came less and less frequent, and that he studiously avoided the mention of the place or family*.

Having now no calls, and, as I believe, very little temptation, to become a sojourner, or even a guest, in the habitation of his departed friend, he had leifure to indulge himself in excursions to the city of his nativity, as also to Oxford; for both which places he ever entertained an enthusiastic affection. In the former, he was kindly received, and respectfully treated, by Mrs. Lucy Porter, the daughter, by her former husband, of his deceased wife, and in the latter, by the reverend Dr. Adams, who had been his tutor at Pembroke college, and is now the head of that seminary. While he was thus resident in the university, he received daily proofs of the high estimation in which he was there held, by such members of that body as were of the greatest eminence for learning, or were any way diftinguished for their natural or acquired abilities.

Besides the places above-mentioned, Johnson had other fummer-retreats, to which he was ever welcome, the feats of his friends in the country. At one of these, in the year 1782, he was alarmed by a tumour, by furgeons termed a farcocele, that, as it increased, gave him great pain, and, at length, hurried him to town, with a resolution to submit, if it should be thought neceffary, to a dreadful chirurgical operation; but, on his arrival, one less severe restored him to a

:

state of perfect ease in the part affected. But he had disorders of another kind to struggle with : he had frequent fits of pain which indicated the passage of a gall-stone, and he now felt the preffure of an asthma, a constitutional disease with him, from which he had formerly been relieved by copious bleedings, but his advanced age forbade the repetition of them.

In the beginning of the year 1782, death deprived him of his old friend and companion; he who had, for near forty years, had the care of his health, and had attended him almost constantly every morning, to enquire after the state of his body, and fill out his tea, the mute, the officious, and the humble Mr. Levett. Of this disastrous event, as foon as it happened, Johnson sent to his friend, Dr. Lawrence, the following account:

SIR,

Jan. 17, 1782.

Our old friend Mr. Levett, who was last night • eminently chearful, died this morning. The man ' who lay in the fame room, hearing an uncommon 'noife, got up, and tried to make him speak, but ' without effect. He then called Mr. Holder the apothecary, who, though when he came he thought • him dead, opened a vein, but could draw no blood. • So has ended the long life of a very useful and very blameless man.

' I am, Sir,

• Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON."

I find in one of Johnson's diaries the following note: • January 20, Sunday. Robert Levett was buried • in the church-yard of Bridewell, between one and two in the afternoon. He died on Thursday 17, about seven in the morning, by an instantaneous death. He was an old and faithful friend. I have • known him from about 46. Commendari. May • God have had mercy on him. May he have mercy on me!'

The grief which the loss of friends occafioned Johnson, seems to have been a frequent stimulative with him to composition. His sense of Levett's worth he expressed in the following lines, which may, perhaps, contribute, more than any one circumstance in his character, to keep the memory of his existence alive:

I

• Condemn'd to hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
• By fudden blast, or flow decline,
‹ Our focial comforts drop away.

2

• Well tried through many a varying year,

See Levett to the grave defcend;

• Officious, innocent, fincere,

• Of every friendless name the friend.

3

• Yet still he fills affection's eye,

• Obfcurely wife, and coarsely kind,

• Nor, letter'd ignorance, deny

• Thy praise to merit unrefin'd.

• When

4

• When fainting nature call'd for aid,

• And hov'ring death prepar'd the blow,

The vig'rous remedy display'd,

• The power of art, without the show.

5

• In mis'ry's darkest caverns known,
His useful care was ever nigh;
• Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan,
And lonely want retir'd to die.

6

• No fummons mock'd by chill delay;
No petty gain disdain'd by pride:

The modeft wants of ev'ry day,
'The toil of ev'ry day fupply'd.

7

' His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
• Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And fure the eternal Master found
• The single talent well employ'd.

8

The busy day, the peaceful night,
• Unfelt, uncounted, glided by:
His frame was firm, his pow'rs were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

• Then !

9

'Then with no throb of fiery pain,
• No cold gradations of decay,
‹ Death broke at once the vital chain,
• And freed his foul the nearest way.'

About the middle of June 1783, his constitution fustained a feverer shock than it had ever before felt: this was a stroke of the palsy, so very fudden and severe, that it awakened him out of a found sleep, and rendered him, for a short time, speechless. As it had not affected his intellectual powers, he, in that cumbent posture to which he was confined, attempted to repeat, first in English, then in Latin, and afterwards in Greek, the Lord's Prayer, but fucceeded in only the last effort, immediately after which, finding himself again bereft of the power of speech, he rang for his fervant, and making signs for pen, ink, and paper, wrote and fent the following note to his friend and next-door neighbour, Mr. Allen the printer,

< Dear Sir,

• It hath pleased Almighty God this morning to • deprive me of the powers of speech; and, as I do ' not know but that it may be his farther good plea• sure to deprive me foon of my fenfes, I request you will, on the receipt of this note, come to me, • and act for me, as the exigencies of my cafe may require.

I am, fincerely,
• Your's,

S. JOHNSON.

Mr.