“I feel this beginning of the autumn, which is already very cold; the leaves are withered, fall apace, and seem to intimate that I must follow them, which I shall do without reluctance, being extremely weary of this silly world.”--(Letter CCCLV.) Yet even a year later we find him giving dinner parties to the Duke of Brunswick, and wishing that he had both the monarchs of Austria and Prussia, that they should, “together with some of their allies, take Lorraine and Alsace from France.” (Letter CCCLXIV.) For a few more years he lingered on, gardening, reading, and writing, and then in 1773, almost alone, he parted with “this silly world.” II. I have omitted from this sketch of Lord Chesterfield’s political life any reference to the literary side of his character. I have, however, spoken of his friendship with Voltaire. Voltaire came to England in the same year that Chesterfield’s father died, to obtain, among other things, a publisher for the _Henriade_. Chesterfield and Bolingbroke at once took him up and introduced him into high places.[7] Voltaire never forgot him nor the services which he had rendered; and one of the most charming lights thrown upon the end of Lord Chesterfield’s career is in a letter from the old sage of Ferney to his friend of younger days, now grown old as himself. Chesterfield was always a great admirer of Voltaire’s, though by no means a blind one: “I strongly doubt,” he writes, “whether it is permissible for a man to write against the worship and belief of his country, even if he be fully persuaded of its error, on account of the terrible trouble and disorder it might cause; but I am sure it is in no wise allowable to attack the foundations of true morality, and to break unnecessary bonds which are already too weak to keep men in the path of duty.” But differences upon points of morality and religion did not prevent his having an immense regard for Voltaire’s genius. There is yet the other transaction in which Lord Chesterfield was engaged, and it will probably be as long remembered against him as the letters--his ill-famed treatment of Dr. Johnson. It is too well known how Johnson came to his door, and how Chesterfield, who could never be impolite, received the ill-mannered Doctor. But either the Earl objected to having the old man annoying his guests at table, or else he was not sufficiently pressing with his money; anyhow, the Doctor felt repelled, left off calling, and never sought another patron. Years afterward, when he brought out his Dictionary (1755), there was a letter prefixed to the first edition, entitled “The Blast of Doom, proclaiming that patronage shall be no more.” Boswell solicited the Doctor for many years to give him a copy, but he did not do so until 1781, and then gave it from memory: