always perceived; and if they are not perceived, they cannot be recounted. I have risen and lain down, talked and mused, while you have roved over a considerable part of Europe: yet I have not envied my Baretti any of his pleasures, though perhaps I have envied others his company; and I am glad to have other nations made acquainted with the charaeter of the English, by a traveller who has so nicely inspected our manners, and so successfully studied our literature.

I received your kind letter from Falmouth, in which you gave me notice of your departure from Lisbon; and another from Lisbon, in which you told me that you were to leave Portugal in a few days. To either of these, how could any answers be return ed? I have had a third from Turin, complaining that I had not answered the former. Your English style still continues in its purity and vigour. With vigour your genius will supply it; but its purity must be continued by close attention. To use two languages familiarly, and without contaminating one by the other, is very difficult; and to use more than two, is hardly to be hoped. The praises which some have received for their multiplicity of languages, may be sufficient to excite industry, but can hardly generate confidence.

I know not whether I can heartily rejoice at the kind reception which you have found, or at the popularity to which you are exalted. I am willing that your merit should be distinguished; but I cannot wish that your affections may be gained. I would have you happy whereever you are: yet I would have you wish to return to England. If ever you visit us again, you will find the kindness of your friends undiminished. To tell you how many inqui ries are made after you, would be tedious, or if not tedious would be vain: because you may be told in a very few words, that all who knew you, wish you

well; and all whom you embraced at your departure, will caress you at your return.

By conducting Mr. Southwell to Venice, you fulfilled, I know, the original contract: yet I would wish you not wholly to lose him from your notice, but to recommend him to such acquaintance as may best secure him from suffering by his own follies, and to take such general care both of his safety and his interest as may come within your power. His relations will thank you for any such gratuitous attention at least, they will not blame you for any evil that may happen, whether they thank you or not for any good.

:

The artists have instituted a yearly exhibition of pictures and statues, in imitation, as I am told, of foreign Academies. This year was the second exhibition. They please themselves much with the multitude of spectators, and imagine that the English school will rise in reputation. This exhibition has filled the heads of the artists and lovers of arts.Surely life, if it is not long, is tedious, since we are forced to call in the assistance of so many trifles, to rid us of our time; of that time which never can return.

I know my Baretti will not be satisfied with a letter in which I give him no account of myself: yet I what account shall I give him? I have not, since the day of our separation, suffered or done any thing considerable. I have hitherto lived without the concurrence of my own judgment; yet I continue to flatter myself, that, when you return, you will find

me mended.

I hope you take care to keep an exact journal, and to register all occurrences and observations. You have given us good specimens in your letters from Lisbon. I wish you had staid longer in Spain, for no country is less known to the rest of Europe; but the quickness of your discernment must make amends

for the celerity of your motions. He that knows which way to direct his view, sees much in a little time.

Write to me very often, and I will not neglect to write to you. I may perhaps in time get something to write at least, you will know by my letters, whatever else they may have or want, that I continue to be

Your most affectionate friend,
SAMUEL JOHNSON.

LETTER V.

To Dr. (afterwards sir George) Staunton.

Dear sir,

June 1, 1762.

I make haste to answer your kind letter, in hope of hearing again from you before you leave us. I cannot but regret that a man of your qualifications should find it necessary to seek an establishment in Guadaloupe. If a peace should restore that island to the French, I shall think it some alleviation of the loss, that it must likewise restore Dr. Staunton to the English.

It is a melancholy consideration, that so much of our time is necessarily to be spent upon the care of living, and that we can seldom obtain case in one respect but by resigning it in another; yet I suppose we are by this dispensation not less happy on the whole, than if the spontaneous bounty of Nature poured into our hands all that we want. A few, if they were left thus to themselves, would, perhaps, spend their time in laudable pursuits; but the greater part would prey upon the quiet of each other, or, in the want of other objects, would prey upon themselves.

This, however, is our condition, which we must improve and solace as we can: and though we cannot always choose our place of residence, we may, in every place, find rational amusements, and possess, in every place, the comforts of piety and a pure conscience.

The new world must have many vegetables and animals with which philosophers are but little acquainted. I hope you will furnish yourself with some books of natural history, and some glasses and other instruments of observation. Trust as little as possible to report; examine all you can by your own senses. I do not doubt but you will be able to add much to knowledge, and, perhaps, to medicine. Wild nations trust to simples; and, perhaps, the Peruvian bark is not the only specific which those extensive regions may afford us.

Wherever you are, and whatever may be your fortune, be certain, dear sir, that you carry with you my kind wishes; and that whether you return hither, or stay in the other hemisphere, to hear that you are happy will give pleasure to

Your most affectionate, humble servant,
SAMUEL JOHNSON.

Sir,

LETTER VI.

To Mr. Baretti.

London, July 20, 1762.

However justly you may accuse me for want of punctuality in correspondence, I am not so far lost in negligence, as to omit the opportunity of writing to you, which Mr. Beauclerk's passage through Milan affords me.

As you have now been long away; I suppose your curiosity may pant for some news of your old friends. Miss Williams and I live much as we did. Miss Cotterell still continues to cling to Mrs. Porter. Mr. Reynolds gets six thousand a year. Levet is lately married, not without much suspicion that he has been wretchedly cheated in his match, Mr. Chambers is gone, for the first time, the circuit with the judges. Mr. Richardson's second daughter has married a merchant.

My vanity, or my kindness, makes me flatter myself, that you would rather hear of me than of those whom I have mentioned; but of myself I have very little which I care to tell. Last winter I went down to my native town, where I found the streets much narrower and shorter than I thought I had left them, inhabited by a new race of people, to whom I was very little known. My play-fellows were grown old, and forced me to suspect, that I was no longer young. My only remaining friend has changed his principles, and has become the tool of the predominant faction. My daughter-in-law, from whom I expected most, and whom I met with sincere benevolence, has lost the beauty and gaiety of youth, without having gained much of the wisdom of age. I wandered about for five days, and took the first convenient opportunity of returning to a place, where, if there is not much happiness, there is, at least, such a diversity of good and evil, that slight vexations do not fix upon the heart.

I think in a few weeks to try another excursion; though to what end? Let me know, my Baretti, what has been the result of your return to your own country; whether time has made any alteration for the better! and whether, when the first raptures of salutation were over, you did not find your thoughts confessed their disappointment.