THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 J 
 
JOHNSONIANA. 
 
J:'ri?7r. a Tirlzm' in^tAe fx 
 
JOHNSONIANA 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE LATE 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. 
 
 MRS. PIOZZI, RICHARD CUMBERLAND 
 BISHOP PERCY AND OTHERS 
 
 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 THE DIAKY OF DR. CAMPBELL 
 
 AND EXTRACTS FROM THAT OF 
 
 MADAME D'ARBLAY 
 
 NEWLY COLLECTED AND EDITED 
 
 EOBINA NAPIER 
 
 LONDON' 
 
 GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET 
 
 COVENT GARDEN 
 
 1889 
 
CHISWICK PRESS : C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COIRT, 
 CHANCERY LANE. 
 
 GIFT 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 EVEN as Johnson, huge, ungainly, and infirm, has been im- 
 mortalized and glorified by the brush of Reynolds, so his 
 wisdom and his wit, his roughness and his tenderness, have been 
 depicted for us by Boswell. 
 
 With these masterpieces of bodily and mental portraiture 
 before us, we may often say, " No more ! the picture is perfect, 
 the biography complete, we care for no inferior touch ! " But 
 there are other moods in which we feel that different aspects of 
 both body and mind might have been shown. We have his portrait 
 in repose, thoughtful, almost sublime, but we sometimes feel, 
 " Would that an artist eye had seen him at Uttoxeter doing 
 penance in passionate repentance ! W^ould that some one had 
 noted the tender pathos of the farewell look on his dying ser- 
 vant, Catherine Chambers ; or the glee with which, when 
 almost penniless himself, he hid pennies in the hands of sleeping 
 children in the London streets, lest they should awake break- 
 fastless ! " 
 
 So with regard to his life and character. We sometimes 
 fancy that another hand might give a different, not a better or a 
 fuller representation than Boswell's. To afford satisfaction to this 
 feeling, and gratify the desire to know all that can be known 
 about so great a man, the different articles in this volume are 
 brought together. In former Johnsoniana, this has been done 
 in the form of anecdotes and sayings. Extracts from various 
 writers were cut up into short pieces, supplied with more or less 
 appropriate headings, and called Anecdotes or Sayings of John- 
 son. We have preferred where we could to give each author's 
 article whole and intact. Where this was not possible or de- 
 sirable, and extracts must be resorted to, each passage is com- 
 plete in itself, and no liberties have been taken with the original 
 text, to which full reference is given. 
 
 In making the selection and arranging the order of the various 
 
 336 
 
VI PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 pieces, there was no difficulty. After Boswell, who so able to- 
 describe Johnson as Mrs. Piozzi ? Her " Anecdotes," now a 
 scarce book, are here given exactly as she herself gave them to 
 the world. Their best praise is, that after reading Boswell we 
 can yet read them with pleasure. Indeed, if we had had no 
 Boswell, we should still have obtained from Mrs. Piozzi's lively 
 pages, a good notion of Johnson — a notion, however, that would 
 have been more tender and true if it had been given by Mrs. 
 Thrale instead of Mrs. Piozzi, w^ho writes with something of 
 the bitterness arising from consciousness of wrongdoing. Lord 
 Macaulay has described Mrs. Thrale, " at the height of her 
 prosperity and popularity, with gay spirits, quick wit, showy 
 though superficial accomplishments, pleasing though not refined 
 manners, a singularly amiable temper, and a loving heart." True 
 words, to their fullest extent, excepting only the last and most 
 important of all. A singularly amiable temper Mrs. Thrale 
 certainly had, but " a loving heart " was surely the one thing^ 
 wanting : the possession of this would have preserved her loyal 
 to her husband's memory and the claims of friendship, and saved 
 her from an infatuation that deteriorated her own character axd 
 alienated her best friends. 
 
 Next to these " Anecdotes," Ave place the letters from and ta 
 Miss Hill Boothby, showing Johnson in a sad and pathetic lights 
 as the shades of life's evening were drawing round him. These 
 letters are especially valued from having been collected and 
 arranged by Johnson himself. They were first published by 
 Mr. Wright of Lichfield, in a little volume (now scarce)^ 
 together with the autobiographical sketch called " Annals," 
 which in the present edition of Boswell forms part of the 
 Appendix to the first volume. 
 
 The biographical sketch by Tom Tyers finds a place here, 
 because it was almost the first public tribute to Johnson at the 
 time of his death, having been published in the " Gentleman's^ 
 Magazine " only a few days after that event. Boswell calls it 
 " an entertaining little collection of fragments," and says that 
 Tyers " had lived with Dr. Johnson in as easy a manner as 
 almost any of his very numerous acquaintance." Tyers himself 
 modestly claims to have " worked his little bit of gold into as 
 much gold leaf as he could." 
 
 The recollections of Johnson by Richard Cumberland are the 
 pleasant memories of a gentleman and a scholar, refined and 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE. VU 
 
 genial like their writer. They are extracted from the most 
 amusing and interesting " Memoirs of Richard Cumberland, 
 written by himself" The charming description of Johnson and 
 Reynolds at Mrs. Cumberland's tea-table is a refreshing contrast 
 to the coarse and iinsympathetic character of the observations of 
 some of Johnson's contemporaries ; notably, of the Irish Dr. 
 Campbell, the brutality of whose remarks on Johnson's appear- 
 ance detract greatly from the pleasure we should otherwise have 
 had in presenting to our readers that very interesting literary 
 curiosity, " The Diary of a Visit to England in 1775." This 
 Diary, after reposing behind an old press in one of the offices of 
 the Supreme Court of New South Wales for no one knows how 
 long, was discovered and published at Sydney in 1854 by Mr. 
 Raymond (see vol. ii., p. 396-403), and is now for the first time 
 printed in England. Dr. Campbell gave out that his chief object 
 in visiting London at this time was to see the " lions," of whom 
 Johnson was the chief. He describes many of the same dinners 
 and conversations as Boswell, and some of them even more fully. 
 It is curious to trace the agreements and differences ; but the 
 whole Diary is vigorous and amusing. 
 
 Dr. Campbell is especially interested in two very different 
 classes, the clergy and the play-actors. He visits all the principal 
 churches and theatres, and remarks (m sermons and plays with 
 the same freedom of speech. He describes Johnson's outer man, 
 as we have said, with much coarse exaggeration, but his accounts 
 of some conversations are excellent, and we are greatly indebted 
 to him for the report of Johnson's views on Irish affairs as given 
 in the Diary (" Johnsoniana," p. 273), and at greater length in 
 his "Strictures on the History of Ireland " (p. 336-8). 
 
 Johnsc^ evidently received Dr. Campbell's advances with 
 kindness and courtesy ; and that the acquaintanceship ripened 
 into regard is shown by the fact, that when Dr. Campbell, in 
 1778, published his "Philosophical Survey of the South of 
 Ireland," Johnson gave for publication in it his Epitaph on Gold- 
 smith, then in manuscript, but afterwards inscribed on the 
 monument in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 The discovery of this Diary has also done much to dispel the 
 ludicrous confusion of the " Irish Dr. Campbell " with " a flashy 
 friend" of Mrs. Thrale's, for it shows decisively that when Mrs. 
 Thrale wrote of this friend (doubtless Mr. Musgrave) from Bath, 
 in May, 1776, Dr. Campbell was not at Bath, but in Ireland. 
 
Vlll . PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 Extracts from Hannah More's letters and Fanny Burney's 
 diary, are also included in this collection, because the picture 
 of Johnson cannot be complete without the lively sallies of 
 Hannah, and the droll touches of Fanny, and for the sake of 
 the vigorous sketches they contain of life and manners in John- 
 son's time. Happily, both these ladies knew and described 
 Johnson in their early days, before Hannah's native sense and 
 fun had been cramped and dulled, and before Fanny's style was 
 ruined by affectation. 
 
 Of all Johnson's friends, we should naturally, perhaps, look most 
 eagerly to Sir Joshua and Miss Reynolds for notices of him. Sir 
 Joshua was, Boswell tells us, Johnson's " dulce decus, with whom 
 he maintained an uninterrupted intimacy to the last hour of his 
 life." Opportunities for observation must have been endless, for 
 there seems to have been hardly a day when the friends did not 
 meet in the painting room or in general society ; and that 
 Keynolds's conception of Johnson's character was lofty in the 
 extreme, is proved by the portrait from his hand. But we must 
 confess that when Reynolds exchanges his brush for the pen, he 
 fills us with disappointment and surprise, while the " Recol- 
 lections" of Johnson by Miss Reynolds, though containing 
 some few touches not to be met with elsewhere, will not bear com- 
 parison with those of Mrs. Piozzi, Hannah More, or Miss Burney. 
 Both these articles are included in this volume more from respect 
 to the claims of their writers than from their own intrinsic merit 
 or interest. 
 
 From the lips and pen of Burke, little regarding Johnson has, 
 alas ! been preserved. We regret this the more because through 
 twenty-seven years of uninterrupted friendship we trace his 
 affectionate respect and admiration, and the touching and beautiful 
 " Character " Burke drew of Reynolds shows what we might have 
 had of Johnson. 
 
 This collection of contemporary opinion is closed by an essay 
 from the pen of Arthur Murphy, whose uninterrupted intimacy 
 with Johnson for thirty years, and keen appreciation of the wit and 
 humour which he thought Johnson's chief characteristic, entitle 
 him to a respectful hearing. But this Essay is in itself most in- 
 teresting — it may repeat a few of the current mistakes of the time, 
 but it contains information not found elsewhere ; for instance, in 
 tlie account of the acknowledgment by Johnson of the author- 
 ship of the " Parliamentary Debates." In this Essay also is 
 
 d 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE, IX 
 
 given (pp. 398-400) what we know not where else to find, 
 Murphy's fine translation or imitation of Johnson's Latin Poem, 
 written in discouragement and despair after revising the Dic- 
 tionary, and for the reproduction of this touching self-portraiture 
 we claim, and believe we shall gain, the gratitude of all lovers of 
 Johnson. 
 
 RoBiNA Napier. 
 Ilolkham Vicarage, 
 
 Nov. 26th. 1883. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi's Anecdotes 3-121 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi's Preface ........ 3-4 
 
 Johnson's birth and family ....... 6 
 
 His infancy 6-10 
 
 Sent to school 11 
 
 At College 15, 16 
 
 Verses on a Sprig of Myrtle 17 
 
 Johnson's love of Oxford 18 
 
 Oxford and Cambridge compared 18, 19 
 
 Johnson's Toryism . . . . . . . 19, 20 
 
 His translation of Anacreon's Dove ..... 22 
 
 His facility and dilat»)i*iness in writing . ... 23 
 
 His generosity in granting literary assistance ... 24 
 
 The Dictionary 25 
 
 His opinion of Pope ........ 26- 
 
 On French writers . . . . . . . .27 — 
 
 "Have done with canting" 28 
 
 Some Parodies by Johnson 29-32 
 
 Verses In Theatro 33 
 
 Sad scene described between Dr. Lawi'ence and Johnson . 34 
 
 Johnson on modern politics 36-— 
 
 His love for the poor . 37 
 
 His piety 40 
 
 His respect for Catholics 41 
 
 Want of sympathy with the Fine A rts 43- 
 
 His charity . . . . . . . ... .45 
 
 Sells the Vicar of Wakefield 60 
 
 The Literary Club 51 
 
 Mr, and Mrs, Thrale introduced to Johnson .... 52 
 
 Johnson's ill health 53 
 
 He goes to stay at Streatham . . . . . .53 
 
 His dislike of Mrs, Salusbury changed to regard and respect , 54 
 
 His epitaphs on Mrs. Salusbury 54, 55 
 
 And on Mr, Thrale 56, 57 
 
 Verses on a print of people skating ..... 60 
 
 Johnson's marriage . . . . . . . .61 
 
 Latin verses addressed to Mrs. Thrale . . . . 67, 6S 
 
 Verses on her attaining thirty-five 68 
 
 Impromptu translations 69, 70 
 
%U CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Johnson's love of conversation 72 
 
 Anecdotes of Goldsmith and Johnson . . . .74,75 
 Johnson's quick and sometimes rough retorts ... 76 
 
 His fine saying of Sir J. Reynolds ..... 84 
 
 And of Edmund Burke 85 
 
 Strange applications made to Johnson 91 
 
 Johnson's account of his beating Tom Osborne ... 94 
 The curious mistake tliat led to the acquaintance of Murphy 
 
 and Johnson 95 
 
 Anecdotes of Burke and Johnson 97 
 
 Johnson objects to being handed down to posterity as Blinking 
 
 Sam 99 
 
 His delight in conversation ....... 109 
 
 The charm of driving in a coach .110 
 
 Johnson a great reader of French literature . . . .112 
 His close observation of the smallest matters, though his sight 
 
 so defective 114 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi's account of the separation from Johnson . .116 
 Her description of Johnson's person, especially of his piercing 
 
 e3'es 117 
 
 His general character 117-120 
 
 Postscript 122 
 
 Apophthegms, Sentiments, Opinions, and Occasional Re- 
 flections, fi'om Hawkins' edition of Johnson's Works . 125 
 Letters from and to Mrs. Hill Boothbt . . . 141-179 
 Biographical Sketch by T. Tyers .... 183-207 
 Recollections of Johnson by Cumberland . . .211 
 
 Johnson at the Chelsea China Manufactory . . . 222 
 Anecdotes and Remarks by Bishop Percy .... 225 
 Diary of a Visit to England in 1775 by Dr. Thomas 
 
 Campbell 235 
 
 Holyhead to Bangor 235 
 
 Bangor, Conway, Chester, to Birmingham . . . 236, 237 
 
 Stratford and Shakespeare's tomb 238 
 
 From Oxford to London 239 
 
 Scene described at the representation of '* Braganza " . . 240 
 Brutality of the audience ....... 241 
 
 Political morality 242 
 
 Hears the talk of the Club about Johnson and Burke . . 244 
 
 Calls on Mr. and Mrs. Thrale 245 
 
 Dines with Archdeac.'on Congreve 245 
 
 Meets Johnson at dinner at the Thrales' .... 246 
 
 Dinner party at Mr. Thrale's 251 
 
 Answer to Taxation no Tyranny ...... 255 
 
 Dines with Murphy, Boswell, and Baretti .... 256 
 
 Dines with Mr. Dilly, with Boswell and Johnson . . . 259 
 Talks with Johnson on Ireland . . . . . .260 
 
 Meets John!5on at dinner at the Thrales' , . . .261 
 Boswell annoys Johnson with questions .... 263 
 
CONTENTS. Xm 
 
 PAGE 
 Meets Johnson, who requests him to call on him . . .266 
 
 Calls on Johnson 267 
 
 Bath and Bristol 269, 270 
 
 Dr. CampbelVs second visit to London ..... 272. 
 
 Dr. CampbeWs third visit to London 272 
 
 Visits Johnson, and discusses Irish affairs . , . 278, 27^ 
 
 Dr. CampbeWs fourth visit to London 274 
 
 Dr. CampbelVs fifth visit to London 275 
 
 Visit to Paris 275 
 
 Visit to Brighton 277 
 
 Dr. CampbelVs sixth visit to Etiffland 279 
 
 Dr. CampbelVs seventh visit to England 279 
 
 Extracts relating to Johnson from Mrs. Hannah More's 
 
 Correspondence 283 
 
 Extracts relating to Johnson from the Diary of Madame 
 
 lyARBLAY 297 
 
 Extracts from Rev. T. Titining's Letters .... 323 
 Recollections of Dr. Johnson by Miss Reynolds . . 329 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds on Johnson's Character , .351 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds on Johnson's Influence . . . 357 
 An Essay on the Life and Genius of Samuel Johnson, 
 
 LL.D., BY Arthur Murphy 361 
 
 Letters from Boswell to Sir David Dalrymple . . 447 
 
n 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 TO THE PRESENT EDITION. 
 
 In this edition, no alteration has been made beyond the cor- 
 rection of eiTors of the press, but an addition of considerable 
 interest will be found in seven letters of Boswell to Sir David 
 Dalrymple (Lord Hailes), portions of which were published in 
 Mr. Rogers' " Boswelliana " (1874), but which are here for the 
 fii'st time Drinted in extenso from the originals at New Hailes. 
 
 R. N 
 
 1884. 
 
ANECDOTES 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON, T. L. D. 
 
 DURING THE LAST 
 
 TWENTY YEARS OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 HESTHEE LYNCH PIOZZL 
 MDCCLXXXVL 
 
n 
 
PREFACE 
 
 I HAVE somewhere heard or read, that the Preface before a 
 book, like the portico before a house, should be contrived, 
 so as to catch, but not detain the attention of those who desire 
 admission to the family within, or leave to look over the collection 
 of pictures made by one whose opportunities of obtaining them 
 we know to have been not unfrequent. I wish not to keep my 
 readers long from such intimacy with the manners of Dr. John- 
 son, or such knowledge of his sentiments as these pages can 
 convey. To urge my distance from England as an excuse for the 
 book's being ill written, would be ridiculous ; it might indeed 
 serve as a just reason for my having written it at all; because, 
 though others may print the same aphorisms and stories, I cannot 
 here be sure that they have done so. As the Duke says however 
 to the Weaver, in " A Midsummer Night's Dream," " Never 
 excuse ; if your play be a bad one, keep at least the excuses to 
 yourself." 
 
 I am aware that many will say, I have not spoken highly enough 
 of Dr. Johnson ; but it will be difficult for those who say so, to 
 speak more highly. If I have described his manners as they were, 
 I have been careful to show his superiority to the common forms 
 of common life. It is surely no dispraise to an oak that it 
 does not bear jessamine ; and he who should plant honeysuckle 
 round Trajan's column, would not be thought to adorn, but to 
 disgrace it. 
 
 "When I have said, that he was more a man of genius than of 
 learning, I mean not to take from the one part of his character 
 that which I willingly give to the other. The erudition of Mr. 
 Johnson proved his genius ; for he had not acquired it by long 
 or profound study : nor can I think tliose characters the greatest 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 which have most learning driven into their heads, any more than 
 I can persuade myself to consider the river Jenisca as superior 
 to the Nile, because the first receives near seventy tributary 
 streams in the course of its unmarked progress to the i=ea, while 
 the great parent of African plenty, flowing from an almost in- 
 visible source, and unenriched by any extraneous waters, except 
 eleven nameless rivers, pours his majestic torrent into tae ocean 
 by seven celebrated mouths. 
 
 But I must conclude my Preface, and begin my book, the first 
 I ever presented before the Public ; from whose awful appear- 
 ance in some measure to defend and conceal myself, I have 
 thought fit to retire behind the Telamonian shield, and show as 
 httle of myself as possible ; well aware of the exceeding difierence 
 there is, between fencing in the school and fighting in the field. — 
 Studious however to avoid offending, and careless of that ofience 
 which can be taken without a cause, I here not unwillingly submit 
 my slight performance to the decision of that glorious country, 
 which I have the daily delight to hear applauded in others, as 
 eminently just, generous, and humane. 
 
 f 
 
ANECDOTES 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. 
 
 TOO much intelligence is often as pernicious to Biography as 
 too little ; the mind remains perplexed by contradiction of 
 probabilities, and finds difficulty in separating report from truth. 
 If Johnson then lamented that so little had ever been said about 
 Butler/ I might with more reason be led to complain that so 
 much has been said about himself; for numberless informers but 
 distract or cloud information, as glasses which multiply will for 
 the most part be found also to obscure. Of a life, too, which for the 
 last twenty years was passed in the very front of literature, every 
 leader of a literary company, whether officer or subaltern, naturally 
 becomes either author or critic, so that little less than the recollec- 
 tion that it was once the request of the deceased, and tvnce the 
 desire of those whose will I ever delighted to comply with, should 
 have engaged me to add my little book to the number of those 
 already written on the subject. I used to urge another reason 
 for forbearance, and say, that all the readers would, on this 
 singular occasion, be the writers of his life : like the first repre- 
 sentation of the " Masque of Comus," which, by changing their 
 characters fi-om spectators to performers, was acted by the lords 
 and ladies it was written to entertain. This objection is how- 
 over now at an end, as I have found friends, far remote indeed 
 from literary questions, who may yet be diverted from melancholy 
 by my description of Johnson's manners, warmed to virtue even 
 by the distant reflection of his glowing excellence, and encouraged 
 
 • Johnson's Works, vol. vii., p. 143. Oxford Editioa 
 
6 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 by the relation of his animated zeal to persist in the profession as 
 well as practice of Christianity. 
 
 Samuel Johnson was the son of Michael Johnson, a bookseller 
 at Litchfield, in Staffordshire ; a very pious and worthy man, but 
 wrongheaded, positive, and afflicted with melancholy, as his son, 
 from whom alone 1 had the information, once told me : his 
 business, however, leading him to be much on horseback, con- 
 tributed to the preservation of his bodily health, and mental 
 sanity ; which, when he staid long at home, would sometimes be 
 about to give way ; and Mr. Johnson said, that when his work- 
 shop, a detached building, had fallen half down for want of 
 money to repair it, his father was not less diligent to lock the door 
 every night, though he saw that any body might walk in at the 
 back part, and knew that there was no security obtained by 
 barring the front door. " This (says his son) was madness, you 
 may see, and would have been discoverable in other instances of 
 the prevalence of imagination, but that poverty^ prevented it from 
 playing such tricks as riches and leisure encourage." Michael 
 was a man of still larger size and greater strength than his son, 
 who was reckoned very like him, but did not delight in talking 
 much of his family — " one has (says he) so little pleasure in re- 
 citing the anecdotes of beggary." One day, however, hearing 
 me praise a favourite friend with partial tenderness as well as true 
 esteem ; " Why do you like that man's acquaintance so ?" said he. 
 " Because," replied I, "he is open and confiding, and tells me 
 stories of his uncles and cousins ; I love the light parts of a solid 
 character." "Nay, if you are for family history," says Mr. John- 
 son good-humouredly, " / can fit you : I had an uncle, Cornelius 
 Ford, who, upon a journey, stopped and read an inscription 
 written on a stone he saw standing by the way-side, set up, as it 
 proved, in honour of a man who had leaped a certain leap there- 
 abouts, the extent of which was specified upon the stone : 'Why 
 now,' says my uncle, ' I could leap it in my boots ; ' and he did leap 
 it in his boots. I had likewise another uncle, Andrew, continued 
 he, my father's brother, who kept the ring in Smithfield (where 
 they wrestled and boxed) for a whole year, and never was thrown 
 or conquered. Here now are uncles for you, Mistress, if that's 
 the way to your heart." Mr. Johnson was very conversant in the 
 art of attack and defence by boxing, which science he had learned 
 from this uncle Andrew, I believe ; and I have heard him descant 
 upon the age when people were received, and when rejected, in 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. / 
 
 the schools once held for that brutal amusement, much to the 
 admiration of those who had no expectation of his skill in such 
 matters, from the sight of a figure which precluded all possibility 
 of personal prowess ; though, because he saw Mr. Thrale one day 
 leap over a cabriolet stool, to show that he was not tired after a 
 chace of fifty miles or more, he suddenly jumped over it too ; but 
 in a way so strange and so unwieldly, that our terror lest he 
 should break his bones, took from us even the power of laughing. 
 Michael Johnson was past fifty years old when he married his 
 wife,' who was upwards of forty ; yet I think her son told me she 
 remained three years childless before he was born into the world, 
 who so greatly contributed to improve it. In three years more 
 she brought another son, Nathaniel, who lived to be twenty-seven 
 or Twenty-eight years old, and of whose manly spirit I have 
 heard his brother speak with pride and pleasure, mentioning one 
 circumstance, particular enough, that when the company were one 
 day lamenting the badness of the roads, he enquired where they 
 could be, as he travelled the country more than most people, and 
 had never seen a bad road in his life. The two brothers did not, 
 however, much delight in each other's company, being always 
 rivals for the mother's fondness ; and many of the severe reflec- 
 tions on domestic life in " Rasselas," took their source from its 
 author's keen recollections of the time passed in his early years. 
 Their father Michael died of an inflammatory fever, at the age of 
 seventy-six, as Mr. Johnson told me : their mother at eighty-nine, 
 of a gradual decay. She was slight in her person, he said, and 
 rather below than above the common size. So excellent was her 
 character, and so blameless her life, that when an oppressive 
 neighbour once endeavoured to take from her a little field she 
 possessed, he could persuade no attorney to undertake the cause 
 against a woman so beloved in her narrow circle : and it is this 
 incident he alludes to in the line of his " Vanity of Human 
 Wishes," calling her 
 
 " The general favourite as the general friend." 
 
 Nor could any one pay more willing homage to such a character, 
 though she had not been related to him, than did Dr. Johnson on 
 every occasion that offered : his disquisition on Pope's epitaph 
 placed over Mrs. Corbet, is a proof of that preference always 
 
 » See Life, vol. i., p. 10. 
 
8 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 given by him to a noiseless life over a bustling one ; for however 
 taste begins, we almost always see that it ends in simplicity ; the 
 glutton finishes by losing his relish for any thing highly sauced, 
 and calls for his boiled chicken at the close of many years spent 
 in the search of dainties ; the connoisseurs are soon weary of 
 Rubens, and the critics of Lucan ; and the refinements of every 
 kind heaped upon civil life, always sicken their possessors before 
 the close of it. 
 
 At the age of two years Mr. Johnson was brought up to 
 London by his mother, to be touched by Queen Anne for the 
 scrophulous evil, which terribly afflicted his childhood, and left 
 such marks as greatly disfigured a countenance naturally harsh 
 and rugged, beside doing irreparable damage to the auricular 
 organs, which never could perform their functions since I knew 
 him ; and it was owing to that horrible disorder, too, that one 
 eye was perfectly useless to him ; that defect, however, w^as not 
 observable, the eyes looked both alike. As Mr. Johnson had an 
 astonishing memory, I asked him, if he could remember Queen 
 Anne at all ? " He had," he said, " a confused, but somehow a 
 sort of solemn recollection of a lady in diamonds, and a long black 
 hood." 
 
 The christening of his brother he remembered with all its 
 circumstances, and said, his mother taught him to spell and pro- 
 nounce the words little Natty, syllable by syllable, making him say 
 it over in the evening to her husband and his guests. The trick 
 which most parents play with their children, that of showing off 
 their newly-acquired accomplishments, disgusted Mr. Johnson 
 beyond expression ; he had been treated so himself, he said, till 
 he absolutely loathed his father's caresses, because he knew they 
 were sure to precede some unpleasing display of his early abilities ; 
 and he used, when neighbours came o' visiting, to run up a tree 
 that he might not be found and exhibited, such, as no doubt he 
 was, a prodigy of early understanding. His epitaph upon the 
 duck he killed by treading on it at five years old, 
 
 " Here lies poor duck 
 That Samuel Johnson trod on ; 
 If it had liv'd it had been good luck, 
 For it would have been an odd one ; " 
 
 J 
 
 is a striking example of early expansion of mind, and knowledge of 
 language ; yet he always seemed more mortified at the recollection 
 of the bustle his parents made with his wit, than pleased with the 
 
 i 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 9 
 
 thoughts of possessing it. " That (said he to me one day) is the 
 great misery of late marriages ; the unhappy produce of them 
 becomes the plaything of dotage : an old man's child, continued 
 he, leads much such a life, I think, as a little boy's dog, teized 
 with awkward fondness, and forced, perhaps, to sit up and beg, 
 as we call it, to divert a company, who at last go away complaining 
 of their disagreeable entertainment." In consequence of these 
 maxims, and full of indignation against such parents as delight to 
 produce their young ones early into the talking world, I have 
 known Mr. Johnson give a good deal of pain by refusing to hear 
 the verses the children could recite, or the songs they could sing; 
 particularly one friend who told him that his two sons should 
 repeat Gray's Elegy to him alternately that he might judge who 
 had the happiest cadence. "No, pray Sir," said he, "let the 
 dears both speak it at once ; more noise will by that means be 
 made, and the noise will be sooner over." He told me the story 
 himself, but I have forgot who the father was. 
 
 Mr. Johnson's mother was daughter to a gentleman in the 
 country, such as there were many of in those days, who possess- 
 ing, perhaps, one or two hundred pounds a year in land, lived 
 on the profits, and sought not to increase their income : she was 
 therefore inclined to think higher of herself than of her husband, 
 whose conduct in money matters being but indifferent, she had a 
 trick of teizing him about it, and was, by her son's account, very 
 importunate with regard to her fears of spending more than 
 they could afford, though she never arrived at knowing how 
 much that was ; a fault common, as he said, to most women who 
 pride themselves on their oeconomy. They did not however, as 
 I could understand, live ill together on the whole : " my father 
 (says he) could always take his horse and ride away for orders 
 when things went badly." The lady's maiden name was Ford ; 
 and the parson who sits next to the punch-bowl in Hogarth's 
 " Modern Midnight Conversation " was her brother's son.^ This 
 Ford was a man who chose to be eminent only for vice, with 
 talents that might have made him conspicuous in literature, and 
 respectable in any profession he could have chosen : his cousin 
 has mentioned him in the lives of Fenton and of Broome : and 
 when he spoke of him to me it was always with tenderness, 
 praising his acquaintance with life and manners, and recollect- 
 
 '. Vol. i., p. 9, nolo 9. 
 
10 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 ing one piece of advice that no man surely ever followed more 
 exactly : " Obtain (says Ford) some general principles of every 
 science ; he who can talk only on one subject, or act only in one 
 department, is seldom wanted, and perhaps never wished for; 
 while the man of general knowledge can often benefit, and always 
 please." He used to relate, however, another story less to the 
 credit of his cousin's penetration, how Ford on some occasion 
 said to him, " You will make your way the more easily in the 
 world, I see, as you are contented to dispute no man's claim to 
 conversation excellence, they will, therefore, more willingly 
 allow your pretensions as a writer." Can one, on such an occa- 
 sion, forbear recollecting the predictions of Boileau's father, when 
 stroaking the head of the young satirist, Ce petit don homme 
 (says he) rCd point trop d^esprit^ mais il ne dira jamais mal de 
 per Sonne. Such are the prognostics formed by men of wit and 
 sense, as these two certainly were, concerning the future cha- 
 racter and conduct of those for whose welfare they were honestly 
 and deeply concerned ; and so late do those features of pecu- 
 liarity come to their growth, which mark a character to all suc- 
 ceeding generations. 
 
 Dr. Johnson first learned to read of his mother and her old 
 maid Catharine, in whose lap he well remembered sitting while 
 she explained to him the story of St. George and the Dragon. 
 I know not whether this is the proper place to add, that such 
 was his tenderness, and such his gratitude, that he took a jour- 
 ney to Litchfield fifty-seven years afterwards to support and 
 comfort her in her last illness; he had inquired for his nurse, 
 and she was dead. The recollection of such reading as had 
 delighted him in his infancy, made him always persist in fancying 
 that it Avas the only reading which could please an infant ; and 
 he used to condemn me for putting Newbery's books into their 
 hands as too trifling to engage their attention. " Babies do not 
 want (said he) to hear about babies ; they like to be told of 
 giants and castles, and of somewhat which can stretch and stimu- 
 late their little minds." When in answer I would urge the 
 numerous editions and quick sale of " Tommy Prudent " or 
 " Goody Two Shoes : " " Remember always (said he) that the 
 parents huy the books, and that the children never read them." 
 Mrs. Barbauld however had his best praise, and deserved it ; no 
 man was more struck than Mr. Johnson with voluntary descent 
 from possible splendour to painful duty. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 11 
 
 At eight years old he went to school, for his health would not 
 permit him to be sent sooner ; and at the age of ten years his 
 mind was disturbed by scruples of infidelity, which preyed upon 
 his spirits, and made him very uneasy ; the more so, as he re- 
 vealed his vmeasiness to no one, being naturally (as he said) "of 
 a sullen temper and reserved disposition/' He searched, how- 
 ever, diligently but fruitlessly, for evidences of the truth of reve- 
 lation ; and at length recollecting a book he had once seen in 
 his father's shop, intitled, "De Veritate Religionis, &c." he began 
 to think himself highly culpable for neglecting such a means of 
 information, and took himself severely to task for this sin, adding 
 many acts of voluntary, and to others unknown, penance. The 
 first opportunity which offered (of course) he seized the book 
 with avidity ; but on examination, not finding himself scholar 
 enough to peruse its contents, set his heart at rest ; and, not 
 thinking to inquire whether there were any English books written 
 on the subject, followed his usual amusements, and considered 
 his conscience as lightened of a crime. He redoubled his dili- 
 gence to learn the language that contained the information he 
 most wished for ; but from the pain which guilt had given him, he 
 now began to deduce the soul's immortality, which was the 
 point that belief first stopped at ; and from that moment resolv- 
 ing to be a Christian, became one of the most zealous and pious 
 ones our nation ever produced. When he had told me this odd 
 anecdote of his childhood ; " I cannot imagine (said he), what 
 makes me talk of myself to you so, for I really never mentioned 
 this foolish story to any body except Dr. Taylor, not even to my 
 dear dear Bathurst,^ whom I loved better than ever I loved any 
 human creature ; but poor Bathurst is dead ! ! ! " — Here a long 
 pause and a few tears ensued. "Why Sir," said I, "how like is all 
 this to Jean Jacques Rousseau! as like, I mean, as the sensations 
 of frost and fire, when my child complained yesterday that the 
 ice she was eating burned her mouth." Mr. Johnson laughed at 
 the incongruous ideas ; but the first thing that presented itselt 
 to the mind of an ingenious and learned friend whom I had the 
 pleasure to pass some time with here at Florence, was the same 
 resemblance, though I think the two characters had little in 
 common, further than an early attention to things beyond the 
 capacity of other babies, a keen sensibility of riaht and wrong, 
 
 1 Vol. i., p. 184. 
 
12 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 and a warmth of imagination little consistent with sound and 
 perfect health. I have heard him relate another odd thing of 
 himself too, but it is one which every body has heard as well as 
 I : how, when he was about nine years old, having got the play 
 of " Hamlet " in his hand, and reading it quietly in his father's 
 kitchen, he kept on steadily enough, till coming to the Ghost 
 scene, he suddenly hurried upstairs to the street door that he 
 might see people about him : such an incident, as he was not 
 unwilling to relate it, is probably in every one's possession now ; 
 he told it as a testimony to the merits of Shakespeare : but one 
 day when my son was going to school, and dear Dr. Johnson 
 followed as far as the garden gate, praying for his salvation, in 
 a voice which those who listened attentively, could hear plain 
 enough, he said to me suddenly, " Make your boy tell you his 
 dreams : the first corruption that entered into my heart was 
 communicated in a dream." "What was it. Sir?" said I. "i)o 
 not ask me," replied he, with much violence, and walked away 
 in apparent agitation. I never durst make any further enquiries. 
 He retained a strong aversion for the memory of Hunter,* one of 
 his schoohnasters, who, he said once was a brutal fellow : " so 
 brutal (added he), that no man who had been educated by him ever 
 sent his son to the same school." I have however heard him ac- 
 knowledge his scholarship to be very great. His next master he 
 despised, as knowing less than himself, I found ; but the name 
 of that gentleman has slipped my memory. Mr. Johnson was 
 himself exceedingly disposed to the general indulgence of chil- 
 dren, and was even scrupulously and ceremoniously attentive not 
 to offend them : he had strongly persuaded himself of the diffi- 
 culty people always find to erase early impressions either of 
 kindness or resentment, and said, " he should never have So loved 
 his mother when a man, had she not given him coffee she could 
 ill afford, to gratify his appetite when a boy." " If you had had 
 children Sir," said I, " would you have taught them anything ? " 
 "I hope (replied he), that I should have willingly lived on bread 
 and water to obtain instruction for them ; but 1 would not have 
 set their future friendship to hazard for the sake of thrusting 
 into their heads knowledge of things for which they might 
 not perhaps have either taste or necessity. You teach vour 
 daughters the diameters of the planets, and wonder when you 
 
 • See vol. i., pp. 18, 19. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 18 
 
 have done that they do not delight in your company. Xo science 
 can be communicated by mortal creatures without attention from 
 the scholar ; no attention can be obtained from children without 
 the infliction of pain, and pain is never remembered without re- 
 sentment." That something should be learned, was, however, 
 so certainly his opinion, that I have heard him say, how education 
 had been often compared to agriculture, yet that it resembled 
 it chiefly in this : " that if nothing is sown, no crop (says he) can 
 be obtained." His contempt of the lady who fancied her son 
 could be eminent without study, because Shakespeare was found 
 wanting in scholastic learning, was expressed in terms so gross 
 and so well known, I will not repeat them here. 
 
 To recollect, however, and to repeat the sayings of Dr. John- 
 son, is almost all that can be done by the writers of his life ; as 
 his life, at least since my acquaintance with him, consisted in 
 little else than talking, when he was not absolutely employed in 
 some serious piece of work ; ^ and whatever work he did, seemed 
 so much below his powers of performance, that he appeared the 
 idlest of all human beings ; ever musing till he was called out to 
 converse, and conversing tiU the fatigue of his friends, or the 
 promptitude of his own temper to take offence, consigned him 
 back again to silent meditation. 
 
 The remembrance of what had passed in his own childhood, 
 made Mr. Johnson very solicitous to preserve the felicity of chil- 
 dren; and when he had persuaded Dr. Sumner to remit the 
 tasks usually given to fill up boys' time during the holidays, he 
 rejoiced exceedingly in the success of his negociation, and told 
 me that he had never ceased representing to all the eminent 
 schoolmasters in England, the absurd tyranny of poisoning the 
 hour of permitted pleasure, by keeping future misery before the 
 children's eyes, and tempting them by bribery or falsehood to 
 evade it. " Bob Sunmer (said he), however, I have at length 
 prevailed upon : I know not indeed whether his tenderness was 
 persuaded, or his reason convinced, but the effect will always be 
 the same. Poor Dr. Sumner died, however, before the next 
 vacation." 
 
 Mr. Johnson was of opinion, too, that young people should have 
 positive^ not general rules given for their direction. " My mother 
 (said he) was always telling me that I did not behave myself 
 
 ' This sentence is quoted by Boswell, Life, vol. iv., June, 1784. 
 
14 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 properly ; that I should endeavour to learn behaviour^ and such 
 cant : but when I replied, that she ought to tell me what to do, 
 and what to avoid, her admonitions were commonly, for that time 
 at least, at an end." 
 
 This, I fear, was however at best a momentary refuge, found 
 out by perverseness. No man knew better than Johnson in how 
 many nameless and numberless actions behaviour consists: actions 
 which can scarcely be reduced to rule, and which come under no 
 description. Of these he retained so many very strange ones, 
 that I suppose no one who saw his odd manner of gesticulating, 
 much blamed or wondered at the good lady's solicitude concern- 
 ing her son's behaviour. 
 
 Though he was attentive to the peace of children in general, 
 no man had a stronger contempt than he for such parents as 
 openly profess that they cannot govern their children. " How 
 (says he) is an army governed ? Such people, for the most part, 
 multiply prohibitions till obedience becomes impossible, and 
 authority appears absurd ; and never suspect that they tease 
 their family, their friends, and themselves, only because conversa- 
 tion runs low, and something must be said." 
 
 Of parental authority, indeed, few people thought with a lower 
 degree of estimation. I one day mentioned the resignation of 
 Cyrus to his father's will, as related by Xenophon, when, after 
 all his conquests, he requested the consent of Cambyses to his 
 marriage with a neighbouring princess ; and I added Rollin's 
 applause and recommendation of the example. "Do you not 
 perceive then (says Johnson), that Xenophon on this occasion 
 commends like a pedant, and Pere Rollin applauds like a slave ? 
 If Cyrus by his conquests had not purchased emancipation, he 
 had conquered to little purpose indeed. Can you bear to see 
 the folly of a fellow who has in his care the lives of thousands, 
 when he begs his papa permission to be married, and confesses 
 his inability to decide in a matter which concerns no man's 
 happiness but his own ? " — Mr. Johnson caught me another time 
 reprimanding the daughter of my housekeeper for having sat 
 down unpermitted in her mother's presence. " Why, she gets 
 her living, does she not (said he), without her mother's help ? 
 Let the wench alone," continued he. And when we were again 
 out of the women's sight who were concerned in the dispute : 
 " Poor people's children, dear Lady (said he) never respect them: 
 I did not respect my own mother, though I loved her : and one 
 
 d 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 16 
 
 day, when in anger she called me a puppy, I asked her if she 
 knew what they called a puppy's mother." We were talking of 
 a young fellow who used to come often to the house ; he was 
 about fifteen years old, or less, if I remember right, and had a 
 manner at once sullen and sheepish. " That lad (says Mr. 
 Johnson) looks like the son of a schoolmaster ; which (added he) 
 is one of the very worst conditions of childhood : such a boy has 
 no father, or worse than none ; he never can reflect on his parent 
 but the reflection brings to his mind some idea of pain inflicted, 
 or of sorrow sufiered." 
 
 I will relate one thing more that Dr. Johnson said about baby- 
 hood before I quit the subject ; it was this : " That little people 
 should be encouraged always to tell whatever they hear particu- 
 larly striking, to some brother, sister, or servant, immediately 
 before the impression is erased by the intervention of newer 
 occurrences. He perfectly remembered the first time he ever 
 heard of Heaven and Hell (he said), because when his mother 
 had made out such a description of both places as she thought 
 likely to seize the attention of her infant auditor, who was then 
 in bed with her, she got up, and dressing him before the usual 
 time, sent him directly to call a favourite workman in the house, 
 to whom she knew he would communicate the conversation while 
 it was yet impressed upon his mind. The event was what she 
 wished, and it was to that method chiefly that he owed his uncom- 
 mon felicity of remembering distant occurrences, and long past 
 conversations." 
 
 At the age of eighteen Dr. Johnson quitted school, and 
 escaped from the tuition of those he hated or those he despised. 
 I have heard him relate very few college adventures. He used 
 to say that our best accounts of his behaviour there would be 
 gathered from Dr. Adams and Dr. Taylor, and that he was sure 
 they would always tell the truth. He told me however one day, 
 how, when lie was first entered at the university, he passed a 
 morning, in compliance with the customs of the place, at his 
 tutor's chamber ; but finding him no scholar, went no more. 
 In about ten days after, meeting the same gentleman,^ Mr. 
 Jordan, in the street, he offered to pass by without saluting 
 him ; but the tutor stopped, and enquired, not roughly neither. 
 What he had been doing ? " Sliding on the ice," was the reply ; 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. i., p. 31. 
 
16 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSOK 
 
 and so turned away with disdain. He laughed very heartily at 
 the recollection of his own insolence, and said they endured it 
 from him with wonderful acquiescence, and a gentleness that, 
 Avhenever he thought of it, astonished himself. He told me too, 
 that when he made his first declamation, he wrote over but one 
 copy, and that «oarsely ; and having given it into the hand of 
 the tutor who stood to receive it as he passed, was obliged to 
 begin by chance and continue on how he could, for he had got 
 but little of it by heart ; so fairly trusting to his present powers 
 for immediate supply, he finished by adding astonishment to the 
 applause of all who knew how little was owing to study. A pro- 
 digious risque, however, said some one : " Not at all (exclaims 
 Johnson), no man I suppose leaps at once into deep water who 
 does not know how to swim." 
 
 I doubt not but this story will be told by many of his bio- 
 graphers, and said so to him when he 'told it me on the 18th of 
 July, 1773. " And who will be my biographer (said he), do you 
 think ?" " Goldsmith, no doubt," replied I, " and he will do it the 
 best among us." " The dog would write it best to be sure, 
 replied he ; but his particular malice towards me, and general 
 disregard for truth, would make the book useless to all, and in- 
 jurious to my character." " Oh ! as to that," said I, " we should all 
 fasten upon him, and force him to do you justice ; but the worst 
 is, the Doctor does not know your life ; nor can I tell indeed who 
 does, except Dr. Taylor of Ashbourne." " Why Taylor," said he, 
 " is better acquainted with my heart than any man or woman now 
 alive ; and the history of my Oxford exploits lies all between him 
 and Adams ; but Dr. James knows my very early days better 
 than he. After my coming to London to drive the world about 
 a little, you must all go to Jack Hawkesworth for anecdotes : I 
 lived in great familiarity with him (though I think there was not 
 much aflTection) from the year 1753 till the time Mr. Thrale and 
 you took me up. I intend, however, to disappoint the rogues, 
 and either make you write the life, with Taylor's intelligence ; or, 
 which is better, do it myself, after outliving you all. I am now 
 (added he), keeping a diary, in hopes of using it for that purpose 
 some time." Here the conversation stopped, from my accidentally 
 looking in an old magazine of the year 1768, where I saw the 
 following lines with his name to them, and asked if they were^ 
 his. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 
 
 17 
 
 Yebses said to be written by Dr. Samuel Johnson, at the 
 
 REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A LaDT HAD 
 
 GIVEN A Sprig op Myrtle. 
 
 " What hopes, what terrors, does thy gift create, 
 Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate ; 
 The Myrtle, ensign of supreme command, 
 Consign'd by Venus to Melissa's hand ; 
 Not less capricious than a reigning fair, 
 Now grants, and now rejects a lover's prayer. 
 In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, 
 In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain : 
 The myrtle crowns the happy lover's heads, 
 Th' unhappy lover's grave the myrtle spreads : 
 O then the meaning of thy gift impart, 
 And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart I 
 Soon must this bough, as you shall fix his doom, 
 Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb." 
 
 " Why now, do but see how the world is gaping for a wonder ! 
 (cries Mr. Johnson) I think it is now just forty years ago that a 
 young fellow had a sprig of myrtle given him by a. girl he courted, 
 and asked me to write him some verses that he might present her 
 in return. I promised, but forgot ; and when he called for his 
 lines at the time agreed on — Sit still a moment (says I), dear 
 Mund, and I'll fetch them thee — so stepped aside for five 
 minutes, and wrote the nonsense you now keep such a stir 
 about." 
 
 Upon revising these Anecdotes, it is impossible not to be 
 struck with shame and regret that one treasured no more of 
 them up ; but no experience is sufficient to cure the vice of 
 negligence : whatever one sees constantly, or might see con- 
 stantly, becomes uninteresting ; and we suffer every trivial occu- 
 pation, every slight amusement, to hinder us from writing down, 
 what indeed we cannot chuse but remember ; but what we 
 should wish to recollect with pleasure, unpoisoned by remorse 
 for not remembering more. While I write this, I neglect 
 impressing my mind with the wonders of art, and beauties of 
 nature, that now surround me ; and shall one day, perhaps, think 
 on the hours I might have profitably passed in the Florentine 
 Gallery, and reflecting on Raphael's St. John at that time, as 
 upon Johnson's conversation in this moment, may justly exclaim 
 of the months spent by me most delightfully in Italy — 
 
 " That I priz'd every hour that pass'd by ; 
 Beyond all that had pleas'd me before j 
 VI. C 
 
18 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 But now they are past, and I sigh 
 
 And I grieve that I priz'd them no more." 
 
 Shenstone. 
 
 Dr. Johnson delighted in his own partiality for Oxford ; and 
 one day, at my house, entertained five members of the other 
 university with various instances of the superiority of Oxford, 
 enumerating the gigantic names of many men whom it had pro- 
 duced, with apparent triumph. At last I said to him, "Why 
 there happens to be no less than five Cambridge men in the 
 room now." " I did not (said he) think of that till you told me ; 
 but the wolf don't count the sheep." When the company were 
 retired, we happened to be talking of Dr. Barnard, the Provost 
 of Eton, who died about that time ; and after a long and just 
 eulogium on his wit, his learning, and his goodness of heart : 
 " He was the only man too (says Mr. Johnson quite seriously) 
 that did justice to my good breeding ; and you may observe that 
 I am well-bred to a degree of needless scrupulosity. No man, 
 (continued he, not observing the amazement of his hearers) no 
 man is so cautious not to interrupt another ; no man thinks it 
 so necessary to appear attentive when others are speaking ; no 
 man so steadily refuses preference to himself, or so willingly 
 bestows it on another, as I do ; no body holds so strongly 
 as I do the necessity of ceremony, and the ill effects which 
 follow the breach of it : yet people think me rude ; but 
 Barnard did me justice." " 'Tis pity," said I, laughing, " that he 
 had not heard you compliment the Cambridge men after dinner 
 to-day." " Why (replied he) I was inclined to down them sure 
 enough ; but then a fellow deserves to be of Oxford that talks so." 
 I have heard him at other times relate how he used to sit in 
 some coffee-house there, and turn M 's C-r-ct-c-s into ridi- 
 cule for the diversion of himself and of chance comers-in. 
 " The Elf — da (says he) was too exquisitely pretty ; I could 
 make no fun out of that." When upon some occasions he Avould 
 express his astonishment that he should have an enemy in the 
 world, while he had been doing nothing but good to his neigh- 
 bours, I used to make him recollect these circumstances : 
 " Why child (said he), what harm could that do the fellow ? I 
 
 always thought very well of M n for a Cambridge man ; he 
 
 is, I believe, a mighty blameless character." Such tricks were, 
 however, the more unpardonable in Mr. Johnson, because no one 
 could harangue like him about the difficulty alwavs found in for- 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZL 19 
 
 giving petty injuries, or in provoking by needless offence. Mr. 
 Jordan, his tutor, had much of his affection, though he despised 
 his want of scholastic learning. " That creature would (said 
 he) defend his pupils to the last : no young lad under his care 
 should suffer for committing slight improprieties, while he had 
 breath to defend, or power to protect them. If I had had sons 
 to send to college (added he) Jordan should have been their 
 tutor." 
 
 Sir William Browne the physician, who lived to a very extra- 
 ordinary age, and was in other respects an odd mortal, with more 
 genius than understanding, and more self-sufficiency than wit, 
 was the only person who ventured to oppose Mr. Johnson, when 
 he had a mind to shine by exalting his favourite university, and 
 to express his contempt of the Whiggish notions which prevail 
 at Cambridge. He did it once, however, with surprising feli- 
 city : his antagonist having repeated with an air of triumph the 
 famous epigram written by Dr. Trapp, 
 
 " Our royal master saw, with heedful eyes, 
 
 The wants of his two universities : 
 
 Troops he to Oxford sent, as knowing why 
 
 That learned body wanted loyalty : 
 
 But books to Cambridge gave, as, well discerning, 
 
 That that right loyal body wanted learning," 
 
 Which, says Sir William, might well be answered thus : 
 
 " The king to Oxford sent his troop of horse, 
 For Tories own no argument but force ; 
 With equal care to Cambridge books he sent, 
 For Whigs allow no force but argument." 
 
 Mr. Johnson did him the justice to say, it was one of the 
 happiest extemporaneous productions he ever met with ; though 
 he once comically confessed, that he hated to repeat the wit of a 
 whig urged in support of whiggism. Says Garrick to him one 
 day, " Why did not you make me a tory, when we lived so much 
 together, you love to make people tories ? " " Why (says Johnson, 
 pulling a heap of halfpence from his pocket), did not the king 
 make these guineas ? " 
 
 Of Mr. Johnson's toryism the world has long been witness, 
 and the political pamphlets written by him in defence of his 
 party, are vigorous and elegant. He often delighted his imagi- 
 nation with the thoughts of having destroyed Junius, an anony- 
 
20 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 mous writer who flourished in the years 1769 and 1770, and 
 who kept himself so ingeniously concealed from every endea- 
 vour to detect him, that no probable guess was, I believe, ever 
 formed concerning the author's name, though at that time the 
 subject of general conversation. Mr. Johnson made us all laugh 
 one day, because I had received a remarkably fine Stilton cheese 
 as a present from some person who had packed and directed it 
 carefully, but without mentioning whence it came. Mr. Thrale, 
 desirous to know who we were obliged to, asked every friend as 
 they came in, but nobody owned ii . " Depend upon it, Sir (says 
 Johnson), it was sent by Junius.'''' 
 
 The " False Alarm," his first and favourite pamphlet, was 
 written at our house between eight o'clock on Wednesday night 
 and twelve o'clock on Thursday night ; we read it to Mr. Thrale 
 when he came very late home from the House of Commons : the 
 other political tracts followed in their order. I have forgotten 
 which contains the stroke at Junius ; but shall for ever remember 
 the pleasure it gave him to have written it. It was however in 
 the year 1 775 that Mr. Edmund Burke made the famous speech 
 in parliament^ that struck even foes with admiration, and friends 
 with delight. Among the nameless thousands who are contented 
 to echo those praises they have not skill to invent, / ventured, 
 before Dr. Johnson himself, to applaud, with rapture, the beau- 
 tiful passage in it concerning Lord Bathurst and the Angel ; 
 which, said our Doctor, had I been in the house, I would have 
 answered thus: 
 
 "■ Suppose, Mr. Speaker, that to Wharton, or to Marlborough, 
 or to any of the eminent whigs of the last age, the devil had, 
 not with any great impropriety, consented to appear ; he would 
 perhaps in somewhat like these words have commenced the coiu&l 
 versation *. "^| 
 
 " You seem, my Lord, to be concerned at the judicious appre- 
 hension, that while you are sapping the foundations of royalty at 
 home, and propagating here the dangerous doctrine of resist- 
 ance ; the distance of America may secure its inhabitants from 
 your arts, though active : but I will unfold to you the gay 
 prospects of futurity. This people, now so innocent and harm- 
 less, shall draw the sword against their mother country, and 
 
 ' On the 22nd of March, 1775, upon moving his resolutions for con- 
 ciliation with America. — Editor. 
 
BY MBS. PIOZZI. 21 
 
 bathe its point in the blood of their benefactors : this people, 
 now contented with a little, shall then refuse to spare, what 
 they themselves confess they could not miss ; and these men, 
 now so honest and so grateful, shall, in return for peace and for 
 protection, see their vile agents in the house of parliament, there 
 to sow the seeds of sedition, and propagate confusion, perplexity, 
 and pain. Be not dispirited then at the contemplation of their 
 present happy state : I promise you that anarchy, poverty, and 
 death shall, by my care, be carried even across the spacious 
 Atlantic, and settle in America itself, the sure consequences of 
 our beloved whiggism." 
 
 This I thought a thing so very particular, that I begged his 
 leave to write it down directly, before anything could intervene 
 that might make me forget the force of the expressions,^ a trick, 
 which I have however seen played on common occasions, of 
 sitting steadily down at the other end of the room to write at 
 the moment what should be said in company, either hy Dr. 
 Johnson or to him, I never practised myself, nor approved of in 
 another. There is something so ill-bred, and so inclining to 
 treachery in this conduct, that were it commonly adopted, all 
 confidence would soon be exiled from society, and a conversa- 
 tion assembly-room would become tremendous as a court of 
 justice. A set of acquaintance joined in familiar chat may say 
 a thousand things, which (as the phrase is) pass well enough 
 at the time, though they cannot stand the test of critical 
 examination ; and as all talk beyond that which is necessary to 
 the purposes of actual business is a kind of game, there will be 
 ever found ways of playing fairly or unfairly at it, which distin- 
 guish the gentleman from the juggler. Dr. Johnson, as well as 
 many of my acquaintance, knew that I kept a common-place 
 book ; and he one day said to me good-humouredly, that he 
 would give me something to Avi'ite in my repository. " I warrant 
 (said he) there is a great deal about me in it : you shall have 
 at least one thing worth your pains ; so if you will get the pen 
 and ink, I will repeat to you Anacreon's Dove directly ; but tell 
 at the same time, that as I never was struck with any thing in 
 the Greek language till I read that, so I never read any thing in 
 the same language since, that pleased me as much. I hope my 
 translation (continued he) is not worse than that of Frank 
 
 » See Life, vol. iv.. June 30, 1784. 
 
22 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 Fawkes." Seeing me disposed to laugh, " Nay nay (said he)^ 
 Frank Fawkes has done them very finely." 
 
 " Lovely courier of the sky, 
 Whence and whither dost thou fly ? 
 Scatt'ring as thy pinions play, 
 Liquid fragrance all the way : 
 Is it business ? is it love ? 
 Tell me, tell me, gentle Dove. 
 
 " ' Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, 
 ' Vows to Myrtale the fair ; 
 ' Grae'd with all that charms the heart, 
 ' Blushing nature, smiling art. 
 ' Venus, courted by an ode, 
 ' On the bard her Dove bestow'd. 
 
 * Vested with a master's right 
 
 * Now Anacreon rules my flight : 
 ' His the letters that you see, 
 
 ' Weighty charge consign'd to me : 
 
 * Think not yet my service hard, 
 ' Joyless task without reward ; 
 
 ' Smiling at my master's gates, 
 • ' Freedom my return awaits. 
 
 ' But the liberal grant in vain 
 ' Tempts me to be wild again : 
 
 * Can a prudent Dove decline 
 
 ' Blissful bondage such as mine ? 
 
 * Over hills and fields to roam, 
 
 * Fortune's guest without a home ; 
 ' Under leaves to hide one's head, 
 ' Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed 5 
 
 ' Now my better lot bestows 
 ' Sweet repast, and soft repose ; 
 
 * Now the generous bowl 1 sip 
 ' As it leaves Anacreon's lip ; 
 
 * Void of care, and free from dread, 
 ' From his fingei's snatch his bread, 
 ' Then with luscious plenty gay, 
 ' Round his chamber dance and play ; 
 ' Or from wine, as courage springs, 
 ' O'er his face extend my wings ; 
 ' And when feast and frolic tire, 
 ' Drop asleep upon his lyre. 
 ' This is all, be quick and go, 
 ' More than all thou canst not know ; 
 ' Let me now my pinions ply, 
 ' I have chattei*'d like a pye.' " 
 
 When I had finished, " But you must remember to add (saj 
 Mr. Johnson) that though these verses were planned, and even" 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 2(5 
 
 begun, when I was sixteen years old, I never could find time to 
 make an end of them before I was sixty-eight." 
 
 This facility of writing, and this dilatoriness ever to write, 
 Mr. Johnson always retained, from the days that he lay a bed 
 and dictated his first publication to Mr. Hector, who acted as 
 his amanuensis, to tlie moment he made me copy out those varia- 
 tions in Pope's " Homer " which are printed in the " Poets 
 Lives :" " And now (said he, when I had finished it for him), 
 I fear not Mr, Nicholson of a pin." — The fine " Rambler " on 
 the subject of Procrastination was hastily composed, as I have 
 heard, in Sir Joshua Reynolds's parlour, while the boy waited to 
 carry it to press : and numberless are the instances of his writing 
 under immediate pressure of importunity or distress. He told 
 me that the character of Sober in the "Idler," was by himself 
 intended as his own portrait; and that he had his own outset 
 into life in his eye when he wrote the eastern story of Gelaleddin. 
 Of the allegorical papers in the " Rambler," Labour and Rest 
 was his favoixrite; but Serotinus, the man who returns late in 
 life to receive honours in his native country, and meets with 
 mortification instead of respect, was by him considered as a 
 masterpiece in the science of life and manners. The character 
 of Prospero in the fourth volume, Garrick took to be his; and I 
 have heard the author say, that he never forgave the offence. 
 Sophron was likewise a picture drawn from reality ; and by 
 Gelidus the philosopher, he meant to represent Mr. Coulson, a 
 mathematician, who foi-merly lived at Rochester. The man im- 
 mortalised for purring like a cat was, as he told me, one Busby, 
 a proctor in tlie Commons. He who barked so ingeniously, and 
 then called the drawer to drive away the dog, was father to Dr. 
 Salter of the Charterhouse. He who sung a song, and by corre- 
 spondent motions of his arm chalked out a giant on the wall, was 
 one Richardson, an attorney. The letter signed Sunday, was 
 written by Miss Talbot ; and he fancied the billets in the first 
 volume of the " Rambler," were sent him by Miss Mulso, now 
 Mrs. Chapone. The papers contributed by Mrs. Carter, had 
 much of his esteem, though he always blamed me for preferring 
 the letter signed Chariessa to the allegory, where religion and 
 superstition are indeed most masterly delineated. 
 
 When Dr. Johnson read his own satire, in which the life of a 
 scholar is painted, with the various obstructions thrown in his 
 way to fortune and to fame, he burst into a passion of tears one 
 
24 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 day : the family and Mr. Scott only were present, who, in a 
 jocose way, clapped him on the back, and said, " What's all this, 
 my dear Sir ? Why you, and I, and Hercules, you know, were 
 all troubled with melancholy^'' As there are many gentlemen of ' 
 the same name, I should say, perhaps, that it was a Mr. Scott 
 who married Miss Robinson, and that I think I have heard Mr. 
 Thrale call him George Lewis, or George Augustus, I have forgot 
 which. He was a very large man, however, and made out the 
 triumvirate with Johnson and Hercules comically enough. The 
 Doctor was so delighted at his odd sally, that he suddenly em- 
 braced him, and the subject was immediately changed. I never i 
 saw Mr. Scott but that once in my life. ' 
 
 Dr. Johnson was liberal enough in granting literary assistance 
 to others,^ I think ; and innumerable are the prefaces, sermons, 
 lectures, and dedications which he used to make for people who 
 begged of him. Mr. Murphy related in his and my hearing one 
 day, and he did not deny it, that Avhen Murphy joked him the 
 week before for having been so diligent of late between Dodd's 
 sermon and Kelly's prologue, that Dr. Johnson replied, " Why, 
 Sir, when they come to me with a dead stay-maker and a dying 
 parson, what can a man do ? " He said, however, that " he hated 
 to give away literary performances, or even to sell them too 
 cheaply : the next generation shall not accuse me (added he) of 
 beating down the price of literature : one hates, besides, ever to 
 give that which one has been accustomed to sell ; would not 
 you, Sir (turning to Mr. Thrale), rather give away money thaxyHj 
 porter ? " ^ 
 
 Mr. Johnson had never, by his own account, been a close 
 student, and used to advise young people never to be without a 
 book in their pocket, to be read at bye-times when they had 
 nothing else to do. " It has been by that means (said he to a boy 
 at our house one day) that all my knowledge has been gained, 
 except what I have picked up by running about the world with 
 my wits ready to observe, and my tongue ready to talk. A man 
 is seldom in a humour to unlock his book-case, set his desk in 
 order, and betake himself to serious study ; but a retentive 
 memory will do something, and a fellow shall have strange credit 
 given him, if he can but recollect striking passages from different 
 books, keep the authors separate in his head, and bring his stocl 
 
 I See Life, vol. iv., June 30, 1784. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 25 
 
 of knowledge artfully into play : How else (added he) do the 
 gamesters manage when they play for more money than they are 
 worth ? " His Dictionary, however, could not, one would think, 
 have been written by running up and down ; but he really did 
 not consider it as a great performance ; and used to say, " that 
 he might have done it easily in two years, had not his health 
 received several shocks during the time." 
 
 When Mr. Thrale, in consequence of this declaration, teized 
 him in the year 1768 to give a new edition of it, because (said 
 he) there are four or five gross faults : " Alas, Sir (replied 
 Johnson), there are four or five hundred faults, instead of four or 
 five ; but you do not consider that it would take me up three 
 whole months labour, and when the time was expired the work 
 would not be done." When the booksellers set him about it 
 however some years after, he went cheerfully to the business, 
 said he was well paid, and that they deserved to have it done 
 carefully. His reply to the person who complimented him on its 
 coming out first, mentioning the ill success of the French in a 
 similar attempt, is well known ; and, I trust, has been often 
 recorded : " Why, what would you expect, dear Sir (said he), 
 from fellows that eat frogs ? " I have however often thought Dr. 
 Johnson more free than prudent in professing so loudly his little 
 skill in the Greek language : for though he considered it as a 
 proof of a narrow mind to be too careful of literary reputation, 
 yet no man could be more enraged than he, if an enemy, taking 
 advantage of this confession, twitted him with his ignorance ; and 
 I remember when the king of Denmark was in England, one of 
 his noblemen was brought by Mr. Colman to see Dr. Johnson at 
 our country-house ; and having heard, he said, that he was not 
 famous for Greek literature, attacked him on the weak side ; 
 politely adding, that he chose that conversation on purpose to 
 favour himself. Our Doctor, however, displayed so copious, so 
 compendious a knowledge of authors, books, and every branch of 
 learning in that language, that the gentleman appeared astonished. 
 When he was gone home (says Johnson), " Now for all this 
 triumph, I may thank Thrale's Xenophon here, as I think, ex- 
 cepting that o«e, I have not looked in a Greek book these ten 
 years ; but see what haste my dear friends were all in (continued 
 he) to tell this poor innocent foreigner that I knew nothing of 
 Greek ! Oh, no, he knows nothing of Greek ! " with a loud burst 
 of laughing. 
 
26 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 When Davies printed the " Fugitive Pieces" without his know- 
 ledge or consent ; ^ " How," said I, " would Pope have raved, had 
 he been served so ? " " We should never (replied he) have heard 
 the last on't, to be sure ; but then Pope was a narrow man : I will 
 however (added he) storm and bluster myself a little this time ; " 
 — so went to London in all the wrath he could muster up. At 
 his return I asked how the affair ended : " Why (said he), I was 
 a fierce fellow, and pretended to be very angry, and Thomas was 
 a good-natured fellow, and pretended to be very sorry : so there 
 the matter ended : I believe the dog loves me dearly. Mr. Thrale 
 (turning to my husband), what shall you and I do that is good for 
 Tom Davies ? We will do something for him, to be sure." 
 
 Of Pope as a writer he had the highest opinion, and once when 
 a lady at our house talked of his preface to Shakespeare as 
 superior to Pope's : " I fear not, Madam (said he), the little 
 fellow has done wonders." His superior reverence of Dryden 
 notwithstanding still appeared in his talk as in his writings ; and 
 when some one mentioned the ridicule thrown on him in the 
 " Rehearsal," as having hurt his general character as an author : 
 "On the contrary (says Mr. Johnson), the greatness of Dryden's 
 reputation is now the only principle of vitality which keeps the 
 duke of Buckingham's play from putrefaction," 
 
 It was not very easy however for people not quite intimate with 
 Dr. Johnson, to get exactly his opinion of a writer's merit, as he 
 would now and then divert himself by confounding those who 
 thought themselves obliged to say to-morrow what he had said 
 yesterday ; and even Garrick, who ought to have been better 
 acquainted with his tricks, professed himself mortified, that one 
 time when he was extolling Dryden in a rapture that I suppose 
 disgusted his friend, Mr. Johnson suddenly challenged him to 
 produce twenty lines in a series that would not disgrace the poet 
 and his admirer. Garrick produced a passage that he had once 
 heard the Doctor commend, in which he now found, if I remember 
 rightly, sixteen faults, and made Garrick look silly at his own 
 table. When I told Mr. Johnson the story, " Why, what a 
 monkey was David now (says he), to tell of his own disgrace ! " 
 And in the course of that hour's chat he told me, how he used to 
 teize Garrick by commendations of the tomb scene in Congreve's 
 " Mourning Bride," protesting that Shakespeare had in the same 
 
 ' See Life, vol. ii., p. 251. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 27 
 
 line of excellence nothing as good : " All which is strictly true 
 (said he) ; but that is no reason for supposing Congreve is to stand 
 in competition with Shakespeare : these fellows know not how to 
 blame, nor how to commend." I forced him one day, in a similar 
 humour, to prefer Young's description of Night to the so much 
 admired ones of Dryden and Shakespeare, as more forcible, and 
 more general. Every reader is not either a lover or a tyrant, 
 but every reader is interested when he hears that 
 
 " Creation sleeps ; 'tis as the general pulse 
 Of life stood still, and nature made a pause ; 
 An awful pause — prophetic of its end." 
 
 " This (said he) is true ; but remember that taking the composi- 
 tions of Young in general, they are but like bright stepping- 
 stones over a miry road : Young froths, and foams, and bubbles 
 sometimes very vigorously ; but we must not compare the noise 
 made by your tea-kettle here with the roaring of the ocean." 
 
 Somebody was praising Corneille one day in opposition to 
 Shakespeare : " Corneille is to Shakespeare (replied Mr. Johnson) 
 as a clipped hedge is to a forest." When we talked of Steele's 
 " Essays," " They are too thin (says our Critic) for an English- 
 man's taste : mere superficial observations on life and manners, 
 without erudition enough to make them keep, like the light 
 French wines, which turn sour with standing a while for want of 
 body, as we call it." 
 
 Of a much admired poem, when extolled as beautiful (he 
 replied), " That it had indeed the beauty of a bubble : the colours 
 are gay (said he), but the substance slight." Of James Harris's 
 Dedication to his " Hermes " I have heard him observe, that, 
 though but fourteen lines long, there were six grammatical faults 
 in it. A friend was praising the style of Dr. Swift ; Mr. Johnson 
 did not find himself in the humour to agree with him : the critic 
 was driven from one of his performances to the other. At length 
 you must allow me, said the gentleman, that there are strong facts 
 in the account of the Four last Years of Queen Anne : " Yes 
 surely. Sir (replies Johnson), and so there are in the Ordinary of 
 Newgate's account." This was like the story which Mr. Murphy 
 tells, and Johnson always acknowledged : How Mr. Rose of 
 Hammersmith, contending for the preference of Scotch writers 
 over the English, after having set up his authors like nine-pins, 
 while the Doctor kept bowling them down again ; at last, to 
 
28 ANCEDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 make sure of victory, lie named Ferguson upon Civil Society, and 
 praised the book for being written in a 7iew manner. " I do not 
 (says Johnson) perceive the value of this new manner ; it is only 
 like Buckinger, who had no hands, and so wrote with his feet." 
 Of a modern Martial, when it came out : " There are in these 
 verses (says Dr. Johnson) too much folly for madness, I think, 
 and too much madness for folly." If, however, Mr. Johnson 
 lamented, that the' nearer he approached to his own times, the 
 more enemies he should make, by telling biographical truths in 
 his " Lives of the later Poets," what may I not apprehend, who, 
 if I relate anecdotes of Mr. Johnson, am obliged to repeat expres- 
 sions of severity, and sentences of contempt ? Let me at least 
 soften them a little, by saying, that he did not hate the persons he 
 treated with roughness, or despise them whom he drove from him 
 by apparent scorn. He really loved and respected many whom 
 he would not suffer to love him. And when he related to me a 
 short dialogue that passed between himself and a writer of the 
 first eminence in the world, when he was in Scotland, I was 
 
 shocked to think how he must have disgusted him. " Dr. 
 
 asked me (said he), why I did not join in their public worship 
 when among them ? for (said he) I went to your churches often 
 when in England." " So (replied Johnson), I have heard that the 
 Siamese sent ambassadors to Louis Quatorze, but I never heard 
 that the king of France thought it worth his while to send am- 
 bassadors from his court to that of «S'/am." He was no gentler 
 with myself, or those for whom I had the greatest regard. When 
 I one day lamented the loss of a first cousin killed in America ^ 
 
 " Prithee, my dear (said he), have done with canting : how 
 
 would the world be worse for it, I may ask, if all your relations 
 were at once spitted like larks, and roasted for Presto's supper ? " 
 
 Presto was the dog that lay under the table while we talked. 
 
 When we went into Wales together, and spent some time at Sir 
 Robert Cotton's at Lleweny, one day at dinner I meant to please 
 Mr. Johnson particularly with a dish of very young peas. "Are 
 not they charming ? " said I to him, while he was eating them. — 
 " Perhaps (said he) they would be so — to a pig'^ I only 
 instance these replies, to excuse my mentioning those he made to 
 others. 
 
 When a well-known author published his poems in the year 
 
 ^ For Baretti's version of this story, see Life, vol. iv., June 30, 1784. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 
 
 29 
 
 1777 : " Such a one's verses are come out," said I : "Yes (replied 
 Johnson) and this frost lias struck them in again. Here are some 
 lines I have written to ridicule them : but remember that I love 
 the fellow dearly, now — for all I laugh at him. 
 
 " ' Wheresoe'er I turn my view, 
 All is strange, yet nothing new : 
 Endless labour all along, 
 Endless labour to be wrong ; 
 Phrase that Time has flung away ; 
 Uncouth words in disarray, 
 Triek'd in antique ruff and bonnet, 
 Ode, and elegy, and sonnet.' " 
 
 When he parodied the verses of another eminent writer, it wa» 
 done with more provocation, I believe, and with some merry 
 malice. A serious translation of the same lines, which I think 
 are from Euripides, may be found in Burney's " History of 
 Music." — Here are the burlesque ones : 
 
 " Err shall they not, who resolute explore 
 Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes ; 
 And scanning right the practices of yore, 
 Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. 
 
 " They to the dome where smoke with curling play 
 Announc'd the dinner to the regions round, 
 Summon'd the singer blythe, and harper gay. 
 And aided wine with dulcet- streaming sound. 
 
 " The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, 
 By quiv'ring string, or modulated wind 5 
 Trumpet or lyre — to their harsh bosoms chill. 
 Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. 
 
 " Oh ! send them to the sullen mansions dun, 
 Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around ; 
 "Where gloom -enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell. 
 And Murder, all blood- bolter'd, schemes the wound. 
 
 " When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, 
 And purple nectar glads the festive hour ; 
 The guest, without a want, without a wish. 
 Can yield no room to Music's soothing pow'r." 
 
 Some of the old legendary stories put in verse by modem writers- 
 provoked him to caricature them thus one day at Streatham ; but- 
 they are already well known, I am sure. 
 
80 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 " The tender infant, meek and mild, 
 
 Fell down upon the stone ; 
 The nurse took up the squealing child, 
 
 But still the child squeal'd on." 
 
 A famous ballad also, beginning Rio verde, Rio verde, when I 
 commended the translation of it, he said he could do it better 
 himself — as thus : 
 
 *•' Glassy water, glassy water, 
 Down whose current clear and strong. 
 Chiefs confus'd in mutual slaughter, 
 Moor and Christian roll along." 
 
 " But Sir," said I, " this is not ridiculous at all." " Why no (re- 
 plied he), why should I always write ridiculously? — perhaps 
 because I made these verses to imitate such a one, naming him : 
 
 '* ' Hermit hoar, in solemn cell 
 Wearing out life's evening gray ; 
 Strike thy bosom sage ! and tell. 
 What is bliss, and which the way ? 
 
 " ' Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, 
 Scarce repress'd the starting tear, 
 When the hoary Sage reply'd, 
 Come, my lad, and drink some beer.' " 
 
 I could give another comical instance of caricatura imitation. 
 HecoUecting some day, when praising these verses of Lopez de 
 Vega, 
 
 " 8e acquien los leones vence 
 
 Fence una nmger hermosa 
 
 el deflaco avcrguenge 
 
 ella di ser mas fnriosa," 
 
 more than he thought they deserved, Mr. Johnson instantly 
 observed, " that they were founded on a trivial conceit ; and that 
 
 ■conceit ill- explained, and ill-expressed beside. The lady, we 
 
 all know, does not conquer in the same manner as the lion does : 
 ''Tis a mere play of words (added he), and you might as well say, 
 ihat 
 
 " ' If the man who turnips cries, 
 Cry not when his father dies, 
 'Tis a proof that he had rather 
 Have a turnip than his father.'" 
 
I 
 
 BY MRS. PIOZZI. 81 
 
 And this humour is of the same sort with which he answered 
 tlie friend who commended tlie following line: 
 
 '* Who rules o'er freemen should himself be free." 
 
 *' To be sure (said Dr. Johnson), 
 
 " ' Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.' " 
 
 This readiness of finding a parallel, or making one, was shewn 
 bv him perpetually in the course of conversation. — When the 
 French verses of a certain pantomime were quoted thus, 
 
 " Je sicis Cassandre descendiie dcs cienx, 
 
 Paicr votes /aire entendre^ mesdames et messieurs, 
 
 Queje suis Cassandre descendiie des cieux ; 
 
 he cried out gaily and suddenly, almost in a moment, 
 
 " ' I am Cassandra come down from the sky, 
 To tell each by-stander what none can deny, 
 That I am Cassandra come down from the sky.' " 
 
 The pretty Italian verses too, at the end of Baretti's book, 
 called " Easy Phraseology," he did aW improviso, in the same 
 manner : 
 
 " Viva! viva lapadrona! 
 Tutta hella, e tutta buona, 
 La padrona e un angiolella 
 Tutta huona e tutta bella ; 
 * Tutta bella e tutta buona ; 
 
 Viva ! viva la padrona ! " 
 
 " Long may live my lovely Hetty ! 
 Always young and always pretty, 
 Always pretty, always young, 
 Live my lovely Hetty long ! 
 I- Always young and always pretty ; 
 
 Long may live my lovely Hetty ! " 
 
 The famous distich too, of an Italian improvisatore, who, when 
 the duke of Modena ran away from the comet in the year 1742 
 or 1743, 
 
 " Se al venir vestro i principi sen' vanno 
 Deh venga ogni di durate un anno ; " 
 
 *' which (said he) would do just as well in our language thus : 
 
32 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 " ' If at your coming princes disappear, 
 Comets ! come every day — and stay a year.' " 
 
 When some one in company commended the verses of M. de 
 Benserade a. son Lit ; 
 
 '•' Theatre des ris et des pleurs. 
 Lit! mije nais, et mtje meurs, 
 Tu nousfais voir comment voisins 
 Sont nos plaisirs, et nos chagrins^ 
 
 To which he replied without hesitating, 
 
 " ' In bed we laugh, in bed we cry, 
 And born in bed, in bed we die ; 
 The near approach a bed may shew 
 Of human bliss to human woe.' " 
 
 The inscription on the collar of Sir Joseph Banks's goat 
 which had been on two of his adventurous expeditions with him, 
 and was then, by the humanity of her amiable master, turned 
 out to graze in Kent, as a recompence for her utility and faith- 
 ful service, was given me by Johnson in the year 1777 I think, 
 and I have never yet seen it printed. 
 
 *' Perpetui, amhitd bis terra, premia lactis 
 HcBc hahet alirict Capra secunda Jovis?' 
 
 The epigram written at Lord Anson's house many years ago, 
 " where (says Mr. Johnson) I was well received and kindly 
 treated, and with the true gratitude of a wit ridiculed the 
 master of the house before I had left it an hour,'^ has been 
 falsely printed in many papers since his death. I wrote it down 
 from his own lips one evening in August 1772, not neglecting 
 the little preface, accusing himself of making so graceless a 
 return for the civilities shown him. He had, among other 
 elegancies about the park and gardens, beeai made to observe a 
 temple to the winds, when this thought naturally presented 
 itself to a wit. 
 
 " Gratum animum laudo ; Qui debuit omnia ventiSy 
 Quam bene ventorum surgere templajubet! " 
 
 A translation of Dryden's epigram too, I used to fancy I had to 
 myself. 
 
 " Quos lavdtt vates, Grains, Eomanus, et Anglus, 
 Tres tria temporibus secla dedere suis : 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 83 
 
 Sublime ingenium Grams, — Bojnamts hahehat 
 Carmen grande sonans, Anglus uirumque tulit. 
 Nil majiis natura capit ; clarare priores 
 Qu<s potuere duos, tertius unus habet : " 
 
 from the famous lines written under Milton's picture : 
 
 " Three poets in three distant ages born, 
 Greece, Italy, and England did adorn : 
 The first in loftiness of thought surpast, 
 The next in majesty ; in both the last. 
 The force of Nature could no further go, 
 To make a third she join'd the former two." 
 
 One evening in the oratorio season of the year 1771, Mr 
 Johnson went with me to Co vent- Garden theatre ; and though 
 he was for the most part an exceedingly bad playhouse com- 
 panion, as his person drew people's eyes upon the box, and the 
 loudness of his voice made it difficult for me to hear any body 
 but himself; he sat surprisingly quiet, and I flattered myself 
 .that he was listening to the music. When we were got home 
 however he repeated these verses, which he said he had made at 
 the oratorio, and he bid me translate them. 
 
 IN THEATRO. 
 
 '' Tertii verso quaier orbe lustri 
 Quid theatrales tibi crispe pompae I 
 Qiiam decet canos male literatos 
 
 Sera voluptas! 
 
 " Tene mulceri fidihtis canoris ? 
 Tene cantor um modulis stupere? 
 Tene per pictas oculo elegante 
 
 Currere formasl 
 
 " Inter equales sinefelle liber, 
 Codices veri studiosus inter 
 Eectius vives, sua quisque carpat 
 
 Gaudia gratus. 
 
 " Lusibus gaudet puer otiosis 
 Luxus oblectat juvenem theatri, 
 At senifluxo sapienter uti 
 
 Tempore restate* 
 
 I gave him the following lines in imitation, which he liked well 
 enough, I think : 
 
 VI. D 
 
84 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 ** When threescore years have chill'd thee quite, 
 
 Still can theatric scenes delight ? 
 
 Ill suits this place with learned wight, 
 
 Ma}" Bates or Coulson cry. 
 
 " The scholar's pride can Brent disarm ? 
 His heart can soft Guadagni warm ? 
 Ur scenes with sweet delusion charm 
 
 The climacteric eye ? 
 
 *' Tlie social club, the lonely tower. 
 Far better suit thy midnight hour ; 
 Let each according to his power 
 
 In worth or wisdom shine! 
 
 "And while play pleases idle boys, 
 And wanton mirth fond youth employs. 
 To fix the soul, and free from toys, 
 
 That useful task be thine." 
 
 The copy of verses in Latin hexameters, as well as I remem- 
 ber, which he wrote to Dr. Lawrence, I forgot to keep a copy 
 of; and he obliged me to resign his translation of the song 
 beginning, Busy, curious^ thirsty jly^ for him to give Mr. Langton, 
 with a promise not to retain a copy. I concluded he knew why, 
 so never enquired the reason. He had the greatest possible 
 value for Mr. Langton, of whose virtue and learning he delighted 
 to talk in very exalted terms ; and poor Dr. Lawrence had long 
 been liis friend and confidant. The conversation I saw them 
 hold together in Essex-street one day in the year 1781 or 1782, 
 was a melancholy one, and made a singidar impression on my 
 mind. He was himself exceedingly ill, and I accompanied him 
 thither for advice. The physician was however, in some respects, 
 more to be pitied than the patient : Johnson was panting under 
 an asthma and dropsy; but Lawrence had been brought home 
 that very morning struck with the palsy, from which he had, two 
 hours before we came, strove to awaken himself by blisters : 
 they were both deaf, and scarce able to speak besides ; one from 
 difficulty of breathing, the other from paralytic debility. To 
 give and receive medical counsel therefore, they fairly sate down 
 on each side a table in the Doctor's gloomy apartment, adorned 
 with skeletons, preserved monsters, &c., and agreed to write 
 Latin billets to each other : such a scene did I never see ! " You 
 (said Johnson) are timide and gelide ; " finding that his friend 
 had prescribed palliative not drastic remedies. " It is not we," 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 35 
 
 replies poor Lawrence in an interrupted voice ; " 'tis nature that 
 is gelide and timideJ" In fact he lived but few months after I 
 believe, and retained his faculties still a shorter time. He was 
 a man of strict piety and profound learning, but little skilled in 
 the knowledge of life or manners, and died without having ever 
 enjoyed the reputation he so justly deserved. 
 
 Mr. Johnson's health had always been extremely bad since I 
 first knew him, and his over-anxious care to retain without 
 blemish the perfect sanity of his mind, contributed much to dis- 
 turb it. He had studied medicine diligently in all its branches ; 
 but had given particular attention to the diseases of the imagination, 
 which he watched in himself with a solicitude destructive of his 
 own peace, and intolerable to those he trusted. Dr. Lawrence told 
 him one day, that if he would come and beat him once a week he 
 would bear it ; but to hear his complaints was more than man could 
 support. 'Twas therefore that he tried, I suppose, and in eigh- 
 teen years contrived to weary the patience of a woman. When 
 Mr. Johnson felt his fancy, or fancied he felt it, disordered, his 
 constant recurrence was to the study of arithmetic ; and one day 
 that he was totally confined to his chamber, and I enquired what 
 he had been doing to divert himself; he showed me a calculation 
 which I could scarce be made to understand, so vast was the plan 
 of it, and so very intricate were the figures : no other indeed than 
 that the national debt, computing it at one hundred and eighty 
 millions sterling, would, if converted into silver, serve to make a 
 meridian of that metal, I forgot how broad, for the globe of the 
 whole earth, the real globe. On a similar occasion I asked him 
 (knowing what subject he would like best to talk upon), How his 
 opinion stood towards the question between Pascal and Soame 
 Jenyns about number and numeration ? as the French philo- 
 sopher observes that infinity, though on all sides astonishing, 
 appears most so when the idea is connected with the idea of num- 
 ber ; for the notions of infinite number, and infinite number we 
 know there is, stretches one's capacity still more than the idea of 
 infinite space : " Such a notion indeed (adds he) can scarcely find 
 room in the human mind." Our English author on the other hand 
 exclaims, let no man give himself leave to talk about infinite 
 number, for infinite number is a contradiction in terms ; whatever 
 is once numbered, we all see cannot be infinite. " I think (said 
 Mr. Johnson after a pause) we must settle the matter thus : nu- 
 meration is certainly infinite, for eternity might be employed in 
 
86 
 
 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 adding unit to unit ; but every number is in itself finite, as the 
 possibility of doubling it easily proves : besides, stop at what point 
 you will, you find yourself as far from infinitude as ever." These 
 passages I wrote down as soon as I had heard them, and repent 
 that I did not take the same method with a dissertation he made 
 one other day that he was very ill, concerning the peculiar pro- 
 perties of the number Sixteen, which I afterwards tried, but in 
 vain, to make him repeat. 
 
 As ethics or figures, or metaphysical reasoning, was the sort of 
 talk he most delighted in, so no kind of conversation pleased him 
 less I think, than when the subject was historical fact or general 
 pohty. " What shall we learn from that stuff (said he) ? let us 
 not fancy like Swift that we are exalting a woman's character by 
 telling how she 
 
 " ' Could name the ancient heroes round, 
 Explain for what they were renown'd,' &c." 
 
 I must not however lead my readers to suppose that he meant 
 to reserve such talk for mens company as a proof of pre-eminence. 
 " He never (as he expressed it) desired to hear of the Punic war 
 while he lived : such conversation was lost time (he said), and 
 carried one away from common life, leaving no ideas behind 
 which could serve living wight as warning or direction." 
 
 " How I should act is not the case, 
 But how would Brutus in my place ? " 
 
 * And now (cries Mr. Johnson, laughing with obstreperous violence,) 
 if these two foolish lines can be equalled in folly, except by the 
 two succeeding ones — shew them me." 
 
 I asked him once concerning the conversation powers of a 
 gentleman with whom I was myself unacquainted — " He talked 
 to me at club one day (replies our Doctor) concerning Catiline's 
 conspiracy — so I withdrew my attention, and thought about Tom 
 Thumb." 
 
 Modem politics fared no better. I was one time extolling the, 
 character of a statesman, and expatiating on the skill required to 
 direct the different currents, reconcile the jarring interests, &c, 
 " Thus (replies he) a mill is a complicated piece of mechanism 
 enough, but the water is no part of the workmanship." — On 
 another occasion, when some one lamented the weakness of a then 
 present minister, and complained that he was dull and tardy, an(J 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. ' 37 
 
 knew little of affairs, — " You may as well complain. Sir (says 
 Johnson), that the accounts of time are kept by the clock ; for he 
 certainly does stand still upon the stair-head — and we all know 
 that he is no great chronologer." — In the year 1777, or there- 
 abouts, when all the talk was of an invasion,' he said most 
 pathetically one afternoon, " Alas ! alas ! how this unmeaning 
 stuff spoils all my comfort in my friends' conversation ! Will the 
 people never have done with it ; and shall I never hear a sentence 
 again without the French in it ? Here is no invasion coming, and 
 you know there is none. Let the vexatious and frivolous talk 
 alone, or suffer it at least to teach you one truth ; and learn by 
 this perpetual echo of even unapprehended distress, how historians 
 magnify events expected, or calamities endured; when you know 
 they are at this very moment collecting all the big words they can 
 find, in which to describe a consternation never felt, for a mis- 
 fortune which never happened. Among all your lamentations, 
 who eats the less ? Who sleeps the worse, for one general's ill 
 success, or another's capitulation ? Oh, pray let us hear no more 
 of it ! " — No man however was more zealously attached to his 
 party ; he not only loved a tory himself, but he loved a man the 
 better if he heard he hated a whig. " Dear Bathurst (said he to 
 me one day) was a man to my very heart's content : he hated a 
 fool, and he hated a rogue, and he hated a whig ; he was a very 
 good hater.'" 
 
 Some one mentioned a gentleman of that party for having be- 
 haved oddly on an occasion where faction was not concerned : — 
 " Is he not a citizen of London, a native of North America, and a 
 whig ? (says Johnson) — Let him be absurd, I beg of you : when 
 a monkey is too like a man, it shocks one." 
 
 Severity towards the poor was, in Dr. Johnson's opinion (as is 
 visible in his Life of Addison particularly), an undoubted and 
 constant attendant or consequence upon whiggism ; and he was 
 not contented with giving them relief, he wished to add also in- 
 dulgence. He loved the poor as I never yet saw any one else 
 do, with an earnest desire to make them happy. — What signifies. 
 Bays some one, giving halfpence to common beggars ? they only 
 lay it out in gin or tobacco. " And why should they be denied 
 such sweeteners of their existence (says Johnson) ? it is surely 
 very savage to refuse them every possible avenue to pleasure, 
 
 ' See Life, April 28, 1778. 
 
38 ' ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 reckoned too coarse for our own acceptance. Life is a pill which 
 none of us can bear to swallow without gilding ; yet for the poor 
 we delight in stripping it still barer, and are not ashamed to shew 
 even visible displeasure, if ever the bitter taste is taken from their 
 mouths." In consequence of these principles he nursed whole 
 nests of people in his house, where the lame, the blind, the sick, 
 and the sorrowful found a sure retreat from all the evils whence 
 his little income could secure them : and commonly spending the 
 middle of the week at our house, he kept his numerous family in 
 Fleet-street upon a settled allowance ; but returned to them 
 every Saturday, to give them three good dinners, and his com- 
 pany, before he came back to us on the Monday night — treating 
 them with the same, or perhaps more ceremonious civility, than 
 he would have done by as many people of fashion — making the 
 holy scriptures thus the rule of his conduct, and only expecting 
 salvation as he w^as able to obey its precepts. 
 
 While Dr. Johnson possessed however the strongest com- 
 passion for poverty or illness, he did not even pretend to feel for 
 those who lamented the loss of a child, a parent, or a friend. — 
 " These are the distresses of sentiment (he would reply) which 
 a man who is really to be pitied has no leisure to feel. The sight 
 of people who want food and raiment is so common in great cities, 
 that a surly fellow like me, has no compassion to spare for wounds 
 given only to vanity or softness." No man, therefore, who 
 smarted from the ingratitude of his friends, found any sympathy 
 from our philosopher : " Let him do good on higher motives next 
 time,'' would bo the answer ; " he will then be sure of his re- 
 ward." — It is easy to observe that the justice of such sentences 
 made them offensive ; but we must be careful how we condemn 
 a man for saying what we know to be true, only because it is so. 
 I hope that the reason our hearts rebelled a little against his 
 severity, was chiefly because it came from a living mouth. — Books 
 were invented to take off the odium of immediate superiority, 
 and soften the rigour of duties prescribed by the teachers and 
 censors of human kind — setting at least those who are acknow- 
 ledged wiser than ourselves at a distance. When we recollect 
 however, that for this very reason they are seldom consulted and 
 little obeyed, how much cause shall his contemporaries have to 
 rejoice that their living Johnson forced them to feel the reproofs 
 due to vice and folly — while Seneca and Tillotson were no longer 
 able to make impression — except on our shelves. Few things 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 39 
 
 indeed which pass well enough with others would do with him : 
 he had been a great reader of Mandeville, and was ever on the 
 watch to spy out those stains of original corruption, so easily 
 discovered by a penetrating observer even in the purest minds. 
 I mentioned an event, which if it had happened would greatly 
 have injured Mr. Thrale and his family — " and then, dear Sir," 
 said I, " how sorry you would have been ! " "I hope (replied 
 he after a long pause) — I should have been very sorry ; — but 
 remember Rochefoucault's maxim." ^ — " I would rather (answered 
 I) remember Prior's verses, and ask, 
 
 ' What need of books these truths to tell 
 Which folks perceive that cannot spell ? 
 And must we spectacles apply, 
 To see what hurts our naked eye ? ' 
 
 Will any body's mind bear this eternal microscope that you place 
 upon your own so ? " "I never (replied he) saw one that would, ex- 
 cept that of my dear Miss Reynolds — and her's is very near to 
 purity itself" — Of slighter evils, and friends less distant than our 
 own household, he spoke less cautiously. An acquaintance lost 
 the almost certain hope of a good estate that had been long ex- 
 pected. Such a one will grieve (said I) at her friend's disappoint- 
 ment. " She will suffer as much perhaps (said he) as your horse 
 did when your cow miscarried." — I professed myself sincerely 
 grieved when accumulated distresses crushed Sir George Cole- 
 brook's family ; and I was so. " Your own prosperity (said he) 
 may possibly have so far increased the natural tenderness of your 
 heart, that for aught I know you may be a little sorry ; but it is 
 sufficient for a plain man if he does not laugh when he sees a fine 
 new house tumble down all on a sudden, and a snug cottage stand 
 by ready to receive the owner, whose birth entitled him to nothing 
 better, and whose limbs are left him to go to work again with." 
 
 I used to tell him ui jest that his morality was easily contented ; 
 and when I have said something as if the wickedness of the world 
 gave me concern, he would cry out aloud against canting, and 
 protest that he thought there was very little gross wickedness in 
 the world, and still less of extraordinary virtue. Nothing indeed 
 
 ^ "Dans I'adversitie de nos meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours 
 quelque chose qui ne nous depiait pas." — Reflexions on Soitcnccs et 
 Maxinus Morales, 1st ed., 1665, No. 99. This maxim was one of the 
 fifteen suppressed by the author after the second edition. — Ed, 
 
40 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 more surely disgusted Dr. Johnsom than hyperbole ; he loved not 
 to be told of sallies of excellence, which he said were seldom 
 valuable, and seldom true. " Heroic virtues (said he) are the 
 hons mots of life ; they do not appear often, and when they do 
 appear are too much prized I think; like the aloe-tree, which 
 shoots and flowers once in a hundred years. But life is made up 
 of little things ; and that character is the best which does little 
 but repeated acts of beneficence ; as that conversation is the best 
 which consists in elegant and pleasing thoughts expressed in 
 natural and pleasing terms. With regard to my own notions of 
 moral virtue (continued he), I hope I have not lost my sensibility 
 of wrong ; but I hope likewise that I have lived long enough in 
 the world to prevent me from expecting to find any action of 
 which both the original motive and all the parts were good.'' 
 
 The piety of Dr. Johnson was exemplary and edifying: he 
 was punctiliously exact to perform every public duty enjoined by 
 the church, and his spirit of devotion had an energy that afiected 
 all who ever saw him pray in private. The coldest and most 
 languid hearer of the word must have felt themselves animated 
 by his manner of reading the holy scriptures ; and to pray by his 
 sickbed, required strength of body as well as of mind, so vehement 
 were his manners, and his tones of voice so pathetic. I have 
 many times made it my request to heaven that I might be spared 
 the sight of his death, and I was spared it ! 
 
 Mr. Johnson, though in general a gross feeder, kept fast in 
 Lent, particularly the holy week, with a rigour very dangerous to 
 his general health ; but though he had left off wine (for religio us 
 motives as I always believed, though he did not own it), yet he 
 did not hold the commutation of offences by voluntary penance, 
 or encourage others to practise severity upon themselves. He 
 even once said, " that he thought it an error to endeavour at 
 pleasing God by taking the rod of reproof out of his hands." 
 And when we talked of convents, and the hardships suffered in 
 them — " Remember always (said he) that a convent is an idle 
 place, and where there is nothing to be done something must be 
 endured: mustard has a bad taste per se you may observe, but 
 very insipid food cannot be eaten without it." 
 
 His respect however for places of religious retii-ement was 
 carried to the greatest degree of earthly veneration : the Bene- 
 dictine convent at Paris paid him all possible honours in return, 
 and the Prior and he parted with tears of tenderness. Two of 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 41 
 
 that college being sent to England on the mission some years 
 after, spent much of their time with him at Bolt Court I know, 
 and he was ever earnest to retain their friendship ; but though 
 beloved by all his Koman Catholic acquaintance, particularly Dr. 
 N'ugent, for whose esteem he had a singular value, yet was Mr. 
 Johnson a most unshaken church of England man ; and I think, 
 or at least I once did think, that a letter written by him to Mr. 
 Barnard the King's librarian, when he was in Italy collecting 
 books, contained some very particular advice to his friend to be 
 on his guard against the seductions of the church of Home. 
 
 The settled aversion Dr. Johnson felt towards an infidel he 
 expressed to all ranks, and at all times, without the smallest re- 
 serve ; for though on common occasions he paid great deference 
 to birth or title, yet his regard for truth and virtue never gave 
 way to meaner considerations. We talked of a dead wit one 
 evening, and somebody praised him — *' Let us never praise talents 
 so ill employed. Sir ; we foul our mouths by commending such in- 
 fidels (said he)." " Allow him the lumieres at least," intreated one 
 of the company — "I do allow him. Sir (replied Johnson), just 
 enough to light him to hell." — Of a Jamaica gentleman, then 
 lately dead — " He will not, whither he is now gone (said John- 
 son) , find much difference, I believe, either in the climate or the 
 company." — The Abbe Reynal probably remembers that, being 
 at the house of a common friend in London, the master of it ap- 
 proached Johnson with that gentleman so much celebrated in his 
 hand, and this speech in his mouth : " Will you permit me. Sir, 
 to present to you the Abbe Reynal ? " " iVo, iSiV," (replied 
 the Doctor very loud) and suddenly turned away from them 
 both. 
 
 Though Mr. Johnson had but little reverence either for talents 
 or fortune, when he found them unsupported by virtue ; yet it 
 was sufficient to tell him a man was very pious, or very charit- 
 able, and he would at least hegin with him on good terms, how 
 ever the conversation might end. He would, sometimes too, 
 good-naturedly enter into a long chat for the instruction or 
 entertainment of people he despised. I perfectly recollect his 
 condescending to delight my daughter's dancing-master with a 
 long argument about his art ; which the man protested, at the 
 close of the discourse, the Doctor knew more of than himself; 
 who remained astonished, enlightened, and amused by the talk of a 
 person little likely to make a good disquisition upon dancing. I 
 
42 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 have sometimes indeed been rather pleased than vexed when 
 Mr. Johnson has given a rough answer to a man who perhaps 
 deserved one only half as rough, because I knew he would 
 repent of his hasty reproof, and make us all amends by some con- 
 versation at once instructive and entertaining, as in the following 
 cases : A young fellow asked him abruptly one day, " Pray, Sir, 
 what and where is Palmira ? I heard somebody talk last night of 
 the ruins of Palmira." " 'Tis a hill in Ireland (replies Johnson), 
 with palms growing on the top, and a bog at the bpttom, and so 
 they call it Palm-mira.''' Seeing however that the lad thought 
 him serious, and thanked him for the information, he undeceived 
 him very gently indeed ; told him the history, geography, and 
 chronology of Tadmor in the wilderness, with every incident 
 that literature could furnish I think, or eloquence express, from 
 the building of Solomon's palace to the voyage of Dawkins and 
 Wood. 
 
 On another occasion, when he was musing over the fire in our 
 drawing-room at Streatham, a young gentleman called to him sud- 
 denly, and I suppose he thought disrespectfully, in these words : 
 " Mr. Johnson, Would you advise me to marry ? " "I would advise 
 no man to marry. Sir (returns for answer in a very angry tone 
 Dr. Johnson), who is not likely to propagate understanding ; " 
 and so left the room. Our companion looked confounded, and I 
 believe had scarce recovered the consciousness of his own exis- 
 tence, when Johnson came back, and drawing his chair among 
 us, with altered looks and a softened voice, joined in the general 
 chat, insensibly led the conversation to the subject of marriage, 
 where he laid himself out in a dissertation so useful, so elegant, 
 so founded on the true knowledge of human life, and so adorned 
 with beauty of sentiment, that no one ever recollected the 
 offence, except to rejoice in its consequences. He repented 
 just as certainly however, if he had been led to praise any person 
 or thing by accident more than he thought it deserved ; and was 
 on such occasions comically earnest to destroy the praise or plea- 
 sure he had unintentionally given. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds mentioned some picture as excellent. "It 
 has often grieved me, Sir (said Mr. Johnson), to see so much 
 mind as the science of painting re(juires, laid out upon such 
 perishable materials : why do not you oftener make use of copper ? 
 I could wish your superiority in the art you profess, to be pre- 
 served in stuff more durable than canvas." Sir Joshua urged 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 43 
 
 the difficulty of procuring a plate large enough for historical sub- 
 jects, and was going to raise further objections : " What foppish 
 obstacles are these ! (exclaims on a sudden Dr. Johnson :) Here 
 is Thrale has a thousand tun of copper ; you may paint it all 
 round if you will, I suppose; it will serve him to brew in after- 
 wards : Will it not, Sir ? " (to my husband who sat by.) Indeed 
 Dr. Johnson's utter scorn of painting was such, that I have 
 heard him say, that he should sit very quietly in a room hung round 
 with the works of the greatest masters, and never feel the 
 slightest disposition to turn them if their backs were outermost, 
 unless it might be for the sake of telling Sir Joshua that he kad 
 turned them. Such speeches may appear offensive to many, but 
 those who knew he was too blind to discern the perfections of an 
 art which applies itself immediately to our eye-sight, must ac- 
 knowledge he was not in the wrong. 
 
 He delighted no more in music than painting ; he was almost 
 as deaf as he was blind : travelling with Dr. Johnson was for 
 these reasons tiresome enough. Mr. Thrale loved prospects, and 
 was mortified that his friend could not enjoy the sight of those 
 different dispositions of wood and water, hill and valley, that 
 travelling through England and France affords a man. But when 
 he wished to point them out to his companion : " Never heed 
 such nonsense," would be the reply : " a blade of grass is always 
 a blade of grass, whether in one country or another : let us if we 
 do talk, talk about something ; men and women are my subjects 
 of enquiry ; let us see how these differ from those we have left 
 behind." 
 
 When we were at Rouen together, he took a great fancy to the 
 Abbe Roffette, with whom he conversed about the destruction of 
 the order of Jesuits, and condemned it loudly, as a blow to the 
 general power of the church, and likely to be followed with many 
 and dangerous innovations, which might at length become fatal 
 to religion itself, and shake even the foundation of Christianity. 
 The gentleman seemed to wonder and delight in his conversation: 
 the talk was all in Latin, which both spoke fluently, and Mr. 
 Johnson pronounced a long eulogium upon Milton with so much 
 ardour, eloquence, and ingenuity, that the Abbe rose from his 
 seat and embraced him. My husband seeing them apparently 
 so charmed with the company of each other, politely invited the 
 Abbe to England, intending to oblige his friend ; who, instead of 
 thanking, reprimanded him severely before the man, for such a 
 
44( ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 €udden burst of tenderness towards a person lie could know 
 nothing at all of; and thus put a sudden finish to all his own 
 and Mr. Thrale's entertainment, from the company of the Abbe 
 Roffette. 
 
 When at Versailles the people shewed us the theatre. As we 
 fitood on the stage looking at some machinery for playhouse pur- 
 poses : Now we are here what shall we act, Mr. Johnson, — The 
 Englishman at Paris ? "No, no (repHed he), we will try to act 
 Harry the Fifth." His dislike of the French was well known to 
 both nations, I believe ; but he applauded the number of their 
 books, and the graces of their style. " They have few senti- 
 ments (said he), but they express them neatly ; they have little 
 meat too, but they dress it well." Johnson's own notions about 
 eating however were nothing less than delicate : a leg of pork 
 boiled till it dropped from the bone, a veal pie with plums and 
 sugar, or the outside cut of a salt buttock of beef, were his 
 favourite dainties : with regard to drink, his liking was for the 
 strongest, as it was not the flavour, but the effect he sought for, 
 and professed to desire ; and when I first knew him, he used to 
 pour capillaire into his Port wine. For the last twelve years 
 however, he left off aU fermented liquors. To make himself 
 some amends indeed, he took his chocolate liberally, pouring in 
 large quantities of cream, or even melted butter ; and was so 
 fond of fruit, that though he usually eat seven or eight large 
 peaches of a morning before breakfast began, and treated them 
 with proportionate attention after dinner again, yet I have hciU'd 
 him protest that he never had quite as much as he wished of 
 wall-fruit, except once in his life, and that was when we were all 
 together at Ombersley, the seat of my Lord Sandys. I was 
 saying to a friend one day, that I did not like goose ; one smells 
 it so while it is roasting, said I : " But you, madam (replies the 
 Doctor), have been at all times a fortunate woman, having 
 always had your hunger so forestalled by indulgence, that you 
 never experienced the delight of smelling your dinner before- 
 hand." " Which pleasure," answered I pertly, " is to be enjoyed 
 in perfection by such as have the happiness to pass through Por- 
 ridge-Island ^ of a morning." " Come, come, (says he, gravely), 
 let's have no sneering at what is serious to so many : hundreds of 
 
 ^ Porridge-Island is a mean street in London, filled with cooks' shops 
 for the convenience of the poorer inhabitants ; the real name of it I know 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 45 
 
 your fellow-creatures, dear Lady, turn another way, that they 
 may not be tempted by the luxuries of Porridge-Island to wish 
 for gratifications they are not able to obtain : you are certainly 
 not better than all of them; give God thanks that you are 
 happier." 
 
 I received on another occasion as just a rebnke from Mr.. 
 Johnson for an offence of the same nature, and I hope I took 
 care never to provoke a third ; for after a very long summer 
 particularly hot and dry, I was wishing naturally but thought- 
 lessly for some rain to lay the dust as we drove along the Suriy 
 roads. " I cannot bear (replied he, with much asperity and an 
 altered look), when I know how many poor families will perish 
 next winter for the want of that bread which the present drought 
 will deny them, to hear ladies sighing for rain, only that their 
 complexions may not suffer from the heat, or their clothes be 
 incommoded by the dust; — for shame! leave off such foppish 
 lamentations, and study to relieve those whose distresses are 
 real." 
 
 With advising others to be charitable however. Dr. Johnson 
 did not content himself. He gave away all he had, and all he 
 ever had gotten, except the two thousand pounds he left behind ; 
 and the very small portion of his income which he spent on him- 
 self, with all our calculation, we never could make more thant 
 seventy, or at most fourscore pounds a year, and he pretended to 
 allow himself a hundred. He had numberless dependents out of 
 doors as well as in, " who," as he expressed it, " did not care to see 
 him latterly unless he brought 'em money." For those people 
 he used frequently to raise contributions on his richer friends ; 
 " and this (says he) is one of the thousand reasons which ought 
 to restrain a man from drony solitude and useless retirement. 
 Solitude (added he one day) is dangerous to reason, without 
 being favourable to virtue : pleasures of some sort are necessary 
 to the intellectual as to the corporeal health ; and those who 
 resist gaiety, will be likely for the most part to fall a sacrifice to 
 appetite ; for the solicitations of sense are always at hand, and a 
 dram to a vacant and solitary person is a speedy and seducing 
 
 t relief. Remember (continued he) that the solitary mortal is 
 not, but suspect that it is generally known by, to have been originally a 
 term of derision. 
 This was a paved alley near the church of St. Martin in the Fields.— 
 Editor. 
 
46 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 certainly luxurious, probably superstitious, and possibly mad: 
 the mind stagnates for want of employment, grows morbid, and 
 is extinguished like a candle in foul air." It was on this prin- 
 ciple that Johnson encouraged parents to carry their daughters 
 early and much into company ; for what harm can be done 
 before so many witnesses ? Solitude is the surest nurse of all 
 prurient passions, and a girl in the hurry of preparation, or 
 tumult of gaiety, has neither inclination nor leisure to let tender 
 expressions soften or sink into her heart. The ball, the show, 
 are not the dangerous places : no, 'tis the private friend, the kind 
 consoler, the companion of the easy vacant hour, whose com- 
 pliance with her opinions can flatter her vanity, and whose con- 
 versation can just sooth, without ever stretching her mind, that 
 is the lover to be feared : he who buzzes in her ear at court, or 
 ■at the opera, must be contented to buzz in vain." These notions 
 Dr. Johnson carried so very far that I have heard him say, " If you 
 would shut up any man with any woman, so as to make them 
 derive their whole pleasure from each other, they would inevit- 
 ably fall in love, as it is called, with each other ; but at six 
 months end if you would throw them both into public life where 
 they might change partners at pleasure, each would soon forget 
 that fondness which mutual dependance, and the paucity of gene- 
 ral amusement alone, had caused, and each would separately feel 
 delighted by their release." hi 
 
 In these opinions Rousseau apparently concurs with him IH 
 exactly ; and Mr. Whitehead's poem, called " Variety," is 
 written solely to elucidate this simple proposition. Prior like- 
 wise advises the husband to send his wife abroad, and let her 
 ■see the world as it really stands — 
 
 *' Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau." 
 
 Mr. Johnson was indeed unjustly supposed to be a lover of 
 singularity. Few people had a more settled reverence for the 
 world than he, or was less captivated by new modes of behaviour 
 introduced, or innovations on the long-received customs of com- 
 mon life. He hated the way of leaving a company without 
 taking notice to the lady of the house that he was going ; and 
 did not much like any of the contrivances by which ease has 
 been lately introduced into society instead of ceremony, which 
 had more of his approbation. Cards, dress, and dancing, how- 
 ever, all found their advocates in Dr. Johnson who iuculcated, 
 
 1 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 47 
 
 upon principle, the cultivation of those arts, which many a 
 moralist thinks himself bound to reject, and many a Christian 
 holds unfit to be practised. "No person (said he one day) 
 goes undressed till he thinks himself of consequence enough to 
 forbear carrying the badge of his rank upon his back.'' And 
 in answer to the arguments urged by Puritans, Quakers, &c. 
 against showy decorations of the human figure, I once heard him 
 exclaim, " Oh, let us not be found when our Master calls us, 
 ripping the lace off our waistcoats, but the spirit of contention 
 from our souls and tongues ! Let us aU conform in outward 
 customs, which are of no consequence, to the manners of those 
 whom we live among, and despise such paltry distinctions. Alas, 
 Sir (continued he), a man who cannot get to heaven in a green 
 coat, will not find his way thither the sooner in a grey one." 
 On an occasion of less consequence, when he turned his back on 
 Lord Bolingbroke in the rooms at Brighthelmstone, he made 
 this excuse : " I am not obliged, Sir (said he to Mr. Thrale, 
 who stood fretting), to find reasons for respecting the rank of 
 him who will not condescend to declare it by his dress or some 
 other visible mark : what are stars and other signs of superiority 
 made for ? " 
 
 The next evening however he made us comical amends, by 
 sitting by the same nobleman, and haranguing very loudly about 
 the nature and use and abuse of divorces. Many people 
 gathered around them to hear what was said, and when my 
 husband called him away, and told him to whom he had been 
 talking — received an answer which I will not write down. 
 
 Though no man perhaps made such rough replies as Dr. 
 Johnson, yet nobody had a more just aversion to general satire ; 
 he always hated and censured Swift for his unprovoked bitter- 
 ness against the professors of medicine ; and used to challenge 
 his friends, when they lamented the exorbitancy of physicians' 
 fees, to produce him one instance of an estate raised by physic 
 in England. When an acquaintance too was one day exclaiming 
 against the tediousness of the law and its partiality ; " Let ue 
 hear. Sir (said Johnson), no general abuse ; the law is the last 
 result of human wisdom acting upon human experience for the 
 benefit of the public." 
 
 As the mind of Dr. Johnson was greatly expanded, so his 
 first care was for general, not particular or petty morality ; and 
 those teachers had more of his blame than praise, I think, who 
 
 k 
 
48 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 seek to oppress life with unnecessary scruples : " Scruples would 
 (as he observed) certainly make men miserable, and seldom make 
 them good. Let us ever (he said) studiously fly from those 
 instructors against whom our Saviour denounces heavy judg- 
 ments, for having bound up burdens grievous to be borne, and 
 laid them on the shoulders of mortal men." No one had how- 
 ever higher notions of the hard task of true Christianity than 
 Johnson, whose daily terror lest he had not done enough, origi- 
 nated in piety, but ended in little less than disease. Reasonable 
 with regard to others, he had formed vain hopes of performing 
 impossibilities himself; and finding his good works ever below 
 his desires and intent, filled his imagination with fears that he 
 should never obtain forgiveness for omissions of duty and criminal 
 waste of time. These ideas kept him in constant anxiety con- 
 cerning his salvation ; and the vehement petitions he perpetually 
 made for a longer continuance on earth, were doubtless the cause 
 of his so prolonged existence ; for when I carried Dr. Pepys to 
 him in the year 1782, it appeared wholly impossible for any skill 
 of the physician or any strength of the patient to save him. He 
 was saved at that time however by Sir Lucas's prescriptions ; 
 and less skill on one side, or less strength on the other, I am 
 morally certain, would not have been enough. He had however 
 possessed an athletic constitution, as he said the man who dipped 
 people in the sea at Brighthelmstone acknowledged ; for seeing 
 Mr. Johnson swim in the year 1766, " Why Sir (says the dip- 
 per), you must have been a stout - hearted gentleman forty 
 years ago." 
 
 Mr. Thrale and he used to laugh about that story very often : 
 but Garrick told a better, for he said that in their young days, 
 when some strolling players came to Litchfield, our friend had 
 fixed his place upon the stage and got himself a chair accordingly ; 
 which leaving for a few minutes, he found a man in it at his 
 return, who refused to give it back at the first entreaty : Mr. 
 Johnson however, who did not think it worth his while to make a 
 second, took chair and man and all together, and threw them all at 
 once into the pit. I asked the Doctor if this was a fact ? " Garrick 
 has not spoiled it in the telling (said he), it is very near true to 
 be sure." 
 
 Mr. Beauclerc too related one day, how on some occasion he 
 ordered two large mastifi*s into his parlour, to shew a friend who 
 was conversant in canine beauty and excellence, how the dogs 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 49 
 
 quarrelled, and fastening on each other, alarmed all the company 
 except Johnson, who seizing one in one hand by the cufF of the 
 neck, the other in the other hand, said gravely, " Come, gentle- 
 men ! where's your difficulty ? put one dog out at the door, and 
 I will shew this fierce gentleman the way out of the window : " 
 which, lifting up the mastiff and the sash, he contrived to do very 
 expeditiously, and much to the satisfaction of the affrighted com- 
 pany. We inquired as to the truth of this curious recital. " The 
 dogs have bee"n somewhat magnified, I believe Sir (was the 
 reply) : they were, as I remember, two stout young pointers : 
 but the story has gained but little." 
 
 One reason why Mr. Johnson's memory was so particularly 
 exact, might be derived from his rigid attention to veracity ; 
 being always resolved to relate every fact as it stood, he looked 
 even on the smaller parts of life with minute attention, and 
 remembered such passages as escape cursory and common 
 observers. "A story (says he) is a specimen of human 
 manners, and derives its sole value from its truth. When Foote 
 has told me something, I dismiss it from my mind like a passing 
 shadow : when Reynolds tells me something, I consider myself 
 as possessed of an idea the more." 
 
 Mr. Johnson liked a frolic or a jest well enough ; though he 
 had strange serious rules about it too : and very angry was 
 he if any body offered to be merry when he was disposed to be 
 grave. " You have an ill-founded notion (said he) that it is 
 clever to turn matters off with a joke (as the phrase is) ; whereas 
 nothing produces enmity so certain, as one person's showing a 
 disposition to be merry when another is inclined to be either 
 serious or displeased." 
 
 One may gather from this how he felt, when his Irish friend 
 Grierson, hearing him enumerate the qualities necessary to the 
 formation of a poet, began a comical parody upon his ornamental 
 harangue in praise of a cook, concluding with this observation, 
 that he who dressed a good dinner was a more excellent and a 
 more useful member of society than he who wrote a good poem. 
 " And in this opinion (said Mr. Johnson in reply) all the dogs in 
 the town will join you." 
 
 Of this Mr. Grierson I have heard him relate many droll 
 stories, much to his advantage as a wit, together with some facts 
 more difficult to be accounted for ; as avarice never was reckoned 
 among the vices of the laughing world. But Johnson's various 
 
 VI. E 
 
60 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 life, and spirit of vigilance to learn and treasure up every 
 peculiaritj of manner, sentiment, or general conduct, made his 
 company, when he chose to relate anecdotes of people he had 
 formerly known, exquisitely amusing and comical. It is indeed 
 inconceivable what strange occurrences he had seen, and 
 what surprising things he could tell when in a communicative 
 humour. It is by no means my business to relate memoirs of his 
 acquaintance ; but it will serve to show the character of Johnson 
 himself, when I inform those who never knew him, that no man 
 told a story with so good a grace, or knew so well what would 
 make an effect upon his auditors. When he raised contributions 
 for some distressed author, or wit in want, he often made us all 
 more than amends by diverting descriptions of the lives they 
 were then passing in corners unseen by any body but himself; 
 and that odd old surgeon^ whom he kept in his house to tend the 
 out-pensioners, and of whom he said most truly and sublimely, that 
 
 *' In misery's darkest caverns known, 
 
 His useful care was ever nigh, 
 Where hopeless anguish pours her groan, 
 
 And lonely want retires to die." 
 
 I have forgotten the year, but it could scarcely I think be 
 later than 1765 or 1766, that he was called abruptly from our 
 house after dinner, and returning in about three hours, said, he 
 bad been with an enraged author, whose landlady pressed him for 
 payment within doors, while the bailiffs beset him without ; that 
 he was drinking himself drunk with Madeira to drown care, and 
 fretting over a novel which when finished was to be his whole 
 fortune ; but he could not get it done for distraction, nor could 
 he step out of doors to offer it to sale. Mr. Johnson therefore 
 set away the bottle, and went to the bookseller, recommending the 
 performance, and desiring some immediate relief; which when he 
 brought back to the writer, he called the woman of the house 
 directly to partake of punch, and pass their time in merriment.^ 
 
 It was not till ten years after, I dare say, that something in Dr. 
 Goldsmith's behaviour struck me with an idea that he was the 
 very man, and then Johnson confessed that he was so ; the novel 
 was the charming Vicar of Wakefield. , 
 
 ^ Dr. Levett,tor Johnson's fine verses on whom see Life (Jan. 17, 1782). 
 ^ For JohnsoJi's account of this occun*ence, see Life, vol. i., pp. 
 329-330. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 61 
 
 There was a Mr. Boyce too, who wrote some very elegant 
 vei ses prinred in the Magazines of five-and-twenty years ago, of 
 whose ingenuity and distress I have heard Dr. Johnson tell some 
 curious anecdotes ; particularly, that when he was almost perish- 
 ing with hunger, and some money was produced to purchase him 
 a dinner, he got a bit of roast beef, but could not eat it without 
 ketchup, and laid out the last half guinea he possessed in truffles 
 and mushrooms, eating them in bed too, for want of clothes, or 
 even a shirt to sit up in. 
 
 Another man for whom he often begged, made as wild use of 
 his friend's beneficence as these, spending in punch the solitary 
 guinea which had been brought him one morning ; when resolving 
 to add another claimant to a share of the bowl, besides a woman 
 who always lived with him, and a footman who used to carry out 
 petitions for charity, he borrowed a chairman's watch, and pawning 
 it for half a crown, paid a clergyman to marry him to a fellow- 
 lodger in the wretched house they all inhabited, and got so drunk 
 over the guinea bowl of punch the evening of his wedding-day, 
 that having many years lost the use of one leg, he now contrived 
 to fall from the top of the stairs to the bottom, and break his arm, 
 in which condition his companions left him to call Mr. Johnson, 
 who relating the series of his tragi-comical distresses, obtained 
 from the Literary Club a seasonable relief. 
 
 Of that respectable society^ I have heard him speak in the 
 highest terms, and with a magnificent panegyric on each member, 
 when it consisted only of a dozen or fourteen friends ; but as soon 
 as the necessity of enlarging it brought in new faces, and took off 
 from his confidence in the company, he grew less fond of the 
 meeting, and loudly proclaimed his carelessness who might be 
 admitted, when it was become a mere dinner club. I think the 
 original names, when I first heard him talk with fervour of every 
 member's peculiar powers of instructing or delighting mankind, 
 were Sir John Hawkins, Mr. Burke, Mr. Langton, Mr. Beauclerc, 
 Dr. Percy, Dr. Nugent, Dr. Goldsmith, Sir Robert Chambers, Mr. 
 Dyer, and Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom he called their Romulus, or 
 said somebody else of the company called him so, which was more 
 likely : but this was, I believe, in the year 1775 or 1776. It was 
 a supper meeting then, and I fancy Dr. Nugent ordered an 
 omelet sometimes on a Friday or Saturday night ; for I remember 
 
 ^ Life, vol. ii., p. 2, &c., and Appendix. 
 
62 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 Mr. Johnson felt very painful sensations at the sight of that dish 
 soon after his death, and cried, " Ah, my poor dear friend ! I 
 shall never eat omelet with thee again ! " quite in an agony. The 
 truth is, nobody suffered more from pungent sorrow at a friend's 
 death than Johnson, though he would suffer no one else to com- 
 plain of their losses in the same way ; "for (says he) we must 
 either outlive our friends you know, or our friends must outlive 
 us ; and I see no man that would hesitate about the choice." 
 
 Mr. Johnson loved late hours extremely, or more properly 
 hated early ones. Nothing was more terrifying to him than the 
 idea of retiring to bed, which he never would call going to rest, 
 or suffer another to call so. " I lie down (said he) that my 
 acquaintance may sleep ; but I lie down to endure oppressive 
 misery, and soon rise again to pass the night in anxiety and 
 pain." By this pathetic manner, which no one ever possessed 
 in so eminent a degree, he used to shock me from quitting his 
 company, till I hurt my own health not a little by sitting up 
 with him when I was myself far from well : nor was it an easy 
 matter to oblige him even by compliance, for he always main- 
 tained that no one forbore their own gratifications fbr the sake of 
 pleasing another, and if one did sit up it was probably to amuse 
 one's self. Some right however he certainly had to say so, as he 
 made his company exceedingly entertaining when he had once 
 forced one, by his vehement lamentations and piercing reproofs, 
 not to quit the room, but to sit quietly and make tea for him, as 
 I often did in London till four o'clock in the morning. At 
 Streatham indeed I managed better, having always some friend 
 who was kind enough to engage him in talk, and favour my retreat. 
 
 The first time I ever saw this extraordinary man ^ was in the 
 year 1764, when Mr. Murphy, who had been long the friend and 
 confidential intimate of Mr. Thrale, persuaded him to wish for 
 Johnson's conversation, extolling it in terms which that of no 
 other person could have deserved, till we were only in doubt 
 how to obtain his company, and find an excuse for the invitation. 
 The celebrity of Mr. Woodhouse, a shoemaker, whose verses 
 were at that time the subject of common discourse, soon afforded 
 a pretence, and Mr. Murphy brought Johnson to meet him, 
 giving me general cautions not to be surprised at his figure, dress, 
 or behaviour. What I recollect best of the day's talk, was his 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. ii., p. 16. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 63 
 
 earnestly recommending Addison's works to Mr. Woodhouse as a 
 model for imitation. " Give nights and days, Sir, (said he), to 
 the study of Addison, if you mean either to be a good writer, or 
 what is more worth, an honest man." When I saw something 
 like the same expression in his criticism on that author, lately 
 published, I put him in mind of his past injunctions to the young 
 poet, to which he replied, " that he wished the shoemaker might 
 have remembered them as well." Mr, Johnson liked his new 
 acquaintance so much however, that from that time he dined 
 with us every Thursday through the winter, and in the autumn 
 of the next year he followed us to Brighthelmstone, whence we 
 were gone before his arrival ; so he was disappointed and enraged, 
 and wrote us a letter expressive of anger, which we were very 
 desirous to pacify, and to obtain his company again, if possible. 
 JMr. Murphy brought him back to us again very kindly, and from 
 that time his visits grew more frequent, till in the year 1766 his 
 health, which he had always complained of, grew so exceedingly 
 bad, that he could not stir out of his room in the court he 
 inhabited for many weeks together, I think months. 
 
 Mr. Thrale's attentions and my own now became so acceptable 
 to him, that he often lamented to us the horrible condition of his 
 mind, which he said was nearly distracted ; and though he charged 
 us to make him odd solemn promises of secrecy on so strange a 
 subject, yet when we waited on him one morning, and heard 
 him, in the most pathetic terms, beg the prayers of Dr. Delap, 
 who had left him as we came in, T felt excessively affected with 
 grief, and well remember my husband involuntary lifted up one 
 hand to shut his mouth, from provocation at hearing a man so 
 wildly proclaim what he could at last persuade no one to believe ; 
 and what, if true, would have been so very unfit to reveal. 
 
 Mr. Thrale went away soon after, leaving me with him, and 
 bidding me prevail on him to quit his close habitation in the court 
 and come with us to Streatham, where I undertook the care of 
 his health, and had the honour and happiness of contributing to 
 its restoration. This task, though distressing enough sometimes, 
 would have been less so had not my mother and he dLsliked one 
 another extremely, and teized me often with perverse opposition, 
 petty contentions, and mutual complaints. Her superfluous at- 
 tention to such accounts of the foreign politics are as transmitted 
 to us by the daily prints, and her willingness to talk on subjects 
 he could not endure, began the aversion ; and when, by the 
 
54 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 peculiarity of his style, she found out that he teized her hj 
 writing in the newspapers concerning battles and plots which had 
 no existence, only to feed her with new accounts of the division 
 of Poland perhaps, or the disputes between the states of Russia 
 and Turkey, she was exceedingly angry to be sure, and scarcely 
 I think forgave the offence till the domestic distresses of the 
 year 1772 reconciled them to and taught them the true value of 
 each other ; excellent as they both were, far beyond the excel- 
 lence of any other man and woman I ever yet saw. As her con- 
 duct too extorted his truest esteem, her cruel illness excited all 
 his tenderness ; nor was the sight of beauty, scarce to be subdued 
 by disease, and wit, flashing through the apprehension of evil, a 
 scene which Dr. Johnson could see without sensibility. He 
 acknowledged himself improved by her piety, and astonished at 
 her fortitude, and hung over her bed with the affection of a 
 parent, and the reverence of a son. Nor did it give me less 
 pleasure to see her sweet mind cleared of all its latent prejudices, 
 and left at liberty to admire and applaud that force of thought 
 and versatility of genius, that comprehensive soul and beneyo- 
 lent heart which attracted and commanded veneration from all, 
 but inspired peculiar sensations of delight mixed with reverence 
 in those who, like her, had the opportunity to observe these 
 qualities, stimulated by gratitude, and actuated by friendship. 
 When Mr. Thrale's perplexities disturbed his peace, dear Dr. 
 Johnson left him scarce a moment, and tried every artifice to 
 amuse as well as every argument to console him : nor is it more 
 possible to describe than to forget his prudent, his pious atten- 
 tions towards the man who had some years before certainly saved 
 his valuable life, perhaps his reason, by half obliging him to 
 change the foul air of Fleet-street for the wholesome breezes of 
 the Sussex Downs. 
 
 The epitaph engraved on my mother's monument shews how 
 deserving she was of general applause, I asked Johnson why he 
 named her person before her mind : he said it was, " because 
 every body could judge of the one, and but few of the other." 
 
 " Juxta septdta est Hestera Maria 
 
 Thom(B Cotton de Combermere baronet t.i C(striensisjilia, 
 
 Johannis Salusbury armigeri Flintiensis iixor 
 
 Forma fdix, felix ingenio ; 
 
 Omnilms jitciinda , siuyrum a?na7itisshna. 
 
 Linguis artilmsque ita exculta 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 56 
 
 Ut loquenti nunquam deessent 
 Sermonis nitor, sententiarum flosculi, 
 : Scvpientics gravitas, Icporum gratia : 
 
 ' Modum sermndi adeo perita^ 
 
 \ Ut domcstica inter negotia Uteris oblectaretur. 
 
 \, Literarum inter dclicias, rem familiarem sedulo curarety 
 
 j;: Multis illi midtos annos precantibus 
 
 'i diri carcinomatis veneno contabuit, 
 
 t nexibusque vit(s paulatim resohUis, 
 
 1 e tirris — meliora sperans— eniigravit. 
 
 k Nata 1707. Nupta 1739. Obiit 1773." 
 
 Mr. Murphy, who admired her talents and delighted in her 
 company, did me the favour to paraphrase this elegant inscription 
 in verses which I fancy have never yet been published. His fame 
 has long been out of my power to increase as a poet ; as a man 
 of sensibility perhaps these lines may set him higher than he 
 now stands. I remember with gratitude the friendly tears which 
 prevented him from speaking as he put them into my hand. 
 
 " Near this place 
 Are deposited the remains of 
 Hkster Maria, 
 The daughter of Sir Thomas Cotton of Combermere, in the county of 
 Chesliire, Bart, the wife of 
 John Salusbury, 
 of the county of Flint, Esquire. Slie was 
 born in the year 1707, married in 1739, and died in 1773. 
 A pleasing form, where every grace combin'd, 
 With genius blest, a pure enlighten'd mind ; 
 Benevolence on all that smiles bestow'd, 
 A heart that for her friends with love o'erflow'd : 
 In language skilFd, by science form'd to please, 
 Her mirth 'was wit, her gravity was ease. 
 Graceful in all, the happy mien she knew, 
 Which even to virtue gives the limits due ; 
 What e'er employ 'd her, that she seem'd to chuse, 
 Her house, her friends, her business, or the muse. 
 Admir'd and loved, the theme of general praise, 
 All to such virtue wish'd a length of days : 
 But sad reverse ! with slow consuming pains, 
 Th' envenom'd cancer revell'd in her veins ; 
 Prey'd on her spirits — stole each power away ; 
 Gradual she sunk, yet smiling in decay ; 
 She smil'd in hope, by sore afflictions try'd, 
 And in that hope the pious Christian died." 
 
 The following epitaph on Mr. Thrale, who has now a monu- 
 lent close by her's in Streatham church, I have seen printed and 
 
56 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 commended in Maty's Review for April 1784 ; and a friend has 
 favoured me with the translation. 
 
 Hie conditur quod reliquum est 
 
 Henrici Thrale, 
 
 Qui res seu civiles, seu domesticas, ita egit 
 
 Ut vitam illi longiorem multi opiarent ; 
 
 Ita scleras, 
 
 Ut qiiam brevem esset habiturus prcescire videretur ; 
 
 Simplex, apertus, sibique semper similis, 
 
 Nihil ostentavit aut artefictum aut cur a 
 
 Elaboratum. 
 
 In senatiiy regi patriaeque 
 
 Fideliter studuit ; 
 
 .■w' Vtilgi obstrepeniis contemptor animostis, 
 
 ^' J)omi inter mille mercatures negotia 
 
 Literarum elegantiam minime neglexit. 
 
 Amicis quocunque modo laborantibus, 
 
 Conciliis, auctoritate, muneribus adfuit. 
 
 Inter familiar es, comites, convivas, hospites. 
 
 Tarn facili fuit moruvi suavitate 
 
 Ut omnium animos ad se allictret ; 
 
 Tamfelici sermonis libertate 
 
 Ut mdli adidatus, omnibus placeret. 
 
 Natus 1724. Ob. 1781. 
 
 Consortes tumuli habet Eodolphum patrem, strenwim. 
 
 fortemque virum, et Henricum Jilium unicum, 
 
 quem spei parentum mors inopina decennem 
 
 prcsripuit. 
 
 Ita 
 
 Domusfelix et opulenta, quam erexit 
 
 Avics, auxitqtie pater, cum nepote decidit. 
 
 Abi viator ! 
 Et vicibus r(rum humananim perspectis, 
 Mtemitatem cogita I " 
 
 '' Here are deposited the remains of 
 
 Henry Thrale, 
 
 Who managed all his concerns in the present 
 
 world, public and private, in such a manner 
 
 as to leave many wishing he had continued 
 
 longer in it ; 
 
 And all that related to a future world, 
 
 as if he had been sensible how short a time he 
 
 was to continue in this. 
 
 Simple, open, and uniform in his manners, 
 
 his conduct was without either art or affectation 
 
 In the senate steadily attentive to the true interests 
 
 of his king and country, 
 
 He looked down with contempt on the clamours 
 
 of the multitude : 
 
# 
 
 BY MBS. PIOZZI. 57 
 
 Though engaged in a very extensive business, 
 
 He found some time to apply to polite literature : 
 
 And was ever ready to assist his friends 
 
 labKiuring under any difficulties, 
 
 with his advice, his influence, and his purse. 
 
 To his friends, acquaintance, and guests, 
 
 he behaved with such sweetness of manners 
 
 as to attach them all to his person : 
 
 So happy in his conversation with them, 
 
 as to please all, though he flattered none. 
 
 He was born in the year 1724, and died in 1781. 
 
 In the same tomb lie interred his father, 
 
 Ralph Thrale, a man of vigour and activity, 
 
 And his only son Henry, who died before his father, ^ 
 
 Aged ten years. 
 
 Thus a happy and opulent family, 
 
 Raised by the grandfather, and augmented by the 
 
 father, became extinguished with the grandson. 
 
 Go, Reader ! 
 
 And reflecting on the vicissitudes of 
 
 all human aflkirs. 
 
 Meditate on eternity ! 
 
 I never recollect to have heard that Dr. Johnson wrote in- 
 scriptions for any sepulchral stones, except Dr. Goldsmith's in 
 AVestminster abbey, and these two in Streatham church. He 
 made four lines once on the death of poor Hogarth, which were 
 equally true and pleasing : I know not why Garrick's were pre- 
 ferred to them. 
 
 " The hand of him here torpid lies. 
 That drew th' essential form of grace ; 
 Here clos'd in death th' attentive eyes, 
 That saw the manners in the face." 
 
 Mr. Hogarth, among the variety of kindnesses shewn to me 
 when 1 was too young to have a proper sense of them, was used 
 to be very earnest that I should obtain the acquaintance, and if 
 possible the friendship of Dr. Johnson, whose conversation was 
 to the talk of other men, like Titian's painting compared to 
 Hudson's, he said : " but don't you tell people now, that I say so 
 (continued he), for the connoisseurs and I are at war, you know ; 
 and because I hate them, they think I hate Titian — and let them ! " 
 Many were indeed the lectures I used to have in my very early 
 days from dear Mr. Hogarth, whose regard for my father induced 
 him perhaps to take notice of his little girl, and give her some 
 odd particular directions about dress, dancing, and many other 
 
58 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 matters, interesting now only because they were his. As he 
 made all his talents, however, subservient to the great purposes 
 of morality, and the earnest desire he had to mend mankind, his 
 discourse generally ended in an ethical dissertation, and a serious 
 charge to me, never to forget his picture of the Ladys last Stake. 
 Of Dr. Johnson, when my father and he were talking together 
 about him one day : " That man (says Hogarth; is not contented 
 with believing the Bible, but he fairly resolves, I think, to believe 
 nothing hut the Bible. Johnson (added he), though so wise a 
 fellow, is more like king David than king Solomon ; for he says 
 in his haste that all men are liars." This charge, as I afterwards 
 came to know, was but too well founded : Mr. Johnson's incre- 
 dulity amounted almost to disease, and I have seen it mortify his 
 companions exceedingly. But the truth is, Mr. Thrale had a 
 very powerful influence over the Doctor, and could make him 
 suppress many rough answers : he could likewise prevail on him 
 to change his shirt, his coat, or his plate, almost before it came 
 indispensably necessary to the comfortable feelings of his friends : 
 But as I never had any ascendancy at all over Mr. Johnson, 
 except just in the things that concerned his health, it grew 
 extremely perplexing and difficult to live in the house with him 
 when the master of it was no more ; the worse indeed, because 
 his dislikes grew capricious ; and he could scarce bear to have 
 any body come to the house whom it was absolutely necessary for 
 me to see. Two gentlemen, I perfectly well remember, dining 
 with us at Streatham in the summer 1782, when Elliotts brave 
 defence of Gibraltar was a subject of common discourse, one of 
 these men naturally enough begun some talk about red-hot balls 
 thrown with surprising dexterity and effect: which Dr. Johnson 
 having listened some time to, " I would advise you. Sir (said he 
 with a cold sneer), never to relate this story again : you really 
 can scarce imagine how very poor a figure you make in tlie telling 
 of it." Our guest being bred a Quaker, and I believe a man of 
 an extremely gentle disposition, needed no more reproofs for the 
 same folly ; so if he ever did speak again, it was in a low voice to 
 the friend who came with him. The check was given before 
 dinner, and after coffee I left the room. When in the evening, 
 however, our companions were returned to London, and Mr. 
 Johnson and myself were left alone, with only our usual family 
 about us, " I did not quarrel with those Quaker fellows," (said he, 
 very seriously.) " You did perfectly right," replied I ; " for they 
 
 I 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZJ 59 
 
 gave you no cause of offence." " No offence ! (returned he with 
 an altered voice ;) and is it nothing then to sit whispering together 
 when / am present, without ever directing their discourse towards 
 me, or offering me a share in the conversation ? " " That was, 
 because you frighted him who spoke first about those hot balls." 
 " Why, Madam, if a creature is neither capable of giving dignity 
 to falsehood, nor willing to remain contented with the truth, he 
 deserves no better treatment." 
 
 Mr. Johnson's fixed incredulity of every thing he heard, and 
 his little care to conceal that incredulity, was teizing enough to 
 be sure : and I saw Mr. Sharp was pained exceedingly, when 
 relating the history of a hurricane that happened about that time 
 in the West Indies, where, for aught I know, he had himself lost 
 some friends too, he observed Dr. Johnson believed not a syllable 
 of the account : " For 'tis so easy (says he) for a man to fill his 
 mouth with a wonder, and run about telling the lie before it can 
 be detected, that I have no heart to believe hurricanes easily 
 raised by the first inventor, and blown forwards by thousands 
 more." I asked him once if he believed the story of the destruc- 
 tion of Lisbon by an earthquake when it first happened : " Oh ! 
 not for six months (said he) at least : I did think that story too 
 dreadful to be credited, and can hardly yet persuade myself that 
 it was true to the full extent we all of us have heard " 
 
 Among the numberless people, however, whom I heard him 
 grossly and flatly contradict, I never yet saw any one who did 
 not take it patiently excepting Dr. Burney, from whose habitual 
 softness of manners I little expected such an exertion of spirit : 
 the event was as little to be expected. Mr. Johnson asked his 
 pardon generously and genteelly, and when he left the room rose 
 up to shake hands with him, that they might part in peace. On 
 another occasion, when he had violently provoked Mr. Pepys, in 
 a different but perhaps not a less offensive manner, till something 
 much too like a quarrel was grown up between them, the moment 
 he was gone, "Now (says Dr. Johnson) is Pepys gone home 
 hating me, who love him better than I did before : he spoke in 
 defence of his dead friend ; but though I hope / spoke better 
 who spoke against him, yet all my eloquence will gain me 
 nothing but an honest man for my enemy ! " He did not how- 
 ever cordially love Mr. Pepys, though he respected his abilities. 
 " I knew the dog was a scholar (said he, when they had been 
 disputing about the classics for three hours together one morn- 
 
60 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 ing at Streatham) ; but that he had so much taste and so much 
 knowledge I did not believe: I might have taken Barnard's 
 word though, for Barnard would not lie." 
 
 We had got a little French print among us at Brighthelm- 
 stone, in November 1782, of some people skaiting, with these 
 lines written under 
 
 " Stir un mmce chrystal Vhyver cotiduit leurs pas, 
 
 Le precipice est sous la glace ; 
 Telle est de nos plaisirs la legere surface, 
 
 Glissez Tnortels ; n^appuyez pas." 
 
 And I begged translations from every body : Dr. Johnson gave 
 me this ; 
 
 '' O'er ice the rapid skaiter flies, 
 
 With sport above and death below ; 
 Where mischief lurks in gay disguise. 
 
 Thus lightly touch and quickly go. 
 
 He was however most exceedingly enraged when he Knew 
 that in the course of the season I had asked half a dozen 
 acquaintance to do the same thing ; and said, it was a piece of 
 treachery, and done to make every body else look little when 
 compared to my favourite friends the Pepyses, whose transla- 
 tions were unquestionably the best. I will insert them, because 
 he did say so. This is the distich given me by Sir Lucas, to 
 whom I owe more solid obligations, no less than the power of 
 thanking him for the life he saved, and whose least valuable 
 praise is the correctness of his taste : 
 
 " O'er the ice as o'er pleasure you lightly should glide. 
 Both have gulphs which their flattering surfaces hide." 
 
 This other more serious one was written by his brother : 
 
 " Swift o'er the level how the skaiters slide. 
 And skim the glitt'ring surface as they go : 
 
 Thus o'er life's specious pleasures lightly glide, 
 But pause not, press not on the gulph below." 
 
 Dr. Johnson seeing this last, and thinking a moment, repeated, 
 
 " O'er cnickling ice, o'er gulphs profound, 
 
 With nimble glide the skaiters play ; 
 O'er treacherous pleasure's flow'ry ground 
 
 Thus lightly skim, and haste away." 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 61 
 
 Though thus uncommonly ready both to give and take offence, 
 Mr. Johnson had many rigid maxims concerning the necessity of 
 continued softness and compliance of disposition : and when I 
 once mentioned Shenstone's idea, that some little quarrel among 
 lovers, relations, and friends was useful, and contributed to their 
 general happiness upon the whole, by making tKe soul feel her 
 elastic force, and return to the beloved object with renewed de- 
 light : — "Why, what a pernicious maxim is this now (cries 
 Johnson), all quarrels ought to be avoided studiously, particu- 
 larly conjugal ones, as no one can possibly tell where they may 
 end ; besides that lasting dislike is often the consequence of occa- 
 sional disgust, and that the cup of life is surely bitter enough, 
 without squeezing in the hateful rind of resentment." It was 
 upon something like the same principle, and from his general 
 hatred of refinement, that when I told him how Dr. Collier, in 
 order to keep the servants in humour with his favourite dog, by 
 seeming rough with the animal himself on many occasions, and 
 crying out, "Why will nobody knock this cur s brains out ? " meant 
 to conciliate their tenderness towards Pompey ; he returned me 
 for answer, " that the maxim was evidently false, and founded on 
 ignorance of human life : that the servants would kick the dog 
 the sooner for having obtained such a sanction to their severity : 
 and I once (added he) chid my wife for beating the cat before 
 the maid, who will now (said I) treat puss with cruelty perhaps, 
 and plead her mistress's example." 
 
 I asked him upon this, if he ever disputed with his wife ? (I 
 had heard thai, he loved her passionately.)^ "Perpetually (said 
 he) : my wife had a particular reverence for cleanliness, and de- 
 sired 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 sweep- 
 ing their husbands out of the house as dirt and useless lumber ; 
 a clean floor is so comfortable, she would say sometimes, by way 
 of twitting ; till at last I told her, that I thought we had had talk 
 enough about the floor, we would now have a touch at the 
 ceiling y 
 
 On another occasion I have heard him blame her for a fault 
 many people have, of setting the miseries of their neighbours 
 half unintentionally half wantonly before their eyes, shewing 
 
 ' Life, vol. i., pp. 61, 183. 
 
62 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 them the bad side of their profession, situation, &c. He said, 
 " she would lament the dependence of pupillage to a young heir. 
 &c., and once told a waterman who rowed her along the Thames 
 in a wherry, that he was no happier than a galley-slave, one being 
 chained to the oar by authority, the other by want. I had how- 
 ever (said he, laughing), the wit to get her daughter on my side 
 always before we began the dispute. She read comedy better 
 than any body he ever heard (he said) ; in tragedy she mouthed 
 too much." 
 
 Garrick told Mr. Thrale however, she was a little painted 
 puppet, of no value at all, and quite disguised with affectation, 
 full of odd airs of rural elegance ; and he made out some comical 
 scenes, by mimicking her in a dialogue he pretended to have 
 overheard : I do not know whether he meant such stuff to be 
 believed or no, it was so comical ; nor did I indeed ever see him 
 represent her ridiculously, though my husband did. The intel- 
 ligence I gained of her from old Levett, was only perpetual ill- 
 ness and perpetual opium. The picture I found of her at Litch- 
 field was very pretty, and her daughter Mrs. Lucy Porter said it 
 was like. Mr. Johnson has told me, that her hair was eminently 
 beautiful, quite blonde like that of a baby ; but that she fretted 
 about the colour, and was always desirous to dye it black, which 
 he very judiciously hindered her from doing. His account of 
 their wedding we used to think ludicrous enough : — " I was 
 riding to church (says Johnson), and she following on another 
 single horse; she hung back, however, and I turned about to 
 see whether she could get her steed along, or what was the 
 matter. I had however soon occasion to see it was only 
 coquetry, and that I despised, so quickening my pace a little 
 
 fihe mended hers ; but I believe there was a tear or two 
 
 pretty dear creature ! " 
 
 Johnson loved his dinner exceedingly, and has often said in 
 my hearing, perhaps for my edification, " that wherever the 
 dinner is ill got there is poverty, or there is avarice, or there is 
 stupidity ; in short, the family is somehow grossly wrong ; for 
 (continued he) a man seldom thinks with more earnestness of 
 any thing than he does of his dinner ; and if he cannot get that 
 well dressed, he should be suspected of inaccuracy in other 
 things." One day when he was speaking upon the subject, I 
 asked him, if he ever huffed his wife about his dinner ? "So 
 often (replied he), that at last she called to me, and said, ' Nay, 
 
 I 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. Od 
 
 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.' " 
 
 When any disputes arose between our married acquaintance 
 however, Mr. Johnson always sided with the husband, " whom 
 (he said) the woman had probably provoked so often, she scarce 
 knew when or how she had disobliged him first. Women (says 
 Dr. Johnson) give great offence by a contemptuous spirit of 
 non-com])liance on petty occasions. The man calls his wife to 
 walk with him in the shade, and she feels a strange desire just 
 at that moment to sit in the sun ; he offers to read her a play, or 
 sing her a song, and she calls the children in to disturb them, or 
 advises him to seize that opportunity of settling the family 
 accounts. Twenty such tricks will the faithfuUest wife in the 
 world not refuse to play, and then look astonished when the 
 fellow fetches in a mistress. Boarding-schools were established 
 (continued he) for the conjugal quiet of the parents : the two 
 partners cannot agree which child to fondle, nor how to fondle 
 them, so they put the young ones to school, and remove the 
 cause of contention. The little girl pokes her head, the mother 
 reproves her sharply : ' Do not mind your mamma,' says the 
 father, ' my dear, but do your own way.' The mother complains 
 to me of this : 'Madam (said I), your husband is right all the 
 while ; he is with you but two hours of the day perhaps, and 
 then you teize him by making the child cry. Are not ten 
 hours enough for tuition? And are the hours of pleasure so 
 frequent in life, that when a man gets a couple of quiet ones to 
 spend in familiar chat with his wife, they must be poisoned by 
 petty mortifications ? Put missey to school ; she will learn to 
 hold her head like her neighbours, and you will no longer tor- 
 ment your family for want of other talk.' " 
 
 The vacuity of life had at some early period of his life struck 
 so forcibly on the mind of Mr. Johnson that it became by re- 
 peated impression his favourite hypothesis, and the general tenor 
 of his reasonings commonly ended there, wherever they might 
 begin. Such things therefore as other philosophers often attri- 
 bute to various and contradictory causes, appeared to him uni- 
 form enough ; all was done to fill up the time, upon his prin- 
 ciple. I used to tell him, that it was like the Clown's answer in 
 As you like it,^ of "Oh Lord, Sir!" for that it suited every 
 
 ^ An error of memory for All's well that ends well.— £^, 
 
64 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 occasion. One man, for example, was profligate and wild, as we 
 call it, followed the girls, or sat still at the gaming-table. 
 " Why, life must be filled up (says Johnson), and the man who' 
 is not capable of intellectual pleasures must content himself with 
 such as his senses can afford." Another was a hoarder : " Why^ 
 a fellow must do something, and what so easy to a narrow mind 
 as hoarding halfpence till they turn into sixpences." — Avarice 
 was a vice against which, however, I never much heard Mr. 
 Johnson declaim, till one represented it to him connected with 
 cruelty or some such disgraceful companion. " Do not (said he) 
 discourage your children from hoarding, if they have a taste to it : 
 whoever lays up his penny rather than part with it for a cake, at 
 least is not the slave of gross appetite ; and shews besides a pre- 
 ference, always to be esteemed, of the future to the present 
 moment. Such a mind may be made a good one ; but th« 
 natural spendthrift, who grasps his pleasures greedily and 
 coarsely, and cares for nothing but immediate indulgence, is very 
 little to be valued above a negro." We talked of Lady Tavis- 
 tock, who grieved herself to death for the loss of her husband — 
 " She was rich and wanted employment (says Johnson), so she 
 cried till she lost all power of restraining her tears : other women 
 are forced to outlive their husbands, who were just as much 
 beloved, depend on it ; but they have no time for grief : and I 
 doubt not, if we had put my Lady Tavistock into a small 
 chandler's shop, and given her a nurse-child to tend, her life 
 would have been saved. The poor and the busy have no leisure 
 for sentimental sorrow." We were speaking of a gentleman who 
 loved his friend — " Make him prime minister (says Johnson) and 
 see how long his friend will be remembered." But he had a 
 rougher answer for me, when I commended a sermon preached 
 by an intimate acquaintance of our own at the trading end of 
 the town. '* What was the subject, Madam (says Dr. John- 
 son) ? " " Friendship, Sir " (replied I). " Why now, is it not 
 strange that a wise man, like our dear little Evans, should take 
 it into his head to preach on such a subject, in a place where no 
 one can be thinking of it?" "Why, what are they thinking 
 upon. Sir ? " (said I). " Why, the men are thinking on their 
 money, I suppose, and the women are thinking of their mops." 
 
 Dr. Johnson's knowledge and esteem of what we call low or 
 coarse life was indeed prodigious ; and he did not like that the 
 upper ranks should be dignified with the name of the world. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 65 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds said one day, that nobody ivore laced coats 
 now ; and that once every body wore them. " See now (says 
 Johnson) how absurd that is ; as if the bulk of mankind consisted^ 
 of fine gentlemen that came to him to sit for their pictures. If 
 every man who wears a laced coat (that he can pay for) was 
 extirpated, who would miss them ? " With all this haughty con- 
 tempt of gentility, no praise was more welcome to Dr. Johnson 
 than that which said he had the notions or manners of a gentle- 
 man : which character I have heard him define with accuracy, 
 and describe with elegance. " Officers (he said) were falsely 
 supposed to have the carriage of gentlemen ; whereas no pro- 
 fession left a stronger brand behind it than that of a soldier ; 
 and it was the essence of a gentleman's character to bear the 
 visible mark of no profession whatever." He once named Mr. 
 Berenger as the standard of true elegance ; but some one object- 
 ing that he too much resembled the gentleman in Congreve's 
 comedies, Mr. Johnson said, " We must fix then upon the famous 
 Thomas Hervey, whose manners were polished even to acute- 
 ness and brilliancy, though he lost but little in solid power of 
 reasoning, and in genuine force of mind." Mr. Johnson had 
 however an avowed and scarcely limited partiality for all who 
 bore the name or boasted the alliance of an Aston or a Hervey ; 
 and when Mr Thrale once asked him which had been the hap- 
 piest period of his past life ? he replied, " it was that year in 
 
 which he spent one whole evening with M y As n. 
 
 That indeed (said he) was not happiness, it was rapture ; but the 
 thoughts of it sweetened the whole year." I must add, that the 
 evening alluded to was not passed tete-a-tete^ but in a select com- 
 pany, of which the present Lord Killmorey was one. " Molly 
 (says Dr. Johnson) was a beauty and a scholar, and a wit and 
 a whig ; and she talked all in praise of liberty : and so I made 
 this epigram upon her — She was the loveliest creature I ever 
 saw ! ! ! 
 
 " Liber ut esse velim, suasisfi pulchra Maria, 
 Ut maneam liber — j/ulchra Maria, vale ! " 
 
 " Will it do this way in English, Sir (said I) ? 
 
 " Persuasions to freedom fall oddly from you ; 
 If freedom we seek — fair Maria, adieu ! " 
 
 "It will do well enough (replied he); but it is translated by a 
 
 VI. p 
 
66 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 lady, and the ladies never loved M y As n." I asked 
 
 him what his wife thought of this attachment ? " She was 
 jealous to he sure (said he), and teized me sometimes wlien I 
 would let her ; and one day, as a fortune -telling gipsey passed 
 lis when we were walking out in company with two or three 
 friends in the country, she made the wench look at my hand, 
 but soon repented her curiosity ; for (says the gipsey) Your 
 heart is divided. Sir, between a Betty and a Molly : Betty loves 
 you best, but you take most delight in Molly's company: when 
 I turned about to laugh, I saw my wife Avas crying. Pretty 
 charmer ! she had no reason! " 
 
 It was, I believe, long after the currents of life had driven 
 him to a great distance from this lady, that he spent much of his 
 time M'ith Mrs. F — zh — b — t, of whom he always spoke with 
 esteem and tenderness, and with a veneration very difficult to 
 deserve. " That woman (said he) loved her husband as we hope 
 and desire to be loved by our guardian angel. F — tz — h — b — t 
 was a gay good-humoured fellow, generous of his money and of 
 his meat, and desirous of nothing but cheerful society among 
 people distinguished in some way, in any way I think ; for 
 Rousseau and St. Austin would have been equally welcome to 
 his table and to his kindness : the lady however was of another 
 way of thinking ; her first care was to preserve her husband's 
 soul from corruption ; her second, to keep his estate entire for 
 their children : and I owed my good reception in the family to 
 the idea she had entertained, that I was fit company for F — tz- 
 h — b — t, whom I loved extremely. ' They dare not (said she) 
 swear, and take other conversation-liberties before you.^ " I 
 asked if her husband returned her regard ? " He felt her in- 
 fluence too powerfully (replied Mr. Johnson) : no man will be 
 fond of what forces him daily to feel himself inferior. She stood 
 at the door of her Paradise in Derbyshire, like the angel with the 
 flaming sword, to keep the devil at a distance. But she was not 
 immortal, poor dear ! she died, and her husband felt at once 
 afflicted and released." 1 enquired if she was handsome ? " She 
 would have been handsome for a queen (replied the panegyrist) ; 
 her beauty had more in it of majesty than of attraction, more of 
 the dignity of virtue than the vivacity of wit." The friend of 
 this lady, Miss B — thby, succeeded her in the management of 
 Mr. F — tzh — b — t's family, and in the esteem of Dr. Johnson ; 
 though he told me she pushed her piety to bigotry, her devotion 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 67 
 
 to enthusiasm ; that she somewhat disqualified herself for the 
 duties of this life, by her perpetual aspirations after the next: 
 such was however the purity of her mind, he said, and such the 
 graces of her manner, that Lord Lyttelton and he used to strive 
 for her preference with an emulation that occasioned hourly dis- 
 gust, and ended in lasting animosity. " You may see (said he 
 to me, when the Poets' Lives were printed) that dear B — thby is 
 at my heart still. She would delight in that fellow Lyttelton's 
 company though, all that I could do ; and I cannot forgive even 
 his memory the preference given by a mind like her's." I have 
 heard Baretti say, that when this lady died. Dr. Johnson was al- 
 most distracted with his grief; and that the friends about him 
 had much ado to calm the violence of his emotion. Dr. Taylor 
 too related once to Mr. Thrale and me, that when he lost his 
 wife, the negro Francis ran away, though in the middle of the 
 night, to Westminster, to fetch Dr. Taylor to his master, who 
 was all but wild with excess of sorrow, and scarce knew him 
 when he arrived : after some minutes however, the Doctor pro- 
 posed their going to prayers, as the only rational method of calm- 
 ing the disorder this misfortune had occasioned in both their 
 spirits. Time, and resignation to the will of God, cured every 
 breach in his heart before I made acquaintance with him, though 
 he always persisted in saying he never rightly recovered the loss 
 of his wife. It is in allusion to her that he records the observa- 
 tion of a female critic, as he calls her, in Gay's Life ; and the 
 lady of great beauty and elegance, mentioned in the criticisms 
 upon Pope's epitaphs, was Miss Molly Aston. The person 
 spoken of in his strictures upon Young's poetry, is the writer of 
 these Anecdotes, to whom he likewise addressed the following 
 verses when he was in the Isle of Sky with Mr. Boswell. The 
 letters written in his journey, I used to tell him, were better 
 than the printed book ; and he was not displeased at my having 
 taken the pains to copy them all over. Here is the Latin ode : 
 
 Pcrmeo terras, ubi nuda rupes 
 Sccxeas miscet nebulis ruinas, 
 Torva ubi rident sierUes colo7ii 
 
 Bura labores. 
 
 *' Pervagor gentes, hominiim ftroricm 
 Vita iibi nullo dccorata cultu, 
 Squallet informis, tugurique ftimis 
 
 Foeda latesoit. 
 
bo ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 " Inter erroris salebrosa longi. 
 Inter ignotcB strepitus loquclcB, 
 Quot modis mecum, quid agat requiro 
 
 Thralea dulcis ? 
 
 *' Seu viri euros pia nupta mulcet, 
 
 Seufovet viater soholem henigna, '. 
 
 Sive cum lihris novitate pascit 
 
 Sedula mcntcin : 
 
 " Sit memor nosiri, fidciqxie merces, 
 Stet fides constans, meritoque hlandum 
 Thralea discant res on are nonien 
 
 Littora Skia 
 
 On another occasion I can boast verses from Dr. Johnson.-^ — 
 As I went into his room the morning of my birth-day once, and 
 said to him, " Nobody sends me any verses now, because I am five- 
 and-thirty years old ; and Stella was fed with them till forty-six, 
 I remember." My being just recovered from illness and confine- 
 ment will account for the manner in which he burst out suddenly, 
 for so he did without the least previous hesitation whatsoever, 
 and without having entertained the smallest intention towards it 
 half a minute before : 
 
 " Oft in danger, yet alive, 
 
 We are come to thirty-five ; 
 
 Long may better years arrive, 
 
 Better years than thirty-five. 
 
 Could philosophers contrive 
 
 Life to stop at thirty-five, 
 
 Time his houi's should never drive 
 
 O'er the bounds of thirty-five. 
 
 High to soar, and deep to dive, 
 
 Nature gives at thirty-five. 
 
 Ladies, stock and tend your hive, 
 
 Trifle not at thirty-five : 
 
 For howe'er we boast and strive, 
 
 Life declines from thirty-five : 
 
 He that ever hopes to thrive 
 
 Must begin by thirty-five; 
 And all who wisely wish to wive. 
 Must look on Thrale at thirty-five." 
 
 " And now (said he, as I was writing them down), you may 
 see what it is to come for poetry to a Dictionary-maker ; you 
 may observe that the rhymes run in alohabetical order exactly.'* 
 — And so they do. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. W 
 
 Mr. Johnson did indeed possess an almost Tuscan power of 
 improvisation : when he called to mj daughter, who was consult- 
 ing with a friend about a new gown and dressed hat she thought 
 of wearing to an assembly, thus suddenly, while she hoped he was 
 not listening to their conversation, 
 
 " Wear the gown, and wear the nat. 
 Snatch thy pleasures while they last ; 
 
 Hadst thou nine lives like a cat. 
 
 Soon those nine lives would be past." 
 
 It is impossible to deny to such little sallies the power of the 
 Florentines, who do not permit their verses to be ever written 
 down though they often deserve it, because, as they express it, 
 cosi se perderehhe la poca gloria. 
 
 As for translations, we used to make him sometimes run off 
 with one or two in a good humour. He was praising this song of 
 Metastasio, 
 
 " Deh^ se piacermi vuoi, 
 
 Lascia i sospetii tuoi, 
 
 Non mi turbar conquesto 
 
 Molesto dubitar : 
 
 Chi ciecamente crede, 
 
 Impegna a serbarfede; 
 
 Chi sempre inganno aspetta, 
 
 Alletta ad ingannar.^ 
 
 " Should you like it in English (said he) thus ? ' 
 
 ** Would you hope to gain my heart, 
 Bid your teizing doubts depart ; 
 He who blindly trusts, will find 
 Faith from every generous mind : 
 He who still expects deceit, 
 Only teaches how to cheat," 
 
 ;Mr. Baretti coaxed him likewise one day at Streatham out of 
 a translation of Emirena's speech to the false courtier Aqueleius, 
 and it is probably printed before now, as I think two or three 
 people took copies ; but perhaps it has slipt their memories. 
 
 " Ah I tu in corte invecchiasti, e giurerei 
 Chefra i pochi non sei tenace ancora 
 DelP antica o?iesta : quando btsognay 
 tSaprai sereno in volto 
 Vezzeggiare un nemico ; accid vi coda, 
 Aprirgli i?i7mnzi un precipizio, e pot 
 
70 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 Fimigerne la caduta. Offrirti a tuiti 
 E noil esser eke tuo ; dA false lodi 
 Vestir le ax;cuse, ed aggravar le coljye 
 N el fame la difesa^ ognor dal trono 
 
 I huoni allontanar ; d' ogni castigo 
 Lasciar I' odio alio scettro, e d^ogni dono 
 
 II merito usurpar : teller nascosto 
 Sotto un zelo apparente un cmpiofne, 
 Ne fabbricar che sidle altrtii rovine" 
 
 " Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one 
 
 Who k*^pps the rigid rules of ancient honour ; 
 
 Well skill'd to sooth a foe with looks of kindness, 
 
 To sink the fatal precipice before him, 
 
 And then lament his fall with seeming friendship 
 
 Oiien to al], true only to thyself, 
 
 Thou know'st those arts which bhist with envious praise, 
 
 Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses, 
 
 And drive discountenanc'd virtue from the throne : 
 
 That leave the blame of rigour to the prince 
 
 And of his every gift usurp the merit ; 
 
 That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose, 
 
 And only build upon another's ruin." 
 
 These characters Dr. Johnson however did not delight iii 
 reading, or in hearing of: he always maintained that the world 
 was not half as wicked as it was represented ; and he might very 
 well continue in that opinion, as he resolutely drove from him 
 every story that could make him change it ; and when Mr. 
 BickerstalTs flight^ confirmed the report of his guilt, and my 
 husband said in answer to Johnson's astonishment, that he had 
 long been a suspected man : " By those who look close to the 
 ground, dirt will be seen, Sii', (was the lofty reply) : I hope I see 
 things from a greater distance." 
 
 His desire to go abroad, particularly to see Italy, was very 
 great ; and he had a longing wish to leave some Latin verses at 
 the Grand Chartreux. He loved indeed the very act of travelling, 
 and I cannot tell how far one might have taken him in a carriage 
 before he would have wished for refreshment. He was therefore 
 in some respects an admirable companion on the road, as he 
 piqued himself upon feeling no inconvenience, and on despisinjf 
 no accommodations. On the other hand however, he expected 
 no one else to feel any, and felt exceedingly inflamed with anger 
 if any one conij)lained of the rain, the sun, or tlie dust. "How 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. ii., p. 89. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 71 
 
 (said he) do other people bear them ? " As for general un- 
 easiness, or complaints of long confinement in a carriage, he con- 
 sidered all lamentations on their account as proofs of an empty 
 head, and a tongue desirous to talk without materials of conversa- 
 tion. " A mill that goes without grist (said he), is as good a 
 companion as such creatures." 
 
 I pitied a friend before him, who had a whining wife that found 
 every thing painful to her, and nothing pleasing — " He does not 
 know that she whimpers (says Johnson) ; when a door has 
 creaked for a fortnight together, you may observe — the master 
 will scarcely give sixpence to get it oiled." 
 
 Of another lady, more insipid than offensive, I once heard him 
 say, " She has some softness indeed, but so has a pillow." And 
 when one observed in reply, that her husband's fidelity and 
 attachment were exemplary, notwithstanding this low account at 
 which her perfections were rated — " Why Sir (cries the Doctor), 
 being married to those sleepy-souled women, is just like playing 
 at cards for nothing : no passion is excited, and the time is filled 
 up. I do not however envy a fellow one of those honey-suckle 
 wives for my part, as they are but creepers at best, and commonly 
 destroy the tree they so tenderly cling about." 
 
 For a lady of quality, since dead, who received us at her 
 husband's seat in Wales with less attention than he had long been 
 accustomed to, he had a rougher denunciation : " That woman 
 (cries Johnson) is like sour small-beer, the beverage of her table, 
 and produce of the wretched country she lives in : like that, she 
 could never have been a good thing, and even that bad thing is 
 spoiled." This was in the same vein of asperity, and I believe 
 with something like the same provocation, that he observed of a 
 Scotch lady, " that she resembled a dead nettle ; were she alive 
 (said he) she Avould sting." 
 
 Mr. Johnson's hatred of the Scotch is so well known, and so 
 many of his bons mots expressive of that hatred have been already 
 repeated in so many books and pamphlets, that 'tis perhaps 
 scarcely worth while to write down the conversation between him 
 and a friend of that nation who always resides in London, and 
 who at his return from the Hebrides asked him with a firm tone 
 of voice. What he thought of his country ? " That it is a very vile 
 country to be sure. Sir ; " (returned for answer Dr. Johnson.) 
 " Well, Sir ! " replies the other somewhat mortified, " God made it." 
 " Certainly he did (answers Mr. Johnson again) ; but we must 
 
72 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 always remember that he made it for Scotchmen, and comparisons 
 
 are odious, Mr. S ; but God made hell." 
 
 Dr. Johnson did not I think much delight in that kind of con- 
 versation which consists in telling stories : *' every body (said he) 
 tells stories of me, and I tell stories of nobody. I do not recollect 
 (added he), that I have ever told you, that have been always 
 favourites, above three stories ; but I hope I do not play the Old 
 Fool, and force people to hear uninteresting narratives, only 
 because I once was diverted with them myself." He was however 
 no enemy to that sort of talk from the famous Mr. Foote, " whose 
 happiness of manner in relating was such (he said) as subdued 
 arrogance and roused stupidity : His stories were truly like those 
 of Biron in Love's Labour Lost, so very attractive 
 
 *' That aged ears play'd truant with his tales, 
 And younger hearings were quite ravished 
 So sweet and voluble was his discourse." 
 
 Of all conversers however (added he), the late Hawkins Browne 
 was the most delightful with whom I ever was in company : his 
 talk was at once so elegant, so apparently artless, so pure, and so 
 pleasing, it seemed a perpetual stream of sentiment, enlivened by 
 gaiety, and sparkling with images." When I asked Dr. Johnson, 
 who was the best man he had ever known ? " Psalmanazar," 
 was the unexpected reply : he said, likewise, " that though a 
 native of France, as his friend imagined, he possessed more of 
 the English language, than any one of the other foreigners who 
 had separately fallen in his way." Though there was much 
 esteem however, there was I believe but little confidence between 
 them ; they conversed merely about general topics, religion and 
 learnhig, of which both were vindoubtedly stupendous examples ; 
 and, with regard to true Christian perfection, I have heard John- 
 son say, " That George Psalmanazar's piety, penitence, and 
 virtue exceeded almost what we read as wonderful even in the 
 lives of saints." 
 
 I forget in what year it was that this extraordinary person 
 lived and died at a house in Old-street, where Mr. Johnson was 
 witness to his talents and virtues, and to his final preference of 
 the church of England, after having studied, disgraced, and 
 adorned so many modes of worship. The name he went by, was 
 not supposed by his friend to be that of his family, but all en- 
 quiries were vain ; his reasons for concealing his original were 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZl. 73 
 
 penitentiary ; he deserved no other name than that of the im- 
 poster, he said. That portion of the Universal History which 
 was written by him, does not seem to me to be composed with 
 peculiar spirit, but all traces of the wit and the wanderer were 
 probably worn out before he undertook the work. — His pious and 
 patient endurance of a tedious illness, ending in an exemplary 
 death, confirmed the strong impression his merit had made upon 
 the mind of Mr. Johnson. " It is so vei-y difficult (said he, 
 always) for a sick man not to be a scoundrel. Oh! set the 
 jiillows soft, here is Mr. Grumbler o'coming : Ah ! let no air in 
 for the world, Mr. Grumbler will be here presently." 
 
 This perpetual preference is so offensive, where the privileges 
 of sickness are besides supported by wealth, and nourished by 
 dependence, that one cannot much wonder that a rough mind is 
 revolted by them. It was however at once comical and touchani 
 (as the French call it), to observe Mr. Johnson so habitually 
 watchful against this sort of behaviour, that he was often ready 
 to suspecthimself of it; and when one asked him gently, how he 
 did ? — " Ready to become a scoundrel. Madam (would commonly 
 be the answer) : with a little more spoiling you will, I think, 
 make me a complete rascal." 
 
 His desire of doing good was not however lessened by his aver- 
 sion to a sick chamber : he would have made an ill man well by 
 any expence or fatigue of his own, sooner than any of the canters. 
 Canter indeed Avas he none : he would forget to ask people after 
 the health of their nearest relations, and say in excuse, " That 
 he knew they did not care : why should they (says he) ? every 
 one in this world has as much as they can do in caring for 
 themselves, and few have leisure really to think of their neigh- 
 bours' distresses, however they may delight their tongues with 
 talking of them." 
 
 The natural depravity of mankind and remains of original sin 
 were so fixed in Mr. Johnson's opinion, that he was indeed a most 
 acute observer of their effects ; and used to say sometimes, half 
 in jest, half in earnest, that they were the remains of his old 
 tutor jSIandeville's instructions. As a book however, he took 
 care always loudly to condemn the Fable of the Bees, but not 
 without adding, *' that it was the work of a thinking man." 
 
 I have in former days heard Dr. Collier of the Commons loudly 
 condemned for uttering sentiments, which twenty years after I 
 have heard as loudly applauded from the lips of Dr. Johnson, 
 
74 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 concerning the well-known writer of that celebrated work : but 
 if people will live long enough in this capricious world, such 
 instances of partiality will shock them less and less, by frequent 
 repetition. Mr. Johnson knew mankind, and wished to mend 
 them : he therefore, to the piety and pure religion, the untainted 
 integrity, and scrupulous morals of my earliest and most dis- 
 interested friend, judiciously contrived to join a cautious attention 
 to the capacity of his hearers, and a prudent resolution not to 
 lessen the influence of his learning and virtue, by casual freaks of 
 humour, and irregular starts of ill-managed merriment. lie did 
 not wish to confound, but to inform his auditors ; and though he 
 did not appear to solicit benevolence, he always wished to retain 
 authority, and leave his company impressed with the idea, that it 
 was his to teach in this world, and theirs to learn. What wonder 
 then that all should receive with docility from Johnson those 
 doctrines, which propagated by Collier they drove away from 
 them with shouts! Dr. Johnson was not grave however because 
 he knew not how to be merry. No man loved laughing better, 
 and his vein of humour was rich, and apparently inexhaustible ; 
 though Dr. Goldsmith said once to him. We should change com- 
 panions oftener, we exhaust one another, and shall soon be both 
 of us worn out. Poor Goldsmith was to him indeed like the 
 earthen pot to the iron one in Fontaine's fables ; it had been 
 better for him perhaps, that they had changed companions oftener ; 
 yet no experience of his antagonist's strength hindered him from 
 continuing the contest. He used to remind me always of that 
 verse in Berni, 
 
 " II pover uomo che ncm sen^ era accorto^ 
 Andava combattetido — ed era morio." 
 
 Mr. Johnson made him a comical answer one day, when seem- 
 ing to repine at the success of Beattie's Essay on Truth — 
 " Here's such a stir (said he) about a fellow that has written 
 one book, and I have written many." " Ah, Doctor (says 
 his friend), there go two-and-forty sixpences you know to one 
 guinea." 
 
 They had spent an evening with Eaton Graham too, I remem- 
 ber hearing it was at some tavern ; his heart was open, and he 
 began inviting away ; told what he could do to make his college 
 agreeable, and begged the visit might not be delayed. Goldsmith 
 thanked him, and proposed setting out with Mr. Johnson for 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 75 
 
 Buckinghamshire in a fortnight ; " Nay hold, Dr. Minor (says 
 the other), I did not invite you." 
 
 Many such mortifications arose in the course of their intimacy 
 to be sure, but few more laughable than when the newspapers 
 had tacked them together as the pedant and his flatterer in 
 " Love's Labour lost." Dr. Goldsmith came to his friend, fret- 
 ting and foaming, and vowing vengeance against the printer, &c. 
 till Mr. Johnson, tired of the bustle, and desirous to think of 
 something else, cried out at last, "Why, what would' st thou have, 
 dear Doctor ! who the plague is hurt with all this nonsense ? 
 and how is a man the worse I wonder in his health, purse, or 
 character, for being called Holof ernes ? " "I do not know (replies 
 the other) hoAv you may relish being called Holofernes, but I do 
 not like at least to play Goodman DulV^ 
 
 Dr. Johnson Avas indeed famous for disregarding public abuse. 
 When the people criticised and answered his pamphlets, papers, 
 &c. " Why now, these fellows are only advertising my book (he 
 would say) ; it is surely better a man should be abused than for- 
 gotten." W hen Churchill nettled him however, it is certain he 
 felt the sting, or that poet's works would hardly have been left 
 out of the edition. Of that however I have no right to decide ; 
 the booksellers perhaps did not put Churchill on their list. I 
 know Mr. Johnson was exceedingly zealous to declare how very 
 little he had to do with the selection. Churchill's works too 
 might possibly be rejected by him upon a higher principle ; the 
 highest indeed, if he was inspired by the same laudable motive 
 which made him reject every authority for a word in his dictionary 
 that could only be gleaned from writers dangerous to religion or 
 morality — " I would not (said he) send people to look for words 
 in a book, that by such a casual seizure of the mind might chance 
 to mislead it for ever." In consequence of this delicacy, Mrs. 
 Montague once observed, That were an angel to give the 
 imprimatur^ Dr. Johnson's works were among those very few 
 which would not be lessened by a line. That such praise from 
 such a lady should delight him, is not strange ; insensibility in a 
 case like that, must have been the result alone of arrogance act- 
 ing on stupidity. Mr. Johnson had indeed no dislike to the 
 commendations which he knew he deserved : " What signifies 
 protesting so against flattery (would he cry) ! when a person 
 speaks well of one, it must be either true or false, you know ; if 
 true, let us rejoice in his good opinion ; if he lies, it is a proof at 
 
/b ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 least that he loves more to please me, than to sit silent when he 
 need say nothing." 
 
 That natural roughness of his manner, so often mentioned, 
 ■would, notwithstanding the regularity of his notions, burst through 
 them all from time to time ; and he once bade a very celebrated 
 lady, who praised him with too much zeal perhaps, or perhaps too 
 strong an emphasis (which always offended him), " consider what 
 her flattery was worth before she choaked Mm with it." ^ A few 
 more winters passed in the talking world showed him the value of 
 that friend's commendations however ; and he was very sorry for 
 the disgusting speech he made her. 
 
 I used to think Mr. Johnson's determined preference of a cold 
 monotonous talker over an emphatical and violent one, would 
 make him quite a favourite among the men of ton^ whose insensi- 
 bility, or affectation of perpetual calmness, certainly did not give 
 to him the offence it does to many. He loved " conversation 
 without effort (he said) ; " and the encomiums I have heard him 
 80 often pronounce on the manners of Topham Beauclerc in 
 society, constantly ended in that peculiar praise, that " it was 
 without effort" 
 
 We were talking of Richardson who wrote Clarissa : " You 
 think I love flattery (says Dr. Johnson), and so I do ; but a little 
 too much always disgusts me: that fellow Richardson, on the 
 contrary, could not be contented to sail quietly down the stream 
 of reputation, without longing to taste the froth from every stroke 
 of the oar." 
 
 With regard to slight insults from newspaper abuse, I have 
 already declared his notions : " They sting one (says he) but 
 a fly stings a horse ; and the eagle will not catch flies." He on 
 told me however, that Cummyns the famous Quaker, wh 
 friendship he valued very highly, fell a sacrifice to their insuli 
 having declared on his death-bed to Dr. Johnson, that the pa; 
 of an anonymous letter, written in some of the common prints 
 the day, fastened on his heart, and threw him into the slow fever 
 of which he died. 
 
 Nor was Cummyns the only valuable member so lost to society; 
 Hawkesworth, the pious, the virtuous, and the wise, for want ot 
 that fortitude which casts a shield before the merits of his friend, 
 fell a lamented sacrifice to wanton malice and cruelty, I know not 
 
 ^ See vol. iv. (June 30, 1784), for Malone's version of this story. 
 
 ave 
 
 I 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 77 
 
 how provoked ; but all in turn feel the lash of censure in a 
 country where, as every baby is allowed to carry a whip, no per- 
 son can escape except by chance. The unpublished crimes, un- 
 known distresses, and even death itself, however, daily occurring 
 in less liberal governments and less free nations, soon teach one 
 to content one's self with such petty grievances, and make one 
 acknowledge that the undistinguishing severity of newspaper 
 abuse may in some measure diminish the diffusion of vice and 
 folly in Great Britain, and while they fright delicate minds into 
 forced refinements and affected insipidity, they are useful to the 
 great causes of virtue in the soul, and liberty in the state ; and 
 though sensibility often sinks under the roughness of their pre- 
 scriptions, it would be no good policy to take away their licence. 
 
 Knowing the state of Mr. Johnson's nerves, and how easily 
 they were affected, I forbore reading in a new Magazine one day, 
 the death of a Samuel Johnson who expired that month ; but my 
 companion snatching up the book, saw it himself, and contrary tO' 
 my expectation — " Oh (said he) ! I hope Death will now be 
 glutted with Sam. Johnsons, and let me alone for some time to 
 come : I read of another namesake's departure last week." — 
 Though Mr. Johnson was commonly affected even to agony at 
 the thoughts of a friend's dying, he troubled himself very little 
 with the complaints they might make to him about ill health. 
 •' Dear Doctor (said he one day to a common acquaintance, who- 
 lamented the tender state of his inside), do not be like the spider, 
 man ; and spin conversation thus incessantly out of thy own 
 bowels." — I told him of another friend who suffered grievously 
 with the gout — " He will live a vast many years for all that 
 (replied he), and then what signifies how much he suffers ! but he 
 will die at last, poor fellow, there's the misery ; gout seldom takes 
 the fort by a coup-de-main, but turning the siege into a blockade, 
 obliges it to surrender at discretion." 
 
 A lady he thought well of, was disordered in her health — 
 ' What help has she called in (enquired Johnson) ? Dr. James, 
 Sir ; was the reply. " What is her disease ? " Oh, nothing 
 ])Ositive, rather a gradual and gentle decline. *' She will die then, 
 pretty dear (answered he) ! When Death's pale horse runs away 
 with persons on full speed, an active physician may possibly give 
 them a turn ; but if he carries them on an even slow pace, down 
 hill too ! no care nor skill can save them ! " 
 
 When Garrick was on his last sick-bed, no arguments, or re- 
 
78 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 citals of such facts as I had heard, would persuade Mr Johnson 
 of his danger : he had prepossessed himself with a notion, that to 
 say a man was sick, was very near wishing him so ; and few things 
 offended him more, than prognosticating even the death of an or- 
 dinary acquaintance. " Ay, ay (said he), Swift knew the world 
 pretty well, when he said, that 
 
 " Some dire misfortune to portend 
 No enemy can match a friend." 
 
 The danger then of Mr. Garrick, or of Mr. Thrale, whom he 
 loved better, was an image which no one durst present before his 
 view ; he always persisted in the possibility and hope of their re- 
 covering disorders from which no human creatures by human 
 means alone ever did recover. His distress for their loss was for 
 that very reason poignant to excess ; but his fears of his own 
 salvation were excessive : his truly tolerant spirit, and Christian 
 charity, which hopeth all things^ and helieveth all things^ made 
 him rely securely on the safety of his friends, while his earnest 
 aspiration after a blessed immortality made him cautious 
 of his own steps, and timorous concerning their conse- 
 quences. He knew how much had been given, and filled his 
 mind with fancies of how much would be required, till his 
 impressed imagination was often disturbed by them, and his health 
 suffered from the sensibility of his too tender conscience : a real 
 Christian is so apt to find his task above his power of perform- 
 ance! 
 
 Mr. Johnson did not however give in to ridiculous refinements 
 either of speculation or practice, or suffer himself to be deluded 
 by specious appearances. " I have had dust thrown in my eyes 
 too often (would he say), to be blinded so. Let us never con- 
 found matters of belief with matters of opinion." — Some one 
 urged in his presence the preference of hope to possession ; and 
 as I remember, produced an Italian sonnet on the subject. 
 '' Let us not (cries Johnson) amuse ourselves with subtleties and 
 sonnets, when speaking about hope, which is the follower of faith 
 and the precursor of eternity ; but if you only mean those 
 air-built hopes which to-day excites and to-morrow will destroy, 
 let us talk away, and remember that we only talk of the pleasures 
 of hope ; we feel those of possession, and no man in his senses 
 would change the last for the first ; such hope is a mere bubble, 
 that by a gentle breath may be blown to what size you will 
 
BY MBS. PIOZZI. 79 
 
 almost, but a rough blast bursts it at once. Hope is an amuse- 
 ment rather than a good, and adapted to none but \ery tranquil 
 minds." The truth is, Mr. Johnson hated what we call improtit- 
 able chat ; and to a gentleman who had disserted some time 
 about the natural history of the mouse — '* I wonder what such a 
 one would have said (cried Johnson), if he had ever had the luck 
 to see a lion ! " 
 
 I well remember that at Brighthelrastone once, when he was 
 not present, Mr. Beauclerc asserted that he was afraid of spirits ; 
 and I, who was secretly offended at the charge, asked him, the 
 first opportunity I could find, What ground he had ever giren to 
 the world for such a report ? "I can (replied he) recollect 
 nothing nearer it, than my telling Dr. Lawrence many years ago, 
 that a long time after my poor mother's death, I heard her voice 
 call Sam ! " "What answer did the Doctor make to your story, Sir, 
 said I ? " " None in the world," (replied he ; ) and suddenly 
 changed the conversation. Now as Mr. Johnson had a most un- 
 shaken faith, without any mixture of credulity, this story must 
 either have been strictly true, or his persuasion of its truth the 
 effect of disordered spirits. I relate the anecdote precisely as he 
 told it me ; but could not prevail on him to draw out the talk 
 into length for further satisfaction of my curiosity. 
 
 As Johnson was the firmest of believers without being credu- 
 lous, so he was the most charitable of mortals without being what 
 we call an active friend.^ Admirable at giving counsel, no man 
 saw his way so clearly ; but he would not stir a finger for the as- 
 sistance of those to whom he was willing enough to give advice : 
 besides that, he had principles of laziness, and could be indolent 
 by rule. To hinder your death, or procure you a dinner, I mean 
 if really in want of one ; his earnestness, his exertions could not 
 be prevented, though health and purse and ease were all destroyed 
 by their violence. If you wanted a slight favour, you must apply 
 to people of other dispositions ; for not a step would Johnson 
 move to obtain a man a vote in a society, to repay a compliment 
 which might be useful or pleasing, to write a letter of request, or 
 to obtain a hundred pounds a year more for a friend, who perhaps 
 had already two or three. No force could urge him to diligence, 
 no importunity could conquer his resolution of standing still. 
 *' What good are we doing with all this ado (would he say) ? 
 
 * See Boswell on this passage, vol. iv. (June 30, 1784). 
 
80 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 dearest Lady, let's hear no more of it ! " I have however more 
 than once in my life forced him on such services, but with ex- 
 treme difficulty. 
 
 We parted at his door one evening when I had teized him for 
 many weeks to write a recommendatory letter of a little boy to 
 his schoolmaster ; and after he had faithfully promised to do this 
 prodigious feat before we met again — " Do not forget dear Dick, 
 Sir," said I, as he went out of the coach ; he turned back, stood 
 still two minutes on the carriage-step — " When I have written 
 my letter for Dick, I may hang myself, mayn't I ? " — and turned 
 away in a very ill humour indeed. 
 
 Though apt enough to take sudden likings or aversions to 
 people he occasionally met, he would never hastily pronounce 
 upon their chai'acter ; and when seeing him justly delighted with 
 Solander's conversation, I observed once that he was a man of 
 great parts who talked from a full mind — " It may be so (said 
 Mr. Johnson), but you cannot know it yet, nor I neither : the 
 pump works well, to be sure ! but how, I wonder, are we to 
 decide in so very short an acquaintance, whether it is supplied by 
 a spring or a reservoir ? " — He always made a great difference in 
 his esteem between talents and erudition ; and when he saw 
 a person eminent for literature, though wholly unconversible, 
 it fretted him. " Teaching such tonies (said he to me one day> 
 is like setting a lady's diamonds in lead, which only obscures the 
 lustre of the stone, and makes the possessor ashamed on't.'* 
 Useful and what we call every-day knowledge had the most of 
 his just praise. " Let your boy learn arithmetic, dear Madam," 
 was his advice to the mother of a rich young heir : "he will not 
 then be a prey to every rascal which this town swarms with : 
 teach him the value of money, and how to reckon it ; ignorance to 
 a wealthy lad of one-and-twenty is only so much fat to a sick 
 sheep : it just serves to call the rooks about him." 
 
 " And all that prey in vice or folly 
 
 Joy to see their quarry fly ; 
 Here the gamester light and jolly, 
 
 There the lender grave and sly." 
 
 These improviso lines, making part of a long copy of verses which 
 my regard for the youth on whose birth-day they were written 
 obliges me to suppress lest they should give him pain, shew a 
 mind of surprising activity and warmth ; the more so as he was 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 81 
 
 past seventy years of age when he composed them : but nothing 
 more certainly offended Mr. Johnson, than the idea of a man's 
 faculties (mental ones I mean) decaying by time ; " It is not 
 true, Sir (would he say) ; what a man could once do, he would 
 always do, unless indeed by dint of vicious indolence, and com- 
 pliance with the nephews and nieces who crowd round an old 
 fellow, and help to tuck him in, till he, contented with the ex- 
 change of fame for ease, e'en resolves to let them set the pillows 
 at his back, and gives no further proof of his existence than just 
 to suck the jelly that prolongs it." 
 
 For such a life or such a death Dr. Johnson was indeed never 
 intended by Providence : his mind was like a warm climate, which 
 brings everything to perfection suddenly and vigorously, not like 
 the alembicated productions of artificial fire, which always betray 
 the difficulty of bringing them forth when their size is dispropor- 
 tionate to their flavour. Je ferois un Roman toutcomme un autre, 
 mais la vie rt'est point un Roman, says a famous French writer ; 
 and this was so certainly the opinion of the Author of the " Ram- 
 bler," that all his conversation precepts tended towards the dis- 
 persion of romantic ideas, and were chiefly intended to promote 
 the cultivation of 
 
 " That which before thee lies in daily life." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 And when he talked of authors, his praise went spontaneously 
 to such passages as are sure in his own phrase to leave somethino- 
 behind them useful on common occasions, or observant of common 
 manners. For example, it was not the two last, but the two first, 
 volumes of " Clarissa " that he prized ; " For give me a sick bed, 
 and a dying lady (said he), and I'll be pathetic myself: but 
 Richardson had picked the kernel of life (he said), while Fielding 
 was contented with the husk." — It was not King Lear cursino- 
 his daughters, or deprecating the storm, that I remember his 
 commendations of; but lago's ingenious malice, and subtle 
 revenge ; or prince Hal's gay compliance with the vices of Fal- 
 staff", whom he all along despised. Those plays had indeed no 
 rivals in Johnson's favour : " No man but Shakespeare (he said) 
 could have drawn Sir John." 
 
 His manner of criticising and commending Addison's prose was 
 the same in conversation as we read it in the printed strictures, 
 and many of the expressions used have been heard to fall from 
 
 TI. Qt 
 
82 .VNECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 him on common occasions. It was notwithstanding observable 
 enough (or I fancied so), that he did never like, though he 
 always thought fit to praise it ; and his praises resembled those of a 
 man who extols the superior elegance of high painted porcelain, 
 while he himself always chuses to eat o^ plate. I told him so one 
 day, and he neither denied it nor appeared displeased. 
 
 Of the pathetick in poetry he never liked to speak, and the only 
 passage I ever heard him applaud as particularly tender in any 
 common book, was Jane Shore's exclamation in the last act, 
 
 " Forgive me ! but forgive me ! " 
 
 It was not however from the want of a susceptible heart that 
 he hated to cite tender expressions, for he was more strongly and 
 more violently affected by the force of words representing ideas 
 capable of affecting him at all, than any other man in the world 
 I believe ; and when he would try to repeat the celebrated Prosa 
 Ecclesiastica pro Moi^tuis, as it is called, beginning Dies irce^ 
 Dies ilia, he could never pass the stanza ending thus, Tnntus 
 labor nan sit cassus, without bursting into a flood of tears ; which 
 sensibility I used to quote against him when he would inveigh 
 against devotional poetry, and protest tliat all religious verses 
 were cold and feeble, and unworthy the subject, which ought to 
 be treated with higher reverence, he said, than either poets oi 
 painters could presume to excite or bestow. Nor can any thing be 
 a stronger proof of Dr. Johnson piety than such an expression ; 
 for his idea of poetry was magnificent indeed, and very fully was 
 he persuaded of its superiority over every other talent bestowed 
 by heaven on man. His chapter upon that particular subject 
 in his " Rasselas," is really written from the fulness of his 
 heart, and quite in his best manner I think. I am not so sure 
 that this is the proper place to mention his writing that 
 surprising little volume in a week or ten days time,^ in order to 
 obtain money for his journey to Litchfield when his mother lay 
 upon her last sick bed. 
 
 Promptitude of thought indeed, and quickness of expression, 
 were among the peculiar felicities of Johnson : his notions rose 
 up like the dragon's teeth sowed by Cadmus all ready clothed, 
 and in bright armour too, fit for immediate battle. He was 
 therefore (as somebody is said to have expressed it) a tremendous 
 
 1 See Lite, vol. i., p. 269. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 83 
 
 converser, and few people ventured to try their skill against an 
 antagonist wiih whom contention was so hopeless. One gentle- 
 man, however, who dined at a nobleman's house in his company 
 and that of Mr. Thrale, to whom I was obliged for the anecdote, 
 was willing to enter the lists in defence of King William's 
 character, and having opposed and contradicted Johnson two or 
 three times petulantly enough ; the master of the house began 
 to feel uneasy, and expect disagreeable consequences : to avoid 
 which he said, loud enough for the Doctor to hear, " Our friend 
 here has no meaning now in all this, except just to relate at 
 club to-morrow how he teized Johnson at dinner to-day — this is 
 all to do himself ^onowr." "No, upon my word," replied the other, 
 " I see no honour in it, whatever you may do." " Well, Su* ! 
 (returned Mr. Johnson sternly) if you do not see the honour, I 
 am sure I feel the disgrace.^' * 
 
 A young fellow, less confident of his own abilities, lamenting 
 one day that he had lost all his Greek — " I believe it happened 
 at the same time. Sir (said Johnson), that I lost all my large 
 estate in Yorkshire." 
 
 But however roughly he might be suddenly provoked to treat 
 a harmless exertion of vanity, he did not wish to inflict the pain 
 he gave, and was sometimes very sorry when he perceived the 
 people to smart more than they deserved. " How harshly you 
 treated that man to-day," said I once, "who harangued us so about 
 gardening " — " I am sorry (said he) if I vexed the creature, for 
 there certainly is no harm in a fellow's rattling a rattle-box, only 
 don't let him think that he thunders." — The Lincolnshire lady 
 who shewed him a grotto she had been making, came off no better 
 as I remember : " Would it not be a pretty cool habitation in 
 summer ? " said she, " Mr. Johnson ! " "I think it would, Madam 
 (replied he), — for a toad." 
 
 All desire of distinction indeed had a sure enemy in Mr. 
 Johnson. We met a friend driving six very small ponies, apd 
 stopt to admire them. " Why does nobody (said our doctor) 
 begin the fashion of driving six spavined horses, all spavined 
 of the same leg? it would have a mighty pretty effect, and 
 produce the distinction of doing something worse than the 
 common way." 
 
 When Mr. Johnson had a mind to compliment any one, he did 
 
 • See Boswell's remarks on this story, Life, vol. iv. (June 30, 1784), 
 
84 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 it with more dignity to himself, and better effect upon the com- 
 pany, than any man. I can recollect but few instances indeed, 
 though perhaps that may be more my fault than his. When Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds left the room one day, he said, " There goes a 
 man not to be spoiled by prosperity." And when Mrs. Montague 
 shewed him some China plates which had once belonged to Queen 
 Elizabeth, he told her, " that they had no reason to be ashamed 
 of their present possessor, who was so little inferior to the first." 
 I likewise remember that he pronounced one day at my house a 
 most lofty panegyric upon Jones the Orientalist, who seemed 
 little pleased with the praise, for what cause I know not. He 
 was not at all offended, when comparing all our acquaintance to 
 some animal or other, we pitched upon the elephant for his 
 resemblance, adding that the proboscis of that creature was like 
 his mind most exactly, strong to buffet even the tyger, and pliable 
 to pick up even the pin. The truth is, Mr. Johnson was often good- 
 humouredly willing to join in childish amusements, and hated to 
 be left out of any innocent merriment that was going forward. 
 Mr. Murphy always said, he was incomparable at buffoonery ; 
 and I verily think, if he had had good eyes, and a form less in- 
 flexible, he would have made an admirable mimic. 
 
 He certainly rode on Mr. Thrale's old hunter with a good 
 firmness, and though he would follow the hounds fifty miles an 
 end sometimes, would never own himself either tired or amused. 
 " I have now learned (said he), by hunting, to perceive, that it is 
 no diversion at all, nor ever takes a man out of himself for a 
 moment : the dogs have less sagacity than I could have pre- 
 vailed on myself to suppose ; and the gentlemen often call to me 
 not to ride over them. It is very strange, and very melancholy, 
 that the paucity of human pleasures should persuade us ever to 
 call hunting one of them." — He was however proud to be 
 amongst the sportsmen ; and I think no praise ever went so close 
 to his heart, as when Mr. Hamilton called out one day upoii— ■ 
 Brighthelmstone Downs, " Why Johnson rides as well, for ougl«l 
 I see, as the most illiterate fellow in England." ^™ 
 
 Though Dr. Johnson owed his very life to air and exercise, 
 given him when his organs of respiration could scarcely play, in 
 the year 1766, yet he ever persisted in the notion, that neither of 
 them had any thing to do with health. " People live as long 
 (said he) in Pepper-alley as on Salisbury -plain ; and they live so 
 much happier, that an inhabitant of the first would, if he turned 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 86 
 
 cottager, starve liis understanding for want of conversation, and 
 perish in a state of mental inferiority." 
 
 Mr, Johnson indeed, as he was a very talking man himself, had 
 an idea that nothing promoted happiness so much as conversation. 
 A friend's erudition was commended one day as equally deep and 
 strong — " He will not talk, Sir (was the reply), so his learning 
 does no good, and his wit, if he has it, gives us no pleasure : out 
 of all his boasted stores I never heard him force but one word, 
 and that word was Richardy — With a contempt not inferior he 
 received the praises of a pretty lady's face and behaviour : " She 
 says nothing, Sir (answers Johnson) ; a talking blackamoor were 
 better than a white creature who adds nothing to life, and by 
 sitting down before one thus desjicrately silent, takes away the 
 confidence one should hare in the company of her chair if she 
 were once out of it." — No one was however less willing to begin 
 any discourse than himself : his friend Mr. Thomas Tyers said, 
 he was like the ghosts,^ who never speak till they are spoken to: 
 ajid he liked the expression so well, that he often repeated it. 
 He had indeed no necessity to lead the stream of chat to a 
 favourite channel, that his fulness on the subject might be shewn 
 more clearly, whatever was the topic ; and he usually left the 
 choice to others. His information best enlightened, his argument 
 strengthened, and his wit made it ever remembered. Of him it 
 might have been said, as he often delighted to say of Edmund 
 Burke, " that you could not stand five minutes with that man 
 beneath a shed while it rained, but you must be convinced you 
 had been standing with the greatest man you had ever yet seen." 
 
 As we had been saying one day that no subject failed of 
 receiving dignity from the manner in which Mr. Johnson treated 
 it, a lady at my house said, she would make him talk about love ; 
 and took her measures accordingly, deriding the novels of the 
 day because they treated about love. " It is not (replied our 
 philosopher) because they treat, as you call it, about love, but 
 because they treat of nothing, that they are despicable : we must not 
 ridicule a passion which he who never felt never was happy, and he 
 who laughs at never deserves to feel — a passion which has caused 
 tlie change of empires, and the loss of worlds — a passion which 
 has inspired heroism and subdued avarice." He thought he had 
 already said too much. " A passion, in short (added he, with an 
 
 ^ See vol. v. (Tour to the Hebrides, Aug. 20, 1773). 
 
86 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 altered tone), that consumes me away for my pretty Fanny here, 
 and she is A^ery cruel (speaking of another lady in the room)." He 
 told us however in the course of the same chat, how his negro 
 Francis had been eminent for his success among the girls. Seeing 
 us all laugh, " I must have you know, ladies (said he), that Frank 
 has carried the empire of Cupid further than most men. When 
 I was in Lincolnshire so many years ago, he attended me thither ; 
 and when we returned home together, I found that a female hay- 
 maker had followed him to London for love." Francis was 
 indeed no small favourite with his master, who retained however 
 a prodigious influence over his most violent passions. 
 
 On the birthday of our eldest daughter, and that of our friend 
 Dr. Johnson, the 17th and 18th of September, we every year 
 made up a little dance and supper, to divert our servants and 
 their friends, putting the summer-house into their hands for the 
 two evenings, to fill with acquaintance and merriment. Francis 
 and his white wife were invited of course. She was eminently 
 pretty, and he was jealous, as my maids told me. On the first of 
 these days' amusements (I know not what year) Frank took 
 offence at some attentions paid his Desdemona, and walked away 
 next morning to London in wrath. His master and I driving the 
 same road an hour after, overtook him. " What is the matter, 
 child (says Dr. Johnson), that you leave Streatham ? Art sick f " 
 He is jealous (whispered I). " Are you jealous of your wife, you 
 stupid blockhead (cries out his master in another tone) ? " The 
 fellow hesitated; and. To he sure Sir, I don't quite approve Sir, 
 was the stammering reply. " Why, what do they do to her, man? 
 do the footmen kiss her ? " No Sir, no ! — Kiss my wife Sir ! — 
 Thope not Sir. " Why, what do they do to her, my lad ? " " Why 
 nothing Sir, Fm sure Sir." " Why then go back directly and 
 dance you dog, do ; and let's hear no more of such empty lamen- 
 tations." I believe however that Francis was scarcely as much 
 the object of Mr. Johnson's personal kindness, as the representa- 
 tive of Dr. Bathurst, for whose sake he would have loved any 
 body, or any thing. 
 
 When he spoke of negroes, he always appeared to think them 
 of a race naturally inferior, and made few exceptions in favour of 
 his own ; yet whenever disputes arose in his household among 
 the many odd inhabitants of which it consisted^ he always sided 
 with Francis against the others, whom he suspected (not unjustly 
 I believe) of greater malignity. It seems at once vexatious and 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 87 
 
 comical to reflect, that the dissensions those people chose to live 
 constantly in, distressed and mortified him exceedingly. He 
 really was oftentimes afraid of going home, because he was so 
 sure to be met at the door with numberless complaints ; and he 
 used to lament patlietically to me, and to Mr. Sastres the Italian 
 master, who was much his favourite, that they made his life 
 miserable from the impossibility he found of making theirs happy, 
 when every favour he bestowed on one was wormwood to the 
 rest. If however I ventured to blame their ingratitude, axd 
 condemn their conduct, he would instantly set about softening 
 the one and justifying the other ; and finished commonly by tell- 
 ing me, that I knew not how to make allowances for situations I 
 never experienced. 
 
 " To thee no reason who know'st only good, 
 But evil hast not try'd." Milton. 
 
 Dr. Johnson knew hoAV to be merry with mean people too, as 
 well as to be sad with them ; he loved the lower ranks of humanity 
 with a real affection : and though his talents and learning kept 
 him always in the sphere of upper life, yet he never lost sight of 
 the time when he and they shared pain and pleasure in common. 
 A borough election once shewed me his toleration of boisterous 
 mirth, and his content in the company of people whom one would 
 have thought at first sight little calculated for his society. A 
 rough fellow one day on such an occasion, a hatter by trade, 
 seeing Mr. Johnson's beaver in a state of decay, seized it sud- 
 denly with one hand, and clapping him on the back with the 
 other ; " Ah, Master Johnson (says he) this is no time to be 
 thinking about hats.'''' " No, no. Sir (replies our Doctor in a 
 cheerful tone), hats are of no use now, as you say, except to 
 throw up in the air and huzza with ; " accompanying his words 
 with the true election halloo. 
 
 But it was never against people of coarse life that his contempt 
 was expressed, while poverty of sentiment in men who considered 
 themselves to be company for the parlour, as he called it, was 
 what he would not bear. A very ignorant young fellow, who 
 had plagued us all for nine or ten 'months, died at last consump- 
 tive : " I think (said Mr. Johnson when he heard the news), I am 
 afraid, I should have been more concerned for the death of the 
 
 dog ; but (hesitating a while) I am not wrong now in all 
 
 this, for the dog acted up to his character on every occasion that 
 
88 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 we know ; but that dunce of a fellow helped forward the general 
 disgrace of humanity." " Why dear Sir (said I), how odd you 
 are! you have often said the lad was not capable of receiving 
 further instruction." *' He was (replied the Doctor) like a corked 
 bottle, with a drop of dirty water in it, to be sure ; one might 
 pump upon it for ever without the smallest effect; but when 
 every method to open and clean it had been tried, you would not 
 have me grieve that the bottle was broke at last." 
 
 This was the same youth who told us he had been reading 
 Lucius Florus ; Florus Delphini was the phrase ; " and my mother 
 (said he) thought it had something to do with Delphos ; but of 
 that I know nothing." " Who founded Rome then (enquired Mr. 
 Thrale) ? " The lad replied, Romulus. " And who succeeded 
 Romulus (said I) ? " A long pause, and apparently distressful 
 hesitation, followed the difficult question. " Why will you ask 
 him in terms that he does not comprehend (said Mr. Johnson 
 enraged) ? You might as well bid him tell you who phlebotomised 
 Romulus. This fellow's dulness is elastic (continued he), and all 
 we do is but like kicking at a woolsack." 
 
 The pains he took however to obtain the young man more 
 patient instructors, were many, and oftentimes repeated. He 
 was put under the care of a clergyman in a distant province ; 
 and Mr. Johnson used both to write and talk to his friend con- 
 cerning his education. It was on that occasion that I remember 
 his saying, " A boy should never be sent to Eton or Westminster 
 school before he is twelve years old at least ; for if in his years 
 of babyhood he 'scapes that general and transcendent knowledge 
 without which life is perpetually put to a stand, he will never get 
 it at a public school, where if he does not learn Latin and Greek, 
 he learns nothing." Mr. Johnson often said, " that there was 
 too much stress laid upon literature as indispensably necessary : 
 there is surely no need that every body should be a scholar, uo 
 call that every one should square the circle. Our manner of 
 teaching (said he) cramps and warps many a mind, which if left 
 more at liberty would have been respectable in some way, though 
 perhaps not in that. We lop our trees, and prune them, and 
 pinch them about (he would say), and nail them tight up to the 
 wall, while a good standard is at last the only thing for bearing 
 healthy fruit, though it commonly begins later. Let the people 
 learn necessary knowledge ; let them learn to count their fingers, 
 and to count their money, before they are caring for the classics ; 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 0\f 
 
 for (says Mr. Johnson) though I do not quite agree with the 
 proverb, that Nullum numen abest si sit prudentia, yet we may 
 very well say, that Nullum numen adest — ni sit prudentia.^'' 
 
 SVe had been visiting at a lady's house, whom as we returned 
 some of the company ridiculed for her ignorance : " She is not 
 ignorant (said he), I believe, of any thing she has been taught, or 
 of any thing she is desirous to know ; and I suppose if one 
 Avanted a little run tea, she might be a proper person enough to 
 apply to." 
 
 When I relate these various instances of contemptuous be- 
 haviour shewn to a variety of people, I am aware that those w^ho 
 till now have heard little of Mr. Johnson will here cry out against 
 his pride and his severity ; yet I have been as careful as I could 
 to tell them, that all he did was gentle, if all he said was rough. 
 Had I given anecdotes of his actions instead of his words, we 
 should I am sure have had nothing on record but acts of virtue 
 diflferently modified, as different occasions called that virtue forth : 
 and among all the nine biographical essays or performances which 
 I have heard will at last be written about dear Dr. Johnson, no 
 mean or wretched, no wicked or even slightly culpable action 
 will I trust be found, to produce and put in the scale against a 
 life of seventy years, spent in the uniform practice of every 
 moral excellence and every Christian perfection, save humility 
 alone, says a critic, but that I think must be excepted. He was 
 not however wanting even in that to a degree seldom attained by 
 man, when the duties of piety or charity called it forth. 
 
 Lowly towards God, and docile towards the church; implicit 
 in his belief of the gospel, and ever respectful towards the people 
 appointed to preach it ; tender of the unhappy, and affectionate 
 to the poor, let no one hastily condemn as proud, a character 
 which may perhaps somewhat justly be censured as arrogant. It 
 must however be remembered again, that even this arrogance 
 was never shewn witliout some intention, immediate or remote, 
 of mending some fault of conveying some instruction. Had I 
 meant to make a panegyric on ^Mr. Johnson s well-known excel- 
 lencies, I should have told his deeds only, not his words — sincerely 
 protesting, that as I never saw him once do a wrong thing, so we 
 had accustomed ourselves to look upon him almost as an excepted 
 being; and I should as much have expected injustice from 
 Socrates or impiety from Pascal, as the slightest deviation froni 
 truth and goodness in any transaction one might be engaged in 
 
90 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 with Samuel Johnson. His attention to veracity was without 
 equal or example : and when I mentioned Clarissa as a perfect 
 character ; " On the contrary (said he), you may observe there 
 is always something which she prefers to truth. Fielding's 
 Amelia ' was the most pleasing heroine of all the romances (he 
 said) ; but that vile broken nose never cured, ruined the sale of 
 perhaps the only book, which being printed off betimes one 
 morning, a new edition was called for before night." 
 
 Mr. Johnson's knoAvledge of literary history was extensive 
 and surprising : he knew every adventure of every book you 
 could name almost, and was exceedingly pleased with the oppor- 
 tunity which writing the Poets' Lives gave him to display it. 
 He loved to be set at work, and was sorry when he came to the 
 end of the business he was about, I do not feel so mv self with 
 regard to these sheets : a fever which has preyed on me while I 
 wrote them over for the press, will perhaps lessen my power of 
 doing well the first, and probably the last work I should ever 
 have thought of presenting to the Public. I could doubtless 
 wish so to conclude it, as at least to shew my zeal for my friend, 
 whose life, as I once had the honour and happiness of being use- 
 ful to, I should wish to record a few particular traits of, that 
 those who read should emulate his goodness ; but seeing the 
 necessity of making even virtue and learning such as Ms agreeable, 
 that all should be warned against such coarseness of manners, as 
 di'ove even from him those who loved, honoured, and esteemed 
 him. His wife's daughter, Mrs. Lucy Porter of Litchfield, whose 
 veneration for his person and character has ever been the greatest 
 possible, being opposed one day in conversation by a clergyman 
 who came often to her house, and feeling somewhat offended, 
 cried out suddenly. Why, Mr. Pearson, said she, you are just 
 like Dr. Johnson, I think : I do not mean that you are a man of 
 the greatest capacity in all the world like Dr. Johnson, but that 
 you contradict one every word one speaks, just like him. 
 
 Mr. Johnson told me the story : he was present at the giving 
 of the reproof. It was however observable that with all his odd 
 severity, he could not keep even indifferent people from teizing 
 him with unaccountable confessions of silly conduct which one 
 would think they would scarcely have had inclination to reveal 
 even to their tenderest and most intimate companions; and it 
 
 * See Life, vol. iii. p. 89. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 91 
 
 was from these unaccountable volunteers in sincerity that he 
 learned to warn the world against follies little known, and seldom 
 thought on by other moralists. 
 
 Much of his eloquence, and much of his logic have I heard 
 him use to prevent men from making vows on trivial occasions ;* 
 and when he saw a person oddly perplexed about a slight diffi- 
 culty, "Let the man alone (he would say), and torment him no 
 more about it ; there is a vow in the case, I am convinced ; but 
 is it not very strange that people should be neither afraid or 
 ashamed of bringing in God Almighty thus at every turn between 
 themselves and their dinner ? " When I asked what ground he 
 had for such imaginations, he informed me, " That a young lady 
 once told him in confidence, that she could never persuade herself 
 to be dressed against the bell rung for dinner, till she had made 
 a vow to heaven that she would never more be absent from the 
 family meals." 
 
 The strangest applications in the world were certainly made 
 from time to time towards Mr. Johnson, who by that means had 
 an inexhaustible fund of anecdote, and could, if he pleased, tell 
 the most astonishing stories of human folly and human weakness 
 that ever were confided to any man not a confessor by pro- 
 fession. 
 
 One day when he was in a humour to record some of them, he 
 told us the following tale : " A person (said he) had for these 
 last five weeks often called at my door, but would not leave his 
 name, or other message ; but that he wished to speak with me. 
 At last we met, and he told me that he was oppressed by scruples 
 of conscience : I blamed him gently for not applying, as the rules 
 of our church direct, to his parish priest or other discreet clergy- 
 man ; when, after some compliments on his part, he told me, that 
 he was clerk to a very eminent trader, at whose warehouses much 
 business consisted in packing goods in order to go abroad : that 
 he was often tempted to take paper and packthread enough for 
 his own use, and that he had indeed done so so often, that he 
 could recollect no time when he ever had bought any for him- 
 self. — But probably (said I), your master was wholly indifi'erent 
 with regard to such trivial emoluments ; you had better ask for 
 it at once, and so take your trifles with consent. — Oh, Sir ! 
 replies the visitor, my master bid me have as much as I pleased, 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. ii. p. 37, and vol. iii. under May 19, 1778. 
 
!92 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 and was half angry when I talked to him about it. — Then pray 
 Sir (said I), teize me no more about such airy nothings ; — and 
 was going on to be very angry, when I recollected that the 
 fellow might be mad perhaps ; so I asked him, When he left the 
 counting-house of an evening ? — At seven o'clock, Sir. — And 
 when do you go to bed, Sir ? — At twelve o'clock. — Then (re- 
 plied I) I have at least learned thus much by my new acquain- 
 tance ; — that five hours of the four-and-twenty unemployed are 
 enough for a man to go mad in ; so I would advise you Sir, to 
 study algebra, if you are not an adept already in it : your head 
 would get less muddy, and you will leave off tormenting your 
 neighbours about paper and packthread, while we all live 
 together in a world that is bursting with sin and sorrow. — It is 
 perhaps needless to add, that this visitor came no more." 
 
 Mr. Johnson had indeed a real abhorrence of a person that 
 had ever before him treated a little thing like a great one : and 
 he quoted this scrupulous gentleman with his packthread very 
 often, in ridicule of a friend who, looking out on Streatham Com- 
 mon from our windows one day, lamented the enormous wicked- 
 ness of the times, because some bird-catchers were busy there 
 one fine Sunday morning. " While half the Christian world is 
 permitted (said he) to dance and sing, and celebrate Sunday as 
 a day of festivity, how comes your puritanical spirit so offended 
 with frivolous and empty deviations from exactness. Whoever 
 loads life with unnecessary scruples. Sir (continued he), pro- 
 vokes the attention of others on his conduct, and incurs the 
 censure of singularity without reaping the reward of superior 
 virtue." 
 
 I must not, among the anecdotes of Dr. Johnson's life, omit tc 
 relate a thing that happened to him one day, which he told 
 of himself. As he was walking along the Strand a gentlemi 
 stepped out of some neighbouring tavern, with his napkin in hi 
 hand and no hat, and stopping him as civilly as he could — I be^ 
 your pardon. Sir ; but you are Dr. Johnson, I believe. " Yes, 
 Sir." " We have a wager depending on your reply : Pray, Sir, is 
 it irreparable or irrepairable that one should say ? " " The last 
 I think. Sir (answered Dr. Johnson), for the adjective ought to 
 follow the verb ; but you had better consult my Dictionary than 
 me, for that was the result of more thought than you will now 
 give me time for." " No, no," replied the gentleman gaily, " the 
 book I have no certainty at all of; but here is the author, to 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZT. ^9 
 
 whom I referred : Is he not, Sir ? " to a friend with him . " I have 
 won my twenty guineas quite fairly, and am much obliged to you. 
 Sir ; " so shaking Mr. Johnson kindly by the hand, he went back 
 to finish his dinner or dessert. 
 
 Another strange thing he told me once which there was no 
 danger of forgetting : how a young gentleman called on him one 
 morning, and told him that his father having, just before his 
 death, dropped suddenly into the enjoyment of an ample fortune, 
 he, the son, was willing to qualify himself for genteel society by 
 adding some literature to his other endowments, and wished to 
 be put in an easy way of obtaining it. Johnson recommended 
 the university: "for you read Latin, Sir, yvith facility/.'' "I read 
 it a little to be sure. Sir." " But do you read it with facility, I 
 say ? " " Upon my word, Sir, I do not very well know, but I 
 rather believe not." Mr. Johnson now began to recommend 
 other branches of science, when he found languages at such an 
 immeasurable distance, and advising him to study natural history,, 
 there arose some talk about animals, and their divisions into 
 oviparous and viviparous ; " And the cat here, Sir," said the youth 
 who wished for instruction, " pray in which class is she ? " Our 
 Doctor's patience and desire of doing good began now to give 
 way to the natural roughness of his temper. " You would do 
 well (said he) to look for some person to be always about you, 
 Sir, who is capable of explaining such matters, and not come to 
 us (there were some literary friends present as I recollect) to 
 know whether the cat lays eggs or not : get a discreet man to 
 keep you company, there are so many who would be glad of your 
 table and fifty pounds a year." The young gentleman retired,, 
 and in less than a week informed his friends that he had fixed 
 on a preceptor to whom no objections could be made ; but when 
 he named as such one of the most distinguished characters in our 
 age or nation, Mr. Johnson fairly gave himself up to an honest 
 burst of laughter ; and seeing this youth at such a surprising 
 distance from common knowledge of the world, or of anything in 
 it, desired to see his visitor no more. 
 
 He had not much better luck with two boys that he used to 
 tell of, to whom he had taught the classics, " so that (he said) 
 they were no incompetent or mean scholars : " it was necessary 
 however that something more familiar should be known, and he 
 bid them read the history of England. After a few months had 
 elapsed he asked them, " If they could recollect who first. 
 
94 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 destroyed the monasteries in our island ? " One modestly re- 
 plied, that he did not know ; the other said, Jesus Christ. 
 
 Of the truth of stories whicli ran currently about the town 
 concerning Dr. Johnson, it was impossible to be certain, unless 
 one asked himself; and what he told, or suffered to be told 
 before his face without contradicting, has every possible mark I 
 think of real and genuine authenticity. I made one day very 
 minute enquiries about the tale of his knocking down the famous 
 Tom Osborne with his own Dictionary in the man's own house. ^ 
 " And how was that affair, in earnest ? do tell me, Mr. Johnson ? " 
 " There is nothing to tell, dearest lady, but that he was insolent 
 and I beat him, and that he was a blockhead and told of it, 
 which I should never have done ; so the blows have been multi- 
 plying, and the wonder thickening for all these years, as Thomas 
 was never a favourite with the Public. I have beat many a 
 fellow, but the rest had the wit to hold their tongues." 
 
 I have heard Mr. Murphy relate a very singular story, while 
 he was present, greatly to the credit of his uncommon skill and 
 knowledge of life and manners: When first the Ramblers came 
 out in separate numbers, as they, were the objects of attention 
 to multitudes of people, they happened, as it seems, particularly 
 to attract the notice of a society who met every Saturday even- 
 ing during the summer at Rumford in Essex, and were known 
 by the name of The Bowling-green Club. These men seeing 
 one day the character of Leviculus the fortune-hunter, or Tetrica 
 the old maid : another day some account of a person who spent 
 his life in hoping for a legacy, or of him who is always prying 
 into other folks' affairs, began sure enough to think they were 
 betrayed ; and that some of the coterie sate down to divert him- 
 self by giving to the Public the portrait of all the rest. Filled 
 with wrath against the traitor of llumford, one of them resolved 
 to write to the printer and enquire the author's name ; Samuel 
 Johnson, was the reply. No more was necessary; Samuel 
 Johnson was the name of the curate, and soon did each begin 
 to load him with reproaches for turning his friends into ridicule 
 in a manner so cruel and unprovoked. In vain did the guiltless 
 curate protest his innocence; one was sure that Aligu meant 
 Mr. Twigg, and that Cupidus was but another name for neigh- 
 bour Baggs : till the poor parson, unable to contend any longer, 
 
 1 See Life, vol. i. p. 111. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 95 
 
 rode to London, and brought them ftill satisfaction concerning 
 the writer, who from his own knowledge of general manners, 
 quickened by a vigorous and warm imagination, had liappilj 
 delineated, though unknown to himself, the members of the 
 Bowling-green Club. 
 
 Mr. Murphy likewise used to tell before Dr. Johnson, of the 
 first time they met, and the occasion of their meeting, which he 
 related thus : That being in those days engaged in a periodical 
 paper,^ he found himself at a friend's house out of town ; and 
 not being disposed to lose pleasure for the sake of business, 
 wished rather to content his bookseller by sending some unstudied 
 essay to London by the sei*vant, than deny himself the company 
 of his acquaintance, and drive away to his chambers for the 
 purpose of writing something more correct. He therefore took 
 up a French " Journal Literaire " that lay about the room, and 
 translating something he liked from it, sent it away without 
 further examination. Time however discovered that he had 
 translated from the French a Rambler of Johnson's, which had 
 been but a month before taken from the English ; and thinking 
 it right to make him his personal excuses, he went next day, and 
 found our friend all covered with soot like a chimney-sweeper, in 
 a little room, with an intolerable heat and strange smell, as if 
 he had been acting Lungs in the "Alchymist," making cBiher. 
 " Come, come (says Dr. Johnson), dear Mur, the story is black 
 enough now ; and it was a very happy day for me that brought 
 you first to my house, and a very happy mistake about the 
 Ramblers." 
 
 Dr. Johnson was always exceeding fond of chemistry ; and we 
 made up a sort of laboratory at Streatham one summer, and 
 diverted ourselves with drawing essences and colouring liquors. 
 But the danger Mr. Thrale found his fi-iend in one day when I 
 was driven to London, and he had got the children and servants 
 round him to see some experiments performed, put an end to all 
 our entertainment ; so well was the master of the house persuaded, 
 iliat his short sight would have been his destruction in a moment, 
 by bringing him close to a fierce and violent flame. Indeed it 
 was a perpetual miracle that he did not set himself on fire 
 reading a-bed, as was his constant custom, when exceedingly 
 nnable even to keep clear of mischief with our best help ; and 
 
 ' Tke Gray's Inn Journal, see Life, vol. i., p. 28L 
 
96 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 accordingly the fore-top of all his wigs were burned by the candle 
 down to the very net-work. Mr. Thrale's valet-de-chambre, 
 for that reason, kept one always in his own hands, with which he 
 met him at the parloiir-door when the bell had called him down 
 to dinner, and as he went up stairs to sleep in the afternoon, the 
 same man constantly followed him with another. 
 
 Future experiments in chemistry however were too dangerous, 
 and Mr. Thrale insisted that we should do no more towards find- 
 ing the philosopher's stone. 
 
 Mr. Johnson's amusements were thus reduced to the pleasures 
 of conversation merely : and what wonder that he should have 
 an avidity for the sole delight he was able to enjoy ? No man 
 conversed so well as he on every subject ; no man so acutely 
 discerned the reason of every fact, the motive of every action, 
 the end of every design. He was indeed often pained by the 
 ignorance or causeless wonder of those who knew less than him- 
 self, though he seldom drove them away with apparent scorn, 
 unless he thought they added presumption to stupidity : and it 
 was impossible not to laugh at the patience he shewed, when a 
 Welch parson of mean abilities, though a good heart, struck 
 with reverence at the sight of Dr. Johnson, whom he had heard 
 of as the greatest man living, could not find any words to 
 answer his inquiries concerning a motto round somebody's arms 
 which adorned a tomb -stone in Ruabon church-yard. If I re- 
 member right, the words were, 
 
 " Heb Bw, Heh Dym, 
 Dw o' Diggon.^' 
 
 And though of no very difficult construction, the gentleman 
 seemed wholly confounded, and unable to explain them ; till Mr. 
 Johnson having picked out the meaning by little and little, said 
 to the man, " Heb is a preposition, I believe Sir, is it not ? " My 
 countryman recovering some spirits upon the sudden question, 
 cried out, " So I humbly presume Sir," very comically. 
 
 Stories of humour do not tell well in books ; and what made 
 impression on the friends who heard a jest, will seldom much 
 delight the distant acquaintance or sullen critic who reads it. 
 The cork model of Paris is not more despicable as a resemblance 
 of a great city, than this book, levior cortice, as a specimen of 
 Johnson's character. Yet every body naturally likes to gather 
 little specimens of the rarities found in a great country ; and 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 97 
 
 could I carry home from Italy square pieces of all tlie curious 
 marbles which are the just glory of this surprising part of the 
 world, I could scarcely contrive perhaps to arrange them so 
 meanly as not to gain some attention from the respect due to the 
 places they once belonged to. — Such a piece of motley Mosaic 
 work will these Anecdotes inevitably make ; but let the reader 
 remember that he was promised nothing better, and so be as 
 contented as he can. 
 
 An Irish trader at our house one day heard Johnson launch 
 out into very great and greatly deserved praises of Mr. Edmund 
 Burke : delighted to find his countryman stood so high in the 
 opinion of a man he had been told so much of, " Sir (said he), 
 give me leave to tell something of Mr. Burke now." We were 
 all silent, and the honest Hibernian began to relate how Mr. 
 Burke went to see the collieries in a distant province ; and he 
 would go down into the bowels of the earth (in a bag) and he 
 would examine every thing : "he went in a bag Sir, and ventured 
 his health and his life for knowledge ; but he took care of his 
 clothes, that they should not be spoiled, for he went down in a 
 bag." " Well Sir (says Mr. Johnson good-humouredly), if our 
 friend Mund should die in any of these hazardous exploits, you 
 and I would write his life and panegyric together ; and your 
 chapter of it should be entitled thus : Bmke in a Bag''' 
 
 He had always a very great personal regard and particular 
 affection for Mr. Edmund Burke, as well as an esteem difficult 
 for me to repeat, though for him only easy to express. And 
 when at the end of the year 1774 the general election called us 
 all different ways, and broke up the delightful society in which 
 we had spent some time at Beaconsfield, Dr. Johnson shook the 
 hospitable master of the house kindly by the hand, and said, 
 " Farewell my dear Sir, and remember that I wish you all the 
 success which ought to be wished you, which can possibly be 
 wished you indeed — hy an honest many 
 
 I must here take leave to observe, that in giving little memoirs 
 of Mr. Johnson's behaviour and conversation, such as I saw and 
 heard it, my book lies under manifest disadvantages, compareil 
 with theirs, who having seen him in various situations* and 
 observed his conduct in numberless cases, are able to throw 
 stronger and more brilliant lights upon his character. Virtues 
 are like shrabs, which yield their sweets in different manners 
 according to the circumstances which surround them : and while 
 
 VI. H 
 
98 jlnecdotes of johnson 
 
 generosity of soul scatters its fragrance like the honeysuckle, 
 and delights the senses of many occasional passengers, who feel 
 the pleasure, and half wonder how the breeze has blown it from 
 so far, the more sullen but not less valuable myrtle waits like 
 fortitude to discover its excellence till the hand arrives that will 
 crush it, and force out that perfume whose durability well com- 
 pensates the difficulty of production. 
 
 I saw Mr. Johnson in none but a tranquil uniform state, pass- 
 ing the evening of his life among friends, who loved, honoured, 
 and admired him : I saw none of the things he did, except such 
 acts of charity as have been often mentioned in this book, and 
 such writings as are universally known. What he said is all I 
 can relate, and from what he said, those who think it worth 
 while to read these Anecdotes, must be contented to gather his 
 character. Mine is a mere candle-light picture of his latter days, 
 where every thing falls in dark shadow except the face, the 
 index of the mind ; but even that is seen unfavourably, and with 
 a paleness beyond what nature gave it. 
 
 When I have told how many follies Dr. Johnson knew of 
 others, I must not omit to mention with how much fidelity he 
 would always have kept them concealed, could they of whom he 
 knew the absurdities have been contented, in the common phrase, 
 to keep their own counsel. But returning home one day from 
 dining at the chaplain's table, he told me, that Dr. Goldsmith 
 had given a very comical and unnecessarily exact recital there of 
 his own feelings when his play was hissed ; telling the company 
 how he went indeed to the Literary Club at night, and chatted 
 gaily among his friends, as if nothing had happened amiss ; that 
 to impress them still more forcibly with an idea of his magna- 
 nimity, he even sung his favourite song about an old womaj^l 
 tossed in a blanket seventeen times as high as the moon ; " but afll 
 this while I was suffering horrid tortures (said he), and verily 
 believe that if I had put a bit into my mouth it would have 
 strangled me on the spot, I was so excessively ill ; but I made 
 more noise than usual to cover all that, and so they never per- 
 ceived my not eating, nor I believe at all imaged to themselves 
 the anguish of my heart : but when all were gone except John- 
 son here, I burst out a-crying, and even swore by that I 
 
 would never write again." " All which. Doctor (says Mr, Johnson, 
 amazed at his odd frankness), I thought had been a secret j 
 between vou and me ; and I am sure I would not have said any 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 99 
 
 thing about it for the world." " Now see (repeated he when he 
 told the story) what a figure a man makes who thus unaccount- 
 ably chuses to be the frigid narrator of his own disgrace. II 
 volto sciolto, ed i pensieri stretti, was a proverb made on purpose 
 for such mortals, to keep people, if possible, from being thus 
 the heralds of their own shame : for what compassion can they 
 gain by such silly narratives ? No man should be expected to 
 sympathise with the sorrows of vanity. If then you are morti- 
 fied by any ill usage, whether real or supposed, keep at least the 
 account of such mortifications to yourself, and forbear to pro- 
 claim how meanly you are thought on by others, unless you 
 desire to be meanly thought of by all." 
 
 The little history of another friend's superfluous ingenuity will 
 contribute to introduce a similar remark. He had a daughter of 
 about fourteen years old, as I remember, fat and clumsy : and 
 though the father adored, and desired others to adore her, yet 
 being aware perhaps that she was not what the French call 
 paitrie des graces, and thinking I suppose that the old maxim, of 
 beginning to laugh at yourself first where you have anything 
 ridiculous about you, was a good one, he comically enough called 
 his girl Trundle when he spoke of her ; and many who bore 
 neither of them any ill-will felt disposed to laugh at the happi- 
 ness of the appellation. "See now (says Dr. Johnson) what 
 haste people are in to be hooted. Nobody ever thought of thin 
 fellow nor of his daughter, could he but have been quiet him- 
 self, and forborne to call the eyes of the world on his dowdy and 
 her deformity. But it teaches one to see at least, that if nobody 
 else will nickname one's children, the parents will e'en do it 
 themselves." 
 
 All this held true in matters to Mr. Johnson of more serious 
 consequence. When Sir Joshua Reynolds had painted his por- 
 trait looking into the slit of his pen, and holding it almost close 
 to his eye, as was his general custom, he felt displeased, and told 
 me " he would not be known by posterity for his defects only, 
 let Sir Joshua do his worst." 1 said in reply, that Reynolds had 
 no such difficulties about himself, and that he might observe the 
 picture which hung up in the room where we were talking, 
 represented Sir Joshua holding his ear in his hand to catch the 
 sound. " He may paint himself as deaf if he chuses (replied 
 Johnson) ; but I will not be blinking Sam.'" 
 
 It is chiefly for the sake of evincing the regularity and steadi- 
 
100 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 ness of Mr. Johnson's mind that I have given these triiling' 
 memoirs, to shew that his soul was not different from that of another 
 person, but, as it was greater ; and to give those who did not know 
 him a just idea of his acquiescence in what we call vulgar preju- 
 dices, and of his extreme distance from those notions which the 
 world has agreed, I know not very well why, to call romantic. 
 It is indeed observable in his preface to Shakespeare, that while 
 other critics expatiate on the creative powers and vivid imagina- 
 tion of that matchless poet. Dr. Johnson commends him for giving 
 so just a representation of human manners,^ " that from his 
 scenes a hermit might estimate the value of society, and a con- 
 fessor predict the progress of the passions." I have not the book 
 with me here, but am pretty sure that such is his expression. 
 
 The general and constant advice he gave too, when consulted 
 about the choice of a wife, a profession, or whatever influences a 
 man's particular and immediate happiness, was always to reject 
 no positive good from fears of its contrary consequences. " Do 
 not (said he) forbear to marry a beautiful woman if you can find 
 such, out of a fancy that she will be less constant than an ugly 
 one ; or condemn yourself to the society of coarseness and vul- 
 garity for fear of the expenses or other dangers of elegance and 
 personal charms, which have been always acknowledged as a ^ 
 positive good, and for the want of which there should always be 
 given some weighty compensation. I have however (continued 
 Mr. Johnson) seen some prudent fellows who forbore to connect 
 themselves with beauty lest coquetry should be near, and with 
 wit or birth lest insolence should lurk behind them, till they have 
 been forced by their discretion to linger life away in tasteless 
 stupidity, and chuse to count the moments by remembrance of 
 pain instead of enjoyment of pleasure." 
 
 When professions were talked of, " Scorn (said Mr. Johnson) 
 to put your behaviour under the dominion of canters ; never 
 think it clever to call physic a mean study, or law a dry one ; or 
 ask a baby of seven years old which way his genius leads him, 
 when we all know that a boy of seven years old has no genius for 
 any thing except a peg-top and an apple-pie ; but fix on some 
 business where much money may be got and little virtue risqued : 
 follow that business steadily, and do not live as Roger Ascham^ 
 
 ^ Johnson's Preface, Shakespeare's Plays, p. 251, 6th ed. Lend., 1813, 
 ^ The Scholemaster, Rog. Ascham. 2nd ed. Lond., 1743, p. 14. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. ,1Q1 
 
 says the wits do, Men know not how ; and at last die obscurely, 
 men mark not when.'' 
 
 Dr. Johnson had indeed a veneration for tlie voice of mankind 
 beyond what most people will own ; and as he liberally confessed 
 that all his own disappointments proceeded from himself, he 
 hated to hear others complain of general injustice. I remember 
 when lamentation was made of the neglect shewed to Jeremiah 
 Markland, a great philologist as some one ventured to call him — 
 "He is a scholar undoubtedly Sir (replied Dr. Johnson), but 
 remember that he would run from the world, and that it is not 
 the world's business to run after him. I hate a fellow whom 
 pride or cowardice or laziness drives into a coi-ner, and does 
 nothing when he is there but sit and growl ; let him come out as 
 I do, and bark. The world (added he) is chiefly uifjust and 
 ungenerous in this, that all are ready to encourage a man who 
 once talks of leaving it, and i^yv things do really provoke me 
 more, than to hear people prate of retirement, when they have 
 neither skill to discern their own motives, or penetration to esti- 
 mate the consequences : but while a fellow is active to gain 
 either power or wealth (continued he), every body produces 
 some hindrance to his advancement, some sage remark, or some 
 unfavourable prediction ; but let him once say slightly, I have 
 had enough of this troublesome, bustling world, 'tis time to leave 
 it now : ' Ah, dear Sir, cries the first old acquaintance he meets, 
 I am glad to find you in this happy disposition: yes, dear friend! 
 do retire and tliink of nothing but your own ease ; there's Mr. 
 William will find it a pleasure to settle all your accounts and 
 relieve you from the fatigue ; Miss Dolly makes the charmingest 
 chicken broth in the world, and the cheese cakes we eat of her's 
 onc€, how good they were : I will be coming every two or three 
 days myself to chat with you in a quiet way; so snug ! and tell 
 you how matters go upon 'Change, or in the House,' or according 
 to the blockhead's fii'st pursuits, whether lucrative or politic, 
 which thus he leaves ; and lays himself down a voluntary prey to 
 his own sensuality and sloth, while the ambition and avarice of 
 the nephews and nieces, with their rascally adherents and coad- 
 jutors, reap the advantage, while they fatten their fool." 
 
 As the votaries of retirement had little of Mr. Johnson's ap- 
 plause, unless that he knew that the motives were merely devo- 
 tional, and unless he was convinced that their rituals were 
 accompanied by a mortified state of the body, the sole proof of 
 
102 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 their sincerity which he would admit, as a compensation for such 
 fatigue as a worldly life of care and activity requires ; so of 
 the various states and conditions of humanity, he despised none 
 more than the man who marries for a maintenance : and of a 
 friend who made an alliance on no higher principles he said once, 
 " Now has that fellow (it was a nobleman of whom we were speak- 
 ing) at length obtained a certainty of three meals a day, and for 
 that certainty, like his brother dog in the fable, he will get his 
 neck galled for life with a collar." 
 
 That poverty was an evil to be avoided by all honest means 
 however, no man was more ready to avow : concealed poverty 
 particularly, which he said was the general corrosive that de- 
 stroyed the peace of almost every family ; to which no evening 
 perhaps ever returned without some new project for hiding the 
 sorrows and dangers of the next day. " Want of money (says 
 Dr. Johnson) is sometimes concealed under pretended avarice, 
 and sly hints of aversion to part with it; sometimes under 
 stormy anger, and affectation of boundless rage; but oftener 
 still under a show of thoughtless extravagance and gay neglect — ■ 
 while to a penetrating eye, none of these wretched veils suffice 
 to keep the cruel truth from being seen. Poverty is hie et 
 uhique (says he), and if you do shut the jade out of the door, 
 she will always contrive in some manner to poke her pale lean 
 face in at the window." 
 
 I have mentioned before that old age had very little of Mr. 
 Johnson's reverence : " a man commonly grew wickeder as he 
 grew older (he said), at least he but changed the vices of youth; 
 headstrong passion and wild temerity, for treacherous caution 
 and desire to circumvent. I am always (said he) on the young 
 people's side, when there is a dispute between them and the old 
 ones ; for you have at least a chance for virtue till age has 
 withered its very root," While we were talking, my mother's 
 spaniel, whom he never loved, stole our toast and butter ; " Fye 
 Belle ! said I, you used to be upon honour ; " " Yes, Madam 
 (replies Johnson), hut Belle grows old.''' His reason for hating 
 the dog was, " because she was a professed favoiu*ite (he said),, 
 and because her lady ordered her from time to time to be washed 
 and combed : a foolish trick (said he) and assumption of supe- 
 riority that every one's nature revolts at; so because one must 
 not wish ill to the lady in such cases (continued he), one curses 
 the cur." The truth is, Belle was not well behaved, and being 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 103 
 
 a large spaniel, was troublesome enough at dinner with frequent 
 solicitations to be fed. " This animal (said Dr. Johnson one day) 
 would have been of extraordinary merit and value in the state of 
 Lycurgus ; for she condemns one to the exertion of perpetual 
 vigilance." 
 
 He had indeed that strong aversion felt by all the lower ranks 
 of people towards four-footed companions very completely, not- 
 withstanding he had for many years a cat which he called Hodge, 
 that kept always in his room at Fleet-street ; but so exact was 
 lie not to offend the human species by superfluous attention to 
 brutes, that when the creature was sick and old and could eat 
 nothing but oysters, Mr. Johnson always went out himself to 
 buy Hodge's dinner, that Francis the Black's delicacy might not 
 be hurt, at seeing himself employed for the convenience of a 
 quadruped. 
 
 No one was indeed so attentive not to offend in all such sort 
 of things as Dr. Johnson ; nor so careful to maintain the cere- 
 monies of life : and though he told Mr. Thrale once that he never 
 sought to please till past thirty years old, considering the matter 
 as hopeless, he had been always studious not to make enemies, 
 by apparent preference of himself It happened very comically, 
 that the moment this curious conversation past, of which I was a 
 silent auditress, was in the coach, in some distant province, either 
 Shropshire or Derbyshire I believe ; and as soon as it was over, 
 Mr. Johnson took out of his pocket a little book and read, while 
 a gentleman of no small distinction for his birth and elegance 
 suddenly rode up to the carriage, and paying us all his proper 
 compliments, was desirous not to neglect Dr. Johnson ; but ob- 
 serving that he did not see him, tapt him gently on the shoulder 
 — "'Tis Mr. Ch — Im — ley," says my husband; — "Well, Sir! and 
 what if it is Mr. Ch — Im — ley ! " says the other sternly, just lifting 
 his eyes a moment from his book, and returning to it again with 
 renewed avidity.^ 
 
 He had sometimes fits of reading very violent ; and when he 
 was in earnest about getting through some particular pages, for 
 I have heard him say he never read but one book, which he did 
 not consider as obligatory, through in his whole life (and Lady 
 Mary Wortley's Letters was the book) ; he would be quite lost 
 to company, and withdraw all his attention to what he was read- 
 
 ^ See Boswell on this occurrence, vol. iv. (June 30, 17841. 
 
104 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 ing, without the smallest knowledge or care about the noise made 
 round him. His deafness made such conduct less odd and less 
 difficult to him than it would have been to another man ; but his 
 advising others to take the same method, and pull a little book 
 out when they were not entertained with what was going forward 
 in society, seemed more likely to advance the growth of science 
 than of polished manners, for which he always pretended extreme 
 veneration. 
 
 Mr. Johnson indeed always measured other people's notions ot 
 every thing by his own, and nothing could persuade him to be- 
 lieve, that the books which he disliked were agreeable to thou- 
 sands, or that air and exercise which he despised were beneficial 
 to the health of other mortals. When poor Smart, so well known 
 for his wit and misfortunes, was first obliged to be put in private 
 lodgings, a common friend of both lamented in tender terms the 
 necessity which had torn so pleasing a companion from their 
 acquaintance — " A madman must be confined, Sir," (replies Dr. 
 Johnson;) "but," says the other, "I am now apprehensive for his 
 general health, he will lose the benefit of exercise." " Exercise ! 
 (returns the Doctor) I never heard that he used any : he might, 
 for aught I know, walk to the alehouse ; but I believe he was 
 always carried home again." 
 
 It was however unlucky ibv those who delighted to echo 
 Johnson's sentiments ; that he would not endure from them to- 
 day, what perhaps he had yesterday, by his own manner of treat- 
 ing the subject, made them fond of repeating ; and I fancy Mr. 
 
 B has not forgotten, that though his friend one evening in a 
 
 gay humour talked in praise of wine as one of the blessings per- 
 mitted by heaven, when used with moderation, to lighten the load 
 of life, and give men strength to endure it ; yet, when in conse- 
 quence of such talk he thought fit to make a Bacchanalian discourse 
 in its favour, Mr. Johnson contradicted him somewhat roughly as 
 T remember ; and when to assure himself of conquest he added 
 these words : " You must allow me. Sir, at least that it produces 
 truth ; in vino Veritas, you know. Sir." — " That (replied Mr. 
 Johnson) wovdd be useless to a man who knew he was not a liar 
 when he was sober." 
 
 When one talks of giving and taking the lie familiarly, it is 
 impossible to forbear recollecting the transactions between the 
 editor of Ossian and the author of the "Journey to the Hebrides." 
 It was most observable to me however, that Mr. Johnson never 
 
BY MKS. PIOZZI. 105 
 
 bore his antagonist the slightest degree of ill-will. He always 
 kept those quarrels which belonged to him as a writer, separate 
 from those which he had to do with as a man ; but I never did 
 hear him say in private one malicious word of a public enemy ; 
 and of ;Mr. Macpherson I once heard him speak respectfully, 
 though his reply to the friend who asked him if any man living 
 could have written such a book, is well known, and has been often 
 repeated ; " Yes, Sir ; many men, many women, and many 
 children." 
 
 I enquired of him myself if this story was authentic, and he 
 said it was.^ I made the same enquiry concerning his account of 
 the state of literature in Scotland, which was repeated up and 
 down at one time by every body — " How knowledge was divided 
 among the Scots, lik3 bread in a besieged town, to every man a 
 mouthful, to no man a bellyful." This story he likewise acknow- 
 ledged, and said besides, " that some officious friend had carried 
 it to Lord Bute, who only answered — Well, well ! never mind 
 what he says — he will have the pension all one.** 
 
 Another famous reply to a Scotsman who commended the 
 beauty and dignity of Glasgow, till Mr. Johnson stopped him by 
 observing, " that he probably had never yet seen Brentford," was 
 one of the jokes he owned : and said himself, " that when a gentle- 
 man of that country once mentioned the lovely prospects common 
 in his nation, he could not help telling him, that the view of the 
 London road was the prospect in which every Scotsman most 
 naturally and most rationally delighted." 
 
 Mrs. Brooke received an answer not unlike this, when expatiat- 
 ing on the accumulation of sublime and beautiful objects, which 
 form the fine prospect up the river St. Lawrence in North 
 America ; " Come Madam (says Dr. Johnson), confess that 
 nothing ever equalled your pleasure in seeing that sight reversed ; 
 and finding yourself looking at the happy prospect down the 
 river St. Lawrence." The truth is, he hated to hear about pro- 
 spects and views, and laying out ground and taste in gardening : 
 " That was the best garden (he said) which produced most roots 
 and fruits ; and that water was most to be prized which contained 
 most fish." He used to laugh at Shenstone most unmercifully 
 for not caring whether there was any thing good to eat in the 
 streams he was so fond of, " as if (says Johnson) one could fiU 
 
 ' Vol. i., p. 314. 
 
106 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 one's belly with hearing soft murmurs, or looking at rough 
 cascades ! " 
 
 He loved the sight of fine forest trees however, and detested 
 Brighthelmstone Downs, *' because it was a country so truly 
 desolate (he said), that if one had a mind to hang one's self for 
 desperation at being obliged to live there, it would be difficult to 
 find a tree on which to fasten the rope." Walking in a wood 
 when it rained, was, I think, the only rural image he pleased his 
 fancy with; "for (says he) after one has gathered the apples in 
 an orchard, one wishes them well baked, and removed to a Lon- 
 don eating-house for enjoyment." 
 
 With such notions, who can wonder he passed his time uncom- 
 fortably enough with us, who he often complained of for living so 
 much in the country ; " feeding the chickens (as he said I did) 
 till I starved my own understanding. Get however (said he) a 
 book about gardening, and study it hard, since you will pass your 
 life with birds and flowers, and learn to raise the largest turnips, 
 and to breed the biggest fowls." It was vain to assure him that 
 the goodness of such dishes did not depend upon their size ; he 
 laughed at the people who covered their canals with foreign 
 fowls, " when (says he) our own geese and ganders are twice as 
 large : if we fetched better animals from distant nations, there 
 might be some sense in the preference ; but to get cows from 
 Alderney, or water-fowl from China, only to see nature degene- 
 rating round one, is a poor ambition indeed." 
 
 Nor was Mr. Johnson more merciful with regard to the amuse- 
 ments people are contented to call such : " You hunt in the 
 morning (says he), and crowd to the public rooms at night, and 
 call it diversion; when your heart knows it is perishing with 
 poverty of pleasures, and your wits get blunted for want of some 
 other mind to sharpen them upon. There is in this world no real 
 delight (excepting those of sensuality), but exchange of ideas in 
 conversation ; and whoever has once experienced the full flow of 
 London talk^ when he retires to country friendships and rural 
 sports, must either be contented to turn baby again and play with 
 the rattle, or he will pine away like a great fish in a little pond, 
 and die for want of his usual food." — "Books without the know- 
 ledge of life are useless (I have heard him say) ; for what should 
 books teach but the art of living ? To study manners however 
 only in coffee-houses, is more than equally imperfect ; the minds 
 of men who acquire no solid learning, and only exist on the daily 
 
BY ME3. PIOZZI. 107 
 
 fbrage that they pick up by running about, and snatching what 
 drops from their neighbours as ignorant as themselves, will never 
 ferment into any knowledge valuable or durable ; but like the 
 light wines we drink in hot countries, please for the moment 
 though incapable of keeping. In the study of mankind much 
 will be found to swim as froth, and much must sink as feculence, 
 before the wine can have its effect, and become that noblest liquor 
 which rejoices the heart, and gives vigour to the imagination." 
 
 I am well aware that I do not, and cannot give each expression 
 of Dr. Johnson with all its force or all its neatness ; but I have 
 done my best to record such of his maxims, and repeat such of 
 his sentiments, as may give to those who knew him not, a just 
 idea of his character and manner of thinking. To endeavour at 
 adorning, or adding, or softening, or meliorating such anecdotes, 
 by any tricks my inexperienced pen could play, would be weak- 
 ness indeed ; worse than the Frenchman who presides over the 
 porcelain manufactory at Seve, to whom when some Greek vases 
 were given him as models, he lamented la tristesse de telles 
 formes ; and endeavoured to assist them by clusters of flowers, 
 while flying Cupids served for the handles of urns originally in- 
 tended to contain the ashes of the dead. The misery is, that I 
 can recollect so few anecdotes, and that I have recorded no more 
 axioms of a man whose every word merited attention, and whose 
 every sentiment did honour to human nature. Remote from 
 afiectation as from error or falsehood, the comfort a reader has in 
 looking over these papers, is the certainty that those were really 
 the opinions of Johnson, which are related as such. 
 
 Fear of what others may think, is the great cause of affectation \ 
 and he was not likely to disguise his notions out of cowardice. 
 He hated disguise, and nobody penetrated it so readily. I 
 showed him a letter written to a common friend, who was at some 
 loss for the explanation of it : " Whoever wrote it (says our 
 Doctor) could, if he chose it, make himself understood ; but 'tis 
 the letter of an embarrassed man, Sir; " and so the event proved 
 it to be. 
 
 Mysteriousness in trifles offended him on every side : " it 
 commonly ended in guilt (he said) ; for those who begin by con- 
 cealment of innocent things, will soon have something to hide 
 ■wrhich they dare not bring to light." He therefore encouraged 
 an openness of conduct, in women particularly, " who (he 
 observed) were often led away when children, by their delight and 
 
108 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 power of surprising." He recommended, on something like the 
 same principle, that when one person meant to serve another, he 
 should not go about it slily, or as we say underhand, out of a 
 false idea of delicacy, to surprise one's friend with an unexpected 
 favom- ; " which, ten to one (says he), fails to oblige your 
 acquaintance, who had some reasons against such a mode of 
 obligation, which you might have known but for that superfluous 
 cunning which you think an elegance. Oh ! never be seduced 
 by such silly pretences (continued he) ; if a wench wants a good 
 gown, do not give her a fine smelling-bottle, because it is more 
 delicate : as I once knew a lady lend the key of her library to a 
 poor scribbling dependant, as if she took the woman for an 
 ostrich that could digest iron." He said indeed, " that women 
 were very difficult to be taught the proper manner of conferring 
 pecuniary favours ; that they always gave too much money or 
 too little ; for that they had an idea of delicacy accompanying 
 their gifts, so that they generally rendered them either useless or 
 ridiculous." 
 
 He did indeed say very contemptuous things of our sex ; 
 but was exceedingly angry when I told Miss Reynolds that lie 
 said, "It was well managed of some one to leave his afiairs in the 
 hands of his wife, because, in matters of business (said he), no 
 woman stops at integrity." This was, I think the only sentence 
 I ever observed him solicitous to explain away after he had 
 uttered it. He was not at all displeased at the recollection of a 
 sarcasm thrown on a whole profession at once ; when a gentleman 
 leaving the company, somebody who sate next Dr. Johnson asked 
 him, who he was ? " I cannot exactly tell you Sir (replied he), 
 and I would be loth to speak ill of any person who I do not know 
 deserves it, but I am afraid he is an attorney''' He did not how- 
 ever encourage general satire, and for the most part professed 
 himself to feel directly contrary to Dr. Swift ; " who (says he) 
 hates the world, though he loves John and Robert, and certain 
 individuals." 
 
 Johnson said always, *' that the world was well constructed, but 
 that the particular people disgraced the elegance and beauty of 
 the general fabric." In the same manner I was relating once to 
 him, how Dr. Collier observed, that the love one bore to children 
 was fi-om the anticipation one's mind made while one contemplated 
 them : " We hope (says he) that they will sortie time make wise 
 men, or amiable women ; and we suffer 'em to take up our 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 109 
 
 alTection beforehand. One cannot love lumps of flesh, and little 
 infants are nothing more. On the contrary (says Johnson), one 
 can scarcely help wishing, while one fondles a baby, that it may 
 never live to become a man ; for it is so probable that when he 
 becomes a man, he should be sure to end in a scoundrel." Girls 
 were less displeasing to him ; for as their temptations were 
 fewer (he said), their virtue in this life^ and happiness in the 
 next, were less improbable ; and he loved (he said) to see a knot 
 of little misses dearly. 
 
 Needle-work had a strenuous approver in Dr. Johnson,^ who- 
 said, " that one of the great felicities of female life, was the general 
 consent of the world, that they might amuse themselves with 
 petty occupations, which contributed to the lengthening their 
 lives, and preserving their minds in a state of sanity." " A man. 
 cannot hem a pocket-handkerchief (said a lady of quality to him 
 one day), and so he runs mad, and torments his family and friends." 
 The expression struck him exceedingly, and when one acquaint- 
 ance grew troublesome, and another unhealthy, he used to quote 
 Lady Frances's observation, " That a man cannot hem a pocket- 
 handkerchief." 
 
 The nice people found no mercy from Mr. Johnson ; such I 
 mean as can dine only at four o'clock, who cannot bear to be 
 waked at an unusual hour, or miss a stated meal without incon- 
 venience. He had no such prejudices himself, and with difficulty 
 forgave them in another. " Delicacy does not surely consist 
 (says he) in impossibility to be pleased, and that is false dignity 
 indeed which is content to depend upon others." 
 
 The saying of the old philosopher, who observes. That he who 
 wants least is most like the gods, who want nothing ; was a favou- 
 rite sentence with Dr. Johnson, who on his own part required 
 less attendance, sick or well, than ever I saw any human creature. 
 Conversation was all he required to make him happy ; and when 
 he would have tea made at two o'clock in the morning, it Avas only 
 that there might be a certainty of detaining his companions round 
 him. On that principle it was that he preferred winter to sum- 
 mer, when the heat of the weather gave people an excuse to stroll 
 about, and walk for pleasure in the shade, while he wished to sit 
 still on a chair, and chat day after day, till somebody proposed a 
 
 * See under April 15, 1778, for reference to Mrs. KJiowles' " sutile 
 pictures." 
 
110 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 drive in the coach : and that was the most delicious moment of 
 his life.^ " But the cai-riage must stop sometime (as he said), 
 and the people would come home at last; " so his pleasure was 
 of short duration. 
 
 I asked him why he doated on a coach so ? and received for 
 answer, " That in the first place, the company was shut in with 
 him there ; and could not escape, as out of a room ; in the next 
 place, he heard all that was said in a carriage, where it was my 
 turn to be deaf : " and very impatient was he at my occasional 
 difficulty of hearing. On this account he wished to travel all 
 over the world ; for the very act of going forward was delightful 
 to him, and he gave himself no concern about accidents, which 
 lie said never happened : nor did the running-away of the horses 
 on the edge of a precipice between Vernon and St. Denys in 
 France convince him to the contrary ; " for nothing came of it (he 
 said), except that Mr. Thrale leaped out of the carriage into a 
 chalkpit, and then came up again, looking as white ! " When the 
 truth was, all their lives were saved by the greatest providence 
 ever exerted in favour of tliree human creatures ; and the part 
 Mr. Thrale took from desperation was the likeliest thing in the 
 world to produce broken limbs and death. 
 
 Fear was indeed a sensation to which Mr. Johnson was 
 utter stranger, excepting when some sudden apprehensions seiz 
 him that he was going to die ; and even then he kept all his wi 
 about him, to express the most humble and pathetic petitions to 
 the Almighty : and when the first paralytic stroke took his speech 
 from him, he instantly set about composing a prayer in Latin, at 
 once to deprecate God's mercy, to satisfy himself that his mental 
 powers remained unimpaired, and to keep them in exercise, that 
 they might not perish by permitted stagnation. This was after 
 we parted ; but he wrote me an account of it, and I intend to 
 publish that letter, with many more. 
 
 When one day he had at my house taken tincture of antimony 
 instead of emetic wine, for a vomit, he was himself the person to 
 dii'ect us what to do for him, and managed with as much coolness 
 and deliberation as if he had been prescribing for an indifferent 
 person. Though on another occasion, when he had lamented in 
 the most piercing terms bis approaching dissolution, and conjured 
 me solemnly to tell him what I thought, while Sir Richard Jebb 
 
 1 See vol. iii., pp. 36, 190. 
 
 i 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. Ill 
 
 wa.s perpetually on the road to Streatham, and Mr. Johnson 
 seemed to think himself neglected if the physician left him for an 
 hour only, I made him a steady, but as I thought a very gentle 
 harangue, in which I confirmed all that the Doctor had been 
 saying, how no present danger could be expected ; but that his 
 age and continued ill health must naturally accelerate the arrival 
 of that hour which can be escaped by none. " And this (says 
 Johnson, rising in great anger) is the voice of female friendship 
 I suppose, when the hand of the hangman would be softer." 
 
 Another day, when he was ill, and exceedingly low-spirited, 
 and persuaded that death was not far distant, I appeared before 
 him in a dark-coloured gown, which his bad sight, and worse 
 apprehensions, made him mistake for an iron-gi'ey. " Why do 
 you delight (said he) thus to thicken the gloom of misery that 
 surrounds me ? is not here sufficient accumulation of horror with- 
 out anticipated mo'irning ? " " This is not mourning. Sir " (said I), 
 drawing the curtain, that the light might fall upon the silk, and 
 shew it was a purple mixed with green. " Well, well (replied 
 he, changing his voice), you little creatures should never wear 
 those sort of clothes however ; they are unsuitable in every way. 
 AVhat ! have not all insects gay colours ? " I relate these instances 
 chiefly to shew that the fears of death itself could not suppress 
 his wit, his sagacity, or his temptation to sudden resentment. 
 
 Mr. Johnson did not like that his friends should bring their 
 manuscripts for him to read, and he liked still less to read 
 them when they were brought : sometimes however when he 
 could not refuse he would take the play or poem, or whatever it 
 was, and give the people his opinion from some one page that he 
 had peeped into. A gentleman carried him his tragedy, which, 
 because he loved the author, Johnson took, and it lay about our 
 rooms some time. " What answer did you give your friend Sir ? " 
 said I, after the book had been called for- " I told him (replied 
 he), that there was too much Tig and Tirry in it." Seeing me 
 laugh most violently, "Why what would'st have, child?'' (said 
 he.) " I looked at nothing but the dramatis, and there was 
 T^-ranes and Teridates, or Teribazus, or such stuff. A man can 
 tell but what he knows, and I never got any further than the first 
 page. Alas, Madam ! (continued he) how few books are there 
 of which one ever can possibly arrive at the last page ! AV^as there 
 €ver yet any thing written by mere man that was wished longer 
 by its readers, excepting ' Don Quixote,' ' Robinson Crusoe,' and 
 
112 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 the 'Pilgrim's Progress?'" After Homer's " Iliad," Mr. John- 
 son confessed that the work of Cervantes was the greatest in the 
 world, speaking of it I mean as a book of entertainment ; and 
 when we consider that every other author's admirers are confined 
 to his countrymen, and perhaps to the literary classes among them^ 
 while " Don Quixote " is a sort of common property, an universal 
 classic, equally tasted by the court and the cottage, equally 
 applauded in France and England as in Spain, quoted by every 
 servant, the amusement of every age from infancy to decrepitude ; 
 the first book you see on every shelf, in every shop, where books 
 are sold, through all the states of Italy ; who can refuse his con- 
 sent to an avowal of the superiority of Cervantes to all other 
 modem writers ? Shakespeare himself has, till lately, been wor- 
 shipped only at home, though his plays are now the favourite 
 amusements of Vienna ; and when I was at Padua some months 
 ago, " Romeo and Juliet " was acted there under the name of 
 Tragedia Veronese ; while engravers and translators live by the 
 Hero of La Mancha in every nation, and the sides of miserable 
 inns all over England and France, and I have heard Germany too, 
 are adorned with the exploits of Don Quixote. May his celebrity 
 procure my pardon for a digression in praise of a writer who, 
 through four volumes of the most exqiiisite pleasantry and geniiine 
 humour, has never been seduced to overstep the limits of pro-l 
 priety, has never called in the wretched auxiliaries of obscenity! 
 or profaneness ; who trusts to nature and sentiment alone, anc 
 never misses of that applause which Voltaire and Sterne laboui 
 to produce, while honest merriment bestows her unfading crowi 
 upon Cervantes. 
 
 Dr. Johnson was a great reader of French literature, and de- 
 lighted exceedingly in Boileau's works. Moliere I think he hac 
 hardly sufficient taste of; and he used to condemn me for pre-^ 
 ferring La Bruyere to the Due de Rochefoucault, " who (he 
 said) was the only gentleman writer who wrote like a professed 
 author." The asperity of his harsh sentences, each of them 
 sentence of condemnation, used to disgust me however; thougl 
 it must be owned that, among the necessaries of human life, 
 rasp is reckoned one as well as a razor. 
 
 Mr. Johnson did not like any one who said they were happy^J 
 or who said any one else was so. " It is all cant (he would cry)jj 
 the dog knows he is miserable all the time." A friend whom h« 
 loved exceedingly, told him on some occasion notwithstanding,' 
 
BY MBS. PIOZZI. 113 
 
 that his wife's sister was really happy, and called upon the lady 
 to confirm his assertion, which she did somewhat roundly as we 
 say, and with an accent and manner capable of offending Mr. 
 Johnson, if her position had not been sufficient, without anything 
 more, to put him in very ill humour. " If your sister-in-law is 
 really the contented being she professes herself Sir (said he), 
 her life gives the lie to every research of humanity ; for she is 
 happy Avithout health, without beauty, without money, and with- 
 out understanding." This story he told me himself; and when 
 I expressed something of the horror I felt, " The same stupidity 
 (said he) which prompted her to extol felicity she never felt, 
 hindered her from feeling what shocks you on repetition. I tell you, 
 the woman is ugly, and sickly, and foolish, and poor ; and would 
 it not make a man hang himself to hear such a creature say, it 
 was happy ? " 
 
 " The life of a sailor was also a continued scene of danger and 
 exertion (he said) ; and the manner in which time was spent 
 shipboard would make all who saw a cabin envy a gaol." The 
 roughness of .he language used on board a man of war, where he 
 passed a week on a visit to Capt. Knight, disgusted him terribly. 
 He asked an officer what some place was called, and received for 
 answer, that it was where the loploUy man kept his loplolly : a 
 reply he considered, not unjustly, as disrespectful, gross, and 
 ignorant ; for though in the course of these Memoirs I have been 
 led to mention Dr. Johnson's tenderness towards poor people, I 
 do not wish to mislead my readers, and make them think he had 
 any delight in mean manners or coarse expressions. Even dress 
 itself, when it resembled that of the vulgar, offended him exceed 
 ingly ; and when he had condemned me many times for not 
 adorning my children with more show than I thought useful or 
 elegant, I presented a little girl to him who came o'visiting 
 one evening covered with shining ornaments, to see if he would 
 approve of the appearance she made. When they were gone 
 home, " Well, Sir, said I, how did you like little miss ? I hope she 
 yrdisjine enough." " It was the finery of a beggar (said he), and 
 you know it was ; she looked like a native of Cow Lane dressed 
 up to be carried to Bartholomew fair." 
 
 His reprimand to another lady for crossing her little child's 
 handkerchief before, and by that operation dragging down its 
 head oddly and unintentionally, was on the same principle. " It 
 is the beggar's fear of cold (said he) that prevails over such 
 
 VI. I 
 
114 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON 
 
 parents, and so they pull the poor thing's head down, and give it 
 the look of a baby that plays about Westminster Bridge, while 
 the mother sits shivering in a niche.'''' 
 
 I commended a young lady for her beauty and pretty behaviour 
 one day however, to whom I thought no objections could have 
 been made. " I saw her (says Dr. Johnson) take a pair of 
 scissars in her left hand though ; and for all her father is now 
 become a nobleman, and as you say excessively rich, I should, 
 were I a youth of quality ten years hence, hesitate between a 
 girl so neglected, and a negroy 
 
 It was indeed astonishing how he could remark such minute- 
 nesses with a sight so miserably imperfect ; but no accidental 
 position of a ribband escaped him, so nice was his observation, 
 and so rigorous his demands of propriety. When I went with 
 him to Litchfield and came down stairs to breakfast at the inn, 
 my dress did not please him, and he made me alter it entirely 
 before he would stir a step with us about the town, saying most 
 satirical things concerning the appearance I made in a riding- 
 habit ; and adding, " 'Tis very strange that such eyes as yours 
 cannot discern propriety of dress : if I had a sight only half as 
 good, I think 1 should see to the centre." 
 
 My compliances however were of little worth ; what really sur- 
 prised me was the victory he gained over a lady little accustomed 
 to contradiction, who had dressed herself for church at Streatham 
 one Sunday morning, in a manner he did not approve, and to 
 whom he said such sharp and pungent things concerning her hat, 
 her gown, &c. that she hastened to change them, and returning 
 quite another figure received his applause, and thanked him for 
 his reproofs, much to the amazement of her husband, who could 
 scarcely believe his own ears. 
 
 Another lady, whose accomplishments he never denied, came 
 to our house one day covered with diamonds, feathers, &c. and he 
 did not seem inclined to chat with her, as usual. I asked him 
 why? when the company was gone. " Why, her head looked so 
 like that of a woman who shews puppets (said he), and her voice 
 so confirmed the fancy, that I could not bear her to-day; when 
 she wears a large cap, I can talk to her." 
 
 When the ladies wore lace trimmings to their clothes, he ex- 
 pressed his contempt for the reigning fashion in these terms : " A 
 Brussels trimming is like bread sauce (said he), it takes away the 
 glow of colour from the gown, and gives you nothing instead of 
 
BY MES. PIOZZI. 115 
 
 it ; but sauce was invented to heighten the flavour of our food, 
 and trimminjx is an ornament to the manteau, or it is nothing* 
 Learn (said he) that there is propriety or impropriety in every 
 thing how slight soever, and get at the general principles of dress 
 and of behaviour ; if you then transgress them, you will at least 
 know that they are not observed." 
 
 All these exactnesses in a man who was nothing less than exact 
 himself, made him extremely impracticable as an inmate, though 
 most instructive as a companion, and useful as a friend. Mr. 
 Thrale too could sometimes over-rule his rigidity, by saying 
 •coldly, " There, there, now we have had enough for one lecture. 
 Dr. Johnson ; we will not be upon education any more till after 
 dinner, if you please " — or some such speech : but when there was 
 nobody to restrain his dislikes, it was extremely difficult to find 
 any body with whom he could converse, without living always on 
 the verge of a quarrel, or of something too like a quarrel to be 
 pleasing. I came into the room, for example, one evening, 
 where he and a gentleman, whose abilities we all respect ex- 
 ceedingly, were sitting ; a lady who walked in two minutes 
 before me had blown 'em both into a flame, by whispering some- 
 thing to Mr. S d, which he endeavoured to explain away, so 
 
 as not to afiront the Doctor, whose suspicions were all alive. 
 *' And have a care. Sir (said he), just as I came in ; the Old Lion 
 will not bear to be tickled." The other was pale with rage, the 
 Lady wept at the confusion she had caused, and I could only say 
 with Lady Macbeth, 
 
 " Soh ! you've displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting 
 With most admir'd disorder." 
 
 Such accidents however occurred too often, and I was forced 
 to take advantage of my lost lawsuit, and plead inability of purse 
 to remain longer in London or its vicinage. I had been crossed 
 in my intentions of going abroad, and found it convenient, for 
 -every reason of health, peace, and pecuniary circumstances, to 
 retire to Bath, where I knew Mr. Johnson would not follow me, 
 and where I could for that reason command some little portion 
 of time for my own use ; a thing impossible while I remained at 
 Streatham or at London, as my hours, carriage, and servants had 
 long been at his command, who would not rise in the morning till 
 twelve o'clock perhaps, and oblige me to make breakfast for him 
 4;ill the bell rung for dinner, though much displeased if the toilet 
 
116 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 was neglected, and though much of the time we passed together 
 was spent in blaming or deriding, very justly, my neglect of 
 (Economy, and waste of that money which might make many 
 families happy. The original reason of our connection, his par- 
 ticularly disordered health and spirits, had been long at an end, 
 and he had no other ailments than old age and general infirmity, 
 which every professor of medicine was ardently zealous and gene- 
 rally attentive to palliate, and to contribute all in their power for 
 the prolongation of a life so valuable. Veneration for his virtue,^ 
 reverence for his talents, delight in his conversation, and habitiial 
 endurance of a yoke my husband first put upon me, and of which 
 he contentedly bore his share for sixteen or seventeen years, 
 made me go on so long with Mr. Johnson ; but the perpetual 
 confinement I will own to have been terrifying in the first year& 
 of our friendship, and irksome in the last ; nor could I pretend 
 to support it without help, when my coadjutor was no more.^ To 
 the assistance we gave him, the shelter our house afforded to his 
 uneasy fancies, and to the pains we took to sooth or repress them, 
 the world perhaps is indebted for the three political pamphlets, 
 the new edition and correction of his " Dictionary," and for the 
 Poets Lives, which he would scarce have lived, I think, and kept 
 his faculties entire, to have written, had not incessant care been 
 exerted at the time of his first coming to be our constant guest 
 in the country ; and several times after that, when he found him- 
 self particularly oppressed with diseases incident to the most 
 vivid and fervent imaginations. I shall for ever consider it 
 the greatest honour which could be conferred on any one, to ha 
 been the confidential friend of Dr. Johnson's health ; and to h 
 in some measure, with Mr. Thrale's assistance, saved from distrei 
 at least, if not from worse, a mind great beyond the comprehen 
 sion of common mortals, and good beyond all hope of imitation 
 from perishable beings. 
 
 Many of our friends were earnest that he should write the 
 lives of our famous prose authors ; but he never made any 
 answer that I can recollect to the proposal, excepting when Sir 
 Richard Musgrave once was singularly warm about it, getting up 
 and intreating him to set about the work immediately ; he coldly 
 replied, " Sit down, Sir .'" 
 
 When Mr. Thrale built the new library at Streatham, and 
 
 ^ This paragraph is quoted by Boswell. Life, vol. iv. (June 30, 1784), 
 
 )St 
 
 ] 
 
 :n- 
 
I 
 
 BY MRS. PIOZZI. 117 
 
 hung up over the books the portraits of his favourite friends, 
 that of Dr. Johnson was last finished, and closed the number. It 
 was almost impossible not to make verses on such an accidental 
 combination of circumstances, so I made the following ones : but 
 as a character written in verse will for the most part be found 
 imperfect as a character, I have therefore written a prose one, 
 with which I mean, not to complete, but to conclude these 
 Anecdotes of the best and wisest man that ever came within the 
 reach of my personal acquaintance, and I think I might venture 
 to add, that of all or any of my readers : 
 
 " Gigantic in knowledge, in virtue, in strength, 
 
 Our company closes with Johnson at length ; 
 
 So the Greeks from the cavern of Polypheme past, 
 
 When wisest, and greatest, Ulysses came last. 
 
 To his comrades contemptuous, we see him look down. 
 
 On their wit and their worth with a general frown. 
 
 Since from Science' proud tree the rich fruit he receives, 
 
 Who could shake the whole trunk while they turn'd a few leaves. 
 
 His piety pure, his morality nice — 
 
 Protector of virtue, and terror of vice ; 
 
 In these features Religion's firm champion display'd, 
 
 Shall make infidels fear for a modern crusade. 
 
 While th' inflammable temper, the positive tongue. 
 
 Too conscious of right for endurance of wrong : 
 
 We suffer from Johnson, contented to find, 
 
 That some notice we gain from so noble a mind ; 
 
 And pardon our hurts, since so often we've found 
 
 The balm of instruction pour'd into the wound. 
 
 'Tis thus for its virtues the chemists extol 
 
 Pure rectified spirit, sublime alcohol ; 
 
 From noxious putrescence, preservu,tive pure, 
 
 A cordial in health, and in sickness a cure ; 
 
 But expos'd to the sun, taking fire at his rays. 
 
 Burns bright to the bottom, and ends in a blaze." 
 
 It is usual, I know not why, when a character is given, to 
 begin with a description of the person ; that which contained the 
 soul of Mr. Johnson deserves to be particularly described. His 
 stature was remarkably high, and his limbs exceedingly large : 
 his strength was more than common I believe, and his activity 
 had been greater I have heard than such a form gave one reason 
 to expect: his features were strongly marked, and his countenance 
 particularly rugged ; though the original complexion had cer- 
 tainly been fair, a circumstance somewhat unusual : his sight 
 was near, and othei'wise imperfect ^ yet his eyes, though of a 
 
118 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 light-grey colour, were so wild, so piercing, and at times so fierce, 
 that fear was I believe the first emotion in the hearts of all his 
 beholders. His mind was so comprehensive, that no language 
 but that he used could have expressed its contents ; and so 
 ponderous was his language, that sentiments less lofty and less 
 solid than his were, would have been encumbered, not adoriied 
 by it. 
 
 Mr. Johnson was not intentionally however a pompous con- 
 verser ; and though he was accused of using big words as they 
 are called, it was only when little ones would not express his 
 meaning as clearly, or when perhaps the elevation of the thought 
 would have been disgraced by a dress less superb. He used to 
 say, " that the size of a man's understanding might always be 
 justly measured by his mirth ; " and his own was never con- 
 temptible.^ He would laugh at a stroke of genuine humour, or 
 sudden sally of odd absurdity, as heartily and freely as I ever yet 
 saw any man ; and though the jest was often such as few felt 
 besides himself, yet his laugh was irresistible, and was observed 
 immediately to produce that of the company, not merely from the 
 notion that it was proper to laugh when he did, but purely out of 
 want of power to forbear it. He was no enemy to splendour of 
 apparel or pomp of equipage — " Life (he would say) is barren 
 enough surely with all her trappings ; let us therefore be cautious 
 how we strip her." In matters of still higher moment he once 
 observed, when speaking on the subject of sudden innovation, — 
 " He who plants a forest may doubtless cut down a hedge ; yet 
 I could wish methinks that even he would wait till he sees his 
 young plants grow." 
 
 With regard to common occurrences, Mr. Johnson had, when 
 I first knew him, looked on the still- shifting scenes of life till he 
 was weary ; for as a mind slow in its own nature, or unenlivened 
 by information, will contentedly read in the same book for twenty 
 times perhaps, the very act of reading it, being more than half the 
 business, and every period being at every reading better under- 
 stood ; while a mind more active or more skilful to comprehend 
 its meaning is made sincerely sick at the second perusal ; so a 
 soul like his, acute to discern the truth, vigorous to embrace, and 
 powerful to retain it, soon sees enough of the world's dull prospect, 
 which at first, like that of the sea, pleases by its extent, but soon, 
 
 * Hawkins' Life of Johnson, vol. i., p. 258. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 119 
 
 like that too, fatigues from its uniformity; a calm and a storm 
 being the only variations that the nature of either will admit. 
 
 Of INIr. Johnson's erudition the world has been the judge, and 
 we who produce each a score of his sayings, as proofs of that wit 
 which in him was inexhaustible, resemble travellers who having 
 visited Delhi or Golconda, bring home each a handful of Oriental 
 pearl to evince the riches of the Great Mogul. May the Public 
 condescend to accept my ill-strung selection with patience at 
 least, remembering only that they are relics of him who was 
 great on all occasions, and, like a cube in architecture, you behold 
 him on each side, and his size still appeared undiminished. 
 
 As his purse was ever open to almsgiving, so was his heart 
 tender to those who wanted relief, and his soul susceptible of 
 Gratitude, and of every kind impression ; yet though he had 
 refined his sensibility, he had not endangered his quiet, by 
 encouraging in himself a solicitude about trifles, which he treated 
 with the contempt they deserve. 
 
 It was well enough known before these sheets were published, 
 that Mr. Johnson had a roughness in his manner which subdued 
 the saucy, and terrified the meek : this was, when I knew him, the 
 prominent part of a character which few durst venture to approach 
 so nearly ; and which was for that reason in many respects grossly 
 and frequently mistaken, and it was perhaps peculiar to him, that 
 the lofty consciousness of his own superiority, which animated his 
 looks, and raised his voice in conversation, cast likewise an im- 
 penetrable veil over him when he said nothing. His talk there- 
 fore had commonly the complexion of arrogance, his silence of 
 superciliousness. He was however seldom inclined to be silent 
 when any moral or literary question was started : and it was on 
 such occasions, that, like the sage in " Rasselas," he spoke, and 
 attention watched his lips ; he reasoned, and conviction closed 
 his periods : if poetry was talked of, his quotations were the 
 readiest ; and had he not been eminent for more solid and 
 brilliant qualities, mankind would have united to extol his 
 extraordinary memory. His manner of repeating deserves to be 
 described, though at the same time it defeats all power of 
 description; but whoever once heard him repeat an ode of 
 Horace, would be long before they could endure to hear it 
 repeated by another. 
 
 His equity in giving the character of living acquaintance ought 
 not undoubtedly to be omitted in his own, whence partiality and 
 
120 
 
 ANECDOTES OF JOHNSON 
 
 prejudice were totally excluded, and truth alone presided in 
 his tongue : a steadiness of conduct the more to be com- 
 mended, as no man had stronger likings or aversions. His 
 veracity was indeed, from the most trivial to the most solemn 
 occasions, strict, even to severity ; he scorned to embellish a 
 story with fictitious circumstances, which (he used to say) took 
 off from its real value. " A story (says Johnson) should be a 
 specimen of life and manners ; but if the surrounding circum- 
 stances are false, as it is no more a representation of reality, it is 
 no longer worthy our attention." 
 
 For the rest — That beneficence which during his life increased 
 the comforts of so many, may after his death be perhaps ungrate- 
 fully forgotten ; but that piety which dictated the serious papers 
 in the " Rambler," will be for ever remembered ; for ever, I 
 think, revered. That ample repository of religious truth, moral 
 wisdom, and accurate criticism, breathes indeed the genuine 
 emanations of its great Author's mind, expressed too in a style so 
 natural to him, and so much like his common mode of conversing, 
 that I was myself but little astonished when he told me, that he 
 had scarcely read over one of those inimitable essays before they 
 went to the press. 
 
 I will add one or two peculiarities more, before I lay down my 
 pen. — Though at an immeasurable distance from content in the 
 contemplation of his own uncouth form and figure, he did not like 
 another man much the less for being a coxcomb. I mentioned two 
 friends who were particularly fond of looking at themselves in a 
 glass — " They do not surprise me at all by so doing (said John- 
 son) : they see, reflected in that glass, men who have risen from 
 almost the lowest situations in life ; one to enormous riches, the 
 other to everything this world can give — rank, fame, and fortune. 
 They see, likewise, men who have merited their advancement by 
 the exertion and improvement of those talents which God had 
 given them ; and I see not why they should avoid the mirror." 
 
 The other singularity I promised to record, is this : That 
 though a man of obscure birth himself, his partiality to people of 
 family was visible on every occasion ; his zeal for subordination 
 warm even to bigotry ; his hatred to innovation, and reverence 
 for the old feudal times, apparent, whenever any possible manner 
 of shewing them occurred. I have spoken of his piety, his charity, 
 and his truth, the enlargement of his heart, and the delicacy of 
 his sentiments ; and when I search for shadow to my portrait. 
 
BY MRS. PIOZZI. 121 
 
 none can I find but what Mas formed by pride, differently 
 modified as different occasions shewed it ; yet never was pride so 
 purified as Johnson's, at once from meanness and from vanity. 
 The mind of this man was indeed expanded beyond the common 
 limits of human nature, and stored with such variety of know- 
 ledge, that I used to think it resembled a royal pleasure-ground, 
 where every plant, of every name and nation, flourished in the full 
 perfection of their powers, and where, though lofty woods and 
 falling cataracts first caught the eye, and fixed the earliest atten- 
 tion of beholders, yet neither the trim parterre nor the pleasing 
 shrubbery, nor even the antiquated ever-greens, were denied a 
 place in some fit corner of the happy valley. 
 
 THJB END. 
 
122 ANECDOTES OP JOHNSON BY MRS. PIOZZI. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Naples, Feb. 10, 1786. 
 Since the foregoing went to press, having seen a passage from 
 Mr. Boswell's " Tour to the Hebrides," ^ in which it is said, that 
 / could not get through Mrs. Montagu's Essay on Shakespeare, I 
 do not delay a moment to declare, that, on the contrary, I have 
 always commended it myself, and heard it commended by every 
 one else ; and few things would give me more concern than to be 
 thought incapable of tasting, or unwilling to testify my opinion 
 of its excellence. 
 
 1 See Boswell's note vol. v. (Sept. 23 1773). 
 
APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, 
 
 OPINIONS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OCCASIONAL REFLECTIONS. 
 
 Published in the eleventh volume, pp. 196-216, of Sir John HawJcinsr 
 
 Collective Edition oj the Works of Samuel Johnson, LL,D. 
 
 London, 1787. 
 
APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS 
 OPINIONS, &c. 
 
 DR. JOHNSON said he always mistrusted romantick virtue; 
 as thinking it founded on no fixed principle. 
 
 He used to say, that where secrecy or mystery began, vice or 
 roguery was not far off; and that he leads in general an* ill life,, 
 who stands in fear of no man's observation. 
 
 When a friend of his who had not been very lucky in his first 
 wife, married a second, he said — Alas! another instance of the 
 triumph of hope over experience. 
 
 Of Sheridan's writings on Elocution, he said, they were a con- 
 tinual renovation of hope, and an unvaried succession of disap- 
 pointments. 
 
 Of musick, he said, — It is the only sensual pleasure without 
 vice. 
 
 He used to say, that no man read long together with a folio- 
 on his table : — Books, said he, that you may carry to the fire, 
 and hold readily in your hand, are the most useful after all. — 
 He would say, such books form the man of general and easy 
 reading. 
 
 He was a great friend to books like the French Esprits di'un 
 tel; for example, "Beauties of Watts," &c., &c., at which, said 
 he, a man will often look and be tempted to go on, when he 
 would have been frightened at books of a larger size and of a 
 more erudite appearance. 
 
 Being once asked if he ever embellished a story — No, said he ; 
 a story is to lead either to the knowledge of a fact or character,. 
 And is good for nothing if it be not strictly and literally true. 
 
 ^ Query — no ill life ? — Editor. 
 
126 APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, ETC. 
 
 Round numbers, said he, are always false. 
 
 " Watts' s Improvement of the Mind " was a very favourite 
 book with him ; he used to recommend it, as he also did " Le 
 Dictionnaire portatif" of the Abbe L'Avocat. 
 
 He has been accused of treating Lord Lyttelton roughly in his 
 life of him ; he assured a friend, however, that he kept back a 
 very ridiculous anecdote of him, relative to a question he put to 
 a great divine of his time. 
 
 Johnson's account of Lord Lyttelton's envy to^ Shenstone 
 for his improvements in his grounds, &c., was confirmed by an 
 ingenious writer. Spence was in the house for a fortnight with 
 the Lytteltons, before they offered to shew him Shenstone's 
 place. 
 
 When accused of mentioning ridiculous anecdotes in the lives 
 iof the poets, he said, he should not have been an exact bio- 
 «grapher if he had omitted them. The business of such a one, 
 said he, is to give a complete account of the person whose life 
 he is writing, and to discriminate him from all other persons by 
 lany peculiarities of character or sentiment he may happen to 
 have. 
 
 He spoke Latin with great fluency and elegance. He said, 
 andeed, he had taken great pains about it. 
 
 A very famous schoolmaster said, he had rather take Johnson's 
 opinion about any Latin composition, than that of any other 
 iperson in England. 
 
 Dr. Sumner, of Harrow, used to tell this story of Johnson : 
 ^hey were dining one day, with many other persons, at Mrs. 
 Macaulay's; she had talked a long time at dinner about the 
 natural equality of mankind ; Johnson, when she had finished her 
 harangue, rose up from the table, and with great solemnity of^ 
 countenance, and a bow to the ground, said to the servant, who 
 was waiting behind his chair, Mr. John, pray be seated in my 
 place, and permit me to wait upon you in my turn : your mis- 
 tress says, you hear, that we are all equal. 
 
 When some one was lamenting Foote's unlucky fate in being 
 kicked in Dublin, Johnson said he was glad of it ; he is rising in 
 the world, said he ; when he was in England, no one thought it 
 worth while to kick him. 
 
 He was much pleased with the following repartee : Fiat expe- 
 
 * Query — 0/ Shenstone ?—£lii7or. 
 
COLLECTED BY SIR JOHN HAWKINS. 127 
 
 rimentum in corpore vili, said a French physician to his colleague, 
 in speaking of the disorder of a poor man that understood Latin, 
 and who was brought into an hospital ; corpus non tarn vile est, 
 says the patient, pro quo Christus ipse non dedignatus est mori. 
 
 Johnson used to say, a man was a scoundrel that was afraid of 
 S.ny thing. 
 
 After having disused swimming for many years, he went into 
 the river at Oxford, and swam away to a part of it that he had 
 been told of as a dangerous place, and where some one had been 
 drowned. 
 
 He waited on Lord Marchmont to make some inquiries after 
 particulars of Mr. Pope's life ; his first question was, — What 
 kind of a man was Mr. Pope in his conversation ? his lordship 
 answered, that if the conversation did not take something of a 
 lively or epigrammatick turn, he fell asleep, or perhaps pretended 
 to do so. 
 
 Talking one day of the patronage the great sometimes affect 
 to give to literature, and literary men, — Andrew Millar, says he, 
 is the Mecaenas of the age. 
 
 Of the state of learning among the Scots, he said, — It is with 
 their learning as with provisions in a besieged town, every one 
 has a mouthful, and no one a bellyfull. 
 
 Of Sir Joshua Reynolds he requested three things ; that he 
 would not work on a Sunday ; that he would read a portion of 
 scripture on that day ; and that he would forgive him a debt 
 which he had incurred for some benevolent purpose. 
 
 When he first felt the stroke of the palsy, he prayed to God 
 that he would spare his mind, whatever he thought fit to do 
 with his body. 
 
 To some lady who was praising Shenstone's poems very much, 
 and who had an Italian greyhound lying by the fire, he said, 
 Shenstone holds amongst poets the same rank your dog holds 
 amongst dogs ; he has not the sagacity of the hound, the docility 
 of the spaniel, nor the courage of the bull-dog, yet he is still a 
 pretty fellow. 
 
 Johnson said he was better pleased with the commendations 
 bestowed on his account of the Hebrides than on any book he 
 had ever written. Burke, says he, thought well of the philo- 
 sophy of it ; Sir William Jones of the observations on language ; 
 and Mr. Jackson of those on trade. 
 
 Of Foote's wit and readiness of repartee he thought very 
 
128 APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, ETC. 
 
 highly ; — He was, says he, the readiest dog at an escape I ever 
 knew ; if you thought you had him on the ground fairly down, 
 he was upon his legs and over your shoulders again in an 
 instant. 
 
 When some one asked him, whether they should introduce 
 Hugh Kelly, the author, to him; — No, Sir, says he, I never 
 desire to converse with a man who has written more than he has 
 read : — yet when his play was acted for the benefit of his widow, 
 Johnson furnished a prologue. 
 
 He repeated poetry with wonderful energy and feeling. He 
 was seen to weep whilst he repeated Goldsmith's character of 
 the English in his " Traveller," beginning thus : 
 
 " Stern o'er each bosom," &c. 
 
 He was supposed to hare assisted Goldsmith very much in that 
 poem, but has been heard to say, he might have contributed 
 three or four lines, taking together all he had done. 
 
 He held all authors very cheap, that were not satisfied with 
 the opinion of the publick about them. He used to say, that 
 every man who writes, thinks he can amuse or inform mankind, 
 and they must be the best judges of his pretensions. 
 
 Of Warburton he always spoke well. He gave me, says he, 
 his good word when it was of use to me. Warburton, in the 
 Preface to his Shakespeare, has commended Johnson's Observa- 
 tions on Macbeth. 
 
 Two days before he died, he said, with some pleasantry, 
 Poor Johnson is dying ; **** will say, he dies of taking a fe 
 grains more of squills than were ordered him ; **** will say, 
 dies of the scarifications made by the surgeon in his leg. H: 
 last act of understanding is said to have been exerted in givin 
 his blessing to a young lady that requested it of him. 
 
 He was always ready to assist any authors in correcting their 
 works, and selling them to booksellers. — I have done writing, 
 said he, myself, and should assist those that do write. 
 
 Johnson always advised Ins friends, when they were about to 
 marry, to unite themselves to a woman of a pious and religious 
 frame of mind. — Fear of the world, and a sense of honour, said 
 he, may have an eflfect upon a man's conduct and behaviour ; a 
 woman without religion is without the only motive that in general 
 can incite her to do well. 
 
 I 
 
COLLECTED BY SIB JOHN HAWKINS. 129 
 
 When some one asked him for what he should marry, he re- 
 plied, first, for virtue ; secondly, for wit ; thirdly, for beauty ; 
 and fourthly, for money. 
 
 He thought worse of the vices of retirement than of those of 
 society. 
 
 He attended Mr. Thrale in his last moments, and stayed in 
 the room praying, as is imagined, till he had drawn his last 
 breath. — His servants, said he, would have waited upon him in 
 this awful period, and why not his friend ? 
 
 He was extremely fond of reading the lives of great and 
 learned persons. Two or three years before he died, he applied 
 to a friend of his to give him a list of those in the French 
 language that were well written and genuine. He said, that 
 Bolingbroke had declared he could not read Middleton's life of 
 Cicero. 
 
 He was a great enemy to the present fashionable way of sup- 
 posing worthless and infamous persons mad. 
 
 He was not apt to judge ill of persons without good reasons ; 
 an old friend of his used to say, that in general he thought too 
 well of mankind. 
 
 One day, on seeing an old terrier lie asleep by the fire-side at 
 Streatham, he said, Presto, you are, if possible, a more lazy dog 
 than I am. 
 
 Being told that Churchill had abused him under the character 
 of Pomposo, in his Ghost, — I always thought, said he, he was a 
 shallow fellow, and I think so stUl. 
 
 The duke of * * * once said to Johnson, that every religion had 
 a certain degree of morality in it ; — Aye, my lord, answered he, 
 but the Christian religion alone puts it on its proper basis. 
 
 When some one asked him how he felt at the indifferent recep- 
 tion of his tragedy at Drnry Lane ; — Like the Monument, said 
 he, and as unshaken as that fabrick. 
 
 Being asked by Dr. Lawrence what he thought the best system 
 of education, he replied, — School in school-hours, and home- 
 instruction in the intervals. 
 
 I would never, said he, desire a young man to neglect his busi- 
 ness for the purpose of pursuing his studies, because it is unrea- 
 sonable ; I would only desire him to read at those hours when he 
 would otherwise be unemployed. I will not promise that he will 
 be a Bentley ; but if he be a lad of any parts, he will certainly 
 make a sensible man. 
 
 VI. JC 
 
130 APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, ETC. 
 
 The picture of him by Sir Joshua Reynolds,^ which was painted 
 for Mr. Beauclerk, and is now Mr. Langton's, and scraped 
 in mezzotinto by Doughty, is extremely like him; there is in it 
 that appearance of a labouring working mind, of an indolent re- 
 posing body, which he had to a very great degree. Beauclerk 
 wrote under his picture, 
 
 " ingenucm ingens 
 
 Inculto habet hoc sub corpore." 
 
 Indeed, the common operations of dressing, shaving, &c.f were a 
 toil to him ; he held the care of the body very cheap. He used 
 to say, that a man who rode out for an appetite consulted but 
 little the dignity of human nature. 
 
 The life of Charles XII. by Voltaire, he said, was one of the 
 finest pieces of history ever written. 
 
 He was much pleased with an Italian improvisator e, whom he 
 saw at Streatham, and with whom he talked much in Latin. He 
 told him, if he had not been a witness to his faculty himself, he 
 should not have thought it possible. He said, Isaae Hawkins 
 Browne had endeavoured at it in English, but could not get be- 
 yond thirty verses. 
 
 When a Scotsman was one day talking to him of the great 
 writers of that country that were then existing, he said, — We 
 have taught that nation to write, and do they pretend to be our 
 teachers ? let me hear no more of the tinsel of Robertson, and 
 the foppery of Dalrymple. He said, Hume had taken his style 
 from Voltaire. He would never hear Hume mentioned with any 
 temper : — A man, said he, who endeavoured to persuade his 
 friend who had the stone to shoot himself! 
 
 Upon hearing a lady of his acquaintance commended for her 
 learning, he said, — A man is in general better pleased when he 
 has a good dinner upon his table, than when his wife talks Greek. 
 My old friend, Mrs. Carter, said he, could make a pudding, as well 
 as translate Epictetus from the Greek, and work a handkerchief 
 as well as compose a poem. He thought she was too reserved in 
 conversation upon subjects she was so eminently able to converse 
 upon, which was occasioned by her modesty and fear of giving 
 offence. 
 
 ^ Now in the possession of John Murray, Esq., Albemarle Street. — 
 
 Editor. 
 
COLLECTED BY SIR JOHN HAWKINS. 131 
 
 Being asked whether he had read Mrs. Macaulay's second 
 volume of the History of England ; — No, Sir, says he, nor her first 
 neither. — He would not be introduced to the Abbe Raynal, when 
 he was in England. 
 
 He was one night behind the scenes at Drury-lane theatre, 
 when Mr. Garrick was preparing to go upon the stage in the 
 character of Macbeth, and making a great noise by talking, Mr. 
 •Garrick desu'ed him to desist, as he would interrupt his feelings ; — 
 Punch, says Johnson, has no feelings ; had you told me to have 
 held my tongue I should have known what you meant. 
 
 He said, that when he first conversed with Mr. Bruce, the 
 Abyssinian traveller, he was very much inclined to believe he had 
 been there ; but that he had afterwards altered his opinion. 
 
 He was much pleased with Dr. Jortin's Sermons, the language 
 lif which he thought very elegant ; but thought his life of Erasmus 
 a dull book. 
 
 He was very well acquainted with Psalmanaazar, the pretended 
 Formosan, and said, he had never seen the close of the life of any 
 one that he wished so much his own to resemble, as that of him, 
 for its purity and devotion. He told many anecdotes of him; 
 and said he was supposed by his accent to have been a Gascon. 
 He said, that Psalmanaazar spoke English with the city accent, 
 and coarsely enough. He for some years spenfhis evenings at a 
 publick house near Old-Street, where many persons went to talk 
 with him ; Johnson was asked whether he ever contradicted 
 Psalmanaazar ; — I should as soon, said he, have thought of con- 
 tradicting a bishop ; — so high did he hold his character m the 
 latter part of his life. When he was asked whether he had ever 
 mentioned Formosa before him, he said, he was afraid to mention 
 €ven China. 
 
 He thought " Cato " the best model of tragedy we had ; yet he 
 used to say, of all things, the most ridiculous would be, to see a 
 ;girl cry at the representation of it. 
 
 He thought the happiest life was that of a man of business, 
 -with some literary pursuits for his amusement ; and that in 
 general no one could be virtuous or happy, that was not com- 
 pletely employed. 
 
 Johnson had read much in the works of Bishop Taylor ; in his 
 Dutch Thomas a Kempis he has quoted him occasionally in the 
 margin. 
 
 He is said to have very frequently made sermons for clergymen 
 
132 APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, ETC. 
 
 at a guinea a-piece ; that delivered by Dr. Dodd, in the chapel of 
 Newgate, was written by him, as was also his Defence, spoken at 
 the bar of the Old Bailey. 
 
 Of a certain lady's entertainments, he said, — What signifies 
 going thither ? there is neither meat, drink, nor talk. 
 
 He advised Mrs. Siddons to play the part of Queen Catherine 
 in " Henry VHI." and said of her, that she appeared to him to be 
 one of the few persons that the great corruptors of mankind^ 
 money and reputation, had not spoiled. 
 
 He had a great opinion of the knowledge procured by conver- 
 sation with intelligent and ingenious persons. His first question 
 concerning such as had that character, was ever, What is his con- 
 versation ? 
 
 Johnson said of the Chattertonian controversy, — It is a sword 
 that cuts both ways. It is as wonderful to suppose that a boy of 
 sixteen years old had stored his mind with such a train of images 
 and ideas as he had acquired, as to suppose the poems, with their 
 ease of versification and elegance of language, to have been 
 written by Rowlie in the time of Edward the Fourth. 
 
 Talking with some persons about allegorical painting, he said,, 
 I had rather see the portrait of a dog that I know, than aU the 
 allegorical paintings they can shew me in the world. 
 
 When a Scotsman was talking against Warburton, Johnsoiu 
 said he had more literature than had been imported from Scotland 
 since the days of Buchanan. Upon his mentioning other eminent 
 writers of the Scots, — These will not do, said Johnson, let us 
 have some more of your northern lights, these are mere farthing 
 candles. 
 
 A Scotsman upon his introduction to Johnson said, — I am 
 afraid, Sir, you will not like me, I have the misfortune to come 
 from Scotland : — Sir, answered he, that is a misfortune ; but such 
 a one as you and the rest of your countrymen cannot help. | 
 
 To one who wished him to drink some wine and be jolly, L 
 adding, — You know Sir, in vino Veritas : Sir, answered he, this jji 
 is a good recommendation to a man who is apt to lie when sober. 
 
 When he was first introduced to General Paoli, he was much 
 struck with his reception of him ; he said he had very much the 
 air of a man who had been at the head of a nation : he was par- 
 ticularly pleased with his manner of receiving a stranger at hi» 
 own house, and said it had dignity and affability joined together, i 
 
 Johnson said, he had once seen Mr. Stanhope, Lord Chester-] 
 
 i 
 
COLLECTED BY SIR JOHN HAWKINS. 133 
 
 field's son, at Dodsley's shop, and was so much struck with his 
 aukward manners and appearance, that he could not help asking 
 Mr. Dodsley who he was. 
 
 Speaking one day of tea, he said, — What a deHghtful beverage 
 must that be, that pleases all palates, at a time when they can 
 take nothing else at breakfast ! 
 
 To his censure of fear in general, he made however one excep- 
 tion, with respect to the fear of death, timorum maximus ; he 
 thought that the best of us were but unprofitable servants, and 
 had much reason to fear. 
 
 Johnson thought very well of lord Kaimes's " Elements of 
 Criticism ; '' of other of his writings he thought very indifferently, 
 and laughed much at his opinion, that war was a good thing occa- 
 sionally, as so much valour and virtue were exhibited in it. A 
 fire, says Johnson, might as well be thought a good thing ; there 
 is the bravery and address of the firemen employed in extinguishing 
 it ; there is much humanity exerted in saving the lives and pro- 
 perties of the poor sufierers ; yet, says he, after all this, who can 
 say a fire is a good thing ? 
 
 Speaking of schoolmasters, he used to say, they were worse than 
 the Egyptian task-masters of old. No boy, says he, is sure any 
 day he goes to school to escape a whipping : how can the school- 
 master tell what the boy has really forgotten, and what he has ne- 
 glected to learn ; what he has had no opportunities of learning, 
 and what he has taken no pains to get at the knowledge of? yet 
 for any of these, however difficult they may be, the boy is ob- 
 noxious to punishment. 
 
 He used to say something tantamount to this : When a woman 
 affects learning, she makes a rivalry between the two sexes for 
 the same accomplishments, which ought not to be, their provinces 
 being different. Milton said before him, 
 
 " For contemplation he and valour form'd, 
 For softness she and sweet attractive grace." 
 
 He used to say, that in all family-disputes the odds were in 
 favour of the husband, from his superior knowledge of life and 
 manners : he was, nevertheless, extremely fond of the company 
 and conversation of women, and was early in life much attached to 
 a most beautiful woman at Lichfield, of a rank superior to his own. 
 
 He never sufi*ered any one to swear before him. When , 
 
 a libertine, but a man of some note, was talking before him, and 
 
134 APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, ETC. 
 
 interlarding Lis stories with oaths, Johnson said, Sir, all this 
 swearing will do nothing for our story, I beg you will not swear. 
 The narrator went on swearing : Johnson said, I must again 
 intreat you not to swear. He swore again : Johnson quitted the 
 room. 
 
 He was no great friend to puns, though he once by accident 
 made a singular one. A person who affected to live after the 
 Greek manner, and to anoint himself with oil, was one day men- 
 tioned before him. Johnson, in the course of conversation on 
 the singularity of his practice, gave him the denomination of, 
 This man of Greece, or grease, as you please to take it. 
 
 Of a member of parliament, who, after having harangued for 
 some hours in the house of commons, came into a company 
 where Johnson was, and endeavoured to talk him down, he said^ 
 This man has a pulse in his tongue. 
 
 He was not displeased with a kind of pun made by a person, 
 who (after having been tired to death by two ladies who talked 
 of the antiquity and illustriousness of their families, himself being 
 quite a new man) cried out, with the ghost in Hamlet, 
 
 ■ This eternal blazon 
 
 Must not be to ears of flesh and blood." 
 
 One who had long known Johnson, said of him, In general 
 you may tell Avhat the man to whom you are speaking will saj 
 next : this you can never do of Johnson : his images, his alh 
 sions, his great powers of ridicule thi'ow the appearance of novel! 
 upon the most common conversation. 
 
 He was extremely fond of Dr. Hammond's Works, and som« 
 times gave them as a present to young men going into ordei 
 he also bought them for the library at Streatham. 
 
 Whoever thinks of going to bed before twelve o'clock, s£ 
 Johnson, is a scoundrel : — having nothing in particular to 
 himself, and having none of his time appropriated, he was 
 troublesome guest to persons who had much to do. 
 
 He rose as unwillingly as he went to bed. 
 
 He said, he was always hurt when he found himself ignorant 
 of any thing. 
 
 Being asked by a young man this question, Pray, Sir, where 
 and what is Palmyra ? — Johnson replied, Sir, it is a hill in 
 Ireland, which has palm-trees growing on the top, and a bog at 
 the bottom, and therefore is called Palm-mira : but observing; 
 
COLLECTED BY SIR JOHN HAWKINS. 135 
 
 that the young man believed him in earnest, and thanked him 
 for the intelligence, he undeceived him, and not only gave him a 
 geographical description of it, but related its history. 
 
 He was extremely accurate in his computation of time. He 
 could tell how many heroick Latin verses could be repeated in 
 such a given portion of it ; and was anxious that his friends 
 should take pains to form in their minds some measure for esti- 
 mating the lapse of it. 
 
 Of authors he used to say, that as they think themselves wiser 
 or wittier than the rest of the world, the world, after all, must 
 be the judge of their pretensions to superiority over them. 
 
 Complainers, said he, are always loud and clamorous. 
 
 He thought highly of Mandeville's Treatise on the Hypochon- 
 driacal Disease. 
 
 I wrote, said Johnson, the first seventy lines in the " Vanity 
 of Human Wishes," in the course of one morning, in that small 
 house beyond the church at Hampstead. The whole number 
 was composed before I committed a single couplet to writing. 
 The same method I pursued in regard to the Prologue on opening 
 Drury-Lane Theatre. I did not afterwards change more than a 
 word in it, and that" was done at the remonstrance of Garrick ; 
 I did not think his criticism just, but it was necessary that he 
 should be satisfied with what he was to utter. 
 
 To a gentleman who expressed himself in disrespectful terms 
 of Blackmore, one of whose poetick bulls he happened just then 
 to recollect, Dr. Johnson answered, — I hope, Sir, a blunder, after 
 you have heard what I shall relate, will not be reckoned decisive 
 against a poet's reputation : when I was a young man, I trans- 
 lated Addition's Latin poem on the " Battle of the Pigmies and 
 the Cranes," and must plead guilty to the following couplet : 
 
 " Down from the guardian boughs the nests they flung, 
 And kill'd the yet unanimated young." 
 
 And yet I trust I am no blockhead. I afterwards changed the 
 word hilVd into crusKd. 
 
 When Bolmgbroke died, and bequeathed the publication of his 
 works to Mallett, Johnson observed, — His lordship has loaded a 
 blunderbuss against religion, and has left a scoundrel to pull the 
 trigger 
 
 Were you ever, Sir, said a person to Johnson, in company 
 with Dr. Warburton ? He answered, I never saw him till one 
 
136 APOPHTHEGMS, SENTIMENTS, ETC. 
 
 evening, about a week ago, at the bishop of St. 's : at 
 
 first he looked surlily at me ; but, after we had been jostled into 
 conversation, he took me to a window, asked me some questions, 
 and before we parted, was so well pleased with me, that he patted 
 me. You always, Sir, preserved a respect for him ? Yes, and 
 justly ; when as yet I was in no favour with the world, he spoke 
 well of me,^ and I hope I never forgot the obligation. 
 
 I am convinced, said he to a friend, I ought to be present at 
 divine service more frequently than I am ; but the provocations 
 given by ignorant and affected preachers too often disturb the 
 mental calm which otherwise would succeed to prayer. I am 
 apt to whisper to myself on such occasions, How can this illiterate 
 fellow dream of fixing attention, after we have been listening to 
 the sublimest truths, conveyed in the most chaste and exalted 
 language, throughout a liturgy, which must be regarded as the 
 genuine ofispring of piety impregnated by wisdom. Take notice, 
 however, though I make this confession respecting myself, I do 
 not mean to recommend the fastidiousness that sometimes leads 
 me to exchange congregational for solitary worship. — He was at 
 Streatham church when Dodd's fii'st application to him was 
 made, and went out of his pew immediately, to write an answer 
 to the letter he had received ; afterwards, when he related this 
 circumstance, he added. — I hope I shall be pardoned, if once I 
 deserted the service of God for that of man. 
 
 He once expressed these sentiments : — I have seldom met with 
 a man whose colloquial ability exceeded that of Mallett. I waq^ 
 but once in Sterne's company, and then his only attempt at 
 merriment consisted in his display of a drawing too indecently^ 
 gross to have delighted even in a brothel. Colman never pro- 
 duced a luckier thing than his first Ode in ridicule of Gray ; a 
 considerable part of it may be numbered among those felicities 
 which no man has twice attained. Gray was the very Torre ^ of 
 poetry ; he played his coruscations so speciously, that his steel- 
 dust is mistaken by many for a shower of gold. 
 
 At one period of the Doctor's life he was reconciled to the 
 bottle. Sweet wines, however, were his chief favourites ; whei 
 none of these were before him, he would sometimes drink por 
 with a lump of sugar in every glass. The strongest liquors, anc 
 
 * In his Preface to Shakespeare. 
 2 A foreigner of that name, who some years ago exhibited a varietj 
 of splendid fire- works at Marybone Gardens. 
 
COLLECTED BY SIR JOHN HAWKINS. 137 
 
 in very large quantities, produced no other effect on hiin than 
 moderate exhilaration. Once, and but once, he is known to have 
 had his dose, a circumstance which he himself discovered, on 
 finding one of his sesquipedalian words hang fire ; he then started 
 up, and gravely observed, — I think it time we should go to bed. 
 After a ten years' forbearance of every fluid except tea and 
 sherbet, I drank, said he, one glass of wine to the health of Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, on the evening of the day on which he was 
 knighted ; I never swallowed another drop, till old Madeira was 
 prescribed to me as a cordial during my present indisposition, 
 but this liquor did not relish as formerly, and I therefore discon- 
 tinued it. 
 
 His knowledge in manufactures was extensive, and his com- 
 prehension relative to mechanical contrivances wag still more 
 extraordinary. The well-known Mr. Arkwright pronounced him 
 to be the only person who, on a first view, understood both the 
 principle and powers of his most complicated piece of machinery. 
 
 Garrick, said he, I hear complains that I am the only popular 
 author of his time who has exhibited no praise of him in print ; 
 but he is mistaken, Akenside has forborne to mention him. 
 Some indeed are lavish in their applause of all who come within 
 the compass of their recollection ; yet he who praises every body, 
 praises nobody ; when both scales are equally loaded, neither can 
 preponderate. 
 
 A conge cCelire, said a gentleman, has not the force of a 
 positive command, but implies only a strong recommendation. 
 Yes, replied Johnson, who overheard him, just such a recom- 
 mendation as if I should throw you out of a three-pair-of-stairs 
 window, and recommend you to fall to the ground. 
 
 He would not allow the verb derange, a word at present much 
 in use, to be an English word. Sir, said a gentleman who had 
 some pretensions to literature, I have seen it in a book. Not in 
 a hound book, said Johnson ; disarrange is the word we ought to 
 use instead of it. 
 
 He thought very favourably of the profession of the law, and 
 said, that the sages thereof, for a long series backward, had been 
 friends to religion. Fortescue says, that their afternoon's employ- 
 ment was the study of the Scriptures. 
 
LETTERS FROM MRS. HILL BOOTHBY 
 TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
[Some account of the writer of the following letters, and of Johnson's 
 acquaintance with her, will be found in vol. i., pa.Cfe 48.] 
 
THE FOLLOWING ORIGHNAL LETTERS FROM 
 
 MRS. HILL BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSOlf 
 
 WEBE ALL NUMBERED AND LABELLED BY HIMSELF, AND 
 BOUND TOGETHER IN A THIN QUARTO VOLUME.^ 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 "Jul J 30, 1753. 
 Sir, 
 T ASSURE you I esteemed your request to write to and hear- 
 -■- from me, as an honour done me, and received your letter with 
 much pleasure: most people, and particularly a lady, would' 
 tremble at taking up the pen to reply to a letter from Mr. John- 
 son ; but I had the pleasure of experiencing so much candour 
 and goodness in the man, that I have no fear of the eminent 
 genius, extensive learaing, accurate judgment, and every other 
 happy talent which distinguish and complete the author. In a 
 correspondence with you, Sir, I am confident I shall be so far 
 from hazarding any thing by a discovery of my literary poverty, 
 that in this view I shall be so much the more a gainer : a desire 
 to be such, will be a motive sufficient to engage your generosity 
 to supply me out of your large stock, as far as I am capable of 
 receiving so high an advantage. 
 
 Indeed you greatly overrate my poor capacity to follow the 
 great examples of virtue, which are deeply engraven in my heart. 
 One of the most eminent of these you have seen, and justly 
 admired and loved. It is but a faint ray of that brightness of 
 virtue which shone in her, through every part of her life, which. 
 
 ^ Published by Mr. Kichard Wright, of Lichfield, in 1805. 
 
142 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 is, as by reflection only, to be seen in me, her unworthy substitute 
 in the care of her dearest remains. 
 
 Let me beg you therefore to give honour to whom honour is 
 due. Treat me as a Friend, dear Sir; exercise the kindest office 
 of one towards me : tell me my faults, and assist me in rectifying 
 them. Do not give me the least reason to doubt your sincerity 
 by any thing that has the air of compliment. Female vanity has, 
 I believe, no small share in the increase of the difficulties you 
 have found in one part of your labours ; I mean, that of explaining 
 in your Dictionary the general and popular language. You 
 should therefore treat this vanity as an enemy, and be very far 
 from throwing any temptation in its way. 
 
 I have great obligations to Dr. Laurence and his family. They 
 have hearts like yours ; and therefore I do not wonder they are 
 partial in judging of me, who have a friendly and grateful heart. 
 You are in the right : I should have been most heinously offended, 
 if you had omitted a particular inquiry after my dear charge. 
 They are all six in perfect health, and can make as much noise 
 as any six children in England. They amply reward all my 
 daily labours for them ; the eldest has her dear mother's disposi- 
 tion and capacity. I am enabled to march on steadily with my 
 shattered frame; how long, I think not of, but chearfully 
 vfiAt for 
 
 * kind Nature's signal of retreat.' 
 
 whenever it pleases God. 
 
 I hope, however, to see you the author of a Great Dictionary 
 before I go, and to have the pleasure of joining with a whole 
 Nation in your applause : and when you have put into their hands 
 the means of speaking and writing the English language with as 
 -much purity and propriety as it is capable of being spoken and 
 wrote, give me leave to recommend to you your future studies 
 and labours — let them all be devoted to the glory of God, to 
 exemplify the true use of all languages and tongues. The vanity 
 of all human wishes, you have finely and forcibly proved; what 
 is then left for you, but to seek after certain and permanent 
 happiness, divine and eternal goods, 
 
 * (These goods he grants, who grants the power to gain,) ' 
 
 .and with all the great talents bestowed on you, to call others to 
 i;he same pursuit ? How should I rejoice to see your pen wholly 
 
MRS. BOOTHBT TO DR. JOHNSON. 143 
 
 employed in the glorious Christian cause ; inviting all into the 
 ways of pleasantness ; proving and displaying the only paths to 
 peace ! "Wherever you have chosen this most interesting subject 
 of Religion in your Ramblers, I have warmly wished you never 
 to chuse any other. You see, Sir, I am much inclined to indulge 
 the liberty you have given me of conversing with you in this way. 
 But I will not please myself longer at the hazard of tiring you. 
 One request, however, I must make ; some of those parts of your 
 life, which, you say, you pass in idleness, pray, for the future, 
 bestow on one who has a great regard for you, will highly value 
 every testimony of your esteem, and is. Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged friend and humble servant, 
 
 H. BoOTHBT. 
 
 My good wishes attend Miss Williams. Mr. Fitzherbert 
 returns you his compliments. We are now at Tissington, near 
 Ashbourn, Derbyshire." 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 ''Tissington, Dec. 4, 1753. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 You might be very sure that something extraordinary and 
 unavoidable must keep me so long silent, to a person whom from 
 every motive I esteem and regard, and consequently love to con- 
 verse with. I will honestly own to you likewise, that I was 
 extremely pleased with your letter, as one of the prettiest things 
 I ever read in my life, and longed to praise you in reply to it, as 
 a proof of ray being convinced, that, as a friend, I owed you this 
 honest tribute. But, alas ! all my purposes of writing were 
 prevented; first, by a series of family engagements and per- 
 plexities, which much affected me, and lately, by what, I believe, 
 is in part the consequence of them, sickness. I have a very 
 tender, weak body, and it is next to a miracle it has stood up so 
 long as for seven months without one day's confinement to a 
 room ; but on last Friday sevennight, a violent fit of the colic 
 seized me, and till yesterday disabled me from going out of my 
 room. I am now, thank God, recovering, and only low, weak, 
 and languid. My dear children have been and are all well, 
 except some trifling colds and little disorders : and for them, 
 
144 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 nothing is too hard to suffer, too arduous to attempt ! my confi- 
 dence is strong, founded on a rock ; and I am assured I shall be 
 supported for them, till it pleases God to raise them up a better 
 helper. O, certainly, I allow a friend may be a comfort, and a 
 great one ; and, I assure you. Dear Sir, your last kind notice of 
 me brought comfort with it, for which I thank you. Please not 
 to mention any thing more of me in Essex Street, or to any, than 
 that various engagements and sickness have made me appear 
 negligent. I am no complainer, but, on the contrary, think every 
 dispensation of Providence a blessing ; enjoy the sweet portion, 
 nor quarrel with the medicinal draught, because it is bitter. 
 What I have hinted to you, oi perplexity^ &c. is in the confidence 
 of friendship. 
 
 May all your labours be blest with success ! Excuse my 
 trembling hand, which cannot do more at present than assure you, 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged and sincere friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 Some acquaintance of mine at a distance will have it that you 
 sometimes write an Adventurer ; for this reason, because they 
 like some of those papers better than any except the Ramblers. 
 I have not seen any. Pray tell me if I must; for, if your pen 
 has any share in them, I shall take it ill to be deprived of the 
 benefit. Be so good as to let me hear from you, when you have 
 leisure." 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 "Tissington, Dec. 29, 1753. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 You very obligingly say, ' Few are so busy as not to find 
 time to do what they delight in doing.' That I have been one 
 of those few, my not having, till now, found time to answer your 
 last kind letter, may convince you. My indisposition, and con- 
 finement on that account, made it necessary for me to double my 
 application for my little flock ; and, as my strength increased, 
 I found occasions to exercise its increase also ; so that I really 
 have not had a moment to spare. I know you will be better 
 pleased to infer from hence that my health is much mended, than 
 
MRS. BOOTHBT TO DR. JOHNSON. 145 
 
 you would be with the finest and most artful arrangement of 
 abstracted reasoning that ever was penned. I have been a great 
 moralizer ; and, perhaps, if all my speculative chains were linked 
 together, they would fill a folio as large as the largest of those 
 many wrote by the philosophical Duchess of Newcastle, and be 
 just as useful as her labours. But I have wholly given up all 
 attempts of this sort, convinced by experience that they could at 
 most aflford only a present relief. The one remedy for all and 
 every kind of sorrow, the deeply-experienced Roy al Prophet thus 
 expresses : 
 
 *In the multitude of sorrows which I had in my heart, thy 
 comforts have refreshed my soul.' 
 
 ' The sovereign Balm for every heart-felt wound 
 Is only in the Heavenly Gilead found : 
 Whate'er the sage Philosophers pretend, 
 Man's wisdom may awhile Man's pain suspend ; 
 But can no more — Wisdom Divine must cure, 
 And Love inspire, which All things can endure.' 
 
 As I think, I write ; and express my thoughts in words that 
 first ofier, sans premeditation, as you see. As I have told you 
 before, I write to the friend, not to the Mr. Johnson who himself 
 writes better than any man. I shall comply with your request, 
 and not inclose this ; though at the same time I am conscious I 
 have so little claim to a place among your riches, that a waste- 
 paper drawer will be a much properer one for my poor pro- 
 ductions : however, if they have this merit, and you regard them 
 as proofs that I much esteem you, they will answer my purpose, 
 which is that of being regarded as, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate and sincere friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBT. 
 
 My jewels are all well. 
 
 One reason for my inclosing my former letters was the not- 
 being sure of your right direction, but I hope I have recollected 
 one. You have not answered my question in my last postscript.'* 
 
 VI. 
 
146 MRS. BOOTHBT TO DB. JOHNSON. 
 
 LETTER rv. 
 
 "Saturday, Feb. 16, 1754. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I could almost think you had been long silent on purpose 
 that you might make the prettiest reflections on that silence 
 imaginable : but I know you never need auxiliaries ; your own 
 powers are on every occasion abundantly sufficient. I come now 
 only, as it were, to caU upon you in a hurry, and to tell you I 
 am going to the Bath. So it is determined for me. Lodgings 
 are taken ; and on Monday we are to set out, Mr. Fitzherbert, 
 the two eldest dear ones, and myself. This change of place for 
 six or eight weeks I must notify to you, for fear I should be 
 deprived of a letter of yours a day longer than your own affairs 
 make necessary. If nothing unforeseen prevents, Mrs. Hill 
 Boothby will be found on The South Parade, Bath, by a 
 letter directed there, after the next week ; for we shall travel 
 slowly. 
 
 I will add a few more words, though I am very busy ; and a very 
 few will fully shew my thoughts on morality. The Saviour of 
 the world. Truth itself, says. He came not to destroy the 
 
 LAW, but to fulfil IT. 
 
 I wonder not at your hesitating to impart a secret to a 
 woman ; but am the more obliged to you for communicating it 
 as a secret, after so hesitating. Such a mark of your deliberate 
 confidence shall be strictly regarded ; and I shall seek for letter 
 T, that I may read with redoubled pleasure. I want to know 
 when the Great Dictionary will prove itself truly so, by 
 appearing. Every thing that relates to Mr. Johnson has the 
 b^st wishes of a friendly heart ; here I include Mrs. Williams 
 and desire she will accept her share, which I am sure she will 
 with pleasure, on account of my being, dear Sir, 
 
 Your sincere friend, and much obliged humble servant, 
 
 H. BOOTIIBY. 
 
 As a friend of yours and Dr. L 's, and one who seems 
 
 worthy to be such, I am solicitous to inquire after the health of 
 Dr. Bathurst. 
 
 Excuse hurry and its effects ; I mean, my health is very weak, 
 and I have much to do." 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DE. JOHNSON. 147 
 
 LETTER v. 
 
 «' Bath, March 11, 1754. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 It is impossible for me not to pay due regard to your 
 kind solicitude for my better health. I shall therefore begin 
 this letter, as you enjoin me, with an account of it, and tell you 
 it really is better. The waters did not agree with me for some 
 days after I began drinking them ; but a little medicinal assistant 
 administered by Dr. Hartley has so reconciled us, that for a week 
 past they have been very salutary, giving me an appetite, strength 
 to use exercise without fatigue, whole nights of sweet sleep, 
 and, what some people here would even prefer to these, better 
 looks. For all these I am truly thankful to the Giver of all good. 
 You are doubtful whether I am not hurt by needless anxiety. 
 Be no longer so ; but be sure I am not — sufficient unto the day, is 
 the evil thereof, is my preservative from all anxious thought for 
 the morrow. I look not forward but to an eternity of peace and 
 joy, and in this view all vain solicitude for the things of this 
 life is taken away. 
 
 You find pleasure in writing letters, and to me. I will put a 
 stop to your further inquiry into the cause of this, by most 
 truly assuring you, you give me a very great pleasure in reading 
 your letters. I earnestly wish to be indeed your friend ; and as 
 far as I am capable of being such, I beg you always to be certain 
 you are conferring an obligation when you confide in me, or 
 command me. Immediately after I received your last letter, I 
 tripped to the booksellers for the Gentleman's Magazine : ^ many 
 masterly strokes in the picture would have made the hand known 
 to me, had not you named it. You will not be displeased when 
 I tell you, one circumstance drew from me a silent tear, viz., one 
 of the last acts of reason, ^c, and this melting was part from 
 natural tenderness, part from sympathy. How then can I con- 
 demn your sorrow ? Yet I must, even because I have myself 
 formerly been overwhelmed with fruitless grief for the loss of a 
 friend ; and therefore by miserable experience can warn all from 
 
 ^ In the Gentleman's Magazine for February, 1753, p. 81, is inserted 
 the thirtieth number of the Adventurer, dated February 17, 1753, 
 which was written by Dr. Johnson. In the same Magazine, the account 
 of the Tragedy of the Gamester seems also to have been written by him. 
 
148 MRS, BOOTHBT TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 splitting on this rock. Fly frem it. Many are the resources 
 shewn to fly to ; but believe me, there is but one that can avail 
 — religion. 
 
 My situation here allows me but a very small portion of time 
 to myself. Mr. Fitzherbert loves company, and has a good deal. 
 I have some acquaintance, and a few friends here, who by turns 
 engage me. Thus, though I never go into the public scenes 
 here, I can seldom be alone : but I was determined to secure 
 half an hour to thank you, and to tell you, whenever you favour 
 me with your letters, no engagements shall prevent my assuring 
 you, I receive them in every place with the greatest pleasure, 
 and am, and shall be, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBY. 
 
 Overlook all defects." 
 
 Superscribed " To Mr. Johnson, at his house in Gough Square, 
 London." 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 "Bath, April 1, 1754. 
 Dear Sib, 
 
 That you find my health and well-being of consequence 
 enough to be solicitous about, is a consideration so pleasing 
 to me, that it is impossible your inquiries after them should ever 
 be troublesome ; and I have so high an opinion of your judgment, 
 that, were I so situated as to consult it properly, and clearly 
 state my questions, no nervous fine lady in Bath can more fre- 
 quently have recourse to her doctor for advice, than I should 
 have to you for yours in every doubtful point of conduct. The 
 extreme cold has affected me ; but, on the whole, I am, thank" 
 God, better than when I first came to this place ; and so chearful, 
 that those of my acquaintance who think there is no other use 
 for SPIRITS but to ENJOY L,iFE IN PUBLIC, to spcak in their own 
 style, wonder I do not frequent the rooms, balls, &c. But the 
 dreaming part of my life is over, and all my pursuits are bent 
 towards the securing — 
 
 * A sober certainty of waking bliss.' 
 
 I fly firom dissipation to serious recollection, a sort of laboi 
 which is succeeded by a chearful rest. 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON, 149 
 
 Sir Charles Grandison I have not read. The reflection of 
 having thrown away much precious time formerly in useless and 
 unprofitable reading makes me extremely cautious ; and I am in 
 a bookseller's shop, like a Bee in a garden, which you have seen 
 fly round and round, from flower to flower, nor ever rests on any 
 till it finds one which will yield pure honey. So I just touched 
 Sir Charles Grandison in my examining flight ; but, from my 
 instinct, found there was no honey for me. Yet am I far from 
 saying there may not be miel tres doux for other kind of bees. 
 However, I find the few to whose judgment I pay the greatest 
 deference agree with you. Mr. Richardson's intention I honour; 
 but to apply your own words truly on this occasion — ' The best 
 intention may be troublesome.' And perhaps the same way and 
 manner of executing may weary. His mistaking the manners, 
 and life, of those whom you truly say we condescend to call 
 GREAT people, is, I think, very pardonable. It would not be 
 worth a Naturalist's while to spend the greatest part of his time 
 in observing the various tinctures a camelion takes from every 
 body it approaches ; and yet he must do so, to give a true repre- 
 sentation of the colours of its life*. You can make the application. 
 
 I am entirely of your opinion with regard to education. I 
 will labour all I can to produce plenty. But sanguine hopes 
 will never tempt me to feel the torture of cutting disappointment. 
 I have seen even Pauls plant, and ApoUos water in vain, and am 
 convinced God only can give the increase. Mine is a fruitful 
 soil. Miss Fitzherbert is yet every thing 1 can wish. Her eldest 
 brother, a fine lively boy ; but, entre nous, too indulgent a father 
 will make it necessary for him to be sent to school ; the sooner 
 the better. Do you know of any school where a boy of six 
 years old would be taken care of, chiefly as to his morals, and 
 taught English, French, &e. till of a fit age for a public school ? 
 
 You do not say a word of the Dictionary. Miss Fitzherbert 
 and I are impatient for its publication. I know you will be so 
 indulgent to a friend, as to let me have the pleasure of hearing 
 from you soon. My sincere regard and best wishes will always 
 attend you, as I am. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 A rainy day has prevented my drinking the waters, or I should 
 have hazarded the head-ach, rather than have been lon<rer silent." 
 
150 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 *« Bath, May 20, 1754. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 How was I surprized this morning, when, on opening a 
 letter from you, with the pleasing expectation of its being a reply 
 to one I wrote to you above a week ago, I found you kindly com- 
 plaining of my silence. The reflections you begin your letter 
 with seemed to me, at first, as if you had mistaken in directing it 
 to me, as I well knew I felt, and had very lately expressed, a 
 regard you could not have the least doubt of. The servant 
 assures me he put my letter into the post-box himself. The 
 post-master assures me, none put there ever fail. Yet somehow 
 this has failed. I shall be sorry if it does not reach you, as there 
 were some parts of it (for it was no short one) wrote with the 
 freedom and confidence of friendship ; and the whole sufficient to 
 preve I am never long silent, but from necessity. If this wanderer 
 does at last find you, dear Sir, signify its arrival as soon as possible 
 to me. I would not have any thing lost which would be of the least 
 value to you. But if it is lost, my intention and execution of it 
 will still remain as testimonies for me ; and if it is possible any 
 one of your friends eould give occasion for imputations of incon- 
 stancy and unkindness, you may be assured I am, on motives 
 which are invariable, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your afiectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 We are to leave this place on Tuesday the 28th, and set out 
 for Tissington, where I long to- be. I hope to take much better 
 health thither, for the use of my dear little nursery." 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 "Tissington, June 5, 1754. 
 Dear Sib, 
 
 The first leisure moment I have, is most justly due to the 
 compliance with your kind request to be informed of our arrival 
 here ; and with much pleasure I tell you, that, after a very good 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 151 
 
 journey of four days, we were met with the bloom of health, and 
 the endearing smiles of innocence, last Friday, at Tissington. 
 The sensations of joy and thankfulness I experienced on this 
 interview with the little creatures are not to be described : but, 
 I am persuaded, no heart but hers who bequeathed them to me, 
 ever so truly owned and received them as children. 
 
 The loss of that letter I can no way account for — think no 
 more of it. The subject of part of it was my then situation, and 
 some reflections on the exceeding decline of conversation I ob- 
 served in general ; in which there seemed to be no other propriety 
 than that of trifling French words to trifling somethings, not 
 worthy of being called thoughts. I mentioned Adventurers, &c. 
 and expressed, as well as I could, my particular satisfaction in 
 Mr. Johnson's bullion, or rather pure Stirling, amidst the tinsel 
 base-mixed stuff I met with, and the high value I set on his letters. 
 I gave you an abstract of Farneworth's History, which I have not- 
 time to repeat. I thank you for thinking of a school, and recom- 
 mending one. Your recommendation would immediately fix me, 
 if I alone was to determine. Two have been particularly recom- 
 mended to Mr. Fitzherbert, Fulham and Wandsworth; and we 
 have for some time being making all the inquiry we can into both. 
 The last I have many objections to. I shall be much obliged to 
 you for a particular account of your friend ; as — how many boys 
 he takes — his rules and rates — and also if he has a French and 
 dancing-master. I am strongly biassed towards a man you speak 
 so well of. That — well instructed in Virtue, is the thing I want ; 
 and a visit from you now and then, to confirm this instruction, is 
 a high inducement. To some proper place I hope I shall be 
 permitted to take this dear boy this Summer, when I also hope 
 for the pleasure of seeing you. I know it will be a pleasure to 
 you to assist me in an affair of such consequence, on many ac- 
 counts ; and I shall not say any more to Mr. Fitzherbert about 
 Fulham till I hear from you ; which, I assure you, I never do 
 without great satisfaction ; as I am, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 Excuse the effects of hurry. I have a cold I brought from 
 Bath ; otherwise I am in much better health than I have been 
 for above twelve months past." 
 
152 MES. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 " Tissington, July 1, 1754. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Truth is my delight : no establishment of custom will, I 
 hope, ever make me deviate from it. And as an excuse seems to 
 me a kind of screen, which has at least the appearance of con- 
 cealing something we would not have seen, I make none. Nor 
 shall I now say more upon my long silence, than that I have 
 thought and felt it such myself, and from thence leave you to 
 infer that it has been unavoidable. Your last letter was such a 
 one as I expected from you on such a subject, — that is, so clear, 
 full, candid, sensible, kind, and friendly, as I hardly ever saw from 
 any other. If I had your talent of expression, I could expatiate 
 on this letter with great pleasure ; but as I have not, I must 
 deny myself this indulgence, and treasure up those observations 
 I have made for my own use, which if I could in the best manner 
 express, you do not need for yours. I communicated what you 
 said of Mr. Elphinston ^ to Mr. Fitzherbert, who desires me to 
 say, with his regard to you, that he is much obliged to you, but, 
 upon the whole, Mr. Elphinston is not the person he would chuse. 
 Though Mr. Fitzherbert is no warm party-man, yet, I believe, 
 the Scotchman and Nonjuror would be insuperable objections. 
 Fulham, I think, will be chosen, at least for a time. The hope 
 of your seeing this dear boy sometimes is a comfortable one ; 
 thank you for it. His going from home, and at a distance, I am 
 sure you would see the necessity of, could I lay before you the 
 reasons which daily urge me to feel it. Less evils must be sub- 
 mitted to, with the view of avoiding greater. I cannot help, 
 with much pity, regarding a mere fox -hunter as an animal littlij|l 
 superior to those he pursues, and dreading every path that seemal 
 to lead towards this miserable chace. 
 
 My health continues tolerable, thank God ; yours, and every 
 
 ^ Mr. James Elphinston, who published various works, was esteemed 
 by Dr. Johnson as a worthy man. He published an edition of the 
 Ramblers at Edinburgh, as they appeared on their first publication in 
 London. It is printed in a duodecimo size, with uncommon elegance and 
 great correctness. Mr. Elphinston added translations to the mottos. He 
 afterwards kept a school at Kensington. 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 153 
 
 other good, I sincerely wish you. If present resolutions hold, I 
 may have the pleasure of seeing and conversing with you ; how- 
 ever, I hope for that of hearing from you. I beg you never to 
 let me lose one of your reflections upon life. Drop them on the 
 paper just as they arise from your mind ; I love them, and profit 
 by them ; and I am pleased particularly sometimes to find one ot 
 my own, brightened and adorned with your strong and masterly 
 colouring, which gives me back the image of my mind, like the 
 meeting an old acquaintance after absence, but extremely im- 
 proved. I have no reason, I own, to expect a letter from you 
 soon ; but think not that, because I have not before now desired 
 one, I do not deserve one, because I can with truth assure you I 
 have this claim. Nobody can more value your correspondence 
 or be with greater esteem than I am. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your friend, and obliged humble servant, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY." 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 *' Tissington, August 5, 1754. 
 
 I have, as you desired, endeavoured to think about and 
 examine your hypothesis ; but this dear little boy, and the change 
 resolved on for him, would not sufier me to speculate in a general 
 way to much purpose. Must you not allow our perception of 
 pain and of pleasure to be in an equal degree ? Or does it not 
 often happen, that we are even more sensible to pain than plea- 
 sure ? If so ; those changes which do not increase our pi-esent 
 happiness, will not enable us to feel the next vicissitude of gladness 
 with quicker, but only with equal, or with a less degree of per- 
 ception ; and consequently we shall be either no gainers or losers 
 on the whole. And yet, though I am sure I shall experience the 
 truth of this, if I only see you for a few hours, I shall however 
 desire to see you. This is an enigma I will leave to your solution, 
 and proceed to tell you, that, if nothing intervenes to change it, 
 the present resolution is, that we are to set out for Fulham on 
 Wednesday sevennight, the 14th of August. On account of the 
 dear little ones I shall leave here, I shall be obliged to make a 
 speedy return ; and propose staying only a week at a friend's in 
 
154 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 Putney, to see every thing fixed, as well as I can, for my young 
 man. But I will contrive to see you and a very few more of my 
 friends in town ; and you shall hear from me, as to the when and 
 where, from Putney. You, full of kindness, sitting in your study, 
 will, I know, say — ' Why does she hurry herself about so ? ' — I 
 answer, to save you the pain of this thought, that travelling 
 always is very serviceable to me, in point of health. 
 
 You will never provoke me to contradict you, unless you con- 
 tradict me, without reasons and exemplication to support your 
 opinion. 'Tis very true — all these things you have enumerated, 
 are equally pitiable with a poor fox- hunter. 'Tis not in man to 
 direct, either his own, or the way of others aright ; nor do I ever 
 look but to the supreme and all-wise Governor of the universe, 
 eiUier for direction, or with hope. I know you kindly mean to 
 avert the pain of disappointment by discouraging expectation ; 
 but mine is never sanguine with regard to any thing here. 
 Mine is truly a life of faith, not of sight ; and thus I never, as 
 Milton says — 
 
 ' bate one jot 
 
 Of Heart or Hope ; but still bear up, and steer 
 
 Eight onward.' 
 
 I like not the conclusion of your last letter ; it is an ill compli- 
 ment to call that mean, which the person you speak to most highly 
 esteems and values. Know yourself and me better for the future, 
 and be assured you both are and ought to be much regarded and 
 honoured by. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 Your Dedication to your great Dictionary I have heard of in 
 these words — A specimen of perfection in the English Language.''^ 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 " Putney, August 9, 1754. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 As I promised, this is to inform you of our being here ' 
 but at present I cannot say more. The pleasure of seeing you, 
 with the ways and means of procuring this pleasui^, must be de- 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 155« 
 
 fferred for some days. This evening we take dear Billy to school ; 
 and till I have seen how he settles there, I am fixed here. Form 
 some little plan for me, to be executed towards the latter end of 
 this week ; for really I am not capable of forming any myself at 
 this time — and communicate it by the penny-post in a billet to 
 me at Mrs. D'Aranda's in Putney. I and my little companions 
 here are well, and all has a favourable aspect with regard to the 
 dear boy's situation. I never forget any thing you say ; and now 
 have in my mind a very just and useful observation of yours, 
 viz. ' The effect of education is very precarious. But, what can 
 be hoped without it? Though the harvest may be blasted, we 
 must yet cultivate the ground,' &c. I am, (somewhat abruptly) 
 — but, I am, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your much obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY.'* 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 " Sunday Evem'ng, Holbarn Bridge. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Do you think I would have been almost two days in town 
 without seeing you, if I could either have been at liberty to have 
 made you a visit, or have received one from you ? No : you can- 
 not think so unjustly of me. The truth is, I have been in a 
 hurry ever since I came here, and am not well. To-morrow I 
 am obliged to go a little way into the country. On Tuesday, 
 Dr. Lawrence has engaged me to spend the evening at his house, 
 where I hope to meet you, and fix with you some hour in which 
 to see you again on Wednesday. Thursday, down towards 
 Derbyshire. Thus is whirled about this little machine ; which, 
 however, contains a mind unsub^ect to rotation. Such you will 
 always find it. 
 
 H. BoOTHBY." 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 "Putney, August 23, 1754. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Unless a very great change is made in you, you can never 
 have the least reason to apprehend the loss of my esteem. 
 
156 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 Caprice may have accompanied the morning, and perhaps noon of 
 my life, but my evening has banished that fickle wanderer ; and 
 as now I fix not without deliberation and well-weighed choice, I 
 am not subject to change. 
 
 Yonr very kind visit was a new obligation ; which if I could 
 express my sense of, it must be less. Common favours it is easy 
 to acknowledge ; but a delicate sensibility to real proofs of esteem 
 and friendship are not easily to be made known. 
 
 Mr. Millar's method seems to me to be a very right one, and 
 for the reasons you give ; and if he will please to carry the cata- 
 logue to Mr. Whiston, by the time I shall be in town, I imagine 
 he will have appraised the books ; and then we will proceed to 
 the disposal of them, as you shall judge best. Mr. Fitzherbert 
 I have not seen since I had the pleasure of seeing you, and there- 
 fore cannot yet say when I can again have that pleasure ; but 
 I hope some time next week to repay your visit. I have an 
 aching head to-day, so great an enemy to my inclination, that 
 it will not let me say more than that I am, with much esteem 
 and true regard, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BooTHBr. 
 
 Mrs. D'Aranda and the young ladies desire compliments. My 
 regards to Miss Williams." 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 " Tissington, Sept. 12, 1754. 
 Deak Sir, 
 
 I told you I would call upon you before I left London, i/^ 
 / could. I much desired to have seen you again ; it was in mj 
 mind all Thursday ; but so it happened, that it was not in mj/i 
 power. Mr. Fitzherbert having changed his mind and deter- 
 mined not to go to Tunbridge, suddenly took up another resolu- 
 tion, which was to take a house in town, and engaged me to gc 
 with him to see one in Cavendish Square, where I was the greatesi 
 part of the morning, and met with what took up the rest of th^ 
 day ; besides so much fatigue as would alone have disabled fo^ 
 going out again after I got to Holborn. But, as we are likelj 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 167 
 
 to be in town again the next montli, and stay there long, I hope 
 I shall have frequent opportunities of seeing you, both where I 
 shall be, and at your own house. Thank God, we arrived here 
 well on Monday, and found my dear little charge all in perfect 
 health and joy. My brother I shall see next week, and then can 
 fully communicate to him all you was so good as to execute for 
 us in the libraiy affair, and your opinion concerning the disposal 
 of the books. I only saw enough of you in Putney, and in town, 
 to make me wish to see more. It will soon be in your power to 
 gratify this wish. Place is a thing pretty indifferent to me, but 
 London I am least fond of any ; however, the conversation of 
 some few in it will soon take off my dislike. I do not mean this 
 as a letter ; call it what you will. It is only to tell you why I 
 did not see you again ; that I hope a future time will recompense 
 for this loss ; that we are safe here ; and that every where I am, 
 and shall be, with much esteem. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 You can write amidst the tattle of women, because your atten- 
 tion is so strong to sense, that you are deaf to sound. I wonder 
 whether you could write amidst the prattle of children — no better 
 than I, I really believe, if they were your own children, as I find 
 these prattlers are mine." 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 "Tissington, Sept. 28, 1754. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Do you wait to hear again from me ? or why is it that I 
 am so long without the pleasure of hearing from you ? Had my 
 brother kept his appointment, I should not have failed to give 
 you a second letter sooner ; now is the first moment I could tell 
 you his determination concerning the books. But first I am to 
 give you his compliments and thanks for your part in the affair. 
 He thinks, as the sum offered by Mr. Whiston is so small a one, 
 and his son is likely to be a scholar ; it will be best to suspend 
 any sale of the books for the present ; and if, on further con- 
 sideration, he finds he must part with them, then to do it in the 
 
158 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 method you proposed ; as, that way, some may be selected for his 
 son's use, and the rest sold, so as to make more than to be parted 
 Avith to a bookseller. Upon considering both sides of the question, 
 he rather chuses the hazard on one side, with the certainty of 
 •greater profits in case of success, than to accept of Mr. Whiston s 
 «um for all the books at present. But I am preparing for a 
 journey to town; and there, I hope, I shall have an opportunity 
 -of explaining upon this subject in a clearer manner ; for, though 
 I know what I would say, I cannot say it clearly, amidst the con- 
 fusion of ideas in my head at this time. I beg to hear from you; 
 however little I may deserve, I cannot help much desiring a letter 
 from you. If your taste and judgment cannot allow me any 
 thing as a writer ; yet let my merit as a sincere friend demand 
 a return. In this demand I will yield to none ; for, I am sure, 
 jQone can have a truer esteem and friendship towards you, than 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY." 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 « Tuesday, October 29, 1754. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 From what Mrs. Lawrence told me, I have had daily hopes 
 of the pleasure of seeing you here, which has prevented me de- 
 siring that favour. I am much mortified by the disappointment 
 of having been so long in town, without one of the greatest satis- 
 factions I promised myself in it — your conversation. And, in 
 short, if you will not come here, I must make you a visit. I 
 should have called upon you before this time, if the settling my 
 'dear little charge here had not employed me so much at home ; 
 mow, that business is almost completed. Pray, say when and 
 where, I may have the pleasure of seeing you. Perhaps you 
 may not imagine how much I am affected by the not receiving 
 ■any reply to two letters I wrote before we left Derbyshire, and 
 ■the being a fortnight in town, without seeing a person whom I 
 iiighly esteem, and to whom I am. 
 
 An obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY." 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 159 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 " Friday-night, Nov. 29. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 How particularly unlucky I was to be out to-day, when 
 you came ! For above these fourteen days have I never been a 
 moment from home, but closely attending my poor dear Miss 
 Fitzherbert, who has been very ill, and unwillingly left her to- 
 day to pay a debt of civility long due : I imagined, if you come 
 to-day, it would be about the time of my return home. But, 
 that we may be the better acquainted with each other's hours, 
 and I secure against a second mortifying disappointment, I send 
 to tell you, that, not being an evening rapper at people's doors, 
 whenever 1 do go out, it is in a morning — a town-morning — be- 
 tween noon and three o'clock ; and that for the next four 
 mornings I must be out. Now can't you as conveniently let me 
 have the pleasure of seeing you at five some evening ? Name 
 any one ; and you shall have your tea as I can make it, and a 
 gratification infinitely superior, I know, in your estimation to any 
 other, that of seeing your presence gives great pleasure to a 
 friend ; for such I most sincerely am to you, 
 
 H. BooTHBr." 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 I have company, from whom I run, just to say, I have 
 often rejoiced to see your hand, but never so much as now. 
 Come and see me as soon as you can ; and I shall forgive an 
 absence which has indeed given me no small disturbance. 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your afiectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT." 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 Perhaps you are the only author in England, who could 
 make a play a very acceptable present to me. But you have ; 
 
160 DE. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOOTHBY. 
 
 and, I assure you, I shall leave your Irene behind me, when I go 
 hence, in my little repository of valuable things. Miss Fitz- 
 herbert is much delighted, and desires her best thanks. The 
 author's company would have more enhanced the value of the 
 present ; but that we will hope for soon. I am much obliged to 
 you for the good account of the Lawrences, and for many things 
 which increase my regard, and confirm me in being. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY." 
 
 DR. JOHNSON TO MISS BOOTHBY. 
 
 Frmn. Mrs. Piozzi's Collection^ vol. ii., p, 321. 
 
 " January 1, 1755. 
 Dearest Madam, 
 
 Though I am afraid your illness leaves you little leisure 
 for the reception of airy civilities, yet I cannot forbear to pay 
 you my congratulations on the New Year ; and to declare my 
 wishes, that your years to come may be many and happy. In 
 this wish indeed I include myself, who have none but you on 
 whom my heart reposes ; yet surely I wish your good, even 
 though your situation were such as should permit you to com- 
 municate no gratifications to, 
 
 Dearest Madam, 
 
 Your, &c." 
 
 From Mrs. Piozzi's Collection, vol. ii., p. 392. 
 
 " Dearest Madam, 
 
 Nobody but you can recompence me for the distress which 
 I suffered on Monday night. Having engaged Dr. Lawrence to 
 let me know, at whatever hour, the state in which he left you ; I 
 concluded, when he staid so long, that he staid to see my dearest 
 expu'e. I was composing myself as I could to hear what yet I 
 hoped not to hear, when his servant brought me word that you 
 were better. Do you continue to grow better ? Let my dear 
 little Miss inform me on a card. I would not have you write, 
 lest it should hurt you, and consequently hurt likewise. 
 
 Dearest Madam, 
 
 Yours, &c." 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 161 
 
 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 "May 15, 1755. 
 My good Friend, 
 
 I hoped to have seen you here last night, as the Doctor 
 told me he had informed you I was in town again. It is hard to 
 be suspected of coldness and indifference, at the very time when 
 one is, and with reason, most strongly sensible of the contrary. 
 From your own kind conduct to me, in particular lately, you, 
 who are accustomed to make just inferences and conclusions, 
 might have easily made the true ones, and have discovered, there 
 was too much to be expressed. To a less penetrating person, 
 this might occasion a surprize of neglect ; but I could not have 
 imagined you would or could have been so deceived. My friend- 
 ship is a poor acquisition ; but you see, it is so far valuable, that 
 it is firm and constant. Then, you will say, it is not a poor 
 acquisition. Well ; be it what it will ; be assured you have [it] 
 as far as it can ever extend, either to please or serve you. But do 
 not suspect me. I have an opportunity just now to send this — 
 therefore no more till I see you ; except that I am, indeed with 
 much esteem, gratitude, and affection, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 H. B. 
 
 I hope I am better, and Miss F. in a good way. She has the 
 measles.". 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 "Tissington, June 15, 1755. 
 Deae Sir, 
 
 That we arrived safe here, and had every thing to make 
 our journey easy and pleasant, is most of what I have time to 
 say, except that, amidst the smiles of the country, a country I 
 love, my native one, and the smiles of my children, whom I Iovp 
 much more, I am sensible you are an hundred and forty miles 
 distant. This is not like forgetting you. At present I am the 
 
 VI. M 
 
162 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 worse for the fatigue of travelling ; which, contrary to custom, 
 was a great one to me : but I hope this pure, sweet air, will 
 have a great influence upon my health, when I have recovered 
 my fatigue. Your little friend is, I think, the better for her four 
 days' exercise. You were the subject of our conversation many 
 times on the road, and will often be so. I hope I shall soon find 
 you think of us. I can never forget the hours you generously 
 bestowed on one who has no claim or merit, but that of being, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 With much esteem, your grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT. 
 
 Miss Fitzherbert's love to you ; no small treasure, I assure 
 you." 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 *' Tissington, July 4, 1755. 
 
 Two letters from Mr. Johnson ! Why did I not reply to 
 the first kind greeting before he answered my letter ? I don't 
 love to be outdone in kindness ; and I was both angry and pleased, 
 when I saw your second letter, my good friend. But the truth 
 is, I have been lazy. It had been long since I had known what 
 quiet was ; and I found in myself, both inwardly and outwardly, 
 a strong inclination to enjoy it. I read your letters over and 
 over ; but till now, I could not sit down to write to you. It is 
 true, I am abstracted from common life, as you say. What is 
 common life, but a repetition of the same things over and over ? 
 And is it made up of such things, as a thinking, reflecting being 
 can bear the repetition of, over and over, long, without weariness ? 
 I have found not ; and therefore my view is turned to the things 
 of that life, which must be begun here, is ever new and in- 
 creasing, and will be continued eternally hereafter. Yet, mis- 
 take me not, I am so far from excluding social duties from this 
 life, that I am sure they are a part of it, and can only be duly 
 and truly exerted in it. (Common life, I call not social life ; but, 
 in general, that dissipation and wandering which leads from the 
 duties of it. While I was in town, I did not feel myself as a| 
 part of that multitude around me. The objects I saw at dinners,! 
 &c. except yourself, when they had any of my attention, drew itl 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 163 
 
 only to pity their want of attention to what chiefly concerned 
 their happiness ; and oftener they were as passing straws on the 
 surface of a Dovedale stream, and went as lightly and as quick, 
 over the surface of my mind. My importance here I wish was 
 greater, if it miirht please God to grant me another wish, that of 
 making one soul better and happier. I think reputation and 
 dignity have no value, but as far as they may be made means of 
 influencing and leading into virtue and piety. Mankind, of all 
 degrees, are naturally the same : manners diflfer from difierent 
 causes, but not men. A miner in Derbyshire, under the ap- 
 pearance of simplicity and honesty, has perhaps more art than 
 the most accomplished statesman. We are all alike bad, my 
 dear friend, depend upon it, till a change is wrought upon us, 
 not by our own reasoning, but by the same Divine Power, who 
 first created, and pronounced all he had made, very good. From 
 this happy state we all plainly fell, and to it can we only be 
 restored by the second Adam, who wrought out a full and com- 
 plete redemption and restoration for us. Is this enthusiasm ? 
 Indeed it is truth : and, I trust, you will some time be sure it is 
 so ; and then, and not till then, wiU you be happy, as I ardently 
 wish you. I am much better. My cough is now nothing, and 
 my voice almost clear. I am weak yet, too weak to attempt to 
 see Dovedale. But keep your resolution, and come and see us : 
 and I hope I shall be able to walk there with you. I give you 
 leave to fear the loss of me, but doubt not in the least of my 
 affection and friendship ; this I cannot forgive. Miss Fitzherbert 
 says, she does not forget her promise. She is studying your 
 Ramblers to form her style, and hopes soon to give you a speci- 
 men of good writing. She is very well, and flying about the 
 fields every fair day, as the rest are. 
 
 Let me hear from you as soon as you can. I love your letters, 
 and always rejoice to find myself in your thoughts. You are 
 very frequently in mine ; and seldom without a petition to 
 Heaven for you. Poor is that love, which is bounded by the 
 narrow space of this temporal scene ; mine extends to an eternity ; 
 and I cannot desire any thing less for you, for whom I have the 
 sincerest regard, than endless happiness ; as a proof that I am 
 truly. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT. 
 
164 MRS. BOOTHBT TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 The great Dictionary is placed in full view, on a desk in my 
 own room. I am sorry you have met with some disappointments 
 in the next edition. Best wishes to Miss Williams. 
 
 Do not say you have heard from me at the good Doctor's. I 
 should write to him, but have laid out all my present stock of 
 time on you. O — chaises and such things are only transient 
 disquiets. I have, on a fine still day, observed the water, as 
 smooth as glass, suddenly curled on the surface by a little gust 
 of air, and presently still and smooth again. No more than this 
 are my chaise troubles. Like Hamlet's Ghost, 'Tis here — 'tis 
 gone.'' 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 " Tissington, July 23, 1735. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 To answer your questions — I can say that I love your 
 letters, because it is very true that I do love them ; and I do not 
 know any one reason why I may not declare this truth ; so much 
 do I think it would be for my reputation, that I should chuse to 
 declare it, not only to you, but to all who know you. Ask 
 yourself, why I value your affection ; for you cannot be so much 
 a stranger to yourself, as not to know many reasons why I ought 
 highly to value it ; and I hope you are not so much a stranger 
 to me, as not to know I would always do as I ought, though, 
 perhaps, in this case, the doing so has not the merit of volition- 
 for in truth, I cannot help it. So much in reply to the two first 
 sentences in your last letter. It is no unpleasing circumstance 
 to me, that the same messenger who has taken a letter to the 
 post-house at Ashbourn from me to you, has twice brought back 
 one from you to me. Possibly, while I am now replying toyourj 
 last, you may be giving me a reply to mine again. Both waysl 
 1 shall be pleased, whether I happen to be beforehand with youJ 
 or you again with me. | 
 
 1 am desirous that, in the great and one thing necessary, you| 
 should think as I do ; and I am persuaded you some time will.| 
 I will not enter into a controversy with you. I am sure I neverSf 
 can this way convince you in any point wherein we may differ ; j 
 nor can any mortal convince me, by human arguments, that there| 
 is not a divine evidence for divine truths. Such the Apostleli- 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 165 
 
 plainly defines Faith to be, when he tells us, it is ' the substance 
 of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.^ Human 
 testimony can go no farther than things seen, and visible to the 
 senses. Divine and spiritual things are far above — and what 
 says St. Paul? — ' For what man hnoweth the things of a man, save 
 the spirit of man which is in him f Even so the things of God 
 hnoweth no man, but the spirit of God ? ' Do, read the whole 
 chapter ; and, if you please, Mr. Romaine's Sermon, or Discourse, 
 lately published, on the benefit, which the Holy Spirit of God is 
 of to man in his journey through life. I utterly disclaim all faith 
 that does not work by love, love that — 
 
 — ' Takes every creature in of every kind ; ' 
 
 and believe, from my soul, that in every sect and denomination of 
 Christians there are numbers, great numbers, who will sit down 
 with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the promise, you quote, 
 be gloriously fulfilled. I believe, and rejoice, in this assurance 
 of happiness for ten thousand times ten thousand, thousand, &c. 
 of every language and nation and people. I am convinced that 
 many true Christians differ ; and if such do differ, it can be only 
 in words, with regard to which great caution should be used. 
 
 I continue as well in health as I told you I was in my last. 
 Mr. Fitzherbert has put off his coming here till August. My 
 dear Miss is very well. She bids me send you her love, and tell 
 you, she must consider some time about writing to you before 
 she can execute properly. 
 
 Do not treat me with so much deference. I have no claim to 
 it ; and, from a friend, it looks too like ceremony — a thing I am 
 at this time more particularly embarrassed with. Perhaps you 
 never knew a person less apt to take offence than myself; and if 
 it was otherwise in general, I am sure you would not have cause 
 to apprehend the giving it, but would always be a particular ex- 
 ception to my taking it. 
 
 See how far the pleasure of conversing with you has overcome 
 my present dislike to writing ; and let it be a farther proof to 
 you of my being. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, and obliged humble servant, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY.^ 
 
 How does Miss Williams and her father? My regards to her." 
 ' At the end of this letter Dr. Johnson wrote, Answered. 
 
166 MBS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 "Tissington, July 29, 1755. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 As it happened, your rebuke for my silence was so timed 
 as to give me pleasure. Your complaints would have been very 
 painful to me, had I not been pretty certain that before I read 
 them you would receive a letter, which would take away all cause 
 for them. I could not have borne them under the least con- 
 sciousness of having merited them. But, quite free fi-om this, 
 such marks of your friendship were very pleasing. You need 
 not make use of any arguments to persuade me of the necessity 
 of frequent writing ; I am very willing to acknowledge it in a 
 correspondence with you ; though I never so little liked to write, 
 in general, since I could write, as for some time past. Both my 
 mind and body are much indisposed to this employment. The 
 last is not so easy in the posture which habit has fixed, when I 
 write, and consequently the mind affected too. To you I always 
 wish to appear in the best light: but you will excuse infirmities ; 
 and to purchase your letters I shall think my time happily be- 
 stowed. If but one line can give you pleasure or suspend pain, 
 I shall rejoice. How kind was your last little letter ! I longed 
 to return my immediate thanks : but Mr. Fitzherbert's mother, 
 an old lady, bigoted to forms, prevented me ; and has prevented 
 me till now. She came here, is here, and stays some time. I 
 continue much better in my health, thank God, alert and 
 cheerful ; and have stood storms and tempests, rain and cold, 
 unhurt. I observe the good Doctor's rules, and have found them I 
 efficacious. Mr. Fitzherbert had appointed his time for being | 
 here as next week, but has changed it to near three weeks hence. 
 Tell me some literary news — I mean, of your own ; for I am very 
 indifferent to the productions of others, but interested warmly 
 in all yours, both in heart and mind. 
 
 I hope our difference is only in words, or that in time our j; 
 sentiments will be so much the same, as to make our expressions |j 
 clear and plain. As you say, every moment brings the time jj 
 nearer in which we must think alike. O may this time (or rather (j 
 end of time to us) which will fully disclose truth, also with it | 
 
MRS. BOOTHBT TO DR. JOHNSON. 167 
 
 disclose eternal happiness to us ! You see, I cannot help praying 
 for you, nor shall I ever, as I am, truly, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBY. 
 
 My little flock all well ; Miss much at your service, and has 
 a high regard for you. If you mention me at the Doctor's, men- 
 tion me as one who is always glad of paying regard there, and 
 hearing well of them." 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 July 30, 1755. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Why, my good friend, you are so bountiful and so kind, 
 that I must thank you, and say, I am truly grateful, though I 
 have not time for more, as I have been obliged to write several 
 letters to-day, and cannot easily write much. Your account of 
 Mr. William's departure was very sweet to me. He is happy 
 without doubt, and, instead of condoling with, I most heartily 
 rejoice with Miss Williams, from this assurance, which I trust 
 she has as strongly as I, and then she must be every moment 
 thankful. 
 
 I am not so well as I have been. The damp Aveather has 
 affected me. But my dear children are all well ; and some sun - 
 shine will revive me again. This is only to let you see I think 
 of you, and, as I ought, receive every instance of your regard, 
 when I assure you it increases mine, and makes me more and 
 more. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BoOTHBT. 
 
 I will tell you some time what I think of Anacreon." 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 "August 13, 1755. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 You was at Oxford then ? — and I was vain enough to 
 conclude you was not in tovra, or I should have heard from you 
 
168 MRS. BOOTHBT TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 sooner, and you have not lessened my vanity by thinking of and 
 writing to me^ in a place where so many objects suited to your 
 taste would be courting your attention — so many of the learned 
 seeking your conversation. This is a new obligation, of which 
 I am very sensible. Yet I had rather seen a letter, dated from 
 Lichfield, because then I should have hoped soon to see Mr. 
 Johnson himself, and for an opportunity of conversing with him. 
 
 I am at present preparing to receive Mr. Fitzherbert, Mr. and 
 Mrs. AUeyne, Mr. Gernier, &c. If you have been in town this 
 week, probably you have seen Mr. Fitzherbert. I hope he 
 would not neglect to inquire after the most valuable acquaintance 
 he has there. Our scene here will be much changed. But all 
 is, and ought to be, variable in this life ; and I expect the 
 change with much inward tranquillity. The interval of rest 
 and quiet I have had, has greatly contributed to the amendment 
 of my health. I walked a mile yesterday, without great fatigue ; 
 and hope I shall be able to support the labours to come. I am 
 not careful, however, for the morrow. That is in the hands of 
 the almighty and all-merciful God. There I trust ; and pray — 
 Give me this day my daily bread. 
 
 Miss is still tuning — no wonder that you have inspired her with 
 awe. She is disturbed she does not write ; yet cannot satisfy 
 herself with any mental composition. She has yet been working 
 for you. I leave her to herself, and hope she will produce some- 
 thing. 
 
 Remember that, the more people I see, the more I shall rejoice 
 in a letter from you. Turtle-feasts, and venison-feasts, I delight 
 not in. Treat me sometimes, as often as you can, with what will 
 be really a feast ; and in the best manner I am able I will thank 
 you, and be ever, as now, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your grateful and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBY." 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 "Tissington, August 20, 1755. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Everywhere I find myself in your thoughts — at Oxford 
 — in town. How shall I reward this kind attention to a friend, 
 this tender solicitude for her health and welfare ? Your partiality 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 169 
 
 •will, I know, make you reply, ' by neglecting no means to procure 
 and preserve them.' This is what I am sensible I owe to the 
 most inconsiderable creature whom it pleases a good Providence 
 to benefit in the last degree by me ; and much more to a friend. 
 Pain and sickness do most certainly produce the consequences 
 you observe ; and often do I reflect with the greatest wonder and 
 gratitude on all those various occasions in which it has pleased 
 God to visit me with these, that he should never leave me without 
 that medicine of life — a friend. 
 
 I am glad you saw Mr. Fitzherbert, and that he repeated his 
 invitation to Tissington. He and his company arrived here on 
 Thursday last, all at a loss what to do with themselves in still 
 life. They set out yesterday to Derby race, and return on 
 Friday, with some forty more people, to eat a turtle ; weight, 
 an hundred and thirty. This feast, I, who, you know, love [not] 
 eating, am preparing for them. It will be a day of fatigue. 
 But then how sweet and comfortable it will be, to lie down 
 and rest at night ! The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, 
 whether he eateth little or much. My business is to prepare a 
 feast, not to eat. During th'fe time of our having been here alone, 
 I have found great good from rest and quiet, and the strength 
 gained in this interval of repose enables me to support the hurry 
 of company, and the necessary cares for their reception and 
 entertainment, much better than I could do for a long time before 
 I left London. But I am not so well as I was a fortnight since. 
 The pain in my side is increased, as I find it will be on all occa- 
 sions where I am obliged to prolong exercise to the least degree 
 of fatigue, and in my present situation there is no avoiding 
 these sometimes. But I have respite seasonably, thank God, as 
 now. And next week Mr. Fitzherbert and his guests go to dance 
 at Buxton, and see the Peak. You will perhaps think a tour 
 round the Peak would be no bad thing for me ; and I should 
 think so too, but as this will be ordered, or disordered^ by the un- 
 certainty and irregularity of the directors, it will be a rash 
 attempt for me, and, besides, they have only vehicles sufficient 
 for themselves ; so that I shall have another resting time, before 
 they return again to stay a few days ; and then they all go to 
 Lichfield race, from whence Mr. Fitzherbert and Gernier only 
 return back. Now, I have not only told you the state of my 
 health, but of affairs here, that you may know both how I do, and 
 what I do. 
 
170 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DE. JOHNSON 
 
 And, while I am writing all this, I really feel ashamed ; con- 
 scious how little I merit to be thought of consequence enough 
 for any body to desire such information concerning me, par- 
 ticularly you, who I am persuaded, might select a friend among 
 the most worthy. Do not call this feigned humility, or, in other 
 words, the worst sort of pride. 'Tis truth, I assure you. 
 
 Will you come into Derbyshire ? But why do I ask ? You say 
 you will. In the mean time, I will endeavour, with God's bless- 
 ing, to lay in a stock of health, that I may have the pleasure of 
 walking with you in Dovedale, and many other pleasures I 
 hope for. 
 
 You desire longer letters ; here you have one — but such a 
 one as I am afraid will not make you repeat that desire. How- 
 ever, it will be a proof of my willingness to gratify your request 
 whenever it is in my power, and that I never say little to Mr. 
 Johnson by choice, but when I can hear him talk. 
 
 The least degree of your quiet is a treasure which I shall take 
 the utmost care of — but yet, from very certain experience, 
 and the truest regard to your peace, I must advise to take it 
 out of all human hands. Young's experience strongly speaks 
 with mine — 
 
 * Lean not on Earth ; 'twill pierce thee to the heart ; 
 
 A broken reed, at best ; but oft a spear ; 
 
 On its sharp point Peace bleeds, and Hope expires.' 
 
 Yet such has been the amazing mercy of God to me, that now I 
 can say — ' It is good for me that I have been afflicted.' Looking 
 over some old papers lately, I found two lines I had scratched 
 out, which were prophetic of what has since happened to me — 
 
 ' Variety of pain will make me know, 
 That greatest bliss is drawn from greatest woe.' — 
 
 But this, perhaps, you say, is far from being a dissuasive. Why, 
 as to the event here, 'tis indeed the contrary. But, in general, 
 the disappointment and pain is certain, the event not so. There 
 is no peace but that one, which the Prince of Peace, king of 
 Salem, left to his disciples — ' Peace I leave with you, my peace 
 I give unto you ; not as the world giveth, give I unto you.' No 
 — for in another place, our Saviour says — 'In the world ye 
 shall have tribulation ' — Seek, and you will surely find. You 
 do me the honour to call me your monitress ; and you see I en- 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 171 
 
 deavour to execute the duty of one. Peace and happiness here 
 and for ever, do I most ardently wish you ; as I am truly, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your greatly obliged and affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT. 
 
 Miss's love. 
 
 N.B. I intended to have concluded this, where I talked of a 
 longer letter on the other side, but went on imperceptibly as it 
 were. Remember you are a whole sheet in my debt after you 
 receive this." 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 " September 8, 1755. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 It is as impossible for me to forbear writing, as it is to say 
 a tenth part of what I would say. Two letters I have from you 
 demand a vast deal ; yet not more than I am willing to give, was 
 I able ; but Mr. Fitzherbert has been at home above a week, and 
 company, &c. have prevented my doing any thing but attend to 
 domestic employments. I do not allow you to be a judge with 
 regard to your conferring obligations. I am to judge and estimate 
 in this case. But, now you know my thoughts, if the repetition 
 displeases, I shall avoid it. 
 
 Your letters are indeed very different from the common dialect 
 of daily correspondence, and as different from the style of a 
 school dogmatist. Much sense in few and well-chosen words. 
 Daily correspondence does not commonly afford, nor a school- 
 dogmatist, delicate praise. So much for your letters. As to 
 what you say of mine, dear Sir, if they please you, I am perfectly 
 satisfied. And, high as I rate your judgment, it gives me more 
 pleasure to think I owe much of your applause to the partiality 
 of a kind friend, than I should receive from unbiassed criticism ; 
 were it publicly to pronounce me superior to all the Arinda's, 
 Sevigne's, &c. in epistolary excellence. 
 
 I have been fourteen miles to-day, was out by eight in the 
 morning, (some hours before your day begins), dispatched several 
 
172 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 important things, am tired, but could not suffer another post to 
 go without an assurance that I am. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, and obliged one too, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY." 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 " Tissington, Sept. 20, 1755. 
 
 Dear Sib, 
 
 Were I at liberty, it would not be in ray power to enhance 
 the value of my letters by their scarcity. You should have them, 
 till you cried out ' Hold your hand.' But you cannot imagine the 
 half of what I have to do : and I assure you, I have on your 
 account put off writing to others from time to time, till now I 
 am ashamed. Be silent at Dr. Lawrence's as to me, for I have 
 been long in debt there : I intended to have paid to-day, but you 
 won't let me. This way I consider — ' I must go to Derby on 
 Monday, to stay some days — no writing then — and, therefore, I 
 must write to Mr. Johnson now, and defer the rest — why I must 
 write to Mr. Johnson, rather than to others, he may find out' — 
 
 You do not pity me, when I am whirled round by a succession 
 of company ; yet you are anxious for my health. Now this is, 
 though perhaps unknown to you, really a contradiction. For 
 one day's crowd, with the preceding necessary preparations to 
 receive them, the honours^ as it is called, of a large table, with the 
 noise, &c. attending, pulls down my feeble frame more than any 
 thing you can imagine. To that, air, gentle exercise, and then 
 quiet and rest, are most friendly. You have often declared you 
 cannot be alone ; and I, as often, that I could not be long, unless 
 I was some hours in every day alone. I have found myself mis- 
 taken ; for yet I am in being, though for some tim:i past 1 have 
 seldom had one half hour in a day to myself; and I have learned 
 this profitable lesson, that resignation is better than indulgence ; 
 and, time is too precious a thing for me to have at my own dis- 
 posal. Providence has given it to others, and, if it may profit 
 them, I shall rejoice. It is all I desire. 
 
 I can only be sorry that the text in the Corinthians does not 
 prove to you what I would have it, and add to my prayers for 
 you that it may prove it. 
 
MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 178 
 
 Miss Fitzherbert is very well, and all my dear flock. She 
 sends love to you. 
 
 You will prolong your visit to this part of the world, till some 
 of us are so tired of it that we shall be moving towards you. 
 Consider, it is almost October. When do you publish ? Any 
 news relating to you will be acceptable ; if it is good, I shall re- 
 joice ; if not, hope to lessen any pain it may give you by the 
 sharing it, as. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your truly aflfectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT.'* 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 "Tissington, October 11, 1755. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I have been so great a rambler lately, that I have not 
 had time to write. A week at Derby ; another between Stafford 
 and some other relations. The hurrying about proved too much 
 for my strength, and disordered me a good deal ; but now, thank 
 God, I am better again. Your letter I met here, as I always do 
 every one you write, with much pleasure. I expected this plea- 
 sure ; and as I should have met disappointment if I had not had 
 a letter, so the pleasure of one was increased. Few things can 
 disappoint me ; I look for no satisfaction from them ; but you 
 may greatly, as you have given me a confidence in your highly- 
 valued friendship. Complaints fbr want of time will be one of 
 those which must be made by all, whose hope is not full of im- 
 mortality : and to this, the previous review of life, and reflections 
 you have made, are necessary. I am persuaded you had not time 
 to say more, or you could not have concluded your last as you 
 did. A moment's reflection would have prevented a needless 
 wish. 
 
 Have you read Mr. Law ? not cursorily, but with attention ? 
 I wish you would consider him ; ' His appeal to all that doubt,' SfC. 
 I think the most clear of all his later writings ; and, in recom- 
 mending it to you, I shall say no more or less than what you will 
 see he says in his Advertisement to the Reader. 
 
 In less than a month we are to be in Cavendish-square. Mr, 
 Fitzherbert has fixed Friday sennight for going to town himself. 
 
174 MRS. BOOTHBY TO DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 and we are to follow soon after that time. Need I say, I shall 
 be gl id to see you ? No — you know I shall ; and, unless duty 
 calls to Lichfield, I wish rather to have that visit deferred, till it 
 may give me an opportunity of seeing you here on our return in 
 the Summer. Consider of this, and contrive so, if possible, as that 
 both in Summer and Winter I may have the pleasure of your con- 
 versation ; which will greatly cheer the gloom of one season, and 
 add to the smiles of the other. Such influence has such a friend on, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged and aflfectionate humble servant, 
 
 H. BoOTHBY. 
 
 My dear Miss Fitzherbert is well, very well, and has never 
 given me one alarm since we came here. She sends you her love 
 very sincerely." 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 '' Sunday Night.» 
 Mt deab Sie, 
 
 I am in trouble about you ; and the more, as I am not 
 able to see how you do myself — pray send me word. You have 
 my sincere prayers ; and the first moment I can, you shall see, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your afiectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT. 
 
 I beg you would be governed by the good Doctor while you 
 are sick ; when you are well, do as you please." 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 My dear Sir,^ 
 
 Would I was able to reply fully to both your kind letters ! 
 but at present I am not. I trust we shall both be better soon, 
 with a blessing upon our good Doctor's means. I have been, as 
 
 ' In Dr. Johnson's hand- writing, " December, 1755." 
 ' In Dr. Johnson's ha^id-writing, "December, 1755;" although it 
 seems to be an answer to the next, written by him. 
 
DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOOTHBY. 175 
 
 he can tell you, all obedience. As an answer to one part of your 
 letter, I have sent you a little book. God bless you. I must 
 defer the rest, till I am more able. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 H. BOOTHBT. 
 
 Give Cooper some tickets. 
 
 I am glad you sent for the hock. Mr. Fitzherbert has named 
 it more than once. 
 
 Thank you for saving me from what indeed might have greatly 
 hurt me, had I heard or seen in a paper such a 
 
 DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOOTHBY. 
 
 From Mrs. FiozzCs " Letters to and from Br, Samuel Johnson" vol. ii., 
 
 p. 393. 
 
 "December 30, 1755. 
 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 It is again midnight, and I am again alone. With what 
 meditation shall I amuse this waste hour of darkness and vacuity ? 
 If I turn my thoughts upon myself, what do I perceive but a 
 poor helpless being, reduced by a blast of wind to weakness and 
 misery ? How my present distemper was brought upon me I can 
 give no account, but impute it to some sudden succession of cold 
 to heat ; such as in the common road of life cannot be avoided, 
 and against which no precaution can be taken. 
 
 Of the fallaciousness of hope and the uncertainty of schemes, 
 every day gives some new proof; but it is seldom heeded, till 
 something rather felt than seen awakens attention. This illness, 
 in which I have suffered something, and feared much more, has 
 depressed my confidence and elation ; and made me consider all 
 that I had promised myself, as less certain to be attained or en- 
 joyed. I have endeavoured to form resolutions of a better life ; 
 but I form them weakly, under the consciousness of an external 
 motive. Not that I conceive a time of sickness, a time improper 
 for recollection and good purposes, which I believe diseases and 
 calamities often sent to produce, but because no man can know 
 how little his performance will answer to his promises ; and 
 designs are nothing in human eyes till they are realized by 
 execution. 
 
176 DR. JOHNSON: TO MRS. BOOTHBT. 
 
 Continue, my dearest, your prayers for me, that no good reso- 
 lution may be vain. You think, I believe, better of me than I 
 deserve. I hope to be in time what I wish to be ; and what I 
 have hitherto satisfied myself too readily with only wishing. 
 
 Your billet brought me, what I much wished to have, a proof 
 that I am still remembered by you at the hour in which I most 
 desire it. 
 
 The Doctor is anxious about you. He thinks you too negligent 
 of yourself; if you will promise to be cautious, I will exchange 
 promises, as we have already exchanged injunctions. However, 
 do not write to me more than you can easily bear ; do not inter- 
 rupt your ease to write at all. 
 
 Mr. Fitzherbert sent to-day to offer me some wine ; the people 
 about me say I ought to accept it. I shall therefore be obliged 
 to him if he will send me a bottle. 
 
 There has gone about a report that I died to-day, which I 
 mention, lest you should hear it and be alarmed. You see that I 
 think my death may alarm you ; which, for me, is to think very 
 highly of earthly friendship. I believe it arose from the death of 
 one of my neighbours. You know Des Cartes's argument, ' I 
 think ; therefore I am.' It is as good a consequence, ' I write : 
 therefore I am alive.' I might give another, * I am alive ; there- 
 fore I love Miss Boothby ; ' but that I hope our friendship may 
 be of far longer duration than life. 
 I am. 
 
 Dearest Madam, 
 
 With sincere affection. 
 
 Yours &c 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 " December 
 My Sweet Angel, 
 
 I have read your book, I am afraid you will think without 
 any great improvement ; whether you can read my notes, I know 
 not. You ought not to be offended ; I am perhaps as sincere as 
 the writer. In all things that terminate here I shall be much 
 guided by your influence, and should take or leave by your direc- 
 tion ; but I cannot receive my religion from any human hand. 
 I desire however to be instructed, and am far from thinking 
 myself perfect. 
 
 
DR. JOHNSON 10 MRS. BOOTHBY. 177 
 
 I beg you to return the book when you have looked into it. I 
 should not have written what was in the margin, had I not had it 
 from you, or had I not intended to show it you. 
 
 It affords me a new conviction, that in these books there is 
 little new, except new forms of expression ; which may be some- 
 times taken, even by the writer, for new doctrines. 
 
 I sincerely hope that God, whom you so much desire to serve 
 aright, will bless you, and restore you to health, if he sees it 
 best. Surely no human understanding can pray for any thing 
 temporal otherwise than conditionally. Dear Angel, do not 
 forget me. My heart is full of tenderness. 
 
 It has pleased God to permit me to be n^uch better ; which I 
 believe will please you. 
 
 Give me leave, who have thought much on medicine, to pro- 
 prose to you an easy, and I think a very probable remedy for 
 indigestion and lubricity of the bowels. Dr. Lawrence has told 
 me your case. Take an ounce of dried orange-peel, finely pow- 
 dered, divide it into scruples, and take one scruple at a time in 
 any manner ; the best way is perhaps to drink it in a glass of 
 hot red port, or to eat it first, and drink the wine after it. If 
 you mix cinnamon or nutmeg with the powder, it were not 
 worse ; but it wiU be more bulky, and so more troublesome. 
 This is a medicine not disgusting, not costly, easily tried, and if 
 not found useful, easily left off. 
 
 I would not have you offer it to the Doctor as mine. Physi- 
 cians do not love intruders ; yet do not take it without his leave. 
 But do not be easily put off, for it is in my opinion very likely 
 to help you, and not likely to do you harm ; do not take too 
 much in haste ; a scruple once in three hours, or about five 
 scruples a day will be sufficient to begin, or less, if you find any 
 aversion. I think using sugar with it might be bad ; if syrup, 
 use old syrup of quinces ; but even that I do not like. I should 
 think better of conserve of sloes. Has the Doctor mentioned 
 the bark ? In powder you could hardly take it ; perhaps you 
 might take the infusion. 
 
 Do not think me troublesome, I am full of care. I love you 
 and honour you ; and am very unwilling to lose you. 
 
 A Dieuje vous recommande. 
 
 I am. Madam, 
 
 Your, &c. 
 
 My compliments to my dear Miss." 
 
 VI. N 
 
178 DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOOTHBY. 
 
 TO THE SAMF 
 
 " Saturday. 
 Dearest Dear, 
 
 I am extremely obliged to you for the kindness of your 
 inquiry. After I had written to you, Dr. Lawrence came, and 
 would have given some oil and sugar, but I took rhenish and 
 water, and recovered my voice. I yet cough much, and sleep 
 ill. I have been visited by another Doctor to-day ; but I laughed 
 at his balsam of Peru. I fasted on Tuesday, Wednesday, and 
 Thursday, and felt neither hunger nor faintness. I have dined 
 yesterday and to-day, and found little refreshment. I am not 
 much amiss ; but can no more sleep than if my dearest lady 
 were angry at. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Your, &c." 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 "January 8, 1756. 
 Honoured Madam, 
 
 I beg of you to endeavour to live. I have returned your 
 Law; which, however, I earnestly entreat you to give me. I am 
 in great trouble ; if you can write three words to me, be pleased 
 to do it. I am afraid to say much, and cannot say nothing when 
 my dearest is in danger. 
 
 The all-merciful God have mercy on you ! 
 
 I am. Madam, 
 
 Your, &c." 
 
 [Miss Boothby died January 16, 1756 ; upon whose death Dr. 
 Johnson composed the following prayer. " Prayers and Medi- 
 tations," &c. p. 25.] 
 
 Hill Boothby's Death, Jan. 1756. 
 
 O Lord God, Almighty disposer of all things, in whose hands 
 
 are life and death, who givest comforts and takes t them away, I 
 
 return thee thanks for the good example of Hill Boothby, whom 
 
 thou hast now taken away ; and implore thy grace, that I may 
 
EPITAPH UPON MISS BOOTHBT. 179 
 
 improve the opportunity of instruction which thou hast afforded 
 me, bj the knowledge of her life, and by the sense of her death ; 
 that I may consider the uncertainty of my present state, and 
 apply myself earnestly to the duties which thou hast set before 
 me, that, living in thy fear, I may die in thy favour, through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 
 
 I commend, &c. W. and H. B. 
 
 [Transcribed June 26, 1768.] 
 
 T/te following Epitaph, upon Miss Hill Boothhy, teas written by 
 the present Sir 'Brooke Boothhy. 
 
 SACRED TO THE MEMORY 
 
 HILL BOOTHBY, 
 Only Daughter of Brooke Boothby and Elizabeth Fitzherbert, 
 
 Born Oct. 27, 1708; died Jan. 16, 1756. 
 
 Could beauty, learning, talents, virtue, save 
 From the dark confines of th' insatiate grave, 
 This frail memorial had not ask'd a tear, 
 O'er Hill's cold relics, sadly mouldering here. 
 Friendship's chaste flame her ardent bosom fir'd, 
 And bright Religion's all her soul inspir'd ; 
 Her soul, too heavenly for an house of clay, 
 Soon wore its earth-built fabrick to decay ; 
 In the last struggles of departing breath, 
 She saw her Saviour gild the bed of death ; 
 Heard his mild accents, tun'd to peace and love, 
 Give glorious welcome to the realms above ; 
 In those bright regions, that celestial shore, 
 Where friends long-lost shall meet to part no more ; 
 "Blest Lord, I come I" my hopes have not been vain: 
 Upon her lifeless cheek extatic smiles remain. 
 
A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
A BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 WHEN Charles the Second was informed of the death of 
 Cowley, he pronounced, " that he had not left a better 
 man behind him in England." It may be affirmed with truth, 
 that this was the case Avhen Dr. Johnson breathed his last. 
 Those who observed his declining state of health during the last 
 winter, and heard his complaints, of painful days and sleepless 
 nights, for which he took large quantities of opium, had no 
 reason to expect that he could survive another season of frost 
 and snow. His constitution was totally broken, and no art of 
 the physician or surgeon could protract his existence beyond the 
 I3th of December. When he was opened, one of his kidneys 
 was found decayed. He never complained of disorder in that 
 region ; and probably it was not the immediate cause of his dis- 
 solution. It might be thought that so strong and muscular a 
 body might have lasted many years longer. For Johnson drank 
 nothing but water, and lemonade (by way of indulgence), for 
 many years, almost uninterruptedly, without the taste of any 
 fermented liquor : and, he was often abstinent from animal food, 
 and kept down feverish symptoms by dietetic management. Of 
 Addison and Pope he used to observe, perhaps to remind himself, 
 that they ate and drank too much, and thus shortened their days. 
 It was thought by many, who dined at the same table, that he 
 had too great an appetite. This might now and then be the case, 
 but not tOl he had subdued his enemy by famine. But his bulk 
 seemed to require now and then to be repaired by kitchen 
 
 ^ From the Gentleman's Magazine, Dec, 1784. 
 
184 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 physic. To great old age not one in a thousand arrives. How 
 few were the years of Johnson in comparison of those of Jenkins 
 and Parr ! But perhaps Johnson had more of life, by his 
 intenseness of living. Most people die of disease. He was all 
 his life preparing himself for death : but particularly in the last 
 stage of his asthma and dropsy. " Take care of your soul — don't 
 live such a life as I have done — don't let your business or dissi- 
 pation make you neglect your sabbath " — were now his constant 
 inculcations. Private and publick prayer, when his visitors were 
 his audience, were his constant exercises. He cannot be said to 
 have been weary of the weight of existence, for he declared, that 
 to prolong it only for one year, but not for the comfortless sensa- 
 tions he had lately felt, he would suffer the amputation of a limb. 
 He was willing to endure positive pain for possible pleasure. 
 But he had no expectation that nature could last much longer. 
 And therefore, for his last week, he undoubtedly abandoned 
 every hope of his recovery or duration, and committed his soul 
 to God. Whether he felt the instant stroke of death, and met 
 the king of terrors face to face, cannot be known : for " death 
 and the sun cannot be looked upon," says Rochefoucault. But 
 the writer of this has reason to imagine that when he thought he 
 had made his peace with his Maker, he had nothing to fear. He 
 has talked of submitting to a violent death, in a good cause, 
 without apprehensions. On one of the last visits from his 
 surgeon, who on performing the puncture on his legs, had 
 assured him that he was better, he declared, "he felt himself not 
 so, and that he did not desire to be treated like a woman or a 
 child, for that he had made up his mind." He had travelled 
 through the vale of this world for more than seventy-five years. 
 It probably was a wilderness to him for more than half his tim_e. 
 But he was in the possession of rest and comfort and plenty, for 
 the last twenty years. Yet the blessings of fortune and reputa- 
 tion could not compensate to him the want of health, which pur^ 
 sued him through his pilgrimage on earth. Post equitem set 
 atra cur a. 
 
 " For when we mount the flying steed, 
 
 Sits gloomy Care behind." 
 
 Of the hundred sublunary things bestowed on mortals, health 
 ninety-nine. He was born with a scrophulous habit, for whicli 
 he was touched, as he acknowledged, by good Queen Anne, whose 
 piece of gold he carefully preserved. But even a Stuart could 
 
 ta- 
 
 1 
 
BY THOMAS TYERS. 185 
 
 not expel that enemy to bis frame, by a touch. For it would 
 have been even beyond the stroking power of Greatrix in all his 
 glory, to charm it away. Though he seemed to be athletic as 
 Milo himself, and in his younger days performed several feats of 
 activity, he was to the last a convulsionary . He has often stept 
 aside, to let nature do what she would with him. His gestures, 
 which were a degree of St. Vitus's dance, in the street, attracted 
 the notice of many : the stare of the vulgar, but the compassion 
 of the better sort. This writer has often looked another way, 
 as the companions of Peter the Great were used to do, while he 
 was under the short paroxysm. He was perpetually taking 
 opening medicines. He could only keep his ailments from gain- 
 ing ground. He thought he was worse for the agitation of active 
 exercise. He was afraid of his disorders seizing his head, and 
 took all possible care that his understanding should not be 
 deranged. Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano. A\Tien 
 his knowledge from books, and he knew all that books could tell 
 him, is considered ; when his compositions in verse and prose are 
 enumerated to the reader (and a complete list of them wherever 
 dispersed is desirable) it must appear extraordinary he could 
 abstract himself so much from his feelings, and that he could 
 pursue with ardour the plan he laid down of establishing a great 
 reputation. Accumulating learning (and the example of Barre- 
 tier, whose life he wrote) shewed him how to arrive at all science. 
 His imagination often appeared to be too mighty for the control 
 of his reason. In the preface to his Dictionary, he says, that his 
 work was composed " amidst inconvenience and distraction, in 
 sickness and in sorrow." " I never read this preface," says Mr. 
 Home, " but it makes me shed tears." 
 
 If this memoir-writer possessed the pen of a Plutarch, and the 
 subject is worthy of that great biographer, he would begin his 
 account from his youth, and continue it to the last period of his 
 life, in the due order of an historian. What he knows and can 
 recollect, he Avill perform. His father (called " gentleman " in 
 the parish register) he says himself, and it is also within memory, 
 was an old bookseller at Lichfield, and a whig in principle. The 
 father of Socrates was not of higher extraction, nor of a more 
 honourable profession. Our author was born in that city ; and 
 the house of his birth was a few months ago visited by a learned 
 acquaintance, the information of which was grateful to the Doctor. 
 It may probably be engraved for some monthly repository. Tlie 
 
186 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 print and the original dwelling may become as eminent as the 
 mansion of Shakspeare at Stratford, or of Erasmus at Rotterdam. 
 He certainly must have had a good school education. He was 
 entered of Pembroke College, Oxford, Oct. 31, 1728, and con- 
 tinued there for several terms. By vs^hose bounty he wa,s sup- 
 ported, may be known to enquiry. While he was there, he was 
 negligent of the College rules and hours, and absented himself 
 from some of the lectures, for which when he was reprimanded 
 and interrogated, he replied with great rudeness and contempt of 
 the lecturer. Indeed he displayed an overbearing disposition 
 that would not brook control, and shewed that, like Caesar, he 
 was fitter to oommand than to obey. This dictatorial spirit was 
 the leading feature in his deportment to his contemporaries. His 
 college themes and declamations are still remembered ; and his 
 elegant translation of Pope's " Messiah " into Latin verse found 
 its way into a volume of poems published by one Husbands. In 
 1735, after having been some time an .usher to Anthony Black - 
 wall, his friends assisted him to set' up an academy near Lichfield. 
 Here he formed an acquaintance with the late Bishop Green, then 
 an usher at Lichfield, and with Mr. Hawkins Browne. As the 
 school probably did not answer his expectation (for who does not 
 grow tired of teaching others, especially if he wants to teach him- 
 self ?), he resolved to come up to London, where everything is to 
 be had for wit and for money (Romce omnia venalia), and to seek 
 his fortune. He was accompanied by his pupil Mr. Garrick : and 
 travelled on horseback to the metropolis in March, 1737. 
 
 The time and business of this journey are before the public in 
 some letters from Mr. Walmsley, who recommends Johnson as a 
 writer of tragedy ; as a translator from the French language ; 
 and as a good scholar. He brought with him his tragedy of 
 " Irene," which afterwards took its chance on Drury-Lane theatre. 
 Luckily he did not throw it into the fire, by design or otherwise, 
 as Parson Adams did his " iEschylus " by mistake. He ofl^ered 
 himself for the service of the booksellers ; " for he was born for 
 nothing but to write," — 
 
 "And from tlie jest obscene reclaim our youth, 
 And set our passions on the side of truth." 
 
 The hurry of this pen prevents the recollection of his first per- 
 formances. But he used to call Dodsley his patron, because he 
 made him, if not first, yet best known by printing and publishing, 
 
BY THOMAS TYEE8. 187" 
 
 upon his own judgment, his Satire, called " London," which was 
 an imitation of one of Juvenal, whose gravity and severity of 
 expression he possessed. He there and then discovered how 
 able he was " to catch the manners living as they rise." The 
 poem had a great sale, was applauded by the public, and praised 
 by Mr. Pope, who, not being able to discover the author, said 
 " he will soon be deterre.''' In 1738 he luckily fell into the hands 
 of his other early patron. Cave. His speeches for the Senate of 
 Lilliput were begun in 1740, and continued for several sessions. 
 They passed for original vnih. many till very lately. But Johnson, 
 who detested all injurious imposition, took a great deal of paina 
 to acknowledge the innocent deception. He gave Smollett notice 
 of their unoriginality, while he was going over his historical 
 ground, and to be upon his guard in quoting from the Lilliput 
 Debates. It is within recollection, that an animated speech he 
 put into the mouth of Pitt, in answer to the Parliamentary 
 veteran, Horace Walpole, was much talked of, and considered 
 as genuine. Members of parliament acknowledge, that they 
 reckon themselves much obliged for the printed accounts of 
 debates of both Houses, because they are made to speak better 
 than they do in the Senate. Within these few years, a gentle- 
 man in a high employment under government was at breakfast in 
 Gray's-Inn, where Johnson was present, and was commending 
 the excellent preservation of the speeches of both houses, in the 
 Lilliput Debates. He declared, he knew how to appropriate 
 every speech without a signature ; for that every person spoke 
 in character, and was as certainly and as easily known as a 
 speaker in Homer or in Shakspeare. '' Very likely, Sir," said 
 Johnson, ashamed of having deceived him, " but I wrote them in 
 the garret where I then lived." His predecessor in this oratorical 
 fabrication was Guthrie ; his successor in the Magazine was 
 Hawkesworth. It is said, that to prove himself equal to this 
 employment (but there is not leisure for the adjustment of 
 chronology) in the judgment of Cave, he midertook the " Life of 
 Savage," which he asserted (not incredible of him), and valued 
 himself upon it, that he wrote in six and thirty hours. In one 
 night he also composed, after finishing an evening in Holborn, his 
 " Hermit of Teneriff." He sat up a whole night to compose the 
 preface to the " Preceptor." 
 
 His eye-sight was not good ; but he never wore spectacles, not 
 on account of such a ridiculous vow as Swift made not to use 
 
188 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 them, but because he was assured they would be of no service to 
 him. He once declared, that he "never saw the human face 
 divine." He saw better with one eje than the other, which, 
 however, was not like that of Camoens, the Portuguese poet, as 
 expressed on his medal. Latterly perhaps he meant to save his 
 eyes, and did not read so much as he otherwise would. He pre- 
 ferred conversation to books ; but when driven to the refuge of 
 reading by being left alone, he then attached himself to that 
 amusement. " Till this year," said he to an intimate, " I have 
 done tolerably well without sleep, for I have been able to read 
 like Hercules." But he picked and culled his companions for his 
 midnight hours ; " and chose his author as he chose his friend." 
 The mind is as fastidious about its intellectual meal as the 
 appetite is as to its culinary one ; and it is observable, that the 
 dish or the book that palls at one time is a banquet at another. 
 By his innumerable quotations you would suppose, with a great 
 personage, that he must have read more books than any man in 
 England, and have been a mere book-worm : but he acknowledged 
 that supposition was a mistake in his favour. He owned he had 
 hardly ever read a book through. The posthumous volumes of 
 Mr. Harris of Salisbury (which treated of subjects that were 
 congenial with his own professional studies) had attractions- that 
 engaged him to the end. Churchill used to say, having heard 
 perhaps of his confession, as a boast, that "if Johnson had only 
 read a few books, he could not be the author of his own works." 
 His opinion, however, was, that he who reads most, has the 
 chance of knowing most ; but he declared, that the perpetual 
 task of reading was as bad as the slavery in the mine, or the labour 
 at the oar. He did not always give his opinion unconditionally of the 
 pieces he had even perused, and was competent to decide upon. 
 He did not choose to have his sentiments generally known ; for 
 there was a great eagerness, especially in those who had not the 
 pole-star of judgment to direct them, to be taught what to think 
 or say on literary performances. "What does Johnson say of. 
 such a book ? " was the question of every day. Besides, he did 
 not want to increase the number of his enemies, which his 
 decisions and criticisms had created him ; for he was generally 
 willing to retain his friends, to whom, and their works, he 
 bestowed sometimes too much praise, and recommended beyond 
 their worth, or perhaps his own esteem. But affection knows no 
 boimds. Shall this pen find a place in the present page to 
 
BY THOMAS TYERS. 189 
 
 mention, that a shameless Aristophanes had an intention of taking 
 him off upon the stage, as the " Rehearsal " does the great 
 Dryden ? W hen it came to the notice of our exasperated man 
 of learning, he conveyed such threats of vengeance and pers(mal 
 punishment to the mimic, that he Avas glad to proceed no farther. 
 The reverence of the public for his character afterwards, which 
 was increasing every year, would not have suffered him to be the 
 object of theatrical ridicule. Like Fame in Virgil, vires acquirit 
 evndo. In the year 1738 he wrote the "Life of Father Paul," 
 and published proposals for a translation of his " History of the 
 CJouncil of Trent," by subscription : but it did not go on. Mr. 
 Urban even yet hopes to recover some sheets of this translation, 
 that were in a box under St. John's Gate ; more certainly once 
 placed there, than Rowley's Poems were in the chest in a tower 
 of the church of Bristol. 
 
 Night was his time for composition. Indeed he literally turned 
 night into day, nodes vigilahat ad ipsum mane ; but not like 
 Tigellius in Horace. Perhaps he never was a good sleeper, and 
 (while all the rest of the world was in bed) he chose his lamp, in 
 the words of Milton, 
 
 " in midnight hour, 
 Were seen in some high lonely tower."' 
 
 He wrote and lived perhaps at one time only from day to day, 
 and (according to vulgar expression) from sheet to sheet. Dr. 
 Cheyne reprobates the practice of turning night into day, as 
 pernicious to mind and body. Jortin has something to say on 
 the vigils of a learned man, in his " Life of Erasmus," " As he 
 would not sleep when he could, nothing but opium could procure 
 him repose." There is cause to believe, he would not have 
 written unless under the pressure of necessity. Magister artis 
 ingenique largitor venter, says Persius. He wrote to live, and 
 luckily for mankind lived a great many years to write. All his 
 pieces are promised for a new edition of his works under the 
 inspection of Sir John Hawkins, one of his executors, who has 
 undertaken to be his biographer. Johnson's high tory prin- 
 ciples in church and state were well known. But neither his 
 " Prophecy of the Hanover Horse," lately maliciously reprinted 
 nor his political principles or conversations, got him into any 
 personal difficulties, nor prevented the offer of a pension, nor his 
 acceptance. Kara temporum /elicitas, uhi sentire qua velis, efj 
 
190 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 'quae sentias dicer e licet. The present royal farailj are winning 
 the hearts of all the friends of the house of Stuart. There is here 
 neither room nor leisure to ascertain the progress of his publica- 
 tions, though, in the idea of Shenstone, it would exhibit the history 
 of his mind and thoughts. 
 
 He was employed by Osborne to make a catalogue of the 
 Harleian Library. Perhaps, like those who stay too long on an 
 -errand, he did not make the expedition his employer expected, 
 from whom he might deserve a gentle reprimand. The fact was, 
 "when he opened a book he liked, he could not restrain from 
 reading it. The bookseller upbraided him in a gross maianer, 
 and, as tradition goes, gave him the lie direct, though our 
 catalogue-maker offered at an excuse. Johnson turned the 
 Tolume into a weapon, and knocked him down, and told him, 
 " not to be in a hurry to rise, for when he did, he proposed 
 kicking him down stairs." Perhaps the lie direct may be punished 
 ad modum recipientis, as the law gives no satisfaction. His 
 account of the collection, and the tracts that are printed in 
 quarto volumes, were well received by the public. Of his folio 
 labours in his English Dictionary a word must be said ; but there 
 is not room for much. The delineation of his plan, which was 
 esteemed a beautiful composition, was inscribed to Lord Chester- 
 field, no doubt with permission, whilst he was secretary of state. 
 It was at this time, he said, he aimed at elegance of writing, and 
 set for his emulation the Preface of Chambers to his "Cyclopedia." 
 Johnson undoubtedly expected beneficial patronage. It should 
 seem that he was in the acquaintance of his Lordship, and that 
 he had dined at his table, by an allusion to him in a letter to his 
 son, printed by Mrs. Stanhope, and which he himself would have 
 been afraid to publish. Whilst he was ineffectually hallooing the 
 Graces in the ear of his son, he set before him the slovenly be- 
 haviour of our author at his table, whom he acknowledges as a 
 great genius, but points him out as a rock to avoid, and considers 
 him only as " a respectable Hottentot." When the book came 
 out, Johnson took his revenge, by saying of it, " that the instruc- 
 tions to his son inculcated the manners of a dancing master, and 
 the morals of a prostitute." Within this year or two he observed 
 (for anger is a short-lived passion), that, bating some impro- 
 prieties, it contained good directions, and was not a bad system 
 of education. But Johnson probably did not think so highly of 
 Ihis own appearance as of his morals. For, on being asked if Mr. 
 
BY THOMAS TYERS. 191 
 
 Spence had not paid hiin a visit ? " Yes," says he, " and lie 
 probably may think he visited a bear." "Johnson," says the 
 author of the " Life of Socrates," " is a literary savage." " Very 
 likely," replied Johnson ; " and Cooper (who was as thick as long) 
 is a literary Punchinello." 
 
 It does not appear that Lord Chesterfield showed any sub- 
 stantial proofs of approbation to our Philologer, for that was the 
 professional title he chose. A small present he would have 
 disdained. Johnson was not of a temper to put up with the 
 afiront of disappointment. He revenged himself in a letter to 
 his Lordship, Avritten with great acrimony, and renouncing all 
 acceptance of favour. It was handed about, and probably will 
 be published, for litera scripta manet. He used to say, " he was 
 mistaken in his choice of a patron, for he had simply been 
 endeavouring to gild a rotten post." 
 
 Lord Chesterfield indeed commends and recommends Mr. 
 Johnson's Dictionary in two or three numbers of the " World." 
 Not words alone pleased him. " When I had undergone," says 
 the compiler, " a long and fatiguing voyage, and was just getting 
 into port, this Lord sent out a small cock-boat to pilot me in." 
 The agreement for this great work was for fifteen hundred pounds. 
 This was a large bookseller's venture at that time : and it is in 
 many shares. Robertson, Gibbon, and a few more, have raised 
 the price of manuscript copies. In the course of fifteen years, 
 two and twenty thousand pounds have been paid to four authors. 
 Johnson's world of words demands frequent editions. His titles 
 of Doctor of Laws from Dublin and from Oxford (both of which 
 came to him unasked and unknown, and only not unmerited) ; 
 his pension from the King, which is to be considered as a reward 
 for his pioneering services in the English language, and by no 
 means as a bribe ; gave him consequence, and made the 
 Dictionary and its author more extensively known. It is a royal 
 satisfaction to have made the life of a learned man more com- 
 fortable to him. 
 
 " These are imperial works, and worthy Kings."' 
 
 Lord Corke, who would have been kinder to him than Stanhope 
 (if he could) as soon as it came out, presented the Dictionary to 
 the Academy della Crusca at Florence in 1755. Even for the 
 abridgment in octavo, which puts it into every body's hands, he 
 was paid to his satisfaction, by the liberality of his booksellers. 
 
192 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 His reputation is as great for compiling, digesting, and ascertaining 
 the English language, as if he had invented it. His Grammar 
 in the beginning of the work was the best in our language, in the 
 opinion of Goldsmith. During the printing of his Dictionary, 
 the " Ramblers " came out periodically ; for he could do more 
 than one thing at a time. He declared that he wrote them by 
 way of relief from his application to his Dictionary, and for the 
 reward. He has told this writer, that he had no expectation 
 they would have met with so much success, and been so much 
 read and admired. What was amusement to him, is instruction 
 to others. Goldsmith declared, that a system of morals might 
 be drawn from these Essays : this idea is taken up and 
 executed by a publication in an alphabetical series of moral 
 maxims. 
 
 The " Rambler " is a great task for one person to accomplish, 
 single-handed. For he was assisted only in two Essays by 
 Richardson, two by Mrs. Carter, and one by Miss Talbot. His 
 " Idlers " had more hands. The " World," the " Connoisseur," 
 (the "Gray's Inn Journal" an exception,) the "Mirror," the 
 " Adventurer," the " Old Maid," all had helpmates. The toilet 
 as well as the shelf and table have these volumes, lately re- 
 published with decorations. Shenstone, his fellow collegian, calls 
 his style a learned one. There is indeed too much Latin in his 
 English. He seems to have caught the infectious language of Sir 
 Thomas Brown, whose works he read, in order to write his life. 
 Though it cannot be said, as Campbell did of his own last work, 
 that there is not a hard word in it, yet he does not rattle through 
 hard words and stalk through polysyllables, to use an expressioi 
 of Addison, as in his earlier productions. His style, as he sa] 
 of Pope, became smoothed by the scythe, and levelled by tW 
 roller. It pleased him to be told by Dr. Robertson, that he hj 
 read his Dictionary twice over. If he had some enemies beyond 
 and even on this side of the Tweed, he had more friends. Onl] 
 he preferred England to Scotland. As it is cowardly to insi 
 a dead lion, it is hoped, that as death extinguishes envy, it alg 
 does ill-will : " for British vengeance wars not with the dead." 
 
 He gave himself very much to companionable friends for th< 
 last years of his life (for he was delivered from the daily labour 
 of the pen, and he wanted relaxation), and they were eager fo 
 the advantage and reputation of his conversation. Therefore hi 
 frequently left his own home (for his household gods were nc 
 
BY THOMAS TTERS. 193 
 
 numerous or splendid enough for the reception of his great 
 acquaintance), and visited them botli in town and country. This 
 was particularly the case with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale (ex uno disce 
 omnes), who were the most obliging and obliged of all within his 
 intimacy, and to whom he was introduced by his friend Murphy. 
 He lived with them a great part of every year. He formed at 
 Streatham a room for a library, and increased by his recom- 
 mendation the number of books. Here he was to be found (him- 
 self a library) when a friend called upon him ; and by him the 
 friend was sure to be introduced to the dinner-table, which Mrs. 
 Thrale knew how to spread with the utmost plenty and elegance ; 
 and which was often adorned with such guests, that to dine there 
 was, epulis accvmhere divum. Of Mrs. Thrale, if mentioned at 
 all, less cannot be said, than that in one of the latest opinions of 
 Johnson, " if she was not the wisest woman in the world, she was 
 undoubtedly one of the wittiest." She took or caused such care 
 to be taken of him, during an illness of continuance, that Gold- 
 smith told her, " he owed his recovery to her attention." She 
 taught him to lay up something of his income every year. Be- 
 sides a natural vivacity in conversation, she had reading enough, 
 and the gods had made her poetical. " The Three Warnings " 
 (the subject she owned not to be original) are highly interesting 
 and serious, and literally come home to every body's breast and 
 bosom. The writer of this would not be sorry if this mention 
 could follow the lady to Venice. At Streatham, where our Philo- 
 loger was also guide, philosopher, and friend, he passed much 
 time. His inclinations here were consulted, and his will was a 
 law. With this family he made excursions into Wales and to 
 Brighthelmstone. Change of air and of place were grateful to 
 him, for he loved vicissitude. But he could not long endure the 
 illiteracy and rusticity of the country, for woods and groves, and 
 hill and dale, were not his scenes : 
 
 " Tower'd cities please us then, 
 And the busy hum of men." 
 
 But the greatest honour of his life was from a visit that he 
 received from a Great Personage in the Library of the Queen's 
 palace — only it was not from a King of his own making. John- 
 son on his return repeated the conversation, which was much to 
 the honour of the great person, and was as well supported as 
 Lewis the XlVth could have continued with Voltaire. He said, 
 
 VI. O 
 
194 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 he only wanted to be more known, to be more loved. They 
 parted, much pleased with each other. If it is not an impertinent 
 stroke of this pen, it were to be wished that one more person 
 had conveyed an enquiry about him during his last illness. 
 "Every body has left their names, or wanted to know how I do," 
 
 says he, " but " In his younger days he had a great many 
 
 enemies, of whom he was not afraid. 
 
 " Ask you what provocation I have had ? 
 The strong antipathy of good to bad." 
 
 Churchill, the puissant satirist, challenged Johnson to combat : 
 Satire the weapon. Johnson never took up the gauntlet or 
 replied, for he thought it unbecoming him to defend himself 
 against an author who might be resolved to have the last word. 
 He was content to let his enemies feed upon him as long as they 
 could. This writer has heard Churchill declare, that " he thought 
 the poems of * London,' and * The Vanity of Human Wishes,' full 
 of admirable verses, and that all his compositions were diamonds 
 of the first water." But he wanted a subject for his pen and for 
 raillery, and so introduced Pomposo into his descriptions. "For, 
 with other wise folks, he sat up with the ghost." Our author, 
 who had too implicit a confidence in human testimony, followed 
 the newspaper invitation to Cock-lane, in order to detect the im- 
 poster, or, if it proved a being of an higher order, and appeared 
 in a questionable shape, to talk with it. Posterity must be per- 
 mitted to smile at the credulity of that period. Johnson had 
 otherwise a vulnerable side ; for he was one of the few Nonjurors 
 that were left, and it was supposed he would never bow the 
 knee to the Baal of Whiggism. This reign, which disdained_ 
 proscription, began with granting pensions (without requirii 
 their pens) to -learned men. 
 
 Johnson was unconditionally offered one ; but such a turn wi 
 given to it by the last mentioned satirical poet, that it migl 
 have made him angry or odious, or both. Says Churchill, among^ 
 other passages very entertaining to a neutral reader, 
 
 " He damns the pension that he takes, 
 And loves the Stuart he forsakes." 
 
 Not so fast, great satirist — for he had now no friends at Rome. 
 In the sport of conversation, he would sometimes take the wrong 
 side of a question, to try his hearers, or for- his own exertions. 
 
r 
 
 BY THOMAS TYERS. 195 
 
 But this may do mischief sometimes. " For," without aiming at 
 ludicrous quotation, "he could dispute on both sides, and con- 
 fute." Among those he could trust himself with, he would enter 
 into imaginary combat with the whigs, and has now and then 
 shook the principles of a sturdy revolutionist. All ingenious 
 men can find arguments for and against every thing : and if their 
 hearts are not good, they may do mischief with their heads. On 
 all occasions he pressed his antagonist with so strong a front of 
 argument, that he generally prevented his retreat. " Every 
 body," said an eminent detector of imposters, " must be cautious 
 how they enter the lists with Dr. Johnson." He wrote many 
 political tracts since his pension. Perhaps he would not have 
 written at all, unless impelled by gratitude. But he wrote his 
 genuine thoughts, and imagined himself contending on the right 
 side. A great parliamentary character seems to resolve all his 
 American notions into the vain expectation of rocking a man in 
 the cradle of a child. Johnson recounted the number of his 
 opponents with indifference. He wrote for that government 
 which had been generous to him. He was too proud to call upon 
 Lord Bute, or leave his name at his house, though he was told 
 it would be agreeable to his Lordship, for he said he had per- 
 formed the greater difficulty, for he had taken the pension. 
 
 The last popular work, to him an easy and a pleasing one, was 
 the writing the lives of our poets, now reprinted in four octavo 
 volumes. He finished this business so much to the satisfaction 
 of the booksellers that they presented him a gratuity of one 
 hundred pounds, having paid him three hundred pounds as his 
 price. The Knaptons made Tindal a large present on the success 
 of his translation of Rapin's history. But an unwritten space 
 must be found for what Johnson did respecting Shakspeare. 
 For the writer and reader observe a disorder of time in this page. 
 He took so many years to publish his edition, that his subscribers 
 grew displeased and clamorous for their books, which he might 
 have prevented. For he was able to do a great deal in a little 
 time. Though for collation he was not fit. He could not pore 
 long on a text. It was Columbus at the oar. It was on most 
 literary points difficult to get himself into a willingness to work. 
 He was idle, or unwell, or loth to act upon compulsion. But at 
 last he tried to awake his faculties, and, like the lethargic porter 
 of the castle of Indolence, " to rouse himself as much, as rouse 
 himself he can." He confessed that the publication of his 
 
19G A BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 Shakspeare answered to him in every respect. He had a very 
 large subscription. 
 
 Dr. Campbell, then alive in Queen-square, who had a volume 
 in his hand, pronounced that the preface and notes were worth 
 the whole subscription money. You Avould think the text not 
 approved or adjusted by the past or present editions, and re- 
 quiring to be settled by the future. It is hoped that the next 
 editors will have read all the books that Shakspeare read : a pro- 
 mise our Johnson gave, but Avas not able to perform. 
 
 The reader is apprized, that this memoir is only a sketch of 
 life, manner, and writings — 
 
 " In every work regard the writer's end ; 
 For none can compass more than they intend." 
 
 It looks forwards and backwards almost at the same time. Like 
 the nightingale in Strada, " it hits imperfect accents here and 
 there." Hawkesworth, one of the Johnsonian school, upon being 
 asked, whether Johnson was a happy man, by a gentleman who 
 had been just introduced to him, and wanted to know every thing 
 about him, confessed, that he looked upon him as a most miserable 
 being. The moment of enquiry was probably about the time 
 he lost his wife, and sent for Hawkesworth, in the most earnest 
 
 manner, to come and give him consolation and his company. 
 
 ** And skreen me from the ills of life ! " is the conclusion of his 
 sombrous poem on November. In happier moments (for who is 
 not subject to every skyey influence, and the evil of the hour ?) 
 he would argue, and prove it in a sort of dissertation, that there 
 was, generally and individually, more of natural and moral good, 
 than of the contrary. He asserted, that no man could pronounce 
 he did not feel more pleasure than misery. Every body would 
 not answer in the affirmative ; for an ounce of pain outweighs a 
 pound of pleasure. There are people who wish they had never 
 been born — to whom life is a disease — and whose apprehensions 
 of dying pains and of futurity embitter every thing. The reader 
 must not think it impertinent to remark, that Johnson did not 
 choose to pass his whole life in celibacy. Perhaps the raising 
 up a posterity may be a debt and duty all men owe to those who 
 have lived before them. Johnson had a daughter, who died 
 before its mother, if this pen is not mistaken. When these were 
 gone, he lost his hold on life, for he never married again. He 
 has expressed a surprize that Sir Isaac Newton continued totally 
 
BY THOMAS TTERS. 
 
 197 
 
 iinac(|uainted with the female sex, which is asserted by Voltaire, 
 from the information of Cheselden, and is admitted to be true. 
 For curiosity, the first and most durable of the passions, might 
 have led him to oA'ercome that inexperience. This pen may as 
 well finish this last point in the words of Fontenelle, that Sir 
 Isaac never was married, and perhaps never had time to think 
 of it. Whether the sun-shine of the world upon our author 
 raised his drooping spirits, or that the lenient hand of time re- 
 moved something from him, or that his health meliorated by 
 mingling more with the croud of mankind, or not, he however 
 apparently acquired more chearfulness, and became more fit for 
 the labours of life and his literary function. But he certainly 
 did not communicate to every intruder every uneasy sensation of 
 mind and body. AVho, it may be asked, can determine of the 
 pleasure and pain of others ? True and solemn are the lines of 
 Prior, in his " Solomon : " 
 
 " Who breathes must suffer, and who thinks must mourn ; 
 And he alone is blest, who ne'er was born." 
 
 Johnson thought he had no right to complain of his lot in life» 
 or of having been disappointed : the world had not used him ill : 
 it had not broke its word with him : it had promised him nothing : 
 he aspired to no elevation : he had fallen from no height. Lord 
 Gower endeavoured to obtain for him, by the interest of Swift, 
 the mastership of a grammar-school of small income, for which 
 Johnson was not qualified by the statutes to become a candidate. 
 His lordship's letter, published some years ago, is to the honour 
 of the subject : in praise of his abilities and integrity, and in 
 commiseration of his distressed situation. Johnson wished, for 
 a moment, to fill the chair of a professor, at Oxford, then 
 become vacant, but he never applied for it. He was offered a 
 good living, by Mr. Langton, if he would accept it, and take 
 orders : but he chose not to put off his lay habit. He would 
 have made an admirable library-keeper : like Casaubon, Maglia- 
 bechi, or Bentley. But he belonged to the world at large. 
 Talking on the topic of what his inclinations or faculties might 
 have led him to have been, had he been bred to the [)rofession 
 of the law, he has said he should have wished for the Office of 
 Master of the Rolls. He gave into this idea in table-talk, 
 partly serious and partly jocose, for it was only a manner he had 
 of describing himself to his friends without vanity of his parts 
 
198 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 (for he was aboA^e being vain) or envy of the honourable stations 
 engaged by other men of merit. He would correct any compo- 
 sitions of his friends (Jiahes confitentem)^ and dictate on any 
 subject on which they wanted information. He could have been 
 an orator, if he would. On account of his intimacy with Dr. 
 Dodd, for whom he made a bargain with the booksellers for his 
 edition of the Bible, he wrote a petition to the Crown for mercy, 
 after his condemnation. The letter he composed for the trans- 
 lator of Ariosto, that was sent to Mr. Hastings in Bengal, is 
 esteemed a master-piece. Dr. Warton, of Winchester, talked 
 of it as the very best he ever read. He could have been emi- 
 nent, if he chose it, in letter- writing, a faculty in which, according 
 to Sprat, his Cowley excelled. His epistolary and confidential 
 correspondence would make an agreeable publication, but the 
 world will never be trusted with it. He M^rote as well in verse 
 as in prose. Though he composed so harmoniously in Latin and 
 English, he had no ear for music : and though he lived in such 
 habits of intimacy with Sir Joshua Reynolds, and once intended 
 to have written the lives of the painters, he had no eye, nor 
 perhaps taste for a picture, nor a landscape. He renewed his 
 Greek some years ago, for which he found no occasion for twenty 
 years. He owned that many knew more Greek than himself; 
 but that his grammar would show he had once taken pains. Sir 
 William Jones, one of the most enlightened of the sons of men, 
 as Johnson described him, has often said, he knew a great deal 
 of Greek. With French authors he was familiar. He had 
 lately read over the works of Boileau. He passed a judgment 
 on Sherlock's French and English letters, and told him there was 
 more French in his English, than English in his French. His 
 curiosity would have led him to read Italian, even if Baretti had 
 not been his acquaintance. Latin was as natural to him as' 
 English. He seemed to know the readiest road to knowledge^ 
 and to languages, their conductors. He made such progress ii 
 Hebrew, in a few lessons, that surprized his guide in that tongue.1 
 In company with Dr. Barnard and the fellows at Eton, h( 
 astonished them all with the display of his critical, classical, anc 
 prosodical treasures, and also himself, for he protested, on hil 
 return, he did not know he was so rich. 
 
 Christopher Smart was at first well received by Jolmsonj 
 This writer owed his acquaintance with our author, which laste 
 thirty years, to the introduction of that bard. Johnson, whos 
 
BY THOMAS TYERS. 199 
 
 hearing was not always good, understood he called him by the 
 name of Thyer, that eminent scholar, librarian of Manchester, 
 and a Nonjuror. This mistake was rather beneficial than other- 
 wise to the person introduced. Johnson had been much indis- 
 posed all that day, and repeated a psalm he had just translated, 
 during his affliction, into Latin verse, and did not commit to 
 paper. For so retentive was the memory of this man, that he 
 could always recover whatever he lent to that faculty. Smart in 
 return recited some of his own Latin compositions. Pie had 
 translated with success, and to Mr. Pope's satisfaction, his St. 
 Cecilian Ode. Come when you would, early or late, for he de- 
 sired to be called from bed, when a visitor was at the door ; the 
 tea-table was sure to be spread, Te veniente die, Te decedente. — 
 With tea he cheered himself in the morning, with tea he solaced 
 himself in the evening ; for in these, or in equivalent words, he 
 exprest himself in a printed letter to Jonas Ilanway, who had 
 just told the public that tea was the ruin of the nation, and of 
 the nerves of every one who drank it. The pun upon his 
 favourite liquor he heard with a smile. Though his time seemed 
 to be bespoke, and quite engrossed, it is certain his house was 
 open to all his acquaintance, new and old. His amanuensis has 
 given up his pen, the printer s devil has waited on the stairs for 
 a proof sheet, and the press has often stood still. His visitors 
 were delighted and instructed. No subject ever came amiss to 
 him. He could transfer his thoughts from one thing to another 
 with the most accommodating facility. He had the art, for 
 which Locke was famous, of leading people to talk on their 
 favourite subjects, and on what they knew best. By this he 
 acquired a great deal of information. What he once heard he 
 rarely forgot. They gave him their best conversation, and he 
 generally made them pleased with themselves, for endeavouring 
 to please him. Poet Smart used to relate, " that the first con- 
 versation with him was of such variety and length, that it began 
 with poetry and ended at fluxions," He always talked as if he 
 was talking upon oath. He was the wisest person, and had the 
 most knowledge in ready cash, this writer had the honour to be 
 acquainted with — Here a little pause must be endured. The 
 poor hand that holds the pen is benumbed by the frost as much 
 as by a torpedo. It is cold within, by the fire-side, and a white 
 world abroad. His reader has a moment's leisure to censure or 
 commend the harvest of anecdote that is brought in, for his 
 
200 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 sake ; and if he has more reading than usual, may remark for or 
 against it in the manner of the Cardinal to Ariosto : " All this 
 may be true, extraordinary, and entertaining; but where the 
 deuce did you pick it all up ? " The writer perhaps comes 
 within the proverbial observation, that the inquisitive person 
 ends often in the character of the tell-tale. Johnson's advice 
 was consulted on all occasions. He was known to be a good 
 casuist, and therefore had many cases for his judgment. It is 
 notorious, that some men had the wickedness to over-reach him, 
 and to injure him, till they were found out. Lauder was of the 
 number, who made, at the time, all the friends of Milton his 
 enemies. There is nobody so likely to be imposed upon as a 
 good man. His conversation, in the judgment of several, was 
 thought to be equal to his correct writings. Perhaps the tongue 
 will throw out more animated expressions than the pen. He 
 said the most common things in the newest manner. He always 
 commanded attention and regard. His person, though un- 
 adorned with dress, and even deformed by neglect, made you 
 expect something, and you was hardly ever disappointed. His 
 manner was interesting ; the tone of his voice and the sincerity 
 of his expressions, even when they did not captivate your affec- 
 tions, or carry conviction, prevented contempt. It must be 
 owned, his countenance, on some occasions, resembled too much 
 the medallic likeness of Magliabechi, as exhibited before the 
 printed account of him by Mr. Spence. No man dared to take 
 liberties with him, nor flatly contradict him ; for he could repell 
 any attack, having always about him the weapons of ridicule, of 
 wit, and of argument. It must be owned, that some who had 
 the desire to be admitted to him, thought him too dogmatical, 
 and as exacting too much homage to his opinions, and came no 
 more. For they said, while he presided in his library, surrounded 
 by his admirers, he would, " like Cato, give his little senate 
 laws." He had great knowledge in the science of human nature, 
 and of the fashions and customs of life, and knew the world well. 
 Pie had often in his mouth this line of Pope, 
 
 " The proper study of mankind is man." 
 
 He was desirous of surveying life in all its modes and forms, and 
 in all climates. Twenty years ago he offered to attend his 
 friend Vansittart to India, who was invited there to make a 
 fortune ; but it did not take place. He talked much of tra- 
 
BY THOMAS TTEES. 201 
 
 veiling into Poland, to observe the life of the Palatines, the 
 account of which struck his curiosity very much. His " Rasse- 
 las," it is reported, he wrote to raise a purse of pecuniary 
 assistance to his aged mother at Lichfield. The first title of his 
 manuscript, was " Prince of Ethiopia." Mr. Bruce is expected 
 to give us a history of both these countries. The Happy valley 
 he would hardly be able to find in Abyssinia. Dr. Young used 
 to say, " that ' Rasselas ' was a lamp of wisdom." He there 
 displays an uncommon capacity for remark, and makes the best 
 use of the description of travellers. It is an excellent romance. 
 But his journey into the Western Islands is an original thing. 
 He hoped, as he said, when he came back, that no Scotchman 
 had any right to be angry with what he wrote. It is a book 
 written without the assistance of books. He said, " it was his 
 wish and endeavour not to make a single quotation." His 
 curiosity must have been excessive, and his strength undecayed 
 to accomplish a journey of such length, and subject to such 
 inconvenience. His book was eagerly read. One of the first 
 men of the age told Mr. Garrick, " that he would forgive John- 
 son all his wrong notions respecting America, on account of his 
 writing that book." He thought himself the hardier for tra- 
 velling. He took a tour into France, and meditated another 
 into Italy or Portugal, for the sake of the climate. But Dr. 
 Brocklesby, his friend and physician (and who that knows him 
 can -wish for more companionable and more professional know- 
 ledge ?) conjured him, by every argument in his power, not to go 
 abroad in the state of his health ; but that if he was resolved on 
 the first, and wished for something additional to his income, 
 desired he would permit him to accommodate him out of his 
 fortune with one hundred pounds a-year, during his travels, to 
 be paid by instalments, 
 
 '* Ye little stars hide your diminished heads." 
 
 The reply to this generosity was to this eflfect : " That he would, 
 not be obliged to any person's liberality, but to his King's." 
 The continuance of this design to go abroad, occasioned the 
 application for an increase of pension, that is so honourable to 
 those who applied for it, and to the Lord Chancellor who gave 
 him leave to draw on his banker for any sum. With the 
 courage of a man, Johnson demanded to know of Brocklesby 
 if his recovery was impossible ? Being answered in the affirma- 
 
202 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 tive ; " then," sajs he, " I will take no more opium, and give up 
 my physicians." 
 
 At last he said, " if I am worse, I cannot go, if I am better I 
 need not go, but if I continue neither better nor worse, I am as 
 well where I am." The writer of this sketch could wish to have 
 committed to memory or paper all the wise and sensible things 
 that dropped from his lips. If the one could have been Xeno- 
 phon, the other was a Socrates. — His benevolence to mankind 
 was known to all who knew him. Though so declared a friend 
 to the Church of England and even a friend to the Convocation, 
 it assuredly was not in his wish to persecute for speculative 
 notions. He used to say he had no quarrel with any order of 
 men, unless they disbelieved in revelation and a future state. 
 He would indeed have sided with Sacheverell against Daniel 
 Burgess, if he thought the Church was in danger. His hand 
 and his heart were always open to charity. The objects under 
 his own roof were only a few of the subjects for relief. He was 
 at the head of subscription in cases of distress. His guinea, as 
 he said of another man of a bountiful disposition, was always 
 ready. He wrote an exhortation to public bounty. He drew 
 up a paper to recommend the French prisoners, in the last war 
 but one, to the English benevolence ; which was of service. He 
 implored the hand of benevolence for others, even when he 
 almost seemed a proper object of it himself. 
 
 Like his hero Savage, while in company with him, he is sup- 
 posed to have formerly strolled about the streets almost house- 
 less, and as if he was obliged to go without the cheerful meal of 
 the day, or to wander about for one, as is reported of Homer. • 
 If this were true, it is no wonder if he was an unknown, oisj 
 uninquired after for a long time : 
 
 *' Slow rises worth by poverty depressed." 
 
 When once distinguished, as he observes of Ascham, he gainedj 
 admirers. He was fitted by nature for a critic. His " Lives of ^ 
 the Poets" (like all his biographical pieces) are well written. 
 He gives us the pulp without the husks. He has told their 
 personal history very well. But every thing is not new. Per- 
 haps what Mr. Steevens helped him to, has increased the number | 
 of the best anecdotes. But his criticisms of their works are of] 
 the most worth, and the greatest novelty. His perspicacity was 
 very extraordinary. He was able to take measure of every 
 
BY THOMAS TYEES. 20S 
 
 intellectual object, and to see all round it. If he chose to 
 plume himself as an author, he might on account of the gift of 
 intuition, 
 
 " The brightest feather in the eagle's wing."' 
 
 He has been censured for want of taste or good nature in what 
 he says of Prior, Gray, Lyttleton, Hammond, and others, and to 
 have praised some pieces that nobody thought highly of. It was 
 a fault in our critic too often to take occasion to show himself 
 superior to his subject, and also to trample upon it. There is 
 no talking about taste. Perhaps Johnson, who spoke from his 
 last feelings, forgot those of his youth. The love verses of 
 AValler and others have no charms for old age. Even Prior s 
 " Henry and Emma," which pleased the old and surly Dennis, 
 had no charms for him. Of Gray he always spoke as he wrote, 
 and called his poetry artificial. If word and thought go together 
 the odes of Gray were not to the satisfaction of our critic. But 
 what composition can stand this sharp-sighted critic ? He made 
 some fresh observations on Milton, by placing him in a new point 
 of view : and if he has shown more of his excellencies than 
 Addison does, he accompanies them with more defects. He 
 took no critic from the shelf, neither Aristotle, Bossu, nor 
 Boileau. He hardly liked to quote, much more to steal. He 
 drew his judgments from the principles of human nature, of 
 which the "Rambler" is full, before the "Elements of Criticism," 
 by Lord Kames, made their appearance. 
 
 It may be inserted here, that Johnson, soon after his coming 
 to London, had thought of wi-iting a History of the revival of 
 Learning. The booksellers had other service to offer him. But 
 he never undertook it. The proprietors of the " Universal 
 History " wished him to take any part in that voluminous work. 
 But he declined their offer. His last employers wanted him to 
 undertake the life of Spenser. But he said Warton had left 
 little or nothing for him to do. A system of morals next was 
 proposed. But perhaps he chose to promise nothing more. He 
 thought, as, like the running horse in Horace, he had done his 
 best, he should give up the race and the chase. His dependent 
 Levett died suddenly under his roof. He preserved his name 
 from oblivion, by writing an epitaph for him, which shows that 
 his poetical fire was not extinguished, and is so appropriate, that 
 it could belong to no other person in the world. Johnson said. 
 
204 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 that the remark of appropriation was just criticism : his friend 
 was induced to pronounce, that he would not have so good an 
 epitaph written for himself. Pope has nothing to equal it in his 
 sepulchral poetry. When he dined with Mr. Wilkes, ot a private 
 table in the city, their mutual altercations were forgot, at least 
 for that day. Johnson did not remember the sharpness of a 
 paper against his description or definition of an alphabetical point 
 animadverted upon in his dictionary by that man of acuteness ; 
 who, in his turn, forgot the severity of a pamphlet of Johnson. 
 All was, during this meal, a reciprocation of wit and good 
 humour. During the annual contest in the city, Johnson con- 
 fessed, that Wilkes would make a very good Chamberlain. 
 When Johnson (who had said that he would as soon dine with 
 Jack Ketch as with Jack Wilkes) could sit at the same table with 
 this patriot, it may be concluded he did not write his animosities 
 in marble. — Johnson was famous for saying what are called good 
 things. Mr. Boswell, who listened to him for so many years, 
 has probably remembered many. He mentioned many of them 
 to Paoli, who paid him the last tribute of a visit to his grave. If 
 Johnson had had as good eyes as Boswell he miglit have seen 
 more trees in Scotland, perhaps, than he mentions. 
 
 This is not the record-office for his sayings : but a few must be 
 recollected here. For Plutarch has not thought it beneath his 
 dignity to relate some things of this sort, of some of his heroes. 
 " Pray Dr. Johnson " (said somebody) " is the master of the 
 mansion at Streatham a man of much conversation, or is he only 
 wise and silent ? " " He strikes," says Johnson, " once an 
 hour, and I suppose strikes right," Mr. Thrale left him a legacy, 
 and made him an executor. It came to Johnson's ears, that the 
 great bookseller in the Strand, on receiving the last manuscript 
 sheet of his Dictionary, had said, " Give Johnson his money, for 
 I thank God I have done with him." The philologer took care 
 that he should receive his compliments, and be informed, " he was 
 extremely glad he returned thanks to God for any thing." Well 
 known is the rude reproof he gave to a talker, who asserted, that 
 every individual in Scotland had literature. (By the by, modern 
 statesmen do not wish that every one in the King's dominions 
 should be able to write and read.) " The general learning of the 
 Scotch nation " (said he, in a bad humour) " resembles the con- 
 dition of a ship's crew, condemned to short allowance of provisions; 
 every one has a mouthful, and nobody a beUy full." Of this 
 
BY THOMAS TYERS. 205 
 
 enough. His size has been described to be large : his mind and 
 person both on a large scale. His face and features are happily 
 preserved by Reynolds and by Nollekens. His elocution was 
 energetic, and, in the words of a great scholar in the north, who 
 did not like him, he spoke in the Lincolnshire dialect. His 
 articulation became worse, by some dental losses. Btit he never 
 was silent on that account, nor unwilling to talk. It never was 
 said of him, that he was overtaken with liquor, a declaration 
 Bishop Hoadly makes of himself. But he owned that he drank 
 his bottle at a certain time of life. Lions, and the fiercest of the 
 wild creation, drink nothing but water. Like Solomon, who tried 
 so many things for curiosity and delight, he renounced strong 
 liquors, (strong liquors, according to Fenton, of all kinds, were 
 the aversion of Milton) ; and he might have said, as that King is 
 made to do by Prior, 
 
 " I drank, I lik'd it not, 'twas rage, 'twas noise, 
 An airy scene of transitory joys." 
 
 His temper was not naturally smooth, but seldom boiled over. 
 It was worth while to find out the mollia tempora fandi. The 
 words nugarum contemptor fell often from him, in a reverie. When 
 asked about them, he said, he appropriated them from a preface 
 of Dr. Hody. He was desirous of seeing every thing that was 
 extraordinary in art or nature ; and to resemble his Imlac in his 
 moral romance of " Rasselas." It was the fault of fortune that 
 he did not animadvert on every thing at home and abroad. He 
 had been upon the salt-water, and observed something of a sea- 
 life : of the uniformity of the scene, and of the sickness and 
 turbulence belonging to that element, he had felt enough. He 
 had seen a little of the military life and discipline, by having 
 passed whole days and night in the camp, and in the tents, at 
 Warley Common. He was able to make himself entertaining in 
 his description of what he had seen. A spark was enough to 
 illuminate hiui. The Giant and the Corsican Fairy were objects 
 of attention to him. The riding-horses in Astley's amphitheatre 
 (no new public amusement, for Homer alludes to it) he went to 
 see ; and on the fireworks of Toree he wrote a Latin poem. 
 
 The study of humanity, as was injuriously said ot the great 
 Bentley, had not made him inhuman. He never wantonly 
 brandished his formidable weapon. He meant to keep his 
 
206 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 enemies off. He did not mean, as in the advice of Radcliffe to 
 Mead, to " bully the world, lest the world should bully him." He 
 seemed to be a man of great clemency to all subordinate beings. 
 He said, '• he would not sit at table, where a lobster that had 
 been roasted alive was one of the dishes." His charities were 
 many ; only not so extensive as his pity, for that was universal. 
 An evening club, for three nights in every week, was contrived to 
 amuse him, in Essex Street, founded, according to his own words, 
 " in frequency and parsimony ; " to which he gave a set of rules, 
 as Ben Jonson did his legea convivales at the Devil Tavern — 
 Johnson asked one of his executors, a few days before his death 
 (which, according to his will, he expected every day) " where do 
 you intend to bury me ? " He answered, " in Westminster- 
 abbey." " Then," continued he, " place a stone over my grave 
 (probably to notify the spot) that my remains may not be 
 disturbed." Who will come forth with an inscription for him in 
 the Poets corner ? Who should have thought that Garrick and 
 Johnson would have their last sleep together ? It were to be 
 wished he could have Avritten his own epitaph with propriety. 
 None of the lapidary inscriptions by Dr. Freind have more merit 
 than what Johnson wrote on Thrale, on Goldsmith, and Mrs. 
 Salusbury. By the way, one of these was criticised, by some men 
 of learning and taste, from the table of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and 
 conveyed to him in a round robin. Maty, in his " Review," 
 praises his Latin epitaphs very highly. This son of siudy and of 
 indigence died worth above seventeen hundred pounds : Milton 
 died worth fifteen hundred. His legacy to his black servant, 
 Frank, is noble and exemplary. Milton left in his hand-writing 
 the titles of some future subjects for his pen : so did Johnson. 
 
 Johnson died hy a quiet and ailetit expiration, to use his 
 own words on Milton : and his funeral was splendidly and 
 numerously attended. The friends of the Doctor were happy on 
 his easy departure, for they apprehended lie might have died hard. 
 At the end of this sketch, it may be hinted (sooner might have 
 been prepossession) that Johnson told this writer, for he saw he 
 always had his eye and his ear upon him, that at some time or 
 other he might be called upon to assist a posthumous account of 
 him. 
 
 A hint was given to our author, a few years ago, by this 
 Rhapsodist, to write his own life, lest somebody should write it 
 for him. He has reason to believe, he has left a manuscript 
 
 1 
 
BY THOMAS TTERS. 207 
 
 biography behind him. His executors, all honourable men, will 
 sit in judgment upon his papers. Thuanus, Buchanan, Huetius, and 
 others, have been their own historians. 
 
 The memory of some people, says Mably very lately, " is their 
 understanding." This may be thought, by some readers, to be 
 the case in point. Whatever anecdotes were furnished by memory, 
 this pen did not choose to part with to any compiler. His little 
 bit of ffold he has worked into as much gold-leaf as he could. 
 
 T. T. 
 
EECOLLECTIONS OF JOHNSON BY 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 ▼I. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHNSON BY 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND/ 
 
 WHO will saj that Johnson himself would have been such a 
 champion in literature, such a front-rank soldier in the 
 fields of fame, if he had not been pressed into the service, and 
 driven on to glory with the bayonet of sharp necessity pointed at 
 his back ? If fortune had turned him into a field of clover, he 
 would have laid down and rolled in it. The mere manual labour 
 of writing would not have allowed his lassitude and love of ease 
 to have taken the pen out of the inkhorn, unless the cravings of 
 hunger had reminded him that he must fill the sheet before he 
 saw the table cloth. He might indeed have knocked down 
 Osbourne for a blockhead, but he would not have knocked him 
 down with a folio of his own writing. He would perhaps have 
 been the dictator of a club, and wherever he sat doAvn to conver- 
 sation, there must have been that splash of strong bold thought 
 about him, that we might still have had a collectanea after his 
 death ; but of prose I guess not much, of works of labour none, 
 of fancy perhaps something more, especially of poetry, which, 
 under favour, I consider was not his tower of strength. I think 
 we should have had his " Rasselas " at all events, for he was 
 likely enough to have written at Voltaire, and brought the 
 question to the test, if infidelity is any aid to wit. An orator 
 he must have been ; not improbably a parliamentarian, and, if 
 such, certainly an oppositionist, for he preferred to talk against 
 the tide. He would indubitably have been no member of the 
 Whig Club, no partisan of Wilkes, no friend of Hume, no believer 
 in Macpherson ; he would have put up prayers for early rising, 
 
 ' Memoirs of Richard Cumberland, written by himself. Lend. 1807, 
 ▼oL i., pp. 353-374. 
 
212 RECOLLECTIONS OP JOHNSON 
 
 and laid in bed all day, and witli the most active resolutions 
 possible been the most indolent mortal living. He was a good 
 man by nature, a great man by genius, we are now to enquire 
 what he was by compulsion. 
 
 Johnson's first style was naturally energetic, his middle style 
 was turgid to a fault, his latter style was softened down and harmo- 
 nized into periods, more tuneful and more intelligible. His exe- 
 cution was rapid, yet his mind was not easUy provoked into 
 exertion ; the variety we find in his writings was not the variety of 
 choice arising from the impulse of his proper genius, but tasks 
 imposed upon him by the dealers in ink, and contracts on his part 
 submitted to in satisfaction of the pressing calls of hungry want ; 
 for, painfdl as it is to relate, I have heard that illustrious scholar 
 assert (and he never varied from the truth of fact) that he sub- 
 sisted himself for a considerable space of time upon the scanty 
 pittance of fourpence halfpenny per day. How melancholy to 
 reflect that his vast trunk and stimulating appetite were to be 
 supported by what will bai-ely feed the weaned infant ! Less, 
 much less, than Master Betty has earned in one night, would have 
 cheered the mighty mind and maintained the athletic body of 
 Samuel Johnson in comfort and abundance for a twelvemonth. 
 Alas ! I am not fit to paint his character ; nor is there need of 
 it ; £tiam mortuus loquitur : every man, who can buy a book, has 
 bought a Boswell ; Johnson is known to all the reading world. 
 I also knew him well, respected him highly, loved him sincerely : 
 it was never my chance to see him in those moments of morose- 
 ness and ill humour, which are imputed to him, perhaps with 
 truth, for who would slander him ? But I am not warranted 
 by any experience of those humours to speak of him otherwise 
 than of a firiend, who always met me with kindness, and fi-om 
 whom I never separated without regret. — When I sought his 
 company he had no capricious excuses for withholding it, but 
 lent himself to every invitation with cordiality, and brought good 
 humour with him, that gave life to the circle he was in. He 
 presented himself always in his fashion of apparel ; a brown coat 
 with metal buttons, black waistcoat and worsted stockings, with 
 a flowing bob wig was the style of his wardrobe, but they were 
 in perfectly good trim, and with the ladies, which he generally 
 met, he had nothing of the slovenly philosopher about him ; he 
 fed heartily, but not voraciously, and was extremely courteous 
 in his commendations of any dish that pleased his palate ; he 
 
I 
 
 BT RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 213 
 
 suffered his next neighbour to squeeze the China oranges into 
 hig wine glass after dinner, which else perchance had gone aside, 
 and trickled into his shoes, for the good man had neither straight 
 sight nor steady nerves. 
 
 At the tea table he had considerable demands upon his 
 favourite beverage, and I remember when Sir Joshua Reynolds at 
 my house reminded him that he had drank eleven cups, he 
 replied — " Sir, I did not count your glasses of wine, why should 
 you number up my cups of tea ? " And then laughing in perfect 
 good humour he added — " Sir, I should have released the lady 
 from any further trouble, if it had not been for your remark ; 
 but you have reminded me that I want one of the dozen, and I 
 must request Mrs. Cumberland to round up my number — " 
 When he saw the readiness and complacency, with which my 
 wife obeyed his call, he turned a kind and cheerful look upon 
 her and said — " Madam, I must tell you for your comfort you 
 have escaped much better than a certain lady did awhile ago, 
 upon whose patience I intruded greatly more than I have done 
 on yours ; but the lady asked me for no other purpose but to 
 make a Zany of me, and set me gabbling to a parcel of people I 
 knew nothing of ; so. Madam, I had my revenge of her ; for I 
 swallowed five and twenty cups of her tea, and did not treat her 
 with as many words — " I can only say my wife would have 
 made tea for him as long as the New River could have supplied 
 her with water. 
 
 It was on such occasions he was to be seen in his happiest 
 moments, when animated by the cheering attention of friends, 
 whom he liked, he would give full scope to those talents for 
 narration, in which I verily think he was unrivalled both in the 
 brilliancy of his wit, the flow of his humour, and the energy of 
 his language. Anecdotes of times past, scenes of his own life, 
 and characters of humourists, enthusiasts, crack-brained pro- 
 3ectors and a variety of strange beings, that he had chanced 
 upon, when detailed by him at length, and garnished with those 
 episodical remarks, sometimes comic, sometimes grave, which he 
 would throw in with infinite fertility of fancy, were a treat, 
 which though not always to be purchased by five and twenty 
 cups of tea, I have often had the happiness to enjoy for less 
 than half the number. He was easily led into topics ; it was not 
 easy to turn him from them ; but who would wish it ? If a man 
 wanted to show himself off by getting up and riding upon him. 
 
214 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHNSON 
 
 he was sure to run restive and kick him off; you might as safely 
 have backed Bucephalus, before Alexander had lunged him. 
 Neither did he always like to be over-fondled ; when a certain 
 gentleman out-acted his part in this way, he is said to have 
 demanded of him — " What provokes your risibility, Sir ? Have 
 I said any thing that you understand ? — Then I ask pardon of 
 the rest of the company — " But this is Henderson's anecdote 
 of him, and I won't swear he did not make it himself. The 
 following apology however I myself drew from him, when 
 speaking of his tour I observed to him upon some passages as 
 rather too sharp upon a country and people who had entertained 
 him so handsomely — " Do you think so, Cumbey ? " he replied.— 
 " Then I give you leave to say, and you may quote me for it,, 
 that there are more gentlemen in Scotland than there are 
 shoes." 
 
 But I don't relish these sayings, and I am to blame for re- 
 tailing them ; we can no more judge of men by these dropping* 
 from their lips, than we can guess at the contents of the river 
 Nile by a pitcher of its water. If we were to estimate the wise 
 men of Greece by Laertius's scraps of their sayings, what a parcel 
 of old women should we account them to have been ! 
 
 The expanse of matter, which Johnson had found room for in 
 his intellectual storehouse, the correctness with which he had 
 assorted it, and the readiness with which he could turn to any 
 article that he wanted to make present use of, were the pro- 
 perties in him which I contemplated with the most admiration. 
 Some have called him a savage ; they were only so far right in 
 the resemblance, as that, like the savage, he never came intO" 
 suspicious company without his spear in his hand and his bow 
 and quiver at his back. In quickness of intellect few ever 
 equalled him, in profundity of erudition many have surpassed 
 him. I do not think he had a pure and classical taste, nor was 
 apt to be best pleased with the best authors, but as a general 
 scholar he ranks very high. When I would have consulted him 
 upon certain points of literature, whilst I was making my collec- 
 tions from the Greek dramatists for my essays in " The Observer," 
 he candidly acknowledged that his studies had not lain amongst 
 them, and certain it is there is very little shew of literature in 
 his " Ramblers," and in the passage, where he quotes Aristotle, 
 he has not correctly given the meaning of the original. But thi» 
 was merely the result of haste and inattention, neither is he so 
 
 I 
 
BY RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 215 
 
 to be measured, for he had so many parts and properties of 
 scholarship about him, that you can only fairly review him as a 
 man of general knowledge. As a poet his translations of 
 Juvenal gave him a name in the world, and gained him the 
 applause of Pope. He was a writer of tragedy, but his " Irene " 
 gives him no conspicuous rank in that department. As an 
 essayist he merits more consideration ; his " Ramblers " are in 
 every body's hands ; about them opinions vary, and I rather 
 believe the style of these essays is not now considered as a good 
 model ; this he corrected in his more advanced age, as may be 
 seen in his " Lives of the Poets," where his diction, though occa- 
 sionally elaborate and highly metaphorical, is not nearly so 
 inflated and ponderous, as in the " Ramblers." He was an acute 
 and able critic ; the enthusiastic admirers of Milton and the 
 friends of Gray will have something to complain of, but criticism 
 is a task which no man executes to all men's satisfaction. His 
 selection of a certain passage in the " Mourning Bride " of 
 Congreve which he extols so rapturously, is certainly a most 
 unfortunate sample ; but unless the oversights of a critic are less 
 pardonable than those of other men, we may pass this over in a 
 work of merit, which abounds in beauties far more prominent 
 than its defects, and much more pleasing to contemplate. In 
 works professedly of fancy he is not very copious ; yet in his 
 "Rasselas" we have much to admire, and enough to make us 
 wish for more. It is the work of an illuminated mind, and offers 
 many wise and deep reflections, cloathed in beautiful and harmo- 
 nious diction. We are not indeed familiar with such personages 
 as Johnson has imagined for the characters of his fable, but if 
 we are not exceedingly interested in their story, we are infinitely 
 gratified with their conversation and remarks. In conclusion, 
 Johnson's sera was not wanting in men to be distinguished for 
 their talents, yet if one was to be selected out as the first great 
 literary character of the time, I believe all voices would concur 
 in naming him. Let me here insert the following lines, descrip- 
 tive of his character, though not long since written by me and to 
 be found in a public print 
 
 " On Samuel Johnson. 
 
 " Herculean strength and a Stentorian voice. 
 Of wit a fund, of words a countless choice : 
 In learning rather various than profound. 
 
216 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHNSOK 
 
 In truth intrepid, in religion sound : 
 
 A trembling form and a distorted sight, 
 
 But firm in judgment and in genius bright; 
 
 In controvers}'^ seldom known to spare, 
 
 But humble as the Publican in prayer ; 
 
 To more, than merited his kindness, kind, 
 
 And, though in manners harsh, of friendly mind ; 
 
 Deep ting'd with melancholy's blackest shade. 
 
 And, though prepar'd to die, of death afraid — 
 
 Such Johnson was ; of him with justice vain, 
 
 When will this nation see his like again ? " 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith began at this time to write for the stage, and 
 it is to be lamented that he did not begin at an earlier period of 
 life to turn his genius to dramatic compositions, and much more 
 to be lamented, that, after he had begiin, the succeeding period 
 of his life was so soon cut off. There is no doubt but his genius, 
 when more familiarised to the business, would have inspired him 
 to accomplish great things. His first comedy of " The Good- 
 natured Man " was read and applauded in its manuscript by 
 Edmund Burke, and the circle, in which he then lived and moved : 
 under such patronage it came with those testimonials to the 
 director of Covent Garden theatre, as could not fail to open all 
 the avenues to the stage, and bespeak all the favour and attention 
 from the performers and the public, that the applauding voice of 
 him, whose applause was fame itself, could give it. This comedy 
 has enough to justify the good opinion of its literary patron, and 
 secure its author against any loss of reputation, for it has the 
 stamp of a man of talents upon it, though its popularity with the 
 audience did not quite keep pace with the expectations, that 
 were grounded on the fiat it had antecedently been honoured 
 with. It was a first effort, however, and did not discourage its 
 ingenious author from invoking his Muse a second time. It was 
 now, whilst his labours were in projection, that I first met him at 
 the British Coffee-house, as I have already related somewhat out 
 of place. He dined with us as a visitor, introduced as I think 
 by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and we held a consultation upon the 
 naming of his comedy, which some of the company had read, and 
 which he detailed to the rest after his manner with a great deal 
 of good humour. Somebody suggested — " She Stoops to Conquer " 
 — and that title was agreed upon. When I perceived an em- 
 barrassment in his manner towards me, which I could readily 
 account for, I lost no time to put him at his ease, and I flatter 
 
BY EICHARD CUMBERLAND. 217 
 
 myself I was successftil. As my heart was ever warm towai-ds 
 my contemporaries, I did not counterfeit, but really felt a cordial 
 interest in his behalf, and I had soon the pleasure to perceive 
 that he credited me for my sincerity — " You and I," said he, 
 *' have very different motives for resorting to the stage. I write 
 for money, and care little about fame — " I was touched by this 
 melancholy confession, and from that moment busied myself as- 
 siduously amongst all my connexions in his cause. The whole 
 company pledged themselves to the support of the ingenuous 
 poet, and faithfully kept their promise to him. In fact he needed 
 all that could be done for him, as Mr. Colman, then manager of 
 Covent Garden theatre, protested against the comedy, when as 
 yet he had not struck upon a name for it. Johnson at length 
 stood forth in all his terrors as champion for the piece, and backed 
 by us his clients and retainers demanded a fair trial. Colman 
 again protested, but, with that salvo for his own reputation, 
 liberally lent his stage to one of the most eccentric productions 
 that ever found its way to it, and " She Stoops to Conquer " was 
 put into rehearsal. 
 
 "We were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly determined 
 to struggle hard for our author : we accordingly assembled our 
 strength at the Shakespear Tavern in a considerable body for an 
 early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head 
 of a long table, and was the life and soul of the corps : the poet 
 took post silently by his side with the Burkes, Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord and a phalanx of North- 
 British pre-determined applauders, under the banner of Major 
 Mills, all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in 
 inimitable glee, and poor Goldsmith that day took all his raillery 
 as patiently and complacently as my friend Boswell would have 
 done any day, or every day of his life. In the mean time we did 
 not forget our duty, and though we had a better comedy going, 
 in which Johnson was chief actor, we betook ourselves in good 
 time to our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful 
 drawing up of the curtain. As our stations were pre-concerted, 
 so were our signals for plaudits arranged and determined upon in 
 a manner, that gave every one his cue where to look for them, 
 and how to follow them up. 
 
 We had amongst us a very worthy and efficient member, long 
 since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam Drummond, 
 of amiable memory, who was gifled by nature with the most 
 
218 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHNSON 
 
 sonorous, and at the same time the most contagious, laugh, that 
 ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the horse 
 of the son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it ; the whole thunder 
 of the theatre could not drown it. This kind and ingenuous 
 friend fairly fore-warned us that he knew no more when to give 
 his fire than the cannon did, that was planted on a battery. He 
 desired therefore to have a flapper at his elbow, and I had the 
 honour to be deputed to that office. I planted him in an upper 
 box, pretty nearly over the stage, in full view of the pit and 
 galleries, and perfectly well situated to give the echo all its play 
 through the hollows and recesses of the theatre. The success of 
 our manoeuvres was complete. All eyes were upon Johnson, who 
 sate in a front row of a side box, and when he laughed every body 
 thought themselves warranted to roar. In the mean time my friend 
 followed signals with a rattle so irresistibly comic, that, when he 
 had repeated it several times, the attention of the spectators was so 
 engrossed by his person and performances, that the progress of 
 the play seemed likely to become a secondary object, and I found 
 it prudent to insinuate to him that he might halt his music with- 
 out any prejudice to the author •, but alas, it was now too late to 
 rein him in; he had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, 
 and now unluckily he fancied that he found a joke in almost every 
 thing that was said ; so that nothing in nature could be more mal-a- 
 propos than some of his bursts every now and then were. These 
 were dangerous moments, for the pit began to take umbrage ; but 
 we carried our play through, and triumphed not only over 
 Colman's judgment, but our own. 
 
 As the life of poor Oliver Goldsmith was now fast approaching 
 to its period, I conclude my account of him with gratitude for 
 the epitaph he bestowed on me in his poem called " Retaliation." 
 It was upon a proposal started by Edmund Burke, that a party 
 of friends, who had dined together at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and 
 my house, should meet at the St. James's CofFee-House, which 
 accordingly took place, and was occasionally repeated with much 
 festivity and good fellowship. Dr. Bernard, Dean of Derry, a 
 very amiable and old friend of mine, Dr. Douglas, since Bishop 
 of Salisbury, Johnson, David Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 Oliver Goldsmith, Edmund and Richard Burke, Hickey, with two 
 or three others constituted our party. At one of these meetings 
 an idea was suggested of extemporary epitaphs upon the parties 
 present ; pen and ink were called for, and Garrick off hand wrote 
 
BY EICHABD CUMBERLAND. 21^ 
 
 an epitaph with a good deal of humour upon poor Goldsmith, who 
 Mas the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we com- 
 mitted to the grave. The dean also gave him an epitaph, and 
 Sir Joshua illuminated the dean's verses with a sketch of his bust 
 in pen and ink inimitably caricatured. Neither Johnson nor 
 Burke wrote any thing, and when I perceived Oliver was rather 
 sore, and seemed to watch me with that kind of attention, whicb 
 indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of bur- 
 lesque with theirs', I thought it time to press the joke no further, 
 and wrote a few couplets at a side table, which when I had finished 
 and was called upon by the company to exhibit. Goldsmith with 
 much agitation besought me to spare him, and I was about to 
 tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of my hand, and in a 
 loud voice read them at the table. I have now lost all recollection 
 of them, and in fact they were little worth remembering, but as 
 they were serious and complimentary, the eflfect they had upon 
 Goldsmith was the more pleasing for being so entirely unex- 
 pected. The concluding line, which is the only one I can call to 
 mind, was — 
 
 " All mourn the poet, I lament the man — " 
 
 This I recollect, because he repeated it several times, and 
 seemed much gratified by it. At our next meeting he produced 
 his epitaphs as they stand in the little posthumous poem above- 
 mentioned, and this was the last time he ever enjoyed the com- 
 pany of his friends. 
 
 As he had served up the company under the similitude of 
 various sorts of meat, I had in the mean time figured them 
 under that of liquors, which little poem I rather think was 
 printed, but of this I am not sure. Goldsmith sickened and 
 died, and we had one concluding meeting at my house, when it 
 was decided to publish his " Retaliation," and Johnson at the 
 same time undertook to write an epitaph for our lamented friend, 
 to whom we proposed to erect a monument by subscription in 
 Westminster Abbey. This epitaph Johnson executed : but in 
 the criticism, that was attempted against it, and in the Round- 
 Robin signed at Mr. Beauclerc's house I had no part. T had 
 no acquaintance with that gentleman, and was never in his house 
 in my life. 
 
 Thus died Oliver Goldsmith in his chambers in the Temple at 
 
.220 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHNSON 
 
 B. period of life when his genius was yet in its vigour, and fortune 
 seemed disposed to smile upon him. I have heard Dr. Johnson 
 relate with infinite humour the circumstance of his rescuing him 
 from a ridiculous dilemma by the purchase-money of his " Vicar 
 of Wakefield," which he sold on his behalf to Dodsley, and, as I 
 think, for the sum of ten pounds only.^ He had run up a debt 
 with his landlady for board and lodging of some few pounds, 
 and was at his wit's -end how to wipe ofi" the score and keep a 
 roof over his head, except by closing with a very staggering 
 proposal on her part, and taking his creditor to wife, whose 
 charms were very far from alluring, whilst her demands were 
 extremely urgent. In this crisis of his fate he was found by 
 .Johnson in the act of meditating on the melancholy alternative 
 before him. He shewed Johnson his manuscript of the " Vicar 
 of Wakefield," but seemed to be without any plan or even hope 
 of raising money upon the disposal of it ; when Johnson cast his 
 eye upon it, he discovered something that gave him hope, and 
 immediately took it to Dodsley, who paid down the price above- 
 mentioned in ready money, and added an eventual condition 
 upon its future sale. Johnson described the precautions he took 
 in concealing the amount of the sum he had in hand, which he 
 prudently administered to him by a guinea at a time. In the 
 'event he paid off the landlady's score, and redeemed the person 
 of his friend from her embraces. Goldsmith had the joy of 
 -finding his ingenius work succeed beyond his hopes, and from 
 that time began to place a confidence in the resources of his 
 talents, which thenceforward enabled him to keep his station in 
 rsociety, and cultivate the friendship of many eminent persons, 
 who, whilst they smiled at his eccentricities, esteemed him for 
 liis genius and good qualities. 
 
 T saw ^ old Samuel Johnson standing beside his ^ grave, at the 
 "foot of Shakespeare's monument and bathed in tears : a few 
 succeeding years laid him in earth, and though marble shall pre- 
 serve for ages the exact resemblance of his form and features, 
 "his own strong pen has pictured out a transcript of his mind 
 that shall outlive that and the very language which he laboured 
 
 ^ For the true account of this circumstance see Life, vol. i., p. 329. 
 For Mrs. Piozzi's account see page 50 of this volume. — Editor. 
 
 ^ Memoirs of Cumberland, vol. ii., p. 210. ^ Garrick's. 
 
BY RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 22] 
 
 to perpetuate. Johnson's best days were dark, and only when 
 his life was far in the decline, he enjoyed a gleam of fortune 
 long withheld. Compare him with his countryman and contem- 
 porary last-mentioned,^ and it will be one instance amongst many, 
 that the man who only brings the Muses' bantlings into the 
 world, has a better lot in it than he who has the credit of be- 
 getting them. 
 
 ^ Garriok. 
 
 I 
 
DR. JOHNSON AT THE CHELSEA CHINA 
 MANUFACTORY. 
 
 MR. A. STEPHENS was told by the foreman of the Chelsea 
 China Manufactory, then in the workhouse of St. Luke's, 
 -(Middlesex), that Dr. Johnson had conceived a notion that he 
 Avas capable of improving on the manufacture of china. He even 
 applied to the directors of the Chelsea China Works, and was 
 allowed to hake his compositions in their ovens in Lawrence 
 Street, Chelsea. He was accordingly accustomed to go down 
 with his housekeeper, about twice a week, and stayed the whole 
 ■day, she carrying a basket of provisions with her. The Doctor, 
 who was not allowed to enter the mixing room, had access to 
 •every other part of the house, and formed his composition in a 
 particular apartment, without being overlooked by anyone. He 
 had also free access to the oven, and superintended the whole of 
 the process ; but completely failed, both as to composition and 
 baking, for his materials always yielded to the intensity of the 
 iieat, while those of the company came out of the furnace perfect 
 and complete. The Doctor retired in disgust, but not in despair, 
 for he afterwards gave a dissertation on this very subject in his 
 works ; but the overseer assured Mr. Stephens, in the spring of 
 1814, that he was still ignorant of the nature of the operation. 
 He seemed to think that the Doctor imagined one single sub- 
 stance was sufficient, whUe he, on the other hand, asserted that 
 he always used sixteen, and he must have had some practice, as 
 he had nearly lost his eyesight, by firing batches of china, both 
 at Chelsea and Derby, to which the manufacture was afterwards 
 carried. — Faulkner's Chelsea^ 1829, vol. i., p. 273. 
 
 This account is confirmed by the following entry in the cata- 
 logue of the china preserved at Holland House: — "A small 
 dessert service of old Chelsea presented by the Chelsea Company 
 to Dr. Johnson, who used to work during his leisure hours at 
 the Chelsea Factory." — Pkincess Liechstenstein's Holland 
 House, vol. i., p. 225, 
 
ANECDOTES AND REMARKS. 
 
 BY 
 
 BISHOP PERCY. 
 
ANECDOTES AND REMARKS, 
 
 BY BISHOP PERCY.^ 
 
 STOURBRIDGE SCHOOL. 
 
 SIR JOHN HAWKINS is not correct in saying that Johnson, 
 in early life, had not been accustomed to the conversation 
 of gentlemen. His genius was so distinguished, that, although 
 little more than a schoolboy, he was admitted to the best com- 
 pany, both at Lichfield and Stourbridge ; and, in the latter 
 neighbourhood, had met even with George, afterwards Lord 
 Lyttelton ; with whom, having some colloquial disputes, he is 
 supposed to have conceived that prejudice which so improperly 
 influenced him in the Life of that worthy nobleman. But this 
 could scarcely have happened when he was a boy of fifteen ; and, 
 therefore, it is probable he occasionally visited Stourbridge, 
 during his residence at Birmingham, before he removed to 
 London. 
 
 PERSONAL PECULIARITIES. 
 
 Johnson's countenance, when in a good humour, was not dis- 
 agreeable. His face clear, his complexion good, and his features 
 not ill formed, many ladies have thought they might not have 
 been unattractive when he was young. Much misrepresentation 
 has prevailed on this subject, among such as did not personally 
 know him. 
 
 That he had some whimsical peculiarities of the nature de- 
 scribed by Mr. Boswell, is certainly true ; but there is no reason 
 
 ' These remarks were written by Bishop Percy in an interleaved copy 
 of Dr. Anderson's Life of Johnson, and pubHshed as notes to the third 
 edition of that work in 1815. — Editor. 
 
 YI. Q 
 
226 ANECDOTES AND REMARKS. 
 
 to believe they proceeded from any superstitious motives, wherein 
 religion was concerned : they are rather to be ascribed to the 
 " mental distempers " to which Boswell has so repeatedly alluded. 
 Johnson was so extremely short-sighted, that he had no con- 
 ception of rural beauties ; and, therefore, it is not to be wondered, 
 that he should prefer the conversation of the metropolis to the 
 silent groves and views of Hampstead and Greenwi(?h ; which, 
 however delightful, he could not see. In his Tour through the 
 Highlands of Scotland, he has somewhere observed, that one 
 mountain was like another ; so utterly unconscious was he of the 
 wonderful variety of sublime and beautiful scenes those moun- 
 tains exhibited. I was once present when the case of a gentle- 
 man was mentioned, who, having, with great taste and skill, 
 formed the lawns and plantations about his house into most 
 beautiful landscapes,to complete one part of the scenery,was obliged 
 to apply for leave to a neighbour with whom he was not upon 
 cordial terms ; when Johnson made the following remark, which 
 at once shows what ideas he had of landscape improvement, and 
 how happily he applied the most common incidents to moral in- 
 struction. " See how inordinate desires enslave a man ! No 
 desire can be more innocent than to have a pretty garden, yet, 
 indulged to excess, it has made this poor man submit to beg a 
 favour of his enemy." 
 
 Johnson's manner of composing. 
 
 Johnson's manner of composing has not been rightly understood. 
 He was so extremely short-sighted, from the defect in his eyes, 
 that writmg was inconvenient to him ; for, whenever he wrote, 
 he was obliged to hold the paper close to his face. He, therefore, 
 never composed what we call a foul draft on paper of any thing 
 he published, but used to revolve the subject in his mind, and 
 turn and form every period, till he had brought the whole to the 
 highest correctness and the most perfect arrangement. Then his 
 uncommonly retentive memory enabled him to deliver a whole 
 essay, properly finished, whenever it was called for. I have 
 often heard him humming and forming periods, in low whispers 
 to himself, when shallow observers thought he was muttering 
 prayers, &c. But Johnson is well known to have represented 
 his own practice, in the following passage in his Life of Pope : 
 " Of composition there are different methods. Some employ at 
 
BY BISHOP PERCY. 227 
 
 once memory and inyention; and, with little intermediate use 
 of the pen, form and polish large masses by continued meditation, 
 and write their productions only when, in their own opinion, they 
 have completed them." 
 
 DISLIKE OF SWIFT. 
 
 The extraordinary prejudice and dislike of Swift, manifested 
 on all occasions by Johnson, whose political opinions coincided 
 exactly with his, has been difficult to account for ; and is there- 
 fore attributed to his failing in getting a degree, which Swift might 
 not choose to solicit, for a reason given below. The real cause 
 is believed to be as follows : The Rev. Dr. Madden, who dis- 
 tinguished himself so laudably by giving premiums to the young 
 students of Dublin College, for which he had raised a fund, by 
 applying for contributions to the nobility and gentry of Ireland, 
 had solicited the same from Swift, when he was sinking into that 
 morbid idiocy which only terminated with his life, and was saving 
 every shilling to found his hospital for lunatics ; but his applica- 
 tion was refused with so little delicacy, as left in Dr. Madden a 
 rooted dislike to Swift's character, which he communicated to 
 Johnson, whose friendship he gained on the following occasion : 
 Dr. Madden wished to address some person of high rank, in prose 
 or verse ; and, desirous of having his composition examined and 
 corrected by some writer of superior talents, had been recom- 
 mended to Johnson, who was at that time in extreme indigence ; 
 and having finished his task, would probably have thought him- 
 self well rewarded with a guinea or two, when, to his great sur- 
 prise. Dr. Madden generously slipped ten guineas into his hand. 
 This made such an impression on Johnson, as led him to adopt 
 every opinion of Dr. Madden, and to resent as warmly as him- 
 self. Swift's rough refusal of the contribution ; after which the 
 latter could not decently request any favour from the University 
 of Dublin. 
 
 THE DICTIONABY. 
 
 The account of the manner in which Johnson compiled his 
 Dictionary, as given by Mr. Boswell, is confused and erroneous, 
 and, a moment's reflection will convince every person of judgment, 
 could not be correct ; for, to write down an alphabetical arrange- 
 
228 ANECDOTES AND REMARKS. 
 
 ment of all the words in the English language, and then hunt 
 through the whole compass of English literature for all their 
 different significations, would have taken the whole life of any 
 individual ; but Johnson, who among other peculiarities of his 
 character, excelled most men in contriving the best means to 
 accomplish any end, devised the following mode for completing 
 his Dictionary, as he himself expressly described to the writer 
 of this account. He began his task by devoting his first care to 
 a diligent perusal of all such English writers ai were most correct 
 in their language, and under every sentence which he meant to 
 quote he drew a line, and noted in the margin the first letter «f 
 the word under which it was to occur. He then delivered these 
 books to his clerks, who transcribed each sentence on a separate 
 slip of paper, and arranged the same under the word referred to. 
 By these means he collected the several words and their different 
 significations ; and when the whole arrangement was alphabetically 
 formed, he gave the definitions of their meanings, and collected 
 their etymologies from Skinner, Junivis, and other writers on 
 the subject. In completing his alphabetical arrangement, he, no 
 doubt, would recur to former dictionaries, to see if any words had 
 escaped him ; but this, which Mr. Boswell makes the first step 
 in the business, was in reality the last ; and it was doubtless to 
 this happy arrangement that Johnson effected in a few years^ 
 what employed the foreign academies nearly half a century. 
 
 MISS WILLIAMS. 
 
 During the summer of 1764, Johnson paid a visit to me, at 
 my vicarage-house in Easton-Mauduit, near Wellingborough, in 
 Northamptonshire, and spent parts of the months of June, July, 
 and August with me, accompanied by his friend Miss Williams, 
 whom Mrs. Percy found a very agreeable companion. As poor 
 Miss Williams, whose history is so connected with that of John- 
 son, has not had common justice done her by his biographers, it 
 may be proper to mention, that so far from being a constant source 
 of disquiet and vexation to him, although she had been totally 
 blind for the last thirty years of her life, her mind was so well 
 cultivated, and her conversation so agreeable, that she very much 
 enlivened and diverted his solitary hours ; and, though there 
 may have happened some slight disagreements between her and 
 Mrs. Desmoulins, which, at the moment, disquieted him, the 
 
BY BISHOP PERCY. 229 
 
 friendsliip of Miss Williams contributed very much to his comfort 
 and happiness. For, having been the intimate friend of his wife, 
 who had invited her to his house, she continued to reside with 
 him, and in her he had always a conversable companion ; who, 
 whether at his dinners or at his tea-table, entertained his friends 
 with her sensible conversation. Being extremely clean and neat 
 in her person and habits, she never gave the least disgust by her 
 manner of eating ; and when she made tea for Johnson and his 
 friends, conducted it with so much delicacy, by gently touching 
 the outside of the cup, to feel, by the heat, the tea as it ascended 
 within, that it was rather matter of admiration than of dislike to 
 every attentive observer. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 Johnson was fond of disputation, and willing to see what could 
 (be said on each side of the question, when a subject was argued. 
 At all other times, no man had a more scrupulous regard for 
 truth ; from which, I verily believe, he would not have deviated 
 to save his life. 
 
 ROBERT LEVETT. 
 
 Mr. Boswell describes Levett as a man of a strange, grotesque 
 appearance, stiff and formal in his manner. This is misrepresented. 
 He was a modest, reserved man ; humble and unaffected ; ready 
 to execute any commission for Johnson ; and grateful for his 
 patronage. 
 
 MR. THRALE. 
 
 Of Mr. Thrale, Johnson has given a true character in a Latin 
 epitaph, inscribed on his monument in Streatham church. This 
 most amiable and worthy gentleman certainly deserved every 
 tribute of gratitude from the Doctor and his literary friends ; 
 who were always welcome at his hospitable table. It must there- 
 fore give us great concern to see his origin degraded by any of 
 them, in a manner that might be extremely injurious to his 
 elegant and accomplished daughters, if it could not be con- 
 tradicted ; for his father is represented to have been a common 
 drayman ; whereas, he was well known to have been a respectable 
 citizen, who increased a fortune, originally not contemptible, and 
 
230 ANECDOTES AND BEMARKS 
 
 proved his mind had been always liberal, by giving a superior 
 education to his son. 
 
 Mr. Boswell objects to the title of " Rambler," which he says^ 
 was ill-suited to a series of grave and moral discourses, and is^ 
 translated into Italian, " II Vagabondo," as also because the same 
 title was afterwards given to a licentious magazine. These are 
 curious reasons. But, in the first place, Mr. Boswell assumes^ 
 that Johnson intended only to write a series of papers on " grave 
 and moral " subjects : whereas, on the contrary, he meant this^ 
 periodical paper should be open for the reception of every 
 subject, serious or sprightly, solemn or familiar, moral or amusing ; 
 and therefore endeavoured to find a title as general and uncon- 
 fined as possible. He acknowledged, that " The Spectator '*' 
 was the most happily chosen of all others, and " The Tatler '*^ 
 the next to it : and after long consideration how to fix a third 
 title, equally capacious and suited to his purpose, he suddenly 
 thought upon " The Eambler ; " ^ and it would be difficult to 
 find any other that so exactly coincided with the motto he has- 
 adopted in the title-page — 
 
 " Quo me cunque rapit tempestas deferor hospes." 
 
 FEAR OF DEATH. 
 
 Mr. Boswell states, that Dr. Johnson's conduct, afiber he had 
 associated with Savage and others, was not so strictly virtuous, in 
 one respect, as when he was a younger man. This seems to have 
 been suggested by Mr. Boswell, to account for Johnson's- 
 religious terrors on the approach of death ; as if they proceeded 
 from his having been led by Savage to vicious indulgences with 
 the women of the town, in his nocturnal rambles. This, if true, 
 Johnson was not likely to have confessed to Mr. Boswell, and 
 therefore must be received as a pure invention of his own. But if 
 Johnson ever conversed with those unfortunate females, it is 
 believed to have been in order to reclaim them from their dissolute 
 life, by moral and religious impressions ; for to one of his friends 
 he once related a conversation of that sort which he had with a, 
 young female in the street, and that, asking her what she thought 
 
 ' A paper, entitled The Rambler, appeared in 1712. Only one number 
 of it seems to have escaped the ravages of time ; this is in the British 
 Museum. — Wright. 
 
BY BISHOP PERCY. 231 
 
 she was made for, her reply was, " she supposed to please the 
 gentlemen." His friend intimating his surprise, that he should 
 have had communications with street-walkers, implying a sus- 
 picion that they were not of a moral tendency, Johnson ex- 
 pressed the highest indignation that any other motiye could ever 
 be suspected. 
 
 k 
 
DIARY 
 
 OF A 
 
 YISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 IN 1775 
 
 BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL, 
 
 CHJlNCELLOR of ST. macartin's, clogher. 
 
 First published hy Samuel Baymond^ M.A., Sydney, New South Wales, 185-4 . 
 
 ¥ 
 
DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND/ 
 
 FEBRUARY 23rd, 1775. I went aboard the Besborough 
 pacquet, and weighed anchor at five in the evening, and 
 landed at Holyhead at eight o'clock next morning, which was 
 very foggy and hazy. The passage was on a very pacific sea, so 
 that I was so little affected with sickness, as to lament the want 
 of that substitute fi)r hippo. Here we breakfasted, and the egg» 
 were so small, that I had curiosity to measure them, and the 
 largest diameter was an inch and three-quarters. Here is a odd 
 old church, in the form of a cross, in the yard of which Flood 
 and Agar fought, about seven years ago ; but the feud did not end 
 there, Agar at length fell by his antagonist, a.d. 1769. The 
 folks at the Inn told me that the weather had been generally hazy 
 for a month past, and they expected it would be so till March. 
 They had but two or three days of frost last winter. The sailors 
 say, it is always foggy when the wind is at south. The church 
 is, on the outside, of an H-like figure, i.e. the old part, which is 
 not ugly, and seems the remains of something greater ; there is 
 an addition however of modem work. 
 
 From Holyhead to Bangor is a country, not unlike that about 
 Virginia, in the County Cavan : as you approach Bangor ferry 
 the prospect brightens, and becomes agreeably varied with hill, 
 and dale, and sea : but the first view of Bangor itself is so 
 transcendantly beautiful, that it beggars the richness of words. I 
 never was so wrapped with surprise, as when this lovely vista 
 struck my ravished sight ; and every step I took, so altered the 
 
 * By the "Irish Dr. Campbell" of Boswell's Life, vol. ii., pp. 310, 
 313, 318. See appendix to vol. ii. for an account of Campbell, his relations 
 with Johnson, and the discovery of this Diary. — Editor. 
 
236 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 contour, that it became a new scene of wonder, and the last was 
 still more pleasing than the first ; for the distant view of Beau- 
 morris, and the circumjacent hills, afforded so fine and airj a back 
 ground, that I never saw one so picturesque. I have heard 
 Englishmen say, that Ireland had finer subjects for the landscape 
 painter than England ; but, sure, they have not taken in Wales. 
 Bangor alone would yield an infinitude of scenes : let those 
 painters, who aflfect composition, study and imitate Bangor ; they 
 may avail themselves of it, as Michael Angelo did of the Dorso. 
 At Pinmanmuir, nature hath painted with her boldest pencil, nor 
 hath she neglected the graces in the lower grounds ; there are 
 great elegances in the valley, which dulcity the stupendous 
 iCragginess of the mountain. The Cathedral of Bangor lookes 
 somewhat to a mere Irish eye. The choir has been glazed with 
 painted glass, and if the church was ceiled it would add much 
 to the beauty of it. But it must not be forgotten, that here, in 
 the short time I spent in it, (which was during a stop the postilion 
 made to get a pair of boots), I had an opportunity of observing 
 a sad remnant of Popish superstition performed in this Cathedral. 
 I observed a vast crowd both in the quire, and body of the church, 
 and the surpliced minister standing at the chancel. I mixed in 
 the crowd, and each person, according (I suppose) to his ability, 
 went up to the chancel table, and there made his offering. I 
 saw, however, nothing but half-pence, and at first wondered what 
 all this could mean ; but returning, I saw a corpse lying in the 
 Isle of the church : and this brought to my mind the account, which 
 Hughes, the Welshman, gave of the great benefits arising from 
 funerals. This was, evidently, a relick of the offerings for praying the 
 soul out of Purgatory. N.B. The distance from Holyhead to Bangor 
 ferry is twenty-five miles ; from thence to Conway eighteen ; 
 a post shay and four from Holyhead is eight guineas for two, and 
 nine for three ; from Conway to St. Asaph, is eighteen miles. At 
 Bangor ferry we could get no beer, yet one would think that the 
 tempering of mault ^ and hops into that consistence, were a facile 
 operation ; nor was there meat, except eggs and rashers of beef. 
 At Conway both meat and drink were as bad as we could meet 
 at any Irish Inn. 
 
 ^ The spelling is peculiar in many instances. I have invariably 
 retained the orthography of the manuscript except where it is clearly a 
 clerical error. — Raymond. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 23?" 
 
 February 25, viz., Saturday. The foggy gloom was dispelled, 
 about seven in the morning, by a sight of the sun, who gilded the 
 liorrors of the mountain : even deserted Conway smoothed its 
 frowning brow. The Castle and wood have a good effect from 
 the water ; but the triangular fortification, with its flankers, 
 inclosing such a poor pittance of wooden houses looks miserable. 
 The beauty of the prospect vanishes into the ratio of the 
 distance. After shuddering in walking over the cliffe at Pan- 
 manross, we were regaled with passing through the valley of 
 Cluen ; and thence to St. Asaph, where we breakfasted; and here,, 
 for the first time, did we find anything like that English neatness, 
 I had heard so much of. The house was Thompson's, some 
 distance from the town, which hindered me from looking into the- 
 Cathedral, and the Parish Church. The Cathedral was a cross,, 
 with the steeple in the middle, not unlike the Cathedral of Armagh. 
 The bridge was composed of the flat elliptic arches, and seemed 
 en passant to be very elegant. The town itself seems poor and 
 little. 
 
 On the 25th we got into Chester at 8 o'clock at night. Chester 
 is built of wood chiefly, and is surrounded with a wall, which 
 affords an agreeable walk, flagged, about four feet broad, the 
 periphery of which is one mile, three quarters, and one hundred 
 and one yards. The Dee winds prettily round one side of the 
 town, and a canal through a rock is now a cutting round the 
 other. N.B. — There are nine churches in Chester; yet the 
 town is small in comparison of Birmingham. The Cathedral or 
 St. Werburgh's is worth seeing, especially the quire, which is 
 ornamented with oak, beautifully carved. The old cloysters 
 still remain, and have a venerable appearance. There has been 
 an old Abbey. The Bishop's house fronts the Abbey Square.- 
 From Chester to Bermingham seventy-five miles. We arrived 
 at near one o'clock at night on the 26th. Whitchurch (twenty 
 miles from Chester) is a pretty clean old town ; and Newport 
 (forty-one from ditto) neither so large, nor so clean. Here we 
 met several people very drunk : this, we supposed, was owing 
 to the festivity on the Sunday ; and now the night wrapped the 
 sweet country of Stafford and Warwickshire, from my longing 
 eyes. I^.B. — Chetwind, a country seat about two miles from 
 Newport, was very neat. 
 
 Februaby 27th. W^e stayed at Bermingham till after twelve, 
 and drove to Henly, viz., fourteen miles in less than an hour andv 
 
"238 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 a half. Bermingham is large, populous, and clean. St. Philli )'s 
 Church, and Steeple, is a beautiful building of hewn stone, and 
 very modern : the steeple of the octagonal Church is exquisitely 
 beautiful, and the spire of Martin's not ugly. The number of 
 Churches I could not learn from our boot catch guide ; but there 
 were four at least, beside many other places of worship. The 
 town however cannot contain one hundred and fifty thousand, 
 nor above one third of' that number; yet they contend that, 
 next to London, it is the most populous town. That part of 
 'Warwickshire from Bermingham to Stratford upon Avon, seems 
 to be a poor, wet clay ; for on the commons it is a mixture of 
 Tushes and heath, but on the adjacent parts, they are obliged to 
 lay down the ground in prodigious broad ridges, to deepen and 
 •dry the soil. At Stratford I was amply rewarded, by diverting 
 from the great London road, for there I saw the tomb of Shake- 
 spear ; was in the room where he was born, and sat in his chair. 
 Stratford is an ancient town, built mostly of wood, and seems 
 aiow in a deserted state, without any manufacture, but the wool- 
 'Combing, of which trade Shakespear originally was. There is a 
 handsome Town house, lately built at the expense of the Cor- 
 poration, and neighbouring gentlemen, in a nitch whereof, a 
 statue of Shakespear, the gift of Mr. Garrick, stands. In the 
 great room of it are two pictures, one of Shakespear by Wilson, 
 the gift also of Garrick, and another of Garrick himself, em- 
 bracing the bust of Shakespear, by Gainsborough, done at the 
 charge of the Corporation, The house, where Shakespear died, 
 stood near the beautiful old Chapel in the middle of the town ; 
 and in the garden belonging, grew the famous mulberry tree, 
 whereof I saw a box in a toy-shop there. The Church is large, 
 consisting of a large aisle, and a choir, in both of which there 
 are several monumental inscriptions. Shakespear's tomb- 
 stone lies at the chancel of the choir, with his own two lines 
 denouncing curses on him who shall move his bones : by the 
 way, I conceive the reason of this curse was a custom, which 
 has been observed at Stratford, of collecting the bones of 
 the dead, and throwing them into a vault under the steeple. 
 The monument raised by his wife, consisting of a half- 
 length figure, is entirely Gothic ; but not more so than the 
 inscription under it. On the right of the Chancel, lieth a 
 monumental statue, in a horizontal position, with precatory 
 hands, of John Combe, on which Shakespear wrote his famous 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 239 
 
 distich.^ After treading with almost religious adoration on this 
 classic ground, we could not leave Stratford without many re- 
 flections. N.B. — Avon is there a poor little muddy stream, 
 which would have for ever remained inglorious, if this Swan had 
 not warbled on its banks : little gabbards, with coals, and 
 groceries, &c., come up here from Bristol. 
 
 February 28th. We set off from Shipton by Chappel-house, 
 and breakfasted at "Woodstock, the greatest part of which road is 
 through a cold clay, highly cultivated in the broad ridges ; but 
 very thin of trees, as most of the corn grounds, I passed through 
 are : for Cheshire and Shropshire are rather pasturage. The 
 parts about Chappel-house were extremely coarse, and hilly. 
 But Woodstock, once so famous for the bower of Rosamond, 
 presented us with a new scene, the most beautiful I ever beheld 
 — the park of Blenheim. For this, and the University, at which 
 we arrived about twelve o'clock, vide the Oxford guide. K.B. — 
 "We went to the Coffee house in the evening, where almost all the 
 Gownsmen we saw were tipsy, and the streets re-echoed with 
 bacchanalian crys, as we returned from supper with Mr. Bar- 
 nard. The next night also, we went to another Coffee house, 
 and there the scene was only shifted, all muzzy. This, happily 
 abated my enthusiasm conceived for an Oxford education ; for 
 such was the venerability of the place, that after taking a cur- 
 sory view of it, I was almost in a paroxism of superstition. 
 
 Oxfordshire seems but a wettish county, highly cultivated, and 
 not very thickly planted — it being mostly com grounds ; but un- 
 cultivated commons evince what the native state of the country 
 is, for they were all either heath or rushes. The first of March, 
 at Oxford, was extremely cold ; the rain came on in the evening, 
 and it was raining at six next morning, but the day turned out 
 a tine one, which made the road to London very pleasant ; and 
 nothing could be finer than Berkshire. Along this road we saw 
 General Conway's, Lord Harcourt's, Clifton, "Windsor, &c. 
 From Brentford to London is almost all city, such as the bad 
 parts of Dublin. On the 2nd of March, Co vent Garden Play 
 
 ^ •' Ten in the hundred lies here engraved, 
 'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved : 
 If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb, 
 1 ho ! quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe." 
 
 But as to the authorship of this verse, see the note by Steevens, p. 80, 
 Malone's ed., \^\Z.—Edit(/r. 
 
240 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 house received me ; so that, in one week from leaving Dublin, I 
 had seen a syllabus of all England. A Gownsman of Oxford 
 thus painted the fellows of All Souls — they lived so luxuriantly, 
 and indolently, that they did nothing but clean their teeth all 
 the morning, and pick them all the evening. 
 
 Fkiday, 3rd. It hailed more than once in the forenoon, and 
 it rained almost all the afternoon, so that the streets were very 
 slobbery. The atmosphere over London is above measure heavy, 
 impregnated so strongly with coal, that the lower part of St. 
 Paul's and the other Churches are blackened prodigiously. 
 
 On this day I called on Jack Day, who said so many good 
 things, that I asked him, why he had not wrote a comedy ? He 
 told me that Kelly owns himself his debtor for several hon mots 
 in his. Talking of the edacity of the English, he said that the 
 stomach of the Irish went and came, but that the stomach of 
 the English came and stayed. He complained however, that he 
 had got a diarrhoea of the tongue. 
 
 Saturday, the 4th. It rained almost all day. N.B. — That 
 day I left the Hummums, and took a lodging at the Grecian 
 Coffee House, where, after coming from Drury Lane, I heard a 
 fellow imitate the black bird, thrush, lark, and canary birds, so 
 exactly, that had I heard the same sounds, at proper times and 
 places, I should never have suspected them to be any other than 
 original : he also did equally well the mewing and caterwauling 
 of cats, barking of dogs, and dogs hunting cats, &c. 
 
 " Braganza " ^ went off* well : the poetry is happy enough, and 
 the catastrophe is striking. After the representation of this 
 play, a scene ensued which strongly marked the English character. 
 It was the tenth night of the play, and it seems that custom hath 
 decided that, after the ninth night, the prologue and epilogue 
 should be discontinued. Neither was announced in the bills : 
 however when the players came on, the prologue was called for, 
 and Mr. Palmer, a very handsome mouthing blockhead, answered 
 the call. When the overture for the farce began to be played, 
 the epilogue was called for, the music ceased for it could not be 
 heard — a long interval ensued — the players came on ; they stood 
 their ground for a long time, but were hissed at length off*. Mr. 
 Yernon attempted to speak, but he could not be heard : still the 
 
 ^ Braganza was the production of an Irishman, Robert Jephson, Esq.> 
 who also wrote the Count of Narbonne and other pieces. He died in 
 UQZ.— Editor. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 241 
 
 cry was — off — off — the epilogue, &c. After a long pause, the bell 
 rang for the musick — this set the house in an uproar — the women 
 however, who were singers, came on, in hopes of disarming these 
 savage beasts ; but they were a second time pelted off: then 
 Weston, a mighty favorite of the town, came on ; he was pelted 
 with oranges ; however he stuck to the stage, as if he had vege- 
 tated on the spot ; and only looked at the gallery, and pointed 
 up at it when the orange fell, as if to say, I know you that threw 
 that : once he took up an orange, as if in thankfulness, and put 
 it in his pocket : this and a thousand other humorous tricks he 
 played, yet all to no purpose, John Bull roared on, and poor 
 AVeston could not prevail. The Players came again and again : 
 Vernon, after a third effort, was allowed to tell the pit, that Mrs. 
 Yates was sent for, and begged leave that the farce might go on, 
 till she came ; but this was denied : the house grew more and 
 more clamorous, calling for Garrick or Mrs. Yates : at length 
 Mr. Yates comes on, and tho' he declared in the most solemn 
 manner, that his wife was gone sick to bed, yet this would not 
 tame the savages of the gallery. The Players were twice hissed 
 off after this, till a promise of Mrs. Yates' appearance on Mon- 
 day somewhat abated their madness. But what to me seemed 
 most expressive of Angloism was the conduct of some in the pit 
 beside me : some were more moderate, and asked others, why 
 they made such a noise : one before asked another behind, how 
 he dared make such a noise, and told him after some altercation, 
 that he deserved to be turned out of the pit : this produced no 
 other effect, but to make my friend behind me more vociferous. 
 The smallest fraction of such language would have produced a 
 duel in the Dublin Theatres, and the millionth part of the sub- 
 missions, made by these poor players, would have appeased an 
 Irish audience, yea, if they have murdered their fathers. 
 
 Su:sDAY, the 5th. I breakfasted with Mr. Pearson (Figtree 
 Court, Middle Temple), and went with him to the Temple 
 Church — a most beautiful Gothic structure. The service was 
 ill-read, and the singing not according to the rubrick ; for it 
 was immediately after the second Lesson. The sermon was 
 preached by the master of the society, a brother to Thurloe the 
 Atomey General. The discourse was the most meagre compo- 
 sition (on our Saviour's temptation) and the delivery worse. He 
 Btood like Gulliver stuck in the marrow bone, with the Sermon 
 (newspaper like) in his hand, and without grace, or emphasis, he 
 
 VI. R 
 
242 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 I 
 
 in slow cadence measured it forth. In the evening I strolled to 
 AVestminster Abbey, where I (being locked in) was obliged to 
 listen to a discourse still duller, and as ill-deliA^ered. 
 
 As I love to speculatise upon human nature ; I can not help 
 setting down, lest I should forget it, an anecdote I heard this 
 
 day from my fellow-traveller G , which I should never have 
 
 heard, had he met the reception he expected from the Paymaster, 
 his uncle, the Provost's quondam friend. He told me, that soon 
 after Lord Townsend's appointment to the Government of Ireland, 
 Rigby came over to tamper with his Irish friends to oppose poor 
 Sandes' administration. Among the rest he attacked the Pi'o- 
 vost, from whom he expected no resistance ; but the Provost, 
 having made his terms with Townsend, told him that had he 
 applyed earlyer, his gratitude to the Duke of B. would have made 
 him his obedient creature, but that now his honour was pawned 
 to T., and that he could not think of forfeiting that. Rigby 
 went so far as to tell him, he could not expect to meet the 
 reception he formerly found from his old friends at Bloomsbury : 
 the Provost's answer was, that he had a remedy for that in not 
 going in futuro to England. Rigby then said " I have gone too 
 far " ; but he stayed in Ireland but anotlier day. Soon after 
 things took another turn, that is, the Bloomsbury faction came 
 into play. The Provost then received a letter from Rigby, 
 applauding his propriety of conduct, and soliciting his support 
 of Lord Townsend's administration. What a creature is man ! 
 
 G told me, that the grand hold the Provost got of Rigby's 
 
 esteem was this. R was distressed in the first career of 
 
 ambition for money ; his credit was low on this side of the water, 
 he therefore wrote to the Provost, to raise him three thousand 
 pounds as soon as possible. The Provost sent him bills for the 
 money, the very next week : this by some months outran so far 
 the other's expectation, (who looked on Andrews as a man of 
 expense,) that it created that attachment which lasted till his 
 death, and which was, I presume, the price of the Provostship. 
 N.B. — At the hour of one there came on a violent shower of 
 hail, while we were in the Temple Church ; which was succeeded 
 by heavy rains, which lasted till near four : the morning haizy, 
 and the evening likewise. 
 
 March the 6th. A haizy morning, and a drizzling rain at 
 noon. *This day (without seeking it) I saw the king in his chair, 
 coming from Buckingham house to the Palace of St. James. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 243 
 
 I should have known him from his picture, if I had seen him in 
 Siberia. 
 
 The 7th. I went to see Garrick in "Lusignan: " the house 
 Mas full by five, tho' David appears but in one act. This day 
 was a good one, yet not absolutely without rain. I saw the 
 King and Queen return from an airing in Hyde Park. 
 
 The 8th. It rained hard from nine till two o'clook. I spent 
 this day in strolling thro' the town ; paid a visit to Tom Orr's 
 in the morning, and after dining alone at Dolly's, I went to the 
 print auction, at the Piazza, Covent Garden, where I was taken 
 in for £1 9s. 6d. for a book of 80 old heads, and six loose prints, 
 and I deserved it, for not going to view them by daylight, for I 
 took them to be all new. However, they are worth the money, 
 for they will sell for double the sum in single prints. 
 
 9th. A wet morning, but cleared up in the middle of the 
 day, but again it rained hard at night. I dined this day with 
 my friend T — B — , whose wife is, I think, the ugliest woman I 
 ever beheld, and at least three-score. There dined with us two 
 old maids, her cot2mjK)rarys, the sad emblems of a single life, 
 and a rich cit talking vulgar nonsense before dinner, and falling 
 asleep after it ; but in the evening, I was fiiUy compensated for 
 this woful set by the company of a blind man — Stanly, the 
 leader of the Oratorio band in Drury lane. This was a very 
 agreeable person, and comely for a blind man. He sat down to 
 cards after tea, and played with as much ease and quickness as 
 any man I ever saw. He had the cards however marked by 
 pricks of a pin ; I could not from my cursory examination make 
 the key whereby he marked them. A very stormy night, — now 
 near eleven so that we have not had twenty-four hours together 
 fair, since I came to London. 
 
 10th. Showery from morn to night. This day I went with 
 my good friend Pierson, and (with Gamble) visited his agreeable 
 sister Suky. Then went to the Museum, and engaged for Mon- 
 day next at nine o'clock ; visited Christie's picture auction. Pall- 
 mall, dined at Lowe's Hotel, Covent garden, and went to the 
 Oratorio of " Judas Maccabaeus," to see the King and Queen, 
 and there I for the first time fell asleep, except in bed, since I 
 came to London. 
 
 11th. It rained incessantly from the hour I awoke, that is, 
 eight, till near twelve, that I went to bed, and how much further 
 that night, I know not. This day I dined with the Club at the 
 
244 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 British Coffee (house), introduced by my old College friend Day. 
 The President was a Scotch Member of Parliament, Mayne, and 
 the prevalent interest Scottish. They did nothing but praise 
 Macpherson's new history, and decry Johnson and Burke. Day 
 humorously gave money to the waiter, to bring him Johnson's 
 " Taxation no Tyranny." One of them desired him to save 
 himself the expense, for that he should have it from him, and 
 glad that he would take it away, as it was worse than nothing. 
 Another said it was written in Johnson's manner, but worse than 
 usual, for that there was nothing new in it. The President 
 swore that Burke was gone mad, and to prove it adduced this 
 instance, that when the House was obliged, the day or two 
 before, to call him to order, he got up again, and foaming like a 
 play actor, he said in the words of the Psalmist, " / held my 
 tongue even from good words, hut it was pain and grief to me, 
 then I said in my heart that they were all liars."' My friend 
 Day however told some stories, which turned the Scotch into 
 ridicule, (they did however laugh), and irritated the President 
 more than once by laughing at his accent, but he had a good 
 blow at one, (who valued himself vastly on his classical know- 
 ledge,) who describing the device on a snuff-box, pointed out a 
 Satyr blowing his concha ; this raised a loud laugh, which 
 made the virtuoso look very silly. 
 
 12th. Fair in the morning, but the evening varied with 
 storm, hail, and rain. This day I went to church at the 
 Foundling Hospital, and dined with Mr. Scott, who is a 
 Governor. I hoped to hear the charity girl, who performed on 
 Friday at the Oratorio, but the distance was so great, I could 
 not distinguish her voice. Here preached a gentleman who 
 certainly had made elocution his study, but affectation was so 
 visible, that he was disgusting ; his language poor — his matter 
 borrowed from common place. Talking with Scott and Pierson, 
 they agreed that the lighting of the city lamps cost £2,000 a 
 night, and that the paving of Oxford Street cost £40,000 (forty 
 thousand) ; but in the latter they were misinformed, for Mr. 
 Combe, who was concerned, told me it had not cost quite 
 twenty thousand ; but as to the lamps, they spoke partly from 
 knowledge, and partly from calculation. 
 
 13th. Rain in the morning, but turned out a fair day. This 
 day I walked with Mr. Scott down the Blackfriar's Road, as 
 far as the Obelisk, to see the future city from thence. On my 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 245 
 
 return I saw Viny, the timber vendor, a very curious man, who 
 with great courtesy, explained everything to us. I regretted 
 that I did not know more of wheel carriages, &c., however, the 
 little I did recollect, made Viny profess that he would do any 
 thing to satisfy me. I bespoke a saddle from his maker, Clarke, 
 upon his construction. I then dined at the Crown and Anchor 
 in Sussex Street, where we were charged 3*. lOd. for a pound 
 of cod. It is amazing, the passion our countrymen have, for 
 appearing great in London. This very learned gentleman. 
 Doctor Jackson, methought affected a consequence, from calling 
 for shrimp sauce, while the waiter (I saw) was laughing at him 
 for his brogue, and appearance. I verily believe that, if a 
 Coleraine man was to come here, he would bespeak nothing but 
 Salmon, merely because it is the most expensive fish in London, 
 though he has it at home for less than a farthing per pound. 
 
 14th. The first entire fair day, since I came to London. 
 This day I called at Mr. Thrale's, where I was received with all 
 respect by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. She is a very learned lady, 
 and joyns to the charms of her own sex, the manly understanding 
 of ours. The immensity of the Brewery astonished me. One 
 large house contains, and cannot contain more, only four store 
 vessels, each of which contains fifteen hundred barrels ; and in 
 one of which one hundred persons have dined with ease. There 
 are beside in other houses, thirty six of the same construction, 
 but of one half the contents. The reason assigned me that 
 porter is lighter on the stomach than other beer is, that it fer- 
 ments much more, and is by that means more spiritualised. I 
 was half sufibcated by letting in my nose over the working floor, 
 for I cannot call it vessel ; its area was much greater than many 
 Irish castles. Dined alone, having refused an invitation from 
 Mr. Boyd, in order to see Garrick, and I saw him, which I could 
 not have done, if I had stayed half an hour longer, the pit being 
 full at the first rush. Nor was I disappointed in my expectations, 
 tho' I cannot say he came up to what I had heard of him, but all 
 things appear worse by being forestalled by praises. His voice 
 is husky, and his person not near so elegant, as either Dodd's or 
 King's ; but then his look, his eye, is very superior. Lear 
 however was not I think a character, wherein he could display 
 himself. King's Copper Captain was nothing like Brown's, yet 
 he was very well in it. 
 
 15th. A fair day. Dined with Archdeacon Congreve, to 
 
246 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 whom Dr. S. Johnson was schoolfellow at Litchleld.^ The Doctor 
 had visited the Archdeacon yesterday, by which accident I learned 
 this circumstance. N.B. — Westminster, round St. John's Church, 
 is generally two stories high, very poor-like and deserted ; it 
 seems more wretched than the worst parts of Dublin, yet I have 
 heard Englishmen in Dublin say, that the worst parts of London 
 equalled the best of Dublin. In the evening I went with Dr. 
 Sims, to hear Collins lecture upon Oratory, at the Devil Tavern ; 
 and the fellow displayed good enunciation, and good sense. His 
 ridicule of the Scots, Welsh, and Irish, was passing well. Tho' 
 all his observations were from common place, yet the manner they 
 were delivered gave them weight. Speaking of the Preacher who 
 decrys action in the pulpit, I have shewn the sad effects of 
 emphasis misplaced : are we therefore to use no emphasis ? and 
 are we not to use action, because action (as I have shewn) may 
 become monstrous, but certainly action is dumb language ; else 
 the dumb could not render themselves intelligible, nor could 
 pictures speak. This, by the way, was not the lecturer's obser- 
 vation, but , consequently they who slight action deprive 
 
 themselves of half the force of expression, and that too perhaps 
 the most valuable ; for the language of words is artificial, of action, 
 natural ; and therefore the latter is universal, while the former is 
 only particular. 
 
 16th. A fair day. Dined with Mr. Thrale along with Dr. 
 Johnson, and Baretti. Baretti is a plain sensible man, who seems 
 to know the world well. He talked to me of the invitation given 
 him by the College of Dublm, but said it, (one hundred pounds a 
 year, and rooms,) was not worth his acceptance ; and if it had 
 been, he said, in point of profit, still he would not have accepted 
 it, for that now he could not live out of London. He had re- 
 turned a few years ago to his own country, but he could not 
 enjoy it ; and he was obliged to return to London, to those con- 
 nections he had been making for near thirty years past. He 
 told me he had several families, with whom, both in town and 
 country, he could go at any time, and spend a month : he is at 
 this time on these terms at Mr. Thrale's, and he knows how 
 to keep his ground. Talking as we were at tea of the mag- 
 nitude of the beer vessels, he said there was one thing in Mr. 
 Thrale's house, still more extraordinary ; meaning his wife. She 
 
 ^ Life, vol. iii. pp. 43, 44. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 247 
 
 gulped the pill very prettily — so much for Baretti ! Johnson, you 
 are the very man Lord Chesterfield describes : — a Hottentot 
 indeed, and tlio' your abilities are respectable, you never can be 
 respected yourself. He has the aspect of an Idiot, without the 
 faintest ray of sense gleaming from any one feature — with the 
 most awkward garb, and unpowdered grey wig, on one side only 
 of his head — he is for ever dancing the devil's jig, and sometimes 
 he makes the most driveling effort to whistle some thought in his 
 absent paroxisms. He came up to me and took me by the hand, 
 then sat down on a sofa, and mumbled out that he had heard two 
 papers had appeared against him in the course of this week — one 
 of which was — that he was to go to Ireland next summer in order 
 to abuse the hospitality of that place also. His awkwardness at 
 table is just what Chesterfield described, and his roughness of 
 manners kept pace with that. When Mrs. Thrale quoted some- 
 thing from Foster's " Sermons," he flew in a passion and said that 
 Foster was a man' of mean ability, and of no original thinking. 
 All which tho' I took to be most true, yet E held it not meet to 
 have it so set down. He said that he looked upon Burke to be 
 the author of Junius, and that though he would not take him 
 contra miindum, yet he would take him against any man. Baretti 
 was of the same mind, tho' he mentioned a fact which made 
 against the opinion, which was that a paper having appeared 
 against Junius, on this day, a Junius came out in answer to that 
 the very next, when (every body knew) Burke was in Yorkshire. 
 But all the Juniuses were evidently not written by the same 
 liand. Burke's brother is a good writer, tho' nothing like Edmund. 
 The doctor as he drinks no wine, retired soon after dinner, and 
 Barretti, who I see is a sort of literary toad eater to Johnson, 
 told me that he was a man nowise affected by praise or dispraise, 
 and that the journey to the Hebrides would never have been 
 published but for himself. The Doctor however returned again, 
 and with all the fond anxiety of an author, I saw him cast out all 
 his nets to know the sense of the town about his last pamphlet, 
 " Taxation no Tyranny," which he said did not sell. Mr. Thrale 
 told him such and such members of both houses admired it, and 
 why did you not tell me this, quoth Johnson. Thrale asked him 
 what Sir Joshua Reynolds said of it. Sir Joshua, quoth the 
 Doctor, has not read it. I suppose, quoth Thrale, he has been 
 very busy of late ; no, says the Doctor, but I never look at his 
 pictures, so he won't read my writings. Was this like a man in- 
 
248 DIAEY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 sensible to glory ! Thrale then asked him if he had got Miss 
 Reynolds' opinion, for she it seems is a politician ; as to that, 
 quoth the Doctor, it is no great matter, for she conld not tell 
 after she had read it, on which side of the question Mr, Burke's 
 speech was. IsT.B, — We had a great deal of conversation about 
 Archdeacon Congreve, who was his class-fellow at Litchfield 
 School. He talked of him as a man of great coldness of mind, 
 who could be two years in London without letting him know it 
 till a few weeks ago, and then apologising by saying, that he did 
 not know where to enquire for him. This plainly raised his 
 indignation, for he swelled to think that his celebrity should not 
 be notorious to every porter in the street. The Ai'chdeacon, he 
 told me, has a sermon upon the nature of moral good and evil, 
 preparing for the press, and should he die before publication, he 
 leaves fifty pounds for that purpose. He said he read some of it 
 to him, but that as he had interrupted him to make some remarks, 
 he hopes never to be troubled with another rehearsal. 
 
 17th. Patrick's day, fair — nothing remarkable occurred this 
 day. Dined with Tom Orr, where I met Lisson and other 
 Hibernians. Except the Duke of Leinster's chairmen and beggars, 
 I saw very few people wear Shamrougs. This night for the first 
 time played Loo, and came oflf a winner. 
 
 18th. Showery in the forenoon, and rainy in the afternoon, 
 and now it is pouring at eleven o'clock. In the morning I went 
 to the Tower alone, where I had a contest with one of the red- 
 coats who led me round. At first he blustered, and talked of 
 taking me to the Constable of the Tower ; but, upon my insisting 
 to go there, his crest fell, and he was fain to forego his exaction. 
 This I did merely to try the humour of the people. But people 
 are the same every where, individuals and customs and institutions 
 differ. This night I went to Covent garden, where maugre Mrs. 
 Barry's excellency's, " Edward and Eleonora " went off insipidly. 
 I bought an onyx cameo ring, the device a Madona's head, and 
 the face (happily) white, the rest of a cornelian colour, price two 
 guineas and two shillings. 
 
 19th. Hazy all day, interspersed with showers. Breakfasted 
 with Pierson, and took from him a box ticket for Miss Young's 
 benefit on Tuesday night — a place to be kept. I went to St. 
 James's, and saw the King and Queen go to Chappel. There 
 was more pomp than I expected, for among other errors I had 
 imbibed in Ireland, this was one, that the Lord Lieutenant in 
 
BY DB. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 249 
 
 Ireland appeared iii greater display of state than his Majesty ; 
 but the thing is impossible, for I think the Battle axe Guards is 
 all the apparatus of state in Ireland, but the men here dressed in 
 the same uniform with them, whose denomination I forget, are 
 more numerous, and besides the yeomen of the guard, and gentle- 
 men pensioners who line all the avenues from the presence 
 chamber to the Chappel, are more richly dressed than common 
 officers, not to say any thing of the nobility in office, maids of 
 honour, &c. Dined with Lord Dartrey, who lives a I'Anglois, or 
 rather Francois, the cloth not being at all removed, &c. There 
 was the celebrated Mrs. Carter, whom I should not have sus- 
 pected to be either an authoress or an old maid, for she was an 
 unaffected, plain, well -looking woman, yet they told me she has 
 translated Epictetus, and that her poems are beautiful. There 
 was also Miss Duckworth, who does not accompany Lady Dartrey 
 to Ireland in May. Coming home I stepped into St. James's 
 Church, where I saw a grave gentleman — Mr. Parker, reading a 
 lecture on the Catechism out of a book, but whether printed or 
 not, I could not decide. He warned his hearers that the quantity 
 of God's grace communicated did not depend on the quantity 
 of water wherewith the child was besprinkled, for that it was 
 originally immersion, which custom was changed in cold climates, 
 with other wise saws to the like effect. There were about a 
 hundred hearers thinly scattered, and there seemed not one for 
 each candle, and indeed I wonder how any body stayed in the 
 Church, I next stepped into St. Martin's, in the Strand, which 
 I saw lighted up, but I could get no further than the door, such 
 a crowd I never saw under one roof. And wherefore this — why, 
 there was one Harrison (as I learned) in the pulpit, who was the 
 very reverse of the other. No bombast-player in Tom Thumb, 
 {^r Chrononhoton, &c., ever so roared and so bellowed as he did, 
 and his matter was as lifeless as his manner was hyper-tragic. A 
 man at the door, from whom I learned his name, told me he was 
 a very good liver and a fine preacher, if he had not those ways 
 with him, yet here the poor fellow was deceived, for it was those 
 ways (as he called it) which made him pass for a fine preacher. 
 And this is a strong example, what action in the pulpit can 
 atchieve. When action is blamed, it is incongruous action. For 
 just action is the language of nature. Nothing is worse than 
 false emphasis, yet are we not to use emphasis ? 
 
 20th. A tolerable day, but showery : walked with Pierson 
 
250 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 over a great part of the city, which I had not seen, viz. : Moor- 
 fields, and Bartholomew's and Christ's Hospital, Bethlehem, &c. 
 Went in the evening to the " Suspicions Husband." Woodward 
 (for whose benefit it was), holds out wonderfully, he acts with as 
 much spirit as ever, but his looks grow too old for Ranger. The 
 Cataract in the entertainment of the "Druids" was amazingly 
 fine ; it was done, I suppose, by means of a wheel. The per- 
 spective too of the Piazza, Covent Garden, was excellent. 
 
 21st. A sweet, soft, and fair day. Strolled into the Chapter 
 Coffee-house, Ave Mary Lane, which I had heard was remarkable 
 for a large collection of books, and a reading Society. I sub- 
 scribed a shilling for the right of a year's reading, and found all 
 the new publications I sought, and I believe, what I am told, that 
 all the new books are laid in, some of which, to be sure, may be 
 lost or mislayed. Here I saw a specimen of English freedom, 
 viz., a whitesmith in his apron, and some of his saws under his 
 arm, came in, sat down, and called for his glass of punch and the 
 paper, both which he used with as much ease as a Lord — such a 
 man in Ireland, (and I suppose in France too, or almost any other 
 country) would not have shewn himself with his hat on ; nor 
 any way unless sent for by some gentleman : now, really every 
 other person in the room was well dressed. fl 
 
 Pierson dined with me at the Grecian, and we went together 91 
 to the play, and tho' both dressed we walked, for here it is not 
 indecorous as in Dublin, to wear a hat in the boxes. The play 
 was " Timanthes," very heavy, except the last act. Smith is a 
 mere ape of Barry. Palmer, a fine figure, and strong voice, and 
 if he had an atom of judgment, would be an actor, but he is a 
 wretched mouthing ranter. The farce was the " Irish Widow." 
 Mrs. Grevill was not equal to Mrs. Sparks, and Dodd in Kecks, 
 was nothing to Ryder. Slingsby danced after the play, the pro- 
 vencalle dance, with Signior Hidon, and admirably he did dance. 
 Between the acts of the farce, was introduced a dance called the 
 " Irish fair," into which was introduced several Irish tunes, a 
 hornpipe was danced to Thindu-deelas, a drum was introduced 
 on the stage to give it (a) hub-bub air ; but it would have still 
 been better, (tho' it was very well) if they had introduced the 
 bag-pipe also. As Slingsby was so excellent, the Irishry of to- 
 night went off well, though I don't think the farce hit the English 
 taste. Either I am mistaken, or the best of the English don't 
 think as ill of the Irish as I expected. Let me not forget to set 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 251 
 
 dovrn what Ryland, who is one of the first engravers, told me, 
 what indeed I had always heard in Ireland, that old West was 
 the best drawer in red chalks at Paris, of his time, and that for 
 drawing in general he was the best scholar of Venloo. I re- 
 member Dixon, at West's Academy, whose drawing, he says, is 
 better than any other mettzotinto scraper's. Burke is his scholar, 
 and he is now among the first, so that all the scrapers have been 
 Irish, except one, (Earlom) McArdell was the first of his time, 
 then Fry, now AVatson, Fisher, Dixon, Burke, &c. quere. 
 
 22nd. A fair day. Nothing remarkable. 
 
 2ard. Fair also, but rain at night. Dined at the Bedford, 
 where I met Dr. Jackson, lamenting the state of his wife from 
 the case of the Perrans, her brothers. I went to Ranelagh, 
 where there were few ladies, except of pleasure. The room 
 beautiful, and about four times the size of the Rotunda, but 
 Almack's rooms are by far the finest I have yet seen. The ball- 
 room is above 90 by 40, the serpentine wreath round the pillars 
 was prettily painted, and every thing finished in the best manner. 
 The tables were laid out in the rooms under this for supper ; 
 the display for the dessert was sumptuous, and in short every 
 thing in the most elegant style. Called on Lord Dacre for Fom- 
 bell's papers, he asked me to dine. I find the first method of 
 conciliating an Englishman, is to praise England. 
 
 24th. A fair day. Called on Mr. Coombe with Dean Wood- 
 w^ard's letter, he received me with great courtesy, called also at 
 Dr. Campbell's, but found him not at home. Dined from mere 
 curiosity at a shilling ordinary in the Strand, where I own I was 
 better pleased at the adventure, for such I call it, than any thing 
 I saw in London yet. For it exhibited a view of people, who 
 affected somewhat above themselves, better than anything I have 
 seen in real life. The company was mostly Scotch, and they 
 called each other. Colonel, or Captain, or Doctor. There were 
 
 two or three s and an old highland Pai-son, who, being much 
 
 of his life abroad, had almost forgot the Erse, and had not learned 
 much English. They talked high of Lords and Lady's and their 
 engagements with them, &c. 
 
 25th. Eddying Avinds in the forenoon, rendered the streets very 
 disagreeable with dust, which was laid in the evening by ram 
 from three. Dined at Mr. Thrale's, where there were ten or 
 more gentlemen, and but one lady besides Mrs. Thrale. The 
 dinner was excellent : first course, soups at head and foot re- 
 
252 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 moved by fish and a saddle of mutton ; second course, a fowl they 
 call Galena at head, and a capon larger than some of our Irish 
 turkeys at foot ; third course, four different sorts of Ices, Pine- 
 apple, Grape, Raspberry and a fourth ; in each remove, there 
 were I think fourteen dishes. The two first courses were served 
 in massy plate. I sat beside Baretti, which was to me the richest 
 part of the entertainment. He and Mr. and Mrs. Thrale joyn'd 
 in expressing to me Dr. Johnson's concern, that he could not 
 give me the meeting that day, but desired that I should go and 
 see him. Baretti was very humourous about liis new publication,^ 
 which he expects to put out next month. He there introduces 
 a dialogue about Ossian, wherein he ridicules the idea of its double 
 translation into Italian, in hopes, he said, of having it abused by 
 the Scots, which would give it an imprimatur for a second edition, 
 and he had stipulated for twenty five guineas additional if the 
 first should sell in a given time. He repeated to me upon 
 memory, the substance of the letters which passed between Dr. 
 Johnson and Mr. McPherson. The latter tells the Doctor, that 
 neither his age nor infirmity's should protect him if he came in his 
 way. The Doctor responds that no menaces of any rascal should 
 intimidate him from detecting imposture wherever he met it. 
 
 26th. Rain in the morning, hail about one, rain at three, and a 
 copious fall of snow at night. This day was the first on which I 
 heard good preaching in England, and indeed Mr. Warner has in 
 my sight redeemed the honour of his nation, for he is positively 
 the best deliverer of a discourse I ever heard. He is the very 
 thing I have often conceived a preacher ought to be, and his 
 manner is what I should have aimed at, had it been my lot to be 
 a preacher in any great city. He does not, as he ought not, rely 
 on his notes. He makes excursions, and unwritten effusions 
 which prevail over the warmest, the boldest compositions ; and 
 then when he hath exhausted such sentiments as present them- 
 selves, he returns to his notes, and takes up the next head, 
 according to his preconceived arrangement. By this discreet 
 conduct, he avoids the frozen, beaten track of declamation, and 
 keeps clear of the labyrinth of nonsense into which those en- 
 thusiasts wander, whose vanity or liypocracy rejects the clue of 
 composition. This day furnished me with a new fact. I learned 
 that, according to the custom of London, any person may build a 
 
 ^ Life, vol. iii. p. 34. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 25^ 
 
 chappel, and by license of the Bishop, preach and pray in it 
 publickly. This Mr. Warner has done, and his income arises from 
 renting the seats. This house, called Tavistock Chappel must 
 bring a goodly revenue, for it is capacious, of the square figure, 
 and well filled. Indeed it ever must be so while its pulpit is so- 
 well filled. Dined this day with Mr. Combe who is an easy sen- 
 sible man, his daughters are not to be as handsome as either 
 father or mother, tho' like both, the elder taller than her mother. 
 I saw three girls and two boys, these are young. This I set 
 down lest I should forget it before I see Mrs. Woodward and the 
 Dean. N.B. I since hear that Warner has sold his chappel for 
 four thousand five hundred pounds ; so these shops for preaching 
 are bought and sold like other warehouses or theatres. N.B. 
 Mr. Combe told me from his own knowledge, that the paving of 
 Oxford Street came but to between nineteen and twenty thousand 
 pounds, for it is current in London that it cost forty thousand. 
 
 27th. Frost in the morning, and light falls of snow all day. 
 Went to see Reynold's pictures. His manner is certainly the 
 true sublime, the colours seem laid on so coarsely that quivis 
 speret idem. Gainsborough's I looked at afterwards, but his 
 work seems laboured with small pencils ; I dont think he paints^ 
 as well as Hunter in Dublin. What a pity that Reynold's colours 
 do not stand, they want body, they seem glazed. Went to the 
 Pantheon in the evening, it is a beautiful room and highly finished^ 
 with colours^ of paste resembling porphiry, or Armagh marble 
 rather ; but after all the orchestra seemed by no means of a 
 piece, and awkwardly disposed ; the circular not so large as the 
 Rotunda, but with the Piazza it holds more, beside the gallery 
 and great tea room below, equal to the whole area above, and be- 
 sides the several rooms off it. There was the Prussian Ambas- 
 sador, a white faced, white haired northern-like man, he had" 
 nothing of sensibility in his countenance — Lord Stormont no very 
 sage looking man. The Duke of Cumberland and Lady Grosvenor, 
 a fine woman lost to all sense of modesty, met over and over, and 
 looked away from each other. Lord Lyttleton a mean looking 
 person, but of no mean understanding. Lady Archer painted 
 like a doll, but handsome, her feathers nodded like the plumes of 
 Mambrino's helmet. There seem to be fewer ugly women among 
 the English than the Irish, but I cannot say they are more hand- 
 
 ^ Co\\\vc\nsl— Editor. 
 
254 DIARY OP A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 some. Lady Townshend was by most people reckoned the 
 handsomest woman there, but if Lady Grosvenor was modest, and 
 her complexion natural, she would be my beauty. They say she 
 has .... Lord Hinchinbroke. The singing by the Italian woman, 
 who is handsome and of expressive gesticulation, was beyond any 
 thing I could conceive in the compass of a voice. Garrick was 
 there, and by no means that well limbed man I have heard him 
 cried up for, but his eye is excellence. N.B. I forgot to set down 
 an article of the day, I dined last at Thrale's. Barretti complained 
 that Major Valiancy had treated him ill in his discourse on the 
 antiquity of the Irish language, by saying that he had misrepre- 
 sented the copy he gave of Biscayan Pater-noster, for says he, I 
 <juote one, he quotes another, and a fifth might be quoted all 
 different from each other, now says he, I could not misrepresent, 
 for I could not understand, and the fact is, I did not misrepresent, 
 for I can produce the book from whence I quoted. 
 
 28th. The coldest day I felt this season, rain, hail, snow, 
 :and sleet. Dined with Lord Dacre, and I cannot help remarking 
 how similar all the great dinners I have met with are, the soup, 
 fish, and saddle of mutton, turkey and pidgeons, &c. ; second 
 •course : ices and fruits, dessert. He affects knowledge particu- 
 larly of antiquity. Here dined the man from whom I conjecture 
 Foote drew his Cadwallader, if he is not the original, he certainly 
 is like Foote's Cadwallader, his name is something like Cousbel 
 
 or . N.B. The two Ropers, and the wife to one of 
 
 -them. A pint of claret I think, was not consumed. Plere, as 
 ■almost every where else in England, I found a strong partiality 
 in favour of their own country ; the intense coldness of the day, 
 gave occasion to talk of the weather, and it was agreed that 
 Paris had sometimes as bad, a lady bridling herself said " every 
 one allows that we have every thing better than the French 
 ^except climate, and I, who have spent much of my time in Paris, 
 tthink that we have even a better climate." 
 
 A few days ago, in a large company, it was argued that 
 Englishmen had no right to talk so loud in favour of liberty, as 
 they enslaved without mercy the blacks abroad. A young man 
 in a passion exclaimed, that God Almighty had made them slaves, 
 for they were black, flat-nosed, and negros, and then concluded 
 -with Old England for ever. 
 
 29th. Intensely cold, the streets were white with snow 
 About twelve o'clock, which soon melted and the snow came 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL 255 
 
 on again at tive. N.B. Leoni, for which I paid two pounds 
 five and sixpence, is but one pound seven in the Catah)gue here. 
 
 30th. Colder, if possible, hail and snow showers all day, id est, 
 at intervals. Dined at the Grecian with Mr. Rose of Dublin, 
 and went with him to Covent Garden to see the Barrys in the 
 " Grecian Daughter," but could not get seats a little after five, 
 so I went to the two shilling gallery in Drury Lane, and saw 
 the " Distressed Mother " most distressingly performed for the 
 benefit of Slingsby, whose tambourine dance made some amends, 
 and King in the " Peep from behind the curtain " was excellent, 
 not that the composition was so, but there was something ridicu- 
 lous enough in Orpheus calling Eurydice to sleep, and in his 
 setting men, cows, sheep, &c., a dancing. Miss Young was very 
 poor in " Hermione," perhaps she would not have appeared so, 
 if I had not seen Mrs. Fitzhenry, and the creature who did 
 Andromache,* was not fit to be a scullion in Hector's kitchen. 
 
 31st. Fair, but cold. I read the answer to " Taxation no 
 Tyranny." It reprobates Johnson's position of the supremacy 
 of even the Legislature, forasmuch as all power originates in the 
 people, and is only delegated to a few for the good of the whole. 
 This is the limit of their power, and whenever that is overleaped, 
 the supremacy reverts to the people, they are ipso facto invested 
 with the right of resistance, for would it not be absurd to sup- 
 pose that fourteen millions of people should be a sacrifice to one 
 thousand. The parallel too between the American assemblys, 
 and the parish vestry's doth not apply, for many reasons, but 
 principally for this, that the assemblys cannot of themselves 
 legislate, the concurrence of the Crown is necessary, but with 
 this consent an act of assembly becomes a law binding upon 
 that province, but this is not the case with the vestry. The 
 distinction of actual and virtual representation is sophistical, for 
 representation is a right appendant, not to persons, but things, 
 id est, property ; so that American property can neither be 
 actually or virtually represented in a British parlement. Be- 
 sides, there is this to be said for a British parlement taxing all 
 the people of Britain, whether represented or not ; the Commons 
 lay no greater burdens upon the shoulders of others, than on 
 their own, they pay every tax in common with every other 
 subject; whereas the British parlement would share none of the 
 load laid on America, and therefore, could not sympathise with 
 it in its sufferings therefrom, and consequently its taxation is in 
 
256 DIARY OP A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 equity, incompetent. It is also in justice, for the American 
 Charters granted by the several English Kings, were either with 
 or without the consent of parlement, if the former be the case, 
 then the Charters have all the qualities of a law ; if the latter, 
 (without the express consent) still they had the tacit consent, 
 and consequently the British parlement, acquiescing so long 
 under the Americans being governed by their own laws, yields a 
 prescriptive right, which they cannot now injustice invalidate. 
 
 April 1st. A fair day, dined at Mr. Thrale's, whom in proof 
 of the magnitude of London, I cannot help remarking, no coach- 
 man, and this is the third I have called, could find without 
 enquiry. But of this by the way. There was Murphy, Bos- 
 well, and Baretti, the two last, as I learned just before I entered, 
 are mortal foes, so much so that Murphy and Mrs. Thrale agreed 
 that Boswell expressed a desire that Baretti should be hanged 
 upon that unfortunate affair of his killing, &c. Upon this hint, 
 I went and without any sagacity, it was easily discernable, for 
 upon Baretti's entenng, Boswell did not rise, and upon Baretti's 
 descry of Boswell, he grinned a perturbed glance. Politeness 
 however smooths the most hostile brows, and theirs were 
 smoothed. Johnson was the subject, both before and after 
 dinner, for it was the boast of all but myself, that under that 
 roof were the Doctor's first friends. His bon mots were retailed 
 in such plenty, that they, like a surfeit, could not lye upon my 
 memory. Boswell arguing in favour of a cheerful glass, adduced 
 the maxim in vino Veritas, " well," says Johnson, " and what 
 then unless a man has lived a lye." B. then urged that it made 
 a man forget all his cares, " that, to be sure " says Johnson 
 " might be of use if a man sat by such a person as you." Bos- 
 well confessed that he liked a glass of whiskey in the Highland 
 tour, and used to take it ; at length says Johnson, " let me try 
 wherein the pleasure of a Scotsman consists," and so tips off a 
 brimmer of whiskey. But Johnson's abstemiousness is new to 
 him, for within a few years he would swallow two bottles of Port 
 without any apparent alteration, and once in the company with 
 whom I dined this day, he said, " pray Mr. Thrale give us 
 another bottle." It is ridiculous to pry so nearly into the move- 
 ments of such men, yet Boswell can-ies it to a degree of super- 
 stition. The Doctor it appears has a custom of putting the peel 
 of oranges into his pocket, and he asked the Doctor what use he 
 made of them, the Doctor's reply was, that his dearest friend 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 257 
 
 should not know that. This has made poor Boswell nnhappj, 
 and I verily think he is as anxious to know the secret as a green 
 sick girl. N.B. The book wherewith Johnson presented the 
 highland lady was Cocker's Arithmetic. 
 
 Dr. Johnson calls the act in " Braganza " with the monk, 
 paralytick on one side ; i.e.^ the monk is introduced without any 
 notification of his character, so that any other monk, or any other 
 person might as well be introduced in the same place, and for the 
 same purpose. And I myself say, that Velasquez quitting his 
 hold of the Dutchess, upon sight of the monk, is an effect without 
 a sufficient cause. The cool, intrepid character of Velasquez 
 required that he should either have dispatched, or attempted to 
 dispatch the monk, and then there would have been a pretext for 
 losing hold of the Dutchess. The Duke is a poor, tame animal, 
 and by no means equal to his historic character. A whimsical 
 incident I was witness to there. Murphy told a very comical 
 story of a Scotchman's interview with Dr. Johnson, upon his 
 earnest desire of being known to the Doctor. This was Boswell 
 himself.^ N.B. " The Tour to the Western Isles " was written 
 m twenty days, and the " Patriot " in three. " Taxation no 
 Tyranny " withm a week, and not one of them would have yet 
 seen the light, had it not been for Mrs. Thrale and Baretti, who 
 stirred him up by laying wagers. 
 
 April 2nd. Fair. I went to the Chapel Royal, and heard the 
 Bishop of Bangor preach. His subject was on these two com- 
 mandments^ &c. His object was to prove that piety and virtue 
 went hand in hand, and could not exist separately. His proofs 
 were taken first, from the state of paganism, whereas the theology 
 was more or less refined, so was their morality more or less pure, 
 and from experience of persons whose virtuous qualities were 
 generally adequate to their notions of the Divinity ; then he 
 showed the inefficacy of the motives from the fitness of things, or 
 the beauty of virtue, and so resolved all into the will of God. 
 He touched upon the folly of enthusiasm, and instanced the 
 violence of the Fanaticks in the last century, to impress a sense 
 of the error of religion consisting merely in devotion ; then he 
 glanced at the licentious reign which followed ; then ended 
 abruptly by saying that this was neither time nor place for dis- 
 
 ^ Essay on the Life and Genius of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.,by Arthur 
 Murphy, Esq., prefixed to Johnson's Works, Lond., 1792, vol. i., p. 10b j 
 anrl reprinted in this volume. — Editor. 
 
 VI. S 
 
258 DIA.RT OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 cussing that matter. N.B. The Bishop of London read the 
 communion service, but not according to the rubric, for at the 
 let us pray, after the commandments, he did not turn round to 
 the communion table. In the evening I went to St. Martin's, in 
 hopes of hearing Harrison, and the church was very full, from the 
 same expectations ; but we were all disappointed, for Dr. Scott, 
 (Anti-Sejanus) mounted the pulpit, and as I could not well hear 
 him, tho' just behind the pulpit, I went off to St. Stephens, 
 Wallbrook, not for the purpose of hearing, for I knew not wlio 
 was to be there, but of seeing the Church, which is reckoned tlie 
 handsomest in the world. They tell the following story of it, that 
 Lord Burlington, who was the patron of architecture, saw in 
 Ttaly a Church which he so admired and bepraised, that he got 
 drawings made of it as the chef dceuvre of human skill, but being 
 told that it was a copy from Sir C. Wren's Wallbrook, he could 
 not believe it, till he examined it ; and what is very remarkable, 
 they add, that coming late into London, he drove there directly, 
 and viewed it by candle light. This is the story in London, but 
 as Sir Christopher stole his plan of St. Paul's from St. Peter's, 
 why may it not be expected that the Italian Church is the 
 original, and not the copy. It revolts against the costume, that 
 an Italian Architect would borrow models from London. N.B. 
 Lazarus is a good text for a sermon on the immortality of the 
 soul, forasnuich as the only moral proof of it arises from the 
 sufferings of the good, and the enjoyments of the wicked in this 
 life. 
 
 April 3rd. Fair. I went to the British Museum. The sight 
 was so various, that it is hard to remember any thing distinctly, 
 but what pleased me most was the ruins of Herculaneum. The 
 original Magna Charta of King John was in the Harleian, I think. 
 The shell for which a Cardinal gave five hundred pounds, I would 
 be sorry to give five pence for, unless merely because it is a 
 specimen of human folly. The magnitude of the crocodile 
 (twenty feet) and the horn (five feet at least) growing out of the 
 nose of the unicorn fish, were extraordinary to me. The form of 
 the pulpits was curious. A cylindrical form with spiral geo- 
 metrical stall's issuing from the central upright. This evening I 
 sketched out a letter on the method to read the Liturgy. 
 
 N.B. The transparent picture of Vesuvius, in the last eruption 
 from the side, done by direction of Sir William Hamilton, was 
 very well. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 259 
 
 April 4th. A drizzling ruin from ten to four. I went to the 
 House of Lords, on tlie Montague appeal and heard Lords Mans- 
 field, Camden, and the great lawyers at the bar. This night I 
 finished mv address to the Clergy on the Liturgy. 
 
 April 5th. Dined with Dilly in the Poultry/ as guest to Mr. 
 Boswell, where I met Dr. Johnson, (and a Mr. Miller, who lives 
 near Bath, who is a dilletanti man, keeps a weekly day for the 
 Litterati, and is himself so litterate, that he gathereth all the 
 flowers that ladies write, andbindeth into a garland, but enough of 
 him) with several otliers, particularly a Mr. Scott, who seems to 
 be a very sensible plain man. The Doctor, when I came in, had 
 an answer, titled '* Taxation and Tyranny " to his last pamphlet, 
 in his hand. He laughed at it, and said he would read no more 
 of it, for that it paid him compliments, but gave him no informa- 
 tion. He asked if there were any more of them. I told him I 
 had seen another, and that the " Monthly Review " had handled 
 it in what I believed he called the way of information. " Well," 
 says he, " I should be glad to see it." Then Boswell (who under- 
 stands his temper well) asked him somewhat, for I was not 
 attending, relative to the Provincial Assemblies. The Doctor, in 
 process of discourse with him, argued with great vehemence that 
 the Assemblies were nothing more than our Vestries. I asked 
 him, was there not this difierence, that an Act of the Assemblies 
 required the King's assent to pass into a law : his answer had more 
 of wit than of argument. "Well Sir," says he, " that only gives 
 it more weight." I thought I had gone too far, but dinner was 
 then announced, and Dilly, who paid all attention to him, in 
 placing him next to the fire, said, " Doctor, perhaps you will be 
 too warm." "No Sir," says the Doctor, "I am neither hot nor 
 cold." " And yet," said I " Doctor, y(m are not a lukewarm 
 man." This I thought pleased him, and as I sat next him, I had 
 a fine opportunity of attending to his phiz ; and I could clearly 
 see he was fond of having his quaint things laughed at, and they 
 (without any force) gi-atified my propensity to affuse grinning. 
 Mr. Dilly led him to give his opinion of men and things, of which 
 he is very free, and Dilly will probably retail them all. Talking 
 of the Scotch, (after Boswell was gone) he said, though they were 
 not a learned nation, yet they were far removed from ignorance. 
 Learning was new among them, and he doubted not but they 
 
 ^ Life, vol. ii., p. 310. 
 
260 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 would in time be a learned people, for they were a fine, bold enter- 
 prising people. He compared England and Scotland to two lions, 
 the one saturated ^ with his belly full, and the other prowling for 
 prey. But the test he offered to prove that Scotland, tho' it had 
 learning enough for common life, yet had not sufficient for the 
 dignity of literature, was, that he defied any one to produce a 
 classical book, written in Scotland since Buchannan. Robertson, 
 he said, used pretty words, but he liked Hume better, and 
 neither of them would he allow to be more to Clarendon, than a' 
 rat to a cat. " A Scotch surgeon," says he " may have more 
 learning than an English one, and all Scotland could not muster 
 learning enough for Louth's prelections." Turning to me, he said, 
 "you have produced classical writers and scholars ; I don't know," 
 says he, " that any man is before Usher, as a scholar, unless it may be 
 Selden, and you have a philosopher, Boyle, and you have Swift 
 and Congreve, but the latter, says he, " denied you ; " and he 
 might have added the former too. He then said, you cer- 
 tainly have a turn for the drama, for you have Southerne and 
 Farquhar and Congreve, and many living authors and players. 
 Encouraged by this, I went back to assert the genius of Ireland 
 in old times, and ventured to say that the first professors of 
 Oxford and Paris, &c., &c., were Irish. " Sir," says he, " I 
 believe there is something in what you say, and I am content with 
 it, sifice they are not Scotch.'" This day I went to Guildhall, and 
 waited for above an hour before the Lord Mayor came. He, 
 Wilkes, was rather worse than I expected to find him, for he 
 labours under baldness, increpitude, and want of teeth ; from the 
 hedge of the teeth being removed, his tongue is for ever tres- 
 passing upon his lips, whereof the undermost, together with the 
 chin, projects very far. He went to the front of the Hustings, 
 where he was clapped as a player more than once before he spoke, 
 tho' I was removed from him but the breadth of the green table, 
 I could not make out all he said, (which was not much, but it was) 
 in reprobating the measures of the Ministry towards the Americans. 
 lie then sat down, and Captain Allen, after making a speech too 
 trivial for a mountebank, yet he too was applaiided, read the 
 address, petition, and remonstrance, which will be in the prints. 
 Talking of Addison's timidity keeping him down so that he never 
 spoke in the House of Commons was, he said, much more blame- 
 
 satiated ? 
 
 I 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 261 
 
 worthy, than if he had attempted and failed, as a man is more 
 praiseworthy who fights and is beaten, than he who runs away. 
 
 April 6th. Light showers, dined with Lord Dartrey, who 
 promised to print Swift's letter next week. I went in the even- 
 ing to the Italian Opera in the Haymarket, for Lestini's benefit. 
 An Italian Opera is not so absurd an entertainment as I expected, 
 for it is nearly as intelligible as if it were in English, considering 
 the inarticulation of the words by the singers. The grand 
 absurdity lies against an Opera at large, i.e. an attempt to express 
 the passions by singing, and yet the action of Italian performers 
 is so just, that their language of dumb show would be intelligible 
 without the aid of song. However this was the first, and it shall 
 be the last sacrifice I shall make of sense to sound. 
 
 Apbil 7th. Cold in the morning, with some rain, but it turned 
 out a fine day. I went down to Greenwich, and viewed the 
 Hospital, and the outside of Flamstead's Observatory, the inside 
 not being to be seen without some special order, on account of 
 some thefts committed. I walked from thence to Woolwich, and 
 viewed the Dockyard, particularly a seventy-four gun ship not 
 finished, which is truly a monstrous vessel. In the Warren, as it 
 is called, I saw great number of cannon and bombs piled up in 
 huge pyramids and prisms, large as Irish turf stacks. This is a 
 poor place, as I suppose all places must be that depend on letting 
 lodgings. The prospect from King John's palace, (as they call 
 it) about midway between Greenwich and Woolwich, was fine, 
 the bow of the river bending in a sweet curve. 
 
 N.B. There were hawthorn trees in Greenwich Park almost 
 full in leaf, as they ^vere quite green. There were others how- 
 ever not so forward, apple trees in full blossom. 
 
 April 8th. Yery cold, and some rain, but not enough to allay 
 the blowing of the dust. Dined with Thrale,^ where Dr. Johnson 
 was, and Boswell, (and Baretti as usual.) The Doctor was not 
 in as good spirits as he was at Dilly's. He had supped the night 
 
 before with Lady Miss JefFry's, (me of the maids of honour. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, &c., at Mrs. Abington's. He said Sir C. 
 Thompson, and some others who were there, spoke like people 
 who had seen good company, and so did Mrs. Abington herself, 
 who could not have seen good company. He seems fond of 
 Boswell, and yet he is always abusing the Scots before him, by 
 
 ' Life, vol. ii., p. 318. 
 
262 DIA.RY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 way of joke, talking of their nationality, he said they were not 
 singular : the Negros and Jews being so too. Boswell lamented 
 there was no good map of Scotland. " There never can be a 
 good (map) of Scotland," says the Doctor sententiously. This 
 excited Boswell to ask wherefore. " Why Sir, to measure land, 
 a man must go over it ; but who could think of going over 
 Scotland." ^ When Dr. Goldsmith was mentioned, and Dr. Percy's 
 intention of writing his life, he expressed his approbation strongly, 
 adding that Goldsmith was the best writer he ever knew, upon 
 every subject he wrote upon. He said that Kendric had borrowed 
 all his dictionary from him. " Why," says Boswell, " every man 
 who writes a dictionary must borrow." " No Sir," says Johnson, 
 " that is not necessary." " Why," says Boswell, " have not you a 
 great deal in common with those who wrote before you," "Yes Sir," 
 says Johnson, " I have the words, but my business was not to 
 make words but to explain them." Talking of Garrick and Barry, 
 he said he always abused Garrick himself, but when anybody else 
 did so, he fought for the dog like a tiger ; as to Barry, he said he 
 supposed he could not read. " And how does he get his part ? " 
 says one, " Why, somebody reads it to him, and yet I know," says 
 he, " that he is very much admired." Mrs. Thrale then took him 
 by repeating a repartee of Murphy, the setting Barry up in com- 
 petition with Garrick, is what irritates the English Criticks, and 
 Murphy standing up for Barry. Johnson said that he was fit for 
 nothing but to stand at an auction room door with his pole. 
 Murphy said that Garrick would do the business as well, and pick 
 the people's pockets at the same time. Johnson admitted the 
 fact, but said. Murphy spoke nonsense, for that people's pockets 
 were not picked at the door,^ but in the room ; then said I, he 
 was worse than the pick-pockets, forasmuch as he was Bandar to 
 them, this went off with a laugh. Vive la bagatelle. It was a 
 case decided here, that there was no harm, and much pleasure in 
 laughing at our absent friends, and I own, if the character is not 
 damaged, I can see no injury done. 
 
 April 9th. A fair day, went to St. Clements to hear Mr. 
 Burrows, so cried up by Lord Dartrey, preach, but I was wofuUy 
 disappointed ; his matter is cold, his manner hot, his voice weak, 
 and his action affected. Indeed I thought he preached from a 
 printed book, a book it certainly was, and it seemed at my distance, 
 
 1 Life, vol. ii., p. 324. '^ Life, vol. ii., p. 319. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 263 
 
 which was the perpendicular to the side of the pulpit, to have a 
 broad margin like print, and he did not seem master of it, yet he 
 affected much emphasis and action. Dined with Mr. Combe, and 
 spent the evening with Dr. Campbell. 
 
 April 10th. Rain, but not enough to soften the asperity of 
 the weather. Dined with General Oglethorpe,^ who was in lieu 
 of Aid-de-Camp, (for he had no such officer about him) to Prince 
 Eugene, and celebrated by Mr. Pope. Dr. Johnson pressed 
 him to write his life ;" adding, that no life in Europe was so well 
 worth recording. The old man excused himself, saying the life 
 of a private man was not worthy public notice. He however 
 desired Boswell to bring him some good Almanack, that he 
 might recollect dates, and seemed to excuse himself also on the 
 article of incapacity, but Boswell desired him only to furnish the 
 skeleton, and that Dr. Johnson would supply bones and sinews. 
 '' He would be a good Doctor," says the General, " who would do 
 that." '"Well," says I, "he is a good Doctor," at which he, 
 the Doctor, laughed very heartily. Talking of America, it was 
 observed that his works would not be admired there. " No," 
 says Boswell, " we shall soon hear of his being hung in effigy." 
 " I should be glad of that," says the Doctor, " that would be a 
 new source of fame ; " alluding to some conversation on the 
 fulness of his fame which had gone before. And says Boswell, 
 " I wonder he has not been hung in effigy from the Hebrides to 
 England." " I shall suffer them to do it corporeally," says the 
 Doctor, " if they can find me a tree to do it upon." 
 
 The Poem of the Graces became the topic ; Boswell asked if 
 he had never been under the hands of a dancing master. "Aye, 
 and a dancing mistress too," says the Doctor, " but I own to you 
 I never took a lesson but one or two, my blind eyes showed me 
 I could never make a proficiency." Boswell led him to give his 
 opinion of Gray, he said there were but two good stanzas in all 
 his works, viz., the elegy. Boswell desirous of eliciting his opinion 
 upon too many subjects, as he thought, he rose up and took his hat. 
 This was not noticed by anybody as it was nine o'clock, but 
 after we got into Mr. Langton's coach, who gave us a set down, 
 he said, "Boswell's conversation consists entirely in asking ques- 
 tions, and it is extremely offensive," we defended it upon Bos- 
 well's eagerness to hear the Doctor speak. ^ 
 
 ' Life, vol. ii., p. 319. ^ Life, vol. ii., p. 321. 
 
 ' B»»8vvell concludes his account of this dinner party with " He 
 
264 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 Talking of suicide, Boswell took up the defence for argament'3 
 sake, and the Doctor said that some cases were more excusable 
 than others, but if it were excusable, it should be the last 
 resource ; " for instance," says he, " if a man is distressed in 
 circumstances, (as in the case I mentioned of Denny) he ought 
 to fly his country." " How can he fly," says Boswell, " if he 
 has wife and children ? " " What Sir," says the Doctor, shaking 
 his head as if to promote the fermentation of his wit, " doth 
 not a man fly from his wife and children if he murders him- 
 self? " i 
 
 April 11th. Fair from ten, bought , &c. Supped with 
 
 Mr. Crawford at the Adelphi, where, except a Dr. Wilkinson, 
 the company was all Irish, and with the burning zeal of their 
 country, violent patriots in their own opinion. 
 
 April 12tli. Fair. ; went to Kensington, where the ground is 
 in many places so bad, that the trees were stunted and ranpiked, 
 as they call it in Ireland. Dined with Mosse and Rose at the|H 
 Exchange Cofice House, where things were dear and bad. ^| 
 
 13th. Fair and cold. Went to see the King proceed from 
 St. James's, to give the Royal Assent to the Restraining Bill.^ 
 Strolled with Mosse. fl 
 
 14th. Fair. Good Friday; went to hear Dr. Dodd, who is™l 
 cryed up as the first preacher in London, at his own Chapel. 
 He reads better than he preaches ; for in the pulpit he leans too 
 much upon his notes, his eyes are seldom off" them, yet he uses 
 the action of an extempore delivery, which makes a jarring 
 jumble. His manner is infinitely superior to his matter, which 
 was a poor and unsuccessful attempt upon the passions. He 
 said the merits of Christ were applied to us, just as a man's 
 paying a money debt for another was deemed a discharge for 
 the debt, and he said that as the merits of Christ extended from 
 the rising up of the sun to the going down of the same, so they 
 extended equally a parte ante et post since creation, to those who 
 never heard the name ; z.e., Jesus Christ was a vicarious sacrifice 
 as well for those who lived before him, as those who have lived 
 
 (Johnson) was not muck in the humour of talking." Vol. ii,, p. 321. — 
 Editor. 
 
 ^ This was the bill to restrain the trade and commerce of the colonies 
 of New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, and South Cai'olina 
 to any part of Great Britain, Ireland, and the West India Islands, April 
 13th, 177;"). Annual Register, p. 107. — Editor. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 265 
 
 since ; and as well for those who never heard of him, as those 
 wlio have faith in his name. 
 
 N.B. The shops were not shut up to-day, farther than that 
 some of them had a single board standing up. The paviours 
 went on as all other workmen did, and the ladies went to their 
 exercise in Hyde Park as usual. N.B. Dodd did not read the 
 Communion service rubrically, for he kneeled at the beginning, 
 and tho' it was a fast day, he and his coadjutors wore surplices. 
 Supped Avith Jack Day, and a set of Irish. 
 
 April 15th. Heavy rain till twelve, yet without softening 
 the asperity of the weather. 
 
 April 16th. Rain till nine. The weather softer, but boiste- 
 rous still. Went to hear Harrison, at Brompton Chapel, his 
 discourse incoherent, and delivered in the gout of a spouter. It 
 is ridiculous in these fellows, whose eyes are scarce ever off their 
 book, to affect the animation of extemporaneous warmth, yet this 
 man's composition inclined to vehemence. Talking of the cor- 
 ruption of the present times he said Christians professed a creed 
 indeed, but acted as if they had no belief, they offered a public 
 sacrifice as on this day, yet they lived as if they sacrificed to the 
 Devil. His text was llomans vi., 5. Dined with Archdeacon 
 Congreve, my Lord Primate came there in the evening. He 
 asked me sneeringly if I had seen the lions. I told him I had 
 neither seen them nor the crown, nor the jewels, nor the whisper- 
 ing gallery at St. Paul's. The conversation turned upon other 
 things, and came round to his picture by Reynolds, which led on 
 talk of Sir Joshua and other great artists, and without any force, 
 I introduced something of Johnson. " What," says he, " do you 
 know him ? " " Yes my Lord I do, and Baretti, and several 
 others, whom I have been fortunate enough to find willing to 
 extend my acquaintance among their friends, for these, my Lord, 
 were the lions I came to see in London." " Aye," says he, 
 " these indeed are lions worth seeing, and the sight of them may 
 be of use to you." He soon after talked to me if my brother 
 were not curate to Dr. Bissett, and whether he was not contem- 
 porary with Scott, whom he looked upon, he said, as a friend to 
 the Clergy. He asked me if somebody else had not spoke to 
 him about my brother. I mentioned Lord Chief Justice 
 Patterson. He spoke in such a way, that I take it in my 
 head, he will do something for him out of this living of Donagh- 
 more. 
 
266 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 April. 17th. Showery, yet the air not yet softened. Disap- 
 pointed of a ticket for the Lord Mayor's Ball. 
 
 18th. Went in one of the Brentford coaches to Kew Bridge, 
 walked from thence along the Thames, (N.B. — A smart shower 
 then) to Richmond, near which I met the King with a single 
 gentleman, and two of the Princes. I did not know him till I 
 was cheek for jowl with him, (jowl here I apply to his Majesty) 
 and then I took off my hat ; sometime before I met the King I 
 overtook a boy of fifteen or sixteen, dressed in flannel, or some- 
 thing of that sort. I asked him several questions, to all which 
 he answered with English cnrtness, he was however glad of a 
 penny for carrying my coat. After passing the King I asked 
 him if he knew who that was, he answered in the negative. I 
 then told him, that is the king ; he showed no emotion, but 
 turned round and said leisurely, " Is that the King ? " An Irish 
 boy would have dogged him at the heels as long as he could. It 
 would be heresy here to deny that Richmond Hill afforded the 
 finest prospect in the world, and it would be false to deny that 
 it afibrded a rich one, yet it has nothing picturesque to be seen 
 from it, for it wants the second and third distances. Wales is 
 the fertile mother of landscapes. N.B. — Richmond Hill is very 
 coarse ground, covered with furze and rushes. 
 
 April, 19th. Tho' it rained heavily last night the cold 
 nothing abated, but rather increased. Shower in the forenoon, 
 and a most severe fall of hail at two o'clock ; dined at Boyd's. 
 
 Aprll 20th. Fair, and somewhat softened by the fall of hail 
 yesterday. Dined at Thrale's, with Dr. Johnson, Barreti, and a 
 Dean Wetherall of Oxford, who is soliciting for a riding house at 
 Oxford. When I mentioned to the Doctor another answer, 
 entitled " Resistance no Rebellion," coming out, he said, " that is 
 the seventh, the author finds the other six will not do, and I 
 foresee that the title is the best part of the book." He desired 
 that I should visit him. N.B. — Talking after dinner of the 
 measures he would pursue with the Americans, he said the first 
 thing he would do, would be to quarter the army on the citys, 
 and if any refused free quarters, he would pull down that person's 
 house, if it was joyned to other houses, but would burn it if it 
 stood alone. This and other schemes he proposed in the manu- 
 script of" Taxation no Tyranny," but these, he said, the Ministry 
 expunged. 
 
 April 21st. Fair, but cold; went with Mosse and Weld to 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 267 
 
 Lord Chesterfield's, and the Duke of Bedford's. There is nothiug^ 
 in the latter worth looking at, but in Lord Chesterfield's every- 
 thing is admirable. That elegance, of which his Lordship was 
 such an advocate, and so shining an example, pervades the whole. 
 The staircase, noble, and of the finest white marble. The rooms 
 highly finished, and rather beautiful than magnificent. The 
 effect of looking glass panels, placed opposite to the windows of 
 the musick room, was admirable ; it apparently doubled the real 
 dimension, and gave a sweet reflected view of Stanhope Street 
 and Hyde Park. There was a Madona and sleeping Christ, from 
 Guido, admirable, and finely copied by a master whom I forget. 
 There was also a good Rubens, the subject, " Joseph, Virgin, 
 and Child." Dined as umbra to Weld and Mosse with a citizen, 
 but I'll do so no more, for there is no entertainment but meat 
 and drink with that class of people. 
 
 April 22nd. Rainy morning, the air still harsh, showery the 
 rest of the day. Went to Cheltsea, and saw the Hospital, and 
 tho' I had been at Ranelagh Garden, I did not know it was at 
 Cheltsea. 
 
 23rd. Rainy almost all day, hail and thunder about three at 
 Hampton Court. The gardens must hurt any delicate feelings 
 with their semi-circular fish pond on the bank of the Thames. 
 The Palace presents two suits of rooms, in which are exhibited 
 a few good pictures, (William the 3rd, by Godfrey Kneller ; the 
 Spanish Embassadors, &c.,) among several ordinary things, some 
 choice tapestry s, viz., the battles of Alexander from Le Brun, 
 and Diogenes in his tub visited by Alexander, from Salvator 
 Rosa ; the Hampton Court Beauties, by Kneller, &c, 
 
 24th. Rainy morning. Sat an hour with Dr. Johnson about 
 noon. He was at breakfast with a Pindar in his hand, and after 
 saluting me with great cordiality, he, after whistling in liis way 
 over Pindar, layed the book down, and then told me he had seen 
 my Lord Primate at Sir Joshua's, and " I believe," says he, " I 
 have not recommended myself much to him, for I differed widely 
 in opinions from him, yet I hear he is doing good things in L-e- 
 land." I mentioned Skelton to him as a man of strong imagina- 
 tion, and told him the story of his selling his library for the sup- 
 port of the poor. He seemed much affected by it, and then fell 
 a rowling and muttering to himself, and I could hear him plainly 
 say after several minutes pause from conversation, " Skelton is a 
 great good man." He then said, " I purpose reading hi» 
 
268 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 * Ophiomachis,' for I have never seen anything of his, but some 
 allegoric pieces which I thought very well of." He told me he 
 had seen Delany when he was in eveiy sense gravis annisy " but 
 he was [an] able man," says he, *' his ' Revelation examined 
 with candour ' was well received, and I have seen an introductory 
 preface to a second edition of one of his books, which was the 
 finest thing I ever read in the declamatory way." He asked me 
 whether Clayton was an English or Irish man. " He endea- 
 voured to raise a hissy among you," says he, " but without effect 
 I believe." I told him one effect in the case of the parish clerks. 
 His indignation was prodigious. " Aye," says he, " these are 
 the effects of heretical notions upon vulgar minds." 
 
 25th. Fair and softer. Dined in Nicholas Lane, Lombard 
 Street, with Mr. Portis, an Irishman, who gave plenty of claret. 
 
 26th. Warm, viewed the exhibition by the artists, in the 
 Strand, which is far inferior to that by the Royal Academy, 
 Pallmall, in every thing, even in landskips and horses. 
 
 27th. Warm, or rather hot to the degree of astonishment 
 with the folks here. Re-visited the exhibition of the Royal 
 Academy, and am confirmed in my opinion of the grand manner 
 of Barry's " Venus lamenting over Adonis." Barret's landskips 
 had escaped me on Tuesday, but they are superlative ; Ashford 
 copys and rivals Roberts. Dined at Mr. Weld's, Clements' Inn, 
 where I for the first time saw Kelly the Poet, obstinately refused 
 to go with Day to the masquerade, took leave, &c. 
 
 28th. Fair, and extremely hot for the season; set off at six 
 from the New Church, Strand. Met several returning from the 
 masquerade, and a lady who had been there, came piping hot in 
 the machine to near Newbery or Spinomland, in Berkshire, where 
 we lay, and near that town I saw turf bog, and turf cut thereon. 
 N.B. — I saw turf also at Reading, where we dined. The 
 country is very rich from London to this place, viz., Spinomland, 
 yet it is so level that there is scarce a good prospect the whole 
 way, unless Cleveden, near Maidenhead bridge, may be so 
 called. Quere, is this place the proud alcove of Shrewsbury and 
 love ? 
 
 29th. Fair, but not so warm as yesterday, unless perhaps 
 the bleakness of Marlboroiigh Downs communicated itself to the 
 air. From near Newbury to near Cottenham,^ a space of near 
 
 ' Qu. Chippenham ? — Editor. 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 269 
 
 thirty miles, the country is very bare of trees and herbage, it 
 is the worst land I have seen in England, and it is certainly 
 fuller of beggars ; for miles together the coach was pursued by 
 them, from two to nine at a time, almost all of them children. 
 They are more importunate than in Ireland, or even Wales. 
 
 30th. [Bath.] Heavy rain in the morning. Went to the Abbey 
 Church, and heard a sorry discourse wretchedly delivered. Went 
 to the Pump Room, where I met Lady Molyneux, who asked 
 me to dinner, where I spent the pleasantest day since I came t& 
 England ; for there were five or six lively Irish girls who sung 
 and danced, and did every thing but . Women are cer- 
 tainly more envious than men, or at least they discover it upon 
 more trifling occasions, and they cannot bear with patience that 
 one of their party should obtain a preference of attention ; this 
 was thoroughly exemplified this day, one of these who was a 
 pretty little coquet, went home after dinner to dress for the 
 rooms, and her colour was certainly altered on returning for tea; 
 they all fell into a titter, and one of them (who was herself 
 painted as I conceived,) cryed out, " heavens, look at her 
 cheeks." If she blushed it could not be seen, but all her var- 
 nishing was to no purpose, for she met not that admiration she 
 expected, and she came back to supper so cross and peevish, that 
 there was no speaking to her now, as after dinner. She sung a 
 song of Cupid knocking at the door, which was as chaste in the 
 language as it was bawdy in the idea, and the truckle bed is not 
 more so, and though the girls, and even matrons, were kicking 
 with laughter, she sung on with such a composed gravity, as i» 
 the just character of true humour. It is amazing what pleasure 
 women find in kissing each other, for they do smack astonisliingly. 
 
 May 1st. Fair, I believe, tho' I heard there was rain, I 
 went to Spring Gardens in the morning, and to the ball at the 
 new rooms in the evening. It was very splendid, for tlie Duke 
 and Duchess of Cumberland were expected, but the Duke having 
 sprained his leg at the last did not come, but there was the 
 Duke and Duchess of Grafton, and Lady Georgina Fitz Roy, so 
 like the pictures of Charles the 2nd, that every body cognised 
 the likeness, when I pointed it out to them. Lord Mahon and 
 his Lady, Lord Chatham's daughter. The beauties were Miss 
 Haywood, the most exquisitely pretty, for a fair complexion I 
 ever saw. She saw me admire, and she would even come and sit 
 beside me, yet so innocently sweet was her manner, that it 
 
270 DIARY OP A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 seemed angelic. Miss Wroughton, that I think is the name, 
 was rather the brunette beauty, but she discovered such sensi- 
 bility of mind, and had so much beauty, that I fancy upon 
 acquaintance, I should prefer her to Miss Haywood. Miss 
 Mackenzy, niece to Lord Galway, was a most eJegant figure, but 
 had not that sweetness of countenance the two charming English 
 girls possessed, yet her air and mien w^as in a grander gusto. 
 Miss Waller, from Ireland, was taller, but not to be compared in 
 my eye, to any of the three, yet she is preferred by some. There 
 were four men in the room from one to four inches taller than 
 myself, but whether they were English, Irish, or Scotch, I know 
 not. N.B. — Mrs. Hodges, Miss Luttrell, and Lord Thomas 
 Clinton were there, and Mr. Garrie, greater than all, to say 
 nothing of Billy Madden, who some time ago, being put in the 
 •chair to compromise some dispute between the room partys, and 
 finding them difficult to be prevailed on, he got up and danced 
 them a hornpipe, which put them at once into a good temper. 
 
 May 2nd. Fair and hot ; walked out to see Mrs. Anderson, 
 •she seems, poor woman, oppressed with affliction. Dined with 
 Larman, where I met a Mr. Goddard, a country clergyman, very 
 like Dean Langton, who would scarce believe me that I was an 
 Irishman ; and in the evening I walked with him to see the 
 baths, hospital, Minerva's head, &c., which he was desirous I 
 should see before I left Bath. I find it would be an easy matter 
 to scrape up acquaintances enow here, for I was asked to dinner 
 for the whole week, so that I was nearly tempted to stay for at 
 least another week. 
 
 May 3rd. A very light rain about eight o'clock ; came to 
 Bristol, from thence to the Hot Wells. The waters have little 
 of the mineral taste, and nothing so warm as those of Bath. By 
 the way, Bath itself is not so strong, at least of the sulphur, as 
 Bellnassuttock or Swadlinbar; but Clifton, and about the Well 
 is romantically pretty for England, all of which, except about 
 Bath and Bristol, are quite level. Around Bath are much 
 steeper hills than about BaUynure, but the hills and the valleys 
 also are much larger. The steeples of Bristol are elegant, 
 modern, gothic. The cloysters round the College, i.e., I sup- 
 pose the Collegiate Church (now the Cathedral,) are in part re- 
 maining, and the College gate is in grand style. College Green 
 is pleasant, and the view of Clifton and the environs is very 
 iine, but not in so superlative a degree as I have heard represented. 
 
 I 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 271 
 
 May 4th. Set off from Bristol ; the morning so foggy I could 
 not see the country till we came to Newport, the breakfast stage. 
 The country from thence to Gloucester is a cold, wet, clay, 
 almost all under grazing, and tho' well planted, yet it is a dreary 
 tract, with few houses, and those like waste offices : but from 
 Gloucester to Tewksbury the looks of the country improA'e ; and 
 from Tewkesbury to Worcester is by far the most beautiful I 
 have seen in England. It is not like the country round London, 
 a dead flat ; nor like that round Bath, all hill and dale ; but 
 there is a wide plain along the banks of that fine river, the 
 Severn, and rising hills interspersed, till at length the prospect 
 terminates in mountains of a very varied outline, so that here we 
 have the first, second, and third distances, essential to all first 
 rate landskips. Worcester i« a pleasant looking town or rather 
 city, with twelve or thirteen churches, besides the meeting houses 
 of non-conformists. Here is a great manufactory of gloves, and 
 another of carpeting ; it seems a thriving town, not like Glou- 
 cester, which is evidently declining ; there being therein but six 
 churches now, whereas there were once twelve, but the Cathe- 
 dral or College as they call it, is magnificently beautiful; the 
 gothic ornaments are of the airiest sort, but if it be the lightest 
 church without, it is the heaviest within I ever saw ; the cylin- 
 drical pillars in the body of the church, are massive beyond all 
 proportion. I cannot close this day's article, without observing, 
 that the city of Bristol afforded fewer pretty women than I 
 could have expected, nay, in truth, they all seemed rather ordi- 
 nary ; whereas in Tewksbury and Worcester the people are in 
 general comely, they nearest answer the descriptions Mr. Addison, 
 or any other fond Englishman, gives of his own country. Here 
 also I observe the greatest (indeed the only) courtesy I have 
 met with from the vermin of Inns, all which however, I attribute 
 to the army Avhich constantly lyes here, and to the officers who 
 (I see) frequent this house. The tone of servitude was here so 
 submissive, so unlike England, and so like Ireland, that I was 
 driven to account for it in the manner I have done, like causes, 
 like effects. N.B. — At Bristol this morning, when a passenger 
 made to go into the coach, the boot-catch took a hold of the 
 man's hand, saying, you sha'nt open that door ; then he leaned 
 his back against the door, telling him he must wait till the clock 
 hath struck four. 
 
 May 5th. Rain from about seven, and after twelve came on 
 
272 DIAET OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 very heavy. The country from Worcester, beautiful, with neat 
 improvements, and swelling grounds for seventeen or eighteen 
 miles, then it becomes heathy, and afterwards very coarse, till 
 near Bermingham. 
 
 N.B. — The borough of Witch is one of the great manufactorys 
 for salt in England ; they pay three shillings and four pence per 
 bushel, duty, and sell at three and sixpence, but three pence a 
 bushel is allowed for prompt payment; and N.B, — Baskerville, 
 the Printer, was originally a little schoolmaster at Worcester, then 
 turned painter, type-founder, and printer. He was a professed 
 disbeliever of a future state, and ordered himself to be buried 
 imder a mill he had built ; a few days before he died a dissenting 
 clergyman visited [him] : Baskerville told him he was glad to see 
 him, ordered him wine, &c., " but," says he, " let me not hear of 
 
 your d d stuff of prayers and the other world, and that sort of 
 
 nonsense." The country between Bermingham and Litchfield, the 
 worst I have yet seen in England, it is bare, naked, and of shallow 
 soil, not so hilly as the County Cavan, but almost as bad, near 
 Litchfield it improves. 
 
 May 6th. Fair, but excessively cold. Staffordshire, from 
 Litchfield about sixteen miles, a pleasant gravelly and hilly coun- 
 try, the most populous I have yet seen, from thence it becomes 
 heathy. Cheshire, near Chester, a good and populous country. 
 
 7th. Cold, and rainy in the evening. Heard a good sermon 
 in the Choir of the Cathedral, and in the evening in the Parish 
 Church, expected the Preacher would have begun to spell. 
 
 8th. Small rain in the evening. At Conway, where the cook- ■ 
 ing w^as execrable. Here, as in every other part of Wales, fcAV 
 of the natives can speak English ; the women wear hats like men's, 
 and all the young ones have ruddy complexions, but not clear, the 
 blood being broke in the cheeks. The Fingallians are most un- 
 doubtedly originated from Wales, for they have a family likeness. 
 
 9th. Rain in the morning, dined at Widow Knowles in Gwinda, 
 
 where every thing was better than I met in any other part of 
 
 England, and the Hostess herself discovered such a goodness of 
 
 mind, that she redeems in my thoughts the character of Publican. 
 * * * * # 
 
 In October, 1776, I went the second time to London, to publish 
 the " The Philosophical Survey." I staid there till May, 1777. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Again I went there In May, 1781, to look for some preferment 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 273 
 
 for my nephew, Tom Campbell, and that worthy man, Mr. Alex- 
 ander Scott, of James Street, Bedford Row, procured him a cadet's 
 place in the East India Company's service. I staid but a fortnight 
 or so in London. * * * « 
 
 June 11th, 1781. I went to see Dr. Johnson, found him alone, 
 Barretti came soon after.^ Barretti (after some pause in conver- 
 sation) asked me, if the disturbances were over in Ireland. I told 
 him I had not heard of any disturbances there. " What," says he, 
 " have you not been up in arms ? " " Yes, and a great number 
 of men continue so to be." " And dont you call that disturbance ? " 
 returned Barretti. " No, " said I, " the Irish volunteers have de- 
 meaned themselves very peaceably, and instead of disturbing the 
 peace of the country, have contributed much to its preservation." 
 The Doctor, who had been long silent, turned a sharp ear to what 
 I was saying, and with vehemence said, " What Sir, dont you call 
 it disturbance to oppose legal government with arms in your hands, 
 and compel it to make laws in your favour ? Sir, I call it rebellion ; 
 rebellion as much as the rebellion of Scotland." " Doctor," said 
 I, " I am sorry to hear that fall from you, I must however say that 
 the Irish consider themselves as the most loyal of His Majesty's 
 subjects, at the same that they firmly deny any allegiance to a 
 British Parliament. They have a separate Legislature, and that 
 they have never showed any inclination to resist." " Sir," says 
 the Doctor, " you do owe allegiance to the British Parliament as 
 a conquered nation, and had I been Minister I would have made 
 you submit to it. I would have done as Oliver Cromwell did ; I 
 would have burned your cities, and wasted you in the fires (or 
 flames) of them." I, after allowing the Doctor to vent his indig- 
 nation upon Ireland, cooly replyed, " Doctor, the times are altered, 
 and I dont find that you have succeeded so well in burning the 
 cities, and roasting the inhabitants of America." " Sir," says he 
 gravely, and with a less rehement tone, *' what you say is true, the 
 times ai'e altered, for power is now nowhere, we live under a 
 government of influence, not of power ; but Sir, had we treated 
 the Americans as we ought, and as they deserved, we should have 
 
 at once razed all their towns, and let them enjoy their 
 
 forests ." After this wild rant, argument would but have 
 
 enraged him, I therefore let him vibrate into calmness, then tum- 
 
 ' See the account of this conversation, page 336-8 of Dr. Campbell's 
 Strictures on the History of Ireland. London, 1790. — Editor. 
 
 VT. T 
 
274 
 
 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 ing round to me, he, with a smile, says, " After all Sir, though 
 I hold the Irish to be rebels, I dont think they have been so very 
 wrong, but you know that you compelled our Parliament, by force 
 of arms, to pass an act in your favour. That, I call rebellion." 
 *' But Doctor," said I, "did the Irish claim anything that ought 
 not to have been granted, though they had not made the claim." 
 " Sir, I wont dispute that matter with you, but what I insist upon 
 is that the mode of requisition was rebellious." " Well Doctor, 
 let me ask you but one question, and I shall ask you no more on 
 this subject, do you think that Ireland would have obtained what 
 it has got, by any other means ? " " Sir," says he candidly, " I 
 believe it would not. However, a wise government should not 
 grant even a claim of justice, if an attempt is made to extort it by 
 force." I said no more. 
 
 * * # * * 
 
 My fourth excursion to London, I made in October, 1786, to 
 learn the sense of the booksellers in regard to my intended His- 
 tory of the Revolutions of Ireland. I found little encouragement 
 in point of profit, as all expressed a fear of enterprising in Irish 
 affairs, for two reasons, the first was, that whatever is published 
 in London respecting that country is immediately published in 
 Dublin, and Ireland should be the principal market for Irish 
 Histories ; but the other and principal discouragement was this, 
 so many paltry productions had of late appeared on the subject 
 as to give the public a distrust of any new publication on the 
 same subject, till its merit could be decidedly ascertained. 
 O'Halloran prejudiced one, Crawford another, and Valiancy all. 
 However, after a fortnight or three weeks stay there, I set out 
 with Sir Capel Molyneux to the North, in his way to Ireland, in- 
 tending to return to London, to be more explicit with the book- 
 sellers or one of them, as to the immediate publication of a first 
 volume, which I thought was ready, but having some conversation 
 with Mr. Thorkelin the Icelander, relative to some disputed points 
 of the most remote antiquity, relative to which he promised to 
 ])rocure me certain documents from Denmark ; and ruminating 
 on the propriety or impropriety of publishing one volume alone, 
 which would have reached only to Henry 7th. I no sooner found 
 myself in Edinburgh, than I resolved to return home with the 
 worthy Baronet, though I had left all my papers in London, so 
 that my progress was interrupted. 
 
 N.B. — In the interim, I built the gallery in the Church, out of 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 275 
 
 the fifty pounds which I gave out of my own pocket, to en- 
 courage the parish to raise one hundred pounds to roof and repair 
 the Church. 
 
 * # * * * 
 
 I say my work, that is, the History, was interrupted all this while, 
 I therefore set out a fifth time for London, after Whitsuntide, 
 1787, and after a short stay there, I visited Paris. 
 
 Paris was new to me, and therefore and because it was other- 
 wise so worthy of recollection, I now make a few cursory remarks 
 upon it. Calais seemed to me a new world, in the persons and 
 manners of the people, yet there, and in Boulogne there was a 
 greater conformity with England, than in the other parts of 
 France. The impressions, at first made upon me, were against 
 the nation I was in, and so they continued till I was above a 
 week in Paris, but there I every day began to like more and more 
 the faces of the people in their public walks, &c. The shops, 
 carriages, &c. were disgusting, but France does not value itself 
 for commerce. I came into Paris on Sunday, and was surprised 
 to see the people at work every where ; the masons, carpenters, 
 stone cutters, &c., &c., yet I never saw so much devotion as in 
 their Churches. The Palaces, Churches, and some other public 
 buildings, particularly the Hal du JBle, are magnificent. 'J he 
 Chapel of the Virgin in the Church of St. Sulpice, far above the 
 force of my imagination. No wonder that the devotees there 
 kisi^ed the ground on their departure from it ; it was heaven upon 
 earth in miniature : the Dome of the Invalid's fine and grand, 
 but in the former respect not to be compared to this inimitable 
 morceau. The Hal du Ble is forty yards, or a hundred and 
 twenty feet, under the cupola, besides the concentrical exterior 
 area in Colonnade, this should have been the model for our Ro- 
 tunda. St. Eustace comes next to St. Sulpice, the view of the 
 East window through the high altar is so solemn as to impress 
 devotion. On a view of St. Sulpice the ceiling appeared to me 
 too low, and as it wanted the Gothic ramification to give it light- 
 ness, it might have appeared heavy to me, even if it had been 
 high enough ; but the Chapel of St. Mary, the more I saw it, the 
 more I liked it, it is the most happy combination of architecture, 
 sculpture, and painting, decies repetita placebat, it never lost its 
 enchantment, it enwrapped me each time more and more, and 
 made me almost pardon the idolatries of popery. The Notre 
 Dame is a magnificent pile, from the steeple, Paris does not 
 
276 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 appear to me half as large, (that is, not to cover half the ground,) 
 as London does from St. Paul's, but then the houses in Paris are 
 twice as high as those in London, and the streets appear more 
 populous. The dome and Church in the Sorbonne, built by 
 Cardinal Richlieu, is well worth seeing, not only for the Cardi- 
 nal's monument of parian marble in the centre of the Choir, with 
 his statue in a recumbent posture, his beautiful niece in the 
 character of Religicn supporting his head, and Science weeping 
 at his feet with her book cast aside, but for the statues of the 
 four Evangelists and the twelve Apostles ; the pictures but 
 middling. 
 
 On Sunday the 22nd of July, I went to the anniversary cele- 
 bration of St. James's day, at his Church of the Bucheries. High 
 Mass is mere mummery, the musick was said to be fine, but I 
 dont understand musick. The mode of collecting the alms alone 
 struck me, and was indeed a reflected image of the despotism, the 
 superstition, and the gallantry of the nation. The Swiss Hal- 
 berdier struck the ground every now and then with his halbert, 
 to make way for a clerical-like person, who led in his hand a 
 beautiful little girl, who carried a scrip or bag to receive the 
 alms. The Swiss commanded awe, the gownsman reminded you 
 to contribute, and the pretty female by her looks, told you, 
 " sure ! you cant refuse." 
 
 On Tuesday the 24th. I went to the Parliament house with 
 Mr. Blakeway, and after waiting four hours and more, saw what ? 
 why, Monsieur, Count D'Artois, Bishop of Paris, &c., come out 
 after their deliberations on the remonstrance against Stamp Duty 
 
 AVednesday the 25th. Went to Versailles with Mr. Smyth ; 
 was much disappointed at the sight of the palace, the outside is 
 great, but not magnificent ; and the inside tawdry, not beautiful ; 
 the gardens in the old square style, thickly studded with statues. 
 The only thing in true style was the grotto of Louis l4th, where 
 he is represented in the character of Apollo coming out of the 
 bath, attended by six nymphs, with his horses in two caves on 
 each side that large one, wherein Avas the group of the vain 
 monarch, in the character of a god, and under whose statue in the 
 Place de Victorine, is the inscription viro immortali. 
 
 On Monday, July the 30th, between eleven and twelve o'clock, 
 I left Paris. At eight next day I got to Rouen, when I spent 
 two hours viewing the cathedral, tombs, &c., and during that 
 interval became acquainted with Mr. Sturgeon, husband to Lady 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 277 
 
 Harriet Wentwortli. He shewed me much affection, as a country- 
 man, and especially as he knew my brother. lie told me that 
 specimens of English cotton fabricks had been intermixed with 
 French, and submitted to the inspection of certain officers in 
 Rouen, whose business it is to estimate their value, and fix their 
 price ; and that these officers not suspecting them to be English, 
 rated them at twenty per cent, above the French. When this 
 took wind, it gave a dreadful alarm to the Normans. X.B. — The 
 churches of Amiens and Rouen, especially the former, should de- 
 tain the traveller. 
 
 On Wednesday the first of August, about one o'clock, I found 
 myself at Brighthelmston, so that in little more than forty eight 
 hours, I passed from Paris to Brighton. That night, (viz., 
 Wednesday) I went to the ball with Sir Boyle Roach, where there 
 was but a small party, but those mostly of the princes of Britain 
 and France, viz., the Prince of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of 
 Cumberland, the Princess of Lambal, who (it is said) was married, 
 (and but for a few months) to the son of the Duke of Penthievre, 
 whose daughter is now married to the Duke of Orleans. In her 
 suite were three French ladies of quality. Besides these recited, 
 were the Duke of Bedford, Duke of Queensbury, and other 
 Nobles, particularly Lords Maynard and Clermont. Lest it 
 should be forgotten, I set it down, that when I came into the room, 
 Mrs. Fitzherbert sat in the highest seat at the top of the room 
 with the Duke of Cumberland. The Prince was standing in the 
 circle of ladies * * * the Duchess of Rutland was by 
 
 far the fairest of the fair. Mrs. Fitzherbert did not dance the 
 first set, but the second she danced with Isaac Corry, and after 
 dancing down, she sat down with her partner, and in a few 
 minutes the Prince and the Duke of Cumberland came and sat 
 beside her. The Prince expressed affection in his looks, and the 
 Duke esteem. She discovers strong sensibility and considerable 
 dignity in her countenance and deportment. The general appear- 
 ance of the English was to my eye, fresh from Paris, what it never 
 before had been, strangely awkward and clownish at this ball. 
 The French deserve most rightly that character of pre-eminent 
 politeness which they have universally obtained. I never saw an 
 awkward person in France, even in the lowest department. They 
 are on the whole a strange but agreeable mixture of pomp and 
 beggary ; the latter is visible in every avenue of Versailles, even 
 in the Palace. I listened in the street to a woman who sang 
 
278 DIARY OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND 
 
 ballads, with the assistance of her husband's tambour, with more 
 pleasure than I ever did at Ranelagh, Vauxhall, or the Rotunda. 
 The French language and musick seem adapted to engage the 
 heart in small matters. 
 
 But to return to Brighton, it was irritating to my feelings to see 
 C. Fox walking on the Steyne on Thursday night, with a vulgar 
 
 looking ; with Lord Clermont and the first of nobility, (viz., 
 
 the Duke of Bedford) sneaking along with this profligate head of 
 opposition. No wonder that the Duke of Bedford should glory 
 in a like practice, and that Lord Maynard should not only glory 
 in his gilded horn, but that he should serve as pimp to this Duke 
 of fifty thousand a year. This is scarce worthy notice, but upon 
 the whole I must observe, that according to the impressions made 
 upon me in this short excursion, the two countries bear an exact 
 image of the government in each. In England the laws are made 
 by the people, and therefore they are there for the people, and 
 their interests. In France the people are only considered as if 
 made for the use of the Court of Versailles, and City of Paris, and 
 therefore the people of France do not reflect that image of happi- 
 ness which the English nation does in every quarter, and yet it is 
 said that the English are less happy than the French ; now, 
 though I don't believe this, yet it possibly may be the case, for 
 the English are so pampered by a redundance of meat and money, 
 that they may be said at all times to be under a plethora of both, 
 and therefore may not enjoy that happiness which is within their 
 reach. The Jaws too being made by and for them (as I have 
 observed) gives them frequent advantages on trials by jury, over 
 their superiors in rank, which renders them rough and savage in 
 their manners, and like children wilful, peevish, and discontented, 
 repining at their own inferiority of condition, and of course 
 unhappy in their stations, not considering that an equality of ranks 
 is incompatible with any form of society ever yet established, 
 which verifies the French maxim, " Tout chose a la bon et le mal." 
 
 I have thought that if the persons and things of both countries 
 be supposed to be divided into ten classes, there will be found in 
 France one class of these to be so superior to any thing of tlie kind 
 in England, and to have no parallel there, another class may be 
 found in both countries perfectly on par; but that the remaining 
 eight classes in the lower walks of life will be found every way 
 superior in England. That is to say among the mass of the people 
 wliich I count as eisht, the whole advantag^e as to the means of 
 
 I 
 
BY DR. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 279 
 
 the comforts and conveniences of life lie on the side of the English 
 — and to explain myself as to that highest rank in France, for 
 which I say England can produce no parallel, I instance in the 
 pomp of a court the elegance of mind and manners prevalent 
 among the highest orders in France, the general refinement among 
 the more numerous orders of clergy and lawyers, the unrivalled 
 accomplishments of the female sex, which more than compensates 
 for that beauty of person which distinguishes English ladies, but 
 which is rarely embellished by that expressive eye and those 
 acquired accomplishments which characterize the French ladies 
 and place them not only above competition in the present age, but 
 challenge antiquity to produce any thing equal to them. N.B. — 
 I speak of classes of persons and things, not of individuals, England 
 may and I doubt not does produce individuals equal to any in 
 any other country, but elegance (I don't mean cleanliness on 
 which the English pride themselves) of ranks is not as yet to be 
 found in England. The gentry are cold, lifeless and reserved, the 
 mauvaise hojite is still prevalent among them. They may perhaps 
 in general see what is decorous in behaviour, but they have not 
 acquired the habits of it, of this they arc conscious, and therefore 
 they are generally stiff if not awkward in their carriage, and 
 always afraid of being incorrect they seldom arrive at excellence 
 in the exhibition of those good qualities which they frequently 
 possess. The French most richly deserve that character ot 
 guperlatire politeness which they have obtained, the disposition 
 of their government has contributed to it, they are compelled to 
 restrain those ebullitions of passion which sometimes disfigure the 
 behaviour of a free people, and this general awe with which they 
 are impressed, smooths the purturbations of the mind and disposes 
 the people to suavity of demeanour and to those resources from 
 the anguish of thought upon public affairs, which are only to be 
 found in the mutual endearments of private society. 
 
 My sixth visit to England was in the end of the year, 1789, 
 with Dr. Hales and his sisters, spent my Christmas in Bath, went 
 up to London the night before the Queen's birthday, when I had 
 my pocket picked of twelve and a half guineas, my Sardonix ring, 
 and the medal of the King of Morocco, which Colonel Valancy 
 called the Talisman. 
 
 My seventh visit to England was in consequence of a wish 
 expressed by the Bishop of Dromore that I should meet him there, 
 and bring with me the Life of Dr. Goldsmith, which I had com- 
 
280 DIARY OP A VISIT TO ENGLAND. 
 
 piled from documents furnislied by him that it might be published 
 with his works by Nichols for the benefit of his brothers, (par- 
 ticularly Maurice, who had been in the habit of getting subscrip- 
 tions before I undertook the task) and sisters. On the 20th 
 February, 1792, I sailed with Mrs. Kern, and remarkable it is 
 that on the 27th, the same day on which the Parliament House 
 in Dublin was burned, we arrived at the Bear in Bath. On the 
 19th March we set out for London, where we staid only to the 
 25th, and on Saturday morning the 31st arrived in Dublin, where, 
 on the next day, I heard Mr. Kirwan preach in his turn as chaplain 
 before the Lord Lieutenant in the Castle Chapel- The subject 
 of his discourse was, the influence of the manners of high stations 
 upon the low. The Preacher pointed almost personally to the 
 Chief Governor, and even mimicked his awkward attitudes, and 
 ridiculed his mode of spending his time. After his first rest he 
 recapitulated what he had said on the baleful examples of high 
 stations in the country, and then turning to the gallery where his 
 Excellency sat, he said, " I ask you what examples do you set to 
 this country," and after a long pause he repeated, " I ask you 
 what examples do you in high stations set to the people of this 
 country ? " 
 
EXTRACTS RELATING TO JOHNSON, FROM 
 
 THE LIFE, AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OF MRS. HANNAH MORE. 
 
EXTEACTS RELATING TO JOHNSON, FROM 
 
 THE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OF MRS. HANNAH MORE.^ 
 
 'T'^IIE desire she had long felt to see Dr. Johnson, was speedily 
 -L gratified. Her first introduction to him took place at the 
 house of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who prepared her, as he handed 
 her upstairs, for the possibility of his being in one of his moods 
 of sadness and silence. 
 
 She was surprised at his coming to meet her as she entered 
 the room, with good humour in his countenance, and a macaw of 
 Sir Joshua's in his hand ; and still more, at his accosting her 
 with a verse from a Morning Hymn which she had written at the 
 desire of Sir James Stonehouse. In the same pleasant humour 
 he continued the whole of the evening. Some extracts from the 
 letters of one of her sprightly sisters, to the family at home, will 
 afibrd the best picture of the intercourse and scenes in which 
 Hannah was now beginning to bear a part. 
 
 MISS SARAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 49). 
 
 London, 1774. 
 We have paid another visit to Miss Reynolds. She had sent 
 to engage Dr. Percy (Percy's collection, — now you know him,) 
 quite a sprightly modern, instead of a rusty antique, as I 
 expected. He was no sooner gone, than the most amiable and 
 obliging of women (Miss Reynolds,) ordered the coach, to take 
 us to Dr. Johnson's very own house; yes, Abyssinia's Johnson ! 
 
 ^ From the Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Mrs. Hannah 
 More, by AVilliam Koberts, Esq. London : 1834. Vol. i., p. 48, et seq. 
 
284 JOHNSON DESCRIBED BY 
 
 Dictionary Johnson ! Rambler's, Idler's, and Irene's Johnson ! 
 Can yon picture to yourself the palpitation of our hearts as we 
 approached his mansion ? The conversation turned upon a new 
 work of his, just going to the press (the Tour to the Hebrides,) 
 and his old friend Richardson. Mrs. Williams, the blind poet, 
 who lives with him, was introduced to us. She is engaging in 
 her manners; her conversation lively and entertaining. Miss 
 Reynolds told the doctor of all our rapturous exclamations on 
 the road. He shook his scientific head at Hannah, and said, 
 " She was a silly things When our visit was ended he called for 
 his hat, (as it rained) to attend us down a very long entry to our 
 coach, and not Rasselas could have acquitted himself more en 
 cavalier. We are engaged with him at Sir Joshua's, Wednes- 
 day evening. What do you think of us ? 
 
 I forgot to mention, that not finding Johnson in his little 
 parlour when we came in, Hannah seated herself in his great 
 chair, hoping to catch a little ray of his genius ; when he heard 
 it, he laughed heartily, and told her it was a chair on which he 
 never sat. He said it reminded him of Boswell and himself when 
 they stopt a night at the spot (as they imagined) where the 
 "Weird Sisters appeared to Macbeth : the idea so worked upon 
 their enthusiasm, that it quite deprived them of rest : however, 
 they learnt, the next morning, to th«ir mortification, that they had 
 been deceived and were quite in another part of the country. 
 
 Johnson afterwards mentioned to Miss Reynolds how much he 
 had been touched with the enthusiasm which was visible in the 
 whole manner of the young authoress, and which was evidently 
 genuine and unafiected. 
 
 MISS SARAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 54). 
 
 London, 1775. 
 Tuesday evening we drank tea at Sir Joshua's, with Dr. 
 Johnson. Hannah is certainly a great favourite. She was 
 placed next him, and they had the entire conversation to 
 themselves. They were both in remarkably high spirits ; it was 
 certainly her lucky night ! I never heard her say so many good 
 things. The old genius was extremely jocular, and the young 
 one very pleasant. You would have imagined we had been at 
 
MRS. HANNAH MORE. 285 
 
 some comedy had you beard our peals of laugnter. They, 
 indeed, tried which could " pepper the highest," and it is not 
 clear to me that the lexicographer was really the highest 
 
 seasoner. 
 
 ****** 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER. 
 
 London, 1776. 
 I had the happiness to carry Dr. Johnson home from Hill 
 Street, though Mrs. Montagu publicly declared she did not think 
 it prudent to trust us together, with such a declared affection on 
 both sides. She said she was afraid of a Scotch elopement. 
 He has invited himself to drink tea with us to-morrow, that we 
 may read Sir Eldred together. I shall not tell you what he said 
 of it, but to me the best part of his flattery was, that he repeats 
 all the best stanzas by heart, with the energy, though not with 
 the grace of a Garrick. 
 
 ****** 
 
 We got home in time : I hardly ever spent an evening more 
 pleasantly or profitably. Johnson, full of wisdom and piety, 
 was very communicative. To enjoy Dr. Johnson perfectly, one 
 must have him to oneself, as he seldom cares to speak in mixed 
 parties. Our tea was not over till nine, we then fell upon Sir 
 Eldred : he read both poems thi-ough, suggested some little 
 alterations in the first, and did me the honour to write one whole 
 stanza : ^ but in the Rock, he has not altered a word. Though 
 only a tea- visit, he staid with us till twelve. 
 
 MISS SARAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 67). 
 
 London, 1776. 
 Dr. Johnson and Hannah, last night, had a violent quarrel, tUl 
 at length laughter ran so high on all sides, that argument Avas 
 confounded in noise ; the gallant youth, at one in the morning, 
 set us down at our lodgings. 
 
 ' This stanza begins " My scorn has oft," &e. 
 
286 JOHNSON DESCRIBED BY 
 
 MRS. HA:^^NAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 68). 
 
 London, 1776, 
 
 At six, I begged leave to come home, as I expected my petite 
 assembUe a little after seven. Mrs. Garrick offered me all her 
 fine things, but, as I hate admixtures of finery and meanness, I 
 refused every thing except a little cream, and a few sorts of 
 cakes. They came at seven. The dramatis personce were, Mrs. 
 Boscawen, Mrs. Garrick, and Miss Reynolds ; my beaux were 
 Dr. Johnson, Dean Tucker,^ and last, but not least in our love, 
 David Garrick. You know that wherever Johnson is, the con- 
 finement to the tea-table is rather a durable situation ; and it 
 was an hour and a half before I got my enlargement. However, 
 my ears were opened, though my tongue was locked, and they 
 all stayed till near eleven. 
 
 Garrick was the very soul of the company, and I never saw 
 Johnson in such perfect good humour. Sally knows we have 
 often heard that one can never properly enjoy the company of 
 these two unless they are together. There is great truth in this 
 remark ; for after the Dean and Mrs. Boscawen (who were the 
 only strangers) were withdrawn, and the rest stood up to go, 
 Johnson and Garrick began a close encounter, telling old stories, 
 *' e'en from their boyish days," at Lichfield. We all stood round 
 them above an hour, laughing in defiance of every rule of decorum 
 and Chesterfield. I believe we should not have thought of sitting 
 down or of parting, had not an impertinent watchman been 
 saucily vociferous. Johnson outstaid them all, and sat with me 
 half an hour. 
 
 ****** 
 
 London, 1776. 
 Did I ever tell you what Dr. Johnson said to me of my friend 
 the Dean of Gloucester ? I asked him what he thought of him. 
 His answer was verbatim as follows ; " I look upon the Dean of 
 Gloucester to be one of the few excellent writers of this period. 
 I differ from him in opinion, and have expressed that difference 
 in my writings ; but I hope what I wrote did not indicate what 
 I did not feel, for I felt no acrimony. No person, however 
 learned, can read his writings without improvement. He is sure 
 to find something he did not know before." I told him the 
 
 ' [Dr. Josiah Tucker, Dean of Gloucester.] 
 
MES. HANNAH MOEE 287 
 
 Dean did not value himself on elegance of style.^ He said he 
 knew nobodj whose style was more perspicuous, manly, and 
 vigorous, or better suited to his subject. I was not a little 
 pleased with this tribute to the worthy Dean's merit, from such 
 a judge of merit ; that man, too, professedly differing from him 
 in opinion, 
 
 Adelphi, 1776. 
 Did I tell you we had a very agreeable day at Mrs. Boscawen's? 
 I like Mr. Berenger ^ prodigiously. I met the Bunbury family at 
 Sir Joshua's. Mr. Boswell (Corsican Boswell) was here last night ; 
 lie is a very agreeable good-natured man ; he perfectly adores 
 Johnson ; they have this day set out together for Oxford, Lich- 
 field, &c. that the Doctor may take leave of all his old friends and 
 acquaintances, previous to his great expedition across the Alps. 
 I lament his undertaking such a journey at his time of life, with 
 beginning infirmities ; I hope he will not leave his bones on classic 
 ground. 
 
 MRS. HANXAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 168). 
 
 London, 1780. 
 I spent a very comfortable day yesterday with Miss Reynolds ; 
 only Dr. Johnson, and Mrs. Williams and myself. He is in but 
 poor health, but his mind has lost nothing of its vigour. He never 
 opens his mouth but one learns something ; one is sure either of 
 hearing a new idea, or an old one expressed in an original manner. 
 "VYe did not part till eleven. He scolded me heartily, as usual, 
 when I differed from him in opinion, and, as usual, laughed when 
 I flattered him. I was very bold in combatting some of his darling 
 prejudices : nay, I ventured to defend one or two of the Puritans, 
 
 ^ Hannah More having once asked the Dean, Whether it might not 
 be advisable to polish his style rather more ? " Oh, no," he i-eplied, 
 " they don't expect a fine style from me. All that I care for are the 
 authenticity of my facts, and the truth of my principles." He never 
 failed to communicate his political pamphlets to her; and when she 
 represented to him that such subjects were out of the reach of her com- 
 prehension, he would answer, " Fish ! no such thing ! common sense 
 will ever appeal to common sense." 
 
 ^ Richard Berenger, Esq., many years Gentleman of the Horse and 
 Equerry to his late Majesty. He wrote a history of Horsemanship. 
 
288 JOHNSON DESCKIBED BY 
 
 whom I forced him to allow to be good men, and good writers. 
 He said he was not angry with me at all for liking Baxter. He 
 liked him himself; " but then," said he, " Baxter was bred up in 
 the establishment, and would have died in it, if he could have got 
 the living of Kidderminister. He was a very good man." Here 
 he was wrong ; for Baxter was offered a bishoprick after the 
 restoration. 
 
 I never saw Johnson really angry with me but once ; and his 
 displeasure did him so much honour that I loved him the better 
 for it. I alluded rather flippantly, I fear, to some witty passage 
 in " Tom Jones : " he replied, "I am shocked to hear you quote 
 from so vicious a book. I am sorry to hear you have read it : a 
 confession which no modest lady should ever make. I scarcely 
 know a more corrupt work." I thanked him for his correction ; 
 assured him I thought full as ill of it now as he did, and had only 
 read it at an age when I was more subject to be caught by the 
 wit, than able to discern the mischief. Of " Joseph Andrews " I 
 declared my decided abhorrence. He went so far as to refuse to 
 Fielding the great talents which are ascribed to him, and broke 
 out in a noble panegyric on his competitor, llichardson ; who, he 
 said, was as superior to him in talents as in virtue ; and whom he 
 pronounced to be the greatest genius that had shed its lustre on 
 this path of literature. 
 
 Instead of going to Audley Street, where I was invited, I went 
 to Mrs. Reynolds, and sat for my picture. Just as she began to 
 paint, in came Dr. Johnson, who staid the whole time, and said 
 good things by way of making me look well. I did not forget to 
 ask him for a page for your memorandum book,^ and he promised 
 to write, but said you ought to be contented with a quotation ; 
 this however, I told him you would not accept. 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 212). 
 
 London, 1781. 
 We begin now to be a little cheerful at home, and to have our 
 small parties. One such we have just had, and the day and 
 
 ' A collection of autographs of eminent persons which her sister was 
 making at that time. 
 
MES. HANNAH MOB 289 
 
 evening turned out very pleasant. Johnson was in full song, and 
 I quarrelled with him sadly. I accused him of not having done 
 justice to the "Allegro," and "Penseroso." He spoke dis- 
 paragingly of both. I praised Lycidas, which he absolutely 
 abused, adding, " if Milton had not written the ' Paradise Lost,' 
 he would hare only ranked among the minor poets : he was a 
 Phidias that could cut a Colossus out of a rock, but could not cut 
 heads out of cherry stones." ^ 
 
 Boswell brought to my mind the whole of a very mirthful con- 
 versation at dear Mrs. Garrick's, and my being made by Sir 
 William Forbes, the umpire in a trial of skill between Garrick 
 and Boswell, which could most nearly imitate Dr. Johnson's 
 manner. I remember I gave it for Boswell in familiar conversa- 
 tion, and for Garrick in reciting poetry. 
 
 ****** 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 249). 
 
 London, 1782. 
 Poor Johnson is in a bad state of health ; I fear his constitu- 
 tion is broken up : I am quite grieved at it, he will not leave an 
 abler defender of religion and virtue behind him, and the follow- 
 ing little touch of tenderness which I heard of him last night from 
 one of the Turk's Head Club, endears him to me exceedingly. 
 There are always a great many candidates ready, when any 
 vacancy happens in that club, and it requires no small interest 
 and reputation to get elected ; but upon Garrick's death, when 
 numberless applications were made to succeed him, Johnson was 
 deaf to them all ; he said. No, there never could be found any 
 successor worthy of such a man ; and he insisted upon it there 
 should be a year's widowhood in the club, before they thought 
 of a new election. In Dr. Johnson some contrarieties very 
 harmoniously meet ; if he has too little charity for the opinions of 
 others, and too little patience with their faults, he has the greatest 
 tenderness for their persons. He told me the other day, he hated 
 
 ^ This has probably been recorded in his Life, but is given here as 
 being written on the day on which, and by the person to whom, it was 
 said. 
 
 VI. U 
 
290 JOHNSON DESCRIBED BY 
 
 to hear people whine about metaphysical distresses, when there 
 was so much want and hunger in the world. I told him I 
 supposed then he never wept at any tragedy but " Jane Shore/' 
 who had died for want of a loaf. He called me a saucy girl, but 
 did not deny the inference. 
 
 I dined very pleasantly one day last week at the Bishop of 
 Chester's. Johnson was there, and the Bishop was very desirous 
 to draw him out, as he wished to show him off to some of the 
 company who had never seen him. He begged me to sit next 
 him at dinner, and to devote myself to making him talk. To this 
 end, I consented to talk more than became me, and our stratagem 
 succeeded. You would have enjoyed seeing him take me by the 
 hand in the middle of dinner, and repeat with no small enthusiasm, 
 many passages from the " Fair Penitent," &c. I urged him to 
 take a little wine, he replied, " I can't drink a little child, there- 
 fore I never touch it. Abstinence is as easy to me, as temperance 
 would be difficult." He was very good-humoured and gay. One 
 of the company happened to say a word about poetry, " Hush, 
 hush," said he, " it is dangerous to say a word of poetry before 
 her ; it is talking of the art of war before Hannibal." He con- 
 tinued his jokes, and lamented that I had not married Chatterton, 
 that posterity might have seen a propagation of poets. 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 261). 
 
 Oxford, June 13, 1782. 
 Who do you think is my principal Cicerone at Oxford ? Only 
 Dr. Johnson ! and we do so gallant it about ! You cannot 
 imagine with what delight he showed me every part of his own 
 College (Pembroke) nor how rejoiced Henderson looked, to make 
 one in the party. Dr. Adams, the Master of Pembroke, had 
 contrived a very pretty piece of gallantry. We spent the day and 
 evening at his house. After dinner Johnson begged to conduct 
 me to see the College, he would let no one show it me but him- 
 self — •' This was my room ; this Shenstone's." Then after point- 
 ing out all the rooms of the poets who had been of his college, 
 *' In short," said he, " we were a nest of singing-birds " — '* Here 
 we walked, there we played at cricket." He ran over with 
 
MRH. HANNAH MORE. 291 
 
 pleasure the history of the juvenile days he passed there. When 
 we came into the common room, we spied a fine large print of 
 Johnson, framed and hung up that very morning, with this motto : 
 " And is not Johnson ours, himself a host." Under which stared 
 you in the face, " From Miss Mores Sensibility'' This little 
 incident amused us ; — but alas ! Johnson looks very ill indeed — 
 spiritless and wan. However, he made an efibrt to be cheerful, 
 and I exerted myself much to make him so. 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 278). 
 
 London, March 29, 1783. 
 Saturday I went to Mrs. Reynolds's to meet Sir Joshua and 
 Dr. Johnson ; the latter is vastly recovered. Our conversation 
 ran very much upon religious opinions, chiefly those of the Roman 
 Catholics. He took the part of the Jesuits, and I declared 
 myself a Jansenist. He was very angry because I quoted 
 Boileau's bon mot upon the Jesuits, that they had lengthened the 
 creed and shortened the decalogue ; but I continued sturdily to 
 vindicate my old friends of the Port Royal. 
 
 Saturday we had a dinner at home, Mrs. Carter, Miss Hamilton, 
 the Kennicotts, and Dr. Johnson. Poor Johnson exerted himself 
 exceedingly ; but he was very ill and looked so dreadfully, that it 
 quite grieved me. He is more mild and complacent than he used 
 to be. His sickness seems to have softened his mind, without 
 having at all weakened it. I was struck with the mild radiance of 
 this setting sun. We had but a small party of such of his friends 
 as we knew would be most agreeable to him, and as we were all 
 very attentive, and paid him the homage he both qi^pects and 
 deserves, he was very communicative, and of course instructive 
 and delightful in the highest degree. 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 319). 
 
 April, 1784. 
 Did I tell you I went to see Dr. Johnson ? Miss Monckton 
 carried me, and we paid him a very long rsit. He received me 
 
292 JOHNSON DESCRIBED BY 
 
 with the greatest kindness and affection, and as to the Bas Bleu, 
 all the flattery I ever received from everybody together would 
 not make up his sum. He said, but I seriously insist you do not 
 tell any body, for I am ashamed of writing it even to you ; — he 
 said there was no name in poetry that might not be glad to own 
 it.^ You cannot imagine how I stared ; all this from Johnson, 
 that parsimonious praiser ! I told him I was delighted at his ap- 
 probation ; he answered quite characteristically, " And so you 
 may, for I give you the opinion of a man who does not rate his 
 judgment in these things very low, I can tell you." 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. 376). 
 
 Hamptoji, December^ 1 784. 
 Poor dear Johnson! he is past all hope. The dropsy has 
 brought him to the point of death ; his legs are scarified : but 
 nothing will do. I have, however, the comfort to hear that his 
 dread of dying is in a great measure subdued ; and now he says 
 "the bitterness of death is past." He sent the other day for Sir 
 Joshua ; and after much serious conversation told him he had 
 three favours to beg of him, and he hoped he would not refuse a 
 dying friend, be they what they would. Sir Joshua promised. 
 The first was that he would never paint on a Sunday ; the second 
 that he would forgive him thirty pounds that he had lent him, as 
 he wanted to leave them to a distressed family ; the third was 
 that he would read the bible whenever he had an opportunity ; 
 and that he would never omit it on a Sunday. There was no 
 difiiculty but upon the first point ; but at length Sir Joshua 
 promised to gratify him in all. How delighted should I be to 
 hear the dying discourse of this great and good man, especially 
 now that faith has subdued his fears. I wish I could see him. 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE TO HER SISTER (p. .S92). 
 
 Harrfpton, 1785. 
 Mr. Pepys wrote me a very kind letter on the death of Johnson, 
 
 * Her request was complied with, this passage never was shown to 
 any one. We find a corroboration of this account in Johnson's own 
 letters to Mrs. Thrale, he says " Miss More has written a poem called 
 the Bas Bleu j which is in my opinion, a very great performance. It 
 wanders about in manuscript, and surely will soon find its way to Bath." 
 
I 
 
 MRS. HANNAH MORE. 293 
 
 thinking I should be impatient to hear something relating to his 
 last hours. Dr. Brocklesby, his physician, was with him : he said 
 to him a little before he died, " Doctor, you are a worthy man, 
 and my friend, but I am afraid you are not a Christian ! What 
 can I do better for you than to offer up, in your presence, a prayer 
 to the great God, that you mav become a Christian in my sense 
 of the word ? " Instantly he fell on his knees, and put up a fer- 
 vent prayer: when he got up he caught hold of his hand with 
 great eagerness, and cried, " Doctor ! you do not say. Amen ! " 
 The doctor looked foolish ; but after a pause, cried. Amen ! 
 Johnson said, " My dear doctor, believe a dying man, there is no 
 salvation bTit in the sacrifice of the Lamb of God. Go home, 
 write down my prayer, and every word I have said, and bring it 
 me to-morrow." Brocklesby did so. 
 
 A friend desired he would make his will ; and as Hume, in his 
 last moments, had made an impartial declaration of his opinions, 
 he thought it might tend to counteract the poison, if Johnson 
 would make a public confession of his faith in his will. He said 
 he would, seized the pen with great earnestness, and asked, what 
 was the usual form of beginning a will ? His friend told him. 
 After the usual forms he wrote, " I offer up my soul to the great 
 and merciful God ; I offer it full of pollution, but in full assurance 
 that it will be cleansed in the blood of my Redeemer." And for 
 some time he wrote on with the same vigour and spirit as if he 
 had been in perfect health. When he expressed some of his 
 former dread of dying, Sir John said, " If you. Doctor, have these 
 fears, what is to become of others ? " " Oh ! Sir," said he, " I 
 have written piously, it is true ; but I have lived too much like 
 other men." It was a consolation to him, however, in his last 
 hours that he had never written in derogation of religion or 
 virtue. He talked of his death. and funeral, at times, with great 
 composure. On the Monday following, December the 13th, he 
 fell into a sound sleep, and continued in that state for twelve 
 hours, and then died without a groan. 
 
 No action of his life became him like the leaving it. His death 
 makes a kind of era in literature : piety and goodness will not 
 easily find a more able defender ; and it is delightful to see him 
 set, as it were, his dying seal to the professions of his life, and to 
 the truth of Christianity. 
 
 I now recollect, with melancholy pleasure, two little anecdotes 
 of Dr. Johnson, indicating a zeal for religion which one cannot 
 
294 JOHNSON DESCRIBED BY MRS. HANNAH MORE. 
 
 but admire, however characteristically rough. When the Abbe 
 Raynal was introduced to him, upon the Abbe's advancing to 
 shake his hand, the Doctor drew back, and put his hands behind 
 him, and afterwards replied to the expostulation of a friend — 
 " Sir, I will not shake hands with an infidel ! " At another time, 
 I remember asking him, if he did not think the Dean of Derry a 
 very agreeable man, to which he made no answer ; and on my 
 repeating my question, " Child," said he, " I will not speak 
 any thing in favour of a Sabbath-breaker, to please you, nor any 
 one else." 
 
 (Page 403.) 
 
 Adelpki, 1785. 
 Boswell tells me he is printing anecdotes of Johnson, not 
 his life, but, as he has the vanity to call it, his pyramid. I be- 
 sought his tenderness for our virtuous and most revered departed 
 friend, and begged he would mitigate some of his asperities. He 
 said, roughly, "He would not cut off his claws, nor make a tiger 
 a cat, to please anybody." It will, I doubt not, be a very amusing 
 book, but I hope not an indiscreet one ; he has great enthusiasm, 
 and some fire. 
 
EXTRACTS RELATING TO JOHNSON 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME 
 D'ARBLAY. 
 
 k 
 
EXTRACTS RELATING TO JOHNSON FROM 
 
 THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME 
 
 D^ARBLAY. (Lond. Colbuen, 1842.) 
 
 {Vol L,page 38.) 
 r A ^^' ^^^^'1 When we were summoned to dinner, Mrs. 
 L-^~^ Thrale made my father and me sit on each side of her. 
 I said that I hoped I did not take Dr. Johnson's place — for he 
 had not yet appeared. 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Thrale, " he will sit by you, which I 
 am sure will give him great pleasure." 
 
 Soon after we were seated, this great man entered. I have so 
 true a veneration for him, that the very sight of him inspires 
 me with delight and reverence, notwithstanding the cruel infir- 
 mities to which he is subject ; for he has almost perpetual con- 
 vulsive movements, either of his hands, lips, feet, or knees, and 
 sometimes of all together. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale introduced me to him, and he took his place. 
 We had a noble dinner, and a most elegant dessert. Dr. John- 
 son, in the middle of dinner, asked Mrs. Thrale what was in 
 some little pies that were near him. 
 
 " Mutton," answered she, " so I don't ask you to eat any, 
 because I knoAv you despise it." 
 
 " No, madam, no," cried he ; "I despise nothing that is good 
 of its sort ; but I am too proud now to eat of it. Sitting by 
 Miss Burney makes me very proud to-day ! " 
 
 " Miss Burney," said Mrs. Thrale, laughing, " you must take 
 great care of your heart if Dr. Johnson attacks it ; for I assure 
 you he is not often successless." 
 
 "What's that you say, madam?" cried he ; '' are you making 
 inischief between the young lady and me already ? " 
 
298 EXTRACTS FROM THE 
 
 A little while after he drank Miss Thrale's health and mine, 
 and then added : 
 
 " 'Tis a terrible thing that we cannot wish young ladies well, 
 without wishing them to become old women !" 
 
 " But some people," said Mr. Seward, " are old and young at 
 the same time, for they wear so well that they never look old.'* 
 
 " No, sir, no," cried the doctor, laughing ; *' that never yet 
 was ; you might as well say they are at the same time tall 
 and short. I remember an epitaph to that purpose, which is 
 in " 
 
 (I have quite forgot what, — and also the name it was made 
 upon, but the rest I recollect exactly :) 
 
 '* lies buried here ; 
 
 So early wise, so lasting fair, 
 
 That none, uiriess her years you told, 
 
 Thought her a child, or thought her old." 
 
 Mrs. Thrale then repeated some lines in French, and Dr. 
 Johnson some more in Latin. An epilogue of Mr. Garrick's tc 
 " Bonduca " was then mentioned, and Dr. Johnson said it was a 
 miserable performance, and everybody agreed it was the worst 
 he had ever made. 
 
 " And yet," said Mr. Seward, •' it has been very much ad- 
 mired ; but it is in praise of English valour, and so I suppose 
 the subject made it popular.'* 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said Dr. Johnson, " anything about the 
 subject, for I could not read on till I came to it ; I got through 
 half a dozen lines, but I could observe no other subject than 
 eternal dulness. I don't know what is the matter with David ; 
 I am afraid he is grown superannuated, for his prologues and 
 epilogues used to be incomparable." 
 
 " Nothing is so fatiguing," said Mrs. Thrale, "as the life of a 
 wit : he and Wilks are the two oldest men of their ages I know ; 
 for they have both worn themselves out by being eternally on 
 the rack to give entertainment to others." 
 
 " David, madam," said the doctor, looks much older than he 
 is ; for his face has had double the business of any other man's ; 
 it is never at rest ; when he speaks one minute he has quite a 
 different countenance to what he assumes the next ; I don't 
 believe he ever kept the same look for half an hour together in 
 the whole course of his life ; and such an eternal, restless, fatiguing 
 
DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME d'ARBLAT. 299 
 
 play of the muscles must certainly wear out a man's face before 
 its real time." 
 
 "O yes," cried Mrs. Tlirale, "we must certainly make some 
 allowance for such wear and tear of a man's face." 
 
 The next name that was started was that of Sir John Hawkins : 
 and Mrs. Thrale said, " Why now, Dr. Johnson, he is another of 
 those whom you suffer nobody to abuse but yourself; Garrick is 
 one, too ; for if any other person speaks against him, you brow- 
 beat him in a minute I " 
 
 "Why, madam," answered he, "they don't know when to abuse 
 him, and when to praise him ; I will alloAv no man to speak ill 
 of David that he does not deserve ; and as to Sir John, why 
 really I believe him to be an honest man at the bottom : but to 
 be sure he is penurious, and he is mean, and it must be ovnaed 
 he has a degree of brutality, and a tendency to savageness, that 
 cannot easily be defended." 
 
 We all laughed, as he meant we shoiild, at this curious manner 
 of speaking in his favour, and he then related an anecdote that 
 he said he knew to be true in regard to his meanness. He said 
 that Sir John and he once belonged to the same club, but that as 
 he eat no supper after the first night of his admission, he desired 
 to be excused paying his share. 
 
 " And was he excused ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; for no man is angry at another for being inferior to 
 himself! we all scorned him, and admitted his plea. For my 
 part, I was such a fool as to pay my share for wine, though I 
 never tasted any. But Sir John was a most uncluhahle man ! " 
 
 " And this," continued he, " reminds me of a gentleman and 
 lady with whom I travelled once ; I suppose I must call them 
 gentleman and lady, according to form, because they travelled in 
 their own coach and four horses. But at the first inn where we 
 stopped, the lady called for — a pint of ale ! and when it came, 
 quarrelled with the waiter for not giving full measure. — Now, 
 Madame Duval could not have done a grosser thing ! " 
 
 Oh, how everybody laughed ! and to be sure I did not glow at 
 all, nor munch fast, nor look on my plate, nor lose any part of 
 my usual composure ! But how grateful do I feel to this dear 
 Dr. Johnson, for never naming me and the book as belonging 
 one to the other, and yet making an allusion that showed his 
 thoughts led to it, and, at the same time, that seemed to justify 
 the character as being natural ! But, indeed, the delicacy I 
 
800 EXTRACTS FROM THE 
 
 met with from him, and from all the Thrales, was yet more flat- 
 tering to me than the praise with which I have heard they have 
 honoured my book. 
 
 ( Vol. /., page 49.) 
 
 [Aug. 1778.] At tea we all met again, and Dr. Johnson was 
 gaily sociable. He gave a very droll account of the children of 
 Mr. Langton. 
 
 " Who," he said, " might be very good children if they were 
 let alone ; but the father is never easy when he is not making 
 them do something which they cannot do ; they must repeat a 
 fable, or a speech, or the Hebrew alphabet ; and they might as 
 well count twenty, for what they know of the matter : however, 
 the father says half, for he prompts every other word. But he 
 could not have chosen a man who would have been less enter- 
 tained by such means." 
 
 " I believe not ! " cried Mrs. Thrale : " nothing is more ridi- 
 culous than parents cramming their children's nonsense down other 
 people's throats. I keep mine as much out of the way as I can." 
 
 " Yours, madam," answered he, " are in nobody's way ; no 
 children can be better managed or less troublesome ; but your 
 fault is, a too great perverseness in not allowing anybody to give 
 them anything. Why should they not have a cherry, or a goose- 
 berry, at well as bigger children ? " 
 
 " Because they are sure to return such gifts by wiping their 
 hands upon the giver's gown or coat, and nothing makes children 
 more offensive. People only make the offer to please the 
 parents, and they wish the poor children at Jericho when they 
 accept it." 
 
 " But, madam, it is a great deal more offensive to refuse them. 
 Let those who make the offer look to their own gowns and coats, 
 for when you interfere they only wish you at Jericho." 
 
 " It is difficult," said Mrs. Thrale, " to please everybody." 
 
 Indeed, the freedom with which Dr. Johnson condemns what- 
 ever he disapproves, is astonishing; and the strength of words 
 he uses would, to most people, be intolerable ; but Mrs. Thrale 
 seems to have a sweetness of disposition that equals all her other 
 excellences, and far from making a point of vindicating herself, 
 she generally receives his admonitions with the most respectful 
 
 silence. 
 
 * # * * # # 
 
DIABY AND LETTEES OF MADAME d'aRBLAY. 301 
 
 {Vol. I., page 61.) 
 
 [Aug. 1778.] We got home late, and had the company of 
 
 Mr. E , and of Mr. Rose Fuller, a young man who lives at 
 
 Streatham, and is nephew of the famous Rose Fuller; and whether 
 Dr. Johnson did not like them, or whether he was displeased 
 that we went out, or whether he was not well, I know not ; 
 but he never opened his mouth, except in answer to a question, 
 till he bid us good night. 
 
 Saturday Morning. — Dr. Johnson was again all himself; 
 and so civil to me ! — even admiring how I dressed myself! 
 Indeed, it is well I have so much of his favour ; for it seems he 
 always speaks his mind concerning the dress of ladies, and all 
 ladies who are here obey his injunctions implicitly, and alter 
 whatever he disapproves. This is a part of his character that 
 much surprises me ; but notwithstanding he is sometimes so 
 absent, and always so near-sighted, he scrutinises into every part 
 of almost everybody's appearance. They tell me of a Miss 
 Brown, who often visits here, and who has a slovenly way of 
 dressing. " And when she comes down in a morning," says Mrs. 
 Thrale, " her hair will be all loose, and her cap half off; and 
 then Dr. Johnson, who sees something is wrong, and does not 
 know where the fault is, concludes it is in the cap, and says, 
 ' My dear, what do you wear such a vile cap for ? ' ' I'll change 
 it, sir,' cries the poor girl, ' if you don't like it.' ' Ay, do,' he 
 says ; and away runs poor Miss Brown ; but when she gets on 
 another, it's the same thing, for the cap has nothing to do with 
 the fault. And then she wonders that Dr. Johnson should not 
 like the cap, for she thinks it very pretty. And so on with her 
 gOAvn, which he also makes her change ; but if the poor girl 
 were to change through all her wardrobe, unless she could put 
 her things on better, he would still find fault." 
 
 When Dr. Johnson was gone, she told me of my mother's 
 being obliged to change her dress. 
 
 " Xow," said she, " Mrs. Burney had on a very pretty linen 
 jacket and coat, and was going to church; but Dr. Johnson, who, 
 I suppose, did not like her in a jacket, saw something was the 
 matter, and so found fault with the linen: and he looked and 
 peered, and then said, ' Why, madam, this won't do ! you must 
 not go to church so ! ' So away went poor Mrs. Burney and 
 changed her gown ! And when she had done so, he did not like 
 it, but he did not know why ; so he told her she should not 
 
302 EXTRACTS FROM THE 
 
 wear a black hat and cloak in summer ! Oh, how he did 
 bother poor Mrs. Bumey ! and himself too, for if the things 
 had been put on to his mind, he would have taken no notice of 
 them." 
 
 "Why," said Mr. Thrale, very drily, "I don't think Mrs. 
 Bumey a very good dresser." 
 
 " Last time she came," said Mrs. Thrale, " she was in a white 
 cloak, and she told Dr. Johnson she had got her old white 
 cloak scoured on purpose to oblige him ! ' Scoured ! ' says he 
 * ay — have you, madam ? ' — so he see-sawed, for he could not 
 for shame find fault, but he did not seem to like the scouring." 
 
 And now let me try to recollect an account he gave us of 
 certain celebrated ladies of his acquaintance : an account which, 
 had you heard from himself, would have made you die with 
 laughing, his manner is so peculiar, and he enforces his humour 
 so originally. 
 
 It was begun by Mrs. Thrale's apologising to him for 
 troubling him with some question she thought trifling — O, I 
 remember ! We had been talking of colours, and of the fan- 
 tastic names given to them, and why the palest lilac should be 
 called a soupir etovffe; and when Dr. Johnson came in she 
 applied to him. 
 
 " Why, madam," said he, with wonderful readiness, " it is 
 called a stifled sigh because it is checked in its progress, and 
 only half a colour." 
 
 I could not help expressing my amazement at his universal 
 readiness upon all subjects, and Mrs. Thrale said to him, 
 
 " Sir, Miss Bumey wonders at your patience with such stuff; 
 but I tell her you are used to me, for I believe I torment you 
 with more foolish questions than anybody else dares do." 
 
 "No, madam," said he, "you don't torment me; — you teaze 
 me, indeed, sometimes." 
 
 " Ay, so I do, Dr. Johnson, and I wonder you bear with my 
 nonsense." 
 
 " No, madam, you never talk nonsense ; you have as much 
 sense, and more wit, than any woman I know ! " 
 
 " Oh," cried JVIi's. Thrale, blushing, "it is my turn to go under 
 the table this morning, Miss Bumey ! " 
 
 '' And yet, continued the doctor, with the most comical look, 
 *' I have known all the wits, from Mrs. Montagu down to Bet 
 Flint!" 
 
DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME d'aRBLAY. 803 
 
 " Bet Flint ! " cried Mrs. Thrale ; " pray who is she ? " 
 
 " Oh, a fine character, madam ! She Avas habitually a slut 
 
 and a drunkard, and occasionally a thief and a harlot." 
 " And, for heaven's sake, how came you to know her ? " 
 " Why, madam, she figured in the literary world, too ! Bet 
 
 Flint wrote her own life, and called herself Cassandra, and it 
 
 was in verse ; — it began : 
 
 ' When Nature first ordained my birth, 
 A diminutive I was born on earth, 
 And then I came from a dark abode. 
 Into a gay and gaudy world.' 
 
 So Bet brought me her verses to correct ; but I gave her half-a- 
 crown, and she liked it as well. Bet had a fine spirit ; she 
 advertised for a husband, but she had no success, for she told 
 me no man aspired to her ! Then she hired very handsome 
 lodgings and a footboy; and she got a harpsichord, but Bet 
 could not play ; however, she put herself in fine attitudes, and 
 drummed." 
 
 Then he gave an account of another of these geniuses, who 
 called herself by some fine name, 1 have forgotten what. 
 
 " She had not quite the same stock of virtue," continued he, 
 " nor the same stock of honesty as Bet Flint ; but I suppose she 
 envied her accomplishments, for she was so little moved by 
 the power of harmony, that while Bet Flint thought she was 
 drumming very divinely, the other jade had her indicted for a 
 nuisance ! " 
 
 " And pray what became of her, sir ? " 
 
 *• Why, madam, she stole a quilt from the man of the house, 
 and he had her taken up : but Bet Flint had a spirit not to be 
 subdued ; so when she found herself obliged to go to jail, she 
 ordered a sedan chair and bid her footboy walk before her. How- 
 ever, the footboy proved refractory, for he was ashamed, though 
 his mistress was not." 
 
 "And did she ever get out of jail again, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam; when she came to her trial, the judge acquitted 
 her. *■ So now,' she said to me, ' the quilt is my own, and now 
 I'll make a petticoat of it.' Oh, I loved Bet Flint ! " 
 
 Oh, how we all laughed ! Then he gave an account ot an- 
 other lady, who called herself Laurinda, and who also wrote 
 verses and stole furniture ; but he had not the same affection for 
 
304 EXTRACTS FROM THE 
 
 her, he said, " though she too was a lady who had high notions of 
 honour." 
 
 Then followed the history of another, who called herself Hor- 
 tensia, and who walked up and down the park repeating a book 
 of Virgil. 
 
 "But," said he, "though I know her story, I never had the 
 good fortune to see her." 
 
 After this he gave us an account of the famous Mrs. Pinketh- 
 man ; " And she," he said, " told me she owed all her misfortunes 
 to her wit : for she was so unhappy as to marry a man who 
 thought himself also a wit, though I believe she gave him not 
 implicit credit for it, but it occasioned much contradiction and 
 ill-wiU." 
 
 "Bless me, sir!" cried Mrs. Thrale, "how can all these vaga- 
 bonds contrive to get at you, of all people ? " 
 
 " O the dear creatures ! " cried he, laughing heartily, " I can't 
 but be glad to see them ! " 
 
 a " Why I wonder, sir, you never went to see Mrs. Rudd among 
 the rest ? " 
 
 " Why, madam, I believe I should," said he, " if it was not 
 for the newspapers ; but I am prevented many frolics that I 
 should like very well, since I am become such a theme for the 
 papers." 
 
 ITow would you ever have imagined this ? Bet Flint, it 
 seems, once took Kitty Fisher to see him, but to his no little 
 regret he was not at home." " And Mrs. Williams," he added, 
 " did not love Bet Flint, but Bet Flint made herself very easy 
 about that." 
 
 How Mr. Crisp would have enjoyed this account ! He gave 
 it all with so droll a solemnity, and it was all so unexpected, that 
 Mrs. Thrale and I were both almost equally diverted. 
 
 ( Vol /., page 67.) 
 [Aug. 26, 1778.] Dr. Johnson came home to dinner. 
 In the evening he was as lively and full of wit and sport as I 
 have ever seen him ; and Mrs. Thrale and I had him quite to 
 ourselves ; for Mr. Thrale came in from giving an election dinner 
 (to which he sent two bucks and six pine-apples) so tired that he 
 neither opened his eyes nor mouth, but fell fast asleep. Indeed, 
 after tea he generally does 
 
OF MADAME d'aRBLAY. 305 
 
 Dr. Johnson was very communicative concerning his present 
 work of the Lives of the Poets ; Dryden is now in the press, 
 and he told las he had just been writing a dissertation upon 
 Hudibras. 
 
 He gave us an account of Mrs. Lennox. Her " Female 
 Quixote " is very justly admired here. But ^L-s. Thrale says, 
 that though her books are generally approved, nobody likes her. 
 I find she, among others, waited on Dr. Johnson upon her com- 
 mencing writer, and he told us that, at her request, he carried 
 her to Richardson. 
 
 " Poor Charlotte Lennox ! " continued he ; " when we came to 
 the house, she desired me to leave her, ' for,' says she, ' I am 
 under great restraint in your presence ; but if you leave me alone 
 with Richardson, I'll give you a very good account of him : how- 
 ever, I fear poor Charlotte was disappointed, for she gave me no 
 account at all." 
 
 He then told us of two little productions of our Mr. Harris, 
 which we read ; they are very short and very clever : one is 
 called " Fashion," the other " Much Ado," and they are both of 
 them full of a sportive humour that I had not suspected to 
 belong to Mr. Harris, the learned grammarian. 
 
 Some time after, turning suddenly to me, he said, " Miss 
 Burney, what sort of reading do you delight in ? History, 
 travels, poetry, or romances ? " 
 
 " O sir ! " cried I, " I dread being catechised by you. I dare 
 not make any answer, for I fear whatever I should say would be 
 wrong ! " 
 
 " Whatever you should say — how's that ? " 
 
 " Why, not whatever I should, but whatever I could say." 
 
 He laughed, and to my great relief spared me any further 
 questions upon the subject. 
 
 (Vol. L, page 73.) 
 
 [Aug. 1778.] The day was passed most agreeably. In the 
 evening we had, as usual, a literary conversation. I say we, only 
 because Mrs. Thrale will make me take some share, by perpetu- 
 ally applying to me ; and, indeed, there can be no better house 
 for rubbing up the memory, as I hardly ever read, saw, or heard 
 of any book that by some means or other has not been mentioned 
 here. 
 
 VI. X 
 
306 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 Mr. Lort produced several curious MSS. of the famous Bristol 
 Chatterton ; among others, his will, and divers verses written 
 against Dr. Johnson, as a placeman and pensioner ; all which he 
 read aloud, with a steady voice and unmoved countenance. 
 
 I was astonished at him ; Mrs. Thrale not much pleased ; Mr. 
 Thrale silent and attentive ; and Mr. Seward was slily laughing. 
 Dr. Johnson himself listened profoundly, and laughed openly. 
 Indeed, I believe he wishes his abusers no other thing than a 
 good dinner, like Pope. 
 
 Just as we had got our biscuits and toast- and-water, which 
 make the Streatham supper, and which, indeed, is all there is any 
 chance of eating after our late and great dinners, Mr. Lort sud- 
 denly said : 
 
 " Pray, ma'am, have you heard anything of a novel that runs 
 about a good deal, called ' Evelina ' ? " 
 
 What a ferment did this question, before such a set, put 
 me in ! 
 
 « « » « # 4t 
 
 (Vol. L, page 92.) 
 
 [Sept. 1778.] Before dinner, to my great joy, Dr. Johnson 
 returned home from Warley Common. I followed Mrs. Thrale 
 into the library to see him, and he is so near-sighted, that he took 
 me for Miss Streatfield : but he did not welcome me less kindly 
 when he found his mistake, which Mrs. Thrale made known by 
 saying — " No, 'tis Miss Streatfield's rival, Miss Burney." 
 
 At tea-time the subject turned upon the domestic economy of 
 Dr. Johnson's own household. Mrs. Thrale has often acquainted 
 me that his house is quite filled and overrun with all sorts of 
 strange creatures, whom he admits for mere charity, and because 
 nobody else will admit them, — for his charity is unbounded, — 
 or, rather, bounded only by his circumstances. 
 
 The account he gave of the adventures and absurdities of the 
 set, was highly diverting, but too diffused for writing, — though 
 one or two speeches I must give. I think I shall occasionally 
 theatricalise my dialogues. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale — Pray, sir, how does Mrs. Williams like all this 
 tribe ? 
 
 Dr. Johnson — Madam, she does not like them at all ; but 
 their fondness for her is not greater. She and De JNlullin 
 
OF MADAME d'ABBLAY. 307 
 
 quarrel incessantly ; but as they can both be occasionally of 
 service to each other, and as neither of them have any other 
 place to go to, their animosity does not force them to separate. 
 
 Mrs. T. — And pray, sir, what is Mr. Macbean ? 
 
 Dr. J. — Madam, he is a Scotchman : he is a man of great 
 learning, and for his learning I respect him, and I wish to serve 
 him. He knows many languages, and knows them well ; but he 
 knows nothing of life. I advised him to write a geographical 
 dictionary ; but I have lost all hopes of his ever doing anything 
 properly, since I found he gave as much labour to Capua as to 
 Rome. 
 
 Mr. T. — And pray who is clerk of your kitchen, sir ? 
 
 Dr. J. — Why, sir, I am afraid there is none ; a general 
 anarchy prevails in my kitchen, as I am told by Mr. Levat, who 
 says it is not now what it used to be ! 
 
 Mrs. T. — Mr. Levat, I suppose, sir, has the office of keeping 
 the hospital in health ? for he is an apothecary. 
 
 Dr. J. — Levat, madam, is a brutal fellow, but I have a good 
 regard for him ; for his brutality is in his manners, not his mind. 
 
 Mr. T. — But how do you get your dinners drest ? 
 
 Dr. J. — Why De Mullin has the chief management of the 
 kitchen ; but our roasting is not magnificent, for we have no 
 jack. 
 
 Mr. T. — No jack ? Why how do they manage without ? 
 
 Dr. J. — Small joints, I believe, they manage with a string, and 
 larger are done at the tavern. I have some thoughts (with a 
 profound gravity) of buying a jack, because I think a jack is 
 some credit to a house. 
 
 Mr. T. — Well, but you'll have a spit, too ? 
 
 Dr. J. — No, sir, no ; that would be superfluous ; for we shall 
 never use it ; and if a jack is seen, a spit will be presumed ! 
 
 Mrs. T. — But pray, sir, who is the Poll you talk of? She 
 that you use to abet in her quarrels with Mrs. Williams, and call 
 out, " At her again. Poll ! Never flinch. Poll ! " 
 
 Dr. J. — Why, I took to Poll very well at first, but she won't 
 do upon a nearer examination. 
 
 Mrs. T. — How came she among you, sir ? 
 
 Dr. J. — Why I don't rightly remember, but we could spare 
 her very well from us. Poll is a stupid slut ; I had some hopes 
 of her at first ; but when I talked to her tightly and closely, I 
 could make nothing of her ; she was wiggle waggle, and I could 
 
308 DIAEY AND LETTERS 
 
 never persuade her to be categorical. I wish Miss Burney would 
 come among us ; if she would onlj give us a week, we should 
 furnish her with ample materials for a new scene in her next 
 work. 
 
 A little while after, he asked Mrs. Thrale who had read 
 *' Evelina " in his absence ? 
 
 " Who ? " cried she ; — " why Burke ! — Burke sat up all night 
 to finish it ; and Sir Joshua Reynolds is mad about it, and said 
 he would give fifty pounds to know the author. But our fun 
 was with his nieces — we made them believe I wrote the book, 
 and the girls gave me the credit of it at once." 
 
 " I am sorry for it, madam," cried he, quite angrily, — " you 
 were much to blame ; deceits of that kind ought never to be 
 practised ; they have a worse tendency than you are aware of.'* 
 
 Mrs. T. — Why, don't frighten yourself, sir; Miss Burney 
 will have all the credit she has a right to, for I told them whose 
 it was before they went. 
 
 Dr. J. — But you were very wrong for misleading them a 
 moment ; such jests are extremely blameable ; they are foolish 
 in the very act, and they are wrong, because they always leave 
 a doubt upon the mind. What first passed will be always 
 recollected by those girls, and they will never feel clearly con- 
 vinced which wrote the book, Mrs. Thrale or Miss Burney. 
 
 Mrs. T. — Well, well, I am ready to take my Bible oath it 
 was not me ; and if that won't do. Miss Burney must take hers 
 too. 
 
 I was then looking over the " Life of Cowley," which he had 
 himself given me to read, at the same time that he gave to Mrs. 
 Thrale that of Waller. They are now printed, though they will 
 not be published for some time. But he bade me put it away. 
 
 " Do," cried he, " put away that now, and prattle with us ; 
 I can't make this little Burney prattle, and I am sure she prattles 
 well ; but I shall teach her another lesson than to sit thus silent 
 before I have done with her." 
 
 " To talk," cried I, "is the only lesson I shall be backward 
 to learn from you, sir." 
 
 " You shall give me," cried he, " a discourse upon the passions : 
 come, begin ! Tell us the necessity of regulating them, watching 
 over and curbing them ! Did you ever read Norris' ' Theory of 
 Love ' ? " 
 
 " Xo, sir," said I, laughing, yet staring a little. 
 
OP MADAME d'aRBLAY. 809 
 
 Dr. J. — Well, it is worth your reading. He will make you 
 see that inordinate love is the root of aU evil : inordinate love of 
 wealth brings on avarice ; of wine , brings on intemperance ; of 
 power, brings on cruelty ; and so on. He deduces from inordi- 
 nate love all human frailty. 
 
 Mrs. T. — To-morrow, sir, Mrs. Montagu dines here, and then 
 you will have talk enough. 
 
 Dr. Johnson began to see-saw, with a countenance strongly 
 expressive of inward fun, and after enjoying it some time in silence, 
 he suddenly, and with great animation, turned to me and cried, 
 
 " Down with her, Burney ! — down with her ! — spare her not ! — 
 attack her, fight her, and down with her at once! You are a 
 rising wit, and she is at the top ; and when I was beginning the 
 world, and was nothing and nobody, the joy of my life was to fire 
 at all the established wits ! and then everybody loved to halloo 
 me on. But there is no game now ; everybody would be glad 
 to see me conquered : but then, when I was new, to vanquish 
 the great ones was all the delight of my poor little dear soul ! 
 So at her, Burney — at her, and down with her ! " 
 
 Oh, how we were all amused ! By the way, I must tell you 
 that Mrs. Montagu is in very great estimation here, even with 
 Dr. Johnson himself, when others do not praise her improperly. 
 Iklrs. Thrale ranks her as the first of women in the literary way. 
 I should have told you that Miss Gregory, daughter of the 
 Gregory who wrote the " Letters," or " Legacy of Advice," lives 
 with Mrs. Montagu, and was invited to accompany her. 
 
 "Mark, now," said Dr. Johnson, "if I contradict her to- 
 morrow. I am determined, let her say what she will, that I will 
 not contradict her." 
 
 Mrs. T. — Why, to be sure, sir, you did put her a little out of 
 countenance last time she came. Yet you were neither rough, 
 nor cruel, nor ill-natured ; but still, when a lady changes colour, 
 we imagine her feelings are not quite composed. 
 
 Dr. J. — Why, madam, I won't answer that I shan't contradict 
 her again, if she provokes me as she did then ; but a less provo- 
 cation I will withstand. I believe I am not high in her good 
 graces already ; and I begin (added he, laughing heartily) to 
 tremble for my admission into her new house. 1 doubt I shall 
 never see the inside of it. 
 
 (Mrs. Montagu is buUding a most superb house.) 
 
 Mrs. T. — Oh, I warrant you, she fears you, indeed ; but that, 
 
310 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 you know, is nothing uncommon : and dearly I love to hear your 
 disquisitions ; for certainly she is the first woman for literary 
 knowledcre in England, and if in England, I hope I may say in 
 the world. 
 
 Dr. J. — I believe you may, madam. She diffuses more know- 
 ledge in her conversation than any woman I know, or, indeed, 
 almost any man. 
 
 Mrs. T. — I declare I know no man equal to her, take away 
 yourself and Burke, for that art. And you who love magnificence, 
 wont quarrel with her, as everybody else does, for her love of finery. 
 
 Dr. J. — No, I shall not quarrel with her upon that topic. 
 (Then, looking earnestly at me,) " Nay," he added, " its very 
 handsome ! " 
 
 " What, sir ? " cried I, amazed. 
 
 " Why, your cap : — I have looked at it some time, and I like ifc 
 much. It has not that vile bandeau across it, which I have so 
 often cursed." 
 
 ****** 
 
 (Vol. L,page 109.) 
 
 [Sept. 21, 1778.] I have had a thousand delightful conversa- 
 tions with Dr. Johnson, who, whether he loves me or not, I am 
 sure seems to have some opinion of my discretion, for he speaks of 
 all this house to me with unbounded confidence, neither diminish- 
 ing faults, nor exaggerating praise. Whenever he is below stairs 
 he keeps me a prisoner, for he does not like I should quit the 
 room a moment ; if I rise, he constantly calls out, " Don't you 
 go, little Burney ! " 
 
 Last night, when we were talking of compliments and of gross 
 speeches, Mrs. Thrale most justly said, that nobody could make- 
 either like Dr. Johnson. " Your compliments, sir, are made sel- 
 dom, but when they are made they have an elegance unequalled ; 
 but then when you are angry, who dares make speeches so bitter 
 and so cruel ? " 
 
 Dr. J. — Madam, I am always sorry when I make bitter speeches, 
 and I never do it but when I am insufferably vexed. 
 
 Mrs. T. — Yes, sir ; but you suffer things to vex you that no- 
 body else would vex at. I am sure I have had my share of scolding 
 from you ! 
 
 Dr. J. — It is true, you have ; but you have borne it like an 
 angel, and you have been the better for it. 
 
 Mrs. T. — That I believe, sir ; for I have received more instruc- 
 
OF MADAME d'aRBLAT. 811 
 
 tion from you than from any man, or any book : and the vanity 
 that you should thmk me worth instructing always overcame the 
 vanity of being found fault with. And so you had the scolding, 
 and I the improvement. 
 
 F. B. — And I am sure both make for the honour of both ! 
 
 Dr. J. — I think so too. But Mrs. Thrale is a sweet creature, 
 and never angry ; she has a temper the most delightful of any 
 woman I ever knew. 
 
 ^Irs. T. — This I can tell you, sir, and without any flattery — I 
 not only bear your reproofs when present, but in almost everything 
 I do in your absence, I ask myself whether you would like it, and 
 what you would say to it. Yet I believe there is nobody you 
 dispute with oftener than me. 
 
 F. B. — But you two are so well established with one another, 
 that you can bear rebuff that would kill a stranger. 
 
 Dr. J. — Yes ; but we disputed the same before we were so well 
 established with one another. 
 
 Mrs. T — Oh, sometimes I think I shall die no other death than 
 hearing the bitter things he says to others. What he says to my- 
 self I can bear, because I know how sincerely he is my friend and 
 that he means to mend me ; but to others it is cruel. 
 
 Dr. J. — Why, madam, you often provoke me to say severe 
 things, by unreasonable commendation. If you would not call for 
 my praise, I would not give you my censure ; but it constantly 
 moves my indignation to be applied to, to speak well of a thing 
 which I think contemptible. 
 
 F. B. — Well, this I know, whoever I may hear complain of Dr. 
 Johnson's severity, I shall always vouch for his kindness, as far as 
 regards myself, and his indulgence. 
 
 Mrs. T. — Ay, but I hope he will trim you yet, too ! 
 
 Dr. J. — I hope not : I should be very sorry to say anything 
 that should vex my dear little Burney. 
 
 F. B. — If you did, sir, it would vex me more than you can 
 imagine. I should sink in a minute. 
 
 Mrs. T. — I remember, sir, when we were travelling in Wales, 
 how you called me to account for my civility to the people ; 
 " Madam," you said, " let me have no more of this idle commen- 
 dation of nothing. Why is it, that whatever you see, and who- 
 ever you see, you are to be so indiscriminately lavish of praise ? " 
 " Why, I'll tell you, sir," said I, " when I am with you, and Mr. 
 Thrale, and Queeny, I am obliged to be civil for four ! " 
 
312 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 There was a cutter for you ! But this I must say, for the 
 honour of both, Mrs. Thrale speaks to Dr Johnson with as much 
 sincerity (though with greater softness) as he does to her. 
 
 Soon after he went, I went and shut myself up in a sweet cool 
 summer-house, to read Irene : — which, indeed, though not a good 
 play, is a beautiful poem. 
 
 As my dear father spent the rest of the day here, I will not 
 further particularise, but leave accounts to his better commu- 
 nication. He probably told you that the P family came in 
 
 to tea ; and, as he knows Mrs. P , pray tell him what Dr. 
 
 Johnson says of her. When they were gone, Mrs. Thrale com- 
 plained that she was quite worn out with that tiresome silly 
 woman, who had talked of her family and affairs till she was sick 
 to death of hearing her. 
 
 " Madam," said he, '* why do you blame the woman for the 
 only sensible thing she could do — talking of her family and her 
 affairs ? For how should a woman who is as empty as a drum, 
 talk upon any other subject ? — If you speak to her of the sun, 
 she does not know it rises in the east; — if you speak to her of 
 the moon, she does not know it changes at the full ; — if you speak to 
 her of the queen, she does not know she is the king's wife ; — how, 
 then, can you blame her for talking of her family and affairs ? " 
 
 (Vol. I.,page 180.) 
 
 [Feb. 1779.] Mrs. Thrale and Dr. Johnson vied with each 
 other in the kindness of their reception of me. Mr. Thrale was, 
 as usual at first, cold and quiet, but soon, as usual also, warmed 
 into sociality. 
 
 The next day Sir Philip Jennings Gierke came. He is not at 
 all a man of letters, but extremely well bred, nay, elegant, in his 
 manners, and sensible and agreeable in his conversation. He is 
 a professed minority man, and very active and zealous in the 
 opposition. He had, when I came, a bill in agitation concerning 
 contractors — too long a matter to explain upon paper — ^but which 
 was levelled against bribery and corruption in the ministry, and 
 which he was to make a motion upon in the House of Commons 
 the next week. 
 
 Men of such different principles as Dr. Johnson and Sir Philip, 
 you may imagine, can not have much sympathy or cordiality in 
 
OF MADAME d'aRBLAT. 313 
 
 tlieir political debates ; however, the very superior abilities of 
 the former, and the remarkable good breeding of the latter, have 
 kept both upon good terms ; though they have had several argu- 
 ments, in which each has exerted his utmost force for conquest. 
 
 The heads of one of their debates I must try to remember, 
 because I should be sorry to forget. Sir Philip explained his 
 bill ; Dr. Johnson at first scoffed it ; Mr. Thrale betted a guinea 
 the motion would not pass, and Sir Philip, that he should divide 
 a hundred and fifty upon it. 
 
 Sir Philip, addressing himself to Mrs. Thrale, hoped she would 
 not suffer the Tories to warp her judgment, and told me he hoped 
 my father had not tainted my principles ; and then he farther 
 explained his bill, and indeed made it appear so equitable, that 
 Mrs. Thrale gave in to it, and wished her husband to vote for it. 
 He still hung back ; but to our general surprise, Dr. Johnson 
 having made more particular inquiries into its merits, first 
 softened towards it, and then declared it a very rational and 
 fair bill, and joined with Mrs. Thrale in soliciting Mr. Thrale's 
 vote. 
 
 Sir Philip was, and with very good reason, quite delighted. 
 He opened upon politics more amply, and freely declared his 
 opinions, which were so strongly against the government, and so 
 much bordering upon the republican principles, that Dr. Johnson 
 suddenly took fire ; he called back his recantation, begged Mr. 
 Thrale not to vote for Sir Philip's bill, and grew very animated 
 against his antagonist. 
 
 " The bill," said he, " ought to be opposed by all honest men ! 
 in itself, and considered simply, it is equitable, and I would 
 forward it ; but when we find what a faction it is to support and 
 encourage, it ought not to be listened to. All men should oppose 
 it who do not wish well to sedition ! " 
 
 These, and several other expressions yet more strong, he made 
 use of; and had Sir Philip had less unalterable politeness, I 
 believe they would have had a vehement quarrel. He main- 
 tained his ground, however, with calmness and steadiness, though 
 he had neither argument nor wit at all equal to such an 
 opponent. 
 
 Dr. Johnson pursued him with unabating vigour and dexterity, 
 and at length, though he could not convince, he so entirely 
 baffled him, that Sir Philip was self-compelled to be quiet — 
 which, with a very good grace, he confessed. 
 
314 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 Dr. Johnson then, recollecting himself, and thinking, as he 
 owned afterwards, that the dispute grew too serious, with a skill 
 all his own, suddenly and unexpectedly turned it to burlesque ; 
 and taking Sir Philip by the hand at the moment we arose after 
 supper, and were separating for the night, 
 
 " Sir Philip," said he, " you are too liberal a man for the 
 party to which you belong; I shall have much pride in the 
 honour of converting you ; for I really believe, if you were not 
 spoiled by bad company, the spirit of faction would not have 
 possessed you. Go, then, sir, to the House, but make not your 
 motion ! Give up your bill, and surprise the world by turning to 
 the side of truth and reason. Rise, sir, when they least expect 
 you, and address your fellow-patriots to this purpose : — Gentle- 
 men, I have, for many a weary day, been deceived and seduced 
 by you. I have now opened my eyes ; I see that you are all 
 scoundrels — the subversion of all government is your aim. 
 Gentlemen, I will no longer herd among rascals in whose infamy 
 my name and character must be included. I therefore renounce 
 you all, gentlemen, as you deserve to be renounced." 
 
 Then shaking his hand heartily, he added, 
 
 " Go, sir, go to bed ; meditate upon this recantation, and rise 
 in the morning a more honest man than you laid down." 
 
 {Vol. L, page 193.) 
 [March, 1779.] Dr. Johnson has more fun, and comical 
 humour, and love of nonsense about him, than almost anybody 
 I ever saw : I mean when with those he likes ; for otherwise, he 
 can be as severe and as bitter as report relates him. 
 
 ****** 
 
 {Vol II., page 2^9.) fl 
 
 Thursday, June 19th, 1783. — We heard to-day that Dr. " 
 Johnson had been taken ill, in a way that gave a dreadful shock 
 to himself, and a most anxious alarm to his friends. Mr. Seward 
 brought the news here, and my father and I instantly went to his 
 house. He had earnestly desired me, when we lived so much 
 together at Streatham, to see him frequently if he should be ill. 
 He saw my father, but he had medical people with him, and 
 could not admit me up stairs, but he sent me down a most kind 
 message, that he thanked me for calling, and when he was better 
 
OF MADAME d'aEBLAY. 315 
 
 should hope to see me often. I had the satisfaction to hear 
 from Mrs. Williams that the physicians had pronounced him to 
 be in no danger, and expected a speedy recovery. 
 
 The stroke was confined to his tongue. Mrs. Williams told 
 me a most striking and touching circumstance that attended the 
 attack. It was at about four o'clock in the morning : he found 
 himself with a paralytic affection ; he rose, and composed in his 
 own mind a Latin prayer to the Almighty, " that whatever were 
 the sufferings for which he must prepare himself, it would please 
 Him, through the grace and mediation of our blessed Saviour, to 
 spare his intellects, and let them all fall upon his body." When 
 he had composed this, internally, he endeavoured to speak it 
 aloud, but found his voice was gone. 
 
 {Vol. IL, page 1^2.) 
 
 Thursday, Oct. 29th, 1783. — This morning, at breakfast, 
 Mr. Hoole called. I wanted to call upon Dr. Johnson, and it is 
 so disagreeable to me to go to him alone, now poor Mrs. Williams 
 is dead, on account of the quantity of men always visiting him, 
 that I most gladly accepted, and almost asked, his 'squireship. 
 
 We went together. The dear Doctor received me with open 
 arms. 
 
 " Ah, dearest of all dear ladies ! " he cried, and made me sit 
 in his best chair. 
 
 He had not breakfasted. 
 
 " Do you forgive my coming so soon ? '* said I. 
 
 " I cannot forgive your not coming sooner," he answered. 
 
 I asked if I should make his breakfast, which I have not done 
 since we left Streatham ; he readily consented. 
 
 " But, sir," quoth I, " I am in the wrong chair." For I was 
 away from the table. 
 
 " It is so difficult," quoth he, " for any thing to be wrong that 
 belongs to you, that it can only be I am in the wrong chair, to 
 keep you from the right one." 
 
 And then we changed. 
 
 You will see by this how good were his spirits and his health. 
 
 I stayed with him two hours, and could hardly get away ; he 
 wanted me to dine with him, and said he would send home to 
 excuse me ; but I could not possibly do that. Yet I left him 
 with real regret. 
 
"316 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 19th, 1783. — I received a letter from Dr. 
 Johnson, which I have not by me, but will try to recollect. 
 ****** 
 
 (Vol IT., page 295.) 
 
 Tuesday, Dec. 30, 1783. — I went to Dr. Johnson, and spent the 
 evening with him. He was very indifferent, indeed. There were 
 some very disagreeable people with him ; and he once affected 
 me very much, by turning suddenly to me, and grasping my 
 hand, and saying, — 
 
 *' The blister I have tried for my breath has betrayed some 
 very bad tokens ; but I will not terrify myself by talking of 
 them : ah, priez Dieu pour moi ! " 
 
 You may believe I promised that I would! — Good and excel- 
 lent as he is, how can he so fear death ? — Alas, my Susy, how 
 awful is that idea I — He was quite touchingly affectionate to me. 
 How earnestly I hope for his recovery ! 
 
 * * # # :^ # * 
 
 {Vol. IL, page S27.) 
 
 KoKBURY Park, Sunday, Nov. 28th, 1784. — How will my 
 Susan smile at sight of this date ! Let me tell her how it has all 
 happened. Last Thursday, Nov. 25th, my father set me down 
 at Bolt-court, while he went on upon business. I was anxious 
 to again see poor Dr. Johnson, who has had terrible health since 
 his return from Lichfield. He let me in, though very ill. He 
 was alone, which I much rejoiced at; for I had a longer and more 
 satisfactory conversation with him than I have had for many 
 months. He was in rather better spirits, too, than I have lately 
 seen him ; but he told me he was going to try what sleeping out 
 of town might do for him. 
 
 '' I remember," said he, " that my wife, when she was near her 
 end, poor woman, was also advised to sleep out of town ; and 
 when she was carried to the lodgings that had been prepared for 
 her, she complained that the staircase was in very bad condition 
 — for the plaster was beaten off the wall in many places. 'Oh,' 
 said the man of the house, ' that's nothing but by the knocks 
 against it of the coffins of the poor souls that have died in the 
 lodgings ! ' " 
 
 He laughed, though not without apparent secret anguish, in 
 telling me this. I felt extremely shocked, but, willing to confine 
 
OP MADAME d'aBBLAT. 317 
 
 my words at least to the literal story, I only exclaimed against 
 the mifeeling absurdity of such a confession. 
 
 '< Such a confession," cried he, " to a person then coming to try 
 his lodging for her health, contains, indeed, more absurdity than 
 we can well lay our account for." 
 
 I had seen Miss T. the day before. 
 
 " So," said he, " did I." 
 
 I then said, — " Do you ever, sir, hear from her mother ? " 
 
 " No," cried he, " nor write to her. I drive her quite from 
 my mind. If I meet with one of her letters, I burn it instantly. 
 I have burnt all I can find. I never speak of her, and I desire 
 never to hear of her more. I drive her, as I said, wholly from 
 my mind." 
 
 Yet, wholly to change this discourse, I gave him a history of 
 the Bristol milk-woman, and told him the tales I have heard of 
 her writing so wonderfiilly, though she had read nothing but 
 Young and Milton ; " though those," I continued, " could never 
 possibly, I should think, be the first authors with anybody. 
 Would children understand them ? and grown people who have 
 not read are children in literature." 
 
 " Doubtless," said he ; " but there is nothing so little compre- 
 hended among mankind as what is genius. They give to it all, 
 when it can be but a part. Genius is nothing more than knowing 
 the use of tools ; but there must be tools for it to use : a man 
 who has spent all his life in this room will give a very poor 
 account of what is contained in the next." 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; yet there is such a thing as invention ? 
 Shakspeare could never have seen a Caliban." 
 
 " No ; but he had seen a man, and knew, therefore, how to 
 vary him to a monster. A man who would draw a monstrous 
 cow, must first know what a cow commonly is ; or how can he 
 tell that to give her an ass's head or an elephant's tusk will make 
 her monstrous ? Suppose you shew me a man who is a very ex- 
 pert carpenter ; another will say he was born to be a carpenter — 
 but what if he had never seen any wood ? Let two men, one with 
 genius, the other with none, look at an overturned waggon : — 
 he who has no genius, will think of the waggon only as he sees it, 
 overturned, and walk on ; he who has genius, will paint it to him- 
 self before it was overturned, — standing still, and moving on, and 
 heavy loaded, and empty ; but both must see the waggon, tO' 
 think of it at all." 
 
818 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 How just and true all this, my dear Susy! He then animated, 
 and talked on, upon this milk-woman, upon a once as famous 
 fihoemaker, and upon our immortal Shakspeare, with as much fire, 
 :Spirit, wit, and truth of criticism and judgment, as ever yet I 
 have heard him. How delightfully bright are his faculties, though 
 the poor and infirm machine that contains them seems alarmingly 
 ^ving way. 
 
 Yet, all brilliant as he was, I saw him growing worse, and offered 
 to go, which, for the first time I ever remember, he did not oppose ; 
 but, most kindly pressing both my hands, — 
 
 " Be not," he said, in a voice of even tenderness, " be not longer 
 in coming again for my letting you go now." 
 
 I assured him that I would be the sooner, and was running off, 
 l3ut he called me back, in a solemn voice, and, in a manner the 
 most energetic, said, — 
 
 " Remember me in your prayers ! " 
 
 I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not dare. I gave 
 him my promise, and, very heavily indeed, I left him. 
 
 {Vol. IL, page 332.) 
 
 Thursday morning. — I was called away in the midst of my 
 rhodomontade, and have lost all zest for pursuing it. I have 
 been a second time to see poor Dr. Johnson, and both times he was 
 too ill to admit me. I know how very much worse he must be, 
 for when I saw him last, v^hich was the morning before I went to 
 Norbury, he repeatedly, and even earnestly begged me to come to 
 him again, and to see him both as soon and as often as I could. 
 I am told by Mr. Hoole, that he enquired of Dr. Brocklesby if 
 he thought it likely he might live six weeks ? and the Doctor's 
 hesitation saying — No — he had been more deeply depressed than 
 ever. Fearing death as he does, no one can wonder. Why he 
 should fear it, all may wonder. 
 
 He sent me down yesterday, by a clergyman who was with him, 
 the kindest of messages, and I hardly know whether I ought to go 
 to him or not ; though I know still less why I say so, for go again 
 I both must and shall. One thing, his extreme dejection of mind 
 •considered, has both surprised and pleased me ; he has now con- 
 stantly an amanuensis with him, and dictates to him such com- 
 positions, particularly Latin and Greek, as he formerly made, but 
 ^repeated to his friends without ever committing to paper. This, 
 
OF MADAME d'aRBLAY. 319 
 
 I hope, will not only gratify his survivors, but serve to divert 
 him. 
 
 The good Mr. Hoole, and equally good Mr. Sastrcs attend him, 
 rather as nurses than friends, for they sit whole hours by him, 
 without even speaking to him. He will not, it seems, be talked 
 to — at least very rarely. At times, indeed, he re-animates ; bat 
 it is soon over, and he says of himself, "I am now like Macbeth, — 
 question enrages me." 
 
 My father saw him once while I was away, and carried Mr. 
 Burke with him, who was desirous of paying his respects to him 
 once more in person. He rallied a little while they were there ; 
 and Mr. Burke, when they left him, said to my father — " His 
 work is almost done ; and well has he done it ! " 
 
 {Vol IL, page 334.) 
 
 St. Martin's-street, Wednesday, Dec. 10th, 1784. — I went 
 in the evening to poor Dr. Johnson. Frank told me he was very 
 ill, but let me in. He would have taken me up stairs, but I would 
 not see him without his direct permission. I desu*ed Frank to 
 tell him I called to pay my respects to him, but not to disturb him 
 if he was not well enough to see me. Mr. Strahan, a clergyman, 
 he said, was with him alone. 
 
 In a few minutes, this Mr. Strahan came to me himself. He 
 told me Dr. Johnson was very ill, very much obliged to me for 
 coming, but so weak and bad he hoped I would excuse his not 
 seeing me. 
 
 At night my father brought us the most dismal tidings of dear 
 Dr. Johnson. Dr. Warren had seen him, and told him to take 
 what opium he pleased ! He had thanked and taken leave of all 
 his physicians. Alas ! — I shall lose him, and he will take no leave 
 of me ! My father was deeply depressed ; he has himself tried in 
 vain for admission this week. Yet some people see him — the 
 Hooles, Mr. Sastres, Mr. Langton ; — but then they must be in 
 the house, watching for one moment, whole hours. I hear from 
 every one he is now perfectly resigned to his approaching fate, 
 and no longer in terror of death, I am thankfully happy in hear- 
 ing that he speaks himself now of the change his mind has under- 
 gone, from its dark horror, and says — " He feels the irradiation 
 
320 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 of hope ! " Good, and pious, and excellent Christian — who shall 
 feel it if not he ? 
 
 (Vol II., page 336.) 
 
 Dec. 11th, 1784. — We had a party to dinner, by long appoint- 
 ment, for which, indeed, none of us were well disposed, the ap- 
 prehension of hearing news only of death being hard upon us all. 
 The party was, Dr. Rose, Dr. Gillies, Dr. Garthshore, and 
 Charles. 
 
 The day could not be well — but mark the night. 
 
 My father, in the morning, saw this first of men ! I had not his 
 account till bed-time ; he feared over- exciting me. He would 
 not, he said, but have seen him for worlds ! He happened to be 
 better, and admitted him. He was up, and very composed. He 
 took his hand yery kindly, asked after all his family, and then, in 
 particular, how Fanny did ? 
 
 " I hope," he said, " Fanny did not take it amiss that I did not 
 see her ? I was very bad ! " 
 
 Amiss ! — what a word ! Oh that I had been present to have 
 answered it ! My father stayed, I suppose, half an hour, and then 
 was coming away. He again took his hand, and encouraged him 
 to come again to him ; and when he was taking leave, said — 
 " Tell Fanny to pray for me ! " 
 
 Ah ! dear Dr. Johnson ! might I but have t/our prayers ! After 
 which, still grasping his hand, he made a prayer for himself, — the 
 most fervent, pious, humble, eloquent, and touching, my father 
 says, that ever was composed. Oh, would I had heard it! 
 He ended it with Amen ! in which my father joined, and was 
 echoed by all present. And again, when my father was leaving 
 him, he brightened up, something of his arch look returned and 
 he said — " I think I shall throAv the ball at Fanny yet ! " 
 
 Little more passed ere my father came away, decided, most 
 tenderly, not to tell me this till our party was gone. 
 
 This most earnestly increased my desire to see him : this kind 
 and frequent mention of me melted me into double sorrow and 
 regret. I would give the world I had but gone to him that 
 day ! It was, however, impossible, and the day was over before 
 I knew he had said what I look upon as a call to me. This 
 morning, after church time, I went. Frank said he was very ill, 
 and saw nobody ; I told him I had understood by my father the 
 day before that he meant to see me. He then let me in. I 
 
OF MADAME d'aBBLAY. 321 
 
 went into his room upstairs ; he was in his bedroom. I saw it 
 crowded, and ran hastily down. Frank told me his master had 
 refused seeing even Mr. Langton. I told him merely to say I 
 had called, but by no means to press my admission. His own 
 feelings were all that should be consulted ; his tenderness, I knew, 
 would be equal, whether he was able to see me or not. 
 
 I went into the parlour, preferring being alone in the cold, to 
 any company with a fire. Here I waited long, here and upon 
 the stairs, which I ascended and descended to meet again with 
 Frank, and make inquiries ; but I met him not. At last, upon 
 Dr. Johnson's ringing his bell, I saw Frank enter his room, and 
 Mr. Langton follow. " Who's that ? " I heard him say ; they 
 answered, " Mr. Langton," and I found he did not return. 
 
 Soon after, all the rest went away but a Mrs. Davis, a good 
 sort of woman, whom this truly charitable soul had sent for to take 
 a dinner at his house. I then went and waited with her by the 
 fire : it was, however, between three and four o'clock before I 
 got any answer. Mr. Langton then came himself. He could 
 not look at me, and I turned away from him. Mrs. Davis asked 
 how the Doctor was ? " Going on to death very fast ! " was his 
 mournful answer. "Has he taken," said she, "anything?" 
 " iNTothing at all ! We carried him some bread and milk — he 
 refused it, and said — ' The less the letter.' " She asked more 
 questions, by which I found his faculties were perfect, his mind 
 composed, and his dissolution was quick drawing on. 
 
 I could not Immediately go on, and it is now long since I have 
 written at all ; but I will go back to this afflicting theme, which 
 I can now better bear. 
 
 ]\Ir. Langton was, I believe, a quarter o an hour in the room 
 before I suspected he meant to speak to me, never looking near 
 me. At last he said — 
 
 "This poor man, I understand, ma'am, desired yesterday to 
 see you." 
 
 " My understanding that, sir, brought me to-day." 
 
 " Poor man ! it is pity he did not know himself better, and 
 that you should have had tliis trouble." 
 
 " Trouble ! " cried I ; " I would come a hundred times to see 
 him the hundredth and first ! " 
 
 " He hopes now you will excuse him ; he is very sorry not to 
 
 71. y 
 
822 DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME d'aRBLAY. 
 
 see you ; but he desired me to come and speak to you myself, 
 and tell you he hopes you will excuse him, for he feels himself 
 too weak for such an interview." 
 
 I hastily got up, left him my most affectionate respects, and 
 every good wish I could half utter, and ran back to the coach. 
 Ah, my Susy ! I have never been to Bolt Court since ! I then 
 drove to poor Miss Strange to make inquiries of the maid ; but 
 Andrew ran out to the coach door, and told me all hope was at 
 an end. In short, the next day was fatal to both ! — the same 
 day! 
 
 (Vol. II., page 339.) 
 Dec. 20th, 1784. — This day was the ever-honoured, ever- 
 lamented Dr. Johnson committed to the earth. Oh, how sad 
 a day to me! My father attended, and so did Charles. I 
 could not keep my eyes dry all day ; nor can I now, in the 
 recollecting it ; but let me pass over what to mourn is now so 
 vain! 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS TO AND 
 FROM MR. TWINING.^ 
 
 REV. THOIVIAS TWINING TO HIS BROTHER (p. 119). 
 
 May 3rd, 1784. 
 
 AS to Dr. Johnson, we seem to agree well in our likings and 
 dislikings. The best thing in all his book is, in my 
 opinion, his critique upon Cowley, or rather upon what I think 
 he calls the metaphysical style of poetry. Such is that of 
 d'Avenant, of whom I wonder he takes no notice. Johnson's 
 mind is fettered with prejudices, civil, poetical, political, religious, 
 and even superstitious. As a reasoner he is nothing. He has 
 not the least tincture of the esprit philosophique upon any sub- 
 ject. He is not a poet, nor has he any taste for what is properly 
 called poetry, for imagination, enthusiasm, &c. His poetry — I 
 mean what he calls such — is only good sense put into good metre. 
 ... In general I find my palate in matters of poetry continually 
 at variance with Dr. Johnson's. . . . With all this Dr. Johnson 
 is always entertaining, never dull or trite. His style is just 
 what you say ; sometimes admirable, sometimes laughable, but 
 he never lets you gape. Without being philosophical or deep, 
 like Hume, Lord Kaimes, &c., he has his originahties of thought 
 and his own way of seeing things, and making you see them. 
 This is great excellence. There is in him no echo. He is dog- 
 matical, certainly, and I cannot acquit him of some reflections 
 that savour of ill nature. Yours affectionately, T. T. 
 
 ■^ From A Country Clergyman of the 18th Century. I.K)ndon, 1882. 
 
324 EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 
 
 DK. BUENEY TO THE REV. T. TWmiNG (pp. 128-130). 
 
 Christmas Day, 1784. 
 .... Poor Johnson is gone ! I truly reverenced his genius, 
 learning and piety, without being blind to his prejudices. I 
 think I know and could name them all. We often differed in 
 matters of taste, and in our judgments of individuals. My 
 respect for what I thought excellent in him never operated on 
 my reason sufficiently to incline me to subscribe to his decisions 
 when I thought them erroneous, l^he knight, Sir John (Haw- 
 kins), and I met two or three times during his sickness and at 
 his funeral. He steps forth as one of poor Johnson's six or eight 
 biographers, with as little taste or powers of writing worthy of 
 such an occupation as for musical history. The Dean and 
 Chapter of Westminster Abbey lay all the blame on him for 
 suffering Johnson to be so unworthily interred. The knight's 
 first inquiring at the Abbey, in giving orders, as the most acting 
 executor was " What would be the difference in the expense 
 between a public and a private funeral ? " and was told only a 
 few pounds to the prebendaries, and about ninety pairs of gloves 
 to the choir and attendants ; and he then determined that, " as 
 Dr. Johnson had no music in him, he should choose the cheapest 
 manner of interment." And for this reason there was no organ 
 heard, or burial service sung, for which he suffers the Dean and 
 Chapter to be abused in all the newspapers, and joins in their 
 abuse when the subject is mentioned in conversation. Dr. Bell 
 has stated the case, in a letter to my friend Dr. Warren, just as 
 I tell it to you. Again, I was told by a lady " that she found 
 Dr. Johnson had not always been so pious and good a Christian 
 as in the latter part of his life." " How do you know, madam?" 
 " Why, Sir John CuUum was told so by Sir John Hawkins, who 
 says that when Dr. Johnson came up to London first, he lived a 
 very profligate life with Savage and others, and was an infidel, 
 and that he (Hawkins) first converted him to Christianity ! " 
 This astonished me so much that I could not help mentioning 
 the story and my authority to Johnson's oldest and most intimate 
 friends, with whom I dined after attending the funeral to West- 
 minster Abbey, and asked them if they ever heard of Johnson 
 having been a profligate and an infidel in his younger days, and 
 
TO AND FROM MR. TWINING. 325 
 
 they one and all cried out with astonishment and indignation, 
 " No ! " Dr. Scott, one of the three executors, said that he had 
 found among his papers a great number of prayers penned with 
 great force, elegance, and devotion, some of them as high up as 
 the year 1738, which would be a sufficient answer to such a 
 charge ; and I hear to-day that Dr. Scott, without mentioning 
 names, has said to the knight that such a report had got about. 
 " Oh ! " says Sir John, " I can best confute such a rumour, who 
 have so long known him, and ever found him a man of the most 
 exemplary life, and a most steady believer of the doctrines of 
 the Christian religion." This strange story, for the honour of 
 Johnson and true piety, as well as the clearing up the point 
 which now lies between the reverend and irreverend knight, I 
 hope and trust will be sifted to the bottom. . . . Addio. 
 
 C.B. 
 
 THE REV. T. TWINING TO HIS BROTHER (p. 180). 
 
 Oct. 16, 1793. 
 ... I read, however, and am now tandem aliquando, reading 
 BosweU's " Life of Johnson," which having shrunk into octavo, I 
 have bought, for you know how I hate all books that are too big 
 to hold in my hand. Have you read it ? I am prodigiously 
 entertained and gratified. I laugh, it is true, at Boswell sometimes. 
 He must be a singular character. Sometimes he says very silly 
 things, and asks silly questions, and carries admiration and won- 
 der to a ridiculous excess. He could never take Nil admirari 
 for his motto. Yet there is a naivete, a candour, and a bonhomie 
 in the man that makes me like him ; and all that relates to Dr. 
 Johnson between his singularities, and his admirable sense, and 
 undulness of conversation is highly amusing to me. I have met 
 with those who call this book tiresome. I never read a book 
 that was less so. Johnson's readiness of argument and repartee 
 in conversation is surprising. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 BY MISS REYNOLDS. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 BY MISS REYNOLDS. 
 
 [From a MS. entitled " Recollections of Dr. Johnson," communicated, 
 
 in 1829, to Mr. Croker, by Mr. Palmer, grand-nephew of 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds.] 
 
 T 
 
 HE first time I was in company with Dr. Johnson, which 
 
 -■- was at Miss Cotterel's, I well remember the flattering 
 notice he took of a lady present, on her saying that she was in- 
 clined to estimate the morality of every person according as 
 they liked or disliked " Clarissa Harlowe." He was a great 
 admirer of Richardson's works in general, but of " Clarissa " he 
 always spoke with the highest enthusiastic praise. He used to 
 say, that it was the first book in the world for the knowledge it 
 displays of the human heart. Yet of the author I never heard 
 him speak with any degree of cordiality, but rather as if im- 
 pressed with some cause of resentment against him ; and this 
 has been imputed to something of jealousy, not to say envy, on 
 account of Richardson's having engrossed the attentions and 
 afiectionate assiduities of several very ingenious literary ladies, 
 whom he used to call his adopted daughters, and for whom Dr. 
 Johnson had conceived a paternal affection (particularly for two 
 of them, Miss Carter and Miss Mulso, now Mrs. Chapone), pre- 
 vious to their acquaintance with Richardson ; and it was said, 
 that he thought himself neglected by them on his account. Dr. 
 Johnson set a higher value upon female friendship than, perhaps, 
 most men ; which may reasonably be supposed was not a little 
 enhanced by his acquaintance with those ladies, if it was not 
 originally derived from them. To their society, doubtless, 
 Richardson owed that delicacy of sentiment, that feminine ex- 
 cellence, as I may say, that so peculiarly distinguishes his 
 writings from those of his own sex in general, how high soever 
 
 h 
 
330 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP DR. JOHNSON 
 
 they may soar above tlie other in the more dignified paths of 
 literature, in scientific investigations, and abstruse inquiries. 
 
 Dr. Johnson used to repeat, with very apparent delight, some 
 lines of a poem written by Miss Mulso : — 
 
 " Say, Stella, what is love, whose cruel power 
 Robs virtue of content, and youth of joy ? 
 
 What nymph or goddess, in what fatal hour, 
 Produced to light the mischief-making boy. 
 
 " Some say, by Idleness and Pleasure bred, 
 
 The smiling babe on beds of roses lay 5 
 There with soft-honcy'd dews by Fancy fed. 
 
 His infant beauties open'd on the day." ' 
 
 Dr. Johnson had an uncommonly retentive memory for every- 
 thing that appeared to him worthy of observation. Whatever 
 he met with in reading, particularly poetry, I believe he seldom 
 required a revisal to be able to repeat verbatim. If not lite- 
 rally so, his deviations were generally improvements. This was 
 the case, in some respects, in Shenstone's poem of " The Inn," 
 which I learned from hearing Dr. Johnson repeat it ; and I was 
 surprised, on seeing it lately among the author's works for the 
 first time, to find it so different. One stanza he seems to have 
 extemporised himself: — 
 
 *' And once again I shape my way 
 
 Through rain, through shine, through thick and tliin, 
 Secure to meet, at close of day, 
 
 A kind reception at an inn." ^ 
 
 He always read amazingly quick, glancing his eye from the 
 top to the bottom of the page in an instant. If he made any 
 pause, it was a compliment to the work ; and after see-sawing 
 over it a few minutes, generally repeated the passage, especially 
 if it was poetry. 
 
 One day, on taking up Pope's " Essay on Man," a particular 
 passage seemed more than ordinarily to engage his attention ; so 
 much so, indeed, that, contrary to his usual custom, after he had 
 left the book and the seat in which he was sitting, he returned 
 to revise it, turning over the pages with anxiety to find it, and 
 then repeated — 
 
 ^ Johnson paid the first of those stanzas the great and undeserved 
 compliment of quoting it in his Dictionary, under the word 
 '* Quatrain." — Croker. 
 
 ^ See vol. iii., p. 36. 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS. 331 
 
 " Passions, though selfish, if their means be fai". 
 List under Reason, and deserve her care ; 
 Those that, imparted, court a nobler aim. 
 Exalt their kind, and take some virtue's name." 
 
 His task, probably, was the Avhole paragraph, but these lines 
 only were audible. 
 
 He seemed much to delight in reciting verses, particularly 
 from Pope. Among the many I have had the pleasure of 
 hearing him recite, the conclusion of the " Dunciad," and his 
 "Epistle to Jervas," seemed to claim his highest admiration : — 
 
 " Led by some rule that gxiides, but not constrains, 
 And finish'd more through happiness than pains," ^ 
 
 he used to remark, was a union that constituted the ultimate 
 degree of excellence in the fine arts. 
 
 Two lines from Pope's " Universal Prayer " I have heard him 
 quote, in very serious conversation, as his theological creed : — 
 
 " And binding Nature fast in fate, 
 Left free the human will." 
 
 Some lines also he used to repeat in his best manner, written 
 in memory of Bishop Boulter,"^ which I believe are not much 
 known : — 
 
 " Some write their wrongs in marble : he, more just, 
 
 Stoop'd down serene and wrote them in the dust ; 
 
 Trod under foot, the sport of every wind, 
 
 Swept from the earth, and blotted from his mind. 
 
 There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie, 
 
 And grieved they could not 'scape the Almighty's eye." 
 
 Of Goldsmith's " Traveller " he used to speak in terms of the 
 highest commendation. A lady ^ I remember who had the plea- 
 sure of hearing Dr. Johnson read it from the beginning to the 
 end on its first coming out, to testify her admiration of it, ex- 
 claimed, " I never more shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly." 
 
 In having thought so, however, she was by no means singular ; 
 an instance of which I am rather inclined to mention, because it 
 involves a remarkable one of Dr. Johnson's ready wit : for this 
 
 ^ Epistle to Jervas. — Eeynolds. 
 
 ' By Dr. Madden, See vol. i., p. 249. 
 
 ^ Miss Reynolds herself. — Crokcr. 
 
332 RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 lady, one evening, being in a large party, was called upon after 
 supper for her toast, and seeming embarrassed, she was desired 
 to give the ugliest man she knew ; and she immediately named 
 Dr. Goldsmith, on which a lady ^ on the other side of the table 
 rose up and reached across to shake hands with her, expressing 
 some desire of being better acquainted with her, it being the 
 first time they had met ; on which Dr. Johnson said, " Thus the 
 ancients, on the commencement of their friendships, used to 
 sacrifice a beast betwixt them." 
 
 Sir Joshua, I have often thought, never gave a more striking 
 proof of his excellence in portrait-painting, than in giving dig- 
 nity to Dr. Goldsmith's countenance, and yet preserving a strong 
 likeness. But he drew after his mind, or rather his genius, if I 
 may be allowed to make that distinction ; assimilating the one 
 with his conversation, the other with his works. 
 
 Dr. Goldsmith's cast of countenance, and indeed his whole 
 figure from head to foot, impressed every one at first sight with 
 an idea of his being a low mechanic ; particularly, I believe, a 
 journeyman tailor. A little concurring instance of this I well 
 remember. One day at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, in company with 
 some gentlemen and ladies, he was relating with great indigna- 
 tion an insult he had just received from some gentleman he had 
 accidently met (I think at a cofi'ee-house). " The fellow," he 
 said " took me for a tailor ! " on which all the party either 
 laughed aloud or showed they suppressed a laugh. 
 
 Dr. Johnson seemed to have much more kindness for Gold- 
 smith, than Goldsmith had for him. lie always appeared to be 
 overawed by Johnson, particularly when in company with people 
 of any consequence, always as if impressed with some fear of 
 disgrace ; and, indeed, well he might. I have been witness to 
 many mortifications he has sufiered in Dr. Johnson's company : 
 one day in particular, at Sir Joshua's table, a gentleman to 
 whom he was talking his best stopped him, in the midst of his 
 discourse, with "Hush! hush! Dr. Johnson is going to say 
 something." 
 
 At another time, a gentleman who was sitting between Dr. 
 Johnson and Dr. Goldsmith, and with whom he had been dis- 
 puting, remarked to another, loud enough for Goldsmith to hear 
 him, " That he had a fine time of it, between Ursa major and 
 Ursa minor ! " 
 
 ' Mrs. Cholmondeley. — Reynolds. 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS. 
 
 Mr, Baretti used to remark, with a smile, that Dr. Johnson 
 always talked his best to the ladies. But, indeed, that was his 
 general practice to all who would furnish him with a subject 
 worthy of his discussion ; for, what was very singular in him, he 
 would rarely, if ever, begin any subject himself, but would sit 
 silent till something was particularly addressed to him, and if 
 that happened to lead to any scientific or moral inquiry, his bene- 
 volence, I believe, more immediately incited him to expatiate on 
 it for the edification of the ignorant than for any other motive 
 whatever. 
 
 One day, on a lady's telling him that she had read Parnell's 
 " Hermit" with dissatisfaction, for she could not help thinking that 
 thieves and murderers, who were such immediate ministers from 
 heaven of good to man, did not deserve such punishments as our 
 laws inflict. Dr. Johnson spoke such an eloquent oration, so deeply 
 philosophical, as indeed afforded a most striking instance of the 
 truth of Baretti's observation, but of which, to my great regret, 
 I can give no corroborating proof, my,memory furnishing me with 
 nothing more than barely the general tendency of his arguments, 
 which was to prove, that though it might be said that wicked 
 men, as well as the good, were ministers of God, because in the 
 moral sphere the good we enjoy and the evil we suffer are admi- 
 nistered to us by man, yet, as Infinite Goodness could not inspire 
 or influence man to act wickedly, but, on the contrary, it was his 
 divine property to produce good out of evil, and as man was 
 endowed with free-will to act, or to refrain from acting wickedly, 
 with knowledge of good and evil, with conscience to admonish 
 and to direct him to choose the one and reject the other, he was, 
 therefore, as criminal in the sight of God and of man, and as 
 deserving punishment for his evil deeds, as if no good had re- 
 sulted from them. 
 
 And yet, though, to the best of my remembrance, this was the 
 substance of Dr. Johnson's discourse in answer to the lady's obser- 
 vation, I am rather apprehensive that, in some respects, it may 
 be thought inconsistent with his general assertions, that man 
 was by nature much more inclined to evil than to good. But it 
 would ill become me to expatiate on such a subject. 
 
 Yet, what can be said to reconcile his opinion of the natural 
 tendency of the human heart to evil with his own zealous virtuous 
 propensions? Nothing, perhaps, at least by me, but that this 
 opinion, I believe, was founded upon religious principles relating 
 
334 RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 to originax sin ; and I well remember that, when disputing with a 
 person on this subject, who thought that nature, reason and 
 virtue were the constituent principles of humanity, he would say, 
 " Nay, nay, if man is by nature prompted to act virtuously, all 
 the divine precepts of the Gospel, all its denunciations, all 
 the laws enacted by man to restrain man from evil, had been 
 needless." 
 
 It is certain that he would scarcely allow any one to feel much 
 for the distresses of others ; or whatever he thought they might 
 feel, he was very apt to impute to causes that did no honour to 
 human nature. Indeed, I thought him rather too fond of 
 Kochefoucault maxims. 
 
 The very strict watch he apparently kept over his mind seems to 
 correspond with his thorough conviction of nature's evil pro- 
 pensions ; but it might be as likely in consequence of his dread 
 of those peculiar ones, whatever they were, which attended, or 
 rather constituted, his mental malady which, I have observed, 
 might probably have incited him so often to pray ; and I impute 
 it to the same cause, that he so frequently, with great earnestness, 
 desired his intimate acquaintance to pray for him, apparently on 
 very slight occasions of corporeal disorder. 
 
 An axiom of his was, that the pains and miseries incident to 
 human life far outweighed its happiness and good. But much 
 may be said in Dr. Johnson's justification, supposing this notion 
 should not meet with universal approbation, he having, it is 
 probable, imbibed it in the early part of his life, when under the 
 pressure of adverse fortune, and in every period of it under the 
 still heavier pressure and more adverse influence of Nature her- 
 self ; for I have often heard him lament that he inherited from his 
 father a morbid disposition both of body and of mind — an oppressive 
 melancholy, which robbed him of the common enjoyments of life.' 
 
 Indeed, he seemed to struggle almost incessantly with some 
 mental evil, and often, by the expression of his countenance and 
 the motion of his lips, appeared to be offering up some ejaculation 
 to Heaven to remove it. But in Lent, or near the approach of 
 any great festival, he would generally retire from the company 
 to a corner of the room, but most commonly behind a window- 
 curtain, to pray, and with such energy, and in so loud a whisper, 
 
 ' This last paragraph was originally written, " terrifying melancholy, 
 which he was sometimes apprehensive bordered on insanity." This Miss 
 Reynolds softened into the remark as it stands above. — CroJcer. 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS. 335 
 
 that every word was heard distinctly, particularly the Lord's 
 Prayer and the Apostles' Creed, with which he constantly con- 
 cluded his devotions. Sometimes some words would emphatically 
 escape him in his usual tone of voice. 
 
 Probably his studious attention to the secret workings of his 
 peculiar mental infirmity, together with his experience of divine 
 assistance co-operating Avith his reasoning faculties, to repel its 
 force, may have proved in the highest degree conducive to the 
 exaltation of his piety, and the pre-eminence of his wisdom. And 
 I think it equally probable, that all his natural defects were con- 
 ducive to that end ; for being so peculiarly debarred from the 
 enjoyment of those amusements which the eye and the ear afford, 
 doubtless he sought more assiduously for those gratifications which 
 scientific pursuits or philosophic meditation bestow. 
 
 These defects sufficiently account for his insensibility of the 
 charms of music and of painting, being utterly incapable of 
 receiving any delight from the one or the other, particidarly from 
 painting, his sight being more deficient than his hearing. 
 
 Of the superfices of the fine arts, or visible objects of taste, he 
 could have had but an imperfect idea ; but as to the invisible 
 principles of a natural good taste, doubtless he was possessed of 
 these in the most eminent degree, and I should have thought it a 
 strange inconsistency indeed in his character, had he really 
 >.' anted a taste for music ; but as a proof that he did not, I think 
 I had need only mention, that he was remarkably fond of Dr. 
 Burney's "History of Music," and that he said it showed that the 
 author under-stood the philosophy of music better than any man 
 that ever wrote on that subject. 
 
 It is certain that, when in the company of connoisseurs, whose 
 conversation has turned chiefly upon the merits of the attractive 
 charms of painting, perhaps of pictures that were immediately 
 under their inspection, Dr. Johnson, I have thought, used to 
 appear as if conscious of his unbecoming situation, or rather, I 
 might say, suspicions that it was an unbecoming situation. 
 
 But it M as observable, that he rather avoided the discovery of 
 it ; for when asked his opinion of the likeness of any portrait of a 
 friend, he has generally evaded the question, and if obliged to 
 examine it, he has held the picture most ridiculously, quite close 
 to his eye, jnst as he held his book. But he was so unwilling to 
 expose that defect, that he was much displeased with Sir Joshua, 
 I remember, for drawing him with his book held in that manner, 
 
336 RECOLLECTIONS OP DR. JOHNSON 
 
 which, I believe, was the cause of that picture being left un- 
 finished.^ 
 
 On every occasion that had the least tendency to depreciate 
 religion or morality, he totally disregarded all forms or rules of 
 good-breeding, as utterly uuAvorthy of the slightest consideration. 
 But it must be confessed, that he sometimes suffered this noble 
 principle to transgress its due bounds, and to extend even to 
 those who were anywise connected with the person who had 
 offended him. 
 
 Johnson's dislike of Mr. Wilkes was so great that it extended 
 even to his connections. He happened to dine one day at Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds's with a large and distinguished company, 
 amongst which were Mr. Wilkes's brother, Israel, and his lady. In 
 the course of conversation, Mr. Israel Wilkes was about to make 
 some remarks, when Johnson suddenly stopped him with, " I hope, 
 Sir, what you are going to say may be better worth hearing than 
 what you have already said." This rudeness shocked and spread 
 a gloom over the Avhole party, particularly as Mr. Israel Wilkes 
 was a gentleman of a very amiable character and of refined taste, 
 and, what Dr. Johnson little suspected, a very loyal subject. 
 Johnson afterwards owned to me that he was very sorry that he 
 " snubbed Wilkes, as his wife was present. I replied that he should 
 be sorry for many reasons, " Xo," said Johnson, who was very 
 reluctant to apologize for offences of this nature ; " no, I only 
 regret it because his wife was by." I believe that he had no 
 kind of motive for this incivility to Mr. I. Wilkes but disgust 
 at his brother's political principles. 
 
 His treatment of Mr. Israel Wilkes was mild in comparison of 
 what a gentleman ^ met with from him one day at Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds's, a barrister at law and a man of fashion, who, on dis- 
 coursing with Dr. (then Mr.) Johnson on the laws and govern- 
 ment of different nations (I remember particularly those of Venice), 
 and happening to speak of them in terms of high approbr.tion : 
 '* Yes, Sir," says Johnson, " all republican rascals think as you 
 do." How the conversation ended I have forgot, it was so many 
 years ago ; but that he made no apology to the gentleman I am 
 
 ' This unfinished but very tine picture was painted for Mrs. Thrale, 
 but rejected by her on account of Johnson's dislike to it. At Sir Joshua's 
 death it passed into the possession of Malone, and by descent to tht Rev. 
 H. Kooper, by whom it was sold to Mr. Agnew in June, 1883. — Editor. 
 
 2 Mr. 'EWioi.—Beynolds. 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS 337 
 
 very sure, nor to any person present, for such an outrage against 
 society. 
 
 Of latter years he grew much more companionable, and I have 
 heard him say, that he knew himself to be so. " In my younger 
 days," he would say, " it is true I was much inclined to treat man- 
 kind with asperity and contempt ; but I found it answered no 
 good end. I thought it wiser and better to take the world as it 
 goes. Besides, as I have advanced in life I have had more reason 
 to be satisfied with it. Mankind have treated me with more 
 kindness, and of course I have more kindness for them." 
 
 In the latter part of his life, indeed, his circumstances were 
 very different from what they were in the beginning. Before he 
 had the pension, he literally dressed like a beggar ; and from 
 what I have been told, he as literally lived as such ; at least 
 as to common conveniences in his apartments, wanting even a 
 chair to sit on, particularly in his study, where a gentleman who 
 frequently visited him whilst writing his " Idlers " constantly found 
 him at his desk, sitting on one with three legs ; and on rising from it, 
 he remarked that Dr. Johnson never forgot its defect, but would 
 either hold it in his hand or place it with great composure against 
 some support, taking no notice of its imperfection to his visitor. 
 Whether the visitor sat on a chair, or on a pile of folios, or how 
 he sat, I never remember to have been told. 
 
 He particularly piqued himself upon his nice observance of 
 ceremonious punctilios towards ladies. A remarkable instance 
 of this was his never suffering any lady to walk from his house 
 to her carriage, through Bolt Court, unattended by himself to 
 hand her into it (at least I have reason to suppose it to be his 
 general custom, from his constant performance of it to those with 
 whom he was the most intimately acquainted) ; and if any ob- 
 stacle prevented it from driving off, there he would stand by the 
 door of it, and gather a mob around him ; indeed, they would 
 begin to gather the moment he appeared handing the lady down 
 the steps into Fleet Street. But to describe his appearance — 
 his important air — that indeed cannot be described; and his 
 morning habiliments would excite the utmost astonishment in my 
 reader, that a man in his senses could think of stepping outside 
 his door in them, or even to be seen at home. Sometimes he 
 exhibited himself at the distance of eight or ten doors from Bolt 
 Court, to get at the carriage, to the no smal diversion of the 
 populace. 
 
 VI. z 
 
338 RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 His best dress was, in his early times, so very mean, that one 
 afternoon as he was following some ladies up stairs, on a visit to 
 a lady of fashion (Miss Cotterel), the servant, not knowing him, 
 suddenly seized him by the shoulder, and exclaimed, " Where 
 are you going ? " striving at the same time to drag him back ; 
 but a gentleman^ who was a few steps behind prevented her 
 from doing or saying more, and Mr. Johnson growled all the way 
 upstairs, as well he might. He seemed much chagrined and 
 discomposed. Unluckily, whilst in this humour, a lady of high 
 rank happening to call upon Miss Cotterel, he was most violently 
 offended with her for not introducing him to her ladyship, and 
 still more so for her seeming to show more attention to her than 
 to him. After sitting some time silent, meditating how to down 
 Miss Cotterel, he addressed himself to Mr. Reynolds, who sat 
 next him, and, after a few introductory words, with a loud voice 
 said, " I wonder which of us two could get most money at his 
 trade in one week, were we to work hard at it from morning till 
 night." I don't remember the answer ; but I know that the 
 lady, rising soon after, went away without knowing what trade 
 they were of. She might probably suspect Mr. Johnson to be a 
 poor author by his dress ; and because the trade of neither a 
 blacksmith, a porter, or a chairman, which she probably would 
 have taken him for in the street, was not quite so suitable to the 
 place she saw him in. This incident he iised to mention with 
 great glee — how he had downed Miss Cotterel, though at the 
 same time he professed a great friendship and esteem for that 
 lady. 
 
 It is certain, for such kind of mortifications, he never ex- 
 pressed any concern ; but on other occasions he has shown an 
 amiable sorrow for the offence he has given, particularly if it 
 seemed to involve the slightest disrespect to the church or to its 
 ministers. 
 
 I sliall never forget with what regret he spoke of the rude 
 reply he made to Dr. Barnard, on his saying that men never 
 improved after the age of forty-five.'^ " That is not true. Sir," 
 said Johnson. *' You, who perhaps are forty-eight, may still 
 improve, if you will try: I wish you would set about it; and I 
 am afraid," he added, " there is great room for it ; " and this was 
 
 • Sir Josluia (then Mr.) Koynolds. — Croker. 
 =< Sc'o Life, vol. iv, (May, 1781). 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS. 
 
 «aid m rather a large party of ladies and gentlemen at dinner. 
 Soon after the ladies withdrew from the table, Dr. Johnson fol- 
 lowed them, and, sitting down bj the lady of the house, he said, 
 " I am very sorry for having spoken so rudely to the dean." 
 " You very well may. Sir." " Yes," he said, " it was highly 
 improper to speak in that style to a minister of the Gospel, and 
 I am the more hurt on reflecting with what mild dignity he 
 received it." \\Tien the dean came up into the drawing-room, 
 Dr. Johpson immediately rose from his seat, and made him sit 
 on the sofa by him, and with such a beseeching look for pardon, 
 and with such fond gestures — literally smoothing down his arms 
 and his knees — tokens of penitence, which were so graciously 
 received by the dean as to make Dr. Johnson very happy, and 
 not a little added to the esteem and respect he had previously 
 entertained for his character. 
 
 The next morning the dean called on Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 with the following verses : — 
 
 " I lately thought no man alive 
 Could ere improve past forty-five, 
 
 And ventured to assert it. 
 The observation was not new, 
 But seem'd to me so just and true 
 
 That none could controvert it. 
 
 " ' No, Sir,' says Johnson, * 'tis not so 
 'Tis your mistake, and I can show 
 
 An instance, if you doubt it.' 
 You, who perhaps are forty-eight, 
 May still improve, 'tis not too late : 
 
 I wish you'd set about it.' 
 
 " Encouraged thus to mend ray faults, 
 I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts 
 
 Which way I could apply it ; 
 Genius I knew was past my reach. 
 For wko can learn what none can teach ? 
 
 And wit — I could nut buy it. 
 
 *' Then come, my friends, and try yoiu* skill j 
 You may improve me if you will, 
 
 (My books are at a distance) ; 
 With you I'll live and learn, and theo 
 Instead of books I shall read men, 
 
 So lend me your assistance. 
 
840 BECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 " Dear knight of Plympton,' teach me how 
 To suffer with unclouded brow 
 
 And smile serene as thine, 
 The jest uncouth and truth severe j 
 Like thee to turn my deafest ear, 
 
 And calmly drink my wine. 
 
 " Thou say'st not only skill is gain'd, 
 But ojenius, too, may be attain'd, 
 
 By studious invitation ; 
 Thy temper mild, thy genius fine, 
 I'll study till I make them mine 
 
 By constant meditation. 
 
 " Thy art of pleasing teach me, Garrick, 
 Thou who reverest odes Pindaric,* 
 
 A second time read o'er ; 
 Oh ! could we read thee backwards too, 
 Last thirty years thou shouldst review. 
 
 And charm us thirty more. 
 
 " If I have thoughts and can't express 'em. 
 Gibbon shall teach me how to dress 'em 
 
 In terms select and terse ; 
 Jones teach me modesty and Greek ; 
 Smith, how to think ; Burke, how to speak ; 
 
 And Beauclerk to converse. 
 
 " Let Johnson teach me how to place 
 In fairest light each borrow'd grace 
 
 From him I'll learn to write ; 
 Copy his free and easy style. 
 And from the roughness of his file 
 
 Grow, like himself, polite." 
 
 Talking on the subject of scepticism, he said, " The eyes of 
 the mind are like the eyes of the body ; they can see only at 
 such a distance : but because we cannot see beyond this point, 
 is there nothing beyond it ? " 
 
 Talking of the want of memory, he said, " No, Sir, it is not 
 true ; in general every person has an equal capacity for remi- 
 niscence, and for one thing as well as another, otherwise it would 
 be like a person complaining that he could hold silver in his 
 hand, but could not hold copper." 
 
 " No, Sir," he once said, " people are not born with a par- 
 
 ^ [Sir Joshua Reynolds.] 
 
 ^ [A humorous attempt of Garrick's to read one of Cumberland's odes 
 backwards.] 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS. 341 
 
 ticular genius for particular employments or studies, for it would 
 be like saying that a man could see a great way east, but could 
 not west. It is good sense applied with diligence to what was at 
 first a mere accident, and which, by great application, grew to 
 be called, by the generality of mankind, a particular genius." 
 
 Some person advanced, that a lively imagination disqualified 
 the mind from fixing steadily upon objects which required serious 
 and minute investigation. Johnsoij. " It is true. Sir, a vivacious 
 quick imagination does sometimes give a confused idea of things, 
 and which do not fix deep, though, at the same time, he has a 
 capacity to fix them in his memory, if he would endeavour at it. 
 It being like a man that, when he is running, does not make 
 observations on what he meets with, and consequently is not 
 impressed by them; but he has, nevertheless, the power of' 
 stopping and informing himself." 
 
 A gentleman was mentioning it as a remark of an acquaintance 
 of his, " that he never knew but one person that was completely 
 wicked." Johnson. " Sir, I don't know what you mean by a 
 person completely wicked." Gentleman. " Why, any one that 
 has entirely got rid of all shame." Johnson. " How is he, then, 
 completely wicked ? He must get rid, too, of all conscience." 
 Gentleman. " I think conscience and shame the same thing." 
 Johnson. " I am surprised to hear you say so ; they spring from 
 two diiferent sources, and are distinct perceptions : one respects 
 this world, the other the next." A Lady. " I think, however, 
 that a person who has got rid of shame is in a fair way to get 
 rid of conscience." Johnson. " Yes, 'tis a part of the way, I 
 grant ; but there are degrees at which men stop, some for the 
 fear of men, some for the fear of God : shame arises from the 
 fear of men, conscience from the fear of God." 
 
 Dr. Johnson seemed to delight in drawing characters ; and 
 when he did so con amore, delighted every one that heard him. 
 Indeed, I cannot say I ever heard him draw any con odio, though 
 he professed himself to be, or at least to love, a good hater. But 
 I have remarked that his dislike of any one seldom prompted him 
 to say much more than that the fellow is a blockhead, a poor 
 creature, or some such epithet. I shall never forget the exalted 
 character he drew of his friend Mr. Langton, nor with what 
 energy, what fond delight, he expatiated in his praise, giving him 
 every excellence that nature could bestow, and every perfection 
 that humanity could acquire. A literary lady was present, JVliss 
 
342 RECOLLECTIONS OF DR» JOHNSON 
 
 Hannali More, who perhaps inspired him with an unusual 
 ardour to shine, which indeed he did with redoubled lustre,, 
 deserving himself the praises he bestowed : not biit I have often 
 heard him speak in terms equally high of Mr. Langton, though 
 more concisely expressed. 
 
 On the praises of Mrs. Thrale he used to dwell with a peculiar 
 delight, a paternal fondness, expressive of conscious exultation in 
 being so intimately acquainted with her. One day, in speaking 
 of her to Mr. Harris, author of " Hermes," and expatiating on 
 her various perfections, — the solidity of her virtues, the brilliancy 
 of her wit, and the strength of her understanding, &c. — he 
 quoted some lines (a stanza, I believe, but from what author I 
 know not), with which he concluded his most eloquent eulogium, 
 and of these I retained but the two last lines : ^ — 
 
 " Virtues — of such a generous kind, 
 Good in the last recesses of the mind." 
 
 It will doubtless appear highly paradoxical to the generality 
 of the world to say, that few men, in his ordinary disposition, or 
 common frame of mind, could be more inoffensive than Dr. 
 Johnson ; yet surely those who knew his uniform benevolence^ 
 and its actuating principles — steady virtue, and true holiness — 
 will readily agree with me, that peace and good-will towards man, 
 were the natural emanations of his heart. 
 
 I shall never forget the impression I felt in Dr. Johnson's 
 favour, the first time I was in his company, on his saying, that a» 
 he returned to his lodgings, at one or two o'clock in the mornings 
 he often saw poor children asleep on thresholds and stalls, and 
 that he used to put pennies into their hands to buy them a 
 breakfast. 
 
 He always carried a religious treatise in his pocket on a 
 Sunday, and he used to encourage me to relate to him the 
 particular parts of Scripture I did not understand, and to write 
 them down as they occurred to me in reading the Bible. 
 
 When repeating to me one day Grainger's " Ode on Solitude," 
 I shall never forget the concordance of the sound of his voice 
 with the grandeur of those images ; nor, indeed, the gothic 
 dignity of his aspect, his look and manner, when repeating sublime 
 })assages. But what was very remarkable, though his cadence in 
 
 * Being so particularly engaged as not to be able to attend to them 
 BUfficiently. — Miss Reynolds. 
 
BY MISS REYNOLDS. 343 
 
 reading poetry was so judiciously emphatical as to give additional 
 force to the words uttered, yet in reading prose, particularly on 
 common or familiar subjects, narrations, essays, letters, &c., 
 nothing could be more injudicious than his manner, beginning 
 every period with a pompous accent, and reading it with a whine, 
 or with a kind of spasmodic struggle for utterance ; and this, not 
 from any natural infirmity, but from a strange singulai-ity, in 
 reading on, in one breath, as if he had made a resolution not to 
 respire till he had closed the sentence. 
 
 I believe no one has described his extraordinary gestures or 
 antics with his hands and feet, particularly when passing over the 
 threshold of a door, or rather before he would venture to pass 
 through any doorway. On entering Sir Joshua's house with 
 poor Mrs. Williams, a blind lady who lived with him, he would 
 quit her hand, or else whirl her about on the steps as he whirled 
 and twisted about to perform his gesticulations ; and as soon as 
 he had finished he would give a sudden spring, and make such an 
 extensive stride over the threshold, as if was trying for a wager 
 how far he could stride, Mrs. Williams standing groping about 
 outside the door, unless the servant took hold of her hand to 
 conduct her in, leaving Dr. Johnson to perform at the parlour 
 door much the same exercise over again. 
 
 But it was not only at the entrance of a door that he exhibited 
 such strange manoeuvres, but across a room, or in the street with 
 company, he has stopped on a sudden, as if he had recollected 
 his task, and began to perfonu it there, gathering a mob round 
 him ; and when he had finished would hasten to his companion 
 (who probably had walked on before) with an air of great satis- 
 faction that he had done his duty. 
 
 One Sunday morning, as I was walking with him in Twicken- 
 ham meadows, he began his antics both with his feet and hands, 
 with the latter as if he was holding the reins of a horse like a 
 jockey on full speed. But to describe the strange positions ot 
 his feet is a diflicult task ; sometimes he would make the back 
 part of his heels to touch, sometimes his toes, as if he was aiming 
 at making the form of a triangle, at least the two sides of one. 
 Though indeed, whether these were his gestures on this particular 
 occasion in Twickenham meadows I do not recollect, it is so long 
 since ; but I well remember that they were so extraordinary that 
 men, women, and children gathered round him, laughing. At 
 last we sat down on some logs of wood by the river side, and 
 
844 BECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 they nearly dispersed ; when he pulled out of his pocket Grotius 
 *' De Veritate Religionis,'" over which Tie see-sawed at such a 
 violent rate as to excite the curiosity of some people at a distance 
 to come and see what was the matter with him. 
 
 AVe drank tea that afternoon at Sir John Hawkins's, and on 
 our return I was surprised to hear Dr. Johnson's minute criticism 
 on Lady Hawkins's dress, with every part of which almost he 
 found fault. It was amazing, so short-sighted as he was, how 
 very observant he was of appearances in dress and behaviour, 
 nay, even of the deportment of servants while waiting at table. 
 One day, as his man Frank was attending at Sir Joshua Reynolds's 
 table, he observed, with some emotion, that he had placed the 
 salver under his arm. Nor would the conduct of the company, 
 blind as he was to his own many and strange peculiarities, escape 
 his animadversion on some occasions. He thought the use of 
 water-glasses a strange perversion of the idea of refinement, and 
 had a great dislike to the use of a pocket-handkerchief at meals, 
 wh en, if he happened to have occasion for one, he would rise 
 from his chair and go to some distance, with his back to the 
 company, and perform the operation as silently as possible. 
 
 Few people, I have heard him say, understood the art of 
 carving better than himself; but that it would be highly 
 indecorous in him to attempt it in company, being so near- 
 sighted, that it required a suspension of his breath during the 
 operation. 
 
 It must be owned, indeed, that it was to be regretted that he 
 did not practise a little of that delicacy in eating, for he appeared 
 to want breath more at that time than usual. It is certain that 
 he did not appear to the best advantage at the hour of repast ; 
 but of this he was perfectly unconscious, owing probably to his 
 being totally ignorant of the characteristic expressions of the 
 human countenance, and therefore he could have no conception 
 that his own expressed when most pleased any thing displeasing 
 to others ; for though, when particularly directing his attention 
 towards any object to spy out defects or perfections, he generally 
 succeeded better th an most men ; partly, perhaps, from a desire 
 to excite admiration of his perspicacity, of which he was not a 
 little ambitious — yet I have heard him say, and I have often 
 perceived, that he could not distinguish any man's face half a 
 yard distant from him, not even his most intimate acquaintance. 
 
 That Dr. Johnson possessed the essential principles of polite- 
 
BY MISS BEYNOLDS. 345 
 
 ncss and of good taste (which I suppose are the same, at least 
 concomitant), none who knew his virtues and his genius will, I 
 imagine, be disposed to dispute. But why they remained with 
 him, like gold in the ore, unfashioned and unseen, except in his 
 literary capacity, no person that I know of has made any inquiry, 
 though in general it has been spoken of as an unaccountable 
 inconsistency in his character. Much, to.o, may be said in 
 excuse for an apparent asperity of manners which was, at times 
 at least, the natural effect of those inherent mental infirmities 
 to which he was subject. His corporeal defects also contributed 
 largely to the singularity of his manners ; and a little reflection 
 on the disqualifying influence of blindness and deafness would 
 suggest many apologies for Dr. Johnson's want of politeness. 
 
 The particular instance I have just mentioned, of his inability 
 to discriminate the features of any one's face, deserves perhaps 
 more than any other to be taken into consideration, wanting, as 
 he did, the aid of those intelligent signs, or insinuations, which 
 the countenance displays in social converse ; and which, in their 
 slightest degree, influence and regulate the manners of the polite, 
 or even the common observer. And to his defective hearing, 
 perhaps, his unaccommodating manners may be equally ascribed, 
 which not only precluded him from the perception of the expres- 
 sive tones of the voice of others, but from hearing the boisterous 
 sound of his own : and nothing, I believe, more conduced to fix 
 upon his character the general stigma of ill-breeding, than his 
 loud imperious tone of voice, which apparently heightened the 
 slightest dissent to a tone of harsh reproof; and, with his corre- 
 sponding aspect, had an intimidating influence on those who were 
 not much acquainted with him, and excited a degree of resent- 
 ment which his words in ordinary circumstances would not have 
 provoked. I have often heard him on such occasions express 
 great surprise, that what he had said could have given any 
 offence. 
 
 Under such disadvantages, it was not much to be wondered at 
 that Dr. Johnson should have committed many blunders and 
 absurdities, and excited sui-prise and resentment in company ; 
 one in particular I remember. Being in company with Mr. 
 Garrick and some others, who were unknown to Dr. Johnson, he 
 was saying something tending to the disparagement of the 
 character or of the works of a gentleman present — I have forgot 
 which ; on which Mr. Garrick touched his foot under the table ; 
 
346 RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. JOHNSON 
 
 but he still went on, and Garrick, much alarmed, touched him a 
 second time, and, I believe, the third ; at last Johnson exclaimed, 
 " David, David, is it you ? What makes you tread on my toes 
 so ? " This little anecdote, perhaps, indicates as much the want 
 of prudence in Dr. Johnson as the want of sight. But had he 
 at first seen Garrick's expressive countenance, and (probably) 
 the embarrassment of the rest of the company on the occasion, 
 it would doubtless not have happened. 
 
 It were also much to be wished, in justice to Dr. Johnson's 
 character for good manners, that many jocular and ironical 
 speeches which have been reported had been noted as such, for 
 the information of those who were unacquainted with him. 
 
 Dr. Johnson was very ambitious of excelling in common ac- 
 quirements, as well as the uncommon, and particularly in feats 
 of activity. One day, as he was walking in Gunisbury Park (or 
 Paddock) with some gentlemen and ladies, who were admiring 
 the extraordinary size of some of the trees, one of the gentlemen 
 remarked that, when he was a boy, he made nothing of climbing 
 (swarming, I think, was the phrase) the largest there. " Why, 
 I can swarm it now," replied Dr. Johnson, which excited a hearty 
 laugh — (he was then between fifty and sixty) ; on which he ran 
 to the tree, clung round the trunk, and ascended to the branches, 
 and, I believe, would have gone in amongst them, had he not 
 been very earnestly entreated to descend, and down he came with 
 a triumphant air, seeming to make nothing of it. 
 
 At another time, at a gentleman's seat in Devonshire, as he and 
 some company were sitting in a saloon, before which was a spacious 
 lawn, it was remarked as a very proper place for running a race. 
 A young lady present boasted that she could outrun any person ; 
 on which Dr. Johnson rose up and said, " Madam, you cannot 
 outrun me ; " and, going out on the lawn, they started. The lady 
 at first had the advantage ; but Dr. Johnson happening to have 
 slippers on much too small for his feet, kicked them off up into the 
 air, and ran a great length without them, leaving the lady far 
 behind him, and, having won the victory, he returned, leading her 
 by the hand, with looks of high exultation and delight. 
 
 Though it cannot be said that he was "in manners gentle," yet 
 it justly can that he was " in afiections mild," benevolent, and 
 compassionate ; and to this combination of character, may, I be- 
 lieve, be ascribed, in a great measure, his extraordinary celebrity ; 
 his being beheld as a phenomenon or wonder of the age. 
 
BY MISS BEYNOLDS. 347' 
 
 And yet Dr. Johnson's character, singular as it certainly waa- 
 from the contrast of his mental endowments with the ronghnes^ 
 of his manners, was, I believe, perfectly natural and consistent 
 throughout ; and to those who were intimately acquainted with 
 him must, I imagine, have appeared so. For being totally devoid 
 of all deceit, free from every tinge of affectation or ostentation,, 
 and unwarped by any vice, his singularities, those strong lights 
 and shades that so peculiarly distinguish his character, may the 
 more easily be traced to their primary and natural causes. 
 
 The luminous parts of his character, his soft affections, and I 
 should suppose his strong intellectual powers, at least the dignified 
 charm or radiancy of them, must be allowed to owe their origin 
 to his strict, his rigid principles of religion and virtue ; and the 
 shadowy parts of his character, his rough, unaccommodating man- 
 ners, were in general to be ascribed to those corporeal defects 
 that I have already observed naturally tended to darken his 
 perceptions of what may be called propriety and impropriety in^ 
 general conversation ; and of course in the ceremonious or 
 artificial sphere of society gave his deportment so contrasting an' 
 aspect to the apparent softness and general uniformity of culti- 
 vated manners. 
 
 And perhaps the joint influence of these two primeval causes,, 
 his intellectual excellence and his corporeal defects, mutually 
 contributed to give his manners a greater degree of harshness 
 than they would have had if only under the influence of one of 
 them ; the imperfect perceptions of the one not unfrequently pro- 
 ducing misconceptions in the other. 
 
 Besides these, many other equally natural causes concurred to- 
 constitute the singularity of Dr. Johnson's character. Doubtless, 
 the progress of his education had a double tendency to brighten' 
 and to obscure it. But I must observe, that this obscurity (im- 
 plying only his awkward uncouth appearance, his ignorance of the 
 rules of politeness, &c.) would have gradually disappeared at a* 
 more advanced period, at least could have had no manner of in- 
 fluence to the prejudice of Dr. Johnson's character, had it not 
 been associated with those corporeal defects above mentioned. 
 But, unhappily, his untaught, uncivilized manner seemed to 
 render every little indecorum or impropriety that he committed 
 doubly indecorous and improper. 
 
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS ON JOHNSON'^ 
 CHARACTER. 
 
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS ON JOHNSON^S 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 I HAVE been favoured by Miss Gwatkin with a sight of the 
 following paper by Sir Joshua on the character of Johnson, 
 addressed to some mutual friend, perhaps Malone (or Boswell). 
 Everything Reynolds wrote, like everything he painted, was des- 
 tined to many alterations and corrections before its appearance 
 in public/ I have transcribed the paper exactly, except in the 
 matter of punctuation, and in the introduction, now and then, of 
 a word, between brackets, to complete the sense.^ 
 
 " From thirty years' intimacy with Dr. Johnson I certainly 
 have had the means, if I had equally the ability, of giving you a 
 true and perfect idea of the character and peculiarities of this 
 extraordinary man. The habits of my profession unluckily ex- 
 tend to the consideration of so much only of character as lies on 
 the surface, as is expressed in the lineaments of the countenance. 
 An attempt to go deeper, and investigate the peculiar colouring 
 of his mind as distinguished from all other minds, nothing but your 
 earnest desire can excuse. Such as it is, you may make what use 
 of it you please. Of his learning, and so much of his character 
 as is discoverable in his writings and is open to the inspection of 
 every person, nothing need be said. 
 
 " I shall remark such qualities only as his works cannot convey. 
 And among those the most distinguished was his possessing a mind 
 which was, as I may say, always ready for use. Most general 
 subjects had undoubtedly been already discussed in the course 
 of a studious thinking life. In this respect few men ever came 
 better prepared into whatever company chance might throw him, 
 and the love which he had to society gave him a facility in the 
 
 ^ Hence the inferiority of his letters to his other writings. 
 ^ Life and Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds, by Leslie and Taylor, voL 
 ii., pp. 454-462. 
 
352 Johnson's character 
 
 practice of applying liis knowledge of the matter in hand in which 
 I believe he was never exceeded by any man. It has been fre- 
 quently observed that he was a singular instance of a man who 
 had so much distinguished himself by his writings that his con- 
 versation not only supported his character as an author, but, in 
 the opinion of many, was superior. Those who have lived with 
 the wits of the age know how rarely this happens. I have had 
 the habit of thinking that this quality, as well as others of the 
 same kind, are possessed in consequence of accidental circum- 
 stances attending his life. What Dr. Johnson said a few days 
 before his death of his disposition to insanity was no new discovery 
 to those who were intimate with him. The character of Imlac 
 in ' Rasselas,' I always considered as a comment on his own con- 
 duct, which he himself practised, and as it now appears very 
 successfully, since we know he continued to possess his under- 
 standing in its full vigour to the last. Solitude to him was horror ; 
 nor would he ever trust himself alone but when employed in 
 writing or reading. He has often begged me to go home with 
 him to prevent his being alone in the coach. Any company was 
 better than none ; by which he connected himself with many mean 
 persons whose presence he could command. For this purpose he 
 established a Club at a little ale-house in Essex Street, composed 
 of a strange mixture of very learned and very ingenious odd 
 people. Of the former were Dr. Heberden, Mr. Windham, Mr. 
 Boswell, Mr. Stevens, Mr. Paradise. Those of the latter I do not 
 think proper to enumerate. By thus living, by necessity, so much 
 in company, more perhaps than any other studious man whatever, 
 he had acquired by habit, and which habit alone can give, that 
 facility, and we may add docility of mind, by which he was so 
 much distinguished. Another circumstance likewise contributed 
 not a little to the power which he had of expressing himself, which 
 was a rule, which he said he always practised on every occasion, 
 of speaking his best, whether the person to whom he addressed 
 himself was or was not capable of comprehending him. ' If,' says 
 he, ' I am understood, my labour is not lost. If it is above their 
 comprehension, there is some gratification, though it is the admi- 
 ration of ignorance ; ' and he said those were the most sincere 
 admirers ; and quoted Baxter, who made it a rule never to preach 
 a sermon without saying something which he knew was beyond 
 the comprehension of his audience in order to inspire their ad- 
 miration. Dr. Johnson, by this continual practice, made that a 
 
BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 353 
 
 liabit which was at first an exertion ; for every person who knew 
 him must have observed that the moment he was left out of the 
 conversation, whether from his deafness or from whatever cause, 
 but a few minutes without speaking or Hstening, his mind appeared 
 to be preparing itself. He fell into a reverie accompanied with 
 strange antic gestures ; but this he never did when his mind was 
 engaged bj the conversation. [These were] therefore improperly 
 
 called by , as well as by others, convulsions, which imply 
 
 involuntary contortions ; whereas, a word addressed to him, his 
 attention was recovered. Sometimes, indeed, it would be near a 
 minute before he would give an answer, looking as if he laboured 
 to bring his mind to bear on the question. 
 
 " In arguing he did not trouble himself with much circumlocution, 
 but opposed, directly and abruptly, his antagonist. He fought 
 with all sorts [of] weapons ; [with] ludicrous comparisons and 
 similes ; [and] if all failed, with rudeness and overbearing. He 
 thought it necessary never to be worsted in argument. He had 
 one virtue which I hold one of the most difficult to practise. 
 After the heat of contest was over, if he had been informed that 
 his antagonist resented his rudeness, he was the first to seek after 
 a reconciliation ; and of his virtues the most distinguished was 
 his love of truth. 
 
 " He sometimes, it must be confessed, covered his ignorance by 
 generals rather than appear ignorant. You will wonder to hear 
 a person who loved him so sincerely speak thus freely of his friend, 
 but, you must recollect I am not writing his panegyrick, but as 
 if upon oath, not only to give the truth but the whole truth. 
 
 " His pride had no meanness in it ; there was nothing little or 
 mean about him. 
 
 " Truth, whether in great or little matters, he held sacred. 
 
 " From the violation of truth, he said, in great things your 
 character or your interest was affected, in lesser things your 
 pleasure is equally destroyed. I remember, on his relating some 
 incident, I added something to his relation which I supposed 
 might likewise have happened : ' It would have been a better 
 story,' says he, ' if it had been so ; but it was not.' Our friend 
 Dr. Goldsmith was not so scrupulous ; but he said he only 
 indulged himself in white lyes, light as feathers, which he threw 
 up in the air, and on whomever they fall, nobody was hurt. * I 
 wish,' says Dr. Johnson, ' you would take the trouble of moultinr*' 
 your feathers.' 
 
 VI. A A 
 
354 Johnson's character, 
 
 " I once inadvertently put him in a situation from which none 
 but a man of perfect integrity could extricate himself. I pointed 
 at some lines in the ' Traveller ' which I told [him] I was sure he 
 wrote. He hesitated a little ; during this hesitation I recollected 
 myself, that as I knew he would not lye I put him in a cleft stick, 
 and should have had but my due if he had given me a rough 
 answer ; but he only said, ' Sir, I did not write them, but that you 
 may not imagine that I have wrote more than I really have, the 
 utmost I have wrote in that poem, to the best of my recollection, 
 is not more than eighteen lines.' It must be observed there was 
 then an opinion about town that Dr. Johnson wrote the whole 
 poem for his friend, who was then in a manner an unknown writer. 
 This conduct appears to me to be in the highest degree correct 
 and refined. If the Dr.'s conscience would have let him told a 
 lye, the matter would have been soon over. 
 
 " As in his writings not a line can be found which a saint would 
 wish to blot, so in his life he would never suffer the least im- 
 morality [or] indecency of conversation, [or any thing] contrary 
 to virtue or piety to proceed without a severe check, which no 
 elevation of rank exempted them from 
 
 " Custom, or politeness, or courtly manners has authorised such 
 an Eastern hyperbolical style of compliment, that part of Dr. 
 Johnson's character for rudeness of manners must be put to the 
 account of this scrupulous adherence to truth. His obstinate 
 silence, whilst all the company were in raptures, vying with each 
 other who should pepper highest, was considered as rudeness or 
 ill-nature. 
 
 " During his last illness, when all hope was at an end, he 
 appeared to be quieter and more resigned. His approaching 
 dissolution was always present to his mind. A few days before 
 he died, Mr. Langton and myself only present, he said he had been 
 a great sinner, but he hoped he had given no bad example to his 
 friends ; that he had some consolation in reflecting that he had 
 never denied Christ, and repeated the text ' Whoever denies me, 
 &c.' We were both very ready to assure him that we were con- 
 scious that we were better and wiser from his life and conversa- 
 tion ; and that, so far from denying Christ, he had been, in this 
 age, his greatest champion. 
 
 " Sometimes a flash of wit escaped him as if involuntary. Pie 
 was asked how he liked the new man that was hired to watch by 
 him. ' Instead of watching,' says he, ' he sleeps like a dormouse ; 
 
BY SIB JOSHUA REYNOLDS, 355 
 
 and when he helps me to bed he is awkward as a turnspit dog 
 the fii*st time he is put into the Avheel.' 
 
 " The Christian religion was with him such a certain and 
 established truth, that he considered it as a kind of profanation 
 to hold any argument about its truth. 
 
 *' He was not easily imposed upon by professions to honesty 
 and candour ; but he appeared to have little suspicion of hypocrisy 
 in religion. 
 
 " His passions were like those of other men, the difference only 
 lay in his keeping a stricter watch over himself. In petty 
 circumstances this wayward disposition appeared, but in greater 
 things he thought it worth while to summon his recollection and 
 be always on his guard. . . . [To them that loved him not] as 
 rough as winter ; to those who sought his love, as mild as summer' 
 — many instances Avill readily occur to those who knew him 
 intimately, of the guard Avhich he endeavoured always to keep 
 over himself. 
 
 " The prejudices he had to countries did not extend to 
 individuals. The chief prejudice in which he indulged himself 
 was against Scotland, though he had the most cordial friendship 
 with individuals [of that country.] This he used to vindicate as 
 a duty. In respect to Frenchmen he ratlier laughed at himself, 
 but it was insurmountable. He considered every foreigner as a 
 fool till they had com-inced him of the contrary. Against the 
 Irish he entertained no prejudice, he thought they united them- 
 selves very well with us ; but the Scotch, when in England, united 
 and made a party by employing only Scotch servants and Scotch 
 tradesmen. He held it right for Englishmen to oppose a party 
 against them. 
 
 " This reasoning would have more weiglit if the numbers were 
 equal. A small body in a larger has such great disadvantages 
 that I fear are scarce counterbalanced by whatever little combina- 
 tion they can make. A general combination against them would 
 be little short of annihilation. 
 
 *' We are both of Dr. Johnson's school. For my own part, I 
 acknowledge the highest obligations to him. He may be said to 
 
 ' Reynolds here recollects, imperfectly, Cromwell's eulogium on 
 Wolsey : — 
 
 " Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not, 
 
 But to the men that sought him sweet as summer. '' 
 
356 Johnson's character. 
 
 have formed my mind, and to have brushed from it a great deal 
 of rubbish. Those very people whom he has brought to think 
 rightly will occasionally criticise the opinions of their master when 
 he nods. But we shovild always recollect that it is he himself 
 who taught us and enabled us to do it. 
 
 " The drawback of his character is entertaining prejudices on 
 very slight foundations ; giving an opinion, perhaps, first at 
 random, but from its being contradicted he thinks himself obliged 
 always to support [it], or, if he cannot support, still not to 
 acquiesce [in the opposite opinion]. Of this I remember an 
 instance of a defect or forgetfulness in his ' Dictionary.' I asked 
 him how he came not to correct it in the second edition. ' No,' 
 says he, ' they made so much of it that I would not ilatter them by 
 altering it ! ' 
 
 " From passion, from the prevalence of his disposition for the 
 minute, he was constantly acting contrary to his own reason, to 
 his principles. It was a frequent subject of animadversion with 
 him, how much authors lost of the pleasure and comfort of life by 
 their carrying always about them their own consequence and 
 celebrity. Yet no man in mixed company, — not to his intimates, 
 certainly, for that would be an insupportable slavery, — ever 
 acted with more circumspection to his character than himself. 
 The most light and airy dispute was with him a dispute on the 
 arena. He fought on every occasion as if his whole reputation 
 depended upon the victory of the minute, and he fought with all 
 the weapons. If he was foiled in argument he had recourse to 
 abuse and rudeness. That he was not thus strenuous for victory 
 with his intimates in tete-k-tete conversations when there were 
 no witnesses, may be easily believed. Indeed, had his conduct 
 been to them the same as he exhibited to the pubhc, his friends 
 could never have entertained that love and affection for him which 
 they all feel and profess for his memory. 
 
 " But what appears extraordinary is that a man who so well 
 saw, himself, the foUy of this ambition of shining, of speaking, or 
 of acting always according to the character [he] imagined [he] 
 possessed in the world, should produce himself the greatest 
 example of a contrary conduct. 
 
 " Were I to write the Life of Dr. Johnson I would labour this 
 point, to separate his conduct that proceeded from his passions, 
 and what proceeded from his reason, from his natm-al disposition 
 seen in his quiet hours." 
 
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS ON JOHNSON'S 
 INFLUENCE/ 
 
 I REMEMBER Mr. Barke, speaking of the Essays of Sir 
 Francis Bacon, said, he thought them the best of his works. 
 Dr. Johnson was of opinion, that " their excellence and their 
 value consisted in being the observations of a strong mind 
 operating npon life ; and in consequence you find there what you 
 seldom find in other books." It is this kind of excellence which 
 gives a value to the performances of artists also. It is the 
 thoughts expressed in the works of Michael Angelo, Correggio, 
 Raffaelle, Parmegiano, and perhaps some of the old Gothic 
 masters, and not the inventions of Pietro da Cortona, Carlo 
 Marati, Luea Giordano, and others, that I might mention, which 
 we seek after with avidity : from the former we learn to think 
 originally. 
 
 May I presume to introduce myself on this occasion, and even 
 to mention, as an instance of the truth of what I have remarked, 
 the very Discourses which I have had the honour of delivering 
 from, this place ? Whatever merit they have, must be imputed, 
 in a great measure, to the education which I may be said to have 
 had under Dr. Johnson. I do not mean to say, though it 
 certainly would be to the credit of these Discourses, if I could 
 say it with truth, that he contributed even a single sentiment to 
 them ; but he qualified my mind to think justly. No man had, 
 like him, the faculty of teaching inferior minds the art of thinking. 
 Perhaps other men might have equal knowledge ; but few were 
 so communicative. His great pleasure was to talk to those who 
 looked up to him. It was here he exhibited his wonderful 
 powers. In mixed company, and frequently in company that 
 ought to have looked up to him, many, thinking they had a 
 
 ^ From an unfinished Discourse, found by Mr. Malone among Sir 
 Joshua's loose papers. See Works, vol. i., p. xxviii. 
 
358 Johnson's influence. 
 
 character for learning to support, considered it as beneath them 
 to enlist in the train of his auditors ; and to such persons he 
 certainly did not appear to advantage, being often impetuous and 
 overbearing. 
 
 The desire of shining in conversation was in him, indeed, a 
 predominant passion ; and if it must be attributed to vanity, let 
 it at the same time be recollected, that it produced that loqua- 
 ciousness from which his more intimate friends derived consider- 
 able advantage. The observations which he made on poetry, on 
 life, and on every thing about us, I applied to our art ; with what 
 success, others must judge. Perhaps an artist in his studies 
 should pursue the same conduct ; and, instead of patching up a 
 particular work on the narrow plan of imitation, rather endea- 
 vour to acquire the art and power of thinking. On this subject 
 I have often spoken : but it cannot be too often repeated, that 
 the general power of composition may be acquired ; and when 
 acquired, the artist may then lawfully take hints from his pre- 
 decessors. In reality, indeed, it appears to me, that a man must 
 begin by the study of others. Thus Bacon became a great 
 thinker, by entering into and making himself master of the 
 thoughts of other men. 
 
AN ESSAY 
 
 ON 
 
 THE LIFE AND GENIUS 
 
 OF 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR MURPHY, 
 
 Trejixed to Murphy' t edition of JohnsonSs Works in 12 volumes, 8vo» 
 London: 1792. 
 
AN ESSAY 
 
 LIFE AND GENIUS 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON, L L. D. 
 
 WHEN the works of a great writer, who has bequeathed to 
 posterity a lasting legacy, are presented to the world, it 
 is naturally expected that some account of his life should accom- 
 pany the edition. The reader wishes to know as much as possible 
 of the author. The circumstances that attended him, the features 
 of his private character, his conversation, and the means by 
 which he arose to eminence, become the favourite objects of 
 inquiry. Curiosity is excited ; and the admirer of his works is 
 eager to know his private opinions, his course of study, the par- 
 ticularities of his conduct, and, above all, whether he pursued 
 the wisdom which he recommends, and practised the virtue which 
 his writings inspire. A principle of gratitude is awakened in 
 every generous mind. For the entertainment and instruction 
 which genius and diligence have provided for the world, men of 
 refined and sensible tempers are ready to pay their tribute of 
 praise, and even to form a posthumous friendship with the 
 author. 
 
 In reviewing the life of such a writer, there is, besides, a rule 
 of justice to which the public have an undoubted claim. Fond 
 admiration and partial friendship should not be suffered to repre- 
 sent his ^'irtues with exaggeration ; nor should malignity be 
 allowed, under a specious disguise, to magnify mere defects, the 
 usual failings of human nature, into vice or gross deformity. The 
 
362 murphy's essay on the 
 
 lights and shades of the character should be given ; and if this be 
 done with a strict regard to truth, a just estimate of Dr. Johnson 
 will afford a lesson, perhaps, as valuable as the moral doctrine 
 that speaks with energy in everj page of his works. 
 
 The present writer enjoyed the conversation and friendship of 
 that excellent man more than thirty years. He thought it an 
 honour to be so connected, and to this hour he reflects on his 
 loss with regret ; but regret, he knows, has secret bribes, by 
 which the judgment may be influenced, and partial affection may 
 be carried beyond the bounds of truth. In the present case, 
 however, nothing needs to be disguised, and exaggerated praise 
 is unnecessary. It is an observation of the younger Pliny, in 
 his epistle to his friend Tacitus, that history ought never to 
 magnify matters of fact, because worthy actions require nothing 
 but the truth : " nam nee historia debet egredi veritatem, et 
 honeste factis Veritas suflicit." This rule, the present biographer 
 promises, shall guide his pen throughout the following narrative. 
 
 It may be said, the death of Dr. Johnson kept the public mind 
 in agitation beyond all former example. No literary character 
 ever excited so much attention ; and, when the press has teemed 
 with anecdotes, apophthegms, essays, and publications of every 
 kind, what occasion now for a new tract on the same threadbare 
 subject ? The plain truth shall be the answer. The proprietors 
 of Johnson's works thought the life, which they prefixed to their 
 former edition, too unwieldy for republication. The prodigious 
 variety of foreign matter, introduced into that performance, 
 seemed to overload the memory of Dr. Johnson, and, in the 
 account of his own life, to leave him hardly visible. They 
 wished to have a more concise, and for that reason, perhaps, a 
 more satisfactory account, such as may exhibit a just picture of 
 the man, and keep him the principal figure in the foreground of 
 his own picture. To comply with that request is the design of 
 this essay, which the writer undertakes with a trembling hand. 
 He has no discoveries, no secret anecdotes, no occasional contro- 
 versy, no sudden flashes of wit and humour, no private conver- 
 sation, and no new facts, to embellish his work. Every thing 
 has been gleaned. Dr. Johnson said of himself, " I am not 
 uncandid, nor severe : I sometimes say more than I mean, in 
 jest, and people are apt to think me serious." ^ The exercise of 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. iv., Aug.-Sept., \783.— Editor. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OP SAMUEL JOHNSON. 363 
 
 that privilege, which is enjoyed by every man in society, has not 
 been allowed to him. His fame has given importance even to 
 trifles ; and the zeal of his friends has brought every thing to 
 light. What should be related, and what should not, has 
 been published without distinction : " dicenda tacenda locuti ! " 
 Every thing that fell from him has been caught with eagerness 
 by his admirers, who, as he says in one of his letters, have acted 
 with the diligence of spies upon his conduct. To some of them 
 the following lines, in Mallet's poem on verbal criticism, are not 
 inapplicable : — 
 
 " Such that grave bird in northern seas is found. 
 Whose name a Dutchman only knows to sound ; 
 Where'er the king of fish moves on before, 
 This humble friend attends from shore to shore ; 
 With eye still earnest, and with bill inclined, 
 He picks up what his patron drops behind, 
 With those choice rates his palate to regale, 
 And is the careful Tibbald of a whale.'' 
 
 After 80 many essays and volumes of Johnsoniana, what remains 
 for the present writer ? Perhaps, what has not been attempted ; 
 a short, yet full, a faithful, yet temperate, history of Johnson. 
 
 Samuel Johkson was born at Lichfield^ September 7, 1709, 
 O.S.^ His father, Michael Johnson, was a bookseller in that 
 city ; a man of large, athletic make, and violent passions ; wrong- 
 headed, positive, and, at times, afflicted with a degree of melan- 
 choly, little short of madness. His mother was sister to Dr. 
 Ford, a practising physician, and father of Cornelius Ford, gene- 
 rally known by the name of parson Ford, the same who is repre- 
 sented near the punch-bowl in Hogarth's Midnight Modem 
 Conversation. In the life of Fenton, Johnson says, that "his 
 abilities, instead of furnishing convivial merriment to the volup- 
 tuous and dissolute, might have enabled him to excel among the 
 virtuous and wise." Being chaplain to the earl of Chesterfield 
 he w^ished to attend that nobleman on his embassy to the Hague. 
 CoUey Gibber has recorded the anecdote. " You should go,'* 
 said the witty peer, " if to your many vices you would add one 
 
 ' This appears in a note to Johnson's Diary, prefixed to the first of 
 his prayers. After the alteration of the style, he kept his birthday on 
 the 18th of September, and it is accordingly marked September /j. 
 
364 murphy's essay on the 
 
 more." " Pray, my lord, what is that ? " " Hypocrisy, my dear 
 doctor." Johnson had a younger brother named Nathaniel, who 
 died at the age of twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Michael 
 Johnson, the father, was chosen, in the year 1718, under bailiff of 
 Lichfield ; and, in the year 1725, he served the office of the 
 senior bailiff. He had a brother of the name of Andrew, who, 
 for some years, kept the ring at Smithfield, appropriated to 
 wrestlers and boxers. Our author used to say, that he was 
 never thrown or conquered. Michael, the father, died Decem- 
 ber, 1731, at the age of seventy-six : his mother at eighty-nine, 
 of a gradual decay, in the year 1759. Of the family nothing 
 more can be related worthy of notice. Johnson did not delight 
 in talking of his relations. " There is little pleasure," he said 
 to Mrs. Piozzi, "in relating the anecdotes of beggary." 
 
 Johnson derived from his parents, or from an unwholesome 
 nurse, the distemper called the king's evil. The Jacobites 
 at that time believed in the efficacy of the royal touch, and, 
 accordingly, Mrs. Johnson presented her son, when two years old, 
 before queen Anne, who for the first time, performed that office, 
 and communicated to her young patient all the healing virtue in 
 her power.^ He was afterwards cut for that scrophulous humour, 
 and the under part of his face was seamed and disfigured by the 
 operation. It is supposed, that this disease deprived him of the 
 sight of his left eye, and also impaired his hearing. At eight 
 years old, he was placed under Mr. Hawkins at the free school 
 in Lichfield, where he was not remarkable for diligence or regular 
 application. Whatever he read, his tenacious memory made his 
 own. In the fields, with his schoolfellows, he talked more to 
 himself than with his companions. In 1725, when he was about 
 sixteen years old, he went on a visit to his cousin Cornelius 
 Ford, who detained him for some months, and, in the mean time, 
 assisted him in the classics. The general direction for his studies, 
 which he then received, he related to Mrs. Piozzi. " Obtain," 
 says Ford, " some general principles of every science : he who 
 can only talk on one subject, or act only in one department, is 
 seldom wanted, and, perhaps, never wished for ; while the man 
 of general knowledge can often benefit, and always please." This 
 
 ^ Johnson being asked if he could remember queen Anne, " he had 
 (he said) a confused, but somehow a sort of solenm recollection of a lady 
 in diamonds, and a long black hood." — Mrs. Piozzi" s Anecdotes [p. 8, 
 
 ante]. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 365 
 
 advice Johnson seems to have pursued with a good inclitiation. 
 His reading was always desultory, seldom resting on any par- 
 ticular author, but rambling from one book to another, and, bj 
 hasty snatches, hoarding up a variety of knowledge. It may be 
 proper, in this place, to mention another general rule laid down 
 by Ford for Johnson's future conduct : " You will make your 
 way the more easily in the world, as you are contented to dispute 
 no man's claim to conversation excellence : they will, therefore, 
 more willingly allow your pretensions as a writer." " But," says 
 Mrs. Piozzi [ante, p. 10], " the features of peculiarity, which mark 
 a chai'acter to all succeeding generations, are slow in coming to 
 their growth." ' That ingenious lady adds, with her usual 
 vivacity, " Can one, on such an occasion, forbear recollecting the 
 prediction of Boileau's father, who said, stroking the head of the 
 young satirist, ' this little man has not too much wit, but he will 
 never speak ill of any one ? ' " 
 
 On Johnson's return from Cornelius Ford, Mr. Hunter, then 
 master of the free school at Lichfield, refused to receive him 
 again on that foundation. At this distance of time, what his 
 reasons were, it is vain to inquire ; but to refuse assistance to a 
 lad of promising genius must be pronounced harsh and illiberal. 
 It did not, however, stop the progress of the young student's 
 education. He was placed at another school, at Stourbridge in 
 Worcestershire, under the care of Mr. Wentworth. Ha\'ing gone 
 through the rudiments of classic literature, he returned to his 
 father's house, and was probably intended for the trade of a book- 
 seller. He has been heard to say that he could bind a book. 
 At the end of two years, being then about nineteen, he went to assist 
 the studies of a young gentleman, of the name of Corbet, to the 
 university of Oxford; and on the 31st of October, 1728, both 
 were entered of Pembroke college ; Corbet as a gentleman-com- 
 moner, and Johnson as a commoner. The college tutor, Mr. 
 Jordan, was a man of no genius ; and Johnson, it seems, showed 
 an early contempt of mean abilities, in one or two instances be- 
 having with insolence to that gentleman. Of his general conduct 
 at the university there are no particulars that merit attention, 
 except the translation of Pope's Messiah, which was a college 
 exercise imposed upon him as a task by Mr. Jordan. Corbet left the 
 university in about two years, and Johnson's salary ceased. He 
 was, by consequence, straitened in his circumstances ; but he still 
 remained at college. Mr. Jordan, the tutor, went off to a living ; 
 
366 
 
 MURPHY S ESSAY ON THE 
 
 and was succeeded by Dr. Adams, who afterwards became head 
 of the college, and was esteemed through life for his learning, his 
 talents, and his amiable character. Johnson grew more regular 
 in his attendance. Ethics, theology, and classic literature, were 
 his favourite studies. He discovered, notwithstanding, early 
 symptoms of that wandering disposition of mind, which adhered to 
 him to the end of his life. His reading was by fits and starts, 
 undirected to any particular science. General philology, agree- 
 ably to his cousin Ford's advice, was the object of his ambition. 
 He received, at that time, an early impression of piety, and a 
 taste for the best authors, ancient and modem. It may, not- 
 withstanding, be questioned whether, except his bible, he ever 
 read a book entirely through. Late in life, if any man praised a 
 book in his presence, he was sure to ask, " Did you read it through? " 
 If the answer was in the affirmative, he did not seem wilhng to 
 believe it. He continued at the university, till the want of pe- 
 cuniary supplies obliged him to quit the place. He obtained, 
 however, the assistance of a friend, and, returning in a short time, 
 was able to complete a residence of three years. The history of 
 his exploits at Oxford, he used to say, was best known to Dr. 
 Taylor and Dr. Adams. Wonders are told of his memory, and, 
 indeed, all who knew him late in life can witness, that he retained 
 that faculty in the greatest vigour. 
 
 From the unirersity, Johnson returned to Lichfield. His father 
 died soon after, December, 1731 ; and the whole receipt out of his 
 effects, as appeared by a memorandum in the son's handwriting, 
 dated 15th of June, 1732, was no more than twenty pounds.' 
 In this exigence, determined that poverty should neither depress 
 his spirits nor warp his integrity, he became under-master of a 
 grammar school at Market Bosworth, In Leicestershire. That re- 
 source, however, did not last long. Disgusted by the pride of 
 Sir Wolstan Dixie, the patron of that little seminary, he left the 
 place in discontent, and ever after spoke of it with abhorrence. 
 In 1733, he went on a visit to Mr. Hector, who had been his 
 schoolfellow, and was then a surgeon at Birmingham, lodging at 
 
 * The entry of this is remarkable for his early resolution to preserve 
 through life a fair and upright character. " 1732, Junii 15. Undecim 
 aureos deposui, quo die, quidquid ante matris funus (quod serum sit pre- 
 cor) de paternis bonis sperare licet, viginti scilicet libras, aceepi. Usque 
 adeo mihi mea fortuna fingenda est. Interea, ne paupertate vires animi 
 languescant, nee in flagitia egestas abigat, cavendum." 
 
LIFE AND OENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 367 
 
 the house of Warren, a bookseller. At that place Johnson trans- 
 lated a Vojage to Abyssinia, written by Jerome Lobo, a Portu- 
 guese missionary. This was the first literary work from the pen 
 of Dr. Johnson. His friend, Hector, was occasionally his amanu- 
 ensis. The work Avas, probably, undertaken at the desire of 
 AVarren, the bookseller, and was printed at Birmingham ; but it 
 appears, in the Literary Magazine, or history of the works of the 
 learned, for March, 1735, that it was published by Bettesworth 
 and Hitch, Paternoster row. It contains a narrative of the en- 
 deavours of a company of missionaries to convert the people of 
 Abyssinia to the church of Rome. In the preface to this work, 
 Johnson observes, " that the Portuguese traveller, contrary to the 
 general view of his countrymen, has amused his readers with no 
 romantic absurdities, or incredible fictions. He appears, by his 
 modest and unaffected narration, to have described things, as he 
 saw them ; to have copied nature from the life ; and to have con- 
 sulted his senses, not his imaguiation. He meets with no basi- 
 lisks, that destroy with their eyes ; his crocodiles devour their 
 prey, without tears ; and his cataracts fall from the rock, without 
 deafening the neighbouring inhabitants. The reader will here 
 find no regions cursed with irremediable barrenness, or blessed 
 with spontaneous fecundity ; no perpetual gloom, or unceasing 
 sunshine ; nor are the nations, here described, either void of all 
 sense of humanity, or consummate in all private and social vir- 
 tues ; here are no Hottentots without religion, polity, or articulate 
 language ; no Chinese perfectly polite, and completely skilled in 
 all science ; he will discover, what will always be discovered by a 
 diligent and impartial inquirer, that, wherever human nature is to 
 be found, there is a mixture of vice and virtue, a contest of pas- 
 sion and reason ; and that the Creator doth not appear partial in 
 his distributions, but has balanced, in most countries, their par- 
 ticular inconveniences, by particular favours." We have here 
 
 an early specimen of Johnson's manner ; the vein of thinking, 
 and the frame of the sentences, are manifestly his : we see the 
 infant Hercules. The translation of Lobo's narrative has been 
 reprinted lately (1792) in a separate volume, with some other 
 tracts of Dr. Johnson's, but a compendious account of so interest- 
 ing a work as father Lobo's discovery of the head of the Nile, 
 will not, it is imagined, be unacceptable to the reader. 
 
 "Father Lobo, the Portuguese missionary, embarked, in 1622, 
 in the same fleet with the Count Vidigueira, who was appointed, 
 
368 mukphy's essay on the 
 
 by the king of Portugal, viceroy of the Indies. They arrived at 
 Goa; and, in January, 1624, father Lobo set out on the mission 
 to Abyssinia. Two of the Jesuits, sent on the same commission, 
 were murdered in their attempt to penetrate into that empire. 
 Lobo had better success ; he surmounted all difficulties, and 
 made his way into the heart of the country. Then follows a 
 description of Abyssinia, formerly the largest empire of which 
 we have an account in history. It extended from the Red sea 
 to the kingdom of Congo, and from Egypt to the Indian sea, 
 containing no less than forty provinces. At the time of Lobo's 
 mission, it was not much larger than Spain, consisting then but 
 of five kingdoms, of which part was entirely subject to the 
 emperour, and part paid him a tribute, as an acknowledgment. 
 The provinces were inhabited by Moors, Pagans, Jews, and 
 Christians. The last was, in Lobo's time, the established and 
 reigning religion. The diversity of people and religion is the 
 reason why the kingdom was under different forms of govern- 
 ment, with laws and customs extremely various. Some of the 
 people neither sowed their lands, nor improved them by any 
 kind of culture, living upon milk and flesh, and, like the Arabs, 
 encamping without any settled habitation. In some places they 
 practised no rites of worship, though they believed that, in the 
 regions above, there dwells a being that governs the world. 
 This deity they call, in their language, Oul. The Christianity, 
 professed by the people in some parts, is so corrupted with 
 superstitions, errours, and heresies, and so mingled with cere- 
 monies borrowed from the Jews, that little, besides the name of 
 Christianity, is to be found among them. The Abyssins cannot 
 properly be said to have either cities or houses ; they live in 
 tents or cottages made of straw or clay, very rarely building with 
 stone. Their villages, or towns, consist of these huts ; yet even 
 of such villages they have but few, because the grandees, the 
 viceroys, and the emperour himself, are always in camp, that 
 they may be prepared, upon the most sudden alarm, to meet 
 every emergence in a country, which is engaged, every year, 
 either in foreign wars or intestine commotions. -^Ethiopia pro- 
 duces very near the same kinds of provision as Portugal, though, 
 by the extreme laziness of the inhabitants, in a much less quantity. 
 What the ancients imagined of the torrid zone being a part of 
 the world uninhabitable, is so far from being true, that the 
 climate is very temperate. The blacks have better features than 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 369 
 
 in other countries, and are not without wit and ingenuity. Their 
 apprehension is quick, and their judgment sound. There are, in 
 this climate, two harvests in the year ; one in winter, which lasts 
 through the months of July, August, and September ; the other 
 in the spring. They have, in the greatest plenty, raisins, peaches, 
 pomegranates, sugar-canes, and some figs. Most of these are 
 ripe about Lent, which the Abyssins keep Avith great strictness. 
 The animals of the country are the lion, the elephant, the rhino- 
 ceros, the unicorn, horses, mules, oxen, and cows without number. 
 They have a very particular custom, which obliges every man, 
 that has a thousand cows, to save every year one day's milk of 
 all his herd, and make a bath with it for his relations. This 
 they do so many days in each year, as they have thousands of 
 cattle ; so that, to express how rich a man is, they tell you, ' he 
 bathes so many times.' 
 
 " Of the river Nile, which has furnished so much controversy, 
 we have a full and clear description. It is called, by the natives, 
 Abavi, the Father of Water. It rises in Sacala, a province of 
 the kingdom of Goiama, the most fertile and agreeable part of 
 the Abyssinian dominions. On the eastern side of the country, 
 on the declivity of a mountain, whose descent is so easy, that it 
 seems a beautiful plain, is that source of the Nile, which has 
 been soaght after, at so much expense and labour. This spring, 
 or rather these two springs, are two holes, each about two feet 
 diameter, a stone's cast distant from each other. One of them is 
 about five feet and a half in depth. Lobo was not able to sink 
 his plummet lower, perhaps, because it was stopped by roots, 
 the whole place being full of trees. A line of ten feet did not 
 reach the bottom of the other. These springs are supposed, by 
 the Abyssins, to be the vents of a great subterraneous lake. At 
 a small distance to the south, is a village called Guix, through 
 which you ascend to the top of the mountain, where there is a 
 little hill, which the idolatrous Agaci hold in great veneration. 
 Their priest calls them together to this place once a year ; and 
 every one sacrifices a cow, or more, according to the different 
 degrees of wealth and devotion. Hence we have sufficient proof, 
 that these nations always paid adoration to the deity of this 
 famous river. 
 
 " As to the course of the Nile, its waters, after their first rise, 
 run towards the east, about the length of a musket-shot ; then, 
 turning northward, continue hidden in the grass and weeds for 
 
 VI. B B 
 
370 murphy's essay on the 
 
 about a quarter of a league, when they reappear amongst a 
 quantity of rocks. The Nile, from its source, proceeds with so 
 inconsiderable a current that it is in danger of being dried up by 
 the hot season ; but soon receiving an increase from the Gemma, 
 the Keltu, the Bransa, and the other smaller rivers, it expands 
 to such a breadth in the plains of Boad, which is not above three 
 days' journey from its source, that a musket-ball will scarcely fly 
 from one bank to the other. Here it begins to run northward, 
 winding, however, a little to the east, for the space of nine or ten 
 leagues, and then enters the so-much-talked-of lake of Dambia, 
 flowing with such violent rapidity, that its waters may be dis- 
 tinguished through the whole passage, which is no less than six 
 leagues. Here begins the greatness of the Nile. Fifteen miles 
 farther, in the land of Alata, it rushes precipitately from the top 
 of a high rock, and forms one of the most beautiful waterfalls in 
 the world. Lobo says, he passed under it without being wet, 
 and resting himself, for the sake of the coolness, was charmed 
 with a thousand delightful rainbows, which the sunbeams painted 
 on the water, in all their shining and lively colours.'^ The fall 
 of this mighty stream, from so great a height, makes a noise that 
 may be heard at a considerable distance : but it was not found, 
 that the neighbouring inhabitants were deaf. After the cataract, 
 the Nile collects its scattered stream among the rocks, which are 
 so near each other, that, in Lobo's time, a bridge of beams, on 
 which the whole imperial army passed, was laid over them. 
 Sultan Sequed has since built a stone bridge of one arch, in the 
 same place, for which purpose he procured masons from India. 
 Here the river alters its course, and passes through various 
 kingdoms, such as Amhara, Olaca, Choaa, Damot, and the king- 
 dom of Goiama, and, after various windings, returns within a 
 short day's journey of its spring. To pursue it through all its 
 mazes, and accompany it round the kingdom of Goiama, is a 
 journey of twenty-nine days. From Abyssinia, the river passes 
 
 m 
 
 ' This, Mr. Bruc^e, the late traveller, avers to be a downright fa]s^||p| 
 hood. He says, a deep pool of water reaches to the very foot of the 
 rock 5 and, allowing that there was a seat or bench (which there is not) 
 in the middle of the pool, it is absolutely impossible, by any exertion of 
 human strength, to have arrived at it. But it may be asked, can Mr. 
 Bruce say what was the face of the country in the year 1622, when 
 Lobo saw the magnificent sight which he has described ? Mr, Bruce's 
 pool of water may have been formed since j and Lobo, perhaps, was 
 content to sit down without a bench. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 371 
 
 into the countries of Fazulo and Ombarca, two vast regions little 
 known, inhabited by nations entirely different from the Abyssins. 
 Their hair, like that of the other blacks in those regions, is short 
 and curled. In the year 1615, Rassela Christos, lieutenant- 
 general to sultan Sequed, entered those kingdoms in a hostile 
 manner ; but, not being able to get intelligence, returned without 
 attempting any thing. As the empire of Abyssinia terminates 
 at these descents, Lobo followed the course of the Nile no 
 further, leaving it to range orer barbarous kingdoms, and convey 
 wealth and plenty into -^gypt, which owes to the annual inun- 
 dations of this river its envied fertility.^ Lobo knows nothing of 
 the Nile in the rest of its passage, except that it receives great 
 increase from many other rivers, has several cataracts like that 
 already described, and that few fish are to be found in it : that 
 scarcity is to be attributed to the river-horse, and the crocodile, 
 ■which destroy the weaker inhabitants of the river. Something, 
 likewise, must be imputed to the cataracts, where fish cannot 
 fall without being killed. Lobo adds, that neither he, nor any 
 with whom he conversed about the crocodile, ever saw him weep ; 
 and, therefore, all that hath been said about his tears, must be 
 ranked among the fables, invented for the amusement of children. 
 " As to the causes of the inundations of the Nile, Lobo ob- 
 serves, that many an idle hypothesis has been framed. Some 
 theorists ascribe it to the high winds, that stop the current, and 
 force the water above its banks. Others pretend a subterraneous 
 communication between the ocean and the Nile, and that the sea, 
 when violently agitated, swells the river. Many are of opinion, 
 that this mighty flood proceeds from the melting of the snow on 
 th« mountains of Ethiopia ; but so much snow and such prodi- 
 gious heat are never met with in the game region. Lobo never 
 saw snow in Abyssinia, except on mount Semen, in the kingdom 
 of Tigre, very remote fi-om the Nile ; and on Namara, which is, 
 indeed, not far distant, but where there never falls snow enough 
 to wet, when dissolved, the foot of the mountain. To the 
 immense labours of the Portuguese mankind is indebted for the 
 knowledge of the real cause of these inundations, so great and 
 so regular. By them we are informed, that Abyssinia, where the 
 
 ^ After comparing this description with that lately given by Mr. 
 Bruce, the reader will judge whether Lobo is to lose ;1ih honour of 
 having been at the head of the Nile, near two centuries bef ;•(; any other 
 European traveller. 
 
372 murphy's essay on the 
 
 Nile rises, is full of mountains, and, in its natural situation, is 
 much higher than JEgypt ; that in the winter, from June to Sep- 
 tember, no day is without rain ; that the Nile receives, in its 
 course, all the rivers, brooks, and torrents, that fall from those 
 mountains, and, by necessary consequence, swelling above its 
 banks, fills the plains of -2Egypt with inundations, which come 
 regularly about the month of July, or three weeks after the 
 beginning of the rainy season in ^Ethiopia. The different de- 
 grees of this flood are such certain indications of the fruitfulness 
 or sterility of the ensuing year, that it is publickly proclaimed 
 at Cairo how much the water hath gained during the night." 
 
 Such is the account of the Nile and its inundations, which, it 
 is hoped, will not be deemed an improper or tedious digression, 
 especially as the whole is an extract from Johnson's translation. 
 He is, all the time, the actor in the scene, and, in his own words, 
 relates the story. Having finished this work, he returned in 
 February, 1734, to his native city; and, in the month of August 
 following, published proposals for printing by subscription, the 
 Latin poems of Politian, with the history of Latin poetry, from 
 the aera of Petrarch to the time of Politian ; and also the life of 
 Politian, to be added by the editor, Samuel Johnson. The book 
 to be printed in thirty octavo sheets, price five shillings. It is 
 to be regretted that this project failed for want of encourage- 
 ment. Johnson, it seems, differed from Boileau, Voltaire, and 
 D'Alembert, who have taken upon them to proscribe all modern 
 efforts to write with eloquence in a dead language. For a deci- 
 sion pronounced in so high a tone, no good reason can be 
 assigned. The interests of learning require, that the diction of 
 Greece and Rome should be cultivated with care ; and he who 
 can write a language with correctness, will be most likely to 
 understand its idiom, its grammar, and its peculiar graces of 
 style. What man of taste would willingly forego the pleasure 
 of reading Vida, Fracastorius, Sannazaro, Strada, and others, 
 down to the late elegant productions of Bishop Lowth ? The 
 history which Johnson proposed to himself Avould, beyond all 
 question, have been a valuable addition to the history of letters ; 
 but his project failed. His next expedient was to offer his 
 assistance to Cave, the original projector of the Gentleman's 
 Magazine. For this purpose he sent his proposals in a letter, 
 offering on reasonable terms, occasionally to fill some pages with 
 poems and inscriptions, never printed before ; with fugitive 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 373 
 
 pieces tbat deserved to be revived, and critical remarks on 
 authors, ancient and modern. Cave agreed to retain him as a 
 con-espondent and contributor to the magazine. What the con- 
 ditions were cannot now be known ; but, certainly, they were not 
 sufficient to hinder Johnson from casting his eyes about him in 
 quest of other employment. Accordingly, in 1735, he made 
 overtures to the reverend Mr. Budworth, master of a grammar 
 school at Brerewood, in Staffordshire, to become his assistant. 
 This proposition did not succeed. Mr. Budworth apprehended, 
 that the involuntary motions, to which Johnson's nerves were 
 subject, might make him an object of ridicule with his scholars, 
 and, by consequence, lessen their respect for their master. 
 Another mode of advancing himself presented itself about this 
 time. Mrs. Porter, the widow of a mercer in Birmingham, 
 admired his talents. It is said that she had about eight hundred 
 pounds ; and that sum, to a person in Johnson's circumstances, 
 was an affluent fortune. A marriage took place ; and, to turn 
 his wife's money to the best advantage, he projected the scheme 
 of an academy for education. Gilbert Walmsley, at that time, 
 registrar of the ecclesiastical court of the bishop of Lichfield, 
 was distinguished by his erudition, and the politeness of his 
 manners. He was the friend of Johnson, and, by his weight and 
 influence, endeavoured to promote his interest. The celebrated 
 Garrick, whose father, captain Garrick, lived at Lichfield, was 
 placed in the new seminary of education by that gentleman's 
 advice. Garrick was then about eighteen years old. An acces- 
 sion of seven or eight pupils was the most that could be obtained, 
 though notice was given by a public advertisement,^ that at 
 Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, young gentlemen are 
 boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages, by Samuel 
 Johnson. 
 
 The undertaking proved abortive. Johnson, having now 
 abandoned all hopes of promoting his fortune in the country, 
 determined to become an adventurer in the world at large. His 
 young pupil, Garrick, had formed the same resolution; and, 
 accordingly, in March, 1737, they arrived in London together. 
 Two such candidates for fame, perhaps never, before that day, 
 entered the metropolis together. Their stock of money was 
 soon exhausted. In his visionary project of an academy, Johnson 
 
 ' See the Gentleman's Magazine for 1736, p. 418. 
 
374 murphy's essay on the 
 
 I 
 
 had probably wasted his wife's si^bstance ; and Garrick's father 
 had little more than his half-pay. — The two fellow-travellers had 
 the world before them, and each was to choose his road to for- 
 tune and to fame. They brought with them genius, and powers 
 of mind, peculiarly formed by nature for the different vocations 
 to which each of them felt himself inclined. They acted from 
 the impulse of young minds, even then meditating great things, 
 and with courage anticipating success. Their friend, Mr. 
 Walmsley, by a letter to the reverend Mr. Colson, who, it seems, 
 was a great mathematician, exerted his good offices in their 
 favour. He gave notice of their intended journey : " Davy 
 Garrick," he said, "will be with you next week ; and Johnson, 
 to try his fate with a tragedy, and to get himself employed in. 
 some translation, either from the Latin or French. Johnson is 
 a very good scholar and a poet, and, I have great hopes, will 
 turn out a fine tragedy-writer. If it should be in your way, I doubt 
 not but you will be ready to recommend and assist your country- 
 men." Of Mr. Walmsley 's merit, and the excellence of his 
 character, Johnson has left a beautiful testimonial at the end of 
 the life of Edmund Smith. It is reasonable to conclude, that a 
 mathematician, absorbed in abstract speculations, was not able to 
 find a sphere of action for two men, who were to be the archi- 
 tects of their own fortune. In three or four years afterwards, 
 Garrick came forth with talents that astonished the public. He 
 began his career at Goodman's fields, and there, " monstratus 
 fatis Vespasianus ! " he chose a lucrative profession, and, conse- 
 quently, soon emerged from all his difficulties. Johnson was left 
 to toil in the humble walks of literature. A tragedy, as appears 
 by Walmsley's letter, was the whole of his stock. This, most 
 probably, was Irene ; but, if then finished, it was doomed to wait 
 for a more happy period. It was offered to Fleetwood, and re- 
 jected. Johnson looked around him for employment. Having, 
 while he remained in the country, corresponded with Cave, under 
 a feigned name, he now thought it time to make himself known 
 to a man, whom he considered as a patron of literature. Cave 
 had announced, by public advertisement, a prize of fifty pounda 
 for the best poem on life, death, judgment, heaven, and hell ; and 
 this circumstance diffused an idea of his liberality. Johnson 
 became connected with him in business, and in a close and inti- 
 mate acquaintance. Of Cave's character it is unnecessary to 
 f&y any thing in this place, as Johnson was afterwards the bio- 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 375 
 
 grapher of his first and most useful patron. To be engaged in 
 the translation of some important work was still the object which 
 Johnson had in view. For this purpose, he proposed to give 
 the history of the council of Trent, with copious notes, then 
 lately added to a French edition. Twelve sheets of this work 
 were printed, for which Johnson received forty-nine pounds, as 
 appears by his receipt, in the possession of Mr. Nichols, the com- 
 piler of that entertaining and useful work, the Gentleman's 
 Magazine. Johnson s translation was never completed ; a like 
 design was offered to the public, under the patronage of Dr. 
 Zachary Pearce ; and, by that contention, both attempts were 
 frustrated. Johnson had been commended by Pope, for the 
 translation of the Messiah into Latin verse ; but he knew no 
 approach t-» so eminent a man. With one, however, who was 
 connected with Pope, he became acquainted at St. John's gate ; 
 and that person was no other than the well-known Richard Savage, 
 whose life was afterwards written by Johnson with great elegance, 
 and a depth of moral reflection. Savage was a man of con- 
 siderable talents. His address, his various accomplishments, 
 and, above all, the peculiarity of his misfortunes, recommended 
 hira to Johnson's notice. They became united in the closest 
 intimacy. Both had great parts, and they were equally under 
 the pressure of want. Sympathy joined them in a league of 
 friendship. Johnson has been often heard to relate, that he and 
 Savage walked round Grosvenor square till four in the morning ; 
 in the course of their conversation reforming the world, de- 
 throning princes, establishing new forms of government, and 
 giving laws to the several states of Europe, till, fatigued at 
 length with their legislative office, they began to feel the want 
 of refreshment, but could not muster up more than fourpence- 
 halfpenny. Savage, it is true, had many vices ; but vice could 
 never strike its roots in a mind like Johnson's, seasoned early 
 with religion, and the principles of moral rectitude. His first 
 prayer was composed in the year 1738. He had not, at that 
 time, renounced the use of wine ; and, no doubt, occasionally 
 enjoyed his friend and his bottle. The love of late hours, which 
 followed him through life, was, perhaps, originally contracted in 
 company with Savage. However that may be, their connexion 
 was not of long duration. In the year 1738 Savage was reduced 
 to the last distress. Mr. Pope, in a letter to him, expressed his 
 concern for " the miserable withdrawing of his pension afier the 
 
376 mukphy's essay on the 
 
 death of the queen," and gave hira hopes that, " in a short time, 
 he should find himself supplied with a competence, without any 
 dependance on those little creatures, whom we are pleased to call 
 the great." The scheme proposed to him was, that he should 
 retire to Swansea in Wales, and receive an allowance of fifty- 
 pounds a year, to be raised by subscription : Pope was to pay 
 twenty pounds. This plan, though finally established, took more 
 than a year before it was carried into execution. In the mean 
 time, the intended retreat of Savage called to Johnson's mind the 
 third satire of Juvenal, in which that poet takes leave of a friend, 
 who was withdrawing himself from all the vices of Rome. 
 Struck with this idea, he wrote that well-known poem, called 
 London. The first lines manifestly point to Savage. 
 
 " Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel, 
 When injur'd Thales bids the town farewell ; 
 Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend ; 
 I praise the hermit, but regret the friend : 
 Resolv'd, at length, from vice and London far, 
 To breathe, in distant fields, a purer air : 
 And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore. 
 Give to St. David one true Briton more." 
 
 Johnson, at that time, lodged at Greenwich. He there fixes 
 the scene, and takes leave of his friend ; who, he says in his life, 
 parted from him with tears in his eyes. The poem, when finished, 
 was oflfered to Cave. It happened, however, that the late Mr. 
 Dodsley was the purchaser, at the price often guineas. It was 
 published in 1738 ; and Pope, we are told, said, " The author, 
 whoever he is, will not be long concealed ; " alluding to the 
 passage in Terence, " Ubi, ubi, est, diu celari non potest." Not- 
 withstanding that prediction, it does not appear that, besides the 
 copy-money, any advantage accrued to the author of a poem, 
 written with the elegance and energy of Pope. Johnson, in 
 August, 1738, went, with all the fame of his poetry, to offer him- 
 self a candidate for the mastership of the school at Appleby, in 
 Leicestershire. The statutes of the place required, that the 
 person chosen should be a master of arts. To remove this 
 objection, the then Lord Gower was induced to write to a friend, 
 in order to obtain for Johnson a master s degree in the university 
 of Dublin, by the recommendation of Dr. Swift. The letter was 
 printed in one of the magazines, and is as follows : 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 377 
 
 "Sir, 
 
 " Mr. Samuel Johnson, author of London, a satire, and 
 some other poetical pieces, is a native of this county, and much 
 respected by some worthy gentlemen in the neighbourhood, who 
 are trustees of a charity-school, now vacant ; the certain salary of 
 which is sixty pounds per year, of which they are desirous to 
 make him master; but, unfortunately, he is not capable of 
 receiving their bounty, which would make him happy for life, by 
 not being a master of arts, which, by the statutes of the school, 
 the master of it must be. 
 
 " Now these gentlemen do me the honour to think, that I have 
 interest enough ii> you, to prevail upon you to write to dean 
 Swift, to persuade the university of Dublin to send a diploma to 
 me, constituting this poor man master of arts in their university. 
 They highly extol the man's learning and probity ; and will not 
 be persuaded, that the university will make any difficulty of con- 
 ferring such a favour upon a stranger, if he is recommended by 
 the dean. They say, he is not afraid of the strictest examination, 
 though he is of so long a journey ; and yet he will venture it, if 
 the dean thinks it necessary, choosing rather to die upon the road, 
 than to be starved to death in translating for booksellers, which 
 has been his only subsistence for some time past. 
 
 " I fear there is more difficulty in this affair than these good- 
 natured gentlemen apprehend, especially as their election cannot 
 be delayed longer than the 11th of next month. If you see this 
 matter in the same light that it appears to me, I hope you will 
 burn this, and pardon me for giving you so much trouble about 
 an impracticable thing ; but, if you think there is a probability 
 of obtaining the favour asked, I am sure your humanity and pro- 
 pensity to relieve merit, in distress, will incline you to serve the 
 poor man, without my adding any more to the trouble I have 
 already given you, than assuring you, that I am, with great 
 truth, sir, 
 
 " Your faithful humble servant, 
 
 " GOWER." 
 
 " Trentham, Aug. 1st. " 
 
 This scheme miscarried. There is reason to think, that Swift 
 declined to meddle in the business ; and, to that circumstance, 
 Johnson's known dislike of Swift has been often imputed. 
 
 It is mortifying to pursue a man of merit through all his diffi- 
 
378 murphy's essay on the 
 
 culties ; and yet this narrative must be, through many following 
 years, the history of genius and virtue struggling with adversity. 
 Having left the school at Appleby, Johnson was thrown back on 
 the metropolis. Bred to no profession, without relations, friends, 
 or interest, he was condemned to drudgery in the service of Cave, 
 bis only patron. In November, 1738, was published a translation 
 of Crousaz's Examen of Pope's Essay on Man ; containing a 
 succinct view of the system of the fatalists, and a confutation of 
 their opinions; with an illustration of the doctrine of free will; 
 and an enquiry, what view Mr. Pope might have in touching upon 
 the Leibnitzian philosophy, and fatalism : by Mr. Crousaz, pro- 
 fessor of philosophy and mathematics at Lausanne. This trans- 
 lation has been generally thought a production of Johnson's pen ; 
 but it is now known, that Mrs. Elizabeth Carter has acknowledged 
 it to be one of her early performances. It is certain, however, 
 that Johnson was eager to promote the publication. He con 
 sidered the foreign philosopher as a man zealous in the cause of 
 religion ; and with him he was willing to join against the system 
 of the fatalists, and the doctrine of Leibnitz. It is well knovsii, 
 that Warburton wrote a vmdication of Mr. Pope ; but there is 
 reason to think, that Johnson conceived an early prejudice against 
 the Essay on Man ; and what once took root in a mind like his, 
 was not easily eradicated. His letter to Cave on this subject is 
 still extant, and may well justify Sir John Hawkins, who inferred 
 that Johnson was the translator of Crousaz. ITie conclusion of 
 the letter is remarkable : " I am yours, Impransus." If by that 
 Latin word was meant, that he had not dined, because he wanted 
 the means, who can read it, even at this hour, without an aching 
 heart ? 
 
 With a mind naturally vigorous, and quickened by necessity, 
 Johnson formed a multiplicity of projects ; but most of them 
 proved abortive. A number of small tracts issued from his pen 
 with wonderful rapidity ; such as Marmor Norfolciense ; or an 
 essay on an ancient prophetical inscription, in monkish rhyme, 
 discovered at Lynn in Norfolk. By Probus Britannicus. This 
 was a pamphlet against Sir Robert Walpole. According to Sir 
 John Hawkins, a warrant was issued to apprehend the author, 
 who retired, with his wife, to an obscure lodging near Lambeth 
 marsh, and there eluded the search of the messengers. But this 
 story has no foundation in truth. Johnson was never known to 
 mention such an incident in his life ; and Mr. Steele, late of the 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 379 
 
 treasury, caused diligent search to be made at the proper offices, 
 and no trace of such a proceeding could be found. In the same 
 year (1739) the lord chamberlain prohibited the representation of 
 a tragedy, called Gustavus Vasa, by Henry Brooke. Under the 
 mask of irony, Johnson published, A Vindication of the Licenser 
 from the malicious and scandalous Aspersions of Mr. Brooke. 
 Of these two pieces. Sir John Hawkins says, "they have neither 
 learning nor wit ; nor a single ray of that genius, which has since 
 blazed forth ; " but, as they have been lately reprinted, the 
 reader, who wishes to gratify his curiosity, is referred to the 
 fourteenth volume of Johnson's works, published by Stockdale. 
 The lives of Boerhaave, Blake, Barretier, father Paul, and others, 
 were, about that time, printed in the Gentleman's Magazine. 
 The subscription of fifty pounds a year for Savage was completed ; 
 and, in July, 1739, Johnson parted with the companion of his 
 midnight hours, never to see him more. The separation was, 
 perhaps, an advantage to him, who wanted to make a right use 
 of his time, and even then beheld, with self-reproach, the waste 
 occasioned by dissipation. His abstinence from wine and strong 
 liquors began soon after the departure of Savage. What habits 
 he contracted in the course of that acquaintance cannot now be 
 known. The ambition of excelling in conversation, and that 
 pride of victory, which, at times, disgraced a man of Johnson's 
 genius, were, perhaps, native blemishes, A fierce spirit of in- 
 dependence, even in the midst of poverty, may be seen in Savage ; 
 and, if not thence transfused by Johnson into his own manners, 
 it may, at least, be supposed to have gained strength from the 
 example before him. During that connexion, there was, if we 
 believe Sir John Hawkins, a short separation between our author 
 and his wife ; but a reconciliation soon took place, Johnson 
 loved her, and showed his affection in various modes of gallantry, 
 which Garrick used to render ridiculous by his mimicry. The 
 affectation of soft and fashionable airs did not become an un- 
 wieldy figure : his admiration was received by the wife with the 
 flutter of an antiquated coquette ; and both, it is well known, 
 furnished matter for the lively genius of Garrick. 
 
 It is a mortifying reflection, that Johnson, with a store of 
 learning and extraordinary talents, was not able, at the age of 
 thirty, to force his way to the favour of the p-ublic : 
 
 " Slow rises worth by poverty depress'd." 
 
380 murphy's essat on the 
 
 " He was still," as he says himself, " to provide for the day that 
 was passing over him." He saw Cave involved in a state of 
 warfare with the numerous competitors, at that time, struggling 
 with the Gentleman's Magazine : and gratitude for such supplies 
 as Johnson received, dictated a Latin ode on the subject of that 
 contention. The first lines, 
 
 " Urbane, nullis fesse laboribus, 
 Urbane, nullis victe calumniis," 
 
 put one in mind of Casimir's ode to Pope Urban : 
 
 " Urbane, regum maxime, maxime 
 Urbane vatum." — 
 
 The Polish poet was, probably, at that time, in the hands of a 
 man, who had meditated the history of the Latin poets. Guthrie, 
 the historian, had, from July, 1736, composed the parliamentary 
 speeches for the magazine ; but, from the beginning of the 
 session, which opened on the 19th of November, 1740, Johnson 
 succeeded to that department, and continued it from that time 
 to the debate on spirituous liquors, which happened in the house 
 of lords in February, 1742-3. The eloquence, the force of argu- 
 ment, and the splendour of language, displayed in the several 
 speeches, are well known, and universally admired. That John- 
 son was the author of the debates, during that period, was not 
 generally known ; but the secret transpired several years after- 
 wards, and was avowed, by himself, on the following occasion. 
 Mr. Wedderburne, now lord Loughborough,^ Dr. Johnson, Dr. 
 Francis, the translator of Horace, the present writer, and others, 
 dined with the late Mr. Foote. An important debate, towards 
 the end of Sir Robert Walpole's administration, being mentioned, 
 Dr. Francis observed, " that Mr. Pitt's speech, on that occasion, 
 was the best he had ever read." He added, " that he had 
 employed eight years of his life in the study of Demosthenes, 
 and finished a translation of that celebrated orator, with all the 
 decorations of style and language within the reach of his capacity ; 
 but he had met with nothing equal to the speech above men- 
 tioned." Many of the company remembered the debate, and 
 some passages were cited, with the approbation and applause of 
 all present. During the ardour of conversation, Johnson re- 
 
 ^ [Afterwards earl of Roslin. He died January 3, 1805.] 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 381 
 
 mained silent. As soon as the warmth of praise subsided, he 
 opened with these words : " That speech I wrote in a garret in 
 Exeter street." The company was struck with astonishment. 
 After staring at each other in silent amaze, Dr. Francis asked, 
 " how that speeeh could be written by him ? " " Sir," said 
 Johnson, " I wrote it in Exeter street. I never had been in the 
 gallery of the house of commons but once. Cave had interest 
 with the door-keepers. He, and the persons employed under 
 him, gained admittance ; they brought away the subject of dis- 
 cussion, the names of the speakers, the side they took, and th§ 
 order in which they rose, together with notes of the arguments 
 advanced in the course of the debate. The whole was after- 
 wards communicated to me, and I compesed the speeches in the 
 form which they now have in the parliamentary debates." To 
 this discovery. Dr. Francis made answer : " Then, sir, you have 
 exceeded Demosthenes himself; for to say, that you have 
 exceeded Francis's Demosthenes, would be saying nothing." The 
 rest of the company bestowed lavish encomiums on Johnson : 
 one, in particular, praised his impartiality ; observing, that he 
 dealt out reason and eloquence, with an equal hand to both 
 parties. " That is not quite true," said Johnson ; "I saved 
 appearances tolerably well ; but I took care that the whig dogs 
 should not have the best of it." The sale of the magazine was 
 greatly increased by the parliamentary debates, which were con- 
 tinued by Johnson till the month of March, 1742-3. From that 
 time the magazine was conducted by Dr. Hawkesworth. 
 
 In 1743-4, Osborne, the bookseller, who kept a shop in Gray's 
 inn, purchased the earl of Oxford's library, at the price of 
 thirteen thousand pounds. He projected a catalogue in five 
 octavo volumes, at five shillings each. Johnson was employed 
 in that painful drudgery. He was, likewise, to collect all such 
 small tracts as were, in any degree, worth preserving, in order to 
 reprint and publish the whole in a collection, called The Harleian 
 Miscellany. The catalogue was completed ; and the miscellany, 
 in 1749, was published in eight quarto volumes. In this business 
 Johnson was a day-labourer for immediate subsistence, not unlike 
 Gustavus Vasa, working in the mines of Dalscarlia. What 
 "Wilcox, a bookseller of eminence in the Strand, said to Johnson, 
 on his first arrival in town, was now almost confirmed. He lent 
 our author five guineas, and then asked him, " How do you mean 
 to earn your livelihood in this town ? " " By my literary labours," 
 
382 murphy's essay on the 
 
 1 
 
 was the answer. Wilcox, staring at him, shook his head : " By 
 your literary labours ! You had better buy a porter's knot." 
 Johnson used to tell this anecdote to Mr. Nichols : but he said, 
 " WUcox was one of my best friends, and he meant well." In 
 fact, Johnson, while employed in Gray's inn, may be said to have 
 carried a porter's knot. He paused occasionally to peruse the 
 book that came to his hand, Osborne thought that such curiosity 
 tended to nothing but delay, and objected to it with all the pride 
 and insolence of a man who knew that he paid daily wages. In 
 the dispute that of course ensued, Osborne, with that roughness 
 which was naturalto him, enforced his argument by giving the 
 lie. Johnson seized a folio, and knocked the bookseller down. 
 This story has been related as an instance of Johnson's ferocity ; 
 but merit cannot always take the spurns of the unworthy with a 
 patient spirit.^ 
 
 That the history of an author must be found in his works is, 
 in general, a true observation ; and was never more apparent 
 than in the present narrative. Every aera of Johnson's life is 
 fixed by his writings. In 1744, he published the life of Savage ; 
 and then projected a new edition of Shakespeare. As a prelude 
 to this design, he published, in 1745, Miscellaneous Observations 
 on the Tragedy of Macbeth, with remarks on Sir Thomas Han- 
 mer's edition ; to which were prefixed, Proposals for a new 
 Edition of Shakespeare, with a specimen. Of this pamphlet, 
 Warburton, in the preface to Shakespeare, has given his opinion : 
 " As to all those things, which have been published under the 
 title of essays, remarks, observations, &c. on Shakespeare, if yo» 
 except some critical notes on Macbeth, given as a specimen of a 
 projected edition, and written, as appears, by a man of parts and 
 genius, the rest are absolutely below a serious notice." But the 
 attention of the public was not excited ; there was no friend to 
 promote a subscription ; and the project died to revive at a 
 future day. A new undertaking, however, was soon after pro- 
 posed ; namely, an English dictionary upon an enlarged plan. 
 Several of the most opulent booksellers had meditated a work of 
 this kind ; and the agreement was soon adjusted between the 
 parties. Emboldened by this connexion, Johnson thought of a 
 Tjetter habitation than he had hitherto known. He had lodged 
 
 ^ Boswell says, " The simple truth I had from Johnson himself. ' Sir, 
 he was impertintnt to me, and I beat him. But it was not in his shop : 
 it was in my own chamber.'" Vol. i., p. 111. — Editor. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 38S 
 
 with his wife in courts and alleys about the Strand ; but now, for 
 the purpose of carrying on his arduous undertaking, and to be 
 nearer his printer and friend, Mr. Strahan, he ventured to take a 
 house in Gougli square, Fleet street. He was told, that the earl 
 of Chesterfield was a friend to his undertaking ; and, in conse- 
 quence of that intelligence, he published, in 1747, the Plan of a 
 Dictionary of the English Language, addressed to the right 
 honourable Philip Dormer, earl of Chesterfield, one of his 
 majesty's principal secretaries of state. Mr. Whitehead, after- 
 wards poet laureate, undertook to convey the manuscript to his 
 lordship : the consequence was an invitation from lord Chester- 
 field to the author. A stronger contrast of characters could not 
 be brought together ; the nobleman, celebrated for his wit, and all 
 the graces of polite behaviour ; the author, conscious of his own 
 merit, towering in idea above all competition, versed in scholastic 
 logic, but a stranger to the arts of polite conversation, uncouth, 
 vehement, and vociferous. The coalition was too unnatural. 
 Johnson expected a Maecenas, and was disappointed. No patron- 
 age, no assistance followed. Visits were repeated ; but the 
 reception was not cordial. Johnson, one day, was left a full 
 hour, waiting in an antechamber, till a gentleman should retire, 
 and leave his lordship at leisure. This was the famous Colley 
 Cibber. Johnson saw him go, and, fired with indignation, rushed 
 out of the house. ^ What lord Chesterfield thought of his visitor 
 may be seen in a passage in one of that nobleman's letters to his 
 son.2 " There is a man, whose moral character, deep learning, 
 and superior parts, I acknowledge, admire, and respect ; but 
 whom it is so impossible for me to love, that I am almost in a 
 fever, whenever I am in his company. His figure (without 
 being deformed) seems made to disgrace or ridicule the common 
 structure of the human body. His legs and arms are never in 
 the position which, according to the situation of his body, they 
 ought to be in, but constantly employed iri committing acts of 
 hostility upon the graces. He throws any where, but down his 
 throat, whatever he means to drink ; and mangles what he means 
 to carve. Inattentive to all the regards of social life, he mis- 
 times and misplaces every thing. He disputes with heat indis- 
 criminately, mindless of the rank, character, and situation of 
 
 * Johnson denied the whole of this story. See Life, vol. i., p. 199. — 
 Editor. 
 
 * Litter 112, 
 
MTJRPHY £S ESSAY ON THE 
 
 those with whom he disputes. Absolutely ignorant of the 
 several gradations of familiarity and respect, he is exactly the 
 same to his superiors, his equals, and his inferiors ; and, there- 
 fore, by a necessary consequence, is absurd to two of the three. 
 Is it possible to love such a man ? No. The utmost I can do 
 for him is, to consider him a respectable Hottentot."^ Such 
 was the idea entertained by Lord Chesterfield. After the inci- 
 dent of CoUey Gibber, Johnson never repeated his visits. In his 
 high and decisive tone, he has been often heard to say, "lord 
 Chesterfield is a wit among lords, and a lord among wits." ^ 
 
 In the course of the year 1747, Garrick, in conjunction with 
 Lacy, became patentee of Drury lane playhouse. For the open- 
 ing of the theatre, at the usual time, Johnson wrote, for his 
 friend, the well-known prologue, which, to say no more of it, 
 may, at least, be placed on a level with Pope's to the tragedy of 
 Cato. The playhouse being now under Garrick's direction, 
 Johnson thought the opportunity fair to think of his tragedy of 
 Irene, which was his whole stock on his first arrival in town, in 
 the year 1737. That play was, accordingly, put into rehearsal in 
 January, 1749. As a precursor to prepare the way, and to 
 awaken the public attention, The Vanity of Human Wishes, a 
 poem in imitation of the tenth satire of Juvenal, by the author of 
 London, was published in the same month. In the Gentleman's 
 Magazine, for February, 1749, we find that the tragedy of Irene 
 was acted at Drury lane, on Monday, February the 6th, and, 
 from that time, without interruption, to Monday, February the 
 20th, being in all thirteen nights. Since that time, it has not 
 been exhibited on any stage. Irene may be added to some 
 other plays in our language, which have lost their place in the 
 theatre, but continue to please in the closet. During the repre- 
 sentation of this piece, Johnson attended every night behind the 
 scenes. Conceiving that his character, as an author, required 
 some ornament for his person, he chose, upon that occasion, to 
 decorate himself with a handsome waistcoat, and a gold-laced 
 hat. The late Mr. Topham Beauclerc, who had a great deal of 
 that humour, which pleases the more for seeming undesigned, 
 used to give a pleasant description of this green-room finery, as 
 related by the author himself; "But," said Johnson, with great 
 
 • See vol. i., p. 201.— Editor. 
 
 ^ Boswell gives this saying differently, vol. i., p. 206.— Editor. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 385 
 
 gravity, *' I soon laid aside my gold-laced hat, lest it should make 
 me proud." The amount of the three benefit nights for the 
 tragedy of Irene, it is to be feared, was not very considerable, as 
 the profit, that stimulating motive, never invited the author to 
 another dramatic attempt. Some years afterwards, when the 
 present writer was intimate with Garrick, and knew Johnson to 
 be in distress, he asked the manager, why he did not produce 
 another tragedy for his Lichfield friend ? Garrick's answer was 
 remarkable : " When Johnson writes tragedy, ' declamation roars, 
 and passion sleeps : ' when Shakespeare wrote, he dipped his pen 
 in his own heart." 
 
 There may, perhaps, be a degree of sameness in this regular 
 way of tracing an author from one work to another, and the 
 reader may feel the effect of a tedious monotony ; but, in the life 
 of Johnson, there are no other landmarks. He was now forty 
 years old, and had mixed but little with the world. He followed 
 no profession, transacted no business, and was a stranger to what 
 is called a town life. We are now arrived at the brightest 
 period, he had hitherto known. His name broke out upon man- 
 kind with a degree of lustre that promised a triumph over all his 
 difficulties. The life of Savage was admired, as a beautiful and 
 instructive piece of biography. The two imitations of Juvenal 
 were thought to rival even the excellence of Pope ; and the 
 tragedy of Irene, though uninteresting on the stage, was uni- 
 versally admired in the closet, for the propriety of the sentiments, 
 the richness of the language, and the general harmony of the 
 whole composition. His fame was widely diffused ; and he had 
 made his agreement with the booksellers for his English dictionary 
 at the sum of fifteen hundred guineas ; a part of which was to be, 
 from time to time, advanced, in proportion to the progress of the 
 work. This was a certain fund for his support, without being 
 obliged to write fugitive pieces for the petty supplies of the day. 
 Accordingly we find that, in 1749, he established a club, consist- 
 ing of ten in number, at Horseman's, in Ivy lane, on every 
 Tuesday evening. This is the first scene of social life to which 
 Johnson can be traced, out of his own house. The members of 
 this little eociety were, Samuel Johnson ; Dr. Salter, father of the 
 late master of the Charter house : Dr. Hawkes worth ; Mr. 
 Ryland, a merchant; Mr. Payne, a bookseller, in Paternoster 
 row ; Mr. Samuel Dyer, a learned young man ; Dr. William 
 M'Ghie, a Scotch physician; Dr. Edmund Barker, a young 
 
 f I. c o 
 
886 murphy's essay on the 
 
 physician; Dr. Bathurst, another young physician; and Sir John 
 Hawkins. This list is given by Sir John, as it should seem, with 
 no other view than to draw a spiteful and malevolent character 
 of almost every one of them. Mr. Dyer, whom Sir John says he 
 loved with the affection of a brother, meets with the harshest 
 treatment, because it was his maxim, that " to live in peace with 
 mankind, and in a temper to do good offices, was the most 
 essential part of our duty." That notion of moral goodness gave 
 umbrage to Sir John Hawkins, and drew upon the memory of his 
 friend, the bitterest imputations. Mr. Dyer, however, was 
 admired and loved through life. He was a man of literature. 
 Johnson loved to enter with him into a discussion of metaphysical, 
 moral, and critical subjects ; in those conflicts, exercising his talents, 
 and, according to his custom, always contending for victory. Dr. 
 Bathurst was the person on whom Johnson fixed his affection. 
 He hardly ever spoke of him without tears in his eyes. It was 
 from him, who was a native of Jamaica, that Johnson received 
 into his service Frank, ^ the black servant, whom, on account of 
 his master, he valued to the end of his life. At the time of 
 instituting the club in Ivy lane, Johnson had projected the 
 Rambler. The title was most probably suggested by the 
 Wanderer ; a poem which he mentions, with the warmest praise, 
 in the life of Savage. With the same spirit of independence with 
 which he wished to live, it was now his pride to write. He com- 
 municated his plan to none of his friends : he desired no assist- 
 ance, relying entirely on his own fund, and the protection of the 
 Divine Being, which he implored in a solemn form of prayer, 
 composed by himself for the occasion. Having formed a resolu- 
 tion to undertake a work that might be of use and honour to his 
 country, he thought, with Milton, that this was not to be obtained 
 " but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, that can enrich 
 with all utterance and knowledge, and send out his seraphim with 
 the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of 
 whom he pleases." 
 
 Having invoked the special protection of heaven, and by that 
 act of piety fortified his mind, he began the great work of the 
 Rambler. The first number was published on Tuesday, March 
 the 20th, 1750; and from that time was continued regularly every 
 Tuesday and Saturday, for the space of two years, when it finally 
 
 1 See Gent. Mag., vol. Ixxi., p. 190. 
 
LIFE AND GENITJS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 387 
 
 closed on Saturday, March 14, 1752. As it began with motives 
 of piety, so it appears that the same religious spirit glowed, with 
 unabated ardour, to the last. His conclusion is : " The essays 
 professedly serious, if I have been able to execute my own 
 intentions, will be found exactly conformable to the precepts of 
 Christianity, without any accommodation to the licentiousness and 
 levity of the present age. I, therefore, look back on this part of 
 my work with pleasure, which no man shall diminish or augment. 
 I shall never envy the honours which wit and learning obtain in 
 any other cause, if I can be numbered among the writers who 
 have given ardour to virtue, and confidence to truth." The 
 whole number of essays amounted to two Jjundred and eight. 
 Addison's, in the Spectator, are more in number, but not half in 
 point of quantity : Addison was not boimd to publish on stated 
 days ; he could watch the ebb and flow of his genius, and send 
 his paper to the press, when his own taste was satisfied. John- 
 son's case was very difilerent. He wrote singly and alone. In 
 the whole progress of the work he did not receive more than ten 
 essays. This was a scanty contribution. For the rest, the 
 author has described his situation : " He that condemns himself 
 to compose on a stated day, will often bring to his task an atten- 
 tion dissipated, a memory embarrassed, an imagination over- 
 whelmed, a mind distracted with anxieties, a body languishing 
 with disease : he will labour on a barren topick, till it is too late 
 to change it ; or, in the ardour of invention, difiuse his thoughts 
 into wild exuberance, which the pressing hour of publication 
 cannot suffer j udgment to examime or reduce." Of this excellent 
 production, the number sold on each day did not amount to five 
 hundred: of course, the bookseller, who paid the author four* 
 guineas a week, did not carry on a successful trade. His gene- 
 rosity and perseverance deserve to be commended ; and happily, 
 when the collection appeared in volumes, were amply rewarded. 
 Johnson lived to see his labours flourish in a tenth edition. His 
 posterity, as an ingenious French writer has said, on a similar 
 occasion, began in his life-time. 
 
 In the beginning of 1750, soon after the Rambler was set on 
 foot, Johnson was induced by the arts of a vile imposter, to lend 
 his assistance, during a temporary delusion, to a fraud not to be 
 paralleled in the annals of literature.^ One Lauder, a native of 
 
 ' It has since been paralleled, in the case of the Shakespeare MSS. 
 by a yet more vile imposter. 
 
888 murphy's essay on the 
 
 Scotland, who had been a teacher in the university of Edinburgh, 
 had conceived mortal antipathy to the name and character of 
 Milton. His reason was, because the prayer of Pamela, in Sir 
 Philip Sydney's Arcadia, was, as he supposed, maliciously in- 
 serted by the great poet in an edition of the Eikon BasHike, in 
 order to fix an imputation of impiety on the memory of the 
 murdered king. Fired with resentment, and willing to reap the 
 profits of a gross imposition, this man collected, from several 
 Latin poets, such as Masenius the Jesuit, Staphorstius, a Dutch 
 divine, Beza, and others, all such passages as bore any kind of 
 resemblance to different places in the Paradise Lost ; and these 
 he published, from time to time, in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
 with occasional interpolations of lines, which he himself translated 
 from Milton. The public credxdity swallowed all with eagerness ; 
 and Milton was supposed to be guUty of plagiarism from inferior 
 modern writers. The fraud succeeded so well, that Lauder 
 collected the whole into a volume, and advertised it under the 
 title of An Essay on Milton's Use and Imitation of the Moderns, 
 in his Paradise Lost ; dedicated to the universities of Oxford and 
 Cambridge. While the book was in the press, the proof-sheets 
 were shown to Johnson, at the Ivy lane club, by Payne, the 
 bookseller, who was one of the members. No man in that society 
 was in possession of the authors from whom Lauder professed to 
 make his extracts. The charge was believed, and the contriver 
 of it found his way to Johnson, who is represented, by Sir John 
 Hawkins, not indeed as an accomplice in the fraud, but, through 
 motives of malignity to Milton, delighting in the detection, and 
 exulting that the poet's reputation would suffer by the discovery. 
 More malice to a deceased friend cannot well be imagined, 
 Hawkins adds, " that he wished well to the argument must be in- 
 ferred from the preface, which, indubitably, was written by him." 
 The preface, it is well known, was written by Johnson. But if 
 Johnson approved of the argument, it was no longer than while 
 he believed it founded in truth. Let us advert to his own words 
 in that very preface. " Among the inquiries to which the ardour 
 of criticism has naturally given occasion, none is more obscure in 
 itself, or more worthy of rational curiosity, than a retrospection 
 of the progress of this mighty genius in the construction of his 
 work ; a view of the fabrick gradually rising, perhaps from small 
 beginnings, till its foundation rests in the centre, and its turrets 
 eparkle in the skies ; to trace back the structure, through all its 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OP SAMUEL JOHNSON. 389 
 
 varieties, to the simplicity of the first plan ; to find what was pro- 
 jected, whence the scheme was taken, how it was improved, by 
 what assistance it was executed, and from what stores the ma- 
 terials were collected ; whether its founder dug them from the 
 quarries of nature, or demolished other buildings to embellish his 
 own." These were the motives that induced Johnson to assist 
 Lauder with a preface ; and are not these the motives of a critic 
 and a scholar ? What reader of taste, what man of real knowledge, 
 would not think his time well employed in an enquiry so curious, 
 so interesting, and instructive ? If Lauder's facts were really 
 true, who would not be glad, without the smallest tincture of 
 malevolence, to receive real information? It is painful to 
 be thus obliged to vindicate a man who, in his heart, towered 
 abeve the petty arts of fraud and imposition, against an inju- 
 dicious biographer, who undertook to be his editor, and the pro- 
 tector of his memory. Another writer. Dr. Towers, in an Essay 
 on the Life and Character of Dr. Johnson, seems to countenance 
 this calumny. He says : " It can hardly be doubted, but that 
 Johnson's aversion to Milton's politics was the cause of that 
 alacrity, with which he joined with Lauder in his infamous attack 
 on our great epic poet, and which induced him to assist in that 
 transaction." These words would seem to describe an accomplice, 
 were they not immediately followed by an express declaration, 
 that Johnson was " unacquainted with the imposture." Dr. 
 Towers adds, " It seems to have been, by way of making some 
 compensation to the memory of Milton, for the share he had in 
 the attack of Lauder, that Johnson wrote the prologue, s])okcu 
 by Garrick, at Drury lane theatre, 1750, on the performance of 
 the Masque of Comus, for the benefit of Milton's granddaughter.'* 
 Dr. Towers is not free from prejudice ; but, as Shakspcure has 
 it, " he begets a temperance, to give it smoothness." He is, there- 
 fore, entitled to a dispassionate answer. When Johnson wrote 
 the prologue, it does appear that he was aware of the malignant 
 artifices practised by Lauder. In the postscript to Johnson's 
 preface, a subscription is proposed, for relieving the granddaughter 
 ■of the author of Paradise Lost. Dr. Towers will agree, that 
 this shows Johnson's alacrity in doing good. That alacrity 
 showed itself again, in the letter printed in the European Maga- 
 zine, January, 1785, and there said to have appeared originally 
 in the General Advertiser, 4th April, 1750, by which the public 
 were invited to embrace the opportunity of paying a just regard 
 
390 MUKPHT*S ESSAY ON THE 
 
 to the illustrious dead, uiiited with the pleasure of doing good to 
 the living. The letter adds, " To assist industrious indigence, 
 struggling with distress, and debilitated by age, is a display of 
 virtue, and an acquisition of happiness and honour. Whoever, 
 therefore, would be thought capable of pleasure, in reading the 
 works of our incomparable Milton, and not so destitute of grati- 
 tude, as to refuse to lay out a trifle, in a rational and elegant 
 entertainment, for the benefit of his living remains, for the exer- 
 cise of their own virtue, the increase of their reputation, and the 
 consciousness of doing good, should appear at Drury lane theatre, 
 to-morrow, April 5, when Comus will be performed, for the benefit 
 of Mrs. Elizabeth Foster, granddaughter to the author, and the 
 only surviving branch of his family. Nota hene^ there will be a 
 new prologue on the occasion, written by the author of Irene, 
 and spoken by Mr. Garrick." The man, who had thus exerted 
 himself to serve the granddaughter, cannot be supposed to have 
 entertained personal malice to the grandfather. It is true, that 
 the malevolence of Lauder, as well as the impostures of Archibald 
 Bower, were fully detected by the labours, in the cause of truth, 
 of the reverend Dr. Douglas, the late lord bishop of Salisbury, 
 
 " Diram qui contudit Hydram, 
 
 Notaque fatali portenta labore subegit." 
 
 But the pamphlet, entitled, Milton vindicated from the Charge of 
 Plagiarism brought against him by Mr. Lauder, and Lauder him- 
 self convicted of several forgeries, and gross impositions on the 
 public, by John Douglas, M.A., rector of Eaton Constantine, Salop^ 
 was not published till the year 1751. In that work, p. 77, Dr. 
 Douglas says, " It is to be hoped, nay, it is expected, that the 
 elegant and nervous writer, whose judicious sentiments, and in- 
 imitable style, point out the author of Lauder's preface and 
 postscript, will no longer allow a man to plume himself with his 
 feathers, who appears so little to have deserved his assistance ; 
 an assistance which, I am persuaded, would never have been com- 
 municated, had there been the least suspicion of those facts, 
 which I have been the instrument of conveying to the world." 
 We have here a contemporary testimony to the integrity of Dr. 
 Johnson, throughout the whole of that vile transaction. What 
 was the consequence of the requisition made by Dr. Douglas ? 
 Johnson, whose ruling passion may be said to be the love of 
 truth, convinced Lauder, that it would be more for his interest 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 391 
 
 to make a full confession of his guilt, than to stand forth the con- 
 victed champion of a lie ; and, for this purpose, he drew up, in 
 the strongest terms, a recantation, in a letter to the reverend Mr. 
 Douglas, which Lauder signed, and published in the year 1751. 
 That piece will remain a lasting memorial of the abhorrence, 
 with which Johnson beheld a violation of truth. Mr. Nichols, 
 whose attachment to his illustrious friend was unwearied, showed 
 him, in 1780, a book, called Remarks on Johnson's Life of Milton; 
 in which the affair of Lauder was renewed with virulence : and 
 a poetical scale in the Literary Magazine, 1758, (when Johnson 
 had ceased to write in that collection,) was urged as an additional 
 proof of deliberate malice. He read the libellous passage with 
 attention, and instantly wrote on the margin : " In the business 
 of Lauder I was deceived, partly by thinking the man too frantick 
 to be fraudulent. Of the poetical scale, quoted from the maga- 
 zine, I am not the author. I fancy it was put in after I had 
 quitted that work ; for I not only did not write it, but I do not 
 remember it." As a critic and a scholar, Johnson was willing to 
 receive what numbers, at the time, believed to be true information : 
 when he found that the whole was a forgery, he renounced all 
 connexion with the author. 
 
 In March, 1752, he felt a serere stroke of affliction in the 
 death of his wife. The last number of the Rambler, as already 
 mentioned, was on the 14th of that month. The loss of Mrs. 
 Johnson was then approaching, and, probably, was the cause 
 that put an end to those admirable periodical essays. It appears 
 that she died on the 28th of March, in a memorandum, at the 
 foot of the Prayers and Meditations, that is called her Dying 
 Day. She was buried at Bromley, under the care of Dr. 
 Hawkesworth. Johnson placed a Latin inscription on her 
 tomb, in which he celebrated her beauty. With the singularity 
 of his prayers for his deceased wife, from that time to the end of 
 his days, the world is sufficiently acquainted. On Easter day, 
 22nd April, 1764, his memorandum says: " Thought on Tetty, 
 poor dear Tetty ! with my eyes full. Went to church. After 
 sermon I recommended Tetty in a prayer by herself; and my 
 father, mother, brother, and Bathurst, in another. I did it only 
 once, so far as it might be lawful for me." In a prayer, January 
 23, 1759, the day on which his mother was buried, he commends, 
 as far as may be lawful, her soul to God, imploring for her what- 
 ever is most beneficial to her in her present state. In this habit 
 
392 murphy's essay on the 
 
 he persevered to the end of his days. The reverend Mr. Strahan, 
 the editor of the Prayers and Meditations, observes, "that 
 Johnson, on some occasions, prays that the Almighty may have 
 had mercy on his wife and Mr. Thrale ; evidently supposing their 
 sentence to have been already passed in the divine mind ; and, 
 by consequence, proving, that he had no belief in a state of 
 purgatory, and no reason for praying for the dead that could 
 impeach the sincerity of his profession as a protestant." Mr. 
 Strahan adds, " that, in praying for the regretted tenants of the 
 grave, Johnson conformed to a practice which has been retained 
 by many learned members of the established church, though the 
 liturgy no longer admits it, {{where the tree falleth, there it shall 
 be ; if our state, at the close of life, is to be the measure of our 
 final sentence, then prayers for the dead, being visibly fruitless, 
 can be regarded only as the vain oblations of superstition. But 
 of all superstitions this, perhaps, is one of the least unamiable, 
 and most incident to a good mind. If our sensations of kindness 
 be intense, those, whom we have revered and loved, death cannot 
 wholly seclude from our concern. It is true, for the reason just 
 mentioned, such evidences of our surviving affection may be 
 thought ill judged ; but surely they are generous, and some 
 natural tenderness is due even to a superstition, which thus 
 originates in piety and benevolence." These sentences, extracted 
 from the reverend Mr. Strahan's preface, if they are not a full 
 justification, are, at least, a beautiful apology. It will not be 
 improper to add what Johnson himself has said on the subject. 
 Being asked by Mr. Boswell,^ what he thought of purgatory, as 
 believed by the Roman catholicks ? his answer was, " It is a 
 very harmless doctrine. They are of opinion, that the generality 
 of mankind are neither so obstinately wicked, as to deserve ever- 
 lasting punishment ; nor so good as to merit being admitted into 
 the society of blessed spirits ; and, therefore, that God is gra- 
 ciously pleased to allow a middle state, where they may be 
 purified by certain degrees of suffering. You see there is no- 
 thing unreasonable in this ; and if it be once established, that 
 there are souls in purgatory, it is as proper to pray for them, as 
 for our brethren of mankind, who are yet in this life." This 
 was Dr. Johnson's guess into futurity; and to guess is the 
 utmost that man can do ; 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. ii., p. 106.— Editor. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OP SAMUEL JOHNSON. 393 
 
 ** Shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.'' 
 
 ^Irs. Johnson left a daughter, Lucy Porter, by her first 
 husband. She bad contracted a friendship with Mrs. Anne 
 AV'ilHams, the daughter of Zachary Williams, a physician of 
 eminence in South AVales, who had devoted more than thirty 
 years of a long life to the study of the longitude, and was thought 
 to have made great advances towards that important discovery. 
 His letters to lord Halifax, and the lords of the admiralty, partly 
 corrected and partly written by Dr. Johnson, are still extant in 
 the hands of Mr. Nichols.^ We there fmd Dr. Williams, in the 
 eighty -third year of his age, stating, that he had prepared an 
 instrument, which might be called an epitome or miniature of 
 the terraqueous globe, showing, with the assistance of tables, 
 constructed by himself, the variations of the magnetic needle, 
 and ascertaining the longitude, for the safety of navigation. It 
 appears that this scheme had been referred to Sir Isaac Newton ; 
 but that great philosopher excusing himself on account of his 
 advanced age, all applications were useless, till 1751, when the 
 subject was referred, by order of lord Anson, to Dr. Bradley, 
 the celebrated professor of astronomy. His report was un- 
 favourable,* though it allows that a considerable progress had 
 been made. Dr. AVilliams, after all his labour and expense, died 
 in a short time after, a melancholy instance of unrewarded merit. 
 His daughter possessed uncommon talents, and, though blind, 
 had an alacrity of mind that made her conversation agreeable, 
 and even desirable. To relieve and appease melancholy re- 
 flexions, Johnson took her home to his house in Gough Square. 
 In 1755, Garrick gave her a benefit play, which produced two 
 hundred pounds. In 1766, she published, by subscription, a 
 quarto volume of miscellanies, and increased her little stock to 
 tlu'ce hundred pounds. That fund, -wiih Johnson's protection, 
 supported her, tln-ough the remainder of her life. 
 
 During the two years in which the Rambler was carried on, 
 the Dictionary proceeded by slow degrees. In May, 1752, 
 having composed a prayer, preparatory to his return from tears 
 and sorrows to the duties of life, he resumed his grand design, 
 and went on with vigour, giving, however, occasional assistance 
 to his friend. Dr. Hawkesworth, in the Adventurer, which began 
 
 ' Sec Gentleman's Magazine for Nov. and Dec., 1787. 
 * See Gentleman's Magazine for Dec. 1787, p. 1042. 
 
394 murphy's essay on the 
 
 soon after the Rambler was laid aside. Some of t'le most 
 valuable essays in that collection were from the pen of Johnson. 
 The Dictionary was completed towards the end of 1754; and, 
 Cave being then no more, it was a mortification to the author of 
 that noble addition to our language, that his old friend did not 
 live to see the triumph of his labours. In May, 1755, that great 
 work was published. Johnson was desirous that it should come 
 from one who had obtained academical honours ; and for that 
 purpose his friend, the rev. Thos. Warton, obtained for him, in 
 the preceding month of February, a diploma for a master's 
 degree, from the university of Oxford. — Garrick, on the pub- 
 lication of the Dictionary, wrote the following lines : 
 
 " Talk of war with a Briton, he'll boldly advance, 
 
 That one English soldier can beat ten of France. 
 
 Would wo alter the boast, from the sword to the pen, 
 
 Our odds are still greater, still greater our men. 
 
 In the deep mines of science, though Frenchmen may toil, 
 
 Can their strength be compar'd to Locke, Newton, or Boyle ? 
 
 Let them rally their heroes, send forth all their powers, 
 
 Their versemen and prosemen, then match them with ours. 
 
 First Shakespeare and Milton, like gods in the fight, 
 
 Have put their whole drama and epic to flight. 
 
 In satires, epistles, and odes would they cope ? 
 
 Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope. 
 
 And Johnson, well arm'd, like a hero of 3'^ore, 
 
 Has beat forty French, and will beat forty more." 
 
 It is, perhaps, needless to mention, that forty was the number 
 of the French academy, at the time when their dictionary was 
 published to settle their language. 
 
 In the course of the winter, preceding this grand publication, 
 the late earl of Chesterfield gave two essays in the periodical 
 paper, called The World, dated Xovember 28, and December 5, 
 1754, to prepare the public for so important a work. The 
 original plan, addressed to his lordship in the year 1747, is there 
 mentioned, in terms of the highest praise ; and this was under- 
 stood, at the time, to be a courtly way of soliciting a dedication 
 of the Dictionary to himself. Johnson treated this civility with 
 disdain. He said to Garrick and others : " I have sailed a long 
 and painful voyage round the world of the English language ; 
 and does he now send out two cockboats to tow me into harbour ? " 
 He had said, in the last number of the Rambler, " that, having 
 laboured to maintain the dignity of virtue, I will not now degrade 
 
LIFE AND OENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 395 
 
 it bj the meanness of dedication." Such a man, when he had 
 finished his Dictionary, " not," as he says himself, " in the soft 
 obscurities of retirement, or under the shelter of academick 
 bowers, but amidst inconvenience and distraction, in sickness 
 and in sorrow, and without the patronage of the great," was not 
 likely to be caught by the lure, thrown out by lord Chesterfield. 
 He had, in vain, sought the patronage of that nobleman ; and his 
 pride, exasperated by disappointment, drew from him the fol- 
 lowing letter, dated in the month of February, 1755. 
 
 " TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE TPIE EARL OF 
 CHESTERFIELD. 
 
 " My Lord, 
 
 " I have been lately informed, by the proprietors of The 
 World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended 
 to the publick, were written by your lordship. To be so distin- 
 guished is an honour which, being very little accustomed to 
 favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what 
 terms to acknowledge. 
 
 " When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your 
 lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the 
 enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish, that 
 I might boast myself ' la vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre ; ' that 
 I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending. 
 But I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride 
 nor modesty would sufier me to continue it. When I had once 
 addressed your lordship in publick, I had exhausted all the art of 
 pleasing, which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I 
 had done all that I could ; and no man is well pleased to have his 
 all neglected, be it ever so little. 
 
 " Seven years, my lord, have now passed, since I waited in your 
 outward room, or was repulsed from your door ; during which 
 time, I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of 
 which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last to the 
 verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of 
 encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not 
 expect ; for I never had a patron before. 
 
 " The shepherd in Virgil grew acauainted with love, and found 
 him a native of the rocks. 
 
396 murphy's essay on the 
 
 " Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a 
 man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached 
 ground, encumbers him with help ? The notice you have been 
 pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind ; 
 but it has been delayed, till I am indifierent and cannot enjoy 
 it ; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; tUl I am known, 
 and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not 
 to confess obligations, where no benefit has been received ; or 
 to be unwilling that the publick should consider me as owing 
 that to a patron, which providence has enabled me to do for 
 myself. 
 
 " Having carried on my work, thus far, with so little obligation 
 to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed, though I 
 should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have been 
 long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted 
 myself, with so much exultation, 
 " My lord, 
 
 •' your lordship's most humble 
 
 " and most obedient servant, 
 
 " Samuel Johnson." 
 
 It is said, upon good authority, that Johnson once received 
 from lord Chesterfield the sum of ten pounds. It were to be 
 wished that the secret had never transpired. It was mean to 
 receive it, and meaner to give it. It may be imagined, that for 
 Johnson's ferocity, as it has been called, there was some founda- 
 tion in his finances ; and, as his Dictionary was brought to a con- 
 clusion, that money was now to flow in upon him. The reverse 
 was the case. For his subsistence, during the progress of the 
 work, he had received, at different times, the amount of his con- 
 tract ; and, when his receipts were produced to him at a tavern 
 dinner, given by the booksellers, it appeared, that he had been 
 paid a hundred pounds and upwards more than his due. The 
 author of a book, called Lexiphanes,^ written by a Mr. Campbell, 
 a Scotchman, and purser of a man of war, endeavoured to blast 
 his laurels, but in vain. The world applauded, and Johnson 
 never replied. " Abuse," he said, " is often of service : there is 
 nothing so dangerous to an author as silence ; his name, like a 
 shuttlecock, must be beat backward and forward, or it falls to the 
 
 ^ This work was not published until the year 1767, when Dr. John- 
 son's Dictionary was fully established in reputation. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OP SAMUEL JOHNSON. 397 
 
 ground." Lexiphanes professed to be an imitation of the pieasant 
 manner of Lucian ; but humour was not the talent of the writer 
 of Lexiphanes. As Dryden says, " he had too much horse-play 
 in his raillery." 
 
 It was in the summer, 1754, that the present writer became 
 acquainted with Dr. Johnson. The cause of his first visit is 
 related by Mrs. Piozzi, nearly in the following manner : — Mr. 
 Murphy being engaged in a periodical paper, the Gray's Inn 
 Journal, was at a friend's house in the country, and, not being 
 disposed to lose pleasure for business, wished to content his book- 
 seller by some unstudied essay. He, therefore, took up a French 
 Joiirnal Litteraire, and, translating something he liked, sent it 
 away to town. Time, however, discovered that he translated 
 from the French, a Rambler, which had been taken from the 
 English, without acknowledgment. Upon this discovery, Mr. 
 Murphy, thought it right to make his excuses to Dr. Johnson. 
 He went next day, and found him covered with soot, like a 
 chimney-sweeper, in a little room, as if he had been acting Lungs, 
 in the Alchemist, "making ether." This being told by Mr. 
 Murphy, in company, *' Come, come," said Dr. Johnson, " the story 
 Js black enough ; but it was a happy day that brought you first 
 to my house.^' After this first visit, the author of this narrative, 
 by degrees, grew intimate with Dr. Johnson. The first striking 
 sentence, that he heard from him, was in a few days after the 
 publication of Lord Bolingbroke's posthumous works. Mr. Garrick 
 asked him, " If he had seen them." " Yes, I have seen them." 
 " What do you think of them ? " " Think of them ! " He made 
 a long pause, and then replied : " Think of them ! A scoundrel, 
 and a coward ! A scoundrel, who spent his life in charging a gun 
 against Christianity ; and a coward, who was afraid of hearing the 
 report of his own gun ; but left half a crown to a hungry Scotch- 
 man to draw the trigger, after his death." His mind, at this 
 time strained, and over-laboured by constant exertion, called for 
 an interval of repose and indolence. But indolence was the time 
 of danger : it was then that his spirits, not employed abroad, 
 turned with inward hostility against himself. His reflections on 
 his own life and conduct were always severe ; and, wishing to be 
 immaculate, he destroyed his own peace by unnecessary scruples. 
 He tells us, that when he surveyed his past life, he discovered 
 nothing but a barren waste of time, with some disorders of body, 
 and disturbances of mind, very near to madness. His life, he says, 
 
898 muephy's essay on the 
 
 
 from his earliest years, was wasted in a morning bed ; and his 
 reigning sin was a general sluggishness, to which he was always 
 inclined, and, in part of his life, almost compelled, by morbid 
 melancholy, and weariness of mind. This was his constitutional 
 malady, derived, perhaps, from his father, who was, at times, 
 overcast with a gloom that bordered on insanity. When to this 
 it is added, that Johnson, about the age of twenty, drew up a 
 description of his infirmities, for Dr. Swinfcn, at that time an 
 eminent physician, in Staffordshire ; and received an answer to 
 his letter, importing, that the symptoms indicated a future priva- 
 tion of reason ; who can wonder, that he was troubled with 
 melancholy, and dejection of spirit? An apprehension of the 
 worst calamity that can befall human nature hung over him all 
 the rest of his life, like the sword of the tyrant suspended over 
 his guest. In his sixtieth year he had a mind to write the history 
 of his melancholy ; but he desisted, not knowing whether it would 
 not too much disturb him. In a Latin poem, however, to which 
 he has prefixed, as a title, rNQ0I SEAYTON, he has left a 
 picture of himself, drawn with as much truth, and as firm a hand, 
 as can be seen in the portraits of Hogarth, or Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds. Tbe learned reader will find the original poem in this 
 volume,^ and it is hoped, that a translation, or rather imitation, of 
 80 curious a piece, will not be improper in this place. 
 
 "KNOW YOURSELF. 
 
 (after revising and enlarging the ENGLISH LEXICON 
 OR DICTIONARY.) 
 
 " When Scaliger, whole years of labour past, 
 Beheld his lexicon complete at last, 
 And weary of his task, with wond'ring eyes, 
 Saw, from words pil'd on words, a fabric rise, 
 He curs'd the industry, inertly strong, 
 In creeping toil that could persist so long; 
 And if, enrag'd he cried, heav'n meant to shed 
 Its keenest vengeance on the guilty head, 
 The drudgery of words the damn'd would know, 
 Doom'd to write lexicons in endless woe.'-' 
 
 * Murphy's Edition Johnson's Works. 8vo. London: 1792. Vol i., 
 p. ns.— Editor. 
 
 ' See Scaliger's epigram on this subject, (communicated, without 
 doubt, by Dr. Johnson,) Gent. Mag., 1718, p. 8. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 399 
 
 *' Yes, you had cause, great genius, to repent ; 
 * You lost good days, that might be better spent ; ' 
 You well might grudge the hours of ling'ring pain, 
 And view your learned labours with disdain. 
 To you were given the large expanded mind, 
 The flame of genius, and the taste refin'd. 
 'Twas yours, on eagle wings, aloft to soar, 
 And, amidst rolling worlds, the great first cause explore; 
 To fix the seras of recorded time, 
 And live in ev'ry age and ev'ry clime ; 
 Record the chiefs, who propt their country's cause ♦, 
 Who founded empires, and establish'd laws ; 
 To learn whate'er the sage, with virtue fraught, 
 Whate'er the muse of moral wisdom taught. 
 These were your quarry ; these to you were known, 
 And the world's ample volume was your own. 
 
 ♦' Yet, warn'd by me, ye pigmy wits, beware. 
 Nor with immortal Scaliger compare. 
 For me, though his example strike my view, 
 Oh ! not for me his footsteps to pursue. 
 Whether first nature, unpropitious, cold, 
 This clay compounded in a ruder mould ; 
 Or the slow current, loit'ring at my heart. 
 No gleam of wit or fancy can impart ; 
 Whate'er the cause, from me no numbers flow, 
 No visions warm me, and no raptures glow. 
 A mind like Scaliger's, superior still, 
 No grief could conquer, no misfortune chill. 
 Though, for the maze of words, his native skies 
 He seem'd to quit, 'twas but again to rise ; 
 To mount, once more, to the bright source of day. 
 And view the wonders of th' ethereal way. 
 The love of fame his gen'rous bosom fir'd ; 
 Each science hail'd him, and each muse inspir'd. 
 For him the sons of learning trimmed the bays, 
 And nations grew harmonious in his praise. 
 
 " My task perform'd, and all my labours o'er, 
 For me what lot has fortune now in store ? 
 The listless will succeeds, that worst disease, 
 The rack of indolence, the sluggish ease. 
 Oare grows on care, and o'er my aching brain 
 Black melancholy pours her morbid train. 
 No kind relief, no lenitive at hand, 
 I seek, at midnight clubs, the social band ; 
 But midnight clubs, where wit with noise conspires, 
 Where Comus revels, and where wine inspires. 
 Delight no more : I seek my lonely bed, 
 And call on sleep to sooth my languid head. 
 But sleep from these sad lids flies far away ; 
 
400 murphy's essay on the 
 
 I mourn all night, and dread the coming day. 
 Exhausted, tir'd, I throw my eyes around, 
 To find some vacant spot on classic ground ; 
 And soon, vain hope ! I form a grand design • 
 Languor succeeds, and all my pow'rs decline. 
 If science open not her richest vein, 
 Without materials all our toil is vain. 
 A form to rugged stone when Phidias gives — 
 Beneath his touch a new creation lives. 
 Remove his marble, and his genius dies: 
 With nature then no breathing statue vies. 
 
 " Whate'er I plan, I feel my pow'rs confin'd 
 By fortune's frown, and penury of mind. 
 I boast no knowledge, glean'd w^ith toil and strife, 
 That bright reward of a well acted life. 
 I view myself, while reason's feeble light 
 Shoots a pale glimmer through the gloom of night j 
 While passions, error, phantoms of the brain, 
 And vain opinions, fill the dark domain ; 
 A dreary void, where fears, with grief combin'd, 
 Waste all within, and desolate the mind. 
 
 " What then remains ? Must I, in slow decline. 
 To mute inglorious ease old age resign ? 
 Or, bold ambition kindling in my breast, 
 Attempt some arduous task ? Or, were it best, 
 Brooding o'er lexicons to pass the day. 
 And in that labour drudge my life away ?" 
 
 n 
 
 Such is the picture for which Dr. Johnson sat to himself. He 
 gives the prominent features of his character ; his lassitude, his 
 morbid melancholy, his love of fame, his dejection, his tavern- 
 parties, and his wandering reveries, " Vacuae mala somnia 
 mentis," about which so much has been written ; all are painted 
 in miniature, but in vivid colours, by his own hand. His idea 
 of writing more dictionaries was not merely said in verse. Mr. 
 Hamilton, who was at that time an eminent printer, and well 
 acquainted with Dr. Johnson, remembers that he engaged in a 
 Commercial Dictionary, and, as appears by the receipts in his 
 possession, was paid his price for several sheets ; but he soon 
 relinquished the undertaking. It is probable that he found him- 
 self not sufficiently versed in that branch of knowledge. 
 
 He was again reduced to the expedient of short compositions, 
 for the supply of the day. The writer of this narrative has now 
 before him a letter, in Dr. Johnson's handwriting, which shows 
 the distress and melancholy situation of the man, who had written 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 401 
 
 the Rambler, and finished the great work of his Dictionary. 
 The letter is directed to Mr. Richardson, the author of Clarissa, 
 and is as follows : 
 
 "Sir, 
 
 " I am obliged to entreat your assistance. I am now 
 under an arrest for five pounds eighteen shillings. Mr. Strahan, 
 from whom I should have received the necessary help in this 
 case, is not at home ; and I am afraid of not finding Mr. Millar. 
 If you will be so good as to send me this sum, I will very 
 gratefully repay you, and add it to all former obligations. I 
 am, sir, 
 
 " Your most obedient, 
 
 " and most humble servant, 
 
 " Samuel Johnson." 
 " Gough square, 16 March." 
 
 In the margin of this letter, there is a memorandum in these 
 words: "March 16, 1756, sent six guineas. Witness, Wm. 
 Richardson." For the honour of an admired writer it is to be 
 regretted, that we do not find a more liberal entry. To his 
 friend, in distress, he sent eight shillings more than was wanted. 
 Had an incident of this kind occurred in one of his romances, 
 Richardson would have known how to grace his hero ; but in 
 fictitious scenes, generosity costs the writer nothing. 
 
 About this time Johnson contributed several papers to a perio- 
 dical miscellany, called The Visiter, from motives which are 
 highly honourable to him, a compassionate regard for the late 
 Mr. Christopher Smart. The criticism on Pope's epitaphs 
 appeared in that work. In a short time after, he became a 
 reviewer in the Literary magazine, under the auspices of the late 
 Mr. Newbery, a man of a projecting head, good taste, and great 
 industry. This employment engrossed but little of Johnson's 
 time. He resigned himself to indolence, took no exercise, rose 
 about two, and then received the visits of his friends. Authors, 
 long since forgotten, waited on him, as their oracle, and he gave 
 responses in the chair of criticism. He listened to the com- 
 plaints, the schemes, and the hopes and fears of a crowd of in- 
 ferior writers, " who," he said, in the words of Roger Ascham, 
 "lived men knew not how, and died obscure, men marked not 
 when'' He believed, that he could give a better history of 
 Grub street than any man living. His house was filled with a 
 
 VI. D D 
 
402 murphy's essay on the 
 
 succession of visiters till four or five in the eveninor. Durino- 
 the whole time he presided at his tea-table. Tea was his 
 favourite beverage : and, when the late Jonas Hanway pro- 
 nounced his anathema against the use of tea, Johnson rose in 
 defence of his habitual practice, declaring himself '* in that 
 article, a hardened sinner^ who had for years diluted his meals 
 with the infusion of that fascinating plant ; whose tea-kettle had 
 no time to cool ; who, with tea, solaced the midnight hour, and 
 with tea welcomed the morning." 
 
 The proposal for a new edition of Shakespeare, which had 
 formerly miscarried, was resumed in the year 1756. The book- 
 sellers readily agreed to his terms : and subscription-tickets were 
 issued out. For undertaking this work, money, he confessed, 
 was the inciting motive. His friends exerted themselves to pro- 
 mote his interest ; and, in the mean time, he engaged in a new 
 periodical production, called The Idler. The first number 
 appeared on Saturday, April 15, 1758; and the last April 5, 
 1760. The profits of this work, and the subscriptions for the 
 new edition of Shakespeare, were the means by which he sup- 
 ported himself for four or five years. In 1759, was published 
 Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia. His translation of Lobo's Voyage 
 to Abissinia, seems to have pointed out that country for the scene 
 of action ; and Rassela Christos, the general of sultan Sequed, 
 mentioned in that work, most probably suggested the name of 
 the prince. The author wanted to set out on a journey to Lich- 
 field, in order to pay the last offices of filial piety to his mother, 
 who, at the age of ninety, was then near her dissolution ; but 
 money was necessary. Mr. Johnston, a bookseller, who has, 
 long since, left off business, gave one hundred pounds for the 
 copy. With this supply Johnson set out for Lichfield ; but did 
 not arrive in time to close the eyes of a parent whom he loved. 
 He attended the funeral, which, as appears among his memo- 
 randums, was on the 23rd of January, 1759. 
 
 Johnson now found it necessary to retrench his expenses. He 
 gave up his house in Gough square. Mrs. Williams went into 
 lodgings. He retired to Gray's inn, and soon removed to 
 chambers in the Inner Temple lane, where he lived in poverty, 
 total idleness, and the pride of literature : " Magni stat nominis 
 umbra." Mr. Fitzherbert, the father of lord St. Helens, the 
 present minister at Madrid, a man distinguished, through life, 
 for his benevolence and other amiable qualities, used to say, that 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 403 
 
 he paid a morning visit to Johnson, intending, from his chambers, 
 to send a letter into the city ; but, to his great surprise, he found 
 an author by profession, without pen, ink, or paper. The pre- 
 sent bishop of Salisbury was also among those who endeavoured, 
 by constant attention, to sooth the cares of a mind, which he 
 knew to be afflicted with gloomy apprehensions. At one of the 
 parties made at his house, Boscovich, the Jesuit, who had then 
 lately introduced the Newtonian philosophy at Rome, and, after 
 publishing an elegant Latin poem on the subject, was made a 
 fellow of the Royal Society, was one of the company invited to 
 meet Dr. Johnson. The conversation, at first, was mostly in 
 French. Johnson, though thoroughly versed in that language, 
 and a professed admirer of BoUeau and La Bruyere, did not 
 understand its pronunciation, nor could he speak it himself with 
 propriety. For the rest of the evening the talk was in Latin. 
 Boscovich had a ready current flow of that flimsy phraseology, 
 with which a priest may travel through Italy, Spain, and Ger- 
 many. Johnson scorned what he called colloquial barbarisms. 
 It was his pride to speak his best. He went on, after a little 
 practice, with as much facility as if it was his native tongue. 
 One sentence this writer well remembers. Observing that Fon- 
 tenelle, at first, opposed the Newtonian philosophy, and em- 
 braced it afterwards, his words were : " Fontinellus, ni fallor, in 
 extrema senectute, fuit transfuga ad castra Newtoniana." 
 
 We have now travelled through that part of Dr. Johnson s 
 life, which was a perpetual struggle with difficulties. Halcyon 
 days are now to open upon him. In the month of May, 1762, 
 his majesty, to reward literary merit, signified his pleasure to 
 grant to Johnson a pension of three hundred pounds a year. 
 The earl of Bute was minister. Lord Loughborough, who, 
 perhaps, was originally a mover in the business, had authority to 
 mention it. He was well acquainted with Johnson ; but, having 
 heard much of his independent spirit, and of the downfal of 
 Osborne, the bookseller, he did not know but his benevolence 
 might be rewarded with a folio on his head. He desired the 
 author of these memoirs to undertake the task. The writer 
 thought the opportunity of doing so much good the most happy 
 incident in his life. He went, without delay, to the chambers, 
 in the Inner Temple lane, which, in fact, were the abode of 
 wretchedness. By slow and studied approaches the message 
 was disclosed. Johnson made a long pause : he asked if it was 
 
404 murphy's essay on the 
 
 seriously intended : he fell into a profound meditation, and his 
 own definition of a pensioner occurred to him. He was told, 
 "that he, at least, did not come within the definition." He 
 desired to meet next day, and dine at the Mitre tavern. At 
 that meeting he gave up all his scruples. On the following day, 
 lord Loughborough conducted him to the earl of Bute. The 
 conversation that passed, was, in the evening, related to this 
 writer, by Dr. Johnson. He expressed his sense of his majesty's 
 bounty, and thought himself the more highly honoured, as the 
 favour was not bestowed on him for having dipped his pen in 
 faction. " No, sir," said lord Bute, " it is not ofiered to you for 
 having dipped your pen in faction, nor with a design that you 
 ever should." Sir John Hawkins will have it, that, after .this 
 interview, Johnson was often pressed to wait on lord Bute, but 
 with a sullen spirit refused to comply. However that be, John- 
 son was never heard to utter a disrespectful word of that noble- 
 man. The writer of this essay remembers a circumstance, which 
 may throw some light on this subject. The late Dr. Rose, of 
 Chiswick, whom Johnson loved and respected, contended for the 
 pre-eminence of the Scotch writers ; and Ferguson's book on 
 Civil Society, then on the eve of publication, he said, would give 
 the laurel to North Britain. " Alas ! what can he do upon that 
 subject ? " said Johnson : " Aristotle, Polybius, Grotius, Puffen- 
 dorf, and Burlamaqui, have reaped in that field before him." 
 *' He will treat it," said Dr. Rose, " in a new manner." " A new 
 manner ! Buckinger had no hands, and he wrote his name with 
 his toes, at Charing Cross, for half a crown a piece ; that was a 
 new manner of writmg ! " Dr. Rose replied : "If that will not 
 satisfy you, I will name a writer, whom you must allow to be the 
 best in the kingdom." " Who is that ? " " The earl of Bute, 
 when he wrote an order for your pension." " There, sir," said 
 Johnson, " you have me in the toil : to lord Bute I must allow 
 whatever praise you claim for him." Ingratitude was no part of 
 Johnson's character. 
 
 Being now in the possession of a regular income, Johnson left 
 his chambers in the Temple, and, once more, became master of a 
 house in Johnson's court, Fleet Street. Dr. Levet, his friend 
 and physician in ordinary,^ paid his daily visits, with assiduity ; 
 made tea all the morning, talked what he had to say, and did not 
 
 [See Johnson's poem on his death, vol. iv. (Jan. 17, 1782).] 
 
 J 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 406 
 
 expect an answer. Mrs. Williams had her apartment in the 
 house, and entertained her benefactor with more enlarged con- 
 versation. Chymistry was a part of Johnson's amusement. For 
 this love of experimental philosophy, Sir John Hawkins thinks an 
 apology necessary. He tells us, with great gravity, that curiosity 
 was the only object in view ; not an intention to grow suddenly 
 rich by the philosopher's stone, or the transmutation of metals. 
 To enlarge this circle, Johnson, once more, had recourse to a 
 literary club. This was at the Turk's head, in Gerard street, 
 Soho, on every Tuesday evening through the year. The members 
 were, besides himself, the right honourable Edmund Burke, Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Nugent, Dr. Goldsmith, the late Mr. 
 Topham Beauclerc, Mr. Langton, Mr. Chamier, Sir J. Hawkins, 
 and some others. Johnson's affection for Sir Joshua was founded 
 on a long acquaintance, and a thorough knowledge of the virtuous 
 and amiable qualities of that excellent artist. He delighted in 
 the conversation of Mr. Burke. He met him, for the first time, 
 at Mr. Garrick's, several years ago. On the next day he said : 
 " I suppose. Murphy, you are proud of your countryman : ' Cum 
 talis sit, utinam noster esset ! ' " From that time, his constant 
 observation was, " that a man of sense could not meet Mr. Burke, 
 by accident, under a gateway, to avoid a shower, without being 
 con\4nced, that he was the first man in England." Johnson felt 
 not only kindness, but zeal and ardour for his friends. He did 
 every thing in his power to advance the reputation of Dr. Gold- 
 smith. He loved him, though he knew his failings, and particu- 
 larly the leaven of envy, which corroded the mind of that elegant 
 writer, and made him impatient, without disguise, of the praises 
 bestowed on any person whatever. Of this infirmity, which 
 marked Goldsmith's character, Johnson gave a remarkable in- 
 stance. It happened that he went with Sir Joshua Reynolds and 
 Goldsmith to see the fantoccini, which were exhibited, some years 
 ago, in or near the Haymarket. They admired the curious 
 mechanism hy which the puppets were made to walk the stage, 
 draw a chair to the table, sit down, write a letter, and perform 
 a variety of other actions, with such dexterity, that " though 
 nature's journeymen made the men, they imitated humanity," to 
 the astonishment of the spectator. The entertainment being 
 over, the three friends retired to a tavern. Johnson and Sir 
 Joshua talked with pleasure of what they had seen ; and, says 
 Johnson, in a tone of admiration : " How the little fellow bran- 
 
406 mtjrphy's essay on the 
 
 1 
 
 dished his spontoon ! " " There is nothing in it," replied Gold- 
 smith, starting up with impatience, " give me a spontoon ; I can 
 do it as well myself." 
 
 Enjoying his amusements at his weekly club, and happy in a 
 state of independence, Johnson gained, in the year 1765, another 
 resource, which contributed, more than any thing else, to exempt 
 him from the solicitudes of life. He was introduced to the late 
 Mr. Thrale and his family. Mrs. Piozzi has related the fact, and 
 it is, therefore, needless to repeat it ui this place. The author 
 of this narrative looks back to the share he had in that business, 
 with self-congratulation, since he knows the tenderness which, 
 from that time, soothed Johnson's cares at Streatham, and pro- 
 longed a valuable life. The subscribers to Shakespeare began to 
 despair of ever seeing the promised edition. To acquit himself 
 of this obligation, he went to work unwillingly, but proceeded 
 with vigour. In the month of October, 1765, Shakespeare was 
 published ; and, in a short time after, the university of Dublin 
 sent over a diploma, in honourable terms, creating him a doctor 
 of laws. Oxford, in eight or ten years afterwards, followed the 
 example ; and, till then, Johnson never assumed the title of 
 doctor. In 1766, his constitution seemed to be in a rapid decline ; 
 and that morbid melancholy, whi«h often clouded his understand- 
 ing, came upon him with a deeper gloom than ever. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Thrale paid him a visit in this situation, and found him on 
 his knees, with Dr. Delap, the rector of Lewes, in Sussex, be- 
 seeching God to continue to him the use of his understanding. 
 Mr. Thrale took him to his house at Streatham, and Johnson, 
 from that time, became a constant resident in the family. He 
 went, occasionally, to the club in Gerard street, but his head- 
 quarters were fixed at Streatham. An apartment was fitted up 
 for him, and the library was greatly enlarged. Parties were 
 constantly invited from town ; and Johnson was every day at an 
 elegant table, with select and polished company. Whatever could 
 be devised by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale to promote the happiness, 
 and establish the health of their guest, was studiously performed 
 from that time to the end of Mr. Thrale's life. Johnson ac- 
 companied the family, in all their summer excursions, to Bright- 
 helmstone, to Wales, and to Paris. It is but justice to Mr. 
 Thrale to say, that a more ingenious frame of mind no man 
 possessed. His education at Oxford gave him the habits of a 
 gentleman ; his amiable temper recommended his conversation ; 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 407 
 
 and the goodness of his heart made him a sincere friend. That 
 he was the patron of Johnson, is an honour to his memory. 
 
 In petty disputes with contemporary writers, or the wits of the 
 age, Johnson was seldom entangled. A single incident of that 
 kind may not be unworthy of notice, since it happened with a man 
 of great celebrity in his time. A number of friends dined with 
 Garrick on a Christmas day. Foote was then in Ireland. It was 
 said, at table, that the modern Aristophanes (so Foote was called) 
 had been horsewhipped by a Dublin apothecary, for mimicking 
 him on the stage. " I wonder," said Garrick, " that any man 
 should show so much resentment to Foote ; he has a patent for 
 such liberties ; nobody ever thought it worth his while to quarrel 
 with him in London." " I am glad," said Johnson, " to find that 
 the man is rising in the world." The expression was afterwards 
 repeated to Foote, who, in return, gave out, that he would pro- 
 duce the Caliban of literature on the stage. Being informed of 
 this design, Johnson sent word to Foote : " that the theatre 
 being intended for the reformation of vice, he would step from 
 the boxes on the stage, and correct him before the audience." 
 Foote knew the intrepidity of his antagonist, and abandoned the 
 design. No ill will ensued. Johnson used to say : " that for 
 broadfaced mirth, Foote had not his equal." 
 
 Dr. Johnson's fame excited the curiosity of the king. His 
 majesty expressed a desire to see a man of whom extraordinary 
 things were said. Accordingly, the librarian at Buckingham 
 house invited Johnson to see that elegant collection of books, at 
 the same time giving a hint of what was intended. His majesty 
 entered the room, and, among other things, asked the author, 
 " if he meant to give the world any more of his compositions ? " 
 Johnson answered : " that he thought he had written enough." 
 "And T should think so too," replied his majesty, " if you had not 
 written so well." 
 
 Though Johnson thought he had written enough, his genius, 
 even in spite of bodily sluggishness, could not lie still. In 177 
 we find him entering the lists, as a political writer. The flame 
 of discord that blazed throughout the nation, on the expulsion of 
 Mr. Wilkes, and the final determination of the house of commons, 
 that Mr. Luttrell was du'y elected by two hundred and six votes 
 against eleven hundred and forty-three, spread a general spirit of 
 discontent. To allay the tumult. Dr. Johnson published the 
 False Alarm. Mrs. Piozzi informs us, " that this pamphlet was 
 
408 murphy's essay on the 
 
 written at her house, between eight o'clock on Wednesday night 
 and twelve on Thursday night." This celerity has appeared 
 wonderful to many, and some have doubted the truth. It may, 
 however, be placed within the bounds of probability. Johnson 
 has observed, that there are diflferent methods of composition. 
 Virgil was used to pour out a great number of verses in the 
 morning, and pass the day in retrenching the exuberances, and 
 correctmg inaccuracies ; and it was Pope's custom to write his 
 first thoughts in his first words, and gradually to amplify, deco- 
 rate, rectify, and refine them. Others employ, at once, memory 
 and invention, and, with little intermediate use of the pen, form 
 and polish large masses by continued meditation, and write their 
 productions only, when, in their opinion, they have completed 
 them. This last was Johnson's method. He never took his pen 
 in hand till he had well weighed his subject, and grasped, in his 
 mind, the sentiments, the train of argument, and the arrangement 
 of the whole. As he often thought aloud, he had, perhaps, 
 talked it over to himself. This may account for that rapidity 
 with which, in general, he despatched his sheets to the press, 
 without being at the trouble of a fair copy. Whatever may be 
 the logic or eloquence of the False Alarm, the house of commons 
 have since erased the resolution from the journals. But whether 
 they have not left materials for a future controversy may be made 
 a question. 
 
 In 1771, he published another tract, on the subject of Falkland 
 islands. The design was to show the impropriety of going to 
 war with Spain for an island, thrown aside from human use, stormy 
 in winter, and barren in summer. For this work it is apparent, 
 that materials were furnished by direction of the minister. 
 
 At the approach of the general election in 1774, he wrote a 
 short discourse, called The Patriot, not with any visible applica- 
 tion to Mr. Wilkes ; but to teach the people to reject the leaders 
 of opposition, who called themselves patriots. In 1775, he under- 
 took a pamphlet of more importance, namely, Taxation no 
 Tyranny, in answer to the Resolutions and Address of the 
 American congress. The scope of the argument was, that dis- 
 tant colonies, which had, in their assemblies, a legislature of their 
 own, were, notwithstanding, liable to be taxed in a British 
 parliament, where they had neither peers in one house, nor 
 representatives in the other. He was of opinion, that this country 
 was strong enough to enforce obedience. " When an English- 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 409 
 
 man," he says, " is told that the Americans shoot up like the 
 hydra, he naturally considers how the hydra was destroyed." 
 The event has shown how much he and the minister of that day 
 were mistaken. 
 
 The account of the Tour to the Western Islands of Scotland, 
 which was undertaken in the autumn of 1773, in company with 
 Mr, Boswell, was not published till some time in the year 1775. 
 This book has been variously received ; by some extolled for the 
 elegance of the narrative, and the depth of observation on life and 
 manners ; by others, as much condemned, as a work of avowed 
 hostility to the Scotch nation. The praise was, beyond all ques 
 tion, fairly deserved ; and the censure, on due examination, will 
 appear hasty and ill-founded. That Johnson entertained some 
 prejudices against the Scotch must not be dissembled. It is true, 
 as Mr. Boswell says, " that he thought their success in England 
 exceeded their proportion of real merit, and he eould not but see 
 in them that nationality which no liberal-minded Scotsman will 
 deny." The author of these memoirs well remembers, that 
 Johnson one day asked him, " have you observed the difference 
 between your own country impudence and Scottish impudence ? " 
 The answer being the negative: "then I will tell you," said 
 Johnson. " The impudence of an Irishman is the impudence of 
 a fly, that buzzes about you, and you put it away, but it returns 
 again, and flutters and teases you. The impudence of a Scots- 
 man is the impudence of a leech, that fixes and sucks your blood." 
 Upon another occasion, this writer went with him into the shop 
 of Davies, the bookseller, in Russell street, Covent garden. 
 Davies came running to him, almost out of breath with joy : 
 " The Scots gentleman is come, sir ; his principal wish is to see 
 you ; he is now in the back parlour." " Well, well, I'll see the 
 gentleman," said Johnson. He walked towards the room. Mr. 
 Boswell was the person. The writer followed, with no small 
 curiosity. " I find," said Mr. Boswell, " that I am come to 
 London, at a bad time, when great popular prejudice has gone 
 forth against us North Britons ; but, when I am talking to you, 
 I am talking to a large and liberal mind, and you know that I 
 cannot help coming from Scotland.'''' " Sir," said Johnson, " no 
 more can the rest of your countrymen." ^ 
 
 He had other reasons that helped to alienate him from the 
 
 ^ For Boswell's own account of this introduction, see vol. i.,pp. 310. 311. 
 —Editor. 
 
410 murphy's essat on the 
 
 natives of Scotland. Being a cordial well-wisher to the constitu- 
 tion in church and state, he did not think that Calvin and John 
 Knox were proper founders of a national religion. He made, 
 however, a wide distinction between the dissenters of Scotland 
 and the separatists of England. To the former he imputed no 
 disaffection, no want of loyalty. Their soldiers and their officers 
 had shed their blood with zeal and courage in the service of 
 Great Britain ; and the people, he used to say, were content with 
 their own established modes of worship, without wishing, in the 
 present age, to give any disturbance to the church of England. 
 This he was, at all times, ready to admit ; and, therefore, declared, 
 that, whenever he found a Scotchman, to whom an Englishman 
 was as a Scotchman, that Scotchman should be as an Englishman 
 to him. In this, surely, there was no rancour, no malevolence. 
 The dissenters, on this side the Tweed, appeared to him in a 
 different light. Their religion, he frequently said, was too 
 worldly, too political, too restless and ambitious. The doctrine 
 of cashiering kings, and erecting, on the ruins of the constitution, 
 a new form of government, which lately issued from their pulpits, 
 he always thought was, under a calm disguise, the principle that 
 lay lurking in their hearts. He knew, that a wild democracy had 
 overturned kings, lords, and commons ; and that a set of republican 
 fanatics, who would not bow at the name of Jesus, had taken 
 possession of all the livings, and all the parishes in the kingdom. 
 That those scenes of horror might never be renewed, was the 
 ardent wish of Dr. Johnson; and, though he apprehended no 
 danger from Scotland, it is probable, that his dislike of Calvinism 
 mingled, sometimes, with his reflections on the natives of that 
 country. The association of ideas could not be easily broken ; 
 but it is well known, that he loved and respected many gentlemen 
 from that part of the island. Dr. Robertson's History of Scot- 
 land, and Dr. Beattie's Essays, were subjects of his constant 
 praise. Mr. Boswell, Dr. Rose, of Chiswick, Andrew Millar, Mr. 
 Hamilton, the printer, and the late Mr. Strahan, were among his 
 .most intimate friends. Many others might be added to the list. 
 He scorned to enter Scotland as a spy ; though Hawkins, his 
 biographer, and the professing defender of his fame, allowed him- 
 self leave to represent him in that ignoble character. He went 
 into Scotland to survey men and manners. Antiquities, fossils, 
 and minerals, were not within his province. He did not visit that 
 country to settle the station of Roman camps, or the spot, where 
 
 J 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OP SAMUEL JOHNSON. 411 
 
 Galgacus fought the last battle for public liberty. The people, 
 their customs, and the progress of literature, were his objects. 
 The civilities which he received in the course of his tour, have 
 been repaid with grateful acknowledgment, and, generally, with 
 great elegance of expression. His crime is, that he found the 
 country bare of trees, and he has stated the fact. This, Mr. Bos- 
 well, in his tour to the Hebrides, has told us, was resented, by his 
 countrymen, with anger, inflamed to rancour ; but he admits that 
 there are few trees on the east side of Scotland. Mr. Pennant, 
 in his tour, says, that, in some parts of the eastern side of the 
 country, he saw several large plantations of pine, planted by 
 gentlemen near their seats ; and, in this respect, such a laudable 
 spirit prevails, that, in another half century, it never shall be said, 
 •' To spy the nakedness of the land are you come." Johnson 
 could not wait for that half-century, and, therefore, mentioned 
 things as he found them. If, in any thing, he has been mistaken, 
 he has made a fair apology, in the last paragraph of his book, 
 avowing with candour : " That he may have been surprised by 
 modes of life, and appearances of nature, that are familiar to men 
 of wider survey, and more varied conversation. Novelty and 
 ignorance must always be reciprocal • and he is conscious that 
 his thoughts on national manners, are the thoughts of one who 
 has seen but little." 
 
 The poems of Ossian made a part of Johnson's inquiry, during 
 his residence in Scotland and the Hebrides. On his return to 
 England, November, 1773, a storm seemed to be gathering over 
 his head; but the cloud never burst, and the thunder never fell. 
 Ossian, it is well known, was presented to the public, as a trans- 
 lation from the Erse ; but that this was a fraud, Johnson declared, 
 without hesitation. " The Erse," he says, " was always oral 
 only, and never a written language. The Welsh and the Irish 
 were more cultivated. In Erse, there was in the world not a 
 single manuscript a hundred years old. Martin, who, in the last 
 century, published an account of the Western Islands, mentions 
 Irish, but never Erse manuscripts, to be found in the islands in 
 his time. The bards could not read ; if they could, they might, 
 probably, have written. But the bard was a barbarian among 
 barbarians, and, knowing nothing himself, lived with others that 
 knew no more. If there is a manuscript from which the trans- 
 lation was made, in what age was it written, and where is it ? If 
 it was collected from oral recitation, it could only be in detached 
 
412 murphy's essay on the 
 
 parts, and scattered fragments : the whole is too long to be 
 remembered. Who put it together in its present form ? " For 
 these, and such like reasons, Johnson calls the whole an impos- 
 ture. He adds, " The editor, or author, never could show the 
 original, nor can it be shown by any other. To revenge reason- 
 able incredulity, by refusing evidence, is a degree of insolence 
 with which the world is not yet acquainted ; and stubborn auda- 
 city is the last refuge of guilt." This reasoning carries with it 
 great weight. It roused the resentment of Mr. Macpherson. 
 He sent a threatening letter to the author ; and Johnson answered 
 him in the rough phrase of stern defiance. The two heroes 
 frowned at a distance, but never came to action. 
 
 In the year 1777, the misfortunes of Dr. Dodd excited his com- 
 passion. He wrote a speech for that unhappy man, when called 
 up to receive judgment of death ; besides two petitions, one to 
 the king, and another to the queen ; and a sermon to be preached 
 by Dodd to the convicts in Newgate. It may appear trifling to 
 add, that, about the same time, he wrote a prologue to the comedy 
 of a Word to the Wise, written by Hugh Kelly. The play, some 
 years before, had been damned by a party on the first night. It 
 was revived for the benefit of the author's widow. Mrs. Piozzi 
 relates, that when Johnson was rallied for these exertions, so close 
 to one another, his answer was, " When they come to me with a 
 dying parson, and a dead stay-maker, what can a man do ? " We 
 come now to the last of his literary labours. At the request of 
 the booksellers, he undertook the Lives of the Poets. The first 
 publication was in 1779, and the whole was completed in 1781. 
 In a memorandum of that year, he says, some time in March he 
 finished the Lives of the Poets, which he wrote in his usual way, 
 dilatorily and hastily, unwilling to work, yet working with vigour 
 and haste. In another place, he hopes they are written in such a 
 manner, as may tend to the promotion of piety. That the history 
 of so many men, who, in their different degrees, made themselves 
 conspicuous in their time, was not written recently after their 
 deaths, seems to be an omission tliat does no honour to the republic 
 of letters. Their contemporaries, in general, looked on with 
 calm indifference, and suffered wit and genius to vanish out of 
 the world in total silence, unregarded and unlamented. Was 
 there no friend to pay the tribute of a tear ? No just observer of 
 life to record the virtues of the deceased ? Was even envy 
 silent ? It seemed to have been agreed, that if an author's work 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 413 
 
 survived, the history of the man was to give no moral lesson to 
 after-ages. If tradition told us that Ben Jonson went to the 
 Devil tavern ; that Shakespeare stole deer, and held the stirrup 
 at play-house doors ; that Dryden frequented Button's coffee- 
 house ; curiosity was lulled asleep, and biography forgot the best 
 part of her function, which is, to instruct mankind by examples 
 taken from the school of life. This task remained for Dr. John- 
 son, when years had rolled away ; when the channels of informa- 
 tion were, for the most part, choked up, and little remained 
 besides doubtful anecdote, uncertain tradition, and vague report. 
 
 " Nunc situs informis premit et deserta vetustas." 
 
 The value of biography has been better understood in other 
 ages, and in other countries. Tacitus informs us, that to record 
 the lives and characters of illustrious men, was the practice of 
 the Roman authors, in the early periods of the republic. In 
 France, the example has been followed. Fontenelle, D'Alembert, 
 and monsieur Thomas, have left models in this kind of composi- 
 tion. They have embalmed the dead. But it is true, that they 
 had incitements and advantages, even at a distant day, which 
 could not, by any diligence, be obtained by Dr. Johnson. The 
 wits of France had ample materials. They lived in a nation of 
 critics, who had, at heart, the honour done to their country by 
 their poets, their heroes, and their philosophers. They had, 
 besides, an academy of belles-lettres, where genius was cultivated, 
 reiined, and encouraged. They had the tracts, the essays, and 
 dissertations, which remain in the memoirs of the academy, and 
 they had the speeches of the several members, delivered at their 
 first admission to a seat in that learned assembly. In those 
 speeches the new academician did ample justice to the memory 
 of his predecessor ; and though his harangue was decorated with 
 the colours of eloquence, and was, for that reason, called pane- 
 gyric, yet, being pronounced before qualified judges, who knew 
 the talents, the conduct, and morals of the deceased, the speaker 
 could not, with propriety, wander into the regions of fiction. 
 The truth was known, before it was adorned. The academy saw 
 the marble before the artist polished it. But this country has 
 had no academy of literature. The public mind, for centuries, 
 has been engrossed by party and faction ; " by the madness of 
 many for the gain of a few ; " by civil wars, religious dissensions, 
 trade and commerce, and the arts of accumulating wealth. 
 
414 murphy's essay on the 
 
 Amidst such attentions, who can wonder that cold praise has been 
 often the only reward of merit ? In this country, Dr. Nathaniel 
 Hodges, who, like the good bishop of Marseilles, drew purer 
 breath amidst the contagion of the plague in London, and, during 
 the whole time, continued in the city, administering medical 
 assistance, was suffered, as Johnson used to relate, with tears in 
 his eyes, to die for debt in a gaol. In this country, the man who 
 brought the New river to London, was ruined by that noble pro- 
 ject ; and, in this country, Otway died for want, on Tower hill ; 
 Butler, the great author of Hudibras, whose name can only die 
 with the English language, was left to languish in poverty ; the 
 particulars of his life almost unknown, and scarce a vestige of 
 him left, except his immortal poem. Had there been an academy 
 of literature, the lives, at least, of those celebrated persons, would 
 have been written for the benefit of posterity. Swift, it seems, 
 had the idea of such an institution, and proposed it to lord 
 Oxford ; but whig and tory were more important objects. It is 
 needless to dissemble, that Dr. Johnson, in the life of Roscommon, 
 talks of the inutility of such a project. " In this country," he 
 says, " an academy could be expected to do but little. If an 
 academician's place were profitable, it would be given by interest ; 
 if attendance were gratuitous, it would be rarely paid, and no 
 man would endure the least disgust. Unanimity is impossible, 
 and debate would separate the assembly." To this it may be 
 sufficient to answer, that the Royal society has not been dissolved 
 by sullen disgust ; and the modern academy, at Somerset house, 
 has already performed much, and promises more. Unanimity is 
 not necessary to such an assembly. On the contrary, by diffe- 
 rence of opinion, and collision of sentiment, the cause of literature 
 would thrive and flourish. The true principles of criticism, the 
 secret of fine writing, the investigation of antiquities, and other 
 interesting subjects, might occasion a clash of opinions ; but, in 
 that contention, truth would receive illustration, and the essays 
 of the several members would supply the memoirs of the academy. 
 " But," says Dr. Johnson, " suppose the philological decree made 
 and promulgated, what would be its authority? In absolute 
 government there is, sometimes, a general reverence paid to all 
 that has the sanction of power, the countenance of greatness. 
 How little this is the state of our country, needs not to be told. 
 The edicts of an English academy would, probably, be read by 
 many, only that they may be sure to disobey them. The present 
 
 ;senr jgi 
 
 J 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 415 
 
 manners of tlie nation would deride authority, and, therefore, 
 nothing is left, but that every writer should criticise himself." 
 This, surely, is not conclusive. It is by the standard of the best 
 writers, that every man settles, for himself, his plan of legitimate 
 composition ; and since the authority of superior genius is acknow- 
 ledged, that authority, which the individual obtains, would not be 
 lessened by an association with others of distinguished ability. 
 It may, therefore, be inferred, that an academy of literature would 
 be an establishment highly useful, and an honour to literature. 
 In such an institution, profitable places would not be wanted. 
 " Vatis avarus hand facile est animus ; " and the minister, who 
 shall find leisure, from party and faction, to carry such a scheme 
 into execution, will, in all probability, be respected by posterity, 
 as the Maecenas of letters. 
 
 We now take leave of Dr. Johnson, as an author. Four 
 volumes of his Lives of the Poets were published in 1778, and the 
 work was completed in 1781. Should biography fall again into 
 disuse, there will not always be a Johnson to look back through 
 a century, and give a body of critical and moral instruction. In 
 April, 1781, he lost his friend Mr. Thrale. His own words, in 
 his diary, will best tell that melancholy event. " On Wednesday, 
 the 11th of April, was buried my dear friend Mr. Thrale, who 
 died on Wednesday the 4th, and with him were buried many of 
 my hopes and pleasures. About five, I think, on Wednesday 
 morning, he expired. I felt almost the last flutter of his pulse, 
 and looked, for the last time, upon the face, that, for fifteen years 
 before, had never been turned upon me but with respect and 
 benignity. Farewell : may God, that delighteth in mercy, have 
 had mercy on thee. I had constantly prayed for him before his 
 death. The decease of him, from whose friendship I had obtained 
 many opportunities of amusement, and to whom I turned my 
 thoughts, as to a refuge from misfortunes, has left me heavy. 
 But my business is with myself" ^ From the close of his last work, 
 the malady that persecuted him through life, came upon him with 
 alarming severity, and his constitution declined apace. In 1782, 
 his old friend, Levet, expu-ed, without warning and without a 
 groan. Events like these reminded Johnson of his own mortality. 
 He continued his visits to Mrs. Thrale, at Streatham, to the 
 7th day of October, 1782, when, having first composed a prayer 
 
 ' See vol. ir. (April 4, 1781).— Editor. 
 
416 murphy's essay on the 
 
 for the happiness of a family, with whom he had, for many years, 
 enjoyed the pleasures and comforts of life, he removed to his own 
 house in town. He says he was up early in the morning, and 
 read fortuitously in the Gospel, "which was his parting use of the 
 library." The merit of the family is manifested by the sense he 
 had of it, and we see his heart overflowing with gratitude. He 
 leaves the place with regret, and " casts a lingering look behind." 
 The few remaining occurrences may be soon despatched. In 
 the month of June, 1783, Johnson had a paralytic stroke, which 
 affected his speech only. He wrote to Dr. Taylor, of West- 
 minster ; and to his friend Mr. Allen, the printer, who lived at 
 the next door. Dr. Brocklesby arrived in a short time, and by his 
 care, and that of Dr. Heberden, Johnson soon recovered. During 
 his illness, the writer of this narrative visited him, and found him 
 reading Dr. Watson's Chymistry. Articulating with difficulty, 
 he said, " From this book, he who knows nothing may learn a 
 great deal ; and he who knows, will be pleased to find his know- 
 ledge recalled to his mind in a manner highly pleasing." In the 
 month of August he set out for Lichfield, on a visit to Mrs. Lucy 
 Porter, the daughter of his wife by hor first husband ; and, in his 
 way back, paid his respects to Dr. Adams, at Oxford. Mrs. 
 Williams died, at his house in Bolt court, in the month of Septem- 
 ber, during his absence. This was another shock to a mind like 
 his, ever agitated by the thoughts of futurity. The contemplation 
 of his own approaching end was constantly before his eyes ; and 
 the prospect of death, he declared, was terrible. For many years, 
 when he was not disposed to enter into the conversation going for- 
 ward, whoever sat near his chair, might hear him repeating, froi 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 " Aye, but to die, and go we know not wnere ; 
 To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ; 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 A kneaded clod, and the delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods " 
 
 And from Milton, 
 
 Who would lose, 
 
 For fear of pain, this intellectual being ? " 
 By the death of Mrs. Williams he was left in a state of desti- 
 tution, with nobody but Frank, his black servant, to sooth his 
 anxious moments. In November, 1783, he was sAvelled from 
 head to foot with a dropsy. Dr. Brocklesby, with that bene- 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 417 
 
 volence with which he always assists his friends, paid his visits 
 with assiduity. The medicines prescribed were so efficacious, 
 that, in a few days, Johnson, while he was offering up his prayers, 
 was suddenly obliged to rise, and in the course of the day, dis- 
 charged twenty pints of waters. 
 
 Johnson, being eased of his dropsy, began to entertain hopes 
 that the vigour of his constitution was not entirely broken. For 
 the sake of conversing with his friends, he established a conver- 
 sation club, to meet on etery Wednesday evening ; and, to serve 
 a man whom he had known in Mr. Thrale's household for many 
 years, the place was fixed at his house, in Essex street, near the 
 Temple. To answer the malignant remarks of Sir John Hawkins, 
 on this subject, were a wretched waste of time. Professing to 
 be Johnson's friend, that biographer has raised more objections 
 to his character, than all the enemies to that excellent man. Sir 
 John had a root of bitterness that " puts rancours in the vessel 
 of his peace." Fielding, he sajs, was the inventor of a cant 
 phrase, " Goodness of heart, which means little more than the 
 virtue of a horse or a dog." He should have known, that kind 
 affections are the essence of virtue : they are the will of God 
 implanted in our nature, to aid and strengthen moral obligation ; 
 they incite to action : a sense of benevolence is no less necessary 
 than a sense of duty. Good affections are an ornament, not only 
 to an author, but to his writings. He who shows himself upon 
 a cold scent for opportunities to bark and snarl throughout a 
 volume of six hundred pages, may, if he will, pretend to mora- 
 lize ; but goodness of heart, or, to use that politer phrase, " the 
 virtue of a horse or a dog," would redound more to his honour. 
 But Sir John is no more : our business is with Johnson. The 
 members of his club were respectable for their rank, their 
 talents, and their literature. They attended with punctuality 
 till about Midsummer, 1784, when, with some appearance of 
 health, Johnson went into Derbyshire, and thence to Lichfield. 
 While he was in that part of the world, his friends, in town, 
 were labouring for his benefit. The air of a more southern cli- 
 mate, they thought, might prolong a valuable life. But a pension 
 of three hundred pounds a year, was a slender fund for a travelling 
 valetudinarian, and it was not then known that he had saved a 
 moderate sum of money. Mr. Boswell and Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 undertook to solicit the patronage of the chancellor. With lord 
 Thurlow, while he was at the bar, Johnson was well acquainted. 
 
 VI. E E 
 
418 murphy's essay on the 
 
 He was often heard to say, " Thurlow is a man of such vigour ot 
 mind, that I never knew I was to meet him, but — I was going 
 to say, I was afraid, but that would not be true, for I never was 
 afraid of any man ; but I never knew that I was to meet Thur- 
 low, but I knew I had something to encounter." The chancellor 
 undertook to recommend Johnson's case ; but without success. 
 To protract, if possible, the days of a man, whom he respected, 
 he offered to advance the sum of five hundred pounds. Being 
 informed of this at Lichfield, Johnson wrote the following letter: 
 
 " My Lord, 
 
 "After along, and not inattentive observation of man- 
 kind, the generosity of your lordship's offer raises in me not less 
 wonder than gratitude. Bounty, so liberally bestowed, I should 
 gladly receive, if my condition made it necessary ; for to such a 
 mind who would not be proud to own his obligations ? But it 
 has pleased God to restore me to so great a measure of health, 
 that, if I should now appropriate so much of a fortune destined 
 to do good, I could not escape from myself the charge of ad- 
 vancing a false claim. My journey to the continent, though I 
 once thought it necessary, was never much encouraged by my 
 physicians ; and I was very desirous that your lordship should 
 be told it, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, as an event very uncertain ; 
 for, if I grew much better, I should not be willing ; if much 
 worse, I should not be able to migrate. Your lordship was first 
 solicited without my knowledge ; but when I was told that you 
 were pleased to honour me with your patronage, I did not expect 
 to hear of a refusal ; yet, as I have had no long time to brood 
 hopes, and have not rioted in imaginary opulence, this cold re- 
 ception has been scarce a disappointment : and from your lord- 
 ship's kindness I have received a benefit which only men, like 
 you, are able to bestow. I shall now live mihi carior, with a 
 higher opinion of my own merit. 
 
 " I am, my lord, your lordship's most obliged, 
 
 "most grateful and most humble servant, 
 
 ' Samuel Johnson.' 
 
 " September, 1784." 
 
 I 
 
 We have, in this instance, the exertion of two congenial 
 minds ; one, with a generous impulse, relieving merit in distress ; 
 and the other, by gratitude and dignity of sentiment, rising to 
 an equal elevation. 
 
 4 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 419 
 
 It seems, however, that greatness of mind is not confined to 
 greatness of rank. Dr. Brocklesby was not content to assist 
 with his medical art ; he resolved to minister to his patient's 
 mind, and pluck from his memory the sorrow which the late re- 
 fusal from a high quarter might occasion. To enable him to visit 
 the south of France, in pursuit of health, he ofiered, from his 
 own funds, an annuity of one hundred pounds, payable quarterly. 
 This was a sweet oblivious antidote, but it was not accepted, for 
 the reasons assigned to the chancellor. The proposal, however, 
 wQl do honour to Dr. Brocklesby, as long as liberal sentiment 
 shall be ranked among the social virtues. 
 
 In the month of October, 1784, we find Dr. Johnson corre- 
 sponding with Mr. Nichols, the intelligent compiler of the Gen- 
 tleman's Magazine, and, in the languor of sickness, still desirous 
 to contribute all in his power to the advancement of science and 
 useful knowledge. He says, in a letter to that gentleman, dated 
 Lichfield, October 20, that " he should be glad to give so skilful 
 a lover of antiquities any information." He adds, " At Ash- 
 bourne, where I had very little company, I had the luck to 
 borrow Mr. Bowyer's Life, a book, so full of contemporary his- 
 tory, that a literary man must find some of his old friends. I 
 thought that I could, now and then, have told you some hints 
 worth your notice : we, perhaps, may talk a life over. I hope 
 we shall be much together. You must now be to me what you 
 were before, and what dear Mr. Allen was besides. He was 
 taken unexpectedly away, but, I think, he was a very good man. 
 I have made very little progress in recovery. I am very weak, 
 and very sleepless ; but I live on and hope." 
 
 In that languid condition he arrived, on the I6th of November, 
 at his house in Bolt court, there to end his days. He laboured 
 with the dropsy and an asthma. He was attended by Dr. 
 Heberden, Dr. Warren, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Butter, and Mr. 
 Cruikshank, the eminent surgeon. Eternity presented to his 
 mind an awful prospect, and, with as much virtue as, perhaps, 
 ever is the lot of man, he shuddered at the thought of his disso- 
 lution. His friends awakened the comfortable reflection of a 
 well-spent life ; and, as his end drew near, they had the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing him composed, and even cheerful, insomuch that 
 he was able, in the course of his restless nights, to make trans- 
 lations of Greek epigrams from the Anthologia ; and to compose 
 a Latin epitaph for his father, his mother, and his brother Natha- 
 
420 murphy's essay on the 
 
 niel. He meditated, at the same time, a Latin inscription to the 
 memory of Garrick ; but his vigour was exhausted. 
 
 His love of literature was a passion that stuck to his last sand. 
 Seven days before his death he wrote the following letter to his 
 friend Mr. Nichols : 
 
 "Sir, 
 
 " The late learned Mr. Swinton, of Oxford, having one 
 day remarked, that one man, meaning, I suppose, no man but 
 himself, could assign all the parts of the Ancient Universal His- 
 tory to their proper authors, at the request of sir Robert 
 Chambers, or myself, gave the account which I now transmit to 
 you, in his own hand, being willing that of so great a work the 
 history should be known, and that each writer should receive his 
 due proportion of praise from posterity. 
 
 " I recommend to you to preserve this scrap of literary intel- 
 ligence, in Mr. Swinton's own hand, or to deposit it in the 
 Museum,^ that the veracity of this account may never be 
 doubted 
 
 '• I am, sir, 
 
 " Your most humble servant, 
 
 " Sam. Johnson." 
 " Dec. 6, 1784." 
 
 Mr. Swinton. 
 
 The History of the Carthagenians. 
 
 Numidians. 
 
 Mauritanians. 
 
 Gsetulians. 
 
 Garamantes. 
 
 Melano-Gaetulians. 
 
 Nigritae. 
 
 Cyrenaica. 
 
 Marmarica. 
 
 Regie Syrtica. 
 
 Turks, Tartars, and Moguls. 
 
 Indians. 
 
 Chinese. 
 
 The Dissertation on the peophng of America. 
 The Dissertation on the Independency of the Arabs. 
 The Cosmogony, and a small part of the History immediately foUclVr. 
 ing. By Mr. Sale. 
 
 To the Birth of Abraham. Chiefly by Mr. Shelvot k. 
 
 ^ It is there deposited. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 421 
 
 History of the Jews, Gauls, and Spaniards. By Mr. Psalmanazar. 
 Xenophon's Retreat. By the same. 
 
 History of the Persians, and the Constantinopolitan Empire. By Dr. 
 Campbell. 
 
 History of the Romans. By Mr. Bower.' 
 
 On the morning of December 7, Dr. Johnson requested to 
 see Mr. Xichols. A few days before he had borrowed some of 
 the early volumes of the magazine, with a professed intention to 
 point out the pieces which he had written in that collection. 
 The books lay on the table, with many leaves doubled down, 
 and, in particular, those which contained his share in the parlia- 
 mentary debates. Such was the goodness of Johnson's heart, 
 that he then declared, that " those debates were the only parts 
 of his writings which gave him any compunction : but that, at the 
 time he wrote them, he had no conception that he was imposing 
 upon the world, though they were, frequently, written upon very 
 slender materials, and often from none at all, the mere coinage 
 of his own imagination." He added, " that he never wrote any 
 part of his work with ecjual velocity." " Three columns of the 
 magazine in an hour," he said, " was no uncommon effort ; which 
 was faster than most persons could have transcribed that quantity. 
 In one day, in particular, and that not a very long one, he wrote 
 twelve pages, more in quantity than ever he wrote at any other 
 time, except in the Life of Savage, of which forty-eight pages, in 
 octavo, were the production of one long day, including a part of 
 the night." 
 
 In the course of the conversation, he asked whether any of the 
 family of Faden, the printer, were living. Being told that the 
 geographer, near Charing Cross, was Faden's son, he said, after 
 a pause, " I borrowed a guinea of his father near thirty years 
 ago ; be so good as to take this, and pay it for me." 
 
 ' Before this authentic communication, Mr. Nichols had given, in the 
 volume of the Gentleman's Magazine, for 1781, p. 370, the following 
 account of the Universal History. The proposals were published October 
 6, 1729 ; and the authors of the first seven volumes were, 
 
 Vol. I. Mr. Sale, translator of Vol. IV. The same as vol. iii. 
 
 the Koran. V. Mr. Bower. 
 
 IT. George Psalmanazar. VI. Mr. Bower. 
 
 III. George Psalmanazar. Rev. John Swinton. 
 
 Archibald Bower. VII. Mr. Swinton. 
 
 Captain Shelvock. Mr. Bower. 
 Dr. Campbell. 
 
422 murphy's essay on the 
 
 Wishing to discharge every duty, and every obligation, John- 
 son recollected another debt of ten pounds, which he had 
 borrowed from his friend, Mr. Hamilton, the printer, about 
 twenty years before. He sent the money to Mr. Hamilton, at 
 his house in Bedford row, with an apology for the length of time. 
 The reverend Mr. Strahan was the bearer of the message, about 
 four or five days before Johnson breathed his last. 
 
 Mr. Sastres, whom Dr. Johnson esteemed and mentioned in 
 his will, entered the room, during his illness. Dr. Johnson, as 
 soon as he saw him, stretched forth his hand, and, in a tone of 
 lamentation, called out, " Jam moriturus ! " But the love of 
 life was still an active principle. Feeling himself swelled with 
 the dropsy, he conceived that, by incisions in his legs, the water 
 might be discharged. Mr. Cruikshank apprehended that a 
 mortification might be the consequence ; but, to appease a 
 distempered fancy, he gently lanced the surface. Johnson cried 
 out, " Deeper, deeper ! I want length of life, and you are afraid 
 of giving me pain, which I do not value." 
 
 On the 8th of December, the reverend Mr. Strahan drew hia 
 will, by which, after a few legacies, the residue, amounting to 
 about fifteen hundred pounds, was bequeathed to Frank, the 
 black servant, formerly consigned to the testator by his friend 
 Dr. Bathurst. 
 
 The history of a death-bed is painful. Mr. Strahan informs 
 us, that the strength of religion prevailed against the infirmity of 
 nature ; and his foreboding dread of the divine justice subsided 
 into a pious trust, and humble hope of mercy, at the throne of 
 grace. On Monday, the 13th day of December, the last of his 
 existence on this side the grave, the desire of life returned with 
 all its former vehemence. He still imagined, that, by puncturing 
 his legs, relief might be obtained. At eight in the morning he 
 tried the experiment, but no water followed. In an hour or two 
 after, he fell into a doze, and about seven in the evening expired 
 without a groan. 
 
 On the 20th of the month his remains, with due solemnities, 
 and a numerous attendance of his friends, were buried in West- 
 minster abbey, near the foot of Shakespeare's monument, and 
 close to the grave of the late Mr. Garrick. The funeral service 
 was read by his friend. Dr. Taylor. 
 
 A black marble over his grave has the following inscription : 
 
life and genius of samuel johnson. 423 
 
 Samuel Johnson, LL.D. 
 
 obiit XIII die Decembris, 
 
 Anno Domini 
 
 MDCCLXXXIV. 
 
 ^Etatis suae lxxv. 
 
 If we now look back, as from an eminence, to view the scenes 
 of life, and the literary labours in which Dr. Johnson was 
 engaged, we may be able to delineate the features of the man, 
 and to form an estimate of his genius. 
 
 As a man. Dr. Johnson stands displayed in open daylight. 
 Nothing remains undiscovered. Whatever he said is known ; 
 and without allowing him the usual privilege of hazarding senti- 
 ments, and advancing positions for mere amusement, or the 
 pleasure of discussion, criticism has endeavoured to make him 
 answerable for what, perhaps, he never seriously thought. His 
 diary, which has been printed, discovers still more. We have 
 before us the very heart of the man, with all his inward con- 
 sciousness ; and yet neither in the open paths of life, nor in his 
 secret recesses, has any one vice been discovered. We see him 
 reviewing every year of his life, and severely censuring himself, 
 for not keeping resolutions, which morbid melancholy, and other 
 bodily infirmities, rendered impracticable. We see him, for 
 every little defect, imposing on himself voluntary penance, going 
 through the day with only one cup of tea without milk, and to 
 the last, amidst paroxysms and remissions of illness, forming 
 plans of study and resolutions to mend his life.^ Many of his 
 scruples may be called weaknesses : but they are the weaknesses 
 of a good, a pious, and most excellent man. 
 
 His person, it is well known, was large and unwieldy. His 
 nerves were afiected by that disorder, for which, at two yctars of 
 age, he was presented to the royal touch. His head shook, and 
 involuntary motions made it uncertain that his legs and arms 
 would, even at a tea-table, remain in their proper place. A 
 person of lord Chesterfield's delicacy might, in his company, be 
 in a fever. He would, sometimes, of his own accord, do things 
 inconsistent with the established modes of behaviour. Sitting at 
 table with the celebrated Mrs. Cholmondeley, who exerted herself 
 to circulate the subscription for Shakespeare, he took hold of 
 
 ^ On the subject of voluntary penance, see the Rambler, No. lie. 
 
424 murphy's essay on the 
 
 her hand, in the middle of dinner, and held it close to his eye, 
 wondering at the delicacy and whiteness, till, with a smile, she 
 asked, " Will he give it to me arfain, when he has done with it?" 
 The exteriors of politeness did not belong to Johnson. Even 
 that civility, which proceeds, or ought to proceed, from the mind, 
 was sometimes violated. His morbid melancholy had an effect 
 on his temper ; his passions were irritable ; and the pride of 
 science, as well as of a fierce independent spirit, inflamed him, 
 on some occasions, above all bounds of moderation. Though not 
 in the shade of academic bowers, he led a scholastic life ; and 
 the habit of pronouncing decisions to his friends and visitors, 
 gave him a dictatorial manner, which was much enforced by a 
 voice naturally loud, and often overstretched. Metaphysical 
 discussion, moral theory, systems of religion, and anecdotes of 
 literature, were his favourite topics. General history had little 
 of his regard. Biography was his delight. The proper study of 
 mankind is man. Sooner than hear of the Punic war, he would 
 be rude to the person that introduced the subject. 
 
 Johnson was born a logician; one of those, to whom only 
 books of logic are said to be of use. In consequence of his skill 
 in that art, he loved argumentation. No man thought more 
 profoundly, nor with such acute discernment. A fallacy could 
 not stand before him ; it was sure to be refuted by strength of 
 reasoning, and a precision, both in idea and expression, almost 
 unequalled. When he chose, by apt illustration, to place the 
 argument of his adversary in a ludicrous light, one was almost 
 inclined to think ridicule the test of truth. He was surprised to 
 be told, but it is certainly true, that, with great powers of mind, 
 wit and humour were his shining talents. That he often argued 
 for the sake of triumph over his adversary, cannot be dissembled. 
 Dr. Rose, of Chiswick, has been heard to tell of a friend of his, 
 who thanked him for introducing him to Dr. Johnson, as he had 
 been convinced, in the course of a long dispute, that an opinion, 
 which he had embraced as a settled truth, was no better than a 
 vulgar error. This being reported to Johnson, " Nay," said he, 
 " do not let him be thankful, for he was right, and I was wrong," 
 Like his uncle Andrew, in the ring at Smithfield, Johnson, in a 
 circle of disputants, was determined neither to be thrown nor 
 conquered. Notwithstanding all his piety, self-government or 
 the command of his passions in conversation, does not seem to 
 have been among his attainments. Whenever he thought the 
 
LIFE AND OENIUS OP SAMUEL JOHNSON. 425 
 
 contention was for superiority, he has been known to break out 
 with violence, and even ferocity. When the fray was over, he 
 generally softened into repentance, and, by conciliating measures, 
 took care that no animosity should be left rankling in the breast 
 of his antagonist. Of this defect he seems to have been con- 
 scious. In a letter to Mrs. Thrale, he says, " Poor Baretti ! do 
 not quarrel with him ; to neglect him a little will be sufficient. 
 He means only to be frank, and manly and independent, and, 
 perhaps, as you say, a little wise. To be frank, he thinks, is to 
 be cynical ; and to be independent, is to be rude. Forgive him, 
 dearest lady, the rather, because of his misbehaviour, I am afraid, 
 he learned part of me. I hope to set him, hereafter, a better 
 example." For his own intolerant and over-bearing spirit he 
 apologized, by observing, that it had done some good ; obscenity 
 and impiety were repressed in his company. 
 
 It was late in life, before he had the habit of mixing, other- 
 wise than occasionally, with polite company. At Mr. Thrale's 
 he saw a constant succession of well-accomplished visitors. In 
 that society he began to wear off the rugged points of his 
 own character. He saw the advantages of mutual civility, 
 and endeavoured to profit by the models before him. He aimed 
 at what has been called, by Swift, the " lesser morals," and by 
 Cicero, " minores virtutes." His endeavour, though new and 
 late, gave pleasure to all his acquaintance. Men were glad to 
 see that he was willing to be communicative on equal terms and 
 reciprocal complacence. The time was then expected, when he 
 was to cease being what George Garrick, brother to the cele- 
 brated actor, called him, the first time he heard him converse, 
 " a tremendous companion." He certainly wished to be polite, 
 and even thought himself so ; but his civility still retained some- 
 thing uncouth and harsh. His manners took a milder tone, but 
 the endeavour was too palpably seen. He laboured even in 
 trifles. He was a giant gaining a purchase to lift a feather. 
 
 It is observed, by the younger Pliny, that " in the confines ot 
 virtue and great qualities, there are, generally, vices of an oppo- 
 site nature." In Dr. Johnson not one ingredient can take the 
 name of vice. From his attainments in literature, grew the 
 pride of knowledge ; and from his powers of reasoning, the love 
 of disputation and the vain glory of superior vigour. His piety, 
 in some instances, bordered on superstition. He was willing to 
 believe in preternatural agency, and thought it not more strange 
 
426 murphy's essay on the 
 
 that there should be evil spirits than evil men. Even the 
 question about second sight held him in suspense. " Second 
 sight," Mr. Pennant tells us, " is a power of seeing images im- 
 pressed on the organs of sight, by the power of fancy ; or on the 
 fancy, by the disoi-dered spirits operating on the mind. It is 
 the faculty of seeing spectres or visions, which represent an 
 event actually passing at a distance, or likely to happen at a 
 future day. In 1771, a gentleman, the last who was supposed to 
 be possessed of this faculty, had a boat at sea, in a tempestuous 
 night, and being anxious for his freight, suddenly started up, 
 and said his men would be drowned, for he had seen them pass 
 before him with wet garments and dropping locks. The event 
 corresponded with his disordered fancy. And thus," continues 
 Mr. Pennant, " a distempered imagination, clouded with anxiety, 
 may make an impression on the spirits ; as persons, restless, and 
 troubled with indignation,* see various forms and figures, while 
 they lie awake in bed." This is what Dr. Johnson was not 
 willing to reject. He wished for some positive proof of commu- 
 nications with another world. His benevolence embraced the 
 whole race of man, and yet was tinctured with particular preju- 
 dices. He was pleased with the minister in the isle of Skie, and 
 loved him so much, that he began to wish him not a presby- 
 terian. To that body of dissenters his zeal for the established 
 church, made him, in some degree, an adversary ; and his attach- 
 ment to a mixed and limited monarchy, led him to declare open 
 war against what he called a sullen republican. He would rather 
 praise a man of Oxford than of Cambridge. He disliked a whig 
 and loved a tory. These were the shades of his character, which 
 it has been the business of certain party-writers to represent in 
 the darkest colours. 
 
 Since virtue, or moral goodness, consists in a just conformity 
 of our actions to the relations in which we stand to the supreme 
 being and to our fellow-creatures, where shall we find a man 
 who has been, or endeavoured to be, more diligent in the dis- 
 charge of those essential duties ? His first prayer was composed 
 in 1738 ; he continued those fervent ejaculations of piety to the 
 end of his life. In his Meditations we see him scrutinizing him- 
 self with severity, and aiming at perfection unattainable by man. 
 His duty to his neighbour consisted in universal benevolence, 
 and a constant aim at the production of happiness. Who was 
 * So printed by Murphy. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 427 
 
 more sincere and steady in his friendships ? It has been said, 
 that there was no real affection between him and Garrick. On 
 the part of the latter, there might be some corrosions of jealousy. 
 The character of Prospero, in the Rambler, No. 200, was, beyond 
 all question, occasioned by Garrick's ostentatious display of fur- 
 niture and Dresden china. It was surely fair to take, from this 
 incident, a hint for a moral essay; and, though no more was 
 intended, Garrick, we are told, remembered it with uneasiness. 
 He was also hurt, that his Lichfield friend did not think so highly 
 of his dramatic art, as the rest t)f the world. The fact was, 
 Johnson could not see the passions, as they rose, and chased one 
 another in the varied features of that expressive face ; and by 
 his own manner of reciting verses, which was wonderfully im- 
 pressive, he plainly showed, that he thought, there was too much 
 of artificial tone and measured cadence, in the declamation of the 
 theatre. The present writer well remembers being in conver- 
 sation with Dr. Johnson near the side of the scenes, during the 
 tragedy of King Lear: when Garrick came off the stage, he said, 
 " You two talk so loud, you destroy all my feelings." " Prithee,' 
 replied Johnson, " do not talk of feelings. Punch has no feelings.'* 
 This seems to have been his settled opinion ; admirable as 
 Garrick's imitation of nature always was, Johnson thought it no 
 better than mere mimicry. Yet, it is certain that he esteemed 
 and loved Garrick ; that he dwelt with pleasure on his praise ; 
 and used to declare that he deserved his great success, because, 
 on all applications for charity, he gave more than was asked. 
 After Garrick's death, he never talked of him without a tear in 
 his eye. He offered, if Mrs. Garrick would desire it of him, to 
 be the editor of his works, and the historian of his life. It has 
 been mentioned, that, on his death-bed, he thought of writing a 
 Latin inscription to the memory of his friend. Numbers are 
 still living who know these facts, and still remember, with grati- 
 tude, the friendship which he showed to them, with unaltered 
 affection, for a number of years. His humanity and generosity 
 in proportion to his slender income, were unbounded. It has 
 been truly said, that the lame, the blind, and the sorrowful, 
 found in his house, a sure retreat. A strict adherence to truth 
 he considered as a sacred obligation, insomuch that, in relating 
 the most minute anecdote, he would not allow himself the smallest 
 addition to embellish his story. The late Mr. Tyers, who knew 
 Dr. Johnson intimately, observed, " that he always talked, as if 
 
428 murphy's essay on the 
 
 he was talking upon oath." After a long acquaintance with this 
 excellent man, and an attentive retrospect to his whole conduct, 
 such is the light in which he appea'-s to the writer of this essay. 
 The following lines of Horace, may be deemed his picture in 
 miniature : 
 
 ' ' Iracundior est paulo ? minus aptus acutis ■_ 
 
 Naribus horum hominum? rideri possit, eo quod 
 Rusticius tonso toga defluit, et male laxus 
 In pede caleeus hseret ? At est bonus, ut melior vir 
 Non alius quisquam : at tibi amicus : at ingenium ingens 
 Inculto latet hoc sub corpore." 
 
 " Your friend is passionate, perhaps unfit 
 For the brisk petulance of modern wit. 
 His hair ill-cut, his robe, that awkward flows, 
 Or his large shoes, to raillery expose 
 The man you love ; yet is he not possess'd 
 Of virtues, with which very few are blest ? 
 While underneath this rude, uncouth disguise, 
 A genius of extensive knowledge lies." 
 
 Francis's Hor., book i. 
 
 It remains to give a review of Johnson's works ; and this, 
 imagined, will not be unwelcome to the reader. 
 
 Like Milton and Addison, he seems to have been fond of his" 
 Latin poetry. Those compositions show that he was an early 
 scholar ; but his verses have not the graceful ease that gave so 
 much suavity to the poems of Addison. The translation of the 
 Messiah labours under two disadvantages : it is first to be com- 
 pared with Pope's inimitable performance, and afterwards with 
 the Pollio of Virgil. It may appear trifling to remark, that he 
 has made the letter o, in the word virgo long and short in the 
 same line : " Virgo, virgo parit." But the translation has great 
 merit, and some admirable lines. In the odes there is a sweet 
 flexibility, particularly — to his worthy friend Dr. Lawrence ; on 
 himself at the theatre, March 8, 1771 ; the ode in the isle of 
 Skie ; and that to Mrs. Thrale from the same place. 
 
 His English poetry is such as leaves room to think, if he had 
 devoted himself to the muses, that he would have been the rival 
 of Pope. His first production, in this kind, was London, a poem 
 in imitation of the third satire of Juvenal. The vices of the 
 metropolis are placed in the room of ancient manners. The 
 author had heated his mind with the ardour of Juvenal, and, 
 having the skill to polish his numbers, he became a sharp accuser 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 429 
 
 of the times. The Vanity of Human Wishes, is an imitation of 
 the tenth satire of the same author. Though it is translated by 
 Dry den, Johnson's imitation approaches nearest to the spirit of 
 the original. The subject is taken from the Alcibiades of Plato, 
 and has an intermixture of the sentiments of Socrates, concerning 
 the object of prayers offered to the deity. The general propo- 
 sition is, that good and evil are so little understood by mankind 
 that their wishes, when granted, are always destructive. This 
 is exemplified in a variety of instances, such as riches, state- 
 preferment, eloquence, military glory, long life, and the advan- 
 tages of form and beauty. Juvenal's conclusion is worthy of a 
 Christian poet, and such a pen as Johnson's. " Let us," he says, 
 " leave it to the gods to judge what is fittest for us. Man is 
 dearer to his creator than to himself. If we must pray for 
 special favour, let it be for a sound mind in a sound body. Let 
 us pray for fortitude, that we may think the labours of Hercules, 
 and all his sufferings, preferable, to a life of luxury and the soft 
 repose of Sardanapalus. This is a blessing within the reach of 
 every man ; this we can give ourselves. It is virtue, and virtue 
 only, that can make us happy." In the translation, the zeal of 
 the Christian conspired with the warmth and energy of the poet; 
 but Juvenal is not eclipsed. For the various characters in the 
 original the reader is pleased, in the English poem, to meet with 
 cardinal Wolsey, Buckingham stabbed by Felton, lord Strafford, 
 Clarendon, Charles the twelfth of Sweden ; and for Tully and 
 Demosthenes, Lydiat, Galileo, and archbishop Laud. It is owing 
 to Johnson's delight in biography, that the name of Lydiat is 
 called forth from obscurity. It may, therefore, not be useless 
 to tell, that Lydiat was a learned divine and mathematician in 
 the beginning of the last century. He attacked the doctrine of 
 Aristotle and Scaliger, and wrote a number of sermons on the 
 harmony of the evangelists. With all his merit, he lay in the 
 prison of Bocardo, at Oxford, till Bishop Usher, Laud, and others, 
 paid his debts. He petitioned Charles the First to be sent to 
 Ethiopia, to procure manuscripts. Having spoken in favour of 
 monarchy and bishops, he was plundered by the puritans, and 
 twice carried away, a prisoner from his rectory. He died very 
 poor, in 1646. 
 
 The tragedy of Irene is founded on a passage in KnoUes's 
 History of the Turks ; an author highly commended in the 
 Rambler, No. 122. An incident in the life of Mahomet the 
 
430 murphy's essay on the 
 
 1 
 
 ^reat, first emperor of the Turks, is the hinge on which the 
 fable is made to move. The substance of the story is shortly 
 this: In 1453, Mahomet laid siege to Constantinople, and having 
 reduced the place, became enamoured of a fair Greek, whose 
 name was Irene. The sultan invited her to embrace the law of 
 the prophet, and to grace his throne. Enraged at this intended 
 marriage, the janizaries formed a conspiracy to dethrone the 
 emperor. To avert the impending danger, Mahomet, in a full 
 assembly of the grandees, " catching with one hand," as Knolles 
 relates, " the fair Greek by the hair of her head, and drawing 
 his falchion with the other, he, at one blow, struck off her head, 
 to the great terror of them all ; and, having so done, said unto 
 them : " Now by this, judge whether your emperor is able to 
 Ijridle his affections or not.' " The story is simple, and it re- 
 mained for the author to amplify it, with proper episodes, and 
 give it complication and variety. The catastrophe is changed, 
 and horror gives place to terror and pity. But, after all, the 
 fable is cold and languid. There is not, throughout the piece, a 
 •single situation to excite curiosity, and raise a conflict of passions. 
 The diction is nervous, rich, and elegant ; but splendid language, 
 and melodious numbers, will make a fine poem — not a tragedy. 
 The sentiments are beautiful, always happily expressed, but 
 seldom appropriated to the character, and generally too philo- 
 sophic. What Johnson has said of the tragedy of Cato, may be 
 applied to Irene : " It is rather a poem in dialogue than a drama; 
 rather a succession of just sentiments, in elegant language, than 
 a representation of natural affections. Nothing excites or 
 assuages emotion. The events are expected without solicitude, 
 -and are remembered without joy or sorrow. Of the agents we 
 have no care ; we consider not what they are doing, nor what 
 they are suffering ; we wish only to know, what they have to say. 
 It is unaffecting elegance, and chill philosophy." The following 
 speech, in the mouth of a Turk, who is supposed to have heard 
 of the British constitution, has been often selected from the 
 numberless beauties with which Irene abounds : 
 
 " If there be any land, as fame reports, 
 Where common laws restrain the prince and subject ; 
 A happy land, where circulating power 
 Flows through each member of th' embodied state, 
 Sure, not unconscious of the mighty blessing. 
 Her grateful sons shine bright with ev'ry virtue ; 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSOW. 431 
 
 Untainted with the lust of innovation ; 
 Sure, all unite to hold her league of rule, 
 Unbroken, as the sacred chain of nature, 
 That links the jarring elements in peace." 
 
 These are British sentiments. Above forty years ago, they 
 found an echo in the breast of applauding audiences ; and to 
 this hour they are the voice of the people, in defiance of the 
 metaphysics, and the new lights of certain politicians, who would 
 gladly find their private advantage in the disasters of their 
 country ; a race of men, " quibus nulla ex honesto spes." 
 
 The prologue to Irene is written with elegance, and, in a 
 peculiar style, shows the literary pride and lofty spirit of the 
 author. The epilogue, we are told, in a late publication, was 
 written by Sir William Yonge. This is a new discovery, but by 
 no means probable. When the appendages to a dramatic per- 
 formance are not assigned to a friend, or an unknown hand, or a 
 person of fashion, they are always supposed to be written by 
 the author of the play. It is to be wished, however, that the 
 epilogue, in question, could be transferred to any other writer. 
 It is the worst jeu d' esprit that ever fell from Johnson's pen.^ 
 
 An account of the various pieces contained in this edition, 
 such as miscellaneous tracts, and philological dissertations, would 
 lead beyond the intended limits of this essay. It will suffice to 
 say, that they are the productions of a man, who never wanted 
 decorations of language, and always taught his reader to think- 
 The life of the late king of Prussia, as far as it extends, is a 
 model of the biographical style. The review of the Origin of 
 Evil was, perhaps, written with asperity ; but the angry epitaph 
 which it provoked from Soame Jenyns, was an ill-timed resent- 
 ment, unworthy of the genius of that amiable author. 
 
 The Rambler may be considered, as Johnson's great work. 
 It was the basis of that high reputation, which went on increasing 
 to the end of his days. The circulation of those periodical essays 
 was not, at first, equal to their merit. They had not, like the 
 Spectators, the art of- charming by variety ; and, indeed, how 
 could it be expected ? The wits of queen Anne's reign sent 
 their contributions to the Spectator ; and Johnson stood alone. 
 A stagecoach, says Sir Richard Steele, must go forward on stated 
 
 ^ This epilogue was written by Sir WiHiam Yonge. See vol. i., pp. 
 146, lAl .—Editor. 
 
432 murphy's essay on the 
 
 i 
 
 days, whether there are passengers or not. So it was with tKV 
 Rambler, every Tuesday and Saturday, for two years. In this 
 collection Johnson is the great moral teacher of his countrymen ; 
 his essays form a body of ethics ; the observations on life and 
 manners are acute and instructive ; and the papers, professedly 
 critical, serve to promote the cause of literature. It must, how- 
 ever, be acknowledged that a settled gloom hangs over the 
 author's mind ; and all the essays, except eight or ten, coming 
 from the same fountain-head, no wonder that they have the raci- 
 ness of the soil from which they sprang. Of this uniformity 
 Johnson was sensible. He used to say, that if he had jqined a 
 friend or two, who would have been able to intermix papers of a 
 sprightly turn, the collection would have been more miscellaneous, 
 and, by consequence, more agreeable to the generality of readers. 
 This he used to illustrate by repeating two beautiful stanzas 
 from his own ode to Cave, or Sylvanus Urban : 
 
 " Non ulla musis pagina gratior, 
 Quam quae severis ludicra jungere 
 Novit,fatigatamque nngis 
 Utilibus recreare mentem. 
 
 " Texente nyinphis serta Lycoride, 
 Kosae ruborem sic viola ac(juvat 
 Immista, sic Iris refulget 
 -^thereis variata fucis." 
 
 It is remarkable, that the pomp of diction, which has been 
 objected to Johnson, was first assumed in the Rambler. His 
 Dictionary was going on at the same time, and, in the course of 
 that work, as he grew familiar with technical and scholastic 
 words, he thought that the bulk of his readers were equally 
 learned ; or, at least, would admire the splendour and dignity of 
 the style. And yet it is well known, that he praised, in Cowley, 
 the ease and unaffected structure of the sentences. Cowley may 
 be placed at the head of those who cultivated a clear and natural 
 style. Dryden, Tillotson, and Sir William Temple followed. 
 Addison, Swift, and Pope, with more correctness, carried our 
 language well nigh to perfection. Of Addison, Johnson was 
 used to say, " he is the Raphael of essay writers." How he dif- 
 fered so widely from such elegant models, is a problem not to be 
 solved, unless it be true that he took an early tincture from the 
 writers of the last century, particularly Sir Thomas Browne. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 433 
 
 Hence the peculiarities of his style, new combinations, sentences 
 of an unusual structure, and words derived from the learned 
 languages. His own account of the matter is : " When common 
 words were less pleasing to the ear, or less distinct in their signi- 
 fication, I familiarized the terms of philosophy, by applying them 
 to popular ideas." But he forgot the observation of Dryden : 
 " [f too many foreign words are poured in upon us, it looks, as 
 if they were designed, not to assist the natives, but to conquer 
 them." There is, it must be admitted, a swell of language, 
 often out of all proportion to the sentiment ; but there is, in 
 general, a fulness of mind, and the thought seems to expand with 
 the sound of the words. Determined to discard colloquial bar- 
 barisms and licentious idioms, he forgot the elegant simplicity 
 that distinguishes the writings of Addison. He had, what Locke 
 calls, a round-about view of his subject ; and, though he never 
 was tainted, like many modern wits, with the ambition of shining 
 in paradox, he may be fairly called an original thinker. His 
 reading was extensive. He treasured in his mind whatever was 
 worthy of notice, but he added to it from his own meditation. 
 He collected, " quas reconderet, auctaque promeret." Addison 
 was not so profound a thinker. He was " born to write, converse, 
 and live with ease ;" and he found an early patron in lord Somers. 
 He depended, however, more upon a fine taste than the vigour of 
 his mind. His Latin poetry shows, that he relished, with a just 
 selection, all the refined and delicate beauties of the Roman 
 classics ; and, when he cultivated his native language, no wonder 
 that he formed that graceful style, which has been so justly ad- 
 mired ; simple, yet elegant ; adorned, yet never over- wrought ; 
 rich in allusion, yet pure and pex'spicuous ; correct, without 
 labour ; and though, sometimes, deficient in strength, yet always 
 musical. His essays, in general, are on the surface of life ; if 
 ever original, it was in pieces of humour. Sir Roger de 
 Coverly, and the tory fox-hunter, need not to be mentioned. 
 Johnson had a fund of humour, but he did not know it ; nor was 
 he willing to descend to the familiar idiom, and the variety of 
 diction, Avhich that mode of composition required. The letter, 
 in the Rambler, No. 12, from a young girl that wants a place, 
 will illustrate this observation. Addison possessed an unclouded 
 imagination, alive to the first objects of nature and of art. He 
 reaches the sublime without any apparent effort. When he tells 
 us, " If we consider the fixed stars as so many oceans of flame, 
 VI. F P 
 

 434 murphy's essay on the 
 
 that are each of them attended with a different set of planets; 
 if we still discover new firmaments, and new lights, that are sunk 
 further in those unfathomable depths of ether ; we are lost in a 
 labyrinth of suns and worlds, and confounded with the magnifi- 
 cence and immensity of nature ;'' the ease, with which this pas- 
 sage rises to unaffected grandeur, is the secret charm that cap- 
 tivates the reader. Johnson is always lofty ; he seems, to use 
 Dryden's phrase, to be " o'er-inform'd with meaning," and his 
 words do not appear to himself adequate to his conception. He 
 moves in state, and his periods are always harmonious. His 
 Oriental Tales are in the true style of eastern magnificence, and 
 yet none of them are so much admired, as the Visions ' of Mirza. 
 In matters of criticism, Johnson is never the echo of preceding 
 writers. He thinks, and decides, for himself. If we except the 
 essays on the Pleasures of Imagination, Addison cannot be called a 
 philosophical critic. His moral essays are beautiful ; but in tha 
 province nothing can exceed the Rambler, though Johson us 
 to say, that the essay on " the burthens of mankind," (in tb 
 Spectator, No. 558,) was the most exquisite he had ever read. 
 Talking of himself, Johnson said, " Topham Beauclerk has Avit, 
 and every thing comes from him with ease ; but when I say a 
 good thing, I seem to labour." When we compare him with 
 Addison, the contrast is still stronger : Addison lends grace and 
 ornament to truth ; Johnson gives it force and energy. Addi- 
 son makes virtue amiable ; Johnson represents it as an awful 
 duty : Addison insinuates himself with an air of modesty ; John- 
 son commands like a dictator ; but a dictator in his splendid robes, 
 not labouring at the plough : Addison is the Jupiter of Yirgil, 
 with placid serenity talking to Venus, 
 
 '* Vultu, quo cojlum tempestatesque serenat." 
 
 Johnson is Jupiter Tonans : he darts his lightning and rolls his 
 thunder, in the cause of virtue and piety. The language seems 
 to fall short of his ideas ; he pours along, familiarizing the terms 
 of philosophy, with bold inversions and sonorous periods ; but 
 we may apply to him, what Pope has said of Homer : " It is the 
 sentiment that swells and fills out the diction, which rises with 
 it, and forms itself about it : like glass in the furnace, which 
 grows to a greater magnitude, as the breath within is more 
 powerful, and the heat more intense." 
 
 [ ' The Vision of Mu'za is No. 159 of the Spectator.] 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 435 
 
 It is not the design of this comparison to decide between 
 these two eminent writers. In matters of taste every reader 
 will choose for himself. Johnson is always profound, and, of 
 course, gives the fatigue of thinking. Addison charms, while 
 he instructs ; and writing, as he always does, a pure, an elegant, 
 and idiomatic style, he may be pronounced the safest model for 
 imitation. 
 
 The essays written by Johnson in the Adventurer, may be 
 called a continuation of the Rambler. The Idler, in order to 
 be consistent with the assumed character, is written with abated 
 vigour, in a style of ease and unlaboured elegance. It is the 
 Odyssey, after the Iliad. Intense thinking would not become 
 the Idler. The first number presents a well-drawn portrait of 
 an Idler, and from that character no deviation could be made. 
 Accordingly, Johnson forgets his austere manner, and plays us 
 into sense. He still continues his lectures on human life, but he 
 adverts to common occurrences, and is often content with the 
 topic of the day. An advertisement in the beginning of the first 
 volume informs us, that twelve entire essays were a contribution 
 from different hands. One of these. No. 33, is the journal of a 
 senior fellow, at Cambridge, but, as Johnson, being himself an 
 original thinker, always revolted from servile imitation, he has 
 printed the piece with an apology, importing that the journal of 
 a citizen, in the Spectator, almost precluded the attempt of any 
 subsequent writer. This account of the Idler may be closed, 
 after observing, that the author's mother being buried on the 
 '23rd of January, 1759, there is an admirable paper occasioned 
 by that event, on Saturday, the 27th of the same month, No. 41 . 
 The reader, if he pleases, may compare it with another fine 
 paper in the Rambler, No. 54, on the conviction that rushes on 
 the mind at the bed of a dying friend. 
 
 " Rasselas," says Sir John Hawkins, " is a specimen of our lan- 
 guage scarcely to be paralleled ; it is written in a style refined to 
 a degree of immaculate purity, and displays the whole force of 
 turgid eloquence." One cannot but smile at this encomium. Ras- 
 selas, is, undoubtedly, both elegant and sublime. It is a view of 
 human life, displayed, it must be owned, in gloomy colours. The 
 author s natural melancholy, depressed, at the time, by the ap- 
 proaching dissolution of his mother, darkened t,he picture. A 
 tale, that should keep curiosity awake by the art,fice of unexpec- 
 ted incidents, was not the design of a mind pregnant with better 
 
436 murphy's essay on the 
 
 things. lie, who reads the heads of the chapters, will find, that 
 it is not a course of adventures that invites him forward, but a 
 discussion of interesting questions ; reflections on human life ; 
 the history of Imlac, the man of learning ; a dissertation upon 
 poetry ; the character of a wise and happy man, who discourses, 
 with energy, on the government of the passions, and, on a sudden, 
 when death deprives him of his daughter, forgets all his maxims 
 of wisdom, and the eloquence that adorned them, yielding to the 
 stroke of affliction, with all the vehemence of the bitterest anguish. 
 It is by pictures of life, and profound moral reflection, that ex- 
 pectation is engaged, and gratified throughout the work. The 
 history of the mad astronomer, who imagines that, for five years, 
 he possessed the regulation of the weather, and that the sun 
 passed, from tvcpic to tropic, by his direction, represents, in strik- 
 ing colours, the sad effects of a distempered imagination. It be- 
 comes the more affecting when we recollect, that it proceeds from 
 one who lived in fear of the same dreadful visitation ; from one 
 who says emphatically; "Of the uncertainties in our present 
 state, the most dreadful and alarming is the uncertain continuance 
 of reason." The inquiry into the cause of madness, and the 
 dangerous prevalence of imagination, till, in time, some particular 
 train of ideas fixes the attention, and the mind recurs constantly 
 to the favourite conception, is carried on in a strain of acute ob- 
 servation ; but it leaves us room to think, that the author was 
 transcribing from his own apprehensions. The discourse on the 
 nature of the soul, gives us all that philosophy knows, not with- 
 out a tincture of superstition. It is remarkable, that the vanity 
 of human pursuits was, about the same time, the subject that em- 
 ployed both Johnson and Voltaire ; but Candide is the work of a 
 lively imagination ; and Rasselas, with all its splendour of elo- 
 quence, exhibits a gloomy picture. It should, however, be re- 
 membered, that the world has known the weeping, as well as the 
 laughing philosopher. 
 
 The Dictionary does not properly fall within the province of 
 this essay. The preface, however, will be found in this edition.^ 
 He who reads the close of it, without acknowledging the force of 
 the pathetic and sublime, must have more insensibility in his com- 
 position, than usually falls to the share of a man. The work it- 
 self, though, in some instances, abuse has been loud, and in others, 
 
 ^ This essay was prefixed by Murphy to his edition of Johnson's 
 works, London, 1792. — Editor. 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 437 
 
 malice has endeavoured to undermine its fame, still remains the 
 Mount Atlas of English literature. 
 
 " Though storms and tempests thunder on its brow, 
 And oceans break their billows at its feet, 
 It stands umnov'd, and glories in its height." 
 
 That Johnson was eminently qualified for the office of a com- 
 mentator on Shakespeare, no man can doubt ; but it was an office 
 which he never cordially embraced. The public expected more 
 than he had diligence to perform ; and yet his edition has been 
 the ground, on which every subsequent commentator has chosen 
 to build. One note, for its singularity, may be thought worthy 
 of notice in this place. Hamlet says, " For if the sun breed mag- 
 gots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion." In this War- 
 burton discovered the origin of evil. Hamlet, he says, breaks off 
 in the middle of the sentence ; but the learned commentator knows 
 what he was going to say, and, being unwilling to keep the secret, 
 he goes on in a train of philosophical reasoning, that leaves the 
 reader in astonishment. Johnson, with true piety, adopts the 
 fanciful hypothesis, declarmg it to be a noble emendation, which 
 almost sets the critic on a level with the author. The general 
 observations at the end of the several plays, and the preface, will 
 be found in this edition. The former, with great elegance and 
 precision, give a summary ^dew of each drama. The preface is 
 a tract of great erudition and philosophical criticism. 
 
 Johnson s political pamphlets, whatever was his motive for writ- 
 ing them, whether gratitude for his pension, or the solicitation of 
 men in power, did not support the cause for which they were 
 undertaken. They are written in a style truly harmonious, and 
 with his usual dignity of language. When it is said that he ad- 
 vanced positions repugnant to the " common rights of mankind," 
 the virulence of party may be suspected. It is, perhaps, true, 
 that in the clamour, raised throughout the kingdom, Johnson 
 overheated his mind ; but he was a friend to the rights of man, 
 and he was greatly superior to the littleness of spirit, that might 
 incline him to advance what he did not think and firmly believe. 
 In the False Alarm, though many of the most eminent men in the 
 kingdom concurred in petitions to the throne, yet Johnson, having 
 well surveyed the mass of the people, has given, with great humour, 
 and no less truth, what may be called, " the birth, parentage, and 
 education of a remonstrance." On the subject of Falkland's 
 
438 murphy's essay on the 
 
 islands, the fine dissuasive from too hastily involving the world in 
 the calamities of war, must extort applause even from the party 
 that wished, at that time, for scenes of tumult and commotion. It 
 was in the same pamphlet, that Johnson offered battle to Junius, 
 a writer, who, by the uncommon elegance of his style, charmed 
 every reader, though his object was to inflame the nation in favour 
 of a faction. Junius fought in the dark ; he saw his enemy, and 
 had his full blow ; while he himself remained safe in obscurity. 
 " But let us not," said Johnson, " mistake the venom of the shaft, 
 for the vigour of the bow." The keen invective which he pub- 
 lished, on that occasion, promised a paper war between two com- 
 batants, who knew the use of their weapons. A battle between 
 them was as eagerly expected, as between Mendoza and Big Ben. 
 But Junius, whatever was his reason, never returned to the field. 
 He laid down his arms, and has, ever since, remained as secret as 
 the man in the mask, in Voltaire's history. 
 
 The account of his journey to the Hebrides, or western isles ot 
 Scotland, is a model for such as shall, hereafter, relate their travels. 
 The author did not visit that part of the world in the character of 
 an antiquary, to amuse us with wonders taken from the dark and 
 fabulous ages ; nor, as a mathematician, to measure a degree, and 
 settle the longitude and latitude of the several islands. Those, 
 who expected such information, expected what was never intended. 
 "In every work regard ftie writer's end." Johnson went to see 
 men and manners, modes of life, and the progress of civilization. 
 His remarks are so artfully blended with the rapidity and elegance 
 of his narrative, that the reader is inclined to wish, as Johnson did,, 
 with regard to Gray, that " to travel, and to tell his travels, had 
 been more of his employment." 
 
 As to Johnson's Parliamentary Debates, nothing, with propriety, 
 can be said in this place. They are collected in two volumes, by 
 Mr. Stockdale, and the flow of eloquence which runs through the 
 several speeches, is sufliciently known. 
 
 It will not be useless to mention two more volumes, which may 
 form a proper supplement to this edition. They contain a set of 
 sermons, left for publication by John Taylor, LL.D. The reve- 
 rend Mr. Hayes, who ushered these discourses into the world, ha» 
 not given them, as the composition of Dr. Taylor. All he could 
 say for his departed friend was, that he left them, in silence, among 
 his papers. Mr. Hayes knew them to be the production of a 
 fcuperior mind ; and the writer of these memoirs owes it to the 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 439 
 
 candour of that elegant scholar, that he is now warranted to give 
 an additional proof of Johnson's arduor in the cause of piety, and 
 every moral duty. Tiie last discourse in the collection was inten- 
 ded to be delivered by Dr. Taylor, at the funeral of Johnson's 
 wife ; but that reverend gentleman declined the office, because, 
 as he told Mr. Hayes, the praise of the deceased was too muc*h 
 amplified. He, who reads the piece, will find it a beautiful moral 
 lesson, written with temper, and nowhere overcharged with am- 
 bitious ornaments. The rest of the discourses were the fund, 
 which Dr. Taylor, from time to time, carried with him to his 
 pulpit. He had the largest hull in England, and some of the best 
 sermons. 
 
 We come now to the Lives of the Poets, a work undertaken at 
 the age of seventy, yet, the most brilliant, and, certainly, the most 
 popular, of all our author's Avritings. For this performance he 
 needed little preparation. Attentive always to the history of 
 letters, and, by his own natural bias, fond of biography, he was 
 the more willing to embrace the proposition of the booksellers. 
 He was versed in the whole body of English poetry, and his rules 
 of criticism were settled with precision. The dissertation, in the 
 life of Cowley, on the metaphysical poets of the last century, has 
 the attraction of novelty, as well as sound observation. The 
 writers, who followed Dr. Donne, went in quest of something 
 better than truth and nature. As Sancho says, in Don Quixote, 
 they wanted better bread than is made with wheat. They took 
 pains to bewilder themselves, and were ingenious for no other 
 purpose than to err. In Johnson's review of Cowley's works, 
 false wit is detected in all its shapes, and the Gothic taste for 
 glittering conceits, and far-fetched allusions, is exploded, never, 
 it is hoped, to revive again. 
 
 An author who has published his observations on the Life and 
 Writings of Dr. Johnson, speaking of the Lives of the Poets, 
 says, " These compositions, abounding in strong and acute 
 remark, and with many fine, and even sublime, passages, have, 
 unquestionably, great merit ; but, if they be regarded, merely as 
 containing narrations of the lives, delineations of the characters, 
 and strictures of the several authors, they are far from being 
 always to be depended on." He adds : " The characters are 
 sometimes partial, and there is, sometimes, too much malignity 
 of misrepresentation, to which, perhaps, may be joined no incon- 
 siderable portion of erroneous criticism." The several clauses 
 
440 murphy's essay on the 
 
 of tliis censure deserve to be answered, as fullj as tlie limits of 
 this essay will permit. 
 
 In the first place, the facts are related upon the best intelli- 
 gence, and the best vouchers that could be gleaned, after a great 
 lapse of time. Probability was to be inferred from such materials, 
 a^ could be procured, and no man better understood the nature 
 of historical evidence than Dr. Johnson ; no man was more 
 religiously an observer of truth. If his history is anywhere 
 defective, it must be imputed to the want of better information, 
 and the errors of uncertain tradition. 
 
 " Ad nos vix tenuis famse perlabitur aura." wMi 
 
 If the strictures on the works of the various authors are not 
 always satisfactory, and if erroneous criticism may sometimes 
 be suspected, who can hope, that in matters of taste, all shall 
 agree ? 
 
 The instances, in which the public mind has differed, from the 
 positions advanced by the author, are few in number. It has 
 been said, that justice has not been done to Swift ; that Gay and 
 Prior are undervalued ; and that Gray has been harshly treated. 
 This charge, perhaps, ought not to be disputed. Johnson, it is 
 well known, had conceived a prejudice against Swift. His friends 
 trembled for him, when he was writing that life, but were pleased, 
 at last, to see it executed with temper and moderation. As to 
 Prior, it is probable that he gave his real opinion, but an opinion 
 that will not be adopted by men of lively fancy. With regard 
 to Gray, when he condemns the apostrophe, in which father 
 Thames is desired to tell who drives the hoop, or tosses the 
 ball, and then adds, that father Thames had no better means of 
 knowing than himself ; when he compares the abrupt beginning 
 of the first stanza of the Bard, to the ballad of Johnny Armstrong, 
 " Is there ever a man in all Scotland ; " there are, perhaps, few 
 friends of Johnson, who would not wish to blot out both the«| 
 passages. H 
 
 It may be questioned, whether the remarks on Pope's Essay 
 on Man can be received, without great caution. It has been 
 already mentioned, that Crousaz, a professor in Switzerland, 
 eminent for his Treatise on Logic, started up a professed enemy 
 to that poem. Johnson says, " his mind was one of those, in 
 which philosophy and piety are happily united. He looked, with 
 distrust, upon all metaphysical systems of theology, and was 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 441 
 
 persuaded, tbat tlie positions of Pope were intended to draw 
 mankind away from revelation, and to represent the whole course 
 of things, as a necessary concatenation of indissoluble fatality." 
 This is not the place for a controversy about the Leibnitzian 
 system. Warburton, with all the powers of his large and com- 
 prehensive mind, published a vindication of Pope ; and yet 
 Johnson says, that, "in many passages, a religious eye may 
 easily discover expressions not very favourable to morals, or to 
 liberty." This sentence is severe, and, perhaps, dogmatical. 
 Crousaz wrote an Examen of the Essay on Man, and, afterwards, 
 a commentary on every remarkable passage ; and, though it now 
 appears, that Mrs. Ehzabeth Carter translated the foreign critic, 
 yet it is certain, that Johnson encoui-aged the work, and, perhaps, 
 imbibed those early prejudices, which adhered to him to the end 
 of his life. He shuddered at the idea of irreligion. Hence, we 
 are told, in the life of Pope, " Never were penury of knowledge, 
 and vulgarity of sentiment, so happily disguised ; Pope, in the 
 chair of wisdom, tells much that every man knows, and much 
 that he did not know himself; and gives us comfort in the 
 position, that though man's a fool, yet God is wise ; that human 
 advantages are unstable ; that our true honour is, not to have a 
 great part, but to act it well ; that virtue only is our own, and 
 that happiness is always in our power. The reader, when he 
 meets all this in its new array, no longer knows the talk of his 
 mother and his nurse." But, may it not be said, that every 
 system of ethics must, or ought, to terminate, in plain and general 
 maxims for the use of life ? and, though in such axioms no dis- 
 covery is made, does not the beauty of the moral theory consist 
 in the premises, and the chain of reasoning that leads to the con- 
 clusion ? May not truth, as Johnson himself says, be conveyed 
 to the mind by a new train of intermediate images? Pope's 
 doctrine, about the ruling passion, does not seem to be refuted 
 though it is called, in harsh terms, pernicious, as well as false, 
 tending to establish a kind of moral predestination, or over- 
 ruling principle, which cannot be resisted. But Johnson was too 
 easily alarmed in the cause of religion. Organized as the human 
 race is, individuals have different inlets of perception, different 
 powers of mind, and different sensations of pleasure and pain. 
 
 " All spread their charms, but charm not all alike, 
 On different senses different objects strike : 
 
442 murphy's essay on the 
 
 Hence different passions more or less inflame 
 As strong or weak the organs of the frame. 
 And hence one master-passion in the breast, 
 Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest." 
 
 Briimoy says, Pascal, from his infancy, felt himself a geometrician ; 
 and Vandyke, in like manner, was a painter. Shakespeare, who, 
 of all poets, had the deepest insight into human nature, was aware 
 of a prevailing bias in the operations of every mind. By him Ave 
 are told, " Masterless passion sways us to the mood of what it 
 likes or loathes." 
 
 It remains to inquire, whether, in the lives before us, the 
 characters are partial, and too often drawn with malignity of 
 misrepresentation? To prove this, it is alleged, that Johnson 
 has misrepresented the circumstances relative to the translation 
 of the first Iliad, and maliciously ascribed that performance to 
 Addison, instead of Tickell, with too much reliance on the testi- 
 mony of Pope, taken from the account in the papers left by Mr. 
 Spence. For the refutation of the fallacy imputed to Addison, 
 we are referred to a note in the Biographia Britannica, written 
 by the late judge Blackstone, who, it is said, examined the whole 
 matter with accuracy, and found, that the first regular statement 
 of the accusation against Addison, was published by Ruffhead, in 
 his life of Pope, from the materials which he received from Dr. 
 Warburton. But, with all due deference to the learned judge, 
 whose talents deserve all praise, this account is by no means™, 
 accurate. ^KJA 
 
 Sir Richard Steele, in a dedication of the comedy of the^' 
 Drummer, to Mr. Congreve, gave the first insight into that 
 business. He says, in a style of anger and resentment ; " If that 
 gentleman (Mr. Tickell) thinks himself injured, I will allow I 
 have wronged him upon this issue, that, if the reputed translator 
 of the first book of Homer shall please to give us another book, 
 there shall appear another good judge In poetry, besides Mr. 
 Alexander Pope, who shall like it." The authority of Steele 
 outweighs all opinions, founded on vain conjecture, and, indeed, 
 seems to be decisive, since we do not find that Tickell, though 
 warmly pressed, thought proper to vindicate himself. 
 
 But the grand proof of Johnson's malignity, is the manner in 
 which he has treated the character and conduct of Milton. To 
 enforce this charge has wearied sophistry, and exhausted the 
 invention of a party. What they cannot deny, they palliate ; 
 
 I 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 445 
 
 what they cannot prove, they say is probable. But why all this 
 rage against Dr. Johnson? Addison, before him, had said of 
 jMilton : 
 
 " Oh ! had the poet ne'er profan'd his pen, 
 To varnish o'er the guilt of faithless men ! " 
 
 And had not Johnson an equal right to avow his sentiments? 
 Do his enemies claim a privilege to abuse whatever is valuable 
 to Englishmen, either in church or state r and must the liberty 
 of unlicensed printing be denied to the friends of the British 
 constitution ? 
 
 It is unnecessary to pursue the argument through all its- 
 artifices, since, dismantled of ornament and seducing language, 
 the plain truth may be stated in a narrow compass. Johnson 
 knew that Milton was a Republican : he says : " an acrimonious 
 and surly republican, for which it is not known that he gave any 
 better reason, than that a popular government was the most 
 frugal ; for the trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary 
 commonwealth." Johnson knew that Milton talked aloud "of 
 the danger of re-admitting kingship in this nation ; " and when 
 Milton adds, " that a commonwealth was commended, or rather 
 enjoined, by our Saviour himself, to all christians, not without a 
 remarkable disallowance, and the brand of gentilism upon king- 
 ship," Johnson thought him no better than a wild enthusiast. 
 He knew, as well as Milton, " that the happiness of a nation 
 must needs be firmest and certainest in a full and free council of 
 their own electing, where no single person, but reason only, 
 sways ; " but the example of all the republicks, recorded in the 
 annals of mankind, gave him no room to hope, that reason only 
 would be heard. He knew, that the republican form of govern- 
 ment, having little or no complication, and no consonance of parts, 
 by a nice mechanism forming a regular whole, was too simple to 
 be beautiful, even in theory. In practice it, perhaps, never 
 existed. In its most flourishing state, at Athens, Rome, and 
 Carthage, it was a constant scene of tumult and commotion. 
 From the mischiefs of a wild democracy, the progress has ever 
 been to the dominion of an aristocracy ; and the word aristocracy^ 
 fatally includes the boldest and most turbulent citizens, who rise 
 by their crimes and call themselves the best men in the state. 
 By intrigue, by cabal, and faction, a pernicious oligarchy is sure 
 to succeed, and end, at last, in the tyranny of a single ruler. 
 
444 murphy's essay on the 
 
 Tacitus, the great master of' political wisdom, saw, under the 
 mixed authority of king, nobles, and people, a better form of 
 government than Milton's boasted republick ; and what Tacitus 
 admired in theory, but despaired of enjoying, Johnson saw 
 established in this country. He knew that it had been over- 
 turned by the rage of frantic men ; but he knew that, after the 
 iron rod of Cromwell's usurpation, the constitution Avas once 
 more restored to its first principles. Monarchy was established, 
 and this country was regenerated. It was regenerated a second 
 time, at the revolution : the rights of men were then defined, 
 and the blessings of good order, and civil liberty, have been ever 
 «ince diffused through the whole community. 
 
 The peace and happiness of society were what Dr. Johnson 
 had at heart. He knew that Milton called his defence of the 
 regicides, a defence of the people of England ; but, however 
 glossed and varnished, he thought it an apology for murder. 
 Had the men, who, under a show of liberty, brought their king 
 to the scaifold, proved, by their subsequent conduct, that the 
 public good inspired their actions, the end might have given 
 •some sanction to the means ; but usurpation and slavery followed. 
 Milton undertook the office of secretary, under the despotic 
 power of Cromwell, offering the incense of adulation to his 
 master, with the titles of " director of public councils, the leader 
 of unconquered armies, the father of his country." Milton 
 declared, at the same time, " that nothing is more pleasing to 
 God, or more agreeable to reason, than that the highest mind 
 should have the sovereign power." In this strain of servile 
 flattery, Milton gives us the right divine of tyrants. But it 
 seems, in the same piece, he exhorts Cromwell, '' not to desert 
 those great principles of liberty which he had professed to 
 espouse ; for, it would be a grievous enormity, if, after having 
 successfully opposed tyranny, he should himself act the part of a 
 tyrant, and betray the cause that he had defended." This 
 desertion of every honest principle the advocate for liberty lived 
 to see. Cromwell acted the tyrant ; and, with vile hypocrisy, 
 told the people that he had consulted the Lord, and the Lord 
 would have it so. Milton took an under part in the tragedy. 
 Did that become the defender of the people of England? Brutus 
 eaw his country enslaved ; he struck the blow for freedom, and 
 he died with honour in the cause. Had he lived to be a secre- 
 tary under Tiberius, what would now be said of his memory ? 
 
LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 44I)' 
 
 But still, it seems, the prostitution with which Milton i* 
 charged, since it cannot be defended, is to be retorted on the 
 character of Johnson. For this purpose, a book has been pub- 
 lished, called Remarks on Dr. Johnson's Life of Milton ; to which 
 are added, Milton's Tractate of Education, and Areopagitica. In 
 this laboured tract we are told, " There is one performance 
 ascribed to the pen of the Doctor, where the prostitution is of 
 so singular a nature, that it would be difficult to select an ade- 
 quate motive for it, out of the mountainous heap of conjectural 
 causes of human passions, or human caprice. It is the speech of 
 the late unhappy Dr. William Dodd, when he was about to hear 
 the sentence of the law pronounced upon him, in consequence of 
 an indictment for forgery. The voice of the public has given 
 the honour of manufacturing this speech to Dr. Johnson ; and 
 the style, and configuration of the speech itself, confirm the 
 imputation. But it is hardly possible to divine what could be- 
 his motive for accepting the office. A man, to express the- 
 precise state of mind of another, about to be destined to an 
 ignominious death, for a capital crime, should, one would imagine, 
 have some consciousness, that he himself had incurred some guilt 
 of the same kind." In all the schools of sophistry, is there to be 
 found so vile an argument ? In the purlieus of Grub street, is 
 there such another mouthful of dirt? In th^ whole quiver of 
 malice, is there so envenomed a shaft ? 
 
 After this, it is to be hoped, that a certain class of men wiU 
 talk no more of Johnson's malignity. The last apology for 
 Milton is, that he acted according to his principles. But John- 
 son thought those principles detestable ; pernicious to the con- 
 stitution, in church and state, destructive of the peace of society, 
 and hostile to the great fabric of civil policy, which the wisdonii 
 of ages has taught every Briton to revere, to love, and cherish^ 
 lie reckoned Milton in that class of men of whom the Roman' 
 historian says, when they want, by a sudden convulsion, to over- 
 1 urn the government, they roar and clamour for liberty ; if they 
 succeed, they destroy liberty itself: "Ut imperium evertant, 
 libertatem praeferunt ; si perverterint, libertatera ipsani aggre- 
 dientur.'^ Such were the sentiments of Dr. Johnson ; and it may 
 be asked, in the language of Bolingbroke, " Are these sentiments^ 
 which any man, who is born a Briton, in any circumstances, in 
 any situation, ought to be ashamed, or afraid to avow ?" John- 
 son has done ample justice to Milton's poetry : the criticism oa 
 
446 ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND GENIUS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 Paradise Lost is a sublime composition. Had he thought the 
 author as good and pious a citizen as Dr. Watts, he would have 
 'been ready, notwithstanding his nonconformity, to do equal 
 honour to the memory of the man. 
 
 It is now time to close this essay, which the author fears has 
 been drawn too much into length. In the progress of the work, 
 feeble as it may be, he thought himself performing the last 
 bunian office to the memory of a friend, whom he loved, esteemed, 
 .and honoured : 
 
 " His saltern accumulem donis, et fungar inani 
 Munere." 
 
 The author of these memoirs has been anxious to give the 
 features of the man, and the true character of the author. He 
 has not suffered the hand of partiality to colour his excellencies 
 with too much warmth ; nor has he endeavoured to throw his 
 singularities too much into the shade. Dr. Johnson's failings 
 may well be forgiven, for the sake of his virtues. His defects 
 were spots in the sun. His piety, his kind affections, and the 
 ■goodness of his heart, present an example worthy of imitation. 
 His works still remain a monument of genius and of learning. Had 
 he written nothing but what is contained in this edition of his 
 ■works ' the quantity shows a life spent in study and meditation. 
 If to this be added the labour of his Dictionary, and other 
 various productions, it may be fairly allowed, as he used to say 
 of himself, that he has written his share. In the volumes here 
 presented to the public the reader will find a perpetual source of 
 pleasure and instruction. With due precautions, authors may 
 learn to grace their style with elegance, harmony, and precision ; 
 they may be taught to think with vigour and perspicuity ; and, to 
 ■crown the whole, by a diligent attention to these books, aU ma 
 Advance in virtue. 
 
 [ ' See note, p. 436.] 
 
 to 
 
 1 
 
SEVEN LETTERS FEOM BO SWELL TO SIR 
 DAVID DALRYMPLE, LORD HAILES 
 
^ 
 
LETTERS' FROM BO SWELL TO SIR DAVID 
 DALRYMPLE, LORD HAILES. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I suppose you have been upon the circuit for some 
 weeks, which will afford you an apology for withholding a letter 
 from me, rather beyond your usual time. And yet this apology, 
 tho' the most common one in the world, has, in effect, very little 
 in it. For, surely, wherever you are, pen, ink, and paper may 
 be had : and I imagine a man is no more void of ideas in one 
 place than another ; except in the case of London, which really 
 inspires us 'with a rich profusion of ideas. The multiplicity of 
 external effects tends to furnish the mind. 
 
 I am writing this in the Inner Temple, in the chambers of a 
 very intimate friend. He is a sober and a grave man. Indeed, 
 I have a satisfaction to think, that I am most happy in such 
 company, which' is a proof that I am at bottom a sober and grave 
 man myself. 
 
 You must know seriously that I am a good deal uneasy at 
 present. My father is far from being pleased with me. "VVe are 
 really on bad terms, which is a most disagreeable thing. He is 
 bent on my returning to Scotland ; and following the plan that 
 he did. I am unsettled and roving, and would choose to drive 
 about from one thing to another ahnormis sapiens, if it be pos- 
 sible to be so. I have a most independent spirit. I cannot bear 
 control, nor to hang on like a young Laird. I assure you I have 
 
 * See Advertisement, vol. i., p. xv. — Editor. 
 VI. G O 
 
450 LETTERS FROM BOSWELL 
 
 a sincere regard and affection for my father, and am anxious to 
 make him easy. I wish from my soul, Sir David, that you would 
 use your good offices between us. It is not from the fear of 
 being disinherited (which he threatens) that I am anxious. I 
 am thoughtless enough not to mind that. But my affection for 
 him makes me very unhappy at the thoughts of offending him. 
 I beg you may talk with him, and try to make matters easy. It 
 will be a most humane office. Tell him to have patience with 
 me for a year or two, and I may be what he pleases. J|||| 
 
 I ever am, ^1 1 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 James Boswell. 
 London, 21 May, 1763. 
 
 n. 
 
 Dear Sib, mM 
 
 Your last letter gave me much comfort, as it expres^ 
 your approbation of my present schemes, at least in the general, 
 which is going abroad. As to the particular place, I shall not 
 insist on having my own way. Indeed, what you say of a French 
 Academy has altered my views of it. The only thing that I 
 imagined it preferable for, was that I could acquire the French 
 language better in the country itself, than in Holland. How- 
 ever, you seem to think that I may have that advantage at 
 Utrecht. I have received a most affectionate letter from my 
 father, who is much pleased to find me in so prudent a disposi- 
 tion, and has mentioned Utrecht as agreeable to him. You may 
 believe that I have most sincere satisfaction in giving ease and 
 hope to so worthy a man and kind a parent. Without affecta- 
 tion or superstition, I pray God to enable me to be steady in my 
 good resolutions. I shall most certainly comply with his will in 
 every step ; and shall with pleasure go to the city which he 
 approves of. I would gladly have your particular directions how 
 to proceed. I suppose I might set out in a month or six weeks. 
 My father says, the sooner I do so the better. I would not, 
 however, be too precipitant ; but would calmly settle any little 
 affairs in Britain which I may be concerned about, and leave 
 England quietly and soberly. My great object is to attain a 
 proper conduct in life. How sad will it be, if I turn (sic) no 
 better than I am ; I have much vivacity, which leads me to dis- 
 
TO SIB DAVID DALRYMPLE, LORD HAILES. 451 
 
 «ipation and folly. This, I think, I can restrain. But I will be 
 moderate, and not aim at a stiff sageness and buckram correct- 
 ness. I must, however, own to you, that I have at bottom a 
 melancholy cast ; which dissipation relieves by making me 
 thoughtless, and, therefore, an easier, the' a more contemptible 
 animal. I dread a return of this malady. I am always appre- 
 hensive of it. Pray tell me if Utrecht be a place of a dull and 
 severe cast, or if it be a place of decency and chearfull polite- 
 ness ? Tell me, too, if years do not strengthen the mind, and 
 make it less susceptible of being hurt ? and if having a rational 
 object will not keep up my spirits ? I beg to have your direc- 
 tions as to what books and other things I should carry with me ; 
 and in what manner I should live at Utrecht. You know the 
 particulars, as you have been there. My father mentions attend- 
 ing some of the Colleges. Write me your opinion on that head. 
 In short, I have much to ask from you. Much depends on my 
 doing well next winter. My future route (rout) can be settled 
 time enough. I hope my father has never thought of sending a 
 travelling governour (as the phrase is) with me. That is surely a 
 very bad plan for me, and what I could scarcely agree to. Pray 
 keep him from thinking of that. But I suppose I need fear no 
 ■such thing, as he would surely have mentioned it to me. If I 
 do not act properly by myself, I never will when kept in leading 
 strings. I fancy correspondence between Holland and Britain 
 will be easy and frequent. This is a circumstance of some con- 
 sequence. My father says nothing of the allowance which he 
 intends to give me. Please talk to him of that. I should like 
 something fixed, as it learns a young man to live according to his 
 income. I have two hundred pounds a year at present. The 
 particulars of what sort of house I am to live in, and where I 
 shall eat and drink, and all the other minutiae of life, are of some 
 moment. 
 
 How do you like the Ghost f^ Pomposo is Mr. Samuel John- 
 son. He is very roughly handled. Dullman is Sir Samuel 
 Fludyer, late Lord Mayor, and Plausible, Mr. Sellon, Lecturer 
 of St. Andrew's, Holbourn. Churchill's Epistle to Hogarth^ is 
 not come out.^ He told me it was in nuhibus. I said, I hoped 
 
 1 The Ghost, by Churchill, 1162.— Editor. 
 ^ Published 11 ^Z.— Editor. 
 
 ^ The Epistle to Hogarth was published in 1763, apparently therefore 
 after the date of this letter, June 2^.— Editor. 
 
452 LETTERS FROM BOSWELL 
 
 it would not be rapidis ludibria ventis. Foote has been exhibit- 
 ing a farce called the Mayor of Garret. I laughed very heartily 
 at it. It was well castigated by the Lord Chamberlain. But it 
 has still many political jokes of the day. 
 
 I ever am, 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 James Boswell. 
 
 London, 25 June, 1763. 
 
 LL. |B 
 
 ni. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I send you Churchill's Epistle to Hogarth, which, after 
 much solemn announcing, has at last appeared. I think it is 
 replete with that vigour of thought, bitterness of satire, and force 
 of expression, for which the author is in such high repute. 
 Contrary to his usual custom, he has marked some people only 
 with initials, which are 72., the Bishop of Rochester ; C, Cal- 
 craft, the Agent ; F., Mr. Fox, or rather Lord Holland : J)., Sir 
 Francis Dashwood. I must observe how very little matter is 
 contained in a quarto poem at the price of two shillings and 
 sixpence. 
 
 I am now upon a very good footing with Mr. Johnson. Plis 
 conversation is instructive and entertaining. He has a most ex- 
 tensive fund of knowledge, a very clear expression, and much 
 strong humour. I am often with him. Some nights ago we 
 supped (supt) by ourselves at the Mitre Tavern,* and sat over a 
 sober bottle till-^between one and two in the morning. We talked 
 a good deal of you. He gave you for a toast. We drank your 
 health, and he desired me to tell you so. When I am in his 
 company, I am rationally happy. I am attentive, and eager to 
 learn, and I would hope that I may receive advantage from such 
 society. You will smile to think of the association of so enor- 
 mous a genius with one so slender. 
 
 Your old acquaintance, Ogilvie, is in town. He is going to 
 publish an allegorical poem, entitled Providence. I have just 
 looked into it. The plan is new and ingenious ; and you know 
 his imagination is rich, and his numbers melodious. He is also 
 a very good sort of man. 
 
 Doctor Robertson is here. But I imagine he will not be ready 
 for the press for some time. Amidst the many ingenious works 
 
 ' See Life, vol i., p. 3^4:.— Editor. 
 
TO SIR DAVID DALETMPLE, LORD HAILES. 453 
 
 which are published, one must observe that book-making is now 
 at a prodigious height. It is now allmost reduced to the sole 
 trade of selling paper blackened with certain characters, so much 
 dearer than when it is in original whiteness. I sent you some 
 time ago the Satires of Juvenal paraphrastically imitated. Did 
 you receive them ? If you did, how do you like them ? 
 
 I ever am. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 James Bos well. 
 London, 2 July, 1763. 
 
 As to the spelling of my name — it was originally the French 
 Boisville. It was altered in England to Bosville, and in Scotland 
 has been written either Boswell or Boswall. My father, alone, 
 has made an innovation in throwing away an 1, which is, to be 
 sure, a supernumerary, as monosyllables only require a double 
 final letter. But, on account ofthe original orthography and long 
 custom, I think myself best authorised to use two I's. This is a 
 most curious discussion. I long to have another letter from you.^ 
 
 lY. 
 My Dear Sir, 
 
 When I sit down to write to you, I never think of 
 making any apology, either of haste or any other impediment 
 whatever. I consider you as a friend, who will take me just as 
 I am, good, or bad, or indifferent; or (as Sir Francis Dash- 
 wood said of the Cyder Bill) rough as I run. I am glad that 
 the English Juvenal came safe. However, I cannot help think- 
 ing that he now and then shows some fire. But you may answer, 
 that Elkanah Settle^ and Welsted^ have done the same. He must 
 
 ^ The above seems a postcript to the preceding letter ; it is wTitten on 
 a separate leaf of the same size and character as those of the preceding 
 letter, and the handwriting does not vary. — Editor. 
 
 ^ Elkanah Settle; wrote political poems, first for the "Whigs, then for 
 the Tories, apparently for the highest bidder. He had a pension from 
 the City, for an annual panegj'ric on the Lord Mayor, the last of which 
 appeared in 1708. — Editor. 
 
 ^ Leonard Welsted, a great writer of complimentary verses. He also 
 wrote some satirical pieces against Pope, who rewarded him by a verse 
 in the Dunciad : — 
 
 " Flow, Welsted, How ! like thine inspirer beer, 
 Though stale, not ripe ; though thin, yet never clear; 
 So sweetly mawkish and so smoothly dull ; 
 Ueady, not strong; o'erflowing, though not full." — Editor. 
 
454 LETTERS FROM BOSWELL 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ twrt^l 
 
 be miraculously stupid who cannot produce one good line in two 
 hundred. I own that the authour now under consideration fre- 
 quently pleased my ear with a tunefull jingle ; which, in many 
 places, I imagine, even his greatest enemy may perceive. I re- 
 membered you, according to your desire, to Mr. Johnson : and I 
 read him a part of your letter, which diffused a complacency over 
 his face. I have had the honour of his company at supper with 
 me. After a winter of rigid parsimony, T have reaped the re- 
 wards of economy in being able to entertain some of my literary 
 friends. On Wednesday evening Mr. Johnson and I had another 
 tete-d-tete at the Mitre. Would you believe that we sat from 
 half an hour after eight till between two and three. He took 
 me cordially by the hand ; and said, " My dear Boswell ! I love 
 you very much." Can I help being somewhat vain ? But I 
 assure you real solid satisfaction fills my mind more than vanity. 
 I look upon my obtaining the friendship of this great and good 
 man as one of the most important events in my life. I think 
 better of myself when in his company than at any other time. 
 His conversation rouses every generous principle, and kindles 
 every laudable desire. I own to you, Sir David, that I shall 
 regret very much my leaving Mr. Johnson. Let me go where I 
 will, I shall meet with no man from whom I can receive more 
 real improvement. He advises me to combat idleness as a dis- 
 temper ; to read five hours every day : but to let inclination 
 direct me what to read. He is a great enemy to a stated plan 
 of study. He advises when I go abroad, to go to places where 
 there is most to be seen and learnt. He is not very fond of the 
 notion of spending a whole winter in a Dutch town. He thinks 
 I may do much more by private study, than by attending lec- 
 tures. He would have me to perambulate (a word quite in his 
 own stile) Spain. He says a man might see a good deal by 
 visiting their inland towns and universitys. He also advises me 
 to visit the northern kingdoms, where more that is new is to be 
 seen than in France and Italy. But he is not against my seeing^ 
 these warmer regions. He advises me in general to move about 
 a good deal ; and not to remain in a place when I find it disagree- 
 able. When I am abroad I can determine better as to my pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 I ever am, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 Inner Temple, 16 July, 1763. James Boswell. 
 
TO SIR DAVID DALRYMPLE, LORD HAILES. 455 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your last agreeable letter has set my mind at ease as to 
 Utrecht. I shall go thither with satisfaction, and, I hope, shall leave 
 it with improvement. I am determined to study the Civil Law and 
 the Law of Nature and nations. I shall also have Erskine's Insti- 
 tutes with me, and by degrees acquire the Scots' Law. I shall follow 
 a plan which you once suggested to me, of making a copy of the 
 whole book, which will fix my attention to the subject, and help 
 to imprint it on my memory. The acquiring French is a matter 
 of great moment, and I am determined to be very assiduous in 
 doing so. I shall look about here for a good French servant of 
 undoubted character, and, at any rate, shall have such a one at 
 Utrecht. I shall dine at the old castle of Antwerp. I am told 
 by the same gentleman, who told me many other things, that the 
 new one is the best. But, as he likewise told me that they 
 generally spoke English, and as I have now no great respect for 
 his accounts, I shall be with your old friend, or his successor. I 
 imagine, too, that my living in a French house may be of service. 
 I shall be at great loss for some weeks for want of language. 
 But necessity will be a keen spur to my industry. 
 
 Mr. Johnson did me the honour to sup with me at my chambers 
 some nights ago. Entre nous, he said that Dempster, who was 
 also with me, gave him more general displeasure than any man 
 he has met with for a long time. He was a pupil of Hume and 
 of Rousseau, totally unsettled as to principles, and endeavouring 
 to puzzle and to shake other people with childish sophistry. I had 
 infinite satisfaction in hearing solid truth confuting vain subtUty. 
 I must own to you that I have for some time past been in a 
 miserable unsettled way, and been connected with people of 
 shallow parts, altho' agreeably vivacious. But I find a flash of 
 merriment a poor equivalent for internal comfort. I thank God 
 that I have got acquainted with Mr. Johnson. He has done me 
 infinite service. He has assisted me to obtain peace of mind. 
 He has assisted me to become a rational Christian. I hope I 
 shall ever remain so. I shall leave England upon an infinitely 
 happier footing now, than when I was tost by every wind, full of 
 uneasy doubt. When I am abroad, I shall studiously preserve 
 
456 LETTERS FROM BOSWELL 
 
 my good principles, and I hope I shall be supported by them in 
 my dark hours of life, and in that darkest hour of all, the hour 
 of death. My dear sir ! 'tis with the unreserved confidence of 
 a friend that I write this to you. When I return from abroad 
 I hope I may easily drop loose acquaintance. Company has a 
 great effect on us. One mind can hardly support itself against 
 many. But when we are with good men, whose opinions agree 
 with ours, we are then more firmly fixed. Mr. Johnson and I 
 supped (supt) again by ourselves last night. He bid me re- 
 member that objections ought not to shake a system of which we 
 have strong evidence. So narrow is the mind of man, that 
 everything almost may be objected to. There are objections 
 against a Plenum, and objections against a Vacuum, and yet one 
 of 'em must certainly be true. He said, too, that accustoming 
 one's self to view things always in a ludicrous light was of most 
 dangerous consequence. It destroys serious thinking, and un- 
 hinges the mind. I could give you pages of strong sense and 
 humour which I have heard from that great man, and which are 
 treasured up in my journal. And here I must inform you, that 
 he desired me to keep just the journal that I do; and when I 
 told' him that it was already my practice, he said he was glad I 
 was upon so good a plan. He said it is an excellent exercise, 
 and will yield me vast pleasure when the ideas are fading from 
 my mind. Last night he and I supped (supt) in a room at the 
 Turk's Head coffee-house. He was happy that I had such a 
 friend as you, and he said, "An hour's conversation with such a 
 man may be of use to you thro' the whole of life ? " He was 
 much pleased with your account of the Sgavans of Berlin. He 
 said the King of Prussia writes just as you would suppose Vol- 
 taire's foot-boy would do, who has copied out his master's works. 
 He shows such a degree of parts as you would expect from the 
 valet, and about as much of the colouring of his style as might 
 be attained by a transcriber. He considers you as a scholar, as 
 a man of worth, and a man of wit. He drank your health again 
 in a bumper, and he wished that I would inform you of his 
 opinion of you (whom he wishes to see), as you do not show 
 yourself much in the world, and so must be content with the 
 praise of a few. He says he will probably go to Scotland with 
 me when I return from abroad, and in the mean time he is to cor- 
 respond with me. He told me, with an affection that almost made 
 me cry, " My dear Boswell ! it would give me great pain to part 
 
TO SIR DAVID DALRTMPLE, LORD HAILES. 457 
 
 with you, if I thought that we were not to meet again." '■ I 
 heartily wish I could make him any return. 
 
 I hope, Sir David, to be able to make myself more worthy of 
 the regard of such men. May I not hope to pass many days of 
 friendship with you ? 
 
 No. 51 of the North Briton is not written by Mr. Wilkes. 
 Churchill told me that Wilkes has had nothing to do with it 
 since No. 44. "The. 45, Sir," said he, "is a spurious paper, you 
 know." I really believe that it is now done by another hand. I 
 must tell you a joke upon AVilkes. He was coming out of Rane- 
 lagh some nights ago, and the footmen were bawling out " Mrs. 
 Wilkes' coach ! Mrs. Wilkes' coach ! " Lord Kelly run (sic) to 
 the door, and cried, " Mrs. Wilkes' coach, No. 45." 
 
 My father has not yet settled matters so as I can fix the time 
 for my setting out. But I imagine I shall go week after next. 
 So that this day se'night will be the last Saturday on which I 
 shall sit down in fair Augusta to talk to you. I wish you could 
 get my father to let me have a fixed sum yearly. It is by much 
 the best way. It makes a young man independent, and learns 
 him aeconomy, or the art of living upon his income. 
 
 I ever am, 
 With sincere esteem and affection. 
 
 Your obliged friend and servant, 
 
 James Boswell. 
 
 Inner Temple, 23 July, 1763. 
 
 VI. 
 
 My Dear Sir, 
 
 I begin this letter in a situation that makes me uncertain 
 when I shall end it, whether at the foot of the first, second, third, 
 or fourth page. Mr. Johnson and I are going upon the water to 
 Greenwich, and his Ethiopian is to call me when his master is 
 ready. Two nights ago Mr. Johnson said, " Well, what are you 
 to do, while in the Low Countries ? Your mind must not lye 
 uncultivated." I told him I was to study Civil Law, and the 
 Law of Nature and nations together with the French language, 
 and as to other things he must advise me. " Come, then," said 
 he, " let us make a day of it. Let usigo to Greenwich and dine, 
 and talk it over fully." So that I shall say, 
 
 ^ See Life, vol. i., p. 357. — Editor. 
 
458 LETTERS FROM BOSWELL 
 
 " On Thames' banks in silent thought we stood, 
 Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood," 
 
 &c. See his London, which I think a noble poem. The satire 
 is keen, and the numbers manly. I have sent you Smart's Song 
 to David, which is a very curious composition, being a strange 
 mixture of dun obscure and glowing genius at times. I have also 
 sent some poems which he has lately published. His Genius and 
 Imagination is {sic) very pretty. The other pieces have shivers 
 of Genius here and there, but are often ludicrously low. Poor 
 man, he has been relieved from his confinement, but not from his 
 unhappy disorder. However, he has it not in any great height. 
 He is not a poet of the first rank. I am much obliged to you 
 for your polite recommendation to Count Nassau. It shall be 
 properly sealed. I hope to be rationally happy at Utrecht. I 
 told you in a former letter my schemes at length. You will 
 judge of my application to French, by the letters which I write, 
 tho' they cannot be frequent. As I know you are a man of rigid 
 exactness (as you once settled a penny with me, when balancing 
 our circuit accounts) you shall have your literary bill in from 
 next post, and a letter extraordinary. I do hope you will for- 
 give my haste, and commend my present punctuality and future 
 good intentions. 
 
 Believe me. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 James Boswell. 
 Inner Temple, 30 July, 1763. 
 
 1 
 
 t bv.«l 
 
 VIL 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 My last gave you a promise of sending your account by 
 this post. Do not think because it does not come exactly at the 
 time, that I either resemble a negligent or a roguish tradesman. 
 The truth is, that it now amounts only to seventeen shillings and 
 sixpence, and I want to make it a pound, from the love of order, 
 which Addison considers as natural to the mind of man, and 
 because I owe a gentleman of Edinburgh that sum, and shall 
 give him a draught upon you for it. 
 
 Yesterday brought me your long epistle, for which I return 
 you my best thanks. My scepticism was not owing to thinking 
 wrong, but to not thinking at all. It is a matter of great 
 
TO SIR DAVID DALEYMPLE, LORD HAILES. 45^ 
 
 moment to keep a sense of Religion constantly impressed upoa 
 our minds. If that divine Guest does not occupy part of the 
 space, vain intruders will ; and when once they have got in, it i» 
 difficult to get them out again. 
 
 I shall remember your commissions about the Greek Lyrics. 
 I shall hear what the Librarian says, and I shall make diligent 
 search myself. As to the MSS. of Anacreon, Mr. Johnson says 
 he doubts much if there be such a thing at Leyden. He has 
 been informed that there is one in the Vatican. When I am at 
 Rome (which I hope to be) I shall find out the truth. Such au 
 edition of the Greek Lyrics as you propose, will make a very 
 elegant book. I wish you all success in it. 
 
 You will be surprised to find the name of John Wilkes frank- 
 ing a Scotsman Letter. The truth is, Wilkes is a most agree- 
 able companion. He is good-humoured and vivacious, and likes 
 the Scots as well as anybody : only he considers the abusing 
 that nation as a political device, which he must make use of. 
 Whether or no this can be esteemed fair, I am really at a loss 
 to say. Wilkes and I are exceeding well, when we meet. The 
 morning before he went last to Paris, I told him I was to pass 
 the winter at Utrecht. He said, if I should write to him, he 
 would send me the detail of this country. This, you will allow, 
 is a very polite offer. But, perhaps, you will not allow the pro- 
 priety of my accepting it. I beg to have your advice. To be 
 sure, I should have very great entertainment from an account of 
 the affairs in Britain from Mr. Wilkes' own hand, and were I a 
 mere individual who wanted only immediate pleasure, I should 
 be veiy fond of the thing. The question is, if sucb a thing, if 
 known, could hurt me, and whether it could be concealed. I 
 wish you may think it right, as his letters would be a treasure 
 for the next generation. I shall desire Mrs. Johnston to call 
 upon you, and receive the twenty shillings. Perhaps this is the 
 last letter that I shall write to you before I set out. 
 
 Believe me, ever 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Jam£s Boswell.. 
 Inner Temple, 2 August, 1763. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 ABINGTON, Mrs. Johnson 
 tells Dr. Campbell he had 
 been at supper with her, 261. 
 
 Abuse, Public, Johnson's disregard 
 of, 75. 
 
 Abyssinia, Voyage to, by Lobo, 
 Murphy's account of Johnson's 
 translation of, 367-372. 
 
 Accuracy and veracity, Johnson's, 
 229. 
 
 Action and emphasis in the pulpit, 
 Dr. Campbell on, 246, 249. 
 
 Addison, " Give nights and days to 
 the study of, if you would be a 
 good writer or an honest man," 
 53 ; Johnson criticises and com- 
 mends his admirable prose, 81 ; 
 Tyers compares his life of Milton 
 with Johnson's, 203. 
 
 Adventurer, the, Johnson some- 
 times wrote in, 144, 146. 
 
 Almack's ball-room in 1775, 251. 
 
 Amelia, Fielding's, the finest of all 
 heroines, but for her broken 
 nose, 90. 
 
 American affairs, Johnson and 
 Dr. Campbell argue on, 255. 
 
 Amusements, so called, are de- 
 spicable, 106. 
 
 Anderson, Dr., his Life of Johnson 
 annotated by Bishop Percy, 
 225. 
 
 Anecdotes of Johnson by Mrs. 
 Piozzi, 1-121, 
 
 Anne, Queen, Johnson's confused 
 recollection of her, 8. 
 
 Anson, Lord, John&on's epigram 
 on, 32. 
 
 Apophthegms by Johnson, from 
 Hawkins, 125. 
 
 Arithmetic resorted to by Johnson 
 to steady his mind, 35. 
 
 Ascham, Koger, his saying about 
 Wits, 101. 
 
 Aston, Molly, a beauty, a scholar, 
 a wit, and a Whig, 65 j epigram 
 on, ibid. 
 
 Athletics, Johnson's uncles ex- 
 celled in, 6 ; Johnson's own 
 attempts at, 7. 
 
 Attorneys, Johnson's sarcasm 
 against, 109. 
 
 Auchinleck, Lord, " on bad terms" 
 with Boswell, 449 ; threatens to 
 disinherit him, 450 ; proposes 
 to Boswell to go to study at 
 Utrecht, 450. 
 
 Authors, Johnson liberal in assist- 
 ing, 24, 128, 198. 
 
 Bacon, Francis, Johnson and 
 Burke on his Essays, 357. 
 
 Ball, a, at Spring Gardens, Bath, 
 the belles of the season described 
 by Dr. Campbell, 269. 
 
 Bangor, Dr. Campbell describes, 
 235 ; a funeral in the Cathedral 
 at, 236. 
 
 Banks, Sir Joseph, Johnson's in- 
 scription for his goat, 32. 
 
 Barbauld, Mrs. , Johnson's appre- 
 ciation of, 10. 
 
 Barber, Francis, and his wife, 86 ; 
 Johnson's care not to hurt his 
 feelings, 103 ; mentioned as an 
 Ethiopian, 457. 
 
464 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Baretti, Signer, described by Dr. 
 Campbell, 246, 247 ; a " mortal 
 foe" of Boswell's, 256. 
 
 Barnard, Dr., Provost of Eton, his 
 character, 18 ; Johnson's regret 
 at having been rude to him, 338 ; 
 his generous verses on the occa- 
 sion, 339, 
 
 Baskerville, the printer, 272. 
 
 Bath, and its beauties, described 
 by Dr. Campbell, 269. 
 
 Bathurst, Dr., Johnson's great 
 love for, 11, 86; a "good 
 hater," 37. 
 
 Beauclerk, Topham, his story of 
 Johnson and the fighting dogs, 
 48 ; agi-eeable without effort, 
 76 ; Johnson compares himself 
 with, 434. 
 
 Beauties, or selections, much liked 
 by Johnson, 125. 
 
 Bed, Johnson's parody of an in- 
 scription to a, 32. 
 
 Behaviour, cannot be taught by 
 general rules, 14. 
 
 Belief and opinion not to be con- 
 founded, 78. 
 
 Belles, The, of the season in 1775, 
 269, 270. 
 
 Benedictines, mutual regard be- 
 tween Johnson and the, 40 ; 
 two of them visited Johnson at 
 Bolt Court, 41. 
 
 Benevolence, Johnson's, 38 ; his 
 numerous dependents, 45, 120. 
 
 Berenger, Richard, his History of 
 Horsemanship, 287. 
 
 Biographer. " Who will be my 
 biographer ? " asks Johnson, 1 6 ; 
 " Poor Johnson's six or eiglit 
 biographers " alluded to by Mr. 
 Twining, 324. 
 
 Biographical Sketch by T. Tyers, 
 183-207. 
 
 Biography, the duties and difficul- 
 ties of, 5, 126. 
 
 Birmingham, Dr. Campbell visits, 
 237. 
 
 Birthday, Johnson's verses to Mrs. 
 Thrale on her, 68 ; party in 
 honour of Johnson and Miss 
 Thrale, 86. 
 
 " Blinking Sam," Johnson protest* 
 against being handed down to 
 posterity as, 99. 
 
 Boileau, his father's predictions of 
 him, 10 ; Johnson's delight with 
 his works, 112. 
 
 Bolingbroke, " loaded a blunder- 
 buss against religion, and left a 
 scoundrel to pull the trigger," 
 135. 
 
 Bonduca, Garrick's unsuccessful 
 epilogue to, 298. 
 
 Bookmaking has reached a pro- 
 digious height, says Boswell in 
 1763, 453. 
 
 Books, for children, 10 ; we should 
 have books about us, 24 ; the 
 most useful are those that can 
 be carried to the fire, 125. 
 
 Boothby, Miss Hill, Johnson's ad- 
 miration and regard for, 66, 67 ; 
 her letters to Johnson, and his 
 to her, 142, 179 5 epitaph on, 179. 
 
 Boswell, " listened to Johnson for 
 so many „ years," says Tyers, 
 204 ; wrong in his account of 
 the manner in which Johnson 
 compiled the Dictionary, 227 ; 
 Dr. Campbell mentions and de- 
 scribes, 256, 259, 261 ; at 
 General Oglethorpe's when he 
 annoys Johnson with questions, 
 263 ; Hannah More says " he 
 is a very agreeable good-natured 
 man," 287 ; Mr. Twining on, 
 325 ; his Life of Johnson criti- 
 cised and commended by Mr. 
 Twining, 325 ; Mr. Cumberland 
 says, " Every man who can buy 
 a book has bought a Boswell,'^ 
 212 ; his letters to Lord Hailes, 
 449-459 ; begs Lord Hailes to 
 intercede for him with his father, 
 450 ; says he is now on a very 
 good footing with Mr, Johnson, 
 452 j on the orthogi-aphy of 
 the name Boswell, 453, 
 
 Boulter, Bishop, lines in memory 
 of, repeated by Johnson, 331, 
 
 Bowling Green Club, the members 
 of the, think themselves satirised 
 by Johnson, 94. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 465 
 
 Boyce, Mr., his verses and his 
 poverty, 51. 
 
 Braganza, a play by Robert Jeph- 
 son, 240 ; a rough scene at the 
 acting of it, 241 ; Johnson calls 
 it a onesided play, 257. 
 
 Brewery, Mr. Thrale's, inspected 
 by Dr. Campbell, 245. 
 
 Brighton, and its fashionable so- 
 ciety described by Dr. Camp- 
 bell, 277. 
 
 Bristol described, 270. 
 
 Brocklesby, Dr., his advice and 
 generous behaviour to Johnson, 
 201, 293,419. 
 
 Browne, Hawkins, his delightful 
 conversation, 72. 
 
 Sir William, his clever an- 
 swer to Johnson's exaltation of 
 Oxford over Cambridge, 19. 
 
 Bruce, the Abyssinian traveller, 
 131, 370. 
 
 Bud worth, Mr., master of the 
 school at Bi'erewood, 373. 
 
 Burke, Edmund, his famous speech 
 on American affairs, 20 ; John- 
 son describes what he would 
 have answered to it, ibid. ; John- 
 son's great regard for, 97 ; 
 " Burke in a bag," 97. 
 
 Barney, Dr., Johnson's alterca- 
 tion with, .'>9. 
 
 Mrs., Johnson obliges her to 
 
 change her dress, 301. 
 
 Fanny, Extracts from her 
 
 Diar}" concerning Johnson, 297- 
 322 ; meets Johnson, 297 ; her 
 dress admired by Johnson, 301 ; 
 her Evelina discussed, 306-8 ; 
 encouraged by Johnson to 
 " down '■' Mrs. Montagu, 309 ; 
 goes to see Johnson when ill, 
 316, 319 ; entreated to pray for 
 him, 318. 
 
 Burrows, Mr., Dr. Campbell goes 
 to hear him preach at St. Cle- 
 ment's, 362. 
 
 Butler, Johnson lamented that so 
 little had been said about, 5. 
 
 Cambridge, "downed" by John- 
 VI. H 
 
 son in comparison with Oxford, 
 18. 
 Campbell, Dr. Thomas, his Diary, 
 236-80 ; his first visit to Eng- 
 land in 1775, 236-72 ; his 
 second visit in 1776, 272 ; his 
 third visit in 1781, 272; his 
 fourth visit in 1786, 274 ; his 
 fifth visit in 1787,275 ; his sixth 
 visit in 1789, 279; his seventh 
 visit, 1792, 279 ; describes Ban- 
 gor, Chester, and Bii-mingham, 
 236; visits Sti*atford-on-Avon, 
 238 ; his enthusiasm for an Ox- 
 ford education abated, 239 ; 
 describes a disgraceful scene at 
 a theatre, 240 ; the service and 
 sermon at the Temple Church, 
 241 ; and one still more dull at 
 Westminster Abbey, 242 ; hears 
 Johnson abused at a club, 244 ; 
 calls on Mr. and Mrs. Thrale 
 and inspects the brewery, 245 ; 
 dines with the Thrales with 
 Johnson and Bai*etti,246 ; hears 
 a ranting p\-eacher, 249 ; de- 
 scribes an Irish comedy, 250 ; a 
 shilling ordinary, 251; dines 
 again with the Thrales, 251, 
 
 252 ; visits Reynolds's pictures, 
 
 253 ; describes the fashionable 
 company at the Pantheon, 253 ; 
 dines at Thrales' and with Lord 
 Dacre, and complains that all 
 great dinners are alike, 254 ; 
 reads an answer to Taxation no 
 Tyranny, 255 ; meets Boswell 
 and Baretti at the Thrales', and 
 hears all the Johnson stories, 
 256 ; describes a sermon at the 
 Chapel Royal, 257 ; on the 
 architecture of some of the Ijon- 
 don churches, 258 ; visits the 
 British Museum and sees Sir 
 William Hamilton's picture of 
 Vesuvius, 258 ; dines at the 
 Dilly's with Johnson and Bos- 
 well, 259 ; describes Wilkes, 
 260 ; at Woolwich sees a '* mon- 
 strous vessel," 261 ; dines with 
 the Thrales with Johnson, 261 ; 
 
466 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 dines with General Oglethorpe 
 when Boswell annoys Johnson 
 with questions, 263 ; sees the 
 king go to give the royal assent 
 to the Eestraining Bill, 264 ; 
 hears Dr. Dodd preach, 264 ; 
 calls on Johnson, 267 ; goes to 
 Bath, 269 ; describes the beaux 
 and belles there, 269, 270; his 
 conversation with Johnson in 
 1 78 1 on Ireland and Irish affairs, 
 273, 274 ; takes his History of 
 the Revolutions of Ireland to 
 the booksellers, 274 ; visits and 
 describes Paris, 275 ; describes 
 Brighton and the society there, 
 277, 278; English and French 
 society compared, 279 ; brings 
 his Life of Goldsmith to show to 
 Bishop Percy, 279. 
 
 Candide, Voltaire's, published at 
 the same time as Johnson's Ras- 
 selas, 436. 
 
 Canters, to be scorned, 100. 
 
 " Canting, Prithee, my dear, have 
 done with," 28. 
 
 Cards, dress, and dancing advo- 
 cated by Johnson, 46. 
 
 Caricature, imitation of contempo- 
 rary poets, 30, 31. 
 
 Carter, Mrs., her papers in the 
 Rambler, 23 ; her varied accom- 
 plishments, 130 ; Dr. Campbell's 
 description of her, 249. 
 
 Cat, Johnson's favourite, Hodge, 
 103. 
 
 Catalogue, Johnson employed to 
 make one of the Harleian Li- 
 brarj^, 190. 
 
 Catharine (Chambers), the nurse 
 who taught Johnson to read, 
 10. 
 
 Cave, Johnson's early patron, 187, 
 374, et seq. 
 
 Ceremonies of life, Johnson careful 
 to maintain, 103. 
 
 Chapels, various, in London, 253. 
 
 Chapone, Mrs., her papers in the 
 Rambler, 23. 
 
 Chapter Coffee House, the, a read- 
 ing society at, 250. 
 
 Characters, Johnson's delight in 
 drawing, 341. 
 
 Charity, Johnson's boundless, 45, 
 202, 426, 427. 
 
 Charles XII., Life of, by Voltaire, 
 praised by Johnson, 130. 
 
 Chat, unprofitable, Julinson's 
 hatred of, 79. 
 
 Chelsea China, a dessert service 
 of, presented to Johnson, pre- 
 served at Holland House, 222 ; 
 Johnson's visits to the manufac- 
 tory of, 222. 
 
 Chemistry, Johnscm's dangerous 
 experiments in, 95. 
 
 Chester, Dr. Campbell visits, 237. 
 
 Chesterfield, Lord, Tyers' account 
 of, 191; Murphy's account of, 
 383, 394; Johnson's letter to, 
 395, 396. 
 
 Childhood, Johnson speaks of hifl^f 
 own, 10, 11, 12. ^g 
 
 Children, often made annoying by 
 fond parents, 8 ; their books, 10 ; 
 their management, 13 ; Johnson 
 tells that he had often found 
 them asleep on thresholds and 
 stalls and put pennies into their 
 hands, 342 ; the Langton's, 
 troublesome, 300 ; Mrs, Thrale's, 
 well managed, 300. 
 
 China, Johnson conceives the idea 
 that he can improve the manu- 
 facture of, 222. 
 
 Cholmondeley, Mr., Johnson's 
 rudeness to, 103. 
 
 Churchill, the satirist, 70; clial- 
 lenges Johnson, 194 ; his satire, 
 The Ghost, in which Johnson is 
 " Pomposo," 451 ; his Epistle to 
 Hogarth, 452. 
 
 Cicerone, Johnson is Hannahl 
 More's at Oxford, 290. 
 
 City, cost of lighting and paving 
 the, 244, 253. 
 
 Cleanliness, Mrs. Johnson worries 
 Johnson with her excessive, 
 61. 
 
 Gierke, Sir Philip Jennings, his 
 discussion with Johnson, oa 
 some political questions, 314. 
 
 1 
 
 A 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 467 
 
 Club, The Literary, at first a 
 supper party, 51 ; Murphy's 
 account of, 385 ; at the Turk's 
 Head, 405. 
 
 Coach, Johnson's love for driving 
 in a, 110. 
 
 College, particulars of Johnson's 
 life at, gathered from Dr. Adams 
 and Dr. Taylor, 15, 186, 365. 
 
 Collier, Dr., condemned for senti- 
 ments applauded when uttered 
 by Johnson, 73. 
 
 Colours, Johnson's love of bright, 
 111. 
 
 Combe, John-a, distich to, wrongly 
 ascribed to Shakespeare, 239 n. 
 
 Common things said by Johnson 
 in the newest manner, 200. 
 
 Commonplace book, Mrs. Thrale's, 
 noticed by Johnson, 21. 
 
 Composition, night was Johnson's 
 usual time for, 189 ; Bishop 
 Percy's account of, 226 ; Mur- 
 phy's, 408. 
 
 Comus, the Masque of, acted by 
 lords and ladies it was written 
 to entertain, 5. 
 
 Conqi cCtlire, Johnson's definition 
 ^ of, 137. 
 
 Congreve, Archdeacon, Johnson's 
 schoolfellow, 245. 
 
 Contradicting, Johnson's habit of, 
 90. 
 
 Conversation, Johnson's love of, 
 13, 85 ; he preferred that which 
 was without effort, 76, 109 ; his 
 great power in, 200 ; historical 
 and political, not liked by him, 
 36 ; Johnson's, described by Bos- 
 well, 452, 454. 
 
 Converser, Johnson a tremendous, 
 82. 
 
 Conway described by Dr. Camp- 
 bell, 236, 239. 
 
 Mrs., Johnson criticises 
 
 Poj>e's epitaph on, 7. 
 
 Corbet, Young, Johnson's com- 
 panion at Oxford, 365. 
 
 Corke, Lord, presents the Dic- 
 tionary to the Acaderaia at Flo- 
 rence, 191. 
 
 Corneille to Shakespeare, as a 
 clipped hedge to a forest, 27. 
 
 Corpore vili and the rejoinder t»f a 
 poor man, 127. 
 
 Cotterel, Miss, at her house John- 
 son and Reynolds first met, 329 ; 
 '• downed " by Johnson in one 
 of his early visits, 338. 
 
 Council of Trent, History of, partly 
 translated by Johnson, 189. 
 
 Country life, Johnson's sneer at 
 the pleasures of, 106. 
 
 Courtesy, Johnson's ceremonious, 
 to poor dependents, 35. 
 
 Cowley, Johnson's Life of, 439. 
 
 Critic, Johnson as a, 202, 203, 439. 
 
 Crousaz, M., his Examen of Pope's 
 Essay on Man, 378. 
 
 Cumberland, Richard, his recollec- 
 tions of Johnson, 211-21 ; his 
 verses on Johnson, 215. 
 
 Mrs., her genial tea-table, 
 
 213. 
 
 Cummyns, Mr., the Quaker, a- 
 victim to newspaper abuse, 76. 
 
 Dancing, cards, and dress, advo- 
 cated by Johnson, 46. 
 
 D'Arblay, Madame, Extracts from 
 her Diary and Letters, 297-322. 
 
 Davies, Tom, publishes Fugitive 
 Pieces without Johnson's con- 
 sent, 26. 
 
 Death, Johnson's dread of, 110, 
 111. 
 
 The, of Johnson, 183, 206, 
 
 292, 293, 322. 
 
 Effect of, on the public 
 
 mind, 362. 
 
 Rev. T. Twining on, 324 ; 
 
 Murphy on, 340, 396. 
 
 Debates, Johnson's Parliamentary, 
 187 ; Murphy's account of, 357, 
 358. 
 
 Declamation, Johnson's power of, 
 119, 128. 
 
 Decline, gradual, gentle, impossi- 
 ble to arrest, 77. 
 
 Degree, M.A., Oxford, Johnson 
 obtains, 394 ; LL.])., 406. 
 
468 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Derange, Johnson would not allow 
 the use of this word, 137. 
 
 Diary, The, of Dr. Thomas Camp- 
 bell, 235-80. 
 
 Dictionary, The, Johnson thought 
 he could have done it in two 
 years, 25 ; new edition of, 25 ; 
 dedication of, 154; "composed 
 amid inconvenience and distrac- 
 tion, in sickness and sorrow," 
 185, 191 ; remuneration for, 
 191 ; Bishop Percy on the man- 
 ner of its compilation, 227 ; 
 Murphy's account of the under- 
 taking of, 382-436 ; Johnson's 
 poem written after revising, 
 398-400 5 completed, 393, 
 436. 
 
 Dies ira, Dies ilia, Johnson's emio- 
 tion in reading, 82. 
 
 Dilly, Mr., dinner at his house 
 with Johnson, Boswell, and 
 Campbell, 259, 260. 
 
 Dinner, an account of the dishes 
 at a certain, 252 ; Dr. Campbell 
 thinks all dinners are too much 
 alike, 254. 
 
 Discourses, Eeynolds's, owe much 
 to Johnson's influence, 357. 
 
 Disgrace. " If you do not see the 
 honour. Sir, I feel the disgrace," 
 83. 
 
 Diversion, so called, 106. 
 
 Dodd, Dr., Dr. Campbell goes to 
 hear him preach, 264. 
 
 Dodsley, Mr., Johnson called him 
 his patron, 186. 
 
 Dogs, fighting, Johnson throws 
 them out of the window, 48. 
 
 D< m Quixote, an universal classic, 
 112. 
 
 Douglas, Dr., vindicates Milton 
 from the charge of plagiarism, 
 390. 
 
 Dove, Anacreon's, Johnson's trans- 
 lation of, 22. 
 
 Downs, the, at Brighton amusingly 
 described by Johnson, 106. 
 
 Dress, Johnson's good taste in 
 ladies'. 111, 113, 301. 
 
 Drummond, Adam, leads the laugh 
 
 at the first acting of She Stoops 
 
 to Conquer, 218. 
 Dry den, Johnson's great reverence 
 
 for, 26; his epigram on Milton 
 
 translated into Latin, 32. 
 Duck, childish epitaph on a, 8. 
 Dyer, Mr. Samuel, Johnson's 
 
 friend, a member of The Club, 
 
 386. 
 
 Earthquake at Lisbon, Johnson at 
 first did not believe in the, 59. 
 
 Echo. None in Johnson, he is all 
 original, 323. 
 
 Education, Johnson's views on, 88, 
 129 ; Hill Boothby on , 149. 
 
 Election, Johnson joins in the fun 
 at one, 87. 
 
 Elocution, Thomas Sheridan's 
 writings on, 125. 
 
 Elphinston, Mr. James, 152. 
 
 English feeling towards the Irish 
 better than Dr. Campbell had 
 expected, 251. 
 
 Epigram, by Johnson, 32, 33 ; Dr. 
 Trapp's on Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge, 19, 
 
 Epitaph, on Mrs. Salusbury, 54, 
 55 ; on Mr. Thrale, 56 ; on 
 Hogarth, 57 ; on Miss Hill 
 Boothby, 179; on Levett, 203; 
 Johnson's epitaphs, both Latin 
 and English, much admired, 206 j 
 extemporaiy epitaphs, written 
 on each other by a merry party, 
 including Johnson, Burke, Gold- 
 smith, &c., 218, 219. 
 
 Equality, the, of man, Johnson's 
 absui'd illustration of, 126. 
 
 Evelina, discussed at Streatham, 
 306, 308. I 
 
 Eyes, Johnson's piei'cing, 118. | 
 
 Eyesight, Johnson's defective, 43, 
 
 Facility, Johnson's, in writing, 23, 
 
 236. 
 Faden, Mr,, the printer, Johnson 
 
 pays his debt to, 421. 
 False Alarm, The, Johnson's first 
 
 and favourite pamphlet, 20. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 469 
 
 Family history, Johnson tells some 
 
 of his to Mrs. Thrale, 6, 
 Fashionable society at Brighton in 
 
 1787, 279. 
 Faulkener's Chelsea quoted, 222. 
 Fawkes, Frank, his translation of 
 
 Anacreon's Dove, 22. 
 Ferguson, his book on Civil Society 
 
 praised, 28. 
 Fielding and Richardson compared, 
 
 81. 
 Fitzherbert, Mr., 148, 168, 169; 
 
 Johnson's regard and esteem for 
 
 Mrs. Fitzherbert, 66. 
 Flattery, Johnson liked, delicately 
 
 administered, 76; Lis I'ough 
 
 speech to Hannah More on her 
 
 too emphatic, 76. 
 Flint, Bet, and her verses, 303. 
 Foote, Sam, Johnson's tribute to 
 
 his talents, 72 ; congratulates 
 
 him on being kicked in Dublin, 
 
 126, 407 ; his wit and readiness 
 
 praised, 128. 
 Footing, Boswell on a good, with 
 
 Johnson, 4r)2. 
 Ford, Cornelius, Johnson's athletic 
 
 uncle, 6 ; his son, Hogarth's 
 
 parson, 9 ; his excellent advice 
 
 to Johnson, 10, 363. 
 
 Sarah, Johnson's mother, 
 
 7-13, 201. 
 
 Foster, Mrs. Thrale puts Johnson 
 in a passion by praising his 
 sermons, 247. 
 
 Mrs. Eliza, Milton's grand- 
 daughter, her benefit, 390. 
 
 French, the, have few sentiments, 
 but express them neatly, " little 
 meat, but dress it well," 44. 
 
 literature much read by 
 
 Johnson, 112. 
 
 French society compared with Eng- 
 lish, 279. 
 
 Friends, something pleasing in 
 the misfortunes of our best, 
 39. 
 
 Friendship, Johnson ridicules one 
 who preached on, to a fashion- 
 able congregation, 64 . 
 
 Fruit, Johnson's love of, 44. 
 
 Fugitive Pieces, Johnson's, printed 
 without his knowledge, 26. 
 
 Garrick, David, Johnson teases, 
 26 ; his story of Johnson throw- 
 ing a man and a chair into the 
 pit, 48 ; Johnson would not be- 
 lieve in his being ill, 77 ; Gar- 
 rick and Johnson have a " close 
 encounter," telling old stories of 
 their boyish days, 286 ; his face 
 becomes worn and old-looking 
 by constant play of the muscles, 
 298 ; Cumbei'land describes 
 Johnson at Garrick's grave, 
 220 ; described by Dr. Camp- 
 bell, 245 ; his epilogue to Bon- 
 duca, 298 ; Johnson will not 
 allow anyone else to abuse him, 
 299 ; Murphy's account of, 373, 
 374, 427 ; " Johnson and Garrick 
 can never be properly enjoyed 
 unless together," says Hannah 
 More, 286 ; imitates Johnson's 
 reciting poetry, 289 ; his re- 
 markable saying contrasting the 
 tragedy of Shakespeare and 
 Johnson, 385. 
 
 Mi's., helps Hannah More to 
 
 prepare for a party, 286 ; mirth- 
 ful conversation at her house, 
 289. 
 
 General scholarship and general 
 knowledge possessed by John- 
 son, 214. 
 
 Genius, Johnson on, 317. 
 
 Gesticulations, Johnson's, men- 
 tioned by Tyers, 185; Miss 
 Reynolds describes Johnson's 
 extraordinary, 343. 
 
 Ghost, Johnson, like one, will not 
 speak till he is spoken to, 85. 
 
 Ghost, The, by Churchill, a satire 
 in which Johnson is Fomposo, 
 451. 
 
 Gibraltar, the account of Elliot's 
 defence of, disbelieved by John- 
 son, 58. 
 
 Goat, Sir Joseph Banks', Johnson's 
 inscription for. 32. 
 
470 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, Mrs. Thrale 
 thinks will be Johnson's bio- 
 grapher. 1 6 ; offended at being 
 called Dr. Minor, 75 ; and Good- 
 man Dull, ibid. ; tells what he 
 felt when his play was hissed, 
 98 ; Johnson sells the Vicar of 
 Wakefield for him, 50 ; Cum- 
 berland's account of, 216, 218- 
 20 ; his epitaph on Cumberland 
 in Retaliation, 219 ; his death, 
 219; his appearance described 
 by Miss Reynolds, 332. 
 
 Gower, Lord, his efforts for John- 
 son, 197, 376, 377. 
 
 Graham, Eaton, calls Goldsmith 
 Dr. Minor, 75. 
 
 Grainger, his Ode on Solitude, re- 
 peated by Johnson, 342. 
 
 Grandison, Sir Charles, Miss 
 Boothby on, 149. 
 
 Gray, the very Torre of poetry, 
 136; Johnson's opinion of, 203, 
 440. 
 
 Greek, Johnson not so ignorant of, 
 as he chose to say, 26, 198. 
 
 Greenwich, Johnson and Boswell 
 take a boat to go to, 457. 
 
 Grierson, Mr., Johnson's good 
 stories of him, 49. 
 
 Grotto, Johnson's sharp speech to 
 a lady showing one off, 83. 
 
 Gwatkin, Miss, Reynolds' grand- 
 niece, 351. 
 
 Hailes, Lord, Boswell's letters to, 
 449-459 ; Boswell entreats his 
 good offices with his father, 450. 
 
 Hamilton, Mr., the printer, John- 
 son repays, 422. 
 
 Hamlet, Johnson reads, when nine 
 years old, 12. 
 
 Hampton Court, Dr. Campbell 
 visits, 269. 
 
 Happiness, professions of, Johnson 
 thinks "■ all cant," 112. 
 
 Harleian, 'I'he, Miscellany, com- 
 piled by Johnson, 381. 
 
 Harris, James, six grammatical 
 faults, in his dedication of four- 
 teen lines, 27. 
 
 chcr, ^1 
 
 Harrison, Mr., a famous preach 
 Dr. Campbell calls him " a 
 spouter," 265. 
 
 Hawkesworth, Jack, Johnson's 
 friend, 16 ; a victim to news- 
 paper abuse, 76 ; one of the 
 Johnsonian school, 196. 
 
 Hawkins, Sir John, a remark of, 
 corrected by Percy, 225 ; an 
 unclubable man, 299 ; Mr. Twi- 
 ning's account of his manage- 
 ment of Johnson's funeral, and 
 sti'ange speeches at the time, 
 324 ; the injustice and misrepre- 
 sentation of his Life of Johnson, 
 417. 
 
 Health, Johnson's, always bad, 35 ; 
 becomes worse, 53 ; greatly 
 benefited by the attentions of 
 Mrs. Thrale, 53 ; of the hun- 
 dred sublunary things given to 
 man, health is ninety-nine, 184. 
 
 Heaven and Hell, the first time 
 Johnson heard of, 15. 
 
 Hector, Johnson's friend, occasion- 
 ally his amanuensis, 367. 
 
 Hermit of Teneriffe, said to be 
 composed in one night, 187. 
 
 Hervey, Mr. Thomas, Johnson 
 cites his brilliant manners and 
 genuine force of mind, 65 ; John- 
 son's love for every one of that 
 name, ibid. 
 
 Historical conversation not liked 
 by Johnson, 36. 
 
 Hodge, Johnson's cat, 103. 
 
 Hogarth. Johnson's cousin, Cor- 
 nelius Ford, was the parson in 
 one of his pictures, 9 ; his 
 anxiety that Mrs. Thrale should 
 obtain the friendship of Johnson, 
 57. 
 
 Holland House, a dessert service 
 given to Johnson preserved there, 
 222. 
 
 Holyhead. Dr. Campbell visits, 
 235. 
 
 Honour. " If 3'ou do not see the 
 honour, I feel the disgrace," 83. 
 
 Hoole, Mr., accompanies Fanny 
 Burney to Johnson's sick r(X)m, 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 471 
 
 315 ; attends Johnson in his last 
 
 illness, 319. 
 Hounds, Johnson follows the, but 
 
 finds no pleasure in it, 84. 
 Household, Johnson's, described, 
 
 306, 307. 
 Hume, David, Johnson's intoler- 
 ance for, 130. 
 Humoiu*, Johnson's rich vein of, 
 
 74. 
 Hunter, Mr., the schoolmaster, 
 
 hated by Johnson, 12. 
 
 HI health, Johnson's, 35, 53, 185, 
 289, 398; softened without 
 weakening his mind, 291 ; Fanny 
 Burney on his last illness, 314, 
 319, 321. 
 
 Impranstis, Johnson so signs his 
 letter, 378. 
 
 Improvement of the Mind, by 
 Watts, a favourite book Avith 
 Johnson, 126. 
 
 Improvisation, Johnson's power of, 
 62, 69. 
 
 Improvisatore, an Italian, John- 
 son's surprise at, 130. 
 
 Inconsistencies of character, John- 
 son's, 79. 
 
 Incredulity, Johnson's, 59. 
 
 Infidels, Johnson's aversion to, 
 openly expressed, 41. 
 
 Inn, The, Shenstone's poem, re- 
 peated by Johnson, 330. 
 
 Inscription, Latin, written by Mr. 
 Beauclerk under Johnson's por- 
 trait, 130. 
 
 Instruction, Johnson's story of the 
 young man who desired, 93. 
 
 Interest, Johnson's, in everything 
 of every kind, 205. 
 
 Invasion, foolish panic about, irri- 
 tates Johnson, 37. 
 
 In vino Veritas, discussed, 104; 
 only good for those who lie when 
 sober, 132; Dr. Campbell's ac- 
 count of the discussion, 256. 
 
 Ireland and Irish affairs discussed 
 by Johnson and Dr. Campbell, 
 373. 
 
 Irene, presented by Johnson to 
 Miss Boothby, 159, 160, 174 j 
 Murphy's account of, 429, 431. 
 
 Irreparable or irrepairable ? asked 
 for a wager, 92. 
 
 Ivy Lane, The Club in, members 
 of, 385. 
 
 James, Dr., acquainted with John- 
 son's eai'ly life, 16. 
 
 Jesuits, Boileau says they lengthen 
 the Ci-eed and shorten the Deca- 
 logue, 291. 
 
 Johnson, Andi'ew, Johnson's uncle, 
 a wrestler and boxer, 6 ; Michael, 
 Johnson's father, 6, 7, 185, 3G3. 
 
 Mrs., Johnson's wife, read 
 
 comedy well, 62 ; Garricks ac- 
 count of her, ibid. 
 
 Kev. Samuel, of the Bowling 
 
 Green Club, Rumford, 94. 
 
 Joke, nothing produces enmity so 
 surely as an untimely, 49. 
 
 Jones, the Orientalist, Johnson's 
 panegyric on, 84. 
 
 Jordan, Mr., Johnson's tutor at 
 Pembroke, 15, 19. 
 
 Jortin, Dr., Johnson likes his ser- 
 mons, but not his Life of Eras- 
 mus, 131. 
 
 Journey to the Western Islands, 
 Johnson's satisfaction at the 
 commendation it received, 127 ; 
 written without the assistance 
 of books, 201. 
 
 Junius, his letters mentioned, 19 
 20 ; not all by one hand, 247. 
 
 Kames, Lord, his Elements of 
 
 Criticism, 133. 
 Kelly, Hugh, Johnson said, wrote 
 
 more than he read, 128. 
 Knowledge, every day, the most 
 
 useful, 80 ; Johnson's saying 
 
 that it was divided among the 
 
 Scots, like bread in a besieged 
 
 town, 105. 
 ' * Know thyself," Johnson's poem 
 
 entitled, 398-400. 
 
472 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Lamp. Rasselas, a lamp of wisdom, 
 201. 
 
 Langton, Bennet, Johnson's regard 
 for, 34 ; obtains Topham Beau- 
 clerk's portrait of Johnson, 130 ; 
 his children, 300; Johnson's 
 character of, 341. 
 
 Late hours, Johnson loved, 52. 
 
 Latin, Johnson spoke, with fluency, 
 43, 126. 
 
 Lauder, his imposition concerning 
 Milton, 387, 383. 
 
 Laugh, Johnson's, 118. 
 
 Lawrence, Dr., his melancholy in- 
 terview with Johnson, 34 ; Hill 
 Boothby mentions, 142, 
 
 Leap, Cornelius Ford's famous, 6. 
 
 Learning, in Scotland, 105. 
 
 Lennox, Mrs. Charlotte, her Female 
 Quixote, 305. 
 
 Letters, Johnson's, to Mrs. Thrale 
 during the Scotch Tour, 67 ; 
 Johnson's interest in Lady Mary 
 Wortley's, 103; from Miss Hill 
 Boothby, 141-60, 161-74; 
 from Johnson to Hill Boothby, 
 160, 175-9; Jx)rd Chester- 
 field's to his son, described by 
 Johnson, 190; Johnson famed 
 for letter-writing, 198; his cele- 
 brated letter to Lord Chester- 
 field, 395. 
 
 Levett, Dr., Johnson's fine verses 
 on, 50 ; leers' remarks on them, 
 203 ; Bishop Percy on, 229. 
 
 Lexiphanes, an attack on Johnson, 
 396. 
 
 Library, The, at Streatham, 116, 
 117. 
 
 " Life, a pill none of us can swalh^w 
 without gilding," said Johnson, 
 ti) excuse the indulgences he 
 granted to the poor, 38. 
 
 Life and death, 184, 392. 
 
 Lions, Dr. Campbell is asked if he 
 came to Ijondon '• to see the 
 lions," 265. 
 
 Literary assistance, Johnson's 
 liberality in giving, 24, 128, 198. 
 
 Literary history, Johnsim's great 
 knowledge of, 90. 
 
 1 
 
 3hnson de-^B 
 
 Lives of great men, Johnson de- 
 lighted in the, 129. 
 Living, Johnson offered a good, 
 
 197. 
 Lobo, his voyage to Abyssinia, 
 
 Murphy's account of Johnson's 
 
 translation of, 367-72. 
 London, a poem, Johnson's, praised 
 
 by Pope, 187. 
 London, Johnson's first arrival at, 
 
 186 ; Dr. Campbell's illustration 
 
 of the vast size of, 256. 
 Love, Johnson on the passion of, 
 
 85. 
 " Lovely courier of the sky," Ana- 
 
 creon's Dove translated, 22. 
 Ludicrous. Always looking at 
 
 things in a ludicrous light a 
 
 most dangerous habit, 456. 
 Lydiat, account of, 429. 
 Ly ttelton, Lord, Johnson's Life of, 
 
 126. 
 
 Madden, Dr., his liberality to 
 Johnson, 227. 
 
 Madness, of Johnson's father, 6. 
 
 Manufactures, Johnson had con- 
 siderable knowledge of, 137. 
 
 Marchmont, Lord, gives Johnson 
 some particulars relating to 
 Pope, 127. 
 
 Markland, Jeremiah, 101. 
 
 Marmor Norfolciense, a pamphlet 
 by Johnson against Sir Robert 
 Walpule, 378. 
 
 Marriage. Misery of late mar- 
 riages, 9 ; Johnson's, 62, 373 ; 
 '* I advise no one to marry who 
 is not likely to propagate under- 
 standing," 42 ; description of a 
 mercenary msirriage, 1 02 ; second 
 marriage, '■ the triumjih of hope 
 over expei'ience," 125; objects 
 for marriage, 129. 
 
 Martial, A Modern, Johnt^on's say- 
 ing of these verses, that they 
 contained too much folly for 
 madness, and too much madness 
 for folly, 28. 
 
 Maxim, Johnson quotes a malicious 
 one of Rochefoucault's, 39. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIiLNA. 
 
 473 
 
 Melancholy, story of, " You and I 
 and Hercules, all troubled with," 
 24; Johnson afflicted with, 334. 
 
 Memory, Johnson's, 8 ; accuracy 
 of, 49 ; Johnson's reply to a 
 person complaining of the want 
 of, 340. 
 
 Messiah, Pope's, done into Latin 
 verse by Johnson, 186. 
 
 Millar, Mr. Andrew, the Maecenas 
 of the age, 127 ; Dr. Campbell 
 calls liim a "dilettanti man," 
 259. 
 
 Milton, Johnson exhibits more of 
 his excellencies, but also more 
 of his defects than Addison, 203; 
 Lauder's fraudulent attempt to 
 defame, 387, 388, 390; John- 
 son's dislike of his political prin- 
 ciples, 443 ; Johnson's criticism 
 on Paradise Lost, " a sublime 
 composition," 446 ; his grand- 
 daughtei-'s benefit, 390. 
 
 Minor, Dr., and Goodman Dull, 
 Goldsmith's annoyance at being 
 so called, 75. 
 
 Mirth, "the size of a man's under- 
 standing may be measured by 
 his mirth," 118. 
 
 Mitre, Johnson and Boswell tite- 
 a-tete at the, 452, 454. 
 
 Moliere, not sufficiently apprecia- 
 ted by Johnson, 112. 
 
 Money, the value of, should be 
 taught, 80. 
 
 Montagu, Mrs., her praise of 
 Johnson's writings, 75 ; John- 
 son's compliments to her, 84 ; 
 Mrs. Piozzi's note on her Essay 
 on Shakespeare, 122 ; Johnson's 
 fun with Eanny Burney about, 
 309. 
 
 More, Hannah, her first introduc- 
 tion to Johnson, 283 ; who 
 accosts her with a verse from 
 her Morning Hymn, 283 ; visits 
 Miss lieynolds, who carries, her 
 in her coach to call on Johnson, 
 
 283 ; his polite attentions, 284 ; 
 sits in Johnson's great chair, 
 
 284 : drinks tea at Sir Joshua's 
 
 with Johnson, and they try who 
 can " pepper the highest," 285 ; 
 Johnson comes to tea with the 
 Miss Mores, 285 ; her jpetite 
 assemhUe when Johnson and 
 Garrick began a close encounter, 
 286 ; finds Boswell a very agree- 
 able, good-natured man, 287 ; 
 sits for her picture to Miss Rey- 
 nolds, Johnson talking to her 
 to make her look well, 288 ; 
 umpire in a trial of skill between 
 Garrick and Boswell, which 
 could most nearly imitate John- 
 son's manner, 289 ; goes to 
 Oxford, and Johnson shows her 
 about, 290 ; describes Johnson 
 softened by illness, 291 ; and 
 his death, and the impression 
 made by it, 292, 294. 
 
 Mother, Johnson's, 7, 13, 15, 82. 
 
 Mulso, Miss, lines by, repeated by 
 Johnson, 330. 
 
 Murphy, Mr. Arthur, persuades 
 Mr. Thrale to invite Johnson to 
 his house, 52 ; curious circum- 
 stances of his first acquaintance 
 with Johnson, 95, 397 ; trans- 
 lates Johnson's epitaph on Mrs. 
 Salusbury, 55 ; Dr. Campbell 
 meets, 256 ; he irritates Johnson 
 by setting up Barry against 
 Garrick, 262 ; his Essay on the 
 Life and Writings of Johnson, 
 361. 
 
 Musgrave, Sir Richard, urges 
 Johnson to write the lives of 
 our prose authois, lie^. 
 
 Music, Johnson could not enjoy, 
 42 ; the only sensual pleasure 
 without vice, 125. 
 
 Myrtle, Lines on receiving a Sprig 
 of, 17. 
 
 Mysteriousness in trifles much of- 
 fended Johnson, 107. 
 
 Mystery, where, begins, vice or 
 roguery not far off, 125. 
 
 National Debt, extraordinary cal- 
 culation of Johnson's about the, 
 35. 
 
474 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Necessity made Johnson what he 
 was, 211. 
 
 Needlework, much approved of by 
 Johnson, 107. 
 
 Negroes, Joknson thought an in- 
 ferior race, 86. 
 
 Nettle, a lady who was like a dead, 
 she would sting if alive, 71. 
 
 Newspaper abuse, Johnson's con- 
 tempt fur, 76. 
 
 Newton, Sir Isaac, 196, 197. 
 
 New Year, congratulations on the, 
 to Miss Boothby, 1 60. 
 
 Nichols, Mr., editor of the Gentle- 
 man's Magazine, 375, 419, 421. 
 
 Night, Young's description of, 
 quoted, 27 ; night was Johnson's 
 time for composition, 189. 
 
 Nile, discovery of the head of the, 
 by Lobo, 369-72. 
 
 Nugarum contemptor, an expres- 
 sion used by Johnson in reverie, 
 205. 
 
 Number and numeration defined, 
 35. 
 
 Numbers, round, always false, 126. 
 
 Ode to Mrs. Thrale, from the Isle 
 of Sky, 67 n. 
 
 " Oft in danger, yet alive," verses 
 to Mrs. Thi-ale, 68. 
 
 Oglethorpe, General, Dr. Camp- 
 bell dines with, and Boswell 
 teases Johnson with questions, 
 263 ; Johnson begs him to 
 write his own life, 263. 
 
 Ombersley, the seat of Lord 
 Sandys, the only place where 
 Johnson acknowledged he had 
 enough fruit, 44. 
 
 Ordinary, Dr. Campbell dines at 
 one in the Strand, and describes 
 the guests, 251. 
 
 Osborne, Tom, the bookseller, 
 knocked down by Johnson, 94, 
 190, 382 ; Boswell's true version 
 of the story, 382 n. 
 
 Ossian, Poems of, their authenti- 
 city examined by Johnson, 
 411. 
 
 Oxford, Johnson's partiality for, 
 18; his exploits at, 15, 16 5 
 luxurious living at, 240 ; John- 
 sou visits, at the same time as 
 Hannah More, 290. 
 
 The Earl of, his library 
 
 bought by Osborne and cata- 
 logued by Johnson, 381. 
 
 Packthread, story of the man who 
 had scruples concerning, 91, 92. 
 
 Palmira, Johnson gives a lesson 
 on the history, geography, and 
 chronology of, 142. 
 
 Pamphlets, Joknson's political, 
 Mrs. Piozzi's account of, 19; 
 Murphy's account of, 437 5 The 
 False Alarm, his first and 
 favourite, 20; the Falkland 
 Islands, attacking Junius, 408, 
 437, 438; Dr. Campbell hears 
 the talk of the clubs about 
 Taxation no Tyranny, 244; 
 Johnson anxious to know how 
 it is received, 247 ; answers to 
 Taxation no Tyranny, 255, 
 259 ; another answer called 
 Kesistance no Eebellion, 266 ; 
 The Patriot, 408. 
 
 Panic, an invasion, annoys John- 
 son, 37. 
 
 Paoli, General, Johnson delighted 
 by his fine manner, 132. 
 
 Paralytic stroke, Johnson's speech 
 affected by a, 416. 
 
 Paris, Dr. Campbell's impressions 
 of, 275. 
 
 Parliamentary Debates, Tj^ers' 
 account of Johnson's, 187; 
 Murphy's account of, 380, 381, 
 438 ; the only parts of his 
 writings which gave Johnson 
 any compunction, 421. 
 
 Parodies by Johnson of celebrated 
 poets, 29-31. 
 
 Patience, Johnson's, 96 ; Mrs. 
 Cumberland's, in making tea for 
 Johnson, 213. 
 
 Patriot, The, a pamphlet of John- 
 son's, 408. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 475 
 
 Patrons, Johnson said his earliest 
 were Dodsley and Cave, 187 ; 
 Johnson's definition of one, in 
 his letter to Lord Chesterfield, 
 396. 
 
 Pennies put by Johnson into the 
 hands of sleeping children, 342. 
 
 Pension, Johnson's, 195 ; Murphy 
 describes his going to offer it Co 
 Johnson, 403, 404. 
 
 Pepper Alley, people live as long 
 in, as in Salisbury Plain, 84. 
 
 Pepys, Mr., Johnson's altercation 
 with, 59. 
 
 Percy, Bishop, his Anecdotes and 
 Kemarks, being notes to Ander- 
 son's Life of Johnson, 225-31. 
 
 his account of Johnson's 
 
 method of composition, 227. 
 
 Person, Johnson's, described by 
 Mrs. Thrale, 117; by Bishop 
 Percy, 225 ; by Cumberland, 
 212; by Dr. Campbell, 247; 
 by Fanny Burney, 298 ; by 
 Murphy, 423. 
 
 Philosophic Survey, The, Dr. 
 Campbell goes to London to 
 publish, in 1776, 278. 
 
 Piety, Johnson's exemplary, 40, 
 293, 320, 336, 355, 423, 426. 
 
 Pindar, Johnson is reading, at 
 breakfast, when Dr. Campbell 
 calls, 267. 
 
 Pinkethman, Mrs., Johnson's ac- 
 count of, 304. 
 
 Poetry, devotional, Johnson's dis- 
 like of, 77 ; his idea of poetry 
 magnificent, ibid. ; his power of 
 repeating, 119, 128, 330. 
 
 Poets, Lives of the, success of, 
 1 95 ; Murphy's account of, 439- 
 46. 
 
 Politian, proposal to translate 
 poems of, 372. 
 
 Political conversation disliked by 
 Johnson, 36. 
 
 principles, Johnson's Tor}-, 
 
 189, 408, 437. 
 
 Politics, modern, Johnson's con- 
 tempt for, 36 ; American, Dr. 
 Campbell on, 255, 256, 266 ; Dr. 
 
 Campbell and Johnson discuss 
 those of Ireland, 273, 274. 
 
 Poor, Johnson's indulgence to the,. 
 37 ; and benevolence to, 38. 
 
 Pope, Johnson's high opinion of,. 
 26, 330, 331 ; his conversation 
 described, 127 ; his praise of 
 Johnson's London, 187, 376. 
 
 Porridge Island and its cooks' 
 shops, 44. 
 
 Portico, a preface likened to a, 3. 
 
 Portrait, Johnson's, begun by Sir 
 Joshua for Mrs. Thrale, but 
 not finished, called by Johnson 
 himself Blinking Sam, 99, 335, 
 336 n.; oneat Streathain,117; one 
 painted for Mr. Beauclerk, now 
 Mr. Murray's, Mrs. Thrale 
 thinks very like, 130. 
 
 poetical, by Mrs. Piozzi, of 
 
 Johnson, 117. 
 
 Hannah More sits to Miss 
 
 Reynolds for her, and Johnson 
 talks to her to make her look 
 well, 288. 
 
 Postscript, Mrs. Piozzi's, on a re- 
 mark of BoswelFs, 122. 
 
 Poverty an evil to be avoided by 
 all honest means, 102. 
 
 Pride, Johnson's neither mean nor 
 vain, 121. 
 
 Prior quoted on suffering, 197. 
 
 Prosperity, even, could not spoil 
 Reynolds, 78. 
 
 Psalraanazar, George, the best 
 man Johnson knows, 72 ; sup- 
 posed to be a person of great 
 piety, 131. 
 
 Punchinello, a literary, Johnson's 
 name for Cooper, 178. 
 
 Puns, Johnson no friend to, 134. 
 
 Purgatory, Johnson on the doe- 
 trine of, 392. 
 
 Pyramid, Boswell so calls his Life 
 of Johnson, 294. 
 
 Quarrels, all, should be studiously 
 avoided, 61. 
 
 Quixote, Don, Mrs. Piozzi's digres- 
 sion on, 112; Charlotte Len- 
 nox's Female Quixote, 3u5. 
 
476 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Eace, Johnson runs a, with a 
 young lady, 346. 
 
 Rambler, The, account of different 
 papers in, 23 ; Bishop Percy on 
 the, 230 ; a paper in, translated 
 into French and back into Eng- 
 lish, 95 ; written as a relief 
 while carrying on the Diction- 
 ary, 192 ; Johnson's choice of 
 this title, 230 ; a paper so called 
 appeared in 1712, 230 n. ; 
 Murpky's account of, 386-91, 
 431. 
 
 Easselas, many of the severe re- 
 flections on domestic life in, 
 taken from Johnson's early 
 years, 7 ; Johnson's object in 
 writing it, 82 ; a lamp of wisdom, 
 201 ; described by Murphy, 402 ; 
 by Hawkins, 435 ; with Mur- 
 phy's remarks, 435, 436. 
 
 Raynal, Abb6, Johnson refuses to 
 be introduced to, 294. 
 
 Reading, Johnson learns from his 
 mother and maid Catharine, 10; 
 Johnson has violent fits of, 103 ; 
 his amazing quickness in, 310. 
 
 Restraining Bill, Tke, Dr. Camp- 
 bell sees the king go to give the 
 royal assent to, 264. 
 
 Retaliation, Goldsmith's poem, 
 written in revenge for some 
 satirical epitaphs, 219. 
 
 Retirement, religious, Johnson's 
 veneration for, 40. 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, a man not 
 to be spoiled by pi'osperity, 84 ; 
 Johnson's three requests' to, 
 when dying, 127 ; his pictures 
 visited by Dr. Campbell, 253 ; 
 compared with Gainsborough's, 
 253 ; on Johnson's character, 
 351; on Johnson's influence, 35 7. 
 
 Miss, her first meeting with 
 
 Johnson, 229 ] carries Hannah 
 More in her coach to see John- 
 son in his own house, 283 ; takes 
 a portrait of Hannah More, 288 ; 
 her purity of character, 39 ; her 
 Recollections of Johnson, 329 
 347. 
 
 Richardson, Samuel, his love of 
 flattery, 76 ; " he picked the 
 kernel t»f life, Fielding was con- 
 tent with the husk," 81. 
 
 Rochefoucault's maxim on taking 
 pleasure in the misfortunes of 
 friends, 39. 
 
 Roffette, Abbe, Johnson takes a 
 great fancy to, 43. 
 
 Rollin, when Xenophon commends 
 like a pedant, Rollin applauds 
 like a slave, 14. 
 
 Romantic virtue distrusted, 125. 
 
 Roughness of manner, Johnson's, 
 sometimes overcame the regu- 
 larity of his notions, 76, 119. 
 
 Round numbers always false, 126. 
 
 Rousseau, J. J., Mrs. Fiozzi com- 
 pares Johnson to, 11,46. 
 
 Salt, price of, in 1775, 272. 
 
 Salusbury, Mrs., Johnson's aver- 
 
 ,i sion to, 53 ; changed by illness 
 and trouble to respect and ad- 
 miration, 54 ; Joknson's epitaph 
 on, 54, 55. 
 
 Sandys, Lord, and his garden, 44. 
 
 Sastres, Mr., attends Johnson's 
 deathbed, 319, 422. 
 
 Savage, Richard, Johnson's attach- 
 ment to, 375 ; Johnson's Life of 
 him said to have been written 
 in thirty-six hours, 187. 
 
 Saving, a habit to be encouraged, 
 64. 
 
 Sayings, no man's character to be 
 judged by his sayings, 214. 
 
 Scepticism. Johnson on, 340. 
 
 Schools, Johnson's, 11-15, 
 
 Scotch, learning distributed among 
 the, 127; Johnson's hatred oi 
 the, 71. 
 
 Scrofula, Johnson touched for, 8, 
 364. 
 
 Scoundrel, Johnson fears Mrs, 
 Tlirale will spoil him into one, 
 73 ; a scoundrel is one who is 
 afraid of anything, 127. 
 
 Scruples make men miserable, but 
 seldom good, 48 ; Johnson con- 
 
IXDEX TO JOHNSONIA.NA. 
 
 477 
 
 suited on, 91 ; Johnson has 
 
 no sympathy with puritanical, 
 
 92. 
 Second marriage, the triumph of 
 
 hope over experience, 125. 
 Sentimental distress, Johnson had 
 
 no sympathy for, 38 ; the poor 
 
 and the busy have no leisure for 
 
 .«>entimental sorrow, 64. 
 Senniins, two volumes of. sup- 
 posed to be Johnson's, 438. 
 Settle, Elkanah, the city poet, 
 
 453. 
 Shakespeare compared with Cor- 
 
 neille, 27 ; Tyers's account of 
 
 Johnson's edition of, 195 ; Mur- 
 phy's account of it, 402. 
 Shakespeare's tomb visited by Dr. 
 
 Campbell, 238. 
 Shenstone, his foolish idea that 
 
 little quarrels are useful, 61 ; 
 
 his fine garden said to have 
 
 been envied by Lord Lyttelton, 
 
 126 ; compared to an Italian 
 
 greyhound, 127. 
 Sheridan, Thomas, his WTitings on 
 
 elocution, 125. 
 Sherlock, his French and English 
 
 letters criticised, 198. 
 Shoes, Johnson says there are 
 
 more gentlemen than shoes in 
 
 Scotland, 200. 
 Siddons, Mrs., one of the few 
 
 persons unspoiled by money and 
 
 reputation, 132. 
 Skating, verses t)n, 60. 
 Skelton, Mr., sold his library for 
 
 the poor, 267. 
 Sketch, biographical, by T. Tyers. 
 
 183-207. 
 Sliding, Johnson's story of his, 15. 
 Smart, Christopher, introduces 
 
 Tyers to Johnson, 198. 
 Sober, this charax'ter in the Idler 
 
 Johnson intended for his own 
 
 portrait, 23. 
 Society, Johnson thinks good for 
 
 young people, 46. 
 Solander, his conversation, 80. 
 Solomon, King, Prior's description 
 
 of, 205. 
 
 Sorrow, Johnson's excessive, on 
 the loss of his wife, 67. 
 
 Stanley, the blind leader of the 
 band in Drury Lane, Dr. Camp- 
 bell describes, 243. 
 
 Steele's Essays, " too thin," 27. 
 
 St. George and the Dragon told 
 to Johnson by Catharine Ciiam- 
 bers, 10. 
 
 St. John's Gate, Johnson's trans- 
 lation of the history of the 
 Council of Trent said to be left 
 there, 189. 
 
 St. Martin's in the Strand (?) 
 crowded to hear a ranting 
 preacher, 249. 
 
 Stories, telling, is not conversa- 
 tion, 72 ; Johnson's admirable 
 power of, 49, 50. 
 
 Story, a, is only valuable as it is 
 true, 49. 
 
 Stourbridge School, Johnson at, 
 225. 
 
 Streatham, the library at. 117; 
 birthday parties in the summer- 
 house at, 86 ; Fanny Burney at, 
 298. 
 
 Common, the bird-catchers 
 
 on, 92. 
 
 Style, Cumberland on Johnson's, 
 212. 
 
 Suicide discussed, 264. 
 
 Sumner, Dr., of Harrow, persuaded 
 by Johnson to give up setting 
 holiday tasks, 13 ; his story of 
 Johnson, 126. 
 
 Swearing not permitted by John- 
 son, 133, 134. 
 
 Swift, Johnson's contempt for, 
 27 ; his extraordinary prejudice 
 against, 227. 
 
 Swimming, Johnson's, 48, 127. 
 
 T. Johnson's papers in the Ad- 
 venturer thus signed, 146. 
 
 Talking, Johnson's life chieHy con- 
 sisted in, 13 ; his power of 
 leading people to talk on what 
 they knew best, 199. 
 
 Tasks, holiday, Johnson's dislike 
 of, 12. 
 
478 
 
 INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 Taxation no Tyranny, appearance 
 of, 247 ; answers to, 255, 256. 
 
 Taylor, Dr., knows all Johnson's 
 
 Oxford exploits, 16, 366; had 
 
 the largest bull in P^ngland, and 
 
 some of the best sermons, 439. 
 
 Te veniente die, Te deccdente, 199. 
 
 Tea, Johnson's love for, 199 ; Mrs. 
 Cumberland's genial tea-table, 
 213 ; Mrs. Thrale kept by John- 
 son at tea tdl four in the 
 morning, 52 ; Johnson's tea-table 
 always spread, 199 ; Hannah 
 More's, 285, 286. 
 
 Temple Church, the, service at, 
 241. 
 
 Teneriffe, Hermit of, composed in 
 one night, 187. 
 
 Theatre, Latin verses composed by 
 Johnson in the, 33 ; Mrs. Thrale's 
 translation, 33, 34 ; Johnson a 
 bad companion at the, 33. 
 
 Thirty-five, Johnson's verses to 
 Mrs. Thrale with this refrain, 
 68. 
 
 Tiirale, Mr., his influence over 
 Johnson, 58, 115; described by 
 Bishop Percy, 229 ; Johnson on 
 his conversation, 204. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs., visited by Dr. 
 
 Campbell, 245 ; dinners at their 
 house, 246, 251, 256, 261, 266; 
 Murphy's account of, 406. 
 
 Mrs., her account of the 
 
 rupture of the tie between her 
 and Johnson, 115, 116; John- 
 son's praises of, 342 ; her verses 
 on Johnson's portrait, 117 ; her 
 luxurious dinner-table, 1 93. 
 
 Tissington, near Ashbourne, 143, 
 150, 151, 169. 
 
 Tories and Whigs, 19. 
 
 Torre, a foreign firework maker, 
 136. 
 
 Toryism, Johnson's, 19; Tyerson 
 Johnson's, 189. 
 
 Tour, Johnson's to the Western 
 I^lands, Murphy's account of, 
 409. 
 
 Towers, Dr., his Essay on Johnson 
 quoted, 389. 
 
 Tragedy, Johnson's, contrasted 
 with Shakespeare's, by Garriek, 
 385. 
 
 Translations, Johnson's impromp- 
 tu, 69 ; at college, 186. 
 
 Travelling companion, Johnson's 
 excellencies and defects as a, 70. 
 
 Trent, History of the Council of, 
 Johnson's translation of, sup- 
 ix)sed to be left in a box under 
 St. John's Gate, 189. 
 
 Truth, the sole value of a story is 
 its, 49 ; Johnson's unequalled 
 regard for, 90. 
 
 Turk's Head, The Club meets at 
 the, members of, 405. 
 
 Twickenham meadows, Johnson's 
 walk in, with Miss Reynolds, 
 one Sunday morning, 343. 
 
 Twining, Rev. Thomas, on John- 
 son's writings, " There is in 
 him no echo," 323 ; his delight 
 with Boswell's Life of Johnson, 
 325. 
 
 Tyers, Thomas, his sketch of 
 Johnson from the Gentleman's 
 Magazine, 183, 209. 
 
 Uncles, Johnson proud of his, for 
 their personal prowess, 6. 
 
 Unclubable. Johnson says Sir 
 Jolin Hawkins was a ver}-^ un- 
 clubable man, 299. 
 
 Understanding. " I advise no man 
 to marry who is not likely to 
 propagate understanding," 42 ; 
 the size of a man's, may be 
 measured by his mirth, 118. jfll 
 
 Universal history, Johnson asked 91 
 to take part in, 203; Johnson's 
 memorandum of the authors of 
 the, 420. 
 
 Universality of interest in John- 
 son, 205. 
 
 Vanity of Human Wishes, the 
 
 writing of, 135. 
 Veracity, Johnson's strict regard 
 
 for, 49. 
 
INDEX TO JOHNSONIANA. 
 
 479 
 
 Versailles, Johnson at the theatre 
 at, 44. 
 
 Verseii, Johnson was fond of re- 
 peating, 330, 331. 
 
 Visitors always welcome to John- 
 son, 199. 
 
 Voltaire, his Charles XII., 130 ; 
 occupied with the canity of 
 human pursuits at the same 
 time as Johnson, 436. 
 
 Vows, Johnson's horror of, 91. 
 
 Wakefield, The Vicar of, Johnson 
 sells for Goldsmith, 50. 
 
 \Valmsle3', Mr., gives Johnson in- 
 troductions, 186, 373 ; Johnson's 
 tribute to his excellence, 374. 
 
 Warburton, Johnson's gratitude 
 to, 128; and high opinion of, 
 132. 
 
 Warner, Mr., the finest preacher 
 Dr. Campbell had ever heard, 
 252. 
 
 Watts, Dr., his Improvement of 
 the Mind a favourite book with 
 Johnson, 126. 
 
 Welsted, Leonard, a poet satirised 
 in the Dunciad, 453. 
 
 Wetherall, Dean, tries to get up a 
 riding house at Oxford, 266. 
 
 Whigs and Tories, 19. 
 
 Wilkes, John, meets Johnson at 
 dinner, 204 ; Johnson's dislike 
 of, 336 ; Boswell's story of, and 
 No. 45, 457 ; a most agi-eeable 
 companion, 459 ; offers to write 
 all the home news to Boswell 
 when abroad, 459. 
 
 Wilkes, Israel, Johnson's rudeness 
 to, 336. 
 
 Williams, Miss, described by 
 Bishop Percy, 228. 
 
 Dr. Zachary, 393. 
 
 Winds, Temple of the, at Lord 
 Anson's, at Moor Park, John- 
 son's epigram on, 32. 
 
 Wine, Johnson's use of, 136. 
 
 Wives. " Honeysuckle wives are 
 but creepers at best, and com- 
 monly destroy the tree they so 
 tenderly cling about," 71. 
 
 Women, Johnson characterises 
 different — one has some softness, 
 but so has a pillow, 71 ; one is 
 like sour small-beer, 71; ano- 
 ther like a dead nettle, if she 
 were alive she would sting, 71 ; 
 and another a proper person to 
 apply to if you want a little 
 run tea, 89. 
 
 Woodhouse, the shoemaker poet, 
 52. 
 
 Woolwich, Dr. Campbell visits the 
 dockyard at, 261. 
 
 Xenophon commends like a pedant, 
 and Roll in applauds like a slave, 
 14. 
 
 Yonge, Sir William, wrote the 
 epilogue to Irene, 431. 
 
 Young, his description of night 
 quoted, 27 ; he froths and 
 bubbles sometimes very vigo- 
 rously, 27. 
 
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 BELL (Sir Charles). The Anatomy 
 
 and Philosophy of Expression, as Con- 
 nected with the Fine Arts, 5^. Illustrated. 
 DEMMIN. History of Arms and 
 Armour from the Earliest Period. By 
 A-uguste Demmin. Trans, by C. C. 
 Black, M.A., Assistant Keeper, S. K. 
 Museum. 1900 Illustrations. 7s. 6d. 
 
 FAIRHOLT'S Costume in England. 
 
 Third Edition. Enlarged and Revised by 
 the Hon. H. A. Dillon, F.S.A. With 
 more than 700 Engravings, 2 vols. 55. 
 each. 
 
 Vol. I. History. Vol. II. Glossary. 
 
 FLAXMAN. Lectures on Sculpture. 
 
 With 1 hree Addresses to the R.A. by Sir 
 R. Westmacott, R.A., and Memoir of 
 Flaxman. Portrait and 53 Plates. 6s. 
 
 HEATON'S Concise History of 
 
 Painting. New Edition, revised by 
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 LECTURES ON PAINTING by the 
 
 Royal Academicians, Barry, Opie, Fuseli. 
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 LEONARDO DA VINCI'S Treatise 
 
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 PLANCHE'S History of British 
 
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21 
 
 LIBRARY OF SPORTS AND GAMES 
 
 lo Volumes at 3,^. 6c/. and <^s. each. (2I. 6s. od. per set.) 
 
 BOHN'S Handbooks of Athletic 
 
 Sports. With numerous Illustrations. In 
 7 vols. 35. dd. each. 
 
 Vol. I.— Cricket, by Hon. and Rev. E. 
 Lyttelton ; Lawn Tennis, by H. W. W. 
 Wilberforce ; Tennis, Rackets, and Fives, 
 by Julian Marshall, Major Spens, and J. A. 
 Tait ; Golf, by W. T. LinskiU ; Hockey, 
 by F. S. Cresweil. 
 
 Vol. II. — Rowing and Sculling, by W. 
 B. Woodgate ; Sailing, by E. F. Knight ; 
 Swimming, by M. and J. R. Cobbett, 
 
 Vol. III.— Boxing, by R. G. Allanson- 
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 by R. G. Allanson-Winn and C. Phillipps- 
 Wolley : Wrestling, by Walter Armstrong ; 
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 Vol. IV. — Skating, by Douglas Adams; 
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 Vol. V. — Cycling and Athletics, by 
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 Walker, M.A., Assistant Master Bedford 
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 BOHN'S Handbooks of Games. New 
 
 Edition, entirely rewritten. 2 volumes. 
 35. 6d. each. 
 
 Vol. I. Table Games. 
 Contents : — Billiards, with Pool, Pyra- 
 m ds, and Snooker, by Major-Gen. A. W. 
 Drayson, F.R.A.S., with a preface by 
 W. J. Peall— Bagatelle, by 'Berkeley'— 
 Chess, by R. F. Green— Draughts, Back- 
 gatnmon, Dominoes, Solitaire, Reversi, 
 
 Go Bang, Rouge et noir. Roulette, E.O., 
 Hazard, Far®, by ' Berkeley.* 
 
 Vol. II. Card Games. 
 Contents :— Whist, by Dr. William Pole, 
 F.R.S., Author of 'The Philosophy of 
 Whist, &c.'— Solo Whist, by R. F. Green ; 
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 et Noir, Pope Joan, Speculation, &:c. &c., 
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 CHESS CONGRESS of 1862. A col- 
 lection of the games played. Edited by 
 J. Lowenthal. New edition, 55. 
 
 MORPHY'S Games of Chess, being 
 the Matches and best Games played by the 
 American Champion, with explanatory and 
 analytical Notes by J. LSwenthal. With 
 short Memoir and Portrait of Morphy. ss, 
 
 STAUNTON'S Chess-Player's Hand- 
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 ■— Chess Praxis. A Supplement to the 
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 a Selection of Morphy's Games. Annotated. 
 636 pages. Diagrams, s^- 
 
 Chess-Player's Companion. 
 
 Comprising a Treatise on Odds, Collection 
 of Match Games, including the French 
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 of Original Problems. Diagrams and Co- 
 loured Frontispiece. 5^. 
 
 Chess Tournament of 1851. 
 
 A Collection of Games played at this cele- 
 brated assemblage. With Introduction 
 and Notes. Numerous Diagrams. 5^-. 
 
BOHN'S CHEAP SERIES. 
 
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 A Series of Complete Stories or Essays, mostly reprinted from Vols, in 
 
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 cut edges, suitable for Raihvay Reading. 
 
 ASCHAM (Roger). Scholemaster. 
 
 By Professor Mayor. 
 
 CARPENTER (Dr. "W. B.). Physi- 
 ology of Temperance and Total Abstinence. 
 
 EMERSON. England and English 
 
 Characteristics. Lectures on the Race, 
 Abihty, Manners, Truth, Character, 
 Wealth, Religion. &c. &c. 
 
 Nature : An Essay. To which are 
 
 added Orations, Lectures, and Addresses. 
 
 Representative Men : Seven Lec- 
 tures on Plato, Swedenborg, Mon- 
 taigne, Shakespeare, Napoleon, and 
 Goethe. 
 
 Twenty Essays on Various Sub- 
 jects. 
 
 The Conduct of Life. 
 
 FRANKLIN (Benjamin). Autobio- 
 graphy. Edited by J. Sparks. 
 
 HAWTHORNE (Nathaniel). Twice- 
 told Tales. Two Vols, in One, 
 
 Snow Image, and Other Tales. 
 
 Scarlet Letter. 
 
 House with the Seven Gables. 
 
 Transformation ; or the INIarble 
 
 Fawn. Two Parts. 
 
 HAZLITT (W.). Table-talk: Essays 
 on Men and Manners. Three Parts. 
 
 Plain Speaker : Opinions on Books, 
 
 Men, and Things. Three Parts. 
 
 Lectures on the English Comic 
 
 Writers. 
 
 Lectures on the English Poets. 
 
 Lectures on the Characters of 
 
 Shakespeare's Plays. 
 
 Lectures on the Literature of 
 
 the Age of Elizabeth, chiefly Dramatic. 
 
 IRVING ("Washington). Lives of 
 
 Successors of Mohammed. 
 
 Life of Goldsmith. 
 
 Sketch-book. 
 
 Tales of a Traveller. 
 
 Tour on the Prairies. 
 
 Conquests of Granada and 
 
 Spain. Two Parts. 
 
 Life and Voyages of Columbus. 
 
 Two Parts. 
 
 Companions of Columbus: Their 
 
 Voyages and Discoveries. 
 
 Adventures of Captain Bonne- 
 ville in the Rocky Mountains and the Far 
 West. 
 
 Knickerbocker's History of New 
 
 York, from the beginning of the World to 
 the End of the Dutch Dynasty. 
 
 Tales of the Alhambra. 
 
 Conquest of Florida under Her- 
 nando de Soto. 
 
 Abbotsford & Newstead Abbey. 
 
 Salmagundi ; or, The Whim-Whams 
 
 and Opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, 
 Esq. 
 
 Bracebridge Hall ; or, The Hu- 
 mourists. 
 
 ■ Astoria ; or. Anecdotes of an Enter- 
 prise beyond the Rocky Mountains. 
 
 Wolfert's Roost, and other Tales. 
 
 LAMB (Charles). Essays of Elia. 
 With a Portrait. 
 
 Last Essays of Elia. 
 
 Eliana. With Biographical Sketch. 
 
 MARRYAT (Captain). Pirate and 
 
 the Three Cutters. With a Memoir oi 
 the Author. 
 
 «i3 
 
( 23 ) 
 
 Bohn's Select Library of Standard Works. 
 
 Price IS. in paper covers, and i^. 6d. in cloth. 
 
 1. Bacon's Essays. With Introduction and Notes. 
 
 2. Lessing's Laokoon. Beasley's Translation, revised, with Intro- 
 
 duction, Notes, &c., by Edward Bell, M.A. With Frontispiece. 
 
 3. Dante's Inferno. Translated, with Notes, by Rev. H. F. Cary. 
 
 4. Goethe's Faust. Part I. Translated, with Introduction, by 
 
 Anna Swan wick. 
 
 5. Goethe's Boyhood. Being Part I. of the Autobiography. 
 
 Translated by J. Oxenford. 
 
 6. Schiller's Mary Stuart and The Maid of Orleans. Trans- 
 
 lated by J. Mellish and Anna Swanwick. 
 
 7. The Queen's English. By the late Dean Alford. 
 
 8. Life and Labours of the late Thomas Brassey. By Sir 
 
 A. Helps, K.C.B. 
 
 9. Plato's Dialogues : The Apology — Crito — Phaedo — Protagoras. 
 
 With Introductions. 
 
 10. Moliere's Plays: The Miser— Tartuffe— The Shopkeeper turned 
 
 Gentleman. Translated by C. H. Walt, M.A. With brief Memoir. 
 
 11. Goethe's Reineke Fox, in English Hexameters. By A. Rogers. 
 
 12. Oliver Goldsmith's Plays. 
 
 13. Lessing's Plays : Nathan the Wise— Minna von Barnhelm. 
 
 14. Plautus's Comedies: Trinummus — Menaechmi — Aulularia — 
 
 Captivi. 
 
 15. Waterloo Days. By C. A. Eaton. With Preface and Notes by 
 
 Edward Bell. 
 
 16. Demosthenes— On the Crown. Translated by C. Rann 
 
 Kennedy. 
 
 17. The Vicar of Wakefield. 
 
 18. Oliver Cromwell. By Dr. Reinhold Pauli. 
 
 19. The Perfect Life. By Dr. Channing. Edited by his nephew, 
 
 Rev. W. H. Channing. 
 
 20. Ladies in Parliament, Horace at Athens, and other pieces, 
 
 by Sir George Otto Trevelyan, Bart. 
 
 21. Defoe's The Plague in London. 
 
 22. Irving's Life of Mahomet. 
 
 23. Horace's Odes, by various hands. [Oui of Print. 
 
 24. Burke's Essay on ' The Sublime and Beautiful.' With 
 
 Short Memoir. 
 
 25. Hauff's Caravan. 
 
 26. Sheridan's Plays. 
 
 27. Dante's Purgatorio. Translated by Cary. 
 
 28. Harvey's Treatise on the Circulation of the Blood 
 
 29. Cicero's Friendship and Old Age. 
 
 30. Dante's Paradiso. Translated by Cary. 
 
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