I have preserved no more of his conversation at the times when I saw him during the rest of this month, till Sunday, the 30th of May, when I met him in the evening at Mr. Hoole’s, where there was a large company both of ladies and gentlemen; Sir James Johnston[869] happened to say, that he paid no regard to the arguments of counsel at the bar of the House of Commons, because they were paid for speaking.  ’JOHNSON.  ’Nay, Sir, argument is argument.  You cannot help paying regard to their arguments, if they are good.  If it were testimony, you might disregard it, if you knew that it were purchased.  There is a beautiful image in Bacon[870] upon this subject:  testimony is like an arrow shot from a long bow; the force of it depends on the strength of the hand that draws it.  Argument is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force though shot by a child.’

He had dined that day at Mr. Hoole’s, and Miss Helen Maria Williams being expected in the evening, Mr. Hoole put into his hands her beautiful Ode on the Peace[871]:  Johnson read it over, and when this elegant and accomplished young lady[872] was presented to him, he took her by the hand in the most courteous manner, and repeated the finest stanza of her poem; this was the most delicate and pleasing compliment he could pay.  Her respectable friend, Dr. Kippis, from whom I had this anecdote, was standing by, and was not a little gratified.

Miss Williams told me, that the only other time she was fortunate enough to be in Dr. Johnson’s company, he asked her to sit down by him, which she did, and upon her enquiring how he was, he answered, ’I am very ill indeed, Madam.  I am very ill even when you are near me; what should I be were you at a distance?’[873]

He had now a great desire to go to Oxford, as his first jaunt after his illness; we talked of it for some days, and I had promised to accompany him.  He was impatient, and fretful to-night, because I did not at once agree to go with him on Thursday.  When I considered how ill he had been, and what allowance should be made for the influence of sickness upon his temper, I resolved to indulge him, though with some inconvenience to myself, as I wished to attend the musical meeting in honour of Handel[874], in Westminster-Abbey, on the following Saturday.

In the midst of his own diseases and pains, he was ever compassionate to the distresses of others, and actively earnest in procuring them aid, as appears from a note to Sir Joshua Reynolds, of June, in these words:—­’I am ashamed to ask for some relief for a poor man, to whom, I hope, I have given what I can be expected to spare.  The man importunes me, and the blow goes round.  I am going to try another air on Thursday.’