is a bad thing; but preciseness is also a bad thing; and your general character may be more hurt by preciseness than by dining with a Bishop in Passion-week.  There might be a handle for reflection.  It might be said, ’He refused to dine with a Bishop in Passion-week, but was three Sundays absent from Church.’  BOSWELL.  ’Very true, Sir.  But suppose a man to be uniformly of good conduct, would it not be better that he should refuse to dine with a Bishop in this week, and so not encourage a bad practice by his example?’ JOHNSON.  ’Why, Sir, you are to consider whether you might not do more harm by lessening the influence of a Bishop’s character by your disapprobation in refusing him, than by going to him.’

TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

’DEAR MADAM,

’Life is full of troubles.  I have just lost my dear friend Thrale.  I hope he is happy; but I have had a great loss.  I am otherwise pretty well.  I require some care of myself, but that care is not ineffectual; and when I am out of order, I think it often my own fault.

’The spring is now making quick advances.  As it is the season in which the whole world is enlivened and invigorated, I hope that both you and I shall partake of its benefits.  My desire is to see Lichfield; but being left executor to my friend, I know not whether I can be spared; but I will try, for it is now long since we saw one another, and how little we can promise ourselves many more interviews, we are taught by hourly examples of mortality.  Let us try to live so as that mortality may not be an evil.  Write to me soon, my dearest; your letters will give me great pleasure.

’I am sorry that Mr. Porter has not had his box; but by sending it to Mr. Mathias, who very readily undertook its conveyance, I did the best I could, and perhaps before now he has it.

’Be so kind as to make my compliments to my friends; I have a great value for their kindness, and hope to enjoy it before summer is past.  Do write to me.  I am, dearest love,

’Your most humble servant,

‘SAM.  JOHNSON.’

‘London, April 12, 1781.’

On Friday, April 13, being Good-Friday, I went to St. Clement’s church with him as usual.  There I saw again his old fellow-collegian, Edwards[291], to whom I said, ’I think, Sir, Dr. Johnson and you meet only at Church.’—­’Sir, (said he,) it is the best place we can meet in, except Heaven, and I hope we shall meet there too.’  Dr. Johnson told me, that there was very little communication between Edwards and him, after their unexpected renewal of acquaintance.  ’But (said he, smiling) he met me once, and said, “I am told you have written a very pretty book called The Rambler.”  I was unwilling that he should leave the world in total darkness, and sent him a set.’