It perhaps is not generally known, that the residence of the great "leviathan of literature," situate in Bolt-court, Fleet-street, was consumed by the fire which destroyed Messrs. Bensley's premises a few years ago; and that there are now no ostensible traces of the doctor's city retreat, save the site. The only vestige of the house is a piece of grotesquely carved wood, which ornamented the centre of the doorway, and which is now in possession of a gentleman in the neighbourhood. Part of the new printing-office, belonging to Messrs. Mills and Co., occupies a portion of the site, and the remainder forms a receptacle for coals. As if learning loved to linger amidst the forsaken haunts of departed genius, the place is still the scene of those efforts in propagating knowledge, without which it would be a sealed book. When looking upon the scene which has been consecrated by the presence and labours, the joys and sorrows, of such a man, how interesting are our reflections, marred as they may be by mournful impressions of "the mutability of human affairs." We feel a romantic regret that the genius of Johnson could not bestow an imperishability upon the spot; and preserve it from the casualties and decay of fire, and storm, and time. Here the unfortunate Savage has held his intellectual "_noctes_" and enlivened the old moralist with his mad philosophy. It was from this mansion that "the Bastard" roused the doctor on the memorable night (or morn) when they set out on one of those frolicsome perambulations, which genius, in its weakness and misgivings, sometimes indulges, and which was worthy of the days of modern Corinthianism. We can imagine the sleepy, solemn face of Johnson, the meagre phiz of Savage, and the more rotund features of Boswell, around the board, and the doctor's beloved tea-kettle singing its harmonious and solacing solo on the blazing "ingle." Inspecting more minutely the features of the visionary picture, we might behold the oracle of learning when about to deliver his opinion, perhaps, on the artificial fire of Gray, or the feeling and simplicity of Goldsmith: his opening eyes and unclosing lips; the "harsh thunder" of his articulation, and the horrisonous stamp of his ample foot, impress us with the same reverence which was felt by his literary visitants. It was here, doubtless, where the Herculean task of compiling his dictionary was achieved; the monotony of which was relieved by writing the periodical papers of his Guardian, and the more flowery composition of poetry and biography. But he is gone, and though the mist of years may obscure his personal history, and vicissitudes annihilate his household memorials, yet his morality and piety, his unparalleled labour and patient endurance, but chief of all, his brilliant and versatile genius, will perish but with the annals of humanity. His fame "From sire to son shall speed; from clime to clime, Outstripping death upon the wings of time!" ** H.