viour. "She says nothing, sir," answers Johnson; "a talking
blackamoor were better than a white creature who adds nothing to life,
and by sitting down before one thus desperately silent, takes away the
confidence one should have in the company of her chair if she were once
out of it." No one was, however, less willing to begin any discourse
than himself. His friend, Mr. Thomas Tyers, said he was like the ghosts,
who never speak till they are spoken to: and he liked the expression so
well, that he often repeated it. He had, indeed, no necessity to lead
the stream of chat to a favourite channel, that his fulness on the
subject might be shown more clearly whatever was the topic; and he
usually left the choice to others. His information best enlightened, his
argument strengthened, and his wit made it ever remembered. Of him it
might have been said, as he often delighted to say of Edmund Burke, "that
you could not stand five minutes with that man beneath a shed while it
rained, but you must be convinced you had been standing with the greatest
man you had ever yet seen."

As we had been saying, one day, that no subject failed of receiving
dignity from the manner in which Mr. Johnson treated it, a lady at my
house said she would make him talk about love, and took her measures
accordingly, deriding the novels of the day because they treated about
love. "It is not," replied our philosopher, "because they treat, as you
call it, about love, but because they treat of nothing, that they are
despicable. We must not ridicule a passion which he who never felt never
was happy, and he who laughs at never deserves to feel--a passion which
has caused the change of empires and the loss of worlds--a passion which
has inspired heroism and subdued avarice." He thought he had already
said too much. "A passion, in short," added he, with an altered tone,
"that consumes me away for my pretty Fanny here, and she is very cruel,"
speaking of another lady in the room. He told us, however, in the course
of the same chat, how his negro Francis had been eminent for his success
among the girls. Seeing us all laugh, "I must have you know, ladies,"
said he, "that Frank has carried the empire of Cupid further than most
men. When I was in Lincolnshire so many years ago he attended me
thither; and when we returned home together, I found that a female
haymaker had followed him to London for love." Francis was indeed no
small favourite with his mast