Dr. Johnson shunned to-night any discussion of the perplexed question of fate and free will, which I attempted to agitate.  ’Sir, (said he,) we know our will is free, and there’s an end on’t.’

He honoured me with his company at dinner on the 16th of October, at my lodgings in Old Bond-street, with Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Murphy, Mr. Bickerstaff, and Mr. Thomas Davies.  Garrick played round him with a fond vivacity, taking hold of the breasts of his coat, and, looking up in his face with a lively archness, complimented him on the good health which he seemed then to enjoy; while the sage, shaking his head, beheld him with a gentle complacency.  One of the company not being come at the appointed hour, I proposed, as usual upon such occasions, to order dinner to be served; adding, ’Ought six people to be kept waiting for one?’ ’Why, yes, (answered Johnson, with a delicate humanity,) if the one will suffer more by your sitting down, than the six will do by waiting.’  Goldsmith, to divert the tedious minutes, strutted about, bragging of his dress, and I believe was seriously vain of it, for his mind was wonderfully prone to such impressions.  ’Come, come, (said Garrick,) talk no more of that.  You are, perhaps, the worst—­eh, eh!’—­Goldsmith was eagerly attempting to interrupt him, when Garrick went on, laughing ironically, ’Nay, you will always look like a gentleman; but I am talking of being well or ill drest.’  ’Well, let me tell you, (said Goldsmith,) when my tailor brought home my bloom-coloured coat, he said, “Sir, I have a favour to beg of you.  When any body asks you who made your clothes, be pleased to mention John Filby, at the Harrow, in Waterlane."’ Johnson.  ’Why, Sir, that was because he knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a coat even of so absurd a colour.’

After dinner our conversation first turned upon Pope.  Johnson said, his characters of men were admirably drawn, those of women not so well.  He repeated to us, in his forcible melodious manner, the concluding lines of the Dunciad.  While he was talking loudly in praise of those lines, one of the company* ventured to say, ’Too fine for such a poem:—­a poem on what?’ Johnson, (with a disdainful look,) ’Why, on dunces.  It was worth while being a dunce then.  Ah, Sir, hadst thou lived in those days!  It is not worth while ‘being a dunce now, when there are no wits.’  Bickerstaff observed, as a peculiar circumstance, that Pope’s fame was higher when he was alive than it was then.  Johnson said, his Pastorals were poor things, though the versification was fine.  He told us, with high satisfaction, the anecdote of Pope’s inquiring who was the authour of his London, and saying, he will be soon deterre.  He observed, that in Dryden’s poetry there were passages drawn from a profundity which Pope could never reach.  He repeated some