0], where
he passed about a fortnight, and made little excursions as easily as at
any time of his life[721]. In August he went as far as the neighbourhood
of Salisbury, to Heale[722], the seat of William Bowles, Esq[723]., a
gentleman whom I have heard him praise for exemplary religious order in
his family. In his diary I find a short but honourable mention of this
visit: 'August 28, I came to Heale without fatigue. 30. I am entertained
quite to my mind.'

'To DR. BROCKLESBY. Heale, near Salisbury, Aug. 29, 1783.

DEAR SIR, Without appearing to want a just sense of your kind attention,
I cannot omit to give an account of the day which seemed to appear in
some sort perilous. I rose at five and went out at six, and having
reached Salisbury about nine[724], went forward a few miles in my
friend's chariot. I was no more wearied with the journey, though it was
a high-hung, rough coach, than I should have been forty years ago. We
shall now see what air will do. The country is all a plain; and the
house in which I am, so far as I can judge from my window, for I write
before I have left my chamber, is sufficiently pleasant.

Be so kind as to continue your attention to Mrs. Williams; it is great
consolation to the well, and still greater to the sick, that they find
themselves not neglected; and I know that you will be desirous of giving
comfort even where you have no great hope of giving help.

Since I wrote the former part of the letter, I find that by the course
of the post I cannot send it before the thirty-first.

I am, &c. SAM. JOHNSON.'

While he was here he had a letter from Dr. Brocklesby, acquainting him
of the death of Mrs. Williams, which affected him a good deal[725].
Though for several years her temper had not been complacent, she had
valuable qualities, and her departure left a blank in his house[726].
Upon this occasion he, according to his habitual course of piety,
composed a prayer[727].

I shall here insert a few particulars concerning him, with which I have
been favoured by one of his friends[728].

'He had once conceived the design of writing the Life of Oliver
Cromwell[729], saying, that he thought it must be highly curious to
trace his extraordinary rise to the supreme power, from so obscure a
beginning. He at length laid aside his scheme, on discovering that all
that can be told of him is already in print; and that it is
impracticable to procure any authentick information in addition to what
the