to come out. But let him alone, never mind him, and he'll soon give
it over.'

I added, that the same person maintained that there was no distinction
between virtue and vice. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, if the fellow does not
think as he speaks, he is lying; and I see not what honour he can
propose to himself from having the character of a lyar. But if he does
really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why,
Sir, when he leaves our houses let us count our spoons.'

He recommended to me to keep a journal of my life, full and unreserved.
He said it would be a very good exercise, and would yield me great
satisfaction when the particulars were faded from my remembrance. I was
uncommonly fortunate in having had a previous coincidence of opinion
with him upon this subject, for I had kept such a journal for some time;
and it was no small pleasure to me to have this to tell him, and to
receive his approbation. He counselled me to keep it private, and said
I might surely have a friend who would burn it in case of my death.
From this habit I have been enabled to give the world so many anecdotes,
which would otherwise have been lost to posterity. I mentioned that I
was afraid I put into my journal too many little incidents. JOHNSON.
'There is nothing, Sir, too little for so little a creature as man. It
is by studying little things that we attain the great art of having as
little misery and as much happiness as possible.'

Next morning Mr. Dempster happened to call on me, and was so much
struck even with the imperfect account which I gave him of Dr. Johnson's
conversation, that to his honour be it recorded, when I complained that
drinking port and sitting up late with him affected my nerves for some
time after, he said, 'One had better be palsied at eighteen than not
keep company with such a man.'

On Tuesday, July 18, I found tall Sir Thomas Robinson sitting with
Johnson. Sir Thomas said, that the king of Prussia valued himself upon
three things;--upon being a hero, a musician, and an authour. JOHNSON.
'Pretty well, Sir, for one man. As to his being an authour, I have not
looked at his poetry; but his prose is poor stuff. He writes just as you
might suppose Voltaire's footboy to do, who has been his amanuensis.
He has such parts as the valet might have, and about as much of the
colouring of the style as might be got by transcribing his works.' When
I was at Ferney, I repeated this to Voltaire, in order to reconci