'You have formerly complained that my letters were too long. There is no danger of that complaint being made at present; for I find it difficult for me to write to you at all. [Here an account of having been afflicted with a return of melancholy or bad spirits.]
'The boxes of books[248] which you sent to me are arrived; but I have not yet examined the contents.
* * * * *
'I send you Mr. Maclaurin's paper for the negro, who claims his freedom in the Court of Session.[249]'
'DR. JOHNSON TO MR. BOSWELL.
'Dear Sir,
'These black fits, of which you complain, perhaps hurt your memory as well as your imagination. When did I complain that your letters were too long[250]? Your last letter, after a very long delay, brought very bad news. [Here a series of reflections upon melancholy, and—what I could not help thinking strangely unreasonable in him who had suffered so much from it himself,—a good deal of severity and reproof, as if it were owing to my own fault, or that I was, perhaps, affecting it from a desire of distinction.]
'Read Cheyne's English Malady;[251] but do not let him teach you a foolish notion that melancholy is a proof of acuteness.
'To hear that you have not opened your boxes of books is very offensive. The examination and arrangement of so many volumes might have afforded you an amusement very seasonable at present, and useful for the whole of life. I am, I confess, very angry that you manage yourself so ill.[252]
'I do not now say any more, than that I am, with great kindness, and sincerity, dear Sir,