For Tim Ranger's Letters. No. 62. 64. Quiefcas. For Omar the Prudent. No. 101. HOR. Carpe bilaris-fuget beu! non revocanda dies. For Hacho, King of Lapland. No. 96. Animos domet ille feroces: Fadis fubmittat habenis. BOEthius. For Molly Quick. No. 46. Fugit ad falices, fed fe cupit ante videri. VIRG. And now what remains? after having reviewed the letters of a dead friend, whofe lips while living breathed sentences of inftruction, furpaffed by those of no un-inspired teacher, and whofe writings called in elegance to adorn, and erudition to engrave those Cc3 precepts; cepts; whofe life paffed in the practice of refined morality, ending in a death which attested the purest faith; what remains but to reflect, that by that death no part of Johnson perished which had power by form to recommend his real excellence; nothing that did not difgrace the foul which it contained: like fome fine ftatue, the boast of Greece and Rome, plaftered up into deformity, while casts are preparing from it to improve ftudents, and diffuse the knowledge of its merit; but dazzling only with complete perfection, when the grofs and awkward covering is removed. LETTER CCCLV. Dr. JOHNSON to Mifs BOOTHBY. DEAREST MADAM, January 1, 1755. HOUGH I am afraid your illness leaves TH you little leifure for the reception of airy civilities, yet I cannot forbear to pay you my congratulations on the new year; and to declare my wishes, that your years to come may be many and happy. In this with indeed I include myself, who have none but you on whom my heart repofes; yet furely I wish your good, even though your fituation were fuch as fhould permit you to communicate no gratifications to, Deareft, dearest Madam, Cc4 Your, &c. LETTER CCCLVI. To the Same. DEAREST MADAM, Jan. 3, 1755. OBODY but you can recompenfe me for the diftrefs which I fuffered on Monday night. Having engaged Dr. Lawrence to let me know, at whatever hour, the ftate in which he left you; I concluded when he ftaid fo long, that he staid to fee my dearest expire. I was compofing myself as I could to hear what yet I hoped not to hear, when his fervant brought me word that you were bettter. Do you continue to grow better? Let my dear little Mifs inform me on a card. I would not have write left it fhould hurt you, and confequently hurt likewife, you Dearest Madam, Your, &c. LETTER CCCLVII. To the Same. DEAR MADAM, IT Dec. 30, 1755. T is again midnight, and I am again alone. With what meditation fhall I amufe this waste hour of darkness and vacuity? If I turn my thoughts upon myself, what do I perceive but a poor helpless being, reduced by a blast of wind to weakness and misery? How my present diftemper was brought upon me I can give no account, but impute it to fome fudden fucceffion of cold to heat; fuch as in the common road of life cannot be avoided, and against which no precaution can be taken. Of the fallaciousness of hope, and the uncertainty of schemes, every day gives fome new proof; but it is feldom heeded, till fomething rather felt than feen, awakens attention. This illness, in which I have fuffered fomething and feared much more, has depreffed my confidence and elation; and made me confider all that I have promised myself, as less certain |