Boswell—­Pray, sir, do you not suppose that there are fifty women in the world, with any one of whom a man may be as happy as with any one woman in particular?

Johnson—­Ay, sir, fifty thousand.

Boswell—­Then, sir, you are not of opinion with some that imagine that certain men and certain women are made for each other; and that they cannot be happy if they miss their counterparts.

Johnson—­To be sure not, sir.  I believe marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a due consideration of the characters and circumstances, without the parties having any choice in the matter.

I am now to record a very curious incident in Dr. Johnson’s life which fell under my own observation; of which pars magna fui, and which I am persuaded will, with the liberal-minded, be much to his credit.

My desire of being acquainted with celebrated men of every description had made me, much about the same time, obtain an introduction to Dr. Samuel Johnson and to John Wilkes, Esq.  Two men more different could perhaps not be selected out of all mankind.  They had even attacked one another with some asperity in their writings; yet I lived in habits of friendship with both.  I could fully relish the excellence of each; for I have ever delighted in that intellectual chymistry which can separate good qualities from evil in the same person.

Sir John Pringle, “mine own friend and my father’s friend,” between whom and Dr. Johnson I in vain wished to establish an acquaintance, as I respected and lived in intimacy with both of them, observed to me once very ingeniously, “It is not in friendship as in mathematics, where two things, each equal to a third, are equal between themselves.  You agree with Johnson as a middle quality, and you agree with me as a middle quality; but Johnson and I should not agree.”  Sir John was not sufficiently flexible, so I desisted:  knowing indeed that the repulsion was equally strong on the part of Johnson; who, I know not from what cause unless his being a Scotchman, had formed a very erroneous opinion of Sir John.  But I conceived an irresistible wish, if possible, to bring Dr. Johnson and Mr. Wilkes together.  How to manage it, was a nice and difficult matter.

My worthy booksellers and friends, Messieurs Dilly in the Poultry, at whose hospitable and well-covered table I have seen a greater number of literary men than at any other except that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, had invited me to meet Mr. Wilkes and some more gentlemen on Wednesday, May 15th.  “Pray” (said I), “let us have Dr. Johnson.”—­“What, with Mr. Wilkes? not for the world” (said Mr. Edward Dilly):  “Dr. Johnson would never forgive me.”—­“Come” (said I), “if you’ll let me negotiate for you, I will be answerable that all shall go well.”

Dilly—­Nay, if you will take it upon you, I am sure I shall be very happy to see them both here.