to imagine that the attention of successive generations can be arrested by the idle elaboration of a daily life from an unknown pen, no matter how minute the record or illustrious the object of it. Be that as it may, with a purpose to prove whether, indeed, it be possible by system and attention to commit a man’s trivial actions and utterances to paper, I shall adventure some brief data or memoranda carried out after the fashion that is reported to be followed by Mr. Boswell against myself. And it is fitting that my own embryo historian should be the subject of such an experiment. _Monday._--At Thrale’s. After dinner, to which repast Boswell was not invited, he arrived, and, finding a large company present, thrust himself into the talk without ingenuity and without decorum. Perceiving him to be intoxicated, I endeavoured to silence his alcoholic exuberance with as little occasion for offence to those present as the circumstance allowed. BOSWELL: “And pray, sir, have you dined to your satisfaction?” JOHNSON: “Sir! Thus to interrogate a guest before his host and hostess is to write yourself down a mighty ill-bred fellow, and reveal to the company a plentiful lack of good manners and just taste.” MRS. THRALE: “The man has abandoned his manners for another cargo.” JOHNSON: “Too true, madam.” MR. GOLDSMITH: “He has sacrificed his wit to Bacchus, sir.” JOHNSON: “Ay, sir; and no divinity within the compass of the classics ever received offering more paltry.” There was laughter at this, and, under cover of it, I essayed to remove Mr. Boswell from a circle that in reality loved him, and was sad before the spectacle of his present lapse; but the man stood, temporarily stripped of reason, naked of proper sense, and unashamed. He turned upon me in a very frenzy of vinous anger. BOSWELL: “You are pleased, sir, to--to--make me the target of your el--elephantine pleasantries; but know, sir, that James Boswell of Auchinleck demands an answer to--to----” Here he attempted to draw his sword, and was immediately deprived of that weapon by those present. JOHNSON: “Get thee to bed, Bozzy, and----” But the sweep and force of the utterance I had designed were interrupted, for the man leapt towards me like an opera-dancer. His offensive intention failed of its effect, happily for him, and, at the very commencement of the onset, he fell over Mrs. Thrale’s negro, who was about to hand me coffee and cakes. Ethiopian, Scotchman, cream, sugar, and sweetmeats of a dozen sorts encountered the ground in the very extremity of chaotic confusion. Whereupon Thrale sent men for a coach, and Boswell was presently conveyed from amongst us. JOHNSON: “Now who shall dare affirm that my notorious antipathy to the Scotch rests on a mere airy basis of humour, without sufficient incentive and provocation seldom long absent from my elbow?” None of the company took it upon themselves to traverse my utterance or question the justice of my conclusion.