ords a man. But when he wished to point them out to his companion:
"Never heed such nonsense," would be the reply; "a blade of grass is
always a blade of grass, whether in one country or another. Let us, if
we _do_ talk, talk about something; men and women are my subjects of
inquiry; let us see how these differ from those we have left behind."

When we were at Rouen together, he took a great fancy to the Abbe
Roffette, with whom he conversed about the destruction of the order of
Jesuits, and condemned it loudly as a blow to the general power of the
Church, and likely to be followed with many and dangerous innovations,
which might at length become fatal to religion itself, and shake even the
foundation of Christianity. The gentleman seemed to wonder and delight
in his conversation. The talk was all in Latin, which both spoke
fluently, and Mr. Johnson pronounced a long eulogium upon Milton with so
much ardour, eloquence, and ingenuity, that the Abbe rose from his seat
and embraced him. My husband, seeing them apparently so charmed with the
company of each other, politely invited the Abbe to England, intending to
oblige his friend, who, instead of thanking, reprimanded him severely
before the man for such a sudden burst of tenderness towards a person he
could know nothing at all of, and thus put a sudden finish to all his own
and Mr. Thrale's entertainment from the company of the Abbe Roffette.

When at Versailles the people showed us the theatre. As we stood on the
stage looking at some machinery for playhouse purposes: "Now we are here,
what shall we act, Mr. Johnson--The Englishman at Paris?" "No, no,"
replied he, "we will try to act Harry the Fifth." His dislike to the
French was well known to both nations, I believe; but he applauded the
number of their books and the graces of their style. "They have few
sentiments," said he, "but they express them neatly; they have little
meat, too, but they dress it well." Johnson's own notions about eating,
however, were nothing less than delicate: a leg of pork boiled till it
dropped from the bone, a veal pie with plums and sugar, or the outside
cut of a salt buttock of beef, were his favourite dainties. With regard
to drink, his liking was for the strongest, as it was not the flavour,
but the effect, he sought for, and professed to desire; and when I first
knew him, he used to pour capillaire into his port wine. For the last
twelve years, however, he left off all ferme