Good affections are an ornament, not
only to an author, but to his writings. He who shows himself upon a cold
scent for opportunities to bark and snarl throughout a volume of six
hundred pages, may, if he will, pretend to moralise; but goodness of
heart, or, to use that politer phrase, "the virtue of a horse or a dog,"
would redound more to his honour. But sir John is no more: our business
is with Johnson. The members of his club were respectable for their
rank, their talents, and their literature. They attended with
punctuality, till about Midsummer, 1784, when, with some appearance of
health, Johnson went into Derbyshire, and thence to Lichfield. While he
was in that part of the world, his friends, in town, were labouring for
his benefit. The air of a more southern climate, they thought, might
prolong a valuable life. But a pension of three hundred pounds a year
was a slender fund for a travelling valetudinarian, and it was not then
known that he had saved a moderate sum of money. Mr. Boswell and sir
Joshua Reynolds undertook to solicit the patronage of the chancellor.
With lord Thurlow, while he was at the bar, Johnson was well acquainted.
He was often heard to say, "Thurlow is a man of such vigour of mind,
that I never knew I was to meet him, but--I was going to say, I was
afraid, but that would not be true, for I never was afraid of any man;
but I never knew that I was to meet Thurlow, but I knew I had something
to encounter.
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