An ingenious gentleman was mentioned, concerning whom both Robertson and Ramsay agreed that he had a constant firmness of mind; for after a laborious day, and amidst a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, he would sit down with his sisters and he quite cheerful and good-humoured.  Such a disposition, it was observed, was a happy gift of nature.  Johnson.  ’I do not think so; a man has from nature a certain portion of mind; the use he makes of it depends upon his own free will.  That a man has always the same firmness of mind I do not say; because every man feels his mind less firm at one time than another; but I think a man’s being in a good or bad humour depends upon his will.’  I, however, could not help thinking that a man’s humour is often uncontroulable by his will.

Next day, Thursday, April 30, I found him at home by himself.  Johnson.  ’Well, Sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid dinner.  I love Ramsay.  You will not find a man in whose conversation there is more instruction, more information, and more elegance, than in Ramsay’s.’  Boswell.  ’What I admire in Ramsay, is his continuing to be so young.’  Johnson.  ’Why, yes, Sir, it is to be admired.  I value myself upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation.  I am now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight.’  Boswell.  ’But, Sir, would not you wish to know old age?  He who is never an old man, does not know the whole of human life; for old age is one of the divisions of it.’  Johnson.  ‘Nay, Sir, what talk is this?’ Boswell.  ’I mean, Sir, the Sphinx’s description of it;—­morning, noon, and night.  I would know night, as well as morning and noon.’  Johnson.  ’What, Sir, would you know what it is to feel the evils of old age?  Would you have the gout?  Would you have decrepitude?’—­Seeing him heated, I would not argue any farther; but I was confident that I was in the right.  I would, in due time, be a Nestor, an elder of the people; and there should be some difference between the conversation of twenty-eight and sixty-eight.  A grave picture should not be gay.  There is a serene, solemn, placid old age.  Johnson.  ’Mrs. Thrale’s mother said of me what flattered me much.  A clergyman was complaining of want of society in the country where he lived; and said, “They talk of runts;” (that is, young cows).  “Sir, (said Mrs. Salusbury,) Mr. Johnson would learn to talk of runts:”  meaning that I was a man who would make the most of my situation, whatever it was.’  He added, ‘I think myself a very polite man.’