requested to see Mr. Nichols.
A few days before, he had borrowed some of the early volumes of the
magazine, with a professed intention to point out the pieces which he
had written in that collection. The books lay on the table, with many
leaves doubled down, and, in particular, those which contained his share
in the parliamentary debates. Such was the goodness of Johnson's heart,
that he then declared, that "those debates were the only parts of his
writings which gave him any compunction: but that, at the time he wrote
them, he had no conception that he was imposing upon the world, though
they were, frequently, written from very slender materials, and often
from none at all, the mere coinage of his own imagination." He added,
"that he never wrote any part of his work with equal velocity." "Three
columns of the magazine in an hour," he said, "was no uncommon effort;
which was faster than most persons could have transcribed that quantity.
In one day, in particular, and that not a very long one, he wrote twelve
pages, more in quantity than ever he wrote at any other time, except in
the Life of Savage, of which forty-eight pages, in octavo, were the
production of one long day, including a part of the night."

In the course of the conversation, he asked whether any of the family of
Faden, the printer, were living. Being told that the geographer, near
Charing Cross, was Faden's son, he said, after a short pause, "I
borrowed a guinea of his father near thirty years ago; be so good as to
take this, and pay it for me."

Wishing to discharge every duty, and every obligation, Johnson
recollected another debt of ten pounds, which he had borrowed from his
friend, Mr. Hamilton, the printer, about twenty years before. He sent
the money to Mr. Hamilton, at his house in Bedford row, with an apology
for the length of time. The reverend Mr. Strahan was the bearer of the
message, about four or five days before Johnson breathed his last.

Mr. Sastres, whom Dr. Johnson esteemed and mentioned in his will,
entered the room, during his illness. Dr. Johnson, as soon as he saw
him, stretched forth his hand, and, in a tone of lamentation, called
out, "Jam moriturus!" But the love of life was still an active
principle. Feeling himself swelled with the dropsy, he conceived that,
by incisions in his legs, the water might be discharged. Mr. Cruikshank
apprehended that a mortification might be the consequence; but, to
appease a distempered fancy, he