him.'

Nor could he patiently endure to hear that such respect as he thought
due only to higher intellectual qualities, should be bestowed on men
of slighter, though perhaps more amusing talents. I told him, that one
morning, when I went to breakfast with Garrick, who was very vain of his
intimacy with Lord Camden, he accosted me thus:--'Pray now, did you--did
you meet a little lawyer turning the corner, eh?'--'No, Sir, (said I).
Pray what do you mean by the question?'--'Why, (replied Garrick, with an
affected indifference, yet as if standing on tip-toe,) Lord Camden has
this moment left me. We have had a long walk together.' JOHNSON. 'Well,
Sir, Garrick talked very properly. Lord Camden WAS A LITTLE LAWYER to be
associating so familiarly with a player.'

Sir Joshua Reynolds observed, with great truth, that Johnson considered
Garrick to be as it were his PROPERTY. He would allow no man either to
blame or to praise Garrick in his presence, without contradicting him.

Having fallen into a very serious frame of mind, in which mutual
expressions of kindness passed between us, such as would be thought
too vain in me to repeat, I talked with regret of the sad inevitable
certainty that one of us must survive the other. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir,
that is an affecting consideration. I remember Swift, in one of his
letters to Pope, says, "I intend to come over, that we may meet once
more; and when we must part, it is what happens to all human beings."'
BOSWELL. 'The hope that we shall see our departed friends again must
support the mind.' JOHNSON. 'Why yes, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'There is a strange
unwillingness to part with life, independent of serious fears as to
futurity. A reverend friend of ours (naming him) tells me, that he
feels an uneasiness at the thoughts of leaving his house, his study, his
books.' JOHNSON. 'This is foolish in *****. A man need not be uneasy on
these grounds; for, as he will retain his consciousness, he may say with
the philosopher, Omnia mea mecum porto.' BOSWELL. 'True, Sir: we may
carry our books in our heads; but still there is something painful in
the thought of leaving for ever what has given us pleasure. I remember,
many years ago, when my imagination was warm, and I happened to be in
a melancholy mood, it distressed me to think of going into a state of
being in which Shakspeare's poetry did not exist. A lady whom I then
much admired, a very amiable woman, humoured my fancy, and relieved me
by saying, "T