futurity. A reverend friend of ours (naming him) tells me, that he feels an uneasiness at the thoughts of leaving his house, his study, his books. Johnson. This is foolish in *****. A man need not be uneasy on these grounds; for as he will retain his consciousness, he may say with the philosopher, Omnia mea mecum porto. Boswell. True, Sir: we may carry our books in our heads; but still there is something painful in the thought of leaving for ever what has given us pleasure. I remember, many years ago, when my imagination was warm, and I happened to be in a melancholy mood, it distressed me to think of going into a state of being in which Shakspeare's poetry did not exist. A lady whom I then much admired, a very amiable woman, humoured my fancy, and relieved me by saying, "The first thing you will meet in the other world, will be an elegant copy of Shakspeare's works presented to you." Dr. Johnson smiled be nignantly at this, and did not appear to disapprove of the notion.

We went to St. Clement's church again in the afternoon, and then returned and drank tea and coffee in Mrs. William's room; Mrs. Desmoulins doing the honours of the tea-table.. I observed that he would not even look at a proof-sheet of bis" Life of Waller" on Good-Friday.

Mr. Allen, the printer, brought a book on agriculture, which was printed, and was soon to be published. It was a very strange performance, the author having mixed in it his own thoughts upon various topics, along with his remarks on plowing, sowing, and other farming operations. He seemed to be an absurd profane fellow, and had introduced in his books many sneers at religion, with equal ignorance and conceit. Dr. Johnson permitted me to read some passages aloud. One was that he resolved to work on Sunday, and did work, but he owned he felt some weak compunction; and he had this very curious reflection: I was born in the wilds of Christianity, and the briars and thorns still hang about me. Dr. Johnson could not help laughing at this ridiculous image, yet was very angry at the fellow's impiety. However, (said be,) the Reviewers will make him hang himself. He, however, observed, that formerly there might have been a dispensation obtained for working on Sunday in the time of harvest. Indeed in ritual observances, were all the ministers of religion what they should be, aud what many of them ae, such a power might be wisely and safely lodged with the Church.

On Saturday, April 14, I drank tea with him. Mr. Duncombe, of Canterbury, as a pleasing man.

He praised the late
He used to come

to me; I did not seek much after him. Indeed I never sought much after any body. Boswell. Lord Orrery, I suppose. Johnson. No, Sir; I never went to him but when he sent for me. Boswell. Richardson. Johnson. Yes, Sir. But I sought after George Psalmanazar the most. I used to go and sit with him at an alehouse in the city.

I am happy to mention another instance which I discovered of his seeking after a man of merit. Soon after the Honourable Daines Barrington had published his excellent Observations on the statutes, Johnson waited on that worthy and learned gentleman; and, having told him his name, courteously said, I have read your book, Sir, with great pleasure, and wish to be better known to you. Thus begun an acquaintance, which was continued with mutual regard as long as Johnson lived.

Talking of a recent seditious delinquent, he said, They should set him in the pillory, that he may be punished in a way that would disgrace him. 1 observed, that the pillory does not always disgrace. And I mentioned an instance of a gentleman, who I thought was not dishonoured by it. Johnson. Ay, but he was, Sir. He could not mouth and strut as he used to do, after having been there. People are not willing to ask a man to their tables, who has stood in the pillory.

The gentleman who had dined with us at Dr. Percy's came in. Johnson attacked the Americans with intemperate vehemence of abuse. I said something in their favour; and added, that I was always sorry, when he talked on that subject. This, it seems, exasperated him; though he said nothing at the time. The cloud was charged with sulphureous vapour, which was afterwards to burst in thunder.-We talked of a gentleman who was running out his fortune in London; and I said, We must get him out of it. All his friends must quarrel with him, and that will soon drive him away. Johnson. Nay, Sir, we'll send you to him. If your company does not drive a man out of his house, nothing will. This was a horrible shock, for which there was no visible cause. I afterwards asked him, why he had said so harsh a thing. Johnson. Because, Sir, you made me angry about the Americans. Boswell. But why did you not take your revenge directly. Johnson. (smiling) Because, Sir, I had nothing ready. A man cannot strike till he has his weapons. This was a candid and pleasant confession.

He shewed me to-night his drawing-room, very genteelly fitted up; and said, Mrs. Thrale sneered, when I talked of my having asked you and your lady to live at my house. I was obliged to tell her, that you would be in as respectable a situation in my house as in hers. Sir, the insolence of weath will creep out. Boswell. She has a little both of the insolence of wealth, and the conceit of parts. Johnsou. The insolence of wealth is a wretched thing; but the conceit of parts has some founda tion. To be sure, it should not be. But who is without it? Boswell. Yourself, Sir. Johnson. Why, I play no tricks; I lay no traps. Boswell. No, Sir. You are six feet bigh, and you only do not stoop.

We talked of the numbers of people that sometimes have composed the household of great families. I mentioned that there were a hundred in the family of the present Earl of Eglintoune's father. Dr. Johnson seeming to doubt it, I began to enumerate. Let us see: my Lord and my Lady two. Johnson. Nay, Sir, if you are to count by twos, you may be long enough. Boswell. Well, but now I add two sons and seven daughters, and a servant for each, that will make twenty; so we have the fifth part already. Johnson. Very true. You get at twenty pretty readily but you will not so easily get further on. We grow to five feet pretty readily; but it is not so easy to grow to seven.

On Sunday, April 19, being Easter day, after the solemnities of the festival in St. Paul's Church, I visited him, but could not stay to dinner. I expressed a wish to have the arguments for Christianity always in readiness, that my religious faith might be as firm and clear as any proposition whatever, so that I need not be under the least uneasiness, when it should be attacked. Johnson. Sir, you cannot answer all objections. You have demonstration for a First Cause: you see he must be good as well as powerful, because there is nothing to make him otherwise, and goodness of itself is preferable. Yet you have against this, what is very certain, the unhappiness of human life. This, however, gives us reason to hope for a future state of compensation, that there may be a perfect system. But of that we were not sure, till we had a positive revelation. I told him, that his Rasselas had often made me unhappy; for it represented the misery of human life so well, and so convincingly to a thinking mind, that if at any time the impression wore off, and I felt myself easy, I began to suspect some delusion.

On Monday, April 20, I found him at home in the morning. We talked of a gentleman who we apprehended was gradually involving his circumstances by bad management. Johnson. Wasting a fortune is evaporation by a thousand imperceptible means. If it were a stream they'd stop it. You must speak to him. It is really miserable. Were he a gamester, it could be said he had hopes of winning. Were he a bankrupt in trade, he might have grown rich: but he has neither spirit to spend, nor resolution to spare. He does not spend fast enough to have pleasure from it. He has the crime of prodigality, and the wretcheduess of parsimony. If a man is killed in a duel, he is killed as many a one has been killed; but it is a sad thing for a man to lie down and die; to bleed to death because he has not fortitude enough to sear the wound, or even to stitch it up. I cannot but pause a moment to admire the fecundity of fancy, and choice of language, which in this instance, and, indeed, on almost all occasions, he displayed. It was well observed by Dr. Percy, now Bishop of Dromore, "The conversation of Johnson is strong and clear, and may be compared to an antique statue, where every vein and muscle is distinct and bold. Ordinary conversation resembles an inferior cast."

On Sunday, April 25, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds's with the learned Dr. Musgrave, Counsellor Leland of Ireland, sou to the historian, Mrs. Cholmondelly, and some more ladies. "The Project," a new poem, was read to the company by Dr. Musgrave. Johnson. Sir, it has no power. Were it not for the well-known names with which it is filled, it would be nothing: the names carry the poet, not the poet the names. Musgrave. A temporary poem always entertains us. Johnson. Sc does an account of the criminals hanged yesterday entertain

us.

He proceeded :-Demosthenes Taylor, as he was called, (that is, the Editor of Demosthenes) was the most silent man, the merest statue of a man that I have ever seen. I once dined in company with him, and all he said during the whole time was no more than Richard. How a man should say only Richard, it is not easy to imagine. But it was thus: Dr. Douglas was talking of Dr. Zachary Grey, and ascribing to him something that was written by Dr. Richard Grey. So to correct him, Taylor said, (imitating his affected sententious emphasis and nod) "Richard,"

Mrs. Cholmondelly, in a high flow of spirits, exhibited some lively sallies of hyperbolical complement to Johnson, with whom she had been long acquainted, and was very easy. He was quick in catching the manner of the moment, and answered her somewhat in the style of the hero of a romance," Madam, you crown me with unfading laurels."

I happened, I know not how, to say that a pamphlet meant a prose piece. Johnson. No, Sir. A few sheets of poetry unbound are a pamphlet, as much as a few sheets of prose. Musgrave. A pamphlet may be understood to mean a poetical piece in Westminster-Hall, that is, in formal language; but in common language it is understood to mean prose. Johnson. (and here was one of the many instances of his knowing clearly and telling exactly how a thing is,) A pamphlet is understood in common language to mean prose, ouly from this, that there is so much more prose written than poetry; as when we say a book, prose is understood for the same reason, though a book may as well be in poetry as in prose. We understand what is most general, and name what is less frequent.

We talked of a lady's verses on Ireland. Miss Reynolds. Have you seen them, Sir? Johnson. No, Madam, I have seen a translation from Horace, by one of her daughters. She shewed it me. Miss Reynolds. And how was it, Sir? Johnson. Why, very well for a young Miss's verses; that is to say, compared with excellence, nothing: but, very well for the person who wrote them. I am vexed at being shewn verses in that manner. Miss Reynolds. But if they should be good, why not give them hearty praise? Johnson. Why, Madam, because I have not got the better of my bad humour from having been shewn them. You must consider, Madain; before-hand they may be bad, as well as good, Nobody has a right to put another under such a difficulty, that he raust

either hurt the person by telling the truth, or hurt himself by telling what is not true. Boswell. A man often shews his writings to people of eminence, to obtain from them, either from their good nature, or from their not being able to tell the truth firmly, a commendation, of which he may afterwards avail himself. Johnson. Very true, Sir. Therefore the man, who is asked by an author, what he thinks of his work, is put to the torture, and is not obliged to speak the truth; so that what he says is not considered as his opinion; yet he has said it, and cannot retract it; and this author, when mankind are hunting him with a cannister at his tail, can say, I would not have published, had not Johnson, or Reynolds, or Musgrave, or some other good judge commended the work.' Yet I consider it as a very difficult question in conscience, whether one should advise a man not to publish a work, if profit be his object; for the man may say, Had it not been for you, I should have had money,' Now, you cannot be sure; for you have only your own opinion, and the public may think very differently. Sir Joshua Reynolds. You must upon such an occasion have two judgments; one as to the real value of the work, the other as to what may please the general taste at the time. Johnson. But you can be sure of neither: and therefore I should scruple much to give a suppressive vote. Both Goldsmith's comedies were once refused; his first by Garrick, his second by Colman, who was prevailed on at last by much solicitation, nay, a kind of force, to bring it on. His Vicar of Wakefield' I myself did not think would have had much success. It was written and sold by a bookseller, before his Traveller;' but published after; so little expectation had the bookseller from it. Had it been sold after The Traveller,' he might have had twice as much money for it, though sixty guineas was no mean price. The bookseller had the advantage of Goldsmith's reputation from The Traveller,' in the sale, though Goldsmith had it not in selling the copy. Sir Joshua Reynolds. The Beggar's Opera affords a proof how strangely people will differ in opinion about a literary performance. Burke thinks it has no merit. Johnson. It was refused by one of the houses; but I should have thought it would succeed, not from any great excellence in the writing, but from the novelty, and the general spirit and gaiety of the piece, which keeps the audience always attentive, and dismisses them in good humour.

We went to the drawing-room, where was a considerable increase of company. Several of us got round Dr. Johnson, and complained that he would not give us an exact catalogue of his works, that there might be a complete edition. He smiled, and evaded our entreaties. That he intended to do it, I have no doubt, because I have heard him say so; and have in my possession an imperfect list, fairly written out, which he entitles Historia Studiorum. I once got from one of his friends a list, which there was pretty good reason to suppose was accurate, for it was written down in his presence by this friend, who enumerated each article aloud, and had some of them mentioned to him by Mr. Levett, in concert