U N IVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS B J £3 be r I £63 V. 0 * Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/lifeofsamueljohn02bosw_0 THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. 1) INCLUDING A JOURNAL OF A TOUR TO THE HEBRIDES, BY n JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. A NEW EDITION, WITH NUMEROUS ADDITIONS AND NOTES, BY JOHN WILSON CROKER, LL. D. F.R.S. ^-Q,UO fit Ut OMNIS V oti su °h as I have had I know not how often ; no harm came of it, and all is well. I cannot go [to Oxford] till Saturday, and then go I will if I can. My clothes, Mr. Thrale says, must be made ike other people’s, and they are gone to the tailor’s. - ” “ Oxford, 1st June, 1775. “ I did not make the epitaph 2 before last night, and this morning I have found it too long ; I send it to you as it is to pacify you, and will make it shorter * *. Don’t sup- pose that I live here as we live at Strea- 1 A lawsuit carried on by Sir Allan Maclean, chief of his clan, to recover certain parts of his family estates from the duke of Argyle. — Bos- well. J [On Mrs. Salisbury. — E d.] tham. I went this morning to the chape at six, and if I were to stay would try t« conform to all wholesome rules * *. Mr. Coulson 3 is well, and still willing to keep me, but 1 delight not in being long here. Mri Smollett, of Loch Lomond *, and his lady have been here — we were glad to meet.' 9 “6th June, 1775. “ Such is the uncertainty of all human things, that Mr. [Coulson] has quarrelled with me. He says I raise the laugh upon him, and he is an independent man, and all he has is his own, and he is not used to such things. And so I shall have no more good of C[oulson], of whom I never had any good but flattery, which my dear mis tress knows I can have at home. ****** “ Here I am, and how to get away I do not see, for the power of departure, other- wise than in a post-chaise, depends upon accidental vacancies in passing coaches, of which all but one in a week pass through this place at three in the morning. After that one I have sent, but with little hope ; yet I shall be very unwilling to stay here another week.” “ [Oxford], 7th June, 1775 “C[oulson] and I am pretty well again. I grudge the cost of going to Lichfield — Frank and I — in a post-chaise — yet I think of thundering away to-morrow. So you will write your next dear letter to Lich- field.” “ Lichfield, 10th June, 1775. “ On Thursday I took a post-chaise, and intended to have passed a day or two at Birmingham, but Hector had company in his house, and I went on to Lichfield, where I know not how long I shall stay.” “ Lichfield, 11th June, 1775. “ Lady Smith is settled here at last, and sees company in her new house. 1 went on Saturday. Poor Lucy Porter has her hand in a bag, so unabled by the gout that she cannot dress herself. I go every day to Stowehill ; both the sisters s are now at home. I sent Mrs. Aston a ‘ Taxation 6,’ and sent it to nobody else, and Lucy borrow- ed it. Mrs. Aston, since that, inquired by a messenger when I was expected. ‘ I can tell nothing about it,’ said Lucy : ‘ when he is to be here, I suppose she ’ll know.’ Every body remembers you all. You left a good impression behind you. I hope you 3 [Mr. Coulson, of University College. See ante, vol. i. p. 493 . — Ed.] 4 [See ante, vol. i. p. 452 . — Ed.] 5 [Mrs. G astrell and Miss Aston. — E d.] 6 [A copy of his pamphlet, “Taxation nc Tyranny.” — E d.] 1775. — JET AT. 6b. b wiD io the same at [Lewes]. Do not make them speeches. Unusual compliments, to which there is no stated and prescriptive answer, embarrass the feeble who do not know what to say, and disgust the wise, who, knowing them to be false, suspect them to be hypocritical. ******* You never told me, and I omitted to inquire, how you were entertained by Boswell’s ‘Journal.’ One would think the man had been hired to be a spy upon me ; he was very diligent, and caught opportunities of writing from time to time. You may now conceive yourself tolerably well acquainted with the expedition. Folks want me to go to Italy, but I say you are not for it.” “ Lichfield, 13th June, 1775. « I now write from Mrs. Cobb’s, where I have had custard. Nothing considerable has happened since I wrote, only I am sorry to see Miss Porter so bad, and I am not pleased to find that, after a very comfortable intermission, the old flatulence distressed me again last night. ‘ The world is full of ups and downs,’ as, I think, I told you once before. “ Lichfield is full of box-clubs. The la- dies have one for their own sex. They have incorporated themselves under the appella- tion of the Amicable Society ; and pay each twopence a week to the box. Any woman who can produce the weekly twopence is admitted to the society ; and when any of the poor subscribers is in want, she has six shillings a week ; and, I think, when she dies five pounds are given to her children. Lucy is not one, nor Mrs. Cobb. The sub- scribers are always quarrelling ; and every now and then, a lady, in a fume, withdraws her name ; but they are an hundred pounds beforehand. “Mr. Green has got a cast of Shak- speare, which he holds to be a very exact resemblance. « There is great lamentation here for the death of Col. Lucy is of opinion that he was wonderfudy handsome. “ Boswell is a favourite, but he has lost ground since I told them that he is married, and all hope is over.”] Ed. [The history of Mrs. Williams be- longs so inseparably to that of Dr. John- son, that the Editor cannot omit here insert- ing the following letter, relating to a small annuity, which the charity of Mrs. Montagu had secured to Mrs. Williams, and which, as we shall see, was long afterwards a sub- ject of acknowledgment from Dr. Johnson to that lady.] [“MRS. WILLIAMS TO MRS. MONTAGU. “ Johnson’s-court, 26th June, 1775. Mont. “Madam, — Often have I heard of B ‘ generosity, benevolence, and com- passion, but never have I known or expe- rienced the reality of those virtues, till this joyful morning, when I received the honour of your most tender and affectionate letter with its most welcome contents. Ma- dam, I may with truth say, I have not words to express my gratitude as I ought to a lady, whose bounty has, by an act of benevolence, doubled my income, and whose tender, compassionate assurance has removed the future anxiety of trusting to chance, the terror of which only could have prompted me to stand a public candidate for Mr. Hetherington’s bounty. May my sincere and grateful thanks be accepted by you, and may the Author of all good bless and long continue a life, whose shining virtues are so conspicuous and exemplary, is the most ar- dent prayer of her who is, with the greatest respect, madam, your most devoted, truly obliged, and obedient humble servant, “Anna Williams.”] [The following letter, addressed to Dr. Johnson, though it does not belong D ' to his personal history, describes a scene of public amusement, and affords some details concerning the habits of society, which may amuse the reader, and in a work of this na- ture will hardly be considered as misplaced.] [“MRS. THRALE TO DR. JOHNSON. “ 24th June, 1775. “Now for the regatta, of which, Baretti says, the first notion was Le . w taken from Venice, where the gon- doliers practise rowing against each other perpetually ; and I dare say ’tis good diversion where the weather invites, and the water seduces to such entertainments. Here, however, it was not likely to answer ; and I think nobody was pleased. “Well! Croesus promised a reward, you remember, for him who should produce a new delight ; but the prize was never ob- tained, for nothing that was new proved delightful ; and Dr. Goldsmith, three thou sand years afterwards, found out that who ever did a new thing did a bad thing, and whoever said a new thing said a false thing. So yestermorning, a flag flying from some- conspicuous steeple in Westminster gave notice of the approaching festival, and at noon the managers determined to hold it on that day. In about two hours the wind rose very high, and the river was exceed- ingly rough ; but the lot was cast, and the ladies went on with their dresses. It had been agreed that all should wear white ; but the ornaments were left to our own choice. I was afraid of not being fine enough ; so I trimmed my white lutestring with silver gauze, and wore black riband intermixed We had obtained more tickets than I hoped for, though Sir Thomas Robinson i gave us i [Ante, v. i. p. 1 73. —End 6 1775. — iETAT. 66. none at .ast ; but he gives one such a pro- fusion of words, and bows, and compliments, that I suppose he thinks every thing else superfluous. Mr. Catori was the man for a real favour at last, whose character is di- rectly opposite, as you know ; but if both are actuated by the spirit of kindness, let us *ry at least to love them both. “He wished Hester [Miss Thrale] to go, and she wished it too, and her father wished ; so I would not stand out, though my fears for her health and safety lessened the plea- sure her company always gives. The D’Avenants, then, Mr. Cator, Mr. Evans, Mr. Seward, and ourselves, set about being happy with all our might, and tried for a barge to flutter in altogether. The barges, however, were already full, and we were to be divided and put into separate boats. The water was rough, even seriously so ; the time glided away in deliberation of what was to be done ; and we resolved, at last, to run to the house of a gentleman in the Temple, of whom we knew nothing but that he was D’Avenant’s friend, and look at the race from his windows, — then drive away for Ranelagh, in time to see the barges drawn up, and the company disembark. Of the race, however, scarce any thing could be seen for clouds of dust that intercepted one’s sight ; and we have no balconies to see shows from, as are provided in countries where processions make much of the means of en- tertainment ; so we discomposed our head- dresses against each other, by struggling for places in an open window, and then begged pardons with courtesies, which ex- posed our trains to be trod on, and made us still more out of humour. It was however a real pleasure to look at the crowd of spec- tators. Every shop was shut ; every street deserted ; and the tops of all such houses as had any catch of the river swarmed with people, like bees settling on a branch. Here is no exaggeration, upon my honour ; even the lamp-irons on Westminster-bridge were converted into seats, while every lighter lying in the Thames bore men up to the topmast-head. This was the true wonder of the day. Baretti says he will show us finer sights when we go to Italy. I believe him ; but shall we ever see so pop- ulous a city as London ? so rich a city ? so happy a city 1 I fancy not. ‘ Let bear or elephant be e’er so white, The people sure, the people, are the sight.’ “ They could not indeed be very atten- tive to the games, like those Horace talks of, for here was neither panther nor camel ; no pretence to draw us together, as I could find ; — yet they sat so thick upon the slating of Whitehall, that nobody could persuade me for a long wiii e out of the notion that it was covered with black, till through a tel- escope we espied the animals in motion* like magnified mites in a bit of old cheese. Well! from this house in the Temple we hasted away to Ranelagh, happy in having at least convinced a hundred folks we never saw before, and perhaps never shall see again, that we had tickets for the regatta, and fine clothes to spoil with the rain, and that we were not come thither like the vulgar — in good time ! — only to see the boat-race. And now, without one image of Cleopatra’s galley or Virgil’s games, or one pretext to say how it put us in mind of either, we drove to Ranelagh, and told each other all the way how pretty it would be -to look at the ladies disembarking to musick, and walking in procession up to the rotunda. But the night came on ; the wind roared ; the rain fell ; and the barges missing their way, many came up to the wrong stairs. The managers endeavoured to rectify the mistake, and drive them back, that some order might be kept, and some appearance of regularity might be made ; but the wo- men were weary and wet, and in no disposi- tion to try for further felicity out of the old common road ; so the procession was spoil- ed ; and as to musick, we heard none but screams of the frighted company, as they were tossed about at the moment of getting to shore. Once more, then, all were turned loose to look for pleasure where it could be found. The rotunda was not to be opened till twelve o’clock, when the bell was to call us to sup there ; the temporary building was not finished, and the rain would not permit walking in the garden. Calamity, however, vanishes often upon a near approach — does not it? — as well as happiness. We all crowded into the new building, from whence we drove the carpenters, and called for cards, without the help of which, by some fatality, no day dedicated to amusement is ever able to end. “ Queeney said there was no loss of the ornaments intended to decorate Neptune’s hall ; for she saw no attempt at embellish- ment, except a few fluttering rags, like those which dangle from a dyer’s pole into the street; and in that room we sat telling opinions, adventures, &c. till supper was served, which the men said was an execra- ble one, and I thought should have been finer. ‘Was nothing good, then?’ you be- gin to exclaim; ‘here is desire of saying something where little is to be said, and la- mentations are the readiest nonsense my mistress can find to fill her letter with. No, no ; I would commend the concert, the catch singers, for an hour, if you would hear me; the musick was well selected, and admirably executed ; nor did the company look much amiss when all the dismal was l [A timber-merchant in the Borough. — E d.] 1775. — 2ETAT. 06. over, and we walked round Ranelagh a lit- tle in the old way; — every body being dressed in white was no advantage indeed to the general appearance. ****** «We returned safe home about five or six o’clock : a new scene to Hester, who behaved sweetly, and had no fears in the crowd, but prodigious surprise in finding it broad day when we came out. I might have wondered too, for few people have frequented publick places less than myself ; and for the first six years after my mar- riage, as you know, I never set my foot in any theatre or place of entertainment at all. What most amazed me about this regatta, however, was the mixture of company, when tickets were so difficult to obtain. Somebody talked at Ranelagh of two ladies that were drowned; but I have no doubt that was a dream.”] Ed. [In the last days of June, he removed to Ashbourne ; and his letters thence contain the usual routine of his country observations, with one or two more charac- teristic circumstances. He was very anx- ious that an old horse of Mrs. Thrale’s should not be sold to hard work, or, as he called it, degraded, for five pounds, and was willing to have borne the expense of main- taining the poor animal. For his friend Baretti, of some point of whose conduct Mrs. Thrale had complain- ed, he intercedes with that lady in a tone of modest propriety : “DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ Ashbourne, 15th July, 1775. Letters, “Poor Baretti ! do not quarrel 278. P * 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 to be rude. Forgive him, dearest lady, the rather because of his mis- behaviour ; I am afraid he has learned part of me. I hope to set him hereafter a better example.” Ed This coolness soon ended, as the next letter informs us : “DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ Ashbourne, 21st July, 1775. Letters, « You and [Baretti] are friends p>290, again. My dear mistress has the quality of being easily reconciled, and not easily offended. Kindness is a good thing in itself ; and there are few things that are wor- thy of anger, and still fewer that can justify malignity. «* I am glad you read Boswell’s Journal. You are now sufficiently informed of the 7 whole transaction, and need n jt regret that you did not make the tour of the Hebrides.” “ Lichfield, July [27], 1775. “ 1 have passed one day at Birmingham with my old friend Hector — there’s a name ! and his sister, an old love. My mistress is grown much older than my friend. c O quid habes illius, illius Q.use spirabat amores duse me surpuerat mihi.’ ” Hor. Od. 13. 1.4. He returned to town about the end Ed of August.] After my return to Scotland, I wrote three letters to him, from which I extract the following passages : “ I have seen Lord Hailes since I came down. He thinks it wonderful that you are pleased to take so much pains in revising his ‘Annals.’ I told him that you said you were well rewarded by the entertainment which you had in reading them.” “There has been a numerous flight ot Hebrideans in Edinburgh this summer, whom I have been happy to entertain at my house. Mr. Donald Macqueen* and Lord Monboddo supped with me one even- ing. They joined in controverting your proposition, that the Gaelick of the High- lands and Isles of Scotland was not written till of late.” “ My mind has been somewhat dark this summer. I have need of your warming and vivifying rays ; and I hope I shall have them frequently. I am going to pass some time with my father at AucMnleck.” “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ London, Aug. 27, 1775. “Dear sir, — I am returned from the annual ramble into the middle counties. Having seen nothing I had not seen before I have nothing to relate. Time has left that part of the island few antiquities ; and commerce has left the people no singulari- ties. I was glad to go abroad, and, per- haps, glad to come home ; which is in other words, I was, I am afraid, weary of being at home, and weary of being abroad. Is not this the state of life 1 But, if we con- fess this weariness, let us not lament it ; for all the wise and all the good say, that we may cure it. “ For the black fumes which rise in your mind, I can prescribe nothing but that you disperse them by honest business or inno- cent pleasure, and by reading, sometimes easy and sometimes serious. Change of' i The very learned minister in the Isle of Sky, whom both Dr. Johnson and I have mentioned with regard.— Boswell. [See ante, vol. i. p. 377.— Ed.] 9 1775. — iETAT. 66. place is useful ; and 1 hope that your resi- dence at Auchinleck will have many good effects. * * % * * * “ That 1 should have given pain to Ra- say, 1 am sincerely sorry ; and am therefore very much pleased that he is no longer un- easy. He still thinks that I have represent- ed him as personally giving up the chief- tainship. I meant only that it was no long- er contested between the two houses, and supposed it settled, perhaps, by the cession of some remote generation, in the house of Dunvegan. I am sorry the advertisement was not continued for three or four times in the paper. “That Lord Monboddo and Mr. Mac- queen should controvert a position contrary to the imaginary interest of literary or na- tional prejudice, might be easily imagined ; but of a standing fact there ought to be no controversy; if there are men with tails, catch a homo caudatus ; if there was writing of old in the Highlands or Hebrides, in the Erse language, produce the manuscripts. Where men write they will write to one an- other, and some of their letters, in families studious of their ancestry, will be kept. In Wales there are many manuscripts. “I have now three parcels of Lord Hailes’s history, which I purpose to return all the next week : that his respect for my little observations should keep his work in suspense, makes one of the evils of my jour- ney. It is in our language, I think, a new mode of history which tells all that is want- ed, and, I suppose, all that is known, with- out laboured splendour of language, or af- fected subtilty of conjecture. The exact- ness of his dates raises my wonder. He seems to have the closeness of Henault with- out his constraint. “Mrs. Thrale was so entertained with your ‘ Journal V that she almost read her- self blind. She has a great regard for you. “ Of Mrs. Boswell, though she knows in her heart that she does not love me, I am always glad to hear any good, and hope that she and the little dear ladies will have neither sickness nor any other affliction. But she knows that she does not care what becomes of me, and for that she may be sure that I think her very much to blame. “ Never, my dear sir, do you take it into your head to think that I do not love you ; you may settle yourself in full confidence both of my love and esteem : I love you as a kind man, I value you as a worthy man, and hope in time to reverence you as a man of exemplary piety. I hold you, as Hamlet has it, * in my heart of hearts,’ and thore- i My “Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides,” which that lady read in the original manuscript. — Boswell. fore, it is little to say, that I am, sir, your affectionate humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.” “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ London, 30th August, 1775. “ Sir, — If in these papers 2 there is litt e alteration attempted, do not suppose me negligent. I have read them perhaps more closely than the rest ; but I find nothing worthy of an objection. “ Write to me soon, and write often, and tell me all your honest heart. I am, sir, yours affectionately, “ Sam. Johnson.” [“DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. LUCY PORTER. “ London, 9th September, 1775. “ Dear madam, — I have sent Pearson your books by the carrier, and in MS. Sandys’s Travels you will find your glasses. “ I have written this post to the ladies at Stow-hill, and you may, the day after you have this, or at any other time, send Mrs. Gastrel’s books. “ Be pleased to make my compliments to all my good friends. “ I hope the poor dear hand is recovered, and you are now able to write, which, how- ever, you need not do, for I am going to Brighthelmstone, and when I come back will take care to tell you. In the mean time take great care of your health, and drink as much as you can. I am, dearest love, your most humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.”] “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 14th Sept. 1775. “Mr dear sir, — I now write to you, lest in some of your freaks and humours you should fancy yourself neglected. Such fan- cies I must entreat you never to admit, at least never to indulge ; for my regard for you is so radicated and fixed, that it is become part of my mind, and cannot be effaced but by some cause uncommonly violent ; therefore, whether I write or not, set your thoughts at rest. I now write to tell you that I shall not very soon write again, for I am to set out to-morrow on another journey. * * * * * * “ Your friends are all well at Streatham and in Leicesterfields 3. Make my compli- ments to Mrs. Boswell, if she is in good humour with me. I am, sir, &c. “ Sam. Johnson.” What he mentions in such light term* 2 Another parcel of Lord Hailes’s “Annals of Scotland.” — Boswell. 3 Where SV Joshua Reynolds lived. — Bos- well. 1775. — iETAT. 66. 6 as, “ I am to set out to-morrow on another journey,” I soon afterwards discovered was no less than a tour to France with Mr. and Mrs. Tlirale. This was the only time in his life that he went upon the Continent. “TO MR. ROBERT LEVET. “ Calais, 18th Sept. 1775. « Dear sir, — W e are here in France, after a very pleasing passage of no more than six hours. 1 know not when I shall write again, and therefore I write now, though you cannot suppose that I have much to say. You have seen France your- self. From this place we are going to Rou- en, and from Rouen to Paris, where Mr. Thrale designs to stay about five or six weeks. We have a regular recommenda- tion to the English resident, so we shall not be taken for vagabonds. We think to go one way and return another, and see as much as we can. I will try to speak a little French; I tried hitherto but little, but I spoke sometimes. If I heard better, I sup- pose I should learn faster. I am, sir, your humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “TO THE SAME. “ Paris, 22d October, 1775. “Dear sir, — We are still here, com- monly very busy in looking about us. We have been to day at Versailles. You have seen it, and 1 shall not describe it. We came yesterday from Fontainbleau, where the court is now. We went to see the king and queen at dinner, and the queen was so impressed by Miss i, that she sent one of the gentlemen to inquire who she was. I find all true that you have ever told me at Paris. Mr. Thrale is very liberal, and keeps us two coaches, and a very fine table; but I think our cookery very bad. Mrs. Thrale got into a convent of English nuns, and I talked with her through the grate, and I am very kindly used by the English Benedictine friars. But upon the whole I cannot make much acquaintance here ; and though the churches, palaces, and some private houses are very magnifi- cent, there is no very great pleasure after having seen many, in seeing more ; at least the pleasure, whatever it be, must some time have an end, and we are beginning to think when we shall come home. Mr. Thrale calculates that as we left Streatham on the fifteenth of September, we shall see it again about the fifteenth of November. “ I think 1 had not been on this side of the sea five days before I found a sensible vmprovement in my health. I ran a race in the rain this day, and beat Baretti. Ba- etti is a fine fellow, and speaks French, I think, quite as well as English. “Make my compliments to Mrs. Wil- liams ; and give my love to Francis ; and tell my friends that I am not lost. I am, dear sir, your affectionate humble, &c. “Sam. Johnson.” “TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, 24th October, 1775. “My dear sir, — If I had not been in- formed that you were at Paris, you should have had a letter from me by the earliest opportunity, announcing the birth of my son, on the 9th instant ; I have named him Alexander 2 , after my father. I now write, as I suppose your fellow-traveller, Mr. Thrale, will return to London this week, to attend his duty in parliament, and that you will not stay behind him. “ I send another parcel of Lord Hailes’s ‘Annals.’ I have undertaken to solicit you for a favour to him, which he thus requests in a letter to me : ‘I intend soon to give you ‘The Life of Robert Bruce,’ which you will be pleased to transmit to Dr. John- son. I wish that you could assist me in a fancy which I have taken, of getting Dr. Johnson to draw a character of Robert Bruce, from the account that I give of that prince. If he finds materials for it in m) work, it will be a proof that I have been fortunate in selecting the most striking in- cidents.’ “ I suppose by ‘ The Life of Robert Bruce,’ his lordship means that part of his ‘ Annals’ which relates the history of that prince, and not a separate work. “Shall we have ‘A Journey to Paris,’ from you in the winter 1 ? You will, I hope, at any rate, be kind enough to give me some account of your French travels very soon, for I am very impatient. What a different scene have you viewed this au- tumn, from that which you viewed in au- tumn 1773 ! I ever am, my dear sir, your much obliged and affectionate humble ser vant, “James Boswell.” ‘TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 16th November, 1775. “ Dear sir, — I am glad that the young laird is born, and an end, as I hope, put to the only difference that you can ever have 2 [TbeEditor had the pleasure of his acquaint- ance. He was a high-spirited, clever, arid amiable gentleman ; and, like his father, of a frank and social disposition ; but it is said that he did not relish the recollections of our authour’s devotion to Dr. Johnson : like old lord Auchin- leck, he seemed to think it a kind of derogation. He was created a baronet in 1821, hut was un- fortunately killed in a duel, arising from a politi- cal dispute, near Edinburgh, on the 26th March, 1822, by Mr. Stuart, of Dunearn. He left issua a son and two daughters. — Ed.] 1 Miss Thrale.— Bos well. vul. 11. 2 10 1775. — JE1 AT. 66. with Mrs. Boswell 1 2 . I know that she does not love me ; but I intend to persist in wish- ing her well till I get the better of her. “Paris is, indeed, a place very different from the Hebrides, but it is to a hasty trav- eller not so fertile of novelty, nor affords so many opportunities of remark. I cannot pretend to tell the publick any tiling of a place better known to many of my readers than to myself. We can talk of it when we meet. “ I shall go next week to Streatham, from whence I purpose to send a parcel of the ‘ History’ every post. Concerning the character of Bruce, I- can only say, that I do not see any great reason for writing it ; but I shall not easily deny what Lord Hailes and you concur in desiring. “ I have been remarkably healthy all the journey, and hope you and your family have known only that trouble and danger which has so happily terminated. Among all the congratulations that you may receive, I hope you believe none more warm or sincere than those of, dear sir, your most affection- ate, “Sam. Johnson.” “TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD 2. “ 16th November, 1775. “ Dear madam, — Tliis week I came home from Paris. I have brought you a little box, which I thought pretty ; but I know not whether it is properly a snuff-box, or a box for some other use. I will send it, when I can find an opportunity. I have been through the whole journey remarka- bly well. My fellow-travellers were the same whom you saw at Lichfield, only we took Baretti with us. Paris is not so fine a place as you would expect. The palaces and churches, however, are very splendid and magnificent; and what would please ou, there are many very fine pictures ; but do not think their way of life commodious or pleasant. “ Let me know how your/ health has been all this while. I hope the fine summer has given you strength sufficient to encoun- ter the winter. “ Make my compliments to all my friends; and, if your fingers will let you, write to me, or let your maid write, if it be 1 This alludes to my old feudal principle of preferring male to female succession. — Boswell. 2 There can be no doubt that many years previous to 1775, he corresponded with this lady, who was his stepdaughter, but none of his earlier letters to her have been preserved. — Boswell. Since the death of the authour, several of John- son’s letters to Mrs. Lucy Porter, written before 1775, were obligingly communicated to me by the Rev. Dr. Vyse, and are printed in the present edition. — Malone. [Several others, as has been already stated (ante, vol. i. p. 80), are added to this edition. — Ed.] troublesome to you. I am, dear madam, your most affectionate humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.” “TO THE SAME. “ December, 1775. “ Dear madam, — Some weeks ago 1 wrote to you, to tell you that I was just come home from a ramble, and hoped that I should have heard from you. I am afraid winter has laid hold on your fingers, and hinders you from writing. However, let somebody write, if you cannot, and tell me how you do, and a little of what has hap- pened at Lichfield among our friends. 1 hope you are all well. “When I was in France, I thought my- self growing young, but am afraid that cold weather will take part of my new vigour from me. Let us, however, take care oi ourselves, and lose no part of our health by negligence. “ I never knew whether you received the Commentary on the New Testament, and the Travels, and the glasses. “ Do, my dear love, write to me ; and do not let us forget each other. This is the season of good wishes, and I wish you all good. I have not lately seen Mr. Porter 3, nor heard of him. Is he with you 1 “ Be pleased to make my compliments to Mrs. Adey, and Mrs. Cobb, and all my friends ; and when I can do any good, let me know. I am, dear madam, yours most affectionately, “ Sam. Johnson.” It is to be regretted, that he did not write an account of his travels in France ; for as he is reported to have once said, that “ he could write the life of a broomstick 4 ,” so, notwithstanding so many former travellers have exhausted almost every subject for re- mark in that great kingdom, his very accu- rate observation, and peculiar vigour of thought and illustration, would have pro- duced a wonderful work. During his visit to it, which lasted about two months, he wrote notes or minutes of what he saw. He promised to show me them, but I neg- lected to put him in mind of it ; and the greatest part of them has been lost, or per- haps destroyed in a precipitate burning of his papers a few days before his death, which must ever be lamented ; one small paper book, however, entitled, “ France II.,” has been preserved, and is in my posses- sion. It is a diurnal register of his life and observations, from the 10th of October 3 Son of Mrs. Johnson, by her first husband. — Boswell. 4 It is probable that the authour’s memory here deceived him, and that he was thinking of Stel- la’s remark, that Swift could write finely upon a broomstick. — See Johnson’s Life of Swift ■ J. Boswell. 1775.— iETAT. 66. TOUR IN FRANCE.] to the 4th of November, inclusive, being twenty-six days, and shows an extraordina- ry attention to various minute particulars. Being the only memorial of this tour that Tour in « Tuesday , KM October. — We France. gaw ^ c0 / e militaire , in which one hundred and fifty young boys are edu- cated for the army — They have arms of different sizes, according to the age — flints of wood — The building is very large, but nothing fine except the council-room — The French have large squares in the windows — They make good iron palisades i — Their meals are gross 2 . “We visited the Observatory, a large building of a great height — The upper stones of the parapet very large, but not cramped with iron 3 — The flat on the top is very ex- tensive ; but on the insulated part there is no parapet — Though it was broad enough, I did not care to go upon it — Maps were printing in one of the rooms. “We walked to a small convent of the Fathers of the Oratory — In the reading- desk of the refectory lay the Lives of the Saints. “ Wednesday, 11th October. — We went to see Hotel de Chatlois 4 , a house not very large, but very elegant — One of the rooms was gilt to a degree that I never saw before —The upper part for servants and their masters was pretty. “ Thence we went to Mr. Monville’s, a house divided into small apartments, fur- nished with effeminate and minute elegance — Porphyry. “ Thence we went to St. Roque’s church, which is very large — The lower part of the pillars incrusted with marble — Three chap- els behind the high altar ; the last a mass of low arches — Altars, I believe, all round. “We passed through Place de Vendome , a fine square, about as big as Hanover- square — Inhabited by the high families — Louis XIV. on horseback in the middles. « Monvihe is the son of a farmer-general 1 [Alluding, probably, to the fine grilles so frequent in France. He had, probably, just seen that of the Hold des lnvalides , which is one of the finest. — E d.] 2 [The contrary has been the general opinion ; and Johnson was certainly a bad judge in that point, if he believed that his own taste was deli- cate. — E d.] 3 [There was neither iron nor wood originally used in any part of the building. An iron rail was afterwards added to the great stairs. — E d.] 4 [This seems to be a mistake ; probably for &e Hltel de Chatelet . — Ed.] • [Of one block. — E d.] 11 remains, my readers, I am confident, wih peruse it with pleasure, though his notes are very short, and evidently written only to assist his own recollection. — In the hefuse of Chatlois is a room fur- nished with japan, fitted up in Europe. “We dined with Bocage<>, the Marquis Blanchefti, and his lady — The sweetmeats taken by the Marchioness Blanchetti, after observing that they were dear 7 — Mr. Le Roy, Count Manucci, the abbe, the prior, and Father Wilsons, who staid with me, till I took him home in tho coach. “ Bathiani is gone. “ The French have no laws for the maintenance of their poor — Monknot ne- cessarily a priest — Benedictines rise at four ; are at church an hour and a half ; at church again half an hour before, half an hour after, dinner ; and again from half an hour after seven to eight — They may sleep eight hours — bodily labour wanted in monasteries. “ The poor taken into hospitals, and mis- erably kept — Monks in the convent fifteen : accounted poor. “ Thursday , 12 th October. — We went to the Gobelins — Tapestry makes a good pic- ture — imitates flesh exactly — One piece with a gold ground — the birds not exactly col- oured — Thence we went to the king’s cabi- net; very neat, not, perhaps, perfect — Gold ore — Candles of the candle tree — Seeds — Woods — Thence to Gagnier’s 9 house, where I saw rooms nine, furnished with a profusion of wealth and elegance which I never had seen before — Vases — Pictures — The dragon china — The lustre said to be of crystal, and to have cost 3,500Z. — The whole furniture said to have cost 125,000Z. — Damask hangings covered with pictures — Porphyry — This house struck me — Then we waited on the ladies to Monville’s — Captain Irwin with us 10 — ,< Spain — County towns all beggars — At Dijon he could not 6 [Madame Du.Bocage. — See post. — Ed.] 7 [Johnson seems to suggest, that it would have been better bred not to have eaten what was dear ; but the want of good-breeding (if any, which would depend on the context) was in al- luding to the dearness, and not in eating what was on the table. — E d.] 8 [Who the Abb6 was does not appear. The two latter gentlemen were probably members o the English Benedictine convent. — E d.] 9 [Perhaps Gagny, Intendant des Finances, who had a fine house in the Rue de Varennes. — E d ] 10 The rest of this paragraph appears to be a minute of what was told by captain Irwin. — Bos well. [And is therefore marked as quotation — Ed.] 12 1775.— ,ETAT. 66. [tour ih find the way to Orleans — Cross roads of France very bad — Five soldiers — Woman —Soldiers escaped — The colonel would not lose five men for the death of one woman —The magistrate cannot seize a soldier but by the colonel’s permission — Good inn at Nismes — Moors of Barbary fond of Eng- lishmen — Gibraltar eminently healthy ; it has beef from Barb ary — There is a large garden — Soldiers sometimes fall from the rock.’ “ Friday , 13 ih October. — I staid at home all day, only went to find the prior, who was not at home — I read something in (Janus i — Nec admiror , nec multum laudo. Saturday , 14/h October. — We went to the house of M. [D’] Argenson, which was almost wainscotted with looking-glasses, and covered with gold — The ladies’ closet wainscotted with large squares of glass over painted paper — They always place mirrours to reflect their rooms. “Then we went to Julien’s 2 , the treasu- rer of the clergy — 30,000/. a year — The house has no very large room, but is set with mirrours, and covered with gold — Books of wood here, and in another library. “ At D********’s s I looked into the books in the lady’s closet, and in contempt showed them to Mr. T[hrale] — ‘Prince Titi 4 ; Bibl. des Fees,’ and other books — She was offended, and shut up, as we heard afterwards, her apartment. “Then we went to Julien le Roy, the king’s watch-maker, a man of character in his business, who showed a small clock made to find the longitude — A decent man. “ Afterwards we saw the Palais March- and s and the courts of justice, civil and 1 Melchior Canus, a celebrated Spanish Dom- inican, who died at Toledo, in 1560. He wrote a treatise “De Locis Theologicis,” in twelve books. — Boswell. [He was celebrated for the beauty of his Latinity : “Melchior Canus parlait Latin comme Ciceron.” — Vigneul Marvilliana , v. i. p. 161.— Ed.] 2 [M. de St. Julien , Receveur general du clerg6. — J\Um. de Bachaumont , v. viii. p. 180. —Ed.] 3 [D’Argenson’s. — E d.] 4 [The history of Prince Titi was said to be the auto-biography of Frederick, Prince of Wales, but was probably written by Ralph, his secretary. See Park’s Roy. and Nob. Auth. vol.i. p. 171 . — Ed.] [A ludicrous error of the Editor’s, illustrative of the vice of annotators, whose optics are too apt to behold mysteries in very plain matters. The History of Prince Titi was a child’s book with that title.— F. J.] 5 [Dr. Johnson is in error in applying, as he always does, the name of Palais-Marchand to the whole of that vast building called gmerally the Palais, which from being the old palace of the kings of France had (like our own palace of Westminster) become appropriated to the sittings of the parliament and the courts of justice ; and criminal — Queries on the Selettee — This building has the old Gothic passages, and a great appearance of antiquity — Three hundred prisoners sometimes in the gaol. “ Much disturbed ; hope no ill will be 7 . “In the afternoon I visited Mr. Freron the journalist — He spoke Latin very scant- ily, but seemed to understand me — His house not splendid, but of commodious size — His family, wife, son, and daughter, not elevated, but decent — I was pleased with my reception — He is to translate my books, which I am to send him with notes. “ Sunday , 15 ih October. — At Choisi, a royal palace on the banks of the Seine, about 7m. from Paris — The terrace noble along the river — The rooms numerous and grand, but not discriminated from other palaces — The chapel beautiful, but small — China globes — Inlaid tables — Labyrinth — Sinking table 8 — Toilet tables. “ Monday , lftih October. — The Palais Royal very grand, large, and lofty — A very great collection of pictures — Three of Ra- phael — Two Holy Family — One small piece of M. Angelo — One room of Rubens — I thought the pictures of Raphael fine. “ The Thuilleries — Statues — Venus- JE n. and Anchises in his arms — Nilus- Many more — The walks not open to mean persons — Chairs at night hired for two sous a piece — Pont toumant 9. “Austin Nuns 10 — Grate — Mrs. Fermor, Abbess — She knew Pope, and thought him disagreeable — Mrs. has many books — has seen life — Their frontlet disagreeable — Their hood — Their life easy — Rise about five ; hour and half in chapel — Dine at ten — Another hour and half in chapel ; half an the Conciergerie of that palace (like the Gate- house of ours) became a prison. The Palais Marc hand was only the stalls (like what are now called bazars ) which were placed along some of the galleries and corridors of the Palais. — Ed.] 6 "[The selette was a stool on which the crimi nal sat while he was interrogated — questioned by the court. This is what Johnson means by “ queries .” — Ed.] 7 This passage, which so many think supersti- tious, reminds me of “ Archbishop Laud’s Dia- ry.” — Boswell. [It, perhaps, had no supersti- tious meaning. He felt, it would seem, his mind disturbed, and may naturally have been appre- hensive of becoming worse. — Ed.] 8 [A round table, the centre of which descend- ed by machinery to a lower floor; so that supper might be served and removed without the pres- ence of servants. It was invented by Louis XV. during the favour of Madame du Barri. — E d.] 9 [Before the revolution, the passage from the garden of the Thuilleries into the Place Louis XV. was over apont toumant , a kind ol draw- bridge. — Ed.] 10 [The English convent of Notre Dame a Sion, of the order of St. Augustine, situated ji the R ue des Fosses St. Victor. — E d.] 1775. — iETAT. 66. 13 FRANCE.] hour about three, and half an hour more at seven — four hours in chapel — A large garden — Thirteen pensioners i — Teachers com- plained. « At the Boulevards saw nothing, yet was glad to be there — Rope-dancing and farce — Egg dance. “N. [Note.] — Near Paris, whether on week-days or Sundays, the roads empty. « Tuesday , 17 th October . — At the Palais Marchand I bought A snuff box, 24 Livres 6 Table book, 15 Scissors 3 p [pair] 18 [Livres] 63 — 21, 12s. 6d. ster. “We heard the lawyers plead — N. As many killed at Paris as there are days in the year — Chambre de question 2 — Tournelle at the Palais Marchand 3 — An old venerable building. « The Palais Bourbon, belonging to the Prince of Conde — Only one small wing shown — lofty — splendid — gold and glass — The battles of the great Cond are painted in one of the rooms — The present prince a grandsire at thirty-nine *. « The sight of palaces, and other great buildings, leaves no very distinct images, un- less to those who talk of them — As I enter- ed, my wife was in my minds: she would have been pleased. Having now nobody to please, I am little pleased. “ N. In France there is no middle rank 6. 1 [Young ladies, who paid for their educa- tion. Before the revolution, there were no boarding schools, and all young ladies were educated in the convents. — Ed.] 2 [This was one of the rooms of the Conci- ergerie, where la question — torture — was ap- plied. — E d.] 3 [Again he mistakes, by introducing the word Marchand. The word Tournelle designa- ted that portion of the parliament of Paris which tried criminal causes, and that part of the Palais in which they sat. — E d.] 4 [The Prince de Condi was born in 1736, and died in 1818. The grandson was the celebrated and unfortunate Duke d’Enghein, born in 1755, murdered in 1804. The father, “ restes infortu- nes du plus beau sang du monde,” still lives un- der his former title of Due de Bourbon. — Ed.] 5 His tender affection for his departed wife, of which there are many evidences in his “ Prayers and Meditations,” appears very feelingly in this passage. — Boswell. 6 [This observation, which Johnson afterwards repeats, was unfounded in the sense in which he appears to have understood it. France was in theory divided (as England is) into the clergy, the nobles, and the commons, and so it might be said that there was no middle rank; but not only did the theoretical constitution of society thus resem- ble that of England, but so did its practical de- tails. There were first the veers of France, who “So many shops open, that Sunday is little distinguished at Paris. — The palaces of Louvre and rhuiUeries granted out in lodgings. “ In the Palais de Bourbon , gilt globes o metal at the fireplace. “ The French beds commended — Much o ; the marble only paste. “ The colosseum 7 a mere wooden build, ing, at least much of it. “ Wednesday , 18 th October. — We went tc Fontainbleau, which we found a large mean town, crowded with people — The forest thick with woods, very extensive — Manucci secured us lodgings — The appearance of the country pleasant — No hills, few streams, only one hedge — I remember no chapels noi crosses on the road — Pavement still, and rows of trees. “N. Nobody but mean people walk in Paris. “ Thursday , 19 th October. — At court we saw the apartments — The king’s bed-cham- ber and council-chamber extremely splendid — Persons of all ranks in the external rooms through which the family passes — servants and masters — Brunets with us the second time. “The introductor came to us — civil tc me — Presenting — I had scruples 9 — Not ne* had seats and voices in the parliament, but were of little weight as a political body, from the smallness of their numbers, and because theii ‘parliament had only continued to be, what we still call ours, a high court, and had lost its legist lative functions ; — next came the noblesse — the gentilhommes — answering to our gentry ; — then the middle classes of society, composed of the poorer gentry, lawyers, medical men, inferioi clergy, literary men, merchants, artists, manu- facturers, notaries, shopkeepers, in short, all those who in every country constitute the middle classes, and they undoubtedly existed in France in their due proportion to the gentry on the one hand, and the working classes on the other. Johnson’s remark is the stranger, because it would seem that his intercourse while in Paris was almost exclusively with persons of this middle class ; but it must be observed, that his intercourse and his consequent sources of infor- mation were not extensive. Mrs. Piozzi says to him, talking of the progress of refinement ol manners in England, “ I much wonder whether this refinement has spread all over the conti- nent, or whether it is confined to our own island : when we were in France we could form little judg- ment, as our time roas chiefly passed among the English .” — Lett. — Ed.] 7 [This building, which stood in the Faubourg St. Honors, was a kind of Ranelagh, and was destroyed a few years after. The “ Memoires de Bachaumont” call it “ monument monstreux de la folie Parisienne.” — V. i. p. 311 . — Ed.] 8 [Perhaps M. J. L. Brunet, a celebrated ad vocate of the parliament of Paris, author of se veral distinguished professional works. — Ed.] 9 [It was the custom previous to court present 14 1775.— jETAT. 66 . Cfcssarv — W e went and saw the king and queen at dinner — We saw the other ladies at dinner — Madame Elizabeth, with the Princess of Guimene — At night we went to a comedy — I neither saw nor heard — Drunkei? women — Mrs. Th[rale] preferred one to the other. “ Friday , 20 ih October. — We saw the queen mount in the forest — Brown habit ; rode aside : one lady rode aside 1 — The uueen’s horse light gray — martingale — She galloped — We then w 7 ent to the apartments, and admired them — Then wandered through the palace — In the passages, stalls and shops — Painting in fresco by a great master, worn out — We saw the king’s horses and dogs — The dogs almost all English — Dege- nerate. “ The horses not much commended — The stables cool ; the kennel filthy. « At night the ladies went to the opera — I refused, but should have been welcome. “ The king fed himself with his left hand as we. “ Saturday , 21 si October. — In the night I got round — We came home to Paris — I think we did not see the chapel — Tree bro- ken by the wind — The French chairs made all of boards painted 2 . “ N. Soldiers at the court of justice 3 — Soldiers not amenable to the magistrates — Dijon women 4 . “ Faggots in the palace — Every thing slo- venly, except in the chief rooms — Trees in the roads, some tall, none old, many very young and small. “ Women’s saddles seem ill made — Queen’s bridle woven with silver — Tags to strike the horse. ations, that an officer waited on the person to be introduced, to instruct them in the forms. John- son’s scruples probably arose from this — it was an etiquette generally insisted on to present at fo- reign courts those only who had been presented to their own sovereign at home. Johnson had ne- ver been publickly presented to the king, though he had had that honour in private, and may, there- fore, have entertained scruples whether he was entitled to be presented to the king of France ; but it would seem that those scruples were not necessary, the rule perhaps extending only to for- mal presentations at court, and not to admission to see the king dine. — ED.j 1 [This probably means that the queen was attended by only one lady, who also rode aside, and not that one female attendant rode so, while other ladies rode astride. — E d.] 2 [Meaning, no doubt, that they were not of cedar, ebony, or mahogany, but of some meaner wood coloured over, a fashion which had not yet reached England. — E d.] 3 [The marecliaussde was posted at the gates of the courts of justice ; but the interior disci- pline was maintained by huissiers, ushers, the servants of the court. — E d.] 4 See ante, p 12. — Boswell. [tour im “ Sunday , 22 d October . — To Versailles, a mean 5 town — Carriages of business pass, ing — Mean shops against the wall — Our way lay through Seve, where the China manufacture — Wooden bridge at S6ve, in the way to Versailles — The palace of great extent — The front long ; I saw it not per- fectly — The Menagerie — Cygnets dark ; their black feet ; on the ground ; tame — Halcyons, or gulls — Stag and hind, young — Aviary, very large ; the net, wire — Black stag of China, small — Rhinoceros, the horn broken and pared away, which, I suppose, will grow; the basis, I think, four inches across ; the skin folds like loose cloth doubled over his body, and cross his hips ; a vast ani- mal, though young ; as big, perhaps, as four oxen — The young elephant, with his tusks just appearing — The brown bear put out his paws — all very tame — The lion — The tigers I did not well view — The camel, or drome- dary, with two bunches called the Huguins, taller than any horse — Two camels with one bunch — Among the birds was a pelican, who being let out, went to a fountain, and swam about to catch fish — His feet well webbed ; he dipped his head, and turned his long bill sidewise — He caught two or three fish, but did not eat them. “ Trianon is a kind of retreat appendant to Versailles — It has an open portico; the pavement, and, I think, the pillars, of mar- ble — There are many rooms, which I do not distinctly remember — A table of porphyry, about five feet long, and between two and three broad, given to Louis XIV. by the Venetian state — In the council-room almost all that was not door or window was, I think, looking-glass — Little Trianon is a small pa- lace like a gentleman’s house — The upper floor paved with brick 7 — Little Vienne — The court is ill paved — The rooms at the top are small, fit to soothe the imagination with privacy — In the front of Versailles are small basins of water on the terrace, and other basins, I think, below them — There are little courts — The great gallery is wain- scotted with mirrours not very large, but joined by frames — I suppose the large plates were not yet made — The playhouse was very large s — The chapel I do not remember 5 [There must be some mistake. Versailles is a remarkably stately town. — E d.] 6 This epithet should be applied to the ani- mal with one bunch.— -B oswell. 7 [The upper floors of most houses in France are tiled. — E d.] 8 [That magnificent building, which was both a theatre and a bali-iutnn. It was rarely used ; the lighting and other expenses fora single night be- ing 100,000 francs. It is celebrated in the History of the Revolution as the scene of the entertain- ment given by the Gardes du Corps, on the 1st October, 1789 ; of which innocent and, indeed, laudable testimony of attachment between them 1775. — iETAT. 66. 16 FRANCE. if we saw i — We saw one chapel, bu; I am not certain whether there or at Trianon — The foreign office paved with bricks 2 — The dinner half a louis each, and, I think, a louis over — Money given at menagerie, three li- vres ; at palace, six livres. “ Monday , 23 d October. — Last night I wrote to Levets — We went to see the look- ing-glasses wrought — They come from Nor- mandy in cast plates, perhaps the third of an inch thick — At Paris they are ground upon a marble table, by rubbing one plate upon another with grit between them — The various sands, of which there are said to be five, I could not learn — The handle, by which the upper glass is moved, has the form of a wheel, which may be moved in all directions — The plates are sent up with their surfaces ground, but not polished, and so continue till they are bespoken, lest time should spoil the surface, as we were told — Those that are to be polished are laid on a table covered with several thick cloths, hard strained, that the resistance may be equal : they are then rubbed with a hand rubber, held down hard by a contrivance which I did not well understand — The powder which is used last seemed to me to be iron dis- solved in aquafortis ; they called it, as Bar- etti said, marc de Veau forte , which he thought was dregs — They mentioned vitriol and saltpetre — The cannon-ball swam in the quicksilver — To silver them, a leaf of beaten tin is laid, and rubbed with quicksilver, to which it unites — Then more quicksilver is poured upon it, which, by its mutual [at- traction] rises very high — Then a paper is laid at the nearest end of the plate, over which the glass is slided till it lies upon the plate, having driven much of the quicksilver before it — It is then, I think, pressed upon cloth, and then set sloping to drop the su- perfluous mercury : the slope is daily height- ened towards a perpendicular. “ In the way I saw the Greve, the mayor’s house 4 , and the Bastile. “We then went to Sans-terre, a brewers — He brews with about as much malt as Mr. Thrale, and sells his beer at the same price, though he pays no duty for malt, and little more than half as much for beer — Beer is sold retail at sixpence a bottle — He and their unhappy sovereigns, the rebels, by mis- representations and calumnies, made so serious an affair. — E d.] 1 [It is surprising how this should have escaped Johnson’s observations. It is, both externally and internally, one of the most remarkable objects of V ersailles. — Ed.] 2 [Tiles. — Ed.] 3 [Ante, p. 9. — Ed.] 4 [The Hotel de Ville.— Ed.] 5 [Santerre.] The detestable ruffian who afterwards conducted Louis the Sixteenth to the scaffold, and commanded the troops that guarded it during his murder. — Malone. brews 4,000 barrels a year — There are sev- enteen brewers in Paris, of whom none is supposed to brew more than he — Reckoning them at 3,000 each, they make 51,000 a year —They make their malt, for malting is here no trade. “ The moat of the Bastile is dry. “ Tuesday , 24 th October. — We visited the king’s library — I saw the Speculum hu- mane Salvationis, rudely printed, with ink, sometimes pale, sometimes black ; part sup- posed to be with wooden types, and part with pages cut in boards. The Bible, sup- posed to be older than that of Mentz, in 1462; it has no date; it is supposed to have been printed with wooden types — I am in doubt ; the print is large and fair, in two folios — Another book was shown me, sup- posed to have been printed with wooden types — I think, Durandi Sanctuarium in 1458 — This is inferred from the difference of form sometimes seen in the same letter, which might be struck with different pun- cheons — The regular similitude of most let- ters proves better that they are metal — I saw nothing but the Speculum , which I had not seen, I think, before. “Thence to the Sorbonne— The library very large, not in lattices like the king’s — Marbone and Durandi , q. collection 14 vol. Scriptores de rebus Gallicis , many folios — Hisioire Genealogique of France , 9 vol. — Gallia Christiana, the first edition, 4to. the last, f. 12 vol. — The prior and librarian dined with us — I waited on them home — Their garden pretty, with covered walks, but small ; yet may hold many students — The doctors of the Sorbonne are all equal— choose those who succeed to vacancies — Profit little. “ Wednesday, 25 th October. — I went with the prior to St. Cloud, to see Dr. Hooke e — We walked round the palace, and had some talk — I dined with our whole com- pany at the monastery — In the library, Be- roald — Cymon — Titus, from Boccace — Oratio Proverbialis to the Virgin, from Petrarch; Falkland to Sandys — Dryden’s Preface to the third vol. of Miscellanies 7 . “ Thursday, 26th October. — We saw the china at Seve, cut, glazed, painted — Bel- levue s, a pleasing house, not great : fine prospect — Meudon, an old palace — Alexan- der, in porphyry : hollow between eyes and nose, thin cheeks — Plato and Aristotle — Noble terrace overlooks the town. St. Cloud — Gallery not very high, nor grand, but pleasing — In the rooms, Michael Ange- 6 [Second son of Hooke, the historian, a doc- tor of the Sorbonne. — E d.] 7 He means, I suppose, that he read these dif ferent pieces while he remained in the library.— Boswell. 8 [At that period inhabited by the king’s aunt#. —Ed \ 16 1775.— iETAT. 66. io, drawn by himself, Sir Thomas More, Des Cartes, Bochart, Naudaeus, Mazarine — Gilded wainscot, so common that it is .not minded — Gough and Keene — Hooke came to us at the inn — A message from Drum- gould. “ Friday , 27 th October. — I staid at home — Gough and Keene, and Mrs. S ’s i friend dined with us — This day we began to have a fire — The weather is grown very cold, and, I fear, has a bad effect upon my breath, which has grown much more free and easy in this country. “ Saturday , '28th October. — I visited the Grand Chartreux 2 , built by St. Louis — It is built for forty, but contains only twenty- four, and will not maintain more — The friar that spoke to us had a pretty apartment — Mr. Baretti says four rooms ; I remember but three — His books seemed to be French —His garden was neat ; he gave me grapes — We saw the Place de Victoire, with the statues of the king, and the captive nations. “We saw the palace and gardens of Luxembourg, but the gallery was shut — W e climbed to the top stairs — I dined with Colebrooke 3, who had much company — Foote, Sir George Rodney 4, Motteux, Ud- son, Taaf — Called on the prior, and found him in bed. “ Hotel— a guinea a day — Coach, three guineas a week — Valet de place, three 1. a day — Avant-coureur 5 , a guinea a week — Ordinary dinner, six 1. a head — Our ordi- 1 [Mrs. Strickland, the sister of Mr. Charles Tovvnley, who happened to meet the party at Dieppe, and accompanied them to Paris. She introduced them to Madame du Bocage. — Rey- nolds's Recollections . — Ed.] 2 [There was in France but one Grand Char- treux, the monastery near Grenoble, founded by St. Bruno, to the 13th prior of which St. Louis applied for an off-set of the order to be established in Paris, where he placed them in his chateau de Vauvert, which stood in the Rue d’Enfer. The good people of Paris believed that the chateau of Vauvert, before St. Louis had fixed the Carthu- sians there, was haunted, and thence the street was called Rue d’Enfer. — Ed.] 3 [Sir George Colebrooke, see ante, v. i. p. 262.— Ed.] 4 [The celebrated Admiral, afterwards Lord Rodney : he was residing abroad on account of pecuniary embarrassments, and, on the breaking out of the war in 1778, the Marshal Due de Biron generously offered him a loan of a thousand loui? d’ors, to enable him to return to take his part in the service of his country. See a letter of the Baron D’Holbach to Miss Wilkes, in Wilkes's Correspondence, vol. iv. p. 270. — Ed.] 5 [There is a slight mistake here. Princes, ambassadors, marshals, and a few of the higher nobility, had coureurs , that is, running footmen. The word avant-coureur was commonly used in a moral sense. Johnson, no doubt, meant a courier who rode post. — Ed.] [tour IN nary seems to be about five guineas a day — Our extraordinary expenses, as diversions, gratuities, clothes, I cannot reckon — Our travelling is ten guineas a day. “ White stockings, 18 1. e Wig — Hat. “ Sunday, 29 th October. — We saw the boarding-school — The Enfans trouvds — A room with about eighty-six children in cra- dles, as sweet as a parlour — They lose a third ; take in to perhaps more than seven [years old] ; put them to trades; pin to them the papers sent with them — Want nurses — Saw their chapel. “Went to St. Eustatia7; saw an innu- merable company of girls catechised, in many bodies, perhaps 100 to a catechist — Boys taught at one time, girls at another — The sermon : the preacher wears a cap, which he takes off at the name — his action uniform, not very violent. “ Monday , 30 th October. — We saw the library of St. Germains — A very noble collection — Codex Divinorum Officiorum , 1459 — a letter, square like that of the Offi- ces , perhaps the same — The Codex , by Fust and Gemsheym — Meursius, 12 v. fol. — Amadis, in French, 3 vol. fol. — C athol- icon sine colophone, but of 1460 — Two other editions 9, one by Augustin, de Civitate Dei, without name, date, or place, but of Fust’s square letter as it seems. “ I dined with Col. Drumgould ; had a pleasing afternoon. “ Some of the books of St. Germain’s stand in presses from the wall, like those at Oxford. “ Tuesday, 31 st October. — I lived at the Benedictines ; meagre day ; soup meagre, herrings, eels, both with sauce ; fried fish ; lentils, tasteless in themselves — In the libra- ry ; where I found Maffeus’s de Historic Indica : Promonloriumjlectere, to double the Cape — I parted very tenderly from the prior and Father Wilkes. “ Maitre des Arts, 2 y. — Bacc. Theol. 3.y. — Licentiate, 2 y. — Doctor Th. 2 y. in 6 i. e. 18 livres. Two pair of white silk stock- ings were probably purchased. — Malone. 7 [No doubt an error for Eustatius. He means the well-known parish church of St. Eu - stache . — Ed.] 8 [St. Germain des Pr&s, the too celebrated abbaye. Its library was said — after the king’s library in Paris, and that of the Vatican — to be the richest in Europe in manuscripts. — Ed.] 9 I have looked in vain into De Bure, Meer- man, Mattaire, and other typographical books, for the two editions of the “ Catholicon," which Dr. Johnson mentions here, with names which I cannot make out. I read “one by Lalinius, one by Boedinus." I have deposited the origi- nal MS. in the British Museum, where the curious may see it. My grateful acknowledgments are due to Mr. Planta for the trouble he was pleased to take in aiding my researches.— Boswell, 1775.— JET AT. 66. FRANCE.] all 9 years — For the Doctorate three dispu- tations, Major, Minor , Sorbonica — Several colleges suppressed, and transferred to that which was the Jesuit’s College. “ Wednesday , 1st November. — We left Paris — St. Denis, a large town : the church not very large, but the middle aisle is very lofty and awful — On the left are chapels built beyond the line of the wall, which de- stroyed the symmetry of the sides — The organ is higher above the pavement than I have ever seen — The gates are of brass — On the middle gate is the history of our Lord — The painted windows are historical, and said to be eminently beautiful — We were at another church belonging to a con- vent, of which the portal is a dome ; we could not enter further, and it was almost dark. “ Thursday , 2d November. — We came this day to Chantilly, a seat belonging to the Prince of Conde — This place is eminent- ly beatified by all varieties of waters start- ing up in fountains, falling in cascades, run- ning in streams, and spread in lakes — The water seems to be too near the house — All this water is brought from a source or river three leagues off, by an artificial canal, which for one league is carried under ground — The house is magnificent — The cabinet seems well stocked ; what I remem- ber was, \he jaws of a hippopotamus, and a young hippopotamus preserved, which, however, is so small, that I doubt its reali- ty — It seems too hairy for an abortion, and too small for a mature birth — Nothing was [preserved] in spirits ; all was dry — The dog : J/ the deer ; the ant-bear wit i long snout — The toucan, long broad beak — The stables were of very great length — The kennel h*id no scents — There was a mockery oi a village — The menagerie had few animals i — Two faussans 2 , or Brasilian weasels, spotted, very wild — There is a forest, and. I think, a park — I walked till I was very weary, aim next morning felt my feet battered, and with pains in the toes. “ Friday, 3 d November. — We came to Compeigne, a very large town, with a royal palace built round a pentagonal court — The court is raised upon vaults, and has, I sup- pose, an entry on one side by a gentle rise — Talk of painting — The church is not very large, but very elegant and splendid — I had at first great difficulty to walk, but motion grew continually easier — At night we came to Noyon, an episcopal city — The cathe- dral is very beautiful, the pillars alternately Gothick and Corinthian — We entered a very noble parochial church — Noyon is walled, and is said to be three miles round. “ Saturday, 4 th November. — We rose very early, and came through St. Quintin to Cambray, not long after three — We went to an English nunnery, to give a let- ter to Father Welch, the confessor, wno came to visit us in the evening. “ Sunday, 5th November. — We saw the Cathedral — It is very beautiful, with chan- els on each side — The choir splendid — The balustrade in one part brass — The Nej) very high and grand — The altar silver as far as it is seen — The vestments very splen- did — At the Benedictines’ church ” Here his Journal 3 ends abruptly. Wheth- er he wrote any more after this time, I know not; but probably not much, as he 1 The writing is so bad here, that the names of several of the animals could not be deciphered without much more acquaintance with natural history than I possess. Dr. Blagden, with his usual politeness, most obligingly examined the MS. To that gentleman, and to Dr. Gray, of the British Museum, who also very readily assisted me, I beg leave to express my best thanks. — Boswell. 2 It is thus written by Johnson, from the French pronunciation of fossane. It should be observed, that the person who showed this menagerie was mistaken in supposing the fossane and the Bra- silian weasel to be the same, the fossane being a different animal, and a native of Madagascar. I find them, however, upon one plate in Pennant’s “ Synopsis of Quadrupeds.” — Boswell. s My worthy and ingenious friend, Mr. Andrew Lumisden, by his accurate acquaintance with France, enabled me to make out many proper names which Dr. Johnson had written indistinct- ly, and sometimes spelt erroneously. — BoSwell. VOL. II. 3 arrived in England about the 12th of No- vember. These short notes of his tour, though they may seem minute taken singly make together a considerable mass of infor- mation, and exhibit such an ardour of in- quiry and acuteness of examination, as 1 believe, are found in but few travellers, es- pecially at an advanced age. They com- pletely refute the idle notion which has been propagated, that he could not see*; and, if he had taken the trouble to revise 4 [Miss Reynolds, who knew him longer, and saw him more constantly than Mr. Boswell, says, “Dr. Johnson’s sight was so very defective , that he could scarcely distinguish the face of his most intimate acquaintance at half a yard, and in ge- neral it was observable, that his critical remarks on dress, &c. were the result of very close in- spection of the object, partly from curiosity, and partly from a desire of exciting admiration of lus perspicuity, of which he was not a little ambi- tious.”— Recollections. And if we may believe Baretti’s account to her, on their return, his defect of sight led him into many inaccuracies. — Ed.] i8 1775.— ^ETAT. 66. and digest them, he undoubtedly could have expanded them into a very entertaining nar- rative. [Mrs. Piozzi has preserved a few anecdotes of this tour. “ Mr. Thrale p ' 1 2 3 ’ loved prospects, and was mortified that his friend could not enjoy the sight of those different dispositions of wood and wa- ter, 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 tall?, talk about something : men and women are my subjects of inquiry ; 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 destruc- tion 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 it- self, and shake even the foundation of Chris- tianity. The gentleman seemed to wonder and delight in his conversation ; the talk was all in Latin, which both spoke fluently, and Dr. Johnson pronounced a long eulogi- um upon Milton with so much ardour, elo- quence, and ingenuity, that the abbe rose from his seat and embraced him. My hus- band 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 sudden burst of tenderness to- wards a person he 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 showed us the theatre. As we stood on the stage looking at some machinery for playhouse purposes — ‘Now we are here, what shall we act, Dr. Johnson? — The Englishman at Paris?’ ‘No, no,’ replied he; ‘.we will try to act Harry the Fifth.’ His dislike of the French was well known to botli nations, I believe ; but he applauded the number of their books and the graces of their style. ‘They have few sentiments,’ said he, ‘but they express them neatly ; they have little meat too, but they dress it well.’ ”] When I met him in London the following year, the account which he gave me of his French tour, was, “ Sir, I have seen all the visibilities of Paris, and around it ; but to have formed an acquaintance with the peo- ple there would have required more time :han I could stay. I was just beginning to creep into acquaintance by means of Colonel Drumgould, a very high man, sir, head of UEcole Militaire. a most complete charac- ter, for he had first been a professor of rhet- orick, and then became a soldier. And. sir, I was very kindly treated by the Eng- lish Benedictines, and have a cell appropri- ated to me in their convent.” He observed, “ The great in France live very magnificently, but the rest very miser- ably. There is no happy middle state as in England^ The shops of Paris are mean ; the meat in the market is such as would^re sent to a gaol in England ; and Mr. Thrale justly observed, that the cook- ery of the French was forced upon them by necessity ; for they could not eat their meat, unless they added some taste to it. The French are an indelicate people ; they will spit upon any place. At Madame [Du Bocage’s,] a literary lady of rank, the foot- man took the sugar in his fingers, and threw it into my coffee. I was going to put it aside ; but hearing it was made on pur- pose for me, I e’en tasted Tom’s fingers. The same lady would needs make tea h VAngloise. The spout of the teapot did not pour freely ; she bade the footman blow into it 2 . France is worse than Scotland in every thing but climate. Nature has done more for the French ; but they have done less for themselves than the Scotch have done 3.” 1 [See ante, p. 13 . — Ed.] 2 [Nay, she actually performed the operation herself. Mrs. Piozzi says, “I recollect one fine lady in France, who entertained us very splendid- ly, put her mouth to the teapot, and blew in the spout when it would not pour freely. My maid Peggy would not have touched the tea after such an operation.” — Letters , v. ii. p. 247. Miss Reynolds’s “ Recollections ” preserve this story as told her by Baretti, who was of the party: “ Going one day to drink tea with Madame du Bocage, she happened to produce ar old china teapot, which Mrs. Strickland, who made the tea, could not make pour: l Soujjlez, souJP.ez, mad - ame, dedans ,’ cried Madame du Bocage, l il se rectifie immediatement ; essayez, je vous en prie .’ The servant then thinking that Mrs. Strickland did not understand what his lady said, took up the teapot to rectify it, and Mrs. Strick- land had quite a struggle to prevent his blowing into the spout. Madame du Bocage all this while had not the least idea of its being any impropriety, and wondered at Mrs. Strickland’s stupidity. She came over to the latter, caught up the teapot and blew into the spout with allher might ; then finding it pour, she held it up in triumph, and re- peatedly exclaimed, ‘ Voilh, toilet, fai regagni Phonneur de ma theitr.' 1 She had no sugar-tongs, and said something that showed she expect- ed Mrs. Strickland to use her fingers to sweeten the cups. ‘ Jtladame , je idostrois. Oh mon Dieu ! quel grand quan-quan les Jin Hois font de peu de chose.” — Ed.] 3 In a letter to a friend, written a few days after his return from France, he ss/s, ‘‘Thf 1775.— tETAT. 6b. It happened that Foote was at Paris at the same time with Dr. Johnson, and his description of my friend while there was abundantly ludicrous. He told me, that the French were quite astonished at his figure and manner, and at his dress, which he ob- stinately continued exactly as in London * 1 ; — his brown clothes, black stockings, and plain shirt. He mentioned, that an Irish gentleman said to Johnson, “ Sir, you have not seen the best French players.” John- son. “ Players, sir ! I look on them as no better than creatures set upon tables and joint stools, to make faces and produce laughter, like dancing dogs.” “But, sir, you will allow that some players are better than others'?” Johnson. “Yes, sir, as some dogs dance better than others.” Reyn. [In the same spirit, but of more Recoil, vehemence and greater injustice, were his statements to Sir Joshua and Miss Reynolds, who has noted them in her Re- collections. Johnson. “ The French, sir, are a very silly people. They have no common life. Nothing but the two ends, beggary and no- bility. Sir, they are made up in every thing of two extremes. They have no common sense, they have no common man- ners, no common learning — gross ignorance, or les belles leltres .” A Lad® - . [Mrs. Thrale]. “Indeed, even in their dress — their frippery finery, and their beggarly coarse linen. They had, I thought, no politeness; their civilities never indicated more good-will than the talk of a parrot, indiscriminately using the same set of su- perlative phrases, “ a la merveille /” to eve- ryone alike. They really seemed to have no expressions for sincerity and truth.” Johnson. “They are much behind-hand, stupid, ignorant creatures. At Fontain- bleau I saw a horse-race — every thing was wrong ; the heaviest weight was put upon the weakest horse, and all the jockeys wore French have a clear air and a fruitful soil ; but their mode of common life is gross and incommo- dious, and disgusting. I am come home con- vinced that no improvement of general use is to De found among them.” — Malone. i Mr. Foote seems to have embellished a little in saying that Johnson did not alter his dress at Paris ; as in his journal is a memorandum about white stockings, wig, and hat. In another place we are told that “ during his travels in France he was furnished with a French-made wig of hand- some construction.” That Johnson was not inat- tentive to his appearance is certain, from a cir- cumstance related by Mr. Steevens, and inserted bv Mr. Boswell, between June 15 and June 22, 1734 . — J. Blakeway. Mr. Blakeway’s ob- servation is further confirmed by a note in John- son’s diary (quoted by Sir John Hawkins, “ Life of Johnson,” p. 517), by which it appears that he had laid out thirty pounds in clothes for his French journey. — Malone. lb the same colour coat 2.” A Gentleman. “Had you any acquaintance in Paris?” Johnson. “No, I did not stay long enough to make any 3 . I spoke only Latin, and I could not have much conversation. There is no good in letting the French have a superiority over you every word you speak. Baretti was sometimes displeased with us for not liking the French.” Miss Rey- nolds. “Perhaps he had a kind of partiali- ty for that country, because it was in the way to Italy, and perhaps their manners re- sembled the Italians.” Johnson. “No. He was the showman, and we did not like his show ; that was all.”] While Johnson was in France, he was generally very resolute in speaking Latin. It was a maxim with him that a man should not let himself down by speaking a lan- guage which he speaks imperfectly. In- deed, we must have often observed how in- 2 [“On telling Mr. Baretti of the proof that Johnson gave of the stupidity of the French in the management of their horse-races ; that all the jockeys wore the same colour coat, &c., he said that was ‘ like Johnson’s remarks — He could not see.’ — But it was observed that he could inquire • — ‘ yes,’ and it was by the answers he received that he was misled, for he asked what did the first jockey wear? answer, green ; what the second? green ; what the third? green, which was true ; but, then, the greens were all different greens, and very easily distinguished. — Johnson was per- petually making mistakes ; so, on going toFon- tainbleau, when we were about three-fourths of the way, he exclaimed with amazement, that now we were between Paris and the King ofFrance’s court, and yet we had not met one carriage coming from thence, or even one going thither ! On which all the company in the coach burst out a laughing, and immediately cried out, ‘ Look, look, there is a coach gone by, there is a chariot, there is a postchaise I” I dare say we saw a hundred carriages, at least, that were going to or coming from Fontainbleau.” — Baretti in Miss Reynolds's Recollections. It should be added, however, that Miss Reynolds thought that Baretti returned from this tour with some dislike of John- son, and Johnson not without some coolness to- wards Baretti, op. account, as Baretti said, of Madame du Bocage having paid more attention to him than to Johnson ; but this latter assertion could not be true, for Johnson, in his letter to Mr. Levet (ante, p. 9), speaks highly mid cor- dially of Baretti many days after the supposed offence. Miss Reynolds adds that the final rup- ture between Johnson and Baretti was occasion- ed by “ a most audacious falsehood that the latter told Johnson, that he had beaten Omiah at chess, at Sir Joshua’s; for the reverse was the fact.” This produced contradiction, dispute, and a vio- lent quarrel, which never was completely made up.— Ed.] 3 [This accounts (not quite satisfactorily, per- haps, in a moral view) for the violent prejudices and consequent misrepresentations which his conversation on his return exhibited. — Er.] 20 1775.— ^TAT. 66 feriour, how ir.uch like a child a man ap- pears, who speaks a broken tongue. When Sir Joshua Reynolds, at one of the dinners of the royal academy, presented him to a Frenchman of great distinction, he would not deign to speak French, but talked Latin, though his excellency did not understand it, owing, perhaps, to Johnson’s English pronunciation: yet upon another occasion he was observed to speak French to a Frenchman of high rank, who spoke Eng- lish ; and being asked the reason, with some expression of surprise, he answered, “ because 1 think my French is as good as his English.” Though Johnson under- stood French perfectly, he could not speak it readily, as I have observed at his first in- terview with General Paoli, in 1769; yet he wrote it, I imagine, pretty well, as ap- pears from some of his letters in Mrs. Pi- ozzi’s collection, of which I shall transcribe one: “A MADAME LA COMTESSE DE 1 2 3 . “ 16th May, 1771. “ Oui, madame, le moment est arrive, et il faut que je parte. Mais pourquoi faut il partir ? Est ce que je m’ennuye ? Je m’ennuyerai ailleurs. Est ce que je cherche ou quelque plaisir , ou quelque soulagement 1 Je ne cherche rien , je n’espere rien. Alter voir ce quej’aj, vu, etre un peu rejoui 2 , un peu degoutt , me resouvenir que la vie se passe, et qu’eTle se passe en vain , me plain- dre de moi , m’endurcir aux dehors; void le tout de ce qu'on compte pour les delices de Vannle. Que Dieu vous donne, madame, tous les agrimens de la vie, avec un esprit quipeut enjour sans s’y livrer trop 3.” He spoke Latin with wonderful fluency and elegance. When Pere Boscovich 4 was 1 [See ante, vol. i. p. 44, where it is conjec- tured that this note was addressed to Madame de Boufflers, which the editor now sees reason to doubt. The date in Mrs. Piozzi’s collection, where it first appeared, was 16th May, 1771. In Mr. Boswell’s first edition it became 16th July, 1771 ; and in all the later editions, by a more elaborate error, 16th July, 1775. These two latter dates are manifest mistakes. Madame de Boufflers’ visit was in 1769, and in the May of 1771 Johnson was in London, without any in- tention of leaving it — so that the editor is wholly at a loss to guess to whom or on what occasion .he letter was written. Perhaps it was an exer- cise . — Ed.] 2 [This letter, notwithstanding some faults, is very tolerable French ; rejoui is probably a printer’s error for rejoui, and peut should be puisse . — Ed.] 3 [Here followed the anecdote relative to Madame de Boufflers, transferred to v. i. p. 88. -Ed.] * [See ante, vol. i. p. 170. Boscovich was a m England, Johnson dined in company with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, and at Hr. Douglas’s, now Bishop of Salisbury. Upon both occasions that celebrated foreigner =x pressed his astonishment at Johnson’s Latin conversation. [The conversation at Mur Dr. Douglas’s was at first mostly in Lifejp French. Johnson, though thorough- 9L ly versed in that language, and a professed admirer of Boileau 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. Bosco- vich had a ready current flow of that flimsy phraseology with which a priest may travel through Italy, Spain, and Germany. J ohn- son scorned what he called colloquial bar- barisms. 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 Mr. Murphy remembered. Observing that Fontenelle at first opposed the Newtonian philosophy, and embraced it afterwards, his words were : Fontinellus , ni fallor , in extrema, senectute, fnit trans- fuga ad castra Newtoniana ».] When at Paris, Johnson thus characterised Voltaire to Freron the journalist : “ Vir est acerri - mi ingenii et paucarum literarum.” “TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, 5th Dec. 1775. “My dear sir, — Mr. Alexander Mac lean, the young laud of Col, being to set out to-morrow for London, I give him this letter to introduce him to your acquaintance. The kindness which you and I experienced from his brother, whose unfortunate death we sincerely lament, will make us always de- sirous to show attention to any branch of the family. Indeed, you have so much ol the true Highland cordiality, that I am sure you would have thought me to blame if 1 jesuit, born atRagusain 1711, who first introdu- ced the Newtonian philosophy into Italy. He vis- ited London in 1760, and was there elected into the Royal Society. He died in 1787 . — Ed.] 5 [This phrase seems rather too pompous for the occasion. Johnson had probably in his mind a passage in Seneca, quoted in Menagiana (v. ii. p. 46), “ Sonique voulant dire qu’il profitait de ce qu’il y avait de bon dans les auteurs dit, ‘Solon saepe in aliena castra transire; non tan- quam transfuga, sed tanquam explorator and this is rendered the more probable because in the same volume of the Menagiana, and within a few pages of each other, are found two othei Latin quotations, which Johnson has made use of, the one from Thuanus, “ Fami non famce scribere existitnatus Xvlandrus.” See ante , vol. i. p. 83, n. The other from J. C. Scaliger, “ Ho- mo ex alieno ingenio poeta, ex suo tantum ver sificator which is the motto Johnson prefixed t« fiis version of the Messiah: ante , v. i- p. 21 Ed.] 1775. — iETAT. 66. 21 had neglected to recommend to you this He- bridean prince, in whose island we were hos- pitably entertained. I ever am, with re- spectful attachment, my dear sir, your most obliged and most humble servant, “ James Boswell.” Mr. Maclean returned with the most agreeable accounts of the polite attention with which he was received by Dr. John- son. In the course of the year Dr. Burney in- forms me that “ he very frequently met Dr. Johnson at Mr. Thrale’s, at Streatham, where they had many long conversations, often sitting up as long as the fire and can- dles lasted, and much longer than the pa- tience of the servants subsisted.” A few of Johnson’s sayings, which that gentleman recollects, shall here be inserted. “I never take a nap after dinner urney ’ but when I have had a bad night, and then the nap takes me.” “ The writer of an epitaph should not be considered as saying nothing but what is strictly true. Allowance must be made for some degree of exaggerated praise. In la- pidary inscriptions a man is not upon oath.” “ There is now less flogging in our great schools than formerly, but then less is learned there ; so that what the boys get at one end they lose at the other.” u More is learned in publick than in pri- vate schools, from emulation ; there is the collision of mind with mind, or the radia- tion of many minds pointing to one centre. Though few boys make their own exer- cises, yet if a good exercise is given up, out of a great number of boys, it is made by somebody.” “I hate by-roads in education. Educa- tion is as well known, and has long been as well known as ever it can be. Endeavour- ing to make children prematurely wise is useless labour. Suppose they have more knowledge at five or six years old than oth- er children, what use can be made of it! It will be lost before it is wanted, and the waste of so much time and labour of the teacher can never be repaid. Too much is expected from precocity, and too little per- formed. Miss — 1 was an instance of early cultivation, but in what did it termi- nate? In marrying a little presbyterian parson, who keeps an infant boarding- school, so that all her employment now is, ‘ To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer.’ She tells the children, ‘ This is a cat, and that is a dog, with four legs, and a tail ; see there ! you are much better than a cat or a l [Miss Letitia Aiken, who married Mr. Bar- %auld, and published “ Easy Lessons for Chil- dren. — Ed.] dog, tor you can speak.’ If I hid bestowed such an education on a daughter, and had discovered that she thought of marrying such a fellow, I would have sent her to the Congress .” « After having talked slightingly of mu- sick, he was observed to listen very atten- tively while Miss Thrale played on the harpsichord ; and with eagerness he called to her, ‘ Why don’t you dash away like Burney?’ Dr. Burney upon this said to him, ‘ I believe, sir, we shall make a musi- cian of you at last.’ Johnson with candid complacency replied, ‘ Sir, I shall be glad to have a new sense given to me.’ ” “ He had come down one morning to the breakfast-room, and been a considerable time by himself before any body appeared. When on a subsequent day he was twitted by Mrs. Thrale for being very late, which he generally was, he defended himself by alluding to the extraordinary morning, when he had been too early. ‘ Madam, I do not like to come down to vacuity.’ ” “ Dr. Burney having remarked that Mr. Garrick was beginning to look old, he said, ‘ Why, sir, you are not to wonder at that ; no man’s face has had more wear and tear.’ ” [Mrs. Montagu’s recent kindness Eu to Miss Williams was not lost on u ' Johnson. His letters to that lady became more elaborately respectful, and his subse- quent mention of her took, as we shall see, a high tone of panegyric 2 .] [“DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. MONTAGU. “ 15th Dec. 1775 “ Madam, — Having, after my re- Montag turn from a little ramble to France, MSS. passed some time in the country, I did not hear, till I was told by Miss Reynolds, that you were in town ; and when I did hear it, I heard likewise that you were ill. To have you detained among us by sickness is to enjoy your presence at too dear a rate. I suffer myself to be flattered with hope that only half the intelligence is now true, and that you are now so well as to be able to leave us, and so kind as not to be willing. — I am, madam, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] [“DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. MONTAG1T. “ 17th Dec. 1775. “ Madam, — A ll that the esteem Moutag and reverence of mankind can give mss. ° you has been long in your possession, and the little that I can add to the voice of na- tions will not much exalt; of that litt.e, however, you are, I hope, very certain. “1 wonder, madam, if you remembei 2 [See ante. v. i. p. 152, and vol. i. p. 405, n. and pos£, sub 26th April, 1776 . — Fd.] 22 1775.—JETAT. 67. Col in Lie Hebrides? The brother and heir of poor Col has just been to visit me, and I have engaged to dine with him on Thursday. I do not know his lodging, and cannot send him a message, and must there- fore suspend the honour which you are pleased to offer to, madam, your most hum- ble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] [“DR. JOHNSON TO MRS.' MONTAGU. “ Thursday, 21st Dec. 1775. Montag. “ Madam, — I know not when any MSS. letter has given me so much pleasure or vexation as that which I had yesterday the honour of receiving. That you, ma- dam, should wish for my company is surely a sufficient reason for being pleased ; — that I should delay twice, what I had so little right to expect even once, has so bad an appearance, that I can only hope to have it thought that I am ashamed. “ You have kindly allowed me to name a day. Will you be pleased, madam, to ac- cept of me any day after Tuesday ? Till I am favoured with your answer, or despair of so much condescension, I shall suffer no engagement to fasten itself upon me. — I am, madam, your most obliged and most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] Not having heard from him for a longer time than I supposed he would be silent, I wrote to him Dec. 18, not in good spirits : “ Sometimes I have been afraid that the cold which has gone over Europe this year like a sort of pestilence has seized you se- verely : sometimes my imagination, which is upon occasions prolifick of evil, hath fig- ured that you may have somehow taken offence at some part of my conduct.” “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 23d Dec. 1775. “Dear sir, — Never dream of any of- fence. How should you offend me ? I cotisider your friendship as a possession, w uch I intend to hold till you take it from me,- and to lament if ever by my fault I should lose it. However, when such sus- picions find their way into your mind, al- ways give them vent ; I shall make haste to disperse them ; but hinder their first in- gress if you can. Consider such thoughts as morbid. “ Such illness as may excuse my omis- sion to Lord Hailes, I cannot honestly plead. I have been hindered, I know not how, by a succession of petty obstructions. I hope to mend immediately, and to send next post to his lordship. Mr. Thrale would have written to you if I had omitted ; he sends his compliments, and wishes to see you. “You and your lady will now have no more wrangling about feudal inheritance. How does the young Laird cf Auchinleck * I suppose Miss Veronica is grown a reader and discourser. “ I have just now got a cough, but it has never yet hindered me from sleeping; i have had quieter nights than are common with me. “I cannot but rejoice that Joseph i has had the wit to find the way back. He is a fine fellow, and one of the best travellers in the world. “ Young Col brought me your letter. He is a very pleasing youth. I took him two days ago to the Mitre, and we dined together. I was as civil as I had the means of being. “I have had a letter from Rasay , ac- knowledging, with great appearance of sat- isfaction, the insertion in the Edinburg pa- per. I am very glad that it was done. “ My compliments to Mrs. Boswell, who does not love me ; and of all the rest, I need only send them to those that do ; and I am afraid it will give you very little trouble to distribute them. — I am, my dear, dear sir, your affectionate humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” [“DR. JOHNSON TO MR. GRANGER 1 2 . (About 1775, but has no date.; “ Sir, — When I returned from the coun- try I found your letter ; and would very gladly have done what you desire, had it been in my power. Mr. Farmer is, I am confident, mistaken in supposing that he gave me any such pamphlet or cut. should as soon have suspected myself, as Mr. Farmer, of forgetfulness ; but that I do not know, except from your letter, the name of Arthur O’Toole, nor recollect that I ever heard of it before. I think it impos- sible that I should have suffered such a to- tal obliteration from my mind of any thing which was ever there. This at least is certain ; that I do not know of any such pamphlet ; and equally certain I desire you to think it, that if I had it, you should im- mediately receive it from, sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] In 1776, Johnson wrote, so far as I can discover, nothing for the publick : but that his mind was still ardent, and fraught w r ith generous wishes to attain to still higher de- grees of literary excellence, is proved by his private notes of this year, which I shal insert in their proper place. 1 Joseph Ritter, a Bohemian, who was in my service many years, and attended Dr. Johnson and me in our tour to the Hebrides. After hav- ing left me for some time, he had now returned to me.— B oswell. 2 [The author of the “ Biographical History 1 of England.” — E d.] 1776. — iETAT. 67. 23 ** TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 10th January, 1776. 4 * Dear sir, — I have at last sent you all Lord Hailes’s papers. While I was in. France, I looked very often into Henault ; out Lord Hailes, in my opinion, leases him far and far behind. Why I did not despatch so short a perusal sooner, when I look back, I am utterly unable to discover ; but human moments are stolen away by a thousand petty impediments which leave no trace be- hind them. I have been afflicted, through the whole Christmas, with the general dis- order, of which the worst effect was a cough, which is now much mitigated, though the country, on which I look from a window at Streatham, is now covered with a deep snow. Mrs. Williams is very ill : every body else is as usual. “Among the papers I found a letter to you, which I think you had not opened ; and \ paper i for ‘ The Chronicle,’ which I sup- pose it not necessary now to insert. I re- turn them both. “ 1 have, within these few days, had the honour of receiving Lord Hailes’s first vo- lume, for which I return my most respectful thanks. “ I wish you, my dearest friend, and your haughty lady, (for I know she does not love me), and the young ladies, and the young laird, all happiness. Teach the young gen- tleman, in spite of his mamma, to think and speak well of, sir, your affectionate humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.” At this time was in agitation a matter of great consequence to me and my family, which I should not obtrude upon the world, were it not that the part which Dr. John- son’s friendship for me made him take in it was the occasion of an exertion of his abili- ties, which it would be injustice to conceal. That what he wrote upon the subject may fee understood, it is necessary to give a state of the question, which I shall do as briefly as I can. In the year 1504, the barony or manour of Auchinleck (pronounced Ajjtick) in Ayr- shire, which belonged to a family of the same name with the lands, having fallen to the crown by forfeiture, James the Fourth, King of Scotland, granted it to Thomas Boswell, a branch of an ancient family in the county of Fife, styling him in the char- ter, “ dilecto familiar i nostro and assign- ing as the cause of the grant, “ pro bono et fideli servitio nobis prccstito.” Thomas Bos- well was slain in battle, fighting along with his sovereign, at the fatal field of Flodden, in 1513. From this very honourable founder of i [No doubt an advertisement of apology to Rasatj. — Ed.] our family, the estate was transmitted, in a direct series of heirs-male, to David Bos- well, my father’s great-grand uncle, who had no sons, but four daughters, who were all respectably married, the eldest to Lord Cathcart. David Boswell, being resolute in the mili- tary feudal principle of continuing the male succession, passed by his daughters, and settled the estate on his nephew by his next brother, who approved of the deed, and re- nounced any pretensions which he might possibly have, in preference to his son. But the estate having been burthened with large portions to the daughters, and other debts, it was necessary for the nephew to sell a considerable part of it, and what remained was still much encumbered. The frugality of the nephew preserved, and, in some degree, relieved the estate. His son, my grand-father, an eminent law- yer, not only re-purchased a great part of what had been sold, but acquired other lands ; and my father, who was one of the judges of Scotland, and had added conside- rably to the estate, now signified his inclina- tion to take the privilege allowed by our law 2 , to secure it to his family in perpetuity by an entail, which, on account of his mar riage articles, could not be done without my consent. In the plan of entailing the estate, I heartily concurred with him, though I was the first to be restrained by it ; but we un- happily differed as to the series of heirs which should be established, or, in the language of our law, called to the succession. My father had declared a predilection for heirs- general, that is, males and females indis- criminately. He was willing, however, that all males descending from his grand-father should be preferred to females ; but would not extend that privilege to males deriv- ing their descent from a higher source. I, on the other hand, had a zealous partiality for heirs-male, however remote, jvhich I maintained by arguments, which appeared to me to have considerable weight 3. And 2 Acts of Parliament of Scotland, 1685, cap. 22. — Boswell. 3 As first, the opinion of some distinguished naturalists, that our species is transmitted Through males only, the female being all along no m(Tre than a nidus , or nurse, as Mother Earth is to plants of every sort; which notion seems to be confirmed by that text of Scripture, “He was yet in the loin d of his father, when Melchise- deck met him” (Heb. vii. 10), and consequent ly, that a man’s grandson by a daughter, instead of being his surest descendant, as is vulgarly said, has, in reality, no connexion whatever with his blood. And, secondly, independent of this theory (which, if true, should completely exclude heirs-general), that if the preference of a male to a female, without regard to primogeniture) as a 24 1776. — iETAT. 67. in the particular case of our family, 1 appre- hended that we were under an implied ob- ligation, in honour and good faith, to trans- mit the estate by the same tenure which he held it, which was as heirs-male, excluding nearer females. I therefore, as I thought conscientiously, objected to my father’s scheme. My opposition was very displeasing to my father, who was entitled to great respect and deference ; and I had reason to appre- hend disagreeable consequences from my non-compliance with his wishes. After much perplexity and uneasiness, I wrote to Dr. Johnson, stating the case, with all its difficulties, at full length, and earnestly re- questing that he would consider it at leisure, and favour me with his friendly opinion and advice. “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ London, 15th January, 1776. “Dear sir, — I was much impressed by your letter, and if I can form upon your case any resolution satisfactory to myself, will very gladly impart it : but whether I am equal to it, I do not know. It is a case compounded of law and justice, and requires a mind versed in juridical disquisitions. Could not you tell your whole mind to Lord Hailes 1 He is, you know, both a Christian and a lawyer. I suppose he is above par- tiality, and above loquacity, and, I believe, he will not think the time lost in which he may quiet a disturbed, or settle a wavering mind. Write to me as any thing occurs to you ; and if I find myself stopped by want son, though much younger, nay even a grandson by a son, to a daughter), be once admitted, as it universally is, it must be equally reasonable and proper in the most remote degree of descent from an original proprietor of an estate, as in the near- est ; because, however distant from the repre- sentative at the time, that remote heir-male, upon the failure of those nearer to the original propri- etor than he is, becomes in fact the nearest male to him, and is, therefore, preferable as his repre- sentative, to a female descendant. A little exten- sion of mind will enable us easily to perceive that a son’s son, in continuation to whatever length of time, is preferable to a son’s daughter, in the suc- cession to an ancient inheritance ; in which re- gard should be had to the representation of the original proprietor, and not to that of one of his descendants. I am aware of Biackstone’s admi- rable demonstration of the reasonableness of the legal succession, upon the principle of there being the greatest probability that the nearest heir of the person who last dies proprietor of an estate is of the blood of the first purchaser. But supposing a pedigree to be carefully authenticated through all its branches, instead of mere probability there will be a certainty that the nearest heir-male , at whatever period , has the same right of blood with the first heir-male, namely, the original purchaser's eldest son. — Boswell. of facts necessary to be known, I will make inquiries of you as my doubts arise. “If your former resolutions should be found only fanciful, you decide rightly in judging that your father’s fancies may claim the preference ; but whether they are fanci- ful or rational is the question. I really think Lord Hailes could help us. “Make my compliments to dear Mrs. Boswell; and tell her, that I hope to be wanting in nothing that I can contribute to bring you all out of your troubles. I am, dear sir, most affectionately, your humble servant, ,“Sam. Johnson.” “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. « 3d Feb. 1776. “ Dear sir, — I am going to write upon a question which requires more knowledge of local law, and more acquaintance with the general rules of inheritance, than I can claim ; but I write, because you request it. “ Land is, like any other possession, by natural right wholly in the power of its pre- sent owner ; and may be sold, given, or be- queathed, absolutely or conditionally, as judgment shall direct or passion incite. “ But natural right would avail little with- out the protection of law ; and the primary notion of law is restraint in the exercise of natural right. A man is therefore in society not fully master of what be calls his own, but he still retains all the power which law does not take from him. “ In the exercise of the right which law either leaves or gives, regard is to be paid to moral obligations. “ Of the estate which we are now consi- dering, your father still retains such posses- sion, with such power over it, that he can sell it, and do with the money what he will, without any legal impediment. But when he extends his power beyond his own life, by settling the order of succession, the law makes your consent necessary. “ Let us suppose that he sells the land to risk the money in some specious adventure, and in that adventure loses the whole ; his posterity would be disappointed ; but they could not think themselves injured or rob- bed. If he spent it upon vice or pleasure, his successors could only call him vicious and voluptuous; they could not say that he was injurious or unjust. “ He that may do more may do less. He that by selling or squandering may disinhe- rit a whole family, may certainly disinherit part by a partial settlement. “ Laws are formed by the manners and exigencies of particular times, and it is bm accidental that they last longer than theii causes : the limitation of feudal succession to the male arose from the obligation of tli€ tenant to attend his chief in war. “ As times and opinions are always chang- ing, I know not whether it be not usurpation 1776. — JETAT. 67. 25 to prescribe rules to posterity, by presuming to judge of what we cannot know ; and I know not whether I fully approve either your design or your father’s, to limit that succession which descended to you unlimit- ed. If we are to leave sartum tectum to posterity, what we have without any merit of our own received from our ancestors, should not choice and free-will be kept un- violated 1 Is land to be treated with more reverence than liberty ? If this considera- tion should restrain your father from disin- heriting some of the males, does it leave you the power of disinheriting all the females 1 “Can the possessor of a feudal estate make any will 1 Can he appoint, out of the inheritance, any portion to his daughters'? There seems to be a very shadowy differ- ence between the power of leaving land, and of leaving money to be raised from land ; between leaving an estate to females, and leaving the male heir, in effect, only their steward. “ Suppose at one time a law that allowed only males to inherit, and during the con- tinuance of this law many estates to have descended, passing by the females, to re- moter heirs. Suppose afterwards the law repealed in correspondence with a change of manners, and women made capable of inheritance ; would not then the 'tenure of estates be chafed ? Could the women have no benefit from a law made in their favour ? Must they be passed by upon moral princi- ples forever, because they were once ex- cluded by a legal prohibition? Or may that which passed only to males by one law, pass likewise to females by another? “You mention your resolution to main- tain the right of your brothers i : I do not see how any of their rights are invaded. “ As your whole difficulty arises from the act of your ancestor, who diverted the suc- cession from the females, you inquire, very properly, what were his motives, and what was his intention : for you certainly are not bound by his act more than he intended to bind you, nor hold your land on harder or stricter terms than those on which it was granted. “ Intentions must be gathered from acts. When he left the estate to his nephew, by excluding his daughters, was it, or was it not in his power to have perpetuated the succession to the males ? If he could have done it, he seems to have shown by omit- ting it, that he did not desire it to be done, and, upon your own principles, you will not easily prove your right to destroy that ca- pacity of succession which your ancestors have left. “ Tf your ancestor had not the power of i Which term I applied to all the heirs male. —Boswell. vol. IT. 4 ' making a perpetual settlement; and i£ therefore, we cannot judge distinctly of his intentions, yet his act can only be considered as an example ; it makes not an obligation. And, as you observe, he set no example of rigorous adherence to the line of succession. He that overlooked a brother, would not wonder that little regard is shown to remote relations. “ As the rules of succession are, in a great part, purely legal, no man can be supposed to bequeath any thing, but upon legal terms : he can grant no power which the law denies ; and if he makes no special and de- finite limitation, he confers all the power which the law allows. “ Your ancestor, for some reason, disin- herited his daughters ; but it no more fol- lows that he intended this act as a rule for posterity, than the disinheriting of his brother. “If, therefore, you ask by what right your father admits daughters to inheritance, ask yourself, first, by what right you require them to be excluded ? “It appears, upon reflection, that your father excludes nobody ; he only admits nearer females to inherit before males more remote ; and the exclusion is purely conse- quential. “ These, dear sir, are my thoughts, un- methodical and deliberative; but, perhaps, you may find in them some glimmering of evidence. “ I cannot, however, but again recom- mend to you a conference with Lord Hailes, whom you know to be both a lawyer and a Christian. “ Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, though she does not love me. I am, sir, your affectionate servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” I had followed his recommendation and consulted Lord Hailes, who upon this sub- ject had a firm opinion contrary to mine. His lordship obligingly took the trouble to write me a letter, in which he discussed, with legal and historical learning, the points in which I saw much difficulty, maintaining that “the succession of heirs-general was the succession, by the law -of Scotland, from the throne to the cottage, as far as we can learn it by record ;” observing that the es- tate of our family had not been limited to heirs-male ; _ and that though an heir-male had in one instance been chosen in prefer- ence to nearer females, that had been an ar bitrary act, which had seemed to be best in the embarrassed state of affairs at that time : and the fact was, that upon a fair computa- tion of the value of land and money at the time, applied to the estate and the burthens upon it, there was nothing given the heirs male but the skeleton of an estate. “ Tb 26 1776,—iETAl . 67. plea of coi^cience,” said his lordship, “ which you pu«, is a most respectable one, especially when conscience and self are on different sides. But I think that conscience is not well informed, and that self and she ought on this occasion to be of a side.” This letter, which had considerable in- fluence upon my mind, I sent to Dr. John- son, begging to hear from him again upon this interesting question. “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 9th February, 1776. “Dear sir, — Having not any acquaint- ance with the laws or customs of Scotland, I endeavoured to consider your question upon general principles, and found nothing of much validity that I could oppose to this position : ‘ He who inherits a fief unlimited by his ancestors inherits the power of limit- ing it according to his own judgment or opinion.’ If this be true, you may join with your father. “Further consideration produces another conclusion : ‘ He who receives a fief unlim- ited by his ancestors gives his heirs some reason to complain if he does not transmit it unlimited to posterity. For why should he make the state of others worse than his own, without a reason!’ If this be true, though neither you nor your father are about to do what is quite right, but as your father violates (I think,) the legal succession least, he seems to be nearer the right than yourself. “It cannot but occur that ‘Women have natural and equitable claims as well as men, and these claims are not to be capriciously or lightly superseded or infringed.’ When fiefs implied military service, it is easily dis- cerned why females could not inherit them, but that reason is now at an end. As man- ners make laws, manners likewise repeal them. “ These are the general conclusions which I have attained. None of them are very favourable to your scheme of entail, nor perhaps to any scheme. My observation, that only he who acquires an estate may be- queath it capriciously i, if it contains any conviction, includes this position likewise, that only he who acquires an estate may entail it capriciously. But I think it may be safely presumed, that ‘he who inherits an estate, inherits all the power legally con- comitant and that ‘ He who gives or leaves unlimited an estate legally limitable, must be presumed to give that power of limitation which he omitted to take away, and to commit future contingencies to fu- ture prudence.’ In these two positions I believe Lord Hailes will advise you to rest ; i I had reminded him of his obse"vation, men- tioned, vo » i. p. 321 . — Boswell. | every other notion of possession 3eems to me full of difficulties, and embarrassed with scruples. “If these axioms be allowed, you have arrived now at full liberty without the help of particular circumstances, which, how- ever, have in your case great weight. You very rightly observe, that he who passing by Ins brother gave the inheritance to his nephew, could limit no more than he gave ; and by Lord Hailes’s estimate of fourteen years’ purchase, what he gave was no more than you may easily entail according to your own opinion, if that opinion should fi- nally prevail. “ Lord Hailes’s suspicion that entails are encroachments on the dominion of Provi- dence, may be extended to all hereditary privileges and all permanent institutions ; 1 do not see why it may not be extended to any provision for the present hour, since all care about futurity proceeds upon a suppo- sition, that we know at least in some degree what will be future. Of the future we cer- tainly know nothing ; but we may form conjectures from the past ; and the power of forming conjectures includes, in my opinion, the duty of acting in conformity to that probability, which we discover. Provi- dence gives the power, of which reason teaches the use. I am, dear sir, your most faithful servant, “Sa|j. Johnson. “ I hope I shall get some ground now with Mrs. Boswell : make my compliments to her, and to the little people. “ Don’t bum papers ; they may be safe enough in your own box ; you will wish to see them hereafter.” ‘•TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 15th February, 1776. “Dear sir, — To the letters which I have written about your great question I have nothing to add. If your conscience is satisfied, you have now only your pru- dence to consult. I long for a letter, that I may know how this troublesome and vex- atious question is at last decided 2. I hope that it will at last end well. Lord Hailes’s letter was very friendly, and very seasona- ble, but I think his aversion from entails 2 The entail framed by my father with various judicious clauses was settled by him and me, set- tling the estate upon the heirs male of his grand- father, which I found had been already done by my grandfather, imperfectly, but so as to be de- feated only by selling the lands. I was freed by Dr. Johnson from scruples of conscientious obli- gation, and could, therefore, gratify my father. But my opinion and partiality for male succession, in its full extent, remained unshaken. Y et let me not be thought harsh or unkind to daughters ; for my notion is, that they should be treated with great affection and tenderness, and always parti cipate of the prosperity of the family. — B oswell. 1776. — JET AT. 6?. has something m it like superstition. Provi- dence is not counteracted by any means which Providence puts into our power. The continuance and propagation of fami- lies makes a greaf part of the Jewish law, and is by no means prohibited in the Chris- tian institution, though the necessity of it continues no longer. Hereditary tenures are established in all civilized countries, and are accompanied in most with hereditary authority. Sir William Temple considers our constitution as defective, that there is not an unalienable estate in land connected with a peerage : and Lord Bacon mentions as a proof that the Turks are barbarians, their want of stirjpes , as he calls them, or hereditary rank. Do not let your mind, when it is freed from the supposed necessity of a rigorous entail, be entangled with con- trary objections, and think all entails un- lawful, till you have cogent arguments, which I believe you will never find. I am afraid of scruples. “ I have now sent all Lord Hailes’s pa- pers ; part I found hidden in a drawer in which 1 had laid them for security, and had forgotten them. Part of these are written twice ; I have returned both the copies. Part I had read before. “ Be so kind as to return Lord Hailes my most respectful thanks for his first vo- lume : his accuracy strikes me with wonder ; his narrative is far superior to that of He- nault, as I have formerly mentioned. “ I am afraid that the trouble which my irregularity and delay has cost him is great- er, far greater, than any good that I can do him will ever recompense ; but if I have any more copy, I will try to do better. “ Pray let me know if Mrs. Boswell is friends with me, and pay my respects to Ve- ronica, and Euphemia, and Alexander. I am, sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “ MR. ROSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, 20th Feb. 1776. fs % * * * % “You have illuminated my mind, and re- lieved me from imaginary shackles of con- scientious obligation. Were it necessary, I could immediately join in an entail upon the series of heirs approved by my father ; but it is better not to act too suddenly.” “ DR. JOHNSON TO MR. BOSWELL. “24th February, 1776. Dear sir, — I am glad that what I could think or say has at all contributed to quiet your thoughts. Your resolution not to act, till your opinion is confirmed by more deliberation, is very just. If you have oeen scrupulous, do not be rash. I hope that as you think more, and take opportu- nities of talking with men intelligent in 27 questions of property, you will be able to free yourself from every difficulty. “ When I wrote last, I sent, I think, ten packets. Did you receive them all ? “ You must tell Mrs. Boswell that I sus- pected her to have written without your knowledge i, and therefore did not return any answer, lest a clandestine correspond- ence should have been perniciously discover- ed. I will write to her soon. * * I am, dear sir, most affectionately yours, “Sam. Johnson.’ Having communicated to Lord Hailes what Dr. Johnson wrote concerning the question which perplexed me so much, his lordship wrote to me : “ Your scruples have produced more fruit than I ever expected from them ; an excellent dissertation on ge- neral principles of morals and law.” I wrote to Dr. Johnson on the 20th ol February, complaining of melancholy, and expressing a strong desire to be with him ; informing him that the ten packets came ah safe ; that Lord Hailes was much obliged to him, and said he had almost wholly removed his scruples against entails. “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “5th March, 1776. “ Dear sir, — I have not had your letter half an hour ; as you lay so much weight upon my notions, I should think it not just to delay my answer. “ I am very sorry that your melancholy should return, and should be sorry likewise if it could have no relief but from my com- pany. My counsel you may have when you are pleased to require it ; but of my compa- ny you cannot in the next month have much, for Mr. Thrale will take me to Italy, he says, on the 1st of April. “Let me warn you very earnestly against scruples. I am glad that you are reconciled to your settlement, and think it a great honour to have shaken Lord Hailes’s opi- nion of entails. Do not, however, hope wholly to reason away your troubles ; do not feed them with attention, and they will die imperceptibly away. Fix your thoughts upon your business, fill your intervals with company, and sunshine will again break in upon your mind. If you will come to me, you must come very quickly; and even then I know not but we may scour the country together, for I have a mind to see Oxford and Lichfield before I set out on this long journey.. To this I can only add that I am, dear sir, your most affectionate humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.” t A letter to him on the interesting subject oj the family settlement, which I had read.— P.os WELL. 29 1776.— 2ETAT. 67, “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ 12th March, 1776. *' Dear sir, — Very early in April we ^eave England, and in the beginning of the w^xt week I shall leave London for a short time ; of this I think it necessary to inform you, that you may not be disappointed in any of your enterprises. I had not fully resolved to go into the country before this day. “ Please to make my compliments to Lord Hailes, and mention very particularly to Mrs. Boswell my hope that she is reconciled to, sir, your faithful servant, “Sam. Johnson.” | “ DR. JOHNSON TO THE REV. JOHN WESLEY. “ 6th Feb. 1776. Gent. Mag. “ Sir, — When I received your 1797 , p. 455 . t Commentary on the Bible,’ I durst not at first flatter myself that I was to keep it, having so little claim to so valuable a present; and when Mrs. Hall i informed me of your kindness, was hindered from time to time from returning you those thanks, which I now entreat you to accept. “ I have thanks likewise to return you for the addition of your important suffrage to my argument . on the American question. To have gained such a mind as yours may justly confirm me in my own opinion. What effect my paper has upon the publick, I know not ; but I have no reason to be dis- couraged. The lecturer was surely in the right, who, though he saw his audience slinking away, refused to quit the chair, while Plato staid. — I am, reverend sir, your most humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.”] Above thirty years ago, the heirs of Lord Chancellor Clarendon presented the univer- sity of Oxford with the continuation of his “ History,” and such other of his lordship’s manuscripts as had not been published, on condition that the profits arising from their publication should be applied to the esta- blishment of a manege in the university 2. The gift was accepted in full convocation. A person 3 being now recommended to Dr. Johnson, as fit to superintend this proposed riding-school, he exerted himself with that zeal for which he was remarkable upon 1 [Mr. Wesley’s sister. — E d.] 2 [The Clarendon MSS., and any money which might arise from the sale or publication of them, were given by Catherine, Duchess Dowa- ger of Glueensbury, as a beginning of a fund for supporting a manege or academy for riding, and other useful exercises in Oxford, pursuant to, and in confirmation of, the last will of Henry Lord Hyde, bearing date the 10th day of August, 1751.— Hall.] 3 T A. Mr. Carter. See ante, 3d of March, 1773.— Ed.] every similar occasion. But, on inquiry into the matter, he found that the scheme was not likely to be soon carried into execution ; the profits arising from the Clarendon press being, from some mismanagement, very scanty. This having been explained to him by a respectable dignitary of the church, who had good means of knowing it, he wrote a letter upon the subject, which at once exhibits his extraordinary precision and acuteness, and his warm attachment to his alma mater. “ TO THE REV. DR. WETHERELL, MASTER OF UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, OXFORD. “ 12th March, 1776. “ Dear sir, — Few things are more un- pleasant than the transaction of business with men who are above knowing or caring what they have to do ; such as the trustees for Lord Cornbury’s institution will, perhaps, appear, when you have read Dr. *****’$ letter. “The last part of the Doctor’s letter is of great importance. The complaint 4 which he makes I have heard long ago, and did not know but it was redressed. It is unhappy that a practice so erroneous has not been altered ; for altered it must be, or our press will be useless with all its privi- leges. The booksellers, who, like all other men, have strong prejudices in their own favour, are enough inclined to think the practice of printing and selling books by any but themselves an encroachment on the rights of their fraternity ; and have need of stronger inducements to circulate aca- demical publications than those of anotner , for, of that mutual co-operation by which the general trade is carried on, the univer- sity can bear no part. Of those whom he neither loves nor fears, and from whom he expects no reciprocation of good offices, why should any man promote the interest but for profit 1 I suppose, with all our scholastick ignorance of mankind, we are still too knowing to expect that the book- sellers will erect themselves into patrons, and buy and sell under the influence of a disinterested zeal for the promotion ol learning. « To the booksellers, if we look for either honour or profjt from our press, no* only their common profit, but something more must be allowed ; and if books, printed at Oxford, are expected to be rated at a high price, that price must be levied on the pub- lick, and paid by the ultimate purchaser, not by the intermediate agents. What price shall be set upon the book is, tc the booksellers, wholly indifferent, provided 4 I suppose the complaint was, that the trus- tees of the Oxford press did notallow the London booksellers a sufficient profit upon vending their publications. — Bos w lll. 1776. — iETAT. 67. 2U that they gain a proportionate profit by negotiating the sale. “ WhyH books printed at Oxford should be particularly dear, I am, however, unable to find. We pay no rent ; we inherit many of our instruments and materials ; lodging and victuals are cheaper than at London; and, therefore, workmanship ought, at least, not to be dearer. Our expenses are natu- rally less than those of booksellers ; and in most cases, communities are content with less profit than individuals. « It is, perhaps, not considered through how many hands a book often passes, before it comes into those of the reader ; or what part of the profit each hand must re- tain, as a motive for transmitting it to the next. “We will call our primary agent in Lon- ion, Mr. Cadell, who receives our books from us, gives them room in his warehouse, and issues them on demand ; by him they are sold to Mr. Dilly, a wholesale booksel- ler, who sends them into tlje country ; and the last seller is the country bookseller. Here are three profits to be paid between the printer and the reader, or, in the style of commerce, between the manufacturer and the consumer; and if any of these profits is too penuriously distributed, the process of commerce is interrupted. “ We are now come to the practical question, what is to be done? You will tell me, with reason, that I have said no- thing, till I declare how much, according to my opinion, of the ultimate price ought to be distributed through the whole succession of sale. “ The deduction, I am afraid, will appear very great ; but let it be considered before it is refused. We must allow, for profit, between thirty and thirty-five per cent, be- tween six and seven shillings in the pound ; that is, for every book which costs the last buyer twenty shillings, we must charge Mr. Cadell with something less than fourteen: We must set the copies at fourteen shillings was so particularly exact might be p ‘ • 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 re- membered such passages as escape cursory and common observers. His p- 234. 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,” said Johnson, “should be a specimen of life and manners ; but if the surrounding circumstances are false, as it is no more a representation of reality, it is no longer worthy our attention.”] The knowledge of his having such a principle and habit made his friends have a perfect reliance on the truth of every thing that he told, however it might have been doubted if told by many others. As an instance of this, I may mention an odd incident which he related as having happened to him one night in Fleet-street. “A gentlewoman,” said he, « begged I would give her my arm to assist her in crossing the street, which I accordingly did; upon which she offered me a shilling, supposing me to be the watch- man. I perceived that she was somewhat in liquor.” This, if told by most people, would have been thought an invention; when told by Johnson, it was believed by his friends as much as if they had seen what passed 3. [Mrs. Piozzi relates some very similar instances, which he himself told her. As he was walking along the Strand, a gentleman stepped out of some neighbouring tavern, with his napkin in his hand and no hat, and stopping him as civilly as he could : “ I beg 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, 1 [Miss Reynolds says, in her Recollections , that she wonders why Mr. Boswell should think this anecdote so surprising ; for John son’d dress was so mean (until his pension) that he might have been easily mistaken for a beggar.— -E d J 1776 -yETAT. 67. 33 4< for the adverb [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 gen- tleman, gaily, “ the book I have no cer- tainty at all of; but here is the author , to whom I referred: I have won my twenty guineas quite fairly, and am much obliged to you, sir ; ” so shaking Dr. Johnson kindly by the hand, he went back to finish his dinner or dessei t. He also once told Mrs. Piozzi that a young gentleman called on him one morn- ing, and told him that, having dropped sud- denly into an ample fortune, he was willing to qualify himself for genteel society by add- ing 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, with facility .” “ I read it a little, to be sure, sir.” “ But do you read it with facility, Isay?” “Upon my word, sir, I do not very well know, but I rather believe not.” Dr. Johnson now began to recommend other branches of science ; 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?” The Doctor’s patience and desire of doing good began now to give way. “You would do well,” said he, “ to look for some person to be always about you, sir, who is capable of explaining such mat- ters, and not come to us to know whether the cat lays eggs or not : get a discreet man to keep you company-; there are 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 1 in our age or nation, Dr. John- son fairly gave himself up to an honest "burst of laughter, at seeing this youth at such a surprising distance from common knowledge of the world. We landed at the Temple-stairs, where we parted. I found him in the evening in Mrs. Wil- liams’§ room. We talked of religious or- ders. He said, “ It is as unreasonable for a man to go into a Carthusian convent for fear of being immoral, as for a man to cut off his hands for fear he should steal. There is, indeed, great resolution in the immediate act of dismembering himself; but when that is once done, he has no lon- ger any merit: for though it is out of his 1 [Mr. Burke . — Malone MS . — Ed.] vol. n. a power to steal, yet he may all ms life be thief in his heart. So when a man has once become a Carthusian, he is obliged to continue so, whether he chooses it or not. Their silence, too, is afbsurd. We read in the Gospel of the apostles being sent to preach, but not to hold their tongues. All severity that does not tend to increase good, or prevent evil, is idle. I said to the Lady Abbess of a convent, c Madam, you are here, not for the love of virtue, but the fear of vice.’ She said, ‘ She should remember this as long as she lived.’ ” I thought it hard to give her this view of her situation when she could not help it; and, indeed, I wondered at the whole of what he now said; because, both in his “ Rambler” and “ Idler,” he treats religious austerities with much solemnity of respect. Finding him still persevering in his ab- stinence from wine, I ventured to speak tc him of it. Johnson. “ Sir, I have no ob- jection to a man’s drinking wine, if he can do it in moderation. I found myself apt to go to excess in it, and therefore, after hav- ing been for some time without it, on ac- count of illness, I thought it better not to return to it. Every man is to judge for himself, according to the effects which he experiences. One of the fathers tells us, he found fasting made him so peevish thal he did not practise it.” Though he often enlarged upon the evil of intoxication, he was by no means harsh and unforgiving to those who indulged in occasional excess in wine. One of his friends 2 , I w« li remember, came to sup at a tavern with him and some other gentle- men, and too plainly discovered that he had drunk too much at dinner. When one who loved mischief, thinking to produce a severe censure, asked Johnson, a few days afterwards, “ W ell, sir, what did your friend say to you, as an apology for being in such a situation?” Johnson answered, “Sir, he said all that a man should say he said he was sorry for it.” I heard him once give a very judicious practical advice upon the subject: “ A man who has been drinking wine at all freely should never go into a new company With those who have partaken of wine with him, he may be pretty well in unison; but he will probably be offensive, or appear ridiculous, to other people.’ He allowed very great influence to edu- cation. “ I do not deny, sir, but there is some original difference in minds; but it is nothing in comparison of what is formed by education. "We may instance the science of numbers, which all minds are equally ca- pable of attaining 3 : yet we find a prodj- 2 [Probably Mr. Boswell himself. — E» ] 3 [This appears to be an ill-chosen illustration 1776.— vETAT. 67. M gioas difference in the powers of different men, in that respect, after they are grown up, because their minds have been more or less exercised in it: and I think the same cause will explain the difference of excel- lence in other things, gradations admitting always some difference in the first princi- ples.” This is a difficult subject; but it is best to hope that diligence may do a great deal. We are sure of what it can do, in increas- ing our mechanical force and dexterity. I again visited him on Monday. He took occasion to enlarge, as he often did, upon the wretchedness of a sea-life. “A ship is worse than a gaol. There is, in a gaol, better air, better company, better con- veniency of every kind; and a ship has the additional disadvantage of being in danger. When men come to like a sea-life, they are not fit to live oil land.” cc Then,” said I, “ it would be cruel in a father to breed his son to the sea.” Johnson. “ It would be cruel in a father who thinks as I do. Men go to sea, before they know the unhappi- ness of that way of life; and when they have come to know it, they cannot escape from it, because it is then too late to choose another profession; as indeed is generahv the case with men, when they have once engaged in any particular way of life.” Piozzi, [On another occasion, he said, p. 220. “The life of a sailor was also a con- tinued scene of danger and exertion; and the manner in which time was spent on shipboard would make all who saw a cabin envy a gaol.” The roughness of the lan- guage used on board a man of war, where he passed a week 1 on a visit to Captain Knight, disgusted him terribly. He asked an officer what some place was called, and received for answer, that it was where the loplolly-man 2 kept his loplollv; a reply he considered, not unjustly, as disrespectful, gross, and ignorant.] On Tuesday, 19 th March, which was It seems, on the contrary, that there are few powers of mind so unequally given as those con- nected with numbers. The few who have them in any extraordinary degree, like Jede- diah Buxton, and like the boys Bidder and Col- borne, of our times, seem to have little other intel- lectual power. See accounts of Buxton in Gent. Mag. v. xxi. p. 61, and v. xxiv. p. 251. — Ed.] 1 [It is not likely that he ever spent a week on shipboard. As the exact date of his excursion in- to the West with the Reynoldses {ante, v. i. p. 163.) is not given, it cannot be ascertained whether it was then that he visited Captain (after- wards Sir Joseph) Knight who lay, in the Bel- leisle, in Plymouth Sound, a couple of months of the years 1762 and 1763. — Ed.] 2 [The loplolly-boy is the surgeon’s attendant. - Ed.] fixed for our proposed jaunt, w T e met in the morning at the Somerset coffee-house in the Strand, where we were taken up by the Oxford coach. He was accompanied by Mr. Gwyn, the architect; and a gentleman of Merton college, whom he did not know, had the fourth seat. We soon got into conversation; for it was very remarkable of Johnson, that the presence of a stranger had no restraint upon his talk. I observed that Garrick, who was about to quit the stage, would soon have an easier life Johnson. “I doubt that, sir.” Bos- well. “ Why, sir, he will be Atlas with the burthen off his back.” Johnson. “ But I know not, sir, if he will be so steady without his load. However, he should never play any more, but be entirely the gentleman, and not partly the player: he should no longer subject himself to be hiss- ed by a mob, or to be insolently treated by performers, whom he used to rule with a high hand, and who would gladly retaliate.” Boswell. “I think he should play once a year for the benefit of decayed actors, as it has been said he means to do.” John- son “ Alas, sir! he will soon be a decay- ed actor himself.” Johnson expressed his disapprobation of ornamental architecture, such as magnifi cent columns supporting a portico, or ex pensive pilasters supporting merely their own capitals, “ because it consumes labour disproportionate to its utility.” For the same reason he satirized statuary. cc Paint- ing,” said he, “ consumes labour not dis- proportionate to its effect; but a fellow will hack half a year at a block of marble to make something in stone that hardly resem- bles a man. The value of statuary is owing to its difficulty. You would not value the finest head cut upon a carrot.” Here he seemed to me to be strangely deficient in taste 3 ; for surely statuary is a noble art of 3 [Dr. Johnson does not seem to nave objected to ornamental architecture or statuary per se, but to labour disproportionate to its utility or effect. In this view, his criticisms are just. The late style of building introduced into London, of col- onnades and porticos, without any regard to aspect, climate, or utility, is so absurd to reason, so offensive to taste, and so adverse to domestic comfort, that it reconciles us to the short-lived materials of which these edifices are composed. It would have been well if we had, according to Johnson's sober advice, thought it necessary that the “ magnificence of porticos ,” and the “ ex- pense of pilasters should have borne some degree of proportion to their utility. With regard to “ statuary,” when it does “ preserve the varieties of the human frame,” it deserves all that Mr. Boswell says for it: but Johnson's ob jection was that it more frequently produced abortive failures, “ hardly resembling man." Ed.] 1776.— jETAT. 67 35 ; nutation, and preserves a wonderful ex- pression of the varieties of the human franie; and although it must he allowed that the circumstances of difficulty enhance the value of a marble head, we should con- sider, that if it requires a long time in the performance, it has a proportionate value in durability Gwyn was a fine lively rattling fellow. Dr. Johnson kept him in subjection, but with a kindly authority. The spirit of the artist, however, rose against what he thought a Gothick attack, and he made a brisk defence. “ What, sir, you will allow ■no value to beauty in architecture or in it a tu ary? Why should we allow it then in writing? Why do you take the trouble to give us so many fine allusions, and bright images, and elegant phrases? You might convey all your instruction without these ornaments.” Johnson smiled with com placency; but said, “ Why, sir, all these ornaments are useful, because they obtain an easier reception for truth; but a build- ing is not at all more convenient for being decorated with superfluous carved work.” Gwyn at last was lucky enough to make one reply to Dr. Johnson, which he allow- ed to be excellent. Johnson censured him for taking down a church which might have stood for many years, and building a Mew one at a different place, for no other 'eason but that there might be a direct road to a new bridge; and his expression was, “You are taking a church out of the way, nat the people may go in a straight line to lhe bridge.” “ No, sir,” said Gwyn, “ I am putting the church in the way, that the people maynotgo out of the way.” John- son (with a hearty loud laugh of approba- tion). “ Speak no more. Rest your collo- quial fame upon this.” Upon our arrival at Oxford, Dr. Johnson and I went directly to University college, but were disappointed on finding that one of the fellows, his friend Mr. Scott, who iccompanied him from Newcastle to Edin- Durgh, was gone to the country. We put ip at the Angel inn, and passed the even- ing by ourselves in easy and familiar con- versation. Talking of constitutional me- lancholy, he observed, “ A man so afflicted, sir, must divert distressing thoughts, and not combat with them.” Boswell. “May not he think them down, sir?” Johnson. “ No, sir. To attempt to think them down is madness. He should have a lamp constantly burning in his bed- chamber during the night, and if wakefully disturbed, take a book, and read, and com- pose himself to rest. To have the man- agement of the mind is a great art, and it may be attained in a considerable degree bv experience and habitual exercise.” Boswell. “ Should not he provide amuse- ments for himself? Would it not, form- stance, be right for him to take a course of chvmistry?” Johnson. “Let him take a course of* chymistry, or a course of rope dancing, or a course of any thing to which he is inclined at the time. Let him con- trive to have as many retreats for his mind as he can, as many things to which it can fly from itself. Burton’s ‘Anatomy of Me- lancholy 5 is a valuable work. It is, per- haps, overloaded with quotation. But there is a great spirit and great power in what Burton says, when he writes from his own mind.’ Next morning [ Wednesday , 20 th March] we visited Dr. Wetherell, master of Uni- versity college, with whom Dr. Johnson conferred on the most advantageous mode of disposing of the books printed at the Clarendon press, on which subject his let- ter has been inserted in a former page. 1 often had occasion to remark, Johnson loved business, loved to have his wisdom actually operate on real life. Dr. Weth- erell and I talked of him without reserve in his own presence. Wetherell. “ I would have given him a hundred guineas if he would have written a preface to his c Political Tracts,’ by way of a discourse on the British constitution.” Boswell. “ Dr. Johnson, though in his writings, and upon all occasions, a great friend to the. constitution, both in church and state, has never written expressly in support of either. There is really a claim upon him for both. I am sure he could give a volume of no great bulk upon each, which would com- prise all the substance, and with his spirit would effectually maintain them. He should erect a fort on the confines of each.” I could perceive that he was displeased with this dialogue. He burst out, “ Why should I be always writing?” I hoped he was conscious that the debt was just, and meant to discharge it, though he disliked being dunned. We then went to Pembroke College,, and waited on his old friend Dr. Adams, the master of it, whom I found to be a most polite, pleasing, communicative man. Be fore his advancement to the headship of his college, I had intended to go and visit him at Shrewsbury, where he was rector of St. Chad’s, in order to get from him what par- ticulars he could recollect of Johnson’s academical life. He now obligingly gave me part of that authentick information, which, with what I afterwards owed to his kindness, will be found incorporated in its proper place in this work. Dr. Adams had distinguished himself by an able answer to David Hume’s “ Essay on Miracles.” He told me he had once dined in company with Hume in London* that Hit- ' - f -<>ck lands with him, and said 36 1776.— iETAT. 67. ‘ You Lave treated me much better than 1 deserve; and that they exchanged visits. I took the liberty to object to treating an infidel writer with smooth civility. Where there is a controversy concerning a passage in a classick authour, or concerning a ques- tion in antiquities, or any other subject in which human happiness is not deeply in terested, a man may treat his antagonist with politeness and even respect. But where the controversy is concerning the truth of religion, it is of such vast impor- tance to him who maintains it, to obtain the victory, that the person of an opponent, ought not to be spared. If a man firmly believes that religion is an invaluable trea- sure, he will consider a writer who endeav- ours to deprive mankind of it as a robber; he will look upon him as odious , though the infidel might think himself in the right. A robber who reasons as the gang do in the “ Beggar’s Opera,” who call themselves practical philosophers, and may have as much sincerity as pernicious speculative philosophers, is not the less an object of just indignation. An abandoned profligate may think that it is not wrong to debauch my wife, but shall I, therefore, not detest him ? And if I catch him in maxing an at- tempt, shall I treat him with politeness? No, I will kick him down stairs, or run him through the body; that is, if I really love my wife, or have a true rational notion of honour. An infidel then should not be treated handsomely by a Christian, merely because he endeavours to rob with ingenui- ty. I do declare, however, that I am ex- ceedingly unwilling to be provoked to an- ger, and could I be persuaded that truth would not suffer from a cool moderation in its defenders, I should wish to preserve good humour, at least, in every controver- sy; nor, indeed, do I see why a man should lose his temper while he does all he can to refute an opponent. I think ridicule may be fairly used against an infidel; for in- stance, if he be an ugly fellow, and yet ab- surdly vain of his person, we may contrast his appearance with Cicero’s beautiful im- age of Virtue, could she be seen. Johnson coincided with me and said, “ when a man voluntarily engages in an important con- troversy, he is to do all he can to lessen his antagonist, because authority from personal respect has much weight with most people, and often more than reasoning. If my an- tagonist writes bad language, though that may not be essential to the question, I will attack him for his bad language.” Adams. “You would not jostle a chimney-sweeper.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir, if it were necessary to jostle him down.” Dr. Adams told us, that in some of the colleges at Oxford, the fellows had excluded .he students from social intercourse with tLeir n the common room. Johnson “They are in the rigtit, sir: there can oe no real conversation, no fair exertion of mind amongst them, if the young men are by; for a man who has a character ‘does not choose to stake it in their presence.” Boswell. “ But, sir, may there not be very good conversation without a contest for superiority?” Johnson. “No ani- mated conversation t, sir; for it cannot be but one or other will come off superiour. I do not mean that the victor must have the better of the argument, for he may take the weak side; but his superiority of parts and knowledge will necessarily appear; and he to whom he thus shows himself superiour is lessened in the eyes of the young men. You know it was said, ‘ Mallem cum Scali- gero err are quam cum Clavio recte sap ere .’ In the same manner take Bentley’s and Ja- son de Nores’ Comments upon Horace 1 2 , you will admire Bentley more when wrong, than Jason when right.” We walked with Dr. Adams into the master’s garden, and into the common room. Johnson (after a reverie of meditation). “ Ay! here I used to play at draughts with Phil. Jones and Fludyer 3 . Jones loved beer, and did not get very forward in the church. Fludyer turned out a scoundrel 4 , a whig, and said he was ashamed of having been bred at Oxford. He had a living at Putney; and got under the eye of some re- tainers to the court at that time, and so be- came a violent whig; but he had been a scoundrel all along, to be sure.” Boswell. “ W as he a scoundrel, sir, in any other wav than that of being a political scoundrel? Did he cheat at draugnts?” Johnson. “ Sir, we never played for money.” He then carried me to visit Dr. Bentharn, Canon of Christ-Church, and divinity pro- fessor, with whose learned and lively con- versation we were much pleased. He gave us an invitation to dinner, which Dr. John- son told me was a high honour. “ Sir, it is a great thing to dine with the canons of Christ-Church.” We could not accept his invitation, as we were engaged to dine at University College. We had an excellent dinner there, with the masters and fellows, it being St. Cuthbert’s day, which is kepi by them as a festival, as he was a saint o! 1 [See post, sub 30th March, 1783, his dis- tinction between talk and conversation. — Ed.] 2 [A learned Cypriot, who, when the Turks took Cyprus in 1570, retired into Italy, where he published several Italian and Latin works; among the latter was a “ Commentary on Horace’s Art of Poetry.” — Ed.] 3 [ Fludyer was the immediate contemporary of Johnson, having entered (scholar) within a month of Johnson’s entrance, fellow before th end of the year; M. A. April, 1735. Phil. Jonc? must have been about a year their senior, having become M. A. March, 1734. — Hall.] 4 [See post 27th March, 1776, n. — Ed.] 1776. — iETAT. 67. 37 Durham, with which this college is much connected. We drank tea with Dr. Horne, late Pre- sident of Magdalen College and Bishop of Norwich, of whose abilities in different res- pects thepublick has had eminent proofs, and the esteem annexed to whose character was increased by knowing him personally. He had talked of publishing an edition of Wal- ton’s Lives, but had laid aside that design, upon Dr. Johnson’s telling him, from mis- take, that Lord Hailes intended to do it. I had wished to negotiate between Lord Hailes and him, that one or other should perform so good a work. Johnson. “ In order to do it well, it will be necessary to collect all the editions of Walton’s Lives. By way of adapting the book to the taste of the present age, they have, in a late edi- tion, left out a vision which he relates Dr. Donne had, but it should be restored and there should be a critical catalogue given of the works of the different persons whose lives were written by Walton, and therefore their works must be carefully read by the editor.” We then went to Trinity College, where he introduced me to Mr. Thomas Warton, with whom we passed a part of the evening. We talked of biography. Johnson. “ It is rarely well executed. They only who live with a man can write his life with any genuine exactness and discrimination; and few people who have lived with a man know what to remark about him. The chaplain of a late bishop 2 , whom I was to assist in writ- ing some memoirs of his lordship, could tell me scarcely any thing 3 .” I said, Mr. Robert Dodsley’s life should be written, as he had been so much con- nected with the wits of his time, and by his literary merit had raised himself from the station of a foot-man. Mr. Warton said, he had published a little volume under the title of “ The Muse in Livery.” Johnson. u I 1 The vision which Johnson speaks of was not in the original publication of Walton’s “Life of Dr. Donne, in 1640.” It is not found in the three earliest editions; out was first introduced in- to the fourth, in 1765. I have not been able to discover what modern republication is alluded to in which it was omitted. It has very properly been restored by Dr. Zouch. — James Boswell,. 2 [The bishop was Zachary Pearce, and the chaplain, Mr. Darby. See post, sub May, 1777. -Ed.] 3 It has been mentioned to me by an accurate English friend, that Dr. Johnson could never have ased the phrase almost nothing, as not being English; and therefore I have put another in its place. At the same time, I am not quite con- vinced it is not good English. For the best wri- ters use this phrase, “ little or nothing ,” i. e. almost so little as to be nothing. — Boswell. [Mr. Boswell’s friend seems to have been hyper- critical. — E d ] doubt whether Dodsley’s brother would thank a man who should write his life; yet Dodsley himself was not unwilling that his original low condition should be recollected. When Lord Lyttleton’s ‘ Dialogues of the Dead ’ came out, one of which is between Apicius, an ancient epicure, andDartineuf 4 , a modern epicure, Dodsley said to me, c I knew Dartineuf well, for I was once his foot- man.’ ” Biography led us to speak of Dr. John Campbell, who had written a considerable part of the “ Biographia Britannica .” Johnson, though he valued him highly, was of opinion that there was not so much in his great work, “ A Political Survey of Great Britain,” as the world had been taught to expect 5 ; and had said to me that he believed Campbell’s disappointment on account of the bad success of that work had killed him. He this evening observed of it, “ That work was his death.” Mr. W ar- ton, not adverting to his meaning, answer- ed, cc I believe so, from the great attention he bestowed on it.” Johnson. “Nay, sir, he died of want of attention, if he died at all by that book ” We talked of a work 6 much in vogue at that time, written in a very mellifluous style, but which, under pretext of another subject, contained much artful infidelity. I said it was not fair to attack us unexpected- ly; he should have warned us of our danger, before we entered his garden of flowery elo- quence, by advertising, “ Spring-guns and men-traps set here.” The authour had been an Oxonian, and was remembered there for having “ turned Papist.” I ob- served, that as he had changed several times — from the church of England to the church of Rome — from the church of Rome to infidelity, — I did not despair of yet see- ing him a methodist preacher. Johnson (laughing). “ It is said that his range has been more extensive, and that he has once been [a] Mahometan. However, now that he has published his infidelity, he will prob- 4 [This gentleman, whose proper name Avas Charles Dartiquenave (pronounced and com- monly written Darteneuf), is now only recollect- ed as a celebrated epicure ; but be was a man of wit, pleasure, and political importance at the be- ginning of the last century — the associate of Swift, Pope, Addison, and Steele — a contributor to the Tatler, and a member of the Kit-Cat club, of which collection his portrait is one of the best. He was Paymaster of the Board of Works, and Surveyor of the royal gardens ; and died in 1 737. It was suspected that he wa' a natural son of Charles the Second, by a foreign lady. — E d.] 5 Yet surely it is a very useful work, and of wonderful research and labour for one man to have executed. — Boswell. 6 [Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empira. — E d.] 38 1776. — iETAT. 67. ably persist m it h” Boswell. “ 1 am •not q uite sure of that, sir.” I mentioned Sir Richard Steele having published his “ Christian Hero,” with the avowed purpose of obliging himself to lead a religious life; yet that his conduct was by no means strictly suitable.” Johnson. “ Steele, I believe, practised the lighter vices.” Mr. Warton, being engaged, could not sup with us at our inn ; we had therefore another evening by ourselves. I asked Johnson whether a man’s being forward to make himself known to eminent people 1 2 , and seeing as much of life, and getting as much information as he could in every way, was not yet lessening himself by his forward- ness. Johnson. “No, sir; a man always makes himself greater as he increases his knowledge.” I censured some ludicrous fantastick dia- logues between two coach-horses, and oth- er such stuff, which Baretti had lately pub- lished. He joined with me, and said, “ No- thing odd will do long. ‘ Tristram Shan- dy ’ did not last.” I expressed a desire to be acquainted with a lady who had been much talked of, and universally celebrated for extraordinary address and insinuation 3 . Johnson. “ Never believe extraordinary characters which you hear of people. De- pend upon it, sir, they are exaggerated. Vou do not see one man shoot a great deal higher than another.” I mentioned Mr. Burke. Johnson. “ Yes, Burke is an ex- traordinary man. His stream of mind is 1 [This sarcasm probably alludes to the tender- ness with which Gibbon’s malevolence to Christi- anity afterwards induced him to treat Mahometan- ism in his history ; and we have seen that John- son gravely warned Miss Knight that one who could be converted to popery might by an easy progress become even a Mahometan. Some- thing of this sort he probably had in his mind on this occasion. — Ed.] 2 [This was one of Mr. Boswell’s predominant passions — a fortunate one for those whom this work amuses, for to it we owe his having sought the acquaintance of Johnson ; as he had, about the same time, obtained that of Wilkes : he was, particularly in early life, fond of running after notorieties of all sorts. See his father’s opinion of this propensity, ante, vol. i. p. 458. — Ed.] 3 [Margaret Caroline Rudd, a woman who liv- ed with one of the brothers Perreau, who were about this time executed (17th Jan. 1776) for a forgery her fame “ for extraordinary address and insinuation” was probably very unfounded; it arose from this: she betrayed her accomplices; and they, in return, charged her with being the real authour of the forgery, and alleged that they were dupes and instruments in her hands, and to support this allegation, they and their friends, who were numerous and respectable, exaggerated to the highest degree Mrs. Rudd’s supposed pow- ers of address and fascination. — Ed.] perpetual.” It is very pleasing to me tty record, that Johnson’s high estimation of the talents of this gentleman was uniform from their early acquaintance. Sir Joshua Reynolds informs me, that when Mr. Burke was first elected a member of parliament, and Sir John Hawkins expressed a wonder at his attaining a seat, Johnson said, “ Now we who know Mr. Burke, know that he will be one of the first men in the country.” And once, when Johnson was ill, and un- able to exert himself as much as usual with- out fatigue, Mr. Burke having been men- tioned, he said, “ That fellow calls forth all my powers. Were I to see Burke now it would kill me.” So much was he accus- tomed to consider conversation as a contest, and such was his notion of Burke as an op ponent. Next morning, Thursday, 21st 'March, we set out in a post-chaise to pursue our ramble. It was a delightful day, and we rode through Blenheim park. When I looked at the magnificent bridge built by John, Duke of Marlborough, over a small rivulet, and recollected the epigram made 4 upon it — “ The lofty arch his high ambition shows, The stream an emblem of his bounty flows; ” and saw that now, by the genius of Brown, a magnificent body of water was collected, I said, “ They have drowned the epigram.” I observed to him, while in the midst of the noble scene around us, “You and I, sir, have, I think, seen together the extremes of what can be seen in Britain — the wild rough island of Mull, and Blenheim park.” We dined at an excellent inn at Chapel house, where he expatiated on the felicity of England in its taverns and inns, and tri- umphed over the French for not having, in any perfection, the tavern life. “ There is no private house (said he), in which people can enjoy themselves so well, as at a capi- tal tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of good things, ever so much gran- deur, ever so much elegance, ever so much desire that every body should be easy; in the nature of things it cannot be: there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of the house is anx- ious to entertain his guests; the guests are anxious to be agreeable to him; and no man, but a very impudent dog indeed, can as freely command what is in another man’s house, as if it were his own. Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general fieedom from anxiety. You are sure you are welcome: and the more noise you make, the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No ser- vants will attend you with the alacrity which 4 [By Doctor Evans. — E d.J 1776 -JET AT. 67 39 waiters do, who are incited by the prospect jf an immediate reward in proportion as they please. No, sir; there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by i good tavern or inn 1 .” He then repeated, with great emotion, Shenstone’s lines : •« Whoe’er has travell’d life’s dull round, Where’er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn 2 .” My illustrious friend, I thought, did not sufficiently admire Shenstone. That inge- nious and elegant gentleman’s opinion of Johnson appears in one of his letters to Mr. Greaves, dated Feb. 9, 1760. “ I have lately been reading one or two volumes of the Rambler; who, excepting against some few hardnesses 3 in his manner, and the want of more examples to enliven, is one of the most nervous, most perspicuous, most concise, most harmonious prose wri- ters I know. A learned diction improves by time.” In the afternoon, as we were driven rap- idly along in the post-chaise, he said to me, “Life has not many things better than this 4 .” [H-e loved indeed the very act of p 10 ^’ travelling, and I cannot tell how far one might have taken him in a car- nage before he would have wished for re- freshment. He was therefore in some respects an admirable companion on the road, as he piqued himself upon feeling no inconvenience, and on despising no accom- 1 Sir John Hawkins has preserved very few memorabilia of Johnson. There is, however, to be found in his bulky tome, a very excellent one upon this subject. “ In contradiction to those who, having a wife and children, prefer domes- dck enjoyments to those which a tavern affords, I have heard him assert, that a tavern chair ivas the throne of human felicity . ‘ As soon (said he) as I enter the door of a tavern, I experience an oblivion of care, and a freedom from solicitude: when I am seated, I find the master courteous, and the servants obsequious to my call ; anxious to know and ready to supply my wants: wine there exhilarates my spirits, and prompts me to free conversation and an interchange of discourse with those whom I most love: I dogmatise and am contradicted, and in this conflict of opinion and sentiments I find delight.’ ” — Boswell. 2 We happened to lie this night at the inn at Henley, where Shenstone wrote these lines; which I give as they are found in the corrected edition of his works, published after his death. In Dods- •ey’s collection the stanza ran thus : “ Whoe’er has travell’d life’s dull round, Whate’er his various tcur has been, May sigh to think hoiv oft he found His warmest welcome at an inn "—Boswell. 3 [“ He too often makes use of the abstract tor the concrete — Shenstone.] 4 [See post, 29th March. — E d.] modations. On the other hand, however, he expected no one else to feel any, and felt exceedingly inflamed with anger if any one complained of the rain, the sun, or the dust. “ How,” said he, do other people bear them?” As for general uneasiness, or complaints of long confinement in a carriage, he considered all lamentations on their ac- count as proofs of an empty head, and a tongue desirous to talk without materials of conversation. cc A mill that goes with- out grist,” said he, “ is as good a compan- ion as such creatures.”] We stopped at Stratford-upon-Avon, and drank tea and coffee; and it pleased me to be with him upon the classick ground of Shakspeare’s native place. He spoke slightingly of “ Dyer’s Fleece.” “ The subject, sir, cannot be made poetical. How can a man write poetically of serges and druggets? Yet you will hear many people talk to you gravely of that excellent poem, ‘ The Fleece.’ ” Having talked of Grainger’s “ Sugar-cane,” I mentioned to him Mr. Langton’s having told me, that this poem, when read in manuscript at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, had made all the assem- bled wits burst into a laugh, when, after much blank verse pomp, the poet began a new paragraph thus: “ Now, Muse, let ’s sing of rats .” And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company, who slyly overlooked the reader, perceived that the word had been originally mice, and had been altered to rats , as more dignified 5 . 5 [Such is this little laughable incident, which has been often related. Dr. Percy, the Bishop of Dromore, who was an intimate friend of Dr. Grainger, and has a particular regard for his memory, has communicated to me the following explanation. “ The passage in question was originally not liable to such a perversion: for the authour having occasion in that part of his work to mention the havock made by rats and mice, had introduced the subject in a kind of mock-heroick, and a par- ody of Homer’s Battle of the Frogs and Mice, invoking the muse of the old Grecian bard in an elegant and well-turned manner. In that state I had seen it ; but afterwards, unknown to me and other friends, he had been persuaded, contrary to his own better judgment, to alter it, so as to pro- duce the unlucky effect above mentioned. ’ ’ The above was written by the bishop when he had not the poem itself to recur to; and though the account given was true of it at one period, yet, as Dr. Grainger afterwards altered the passage in question, the remarks in the text do not now appiy to the printed poem. The bishop gives this character of Dr. Grainger: “ He was not on)/ * man of genius and learning, but had many excellent virtues; being one. of the most generous, friendly, and benevolent me* I «ver knew.” 40 1776. — dETAT. 67. This passage does not appear in the printed work, Dr. Grainger, or some of his friends, it should seem, having become sen- sible that introducing even rats in a grave poem, mignt be liable to banter. He, how- ever, could not bring himself to relinquish the idea; for they are thus, in a still more ludicrous manner, periphrastically exhibited in his poem as it now stands: “ Nor with less waste the whisker’ d vermin race A countless clan despoil the lowland cane.” Johnson said, that Dr. Grainger was an agreeable man; a man who would do any good that was in his power. His transla- tion of Tibullus, he thought, was very well done; but “ The Sugar-cane, a Poem,” did not please him 1 ; for, he exclaimed, “ What could he make of a sugar-cane? One might as weV write the ‘ Parsley-bed, a Poem ; 5 or c The Cabbage-garden, a Poem.’ ” Boswell. “ You must then pickle your cabbage with the sal atticum .” Johnson. “ You know there is already c The Hop- garden, a Poem : 5 and I think, one could say a great deal about cabbage. The poem might begin with the advantages of civilized society over a rude state, exemplified by the Scotch, who had no cabbages till Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers introduced them; and one might thus show how arts are propagated by conquest, as they were by the Roman arms.” He seemed to be much diverted with the fertility of his own fancy. I told him, that I heard Dr. Percy was writing the history of the wolf in Great Bri- tian. Johnson. “ The wolf, sir; why the wolf? Why does he not write of the bear, which we had formerly? Nay, it is said that we had the beaver. Or why does he not write of the gray rat, the Hanover rat, as it is called because it is said to have come 1 Dr. Johnson said to me, “ Percy, sir, was an- gry with me for laughing at the Sugar-cane ; for he had a mind to make a great thing of Grainger’s rats.” — Boswell. [Miss Reynolds thus gives this anecdote: “ Johnson’s reply to Dr. Grainger, who was reading his MS. poem of the Sugar-cane to him. will probably be thought more excusable than [a rudeness to Dr. Percy (see post, sub 1780, n.)] When he came to the line ‘Say, shall J sing of rats ? 5 ‘ No ! ’ cried Dr. Johnson, with great vehemency. This he related to me himself ; laughing heartily at the conceit of Dr. Grainger’s refractory muse. Where it happened I do not know; but T am certain, very certain, that it was not, as Mr. Boswell asserts, at Sir Joshua’s; for they [Sir Joshua and Dr. G.] were not, I believe, personally known to each other.” — Recollections. The Editor prefers Mr. Lang- ton’s authority to that of the lady, who is clearly in error, when she represents Boswell as saying, that Grainger read his poem at Sir Joshua’s. He only says, on the authority of Mr. Langton, that it was read there; probably by Dr. Percy. — Ed.] into this country about the time that the family of Hanover came? I should like to see c The History of the Gray Rat, by Thomas Percy, I). D., chaplain in ordina- ry to his majesty ” (laughing immoderate- ly). Boswell. “ I am afraid a court chaplain could not decently write of the gray rat.” Johnson. “ Sir, he need not give it the name of the Hanover rat.” Thus could he indulge a luxuriant sportive imagination, when talking of a friend whom he loved and esteemed 2 . He mentioned to me the singular history of an ingenious acquaintance. “ He had practised physick in various situations with no great emolument. A West India gen- tleman, whom he delighted by his conversa tion, gave him a bond for a handsome an- nuity during his life, on the condition of his accompanying him to the West Indies, and living with him there for two years. He accordingly embarked with the gentleman; but upon the voyage fell in love with a young woman who happened to be one of the passengers, and married the wench. From the imprudence of his disposition he quarrelled with the gentleman, and declared he would have no connexion with him. So he forfeited the annuity. He settled as a physician in one of the Leeward Islands. A man was sent out to him merely to com- pound his medicines. This fellow set up as a rival to him in his practice of physick. and got so much the better of him in the opinion of the people of the island, that he carried away all the business, upon which he returned to England, and soon after died On Friday, 22d March, having set out early from Henley, where we had lain the preceding night, we arrived at Birmingham about nine o’clock, and after breakfast went to call on his old schoolfellow, Mr. Hector A very stupid maid, who opened the door, told us that “ her master was gone out; he was gone to the country, she could not tell when he would return.” In short, she gave us a miserable reception; and Johnson ob- served, “ She would have behaved no bet- ter to people who wanted him in the way of his profession.” He said to her, “ My name is Johnson; tell him I called. Will you remember the name? ” She answered with rustick simplicity, in the Warwick- shire pronunciation, “ I don’t understand you, sir.” “Blockhead (said he), I’ll write.” I never heard the word blockhead applied to a woman before, though I do not see why it should not, when there is evi- dent occasion for it 3 . He, however, made 2 This was not the first nor the last time of h a indulging his sportive imagination at Percy’s ex- pense; and it may ba doubted whether much reliance can be placed on Boswell's good-natured assertion, that he loved and esteemed him. — E d.] 3 My worthy friend Mr. L&ngUm, U t whom I 1776.— /ETAT. 67. another attempt to make her understand him, and roared loud m her ear, cc Johnson ,” and then she catched the sound. We next called on Mr. Lloyd, one of the people called quakers. He too was not at home, hut Mrs. Lloyd was, and received us courteously, and asked us to dinner. John- son said to me, “ After the uncertainty of all human things at Hector’s, this invitation came very well.” We walked about the town, and he was pleased to see it increas- ing. I talked of legitimation by subsequent marriage, which obtained in the Roman law, and still obtains in the law of Scot- land. JoHNStoN. “ I think it a bad thing * 1 , because the chastity of women being of the utmost importance, as all property depends upon it, they who forfeit it should not have any possibility of being restored to good character; nor should the children, by an •illicit connexion, attain the full right of law- ful children, by the posteriour consent of the offending parties.” His opinion upon this subject deserves consideration. Upon his principle there may, at times, be a hard- ship, and seemingly a strange one, upon in- dividuals; but the general good of society is better secured. And, after all, it is unrea- sonable in an individual to repine that he has not the advantage of a state which is made different from his own, by the social institution under which he is born. A wo- man does not complain that her brother who is younger than her gets their common fa- ther’s estate. Why then should a natural son complain that a younger brother, by the same parents lawfully begotten, gets it? The operation of law is similar in both cases. Resides, an illegitimate son, who has a younger legitimate brother by the same fa- ther and mother, has no stronger claim to am under innumerable obligations in the course of my Johnsonian History, has furnished me with a droll illustration of this question. An honest car- oenter, after giving some anecdote, in his presence, of the ill treatment which he had received from a clergyman’s wife, who was a noted termagant, and whom he accused of unjust dealing in some transaction with him, added, “ I took care to let her know what I thought of her.” And being asked, “ What did you say ? ” answered, “ I told her she was a scoundrel .'” — Boswell. 1 [Is it not surprising and disgraceful that in a civilized empire like ours, so important a princi- ple as the state of marriage, which is the founda- tion of our whole civil constitution, should be to this hour vague, obscure, and contradictory ? — One law for England, a different one, or rather none at all, for Ireland — and for Scotland the monstrous doctrine mentioned in the text. It is to be hoped that Mr. Peel, who has done so much towards rationalizing our law on other subjects, will see the necessity of doing something similar on this most important one. — Ed.] VOL. IT 6 41 the father’s estate, than if that legitimate brother had only the same father, from whom alone the estate descends. Mr. Lloyd joined us in the street; and m a little while we met friend Hector , as Mr. Lloyd called him. It gave me pleasure to ob- serve the joy which Johnson and he express- ed on seeing each other again. Mr. Lloyd and I left them together, while he obliging- ly showed me some of the manufactures of this very curious assemblage of artificers. We all met at dinner at Mr. Lloyd’s, where we were entertained with great hospitality Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd had been married the same year with their majesties, and, like them, had been blessed with a numerous family of fine children, their numbers being exactly the same. Johnson said, “ Mar- riage is the best state for a man in general, and every man is a worse man, in propor- tion as he is unfit for the married state.” I have always loved the simplicity of manners, and the spiritual-mindedness, of the quakers; and talking with Mr. Lloyd, I observed, that the. essential part of religion was piety, a devout intercourse with the Divinity; and that many a man was a qua ker without knowing it. As Dr. Johnson had said to me in the morning, while we walked together, that he liked individuals among the quakers, but not the sect; when we were at Mr. Lloyd’s, I kept clear of introducing any questions concerning the peculiarities of their faith. But 1 having asked to look at Baskerville’a edition of “ Barclay’s Apology,” Johnson laid hold of it; and the chapter on baptism happening to open, Johnson remarked, cc He says there is neither precept nor prac tice for baptism in the Scriptures: that is false.” Here he was the aggressor, by no means in a gentle manner; and the good quakers had the advantage of him; for he had read negligently, and had not observed that Barclay speaks of infant baptism; which they calmly made him perceive. Mr. Lloyd, however, was in a great mistake; for when insisting that the rite of baptism by water was to cease, when the spiritual administration of Christ began, he main tained that John the Baptist said, “ My bap- tism shall decrease, but his shall increase.” Whereas the words are, “ He must increase, but I must decrease b” One of them having objected to the cc ob- servance of days, and months, and years,” Johnson answered, “ The church does not superstitiously observe days, merely as days, but as memorials of important facts. Christ mas might be kept as well upon one day of the year as another; but there should be a stated day for commemorating the birth of our Saviour, because there is danger that 2 John, iii. 30 . — Boswell. 42 1776. — iETAT 67. what may be done on any day will be neg- lected.” He said to me at another time, “ Sir, the holidays observed by our church are of great use in religion.” There can be no doubt of this, in a limited sense, I mean if the number of such consecrated portions of time be not too extensive. The excellent Mr. Nelson’s “ Festivals and Fasts,” which has, I understand, the greatest sale of any book ever printed in England, except the Bible, is a most valuable help to devotion : and in addition to it I would recommend two sermons on the same subject, by Mr. Pott, Archdeacon of St. Alban’s, equally distinguished for piety and elegance. I am sorry to have it to say, that Scotland is the only Christian country, catholic or prot- estant, where the great events of our reli- gion are not solemnly commemorated by its ecclesiastical establishment, on days set apart for the purpose. Mr. Hector was so good as to accompa- ny me to see the great works of Mr. Boul- ton, at a place which he has called Soho, about two miles from Birmingham, which the- very ingenious proprietor showed me himself to the best advantage. I wished Johnson had been with us: for it was a scene which I should have been glad to con- template by his light. The vastness and the. contrivance of some of the machinery would have “ matched his mighty mind.” I shall never forget Mr. Boulton’s expres- sion to me, “ I sell here, sir, what all the world desires to have — Power.” He had about seven hundred people at work. I contemplated him as an iron chieftain, and he seemed to be a father to his tribe. One of them came to him, complaining grievous- ly of his landlord for having distrained his goods. “ Your landlord is in the right, Smith (said Boulton). But I ’ll tell you what : find you a friend who will lay down one half of your rent, and I ’ll lay down the other half ; and you shall have your goods again.” From Mr. Hector 1 now learnt many particulars of Dr. Johnson’s early life, which, with others that he gave me at dif- ferent times since, have contributed to the formation of this work. Dr. Johnson said to me in the morning, “You will see, sir, at Mr. Hector’s, his sister, Mrs. Careless, a clergyman’s widow. She was the first woman with whom I was in love. It dropped out of my head imper- ceptibly; but she and I shall always have a kindness for each other.” He laughed at the notion that a man can never be really in love but once, and considered it as a mere romantick fancy. On our return from Mr. Boulton’s, Mr. Hector took me to his house, where we found Johnson sitting placidly at tea, with his first love; who, tnough now adv anced in years, was a genteel woman, very agree able and well-bred. Johnson lamented to Mr. Hector the state of one of their schoolfellows, Mr Charles Congreve, a clergyman, which he thus described : “ He obtained, I believe, considerable preferment in Ireland, but now lives in London, quite as a valetudinarian, afraitl to go into any house but his own. He takes a short airing in his post-chaise every day. He has an elderly woman, whom he calls cousin, who lives with him, and jogs his elbow, when his glass has stood too long empty, and encourages him in drinking, in which he is very willing to be encouraged ; not that he gets drunk, for he is a very pious man, but he is always muddy. He confesses to one bottle of port every day, and he probably drinks more. He is quite unsocial; his conversation is quite monosyllabical; and when, at my last visit, I asked him what o’clock it was ? that sig- nal of my departure had so pleasing an effect on him, that he sprung up to look at his watch, like a greyhound bounding at a hare.” When Johnson took leave of Mr Hector, he said, “ Do n’t grow like Con greve; nor let me grow like him, when you are near me.” When he again talked of Mrs. Careless to-night, he seemed to have had his affec- tion revived; for he said, “ If I had married her, it might have been as happy for me. ” Boswell. cc Pray, sir, do you not suppose that there are fifty women in the world, with any one of whom a man may be as hap- py, as with any one woman in particular?” Johnson. “ Ay, sir, fifty thousand.” Bos- well. “ Then, sir, you are not of opinion with some who imagine that certain men and certain women are made for each other; and that they cannot be happy if they miss their counterparts.” Johnson. “To be sure not, sir. I believe marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the lord chancel- lor, upon a due consideration of the charac- ters and circumstances, without the parties having any choice in the matter I wished to have staid at Birmingham to- night, to have talked more with Mr. Hector; but my friend was impatient to reach his native city; so we drove on that stage in the dark, and were long pensive and silent. When we came within the focus of the Lichfield lamps, “ Now,” said he, “we are getting out of a state of death 1 2 .” We put 1 [Yet see ante , vol. i. p. 269. — Ed.] 2 [As extraordinary, all these things considered, as Mrs. Mac Sweyne’s, of Col, never having been on the main land of Scotland, which John- son called being behind hand with life ! It is amusing, and might be instructive (if prejudice 776. — J2TAT. 67. 43 up at the Three Crowns, not one of the great inns, but a goo,d old-fashioned one, which was kept by Mr. Wilkins, and was the very next house to that in which John- son was born and brought up, and which was still his own property * 1 2 . We had a comfortable supper, and got into high spir- its. I felt all my toryism glow in this old capital of Staffordshire. I could have offered incense genio loci ; and I indulged in libations of that ale, which Boniface, in “ The Beaux Stratagem,” recommends with such an eloquent jollity. Next morning he introduced me to Mrs. Lucy Porter, his step-daughter. She was now an old maid, with much simplicity of manner. She had never been in London. Her brother, a captain in the navy, had left her a fortune of ten thousand pounds; about a third of which she had laid out in building a stately house, and making a handsome garden, in an elevated situation m Lichfield. Johnson, when here by him- self, used to live at her house. She rever- enced him, and he had a parental tender- ness for her. We then visited Mr. Peter Garrick, who had that morning received a letter from his brother David, announcing our coming to Lichfield. He was engaged to dinner, but asked us to tea, and to sleep at his house. Johnson, however, would not quit his old acquaintance Wilkins of the Three Crowns. The family likeness of the Garricks was very striking; and Johnson thought that David’s vivacity was not so peculiar to himself as was supposed. “Sir,” said he, “ I do n’t know but if Peter had cultivated all the arts of gaiety as much as David has done, he might have been as brisk and lively. Depend upon it, sir, vivacity is much an art 3 , and depends greatly on hab- it.” I believe there is a good deal of truth in this, notwithstanding a ludicrous story told me by a lady abroad, of a heavy Ger- were susceptible of instruction), to observe, that on this visit to his native town, Johnson found his own near relation as much behind hand with life as the poor Hebridean, and found also oats, which he had sneered at as the food of men in Scotland, to be the food, also, of his own fellow townsmen. — E d.] 1 I went through the house where my illustri- rious friend was born, with a reverence with which it doubtless will long be visited. An en- graved view of it, with the adjacent buildings, is in the “ Gentleman’s Magazine ” for Feoruary, 1785. — Boswelu. 2 [It appears that quite a contrary conclusion might be drawn from the premises; for the liveli- ness of the Garrick family was obviously natural and hereditary , and (except perhaps in degree ) independent of art or habit. The family was of French extraction, and preserved the vivacity of their original race. — E d.] man baron, who had lived much with the young English at Geneva, and was ambi- tious to be as lively as they; with which view, he, with assiduous exertion, was jumping over the tables and chairs in his lodgings; and when the people of the house ran in and asked, with surprise, what was the matter, he answered, “ Sh ’ apprens Vetre Jif ” We dmed at our inn, and haa with us a Mr. Jackson 3 , one of Johnson’s schoolfel lows, whom he treated with much kindness, though he seemed to be a low man, dull and untaught. He had a coarse gray coat, black waistcoat, greasy leather breeches, and a yellow uncurled wig; and his coun- tenance had the ruddiness which betokens one who is in no haste to “ leave his can.” He drank only ale. He had tried to be a cutler at Birmingham, but had not succeed- ed; and now he lived poorly at home, and had some scheme of dressing leather in a better manner than common; to his indis- tinct account of which, Dr. Johnson listen- ed with patient attention, that he might as- sist him with his advice. Here was an in- stance of genuine humanity and real kind- ness in this great man, who has been most unjustly represented as altogether harsh and destitute of tenderness. A thousand such instances might have been recorded in the course of his long life; though that his tem- per was warm and hasty, and his manner often rough, cannot be denied. I saw here, for the first time, oat ale, and oat-cakes, not hard as in Scotland, but soft like a Yorkshire cake, were served at breakfast. It was pleasant to me to find, that tc oats,” the “ food of horses ,” were so much used as the food of the people in Dr. Johnson’s own town. He expatiated in praise of Lichfield and its inhabitants, who, he said, were “ the most sober, decent peo- ple in England, the genteelestin proportion to their wealth, and spoke the purest Eng- lish.” I doubted as to the last article of this eulogy; for they had several provincial sounds; as, there, pronounced like fear, in- stead of like /««>; once pronounced woonse, instead of wunse or wonse. Johnson him- self never got entirely free of those provin- cial accents. Garrick sometimes used to take him off, squeezing a lemon into a punch-bowl, with uncouth gesticulations, 3 [This person’s name was Henry See post, 1st Sept. 1777. The “ scheme for dressing leather ” renders it probable that he was related to the Thomas Jackson, mentioned ante, vol. i. p. 13, by Mr. Boswell, as a servant, and by Mrs. Piozzi as a workman (in truth, probably, a partner ) of old Mr. Johnson’s, about the time when the failure of some scheme for dressing leather or parchment accelerated his bankrui cj -Ed.] 44 1776 — A2TAT 67. looking round tne company, and calling out, 44 Who ’s for poonsh l ? ” Very little business appeared to be going forward in Lichfield. I found, however, two strange manufactures for so inland a place, sail-cloth and streamers for ships; and I observed them making some saddle- cloths, and dressing sheep-skins: but upon the whole, the busy hand of industry seemed to be quite slackened. 44 Surely, sir,” said I, 44 you are an idle set of people.” 44 Sir,” said Johnson, 44 we are a city of philoso- phers; we work with our heads, and make the boobies of Birmingham work for us with their hands.” There was at this time a company of players performing at Lich- field. The manager, Mr. Stanton, sent his compliments, and begged leave to wait on Dr. Johnson. Johnson received him very courteously, and he drank a glass of wine with us. He was a plain, decent, well-behaved man, and expressed his grati- tude to Dr Johnson for having once got him permission from Dr. Taylor at Ash- bourne to play there upon moderate terms. Garrick’s name was soon introduced. John- son. 44 Garrick’s conversation is gay and grotesque. It is a dish of all sorts, but all good things. There is no solid meat in it: there is a want of sentiment in it. Not but that he has sentiment sometimes, and senti- ment too very powerful and very pleasing : but it has not its full proportion in his con- versation.” When we were by ourselves he told me, 44 Forty years ago, sir, I was in love with an actress here, Mrs. Emmet, who acted Flora, in 4 Hob in a Well.’ ” What merit this lady had as an actress, or what was her figure, or her manner, I have not been informed; but, if we may believe Mr. Gar- rick, his old master’s taste in theatrical merit ■was by no means refined; he was not an elegans for marum spectator . Garrick used to tell, that Johnson said,of an actor, who played Sir Harry Wildair at Lichfield, 44 There is a courtly vivacity about the fel- low; ” when, in fact, according to Garrick’s account, 44 he was the most vulgar ruffian that ever went upon boards .” We had promised Mr. Stanton to be at his theatre on Monday. Dr. Johnson jo- cularly proposed to me to write a prologue for the occasion: 44 A Prologue, by James Boswell, Esq. from the Hebrides.” I was 1 Garrick himself, like the Lichfieldians, always said shupreme, shuperior . — Burney. This is still the vulgar pronunciation of Ireland, where the pronunciation of the English language [by those who have not expatriated] is doubtless that which generally prevailed in England in the time of Queen Elizabeth. — Malone. [“ Shupreme ” and “ shuperior ” are incorrect; yet every one says “ shure ” and “ shugar ” for “ sure ” and “ sugar.” — Ed.] really inclined to take the hint Methoug ht “ Prologue, spoken before Dr. Samuel John son, at Lichfield, 1776,” would have sound- ed as well as 44 Prologue, spoken before the Duke of York at Oxford,” in Charles the Second’s time. Much might have been said of what Lichfield had done for Shaks- peare, by producing Johnson and Garrick. But I found he was averse to it. We went and viewed the museum of Mr. Richard Green, apothecary here, who told me he was proud of being a relation of Dr. Johnson’s. It was, truly, a wonderful col- lection, both of antiquities and natural cu- riosities, and ingenious works of art. He had all the articles accurately arranged, with their names upon labels, printed at his own little press; and on the staircase leading to it was a board, with the names of contri- butors marked in gold letters. A printed catalogue of the collection was to be had at a bookseller’s. Johnson expressed his ad- miration of the activity and diligence and good fortune of Mr. Green, in getting to- gether, in his situation, so great a variety of things; and Mr. Green told me that Johnson once said to him, 44 Sir, I should as soon have thought of building a man of war, as of collecting such a museum.” Mr. Green’s obliging alacrity in showing it was very pleasing. His engraved portrait, with which he has favoured me, has a motto tru- ly characteristical of his disposition, 44 Nemo sibi vivat .” A physician being mentioned who had lost his practice, because his whimsically changing his religion had made people dis- trustful of him, I maintained that this was unreasonable, as religion is unconnected with medical skill. Johnson. 44 Sir, it is not unreasonable; for when people see a man absurd in what they understand, they may conclude the same of him in what they do not understand. If a physician were to take to eating of horse-flesh, nobody would employ him; though one may eat horse- flesh, and be a very skilful physician. If a man were educated in an absurd religion, his continuing to profess it would not hurt him, though his changing to it would' 2 .” We drank tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick’s, where was Mrs. Aston, one of the maiden sisters of Mrs. Walmsley, wife of Johnson’s first friend, and sister also of the lady of whom Johnson used to speak with 2 Fothergill, a quaker, and Schomberg, a jew, had the greatest practice of any two physicians of their time. — Burney. [Mr. D’lsraeli thinks it possible, that Ralph Schomberg (the second son of Dr. Meyer Schomberg), the person mentioned by Dr. Burney, was the person alluded to in the text. Ralph Schomberg was driven from prac- tice and out of society, for some dishonest tam- pering with the funds of an hospital, witu which he was connected. — Ed.] 1776. — JFiTAT 67. 45 the warmest admiration, by the name of Molly Aston, who was afterwards married to Captain Brodie of the navy. On Sunday, March 24, we breakfasted with Mrs. Cobb, a widow lady, who lived in an agreeable sequestered place close by the town, called the Friary, it having been formerly a religious house. She and her niece, Miss Adey, were great admirers of Dr. Johnson; and he behaved to them with a kindness and easy pleasantry, such as we see between old and intimate acquaintance. He accompanied Mrs. Cobb to St. Mary’s Church, and I went to the cathedral, where I was very much delighted with the musick, finding it to be peculiarly solemn, and ac- cordant with the words of the service. We dined at Mr. Peter Garrick’s, who was in a very lively humour, and verified Johnson’s saying, that if he had cultivated gaiety as much as his brother David, he might have equally excelled in it. He was to-day quite a London narrator, telling us a varietj'- of anecdotes with that earnestness and attempt at mimickry which we usually find in the wits of the metropolis. Dr. Johnson went with me to the cathedral in the afternoon. It was grand and pleasing to contemplate this illustrious writer, now full of fame, worshipping in “ the solemn temple ” of his native city. I returned to tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick’s, and then found Dr. Johnson at the Reverend Mr. Seward’s, canon residen- tiary, who inhabited the bishop’s palace, in which Mr. Walmsley lived, and which had been the scene of many happy hours in Johnson’s early life. Mr. Seward had, with ecclesiastical hospitality and polite- ness, asked me in the morning, merely as a stranger, to dine with him; and in the af- ternoon, when I was introduced to him, he asked Dr. Johnson and me to spend the evening, and sup with him. He was a gen- teel, well-bred, dignified clergyman, had travelled with Lord Charles Fitzroy, uncle of the present Duke of Grafton, who died when abroad, and he had lived much in the great world. He was an ingenious and literary man, had published an edition of Beaumont and Fletcher, and written verses in Dodsley’s collection. His lady was the daughter of Mr. Hunter, Johnson’s first schoolmaster. And now, for the first time, I had the pleasure of seeing his celebrated daughter, Miss Anna Seward, to whom I have since been indebted for many civilities, as well as some obliging communications concerning Johnson. Mr. Seward mentioned to us the obser- vations which he had made upon the strata of earth in volcanoes, from which it appear ed, that they were^o very different in depth at different periods, that no calculation whatever could be made as to the time re- quired for their formation. This fully re futed an antimosaical remark introduced in to Captain Brydone’s entertaining tour I hope heedlessly, from a kind of vanity which is too common in those who have not sufficiently studied the most important of all subjects. Dr. Johnson, indeed, had said before, independent of this observa- tion, “ Shall all the accumulated evidence of the history of the world — shall the au- thority of what is unquestionably the most ancient writing, be overturned by an un- certain remark such as this? ” On Monday, March 25, we breakfasted at Mrs. Lucy Porter’s. Johnson had sent an express to Dr. Taylor’s, acquainting him of our being at Lichfield, and Tayloi had returned an answer that his post-chaise should come for us this day. While we sat at breakfast, Dr. Johnson received a letter by the post, which seemed to agitate him very much. When he had read it, he ex- claimed, “ One of the most dreadful things that has happened in my time.” The phrase my time , like the word age , is usual- ly understood to refer to an event of a pub- lick or general nature. I imagined some- thing like an assassination of the king — like a gunpowder plot carried into execu- tion — or like another fire of London. When asked, “What is it, sir?” he answered, “ Mr. Thrale has lost his only son ! ” This was, no doubt, a very great affliction to Mr and Mrs. Thrale, which their friends would consider accordingly; but from the manner in which the intelligence of it was commu- nicated by Johnson, it appeared for the mo- ment to be comparatively small. I, how- ever, soon felt a sincere concern, and was curious to observe how Dr. Johnson would be affected. He said, “ This is a total ex- tinction to their family, as much as if they were sold into captivity.” LTpon my men- tioning that Mr. Thrale had daughters, who might inherit his wealth: “Daugh- ters,” said Johnson, warmly, “he’ll no more value his daughters than — ” I was going to speak. “ Sir,” said he, “ do n’ 1 you know how you yourself think ? Sir, he wishes to propagate his name ” In short. I saw male succession strong in his mind, even where there was no name, no family of any long standing. I said, it was lucky he was not present when this misfortune happened. Johnson. “ It is lucky for me People in distress never think you fee enough.” Boswell. “ And, sir, they will have the hope of seeing you, which will be a relief in the mean time; and when you get to them, the pain will be so fai abated, that they will be capable of being consoled by you, which, in the first vio- lence of it, I believe, would not be the case.’ 5 1 [In Sicily and Malta. — Ed.] 46 1776.— AST AT. 67. Johnson. “ No, sir; violent pain of mind, like violent pain of body, must be severely felt.” Boswell. “ I own, sir, I have not so much feeling- for the distress of oth- ers as some people have, or pretend to have: but I know this, that I would do all in my power to relieve them.” Johnson. “Sir, it is affectation to pretend to feel the dis- tress of others as much as they do them- selves. It is equally so, as if one should pretend to feel as much pain while a friend’s leg is cutting off, as he does. No, sir; you have expressed the rational and just nature of sympathy. I would have gone to the extremity of the earth to have preserved this boy.” He was soon quite calm. The letter was from Mr. Thrale’s clerk, and concluded, “I need not say how much they wish to see you in London.” He said, “ We shall hasten back from Taylor’s.” Mrs. Lucy Porter and some other ladies of the place talked a great deal of him when he was out of the room, not only with ven- eration but affection. It pleased me to find that he was so much beloved in his native city. Mrs. Aston, whom I had seen the pre- ceding night, and her sister, Mrs. Gastrel, a widow lady, had each a house, and garden, and pleasure-ground, prettily situated upon Stowhill, a gentle eminence, adjoining to Lichfield. Johnson walked away to dinner there, leaving me by myself without any apology; I wondered at this want of that facility of manners, from which a man has no difficulty in carrying a friend to a house where he is intimate; I felt it very unplea- sant to be thus left in solitude in a country town, where I was an entire stranger, and began to think myself unkindly deserted; but I was soon relieved, and convinced that my friend, instead of being deficient in de- licacy, had conducted the matter with per- fect propriety, for I received the following note in his handwriting : “ Mrs. Gastrel, at the lower house on Stowhill, desires Mr. Boswell’s company to dinner at two.” I accepted of the invitation, and had here another proof how amiable his character was in the opinion of those who knew him best.' I was not informed, till afterwards, that Mrs. Gastrel’s husband was the clergy- man who, while he lived at Stratford-upon- Avon, where he was proprietor of Shaks- peare’s garden, with Gothic barbarity cut down his mulberry-tree *, and, as Dr. John- son told me, did it to vex his neighbours. His lady, I have reason to believe, on the 1 See an accurate and animated statement of Mr. Gastrel’s barbarity, by Mr. Malone, in a note an “ Some Account of the Life of William Shaks- leaie,” prefixed to his admirable edition of that wet’s works, vol. i. p. 118 . — Boswell. same authority, participated in the guilt of what the enthusiasts of our immortal bard deem almost a species of sacrilege. After dinner Dr. Johnson wrote [the fol lowing] letter to Mrs. Thrale, on the death of her son : [“ TO MRS. THRALE. “ Lichfield, 25th March, 177b\ “ Dear madam, — This letter will Letters not, I hope, reach you many days be- v. y fore me; in a distress which can be p ‘ 307, so little relieved, nothing remains for a friend but to come and partake it. “Poor, dear, sweet, little boy! When I read the letter this day to Mrs. Aston, she said, c Such a death is the next to trails lation.’ Yet, however I may convince myself of this, the tears are in my eyes, and yet I could not love him as you loved him. nor reckon upon him for a future comfort as you and his father reckoned upon him. “He is gone, and we are going! We could not have enjoyed him long, ahd shall not long be separated from him. He has probably escaped many such pangs as you are now feeling. “ Nothing remains, but that with humble confidence we resign ourselves to Almighty Goodness, and fall down, without, irreverent murmurs, before the Sovereign Distributor of Good and Evil, with hope that though sorrow endureth for a night, yet joy may come in the morning. “ I have known you, madam, too long to think that you want any arguments for submission to the Supreme Will; nor can my consolation have any effect, but that of showing that I wish to comfort you. What can be done you must do for yourself. Re- member first, that your child is happy; and then, that he is safe, not only from the ills of this world, but from those more for- midable dangers which extend their mis- chief to eternity. You have brought into the world a rational being; have seen him happy during the little life that has been granted to him; and can have no doubt but that his happiness is nowpermanent and im mutable. “ When you have obtained by prayer such tranquillity as nature will admit, force your attention, as you can, upon your ac- customed duties and accustomed entertain- ments. You can do no more for our dear boy, but you must not therefore think lesson those whom your attention may make fitter for the place to which he is gone. I am, dearest, dearest madam, your most atfec tionate humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] I said this loss would ,be very distressing to Thrale, but she would soon forget it, as sne had so many things to think of. John- son. “ No, sir, Thrale will forget it first. 1776.— ^ETAT. 67. 47 She has many things that she may think of. He has many things that he must think of.” This was a very just remark upon the different effects of those light pur- suits which occupy a vacant and easy mind, and those serious engagements which ar- rest attention, and keep us from brooding over grief. He observed of Lord Bute, “ It was said of Augustus, that it would have been bet- ter for Rome that he had never been born, or had never died. So it would have been better for this nation if Lord Bute had nev- er been minister, or had never resigned.” In the evening we went to the Town- hall, which was converted into a temporary theatre, and saw “ Theodosius,” with “ The Stratford Jubilee.” I was h-appy to see Dr. Johnson sitting in a conspicuous part of the pit, and receiving affectionate hom- age from all his acquaintance. We were quite gay and merry. I afterwards men- tioned to him that I condemned myself for being so, when poor Mr. and Mrs. Thrale were in such distress. Johnson. “ You are wrong, sir; twenty years hence Mr. and Mrs. Thrale will not suffer much pain from the death of their son. Now, sir, you are to consider, that distance of place, as well as distance of time, operates upon the human feelings. I would not have you be gay in the presence of the distressed, be- cause it would shock them; but you may be gay at a distance. Pain for the loss of a friend, or of a relation whom we love, is occasioned by the want which we feel. In time the vacuity is filled with something else; or sometimes the vacuity closes up of itself.” Mr. Seward and Mr. Pearson 1 , another clergyman here, supped with us at our inn, and after they left us, we sat up late as we used to do in London. Here I shall record some fragments of' my friend’s conversation during this jaunt. “ Marriage, sir, is much more necessary to a man than to a woman: for he is much less able to supply himself with domestick comforts. You will recollect my saying to some ladies the other day, that I had often wondered why young women should marry, a s they have so much more freedom, and so much more attention paid to them while unmarried, than when married. I indeed 1 [This was the gentleman whose lady inher- ited Miss Porter’s property, and has contributed so many of her manuscripts to this edition. It was to him that Miss Porter addressed, in the presence of Dr. Johnson, that two-edged reproof, which Dr. Johnson repeated to Mrs. Piozzi. Mr. Pearson having opposed Miss Porter in some ar- gument, she was offended, and exclaimed, “ Mr. Pearson, you are just like Dr. Johnson — you con- tradict every word one speaks ” — Piozzi , o. 172. —Ed.] did not mention the sir one; l cason for their marrying — the mechanical reason.” Bos well. “ Why that is a strong one. But does not imagination make it much more important than it is in reality? Is it not, to a certain degree, a delusion in us as well as in women?” Johnson. “Why yes, sir; but it is a delusion that is always be- ginning again.” Boswell. “ I do n’t know but there is upon the whole more misery then happiness produced by that passion.” Johnson. “I don’t think so, sir.” “ Never speak of a man in his own pres- ence. It is always indelicate, and may be offensive.” “ Questioning is not the mode of conver sation 2 among gentlemen. It is assuming a superiority, and it is particularly wrong to question a man concerning himself There may be parts of his former life which he may not wish to be made known to other persons, or even brought to his own recol- lection.” “A man should be careful never to tell tales of himself to his own disadvantage. People may be amused and laugh at the time, but they will be remembered, and brought out against him upon some subse- quent occasion.” “ Much may be done if a man puts his whole rmnd to a particular object. By do- ing so, Norton 3 has made himself the great lawyer that he is allowed to be.” I mentioned an acquaintance of mine, a sectary, who was a very religious man, who not only attended regularly on publick wor- ship with those of his communion, but made a particular study of the Scriptures, and even wrote a commentary on some parts of them, yet was known to be very licentious in indulging himself with women; maintaining that men are to be saved by faith alone, and that the Christian religion had not prescribed any fixed rule for the intercourse between the se^s. Johnson. “ Sir, there is no trusting to that crazy piety.” 1 observed that it was strange how well Scotchmen were known to one another in their own country, though born in very dis- tant counties; for we do not find that the gentlemen of neighbouring counties in England are mutually known to each other. 2 [This very, just observation explains why the conversation of princes, and of those who ape princes, consists of so large a proportion of ques- tions. The badauds of all nations used to won der at Buonaparte’s active curiosity and desire of knowledge from the multitude of his questions, while in fact he teas only “ playing at king.” —Ed.] 3 Sir Fletcher Norton, afterwards speaker of the house of commons, and in 1782 created Bar- on Crantly. — Malone. 48 1776.— iETAT. 67 Johnson, with his usual acuteness, at once saw and explained the reason of this: “ Why, sir, you have Edinburgh where the gentlemen from all your counties meet, and which is not so large but they are all known. There is no such common place of collection in England, except London, where from its great size, and diffusion, many of those who reside in contiguous counties of England may long remain un- known to each other.” On Tuesday, March 26, there came for us an equipage properly suited to a wealthy well-beneficed clergyman: Dr. Taylor’s large roomy post-chaise, drawn by four stout plump horses, and driven by two steady jolly postilions, which conveyed us to Ashbourne; where I found my friend’s schoolfellow living upon an establishment perfectly corresponding with his substantial creditable equipage : his house, garden, pleasure-ground, table, in short every thing good, and no scantiness appearing. Every man should form such a plan of living as he can execute completely. Let him not draw an outline wider than he can fill up. I have seen many skeletons of show and magnificence which excite at once ridicule and pity. Dr. Taylor had a good estate of his own, and good preferment in the church, being a prebendary of Westminster, and rector of Bosworth. He was a diligent jus- tice of the peace, and presided over the town of Ashbourne, to the inhabitants of which I was told he was very liberal; and as a roof of this it was mentioned to me, he ad the preceding winter distributed two hundred pounds among such of them as stood in need of his assistance. He had consequently a considerable political inter- est in the county of Derby, which he em- ployed to support the Devonshire family; for though the schoolfellow and friend of Johnson, he was a whig. I could not per- ceive in his character much congeniality of any sort with that of Johnson, who, how- ever, said to me, “ Sir, he has a very strong understanding.” His size, and figure, and countenance, and manner, were that of a hearty English squire, with the parson su- per-induced: and I took particular notice of his upper-servant, Mr. Peters, a decent grave man, in purple clothes, and a large white whig, like the butler or major-domo of a tashop. Dr. Johnson and Dr. Taylor met with great cordiality; and Johnson soon gave him the same sad account of their school- i fellow, Congreve, that he had given to Mr. Hector; adding a remark of such moment to the rational conduct of a man in the de- cline of life, that deserves to be imprinted upon every mind: “ There is nothing against which an old man should be so much upon his guard as putting himself to nurse.” innumerable have been the melancholy i n- stances of men once distinguished for firm- ness, resolution, and spirit, who in their lat ter days have been governed like children, by interested female artifice. Dr. Taylor commended a physician 1 wno was known to him and Dr. Johnson, and said, “ I fight many battles for him, as many people in the country dislike him.” John- son. “ But you should consider, sir, that by every one of your victories he is a loser; for every man of whom you get the better will be very angry, and resolve not to employ him; whereas if people get the better of you in argument about him., they ’ll think, c We ’ll send for Dr. [Butter] neverthe- less.’ ” This was an observation deep and sure in human nature. Next day we talked of a book 2 3 in which an eminent judge was arraigned before the bar of the publick, as having pronounced an unjust decision in a great cause. Dr. Johnson maintained .that this publication would not give any uneasiness to the judge. “ For,” said he, “ either he acted honestly, or he meant to do injustice. If he acted honestly, his own consciousness will pro- tect him; if he meant to do injustice, he will be glad to see the man who attacks him so much vexed.” Next day, as Dr. Johnson had acquainted Dr. Taylor of the reason for his returning speedily to London, it was resolved that we should set out after dinner. A few of Dr. Taylor’s neighbours were his guests that day. Dr. Johnson talked with approbation of one who had attained to the state of the philosophical wise man, that is, to have no want of any thing. “Then, sir,” said I, “ the savage is a wise man.” “ Sir,” said he, “ I do not mean simply being without, — but not having a want.” I maintained, against this proposition, that it was better to have fine clothes, for instance, than not to feel the want of them. Johnson. “ No, sir; fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means of procur- ing respect. Was Charles the Twelfth, think you, less respected for his coarse blue coat and black stock? And you find the King of Prussia dresses plain, because the dignity of his character is sufficient.” I here brought myself into a scrape, for I heedless- ly said, “ Would not you, sir, be the better for velvet embroidery ? ” Johnson. “Sir, you put an end to all argument when you in- troduce your opponent himself. Have you nol>etter manners? There is your want 1 [Dr. Butter, who afterwards came to practise in London, and attended Johnson in his last illness. — Ed.] 2 [Andrew Stuart’s * Letters to Lord Mansfield on the Douglas Cause.’ — Ed.] 3 [The want seems, on this occasion, to have been common to both. — Ed.] 1776. — /El AT. 67. 49 [ apologised by saying I bad mentioned him as an instance of one who wanted as little as any man in the world, and yet, perhaps, might receive some additional lustre from dress. Having left Ashbourne in the evening, we stopped to change horses at Derby, and availed ourselves of a moment to enjoy the conversation of my countryman, Dr. But- ter, then physician there. He was in great indignation because Lord Mountstuart’s bill for a Scotch militia had been lost. Dr. Johnson was as violent against it. “ I am glad,” said he, “ that parliament has had the spirit to throw it out. You wanted to take advantage of the timidity of our scoun- drels” (meaning, I suppose, the ministry). It may be observed, that he used the epi- thet scoundrel , very commo ( nly, not quite in the sense in which it is generally under- stood, but as a strong term of disapproba- tion as when he abruptly answered Mrs. Thrale, who had asked him how he did, “Ready to become a scoundrel, madam; with a little more spoiling you will, I think, make me a complete rascal 2 ;” he meant, easy to become a capricious and self-indul- gent valetudinarian 3 ; a character for which Eo I have heard hi-m express great dis- gust; [particularly when it connect- ed itself in his mind with intellectual apa- thy.] [“ Nothing more certainly p 10 ^’ offended Dr. Johnson than the idea of a man’s mental faculties decaying by time. ‘ It is not true; sir,’ would he say : c what a man could once do, he would always do, unless, indeed, by dint of vicious indolence, and* compliance with the neph- ews and nieces who crowd round an old fel- low, and help to tuck him in, till he, con- tented with the exchange of fame for ease, e’en resolves to let them set the pillows at his back, and gives no farther proof of his existence than just to suck the jelly that prolongs it.’ ”] Johnson had with him upon this jaunt “ II Palmerijio d'lnghilterra ,” a romance praised by Cervantes ; but did not like it much. He said, he read it for the lan- guage, by way of preparation for his Ital- ian expedition. We lay this night at Loughborough. On Thursday, March 28, we pursued our journey. I mentioned that old Mr. 1 [“ It is so very difficult,” he said, on another occasion, to Mrs. Piozzi, “ for a sick man not to be a scoundrel.” Ii may be here observed, that scoundrel seems to have been a favourite word of his. In his Dictionary, he defined knave, a scoundrel; loon, a scoundrel; lout, a scoundrel; ; poltroon , a scoundrel; sneakup, a scoundrel; rascal, a scoundrel; and scoundrel itself he de- fines a mean rascal ; a low petty villain . — Ed.] 2 Anecdotes, p. 176. — Boswell. 3 [See post, 16th Sept. 1777. — Ed.] vol. ii. 7 Sheridan complained of the ingratitude of Mr. Wedderburne and General Fraser, who had been much obliged to him when they were young Scotchmen entering upon life in England. Johnson. “ Why, sir, a man is very apt to complain of the ingratitude of those who have risen far above him. A man, when he gets into a higher sphere, into other habits of life, cannot keep up all his former connexions. Then, sir, those who knew him formerly upon a level with themselves may think that they ought still to be treated as on a level, which cannot be: and an acquaintance in a former situa- tion may bring out things which it would be very disagreeable to have mentioned be- fore higher company, though, perhaps, every body knows of them.” He placed this subject in a new light to me, and showed, that a man who has risen in the world must not be condemned too harshly, for being distant to former acquaintance, even though he may have been much obliged to them. It is, no doubt, to be wished, that a proper degree of attention should be shown by great men to their early friends. But if either from obtuse in- sensibility to difference of situation, or presumptuous forwardness, which will not submit even to an exteriour observance of it, the dignity of high place cannot be pre- served; when they are admitted into the company of those raised above the state in which they once were, encroachment must be repelled, and the kinder feelings sacri- ficed. To one of the very fortunate persons whom I have mentioned, namely, Mr Wedderburne, now Lord Loughborough. I must do the justice to relate, that I have been assured by another early acquaint- ance of hio, old Mr. Macklin, who assisted in improving his pronunciation, that he found him very grateful. Macklin, I sup pose, had not pressed upon his elevation with so much eagerness as the gentleman who complained of him. Dr. Johnson’s remark as to the jealousy entertained of our friends who rise far above us is certainly very just. By this was withered the early friendship between Charles Townshend and Akenside 4 ; and many similar instances might be adduced He said, “ It is commonly a weak man who marries for love.” We then talked of marrying women of fortune; and I men tioned a common remark, that a man may 4 [This is no inappropriate instance. Charles Townshend — the nephew [grandnephew] of the prime minister — the son [grandson] of a peer, who was secretary of state, and leader of the house of lords — was as much above Akenside in their earliest days, as at any subsequent period: nor was Akenside in rank inferior to Dr. Brock- lesby, with whom Charles Townshend continued ti intimate friendship to the end of his life. — Ed.] 50 1776.— ^ETAT. 67 be, upon the whole, richer by marrying a woman with a very small portion, because a woman of fortune will be proportion ably expensive; whereas a woman who brings none will be very moderate in expenses. Johnson. “ Depend upon it, sir, this is not true. A woman of fortune being used to the handling of money, spends it judi- ciously; but a woman who gets the com- mand of money for the first time upon her marriage, has such a gust in spending it, that she throws it away with great profu- sion.” He praised the ladies of the present age, insisting that they were more faithful to their husbands, and more virtuous in every respect, than in former times, because their understandings were better cultivated. It was an undoubted proof of his good sense and good disposition, that he was never querulous, never prone to inveigh against the present times, as is so common when superficial minds are on the fret. On the contrary, he was willing to speak favoura- bly of his own age; and, indeed maintain- ed its superiority in every respect, except in its reverence for government; the relaxa- tion of which he imputed, as its grand cause, to the shock which our monarchy received at the revolution, though necessary; and, secondly, to the timid concessions made to faction by successive administrations in the reign of his present majesty. I am happy to think, that he lived to see the crown at last recover its just influence At Leicester we read in the newspaper that Dr. James was dead l . I thought that the death of an old schoolfellow, and one with whom he had lived a good deal in Lon- don, would have affected my fellow-travel- ler much : but he only said, “ Ah ! poor Jamy!” Afterwards, however, when we were in the chaise, he said, with more ten- derness, “ Since I set out on this jaunt, 1 have lost an old friend and a young one; — Dr. James, and poor Harry” (meaning Mr. Thrale’s son). Having lain at St. Alban’s on Thursday, March 28, we breakfasted the next morn- ing at Barnet. I expressed to him a weak- ness of mind which I could not help; an uneasy apprehension that my wife and children, who were at a great distance from me, might, perhaps, be ill. “ Sir,” said he, “ consider how foolish you would think it in them to be apprehensive that you are ill.” This sudden turn relieved me for the mo- ment; but I afterwards perceived it to be an ingenious fallacy 2 . I might, to be sure, be 1 [Dr. James died 23d March. 1776 — Ed.] 2 Surely it is no fallacy, but a sound and rational argument. He who is perfectly well, and appre- hensive concerning the state of another at a dis- tance from him, knows to a certainty that the fears of that person concerning his health a»e satisfied that they had no reason to be ftp prehensive about me, because I knew that i myself was well: but we might have a mu- tual anxiety, without the charge of folly because each was, in some degree, uncer- tain as to the condition of the other. I enjoyed the luxury of our approach to London, that metropolis which we both lov ed so much, for the high and varied intel lectual pleasure which it furnishes. I ex- perienced immediate happiness while whirl ed along with such a companion, and sai^ to him, “ Sir, you observed one day at Gen eral Oglethorpe’s, that a man is never happy for the present, but when he is drunk Will you not add — or when driving rapidly in a post-chaise?” Johnson. “ No, sir you are driving rapidly from something, o' to something.”, [Yet it was but a week before (21st £d M arch) that he had said that “ life ° had few things better than driving rapid iy in a post-chaise 3 4 .” This is an instance of the justice of Mrs. Piozzi’s observation,] [“ That it was unlucky for those who piozzi delighted to echo Johnson’s senti- p- 201 ments, that he would not endure from them to-day what he had yesterday , by his own manner of treating the subject, made them fond of repeating V’] Talking of melancholy, he said, “ Some men, and very thinking men too, have not those vexing thoughts 5 . Sir Joshua Rey nolds is the same all the year round. Beau clerk, except when ill and in pain, is the same. But I believe most men have them imaginary and delusive; and henfie has a rational ground for supposing that his own apprehensions, concerning his absent w r ife or friend, are equally unfounded. — M alone. 3 [See also post , 19th September, 1777. — Ed.] 4 [See post, 1st April, 1781 , a similar instance. Menage attributes to the celebrated Duke de Montausier (the Misanthrope of Moliere) a like disposition, and gives an amusing instance. — Menagiana, vol. iii. p. 91 . — Ed.} 5 The phrase “ vexing thoughts,” is, I think, very expressive. It has been familiar to me from my childhood; for it is to be found in the Psalms in Metre,” used in the chucdles (I be- lieve I should say kir ks) of Scotland, Psal. xhn v. 5. “ Why art thou then cast down, my soul ? What should discourage thee? A nd why with vexing- thoughts art thou Disquieted in me ? ” Some allowance must no doubt be made for early prepossession. But at a maturer period of life, after looking at various metrical versions of the Psalms, I am well satisfied that the version used in Scotland is, upon the whole, the best; and that it is vain to think of having a better. It has in general a simplicity and unction of sacred poesy and in many parts its transfusion is admirable - Boswell. 1776.— /ETAT. 67. dl m the degree m which they are capable of having them. If I were in the country, and were distressed by that malady, I would force myself to take a book; and every time I did it I should find it the easier. Melan- choly, indeed, should be diverted by every means but drinking.” We stopped at Messieurs Dillys, book- sellers in the Poultry; from whence he hur- ried away, in a hackney coach, to Mr. Thrale’s in the Borough. I called at his house in the evening, having promised to acquaint Mrs. Williams of his safe return; when, to my surprise, I found him sitting with her at tea, and, as I thought, not in a very good humour: for, it seems, when he had got to Mr. Thrale’s he found the coach was at the door waiting to carry Mrs. and Miss Thrale, and Signor Baretti, their Ital- ian master, to Bath. This was not show- ing the attention 1 ivhich might have been expected to the “guide, philosopher, and friend; ” the Imlac who had hastened from the country to console a distressed mother, who, he understood, was very anxious for his return. They had, I found, without cere- mony, proceeded on their journey. I was glad to understand from him that it was still resolved that his tour to Italy with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale should take place, of which he had entertained some doubt, on account of the loss which they had suffered; and his doubts afterwards appeared to be well founded. He observed, indeed very just- ly, that “ their loss was an additional rea- son for their going abroad; and if it had not been fixed that he should have been one of the party, he would force them out; but he would not advise them unless his advice was asked, lest they might suspect that he recommended what he wished on his own account.” I was not pleased that his inti- macy with Mr. Thrale’s family, though it no doubt contributed much to his comfort and enjoyment, was not without some de- gree of restraint: not, as has been grossly suggested, that it was required of him as a task to talk for entertainment of them and their company; but that he was not quite at his ease; which, however, might partly be owing to his own honest pride — that dig- nity of mind which is always jealous of ap- pearing too compliant. On Sunday, March 31, I called on him and showed him as a curiosity which l had 1 [How so ? The journey must have been set- tled for some days, and, under the melancholy circumstances in which it was arranged, it would surely have been strange if Dr. Johnson’s sudden appearance had interrupted it. Baretti, on the other hand, with more appearance of justice, com- plained that Johnson had not offered to accompa- ny “ the distressed mother,” instead of himself, who went, he tells us, becauso no one else would go — Er.] discovered, his “ Translation ofLobo’s Ac- count of Abyssinia,” which Sir John Prin- gle had lent me, it being then little known as one of his works. He said, “ Take no notice of it,” or Do n’t talk of it.” He seem- ed to think it beneath him, though done at six-and-twenty. I said to him, “Your style, sir, is much improved since you trans- lated this.” He answered, with a sort of triumphant smile, “ Sir, I hope n is.” On Wednesday, April 3, in the morning, I found him very busy putting his books in order, and, as they were generally very old ones, clouds of dust were flying around him. He had on a pair of large gloves, such as hedgers use. His present appearance put me in mind of my uncle Dr. Boswell’s description of him, “ A robust genius, born to grapple with whole libraries.” I gave him an account of a conversation which had passed between me and Captain Cook, the day before, at dinner at Sir John Pringle’s; and he was much pleased with the conscientious accuracy of that celebrated circumnavigator, who set me right as to many of the exaggerated accounts given by Dr. Hawkesworth of his Voyages. I told him that while I was with the captain I catched the enthusiasm of curiosity and ad- venture, and felt a strong inclination to go with him on his next voyage. Johnson.. “ Why, sir, a man does feel so, till he con- siders how very little he can learn fronr such voyages.” Boswell. “But one i carried away with the general, grand, ar , indistinct notion of a voyage round tii world.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir, but a man is to guard himself against taking a. thing in general.” I said I was certain that a great part of what we are told by the travellers to the South Sea must be conjec- ture, because they had not enough of the language of those countries to understand so much as they have related. Objects; falling under the observation of the senses might be clearly known; but every thing intellectual, everything abstract — politicks, morals, and religion, must be d arkly guessed. Dr. Johnson was of the same opinion. He, upon another occasion, when a friend men- tioned to him several extraordinary facts, as communicated to him by the circumnav- igators, slily observed, “ Sir, I never before knew how much I was respected by these gentlt^nen; they told me none of these things.” He had been in company with Oinai, a native of one of the South Sea Islands, after he had been some time in this country. He was struck with the elegance of his be haviour, and accounted for it thus: “Sir, he had passed his time, while in England, only in the best company; so that all that he had acquired of our manners was genteel. As a proof of this, sir. Lord Mulgrave and 62 1776. — iETAT 67. he Qined one day at Streatham; they sat with thei r backs to the light fronting me, so that I could not see distinctly; and there was so little of the savage in Omai, that I was afraid to speak to either, lest I should mistake one for the other We agreed to dine to-day at the Mitre tavern, after the rising of the House of Lords, where a branch of the litigation con- cerning the Douglas estate, in which I was one of the counsel, was to come on. T brought with me Mr. Murray, solicitor-gen- eral of Scotland, now one of the judges of the court of session, with the title of Lord Henderland. I mentioned Mr. Solicitor’s relation, Lord Charles Hay 2 , with whom I knew Dr. Johnson had been acquainted. Johnson. “ I wrote something for Lord Charles 3 , and I thought he had nothing to fear from a court-martial. I suffered a great loss when he died; he was a mighty pleasing man in conversation, and a reading man. The character of a soldier is high. They who stand forth the foremost in dan- ger, for the community, have the respect of mankind. An officer is much more re- spected than any other man who has little money. In a commercial country, money will always purchase respect. But you find, an officer, who has, properly speaking, no money, is every where well received and treated with attention. The character of a soldier always stands him in stead.” Boswell. “ Yet, sir, I think that common soldiers are worse thought of than other men in the same rank of life; such as la- bourers.” Johnson. “Why, sir, a com- mon soldier is usually a very gross man, and any quality which procures respect may be overwhelmed by grossness. A man of learning may be so vicious or so ridiculous that you cannot respect him. A common 1 [This might perhaps have been more justly attributed to the defect of his sight (see ante, p. 18, n.) than to any resemblance between Omai and Lord Mulgrave. — Ed.] 2 [Third son of the third Marquis of Tweedale. He was an officer in the army, and distinguished himself at the battle of Fonter.oy; where he is said to have been the officer who invited the French guards to fire. He was afterwards third in com- mand under Lord Loudon and General Hopson, in an expedition against Canada; but expressing him- self with some violence against the tardiness of his superiors, he was, on the 31st July, 1757, put un- der arrest and sent to England, to be tried by a court-martial, which, however, did not assemble till Feb. 1760; but Lord Charles died on the 1st of May following, before the sentence was pro- mulgated. — Ed.] 0 [The editor, by the kindness of his friend Sir John Beckett, now judge-advocate general, has looked over the original minutes of this court-mar- tial, but linds nothing that can be supposed to have been written by Johnson -Err.] soldier, too, generally eats more than he can pay for. But when a common soldier is civil in his quarters, his red coat procures him a degree of respect.” The peculiar respect paid to the military character in France was mentioned. Boswell. “I should think that where military men are so numerous, they would be less valuable as not being rare.” Johnson. “ Nay, sir, wherever a particular character or pro- fession is high in the estimation of a people, those who are of it will be valued above other men. We value an Englishman high in this country, and yet Englishmen are not rare in it.” Mr. Murray praised the ancient philoso- phers for the candour and good humour with v/hich those of different sects disputed with each other. Johnson. “ Sir, they disputed with good humour, because they were not in earnest as to religion. Had the ancients been serious in their belief, we should not have had their gods exhibited in the manner we find them represented in the poets. The people would not have suffered it. They disputed with good humour upon then* fanciful theories, because they were not interested in the truth of them: when a man has nothing to lose, he may be in good humour with his opponent. Accord ingly you see, in Lucian, the Epicurean, who argues only negatively, keeps his tern per; the Stoick, who has something posi tive to preserve, grows angry 4 . Being an gry with one who controverts an opinion which you value, is a necessary conse quence of the uneasiness which you feel Every man who attacks my belief, dimin ishes in some degree my confidence in it, and therefore makes me uneasy; and I am angry with him who makes me uneasy. Those only who believed in revelation have been angry at having their faith called in question; because they onty had something upon which they could rest as matter of fact.” Murrxy. “It seems to me that we are not angry at a man for controvert- ing an op ; n:on which we believe and value; we rather pity him.” Johnson. “ Why, sir, to be sure, when you wish a man to have that belief which you think is of infi- nite advantage, you wish well to him; but your primary consideration is your own quiet. If a madman were to come into this room with a sfick in his hand, no doubt we should pity the state of his mind; but our primary consideration would be to take care of ourselves. We should knock him 4 He alluded probably to the pleadings for and against Pleasure in Lucian’s Dicasteria, where the Stoick, being defeated by Epicurus in the court below, appeals to Jupiter, but there seems no loss of temper. See Lucian, ed. 1615, p. 756. Perhaps the squabble between the disputants aJ the end of Jupiter the Tragic was meant. — E d.] 1776.— .ET AT. 67. 55 down first, and pity him afterwards. No, sir, every man will dispute with great good humour upon a subject in which he is not interested. I will dispute very calmly upon the probability of another man’s son being hanged; but if a man zealously enforces the probability that my own son will be hanged, I shall certainly not be in a very good humour with him.” I added this il- lustration, “ If a man endeavours to convince me that my wife, whom I love very much, and in whom I place great confidence, is a disagreeable woman, and is even unfaithful to me, I shall be very angry, for he is put- ting me in fear of being unhappy.” Mur- ray. “ But, sir, truth will always bear an examination.” Johnson. “Yes, sir, but it is painful to be forced to defend it. Con- sider, sir, how should you like, though conscious of your innocence, to be tried be- fore a jury for a capital crime, once a week.” We talked of education at great schools; the advantages and disadvantages of which Johnson displayed in a luminous manner; but his arguments preponderated so much in favour of the benefit which a boy of good parts might receive at one of them *, that I have reason to believe Mr. Murray was very much influenced by what he had heard to-day in his determination to send his own son to Westminster school. I have acted m the same manner with regard to my own two sons; having placed the eldest at Eton, and the second at Westminster. I cannot say which is best. But in justice to both those noble seminaries, I with high satisfac- 1 [A peculiar advantage of an education in our public schools, was stated in one of his parliamen- tary speeches by the late Mr. Canning — himself a great authority and example on such a subject. “ Foreigners often ask, ‘ By what means an un- interrupted succession of men, qualified more or less eminently for the performance of united par- liamentary and official duties, is secured ? ’ First, I answer (with the prejudices perhaps of Eton and Oxford), that we owe it to our system of public schools and universities. From these institutions is derived (in the language of the prayer of our collegiate churches) ‘ a due supply of men fitted to serve their country both in church and state.' It is in her public schools and universi- ties that the youth of England are, by a discipline which shallow judgments have sometimes attempt- ed to undervalue, prepared for the duties of pub- lick life. They are rare and splendid exceptions, to be sure; but in my conscience I believe, that England would not be what she is without her system of public education, and that no other country can become what England is without the advantages of such a system.” Such was also Mr. Gibbon’s opinion. “ I shall always be ready So join in the public opinion, that our public ichools, which have produced so many eminent characters, are the best adapted to the genius and constitution of the English people.” — Memoirs. Mis. Works, vol. i. p. 37 . — Ed.] tion declare, that my boys ha^e derived from them a great deal of good, and no evil , and I trust, they will, like Horace, be grate- ful to their father for giving them so valua- ble an education. I introduced the topick, which is often ignorantly urged, that the universities of England are too rich 2 ; so that learning does not flourish in them as it would do, if those who teach had smaller salaries, and depend- ed on their assiduity for a great part of their income. Johnson. “ Sir, the very reverse of this is the truth; the English uni- versities are not rich enough. Our fellow- ships are only sufficient to support a man during his studies to fit him for the world, and accordingly in general they are held no longer than till an opportunity offers of get- ting away. Now and then, perhaps, there is a fellow who grows old in his college; but this is against his will, unless he be a man very indolent indeed. A hundred a year is reckoned a good fellowship, and that is no more than is neuessary to keep a man decently as a scholar. We do not al- low our fellows to marry, because we con- sider academical institutions as preparatory to a settlement in the world. It is only by being employed as a tutor, that a fellow can obtain any thing more than a livelihood. To be sure, a man who has enough without teaching will probably not teach; for we would all be idle if we could. In the same manner, a man who is to get nothing by teaching will not exert himself. Gresham college was intended as a place of instruc- tion for IiOndon; able professors were to read lectures gratis; they contrived to have no scholars; whereas, if they had been al- lowed to receive but sixpence a lecture from each scholar, they would have been emu- lous to have had many scholars. Every body will agree that it should be the inte- rest of those who teach to have scholars; and this is the case in our universities. That they are too rich is certainly not true; for they have nothing good enough to keep a man of eminent learning with them for his life. In the foreign universities a professor ship is a high thing. It is as much almost as a man can make by his learning: and there- fore we find the most learned men abroad are in the universities. It is not so with us. Our universities are impoverished of learn- ing, by the penury of their pro/isions. I wish there were many places of a thousand a year at Oxford, to keep first rate men of learning from quitting the university.” Undoubtedly if this were the case, literature 2 Dr. Adam Smith, who was for some time a professor in the university of Glasgow, has utter- ed, in his “ Wealth of Nations,” some reflections upon this subject which are certainly not well founded, and seem to be invidious. — Boswell.. 64 1776. — iETAT. 67. •vouVd have a still greater dignity and splen- aour at Oxford, and there would be grander living sources of instruction. I mentioned Mr. Maclaurin’s uneasiness on account of a degree of ridicule carelessly thrown on his deceased father, in Gold- smith’s “ History of Animated Nature,” in which that celebrated mathematician is re- presented as being subject to fits of yawning so violent as to render him incapable of pro- ceeding in his lecture; a story altogether unfounded, but for the publication of which the law would give no reparation 1 2 . This led us to agitate the question, whether le- gal redress could be obtained, even when a man’s deceased relation was calumniated in a publication. Mr. Murray maintained there should be reparation, unless the au- thour could justify himself by proving the fact. .Johnson. “ Sir, it is of so much more consequence that truth should be told, than that individuals should not be made uneasy, that it is much better that the law does nol restrain writing freely concerning the characters of the dead. Damages will be given to a man who js calumniated in his lifetime, because he may be hurt in his worldly interests, or at least hurt in his mind: but the law does not regard that un- easiness which a man feels on having his ancestor calumniated. That is too nice. Let him deny what is said, and let the mat- ter have a fair chance by discussion. But if a man could say nothing against a charac- ter but what he can prove, history could not be written; for a great deal is known of men of which proof cannot be brought. A minister may be notoriously known to take bribes, and yet you may not be able to prove it.” Mr. Murray suggested that the authour should be obliged to show some sort of evidence, though he would not re- quire a strict legal proof : but Johnson firm- ly and resolutely opposed any restraint whatever, as adverse to a free investigation of the characters of mankind 3 . 1 Dr. Goldsmith was dead before Mr. Maclau- rin discovered the ludicrous errour. But Mr. TSourse, the bookseller, who was the proprietor of the work, upon being applied to by Sir John Pringle, agreed very handsomely to have the leaf on which it was contained cancelled, and reprint- ed without it, at his own expense. — Boswell. 2 What Dr. Johnson has here said is undoubt- edly good sense; yet I am afraid that law, though defined by Lord Coke “The perfection of rea- son,” is not altogether with him ; for it is held in the books, that an attack on the reputation even of a dead man may be punished as a libel because tending to a breach of the peace. There is, however, 1 believe, no modern decided case to that efl'ect. In the King’s Bench, Trinity term, 17 90, the question occurred on occasion of an indictment, the King v. Topham , who, as a proprietor of a newspaper entitled “ The World.” On Thursday, 4th Aj ril, having called on Dr. Johnson, I said, it was a pity that truth was not so firm as to bid defiance to all at tacks, so that it might be shot at as much as people chose to attempt, and yet remain unhurt. Johnson. “ Then, sir, it would not be shot at. Nobody attempts to dis~ was found guilty of a libel against Earl Cowper, deceased, because certain injurious charges against his lordship were published in that paper. An arrest of judgment having been moved for, the case was afterwards solemnly argued. My friend Mr. Const, whom I delight in having an opportu- nity to praise, not only for his abilities but his manners — a gentleman whose ancient German blood has been mellowed in England, and who may be truly said to unite the baron and the bar- rister , was one of the counsel for Mr. Topham. He displayed much learning and ingenuity upon the general question; which, however, was not decided, as the court granted an arrest chiefly on the informality of the indictment. No man has a higher reverence for the law of England than I have; but with all deference I cannot help think- ing, that prosecution by indictment, if a defendant is never to be allowed to justify, must often be very oppressive, unless juries, whom I am more and more confirmed in holding to be judges of law as well as of fact, reso'iutely interpose. Of late an act of parliament has passed declaratory of their full right to one as well as the other, in matter of libel; and the bill having been brought in by a popular gentleman, many of his party have in most extravagant terms declaimed on the wonder- ful acquisition to the liberty of the press. Foi my own part I ever was clearly of opinion that this right was inherent in the very constitution of a jury, and indeed in sense and reason inseparable from their important function. To establish it, therefore, by statute, is, I think, narrowing its foundation, which is the broad and deep basis of common law. Would it not rather weaken the right of primogeniture, or any other old and uni- versally acknowledged right, should the legislature pass an act in favour of it ? In my “ Letter to the People of Scotland, against diminishing the num ber of the Lords of session,” published in 1785, there is the following passage, which, as a con cise, and I hope a fair and rational state of the matter, I presume to quote: “ The juries of Eng- land are judges of law as well as of fact in many civil and in all criminal trials. That my princi- ples of resistance may not be misapprehended, any more than my principles of submission, I protest that I should be the last man in the world to encourage juries to contradict rashly, wantonly, or perversely, the opinion of the judges. On the contrary, I would have them listen respectfully to the advice they receive from the bench, by which they may often be well directed in forming their own opinion ; which, ‘ and not another’s,’ is the opinion they are to return upon their oaths. But where, after due attentiou to all that the judge has said, they are decided’y of a different opinion from him, they have not only a power and a right , but they are bound in conscience to Ding in a verdict accordingly.”— Boswell.. 1776 — /ET T. 6 . Dute that two and two make four: but with congests concerning moral truth, human passions are generally mixed, and therefore it must be ever liable to assault and misrep- resentation. ” On Friday, 5th April, being Good Fri- day, after having attended the morning ser- vice at St. Clement’s church, I walked home with ' Johnson. We talked of the Roman Catholick religion. Johnson. “ In the barbarous ages, sir, priests and people were equally deceived; but afterwards there were gi.] 3 [See ante, v. i. p. 466 — Ed.] vol. II. 8 therefore would sometimes in conversation maintain opinions which he was sensible were wrong, but in supporting which, his reasoning and wit would be most conspicu- ous. He would begin thus: “Why, sir, as to the good or evil of card-playing — ” “ Now,” said Garrick, “ he is thinking which side he shall take.” He appeared to have a pleasure in contradiction, especially when any opinion whatever was delivered with an air of confidence; so that there was hardly any topick, if not one of the great truths of religion and morality, that he might not have been incited to argue, either for or against. Lord Eiibank 4 had the highest admiration of his powers. He once observed to me, “ Whatever opinion John- son maintains, I will not say that he con- vinces me; but he never fails to show me, that he had good reasons for it.” I have heard Johnson pay his lordship this high compliment- “I never was in Lord Eli- bank’s company without learning some- thing.” We sat together till it was too late for the afternoon service. Thrale said, he had come with intention to go to church with us. We went at seven to evening prayers at St. Clement’s church, after having drunk coffee; an indulgence which I understand Johnson yielded to on this occasion, in com pliment to Thrale. [This day he himself thus records, Ed. “ Though for the past week I have had an anxious design of communicating to day, I performed no particular act of devo tion, till on Friday I went to church. “ I fasted, though less rigorously than at other times. I, by negligence, poured milk into the tea, and, in the afternoon, drank one dish of coffee with Thrale; yet at night, after a fit of drowsiness, I felt myself very much disordered by emptiness, and called for tea, with peevish and impatient eager- ness. My distress was very great.”] On Sunday, April 7, Easter-day, after having been at St. Paul’s cathedral, I came to Dr. Johnson, according to my usual cus- tom. It seemed to me, that there was al- ways something particularly mild and pla- cid in his manner upon this holy festival, the commemoration of the most joyful event in the histtry of our world, the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour, who, having tri- umphed over death and the grave, proclaim- ed immortality to mankind. [Yet with what different colours he paints his own state at this moment! D “The time is again [come] at which, since the death of my poor dear Tetty, on whom God have mercy, I have annually commemorated the mystery of redemption 4 Patrick, Lord Eiibank, who died in 177fc (ante, v. i. d. 277). — Boswell. 68 1776— /ETAT. 67. and annually purposed to amend my life. My reigning- sin, to which perhaps many others are appendant, is waste of time, and general sluggishness, to which I was al- ways inclined, and, in part of my life, have been almost compelled by morbid melan- choly and disturbance of mind. Melancholy has had in me its paroxysms and remissions, but I have not improved the intervals, nor sufficiently resisted my natural inclination, or sickly habits.” He adds, however: l45 “ In the morning I had at church p ' ' some radiations of comfort.”] I repeated to him an argument of a lady of my acquaintance, who maintained, that her husband’s having been guilty of num- berless infidelities, released her from conju- gal obligations, because they were recipro- cal. Johnson. cc This is miserable stuff, sir. To the contract of marriage, besides the man and wife, there is a third party — society; and if it be considered as a vow — God : and, therefore, it cannot be dissolved by their consent alone. Laws are not made for particular cases, but for men in general. A woman may be unhappy with her hus- band; but she cannot be freed from him without the approbation of the civil and ec- clesiastical power. A man may be unhap- py, because he is not so rich as another; but he is not to seize upon another’s proper ty with his own hand.” Boswell. “ But, sir, this lady does not want that the con- tract should be dissolved; she only argues that she may indulge herself in gallantries with equal "freedom as her husband does, provided she takes care not to introduce a spurious issue into his family. You know, sir, what Macrobius has told of Julia 1 .” Johnson. t: This lady of yours, sir, I think, is very fit for a brothel.” Mr. Macbean, author of the cc Dictionary of Ancient Geography,” came in. He mentioned that he had been forty years ab- sent from Scotland, u Ah, Boswell ! ” said Johnson smiling, “ what would you give to be forty years from Scotland? ” I said, C£ I should not like to be so long absent from the seat of my ancestors.” This gentle- man, Mrs. Williams, and Mr. Levett, dined with us. Dr. Johnson made a remark, which both Mr. Macbean and I thought new. It was this: that “ the latv against usury is for the protection of creditors as well as debtors; for if there were no such check, people would be apt, from the temptation of great interest, to lend to desperate persons, by whom fhey would lose their money. Ac- cordingly, there are instances of ladies be- ing ruined, by having injudiciously sunk 1 “ Nunquam enim nisi navi plena tollo vecto- >em ** — Lib ii c vi. — B oswell. their fortunes for high annuities, whicn after a few years, ceased to be paid, in con- sequence of the ruined circumstances of the borrower.” Mrs. Williams was very peevish 2 ; and I wondered at Johnson’s patience with her now, as I had often done on similar occa- sions. The truth is, that his humane con- sideration of the forlorn and indigent state in which this lady was left by her father in- duced him to treat her with the utmost ten- derness, and even to be desirous of procur- ing her amusement, so as sometimes to in- commode many of his friends, by carrying her with him to their houses, where, from her manner of eating, in consequence of her blindness, she could not but offend the de- licacy of persons of nice sensations. After coffee, we went to afternoon ser- vice in St. Clement’s church. Observing some beggars in the street as we walked along, I said to him, I supposed there was no civilized country in the world where the misery of want in the lowest classes of the people was prevented. Johnson. “ I be- lieve, sir, there is not; but it is better that some should be unhappy, than that none should be happy, which would be the case in a general state of equality.” When the service was ended, I went home with him, and we sat quietly by our selves. He recommended Dr. Cheyne’s books. I said, I thought Cheyne had been reckoned whimsical. “ So he was,” said he,” in some things; but there is no end ol objections. There are few books to which some objection or other may not be made.” He added, “ I would not have you read any thing else of Cheyne, but his book on Health, and his c English Malady.’” Upon the question whether a man who had been guilty of vicious actions would do well to force himself into solitude and sad ness? Johnson. cc No, sir, unless it pre vent him from being vicious again. With some people, gloomy penitence is only mad- ness turned upside down. A man may be gloomy, till, in order to be relieved from gloom, he has recourse again to criminal indulgences.” On Wednesday, 10th April, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale’s, where were Mr. Mur- phy and some other company. Before din- ner, Dr. Johnson and I passed some time by ourselves. I was sorry to find it was now resolved that the proposed journey to Italy should not take place this year. He said, “ I am disappointed, to be sure; but it is 4 [Boswell was not partial to Mrs. Williams. Peevish she probably was; but let it be remem- bered that she was old, blind, poor, and a depen- dant. And see ante, vol. i. p. 101, a mora favourable account from Malone and Mies Haw kins. — Ed.] 1776.— yETAT. 67 not a great disappointment.” I wondered to see him bear, with a philosophical calm- ness, what would have made most people peevish and fretful. [But he cordially Ed ' assented to the reasons which operated on the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale to postpone the journey, as appears from his letter to the lady.] [ ; at the top of my papers; otherwise they are somewhere else, and will give me more trouble. “ Please to write to me immediately, if they can be found. Make my compliments to all our friends round the world, and to Mrs. Williams at home.— I am, sir, your, &c. “ Sam. Johnson. “ Search for the papers as soon as you can, that, if it is necessary, I may write to you again before you come down.” On the 26th April, I went to Bath; and on my arrival at the Pelican inn, found ly- ing for me an obliging invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, by whom I was agreeably entertained almost constantly during my stay. They were gone to the rooms: but there was a kind note from Dr. Johnson, that he should sit at home all the evening. [ 3 See ante , p. 60. — Eo.j 66 1776.— ^ETAT. 67. I went to him directiy, and befo. e Mr. and Mrs. Thrale returned, we had by ourselves some hours of tea-drinking and talk. I shall group together such of his sayings as I preserved during the few days that I was at Bath. Of a person 1 who differed from him in politicks, he said, ££ In private life he is a very honest gentleman; but I will not allow him to be so in publick life. People may be honest, though they are doing wrong: that is, between their Maker and them. But we, who are suffering by their pernicious con- duct, are to destroy them. We are sure that [Burke] acts from interest. We know what his genuine principles were 2 . They who allow their passions to confound the distinctions between right and wrong, are criminal. They may be convinced; but they have not come honestly by their con- viction.” It having been mentioned, I know not with what truth, that a certain female polit- ical writer 3 , whose doctrines he disliked, had of late become very fond of dress, sat hours together at her toilet, and even put on rouge: Johnson. .- yETAT. 67 j>ne genleel man, because they are more restrained. A man without some degree of restraint is insufferable; but we are all less restrained than women. Were a woman sitting in company to put out her legs be- fore her as most men do, we should be tempted to kick them in.” No man was a more attentive and nice observer of beha- viour in those in whose company he happened to be than Johnson, or, however strange it may seem to many, had a higher estimation of its refinements. [Mrs. Thrale one day commend- ed a young lady for her beauty p ’ ' and pretty behaviour, to whom she thought no objections could have been made. “ I saw her (said Dr. Johnson) take a pair of scissors in her left hand; and though her father is now become a noble- man, 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 negro J .”] [It was amazing — so short-sigh t- Recol as was — k° w very observant eco ‘ 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 erversion of the idea of refinement, and ad a great dislike to the use of a pocket handkerchief at meals, when, if he happen- ed 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.] Lord Elliot informs me, that one day when Johnson and he were at dinner in a gentleman’s house in London, upon Lord Chesterfield’s Letters being mentioned, Johnson surprised the company by this sentence: “Every man of any education would rather be called a rascal, than ac- cused of deficiency in the graces .” Mr. Gibbon, who was present, turned to a lady who knew Johnson well, and lived much “ The child who took a pair of scissors in her left hand is Dow a woman of quality, highly respected, and would cut us, I conclude, most deservedly, if more were said on the subject.” — Piozzi MS. [The editor believes that the la- dy was the eldest daughter of Mr. Lyttelton, af- terwards Lord Westcote, married to Sir Richard Hoare. She was born in Jamaica, and thence, perhaps, Johnson’s strange allusion to the negro, [t was Johnson’s hatred to all the Lytteltons which inflamed this little accident to such a ridiculous ize. — Ed.] by with him, gnd "n his quaint manner, tapping his box, addressed her thus: “Do n’t you think, madam (looking towards Johnson), that among all your acquaintance, you could find one exception ? ” The lady smiled, and seemed to acquiesce 2 . “ I read (said he), Sharpe’s Letters on Italy 3 over again, when I was at Bath. There is a great deal of matter in them.” “ Mrs. Williams was angry that Thrale’s family did not send regularly to her every time they heard from me while I was in the Hebrides. Little people are apt to be jeal- ous: but they should not be jealous; for they ought to consider, that superiour at- tention will necessarily be paid to superiour fortune or rank. Two persons may have equal merit, and on that account may have an equal claim to attention; but one of them may have also fortune and rank, and so may have a double claim.” Talking of his notes on Shakspeare, he said, “ I despise those who do not see that I am right in the passage where as is ie- peated, and ( asses of great charge ’ intro- 2 [Mr. Colman, in his “ Random Records ,” lately published, has given a lively sketch of the appearance and manners of Johnson and Gibbon in society. “ The learned Gibbon was a curious counterbalance to the learned (may I not say less learned ?) Johnson. Their manners and taste, both in writing and conversation, were as different as their habiliments. On the day I first sat down with Johnson, in his rusty brown suit, and his black worsted stockings, Gibbon was placed opposite to me in a suit of flowerod velvet, with a bag and sword. Each had his measured phraseology ; and Johnson’s famous parallel, between Dryden and Pope, might be loosely parodied, in reference to himself and Gibbon. — Johnson’s style was grand, and Gibbon’s elegant; the stateliness of the for- mer was sometimes pedantick, and the polish of the latter was occasionally finical. Johnson marched to kettle-drums and trumpets; Gibbon moved to flutes and hautboys: Johnson hewed passages through the Alps, while Gibbon levelled walks through parks and gardens. — Mauled as I had been by Johnson, Gibbon poured balm upon my braises, by condescending, once or twice, in the course of the evening, to talk with me: — the great historian was light and playful, suiting his matter to the capacity of the boy ; but it was done more suo; — still his mannerism prevailed; — still he tap- ped his snuff-box, — still he smirked, and smiled; and rounded his periods with the same air of good- breeding, as if he were conversing with men. — His mouth mellifluous as Plato’s, was a round hole, nearly in the centre of his visage.” — Vol. i. p. 121 .— Ed.] 3 [Mr. Samuel Sharpe, a surgeon, who travel- led for his health, and whose representation of Italian manners was supposed to be tinged by the ill humour of a valetudinarian. Baretti took up the defence of his country, and a smart controver- sy ensued which made some noise at the time - - Ed.] 70 1776.— JETAT. 67 duced. That on ‘ To be, or not to be,’ is disputable 1 A gentleman, whom I found sitting with him one morning, said, that in his opinion the character of an infidel was more detesta- ble than that of a man notoriously guilty of an atrocious crime. I differed from him, because we are surer of the odiousness of the one, than of the errour of the other. Johnson “ Sir, I agree with him; for the infidel would be guilty of any crime if he were inclined to it.” “ Many things which are false are trans- mitted from book to book, and gain credit in the world. One of these is the cry against the evil of luxury. Now the truth is, that luxury produces much good. T ake the luxury of buildings in London. Does it not produce real advantage in the conve- niency and elegance of accommodation, and this all from the exertion of industry? Peo- ple will tell you, with a melancholy face, how many builders are in gaol. It is plain they are in gaol, not for building; for rents are not fallen. A man gives half-a-guinea for a dish of green peas. How much gar- dening does this occasion? how many la- bourers must the competition to have such things early in the market keep in employ- ment? You will hear it said, very gravely, c Why was not the half-guinea, thus spent in luxury, given to the poor? To how many might it have afforded a good meal?’ Alas! has it not gone to the industrious poor, whom it is better to support than the idle poor? You are much surer that you are doing good when you pay money to those who work, as the recompense of their la- bour, than when you give money merely in charity. Suppose the ancient luxury of a dish of peacock’s brains were to be reviv- ed, how many carcasses would be left to the poor at a cheap rate ! and as to the rout that is made about people who are ruined by extravagance, it is no matter to the na- tion that some individuals suffer. When so much general productive exertion is the consequence of luxury, the nation does not care though there are debtors in gaol: nay, they would not care though their creditors were there too ” The uncommon vivacity of General Ogle- thorpe’s mind, and variety of knowledge, having sometimes made his conversation seem too desultory; Johnson observed, 1 It may be observed, that Mr. Malone, in his very valuable edition of Shakspeare, has fully vindicated Dr. Johnson from the idle censures which the first of these notes has given rise to. The interpretation of the other passage, which Dr. Johnson allows to he disputable , he has clearly •iiown to be erroneous. — Boswell. [The first note is on a passage in llamlet, act 5. scene ii. — Ed “ Oglethorpe, sir, never completes what he has to say.” He on the same account made a similar remarkon Patrick Lord Elibank; ‘ Sir, there is nothing conclusive in his talk.” When I complained of having dined at a splendid table without hearing one sentence of conversation worthy of being remember- ed, he said, “ Sir, there seldom is any such conversation.” Boswell. “Why then meet at table? ” Johnson. “ Why to eat and drink together, and to promote kindness; and, sir, this is better done when there is no solid conversation : for when there is, peo- ple differ in opinion, and get into bad hu- mour, or some of the company, who are not capable of such conversation, are left out, and feel themselves uneasy. It was for this reason Sir Robert Walpole said, he Ed always talked [coarsely] at his table, D ‘ because in that all could join.” Being irritated by hearing a gentleman a ask Mr. Levet a variety of questions con- cerning him, when he was sitting by, he broke out, “ Sir, you have but two topicks, yourself and me. I am sick of both.” “A man (said he) should not talk of himself, nor much of any particular person. He should take care not to be made a proverb; and, therefore, should avoid having any one topick of which people can say, c We shall hear him upon it.’ There was a Dr. Old- field, who was always talking of the Duke of Marlborough. He came into a coffee- house one day, and told that his grace had spoken in the House of Lords for half an hour. £ pid he indeed speak for half an hour ?’ (said BelcMer, the surgeon). — ‘ Yes.’ — c And w T hat did he say of Dr. Oldfield? ’ — c Nothing. ’— * c Why then, sir, he was very ungrateful; for Dr. Oldfield could not have spoken for a quarter of an hour, without saying something of him.’ ” “ Every man is to take existence on the terms on which it is given to him. To some men it is given on condition of not taking liberties, which other men may take without much harm. One may drink wine, and be nothing the worse for it: on another, wine may have effects so inflammatory as to injure him both in body and mind, and perhaps make him commit something for which he may deserve to be hanged.” “ Lord 'Hailes’s ‘ Annals of Scotland ’ have not that painted form which is the taste of this age; but it is a book which will always sell, it has such a stability of dates, such a certainty of facts, and such a punc- tuality of citation. I never before read Scotch history with certainty.” 1 asked him whether he would advise me 2 [Probably Mr. Boswell himself, who frequent- ly practised this mode of obtaining information. — Ed.] 1776.— AETAT 67. 71 to read the Bible with a commentary, and what commentaries he would recommend. Tohnson. “ To be sure, sir, I would have you read the Bible with a commentary ; and I would recommend Lowth and Patrick on the Old Testament, and Hammond on the New. 55 During my stay in London this spring, I solicited his attention to another law case, in which I was engaged. In the course of a contested election for the borough of Dunfermline, which I attended as one of my friend Colonel (afterward Sir Archibald) Campbell’s counsel, one of his political agents — who was charged with having been unfaithful to his employer, and having de- serted to the opposite party for a pecuniary reward — attacked very rudely in the news- papers the Reverend Mr. James Thomson, one of the ministers of that place, on ac- count of a supposed allusion to him in one of his sermons. Upon this the minister, on a subsequent Sunday, arraigned him by name from the pulpit with some severity; and the agent, after the sermon was over, rose up and asked the minister aloud, cc What bribe he had received for telling so many lies from the chair of verity 1 ? 55 I was present at this very extraordinary scene. The person arraigned, and his father and brother, who also had a share both of the reproof from the pulpit and in the retaliation, brought an action against Mr. Thomson, in the Court of Session, for defamation and damages, and I was one of the counsel for the reverend defendant. The liberty of the pulpit was our great ground of defence; but we argued also on the provocation of the previous attack, and on the instant retalia- tion. The Court of Session, however, — the fifteen judges, who are at the same time the jury, — decided against the minister, con- trary to my humble opinion; and several of them expressed themselves with indignation against him. He was an aged gentleman, formerly a military chap^in, and a man of high spirit and honour. Johnson was satis- fied that the judgment was wrong, and dic- tated to me, in confutation of it, an argu- ment, [which will be found in the Appen- dix.] When I read [the argument] to Mr. Burke, he was highly pleased, and exclaim- ed, “ Well, he does his work in a workman- like manner 2 .” 1 [A Gallicism , which has, it appears, with so many others, become vernacular in Scot- land. A pulpit is in French called “ chaire de vcrite .” — Ed.] 2 As a proof of Dr. Johnson’s extraordinary powers of composition, it appears from the origi- nal manuscript of this excellent dissertation, of which he dictated the first eight paragraphs on the 10th of May, and the remainder on the 13th, that there are in the whole only seven corrections, or Mr. Thomson wished to bring the cause by appeal before the house of lords, but was dissuaded by the advice of the noble person who lately presided so ably in that most honourable house, and who was then attor- ney-general. As my readers will no doubt be glad also to read the opinion of this emi- nent man upon the same subject, I shall here insert it. CASE. cc There is herewith laid before you, “ 1. Petition for the Reverend Mr. James Thomson, minister of Dun- fermline. “ 2. Answers thereto “ 3. Copy of the judgment of the Court of Session upon both. CC decree is grounded. “ These papers you will please to peruse, and give your opinion, “ Whether there is a probability of the above decree of the Court of Ses sion being reversed, if Mr. Thomson should appeal from the same? 55 “I don’t think the appeal advisable; not only because the value of the judgment is in no degree adequate to the expense; but because there are many chances, that upon the general complexion of the case, the im- pression will be taken to the disadvantage of the appellant. “ It is impossible to approve the style ol that sermon. But the complaint was not less ungracious from that man, who had be- haved so ill by his original libel, and at the time when he received the reproach he com- plains of. In the last article all the plaintiffs are equally concerned. It struck me also with some wonder, that the judges should think so much fervour apposite to the occa- sion of reproving the defendant for a little excess. tc Upon the matter, however, I agree with them in condemning the behaviour of the minister, and in thinking it a subject fit for ecclesiastical censure; and even for an ac- tion, if any individual could qualify 3 a wrong, and a damage arising from it. " But this I doubt. The circumstance of publish- ing the reproach in a pulpit, though ex- tremely indecent, and culpable in another view, does not constitute a different sort of wrong, or any other rule of law than would rather variations, and those not considerable. Such were at once the vigorous and accurate emanations of his mind. — Boswell. 3 It is curious to observe that Lord Thurlow has here, perhaps, in compliment to North Brit- ain, made use of a term of the Scotch law, which to an English reader may require explanation. To qualify a wrong, is to point out and estabiisn it — Boswell. 72 1776.— ^ETAT. 67 have obtained, if the same words had been pronounced elsewhere. I do n’t know whe- ther there be any difference in the law. of Scotland, in the definition of slander, before the commissaries, or the Court of Session. The common law of England does not give way to actions for every reproachful word. An action cannot be brought for general damages upon any words which import less than an offence cognizable by law; conse- quently no action could have been brought here for the words in question. Both laws admit the truth to be a justification in ac- tion for words; and the law of England does the same in actions for libels. The judgment, therefore, seems to me to have been wrong, in that the court repelled that defence. (C E. Thurlow.” I am now to record a very curious inci- dent in Dr. Johnson’s life, which fell under my own observation; of which pars magna fui, and which I am persuaded will, with the liberal-minded, be much to his credit. My desire of being acquainted with cele- brated men of every description had made me, much about the same time, obtain an introduction to Dr. Samuel Johnson and to John Wilkes, Esq. Two men more differ- ent could perhaps not be' selected out of all mankind. They had even attacked one another with some asperity in their writings; yet I lived in habits of friendship with both. I could fully relish the excellence of each; for I have ever delighted in that intellec- tual chymistry, which can separate good qualities from evil in the same person. Sir John Pringle, “ mine own friend and my father’s friend,” between whom and Dr. Johnson I in vain wished to establish an acquaintance, as I respected and lived in intimacy with both of them, observed to me once, very ingeniously, “ It is not in friendship as in mathematicks, where two things, each equal to a third, are equal be- tween themselves. You agree with John- son as a middle quality, and you agree with me as a middle quality; but Johnson and I should not agree.” Sir John was not suf- ficiently flexible; so I desisted; knowing, indeed, that the repulsion was equally strong on the part of Johnson; who, I know not from what cause, unless his being a Scotchman, had formed a very erroneous opinion of Sir John. But I conceived an irresistible wish, if possible, to bring Dr. Johnson and Mr. Wilkes together. How to manage it, was a nice and difficult mat- ter. [for Johnson’s dislike of Mr. Reyn. Wfikes wa s so great that it extend- ed even to his connexions. He hap- pened to dine one day at Sir Joshua Rey- nolds’s with a large and distinguished com- pany, amongst which were Mr. Wilkes’s brother, Israel, and his lady. In the course of conversation, Mr. Israel Wilkes was about to make some remark, when John- son suddenly stopped him with, “ I hope, sir, what you are going to say may be bet- ter worth hearing than what you have al ready said.” This rudeness shocked and spread a gloom over the whole party, par ticularly as Mr. Israel Wilkes was "a gen- tleman of a very amiable character and of refined taste, and, what Dr. Johnson little suspected, a very loyal subject. Johnson afterwards owned to Miss Reynolds that he was very sorry that he had “ snubbed Wilkes, as his wife was present.” Miss Reynolds replied that he should be sorry for many reasons. “ No,” said Johnson, who was very reluctant to apologize for offences of this nature ; “ no, I only regret it be- cause his wife was by.” Miss Reynolds believed that he had no kind of motive for this incivility to Mr. I. Wilkes but disgust at his brother’s political principles.] My worthy booksellers and friends, Mes- sieurs Dilly in the Poultry, at whose hospi- table and well-covered table I have seen a greater number of literary men than at any other, except that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, had invited me to meet Mr. "Wilkes and some more gentlemen on Wednesday, May 15. “Pray,” said I, “let us have Dr. Johnson.” “What, with Mr. Wilkes? not for the world,” said Mr. Edward Dilly: “Dr. Johnson would never forgive me.” “ Come,” said I, “ if you ’ll let me negotiate for you, I -will be answerable that all shall go well.” Dilly. “ Nay, if you will take it upon you, I am sure I shall be very hap- py to see them both here.” Notwithstanding the high veneration which I entertained for Dr. Johnson, I was sensible that he was sometimes a little ac- tuated by the spirit of contradiction, and by means of that I hoped I should gain my point. I was persuaded that if I had come upon him with a direct proposal, “ Sir, will you dine in company with Jack Wilkes?” he would have flown into a passion, and would probably have answered, “ Dine with Jack Wilkes, sir ! I ’d as soon dine with Jack Ketch b” I, therefore, while we were sitting quietly by ourselves at his house in an evening, took occasion to open my plan thus: “Mr. Dilly, sir, sends his respectful compliments to you, and would be happy if you would do him the honour to dine with him on Wednesday next along with me, as I must soon go to Scotland.” John- son. “ Sir, I am obliged to Mr. Dilly. I will wait upon him — .” Boswell. “ Provided, sir, I suppose, that the compa- ny which he is to have is agreeable to 1 This has been circulated as if actually said b) Johnson; when the truth is it wai only supposed by me. — B oswell 1776.— AT. 67 73 you? ” Johnson “ What do you mean, sir? What do you take me for? Do you think I am so ignorant of the world as to imagine that I am to prescribe to a gentle- man what company he is to have at his table? 53 Boswell. “ I beg your pardon, sir, for wishing to prevent you from meet- ing people whom you might not like. Perhaps he may have some of what he calls his patriotick friends with him.” Johnson. “Well, sir, and what then? What care I for his patriotich friends') Poh!” Bos- well. “I should not be surprised to find Jack Wilkes there.” Johnson. “ And if Jack Wilkes should be there, what is that to we, sir? My dear friend, let us have no more of this. I am sorry to be angry with you; but really it is treating me strangely to talk to me as if I could not meet any company whatever, occasionally.” Bos- well. “Pray forgive me, sir: I meant well. But you shall meet whoever comes, for me.” Thus I secured him, and told Dilly that he would find him very well pleased to be one of his guests on the day appointed. Upon the much expected Wednesday, I called on him about half an hour before dinner, as I often did when we were to dine out together, to see that he was ready in time, and to accompany him. I found him buffeting his books, as upon a former occa- sion 1 , covered with dust, and making no preparation for going abroad. “ How is this, sir?” said I. “Don’t you recollect that you are to dine at Mr. Dilly’s?” Johnson. “ Sir, I did not think of going to Dilly’s: it went out of my head. I have ordered dinner at home with Mrs. Wil- liams . 55 Boswell. “ But, my dear sir, you know you were engaged to Mr. Dilly, and I told him so. He will expect you, and will be much disappointed if you don’t come.” Johnson. “You must talk to Mrs. Williams about this.” Here was a sad dilemma. I feared that what I was so confident I had secured would yet be frustrated. He had accus- tomed himself to show Mrs. Williams such a degree of humane attention, as frequently imposed some restraint upon him; and I Knew that if she should be obstinate, he would not stir. I hastened down stairs to the blind lady’s room, and told her I was in great uneasiness, for Dr. Johnson had en- gaged to me to dine this day at Mr. Dilly’s, but that he had told me he had forgotten his engagement, and had ordered dinner at home. “Yes, sir,” said she, pretty peevishly, “Dr. Johnson is to dine at home.” “ Madam,” said I, “ his respect for you is such, that I know he will not leave you, unless you abso- lutely desire it. But as you have so much of his company, I hope you will be good 1 See page 51 of this volume. — B oswell. vol ii. 10 enough to forego it for a -day, as Mr. Dilly is a very worthy man, has frequently had agreeable parties at his house tor Dr. John- son, and will be vexed if the Doctor neglects him to-day. And then, madam, be pleased to consider my situation; I carried the message, and I assured Mr. Dilly that Dr. Johnson was to come; and no doubt he has made a dinner, and invited a company, and boasted of the honour he expected to have. I shall be quite disgraced if the Doctor is not there.” She gradually softened to my solicitations, which were certainly as earn- est as most entreaties to ladies upon any occasion, and was graciously pleased to em power me to tell Dr. Johnson, “ that, all things considered, she thought he should certainly go.” I flew back to him, still in dust, and careless of what should be the event, “ indifferent in his choice to go or stay;” but as soon as I had announced to him Mrs. Williams’s consent, he roared, “ Frank, a clean shirt,” and was very soon dressed. When I had him fairly seated in a hackney-coach with me, I exulted as much as a fortune-hunter who has got an heiress into a post-chaise with him to set out lor Gretna-Green. When we entered Mr. Dilly’s drawing- room, he found himself in the midst of a company he did not know. I kept myself snug and silent, watching how he would conduct himself. I observed him whisper- ing to Mr. Dilly, “ Who is that gentleman, sir? “ Mr. Arthur Lee.” Johnson. “ Too, too, too ” (under his breath), which was one of his habitual mutterings. Mr. Arthur Lee could not but be very obnoxious to Johnson, for he was not only a patriot , but an American. He was afterwards minister from the United States at the court of Madrid. “ And who is the gentle- man in lace?” “Mr. Wilkes, sir.” This information confounded him still more; he had some difficulty to restrain himself, and, taking up a book, sat down upon a window- seat and read, or at least kept his eye upon it intently for some time, till he composed himself. His feelings, I dare say, were awk- ward enough. But he no doubt recollected his having rated me for supposing that he could be at all disconcerted by any company, and he, therefore, resolutely set himself to behave quite as an easy man of the world, who could adapt himself at once to the dis- position and manners of those whom he might chance to meet. The cheering sound of “ Dinner is upon the table,” dissolved his reverie, and we all sat down without any symptom of ill humour. There were present, beside Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Arthur Lee, who was an old companion of mine when he studied physick at Edin- burgh, Mr. (now Sir John) Miller 2 , Dr 2 [Of Bath Easton See ante , vol » p. 516 -Ed ] 74 1776.— /ETAT. 67. LetUom, and Mr. Slater, the drug-gist. Mr. Wilkes placed himself next to Dr. Johnson, and behaved to him with so much attention and politeness, that he gained upon him in- sensibly. No man ate more heartily than Johnson, or loved better what was nice and delicate. Mr. Wilkes was very assiduous in helping him to some fine veal. “ Pray give rrie leave, sir — It is better here— A little of the brown — Some fat, sir — A little of the stuffing — Some gravy — Let me have the pleasure of giving you some butter — Allow me to recommend a squeeze of this orange; or the lemon, perhaps, may have more zest.” c£ Sir; sir, I am obliged to you, sir,” cried Johnson, bowing, and turning his head to him with a look for some time of “ surly virtue V s hut, in a short while, of complacency. Foote being mentioned, Johnson said, tc He is not a good mimick.” One of the company added, cc A merry-andrew, a buf- foon. 5 ’ Johnson. “ But he has wit too, and is not deficient in ideas, or in fertility and variety of imagery, and not empty of reading; he has knowledge enough to fill up his part. One species of wit he has in an eminent degree, that of escape. You drive him into a corner with both hands; but he ’s gone, sir, when you think you have got him — like an animal that jumps over your head. — Then he has a great range for wit; he never lets truth stand between him and a jest, and he is sometimes mighty coarse. Garrick is under many restraints from which Foote is free.” Wilkes. “ Garrick’s wit is more like Lord Chester- field’s.” Johnson. “ The first time I was in company with Foote was at Fitzher- bert’s. Having no good opinion of the fellow, I was resolved not to be pleased; and it is very difficult to please a man against his will. I went on eating my din- ner pretty sullenly, affecting not to mind him. But the dog was so very comical, that I was obliged to lay down my knife and fork, throw myself back upon my chair, and fairly laugh it out. No, Sir, he was irresistible 2 . He upon one occasion expe- rienced, in an extraordinary degree, the efficacy of his powers of entertaining. Amongst the many and various modes which he tried of getting money, he became a partner with a small-beer brewer, and he was to have a share of the profits for pro- curing customers amongst his numerous acquaintance. Fitzherbert was one who took his small-beer; but it was so bad that the servants resolved not to drink it. They 1 Johnson’s “ London, a Poem,” v. 145. — Boswell. 2 Foote told me, that Johnson said of him, “ For loud, obstreperous, broad-faced mirth, I know not his equal.” — Boswell. [See ante, p 32.— Ex>.] were at some loss hctt to notify their reso lution, being afraid of offending their mas- ter, who they knew liked Foote much as a companion. At last they fixed upon a little black boy, who was rather a favourite, to be their deputy, and deliver their remon- strance; and, having invested him with the whole authority of the kitchen, he was to inform Mr. Fitzherbert, in all their names, upon a certain day, that they would drink Foote’s small-beer no longer. On that day Foote happened to dine at Fitzherbert’s, and this boy served at table; he was so delighted with Foote’s stories, and merri- ment, and grimace, that when he went down stairs, he told them, £ This is the finest man I have ever seen. I will not deliver your message. I will drink his small beer.’ ” Somebody observed that Garrick could not have done this. Wilkes. “ Garrick would have made the small- beer still smaller. He is now leaving the stage; but he will play Scrub all his life.” I knew that John- son would let nobody attack Garrick but himself, as Garrick said to me, and I had heard him praise his liberality; so to bring out his commendation of his celebrated pupil, I said, loudly, “ I have heard Gar- rick is liberal.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir, I know that Garrick has given away more money than any man in England that I am acquainted with, and that not from ostenta- tious views. Garrick was very poor when he began life; so when he came to have money, he probably was very unskilful in giving away, and saved when he should not. But Garrick began to be liberal as soon as he could; and I am of opinion, the reputation of avarice which he has had has been very lucky for him, and prevented his having many enemies. You despise a man for avarice, but do not hate him. Garrick might have been much better attacked for living with more splendour than is suitable to a player; if they had had the wit to have assaulted him in that quarter, they- might have galled him more. But they have kept clamouring about his avarice, which has rescued him from much obloquy and envy.” Talking of the great difficulty of obtain ing authentick information for biography. Johnson told us, “When I was a young fellow, I wanted to write the ‘ Life of Dryden 3 ,’ and, in order to get materials, I applied to the only two persons then alive who had seen him; these were old Swin- ney 4 , and old Cibber. Swinney’s informa- 3 [This was probably for “ Cibber’s Lives,” as well as the “ Life of Shukspeare,” mentioned ante , p. 60, n. — i d.] 4 Owen M‘Swinney, who died in 1754, and bequeathed his fortune to Mrs. Woffington, tho actress. He had been a manager of Drury-lane 1776 .— JET AT. 67. 75 tion was no more than this, ‘ That at Will’s coffee-house Dryden had a particular chair for himself, which was set by the fire in winter, and was then called his winter chair; and that it was carried out for him to the balcony in summer, and was then called his summer chair.’ Cibber could tell no more but c that he remembered him a decent old man, arbiter of critical disputes at Will’s.’ You are to consider that Cib ber was then at a great distance from Dry- den, had perhaps one leg only in the room, and durst not draw in the other.” Bos- well. “ Yet Cibber was a man of obser- vation ?” Johnson. “ I think not. ” Boswell. “ Y ou will allow his ‘ Apology ’ to be well done.” Johnson. “ Very well done, to be sure, sir. That book is a striking proof of the justice of Pope’s re- mark : * Each might his several province well command, Would all but stoop to what they understand.’ ” Boswell. “ And his plays are good.” Johnson. “ Yes; but that was his trade; V esprit du corps ; he had been all his life among players and play-writers. I won- dered that he had so little to say in conver- sation, for he had kept the best company, and learnt all that can be got by the ear. He abused Pindar to me, and then showed me an ode of his own, with an absurd couplet, making a linnet soar on an eagle’s wing l. I told him that when the ancients made a simile, they always made it like something real.” Mr. Wilkes remarked, that “ among all the bold flights of Shakspeare’s imagina- tion, the boldest was making Birnam-wood march to Dunsinane; creating a wood where there never was a shrub ; a wood in Scotland! ha! ha! ha!” And he also observed, that “ the clannish slavery of the Highlands of Scotland was the single exception to Mil- ton’s remark of ‘the mountain nymph, sweet Liberty,’ being worshipped in all hilly countries.” “ When I was at Inver- ary,” said he, “ on a visit to my old friend Archibald, Duke of Argyle, his dependants congratulated me on being such a favourite of his grace. I said, ‘ It is, then, gentle- men, truly lucky for me; for if I had dis- pleased the duke, and he had wished it, there is not a Campbell among you but would have been ready to bring John Wilkes’s head to him in a charger. It would have been only * Off with his head! so much for Aylesbury I was then member for Aylesbury.” theatre, and afterwards of the Queen’s theatre in the Haymarket. He was also a dramatick wri- ter, having produced a comedy entitled “ The Quacks, or Love ’s the Physician,” 1705, and two operas. — M alone. 1 See ante, v. i. p. 181 — Boswelj Dr. Johnson and Mr. Wilkes talked of the contested passage in Horace’s “ Art of Poetry,” Difficile est propria communia dicer e. M r. Wilkes, according to my note, gave the interpretation thus: “ It is difficult to speak with propriety of common things; as, if a poet had to speak of Queen Caro- line drinking tea, he must endeavour to avoid the vulgarity of cups and saucers.” But, upm reading my note, he tel.fe me that he meant to say, that “ the word com- munia being a Roman law term, signifies here things communis juris, that is to say, what have never yet been treated by any body; and this appears clearly from what followed, * Tuque Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus. ' You will easier make a tragedy out of the Iliad than on any subject not handled be- fore 9 .” Johnson. “He means that it is 2 My very pleasant friend himself, as well as others who remember old stories, will no doubt be surprised, when I observe, that John Wilkes here shows himself to be of the Warburtonian school. It is nevertheless true, as appears from Dr. Hurd the bishop of Worcester’s very elegant commentary and notes on the “Epistola ad Pi- sones.” It is necessary, to a fair consideration of the question, that the whole passage in which the words occur should be kept in view: “ Si quid inexpertum scenae committis, et audes Personam formare novam, servetur ad imum Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet. Difficile est proprie communia dicere : tuque Rectids Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, Qukm si proferres ignota indictaque primus. Publica materies privati juris erit, si Non circa vilem patulumque moraberis orbem, Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus Interpres ; nec desilies imitator in arctum Unde pedem proferre pudor vetat aut operis lex.” The “ Commentary ” thus illustrates it: “ But the formation of quite new characters is a work of great difficulty and hazard. For here there is no generally received and fixed archetype to work after, but every one judges of common right ac- cording to the extent and comprehension of his own idea; therefore he advises to labour and refit old characters and subjects, particularly those made known and authorized by the practice of Homer and the epic writers.” The note is, “ Difficile est proprie • communia dicere .” Lambin’s comment is “ Communia hoc loco ap- pellat Horatius argumenta fabularum a nullo adhuc tractata: et ita, quae cuivis exposita sunt et in medio quodammodo posita, quasi vacua et anemi- ne occupata.” And that this is the true meaning of communia is evidently fixed by the words ig- nota indictaque , which are explanatory of it; so that the sense given it in the commentary is un- questionably the right one. Yet, notwithstanding the clearness of the case, a late critick has this j strange passage: “ Difficile quidein esse proprie j communia dicere, hoc est, materiem vulgarem, notam et e medio petitam, ita immutare atque [ exornare, ut nova et scriptori propria videatur, 76 1773.— ATAT. 67. difficult to appropriate to particular persons qualities which are common to all mankind, as Homer has done ” Wilkes. “ We have no city-poet now: that is an office which has gone into disuse. The last was Elkanah Settle. There is something in names which one cannot help feeling. Now Elkanah Settle sounds so queer , who can expect much from that name? We should have no hesitation to give it for John Dryden, in preference to Elkanah Settle, from the names only, with- out kno wipg their different merits.” John- son. t£ I suppose, sir, Settle did as well for alderman in his time, as John Home could do now. Where did Beckford and Tre- cothick learn English?” Mr. Arthur Lee mentioned some Scotch who had taken possession of a barren part nkro concedimus; et maximi procul dubio ponderis ista est observatio. Sed omnibus utrinque collatis, et turn difficilis turn venusti, tam judicii quam ingenii ratione habita, major videtur esse gloria fabulam formare penitus novam, quam veterem, utcunque mutatam de novo exhibere.” — Poet. Prcel. v. ii. p. 164. Where, having first put a wrong construction on the word cojnmunia, be employs it to introduce an impertinent criticism. For where does the poet prefer the glory of refit- ting old subjects to that of inventing new ones ? The contrary is implied in what he urges about the superior difficulty of the latter, from which he dissuades his countrymen, only in respect of their abilities and inexperience in these matters; and in order to cultivate in them, which is the main view of the epistle, a spirit of correctness, by sending them to the old subjects, treated by the Greek writers. For my own part (with all def- erence for Dr. Hurd, who thinks the case clear), I consider the passage, “ Difficile est proprie communia dicere ,” to be a crux for the criticks on Horace. The explication which my Lord of Worcester treats with so much contempt is, never- theless, countenanced by authority which I find quoted by the learned Baxter in his edition of Horace, “ Difficile est proprie communia di- cere, h. e. res vulgares disertis verbis enarrare, vel humile thema cum dignitate tractare. Difficile est co?7imunes res propriis explicare verbis. Vet. Schol.” I was much disappointed to find that the great critick, Dr. Bentley, has no note upon this very difficult passage, as from his vigor- ous and illuminated mind I should have expected to receive more satisfaction than I have yet had. Sanadon thus treats of it: “ Proprie communia dicere: c’est a dire, qu’il n’est pas aise de former & ces personnages d’imagination, des caracteres particuliers et cependant vraisemblables. Comme l’on a ete le maitre de les former tels qu’on a voulu, les fautes que l’on fait en cela sont moins pardonnables. C’est pourquoi Horace conseille de prendre toujours des sujets connus, tels que sont par exemple ceux que l’on peut tirer des poemes d’Homere.” And Dacier observes upon it, “ Apres avoir marque les deux qualites qu’il faut donner aux personnages qu’on invente, il conseille aux poetes tragiques, de n’user pas trop of America, and wondered why they should choose it Johnson. “ Why, sir, all bar- renness is comparative. The Scotch would not know it to be barren.” Boswell. “ Come, come, he is flattering the English. You have now been in Scotland, sir, and say if you did not see meat and drink enough there.” Johnson. “Why, yes, sir; meat and drink enough to give the in- habitants sufficient strength to run away from home.” All these quick and lively sallies were said sportively, quite in jest, and with a smile, which showed that he meant only wit. Upon this topick he and Mr. Wilkes could perfectly assimilate; here was a bond of union between them, and 1 was conscious that as both of them had visited Caledonia, both were fully satisfied of the strange narrow ignorance of those facilement de cette liberte qu'ils out d’en in- venter, car il est tres difficile de reussir dans ces nouveaux caracteres. Il est mal aise, dit Hor- ace, de traiter proprement, c’est it dire, con- venablement des sujets communs; c’est a dire, des sujets inventes, et qui n’ont aucun fondement ni dans l’histoire ui dans la fable; et il les appelle communs, parcequ’ils sont en disposition a tout le monde, et que tout le monde a le droit de les in- venter, et qu’ils sont, comme on dit, au premier occupant.” See his observations at large on this expression and the following. After all, I cannot help entertaining some doubt whether the words Difficile est proprie communia dicere may not have been thrown in by Horace to form a separate article in a “ choice of difficulties ” which a poet has to encounter who chooses a new sub- ject; in which case it must be uncertain which of the various explanations is the true one, and eve- ry reader has a right to decide as it may strike his own fancy. And even should the words be understood, as they generally are, to be connected both with what goes before and what comes after, the exact sense cannot be absolutely ascertained; for instance, whether proprie is meant to signify in an appropriated manner, as Dr. Johnson here understands it, or, as it is often used by Ci- cero, with propriety or elegantly. In short, it is a rare instance of a defect in perspicuity in an ad- mirable writer, who, with almost every species of excellence, is peculiarly remarkable for that qual- ity. The length of this note perhaps requires an apology. Many of my readers, I doubt not, will admit that a critical discussion of a passage in a favourite classick ^ very engaging. — Boswell. [This passage was the subject of an ingenious discussion between the young Marquis de Sevigne and M. Dacier, which will be found, together with Sanadon’s and Dumarsais’ opinions, in the last volume of the best edition of Madame de Sevigne ’a letters. It seems to result from the whole discus- sion that, in the ordinary meaning of the words, the passage is obscure, and that, to make sense, we must either alter the words, or assign to them an unusual interpretation. All commentators are agreed — by the help of the context — what the general meaning must be, but no one seems abli verbutn verbo reddere fidw nterpres. — Ed.} 1776 — ASTAT. 67. 77 who imagine that it is a land of famine. But they amused themselves with persever- ing in the old jokes. When I claimed a superiority for Scotland over England in one respect, that no man can be arrested there for a debt merely because another swears it against him; but there must first be the judgment of a court of law ascertain- ing its justice; and that a seizure of the person, before judgment is obtained, can take place only if his creditor should swear that he is about to fly from the country, or, as it is technically expressed, is in medita- tionefugce. Wilkes. tc That, I shornd thinkj may be safely sworn of all the Scotch nation.” Johnson (to Mr. Wilkes). “ You must know, sir, I lately took my friend Boswell, and showed him genuine civilized life in an English provincial town. I turned him loose at Lichfield, my native city, that he might see for once real civility; for you know he lives among savages in Scotland, and among rakes in London.” Wilkes. ee Except when he is with grave, sober, decent people, like you and me.” Johnson (smiling). cc And we ashamed of him.” They were quite frank and easy. John- son told the story of his asking Mrs. Macau- lay to allow her footman to sit down with them, to prove the ridiculousness of the argument for the equality of mankind; and he said to me afterwards, with a nod of satisfaction, :e You saw Mr. Wilkes ac- quiesced.” Wilkes talked with all imagina- ble freedom of the ludicrous title given to the attorney^eneral, Diabolus regis; ad- ding, “ I have reason to know something about that officer; for I was prosecuted for a libel.” Johnson, who many people would have supposed must have been fu- riously angry at hearing this talked of so lightly, said not a word. He was now, indeed , “ a good-humoured fellow.” After dinner we had an accession of Mrs. Knowles, the Quaker lady, well known for her various talents, and of Mr. Alderman Lee h Amidst some patriotick groans, somebody (I think the alderman) said, ‘ c Poor old England is lost.” Johnson. “ Sir, it is not so much to be lamented that old England is lost, as that the Scotch have . found it 1 2 .” Wilkes. “ Had Lord Bute 1 [It is to this gentleman that allusion is suppo- sed to be made in the following anecdote: “ Some one mentioned a gentleman of that party for hav- ing behaved oddly on an occasion where faction was not concerned: ‘ Is he not a citizen of Lon- don, a native of North America, and a whig?’ said Johnson. ‘ Let him be absurd, I beg of you: when a monkey is too like a man, it shocks one.’ ’ ’ — Piozzi , p. 64 . — Ed.] 2 It would not become me to expatiate on this strong and pointed remark, in which a very great deal of meaning is condensed. — Boswell. governed Scotland only, I should not have taken the trouble to write his eulogy, and dedicate c Mortimer’ to him.” Mr. Wilkes held a candle to show a fine print of a beautiful female figure which hung in the room, and pointed out the elegant con- tour of the bosom with the finger of an arch connoisseur. He afterwards in a conversa tion with me waggishly insisted, that all the time Johnson showed visible signs of a fer- vent admiration of the corresponding charms of the fair Quaker. This record, though by no means so per* feet as I could wish, will serve to give a no- tion of a very curious interview, which was not only pleasing at the time, but had the agreeable and benignant effect of reconciling any animosity, and sweetening any acidity, which, in the various bustle of political con test, had been produced, in. the minds of two men, who, though widely different, had so many things in common — classical learn- ing, modern literature, wit and humour, and ready repartee — that it would have been much to be regretted if they had been for ever at a distance from each other. Mr. Burke gave me much credit for this successful negotiation; and pleasantly said, “ that there was nothing equal to it in the whole history of the corps diplomatique .” I attended Dr. Johnson home, and had the satisfaction to hear him tell Mrs. Wil- liams how much he had been pleased with Mr. Wilkes’s company, and what an agree- able day he had passed. [The following is Dr. Johnson’s £d own good-humoured account to Mrs. D ‘ Thrale of this meeting. “ For my part I begin to settle, Letters, and keep company with grave alder- voi. i. ’ men. I dined yesterday in the Poul- p> 325- try with Mr. Alderman Wilkes, and Mr. Alderman Lee, and Councillor Lee, his brother. There sat you the while thinking, c What is Johnson doing?’ What should he be doing? He is breaking jokes with Jack Wilkes upon the Scotch. Such, madam, are the vicissitudes of things* And there was Mrs. Knowles, the Quaker, that works the sutile pictures 3 , who is a great admirer of your conversation.”] I talked a good deal to him of the cele- brated Margaret Caroline Rudd, whom I had visited, induced by the fame of her tal- ents, address, and irresistible power of fas- cination 4 . To a lady who disapproved of my visiting her, he said on a former occa- 3 [Mrs. Piozzi had printed this “ futile pic tures.” They were copies of pictures in needle work. — Ed.] 4 [See ante , p. 38. Her power of fascination was celebrated, because it was the fashion to suppose that she had fascinated her lover to the gallows. — Ed.] 78 1776 .— JET AT. 6T. sion, “ Nay, madam, Boswell is in the right; I should have visited her myself, were it not that they have now a trick of putting every thing into the newspapers.” This evening he exclaimed, “ I envy him his acquaintance with Mrs. Rudd.” I mentioned a scheme which I had of making a tour to the Isle of Man, and giv- ing a full account of it; and that Mr. Burke had playfully suggested as a motto, “ The proper study of mankind is Man.” Johnson. “ Sir, you will get more by the book than the jaunt will cost you; so you will have your diversion for nothing, and add to your reputation.” [“TO MRS. THRALE. “ 14th May, 1776. Letters, “ [Boswell] goes away on Thurs- voi. i. ’ day very well satisfied with his jour- p. 324. Some great men 1 have prom- ised to obtain him a place; and then a fig for his father and his new wife 2 .”] On the evening of the next day I took leave of him, being to set out for Scotland. I thanked him, with great warmth, for all his kindness. “Sir,” said he, “you are very welcome. Nobody repays it with more.” How very false is the notion that has gone round the world of the rough, and passionate, and harsh manners of this great and good man! That he had occasional sal- lies of heat of temper, and that he was sometimes, perhaps, too “ easily provoked ” by absurdity and folly, and sometimes too desirous of triumph in colloquial contest, must be allowed. The quickness both of his perception and sensibility disposed him to sudden explosions of satire; to which his extraordinary readiness of wit was a strong and almost irresistible incitement. To adopt one of the finest images in Mr. Home’s “ Douglas,” “ On each glance of thought Decision followed, as the thunderbolt Pursues the flash ! ” I admit that the beadle within him was often so eager to apply the lash, that the judge had not time to consider the case with suf- ficient deliberation. 1 [This place he never obtained, and the criti- cal reader will observe several passages in this work, the tone of which may be attributed to his disappointment in this point. See ante , p. 31. — Ed.] 2 [Lord Auchinl jck had lately married Eliza- beth Boswell, sister of Claude Irvine Boswell, af- terwards a lord of session, by the title of Lord Balmuto. She was the cousin germain of her nusband. Of this marriage there was no issue. — Ed.] That he was occasionally remarkable for violence of temper may be* granted; but let us ascertain the degree, and not let it be supposed that he was in a perpetual rage, and never without a club in his hand, to knock down every one who approached him. On the contrary, the truth is, that by much the greatest part of his time he was civil, obliging, nay, polite in the true sense of the word; so much so, that many gentlemen who were long acquainted with him never received, or even heard a strong expression from him. [ (t DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ 18th May, 1776. “ [Boswell] went away on Thurs- Letters, day night with no great inclination voi. i. pp. to travel northward ; but who can S30 ’ 334, contend with destiny? He says he had a very pleasant journey. He carries with him two or three good resolutions; I hope they will not mould on the road.” “ TO MRS. THRALE. “ 22d May, 1776. “ On Friday and Saturday I dined with Dr. Taylor, who is in discontent, but re- solved not to stay much longer to hear the opinions of lawyers, who are all against him. On Sunday I dined at Sir Joshua’s house on the hill [Richmond], with the Bishop ot St. Asaph [Shipley] : the dinner was good, and the bishop is knowing and conversi- ble.”] [This praise of Sir Joshua’s din- £d ner was not a matter of course; for D ' his table, though very agreeable, was not what is usually called a good one, as ap- pears from the following description given of it by Mr. Courtenay (a frequent and fa- vourite guest) to Sir James Mackintosh, and which is not, the editor hopes, misplaced in a work in which Sir Joshua and his so ciety have so considerable a share. “ There was something,” said Courtenay, “ singular in the style and economy of Sir Joshua’s table that contributed to pleasantry and good-humour; a coarse inelegant plen ty, without any regard to order and ar- rangement. A table, prepared for seven or eight, was often compelled to contain fif- teen or sixteen. When this pressing diffi- culty was got over, a deficiency of knives, forks, plates, and glasses succeeded. The attendance was in the same style; and it was absolutely necessary to call instantly for beer, bread, or wine, that you might be supplied with them before the first course was over. He was once prevailed on to furnish the table with decanters and glasses at dinner, to save time, and prevent the tar- dy manoeuvres of two or three occasional undisciplined domestics. As these acceler* 1776. — /ETAT. 67. 79 ating utensils were demolished in the course of service, Sir Joshua could never be per- suaded to replace them. But these trifling embarrassments only served to enhance the hilarity and singular pleasure of the en- tertainment. The wine, cookery, and dish- es were but little attended to; nor was the fish or venison ever talked of or recom- mended. Amidst this convivial, anima- ted bustle among his guests, our host sat perfectly composed; always attentive to what was said, never minding what was eat or drank, but left every one at perfect liberty to scramble for himself. Temporal and spiritual peers, physicians, lawyers, actors, and musicians, composed the motley group, and played their parts without dis- sonance or discord. At five o’clock pre- cisely dinner was served, whether all the invited guests were arrived or not. Sir Joshua was never so fashionably ill-bred as to wait an hour perhaps for two or three persons of rank or title, and put the rest of the company out of humour by this invidi- ous distinction. His friends and intimate acquaintance will ever love his memory, and will long regret those social hours, and the cheerfulness of that irregular, convivial ta- ble, which no one has attempted to revive or imitate, or was indeed qualified to sup- ply ”] [ ,; TO henry thrale, esq. “3d June, 1776. Letters “ My Mistress writes as if she was voi. i. afraid that I should make too much p- 337 ‘ haste to see her. Pray tell her that there is no danger. The lameness of which I made mention in one of my notes has im- proved into a very serious and troublesome fit of the gout. I creep about and hang by both hands. I enjoy all the dignity of lameness. I receive ladies and dismiss them sitting. ‘ Painful pre-eminence ! 3 ”] The following letters concerning an epi- taph which he wrote for the monument of Dr. Goldsmith, in Westminster-abbey, af- ford at once a proof of his unaffected mod- esty, his carelessness as to his own writings, and of the great respect which he enter- tained for the taste and judgment of the excellent and eminent person to whom the first and last are addressed: “ DR. JOHNSON TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. “ 16th May, 1776. “Dear sir, — I have been kept away from you, I know not well how, and of these vexatious hindrances I know not when there will be an end. I therefore send you the poor dear doctor’s epitaph. Read it first yourself; and if you then think it right, show it to the club. I am, you know, willing to be corrected. If you think any thing much amiss, keep it to yourself till we come together. I have sent two copies, but prefer the card. Th» dates must be settled by Dr. Percy. I am . sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” [“miss REYNOLDS TO DR. JOHNSON. “ Richmond-hill, 2l9t June, 1776. “ Sir, — You saw by my last letter that I knew nothing of your illness, and it was unkind of you not to tell me what had been the matter with you, and you should have let me know how Mrs. Thrale and all the family were; but that would have been a sad transgression of the rule you have certainly prescribed to your self of writing to some sort of people just such a number of lines. Be so good as to favour me with Dr. Goldsmith’s epitaph; and if you have no objection I should be very glad to send it to Dr. Beattie. 1 am writing now to Mrs. Beattie, and can scarce hope she will ever excuse my shame- ful neglect of writing to her, but by sending her something curious for Dr. Beattie. “ I do n’t know whether my brother ever mentioned to you what Dr. Beattie said in a letter he received from him the beginning of last month. As I have his letter here, I will transcribe it. ‘In my third essay, which treats of the advantages of classical learning, I have said something of Dr. Johnson, which I hope will please him; I ought not to call it a compliment, for it ex- presses nothing but the real sentiments of my heart. I can never forget the many and great obligations I am under to his ge- nius and to his virtue, and I wish for an opportunity of testifying my gratitude to the world.’ “ My brother says he has lost Dr. Gold- smith’s epitaph, otherwise I would not trouble you for it. Indeed I should or I ought to have asked if you had any objection to my sending it, before I did send it. — I am, my good sir, your obliged and obedi- ent humble servant,, “Frances Reynolds.’ Z/////.J (/ //f. 4/Wc/to. z/z z/z f // zzz//zoof zZz L z/zy tozz/Z, zzz //, fftfft/ j^S/i ZrjZZ/Z. ZZZZ ^ / f /zz/z//zZz /f/- /// «. 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TV r< a lr tc ti tc n ir (i 0 c c f »] s \ 1 I V r c i ] i 1776.— /ETAT. 67. 81 gentlemen, that he would aiter tne epitaph in any manner they pleased, as to the sense of it, but he would never consent to dis- grace the walls of Westminster Abbey, with an English inscription * 1 2 3 4 * . “ I consider this Round Robin as a spe- cies of literary curiosity worth preserving, as it marks, in a certain degree. Dr. John- son’s character.” My readers are presented with a faithful 1 1 anscript of a paper, which 1 doubt not of their being desirous to see. 'E. Gibbon. Jos. Wart on. Edm. Burke. “ We the Circumscribers, having read with ^ f, great pleasure an intended epitaph for the monu- § intht of Dr. Goldsmith; which, considered ab- ^ ”5 stracted'.y, appears to be, for elegant composition, 3 2 and masterly style, in every respect worthy of the » g pen of its learned author ; are yet of opinion, that =: . the character of the deceased as a writer, particu- „ ^ larly as a poet, is, perhaps, not delineated with * , all the exactness which Dr. Johnson is capable ^ « of giving it. We, therefore, with deference to his « ~ superior judgment, humbly request that he would, o i at least, take the trouble of revising it ; and of g" vi making such additions and alterations as he shall 3 pj think proper on a further perusal. But if we S' . might venture to express our wishes, they would 4. lead us to request that he would write the epitaph . in English, rather than in Latin ; as we think the £ "H memory of so eminent an English writer ought to ? c be perpetuated in the language to which his O works are likely to be so lasting an ornament, 2. ^ which we also know to have been the opinion of 5 gj the late doctor himself.’-' 3 W. Forbes. J. Reynolds. William Vachell 5.] Sir William Forbes’s observation is very just. - The anecdote now related proves, in the strongest manner, the reverence and subject; but if he can distinguish a cow from a horse, that, I believe, may be the extent of his knowledge of natural history.” His book is, in- deed, an excellent performance, though in some instances he appears to have trusted too much to Buffifn, who, with all his theoretical inge- nuity and extraordinary eloquence, I suspect had little actual information in the science on which he wrote so admirably. For instance, he tells us that the cow sheds her horns every two years; a most palpable errour, which Goldsmith has faith- fully transferred into his book. It is wonderful that Buffon, who lived so much in the country, at his noble seat, should have fallen mto such a blunder. I suppose he has confounded the cow with the deeTi — Boswell. 1 [See ante , v. i. p. 373, on the subject of English inscriptions to English writers. — Ed.] 2 [See post, sub 3d Oct. 1782 . — Ed.] 3 [There would be no doubt that this was Thomas Franklin, D.D. the translator of Sopho- cles and Lucian, but that the Biog. Diet, and in- deed the Doctor’s own title-pages, spell his name Franck\ in. See post, sub 1780, ad finem. lie died in 1784, set. 63 . — Ed.] 4 [Anthony Charnier, Esq. one of the club, M. P. for Tamworth, and Under-Secretary of State from 1775 till his death, 12 th Oct. 1780. — Ed.] 6 [All that the editor has been able to discover of this gentleman is that he was a friend of Sir Joshua’s, and attended his funeral — Ed.] VOL. 11 . 1 1 awe with which Johnson was regarded, by some of the most eminent men of* his time in various departments, and even by such of them as lived most with him; while it also confirms what I have again and again inculcated, that he was by no means ot that ferocious and irascible character which has been ignorantly imagined 6 . This hasty composition is also to be re- marked as one of the thousand instances which evince the extraordinary promptitude of Mr. Burke; who, while he is equal to the greatest things, can adorn the least: can, with equal facility, embrace the vast and complicated speculations of politicks 01 the ingenious topicks of literary investiga tion 7 . “DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL. “ ieth May, 1776. “ Madam, — You must not think me un civil in omitting to answer the letter with which you favoured me some time ago. I imagined it to have been written without Mr. Boswell’s knowledge, and therefore supposed the answer to require, what 1 could not find, a private conveyance. £C The difference with Lord Auchinleck is ; ■ w over; and since young Alexander ha ; ; appeared, I hope no more difficulties will prise among you; for I sincerely wish you all happy. Do not teach the young ones to dislike me, as you dislike me your- self; but let me at least have Veronica’s kindness, because she is my acquaintance. u You will now have Mr. Boswell home, it is well that you have him; he has led a wild life I have taken him to Lichfield, and he has followed Mr. Thrale to Bath Pray take care of him, and tame him. The only thing in which I have the honour to agree with you is, in loving him; and while we are so much of a mind in a matter of so much importance, our other quarrels will, 1 hope, produce no great bitterness. I am, madam, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “ MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, 25th June, 1776 “ You have formerly complained that my letters were too long. There is no dangei of that complaint being made at present; for I find it difficult for me to write to you at all. [Here an account of having been afflicted with a return of melancholy or bad spirits.] “ The boxes of books 8 which you sent 6 [Most readers would draw a directly contrary conclusion. — Ed.] 7 Besides this Latin epitaph, Johnson honoured the memory of his friend Goldsmith with a shor’ one in Greek. — Boswell. [See ante , v. i. p 478.— Ed.] 8 l pori a settlement of our account of expense* 82 1776.— vETAT. 67. to me are arrived; but I hate not yet ex- amined the contents. * * * * cc I send you Mr. Maclaurin’s paper for the negro who claims his freedom in the court of session.” “DR. JOHNSON TO MR. BOSWELL. “2d July, 1776. “ Dear sir, — These black fits, of which you complain, perhaps hurt your memory as well as your imagination. When did I complain that your letters were too long 1 ? Your last letter, after a very long delay, brought very bad news. [Here a series of reflections upon melancholy, and — what I could not help thinking strangely unreason- able in him who had suffered so much from it himself — a good deal of severity and re- proof, as if it were owing to my own fault, or that I was, perhaps, affecting it from a desire of distinction.] “ Read Cheyne’s ‘ English Malady; 5 but do not let him teach you a foolish notion that melancholy is a proof of acuteness. * # * # * “ To hear that you have not opened your boxes of books is very offensive. The ex- amination and arrangement of so many volumes might have afforded you an amuse- ment very seasonable at present, and useful for the whole of life. I am, I confess, very angry that you manage yourself so ill. * * “ I do not now say any more, than that I am, with great kindness and sincerity, dear sir, your humble servant, c£ Sam. Johnson. cc It was last year determined by Lord Mansfield in the court of king’s bench, that a negro cannot be taken out; of the king- dom without his own consent.” “DR. JOHNSON TO MR. BOSWELL. “ 16th July, 1776. “ Dear sir, — I make haste to write again, lest my last letter should give you too much pain. If you are really oppress- ed with overpowering and involuntary mel- ancholy, you are to be pitied rather than reproached. * # * * “ Now, my dear Bozzy, let us have done with quarrels and with censure. Let me know whether I have not sent you a pretty library. There are, perhaps, many books among them which you never need read through; but there are none which it is not proper for you to know, and sometimes to on a tour to the Hebrides, there was a balance due to me, which Dr. Johnson those to discharge by sending books. — Boswell. 1 Baretti told me that Johnson complained of my writing very long letters to him when I was upon the continent; which was most certainly true; but it seems rny friend did not remember it. — Boswell. consult. Of these books, of which the use is only occasional, it is often sufficient tc know the contents, that, when any ques- tion arises, you may know where to look for information. “ Since I wrote, I have looked over Mi Maclaurin’s plea, and think it excellent. How is the suit carried on? If by sub- scription, I commission you to contribute, in my name, what is proper. Let nothing be wanting in such a case. Dr. Drummond 2 I see, is superseded. His father would have grieved: but he lived to obtain the pleasure of his son’s election, and died be- fore that pleasure was abated. “ Langton’s lady has brought him a, girl, and both are well: I dined with him the other day. * * * * “ It vexes me to tell you, that on the evening of the 29th of May I was seized by the gout, and am not quite well. The pain has not been violent, but the weakness and tenderness were very troublesome; and what is said to be very uncommon, it has not al leviated my other disorders. Make use of youth and health while you have them; make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell. I am, my dear sir, your most affectionate “ Sam. Johnson.” “MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON “Edinburgh, 18th July, 1776. “ My dear sir, — Your letter of the 2d of this month was rather a harsh medicine; but I was delighted with that spontaneous tenderness, which, a few days afterwards, sent forth such balsam as your next brought me. I found myself for some time so ill that all I could do was to preserve a decent appearance, while all within was weakness and distress. Like a reduced garrison that has some spirit left, I hung out flags, and planted all the force I could muster, upon the walls. I am now much better, and I sincerely thank you for your kind attention and friendly counsel. ####*# “ Count Manucci 3 * came here last weex from travelling in Ireland. I have shown him what civilities I could on his account, on yours, and on that of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. He has had a fall from his horse, and been much hurt. I regret this unlucky 2 The son of Johnson's old friend, Mr. Wil- liam Drummond. (See ante , v. i. p. 235, and 459.) He was a young man of such distinguished merit, that he was nominated to one of the medi- cal professorships in the college of Edinburgh, without solicitation, while he was at Naples. Having other views, he did not accept of the honour, and soon afterwards died. — Boswell. 3 A Florentine nobleman, mentioned by John- son in his “ Notes of his Tour in France.” 1 had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with him in London, in the spring of this year. — Boswell. 1776.— JETAT. 67. 33 accident, for he seems to be a very amiable man.” As the evidence of what I have mentioned at ihe beginning c-f this year, I select from his private register the following passage: “ July 25, 1776. O God, who hast or- dained that whatever is to be desired should be sought by labour, and who, by thy bless- ing, bringest honest labour to good effect, look with mercy upon my studies and en- deavours. Grant me, O Lord, to design only what is lawful and right; and afford me calmness of mind, and steadiness of pur- pose, that I may so do thy will in this short life, as to obtain happiness in the world to come, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” It appears from a note subjoined, that this was composed when he “ purposed to apply vigorously to study, particularly of the Greek and Italian tongues.” Such a purpose, so expressed, at the age of sixty-seven, is admirable and encour- aging; and it must impress all the thinking part of my readers with a consolatory con fidence in habitual devotion, when they see a man of such enlarged intellectual powers as Johnson, thus in the genuine earnestness of secrecy, imploring the aid of that Su- preme Being, “ from whom cometh down every good and every perfect gift.” tc T0 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. “ 3d Aug. 1776. cc Sir, — A young man, whose name is Paterson, offers himself this evening to the Academy. He is the son of a man 1 for whom I have long had a kindness, and is now abroad in distress. I shall be glad that you will be pleased to show him any little countenance, or pay him any small dis- tinction. How much it is in your power to favour or to forward a young man I do not know; nor do I know how much this can- didate deserves favour by his' personal mer- it, or what hopes his proficiency may now give of future eminence. I recommend him as the son of my friend. Your character and station enable you to give a young man great encouragement by very easy means. You have heard of a man who asked no other favour of Sir Robert Wal- pole, than that he would bow to him at his levee. — I am, sir, your most humble ser- vant, “Sam. Johnson.” “ MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, Aug. SO, 1776. (After giving him an account of my hav- ing examined the chests of books which he 1 Samuel Paterson, formerly a bookseller, latterly an auctioneer, and well known for his skill in forming catalogues of books. He died in London, Oct. 29, 1802. — Malone. [See ante, v i. p. 292. — Ed ] had sent tome, and which contfined what may be truly called a numerous and miscel laneous stall library, thrown together a. random: — ) “Lord Hailes was against the decree in the case of my client, the minister; not that he justified the minister, but because the parishioner both provoked and retorted. 1 sent his lordship your able argument upon the case for his perusal. His observation upon it in a letter to me was, ‘ Dr. John- son’s Suasorium is pleasantly 2 * and artfully composed. I suspect, however, that he has not convinced himself; for I believe that he is better read in ecclesiastical history, than to imagine that a bishop or a presbyter has a right to begin censure or discipline & cathedra V ###### “ For the honour of Count Manucci, as well as to observe that exactness of truth which you have taught me, I must correct what I said in a former letter. He did not fall from his horse, which might have been an imputation on his skill as an officer of cavalry: his horse fell with him. “ I have, since I saw you, read every word of c Granger s Biographical History.’ It has entertained me exceedingly, and I do not think him the whig that you supposed. Horace Walpole’s being his patron is, in- deed, no good sign of his political principles. But he denied to Lord Mountstuart that he was a whig, and said he had been accused by both parties of partiality. It seems hr was like Pope, — * While tories call me whig, and whigs a tory.’ I wish you would look more into his book; and as Lord Mountstuart wishes much to find a proper person to continue the work upon Granger’s plan, and has desired I •would mention it to you, if such a man oc- curs, please to let me know. His lordship will give him generous encouragement 4 ” “TO MR. ROBERT LEVETT. “ Briglithelmstone, 21st Oct. 1776. “D ear sir, — Having spent about six weeks at this place, we have at length re- 2 Why his lordship uses tke epithet pleasantly, when speaking of a grave piece of reasoning, I cannot conceive. But different men have differ- ent notions of pleasantry. I happened to sit by a gentleman one evening at the Opera-house in London, who, at the moment when Medea ap- peared to be in great agony at the thought of killing her children, turned to me with a smile, and said “ Funny enough.” — Boswell. 3 Dr. Johnson afterwards told me, that he was of opinion that a clergyman had this right. — Bos- well. 4 [Lord Mountstuart, afterwards first Marquis of Bute, had also patronised, in a similar manner. Sir John Hill’s immense “ Vegetable System ” (twenty-six vols. folio!); but Sir John’s widow 84 1776 .— JET AT. b7. solved on returning. I expect tn see you all in Fleet-street on the 30th of this month. “ I did not go into the sea till last Fri- day’ * 1 , but think to go most of this week, though. I know not that it does me any good. My nights are very restless and tiresome, but I am otherwise well. “ I have written word of my coming to Mrs. Williams. Remember me kindly to Francis and Betsey 2 - I am, sir, your hum- ble servant, ;c Sam. Johnson 3 * .” I again wrote to Dr. Johnson on the 21st of Oct., informing him, that my father had, in the most liberal manner, paid a large debt for me, and that I had now the happi- ness of being upon very good terms with him; to which he returned the following answer : “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ Bolt-court, 16th Nov. 1776. “D ear sir, — I had great pleasure in hearing that you are at last on good terms with your father. ' Cultivate his kindness by all honest and manly means. Life is but short: no time can be afforded but for the indulgence of real sorrow, or contests upon questions seriously momentous. Let us not throw away any of our days upon useless resentment, or contend who shall hold out longest in stubborn malignity. It is best not to be angry; and best, in the next place, to be quickly reconciled. May you and your father pass the remainder of your time in reciprocal benevolence! * * ‘ # # # # “Do you ever hear from Mr. Langton? I visit him sometimes, but he does not talk. I do not like his scheme of life; but as I am not permitted to understand it, I cannot set, any thing right that is wrong. His chil- dren are sweet babies. “ I hope my irreconcileable enemy, Mrs. Boswell, is well. Desire her not to trans- mit her malevolence to the young people. published, in 1788, “ An Address to the Public,” in which she alleged that Lord Bute had acted very penuriously in that matter. — E d.] 1 [Johnson was a good swimmer. “ One of the bathing-men at Brighton seeing him swim, said, ‘ Why, sir, you must have been a stout- hearted gentleman forty years ago.’ ** — Piozzi, p. 87 . — Ed.] 2 His female servant. — M alone. 3 Fur this and Dr. Johnson’s other letters to Mr. Levett, I am indebted to my old acquaintance Mr. Nathaniel Thomas, whose worth and inge- nuity have been long known to a respectable though not a wide circle, and whose collection of medals would do credit to persons of greater op- ulence. — Boswell. Mr. Nathaniel Thomas, who was many years editor of the “ St. James’s Clnonicle,” died March 1, 1795 . — Mai I Let me have Alexander, and Veronica, and Euphemia, for my friends. “ Mrs. Williams, whom you may reckon as one of your well-wishers, is in a feeble and languishing state, with little hopes of growing better. She went for some part of the autumn into the country, but is little benefited; and Dr. Lawrence confesses that his art is at an end. Death is, however, at a distance: ana what more than that can we say of ourselves ? I am sorry for hej pain, and more sorry for her decay. Mr Levett is sound, wind and limb. “ I was some weeks this autumn at Brighthelmstone. The place was very dull, and I was not well : the expedition to the Hebrides was the most pleasant journey that I ever made. Such an effort annually would give the world a little diversification. “Every year, however, we cannot wander, and must therefore endeavour to spend our time at home as well as we can. I believe it is best to throw life into a method, that every hour may bring its employment, and every employment have its hour. Xenophon observes, in his ‘ Treatise of (Economy, 5 that if every thing be kept in a certain place, when any thing is worn out or consumed, the vacuity -which it leaves will show what is wanting; so if every part of time has its duty, the hour will call into remembrance its proper engage- ment. “ I have not practised all this prudence myself, but 1 have suffered much for want of it; and I would have you, by timely recollection and steady resolution, escape from those evils which have lain heavy upon me. — I am, my dearest Boswell, your most humble servant, “Sam. Johnson.” On the 16ih of November, I informed him that Mr. Strahan had sent me twelve copies of the “ Journey to the Western Islands,” handsomely bound, instead of the twenty copies which were stipulated, but which, I supposed, were to be only in sheets; requested to know how they should be distributed; and mentioned that I had another son born to me, who was named David, and was a sickly infant. “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “21st Dec. 1776. “ Dear sir, — I have been for some time ill of a cold, which, perhaps, I made an excuse to myself for not writing, when in reality I know not what to say. “ The books you must at last distribute as you think best, in my name, or your own, as you are inclined, or as j t ou judge most proper. Every body cannot be obliged; but I wish that nobody may be offended. Do the best you can. “ I congratulate you on the increase ofyoui 1777.— JETAT. 68. 8$ family, and hope that little David is by this time well, and his mamma perfectly re- covered. I am much pleased to hear of the re-establishment of kindness between you and your father. Cultivate his paternal tenderness as much as you can. To live at variance at all is uncomfortable; and variance with a father is still more uncom- fortable. Besides that, in the whole dis- pute you have the wrong side; at least you gave the first provocations, and some of them very offensive. Let it now be all over. As you have no reason to think that your new mother has shown you any foul play, treat her with respect, and with some degree of confidence; this will secure your father. When once a discordant family has felt the pleasure of peace they will not willingly lose it. , If Mrs. Boswell would but be friends with me, we might now shut the temple of Janus. “ What came of Dr. Memis’s cause? Is the question about the negro determined? Has Sir Allan any reasonable hopes? What is become of poor Macquarry? Let me know the event of all these litigations. I wish particularly well to the negro and Sir Allan. “ Mrs. Williams has been much out of order; and though she is something better, is likely, in her physician’s opinion, to en- dure her malady for life, though she may, perhaps, die of some other. Mrs. Thrale is big, and fancies that she carries a boy: if it were very reasonable to wish much about it, I should wish her not to be disappointed. The desire of male heirs is not appendant only to feudal tenures. A son is almost necessary to the continuance of Thrale’s fortune; for what can misses do with a brew-house ? Lands are fitter for daughters than trades. “ Baretti went away from Thrale’s in some whimsical fit of disgust, or ill-nature, without taking any leave. It is well if he finds in any other place as good an habita- tion, and as many conveniences. He has got five-and- twenty, guineas by translating Sir Joshua’s Discourses into Italian, and Mr. Thrale gave him an hundred in the spring; so that he is yet in no difficulties. “ Colman has bought Foote’s patent, and is to allow Foote for life sixteen hun- dred pounds a year, as Reynolds told me, and to allow him to play so often on such terms that he may gain four hundred pounds more. What Colman can get by this bargain i, but trouble and hazard, I da not see. — I am, dear sir, your humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” 1 It turned out, however, a very fortunate bar- gain; for Foote, though not then fifty-six, died at an inn in Dover, in less than a year, October 21st, 1777.— Malowe. The Reverend Dr. Hugh Biair, who had long been admired as a preacher at Edin- burgh, thought now of diffusing his excel- lent sermons more extensively, and increas- ing his reputation, by publishing a collec- tion of them. He transmitted the manu- script to Mr. Strahan, the printer, who, after keeping it for some time, wrote a let- ter to him, discouraging the publication. Such at first was the unpropitious state of one of the most successful theological books that has ever appeared. Mr. Strahan, however, had sent one of the sermons to Dr. Johnson for his opinion: and after his unfavourable letter to Dr. Blair had been sent off, he received from John^pn, on Christmas-eve, a note in which was the following paragraph: “ I have read over Dr. Blair’s first sermon with more than approbation: to say it is good, is to say too little.” I believe Mr. Strahan had very soon after this time a conversation with Dr. Johnson concerning them; and then he very candid- ly wrote again to Dr. Blair, enclosing Johnson’s note, and agreeing to purchase the volume, for which he and Mr. Cadell gave one hundred pounds. The sale was so rapid and extensive, and the approbation of the public so high, that, to their honour be it recorded, the pioprietors made Dr. Blair a present first of one sum, and after- wards of another, of fifty pounds, thus vol- untarily doubling the stipulated price; and, when he prepared another volume, they gave him at once three, hundred pounds, being in all five hundred pounds, by an agreement to which I am a subscribing wit- ness; and now for a third octavo volume he has received no less than six hundred pounds. In 1777 [he began the year with ed. a serious indisposition. The follow- ing letter affords a strong proof of his anxiety for society, and the effort he would make, even over disease, to enjoy it.] [“TO MRS. THRALE. “ Wednesday, 15th January, 1 in the morning, 1777. “ Omnium rerum vicissiiudo ! The Lett, night after 'ast Thursday w r as so v.i. p bad that I took ipecacuanha the next 343 ‘ day. The next night was no better. On Saturday I dined with Sir Joshua. The night was such as 1 was forced to rise and pass some hours in a chair, wdth great la- bour of respiration. I found it now time to do something, and went to Dr. Law- rence, and told him I would do what he should order, without reading the prescrip- tion. He sent for a chirurgeon, and took about twelve ounces of blood, and in the afternoon I got sleep in a chair. “ At night, when I came to lie down, after trial of an hour or two, I found sleep 86 1776.— ^ETAT. 67. Impracticable, and ti erefore did what the doctor permitted in a case of distress; I rose, and opening the orifice, let out about ten ounces more. Frank and I were but awk- ward; but, with Mr. Levett’s help, we stopped the stream, and I lay down again, though to little purpose; the difficulty of treathing allowed no rest. I slept again m the daytime, in an erect posture. The doctor has ordered me a second bleeding, which I hope will set my breath at liberty. Last night I could lie but a little at a time. “Yet I do not make it a matter of much form. I was to-day at Mrs. Gardiner’s. When I have bled to-morrow, I will not give up Langton nor Paradise. But I beg that you will fetch me away on Friday. I do not know but clearer air may do me good; but whether the air be clear or dark *et me come to you. — I am, &c. “ * To sleep, or not to sleep — .’ ”] It appears from his “ Prayers and Medi- tations,” that Johnson suffered much from a state of mind “ unsettled and perplexed,” and from that constitutional gloom, which, together with his extreme humility and anxiety with regard to his religious state, made him contemplate himself through too dark and unfavourable a medium. It may be said of him, that he “ saw God in clouds.” Certain we may be of his injustice to him- self in the following lamentable paragraph, which it is painful to think came from the contrite heart of this great man, to whose labours the world is so much indebted : “ When I survey my past life, I discover nothing but a barren waste of time, with some disorders of body, and disturbances of the mind very near to madness, which I hope He that made me will suffer to exten- uate many faults, and excuse many defi- ciencies.” But we find his devotions in this year emi- nently fervent; and we are comforted by observing intervals of quiet, composure, and gladness. On Easter-day we find the following em- phatick prayer: “'Almighty and most merciful Father, who seest all our miseries, and knowest all our necessities, look down upon me and pity me. Defend me from the violent in- cursion of evil thoughts, and enable me to form and keep such resolutions as may con- duce to the discharge of the duties which thy providence shall appoint me; and so help me, by thy Holy Spirit, that my heart mav surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found, and that I may serve thee with pure affection and a cheerful mind. Have mercy upon me, O God, have mercy upon me! Years and infirmities oppress me; terrour and anxiety beset me. Have mer( y upon me, my Creator and my Judge ! [In all dangers protect me 1 ;] in all per- plexities relieve and free me; and so help me by thy Holy Spirit, that I may now so commemorate the death of thy Son our Saviour Jesus Christ, as that, when this short and painful life shall have an end, I ; may, for his sake, be received to everlasting happiness. Amen.” While he was at church, the agreeable impressions upon his mind are thus com- memorated : “ On Easter-day I was at church ear.y, and there prayed over my prayer, and com- mended Tetty and my other friends. I was for some time much distressed, ^but at last obtained, I hope, from the God of Peace, more quiet than I have enjoyed for a long time. I had made no resolution, but as my heart grew lighter, my hopes revived, and my courage increased; and I wrote with my pencil in my Common Praye* Book, Vita ordinanda. Biblia legenda. Theologiae opera danda. Serviendum et laetandum. “ I then went to the altar, having, I be lieve, again read my prayer. I then wen to the table and communicated, praying for some time afterwards, but the particu- lar matter of my prayer I do not remember. “ I dined, by an appointment, with Mrs Gardiner, and passed the afternoon with such calm gladness of mind as it is very long since I felt before. I came home, and began to read the Bible. I passed the night in such sweet uninterrupted sleep as I have not known ^ since I slept at Fort Augustus. “ On Monday I dined with Sheward, on Tuesday with Paradise. The mornings bave been devoured by company, and one intrusion has, through the whole week, succeeded to another. “ At the beginning of the year I pro- posed to myself a scheme of life, and a plan of study; but neither life has been rec- tified, nor study followed. Days and months pass in a dream; and I am afraid that my memory grows less tenacious, and my observation less attentive. If I am de- caying, it is time to make haste. My nights are restless and tedious, and my days drow T sy. The flatulence which torments me has sometimes so obstructed my breath, that the act of respiration became not only voluntary but laborious in a decumbent posture. By copious bleeding I was re- lieved, but not cured. “ I have this year omitted church on most Sundays, intending to supply the de- ficience in the week. So that 1 owe twelve 1 [These words are in the original. — H all.] 1777.— yETAT. 68. 87 attendances on worshi} . I will make no more such superstitious stipulations, which entangle the mind with unbidden obliga- tions.” Pioz-'i [It was about this time 1 that Mrs. p.Tle’ Thrale, who had just recovered from ,27 - illness and confinement, went into his room in the morning of her birthday, and said to him, “ Nobody sends me any verses now, because lam five-and-thirty years old; and Stella was fed with them till forty-six, I remember.” Upon which he burst out suddenly, without the least previous hesita- tion, 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 hours 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. t; 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 ob- serve that the rhymes run in alphabetical order exactly.” Ancl so they do. Dr. Johnson did indeed possess an almost Tus- Hawk. can P ower of improvisation.] [He Apoph. was much pleased with the Italian p. 205. 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, Isaac Hawkins Browne had endeavoured at it in English, but could not get beyond thir- ty verses.] Mr. Steevens, whose generosity is well known, joined Dr. Johnson in kind assis- tance to a female relation of Dr. Goldsmith, and desired that on her return to Ireland she would procure authentick particulars of the life of her celebrated relation. Concern- ing her is the following letter: “TO GEORGE STEEVENS, ESQ,. “ 25th February, 1777. “ Dear sir, — You will be glad to hear that from Mrs. Goldsmith, whom we la- 1 [The editor doubts whether this extract should not be placed under the year 1779. See post. Sept. 9th, 1779, note.— Ed.] mented as drowned, I have received a letter full of gratitude to us all, with promise to make the inquiries which we recommended to her. “ I would have had the honour of convey- ing this intelligence to Miss Caulfield, but that her letter is not at hand, and I know not the direction. You will tell the good news. — I am, sir, your most, &c. “ Sam. Johnson ” “MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “Edinburgh, I4tli February, 1777. “ My dear sir, — My state of epistolary accounts with you at present is extraordina- ry. The balance, as to number, is on your side. I am indebted to you for two letters: one dated the 16th of November, upon which very day I wrote to you, so that our letters were exactly exchanged; and one dated the 21st of December last. “ My heart was warmed with gratitude by the truly kind contents of both of them ; and it is amazing and vexing that I have allowed so much time to elapse without writing to you. But delay is inherent in me, by nature or by bad habit. I waited till I should have an opportunity of paying you my compliments on a new year. I have procrastinated till the year is no longer new. ***** “ Dr. Memis’s cause was determined against him, with 40/. costs. The lord pre- sident, and two other of the judges, dissent- ed from the majbrity upon this ground: that although there may have been no in- tention to injure him by calling him doctor of medicine , instead of physician , yet, as he remonstrated against the designation be- fore the charter was printed off, and repre- sented that it was disagreeable, and even hurtful to him, it was ill-natured to refuse to alter it, and let him have the designation to which he was certainly entitled. My own opinion is, that our court has judged wrong. The defendants were in maid fide, to persist in naming him in a way that he dis- liked. You remember poor Goldsmith, when he grew important, and wished to ap- pear Doctor Major 1 could not bear your calling him Goldy. Would it not have been wrong to have named him so in your ‘ Preface to Shakspeare, 5 or in any serious permanent writing of any sort? The diffi- culty is, whether an action should be allow- ed on such petty wrongs. De minimis non curat lex. “ The negro cause is not yet decided. A memorial is preparing on the side of slavery, I shall send you a copy as soon as it is print- ed. Maclaurin is made happy by your ap- probation of his memorial lor the black. “ Macquarry was here in the winter, and 2 See ante, vol. i. p. 353 — Ed ] 38 1777. — iETAT 68. we passed an evening together. The sale of his estate cannot be prevented. “ Sir Allan Maclean’s suit against the Duke of Argyle, for recovering the ancient inheritance of his family, is now fairly be- fore all our judges. I spoke for him yester- day, and Maclaurin to-day; Crosbie spoke to-day against him. Three more counsel are to be heard, and next week the cause will be determined. I send you the infor- mations, or cases, on each side, which I hope you will read. You said to me when we were under Sir Allan’s hospitable roof, c I will help you with my pen. 5 You said it with a generous glow; and though his Grace of Argyle did afterwards mount you upon an excellent horse, upon which ‘ you looked like a bishop,’ you must not swerve from your purpose at Inchkenneth. I wish you may understand the points at issue, amidst our Scotch law principles and phrases.” Here followed a full state of the case, in which I endeavoured to make it as clear as I could to an Englishman who had no know- ledge of the formularies and technical lan- guage of the law of Scotland. “ I shall inform you how the cause is de- cided here. But as it may be brought un- der the review of our judges, and is cer- tainly to be carried by appeal to the house of lords, the assistance of such a mind as yours will be of consequence. Your paper on Vicious Intromission »is a noble proof of what you can do even in Scotch law. ****** “ I have not yet distributed all your books. Lord Hailes and Lord Monboddo have each received one, and return you thanks. Mon- boddo dined with me lately, and having drank tea, we were a good while by our- selves; and as I knew that he had read the *' Journey 5 superficially, as he did not talk of it as i wished, I brought it to him, and read aloud several passages; and then he talked so, that I told him he was to have a copy from the authour. He begged that might be marked on it. * * * * * “ I ever am, my dear sir, your most faith- ful and affectionate humble servant, “ James Boswell.” “ SIR ALEXANDER DICK TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Prestonfield, 17th February, 1777. “ Sir, — I had yesterday the honour of receiving your book of your c Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland,’ which you was so good as to send me, by the hands of our mutual friend, Mr. Boswell, of Auch- inleck; for which I return you my most hearty thanks; and, after carefully reading t ove again, shall deposit it in my little collection of choice books, next our worthy friend’s ‘ Journey to Corsica. 5 As there are many things to admire in both perfor- mances, I have often wished that no travels or journey should be published but those undertaken by persons of integrity, and ca- pacity to judge well and describe faithfully, and in good language, the situation, condi tion, and manners of the countries passed through. Indeed, our country of Scotland, in spite of the union of the crowns, is still in most places so devoid of clothing or cov er from hedges and plantations, that it was well you gave your readers a sound rnoni toire wiih respect to that circumstance The truths you have told, and the purity ot the language, in which they are expressed, as your c Journey 5 is universally read, may, and already appear to have a very good effect. For a man of my acquaintance, who has the largest nursery for trees and hedges in this country, tells me, that of late the demand upon him for these articles is doubled, and sometimes tripled. I have, therefore, listed Dr. Samuel Johnson in some of my memorandums of the principal planters and favourers of the enclosures, under a name which I took the liberty to invent from the Greek Papadendrion Lord Auchinleck and some few more are of the list. I am told that one gentleman ir the shire of Aberdeen, viz. Sir Archibald Grant, has planted above fifty millions of trees on a piece of very wild ground ai Monimusk: I must inquire if he has fenced them well, before he enters my list; foi that is the soul of enclosing. I began my self to plant a little, our ground being too valuable for much, and that is now fifty years ago; and the trees, now in my seven- ty-fourth year, I look up to with reverence, and show them to my eldest son, now in his fifteenth year; and they are the full height of my country-house here, where I had the pleasure of receiving you, and hope again to have that satisfaction with our mutual friend, Mr. Boswell. I shall always continue, with the ti uest esteem, dear Doctor, your much obliged and obedient humble servant, “Alexander Dick V* “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “18th February, 1777. “ Dear sir, — It is so long since I heard any thing from you 1 2 , that 1 am not easy about it; write something to me next post. When you sent your last letter, every thing seemed to be mending; I hope nothing has 1 For a character of this very amiable man, see ante , vol. i. p. 336, and the Biographical Dic- tionary. He died in 1785. — Boswell. 2 By the then course of the post, my long let ter of the 14th had not yet reached him. — Bos- well * 1777. — /ETAT. 68. 89 .ately grown worse. I suppose young Alexander continues to thrive, and Veron- ica is now very pretty company. I do not suppose the lady is yet reconciled to me; yet let ner know that I love her very well, and value her very much. “Dr Blair is printing some sermons. If they are all like the first, which I have read, they are sermones aurei, ac auro magis aurei. It is excellently written, both as to doctrine and language. Mr. Watson’s book 1 seems to he much esteemed. ****** “ Poor Beauclerk still continues very ill. Langton lives on as he used to do. His children are very pretty, and, I think, his lady loses her Scotch 2 . Paoli I never see. “ I have been so distressed by difficulty of breathing, that I lost, as was computed, six-and-thirty ounces of blood in a few days. I am better, but not well. “ I wish you would be vigilant and get me Graham’s c Telemachus,’ that was printed at Glasgow, a very little book; and ‘ Johnstoni Poemata 3 ,’ another little book, printed at Mkldleburgh. “ Mrs. Williams sends her compliments, and promises that when you come hither she will accommodate you as well as ever she can in the old room. She wishes to know whether you sent her book to Sir Alexander Gordon. “ My dear Boswell, do not neglect to write to me; for your kindness is one of the pleasures of my life, which I should be sorry to lose. I am, sir, your humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “to DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, 24th February, 1777. “Dear sir, — Your letter dated the 18th instant, I had the pleasure to receive last post. Although my late long neglect, or rather delay, was truly culpable, I am tempt- ed not to regret it, since it has produced me so valuable a proof of your regard. I did, indeed, during that inexcusable silence, sometimes divert the reproaches of my own mind, by fancying that I should hear again from you, inquiring with some anxiety about me, because, for aught you knew, I might have been ill. “You are pleased to show me that my kindness is of some consequence to you. My heart is elated at the thought. Be assured, my dear sir, that my affection and reverence for you are exalted and steady. I do not believe that a more perfect attach- ment ever existed in the history of man- 1 History of Philip the Second. — Boswell. 2 [Lady Rothes was a native of England, but »he had lived long in Scotland, and never, it is said, entirely lost the accent she had acquired there. — Ei>.] 3 [See ante , vol. i. p. 353. — Ed.] VOL II 12 kind. And it is a noble attachment, for the attractions are genius, learning, and piety. “Your difficulty of breathing alarms me, and brings into my imagination an event, which, although, in the natural course of things, I must expect at some period, I cannot view with composure. * * * * # * “ My wife is much honoured by what you say of her. She begs you may accept of her best compliments. She is to send you some marmalade of oranges cf her own making. ***** * “I ever am, my dear sir, your most obliged and faithful humble servant, “James Boswell.” [“ DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. ASTON “ Bolt-court, Fleet-street, 8th March, 177 “ Dear madam, — As we pass on through the journey of life, we meet, and ought to expect, many unpleas- ing occurrences, but many likewise encoun- ter us unexpected. I have this morning heard from Lucy of your illness. I heard indeed in the next sentence that you are to a great degree recovered. May your re- covery, dearest madam, be complete and lasting ! The hopes of paying you the annual visit is one of the few solaces with which my imagination gratifies me, and my wish is, that I may find you happy. “ My health is much broken ; my nights are very restless, and will not be made more comfortable by remembering that one of the friends whom I value most is suffering equally with myself. “ Be pleased, dearest lady, to let me know how you are ; and if writing be trouble- some, get dear Mrs. Gastrell to write for you. I hope she is well and able to assist you ; and wish that you may so well recover, as to repay her kindness, if she should want you. May you both live long happy together ! I am, dear madam, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.. “ 14th March, 1777. “ De\r sir, — I have been much pleased with your late letter, and am glad that my old enemy, Mrs Boswell, begins to feel some remorse. As to Miss Veronica’s Scotch, I think it cannot be helped. An English maid you might easily have ; but she would still imitate the greater number, as they would be likewise those whom she must most respect. Her dialect will not be gross. Her mamma has not much Scotch, and you have yourself very little. 1 hope she knows my name, and does not call me Johnston . 4 4 Johnson is the mast common English forino- 90 1777.— /ET AT. 68. ► “ The immediate cause of my writing is this : One Shaw, who seems a modest and a decent man, b&*r written an Erse Gram- mar, which a very learned Hig] dander, Macbean, has. ai my request, examined and approved. “ The hook is wiry little, but Shaw has been persuade 1 by his friends to set it at half a guinea, though I advised only a crown, and thought myself liberal. You, whom the authour considers as a great encourager of ingenious men, will receive a parcel of his proposals and receipts. 1 have undertaken to give you notice of them, and to solicit your countenance You must ask no poor man, because the price is really too high. Yet such a work deserves patronage. “It is proposed to augment our club from twenty to thirty, of which I am glad; for as we have several in it whom I do not much like to consort with t, I am for redu- cing it to a mere miscellaneous collection of conspicuous men, without any determinate character. ***** I am, dear sir, most affectionately yours, “ Sam. Johnson. ‘ My respects to madam, to Veronica, to Alexander, to Euphemia, to David.” [ “ TO MRS. ASTON. “ 15th March, 1777. “ Dearest madam, — The letter with Pemb. w h; c h i was favoured, by the kind- ness of Mrs. Gastrell, has contributed very little to quiet my solicitude. I am in- deed more frighted than by Mrs. Porter’s account. Yet since you have had strength to conquer your disorder so as to obtain a partial recovery, I think it reasonable to believe, that the favourable season which is now coming forward may restore you to your former health. Do not, dear madam, lose your courage, nor by despondence or inactivity give way to the disease. Use such exercise as you can bear, and excite cheerful thoughts in your own mind. Do not harass your faculties with laborious at- tention : nothing is, in my opinion, of more mischievous tendency in a state of body like yours, than deep meditation or perplexing solicitude. Gaiety is a duty, when health requires it. Entertain yourself as you can with small amusements or light conversa- tion, and let nothing but your devotion ever make you serious. But while I exhort you, my dearest lady, to merriment, I am very tion of the surname from John ; Johnsfow the Scotch. My illustrious friend observed that many North Britons pronounced his name in their own way — Boswell. 1 On account of their differing from him as to religion and politicks. — Boswell. [Messrs. Burke, Beauclerk, Fox, &c. It was about this *ime that Mr. Sheridan, Lord Upper-Ossory, Dr. Marlay, and Mr. Dunning were admitted. — E d.] serious myself. The loss or dangei of a friend is not to be considered with indiffer- ence ; but I derive some consolation from the thought, that you do not languish unat- tended; that you are not in the hands of strangers or servants, but have a sister at hand to watch your wants and supply them. If, at this distance, I can be of any use, by consulting physicians, or for any other pur- pose, I hope you will employ me. I have thought on a journey to Staffordshire; and hope, in a few weeks, to climb Stow Hill, and to find there the pleasure which I have so often found. Let me hear again from you. I am, dear madam, your most hum ble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] “MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “ Edinburgh, 4th April, 1777. After informing him of the death of my little son David, and that I could not come to London this Spring : “ I think it hard that I should be a whole year without seeing you. May I presume to petition for a meeting with you in the autumn ? You have, I believe, seen all the cathedrals in England, except that of- Car- lisle. If you are to be with Dr. Taylor, at Ashbourne, it would not be a great journey to come thither. We may pass a few most agreeable days there by ourselves, and I will accompany you a good part of the way to the southward again. Pray think of this. “ You forget that Mr. Shaw’s Erse Gram- mar was put into your hands by myself last year. Lord Eglintoune put it into mine. I am glad that Mr. Macbean approves of it. I have received Mr. Shaw’s proposals for its publication, which I can perceive are written by the hand of a master. * * * “Pray get for me all the editions of ‘Walton’s Lives.’ I have a notion that the republication of them with notes will fall upon me, between Dr. Horne and Lord Hailes 2 .” Mr. Shaw’s proposals f for an “Analysis of the Scotch Celtic Language ” were thus illuminated by the pen of Johnson : “ Though the Erse dialect of the Celtic language has, from the earliest times, been spoken in Britain, and still subsists in the northern parts and adjacent islands, yet, by the negligence of a people rather warlike than lettered, it has hitherto been left to the caprice and judgment of every speaker, and has floated in the living voice, without the 2 None of the persons here mentioned executed the work which they had in contemplation. Walton's valuable book, however, has been cor- rectly republished in quarto and octavo, with notes and illustrations by the Rev. Mr. Zouch. — Ma- lone. [It was also printed at the Clarendon press, in 1805, in two volumes, l2mo., and one vol. 8vo., 1S24. — Hall.] 1777— iETAT. 68. 91 steadiness of analogy, or direction of rules. An Erse grammar is an addition to the stores of literature; and its authour hopes for the indulgence always shown to those that attempt to do what was never done be- fore. If his work shall be found defective, it is at least all his own : he is not like other grammarians, a compiler or transcriber ; what he delivers, he has learned by atten- tive observation among his countrymen, who perhaps will be themselves surprised to see that speech reduced to principles, which they have used only by imitation. “ The use of this book will, however, not be confined to the mountains and islands : it will afford a pleasing and important sub- ject of speculation to those whose studies lead them to trace the affinity of languages, and the migrations of the ancient races of mankind.” CC T0 DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Glasgow, 24th April, 1777. “ My dear sir, — Our worthy friend Thrale’s death having appeared in the news- papers, and been afterwards contradicted, I have been placed in a state of very unea- sy uncertainty, from which I hoped to be relieved by you : but my hopes have as yet been vain. How could you omit to write to me on such an occasion ? I shall wait with anxiety. “ I am going to Auchinleck to stay a fortnight with my father. It is better not to be there very long at one time. But fre- quent renewals of attention are agreeable to him. “ Pray tell me about this edition of c Eng- ish Poets, with a Preface, biographical and critical, to each Authour, by Samuel John- son, LL. D.’ which I see advertised. 1 am delighted with the prospect of it. Indeed 1 am happy to feel that I am capable of be- ing so much delighted with literature. But is not the charm of this publication chiefly owing to the magnum nomen in the front of it ? “ What do you say of Lord Chesterfield’s Memoirs and last Letters 1 ? “ My wife has made marmalade of oran- ges for you. I left her and my daughters and Alexander all well yesterday. I have taught Veronica to speak of you thus ; Dr. Johnson, not Johnson. — I remain, my dear sir, your most affectionate, and obliged humble servant, “James Boswell.” “to JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “ 3d May, 1777. “ Dear sir, — The story of Mr. Thrale’s death, as he had neither been sick nor in 1 [Dr. Maty’s posthumous edition of the Me- moirs and Miscellaneous Works of Lord Chester- field, published by Mr. Justamond early in 1777. — Ed.1 any other danger, made so .ittle impression upon me, that I never thought about obvi- ating its effects on any body else. It is sup- posed to have been produced by the Eng- lish custom 2 of making April fools, that is, of sending one another on some foolish er- rand on the first of April. • “ Tell Mrs. Boswell that I shall taste her marmalade cautiously at first. Timeo Da - naos et dona ferentes. Beware, says the Italian proverb, of a reconciled enemy. But when I find it does me no harm, I shall then receive it, and be thankful for it as a pledge of firm, and, I hope, of unalterable kindness. She is, after all, a dear, dear lady. “ Please to return Dr. Blair thanks for his sermons. The Scotch write English wonderfully well. * * * *. * # “ Your frequent visits to Auchinleck, and your short stay there, are very laudable and very judicious. Your present concord with your father gives me great pleasure; it was all that you seemed to want. “ My health is very bad, and my nights are very unquiet. What can I do to mend them ? I have for this summer nothing bet- ter in prospect than a journey into Staffoiid shire and Derbyshire, perhaps with Oxford and Birmingham in my way. “ Make my compliments to Miss Veroni ca; I must leave it to her philosophy to comfort you for the loss of little David. You must remember, that to keep three out of four is more than your share. Mrs Thrale has but four out of eleven. “ I am engaged to write little Lives, and little Prefaces, to a little edition of the Eng lish Poets. I think I have persuaded tht booksellers to insei;t something of Thomson and if you could give me some information about him, for the life which we have is very scanty, I should be glad. — I am, dear sir, your most affectionate humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” To those who delight in tracing the pro gress of works of literature, it will be an entertainment to compare the limited de- sign with the ample execution of that ad mirable performance, “ The Lives of the English Poets,” which is the richest, most beautiful, and indeed most perfect, produc- tion of Johnson’s pen. His notion of it at this time appears in the preceding letter He has a memorandum in this year: “ 29th May, Easter-eve, I treated with booksellers on a bargain, but the time was not long.” The bargain was concerning that, under- taking; but his tender conscience seems 2 [Not merely an English custom — the French have the same; but what we call April fools they term “ poisson d’Avxil.” — E d.] 92 1777.— ^ETAT. 68. alarmed, lest it should have intruded too much on his devout preparation for the so- lemnity of the ensuing day. But, indeed, very little time was necessary for Johnson’s concluding a treaty with the bookseller; as he had, I believe, less attention to profit from his labours, than any man to whom literature has been a profession. I shall- here insert, from a letter to me from my late worthy friend Mr. Edward Dilly, though of a Later date, an account of this plan so hap- pity conceived, since it was the occasion of procuring for us an elegant collection' of the best biography and criticism of which our language can boast. {C TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ Southill, 26th Sept. 1777. “ Dear sir, — You find by this letter, that I am still in the same calm retreat, from the noise and bustle of London, as when I wrote to you last. I am happy to find you had such an agreeable meeting with your old friend Dr. Johnson; I have no doubt your stock is much increased by the interview; few men, nay, I may say, scarcely any man has got that fund of knowledge and enter- tainment as Dr. Johnson in conversation. When he opens freely, every one is atten- tive to what he says, and cannot fail of im- provement as well as pleasure. “ The edition of the poets, now printing, will do honour to the English press; and a concise account of the life of each authour, by Dr. Johnson, will be a very valuable ad- dition, and stamp the reputation of this edi- tion superiour to any thing that is gone be- fore. The first cause that gave rise to this undertaking, 1 believe, was owing to the little trifling edition of the poets, printing by the Martins at Edinburgh, and to be sold by Bell in London. Upon examining the volumes which were printed, the type was found so extremely small, that many persons could notread them: not only this incon- venience attended it, but the inaccuracy of the press was very conspicuous. These reasons, as well as the idea of an invasion of what we call our Literary Property, induced the London booksellers to print an ele- gant and accurate edition of all the English poets of reputation, from Chaucer to the present time. “ Accordingly a select number of the most respectable booksellers met on the occasion : and, on consulting together, agreed, that all the proprietors of copyright in the various poets should be summoned together; and when their opinions were given, to proceed immediately on the business. Accordingly a meeting was held, consisting of about lbrty of the most respectable booksellers of Lon- don, when it was agreed that an elegant and uniform edition of ‘ The English Poets 5 should be immediately printed, with a con- cise account of the life of each authour n\ Dr. Samuel Johnson; and that three pe sons should be deputed to wait upon D> Johnson, to solicit him to undertake the Lives; viz. T. Davies, Strahan, and Cadell The Doctor very politely undertook it, and seemed exceedingly pleased with the propo- sal. As to the terms, it was left entirely to the Doctor to name his own; he mentioned two hundred guineas 1 ; it w T as immediately agreed to; and a farther compliment, I be lieve, will be made him. A committee wai likewise appointed to engage the best en- gravers, viz. Barlolozzi, Sherwin, Hall, &c. Likewise another committee for giving di- rections about the paper, printing, &c. ; so that the whole will be conducted with spirit, and in the best manner, with respect to au- thorship, editorship, engravings, &c. &c. My brother will give you a list of the poets we mean to give, many of which are within the time of the Act of Queen Anne, which Martin and Bell cannot give, as they have no property in them: the proprietors are almost all the booksellers in London, of con- sequence. — I am, dear sir, ever yours, “Edward Dilly.” I shall afterwards have occasion to consi- der the extensive and varied range which Johnson took, when he was once led upon ground which he trod with a peculiar de- light, having long been intimately acquaint- ed with all the circumstances ofit that could interest and please. “ DR. JOHNSON TO CHARLES O’CONNOR, ESQ. 2 . “ 19th May, 1777 “ Sir, — Having had the pleasure of con- versing with Dr. Campbell about your char- 1 Johnson's moderation in demanding so small a sum is extraordinary. Had he asked one thou- sand, or even fifteen hundred guineas, the book- sellers, who knew the value of his name, would doubtless have readily given it. They have prob- ably got five thousand guineas by this work in the course of twenty-five years. — Malone. [It must be recollected that Johnson at first intended very short prefaces — he afterwards expanded his design. — Ed.] 2 Mr. Joseph Cooper Walker, of the treasury, Dublin, who obligingly communicated to me this and a former letter from Dr. Johnson to the same gentleman (for which see vol. i. p. 139), writes to me as follows: — Perhaps it would gratify you to have some account of Mr. O'Connor. He is an amiable, learned, venerable old gentleman, of an independent fortune, who lives at Belanagar, in the county of Roscommon: he is an admired writer, and member of the Irish Academy. The above letter is alluded to in the preface to the second edition of his * Dissert.’ p. 3.” Mr. O’Con nor afterwards died at the age of eighty-two, July 1, 1791. See a well-drawn character of him in 1777.— AETAT. 68. 93 ftcter and jour literacy undertaking-, I am resolved to gratify myself by renewing a cor- respondence which began and ended a great while ago, and ended, I am afraid, by my fault, a fault which, if you have not forgot- ten it, you must now forgive. “ If I have ever disappointed you, give me leave to tell you that you have likewise disappointed me. I expected great discov- eries in Irish antiquity, and large publica- tions in the Irish language; but the world still remains as it was, doubtful and igno- rant. What the Irish language is in itself, and to what languages it has affinity, are very interesting questions, which every man wishes to see resolved that has any philological or historical curiosity. Dr. De- land begins his history too late: the ages which deserve an exact inquiry are those times (for such there were *) when Ireland was the school of the west, the quiet habita- tion of sanctity and literature. If you could give a history, though imperfect, of the Irish nation, from its conversion to Chris- tianity to the invasion from England, you would amplify knowledge with new views and new objects. Set about it, therefore, if you can : do what you can easily do with- out anxious exactness. Lay the foundation, and leave the superstructure to posterity. — I am, sir, your humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” Early in this year came out, in two vol- umes quarto, the posthumous works of the learned Dr. Zachary Pearce, bishop of Rochester; being “A Commentary, with Notes, on the four Evangelists and the Acts of the Apostles,” with other theological pieces. Johnson had now an opportunity of making a grateful return to that excellent prelate * 1 2 , who, we have seen, was the only the “ Gentleman’s Magazine” for August, 1791. — Boswell. 1 [In Anderson’s “ Sketches of the Native Irish,” p. 5. ed. 1828, there is on these words, “ for such there were,” the following note: “These words were misquoted by Dr. Campbell in his strictures, ‘ if such there were,’ although he was actually the bearer of the letter to O’Connor.” The editor confesses that Dr. Campbell’s reading seems the more probable of the two. — Ed.] 2 [Mrs. Thrale, in one of her letters, repeats a curious anecdote of this prelate, which she proba- bly had from Dr. Johnson himself: “We will act as Dr. Zachary Pearce, the famous bishop of j Rochester, did, when he lost the wife he so much loved — call for one glass to the health of her who is departed never more to return, and then go quietly back to the usual duties of life, and for- bear to mention her again from that time to the last day of it.” — Lett. 2. p. 213. But he sur- vived his lady but a few months, and his death was (if not occasioned) certainly accelerated by her less. She died 23d Oct. 1773, and he 29th June, 1774. after a union of fifty-one years. — Ed.] person who gave him any assistance in the compilation of his dictionary. The bishop had left some account of his life and charac- ter, written by himself. To this Johnson made some valuable additions f, and also furnished to the editor, the Rev. Mr. Der by 3 , a dedication f, which I shall here insert; both because it will appear at this time with peculiar propriety, and because it will tend to propagate and increase that “ fervour of loyalty ,” which in me, who boast of th< name of tory, is not only a principle, but o passion. “to the king. “ Sir, — I presume to lay before your ma jesty the last labours of a learned bishop, who died in the toils and duties of his cal) ing. He is now beyond the reach of a f earthly honours and rewards; and only th hope of inciting others to imitate him, makes it now fit to be remembered, that h' enjoyed in his life the favour of you.* majesty. “The tumultuary life of princes seldon permits them to survey the wide extent o 1 national interest, without losing sight of private mgrit; to exhibit qualities which maybe imitated by the highest and the hum blest of mankind; and to be at once amia ble and great. cc Such characters, if now and then the] appear in history, are contemplated with admiration. May it be the ambition of a! your subjects to make haste with their tri bute of reverence! and as posterity may learn from your majesty how kings should live, may they learn likewise from your peo- ple how they should be honoured! — I am, may it please your, majesty, with the most profound respect, your majesty’s most duti- ful and devoted subject and servant.” In the summer he wrote a prologue* which was spoken before “ A Word to the Wise,” a comedy by Mr. Hugh Kelly, which had been brought upon the stage in 1770; but he being a writer for ministry in one of the newspapers, it fell a sacrifice to popular fury, and in the playhouse phrase, was damned. By the generosity of Mr. Harris, the proprietor of Covent-garden theatre, it was now exhibited for one night, for the benefit of the authour’s widow and children. To conciliate the favour of the audience was the intention of Johnson’s j prologue, which, as it is not long, I shall here insert, as a proof that his poetical ta- lents were in no degree impaired. 3 [Died Gth Oct. 1778, the Rev. J. Der- by, A. M. rector of Southfleet and Longfield in Kent, and one of the six preachers in Canterbury Cathedral. — Gent. Mag. lie had married B ; shop Pearce’s niece. Johnson in a letter to Ml. Thrale, — “ My clerical friend Derby is dead ' — Ed.] 94 1777. — /ETAT. 68. “ This night presents a play, which publick rage, Or right or wrong, once hooted from the stage: From zeal or malice now no more we dread, For English vengeance wars not with the dead. A generous foe regards with pitying eye The man whom fate has laid where all must lie. To wit, reviving from its authour’s dust, Be kind, ye judges, or at least be just: Let no renewed hostilities invade Th’ oblivious grave’s inviolable shade. Let one great payment every claim appease, And him who cannot hurt, allow to please; To please by scenes, unconscious of offence. By harmless merriment or useful sense. Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, Approve it only; — ’tis too late to praise. If want of skill or want of care appear, Forbear to hiss; — the poet cannot bear. By all, like him, must praise and blame be found, At last, a fleeting gleam or empty sound: Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, When liberal pity dignified delight; When pleasure fired her torch at virtue’s flame, And mirth was bounty with an humbler name.” [Dr. Johnson, indeed, was al- ways liberal in granting literary ’ * assistance to others; and innume- rable are the prefaces, sermon®, lectures, and dedications, which he used to make for people who begged of him. Mr. Murphy related in his hearing one day, and he did not deny it, that when Murphy joked him the week before for having been so diligent of late between Dodd’s sermon and Kelly’s prologue, 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 genera- tion 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 than porter? ”] A circumstance which could not fail to be very pleasing to Johnson occurred this year. The tragedy of C{ Sir Thomas Over- bury,” written by his early companion in London, Richard Savage, was brought out with alterations at Drury-lane theatre K The prologue to it was written by Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan; in which, after describing very pathetically the wretched- ness of (t Ill-fated Savage, at whose birth was given No parent but the muse, no friend but Heaven,” 1 Our authour has here fallen into a slight mis- take: the prologue to this revived tragedy being written by Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Boswell very natu- rally supposed that it was performed at Drury-lane theatre. But in fact, as Mr. Kemble observes to me, it was acted at the theatre in Covont Garden. -Malone. he introduced an elegant compliment to Jonnson on his Dictionary, that wonderfu. performance which cannot be too often or too highly praised; of which Mr. Harris, in his “ Philological Inquiries 2 ,” justly and liberally observes, “ Such is its merit, that our language does not possess a more copi- ous, learned, and valuable work.” The concluding lines of this prologue were these* “ So pleads the tale 3 that gives to future times The son’s misfortunes and the parent’s crimes: There shall his fame (if own’d to-night) survive, Fix’d by the hand that bids our language live.” Mr. Sheridan here at once did honour to his taste and to his liberality of sentiment, by showing that he was not prejudiced from the unlucky difference which had taken place between his worthy father and Dr. Johnson 4 . I have already mentioned that Johnson was very desirous of reconciliation with old Mr. Sheridan. It will, therefore, not seem at all surprising that he was zeal- ous in acknowledging the brilliant merit of his son. While it had as yet been display- ed only in the drama, Johnson proposed him as a member of the Literary Club, observ- ing, that “ He who has written the two best comedies of his age is surely a consid erable man.” And he had, accordingly, the honour to be elected; for an honour it undoubtedly must be allowed to be, when it is considered of whom that society consists, and that a single black ball excludes a can- didate. “MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “ 9th July, 1777. “My dear sir, — For the health of my wife and children I have taken the little country-house at which you visited my un- cle, Dr. Boswell, who, having lost his wife, is gone to live with his son. We took pos- session of our villa about a week ago. We have a garden of three quarters of' an acre, well stocked with fruit-trees and flowers, and gooseberries and currants, and pease and beans, and cabbages, &c. &c. and my children are quite happy. I now write to you in a little study, from the window of which I see around me a verdant grove, and beyond it the lofty mountain called Ar thur's Seat “ Your last letter, in which you desire me 2 Part First, clvip. iv — B oswell. 3 “ Life of Richard Savage, by Dr. Johnson. — Sheridan. 4 [He likewise made some retribution to Di. Johnson for the attack he had meditated, about two years before, on the pamf hlet he had pub- lished about the American question, entitled, “ Taxation no Tyranny .” Some fragments found among Sheridan’s papers show that he had intended answering this pamphlet in no very cour teous way. — See Moore's Life , vo l ' p. 152 - Hall.] 1777.— JET AT 68. 95 to send you some additional information 'concerning Thomson, reached me very-for- tunately just as I was going to Lanark, to put my wife’s two nephews, the young Campbells, to school there, under the care of Mr. Thomson, the master of it, whose wife is sister to the authour of c The Sea- sons.’ She is an old woman; but her mem- ory is very good; and she will with plea- sure give me for you every particular that you wish to know, and she can tell. Tray then take the trouble to send me such ques- tions as may lead to biographical materials. You say that the Life which we have of Thomson is scanty. Since I received your letter, I have read his Life, published under the name of Cibber, but, as you told me, really written by a Mr. Shiels l ; that writ- ten by Dr. Murdoch; one prefixed to an edition of the c Seasons,’ published at Edin- burgh, which is compounded of both, with the addition of an anecdote of Quin’s re- lieving Thomson from prison; the abridge- ment of Murdoch’s account of him, in the ‘ Biographia Britannica,’ and another abridgement of it in the ‘ Biographical Dic- tionary,’ enriched with Dr. Joseph War- ton’s critical panegyrick on the c Seasons,’ in his ‘ Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope: ’ from all these it appears to me that we have a pretty full account of this poet. However, you will, I doubt not, show me many blanks, and I shall do what can be done to have them filled up. As Thomson never returned to Scotland (which you will think very wise), his sister can speak from her own knowledge only as to the ear- ly part of his life. She has some letters from him, which may probably' give light as to his more advanced progress, if she will let us see them, which I suppose she will. I believe George Lewis Scott 9 and Dr. Armstrong are now his only surviving com- panions, while he lived in and about Lon- don; and they, I dare say, can tell more of him than is yet known. My own notion is, that Thomson was a much coarser man than his friends are willing to acknowledge His c Seasons ’ are indeed full of elegant and pious sentiments; but a rank soil, nay a dunghill, will produce beautiful flowers. “ Your edition 3 of the ‘English Poets’ 1 [See ante, p. 60. It is particularly ob- servable that the Life of Thomson which Mr. Bos- well here represents Johnson as stating to have been especially written by Shiels, bears strong marks of having been written by Theophilus Cib- ber. — Ed.] 2 [See ante, v. i. p. 78 — Ed.] 1 Dr. Johnson was not the editor of thw collec- tion of the English Poets; he merely furnished the biographical prefaces with which it is enriched, as is rightly stated in a subsequent page, lie, indeed, from a virtuous motive, recommended the works r four or five poets (wnom he has named) to be will be very valuable, on account of the c Prefaces and Lives.’ But I have seen a specimen of an edition of the Poets at the Apollo press, at Edinburgh, which, for ex- cellence in printing and engraving, highly deserves a liberal encouragement. “ Most sincerely do I regret the bad health and bad rest with which you have been afflicted; and I hope you are better. I cannot believe that the prologue which you generously gave to Mr. Kelly’s widow and children the other day is the effusion of one in sickness and in disquietude: but external circumstances are never sure indi- cations of the state of man. I send you a letter which I wrote to you two years ago at Wilton; and did not send it at the time, for fear of being reproved as indulging too much tenderness: and one written to you. at the tomb of Melancthon, which I kept back, lest I should appear at once too su- perstitious and too enthusiastick. I now imagine that perhaps they may please you. “ You do not take the least notice of my proposal for our meeting at Carlisle 4 . Though I have meritoriously refrained from visiting London this year, I ask you if it would not be wrong that I should be two years without having the benefit of your conversation, when, if you come down as far as Derbyshire, we may meet at the ex pense of a few days’ journeying and not many pounds. I wish you to see Carlisle, which made me mention that place. But if you have not a desire to complete your tour of the English cathedrals, I will take a larger share of the road between this place and Ashbourne. So tell me where you will fix for our passing a few days by ourselves. added to the collection; but he is no otherwise answerable for any which are found there, or any which are omitted. The poems of Goldsmith (whose life I know he intended to write, for I col- lected some materials for it by his desire), were omitted in consequence of a petty exclusive in- terest in some of them, vested in Mr. Carnan, a bookseller. — M alone. 4 Dr. Johnson had himself talked of our seeing Carlisle together. High was a favourite word of his to denote a person of rank. lie said to me, “ Sir, I believe we may meet at the house of a Roman Catholick lady in Cumberland; a high lady, sir.” I afterwards discovered that he meant Mrs. Strickland [see ante, p. 16 . — Ed.], sister of Charles Townley, Esq. whose very noble collection of statues and pictures is not more to be admired, than his extraordinary and polite readiness in showing it, which I and several of my friends have agreeably experienced. They who are possessed of valuable stores of gratifica- tion to persons of taste should exercise their be- nevolence in imparting the pleasure. Grateful acknowledgments are due to Welbore Ellis Agar, Esq. for the liberal access which he is pleased to allow to his exquisite collection of pictures-- Boswell. 96 1777. — iETAT. 68. Now do n’t cry ‘ foolish fellow,’ or £ idle dog.’ Chain your humour, and let your kindness play. “ You will rejoice to hear that Miss Macleod h of Rasay, is married to Colonel Mure Campbell, an excellent man, with a pretty good estate of his own, and the pros- pect of having the Earl of Loudoun’s for- tune and honours. Is not this a noble lot for our fair Hebridean? How happy am I that she is to he in Ayrshire! We shall have the Laird of Rasay, and old Malcolm, and I know not how many gallant Macle- ods, and bagpipes, &c. &c. at Auchinleck. Perhaps you may meet them all there. “ Without doubt you have read what is called £ The Life of David Hume,’ written by himself, with the letter from Adam Smith subjoined to it. Is not this an age of dar- ing effrontery? My friend Mr. Anderson, professor of natural philosophy at Glasgow, at whose house you and I supped, and to whose care Mr. Windham, of Norfolk, was intrusted at that university, paid me a visit lately; and after we had talked with in- dignation and contempt of the poisonous productions with which this age is infested, he said there was now an excellent oppor- tunity for Dr. Johnson to step forth. I agreed with him that you might knock Hume’s and Smith’s heads together, and make vain and ostentatious infidelity ex- ceedingly ridiculous. Would it not be worth your while to crush such noxious weeds in the moral garden? “You have said nothing to me of Dr. Dodd 2 . I know not how you think on that subject; though the newspapers give us a saying of yours in favour of mercy to him. But I own I am very desirous that the roy- al prerogative of remission of punishment should he employed to exhibit an illustrious instance of the regard which God’s Vice- gerent will ever show to piety and virtue. If for ten righteous men the Almighty would have spared Sodom, shall not a thou- sand acts of goodness done by Dr. Dodd counterbalance one crime? Such an in- stance would do more to encourage good- ness, than his execution would do to deter from vice. I am not afraid of any bad con- sequence to society; for who will persevere for a long course of years in a distinguished discharge of religious duties, with a view to commit a forgery with impunity? ££ Pray make my best compliments ac- ceptable to Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, by assur-r ing them of my hearty joy that the master, as you call him, is alive. 1 hope I shall often taste his champagne — soberly. “ I have not heard from Langton for a long time. I suppose he is as usual. 1 [ Ante , v. i. p. 383. — Ed.] 2 [The whole story of Dodd is told in detail, post , 15th Sept. 1777 . — Ed.] * Studious the busy moments to deceive.* • * * * * * # “I remain, my dear sir, your most affec- tionate and faithful humble servant, “James Boswell.” On the 23d of June, I again wrote to Dr. Johnson, enclosing a shipmaster’s receipt for a jar of orange-marmalade, and a large packet of Lord Hailes’s ££ Annals of Scot- land.” ££ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “28th June, 1777. ££ Dear sir, — I have just received your packet from Mr. Thrale’s, but have not daylight enough to look much into it. I am glad that I have credit enough with Lord Hailes to be trusted with more copy. I hope to take more care of it than of the last. I return Mrs. Boswell my affectionate thanks for her present, which I value as a token of reconciliation. “ Poor Dodd was put to death yesterday, in opposition to the recommendation of the jury, — the petition of the city of London, — and a subsequent petition signed by three- and-twenty thousand hands. Surely the voice of the publick, when it calls so loudly, and calls only for mercy, ought to be heard. ££ The saying that was given me in the papers I never spoke; but I wrote many of his petitions, and some of his letters. He applied to me very often. He was, I am afraid, long flattered with hopes of life; but I had no part in the dreadful delusion: for as soon as the king had signed his sen- tence, I obtained from Mr. Chamier 3 an account of the disposition of the court to- wards him, with a declaration that there was no hope even of a respite. This let f er immediately was laid before Dodd; but he believed those whom he wished to be right, as it is thought, till within three days of his end. He died with pious composure and resolution. I have just seen the Ordinary that attended him. His address to his fel- low-convicts offended the methodists; but he had a Moravian with him much of his time. His moral character is very bad • I hope all is not true that is charged upon him. Of his behaviour in prison an ac- count will be published. “ I give you joy of your country-house and your pretty garden, and hope some time to see you in your felicity. I was much pleased with your two letters that had been kept so long in store 4 ; and rejoice at 3 [Mr. Chamier was then Under-Secretary of State. — Ed ] 4 Since they have been so much honoured by Dr. Johnson, I shall here insert them: “ TO MR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Sunday, 50th Sept. 1764. “ Mv EVER DEAR AND MUCH-RESPECTFE sib, — You know my solemn enthusiasm of miud 1777. — iETAT. 68. 97 Miss Rasay’s advancement, and w:tsh Sir Allan success. “ I hope to meet you somewhere towards the north, but am loath to come quite to Carlisle. Can we not meet at Manchester? But we will settle it in some other letters. “ Mr Seward \ a great favourite at You love me for it, and I respect myself for it, because in so far I resemble Mr. Johnson. You will be agreeably surprised, when you learn the reason of my writing this letter. I am at YVittein- berg in Saxony. I am in the old church where the Reformation was first preached, and where some of the reformers lie interred. I cannot re- sist the serious pleasure of writing to Mr. Johnson from the tomb of Melancthon. My paper rests upon the grave-stone of that great and good man, who was undoubtedly the worthiest of all the re- formers. He wished to reform abuses which had been introduced into the church; but had no private resentment to gratify. So mild was he, that when his aged mother consulted him with anxiety on the perplexing disputes of the times, he advised her 1 * * 4 to keep to the old religion.’ At this tomb, then, my ever dear and respected friend, I vow to thee an eternal attachment. It shall be my study to do what I can to rendei your life happy: and if you die before me, I shall endeavour to do honour to your memory; and, elevated by the remembrance of you, persist in noble piety. May Cod, the father of all beings, ever bless you ! and may you continue to love your most affectionate friend and devoted servant, “James Boswell.” “ TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ Wilton-house, 22d April, 1775. 44 My dear sir, — Every scene of my life confirms the truth of what you have told me, « there is no certain happiness in this state of being.’ I am here, amidst all that you know is at Lord Pembroke’s; and yet I am weary and gloomy. I am just setting out for the house of an old friend in Devonshire, and shall not get back to London for a week yet. You said to me last Good Friday, with a cordiality that warmed my heart, that if I came to settle in London we should have a day fixed every week to meet by ourselves and talk freely. To be thought worthy of such a privilege cannot but exalt me. During my present absence from you, while, notwith- standing the gaiety which you allow me to pos- sess, I am darkened by temporary clouds, I beg to have a few lines from you; a few lines merely of kindness, as a viaticum till I see you again. In your 4 Vanity of Human Wishes,’ and in Parnell’s ‘ Contentment,’ I find the only sure means *of enjoying happiness; or, at least, the hopes of happiness. I ever am, with reverence and affec- tion, most faithfully yours, “ James Boswell.” 1 William Seward, Esq. F. R. S. editor of 44 Anecdotes of some distinguished Persons,” &c. in four volumes, 8vo. well known to a numerous and valuable acquaintance for his literature, love )f the fine arts, and social virtues. I am indebted to him for several communications concerning VOL. ii 18 Streatham, has been, I iiinK, enkindled by our travels with a curiosity to see the High- lands. I have gi ven him letters to you and Beattie. He desires that a lodging may be taken for him at Edinburgh against his ar rival. He is just setting out. “ Langton has been exercising the mili- tia Mrs. Williams is, I fear, declining. Dr Lawrf nee says he can do no more. She is gone to summer in the country, with as many conveniences about her as she can expect; but I have no great hope. We must all die: may we all be prepared ! “ I suppose Miss Boswell reads her book, and young Alexander takes to his learning. Let me hear about them; for every thing that belongs to you, belongs in a more re- mote degree, and not, I hope, very remote, to, dear sir, yours affectionately, “ Sam. Johnson.” “to JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.. 44 24th June, 1777. “Dear sir, — This gentleman is a great favourite at Streatham, and therefore you will easily believe that he has very valuable qualities. Our narrative has kindled him with a desire of visiting the Highlands af- ter having already seen a great part of Eu- rope. You must receive him as a friend, and when you have directed him to the cu- riosities of Edinburgh, give him instructions and recommendations for the rest of his journey. I am, dear sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” Johnson’s benevolence to the unfortunate was, I am confident, as steady and active as that of any of those who have been most eminently distinguished for that virtue. Innumerable proofs of it I have no doubt will be forever concealed from mortal eyes. We may, however, form some judgment of it from the many and various instance*, which have been discovered. One, which happened in the course of this summer, is remarkable from the name and connexion of the person who was the object of it. The circumstance to which I allude is as- certained by two letters, one to Mr. Lang- ton, and another to the Rev. Dr. Vyse, rec- tor of Lambeth, son of the respectable clergyman at Lichfield, who was contem- porary with yTohnson, and in whose father’s family Johnson had the happiness of being kindly received m his early years. tc DR. JOHNSON TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ 44 29th June, 1777. “ Dear sir, — 1 have lately been much Johnson. — Boswell. This gentleman, who was born in 1747, and was educated at the Char ter-house and at Oxford, died in London, \pil 1 24th, 1799. — Mai ' nk. [See ante, vol i. p 255.— Ed.] 98 1777 iETAT. 68. disordered by a difficulty of breathing, but am now better. I hope your house is well. lC You know we have been talking lately of St. Cross, at Winchester 1 : I have an old acquaintance whose distress makes him very desirous of an hospital, and I am afraid I have not strength enough to get him into the Chartreux. He is a painter, who never rose higher than to get his immediate liv- ing; and from that, at eighty-three, he is disabled by a slight stroke of the palsy, such as does not make him at all helpless on common occasions, though his hand is not steady enough for his art. “ My request is, that you will try to ob- tain a promise of the next vacancy from the Bishop of Chester. It is not a great thing to ask, and I hope we shall obtain it. Dr. Warton has promised to favour him with his notice, and I hope he may end his days in peace I am, sir, your most humble ser- vant, “ Sam. Johnson.’ 3 4 5 “ TO THE REV. DR. VYSE, AT LAMBETH. “9th July, 1777. “ Sir, — I doubt not but you will readily forgive me for taking the liberty of request- ing your assistance in recommending an old friend to his grace the archbishop as governor of the Charter-house. “ His name is De Groot 2 ; he was born at Gloucester; I have known him many years. He has all the common claims to charity, being old, poor, and infirm to a great degree. He has likewise another claim, to which no scholar can refuse at- tention; he is by several descents the nephew of Hugo Grotius; of him from whom perhaps every man of learning has learnt something. Let it not be said that in any lettered country a nephew of Grotius asked a charity and was refused. I am, reverend sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “to THE REV. DR. VYSE, AT LAMBETH. “ 22d July, 1777. “ If any notice should be taken of the recommendation which I took the liberty of sending you, it will be necessary to know that Mr. De Groot is to be found at No. 8, in Pye-street, Westminster. This informa- tion, when I wrote, I could not give you; and being going soon to Lichfield, think it necessary to be left behind me. “ More I will not say. You will want no persuasion to succour the nephew of Grotius. I am, sir, your mosthumlde ser- vant, “ Sam. Johnson.” 1 [See ante , v. i. p. 223. — Ed.] 2 [It appears that Isaac de Groot was admitted into the Charter-house, where he died about two years after. — Ed.] “ THE REV. DR. VYSE TO MR. BOSWELL* “Lambeth, 9th June, 1787. “ Sir, — I have searched in vain for the letter which I spoke of, and which I wished, at your desire, to communicate to you. It was from Dr. Johnson, to return me thanks for my application to archbishop Cornwallis in favour of poor De Groot. He rejoices at the success it met with, and is lavish in the praise he bestows upon his favourite, Hugo Grotius. I am really sorry that I cannot find this letter, as it is worthy of the writer. That which I send you enclosed 3 is at your service. It is very short, and will not perhaps be thought of any consequence, unless you should judge proper to consider it as a proof of the very humane part which Dr. John- son took in behalf of a distressed and de serving person. I am, sir, your most obe dient humble servant, “ W. Vyse 4 * .” [With advising others to be char itable, Dr. Johnson did not content p 10 “‘ 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 himself, his friends never could by any calculation make more than seventy, or at most fourscore pounds a year, and he pretended to allow himself a hundred. He had numberless dependants out of doors as well as in, “ who,” as he expressed it, “ did not like to see him latterly unless he brought them money.” For those people he used frequently to raise contributions on his rich- er friends 5 ; “ and this,” he said, “ is one of the thousand reasons which ought to re- strain a man from drony solitude and use- less retirement.”] “ DR. JOHNSON TO MR. EDWARD DILLY. “ Bolt-court, Fleet-street, 7th July, 1777. “ Sir, — T o the collection of English 3 The preceding letter. — Boswell. 4 Dr. Vyse, at my request, was so obliging as once more to endeavour to recover the letter of Johnson, to which he alludes, but without success; for April 23, 1800, he wrote to me thus; “ I have again searched, but in vain, for one of his letters, in which he speaks in his own nervous style of Hugo Grotius. De Groot was clearly a descen- dant of the family of Grotius, and Archbishop Cornwallis willingly complied with Dr. John- son’s request.” — Malone. [These letters ap- pear in the Gent. Mag. 1787 and 1799, dated from London only, and seem to have been address ed to Air. Sharpe. — E d.] 5 [It appears in Mr Malone’s MS. notes, fur nished by Mr. Markland, Dr. Johnson once asked Mr. Gerard Hamilton for so much as fifty pounds for a charitable purpose, and Mr. Hamilton gave it; but see post, March 22, 1782, (Diary) note 2. Sir Joshua Reynolds, however, told Mr. Malone that he never asked him for more than a guinea. — Ed ] 1777. — flETAT. 68. 99 Poets I have recommended the volume of Dr. Watts to be added: his name has long been held by me in veneration, and I would not willingly be reduced to tell of him only that he was born and died. Yet of his life I know very little, and therefore must pass him in a manner very unworthy of his character, unless some of his friends will fa- vour me with the necessary information. Many of them must be known to you; and by your influence perhaps I may obtain some instruction: my plan does not exact much; but I wish to distinguish Watts, a man who never wrote but for a good pur- pose. Be pleased to do for me what you can. I am, sir, your humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” (i TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “Edinburgh, 15th July, 1777. u My dear sir, — The fate of poor Dr. Dodd made a dismal impression upon my mind. ******* “ I had sagacity enough to divine that you wrote his speech to the recorder, before sentence was pronounced. I am glad you have written so much for him; and I hope to be favoured with an exact list of the sev- eral pieces when we meet. “ I received Mr. Seward as the friend of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, and as a gentleman recommended by Dr. Johnson to my atten- tion. I have introduced him to Lord Kames, Lord Monboddo, and Mr. Nairne. He is gone to the Highlands with Dr. Gregory; when he returns I shall do more for him. “ Sir Allan Maclean has carried that branch of his cause, of which we had good hopes; the president and one other judge only were against him. I wish the house of lords may do as well as the court of ses- sion has done. But Sir Allan has not the lands of Brolos quite cleared by this judg- ment, till a long account is made up of debts and interests on the one side, and rents on the other. I am, however, not much afraid of the balance. “ Macquarry’s estates, StafFa and all, were sold yesterday, and bought by a Camp- bell. I fear he will have little or nothing left out of the purchase money. “ I send you the case against the negro, by Mr. Cullen, son to Dr. Cullen, in opposi- tion to Maclaurin’s for liberty, of which you have approved. Pray read this, and tell me what you think as a politician , as well as a poet , upon the subject. et Be so kind as to let me know how your time is to be distributed next autumn. I will meet you at Manchester, or where you please; but I wish you would complete your tour of the cathedrals, and come to Carlisle, and I will accompany you a part of the way homewards. I am ever, most faithfully yours, “ James Boswell.” thing new to be done, and a different system of thoughts rises in the mind. I wish I could gather currants in your garden. Now fit up a lit.tle study, and have your books ready at nand : do not spare a little money, to make your habitation pleasing to yourself. “ I have dined lately with poor dear ] . I do not think he goes on well. His table is rather coarse, and he has his children too much about him 1 2 . But he is a very good man. “ Mrs. Williams is in the country, to try if she can improve her health : she is very ill. Matters have come so about, that she is in the country with very good accommo- dation; but age, and sickness, and pride, have made her so peevish, that I was forced to bribe the maid to stay with her by a secret stipulation of half-a-crown a week over her wages. “Our club ended its session about six weeks ago. We now only meet to dine once a fortnight. Mr. Dunning, the great lawyer 3 , is one of our members. The Thrales are well. “ I long to know how the negro’s cause will be decided. What is the opinion of Lord Auchinleck, or Lord Hailes, or Lord Monboddo? I am, dear sir, your most affectionate, &c. “ Sa.m. Johnson.” “DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL. “22d July, 1777. cc Madam, — Though I am well enough pleased with the taste of sweetmeats, very little of the pleasure which I received at the arrival of your jar of marmalade arose from eating it. I received it as a token of friendship, as a proof of reconciliation, things much sweeter than sweetmeats, and upon this consideration I return you, dear madam, my sincerest thanks. By having your kindness I think I have a double security for the continuance of Mr. Boswell’s, which it is not to be expected that any man can long keep, when the in- fluence of a lady so highly and so justly valued operates against him. Mr. Boswell will tell you that I was always faithful to your interest, and always endeavoured to 1 [Mr. Langton. — E d.] 2 This very just remark I hope will be constant- ly held in remembrance by parents, who are in general too apt to indulge their own fond feelings for their children at the expense of their friends. The common custom of introducing them after dinner is highly injudicious. It is agreeable enough that they should appear at any other time; but they should not be suffered to poison the mo- ments of festivity by attracting the attention of the company, and in a manner compelling them from politeness to say what they do not think. — Boswell. * [Created in 1782 Lord Ashburton.- Ed.] exalt you in his estimation. You must now do the same for me. We must all help one another, and you must now consid- er me as, dear madam, your most obliged and most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “ MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “Edinburgh, 28th July, 1777 “ My dear sir, — This is the day on which you were to leave London, and 1 have been amusing myself in the inte-rvah of my law-drudgery with figuring you in the Oxford post-coach. I doubt, however, il you have had so merry a journey as you and I had in that vehicle last year, when you made so much sport with Gwyn, the architect. Incidents upon a journey are re- collected with peculiar pleasure: they art preserved in brisk spirits, and come up again in our minds, tinctured with that gaiety, or at least that animation, with which we first perceived them.” ****** (I added, that something had occurred which I was afraid might prevent me from meeting him; and that my wife had been affected with complaints which threatened a consumption, but was now better.) [“DR. JOHNSON TO MR. THRALE. “ [Oxford], 4th Aug. 1777. “ Boswell’s project is disconcerted by a visit from a relation of Yorkshire, whom he mentions as the head of his clan. Boz- zy, you know, makes a huge bustle about all his own motions and all mine. I have enclosed a letter to pacify him, and recon cile him to the uncertainties of human life.”] “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ Oxford, 4th Aug. 1777. “ Dear sir, — Do not disturb yourself about our interviews; I hope we shall have many : nor think it any thing hard or un- usual that your design of meeting me is in- terrupted. We have both endured greater evils, and have greater evils to expect. “Mrs. Boswell’s illness mates a more serious distress. Does the blood rise from her lungs or from her stomach? From little vessels broken in the stomach there is no danger. Blood from the lungs is, I be- lieve, alway , frothy, as mixed with wind. Your physicians know very well what is to be done. The loss of such a lady would, indeed, be very afflictive, and I hope she is in no danger. Take care to keep her mind as easy as possible. “ I have left Langton in London. He has been down with the militia, and is again quiet at home, talking to his litlrtj people, as I suppose you do sometimes 1777. — iETAT. 68 101 Make my compliments to Miss Veronica L The rest are too young for ceremony. “ I cannot but hope that you have taken your country-house at z very seasonable time, and that it may conduce to restore or establish Mrs. Boswell’s health, as well as provide room and exercise for the young ones. That you and your lady may both be happy, and long enjoy your happiness, is the sincere and earnest wish of, dear sir, your most, &c. “ Sam. Johnson.” “MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. (Informing him that my wife had con- tinued to grow better, so that my alarming apprehensions were relieved: and that I hoped to disengage myself from the other embarrassment which had occurred, and therefore requesting to know particularly when he intended to he at Ashbourne.) “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “30th August, 1777. “ Dear sir, — I am this day come to Ash- bourne, and have only to tell you, that Dr. Taylor says you shall be welcome to him, and you know how welcome you will be to me. Make haste to let me know when you may be expected. “ Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, and tell her I hope we shall be at variance no more. 1 am, dear sir, your most humble *»ervant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “ Ashbourne, 1st Sept. 1777. “Dear sir, — On Saturday I wrote a very short letter, immediately upon my ar- rival hither, to show you that I am not .ess desirous of the interview than yourself. .Life admits not of delays; when pleasure tan be had, it is fit to catch it: every hour takes away part of the things that please us, and perhaps part of our disposition to be pleased. When I came to Lichfield, I found my old friend Harry Jackson dead 1 2 . It was a loss, and a loss not to be repaired, as he was one of the companions of my child- hood. I hope we may long continue to gain friends; but the friends which merit or usefulness can procure us are not able to supply the place of old acquaintance, with whom the days of youth may be retraced, and those images revived which gave the 1 This young lady, the authour’s eldest daugh- ter, and at this time about five years old, died in London, of a consumption, four months after her father, Sept. 26, 1795. — Malone. 2 [See ante, p. 43. He says in a letter to Mrs. Thrale, “ Lichfield, 7th August, 1777. — At Birmingham I heard of the death of an old friend, and at Lichfield of the death of another. Anni yroedantur euntes. One was a little older, and the other a little younger than myself.” The . atter probably was Jackson. — Ed.] earliest delight. If you and I live to b much older, we shall take great delight ir talking over the Hebridean Journey. “ In the mean time it may not be amiss to contrive some other little adventure, but vhat it can be I know not; leave it, as Sidney says, ‘ To virtue, fortune, time, and woman’s breast 3 for I believe Mrs. Boswell must have some part in the consultation. “ One thing you will like. The Doctor, so far as I can judge, is likely to leave us enough to ourselves. He was out to-day* before I came down, and, I fancy, will stay- out to dinner. I have brought the papers 3 By an odd mistake, in the first three editions we find a reading in this line to which Dr. John- son would by no means have subscribed, wine having been substituted for time. That errour probably was a mistake in the transcript of John- son’s original letter, his hand-writing being often very difficult to read. The other deviation in the beginning of the line ( virtue instead of nature ) must be attributed to his memory having deceived him; and therefore has not been disturbed. The verse quoted is the concluding line of a sonnet of Sidney’s, of which the earliest copy, I believe, is found in Harrington’s translation of Ariosto, 1591, in the notes on the eleventh book: — “ And there- fore,” says he, “ that excellent verse of Sir Philip Sydney, in his first Arcadia (which I know not by what mishap is left out in the printed booke) [4to. 1590,] is in mine opinion worthie to be praised and followed, to make a true and virtuous wife : “ Who doth desire that chast his wife should bee, First be he true, for truth does truth deserve; Then be he such, as she his worth may see, And, alwaies one, credit with her preserve: Not toying kynd, nor causelessly unkynd, Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right, Not spying faults, nor in plaine errors blind, Never hard hand, nor ever rayns (reins) too light As far from want, as far from vaine expence, Th’ one doth enforce, the t’other doth entice: Allow good companie, but drive from thence All filthie mouths that glorie in their vice: This done, thou hast no more but leave the rest To nature , fortune, time , and woman’s breast.” I take this opportunity to add, that in England’s Parnassus, a collection of poetry printed in 1600, the second couplet of this sonnet is thus corruptly exhibited: “ Then he he such as he his words may see, And alwaies one credit which her preserve:” a variation which I the rather mention, because the readings of that book have been triumphantly quoted, when they happened to coincide with the sophistications of the second folio edition of Shaks- peare’s plays in 1632, as adding I know not what degree of authority and authenticity to the latter : as if the corruptions of one book (and that abound- ing with the grossest falsifications of the authour from whose works its extracts are made) could give any kind of support to another, which in every page is still more adulterated and unfaithful. See Mr. Steevens’s Shakspeare, vol. xx p. 97 fifth edit. 1803. — Malone. 1777. — iETAT. 68. 102 t about poor Dodd, to show you, but you will soon have despatched them. “ Before I came away, I sent poor Mrs. Williams into the country, very ill of a pituitous defluxion, which wastes her grad- ually away, and which her physician de- clares himself unable to stop. I supplied her as far as could be desired with all con- veniences to make her excursion and abode pleasant and useful. But I am afraid she can only linger a short time in a morbid state of weakness and pain. “ The Thrales, little and great, are all .well, and purpose to go to Brighthelmstone at Michaelmas. They will invite me to go with them, and perhaps I may go, but I hardly think I shall like to stay the whole time; but of futurity we know but little. “ Mrs. Porter is well; but Mrs. Aston, one of the ladies at Stow-hill, has been struck with a palsy, from which she is not likely ever to recover. How soon may such a stroke fall upon us ! “Write to me, and let us know when we .may expect you. I am, dear sir, vour most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” “MR. BOSWELL TO DR. JOHNSON. “Edinburgh, 9th Sept. 1777. (After informing him that I was to set out next day, in order to meet him at Ash- bourne; — ) “ I have a present for you from Lord Hailes; the fifth book of ‘ Lactantius,’ which he has published with Latin notes. He is also to give you a few anecdotes for your c Life of Thomson, 5 who I find was private tutor to the present Earl of Hading- ton, Lord Hailes’s cousin, a circumstance not mentioned by Dr. Murdoch. I have keen expectations of delight from your edi- tion of the English Poets. “ I am sorry for poor Mrs. Williams’s situation. You will, however, have the comfort of reflecting on your kindness to her. Mr. Jackson’s death, and Mrs. Aston’s palsy, are gloomy circumstances. Yet surely we should be habituated to the un- certainty of life and health. When my mind is unclouded by melancholy, I consid- er the temporary distresses of this state of being as ‘ light afflictions,’ by stretching my mental view into that glorious after-ex- istence, when they will appear to be as nothing. But present pleasures and pres- ent pains must be felt. I lately read c Ras- selas ’ over again with satisfaction. “ Since you are desirous to hear about Macquarry’s sale, I shall inform you partic- ularly. The gentleman who purchased Llva is Mr. Campbell of Auchnaba: our friend Macquarry was proprietor of two- tin; : if iv, of which the rent was 156/. 5s. \.,d. This parcel was set up at 4,069/. 5s. 1 d. but it sold for no less than 5,540/. The other third of Ulva, with the island of Staffa, belonged to Macquarry of Ormaig Its rent, including that of Staffa, 83/. 12s. 2i \d . — set up at 2,178/. 16s. Ad . — sold for no less than 3,540/. The Laird of Col wished to purchase Ulva, but he though; the price too high. There may, indeed, be great improvements made there, both in fishing and agriculture; but the interest of the purchase-money exceeds the rent so very much, that I doubt if the bargain will be profitable. There is an island called Little Colonsay, of 10/. yearly rent, which I am informed has belonged to the Mac- quarrys of Ulva for many ages, but which was lately claimed by the Presbyterian Synod of Argyll, in consequence of a grant made to them by Queen Anne. It is be- lieved that their claim will be dismissed, and that Little Colonsay will also be sold for the advantage of Macquarry’s creditors. What think you of purchasing this island, and endowing a school or college there, the master to be a clergyman of the Church of England? How venerable would such an institution make the name of Dr. Samuel Johnson in the Hebrides! I have, like yourself, a wonderful pleasure in recollect- ing our travels in those islands. The pleasure is, I think, greater than it reasona- bly should be, considering that we had not much either of beauty or elegance to charm our imaginations, or of rude novelty to as* tonish. Let us, by all means, have another expedition. I shrink a little from our scheme of going up the Baltick. I am sorry you have already been in Wales; for I wish to see it. Shall we go to Ireland, of which I have seen but little? We shall try to strike out a plan when we are ai Ashbourne. — I am ever your most faithfu. humble servant, “ James Boswell.” “ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “Ashbourne, 11th Sept. 1777. “Dear sir, — I write to be left at Car- lisle, as you direct me; but you cannot have it. Your letter, dated Sept. 6th, was not at this place till this day, Thursday, Sept. 11th; and I hope you will be here before this is at Carlisle •. However, what you have not going, you may have return- ing; and as I believe I shall not love you less after our interview, it will then be as true as it is now, that I set a very high value upon your friendship, and count your kindness as one of the chief felicities of my life. Do not fancy that an intermission of writing is a decay of kindness. No mail b always in a disposition to write; nor ha. any man at all times something to say. 1 It so happened. The letter was forwarded to my house at Edinburgh. — Boswell. 1777 — iETAT. 68. 103 4t That distrust which intrudes so often m your mind is a mode of melancholy, which, if it he the business of a wise man to be happy, it is foolish to indulge; and, if it be a duty to preserve our faculties en- tire for their proper use, it is criminal. Suspicion is very often an useless pain. From that, and all other pains, I wish you free and safe ; for I am, dear sir, most affectionately yours, “ Sam. Johnson.” It appears that Johnson, now in his sixty-eighth year, was seriously inclined to realize the project cff our going up the Bal- tick, which I had started when we were in the Isle of Sky; for he thus writes to Mrs. Thrale: “Ashbourne, 13th Sept. 1777. Letters, “ Boswell, I believe, coming, voi. i. ’ He talks of being here to-J?.v: I p. 3G6. shall be glad to see him: but he shrinks from the Baltick expedition, which, I think, is the best scheme in our power: what we shall substitute, I know not. He wants to see Wales; but, except the woods of Bachycraigh, what is there in Wales, that can fill the hunger of ignorance, or quench the thirst of curiosity? We may, perhaps, form some scheme or other; but, in the phrase of Hockley in the Hole, it is pity he has not a better bottom .” Such an ardour of mind, and vigour of enterprise, is admirable at any age; but more particularly so at the advanced period at which Johnson was then arrived. I am sorry now that I did not insist on our exe- cuting that scheme. Besides the other ob- jects of curiosity and observation, to have seen my illustrious friend received, as he probably would have been, by a prince so eminently distinguished for his variety of talents and acquisitions as the late King of Sweden, and by the Empress of Russia, whose extraordinary abilities information, and magnanimity, astonish the world, would have afforded a noble subject for contemplation and record. This reflection may possibly be thought too visionary by the more sedate and cold-blooded part of my readers; yet I own, I frequently indulge it with an earnest, unavailing regret. [“ DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. ASTON. “ Ashbourne, 13th Sept. 1777. Pemb. “ Dear madam, — As I left you so ms. much disordered, a fortnight is a long time to be without any account of your health. I am willi ng to flatter my- self that you are better, though you gave me no reason to believe that you intended to use any means for your recovery. Na- ture often performs wonders, and will, I hope, do for you more than you seem in- clined to do for vourself. “ In this weakness of body, with which it has pleased God to visit you, he has given you great cause of thankfulness, by the to- tal exemption of your mind from all effects of your disorder. Your memory is not less comprehensive or distinct, nor your reason less vigorous and acute, nor your imagina- tion less active and sprightly than in any former time of your life. This is a great blessing, as it respects enjoyment of the pre- sent; and a blessing yet far gi eater, as it bestows power and opportunity to prepare for the future. “ All sickness is a summons. But as you do not want exhortations, I will send you only my good wishes, and exhort you to be- lieve the good wishes very sincere, of, deal madam, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] On Sunday evening, Sept. 14, I arrived at Ashbourne, and drove directly up to Dr. Taylor’s door. Dr. Johnson and he ap peared before I had got out of the post chaise, and welcomed me cordially. I told them that I had travelled all* the preceding night, and gone to bed at Leek, in Staffordshire; and that when I rose to go to church in the afternoon, I was informed there had been an earthquake, of which, it seems, the shock had been felt in some be gree at Ashbourne. Johnson. “ Sir, it will be much exaggerated in publick talk: for, in the first place, the common people do not accurately adapt their thoughts to the objects; nor, secondly, do they accurately adapt their words to their thoughts: they do not mean to lie; but, taking no pains to be exact, they give you very false accounts. A great part of their language is proverbial. If any thing rocks at all, they say it rocks like a cradle; and in this way they go on.” The subject of grief for the loss of rela- tions and friends being introduced, I ob- served that it was strange to consider how soon it in general wears away. Dr. Tay- lor mentioned a gentleman of the neigh- bourhood as the only instance he had ever known of a person who had endeavoured to retain grief. He told Dr. Taylor, that after his lady’s death, which affected him deeply, he resolved that the grief, which he cherished with a kind of sacred fondness, should be lasting; but that he found he could not keep it long. Johnson. “ All grief for what cannot in the course of na- ture be helped soon wears away; in some sooner, indeed, in some later; but it never continues very long, unless where there is madness, such as will make a man have pride so fixed in his mind as to imagine 1 jm* self a king; or any other passion in an un reasonable way: for all unnecessary grief is unwise, and therefore will not be long re- tained by a sound mind. If, indeed, th* 104 1777. — ^ETAT. 68 cause of our grief is occasioned by our own misconduct, if grief is mingled with remorse of conscience, it should be lasting.” Bos- well. “ But, sir,’ we do not approve of a man who very soon forgets the loss of a wife or a friend.” Johnson. “ Sir, we disapprove of him, not because he soon forgets his grief, for the sooner it is forgot- ten the better; but because we suppose, that if he forgets his wife or his friend soon, he has not had much affection for them.” I was somewhat disappointed in finding that the edition of the “ English Poets,” for which he was to write prefaces and lives, was not an undertaking directed by him, but that he was to furnish a preface and life to any poet the booksellers pleased. I asked him if he would do this to any dunce’s works, if they should ask him. Johnson. “ Yes, sir; and say he was a dunce.” My friend seemed now not much to relish talk- ing of this edition. Letters On Monday, September 15, Dr. voi. i. ’ Johnson [wrote to Mrs. Thrale: p. 369. a Last night came Boswell. I am glad. that he is come, and seems to be very brisk and lively, and laughs a little at ] . I told him something of the scene at Rich- mond 1 2 .”] He observed, that every body commended such parts of his “ Journey to the Western Islands ” as were in their own way. “ For instance,” said he, “ Mr. Jackson (the all- knowing) told me there was more good sense upon trade in it, than he should hear in the house of commons in a year, except from Burke. Jones commended the part -which treats of language; Burke that which describes the inhabitants of mountainous countries.” After breakfast, Johnson carried me to see the garden belonging to the school of Ashbourne, which is very prettily formed upon a bank, rising gradually behind the house. The Rev. Mr. Langley, the head- master, accompanied us. While we sat basking in the sun upon a seat here, I introduced a common subject jf complaint, the very small salaries which many curates have; and I maintained, that no man should be invested with the character of a clergyman, unless he has a security for such an income as will enable him to appear respectable; that, therefore, a clergyman should not be al- lowed to have a curate, unless he gives 1 [Probably his host, Dr. Taylor — between whom and Boswell there seems to have been no great cordiality, and it may be suspected that Bos- well does not take much power [pains ?] to set Dr. Taylor’s merits in the best light, lie was John- son’s earliest and most constant friend, and read the funeral service over him. — E d.J 2 [This refers to some occurrence (probably at Sir Joshua’s) now forgotten. — E d.] him a hundred pounds a year; if he cannot do that, let him perform the duty himself. Johnson. “To be sure, sir, it is wrong that any clergyman should be without a reasonable income; but as the church re- venues were sadly diminished at the refor mation, the clergy who have livings cannot afford, in many instances, to give good sal aries to curates, without leaving themselves too little; and, if no curate were to be permit- ted unless he had a hundred pounds a year, their number would be very small, which would be a disadvantage, as then there would not be such choice in the nursery for the church, curates being candidates for the higher ecclesiastical offices, according to their merit and good behaviour ” He ex- plained the system of the English hierarchy exceedingly well. “It is not thought fit,” said he, “ to trust a man with the care of a parish till he has given proof as a curate that he shall deserve such a trust.” This is an excellent theory; and if the practice were according to it, the church of Eng land would be admirable indeed However, as I have heard Dr. Johnson observe as to the universities, bad practice does not infer that the constitution is bad. . We had with, us at dinner several of Dr. Taylor’s neighbours, good civil gentlemen, who seemed to understand Dr. Johnson very well, and not to consider him in the light that a certain person 3 did, who being struck, or rather stunned by his voice and manner, when he was afterwards asked what he thought of him, answered, “ He’? a tremendous companion.” Johnson told me, that “Taylor was a very sensible acute man, and had a strong mind: that he had great activity in some respects, and yet such a sort of indolence, that if you should put a pebble upon his chimney-piece, you would find it there, in the same state, a year afterwards.” And here is a proper place to give an ac- count of Johnson’s humane and zealous in- terference in behalf of the Reverend Dr. Wil- liam Dodd, formerly Prebendary of Brecon, and chaplain in ordinary to his majesty; celebrated as a very popular preacher, an encourager of charitable institutions, and authour of a variety of works, chiefly the- ological. Having unhappily contracted ex- pensive habits of living, partly occasioned by licentiousness of manners, he in an evil hour, when pressed by want of money, and dreading an exposure of his circumstances, forged a bond, of which he attempted to avail himself to support his credit, flattering himself with hopes that he might be able to repay its amount without being detected. The person whose name he thus rashly and criminally presumed to falsify was the Earl 3 [Mr. George Garrick. — E d.] 1777. — iETAT. 68. 105 >1 Chesterfield, to whom he had been tutor, and who he perhaps, in the warmth of his feelings, flattered himself would have gen- erously paid the money in case of an alarm being taken, rather than suffer him to fall a victim to the dreadful consequences of viola- ting the law against forgery, the most dan- gerous crime in a commercial country: but the unfortunate divine had the mortification to find that he was mistaken. His noble pupil appeared against him, and he was cap- itally convicted. Johnson told me that Dr. Dodd was very little acquainted with him, having been but once in his company, many years previous to this period (which was precisely the state of my own acquaintance with Dodd); but in his distress he bethought himself of John- son’s persuasive power of writing, if haply it might avail to obtain for him the royal mercy. He did not apply to him directly, but, extraordinary as it may seem, through the late Countess of Harrington 1 , who wrote a letter to Johnson, asking him to employ his pen in favour of Dodd. Mr. Allen, the printer, who was Johnson’s land- lord and next neighbour in Bolt-court, and for whom he had much kindness, was one of Dodd’s friends, of whom, to the credit of humanity be it recorded, that he had many who did not desert him, even after his in- fringement of the law had reduced him to the state of a man under sentence of death. Mr. Allen told me that he carried Lady Harrington’s letter to Johnson, that John- son read it, walking up and down his cham- ber, and seemed much agitated, after which he said, cc I will do what 1 can; ” and cer- tainly he did make extraordinary exertions. He this evening, as he had obligingly promised in one of his letters* put into my hands the whole series of his writings upon this melancholy occasion, and I shall pre- sent my readers with the abstract which I made from the collection; in doing which I studied to avoid copying what had ap- peared in print, and now make part of the edition of “ Johnson’s Works,” published by the. booksellers of London, but taking care to mark Johnson’s variations in some of the pieces there exhibited. Dr. Johnson wrote, in the first place, Dr. Dodd’s “ Speech to the Recorder of Lon- don,” at the Old Bailey, when sentence of leath was about to be pronounced upon him. He wrote also “ The Convict’s Address 1 Caroline, eldest daughter of Charles Fitzroy, Duke of.Grafton, and wife of William, the second Earl of Harrington. — Malone. [It may be concluded that Allen not only carried the let- ter, but obtained it ; for to those who know the character of Lady Harrington, her good-nature will not seenr. extraordinary; but hat she should have had any kind of acquaintance with Dr. John- wn seems highly improbable. — Ed ] VOL. 14 to his unhappy Brethren,” a sermon' deliver ed by Dr. Dodd in the chapel of Newgate According to Johnson’s manuscript, it be- an thus after the text, What shall I do to e saved “ These were the words with which the keeper, to whose custody Paul and Silas were committed by their prosecutors, ad- dressed his prisoners, when he saw them freed from their bonds by the perceptible agency of divine favour, and was, therefore, irresistibly convinced that they were not offenders against the laws, but martyrs to the truth.” Dr. Johnson was so good as to mark for me with his own hand, on a copy of this sermon which is now in my possession, such passages as were added by Dr. Dodd. They are not many: whoever will take the trouble to look at the printed copy, and at- tend to what I mention, will be satisfied of this. There is a short introduction by Dr. Dodd, and he also inserted this sentence: “ You see with what confusion and dishonour I now stand before you; no more in the pul- pit of instruction, but on this humble seat with yourselves.” The notes are entirely Dodd’s own, and Johnson’s writing ends at the words, “ the thief whom he pardoned on the cross.” What follows was supplied by Dr. Dodd himself. [Dr. Johnson wrote to Mrs. Thrale with some degree of complacency, in Miss Por ter’s judgment (to whom he had not im parted his transactions with Dodd) Letters — “ Lucy said, £ When I read Dr. 9 Aug. Dodd’s sermon to the prisoners, I 1777 - said, Dr Johnson could not make a bet- ter.’ ”] The other pieces mentioned by Johnson in the above-mentioned collection are two letters, one to the Lord Chancellor Ba- thurst (not Lord North, as is erroneously supposed), and one to Lord Mansfield. A Petition from Dr. Dodd to the King. A Petition from Mrs. Dodd to the Queen. Observations of some length inserted in the newspapers, on occasion of Earl Percy’s having presented to his’ majesty a petition for mercy to Dodd, signtd by twenty thou sand people, but all in vain. He told me that he had also written a petition for the city of London; “ but (said he, with a sig- nificant smile) they mended it 2 3 .” 2 [What must I do to be saved ? — Acts , c. 17, v. 80 . — Ed.] 3 Having unexpectedly, by the favour of Mr Stone, of London Field, Hackney, seen the origi nal in Johnson’s handwriting of “ The Petition of the City of London to his Majesty, in favour of Dr. Dodd,” I now present it to my readers, with such passages as were omitted enclosed in crotch ets, and the additions ir variations marked in ital icks 106 1777. — /ETAT. 68. The last of these articles which Johnson wrote is u Dr. Dodd’s last solemn Declara- tion,” which he left with the sheriff at the place of execution. Here also my friend marked the variations on a copy of that piece now in my possession. Dodd insert- ed “ I never knew or attended to the calls of frugality, or the needful minuteness of painful 'economy; ” and in the next sen- tence he introduced the tvords which I dis- tinguish by italicks: “ My life for some few unhappy years past has been dreadful- ly erroneous." Johnson’s expression was hypocritical ; but his remark on the margin is, “ With this he said he cou-ld not charge himself.” Having thus authentically settled what part of the cc Occasional Papers,” con- cerning Dr. Dodd’s miserable situation, came from the pen of Johnson, I shall pro- ceed to present my readers with my record of the unpublished writings relating to that extraordinary and interesting matter. . I found a letter to Dr. Johnson from Dr. Dodd, May 23, 1777, in which “ The Con- vict’s Address ” seems clearly to be meant: “ DR. DODD TO DR. JOHNSON. cc I am so penetrated, my ever dear sir, with a sense of your extreme benevolence towards me, that I cannot find words equal to the sentiments of my heart. ***** “ You are too conversant in the world to need the slightest hint from me of what in- finite utility the speech 1 on the awful day “ That William Dodd, Doctor of Laws, now lying under sentence of death in your majesty's gaol of jYewgate for the crime of forgery, has for a great part of his life set a useful and lauda- ble example of diligence in his calling [and, as we have reason to believe, has exercised his ministry with great fidelity and efficacy] , which , in many instances , has produced the most happy ef- fect. “ That he has been the first institutor [or] and ■l very earnest and active promoter of several inodes of useful charity, and [that], therefore, [he] may be considered as having been on many jccasions a benefactor to the publick. “ [That when they consider his past life, they ire willing to suppose his late crime to have been, aot the consequence of habitual depravity, but the suggestion of some sudden and violent tempta- tion.] “ [That] your petitioners, therefore, consid- ering his case as, in some of its circumstances, mprecedented and peculiar, and encouraged by your majesty's known clemency , [they] most humbly recommend the said William Dodd to [his] your majesty’s most gracious consideration, in hopes that he will be found not altogether [un- fit] unworthy to stand an example of royal mer- cy.” — B oswell. [Tt does seem that these few alterations were amendments. — Ed.] 1 His speech at the old Bailey when found guil- ‘y. — B oswell. has been to me. I experience, every hour, some good effect from it. I am sure that effects sti . more salutary and important must follow' from your kind and intended favour. I will labour — God being my help- er — to do justice to it from the pulpit. J am sure, had I your sentiments constantly to deliver from thence, in all their mighty force and power, not a soul could be" left unconvinced and unpersuaded. ***** “ May God Almighty bless and reward, with his choicest comforts, your philan- thropick actions, and enable me at all times to express what I feel of the high and un- common obligations which I owe to the first man in our times.” On Sunday, June 22, he writes, begging Dr. Johnson’s assistance in framing a sup- plicatory letter to his majesty: “ If his majesty could be moved of his royal clemency to spare me and my family the horrours and ignominy of a publick death , which the publick itself is solicitous to wave, and to grant me in some silent dis- tant corner of the globe to pass the remain- der of my days in penitence and prayer, I would bless his clemency and be humbled.” This letter w T as brought to Dr. Johnson when in church. He stooped down and read it 2 , and wrote, when he went home, the following letter for Dr. Dodd to the king: “ Sir, — May it not offend your majesty, that the most miserable of men applies him- self to your clemency, as his last hope and his last refuge; that your mercy is most ear- nestly and humbly implored by a clergy- man, whom, your laws and judges have condemned to the horrour and ignominy of a publick execution. “ I confess the crime, and own the enor- mity of its consequences, and the danger of its example. Nor have I the confidence to petition for impunity; but humbly hopi , that publick security may be established, without the spectacle of a clergyman drag- ged through the streets, to a death of infa- my, amidst the derision of the profligate and profane; and that justice may be satis- fied with irrevocable exile, perpetual dis- grace, and hopeless penury. “ My life, sir, has not been useless to mankind. I have benefited many. But my offences against God are numberless, and I have had little time for repentance. Preserve me, sir, by your prerogative of mercy, from the necessity of appearing un- prepared at that tribunal, before which kings and subjects must stand at last to gether. Permit me to hide my guilt in 2 [He afterwards expressed a hope that tins de- viation from the duties of the place would be for given him. — E d.] 1777.— vETAT. 68. 107 some obscure corner of a foreign country, where, if I can ever attain confidence to hope that my prayers will be heard, they snail be poured with all the fervour of grat- itude for the life and happiness of your ma- jesty. — I am, sir, your majesty’s, &c.” Subjoined to it was written as follows: “DR. JOHNSON TO DR. DODD. ‘Sir, — I most seriously enjoin you not 0 let it be at all known that I have written this letter, and to return the copy to Mr. Allen in a cover to me. I hope I need not tell you that I wish it success. But do not indulge hope. Tell nobody.” It happened luckily that Mr. Allen was pitched on to assist in this melancholy of- fice, for he was a great friend of Mr. Aker- man, the keeper of Newgate. Dr. John- son never went to see Dr. Dodd. He said to me, “ It would have done him more harm than good to Dodd, who once expressed a desire to see him, but not earnestly.” Dr. Johnson, on the 20th of June, wrote the following letter : cc TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES JENKTNSON. cc Sir, — Since the conviction and con- demnation of Dr. Dodd, I have had, by the intervention of a friend, some intercourse with him, and I am sure I shall lose nothing in your opinion by tenderness and commis- eration. Whatever be the crime, it is not easy to have any knowledge of the delin- quent, without a wish that his life may be spared; at least when no life has been taken away by him. I will, therefore, take the liberty of suggesting some reasons for which 1 wish this unhappy being to escape the ut- most rigour of his sentence. “ He is, so far as I can recollect, the first clergyman of our church who has suffered publick execution for immorality; and I know not whether it would not be more for the interests of religion to bury such an of- fender in the obscurity of perpetual exile, than to expose him in a cart, and on the gallows, to all who for any reason are ene- mies to the clergy. “ The supreme power has, in all ages, paid some attention to the voice of the peo- ple; and that voice does not least deserve to be heard when it calls out for mercy. There is now a very general desire that Dodd’s life should be spared. More is not wished; and, perhaps, this is not too much to be granted. “ If you, sir, have any opportunity of en forcing these reasons, you may, perhaps, think them worthy of consideration: but whatever you determine, I most respectfully [ entreat that you will be pleased to pardon i for this intrusion, sir, your most obedient and most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” It has been confidently circulated, with invidious remarks, that to this letter no at- tention whatever was paid by Mr. Jenkin son (afterwards Earl of Liverpool), and that he did not even deign to show the common civility of owning the receipt of it. I could not but wonder at such conduct in the noble lord, whose own character and just elevation in life, I thought, must have impressed him with all due regard for great abilities and attainments. As the story had been much talked of*, and apparently from good authority, I could not but have animadverted upon it in this work, had it been as was alleged; but from my earnest love of truth, and having found reason to think that there might be a mistake, I pre- sumed to write to his lordship, requesting an explanation; and it is with the sincerest pleasure that I am enabled to assure the world that there is no foundation for it, the fact being, that owing to some neglect, or accident, Johnson’s letter never came to Lord Liverpool’s hands. I should have thought it strange indeed, if that noble lord had undervalued my illustrious friend ] ; but instead of this being the case, his lordship, in the very polite answer with which he was pleased immediately to honour me, thus ex- presses himself: c£ I have always respected the memory of Dr. Johnson, and admire his writings; and I frequently read many parts of them with pleasure and great improve- ment.” All applications for the royal mercy hav- ing failed, Dr. Dodd prepared himself for death; and, with a warmth of gratitude, wrote to Dr. Johnson as follows: “ 25th June, midnight “ Accept, thou great and good heart, my earnest and fervent thanks and prayers for all thy benevolent and kind efforts in my behalf. — Oh! Dr. Johnson! as I sought your knowledge at an early hour in life, would to Heaven I had cultivated the love and acquaintance of so excellent a man ! — I pray God most sincerely to bless you with 1 [It would not be suprising if it had been so treated. Mr. Jenkinson was at this time Secretary at War, and was obnoxious to popular odium from an unfounded imputation of being the chan- nel of a secret influence over the king. To request, therefore, his influence with the king on a matter so wholly foreign to his duties and station was a kind of verification of the slander; — and however Lord Liverpool’s prudence may have inclined him, at a subsequent period, to answer Mr. Boswell’s inquiries, there seems to be some reason why he should have been offended at the liberty taken with him by I)r. Johnson. — Ed.] 108 1777.— AETAT. 68. the. highest transports — the infelt satisfac- tion of humane and benevolent exertions ! -•And admitted, as I trust I shall be, to the realms of bliss before you, I shall hail your arrival there with transports, and rejoice to acknowledge that you was my comforter, my advocate, and my frimd ! God be ever with you!” Dr. Johnson lastly wrote to Dr. Dodd this solemn and soothing letter: “TO THE REVEREND DR. DODD. “ 26th June, 1777. ££ Dear sir, — That which is appointed to all men is now coming upon you. Out- ward circumstances, the eyes and the thoughts of men, are below the notice of an immortal being about to stand the trial for eternity, before the Supreme Judge of neaven and earth. Be comforted : your crime, morally or religiously considered, has no very deep dye of turpitude. It cor- rupted no man’s principles; it attacked no man’s life. It involved only a temporary and reparable injury. Of this, and of all other sins, you are earnestly to repent; and may God, who knoweth our frailty, and desireth not our death, accept your repen- tance, for the sake of his son Jesus Christ, our Lord! “In requital of those well-intended offices which you are pleased so emphatically to acknowledge, let me beg that you make in your devotions one petition for my eternal welfare. — I am, dear sir, your most affec- tionate servant, ££ Sam. Johnson.” Under the copy of this letter I found written, in Johnson’s own hand, ££ Next day, June 27, he was executed.” Recoil [That Dr. Johnson should have desired one prayer from Dr. Dodd, who was himself such an atrocious offender, has been very much condemned; but we ought to consider, that Di. Johnson might, perhaps, have had sufficient reason to be- lieve Dodd to be a sincere penitent, which, indeed, was the case; and, besides, his mind was so softened with pity and compassion for him, so impressed with the awful idea of his situation, the last evening of his life, that he probably did not think of his former transgressions, or thought, perhaps, that he ought not to remember them, when the of- fender was so soon to appear before the Su- preme Judge of heaven and earth. Dr. Johnson told Miss Reynolds that Dodd, on reading this letter, gave it into the hands of his wife, with a strong injunc- tion never to part with it; that he had slept during the night, and when he awoke in the morning, he did no* immediately recollect that he was to suffer, and when he did, he expressed the utmost horrour and agony of mind — outrageously vehement in his speech and in his looks — till he went into the chap el, and on his coming out of it his face ex- pressed the most angelic peace and compo- sure.] [Johnson was deeply concerned at the failure of the petitions; and * 29 - 30 ' P asked Sir J. Hawkins at the time, if the request contained in them was not such an one as ought to have been granted to the prayer of twenty three thousand sub- jects: to which Hawkins answered, that the subscription of popular petitions was a thing of course, and that, therefore, the difference between twenty and twenty thou- sand names was inconsiderable. He further censured the clergy very severely, for not interposing in his behalf, and said, ££ that their inactivity arose from a paltry fear of being reproached with partiality towards one of their own order.” But although he thus actively assisted in the solicitations for pardon, yet, in his pri- vate judgment, he thought Dodd unworthy of it; having been known to say, that had he been the adviser of the king, he should have told him that, in pardoning Dodd, his justice, in consigning the Perreaus 1 to their sentence, would have been called in ques- tion.] To conclude this interesting episode with an useful application, let us now attend to the reflections of Johnson at the end of the ££ Occasional Papers,” concerning the un fortunate Dr. Dodd. ££ Such were the last thoughts of a man whom we have seen exulting in popularity and sunk in shame. For his reputation, which no man can give to himself, those who conferred it are to answer. Of his publick ministry the means of judging were sufficiently attainable. * He must be allowed to preach well, whose sermons strike his au- dience with forcible conviction. Of his life, those who thought it consistent with his doctrine did not originally form false no tions. He was at first what he endeavour ed to make others; but the world broke down his resolution, and he in time ceased to exemplify his own instructions. ££ Let those who are tempted to his fault?' tremble at his punishment; and those whom he impressed from the pulpit with religious sentiments endeavour to confirm them, by considering the regret and self-abhorrence with which he reviewed in prison his devia- tions from rectitude 2 .” Johnson gave us this evening, in his happy discriminative manner, a portrait of the late Mr. Fitzherbert 3 of Derbyshire. 1 [See ante , p. 38 . — Ed.] 2 See Dr. Johnson’s final opinion concerning Dr. Dodd, sub April 18, 1783. — Malone. 3 [See ante , v. i. p. 29, and 407, n. — Ed.] 1777 -/ETAT. 68. 109 w There was/'* said he, ££ no sparkle, no brilliancy in Fitzherbert; but I never knew a man who was so generally acceptable. He made every body quite easy, overpow- ered nobody by the superiority of his talents, made no man think worse of himself by be- ing his rival, seemed always to listen, did not oblige you to hear much from him, and did not oppose what you said. Every body liked him; but he had no friends, as I un- derstand the word, nobody with whom he exchanged intimate thoughts. People were willing to think well of every thing about him. A gentleman was making an affect- ing rant, as many people do, of great feel- ings about c his dear son, 5 who was at school near London; how anxious he was lest he might be ill, and what he would give to see him. £ Can’t you, 5 said Fitzherbert, £ take a post-chaise and go to him? 5 This, to be sure, finished the affected man, but there was not much in it h However, this was circulated as wit for a whole winter, and I believe part of a summer too; a proof that he was no very witty man. He was an in- stance of the truth of the observation, that a man will please more upon the whole by negative qualities than by positive; by never offending, than by giving a great deal of delight, in the first place, men hate more steadily than they love; and if I have said something to hurt a man once, I shall not get the better of this by saying many things to please him. 55 [Of p 10 ^’ Mrs. Fitzherbert 2 he always spoke with esteem and tenderness, and with a veneration very difficult to deserve. <£ That woman, 55 said he, ££ loved her hus- band as we hope and desire to be loved by our guardian angel. Fitzherbert was a gay, good-humoured fellow, generous of his money and of his meat, and desirous of nothing but good, cheerful society among people distinguished in some way — in any way, I think; for Bousseau and St. Austin would have been equally welcome to his ta- ble and to his kindness. The lady, howev- er, was of another way of thinking: her first care was to preserve her husband’s 1 Dr. Gisborne, physician to his majesty’s Household, has obligingly communicated to me a fuller account of this story than had reached Dr. Johnson. The affected gentleman was the late John Gilbert Cooper, Esq. authour of a Life of Socrates, and of some poems in Dodsley’s collec- tion. Mr. Fitzherbert found him one morning, apparently, in such violent agitation, on account of the indisposition of his son, as to seem beyond the power of comfort. At length, however, he exclaimed, “ I ’ll write an elegy.” Mr. Fitzher- bert, being satisfied by this of the sincerity of his emotions, silly said, “ Had not you better take a post-chaise, and go and see him ? ” It was the shrewdness of the insinuation which made the sto- ry be circulated. — Boswell. s [See ante , v. i. p. 29. — En.] 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 Fitzherbert whom I loved ex- tremely. c They dare not, 5 said she, £ swear, and take other conversation-liberties, before yow. 5 55 Mrs. Piozzi asked if her husband returned her regard. ££ He felt her influ- ence too powerfully, 55 replied Dr. Johnson: “ no man will be fond of what forces him daily to feel himself inferior. She stood ai 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 hus- band felt at once afflicted and released. 55 Mrs. Piozzi inquired if she was handsome. ££ She would have been handsome for a queen, 55 replied the panegyrist: “ her beau- ty had more in it of majesty than of at- traction, more of the dignity of virtue than the vivacity of wit. 55 The friend of this lady, Miss Boothby, succeeded her in the man- agement of Mr. Fitzherbert’s family, and in the esteem of Dr. Johnson; ££ Though, 55 he said, ££ she pushed her piety to bigotry, her devotion to enthusiasm; that she some- what disqualified herself for the duties of this life by her perpetual aspirations aftei the next:” such was, however, the purity of her mind, he said, and such the graces of her manner, that Lord Lyttelton and h6 used to strive for her preference with an emulation that occasioned hourly disgust, and ended in lasting animosity. ££ You may see, 55 said he to Mrs. Piozzi when the Poets’ Lives were printed, ££ that dear Boothby is at my heart still. She would delight in that fellow Lyttelton’s company in spite of all that I could do; and I cannot forgive even his memory the preference given by a mind like hers. 55 Mrs. Piozzi heard Baretti say, that when this lady died, Dr. Johnson was almost distracted with his grief; and that the friends about him had much ado to calm the violence of his emotions 3 .] Tuesday, September 16, Dr. Johnson having mentioned to me the extraordinary size and price of some cattle reared by Dr. Taylor, I rode out with our host, surveyed his farm, and was shown one cow which he. had sold for a hundred and twenty guineas, and another for which he had been offered a hundred and thirty. Taylor thus de- scribed to me his old school-fellow and friend, Johnson: ££ He is a man of a very clear head, great power of words, and a very 3 [See, on the subject of Miss Boothby, ante . , vol. i. p. 29, and post, the note on the account of the Life of Lyttelton, sub 1781, where the attach ment between her and Dr. Johnson is more fully explained. See also the General Appendix, where a selection of the lady’s ietters and all Dr. .John •on’s to her are given. — Ei>.] 110 1777. — iETAT. 68 gay imaginat/on; but there is no disputing with him. He will not hear you, and, hav- ing a louder voice than you, must roar you down.” In the afternoon I tried to get Dr. John- son to like the Poems of Mr. Hamilton of Bangour t, which I had brought with me. I had been much pleased with them at a very early age : the impression still remained on my mind; it was confirmed by the opin- ion of my friend the Honourable Andrew Erskine, himself both a good poet and a good critick, who thought Hamilton as true a poet as ever wrote, and that his not hav- ing fame was unaccountable. Johnson, upon repeated occasions, while I was at Ashbourne, talked slightingly of Hamilton. He said there was no power of thinking in his verses, nothing that strikes one, nothing better than what you generally find in mag- azines; and that the highest praise they de- served was, that they were very well for a gentleman to hand about among his friends. He said the imitation of Ne sit ancillce tibi amor , &c. was too solemn: he read part of it at the beginning. He read the beautiful pathetick song, “ Ah, the poor shepherd’s mournful fate,” and did not seem to give attention to what I had been used to think tender elegant strains, but laughed at the rhyme, in Scotch pronunciation, wishes and blushes , reading wushes — and there he stopped. He owned that the epitaph on Lord Newhall was pretty well done. He read the “ Inscription in a Summer-house,” and a little of the Imitations of Horace’s Epistles; but said he found nothing to make him desire to read on. When I urged that there were some good poetical passages in the book, “ Where,” said he, “ will you find so large a collection without some? ” I thought the description of Winter might obtain his approbation: “ See Winter, from the frozen north, Drives his iron chariot forth! His grisly hand in icy chains Fair Tweeda’s silver flood constrains,” &c. He asked why an “ iron chariot? ” and said “ icy chains ” was an old image. I was struck with the uncertainty of taste, and somewhat sorry that a poet whom I had long read with fondness was not approved by Dr. Johnson. I comforted myself with thinking that the beauties were too delicate for his robust perceptions. Garrick main- tained that he had not a taste for the finest productions of genius: but I was sensible, that when he took the trouble to analyse critically, he generally convinced us that he was right. In the evening the Reverend Mr. Seward, of Lichfield, who was passing through Ash- bourne in his way home, drank tea with us. Johnson described him thus: “ Sii, his am- bition is to be a fine talker; so he goes to Buxton, and such places, where he may find companies to listen to him. And, sir, he is a valetudinarian, one of those who are always mending themselves. I do not know a more disagreeable character than a vale- tudinarian, who thinks he may do any thing that is for his ease 2 3 , and indulges himself* in the grossest freedoms • sir, he brings him self to the state of a hog in a sty.” Dr. Taylor’s nose happening to bleed, he said it was because he had omitted to have himself blooded four days after a quarter of a year’s interval. Dr. Johnson, who was a great dabbler in phvsick, disapproved much of periodical bleeding. “ For,’’ said he, “ you accustom yourself to an evacua- tion which nature cannot perform of herself, and therefore she cannot help you, should you from forgetfulness or any other cause omit it; so you may be suddenly suffocated. You may accustom yourself to other period- ical evacuations, because, should you omit them, nature can supply the omission; but nature cannot open a vein to blood you a .” “ I do not like to take an emetick,” said Taylor, “for fear of breaking some small vessels.” “ Poh!” said Johnson, “ if you have so many things that will break, you had better break your neck at once, and there ’s an end on ’t. You will break no small vessels ” (blowing with high derision). [Though Dr. Johnson was common- ly affected even to agony at the p 10 “b thoughts of a friend’s dying, he troubled himself very little with the com plaints they might make to him about ill health. “ Dear Doctor,” said he one day to a common acquaintance 4 * * , who lamented the tender state of his inside , “ do not be like the spider, and spin conversation thus incessantly out of thy own bowels.”] I mentioned to Dr. Johnson, that David Hume’s persisting in his infidelity when he was dying shocked me much. Johnson. “ Why should it shock you, sir? Hume owned he had never read the New Testa- ment with attention. Here then was a man who had been at no pains to inquire into the truth of religion, and had continu- ally turned his mind the other way. It was not to be expected that the prospect of death would alter his way of thinking, un- less God should send an angel to set him right.” I said I had reason to believe that the thought of annihilation gave Hume no pain. Johnson. “ It was not so, sir. 2 [See ante, p. 49, 27th March, 1776.- Ed.] 3 [Nature, however, may supply the evacuation by an hemorrhage. — Kearney.] 4 [Dr. Delap of Lowes. S ee ante, vol. L p. 222; but it is theie incorrectly stated that he wat rector of Leaves ; he on’y rr sided there. — E d ] 1 [See ante, y. i. p. 334 . — Ed.] 1777.— /ET AT. 68. 11 He had a vanity in bein fe thought easy. It is more probable that he should assume an appearance of ease, than that so very im- probable a thing should be, as a man not afraid of going (as, in spite of his delusive theory, he cannot be sure but he may go) into an unknown state, and not being un- easy at leaving all he knew. And you are to consider, that upon his own principle of annihilation he had no motive to speak the Hawk, truth.” [He would never hear Apopk. Hume mentioned with any temper. p.205. a ^ man,” said he, “ who endeav- oured to persuade his friend, who had the stone, to shoot himself ! ”] The horrour of death, which I had always observed in Dr. Johnson, appeared strong to-night. I ventured to tell him, that I had been, for moments in my life, not afraid of death; therefore I could suppose another man in that state of mind for a considerable space of time. He said, “ he never had a moment in which death was not terrible to him.” He added, that it had been observed, that scarce any man dies in publick but with ap- parent resolution; from that desire of praise which never quits us. I said, Dr. Dodd seemed to be willing to die, and full of hopes of happiness, “ Sir,” said he, “ Dr. Dodd would have given both his hands and both his legs to have lived. The better a man is, the more afraid is he of death, hav- ing a clearer view of infinite purity.” He owned, that our being in an unhappy un- certainty as to our salvation was mysterious; and said, “Ah! we must wait till we are in another state of being to have many things explained to us.” Even the power- ful mind of Johnson seemed foiled by futu- rity. But I thought, that the gloom of un- certainty in solemn religious speculation, being mingled with hope, was yet more consolatory than the emptiness of infidelity. A man can live in thick air, but perishes in an exhausted receiver. Dr. Johnson was much pleased with a re- mark which I told him was made to me by General Paoli: “ That it is impossible not to be afraid of death; and that those who at the time of dying are not afraid, are not thinking of death, but of applause, or some- thing else, which keeps death out of their sight: so that all men are equally afraid of death when they see it; only some have a power of turning their sight away from it better than others.” On Wednesday, September 17, Dr. But- ter, physician at Derby, drank tea with us; and it was settled that Dr. Johnson and I should go on Friday and dine with him. Johnson said, “ I am glad of this.” He seemed weary of the uniformity of life at Dr. Taylor’s. Talking of biography, I said, in writing a life, a man’s peculiarities should be men- ti ned, aecause they mark his character. Johnson. “ Sir, there is no doubt as to peculiarities: the question is, whether a man’s vices should be mentioned; for in- stance, whether it should be mentioned that Addison and Parnell drank too freely; for people will probably more easily indulge in drinking from knowing this; so that more ill may be done by the example, than good by telling the whole truth.” Here was an instance of his varying from him self in talk; for when Lord Hailes and he sat one morning calmly conversing in my house at Edinburgh, I well remember that Dr. Johnson maintained, that “ If a man is to write a Panegyrick, he may keep vices out of sight; but if he professes to write a Life, he must represent it really as it was: ” and when I objected to the danger of telling that Parnell drank to excess, he said, that “ it would produce an instructive caution to avoid drinking, when it was seen, that even the learning and genius of Parnell could be debased by it.” And in the Heb- rides he maintained, as appears from the “ Journal that a man’s intimate friend should mention his faults, if he writes his life. [On another occasion, when ac- Hawk cused of mentioning ridiculous an- Apoph ecdotes in the “ Lives of the Po- p ' 193 ets,” he said, he should not have been an exact biographer 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 any peculian- ties of character or sentiment he may hap- pen to have.”] He had this evening, partly, I suppose, from the spirit of contradiction to his whig friend, a violent argument with Dr. Tay- lor, as to the inclinations of the people of England at this time towards the Royal Family of Stuart. He grew so outrageous as to say, “ that if England were fairly polled, the present king would be sent away to-night, and his adherents hanged to-mor row.” Taylor, who was as violent a whig as Johnson was a tory, was roused by this to a pitch of bellowing. He denied loudly what Johnson said; and maintained that there was an abhorrence against the Stuart family, though he admitted that the people were not much attached to the present king 1 2 . Johnson. “ Sir, the state of the 1 Ante, vol. i. p. 403, 22d Sept. 1773. — Bos WELL. 2 Dr. Taylor was very ready to make this ad mission, because the party with which he was connected was not in power. There was tl on some truth in it, owing to the pertinacity of f c tious clamour. Had he lived till now, it. would have been impossible for him to deny that hu majesty possesses the warmest affection of his peo pie. — Boswell. 112 1777. -A2TAT. 68. country is tin’s : the people, knowing it to be agreed on all hands tha . this king has not the hereditary right to the crown, and .here being no hope that he who has it can De restored, have grown cold and indifferent upon the subject of loyalty, and have no warm attachment to any king. They would not, therefore, risk any thing to restore the exiled family. They would not give twen- ty shillings a-piece to bring it about. But if a mere vote could do it, there would be twenty to one; at least there would be a very great majority of voices for it. For, sir, you are to consider, that all those who think a king has a right to his crown as a man has to his estate, which is the just opinion, would be for restoring the king who certainly has the hereditary right, could he be trusted with it; in which there would be no danger now, when laws and every thing else are so much advanced : and every king will govern by the laws. And you must also consider, sir, that there is nothing on the other side to oppose to this : for it is not alleged by any one that the present family has any inherent right: so that the whigs could not have a contest be- tween two rights.” Dr. Taylor admitted, that if the question as to hereditary right were to be tried by a poll of the people of England, to be sure the abstract doctrine would be given in fa- vour of the family of Stuart; but he said, the conduct of that family, which occasion- ed their expulsion, w T as so fresh in the minds of the people, that they would not vote for a restoration Dr. Johnson, I think, was contented with the admission as to the hereditary right, leaving the original point in dispute, viz. what the people upon the whole would do, taking in right and af- fection; for he said., people were afraid of a change, even though they think it right. Dr. Taylor said something of the slight foundation of the hereditary right of the house of Stuart. c: Sir,” said Johnson, “ the house of Stuart succeeded to the full right of both the houses of York and Lan- caster, whose common source had the un- disputed right. A right to a throne is like a right to any thing else. Possession is sufficient, where no better right can be shown. This was the case with the Royal Family of England, as it is now with the King of France: for as to the first begin- ning of the right we are in the dark.” e d . [But though thus a tory, and al- most a jacobite, Dr. Johnson was not p. a 504 . s0 besotted in his notions, as to abet what is called the patriarchial scheme, as delineated by Sir Robert Filmer and other writers on government; nor, with others of a more sober cast, to acquiesce in the opin- ion that, because submission to governors is, in general terms, inculcated in the Holy Scriptures, the resistance of tvrannv and oppression is, in all cases, unlawful: he seemed rather to adopt the sentiments of Hooker on the subject, as explained by Hoadly, and, by consequence, to look on submission to lawful authority as a moral obligation; he, therefore, condemned the conduct of James the Second during his short reign; and, had he been a subject on that weak and infatuated monarch, y/ould, Sir John Hawkins was persuaded, have re- sisted any invasion of his right, or unwar- rantable exertion of power, with the same spirit as did the president and fellows of Magdalen college, or those conscientious divines the seven bishops. This disposi- tion, as it leads to whiggism, one would have thought, might have reconciled him to the memory of James’s successor, whose exercise of the regal authority among us merited better returns than were made him; but, it had no such effect: he never spoke of King William but in terms of reproach, and, in his opinion of him, seemed to adopt all the prejudices of jacobite bigotry and rancour. He, however, was not so unjust to the minister who most essentially con tributed to the establishment of the reigning family. Of Sir Robert p ^ 14 Walpole, notwithstanding that he had written against him in the early part of his life, he had a high opinion : he said of him, that he was a fine fellow, and that his enemies deemed him so before his death : he honoured his memory for having kept this country in peace many years, as also for the goodness and placability of his tem per; of which Pulteney, earl of Bath, thought so highly, that, in a conversation with Johnson, he said, that Sir Robert was of a temper so calm and equal, and so hard to be provoked, that he was very sure he never felt the bitterest invectives against him for half an hour. To the same pur- pose Johnson related the following anec- dote, which he said he had from Lord North: Sir Robert having got into his hands some treasonable letters of his invet- erate enemy, Will. Shippen, one of the heads of the jacobite faction, he sent foi him, and burned them before his face Some time afterwards, Shippen had occa sion to tfike the oaths to the government in the house of commons, which, while he was doing, Sir Robert, who stood next him. and knew his principles to be the same as ever, smiled: “ Egad, Robin,” said Ship pen, who had observed him, “ that ’s hardly fair.” To party opposition Dr. Johnson ever expressed great aversion; and, of the pretences of patriots, always 1 ‘ spoke with indignation and contempt. He partook of the short-lived joy that infatuated the public, when Sir Robert Walpole ceas- ed to have the direction of the national councils, and trusted to the professions of 1777.— jETAT. 68. 115 Mr. Pulteney and his adherents, who called 'themselves the country-party, that all elec- tions should thenceforward be free a*id un- influenced, and that bribery and corruption, which were never practised but by cour- tiers and their agents, should be no more. A few weeks, nay, a few days, convinced Johnson, and indeed all England, that what had assumed the appearance of patriotism, was personal hatred and inveterate malice in some, and in others, an ambition for that power, which, when they had got it, they knew not how to exercise. A change of men, and in some respect of measures, took place: Mr. Pulteney’s ambition was grati- fied by a peerage; the wants of his asso- ciates were relieved by places, and seats at the public boards; and, in a short time, the stream of government resumed its former channel, and ran with a current as even as it had ever done. Upon this developement of the motives, the views, and the consistency of the above- mentioned band of patriots , Johnson once remarked to me, that it had given more strength to government than all that had been written in its defence, meaning there- by, that it had destroyed all confidence in men of that character.]- Thursday, Sept. 18. Last night Dr. John- son had proposed that the crystal lustre, or chandelier, in Dr. Taylor’s large room, should be lighted up some time or other. Taylor said it should be lighted up next night. “ That will do very well,” said I, “ for it is Dr. Johnson’s birthday.”. When we were in the Isle of Sky, Johnson had desired me not to mention his birthday. He did not seem pleased at this time that I mentioned it, and said (somewhat sternly), “ he would not have the lustre lighted the next day.” Some ladies, who had been present yes- terday when I mentioned his birthday, came to dinner to-day, and plagued him uninten- tionally by wishing him joy. I know not why he disliked having his birthday men- tioned, unless it were that it reminded him of his approaching nearer to death, of which he had a constant dread. Ed. [His letter of this date to Mrs. Thrale confirms this conjecture. [ CC T0 MRS. THRALE. “Ashbourne, 18th Sept. 1777. Letters, “ Here is another birthday. They voi. i. come very fast. I am now sixty- p ‘ 370 ' eight. To lament the past is vain; what remains is to look for hope in futuri- ty* . . 1 °49-52 "W arton’s poems in this year in- dulged himself in a similar strain of ridicule. “ [Warton’s] verses are come out,” said Mrs. Thrale : “Yes,” replied Johnson, “ and this frost has struck them in again. Here are some lines I have writ- ten to ridicule them : but remember that I love the fellow dearly, — 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: “ Evening spreads his mantle hoar,” and “ Beneath the beech whose branches bare .” (T. Warton's Works , v. i. pp. 130, 146.) But there is no o-ther point of resemblance that the editor can discover. — Ed.] 1 As some of my readers may be gratified by reading the progress of this little composition, I shall insert it from my notes. “When Dr. Johnson and I were sitting tete-a-tete at the Mitre tavern, May 9, 1778, he said, ‘ Where is bliss,’ would be better. He then added a ludi- crous stanza, but would not repeat it, lest I should take it down. It was somewhat as follows; the last line I am sure I remember: ‘ While I thus cried, seer, The hoary replied, Come, my lad, and drink some beer.’ ‘ In spring, 1779, when in better humour, he made the second stanza, as in the text. There was only one variation afterwards made on my suggestion, which was changing hoary in the third linq to smiling, both to avoid a samepess with the epithet in the first line, and to describe the hermit in his pleasantry. He was then very well pleased that I should preserve it.” — Bos- well. Phrase that Time has flung away; Uncouth words in disarray, ^Trick’d in antique rutf and bonnet, Ode, and elegy, and sonnet V ” "VV hen he parodied the versea of another eminent writer 2 3 4 , it was done with more provocation, and with some merry malice A serious translation of the same lines, from Euripides, may be found in Burney’s His- tory of Music. Here are the burlesque ones : “Err shall they not, who resolute explore Time’s 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 Announced the dinner to the regions round, Summon’d the singer blithe, and harper gay. And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound “ The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill. By quiv’nng string, or -modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre — to their arch bosoms chill, Admission ne’er had sought, or could no4 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 power.” Some of the old legendary stories put ill verse by modern writers 1 provoked him to caricature them thus oiie day at Streatham; but they are already well known. “ 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 Mrs. Piozzi com- mended the translation of it 5 , he said he could do it better himself — as thus : 2 [The metre of these lines was no doubt suggested by Warton’s “ Crusade” and “ The Grave of King Arthur,” ( Works, v. ii. pp. 38, 51); but they are, otherwise, rather a criticism than a parody. — Ed.] 3 [Malone’s MS. notes, communicated by Mr Markland, state that this was “ Robert Potter, the translator of /Eschylus and Euripides, who wrote a pamphlet against Johnson, in consequence of his criticism on Gray.” It may, therefore, be presumed that these verses were made subse- quently to that publication, in 1783. Potter died, a prebendary of Norwich, in 1804, set. eightv- three. — Ed.] 4 [ This alludes to Bishop Percy and his “Her- mit of Warkworth.” — E d.] D [No doubt the translation by Bishop Percy: ‘ Gentle river, gentle river, Lo thy streams are stain’d with gore , 1777.— yETAT. 68. ‘ Glassy water, glassy water, Down whose current, clear and strong, Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, Moor and Christian roll along.” « But, sir,” said she, “ this is not ridicu- .ous at all.” “ Why no,” replied he, “ why should I always write ridiculously ? perhaps because I made those verses to imitate [Warton] 1 .” Mrs. Piozzi gives another comical in- stance of caricatura imitation. Some one praising these verses of Lopez de Vega, “ Se acquien los leones vence Yence una muger hermosa, O el de flaco averguen^e O ella di ser mas furiosa,” more than he thought they deserved, Dr. Johnson instantly observed, “ that they were founded on a trivial conceit ; and that conceit ill-explained, and ill-expressed be- side. The lady, we all know, does not con- quer in the same manner as the lion does : ’t is a mere play of words,” added he, “ and vou might as well say, that * If the man who turnipscries, Cry not when his father dies, 5 T is a proof that he had rather Have a turnip than his father.’ ” And this humour is of the same sort with which he answered the friend who com- mended the following line : Who rules o’er freemen should himself be free.” t( To be sure,” said Dr. Johnson, f ‘ Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.” This readiness of finding a parallel, or ma- king one, was shown by him perpetually in the course of conversation. When the French verses of a certain pantomime were quoted thus, “ Je suis Cassandre descendue des cieux, Pour vous faire entendre, mesdames et messieurs, Q,ue je suis Cassandre descendue des cieux ’ lie 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 Phraseolo- gy,” he did all 5 improviso, in the same manner : “ Viva! viva la padrona! Tutta bella, e tutta buona. Many a brave and noble captain Floats along thy willow’d shore.” Neither of these pretended translations give any idea of the peculiar simplicity of the original. — Ed.] 1 [Mrs. Piozzi had here added the verses cited by Boswell, “ Hermit hoar ,” exactly as he has given them; which is remarkable, because her book appeared so long before his. — Ed.] 116 La padrona e uti angiolella Tutta buona 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! Always young and always pretty; Long may live my lovely Hetty 2 !” The famous distich too, of an Italian im- provisatore, who, when the Duke of Mo- dena 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 wel in our language thus: ‘ 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 ct son Lit: “ Theatre des ris et des pleurs, Lit! ou je nais, et ou je meurs, Tu nous fais 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 show Of human bliss to human woe.”] Friday, September 19, after breakfast, Dr. Johnson and I set out in Dr. Taylor’s chaise to go to Derby. The day was fine, and we resolved to go by Keddlestone, the seat of Lord Scarsdale, that I might see his lordship’s fine house. I was struck with the magnificence of the building ; and the extensive park, with the finest verdure, covered with deer, and cattle, and sheep, delighted me. The number of old oaks, of an immense size, filled me with a sort of re- spectful admiration ; for one of them sixty pounds was offered. The excellent smooth gravel roads; the large piece of water form- ed by his lordship from some small brooks, with a handsome barge upon it; the vener- able Gothick church, now the family chapel, just by the house; in short, the grand group of objects agitated and distended my mind in a most agreeable maimer. “ One should think,” said I, “ that the proprietor of all this must be happy.” “ Nay, sir,” said Johnson, “ all this excludes but one evil poverty 3 * .” 2 [The reader will recollect that Mrs. Thrale’s name was Hester. — Ed.] 3 When I mentioned Dr. Johnson’s remark to a lady of admirable good sense and quickness of understanding, she observed, “ It is true all this excludes only one evil; but how much good does it let in !” — First edition. To this observation I much praise has been justly given. Let me the& mow do myself the honour to mention that tho 116 1777. — /ETAT. 68. Our nanies were sent up, and a well-drest elderly housekeeper, a most distinct articu- • lator, showed us the house; which I need not describe, as there is an account of it published in “ Adams’s Works in Archi- tecture.” Dr. Johnson thought better of it to-day, than when he saw it before 1 ; for he had lately attacked it violently, saying, “ It would do excellently for a town-hall. The large room with the pillars,” said he, {C would do for the judges to sit in at the assizes; the circular room for a jury-cham- ber; and the room above for prisoners ” Still he thought the large room ill lighted, and of no use but for dancing in; and the bed-chambers but indifferent rooms; and that the immense sum which it -cost was in- judiciously laid out. Dr. Taylor had put him in mind of his appearing pleased with the house. “ But,” said he, “ that was when Lord Scarsdale was present. Polite- ness obliges us to appear pleased with a man’s works when he is present. No man will be so ill-bred as to question you. You may therefore pay compliments without saying what is not true. I should say to Lord Scarsdale of his large room, c My lord, this is the most costly room that I ever saw; ’ which is true.” Dr. Manningham, physician in London, who was visiting at Lord Scarsdale’s, ac- companied us through many of the rooms ; and soon afterwards my lord himself, to whom Dr. Johnson was known, appeared, and did the honours of the house. We talked of Mr. Langton. Johnson, with a warm vehemence of affectionate regard, ex- claimed, “ The earth does not bear a wor- thier man than Bennet Langton.” We saw a good many fine pictures, which I think are described in one of “ Young’s Tours.” There is a printed catalogue of them, which the housekeeper put into my hand. I should like to view them at leisure. I was much struck with Daniel in- terpreting Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, by Rembrandt. We were shown a pretty large library. In his lordship’s dressing- room lay Johnson’s small dictionary: he showed it to me, with some eagerness, say- ing, “ Look ’ye ! Quce regio in terris nos- tri non plena laboris .” He observed, also, Goldsmith’s “ Animated Nature;” and said, “ Here ’s our friend ! The poor doctor would have been happy to hear of this.” In our way, Johnson strongly expressed lady who made it was the late Margaret Mont- gomerie, my very valuable wife, and the very affectionate mother of my children, who, if they inherit her good qualities, will have no reason to complain of their lot. Dos magna parentum virtns . — Second edition . — Boswell. 1 [See ante, Tour in Wales, vol. i. p. 480. — Ed.] his love of driving fast in a post-chaise 2 . “If,” said he, “ I had no duties, and no reference to futurity, I would spend my life in driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman; but she should be one who could understand me, and would add something to the conversation.” I observed, that we were this day to stop just where the Highland army did in 1745. Johnson. “ It was a noble attempt.” Boscvell. “ 1 wish we could have an authentick history of it.” Johnson. “If you were not an idle dog you might write it, by collecting from every body what they can tell, and putting down your authorities.” Boswell. “ But I could not have the advantage of it in my life-time.” Johnson. “ You might have the satisfaction of its fame, by print- ing it in Holland; and as to profit, consider how long it w T as before writing came to *be considered in a pecuniary view. Baretti says he is the first man that ever received copy-money in Italy.” I said that I would endeavour to do what Dr. Johnson suggest- ed; and I thought that I might write so a» to venture to publish my “ History of the Civil War in Great Britain in 1745 and 1746,” without being obliged to go to a foreign press 3 . When we arrived at Derby, Dr. Butter accompanied us to see the manufactory of china there. I admired the ingenuity and delicate art with which a man fashioned clay into a cup, a saucer, or a tea-pot, while a boy turned round a wheel to give the mass rotundity. I thought this as ex- cellent in its species of power, as making good verses in its species. Yet I had no respect for this potter. Neither, indeed, has a man of any extent of’ thinking for a mere verse-maker, in whose numbers, how- ever perfect, there is no poetry, no mind. The china was beautiful, but Dr. Johnson justly observed it was too dear; for that he could have vessels of silver, of the same size, as cheap as what were here made of porcelain 4 . 1 felt a pleasure in walking about Derby, such as I always have in walking about any town to which I am not accustomed. There is an immediate sensation of novelty; and one speculates on the way in which life is passed in it, which, although there is a sameness every where upon the whole, 2 [See ante, p. 39, and p. 50 . — Ed.] 3 I am now happy to understand that Mr. John Home, who was himself gallantly in the field for the reigning family in that interesting warfare, but is generous enough to do justice to the other side, is preparing an account of it for the press. — Bos- well. 4 [The editor was once present when a flower- pot of Seve china, of about the size that would hold a pint of water, was sold by auctm for 70/ — Ed.] 1777.— iETA'" 68. 117 is yet minutely diversified. The minute diversities in every thing- are wonderful. Talking of shaving the other night at Dr. Taylor’s, Dr. Johnson said, “ Sir, of a thousand shavers, two do not shave so much alike as not to be distinguished.” I thought this not possible, till he specified so many of the varieties in shaving ; — holding the "razor more or less perpendicular; — drawing long or short strokes ; — beginning at the upper part of the face, or the under — • at the right side or the left side. Indeed when one considers what variety of sounds can be uttered by the windpipe, in the com- pass of a very small aperture, we may be convinced how many degrees of difference Jiere may be in the application of a razor. We dined with Dr. Butter 1 , whose lady is daughter of my cousin Sir John Douglas, whose grandson is now presumptive heir of the noble family of Queensberry. Johnson and he had a good deal of medical conver- sation. Johnson said, he had somewhere or other given an account, of Dr. Nichols’s discourse cc De Anima Medica .” He told u3, “ that whatever a man’s distemper was, Dr. Nichols would not attend 2 him as a physician, if his mind was not at ease; for he believed that no medicines would have any influence. He once attended a man in trade, upon whom he found none of the medicines he prescribed had any effect; he asked the man’s wife privately whether his affairs were not in a bad way? She said no. He continued his attendance some time, still without success. At length the man’s wife told him she had discovered that her husband’s affairs were in a bad way. When Goldsmith was dying, Dr. Turton said to him, c Your pulse is in greater disor- der than it should be, from the degree of fever which you have: is your mind at ease?’ Goldsmith answered it was not.” After dinner, Mrs. Butter went with me to see the silk-mill which Mr. John Lombe had 3 had a patent for, having brought away the contrivance from Italy. I am not very conversant with mechanicks; but the simplicity of this machine, and its rriul- 1 Dr. Butter was at this time a practising phy- sician at Derby. IJe afterwards removed to Lon- don, where he died in his seventy-ninth year, March 22, 1805. He is authour of several medi- cal tracts. — Malone. 2 [Dr. Nichols’s opinion had made a strong im- pression on Johnson’s mind, and appears to have been the cause of his urging Mrs. Aston and his other correspondents, as we have seen above, to keep her mind as much as possible at ease. — Hall.] 3 See Hutton’s “ History of Derby,” a book which is deservedly esteemed for its information, accuracy, and good narrative. Indeed the age in which we live is eminently distinguished by topo- graphical excellence. — B oswell. tiplied operations, struck me with an agree- able surprise. I had learnt from Dr. John- son, during this interview, not to think with a dejected indifference of the works of art, and the pleasures of life, because life is uncertain and short; but to consider such indifference as a failure of reason, a morbidness of mind; for happiness should be cultivated as much as we can, and the objects which are instrumental to it should be steadily considered as of importance with a reference not only to ourselves, but to multitudes in successive ages. Though it is proper to value small parts, as ** Sands make the mountain, moments make the year;” — Y oung. yet we must contemplate, collectively, to have a just estimation of objects. One moment’s being uneasy or not, seems of no consequence; yet this may be thought of the next, and the next, and so on, till there is a large portion of misery. In the same way one must think of happiness, of learn- ing, of friendship. We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over. We must not di vide the objects of our attention into minute parts, and think separately of each part. Ii r is by contemplating a large mass of human existence, that a man, while he sets a just value on his own life, does not think of his death as annihilating all that is great and pleasing in the world, as if actually contained in his mind, ac- cording to Berkeley’s reverie 4 . If his im- agination be not sickly and feeble, it “ wings its distant way ” far beyond himself, and views the world in unceasing activity of every sort. It must be acknowledged, however, that Pope’s plaintive reflection, that all things would be as gay as ever, on the day of his death, is natural and common. We are apt to transfer to all around us our own gloom, without considering that at any given point of time there is, perhaps, as much youth and gaiety in the world as at another. Before I came into this life, in which I have had so many pleasant scenes, have not thousands and ten thou sands of deaths and funerals happened, and have not families been in grief for their nearest relations? But have those dismal circumstances at all affected me? Why then should the gloomy scenes which I ex- perience, or which I know, affect others ? Let us guard against imagining that there is an end of felicity upon earth, when we ourselves grow old, or are unhappy, 4 [This is by no means an accurate allusion tc Berkeley’s theory. — E d.] 118 1777— yETAT 68. Dr. Johnson told us at tea, that when some of Dr. Dodd’s pious friends were try- ing to console him by saying that he was going to leave a “ wretched world,” he had honesty enough not to join in the cant: — “ No, no,” said he, cc it has been a very agreeable world to me.” Johnson added, “ I respect Dodd for thus speaking the truth ; for, to be sure, he had for several years enjoyed a life of great voluptuous- ness.” He told us that Dodd’s city friends stood by him so, that a thousand pounds were ready to be given to the gaoler, if he would let him escape. He added, that he knew a friend of Dodd’s, who walked about Newgate for some time on the evening before the day of his execution, with five hundred pounds in his pocket, ready to be paid to any of the turnkeys who could get him out, but it was too late ; for he was watched with much circumspection. He said, Dodd’s friends had an image of him made of wax, which was to have been left in his place; and he believed it was carried into the prison. [Dr. Johnson also told Miss Rey- Recoii n0 ^ s ^ at Dodd probably entertained some hopes of life even to the last mo- ment, having been flattered by some of his medical friends that there was a chance of suspending its total extinction till he was cut down, by placing the knot of the rope in a par- ticular manner behind his ear. That then he was to be carried to a convenient place, where they would use their utmost endeavour to recover him. All this was done. The hangman observed their injunctions in fix- ing the rope, and as the cart drew off, said in Dodd’s ear, you must not move an inch ! But he struggled. — Being carried to the place appointed, his friends endeavoured to restore him by bathing his breast with warm water, which Dr. Johnson said was not so likely to have that effect as cold wa- „er; and on this occasion he repeated [with a slight variation] the story already told, that a man wandered round the prison some days before his execution, with bank notes in his pocket to the amount of a thousand pounds, to bribe the jailor to let him escape.] Johnson disapproved of Dr. Dodd’s leaving the world persuaded that “The ConvicfsAddre ss to his unhappy Brethren” was of his own writing. “But, sir (said I), you contributed to the deception; for when Mr. Seward expressed a doubt to you that it was not Dodd’s own, because it had a great deal more force of mind in it than any thing known to be his, you answered, — ‘Why should you think so? Depend upon it, sir, when any man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.’ ” Johnson. “ Sir, as Dodd got it from me to pass as his own, while that could do him any good, that was an implied promise that I should not own it. To own it, therefore, would have been telling a lie, with the addition of breach of promise, which was worse than simply telling a lie to make it be believed it was Dodd’s. Besides, sir, I did not directly tell a lie : I left the matter uncertain. Perhaps I thought that Seward would not believe it the less to be mine for what I said; but I would not put it in his power to say I had owned it.” He praised Blair’s Sermons: “Yet,” said he, (willing to let us see he was aware that fashionable fame, however deserved, is not always the most lasting,) “ perhaps they may not be reprinted after seven years; at least not after Blair’s death.” He said, “ Goldsmith was a plant that flowered late. There appeared nothing re- markable about him when he was young; though when he had got high .in fame, one of his friends 1 began to recollect something of his being distinguished at college 2 . Goldsmith in the same manner recollected more of that friend’s early years, as he grew a greater man.” I mentioned that Lord Monboddo told me, he awaked every morning at four, and then for his health got up and walked in his room naked, with the window open, which he called taking an air-bath; after which he went to bed again, and slept two hours more. Johnson, who was always ready to beat down any thing that seemed to be exhibited with disproportionate importance, thus observed: “ I suppose, sir, there is no more in it than this, he wakes at four, and cannot sleep till he chills himself, and makes the warmth of the bed a grateful sensa- tion.” I talked of the difficulty of rising in the morning. Dr. Johnson told me, “ that the learned Mrs. Carter, at that period when she was eager in study, did not awake as early as she wished, and she therefore had a contrivance, that, at a certain hour, her chamber-light should burn a string to which a heavy weight was suspended, which then fell with a strong sudden noise: this roused her from sleep, and then she had no difficul- ty i~ getting up.” But I Said that was my difficulty; and wished there could be some medicine invented which would make one rise without pain, which I never did, unless after lying in bed a very long time. Per- haps there may be something in the stores of Nature which could do this. I have thought of a pulley to raise me gradually; 1 [Mr. Burke.— Ed.] 5 lie was distinguished in college, as appeari from a circumstance mentioned by Dr Ivearnsy. See'’ vol. i. p. 185 . — Malone. 1777.— AETAT. 68. 19 Dut that would give me pain, as it would counteract my internal inclination. I would have something that can dissipate the vis inertias, and give elasticity to the muscles. As I imagine that the human body may be put, by tlfe operation of other substances, into any state in which it has ever been; and as I have experienced a state in which rising from bed was not disagreeable, but easy, nay, sometimes agreeable; I suppose that this state may be produced, if we knew by what. We can heat the body, we can cool it; we can give it tension or relaxation; and surely it is possible to bring it into a state in which rising from bed will not be a pain. Johnson observed, that “ a man should take a sufficient quantity of sleep, which Dr. Mead says is between seven and nine hours.” I told him, that Dr. Cullen said to me, that a man should not take more sleep than he can take at once. Johnson. “ This rule, sir, cannot hold in all cases; for many people have their sleep broken by sickness; and surely, Cullen would not have a man to get up, after having slept but an hour. Such a regimen would soon end in a long sleep h” Dr. Taylor remarked I think very justly, that “ a man who does not feel an inclination to sleep at the ordi- nary times, instead of being stronger than other people, must not be well; for a man in health has all the natural inclinations to eat, drink, and sleep, in a strong degree.” Johnson advised me to-night not to refine in the education of my children. “ Life,” said he, “will not bear refinement: you must do as other people do.” Hawk [When he was asked by Dr. Apoph. Lawrence what he thought the p. 204. "best system of education, he re- plied, cc School in school-hours, and home- instruction in the intervals.”] Piozzi [On anot her occasion he main- p. i68,’ tained that “ A boy should never 169 * be sent to Eton or Westminster 1 [This regimen was, however, practised by Bishop Ken, of whom Hawkins ( not Sir John ) in his life of that venerable prelate, page 4, tells us, “ And that neither his study might be the ag- gressor on his hours of instruction, or what he judged his duty, prevent his improvements; or both, his closet addresses to his God; he strictly accustomed himself to but one sleep, which often obliged him to rise at one or two of the clock in the morning, and sometimes sooner; and grew so habitual, that it continued with him almost till his last illness. And so lively and cheerful was his temper, that he would be very facetious and entertaining to his friends in the evening, even when it was perceived that with difficulty he kept his eyes open.; and then seemed to go to rest with no other purpose than the refreshing and enabling him with more vigour and cheerfulness to sing his morning hymn, as he then used to do to his lute before he nut on his clothes.” — Boswell. scnool before he is twelve years old at least, for if in his years of babyhood he fails to' attain that general and ’transcendent know- ledge without which file is perpetually put to a stand, he will neve/ get it at a public school, where if he does not learn Latin and Greek, he learns nothing. Dr. Johnson often said, “ that there was too much stress laid upon literature as indispensably neces- sary: there is surely no need that every body should be a scholar, no call that every one should square the circle Our manner of teaching cramps and warps many a mind, which if left more at liberty would Mve been respectable in some way though per- haps not in that.” “ Wr ’op our trees, and prune them, and pinch ihem 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 clas- sicsk; for,” says Dr. Johnson, “though I do not quite agree with the proverb, that Nul- lum numen ahest si sit pruHentia , yet we may very well say, that Nullum numen adest — ni sit prudential Indeed useful and what we call every-day knowledge had the most of his just praise. “ Let your boy learn arithmetic, dear mad- am,” 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. ”] [This young heir was the well- Ed known Sir John Lade 1 2 , and Dr. D ‘ Johnson’s sagacity had, no doubt, detected in him a disposition to that profusion for which he was afterwards so remarkable. It is curious too, that, on another important sub- ject, Johnson should have given Sir John some early advice, which, in the sequel, he too notoriously disregarded.] [One day, as he was musing over the fire of the drawing-room at o p # 74 75 Streatham, this young gentleman ’ [who was Mr. Thrale’s nephew and ward] called to him suddenly, and rather disre- spectfully, in these words: “ Dr. Johnson, would you advise me to marry ? ” “ I would advise no man to marry, sir (replied in a very angry tone Dr. Johnson), who is not ^ [He was the posthumous son of the fourth ba- ronet, by Mr. Thrale’s sister. He entered eagerly into all the follies of the day; was a remarkable whip, and married a woman of the town. See towards the close of the second vol. sub Dec. 1784, the lively, satirical, and too prophetic verses which Johnson wrote on his coming of age. — En 1 120 1777 — jETAT. 68. likely to propagate understanding; 55 and so left the room. Our companion looked con- founded, and seemed to have scarce recov- ed the consciousness of his own existence, when Johnson came hack and drawing his chair among the party, with altered looks and a softened voice, joined in the general chat, insensibly led the conversation to the subject of marriage, where he explained himself in a dissertation so useful, so ele- gant, 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 conse- quences.] As we drove back to Ashbourne, Dr. Johnson recommended to me, as he had of- ten done, to drink water only: “ For, 55 said he, “you are then sure not to get drunk; whereas, if you drink wine, you are never sure. 55 I said, drinking wine was a pleasure which I was unwilling to give up. “ Why, sir, 55 said he, “ there is no doubt that not to drink wine is a great deduction from life: but it may be necessary. 55 He however owned, that in his opinion a free use of wine did not*shorten life; and said, he would not give less for the life of a certain Scotch Lord 1 (whom he named) celebrat- ed for hard drinking, than for that of a so- ber man. “ But stay, 55 said he, with his usual intelligence, and accuracy of inquiry — “ does it take much wine to make him diunk? 55 I answered, “ A great deal either of wine or strong punch.” — “ Then,” said he, “ that is the worse.” I presume to il- lustrate my friend’s observation thus: “A fortress which soon surrenders has its walls less shattered than when a long and obsti- nate resistance is made.” I ventured to mention a person who was as violent a Scotchman as he was an Eng- lishman; and literally had the same con- tempt for an Englishman compared with a Scotchman, that he had for a Scotchman compared with an Englishman; and that he would say of Dr. Johnson, “ Damned rascal ! to talk as he does of the Scotch.” This seemed, for a moment, u to give him pause.” It, perhaps, presented his extreme prejudice against the Scotch in a point of view somewhat new to him by the effect of contrast. ' By the time when we returned to Ash- bourne, Dr. Taylor was gone to bed. Johnson and I sat up a long time by our- selves. He was much d' verted with an article [Probably Thomas, sixth Earl of Kellie, born in 1732; died in 1781. He was remarkable for some musical talents, but still more for his con- viviality. Even the Peerage confesses “ that he was more assiduous in the service of Bacchus than Apollo. ” — Ed.] which I showed him in the “ Critical Re- view 55 of this year, giving an accdunt of a cu- rious publication, entitled “A Spiritual Diary and Soliloquies, by John Rutty, M. D.” Dr. Rutty was one of the people called quakers, a physician of some eminence fh Dublin, and authour of several works. This Diary, which was kept from 1753 to 1775, the year in which he died, and was now publish- ed in two volumes octavo, exhibited, in the simplicity of his heart, a minute and honest register of the state of his mind; 'which, though frequently laughable enough, was not more so than the history of many men would be, if recorded with equal fairness. The following specimens were extracted by the reviewers : “ Tenth month, 1753. “ 23 — Indulgence in bed an hour too long. “ Twelfth month, 17. — An hypochondn ack obnubilation from wind and indigestion. “ Ninth month, 28.— An over-dose of whiskey. “ 29. — A dull, cross, cholerick day. “ First month, 1757, 22. — A little swinish at dinner and repast. “ Dogged on provocation. “ Second month, 5. — Very dogged or snappish. “ 14. — Snappish on fasting. “ 26. — Cursed snappishness to those un der me, on a bodily indisposition. “ Third month, 11 . — On a provocation, exercised a dumb resentment for two days, instead of scolding. • “22. — Scolded too vehemently. “ 23. — Dogged again. cc Fourth month, 29. — Mechanically and sinfully dogged.” Johnson laughed heartily at this good Quietist’s self-condemning minutes ; par- ticularly at his mentioning, with such a serious regret, occasional instances of “ swinishness in eating, and doggedness of temper .” He thought the observations of’ the Critical Reviewers upon the impor tance of a man to himseFso ingenious and so well expressed, that I ffiall here intro duce them. • After observing, thai u there are f§w wri ters who have gained any reputation by re- cording their own actions,” they say, “We may reduce the egotists to foui classes. Ip th e first we have Julius Caesar: he relates his own transactions; but he re lates them with peculiar grace and dignity, and his narrative is supported by the great- ness of his character and achievements. In the second class we have Marcus Antoni- nus: this writer has given us a series of .re- flections on his own life; but his sentiments are so noble, his morality so sublime, that his meditations are universally admired. In the third class we have some others of t 4 1777. — i*ETAT. 68. 121 pi able credit, who have given importance to their own private history by an intermix- ture of literary anecdotes, and the occur- rences of their own times: the celebrated Huetius 1 has published an entertaining vol- * ume upon this plan, ‘ De rebus ad eumper- tinenlibus. i In the fourth class we have the journalist, temporal and spiritual : Elias Ashmole, William Lilly, George Whitefield, John Wesley, and a thousand other old wo- men and fanatick writers of memoirs and meditations.” I mentioned to him that Dr. Hugh Blair, in his Lectures on Rhetorick and Belles Let- tres, which I heard him deliver at Edin- burgh, had animadverted on the Johnsonian style as too pompous; and attempted to im- itate it, by giving a sentence of Addison in “ The Spectator,” No. 411, in the manner of Johnson. When treating of the utility of the pleasures of imagination in preserv- ing us from vice, it is observed of those “ who know not how to be idle and inno- cent,” that “ their very first step out of business is into vice or folly; ” which Dr. Blair supposed would have been expressed . - in “ The Rambler” thus: “ their very first step out of the regions of business is into the perturbation of vice, or the vacuity of folly 2 .” Johnson. “ Sir, these are not the words I should have used. No, sir; the imitators of my style have not hit it. Miss Aikin has done it the best; for she has ••imitated the sentiment as well as the dic- ' * Jion 3 .” I infend, before this work is concluded, to exhibit specimens of imitation of my friend’s style in various modes; some caricaturing or mimicking it, and some formed upon it, whe- ther intentionally, or with a degree of sim- ilarity to it, of which perhaps the writers were not conscious. In Baretti’s Review, which he published in Italy, under the title of “ Frusta Let- teraria,” it is observed, that Dr. Robert- sofl the historian had formed his style upon » .that of “ II celebre Samuele Johnson .” My friend himself was of that opinion; for 1 [Iluet, Bishop of Avranches. — See ante, v. i. p. 32 .— JEd.] 2 When Dr. Blair published his “ Lectures,” he was invidiously attacked for having omitted his censure on Johnson’s style, and, on the contrary, praising it highly. But before that time Johnson’s • “ Lives of the Poets ” had appeared, in which his style was considerably easier than when he wrote • “The Rambler.” It would, therefore, have been uncandid in Blair, even supposing his criti- cism to have been just, to have preserved it. — Boswell. 3 [Probably in an essay “ Against Inconsistency in our Expectations,” by Miss Aikin, afterwards J Mrs. Barbauld, in a volume of miscellaneous pieces published by her and her brother. Dr. Aikin, in 1773. — Ed.] "VOL’ II. 16 he once said to me, m a pleasant humours “ Sir, if Robertson’s style be faulty, he owes it to me; that is, having too many words, and those too big ones.” I read to him a letter which Lord Mon boddo had written to me, containing some critical remarks upon the style ofhis “ Jour- ney to the W estern Islands of Scotland.” His lordship praised the very fine passage upon landing at Icolmkill 4 : but his own style being exceedingly dry and hard, he dis- approved of the richness of Johnson’s lan- guage, and of his frequent use of metaphori- cal expressions. Johnson. “ Why, sir, this criticism would be just, if, in my style, superfluous words, or words too big for the thoughts, could be pointed out; but this I do not believe can be done. For instance, in the passage which Lord Monboddo ad- mires, c We were now treading that illustrious region,’ the word illustrious contributes nothing to the mere narration; for the fact might he told without it : but it is not, there- fore, superfluous; for it wakes the mind to peculiar attention, where something of more than usual importance is to be presented. c Illustrious ! ’ — for what? and then the sen- tence proceeds to expand the circumstances connected with Iona. And, sir, as to met- aphorical expression, that is a great excel lence in style, when it is used with propriety, for it gives you two ideas for one; — conveys the meaning more luminously, and gener- ally with a perception of delight.” He told me, that he had been asked to undertake the new edition of the “ Biogra phia Britannica,” but had declined it; which he afterwards said to me he regretted. In this regret many will join, because it would have procured us more of Johnson’s most delightful species of writing; and although my friend Dr. Kippis 5 has hitherto dis- charged the task judiciously, distinctly, and with more impartially than might have been expected from a separatist, it were to have been wished that the superintendence of this literary Temple of F ame had been assigned to “ a friend to the constitution in church and state.” We should not then have had it too much crowded with obscure dissenting teachers, doubtless men of merit and worth, but not quite to be numbered amongst “ the most eminent persons who have flourished in Great Britain and Ireland 6 .” 4 [See ante, v. i. p. 440 . — Ed.] 5 After having given to the publick the first five volumes of a new edition of the Biographia Britannia, between the years 1778 and 1793, Dr. Kippis died, October 8, 1795; and the work is not likely to be soon completed. — Malone. 6 In this censure, which has been carelessly uttered, I carelessly joined. But in justice to Dr. Kippis, who, with that manly candid good temper which marks his character, set me right, I now 122 1777.— /ETAT. 68 On Saturday. September 20, after break- fast, when Taylor was gone out to his farm, Dr. Johnson and I had a serious conversa- tion by ourselves on melancholy and mad- ness; which he was, I always thought, er- roneously inclined to confound, together. Melancholy, like “ great wit,” may be “ near allied to madness;” but there is, in my opinion, a distinct separation between them. When he talked of madness, he was to be understood as speaking of those who were in any great degree disturbed, or as it is commonly expressed, “ troubled in mind.” Some of the ancient philosophers held, that all deviations from right reason were mad- ness; and whoever wishes to see the opin- ions both of ancients and moderns upon this subject, collected and illustrated with a va- riety of curious facts, may read Dr. Arnold’s very entertaining work *. Johnson said, “ A madman loves to be with pleasure retract it; and I desire it may be particularly observed, as pointed out by him to me, that “ The new lives of dissenting divines, in the first four volumes of the second edition of the ‘ BiographiaBritannica,’ are those of John Aberne- thy, Thomas Amory, George Benson, Hugh Broughton, the learned puritan, Simon Browne, Joseph Boyse, of Dublin, Thomas Cartwright, the learned puritan, and Samuel Chandler. The only doubt I have ever heard suggested is, whether there should have been an article of Dr. Amory. But I \vas convinced, and am still con- vinced, that he was entitled to one, from the real- ity of his learning, and the excellent and candid nature of his practical writings. “ The new lives of clergymen of the church of England, in the same four volumes, are as follows: John Balguy, Edward Bentham, George Berkley, Bishop of Cloyne, William Berriman, Thomas Birch, William Borlase, Thomas Bott, James Bradley, Thomas Broughton, John Browne, John Burton, Joseph Butler, Bishop of Durham, Thomas Carte, Edmund Castell, Edmund Chis- null, Charles Churchill, William Clarke, Robert Clayton, Bishop of Clogher, John Conybeare, Bishop of Bristo , George Castard, and Samuel Croxall. — 4 I am not conscious,’ says Dr. Kippis, ‘ of any partiality in conducting the work. I would not willingly insert a dissenting minister that does not justly deserve to be noticed, or omit an established clergyman that does. At the same time, I shall not be deterred from introducing dis- senters into the Biographia, when I am satisfied that they are entitled to that distinction, from their writings, learning, and merit.’ ” Let me add that the expression “ A friend to the constitution in church and state,” was not meant by me as any reflection upon this reverend gentleman, as if he were an enemy to the political constitution of his country, as established at the Revolution, but, from my steady and avowed predilection for a tory, was quoted from “ Johnson’s Dictionary,” where that distinction is so defined. — Boswell. 1 “ Observations on Insanity,” by Thomas Arnold, M. D., London, 1782. — Boswell. with people whom he fears; not as a dog fears the lash : but of whom he stands in awe.” I was struck with the justice of this observation. To be with those of whom a person, whose mind is wavering and deject- ed, stands in awe, represses and composes an uneasy tumult of spirits 2 , and consoles him with the contemplation of something steady, and at least comparatively great. He added, “ Madmen are all sensual in the lower stages of the distemper. They are eager for gratifications to soothe their minds and divert their attention from the misery which they suffer; but when they grow very ill, pleasure is toe weak for them, and they seek for pain 3 . Employment, sir, and hardships, prevent melancholy. I suppose, in all our army in America, there was not one man who went mad.” [“ He was,” says Sir. J. Haw- Hawk, kins, “ a great enemy to the pres- Apoph. ent fashionable way of supposing p ' 20S * worthless and infamous persons mad.”] [This probably meant that he dis- approved of the degree of impunity D which is sometimes afforded to crime, un- der the plea of insanity, for it seems almost certain that he thought (and perhaps felt) that the exercises of piety, and the restraints of conscience, might repress a tendency towards insanity. So at least Miss Rey- nolds believed.] [“ It was doubt- less,” she says, “ very natural for so good a man to keep a strict watch over his mind; but one so very^strict as Dr. Johnson kept may, perhaps, in some measure, be attributed to his dread of its hereditary tendencies, which, I had reason to believe, he was very apprehensive bor- dered upon insanity. Probably his studious 2 Cardan composed his mind tending to mad- ness (or rather actually mad, for such he seems in his writings, learned as they are), by exciting voluntary pain. V. Card. Op. et Vit. — Keab KEY. 3 We read in the gospels, that those unfortu- nate persons, who were possessed with evil spirits (which, after all, I think is the most probable cause of madness, as was first suggested to me by my respectable friend Sir John Pringle), had re- course to pain, tearing themselves, and, jumping sometimes into the fire; sometimes into the water. Mr. Seward has furnished me with a remarkable anecdote in confirmation of Dr. Johnson’s obser- vation. A tradesman who had acquired a large fortune in London retired from business, and went to live at Worcester. His mind, being without its usual occupation, and having nothing else to supply its place, preyed upon itself, so that exist- ence was a torment to him. At last he was seized with the stone; and a friend who found him in one of its severest fits, having expressed his concern, “ No, no, sir,” said he, “ don’t pity me; what I now feel is ease, compared with that torture of mind from which it relieves me.”— Boswell. * 1777. — /ETAT. 68 123 attention to repel their prevalency, together with his experience of divine assistance co- operating with his reasoning faculties, may have proved in the highest degree condu- cive to the exaltation of his piety, the pre- eminency of his wisdom, and 1 think it probable that all his natural defects, which so peculiarly debarred him from unprofitable amusements, were also conducive to the **ame end. “ That Dr. Johnson’s mind was preserved from insanity by his devotional aspirations, may surely be reasonably supposed. No man could have a firmer reliance on the ef- ficacy of prayer; and he would often, with a solemn earnestness, beg of his intimate friends to pray for him, and apparently on very slight occasions of corporeal indispo- sition.”] We entered seriously upon a question of much importance to me, which Johnson was pleased to consider with friendly at- tention. I had long complained to him that I felt myself discontented in Scotland, as too narrow a sphere, and that I wished to make my chief residence in London, the great scene of ambition, instruction, and amusement; a scene, which was to me, com- paratively speaking, a heaven upon earth. Johnson. “ Why, sir, I never knew any one who had such a gust for London as you have: and I cannot blame you for your wish to live there; yet, sir, were I in your father’s place, I should not consent to your settling there; for I have the old feudal no- tions^ and I should be afraid that Auchin- leck would be deserted, as you would soon find it more desirable to have a country-seat in a better climate. I own, however, that to consider it as a duty to reside on a fami- ly estate is a prejudice; for we must consid- er, that working-people get employment equally, and the produce of land is sold equally, whether a great family resides at home or not'; and if the rents of an estate be carried to London, they return again in the circulation of commerce; nay, sir, we must perhaps allow, that carrying the rents to a distance is a good, because it contrib- utes to that circulation. We must, how- ever, allow, that a well-regulated great fam- ily may improve a neighbourhood in civility and elegance, and give an example of good order, virtue, and piety; and so its residence at home may be of much advantage. But if a great family be disorderly and vicious, its residence at home is very pernicious to a neighbourhood. There is not now the same inducement to live in the country as formerly; the pleasures of social life are much better enjoyed in town; and there is no longer in the country that power and influ- ence in proprietors of land which they had in old times, and which made the country so agreeable to them. The Laird of Au- chinleck now is not near so great a man as the Laird of Auchinleck was a hundred years ago.” I told him, that one of my ancestors nev- er went from home without being attended by thirty men on horseback. Johnson’s shrewdness and spirit of inquiry were ex- erted upon every occasion. “ Pray,” said he, 6i how did your ancestor support his thirty men and thirty horses when he went at a distance from home, in an age when there was hardly any money in circulation ?” I suggested, the same difficulty to a friend who mentioned Douglas’s going to the Ho- ly Land with a numerous train of followers h Douglas could, no doubt, maintain follow- ers enough while living upon his own lands, the produce of which supplied them with food; but he could not carry that food to the Holy Land; and as there was no com- merce by which he could be supplied with money, how could he maintain them in for eign countries? I suggested a doubt, that if I were to re side in London, the exquisite zest with which I relished it in occasional visits might go off, and I might grow tired of it. Johnson. “ Why, sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” To obviate his apprehension, that by set- tling in London I might desert the seat of my ancestors, I assured him that I had old feudal principles to a degree of enthusiasm; and that I felt all the dulcedo of the natale solum. I reminded him, that the Laird of Auchinleck had an elegant house, in front of which he could ride ten miles forward upon his own territories, upon which he had upwards of six hundred people attached to him; that the family seat was rich in natural romantick beauties of rock, wood, and water, and that in my “ morn of life ” I had ap- propriated the finest descriptions in the an- cient classicks to certain scenes there, which were thus associated in my mind. That when all this was considered, I should cer- tianly pass a part of the year at home, and enjoy it the more from variety, and from bringing with me a share of the intellectual stores of the metropolis. He listened to all this, and kindly ss and illiterate. — Boswell 1777.— ^ETAT. 68. thour. When, in the ardour of ambition for literary fame, I regretted to him one day that an eminent judge 1 had nothing of it, and therefore would leave no perpetual mon- ument of himself to posterity; “ Alas! sir,” said Johnson, “ what a mass of confusion should we have, if every bishop, and every judge, every lawyer, physician, and divine, were to write books ! ” I mentioned to Johnson a respectable person of a very strong mind 2 , who had lit- tle of that tenderness which is common to human nature; as an instance of which, when I suggested to him that he should in- vite his son, who had been settled ten years in foreign parts, to come home and pay him a visit, his answer was, “ No, no, let him mind his business.” Johnson. “ I do not agree with him, sir, in this. Getting mo- ney is not all a man’s business : to cultivate kindness is a valuable part of the business of life.” In the evening, Johnson, being in very good spirits, entertained us with several characteristical portraits; I regret that any of them escaped my retention and diligence. I found from experience, that to collect my friend’s conversation so as to exhibit it with any degree of its original flavour, it was ne- cessary to write it down without delay. To record his sayings, after some distance of time, was like preserving or pickling long- kept and faded fruits, or other vegetables, which, when in that state, have little or nothing of their taste when fresh. I shall present my readers with a series of what I gathered this evening from the Johnsonian garden. “ My friend, the late Earl of Corke, had a great desire to maintain the literary char- acter of his family: he was a genteel man, but did not keep up the dignity of his rank. He was so generally civil, that nobody thanked him for it.” “ Did we not hear so much said of Jack Wilkes, we should think more highly of his conversation. Jack has a great variety of talk, Jack is a scholar, and Jack has the manners of a gentleman. But after hear- ing his name sounded from pole to pole, as the phoenix of convivial felicity, we are dis- appointed in his company. He has always been at me: but I would do Jack a kind- ness, rather than not 3 . The contest is now over.” , “ Garrick’s gaiety of conversation has delicacy and elegance; Foote makes you laugh more; but Foote has the air of a buffoon paid for entertaining the compa- 1 [Probably Lord Mansfield. — E d.] 2 [He means his father, old Lord Auchinleck ; and the absent son was David, who spent so many years in Spain. — E d.] ' [Sbo post, 21st May, 1783 . — Ed.] 125 ny. He, indeed, well deserves his hire.” [“ Foote’s happiness of manner in relating was such,” Johnson p^Jl 142 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.’ ” £C Of all conversers, however,” added he, “ the late Hawkins Browne was the most delightful with whom I ever was in compa- ny; his talk was at once so elegant, so ap- parently artless, so pure, and so pleasing, it seemed a perpetual stream of sentiment, en- livened by gaiety, and sparkling with ima- ges.” Mrs. Piozzi used to think Mr. John- son’s determined preference of a cold, mo- notonous talker over an emphatical and vio- lent one, would make him quite a favourite among the men of ton , whose insensibility, or affectation of perpetual calmness, cer- tainly did not give to him the offence it does to many. He loved “conversation without effort,” he said; and the encomi urns which he so often pronounced on t! e manners of Topham Beauclerc in societj constantly ended in that peculiar praise that “ it was without effort .”] “ Colley Cibber once consulted me as tc one of his birthday odes, a long time before it was wanted. I objected very freely tc several passages. Cibber lost patience, ana would not read his ode to an end. When we had done with criticism we walked over to Richardson’s, the authour of c Clarissa,’ and I wondered to find Richardson dis- pleased that I ‘ did not treat Cibber with more respect .’ Now, sir, to talk of respect for a player 4 /” (smiling disdainfully.) Boswell. “ There, sir, you are always heretical: you never will allow merit to a player.” Johnson. cc Merit, sir! what merit? Do you respect a rope-dancer or a ballad-singer?” Boswell. “ No, sir; but we respect a great player, as a man who can conceive lofty sentiments, and can express them gracefully.” Johnson. “ What, sir, a fellow who claps a hump on his back, and a lump on his leg, and cries, ‘ lam Richard the Third ? 3 Nay, sir, a ballad-singer is a higher man, for he does two things; he repeats and he sings: there is both recitation and musick in his perform- 4 [Perhaps Richardson’s displeasure was created by Johnson’s paying no respect to the age of Cibber, who was almost old enough to have been his grandfather. Cibber had left the stage, and ceased to be a player before Johnson left Oxford; so that he had no more reason to despise Cibber for that profession, than Cibber would have had if he had recalled to him the days when he was usher at a school.- -Ed.] 126 1 777. — iETAT. 68. ance; the player only recites.” Boswell. tc My dear sir ! you may turn any thing into ridicule. I allow, that a player of farce is not entitled to respect ; he does a little thing: but he who can represent exalted characters, and touch the noblest passions, has very respectable powers; and mankind have agreed in admiring great talents for the stage. We must consider, too, that a great player does what very few are capable to do; his art is a very rare faculty. Who can repeat Hamlet’s soliloquy, £ To be, or not to be,’ as Garrick does it? ” Johnson. “ Any body may. Jemmy, there (a boy about eight years old, who was in the room), will do it as well in a week.” Boswell. ££ No, no, sir: and as a proof of the merit of great acting, and of the value which mankind set upon it, Garrick has got a hundred thousand pounds.” Johnson. ££ Is getting a hundred thousand ounds a proof of excellence? That has een done by a scoundrel commissary.” This was most fallacious reasoning. I was sure, for once, that I had the best side of the argument. I boldly maintained the just distinction between a tragedian and a mere theatrical droll; between those who rouse our terrour arid pity, and those who only make us laugh. “ If,” said I, ££ Bet- terton and Foote were to walk into this room, you would respect Betterton much more than Foote.” Johnson. ££ If Better- ton were to walk into this room with Foote, Foote would soon drive him out of it. Foote, sir, quatenus Foote, has pow- ers superiour to them all.” [The fact was, that Johnson could not see the passions as they rose and chased one another in the varied features of the expressive face of Garrick. Mr. Murphy remembered being in conversation with 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.”] On Monday, September 22, when at break- fast, I unguardedly said to Dr. Johnson, ££ I wish I saw you and Mrs. Macaulay to- gether.” He grew very angry; and, after a pause, while a cloud gathered on his brow, he burst out, ££ No, sir; you would not see us quarrel, to make you sport. Do n’t you know that it is very uncivil to vit two people against one another?” Then, checking himself, and wishing to be more gentle, he added, ££ I do not say you should be hanged or drowned for this; but it is very uncivil.” Dr. Taylor thought him in the wrong, and spoke to him private- ly of it; but I afterwards acknowledged to Johnson that l was to blame, for I candidly owned, that I meant to express a desire to see a contest between Mrs. Macaulay and him; but then I knew how the contest would end 1 ; so that I was to see him triumph. Johnson. ££ Sir, you cannot be suie how a contest will end; and no man has a right to engage two people in a dispute by which their passions may be inflamed ; and they may part with bitter resentment against each other. I would sooner keep company with a man from whom I must guard my pockets, than with a man who contrives to bring me into a dispute with somebody that he may hear it. This is tne great fault of 1 (naming one of our friends), endeavouring to introduce a subject upon which he knows two people in the compa- ny differ.” Boswell. ££ But he told me, sir, he does it for instruction.” Johnson. ££ Whatever the motive be, sir, the man who does so, does very wrong. He has no more right to instruct himself at such risk, than he has to make two people fight a duel, that he may learn how to defend him- self.” He found great fault with a gentleman of our acquaintance for keeping a bad ta- ble. ££ Sir,” said he, ££ when a man is in- vited to dinner, he is disappointed if he does not get something good. I advised Mrs. Thrale, who has no card-parties at her house, to give sweetmeats, and such good things, in an evening, as are not com- monly given, and she would find company enough come to her; for every body loves to have things which please the palate put in their way, without trouble or prepara tion.” [And of another lady’s en- Hawk tertainments, he said, ££ What signi- Apoph. fies going thither? there is neither p ' 207, meat, drink, nor talk.”] Such was his at- tention to the minutiae of life and manners. He thus characterised the Duke of De- vonshire, grandfather of the present repre- sentative of that very respectable family: ££ He was not a man of superiour abilities, but he was a man strictly faithful to his word. If, for instance, he had promised you an acorn, and none had grown that year in his woods, he would not have con- tented himself with that excuse: he would have sent to Denmark for it. So uncondi- tional was he in keeping his word; so high as to the point of honour.” This was a liberal testimony from the tory Johnson to the virtue,of a great whig nobleman. Mr. Burke’s ££ Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, on the Affairs of America,” being mentioned, Johnson censured the composi- tion much, and he ridiculed the definition 1 [Mr. Langton is, no doubt, meant here, and in the next paragraph. See the affair of the 7th May, 1773 (vol. i. p. 319 and 351); where the reader will find the cause of Johnson’s frequent and fretful recurrence to this complaint. — Ed J 1777.— ^ET AT. 68. 127 of a fr-ee government, viz. “ For any practical purpose, it is what the people thinks so V s “ I will let the King of France govern me on those conditions,” said he, “ for it is to be governed just as I please.” And when Dr. Taylor talked of a girl being sent to a parish workhouse, and asked how much she could be obliged to work, “ Why,” said Johnson, “ as much as is reasonable; and what is that? as much as she thinks reasonable.” Dr. Johnson obligingly proposed to carry me to see Ilam, a romantick scene, now be- longing to a family of the name of Port, but formerly the seat of the Congreves 2 . I suppose it is well described in some of the tours. Johnson described it distinctly and vividly, at which I could not but express to him my wonder; because, though my eyes, as he observed, were better than his, I could not by any means equal him in rep- resenting visible objects. I said, the differ- ence between us in this respect was as that between a man who has a bad instrument, but plays well on it, and a man who has a good instrument, on which he can play very imperfectly. I recollect a very fine amphitheatre, sur- rounded with hills covered with woods, and walks neatly formed along the side of a rocky steep, on the quarter next the house, with recesses under projections of rock, overshadowed with trees; in one of which recesses, we were told, Congreve wrote his “ Old Bachelor.” We viewed a remarka- ble natural curiosity at Ilam; two rivers bursting near each other from the rock, not from immediate springs, but after having run for many miles under ground. P’lott, in his “ History of Staffordshire 3 ,” gives an account of this curiosity; but Johnson would not believe it, though we had the attestation of the gardener, who said he had put in corks 4 , where the river Many- fold sinks into the ground, and had catched them in a net, placed before one of the openings where the water bursts out. In- 1 Edit. 2, p 53. — Boswell. 2 [This is a mistake. The Ports had been seated at Ilam time out of mind. Congreve had visited that family at Ilam; and his seat, that is, the bench, on which he sometimes sat, in the gardens, used to be shown: this, Mr. Bernard Port — one of the ancient family, and now vicar of Ilam — thinks was the cause of Mr. Boswell’s error. — Ed.] 3 Page 89. 4 [The gardener at Ilam told the editor that it was Johnson himself who had made this experi- ment; but there is not the least doubt of the fact. The river sinks suddenly into the earth behind a hill above the valley, and bursts out again in the same direction, and with the same body of water, about four miles below.- -Ed.] deed, such subterraneous courses of watei are found in various parts of our globe 5 6 . Talking of Dr. Johnson’s unwillingness to believe extraordinary things, I ventured to say, “ Sir, you come near Hume’s argu ment against miracles, c That it is more probable witnesses should lie, or be mista- ken, than that they should happen.’ ” Johnson. “Why, sir, Hume, taking the proposition simply, is rights. But the Christian Revelation is not proved by the miracles alone, but as connected with pro- phecies, and with the doctrines in confirma- tion of which the miracles were wrought.” He repeated his observation, that the dif- ferences among Christians are really of no consequence. “ For instance,” said he, “ if a Protestant objects to a Papist, c You worship images;’ the Papist can answer, ‘ I do not insist on your doing it; you may be a very good Papist without it; I do it only as a help to my devotion.’ ” I said, the great article of Christianity is the reve lation of immortality 7 . Johnson admitted it w.as. In the evening, a gentleman farmer, who was on a visit at Dr. Taylor’s, attempted to dispute with Johnson in favour of Mun- go Campbell 8 , who shot Alexander, Earl 5 See Plott’s “ Elistory of Staffordshire,” p 88, and the authorities referred to by him. — Bos- well. 6 [This is not quite true. It is indeed more probable that one or two interested witnesses should lie, than that a miracle should have hap pened; but that distant and unconnected wit- nesses and circumstances should undesignedly concur in evidencing a falsehood — and that false- hood one in itself unnatural — would be more mi- raculous than any miracle in Scripture; and thus by Hume’s own argument the balance of probability is in favour of the miracles. — Ed ] 7 [This is loosely expressed. The ancients believed in immortality, and even a state of retri- bution. Warburton argues that Moses was not ignorant of, and the Mahomedans acknowledge, a future state. On so vital a question it is not safe to rest on Mr. Boswell’s colloquial phrases, which have some importance when they appear to be sanctioned by the concurrence of TJr. John- son. Immortality is, indeed, assured , and a thousand social blessings and benefits are vouch- safed to us by the Christian revelation; but “ the great article of Christianity ” is surely the atonement ! — Ed.] 8 [Campbell terminated his own life in prison It is hardly to be believed, (though there was every such appearance), that the government could have permitted him to be executed; for Lord Eglintoune was grossly the aggressor, and Campbell fired (whether accidentally or designedly) when in the act of falling, as he retreated front Lord Eglintoune. It does no credit to Johnson to have it recorded that he said that he was glad they had found means to convict a man 123 1777.— ^ETAT. 68. of Eglintoune, upon his having fallen, when retreating from his lord snip, who he believed was about to seize his gun, as he had threat- ened to do. He said he should have done just as Campbell did. Johnson. “ Who- ever would do as Campbell did, deserves to be hanged; not that I could, as a juryman, have found him legally guilty of murder; but I am glad they found means to convict him.” The gentleman farmer said, “A poor man has as much honour as a rich man; and Campbell had that to defend.” John- son exclaimed, “ A poor man has no hon- our.” The English yeoman, not dis- mayed, proceeded: “ Lord Eglintoune was a damned fool to run on upon Campbell, af- ter being warned that Campbell would shoot him if he did.” Johnson, who could not bear any thing like swearing, angrily replied, “ He was not a damned fool: he only thought too well of Campbell. He did not believe Campbell would he such a damned scoundrel, as to do so damned a thing.” His emphasis on damned , accom- panied with frowning looks, reproved. his opponent’s want of decorum in his presence. Talking of the danger of being mortified by rejection, when making approaches to the acquaintance of the great, I observed “I am, however, generally for trying, 1 Nothing venture, nothing have.’ ” John- son. “ Very true, sir; but I have always been more afraid of failing than hopeful of success.” And, indeed, though he had all just respect for rank, no man ever less courted the favour of the great. During this interview at Ashbourne, Johnson seemed to be more uniformly so- cial, cheerful, and alert, than I had almost ever seen him. He was prompt on great occasions and on small. Taylor, who praised every thing of his own to excess, in short, “ whose geese were all swans,” as the proverb says, expatiated on the excel- lence of his bull-dog, which he told us was * Miss Reynolds, to whom Johnson also repeated these verses, “ the concor- dance 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 passages. But what w T as very remarkable, though his cadence in reading poetry was so judicious- ly emphatical as to give additional force to the words uttered, yet in reading prose, par- ticularly on common or familiar subjects, narrations, essays, letters, &c. nothing could be more injudicious than his manner, be- 1 [I consider the pronunciation of this word, which Boswell justly makes an objection to, as provincial; but I think he must have misappre- hended Dr. Johnson’s “ reason.” There are many words, in which these three letters occur, that are pronounced similarly, e. g. earn, learn, &c. ; nor would the single exception be an objec- tion, as uniformity is not the jus et norma lo- quendi in English. — Hall.] 2 In the age of Queen Elizabeth this word was frequently written, as doubtless it was pronounced, hard. — Malone. 3 [In Dodsley’s collection, and in Miss Rey- nold’s Recollections, the two last lines are thus given: “ Or Tadnor’s marMe wastes survey, Or in yon roofless cloister stray.” But Bishop Percy, in his Reliques, vol i p. 264, corrects them as given in the text. — E d.] ginning every period with a pompous ac- cent, 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 singularity, in reading on, in one breath, as if he had made a reso lution not to respire till he had closed the sentence.”] In the evening our gentleman-farmer, and two others, entertained themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the fiddle. Johnson desired to have “ Let Ambition fire thy Mind ” played over again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it; though he owned to me that he was ve- ry insensible to the power of musick. I told him that it affected me to such a degree, as often to agitate my nerves painfully, pro- ducing in my mind alternate sensations of pathetic dejection, so that I was ready to shed tears; and of daring resolution, so that I was inclined to rush into the thickest part of the battle. with the epithet of “ divini poetce .” ‘ Sempre a quel ver ch’ a faccia di menzogna Dee l’liom chiudere le labbra quanto ei puote ; Periche senza colpa fa vergogna.’’ — Boswell. 2 [The Club. — This seems to be the only instance in which Mr. Boswell has ventured to give in any detail the conversation of that society; and we see that on this occasion he has not men- tioned the namies , but has disguised the parties under what look like initials. All these letters, however — even with the names of the company before us — it is not easy to appropriate. It ap- pears by the books of the Club, as Mr. Hatchett informs the editor, that the company on that eve- ning consisted of Dr. Johnson, president, Mr. Burke, Mr. Boswell, Dr. George Fordyce, Mr. Gibbon, Dr. Johnson ( again named). Sir Josh- ua Reynolds, Lord Upper Ossory, and Mr. R. B. Sheridan. In Mr. Boswell’s account, the initial E. no doubt stands for Edmund Burke; F., in allusion to his family name of Fitzpatrick, prob- ably means Lord Upper Ossory; but the appropri- ation of the other letters is very difficult. The editor suspects, from some circumstances of the conversation, and from the double entry of John- son’s name, that, although it was his night to be president, he was not actually in the chair — per- haps from having come too late. If this suspicion be correct, the initial P. would mean President; but it would be still in doubt who the president vol. ii 19 ent several eminent men, whom I shall not name, but distinguish their parts in the con versation by different letters. F. polis, the tragedian, said, It is true he can talk, 1778. — iETAT. 69. 159 He told us, that he had given Mrs. Mon- tagu a catalogue of all Daniel Defoe’s works of imagination * 1 ; most, if not all of which, as well as of his other works, he now enumerated, allowing a considerable share of merit to a man, who, bred a tradesman, had written so variously and so well. In- deed, his “ Robinson Crusoe ” is enough of itself to establish his reputation. He expressed great indignation at the imposture of the Cock-lane ghost, and rela- ted, with much satisfaction, how he had assisted in detecting the cheat, and had published an account of it in the newspa- pers. Upon this subject I incautiously offended him, by pressing him with too many questions, and he showed his dis- pleasure 2 . I apologised, saying, that “ I asked questions in order to be instructed and entertained; I repaired* eagerly to the fountain; but that the moment he gave me a hint, the moment he put a lock upon the well, I desisted.” “ But, sir,” said he, “ that is forcing one to do a disagreeable thing: ” and he continued to rate me. “ Nay, sir,” said I, “ when you have put a lock upon the well, so that I can no longer drink, do not make the fountain of your wit play upon me and wet me.” He sometimes could not bear being teased with questions. I was once present when a gentleman asked so many, as, “What did you do, sir?” “What did you say, sir? ” that he at last grew enra- ged, and said, “ I will not be put to the question. Do n’t you consider, sir, that these are not the manners of a gentleman ? l will not be baited with what and why; what is this? what is that? why is a cow’s tail long? why is a fox’s tail bushy? ” The gentleman, who was a good deal out of countenance, said, “ Why, sir, you are so good, that I venture to trouble you.” Johnson. “ Sir, my being so good is no reason why you should be so ill.” Talking of the Justitia hulk at Wool- wich, in which criminals were punished, by being confined to labour, he said, “ I do not see that they are punished by this: they must have worked equally, had they never and yet he is no speaker. ” If this discovery had been made by a scholiast on an ancient authour, with what ardour and exuberant praise would Bentley or Taylor have spoken of it! Sir William Scott, to whom I communicated Dr. Kearney’s remark, is perfectly satisfied that it is correct. A few other observations have been communicated by the same gentleman. Every classical reader will lament that they are not more numerous. — Malone. 1 [Probably the list which is to be found in Cibber's Lives — En ] 2 [He had little to be proud of in this affair, and, therefore, was angry when Boswell pressed him See ante, vol. i. p. 183 . — Ed.] been guilty of stealing. They now only work; so, after all, they have gained; what they stole is clear gain to them; the con- finement is nothing. Every man who works is confined: the smith to his shop, the tailor to his garret.” Boswell. “ And Lord Mansfield to his court.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir. You know the notion of con- finement may be extended, as in the song, c Every island is a prison.’ There is in Dodsley’s collection a copy of verses to the authour of that song 3 .” Smith’s Latin verses on Pococke, the great traveller 4 , were mentioned. He re- peated some of them, and said they were Smith’s best verses. He talked with an uncommon animation of travelling into distant countries; that the mind was enlarged by it, and that an acquisition of dignity of character was de- rived from it. He expressed a particular enthusiasm with respect to visiting the wall of China. I catched it for the moment, and said I really believed I should go and see the wall of China had I not children, of whom it was my duty to take care. “ Sir,” said he, “ by doing so, you would do what would be of importance in raising your chil- dren to eminence There would be a lus- tre reflected upon them from your spirit and curiosity. They would be at all times regarded as the children of a man who had gone to view the wall of China. I am se- rious, sir.” When we had left Mr. Scott’s, he said, “Will you go home with me?” “Sir,” said I, “it is late; but I ’ll ge with you for three minutes.” Johnson. “ Or four.” We went to Mrs. Williams’s room, where we found Mr. Allen the printer, who was the landlord of his house in Bolt-court, a’ worthy, obliging man, and his very old acquaintance; and what -was exceedingly amusing, though he was of a very dirtiinu five size, he used, even in Johnson’s pre 3 I have in vain examined Dodsley’s Collection for the verses here referred to; nor has the name of the authour been ascertained. The song alluded to begins with the words, “ Welcome, welcome, brother debtor; ” it consists of several stanzas, in one of which it is said, that (see ante, vol. i. p. 410.) “ Every island is a prison.” — Malone. 4 Smith’s Verses are on Edward Pococke, the great oriental linguist: he travelled, it is true; but Dr. Richard Pococke, late Bishop of Ossory, who published Travels through the East, is usually called the great traveller. — Kearney. [Id- ward Pococke was Canon of Christ Church ui;d Hebrew Professor in Oxford. The two Pococues nourished just a century apart; the one, Edward, being born in 1604; Richard, in the year 1704 —Hall.] 160 1778. — vETAT. 69. sence, to imitate the stately periods and slow and solemn utterance of the great man. I this evening boasted, that although I did not write what is called stenography, or short-hand, in appropriated characters devised for the purpose, I had a method of my own of writing half words, and leaving out some altogether, so as yet to keep the substance and language of any discourse which I had heard so much in view, that I could give it very completely soon after I had taken it down. He defied me, as he had once defied an actual short-hand wri- ter; and he made the experiment by reading slowly and distinctly a part of Robertson’s “ History of America,” while I endeavoured to write it in my way of taking notes. It was found that I had it very imperfectly; the conclusion 1 from which was, that its excellence was principally owing to a stud- ied arrangement of words, which could not be varied or abridged without an essential injury. On Sunday, April 12, 1 found him at home before dinner; Dr. Dodd’s poem, entitled tc Thoughts in Prison,” was lying upon his table. This appearing to me an extraordi- nary effort by a man who was in Newgate for a capital crime, I was desirous to hear Johnson’s opinion of it : to my surprise, he told me he had not read a line of it. I took up the book and re«ad a passage to him. Johnson. “ Pretty well, if you are previ- ously disposed to like them.” 5 read anoth- er passage, with which he was better pleas- ed. He then took the book into his own hands, and having looked at the prayer at the end of it, he said , ce What evidence is there that this was composed the night be- fore he suffered? I do not believe it.” He •then read aloud where he prays for the king, &c. and observed, “ Sir, do you think that a man, the night .before he is to be hanged, cares for the succession of a royal family? Though, he may have composed this pray- er then. A man who has been canting all his life, may cant to the last. And yet a man who has been refused a pardon after so much petitioning, would hardly be praying thus fervently for the king 2 3 .” 1 [This is odd reasoning. Most readers would have come to the more obvious conclusion, that Boswell had failed in his experiment at short-hand. ^Tliis passage may account for some verbal errors and obscurities in this work: when copying his notes, after a considerable lapse of time, Mr. Bos- well probably misunderstood his own abbrevia- tions. — Ed.] 2 [It does not seem consistent that Johnson should have thus spoken of one, in the sincerity of whose repentance he had so much confidence as to desire to have the benefit of his prayers, (ante, p. 108). The observation, too, on the prayer “ for the king” seems inconsiderate; be- cause, if Dodd was a sincere penitent, he would be He, and I, and Mrs. Williams, went, to dine with the Reverend Dr. Percy. Talk- ing of Goldsmith, Johnson said, he was very envious. I defended him, by observ- ing, that he owned it frankly upon all occa- sions. Johnson. “ Sir, you are enforcing the charge. He had so much envy, that he could not conceal it. He was so full of it, that he overflowed. He talked of it, to be sure, often enough. Now, sir, what a man avows, he is not ashamed to think ; though many a man thinks what he is ashamed to avow. We ^are all envious naturally; but by checking envy, we get the better of it. So we are all thieves nat u rally; a child always tries to get at what it wants the nearest way : by good instruc- tion and good habits this is cured, till a man has not even an inclination to seize what is~ another’s ; has no struggle with himself about it.” And here I shall record a scene of too much heat between Dr. Johnson and Dr Percy, which I should have suppressed, were it not that it gave occasion to display the truly tender and benevolent heart of Johnson, who, as soon as he found a friend was at all hurt by any thing which he had iC said in his wrath,” was not only prompt and desirous to be reconciled, but exerted himself to make ample reparation. Books of travels having been mentioned Johnson praised Pennant very highly, as he did at Dunvegan, in the Isle of Sky Dr Percy knowing himself to be the heir male of the ancient Percies 4 , and having the anxious to reconcile himself with all mankind, and, as the king might have saved his life, and would not, Dodd’s prayer for him was probably neither form nor flattery, (for what could they avail him at that hour ? ) but the proof of contri- tion, and of the absence of all personal resent ment. — Ed.] 3 [See ante, vol. i. p. 395 . — Ed.] 4 See this accurately stated, and the descent of his family from the Earls of Northumberland clearly deduced in the Rev. Dr. Nash’s excellent “ History of Worcestershire,” vol. ii. p. 318. The Doctor has subjoined a note, in which he says, “ The editor hath seen, and carefully ex- amined the proofs of all the particulars above mentioned, now in the possession of the Rev Thomas Percy.” The same proofs I have also myself carefully examined, and have seen some additional proofs which have occurred since the Doctor's book was published; and both as a lawyer accustomed to the consideration of evi- dence, and as a genealogist versed in the study of pedigrees, I am fully satisfied. I cannot help ob- serving, as a circumstance of no small moment, that in tracing the Bishop of Dromore’s genealo- gy, essential aid was given by the late Elizabeth Duchess of Northumberland, heiress of that illus- trious house; a lady not only of high dignity of spirit, such as became her noble blood, but of excellent understanding and lively talents. With 1778 — /ETAT 6S> 161 warmest and most dutiful attachment to the noble house of Northumberland, could not sit quietly and hear a man praised, who had spoken disrespectfully of Alnwick Cas- tle and the duke’s pleasure-grounds, espe- cially as he thought meanly of his travels. He therefore opposed Johnson eagerly. Johnson. “ Pennant, in what he has said of Alnwick, has done what he intended; he has made you very angry.” Percy. “He has said the garden is trim, which is repre- senting it like a citizen’s parterre, when the truth is, there is a very large extent of fine turf and gravel walks.” Johnson. “Ac- cording to your own account, sir, Pennant is right. It is trim. Here is grass cut close, and gravel rolled smooth. Is not that trim? The extent is nothing against that; a mile may be as trim as a square yard. Your extent puts me in mind of the citizen’s enlarged dinner, two pieces of roast-beef, and two puddings K There is no variety, no mind exerted in laying out the ground, no trees.” Percy. “ He pre- tends to give the natural history of North- umberland, and yet takes no notice of the immense number of trees planted there of late.” Johnson. “ That, sir, has nothing to do with the natural history; that is civil history. A man who gives the natural his- tory of the oak, is not to tell how many oaks have been planted in this place or that. A man who gives the natural history of the cow, is not to tell how many cows are milked at Islington. The animal is the same, whether milked in the Park or at Islington.” Percy. “ Pennant does not describe well; a carrier who goes along the side of Loch- lomond would describe it better.” John- son. “ I think he describes very well.” Percy. “ I travelled after him.” John- son. “ And I travelled after him.” Percy. “ But, my good friend, you are short-sight- ed, and do not see so well as I do.” I won- dered at Dr. Percy’s venturing thus Dr. Johnson said nothing at the time; but in- flammable particles were collecting for a cloud to burst. In a little while Dr. Percy said something more in disparagement of Pennant. Johnson (pointedly). “ This a fair pride I can boast of the honour of her grace’s correspondence, specimens of which adorn my archives. — B oswell. 1 [Tt is observable that the same illustration of the same subject i3 to be found in the Heroick Epistle to Sir William Chambers : ‘ For what is nature ? — ring her changes round, Her three fleet notes are water, plants, and ground ; Prolong the peal, yet spite of all your clatter. The tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water. So when some John his dull invention racks To rival Boodle’s dinners or Almack’s, Three uncouth legs of mutton shock our eyes, Three roasted geese, three butter’d apple pies.” The Heroick Epistle had appeared in 1773; so that Johnson no doubt borrowed the idea from that spirited and pungent satire. — Ed.] vol. ii. 21 is the resentment of a narrow mind, because he did not find every thing in Northumber- land.” Percy (feeling the stroke). “Sir, you may be as rude as you please.” John- son. “*Hold, sir! Don’t .alk of rudeness: remember, sir, you told m-e,” puffing hard with passion struggling for a vent, “ I was short-sighted. We have done with civility. We are to be as rude as we please.” Per cy. “ Upon my honour, sir, I did not mean to be uncivil.” Johnson. “ I cannot say so, sir; for I did mean to be uncivil, thinking you had been uncivil.” Dr. Percy rose, ran up to him, and taking him by the hand, assured him affectionately that his meaning had been misunderstood; upon which a re- conciliation instantly took place. Johnson. “ My dear sir, 1 am willing you shall hang Pennant.” Percy (resuming the former subject). “ Pennant complains that the helmet is not hung out to invite to the hall of hospitality. Now I never heard that it was a custom to hang out a helmet 2 .” Johnson. “ Hang him up, hang him up.” Boswell (humouring the joke). “ Hang out his skull instead of a helmet, and you may drink ale out of it in your hall of Odin, as he is your enemy; that will be truly an cient. There will be ‘Northern Antiqui- ties 3 .’ ” Johnson. “ He’s a whig, sir ; a sad dog,” smiling at his own violent ex- pressions, merely for political difference of opinion: “ but he’s the best traveller I ever read; he observes more things than anyone else does.” I could not help thinking that this was too high praise of a writer who traversed a wide extent of country in such haste, that he could put together only curt frittered frag ments of his own, and afterwards procured supplemental intelligence from parochial ministers, and others not the best qualified or most partial narrators, whose ungenerous prejudice against the house of Stuart glares in misrepresentation; a writer, who at best treats merely of superficial objects, and shows no philosophical investigation of character and manners, such as Johnson has exhibited in his masterly “Journey” over part of the same ground; and who, it should seem from a desire of ingratiating himself with the Scotch, has flattered the people of North Britain so inordinately and 2 It certainly was a custom, as appears from the following passage in “ Perceforest, vol. iii p. 108: — “ Pasoient mettre au plus hault de leur hostel un heaulme, en signe que tous les gentils hommes et gentilles femmes entrassent hardiment en leur hostel comme en leur propre,” &c.- Kearney. The authour’s second son, Mr James Boswell, had noticed this passage in “ Per- ceforest,” and suggested to me the same remark. — Malone. 3 The title of a book translated by Dr, Percy — Boswell. 162 1778 — ^ETAT. 69. with so little discrimination, that the judi- cious and candid amongst them must be dis- gusted, while they value more the plain, just, yet kindly report of Johnson. Having impartially censured Mr. Pen- nant, as a Traveller in Scotland, let me al- iow him, from authorities much better than mine, his deserved praise as an able zoolo- gist; and let me also, from my own under- standing and feelings, acknowledge the merit of his “ London,” which, though said to be no-t quite accurate in some particulars, is one of the most pleasing topographical per- formances that ever appeared in any lan- guage. Mr. Pennant, like his countrymen in general, has the true spirit of a gentleman. As a proof of it, I shall quote from his “ London ” the passage in which he speaks of my illustrious friend. “ I must by no means omit Bolt-court , the long residence of Dr. Samuel Johnson, a man of the strongest natural abilities, great learning, a most retentive memory, of the deepest and most unaffected piety and morality, mingled with those numerous weaknesses and prejudices which his friends have kindly taken care to draw from their dread abode 1 . I brought on myself his transient anger, by observing that in his tour in Scotland, he once had long and wo- ful experience of oats being the food of men in Scotland as they were of horses in Eng- land. It was a national reflection unwor- thy of him, and I shot my bolt. In turn he gave me a tender hug 2 . Con amove he also said of me, £ The dog is a whig 3 .’ I admired the virtues of Lord Russel, and pitied his fall. I should have been a whig at the Revolution. There have been peri- ods since in which I should have been, what I now am, a moderate tory, a supporter, as far as my little influence extends, of a well- poised balance between the crown and the people; but should the scale preponderate against the salus populi, that moment may it be said, £ The dog 5 s a whig ! ’ ” We had a calm after the storm, staid the evening and supped, and were pleasant and gay. But Dr. Percy told me he was very uneasy at what had passed; for there was a gentleman there who was acquainted with the Northumberland family, to whom he hoped to have appeared more respectable, 1 This is the common cant against faithful biog- raphy. Does the worthy gentleman mean that I, who was taught discrimination of character by Johnson, should have omitted his frailties, and, in short, have bedawbed him as the worthy gentle- man has bedawbed Scotland ? — Boswell. 2 See Dr. Johnson’s “ Journey to the Western Islands,” p. 296; see his Dictionary article, oats ; and my “ Voyage to the Hebrides,” first edition. —Pennant. 3 Mr. Boswell’s Journal ante , vol. i. p. 375. Pennant. b}'- showing how intimate he was with E ' Johnson, and who might now, on the con- trary, go away with an opinion to his dis- advantage. He begged I would mention this to Dr. Johnson, which I afterwards did. His observation upon it was, ££ This comes of stratagem ; had he told me that he wished to appear to advantage before that gentleman, he should have been at the top of the house all the time.” He spoke of Dr. Percy in the handsomest manner. ££ Then, sir,” said I, ££ may I be allowed to suggest a mode by which you may effectu- ally counteract any unfavourable report of what passed? I will write a letter to you upon the subject of the unlucky contest of that day, and you will be kind enough to put in writing, as an answer to that letter, what you have now said, and as Lord Per- cy is to dine with us at General Paoli’s soon, I will take an opportunity to read the correspondence in his lordship’s presence.” This friendly scheme was accordingly car- ried into execution without Dr. Percy’s kndttledge. Johnson’s letter placed Dr. Percy’s unquestionable merit in the fairest point of view; and I contrived that Lord Percy should hear the correspondence, by introducing it at General Paoli’s as an in- stance of Dr. Johnson’s kind disposition to- wards one in whom his lordship was inte rested. Thus every unfavourable impres sion was obviated that could possibly have been made on these by whom he wished most to be regarded. I breakfasted the day after with him, and informed him of my scheme, and its happy completion, for which he thank- ed me in the warmest terms, and was highly delighted wdth D&. Johnson’s letter in his praase, of which I gave him a copy. He said, ££ I would rather have this than de- grees from all the universities in Europe It will be for me, and my children and grandchildren.” Dr. Johnson having af- terwards asked me if I had given him a co- py of it, and being told I had, w^as offended, and insisted that I should get it back, tvhich I did. As, however, he did not desire me to destroy either the original or the copy, or forbid me to let it be seen, I think myself at liberty to apply to it his general declara- tion to me concerning his ow r n letters, ££ That he did not choose they should be published in his life-time; but had no objec- tion to their appearing after his death.” 1 shall therefore insert this kindly correspond- ence, having faithfully narrated the circum- stances accompanying it. ££ TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. “ My dear sir, — I beg leave to address you in behalf of our friend Dr. Percy, who w 7 as much hurt by what you said to him that day v r e dined at his house 4 ; when, in 4 Sunday, April 12, 1778. — Boswej l. 1778. — /ETAT. 69. 163 the course of the dispute as to Pennant’s merit as a traveller, you told Percy that ‘ he had the resentment of a narrow mind against Pennant, because he did not find every thing in Northumberland.’ Percy is sensible that you did not mean to injure him; but he is vexed to think that your behaviour to him on that occasion may be interpreted as a proof that he is despised by you, which I know is not the case. I have told him, that the charge of being narrow-minded was on- ly as to the particular point in question; and that he had the merit of being a mar- tyr to his noble family. “ Earl Percy is to dine with General Paoli next Friday; and I should be sincere- ly glad to have it in my power to satisfy his lordship how well you think of Dr. Percy, who, I find, apprehends that your good opinion of him may be of very essential consequence; and who assures me that he has the highest respect and the warmest affection for you. cc 1 have only to add, that ray suggesting this occasion for the exercise of your can dour and generosity is altogether unknown to Dr. Percy, and proceeds from my good- will towards him, and my persuasion that you will be happy to do him an essential kindness. I am, more and more, my dear sir, your most faithful and affectionate hum- ble servant £t James Boswell.” “to JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “23d April, 1778. “ §jr, — The debate between Dr. Percy and me is one of those foolish controversies which begin upon a question of which nei- ther party cares how it is decided, and which is, nevertheless, continued to acri- mony, by the vanity with which every man resists confutation. Dr. Percy’s warmth proceeded from a cause which, perhaps, does him more honour than he could have derived from juster criticism. His abhor- rence of Pennant proceeded from his opin- ion that Pennant had wantonly and inde- cently censured his patron. His anger made him resolve, that, for having been once wrong, he never should be right. Pennant has much in his notions that 1 do not like; but still I think him a very intel- ligent traveller. If Percy is really offended, I am sorry; for he is a man whom I never knew to offend any one. He is a man very willing to learn, and very able to teach; a man, out of whose company I never go without having learned something. It is sure that he vexes me sometimes, but I am afraid it is by making me feel my own igno- rance. So much extension of mind, and so much minute accuracy of inquiry, if you survey your whole circle of acquaintance, you will find so scarce, if you find it at all, that you will value Percy by comparison. Lord Hailes is somewhat like him: but Lord Hailes does not, perhaps, go beyond him in research; and 1 do not know that he equals him in elegance. Percy’s atten- tion to poetry has given grace and splen dour to his studies of antiquity. A mere antiquarian is a rugged being. ' c Upon the whole, you see that what 1 might say in sport or petulance to him, is very consistent Avith full conviction of his merit. I am, dear sir, your most, &c. ( Sam. Johnson.” “to THE REV. DR. PERCY, NORTHUM- BERLAND-HOUSE. “ South Audley-street, 25th April “ Dear sir, — I wrote to Dr. Johnson on the subject of the Pennantian controversy; and have received from him an answer which will delight you. I read it yester- day to Dr. Robertson, at the Exhibition; and at dinner to Lord Percy, General Og- lethoipe, &c. who dined with us at General Paoli’s; who was also a witness to the high testimony to your honour. cc General Paoli desires the favour of your company next Tuesday to dinner, to meet Dr. Johnson. If I can, I will call on you to-day. I am, Avith sincere regard your most obedient humble servant, “ James Boswell 1 ” [It has been already stated 2 , that En there seems reason to doubt whether n Johnson had any great regard or respect for Dr. Percy. The following anecdotes Avill throAV some light on that subject. Mr. Cradock happened to be in London crad. once when Dr. Percy returned from Mem. Northumberland, and found that he p ‘ 241 Avas expected to preach a charity sermon almost immediately; this had escaped his memory, and he said, that £C though much fatigued, he had been obliged to sit up very late to furnish out something from former discourses; but suddenly recollecting that Johnson’s fourth Idler was exactly to his purpose, he had freely engrafted the great- est part of it.” He preached, and his dis- course was much admired; but being re- quested to print it, he most strenuously op- posed the honour intended him, till he was assured by the governors, that it was abso- lutely necessary, as the annual contribu- tions greatly depended on the account that 1 Though the Bishop of Droinore kindly an- swered the letters which I wrote to him, relative to Dr. Johnson’s early history; yet, in justice to him, I think it proper to add, that the account of the foregoing conversation, and the subsequent transaction, as well as of some other conversations in which he is mentioned, has been given to the publick without previous communication wit! u* lordnhip. — B osave bl. * See ante, p 40. — Ed 164 1778.— /ETAT. 69. was given in the appendix. In this dilem- ma, he earnestly requested that Mr; Cra- dock would call upon Dr. Johnson, and state particulars. Mr. Cradock assented, and endeavoured to introduce the subject with all due solemnity; but Johnson was highly diverted with his recital, and, laugh- ing, said, “ Pray, sir, give my kind respe&ts to Dr. Percy, and tell him, I desire he will do whatever he pleases in regard to my Idler; it is entirely at his service.” But these days of friendly communica- tion were, from various causes, speedily to pass away, and worse than indifference to succeed; for one morning Dr. Percy said to Mr. Cradock, “ I have not seen Dr. Johnson for a long time. I believe I must iust call upon him, and greatly wish that ou would accompany me. I intend,” said e, “ to tease him a little about Gibbon’s pamphlet 1 .” “I hope not, Dr. Percy,” was Cradock’s reply. “ Indeed I shall, for I have a great pleasure in combating his narrow prejudices.” They went together; and Dr. Percy opened with some anecdotes from Northumberland-house ; mentioned some rare books that were in the library; and then threw out that the town rang with applause of Gibbon’s “ Reply to Davis', ” that the latter “ had written before he had read,” and that the two “ confederate doc- tors,” as Mr. Gibbon termed them, “ had fallen into some strange errors.” Johnson said, he knew nothing of Da- vis’s pamphlet, nor would he give him any answer as to Gibbon; but, if the “ confede- rate doctors,” as they were termed, had really made such mistakes, as he alluded to, they were blockheads. Dr. Percy talked on in the most care- less style possible, but in a very lofty tone; and Johnson appeared to be excessive- ly angry. Mr. Cradock only wished to get released; for, if Dr. Percy had proceed- ed to inform him, that he had lately intro- duced Mr. Hume to dine at the king’s chaplains’ table, there must have been an “ explosion.” Mr. Cradock possessed several letters which threw a full light on these unhappy differences; and with all his partiality for Dr. Johnson, Mr. Cradock freely declared, that he thought Dr. Percy had received ve- ry great cause to take real offence at Dr. Johnson, who, by a ludicrous parody on a stanza in the “ Hermit of Warkworth,” had rendered him contemptible. It was urged, that Johnson only meant to attack die metre; hut he certainly turned the whole poem into ridicule. “ I put my hat upon my head, And walk’d into the Strand, And there I met another man With his hat in his hand.” Mr. Garrick, in the postscript of a .ettei to Mr. Cradock, soon afterwards asked him, “ Whether he had seen Johnson’s criticism on the Hermit ? it is already,” said he, “ over half the town.’? Almost the last time that Mr. Cradock ever saw John- son, he said to him, “ Notwithstanding dll the pains that Dr. Farmer and I took to serve Dr. Percy, in regard to his { Ancient Ballads,’ he has left town for Ireland 2 , without taking leave of either of us ”] On Monday, April 13, 1 dined with John- son at Mr. Langton’s, where were Dr. Porteus, then Bishop of Chester, afterwards of London, and Dr. Stinton. He was at first in a very silent mood. Before dinner he said nothing but w Pretty baby, v to one of the children. Langton said very well to me afterwards, that he could repeat Dr. Johnson’s conversation before dinner, as Johnson had said that he could repeat a complete chapter of “ The Natural History of Ictland,” from the Danish of Horrebotc , the whole of which was exactly thus: ‘• CHAP. LXXII . — Concerning Snakes. “ There are no snakes to be met with thoughout the whole island.” At dinner we talked of another mode in the news-papers of giving modern charac- ters in sentences from the classicks, and of the passage “ Parcus deorum cultor, et infrequens, Insanientis dum sapientiae Consultus erro, nunc retrorsum Vela dare, atque iterare cursus Cogtr relictos,” Hor. Od. i. 39. being well applied to Soame Jenyns; who. after having wandered in the wilds of infi- delity, had returned to the Christian faith. Mr. Langton asked Johnson as to the pro- priety of sapientiae consultus. Johnson. “ Though consultus was primarily an ad jective, like amicus it came to be used as a substantive. So we have Juris consultus a consult in law.” We talked of the styles of different paint- ers, and how certainly a connoisseur could distinguish them. I asked, if^there was as clear a difference of styles in language as in painting, or even as in hand-writing, so that the composition of eve’y individual may be distinguished? Johnson. “Yes. Those who have a style of eminent excel- lence, such as Dryden and Milton, can always be distinguished.” I had no doubt of this; but what I wanted to know was, whether there was really a peculiar style to every man whatever, as there is certainly a peculiar hand-writing, a peculiar counte- nance, not widely different in many, yet always enough to be distinctive: 2 [Dr. Percy was made Bishop of Dromore a 1782 .— Ed-I [Published in 1779 . — Ed.] 1778. — yETAT. 69. 165 s facies non omnibus una, Nec diversa tamen.” Ov. Met. 1. 2. v. 13. The bishop thought not; and said, he sup- posed that many pieces in Dodsley’s collec- tion of poems, though all very pretty, had nothing appropriate in their style, and in that particular could not be at all distin- guished. Johnson. “ Why, sir, I think every man whatever has a peculiar style which may be discovered by nice examina- tion and comparison with others : but a man must write a great deal to make his style obviously discernible. As logicians say, this appropriation of style is infinite in po- testate, limited in actu .” Mr. Topham Beauclerk came in the evening, and he and Dr. Johnson and I staid to supper. It was mentioned that Dr. Dodd 1 had once wished to be a mem- ber of the Literary Club. Johnson. tc I should be sorry if any of our Club were hanged. I will not say but some of them deserve it 2 3 . 5 * ’ Beauclerk (supposing this to be aimed at persons 13 for whom he had at that time a wonderful fancy, which, how- ever, did not last long) was irritated, and eagerly said, “You, sir, have a friend 4 1 [Miss Reynolds and Sir J. Hawkins doubted whether Johnson had ever been in Dodd’s com- pany; but Johnson told Boswell (see ante, page 105), that “he had once been.” The editor has now before him a letter, dated in 1750, from Dr. Dodd to his friend the Rev. Mr. Parkhurst, the lexicographer, mentioning this meeting; and his account, at that day, of the man with whom he was afterward to have so painful a correspond- ence, is interesting and curious. “ I spent yes- terday afternoon with Johnson, the celebrated authour of The Rambler, who is of all others the oddest and most peculiar fellow I ever saw. He is six feet high, has a violent convulsion in his head, and his eyes are distorted. He speaks roughly and loud, listens to no man’s opinions, thoroughly pentinacious of his own. Good sense flows from him in all he utters, and he seems pos- sessed of a prodigious fund of knowledge, which he is not at all reserved in communicating; but in a manner so obstinate, ungenteel, and boorish, as renders it disagreeable and dissatisfactory. In short, it is impossible for words to describe him. He seems often inattentive to what passes in com- pany, and then looks like a person possessed by some superior spirit. I. have been reflecting on him ever since I saw him. He is a man of most universal and surprising genius, but in himself par- ticular beyond expression.” — Ed.] 2 See ante, p. 90, n. — B oswell. 3 [Probably Mr. Fox, Lord Spencer, Mr. Burke, and some other whigs, the violence of whose opposition at this time seemed to Johnson little short of abetting rebellion, for which they “ de- served to be hanged.” — Ed.] 4 [No doubt George Steevens (now Johnson’s colleague in editing Shakspeare), to whom such practices were imputed, and particularly as against (naming him) who deserves to be hanged; for he speaks behind their backs against those with whom he lives on the best terms, and attacks them in the newspapers. He certainly ought to be kicked .” Johnson. “ Sir, we all do this in some degree : £ Veni- arn petimus damusque vicissim .’ To be sure it may be done so much, **or. Art. that a man may deserve to be kick- ° e ' ed.” Beauclerk. “ He is very malig- nant. 55 Johnson. “ No, sir; he is not malignant. He is mischievous, if you will. He would do no man an essential injury; he may, indeed, love to make sport of people by vexing their vanity. I, however, once knew an old gentleman who was absolutely malignant. He really wished evil to others, and rejoiced at it. 55 Boswell. “ Th^ gentleman, Mr. Beauclerk, against whom you are so violent, is, I know, a man of good principles.” Beauclerk. “ Then he does not wear them out in practice.” Dr. Johnson, who, as I have observed before, delighted in discrimination of char- acter, and having a masterly knowledge of human nature, was willing to take men as they are, imperfect, and with a mixture of good and bad qualities, I suppose thought he had said enough in defence of his friend, of whose merits, notwithstanding his ex- ceptionable points, he had a just vahie: and added no more on the subject. On Tuesday, 14th April, I dined with him at General Oglethorpe’s, with General Paoli and Mr. Langton. General Ogle- thorpe declaimed against luxury. John- son. “ Depend upon it, sir, every state of society is -as luxurious as it can be. Men always take the best they can get.” Og- lethorpe. “ But the best depends much upon ourselves; and if we can be as well satisfied with plain things, we are in the wrong to accustom our palates to what is high -seasoned and expensive. What says Addison in his c Cato, 5 speaking of the Nu- midian? £ Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase; Amid the running stream he slakes his thirst, Toils all the day, and at the approach of night, On the first friendly bank he throw-s him down, Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; And if the following day he chance to find A new repast, or an untasted spring, Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.’ Let us have that kind of luxury, sir, if you will.” Johnson. “ But hold, sir; to be merely satisfied is not enough. It is in re- finement and elegance that the civilized man differs from the savage.. A great pari of our industry, and all our ingenuity, is exercised in procuring pleasure; and, sir, a hungry man has not. the same pleasure in eating a plain dinner, that a hungry man Garrick and Mr. Arthur Murphy. — Miss Hawk Mem i. 39 . — Ed.] 166 1778. — /ETAT. 69. has in eating a luxurious dinner. . You see I put the case fairly. A hungry man may have as much, nay, more pleasure in eating a plain dinner, than a man grown fastidious has in eating a luxurious dinner. But I suppose the man who decides between the two dinners to be equally a hungry man.” Talking of the different governments, — Johnson. “ The more contracted power is, the more easily it is destroyed. A coun- try governed by a despot is an inverted cone. Government there cannot be so firm as when it rests upon a broad basis gradually contracted, as the government of Great Bri- tain, which is founded on the parliament, then is in the privy council, then in the king.” Boswell. u Power, when con- tracted into the person of a despot, may be •easily destroyed, as the prince may be cut off. So Caligula wished that the people of Rome had but one neck, that he might cut them off at a blow.” Oglethorpe. It was of the senate he wished that ] . The senate by its usurpation controlled both the emperour and the people. And do n’t you think that we see too much of that in our own parliament? ” Dr. Johnson endeavoured to trace the etymology of Maccaronick verses, which he thought were of Italian invention, from Maccasoni; but on being informed that this would infer that they were the most com mon and easy verses, maccaroni being the most ordinary and simple food, he was at a loss; for he said,. cc He rather should have supposed it to import, in its primitive signi- fication, a composition of several things 1 2 ; for Maccaronick verses are verses made cut of a mixture of different languages, that is, of one language with the termination of an- other.” I suppose we scarcely know of a language in any country, where there is any learning, in which that motley ludicrous species of composition may not be found. It is particularly droll in Low Dutch. The “ Polemo-middinia” of Drummond, of Hawthornden, in which there is a jumble of many languages moulded, as if it were 1 [Boswell was right, and Oglethorpe wrong; the exclamation in Suetonius is “ Utinam populus Romanus unam cervicem haberet.” Calig. xxx. —Ed.] 2 Dr. Johnson was right in supposing that this kind of poetry derived its name from maccherone. “ Ars ista poetica (says Merlin Coccaie, whose hue name was Theophilo Folengo) nuncupatur ars macaronica, a macaronibus derivata; qui macaroncs sunt quoddam pulmentum, farina, caseo, butyro compaginatum, grossum, rude, et rusticanum. Ideo macaronica nil nisi grossedinem, 'uditatem, et vocabulazzos debet in se continere.” tVarton’s Ilist. of Eng. Poet. ii. 357. Folengo ’s ssumed name was taken up in consequence of is having been instructed in his youth by Virago 'occaio. lie died in 1544. — Malone. all in Latin, is well known Mr. Langton made us laugh heartily at one in the Gre- cian mould, by Joshua Barnes, in which are to be found such comical Jlnglo-hellen- isins as K\u€€wn, and therefore he had better lie down softly of his own accord.” On Tuesday, April 28, he was engaged to dine at General Paoli’s, where, as I have already observed, I was still entertained in elegant hospitality, and with all the ease and comfort of a home. I called on him. and accompanied him in a hackney-coach. We stopped first at the bottom of Hedge- lane, into which he went to leave a letter, “ with good news for a poor man in dis- tress,” as he told me. I did not question him particularly as to this. He himself oft- en resembled Lady Bolingbroke’s lively de- scription of Pope: that “ he was un politi- que aux choux et aux raves.” He would say, “ I dine to-day in Grosvenor-square; ” this might be with a duke; or, perhaps, “ I dine to-day at the other end of the town; ” or, “ A gentleman of great eminence called on me yesterday.” He loved thus to keep things floating in conjecture: Omne igno- tumpro magnifico est. I believe I ventured to dissipate the cloud, to unveil the mystery, more freely and frequently than any of his friends. We stopped again at Wirgman’s, the well-known toy-shop in St. James’s- street, at the corner of St. James’s-place, to which he had been directed, but not clear- ly, for he searched about some time, and could not find it at first; and said, “ To di- rect one only to a corner shop is toying with one.” I supposed he meant this as a play upon the word toy ; it was the first time that 1 knew him stoop to such sport. After he had been some time in the shop, he sent for me to come out of the coach, and help him to choose a pair of silver buckles, as those he had were too small. Probably this alteration in dress had been suggested by Mrs. Thrale, by associating with whom, his external appearance was much improved. He got better clothes; and the dark colour, from which he never deviated, was enliven- cessive Fbies ,” by Everard Fleetwood, Esq. 8vo 1731. But it is, probably, a mere coincidence Mr. Burke, perhaps, never saw that pamphlet.- - Malone. 1»2 1778.— ^ETAT. 69. ed by metal buttons. His wigs, too, were much better; and, during their travels in France, he was furnished with a Paris-made wig, of handsome construction. [In D ' general his wigs were very shabby, and their fore parts were burned away by the near approach of the candle, which his short-sightedness rendered necessary in reading. At Streatham, Mr. Th rale’s butler had always a better wig ready, and as John- son passed from the drawing-room, when dinner was announced, the servant would remove the ordinary wig, and replace it with the newer one, and this ludicrous ceremony was performed every day.] This choosing of silver buckles was a negotiation: “ Sir,” said he, “I will not have the ridiculous large ones now in fashion; and I will give no more than a guinea for a pair.” Such were the principles of the business; and, after some examination, he was fitted. As we drove along, I found him in a talking humour, of which I availed myself. Bos- well. “ I was this morning in Ridley’s shop, sir; and was told, that the collection called ‘ Johnsoniana 1 ’ had sold very much.” Johnson. “ Yet the J Journey to the He- brides ’ has not had a great sale 2 .” Bos- well. “That is strange.” Johnson. “Yes, sir; for in that book I have told theworld a great deai that they did not know before.” Boswell. “ I drank chocolate, sir, this morning with Mr. Eld; and, to my no small surprise, found him to be a Staffordshire whig , a being which I did not believe had existed.” Johnson. “ Sir, there are ras- cals in all countries.” Boswell. “ Eld said, a tory was a creature generated be- tween a non-juring parson and one’s grand- mother.” Johnson. “ And I have always said, the first whig was the devil.” Bos- well. “ He certainly was, sir. The de- vil was impatient of subordination; he was the first who resisted power : ‘ Better to reign iri hell, than serve in heaven.’ ” At General Paoli’swere Sir Joshua Rey- nolds, Mr. Langton, Marchese Gherardi of Lombardy, and Mr. John Spottiswoode the younger, of Spottiswoode 3 , the solicitor. 1 [See ante, p. 31 . — Ed.] 2 Here he either was mistaken, or had a different notion of an extensive sale from what is generally entertained : for the fact is, that four thousand copies of that excellent work were sold very quick- ly. A new edition has been printed since his death, besides that in the collection of his works. — Boswell. Another edition has been printed since Mr. Boswell wrote the above, besides re- peated editions in the general collection of his works during the last twenty years. — Malone. 3 In the phraseology of Scotland, I should have sJd, “ Mr. -John Spottiswoode the younger, of that ilk. .Johnson knew that sense of the word very v* el , and bus thus explained it in his “ Dic- At this time fears of an invasion were cir culated; to obviate which Mr. Spottiswoode observed, that Mr. Fraser, the engineer, who had lately come from Dunkirk, said that the French had the same fears of us Johnson. “ It. is thus that mutual coward- ice keeps us in peace. Were one half of mankind brave, and one half cowards, the brave would be always beating the cowards Were all brave, they would lead a very uneasy life; all would be continually fight ing: but being all cowards, we go on very well.” [One afternoon, while all the talk was of this apprehended invasion, he said most pathetically, “ 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 in vasion coming, and you know there is none. Let such 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 en- dured; when you know they are at this very moment collecting all the big words they can find, in which to describe a con sternation never felt, or a misfortune which never happened. Among all your lamenta- tions, who eats the less? Who sleeps the worse, for one general’s ill success, or an other’s capitulation? Oh, pray let us hear no more of it!”] We talked of drinking wine. Johnson. “ I require wine, only when I am alone. 1 have then often wished for it, and often taken it.” Spottiswoode. “What, by way of a companion, sir?” Johnson. “ To get rid of *myself, to send myself away. Wine gives great pleasure; and every pleasure is of itself a good. It is a good, unless counterbalanced by evil. A man may have a strong reason not to drink wine; and that may be greater than the pleasure. Wine makes a man better pleased with himself. I do not say that it makes him more pleasing to others. Sometimes it does. But the danger is, that while a man grows better pleased with himself, h# may be growing less pleasing to others 4 tionary ” — voce, Ilk. “ It also signifies ‘ the same;’ as, Mackintosh of that ilk, denotes a gen- tleman whose surname and the title of his estate are the same.” — Boswell. . 4 It is observed in “ Waller’s Life,” in the “ Biographia Britannica,” that he. drank only water, and that while he sat in a company who were drinking wine, “ he had the dexterity to ac- commodate his discourse to the pitch of theirs as it siink. , ' > If excess in drinking be meant, the remark is acutely just. But surely, a moderate use of wine gives a gaiety of spirits winch water-drinkers know not. — B oswei.i.. 1778. - /FT AT. 69. 183 Wine gives a man nothing. It neither gives him knowledge nor wit; it only animates a man, and enables him to .bring out what a dread of the company has repressed. It only puts in motion what has been locked up in frost. But this may be good, or it may be bad.” Spottis- woode. “ So, sir, wine is a key which opens a box; but this box may be either full or empty?” Johnson. “Nay, sir, conversation is the key: wine is a pick-lock, which forces open the box, and injures^t. A man should cultivate his mind so as to have that confidence and readiness without wine, which wine gives.” Boswell. “The great difficulty of resisting wine is from be- nevolence. For instance, a good worthy man asks you to taste his wine, which he has had twenty years in his cellar.” Johnson. c Sir, all this notion about benevolence arises from a man’s imagining himself to De of more importance to others than he really is. They don’t care a farthing whether he drinks wine or not.” Sir Joshua Reynolds. “Yes, they do for the time.” Johnson. “For the time! If they care this minute, they forget it the next. And as for the good woithy man, how do you know he is good and worthy? No good and worthy man will insist upon another man’s drinking wine. As to the wine twenty years in the cellar, — of ten men, three say this, merely because they must say something; three are telling a lie, when they say they have had the wine twen- tyyears; — three would rather save the wine; one, perhaps, cares.' I allow it is something to please one’s company; and people are always pleased with those who partake pleasure with them. But after a man has brought himself to relinquish the great per- sonal pleasure which arises from drinking wine 1 , any other consideration is a trifle. To please others by drinking wine, is something only, if there be nothing against it. I should, however, be sorry to offend worthy men: ‘ Curst be the verse, how well soe’er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe. ’ ’ ’ . Bosweli,. “ Curst be the spring , the wa- ter .” Johnson. “ But let us consider what a sad thing it would be, if we were obliged to drink or do any thing else that may happen to be agreeable to the company where we are.” Langton. “ By the same rule, you must join with a gang of cut-purses.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir; but yet we must do justice to wine; we must allow it the power it possesses. To make a man pleased with himself, let me tell you, is doing a very great thing; ‘ Si patriae volumus, si nobis vivere cari.’ ” i I w T as at this time myself a water-d/inker, upon trial, by Johnson’s recommendation Johnson. “ Boswell is a bolder combatant than Sir Joshua; he argues for wine with- out the help of wine; but Sir Joshua with it.” Sir Joshua Reynolds. “But to please one’s company is a strong motive.” Johnson (who, from drinking only water, supposed every body who drank wine to be elevated). “ I won’t argue any more with you, sir. You are too far gone.” Sir Joshua. k I should have thought so indeed, sir, had I made such a speech as you have now done.” Johnson (drawing himself in, and, I really thought, blushing). “ Nay, do n’t be angry. I did not mean to offend you.” Sir Joshua. “At first the taste of wine was disagreeable to me; but I brought myself to drink it, that I might be like other people. The pleasure of drinking wine is so connected with pleasing your company, that altogether there is something of social goodness in it.” John- son. “ Sir, this is only saying the same thing over again.” Sir Joshua. “ No, this is new.” Johnson. “ You put it in new words, but it is an old thought. This is one of the disadvantages of wine, it makes a man mistake words for thoughts.” Boswell. “ I think it is a new thought; at least it is in a new attitude .” Johnson. “ Nay, sir, it is only in a new coat; or an old coat with a new facings” Then laughing heartily: “ It is the old dog in the new doublet. An extraordinary instance, how- ever, may occur where a man’s patron will do nothing for him, unless he will drink: there may be a good reason for drinking.” I mentioned a nobleman 2 , who I believed was really uneasy, if his company would not drink hard. Johnson. “ That is from having had people about him whom he has been accustomed to command.’ Boswell. “ Supposing I should be tele a-tete with him at table?” Johnson. “Sir, there is no more reason for youi drinking with him , than his being sober with i/ow.” Boswell. “Why, that is true; for it would do him less hurt to be sober, than it would do me to get drunk.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir; and from what I have heard of him, one would not wish to sacrifice himself to such a man. If he must always have somebody to drink with him, he should buy a slave, and then he would be sure to have it. They who submit to drink as another pleases, make themselves his slaves.” Boswell. “ But, sir, you will surely make allowance for the duty of hospitality. A gentleman who loves drink- ing, comes to visit me.” Johnson. “ Sir, a man knows whom he visits; he comes to the table of a sober man.” Boswell ‘ fSeo ante , vol, i. p. 39, and p. 64. — En.j 8 [Perhaps Lord Kellie. E?eeante,p. 120. — Ei>.' 184 1778.— ,ETAT. 69. “ But, sir, you and 1 should not have been so well received in the Highlands and Heb- rides, if I had not drunk with our worthy friends. Had I drunk water only as you did, they would not have been so cordial.” Johnson. “ Sir William Temple mentions, that in his travels through the Netherlands he had two or three gentlemen with him; and when a bumper was necessary, he put it on them. Were I to travel again through the islands, I would have Sir Joshua with me to take the bumpers.” Boswell. “ But, sir, let me put a case. Suppose Sir Joshua should take a jaunt into Scotland; he does me the honour to pay me a visit at my house in the country; 1 am overjoyed at seeing him; we are quite by ourselves; shall I unsociably and churlishly let him sit drinking by himself? No, no, my dear Sir Joshua, you shall not be treated so; I will take a bottle with you.” The celebrated Mrs. Rudd 1 being men- tioned: Johnson. “Fifteen years ago I should have gone to see her.” Sfottis- woode. “ Because she was fifteen years younger?” Johnson. “ No, sir; but now they have a trick of putting every thing in- to the newspapers.” He begged of General Paoli to repeat one of the introductory stanzas of the first book of Tasso’s “ Jerusalem,” which he did, and then Johnson found fault with the simile of sweetening the edges of a cup for a child, being transferred fiom Lucretius into an epick poem. The general said he did not imagine Homer’s poetry was so an- cient as is supposed, because he ascribes to a Greek colony circumstances of refinement not found in Greece itself at a later period, when Thucydides wrote. Johnson. “ I recollect but one passage quoted by Thucy- dides from Homer, which is not to be found in our copies of Homer’s works; I am for the antiquity of Homer, and think that a Grecian colony by being nearer Persia might be more refined than the mother country.” On Wednesday, 29th April, I dined with him at Mr. Allan Ramsay’s, where were Lord Binning, Dr. Robertson, the histo- rian, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and the Hon- ourable Mrs. Boscawen 2 , widow of the ad- miral, and mother of the present Viscount Falmouth; of whom, if it be not presumptu- ous in me to praise her, I would say, that her manners are the most agreeable, and her conversation the best, of any lady with 1 [Sec ante , p. 38, n . — Ed.] 2 [Frances, daughter of William Evelyn Glan- ville, Esq., married in 1742 to Admiral Boscawen. They were the parents of George Evelyn, third Viscount Falmouth, of Frances, married to the Hon. John Leveson Gower, and of Elizabeth, the wife of the fifth Duke of Beaufort. Mrs. Bosca- wen died in 1805 . — Ed.] whom I ever had the happiness to he ac quainted. Before Johnson came we talked a good deal of him. Ramsay said, he had always found him a very polite man, and that he treated him with great respect, which he did very sincerely. 1 said, I wor shipped him. Robertson. “ But some of you spoil him: you should not worship him; you should worship no man.” Bos- well. “ I cannot help worshipping him, he is*so much superior to other men.” Robertson. “ In criticism, and in wit ana conversation, he is no doubt very ex- cellent; but in other respects he is not above other men : he will believe any thing, and will strenuously defend the most minute circumstance connected with the church of England.” Boswell. “ Believe me, Doctor, you are much mistaken as to this; for when you talk with him calmly in pri- vate, he is very liberal in his way of think- ing.” Robertson. “ He and I have been always very gracious; the first time I met him was one evening at Strahan’s, when he had jujt had an unlucky altercation with Adam Smith 3 , to whom he had been so rough, that Strahan, after Smith was gone, had remonstrated with him, and told him that I was coming soon, and that he was uneasy to think that he might behave in the same manner to me. c No, no, sir, (said Johnson), I warrant you Robertson and I shall do very well.’ Accordingly he was gentle and good humoured and cour- teous with me, the whole evening; and he has been so upon every occasion that we have met since. I have often said, (laugh- ing) that I have been in a great measure indebted to Smith for my good reception.” Boswell. “ His power of reasoning is very strong, and he has a peculiar art of drawing characters, which is as rare as good portrait painting.” Sir Joshua Rey- nolds. “ He is undoubtedly admirable in this: but, in order to mark the characters which he draws, he overcharges them, and gives people more than they really have, whether of good or bad.” No sooner did he, of whom we had been thus talking so easily, arrive, than we were all as quiet as a school upon the entrance of the head-master ; and we very soon sat down to a table covered with such variety of good things, as contributed not a little to dispose him to be pleased. 3 [The Editor thinking it was hardly possible that Boswell should have omitted all mention of Adam Smith if Johnson had met him at Glasgow, almost doubts whether the violent scene reported to have taken place there {ante, v. i. p. 453-4) might not, in fact, have been that which occurred at Mr. Strahan’s, in London, referred to by Dr. Robertson. It is clear, that, after such a parting, they never could have met in society again. — Ed.] 1778. — /ETAT 69. 186 Ramsay. ct I am old enough 1 to have been a contemporary of Pope. His poetry was highly admired in his life-time, more a great deal than after his death. 5 ' John- son. “ Sir, it has not been less admired since his death; no authours ever had so much fame in their own life-time as Pope and Voltaire; and Pope’s poetry has been as much admired since his death as during his life; it has only not been as much talk- ed of, but that is owing to its being now more distant, and people having other writings to talk of. Virgil is less talked of than Pope, and Homer is less talked of than Virgil; but they are not less admired. We must read what the world reads at the mo- ment. It has been maintained that this superfetation, this teeming of the press in modern times, is prejudicial to good litera- ture, because it obliges us to read so much of what is of inferiour value, in order to be in the fashion; so that better works are neglected for want of time, because a man will have more gratification of his vanity in conversation, from having read modern books, than from having read the best works of antiquity. But it must be con- sidered, that we have now more knowledge generally diffused; all our ladies read now, which is a great extension. Modern wri- ters are the moons of literature; they shine with reflected light, with light borrowed from the ancients. Greece appears to me to be the fountain of knowledge; Rome of elegance.” Ramsay. “ I suppose Ho- mer’s c Iliad 5 to be a collection of pieces which had been written before his time. I should like to see a translation of it in po- etical prose, like the book of Ruth or Job.” Robertson. “ Would you, Dr. Johnson, who are a master of the English language, but try your hand upon a part of it.” John- son. “ Sir, you would not read it without the pleasure of verse 2 .” We talked of antiquarian researches. Johnson. “ All that is really known of the ancient state of Britain is contained in a few pages. We can know no more than what the old writers have told us; yet what large books have we upon it, the whole of which, excepting such parts as are taken from those old writers, is all a dream, such as Whitaker’s c Manchester.’ I have heard Henry’s c History of Britain ’ well spoken of; I am told it is carried on in separate divi- sions, as the civil, the military, the religious n [Mr. Ramsay was just of Johnson’s age. — Em] 2 This experiment, which Madame Dacier made in vain, has since been tried in our own language, 'by the editor of “ Ossian,” and we must either think very meanly of his abilities, or allow that Dr. Johnson was in the right. And Mr. Cowper, a man of real genius, has miserably failed in his blank verse translation. — Boswell. vol. ii 24 history; I wish much to ha /e one branch well done, and that is the history of man- ners, of common life.” Robertson. “Hen- ry should have applied his attention to that alone, which is enough for any man; and he might have found a great deal scattered in various books, had he read solely with that view. Henry erred in not selling his first Volume at a moderate price to the book- sellers, that they might have pushed him on till he had got reputation. I sold my c History of Scotland ’ at a moderate price, as a work by which the booksellers might either gain or not; and Cadell has told me, that Miller and he have got six thousand pounds by it. I afterwards received a much higher price for my writings. An authour should sell his first work for what the book- sellers will give, till it shall appear whether he is an authour of merit, or, which is the same thing as to purchase-money, an au- thour who pleases the publick.” Dr. Robertson expatiated on the charac- ter of a certain nobleman 3 ; that he was one of the strongest-minded men that ever lived; that he would sit in company quite sluggish, while there was nothing to call forth his intellectual vigour; but the mo- ment that any important subject was start- ed, for instance, how this country is to be defended against a French invasion, he would rouse himself, and show his extraor- dinary talents with the most powerful abil- ity and animation. Johnson. “ Yet this man cut his own throat. The true strong and sound mind is the mind that can em- brace equally great things and small. Now I am told the King of Prussia will say to a servant, c Bring me a bottle of such a wine, which came in such a year; it lies in such a corner of the cellars.’ I would have a man great in great things, and elegant in little things.” He said to me afterwards, when we were by ourselves, “ Robertson was in a mighty romantick humour, he talked of one whom he did not know; but I downed him with the King of Prussia.” “ Yes, sir,” said I, “ you threw a bottle at his head.” An ingenious gentleman was mentioned, concerning whom both Robertson and Ramsay agreed that he had a constant firm- ness of mind; for after a laborious day, and amidst a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, he would sit down with his sisters and be quite cheerful and good-humoured. Such a disposition, it was observed, was the hap- py gift of nature. Johnson. “I do not think so: a man has from nature a certain portion of mind; the use he makes of it de- pends upon his own free will. That a man has always the same firmness of mind, I do not say: because every man feels his mind less firm at one time than another; but I think, a man’s being in a good or bad hu 3 [Lord Clive.— Ed.] 186 1778.— /ET AT. 69. mour depends upon his will.” I, however, could not help thinking that a man’s hu- mour is often uncontrollable by his will. Johnson harangued against drinking wine. “ A man,” said he, “ may choose whether he will have abstemiousness and knowledge, or claret and ignorance.” Dr. Robertson, (who is very companionable), was beginning to dissent as to the proscrip- tion of claret. Johnson (with a placid smile). “Nay, sir, you shall not differ with me; as I have said that the man is most perfect who takes in the most things, I am for knowledge and claret.” Robert- son (holding a glass of generous claret in his hand). “ Sir, I can only drink your health.” Johnson. “ Sir, I should be sorry if you should be ever in such a state as to be able to do nothing more.” Robertson. “ Dr. Johnson, allow me to say, that in one re- spect I have the advantage of you; when you were in Scotland you would not come to hear any of our preachers; whereas, when I am here, I attend your publick worship without scruple, and, indeed, with great sa- tisfaction.” Johnson. “ Why, sir, that is not so extraordinary: the King of Siam sent ambassadors to Louis the Fourteenth, but Louis the Fourteenth sent none to the King of Siam b” Here my friend for once discovered a want of knowledge or forgetfulness; for Louis the Fourteenth did send an embassy to the King of Siam 1 2 , and the Abbe Choisi, who was employed in it, published an ac- count of it in two volumes. Next day, Thursday, April 30, I found him at home by himself. Johnson. “Well, sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid dinner. I love Ramsay. You will not find a man in whose conversation there is more instruc- tion, more information, and more elegance, than in Ramsay’s.” Boswell. “ What I admire in Ramsay, is his continuing to be so young.” Johnson. “ Why, yes, sir, it is to be admired. I value myself upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation 3 . I am now sixiy- eiglit, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight.” Boswell. “ But, sir, 1 Mrs. Piozzi confidently mentions this as hav- ing passed in Scotland. — Anecdotes , p. 62. — Boswell. 2 The Abbe de Choisi was sent by Louis XIV. on an embassy to the King of Siam in 1683, with a view, it has been said, to convert the king of the country to Christianity. — Malone. 3 [Johnson in his “ Meditations ” (April 20, ante, p. 179), congratulates himself on writing with all his usual vigour. “ I have made ser- mons ,” says he, “ as readily as formerly.” Probably, those which were left for publication by Dr. Taylor, and written, perhaps (or some of them), at Ashbiurne in the preceding autumn. See ante p 124.— Hall ] would not you wish to know old age? He who is never an old man/ does not know the whole of human life; for old age is one of the divisions of it.” Johnson. “ Nay, sir, what talk is this?” Boswell. “1 mean, sir, the Sphinx’s description of it: — morning, noon, and night. I would know night, as well as morning and noon.” Johnson. “What, sir, would you know what it is to feel the evils of old age? Would you have the gout? Would you have decrepitude?” Seeing him heated, I would not argue any farther; but I was confident that I was in the right. I tvould, in due time, be a Nestor, an elder of the people; and there should be some difference between the conversation of twenty-eight and sixty-eight 4 . A grave picture should not be gay. There is a serene, solemn, placid old age. Johnson. “ Mrs. Thrale’s mother said of me what flattered me much. A clergyman was complaining of want of society in the country where he lived; and said, ‘ They talk of runts , (that is, young cows) 5 . c Sir (said Mrs. Salisbury), Mr Johnson would learn to talk of runts ; ’ meaning that I was a man who would make the most of my situation, whatever it was.” He added, “ I think mvself a very polite man.” [Johnson expressed a similar Piozzi, opinion of his own politeness to p- 27-s, Mrs. Thrale, and, oddly enough, ' 199,200, on two particular occasions, in which the want of that quality seemed remarkably ap- parent. Dr. Johnson delighted in his own partiality for Oxford; and one day, at her 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 produced, with apparent triumph. At last 4 Johnson clearly meant (what the authour has often elsewhere mentioned), that he had none of the listlessness of old age, that he had the same activity and energy of mind , as formerly; not that a man of sixty-eight might dance in a pub- lick assembly with as much propriety as he could at twenty-eight. His conversation being the pro- duct of much various knowledge, great acuteness, and extraordinary wit, was equally well suited to every period of life ; and as in his youth it proba bly did not not exhibit any unbecoming levity, so certainly in his later years it was totally free from the garrulity and querulousness of old age. — Ma- lone. 5 Such is the signification of this word in Scot- land, and it should seem in Wales. (See Skin- ner in v.) But the heifers of Scotland and Wales, when brought to England, being always smaller than those of this country, the word runt has ac- quired a secondary sense, and generally signifies a heifer diminutive in size, small beyond the ordi- nary growth of that animal; and in this sense alone the word is acknowledged by Dr. Johnsoc in his Dictionary. — Malone 1776.— AT. 69. 187 Mrs. Thrale 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 do n’t count the sheep.” When the company were retired, the domestic cir- cle happened to be talking of Dr. Barnard, the provost of Eton, who died about that time; and after a long and just euiogium on his wit, bis learning, and goodness of heart, — Dr. Johnson said, quite seriously, “ He was the only man, too, that did jus- tice to my good breeding; and you may ob- serve that I am well-bred to a degree of needless scrupulosity. No man,” contin- ued he, not observing the amazement of his hearers, “ no man is so cautious not to in- terrupt another; no man thinks it so neces- sary to appear attentive when others are speaking; no man so steadily refuses pre- ference to himself, or so willingly bestows it on another, as I do; nobody 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 Bar- nard did me justice.” “ ’Tis pity,” said Mrs. Thrale, laughing, “ that he had not h^ard you compliment the Cambridge men after dinner to-day ! ” Piozzi On an °ther occasion, he had p. 199’ been professing that he was very 200 - attentive not to offend, and very careful to maintain the ceremonies of life; and had told Mr. Thrale, that though he had never sought to please till he was past thirty, considering the matter as hopeless, yet he had been always studious not to make enemies, by apparent preference of himself, ft happened, that this curious conversation, of which Mrs. Thrale was a silent auditress, passed, in her coach, in some distant pro- vince, either Shropshire or Derbyshire; and as soon as it was over, Dr. Johnson took out of his pocket a little book and was reading, when a gentleman, of no small distinction for his birth and elegance, sud- denly rode up to the carriage, and paying them all his proper compliments, was desi- rous not to neglect Dr. Johnson ; but ob- serving that he did not see him, tapped him gently on the shoulder. “ 5 Tis Mr. Choimondeley,” said Mr. Thrale. “ Well, sir! and what ifitisMr. Choimondeley!” said the other sternly, just lifting his eyes a moment from his book, and returning to it again with renewed avidity.] Ed [Miss Reynolds describes these points of Johnson’s character with more discrimination. “ That Dr. Johnson possessed the •Recoi. essent i a l principles of politeness and of good taste (which I suppose are the same, at least concomitant), none who knew his virtues and his genius will, I im- agine, be disposed to dispute. But why they remained with him, like gold in the ore, unfashioned ana unseen, except in his literary capacity, no person that l know of has made any inquiry though in general it has been spoken of as an unaccountable inconsistency in his character. Much, too, may be said in excuse lor an apparent, as- perity of manners which were, at times at least, the natural effect of those inherent mental infirmities to which he was subject. His corporeal defects also contributed large- ly to the singularity of his manners; and a little reflection on the disqualifying influ- ence of blindness and deafness would sug- gest many apologies for Dr. Johnson’s want of politeness. The particular in- stance 1 I have just mentioned, of his ina- bility to discriminate the features of any one’s face, deserves perhaps more than any other to be taken into consideration, want- ing, as he did, the aid of those intelligent signs, or insinuations, which the counte- nance 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 unaccom- modating manners may be equally ascribed, which not only precluded him from the perception of the expressive tones of the voice of others, but from hearing the bois- terous sound of his own : and nothing, ,1 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 corresponding aspect, had an in- timidating influence on those who were not much acquainted with him, and excited a degree of resentment 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 absur- dities, and excited surprise and resentmenl 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 touch- ed his foot under the table, but he still went on, and Garrick, much alarmed, touched him a second time, and, I believe, ^ the third; at last Johnson exclaimed, 1 Da- vid, David, is it you? What makes you tread on my toes so?’ This little anec- dote, perhaps, indicates as much the want 1 [ Ante , p. 18, n . — Er ] 188 1778. — yETAT. 69. 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 doubtless would not have happened.” “ It were also mi^ch to be wished, in jus- tice 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. Though he was fond of drawing characters, and did so con amor e, to the delight of all who heard him, I cannot say (though he said he loved a good hater) that I ever heard him draw one con odio .”] “ DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ [Thursday,] 30th April, 1778. “ Since I was fetched away from etteis. the journal [of engage- ments] stands thus: Saturday, Sir Joshua. Sunday, Mr. Hoole. Monday, Lord Lucan. Tuesday, Gen. Paoli. Wednesday, Mr. Ramsay. Thursday, Old Bailey 1 . Friday, Club. Saturday, Sir Joshua. Sunday, Lady Lucan. “ Monday. Pray let it be Streatham, and very early; do, now, let it be very ear- ly. For I may be carried away — just like Ganymede of Troy. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ “ Do, now, let me know whether you will send for me — early — on Monday. But take some care, or your letter will not come till Tuesday.” On Saturday, May 2, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, where there was a very large company, and a great deal of conversation; but, owing to some circum- stance which I cannot now recollect, I have no record of any part of it, except that there were several people there by no means of the Johnsonian school; so that less atten- tion was paid to him than usual, which put him out of humour : and upon some imagin- ary offence 2 from me, he attacked me with 1 [There is a dinner given at the Old Bailey to the judges, council, and a few guests — perhaps it was to one of these dinners that Johnson was in- vited. — After the foregoing note had been written, the Editor learned that the venerable Mr. Cham- berlain Clarke, now in his ninety-first year, re- members to have taken Johnson to his dinner, he being then sheriff. The judges were Blackstone and Eyre. Mr. Justice Blackstone conversed with Johnson on the subject of their absent friend, Sir Robert Chambers. — Ed.] 2 [Lord Wellesley has been so obliging as to give the Editor the following account of the cause such rudeness, that 1 was vexed and angry because it gave those persons an opportu nity of enlarging upon his supposed ferocity, and ill treatment of his best friends. I was so much hurt, and had my pride so much roused, that I kept away from him for a week; and, perhaps, might have kept away much longer, nay, gone to Scotland with- out seeing him again, had not we fortunate- ly met and been reconciled. To such un- happy chances are human friendships liable. On Friday, May 8, 1 dined with him at Mr. Langton’s. I was reserved and silent, which I suppose he perceived, and might recollect the cause. After dinner, when Mr. Lang- ton was called out of the room, and we were by ourselves, he drew his chair near to mine, and said, in a tone of conciliating courtesy, “ Well, how have you done? ” Boswell. “ Sir, you have made me very uneasy by your behaviour to me when we were last at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. You know, my dear sir, no man has a greater respect and affection for you, or would sooner go to the end of the world to serve you. Now to treat me so — .” He insisted that I had in- terrupted, which I assured him was not the case; and proceeded — cc But why treat me so before people who neither love you nor me?” Johnson. “ Well, I am sorry for it. I ’ll make it up to you twenty different ways, as you please.” Boswell. “I said to-day to Sir Joshua, when he observed that you tossed me sometimes, I don’t care how often, or how high he tosses me, when only friends are present, for then I fall upon soft ground; but I do not like falling on of this quarrel: “ Boswell, one day at Sir Joshua’s table, chose to pronounce a high-flown panegyric on the wits of Queen Anne’s reign, and exclaimed, ‘ How delightful it must have been to have lived in the society of Pope, Swift, Arbulhnot, Gay, and Bolingbroke ! We have no such society in our days.’ Sir Joshua. ‘I think, Mr. Bos- well you might be satisfied with your great friend’s conversation’ Johnson. ‘Nay, sir, Boswell is right ; every man wishes for preferment, and if Boswell had lived in those days, he would have obtained promotion.’ Sir Joshua. * How so, sir?’ Johnson. ‘Sir, he would have had a high place in the Dunciad.’ This anecdote Lord Wellesley heard from Mr. Thomas Sydenham, who received it from Mr. Knight, on the author- ity of Sir J oshua Reynolds himself.” The Edi- tor, however, suspects that this is but another ver I sion of the repartee of the same kind, in reference to the Dunciad, made in Sir Joshua’s presence, though not at his house, some years before (see ante, vol. i. p. 259). Johnson’s playful retort seems so much less offensive than fifty others, that Boswell relates himself to have endured patiently, that it is improbable that he should have resented it so deeplv. The anecdote, in passing through the hands of Mr. Knight and Mr. Sydenham, may have lost its true date, and acquired something beyond its true expression.- -Ed.] 1778. — iETAT 69 189 stones, which is, the case when enemies are present. I think this a pretty good image, sir.” Johnson. “ Sir, it is one of the hap- piest I have ever heard V’ The truth is, there was no venom in the wounds which he inflicted at any time, un- less they were irritated by some malignant infusion by other hands. We were instant- ly as cordial again as ever, and joined in hearty laugh at some ludicrous but innocent peculiarities of one of our friends. Bos- well. “ Do you think, sir, it is always culpable to laugh at a man to his face?” Johnson. ££ Why, sir, that depends upon the man and the thing. If it is a slight man, and a slight thing, you may; for you take nothing valuable from him.” He said, “ I read yesterday Dr. Blair’s sermon on devotion, from the text £ Corne- lius, a devout man . 5 His doctrine is the best limited, the best expressed : there is the most warmth without fanaticism, the most rational transport. There is one part of it which I disapprove, and I ’d have him cor- rect it; which is, that c he who does not feel joy in religion is far from the kingdom of heaven ! 5 there are many good men whose fear of God predominates over their love. It may discourage. It was rashly said 1 2 . A noble sermon it is indeed. I wish Blair would come over to the church of Englarifl.” When Mr. Langton returned to us, the ££ flow of talk went on.” An eminent au- thour 3 being mentioned: Johnson. ££ He is not a pleasant man. His conversation is neither instructive nor brilliant. He does not talk as if impelled by any fulness of 1 [The simplicity with which Boswell repeats this flattery, without seeing that it was only a peace-offering , is very characteristic and amusing. — Ed.] 2 [The passage referred to is, “Of what na- ture must that man’s religion be, who professes to worship God and to believe in Christ, and yet raises his thoughts towards God and his Saviour without any warmth of gratitude or love ? This is not the man whom you would choose for your bosom friend , or whose heart you would expect to answer with reciprocal warmth to yours; such a person must as yet be far from the king- dom of heaven.” — Blair's Sermons, vol. i. p. 261. Dr. Johnson’s remark is certainly just ; and it may be, moreover, observed that, from Blair’s expressions, and his reference to human friend- ships and affections, he might be understood to mean, that unless we feel the same kind of “warmth” and affection towards God that we do towards the objects of human love, we are far from the kingdom of heaven — an idea which seems to countenance fanaticism, and which every sober-minded Christian feels to be a mere play on words ; for the love of God and the love of one’s wife and friend are certainly not the same pas- sion. — Ed.] 3 [Probal’y Dr. Robertson. — E d.] knowledge or vivacity of imagination. His conversation is like that of any other sensi- ble man. He talks with no wish either to inform or to hear, but only because he thinks it does not become to sit in a company and say nothing . 55 Mr. Langton having repeated the anec- dote of Addison having distinguished be- tween his powers in conversation and in writing, by saying “ I have only ninepence in my pocket; but I can draw for a thou- sand pounds; 55 — Johnson. “ He had not that retort ready, sir; he had prepared it be- fore-hand.” Langton (turningto me) “ A fine surmise. Set a thief to catch a thief . 55 Johnson called the East Indians barba- rians. Boswell. ££ You will except the Chinese, sir? ” Johnson. “ No, sir . 55 Boswell. “ Have they not arts ? ” John son. “ They have pottery.” Boswell “ What do you say to the written charac- ters of their language? ” Johnson. “ Sir, they have not an alphabet. They have not been able to form what all other nations have formed.” Boswell. “ There is more learning in their language than in any other, from the immense number of their characters.” Johnson. “ It is only more difficult from its rudeness; as there is more labour in hewing down a tree with a stone than with an axe.” He said, “ I have been reading Lord Karnes’s £ Sketches of the History of Man.’ In treating of severity of punishment, he mentions that of Madame Lapouchin, in Russia, but he does not give it fairly; for I have looked at Chappe D'Jluteroche, from whom he has taken it. He stops where it is said that the spectators thought her inno- cent, and leaves out what follows; that she nevertheless was guilty. Now this is being as culpable as one can conceive, to misre- present fact in a book, and for what motive ? It is like one of those lies which people tell, one cannot see why. The woman’s life was spared; and no punishment was too great for the favourite of an empress, who had conspired to dethrone her mistress.” Boswell. ££ He was only giving a picture of the lady in her sufferings.” Johnson 1 ££ Nay, don’t endeavour to palliate this. Guilt is a principal feature in the picture. Karnes is puzzled with a question that puz- zled me when I was a very young man. Why is it that the interest of money is low- er, when money is plentiful; for five pounds has the same proportion of value to a hun- dred pounds when money is plentiful, as when it is scarce? A lady explained it to me. It is (said she) because when money is plentiful there are so many more who have money to lend, that they bid down one another. Many have then a hundred pounds; and one says — Take mine rather than another’s, and you shall have it at four per cent” Boswell. ££ Does Lord Karnes 190 1778.— flETAT. 69 decide the question ? ” Johnson. cc I think lie leaves it as he found it ” Boswell. “ This must have been an extraordinary lady who instructed you, sir. May I ask who she was? ” Johnson. “ Molly Aston sir, the sister of those ladies with whom you dined at Lifchfield. 1 shall be at home to-morrow.” Boswell. “ Then let us dine by ourselves at the Mitre, to keep up the old custom, c the custom of the manor, 5 custom of the Mitre.” Johnson. “ Sir, so it shall be.” , [Dr- Johnson had however an T°i 2 o’ avowed and scarcely limited partial- ity for all who bore the name or coasted the alliance of an Aston or a fier- vey; [but above all for Miss Mary Aston, whom he has celebrated in his criticisms on Pope’s epitaphs, as a lady of great beauty and elegance.] And when Mr. Thrale once asked him which had been the happi- est period of his past life ? he replied, it was that year in which he spent one whole even- ing with Molly Aston. “ That indeed,” said he, “ was not happiness, it was rapture; but the thoughts of it sweetened the whole year.” Mrs. Piozzi observes, that the even- ing alluded to was not passed tite-a-tete, but in a select company, of which the pre- sent Lord Kilmorey 1 2 was one. “ Molly,” said 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 that epigram upon her. — She was the love- liest creature I ever saw ! Mrs. Piozzi asked him what his wife thought of this attachment ? “ She was 1 Johnson had an extraordinary admiration of this lady, notwithstanding she was a violent whig. In answer to her high-flown speeches for liberty , he addressed to her the following epigram, of which I presume to offer a translation: “ Liber ut esse velim, suasisti pulchra Maria, Ut maneam liber — puflchra Maria, vale ! ” Adieu, Maria! since you’d have me free: For, who beholds thy charms, a slave must be. A correspondent of “ The Gentleman’s Maga- zine,” who subscribes himself Sciolus, to whom •I am indebted for several excellent remarks, ob- serves, “ The turn of Dr. Johnson’s lines to Miss Aston, whose whig principles he had been com- bating, appears to me to be taken from an inge- nious epigram in the * Menagiana,’ vol. iii. p. 376, edit. 1716, on a young lady who appeared at a masquerade, habillee en Jesuite, during the fierce contentions- of the followers ofMolinos and and Jansenius concerning free-will : “ On s’etonnc ici que Caliste Ait pris l’habit de Moliniste. Puisque cette jeune beaute Ote a chacun sa liberte N’est-ce pas une Janseniste ?”■ — Boswell. * [See ante , vol. i. p. 4S1, n., where Loid Kil- morey should have been stated to be John, the tenth VBcount. — Ed.] jealous, to be sure,” said he, *« and teased me sometimes, when I would let her; and one day, as a fortune-telling gipsy passed us, 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 gipsy, 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 was crying. Pretty charmer ! she had no reason ! ”] On Saturday, May 9, we fulfilled our pur pose of dining by ourselves at the Mure, according to the old custom. There was. on these occasions, a little circumstance of kind attention to Mrs. Williams, which must not be omitted. Before coming out, and leaving her to dine alone, he gave her her choice of a chicken, a sweetbread, or any other little nice thing, which was carefully- sent to her from the tavern ready drest. Our conversation to-day, I know not how, turned, I think, for the only time at any length, during our long acquaintance, upon the sensual intercourse between the sexes, the delight of which he ascribed chiefly to imagination. “ Were it not for imagina- tion, sir,” said he, “ a man would be as hap- py in the arms of a chambermaid as of a duchess. But such is the adventitious charm of fancy, that we find men who have violated the best principles of society, and ruined their fame and their fortune, that they might possess a woman of rank.” Ii would not be proper to record the particu lars of such a conversation in moments of unreserved frankness, when nobody was present on whom it could have any hurt ful effect. That subject, when philosophi cally treated, may surely employ the mind in a curious discussion, and as innocently as anatomy; provided that those who do treat it keep clear of inflammatory incentives. “From grave to gay, from lively to se vere,” — we were soon engaged in very dif ferent speculation; humbly and reverently considering and wondering at the universal mystery of all things, as our imperfect faculties can now judge of them. “ There are,” said he, “ innumerable questions to ■which the inquisitive mind can in this state i *eive n# answer: Why do you and I exist ? Why was this world created ? Since it was to be created, why was it not created sooner? ” On Sunday, May 10,. I supped with hun at Mr. Hoole’s, with Sir Joshua Reynolds. I have neglected the memorial of this even ing, so as to remember no more of it than two particulars: one that he strenuously opposed an argument by Sir Joshua, that virtue was preferable to vice, considering this life only; and that a man would bf 1778.— ^ETAT. 69. virtuous were it only to preserve his charac- ter; and that he expressed much wonder at the curious formation of the bat, a mouse with wings; saying, that it was almost as strange a thing in physiology, as if the fabulous dragon could be seen. On Tuesday, May 12, I waited on the Earl of Marchmont, to know if his lordship would favour Dr. Johnson with informa- tion concerning Pope, whose Life he was about to write. Johnson had not flattered himself with the hopes of receiving any civil- ity from this nobleman; for he said to me, when I mentioned Lord Marchmont as one who could tell him a great deal about Pope, — “ Sir, he will tell me nothing.” I had the honour of being known to his lordship, and applied to him of myself, without being commissioned by Johnson. His lordship behaved in the most polite and obliging manner, promised to tell all he recollected about Pope, and was so very courteous as to say, “ Tell Dr. Johnson I have a great respect for him, and am ready to show it in any way I can. I am to be in the city to- morrow, and will call at his house as I re- turn.” His lordship however asked, “ Will he write the ‘ Lives of the Poets ’ impar- tially ? He was the first that brought whig and tory into a dictionary. And what do you think of the definition of Excise ? Do you know the history of his aversion to the word transpire 1 ” Then taking down the folio Dictionary, he showed it with this censure on its secondary sense: ‘ To escape from secrecy to notice; a sense lately inno- vated from France, without necessity V “ The truth was, Lord Bolingbroke who left the Jacobites, first used it; therefore it was to be condemned. He should have shown what word would do for it, if it was unnecessary.” I afterwards put the question to Johnson: “Why, sir,” said he, “ get abroad .” Boswell. “ That, sir, is using two words.” Johnson. “ Sir, there is no end to this. You may as well insist to have a word for old age.” Boswell. “ Well, sir, senectus .” Johnson. “ Nay, sir, to insist always that there should be one word to express a thing in English, be- cause tnere is one in another language, is to change the language.” I availed myself of this opportunity to hear from his lordship many particulars 1 [Few words, however, of modern introduction have had greater success than this — for it is not only in general, but even in vulgar use. Johnson’s awkward substitute of “get abroad ” does not seem to express exactly the same meaning : a se- cret may get abroad by design, by accident, by breach of confidence ; but it is said to transpire when it becomes known by small indirect circum- stances — by symptoms — by inferences. It is now often used in the direct sense of t£ get abroad but, as appears to the editor, incorrectly. — Ed.] 191 both of Pope and Lora Bolingbroke, which I have in writing. I proposed to Lord Marchmont, that he should revise Johnson’s Life of Pope: So.” said his lordship, “ you would put me in a dangerous situation. You know he knock- ed down Osborne, the bookseller 2 3 .” Elated with the success of my spontane- ous exertion to procure material and respec- table aid to Johnson for his very favourite work, “ the Lives of the Poets,” I hasten ed down to Mr. Thrale’s, at Streatham, where he now was, that I mignt ensure hia being at home next day: and after dinner when 1 thought he would receive the goou news in the best humour, 1 announced it eagerly : “ I have been at work for you to- day, sir. I have been with Lord March- mont. He bade me tell you he has a great respect for you, and will call on you to- morrow at one o’clock, and communicate all he knows about Pope.” Here I paused, in full expectation that he would be pleased with this intelligence, would praise my ac- tive merit, and would be alert to embrace such an offer from a nobleman. But whether I had shown an over-exultation, which provoked his spleen; or whether he was seized with a suspicion that I had ob- truded him on Lord Marchmont, and hum- bled him too much; or whether there was any thing more than an unlucky fit of ill- humour, I know not; but to my surprise the result was, — Johnson. “ I shall not be in town to-morrow. I do n’t care to know about Pope.” Mrs. Thrale: (sur- prised as I was, and a little angry). “ I suppose, sir, Mr. Boswell thought, that as you are to write Pope’s Life, you would wish to know about him.” Johnson. “ Wish ! why yes. If it rained knowledge, I ’d hold out my hand; but I would not give myself the trouble to go in quest of it.’ There was no arguing with him at the mo- ment. Some time afterwards he said, “ Lord Marchmont will call on me, and then 1 shall call on Lord Marchmont.” Mis. Thrale was uneasy at his unaccountable >' caprice; and told me, that if 1 did not take care to bring about a meeting between Lord Marchmont and him, it w T ould never take place, which would be a great pity. ) sent a card to his lordship, to be left at Johnson’s house, acquainting him, that Dr. Johnson could not be in town next day, but would do himself the honour of waiting on him at another time. I give this ac 2 [See ante, vol. i. p. 61 . — Ed.] 3 [Not quite so unaccountable as Mr. Boswell seems to think. His intervention in this affair, unsolicited and unauthorized, exhibits the bust- ling vanity of h.s own character, and Johnson very judiciously declined being dragged bef’oie Lord Marchmont by so head.ong a master of the ceremonies. — Ed. ] 192 1778 — jETAT. 69- count fairly, as a specimen of that unhappy temper with which this great and good man had occasionally to struggle, from some- thing morbid in his constitution. Let the most censorious of my readers suppose mm- self to have a violent fit of the toothache or to have received a severe stroke on the shin- bone, and when in such a state to be asked a question; and if he has any candour, he will not be surprised at the answers which Johnson sometimes gave in moment^ of ir- ritation, which, let me assure them is ex- quisitely painful. But it must not be erro- neously supposed that he was, in the small- est degree, careless concerning any work which he undertook, or that he was gener- ally thus peevish. It will be seen that in the following year he had a very agreeable interview with Lord Marchmont at his lordship’s house ; and this very afternoon ne soon forgot any fretfulness, and fell into conversation as usual. I mentioned a reflection having been thrown out against four peers 1 for having presumed to rise in opposition to the opin- ion of the twelve judges, in a cause in the house of lords, as if that were indecent. Johnson. ££ Sir, there is no ground for censure. The peers are judges themselves : and supposing them really to be of a differ- ent opinion, they might from duty be in opposition to the judges, who were there only to be consulted.” In this observation I fully concurred with him; for. unquestionably, all the peers are vested with the highest judicial powers; and when they are confident that they un- derstand a cause, are not obliged, nay, ought not to acquiesce in the opinion of the ordinary law judges, or even in that of those who from their studies and experience are called the law lords. I consider the peers in general as I do a jury, who ought to listen with respectful attention to the sages of the law; but if, after hearing them, they have a firm opinion of their own, are bound, as honest men, to decide accordingly. Nor is it so difficult for them to understand even law questions as is gener- ally thought, provided they will bestow sufficient attention upon them. This ob- servation was made by my honoured rela- tion the late Lord Cathcart, who had spent his life in camps and courts; yet assured me, that he could form a clear opinion upon most of the causes that came before the house of lords, ££ as they were so well enu- cleated in the Cases.” Mrs. Thrale told us, that a curious cler- gyman of our acquaintance had discovered a licentious stanza, which Pope had origi- nally in his ££ Universal Prayer,” before the stanza, 1 [The occasion was Mr. Home’s writ of error m 1778 —Ed ] • “ What conscience dictates to be done Or warns us not to do,” &e. It was this* t£ Can sins of moment claim the rod Of everlasting fires ? And that offend great Nature’s God Which Nature’s self inspires ? ” and that Dr. Johnson observed. ‘ £ i had been borrowed from Guamni.” There are, indeed, m Pastor Fido. many such flimsy superficial reasonings as that in the last two lines of this stanza. Boswell. cc In that stanza of Pope’s £ rod of fires 5 is certainly a bad metaphor.’* Mrs. Thrale. ££ And £ sins of moment 5 is a faulty expression; for its true import is momentous , which cannot be intended.” Johnson. ££ It must have been written £ of moments .’ Of moment , is momentous , of moments , momentary . I warrant you, however, Pope wrote this stanza, ana some friend struck it out. Boileau wrote some such thing, and Arnaud struck it out, say- ing, £ Vous gagnerez deux ou trois impies , et ptrdrez je ne spais combien d’honettes gens.' These fellows want to say a daring thing, and do n’t know how to go about it. Mere poets know no more of fundamenta principles than — .” Here he was inter- rupted somehow. Mrs. Thrale mentioned Dryden. Johnson. “ He puzzled him- self about predestination. How foolish was it in Pope to give all his friendship to lords, who thought they honoured him by being with him; and to choose such lords as Burlington, and Cobham, and Boling- broke! Bathurst was negative, a pleasing man ; and I have heard no ill of Marchmont. And then always saying, £ I do not value you for being a lord; ’ which was a sure proof that he did. I never say I do not value Boswell more for being born to an estate, because I do not care.” Boswell. ££ Nor for being a Scotchman?” ££ Nay, sir, I do value you more for being a Scotch- man. You are a Scotchman without the faults of Scotchmen. You would not have been so valuable as you are had you not been a Scotchman.” Talking of divorces, I asked if Othello : s doctrine was not plausible; “ He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know ’t, and he ’s not robb’d at all.” Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale joined against this. Johnson. ££ Ask any man if he ’d wish not to know of such an injury.” Boswell. ££ Would you tell your friend to make him unhappy? ” Johnson. “Per- haps, sir, I should not; but that would be from prudence on my own account. A man would tell his father.” Boswell. ££ Yes, because he would not have spurious children to get any share of the family inheritance.” ' Mrs. Thrale. ££ Or he would tell hia 1778.— ^TAT 69. 193 brother.” Boswell. “ Certainly his el - der brother . 35 Johnson. “You would tell your friend of a woman’s infamy, to prevent his marrying a prostitute: there is the same reason to tell him of his wife’s infidelity when he was married, to prevent the consequences of imposition. It is a breach of confidence not to tell a friend.” Boswell. “ Would you tell Mr. ?” (naming a gentleman 1 who assuredly was not in the least danger of such a miserable disgrace, though married to a fine woman.) Johnson. “ No, sir; because it would do no good: he is so sluggish, he ’d never go to parliament and get through a divorce.” He said of one 2 of our friends, “ He is ruining himself without pleasure. A man who loses at play, or who runs out his for- tune at court, makes his estate less, in hopes of making it bigger (I am sure of this word, which was often used by him) : but it is a sad thing to pass through the quag- mire of parsimony to the gulf of ruin. To pass over the flowery path of extravagance is very well.” Amongst the numerous prints pasted on the walls of the dining-room at Streatham was Hogarth’s “ Modern Midnight Conver- sation.” I asked him what he knew of Parson Ford, who made a conspicuous fig- ure in the riotous group. Johnson. “ Sir, he was my acquaintance and relation, my mother’s nephew. He had purchased a living in the country, but not simoniacally. I never saw him but in the country. I have been told he was a man of great parts; very profligate, but I never heard he was impious.” Boswell. “Was there not a story of his ghost having appeared?” Johnson. “ Sir, it was believed. A wait- er at the Hummums, in which house Ford died, had been absent for some time, and returned, not knowing that Ford was dead. Going down to the cellar, according to the story, he met him; going down again, he met him a second time. When he came up, he asked some of the people of the house what Ford could be doing there. They told him Ford was dead. The waiter took a fever, in which he lay for some time. When he recovered, he said he had a message to deliver to some women from Ford; but He was not to tell what, or to whom. He walked out; he was fol- lowed; but somewhere about St. Paul’s they lost him. He came back, and said he had delivered the message, and the women exclaimed, c Then we are all undone ! ’ Dr. Pellet, who was not a credulous man, mquired into the truth of this story, and he 1 [The editor declines to attempt supplying this lame. He fears that it will be but too evident at whose expense Mr. Boswell chose to make so of- fensive an hypothesis. — Ed.] * [No doubt Mr. Langton. — E d.] 25 said the evidence was irresistible. My wife went to the Hummums; (it is a place where people get themselves cupped.) I believe she went with intention to hear about this story of Ford. At first they were unwilling to tell her; but, after they had talked to her, she came away satisfied that it was true. To be sure, the man had a fever; and this vision may have been the beginning of it. But if the message to the women, and their behaviour upon it, were true as related, there was something super- natural. That rests upon his word; and there it remains.” After Mrs. Thrale was gone to bed, Johnson and I sat up late. We resumed Sir Joshua Reynolds’s argument on the preceding Sunday, that a man would be virtuous, though he had no other motive than to preserve his character. .Johnson. “ Sir, it is not true; for, as to this world, vice does not hurt a man’s character.” Boswell. “ Yes, sir, debauching a friend’s wife will.” Johnson. “ No, sir. Who thinks the worse of 3 for it?” Bos- well. “ Lord 4 was not his friend.” Johnson. “ That is only a circumstance, sir; a slight distinction. He could not get into the house but by Lord 4 . A man is chose knight of the shire not the less for having debauched ladies.” Bos well. “ What, sir, if he debauched the ladies of gentlemen in the county, will not there be a general resentment against him ? ” Johnson. “ No, sir. He will lose those particular gentlemen; but the rest will not trouble their heads about it” (warmly). Boswell. “ Well, sir, I cannot think so.” Johnson. cc Nay, sir, there is no talking with a man who will dispute what every body knows (angrily). Don’t you know this? ” Boswell. “ No, sir; and I wish to think better of your country than you represent it. I knew in Scotland a gentle- man obliged to leave it for debauching a lady; and in one of our counties an earl’s brother lost his election because he had de- bauched the lady of another earl in that county, and destroyed the peace of a noble family.” Still he would not yield. He proceeded: “ Will you not allow, sir, that vice does not hurt a man’s character so as to obstruct his prosperity in life, when you know that 5 was loaded with wealth and honours? a man who had acquired his for- tune bj r such crimes, that his consciousness of them impelled him to cut his own throat.” Boswell. “ You will recollect, sir, that Dr. Robertson said he cut his throat because he was weary of still life: 3 [Mr. Beauclerk. See ante, v. i. p. 316 n, — Ed.] 4 [Bolingbroke. See as above. — E d.] 6 [Lord Clive. See ante, p. 18$ — Ed ] 194 1778.— ^ETAT. 69. little things not being sufficient to move his great mind.” Johnson (very angry). “ Nay, sir, what stuff is this? You had no more this opinion after Robertson said it than before. I know nothing more offen- ewe than repeating what one knows to be foolish things, by way of continuing a dis- pute, to see what a man will answer, — to make him your butt!” (angrier still). Boswell. “My dear sir, I had no such intention as you seem to suspect; I had not, 'ndeed. Might not this nobleman have felt every thing £ weary, stale, flat, and un- profitable,’ as Hamlet says?” Johnson. “ Nay, if you are to bring in gabble , I ’ll talk no more. I will not, upon my honour.” My readers will decide upon this dispute. Next morning I stated to Mrs. Thrale at breakfast, before he came down, the dispute of last night as to the influence of character upon success in life. She said he was cer- tainly wrong; and told me that a baronet ’ost an election in Wales because he had debauched the sister of a gentleman in the county, whom he made one of his daugh- ters invite as her companion at his seat in the country, when his lady and his other rhildren were in London. But she would not encounter Johnson upon the subject. T staid all this day with him at Strea- f ham. He talked a great deal in very good humour. Looking at Messrs. Dilly’s splendid edi- tion of Lord Chesterfield’s miscellaneous works, he laughed, and said, “ Here are now two speeches ascribed to him, both of which were written by me: and the best of it is, they have found out that one is like Demosthenes, and the other like Cicero L” He censured Lord Karnes’s “ Sketches of the History of Man,” for misrepresenting Clarendon’s account of the appearance of Sir George Villiers’s ghost, as if Clarendon were weakly credulous; when the truth is, that Clarendon only says, that the story was upon a better foundation of credit than usually such discourses are founded upon; nay, speaks thus of the person who was re- ported to have seen the vision, ■“ the poor man, if he had been at all waking; ” which Lord Karnes has omitted 2 . He added, “ In this book it is maintained that virtue is natu- ral to man, and that if we would but consult our own hearts, we should be virtuous. Now, after consulting our own hearts all we can, and with all the helps we have, we find how few of us are virtuous. This is saying a thing which all mankind know not to be true.” Boswell. “ Is not modesty natural?” Johnson. * “ I cannot say, sir, 1 [See ante , vol. i. p. 60 . — Ed.] ' 2 [This suppression is particularly blameable, because the question was as to the extent of Clar- endon's credulity. See also ante, p. 189. — Ed ] as we find no people quite in a state of na ture; but, I think, the mere they are taught, the more modest they are. The French are a gross, ill-bred, untaight people; a la- dy there will spit on the floor and rub it with her foot. * What I gained by being in France was, learning to be better satisfied with my own country. Time may be em- ployed to more advantage from nineteen to twenty-four, almost in any way than in travelling. When you set travelling against mere negation, against doing nothing, it is better to be sure; but how much more would a young man improve were he to study during those years. Indeed, if a young man is wild, and must run after wo- men and bad ^company, it is better this should be done abroad, as, on his return, he can break off such connexions, and be- gin at home a new man, with a character to form, and acquaintance to make. How little does travelling supply to the cceiver- sation of any man who has travelled ; how little to Beauclerk? ” Boswell. “What say you to Lord 3 ?” Johnson “ I never but once heard him talk of what he had seen, and that was of a large ser- pent in one of the pyramids of Egypt.” Boswell. “ Well, l happened to hear him tell the same thing, which made me men- tion him.” I talked of a country life. Johnson. “Were I to live in the country, I would not devote myself to the acquisition of pop ularity; I would live in a much better way ; much more happily; I would have my time at my own command.” Boswell. “But, sir, is it not a sad thing to be at a distance from all our literary friends.? ” Johnson. “ Sir, you will by-and-bv have enough of this conversation, which now delights you so much.” As he was a zealous friend of subordina- tion, he was at all times watchful to repress the vulgar cant against the manners of the great. “ High people, sir,” said he, “ are the best: take a hundred ladies of quality, you ’ll find them better wives, better moth- ers, more willing to sacrifice their own plea- sure to their children, than a hundred other women. Trades-women (I mean the Avives of tradesmen) in the city, who are worth from ten to fifteen thousand pounds, are the worst creatures upon the earth, grossly ignorant, and thinking viciousness fashionable. Farmers, I think, are often worthless fellows. Few lords will cheat, and, if they do, they’ll be ashamed of it- farmers cheat, and ere not ashamed of it: they have all the sensual vices too of the nobility, with cheating into the bargain. 3 [Charlemont. His lordship was in the haou of telling the story alluded to rather too often.— Ed.J 1778. -m TAT. 69. 195 There is as much fornication and adultery amongst farmers as amongst noblemen.” Boswell. “ The notion of the world, sir, "'ever, is, that the morals of women of quauty are worse than those in lower sta- tions.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir; the licen- tiousness of one woman of quality makes more noise than that of a number of wo- men in lower stations: then, sir, you are to consider the malignity of women in the city against women of quality, w hich will make them believe any thing of them, such as that they call their coachmen to bed. No, sir; so far as I have observed, the higher in rank, the richer ladies are, they are the bet- ter instructed, and the more virtuous.” This year the Reverend* *Mr. Horne pub- lished his “ Letter to Mr. Dunning on the English Particle.” Johnson read it, and though not treated in it with sufficient re- spect, he had candour enough to say to Mr. Seward, “ Were I to make a new edition of my Dictionary, I would adopt several 1 of Mr. Horne’s etymologies. I hope they did not put the dog in the pillory for his libel : he has too much literature for that 9 .” On Saturday, May 16, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk’s with Mr. Langton, Mr. Steevens. Dr. Higgins, and some others. T regret very feeungly every instance of my remissness in recording his memorabilia ; I am afraid it is the condition of humanity (as Mr. Windham, of Norfolk, once ob- served to me, after having made an admi- rable speech in the house of commons, which was highly applauded, but which he afterwards perceived might have been bet- ter), “ that we are more uneasy from think- ing of our wants, than happy in thinking of our acquisitions.” This is an unreasonable mode of disturbing our tranquillity, and should be corrected: let me then comfort myself with the large treasure of Johnson’s conversation which I have preserved for my own enjoyment and that of the world, and et me exhibit what I have upon each occa- sion, whether more or less, whether a bulse, or only a few sparks of a diamond. He said, “ Dr. Mead lived more in the broad sunshine of life than almost any man.” The disaster of General Burgoyne’s ar- 1 In Mr. Horne Tooke’s enlargement of that “ Letter,” which he has since published with the title of “ Et t ± Tr ^ t ^ vrct , or, The Diversions of Purley,” he mentions this compliment, as if Dr. Johnson, instead of several of his etymologies, had said all His recollec lion having thus magni- fied it, shows how ambitious he was of the appro- bation of so great a man. — Boswell. * [See ante , p. 178. The editor cannot ac- count for Johnson’s ignorance of the sentence — any more than fir the inconsistency between the wishes expressed in tills and the former passage. — Ed.1 my 3 * was then the common topick of con- versation. It was asked why piling their arms was insisted upon as a matter of such consequence, when it seemed to be a cir- cumstance so inconsiderable in itself. John- son. “ Why, sir, a French authour says, c L y a beaucoup de puerilites dans la guerre. All distinctions are trifles, because great things can seldom occur, and those distinc- tions are settled by custom. A savage would as willingly have his meat sent to him in the kitchen, as eat it at the table here: as men become civilised, various modes of denoting honourable preference are invented.” He this day made the observations upon the similarity between “ Rasselas ” and “Candide:” which I have inserted in its proper place, when considering his admira- ble philosophical romance. He said, “ Can- dide” he thought had more power in it than any thing that Voltaire had written. He said, c£ The lyrical part of Horace never can be perfectly translated; so much of the excellence is in the numbers and ex- pression. Francis has done it the best; I ’ll take his, five out of six, against them all.” On Sunday, May 17, I presented to him Mr. Fullarton, of Fullarton, who has since distinguished himself so much in India, to whom he naturally talked of travels, as Mr. Brydone accompanied him in his tour to Sicily and Malta. He said, “ The informa- tion which we have from modern travellers is much more authentick than what we had from ancient travellers: ancient travellers guessed; modern travellers measure. The Swiss admit that there is but one errour in Stanyan. If Brydone were more attentive to his Bible, he would be a good traveller.” He said, “ Lord Chatham was a Dictator ; he possessed the power of putting the state in motion; now there is no power, all order is relaxed.” Boswell. “ Is there no hope of a change to the better?” Johnson. “ Why, yes, sir, when we are weary of this relaxation. So the city of London will appoint its mayors again by senior ty.” Boswell. tc But is not that taking a mere chance for having a good or a bad mayor? ” Johnson. “ Yes, sir; but the evil of com- petition is greater than that of the worst mayor that can come: besides, there is no more reason to suppose that the choice of a rabble will be right, than that chance will be right.” On Tuesday, May 19, I was to set oui for Scotland in the evening. He was en- gaged to dine with me at Mr. Dilly’s; I waifittl upon him to remind him of his ap- poiw.meiat and attend him thither; he gave me some salutary counsel, and recommend- 3 [Its surrender at Saratoga, October 17, 1777.— Ed.] 196 1778. — iETAT. 69. ed vigorous resolution against any devia- lion from moral duty. Boswell. “ But you wouid not have me to bind myself by a solemn obligation?” Johnson (much agi- tated'). “What! a vow! — O, no, sir, aj vow is a horrible thing ! it is a snare for sin. The man who cannot go to heaven without a vow, may go — l .” Here, stand- ing erect in the middle of his library, and rolling grand, his pause was truly a curious compound of the solemn and the ludicrous: he half-whistled in his usual way when plea- sant, and he paused as if checked by reli- gious awe. Methought he would have added, to hell, but was restrained. I hu- moured the dilemma. “ What, sir! ” said I, “ ‘ In ccelum jusseris Hit 1 * ” — Juv. 3 Sat. alluding to his imitation of it, “ And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes.” I had mentioned to him a slight fault in his noble “ Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal,” a too near recurrence of the verb spread in his description of the young en- thusiast at college: “ Through all his veins the fever of renown Spreads from the strong contagion of the gown ; O’er Bodley’s dome his future labours spread, And Bacon’s mansion trembles o’er his head. ” He had desired me to change spreads to burns ; but for perfect authenticity, I now had it done with his own hand 2 . I thought this alteration not only cured the fault, but was more poetical, as it might carry an al- lusion to the shirt by which Hercules was inflamed. We had a quiet, comfortable meeting at Mr. Dilly’s; nobody there but ourselves. Mr. Dilly mentioned somebody having wished that Milton’s “ Tractate on Educa- tion ” should be printed along with his Po- ems in the edition of the English Poets then going on. Johnson. “ It would be break- ing in upon the plan; but would be of no great consequence. So far as it would be any thing, it would be wrong. Education in England has been in danger of being hurt by two of its greatest men, Milton and Locke. Milton’s plan is impracticable, and I suppose has never been tried. Locke’s, I fancy, has been tried often enough, but is very imperfect; it gives too much to one side, and too little to the other; it gives too little to literature. — I shall do what I can for Dr. Watts ; but my materials are very scanty. His poems are by no means his best works ; I cannot praise his poetry it- self highly; but I can praise its design.” 1 [See ante, vol. i. p. 234 . — Ed.] 2 The slip of paper on which he made the correction is deposited by me in the noble library lo which it relates, and to which I' have presented other pieces of his handwriting. — Boivell. My illustrious friend and I parted with assurances of affectionate regard. ^ I wrote to him on the 25th of May, from Thorpe, in Yorkshire, one of the seats o" I Mr. Bosville, and gave him an account of my having passed a day at Lincoln, unex- pectedly, and therefore without having any letters of introduction, but that I had been honoured with civilities from the Reverend Mr. Simpson, an acquaintance of his 3 , and Captain Broadley, of the Lincolnshire mili- tia; but more particularly from the Rever- end Dr. Gordon, the chancellor, who first received me with great politeness as a stranger, and, when I informed him who I was, entertained me at his house with the most flattering -attention : I also expressed the pleasure with which I had found that our worthy friend, Langton, was highly esteemed in his own county town. “TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. ‘‘Edinburgh, 18th June, 1778. “ My dear sir, ******* “ Since my return to Scotland, I have been again at Lanark, and have had more conversation with Thomson’s sister. It is strange that Murdoch, who was his inti- mate friend, should have mistaken his mo- ther’s maiden name, which he says was Hume, whereas Hume was the name of his grandmother by the mother’s side. His mother’s name was Beatrix Trotter 4 , a daughter of Mr. Trotter of Fogo, a small proprietor of land. Thomson had one bro- ther, whom he had with him in England as his amanuensis; but he was seized with a consumption, and having returned to Scotland, to try what his native air would *do for him, died young. He had three sis- ters ; one married to Mr. Bell, minister of the parish of Strathaven, one to Mr. Craig, father of the ingenious architect, who gave the plan of the New Town of Edinburgh, and one to Mr. Thomson, master of the grammar-school at Lanark. He was of a humane and benevolent disposition; not only sent valuable presents to his sisters, but a yearly allowance in money, and was always wishing to have it in his power to do them more good. Lord Lyttelton’s ob- servation, that £ he loathed much to write,’ was very true. His letters to his sister, Mrs. Thomson, were not frequent, and in one of them he says, 4 All my friends who know me, know how backward I am to 3 [Probably brother of the gentleman to whom he addressed the letter, ante , vol. i p. 150, and vol. ii. p. 59 . — Ed.] 4 Dr. Johnson was by no means attentive to minute accuracy in his “Lives of the Poets;” for, notwithstanding my having detected this mi* take, he eontinued it. — B oswell. 1778.— JET AT. 69 191 write letters; and never impute the negli- gence jf my hand to the coldness of my heart. 5 I «^nd you a copy of the last letter which sh 2 had from him; she never heard that he had any intention of going into ho- ly orders. From this late interview with his sister, I think much more favourably of him, as I hope you will. I am eager to see nore of your Prefaces to the Poets : I sol- ace myself with the few proof-sheets which I have. “ I send another parcel of Lord Hailes’s 1 Annals, 5 which you will please to return to me as soon as you conveniently can. He says, ‘ he wishes you would cut a little deeper; 5 hut he may be proud that there is so little occasion to use the critical knife. I ever am, my dear sir, your faithful and affectionate humble servant, “ James Boswell . 55 <{ TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “London, 3d July, 1778. s( Sir, — I have received two letters from you, of which the second complains of the neglect shown to the first. You must not tie your friends to such punctual correspon- dence. You have all possible assurances of my affection and esteem ; and there ought to be no need of reiterated professions. When it may happen that I can give you either counsel or comfort, I hope it will never happen to me that I should neglect you hut you must not think me criminal or cold, if I say nothing when I have no- thing to say. “ You are now happy enough. Mrs. Boswell is recovered; and I congratulate you upon the probability of her long life. If general approbation will add any thing to your enjoyment, I can tell you that I have heard you mentioned as a man whom every body likes. I think life has little more to give. cc 1 has gone to his regiment. He has laid down his coach, and talks of ma- king more contractions of his expense : how he will succeed, I know not. It is difficult to reform a household gradually; it may be done better by a system totally new. I am afraid he has always something to hide. When we pressed him to go to 2 * , he objected the necessity of attending his navigation 3; yet he could talk of going to Aberdeen 4 , a place not much nearer his navigation. I believe he cannot bear the thought of living at in a strfte of diminution; and of appearing among the gentlemen of the neighbourhood shorn of 1 [Langton. — Ed.] 2 [Langton. — Ed.] 3 [The Wey canal, from Guildford to Wey- bridge, in which he had a considerable share, which his grandson now possesses. — Ed.] 4 [His lady and family, it. appears, were in Scotland at this period. — E d.] his beams. This is natural, hut it is cow- ardly. What I told him of the increasing expense of a growing family, seems to have struck him. He certainly had gene on with very confused views, and we have, 1 think, shown him that he is wrong; though, with the common deficience of advisers, we have not shown him how to do right. “ I wish you would a little correct or re- strain your imagination, and imagine tnat happiness, such as life admits, may be had at other places as well as London. With- out affecting 5 Stoicism, it may be said, that it is our business to exempt ourselves as much as we can from the power of ex- ternal things. There is but one solid basis of happiness; and that is, the reasonable hope of a happy futurity. This may be had everywhere. “ I do not blame your preference to London to other places, for it is really to be preferred, if the choice is free; but few have the choice of their place, or their man- ner of life ; and mere pleasure ought not to be the prime motive of action. “ Mrs. Thrale, poor thing, has a daugh- ter. Mr. Thrale dislikes the times, like the rest of us. Mrs. Williams is sick; Mrs. Desmoulins is poor. I have miserable nights. Nobody is well but Mr. Levett. I am, dear sir, your most, &c. “ Sam. Johnson . 55 Mr. Langton has been pleased, at my request, to favour me with some particulars of Dr. Johnson’s visit to Warley-camp, where this gentleman was at the time sta- tioned as a captain in the Lincolnshire mili- tia. I shall give them in his own words in a letter to me. “ It was in the summer of the year 1778, that he complied with my invitation to come down to the camp at Warley, and he staid with me about a week ; the scene ap- peared, notwithstanding a great degree of ill health that he seemed to labour under, to interest and amuse him, as agreeing with the disposition that I believe you know he constantly manifested towards inquiring into subjects of the military kind. He sate, with a patient degree of attention, to ob- serve the proceedings of a regimental court- martial, that happened to be called in the time of his stay with us; and one night, as late as at eleven o’clock, he accompanied the major of the regiment in going what are styled the rounds , where he might ob- serve the forms of visiting the guards, foi the seeing that they and their sentries art ready in their duty on their several posts He took occasion to converse at times or military topics, once in particular, that 1 see the mention of, in your ‘ Journal of a 5 [In former editions “ asserting ” — emended by Mr. Malone. — E d.] 198 1778. — iETAT. 69. Tour to the Hebrides,’ which, lies open be- fore me 1 , as to gunpowder; which he spoke of to the same effect, in part, that you relate. “On one occasion, when the regiment were going through their exercise, he went quite close to the men at one of the extrem- ities of it, and watched all their practices attentively; and, when he came away, his remark was , 1 The men indeed do load their musquets and fire with wonderful celerity.’ He was likewise particular in requiring to know what was the weight of the musket balls in use, and within what distance they might be expected to take effect when fired off. “ In walking among the tents, and ob- serving the difference between those of the officers and private men, he said, that the superiority of accommodation of the better conditions of life, to that of the inferior ones, was never exhibited to him in so dis- tinct a view. The civilities paid to him in the camp were, from the gentlemen of the Lincolnshire regiment, one of the officers of which accommodated him with a tent in which he slept ; and from General Hall, who very courteously invited him to dine with him, where he appeared to be very well pleased with his entertainment, and the civilities he received on the part of the General 2 ; the attention likewise of the General’s aid-de-camp, Captain Smith, * seemed to be very welcome to him, as ap- peared by their engaging in a great deal of discourse together. The gentlemen of the East-York regiment likewise, on being in- formed of his coming, solicited his company at dinner, but by that time he had fixed his departure, so that he could not comply with the invitation.” In the course of this year there was a dif- ference between him and his friend Mr. Strahan; the particulars of which it is un- necessary to relate. Their reconciliation was communicated to me in a letter from Mr. Strahan in the following words: “ The notes I showed you that past be- tween him and me were dated in March last. The matter lay dormant till 27th July, when he wrote tu me as follows: ‘ TO WILLIAM STRAHAN, ESQ. c Sir, — I t would be very foolish for us to continue strangers any longer. You can never by persistency make wrong right. If 1 resented too acrimoniously, I resented only to yourself. Nobody ever saw or 1 [Ante, vol. i. p. 363. — Boswell.] 2 When I one day at court expressed to Gene- ral Hall my sense of the honour he had done my friend, he politely answered, “ Sir, I did myself honour. ' * — Bos w ell. heard what I wrote. You saw that my anger was over, for in a day or two I came to your house. I have given you a longer time; and I hope you have made so good use of it, as to be no longer on evil terms with, sir, your, &c. ‘ Sam. Johnson.’ “On this I called upon him • and he has since dined with me.” After this time the same friendship as formerly continued between Dr. Johnson and Mr. Strahan. My friend mentioned to me a little circumstance of his attention, which, though we may smile at it, must be allowed to have its foundation in a nice and true knowledge of human life. “ When I write to Scotland (said he), I employ Stra- han to frank my letters, that he may have the consequence of appearing a parliament man among his countrymen.” [“ TO MRS. THRALE “ 15th October, 1778. “As to Dr. Collier’s 3 epitaph, j je tt Nollekens has had it so long, that I vol. ii have forgotten how long. You ne- p * 20 ‘ ver had it. “There is a print of Mrs. Montague, and I shall think myself very ill rewarded for my love and admiration if she does not give me one; she will give it nobody in whom it will excite more respectful sentiments. But I never could get any thing from her but by pushing a face; and so, if you please, * you may tell her. *- * * » * * “When I called the other day at Bur ney’s, 1 found only the young ones at home; at last came the doctor and madam, from a dinner in the country, to tell how they had been robbed as they returned. The doctor saved his purse, but gavethem three guineas and some silver, of which they re- turned him three-and-sixpence, unasked, to pay the turnpike. “ I have sat twice to Joshua, and he sterns to like his own performance. He has projected another, in which I am to be busy; but we can think on it at leisure. “ M rs. Williams is come home better, and the habitation is all concord and har- mony; only Mr. Levett harbours discon- tent. • “ With Dr. Lawrence’s consent, I have, for the two last nights, taken musk: the first night was c worse night than common, the second, a better* but not so much bet- ter as that i dare ascribe any virtue to the medicine. I took a scruple each time 3 [Dr. Collier, o r the Conmonr ai earU friend of Mrs. Thrsle’s, wh ■> o.od 2Sd AUy 1 777. -Ed.] 1778. — /ETAT. 69. 199 u TO MRS. THRALE. . “ 31st October, 1778. Utters “ Sir Joshua has finished rny pic voi. ii. * ture, and it seems to please every bo- P* 27 - dy, but I shall wait to see how it pleases you. *####* “ To-day Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Des- moulins had a scold, and Wiliams was go- ing away; but I bid her not turn tail, and she came back, and rather got the upper hand. 55 ] We surely cannot but admire the bene- volent exertions of this great and good man, especially when we consider how grievous- ly he was afflicted with bad health, and how uncomfortable his home was made by the perpetual jarring of those whom he charita- bly accommodated under his roof. He has sometimes suffered me to talk jocularly of his group of females, and call them his Se- raglio. He thus mentions them, together with honest Levett, in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale; “ Williams hates every body; Levett hates Desmoulins, and does not love Williams; Desmoulins hates them both; Poll 1 .oves none of them. 55 [These connexions exposed him p. 4 ^ 8 . to trouble and incessant solicitation, which he bore well enough; but his inmates were enemies to his peace, and oc- casioned him great disquiet: the jealousy that subsisted among them rendered his dwelling irksome to him, and he seldom ap- proached it, after an evening’s conversation abroad, but with the dread of finding it a scene of discord, and of having his ears fill- ed with the complaints of Mrs. Williams of Frank’s neglect of his duty and inattention to the interests of his master, and of F rank against Mrs. Williams, for the authority she assumed over him, and exercised with an unwarrantable severity. Even those in- truders who had taken shelter under his roof, and who, in his absence from home, brought thither their children, found cause to murmur; “ their provision of food was scanty, or their dinners ill dressed; 55 all which he chose to endure rather than put an end to their clamours by ridding his home of such thankless and troublesome guests. Nay, so insensible was he of the ingratitude of those whom he suffered thus to hang upon him, and among whom he may be said to have divided an income which was little more than sufficient for his own support, that he would submit to re- proach and personal affront from some of them; even Levett would sometimes insult him, and Mrs. Williams, in her paroxysms 1 Miss Carmichael. — Boswell. [The editor has not learned how this lady was connected with Dr. Johnson.— Ed.] of rage, has been known to drive him from her presence.] “ TO C ATTAIN LANGTON 2 , WARLEY-CAMP. “Slst October, 1778. “ Dear sir, — When I recollect how long ago I was received with so much kindness at Warley common, I am ashamed that 1 have not made some inquiries after my friends. “ Pray how many sheep-stealers did you convict? and how did you punish them? When are you to be cantoned in better hab- itations? The air grows cold, and the ground damp. Longer stay in the camp cannot be without much danger to the health of the common men, if even the offi- cers can escape. “ You see that Dr. Percy is now dean of Carlisle; about five hundred a year, with a power of presenting himself' to some good living. He is provided for. “ The session of the Club is to com- mence with that of the parliament. Mr. Banks 3 desires to be admitted; he will be a very honourable accession. “ Did the king please you 4 ? The Cox heath men, I think, have some reason to complain 5 6 . Reynolds says your camp is better than theirs. “ I hope you find yourself able to encoun- ter this weather. Take care of your own health; and, as you can, of your men. Be pleased to make my compliments to all the gentlemen whose notice I have had, and whose kindness I have experienced. I am, dear sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” I wrote to him oil the 18th of August, the 18th of September, and the 6th of No- vember; informing him of my having had another son born, whom I had called James 5 , that I had passed some time at Auchinleck; that the Countess of Loudoun, now in her 2 Dr. Johnson here addresses his worthy friend, Bennet Langton, Esq. by his title as captain of the Lincolnshire militia, in which he has since been most deservedly raised to the rank of major. — Boswell. 3 [Afterwards Sir Joseph. — E d.] 4 [His majesty and the queen visited Warley Camp on the 20th October. — Ed.] 6 [Of the King’s not visiting that camp as well as Warley, which, however, he did, on the 3d November. — Ed.] 6 [This was the gentleman who contributed a few notes to this work. He was of Brazenose College, and a Vinerian Fellow, and died in Feb- ruary, 1822, at his chambers, in the Temple. — Hall. The editor had the pleasure of his ac- quaintance. He published an edition of Shaks- peare; was very convivial; and in other re-peats like his father, though altogether on a smallei scale. — E d.] 200 1778.— JSTAT. 69. mru ty ninth year, was as fresh as when he saw her, and remembered him with respect; and that his mother by adoption, the Coun- tess of Eglintoune, had said to me, “ Tell Mr. Johnson, I love him exceedingly; ” that I had again suffered much from bad spirits; and that as it was very long since I heard from him, I was not a little uneasy. The continuance of his regard for his friend, Dr. Burney, appears from the fol- lowing letters : tc TO THE REVEREND DR. WHEELER , OXFORD. “London, 2d November, 1778. “ Dear sir, — Dr. Burney, who brings this paper, is engaged in a History of Mu- sick; and having been told by Dr. Markham of some MSS. relating to his subject, which are in the library of your college, is desirous to examine them. He is my friend; and therefore I take the liberty of entreating your favour and assistance in his inquiry; and can assure you, with great confidence, that if you knew him he would not want any intervenient solicitation to obtain the kindness of one who loves learning and vir- tue as you love them “ I have been flattering myself all the summer with the hope of paying my annual visit to my friends; but something has ob- structed me: I still hope not to be long without seeing you. I should be glad of a little literary talk; and glad to show you, by the frequency of my visits, how eagerly I love it, when you talk it. I am, dear sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” 42 or am to be taken up here. * * * # • * “ I got my Lives, not yet quite printed, ut neatly together, and sent them to the ing: what lie says of them I know not. If the king is a whig, he will not like them: but is any king a whig? ”] On the 23d of February I had written to him again, complaining of his silence, as I had heard he was ill, and had written to Mr. Thralefor information concerning him* and I announced my intention of soon be- ing again in London. “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. “13th March, 1779. “ Dear sir, — Why should you take such delight to make a bustle, to write to Mr. Thrale that I am negligent, and to Francis to do what is so very unnecessary? Thrale, you may be sure, cared not about it; and I shall spare Francis the trouble, by ordering a set both of the Lives and Poets to dear Mrs. Boswell 2 , in acknowledgement of her marmalade. Persuade her to ac- cept them, and accept them kindly. If 1 thought she would receive them scornfully, I would send them to Miss Boswell, who, I hope, has yet none of her mamma’s ill-will to me. “ I would send sets of Lives, four volumes, to some other friends, to Lord Hailes first. His second volume lies by my bed-side; a book surely of great labour, and to every just thinker of great delight. Write me word to whom I shall send besides. Would it please Lord Auchinleck ? Mrs. Thrale waits in the coach. I am, dear sir, &c. “ Sam. Johnson.” This letter crossed me on the road to London, where I arrived on Monday, March 15, and next morning, at a late hour, found Dr. Johnson sitting over his tea, attended by Mrs. Desmoulins, Mr. Levett, and a clergyman, who had come to 2 He sent a set elegantly bound and gilt, which was received as a very handsome present. — Bon I WELL. 204 1779 .— JET AT. 70. submit some poetical pieces to his revision. It is wonderful what a number and variety of writers, some of them even unknown to him, prevailed on his good-nature to look over their works, and suggest corrections and improvements. My arrival interrupted, for a little while, the important business of this true representative of Bayes ; upon its being resumed, I found that the subject under immediate consideration was a trans- lation, yet in manuscript, of the “ Carmen Seculare ” of Horace, which had this year been set to musick, and performed as a publick entertainment in London, for the joint benefit of Monsieur Philidor and Sig- nor Baretti. When Johnson had done read- ing, the authour asked him bluntly, “ If upon the whole it was a good translation? 55 Johnson, whose regard for truth was un- commonly strict, seemed to be puzzled for a moment what answer to make, as he cer- ■wiirlv could not honestly commend the per- formance: with exquisite address he evaded the question thus, “ Sir, I do not say that it may not be made a very good translation. 55 Here nothing whatever in favour of the performance was affirmed, and yet the wri- ter was not shocked. A printed “ Ode to tnc* Warlike Genius of Britain 55 came next in review. The bard 1 was a lank bony fig- ure, with short black hair; he was writhing himself in agitation, while Johnson read, and, showing his teeth in a grin of earnest- ness, ^claimed in broken sentences, and in a keen sharp tone, “ Is that poetry, sir? — Is it Pindar? 55 Johnson. “ Why, sir, there is here a great deal of what is called poet- ry. 55 Then, turning to me, the poet cried, tc My muse nas not been long upon the town, and ^pointing to the Ode) it trembles under the hand of the great critick.” John- son, in a tone of displeasure, asked him, tc Why do you praise Anson? 55 I did not trouble him by asking his reason for this question 2 3 . He proceeded: — “Here is an 1 [This was a Mr. Tasker. Mr. D ’Israeli in- forms the Editor, that this portrait is so accurately drawn, that, being, some years after the publica- tion of this work, at a watering-place on the coast •f Devon, he was visited by Mr. Tasker, whose name, however, he did not then know, but was so struck with his resemblance to Boswell’s picture, that he asked him whether he had not had an interview with Dr. Johnson, and it ap- peared that he was indeed the authour of “ The Warlike Genius of Britain.” — Ed.] 2 [He disliked Lord Anson probably from local politics. On one occasion he visited Lord An- son’s seat, and although, as he confessed, “ well received and kindly treated, he, with the true gratitude of a wit, ridiculed the master of the house before he had left it half an hour.” In the grounds there is a temple of the winds, on which he made the following epigram : errour, sir; you have made Genius femi nine.” “ Palpable, sir (cried the enthusi- ast); I know it. But (in a lower tone) it was to pay a compliment to the Duchess of Devonshire, with which her grace was pleased. She is walking across Coxheath** in the military uniform, and I suppose her to be the Genius of Britain.” Johnson. “ Sir, you are giving a reason for it ; but that will not make it right. You may have a reason why two and two should make five; but they will still make but four.” Although I was several times with him in the course of the following days, such it seems were my occupations, or such my negligence, that I have preserved no memo- rial of his conversation till Friday, March 26, when I visited him. He said he ex- pected to be attacked on account of his “ Lives of the Poets.” “ However, 55 said, he, “ I would rather be attacked than un- noticed. For the worst thing you can do to an authour is to be silent as to his works. An assault upon a town is a bad thing; but starving it is still worse; an as- sault may be unsuccessful, you may have more men killed than you kill; but if you starve the town, you are sure of victory.” [Dr. Johnson was famous for dis- regarding public abuse. When the p 10 ^ people criticised and answered his pamphlets, papers, &c. he would say. “ Why now, these fellows are only adver- tising my book : it is surely better a man should be abused than forgotten.”] Talking of a friend 4 of ours associating with persons of very discordant principles and characters ; I said he was a very uni- versal man, quite a man of the world. Johnson. “ Yes, sir; but one may be sc much a man of the world, as to be nothing in the world. I remember a passage in Goldsmith’s c Yicar of W akefield, 5 * * * which he was afterwards fool enough to expunge. c I do not love a man who is zealous for nothing.’ ” Boswell. “ That was a fine passage.” Johnson. “ Yes, sir there was another fine passage too, which he struck out: ‘ When I was a young man, being anxious to distinguish myself, I was perpetually starting new propositions. But I soon gave this over; for I found that generally what was new was false 5 . 5 ” I Gramm aninium laudo ; Qui debuit omnia ventis, Quam bene ventorum, surgere templa jubet ! — Piozzi Jnec. p. 55 . — Ed.] 3 [Where there was a camp at this period ; see ante, p. 199 . — Ed.] 4 [Probably Sir Joshua Reynolds; see ante, p. 156.— Ed.] 5 Dr. Burney, in a note introduced in a former page, has mentioned this circumstance, concerning Goldsmith, as communicated to him by Dr. John- son, not recollecting that it occurred here. Hi# 1779.— dETAT. 70. 205 said I did not like to sit with people of whom I had not a good opinion. Johnson. “But you must not indulge your delicacy too much, or you will be a Ute-a-tete man all your life.” [ c c DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ 18th March, 1779. Letters, “ On Monday I came late to Mrs. voi. ii. ’ Vesey. Mrs. Montagu was there; p * 43, I called for the print 1 , and got good words. The evening was not brilliant, but I had thanks for my company. The night was troublesome. On Tuesday I fast- ed, and went to the doctor : he ordered bleed- ing. On Wednesday I had the tea-pot, fasted, and was blooded. Wednesday night was better. To-day I have dined at Mr. Strahan’s, at Islington, with his new wife. To-night there will be opium; to- morrow the tea-pot; then heigh for Satur- day. I wish the doctor would bleed me again. Yet every body that I meet says that I look better than when I was last met. 55 ] During my stay in London this spring, I find I was unaccountably negligent in pre- serving Johnson’s sayings, more so than at any time when I was happy enough to have an opportunity of hearing his wisdom and wit. There is no help for it now. I must content myself with presenting such scraps as I have. But I am nevertheless ashamed and vexed to think how much has been lost. It is not that there was a bad crop this year, but that I was not sufficient- ly careful in gathering it in. I therefore, in some instances, can only exhibit a few detached fragments. Talking of the wonderful concealment of the authour of the celebrated letters signed Junius, he said, “ I should have believed Burke to be Junius, because I know no man but Burke who is capable of writing these letters; but Burke sponta- neously denied it to me. The case would have been different, had I asked him if he was the authour; a man so questioned, as to an anonymous publication, may think he has a right to deny it. 55 He observed that his old friend, Mr. Sheridan, had been honoured with ex- traordinary attention in his own country, by having had an exception made in his favour in an Irish act of parliament con- remark, however, is not wholly superfluous, as it ascertains that the words which Goldsmith had put into the mouth of a fictitious character in the “ Vicar of Wakefield,” and which, as we learn from Dr. Johnson, he afterwards expunged, related, like many other passages in his novel, to himself. — Malone. 1 [Mrs. Montage’s portrait. — E d 1 cerning insolvent debtors 2. “ Thus to be singled out,” said he, “ by a legislature, as an object of public consideration and kind- ness, is a proof of no common merit.” At Streatham, on Monday, March 29, at breakfast, he maintained that a father had no right to control the inclinations of his daughter in marriage. [Of pa- rental authority, indeed, few people Tioz $ thought with a lower degree of es- p ' timation. Mrs. Thrale 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 neigh bouring princess; and she added Rollin’s applause and recommendation of the exam- ple. “ 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 forbear to see the folly of a fellow who has in his care the lives of thousands, when he begs his papa’s permission to be married, and confesses his inability to de- cide in a matter which concerns no man’s happiness but his own?” Dr. Johnson caught Mrs. Thrale another time repri manding the daughter of her house-keepei for having sat down unpermitted in liffi mother’s presence. “ Why, she gets her living, does she not, 55 said he, “ without her mother’s help? Let the wench alone,” continued he. And when they were again out of the women’s sight who were con- cerned in the dispute, “ Poor people’s chil- dren, dear lady, 55 said he, “ never respect them. I did not respect my own mother, though I loved her: and one day, when in anger, she called me a puppy, I asked her if she knew what they called a puppy’s mother. 55 ] On Wednesday, 81st March, when I vis- ited him, and confessed an excess of which I had very seldom been guilty — that I had spent a whole night in playing at cards, and that I could not look back on it with satisfaction — instead of a harsh animadver- sion, he mildly said, “ Alas, sir, on how 2 [This is a total mistake. Mr. Whyte tells us of the personal civility with which some members of a committee of the Irish house of commons on a bill for the relief of insolvent debtors treated Mr. Sheridan and Mr. Whyte w ho appeared on his behalf, but there is no exception in the act. Sheridan’s name is one of some hundreds, and has no distinction whatsoever. The favour he sought was, to be included in the act without being in actual custody, as he was resident in France; this he obtained, but not specially, for one hundred and twenty other persons, in similai circumstances, are also included. See Schedule to Irish Statute , 5th Geo. 3d, chap. 23. — Ed.] 206 1779.— .OTAT. 70 few things can we look back with satisfac- tion ! ” On Thursday, 1st April, he commended one of the Dukes of Devonshire for “a dogged veracity 1 .” He said, too, “ Lon- don is nothing to some people ; but to a man whose pleasure is intellectual, London is the place. And there is no place where economy can be so well practised as in Lon- don : more can be had here for the money, even by ladies, than any where else. You cannot play tricks with your fortune in a 6mall place ; you must make- an uniform appearance. Here a lady may have well- furnished apartments, and elegant dress, without any meat in her kitchen.” I was amused by considering with how much ease and coolness he could write or talk to a friend, exhorting him not to sup- pose that happiness was not to be found as well in other places as in London; when he himself was at all times sensible of its being, comparatively speaking, a heaven upon earth. The truth is, that by those who from sagacity, attention, and experience, have learnt the full advantage of London, its pre-eminence over every other place, not only for variety of enjoyment, but for com- fort, will be felt with a philosophical exulta- tion. The freedom from remark and petty censure, with which life may be passed there, is a circumstance which a man who knows the teasing restraint of a narrow circle must relish highly. Mr. Burke, whose orderly and amiable domestick hab- its might make the eye of observation less irksome to him than to most men, said once very pleasantly, in my hearing, “ Though I have the honour to represent Bristol, I should not like to live there ; I should be obliged to be so much upon my good be- haviour. In London, a man may live in splendid society at one time, and in frugal retirement at another, without animadver- sion. There, and there alone, a man’s own house is truly his castle , in which he can be in perfect safety from intrusion whenever he pleases. I never shall forget how well this w r as expressed to me one day by Mr. Meynell: “ The chief advantage of Lon- don,” said he, “ is, that a man is always so near his burrow .” He said of one of his old acquaintances 2 , “ He is very fit for a travelling governour. He knows French very well. He is a man of good principles; and there would be no danger that a young gentleman should catch his manner; for it is so very bad, that it must be avoided. In that respect he would be like the drunken Helot.” 1 See p. 126. — Boswell. 2 [Probably Mr. Elphinstone, the schoolmaster of Kensington, and translator of Martial See ante y v. i pp. 85, (n.) and 291 . — Ed.] A gentleman has informed me, tha Johnson said of tl}e same person, “ Sir, he has the most inverted understanding of any man whom I have ever known.” On Friday, 2d April, being Good-Fri- day, I visited him in the morning as usual; and finding that we insensibly fell into a train of ridicule upon the. foibles of one of our friends, a very worthy man, I, by way of a check, quoted some good admonition from “ The Government of the Tongue,” that very pious book. It happened also re- markably enough, that the subject of the sermon preached to us to-day by Dr. Bur- rows, the rector of St. Clement Danes, was the certainty that at the last day we must give an account of “ the deeds done in the body; ” and amongst various acts of culpa- bility he mentioned evil-speaking. As we were moving slowly along in the crowd from church, Johnson jogged my elbow and said, “Did you attend to the sermon?” “ Yes, sir,” said I; “it was very applicable to i/s.” He, however, stood upon the de- fensive. “ Why, sir, the sense of ridicule is given us, and may be lawfully used. The authour of ‘ The Government of the Tongue’ would have us treat all men alike.” In the interval between morning and evening service, he endeavoured to employ himself earnestly in devotional exercise; and, as he has mentioned in his “ Prayers and Meditations,” gave me “ Les Pensies de Paschal ,” that I might not interrupt him. I preserve the book with reverence. His presenting it to me is marked upon it with his own hand, and I have found in it a truly divine unction. We went to church again in the afternoon. On Saturday, 3d April, I visited him at night, and found him sitting in Mrs. Wil- liams’s room, with her, and one who he afterwairds told me was a natural son 3 of the second Lord Southwell. The table had a singular appearance, being covered with a heterogeneous assemblage of oysters and porter for his company, and tea for himself. I mentioned my having heard an eminent physician, who was himself a Christian, argue in favour of universal tole- ration, and maintain, that no man could be hurt by another man’s differing from him in opinion. Johnson. “ Sir, you are to a certain degree hurt by knowing that even one man does not believe.” [His annual review of his conduct £o appears to have been this year more detaile and severe than usual.] [Apm 2.— Good-Friday. — I am p r . and now to review the last year, and M ed - p- find little but dismal vacuity, nei- 1-1 3 Mr. Mauritius Lowe, a painter, m whose fa- vour Johnson, some years afterwards, wrote a kind letter to Sir Joshua Reynolds. — Malone. 1779.— JETAT. 70. 207 ther business nor pleasure; much intended, and little done. My health is much broken; my nights afford me little rest. I have tried opium, but its help is counterbalanced with great disturbance; it prevents the spasms, but it hinders sleep. O God, have mercy on me. Last week I published (the first part of) the Lives of the Poets, written, I hope, in such a manner as may tend to the promo- tion of piety. In this last year I have made little acqui- sition; I have scarcely read any thing. I maintain Mrs. 1 2 and her daughter. Other good of myself I know not where to find, except a little charity. But I am now in my seventieth year; what can be done, ought not to be delayed. April 3, 1779, 11 p. m. — Easter-eve. — This is the time of my annual review, and annual resolution. The review is comfort- less; little done. Part of the Life of Dry- den and the Life of Milton have been writ- ten; but my mind has neither been im- proved nor enlarged. I have read little, almost nothing. And I am not conscious that I have gained any good, or quitted any evil habits. April 4, 1779, Easter-day. — I rose about half an hour after nine, transcribed the prayer written, last night; and by neglect- ing to count time sat too long at breakfast, so that I came to church at the first lesson. I attended the Litany pretty well; but in the pew could not hear the communion ser- vice, and missed the prayer for the church militant. Before I went to the altar, I pray- ed the occasional prayer. At the altar I commended my © <& and again prayed the prayer; I then prayed the collects, and again my own prayer by memory. I left out a clause. I then received, I hope with ear- nestness ; and while others received sat down; but thinking that posture, though usual, improper, I rose and stood. I prayed again, in the pew, but with what prayer I have forgotten. When I used the occasional prayer at the altar, I added a general purpose, — To avoid idleness. I gave two shillings to the plate. Before I went I used, I think, my prayer, and endeavoured to calm my mind. After my return I used it again, and the collect for the day. Lord, have mercy upon me. I have for some nights called Francis to prayers, and last night discoursed with him on the sacrament.] On Easter-day, after [the] solemn ser- vice at St. Paul’s, [just described], I dined 1 [No doubt Mrs. Desmoulins and her daughter. —Ed.] 2 [These letters (which Dr. Strahan seems not to have understood), probably mean Qvurot Qi\ot, * depat ted friends * — Ed.] with him. Mr. Allen the printer wai also his guest. He was uncommonly silent; and I have not written down any thing, except a single curious fact, which, having the sanction of his inflexible veracity, may be received as a striking instance of human in sensibility and inconsideration. As he was passing by a fishmonger who was skinning an eel alive, he heard him “ curse it, be- cause it would not lie still.” On Wednesday, 7th April, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. I have not marked what company was there. John- son harangued upon the qualities of differ- ent liquors; and spoke with great contempt of claret, as so weak, that “a man would be drowned by it before it made him drunk.” He was persuaded to drink one glass of it, that he might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation. He shook his head, and said, “Poor stuff! No, sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero (smiling) must drink brandy. In the first place, the flavour of brandy is most grateful to the palate; and then brandy will do soonest for a man what drinking can do for him. There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy. That is a power rather to be wished for than attain- ed. And yet,” proceeded he, “ as in all pleasure hope is a considerable part, I know not but fruition comes too quick by brandy. Florence wine I think the worst; it is wine only to the eye; it is wine neither while you are drinking it, nor after you have drunk it; it neither pleases the taste, nor exhilarates the spirits.” I reminded him how heartily he and I used to drink wine together, when we were first acquainted; and how I used to have a headache after sitting up with him. He did not like to have this recalled, or, perhaps, thinking that I boasted improperly, resolved to have a witty stroke at me; “ Nay, sir, it was not the wine that made your head ache, but the sense that I put into it.” Bosweix. “What, sir! will sense make the head ache?” Johnson. “Yes, sir (with a smile), when it is not used to it.” No man who has a true relish of pleasantry could be offended at this ; especially if Johnson in a long intimacy had given him repeated proofs of his regard and good esti- mation. I used to say that as he had given me a thousand pounds in praise, he had a good right now and then to take a guinea from me. On Thursday, 8th April, I dined with him at Mr. Allan Ramsay’s, with Lord Graham 3 and some other company. We talked of Shakspeare’s witches. Johnson. 3 [The present [third] Duke of Montrose, born in 1755. He succeeded to the dukedom in 1790.— Ed.] 208 1779.— ^ET AT. 70. “ They are beings of his own creation; they are a compound of malignity and meanness, without any abilities; and are quite differ- ent from the Italian magician. King James says in his ‘ Demonology,’ c Magi- cians command the devils: witches are their servants. 5 The Italian magicians are elegant beings. 55 Ramsay. “Opera witch- es, not Drury-lane witches. 55 Johnson ob-, served, that abilities might he employed in a narrow sphere, as in getting money, which he said he believed no man could do without vigorous parts, though concen- trated to a point. Ramsay. “Yes, like a strong horse in a mill; he pulls better. 55 Lord Graham, while he praised the beau- ty of Lochlomond, on the banks of which is his family seat, complained of the climate, and said he could* not bear it. Johnson. “Nay, my lord, don’t talk so: you may bear it well enough. Your ancestors have borne it more years than I can tell. 55 This was a handsome compliment to the antiqui- ty of the house of Montrose. His lordship told me afterwards that he had only affect- ed to complain of the climate, lest, if he had spoken as favourably of his country as he really thought, Dr. Johnson might have attacked it. Johnson was very courteous to Lady Margaret Macdonald. “ Madam,” said he, “ when I was in the Isle of Sky !, I heard of the people running to take the stones off the road, lest Lady Margaret’s horse should stumble. 55 Lord Graham commended Dr. Drum- mond at Naples as a man of extraordinary talents; and added, that he had a great love of liberty. Johnson. “ He is young 2 , my lord (looking to his lordship with an arch smile) , all boys love liberty, till experi- ence convinces them they are not so fit to govern themselves as they imagined. We are all agreed as to our own liberty; we would have as much of it as we can get; but we are not agreed as to the liberty of others: for in proportion as we take, oth- ers must lose. I believe we hardly wish that the mob should have liberty to govern us. When that was the case some time ago, no man was at liberty not to have can- dles in his windows.” Ramsay. “ The result is, that order is better than confu- sion. 55 Johnson. “The result is, that order cannot be had but by subordination.” On Friday, 16th April, I had been pre- sent at the trial of the unfortunate Mr. Hackman, who, in a fit of frantick jealous love, had shot Miss Ray, the favourite of a nobleman 3 . Johnson, in whose company I dined to-day with some other friends, was much interested by an account of what 1 [See ante , vil. i. p. 412 . — Ed.] 2 [His lordship was twenty-four. — E d.] 3 TJohn, sixth Earl of Sandwich. — E d.] passed, and particularly with his prayer for the mercy of Heaven. He said, in a so emn fervid tone, “ I hope he shall find mercy 4 . 55 This day a violent altercation arose be- tween Johnson and Beauclerk, which hav- ing made much noise at the time, I think it proper, in order to prevent any future mis- representation, to give a minute account of it. In talking of Hackman, Johnson argued, as Judge Blackstone had done, that his be- ing furnished with two pistols was a proof that he meant to shoot two persons. Mr. Beauclerk said, “ No; for that every wise man who intended to shoot himself took two pistols, that he might be slire of doing it at once. Lord ’s cook shot him- self with one pistol, and lived ten days in great agony. Mr. 5 , who loved but- tered muffins, but durst not eat them be- cause they disagreed with his stomach, re- solved to shoot himself; and then he ate three buttered muffins for breakfast, before shooting himself, knowing that he should not be troubled with indigestion ; he had two charged pistols; one was found lying charged upon the table by him, after he had shot himself with the other. 55 — “ Well,” said Johnson, with an air of triumph, “you see here one pistol was sufficient/ 55 Beau- clerk replied smartly, “ Because it happened to kill him. 55 And either then or a very little afterwards, being piqued at Johnson’s triumphant remark, added, “ This is what you do n’t know, and I do. 55 There was then a cessation of the dispute; and some minutes intervened, during which, dinner and the glass went cn cheerfully ; when Johnson suddenly and abruptly exclaimed, “ Mr. Beauclerk, how came you to talk sc petulantly to me, as ( This is what you don’t know, but what I know? 5 One thing I know, which you do n’t seem to know, that you are very uncivil. 55 Beau- clerk. “ Because you began by being uncivil (which you always are).” The words in parentheses were, I believe, not heard by Dr. Johnson. Here again there was a cessation of arms. Johnson told me, 4 [See ante, vol. i. pp. 32, 33 . — Ed.] 5 [“ The Honourable [John Damer], son to the Lord [Milton, afterwards Earl of Dorchester], shot himself at three o’clock this morning, at the Bedford Arms, in Covent Garden. He was heir to 30,000/. a year, but of a turn rather too ec centric to be confined within the limits of any fortune. Coroner’s verdict, Lunacy .” — Gent. Mag. 15th Aug. 1776. — Though the editor was assured, from what he thought good authority, that Mr. Damer was here alluded to, he has since reason to suppose that another and more respecta- ble name was meant, which, however, without more certainty, he does not venture to mention —Ed.] 1779 — /ETAT. 70. 209 that the reason why he waited at first some time without taking- any notice of what Mr. Bvauclerk said, was because he was think- ing whether he should resent it. But when he considered that there were present a young lord and an eminent traveller, two men of the world, with whom he had never dined before, he was apprehensive that they might think they had a right to take such liberties with him as Beauclerk did, and therefore resolved he would not let it pass; adding, “that he would not appear a coward.” A little while after this, the con- versation turned on the violence of Hack- man’s temper. Johnson then said, “ It was his business to command his temper, as my friend, Mr. Beauclerk, should have done some time ago.” Beauclerk. “I should learn of you, sir.” Johnson. “ Sir, you have given me opportunities enough of learning, when I have been in your compa- ny. No man loves to be treated with con- tempt.” Beauclerk (with a polite incli- nation towards Johnson). # “ Sir, you have known me twenty years, and however I may have treated others, you may be sure I could never treat you with contempt.” Johnson. “ Sir, you have said more than was necessary.” Thus it ended; and Beau- clerk’s coach not having come for him till very late, Dr. Johnson and another gentle- man sat with him a long time after the rest of the company were gone; and he and 1 dined at Beauclerk’s on the Saturday se’n night following. After this tempest had subsided, I recol- lect the following particulars of his conver- sation : “lam always for getting a boy forward in his learning; for that is a sure good. I would let him at first read any English book which happens to engage his atten- tion; because you have done a great deal, when you have brought him to have enter- tainment from a book. He’ll get better books afterwards.” Hawk. [“ I would never,” said he, on Apoph. another occasion, “desire a young p ’ * 04 man to neglect his business for the purpose of pursuing his studies, because it is unreasonable; I would only desire him to read at those hours when he would other- wise be unemployed. I will not promise that he will be a Bentley; but if he be a lad of any pants, he will certainly make a sensible man.”] Pi _ [Dr. Johnson had never, by his p! 40 * 41 . own account, been a close student, and used to advise young people ne- ver to be without a book in their pocket, to be read at by-times when they had nothing else to do. “ It has been by that means,” said he one day to a boy at Mr. Thrale’s, “ that all my knowledge has been gained, except what I have picked up by running vol. ii. 27 about the world with n. y wits ready to ob serve, 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 dif- ferent books, keep the authors separate in his head, and bring his stock 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 consid- er 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, teased him in the year 1769 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’ la- bour, 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.] “ Mallet, I believe, never wrote a single line of his projected life of the Duke of Marlborough. He groped for materials, and thought of it, till he had exhausted his mind. Thus it sometimes happens that men entangle themselves in their own schemes.” “ To be contradicted in order to force you to talk is mighty unpleasing. You shine , indeed; but it is by being ground .” Of a gentleman who made some figure ^mong the literati of his time (Mr. Fitzher- bert 1 ), he said, “What eminence he had was by a felicity of manner : he had no more learning than what he could not help.” On Saturday, April 24, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk’s, with Sir Joshua Rey- nolds, Mr. Jones (afterwards Sir William), Mr. Langton, Mr. Steevens, Mr. Paradise and Dr. Higgins. I mentioned that Mr. Wilkes had attacked Gaprick to me, as a man who had no friend. Johnson. “ I believe he is right, sir. o /, cv iao { — He had friends, but no friend 2 *. Garrick was so diffused, he had no man to whom he wish- ed to unbosom himself. He found peoplt always ready to applaud him, and that al .* [See ante , p. 109 . — Ed. 1 2 See vol. i. p. 83. and p. 168 of this vok Boiivell. 210 1779.— ,ETAT. 70. ways for the same thing: so he saw life with great uniform. ty.” I took upon me, for once, to fight with Goliath’s weapons, and play the sophist. — “ Garrick did not need a friend, as he got from every body all he wanted. What is a friend? One who supports you and comforts you, while others do not. Friendship, you know, sir, is t*he cordial drop, c to make the nauseous draught of life go down : ’ but if the draught be not nauseous, if it be all sweet, there is no oc- casion for that drop.” Johnson. “ Ma- ny men would not be content to live so. I hope I should not. They would wish to have an intimate friend, with whom they might compare minds, and cherish private virtues.” One of the company mentioned Lord Chesterfield, as a man who had no friend. Johnson. “ There were more ma- terials to make friendship in Garrick, had he not been so diffused.” Boswell. “ Garrick was pure gold, but beat out to thin leaf. Lord Chesterfield was tinsel.” Johnson. “ Garrick was a very good man, the cheerfulest man of his age ; a decent liver in a profession which is supposed to give indulgence to licentiousness ; and a man who gave away freely money acquired by himself. He began the world with a great hunger for money; the son of a half- pay officer, bred in a family whose study was to make four-pence do as much as others made four-pence-halfpenny do. But when he had got money, he was very libe- ral.” I presumed to animadvert on his eulogy on Garrick, in his “ Lives of the Poets.” “ You say, sir, his death eclipsed the gaiety of nations.” Johnson. “ I could not have said more nor less. It is the truth; eclipsed , not extinguished ; and his death did eclipse ; it was like a storm.” Boswell. “ But why nations? Did his gaiety extend further than his own na- tion?” Johnson. “ Why, sir, some ex- aggeration must be allowed. Besides, na- tions may be said, if we allow the Scotch to be a nation, and to have gaiety — which they have not. You are an exception, though. Come, gentlemen, let us candidly admit that there is one Scotchman who is cheerful.” Beauclerk. “ But he is a very unnatural Scotchman.” I, however, continued to think the compliment to Gar- rick hyperbolically untrue. His acting had ceased some time before his death ; at any rate, he had acted in Ireland but a short time, at an early period of his life, and never in Scotland. I objected also to what appears an anti-climax of praise, when con- trasted with the preceding panegyrick — “ and diminished the publick stock of harm- less pleasure ! ” “ Is not harmless pleasure very tame?” Johnson. “Nay, sir, harmless pleasure is the highest praise. Pleasure is a word of dubious import ; pleasure is in general dangerous, and per nicious to virtue ; to be able therefore to furnish pleasure that is harmless, pleasure pure and unalloyed, is as great a power a« man can possess.” This was, perhaps, as ingenious a defence as could be made; still, however, I was not satisfied 1 . [To Sir J. Hawkins he said, Hawk. “ Garrick, I hear, complains that I Apoph. am the only popular author of his p> 2l5 ‘ 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 no- body; when both scales are equally loaded, neither can preponderate.”] A celebrated wit 2 being mentioned, he said, “ One may say of him as was said of a French wit, II n'a de V esprit que contrc Dieu. I have been several times in compa- ny with him, but never perceived any strong power of wit. He produces a general efi feet by various means ; he has a cheerful countenance and a gay voice. Besides, his trade is wit. It would be as wild in him to come into company without merri ment, as for a highwayman to take the road without his pistols.” Talking of the effects of drinking, he said, “ Drinking may be practised with great prudence; a man who exposes him- self when he is intoxicated has not the art of getting drunk; a sober man who hap pens occasionally to get drunk, readily enough goes into a new company, which a man who has been drinking should nevei do. Such a man will undertake any thing; he is without skill in inebriation. I used to slink home when I had drunk too much. A man accustomed to self-examination will be conscious when he is drunk, though an habitual drunkard will not be conscious ot it. I knew a physician, who for twenty years was not sober; yet in a pamphlet which he wrote upon fevers, he appealed to Garrick and me for his vindication from a charge of drunkenness. A bookseller 3 1 [Most readers will agree with Mr. Boswell that this eulogium is not very happily expressed : yet it appears to have been satisfactory to Gar- rick’s immediate friends, for it is inscribed on the cenotaph erected by Mrs. Garrick to his memory in Lichfield Cathedral. Harwood’s History of Lichfield , p. 86 . — Ed.] 2 [It has been suggested to the editor that Mr. George Selwyn is here meant ; but he cannot trace any acquaintance between Selwyn and John- son. — Ed.] 3 [This was Andrew Miller, of whom, when talking one day of the patronage the great some- times affect to give to literature and literary men, Johnson said, “ Andrew Miller is the Mcectna « of the age.” — Hawk. Apoph. p. 200 . — Ed.] 1779.— vETAT. 70. 211 (naming him) who got a large fortune by trade was so habitually and equably drunk, that his most intimate friends never perceiv- ed that he was more sober at one time than another.” Talking of celebrated and successful ir- regular practisers in physick, he said, rt Taylor 1 was the most ignorant man I ever knew, but sprightly; Ward, the dull- est. Taylor challenged me once to talk fjatin with him,” laughing. cc I quoted some of Horace, which he took to be a part of my own speech. He said a few words well enough.” Beauclerk. “ I remem- ber, sir, you said, that Taylor was an in- stance how far impudence could carry ig- norance.” Mr. Beauclerk was very enter- taining this day, and told us a number of short stories in a lively elegant manner, and with that air of the world which has I know not what impressive effect, as if there was something more than is expressed, or than perhaps we could perfectly understand. As Johnson and I accompanied Sir Joshua Reynolds in his coach, Johnson said, “ There is in Beauclerk a predominance over his company, that one does not like. But he is a man who has lived so much in the world, that he has a short story on every occasion : he is always ready to talk, and is never exhausted.” Johnson and I passed the evening at Miss Reynolds’s, Sir Joshua’s sister. I mentioned that an eminent friend 2 of ours, talking of the common remark, that affection descends, said, that “ this was wisely 3 contrived for the preservation of mankind; for which it was not so necessary that there should be affection from children to parents, as from parents to children; nay, there would be no harm in that view though children should at a certain age eat their parents.” Johnson. “But, sir, if this were known generally to be the case, parents would not have affection for children.” Boswell. “ True, sir; for it is in expec- tation of a return that parents are so atten- tive to their children; and I know a very pretty instance of a little girl of whom her father was very fond, who once, when he was in a melancholy fit, and had gone to bed, persuaded him to rise in good humour by saying, £ My dear papa, please to get up, and let me help you on with your clothes, that I may learn to do it when you are an old man.’ ” 1 The Chevalier Taylor, the celebrated oculist. — Malone. * [Probably Mr. Burke. — E d.] * [Wisely and mercifully ; wisely to ensure the preservation and education of children, and mercifully to render less afflictive the loss of parente, which, in the course of nature, children must suffer. — E d.] Soon after this t ime a little incident oc- curred, which I will not suppress, because I am desirous that my work should be, as much as is consistent with the strictest truth, an antidote to the false and injurious notions of his character, which have been given by others, and therefore I infuse every drop of genuine sweetness into my biographical cup. “ TO DR. JOHNSON. “ £outh-Audley-street 4 , Monday, 26th April. “ My dear sir, — I am in great pain with an inflamed foot, and obliged to keep my bed, so am prevented from having the pleasure to dine at Mr. Ramsay’s to-day, which is very hard; and my spirits are sad- ly sunk. Will you be so friendly as to come and sit an hour with me in the evening? I am ever your most faithful and affectionate humble servant, “ James Boswell.” tc TO MR. BOSWELL “ Harley-street “ Mr. 5 Johnson laments the absence of Mr. Boswell, and will come to him.” He came to me in the evening, and brought Sir Joshua Reynolds. I need scarcely say, that their conversation, while they sat by my bedside, was the most pleas- ing opiate to pain that could have been ad ministered. Johnson being now better disposed to obtain information concerning Pope than he was last year 6 , sent by me to my Lord Marchmont a present of those volumes of his u Lives of the Poets ” which were at this time published, with a request to have permission to wait on him; and his lord- ship, who had called on him twice, obliging- ly appointed Saturday, the first of May, for receiving us. On that morning Johnson came to me from Streatham, and after drinking choco- late at General Paoli’s in South-Audlev- street, we proceeded to Lord Marchmont’s in Curzon-street. His lordship met us at the door of his library, and with great politeness said to Johnson, “ I am not going to make an encomium upon myself by tell- ing you the high respect I have for you, sir.” Johnson was exceedingly courteous ; and the interview, which lasted about two hours, during which the earl communicated his anecdotes of Pope, was as agreeable af I could have wished. [His first Hawk, question, as he told Sir J. Haw- ApopL kins, was, “ What kind of a man p ' 200 was Mr. Pope in his conversation ? ” His 4 [The residence of General Paoli. — E d.] 5 [See, as to his calling himself Mr. Johnson, ante , vol. i. pp. 218, (w.) and 513 . — Ed.] 6 See p. 191 of this volume. — B osweli* 212 1779.- ffi TAT. 70. ordship ansivered, “ That if the conversa- tion did not take something of a lively or epigrammatick turn, he fell asleep, or, per- haps, pretended to be so.”] When we came out, I said to Johnson, “ that, consid- ering his lordship’s civility, I should have been vexed if he had again failed to come.” iC Sir,” said he, “ I would rather have given twenty pounds than not to have come.” I accompanied him to Streatham, where we dined, and returned to town in the even- ing. On Monday, May 3, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly’s. I pressed him this day for his opinion on the passage in Parnell, con- cerning which I had in vain questioned him in several letters, and at length obtain- ed it in due form of law. “ CASE FOR DR. JOHNSON’S OPINION ; “3d of May, 1779. “ Parnell, in his ‘ Hermit,’ has the fol- lowing passage: * To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, To find if books and swains report it right (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, Whose feet came wand’ring o’er the nightly dew).* Is there not a contradiction in its bein g first supposed that the Hermit knew both what books anf gold; upon which Brown observed, £ I am glad you can bear it so near your bed-chamber.’ ” We talked of the state of the poor in London. Iohnson. “Saunders Welch, 1779.— /ETAT. 70. 217 the justice, who was once high-constable of Hoib orn, and had the best opportunities of knowing the stale of the poor, told me, that I under-rated the number, when I comput- ed that twenty a week, that is, above a thou- sand a year, died of hunger; not absolutely of immediate hunger; but of the wasting and other diseases which are the conse- quences of hunger. This happens only in so large a place as London, where people are not known. What we are told about the great sums got by begging is not true: the trade is overstocked. And, you may depend upon it, there are many who cannot get work. A particular kind of manufac- ture fails: those who have been used to work at it can, for some time, work at no- thing else. You meet a man begging; you charge him with idleness : he says, 4 I am willing to labour. Will you give me work ? 3 — 4 I cannot.’ — 4 Why, then, you have no right to charge me with idleness. 3 33 We left Mr. Strahan’s at seven, as John- son had said he intended to go to evening prayers. As we walked alone, he complain- ed of a little gout in his toe, and said, 44 I sha’nt go to prayers to night: I shall go to- morrow : whenever I miss church on a Sun- day, I resolve to go another day. But I do not always do it. 33 This was a fair exhibi- tion of that vibration between pious resolu- tions and indolence, which many of us have too often experienced. I went home with him, and we had a long quiet conversation. I read him a letter from Dr. Hugh Blair concerning Pope (in writing whose life he* was now employed), which I shall insert as a literary curiosity 1 . 44 TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “ Broughton-park, 21st Sept. 1779. .] 1 [See ante , p. 225 . — Ed.] 2 [Here Mr. Boswell had prefaced the intro- duction of the letter of the 28th April by the fol- lowing words: “ I shall present my readers with one of her original letters to him at this time, which will amuse them probably more than those well-written, but studied epistles which she has inserted in her collection, because it exhibits the easy vivacity of their literary intercourse. It is also of value as a key to Johnson’s answer, which ■lie has printed bv itself, and of which I shall sub- [ £C DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ London, 6th April, 1780 J . “ I have not quite neglected my Letters, Lives. Addison is a long one, voi. a. but it is done. Prior is not short, p * 96, and that is done too. I am upon Rowe , which cannot fill much paper. “ Seward (Mr. William) called on me one day and read Spence 4 . I dined yester- day at Mr. Jodrell’s in a great deal of com- pany. On Sunday I dine with Dr. Law- rence, and at night go to Mrs. Vesey. I have had a little cold, or two, or three; but I did not much mind them, for they were not very bad.”] [“ DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. LUCY PORTER. “ London, 8th April, 1780. “ Dear madam, — I am indeed but a sluggish correspondent, and ms ” 00 know not whether I shall much mend : however, I will try. “ I am glad that your oysters proved good, for I would have every thing good that be- longs to you; and would have your health good, that you may enjoy the rest. My health is better than it has been for some years past; and, if I see Lichfield again, I hope to walk about it. “ Your brother’s request I have not for- gotten. I have bought as many volumes as contain about an hundred and fifty ser- mons, which I will put in a box, and get Mr. Mathias to send him. I shall add a letter. “We have been lately much alarmed at Mr. Thrale’s. He has had a stroke, like that of an apoplexy; but he has at last got so well as to be at Bath, out of the way of trouble and business, and is likely to be in a short time quite well. cc I hope all the Lichfield ladies are quite well, and that every thing is prosperous among them. “A few weeks ago 1 sent you a little stuff- gown, such as is all the fashion at this time. Yours is the same with Mrs. Thrale’s, and Miss bought it for us. These stuffs are very cheap, and are thought very pretty. tc Pray give my compliments to Mr. Pearson, and to every body, if any such body there be, that cares about me. “Iam now engaged about the rest of the join extracts.” This insinuation against Mrs. Thrale is quite unfounded: her letters are certainly any thing but studied epistles ; and that one which Mr. Boswell has published is not more ea- sy and unaffected, nor in any respect of a differ- ent character from those she herself has given. — Ed.] 3 [Dated in Mrs. Thrale’s volume 1779 by mistake. — Ed.] 4 [Spence’s very amusing anecdotes, which had been lent Johnson in manuscript: they were not printed till 1820. — Ed.] #780. — A5TAT. 71. Lives, which 1 am afraid will take some time, though I purpose to use despatch; but something or other always hinders. I have a great number to do, but many of them will be short. £ I have lately had colds : the first was pretty bad, with a very troublesome and frequent cough; but by bleeding and phy- sick it was sent away. I have a cold now, but not bad enough for bleeding. tc For some time past, and indeed ever since I left Lichfield last year, I have abated much of my diet, and am, I think, the bet- ter for abstinence. I can breathe and move with less difficulty; and I am as well as people of my age commonly are. I hope we shall see one another again some time this year. I am, dear love, your humble servant, ££ Sam. Johnson. 55 ] [ ££ TO MRS. THRALE. “l 1th April, 1780. Letters, “ On Sunday I dined with poor voi. ii. Lawrence, who is deafer than p. 99-126. ever> When he was told that Dr. Moisy visited Mr. Thrale, he inquired for what, and said that there was nothing to be done which Nature would not do for herself. On Sunday evening I was at Mr. Yesey’s, and there was inquiry about my master ; but I told them all good. There was Dr. Barnard of Eton, and we made a noise all the evening: and there was Pepys, and Wraxal till I drove him away. ££ [Miss] Burney said she would write — she told you a fib. She writes nothing to me. She can write home fast enough. I have a good mind not to let her know that Dr. Barnard, to whom I had recommended her novel t, speaks of it with great commenda- tion; and that the copy which she lent me has been read by Dr. Lawrence three times over. And yet what a gipsy it is ! She no more minds me than if I were a Brangton. ##*##*•* ££ You are at all places of high resort, and bring home hearts by dozens; while I am seeking for something to say of men about whom I know nothing but their verses, 165 * were Mrs. Ord, and Mrs. Horneck, and Mrs. Bunbury 3 , and other illustrious names, and much would poor Renny have given to have had Mrs. Thrale too, and Queeny, and Burney 4 ; but human happiness is nev- er perfect; there is always une vuide af- freuse, as Maintenon complained, there is some craving void left aching in the breast. Renny is going to Ramsgate; and thus the world drops away, and I am left in the sul- try town, to see the sun in the Crab , and perhaps in the Lion , while you are paddling with the Nereids 5 .” “ London, 4th July, 1780. “ I have not seen or done much since I had the misfortune of seeing you go away. I was one night at Burney’s. There were Pepys, and Mrs. Ord, and Paradise 6 , and 2 [Miss Reynolds. — E d.] 3 [See ante , vol. i. p. 186 . — Ed.] 4 [Miss Fanny Burney, the authour of Evelina, now Madame D’Arblay. — Ed.] 5 [Mrs. Thrale was at Brighton. — E d.] 6 [See ante , vol. i. p. 22. — Ed.] 236 1780. — iETAT. 71. Hoole, and Dr. Dunbar of Aberdeen, and I know not how many more; and Pepvs and i had all the talk. 55 ] [“ DR. JOHNSON TO MISS REYNOLDS. “ Bolt-court, 16th June, 1780. « Dear madam, — I answer your letter as soon as I can, for I have just received it. I am very willing to wait on you at all times, and will sit for the picture, and, if it be necessary, will sit again, for whenever I sit I shall be always with you. “ Do not, my love, burn your papers. I have mended little but some bad rhymes 1 . I thought them very pretty, and was much moved in reading them. The red ink is only lake and gum, and with a moist sponge will be washed off. “ I have been out of order, but by bleeding and other means, am now better. Let me know on which day I shall come to you. I am, dear madam, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson. “ To-day I am engaged, and only to- day. 55 ] [ t to the lady, Domina de North et Gray; see “Douglas’s Peerage,” art. Elibank; where, however, there is no mention of the inscription having been trans- lated into Latin by Johnson. — Ed.] 6 See ante, vol. i. p. 225 . — Malone. 246 1780. — /ETAT. 71. £ Sir, I beg to have your judgment, for I know your nicety.’ Dyer then very proper- ly desired to read it over again; which hav- ing done, he pointed out an incongruity in one of the sentences. Johnson immediate- ly assented to the observation, and said, c Sir, this is owing to an alteration of a part of a sentence from the form in which I had first written it; and I believe, sir, you may have remarked, that the making a partial ;hange, without a due regard to the general structure of the sentence, is a very fre- quent cause of errour in composition b” [The endowments of Dyer were p a S’ a most va l ua bl e kind : keen pene- tration and deep erudition were the qualities that so distinguished his character, that, in some instances, Johnson might al- most be said to have looked up to him. Dyer was a divine, a linguist, a mathemati- cian, a metaphysician, a natural philoso- pher, a classical scholar, and a critic: this Johnson saw and felt, and never, but in de- fence of some fundamental and important truth, would he contradict him.] T ££ Johnson was well acquainted ang on * w ith Mr. Dossie, author of a Trea- tise on Agriculture 2 ; and said of him, ‘ Sir, of the objects which the Society of Arts have chiefly in view, the chymical effects of bodies operating upon other bodies, he knows more than almost any man.’ John- son, in order to give Mr. Dossie his vote to be a member of this society, paid up an arrear which had run on for two years. On this occasion he mentioned a circumstance, as characteristic^: of the Scotch. c One of that nation,’ said he, £ who had been a candidate, against whom I had voted, came up to me with a civil salutation. Now, sir, this is their way. An Englishman would have stomached it and been sulky, and nev- er have taken further notice of you; but a Scotchman, sir, though you vote nineteen times against him, will accost you with equal complaisance after each time, and the twentieth time, sir, he will get your vote.’ ££ Talking on the subject of toleration, one day when some friends were with him in his study, he made his usual remark, that the state has a right to regulate the religion of the people, who are the children of the state. A clergyman having readily acqui- esced in this, Johnson, who loved discussion, observed, £ But, sir, you must go round to other states than our own. You do not know what a Bramin has to say for himself 3 . 1 [See post, a similar observation quoted in reference to Johnson’s alterations in the “ Lives of the Poets.” — Ed.] In short, sir, I have got no further than tnis, every man has a right to utter what he thinks truth, and every other man has a right to knock him down for it. Martyr- dom is the test.’ “ A man, he observed, should begin to . write soon; for, if he waits till his judgment is matured, his inability, through want of practice, to express his conceptions, will make the disproportion so great between what he sees, and what he can attain, that he will probably be discouraged from writ- ing at all. As a proof of the justness of this remark, we may instance what is relat- ed of the great Lord Granville 4 ; that after he had written his letter giving an account of the battle of Dettingen, he s-aid, £ Here is a letter, expressed in terms not good enough for a tallow-chandler to have used.’ ££ Talking of a court-martial that was sit- ting upon a very momentous publick occa- sion, he expressed much doubt of an en- lightened decision; and said, that perhaps there was not a member of it, who, in the Avhole course of his life, had ever spent an hour by himself in balancing probabilities 5 . ££ Goldsmith one day brought to the Club a printed ode, which he, with others, had been hearing read by its authour in a publick room, at the rate of five shillings each for admission. One of the company having read it aloud, Dr. Johnson said, £ Bolder words and more timorous meaning, I think, never were brought together.’ ££ T alking of Gray’s Odes, he said, £ They are forced plants, raised in a hot-bed; and they are poor plants : they are but cucum- bers after all.’ A gentleman present, who had been running down ode-writing in gen- eral, as a bad species of poetry, unluckily said, £ Had they been literally cucumbers, they had been better things than odes.’ ££ Yes, sir,’ said Johnson, ‘for a hog. 1 [At Sir Robert Cotton’s, at Lle- weny, one day at dinner, Mrs. Thrale, meaning to please Dr. Johnson particularly with a dish of very young peas, said, while he was eating them, ££ Are not they charming?” “Perhaps,” replied he, t£ they would be so — to a pig 6 .” or any cast of the Hindoos, will neither admit you to be of their religion, nor be converted to yours: — a thing which struck the Portuguese with the greatest astonishment when they first discovered the East Indies.” — Boswell. 4 John, the first Earl Granville, who died Jan. 2, 1763. — Malone. 5 [As Mr. Langton’s anecdotes are not dated, it is not easy to determine what court-martial this was; probably — as Sir James Mackintosh suggests — Admiral Keppel’s, in 1780. — Ed.] - [Dossie also published, in two vols. 8vo., what was then a very useful work, entitled “The Handmaid to the Arts,” dedicated to the Society ( fur the ' ncouragement of Arts, &c. — Hall.] Here Lord Macartney remarks, “ A Bramin, I 6 [See ante, vol. i. p. 486, n. It should be observed that this answer was not, as is ofter erroneously stated, made to the lady of the house, but was a reproach (too rude, it must be admitted! 1780 — iETAT. 71. 247 The Lincolnshire lady *, who showed him a grotto she had been making, came off no better. “Would it not be a pretty cool habitation in summer,” said she, “ Dr. Johnson? ” “ I think it would, madam,” re- plied he, tc for a toad. 5 ’] “ His distinction of the different Langton. degrees 0 f attainment of learning was thus marked upon two occasions. Of Queen Elizabeth he said, 4 She had learn- ing enough to have given dignity to a bish- op;’ and of Mr. Thomas Davies he said, * Sir, Davies has learning enough to give credit to a clergyman.’. 44 He used to quote, with great warmth, the saying of Aristotle recorded by Dio- genes Laertius; that there was the same difference between one learned and unlearn- ed as between the living and the dead. 44 It is very remarkable, that he retained in his memory very slight and trivial, as well as important, things. As an instance of this, it seems that an inferiour domestick of the Duke of Leeds had attempted to cel- ebrate his Grace’s marriage in such homely rhymes as he could make; and this curious composition having been sung to Dr. John- son, he got it by heart, and used to repeat it in a very pleasant manner. Two of the stanzas were these : * When the Duke of Leeds shall married be To a fine young lady of high quality, How happy will that gentlewoman be In his Grace of Leeds’s good company! * She shall have all that’s fine and fair, And the best of silk and satin shall wear; And ride in a coach to take the air. And have a house in St. James ’ s-squar e 2 .’ to Mrs. Thrale for her rudeness in supposing him so great a glutton as to be charmed with a dish of green peas. — Ed.] 1 [Mrs. Langton, mother of his friend. — Ma- lone MS. notes. This was not meant as rude- ness to the lady; but Johnson hated grottos, and thought, as he has said in his Life of Pope, that they were “ not often the wish or pleasure of an Englishman, who has more frequent need to solicit than to exclude the sun.” Ante, p. 245, n: — Ed.] 2 The correspondent of the Gentleman’s Maga- zine, who subscribes himself Sciolus, furnishes the following supplement: “ A lady of my acquaint- ance remembers to have heard her uncle sing those homely stanzas more than forty-five years ago. He repeated the second thus: ‘ She shall breed young lords and ladies fair, And ride abroad in a coach and three pair, And the best, &c. And have a house, ’ &c. and remembered a third, which seems to have been the introductory one, and is believed to have oeen the only remaining one: When the Duke of Leeds shall have made his choice Of a charming young lady that’s beautiful and wise, She’ll be the happiest young gentlewoman under .the skies, As long as the sun and moon shall rise. ▲nd how happy shall, ’ ” &c. To hear a man of the weight and dignity of Johnson repeating such humble attempts at poetry had a very amusing effect. He, however, seriously observed of the last stan- za repeated by him, that it nearly comprised all the advantages that wealth can give. 44 An eminent foreigner, when he was shown the British Museum, was very trou- blesome with many absurd inquiries. 4 Now there, sir , 5 said he, 4 is the difference be- tween an Englishman and a Frenchman. A Frenchman must be always talking, whe- ther he knows any thing of the matter or not; an Englishman is content to say no- thing, when he has nothing to say . 5 44 His unjust contempt for foreigners was, indeed, extreme. One evening, at Old Slaughter’s Coffee-house, when a number of them were talking loud about little mat- ters, he said, 4 Does not this confirm old Meynell’s observation, For any thing I see, foreigners are fools? ’ ££ He said, that once, when he had a vio- lent tooth-ach, a Frenchman accosted him thus: Ah, monsieur, vous etudiez trop. ££ Having spent an evening at Mr. Lang- ton’s with the Reverend Dr. Parr, he was much pleased with the conversation of that learned gentleman; and, after he was gone, said to Mr. Langton, £ Sir, I am obliged to you for having asked me this evening. Parr is a fair man 3 . I do not know when I have had an occasion of such free controversy. It is remarkable how much of a man’s life may pass without meeting with any instance of this kind of open discussion . 5 “We may fairly institute a criticism be- tween Shakspeare and Corneille, as they both had, though in a different degree, the lights of a latter age. It is not so just be- tween the Greek dramatick writers and Shakspeare. It may be replied to what is said by one of the remarkers on Shakspeare, that though Darius’s shade had prescience, it does not necessarily follow that he had all past particulars revealed to him. ££ Spanish plays, being wildly and impro- bably farcical, would please children here, as children are entertained with stories full of prodigies;*their experience not being suf- ficient to cause them to be so readily start- led at deviations from the natural course of life. The machinery of the pagans is unin- teresting to us: when a goddess appears in It is with pleasure I add that this stanza could never be more truly applied 'than at this present time [1792]. — Boswell.. [The Duke and Duchess of Leeds, to whom Mr. Boswell alludes in the latter part of this note, were Francis the fifth duke (who died in 1799), and his second wife * Catherine Anguish, who still survives. — Ed.] 3 When the corporation of Norwich applied to Johnson to point out to them a proper master for their grammar-school, he recommended Lr. Farr, on his ceasing to be usher to Sumner at 1: arrow — Bukney. 248 1780.— ^ETAT. 71. Horner or Virgil we grow weary; still more so in the Grecian tragedies, as in that kind of composition a nearer approach to nature is intended. Yet there are good reasons for reading romances; as, the fertility of in- vention, the beauty of style and expression, the curiosity of seeing with what kind of performances the age and country in which they were written was delighted : for it is to be apprehended, that at the time when very wild improbable tales were well receiv- ed, the people were in a barbarous state, and so on the footing of children as has been explained. “ It is evident enough that no one who writes now can use the pagan deities and mythology; the only machinery, therefore, seems that of ministering spirits, the ghosts of the departed, witches and fairies, though these latter, as the vulgar superstition con- cerning them (which, while in its force, in- fected at least the imagination of those that had more advantage in education, though their reason set them free from it) is every day wearing out, seem likely to be of little further assistance in the machinery of po- etry. As I recollect, Hammond introduces a hag or witch into one of his love-elegies, where the effect is unmeaning and disgust- ing i. “ The man who uses his talent of ridicule in creating or grossly exaggerating the in- stances ne gives, who imputes absurdities that did not happen, or, when a man was a little ridiculous, describes him as having been very much so, abuses his talents great- ly. The great use of delineating absurdi- ties is, that we may know how far human folly can go : the account, therefore, ought of absolute necessity to be faithful. A cer- tain character (naming the person), as to the general cast of it, is well described by Garrick, but a great deal of the phraseology he uses in it is quite his own, particularly in the proverbial comparisons, c obstinate as a pig,’ &c. but I don’t know whether it might not be true of Lord 2 , that, from a too great eagerness of praise and popularity, and a politeness carried to a ri- diculous excess, he was likely^ after assert- ing a thing in general, to give it up again in parts. For instance, if he had said Rey- nolds was the first of painters, he was capa- ble enough o" giving up, as objections might happen to be severally made, first his outline, — then the grace in form, — then the colouring, — and lastly, to have owned that he was such a mannerist, that the dis- position of his pictures was all alike. * 1 [Not more so than the rest of the elegy (the fifth), which Is certainly, in every point of view, the worst of all Hammond’s productions. John- son exposes the absurdity of modern mythology very forcibly in his Life of Hammond. — Ed.] s f Perhaps Lord Coike. — E d.] “For hospitality, as formerly practised, there is no longer the same reason Here- tofore the poorer people were more numer ous, and, from want of commerce, their means of getting a livelihood more difficult: therefore the supporting them was an act of great benevolence: now that the poor can find maintenance for themselves, and their labour is wanted, a general undiscerning hospitality tends to ill, by withdrawing them from their work to idleness and drunkenness. Then, formerly, rents were received in kind, so that there was a great abundance of provisions in possession of the owners of the lands, which, since the plenty of money afforded by commerce, is no long- er the case. “ Hospitality to strangers and foreigners in our country is now almost at an end; since, from the increase of them that come to us, there have been a sufficient number of people that have found an interest in pro- viding inns and proper accommodations, which is in general a more expedient me- thod for the entertainment of travellers. Where the travellers and strangers are few, more of that hospitality subsists, as it has not been worth while to provide places of accommodation. In Ireland, there is still hospitality to strangers in some degree; in Hungary and Poland, probably more. “ Colman, in a note on his translation of Terence, talking of Shakspeare’s learning, asks, ‘What says Farmer to this? What says Johnson?’ Upon this he observed, ‘ Sir, let Farmer answer for himself: I ne- ver engaged in this controversy. I always said Shakspeare had Latin enough to gram- maticise his English.’ “ A clergyman, whom he characterised as one who loved to say little oddities, was affecting one day, at a bishop’s table, a sort of slyness and freedom not in character, and repeated, as if part of' ‘ The Old Man’s Wish,’ a song by Dr. Walter Pope, averse bordering on licentiousness. Johnson re- buked him in the finest manner, by first showing him that he did not know the pas- sage he was aiming at, and thus humbling him: ‘ Sir, that is not the song: it is thus.’ And he gave it right. Then, looking stead- fastly on him, ‘ Sir, there is a parfcof that song which I should wish to exemplify in my own life: “ May I govern my passions with absolute sway!’ * * “ Being asked if Barns knew a good deal of Greek, he answered, ‘ I doubt, sir, he was unoculus inter ccecos V 3 Johnson, in his Life of Milton, after mention- ing that great poet’s extraordinary fancy, that the world was in its decay, and that his book was to be written in an age too late for heroick poesy , thus concludes: “ However inferiour to the heroes who were born in better ages, he might still be 1780. — 'iETAT. 71. He used frequently to observe, that men might be very eminent in a profession, without our perceiving any particular pow- er of mind in them in conversation. £ It seems strange, 9 said he, £ that a man should see so far to the right, who sees so short a way to the left. Burke is the only man whose common conversation corresponds with the general fame which he has in the world. Take up whatever topick you please, he is ready to meet you. 5 “ A gentleman, by no means deficient in literature, having discovered less acquaint- ance with one of the classicks than Johnson expected, when the gentleman left the room, he observed, £ You see, now, how little any body reads. 5 Mr. Langton happening to mention his having read a good deal in Clenardus’s Greek Grammar £ Why, sir, 5 said he, £ who is there in this town who knows any thing of Clenardus but you and I ? 2 5 And upon Mr. Langton’s mentioning that he had taken the pains to learn by heart the Epistle of St. Basil, which is given in that grammar as a praxis, £ Sir, 5 said he, * 1 2 * 1 never made such an effort to attain Greek. 5 “ Of Dodsley’s ‘Publick Virtue, a poem, 5 he said, £ It was fine blank 5 (meaning to ex- ress his usual contempt for blank verse) : owever, this miserable poem did not sell, and my poor friend Doddy said Publick Virtue was not a subject to interest the age. . ££ Mr. Langton, when a very young man, read Dodsley’s £ Cleone, a Tragedy, 5 to him, not aware of bis extreme impatience to be read to. As it went on, he turned his face to the back of his chair, and put himself in- to various attitudes, which marked his un- easiness. At the end of an act, however, he said, c Come, let’s have some more; let 5 s go into the slaughter-house again, Lanky. But I am afraid there is more blood than brains. 5 Yet he afterwards said, £ When I heard you read it, I thought higher of its great among his contemporaries, with the hope of growing every day greater in the dwindle of pos- terity; he might still be a giant among the pig- mies, the one-eyed monarch of the blind.” — J. Boswell. 1 Nicholas Clenard, who was born in Brabant, and died at Grenada in 1542, was a great trav- eller and linguist. Beside his Greek Grammar (of which an improved edition was published by Vossius at Amsterdam in 1626), he wrote a Hebrew Grammar, and an account of his travels in various countries, in Latin (Epistolarum Libri duo, 8vo 1556) — a very rare work, of which there is a copy in the Bodleian Library. His Latin (says the authour of Nouveau Dic- tionnaire Historique, 1789) would have been more pure, if he had not known so many anguages. — M alone. 2 [Mr. Langton, as has been already observed, traa very studious of Greek literature. — Ed.] ^oi. ii. 32 24y power of language; when I read it myself, I was more sensible of its pathetick effect; and then he paid it a compliment which ma ny will think very extravagant. c Sir, 5 said he, £ if Otway had written this play, no oth er of his pieces would have been remember- ed. 5 Dodsley himself, upon this being re- peated to him, said, £ It was too much. 5 It must be remembered, that Johnson always appeared not to be sufficiently sensible of the merit of Otway 3. ££ £ Snatches of reading, 5 said he, £ will not make a Bentley or a Clarke. They are, however, in a certain degree advanta- geous. I would put a child into a library (where no unfit books are), and let him read at his choice. A child should not be dis- couraged from reading any thing that he takes a liking to, from a notion that it is above his reach. If that be the case, the child will soon find it out and desist; if not, he of course gains the instruction; which is so much the more likely to come, from the inclination with which he takes up the study. 5 ££ Though he used to censure careless- ness with great vehemence, he owned, that he once, to avoid the trouble of locking up five guineas, hid them, he forgot where, so that he could not find them. ££ A gentleman who introduced his bro ther to Dr. Johnson was earnest to recom- mend him to the Doctor’s notice, which he did by saying, £ When we have sat togeth er some time, you ’ll find my Brother grow very entertaining. 5 £ Sir, 5 said Johnson, £ I can wait. 5 ££ When the rumour was strong that we should have a war, because the French would assist the Americans, he rebuked a friend with some asperity for supposing it, saying, £ No, sir, national faith is not yet sunk so low.’ ££ In the latter part of his life, in order to satisfy himself whether his mental faculties were impaired, he resolved that he would try to learn a new language, and fixed upon the Low Dutch for that purpose, and this he continued till he had read about one half of ‘Thomas a Kempis; 5 and, finding that there appeared no abatement of his power of acquisition, he then desisted, as thinking the experiment had been duly tried. Mr Burke justly observed, that this was not the most vigorous trial, Low Dutch being a language so near to our own 4 : had it been one of the languages entirely different, he might have been very soon satisfied. ££ Mr. Langton and he having gone to 3 This assertion concerning Johnson’s insensi bility to the pathetick powers of Otway is too round. I once asked him, whether he did not think Otway frequently tender: when he answered* “ Sir, he is all tenderness.” — Burney. 1 [See ante, p 147 and n. — Ed.] 250 1780. — ^TTAT. 71. see a freemason’s funeral procession when they were at Rochester, and some solemn musick being played on French-horns, he said, c This is the first time that I have ever been affected by musical sounds;’ adding, that the impression made upon him was of a melancholy kind.’ Mr. Langton saying, that this effect was a fine one, — Johnson. ‘ Yes, if it softens the mind so as to prepare it for the reception of salutary feelings, it may be good: but inasmuch as it is melan- choly per se, it is bad V [“ He delighted,” says Mrs. Piozzi, Piorai, u no more j n music than in painting; in fact, he was almost as deaf as he was blind.”] Hawk. [Yet of musick, he, at another A-poph. time, said, “ It is the only sensual p * 197 ' pleasure without vice.”] Lan ton “ Goldsmith had long a visionary g on ‘ project, that some time or other, when his circumstances should be easier, he would go to Aleppo, in order to acquire a knowledge, as far as might be, of any arts peculiar to the East, and introduce them into Britain. When this was talked of in Dr. Johnson’s company, he said, ‘ Of all men Goldsmith is the most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry; for he is utterly ig- norant of such arts as we already possess, and consequently could not know what would be accessions to our present stock of mechanical knowledge. Sir, he would bring home a grinding barrow, which you see in every street in London, and think that he had furnished a wonderful improvement.’ “ c Greek, sir,’ said he, ‘ is like lace; every man gets as much of it as he can 2 .’ “ When Lord Charles Hay 3 , after his return from America, was preparing his de- fence to be offered to the court-martial which he had demanded, having heard Mr. Langton as high in expressions of admira- tion of Johnson as he usually was, he re- quested that Dr. Johnson might be intro- duced to him; and Mr. Langton having mentioned it to Johnson, he very kindly and readily agreed; and, being presented by Mr. Langton to his lordship, while un- der arrest, he saw him several times; upon one of which occasions Lord Charles read to 1 The French-horn, however, is so far from being melancholy per se, that when the strain is light, and in the field, there is nothing so cheerful! It was the funeral occasion, and probably the solemnity of the strain, that produced the plaintive effect here mentioned. — Burney. 4 It should be remembered, that this was said twenty-five or thirty years ago, when lace was generally worn. — Malone. [But even with this allowance the meaning of the phrase does not »eein clear — perhaps Johnson said that Greek was like lace; every man wears (that is, displays) as much of it as he can. — Ed.] TSee ante , p. 52 . — Ed.] him what he had prepared, which Johnson signified his approbation of, saying, f It is a very good soldierly defence.’ Johnson said that he had advised his lordship, that as it was in vain to contend with those who were in possession of power, if they would offer him the rank of lieutenant-general, and a government, it would be better judged to desist from urging his complaints. It is ■well known that his lordship died before the sentence was made known. “Johnson one day gave high praise to Dr. Bentley’s verses 4 in Dodsley’s Collec- tion, which he recited with his usual ener- gy. Dr. Adam Smith, who was present, observed, in his decisive professorial man- ner, ‘Very well, — very well.’ Johnson, however, added, ‘ Yes, they are very well, sir; but you may observe in what manner they are well. They are the forcible ver- ses of a man of a strong mind, but not ac- customed to write verse; for there is some uncouthness in the expression 5 .’ 4 Dr. Johnson, in his Life of Cowley, says, that these are “ the only English verses which Bentley is known to have written.” I shall here insert them, and hope my readers will apply them. ‘‘ Who strives to mount Parnassus’ hill, And thence poetick laurels bring, Must first acquire due force and skill, Must fly with swan’s or eagle’s wing. “ Who Nature’s treasures would explore,* Her mysteries and arcana know, Must high as lofty Newton soar, Must stoop as delving Woodward low. “ WTio studies ancient laws and rites, Tongues, arts, and arms, and history, Must drudge, like Selden, days and nights, And in the endless labour die. “ Who travels in religious jars, (Truth mixt with errour, shades with raya,t Like Whiston, wanting pyx or stars, In ocean wide or sinks or strays. “ But grant our hero’s hope long toil And comprehensive genius crown, All sciences, all arts his spoil, Yet what reward, or what renown * “ Envy, innate in vulgar souls, Envy steps in and stops his rise , Envy with poison’d tarnish fouls His lustre, and his worth decries. “ He lives inglorious or in want, To college and old books confined Instead oflearu’d, he’s call'd pedant; Dunces advanced, he ’s left behind ; Yet left content, a genuine Stoick he — Great without patron, rich without South Sea Boswell. A different, and probably a more accurate copy of these spirited verses is to be found in “ The Grove, or a Collection of Original Poems and Translations,” &c. 1721. In this miscellany the last stanza, which in Dodsley’s copy is unque*. tionably uncouth, is thus exhibited: 11 Inglorious or by wants enthrall'd , To college and old books confined, A pedant from his learning calP d, Dunces advanced, he’s left behind.’ J. Boswell 6 The difference between Johnson and Smith 1780.— iETAT. 71, 261 “ Drinking tea one day at Garrick’s with Mr. Langton, he was questioned if he was not somewhat of a heretick as to Shakspeare. Said Garrick, ‘ I doubt he is a little of an infidel.’ c Sir,’ said Johnson, ‘ I will stand by the lines I have written on Shakspeare in my prologue at the opening of your theatre.” Mr. Langton suggested, that in the line, ‘ And panting Time toil’d after him in vain, ’ Johnson might have had in his eye the pas- sage in the ‘ Tempest,’ where Prospero says of Miranda, ‘ She will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her.’ Johnson said nothing. Garrick then ven- tured to observe, c I do not think that the happiest line in the praise of Shakspeare.’ Johnson exclaimed (smiling), ‘ Prosaical rogues ! next time T write. I’ll make both time and space pant l .’ “ It is well known that there was former- ly a rude custom for those who were sailing upon the Thames to accost each other as is apparent even in this slight instance. Smith was a man of extraordinary application, and had his mind crowded with all manner of subjects; but the force, acuteness, and vivacity of Johnson were not to be found there. He had book- making so much in his thoughts, and was so chary of what might be turned to account in that way, that he once said to Sir Joshua Reynolds, that he made it a rule, when in company, never to talk of what he understood. Beauclerk had for a short time a pretty high opinion of Smith’s con- versation. Garrick, after listening to him for a while, as to one of whom his expectations had been raised, turned slily to a friend, and whispered him, “ What say you to this ? — eh ? Flabby, I think.” — Boswell. 1 I am sorry to see in the “ Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh,” vol. ii. “ An Essay on the Character of Hamlet,” written, I should suppose, by a very young man, though called “ Reverend,” who speaks with presump- tuous petulance of the first literary character of his age. Amidst a cloudy confusion of words (which hath of late too often passed in Scotland for metaphy sicks), he thus ventures to criticise one of the noblest lines in our lauguage: — “ Dr. Johnson has remarked, that 4 Time toiled after him in vain.’ But I should apprehend, that this is entirely to mistake the character. Time toils after every great man, as well as after Shak- speare. The workings of an ordinary mind keep pace, indeed, with time; they move no faster; they have their beginning, their middle, and their end; but superiour natures can reduce these into a point. They do not, indeed, sup- press them; but they suspend , or they lock them up in the breast .” The learned society, under whose sanction such gabble is ushered into the world, would do well to offer a premium to any one who will discover its meaning. — Boswell. they passed, in the most abusive language they could invent ; generally, however, with as much satirical humour as they ^ ere capable of producing. Addison gives a specimen of this ribaldry in Number 383 of c The Spectator,’ when Sir Roger de Cov- erly and he are going to Spring-garden 2 . Johnson was once eminently successful in this species of contest. A fellow having at- tacked him with some coarse raillery, John- son answered him thus, ‘ Sir, your wife, under pretence of keeping a bawdy-house , is a receiver of stolen goods.’ One evening when he and Mr. Burke and Mr. Langton were in company together, and the admira- ble scolding of Timon of Athens was men- tioned, this instance of Johnson’s was quoted, and thought to have at least equal excellence. “ As Johnson always allowed the ex- traordinary talents of Mr. Burke, so Mr. Burke was fully sensible of the wonderful powers of Johnson. Mr. Langton recol- lects having passed an evening with both of them, when Mr. Burke repeatedly en- tered upon topicks which it was evident he would have illustrated with extensive knowledge and richness of expression; but Johnson always seized upon the conversa- tion, in which, however, he acquitted him- self in a most masterly manner. As Mr. Burke and Mr. Langton were walking home, Mr. Burke observed that Johnson had been very great that night: Mr. Lang- ton joined in this, but added, he could have wished to hear more from another person (plainly intimating that he meant Mr. Burke). c 0, no,’ said Mr. Burke, c it is enough for me to have rung the bell to him.’ “ Beauclerk having observed to him of one of their friends, that he was awkward at counting money; c Why, sir,’ said John- son, c I am likewise awkward at counting money. But then, sir, the reason is plain; I have had very little money to count.’ “ He had an abhorrence of affectation Talking of old Mr. Langton, of whom he said, ‘ Sir, you will seldom see such a gen- tleman, such are his stores of literature 3 , such his knowledge in divinity, and such his exemplary life; ’ he added, ‘ and, sir, he has no grimace, no gesticulation, no bursts of admiration on trivial occasions: he never embraces you with an overacted cordiality.’ “ Being in company with a gentleman who thought fit to maintain Dr. Berkeley’s ingenious philosophy, that nothing exists but as perceived by some mind ; when the gentleman was going away, Johnson said to him, ‘Pray, sir, don’t leave us; for we may perhaps forget to think of you, and then you will cease to exist.’ 2 [Vauxhall. — E d.] 3 [See, however, ante, p. 66.— Ed.] 252 1780.— JET AT. 71. “ Goldsmith, upon being visited by John- son one day in the Temple, said to him with a little jealousy of the appearance of his accommodation, c I shall soon be in bet- ter chambers than these . 5 Johnson at the same time checked him and paid him a handsome compliment, implying that a man of his talents should be above attention to such distinctions, — c Nay, sir, never mind that: Nil te qucesiveris extra.' “At the time when his pension was granted to him, he said, with a noble litera- ry ambition, c Had this happened twenty years ago, I should have gone to Constanti- nople to learn Arabick, as Pococke did . 5 “ As an instance of the niceness of his taste, though he praised West’s translation of Pindar, he pointed out the following pas- sages as faulty, by expressing a circum- stance so minute as to detract from the gen- eral dignity which should prevail: ‘ Down then from thy glittering nail , Take, O Muse, thy Dorian lyre.’ “ When Mr. Vesey 1 was proposed as a member of the Literary Club, Mr. Burke began by saying that he was a man of gen- tle manners. ‘ Sir , 5 said Johnson, ‘ you need say no more. When you have said a man of gentle manners, you have said , enough . 5 [Yet he afterwards found that p!°62!’ gentle manners alone were not “ enough ; 55 for when Mrs. Piozzi once asked him concerning the conversa- tional powers of Mr. Vesey 2 , with whom she was unacquainted, “ He talked to me , 55 said Johnson, “one day at the Club con- cerning Catiline’s conspiracy, so I with- drew my attention and thought about Tom Thumb.”] _ “The late Mr. Fitzherbert told ang ol1 * Mr. Langton that Johnson said to him , 1 Sir, a man has no more right to say an uncivil thing, than to act one; no more right to say a rude thing to another than to knock him down . 5 “ ‘ My dear friend, Dr. Bathurst , 5 said he, with a warmth of approbation, c declared he was glad that his father, who was a West India planter, had left his affairs in 1 The Right Honourable Agmondesham Vesey was elected a member of the Literary Club in 1773, and died August 11th, 1786. — Malone. 2 [Mrs. Piozzi only says “ a gentleman .” Mr. Malone’s MS. note to the Anecdotes supplies the name. Miss Reynolds also recollects an anecdote of Mr. Vesey ’s first appearance at the Club, which proves that, however Dr. Johnson may hav« admired Mr. Vesey’s gentle manners, he did not imitate them. “ When a gentleman at the Club , on presenting his friend, said, ‘ This, sir, is Mr. Vesey’ — * I see him,’ said Dr. Johnson, and immediately turned away.’* Recollections. — Ed.] total ruin, because, having no estate, he was not under the temptation of having slaves . 5 “ Richardson had little conversation, ex- cept about his own works, of which Sir Joshua Reynolds said he was always wil- ling to talk, and glad to have them intro- duced. Johnson, when he carried Mr, Langton to see him, professed that he could bring him out into conversation, and used this allusive expression, 1 Sir, I can make him rear.' But he failed; for m that interview Richardson said little else than that there lay in the room a translation of his Clarissa into German. “ Once when somebody produced a news- paper in which there was a letter of stupid abuse of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of which Johnson himself came in for a share, ‘ Pray , 5 said he, c let us have it read aloud from be- ginning to end ; 5 which being done, he, with a ludicrous earnestness, and not direct- ing his look to any particular person, called out , 1 Are we alive after all this satire ? 5 “ He had a strong prejudice against the political character of Seeker, one instance of which appeared at Oxford, where he ex- pressed great dissatisfaction at his varying the old-established toast, £ Church and King . 5 £ The Archbishop of Canterbury , 5 said he, with an affected, smooth, smiling grimace, £ drinks, £ Constitution in church and state . 5 Being asked what difference there was between the two toasts, he said, £ Why, sir, you may be sure he meant something.’ Yet when the life of that pre- late, prefixed to his sermons by Dr. Porteus and Dr. Stinton, his chaplains, first came out, he read it with the utmost avidity, and said, £ It is a life well written, and that well deserves to be recorded . 5 “ Of a certain noble lord 3 , he said, £ Re- spect him you could not; for he had no mind of his own. Love him you could not; for that which you could do with him every one else could.’ “ Of Dr. Goldsmith he said, £ No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had.’ “ He told, in his lively manner, the fol- lowing literary anecdote: — ‘Green and Guthrie, an Irishman and a Scotchman, undertook a translation of Duhalde’s His- tory of China. Green said of Guthrie, that he knew no English, and Guthrie of Green, that he knew no French; and these two undertook to translate Duhalde’s His- tory of China. In this translation there was found, c the twenty-sixth day of the new moon . 5 Now, as the whole age of the moon is but twenty-eight days, the moon, instead of being new, was nearly as old as it could be. The blunder arose from 3 [See ante, p. 248, an allusion to this over civil lord. — E d.1 17S0. — /ETAT. 71. tneir mistaking the word neuvieme, ninth, for nouvelle , or neuve , new.’ “ Talking of Dr. Blagden’s 1 2 3 copiousness and precision of communication, Dr. John- son said, £ Blagden, sir, is a delightful fel- low 2 .’ ££ On occasion of Dr. Johnson’s publish- ing his pamphlet of £ The False Alarm,’ there came out a very angry answer (by many supposed to be by Mr. Wilkes). Dr. Johnson determined on not answering it; but, in conversation with Mr. Langton, mentioned a particular or two, which, if he had replied to it, he might perhaps have inserted. In the answerer’s pamphlet, it had been said with solemnity, *' Do you consider, sir, that a house of commons is to the people as a creature is to its Creator?’ £ To this question,’ said Dr. Johnson, £ I could have replied, that, in the first place, the idea of a Creator must be such as that he has a power to unmake or annihilate his creature. Then it cannot be conceived that a creature can make laws for its Creator V ££ £ Depend upon it,’ said he, £ that if a man talks of his misfortunes, there is some- thing in them that is not disagreeable to hirn ; for where there is nothing but pure misery, there never is any recourse to the mention of it.’ ££ £ A man must be a poor beast, that should read no more in quantity than he could utter aloud.’ ££ £ Imlac, in ££ Rasselas,” I spelt with a c at the end, because it is less like English, which should always have the Saxon k ad- ded to the c 4 5 .’ ££ £ Many a man is mad in certain instan- ces, and goes through life without having it perceived. For example, a madness has seized a person 5, of supposing himself 1 [Afterwards Sir Charles Blagden. — Ed.] 2 [Here in the first edition ended Mr. Langton’s Collectanea. — Ed.] 3 His profound adoration of the Great First Cause was such as to set him above that “ phi- losophy and vain deceit” with which men -of narrow conceptions have been infected. I have heard him strongly maintain that “ what is right is not so from any natural fitness, but because God wills it to be right;” and it is certainly so, because he has predisposed the relations of things so, as that which he wills must be right. — Bos- well. 4 I hope the authority of the great master of our language will stop that curtailing innovation by which we see critic , public , &c. frequently written instead of critick, publick, &c. — Bos- well. [Why should we not retrench an ob- vious superfluity? In the preceding age, public and critic were written publique and critique. Johnson himself, in a memorandum among Mr. Anderdon’s papers, dated in 1784, writes “ cubic feet.” — Ed.] 5 [Johnson had, no doubt, his poor friend Smart in his recollection: seo ante , vol. i. p. 180 — Ed.] 253 obliged literally to pray continually haa the madness turned the opposite way, and the person thought it a crime ever to pray, it might not improbably have continued unobserved.’ ££ He apprehended that the delineation of characters in the end of the first book of the £ Retreat of the Ten Thousand ’ was the first instance of the kind that was known. ££ £ Supposing,’ said he, £ a wife to be of a studious or argumentative turn, it would be very troublesome : for instance, if a wo- man should continually dwell *upon the subject of the Arian heresy.’ ££ £ No man speaks concerning another, even suppose it to be in his praise, if he thinks he does not hear him, exactly as he would if he thought he was within hear- ing.’ ££ £ The applause of a single human being is of great consequence.’ This he said to me with great earnestness of manner, very near the time of his decease, on occasion of having desired me to read a letter addressed to him from some person in the north of England; which when I had done, and he asked me what the contents were, as I thought being particular upon it might fa- tigue him, it being of great length, I only told him in general that it was highly in his praise; and then he expressed himself as above. ££ He mentioned with an air of satisfac tion what Baretti had told him; that, meet ing in the course of his studying English with an excellent paper in £ The Spectator,’ one of four that were written by the respect- able dissenting minister Mr. Grove of Taunton, and observing the genius and en ergy of mind that it exhibits, it greatly quickened his curiosity to visit our country, as he thought, if such were the lighter pe riodical essays of our authours, their produc- tions on more weighty occasions must be wonderful indeed ! ££ He observed once, at Sir Joshua Rey nolds’s, that a beggar in the street will more readily ask alms from a maw, though there should be no marks of wealth in his appear- ance, than from even a well-dressed wo- man 6 ; which he accounted for from the great degree of carefulness as to money, that is to be found in women : saying far- ther upon it, that the opportunities in gen- eral that they possess of improving their condition are much fewer than men have; and adding, as he looked round the compa- ny-^ which consisted of men only, £ There is not one of us who does not think he might be richer, if he would use his endeavour.’ ££ He thus c haracterised an ingenious 6 Sterne is of a direct contrary opinion. Set his “ Sentimental Journey;” article. The Mys tery. — Boswell. 254 1780. — A2TAT. 71. writer of his acquaintance. f Sir, he is an enthusiast by rule.’ “ ‘ He may hold up that shield against all his enemies ,’ was an observation on Homer, in reference to his description of the shield of Achilles, made by Mrs. Fitzher- bert, wife to his friend Mr. Fitzherbert of Derbyshire, and respected by Dr. Johnson as a very fine one 1 . He had in general a very high opinion of that lady’s understand- ing. “ An observation of Bathurst’s may be mentioned, which Johnson repeated, appear- ing to acknowledge it to be well founded ; namely, it was somewhat remarkable how seldom, on occasion of coming into the com- pany of any new person, one felt any wish or inclination to see him again.” Ed [As we now approach the period when his intimacy with Mrs. Thrale ceased, this seems to be a proper place for inserting, afterthe Collectanea of Mr. Lang- ton, those anecdotes published by that lady which have not been introduced in other places of this work.] Piozzi [“To recollect and repeat the Anec- sayings of Dr. Johnson, is almost d° tes ' all that can be done by the writers of his life; as his life, at least since my ac- quaintance 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 amusing till he was called out to con- verse, and conversing till the fatigue of his friends, or the promptitude of his own tem- per to take offence, consigned him back again to silent meditation. “ Dr. Johnson indeed, as he was a very talking man himself, had an idea that nothing promoted happiness so much as conversation. “The saying of the old philosopher, who observes, ‘ that he who wants least is most like the gods, who want no- thing,’ was a favourite 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 was only that there might be a certainty of detaining his 1 [This passage seems not very intelligible. Perhaps the observation might mean that Homer’s description of the shield of Achilles was so masterly that it alone was sufficient to prove him a great poet, and to turn all the shafts of criticism. The reader cannot have failed to observe that many of these anecdotes are very obscurely ex- pressed, and that different topics seem sometimes jumbied into one oaragraph. — Ed.] companions round him. On tl at principle it was that he preferred winter to summer, when the heat of the weather gave people an excuse to stroll about, and walk for plea- sure in the shade, while he wished to sit still on a chair, and chat day after day, till some- body proposed a drive in the coach; and that was the most delicious moment of his life. ‘.But the carriage must stop some time,’ as he said, ‘ and the people would come home at last; ’ so his pleasure was of short duration. “ As ethics or figures, or metaphysical reasoning, was the sort of talk he most de- lighted in, so no kind of conversation pleased him less, I think, than when the subject was historical fact or general polity. ‘ What shall we learn from that stuff?’ said John- son: ‘let us not fancy like Swift that we are exalting a woman’s character by telling how she 6 “ Could name the ancient heroes round, Explain for what they were renown’d, &c.” Cad. & Vanessa. I must not however lead my readers to suppose that he meant to reserve such talk for men’s company as a proof of pre-emi- nence. ‘ He never,’ as he expressed it, ‘ de- sired to hear of the Punic war while he liv ed: 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 5 ” And now,’ cries Dr. Johnson, laughing with obstreperous violence, ‘if these two foolish lines can be equalled in folly 2 * * , ex- cept by the two succeeding ones — show them me.’ 2 [These are two lines of Swift’s Verses to Stella , 1720. Dr. Johnson’s censure was too violent, and indeed he seems not to have cqrrectly understood the dean’s illustration. He is layin® down certain general rules for distinguishing whal honour is, and he exposes the many false mean- ings which the world assigns to that word. He proceeds to say that men should not decide what is honourable by a reference* to their own feel- ings and circumstances, which naturally bias the judgment, but should consider, without reference to self, how a wise and good man would act “ In points ofhouour to be tried, All passion must be laid aside ; Ask no advice, but think alone ; Suppose the question not your own ‘ How shall I act i ’ is not the case , But how would Brutus in my place? In such a case v ould Cato bleed ? And how would Socrates proceed ? ” It is plain here, and still plainer from the whole context of the poem, that Brutus , Cato , and Socrates are here put as the representatives of Patriotism and Virtue, and as the names of Zoi- lus. Bavius , or Pandarus are used generically 1780.— MT AT. 71. 255 c< With a contempt not inferior he receiv- ed the praises of a pretty lady’s face and be- haviour. * She says nothing, sir,’ answered Johnson; £ a talking blackamoor were bet- ter than a white creature who adds nothing to life — and sitting down before one thus desperately silent takes away the confidence one should have in the company of her chair if she were once out of it.’ “ No one was however less willing to be- gin any discourse than himself. His friend Mr. Thomas Tyers 1 said he was like the ghosts, who never speak till they are spoken to; and 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 shown more clearly, what- ever was the topic; and he usually left the choice to others. His information enlight- ened, 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 be- neath a shed while it rained, but you must be convinced you had been standing with the greatest man you had ever yet seen.’ “ Having reduced his amusements to the pleasures of conversation merely, what won- der that Johnson should have had an avidi- ty 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 ac- tion, the end of every design. He was in- deed often pained by the ignorance or cause- less wonder of those who knew less than himself, though he seldom drove them away with apparent scorn, unless he thought they added presumption to stupidity. ££ He would sometimes good-naturedty enter into a long chat for the instruction or entertainment of people he despised. I per- fectly recollect his condescending to delight my daughter’s dancing-master with a long argument about his art; which the man pro- to signify infamous persons: so here, Brutus, Cato, and Socrates (which might as well have been Sydney , Sowers, or Clarendon, or any other illustrious names) , are used as terms of honour to give point and a kind of dramatic effect to the general proposition. Swift never dreamt (as Mrs. Piozzi’s report would lead us to think that John- son supposed) to advise that our rules of conduct were to be drawn from the actual events of Greek and Roman history. This would have been as absurd as Johnson’s own introduction of Roman manners into London in his description of the burning of Orgilio’s palace, or the invocation of Democritus, which sounds so strangely amidst the modern illustrations of his own beautiful and splendid Vanity of Human Wishes. — Ed.] 1 [See ante, vol. i. p. 136, and p. 175 of this vol.«— Ed.] tested, at the ciose of the discourse, the Doctor knew more of than himself, and was astonished, enlightened, and amused, by the talk of a person little likely to make a good disquisition upon dancing. “ I have sometimes indeed been rather pleased than vexed when Dr. Johnson has given a rough answer to a man who per- haps deserved one only half as rough, be- cause I knew he would repent of his hasty reproof, and make us all amends by some conversation at once instructive and enter- taining. A young fellow asked him abrupt- ly one day, ‘ Pray, sir, what and where is Palmyra ? I heard somebody talk last night of the ruins of Palmyra.’ ‘’Tis a hill in Ireland,’ replies Johnson, c with palms growing on the top, and a bog at the bot- tom, and so they call it Palnl-mira. , See- ing however that the lad thought him seri ous, and thanked him for the information he undeceived him very gently indeed; told him the history, geography, and chronolo gy, of Tadmor in the wilderness, with eve ry incident, I think, that literature could furnish or eloquence express, from the build ing of Solomon’s palace down to the voyage of Dawkins and Wood. “ He had no taste for the usual enjoy ments and occupations of a country life, and w T ould say, £ that after one had gathered apples in an orchard, one wishes to see them well baked, and removed to a London eating-house for enjoyment.’ With such notions, who can wonder he often com plained of us for living so much in the coun try — £ feeding the chickens,’ as he said 1 did, c till I starved my own understanding.’ £ Get, however,’ said he, £ a book about gar- dening, 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 prefer- ence : but to get cows from Alderney, or water-fowl from China, only to see nature degenerating round us, is a poor ambition indeed.’ ££ Nor was Dr. Johnson more merciful with regard to the amusements 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 pov- erty of plea' ures, and your wits get blunted for want (f 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 256 1780.— vLTAT. 71. 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 tn a little pond, and die for want of his usual food.’ — ‘ Books without the knowledge of l«fe are useless,’ I have heard him say; * far what should books teach but the art of IvAi/ig? To study manners, however, only in coffee-houses, is more than equally im- perfect; the minds of men who acquire no solid learning, and only exist on the daily forage that they pick up by running about, and snatching what drops from their neigh- bours, 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, be- fore the wine can have its effect, and be- come that noblest liquor which rejoices the heart and gives vigour to the imagination.’ “ ‘ Solitude,’ he one day added, ‘ is dan- gerous to reason, without being favourable to virtue : pleasures of some sort are neces- sary 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 re- lief. Remember,’ continued he, ‘ that the solitary mortal is certainly luxurious, pro- bably 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 principle that Johnson encouraged parents to carry their daughters early and much into compa- ny; ‘ 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 ten- der expressions soften or sink into her heart. The ball, the show, are not the dangerous places: no, ’t is the private friend, the kind consoler, the companion of the easy vacant hour, whose compliance with her opinions can flatter her vanity, and whose conversa- tion can just soothe, without ever stretch- ing 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 plea- sure from each other, they would inevitably 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 de- pendence and the paucity of general amuse- ment alone had caused, and each would separately feel delighted by their release.’ “ The vacuity of life had at some early period of his life struck so forcibly on the mind of Dr. 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 phi- losophers often attribute to various and con- tradictory causes, appeared to him uniform enough; all was done to fill up the time, up- on his principle. 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 ev- ery occasion. One man, for example, was profligate and wild, as we call it, followed the girls, or sat still at the gaming-table. c Why, life must be filled up,’ said Johnson, ‘ and the man who is not capable of intel- lectual 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, how- ever, I never much heard Dr. Johnson de- claim, till one represented it to him connect- ed 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 ra- ther than part with it for a cake, at least is not the slave of gross appetite; and shows besides a pieference always to be esteemed, of the future to the present moment. Such a mind may be made a good one; but the natural spendthrift, who grasps his plea- sures greedily and coarsely, and cares for nothing but immediate indulgence, is very little to be valued above a negro.’ “ He hated disguise, and nobody pone trated it so readily. I showed him a letter written to a common friend, who was at some loss for the explanation of it. * Who- ever wrote it,’ says our Doctor, ‘ could, if he chose it, make himself understood; but ’t is 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 conceal- ment of innocent things will soon have something to hide which they dare not bring to Tight.’ He therefore encouraged an openness of conduct, in women particu larly, ‘ who,’ he observed, ‘ were often led away, when children, by their delight and power of surprising.’ “ He recommended, on something like the same principle, that when one person 1780. — iETAT. 71. 257 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 favour; c 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 cun- ning 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-bot- tle, because that 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, c that women were very difficult to be taught the proper man- ner 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 gen- erally rendered them either useless or ridi- culous.’ cc I pitied a friend before him who had a whining wife, that found every thing pain- ful to her, and nothing pleasing — ‘ He does not know that she whimpers,’ says John- son; ‘ when a door has creaked for a fort- night together, you may observe, the mas- ter will scarcely give sixpence to get it oiled. ’ “ Of another lady, more insipid than of- fensive, 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 ex- emplary, 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 howev- er envy a fellow one of those honeysuckle wives, for my part, as they are but creepers at best, and commonly destroy the tree they so tenderly cling about.’ “ Needlework had a strenuous approver m Dr. Johnson, who said, c 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 san- ity.’ c A man cannot hem a pocket-hand- kerchief,’ said a lady of quality to him one day, ‘ and so he runs mad, and torments his family and friends.’ The expression struck aim exceedingly, and when one acquaint- ance grew troublesome, and another un- healthy, he used to quote Lady Frances’s 1 observation, c that a man cannot hem a pocket-handkerchief.’ 1 [Lady Frances Burgoyne, daughter of the last Lord Halifax. — Ed.] vol. u 83 “Nice people found no mercy from Dr. 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 inconvenience. He had no such prejudices himself, and with difficulty for- gave them in another. £ Delicacy does not surely consist,’ says he, 1 in impossibility to be pleased; and that is false dignity indeed which is content to depend upon others.’ “ That poverty was an evil to be avoidtd by all honest means, however, no man was more ready to avow : concealed poverty particularly, which he said was the genera corrosive that destroyed the peace of almos every family; to which no evening perhaps ever returned without some new project for tiding the sorrows and dangers o** the next day. c Want of money,’ says Dr. Johnson, ‘ is sometimes concealed undei 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 thought less 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 ubique ,’ says he, f and if you do shut the jade out of the door, she will always contrive in some man- ner to poke her pale lean face in at the win- dow.’ “ As the mind of Dr. Johnson was great ly expanded, so his first care was for gene- ral, not particular or petty morality; and those teachers had more of his blame than praise, I think, who seek to oppress life with unnecessary scruples. c Scruples would,’ as he observed, ‘ certainly make men mis- erable, and seldom make them good. Let us ever,’ he said, c studiously fly from those instructers, against whom our Saviour de- nounces heavy judgments, for having bound up burdens grievous to be borne, and laid them on the shoulders of mortal men.’ No one had, however, higher notions of the hard task of true Christianity than Johnson, whose daily terror lest he had not done enough originated 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 de- sires and intent, filled his imagination with fears that he should never obtain forgive ness for omissions of duty and criminal waste of time. “ I used to tell him in jest, that his moral ity 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 wicked- ness in the world, and still less of extraoi' dinary virtue. “ Though no man perhaps made such 258 J780. — ^ETAT. 71 rough replies as Dr. Johnson, yet nobody had a more just aversion for general satire ; he always hated and censured Swift for his unprovoked bitterness against the profes- sors of medicine ; and used to challenge his friends, when they lamented the exorbitan- cy of physicians’ fees, to produce him one instance of an estate raised by physick in England. When an acquaintance too was one day exclaiming against the tediousness of the law and its partiality : ‘ Let us hear, sir,’ said Johnson, ‘no general abuse; the law is the last result of human wisdom act- ing upon human experience for the benefit of the publick.’ “ Dr. Johnson had indeed a veneration for the voice of mankind beyond what most people will own ; and as he liberally con- fessed that all his own disappointments proceeded from himself, he hated to hear others complain of general injustice. Ire- member when lamentation was made of the neglect shewed to Jeremiah Markland 1 , a 1 [Mr. Markland, who has favoured the Editor with many kind and useful suggestions, observes on this passage, that “ Johnson’s censure was un- deserved. Jeremiah Markland was certainly no growler. He sought for, because he loved, re- tirement; and rejected all the honours and re- wards which were liberally offered to his accept- ance. During a long life, he devoted himself unceasingly to those pursuits for which he was best fitted, collating the classics, and illustrating the Scriptures. * Sequantur alii famam, aucupen- tur Divitias, hie ilia oculis irretortis contemplatus, post terga constanter rejecit .... In solitudinem se recepit, studiis excolendis et pauperibus suble- vandis unice intentus.’ Such is the character given of Markland by his pupil and friend Edward Clarke.” Mrs. Piozzi’s flippant expression (“ a great philologist as some one ventured to call him ”) will excite a smile, when we recollect what Markland has done as a philologist, and the estima- tion in which he has been held both by the most learned of his contemporaries (including John- son himself), and the most distinguished scholars of our own time. Dr. Burney, in a tone of the highest panegyric, numbered him with Bentley, Dawes, Toup, and Porson ; and a still later wri- ter has thus candidly enumerated his merits : “ Markland was endowed with a respectable por- tion of judgment and sagacity. He was very la- borious, loved retirement, and spent a long life in the study of the Greek and Latin languages. For modesty, candour, literary honesty, and courteous- ness to other scholars, he is justly considered as the mode which ought to be proposed for the imi- tation of every critic.” — Quart. Rev. vol. vii. p. 442 so far Mr. Markland. It is but just to all parties, that the Editor should add, that (whatev- er Johnson may have said in the current of con- versation, and probably in allusion to some mi- nute and unrecorded circumstance) he had a fixed respect for the talents and character of Markland. For it will be seen hereafter that on the 20th Oct. 1782, he wrote to Mr. Nichols, urging him to ob- tain some record if the ife of Markland, whom, great philologist, as son.e 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 corner, and does nothing when he is there but sit and growl . let him come out as I do, and bark.' “Dr. Johnson’s knowledge of literary history was extensive and surprising ; he knew every adventure of every book you could name almost, and was exceedingly pleased with the opportunity 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. “‘Alas, madam!’ continued he, ‘how few books are there of which one ever can possibly arrive at the last page ! Was there ever yet any thing written by mere man that was wished longer by its read ers, excepting Don Quixote, Robinson Crusoe, and the Pilgrim’s Progress ? ’ Af- ter Homer’s Iliad, Dr. Johnson confessed that the work of Cervantes was the greatest in the world, speaking of it, I mean, as a book of entertainment. “ He had sometimes fits of reading very violent ; and when he was in earnest about getting through some particular pages, for 1 have heard him say he never read but one book 2 , which he did not consider as with Jortin and Thirlby, he calls three contempo- raries of great eminence. — E d.] 2 [On this passage Mr. Malone, in his MS. notes, says, “ Here we have another gross ex- aggeration. She does not state when he made this declaration. It might have been in 1765, a?id in the subsequent nineteen years he might have read 500 books through perhaps, though it certainly was not his usual custom to do so .” Can the reader discover on what grounds the statement is called a gross exaggeration, wher Mr. Malone admits that it accords with Johnson’s usual custom? But we have many passages ir Boswell which corroborate Mrs. Piozzi’s statement, (see for instance vol. i. p. 310, and post, 15th June, 1784.) The observation too as to the lady’s having made no allowance for the date at which Johnson spoke, came rather inconsistently from Mr. Malone, who has laboriously made a delibe rate blunder of the same kind that he imputes to Mrs. Piozzi : when Johnson observed, ante, p. 143, that “ Thomas a Kempis was said to have been printed, in one language or another, as many times as there have been months since it first came out,” Mr. Malone, with great gravity, informs us, “ this is improbable, because, according to this account , there would have been 3600 editions , that being the number of months between 1492 and 1792,” {ante, loc. cit.) Because Boswell’s book was published in 1792, Mr. Malone makes his calculation on that year, without reference either to the vear in which Johnson quoted tlu 1780. — ./ETA1 71. 269 obligatory, t hrough in his whole life (and Lady Marj Wortley’s Letters was the book), he would be quite lost to company, and withdraw all his attention to what he was reading, without the smallest know- ledge or care about the noise made around him. His deafness made such conduct less odd and less difficult to him than it would have been to another man; but his advising otners to take the same method, and pull a little book out when they were not enter- tained 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. “ Dr. Johnson was a great reader of French literature, and delighted exceeding- ly in Boileau’s works. Moliere, I think, he had hardly sufficient taste of ; and he used to condemn me for preferring La Bruyere to the Due de Rochefoucault, ‘ who,’ he said, ‘ was the only gentleman writer who wrote like a professed authour.’ “ The recollection of such reading as had delighted him in his infancy, made him al- ways persist in fancying that it was 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. c 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 stimulate 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 buy the books, and that the children never read them.’ Mrs. Bar- bauld however had his best praise 1 i and deserved it; no man was more struck than Dr. Johnson with voluntary descent from possible splendour to painful duty. “ The remembrance of what had passed in his own childhood made Dr. Johnson very solicitous to preserve the felicity of children ; and when he had persuaded Dr. Sumner 2 to remit the tasks usually given to fill up boys’ time during the holidays, he re- joiced exceedingly in the success of his ne- gotiation, and told me that he had never ceased representing to all the eminent schoolmasters in England, the absurd ty- ranny of poisoning the hour of permitted pleasure, by keeping future misery before the children’s eyes, and tempting them by observation, or, what is more important, to the period at which the observation, which Johnson only quoted, was originally made . — Ed.] 1 [This is not consistent with his opinion be- fore recorded {ante, p. 21), of this lady’s work for the instruction of youth. — Ed.] * [Master of Harrow. — Ed.] bribery or falsehood to evade it. e Bob Sumner,’ 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 al- ways be the same. Poor Dr. Sumner died, however, before the next vacation. 9 “ Dr. Johnson was of opinion, too, that young people should have positive not gen- eral rules given for their direction. ‘ My mother,’ said he, ‘ was always telling me that I did not behave myself 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. 9 “ This, I fear, was however at best a mo- mentary refuge, found out by perverseness 3 . 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 gesticu- lating much blamed or wondered at the good lady’s solicitude concerning her son’s behaviour. “ Though he was attentive to the peace of children in general, no man had a strong- er contempt than he for such parents as openly profess that they cannot govern their children. c 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 conversation runs low, and something must be said.’ “ Dr. Johnson’s knowledge and esteem of what we call low or coarse life was in- deed prodigious ; and he did not like that the upper ranks should be dignified with the name of the world. Sir Joshua Rey- nolds said one day, that nobody wore laced coats now; and that once every body wore them. ‘ See now,’ says Johnson, c 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 contempt 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 ele- gance. “ I was saying to a frierm one day, that I did not like goose; one smells it so while 3 [See ante, p. 205 . — Ed.] 260 1780 -JET AT. 71. it is roasting, said I. c But you, madam , 5 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 smell- ing your dinner beforehand . 5 Which pleasure, answered I, pertly, is to be en- joyed in perfection by such as have the happiness to pass through Porridge-Island 1 of a morning. £ Come, come , 5 says he gravely, £ let 5 s have no sneering at what is serious to so many: hundreds of 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 hap- pier . 5 “ I received on another occasion as just a rebuke from Dr. Johnson, for an offence of the same nature, and hope I took care never to provoke a third; for after a very long summer particularly hot and dry, I was wishing naturally, but thoughtlessly, for some rain to lay the dust as we drove along the Surrey roads. £ I cannot bear , 5 replied he, with much asperity and an al- tered look, £ when I know how many poor families will perish next winter for 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 incom- moded by the dust: — for shame! leave off such foppish lamentations, and study to re- lieve those whose distresses are real . 5 “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. ££ Even dress itself, when it resembled that of the vulgar, offended him exceeding- ly; 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 1 Porridge-Island is a mean street in London, filled with cook-shops for the convenience of the poorer inhabitants; the real name of it I know not, but suspect that which it is generally known by, to have been originally a term of derision. — Pi- ozzi. [“ It is not a street, but a paved alley near the church of St. Martin’s in the Fields.” — Malone MS. These are the kind of errors on which Mr. Malone founds his violent censures of Mrs. Piozzi’s inaccuracy , which he often calls falsehood; but the lady may surely be forgiven if she, in her inexperience, calls that a “ mean street ” which the more accurate Malone, prob- ably by personal inspection, found to be a paved alley. — Ed.] 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 miss ? I hope she was fine enough ? 5 £ It was the finery of a beggar , 5 said he, £ and you knew it was; she looked like a native of Cow-lane dressed up to be carried to Bartholomew fair . 5 His repri- mand 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 , 5 said he, f that prevails over such parents, and so they puli the poor thing’s head down, and give it the look of a baby that plays about Westmin ster-bridge, while the mother sits shivering in a niche . 5 ££ My compliances [in his criticisms on dress], however, were of little worth; what really surprised me was the victory he gained over a lady little accustomed to con- tradiction, 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 re- turning 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 shows puppets,’ said he, £ and her voice so con- firmed 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 expressed his contempt of the reigning fashion in these terms: ‘ A Brussels trimming is like bread-sauce , 5 said he, £ it takes away the glow of colour from the gown, and gives you nothing in- stead of it ; but sauce was invented to heighten the flavour of our food, and trim- ming is an ornament to the manteau, or it is nothing. Learn , 5 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 . 5 ££ It was indeed astonishing how he could remark such minuteness with a sight so miserably imperfect; but no* accidental po- sition of a riband escaped him, so nice was his observation, and so rigorous his de- mands of propriety. ££ When he turned his back on Lord 1780.— /ETAT. 71. *61 Bolingbroke 1 in the rooms at Brighthelm- Btone, he made this excuse: ‘1 am not obliged, sir,’ said he to Mr. Thrale, who stood by fretting, ‘ to find reasons for re- specting the rank of him who will not con- descend to declare it by his dress or some other visible mark: what are stars and other signs of superiority made for?’ “ 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 overrule 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 re- strain his dislikes, it was extremely difficult to find any body with whom he could con- verse, 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, [Mr. Seward], whose abilities we all'respected exceedingly, were sitting; a lady 2 who walked in two minutes before me had blown them both into a flame, by whispering something to Mr. [Seward], which he endeavoured to explain away, so as not to affront the Doctor, whose suspicions were all alive. ‘ And have a •tare, 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, ‘ You ’ve displaced the mirth, broke th^good meeting With most admired disorder.’ “ Two gentlemen, I perfectly well re- member, dining with us at Streatham in the summer of 1782, when Elliot’s brave defence of Gibraltar was a subject of com- mon discourse, one of these men naturally enough began 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 1 [See ante, vol. i. p. 316. As Lord Boling- broke did not happen to be a knight of any of the orders, it is not easy to guess how he could have satisfied Dr. Johnson’s wishes. — Ed.] 2 [The lady’s name was Streatfield, as Mr. Se- ward told me. She was very handsome and a good scholar; for she understood Greek*. She was piqued at Mr. Seward’s paying more attention to Dr. Johnson than to her; and on coming in, whis- pered, “ how his bark sat on his stomach; ” al- luding to the roughness which she supposed was in Dr. Johnson’s conversation. — Malone JfS.] how very poor a figure you make in the telling of it.’ Our guest being bred a quaker, and, I believe, a man of an extreme ly gentle disposition, needed no more re- proofs 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, how- ever, our companions had returned to Lon- don, and Dr. Johnson and myself were left alone, with only our usual family about us, ‘ I did not quarrel with those quaker fel- lows,’ said he, very seriously. ‘ You did perfectly right,’ replied I ; ‘for they gave you no cause of offence.’ ‘No offence!’ returned he, with an altered voice; ‘ and is it nothing then to sit whispering together when I 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 digni ty to falsehood, nor willing to remain con tented with the truth, he deserves no bet ter treatment 3 .’ “Dr. Johnson’s fixed incredulity 4 of every thing he heard, and his little care to conceal that incredulity, was teasing enough, to be sure : and I saw Mr. Sharp 5 was pained exceedingly, when relating the history of a hurricane that happened about that time in the West Indies, where, for 3 [Mr. Malone, in his MS. notes, is very indig- nant that Mrs. Piozzi has omitted to state what the story was which produced this observation, and because she has not done so, questions the ve- racity of the whole anecdote; but this is very un- just. Mrs. Piozzi’s object was to exhibit John- son's manners, and not to record the minute de- tails of the quaker’s story. — Ed.] 4 [Mr. Malone, in his MS. notes, observes on this passage, “ Here is another gross misrep- resentation. He had no fixed incredulity concerning every thing he heard ; btd he had observed the great laxity with which almost every story is told, and therefore always ex- amined it accurately , and frequently found some gross exaggeration. The writer lierbelj had not the smallest regard for truth, as John- son told Mr. Boswell ( see his Life of John- son), and hence this^scrutinising habit of her guest was to her a very sore subject." On this the Editor must take leave to say, that Mr. Malone’s observation defeats itself ; because if Dr. Johnson’s incredulity was a sore subject with Mrs. Piozzi, she cannot be blamed for recording it. Mr. Malone might have questioned her judg- ment, in supposing that Johnson was equally in- credulous as to other persons, but not her sinceri- ty, in describing him as she found him; and if he found almost every story told with great laxity, is it surprising that he should have an ha bitual incredulity ? — Ed.] ! 5 [See ante , p. 69 . — Ed.] 262 1780.— iETAT. 71. aught I know, he had himself lost some friends too, he observed Dr. Johnson be- lieved not a syllable of the account. £ For ’t is so easy,’ says he, £ for a man to fill his mouth with wonder, and run about telling the lie before it can be detected, that I have no heart to believe hurricanes easily raised by th.® first inventor, and blown for- wards 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.’ c£ Though thus uncommonly ready both to give and take offence, Dr. Johnson had many rigid maxims concerning the necessity of continued softness and compliance of dis- position : and when I once mentioned Shen- stone’s idea, that some little quarrel among lovers, relations, and friends, was useful, and contributed to their general happiness upon the whole, by making the soul feel her elastic force, and return to the beloved ob- ject with renewed delight: £ Why, what a prenicious maxim is this now,’ cried Dr. Johnson: £ all quarrels ought to be avoided studiously, particularly conjugal ones, as no one can possibly tell where they may end; besides that lasting dislike is often the con- sequence of occasional disgust, and that the cup of life is surely bitter enough, without squeezing in the hateful rind of resentment.’ ££ A very ignorant young fellow, who had plagued us all for nine or ten months, died at last consumptive: 4 I think,’ said Dr. Johnson, when he heard the news, £ I am afraid I should have been more concerned for the death of the dog ; but ’ hesitat- ing atvhile, £ I am not wrong now in all this, for the dog acted up to his character on every occasion that we know; but that dunce of a fellow helped forward the gene- ral disgrace of humanity.’ £ Why, dear sir,’ said I, c how odd you are! you have often said the lad was not capable of re- ceiving farther instruction.’ £ He was,’ re- plied the Doctor, £ like a corked bottle, with a drop of dirty water in it, to be sure; one might pump upon it forever without the smallest effect; but when every method to open and clean it had 6een tried [in vain], you would not have me grieve that the bot- tle was broke at last.’ ££ This was the same youth who told us he had been reading Lucius Florus; Floras Delphini was the phrase: and, £ my moth- er,’ said he, £ thought it had something to do with Delphos; but of that I know no- thing.’ £ Who founded Rome, then?’ in- quired Mr. Thrale. The lad replied, Romulus.’ £ And who succeeded Romu- ius?’ 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 Dr. Johnson, enraged. ‘ You might as well bid him tell you who phlebotomized 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 instruc- tors were many, and oftentimes repeated. He was put under the care of a clergyman in a distant province ; and Dr. Johnson used both to write and talk to his friend con- cerning his education. ££ A young fellow, less coiunL:/ bia own abilities, lamenting one day that he had lost all his Greek — £ I believe it happened at the same time, sir,’ said Johnson, £ that 1 lost all my large estate in Yorkshire.’ ££ Of a Jamaica gentleman, then lately dead, he said — £ He will not, whither he is now gone, find much difference, I believe either in the climate or the company.’ ££ Returning home one day from dining at the chaplains’ table l , 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 hap- pened amiss; that to impress them still more forcibly with an idea of his magnanimity, he even sung his favourite song about £ an old woman tossed in a blanket seventeen times as high as the moon; ’ £ but all 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 perceived my not eating, nor I believe at all imaged to them- selves the anguish of my heart: but when all were gone except Johnson here, I burst out a-crying, and even swore that I would never write again.’ £ All which, doctor,’ said Dr. Johnson, amazed at his odd frank- ness, £ I thought had been a secret between you and me; and I am sure I would not have said any thing about it for the world. Now see,’ repeated he when he told the story, £ what a figure a man makes whc thus unaccountably chooses to be the frigid narrator of his own disgrace. II volto sci olto, ed i pensieri stretti, was a proverb made on purpose for such mortals, to keep people, if possible, from being thus the her- alds of their own shame : for what compas- sion can they gain by such silly narratives? No man should be expected to sympathize with the sorrows of vanity. If then you are mortified by any ill usage, whether real or supposed, keep at least the account of such mortifications to yourself, and forbeai 1 fAtSt. James’s palace. — E d.] 1780 -iETAT. 71. 263 to proclaim how meanly you are thought on by others, unless you desire to be mean- ly thought of by all.’ u Poor Goldsmith was to him indeed like the earthen pot to the irqn 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 non sen’ era accorto, Andava combattendo — ed era morto.’ “ Dr. Johnson made him a comical an- swer one day, when seeming to repine at the success of Beattie’s Essay on Truth. £ Here ’s such a stir,’ said he, c about a fellow that has written one book, and I have writ- ten many.’ £ Ah, Doctor,’ said his friend, ‘ there go tvvo-and-forty sixpences, you know, to one guinea.’ “ Garrick said to Dr. Johnson one day, ‘ Why did not you make me a tory, when we lived so much together? you love to make people tories.’ ‘ Why,’ said Johnson, pulling a heap of half-pence from his pock- et, c did not the king make these— guineas? ’ “ But however roughly he might be sud- denly provoked to treat a harmless exertion of vanity, he did not wish to inflict the pain he gave, and was sometimes very sor- ry 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 ! ’ 1 1 am sorry,’ said he, c if I vexed the crea- ture, for there certainly is no harm in a fellow’s rattling a rattle-box ; only do ’ntlet him think that he thunders .’ “ We were speaking of a gentleman who loved his friend — £ Make him prime minis- ter,’ said Johnson, ‘ and see how long his friend will be remembered.’ But he had a rougher answer forme, when I commended a sermon preached by an intimate acquaint- ance of our own at the trading end of the town. £ What was the subject, madam? ’ said Dr. Johnson. £ Friendship, sir,’ repli- ed I. £ Why now, is it not strange that a wise man, like our dear little Evans, should take it in his head to preach on such a sub- ject, in a place where no one can be think- ing 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.’ “ I have mentioned before, that old age had very little of Dr. Johnson’s reverence: A man commonly grew wickeder as he grew older,’ he said, £ at least he but chang- ed 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 vir- tue till age has withered its very root.’ While we tvere talking, my mother’s span- iel, whom he never loved, stole our toast and butter: £ Fie, Belle ! ’ said I, £ you used to be upon honour.’ £ Yes, madam,’ replied Johnson, £ but Belle grows old .’ His rea- son for hating the dog was, £ because she was a professed favourite,’ he said, £ and because her lady ordered her from time to time to be washed and combed: a foolish trick,’ said he, £ and an 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 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.’ ££ Though apt enough to take sudden lik- ings or aversions to people he occasionally met, he would never hastily pronounce upon their character; and when, seeing him justly delighted with Dr. Solander’s 1 con versation, I observed once that he was a man of great parts, who talked from a full mind — £ It may be so,’ said Dr. 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 lite- rature, wholly unconversable, 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 ti e stone, and makes the possessor ashamed on ’t.’ ££ Among the numberless people, how- ever, 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 expect- ed. Dr. Johnson asked his pardon gener ously and genteelly, and when he left the room rose up to shake hands with him, that they might part in peace. “When Dr. Johnson had a mind to com- pliment any one, he did it with more digni- ty to himself, and better effect upon the company, than any man. I can recollect but few instances indeed, though perhaps that may be more my fault than nie. 1 [See ante , vol. i. 438 . — Ed.] 264 1780 ^ETAT. 71. When Sir Jos.iua Reynolds left the room one day, he said, c There goes a man not to be spoiled by prosperity . 5 “ He was not at all offended, when, com- paring 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 ex- actly — strong to buffet even the tiger, and pliable to pick up even the pin. The truth is, Dr. Johnson was often good-humouredly willing to join in childish amusements, and hated to be left out of any innocent merri- ment that was going forward. He 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 mer- ry when he was disposed to be grave. ‘ You have an ill-founded notion , 5 said he, c that it is clever to turn matters off with a joke, as the phrase is; whereas nothing pro- duces enmity so certain, as one person’s showing a disposition to be merry when an- other is inclined to be either serious or dis- pleased . 5 “ I likewise remember that he pronounced one day at my house a most lofty panegyric upon Jones 1 , the orientalist, who seemed little pleased with the praise, for what cause I know not. “ An Irish trader at our house one day heard Dr. Johnson launch out into very great and greatly-deserved praises of Mr. Kdmund Burke: delighted to find his coun- tryman stood so high in the opinion of a man he had been told so much of, ‘ Sir , 5 said he, c give me leave to tell something of Mr. Burke now . 5 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 . 5 1 Well, sir , 5 said Dr. Johnson, good-humouredly, ‘ if our friend Mund should die in any of these ha- zardous exploits, you and I would write his life and panegyric together; and your chap- ter of it should be entitled thus — Burke in a bag.’ “Mr. Thrale was one time extolling the character of a statesman, and expatiating on the skill required to direct the different cur- rents, reconcile the jarring interests, &c. ‘ Thus , 5 replied Johnson, ‘ a mill is a com- plicated piece of mechanism enough, but the water is no part of the workmanship.’ “ On another occasion, when some one lamented the weakness of the then minister, and complained that he was dull and tardy, and knew little of affairs — * You may as well complain, sir , 5 said Johnson, ‘ that the accounts of time are kept by the clock; for he certainly does stand still upon the stair- head — and we alljknow that he is no great chronologer.’ “ He told me that the character of Sober in the ‘ Idler 5 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 a much-admired poem, when ex- tolled as beautiful, he replied, c That it had indeed the beauty of a bubble: the colours are gay , 5 said he, ‘but the substance slight . 5 “ When Dr. Johnson felt, or fancied he felt., b.’s fancy disordered, his constant re- currence was to the study of arithmetic: and one day that he was totally confined to his chamber, and I inquired 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 me- tal, I forget how broad, for the globe of the whole earth, the real globe. “ I told him of a friend who sufferea grievously with the gout. c He will live a vast many years for all that , 5 replied he, c and then what signifies how much he suf- fers? 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 . 5 “ A lady he thought well of was disorder ed in her health. c What help has she called in ? 5 inquired Johnson. ‘ Dr. James, sir , 5 was the reply. ‘ What is her disease?’ £ Oh, nothing positive; rather a gradual and gentle decline . 5 ‘ She will die then, pretty dear ! 5 answered he : c when death’s pale horse runs away with a person on full speed, an active physician may possibly give them a turn; but if he carries them on an even slow pace, dowrn hill too, no care nor skill can save them ! 5 “ Sir William Browne, the physician, who lived to a very extraordinary age 2 , 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 Dr. John- 2 [He died in March, 1774, at the age of eighty- two. It is nowhere stated, that the Editor know r 9 of, that this epigram was made extemporaneously on a provocation from Dr. Johnson. See an ac- count of Sir William Browne, and a more ac- curate version of the two epigrams, in the Biog. Diet — Ed.] 1 r Sir William Jones. — Ed.] 1780. — A2TAT. 71. 265 sen, when he had a mind to shine by exalt- ing his favourite university, and to express his contempt of the whiggish notions which prevail at Cambridge. He did it once, however, with surprising felicity: his an- tagonist having repeated with an air of tri- umph 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.’ “ Dr. 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. “ When Sir Joshua Reynolds had paint- ed his portrait looking into the slit of his pen, and holding it almost close to his eye, as was his general custom, he felt displeas- ed, and told me, c he would not be known by posterity for his defects only, let Sir Joshua do his worst.’ I said in reply, that Reynolds had no such difficulties about him- self, 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 chooses,’ replied Johnson; c but I will not be blinking Sara .’ c£ As we had been saying one day that no subject failed of receiving dignity from the manner in which Dr. Johnson treated it, a lady at our house said, she would make him talk about love, and took her measures ac- cordingly, deriding the novels of the day because they treated about love. ‘ It is not,’ replied our philosopher, £ because they treat, as you call it, atiout love, but because they treat of nothing, that they are despicable: w T e 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 the change of empires, and the loss of worlds — a passion which has inspired heroism and subdued avarice.’ He thought he had already said loo much. C A passion, in short,’ added he, with an altered tone, * that consumes me away for my pret- ty Fanny 1 here, and she is very cruel.’ 1 [Miss Burney, the authour of Evelina, &c. now Madame D’Arblay. — Ed.] vol II 34 ct As Johnson was the firmest of believers without being credulous, so he was the most charitable of mortals without being what we call an active friend 2 . Admirable at giving counsel, no man saw his way so clearly; but he would not stir a finger for the assistance 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 exer- tions, could not be prevented, though health, and purse, and ease were all destroyed by their violence. If you wanted a slight fa- vour, you must apply to people of other dis- positions; for not a step would Johnson move to obtain a man a vote in a society, or repay a compliment, which might be use- ful 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 dili- gence, no importunity could conquer his re- solution of standing still. c What good are we doing with all this ado? ’ would he say: £ 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 teased him for ma- ny weeks to write a recommendatory letter of a little boy to his schoolmaster; and after he had faithfully promised to do this prodi- gious feat before we met again — ‘ Do not forget dear Dick, sir,’ said I, as he went oul of the coach. He turned back, stood still two minutes on the carriage-step — c When I have written my letter for Dick, I may hang myself, mayn’t I?’ and turned away in a very ill humour indeed. ££ The strangest applications in the world were certainly made from time to time to- wards Dr. Johnson, who by that means had an inexhaustible fund of anecdote, and could if he pleased, tell the most astonishing sto- ries of human folly and human weakness that ever were confided to any man not a confessor by profession. ££ One day, when he was in a humour to record some of them, he told us the follow- ing tale: ‘A person,’ said he, £ had for these last five weeks often called at my door, but would not leave his name, or other mes sage, 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 clergyman; when, after some compliments on his part, he told me, that he was clerk to a very eminent trader, at whose ware-houses much business consisted in packing goods in order to go 2 [S ec post, sub June, 1784. — Ed.j 266 1781. — AST AT. 72. abroad ; that he was often tempted to take paper and packthread enough for his own use, and that he had indeed done so so oft- en, that he could recollect no time when he ever had bought any for himself. c But probably,’ said I, ‘your master was wholly indifferent with regard to such trivial emol- uments; you had better ask for it at once, and so take your trifles with consent.’ ‘ Oh, sir ! ’ replied the visitor, c my master bid me have as much as I pleased, and was half an- gry when I talked to him about it.’ ‘ Then pray, sir,’ said I, ‘ tease 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? c At seven o’clock, sir.’ c And when do you go to bed, sir? ’ c At twelve o’clock.’ c Then,’ replied I, ‘ I have at least learned thus much by my new ac- quaintance — 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 al- ready in it: your head would get less mud- dy, 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 per- haps needless to add that this visitor came no more. Dr. Johnson had a real abhor- rence of any one who ever treated a little thing like a great one, and very often quo- ted this scrupulous gentleman with his pack- thread. “ A man for whom he often begged, made, as he told us, a wild use of his bene- ficence, 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 feiiow-lodger in the wretched house they all inhabited, and got so drunk over the guinea bowl of punch the evening of his wedding-day, tha*t 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 Dr. Johnson, who relating the series of his tragicomical distresses, obtained from the Literary Club a seasonable relief. “ Dr. Johnson did not, however, much delight in that kind of conversation which consists in telling stories. c Every body,’ said he, ‘ tells stories of me, and 1 tell stories of nobody. I do not recollect.,’ add- ed 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 naira tives, only because I once was diverted with them myself.’ “ Though at an immeasurable distance from content in the contemplation of hi 3 own uncouth form and figure, he did not like another man much the less for being a coxcomb. I mentioned two friends 1 who were particularly fond of looking at them selves in a glass — ‘ They do not surprise me at all by so doing,’ said Johnson : ‘ they see, reflected in that glass, men who have risen from almost the lowest situations in life; one to enormous riches, the other to every thing this world can give — rank, fame, and fortune. They see likewise men who have merited their advancement by the ex- ertion and improvement of those talents which God had given them; and I see not why they should avoid the mirror. ’ ” This year the Reverend Dr. Franklin having published a translation of “ Lu- cian,” inscribed to him the Demonax thus : “ To Dr. Samuel Johnson, the Demon- ax of the present age, this piece is inscribed by a sincere admirer of his respectable ta» ents, The Translator.” Though upon a particular comparison of Demonax and Johnson, there does not seem to be a great deal of similarity between them 2 , this dedication is a just compliment from the general character given by Lucian of the ancient sage, “ apis-ov m ciSx tya> 191 ’ unobserved ; and I hope to find you willing in a short time to alleviate your trouble by some other exercise of the mind. I am not without my part of the calamity. No death since that of my wife has ever op- pressed me like this But let us remember that we are in the hands of Him who knows when to give and when to take away, who will look upon us with mercy through all our variations of existence, and who in- vites us to call on him in the day of trouble. Call upon him in this great revolution of life, and call with confidence. You will then find comfort for the past, and support for the future. He that has given you happiness in marriage, to a degree of which, without personal knowledge, I should have thought the description fabulous, can give 1781 .— JETAT. 72 . 289 you another mode of happiness as a mother, and at last the happiness of losing all tem- poral cares in the thoughts of an eternity in heaven “ I do not exhort you to reason yourself into tranquillity. We must first pray, and then labour; first implore the blessing of God, and those means which he puts into our hands. Cultivated ground has few weeds; a mind occupied by lawful business has little room for useless regret. “ We read the will to-day; but I will not fill my first letter with any account than that, with all my zeal for your advantage, I am satisfied; and that the other executors, more used to consider property than I, com- mended it for wisdom and equity. Yet why should I not tell you that you have five hundred pounds for your immediate ex- penses. and two thousand pounds a year, with both the housps, and all the goods? “ Let us pray for one another, that the time, whether long or short, that shall yet be granted us, may be well spent; and that when this life, which at the longest is very short, shall come to an end, a better may begin which shall never end.”] Hawk. [The death of Mr. Thrale dis- p. 551, solved the friendship between him 652 ' and Johnson; but it abated not in the latter that care for the interests of those whom his friend had left behind him, which he thought himself bound to cherish, as a living principle of gratitude. The favours he had received from Mr. Thrale were to be repaid by the exercise of kind offices to- wards his relict and her child! en, and these, circumstanced as Johnson was, could only be prudent counsels, friendly admonition to the one, and preceptive instruction to the others, both which he was ever ready to in- terpose. Nevertheless, it was observed by myself, and other of Johnson’s friends, that, soon after the decease of Mr. Thrale, his visits to Streatham became les& and less fre- quent, and that he studiously avoided the mention of the place or family. It seems that between him and the widow there was a formal taking of leave, for I find in his diary the following note : “ April 5tli, 1783. “ I took leave of Mrs. Thrale. I was much moved. I had some expostulations with her. She said that she was likewise affected. I commended the Thrales with great good-will to God. May my petitions have been heard ! ”] On Friday, April 6, he carried me to dine at a club which, at his desire, had been late- ly formed at the Queen’s Arms in St. Paul’s Ed Churchyard. [Their dining at a D club on the next day but one after the loss of such a friend as Mr. Thrale ap- vol ii. 37 pears at first sight so unfee.ing, that it is but justice tc insert extracts of letters to Mrs. Thrale, in which Johnson accounts fbr going into company at this period.] [“ DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE. “ London, April 9th, 1781. “ Dearest madam, — That you Letterg are gradually recovering your tran- voi. ii. ’ quillity is the effect to be humbly P 195 * expected from trust in God. Do not repre- sent life as darker than it is. Your loss has been very great, but you retain more than almost any other can hope to possess. You are high in the opinion of mankind; you have children from whom much pleasure may be expected; and that you will find many friends you have no reason to doubt. Of my friendship, be it more or less, I hope you think yourself certain, without much art or care. It will not be easy for me to repay the benefits that I have received; but I hope to be always ready at your call. Our sorrow has different effects: you are with- drawn into solitude, and I am driven into company. I am afraid of thinking what I have lost. I never had such a friend before. Let me have your prayers and those of my dear Queeney. “ The pr.udence and resolution of your design to return so soon to your business and your duty deserves great praise : I shall communicate it on Wednesday to the other executors.”] [ £< DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRALE^ “ Dearest madam, — You will not sup- pose that much has happened since last night, nor indeed is this a time for talking much of loss and gain. The business of Christians is now for a few days in their own bosoms. God grant us to do it pro- perly ! I hope you gain ground on your af- fliction: I hope to overcome mine. You and Miss must comfort one another. May you long live happily together ! I have no- body whom I expect to share my uneasi- ness; nor, if I could communicate it, would it be less. I give it little vent, and amuse it as I can. Let us pray for one another; and when we meet, we may try what fideli- ty and tenderness will do for us. “ There is no wisdom in useless and hopeless sorrow; but there is something in it so like virtue, that he who is wholly with- out it cannot be loved, nor will, by me at least, be thought worthy of esteem.”] He had told Mr. Hoole that he wished to have a city Club, and asked him to collect one; but, said he, “Do n’t let thembejoa- triots .” The company were to-day very sensible, well-behaved men. I have pre- served only two particulars of his conversa 290 1781.— AST AT. 72. tion. He said he was glad Lord George Gordon had escaped, rather than that a precedent should be established for hanging a man for constructive treason , which, in consistency with his true, manly, constitu- tional toryism, he considered would be a dangerous engine of arbitrary power. And upon its being mentioned that an opulent and very indolent Scotch nobleman, who totally resigned the management of his af- fairs to a man of knowledge and abilities, had claimed some merit by saying, “ The next best thing to managing a man’s own affairs well is being sensible of incapacity, and not attempting it, but having full con- fidence in one who can do it: 55 — Johnson. “ Nay, sir, this is paltry. There is a mid- dle course. Let a man give application; and depend upon it he will soon get above a despicable state of helplessness, and attain the power of acting for himself.” On Saturday, April 7, I dined with him at Mr. Hoole’s with Governour Bouchier and Captain Orme, both of whom had been long in the East Indies; and, being men of good sense and observation, were very en- tertaining. Johnson defended the oriental regulation of different castes of men ] , which was objected to as totally destructive of the hopes of rising in society by personal merit. He showed that there was a principle in it sufficiently plausible by analogy. “We see,” said he, “ in metals that there are dif- ferent species; and so likewise in animals, though one species may not differ very widely from another, as, !n the species of dogs, the cur, the spaniel, the mastiff. The t Bramins are the mastiffs of mankind.” On Thursday, April 12, I dined with him at a bishop’s, where were Sir Joshua Rey- nolds, Mr. Berenger, and some more com- pany. He had dined the day before at an- other bishop’s 1 2 . I have unfortunately re- corded none of his conversation at the bish- op’s where we dined together: but I have preserved his ingenious defence of his 1 Rajapouts, the military caste; the Bramins, pacifick and abstemious. — Kearney. 2 [The only bishops at whose houses Johnson is recorded to have dined were Shipley of St. Asaph and Porteus of Chester, afterwards of Lon- don. By a letter post, April, 1782, it appears that he dined two consecutive days, in April, with the Bishops of St. Asaph’s^and Chester. It seems so unlikely that he should, in two succeeding Aprils, have dined successively with these two bishops, that the Editor suspected that the letter placed under the year 1782, but undated in Mrs. Piozzi’s volume, really belonged to 1781, and re- ferred to the dinners mentioned in the text; but the statement in that letter, that the second of May fell on a Thursday, fixes its date to 1782. The matter is of some little importance, for we had rather be assured that Bishop Porteus were not the bishop alluded to. — Ed.] dining twice abroad in Passion-week; a laxity in which I am convinced he would not have indulged himself at the time when he wrote his solemn paper in “ The Ram bier ” upon that awful season. It appeared to me, that by being much more in compa- ny, and enjoying more luxurious living, he had contracted a keener relish for pleasure, and was consequently less rigorous in his religious rites. This he would not acknow- ledge; but he reasoned with admirable sophistry as follows: “ Why, sir, a bish- op’s calling company together in this week is, to use the vulgar phrase, not the thing. But you must consider laxity is a bad thing; but preciseness is also a bad thing; and your general character may be more hurt by preciseness than by dining with a bish- op in Passion-week. There might be a handle for reflection. It might be said, ‘ He refuses to dine with a bishop in Pas- sion-week, but was three Sundays absent from church.’ ” Boswell. “ Very true, sir. But suppose a man to be uniformly of good conduct, would it not be better that he should refuse to dine with a bishop in this week, and so not encourage a bad prac- tice by his example ? ” Johnson. “Why, sir, you are to consider whether you might not do more harm by lessening, the influ- ence of a bishop’s character by your disap- probation in refusing him, than by going to him.” “TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD. “ London, 12th April, 1781 “D ear madam, — Life is full of troubles. I have just lost my dear friend Thrale. I hope he is happy; but I have had a great loss. I am otherwise pretty well. I re- quire some care of myself, but that care is not ineffectual; and when I am out of or- der, I think it often my own fault. “ The spring is now making quick ad- vances. As it is the season in which the whole world is enlivened and invigorated, I hope that both you and I shall partake of its benefits. My desire is to see Lichfield; but being left executor to my friend, I know not whether I can be spared; but I will try, for it is now long since we saw one another; and how little we can promise ourselves many more interviews, we are taught by hourly examples of mortality. Let us try to live so as that mortality may not be an evil. Write to me soon, my dear est: your letters will give me great plea- sure. “ I am sorry that Mr. Porter has not had his box; but by sending it to Mr. Mathias, who very readily undertook its conveyance, I did the best I could, and perhaps beforr now he has it. “Be so kind as to make my compliment.* to my friends. I have a great va.ue foi 1781. — dETAT. 72. 291 their kindness and hope to enjoy it before summer is past. Do write to me. I am, dearest love, your most humble servant, Sam. Johnson.” On Friday, April 13, being Good Fri- day, I went to St. Clement’s church with him as usual. There I saw again his old fellow-collegian, Edwards, to whom I said, “ I think, sir, Dr. Johnson and you meet only at church.” “ Sir,” said he, “ it is the best place we can meet in, except heaven, and I hope we shall meet there too.” Dr. Johnson told me that there was very little communication between Edwards and him after their unexpected renewal of acquaint- ance. “ But,” said he, smiling, “ he met me once and said, { I am told you have written a very pretty book called “ The Rambler.” ’ 1 was unwilling that he should leave the world in total darkness, and sent him a set.” Mr. Berenger 1 visited him to-day, and was very pleasing. We talked of an even- ing society for conversation at a house in town, of which we were all members, but of which Johnson said, “ It will never do, sir. There is nothing served about there; neither tea, nor coffee, nor lemonade, nor any thing whatever; and depend upon it, sir, a man does not love to go to a place from whence he comes out exactly as he went in.” I endeavoured, for argument’s 6ake, to maintain that men of learning and talents might have very good intellectual society, without the aid of any little grati- fications of the senses. Berenger joined with Johnson, and said that without these any meeting would be dull and insipid. He would therefore have all the slight refresh- ments; nay, it would not be amiss to have some cold meat, and a bottle of wine upon a sideboard. “ Sir,” said Johnson to me, with an air of triumph, “ Mr. Berenger knows the world. Every body loves to have good things furnished to them without any trouble. I told Mrs. Thrale once, that, as she did not choose to have card-tables, she should have a profusion of the best sweetmeats, and she would be sure to have company enough come to her.” I agreed with my illustrious friend upon this subject; for it has pleased God to make man a com- posite animal, and where there is nothing to refresh the body, the mind will languish. On Sunday, April 15, being Easter day, after solemn worship in St. Paul’s church, I found him alone. Dr. Scott, of the Com- mons, came in. He talked of its having been said, th-at Addison wrote some of his 1 Richard Berenger, Esq., many years gentle- man of the horse to his present majesty, and au- thour of “ The History and Art of Horseman- ship,” in two volumes, 4to. 1771. — Malonk [See ante, vol. i. p. 258, and p. 158 of this vol. -Eo ' best papers in “ The Spectator ” when warm with wine. Dr. Johnson did not seem willing to admit this. Dr. Scott, as a confirmation of it, related, that Blackstone, a sober man, composed his “ Commenta- ries ” with a bottle of port before him; and found his mind invigorated and supported in the fatigue of his great work, by a tem- perate use of it. I told him, that in a company where I had lately been, a desire was expressed to know his authority for the shocking story of Addison’s sending an execution into Steele’s house 2 . “ Sir,” said he, “ it is generally known; it is known to all who are acquainted with the literary history of that period: it is as well known as that he wrote ‘ Cato.’ Mr. Thomas Sheridan once defended Addison to me, by alleging that he did it in order to cover Steele’s goods from other creditors, who were going to seize them.” We talked of the difference between the mode of education at Oxford and that in those colleges where instruction is chiefly conveyed by lectures. Johnson. “ Lec- tures were once useful; but now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lec- tures are unnecessary. If your attention fails, and you miss a part of the lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.” Dr. Scott agreed with him. “ But yet,” said I, “ Dr. Scott, you yourself gave lectures at Oxford.” He smiled. “ You laughed,” then said I, “ at those who came to you.” Dr. Scott left us, and soon afterwards we went to dinner. Our company consisted of Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins, Mr. Lev- ett, Mr. Allen, the printer, (Mr. Macbean), and Mrs. Hall, sister of the Reverend Mr. John Wesley, and resembling him, as I thought, both in figure and manner. John- son produced now, for the first time, some handsome silver salvers, which he told me he had bought fourteen years ago; so it was a great day. I was not a little amused by observing Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the stately ox. I mentioned a kind of religious Robin- Hood society, which met every Sunday evening at Coachmakers’-hall, for free de- bate; and that the subject for this night was, the text which relates, with other mir- acles which happened at our Saviour’s death “ And the graves were opened, and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.” Mrs. Hall said it was a very curi- [See ante, p. 274, n. — E d.] 292 1781.— AFTAT 72. ous subject, and she should like to hear it. j discussed. Johnson (somewhat warmly). One would not go to such a place to hear it, — one would not be seen in such a place — to give countenance to such a meeting/’ I, however, resolved that I would go. “ But, sir,” said she to Johnson, “ I should like to hear you discuss it.” He seemed reluctant to engage in it. She talked of the resurrection of the human race in gene- ral, and maintained that we shall be raised with the same bodies. Johnson. “ Nay, madam, we see that it is not to be the same body; for the Scripture uses the illustration of grain sown, and we know that the grain which grows is not the same with what is sown. You cannot suppose that we shall rise with a diseased body; it is enough if there be such a sameness as to distinguish identity of person.” She seemed desirous of knowing more, but he left the question in obscurity. Of apparitions 5 , he observed, “ A total disbelief of them is adverse to the opinion of the existence of the soul between death and the last day; the question simply is, whether departed spirits ever have the power of making themselves perceptible to us: a man who thinks he has seen an ap- parition can only be convinced himself; his authority will not convince another; and his conviction, if rational, must be founded on being told something which cannot be known but by supernatural means.” He mentianed a thing as not unfrequent, of which I had never heard before, — being called , that is, hearing one’s name pronounc- ed by the voice of a known person at a great distance, far beyond the possibility of being reached by any sound uttered by human organs. “ An acquaintance, on whose ve- racity I cau depend, told me, that walking 1 As this subject frequently recurs in these vol- umes, the reader may be led erroneously to sup- pose that Dr. Johnson was so fond of such dis- cussions as frequently to introduce them. But the truth is, that the authour himself delighted in talking concerning ghosts and what he has fre- quently denominated the mysterious ; and there- fore took every opportunity of leading Johnson to converse on such subjects. — Malonje. The au- thour of this work was most undoubtedly fond of the mysterious , and perhaps upon some occasions may have directed the conversation to those topics, when they would not spontaneously have suggest, ed themselves to Johnson’s mind; but that he also had a love for speculations of that nature may be gathered from his writings throughout. — J. Boswell. [All this is very true, and we have seen (ante, vol. i. p. 437, n.) that Mr. Boswell bad some faith in apparitions ; but the conversa- tion of this particular evening might have arisen amongst men not at all inclined to the mysterious, from the mention of the subject which was that oight to be debated at Coachmakers’-hall. — Ed.] j home one evening to Kilmarnock, he heard himself called from a wood, by the voice of a brother who had gone, to America; and the next packet brought accounts of that brother’s death.” Macbean asserted that this inexplicable calling was a thing very well known. Dr. Johnson said, that one day at Oxford, as he was turning the key of his chamber, he heard his mother dis- tinctly call — Sam. She was then at Lich- field; but nothing ensued. This phenome- non is, I think, as wonderful as any other mysterious fact, which many people are very slow to believe, or rather, indeed, re- ject with an obstinate contempt. [It is probably another version of the same story to which Mrs. Piozzi p 1 * * * ^ 1 alludes, when she says, “ that at Brighthelmstone once, when Johnson was not present, Mr. Beauclerk asserted that he was afraid of spirits; and I, who was se- cretly offended at the charge, asked him, the first opportunity I could find, what ground he had ever given to the world for such a report? * I can,’ replied he, recol- lect 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 sud- denly changed the conversation. Now as Dr. Johnson had a most unshaken faith, without any mixture of credulity, this story must either have been strictly true, or his persuasion of its truth the effect of disor- dered spirits. I relate the anecdote pre- cisely as he told it me; but could not pre- vail on him to draw out the talk into length for farther satisfaction of my curiosity.”] Some time after this, upon his making a remark which escaped my attention, Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Hall were both together striving to answer him. He grew angry, and called out loudly, “Nay, when you both speak at once, it is intolerable.” But check- ing himself, and softening, he said, “ This one may say, though you are ladies.” Then he brightened into gay humour, and ad- dressed them in the words of one of the songs in “ The Beggar’s Opera,” “ But two at a time there ’s no mortal can bear.” “ What, sir,” said I, “ are you going to turn Captain Macheath ?” There was something as pleasantly ludicrous in this scene as oan be imagined. The contrast between Macheath, Polly, and Lucy — and Dr. Samuel Johnson, blind, peevish Mrs. Williams, and lean, lank, preaching Mrs. Hall, was exquisite. I stole away to Coachmpkers’-hall, and heard the difficult text of which we had talked, discussed with great decency, and some intelligence, by several speakers. 1781.— jETAI. 72. 293 Theie was a difference of opinion as to the appearance of ghosts in modern times, though the arguments for it, supported by Mr. Addison’s authority, preponderated. The immediate subject of debate was em- barrassed by the bodies o r he saints having been said to rise, and by t.ie question what became of them afterwards : — did they re- turn again to their graves ? or were they translated to heaven? Only one evange- list mentions the fact 1 , and the commenta- tors whom I have looked at do not make the passage clear. There is, however, no occasion for our understanding it farther than to know that it was one of the extra- ordinary manifestations of divine power which accompanied the most important event that ever happened. On Friday, April 20, I spent with him one of the happiest days that I remember to have enjoyed in the whole course of my life. Mrs. Garrick, whose grief for the loss of her husband was, I believe, as sin- cere as wounded affection and admiration could produce, had this day, for the first time since his death, a select party of his friends to dine with her. The company was, Miss Hannah More, who lived with ner, and whom she called her chaplain ; Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr. John- son, and myself. We found ourselves very elegantly entertained at her house in the Adelphi, where I have passed many a pleas- ing hour with him “ who gladdened life.” She looked well, talked of her husband with complacency, and while she cast her eyes on his portrait, which hung over the chim- ney-piece, said, that “death was now the most agreeable object to her.” The very semblance of David Garrick was cheering. Mr. Beauclerk, with happy propriety, in- scribed under that fine portrait of him, which by Lady Diana’s kindness is now the property of my friend Mr. Langton, the following passage from his beloved Shaks- peare : “ A merrier man. Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour’s talk withal. His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; Which his fair tongue (Conceit’s expositor) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse 2 .” We were all in fine spirits ; and I whis- pered to Mrs. Boscawen, “ I believe this is as much as can be made of life.” In addi- 1 St. Matthew, chap. xxvn. v. 52, 53. — Bos- WEI.L 3 [tvosaline’s character of Biron. Love's Lo- bovs Lost, act 2, sc. 1 . — Ed.] tion to a splendid entertainment, we were regaled with Lichfield ale, which had a pe- culiar appropriate value. Sir Joshua, and Dr. Burney, and I, drank cordially of it to Dr. Johnson’s health ; and though he would not join us, he as cordially answerea, “ Gentlemen, I wish you all as well as you do me.” The general effect of this day dwells up- on my mind in fond remembrance ; but I do not find much conversation recorded What I have preserved shall be faithfully given. One of the company mentioned Mr. Thomas Hollis, the strenuous whig, who used to send over Europe presents of de- mocratical books, with their boards stamp- ed with daggers and caps of liberty. Mrs. Carter said, “ He was a bad man: he used to talk uncharitably.” Johnson. “ Poh 1 poh ! madam ; who is the worse for being talked of very uncharitably ? Besides, he was a dull poor creature as ever lived: and I believe he would not have done harm to a man whom he knew to be of very opposite principles to his own. I remember once at the Society of Arts, when an advertise- ment was to be drawn up, he pointed me out as the man who could do it best. This, you will observe, was kindness to me. I however slipt away and escaped it.” Mrs. Carter having said of the same per- son, “ I doubt he was an atheist : ” John- son. “ I do n’t know that. He might, per- haps, have become one, if he had had time to ripen (smiling). He might have exubera- ted into an atheist.” Sir Joshua Reynolds praised “ Mudge’s 3 Sermons.” Johnson. “ Mudge’s Sermons are good, but not practical. He grasps more sense than he can hold ; he takes more corn than he can make into meal ; he opens a wide prospect, but it is so distant, it is indistinct. I love ‘ Blair’s Sermons.’ Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour” (smiling). Mrs. Bos- cawen. “ Such his great merit, to get the better of all your prejudices.” John- son. “ Why, madam, let us compound the matter ; let us ascribe it to my candour, and his merit.” In the evening we had a large company in the drawing-room ; several ladies, the Bishop of Killaloe, [Dr. Barnard] Dr. Per- cy, Mr. Chamberlayne of the treasury, &c. &c. Somebody said-* the life of a mere lit- erary man could not be very entertaining. Johnson. “ But it certainly may. This is a remark which has been made, and re- peated, without justice. Why shou’d the life of a literary man be less entertaining than the life of any other man ? Are there 3 [See page 284 of this volume. — E d.] 294 1781.— tETAT. 72. not as interesting varieties in such a life ? As a literary life it may be very entertain- ing.” Boswell. “ But it must be better surely when it is diversified with a little ac- tive variety — such as having gone to Ja- maica ; — or — his having gone to the Heb- rides.” Johnson was not displeased at this Talking of a very respectable authour, he told us a curious circumstance in his life, which was, that he had married a printer’s devil. Reynolds. “ A printer’s devil, sir ! why, I thought a printer’s devil was a creature with a black face and in rags.” Johnson. “Yes, sir. But I suppose he had her face washed, and put clean clothes on her. (Then looking very serious, and very earnest) And she did not disgrace him ; — the woman had a bottom of good sense.” The word bottom thus introduced was so ludicrous when contrasted with his gravity, that most of us could not forbear tittering and laughing ; though I recollect that the Bishop of Killaloe kept his coun- tenance with perfect steadiness, while Miss Hannah More slyly hid her face behind a lady’s back who sat on the same settee with her. His pride could not bear that any expression of his should excite ridicule, when he did not intend it : he therefore resolved to assume and exercise despotick power, glanced sternly around, and called out in a strong tone, “ Where ’s the merri- ment ? ” Then collecting himseif, and looking awful, to make us feel how he could impose restraint, and as it were searching his mind for a still more ludicrous word, he slowly pronounced, “ I say the woman was fundamentally sensible ; ” as if he had said, hear this now, and laugh if you dare. We all sat composed as at a funeral h He and I walked away together ; we stopped a little while by the rails of the Adelphi, looking on the Thames, and I said to him with some emotion, that I was now thinking of two friends we had lost, who once lived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk and Garrick. “ Ay, sir (said he, tenderly), and two such friends as cannot be supplied.” For some time after this day I did not see him very often, and of the conversation which I did enjoy, I am sorry to find I have preserved but little. I was at this time en- gaged in a variety of other matters which required exertion and assiduity, and neces- sarily occupied almost all my time. One day having spoken very freely of those who wer.e then in power, he said to me, “ Between ourselves, sir, I do not like. 1 [The Editor hopes that such a scene as this could not now occur in any respectable company Ed.] to give Opposition the satisfaction of know ing how much I disapprove of the minis try.” And when I mentioned that Mr. Burke had boasted how quiet the nation was in George the Second’s reign, when whigs were in power, compared with the present reign, when tories governed ; — “ Why, sir,” said he, “ you are to consider that tories having more reverence for government, will not oppose with the same violence as whigs, who, being unrestrained by that principle, will oppose by any means.” This month he lost not only Mr. Thrale, but another friend, Mr. William Strahan, jiunior, printer, the eldest son of his old and constant friend, printer to his majes- ty- “TO MRS. STRAHAN. “23d April, 1 / 81 . “ Dear madam, — The grief which I feel for the loss of a very kind friend is suf- ficient to make me know how much you suffer by the death of an amiable son : a man of whom I think it may be truly said, that no one knew him who does not lament him I look upon myself as having a friend, another friend, taken from me. “ Comfort, dear madam, I would give you, if I could ; but I know how little the forms of consolation can avail. Let me, however, counsel you not to waste your health in unprofitable sorrow, but go to Bath, and endeavour to prolong your own life; but when we have all done all that we can, one friend must in time lose the other. I am, dear madam, your most hum ble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” On Tuesday, May 8, I had the pleasure of again dining with him and Mr. Wilkes, at Mr. Dilly’s. No negotiation was now required to bring them together ; for John- son was so well satisfied with the former interview, that he was very glad to meet Wilkes again, who was this day seated between Dr. Beattie and Dr. Johnson ; (between Truth 2 and Reason, as General Paoli said, when I told him of it.) Wilkes. “ I have been thinking, Dr. Johnson, that there should be a bill brought into parlia- ment that the controverted elections for Scotland should be tried in that country, at their otvn Abbey of Holy rood-house, and not here ; for the consequence of trying them here is, that we have an inundation of Scotchmen, who come up and never go back again. Now here is Boswell, who is come upon the election for his own county, which will not last a fortnight.” Johnson “ Nay, sir, I see no reason why they should be tried at all ; for, you know, one Scotch- 2 [In allusion to Dr. Beattie’s Essay on Truth —Ed.] 1781. — iETAT. 72. man is as good as another.” "Wilkes. “ Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an advocate at the Scotch bar i ” Boswell. “I believe, two thousand pounds.” Wilkes. “ How can it be possible to spend that money in Scotland ?” Johnson. “Why, sir, the money may be spent in England ; but there is a harder question. If one man in Scotland gets possession of two thousand pounds, what remains for all the rest of the nation ? ” Wilkes. “ You know, in the last war, the immense booty which Thurot carried off by the complete plunder of seven Scotch isles ; he re-embarked with three and six- pence” Here again Johnson and Wilkes joined in extravagant sportive raillery upon the supposed poverty of Scotland, which Dr. Beattie and I did not think it worth our while to dispute. The subject of quotation being intro- duced, Mr. Wilkes censured it as pedantry. Johnson. “ No, sir, it is a good thing ; there is a community of mind in it. Clas- sical quotation is the parole of literary men all over the world.” Wilkes. “Upon the continent they all quote the vulgate Bible. Shakspeare is chiefly quoted here ; and we quote also Pope, Prior, Butler, Waller, and sometimes Cowley.” We talked of letter-writing. Johnson. “ It is now become so much the fashion to publish letters that, in order to avoid it, I put as little into mine as I can.” Bos- well. “ Do what you will, sir, you can- not avoid it. Should you even write as ill as you can, your letters would be published as curiosities : ‘ Behold a miracle ! instead of wit. See two dull lines with Stanhope’s pencil writ.’ ” He gave us an entertaining account of Bet Flint, a woman of the town, who, with some ecceptrick talents and much effronte- ry, forced herself upon his acquaintance. “Bet,” said he, “wrote her own Life in verse *, which she brought to me, wishing that I would furnish her with a preface to it (laughing). I used to say of her, that she was generally slut and drunkard ; — occasionally whore and thief. She had, however, genteel lodgings, a sninnet on which she played, and a boy that walked before her chair. Poor Bet was taken up on a charge of stealing a counterpane, and tried at the Old Bailey. Chief Justice [Willes,] who loved a wench, summed up 1 Johnson, whose memory was wonderfully re- tentive, remembered the first four lines of this cu- rious production, which have been communicated o me by a young lady of his acquaintance: u When first I drew my vital breath, A little minikin I came upon earth; And then I came from a dark abode, Into this gay and gaudy world.” — B oswell c l9h favourably, and she was acquitted 2 . After which, Bet said, with a gay and satisfied air, £ Now that the counterpane is my own , I shall make a petticoat of it. 5 ” Talking of oratory, Mr. Wilkes de scribed it as accompanied with all the charms of poetical expression. Johnson “ No, sir; oratory is the power of beating down your adversary’s arguments, and put- ting better in their place.” Wilkes. “But this does not move the passions.” Johnson. “ He must be a weak man who is to be so moved.” Wilkes (naming a cel- ebrated orator). “ Amidst all the brilliancy of ’s 3 imagination, and the exuberance of his wit, there is a strange want of taste. It was observed of Apelles’s Venus 4 , thal her flesh seemed as if she had been nour- ished by roses : his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes and drinks whiskey.” Mr. Wilkes observed, how tenacious we are of forms in this country , and gave as an instance, the vote of the house of com- mons for remitting money to pay the army in America in Portugal pieces, when, in reality, the remittance is made not in Por- tugal money, but in our specie. Johnson. “ Is there not a law, sir, against export- ing the current coin of the realm ? ” Wilkes. “Yes, sir; but might not the house of commons, in case of real evident necessity, order our own current coin to be sent into our own colonies ?” Here Johnson, with that quickness of recollection which dis- tinguished him so eminently, gave the Mid- 2 The account which Johnson had received on this occasion was not quite accurate. Bet was tried at the Old Bailey in September, 1758, not by the chief justice [Willes. — Ed.] here alluded to ( who however tried another cause on the same day) , but before Sir William Moreton, recorder; and she was acquitted, not in consequence of any fa- vourable summing up of the judge, but because the prosecutrix, Mary Walthow, could not prove that the goods charged to have been stolen (a coun- terpane, a silver spoon, two napkins, &c.) were hei property. Bet does not appear to have lived at that time in a very genteel style; for she paid foi her ready-furnished room in Meard’s-court, Dean- street, Soho, from which these articles were al- leged to be stolen, only five shillings a week. Mr. James Boswell took the trouble to examine the sessions paper to ascertain these particulars. — Malone. 3 [Mr. Burke’s — E d.] 4 [Mr. Wilkes mistook the objection of Eu phranor to the Theseus of Parrhasius for a de- scription of the Venus of Appelles. Vide Plu- tarch. “ Bellone an pace clariores Athenienses.” — Kearney. [“ Euphranor, comparing his own representation of Theseus with that by Par- rhasius, said that the latter looked as if the hero had been fed on roses, but that his showed that he had lived on beef ,i Plut. Xyl v. ii. p 346. — Ed.] 296 1781. — iETAT. 72. llesex patriot an admirable retort upon his own ground. “ Sure, sir, you don’t think a resolution of the house of commons equal to the law of the land .” Wilkes (at once perceiving the application). “ God forbid, sir.” — To hear what had been treated with such violence in “ The False Alarm ” now turned into pleasant repartee, was extremely agreeable. Johnson went on: — “Locke observes well, that a prohi- bition to export the current coin is impoli- tick; for when the balance of trade happens to be against a state, the current coin must be exported.” Mr. Beauclerk’s great library was this season sold in London by auction. Mr. Wilkes said, he wondered to find in it such a numerous collection of sermons: seeming to think it strange that a gentleman of Mr. Beauclerk’s character in the gay world should have chosen to have many compo- sitions of that kind. Johnson. “ Why, sir, you are to consider, that sermons make a considerable branch of English literature; so that a library must be very imperfect if it has not a numerous collection of ser- mons 1 : and in all collections, sir, the de- 1 Mr. Wilkes probably did not know that there is in an English sermon the most comprehensive and lively account of that entertaining faculty for which he himself was so much admired. It is in Dr. Barrow’s first volume, and fourteenth sermon, “ Against foolish Talking and Jesting.” My old acquaintance, the late Corbyn Morris, in his in- genious “ Essay on Wit, Humour, and Ridicule,” calls it “ a profuse description of wit:” but I do not see how it could be curtailed, without leaving out some good circumstance of discrimination. As it is not generally known, and may perhaps dispose some to read sermons, from which they may receive real advantage, while looking only for entertainment, I shall here subjoin it. “ But first (says the learned preacher) it may be demanded , what the thing we speak of is ? Or what this facetiousness (or wit, as he calls it before) doth import? To which questions I might reply, as Democritus did to him that asked the definition of a man, * ’Tis that which we all see and know.’ Any one better apprehends what it is by acquaintance that I can inform him by de- scription. It is, indeed, a thing so versatile and multiform, appearing in so many shapes, so many postures, so many garbs, so variously apprehended by several eyes and judgments, that it seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain notion there- of, than to make a portrait of Proteus, or to de- fine the figure of the fleeting air. Sometimes it lieth in pat allusion to a known story, or in seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in forging an apposite tale; sometimes it playeth in words and phrases, taking advantage from the ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their sound: sometimes it is wrapped in a dress of humourous expression: sometimes it lurketh under an odd similitude: sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish reason, j sire of augmenting tnem grows stronger m proportion to the advance in acquisition; as motion is accelerated by the continuance of the impetus. Besides, sir,” looking at Mr. Wilkes, with a placid but significant smile, “ a man may collect sermons with intention of making himself better by them. I hope Mr. Beauclerk intended that some time or other that should be the case with him.” Mr. Wilkes said to me, loud enough for Dr. Johnson to hear, “ Dr. Johnson should make me a present of his ‘ Lives of the Poets,* as I am a poor patriot, who cannot afford to buy them.” Johnson seemed to take no notice of this hint; but in a little while he called to Mr. Dilly, “ Pray, sir, be so good as to send a set of my Lives to Mr. Wiikes, with my compliments.” This was accord- in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly diverting or cleverly retorting an objection: sometimes it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling meta- phor, in a plausible reconciling of contradictions, or in acute nonsense: sometimes a scenical rep- resentation of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a mimical look or gesture, passeth for it: sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a presumptuous bluntness giveth it being: sometimes it riseth only from a lucky hitting upon what is strange: sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the purpose. Often it consisteth in one knows not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are unaccountable and inex- plicable; being answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy and windings of language. It is, in short, a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain way (such as reason teacheth and proveth things by), which, by a pretty surprising uncouthness in conceit of expres- sion, doth affect and amuse the fancy, stir- ring in it some wonder, and breeding some de- light thereto. It raiseth admiration, as signifying a nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felici- ty of invention, a vivacity of spirit, and reach of wit more than vulgar; it seeming to argue a rare quickness of parts, that one can fetch in remote conceits applicable; a notable skill, that he can dexterously accommodate them to the purpose before him: together with a lively briskness of humour, not apt to damp those sportful flashes of imagination. (Whence in Aristotle such persons are termed trtJ'tj'ioi, dexterous men, and men of facile or versatile manners, who can easily turn themselves to all things, or turn all things to themselves.) It also procureth delight, by grati- fying curiosity with its rareness, as semblance of difficulty: (as monsters, not for their beauty, but their rarity; as juggling tricks, not for their use, but their abstruseness, are beheld with pleasure :) by diverting the mind from its road of serious thoughts; by instilling gayety and airiness of spirit; by provoking to such dispositions of spirit in way of emulation or complaisance; and by seasoning matters, otherwise distasteful or insipid, with an unusual and thence grateful tang.” — Boswell. 1781.— JETAT. 72. 297 ugly done ; and Mr. "Wilkes paid Dr. r ohnson a visit, was courteously received, and sat with him a long time. The company gradually dropped away. Mr. Dilly himsel’f was called down stairs upon business; I left the room for some time; when I returned, I was struck with observing Dr. Samuel Johnson and John Wilkes, Esq. literally tete-a-tete ; for they were reclined upon their chairs, with their heads leaning almost close to each other, and talking earnestly, in a kind of confiden- tial whisper, of the personal quarrel be- tween George the Second and the King of Prussia. Such a scene of perfectly easy sociality between two such opponents in the war of political controversy, as that which I now beheld, would have been an excellent subject for a picture. It pre- sented to my mind the happy days which are foretold in the Scripture, when the lion shall lie down with the kid After this day there was« another pretty long interval, during which Dr. Johnson and I did not meet. When I mentioned it to him with regret, he was pleased to say, “ Then, sir, let us live double.” About this time it was much the fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in con- versation with literary and ingenious men, animated by a desire to please. These so- cieties were denominated Bluestocking Clubs; the origin of which title being little known, it may be worth while to relate it. One of the most eminent members of those societies, when they first commenced, was Mr. Stillingfleet 1 2 , whose dress was remark- ably grave, and in particular it was observed that he wore blue stockings. Such was the excellence of his conversation, that his absence was felt as so great a loss, that it used to be said, “We can do nothing without the blue stockings; ” and thus by degrees the title was established. Miss Hannah More has admirably described a Blue-stocking Club in her cc Bas Bleu,” a poem in which many of the persons who were most conspicuous there are men- tioned. Johnson was prevailed with to come sometimes into these circles, and did not think himself too grave even for the lively Miss Monckton 3 (now Countess of Corke), who used to have the finest bit of blue at 1 When I mentioned this to the Bishop of Killa- loe, [Dr. Barnard,] “ With the goat,” said his lordship. Such, however, was the engaging po- liteness and pleasantry ef Mr. Wilkes, and such the social good humour of the bishop, that when they dined together at Mr. Dilly ’s, where I also was, they were mutually agreeable. — Boswell. 2 Mr. Benjamin Stillingfleet, authour of tracts relating to natural history, &c. — Boswell. 3 [See ante, p. 231, n. — Ed.] V1L II the house < ? her mother, Lady Galway. Her vivacity enchanted the sage, and they used to talk together with all imaginable ease. A singular instance happened one eve- ning, when she insisted that some of Sterne’s writings were very pathetick. Johnson bluntly denied it. “I am sure,” said she, “ they have affected me.” “ Why,” said Johnson, smiling, and rolling himself about, “ that is because, dearest, you ’re a dunce.” When she some time afterwards mentioned this to him, he said, with equal truth and politeness, “ Madam, if I had thought so, I certainly should not have said it.” Another evening Johnson’s kind indul- gence towards me had a pretty difficult trial. I had dined at the Duke of Mont- rose’s with a very agreeable party; and his grace, according to his usual custom, had circulated the bottle very freely. Lord Graham and I went together to Miss Monck ton’s, where I certainly was in extraordina- ry spirits, and above all fear or awe. I n the midst of a great number of persons of the first rank, amongst whom I recollect, with confusion, a noble lady of the most stately decorum, I placed myself next to Johnson, and thinking myself now fully his match, talked to him in a loud and boisterous man- ner, desirous to let the company know how I could contend with Ajax. 1 particularly remember pressing him upon the value of the pleasures of the imagination, and, as an illustration of my argument, asking him, u What, sir, supposing I were to fancy that the (naming the most charming duchess in his majesty’s dominions) were in love with me, should I not be very happy?” My friend with much address evaded my interrogatories, and kept me as quiet as possible; but it may easily be conceived how he must have felt 4 . However, when • 4 Next day I endeavoured to give what had happened the most ingenious turn I could by the following verses: TO THE HONOURABLE MISS MONCKTON Not that with th’ excellent Montrose I had the happiness to dine ; Not that I late from table rose, From Graham’s wit, from generous wine. It was not these alone which led On sacred manners to encroach ; And made me feel what most I dread, Johnson’s just frown, and self-reproach, But when I enter’d, not abash’d, From your bright eyes were shot such rays At once intoxication flash’d, And all my frame was in a blaze But not a brilliant blaze I own, Of the dull smoke I ’in yet ashamed ; I was a dreary ruin grown, And not enlighten’d, though inflamed. Victim at once to wine and love, 1 hope, Maria, you’ll forgive ; While 1 invoke the powers above, That henceforth I may wiser live. The lady was generously forgiving, returned me an obliging answer, and 1 thus obtained an act of oblivion, and took care never to offe'.d again. — Boswell. 298 1781. — /ETAT. 72 a few days afterwards I wa.ted upon him and rr ado an apology, he behaved with the most friendly gentleness. While I remained in London this year, Johnson and I dined together at several places. I recollect a placid day at Dr. Butter’s 1 , who had now removed from Derby to Lower Grosvenor-street, London; out of his conversation on that and other occasions during this period I neglected to keep any regular record, and shall therefore insert here some miscellaneous articles which I find in my Johnsonian notes. His disorderly habits, when “making pro- vision for the day that was passing over him,” appear from the following anecdote, communicated to me by Mr. John Nichols: “ In the year 1763 a young bookseller, who was an apprentice to Mr. Whiston, waited on him with a subscription to his ‘ Shaks- peare; ’ and observing that the Doctor made no entry in any book of the subscri- ber’s name, ventured diffidently to ask whe- ther he would please to have the gentle- man’s address, that it might be properly in- serted in the printed list of subscribers. c I shall print no list of subscribers ,’ said John- son, with great abruptness: but almost im- mediately recollecting himself, added, very complacently, c Sir, I have two very cogent reasons for not printing any list of subscri- bers: one, that I have lost all the names; the other, that I have spent all the mon- ey.’ ” Johnson could not brook appearing to be worsted in argument, even when he had taken the wrong side, to show the force and dexterity of his talents. When, therefore, he perceived that his opponent gained ground, he had recourse to some sudden mode of robust sophistry. Once when I was pressing upon him with visible advan- tage, he stopped me thus: “ My dear Bos- well, let’s have no more of this; you’ll make nothing of it. I ’d rather have you whistle a Scotch tune.” Care, however, must be taken to distin- guish between Johnson when he “ talked for victory,” and Johnson when he had no desire but to inform and illustrate. “ One of Johnson’s principal talents,” says an emi- nent friend of his 2 , “ was shown in main- taining the wrong side of an argument, and in a splendid perversion of the truth. If you could contrive to have his fair opinion on a subject, and without any bias from personal prejudice, or from a wish to be vie torious in argument, it was wisdom itself, not only convincing, but overpowering.” He had, however, all his lile habituated himself to consider conversation as a trial 1 TSee ante , p. 117.— Ed.] 2 'The late Riglt Hon. William Gerrard Ham- ilton. — M alone. of intellectual vigour and skill: and to tms, I think, we may venture to ascribe that un exampled richness and brilliancy which ap peared in his own. As a proof at once of his eagerness for colloquial distinction, and his high notion of this eminent friend, he once addressed him thus: “ , we now have been several hours together, and you have said but one thing for which I envied you 3 .” He disliked much all speculative despond ing considerations, which tended to dis courage men from diligence and exertion He was in this like Dr. Shaw, the great traveller, who, Mr. D>aines Barrington told me, used to say, “ I hate a cui bono man.” Upon being asked by a friend what he should think of a man who was apt to say non est tanti; “ That he ’s a stupid fellow, sir,” answered Johnson. “ What would these tanti men be doing the while?” When I, in a low-spirited fit, was talking to him with indifference of the pursuits which generally engage us in a course of action, and inquiring a reason for taking so much trouble; “ Sir,” said he, in an ani- mated tone, “ it is driving on the system of life.” He told me that he was glad that I had, by General Oglethorp’s means, become ac- quainted with Dr. Shebbeare. Indeed that gentleman, whatever objections were made to him, had knowledge and abilities much above the class of ordinary writers, and de- serves to be remembered as a respectable name in literature, were it only for his ad- mirable “ Letters on the English Nation,” under the name of “ Battista Angeloni, a Jesuit.” Johnson and Shebbeare 4 were frequently named together, as having in former reigns had no predilection for the family of Han- over. The authour 5 of the celebrated “ He- roick Epistle to Sir William Chambers” introduces them in one line 6 , in a list of those “ who tasted the sweets of his present majesty’s reign.” Such was Johnson’s can- did relish of the merit of that satire, that he allowed Dr. Goldsmith, as he told me, to read it to him from beginning to end, and did not refuse his praise to its execution. Goldsmith could sometimes take adventu- rous liberties with him, and escape unpun- 3 [It seems a strange war of expressing a high notion of a man’s powers ir. conversation to say, that “ in several hours he had said but one good thing.” — Ed.] 4 I recollect a ludicrous paragraph in the news papers, that the king had pensioned both a He- bear and a SAe-bear. — Boswell. [See ante vol. i. p. 252. — Ed.] 5 [There can be no doubt that it was the joint production of Mason and Walpole; Mason sup- plying the poetry, and Wa’po'e ilie points.— Ed.] 6 [See ante, p. 178, u —Ed ] 1780 — /ETAT. 71. -299 ished. Beauclerk told me, that when Gold- smith talked of a project for having a third *heatre in London solely for the exhibition of new plays, in order to deliver authours from the supposed tyranny of managers, Johnson treated it slightingly, upon which Goldsmith said, “ Ay, ay, this may be no- thing to you, who can now shelter yourself behind the corner of a pension; ” and John- son bore this with good-humour. Johnson praised the Earl of Carlisle’s poems which his lordship had published with his name, as not disdaining to be a candidate lor literary fame. My friend was of opinion that when a man of rank appear- ed in that character, he deserved to have his merit handsomely allowed 1 2 . In this I 1 [Frederic, fifth Earl of Carlisle, born in 17-18; died in 1825 . — Ed.] 2 Men of rank and fortune, however, should be pretty well assured of having a real claim to the approbation of the publick, as writers, before they venture to stand forth. Dryden, in his preface to “ All for Love,” thus expresses himself: — “ Men of pleasant conversation (at least esteemed so) and endued with a trilling kind of fancy, perhaps helped out by a smattering of Latin, are ambitious to distinguish themselves from the herd of gentle- men by their poetry: ‘ Rams enim fermd sensus communis in ilia Fortuna.’ And is not this a wretched affectation, not to be contented with what fortune has done for them, and sit down quietly with their estates, but they must call their wits in question, and needlessly expose their nakedness to publick view ? Not considering that they are not to expect the same approbation from sober men which they have found from their flatterers after the third bottle: if a little glittering in discourse has passed them on us for witty men, where was the necessity of un- deceiving the world ? Would a man who has an ill title to an estate, but yet is in possession of it — would he bring it out of his own accord to be tried at Westminster? We who write, if we want the talents, yet have the excuse that we do it for a poor subsistence; but what can be urged in their defence, who, not having the voca- tion of poverty to scribble, out of mere wanton- ness take pains to make themselves ridiculous ? Horace was certainly in the right where he said, * That no man is satisfied with his own condition.’ A poet is not pleased because he is not rich; and the rich are discontented because the poets will not admit them of their number.” — Boswell. [Mr. Boswell seems to insinuate that Lord Car- lisle had no claim to the approbation of the public as a writer, and that he exposed himself to ridi- cule by this publication; and Lord Byron, in one of those wayward fits which too often distorted the views of that extraordinary person, recorded the same opinion with the bitterness and exaggera- tion of a professed satirist. In these judgments the Editor cannot concur. Lord Carlisle was not, indeed, a great poet , but he was superior to many whom Mr. Boswell was ready enough to idmit into the “ sacred choir.” His verses have think he was more liberal than Mr. William Whitehead, in his “ Elegy to Lord Villiers,” in which, under the pretext of t 1 have now sent it, with my good wishes for the prosperity of you and your partner l , of whom, from our short conversation, I could not judge otherwise than favourably. I am, sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” On Saturday, June 2, I set out for Scot- land, and had promised to pay a visit, in my way, as I sometimes did, at Southill, in Bedfordshire, at the hospitable mansion of Squire Dilly, the elder brother of my wor- thy friends, the booksellers, in the Poultry. Dr. Johnson agreed to be of the party this year, with Mr. Charles Dilly and me, and to go and see Lord Bute’s seat at Luton Hoe. He talked little to us in the carriage, being chiefly occupied in reading Dr. Wat- son’s 2 3 second volume of “ Chemical Es- says,” which he liked very well, and his own “ Prince of Abyssinia,” on which he seemed to be intensely fixed ; having told us, that he had not looked at it since it was first finished. I happened to take it out of my pocket this day, and he seized upon if with avidity. He pointed out to me the following remarkable passage : “ By what means (said the prince) are the Europeans thus powerful ? or why, since they can so easily visit Asia and Africa for trade or con- quest, cannot the Asiaticks and Africans invade their coasts, plant colonies a in their ports, and give laws to their natural princes ? The same wind that carried them back would bring us thither.” cc They are more powerful, sir, than we (answered Im- lac), because they are wiser. Knowledge will always predominate over ignorance, as man governs the other animals. But why their knowledge is more than ours, I know not what reason can be given but the un- searchable will of the Supreme Being.” He said, “ This, sir, no man can explain otherwise.” We stopped at Welwin, where I wished much to see, in company with Johnson, the residence of the authour of “ Night Thoughts,” which was then possessed by 1 Mr. Barclay, a descendant of Robert Barclay, of Ury,the celebrated apologist of the people call- ed Quakers, and remarkable for maintaining the principles of his venerable progenitor, with as much of the elegance of modern manners as is consistent with primitive simplicity — Boswell. 2 Now Bishop of Llandaff, one of the poorest bishopricks in this kingdom. His lordship has written with much zeal to show the propriety of equalizing the revenues of bishops. He has in formed us that he has burnt all his chemical pa pers. The friends of our excellent constitution now assailed on every side by innovators and lev ellers, would have less regretted the suppression of some of his lordship’s other writings. — Boswell 3 The Phoenicians and Carthaginians di' 1 plan colonies in Kurope. — Kearney. 302 1781 . — ^F.TAT. 72. his son, Mr Young. Here some address was requisite, for I was not acquainted with Mr. Young, and had I proposed to Dr. Johnson tha + we should send to him, he would have checked my wish, and perhaps been offended. I therefore concerted with Mr. Dilly, that I should steal away from Dr. Johnson and him, and try what recep- tion I could procure from Mr. Young : if unfavourable, nothing was to be said ; but if agreeable, I should return and notify it to them. I hastened to Mr. Young’s, found he was at home, sent in word that a gen- tleman desired to wait upon him, and was shown into a parlour, where he and a young lady, his daughter, were sitting. He ap- peared to be a plain, civil, country gentle- man ; and when I begged pardon for pre- suming to trouble him, but that I wished much to see his place, if he would give me leave, he behaved very courteously, and answered, “By all means, sir. We are just going to drink tea ; will you sit down ? 55 I thanked him, but said that Dr Johnson had come lvith me from London, and I must return to the inn to drink tea with him : that my name was Boswell ; I had travelled with him in the Hebrides. c Sir,” said he, “ I should think it a great honour to see Dr. Johnson here. Will you allow me to send for him ? ” Availing my- self of this opening, I said that “ I would go myself and bring him when he had drunk tea ; he knew nothing of my calling here.” Having been thus successful, I hastened back to the inn, and informed Dr. Johnson that “ Mr. Young, son of Dr. Young, the authour of c Night Tnoughts,’ whom I had just left, desired to have the honour of seeing him at the house where his father lived.” Dr. Johnson luckily made no in- quiry how this invitation had arisen, but agreed to go ; and when we entered Mr. Young’s parlour, he addressed him with a very polite bow, “ Sir, I had a curiosity to come and see this place. I had the honour to know that great man your father.” We went into the garden, where we found a gravel walk, on each side of which was a row of trees, planted by Dr. Young, which formed a handsome Gothick arch. Dr. Johnson called it a fine grove. I beheld it with reverence. We sat some time in the summer-house, on the outside wall of which was inscribed, “ Ambulantes in horto audiebant vocem Dei 1 ; ” and in the reference to a brook by which it is situated, “ Vivendi recte qui prorogat horam 2 ,” &c. I said to Mr. 1 [“ Walking in the garden they heard the vo oc of God.” Genesis, iii. 8 . — Ed.] 2 [“ The man who has it in his power To practise virtue, and protracts the hour, Waits till the river pass away: but, lo ! Ceaseless it f ows and vwl' for ever flow.” Francis, h woce Epist. lib. i. ep 2, v. 41 . — Ed.] Young, that I had been told his father was cheerful. “ Sir,” said he, “ he was too well bred a man not to be cheerful in com- pany ; but he was gloomy when alone He never was cheerful after my mother’s death, and he had met with many disap- pointments.” Dr. Johnson observed to me afterwards, “ That this was no favourable account of Dr. Young ; for it is not becom- ing in a man to have so little acquiescence in the ways of Providence, as to be gloomy because he has not obtained as much pre- ferment as he expected ; nor to continue gloomy for the loss of his wife. Grief has its time.” The last part of this censure was theoretically made. Practically, we know that grief for the loss of a wife may be continued very long, in proportion as affection has been sincere. No man knew this better than Dr. Johnson. We went into the church, and looked at the monument erected by Mr. Young to his father. Mr. Young mentioned an an- ecdote, that his father had received several thousand pounds of subscription-money for his “ Universal Passion,” but had lost it in the South Sea 3 . Dr. Johnson thought this must be a mistake, for he had never seen a subscription-book. Upon the road we talked of the uncer- tainty of profit with which authours and booksellers engage in the publication of literary works. Johnson. “ My judg- ment I have found is no certain rule as to the sale of a book.” Boswell. “ Pray, sir, have you been much plagued with authours sending you their works to revise ? ” John- son. “ No, sir; I have been thought a sour surly fellow.” Boswell. “Very lucky for you, sir, — in that respect.” I must however observe, that, notwithstand- ing what he now said, which he no doubt imagined at the time to be the fact, there was, perhaps, no man who more frequently yielded to the solicitations even of very ob- scure authours to read their manuscripts, or more liberally assisted them with advice and correction. He found himself very happy at Squire Dilly’s, where there is always abundance of excellent fare, and hearty welcome. On Sunday, June 3, we all went to Southill church, which is very near to Mr. Dilly’s house. It being the first Sunday in the month, the holy sacrament was ad- ministered, and I staid to partake of it. When I came afterwards into Dr. Johnson’s room, hie said, “You did right to stay and receive the communion: I had not thought of it.” This seemed to imply that he did not choose to approach the altar without a 3 This assertion is disproved by a comparison of dates. The first four satires of Young were pub- lished in 1725. The South Sea scheme (which appears to be meant) was in 1720. — Malone. 1781 . — yETAT 72 . 303 previous preparation, as to which good men entertain different opinions, some holding that it is irreverent to partake of that ordi- nance without considerable premeditation; others, that whoever is a sincere Christian, and in a proper frame of mind to discharge any other ritual duty of our religion, may, without scruple, discharge this most sol- emn one. A middle notion I believe to be the just one, which is, that communicants need not think a long train of preparatory forms indispensably necessary; but neither should they rashly and lightly venture upon so awful and mysterious an institution. Christians must judge, each for himself what degree of retirement and self-exami- nation is necessary upon each occasion. Being in a frame of mind which I hope, for the felicity of human nature, many ex- perience, — in fine weather, — at the country- hoifce of a friend, — consoled and elevated by pious exercises, — I expressed myself with an unrestrained fervour to my “ Guide, Philosopher, and Friend.” “ My dear sir, I would fain be a good man; and I am very good now. I fear God, and honour the king; I wish to do no ill, and to be benevo- lent to all mankind.” He looked at me with a benignant indulgence; but took oc- casion to give me wise and salutary cau- tion. “ Do not, sir, accustom yourself to trust to impressions. There is a middle state of mind between conviction and hy- pocrisy, of which many are unconscious. By trusting to impressions, a man may gradually come to yield to them, and at length be subject to them, so as not to be a free agent, or what is the same thing in effect, to suppose that he is not a free agent. A man who is in that state should not be suffered to live; if he declares he cannot help acting in a particular way, and is irresistibly impelled, there can be no con- fidence in him, no more than in a tiger. But, sir, no man believes himself to be im- pelled irresistibly; we know that he who says he believes it, lies. Favourable im- pressions at particular moments, as to the state of our souls, may be deceitful and dangerous. In general no man can be sure of his acceptance with God; some, indeed, may have had it revealed to them. St. Paul, who wrought miracles, may have had a miracle wrought on himself, and may have obtained supernatural assurance of pardon, and mercy, and beatitude; yet St. Paul, though he expresses strong hope, also expresses fear, lest having preached to others, he himself should be a castaway.” The opinion of a learned bishop of our acquaintance, as to there being merit in re- ligious faith, being mentioned: — Johnson. {< Why, yes, sir, the most li entious man, were hell open before him, would not take the most beautiful strumpet to his arms. We must, as the apostle says, live by faith, not by sight 1 .” I talked to him of original sin 2 , in conse- quence of the fall of man, and of the atone- ment made by our Saviour. After some conversation, which he desired me to re- member, he, at my request, dictated to me as follows: “With respect to original sin, the in- quiry is not necessary; for whatever is the cause of human corruption, men are evi- dently and confessedly so corrupt, that all the laws of heaven and earth are insufficient to restrain them from crimes. “ Whatever difficulty there may be in the conception of vicarious punishments, it is an opinion which has had possession of mankind in all ages. There is no nation that has not used the practice of sacrifices Whoever, therefore, denies the propriety of vicarious punishments, holds an opinion which the sentiments and practice of man- kind have contradicted from the beginning of the world. The great sacrifice for the sins of mankind was offered at the death of the Messiah, who is called in Scripture 4 The Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world.’ To judge of the reason- ableness of the scheme of" redemption it 1 [There seems much obscurity here. If the bishop used the word merit in a popular sense, and meant only to say, colloquially, that “ a religious faith was meritorious or praiseworthy ,” the ob- servation was hardly worth recording; yet, it is not, on the other hand, likely that he meant, speaking theologically, to attribute merit towards salvation to any act or operation of the human mind, “ for that were ” (as the Homily forbids) “ to count ourselves to be justified by some act or virtue which is within us.” But on either inter- pretation it seems hard to discover the connexion or meaning of the reply, attributed to Dr. Johnson. The bishop’s opinion is evidently very imperfect- ly stated, and there must have been some connect- ing links in the chain of Johnson’s reasoning which Mr. Boswell has lost. The passage — not quite accurately quoted by Dr. Johnson — is m St. Paul’s second epistle to the^ Corinthians, v. 7. “ We walk by faith, and not by sight.” — Ed.] 2 Dr. Ogden, in his second sermon “ On the Articles of the Christian Faith,” with admirable acuteness thus addresses the opposers of that doc- trine, which accounts for the confusion, sin, and misery, which we find in this life: “ It would be severe in God, you think, to degrade us to such a sad state as this, for the offence of our first pa- rents : but you can allow him to place us in it without any inducement. Are our calamities les- sened for not being ascribed to Adam ? If your condition be unhappy, is it not still unhappy, whatever was the occasion ? with the aggravation of this reflection, that if it was as good as it was at first designed, there seems to be somewhat the less reason to look for its amendment.” — Bob- well. 304 1781. — yETAT. 72. must be considered as necessary to the government of the universe that God should make known his perpetual and irreconcila- ble detestation of moral evil. He might indeed punish, and punish only the offend- ers ; but as the end of punishment is not revenge of crimes but propagation of vir- tue, it was more becoming the divine clem- ency to find another manner of proceeding, css destructive to man, and at least equally powerful to promote goodness. The end of punishment is to reclaim and warn. That punishment will both reclaim and warn, which shows evidently such abhor- rence of sin in God, as may deter us from it, or strike us with dread of vengeance when we have committed it. This is effected by vicarious punishment. Nothing could more testify the opposition between the nature of God and moral evil, or more am- ply display his justice, to men and angels, to all orders and successions of beings, than that it was necessary for the highest ana purest nature, even for Divin’ty itself, to pacify the demands of venf/eance by a painful death; of which the natural effect will be, that when justice is appeased, there is a proper place for the exercise of mercy; and that such propitiation shall sup- ply, in some degree, the imperfections of our obedience and the inefficacy of our re- pentance: for obedience and repentance, such as we can perform, are still ne- cessary. Our Saviour has told us, that he did not come to destroy the law but to fulfil : to fulfil the typical law, by the per- formance of what those types had fore- shown, and the moral law, by precepts of greater purity and higher exultation.” Here he said “ God bless you with it.” I acknowledged myself much obliged to him; but I begged that he would go on as to the propitiation being the chief object of our most holy faith. He then dictated this one other paragraph. “ The peculiar doctrine of Christianity is, that of an universal sacrifice and perpetual propitiation 1 . Other prophets only pro- claimed the *vill and the threatenings of God. Christ satisfied his justice.” The Reverend Mr. Palmer 2 , fellow of 1 [See ante, p. 127, n. This passage proves the justice of the observation which the Editor made in that note as to Johnson’s opinion on this important point. — Ed.] 2 This unfortunate person, whose full name was Thomas l’ysche Palmer, afterwards went to Dun- dee, in Scotland, where he officiated as minister to a congregation <.f the sect who call themselves Unitarians, from a notion that they distinctively worsmp one God, because they deny the mysteri- ous doctrine of the Trinity. They do not advert that the great body of the Christian church in maintaining that mystery maintain also the unity of the Godhead: “the Trinity in Unity! — three Queen’s College, Cambridge, dined with us. He expressed a wish that a better pro- vision were made for parish-clerks. John- son. “ Yes, sir, a parish-clerk should be a man who is able to make a will or write a letter for any body in the parish.” I mentioned Lord Monboddo’s notion 3 that the ancient Egyptians, with all their learning and all their arts, were not only black, but woolly-haired. Mr. Palmer asked how did it appear upon examining the mummies? Dr. Johnson approved of this test. Although upon most occasions I never heard a more strenuous advocate for the advantages of wealth than Dr. Johnson, he this day, I know not from what caprice, took the other side. “ I have not observed,” said he, (t that men of very large fortunes enjoy any thing extraordinary that makes happi- ness. What has the Duke of Bedford? What has the Duke of Devonshire? The only great instance that I have ever known of the enjoyment of wealth was that of Ja maica Dawkins, who going to visit Pal myra, and hearing that the way was infested by robbers, hired a troop of Turk- ish horse to guard him 4 .” Dr. Gibbons 5 the dissenting minister, be- ing mentioned, he said, cc I took to Dr. Gibbons.” And addressing himself to Mr. Charles Dilly, added, “ I shall be glad to see him. Tell him, if he ’ll call on me, and dawdle over a dish of tea in an afternoon, I shall take it kind.” persons and one God.” The church humbly adores the Divinity as exhibited in the holy scrip- tures. The Unitarian sect vainly presumes to comprehend and define the Almighty. Mr. Palmer having heated his mind with political speculations, became so much dissatisfied with our excellent constitution as to compose, publish, and circulate writings, which were found to be so se- ditious and dangerous, that upon being found guilty by a jury, the court of justiciary in Scotland sentenced him to transportation for fourteen years. A loud clamour against this sentence was made by some members of both houses of parliament; but both houses approved of it by a great majori- ty, and he was conveyed to the settlement for convicts in New South Wales. — Boswell. Mr. T. F. Palmer was of Queen’s College in Cam- bridge, where he took the degree of master of arts in 1772, and that of S. T. B. in 1781. He died on his return from Botany Bay in the year 1803 — Malone. 3 Taken from Herodotus. — B oswell. 4 [Henry Dawkins, Esq., the companion of Wood and Bouverie in their travels, and the patron of the Athenian Stuart. — Ed.] 5 [Thomas Gibbons, “ a Calvinist ” (says the Biog. Diet.) “ of the old stamp, and a man of great piety and primitive manners.” He wrote a Life of Dr. Watts, and assisted Dr. Johnson with some materials for the Life of Watts in the Eng- lish Poets. He died by a strike of apoplexy in 1785, aetat. sixty-five. — Ed.] 1 *81. — /ETAJL. 1 2. 305 The Reverend Mr. Smith, vicar of South- ill, a very respectable man, with a very agreeable family, sent an invitation to us to drink tea. I remarked Dr. Johnson’s very respectful politeness. Though always fond of changing the scene, he said, “We must have Mr. Dilly’s leave. We cannot go from your house, sir, without your permission.” We aJl went, and were well satisfied with our visit. I, however, remember nothing particular, except a nice distinction which Dr. Johnson made with respect to the pow- er of memory, maintaining that forgetful- ness was a man’s own fault. “ To remem- ber and to recollect,” said he, “ are different things. A man has not the power to recol- lect what is not in his mind, but when a thing is in his mind he may remember it h” The remark was occasioned by my lean- ing back on a chair, which a little before I had perceived to be broken, and pleading forgetfulness as an excuse. “ Sir,” said he, “ its being broken was certainly in your mind.” When I observed that a housebreaker was in general very timorous: Johnson. “ No wonder, sir; he is afraid of being shot getting into a house, or hanged when he has got out of it.” He told us, that he had in one day writ- ten six sheets of a translation from the French; adding, “ I should be glad to see it now. I wish that I had copies of all the pamphlets written against me, as it is said Pope had. Had I known that I should make so much noise in the world, I should have been at pains to collect them. I be- lieve there is hardly a day in which there is not something about me in the newspa- pers.” On Monday, June.4> we all went to Lu- ton-Hoe, to see Lord Bute’s magnificent seat, for which I had obtained a ticket. As we entered the park, I talked in a high style of my old friendship with Lord Mountstu- art, and said, “ I shall probably be much at this place.” The sage, aware of human vicissitudes, gently checked me: “Don’t 1 [Mr. Boswell’s note must have been imper- fect. Dr. Johnson certainly never talked such nonsense as is here attributed to him — a man can no more remember “ what is not on his mind ” than he can recollect it, and “ when a thing is in his mind ” he can just as well recollect as re- member it. In his Dictionary, lohnson defines “ remember , to bear in mind, to recollect, to enll to mind.” This would seem to imply that be considered the words as nearly synonymous ; but in his definition of “ recollect , to recover memory, to gather what is scattered,” he makes the true distinction. When the words are to be contradistinguished, it may be said that remem- brance is spontaneous , and recollection an ef fort . — Ed.] vol. n. 39 you be too sure of that 2 .” He made two or three peculiar observations; as, when shown the botanical garden, £t Is not every garden a botanical garden?” When told that there was a shrubbery to the extent of several miles; “ That is making a very foolish use of the ground; a little of it is very well.” When it was proposed that we should walk on the pleasure-ground; “Don’t let us fatigue ourselves. Why should we walk there? Here ’s a fine tree, let ’s get to the top of it.” But upon the whole, he was very much pleased. He said, “ This is one of the places I do not regret having come to see. It is a very stately place, indeed; in the house magnifi- cence is not sacrificed to convenience, nor convenience to magnificence. The library is very splendid; the dignity of the rooms is very great; and the quantity of pictures is beyond expectation, beyond hope.” It happened without any previous con cert that we visited the seat of Lord Bute upon the king’s birthday; we dined and drank his majesty’s health at an inn in the village of Luton. In the evening I put him in mind of his promise to favour me with a copy of his celebrated Letter to the Earl of Chester- field, and he was at last pleased to comply with this earnest request, by dictating it to me from his memory; for he believed that he himself had no copy. There was an animated glow in his countenance while he thus recalled his high-minded indig- nation. He laughed heartily at a ludicrous action in the court of session, in which I was coun- sel. The society of procurators, or attor nies, entitled to practise in the inferior courts at Edinburgh, had obtained a royal charter, in which they had taken care to have their ancient designation of Procura- tors changed into that of Solicitors, from a notion, as they supposed, that it was more genteel; and this new title they displayed by a public advertisement for a general meeting at their hall. It has been said that the Scottish nation is not distinguished for humour; and, in- deed, what happened on this occasion may, in some degree, justify the remark; for al- though this society had contrived to make themselves a very prominent object for the ridicule of such as might stoop to it, the only joke to which it gave rise was the fol- lowing paragraph, sent to the newspaper called “ The Caledonian Mercury.” “ A correspondent informs us, the Wor shipful Society of Chaldeans , Cadies, or Punning- Stationers of this city are re- 2 [See ante, p. 31. Dulcis iuexpertis polcntis cultura amici, Expertus metuit.” — Hot. Ep xviii. lib. i. y. S6 — Ed.J 30b 1781.— yETAT. 72. solved, in imitation, and encouraged by the singular success of their brethren, of an equally respectable Society, to app'iy for a Charter of their Privileges, particularly of the sole privilege of procuring, in the most extensive sense of the word, exclusive of chairmen, porters, penny-post men, and other inferior ranks; their brethren, the R — y — l S — l ns, alias P — c rs, before the inferiouk Courts of this City, always excepted. “ Should the Woiwnpful Society be sue cessful, they are farther resolved not to be puffed up thereby, but to demean them- selves with more equanimity and decency than their r-y-l, learned , and very modest brethren above mentioned have done, upon their late dignification and exaltation.” A majority of the members of the society prosecuted Mr. Robertson, the publisher of the paper, for damages; and the first judg- ment of the whole court very wisely dis- missed the action : Solventur risu tabulce, tu missus abibis. But a new trial or re- view was granted upon a petition, accord- ing to the forms in Scotland. This peti- tion I was engaged to answer, and Dr. Johnson, with great alacrity, furnished me this evening with [an argument, which will be found in the Appendix.] I am ashamed to mention, that the court, by a plurality of voices, without having a single additional circumstance before them, reversed their own judgment, marde a seri- ous matter of this dull and foolish joke, and adjudged Mr. Rohcrtson to pay to the so- ciety five pounds (sterling money) and costs of suit. The decision will seem strange to English lawyers. On Tuesday, June 5, Johnson was to re- turn to London. He was very pleasant at breakfast; I mentioned a friend of mine having resolved never to marry a pretty woman. Johnson. “ Sir, it is a very foolish resolution to resolve not to marry a pretty woman Beauty is of itself very es- timable. No, sir, I would prefer a pretty woman, unless there are objections to her. A pretty woman may be foolish; a pretty woman may be wicked; a pretty woman may not like me. But there is no such dan- ger in marrying a pretty woman as is ap- prehended; she will not be persecuted if she does not invite persecution. A pretty wo- man, if she has a mind to be wicked, can find a readier way than another; and that is all.” I accompanied him in Mr. Dilly’s chaise to Shefford, where, talking of Lord Bute’s never going Scotland, he said, “ As an Englishman, I should wish all che Scotch gentlemen should be educated ? n England; Scotland would become a province; they would spend all their rents in England.” This is a subject < f much consequence, and much delicacy. The advantage of an Eng lish education is unquestionably very great to Scotch gentlemen of talents and ambi- tion; and regular visits to Scotland, and perhaps other means, might be effectually used to prevent them from being totally estranged, from their native country, any more than a Cumberland or Northumber land gentleman,, who has been educated in the south of England. I own, indeed, that it is no small misfortune for Scotch gentle- men, who have neither talents nor ambi- tion, to be educated in England, where they may be perhaps distinguished only by a nickname, lavis’h their fortune in giving expensive entertainments to those who laugh at them, and saunter about as mere idle, insignificant hangers-on even upon the foolish great; when, if they had been ju- diciously brought up at home, they might have been comfortable and creditable mem- bers of society. At Shefford I had another affectionate parting from my revered friend, who was taken up by the Bedford coach and carried to the metropolis. I went with Messieurs Dilly to see some friends at Bedford; dined with the officers of the militia of the coun- ty, and next day proceeded on my journey. My correspondence with Dr. Johnson during the rest of this year was, I know not why, very scanty, and all on my side. I wrote him one letter to introduce Mr. Sinclair (now Sir John), the member foi Caithness J , to his acquaintance; and in- formed him in another that my wife had again been affected with alarming symp- toms of illness 2 . [But his letters to Ep other correspondents, and paTticularly D * to Mrs. Thrale, carry on the story of his life.] [“DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. LUCY PORTER. “ London, 9th June, 1781. “Dear madam, — I hope the summer makes you better. My ^ e gg 9on disorders, which had come upon me again, have again given way to medi cine; and I am a better sleeper than I have lately been. “ The death of dear Mr. Thrale has made my attendance upon his home neces- sary; but we have sold the trade, which we did not know how to manage, and have sold it for an hundred and thirty thousand pounds. “My Lives are at last published, and you will receive them this week by the car- 1 [The Right Honourable Sir John Sinclair of Ulbster, hart. ; a voluminous writer on agriculttbo and statistics. — Ed.] 5 [This Da-a^ge is transposed from the date (January, 1782 ' «ndcr v;hic£. it stands in tac original edition, tr* *hi\ it* mo r »‘ proper place.- Ed.] 1781.— iETAr. rz. 307 ner I have soire hopes of coming this summer amongst you for a short time. I shall be loath to miss you two years to- gether. But in the mean time let me know how you do. I am, dear madam, your affectionate servant, “ Sam. Johnson.”] “to bennet langton, esq. “Bolt-court, 16th June, 1781. “ Dear sir, — How welcome your ac- count of yourself and your invitation to your new house was to me, I need not tell you, who consider our friendship not only as formed by choice, but as matured by time. We have been now long enough acquaint- ed to have many images in common, and therefore to have a source of conversation which neither the learning nor the wit of a new companion can supply. “ My Lives are now published ; and if you will tell me whither I shall send them, that they may come to you, I will take care what you shall not be without them. “ You will perhaps be glad to hear that Mrs. Thrale is disencumbered of her brew- house; and that«at seemed to the purchaser so far from an evil, that he was content to give for it an hundred and thirty-five thou- sand pounds. Is the nation mined ? “Please to make my respectful compli- ments to Lady Rothes, and keep me in the memory of all the little dear family, partic- ilarly Mrs. Jane. I am, sir, your affec- tionate humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” Johnson’s charity to the poor was uniform jnd extensive, both from inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of his own purse, but what is more diffi- cult as well as rare, would beg from others, when he had proper objects in view. This he did judiciously as well as humanely. Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me, that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress, and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he insist- ed on taking less, saying, “ No, no, sir; we must not pamper them 1 .” [With advising others to be chari- Pl0 “ 1 ’ table, however, Dr. Johnson did not p ‘ ' 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 smail portion of his income which he spent on himself, with all our calculation, we never could make more than seventy or at most fourscore pounds a year, and he pretended to allow himself a hun- dred. He had numberless dependants out of doors as well as in, “ who, as he ex- pressed it, did not like to see him latterly unless he brought them money.” For those people he used frequently to raise contributions on his richer friends; “ and this,” says he, “ is one of the thousand rea- sons which ought to restrain a man from drony solitude and useless retirement.”] 1 am indebted to Mr. Malone, one of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s executors, for the following note, which was found among his papers after his death, and which, we may presume, his unaffected modesty pre- vented him from communicating to me with the other letters from Dr. Johnson with which he was pleased to furnish me. How- ever slight in itself, as it does honour to that illustrious painter and most amiable man, I am happy to introduce it. “TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. “23d June, 1781. “ Dear sir, — It was not before yester- day that I received your splendid benefac- tion. To a hand so liberal in distributing, I hope nobody will envy the power of ac- quiring. I am, dear sir, your obliged and most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” [The following letters were written at this time by Johnson to Miss Reynolds, the latter on receiving from her a copy of her “ Essay on Taste,” privately printed, but never published. “DR. JOHNSON TO MISS REYNOLDS. “25th June, 1781. “ Dear madam, — You may give the book 2 to Mrs. Horneck 3 , and I will give you another for yourself. “ I am afraid there is no hope of Mrs. Thrale’s custom for your pictures ; but, if you please, I will mention it. She cannot make a pension out of her jointure 4 5 . “ I will bring the papers myself. I am, madam, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson ’* “TO MISS REYNOLDS 5. “ Uolt-court, 28th June, 1781 Dearest madam, — There is in these [pages, or remarks,) such depth of pene- 2 [Probably the Beauties of Johnson, pub- lished about this period: see ante , vol. i. p. 87. -Ed.] 3 [See ante, vol. i. p. 186 . — Ed.] 4 [Miss Reynolds, it seems, wished to dispose of her collection, and thought that Mrs. Thrale might purchase and pay for it by an annuity. — Ed.] 5 The lady to whom this letter was addressed, and for whom Dr. Johnson had a high regard, di- ed in Westminster, at the age of eighty, Nov. 1, 1807. — Malone. [One Sunday evening, at the time he was first declining, Miss Reynolds sent to make inquiries. Ilis answer was, “ Tell her that I cannot be well, for she does not come to s4>c me.” — Hawk. Mem. vol. ii p. 149. — Ed.] [See ante , n. 98 . — Ed.] 308 1781.— vETAT. 72 tration, such nicety of observation, as Locke or Pascal might be proud of. This I de- sire you to believe is my real opinion. « However, it cannot be published in its present state. Many of your notions seem not to be very clear in your own mind ; many are not sufficiently develooed and ex- panded for the common reaaei : it wants every where to be made smoother and plain- er. “ You may, by revisal and correction, make it a very elegant and a very curious work. I am, my dearest dear, your affec- tionate and obedient servant, “ Samuel Johnson.”] “to THOMAS ASTLE, ESQ,. “17th July, 1781. •• Sir, — I am ashamed that you have been forced to call so often for your books, but it has been by no fault on either side. They have never been out of my hands, nor have I ever been at home without see- ing you ; for to see a man so skilful in the antiquities of my country is an opportunity of improvement not willingly to be missed. “Your notes on Alfred 1 appear to me very judicious and accurate, but they are too few. Many things familiar to you are unknown to me, and to most others ; and you must not think too favourably of your readers : by supposing them knowing, you will leave them ignorant. Measure of land, and value of money, it is of great impor- tance to state with care. Had the Saxons any gold coin ? “ I have much curiosity after the man- ners and transactions of the middle ages, but have wanted either diligence or oppor- tunity, or both. You, sir, have great op- portunities, and I wish you both diligence and success. I am, sir, &c. “ Sam. Johnson.” The following curious anecdote I insert in Dr. Burney’s own words. “Dr. Burney related to Dr. Johnson the partiality which his writings had excited in a friend of Dr. Burney’s, the late Mr. Bewley 2 , well known 1 The will of King Alfred alluded to in this let- ter, from the original Saxon, in the library of Mr. Astle, has been printed at the expense of the Uni- versity of Oxford. — Boswell. 2 [He was a “ Monthly Reviewer ,” and died in 1783. If the story of “ the bristles of the hearth-broom,” or any thing like it, be true, Mr. Bewley might better have been called an idiot than an enthusiast; but the editor takes the liber- ty of disbelieving the anecdote altogether. That Mr. Bewley might have wished and asked for Dr. Johnson’s autograph is natural enough ; but that, after a lapse of five years , lie should have been satisfied with receiving instead of an auto- graph a few bristles of a broom is to absurd; and dial Dr. Burney should not have mentioned so in Norfolk by the name of the Philosopher of Massingham ; who, from the Ramblers and plan of his Dictionary, and long before the authour’s fame was established by the Dictionary itself, or any other work, had conceived such a reverence for him, that he earnestly begged Dr. Burney to give him the cover of the first letter he had received from him, as a relick of so estimable a wri- ter. This was in 1755. In 1760, when Dr. Burney visited Dr. Johnson at the Temple in London, where he had then chambers, he happened to arrive there before he was up ; and being shown into the room where he was to breakfast, finding himself alone, he examined the contents of the apartment, to try whether he could, undiscovered, steal any thing to send to his friend Bewley, as another relick of the admirable Dr. Johnson. But finding nothing better to his purpose, he cut some bristles off his hearth-broom, and enclosed them in a letter to his country enthusiast, who received them with due reverence. The Doctor was so sensible of the honour done to him by a man of genius and science, to whom he was an utter stran- ger, that he said to Dr. Burney, ‘ Sir, there is no man possessed of the smallest portion of modesty, but must be flattered with the admiration of such a man. I ’ll give him a set of my Lives, if he will do me the hon- our to accept of them.’ In this he kept his word; and Dr. Burney had not only the pleasure of gratifying his friend with a pre- sent more worthy of his acceptance than the segment from the hearth-broom, but soon after introducing him to Dr. Johnson himself in Bolt-court, with whom he had the satifaction of conversing a considerable time, not a fortnight before his death; which happened in St. Martin’s-street, during his visit to Dr. Burney, in the house where the great Sir Isaac Newton had lived and died before 3 .” In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute : “ August 9, 3 P. M. setat. 72, in the sum- mer-house at Streatham. “ After innumerable resolutions formed and neglected, I have retired hither, to plan a life of greater diligence, in hope that I may yet be useful, and be daily better pre- strange a story to Dr. Johnson till after the furthei lapse of twenty-jive years is quite incredible. — Ed.] 3 [This house (No. 36) is now occupied as a parish school-house, but the upper apartments have been but little altered since the days of their illustrious owner. There were lately published proposals for erecting on the site a monument to the memory of Sir Isaac; the design of which was a globe of brick and stones, covered with plaster of Paris, and marked with geographical and astronomical lines, and having a hollow centre large enough for a public lecture-room. — Ed."; 1781.— JETAT. 72. 309 f ared to appear before my Creator and my udge, from whose infinite mercy I humbly call for assistance and support. “ My purpose is, “ To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment. “ Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the Italian lan- guage for my settled study.” How venerably pious does he appear in these moments of solitude ! and how spirit- ed are his resolutions for the improvement of his mind, even in elegant literature, at a very advanced period of life, and when afflicted with many complaints ! In autumn he went to Oxford, Birming- ham. Lichfield, and Ashbourne, for which very good reasons might be given in the conjectural 1 yet positive manner of writers, who are proud to account for every event which they relate. He himself, however, says, “ The motives of my journey I hardly know : I omitted it last year, and am not Prayers, willing to miss it again.” But & Med. some good considerations arise, d. 198. amongst which is the kindly recol- ection of Mr. Hector, surgeon, of Birming- ham. “ Hector is likewise an old friend, the only companion of my childhood that assed through the school with me. We ave always loved one another : perhaps we may be made better by some serious conversation ; of which, however, I have no distinct hope.” . He says, too, “ At Lichfield, my native place, I hope to show a good example by frequent attendance on publick worship.” [“ DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. THRAI.E. “Oxford, 17th October, 1781. “ On Monday evening arrived at the An- gel inn at Oxford Mr. Johnson and Mr. Barber, without any sinister accident. “ I am here ; but why am I here ? on my way to Lichfield, where I believe Mrs. As- ton will be glad to see me. We have known each other long, and, by conse quence, are both old ; and she is paraly tick ; and if I do not see her soon, I may see her no more in this world. To make a visit on such considerations is to go on a melancholy errand. But such is the course of life. “ This place is very empty, but there are more here whom I know than I could have expected. Young Burke 2 has just been 1 [This observation, just enough in general, is here peculiarly ill-placed ; for, besides the mo- tives for the journey which Mr. Boswell has quo- ted from the Prayers and Meditations, we shall see, by a subsequent letter, that Mrs. Thrale’s kindness had forced him to undertake this little tour for the benefit of his health and spirits. — Ed.] * [Richard, the onlv son of Edmund Burke, at with me, and I have dmed to-day with Dr Adams, who seems fond of me.” “ Lichfield, 20th October, 17f l. “ I wrote from Oxford, where I staid two days. On Thursday I went to Birming- ham, and was told by Hector that I should not be well so soon as I expected ; but that well I should be. Mrs. Careless took me under her care, and told me when I had tea enough. On Friday 1 came hither, and have escaped the post-chaises 3 all the way. Every body here is as kind as I expected ; I think Lucy is kinder than ever.” “ 27th October, 1781. “ Poor Lucy’s illness has left her very deaf, and, I think, very inarticulate. I can scarcely make her understand me, and she can hardly make me understand her. So here are merry doings. But she seems to like me better than she did. She eats very little, but does not fall away. “ Mrs. Cobb and Peter Garrick are as you left them. Garrick’s legatees at this place are very angry that they receive no- thing. Things are not quite right, though we are so far from London 4 .” “ Ashbourne, 10th November, 1781. “Yesterday I came to Ashbourne, ana last night I had very little rest. Dr. Tay- lor lives on milk, and grows every day bet- ter, and is not wholly without hope. Every body inquires after you and Queeney; but whatever [Miss] Burney may think of the celerity of fame, the name of Evelina had never been heard at Lichfield till I brought it. I am afraid my dear townsmen will be mentioned in future days as the last part of this nation that was civilized 5 . But the days of darkness are soon to be at an end The reading society ordered it to be pro cured this week.” “Ashbourne, 24th November, 1781. “ I shall leave this place about the begin- ning of next week, and shall leave every place as last as I decently can, till I get back to you, whose kindness is one of my great comforts. I am not well, but have a mind this period at Oxford. He died in 1794, set. 36. Ilis afflicted father has immortalised him in many pathetic passages of his later works, and par- ticularly in his celebrated “ Letter to a Noble Lord.” — Ed.] 3 [He means escaped the expense of post- chaises by happening to find places in stage-coach- es. — E d.] 4 [Dr. Johnson always controverted the com- mon-place observation of the superior purity and happiness of country life. — Ed.] 5 [See ante , pp. 43 and 44, where, in a better humour, he describes his townsmen as the most civilized people in England. — E d.] 310 1782. — /ETAT. 73. every now and then to think myself better, and I now hope to be better under your care.” “ Lichfield, 3d December, 1781. “ I am now come back to Lichfield, where I do not intend to stay long enough to re- ceive another letter. I have little to do here bat to take leave of Mrs. Aston. I hope not the last leave. But Christians may with more confidence than Sophonisba ‘ Avremo tosto lungo lungo spazio Per stare assieme, et sara forfe eterno.’ “ My time passed heavily at Ashbourne; yet I could not easily get away; though 1'aylor, I sincerely think, was glad to see me go. I have now learned the inconveni- ence of a winter campaign; but I hope home will make amends for all my foolish suffer- ings.” “ Birmingham, 8th December, 1781. “ I am come to this place on my way to London and to Streatham. I hope to be in London on Tuesday or Wednesday, and at Streatham on Thursday, by your kind con- veyance. I shall have nothing to relate either wonderful or delightful. But remem- ber that you sent me away, and turned me out into the world, and you must take the chance of finding me better or worse. This you may know at present, that my affection for you is not diminished; and my expectation from you is increased. Do not neglect me nor relinquish me. Nobody will ever love you better or honour you more than, madam, yours, &c. “ Sam. Johnson.”] In 1782 his complaints increased, and the history of his life this year is little more than a mournful recital of the variations of his illness, in the midst of which, however, it will appear from his letters that the pow- ers of his mind were in no degree impaired. “TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ,. “ 5th January, 1782. “ Dear sir, — I sit down to answer yeur letter on the same day in which I received it, and am pleased that my first letter of the year is to you. No man ought to be at ease while he knows himself in the wrong; and I have not satisfied myself with my long silence. The letter relating to Mr. Sinclair however, was, I believe, never brought. cc My health has been tottering this last year; and I can give no very laudable account of my time. I am always hoping to do bet- ter than I have ever hitherto done. “ My journey to Ashbourne and Stafford- shire was not pleasant; for what enjoyment has a sick man visiting the sick? Shall we ?ver have another frolick like our journey to the Hebrides ? cc I hope that dear Mrs. Boswell wid sur mount her complaints: in losing her you will lose your anchor, and be tossed, with out stability, by the waves of life 1 . I wish both you and her very many years, and very happy. “For some months past I have been so withdrawn from the world, that I can send you nothing particular. All your friends, however, are well, and will be glad of your return to London. I am, dear sir, yours most affectionately, “ Sam. Johnson.” At a time when he was less able than he had once been to sustain a shock, he was suddenly deprived of Mr. Levett, which event he thus communicated to Dr. Law rence. “ 17th January, 1782. ec Sir, — Our old friend, Mr. Levett, who was last night eminently cheerful, died this morning. The man who lay in the same room, hearing an uncommon noise, got up and tried to make him speak, but without effect. He then called Mr. Holder, the apothecary, who, though when he came he thought him dead, opened a vein, but could draw no blood. So has ended the long life of a very useful and very blameless man. I am, sir, your most humble servant, “ Sam. Johnson.” In one of his memorandum-books in my possession is the following entry: “ January 20, Sunday, Robert Levett was buried in the churchyard of Bridewell, between one and two in the afternoon. He died on Thursday, 17, about seven in the morning, by an instantaneous death. He was an old and faithful friend : I have known him from about 46 2 , Commendavi 3 . May God have mercy on him! May he have mercy on me ! ” Such was Johnson’s affectionate regard for Levett 4 , that he honoured his memory with the following pathetick verses: “ Condemn’d to Hope’s delusive mine, As on we toil from day to day, By sudden blast or slow decline Our social comforts drop away. “ Well try’d through many a varying year, See Levett to the grave descend; Officious, innocent, sincere, Of every friendless name the friend 1 The truth of this has been proved by sad experience. — Boswell. Mrs. Boswell died June 4, 1789. — Malone. 2 [No doubt the year 1746, and not the age of either party. — Ed.] • 3 [He, by this word, means that he had in prayer recommended his departed friend to the mercy of God. See ante , vol. i. p. 99. — Ed.] 4 See an account of him in “ The Gentleman’* Magazine,” February, 1785. — Boswell. 1782. — iETAT. 73. 31 1 Yet still he fills affection’s eye, Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; Nor, letter’d arrogance l , deny Thy praise to merit unrefined. When fainting Nature call’d for aid, And hovering death prepared the blow, His vigorous remedy display’d The power -of art without the show. “ In misery’s darkest caverns known, His ready help was ever nigh. Where hopeless anguish pour’d his groan, And lonely want retired to die 2 . “ No summons mock’d by chill delay, No petty gains disdain’d by pride : The modest wants of every day The toil of every day supplied. “ His virtues walk’d their narrow round, Nor matte a pause, nor left a void; And sure the eternal Master found His single talent 3 well employ’d. “ The busy day, the peaceful night, Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; His frame was firm, his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh. Then, with no throbs of fiery pain, No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain, And freed his soul the nearest way 4 .” “ TO MRS. STRAHAN. “ 4th February, 1782. “ Dear madam, — Mrs. Williams showed me your kind letter. This little habitation is now but a melancholy place, clouded with the gloom of disease and death. Of the four inmates, one has been suddenly snatch- ed away; two are oppressed by very afflic- tive and dangerous illness; and I tried yes- terday to gain some relief by a third bleed- ing from a disorder which has for some time distressed me, and I think myself to-day much better.