ry member's peculiar powers of instructing or delighting mankind, were
Sir John Hawkins, Mr. Burke, Mr. Langton, Mr. Beauclerc, Dr. Percy, Dr.
Nugent, Dr. Goldsmith, Sir Robert Chambers, Mr. Dyer, and Sir Joshua
Reynolds, whom he called their Romulus, or said somebody else of the
company called him so, which was more likely: but this was, I believe, in
the year 1775 or 1776. It was a supper meeting then, and I fancy Dr.
Nugent ordered an omelet sometimes on a Friday or Saturday night; for I
remember Mr. Johnson felt very painful sensations at the sight of that
dish soon after his death, and cried, "Ah, my poor dear friend! I shall
never eat omelet with _thee_ again!" quite in an agony. The truth is,
nobody suffered more from pungent sorrow at a friend's death than
Johnson, though he would suffer no one else to complain of their losses
in the same way; "for," says he, "we must either outlive our friends, you
know, or our friends must outlive us; and I see no man that would
hesitate about the choice."

Mr. Johnson loved late hours extremely, or more properly hated early
ones. Nothing was more terrifying to him than the idea of retiring to
bed, which he never would call going to rest, or suffer another to call
so. "I lie down," said he, "that my acquaintance may sleep; but I lie
down to endure oppressive misery, and soon rise again to pass the night
in anxiety and pain." By this pathetic manner, which no one ever
possessed in so eminent a degree, he used to shock me from quitting his
company, till I hurt my own health not a little by sitting up with him
when I was myself far from well; nor was it an easy matter to oblige him
even by compliance, for he always maintained that no one forbore their
own gratifications for the sake of pleasing another, and if one _did_ sit
up it was probably to amuse oneself. Some right, however, he certainly
had to say so, as he made his company exceedingly entertaining when he
had once forced one, by his vehement lamentations and piercing reproofs,
not to quit the room, but to sit quietly and make tea for him, as I often
did in London till four o'clock in the morning. At Streatham, indeed, I
managed better, having always some friend who was kind enough to engage
him in talk, and favour my retreat.

The first time I ever saw this extraordinary man was in the year 1764,
when Mr. Murphy, who had been long the friend and confidential intimate
of Mr. Thrale, persuaded him to wish for Johnso