I spoke with gratitude of Dr. Taylor’s hospitality; and, as evidence that it was not on account of his good table alone that Johnson visited him often, I mentioned a little anecdote which had escaped my friend’s recollection, and at hearing which repeated, he smiled.  One evening, when I was sitting with him, Frank delivered this message:  ’Sir, Dr. Taylor sends his compliments to you, and begs you will dine with him to-morrow.  He has got a hare.’—­’My compliments (said Johnson,) and I’ll dine with him—­hare or rabbit.’

After breakfast I departed, and pursued my journey northwards.  I took my post-chaise from the Green Man, a very good inn at Ashbourne, the mistress of which, a mighty civil gentlewoman, courtseying very low, presented me with an engraving of the sign of her house; to which she had subjoined, in her own hand-writing, an address in such singular simplicity of style, that I have preserved it pasted upon one of the boards of my original Journal at this time, and shall here insert it for the amusement of my readers:—­

’M.  KILLINGLEY’s duty waits upon Mr. Boswell, is exceedingly obliged to him for this favour; whenever he comes this way, hopes for a continuance of the same.  Would Mr. Boswell name the house to his extensive acquaintance, it would be a singular favour conferr’d on one who has it not in her power to make any other return but her most grateful thanks, and sincerest prayers for his happiness in time, and in a blessed eternity.—­Tuesday morn.’

I cannot omit a curious circumstance which occurred at Edensor-inn, close by Chatsworth, to survey the magnificence of which I had gone a considerable way out of my road to Scotland.  The inn was then kept by a very jolly landlord, whose name, I think, was Malton.  He happened to mention that ‘the celebrated Dr. Johnson had been in his house.’  I inquired who this Dr. Johnson was, that I might hear mine host’s notion of him.  ’Sir, (said he,) Johnson, the great writer; oddity, as they call him.  He’s the greatest writer in England; he writes for the ministry; he has a correspondence abroad, and lets them know what’s going on.’

My friend, who had a thorough dependance upon the authenticity of my relation without any embellishment, as falsehood or fiction is too gently called, laughed a good deal at this representation of himself.

On Wednesday, March 18,* I arrived in London, and was informed by good Mr. Francis that his master was better, and was gone to Mr. Thrale’s at Streatham, to which place I wrote to him, begging to know when he would be in town.  He was not expected for some time; but next day having called on Dr. Taylor, in Dean’s-yard, Westminster, I found him there, and was told he had come to town for a few hours.  He met me with his usual kindness, but instantly returned to the writing of something on which he was employed when I came in, and on which he seemed much intent.  Finding him thus engaged, I made my visit very short.