The evident tendency of the following anecdote[1076] is to represent Dr. Johnson as extremely deficient in affection, tenderness, or even common civility:—­

’When I one day lamented the loss of a first cousin killed in America,—­“Prithee, my dear, (said he,) have done with canting; how would the world be the worse for it, I may ask, if all your relations were at once spitted like larks, and roasted for Presto’s supper?"—­Presto[1077] was the dog that lay under the table while we talked.’

I suspect this too of exaggeration and distortion.  I allow that he made her an angry speech; but let the circumstances fairly appear, as told by Mr. Baretti, who was present:—­

’Mrs. Thrale, while supping very heartily upon larks, laid down her knife and fork, and abruptly exclaimed, “O, my dear Mr. Johnson, do you know what has happened?  The last letters from abroad have brought us an account that our poor cousin’s head was taken off by a cannon-ball.”  Johnson, who was shocked both at the fact, and her light unfeeling manner of mentioning it, replied, “Madam, it would give you very little concern if all your relations were spitted like those larks, and drest for Presto’s supper[1078]."’

It is with concern that I find myself obliged to animadvert on the inaccuracies of Mrs. Piozzi’s Anecdotes, and perhaps I may be thought to have dwelt too long upon her little collection.  But as from Johnson’s long residence under Mr. Thrale’s roof, and his intimacy with her, the account which she has given of him may have made an unfavourable and unjust impression, my duty, as a faithful biographer, has obliged me reluctantly to perform this unpleasing task.

Having left the pious negotiation, as I called it, in the best hands, I shall here insert what relates to it.  Johnson wrote to Sir Joshua Reynolds on July 6, as follows:—­

’I am going, I hope, in a few days, to try the air of Derbyshire, but hope to see you before I go.  Let me, however, mention to you what I have much at heart.  If the Chancellor should continue his attention to Mr. Boswell’s request, and confer with you on the means of relieving my languid state, I am very desirous to avoid the appearance of asking money upon false pretences.  I desire you to represent to his Lordship, what, as soon as it is suggested, he will perceive to be reasonable,—­That, if I grow much worse, I shall be afraid to leave my physicians, to suffer the inconveniences of travel, and pine in the solitude of a foreign country; That, if I grow much better, of which indeed there is now little appearance, I shall not wish to leave my friends and my domestick comforts; for I do not travel for pleasure or curiosity; yet if I should recover, curiosity would revive.  In my present state, I am desirous to make a struggle for a little longer life, and hope to obtain some help from a softer climate.  Do for me what you can.’