Of Mrs Johnson's life in London we do not know much; but Johnson, being slovenly in his habits and cantankerous about his food, was bound to have "little disagreements" with a tidy housewife.
"My wife" he told Mrs Thrale "had a particular reverence for cleanliness, and desired the praise of neatness in her dress and furniture, as many ladies do, till they become troublesome to their best friends, slaves to their own besoms, and only sigh for the hour of sweeping their husbands out of the house as dirt and useless lumber."
When asked whether he ever "huffed his wife about his dinner," he replied:
"So often that at last she called to me, and said, 'Nay, hold, Mr Johnson, and do not make a farce of thanking God for a dinner which in a few minutes you will protest not eatable.'"
Sometimes she would get tired of the dirt and poverty of Fleet Street and stay for a time at Hampstead; but she could appreciate her husband's work and of Johnson's fondness for "his dear Tetty" there can be no doubt.
She died in March 1752, when Johnson had just finished the last number of The Rambler and was still in the middle of his labours on the Dictionary. Here is the letter he wrote on the following day to his friend, Dr Taylor:
"Dear Sir,
Let me have your company and instruction. Do not live away from me. My distress is great.
Pray desire Mrs Taylor to inform me what mourning I should buy for my mother and Miss Porter [11], and bring a note in writing with you.
Remember me in your prayers, for vain is the help of man.