’DEAR SIR,

’I sit down to answer your letter on the same day in which I received it, and am pleased that my first letter of the year is to you.  No man ought to be at ease while he knows himself in the wrong; and I have not satisfied myself with my long silence.  The letter relating to Mr. Sinclair, however, was, I believe, never brought.

’My health has been tottering this last year; and I can give no very laudable account of my time.  I am always hoping to do better than I have ever hitherto done.

’My journey to Ashbourne and Staffordshire was not pleasant; for what enjoyment has a sick man visiting the sick[431]?—­Shall we ever have another frolick like our journey to the Hebrides?

’I hope that dear Mrs. Boswell will surmount her complaints; in losing her you would lose your anchor, and be tost, without stability, by the waves of life[432].  I wish both her and you very many years, and very happy.

’For some months past I have been so withdrawn from the world, that I can send you nothing particular.  All your friends, however, are well, and will be glad of your return to London.

’I am, dear Sir,

’Yours most affectionately,

‘SAM.  JOHNSON.’

‘January 5, 1782.’

At a time when he was less able than he had once been to sustain a shock, he was suddenly deprived of Mr. Levett, which event he thus communicated to Dr. Lawrence:—­

’SIR,

’Our old friend, Mr. Levett, who was last night eminently cheerful, died this morning.  The man who lay in the same room, hearing an uncommon noise, got up and tried to make him speak, but without effect.  He then called Mr. Holder, the apothecary, who, though when he came he thought him dead, opened a vein, but could draw no blood.  So has ended the long life of a very useful and very blameless man.

’I am, Sir,

’Your most humble servant,

‘SAM.  JOHNSON.’

‘Jan. 17, 1782.’

In one of his memorandum-books in my possession, is the following entry:—­

’January 20, Sunday.  Robert Levett was buried in the church-yard of Bridewell, between one and two in the afternoon.  He died on Thursday 17, about seven in the morning, by an instantaneous death.  He was an old and faithful friend; I have known him from about 46. Commendavi.  May GOD have mercy on him.  May he have mercy on me.’

Such was Johnson’s affectionate regard for Levett[433], that he honoured his memory with the following pathetick verses:—­

     ’Condemd’d to Hope’s delusive mine,
        As on we toil from day to day,
      By sudden blast or slow decline
        Our social comforts drop away.

      Well try’d through many a varying year,
        See LEVETT to the grave descend;
      Officious, innocent, sincere,
        Of every friendless name the friend[434].

      Yet still he fills affection’s eye,
        Obscurely wise[435], and coarsely kind;
      Nor, letter’d arrogance[436], deny
        Thy praise to merit unrefin’d.