If they did not think so, they
never could be afraid of women knowing as much as themselves.'[624] In
justice to the sex, I think it but candid to acknowledge, that, in a
subsequent conversation, he told me that he was serious in what he
had said.
He came to my room this morning before breakfast, to read my Journal,
which he has done all along. He often before said, 'I take great delight
in reading it.' To-day he said, 'You improve: it grows better and
better.' I observed, there was a danger of my getting a habit of writing
in a slovenly manner. 'Sir,' said he, 'it is not written in a slovenly
manner. It might be printed, were the subject fit for printing[625].'
While Mr. Beaton preached to us in the dining-room, Dr. Johnson sat in
his own room, where I saw lying before him a volume of Lord Bacon's
works, _The Decay of Christian Piety_, Monboddo's _Origin of Language_,
and Sterne's _Sermons_[626]. He asked me to-day how it happened that we
were so little together: I told him, my Journal took up much time. Yet,
on reflection, it appeared strange to me, that although I will run from
one end of London to another to pass an hour with him, I should omit to
seize any spare time to be in his company, when I am settled in the same
house with him. But my Journal is really a task of much time and labour,
and he forbids me to contract it.
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