eserved no other name than that of the impostor,
he said. That portion of the Universal History which was written by him
does not seem to me to be composed with peculiar spirit, but all traces
of the wit and the wanderer were probably worn out before he undertook
the work. His pious and patient endurance of a tedious illness, ending
in an exemplary death, confirmed the strong impression his merit had made
upon the mind of Mr. Johnson. "It is so _very_ difficult," said he,
always, "for a sick man not to be a scoundrel. Oh! set the pillows soft,
here is Mr. Grumbler a-coming. Ah! let no air in for the world, Mr.
Grumbler will be here presently."

This perpetual preference is so offensive, where the privileges of
sickness are, besides, supported by wealth, and nourished by dependence,
that one cannot much wonder that a rough mind is revolted by them. It
was, however, at once comical and touchant (as the French call it), to
observe Mr. Johnson so habitually watchful against this sort of
behaviour, that he was often ready to suspect himself of it; and when one
asked him gently, how he did?--"Ready to become a scoundrel, madam,"
would commonly be the answer; "with a little more spoiling you will, I
think, make me a complete rascal!"

His desire of doing good was not, however, lessened by his aversion to a
sick chamber. He would have made an ill man well by any expense or
fatigue of his own, sooner than any of the canters. Canter, indeed, was
he none: he would forget to ask people after the health of their nearest
relations, and say in excuse, "That he knew they did not care: why should
they?" says he; "every one in this world has as much as they can do in
caring for themselves, and few have leisure really to _think_ of their
neighbours' distresses, however they may delight their tongues with
_talking_ of them."

The natural depravity of mankind and remains of original sin were so
fixed in Mr. Johnson's opinion, that he was indeed a most acute observer
of their effects; and used to say sometimes, half in jest, half in
earnest, that they were the remains of his old tutor Mandeville's
instructions. As a book, however, he took care always loudly to condemn
the "Fable of the Bees," but not without adding, "that it was the work of
a thinking man."

I have in former days heard Dr. Collier of the Commons loudly condemned
for uttering sentiments, which twenty years after I have heard as loudly
applauded from the lips of D