In posthumously eliciting and philosophically elucidating the phenomena of defunct luminaries, whether in reference to corporeal, physiognomical, or metaphysical attributes, justice demands the strictest scrupulosity, in order that the heterogeneous may not preponderate over the homogeneous in the critical analysis. Metaphorically speaking, I am rationally convinced that the operative point I am about to develop will remove a pertinacious film from the eye of the biographer of the memorable Dr. Johnson; and especially with reference to that reiterated verbal aphorism so preposterously ascribed to his conversational inculcation, namely, that “he who would make a pun would pick a pocket;” however irrelevant such a doctrinarian maxim to the irrefragable fact, that in that colossal monument of etymological erudition erected by the stupendous Doctor himself (of course implying his inestimable Dictionary), the paramount gist, scope, and tendency of his laborious researches was obviously to give as many meanings as possible to one word. In order, however, to place hypothesis on the immutable foundation of fact, I will, with your periodical permission, adduce a few Johnsonian repartees from my cousin’s anecdotical memorabilia, which will perspicuously evolve the synthetical conclusion, that the inimitable author of Rasselas did not dogmatically predicate such an aggravated degree of moral turpitude in the perpetration of a double entendre. Apologistically requesting indulgence for the epistolary laxity of an unpremeditated effusion, I remain, Sir, Your very humble obedient servant, SEPTIMUS REARDON. _Lichfield, October 1, 1833._ “Do you really believe, Dr. Johnson,” said a Lichfield lady, “in the dead walking after death?”--“Madam,” said Johnson, “I have no doubt on the subject; I have heard the Dead March in Saul.” “You really believe then, Doctor, in ghosts?”--“Madam,” said Johnson, “I think _appearances_ are in their favour.” The Doctor was notoriously very superstitious. The same lady once asked him--“if he ever felt any presentiment at a winding-sheet in the candle.”--“Madam,” said Johnson, “if a _mould_ candle, it doubtless indicates death, and that somebody will go out like a _snuff_; but whether at Hampton _Wick_ or in _Greece_, must depend upon the _graves_.” Dr. Johnson was not comfortable in the Hebrides. “Pray, Doctor, how did you sleep?” inquired a benevolent Scotch hostess, who was so extremely hospitable that some hundreds always occupied the same bed.--“Madam,” said Johnson, “I had not a wink the whole night long; sleep seemed to _flee_ from my eyelids, and to _bug_ from all the rest of my body.”