[Footnote 9: _Ib._, p. 257.] CHAPTER VIII There is one redeeming feature, the most important feature of all, in the last years of Boswell's life. The biographer had gradually during the life of Johnson relaxed his efforts in collecting material for the _magnum opus_; we can see in the 'Life' how he grew less industrious in recording conversations; for though even in the later part many are preserved at great length, he neglected to write up his journal more often than in the early years of the friendship. This was due no doubt in part to his drinking habits. Conviviality of that kind has a curious effect upon the memory. But Boswell had still very firmly the purpose of writing the 'Life,' after Johnson had died, though he was not the person chosen to do so by the literary executors.[1] The 'Life of Johnson' was published about six years later than the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' in the spring of 1791. The latter, it is clear from its nature, required far less labour from the author than his _magnum opus_: the whole scope of the book is infinitely smaller, and there was none of the endless trouble of collecting and verifying the materials of others as in the great biography; for the 'Tour' deals only with Johnson as observed by Boswell himself during their journey in the Hebrides. Boswell, moreover, had wanted to publish his journal during Johnson's lifetime, and we cannot doubt that he had written up a good deal. It would be quite unjust therefore to say that the biographer became more idle, as he was more dissipated, after 1785. The reverse is nearer the truth. It is remarkable and it is praiseworthy that Boswell, in spite of his political schemes, the depression which followed the death of his wife, and the illness which was the consequence of his unhealthy habits of life and in particular the habit of drink, should still have worked hard at the 'Life.' He may have become less regular, but he retained the energy of earlier years. There was, in fact, in him the need to satisfy somehow those better qualities. His intense belief in the merit of his work and the almost endless trouble he took to verify the accuracy of the smallest fact and to discover the minutest information about Johnson--to satisfy, in a word, his 'sacred love of truth'--are the expression of this need within him. Sometimes, indeed, he is despondent about his book: 'Many a time have I thought of giving it up.' 'I am in such bad spirits that I have every fear concerning it.' Sometimes he feels the immensity of the labour without the enthusiasm which has urged him on: 'Though I am now in woeful indifference, I trust that before it is finished a taste or relish shall return.' The vastness of the task seems almost to weigh him down. In November 1789 he writes to Temple explaining that he cannot pay him a visit because he must stay in London to receive Malone's help, Malone who is 'Johnsonianissimus,' in revising the 'Life':