He had a little money when he came to town, and he knew how he could
live in the cheapest manner. His first lodgings were at the house of Mr.
Norris, a staymaker, in Exeter-street, adjoining Catharine-street, in
the Strand. 'I dined (said he) very well for eight-pence, with very good
company, at the Pine Apple in New-street, just by. Several of them
had travelled. They expected to meet every day; but did not know one
another's names. It used to cost the rest a shilling, for they drank
wine; but I had a cut of meat for six-pence, and bread for a penny, and
gave the waiter a penny; so that I was quite well served, nay, better
than the rest, for they gave the waiter nothing.' He at this time, I
believe, abstained entirely from fermented liquors: a practice to which
he rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of
his life.

His Ofellus in the Art of Living in London, I have heard him relate, was
an Irish painter, whom he knew at Birmingham, and who had practised his
own precepts of oeconomy for several years in the British capital. He
assured Johnson, who, I suppose, was then meditating to try his fortune
in London, but was apprehensive of the expence, 'that thirty pounds
a year was enough to enable a man to live there without being
contemptible. He allowed ten pounds for clothes and linen. He said a
man might live in a garret at eighteen-pence a week; few people would
inquire where he lodged; and if they did, it was easy to say, "Sir, I am
to be found at such a place." By spending three-pence in a coffeehouse,
he might be for some hours every day in very good company; he might dine
for six-pence, breakfast on bread and milk for a penny, and do without
supper. On clean-shirt-day he went abroad, and paid visits.' I have
heard him more than once talk of this frugal friend, whom he recollected
with esteem and kindness, and did not like to have one smile at the