nothing he is only superadding to what he already had. But a convert from Popery to Protestantism gives up so much of what he has held as sacred as any thing that he retains there is so much laceration of mind in such a conversion—that it can hardly be sincere and lasting." The truth of this reflection may be confirmed by many and eminent instances, some of which will occur to most of my readers.

When we were alone, I introduced the subject of death, and endeavoured to maintain that the fear of it might be got over. I told him that David Hume said to me, he was no more uneasy to think he should not be after this life, than that he had not been before he began to exist. JOHNSON. "Sir, if he really thinks so, his perceptions are disturbed; he is mad: if he does not think so, he lies. He may tell you, he holds his finger in the flame of a candle without feeling pain; would you believe him? When he dies, he at least gives up all he has." BOSWELL. "Foote, Sir, told me, that when he was very ill he was not afraid to die." JOHNSON. "It is not true, Sir. Hold a pistol to Foote's breast, or to Hume's breast, and threaten to kill them; and you'll see how they behave." BOSWELL, "But may we not fortify our minds for the approach of death?" -Here I am sensible I was in the wrong, to bring before his view what he ever looked upon with horror; for although, when in a celestial frame of mind, in his "Vanity of Human Wishes," he has supposed death to be "kind Nature's signal for retreat" from this state of being to "a happier seat," his thoughts upon this awful change were in general full of dismal apprehensions. His mind resembled the vast amphitheatre, the Coliseum at Rome. In the centre stood his judgment, which, like a mighty gladiator, combated those apprehensions that, like the wild beasts of the arena, were all around in cells, ready to be let out upon him. After a conflict, he drives them back into their dens; but not killing them, they were still assailing him. To my question, whether we might not fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered, in a passion, "No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so

short a time." He added (with an earnest look), "A man knows it must be so, and submits. It will do him no good to whine."

I attempted to continue the conversation. He was so provoked, that he said,-"Give us no more of this;" and was thrown into such a state of agitation, that he expressed himself in a way that alarmed and distressed me; showed an impatience that I should leave him, and when I was going away, called to me sternly, "Don't let us meet to-morrow."

I went home exceedingly uneasy. All the harsh observations which I had ever heard made upon his character crowded into my mind; and I seemed to myself like the man who had put his head into the lion's mouth a great many times with perfect safety, but at last had it bit off.

Next morning [27th October], I sent him a note, stating that I might have been in the wrong, but it was not intentionally; he was therefore, I could not help thinking, too severe upon me. That notwithstanding our agreement not to meet that day, I would call on him in my way to the city, and stay five minutes by my watch. "You are," said I, "in my mind, since last night, surrounded with cloud and storm. Let me have a glimpse of sunshine, and go about my affairs in serenity and cheerfulness."

Upon entering his study, I was glad that he was not alone, which would have made our meeting more awkward. There were with him, Mr. Steevens and Mr. Tyers, both of whom I now saw for the first time. My note had, on his own reflection, softened him, for he received me very complacently; so that I unexpectedly found myself at ease, and joined in the conversation.

He said, the critics had done too much honour to Sir Richard Blackmore, by writing so much against him. That, in his "Creation," he had been helped by various wits, a line by Phillips and a line by Tickell; so that by their aid, and that of others, the poem had been made out.'

1

Johnson himself has vindicated Blackmore upon this very point. See the Lives of the Poets, vol. iii., p. 75. 8vo. 1791.-7. Boswell, jun.

view the moral and religious duty, as understood in our nation, he showed clearly, from reason and good sense, the greater degree of culpability in the one sex deviating from it than the other; and, at the same time, inculcated a very useful lesson as to the way to keep him.

I asked him if it was not hard that one deviation from chastity should so absolutely ruin a young woman. JOHNSON. "Why no, Sir; it is the great principle which she is taught. When she has given up that principle, she has given up every notion of female honour and virtue, which are all included in chastity."

A gentleman talked to him of a lady whom he greatly admired and wished to marry, but was afraid of her superiority of talents. "Sir," said he, "you need not be afraid; marry her. Before a year goes about, you'll find that reason much weaker, and that wit not so bright." Yet the gentleman may be justified in his apprehension by one of Dr. Johnson's admirable sentences in his "Life of Waller:" "He doubtless praised many whom he would have been afraid to marry; and, perhaps, married one whom he would have been ashamed to praise. Many qualities contribute to domestic happiness, upon which poetry has no colours to bestow; and many airs and sallies may delight imagination, which he who flatters them never can approve."

He praised Signor Baretti. "His account of Italy is a very entertaining book; and, Sir, I know no man who carries his head higher in conversation than Baretti. There are strong powers in his mind. He has not, indeed, many hooks; but with what hooks he has, he grapples very forcibly.”

At this time I observed upon the dial-plate of his watch a short Greek inscription, taken from the New Testament, úž yap Exera, being the first words of our Saviour's solemn admonition to the improvement of that time which is allowed us to prepare for eternity; "the night cometh when no man can work." He some time afterwards laid aside this dial-plate; 1 ἔρχεται νύξ, ὅτε οὐδεὶς δύναται épуálεolai. John ix. 4.-Editor.

and when I asked him the reason, he said, "It might do very well upon a clock which a man keeps in his closet; but to have it upon his watch, which he carries about with him, and which is often looked at by others, might be censured as ostentatious." Mr. Steevens is now possessed of the dial-plate inscribed as above.1

He remained at Oxford a considerable time,' I was obliged to go to London, where I received this letter, which had been returned from Scotland.

TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

"MY DEAR Boswell,

"Oxford, March 23, 1768.

"I have omitted a long time to write to you, without knowing very well why. I could now tell why I should not write; for who would write to men who publish the letters of their friends, without their leave ?" Yet I write to you in spite of my caution, to tell you

'Notes and Queries completes the history of this watch.

"This watch is in my possession. My mother was niece to the sister of George Steevens, which sister inherited this watch with the rest of George Steevens' property. It is a metal watch with a tortoise shell case; no maker's name. The dial is inscribed, as mentioned by Boswell, with the words, víg yàp pxerai, 'for the night cometh.' Boswell says the dialplate was given to Steevens. It seems unlikely that the dial should be separated from the doctor's watch, to which it evidently belonged, and which was worn by him. The watch also has inside the case the words : 'Samuel Johnson, London, 1784.' It was in December, 1784, that Johnson died. "JAMES PYCROFT.

"Brighton, Jan. 20, 1871."

-Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, vii., 243.-Editor.

Sir Walter Scott put the same Greek words on a sun-dial in his garden at Abbotsford.-Lockhart.

2

Where, it appears, from the Piozzi Letters, vol. i., pp. 10-11, that he was for some time confined to Mr. Chambers' apartments in New Inn Hall by a fit of illness, and took a strong interest in the triumphant election of high church candidates for the University. "The virtue of Oxford," he says, once more prevailed over the slaves of power and the soliciters of favour."- Croker.

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3 Mr. Boswell, in his Journal of a Tour in Corsica, p. 359-60, had printed the second and third paragraphs of Johnson's letter to him of January 14, 1766.-Croker.

that I shall be glad to see you, and that I wish you would empty your head of Corsica, which I think has filled it rather too long. But, at all events, I shall be glad, very glad, to see you. I am, Sir, yours affectionately, "SAM. JOHNSON.”

I answered thus:—

TO MR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

"MY DEAR SIR,

"London, April 26, 1768.

"I have received your last letter, which, though very short, and by no means complimentary, yet gave me real pleasure, because it contains these words, 'I shall be glad, very glad to see you.'Surely you have no reason to complain of my publishing a single paragraph of one of your letters; the temptation to it was so strong. An irrevocable grant of your friendship, and your signifying my desire of visiting Corsica with the epithet of a wise and noble curiosity,' are to me more valuable than many of the grants of kings.

"But how can you bid me 'empty my head of Corsica ?' My noble-minded friend, do you not feel for an oppressed nation bravely struggling to be free? Consider fairly what is the case. The Corsicans never received any kindness from the Genoese. They never agreed to be subject to them. They owe them nothing, and when reduced to an abject state of slavery, by force, shall they not rise in the great cause of liberty, and break the galling yoke? And shall not every liberal soul be warm for them? Empty my head of Corsica ! Empty it of honour, empty it of humanity, empty it of friendship, empty it of piety. No! while I live, Corsica, and the cause of the brave islanders, shall ever employ much of my attention, shall ever interest me in the sincerest manner. * I am, &c., "JAMES BOSWELL."

Upon his arrival in London in May, he surprised me one morning with a visit at my lodging in Halfmoon Street, was quite satisfied with my explanation, and was in the kindest and most agreeable frame of mind. As he had objected to a part of one of his letters being published, I thought it right to take this opportunity of asking him explicitly whether it would be improper to publish his letters after his death. His answer was, "Nay, Sir, when I am dead, you may do as you will."