’Being now[472] in the country in a state of recovery, as I hope, from a very oppressive disorder, I cannot neglect the acknowledgement of your Christian letter.  The book called The Beauties of Johnson is the production of I know not whom:  I never saw it but by casual inspection, and considered myself as utterly disengaged from its consequences.  Of the passage you mention, I remember some notice in some paper; but knowing that it must be misrepresented, I thought of it no more, nor do I know where to find it in my own books.  I am accustomed to think little of newspapers; but an opinion so weighty and serious as yours has determined me to do, what I should, without your seasonable admonition, have omitted; and I will direct my thought to be shewn in its true state[473].  If I could find the passage, I would direct you to it.  I suppose the tenour is this:—­’Acute diseases are the immediate and inevitable strokes of Heaven; but of them the pain is short, and the conclusion speedy; chronical disorders, by which we are suspended in tedious torture between life and death, are commonly the effect of our own misconduct and intemperance.  To die, &c.’—­This, Sir, you see is all true and all blameless.  I hope, some time in the next week, to have all rectified.  My health has been lately much shaken:  if you favour me with any answer, it will be a comfort to me to know that I have your prayers.

’I am, &c.,

‘SAM.  JOHNSON.’

‘May 15, 1782.’

This letter, as might be expected, had its full effect, and the clergyman acknowledged it in grateful and pious terms[474].

The following letters require no extracts from mine to introduce them:—­

’TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

’DEAR SIR,

’The earnestness and tenderness of your letter is such, that I cannot think myself shewing it more respect than it claims by sitting down to answer it the day on which I received it.

’This year has afflicted me with a very irksome and severe disorder.  My respiration has been much impeded, and much blood has been taken away.  I am now harrassed by a catarrhous cough, from which my purpose is to seek relief by change of air; and I am, therefore, preparing to go to Oxford[475].

’Whether I did right in dissuading you from coming to London this spring, I will not determine.  You have not lost much by missing my company; I have scarcely been well for a single week.  I might have received comfort from your kindness; but you would have seen me afflicted, and, perhaps, found me peevish.  Whatever might have been your pleasure or mine, I know not how I could have honestly advised you to come hither with borrowed money.  Do not accustom yourself to consider debt only as an inconvenience; you will find it a calamity.  Poverty takes away so many means of doing good, and produces so much inability to resist evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means to be avoided.  Consider