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BOSWELL'S

LIFE OF JOHNSON

INCLUDING BOSWELL'S JOURNAL OF A TOUR TO THE HEBRIDES
AND JOHNSON'S DIARY OF A JOURNEY INTO NORTH WALES

EDITED BY

GEORGE BIRKBECK HILL, D.C.L.

PEMBROKE COLLEGE, OXFORD

IN SIX VOLUMES

VOLUME IV.--LIFE (1780-1784)

CONTENTS OF VOL. IV.

LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. (1780-DEC. 13, 1784)

APPENDICES:

A. ALTERCATION BETWEEN DR. JOHNSON AND DEAN BARNARD.
B. JOHNSON AND PRIESTLEY.
C. THE CLUB IN IVY-LANE.
D. THE ESSEX HEAD CLUB.
E. MISS BURNEY'S ACCOUNT OF JOHNSON'S LAST DAYS.
F. NOTES ON JOHNSON'S WILL, ETC.
G. NOTES ON BOSWELL'S NOTE.
H. NOTES ON BOSWELL'S NOTE.
I. PARR'S EPITAPH ON JOHNSON.

FOOTNOTES.

_THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D._

Being disappointed in my hopes of meeting Johnson this year, so that I
could hear none of his admirable sayings, I shall compensate for this
want[1] by inserting a collection of them, for which I am indebted to my
worthy friend Mr. Langton, whose kind communications have been
separately interwoven in many parts of this work. Very few articles of
this collection were committed to writing by himself, he not having that
habit; which he regrets, and which those who know the numerous
opportunities he had of gathering the rich fruits of _Johnsonian_ wit
and wisdom, must ever regret. I however found, in conversations with
him, that a good store of _Johnsoniana_ treasured in his mind[2]; and I
compared it to Herculaneum, or some old Roman field, which when dug,
fully rewards the labour employed. The authenticity of every article is
unquestionable. For the expression, I, who wrote them down in his
presence, am partly answerable.

'Theocritus is not deserving of very high respect as a writer; as to the
pastoral part, Virgil is very evidently superiour. He wrote when there
had been a larger influx of knowledge into the world than when
Theocritus lived. Theocritus does not abound in description, though
living in a beautiful country: the manners painted are coarse and gross.
Virgil has much more description, more sentiment, more of Nature, and
more of art. Some of the most excellent parts of Theocritus are, where
Castor and Pollux, going with the other Argonauts, land on the Bebrycian
coast, and there fall into a dispute with Amycus, the King of that
country; which is as well conducted as Euripides could have done it; and
the battle is well related. Afterwards they carry off a woman, whose two
brothers come to recover her, and expostulate with Castor and Pollux on
their injustice; but they pay no regard to the brothers, and a battle
ensues, where Castor and his brother are triumphant. Theocritus seems
not to have seen that the brothers have the advantage in their argument
over his Argonaut heroes. _The Sicilian Gossips_ is a piece of merit.'

'Callimachus is a writer of little excellence. The chief thing to be
learned from him is his account of Rites and Mythology; which, though
desirable to be known for the sake of understanding other parts of
ancient authours, is the least pleasing or valuable part of their
writings.'

'Mattaire's account of the Stephani[3] is a heavy book. He seems to have
been a puzzle-headed man, with a large share of scholarship, but with
little geometry or logick in his head, without method, and possessed of
little genius. He wrote Latin verses from time to time, and published a
set in his old age, which he called '_Senilia_;' in which he shews so
little learning or taste in writing, as to make _Carteret_ a dactyl[4].
In matters of genealogy it is necessary to give the bare names as they
are; but in poetry, and in prose of any elegance in the writing, they
require to have inflection given to them. His book of the Dialects[5] is
a sad heap of confusion; the only way to write on them is to tabulate
them with Notes, added at the bottom of the page, and references.'

'It may be questioned, whether there is not some mistake as to the
methods of employing the poor, seemingly on a supposition that there is
a certain portion of work left undone for want of persons to do it; but
if that is otherwise, and all the materials we have are actually worked
up, or all the manufactures we can use or dispose of are already
executed, then what is given to the poor, who are to be set at work,
must be taken from some who now have it; as time must be taken for
learning, according to Sir William Petty's observation, a certain part
of those very materials that, as it is, are properly worked up, must be
spoiled by the unskilfulness of novices. We may apply to well-meaning,
but misjudging persons in particulars of this nature, what Giannone[6]
said to a monk, who wanted what he called to _convert_ him: _"Tu sei
santo, ma tu non sei filosofo"_--It is an unhappy circumstance that one
might give away five hundred pounds in a year to those that importune in
the streets, and not do any good[7].'

'There is nothing more likely to betray a man into absurdity than
_condescension_; when he seems to suppose his understanding too powerful
for his company[8].'

'Having asked Mr. Langton if his father and mother had sat for their
pictures, which he thought it right for each generation of a family to
do, and being told they had opposed it, he said, "Sir, among the
anfractuosities[9] of the human mind, I know not if it may not be one,
that there is a superstitious reluctance to sit for a picture."'

'John Gilbert Cooper[10] related, that soon after the publication of his
_Dictionary_, Garrick being asked by Johnson what people said of it,
told him, that among other animadversions, it was objected that he cited
authorities which were beneath the dignity of such a work, and mentioned
Richardson. "Nay, (said Johnson,) I have done worse than that: I have
cited _thee_, David[11]."'

'Talking of expence, he observed, with what munificence a great merchant
will spend his money, both from his having it at command, and from his
enlarged views by calculation of a good effect upon the whole. "Whereas
(said he) you will hardly ever find a country gentleman who is not a
good deal disconcerted at an unexpected occasion for his being obliged
to lay out ten pounds[12]."'

'When in good humour he would talk of his own writings with a wonderful
frankness and candour, and would even criticise them with the closest
severity. One day, having read over one of his Ramblers, Mr. Langton
asked him, how he liked that paper; he shook his head, and answered,
"too wordy." At another time, when one was reading his tragedy of
_Irene_ to a company at a house in the country, he left the room; and
somebody having asked him the reason of this, he replied, Sir, I thought
it had been better[13].'

'Talking of a point of delicate scrupulosity[14] of moral conduct, he
said to Mr. Langton, "Men of harder minds than ours will do many things
from which you and I would shrink; yet, Sir, they will perhaps do more
good in life than we. But let us try to help one another. If there be a
wrong twist it may be set right. It is not probable that two people can
be wrong the same way."'

'Of the Preface to Capel's _Shakspeare_, he said, "If the man would have
come to me, I would have endeavoured to endow his purposes with words;
for as it is, he doth gabble monstrously[15]."'

'He related, that he had once in a dream a contest of wit with some
other person, and that he was very much mortified by imagining that his
opponent had the better of him. "Now, (said he,) one may mark here the
effect of sleep in weakening the power of reflection; for had not my
judgement failed me, I should have seen, that the wit of this supposed
antagonist, by whose superiority I felt myself depressed, was as much
furnished by me, as that which I thought I had been uttering in my own
character."'

'One evening in company, an ingenious and learned gentleman read to him
a letter of compliment which he had received from one of the Professors
of a foreign University. Johnson, in an irritable fit, thinking there
was too much ostentation, said, "I never receive any of these tributes
of applause from abroad. One instance I recollect of a foreign
publication, in which mention is made of _l'illustre Lockman_[16]."'

'Of Sir Joshua Reynolds, he said, "Sir, I know no man who has passed
through life with more observation than Reynolds."'

'He repeated to Mr. Langton, with great energy, in the Greek, our
SAVIOUR'S gracious expression concerning the forgiveness of Mary
Magdalen, "[Greek: Ae pistis sou sesoke se poreuou eis eiraeuaeu.] Thy
faith hath saved thee; go in peace[17]." He said, "the manner of this
dismission is exceedingly affecting."'

'He thus defined the difference between physical and moral truth;
"Physical truth, is, when you tell a thing as it actually is. Moral
truth, is, when you tell a thing sincerely and precisely as it appears
to you. I say such a one walked across the street; if he really did so,
I told a physical truth. If I thought so, though I should have been
mistaken, I told a moral truth."'

'Huggins, the translator of Ariosto, and Mr. Thomas Warton, in the early
part of his literary life, had a dispute concerning that poet, of whom
Mr. Warton in his _Observations on Spenser's Fairy Queen_, gave some
account, which Huggins attempted to answer with violence, and said, "I
will _militate_ no longer against his _nescience_." Huggins was master
of the subject, but wanted expression. Mr. Warton's knowledge of it was
then imperfect, but his manner lively and elegant[18]. Johnson said, "It
appears to me, that Huggins has ball without powder, and Warton powder
without ball."'

'Talking of the Farce of _High Life below Stairs_[19], he said, "Here is
a Farce, which is really very diverting when you see it acted; and yet
one may read it, and not know that one has been reading any thing
at all."'

'He used at one time to go occasionally to the green room of Drury-lane
Theatre[20], where he was much regarded by the players, and was very
easy and facetious with them. He had a very high opinion of Mrs. Clive's
comick powers, and conversed more with her than with any of them. He
said, "Clive, Sir, is a good thing to sit by; she always understands
what you say[21]." And she said of him, "I love to sit by Dr. Johnson;
he always entertains me." One night, when _The Recruiting Officer_ was
acted, he said to Mr. Holland[22], who had been expressing an
apprehension that Dr. Johnson would disdain the works of Farquhar; "No,
Sir, I think Farquhar a man whose writings have considerable merit."'

'His friend Garrick was so busy in conducting the drama, that they could
not have so much intercourse as Mr. Garrick used to profess an anxious
wish that there should be[23]. There might, indeed, be something in the
contemptuous severity as to the merit of acting, which his old preceptor
nourished in himself, that would mortify Garrick after the great
applause which he received from the audience. For though Johnson said of
him, "Sir, a man who has a nation to admire him every night, may well be
expected to be somewhat elated[24];" yet he would treat theatrical
matters with a ludicrous slight. He mentioned one evening, "I met David
coming off the stage, drest in a woman's riding-hood, when he acted in
_The Wonder_[25]; I came full upon him, and I believe he was not
pleased."'

'Once he asked Tom Davies, whom he saw drest in a fine suit of clothes,
"And what art thou to-night?" Tom answered, "The Thane of Ross[26];"
(which it will be recollected is a very inconsiderable character.) "O
brave!" said Johnson.'

'Of Mr. Longley, at Rochester, a gentleman of very considerable
learning, whom Dr. Johnson met there, he said, "My heart warms towards
him. I was surprised to find in him such a nice acquaintance with the
metre in the learned languages; though I was somewhat mortified that I
had it not so much to myself, as I should have thought[27]."'

'Talking of the minuteness with which people will record the sayings of
eminent persons, a story was told, that when Pope was on a visit to
Spence[28] at Oxford, as they looked from the window they saw a
Gentleman Commoner, who was just come in from riding, amusing himself
with whipping at a post. Pope took occasion to say, "That young
gentleman seems to have little to do." Mr. Beauclerk observed, "Then, to
be sure, Spence turned round and wrote that down;" and went on to say to
Dr. Johnson, "Pope, Sir, would have said the same of you, if he had seen
you distilling[29]." JOHNSON. "Sir, if Pope had told me of my
distilling, I would have told him of his grotto[30]."'

'He would allow no settled indulgence of idleness upon principle, and
always repelled every attempt to urge excuses for it, A friend one day
suggested, that it was not wholesome to study soon after dinner.
JOHNSON. "Ah, Sir, don't give way to such a fancy. At one time of my
life I had taken it into my head that it was not wholesome to study
between breakfast and dinner[31]."'

'Mr. Beauclerk one day repeated to Dr. Johnson Pope's lines,

"Let modest Foster, if he will, excel
Ten metropolitans in preaching well:" [32]

Then asked the Doctor, "Why did Pope say this?" JOHNSON. 'Sir, he hoped
it would vex somebody.'

'Dr. Goldsmith, upon occasion of Mrs. Lennox's bringing out a play[33],
said to Dr. Johnson at the CLUB, that a person had advised him to go and
hiss it, because she had attacked Shakspeare in her book called
_Shakspeare Illustrated_[34]. JOHNSON. "And did not you tell him he was
a rascal[35]?" GOLDSMITH. "No, Sir, I did not. Perhaps he might not mean
what he said." JOHNSON. "Nay, Sir, if he lied, it is a different thing."
Colman slily said, (but it is believed Dr. Johnson did not hear him,)
"Then the proper expression should have been,--Sir, if you don't lie,
you're a rascal."'

'His affection for Topham Beauclerk was so great, that when Beauclerk
was labouring under that severe illness which at last occasioned his
death, Johnson said, (with a voice faultering with emotion,) "Sir, I
would walk to the extent of the diameter of the earth to save
Beauclerk[36]."'

'One night at the CLUB he produced a translation of an Epitaph which
Lord Elibank had written in English, for his Lady, and requested of
Johnson to turn into Latin for him. Having read _Domina de North et
Gray_, he said to Dyer, "You see, Sir, what barbarisms we are compelled
to make use of, when modern titles are to be specifically mentioned in
Latin inscriptions." When he had read it once aloud, and there had been
a general approbation expressed by the company, he addressed himself to
Mr. Dyer in particular, and said, "Sir, I beg to have your judgement,
for I know your nicety[37]." Dyer then very properly desired to read it
over again; which having done, he pointed out an incongruity in one of
the sentences. Johnson immediately assented to the observation, and
said, "Sir, this is owing to an alteration of a part of the sentence,
from the form in which I had first written it; and I believe, Sir, you
may have remarked, that the making a partial change, without a due
regard to the general structure of the sentence, is a very frequent
cause of errour in composition."'

'Johnson was well acquainted with Mr. Dossie, authour of a treatise on
Agriculture[38]; 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." Johnson, 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 characteristick of the Scotch. 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 never 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[39]. A clergyman having readily acquiesced 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[40]. In short, Sir, I have got no further than this: Every man
has a right to utter what he thinks truth, and every other man has a
right to knock him down for it. Martyrdom is the test[41]."'

'A man, he observed, should begin to write soon; for, if he waits till
his judgement 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 writing at all[42]. As a proof of the justness of this
remark, we may instance what is related of the great Lord Granville[43];
that after he had written his letter, giving an account of the battle of
Dettingen, he said, "Here is a letter, expressed in terms not good
enough for a tallow-chandler to have used.'"

'Talking of a Court-martial that was sitting upon a very momentous
publick occasion, he expressed much doubt of an enlightened decision;
and said, that perhaps there was not a member of it, who in the whole
course of his life, had ever spent an hour by himself in balancing
probabilities[44].'

'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[45]. One of the company having
read it aloud, Dr. Johnson said, "Bolder words and more timorous
meaning, I think never were brought together."'

'Talking of Gray's _Odes_, he said, "They are forced plants raised in a
hot-bed[46]; and they are poor plants; they are but cucumbers after
all." A gentleman present, who had been running down Ode-writing in
general, 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_."'

'His distinction of the different degrees of attainment of learning was
thus marked upon two occasions. Of Queen Elizabeth he said, "She had
learning enough to have given dignity to a bishop;" and of Mr. Thomas
Davies he said, "Sir, Davies has learning enough to give credit to a
clergyman[47]."'

'He used to quote, with great warmth, the saying of Aristotle recorded
by Diogenes Laertius[48]; that there was the same difference between one
learned and unlearned, as between the living and the dead.'

'It is very remarkable, that he retained in his memory very slight and
trivial, as well as important things[49]. As an instance of this, it
seems that an inferiour domestick of the Duke of Leeds had attempted to
celebrate his Grace's marriage in such homely rhimes as he could make;
and this curious composition having been sung to Dr. Johnson 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 sattin shall wear;
And ride in a coach to take the air,
And have a house in St. James's-square[50]."

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 stanza repeated by him, that it nearly
comprized all the advantages that wealth can give.'

'An eminent foreigner, when he was shewn the British Museum, was very
troublesome with many absurd inquiries. "Now there, Sir, (said he,) is
the difference between an Englishman and a Frenchman. A Frenchman must
be always talking, whether he knows any thing of the matter or not; an
Englishman is content to say nothing, when he has nothing to say."'

'His unjust contempt for foreigners was, indeed, extreme. One evening,
at old Slaughter's coffee-house[51], when a number of them were talking
loud about little matters, he said, "Does not this confirm old
Meynell's[52] observation--_For any thing I see, foreigners are
fools_[53]."'

'He said, that once, when he had a violent tooth-ach, a Frenchman
accosted him thus:--_Ah, Monsieur vous etudiez trop_[54].'

'Having spent an evening at Mr. Langton'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. 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[55]."'

'We may fairly institute a criticism between Shakspeare and
Corneille[56], as they both had, though in a different degree, the
lights of a latter age. It is not so just between 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[57] had
_prescience_, it does not necessarily follow that he had all _past_
particulars revealed to him.'

'Spanish plays, being wildly and improbably farcical, would please
children here, as children are entertained with stories full of
prodigies; their experience not being sufficient to cause them to be so
readily startled at deviations from the natural course of life[58]. The
machinery of the Pagans is uninteresting to us[59]: when a Goddess
appears in Homer 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 invention, 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 received, 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[60], and
fairies, though these latter, as the vulgar superstition concerning them
(which, while in its force, infected 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 poetry. As I recollect, Hammond
introduces a hag or witch into one of his love elegies, where the effect
is unmeaning and disgusting[61].'

'The man who uses his talent of ridicule in creating or grossly
exaggerating the instances he 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 greatly. The great use of
delineating absurdities is, that we may know how far human folly can go;
the account, therefore, ought of absolute necessity to be faithful. A
certain 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,
"obstinate as a pig," &c., but I don't know whether it might not be true
of Lord ------[62], that from a too great eagerness of praise and
popularity, and a politeness carried to a ridiculous excess, he was
likely, after asserting a thing in general, to give it up again in
parts. For instance, if he had said Reynolds was the first of painters,
he was capable enough of 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 disposition of his pictures was all alike.'

'For hospitality, as formerly practised, there is no longer the same
reason; heretofore the poorer people were more numerous, 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 longer 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
providing inns and proper accommodations, which is in general a more
expedient method 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[63]?" Upon this he observed, "Sir, let Farmer answer for
himself: _I_ never engaged in this controversy. I always said,
Shakspeare had Latin enough to grammaticise his English[64]."'

'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 Mans
Wish_, a song by Dr. Walter Pope, a verse bordering on licentiousness.
Johnson rebuked him in the finest manner, by first shewing him that he
did not know the passage he was aiming at, and thus humbling him: "Sir,
that is not the song: it is thus." And he gave it right. Then looking
stedfastly on him, "Sir, there is a part of that song which I should
wish to exemplify in my own life:--

"May I govern my passions with absolute sway[65]!"'

'Being asked if Barnes knew a good deal of Greek, he answered, "I doubt,
Sir, he was _unoculus inter caecos[66]_."'

'He used frequently to observe, that men might be very eminent in a
profession, without our perceiving any particular power of mind in them
in conversation. "It seems strange (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[67]."'

'A gentleman, by no means deficient in literature, having discovered
less acquaintance with one of the Classicks than Johnson expected, when
the gentleman left the room, he observed, "You see, now, how little any
body reads." Mr. Langton happening to mention his having read a good
deal in Clenardus's _Greek Grammar_, "Why, Sir, (said he,) who is there
in this town who knows any thing of Clenardus but you and I?" 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, (said he,) I never made such an effort to attain Greek[68]."'

'Of Dodsley's _Publick Virtue, a Poem_, he said, "It was fine _blank_
(meaning to express his usual contempt for blank verse[69]); however,
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_[70], to him, not aware of his extreme impatience to be read to.
As it went on he turned his face to the back of his chair, and put
himself into various attitudes, which marked his uneasiness. At the end
of an act, however, he said, "Come let's have some more, let's go into
the slaughter-house again, Lanky. But I am afraid there is more blood
than brains." Yet he afterwards said, "When I heard you read it, I
thought higher of its power of language: when I read it myself, I was
more sensible of its pathetick effect;" and then he paid it a compliment
which many will think very extravagant. "Sir, (said he,) if Otway had
written this play, no other of his pieces would have been remembered."
Dodsley himself, upon this being repeated to him, said, "It was too
much:" it must be remembered, that Johnson always appeared not to be
sufficiently sensible of the merit of Otway[71].'

'Snatches of reading (said he) will not make a Bentley or a Clarke. They
are, however, in a certain degree advantageous. 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 discouraged 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[72].'

'Though he used to censure carelessness 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 brother to Dr. Johnson was earnest to
recommend him to the Doctor's notice, which he did by saying, "When we
have sat together some time, you'll find my brother grow very
entertaining."--"Sir, (said Johnson,) I can wait."'

'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_; and
finding that there appeared no abatement of his power of acquisition, he
then desisted, as thinking the experiment had been duly tried[73]. Mr.
Burke justly observed, that this was not the most vigorous trial, Low
Dutch being a language so near to our own; had it been one of the
languages entirely different, he might have been very soon satisfied.'

'Mr. Langton and he having gone to see a Freemason's funeral procession,
when they were at Rochester[74], and some solemn musick being played on
French horns, he said, "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 melancholy _per se_, it is bad[75]."'

'Goldsmith had long a visionary 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 ignorant 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[76]."'

'Greek, Sir, (said he,) is like lace; every man gets as much of it as he
can[77].'

'When Lord Charles Hay[78], after his return from America, was preparing
his defence to be offered to the Court-Martial which he had demanded,
having heard Mr. Langton as high in expressions of admiration of
Johnson, as he usually was, he requested that Dr. Johnson might be
introduced 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 under arrest, he saw him several times; upon one of
which occasions Lord Charles read to him what he had prepared, which
Johnson signified his approbation of, saying, "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[79] in
Dodsley's _Collection_, which he recited with his usual energy. Dr. Adam
Smith, who was present, observed in his decisive professorial manner,
"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 verses of a man of a strong mind, but not accustomed to
write verse[80]; for there is some uncouthness in the expression[81]."'

'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[82]."--"Sir, (said Johnson) I will
stand by the lines I have written on Shakspeare in my Prologue at the
opening of your Theatre[83]." Mr. Langton suggested, that in the line

"And panting Time toil'd after him in vain,"

Johnson might have had in his eye the passage in _The Tempest_, where
Prospero says of Miranda,

"-------She will outstrip all praise,
And make it halt behind her[84]."

Johnson said nothing. Garrick then ventured to observe, "I do not think
that the happiest line in the praise of Shakspeare." Johnson exclaimed
(smiling,) "Prosaical rogues! next time I write, I'll make both time and
space pant[85]."'

'It is well known that there was formerly a rude custom for those who
were sailing upon the Thames, to accost each other as they passed, in
the most abusive language they could invent, generally, however, with as
much satirical humour as they were capable of producing. Addison gives a
specimen of this ribaldry, in Number 383 of _The Spectator_, when Sir
Roger de Coverly and he are going to Spring-garden[86]. Johnson was once
eminently successful in this species of contest; a fellow having
attacked him with some coarse raillery, Johnson answered him thus, "Sir,
your wife, _under pretence of keeping a bawdy-house_, is a receiver of
stolen goods[87]." One evening when he and Mr. Burke and Mr. Langton
were in company together, and the admirable scolding of Timon of Athens
was mentioned, this instance of Johnson's was quoted, and thought to
have at least equal excellence.'

'As Johnson always allowed the extraordinary talents of Mr. Burke, so
Mr. Burke was fully sensible of the wonderful powers of Johnson. Mr.
Langton recollects having passed an evening with both of them, when Mr.
Burke repeatedly entered upon topicks which it was evident he would have
illustrated with extensive knowledge and richness of expression; but
Johnson always seized upon the conversation, in which, however, he
acquitted himself 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. Langton joined in this, but added, he could have
wished to hear more from another person; (plainly intimating that he
meant Mr. Burke.) "O, no (said Mr. Burke) it is enough for me to have
rung the bell to him[88]."'

'Beauclerk having observed to him of one of their friends, that he was
aukward at counting money, "Why, Sir, said Johnson, I am likewise
aukward at counting money. But then, Sir, the reason is plain; I have
had very little money to count."'

'He had an abhorrence of affectation[89]. Talking of old Mr. Langton, of
whom he said, "Sir, you will seldom see such a gentleman, such are his
stores of literature, 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[90]."'

'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[91]; 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[92]."'

'Goldsmith, upon being visited by Johnson one day in the Temple, said to
him with a little jealousy of the appearance of his accommodation, "I
shall soon be in better chambers than these." 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,--'Nay, Sir,
never mind that. _Nil te quaesiveris extra_[93].'

'At the time when his pension was granted to him, he said, with a noble
literary ambition, "Had this happened twenty years years ago, I should
have gone to Constantinople to learn Arabick, as Pococke did[94]."'

'As an instance of the niceness of his taste, though he praised West's
translation of Pindar, he pointed out the following passage as faulty,
by expressing a circumstance so minute as to detract from the general
dignity which should prevail:

"Down then from thy glittering nail,
Take, O Muse, thy Dorian _lyre_[95].'"

'When Mr. Vesey[96] was proposed as a member of the LITERARY CLUB, Mr.
Burke began by saying that he was a man of gentle manners. "Sir, said
Johnson, you need say no more. When you have said a man of gentle
manners; you have said enough."'

'The late Mr. Fitzherbert[97] told Mr. Langton that Johnson said to him,
"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."'

'My dear friend Dr. Bathurst[98], (said he with a warmth of approbation)
declared he was glad that his father, who was a West-Indian planter, had
left his affairs in total ruin, because having no estate, he was not
under the temptation of having slaves.'

'Richardson had little conversation[99], except about his own works, of
which Sir Joshua Reynolds said he was always willing to talk, and glad
to have them introduced. Johnson when he carried Mr. Langton to see him,
professed that he could bring him out into conversation, and used this
allusive expression, "Sir, I can make him _rear._" But he failed; for in
that interview Richardson said little else than that there lay in the
room a translation of his _Clarissa_ into German[100].'

'Once when somebody produced a newspaper in which there was a letter of
stupid abuse of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of which Johnson himself came in
for a share,--"Pray," said he, "let us have it read aloud from beginning
to end;" which being done, he with a ludicrous earnestness, and not
directing his look to any particular person, called out, "Are we alive
after all this satire!"'

'He had a strong prejudice against the political character of
Seeker[101], one instance of which appeared at Oxford, where he
expressed great dissatisfaction at his varying the old established
toast, "Church and King." "The Archbishop of Canterbury, said he (with
an affected smooth smiling grimace) drinks,' Constitution in Church and
State.'" 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 prelate, 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."'

'Of a certain noble Lord, he said, "Respect 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[102]."'

'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[103]."'

'He told in his lively manner the following literary anecdote: "Green
and Guthrie[104], an Irishman and a Scotchman, undertook a translation
of Duhalde's _History 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 _History of China_. In this translation
there was found 'the twenty-sixth day of the new moon.' 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. Their blunder arose from their
mistaking the word _neuvieme_ ninth, for _nouvelle_ or _neuve_, new."'

'Talking of Dr. Blagden's copiousness and precision of communication,
Dr. Johnson said, "Blagden, Sir, is a delightful fellow[105]."'

'On occasion of Dr. Johnson's publishing his pamphlet of _The False
Alarm_[106], 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[107]?" 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[108].'

'Depend upon it, said he, that if a man _talks_ of his misfortunes,
there is something in them that is not disagreeable to him; for where
there is nothing but pure misery, there never is any recourse to the
mention of it[109].'

'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_ added to the
_c_[110].'

'Many a man is mad in certain instances, and goes through life without
having it perceived[111]: for example, a madness has seized a person of
supposing himself obliged literally to pray continually[112]--had 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[113]: for instance,--if a woman should
continually dwell upon the subject of the Arian heresy.'

'No man speaks concerning another, even suppose it be in his praise, if
he thinks he does not hear him, exactly as he would, if he thought he
was within hearing.'

'The applause of a single human being is of great consequence[114]: 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 fatigue 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 satisfaction what Baretti had told him;
that, meeting, in the course of his studying English, with an excellent
paper in the _Spectator_, one of four[115] that were written by the
respectable Dissenting Minister, Mr. Grove of Taunton, and observing the
genius and energy of mind that it exhibits, it greatly quickened his
curiosity to visit our country; as he thought if such were the lighter
periodical essays of our authours, their productions on more weighty
occasions must be wonderful indeed!'

'He observed once, at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, that a beggar in the street
will more readily ask alms from a _man_, though there should be no marks
of wealth in his appearance, than from even a well-dressed woman[116];
which he accounted for from the greater degree of carefulness as to
money that is to be found in women; saying farther upon it, that the
opportunities in general that they possess of improving their condition
are much fewer than men have; and adding, as he looked round the
company, 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 characterised an ingenious writer of his acquaintance: "Sir, he
is an enthusiast by rule[117]."'

'_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. Fitzherbert, wife to his friend Mr. Fitzherbert
of Derbyshire, and respected by Dr. Johnson as a very fine one[118]. He
had in general a very high opinion of that lady's understanding.'

'An observation of Bathurst's may be mentioned, which Johnson repeated,
appearing to acknowledge it to be well founded, namely, it was somewhat
remarkable how seldom, on occasion of coming into the company of any new
person, one felt any wish or inclination to see him again[119].'

This year the Reverend Dr. Franklin[120] having published a translation
of _Lucian_, inscribed to him the _Demonax_ thus:--

'To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON, the Demonax of the present age, this piece is
inscribed by a sincere admirer of his respectable[121] talents,

'THE TRANSLATOR.'

Though upon a particular comparison of Demonax and Johnson, there does
not seem to be a great deal of similarity between them, this Dedication
is a just compliment from the general character given by Lucian of the
ancient Sage, '[Greek: ariston on oida ego philosophon genomenon], the
best philosopher whom I have ever seen or known.'

1781: AETAT. 72.--In 1781 Johnson at last completed his _Lives of the
Poets_, of which he gives this account: 'Some time in March I finished
the _Lives of the Poets_, which I wrote in my usual way, dilatorily and
hastily, unwilling to work, and working with vigour and haste[122].' In
a memorandum previous to this, he says of them: 'Written, I hope, in
such a manner as may tend to the promotion of piety[123].'

This is the work which of all Dr. Johnson's writings will perhaps be
read most generally, and with most pleasure. Philology and
biography[124] were his favourite pursuits, and those who lived most in
intimacy with him, heard him upon all occasions, when there was a proper
opportunity, take delight in expatiating upon the various merits of the
English Poets: upon the niceties of their characters, and the events of
their progress through the world which they contributed to illuminate.
His mind was so full of that kind of information, and it was so well
arranged in his memory, that in performing what he had undertaken in
this way, he had little more to do than to put his thoughts upon paper,
exhibiting first each Poet's life, and then subjoining a critical
examination of his genius and works. But when he began to write, the
subject swelled in such a manner, that instead of prefaces to each poet,
of no more than a few pages, as he had originally intended[125], he
produced an ample, rich, and most entertaining view of them in every
respect. In this he resembled Quintilian, who tells us, that in the
composition of his _Institutions of Oratory[126], Latius se tamen
aperiente materia, plus quam imponebatur oneris sponte suscepi._ The
booksellers, justly sensible of the great additional value of the
copy-right, presented him with another hundred pounds, over and above
two hundred, for which his agreement was to furnish such prefaces as he
thought fit[127].

This was, however, but a small recompense for such a collection of
biography, and such principles and illustrations of criticism, as, if
digested and arranged in one system, by some modern Aristotle or
Longinus, might form a code upon that subject, such as no other nation
can shew. As he was so good as to make me a present of the greatest part
of the original and indeed only[128] manuscript of this admirable work,
I have an opportunity of observing with wonder, the correctness with
which he rapidly struck off such glowing composition. He may be
assimilated to the Lady in Waller, who could impress with 'Love at
first sight:'

'Some other nymphs with colours faint,
And pencil slow may Cupid paint,
And a weak heart in time destroy;
She has a stamp, and prints the boy[129].'

That he, however, had a good deal of trouble, and some anxiety in
carrying on the work[130], we see from a series of letters to Mr.
Nichols the printer[131], whose variety of literary inquiry and
obliging disposition, rendered him useful to Johnson. Mr. Steevens
appears, from the papers in my possession, to have supplied him with
some anecdotes and quotations; and I observe the fair hand of Mrs.
Thrale as one of his copyists of select passages. But he was principally
indebted to my steady friend Mr. Isaac Reed, of Staple-inn, whose
extensive and accurate knowledge of English literary history I do not
express with exaggeration, when I say it is wonderful; indeed his
labours[132] have proved it to the world; and all who have the pleasure
of his acquaintance can bear testimony to the frankness of his
communications in private society.

It is not my intention to dwell upon each of Johnson's _Lives of the
Poets_, or attempt an analysis of their merits, which, were I able to
do it, would take up too much room in this work; yet I shall make a few
observations upon some of them, and insert a few various readings.

The Life of COWLEY he himself considered as the best of the whole, on
account of the dissertation which it contains on the _Metaphysical
Poets_. Dryden, whose critical abilities were equal to his poetical, had
mentioned them in his excellent Dedication of his Juvenal, but had
barely mentioned them[133]. Johnson has exhibited them at large, with
such happy illustration from their writings, and in so luminous a
manner, that indeed he may be allowed the full merit of novelty, and to
have discovered to us, as it were, a new planet in the poetical
hemisphere[134].

It is remarked by Johnson, in considering the works of a poet[135], that
'amendments are seldom made without some token of a rent;' but I do not
find that this is applicable to prose[136]. We shall see that though his
amendments in this work are for the better, there is nothing of the
_pannus assutus_[137]; the texture is uniform: and indeed, what had been
there at first, is very seldom unfit to have remained.

_Various Readings[138] in the Life of COWLEY._

'All [future votaries of] _that may hereafter pant for_ solitude.

'To conceive and execute the [agitation or perception] _pains and the
pleasures_ of other minds.

'The wide effulgence of [the blazing] a _summer_ noon.'

In the Life of WALLER, Johnson gives a distinct and animated narrative
of publick affairs in that variegated period, with strong yet nice
touches of character; and having a fair opportunity to display his
political principles, does it with an unqualified manly confidence, and
satisfies his readers how nobly he might have executed a _Tory History_
of his country.

So easy is his style in these Lives, that I do not recollect more than
three uncommon or learned words[139]; one, when giving an account of the
approach of Waller's mortal disease, he says, 'he found his legs grow
_tumid_;' by using the expression his legs _swelled_, he would have
avoided this; and there would have been no impropriety in its being
followed by the interesting question to his physician, 'What that
_swelling_ meant?' Another, when he mentions that Pope had _emitted_
proposals; when _published_ or _issued_ would have been more readily
understood; and a third, when he calls Orrery and Dr. Delany[140],
writers both undoubtedly _veracious_[141], when _true, honest_, or
_faithful_, might have been used. Yet, it must be owned, that none of
these are _hard_ or _too big_ words; that custom would make them seem as
easy as any others; and that a language is richer and capable of more
beauty of expression, by having a greater variety of synonimes.

His dissertation[142] upon the unfitness of poetry for the aweful
subjects of our holy religion, though I do not entirely agree with with
him, has all the merit of originality, with uncommon force and
reasoning.

_Various Readings in the Life of_ WALLER.

'Consented to [the insertion of their names] _their own nomination_.

'[After] _paying_ a fine of ten thousand pounds.

'Congratulating Charles the Second on his [coronation] _recovered
right_.

'He that has flattery ready for all whom the vicissitudes of the world
happen to exalt, must be [confessed to degrade his powers] _scorned as a
prostituted mind_.

'The characters by which Waller intended to distinguish his writings are
[elegance] _sprightliness_ and dignity.

'Blossoms to be valued only as they [fetch] _foretell_ fruits.

'Images such as the superficies of nature [easily] _readily_ supplies.

'[His] Some applications [are sometimes] _may be thought_ too remote and
unconsequential.

'His images are [sometimes confused] _not always distinct_?

Against his Life of MILTON, the hounds of Whiggism have opened in full
cry[143]. But of Milton's great excellence as a poet, where shall we
find such a blazon as by the hand of Johnson? I shall select only the
following passage concerning _Paradise Lost_[144]:

'Fancy can hardly forbear to conjecture with what temper Milton surveyed
the silent progress of his work, and marked his reputation stealing its
way in a kind of subterraneous current, through fear and silence. I
cannot but conceive him calm and confident, little disappointed, not at
all dejected, relying on his own merit with steady consciousness, and
waiting without impatience the vicissitudes of opinion, and the
impartiality of a future generation[145].'

Indeed even Dr. Towers, who may be considered as one of the warmest
zealots of _The Revolution Society_[146] itself, allows, that 'Johnson
has spoken in the highest terms of the abilities of that great poet, and
has bestowed on his principal poetical compositions the most honourable
encomiums[147].'

That a man, who venerated the Church and Monarchy as Johnson did, should
speak with a just abhorrence of Milton as a politician, or rather as a
daring foe to good polity, was surely to be expected; and to those who
censure him, I would recommend his commentary on Milton's celebrated
complaint of his situation, when by the lenity of Charles the Second, 'a
lenity of which (as Johnson well observes) the world has had perhaps no
other example, he, who had written in justification of the murder of his
Sovereign, was safe under an Act of Oblivion[148].'

'No sooner is he safe than he finds himself in danger, _fallen on evil
days and evil tongues_, [and] _with darkness and with danger compassed
round_[149]. This darkness, had his eyes been better employed, had
undoubtedly deserved compassion; but to add the mention of danger, was
ungrateful and unjust. He was fallen, indeed, on _evil days_; the time
was come in which regicides could no longer boast their wickedness. But
of _evil tongues_ for Milton to complain, required impudence at least
equal to his other powers; Milton, whose warmest advocates must allow,
that he never spared any asperity of reproach, or brutality of
insolence[150].'

I have, indeed, often wondered how Milton, 'an acrimonious and surly
Republican[151],'--'a man who in his domestick relations was so severe
and arbitrary[152],' and whose head was filled with the hardest and most
dismal tenets of Calvinism[153], should have been such a poet; should
not only have written with sublimity, but with beauty, and even gaiety;
should have exquisitely painted the sweetest sensations of which our
nature is capable; imaged the delicate raptures of connubial love; nay,
seemed to be animated with all the spirit of revelry. It is a proof that
in the human mind the departments of judgement and imagination,
perception and temper, may sometimes be divided by strong partitions;
and that the light and shade in the same character may be kept so
distinct as never to be blended[154].

In the Life of Milton, Johnson took occasion to maintain his own and the
general opinion of the excellence of rhyme over blank verse, in English
poetry[155]; and quotes this apposite illustration of it by 'an
ingenious critick,' that _it seems to be verse only to the eye_[156].
The gentleman whom he thus characterises, is (as he told Mr. Seward) Mr.
Lock[157], of Norbury Park, in Surrey, whose knowledge and taste in the
fine arts is universally celebrated; with whose elegance of manners the
writer of the present work has felt himself much impressed, and to whose
virtues a common friend, who has known him long, and is not much
addicted to flattery, gives the highest testimony.

_Various Readings in the Life of_ MILTON.

'I cannot find any meaning but this which [his most bigotted advocates]
_even kindness and reverence_ can give.

'[Perhaps no] _scarcely any_ man ever wrote so much, and praised so few.

'A certain [rescue] _perservative_ from oblivion.

'Let me not be censured for this digression, as [contracted] _pedantick_
or paradoxical.

'Socrates rather was of opinion, that what we had to learn was how to
[obtain and communicate happiness] _do good and avoid evil_.

'Its elegance [who can exhibit?] _is less attainable._'

I could, with pleasure, expatiate upon the masterly execution of the
Life of DRYDEN, which we have seen[158] was one of Johnson's literary
projects at an early period, and which it is remarkable, that after
desisting from it, from a supposed scantiness of materials, he should,
at an advanced age, have exhibited so amply.

His defence[159] of that great poet against the illiberal attacks upon
him, as if his embracing the Roman Catholick communion had been a
time-serving measure, is a piece of reasoning at once able and candid.
Indeed, Dryden himself, in his _Hind and Panther_, has given such a
picture of his mind, that they who know the anxiety for repose as to the
aweful subject of our state beyond the grave, though they may think his
opinion ill-founded, must think charitably of his sentiment:--

'But, gracious GOD, how well dost thou provide
For erring judgements an unerring guide!
Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light,
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.
O! teach me to believe thee thus conceal'd,
And search no farther than thyself reveal'd;
But Her alone for my director take,
Whom thou hast promis'd never to forsake.
My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires;
My manhood long misled by wand'ring fires,
Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone,
My pride struck out new sparkles of her own.
Such was I, such by Nature still I am;
Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame.
Good life be now my task: my doubts are done;
What more could shock[160] my faith than Three in One?'

In drawing Dryden's character, Johnson has given, though I suppose
unintentionally, some touches of his own. Thus:--'The power that
predominated in his intellectual operations was rather strong reason
than quick sensibility. Upon all occasions that were presented, he
studied rather than felt; and produced sentiments not such as Nature
enforces, but meditation supplies. With the simple and elemental
passions as they spring separate in the mind, he seems not much
acquainted. He is, therefore, with all his variety of excellence, not
often pathetick; and had so little sensibility of the power of effusions
purely natural, that he did not esteem them in others[161].' It may
indeed be observed, that in all the numerous writings of Johnson,
whether in prose or verse, and even in his Tragedy, of which the subject
is the distress of an unfortunate Princess, there is not a single
passage that ever drew a tear[162].

_Various Readings in the Life of_ DRYDEN.

'The reason of this general perusal, Addison has attempted to [find in]
_derive from_ the delight which the mind feels in the investigation
of secrets.

'His best actions are but [convenient] _inability of_ wickedness.

'When once he had engaged himself in disputation, [matter] _thoughts_
flowed in on either side.

'The abyss of an un-ideal [emptiness] _vacancy_.

'These, like [many other harlots,] _the harlots of other men_, had his
love though not his approbation.

'He [sometimes displays] _descends to display_ his knowledge with
pedantick ostentation.

'French words which [were then used in] _had then crept into_
conversation.'

The Life of POPE[163] was written by Johnson _con amore_, both from the
early possession which that writer had taken of his mind, and from the
pleasure which he must have felt, in for ever silencing all attempts to
lessen his poetical fame, by demonstrating his excellence, and
pronouncing the following triumphant eulogium[164]:--'After all this, it
is surely superfluous to answer the question that has once been asked,
Whether Pope was a poet? otherwise than by asking in return, If Pope be
not a poet, where is poetry to be found? To circumscribe poetry by a
definition, will only shew the narrowness of the definer; though a
definition which shall exclude Pope will not easily be made. Let us look
round upon the present time, and back upon the past; let us enquire to
whom the voice of mankind has decreed the wreath of poetry; let their
productions be examined, and their claims stated, and the pretensions of
Pope will be no more disputed.'

I remember once to have heard Johnson say, 'Sir, a thousand years may
elapse before there shall appear another man with a power of
versification equal to that of Pope.' That power must undoubtedly be
allowed its due share in enhancing the value of his captivating
composition.

Johnson, who had done liberal justice to Warburton in his edition of
_Shakspeare_[165], which was published during the life of that powerful
writer, with still greater liberality[166] took an opportunity, in the
Life of Pope, of paying the tribute due to him when he was no longer in
'high place,' but numbered with the dead[167].

It seems strange, that two such men as Johnson and Warburton, who lived
in the same age and country, should not only not have been in any degree
of intimacy, but been almost personally unacquainted. But such
instances, though we must wonder at them, are not rare. If I am rightly
informed, after a careful enquiry, they never met but once, which was at
the house of Mrs. French, in London, well known for her elegant
assemblies, and bringing eminent characters together. The interview
proved to be mutually agreeable[168].

I am well informed, that Warburton said of Johnson, 'I admire him, but I
cannot bear his style:' and that Johnson being told of this, said, 'That
is exactly my case as to him[169].' The manner in which he expressed his
admiration of the fertility of Warburton's genius and of the variety of
his materials was, 'The table is always full, Sir. He brings things from
the north, and the south, and from every quarter. In his _Divine
Legation_, you are always entertained. He carries you round and round,
without carrying you forward to the point; but then you have no wish to
be carried forward.' He said to the Reverend Mr. Strahan, 'Warburton is
perhaps the last man who has written with a mind full of reading and
reflection[170].'

It is remarkable, that in the Life of Broome[171], Johnson takes notice
of Dr. Warburton using a mode of expression which he himself used, and
that not seldom, to the great offence of those who did not know him.
Having occasion to mention a note, stating the different parts which
were executed by the associated translators of _The Odyssey_, he says,
'Dr. Warburton told me, in his warm language, that he thought the
relation given in the note _a lie_. The language is _warm_ indeed; and,
I must own, cannot be justified in consistency with a decent regard to
the established forms of speech. Johnson had accustomed himself to use
the word _lie_[172], to express a mistake or an errour in relation; in
short, when the _thing was not so as told_, though the relator did not
_mean_ to deceive. When he thought there was intentional falsehood in
the relator, his expression was, 'He _lies_, and he _knows_ he _lies_.'

Speaking of Pope's not having been known to excel in conversation,
Johnson observes, that 'traditional memory retains no sallies of
raillery, or[173] sentences of observation; nothing either pointed or
solid, wise or merry[174]; and that one apophthegm only is
recorded[175].' In this respect, Pope differed widely from Johnson,
whose conversation was, perhaps, more admirable than even his writings,
however excellent. Mr. Wilkes has, however, favoured me with one
repartee of Pope, of which Johnson was not informed. Johnson, after
justly censuring him for having 'nursed in his mind a foolish dis-esteem
of Kings,' tells us, 'yet a little regard shewn him by the Prince of
Wales melted his obduracy; and he had not much to say when he was asked
by his Royal Highness, _how he could love a Prince, while he disliked
Kings_[176]?' The answer which Pope made, was, 'The young lion is
harmless, and even playful; but when his claws are full grown he becomes
cruel, dreadful, and mischievous.'

But although we have no collection of Pope's sayings, it is not
therefore to be concluded, that he was not agreeable in social
intercourse; for Johnson has been heard to say, that 'the happiest
conversation is that of which nothing is distinctly remembered but a
general effect of pleasing impression.' The late Lord Somerville[177],
who saw much both of great and brilliant life, told me, that he had
dined in company with Pope, and that after dinner the _little man_, as
he called him, drank his bottle of Burgundy, and was exceedingly gay and
entertaining.

I cannot withhold from my great friend a censure of at least culpable
inattention, to a nobleman, who, it has been shewn[178], behaved to him
with uncommon politeness. He says, 'Except Lord Bathurst, none of Pope's
noble friends were such as that a good man would wish to have his
intimacy with them known to posterity[179].' This will not apply to Lord
Mansfield, who was not ennobled in Pope's life-time; but Johnson should
have recollected, that Lord Marchmont was one of those noble friends. He
includes his Lordship along with Lord Bolingbroke, in a charge of
neglect of the papers which Pope left by his will; when, in truth, as I
myself pointed out to him, before he wrote that poet's life, the papers
were 'committed to _the sole care and judgement_ of Lord Bolingbroke,
unless he (Lord Bolingbroke) shall not survive me;' so that Lord
Marchmont had no concern whatever with them[180]. After the first
edition of the _Lives_, Mr. Malone, whose love of justice is equal to
his accuracy, made, in my hearing, the same remark to Johnson; yet he
omitted to correct the erroneous statement[181]. These particulars I
mention, in the belief that there was only forgetfulness in my friend;
but I owe this much to the Earl of Marchmont's reputation, who, were
there no other memorials, will be immortalised by that line of Pope, in
the verses on his Grotto:

'And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul.'

_Various Readings in the Life of POPE._

'[Somewhat free] _sufficiently bold_ in his criticism.

'All the gay [niceties] _varieties_ of diction.

'Strikes the imagination with far [more] _greater_ force.

'It is [probably] _certainly_ the noblest version of poetry which the
world has ever seen.

'Every sheet enabled him to write the next with [less trouble] _more
facility_.

'No man sympathizes with [vanity, depressed] _the sorrows of vanity_.

'It had been [criminal] _less easily excused_.

'When he [threatened to lay down] _talked of laying down_ his pen.

'Society [is so named emphatically in opposition to] _politically
regulated, is a state contra-distinguished from_ a state of nature.

'A fictitious life of an [absurd] _infatuated_ scholar.

'A foolish [contempt, disregard,] _disesteem_ of Kings.

'His hopes and fears, his joys and sorrows [were like those of other
mortals] _acted strongly upon his mind_.

'Eager to pursue knowledge and attentive to [accumulate] _retain it_.

'A mind [excursive] _active_, ambitious, and adventurous.

'In its [noblest] _widest_ researches still longing to go forward.

'He wrote in such a manner as might expose him to few [neglects]
_hazards_.

'The [reasonableness] _justice_ of my determination.

'A [favourite] _delicious_ employment of the poets.

'More terrifick and more powerful [beings] _phantoms_ perform on the
stormy ocean.

'The inventor of [those] _this_ petty [beings] _nation_.

'The [mind] _heart_ naturally loves truth.'

In the Life of ADDISON we find an unpleasing account of his having lent
Steele a hundred pounds, and 'reclaimed his loan by an execution[182].'
In the new edition of the _Biographia Britannica_, the authenticity of
this anecdote is denied. But Mr. Malone has obliged me with the
following note concerning it:--

'Many persons having doubts concerning this fact, I applied to Dr.
Johnson to learn on what authority he asserted it. He told me, he had it
from Savage, who lived in intimacy with Steele, and who mentioned, that
Steele told him the story with tears in his eyes.--Ben Victor[183], Dr.
Johnson said, likewise informed him of this remarkable transaction, from
the relation of Mr. Wilkes[184] the comedian, who was also an intimate
of Steele's.--Some in defence of Addison, have said, that "the act was
done with the good natured view of rousing Steele, and correcting that
profusion which always made him necessitous."--"If that were the case,
(said Johnson,) and that he only wanted to alarm Steele, he would
afterwards have _returned_ the money to his friend, which it is not
pretended he did."--"This too, (he added,) might be retorted by an
advocate for Steele, who might alledge, that he did not repay the loan
_intentionally_, merely to see whether Addison would be mean and
ungenerous enough to make use of legal process to recover it. But of
such speculations there is no end: we cannot dive into the hearts of
men; but their actions are open to observation[185]."

'I then mentioned to him that some people thought that Mr. Addison's
character was so pure, that the fact, _though true_, ought to have been
suppressed[186]. He saw no reason for this[187]. "If nothing but the
bright side of characters should be shewn, we should sit down in
despondency, and think it utterly impossible to imitate them in _any
thing_. The sacred writers (he observed) related the vicious as well as
the virtuous actions of men; which had this moral effect, that it kept
mankind from _despair_, into which otherwise they would naturally fall,
were they not supported by the recollection that others had offended
like themselves, and by penitence and amendment of life had been
restored to the favour of Heaven."

'E.M.'

'March 15, 1782.'

The last paragraph of this note is of great importance; and I request
that my readers may consider it with particular attention. It will be
afterwards referred to in this work[188].

_Various Readings in the Life of_ ADDISON.

'[But he was our first great example] _He was, however, one of our
earliest examples_ of correctness.

And [overlook] _despise_ their masters.

His instructions were such as the [state] _character_ of his [own time]
_readers_ made [necessary] _proper_.

His purpose was to [diffuse] _infuse_ literary curiosity by gentle and
unsuspected conveyance [among] _into_ the gay, the idle, and
the wealthy.

Framed rather for those that [wish] _are learning_ to write.

Domestick [manners] _scenes_.'

In his Life of PARNELL, I wonder that Johnson omitted to insert an
Epitaph which he had long before composed for that amiable man, without
ever writing it down, but which he was so good as, at my request, to
dictate to me, by which means it has been preserved.

'_Hic requiescit_ THOMAS PARNELL, _S.T.P.
Qui sacerdos pariter et poeta,
Utrasque partes ita implevit,
Ut neque sacerdoti suavitas poetae,
Neo poetae sacerdotis sanctitas_[189], _deesset_.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ PARNELL.

'About three years [after] _afterwards_.

[Did not much want] _was in no great need of_ improvement.

But his prosperity _did not last long_ [was clouded by that which took
away all his powers of enjoying either profit or pleasure, the death of
his wife, whom he is said to have lamented with such sorrow, as hastened
his end[190].] His end, whatever was the cause, was now approaching.

In the Hermit, the [composition] _narrative_, as it is less airy, is
less pleasing.'

In the Life of BLACKMORE, we find that writer's reputation generously
cleared by Johnson from the cloud of prejudice which the malignity of
contemporary wits had raised around it[191]. In this spirited exertion
of justice, he has been imitated by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in his praise
of the architecture of Vanburgh[192].

We trace Johnson's own character in his observations on Blackmore's
'magnanimity as an authour.' 'The incessant attacks of his enemies,
whether serious or merry, are never discovered to have disturbed his
quiet, or to have lessened his confidence in himself.' Johnson, I
recollect, once told me, laughing heartily, that he understood it had
been said of him, 'He _appears_ not to feel; but when he is _alone_,
depend upon it, he _suffers sadly_.' I am as certain as I can be of any
man's real sentiments, that he _enjoyed_ the perpetual shower of little
hostile arrows as evidences of his fame.

_Various Readings in the Life of_ BLACKMORE.

To [set] _engage_ poetry [on the side] _in the cause_ of virtue.

He likewise [established] _enforced_ the truth of Revelation.

[Kindness] _benevolence_ was ashamed to favour.

His practice, which was once [very extensive] _invidiously great_.
There is scarcely any distemper of dreadful name [of] which he has not
[shewn] _taught his reader_ how [it is to be opposed] _to oppose_.

Of this [contemptuous] _indecent_ arrogance.

[He wrote] _but produced_ likewise a work of a different kind.

At least [written] _compiled_ with integrity.

Faults which many tongues [were desirous] _would have made haste_ to
publish.

But though he [had not] _could not boast of_ much critical knowledge.

He [used] _waited for_ no felicities of fancy.

Or had ever elevated his [mind] _views_ to that ideal perfection which
every [mind] _genius_ born to excel is condemned always to pursue and
never overtake.

The [first great] _fundamental_ principle of wisdom and of virtue.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ PHILIPS.

'His dreaded [rival] _antagonist_ Pope.

They [have not often much] _are not loaded with_ thought.

In his translations from Pindar, he [will not be denied to have reached]
_found the art of reaching_ all the obscurity of the Theban bard.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ CONGREVE.

'Congreve's conversation must surely have been _at least_ equally
pleasing with his writings.

It apparently [requires] _pre-supposes_ a familiar knowledge of many
characters.

Reciprocation of [similes] _conceits_.

The dialogue is quick and [various] _sparkling_.

Love for Love; a comedy [more drawn from life] _of nearer alliance to
life_.

The general character of his miscellanies is, that they shew little wit
and [no] _little_ virtue.

[Perhaps] _certainly_ he had not the fire requisite for the higher
species of lyrick poetry.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ TICKELL.

'[Longed] _long wished_ to peruse it.

At the [accession] _arrival_ of King George.

Fiction [unnaturally] _unskilfully_ compounded of Grecian deities and
Gothick fairies.'

_Various Readings in the Life of_ AKENSIDE.

'For [another] _a different_ purpose.

[A furious] _an unnecessary_ and outrageous zeal.

[Something which] _what_ he called and thought liberty.

A [favourer of innovation] _lover of contradiction_.

Warburton's [censure] _objections_.

His rage [for liberty] _of patriotism_.

Mr. Dyson with [a zeal] _an ardour_ of friendship.'

In the Life of LYTTELTON, Johnson seems to have been not favourably
disposed towards that nobleman[193]. Mrs. Thrale suggests that he was
offended by _Molly Aston's_[194] preference of his Lordship to him[195].
I can by no means join in the censure bestowed by Johnson on his
Lordship, whom he calls 'poor Lyttelton,' for returning thanks to the
Critical Reviewers for having 'kindly commended' his _Dialogues of the
Dead_. Such 'acknowledgements (says my friend) never can be proper,
since they must be paid either for flattery or for justice.' In my
opinion, the most upright man, who has been tried on a false accusation,
may, when he is acquitted, make a bow to his jury. And when those who
are so much the arbiters of literary merit, as in a considerable degree
to influence the publick opinion, review an authour's work, _placido
lumine_[196], when I am afraid mankind in general are better pleased
with severity, he may surely express a grateful sense of their
civility[197].

_Various Readings in the Life of_ LYTTELTON.

'He solaced [himself] _his grief_ by writing a long poem to her memory.

The production rather [of a mind that means well than thinks vigorously]
_as it seems of leisure than of study, rather effusions than
compositions_.

His last literary [work] _production_.

[Found the way] _undertook_ to persuade.'

As the introduction to his critical examination of the genius and
writings of YOUNG, he did Mr. Herbert Croft[198], then a Barrister of
Lincoln's-inn, now a clergyman, the honour to adopt[199] a _Life of
Young_ written by that gentleman, who was the friend of Dr. Young's son,
and wished to vindicate him from some very erroneous remarks to his
prejudice. Mr. Croft's performance was subjected to the revision of Dr.
Johnson, as appears from the following note to Mr. John Nichols[200]:--

'This _Life of Dr. Young_ was written by a friend of his son. What is
crossed with black is expunged by the authour, what is crossed with red
is expunged by me. If you find any thing more that can be well omitted,
I shall not be sorry to see it yet shorter[201]'

It has always appeared to me to have a considerable share of merit, and
to display a pretty successful imitation of Johnson's style. When I
mentioned this to a very eminent literary character[202], he opposed me
vehemently, exclaiming, 'No, no, it is _not_ a good imitation of
Johnson; it has all his pomp without his force; it has all the
nodosities of the oak without its strength.' This was an image so happy,
that one might have thought he would have been satisfied with it; but he
was not. And setting his mind again to work, he added, with exquisite
felicity, 'It has all the contortions of the Sybil, without the
inspiration.'

Mr. Croft very properly guards us against supposing that Young was a
gloomy man[203]; and mentions, that 'his parish was indebted to the
good-humour of the authour of the _Night Thoughts_ for an Assembly and a
Bowling-Green[204].' A letter from a noble foreigner is quoted, in which
he is said to have been 'very pleasant in conversation[205].'

Mr. Langton, who frequently visited him, informs me, that there was an
air of benevolence in his manner, but that he could obtain from him less
information than he had hoped to receive from one who had lived so much
in intercourse with the brightest men of what has been called the
Augustan age of England; and that he shewed a degree of eager curiosity
concerning the common occurrences that were then passing, which appeared
somewhat remarkable in a man of such intellectual stores, of such an
advanced age, and who had retired from life with declared disappointment
in his expectations.

An instance at once of his pensive turn of mind, and his cheerfulness of
temper, appeared in a little story which he himself told to Mr. Langton,
when they were walking in his garden: 'Here (said he) I had put a
handsome sun-dial, with this inscription, _Eheu fugaces!_[206] which
(speaking with a smile) was sadly verified, for by the next morning my
dial had been carried off.'[207]

'It gives me much pleasure to observe, that however Johnson may have
casually talked,[208] yet when he sits, as "an ardent judge zealous to
his trust, giving sentence" [209] upon the excellent works of Young, he
allows them the high praise to which they are justly entitled.
"The _Universal Passion_ (says he) is indeed a very great
performance,--his distichs have the weight of solid sentiment, and his
points the sharpness of resistless truth."'[210]

But I was most anxious concerning Johnson's decision upon _Night
Thoughts_, which I esteem as a mass of the grandest and richest poetry
that human genius has ever produced; and was delighted to find this
character of that work: 'In his _Night Thoughts_, he has exhibited a
very wide display of original poetry, variegated with deep reflections
and striking allusions; a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility
of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and of every odour. This is one
of the few poems in which blank verse could not be changed for rhime but
with disadvantage.'[211] And afterwards, 'Particular lines are not to be
regarded; the power is in the whole; and in the whole there is a
magnificence like that ascribed to Chinese plantation[212], the
magnificence of vast extent and endless diversity.'

But there is in this Poem not only all that Johnson so well brings in
view, but a power of the _Pathetick_ beyond almost any example that I
have seen. He who does not feel his nerves shaken, and his heart pierced
by many passages in this extraordinary work, particularly by that most
affecting one, which describes the gradual torment suffered by the
contemplation of an object of affectionate attachment, visibly and
certainly decaying into dissolution, must be of a hard and obstinate
frame[213].

To all the other excellencies of _Night Thoughts_ let me add the great
and peculiar one, that they contain not only the noblest sentiments of
virtue, and contemplations on immortality, but the _Christian
Sacrifice_, the _Divine Propitiation_, with all its interesting
circumstances, and consolations to 'a wounded spirit[214],' solemnly and
poetically displayed in such imagery and language, as cannot fail to
exalt, animate, and soothe the truly pious. No book whatever can be
recommended to young persons, with better hopes of seasoning their minds
with _vital religion_, than YOUNG'S _Night Thoughts_.

In the Life of SWIFT, it appears to me that Johnson had a certain degree
of prejudice against that extraordinary man, of which I have elsewhere
had occasion to speak[215]. Mr. Thomas Sheridan imputed it to a supposed
apprehension in Johnson, that Swift had not been sufficiently active in
obtaining for him an Irish degree when it was solicited[216], but of
this there was not sufficient evidence; and let me not presume to charge
Johnson with injustice, because he did not think so highly of the
writings of this authour, as I have done from my youth upwards. Yet that
he had an unfavourable bias is evident, were it only from that passage
in which he speaks of Swift's practice of saving, as, 'first ridiculous
and at last detestable;' and yet after some examination of
circumstances, finds himself obliged to own, that 'it will perhaps
appear that he only liked one mode of expence better than another, and
saved merely that he might have something to give[217].'

One observation which Johnson makes in Swift's life should be often
inculcated:--

'It may be justly supposed, that there was in his conversation what
appears so frequently in his letters, an affectation of familiarity with
the great, an ambition of momentary equality, sought and enjoyed by the
neglect of those ceremonies which custom has established as the barriers
between one order of society and another. This transgression of
regularity was by himself and his admirers termed greatness of soul; but
a great mind disdains to hold any thing by courtesy, and therefore never
usurps what a lawful claimant may take away. He that encroaches on
another's dignity puts himself in his power; he is either repelled with
helpless indignity, or endured by clemency and condescension[218].'

_Various Readings in the Life of Swift_.

'Charity may be persuaded to think that it might be written by a man of
_a_ peculiar [opinions] _character_, without ill intention.

He did not [disown] _deny_ it.

'[To] _by_ whose kindness it is not unlikely that he was [indebted for]
_advanced to_ his benefices.

[With] _for_ this purpose he had recourse to Mr. Harley.

Sharpe, whom he [represents] _describes_ as "the harmless tool of
others' hate."

Harley was slow because he was [irresolute] _doubtful_.

When [readers were not many] _we were not yet a nation of readers_.

[Every man who] _he that could say he_ knew him.

Every man of known influence has so many [more] petitions [than] _which_
he [can] _cannot_ grant, that he must necessarily offend more than he
[can gratify] _gratifies_.

Ecclesiastical [preferments] _benefices_.

'Swift [procured] _contrived_ an interview.

[As a writer] _In his works_ he has given very different specimens.

On all common occasions he habitually [assumes] _affects_ a style of
[superiority] _arrogance_.

By the [omission] _neglect_ of those ceremonies.

That their merits filled the world [and] _or that_ there was no [room
for] _hope of_ more.'

I have not confined myself to the order of the _Lives_, in making my few
remarks. Indeed a different order is observed in the original
publication, and in the collection of Johnson's _Works_. And should it
be objected, that many of my various readings are inconsiderable, those
who make the objection will be pleased to consider, that such small
particulars are intended for those who are nicely critical in
composition, to whom they will be an acceptable selection[219].

_Spence's Anecdotes_, which are frequently quoted and referred to in
Johnson's _Lives of the Poets_, are in a manuscript collection, made by
the Reverend Mr. Joseph Spence[220], containing a number of particulars
concerning eminent men. To each anecdote is marked the name of the
person on whose authority it is mentioned. This valuable collection is
the property of the Duke of Newcastle, who upon the application of Sir
Lucas Pepys, was pleased to permit it to be put into the hands of Dr.
Johnson, who I am sorry to think made but an aukward return. 'Great
assistance (says he) has been given me by Mr. Spence's Collection, of
which I consider the communication as a favour worthy of publick
acknowledgement[221];' but he has not owned to whom he was obliged; so
that the acknowledgement is unappropriated to his Grace.

While the world in general was filled with admiration of Johnson's
_Lives of the Poets_, there were narrow circles in which prejudice and
resentment were fostered, and from which attacks of different sorts
issued against him[222]. By some violent Whigs he was arraigned of
injustice to Milton; by some Cambridge men of depreciating Gray; and his
expressing with a dignified freedom what he really thought of George,
Lord Lyttelton, gave offence to some of the friends of that nobleman,
and particularly produced a declaration of war against him from Mrs.
Montagu, the ingenious Essayist on Shakspeare, between whom and his
Lordship a commerce of reciprocal compliments had long been carried
on[223]. In this war the smaller powers in alliance with him were of
course led to engage, at least on the defensive, and thus I for one was
excluded from the enjoyment of 'A Feast of Reason,' such as Mr.
Cumberland has described, with a keen, yet just and delicate pen, in his
_Observer_[224]. These minute inconveniencies gave not the least
disturbance to Johnson. He nobly said, when I talked to him of the
feeble, though shrill outcry which had been raised, 'Sir, I considered
myself as entrusted with a certain portion of truth. I have given my
opinion sincerely; let them shew where they think me wrong[225].'

While my friend is thus contemplated in the splendour derived from his
last and perhaps most admirable work, I introduce him with peculiar
propriety as the correspondent of WARREN HASTINGS! a man whose regard
reflects dignity even upon JOHNSON; a man, the extent of whose abilities
was equal to that of his power; and who, by those who are fortunate
enough to know him in private life, is admired for his literature and
taste, and beloved for the candour, moderation, and mildness of his
character. Were I capable of paying a suitable tribute of admiration to
him, I should certainly not withhold it at a moment[226] when it is not
possible that I should be suspected of being an interested flatterer.
But how weak would be my voice after that of the millions whom he
governed. His condescending and obliging compliance with my
solicitation, I with humble gratitude acknowledge; and while by
publishing his letter to me, accompanying the valuable communication, I
do eminent honour to my great friend, I shall entirely disregard any
invidious suggestions, that as I in some degree participate in the
honour, I have, at the same time, the gratification of my own vanity
in view.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. Park Lane, Dec. 2, 1790.

SIR,

I have been fortunately spared the troublesome suspense of a long
search, to which, in performance of my promise, I had devoted this
morning, by lighting upon the objects of it among the first papers that
I laid my hands on: my veneration for your great and good friend, Dr.
Johnson, and the pride, or I hope something of a better sentiment, which
I indulged in possessing such memorials of his good will towards me,
having induced me to bind them in a parcel containing other select
papers, and labelled with the titles appertaining to them. They consist
but of three letters, which I believe were all that I ever received from
Dr. Johnson. Of these, one, which was written in quadruplicate, under
the different dates of its respective dispatches, has already been made
publick[227], but not from any communication of mine. This, however, I
have joined to the rest; and have now the pleasure of sending them to
you for the use to which you informed me it was your desire to
destine them.

'My promise was pledged with the condition, that if the letters were
found to contain any thing which should render them improper for the
publick eye, you would dispense with the performance of it. You will
have the goodness, I am sure, to pardon my recalling this stipulation to
your recollection, as I should be both to appear negligent of that
obligation which is always implied in an epistolary confidence. In the
reservation of that right I have read them over with the most scrupulous
attention, but have not seen in them the slightest cause on that ground
to withhold them from you. But, though not on that, yet on another
ground I own I feel a little, yet but a little, reluctance to part with
them: I mean on that of my own credit, which I fear will suffer by the
information conveyed by them, that I was early in the possession of such
valuable instructions for the beneficial employment of the influence of
my late station, and (as it may seem) have so little availed myself of
them. Whether I could, if it were necessary, defend myself against such
an imputation, it little concerns the world to know. I look only to the
effect which these relicks may produce, considered as evidences of the
virtues of their authour: and believing that they will be found to
display an uncommon warmth of private friendship, and a mind ever
attentive to the improvement and extension of useful knowledge, and
solicitous for the interests of mankind, I can cheerfully submit to the
little sacrifice of my own fame, to contribute to the illustration of so
great and venerable a character. They cannot be better applied, for that
end, than by being entrusted to your hands. Allow me, with this
offering, to infer from it a proof of the very great esteem with which I
have the honour to profess myself, Sir,

Your most obedient
And most humble servant,
'WARREN HASTINGS.'

'_P.S_. At some future time, and when you have no further occasion for
these papers, I shall be obliged to you if you would return them.'

The last of the three letters thus graciously put into my hands, and
which has already appeared in publick, belongs to this year; but I shall
previously insert the first two in the order of their dates. They
altogether form a grand group in my biographical picture.

TO THE HONOURABLE WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ.

'SIR,

Though I have had but little personal knowledge of you, I have had
enough to make me wish for more; and though it be now a long time since
I was honoured by your visit, I had too much pleasure from it to forget
it. By those whom we delight to remember, we are unwilling to be
forgotten; and therefore I cannot omit this opportunity of reviving
myself in your memory by a letter which you will receive from the hands
of my friend Mr. Chambers[228]; a man, whose purity of manners and
vigour of mind are sufficient to make every thing welcome that
he brings.

That this is my only reason for writing, will be too apparent by the
uselessness of my letter to any other purpose. I have no questions to
ask; not that I want curiosity after either the ancient or present state
of regions in which have been seen all the power and splendour of
wide-extended empire; and which, as by some grant of natural
superiority, supply the rest of the world with almost all that pride
desires and luxury enjoys. But my knowledge of them is too scanty to
furnish me with proper topicks of enquiry; I can only wish for
information; and hope, that a mind comprehensive like yours will find
leisure, amidst the cares of your important station, to enquire into
many subjects of which the European world either thinks not at all, or
thinks with deficient intelligence and uncertain conjecture. I shall
hope, that he who once intended to increase the learning of his country
by the introduction of the Persian language[229], will examine nicely
the traditions and histories of the East; that he will survey the
wonders of its ancient edifices, and trace the vestiges of its ruined
cities; and that, at his return, we shall know the arts and opinions of
a race of men, from whom very little has been hitherto derived.

You, Sir, have no need of being told by me, how much may be added by
your attention and patronage to experimental knowledge and natural
history. There are arts of manufacture practised in the countries in
which you preside, which are yet very imperfectly known here, either to
artificers or philosophers. Of the natural productions, animate and
inanimate, we yet have so little intelligence, that our books are
filled, I fear, with conjectures about things which an Indian peasant
knows by his senses.

Many of those things my first wish is to see; my second to know, by such
accounts as a man like you will be able to give.

As I have not skill to ask proper questions, I have likewise no such
access to great men as can enable me to send you any political
information. Of the agitations of an unsettled government, and the
struggles of a feeble ministry[230], care is doubtless taken to give you
more exact accounts than I can obtain. If you are inclined to interest
yourself much in publick transactions, it is no misfortune to you to be
so distant from them.

That literature is not totally forsaking us, and that your favourite
language is not neglected, will appear from the book[231], which I
should have pleased myself more with sending, if I could have presented
it bound: but time was wanting. I beg, however, Sir, that you will
accept it from a man very desirous of your regard; and that if you think
me able to gratify you by any thing more important you will employ me.

I am now going to take leave, perhaps a very long leave, of my dear Mr.
Chambers. That he is going to live where you govern, may justly
alleviate the regret of parting; and the hope of seeing both him and you
again, which I am not willing to mingle with doubt, must at present
comfort as it can, Sir, Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.
March 30, 1774.'

To THE SAME.

'SIR,
Being informed that by the departure of a ship, there is now an
opportunity of writing to Bengal, I am unwilling to slip out of your
memory by my own negligence, and therefore take the liberty of reminding
you of my existence, by sending you a book which is not yet
made publick.

I have lately visited a region less remote, and less illustrious than
India, which afforded some occasions for speculation; what has occurred
to me, I have put into the volume[232], of which I beg your acceptance.

Men in your station seldom have presents totally disinterested; my book
is received, let me now make my request.

There is, Sir, somewhere within your government, a young adventurer, one
Chauncey Lawrence, whose father is one of my oldest friends. Be pleased
to shew the young man what countenance is fit, whether he wants to be
restrained by your authority, or encouraged by your favour. His father
is now President of the College of Physicians, a man venerable for his
knowledge, and more venerable for his virtue[233].

I wish you a prosperous government, a safe return, and a long enjoyment
of plenty and tranquillity.

I am, Sir,
Your most obedient
And most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON[234].

London, Dec. 20, 1774.'

TO THE SAME.

'Jan. 9, 1781.

Sir,

Amidst the importance and multiplicity of affairs in which your great
office engages you, I take the liberty of recalling your attention for a
moment to literature, and will not prolong the interruption by an
apology which your character makes needless.

Mr. Hoole, a gentleman long known, and long esteemed in the India-House,
after having translated Tasso[235], has undertaken Ariosto. How well he
is qualified for his undertaking he has already shewn. He is desirous,
Sir, of your favour in promoting his proposals, and flatters me by
supposing that my testimony may advance his interest.

It is a new thing for a clerk of the India-House to translate poets;
--it is new for a Governour of Bengal to patronize learning. That he may
find his ingenuity rewarded, and that learning may flourish under your
protection, is the wish of, Sir, Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.'

I wrote to him in February, complaining of having been troubled by a
recurrence of the perplexing question of Liberty and Necessity;--and
mentioning that I hoped soon to meet him again in London.

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

DEAR SIR,

I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery. What have you
to do with Liberty and Necessity[236]? Or what more than to hold your
tongue about it? Do not doubt but I shall be most heartily glad to see
you here again, for I love every part about you but your affectation
of distress.

I have at last finished my _Lives_, and have laid up for you a load of
copy[237], all out of order, so that it will amuse you a long time to
set it right. Come to me, my dear Bozzy, and let us be as happy as we
can. We will go again to the Mitre, and talk old times over.

I am, dear Sir,
Yours affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'

March, 14, 1781.

On Monday, March 19, I arrived in London, and on Tuesday, the 20th, met
him in Fleet-street, walking, or rather indeed moving along; for his
peculiar march is thus described in a very just and picturesque manner,
in a short Life[238] of him published very soon after his death:--'When
he walked the streets, what with the constant roll of his head, and the
concomitant motion of his body, he appeared to make his way by that
motion, independent of his feet.' That he was often much stared at while
he advanced in this manner, may easily be believed; but it was not safe
to make sport of one so robust as he was. Mr. Langton saw him one day,
in a fit of absence, by a sudden start, drive the load off a porter's
back, and walk forward briskly, without being conscious of what he
had done.

The porter was very angry, but stood still, and eyed the huge figure
with much earnestness, till he was satisfied that his wisest course was
to be quiet, and take up his burthen again.

Our accidental meeting in the street after a long separation was a
pleasing surprize to us both. He stepped aside with me into
Falcon-court, and made kind inquiries about my family, and as we were in
a hurry going different ways, I promised to call on him next day; he
said he was engaged to go out in the morning. 'Early, Sir?' said I.
JOHNSON: 'Why, Sir, a London morning does not go with the sun.'

I waited on him next evening, and he gave me a great portion of his
original manuscript of his _Lives of the Poets_, which he had
preserved for me.

I found on visiting his friend, Mr. Thrale, that he was now very ill,
and had removed, I suppose by the solicitation of Mrs. Thrale, to a
house in Grosvenor-square[239]. I was sorry to see him sadly changed in
his appearance.

He told me I might now have the pleasure to see Dr. Johnson drink wine
again, for he had lately returned to it. When I mentioned this to
Johnson, he said, 'I drink it now sometimes, but not socially.' The
first evening that I was with him at Thrale's, I observed he poured a
large quantity of it into a glass, and swallowed it greedily. Every
thing about his character and manners was forcible and violent; there
never was any moderation; many a day did he fast, many a year did he
refrain from wine; but when he did eat, it was voraciously; when he did
drink wine, it was copiously. He could practise abstinence, but not
temperance[240].

Mrs. Thrale and I had a dispute, whether Shakspeare or Milton had drawn
the most admirable picture of a man[241]. I was for Shakspeare; Mrs.
Thrale for Milton; and after a fair hearing, Johnson decided for
my opinion.

I told him of one of Mr. Burke's playful sallies upon Dean Marlay[242]:
'I don't like the Deanery of _Ferns_, it sounds so like a _barren_
title.'--'Dr. Heath should have it;' said I. Johnson laughed, and
condescending to trifle in the same mode of conceit, suggested Dr.
_Moss_[243].

He said, 'Mrs. Montagu has dropt me. Now, Sir, there are people whom one
should like very well to drop, but would not wish to be dropped
by[244].' He certainly was vain of the society of ladies, and could make
himself very agreeable to them, when he chose it; Sir Joshua Reynolds
agreed with me that he could. Mr. Gibbon, with his usual sneer,
controverted it, perhaps in resentment of Johnson's having talked with
some disgust of his ugliness[245], which one would think a _philosopher_
would not mind. Dean Marlay wittily observed, 'A lady may be vain, when
she can turn a wolf-dog into a lap-dog.'

The election for Ayrshire, my own county, was this spring tried upon a
petition, before a Committee of the House of Commons. I was one of the
Counsel for the sitting member, and took the liberty of previously
stating different points to Johnson, who never failed to see them
clearly, and to supply me with some good hints. He dictated to me the
following note upon the registration of deeds:--

'All laws are made for the convenience of the community: what is legally
done, should be legally recorded, that the state of things may be known,
and that wherever evidence is requisite, evidence may be had. For this
reason, the obligation to frame and establish a legal register is
enforced by a legal penalty, which penalty is the want of that
perfection and plentitude of right which a register would give. Thence
it follows, that this is not an objection merely legal: for the reason
on which the law stands being equitable, makes it an equitable
objection.'

'This (said he) you must enlarge on, when speaking to the Committee. You
must not argue there as if you were arguing in the schools[246]; close
reasoning will not fix their attention; you must say the same thing over
and over again, in different words. If you say it but once, they miss it
in a moment of inattention. It is unjust, Sir, to censure lawyers for
multiplying words when they argue; it is often necessary for them to
multiply words[247].' His notion of the duty of a member of Parliament,
sitting upon an election-committee[248], was very high; and when he was
told of a gentleman upon one of those committees, who read the
newspapers part of the time, and slept the rest, while the merits of a
vote were examined by the counsel; and as an excuse, when challenged by
the chairman for such behaviour, bluntly answered, 'I had made up my
mind upon that case;'--Johnson, with an indignant contempt, said, 'If he
was such a rogue as to make up his mind upon a case without hearing it,
he should not have been such a fool as to tell it.' 'I think (said Mr.
Dudley Long[249], now North) the Doctor has pretty plainly made him out
to be both rogue and fool.'

Johnson's profound reverence for the Hierarchy[250] made him expect from
bishops the highest degree of decorum; he was offended even at their
going to taverns; 'A bishop (said he) has nothing to do at a
tippling-house. It is not indeed immoral in him to go to a tavern;
neither would it be immoral in him to whip a top in Grosvenor-square.
But, if he did, I hope the boys would fall upon him, and apply
the whip to _him_. There are gradations in conduct; there is
morality,--decency,--propriety. None of these should be violated by a
bishop. A bishop should not go to a house where he may meet a young
fellow leading out a wench.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, every tavern does not
admit women.' JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, any tavern will admit a
well-drest man and a well-drest woman; they will not perhaps admit a
woman whom they see every night walking by their door, in the street.
But a well-drest man may lead in a well-drest woman to any tavern in
London. Taverns sell meat and drink, and will sell them to any body who
can eat and can drink. You may as well say that a mercer will not sell
silks to a woman of the town.'

He also disapproved of bishops going to routs, at least of their staying
at them longer than their presence commanded respect. He mentioned a
particular bishop. 'Poh! (said Mrs. Thrale) the Bishop of ----[251] is
never minded at a rout.' BOSWELL. 'When a bishop places himself in a
situation where he has no distinct character, and is of no consequence,
he degrades the dignity of his order.' JOHNSON. 'Mr. Boswell, Madam, has
said it as correctly as it could be.'

Nor was it only in the dignitaries of the Church that Johnson required a
particular decorum and delicacy of behaviour; he justly considered that
the clergy, as persons set apart for the sacred office of serving at the
altar, and impressing the minds of men with the aweful concerns of a
future state, should be somewhat more serious than the generality of
mankind, and have a suitable composure of manners. A due sense of the
dignity of their profession, independent of higher motives, will ever
prevent them from losing their distinction in an indiscriminate
sociality; and did such as affect this, know how much it lessens them in
the eyes of those whom they think to please by it, they would feel
themselves much mortified.

Johnson and his friend, Beauclerk, were once together in company with
several clergymen, who thought that they should appear to advantage, by
assuming the lax jollity of _men of the world;_ which, as it may be
observed in similar cases, they carried to noisy excess. Johnson, who
they expected would be _entertained,_ sat grave and silent for some
time; at last, turning to Beauclerk, he said, by no means in a whisper,
'This merriment of parsons is mighty offensive.'

Even the dress of a clergyman should be in character, and nothing can be
more despicable than conceited attempts at avoiding the appearance of
the clerical order; attempts, which are as ineffectual as they are
pitiful. Dr. Porteus, now Bishop of London, in his excellent charge when
presiding over the diocese of Chester, justly animadverts upon this
subject; and observes of a reverend fop, that he 'can be but _half a
beau_[252].'

Addison, in _The Spectator_[253], has given us a fine portrait of a
clergyman, who is supposed to be a member of his _Club_; and Johnson has
exhibited a model, in the character of Mr. Mudge[254], which has escaped
the collectors of his works, but which he owned to me, and which indeed
he shewed to Sir Joshua Reynolds at the time when it was written. It
bears the genuine marks of Johnson's best manner, and is as
follows[255]:--

'The Reverend Mr. _Zacariah Mudge_, Prebendary of Exeter, and Vicar of
St. Andrew's in Plymouth; a man equally eminent for his virtues and
abilities, and at once beloved as a companion and reverenced as a
pastor. He had that general curiosity to which no kind of knowledge is
indifferent or superfluous; and that general benevolence by which no
order of men is hated or despised.

His principles both of thought and action were great and comprehensive.
By a solicitous examination of objections, and judicious comparison of
opposite arguments, he attained what enquiry never gives but to industry
and perspicuity, a firm and unshaken settlement of conviction. But his
firmness was without asperity; for, knowing with how much difficulty
truth was sometimes found, he did not wonder that many missed it.

The general course of his life was determined by his profession; he
studied the sacred volumes in the original languages; with what
diligence and success, his _Notes upon the Psalms_ give sufficient
evidence. He once endeavoured to add the knowledge of Arabick to that of
Hebrew; but finding his thoughts too much diverted from other studies,
after some time desisted from his purpose.

His discharge of parochial duties was exemplary. How his _Sermons_[256]
were composed, may be learned from the excellent volume which he has
given to the publick; but how they were delivered, can be known only to
those that heard them; for as he appeared in the pulpit, words will not
easily describe him. His delivery, though unconstrained was not
negligent, and though forcible was not turbulent; disdaining anxious
nicety of emphasis, and laboured artifice of action, it captivated the
hearer by its natural dignity, it roused the sluggish, and fixed the
volatile, and detained the mind upon the subject, without directing it
to the speaker.

The grandeur and solemnity of the preacher did not intrude upon his
general behaviour; at the table of his friends he was a companion
communicative and attentive, of unaffected manners, of manly
cheerfulness, willing to please, and easy to be pleased. His
acquaintance was universally solicited, and his presence obstructed no
enjoyment which religion did not forbid. Though studious he was popular;
though argumentative he was modest; though inflexible he was candid; and
though metaphysical yet orthodox[257].'

On Friday, March 30, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, with
the Earl of Charlemont, Sir Annesley Stewart, Mr. Eliot of Port-Eliot,
Mr. Burke, Dean Marlay, Mr. Langton; a most agreeable day, of which I
regret that every circumstance is not preserved; but it is unreasonable
to require such a multiplication of felicity.

Mr. Eliot, with whom Dr. Walter Harte had travelled[258], talked to us
of his _History of Gustavus Adolphus_, which he said was a very good
book in the German translation. JOHNSON. 'Harte was excessively vain. He
put copies of his book in manuscript into the hands of Lord Chesterfield
and Lord Granville, that they might revise it. Now how absurd was it to
suppose that two such noblemen would revise so big a manuscript. Poor
man! he left London the day of the publication of his book, that he
might be out of the way of the great praise he was to receive; and he
was ashamed to return, when he found how ill his book had succeeded. It
was unlucky in coming out on the same day with Robertson's _History of
Scotland_[259]. His husbandry[260], however, is good.' BOSWELL. 'So he
was fitter for that than for heroick history: he did well, when he
turned his sword into a plough-share.'

Mr. Eliot mentioned a curious liquor peculiar to his country, which the
Cornish fishermen drink. They call it _Mahogany_; and it is made of two
parts gin, and one part treacle, well beaten together. I begged to have
some of it made, which was done with proper skill by Mr. Eliot. I
thought it very good liquor; and said it was a counterpart of what is
called _Athol Porridge_ in the Highlands of Scotland, which is a mixture
of whisky and honey. Johnson said, 'that must be a better liquor than
the Cornish, for both its component parts are better.' He also
observed, '_Mahogany_ must be a modern name; for it is not long since
the wood called mahogany was known in this country.' I mentioned his
scale of liquors[261];--claret for boys--port for men--brandy for
heroes. 'Then (said Mr. Burke) let me have claret: I love to be a boy;
to have the careless gaiety of boyish days.' JOHNSON. 'I should drink
claret too, if it would give me that; but it does not: it neither makes
boys men, nor men boys. You'll be drowned by it, before it has any
effect upon you.'

I ventured to mention a ludicrous paragraph in the newspapers, that Dr.
Johnson was learning to dance of Vestris[262]. Lord Charlemont, wishing
to excite him to talk, proposed in a whisper, that he should be asked,
whether it was true. 'Shall I ask him?' said his Lordship. We were, by a
great majority, clear for the experiment. Upon which his Lordship very
gravely, and with a courteous air said, 'Pray, Sir, is it true that you
are taking lessons of Vestris?' This was risking a good deal, and
required the boldness of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the
attempt. Johnson was at first startled, and in some heat answered, 'How
can your Lordship ask so simple a question?' But immediately recovering
himself, whether from unwillingness to be deceived, or to appear
deceived, or whether from real good humour, he kept up the joke: 'Nay,
but if any body were to answer the paragraph, and contradict it, I'd
have a reply, and would say, that he who contradicted it was no friend
either to Vestris or me. For why should not Dr.[263] Johnson add to his
other powers a little corporeal agility? Socrates learnt to dance at an
advanced age, and Cato learnt Greek at an advanced age. Then it might
proceed to say, that this Johnson, not content with dancing on the
ground, might dance on the rope; and they might introduce the elephant
dancing on the rope. A nobleman[264] wrote a play, called _Love in a
hollow Tree_. He found out that it was a bad one, and therefore wished
to buy up all the copies, and burn them. The Duchess of Marlborough had
kept one; and when he was against her at an election, she had a new
edition of it printed, and prefixed to it, as a frontispiece, an
elephant dancing on a rope; to shew, that his Lordship's writing comedy
was as aukward as an elephant dancing on a rope[265].'

On Sunday, April 1, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale's, with Sir Philip
Jennings Clerk and Mr. Perkins[266], who had the superintendence of Mr.
Thrale's brewery, with a salary of five hundred pounds a year. Sir
Philip had the appearance of a gentleman of ancient family, well
advanced in life. He wore his own white hair in a bag of goodly size, a
black velvet coat, with an embroidered waistcoat, and very rich laced
ruffles; which Mrs. Thrale said were old fashioned, but which, for that
reason, I thought the more respectable, more like a Tory; yet Sir Philip
was then in Opposition in Parliament[267]. 'Ah, Sir, (said Johnson,)
ancient ruffles and modern principles do not agree.' Sir Philip defended
the Opposition to the American war ably and with temper, and I joined
him. He said, the majority of the nation was against the ministry.
JOHNSON. '_I_, Sir, am against the ministry[268]; but it is for having
too little of that, of which Opposition thinks they have too much. Were
I minister, if any man wagged his finger against me, he should be turned
out[269]; for that which it is in the power of Government to give at
pleasure to one or to another, should be given to the supporters of
Government. If you will not oppose at the expence of losing your place,
your opposition will not be honest, you will feel no serious grievance;
and the present opposition is only a contest to get what others have.
Sir Robert Walpole acted as I would do. As to the American war, the
_sense_ of the nation is _with_ the ministry. The majority of those who
can _understand_ is with it; the majority of those who can only _hear_,
is against it; and as those who can only hear are more numerous than
those who can understand, and Opposition is always loudest, a majority
of the rabble will be for Opposition.'

This boisterous vivacity entertained us; but the truth in my opinion
was, that those who could understand the best were against the American
war, as almost every man now is, when the question has been coolly
considered.

Mrs. Thrale gave high praise to Mr. Dudley Long, (now North). JOHNSON.
'Nay, my dear lady, don't talk so. Mr. Long's character is very _short_.
It is nothing. He fills a chair. He is a man of genteel appearance, and
that is all[270]. I know nobody who blasts by praise as you do: for
whenever there is exaggerated praise, every body is set against a
character. They are provoked to attack it. Now there is Pepys[271]; you
praised that man with such disproportion, that I was incited to lessen
him, perhaps more than he deserves[272]. His blood is upon your
head[273]. By the same principle, your malice defeats itself; for your
censure is too violent. And yet (looking to her with a leering smile)
she is the first woman in the world, could she but restrain that wicked
tongue of hers;--she would be the only woman, could she but command that
little whirligig[274].'

Upon the subject of exaggerated praise I took the liberty to say, that I
thought there might be very high praise given to a known character which
deserved it, and therefore it would not be exaggerated. Thus, one might
say of Mr. Edmund Burke, He is a very wonderful man. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir,
you would not be safe if another man had a mind perversely to
contradict. He might answer, "Where is all the wonder? Burke is, to be
sure, a man of uncommon abilities, with a great quantity of matter in
his mind, and a great fluency of language in his mouth. But we are not
to be stunned and astonished by him." So you see, Sir, even Burke would
suffer, not from any fault of his own, but from your folly.'

Mrs. Thrale mentioned a gentleman who had acquired a fortune of four
thousand a year in trade, but was absolutely miserable, because he could
not talk in company; so miserable, that he was impelled to lament his
situation in the street to ----[275], whom he hates, and who he knows
despises him. 'I am a most unhappy man (said he). I am invited to
conversations. I go to conversations; but, alas! I have no
conversation.' JOHNSON. 'Man commonly cannot be successful in different
ways. This gentleman has spent, in getting four thousand pounds a year,
the time in which he might have learnt to talk; and now he cannot talk.'
Mr. Perkins made a shrewd and droll remark: 'If he had got his four
thousand a year as a mountebank, he might have learnt to talk at the
same time that he was getting his fortune.'

Some other gentlemen came in. The conversation concerning the person
whose character Dr. Johnson had treated so slightingly, as he did not
know his merit, was resumed. Mrs. Thrale said, 'You think so of him,
Sir, because he is quiet, and does not exert himself with force. You'll
be saying the same thing of Mr. ---- there, who sits as quiet--.' This
was not well-bred; and Johnson did not let it pass without correction.
'Nay, Madam, what right have you to talk thus? Both Mr. ---- and I have
reason to take it ill. _You_ may talk so of Mr. ----; but why do you
make _me_ do it. Have I said anything against Mr. ----? You have _set_
him, that I might shoot him: but I have not shot him.'

One of the gentlemen said, he had seen three folio volumes of Dr.
Johnson's sayings collected by me. 'I must put you right, Sir, (said I;)
for I am very exact in authenticity. You could not see folio volumes,
for I have none: you might have seen some in quarto and octavo. This is
inattention which one should guard against.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is a want
of concern about veracity. He does not know that he saw _any_ volumes.
If he had seen them he could have remembered their size[276].'

Mr. Thrale appeared very lethargick to-day. I saw him again on Monday
evening, at which time he was not thought to be in immediate danger; but
early in the morning of Wednesday, the 4th[277], he expired[278].
Johnson was in the house, and thus mentions the event: 'I felt almost
the last flutter of his pulse, and looked for the last time upon the
face that for fifteen years had never been turned upon me but with
respect and benignity[279].' Upon that day there was a Call of the
LITERARY CLUB; but Johnson apologised for his absence by the
following note:--

'MR. JOHNSON knows that Sir Joshua Reynolds and the other gentlemen will
excuse his incompliance with the call, when they are told that Mr.
Thrale died this morning.' Wednesday.'

Mr. Thrale's death was a very essential loss to Johnson[280], who,
although he did not foresee all that afterwards happened, was
sufficiently convinced that the comforts which Mr. Thrale's family
afforded him, would now in a great measure cease. He, however continued
to shew a kind attention to his widow and children as long as it was
acceptable; and he took upon him, with a very earnest concern, the
office of one of his executors, the importance of which seemed greater
than usual to him, from his circumstances having been always such, that
he had scarcely any share in the real business of life[281]. His friends
of the CLUB were in hopes that Mr. Thrale might have made a liberal
provision for him for his life, which, as Mr. Thrale left no son, and a
very large fortune, it would have been highly to his honour to have
done; and, considering Dr. Johnson's age, could not have been of long
duration; but he bequeathed him only two hundred pounds, which was the
legacy given to each of his executors[282]. I could not but be somewhat
diverted by hearing Johnson talk in a pompous manner of his new office,
and particularly of the concerns of the brewery, which it was at last
resolved should be sold[283]. Lord Lucan[284] tells a very good story,
which, if not precisely exact, is certainly characteristic: that when
the sale of Thrale's brewery was going forward, Johnson appeared
bustling about, with an ink-horn and pen in his button-hole, like an
excise-man; and on being asked what he really considered to be the value
of the property which was to be disposed of, answered, 'We are not here
to sell a parcel of boilers and vats but the potentiality of growing
rich, beyond the dreams of avarice[285].'

On Friday, April 6, he carried me to dine at a club, which, at his
desire, had been lately formed at the Queen's Arms, in St. Paul's
Church-yard. He told Mr. Hoole, that he wished to have a _City Club_,
and asked him to collect one; but, said he, 'Don't let them be
_patriots_[286].' The company were to-day very sensible, well-behaved
men. I have preserved only two particulars of his conversation. He said
he was glad Lord George Gordon had escaped[287], rather than that a
precedent should be established for hanging a man for _constructive
treason_; which, in consistency with his true, manly, constitutional
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 affairs 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 confidence in one who
can do it:' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, this is paltry. There is a middle
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
entertaining. Johnson defended the oriental regulation of different
_casts_ of men, which was objected to as totally destructive of the
hopes of rising in society by personal merit. He shewed that there was a
_principle_ in it sufficiently plausible by analogy. 'We see (said he)
in metals that there are different species; and so likewise in animals,
though one species may not differ very widely from another, as in the
species of dogs,--the cur, the spaniel, the mastiff. The Bramins are the
mastiffs of mankind.'

On Thursday, April 12, I dined with him at a Bishop's, where were Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Berrenger, and some more company. He had dined the
day before at another Bishop's. I have unfortunately recorded none of
his conversation at the Bishop's where we dined together[288]: but I
have preserved his ingenious defence of his dining twice abroad in
Passion-week[289]; a laxity, in which I am convinced he would not have
indulged himself at the time when he wrote his solemn paper in _The
Rambler_[290], upon that aweful season. It appeared to me, that by
being much more in company, and enjoying more luxurious living, he had
contracted a keener relish of pleasure, and was consequently less
rigorous in his religious rites. This he would not acknowledge; but he
reasoned with admirable sophistry, as follows: 'Why, Sir, a Bishop'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 Bishop in Passion-week. There
might be a handle for reflection. It might be said, 'He refused to dine
with a Bishop in Passion-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 practice by his
example?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, you are to consider whether you might not
do more harm by lessening the influence of a Bishop's character by your
disapprobation in refusing him, than by going to him.'

TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

'DEAR 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 require some care of myself, but that care is not ineffectual;
and when I am out of order, I think it often my own fault.

'The spring is now making quick advances. 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 dearest; your letters will give me
great pleasure.

'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 before now he has it.

'Be so kind as to make my compliments to my friends; I have a great
value for 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.'

'London, April 12, 1781.'

On Friday, April 13, being Good-Friday, I went to St. Clement's church
with him as usual. There I saw again his old fellow-collegian,
Edwards[291], 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 acquaintance. 'But (said he, smiling) he met
me once, and said, "I am told you have written a very pretty book called
_The Rambler_." I was unwilling that he should leave the world in total
darkness, and sent him a set.'

Mr. Berrenger[292] visited him to-day, and was very pleasing. We talked
of an evening 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 sake, to maintain that men of
learning and talents might have very good intellectual society, without
the aid of any little gratifications of the senses. Berrenger joined
with Johnson, and said, that without these any meeting would be dull and
insipid. He would therefore have all the slight refreshments; nay, it
would not be amiss to have some cold meat, and a bottle of wine upon a
side-board. 'Sir, (said Johnson to me, with an air of triumph,) Mr.
Berrenger 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[293].' I agreed with my illustrious friend upon this subject;
for it has pleased GOD to make man a composite 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 Commons came in. He
talked of its having been said that Addison wrote some of his best
papers in _The Spectator_ when warm with wine[294]. Dr. Johnson did not
seem willing to admit this. Dr. Scott, as a confirmation of it, related,
that Blackstone, a sober man, composed his _Commentaries_ with a bottle
of port before him; and found his mind invigorated and supported in the
fatigue of his great work, by a temperate use of it[295].

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[296]. '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 alledging 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[297]. JOHNSON. 'Lectures were once useful; but now, when all
can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are unnecessary. If your
attention fails, and you miss a part of a 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[298].' 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. Levett, Mr. Allen, the
printer, and Mrs. Hall[299], sister of the Reverend Mr. John Wesley, and
resembling him, as I thought, both in figure and manner. Johnson
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[300].

I mentioned a kind of religious Robinhood Society[301], which met every
Sunday evening, at Coachmakers'-hall, for free debate; and that the
subject for this night was, the text which relates, with other miracles,
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[302].' Mrs. Hall said it was a very curious subject, and she should
like to hear it 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 general, 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[303]. 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[304], 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 apparition, 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 mentioned a thing as not unfrequent, of which I had never heard
before,--being _called_, that is, hearing one's name pronounced 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 veracity I can depend, told me, that walking 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[305] 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
distinctly call Sam. She was then at Lichfield; but nothing ensued[306].
This phaenomenon is, I think, as wonderful as any other mysterious
fact, which many people are very slow to believe, or rather, indeed,
reject with an obstinate contempt.

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 checking himself, and softening,
he said, 'This one may say, though you _are_ ladies.' Then he brightened
into gay humour, and addressed them in the words of one of the songs in
_The Beggar's Opera_[307]:--

'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 can 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 Coachmakers'-hall, and heard the difficult text of which
we had talked, discussed with great decency, and some intelligence, by
several speakers. There 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[308], preponderated. The immediate subject of debate
was embarrassed by the _bodies_ of the saints having been said to rise,
and by the question what became of them afterwards; did they return
again to their graves? or were they translated to heaven? Only one
evangelist mentions the fact[309], and the commentators 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
extraordinary 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 sincere 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[310]. The company was Miss Hannah More, who lived with her, and whom
she called her Chaplain[311]; Mrs. Boscawen[312], Mrs. Elizabeth Carter,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr. Johnson, and myself. We found
ourselves very elegantly entertained at her house in the Adelphi[313],
where I have passed many a pleasing hour with him 'who gladdened
life[314].' She looked well, talked of her husband with complacency, and
while she cast her eyes on his portrait, which hung over the
chimney-piece, said, that 'death was now the most agreeable object to
her[315].' The very semblance of David Garrick was cheering. Mr.
Beauclerk, with happy propriety, inscribed 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 Shakspeare:--

'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[316].'

We were all in fine spirits; and I whispered to Mrs. Boscawen, 'I
believe this is as much as can be made of life.' In addition to a
splendid entertainment, we were regaled with Lichfield ale[317], which
had a peculiar appropriated 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 answered, 'Gentlemen, I wish you all as well as
you do me.'

The general effect of this day dwells upon 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 democratical books, with their
boards stamped with daggers and caps of liberty. Mrs. Carter said, 'He
was a bad man. He used to talk uncharitably.' JOHNSON. 'Poh! poh! Madam;
who is the worse for being talked of 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 advertisement 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 person, 'I doubt he was an
Atheist[318].' JOHNSON. 'I don't know that. He might perhaps have
become one, if he had had time to ripen, (smiling.) He might have
_exuberated_ into an Atheist.'

Sir Joshua Reynolds praised _Mudge's Sermons_[319]. 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[320]. Such was my
candour.' (smiling.) MRS. BOSCAWEN. 'Such his great merit to get the
better of all your prejudices.' JOHNSON. '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. Percy, Mr. Chamberlayne[321], of the
Treasury, &c. &c. Somebody said the life of a mere literary man could
not be very entertaining. JOHNSON. 'But it certainly may. This is a
remark which has been made, and repeated, without justice; why should
the life of a literary man be less entertaining than the life of any
other man? Are there not as interesting varieties in such a life[322]?
As _a literary life_ it may be very entertaining.' BOSWELL. 'But it must
be better surely, when it is diversified with a little active variety--
such as his having gone to Jamaica; or--his having gone to the
Hebrides.' 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 countenance 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 merriment?' Then collecting himself,
and looking aweful, 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[323].

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[324].'

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 engaged in a variety of other matters, which
required exertion and assiduity, and necessarily occupied almost all
my time.

One day having spoken very freely of those who were then in power, he
said to me, 'Between ourselves, Sir, I do not like to give opposition
the satisfaction of knowing how much I disapprove of the ministry.' 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, Junior, printer, the eldest son of his old and constant friend,
Printer to his Majesty.

'TO MRS. STRAHAN.

'DEAR MADAM,

'The grief which I feel for the loss of a very kind friend is sufficient
to make me know how much you suffer by the death of an amiable son; a
man, of whom I think it may truly be 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 humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'April 23, 1781.'

On Tuesday, May 8[325], I had the pleasure of again dining with him and
Mr. Wilkes, at Mr. Billy's[326]. No _negociation_ was now required to
bring them together; for Johnson 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_[327] 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
parliament that the controverted elections for Scotland should be tried
in that country, at their own 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 up 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 Scotchman is as good as another.'
WILKES. 'Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an Advocate at
the Scotch bar?' BOSWELL. 'I believe two thousand pounds.' WlLKES. '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[328] 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 introduced, Mr. Wilkes censured it as
pedantry[329]. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, it is a good thing; there is a
community of mind in it. Classical quotation is the _parole_ of literary
men all over the world.' WlLKES. '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[330].'

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.[331]' BOSWELL. 'Do what you will, Sir, you cannot
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[332]."'

He gave us an entertaining account of _Bet Flint_[333], a woman of the
town, who, with some eccentrick talents and much effrontery, forced
herself upon his acquaintance. 'Bet (said he) wrote her own Life in
verse[334], 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 spinnet 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 ------[335], who
loved a wench, summed up favourably, and she was acquitted. After which
Bet said, with a gay and satisfied air, 'Now that the counterpane is _my
own_, I shall make a petticoat of it.'

Talking of oratory, Mr. Wilkes described 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 putting better in their
place.' WlLKES. 'But this does not move the passions.' JOHNSON. 'He must
be a weak man, who is to be so moved.' WlLKES. (naming a celebrated
orator) 'Amidst all the brilliancy of ----'s[336] imagination, and the
exuberance of his wit, there is a strange want of _taste_. It was
observed of Apelles's Venus[337], that her flesh seemed as if she had
been nourished by roses: his oratory would sometimes make one suspect
that he eats potatoes and drinks whisky.'

Mr. Wilkes observed, how tenacious we are of forms in this country, and
gave as an instance, the vote of the House of Commons for remitting
money to pay the army in America _in Portugal pieces_[338], when, in
reality, the remittance is made not in Portugal money, but in our own
specie. JOHNSON. 'Is there not a law, Sir, against exporting the current
coin of the realm?' WlLKES. '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 distinguished him so eminently, gave the _Middlesex
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_[339].' WlLKES. (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 prohibition
to export the current coin is impolitick; for when the balance of trade
happens to be against a state, the current coin must be exported[340].'

Mr. Beauclerk's great library[341] 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 compositions of that kind. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, you are to consider,
that sermons make a considerable branch of English literature[342]; so
that a library must be very imperfect if it has not a numerous
collection of sermons[343]: and in all collections, Sir, the desire of
augmenting it grows stronger in 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. Wilkes,
with my compliments.' This was accordingly done; and Mr. Wilkes paid Dr.
Johnson a visit, was courteously received, and sat with him a long time.

The company gradually dropped away. Mr. Dilly himself 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 confidential whisper, of the personal quarrel between
George the Second and the King of Prussia[344]. 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 presented to my mind the happy days
which are foretold in Scripture, when the lion shall lie down with the
kid[345].

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 conversation
with literary and ingenious men, animated by a desire to please. These
societies were denominated _Blue-stocking 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[346], whose dress was remarkably grave, and in
particular it was observed, that he wore blue stockings[347]. 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 _Bas
Bleu_[348], a poem in which many of the persons who were most
conspicuous there are mentioned.

Johnson was prevailed with to come sometimes into these circles, and did
not think himself too grave even for the lively Miss Monckton[349] (now
Countess of Corke), who used to have the finest _bit of blue_ at the
house of her mother, Lady Galway. Her vivacity enchanted the Sage, and
they used to talk together with all imaginable ease. A singular instance
happened one evening, 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[350].' 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 indulgence towards me had a pretty
difficult trial. I had dined at the Duke of Montrose's with a very
agreeable party, and his Grace, according to his usual custom, had
circulated the bottle very freely. Lord Graham[351] and I went together
to Miss Monckton's, where I certainly was in extraordinary spirits, and
above all fear or awe. In 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
manner, desirous to let the company know how I could contend with
_Ajax_. I particularly remember pressing him upon the value of the
pleasures of the imagination, and as an illustration of my argument,
asking him, '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[352]. However, when a few days
afterwards I waited upon him and made an apology, he behaved with the
most friendly gentleness[353].

While I remained in London this year[354], Johnson and I dined together
at several places. I recollect a placid day at Dr. Butter's[355], who
had now removed from Derby to Lower Grosvenor-street, London; but of his
conversation on that and other occasions during this period, I neglected
to keep any regular record[356], and shall therefore insert here some
miscellaneous articles which I find in my Johnsonian notes.

His disorderly habits, when 'making provision for the day that was
passing over him[357],' 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 _Shakspeare_: and observing that the Doctor made no entry in any
book of the subscriber's name, ventured diffidently to ask, whether he
would please to have the gentleman's address, that it might be properly
inserted in the printed list of subscribers. '_I shall print no list of
subscribers_;' said Johnson, with great abruptness: but almost
immediately recollecting himself, added, very complacently, 'Sir, I have
two very cogent reasons for not printing any list of subscribers;--one,
that I have lost all the names,--the other, that I have spent all
the money.'

Johnson could not brook appearing to be worsted in argument, even when
he had taken the wrong side, to shew 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 advantage, he stopped me thus:--'My dear
Boswell, 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 distinguish between Johnson when he
'talked for victory[358],' and Johnson when he had no desire but to
inform and illustrate. 'One of Johnson's principal talents (says an
eminent friend of his)[359] was shewn in maintaining 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 victorious in argument, it
was wisdom itself, not only convincing, but overpowering.'

He had, however, all his life habituated himself to consider
conversation as a trial of intellectual vigour and skill[360]; and to
this, I think, we may venture to ascribe that unexampled richness and
brilliancy which appeared 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.'

He disliked much all speculative desponding considerations, which tended
to discourage men from diligence and exertion. He was in this like Dr.
Shaw, the great traveller[361], who Mr. Daines Barrington[362] told me,
used to say, 'I hate a _cui bono_ man.' Upon being asked by a
friend[363] 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 animated tone) it is driving on the
system of life.'

He told me, that he was glad that I had, by General Oglethorpe's means,
become acquainted with Dr. Shebbeare. Indeed that gentleman, whatever
objections were made to him, had knowledge and abilities much above the
class of ordinary writers, and deserves to be remembered as a
respectable name in literature, were it only for his admirable _Letters
on the English Nation_, under the name of 'Battista Angeloni, a
Jesuit[364].'

Johnson and Shebbeare[365] were frequently named together, as having in
former reigns had no predilection for the family of Hanover. The authour
of the celebrated _Heroick Epistle to Sir William Chambers_, introduces
them in one line, in a list of those 'who tasted the sweets of his
present Majesty's reign[366].' Such was Johnson's candid 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[367].

Goldsmith could sometimes take adventurous liberties with him, and
escape unpunished. Beauclerk told me that when Goldsmith talked of a
project for having a third Theatre 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 nothing to you, who can now shelter yourself behind
the corner of a pension;' and that Johnson bore this with good-humour.

Johnson praised the Earl of Carlisle's Poems[368], which his Lordship
had published with his name, as not disdaining to be a candidate for
literary fame. My friend was of opinion, that when a man of rank
appeared in that character, he deserved to have his merit handsomely
allowed[369]. In this I think he was more liberal than Mr. William
Whitehead[370], in his _Elegy to Lord Villiers_, in which under the
pretext of 'superiour toils, demanding all their care,' he discovers a
jealousy of the great paying their court to the Muses:--

'------to the chosen few
Who dare excel, thy fost'ring aid afford,
Their arts, their magick powers, with honours due
Exalt;--but be thyself what they record[371].'

Johnson had called twice on the Bishop of Killaloe[372] before his
Lordship set out for Ireland, having missed him the first time. He said,
'It would have hung heavy on my heart if I had not seen him. No man ever
paid more attention to another than he has done to me[373]; and I have
neglected him, not wilfully, but from being otherwise occupied. Always,
Sir, set a high value on spontaneous kindness. He whose inclination
prompts him to cultivate your friendship of his own accord, will love
you more than one whom you have been at pains to attach to you.'

Johnson told me, that he was once much pleased to find that a
carpenter, who lived near him, was very ready to shew him some things in
his business which he wished to see: 'It was paying (said he) respect to
literature.'

I asked him if he was not dissatisfied with having so small a share of
wealth, and none of those distinctions in the state which are the
objects of ambition. He had only a pension of three hundred a year. Why
was he not in such circumstances as to keep his coach? Why had he not
some considerable office? JOHNSON, 'Sir, I have never complained of the
world[374]; nor do I think that I have reason to complain. It is rather
to be wondered at that I have so much. My pension is more out of the
usual course of things than any instance that I have known. Here, Sir,
was a man avowedly no friend to Government at the time, who got a
pension without asking for it. I never courted the great; they sent for
me; but I think they now give me up. They are satisfied; they have seen
enough of me.' Upon my observing that I could not believe this, for they
must certainly be highly pleased by his conversation; conscious of his
own superiority, he answered, 'No, Sir; great lords and great ladies
don't love to have their mouths stopped[375].' This was very expressive
of the effect which the force of his understanding and brilliancy of his
fancy could not but produce; and, to be sure, they must have found
themselves strangely diminished in his company. When I warmly declared
how happy I was at all times to hear him;--'Yes, Sir, (said he); but if
you were Lord Chancellor, it would not be so: you would then consider
your own dignity.'

There was much truth and knowledge of human nature in this remark. But
certainly one should think, that in whatever elevated state of life a
man who _knew_ the value of the conversation of Johnson might be placed,
though he might prudently avoid a situation in which he might appear
lessened by comparison; yet he would frequently gratify himself in
private with the participation of the rich intellectual entertainment
which Johnson could furnish. Strange, however, it is, to consider how
few of the great sought his society[376]; so that if one were disposed
to take occasion for satire on that account, very conspicuous objects
present themselves. His noble friend, Lord Elibank, well observed, that
if a great man procured an interview with Johnson, and did not wish to
see him more, it shewed a mere idle curiosity, and a wretched want of
relish for extraordinary powers of mind[377]. Mrs. Thrale justly and
wittily accounted for such conduct by saying, that Johnson's
conversation was by much too strong for a person accustomed to
obsequiousness and flattery; it was _mustard in a young child's mouth!_

One day, when I told him that I was a zealous Tory, but not enough
'according to knowledge[378],' and should be obliged to him for 'a
reason[379],' he was so candid, and expressed himself so well, that I
begged of him to repeat what he had said, and I wrote down as follows:--

OF TORY AND WHIG.

'A wise Tory and a wise Whig, I believe, will agree[380]. Their
principles are the same, though their modes of thinking are different. A
high Tory makes government unintelligible: it is lost in the clouds. A
violent Whig makes it impracticable: he is for allowing so much liberty
to every man, that there is not power enough to govern any man. The
prejudice of the Tory is for establishment; the prejudice of the Whig is
for innovation. A Tory does not wish to give more real power to
Government; but that Government should have more reverence. Then they
differ as to the Church. The Tory is not for giving more legal power to
the Clergy, but wishes they should have a considerable influence,
founded on the opinion of mankind; the Whig is for limiting and watching
them with a narrow jealousy.'

To MR. PERKINS.

'SIR,

However often I have seen you, I have hitherto forgotten the note, but I
have now sent it: with my good wishes for the prosperity of you and your
partner[381], of whom, from our short conversation, I could not judge
otherwise than favourably.

I am, Sir,

Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.

June 2, 1781.'

On Saturday, June 2, I set out for Scotland, 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 worthy
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. Watson's[382] second volume of
_Chemical Essays_[383], 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 published. I happened to
take it out of my pocket this day, and he seized upon it with avidity.
He pointed out to me the following remarkable passage[384]:--

'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
conquest, cannot the Asiaticks and Africans invade their coasts, plant
colonies in their ports, and give laws to their natural princes? The
same wind that carries them back would bring us thither.' 'They are more
powerful, Sir, than we, (answered Imlac,) 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 unsearchable will of the
Supreme Being.'

He said, 'This, Sir, no man can explain otherwise.'

We stopped at Welwyn, where I wished much to see, in company with Dr.
Johnson, the residence of the authour of _Night Thoughts_, which was
then possessed by his son, Mr. Young. Here some address was requisite,
for I was not acquainted with Mr. Young, and had I proposed to Dr.
Johnson that 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 reception 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 gentleman desired
to wait upon him, and was shewn into a parlour, where he and a young
lady, his daughter, were sitting. He appeared to be a plain, civil,
country gentleman; and when I begged pardon for presuming 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?' I thanked him, but said,
that Dr. Johnson had come with me from London, and I must return to the
inn and drink tea with him; that my name was Boswell, I had travelled
with him in the Hebrides. 'Sir, (said he) I should think it a great
honour to see Dr. Johnson here. Will you allow me to send for him?'
Availing myself 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 _Night
Thoughts_, 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
inquiry 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[385], 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_[386];' and in
reference to a brook by which it is situated, _'Vivendi recte qui
prorogat horam_[387],' &c. I said to Mr. Young, that I had been told his
father was cheerful[388]. 'Sir, (said he) he was too well-bred a man not
to be cheerful in company; but he was gloomy when alone. He never was
cheerful after my mother's death, and he had met with many
disappointments.' Dr. Johnson observed to me afterwards, 'That this was
no favourable account of Dr. Young; for it is not becoming in a man to
have so little acquiescence in the ways of Providence, as to be gloomy
because he has not obtained as much preferment as he expected[389]; nor
to continue gloomy for the loss of his wife. Grief has its time[390].'
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 anecdote, that his father had
received several thousand pounds of subscription-money for his
_Universal Passion_, but had lost it in the South-Sea[391]. Dr. Johnson
thought this must be a mistake; for he had never seen a
subscription-book.

Upon the road we talked of the uncertainty of profit with which authours
and booksellers engage in the publication of literary works. JOHNSON.
'My judgement 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?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; I have been thought a
sour, surly fellow.' BOSWELL. 'Very lucky for you, Sir,--in that
respect.' I must however observe, that notwithstanding 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 obscure authours, to read their manuscripts, or more liberally
assisted them with advice and correction[392].

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 of the month, the holy
sacrament was administered, and I staid to partake of it. When I came
afterwards into Dr. Johnson's room, he 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 previous
preparation, as to which good men entertain different opinions, some
holding that it is irreverent to partake of that ordinance 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 solemn one. A middle
notion I believe to be the just one, which is, that communicants need
not think a long train of preparatory forms indispensibly necessary; but
neither should they rashly and lightly venture upon so aweful and
mysterious an institution. Christians must judge each for himself, what
degree of retirement and self-examination is necessary upon
each occasion.

Being in a frame of mind which, I hope for the felicity of human nature,
many experience,--in fine weather,--at the country house of a
friend,--consoled and elevated by pious exercises,--I expressed myself
with an unrestrained fervour to my 'Guide, Philosopher, and
Friend[393];' 'My dear Sir, I would fain be a good man; and I am very
good now[394]. I fear GOD, and honour the King, I wish to do no ill, and
to be benevolent to all mankind.' He looked at me with a benignant
indulgence; but took occasion to give me wise and salutary caution. 'Do
not, Sir, accustom yourself to trust to _impressions_. There is a middle
state of mind between conviction and hypocrisy, of which many are
conscious[395]. 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 confidence in him, no more than
in a tyger. But, Sir, no man believes himself to be impelled
irresistibly; we know that he who says he believes it, lies. Favourable
impressions 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
cast-away[396].'

The opinion of a learned Bishop of our acquaintance, as to there being
merit in religious faith, being mentioned;--JOHNSON. 'Why, yes, Sir, the
most licentious 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[397].'

I talked to him of original sin[398], in consequence of the fall of man,
and of the atonement made by our SAVIOUR. After some conversation, which
he desired me to remember, he, at my request, dictated to me as
follows:--

'With respect to original sin, the inquiry is not necessary; for
whatever is the cause of human corruption, men are evidently 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 mankind 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 "The Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins[399] of
the world." To judge of the reasonableness of the scheme of redemption,
it must be considered as necessary to the government of the universe,
that GOD should make known his perpetual and irreconcileable detestation
of moral evil. He might indeed punish, and punish only the offenders;
but as the end of punishment is not revenge of crimes, but propagation
of virtue, it was more becoming the Divine clemency to find another
manner of proceeding, less 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 shews
evidently such abhorrence 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 amply
display his justice, to men and angels, to all orders and successions of
beings, than that it was necessary for the highest and purest nature,
even for DIVINITY itself, to pacify the demands of vengeance, 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 supply, in some degree, the imperfections of our
obedience, and the inefficacy of our repentance: for, obedience and
repentance, such as we can perform, are still necessary. Our SAVIOUR has
told us, that he did not come to destroy the law, but to fulfill; to
fulfill the typical law, by the performance of what those types had
foreshewn; and the moral law, by precepts of greater purity and higher
exaltation.'

[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. Other prophets only proclaimed
the will and the threatenings of GOD. CHRIST satisfied his
justice[400].'

The Reverend Mr. Palmer[401], Fellow of Queen's College, Cambridge,
dined with us. He expressed a wish that a better provision were made for
parish-clerks. JOHNSON. '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[402] 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[403].

Although upon most occasions[404] 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) that men of very large fortunes enjoy any thing extraordinary
that makes happiness. 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 Jamaica Dawkins, who, going to visit
Palmyra, and hearing that the way was infested by robbers, hired a troop
of Turkish horse to guard him[405].'

Dr. Gibbons[406], the Dissenting minister, being mentioned, he said, '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[407] over a dish of tea in an afternoon, I shall take it kind.'

The Reverend Mr. Smith, Vicar of Southill, a very respectable man, with
a very agreeable family, sent an invitation to us to drink tea. I
remarked Dr. Johnson's very respectful[408] 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 all 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 power of memory, maintaining that forgetfulness was a
man's own fault[409]. 'To remember and to recollect (said he) are
different things. A man has not the power to recollect what is not in
his mind; but when a thing is in his mind he may remember it.' The
remark was occasioned by my leaning 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[410].'

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 written six sheets of a translation
from the French[411], 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 believe there is hardly a
day in which there is not something about me in the newspapers.'

On Monday, June 4, we all went to Luton-Hoe, to see Lord Bute's
magnificent seat[412], for which I had obtained a ticket. As we entered
the park, I talked in a high style of my old friendship with Lord
Mountstuart[413], and said, 'I shall probably be much at this place.'
The Sage, aware of human vicissitudes, gently checked me: 'Don't you be
too sure of that.' He made two or three peculiar observations; as when
shewn the botanical garden, '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 magnificence 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 concert, 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 Chesterfield, 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[414]. There was
an animated glow in his countenance while he thus recalled his
high-minded indignation.

He laughed heartily at a ludicrous action in the Court of Session, in
which I was Counsel. The Society of _Procurators_, or Attornies,
entitled to practise in the inferiour courts at Edinburgh, had obtained
a royal charter, in which they had taken care to have their ancient
designation of Procurators changed into that of _Solicitors_, from a
notion, as they supposed, that it was more genteel[415]; and this new
title they displayed by a publick advertisement for a _General Meeting_
at their HALL.

It has been said, that the Scottish nation is not distinguished for
humour; and, indeed, what happened on this occasion may in some degree
justify the remark: for although 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 following
paragraph, sent to the newspaper called _The Caledonian Mercury_:--

'A correspondent informs us, that the Worshipful Society of _Chaldeans_,
_Cadies_[416], or _Running Stationers_ of this city are resolved, in
imitation, and encouraged by the singular success of their brethren, of
an equally respectable Society, to apply for a Charter of their
Privileges, particularly of the sole privilege of PROCURING, in the most
extensive sense of the word[417], exclusive of chairmen, porters,
penny-post men, and other _inferiour_ ranks; their brethren the R--Y--L
S--LL--RS, _alias_ P--C--RS, _before the_ INFERIOUR Courts of this City,
always excepted.

'Should the Worshipful Society be successful, they are farther resolved
not to be _puffed up_ thereby, but to demean themselves 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 judgement of the
whole Court very wisely dismissed the action: _Solventur risu tabulae,
tu missus abibis_[418]. But a new trial or review was granted upon a
petition, according to the forms in Scotland. This petition I was
engaged to answer, and Dr. Johnson with great alacrity furnished me this
evening with what follows:--

'All injury is either of the person, the fortune, or the fame. Now it is
a certain thing, it is proverbially known, that _a jest breaks no
bones_. They never have gained half-a-crown less in the whole profession
since this mischievous paragraph has appeared; and, as to their
reputation, What is their reputation but an instrument of getting money?
If, therefore, they have lost no money, the question upon reputation
may be answered by a very old position,--_De minimis non curat Praetor_.

'Whether there was, or was not, an _animus injuriandi_, is not worth
inquiring, if no _injuria_ can be proved. But the truth is, there was no
_animus injuriandi_. It was only an _animus irritandi[419]_, which,
happening to be exercised upon a _genus irritabile_, produced unexpected
violence of resentment. Their irritability arose only from an opinion of
their own importance, and their delight in their new exaltation. What
might have been borne by a _Procurator_ could not be borne by a
_Solicitor_. Your Lordships well know, that _honores mutant mores_.
Titles and dignities play strongly on the fancy. As a madman is apt to
think himself grown suddenly great, so he that grows suddenly great is
apt to borrow a little from the madman. To co-operate with their
resentment would be to promote their phrenzy; nor is it possible to
guess to what they might proceed, if to the new title of Solicitor,
should be added the elation of victory and triumph.

'We consider your Lordships as the protectors of our rights, and the
guardians of our virtues; but believe it not included in your high
office, that you should flatter our vices, or solace our vanity: and, as
vanity only dictates this prosecution, it is humbly hoped your Lordships
will dismiss it.

'If every attempt, however light or ludicrous, to lessen another's
reputation, is to be punished by a judicial sentence, what punishment
can be sufficiently severe for him who attempts to diminish the
reputation of the Supreme Court of Justice, by reclaiming upon a cause
already determined, without any change in the state of the question?
Does it not imply hopes that the Judges will change their opinion? Is
not uncertainty and inconstancy in the highest degree disreputable to a
Court? Does it not suppose, that the former judgement was temerarious or
negligent? Does it not lessen the confidence of the publick? Will it not
be said, that _jus est aut incognitum aut vagum?_ and will not the
consequence be drawn, _misera est servitus[420]?_ Will not the rules of
action be obscure? Will not he who knows himself wrong to-day, hope that
the Courts of Justice will think him right to-morrow? Surely, my Lords,
these are attempts of dangerous tendency, which the Solicitors, as men
versed in the law, should have foreseen and avoided. It was natural for
an ignorant printer to appeal from the Lord Ordinary; but from lawyers,
the descendants of lawyers, who have practised for three hundred years,
and have now raised themselves to a higher denomination, it might be
expected, that they should know the reverence due to a judicial
determination; and, having been once dismissed, should sit down
in silence.'

I am ashamed to mention, that the Court, by a plurality of voices,
without having a single additional circumstance before them, reversed
their own judgement, made a serious matter of this dull and foolish
joke, and adjudged Mr. Robertson to pay to the Society five pounds
(sterling money) and costs of suit. The decision will seem strange to
English lawyers.

On Tuesday, June 5, Johnson was to return 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 estimable. 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 danger in
marrying a pretty woman as is apprehended: she will not be persecuted if
she does not invite persecution. A pretty woman, 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 to Scotland, he said, 'As an Englishman, I
should wish all the Scotch gentlemen should be educated in England;
Scotland would become a province; they would spend all their rents in
England.' This is a subject of much consequence, and much delicacy. The
advantage of an English education is unquestionably very great to Scotch
gentlemen of talents and ambition; 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 Northumberland gentleman who has been educated in the
South of England. I own, indeed, that it is no small misfortune for
Scotch gentlemen, who have neither talents nor ambition, to be educated
in England, where they may be perhaps distinguished only by a nick-name,
lavish 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 judiciously brought
up at home, they might have been comfortable and creditable members
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 county, and next day proceeded on
my journey.

'To BENNET LANGTON, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'How welcome your account 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 acquainted 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 that you shall
not be without them.

'You will, perhaps, be glad to hear, that Mrs. Thrale is disencumbered
of her brewhouse; and that it seemed to the purchaser so far from an
evil, that he was content to give for it an hundred and thirty-five
thousand pounds. Is the nation ruined?

'Please to make my respectful compliments to Lady Rothes, and keep me in
the memory of all the little dear family, particularly pretty Mrs.
Jane.[421]

'I am, Sir,

'Your affectionate humble servant, 'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Bolt-Court, June 16, 1781.'

Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from
inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of his own
purse, but what is more difficult 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[422] 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 insisted on taking less,
saying 'No, no, Sir; we must not _pamper_ them.'

I 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 prevented him from
communicating to me with the other letters from Dr. Johnson with which
he was pleased to furnish me. However 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. 'DEAR SIR,

'It was not before yesterday that I received your splendid benefaction.
To a hand so liberal in distributing, I hope nobody will envy the power
of acquiring.

'I am, dear Sir,

Your obliged and most humble servant, SAM, JOHNSON. June 23, 1781.'

'To THOMAS ASTLE, Esq.[423]

'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 seeing 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[424] 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 importance to state with care. Had
the Saxons any gold coin?

'I have much curiosity after the manners and transactions of the middle
ages, but have wanted either diligence or opportunity, or both. You,
Sir, have great opportunities, and I wish you both diligence
and success.

'I am, Sir, &c. SAM. JOHNSON. July 17, 1781.'

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, well known in
Norfolk by the name of the _Philosopher of Massingham_[425]: 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 urgently begged
Dr. Burney to give him the cover of the first letter he had received
from him, as a relick of so estimable a writer. This was in 1755. In
1760[426], 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 shewn 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 him by a man of
genius and science, to whom he was an utter stranger, 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 honour to accept of
them[427]." In this he kept his word; and Dr. Burney had not only the
pleasure of gratifying his friend with a present more worthy of his
acceptance than the segment from the hearth-broom, but soon after of
introducing him to Dr. Johnson himself in Bolt-court, with whom he had
the satisfaction 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.'

In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute:--

'August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-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 prepared to appear before my Creator and my Judge, 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
language, for my settled study.'

How venerably pious does he appear in these moments of solitude, and how
spirited 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[428].

In autumn he went to Oxford, Birmingham, Lichfield, and Ashbourne, for
which very good reasons might be given in the conjectural yet positive
manner of writers, who are proud to account for every event which they
relate[429]. He himself, however, says,

'The motives of my journey I hardly know; I omitted it last year, and am
not willing to miss it again[430].'

But some good considerations arise, amongst which is the kindly
recollection of Mr. Hector, surgeon at Birmingham:

'Hector is likewise an old friend, the only companion of my childhood
that passed through the school with me. We have 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 shew a good example by
frequent attendance on publick worship.'

My correspondence with him 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 for Caithness, to his
acquaintance; and informed him in another that my wife had again been
affected with alarming symptoms of illness.

1782: AETAT. 73.--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 powers of his mind were in no
degree impaired.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'I sit down to answer your 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.

'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 better than I have
ever hitherto done.

'My journey to Ashbourne and Staffordshire was not pleasant; for what
enjoyment has a sick man visiting the sick[431]?--Shall we ever have
another frolick like our journey to the Hebrides?

'I hope that dear Mrs. Boswell will surmount her complaints; in losing
her you would lose your anchor, and be tost, without stability, by the
waves of life[432]. I wish both her and you 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.'

'January 5, 1782.'

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. Lawrence:--

'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.'

'Jan. 17, 1782.'

In one of his memorandum-books in my possession, is the following
entry:--

'January 20, Sunday. Robert Levett was buried in the church-yard 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. _Commendavi_. May GOD
have mercy on him. May he have mercy on me.'

Such was Johnson's affectionate regard for Levett[433], that he honoured
his memory with the following pathetick verses:--

'Condemd'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[434].

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise[435], and coarsely kind;
Nor, letter'd arrogance[436], deny
Thy praise to merit unrefin'd.

When fainting Nature call'd for aid,
And hov'ring Death prepar'd 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 retir'd to die[437].

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 supply'd.

His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure the Eternal Master found
His single talent well employ'd.

The busy day, the peaceful night[438],
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh[439].

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.'

In one of Johnson's registers of this year, there occurs the following
curious passage:--

'Jan. 20[440]. The Ministry is dissolved. I prayed with Francis and gave
thanks[441].'

It has been the subject of discussion, whether there are two distinct
particulars mentioned here? or that we are to understand the giving of
thanks to be in consequence of the dissolution of the Ministry? In
support of the last of these conjectures may be urged his mean opinion
of that Ministry, which has frequently appeared in the course of this
work[442]; and it is strongly confirmed by what he said on the subject
to Mr. Seward:--'I am glad the Ministry is removed. Such a bunch of
imbecility never disgraced a country[443]. If they sent a messenger into
the City to take up a printer, the messenger was taken up instead of
the printer, and committed by the sitting Alderman[444]. If they sent
one army to the relief of another, the first army was defeated and taken
before the second arrived[445]. I will not say that what they did was
always wrong; but it was always done at a wrong time[446].'

'TO MRS. STRAHAN.

'DEAR MADAM,

'Mrs. Williams shewed 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 snatched away; two are oppressed
by very afflictive and dangerous illness; and I tried yesterday to gain
some relief by a third bleeding, from a disorder which has for some time
distressed me, and I think myself to-day much better.

'I am glad, dear Madam, to hear that you are so far recovered as to go
to Bath. Let me once more entreat you to stay till your health is not
only obtained, but confirmed. Your fortune is such as that no moderate
expence deserves your care; and you have a husband, who, I believe, does
not regard it. Stay, therefore, till you are quite well. I am, for my
part, very much deserted; but complaint is useless. I hope GOD will
bless you, and I desire you to form the same wish for me.

'I am, dear Madam,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Feb. 4, 1782.'

'To EDMOND MALONE, ESQ.

'SIR,

'I have for many weeks been so much out of order, that I have gone out
only in a coach to Mrs. Thrale's, where I can use all the freedom that
sickness requires. Do not, therefore, take it amiss, that I am not with
you and Dr. Farmer. I hope hereafter to see you often.

'I am, Sir,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Feb. 27, 1782.'

To THE SAME.

'DEAR SIR,

'I hope I grow better, and shall soon be able to enjoy the kindness of
my friends. I think this wild adherence to Chatterton[447] more
unaccountable than the obstinate defence of Ossian. In Ossian there is a
national pride, which may be forgiven, though it cannot be applauded. In
Chatterton there is nothing but the resolution to say again what has
once been said.

'I am, Sir,

'Your humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'March 7, 1782.'

These short letters shew the regard which Dr. Johnson entertained for
Mr. Malone, who the more he is known is the more highly valued. It is
much to be regretted that Johnson was prevented from sharing the elegant
hospitality of that gentleman's table, at which he would in every
respect have been fully gratified. Mr. Malone, who has so ably
succeeded him as an Editor of Shakspeare, has, in his Preface, done
great and just honour to Johnson's memory.

'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

'DEAR MADAM,

'I went away from Lichfield ill, and have had a troublesome time with my
breath; for some weeks I have been disordered by a cold, of which I
could not get the violence abated, till I had been let blood three
times. I have not, however, been so bad but that I could have written,
and am sorry that I neglected it.

'My dwelling is but melancholy; both Williams, and Desmoulins, and
myself, are very sickly: Frank is not well; and poor Levett died in his
bed the other day, by a sudden stroke; I suppose not one minute passed
between health and death; so uncertain are human things.

'Such is the appearance of the world about me; I hope your scenes are
more cheerful. But whatever befalls us, though it is wise to be serious,
it is useless and foolish, and perhaps sinful, to be gloomy. Let us,
therefore, keep ourselves as easy as we can; though the loss of friends
will be felt, and poor Levett had been a faithful adherent for
thirty years.

'Forgive me, my dear love, the omission of writing; I hope to mend that
and my other faults. Let me have your prayers.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Cobb, and Miss Adey, and Mr. Pearson, and
the whole company of my friends.

I am, my dear,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, March 2, 1782.'

TO THE SAME.

'DEAR MADAM,

'My last was but a dull letter, and I know not that this will be much
more cheerful; I am, however, willing to write, because you are desirous
to hear from me.

'My disorder has now begun its ninth week, for it is not yet over. I was
last Thursday blooded for the fourth time, and have since found myself
much relieved, but I am very tender and easily hurt; so that since we
parted I have had but little comfort, but I hope that the spring will
recover me; and that in the summer I shall see Lichfield again, for I
will not delay my visit another year to the end of autumn.

'I have, by advertising, found poor Mr. Levett's brothers in Yorkshire,
who will take the little he has left: it is but little, yet it will be
welcome, for I believe they are of very low condition.

'To be sick, and to see nothing but sickness and death, is but a gloomy
state; but I hope better times, even in this world, will come, and
whatever this world may withhold or give, we shall be happy in a better
state. Pray for me, my dear Lucy.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Cobb, and Miss Adey, and my old friend
Hetty Baily, and to all the Lichfield ladies.

'I am, dear Madam,

'Yours, affectionately,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Bolt-court, Fleet-street,

March 19, 1782.'

On the day on which this letter was written, he thus feelingly mentions
his respected friend and physician, Dr. Lawrence:--

'Poor Lawrence has almost lost the sense of hearing; and I have lost the
conversation of a learned, intelligent, and communicative companion, and
a friend whom long familiarity has much endeared. Lawrence is one of the
best men whom I have known.--_Nostrum omnium miserere Deus_[448].'

It was Dr. Johnson's custom when he wrote to Dr. Lawrence concerning his
own health, to use the Latin language[449]. I have been favoured by Miss
Lawrence with one of these letters as a specimen:--

'T. LAWRENCIO, _Medico, S_.

'NOVUM _frigus, nova tussis, nova spirandi difficultas, novam sanguinis
missionem suadent, quam tamen te inconsulto nolim fieri. Ad te venire
vix possum, nec est cur ad me venias. Licere vel non licere uno verbo
dicendum est; catera mihi et Holdero[450] reliqueris. Si per te licet,
imperatur[451] nuncio Holderum ad me deducere.

'Maiis Calendis, 1782.

'Postquam tu discesseris, quo me vertam[452]?'_

TO CAPTAIN LANGTON[453], IN ROCHESTER.

'DEAR SIR,

'It is now long since we saw one another; and whatever has been the
reason neither you have written to me, nor I to you. To let friendship
die away by negligence and silence, is certainly not wise. It is
voluntarily to throw away one of the greatest comforts of this weary
pilgrimage, of which when it is, as it must be, taken finally away, he
that travels on alone, will wonder how his esteem could be so little. Do
not forget me; you see that I do not forget you. It is pleasing in the
silence of solitude to think, that there is one at least, however
distant, of whose benevolence there is little doubt, and whom there is
yet hope of seeing again[454].

'Of my life, from the time we parted, the history is mournful. The
spring of last year deprived me of Thrale, a man whose eye for fifteen
years had scarcely been turned upon me but with respect or
tenderness[455]; for such another friend, the general course of human
things will not suffer man to hope. I passed the summer at Streatham,
but there was no Thrale; and having idled away the summer with a weakly
body and neglected mind, I made a journey to Staffordshire on the edge
of winter. The season was dreary, I was sickly, and found the friends
sickly whom I went to see. After a sorrowful sojourn, I returned to a
habitation possessed for the present by two sick women, where my dear
old friend, Mr. Levett, to whom as he used to tell me, I owe your
acquaintance[456], died a few weeks ago, suddenly in his bed; there
passed not, I believe, a minute between health and death. At night, as
at Mrs. Thrale's I was musing in my chamber, I thought with uncommon
earnestness, that however I might alter my mode of life, or
whithersoever I might remove[457], I would endeavour to retain Levett
about me; in the morning my servant brought me word that Levett was
called to another state, a state for which, I think, he was not
unprepared, for he was very useful to the poor. How much soever I valued
him, I now wish that I had valued him more[458].

'I have myself been ill more than eight weeks of a disorder, from which
at the expence of about fifty ounces of blood, I hope I am now
recovering.

'You, dear Sir, have, I hope, a more cheerful scene; you see George fond
of his book, and the pretty misses airy and lively, with my own little
Jenny[459] equal to the best[460]: and in whatever can contribute to
your quiet or pleasure, you have Lady Rothes ready to concur. May
whatever you enjoy of good be encreased, and whatever you suffer of evil
be diminished.

I am, dear Sir,
Your humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Bolt-court, Fleet-street,
March 20, 1782.'

'To MR. HECTOR, IN BIRMINGHAM[461].

'DEAR SIR,

'I hope I do not very grossly flatter myself to imagine that you and
dear Mrs. Careless[462] will be glad to hear some account of me. I
performed the journey to London with very little inconvenience, and came
safe to my habitation, where I found nothing but ill health, and, of
consequence, very little cheerfulness. I then went to visit a little way
into the country, where I got a complaint by a cold which has hung eight
weeks upon me, and from which I am, at the expence of fifty ounces of
blood, not yet free. I am afraid I must once more owe my recovery to
warm weather, which seems to make no advances towards us.

'Such is my health, which will, I hope, soon grow better. In other
respects I have no reason to complain. I know not that I have written
any thing more generally commended than the _Lives of the Poets_; and
have found the world willing enough to caress me, if my health had
invited me to be in much company; but this season I have been almost
wholly employed in nursing myself.

'When summer comes I hope to see you again, and will not put off my
visit to the end of the year. I have lived so long in London, that I did
not remember the difference of seasons.

'Your health, when I saw you, was much improved. You will be prudent
enough not to put it in danger. I hope, when we meet again, we shall all
congratulate each other upon fair prospects of longer life; though what
are the pleasures of the longest life, when placed in comparison with a
happy death?

'I am, dear Sir,

'Yours most affectionately,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, March 21, 1782.'

To THE SAME.

[Without a date, but supposed to be about this time.][463]

'DEAR SIR,

'That you and dear Mrs. Careless should have care or curiosity about my
health, gives me that pleasure which every man feels from finding
himself not forgotten. In age we feel again that love of our native
place and our early friends, which in the bustle or amusements of middle
life were overborne and suspended. You and I should now naturally cling
to one another: we have outlived most of those who could pretend to
rival us in each other's kindness. In our walk through life we have
dropped our companions, and are now to pick up such as chance may offer
us, or to travel on alone[464]. You, indeed, have a sister, with whom
you can divide the day: I have no natural friend left; but Providence
has been pleased to preserve me from neglect; I have not wanted such
alleviations of life as friendship could supply. My health has been,
from my twentieth year, such as has seldom afforded me a single day of
ease[465]; but it is at least not worse: and I sometimes make myself
believe that it is better. My disorders are, however, still sufficiently
oppressive.

'I think of seeing Staffordshire again this autumn, and intend to find
my way through Birmingham, where I hope to see you and dear Mrs.
Careless well. I am Sir,

'Your affectionate friend,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

I wrote to him at different dates; regretted that I could not come to
London this spring, but hoped we should meet somewhere in the summer;
mentioned the state of my affairs, and suggested hopes of some
preferment; informed him, that as _The Beauties of Johnson_ had been
published in London, some obscure scribbler had published at Edinburgh
what he called _The deformities of Johnson_.

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'The pleasure which we used to receive from each other on Good-Friday
and Easter-day[466], we must be this year content to miss. Let us,
however, pray for each other, and hope to see one another yet from time
to time with mutual delight. My disorder has been a cold, which impeded
the organs of respiration, and kept me many weeks in a state of great
uneasiness; but by repeated phlebotomy it is now relieved; and next to
the recovery of Mrs. Boswell, I flatter myself, that you will rejoice
at mine.

'What we shall do in the summer it is yet too early to consider. You
want to know what you shall do now; I do not think this time of bustle
and confusion[467] likely to produce any advantage to you. Every man has
those to reward and gratify who have contributed to his advancement. To
come hither with such expectations at the expence of borrowed money,
which, I find, you know not where to borrow, can hardly be considered as
prudent. I am sorry to find, what your solicitation seems to imply, that
you have already gone the whole length of your credit. This is to set
the quiet of your whole life at hazard. If you anticipate your
inheritance, you can at last inherit nothing; all that you receive must
pay for the past. You must get a place, or pine in penury, with the
empty name of a great estate. Poverty, my dear friend, is so great an
evil, and pregnant with so much temptation, and so much misery, that I
cannot but earnestly enjoin you to avoid it[468]. Live on what you have;
live if you can on less; do not borrow either for vanity or pleasure;
the vanity will end in shame, and the pleasure in regret: stay therefore
at home, till you have saved money for your journey hither.

_The Beauties of Johnson_ are said to have got money to the collector;
if the _Deformities_ have the same success, I shall be still a more
extensive benefactor.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, who is, I hope, reconciled to me;
and to the young people whom I never have offended.

'You never told me the success of your plea against the Solicitors[469].

'I am, dear Sir,

'Your most affectionate,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, March 28, 1782.'

Notwithstanding his afflicted state of body[470] and mind this year, the
following correspondence affords a proof not only of his benevolence and
conscientious readiness to relieve a good man from errour, but by his
cloathing one of the sentiments in his _Rambler_ in different language,
not inferiour to that of the original, shews his extraordinary command
of clear and forcible expression.

A clergyman at Bath wrote to him, that in _The Morning Chronicle_, a
passage in _The Beauties of Johnson_[471], article DEATH, had been
pointed out as supposed by some readers to recommend suicide, the words
being, 'To die is the fate of man; but to die with lingering anguish is
generally his folly;' and respectfully suggesting to him, that such an
erroneous notion of any sentence in the writings of an acknowledged
friend of religion and virtue, should not pass uncontradicted.

Johnson thus answered the clergyman's letter:--

To THE REVEREND MR. ----, AT BATH.

'SIR,

'Being now[472] in the country in a state of recovery, as I hope, from a
very oppressive disorder, I cannot neglect the acknowledgement of your
Christian letter. The book called _The Beauties of Johnson_ is the
production of I know not whom: I never saw it but by casual inspection,
and considered myself as utterly disengaged from its consequences. Of
the passage you mention, I remember some notice in some paper; but
knowing that it must be misrepresented, I thought of it no more, nor do
I know where to find it in my own books. I am accustomed to think little
of newspapers; but an opinion so weighty and serious as yours has
determined me to do, what I should, without your seasonable admonition,
have omitted; and I will direct my thought to be shewn in its true
state[473]. If I could find the passage, I would direct you to it. I
suppose the tenour is this:--'Acute diseases are the immediate and
inevitable strokes of Heaven; but of them the pain is short, and the
conclusion speedy; chronical disorders, by which we are suspended in
tedious torture between life and death, are commonly the effect of our
own misconduct and intemperance. To die, &c.'--This, Sir, you see is
all true and all blameless. I hope, some time in the next week, to have
all rectified. My health has been lately much shaken: if you favour me
with any answer, it will be a comfort to me to know that I have
your prayers.

'I am, &c.,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'May 15, 1782.'

This letter, as might be expected, had its full effect, and the
clergyman acknowledged it in grateful and pious terms[474].

The following letters require no extracts from mine to introduce them:--

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'The earnestness and tenderness of your letter is such, that I cannot
think myself shewing it more respect than it claims by sitting down to
answer it the day on which I received it.

'This year has afflicted me with a very irksome and severe disorder. My
respiration has been much impeded, and much blood has been taken away. I
am now harrassed by a catarrhous cough, from which my purpose is to seek
relief by change of air; and I am, therefore, preparing to go to
Oxford[475].

'Whether I did right in dissuading you from coming to London this
spring, I will not determine. You have not lost much by missing my
company; I have scarcely been well for a single week. I might have
received comfort from your kindness; but you would have seen me
afflicted, and, perhaps, found me peevish. Whatever might have been your
pleasure or mine, I know not how I could have honestly advised you to
come hither with borrowed money. Do not accustom yourself to consider
debt only as an inconvenience; you will find it a calamity. Poverty
takes away so many means of doing good, and produces so much inability
to resist evil, both natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means
to be avoided. Consider a man whose fortune is very narrow; whatever be
his rank by birth, or whatever his reputation by intellectual
excellence, what good can he do? or what evil can he prevent? That he
cannot help the needy is evident; he has nothing to spare. But, perhaps,
his advice or admonition may be useful. His poverty will destroy his
influence: many more can find that he is poor, than that he is wise; and
few will reverence the understanding that is of so little advantage to
its owner. I say nothing of the personal wretched-ness of a debtor,
which, however, has passed into a proverb[476]. Of riches, it is not
necessary to write the praise[477]. Let it, however, be remembered, that
he who has money to spare, has it always in his power to benefit others;
and of such power a good man must always be desirous.

'I am pleased with your account of Easter[478]. We shall meet, I hope in
Autumn, both well and both cheerful; and part each the better for the
other's company.

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell, and to the young charmers.

'I am, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.' 'London, June 3, 1782.'

'To MR. PERKINS[479].

'DEAR SIR,

I am much pleased that you are going a very long journey, which may by
proper conduct restore your health and prolong your life.

'Observe these rules:

1. Turn all care out of your head as soon as you mount the chaise.

2. Do not think about frugality; your health is worth more than it can
cost.

3. Do not continue any day's journey to fatigue.

4. Take now and then a day's rest.

5. Get a smart sea-sickness, if you can.

6. Cast away all anxiety, and keep your mind easy.

'This last direction is the principal; with an unquiet mind, neither
exercise, nor diet, nor physick, can be of much use.

'I wish you, dear Sir, a prosperous journey, and a happy recovery.

I am, dear Sir,

'Your most affectionate, humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'July 28, 1782.'

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'Being uncertain whether I should have any call this autumn into the
country, I did not immediately answer your kind letter. I have no call;
but if you desire to meet me at Ashbourne, I believe I can come thither;
if you had rather come to London, I can stay at Streatham; take
your choice.

'This year has been very heavy. From the middle of January to the middle
of June I was battered by one disorder after another! I am now very much
recovered, and hope still to be better. What happiness it is that Mrs.
Boswell has escaped.

'My _Lives_ are reprinting, and I have forgotten the authour of Gray's
character[480]: write immediately, and it may be perhaps yet inserted.

'Of London or Ashbourne you have your free choice; at any place I shall
be glad to see you. I am, dear Sir,

'Yours &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Aug. 24, 1782.'

On the 3Oth of August, I informed him that my honoured father had died
that morning; a complaint under which he had long laboured having
suddenly come to a crisis, while I was upon a visit at the seat of Sir
Charles Preston, from whence I had hastened the day before, upon
receiving a letter by express.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'I have struggled through this year with so much infirmity of body, and
such strong impressions of the fragility of life, that death, whenever
it appears, fills me with melancholy; and I cannot hear without emotion,
of the removal of any one, whom I have known, into another state.

'Your father's death had every circumstance that could enable you to
bear it; it was at a mature age, and it was expected; and as his general
life had been pious, his thoughts had doubtless for many years past been
turned upon eternity. That you did not find him sensible must doubtless
grieve you; his disposition towards you was undoubtedly that of a kind,
though not of a fond father. Kindness, at least actual, is in our power,
but fondness is not; and if by negligence or imprudence you had
extinguished his fondness, he could not at will rekindle it. Nothing
then remained between you but mutual forgiveness of each other's faults,
and mutual desire of each other's happiness.

'I shall long to know his final disposition of his fortune[481].

'You, dear Sir, have now a new station, and have therefore new cares,
and new employments. Life, as Cowley seems to say, ought to resemble a
well-ordered poem[482]; of which one rule generally received is, that
the exordium should be simple, and should promise little. Begin your new
course of life with the least show, and the least expence possible; you
may at pleasure encrease both, but you cannot easily diminish them. Do
not think your estate your own, while any man can call upon you for
money which you cannot pay; therefore, begin with timorous parsimony.
Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt.

'When the thoughts are extended to a future state, the present life
seems hardly worthy of all those principles of conduct, and maxims of
prudence, which one generation of men has transmitted to another; but
upon a closer view, when it is perceived how much evil is produced, and
how much good is impeded by embarrassment and distress, and how little
room the expedients of poverty leave for the exercise of virtue, it
grows manifest that the boundless importance of the next life enforces
some attention to the interests of this.

'Be kind to the old servants, and secure the kindness of the agents and
factors; do not disgust them by asperity, or unwelcome gaiety, or
apparent suspicion. From them you must learn the real state of your
affairs, the characters of your tenants, and the value of your
lands[483].

'Make my compliments to Mrs. Boswell; I think her expectations from air
and exercise are the best that she can form. I hope she will live long
and happily.

'I forget whether I told you that Rasay[484] has been here; we dined
cheerfully together. I entertained lately a young gentleman from
Corrichatachin[485].

'I received your letters only this morning. I am, dear Sir,

'Yours &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Sept. 7, 1782.'

In answer to my next letter, I received one from him, dissuading me from
hastening to him as I had proposed[486]; what is proper for publication
is the following paragraph, equally just and tender:--

'One expence, however, I would not have you to spare: let nothing be
omitted that can preserve Mrs. Boswell, though it should be necessary to
transplant her for a time into a softer climate. She is the prop and
stay of your life. How much must your children suffer by losing her.'

My wife was now so much convinced of his sincere friendship for me, and
regard for her, that, without any suggestion on my part, she wrote him a
very polite and grateful letter:--

'DR. JOHNSON TO MRS. BOSWELL.

'DEAR LADY,

'I have not often received so much pleasure as from your invitation to
Auchinleck. The journey thither and back is, indeed, too great for the
latter part of the year; but if my health were fully recovered, I would
suffer no little heat and cold, nor a wet or a rough road to keep me
from you. I am, indeed, not without hope of seeing Auchinleck again; but
to make it a pleasant place I must see its lady well, and brisk, and
airy. For my sake, therefore, among many greater reasons, take care,
dear Madam, of your health, spare no expence, and want no attendance
that can procure ease, or preserve it. Be very careful to keep your mind
quiet; and do not think it too much to give an account of your recovery
to, Madam,

'Yours, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Sept. 7, 1782.'

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'Having passed almost this whole year in a succession of disorders, I
went in October to Brighthelmston, whither I came in a state of so much
weakness, that I rested four times in walking between the inn and the
lodging. By physick and abstinence I grew better, and am now reasonably
easy, though at a great distance from health[487]. I am afraid, however,
that health begins, after seventy, and long before, to have a meaning
different from that which it had at thirty. But it is culpable to murmur
at the established order of the creation, as it is vain to oppose it. He
that lives must grow old; and he that would rather grow old than die,
has GOD to thank for the infirmities of old age[488].

'At your long silence I am rather angry. You do not, since now you are
the head of your house, think it worth your while to try whether you or
your friend can live longer without writing[489], nor suspect that after
so many years of friendship, that when I do not write to you, I forget
you. Put all such useless jealousies out of your head, and disdain to
regulate your own practice by the practice of another, or by any other
principle than the desire of doing right.

'Your oeconomy, I suppose, begins now to be settled; your expences are
adjusted to your revenue, and all your people in their proper places.
Resolve not to be poor: whatever you have, spend less. Poverty is a
great enemy to human happiness; it certainly destroys liberty, and it
makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult.

'Let me know the history of your life, since your accession to your
estate. How many houses, how many cows, how much land in your own hand,
and what bargains you make with your tenants.

* * * * *

'Of my _Lives of the Poets_, they have printed a new edition in octavo,
I hear, of three thousand. Did I give a set to Lord Hailes? If I did
not, I will do it out of these. What did you make of all your copy[490]?

'Mrs. Thrale and the three Misses[491] are now for the winter in
Argyll-street. Sir Joshua Reynolds has been out of order, but is well
again; and I am, dear Sir,

'Your affectionate humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Dec. 7, 1782.'

'To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

'Edinburgh, Dec. 20, 1782.

'DEAR SIR,

'I was made happy by your kind letter, which gave us the agreeable hopes
of seeing you in Scotland again.

'I am much flattered by the concern you are pleased to take in my
recovery. I am better, and hope to have it in my power to convince you
by my attention of how much consequence I esteem your health to the
world and to myself. I remain, Sir, with grateful respect,

'Your obliged and obedient servant,

'MARGARET BOSWELL.'

The death of Mr. Thrale had made a very material alteration with respect
to Johnson's reception in that family. The manly authority of the
husband no longer curbed the lively exuberance of the lady; and as her
vanity had been fully gratified, by having the Colossus of Literature
attached to her for many years, she gradually became less assiduous to
please him. Whether her attachment to him was already divided by another
object, I am unable to ascertain; but it is plain that Johnson's
penetration was alive to her neglect or forced attention; for on the eth
of October this year, we find him making a 'parting use of the
library[492]' at Streatham, and pronouncing a prayer, which he composed
on leaving Mr. Thrale's family[493]:--

'Almighty God, Father of all mercy, help me by thy grace, that I may,
with humble and sincere thankfulness, remember the comforts and
conveniences which I have enjoyed at this place; and that I may resign
them with holy submission, equally trusting in thy protection when thou
givest, and when thou takest away. Have mercy upon me, Lord, have
mercy upon me.

'To thy fatherly protection, O Lord, I commend this family. Bless,
guide, and defend them, that they may so pass through this world, as
finally to enjoy in thy presence everlasting happiness, for Jesus
Christ's sake. Amen[494].'

One cannot read this prayer, without some emotions not very favourable
to the lady whose conduct occasioned it[495].

In one of his memorandum-books I find, 'Sunday, went to church at
Streatham. _Templo valedixi cum osculo_[496].'

He met Mr. Philip Metcalfe[497] often at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and
other places, and was a good deal with him at Brighthelmston[498] this
autumn, being pleased at once with his excellent table and animated
conversation. Mr. Metcalfe shewed him great respect, and sent him a note
that he might have the use of his carriage whenever he pleased. Johnson
(3d October, 1782) returned this polite answer:--'Mr. Johnson is very
much obliged by the kind offer of the carriage, but he has no desire of
using Mr. Metcalfe's carriage, except when he can have the pleasure of
Mr. Metcalfe's company.' Mr. Metcalfe could not but be highly pleased
that his company was thus valued by Johnson, and he frequently attended
him in airings. They also went together to Chichester[499], and they
visited Petworth, and Cowdry, the venerable seat of the Lords Montacute.
'Sir, (said Johnson,) I should like to stay here four-and-twenty hours.
We see here how our ancestors lived.'

That his curiosity was still unabated, appears from two letters to Mr.
John Nichols, of the 10th and 20th[500] of October this year. In one he
says, 'I have looked into your _Anecdotes_, and you will hardly thank a
lover of literary history for telling you, that he has been much
informed and gratified. I wish you would add your own discoveries and
intelligence to those of Dr. Rawlinson, and undertake the Supplement to
Wood[501]'. Think of it.' In the other, 'I wish, Sir, you could obtain
some fuller information of Jortin[502], Markland[503], and Thirlby[504].
They were three contemporaries of great eminence.'

'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,

'I heard yesterday of your late disorder[505], and should think ill of
myself if I had heard of it without alarm. I heard likewise Of your
recovery, which I sincerely wish to be complete and permanent. Your
country has been in danger of losing one of its brightest ornaments, and
I of losing one of my oldest and kindest friends: but I hope you will
still live long, for the honour of the nation: and that more enjoyment
of your elegance, your intelligence, and your benevolence, is still
reserved for, dear Sir, your most affectionate, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Brighthelmston,

Nov. 14, 1782.'

The Reverend Mr. Wilson having dedicated to him his _Archaeological
Dictionary_[506], that mark of respect was thus acknowledged:--

'TO THE REVEREND MR. WILSON, CLITHEROE, LANCASHIRE.

'REVEREND SIR,

'That I have long omitted to return you thanks for the honour conferred
upon me by your Dedication, I entreat you with great earnestness not to
consider as more faulty than it is. A very importunate and oppressive
disorder has for some time debarred me from the pleasures, and
obstructed me in the duties of life. The esteem and kindness of wise and
good men is one of the last pleasures which I can be content to lose;
and gratitude to those from whom this pleasure is received, is a duty of
which I hope never to be reproached with the final neglect. I therefore
now return you thanks for the notice which I have received from you, and
which I consider as giving to my name not only more bulk, but more
weight; not only as extending its superficies, but as increasing its
value. Your book was evidently wanted, and will, I hope, find its way
into the school, to which, however, I do not mean to confine it; for no
man has so much skill in ancient rites and practices as not to want it.
As I suppose myself to owe part of your kindness to my excellent friend,
Dr. Patten, he has likewise a just claim to my acknowledgements, which I
hope you, Sir, will transmit. There will soon appear a new edition of my
Poetical Biography; if you will accept of a copy to keep me in your
mind, be pleased to let me know how it may be conveniently conveyed to
you. The present is small, but it is given with good will by,
Reverend Sir,

'Your most, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'December 31, 1782[507].'

1783: AETAT. 74.--In 1783, he was more severely afflicted than ever,
as will appear in the course of his correspondence[508]; but still the
same ardour for literature, the same constant piety, the same kindness
for his friends, and the same vivacity, both in conversation and
writing, distinguished him.

Having given Dr. Johnson a full account of what I was doing at
Auchinleck, and particularly mentioned what I knew would please him,--my
having brought an old man of eighty-eight from a lonely cottage to a
comfortable habitation within my enclosures, where he had good
neighbours near to him,--I received an answer in February, of which I
extract what follows:--

'I am delighted with your account of your activity at Auchinleck, and
wish the old gentleman, whom you have so kindly removed, may live long
to promote your prosperity by his prayers. You have now a new character
and new duties: think on them and practise them.

'Make an impartial estimate of your revenue, and whatever it is, live
upon less. Resolve never to be poor. Frugality is not only the basis of
quiet, but of beneficence. No man can help others that wants help
himself; we must have enough before we have to spare.

'I am glad to find that Mrs. Boswell grows well; and hope that to keep
her well, no care nor caution will be omitted. May you long live
happily together.

'When you come hither, pray bring with you Baxter's _Anacreon_[509]. I
cannot get that edition in London.'

On Friday, March 31, having arrived in London the night before, I was
glad to find him at Mrs. Thrale's house, in Argyll-street, appearances
of friendship between them being still kept up. I was shewn into his
room, and after the first salutation he said, 'I am glad you are come. I
am very ill.' He looked pale, and was distressed with a difficulty of
breathing; but after the common inquiries he assumed his usual strong
animated style of conversation. Seeing me now for the first time as a
_Laird_, or proprietor of land, he began thus: 'Sir, the superiority of
a country-gentleman over the people upon his estate is very agreeable;
and he who says he does not feel it to be agreeable, lies; for it must
be agreeable to have a casual superiority over those who are by nature
equal with us[510].' BOSWELL. 'Yet, Sir, we see great proprietors of
land who prefer living in London.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, the pleasure of
living in London, the intellectual superiority that is enjoyed there,
may counter-balance the other. Besides, Sir, a man may prefer the state
of the country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a
moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for it.' He
said, 'It is better to have five _per cent_. out of land than out of
money, because it is more secure; but the readiness of transfer, and
promptness of interest, make many people rather choose the funds. Nay,
there is another disadvantage belonging to land, compared with money. A
man is not so much afraid of being a hard creditor, as of being a hard
landlord.' BOSWELL. 'Because there is a sort of kindly connection
between a landlord and his tenants.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; many landlords
with us never see their tenants. It is because if a landlord drives away
his tenants, he may not get others; whereas the demand for money is so
great, it may always be lent.'

He talked with regret and indignation of the factious opposition to
Government at this time[511], and imputed it in a great measure to the
Revolution. 'Sir, (said he, in a low voice, having come nearer to me,
while his old prejudices seemed to be fermenting in his mind,) this
Hanoverian family is _isolee_ here[512]. They have no friends. Now the
Stuarts had friends who stuck by them so late as 1745. When the right of
the King is not reverenced, there will not be reverence for those
appointed by the King.'

His observation that the present royal family has no friends, has been
too much justified by the very ungrateful behaviour of many who were
under great obligations to his Majesty; at the same time there are
honourable exceptions; and the very next year after this conversation,
and ever since, the King has had as extensive and generous support as
ever was given to any monarch, and has had the satisfaction of knowing
that he was more and more endeared to his people[513].

He repeated to me his verses on Mr. Levett, with an emotion which gave
them full effect[514]; and then he was pleased to say, 'You must be as
much with me as you can. You have done me good. You cannot think how
much better I am since you came in.'

He sent a message to acquaint Mrs. Thrale that I was arrived. I had not
seen her since her husband's death. She soon appeared, and favoured me
with an invitation to stay to dinner, which I accepted. There was no
other company but herself and three of her daughters, Dr. Johnson, and
I. She too said, she was very glad I was come, for she was going to
Bath, and should have been sorry to leave Dr. Johnson before I came.
This seemed to be attentive and kind; and I who had not been informed of
any change, imagined all to be as well as formerly. He was little
inclined to talk at dinner, and went to sleep after it; but when he
joined us in the drawing-room, he seemed revived, and was again himself.

Talking of conversation, he said, 'There must, in the first place, be
knowledge, there must be materials; in the second place, there must be a
command of words; in the third place, there must be imagination, to
place things in such views as they are not commonly seen in; and in the
fourth place, there must be presence of mind, and a resolution that is
not to be overcome by failures: this last is an essential requisite; for
want of it many people do not excel in conversation. Now _I_ want it: I
throw up the game upon losing a trick.' I wondered to hear him talk thus
of himself, and said, 'I don't know, Sir, how this may be; but I am sure
you beat other people's cards out of their hands.' I doubt whether he
heard this remark. While he went on talking triumphantly, I was fixed in
admiration, and said to Mrs. Thrale, 'O, for short-hand to take this
down!' 'You'll carry it all in your head; (said she;) a long head is as
good as short-hand.'

It has been observed and wondered at, that Mr. Charles Fox never talked
with any freedom in the presence of Dr. Johnson[515], though it is well
known, and I myself can witness, that his conversation is various,
fluent, and exceedingly agreeable. Johnson's own experience, however, of
that gentleman's reserve was a sufficient reason for his going on thus:
'Fox never talks in private company; not from any determination not to
talk, but because he has not the first motion[516]. A man who is used to
the applause of the House of Commons, has no wish for that of a private
company. A man accustomed to throw for a thousand pounds, if set down to
throw for sixpence, would not be at the pains to count his dice. Burke's
talk is the ebullition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of
distinction, but because his mind is full[517].

He thus curiously characterised one of our old acquaintance: '----[518]
is a good man, Sir; but he is a vain man and a liar. He, however, only
tells lies of vanity; of victories, for instance, in conversation, which
never happened.' This alluded to a story which I had repeated from that
gentleman, to entertain Johnson with its wild bravado: 'This Johnson,
Sir, (said he,) whom you are all afraid of will shrink, if you come
close to him in argument and roar as loud as he. He once maintained the
paradox, that there is no beauty but in utility[519]. "Sir, (said I,)
what say you to the peacock's tail, which is one of the most beautiful
objects in nature, but would have as much utility if its feathers were
all of one colour." He _felt_ what I thus produced, and had recourse to
his usual expedient, ridicule; exclaiming, "A peacock has a tail, and a
fox has a tail;" and then he burst out into a laugh. "Well, Sir, (said
I, with a strong voice, looking him full in the face,) you have
unkennelled your fox; pursue him if you dare." He had not a word to say,
Sir.' Johnson told me, that this was a fiction from beginning
to end[520].

After musing for some time, he said, 'I wonder how I should have any
enemies; for I do harm to nobody[521].' BOSWELL. 'In the first place,
Sir, you will be pleased to recollect, that you set out with attacking
the Scotch; so you got a whole nation for your enemies.' JOHNSON. 'Why,
I own, that by my definition of _oats_[522] I meant to vex them.'
BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, can you trace the cause of your antipathy to the
Scotch.' JOHNSON. 'I cannot, Sir[523].' BOSWELL. 'Old Mr. Sheridan says,
it was because they sold Charles the First.' JOHNSON. 'Then, Sir, old
Mr. Sheridan has found out a very good reason.'

Surely the most obstinate and sulky nationality, the most determined
aversion to this great and good man, must be cured, when he is seen thus
playing with one of his prejudices, of which he candidly admitted that
he could not tell the reason. It was, however, probably owing to his
having had in his view the worst part of the Scottish nation, the needy
adventurers, many of whom he thought were advanced above their merits by
means which he did not approve. Had he in his early life been in
Scotland, and seen the worthy, sensible, independent gentlemen, who live
rationally and hospitably at home, he never could have entertained such
unfavourable and unjust notions of his fellow-subjects. And accordingly
we find, that when he did visit Scotland, in the latter period of his
life, he was fully sensible of all that it deserved, as I have already
pointed out, when speaking of his _Journey to the Western Islands_.[524]

Next day, Saturday, March 22, I found him still at Mrs. Thrale's, but he
told me that he was to go to his own house in the afternoon[525]. He was
better, but I perceived he was but an unruly patient, for Sir Lucas
Pepys, who visited him, while I was with him said, 'If you were
_tractable_, Sir, I should prescribe for you.'

I related to him a remark which a respectable friend had made to me,
upon the then state of Government, when those who had been long in
opposition had attained to power, as it was supposed, against the
inclination of the Sovereign[526]. 'You need not be uneasy (said this
gentleman) about the King. He laughs at them all; he plays them one
against another.' JOHNSON. 'Don't think so, Sir. The King is as much
oppressed as a man can be. If he plays them one against another, he
_wins_ nothing.'

I had paid a visit to General Oglethorpe in the morning, and was told by
him that Dr. Johnson saw company on Saturday evenings, and he would meet
me at Johnson's that night. When I mentioned this to Johnson, not
doubting that it would please him, as he had a great value for
Oglethorpe, the fretfulness of his disease unexpectedly shewed itself;
his anger suddenly kindled, and he said, with vehemence, 'Did not you
tell him not to come? Am I to be _hunted_ in this manner?' I satisfied
him that I could not divine that the visit would not be convenient, and
that I certainly could not take it upon me of my own accord to forbid
the General.

I found Dr. Johnson in the evening in Mrs. Williams's room, at tea and
coffee with her and Mrs. Desmoulins, who were also both ill; it was a
sad scene, and he was not in very good humour. He said of a performance
that had lately come out, 'Sir, if you should search all the madhouses
in England, you would not find ten men who would write so, and think
it sense.'

I was glad when General Oglethorpe's arrival was announced, and we left
the ladies. Dr. Johnson attended him in the parlour, and was as
courteous as ever. The General said he was busy reading the writers of
the middle age. Johnson said they were very curious. OGLETHORPE. 'The
House of Commons has usurped the power of the nation's money, and used
it tyrannically. Government is now carried on by corrupt influence,
instead of the inherent right in the King.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, the want of
inherent right in the King occasions all this disturbance. What we did
at the Revolution was necessary: but it broke our constitution[527].'
OGLETHORPE. 'My father did not think it necessary.'

On Sunday, March 23, I breakfasted with Dr. Johnson, who seemed much
relieved, having taken opium the night before. He however protested
against it, as a remedy that should be given with the utmost reluctance,
and only in extreme necessity. I mentioned how commonly it was used in
Turkey, and that therefore it could not be so pernicious as he
apprehended. He grew warm and said, 'Turks take opium, and Christians
take opium; but Russel, in his _Account of Aleppo_[528], tells us, that
it is as disgraceful in Turkey to take too much opium, as it is with us
to get drunk. Sir, it is amazing how things are exaggerated. A gentleman
was lately telling in a company where I was present, that in France as
soon as a man of fashion marries, he takes an opera girl into keeping;
and this he mentioned as a general custom. 'Pray, Sir, (said I,) how
many opera girls may there be?' He answered, 'About fourscore.' Well
then, Sir, (said I,) you see there can be no more than fourscore men of
fashion who can do this[529].'

Mrs. Desmoulins made tea; and she and I talked before him upon a topick
which he had once borne patiently from me when we were by
ourselves[530],--his not complaining of the world, because he was not
called to some great office, nor had attained to great wealth. He flew
into a violent passion, I confess with some justice, and commanded us to
have done. 'Nobody, (said he) has a right to talk in this manner, to
bring before a man his own character, and the events of his life, when
he does not choose it should be done. I never have sought the world;
the world was not to seek me. It is rather wonderful that so much has
been done for me. All the complaints which are made of the world are
unjust[531]. I never knew a man of merit neglected[532]: it was
generally by his own fault that he failed of success. A man may hide his
head in a hole: he may go into the country, and publish a book now and
then, which nobody reads, and then complain he is neglected[533]. There
is no reason why any person should exert himself for a man who has
written a good book: he has not written it for any individual. I may as
well make a present to the postman who brings me a letter. When
patronage was limited, an authour expected to find a Maecenas, and
complained if he did not find one. Why should he complain? This Maecenas
has others as good as he, or others who have got the start of him.'
BOSWELL. 'But surely, Sir, you will allow that there are men of merit at
the bar, who never get practice.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you are sure that
practice is got from an opinion that the person employed deserves it
best; so that if a man of merit at the bar does not get practice, it is
from errour, not from injustice. He is not neglected. A horse that is
brought to market may not be bought, though he is a very good horse: but
that is from ignorance, not from intention[534].'

There was in this discourse much novelty, ingenuity, and discrimination,
such as is seldom to be found. Yet I cannot help thinking that men of
merit, who have no success in life, may be forgiven for _lamenting_, if
they are not allowed to _complain_. They may consider it as _hard_ that
their merit should not have its suitable distinction. Though there is no
intentional injustice towards them on the part of the world, their merit
not having been perceived, they may yet repine against _fortune_, or
_fate_, or by whatever name they choose to call the supposed
mythological power of _Destiny_. It has, however, occurred to me, as a
consolatory thought, that men of merit should consider thus:-How much
harder would it be if the same persons had both all the merit and all
the prosperity. Would not this be a miserable distribution for the poor
dunces? Would men of merit exchange their intellectual superiority, and
the enjoyments arising from it, for external distinction and the
pleasures of wealth? If they would not, let them not envy others, who
are poor where they are rich, a compensation which is made to them. Let
them look inwards and be satisfied; recollecting with conscious pride
what Virgil finely says of the _Corycius Senex_, and which I have, in
another place[535], with truth and sincerity applied to Mr. Burke:--

'_Regum aequabat opes animis[536].'_

On the subject of the right employment of wealth, Johnson observed, 'A
man cannot make a bad use of his money, so far as regards Society, if he
does not hoard it; for if he either spends it or lends it out, Society
has the benefit. It is in general better to spend money than to give it
away; for industry is more promoted by spending money than by giving it
away. A man who spends his money is sure he is doing good with it: he is
not so sure when he gives it away. A man who spends ten thousand a year
will do more good than a man who spends two thousand and gives away
eight[537].'

In the evening I came to him again. He was somewhat fretful from his
illness. A gentleman[538] asked him, whether he had been abroad to-day.
'Don't talk so childishly, (said he.) You may as well ask if I hanged
myself to-day.' I mentioned politicks. JOHNSON. 'Sir, I'd as soon have a
man to break my bones as talk to me of publick affairs, internal or
external. I have lived to see things all as bad as they can be.'

Having mentioned his friend the second Lord Southwell, he said, 'Lord
Southwell was the highest-bred man without insolence that I ever was in
company with; the most _qualified_ I ever saw. Lord Orrery[539] was not
dignified: Lord Chesterfield was, but he was insolent[540]. Lord
----[541] is a man of coarse manners, but a man of abilities and
information. I don't say he is a man I would set at the head of a
nation, though perhaps he may be as good as the next Prime Minister that
comes; but he is a man to be at the head of a Club; I don't say _our_
CLUB; for there's no such Club.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, was he not once a
factious man?' JOHNSON. 'O yes, Sir; as factious a fellow as could be
found: one who was for sinking us all into the mob[542].' BOSWELL. 'How
then, Sir, did he get into favour with the King?' JOHNSON. 'Because,
Sir, I suppose he promised the King to do whatever the King pleased.'

He said, 'Goldsmith's blundering speech to Lord Shelburne, which has
been so often mentioned, and which he really did make to him, was only a
blunder in emphasis: "I wonder they should call your Lordship
_Malagrida_[543], for Malagrida was a very good man;" meant, I wonder
they should use _Malagrida_ as a term of reproach[544].'

Soon after this time I had an opportunity of seeing, by means of one of
his friends[545], a proof that his talents, as well as his obliging
service to authours, were ready as ever. He had revised _The Village_,
an admirable poem, by the Reverend Mr. Crabbe. Its sentiments as to the
false notions of rustick happiness and rustick virtue were quite
congenial with his own[546]; and he had taken the trouble not only to
suggest slight corrections and variations, but to furnish some lines,
when he thought he could give the writer's meaning better than in the
words of the manuscript[547].

On Sunday, March 30, I found him at home in the evening, and had the
pleasure to meet with Dr. Brocklesby[548], whose reading, and knowledge
of life, and good spirits, supply him with a never-failing source of
conversation. He mentioned a respectable gentleman, who became extremely
penurious near the close of his life. Johnson said there must have been
a degree of madness about him. 'Not at all, Sir, (said Dr. Brocklesby,)
his judgement was entire.' Unluckily, however, he mentioned that
although he had a fortune of twenty-seven thousand pounds, he denied
himself many comforts, from an apprehension that he could not afford
them. 'Nay, Sir, (cried Johnson,) when the judgement is so disturbed
that a man cannot count, that is pretty well.'

I shall here insert a few of Johnson's sayings, without the formality of
dates, as they have no reference to any particular time or place.

'The more a man extends and varies his acquaintance the better.' This,
however, was meant with a just restriction; for, he on another occasion
said to me, 'Sir, a man may be so much of every thing, that he is
nothing of any thing.'

'Raising the wages of day-labourers is wrong[549]; for it does not make
them live better, but only makes them idler, and idleness is a very bad
thing for human nature.'

'It is a very good custom to keep a journal[550] for a man's own use; he
may write upon a card a day all that is necessary to be written, after
he has had experience of life. At first there is a great deal to be
written, because there is a great deal of novelty; but when once a man
has settled his opinions, there is seldom much to be set down.'

'There is nothing wonderful in the journal which we see Swift kept in
London, for it contains slight topicks, and it might soon be
written[551].'

I praised the accuracy of an account-book of a lady whom I mentioned.
JOHNSON. 'Keeping accounts, Sir, is of no use when a man is spending his
own money, and has nobody to whom he is to account. You won't eat less
beef to-day, because you have written down what it cost yesterday.' I
mentioned another lady who thought as he did, so that her husband could
not get her to keep an account of the expence of the family, as she
thought it enough that she never exceeded the sum allowed her. JOHNSON.
'Sir, it is fit she should keep an account, because her husband wishes
it; but I do not see its use[552].' I maintained that keeping an account
has this advantage, that it satisfies a man that his money has not been
lost or stolen, which he might sometimes be apt to imagine, were there
no written state of his expence; and beside, a calculation of oeconomy
so as not to exceed one's income, cannot be made without a view of the
different articles in figures, that one may see how to retrench in some
particulars less necessary than others. This he did not attempt
to answer.

Talking of an acquaintance of ours[553], whose narratives, which
abounded in curious and interesting topicks, were unhappily found to be
very fabulous; I mentioned Lord Mansfield's having said to me, 'Suppose
we believe one _half_ of what he tells.' JOHNSON. 'Ay; but we don't know
_which_ half to believe. By his lying we lose not only our reverence for
him, but all comfort in his conversation.' BOSWELL. 'May we not take it
as amusing fiction?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, the misfortune is, that you will
insensibly believe as much of it as you incline to believe.'

It is remarkable, that notwithstanding their congeniality in politicks,
he never was acquainted with a late eminent noble judge[554], whom I
have heard speak of him as a writer, with great respect[555]. Johnson, I
know not upon what degree of investigation, entertained no exalted
opinion of his Lordship's intellectual character[556]. Talking of him to
me one day, he said, 'It is wonderful, Sir, with how little real
superiority of mind men can make an eminent figure in publick life.' He
expressed himself to the same purpose concerning another law-Lord, who,
it seems, once took a fancy to associate with the wits of London; but
with so little success, that Foote said, 'What can he mean by coming
among us? He is not only dull himself, but the cause of dullness in
others[557].' Trying him by the test of his colloquial powers, Johnson
had found him very defective. He once said to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 'This
man now has been ten years about town, and has made nothing of it;'
meaning as a companion[558]. He said to me, 'I never heard any thing
from him in company that was at all striking; and depend upon it, Sir,
it is when you come close to a man in conversation, that you discover
what his real abilities are; to make a speech in a publick assembly is a
knack. Now I honour Thurlow, Sir; Thurlow is a fine fellow; he fairly
puts his mind to yours[559].'

After repeating to him some of his pointed, lively sayings, I said, 'It
is a pity, Sir, you don't always remember your own good things, that you
may have a laugh when you will.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, it is better that I
forget them, that I may be reminded of them, and have a laugh on their
being brought to my recollection.'

When I recalled to him his having said as we sailed up Loch-lomond[560],
'That if he wore any thing fine, it should be _very_ fine;' I observed
that all his thoughts were upon a great scale. JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it,
Sir, every man will have as fine a thing as he can get; as a large
diamond for his ring.' BOSWELL. 'Pardon me, Sir: a man of a narrow mind
will not think of it, a slight trinket will satisfy him:

"_Nee sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae_[561]."'

I told him I should send him some Essays which I had written[562], which
I hoped he would be so good as to read, and pick out the good ones.
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, send me only the good ones; don't make _me_
pick them.'

I heard him once say, 'Though the proverb _Nullum numen abest, si sit
prudentia[563], does not always prove true, we may be certain of the
converse of it, _Nullum numen adest, si sit imprudentia_.'

Once, when Mr. Seward was going to Bath, and asked his commands, he
said, 'Tell Dr. Harrington that I wish he would publish another volume
of the _Nugae antiquae_[564]; it is a very pretty book[565].' Mr. Seward
seconded this wish, and recommended to Dr. Harrington to dedicate it to
Johnson, and take for his motto, what Catullus says to Cornelius Nepos:--

'----_namque tu solebas,
Meas esse aliquid putare_ NUGAS[566].'

As a small proof of his kindliness and delicacy of feeling, the
following circumstance may be mentioned: One evening when we were in the
street together, and I told him I was going to sup at Mr. Beauclerk's,
he said, 'I'll go with you.' After having walked part of the way,
seeming to recollect something, he suddenly stopped and said, 'I cannot
go,--but _I do not love Beauclerk the less_.'

On the frame of his portrait, Mr. Beauclerk had inscribed,--

'----_Ingenium ingens
Inculto latet hoc sub corpore_[567].'

After Mr. Beauclerk's death, when it became Mr. Langton's property, he
made the inscription be defaced. Johnson said complacently, 'It was kind
in you to take it off;' and then after a short pause, added, 'and not
unkind in him to put it on.'

He said, 'How few of his friends' houses would a man choose to be at
when he is sick.' He mentioned one or two. I recollect only
Thrale's[568].

He observed, 'There is a wicked inclination in most people to suppose an
old man decayed in his intellects. If a young or middle-aged man, when
leaving a company, does not recollect where he laid his hat, it is
nothing; but if the same inattention is discovered in an old man, people
will shrug up their shoulders, and say, 'His memory is going[569].'

When I once talked to him of some of the sayings which every body
repeats, but nobody knows where to find, such as _Quos DEUS vult
perdere, prius dementat_[570]; he told me that he was once offered ten
guineas to point out from whence _Semel insanivimus omnes_ was taken. He
could not do it; but many years afterwards met with it by chance in
_Johannes Baptista Mantuanus_[571].

I am very sorry that I did not take a note of an eloquent argument in
which he maintained that the situation of Prince of Wales was the
happiest of any person's in the kingdom, even beyond that of the
Sovereign. I recollect only--the enjoyment of hope[572],--the high
superiority of rank, without the anxious cares of government,--and a
great degree of power, both from natural influence wisely used, and from
the sanguine expectations of those who look forward to the chance of
future favour.

Sir Joshua Reynolds communicated to me the following particulars:--

Johnson thought the poems published as translations from Ossian had so
little merit, that he said, 'Sir, a man might write such stuff for ever,
if he would _abandon_ his mind to it[573].'

He said, 'A man should pass a part of his time with _the laughers_, by
which means any thing ridiculous or particular about him might be
presented to his view, and corrected.' I observed, he must have been a
bold laugher who would have ventured to tell Dr. Johnson of any of his
particularities[574].

Having observed the vain ostentatious importance of many people in
quoting the authority of Dukes and Lords, as having been in their
company, he said, he went to the other extreme, and did not mention his
authority when he should have done it, had it not been that of a Duke or
a Lord[575].

Dr. Goldsmith said once to Dr. Johnson, that he wished for some
additional members to the LITERARY CLUB, to give it an agreeable
variety; for (said he,) there can now be nothing new among us: we have
travelled over one another's minds. Johnson seemed a little angry, and
said, 'Sir, you have not travelled over _my_ mind, I promise you.' Sir
Joshua, however, thought Goldsmith right; observing, that 'when people
have lived a great deal together, they know what each of them will say
on every subject. A new understanding, therefore, is desirable; because
though it may only furnish the same sense upon a question which would
have been furnished by those with whom we are accustomed to live, yet
this sense will have a different colouring; and colouring is of much
effect in every thing else as well as in painting.'

Johnson used to say that he made it a constant rule to talk as well as
he could both as to sentiment and expression, by which means, what had
been originally effort became familiar and easy[576]. The consequence of
this, Sir Joshua observed, was, that his common conversation in all
companies was such as to secure him universal attention, as something
above the usual colloquial style was expected[577].

Yet, though Johnson had this habit in company, when another mode was
necessary, in order to investigate truth, he could descend to a language
intelligible to the meanest capacity. An instance of this was witnessed
by Sir Joshua Reynolds, when they were present at an examination of a
little blackguard boy, by Mr. Saunders Welch[578], the late Westminster
Justice. Welch, who imagined that he was exalting himself in Dr.
Johnson's eyes by using big words, spoke in a manner that was utterly
unintelligible to the boy; Dr. Johnson perceiving it, addressed himself
to the boy, and changed the pompous phraseology into colloquial
language. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was much amused by this procedure,
which seemed a kind of reversing of what might have been expected from
the two men, took notice of it to Dr. Johnson, as they walked away by
themselves. Johnson said, that it was continually the case; and that he
was always obliged to _translate_ the Justice's swelling diction,
(smiling,) so as that his meaning might be understood by the vulgar,
from whom information was to be obtained[579].

Sir Joshua once observed to him, that he had talked above the capacity
of some people with whom they had been in company together. 'No matter,
Sir, (said Johnson); they consider it as a compliment to be talked to,
as if they were wiser than they are. So true is this, Sir, that Baxter
made it a rule in every sermon that he preached, to say something that
was above the capacity of his audience[580].'

Johnson's dexterity in retort, when he seemed to be driven to an
extremity by his adversary, was very remarkable. Of his power in this
respect, our common friend, Mr. Windham, of Norfolk, has been pleased to
furnish me with an eminent instance. However unfavourable to Scotland,
he uniformly gave liberal praise to George Buchanan[581], as a writer.
In a conversation concerning the literary merits of the two countries,
in which Buchanan was introduced, a Scotchman, imagining that on this
ground he should have an undoubted triumph over him, exclaimed, 'Ah, Dr.
Johnson, what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an
Englishman?' 'Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should
_not_ have said of Buchanan, had he been an _Englishman_, what I will
now say of him as a _Scotchman_,--that he was the only man of genius
his country ever produced.'

And this brings to my recollection another instance of the same nature.
I once reminded him that when Dr. Adam Smith was expatiating on the
beauty of Glasgow, he had cut him short by saying, 'Pray, Sir, have you
ever seen Brentford?' and I took the liberty to add, 'My dear Sir,
surely that was _shocking_.' 'Why, then, Sir, (he replied,) YOU have
never seen Brentford.'

Though his usual phrase for conversation was _talk_[582], yet he made a
distinction; for when he once told me that he dined the day before at a
friend's house, with 'a very pretty company;' and I asked him if there
was good conversation, he answered, 'No, Sir; we had _talk_ enough, but
no _conversation_; there was nothing _discussed_.'

Talking of the success of the Scotch in London, he imputed it In a
considerable degree to their spirit of nationality. 'You know, Sir,
(said he,) that no Scotchman publishes a book, or has a play brought
upon the stage, but there are five hundred people ready to applaud
him.[583]'

He gave much praise to his friend, Dr. Burney's elegant and entertaining
travels[584], and told Mr. Seward that he had them in his eye, when
writing his _Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland_.

Such was his sensibility, and so much was he affected by pathetick
poetry, that, when he was reading Dr. Beattie's _Hermit_ in my presence,
it brought tears into his eyes[585].

He disapproved much of mingling real facts with fiction. On this
account he censured a book entitled _Love and Madness_[586].

Mr. Hoole told him, he was born in Moorfields, and had received part of
his early instruction in Grub-street. 'Sir, (said Johnson, smiling) you
have been _regularly_ educated.' Having asked who was his instructor,
and Mr. Hoole having answered, 'My uncle, Sir, who was a taylor;'
Johnson, recollecting himself, said, 'Sir, I knew him; we called him the
_metaphysical taylor_. He was of a club in Old-street, with me and
George Psalmanazar, and some others[587]: but pray, Sir, was he a good
taylor?' Mr. Hoole having answered that he believed he was too
mathematical, and used to draw squares and triangles on his shop-board,
so that he did not excel in the cut of a coat;--'I am sorry for it (said
Johnson,) for I would have every man to be master of his own business.'

In pleasant reference to himself and Mr. Hoole, as brother authours, he
often said, 'Let you and I, Sir, go together, and eat a beef-steak in
Grub-street[588].'

Sir William Chambers, that great Architect[589], whose works shew a
sublimity of genius, and who is esteemed by all who know him for his
social, hospitable, and generous qualities, submitted the manuscript of
his _Chinese Architecture_ to Dr. Johnson's perusal. Johnson was much
pleased with it, and said, 'It wants no addition nor correction, but a
few lines of introduction;' which he furnished, and Sir William
adopted[590].

He said to Sir William Scott, 'The age is running mad after innovation;
all the business of the world is to be done in a new way; men are to be
hanged in a new way; Tyburn itself is not safe from the fury of
innovation[591].' It having been argued that this was an
improvement,--'No, Sir, (said he, eagerly,) it is _not_ an improvement:
they object that the old method drew together a number of spectators.
Sir, executions are intended to draw spectators. If they do not draw
spectators they don't answer their purpose. The old method was most
satisfactory to all parties; the publick was gratified by a
procession[592]; the criminal was supported by it. Why is all this to
be swept away?' I perfectly agree with Dr. Johnson upon this head, and
am persuaded that executions now, the solemn procession being
discontinued, have not nearly the effect which they formerly had[593].
Magistrates both in London, and elsewhere, have, I am afraid, in this
had too much regard to their own ease[594].

Of Dr. Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, Johnson said to a friend, 'Hurd, Sir,
is one of a set of men who account for every thing systematically; for
instance, it has been a fashion to wear scarlet breeches; these men
would tell you, that according to causes and effects, no other wear
could at that time have been chosen.' He, however, said of him at
another time to the same gentleman, 'Hurd, Sir, is a man whose
acquaintance is a valuable acquisition.'

That learned and ingenious Prelate[595] it is well known published at
one period of his life _Moral and Political Dialogues_, with a woefully
whiggish cast. Afterwards, his Lordship having thought better, came to
see his errour, and republished the work with a more constitutional
spirit. Johnson, however, was unwilling to allow him full credit for his
political conversion. I remember when his Lordship declined the honour
of being Archbishop of Canterbury, Johnson said, 'I am glad he did not
go to Lambeth; for, after all, I fear he is a Whig in his heart.'

Johnson's attention to precision and clearness in expression was very
remarkable. He disapproved of parentheses; and I believe in all his
voluminous writings, not half a dozen of them will be found. He never
used the phrases _the former_ and _the latter_, having observed, that
they often occasioned obscurity; he therefore contrived to construct his
sentences so as not to have occasion for them, and would even rather
repeat the same words, in order to avoid them[596]. Nothing is more
common than to mistake surnames when we hear them carelessly uttered for
the first time. To prevent this, he used not only to pronounce them
slowly and distinctly, but to take the trouble of spelling them; a
practice which I have often followed; and which I wish were general.

Such was the heat and irritability of his blood, that not only did he
pare his nails to the quick; but scraped the joints of his fingers with
a pen-knife, till they seemed quite red and raw.

The heterogeneous composition of human nature was remarkably
exemplified in Johnson. His liberality in giving his money to persons in
distress was extraordinary. Yet there lurked about him a propensity to
paultry saving. One day I owned to him that 'I was occasionally troubled
with a fit of _narrowness_.' 'Why, Sir, (said he,) so am I. _But I do
not tell it_.' He has now and then borrowed a shilling of me; and when I
asked for it again, seemed to be rather out of humour. A droll little
circumstance once occurred: as if he meant to reprimand my minute
exactness as a creditor, he thus addressed me;--'Boswell, _lend_ me
sixpence--_not to be repaid_[597].'

This great man's attention to small things was very remarkable. As an
instance of it, he one day said to me, 'Sir, when you get silver in
change for a guinea, look carefully at it; you may find some curious
piece of coin.'

Though a stern _true-born Englishman_[598], and fully prejudiced against
all other nations, he had discernment enough to see, and candour enough
to censure, the cold reserve too common among Englishmen towards
strangers: 'Sir, (said he,) two men of any other nation who are shewn
into a room together, at a house where they are both visitors, will
immediately find some conversation. But two Englishmen will probably go
each to a different window, and remain in obstinate silence. Sir, we as
yet do not enough understand the common rights of humanity[599].'

Johnson was at a certain period of his life a good deal with the Earl of
Shelburne[600], now Marquis of Lansdown, as he doubtless could not but
have a due value for that nobleman's activity of mind, and uncommon
acquisitions of important knowledge, however much he might disapprove of
other parts of his Lordship's character, which were widely different
from his own.

Maurice Morgann, Esq., authour of the very ingenious _Essay on the
character of Falstaff_[601], being a particular friend of his Lordship,
had once an opportunity of entertaining Johnson for a day or two at
Wickham, when its Lord was absent, and by him I have been favoured with
two anecdotes.

One is not a little to the credit of Johnson's candour. Mr. Morgann and
he had a dispute pretty late at night, in which Johnson would not give
up, though he had the wrong side, and in short, both kept the field.
Next morning, when they met in the breakfasting-room, Dr. Johnson
accosted Mr. Morgann thus:--'Sir, I have been thinking on our dispute
last night--_You were in the right_[602].'

The other was as follows:--Johnson, for sport perhaps, or from the
spirit of contradiction, eagerly maintained that Derrick[603] had merit
as a writer. Mr. Morgann argued with him directly, in vain. At length he
had recourse to this device. 'Pray, Sir, (said he,) whether do you
reckon Derrick or Smart[604] the best poet?' Johnson at once felt
himself roused; and answered, 'Sir, there is no settling the point of
precedency between a louse and a flea.'

Once, when checking my boasting too frequently of myself in company, he
said to me, 'Boswell, you often vaunt so much, as to provoke ridicule.
You put me in mind of a man who was standing in the kitchen of an inn
with his back to the fire, and thus accosted the person next him, "Do
you know, Sir, who I am?" "No, Sir, (said the other,) I have not that
advantage." "Sir, (said he,) I am the _great_ TWALMLEY, who invented the
New Floodgate Iron[605]."' The Bishop of Killaloe, on my repeating the
story to him, defended Twalmley, by observing, that he was entitled to
the epithet of _great_; for Virgil in his groupe of worthies in the
Elysian fields--

_Hic manus ob patriam pugnando vulnera passi_, &c.

mentions

_Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes_[606].

He was pleased to say to me one morning when we were left alone in his
study, 'Boswell, I think I am easier with you than with almost
any body.'

He would not allow Mr. David Hume any credit for his political
principles, though similar to his own; saying of him, 'Sir, he was a
Tory by chance[607].'

His acute observation of human life made him remark, 'Sir, there is
nothing by which a man exasperates most people more, than by displaying
a superiour ability or brilliancy in conversation. They seem pleased at
the time; but their envy makes them curse him at their hearts[608].'

My readers will probably be surprised to hear that the great Dr. Johnson
could amuse himself with so slight and playful a species of composition
as a _Charade_. I have recovered one which he made on Dr. _Barnard_, now
Lord Bishop of Killaloe; who has been pleased for many years to treat me
with so much intimacy and social ease, that I may presume to call him
not only my Right Reverend, but my very dear Friend. I therefore with
peculiar pleasure give to the world a just and elegant compliment thus
paid to his Lordship by Johnson[609].

CHARADE.

'My _first_[610] shuts out thieves from your house or your room,
My _second_[611] expresses a Syrian perfume.
My _whole_[612] is a man in whose converse is shar'd,
The strength of a Bar and the sweetness of Nard.'

Johnson asked Richard Owen Cambridge, Esq., if he had read the Spanish
translation of _Sallust_, said to be written by a Prince of Spain[613],
with the assistance of his tutor, who is professedly the authour of a
treatise annexed, on the Phoenician language.

Mr. Cambridge commended the work, particularly as he thought the
Translator understood his authour better than is commonly the case with
Translators: but said, he was disappointed in the purpose for which he
borrowed the book; to see whether a Spaniard could be better furnished
with inscriptions from monuments, coins, or other antiquities which he
might more probably find on a coast, so immediately opposite to
Carthage, than the Antiquaries of any other countries. JOHNSON. 'I am
very sorry you was[614] not gratified in your expectations.' CAMBRIDGE.
'The language would have been of little use, as there is no history
existing in that tongue to balance the partial accounts which the Roman
writers have left us.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir. They have not been _partial_,
they have told their own story, without shame or regard to equitable
treatment of their injured enemy; they had no compunction, no feeling
for a Carthaginian. Why, Sir, they would never have borne Virgil's
description of Aeneas's treatment of Dido, if she had not been a
Carthaginian[615].'

I gratefully acknowledge this and other communications from Mr.
Cambridge, whom, if a beautiful villa on the banks of the Thames, a few
miles distant from London, a numerous and excellent library, which he
accurately knows and reads, a choice collection of pictures, which he
understands and relishes, an easy fortune, an amiable family, an
extensive circle of friends and acquaintance, distinguished by rank,
fashion and genius, a literary fame, various, elegant and still
increasing, colloquial talents rarely to be found[616], and with all
these means of happiness, enjoying, when well advanced in years, health
and vigour of body, serenity and animation of mind, do not entitle to be
addressed _fortunate senex!_[617] I know not to whom, in any age, that
expression could with propriety have been used. Long may he live to hear
and to feel it!

Johnson's love of little children, which he discovered upon all
occasions, calling them 'pretty dears,' and giving them sweetmeats, was
an undoubted proof of the real humanity and gentleness of his
disposition[618].

His uncommon kindness to his servants, and serious concern, not only for
their comfort in this world, but their happiness in the next, was
another unquestionable evidence of what all, who were intimately
acquainted with him, knew to be true.

Nor would it be just, under this head, to omit the fondness which he
shewed for animals which he had taken under his protection. I never
shall forget the indulgence with which he treated Hodge, his cat: for
whom he himself used to go out and buy oysters, lest the servants having
that trouble should take a dislike to the poor creature. I am,
unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy to a cat, so that I am
uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I frequently suffered a
good deal from the presence of this same Hodge. I recollect him one day
scrambling up Dr. Johnson's breast, apparently with much satisfaction,
while my friend smiling and half-whistling, rubbed down his back, and
pulled him by the tail; and when I observed he was a fine cat, saying,
'Why yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this;' and
then as if perceiving Hodge to be out of countenance, adding, 'but he is
a very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed.'

This reminds me of the ludicrous account which he gave Mr. Langton, of
the despicable state of a young Gentleman of good family. 'Sir, when I
heard of him last, he was running about town shooting cats.' And then in
a sort of kindly reverie, he bethought himself of his own favourite cat,
and said, 'But Hodge shan't be shot; no, no, Hodge shall not be shot.'

He thought Mr. Beauclerk made a shrewd and judicious' remark to Mr.
Langton, who, after having been for the first time in company with a
well-known wit about town, was warmly admiring and praising him, 'See
him again,' said Beauclerk.

His respect for the Hierarchy, and particularly the Dignitaries of the
Church, has been more than once exhibited in the course of this
work[619]. Mr. Seward saw him presented to the Archbishop of York[620],
and described his _Bow to an ARCH-BISHOP_, as such a studied elaboration
of homage, such an extension of limb, such a flexion of body, as have
seldom or ever been equalled.

I cannot help mentioning with much regret, that by my own negligence I
lost an opportunity of having the history of my family from its founder
Thomas Boswell, in 1504, recorded and illustrated by Johnson's pen. Such
was his goodness to me, that when I presumed to solicit him for so great
a favour, he was pleased to say, 'Let me have all the materials you can
collect, and I will do it both in Latin and English; then let it be
printed and copies of it be deposited in various places for security and
preservation.' I can now only do the best I can to make up for this
loss, keeping my great Master steadily in view. Family histories, like
the _imagines majorum_ of the Ancients, excite to virtue; and I wish
that they who really have blood, would be more careful to trace and
ascertain its course. Some have affected to laugh at the history of the
house of Yvery[621]: it would be well if many others would transmit
their pedigrees to posterity, with the same accuracy and generous zeal
with which the Noble Lord who compiled that work has honoured and
perpetuated his ancestry.

On Thursday, April 10[622], I introduced to him, at his house in
Bolt-court, the Honourable and Reverend William Stuart, son of the Earl
of Bute; a gentleman truly worthy of being known to Johnson; being, with
all the advantages of high birth, learning, travel, and elegant manners,
an exemplary parish priest in every respect.

After some compliments on both sides, the tour which Johnson and I had
made to the Hebrides was mentioned. JOHNSON. 'I got an acquisition of
more ideas by it than by any thing that I remember. I saw quite a
different system of life[623].' BOSWELL. 'You would not like to make the
same journey again?' JOHNSON. 'Why no, Sir; not the same: it is a tale
told. Gravina, an Italian critick, observes, that every man desires to
see that of which he has read; but no man desires to read an account of
what he has seen: so much does description fall short of reality.
Description only excites curiosity: seeing satisfies it. Other people
may go and see the Hebrides.' BOSWELL. 'I should wish to go and see some
country totally different from what I have been used to; such as Turkey,
where religion and every thing else are different.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
there are two objects of curiosity,--the Christian world, and the
Mahometan world. All the rest may be considered as barbarous.' BOSWELL.
'Pray, Sir, is the _Turkish Spy_[624] a genuine book?' JOHNSON. 'No,
Sir. Mrs. Manley, in her _Life_, says that her father wrote the first
two volumes[625]: and in another book, _Dunton's Life and Errours_, we
find that the rest was written by one _Sault_, at two guineas a sheet,
under the direction of Dr. Midgeley[626].

BOSWELL. 'This has been a very factious reign, owing to the too great
indulgence of Government.' JOHNSON. 'I think so, Sir. What at first was
lenity, grew timidity[627]. Yet this is reasoning _a posteriori_, and
may not be just. Supposing a few had at first been punished, I believe
faction would have been crushed; but it might have been said, that it
was a sanguinary reign. A man cannot tell _a priori_ what will be best
for Government to do. This reign has been very unfortunate. We have had
an unsuccessful war; but that does not prove that we have been ill
governed. One side or other must prevail in war, as one or other must
win at play. When we beat Louis we were not better governed; nor were
the French better governed when Louis beat us.'

On Saturday, April 12, I visited him, in company with Mr. Windham, of
Norfolk, whom, though a Whig, he highly valued. One of the best things
he ever said was to this gentleman; who, before he set out for Ireland
as Secretary to Lord Northington, when Lord Lieutenant, expressed to the
Sage some modest and virtuous doubts, whether he could bring himself to
practise those arts which it is supposed a person in that situation has
occasion to employ. 'Don't be afraid, Sir, (said Johnson, with a
pleasant smile,) you will soon make a very pretty rascal[628].

He talked to-day a good deal of the wonderful extent and variety of
London, and observed, that men of curious enquiry might see in it such
modes of life as very few could even imagine. He in particular
recommended to us to _explore Wapping_, which we resolved to do[629].

Mr. Lowe, the painter, who was with him, was very much distressed that a
large picture which he had painted was refused to be received into the
Exhibition of the Royal Academy. Mrs. Thrale knew Johnson's character so
superficially, as to represent him as unwilling to do small acts of
benevolence; and mentions in particular, that he would hardly take the
trouble to write a letter in favour of his friends[630]. The truth,
however, is, that he was remarkable, in an extraordinary degree, for
what she denies to him; and, above all, for this very sort of kindness,
writing letters for those to whom his solicitations might be of service.
He now gave Mr. Lowe the following, of which I was diligent enough, with
his permission, to take copies at the next coffee-house, while Mr.
Windham was so good as to stay by me.

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'SIR,

'Mr. Lowe considers himself as cut off from all credit and all hope, by
the rejection of his picture from the Exhibition. Upon this work he has
exhausted all his powers, and suspended all his expectations: and,
certainly, to be refused an opportunity of taking the opinion of the
publick, is in itself a very great hardship. It is to be condemned
without a trial.

If you could procure the revocation of this incapacitating edict, you
would deliver an unhappy man from great affliction. The Council has
sometimes reversed its own determination; and I hope, that by your
interposition this luckless picture may be got admitted. I am, &c.

SAM. JOHNSON.

April 12, 1783.

To MR. BARRY.

SIR,

Mr. Lowe's exclusion from the exhibition gives him more trouble than you
and the other gentlemen of the Council could imagine or intend. He
considers disgrace and ruin as the inevitable consequence of your
determination.

He says, that some pictures have been received after rejection; and if
there be any such precedent, I earnestly entreat that you will use your
interest in his favour. Of his work I can say nothing; I pretend not to
judge of painting; and this picture I never saw: but I conceive it
extremely hard to shut out any man from the possibility of success; and
therefore I repeat my request that you will propose the re-consideration
of Mr. Lowe's case; and if there be any among the Council with whom my
name can have any weight, be pleased to communicate to them the desire
of, Sir, Your most humble servant, SAM. JOHNSON. April 12, 1783.

Such intercession was too powerful to be resisted; and Mr. Lowe's
performance was admitted at Somerset Place[631]. The subject, as I
recollect, was the Deluge, at that point of time when the water was
verging to the top of the last uncovered mountain. Near to the spot was
seen the last of the antediluvian race, exclusive of those who were
saved in the ark of Noah. This was one of those giants, then the
inhabitants of the earth, who had still strength to swim, and with one
of his hands held aloft his infant child. Upon the small remaining dry
spot appeared a famished lion, ready to spring at the child and devour
it. Mr. Lowe told me that Johnson said to him, 'Sir, your picture is
noble and probable.' 'A compliment, indeed, (said Mr. Lowe,) from a man
who cannot lie, and cannot be mistaken.'

About this time he wrote to Mrs. Lucy Porter, mentioning his bad health,
and that he intended a visit to Lichfield. 'It is, (says he,) with no
great expectation of amendment that I make every year a journey into the
country; but it is pleasant to visit those whose kindness has been often
experienced.'

On April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at breakfast, in his usual
manner upon that day, drinking tea without milk, and eating a cross-bun
to prevent faintness; we went to St. Clement's church, as formerly. When
we came home from church, he placed himself on one of the stone-seats at
his garden-door, and I took the other, and thus in the open air and in a
placid frame of mind, he talked away very easily. JOHNSON. 'Were I a
country gentleman, I should not be very hospitable, I should not have
crowds in my house[632].' BOSWELL. 'Sir Alexander Dick[633] tells me,
that he remembers having a thousand people in a year to dine at his
house: that is, reckoning each person as one, each time that he dined
there.' JOHNSON. 'That, Sir, is about three a day.' BOSWELL. 'How your
statement lessens the idea.' JOHNSON. 'That, Sir, is the good of
counting[634]. It brings every thing to a certainty, which before
floated in the mind indefinitely.' BOSWELL. 'But _Omne ignotum pro
magnifico est[635]: one is sorry to have this diminished.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, you should not allow yourself to be delighted with errour.'
BOSWELL. 'Three a day seem but few.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, he who
entertains three a day, does very liberally. And if there is a large
family, the poor entertain those three, for they eat what the poor would
get: there must be superfluous meat; it must be given to the poor, or
thrown out.' BOSWELL. 'I observe in London, that the poor go about and
gather bones, which I understand are manufactured.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
they boil them, and extract a grease from them for greasing wheels and
other purposes. Of the best pieces they make a mock ivory, which is used
for hafts to knives, and various other things; the coarser pieces they
burn and pound, and sell the ashes.' BOSWELL. 'For what purpose, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, for making a furnace for the chymists for melting
iron. A paste made of burnt bones will stand a stronger heat than any
thing else. Consider, Sir; if you are to melt iron, you cannot line your
pot with brass, because it is softer than iron, and would melt sooner;
nor with iron, for though malleable iron is harder than cast iron, yet
it would not do; but a paste of burnt-bones will not melt.' BOSWELL. 'Do
you know, Sir, I have discovered a manufacture to a great extent, of
what you only piddle at,--scraping and drying the peel of oranges[636].
At a place in Newgate-street, there is a prodigious quantity prepared,
which they sell to the distillers.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, I believe they make a
higher thing out of them than a spirit; they make what is called
orange-butter, the oil of the orange inspissated, which they mix perhaps
with common pomatum, and make it fragrant. The oil does not fly off in
the drying.'

BOSWELL. 'I wish to have a good walled garden.' JOHNSON. 'I don't think
it would be worth the expence to you. We compute in England, a park wall
at a thousand pounds a mile; now a garden-wall must cost at least as
much. You intend your trees should grow higher than a deer will leap.
Now let us see; for a hundred pounds you could only have forty-four
square yards, which is very little; for two hundred pounds, you may have
eighty-four square yards[637], which is very well. But when will you get
the value of two hundred pounds of walls, in fruit, in your climate? No,
Sir, such contention with Nature is not worth while. I would plant an
orchard, and have plenty of such fruit as ripen well in your country. My
friend, Dr. Madden[638], of Ireland, said, that "in an orchard there
should be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be stolen, and
enough to rot upon the ground." Cherries are an early fruit, you may
have them; and you may have the early apples and pears.' BOSWELL. 'We
cannot have nonpareils.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you can no more have nonpareils
than you can have grapes.' BOSWELL. 'We have them, Sir; but they are
very bad.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, never try to have a thing merely to shew
that you _cannot_ have it. From ground that would let for forty
shillings you may have a large orchard; and you see it costs you only
forty shillings. Nay, you may graze the ground when the trees are grown
up; you cannot while they are young.' BOSWELL. 'Is not a good garden a
very common thing in England, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Not so common, Sir, as
you imagine[639]. In Lincolnshire there is hardly an orchard; in
Staffordshire very little fruit.' BOSWELL. 'Has Langton no orchard?'
JOHNSON. 'No, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'How so, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, from the
general negligence of the county. He has it not, because nobody else has
it.' BOSWELL. 'A hot-house is a certain thing; I may have that.'
JOHNSON. 'A hot-house is pretty certain; but you must first build it,
then you must keep fires in it, and you must have a gardener to take
care of it.' BOSWELL. 'But if I have a gardener at any rate?--' JOHNSON.
'Why, yes.' BOSWELL.' I'd have it near my house; there is no need to
have it in the orchard.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, I'd have it near my house. I
would plant a great many currants; the fruit is good, and they make a
pretty sweetmeat.'

I record this minute detail, which some may think trifling, in order to
shew clearly how this great man, whose mind could grasp such large and
extensive subjects, as he has shewn in his literary labours, was yet
well-informed in the common affairs of life, and loved to
illustrate them.

Mr. Walker, the celebrated master of elocution[640], came in, and then
we went up stairs into the study. I asked him if he had taught many
clergymen. JOHNSON. 'I hope not.' WALKER. 'I have taught only one, and
he is the best reader I ever heard, not by my teaching, but by his own
natural talents.' JOHNSON. 'Were he the best reader in the world, I
would not have it told that he was taught.' Here was one of his peculiar
prejudices. Could it be any disadvantage to the clergyman to have it
known that he was taught an easy and graceful delivery? BOSWELL. 'Will
you not allow, Sir, that a man may be taught to read well?' JOHNSON.
'Why, Sir, so far as to read better than he might do without being
taught, yes. Formerly it was supposed that there was no difference in
reading, but that one read as well as another.' BOSWELL. 'It is
wonderful to see old Sheridan as enthusiastick about oratory as
ever[641],' WALKER. 'His enthusiasm as to what oratory will do, may be
too great: but he reads well.' JOHNSON. 'He reads well, but he reads
low[642]; and you know it is much easier to read low than to read high;
for when you read high, you are much more limited, your loudest note can
be but one, and so the variety is less in proportion to the loudness.
Now some people have occasion to speak to an extensive audience, and
must speak loud to be heard.' WALKER. 'The art is to read strong,
though low.'

Talking of the origin of language; JOHNSON. 'It must have come by
inspiration. A thousand, nay, a million of children could not invent a
language. While the organs are pliable, there is not understanding
enough to form a language; by the time that there is understanding
enough, the organs are become stiff. We know that after a certain age we
cannot learn to pronounce a new language. No foreigner, who comes to
England when advanced in life, ever pronounces English tolerably well;
at least such instances are very rare. When I maintain that language
must have come by inspiration, I do not mean that inspiration is
required for rhetorick, and all the beauties of language; for when once
man has language, we can conceive that he may gradually form
modifications of it. I mean only that inspiration seems to me to be
necessary to give man the faculty of speech; to inform him that he may
have speech; which I think he could no more find out without
inspiration, than cows or hogs would think of such a faculty.' WALKER.
'Do you think, Sir, that there are any perfect synonimes in any
language?' JOHNSON. 'Originally there were not; but by using words
negligently, or in poetry, one word comes to be confounded
with another.'

He talked of Dr. Dodd[643]. 'A friend of mine, (said he,) came to me and
told me, that a lady wished to have Dr. Dodd's picture in a bracelet,
and asked me for a motto. I said, I could think of no better than
_Currat Lex_. I was very willing to have him pardoned, that is, to have
the sentence changed to transportation: but, when he was once hanged, I
did not wish he should be made a saint.'

Mrs. Burney, wife of his friend Dr. Burney, came in, and he seemed to be
entertained with her conversation.

Garrick's funeral was talked of as extravagantly expensive. Johnson,
from his dislike to exaggeration, would not allow that it was
distinguished by any extraordinary pomp. 'Were there not six horses to
each coach?' said Mrs. Burney. JOHNSON. 'Madam, there were no more six
horses than six phoenixes[644].'

Mrs. Burney wondered that some very beautiful new buildings should be
erected in Moorfields, in so shocking a situation as between Bedlam and
St. Luke's Hospital; and said she could not live there. JOHNSON. 'Nay,
Madam, you see nothing there to hurt you. You no more think of madness
by having windows that look to Bedlam, than you think of death by having
windows that look to a church-yard.' MRS. BURNEY. 'We may look to a
church-yard, Sir; for it is right that we should be kept in mind of
death.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Madam, if you go to that, it is right that we
should be kept in mind of madness, which is occasioned by too much
indulgence of imagination. I think a very moral use may be made of these
new buildings: I would have those who have heated imaginations live
there, and take warning.' MRS. BURNEY. 'But, Sir, many of the poor
people that are mad, have become so from disease, or from distressing
events. It is, therefore, not their fault, but their misfortune; and,
therefore, to think of them is a melancholy consideration.'

Time passed on in conversation till it was too late for the service of
the church at three o'clock. I took a walk, and left him alone for some
time; then returned, and we had coffee and conversation again by
ourselves.

I stated the character of a noble friend of mine, as a curious case for
his opinion:--'He is the most inexplicable man to me that I ever knew.
Can you explain him, Sir? He is, I really believe, noble-minded,
generous, and princely. But his most intimate friends may be separated
from him for years, without his ever asking a question concerning them.
He will meet them with a formality, a coldness, a stately indifference;
but when they come close to him, and fairly engage him in conversation,
they find him as easy, pleasant, and kind, as they could wish. One then
supposes that what is so agreeable will soon be renewed; but stay away
from him for half a year, and he will neither call on you, nor send to
inquire about you.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, I cannot ascertain his character
exactly, as I do not know him; but I should not like to have such a man
for my friend. He may love study, and wish not to be interrupted by his
friends; _Amici fures temporis_. He may be a frivolous man, and be so
much occupied with petty pursuits, that he may not want friends. Or he
may have a notion that there is a dignity in appearing indifferent,
while he in fact may not be more indifferent at his heart than another.'

We went to evening prayers at St. Clement's, at seven, and then parted.

On Sunday, April 20, being Easter-day, after attending solemn service at
St. Paul's, I came to Dr. Johnson, and found Mr. Lowe, the painter,
sitting with him. Mr. Lowe mentioned the great number of new buildings
of late in London, yet that Dr. Johnson had observed, that the number of
inhabitants was not increased. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, the bills of
mortality prove that no more people die now than formerly; so it is
plain no more live. The register of births proves nothing, for not one
tenth of the people of London are born there.' BOSWELL. 'I believe, Sir,
a great many of the children born in London die early.' JOHNSON. 'Why,
yes, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'But those who do live, are as stout and strong
people as any[645]: Dr. Price[646] says, they must be naturally stronger
to get through.' JOHNSON. 'That is system, Sir. A great traveller
observes, that it is said there are no weak or deformed people among the
Indians; but he with much sagacity assigns the reason of this, which is,
that the hardship of their life as hunters and fishers does not allow
weak or diseased children to grow up. Now had I been an Indian, I must
have died early; my eyes would not have served me to get food. I indeed
now could fish, give me English tackle; but had I been an Indian I must
have starved, or they would have knocked me on the head, when they saw I
could do nothing.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps they would have taken care of you:
we are told they are fond of oratory, you would have talked to them.'
JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, I should not have lived long enough to be fit to
talk; I should have been dead before I was ten years old. Depend upon
it, Sir, a savage, when he is hungry, will not carry about with him a
looby of nine years old, who cannot help himself. They have no
affection, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'I believe natural affection, of which we
hear so much, is very small.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, natural affection is
nothing: but affection from principle and established duty is sometimes
wonderfully strong.' LOWE. 'A hen, Sir, will feed her chickens in
preference to herself.' JOHNSON. 'But we don't know that the hen is
hungry; let the hen be fairly hungry, and I'll warrant she'll peck the
corn herself. A cock, I believe, will feed hens instead of himself; but
we don't know that the cock is hungry.' BOSWELL. 'And that, Sir, is not
from affection but gallantry. But some of the Indians have affection.'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, that they help some of their children is plain; for some
of them live, which they could not do without being helped.'

I dined with him; the company were, Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Desmoulins, and
Mr. Lowe. He seemed not to be well, talked little, grew drowsy soon
after dinner, and retired, upon which I went away.

Having next day gone to Mr. Burke's seat in the country, from whence I
was recalled by an express, that a near relation of mine had killed his
antagonist in a duel, and was himself dangerously wounded[647], I saw
little of Dr. Johnson till Monday, April 28, when I spent a considerable
part of the day with him, and introduced the subject, which then chiefly
occupied my mind. JOHNSON. 'I do not see, Sir, that fighting is
absolutely forbidden in Scripture; I see revenge forbidden, but not
self-defence.' BOSWELL. 'The Quakers say it is; "Unto him that smiteth
thee on one cheek, offer him also the other[648]."' JOHNSON. 'But stay,
Sir; the text is meant only to have the effect of moderating passion; it
is plain that we are not to take it in a literal sense. We see this from
the context, where there are other recommendations, which I warrant you
the Quaker will not take literally; as, for instance, "From him that
would borrow of thee, turn thou not away[649]." Let a man whose credit
is bad, come to a Quaker, and say, "Well, Sir, lend me a hundred
pounds;" he'll find him as unwilling as any other man. No, Sir, a man
may shoot the man who invades his character, as he may shoot him who
attempts to break into his house[650]. So in 1745, my friend, Tom
Cumming the Quaker[651], said, he would not fight, but he would drive an
ammunition cart; and we know that the Quakers have sent flannel
waistcoats to our soldiers, to enable them to fight better.' BOSWELL.
'When a man is the aggressor, and by ill-usage forces on a duel in which
he is killed, have we not little ground to hope that he is gone into a
state of happiness?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, we are not to judge determinately of
the state in which a man leaves this life. He may in a moment have
repented effectually, and it is possible may have been accepted by GOD.
There is in _Camden's Remains_, an epitaph upon a very wicked man, who
was killed by a fall from his horse, in which he is supposed to say,

'"Between the stirrup and the ground,
I mercy ask'd, I mercy found[652]."'

BOSWELL. 'Is not the expression in the Burial-service, "in the _sure_
and _certain_ hope of a blessed resurrection[653]," too strong to be
used indiscriminately, and, indeed, sometimes when those over whose
bodies it is said, have been notoriously profane?' JOHNSON. 'It is sure
and certain _hope_, Sir; not _belief_.' I did not insist further;
but cannot help thinking that less positive words would be more
proper[654].

Talking of a man who was grown very fat, so as to be incommoded with
corpulency; he said, 'He eats too much, Sir.' BOSWELL. 'I don't know,
Sir; you will see one man fat who eats moderately, and another lean who
eats a great deal.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, whatever may be the quantity
that a man eats, it is plain that if he is too fat, he has eaten more
than he should have done. One man may have a digestion that consumes
food better than common; but it is certain that solidity is encreased by
putting something to it.' BOSWELL. 'But may not solids swell and be
distended?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, they may swell and be distended; but
that is not fat.'

We talked of the accusation against a gentleman for supposed
delinquencies in India[655]. JOHNSON. 'What foundation there is for
accusation I know not, but they will not get at him. Where bad actions
are committed at so great a distance, a delinquent can obscure the
evidence till the scent becomes cold; there is a cloud between, which
cannot be penetrated: therefore all distant power is bad. I am clear
that the best plan for the government of India is a despotick governour;
for if he be a good man, it is evidently the best government; and
supposing him to be a bad man, it is better to have one plunderer than
many. A governour whose power is checked, lets others plunder, that he
himself may be allowed to plunder; but if despotick, he sees that the
more he lets others plunder, the less there will be for himself, so he
restrains them; and though he himself plunders, the country is a gainer,
compared with being plundered by numbers.'

I mentioned the very liberal payment which had been received for
reviewing; and, as evidence of this, that it had been proved in a trial,
that Dr. Shebbeare[656] had received six guineas a sheet for that kind
of literary labour. JOHNSON, 'Sir, he might get six guineas for a
particular sheet, but not _communibus sheetibus_[657].' BOSWELL. 'Pray,
Sir, by a sheet of review is it meant that it shall be all of the
writer's own composition? or are extracts, made from the book reviewed,
deducted.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir: it is a sheet, no matter of what.'
BOSWELL. 'I think that it is not reasonable.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, it is.
A man will more easily write a sheet all his own, than read an octavo
volume to get extracts[658].' To one of Johnson's wonderful fertility of
mind I believe writing was really easier than reading and extracting;
but with ordinary men the case is very different. A great deal, indeed,
will depend upon the care and judgement with which the extracts are
made. I can suppose the operation to be tedious and difficult: but in
many instances we must observe crude morsels cut out of books as if at
random; and when a large extract is made from one place, it surely may
be done with very little trouble. One however, I must acknowledge, might
be led, from the practice of reviewers, to suppose that they take a
pleasure in original writing; for we often find, that instead of giving
an accurate account of what has been done by the authour whose work
they are reviewing, which is surely the proper business of a literary
journal, they produce some plausible and ingenious conceits of their
own, upon the topicks which have been discussed[659].

Upon being told that old Mr. Sheridan, indignant at the neglect of his
oratorical plans, had threatened to go to America; JOHNSON. 'I hope he
will go to America.' BOSWELL. 'The Americans don't want oratory.'
JOHNSON. 'But we can want Sheridan[660].'

On Monday[661], April 29, I found him at home in the forenoon, and Mr.
Seward with him. Horace having been mentioned; BOSWELL. 'There is a
great deal of thinking in his works. One finds there almost every thing
but religion.' SEWARD. 'He speaks of his returning to it, in his Ode
_Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens_[662] JOHNSON. 'Sir, he was not in
earnest: this was merely poetical.' BOSWELL. 'There are, I am afraid,
many people who have no religion at all.' SEWARD. 'And sensible people
too.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, not sensible in that respect. There must be
either a natural or a moral stupidity, if one lives in a total neglect
of so very important a concern.' SEWARD. 'I wonder that there should be
people without religion.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you need not wonder at this,
when you consider how large a proportion of almost every man's life is
passed without thinking of it. I myself was for some years totally
regardless of religion. It had dropped out of my mind. It was at an
early part of my life. Sickness brought it back, and I hope I have never
lost it since[663].' BOSWELL. 'My dear Sir, what a man must you have
been without religion! Why you must have gone on drinking, and
swearing, and--[664]' JOHNSON. (with a smile) 'I drank enough and swore
enough, to be sure.' SEWARD. 'One should think that sickness and the
view of death would make more men religious.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, they do not
know how to go about it: they have not the first notion. A man who has
never had religion before, no more grows religious when he is sick, than
a man who has never learnt figures can count when he has need of
calculation.'

I mentioned a worthy friend of ours[665] whom we valued much, but
observed that he was too ready to introduce religious discourse upon all
occasions. JOHNSON. 'Why, yes, Sir, he will introduce religious
discourse without seeing whether it will end in instruction and
improvement, or produce some profane jest. He would introduce it in the
company of Wilkes, and twenty more such.'

I mentioned Dr. Johnson's excellent distinction between liberty of
conscience and liberty of teaching[666]. JOHNSON. 'Consider, Sir; if you
have children whom you wish to educate in the principles of the Church
of England, and there comes a Quaker who tries to pervert them to his
principles, you would drive away the Quaker. You would not trust to the
predomination of right, which you believe is in your opinions; you would
keep wrong out of their heads. Now the vulgar are the children of the
State. If any one attempts to teach them doctrines contrary to what the
State approves, the magistrate may and ought to restrain him.' SEWARD.
'Would you restrain private conversation, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it
is difficult to say where private conversation begins, and where it
ends. If we three should discuss even the great question concerning the
existence of a Supreme Being by ourselves, we should not be restrained;
for that would be to put an end to all improvement. But if we should
discuss it in the presence of ten boarding-school girls, and as many
boys, I think the magistrate would do well to put us in the stocks, to
finish the debate there.'

Lord Hailes had sent him a present of a curious little printed poem, on
repairing the University of Aberdeen, by David Malloch, which he
thought would please Johnson, as affording clear evidence that Mallet
had appeared even as a literary character by the name of _Malloch_; his
changing which to one of softer sound, had given Johnson occasion to
introduce him into his _Dictionary_, under the article _Alias_[667].
This piece was, I suppose, one of Mallet's first essays. It is preserved
in his works, with several variations. Johnson having read aloud, from
the beginning of it, where there were some common-place assertions as to
the superiority of ancient times;--'How false (said he) is all this, to
say that in ancient times learning was not a disgrace to a Peer as it is
now. In ancient times a Peer was as ignorant as any one else. He would
have been angry to have it thought he could write his name[668]. Men in
ancient times dared to stand forth with a degree of ignorance with which
nobody would dare now to stand forth. I am always angry when I hear
ancient times praised at the expence of modern times. There is now a
great deal more learning in the world than there was formerly; for it is
universally diffused. You have, perhaps, no man who knows as much Greek
and Latin as Bentley[669]; no man who knows as much mathematicks as
Newton: but you have many more men who know Greek and Latin, and who
know mathematicks[670].'

On Thursday, May 1, I visited him in the evening along with young Mr.
Burke. He said, 'It is strange that there should be so little reading in
the world, and so much writing. People in general do not willingly read,
if they can have any thing else to amuse them[671]. There must be an
external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. The progress which
the understanding makes through a book, has more pain than pleasure in
it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to express the nice gradations
and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure
inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are light
compositions, which contain a quick succession of events. However, I
have this year read all Virgil through[672]. I read a book of the
_Aeneid_ every night, so it was done in twelve nights, and I had great
delight in it. The _Georgicks_ did not give me so much pleasure, except
the fourth book. The _Eclogues_ I have almost all by heart. I do not
think the story of the _Aeneid_ interesting. I like the story of the
_Odyssey_ much better[673]; and this not on account of the wonderful
things which it contains; for there are wonderful things enough in the
_Aeneid_;--the ships of the Trojans turned to sea-nymphs,--the tree at
Polydorus's tomb dropping blood. The story of the _Odyssey_ is
interesting, as a great part of it is domestick. It has been said, there
is pleasure in writing, particularly in writing verses. I allow you may
have pleasure from writing, after it is over, if you have written well;
but you don't go willingly to it again[674]. I know when I have been
writing verses, I have run my finger down the margin, to see how many I
had made, and how few I had to make[675].'

He seemed to be in a very placid humour, and although I have no note of
the particulars of young Mr. Burke's conversation, it is but justice to
mention in general, that it was such that Dr. Johnson said to me
afterwards, 'He did very well indeed; I have a mind to tell his
father[676].'

'TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,

'The gentleman who waits on you with this, is Mr. Cruikshanks[677], who
wishes to succeed his friend Dr. Hunter[678] as Professor of Anatomy in
the Royal Academy. His qualifications are very generally known, and it
adds dignity to the institution that such men[679] are candidates.

'I am, Sir,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'May 2[680], 1783.'

I have no minute of any interview with Johnson till Thursday, May 15,
when I find what follows:--BOSWELL. 'I wish much to be in Parliament,
Sir[681].' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, unless you come resolved to support any
administration, you would be the worse for being in Parliament, because
you would be obliged to live more expensively.' BOSWELL. 'Perhaps, Sir,
I should be the less happy for being in Parliament. I never would sell
my vote, and I should be vexed if things went wrong.' JOHNSON. 'That's
cant, Sir. It would not vex you more in the house, than in the gallery:
publick affairs vex no man.' BOSWELL. 'Have not they vexed yourself a
little, Sir? Have not you been vexed by all the turbulence of this
reign, and by that absurd vote of the House of Commons, "That the
influence of the Crown has increased, is increasing, and ought to be
diminished[682]?"' JOHNSON. 'Sir, I have never slept an hour less, nor
eat an ounce less meat[683]. I would have knocked the factious dogs on
the head, to be sure; but I was not _vexed_.' BOSWELL. 'I declare, Sir,
upon my honour, I did imagine I was vexed, and took a pride in it; but
it _was_, perhaps, cant; for I own I neither ate less, nor slept less.'
JOHNSON. 'My dear friend, clear your _mind_ of cant[684]. You may _talk_
as other people do: you may say to a man, "Sir, I am your most humble
servant." You are not his most humble servant. You may say, "These are
bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times." You
don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am sorry you had such bad
weather the last day of your journey, and were so much wet." You don't
care six-pence whether he is wet or dry. You may _talk_ in this manner;
it is a mode of talking in Society[685]; but don't _think_
foolishly[686].'

I talked of living in the country. JOHNSON. 'Don't set up for what is
called hospitality; it is a waste of time, and a waste of money; you are
eaten up, and not the more respected for your liberality. If your house
be like an inn, nobody cares for you. A man who stays a week with
another, makes him a slave for a week.'[687] BOSWELL. 'But there are
people, Sir, who make their houses a home to their guests, and are
themselves quite easy.' JOHNSON. 'Then, Sir, home must be the same to
the guests, and they need not come.'

Here he discovered a notion common enough in persons not much accustomed
to entertain company, that there must be a degree of elaborate
attention, otherwise company will think themselves neglected; and such
attention is no doubt very fatiguing.[688] He proceeded: 'I would not,
however, be a stranger in my own county; I would visit my neighbours,
and receive their visits; but I would not be in haste to return visits.
If a gentleman comes to see me, I tell him he does me a great deal of
honour. I do not go to see him perhaps for ten weeks; then we are very
complaisant to each other. No, Sir, you will have much more influence by
giving or lending money where it is wanted, than by hospitality[689].'

On Saturday, May 17, I saw him for a short time. Having mentioned that I
had that morning been with old Mr. Sheridan, he remembered their former
intimacy with a cordial warmth, and said to me, 'Tell Mr. Sheridan, I
shall be glad to see him, and shake hands with him[690].' BOSWELL. 'It
is to me very wonderful that resentment should be kept up so long.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is not altogether resentment that he does not
visit me; it is partly falling out of the habit,--partly disgust, as one
has at a drug that has made him sick. Besides, he knows that I laugh at
his oratory[691].'

Another day I spoke of one of our friends, of whom he, as well as I,
had a very high opinion. He expatiated in his praise; but added, 'Sir,
he is a cursed Whig, a _bottomless_ Whig, as they all are now[692].'

I mentioned my expectations from the interest of an eminent person[693]
then in power; adding, 'but I have no claim but the claim of friendship;
however, some people will go a great way from that motive.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, they will go all the way from that motive.' A gentleman talked of
retiring. 'Never think of that,' said Johnson. The gentleman urged, 'I
should then do no ill.' JOHNSON. Nor no good either. Sir, it would be a
civil suicide[694].'

On Monday, May 26, I found him at tea, and the celebrated Miss Burney,
the authour of _Evelina_[695] and _Cecilia_, with him. I asked if there
would be any speakers in Parliament, if there were no places to be
obtained. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir. Why do you speak here? Either to instruct
and entertain, which is a benevolent motive; or for distinction, which
is a selfish motive.' I mentioned _Cecilia_. JOHNSON. (with an air of
animated satisfaction) 'Sir, if you talk of _Cecilia_, talk on[696].'

We talked of Mr. Barry's exhibition of his pictures. JOHNSON. 'Whatever
the hand may have done, the mind has done its part. There is a grasp of
mind there which you find nowhere else[697].'

I asked whether a man naturally virtuous, or one who has overcome wicked
inclinations, is the best. JOHNSON. 'Sir, to _you_, the man who has
overcome wicked inclinations is not the best. He has more merit to
_himself_: I would rather trust my money to a man who has no hands, and
so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of the most honest
principles. There is a witty satirical story of Foote. He had a small
bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau, "You may be surprized (said he)
that I allow him to be so near my gold;--but you will observe he has
no hands."'

On Friday, May 29[698], being to set out for Scotland next morning, I
passed a part of the day with him in more than usual earnestness; as his
health was in a more precarious state than at any time when I had parted
from him. He, however, was quick and lively, and critical as usual. I
mentioned one who was a very learned man. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, he has a
great deal of learning; but it never lies straight. There is never one
idea by the side of another; 'tis all entangled: and then he drives it
so aukwardly upon conversation.'

I stated to him an anxious thought, by which a sincere Christian might
be disturbed, even when conscious of having lived a good life, so far as
is consistent with human infirmity; he might fear that he should
afterwards fall away, and be guilty of such crimes as would render all
his former religion vain. Could there be, upon this aweful subject, such
a thing as balancing of accounts? Suppose a man who has led a good life
for seven years, commits an act of wickedness, and instantly dies; will
his former good life have any effect in his favour? JOHNSON. 'Sir, if a
man has led a good life for seven years, and then is hurried by passion
to do what is wrong, and is suddenly carried off, depend upon it he will
have the reward of his seven years' good life; GOD will not take a catch
of him. Upon this principle Richard Baxter believes that a Suicide may
be saved. "If, (says he) it should be objected that what I maintain may
encourage suicide, I answer, I am not to tell a lie to prevent it."'
BOSWELL. 'But does not the text say, "As the tree falls, so it must
lie[699]?"' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; as the tree falls: but,--(after a
little pause)--that is meant as to the general state of the tree, not
what is the effect of a sudden blast.' In short, he interpreted the
expression as referring to condition, not to position. The common
notion, therefore, seems to be erroneous; and Shenstone's witty remark
on Divines trying to give the tree a jerk upon a death-bed, to make it
lie favourably, is not well founded[700].

I asked him what works of Richard Baxter's I should read. He said, 'Read
any of them; they are all good[701].'

He said, 'Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your income.
Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be
more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.'

I assured him, that in the extensive and various range of his
acquaintance there never had been any one who had a more sincere respect
and affection for him than I had. He said, 'I believe it, Sir. Were I in
distress, there is no man to whom I should sooner come than to you. I
should like to come and have a cottage in your park, toddle about, live
mostly on milk, and be taken care of by Mrs. Boswell. She and I are good
friends now; are we not?'

Talking of devotion, he said, 'Though it be true that "GOD dwelleth not
in temples made with hands[702]," yet in this state of being, our minds
are more piously affected in places appropriated to divine worship, than
in others. Some people have a particular room in their house, where they
say their prayers; of which I do not disapprove, as it may animate their
devotion.'

He embraced me, and gave me his blessing, as usual when I was leaving
him for any length of time. I walked from his door to-day, with a
fearful apprehension of what might happen before I returned.

'To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM WINDHAM.

Sir, The bringer of this letter is the father of Miss Philips[703], a
singer, who comes to try her voice on the stage at Dublin.

Mr. Philips is one of my old friends; and as I am of opinion that
neither he nor his daughter will do any thing that can disgrace their
benefactors, I take the liberty of entreating you to countenance and
protect them so far as may be suitable to your station[704] and
character; and shall consider myself as obliged by any favourable notice
which they shall have the honour of receiving from you.

I am, Sir, Your most humble servant,

SAM JOHNSON. London, May 31, 1783.'

The following is another instance of his active benevolence:--

'To SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

DEAR SIR, I have sent you some of my god-son's[705] performances, of
which I do not pretend to form any opinion. When I took the liberty of
mentioning him to you, I did not know what I have since been told, that
Mr. Moser[706] had admitted him among the Students of the Academy. What
more can be done for him I earnestly entreat you to consider; for I am
very desirous that he should derive some advantage from my connection
with him. If you are inclined to see him, I will bring him to wait on
you, at any time that you shall be pleased to appoint.

I am, Sir, Your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON. June 2, 1783.'

My anxious apprehensions at parting with him this year proved to be but
too well founded; for not long afterwards he had a dreadful stroke of
the palsy, of which there are very full and accurate accounts in
letters written by himself, to shew with what composure of mind, and
resignation to the Divine Will, his steady piety enabled him to behave.

'TO MR. EDMUND ALLEN[707].

DEAR SIR, It has pleased GOD, this morning, to deprive me of the powers
of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be his further good
pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses, I request you will on the
receipt of this note, come to me, and act for me, as the exigencies of
my case may require.

I am, Sincerely yours,

SAM. JOHNSON. June 17, 1783.'

'TO THE REVEREND DR. JOHN TAYLOR.

'DEAR SIR, It has pleased GOD, by a Paralytick stroke in the night, to
deprive me of speech.

I am very desirous of Dr. Heberden's[708] assistance, as I think my case
is not past remedy. Let me see you as soon as it is possible. Bring Dr.
Heberden with you, if you can; but come yourself at all events. I am
glad you are so well, when I am so dreadfully attacked.

I think that by a speedy application of stimulants much may be done. I
question if a vomit, vigorous and rough, would not rouse the organs of
speech to action. As it is too early to send, I will try to recollect
what I can, that can be suspected to have brought on this
dreadful distress.

I have been accustomed to bleed frequently for an asthmatick complaint;
but have forborne for some time by Dr. Pepys's persuasion, who
perceived my legs beginning to swell. I sometimes alleviate a painful,
or more properly an oppressive, constriction of my chest, by opiates;
and have lately taken opium frequently, but the last, or two last times,
in smaller quantities. My largest dose is three grains, and last night I
took but two[709]. You will suggest these things (and they are all that
I can call to mind) to Dr. Heberden.

I am, &c. SAM. JOHNSON[710]. June 17, 1783.'

Two days after he wrote thus to Mrs. Thrale[711]:--

'On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture[712], and walked a
considerable way with little inconvenience. In the afternoon and evening
I felt myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of life. Thus I
went to bed, and in a short time waked and sat up, as has been long my
custom, when I felt a confusion and indistinctness in my head, which
lasted, I suppose, about half a minute. I was alarmed, and prayed God,
that however he might afflict my body, he would spare my understanding.
This prayer, that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in
Latin verse[713]. The lines were not very good, but I knew them not to
be very good: I made them easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired
in my faculties.

Soon after I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick stroke, and that
my speech was taken from me. I had no pain, and so little dejection in
this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and considered
that perhaps death itself, when it should come, would excite less
horrour than seems now to attend it.

In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams. Wine has been
celebrated for the production of eloquence. I put myself into violent
motion, and I think repeated it; but all was vain. I then went to bed,
and strange as it may seem, I think slept. When I saw light, it was time
to contrive what I should do. Though God stopped my speech, he left me
my hand; I enjoyed a mercy which was not granted to my dear friend
Lawrence[714], who now perhaps overlooks me as I am writing, and
rejoices that I have what he wanted. My first note was necessarily to my
servant, who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend why
he should read what I put into his hands.

I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend at
hand, to act as occasion should require. In penning this note, I had
some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters. I
then wrote to Dr. Taylor to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden; and I
sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour. My physicians are very
friendly, and give me great hopes; but you may imagine my situation. I
have so far recovered my vocal powers, as to repeat the Lord's Prayer
with no very imperfect articulation. My memory, I hope, yet remains as
it was; but such an attack produces solicitude for the safety of
every faculty.'

'To MR. THOMAS DAVIES.

'DEAR SIR, I have had, indeed, a very heavy blow; but GOD, who yet
spares my life, I humbly hope will spare my understanding, and restore
my speech. As I am not at all helpless, I want no particular assistance,
but am strongly affected by Mrs. Davies's tenderness; and when I think
she can do me good, shall be very glad to call upon her. I had ordered
friends to be shut out; but one or two have found the way in; and if you
come you shall be admitted: for I know not whom I can see, that will
bring more amusement on his tongue, or more kindness in his heart. I
am, &c.

SAM. JOHNSON. June 18, 1783.'

It gives me great pleasure to preserve such a memorial of Johnson's
regard for Mr. Davies, to whom I was indebted for my introduction to
him[715]. He indeed loved Davies cordially, of which I shall give the
following little evidence. One day when he had treated him with too much
asperity. Tom, who was not without pride and spirit, went off in a
passion; but he had hardly reached home, when Frank, who had been sent
after him, delivered this note:--'Come, come, dear Davies, I am always
sorry when we quarrel; send me word that we are friends.'

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

DEAR SIR, Your anxiety about my health is very friendly, and very
agreeable with your general kindness. I have, indeed, had a very
frightful blow. On the 17th of last month, about three in the morning,
as near as I can guess, I perceived myself almost totally deprived of
speech. I had no pain. My organs were so obstructed, that I could say
_no_, but could scarcely say _yes_. I wrote the necessary directions,
for it pleased GOD to spare my hand, and sent for Dr. Heberden and Dr.
Brocklesby. Between the time in which I discovered my own disorder, and
that in which I sent for the doctors, I had, I believe, in spite of my
surprize and solicitude, a little sleep, and Nature began to renew its
operations. They came, and gave the directions which the disease
required, and from that time I have been continually improving in
articulation. I can now speak, but the nerves are weak, and I cannot
continue discourse long; but strength, I hope, will return. The
physicians consider me as cured. I was last Sunday at church. On Tuesday
I took an airing to Hampstead, and dined with THE CLUB[716], where Lord
Palmerston was proposed, and, against my opinion, was rejected[717]. I
designed to go next week with Mr. Langton to Rochester, where I purpose
to stay about ten days, and then try some other air. I have many kind
invitations. Your brother has very frequently enquired after me. Most of
my friends have, indeed, been very attentive[718]. Thank dear Lord
Hailes for his present.

I hope you found at your return every thing gay and prosperous, and your
lady, in particular, quite recovered and confirmed. Pay her my respects.

I am, dear Sir, Your most humble servant, SAM. JOHNSON. London, July 3,
1783.'

'To MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

DEAR MADAM, The account which you give of your health is but melancholy.
May it please GOD to restore you. My disease affected my speech, and
still continues, in some degree, to obstruct my utterance; my voice is
distinct enough for a while; but the organs being still weak are quickly
weary: but in other respects I am, I think, rather better than I have
lately been; and can let you know my state without the help of any
other hand.

In the opinion of my friends, and in my own, I am gradually mending. The
Physicians consider me as cured; and I had leave, four days ago, to wash
the cantharides from my head. Last Tuesday I dined at THE CLUB.

I am going next week into Kent, and purpose to change the air frequently
this summer; whether I shall wander so far as Staffordshire I cannot
tell. I should be glad to come. Return my thanks to Mrs. Cobb, and Mr.
Pearson, and all that have shewn attention to me.

Let us, my dear, pray for one another, and consider our sufferings as
notices mercifully given us to prepare ourselves for another state.

I live now but in a melancholy way. My old friend Mr. Levett is dead,
who lived with me in the house, and was useful and companionable; Mrs.
Desmoulins is gone away[719]; and Mrs. Williams is so much decayed, that
she can add little to another's gratifications. The world passes away,
and we are passing with it; but there is, doubtless, another world,
which will endure for ever. Let us all fit ourselves for it.

I am, &c., SAM. JOHNSON. London, July 5, 1783.'

Such was the general vigour of his constitution, that he recovered from
this alarming and severe attack with wonderful quickness; so that in
July he was able to make a visit to Mr. Langton at Rochester[720], where
he passed about a fortnight, and made little excursions as easily as at
any time of his life[721]. In August he went as far as the neighbourhood
of Salisbury, to Heale[722], the seat of William Bowles, Esq[723]., a
gentleman whom I have heard him praise for exemplary religious order in
his family. In his diary I find a short but honourable mention of this
visit: 'August 28, I came to Heale without fatigue. 30. I am entertained
quite to my mind.'

'To DR. BROCKLESBY. Heale, near Salisbury, Aug. 29, 1783.

DEAR SIR, Without appearing to want a just sense of your kind attention,
I cannot omit to give an account of the day which seemed to appear in
some sort perilous. I rose at five and went out at six, and having
reached Salisbury about nine[724], went forward a few miles in my
friend's chariot. I was no more wearied with the journey, though it was
a high-hung, rough coach, than I should have been forty years ago. We
shall now see what air will do. The country is all a plain; and the
house in which I am, so far as I can judge from my window, for I write
before I have left my chamber, is sufficiently pleasant.

Be so kind as to continue your attention to Mrs. Williams; it is great
consolation to the well, and still greater to the sick, that they find
themselves not neglected; and I know that you will be desirous of giving
comfort even where you have no great hope of giving help.

Since I wrote the former part of the letter, I find that by the course
of the post I cannot send it before the thirty-first.

I am, &c. SAM. JOHNSON.'

While he was here he had a letter from Dr. Brocklesby, acquainting him
of the death of Mrs. Williams, which affected him a good deal[725].
Though for several years her temper had not been complacent, she had
valuable qualities, and her departure left a blank in his house[726].
Upon this occasion he, according to his habitual course of piety,
composed a prayer[727].

I shall here insert a few particulars concerning him, with which I have
been favoured by one of his friends[728].

'He had once conceived the design of writing the Life of Oliver
Cromwell[729], saying, that he thought it must be highly curious to
trace his extraordinary rise to the supreme power, from so obscure a
beginning. He at length laid aside his scheme, on discovering that all
that can be told of him is already in print; and that it is
impracticable to procure any authentick information in addition to what
the world is already possessed of[730].'

'He had likewise projected, but at what part of his life is not known, a
work to shew how small a quantity of REAL FICTION there is in the world;
and that the same images, with very little variation, have served all
the authours who have ever written[731].'

'His thoughts in the latter part of his life were frequently employed on
his deceased friends. He often muttered these, or such like sentences:
"Poor man! and then he died."'

'Speaking of a certain literary friend, "He is a very pompous puzzling
fellow, (said he); he lent me a letter once that somebody had written to
him, no matter what it was about; but he wanted to have the letter back,
and expressed a mighty value for it; he hoped it was to be met with
again, he would not lose it for a thousand pounds. I layed my hand upon
it soon afterwards, and gave it him. I believe I said, I was very glad
to have met with it. O, then he did not know that it signified any
thing. So you see, when the letter was lost it was worth a thousand
pounds, and when it was found it was not worth a farthing."'

'The style and character of his conversation is pretty generally known;
it was certainly conducted in conformity with a precept of Lord Bacon,
but it is not clear, I apprehend, that this conformity was either
perceived or intended by Johnson. The precept alluded to is as follows:
"In all kinds of speech, either pleasant, grave, severe, or ordinary, it
is convenient to speak leisurely, and rather drawingly than hastily:
because hasty speech confounds the memory, and oftentimes, besides the
unseemliness, drives the man either to stammering, a non-plus, or
harping on that which should follow; whereas a slow speech confirmeth
the memory, addeth a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, besides a
seemliness of speech and countenance[732]." Dr. Johnson's method of
conversation was certainly calculated to excite attention, and to amuse
and instruct, (as it happened,) without wearying or confusing his
company. He was always most perfectly clear and perspicuous; and his
language was so accurate, and his sentences so neatly constructed, that
his conversation might have been all printed without any correction. At
the same time, it was easy and natural; the accuracy of it had no
appearance of labour, constraint, or stiffness; he seemed more correct
than others, by the force of habit, and the customary exercises of his
powerful mind[733].'

'He spoke often in praise of French literature. "The French are
excellent in this, (he would say,) they have a book on every
subject[734]." From what he had seen of them he denied them the praise
of superiour politeness[735], and mentioned, with very visible disgust,
the custom they have of spitting on the floors of their apartments.
"This, (said the Doctor) is as gross a thing as can well be done; and
one wonders how any man, or set of men, can persist in so offensive a
practice for a whole day together; one should expect that the first
effort towards civilization would remove it even among savages[736]."'

'Baxter's _Reasons of the Christian Religion_, he thought contained the
best collection of the evidences of the divinity of the
Christian system.'

'Chymistry[737] was always an interesting pursuit with Dr. Johnson.
Whilst he was in Wiltshire, he attended some experiments that were made
by a physician at Salisbury, on the new kinds of air[738]. In the
course of the experiments frequent mention being made of Dr. Priestley,
Dr. Johnson knit his brows, and in a stern manner enquired, "Why do we
hear so much of Dr. Priestley[739]?" He was very properly answered,
"Sir, because we are indebted to him for these important discoveries."
On this Dr. Johnson appeared well content; and replied, "Well, well, I
believe we are; and let every man have the honour he has merited."'

'A friend was one day, about two years before his death, struck with
some instance of Dr. Johnson's great candour. "Well, Sir, (said he,) I
will always say that you are a very candid man." "Will you," (replied the
Doctor,) I doubt then you will be very singular. But, indeed, Sir,
(continued he,) I look upon myself to be a man very much misunderstood.
I am not an uncandid, nor am I a severe man. I sometimes say more than I
mean, in jest; and people are apt to believe me serious: however, I am
more candid than I was when I was younger. As I know more of mankind I
expect less of them, and am ready now to call a man a _good man_, upon
easier terms than I was formerly[740].'

On his return from Heale he wrote to Dr. Burney:--

'I came home on the 18th[741] at noon to a very disconsolate house. You
and I have lost our friends[742]; but you have more friends at home. My
domestick companion is taken from me. She is much missed, for her
acquisitions were many, and her curiosity universal; so that she partook
of every conversation[743]. I am not well enough to go much out; and to
sit, and eat, or fast alone, is very wearisome. I always mean to send my
compliments to all the ladies.'

His fortitude and patience met with severe trials during this year. The
stroke of the palsy has been related circumstantially; but he was also
afflicted with the gout, and was besides troubled with a complaint which
not only was attended with immediate inconvenience, but threatened him
with a chirurgical operation, from which most men would shrink. The
complaint was a _sarcocele_, which Johnson bore with uncommon firmness,
and was not at all frightened while he looked forward to amputation. He
was attended by Mr. Pott and Mr. Cruikshank. I have before me a letter
of the 30th of July this year, to Mr. Cruikshank, in which he says, 'I
am going to put myself into your hands;' and another, accompanying a set
of his _Lives of the Poets_, in which he says, 'I beg your acceptance of
these volumes, as an acknowledgement of the great favours which you have
bestowed on, Sir, your most obliged and most humble servant.' I have in
my possession several more letters from him to Mr. Cruikshank, and also
to Dr. Mudge at Plymouth, which it would be improper to insert, as they
are filled with unpleasing technical details. I shall, however, extract
from his letters to Dr. Mudge such passages as shew either a felicity of
expression, or the undaunted state of his mind.

'My conviction of your skill, and my belief of your friendship,
determine me to intreat your opinion and advice.'--'In this state I with
great earnestness desire you to tell me what is to be done. Excision is
doubtless necessary to the cure, and I know not any means of palliation.
The operation is doubtless painful; but is it dangerous? The pain I hope
to endure with decency[744]; but I am loth to put life into much
hazard.'--'By representing the gout as an antagonist to the palsy, you
have said enough to make it welcome. This is not strictly the first fit,
but I hope it is as good as the first; for it is the second that ever
confined me; and the first was ten years ago[745], much less fierce and
fiery than this.'--'Write, dear Sir, what you can to inform or encourage
me. The operation is not delayed by any fears or objections of mine.'

To BENNET LANGTON, ESQ. 'Dear Sir, You may very reasonably charge me
with insensibility of your kindness, and that of Lady Rothes, since I
have suffered so much time to pass without paying any acknowledgement. I
now, at last, return my thanks; and why I did it not sooner I ought to
tell you. I went into Wiltshire as soon as I well could, and was there
much employed in palliating my own malady. Disease produces much
selfishness. A man in pain is looking after ease; and lets most other
things go as chance shall dispose of them. In the mean time I have lost
a companion[746], to whom I have had recourse for domestick amusement
for thirty years, and whose variety of knowledge never was exhausted;
and now return to a habitation vacant and desolate. I carry about a very
troublesome and dangerous complaint, which admits no cure but by the
chirurgical knife. Let me have your prayers. I am, &c.

SAM. JOHNSON. London, Sept. 29, 1783.'

Happily the complaint abated without his being put to the torture of
amputation. But we must surely admire the manly resolution which he
discovered while it hung over him.

In a letter to the same gentleman he writes, 'The gout has within these
four days come upon me with a violence which I never experienced before.
It made me helpless as an infant.' And in another, having mentioned Mrs.
Williams, he says,--'whose death following that of Levett, has now made
my house a solitude. She left her little substance to a charity-school.
She is, I hope, where there is neither darkness, nor want, nor sorrow.'

I wrote to him, begging to know the state of his health, and mentioned
that Baxter's _Anacreon_[747], 'which is in the library at Auchinleck,
was, I find, collated by my father in 1727, with the MS. belonging to
the University of Leyden, and he has made a number of Notes upon it.
Would you advise me to publish a new edition of it?'

His answer was dated September 30:--

'You should not make your letters such rarities, when you know, or might
know, the uniform state of my health. It is very long since I heard from
you; and that I have not answered is a very insufficient reason for the
silence of a friend. Your _Anacreon_ is a very uncommon book; neither
London nor Cambridge can supply a copy of that edition. Whether it
should be reprinted, you cannot do better than consult Lord
Hailes.--Besides my constant and radical disease, I have been for these
ten days much harassed with the gout; but that has now remitted. I hope
GOD will yet grant me a little longer life, and make me less unfit to
appear before him.'

He this autumn received a visit from the celebrated Mrs. Siddons. He
gives this account of it in one of his letters[748] to Mrs. Thrale:--

'Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great modesty and
propriety, and left nothing behind her to be censured or despised.
Neither praise nor money, the two powerful corrupters of mankind, seem
to have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. Her brother
Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very well. Mrs. Siddons and I talked
of plays; and she told me her intention of exhibiting this winter the
characters of Constance, Catharine, and Isabella, in Shakspeare.'

Mr. Kemble has favoured me with the following minute of what passed at
this visit:--

'When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there happened to be no chair
ready for her, which he observing, said with a smile, "Madam, you who so
often occasion a want of seats to other people, will the more easily
excuse the want of one yourself[749]."

Having placed himself by her, he with great good-humour entered upon a
consideration of the English drama; and, among other inquiries,
particularly asked her which of Shakspeare's characters she was most
pleased with. Upon her answering that she thought the character of Queen
Catharine, in _Henry the Eighth_, the most natural:--"I think so too,
Madam, (said he;) and whenever you perform it, I will once more hobble
out to the theatre myself[750]." Mrs. Siddons promised she would do
herself the honour of acting his favourite part for him; but many
circumstances happened to prevent the representation of _King Henry the
Eighth_ during the Doctor's life.

'In the course of the evening he thus gave his opinion upon the merits
of some of the principal performers whom he remembered to have seen upon
the stage. "Mrs. Porter,[751] in the vehemence of rage, and Mrs. Clive
in the sprightliness of humour, I have never seen equalled. What Clive
did best, she did better than Garrick; but could not do half so many
things well; she was a better romp than any I ever saw in nature[752].
Pritchard[753], in common life, was a vulgar ideot; she would talk of
her _gownd_: but, when she appeared upon the stage, seemed to be
inspired by gentility and understanding. I once talked with Colley
Cibber[754], and thought him ignorant of the principles of his art.
Garrick, Madam, was no declaimer; there was not one of his own
scene-shifters who could not have spoken _To be, or not to be_, better
than he did[755]; yet he was the only actor I ever saw, whom I could
call a master both in tragedy and comedy[756]; though I liked him best
in comedy. A true conception of character, and natural expression of it,
were his distinguished excellencies." Having expatiated, with his usual
force and eloquence, on Mr. Garrick's extraordinary eminence as an
actor, he concluded with this compliment to his social talents: "And
after all, Madam, I thought him less to be envied on the stage than at
the head of a table."'

Johnson, indeed, had thought more upon the subject of acting than might
be generally supposed[757]. Talking of it one day to Mr. Kemble, he
said, 'Are you, Sir, one of those enthusiasts who believe yourself
transformed into the very character you represent?' Upon Mr. Kemble's
answering that he had never felt so strong a persuasion himself[758];
'To be sure not, Sir, (said Johnson;) the thing is impossible. And if
Garrick really believed himself to be that monster, Richard the Third,
he deserved to be hanged every time he performed it[759].'

A pleasing instance of the generous attention of one of his friends has
been discovered by the publication of Mrs. Thrale's collection of
_Letters_. In a letter to one of the Miss Thrales[760], he writes,--

'A friend, whose name I will tell when your mamma has tried to guess
it, sent to my physician to enquire whether this long train of illness
had brought me into difficulties for want of money, with an invitation
to send to him for what occasion required. I shall write this night to
thank him, having no need to borrow.'

And afterwards, in a letter to Mrs. Thrale,--

'Since you cannot guess, I will tell you, that the generous man was
Gerard Hamilton. I returned him a very thankful and respectful
letter[761].'

I applied to Mr. Hamilton, by a common friend, and he has been so
obliging as to let me have Johnson's letter to him upon this occasion,
to adorn my collection.

'To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM GERARD HAMILTON.

'DEAR SIR,

'Your kind enquiries after my affairs, and your generous offers, have
been communicated to me by Dr. Brocklesby. I return thanks with great
sincerity, having lived long enough to know what gratitude is due to
such friendship; and entreat that my refusal may not be imputed to
sullenness or pride. I am, indeed, in no want. Sickness is, by the
generosity of my physicians, of little expence to me. But if any
unexpected exigence should press me, you shall see, dear Sir, how
cheerfully I can be obliged to so much liberality.

'I am, Sir,
Your most obedient
And most humble servant,
SAM. JOHNSON.'

'November, 19, 1783[762].'

I find in this, as in former years, notices of his kind attention to
Mrs. Gardiner[763], who, though in the humble station of a
tallow-chandler upon Snow-hill, was a woman of excellent good sense,
pious, and charitable. She told me, she had been introduced to him by
Mrs. Masters[764], the poetess, whose volumes he revised, and, it is
said, illuminated here and there with a ray of his own genius. Mrs.
Gardiner was very zealous for the support of the Ladies' charity-school,
in the parish of St. Sepulchre. It is confined to females; and, I am
told, it afforded a hint for the story of _Betty Broom_ in _The
Idler_[765]. Johnson this year, I find, obtained for it a sermon from
the late Bishop of St. Asaph, Dr. Shipley, whom he, in one of his
letters to Mrs. Thrale[766], characterises as 'knowing and conversible;'
and whom all who knew his Lordship, even those who differed from him in
politicks, remember with much respect[767].

The Earl of Carlisle having written a tragedy, entitled _The Fathers
Revenge_[768], some of his Lordship's friends applied to Mrs.
Chapone[769] to prevail on Dr. Johnson to read and give his opinion of
it[770], which he accordingly did, in a letter to that lady. Sir Joshua
Reynolds having informed me that this letter was in Lord Carlisle's
possession, though I was not fortunate enough to have the honour of
being known to his Lordship, trusting to the general courtesy of
literature, I wrote to him, requesting the favour of a copy of it, and
to be permitted to insert it in my _Life of Dr. Johnson_. His Lordship
was so good as to comply with my request, and has thus enabled me to
enrich my work with a very fine piece of writing, which displays both
the critical skill and politeness of my illustrious friend; and perhaps
the curiosity which it will excite, may induce the noble and elegant
Authour to gratify the world by the publication[771] of a performance,
of which Dr. Johnson has spoken in such terms.

'To MRS. CHAPONE.

'MADAM,

'By sending the tragedy to me a second time[772], I think that a very
honourable distinction has been shewn me, and I did not delay the
perusal, of which I am now to tell the effect.

'The construction of the play is not completely regular; the stage is
too often vacant, and the scenes are not sufficiently connected. This,
however, would be called by Dryden only a mechanical defect[773]; which
takes away little from the power of the poem, and which is seen rather
than felt.

'A rigid examiner of the diction might, perhaps, wish some words
changed, and some lines more vigorously terminated. But from such petty
imperfections what writer was ever free?

'The general form and force of the dialogue is of more importance. It
seems to want that quickness of reciprocation which characterises the
English drama, and is not always sufficiently fervid or animated.

'Of the sentiments I remember not one that I wished omitted. In the
imagery I cannot forbear to distinguish the comparison of joy succeeding
grief to light rushing on the eye accustomed to darkness. It seems to
have all that can be desired to make it please. It is new, just, and
delightful[774].

'With the characters, either as conceived or preserved, I have no fault
to find; but was much inclined to congratulate a writer, who, in
defiance of prejudice and fashion, made the Archbishop a good man, and
scorned all thoughtless applause, which a vicious churchman would have
brought him.

'The catastrophe is affecting. The Father and Daughter both culpable,
both wretched, and both penitent, divide between them our pity and
our sorrow.

'Thus, Madam, I have performed what I did not willingly undertake, and
could not decently refuse. The noble writer will be pleased to remember,
that sincere criticism ought to raise no resentment, because judgement
is not under the controul of will; but involuntary criticism, as it has
still less of choice, ought to be more remote from possibility
of offence.

'I am, &c.,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'November 28, 1783.'

I consulted him on two questions of a very different nature: one,
whether the unconstitutional influence exercised by the Peers of
Scotland in the election of the representatives of the Commons[775], by
means of fictitious qualifications, ought not to be resisted;--the
other, What, in propriety and humanity, should be done with old horses
unable to labour. I gave him some account of my life at Auchinleck: and
expressed my satisfaction that the gentlemen of the county had, at two
publick meetings, elected me their _Praeses_ or Chairman[776].

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'Like all other men who have great friends, you begin to feel the pangs
of neglected merit; and all the comfort that I can give you is, by
telling you that you have probably more pangs to feel, and more neglect
to suffer. You have, indeed, begun to complain too soon; and I hope I
am the only confidant of your discontent. Your friends have not yet had
leisure to gratify personal kindness; they have hitherto been busy in
strengthening their ministerial interest[777]. If a vacancy happens in
Scotland, give them early intelligence; and as you can serve Government
as powerfully as any of your probable competitors, you may make in some
sort a warrantable claim.

'Of the exaltations and depressions of your mind you delight to talk,
and I hate to hear. Drive all such fancies from you.

'On the day when I received your letter, I think, the foregoing page was
written; to which, one disease or another has hindered me from making
any additions. I am now a little better. But sickness and solitude press
me very heavily. I could bear sickness better, if I were relieved from
solitude[778].

'The present dreadful confusion of the publick[779] ought to make you
wrap yourself up in your hereditary possessions, which, though less than
you may wish, are more than you can want; and in an hour of religious
retirement return thanks to GOD, who has exempted you from any strong
temptation to faction, treachery, plunder[780], and disloyalty.

'As your neighbours distinguish you by such honours as they can bestow,
content yourself with your station, without neglecting your profession.
Your estate and the Courts will find you full employment; and your mind,
well occupied, will be quiet.

'The usurpation of the nobility, for they apparently usurp all the
influence they gain by fraud and misrepresentation, I think it certainly
lawful, perhaps your duty, to resist. What is not their own they have
only by robbery.

'Your question about the horses gives me more perplexity. I know not
well what advice to give you. I can only recommend a rule which you do
not want;--give as little pain as you can. I suppose that we have a
right to their service while their strength lasts; what we can do with
them afterwards I cannot so easily determine. But let us consider.
Nobody denies that man has a right first to milk the cow, and to sheer
the sheep, and then to kill them for his table. May he not, by parity of
reason, first work a horse, and then kill him the easiest way, that he
may have the means of another horse, or food for cows and sheep? Man is
influenced in both cases by different motives of self-interest. He that
rejects the one must reject the other.

'I am, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Dec. 24, 1783.'

'A happy and pious Christmas; and many happy years to you, your lady,
and children.'

The late ingenious Mr. Mickle[781], some time before his death, wrote me
a letter concerning Dr. Johnson, in which he mentions,--

'I was upwards of twelve years acquainted with him, was frequently in
his company, always talked with ease to him, and can truly say, that I
never received from him one rough word.'

In this letter he relates his having, while engaged in translating the
_Lusiad_, had a dispute of considerable length with Johnson, who, as
usual, declaimed upon the misery and corruption of a sea life, and used
this expression:--'It had been happy for the world, Sir, if your hero
Gama, Prince Henry of Portugal, and Columbus, had never been born, or
that their schemes had never gone farther than their own imaginations.'

'This sentiment, (says Mr. Mickle,) which is to be found in his
_Introduction to the World displayed_[782], I, in my Dissertation
prefixed to the _Lusiad_, have controverted; and though authours are
said to be bad judges of their own works[783], I am not ashamed to own
to a friend, that that dissertation is my favourite above all that I
ever attempted in prose. Next year, when the Lusiad was published, I
waited on Dr. Johnson, who addressed me with one of his good-humoured
smiles:--"Well, you have remembered our dispute about Prince Henry, and
have cited me too. You have done your part very well indeed: you have
made the best of your argument; but I am not convinced yet."

'Before publishing the _Lusiad_, I sent Mr. Hoole a proof of that part
of the introduction, in which I make mention of Dr. Johnson, yourself,
and other well-wishers to the work, begging it might be shewn to Dr.
Johnson. This was accordingly done; and in place of the simple mention
of him which I had made, he dictated to Mr. Hoole the sentence as it now
stands[784].

'Dr. Johnson told me in 1772, that, about twenty years before that time,
he himself had a design to translate the _Lusiad_, of the merit of which
he spoke highly, but had been prevented by a number of other
engagements.'

Mr. Mickle reminds me in this letter of a conversation, at dinner one
day at Mr. Hoole's with Dr. Johnson, when Mr. Nicol the King's
bookseller and I attempted to controvert the maxim, 'better that ten
guilty should escape, than one innocent person suffer;' and were
answered by Dr. Johnson with great power of reasoning and eloquence. I
am very sorry that I have no record of that day[785]: but I well
recollect my illustrious friend's having ably shewn, that unless civil
institutions insure protection to the innocent, all the confidence which
mankind should have in them would be lost.

I shall here mention what, in strict chronological arrangement, should
have appeared in my account of last year; but may more properly be
introduced here, the controversy having not been closed till this. The
Reverend Mr. Shaw[786], a native of one of the Hebrides, having
entertained doubts of the authenticity of the poems ascribed to Ossian,
divested himself of national bigotry; and having travelled in the
Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and also in Ireland, in order to
furnish himself with materials for a _Gaelick Dictionary_, which he
afterwards compiled[787], was so fully satisfied that Dr. Johnson was in
the right upon the question, that he candidly published a pamphlet,
stating his conviction and the proofs and reasons on which it was
founded. A person at Edinburgh, of the name of Clark, answered this
pamphlet with much zeal, and much abuse of its authour. Johnson took Mr.
Shaw under his protection, and gave him his assistance in writing a
reply, which has been admired by the best judges, and by many been
considered as conclusive. A few paragraphs, which sufficiently mark
their great Authour, shall be selected:--

'My assertions are, for the most part, purely negative: I deny the
existence of Fingal, because in a long and curious peregrination through
the Gaelick regions I have never been able to find it. What I could not
see myself I suspect to be equally invisible to others; and I suspect
with the more reason, as among all those who have seen it no man
can shew it.

'Mr. Clark compares the obstinacy of those who disbelieve the
genuineness of Ossian to a blind man, who should dispute the reality of
colours, and deny that the British troops are cloathed in red. The blind
man's doubt would be rational, if he did not know by experience that
others have a power which he himself wants: but what perspicacity has
Mr. Clark which Nature has withheld from me or the rest of mankind?

'The true state of the parallel must be this. Suppose a man, with eyes
like his neighbours, was told by a boasting corporal, that the troops,
indeed, wore red clothes for their ordinary dress, but that every
soldier had likewise a suit of black velvet, which he put on when the
King reviews them. This he thinks strange, and desires to see the fine
clothes, but finds nobody in forty thousand men that can produce either
coat or waistcoat. One, indeed, has left them in his chest at Port
Mahon; another has always heard that he ought to have velvet clothes
somewhere; and a third has heard somebody say, that soldiers ought to
wear velvet. Can the enquirer be blamed if he goes away believing that a
soldier's red coat is all that he has?

'But the most obdurate incredulity may be shamed or silenced by acts. To
overpower contradictions, let the soldier shew his velvet-coat, and the
Fingalist the original of Ossian[788].

'The difference between us and the blind man is this:--the blind man is
unconvinced, because he cannot see; and we, because though we can see,
we find that nothing can be shown.'

Notwithstanding the complication of disorders under which Johnson now
laboured, he did not resign himself to despondency and discontent, but
with wisdom and spirit endeavoured to console and amuse his mind with as
many innocent enjoyments as he could procure. Sir John Hawkins has
mentioned the cordiality with which he insisted that such of the members
of the old club in Ivy-lane[789] as survived, should meet again and dine
together, which they did, twice at a tavern and once at his house[790]:
and in order to insure himself society in the evening for three days in
the week[791], he instituted a club at the Essex Head, in Essex-street,
then kept by Samuel Greaves, an old servant of Mr. Thrale's.

'To SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

'DEAR SIR,

'It is inconvenient to me to come out, I should else have waited on you
with an account of a little evening Club which we are establishing in
Essex-street, in the Strand, and of which you are desired to be one. It
will be held at the Essex Head, now kept by an old servant of Thrale's.
The company is numerous, and, as you will see by the list,
miscellaneous. The terms are lax, and the expences light. Mr. Barry was
adopted by Dr. Brocklesby, who joined with me in forming the plan. We
meet thrice a week, and he who misses forfeits two-pence[792].

'If you are willing to become a member, draw a line under your name.
Return the list. We meet for the first time on Monday at eight.'

'I am, &c.
'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Dec. 4, 1783.'

It did not suit Sir Joshua to be one of this Club. But when I mention
only Mr. Daines Barrington, Dr. Brocklesby, Mr. Murphy, Mr. John
Nichols, Mr. Cooke, Mr. Joddrel, Mr. Paradise, Dr. Horsley, Mr.
Windham[793], I shall sufficiently obviate the misrepresentation of it
by Sir John Hawkins, as if it had been a low ale-house association, by
which Johnson was degraded[794]. Johnson himself, like his namesake Old
Ben[795], composed the Rules of his Club[796].

In the end of this year he was seized with a spasmodick asthma of such
violence, that he was confined to the house in great pain, being
sometimes obliged to sit all night in his chair, a recumbent posture
being so hurtful to his respiration, that he could not endure lying in
bed; and there came upon him at the same time that oppressive and fatal
disease, a dropsy. It was a very severe winter, which probably
aggravated his complaints; and the solitude in which Mr. Levett and Mrs.
Williams had left him, rendered his life very gloomy. Mrs.
Desmoulins[797], who still lived, was herself so very ill, that she
could contribute very little to his relief[798]. He, however, had none
of that unsocial shyness which we commonly see in people afflicted with
sickness. He did not hide his head from the world, in solitary
abstraction; he did not deny himself to the visits of his friends and
acquaintances; but at all times, when he was not overcome by sleep, was
ready for conversation as in his best days[799].

'To MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

'DEAR MADAM,

'You may perhaps think me negligent that I have not written to you
again[800] upon the loss of your brother; but condolences and
consolations are such common and such useless things, that the omission
of them is no great crime: and my own diseases occupy my mind, and
engage my care. My nights are miserably restless, and my days,
therefore, are heavy. I try, however, to hold up my head as high as
I can[801].

'I am sorry that your health is impaired; perhaps the spring and the
summer may, in some degree, restore it: but if not, we must submit to
the inconveniences of time, as to the other dispensations of Eternal
Goodness. Pray for me, and write to me, or let Mr. Pearson write
for you.

'I am, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, Nov. 29, 1783.'

1784: Aetat. 75.--And now I am arrived at the last year of the life of
SAMUEL JOHNSON, a year in which, although passed in severe
indisposition, he nevertheless gave many evidences of the continuance of
those wondrous powers of mind, which raised him so high in the
intellectual world. His conversation and his letters of this year were
in no respect inferiour to those of former years.

The following is a remarkable proof of his being alive to the most
minute curiosities of literature.

'To MR. DILLY, BOOKSELLER, IN THE POULTRY.

'SIR,

'There is in the world a set of books which used to be sold by the
booksellers on the bridge[802], and which I must entreat you to procure
me. They are called _Burton's Books_[803]; the title of one is
_Admirable Curiosities, Rarities, and Wonders in England_. I believe
there are about five or six of them; they seem very proper to allure
backward readers; be so kind as to get them for me, and send me them
with the best printed edition of _Baxter's Call to the Unconverted_.

'I am, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Jan. 6, 1784.'

'To MR. PERKINS.

'DEAR SIR,

'I was very sorry not to see you when you were so kind as to call on me;
but to disappoint friends, and if they are not very good natured, to
disoblige them, is one of the evils of sickness. If you will please to
let me know which of the afternoons in this week I shall be favoured
with another visit by you and Mrs. Perkins, and the young people, I will
take all the measures that I can to be pretty well at that time[804].

'I am, dear Sir,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Jan. 21, 1784.'

His attention to the Essex-Head Club appears from the following letter
to Mr. Alderman Clark, a gentleman for whom he deservedly entertained a
great regard.

'To RICHARD CLARK, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'You will receive a requisition, according to the rules of the Club, to
be at the house as President of the night. This turn comes once a month,
and the member is obliged to attend, or send another in his place. You
were enrolled in the Club by my invitation, and I ought to introduce
you; but as I am hindered by sickness, Mr. Hoole will very properly
supply my place as introductor, or yours as President. I hope in milder
weather to be a very constant attendant.

'I am, Sir, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Jan. 27, 1784.'

'You ought to be informed that the forfeits began with the year, and
that every night of non-attendance incurs the mulct of three-pence, that
is, nine pence a week.'

On the 8th of January I wrote to him, anxiously inquiring as to his
health, and enclosing my _Letter to the People of Scotland, on the
present state of the nation_[805].

'I trust, (said I,) that you will be liberal enough to make allowance
for my differing from you on two points, (the Middlesex Election, and
the American War[806]) when my general principles of government are
according to your own heart, and when, at a crisis of doubtful event, I
stand forth with honest zeal as an ancient and faithful Briton. My
reason for introducing those two points was, that as my opinions with
regard to them had been declared at the periods when they were least
favourable, I might have the credit of a man who is not a worshipper of
ministerial power.'

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'I hear of many enquiries which your kindness has disposed you to make
after me[807]. I have long intended you a long letter, which perhaps the
imagination of its length hindered me from beginning. I will, therefore,
content myself with a shorter.

'Having promoted the institution of a new Club in the neighbourhood, at
the house of an old servant of Thrale's, I went thither to meet the
company, and was seized with a spasmodick asthma so violent, that with
difficulty I got to my own house, in which I have been confined eight or
nine weeks, and from which I know not when I shall be able to go even to
church. The asthma, however, is not the worst. A dropsy gains ground
upon me; my legs and thighs are very much swollen with water, which I
should be content if I could keep there, but I am afraid that it will
soon be higher. My nights are very sleepless and very tedious. And yet I
am extremely afraid of dying.

'My physicians try to make me hope, that much of my malady is the effect
of cold, and that some degree at least of recovery is to be expected
from vernal breezes and summer suns[808]. If my life is prolonged to
autumn, I should be glad to try a warmer climate; though how to travel
with a diseased body, without a companion to conduct me, and with very
little money, I do not well see. Ramsay has recovered his limbs in
Italy[809]; and Fielding was sent to Lisbon, where, indeed, he died; but
he was, I believe, past hope when he went. Think for me what I can do.

'I received your pamphlet, and when I write again may perhaps tell you
some opinion about it; but you will forgive a man struggling with
disease his neglect of disputes, politicks, and pamphlets[810]. Let me
have your prayers. My compliments to your lady, and young ones. Ask
your physicians about my case: and desire Sir Alexander Dick[811] to
write me his opinion.

'I am, dear Sir, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Feb. 11, 1784.'

'TO MRS. LUCY PORTER, IN LICHFIELD.

'MY DEAREST LOVE,

'I have been extremely ill of an asthma and dropsy, but received, by the
mercy of GOD, sudden and unexpected relief last Thursday, by the
discharge of twenty pints of water[812]. Whether I shall continue free,
or shall fill again, cannot be told. Pray for me.

'Death, my dear, is very dreadful; let us think nothing worth our care
but how to prepare for it: what we know amiss in ourselves let us make
haste to amend, and put our trust in the mercy of GOD, and the
intercession of our Saviour. I am, dear Madam,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Feb. 23, 1784.'

TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'I have just advanced so far towards recovery as to read a pamphlet; and
you may reasonably suppose that the first pamphlet which I read was
yours. I am very much of your opinion, and, like you, feel great
indignation at the indecency with which the King is every day treated.
Your paper contains very considerable knowledge of history and of the
constitution, very properly produced and applied. It will certainly
raise your character[813], though perhaps it may not make you a
Minister of State.

'I desire you to see Mrs. Stewart once again, and tell her, that in the
letter-case was a letter relating to me, for which I will give her, if
she is willing to give it me, another guinea[814]. The letter is of
consequence only to me.

'I am, dear Sir, &c. 'SAM. JOHNSON.' 'London, Feb. 27, 1784.'

In consequence of Johnson's request that I should ask our physicians
about his case, and desire Sir Alexander Dick to send his opinion, I
transmitted him a letter from that very amiable Baronet, then in his
eighty-first year, with his faculties as entire as ever; and mentioned
his expressions to me in the note accompanying it: 'With my most
affectionate wishes for Dr. Johnson's recovery, in which his friends,
his country, and all mankind have so deep a stake:' and at the same time
a full opinion upon his case by Dr. Gillespie, who, like Dr. Cullen, had
the advantage of having passed through the gradations of surgery and
pharmacy, and by study and practice had attained to such skill, that my
father settled on him two hundred pounds a year for five years, and
fifty pounds a year during his life, as an _honorarium_ to secure his
particular attendance. The opinion was conveyed in a letter to me,
beginning, 'I am sincerely sorry for the bad state of health your very
learned and illustrious friend, Dr. Johnson, labours under at present.'

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ. 'DEAR SIR,

'Presently after I had sent away my last letter, I received your kind
medical packet. I am very much obliged both to you and your physicians
for your kind attention to my disease. Dr. Gillespie has sent me an
excellent _consilium medicum_, all solid practical experimental
knowledge. I am at present, in the opinion of my physicians, (Dr.
Heberden and Dr. Brocklesby,) as well as my own, going on very
hopefully. I have just begun to take vinegar of squills. The powder hurt
my stomach so much, that it could not be continued.

'Return Sir Alexander Dick my sincere thanks for his kind letter; and
bring with you the rhubarb[815] which he so tenderly offers me.

'I hope dear Mrs. Boswell is now quite well, and that no evil, either
real or imaginary, now disturbs you.

'I am, &c.

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, March 2, 1784.'

I also applied to three of the eminent physicians who had chairs in our
celebrated school of medicine at Edinburgh, Doctors Cullen, Hope, and
Monro, to each of whom I sent the following letter:--

'DEAR SIR,

'Dr. Johnson has been very ill for some time; and in a letter of anxious
apprehension he writes to me, "Ask your physicians about my case."

'This, you see, is not authority for a regular consultation: but I have
no doubt of your readiness to give your advice to a man so eminent, and
who, in his _Life of Garth_, has paid your profession a just and elegant
compliment: "I believe every man has found in physicians great
liberality and dignity of sentiment, very prompt effusions[816] of
beneficence, and willingness to exert a lucrative art, where there is no
hope of lucre."

'Dr. Johnson is aged seventy-four. Last summer he had a stroke of the
palsy, from which he recovered almost entirely. He had, before that,
been troubled with a catarrhous cough. This winter he was seized with a
spasmodick asthma, by which he has been confined to his house for about
three months. Dr. Brocklesby writes to me, that upon the least admission
of cold, there is such a constriction upon his breast, that he cannot
lie down in his bed, but is obliged to sit up all night, and gets rest
and sometimes sleep, only by means of laudanum and syrup of poppies; and
that there are oedematous tumours on his legs and thighs. Dr. Brocklesby
trusts a good deal to the return of mild weather. Dr. Johnson says, that
a dropsy gains ground upon him; and he seems to think that a warmer
climate would do him good. I understand he is now rather better, and is
using vinegar of squills. I am, with great esteem, dear Sir,

'Your most obedient humble servant,

'JAMES BOSWELL.'

'March 7, 1784.'

All of them paid the most polite attention to my letter, and its
venerable object. Dr. Cullen's words concerning him were, 'It would give
me the greatest pleasure to be of any service to a man whom the publick
properly esteem, and whom I esteem and respect as much as I do Dr.
Johnson.' Dr. Hope's, 'Few people have a better claim on me than your
friend, as hardly a day passes that I do not ask his opinion about this
or that word.' Dr. Monro's, 'I most sincerely join you in sympathizing
with that very worthy and ingenious character, from whom his country has
derived much instruction and entertainment.'

Dr. Hope corresponded with his friend Dr. Brocklesby. Doctors Cullen and
Monro wrote their opinions and prescriptions to me, which I afterwards
carried with me to London, and, so far as they were encouraging,
communicated to Johnson. The liberality on one hand, and grateful sense
of it on the other, I have great satisfaction in recording.

'TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'I am too much pleased with the attention which you and your dear
lady[817] show to my welfare, not to be diligent in letting you know the
progress which I make towards health. The dropsy, by GOD'S blessing, has
now run almost totally away by natural evacuation; and the asthma, if
not irritated by cold, gives me little trouble. While I am writing this,
I have not any sensation of debility or disease. But I do not yet
venture out, having been confined to the house from the thirteenth of
December, now a quarter of a year.

'When it will be fit for me to travel as far as Auchinleck, I am not
able to guess; but such a letter as Mrs. Boswell's might draw any man,
not wholly motionless, a great way. Pray tell the dear lady how much her
civility and kindness have touched and gratified me.

'Our parliamentary tumults have now begun to subside, and the King's
authority is in some measure re-established[818]. Mr. Pitt will have
great power: but you must remember, that what he has to give must, at
least for some time, be given to those who gave, and those who preserve,
his power. A new minister can sacrifice little to esteem or friendship;
he must, till he is settled, think only of extending his interest.

* * * * *

'If you come hither through Edinburgh, send for Mrs. Stewart, and give
from me another guinea for the letter in the old case, to which I shall
not be satisfied with my claim, till she gives it me.

'Please to bring with you Baxter's _Anacreon_[819]; and if you procure
heads of _Hector Boece_[820], the historian, and _Arthur Johnston_[821],
the poet, I will put them in my room[822]; or any other of the fathers
of Scottish literature.

'I wish you an easy and happy journey, and hope I need not tell you that
you will be welcome to, dear Sir,

'Your most affectionate, humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, March 18, 1784.'

I wrote to him, March 28, from York, informing him that I had a high
gratification in the triumph of monarchical principles over
aristocratical influence, in that great country, in an address to the
King[823]; that I was thus far on my way to him, but that news of the
dissolution of Parliament having arrived, I was to hasten back to my own
county, where I had carried an Address to his Majesty by a great
majority, and had some intention of being a candidate to represent the
county in Parliament.

'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

'DEAR SIR,

'You could do nothing so proper as to haste back when you found the
Parliament dissolved. With the influence which your Address must have
gained you, it may reasonably be expected that your presence will be of
importance, and your activity of effect.

'Your solicitude for me gives me that pleasure which every man feels
from the kindness of such a friend: and it is with delight I relieve it
by telling, that Dr. Brocklesby's account is true, and that I am, by the
blessing of GOD, wonderfully relieved.

'You are entering upon a transaction which requires much prudence. You
must endeavour to oppose without exasperating; to practise temporary
hostility, without producing enemies for life. This is, perhaps, hard to
be done; yet it has been done by many, and seems most likely to be
effected by opposing merely upon general principles, without descending
to personal or particular censures or objections. One thing I must
enjoin you, which is seldom observed in the conduct of elections;--I
must entreat you to be scrupulous in the use of strong liquors. One
night's drunkenness may defeat the labours of forty days well employed.
Be firm, but not clamorous; be active, but not malicious; and you may
form such an interest, as may not only exalt yourself, but dignify
your family.

'We are, as you may suppose, all busy here. Mr. Fox resolutely stands
for Westminster, and his friends say will carry the election[824].
However that be, he will certainly have a seat[825]. Mr. Hoole has just
told me, that the city leans towards the King.

'Let me hear, from time to time, how you are employed, and what progress
you make.

'Make dear Mrs. Boswell, and all the young Boswells, the sincere
compliments of, Sir, your affectionate humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'London, March 30, 1784.'

To Mr. Langton he wrote with that cordiality which was suitable to the
long friendship which had subsisted between him and that
gentleman[826].

March 27. 'Since you left me, I have continued in my own opinion, and in
Dr, Brocklesby's, to grow better with respect to all my formidable and
dangerous distempers: though to a body battered and shaken as mine has
lately been, it is to be feared that weak attacks may be sometimes
mischievous. I have, indeed, by standing carelessly at an open window,
got a very troublesome cough, which it has been necessary to appease by
opium, in larger quantities than I like to take, and I have not found it
give way so readily as I expected; its obstinacy, however, seems at last
disposed to submit to the remedy, and I know not whether I should then
have a right to complain of any morbid sensation. My asthma is, I am
afraid, constitutional and incurable; but it is only occasional, and
unless it be excited by labour or by cold, gives me no molestation, nor
does it lay very close siege to life; for Sir John Floyer[827], whom the
physical race consider as authour of one of the best books upon it,
panted on to ninety, as was supposed; and why were we content with
supposing a fact so interesting, of a man so conspicuous? because he
corrupted, at perhaps seventy or eighty, the register, that he might
pass for younger than he was. He was not much less than eighty, when to
a man of rank who modestly asked his age, he answered, "Go look;" though
he was in general a man of civility and elegance.

'The ladies, I find, are at your house all well, except Miss Langton,
who will probably soon recover her health by light suppers. Let her eat
at dinner as she will, but not take a full stomach to bed. Pay my
sincere respects to dear Miss Langton in Lincolnshire, let her know that
I mean not to break our league of friendship, and that I have a set of
_Lives_ for her, when I have the means of sending it.'

April 8. 'I am still disturbed by my cough; but what thanks have I not
to pay, when my cough is the most painful sensation that I feel? and
from that I expect hardly to be released, while winter continues to
gripe us with so much pertinacity. The year has now advanced eighteen
days beyond the equinox, and still there is very little remission of the
cold. When warm weather comes, which surely must come at last, I hope it
will help both me and your young lady.

'The man so busy about addresses is neither more nor less than our own
Boswell, who had come as far as York towards London, but turned back on
the dissolution, and is said now to stand for some place. Whether to
wish him success, his best friends hesitate.

'Let me have your prayers for the completion of my recovery: I am now
better than I ever expected to have been. May GOD add to his mercies
the grace that may enable me to use them according to his will. My
compliments to all.'

April 13. 'I had this evening a note from Lord Portmore[828], desiring
that I would give you an account of my health. You might have had it
with less circumduction. I am, by GOD'S blessing, I believe, free from
all morbid sensations, except a cough, which is only troublesome. But I
am still weak, and can have no great hope of strength till the weather
shall be softer. The summer, if it be kindly, will, I hope, enable me to
support the winter. GOD, who has so wonderfully restored me, can
preserve me in all seasons.

'Let me enquire in my turn after the state of your family, great and
little. I hope Lady Rothes and Miss Langton are both well. That is a
good basis of content. Then how goes George on with his studies? How
does Miss Mary? And how does my own Jenny? I think I owe Jenny a letter,
which I will take care to pay. In the mean time tell her that I
acknowledge the debt.

'Be pleased to make my compliments to the ladies. If Mrs. Langton comes
to London, she will favour me with a visit, for I am not well enough
to go out.'

'To OZIAS HUMPHRY[829], ESQ.

'SIR,

'Mr. Hoole has told me with what benevolence you listened to a request
which I was almost afraid to make, of leave to a young painter[830] to
attend you from time to time in your painting-room, to see your
operations, and receive your instructions[831].

'The young man has perhaps good parts, but has been without a regular
education. He is my god-son, and therefore I interest myself in his
progress and success, and shall think myself much favoured if I receive
from you a permission to send him.

'My health is, by GOD'S blessing, much restored, but I am not yet
allowed by my physicians to go abroad; nor, indeed, do I think myself
yet able to endure the weather.

'I am, Sir,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'April 5, 1784.'

To THE SAME.

'SIR,

'The bearer is my god-son, whom I take the liberty of recommending to
your kindness; which I hope he will deserve by his respect to your
excellence, and his gratitude for your favours.

'I am, Sir,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'April 10, 1784.'

To THE SAME.

'SIR,

'I am very much obliged by your civilities to my god-son, but must beg
of you to add to them the favour of permitting him to see you paint,
that he may know how a picture is begun, advanced and completed.

'If he may attend you in a few of your operations, I hope he will shew
that the benefit has been properly conferred, both by his proficiency
and his gratitude. At least I shall consider you as enlarging your
kindness to, Sir,

'Your humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'May 31, 1784.'

'To THE REVEREND DR. TAYLOR, ASHBOURNE, DERBYSHIRE.

'DEAR SIR,

'What can be the reason that I hear nothing from you? I hope nothing
disables you from writing. What I have seen, and what I have felt, gives
me reason to fear every thing. Do not omit giving me the comfort of
knowing, that after all my losses I have yet a friend left.

'I want every comfort. My life is very solitary and very cheerless.
Though it has pleased GOD wonderfully to deliver me from the dropsy, I
am yet very weak, and have not passed the door since the 13th of
December[832]. I hope for some help from warm weather, which will surely
come in time.

'I could not have the consent of the physicians to go to church
yesterday; I therefore received the holy sacrament at home, in the room
where I communicated with dear Mrs. Williams, a little before her death.
O! my friend, the approach of death is very dreadful. I am afraid to
think on that which I know I cannot avoid. It is vain to look round and
round for that help which cannot be had. Yet we hope and hope, and fancy
that he who has lived to-day may live to-morrow. But let us learn to
derive our hope only from GOD.

'In the mean time, let us be kind to one another. I have no friend now
living but you and Mr. Hector, that was the friend of my youth. Do not
neglect, dear Sir,

'Yours affectionately,

'SAM. JOHNSON[833].'

'London, Easter-Monday,

April 12, 1784.'

What follows is a beautiful specimen of his gentleness and complacency
to a young lady his god-child, one of the daughters of his friend Mr.
Langton, then I think in her seventh year. He took the trouble to write
it in a large round hand, nearly resembling printed characters, that she
might have the satisfaction of reading it herself. The original lies
before me, but shall be faithfully restored to her; and I dare say will
be preserved by her as a jewel as long as she lives[834].

'To Miss JANE LANGTON, IN ROCHESTER, KENT.

'MY DEAREST MISS JENNY,

'I am sorry that your pretty letter has been so long without being
answered; but, when I am not pretty well, I do not always write plain
enough for young ladies. I am glad, my dear, to see that you write so
well, and hope that you mind your pen, your book, and your needle, for
they are all necessary. Your books will give you knowledge, and make you
respected; and your needle will find you useful employment when you do
not care to read. When you are a little older, I hope you will be very
diligent in learning arithmetick[835], and, above all, that through your
whole life you will carefully say your prayers, and read your Bible.

'I am, my dear,

'Your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'May 10, 1784.'

On Wednesday, May 5, I arrived in London, and next morning had the
pleasure to find Dr. Johnson greatly recovered. I but just saw him; for
a coach was waiting to carry him to Islington, to the house of his
friend the Reverend Mr. Strahan, where he went sometimes for the benefit
of good air, which, notwithstanding his having formerly laughed at the
general opinion upon the subject, he now acknowledged was conducive
to health.

One morning afterwards, when I found him alone, he communicated to me,
with solemn earnestness, a very remarkable circumstance which had
happened in the course of his illness, when he was much distressed by
the dropsy. He had shut himself up, and employed a day in particular
exercises of religion,--fasting, humiliation, and prayer. On a sudden he
obtained extraordinary relief, for which he looked up to Heaven with
grateful devotion. He made no direct inference from this fact; but from
his manner of telling it, I could perceive that it appeared to him as
something more than an incident in the common course of events[836]. For
my own part, I have no difficulty to avow that cast of thinking, which
by many modern pretenders to wisdom is called _superstitious_. But here
I think even men of dry rationality may believe, that there was an
intermediate[837] interposition of Divine Providence, and that 'the
fervent prayer of this righteous man[838]' availed[839].

On Sunday, May 9, I found Colonel Valiancy, the celebrated antiquarian
and Engineer of Ireland, with him. On Monday, the 10th, I dined with him
at Mr. Paradise's, where was a large company; Mr. Bryant, Mr. Joddrel,
Mr. Hawkins Browne, &c. On Thursday, the 13th, I dined with him at Mr.
Joddrel's, with another large company; the Bishop of Exeter, Lord
Monboddo[840], Mr. Murphy, &c.

On Saturday, May 15[841], I dined with him at Dr. Brocklesby's, where
were Colonel Vallancy, Mr. Murphy, and that ever-cheerful companion Mr.
Devaynes, apothecary to his Majesty. Of these days, and others on which
I saw him, I have no memorials, except the general recollection of his
being able and animated in conversation, and appearing to relish society
as much as the youngest man. I find only these three small
particulars:--When a person was mentioned, who said, 'I have lived
fifty-one years in this world without having had ten minutes of
uneasiness;' he exclaimed, 'The man who says so, lies: he attempts to
impose on human credulity.' The Bishop of Exeter in vain observed, that
men were very different. His Lordship's manner was not impressive, and
I learnt afterwards that Johnson did not find out that the person who
talked to him was a Prelate; if he had, I doubt not that he would have
treated him with more respect; for once talking of George
Psalmanazar[842], whom he reverenced for his piety, he said, 'I should
as soon think of contradicting a BISHOP[843].' One of the company[844]
provoked him greatly by doing what he could least of all bear, which was
quoting something of his own writing, against what he then maintained.
'What, Sir, (cried the gentleman,) do you say to

"The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by[845]?"'--

Johnson finding himself thus presented as giving an instance of a man
who had lived without uneasiness, was much offended, for he looked upon
such a quotation as unfair. His anger burst out in an unjustifiable
retort, insinuating that the gentleman's remark was a sally of ebriety;
'Sir, there is one passion I would advise you to command: when you have
drunk out that glass, don't drink another[846].' Here was exemplified
what Goldsmith said of him, with the aid of a very witty image from one
of Cibber's Comedies: 'There is no arguing with Johnson; for if his
pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it[847].'
Another was this: when a gentleman[848] of eminence in the literary
world was violently censured for attacking people by anonymous
paragraphs in newspapers; he, from the spirit of contradiction as I
thought, took up his defence, and said, 'Come, come, this is not so
terrible a crime; he means only to vex them a little. I do not say that
I should do it; but there is a great difference between him and me; what
is fit for Hephaestion is not fit for Alexander.' Another, when I told
him that a young and handsome Countess had said to me, 'I should think
that to be praised by Dr. Johnson would make one a fool all one's life;'
and that I answered, 'Madam, I shall make him a fool to-day, by
repeating this to him,' he said, 'I am too old to be made a fool; but if
you say I am made a fool, I shall not deny it. I am much pleased with a
compliment, especially from a pretty woman.'

On the evening of Saturday, May 15, he was in fine spirits, at our
Essex-Head Club. He told us, 'I dined yesterday at Mrs. Garrick's, with
Mrs. Carter[849], Miss Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney. Three such
women are not to be found: I know not where I could find a fourth,
except Mrs. Lennox, who is superiour to them all[850].' BOSWELL. 'What!
had you them all to yourself, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'I had them all as much as
they were had; but it might have been better had there been more company
there.' BOSWELL. 'Might not Mrs. Montagu have been a fourth?' JOHNSON.
'Sir, Mrs. Montagu does not make a trade of her wit; but Mrs. Montagu is
a very extraordinary woman; she has a constant stream of conversation,
and it is always impregnated; it has always meaning[851].' BOSWELL. 'Mr.
Burke has a constant stream of conversation.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; if a
man were to go by chance at the same time with Burke under a shed, to
shun a shower, he would say--"this is an extraordinary man." If Burke
should go into a stable to see his horse drest, the ostler would
say--we have had an extraordinary man here[852].' BOSWELL. 'Foote was a
man who never failed in conversation. If he had gone into a stable--'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, if he had gone into a stable, the ostler would have said,
here has been a comical fellow; but he would not have respected him.'
BOSWELL. 'And, Sir, the ostler would have answered him, would have given
him as good as he brought, as the common saying is.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
and Foote would have answered the ostler.--When Burke does not descend
to be merry, his conversation is very superiour indeed. There is no
proportion between the powers which he shews in serious talk and in
jocularity. When he lets himself down to that, he is in the
kennel[853].' I have in another place[854] opposed, and I hope with
success, Dr. Johnson's very singular and erroneous notion as to Mr.
Burke's pleasantry. Mr. Windham now said low to me, that he differed
from our great friend in this observation; for that Mr. Burke was often
very happy in his merriment. It would not have been right for either of
us to have contradicted Johnson at this time, in a Society all of whom
did not know and value Mr. Burke as much as we did. It might have
occasioned something more rough, and at any rate would probably have
checked the flow of Johnson's good-humour. He called to us with a sudden
air of exultation, as the thought started into his mind, 'O! Gentlemen,
I must tell you a very great thing. The Empress of Russia has ordered
the _Rambler_ to be translated into the Russian language[855]: so I
shall be read on the banks of the Wolga. Horace boasts that his fame
would extend as far as the banks of the Rhone[856]; now the Wolga is
farther from me than the Rhone was from Horace.' BOSWELL. 'You must
certainly be pleased with this, Sir.' JOHNSON. 'I am pleased Sir, to be
sure. A man is pleased to find he has succeeded in that which he has
endeavoured to do.'

One of the company mentioned his having seen a noble person driving in
his carriage, and looking exceedingly well, notwithstanding his great
age. JOHNSON. 'Ah, Sir; that is nothing. Bacon observes, that a stout
healthy old man is like a tower undermined.'

On Sunday, May 16, I found him alone; he talked of Mrs. Thrale with much
concern, saying, 'Sir, she has done every thing wrong, since Thrale's
bridle was off her neck;' and was proceeding to mention some
circumstances which have since been the subject of publick
discussion[857], when he was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Douglas,
now Bishop of Salisbury.

Dr. Douglas, upon this occasion, refuted a mistaken notion which is very
common in Scotland, that the ecclesiastical discipline of the Church of
England, though duly enforced, is insufficient to preserve the morals of
the clergy, inasmuch as all delinquents may be screened by appealing to
the Convocation, which being never authorized by the King to sit for
the dispatch of business, the appeal never can be heard. Dr. Douglas
observed, that this was founded upon ignorance; for that the Bishops
have sufficient power to maintain discipline, and that the sitting of
the Convocation was wholly immaterial in this respect, it being not a
Court of judicature, but like a parliament, to make Canons and
regulations as times may require.

Johnson, talking of the fear of death, said, 'Some people are not
afraid, because they look upon salvation as the effect of an absolute
decree, and think they feel in themselves the marks of sanctification.
Others, and those the most rational in my opinion, look upon salvation
as conditional; and as they never can be sure that they have complied
with the conditions, they are afraid[858].'

In one of his little manuscript diaries, about this time, I find a short
notice, which marks his amiable disposition more certainly than a
thousand studied declarations.--'Afternoon spent cheerfully and
elegantly, I hope without offence to GOD or man; though in no holy duty,
yet in the general exercise and cultivation of benevolence.'

On Monday, May 17, I dined with him at Mr. Dilly's, where were Colonel
Valiancy, the Reverend Dr. Gibbons[859], and Mr. Capel Lofft, who,
though a most zealous Whig, has a mind so full of learning and
knowledge, and so much exercised in various departments, and withal so
much liberality, that the stupendous powers of the literary Goliath,
though they did not frighten this little David of popular spirit, could
not but excite his admiration[860]. There was also Mr. Braithwaite of
the Post-office, that amiable and friendly man, who, with modest and
unassuming manners, has associated with many of the wits of the age.
Johnson was very quiescent to-day. Perhaps too I was indolent. I find
nothing more of him in my notes, but that when I mentioned that I had
seen in the King's library sixty-three editions of my favourite _Thomas
a Kempis_, amongst which it was in eight languages, Latin, German,
French, Italian, Spanish, English, Arabick, and Armenian, he said, he
thought it unnecessary to collect many editions of a book, which were
all the same, except as to the paper and print; he would have the
original, and all the translations, and all the editions which had any
variations in the text. He approved of the famous collection of editions
of _Horace_ by Douglas, mentioned by Pope[861], who is said to have had
a closet filled with them; and he added, 'every man should try to
collect one book in that manner, and present it to a publick library.'

On Tuesday, May 18, I saw him for a short time in the morning. I told
him that the mob had called out, as the King passed[862], 'No Fox--No
Fox,' which I did not like. He said, 'They were right, Sir.' I said, I
thought not; for it seemed to be making Mr. Fox the King's
competitor[863]. There being no audience, so that there could be no
triumph in a victory, he fairly agreed with me[864]. I said it might do
very well, if explained thus:--'Let us have no Fox;' understanding it as
a prayer to his Majesty not to appoint that gentleman minister.

On Wednesday, May 19, I sat a part of the evening with him, by
ourselves. I observed, that the death of our friends might be a
consolation against the fear of our own dissolution, because we might
have more friends in the other world than in this. He perhaps felt this
as a reflection upon his apprehension as to death; and said, with heat,
'How can a man know _where_ his departed friends are, or whether they
will be his friends in the other world[865]? How many friendships have
you known formed upon principles of virtue? Most friendships are formed
by caprice or by chance, mere confederacies in vice or leagues
in folly.'

We talked of our worthy friend Mr. Langton. He said, 'I know not who
will go to Heaven if Langton does not. Sir, I could almost say, _Sit
anima mea cum Langtono_' I mentioned a very eminent friend[866] a
virtuous man. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; but ---- has not the evangelical
virtue of Langton. ----, I am afraid, would not scruple to pick up
a wench.'

He however charged Mr. Langton with what he thought want of judgement
upon an interesting occasion. 'When I was ill, (said he) I desired he
would tell me sincerely in what he thought my life was faulty. Sir, he
brought me a sheet of paper, on which he had written down several texts
of Scripture, recommending christian charity. And when I questioned him
what occasion I had given for such an animadversion, all that he could
say amounted to this,--that I sometimes contradicted people in
conversation. Now what harm does it do to any man to be contradicted?'
BOSWELL. 'I suppose he meant the _manner_ of doing it; roughly,--and
harshly.' JOHNSON. 'And who is the worse for that?' BOSWELL. 'It hurts
people of weak nerves.' JOHNSON. 'I know no such weak-nerved
people[867].' Mr. Burke, to whom I related this conference, said, 'It is
well, if when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon his
conscience than having been a little rough in conversation.'

Johnson, at the time when the paper was presented to him, though at
first pleased with the attention of his friend, whom he thanked in an
earnest manner, soon exclaimed, in a loud and angry tone, 'What is your
drift, Sir?' Sir Joshua Reynolds pleasantly observed, that it was a
scene for a comedy, to see a penitent get into a violent passion and
belabour his confessor[868].

I have preserved no more of his conversation at the times when I saw him
during the rest of this month, till Sunday, the 30th of May, when I met
him in the evening at Mr. Hoole's, where there was a large company both
of ladies and gentlemen; Sir James Johnston[869] happened to say, that
he paid no regard to the arguments of counsel at the bar of the House of
Commons, because they were paid for speaking. 'JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir,
argument is argument. You cannot help paying regard to their arguments,
if they are good. If it were testimony, you might disregard it, if you
knew that it were purchased. There is a beautiful image in Bacon[870]
upon this subject: testimony is like an arrow shot from a long bow; the
force of it depends on the strength of the hand that draws it. Argument
is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force though shot
by a child.'

He had dined that day at Mr. Hoole's, and Miss Helen Maria Williams
being expected in the evening, Mr. Hoole put into his hands her
beautiful _Ode on the Peace_[871]: Johnson read it over, and when this
elegant and accomplished young lady[872] was presented to him, he took
her by the hand in the most courteous manner, and repeated the finest
stanza of her poem; this was the most delicate and pleasing compliment
he could pay. Her respectable friend, Dr. Kippis, from whom I had this
anecdote, was standing by, and was not a little gratified.

Miss Williams told me, that the only other time she was fortunate enough
to be in Dr. Johnson's company, he asked her to sit down by him, which
she did, and upon her enquiring how he was, he answered, 'I am very ill
indeed, Madam. I am very ill even when you are near me; what should I be
were you at a distance?'[873]

He had now a great desire to go to Oxford, as his first jaunt after his
illness; we talked of it for some days, and I had promised to accompany
him. He was impatient, and fretful to-night, because I did not at once
agree to go with him on Thursday. When I considered how ill he had been,
and what allowance should be made for the influence of sickness upon his
temper, I resolved to indulge him, though with some inconvenience to
myself, as I wished to attend the musical meeting in honour of
Handel[874], in Westminster-Abbey, on the following Saturday.

In the midst of his own diseases and pains, he was ever compassionate to
the distresses of others, and actively earnest in procuring them aid, as
appears from a note to Sir Joshua Reynolds, of June, in these words:--'I
am ashamed to ask for some relief for a poor man, to whom, I hope, I
have given what I can be expected to spare. The man importunes me, and
the blow goes round. I am going to try another air on Thursday.'

On Thursday, June 3, the Oxford post-coach took us up in the morning at
Bolt-court. The other two passengers were Mrs. Beresford and her
daughter, two very agreeable ladies from America; they were going to
Worcestershire, where they then resided. Frank had been sent by his
master the day before to take places for us; and I found, from the
way-bill, that Dr. Johnson had made our names be put down. Mrs.
Beresford, who had read it, whispered me, 'Is this the great Dr.
Johnson?' I told her it was; so she was then prepared to listen. As she
soon happened to mention in a voice so low that Johnson did not hear it,
that her husband had been a member of the American Congress, I cautioned
her to beware of introducing that subject, as she must know how very
violent Johnson was against the people of that country. He talked a
great deal, but I am sorry I have preserved little of the conversation.
Miss Beresford was so much charmed, that she said to me aside, 'How he
does talk! Every sentence is an essay.' She amused herself in the coach
with knotting; he would scarcely allow this species of employment any
merit. 'Next to mere idleness (said he) I think knotting is to be
reckoned in the scale of insignificance; though I once attempted to
learn knotting. Dempster's sister (looking to me) endeavoured to teach
me it; but I made no progress[875].'

I was surprised at his talking without reserve in the publick post-coach
of the state of his affairs; 'I have (said he) about the world I think
above a thousand pounds, which I intend shall afford Frank an annuity of
seventy pounds a year.' Indeed his openness with people at a first
interview was remarkable. He said once to Mr. Langton, 'I think I am
like Squire Richard in _The Journey to London, "I'm never strange in a
strange place_[876]."' He was truly _social_. He strongly censured what
is much too common in England among persons of condition,--maintaining
an absolute silence, when unknown to each other; as for instance, when
occasionally brought together in a room before the master or mistress of
the house has appeared. 'Sir, that is being so uncivilised as not to
understand the common rights of humanity[877].'

At the inn where we stopped he was exceedingly dissatisfied with some
roast mutton which we had for dinner. The ladies I saw wondered to see
the great philosopher, whose wisdom and wit they had been admiring all
the way, get into ill-humour from such a cause. He scolded the waiter,
saying, 'It is as bad as bad can be: it is ill-fed, ill-killed,
ill-kept, and ill-drest[878].'

He bore the journey very well, and seemed to feel himself elevated as he
approached Oxford, that magnificent and venerable seat of learning,
Orthodoxy, and Toryism. Frank came in the heavy coach, in readiness to
attend him; and we were received with the most polite hospitality at the
house of his old friend Dr. Adams, Master of Pembroke College, who had
given us a kind invitation. Before we were set down, I communicated to
Johnson, my having engaged to return to London directly, for the reason
I have mentioned, but that I would hasten back to him again. He was
pleased that I had made this journey merely to keep him company. He was
easy and placid, with Dr. Adams, Mrs. and Miss Adams, and Mrs. Kennicot,
widow of the learned Hebraean[879], who was here on a visit. He soon
dispatched the inquiries which were made about his illness and recovery,
by a short and distinct narrative; and then assuming a gay air, repeated
from Swift,--

'Nor think on our approaching ills,
And talk of spectacles and pills[880].'

Dr. Newton, the Bishop of Bristol, having been mentioned, Johnson,
recollecting the manner in which he had been censured by that
Prelate[881], thus retaliated:-' Tom knew he should be dead before what
he has said of me would appear. He durst not have printed it while he
was alive.' DR. ADAMS. 'I believe his _Dissertations on the Prophecies_
is his great work.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is Tom's great work; but how
far it is great, or how much of it is Tom's, are other questions. I
fancy a considerable part of it was borrowed.' DR. ADAMS. 'He was a very
successful man.' JOHNSON. 'I don't think so, Sir. He did not get very
high. He was late in getting what he did get; and he did not get it by
the best means. I believe he was a gross flatterer[882].'

I fulfilled my intention by going to London, and returned to Oxford on
Wednesday the 9th of June, when I was happy to find myself again in the
same agreeable circle at Pembroke College, with the comfortable prospect
of making some stay. Johnson welcomed my return with more than
ordinary glee.

He talked with great regard of the Honourable Archibald Campbell, whose
character he had given at the Duke of Argyll's table, when we were at
Inverary[883]; and at this time wrote out for me, in his own hand, a
fuller account of that learned and venerable writer, which I have
published in its proper place. Johnson made a remark this evening which
struck me a good deal. 'I never (said he) knew a non-juror who could
reason[884].' Surely he did not mean to deny that faculty to many of
their writers; to Hickes, Brett[885], and other eminent divines of that
persuasion; and did not recollect that the seven Bishops, so justly
celebrated for their magnanimous resistance of arbitrary power, were yet
Nonjurors to the new Government[886]. The nonjuring clergy of Scotland,
indeed, who, excepting a few, have lately, by a sudden stroke, cut off
all ties of allegiance to the house of Stuart, and resolved to pray for
our present lawful Sovereign by name, may be thought to have confirmed
this remark; as it may be said, that the divine indefeasible hereditary
right which they professed to believe, if ever true, must be equally
true still. Many of my readers will be surprized when I mention, that
Johnson assured me he had never in his life been in a nonjuring
meeting-house[887].

Next morning at breakfast, he pointed out a passage in Savage's
_Wanderer_, saying, 'These are fine verses.' 'If (said he) I had written
with hostility of Warburton in my _Shakspeare_, I should have quoted
this couplet:--

"Here Learning, blinded first and then beguil'd,
Looks dark as Ignorance, as Fancy wild[888]."

You see they'd have fitted him to a _T_,' (smiling.) DR. ADAMS. 'But you
did not write against Warburton.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, I treated him with
great respect both in my Preface and in my Notes[889].'

Mrs. Kennicot spoke of her brother, the Reverend Mr. Chamberlayne, who
had given up great prospects in the Church of England on his conversion
to the Roman Catholick faith. Johnson, who warmly admired every man who
acted from a conscientious regard to principle, erroneous or not,
exclaimed fervently, 'GOD bless him.'

Mrs. Kennicot, in confirmation of Dr. Johnson's opinion[890], that the
present was not worse than former ages, mentioned that her brother
assured her, there was now less infidelity on the Continent than there
had been; Voltaire and Rousseau were less read. I asserted, from good
authority, that Hume's infidelity was certainly less read. JOHNSON. 'All
infidel writers drop into oblivion, when personal connections and the
floridness of novelty are gone; though now and then a foolish fellow,
who thinks he can be witty upon them, may bring them again into notice.
There will sometimes start up a College joker, who does not consider
that what is a joke in a College will not do in the world. To such
defenders of Religion I would apply a stanza of a poem which I remember
to have seen in some old collection:--

"Henceforth be quiet and agree,
Each kiss his empty brother;
Religion scorns a foe like thee,
But dreads a friend like t'other."

The point is well, though the expression is not correct; _one_, and not
_thee, should be opposed to _t'other_[891].'

On the Roman Catholick religion he said, 'If you join the Papists
externally, they will not interrogate you strictly as to your belief in
their tenets. No reasoning Papist believes every article of their faith.
There is one side on which a good man might be persuaded to embrace it.
A good man of a timorous disposition, in great doubt of his acceptance
with GOD, and pretty credulous, might be glad to be of a church where
there, are so many helps to get to Heaven. I would be a Papist if I
could. I have fear enough; but an obstinate rationality prevents me. I
shall never be a Papist, unless on the near approach of death, of which
I have a very great terrour. I wonder that women are not all Papists.'
BOSWELL. 'They are not more afraid of death than men are.' JOHNSON.
'Because they are less wicked.' DR. ADAMS. 'They are more pious.'
JOHNSON. 'No, hang 'em, they are not more pious. A wicked fellow is the
most pious when he takes to it. He'll beat you all at piety.'

He argued in defence of some of the peculiar tenets of the Church of
Rome. As to the giving the bread only to the laity, he said, 'They may
think, that in what is merely ritual, deviations from the primitive mode
may be admitted on the ground of convenience, and I think they are as
well warranted to make this alteration, as we are to substitute
sprinkling in the room of the ancient baptism.' As to the invocation of
saints[892], he said, 'Though I do not think it authorised, it appears
to me, that "the communion of saints" in the Creed means the communion
with the saints in Heaven, as connected with "The holy Catholick
Church[893]."' He admitted the influence of evil spirits[894] upon our
minds, and said, 'Nobody who believes the New Testament can deny it.'

I brought a volume of Dr. Hurd the Bishop of Worcester's _Sermons_, and
read to the company some passages from one of them, upon this text,
'_Resist the Devil, and he will fly[895] from you.' James_, iv. 7. I was
happy to produce so judicious and elegant a supporter[896] of a
doctrine, which, I know not why, should, in this world of imperfect
knowledge, and, therefore, of wonder and mystery in a thousand
instances, be contested by some with an unthinking assurance and
flippancy.

After dinner, when one of us talked of there being a great enmity
between Whig and Tory;--JOHNSON. 'Why not so much, I think, unless when
they come into competition with each other. There is none when they are
only common acquaintance, none when they are of different sexes. A Tory
will marry into a Whig family, and a Whig into a Tory family, without
any reluctance. But indeed, in a matter of much more concern than
political tenets, and that is religion, men and women do not concern
themselves much about difference of opinion; and ladies set no value on
the moral character of men who pay their addresses to them; the greatest
profligate will be as well received as the man of the greatest virtue,
and this by a very good woman, by a woman who says her prayers three
times a day.' Our ladies endeavoured to defend their sex from this
charge; but he roared them down! 'No, no, a lady will take Jonathan Wild
as readily as St. Austin, if he has three-pence more; and, what is
worse, her parents will give her to him. Women have a perpetual envy of
our vices; they are less vicious than we, not from choice, but because
we restrict them; they are the slaves of order and fashion; their virtue
is of more consequence to us than our own, so far as concerns
this world.'

Miss Adams mentioned a gentleman of licentious character, and said,
'Suppose I had a mind to marry that gentleman, would my parents
consent?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, they'd consent, and you'd go. You'd go though
they did not consent.' MISS ADAMS. 'Perhaps their opposing might make me
go.' JOHNSON. 'O, very well; you'd take one whom you think a bad man, to
have the pleasure of vexing your parents. You put me in mind of Dr.
Barrowby[897], the physician, who was very fond of swine's flesh. One
day, when he was eating it, he said, 'I wish I was a Jew.' 'Why so?
(said somebody); the Jews are not allowed to eat your favourite meat.'
'Because, (said he,) I should then have the gust of eating it, with the
pleasure of sinning.' Johnson then proceeded in his declamation.

Miss Adams soon afterwards made an observation that I do not recollect,
which pleased him much: he said with a good-humoured smile, 'That there
should be so much excellence united with so much _depravity_,
is strange.'

Indeed, this lady's good qualities, merit, and accomplishments, and her
constant attention to Dr. Johnson, were not lost upon him. She happened
to tell him that a little coffee-pot, in which she had made his coffee,
was the only thing she could call her own. He turned to her with a
complacent gallantry, 'Don't say so, my dear; I hope you don't reckon my
heart as nothing.'

I asked him if it was true as reported, that he had said lately, 'I am
for the King against Fox; but I am for Fox against Pitt.' JOHNSON. 'Yes,
Sir; the King is my master; but I do not know Pitt; and Fox is my
friend[898].'

'Fox, (added he,) is a most extraordinary man; here is a man (describing
him in strong terms of objection in some respects according as he
apprehended, but which exalted his abilities the more) who has divided
the Kingdom with Caesar[899]; so that it, was a doubt whether the nation
should be ruled by the sceptre of George the Third, or the tongue
of Fox.'

Dr. Wall, physician at Oxford, drank tea with us. Johnson had in
general a peculiar pleasure in the company of physicians, which was
certainly not abated by the conversation of this learned, ingenious, and
pleasing gentleman. Johnson said, 'It is wonderful how little good
Radcliffe's travelling fellowships[900] have done. I know nothing that
has been imported by them; yet many additions to our medical knowledge
might be got in foreign countries. Inoculation, for instance, has saved
more lives than war destroys[901]: and the cures performed by the
Peruvian-bark are innumerable. But it is in vain to send our travelling
physicians to France, and Italy, and Germany, for all that is known
there is known here; I'd send them out of Christendom; I'd send them
among barbarous nations.'

On Friday, June 11, we talked at breakfast, of forms of prayer. JOHNSON.
'I know of no good prayers but those in the _Book of Common Prayer_.'
DR. ADAMS, (in a very earnest manner): 'I wish, Sir, you would compose
some family prayers.' JOHNSON. 'I will not compose prayers for you, Sir,
because you can do it for yourself. But I have thought of getting
together all the books of prayers which I could, selecting those which
should appear to me the best, putting out some, inserting others, adding
some prayers of my own, and prefixing a discourse on prayer.' We all now
gathered about him, and two or three of us at a time joined in pressing
him to execute this plan. He seemed to be a little displeased at the
manner of our importunity, and in great agitation called out, 'Do not
talk thus of what is so aweful. I know not what time GOD will allow me
in this world. There are many things which I wish to do.' Some of us
persisted, and Dr. Adams said, 'I never was more serious about any thing
in my life.' JOHNSON. 'Let me alone, let me alone; I am overpowered.'
And then he put his hands before his face, and reclined for some time
upon the table[902].

I mentioned Jeremy Taylor's using, in his forms of prayer, 'I am the
chief of sinners,' and other such self-condemning expressions[903].
'Now, (said I) this cannot be said with truth by every man, and
therefore is improper for a general printed form. I myself cannot say
that I am the worst of men; I _will_ not say so.' JOHNSON. 'A man may
know, that physically, that is, in the real state of things, he is not
the worst man; but that morally he may be so. Law observes that "Every
man knows something worse of himself, than he is sure of in
others[904]." You may not have committed such crimes as some men have
done; but you do not know against what degree of light they have sinned.
Besides, Sir, "the chief of sinners" is a mode of expression for "I am a
great sinner." So St. Paul, speaking of our SAVIOUR'S having died to
save sinners, says, "of whom I am the chief[905];" yet he certainly did
not think himself so bad as Judas Iscariot.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, Taylor
means it literally, for he founds a conceit upon it. When praying for
the conversion of sinners, and of himself in particular, he says, "LORD,
thou wilt not leave thy _chief_ work undone." JOHNSON. 'I do not approve
of figurative expressions in addressing the Supreme Being; and I never
use them[906]. Taylor gives a very good advice: "Never lie in your
prayers; never confess more than you really believe; never promise more
than you mean to perform[907]." I recollected this precept in his
_Golden Grove_; but his _example_ for prayer contradicts his _precept_.'

Dr. Johnson and I went in Dr. Adams's coach to dine with Dr. Nowell,
Principal of St. Mary Hall, at his beautiful villa at Iffley, on the
banks of the Isis, about two miles from Oxford. While we were upon the
road, I had the resolution to ask Johnson whether he thought that the
roughness of his manner had been an advantage or not, and if he would
not have done more good if he had been more gentle. I proceeded to
answer myself thus: 'Perhaps it has been of advantage, as it has given
weight to what you said: you could not, perhaps, have talked with such
authority without it.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; I have done more good as I am.
Obscenity and Impiety have always been repressed in my company[908].'
BOSWELL. 'True, Sir; and that is more than can be said of every Bishop.
Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a Bishop, though a
very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not commanding such
awe. Yet, Sir, many people who might have been benefited by your
conversation, have been frightened away. A worthy friend of ours[909]
has told me, that he has often been afraid to talk to you.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he had any thing rational to say.
If he had not, it was better he did not talk[910].

Dr. Nowell is celebrated for having preached a sermon before the House
of Commons, on the 3Oth of January, 1773, full of high Tory sentiments,
for which he was thanked as usual, and printed it at their request; but,
in the midst of that turbulence and faction which disgraced a part of
the present reign, the thanks were afterwards ordered to be
expunged[911]. This strange conduct sufficiently exposes itself; and Dr.
Nowell will ever have the honour which is due to a lofty friend of our
monarchical constitution. Dr. Johnson said to me, 'Sir, the Court will
be very much to blame, if he is not promoted.' I told this to Dr.
Nowell, and asserting my humbler, though not less zealous exertions in
the same cause, I suggested that whatever return we might receive, we
should still have the consolation of being like Butler's steady and
generous Royalist,

'True as the dial to the sun,
Although it be not shone upon[912].'

We were well entertained and very happy at Dr. Nowell's, where was a
very agreeable company, and we drank 'Church and King' after dinner,
with true Tory cordiality.

We talked of a certain clergyman[913] of extraordinary character, who
by exerting his talents in writing on temporary topicks, and displaying
uncommon intrepidity, had raised himself to affluence. I maintained that
we ought not to be indignant at his success; for merit of every sort was
entitled to reward. JOHNSON. 'Sir, I will not allow this man to have
merit. No, Sir; what he has is rather the contrary; I will, indeed,
allow him courage, and on this account we so far give him credit. We
have more respect for a man who robs boldly on the highway, than for a
fellow who jumps out of a ditch, and knocks you down behind your back.
Courage is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is
always respected, even when it is associated with vice[914].

I censured the coarse invectives which were become fashionable in the
House of Commons[915], and said that if members of parliament must
attack each other personally in the heat of debate, it should be done
more genteely. JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; that would be much worse. Abuse is not
so dangerous when there is no vehicle of wit or delicacy, no subtle
conveyance. The difference between coarse and refined abuse is as the
difference between being bruised by a club, and wounded by a poisoned
arrow.' I have since observed his position elegantly expressed by
Dr. Young:--

'As the soft plume gives swiftness to the dart,
Good breeding sends the satire to the heart[916].'

On Saturday, June 12, there drank tea with us at Dr. Adams's, Mr. John
Henderson, student of Pembroke-College, celebrated for his wonderful
acquirements in Alchymy, Judicial Astrology, and other abstruse and
curious learning[917]; and the Reverend Herbert Croft, who, I am afraid,
was somewhat mortified by Dr. Johnson's not being highly pleased with
some _Family Discourses_, which he had printed; they were in too
familiar a style to be approved of by so manly a mind. I have no note of
this evening's conversation, except a single fragment. When I mentioned
Thomas Lord Lyttelton's vision[918], the prediction of the time of his
death, and its exact fulfilment;--JOHNSON. 'It is the most extraordinary
thing that has happened in my day. I heard it with my own ears, from his
uncle, Lord Westcote. I am so glad to have every evidence of the
spiritual world, that I am willing to believe it.' DR. ADAMS. 'You have
evidence enough; good evidence, which needs not such support.' JOHNSON.
'I like to have more[919].'

Mr. Henderson, with whom I had sauntered in the venerable walks of
Merton-College, and found him a very learned and pious man, supped with
us. Dr. Johnson surprised him not a little, by acknowledging with a look
of horrour, that he was much oppressed by the fear of death[920]. The
amiable Dr. Adams suggested that GOD was infinitely good. JOHNSON. 'That
he is infinitely good, as far as the perfection of his nature will
allow, I certainly believe; but it is necessary for good upon the whole,
that individuals should be punished. As to an _individual_, therefore,
he is not infinitely good; and as I cannot be _sure_ that I have
fulfilled the conditions on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I
may be one of those who shall be damned.' (looking dismally.) DR. ADAMS.
'What do you mean by damned?' JOHNSON. (passionately and loudly) 'Sent
to Hell, Sir, and punished everlastingly[921].' DR. ADAMS. 'I don't
believe that doctrine.' JOHNSON. 'Hold, Sir, do you believe that some
will be punished at all?' DR. ADAMS. 'Being excluded from Heaven will be
a punishment; yet there may be no great positive suffering.' JOHNSON.
'Well, Sir; but, if you admit any degree of punishment, there is an end
of your argument for infinite goodness simply considered; for, infinite
goodness would inflict no punishment whatever. There is not infinite
goodness physically considered; morally there is.' BOSWELL. 'But may not
a man attain to such a degree of hope as not to be uneasy from the fear
of death?' JOHNSON. 'A man may have such a degree of hope as to keep him
quiet. You see I am not quiet, from the vehemence with which I talk;
but I do not despair.' MRS. ADAMS. 'You seem, Sir, to forget the merits
of our Redeemer.' JOHNSON. 'Madam, I do not forget the merits of my
Redeemer; but my Redeemer has said that he will set some on his right
hand and some on his left.' He was in gloomy agitation, and said, 'I'll
have no more on't[922].' If what has now been stated should be urged by
the enemies of Christianity, as if its influence on the mind were not
benignant, let it be remembered, that Johnson's temperament was
melancholy, of which such direful apprehensions of futurity are often a
common effect. We shall presently see that when he approached nearer to
his aweful change, his mind became tranquil, and he exhibited as much
fortitude as becomes a thinking man in that situation.

From the subject of death we passed to discourse of life, whether it was
upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was decidedly for the
balance of misery[923]: in confirmation of which I maintained, that no
man would choose to lead over again the life which he had experienced.
Johnson acceded to that opinion in the strongest terms[924]. This is an
inquiry often made; and its being a subject of disquisition is a proof
that much misery presses upon human feelings; for those who are
conscious of a felicity of existence, would never hesitate to accept of
a repetition of it. I have met with very few who would. I have heard Mr.
Burke make use of a very ingenious and plausible argument on this
subject;--'Every man (said he) would lead his life over again; for,
every man is willing to go on and take an addition to his life, which,
as he grows older, he has no reason to think will be better, or even so
good as what has preceded.' I imagine, however, the truth is, that there
is a deceitful hope that the next part of life will be free from the
pains, and anxieties, and sorrows, which we have already felt[925]. We
are for wise purposes 'Condemn'd to Hope's delusive mine;' as Johnson
finely says[926]; and I may also quote the celebrated lines of Dryden,
equally philosophical and poetical:--

'When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat,
Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit:
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies worse; and while it says we shall be blest
With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! none would live past years again;
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;
And from the dregs of life think to receive,
What the first sprightly running could not give[927].'

It was observed to Dr. Johnson, that it seemed strange that he, who has
so often delighted his company by his lively and brilliant conversation,
should say he was miserable. JOHNSON. 'Alas! it is all outside; I may be
cracking my joke[928], and cursing the sun. _Sun, how I hate thy
beams_[929]!' I knew not well what to think of this declaration; whether
to hold it as a genuine picture of his mind[930], or as the effect of
his persuading himself contrary to fact, that the position which he had
assumed as to human unhappiness, was true. We may apply to him a
sentence in Mr. Greville's[931] _Maxims, Characters, and
Reflections_[932]; a book which is entitled to much more praise than it
has received: 'ARISTARCHUS is charming: how full of knowledge, of sense,
of sentiment. You get him with difficulty to your supper; and after
having delighted every body and himself for a few hours, he is obliged
to return home;--he is finishing his treatise, to prove that unhappiness
is the portion of man[933].'

On Sunday, June 13, our philosopher was calm at breakfast. There was
something exceedingly pleasing in our leading a College life, without
restraint, and with superiour elegance, in consequence of our living in
the Master's house, and having the company of ladies. Mrs. Kennicot
related, in his presence, a lively saying of Dr. Johnson to Miss Hannah
More, who had expressed a wonder that the poet who had written _Paradise
Lost_ should write such poor Sonnets:--' Milton, Madam, was a genius
that could cut a Colossus from a rock; but could not carve heads upon
cherry-stones[934].'

We talked of the casuistical question, Whether it was allowable at any
time to depart from _Truth_? JOHNSON. 'The general rule is, that Truth
should never be violated, because it is of the utmost importance to the
comfort of life, that we should have a full security by mutual faith;
and occasional inconveniences should be willingly suffered that we may
preserve it. There must, however, be some exceptions. If, for instance,
a murderer should ask you which way a man is gone, you may tell him what
is not true, because you are under a previous obligation not to betray a
man to a murderer[935].' BOSWELL. 'Supposing the person who wrote
_Junius_ were asked whether he was the authour, might he deny it?'
JOHNSON. 'I don't know what to say to this. If you were _sure_ that he
wrote _Junius_, would you, if he denied it, think as well of him
afterwards? Yet it may be urged, that what a man has no right to ask,
you may refuse to communicate[936]; and there is no other effectual mode
of preserving a secret and an important secret, the discovery of which
may be very hurtful to you, but a flat denial; for if you are silent, or
hesitate, or evade, it will be held equivalent to a confession. But
stay, Sir; here is another case. Supposing the authour had told me
confidentially that he had written _Junius_, and I were asked if he had,
I should hold myself at liberty to deny it, as being under a previous
promise, express or implied, to conceal it. Now what I ought to do for
the authour, may I not do for myself? But I deny the lawfulness of
telling a lie to a sick man for fear of alarming him. You have no
business with consequences; you are to tell the truth. Besides, you are
not sure what effect your telling him that he is in danger may have. It
may bring his distemper to a crisis, and that may cure him. Of all
lying, I have the greatest abhorrence of this, because I believe it has
been frequently practised on myself.'

I cannot help thinking that there is much weight in the opinion of those
who have held, that Truth, as an eternal and immutable principle, ought,
upon no account whatever, to be violated, from supposed previous or
superiour obligations, of which every man being to judge for himself,
there is great danger that we too often, from partial motives, persuade
ourselves that they exist; and probably whatever extraordinary instances
may sometimes occur, where some evil may be prevented by violating this
noble principle, it would be found that human happiness would, upon the
whole, be more perfect were Truth universally preserved.

In the notes to the _Dunciad_[937], we find the following verses,
addressed to Pope[938]:--

'While malice, Pope, denies thy page
Its own celestial fire;
While criticks, and while bards in rage
Admiring, won't admire:

While wayward pens thy worth assail,
And envious tongues decry;
These times, though many a friend bewail,
These times bewail not I.

But when the world's loud praise is thine,
And spleen no more shall blame;
When with thy Homer thou shalt shine
In one establish'd fame!

When none shall rail, and every lay
Devote a wreath to thee:
That day (for come it will) that day
Shall I lament to see.'

It is surely not a little remarkable, that they should appear without a
name. Miss Seward[939], knowing Dr. Johnson's almost universal and
minute literary information, signified a desire that I should ask him
who was the authour. He was prompt with his answer: 'Why, Sir, they were
written by one Lewis, who was either under-master or an usher of
Westminster-school, and published a Miscellany, in which _Grongar
Hill_[940] first came out[941].' Johnson praised them highly, and
repeated them with a noble animation. In the twelfth line, instead of
'one establish'd fame,' he repeated 'one unclouded flame,' which he
thought was the reading in former editions: but I believe was a flash of
his own genius. It is much more poetical than the other.

On Monday, June 14, and Tuesday, 15, Dr. Johnson and I dined, on one of
them, I forget which, with Mr. Mickle, translator of the _Lusiad_, at
Wheatley, a very pretty country place a few miles from Oxford; and on
the other with Dr. Wetherell, Master of University-College. From Dr.
Wetherell's he went to visit Mr. Sackville Parker, the bookseller; and
when he returned to us, gave the following account of his visit, saying,
'I have been to see my old friend, Sack. Parker; I find he has married
his maid; he has done right. She had lived with him many years in great
confidence, and they had mingled minds; I do not think he could have
found any wife that would have made him so happy. The woman was very
attentive and civil to me; she pressed me to fix a day for dining with
them, and to say what I liked, and she would be sure to get it for me.
Poor Sack! He is very ill, indeed. We parted as never to meet again. It
has quite broke me down.' This pathetic narrative was strangely
diversified with the grave and earnest defence of a man's having married
his maid. I could not but feel it as in some degree ludicrous.

In the morning of Tuesday, June 15, while we sat at Dr. Adams's, we
talked of a printed letter from the Reverend Herbert Croft[942], to a
young gentleman who had been his pupil, in which he advised him to read
to the end of whatever books he should begin to read. JOHNSON. 'This is
surely a strange advice; you may as well resolve that whatever men you
happen to get acquainted with, you are to keep to them for life. A book
may be good for nothing; or there may be only one thing in it worth
knowing; are we to read it all through[943]? These Voyages, (pointing to
the three large volumes of _Voyages to the South Sea_[944], which were
just come out) _who_ will read them through? A man had better work his
way before the mast, than read them through; they will be eaten by rats
and mice, before they are read through. There can be little
entertainment in such books; one set of Savages is like another.'
BOSWELL. 'I do not think the people of Otaheite can be reckoned
Savages.' JOHNSON. 'Don't cant in defence of Savages[945].' BOSWELL.
'They have the art of navigation.' JOHNSON. 'A dog or a cat can swim.'
BOSWELL. 'They carve very ingeniously.' JOHNSON. 'A cat can scratch, and
a child with a nail can scratch.' I perceived this was none of the
_mollia tempora fandi_[946]; so desisted.

Upon his mentioning that when he came to College he wrote his first
exercise twice over; but never did so afterwards[947]; MISS ADAMS. 'I
suppose, Sir, you could not make them better?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Madam, to
be sure, I could make them better. Thought is better than no thought.'
MISS ADAMS. 'Do you think, Sir, you could make your _Ramblers_ better?'
JOHNSON. 'Certainly I could.' BOSWELL. 'I'll lay a bet, Sir, you
cannot.' JOHNSON. 'But I will, Sir, if I choose. I shall make the best
of them you shall pick out, better.' BOSWELL. 'But you may add to them.
I will not allow of that.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, there are three ways of
making them better;--putting out,--adding,--or correcting[948].'

During our visit at Oxford, the following conversation passed between
him and me on the subject of my trying my fortune at the English
bar[949]: Having asked whether a very extensive acquaintance in London,
which was very valuable, and of great advantage to a man at large, might
not be prejudicial to a lawyer, by preventing him from giving sufficient
attention to his business;--JOHNSON. 'Sir, you will attend to business,
as business lays hold of you. When not actually employed, you may see
your friends as much as you do now. You may dine at a Club every day,
and sup with one of the members every night; and you may be as much at
publick places as one who has seen them all would wish to be. But you
must take care to attend constantly in Westminster-Hall; both to mind
your business, as it is almost all learnt there, (for nobody reads now;)
and to shew that you want to have business[950]. And you must not be
too often seen at publick places, that competitors may not have it to
say, 'He is always at the Playhouse or at Ranelagh, and never to be
found at his chambers.' And, Sir, there must be a kind of solemnity in
the manner of a professional man. I have nothing particular to say to
you on the subject. All this I should say to any one; I should have said
it to Lord Thurlow twenty years ago.'

The PROFESSION may probably think this representation of what is
required in a Barrister who would hope for success, to be by much too
indulgent; but certain it is, that as

'The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame[951],'

some of the lawyers of this age who have risen high, have by no means
thought it absolutely necessary to submit to that long and painful
course of study which a Plowden, a Coke, and a Hale considered as
requisite. My respected friend, Mr. Langton, has shewn me in the
hand-writing of his grandfather[952], a curious account of a
conversation which he had with Lord Chief Justice Hale, in which that
great man tells him, 'That for two years after he came to the inn of
court, he studied sixteen hours a day; however (his Lordship added) that
by this intense application he almost brought himself to his grave,
though he were of a very strong constitution, and after reduced himself
to eight hours; but that he would not advise any body to so much; that
he thought six hours a day, with attention and constancy, was
sufficient; that a man must use his body as he would his horse, and his
stomach; not tire him at once, but rise with an appetite.[953]'

On Wednesday, June 19[954], Dr. Johnson and I returned to London; he
was not well to-day, and said very little, employing himself chiefly in
reading Euripides. He expressed some displeasure at me, for not
observing sufficiently the various objects upon the road. 'If I had your
eyes, Sir, (said he) I should count the passengers.' It was wonderful
how accurate his observation of visual objects was, notwithstanding his
imperfect eyesight, owing to a habit of attention[955]. That he was much
satisfied with the respect paid to him at Dr. Adams's is thus attested
by himself: 'I returned last night from Oxford, after a fortnight's
abode with Dr. Adams, who treated me as well as I could expect or wish;
and he that contents a sick man, a man whom it is impossible to please,
has surely done his part well[956].'

After his return to London from this excursion, I saw him frequently,
but have few memorandums: I shall therefore here insert some particulars
which I collected at various times.

The Reverend Mr. Astle, of Ashbourne, in Derbyshire, brother to the
learned and ingenious Thomas Astle[957], Esq., was from his early years
known to Dr. Johnson, who obligingly advised him as to his studies, and
recommended to him the following books, of which a list which he has
been pleased to communicate, lies before me in Johnson's own
hand-writing:--

_Universal History (ancient.)--Rollin's Ancient History.--Puffendorf's
Introduction to History.--Vertot's History of Knights of Malta.--
Vertot's Revolution of Portugal.--Vertot's Revolutions of Sweden.--
Carte's History of England.--Present State of England.--Geographical
Grammar.--Prideaux's Connection.--Nelson's Feasts and Fasts.--Duty of
Man.--Gentleman's Religion.--Clarendon's History.--Watts's Improvement
of the Mind.--Watts's Logick.--Nature Displayed.--Lowth's English
Grammar.--Blackwall on the Classicks.--Sherlock's Sermons.--Burnet's
Life of Hale.--Dupin's History of the Church.--Shuckford's
Connection.--Law's Serious Call.--Walton's Complete Angler.--Sandys's
Travels.--Sprat's History of the Royal Society.--England's
Gazetteer.--Goldsmith's Roman History.--Some Commentaries on the.
Bible_[958].

It having been mentioned to Dr. Johnson that a gentleman who had a son
whom he imagined to have an extreme degree of timidity, resolved to send
him to a publick school, that he might acquire confidence;--' Sir, (said
Johnson,) this is a preposterous expedient for removing his infirmity;
such a disposition should be cultivated in the shade. Placing him at a
publick school is forcing an owl upon day[959].'

Speaking of a gentleman whose house was much frequented by low company;
'Rags, Sir, (said he,) will always make their appearance where they have
a right to do it.'

Of the same gentleman's mode of living, he said, 'Sir, the servants,
instead of doing what they are bid, stand round the table in idle
clusters, gaping upon the guests; and seem as unfit to attend a company,
as to steer a man of war[960].'

A dull country magistrate[961] gave Johnson a long tedious account of
his exercising his criminal jurisdiction, the result of which was his
having sentenced four convicts to transportation. Johnson, in an agony
of impatience to get rid of such a companion, exclaimed, 'I heartily
wish, Sir, that I were a fifth.'

Johnson was present when a tragedy was read, in which there occurred
this line:--

'Who rules o'er freemen should himself be free[962].'

The company having admired it much, 'I cannot agree with you (said
Johnson:) It might as well be said,--

'Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.'

He was pleased with the kindness of Mr. Cator, who was joined with him
in Mr. Thrale's important trust, and thus describes him[963]:--'There is
much good in his character, and much usefulness in his knowledge.' He
found a cordial solace at that gentleman's seat at Beckenham, in Kent,
which is indeed one of the finest places at which I ever was a guest;
and where I find more and more a hospitable welcome.

Johnson seldom encouraged general censure of any profession[964]; but he
was willing to allow a due share of merit to the various departments
necessary in civilised life. In a splenetick, sarcastical, or jocular
frame, however, he would sometimes utter a pointed saying of that
nature. One instance has been mentioned[965], where he gave a sudden
satirical stroke to the character of an _attorney_. The too
indiscriminate admission to that employment, which requires both
abilities and integrity, has given rise to injurious reflections, which
are totally inapplicable to many very respectable men who exercise it
with reputation and honour.

Johnson having argued for some time with a pertinacious gentleman; his
opponent, who had talked in a very puzzling manner, happened to say, 'I
don't understand you, Sir:' upon which Johnson observed, 'Sir, I have
found you an argument; but I am not obliged to find you an
understanding[966].'

Talking to me of Horry Walpole, (as Horace late Earl of Orford was
often called[967],) Johnson allowed that he got together a great many
curious little things, and told them in an elegant manner[968]. Mr.
Walpole thought Johnson a more amiable character after reading his
_Letters to Mrs. Thrale_: but never was one of the true admirers of that
great man[969]. We may suppose a prejudice conceived, if he ever heard
Johnson's account to Sir George Staunton[970], that when he made the
speeches in parliament for the _Gentleman's Magazine_, 'he always took
care to put Sir Robert Walpole in the wrong, and to say every thing he
could against the electorate of Hanover[971].' The celebrated _Heroick
Epistle_, in which Johnson is satyrically introduced, has been ascribed
both to Mr. Walpole and Mr. Mason. One day at Mr. Courtenay's, when a
gentleman expressed his opinion that there was more energy in that poem
than could be expected from Mr. Walpole; Mr. Warton, the late Laureat,
observed, 'It may have been written by Walpole, and _buckram'd_ by
Mason[972].'

He disapproved of Lord Hailes, for having modernised the language of the
ever-memorable John Hales of Eton[973], in an edition which his Lordship
published of that writer's works. 'An authour's language, Sir, (said
he,) is a characteristical part of his composition, and is also
characteristical of the age in whic