her to carry it off; but you
are too little for anything ridiculous; that which seems nothing upon
a Patagonian, will become very conspicuous upon a Lilliputian, and of
you there is so little in all, that one single absurdity would
swallow up half of you."

Matrimony was one of his favourite subjects, and he was fond of
laying down and refining on the duties of the married state, with the
amount of happiness and comfort to be found in it. But once when he
was musing over the fire in the drawing-room at Streatham, a young
gentleman called to him suddenly, "Mr. Johnson, would you advise me
to marry?" "I would advise no man to marry, Sir," replied the Doctor
in a very angry tone, "who is not likely to propagate understanding;"
and so left the room. "Our companion," adds Mrs. Thrale, in the
"Anecdotes," "looked confounded, and I believe had scarce recovered
the consciousness of his own existence, when Johnson came back, and,
drawing his chair among us, with altered looks and a softened voice,
joined in the general chat, insensibly led the conversation to the
subject of marriage, where he laid himself out in a dissertation so
useful, so elegant, so founded on the true knowledge of human life,
and so adorned with beauty of sentiment, that no one ever recollected
the offence, except to rejoice in its consequences."

The young gentleman was Mr. Thrale's nephew, Sir John Lade; who was
proposed, half in earnest, whilst still a minor, by the Doctor as a
fitting mate for the author of "Evelina." He married a woman of the
town, became a celebrated member of the Four-in-Hand Club, and
contrived to waste the whole of a fine fortune before he died.

In "Thraliana" she says:--"Lady Lade consulted him about her son, Sir
John. 'Endeavour, Madam,' said he, 'to procure him knowledge; for
really ignorance to a rich man is like fat to a sick sheep, it only
serves to call the rooks about him.' On the same occasion it was that
he observed how a mind unfurnished with subjects and materials for
thinking can keep up no dignity at all in solitude. 'It is,' says he,
'in the state of a mill without grist.'"

The attractions of Streatham must have been very strong, to induce
Johnson to pass so much of his time away from "the busy hum of men"
in Fleet Street, and "the full tide of human existence" at Charing
Cross. He often found fault with Mrs. Thrale for living so much in
the country, "feeding the chickens till she starved her
understanding." Wa