no more about it; there is a vow in the case,
I am convinced; but is it not very strange that people should be neither
afraid nor ashamed of bringing in God Almighty thus at every turn between
themselves and their dinner?" When I asked what ground he had for such
imaginations, he informed me, "That a young lady once told him in
confidence that she could never persuade herself to be dressed against
the bell rung for dinner, till she had made a vow to heaven that she
would never more be absent from the family meals."

The strangest applications in the world were certainly made from time to
time towards Mr. Johnson, who by that means had an inexhaustible fund of
ancecdote, and could, if he pleased, tell the most astonishing stories of
human folly and human weakness that ever were confided to any man not a
confessor by profession.

One day, when he was in a humour to record some of them, he told us the
following tale:--"A person," said he, "had for these last five weeks
often called at my door, but would not leave his name or other message,
but that he wished to speak with me. At last we met, and he told me that
he was oppressed by scruples of conscience. I blamed him gently for not
applying, as the rules of our Church direct, to his parish priest or
other discreet clergyman; when, after some compliments on his part, he
told me that he was clerk to a very eminent trader, at whose warehouses
much business consisted in packing goods in order to go abroad; that he
was often tempted to take paper and packthread enough for his own use,
and that he had indeed done so so often, that he could recollect no time
when he ever had bought any for himself. 'But probably,' said I, 'your
master was wholly indifferent with regard to such trivial emoluments. You
had better ask for it at once, and so take your trifles with content.'
'Oh, sir!' replies the visitor, 'my master bid me have as much as I
pleased, and was half angry when I talked to him about it.' 'Then pray,
sir,' said I, 'tease me no more about such airy nothings,' and was going
on to be very angry, when I recollected that the fellow might be mad,
perhaps; so I asked him, 'When he left the counting-house of an evening?'
'At seven o'clock, sir.' 'And when do you go to bed, sir?' 'At twelve
o'clock.' 'Then,' replied I, 'I have at least learnt thus much by my new
acquaintance--that five hours of the four-and-twenty unemployed are
enough for a man to go mad in; so I would ad