LETTER S.

LETTER I. To Mr. JAMES ELPHINSTON.

DEAR SIR,

YOU

Sept. 25th, 1750.

OU have, as I find by every kind of evidence, loft an excellent mother; and I hope you will not think me incapable of partaking of your grief. I have a mother, now eighty-two years of age, whom, therefore, I must foon lose, unless it please God that fhe rather fhould mourn for me. I read the letters in which you relate your mother's death to Mrs. Strahan, and think I do myself honour, when I tell you, that I read them with tears; but tears are neither to you, nor to me, of any further ufe, when once the tribute of nature has been paid. The business of life fummons us away from useless grief, and calls us to the exercise of thofe virtues of which we are lamenting our deprivation.

The greatest benefit which one friend can confer upon another, is to guard, and excite, and elevate his virtues. This your mother will ftill perform, if you diligently preferve the memory of her life, and of her death a life, fo far as I can learn, useful, wife, and innocent; and a death refigned, peaceful,

and

and holy. I cannot forbear to mention, that neither reafon nor revelation denies you to hope, that you may increase her happiness by obeying her precepts and that the may, in her present state, look with pleasure upon every act of virtue, to which her inftructions or example have contributed. Whether this be more than a pleasing dream, or a just opinion of separate spirits, is, indeed, of no great importance to us, when we confider ourselves as acting under the of God: yet, furely, there is fomething pleafing in the belief, that our feparation from thofe, whom we love, is merely corporeal; and it may be a great incitement to virtuous friendship, if it can be made probable, that that union, which has received the divine approbation, fhall continue to eternity.

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There is one expedient, by which you may, in fome degree, continue her prefence. If you write down minutely what you remember of her from your earliest years, you will read it with great pleasure, and receive from it many hints of foothing recollection, when time fhall remove her yet farther from you, and your grief fhall be matured to veneration. To this, howeyer painful for the prefent, I cannot but advise you, as to a fource of comfort and fatisfaction, in the time to come; for all comfort and all fatisfac tion is fincerely wished you by,

DEAR SIR,

Your moft obliged, most obedient,

And moft humble fervant,

SAM. JOHNSON.

LETTER II. To Mrs. THRALE.

MADAM,

London, Aug. 13, 1765.

IF you have really fo good an opinion of me as you exprefs, it will not be neceffary to inform you, how unwillingly I mifs the opportunity of coming to Brighthelmstone in Mr. Thrale's company; or, fince I cannot do what I wish first, how eagerly I fhall catch the fecond degree of pleasure, by coming to you and him, as foon as I can difmifs my work from my hands.

I am afraid to make promises even to myself; but I hope that the week after the next will be the end of my present business. When bufinefs is done, what remains but pleasure? and where fhould pleasure be fought, but under Mrs. Thrale's influence?

Do not blame me for a delay by which I must fuffer fo much, and by which I fuffer alone. If you cannot think I am good, pray think I am mending, and that in time I may deferve to be, dear Madam, your, &c.

LETTER III. To the Same.

MADAM,

Lichfield, July 20, 1767.

THOUGH I have been away fo much longer than

I purposed or expected, I have found nothing that withdraws my affections from the friends whom I left behind, or which makes me lefs defirous of repofing at that place which your kindness and Mr. Thrale's allows me to call my home.

"

Mifs Lucy is more kind and civil than I expected, and has raised my esteem by many excellencies very noble and refplendent, though a little difcoloured by hoary virginity. Every thing elfe recals to my remembrance years, in which I proposed what, I am afraid, I have not done, and promised myself pleasure which I have not found. But complaint can be of no ufe; and why then should I deprefs your hopes by my lamentations? I fuppofe it is the condition of húmanity to defign what never will be done, and to hope what never will be obtained. But But among the vain hopes, let me not number the hope which I have, of being long, dear Madam, your, &c.

I

SET out on Thursday morning, and found my companion, to whom I was very much a stranger, more agreeable than I expected. We went cheerfully forward, and passed the night at Coventry. We came in late, and went out early; and therefore I did not fend for my cousin Tom; but I design to make him fome amends for the omiffion.

Next day we came early to Lucy, who was, I believe, glad to fee us. She had faved her beft goofeberries upon the tree for me; and, as Steele fays, I was neither too proud nor too wife to gather them. I have rambled a very little inter fontes et flumina nota, but I am not yet well. They have cut down

* Mifs Lucy Porter, daughter to Dr. Johnson's wife by a former husband,

the