* His love of London continually appears.  In a letter from him to Mrs. Smart, wife of his friend the Poet, which is published in a well-written life of him, prefixed to an edition of his Poems, in 1791, there is the following sentence:—­’To one that has passed so many years in the pleasures and opulence of London, there are few places that can give much delight.’

     Once, upon reading that line in the curious epitaph quoted
     in The Spectator,

     ‘Born in New-England, did in London die;’

     he laughed and said, ’I do not wonder at this.  It would
     have been strange, if born in London, he had died in
     New-England.’—­Boswell.

To sir Joshua Reynolds:—­

Ashbourne, Sept. 2. ’. . .  I still continue by God’s mercy to mend.  My breath is easier, my nights are quieter, and my legs are less in bulk, and stronger in use.  I have, however, yet a great deal to overcome, before I can yet attain even an old man’s health.  Write, do write to me now and then; we are now old acquaintance, and perhaps few people have lived so much and so long together, with less cause of complaint on either side.  The retrospection of this is very pleasant, and I hope we shall never think on each other with less kindness.’

Sept. 9.  ’I could not answer your letter before this day, because I went on the sixth to Chatsworth, and did not come back till the post was gone.  Many words, I hope, are not necessary between you and me, to convince you what gratitude is excited in my heart, by the Chancellor’s liberality and your kind offices.  I did not indeed expect that what was asked by the Chancellor would have been refused, but since it has, we will not tell that any thing has been asked.  I have enclosed a letter to the Chancellor which, when you have read it, you will be pleased to seal with a head, or other general seal, and convey it to him; had I sent it directly to him, I should have seemed to overlook the favour of your intervention.  I do not despair of supporting an English winter.  At Chatsworth, I met young Mr. Burke, who led me very commodiously into conversation with the Duke and Duchess.  We had a very good morning.  The dinner was publick.’

Sept. 18.  ’I have three letters this day, all about the balloon, I could have been content with one.  Do not write about the balloon, whatever else you may think proper to say.’

It may be observed, that his writing in every way, whether for the publick, or privately to his friends, was by fits and starts; for we see frequently, that many letters are written on the same day.  When he had once overcome his aversion to begin, he was, I suppose, desirous to go on, in order to relieve his mind from the uneasy reflection of delaying what he ought to do.

We now behold Johnson for the last time, in his native city, for which he ever retained a warm affection, and which, by a sudden apostrophe, under the word Lich, he introduces with reverence, into his immortal Work, the English dictionary:—­Salve, magna parens!  While here, he felt a revival of all the tenderness of filial affection, an instance of which appeared in his ordering the grave-stone and inscription over Elizabeth Blaney* to be substantially and carefully renewed.