Having written to him, in bad spirits, a letter filled with dejection and fretfulness, and at the same time expressing anxious apprehensions concerning him, on account of a dream which had disturbed me; his answer was chiefly in terms of reproach, for a supposed charge of ’affecting discontent, and indulging the vanity of complaint.’  It, however, proceeded,—­

’Write to me often, and write like a man.  I consider your fidelity and tenderness as a great part of the comforts which are yet left me, and sincerely wish we could be nearer to each other....  My dear friend, life is very short and very uncertain; let us spend it as well as we can.  My worthy neighbour, Allen, is dead.  Love me as well as you can.  Pay my respects to dear Mrs. Boswell.  Nothing ailed me at that time; let your superstition at last have an end.’

Feeling very soon, that the manner in which he had written might hurt me, he two days afterwards, July 28, wrote to me again, giving me an account of his sufferings; after which, he thus proceeds:—­

’Before this letter, you will have had one which I hope you will not take amiss; for it contains only truth, and that truth kindly intended.... Spartam quam nactus es orna[1168]; make the most and best of your lot, and compare yourself not with the few that are above you, but with the multitudes which are below you....  Go steadily forward with lawful business or honest diversions. Be (as Temple says of the Dutchmen) well when you are not ill, and pleased when you are not angry[1169]....  This may seem but an ill return for your tenderness; but I mean it well, for I love you with great ardour and sincerity.  Pay my respects to dear Mrs. Boswell, and teach the young ones to love me.’

I unfortunately was so much indisposed during a considerable part of the year, that it was not, or at least I thought it was not in my power to write to my illustrious friend as formerly, or without expressing such complaints as offended him.  Having conjured him not to do me the injustice of charging me with affectation, I was with much regret long silent.  His last letter to me then came, and affected me very tenderly:—­

’TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

’DEAR SIR,

’I have this summer sometimes amended, and sometimes relapsed, but, upon the whole, have lost ground, very much.  My legs are extremely weak, and my breath very short, and the water is now encreasing upon me.  In this uncomfortable state your letters used to relieve; what is the reason that I have them no longer?  Are you sick, or are you sullen?  Whatever be the reason, if it be less than necessity, drive it away; and of the short life that we have, make the best use for yourself and for your friends....  I am sometimes afraid that your omission to write has some real cause, and shall be glad to know that you are not sick, and that nothing ill has befallen dear Mrs. Boswell, or any of your family.