While the world in general was filled with admiration of Johnson’s Lives of the Poets, there were narrow circles in which prejudice and resentment were fostered, and from which attacks of different sorts issued against him.  By some violent Whigs he was arraigned of injustice to Milton; by some Cambridge men of depreciating Gray; and his expressing with a dignified freedom what he really thought of George, Lord Lyttelton, gave offence to some of the friends of that nobleman, and particularly produced a declaration of war against him from Mrs. Montagu, the ingenious Essayist on Shakspeare, between whom and his Lordship a commerce of reciprocal compliments had long been carried on.  In this war the smaller powers in alliance with him were of course led to engage, at least on the defensive, and thus I for one was excluded from the enjoyment of ‘A Feast of Reason,’ such as Mr. Cumberland has described, with a keen, yet just and delicate pen, in his Observer.  These minute inconveniences gave not the least disturbance to Johnson.  He nobly said, when I talked to him of the feeble, though shrill outcry which had been raised, ’Sir, I considered myself as entrusted with a certain portion of truth.  I have given my opinion sincerely; let them shew where they think me wrong.’

I wrote to him in February, complaining of having been troubled by a recurrence of the perplexing question of Liberty and Necessity;—­and mentioning that I hoped soon to meet him again in London.

’To James Boswell, Esq.

’Dear sir,—­I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery.  What have you to do with Liberty and Necessity?  Or what more than to hold your tongue about it?  Do not doubt but I shall be most heartily glad to see you here again, for I love every part about you but your affectation of distress.

’I have at last finished my Lives, and have laid up for you a load of copy, all out of order, so that it will amuse you a long time to set it right.  Come to me, my dear Bozzy, and let us be as happy as we can.  We will go again to the Mitre, and talk old times over.  I am, dear Sir, yours affectionately,

‘March 14, 1781.’

‘Sam.  Johnson.’

On Monday, March 19, I arrived in London, and on Tuesday, the 20th, met him in Fleet-street, walking, or rather indeed moving along; for his peculiar march is thus described in a very just and picturesque manner, in a short Life of him published very soon after his death:—­’When he walked the streets, what with the constant roll of his head, and the concomitant motion of his body, he appeared to make his way by that motion, independent of his feet.’  That he was often much stared at while he advanced in this manner, may easily be believed; but it was not safe to make sport of one so robust as he was.  Mr. Langton saw him one day, in a fit of absence, by a sudden start, drive the load off a porter’s back, and walk forward briskly, without being conscious of what he had done.  The porter was very angry, but stood still, and eyed the huge figure with much earnestness, till he was satisfied that his wisest course was to be quiet, and take up his burthen again.