half inad. Are you not rather too late in the year for fine weather, which is the life and soul of seeing places?—I hope your pleasure will continue qualis ab incepto, &c.

"Your friend *

threatens me much. I

only wish that he would put his threats in execution, and, if he prints his play, I will forgive him. I remember he complained to you, that his bookseller called for the money for some copies of his

which I subscribed for, and that I desired him to call again. The truth is, that my wife was not at home, and that for weeks together I have not ten shillings in my pocket. However, had it been otherwise, it was not so great a crime to draw his poetical vengeance upon me.-I despise all that he can do, and am glad that I can so easily get rid of him and his ingratitude.-I am hardened both to abuse and ingratitude.

"You, I am sure, will no more recommend your poetasters to my civility and good offices.

"Shall I recommend to you a play of Eschylus, (the Prometheus,) published and translated by poor old Morell, who is a good scholar, and an acquaintance of mine? It will be but half a guinea,

I have suppressed my friend's name from an apprehension of wounding his sensibility; but I would not withhold from my readers a passage which shews Mr. Garrick's mode of writing as the Manager of a Theatre, and contains a pleasing trait of his domestick life. His judgment of dramatick pieces, so far as concerns their exhibition on the stage, must be allowed to have considerable weight. But from the effect which a perusal of the tragedy here condemned had upon myself, and from the opinions of some eminent criticks, I venture to pronounce that it has much poetical merit; and its authour has distinguished himself by several performances which shew that the epithet poetaster was, in the present instance, much misapplied.

and your name shall be put in the list I am making for him. You will be in very good company.

"Now for the Epitaphs!

[These, together with the verses on George the Second, and Colley Cibber, as his Poet Laureat, of which imperfect copies are gone about, will appear in my Life of Dr. Johnson.*]

"I have no more paper, or I should have said more to you. My love and respects to Mr. Johnson.

:

"Your's ever,

D. GARRICK.

my hand."

"I can't write. I have the gout in "To James Boswell, Esq. Edinburgh.”

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 24.

We passed the forenoon calmly and placidly. I prevailed on Dr. Johnson to read aloud Ogden's sixth Sermon on Prayer, which he did with a distinct expression, and pleasing solemnity. He praised my favourite preacher, his elegant language, and remarkable acuteness; and said, he fought infidels with their own weapons.

As a specimen of Ogden's manner, I insert the following passage from the sermon which Dr. Johnson now read. The preacher, after arguing against that vain philosophy which maintains in conformity with the hard principle of eternal necessity, or unchangeable predetermination, that the only effect of prayer for others, although we are exhorted to pray for them, is to produce good dispositions in ourselves towards them; thus expresses himself:

* [See the Life of Johnson, vol. i. pp. 125, 126, 5th edit.]

"A plain man may be apt to ask, But if this "then, though enjoined in the holy scriptures, is "to be my real aim and intention, when I am "taught to pray for other persons, why is it that "I do not plainly so express it? Why is not the "form of the petition brought nearer to the mean

ing? Give them, say I to our heavenly father, "what is good. But this, I am to understand, "will be as it will be, and is not for me to alter. "What is it then that I am doing? I am desiring "to become charitable myself; and why may I not plainly say so? Is there shame in it, or im"piety? The wish is laudable: why should I form designs to hide it?

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"Or is it, perhaps, better to be brought about "by indirect means, and in this artful manner? "Alas! who is it that I would impose on? From "whom can it be, in this commerce, that I desire "to hide any thing? When, as my Saviour com"mands me, I have entered into my closet, and shut my door, there are but too parties privy to my "devotions, GoD and my own heart; which of the "two am I deceiving?"

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He wished to have more books, and, upon inquiring if there were any in the house, was told that a waiter had some, which were brought to him; but I recollect none of them, except Hervey's Meditations. He thought slightingly of this admired book. He treated it with ridicule, and would not allow even the scene of the dying Husband and Father to be pathetick. I am not an impartial judge; for Hervey's Meditations engaged my affections in my early years. He read a passage concerning the moon, ludicrously, and shewed how easily he could,

in the same style, make reflections on that planet, the very reverse of Hervey's, representing her as treacherous to mankind. He did this with much humour; but I have not preserved the particulars. He then indulged a playful fancy, in making a Meditation on a Pudding, of which I hastily wrote down, in his presence, the following note; which, though imperfect, may serve to give my readers

some idea of it.

MEDITATION ON A PUDDING.

"LET us seriously reflect of what a pudding is composed. It is composed of flour that once waved in the golden grain, and drank the dews of the morning; of milk pressed from the swelling udder by the gentle hand of the beauteous milkmaid, whose beauty and innocence might have recommended a worse draught; who, while she stroked the udder, indulged no ambitious thoughts of wandering in palaces, formed no plans for the destruction of her fellow-creatures: milk, which is drawn from the cow, that useful animal, that eats the grass of the field, and supplies us with that which made the greatest part of the food of mankind in the age which the poets have agreed to call golden. It is made with an egg, that miracle of nature, which the theoretical Burnet has compared to creation. An An egg contains water within its beautiful smooth surface; and an unformed mass, by the incubation of the parent, becomes a regular animal, furnished with bones and sinews, and covered with feathers.-Let us consider; can there be more wanting to complete the Meditation on a Pudding? If more is wanting, more may be found.

It contains salt, which keeps the sea from putrefaction: salt, which is made the image of intellectual excellence, contributes to the formation of a pudding."

In a Magazine I found a saying of Dr. Johnson's, something to this purpose; that the happiest part of a man's life is what he passes lying awake in bed in the morning. I read it to him. He said, "I may, perhaps, have said this; for nobody, at times, talks more laxly than I do." I ventured to suggest to him, that this was dangerous from one of his authority.

I spoke of living in the country, and upon what footing one should be with neighbours. I observed that some people were afraid of being on too easy a footing with them, from an apprehension that their time would not be their own. He made the obvious remark, that it depended much on what kind of neighbours one has, whether it was desirable to be on an easy footing with them, or not. I mentioned a certain baronet, who told me, he never was happy in the country, till he was not on speaking terms with his neighbours, which he contrived in different ways to bring about. "Lord.

(said he) stuck long; but at last the fellow pounded my pigs, and then I got rid of him."— JOHNSON. "Nay, sir, My Lord got rid of Sir John, and shewed how little he valued him, by putting his pigs in the pound."

I told Dr. Johnson I was in some difficulty how to act at Inverary. I had reason to think that the Duchess of Argyle disliked me, on account of my zeal in the Douglas cause; but the Duke of Argyle