The Life Of Johnson Vol 1 by James Boswell (page 6)

parallel is ingeniously drawn between human life and that liquor. It ends,–

‘Say, then, physicians of each kind,
Who cure the body or the mind,
What harm in drinking can there be, Since punch and life so well agree?’

[Page 335: Profits on The Idler. AEtat 49.]

To _The Idler_, when collected in volumes[1003], he added, beside the ‘Essay on Epitaphs’ and the ‘Dissertation on those of Pope[1004],’ an Essay on the ‘Bravery of the English common Soldiers.’ He, however, omitted one of the original papers, which in the folio copy is No. 22[1005].

‘To THE REVEREND MR. THOMAS WARTON.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘Your notes upon my poet were very acceptable. I beg that you will be so kind as to continue your searches. It will be reputable to my work, and suitable to your professorship, to have something of yours in the notes. As you have given no directions about your name, I shall therefore put it. I wish your brother would take the same trouble. A commentary must arise from the fortuitous discoveries of many men in devious walks of literature. Some of your remarks are on plays already printed: but I purpose to add an Appendix of Notes, so that nothing comes too late.

‘You give yourself too much uneasiness, dear Sir, about the loss of the papers[1006]. The loss is nothing, if nobody has found them; nor even then, perhaps, if the numbers be known. You are not the only friend that has had the same mischance. You may repair your want out of a stock, which is deposited with Mr. Allen, of Magdalen-Hall; or out of a parcel which I have just sent to Mr. Chambers[1007] for the use of any body that will be so kind as to want them. Mr. Langtons are well; and Miss Roberts[1008], whom I have at last brought to speak, upon the information which you gave me, that she had something to say.

‘I am, &c.

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘[London] April 14, 1758.’

[Page 336: Mr. Langton as an undergraduate. A.D. 1758.]

‘TO THE SAME.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘You will receive this by Mr. Baretti, a gentleman particularly intitled to the notice and kindness of the Professor of poesy. He has time but for a short stay, and will be glad to have it filled up with as much as he can hear and see.

‘In recommending another to your favour, I ought not to omit thanks for the kindness which you have shewn to myself. Have you any more notes on Shakspeare? I shall be glad of them.

‘I see your pupil sometimes[1009]: his mind is as exalted as his stature[1010]. I am half afraid of him; but he is no less amiable than formidable. He will, if the forwardness of his spring be not blasted, be a credit to you, and to the University. He brings some of my plays[1011] with him, which he has my permission to shew you, on condition you will hide them from every body else.

[Page 337: Experience compared with expectation. AEtat 49.]

‘I am, dear Sir, &c.

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘[London,] June 1, 1758.’

‘To BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., OF TRINITY COLLEGE, OXFORD.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘Though I might have expected to hear from you, upon your entrance into a new state of life at a new place, yet recollecting, (not without some degree of shame,) that I owe you a letter upon an old account, I think it my part to write first. This, indeed, I do not only from complaisance but from interest; for living on in the old way, I am very glad of a correspondent so capable as yourself, to diversify the hours. You have, at present, too many novelties about you to need any help from me to drive along your time.

‘I know not any thing more pleasant, or more instructive, than to compare experience with expectation, or to register from time to time the difference between idea and reality. It is by this kind of observation that we grow daily less liable to be disappointed[1012]. You, who are very capable of anticipating futurity, and raising phantoms before your own eyes, must often have imagined to yourself an academical life, and have conceived what would be the manners, the views, and the conversation, of men devoted to letters; how they would choose their companions, how they would direct their studies, and how they would regulate their lives. Let me know what you expected, and what you have found. At least record it to yourself before custom has reconciled you to the scenes before you, and the disparity of your discoveries to your hopes has vanished from your mind. It is a rule never to be forgotten, that whatever strikes strongly, should be described while the first impression remains fresh upon the mind.

[Page 338: A violent death. A.D. 1759.]

‘I love, dear Sir, to think on you, and therefore, should willingly write more to you, but that the post will not now give me leave to do more than send my compliments to Mr. Warton, and tell you that I am, dear Sir, most affectionately,

‘Your very humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘June 28, 1757[1013].’

‘TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., AT LANGTON, NEAR SPILSBY, LINCOLNSHIRE.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘I should be sorry to think that what engrosses the attention of my friend, should have no part of mine. Your mind is now full of the fate of Dury[1014]; but his fate is past, and nothing remains but to try what reflection will suggest to mitigate the terrours of a violent death, which is more formidable at the first glance, than on a nearer and more steady view. A violent death is never very painful; the only danger is lest it should be unprovided. But if a man can be supposed to make no provision for death in war, what can be the state that would have awakened him to the care of futurity? When would that man have prepared himself to die, who went to seek death without preparation? What then can be the reason why we lament more him that dies of a wound, than him that dies of a fever? A man that languishes with disease, ends his life with more pain, but with less virtue; he leaves no example to his friends, nor bequeaths any honour to his descendants. The only reason why we lament a soldier’s death, is, that we think he might have lived longer; yet this cause of grief is common to many other kinds of death which are not so passionately bewailed. The truth is, that every death is violent which is the effect of accident; every death, which is not gradually brought on by the miseries of age, or when life is extinguished for any other reason than that it is burnt out. He that dies before sixty, of a cold or consumption, dies, in reality, by a violent death; yet his death is borne with patience only because the cause of his untimely end is silent and invisible. Let us endeavour to see things as they are, and then enquire whether we ought to complain. Whether to see life as it is, will give us much consolation, I know not; but the consolation which is drawn from truth, if any there be, is solid and durable; that which may be derived from errour must be, like its original, fallacious and fugitive. I am, dear, dear Sir, your most humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘Sept. 21, 1758.’

[Page 339: The death of Johnson’s mother. AEtat 50.]

1759: AETAT. 50.–In 1759, in the month of January, his mother died at the great age of ninety, an event which deeply affected him[1015]; not that ‘his mind had acquired no firmness by the contemplation of mortality[1016];’ but that his reverential affection for her was not abated by years, as indeed he retained all his tender feelings even to the latest period of his life[1017]. I have been told that he regretted much his not having gone to visit his mother for several years, previous to her death[1018]. But he was constantly engaged in literary labours which confined him to London; and though he had not the comfort of seeing his aged parent, he contributed liberally to her support[1019].

[Page 340: Rasselas. A.D. 1759.]

Soon after this event, he wrote his _Rasselas_[1020], _Prince of Abyssinia_; concerning the publication of which Sir John Hawkins guesses vaguely and idly[1021], instead of having taken the trouble to inform himself with authentick precision. Not to trouble my readers with a repetition of the Knight’s reveries, I have to mention, that the late Mr. Strahan the printer told me, that Johnson wrote it, that with the profits he might defray the expence of his mother’s funeral, and pay some little debts which she had left. He told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he composed it in the evenings of one week, sent it to the press in portions as it was written, and had never since read it over[1022]. Mr. Strahan, Mr. Johnston, and Mr. Dodsley purchased it for a hundred pounds[1023], but afterwards paid him twenty-five pounds more, when it came to a second edition.

[Page 342: Rasselas and Candide. A.D. 1759.]

Considering the large sums which have been received for compilations, and works requiring not much more genius than compilations[1024], we cannot but wonder at the very low price which he was content to receive for this admirable performance; which, though he had written nothing else, would have rendered his name immortal in the world of literature. None of his writings has been so extensively diffused over Europe; for it has been translated into most, if not all, of the modern languages[1025]. This Tale, with all the charms of oriental imagery, and all the force and beauty of which the English language is capable, leads us through the most important scenes of human life, and shews us that this stage of our being is full of ‘vanity and vexation of spirit[1026].’ To those who look no further than the present life, or who maintain that human nature has not fallen from the state in which it was created, the instruction of this sublime story will be of no avail. But they who think justly, and feel with strong sensibility, will listen with eagerness and admiration to its truth and wisdom. Voltaire’s _Candide_, written to refute the system of Optimism, which it has accomplished with brilliant success, is wonderfully similar in its plan and conduct to Johnson’s _Rasselas_; insomuch, that I have heard Johnson say[1027], that if they had not been published so closely one after the other that there was not time for imitation, it would have been in vain to deny that the scheme of that which came latest was taken from the other. Though the proposition illustrated by both these works was the same, namely, that in our present state there is more evil than good, the intention of the writers was very different. Voltaire, I am afraid, meant only by wanton profaneness to obtain a sportive victory over religion, and to discredit the belief of a superintending Providence: Johnson meant, by shewing the unsatisfactory nature of things temporal, to direct the hopes of man to things eternal. _Rasselas_, as was observed to me by a very accomplished lady, may be considered as a more enlarged and more deeply philosophical discourse in prose, upon the interesting truth, which in his _Vanity of Human Wishes_ he had so successfully enforced in verse.

The fund of thinking which this work contains is such, that almost every sentence of it may furnish a subject of long meditation. I am not satisfied if a year passes without my having read it through; and at every perusal, my admiration of the mind which produced it is so highly raised, that I can scarcely believe that I had the honour of enjoying the intimacy of such a man.

[Page 343: Apparitions. AEtat 50.]

I restrain myself from quoting passages from this excellent work, or even referring to them, because I should not know what to select, or rather, what to omit. I shall, however, transcribe one, as it shews how well he could state the arguments of those who believe in the appearance of departed spirits; a doctrine which it is a mistake to suppose that he himself ever positively held[1028]:

‘If all your fear be of apparitions, (said the Prince,) I will promise you safety: there is no danger from the dead; he that is once buried will be seen no more.

‘That the dead are seen no more, (said Imlac,) I will not undertake to maintain, against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages, and of all nations. There is no people, rude or learned, among whom apparitions of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion, which prevails[1029] as far as human nature is diffused, could become universal only by its truth; those that never heard of one another, would not have agreed in a tale which nothing but experience can make credible. That it is doubted by single cavillers, can very little weaken the general evidence; and some who deny it with their tongues, confess it by their fears.’

Notwithstanding my high admiration of _Rasselas_, I will not maintain that the ‘morbid melancholy[1030]’ in Johnson’s constitution may not, perhaps, have made life appear to him more insipid and unhappy than it generally is; for I am sure that he had less enjoyment from it than I have. Yet, whatever additional shade his own particular sensations may have thrown on his representation of life, attentive observation and close enquiry have convinced me, that there is too much of reality in the gloomy picture. The truth, however, is, that we judge of the happiness and misery of life differently at different times, according to the state of our changeable frame. I always remember a remark made to me by a Turkish lady, educated in France, ‘_Ma foi, Monsieur, notre bonheur depend de la facon que notre sang circule_.’ This have I learnt from a pretty hard course of experience, and would, from sincere benevolence, impress upon all who honour this book with a perusal, that until a steady conviction is obtained, that the present life is an imperfect state, and only a passage to a better, if we comply with the divine scheme of progressive improvement; and also that it is a part of the mysterious plan of Providence, that intellectual beings must ‘be made perfect through suffering[1031];’ there will be a continual recurrence of disappointment and uneasiness. But if we walk with hope in ‘the mid-day sun’ of revelation, our temper and disposition will be such, that the comforts and enjoyments in our way will be relished, while we patiently support the inconveniences and pains. After much speculation and various reasonings, I acknowledge myself convinced of the truth of Voltaire’s conclusion, ‘_Apres tout c est un monde passable_[1032].’ But we must not think too deeply;

‘Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise[1033],’

is, in many respects, more than poetically just. Let us cultivate, under the command of good principles, ‘_la theorie des sensations agreables_;’ and, as Mr. Burke once admirably counselled a grave and anxious gentleman, ‘live pleasant[1034].’

[Page 344: ‘Live pleasant.’ A.D. 1759.]

The effect of _Rasselas_, and of Johnson’s other moral tales, is thus beautifully illustrated by Mr. Courtenay:

‘Impressive truth, in splendid fiction drest, Checks the vain wish, and calms the troubled breast; O’er the dark mind a light celestial throws, And sooths the angry passions to repose; As oil effus’d illumes and smooths the deep, When round the bark the swelling surges sweep[1035].’

[Page 345: The Idler pirated. AEtat 50.]

It will be recollected, that during all this year he carried on his Idler[1036], and, no doubt, was proceeding, though slowly, in his edition of _Shakspeare_. He, however, from that liberality which never failed, when called upon to assist other labourers in literature, found time to translate for Mrs. Lennox’s English version of Brumoy, ‘A Dissertation on the Greek Comedy,'[dagger] and ‘The General Conclusion of the book.'[dagger]

An inquiry into the state of foreign countries was an object that seems at all times to have interested Johnson. Hence Mr. Newbery found no great difficulty in persuading him to write the Introduction[*] to a collection of voyages and travels published by him under the title of _The World Displayed_; the first volume of which appeared this year, and the remaining volumes in subsequent years.

[Page 346: Parental tyranny. A.D. 1759.]

I would ascribe to this year[1037] the following letter to a son of one of his early friends at Lichfield, Mr. Joseph Simpson, Barrister, and authour of a tract entitled _Reflections on the Study of the Law_.

[Page 347: An excursion to Oxford. AEtat 50.]

‘If you married imprudently, you miscarried at your own hazard, at an age when you had a right of choice. It would be hard if the man might not choose his own wife, who has a right to plead before the Judges of his country.

‘If your imprudence has ended in difficulties and inconveniences, you are yourself to support them; and, with the help of a little better health, you would support them and conquer them. Surely, that want which accident and sickness produces, is to be supported in every region of humanity, though there were neither friends nor fathers in the world. You have certainly from your father the highest claim of charity, though none of right; and therefore I would counsel you to omit no decent nor manly degree of importunity. Your debts in the whole are not large, and of the whole but a small part is troublesome. Small debts are like small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped without a wound: great debts are like cannon; of loud noise, but little danger. You must, therefore, be enabled to discharge petty debts, that you may have leisure, with security, to struggle with the rest. Neither the great nor little debts disgrace you. I am sure you have my esteem for the courage with which you contracted them, and the spirit with which you endure them. I wish my esteem could be of more use. I have been invited, or have invited myself, to several parts of the kingdom; and will not incommode my dear Lucy by coming to Lichfield, while her present lodging is of any use to her. I hope, in a few days, to be at leisure, and to make visits. Whither I shall fly is matter of no importance. A man unconnected is at home every where; unless he may be said to be at home no where. I am sorry, dear Sir, that where you have parents, a man of your merits should not have an home. I wish I could give it you. I am, my dear Sir,

‘Affectionately yours,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

He now refreshed himself by an excursion to Oxford, of which the following short characteristical notice, in his own words, is preserved:–

‘—-[1039] is now making tea for me. I have been in my gown ever since I came here[1040]. It was, at my first coming, quite new and handsome. I have swum thrice, which I had disused for many years. I have proposed to Vansittart[1041], climbing over the wall, but he has refused me. And I have clapped my hands till they are sore, at Dr. King’s speech[1042].’

[Page 348: The great CHAM of literature. A.D. 1759.]

His negro servant, Francis Barber, having left him, and been some time at sea, not pressed as has been supposed, but with his own consent, it appears from a letter to John Wilkes, Esq., from Dr. Smollet, that his master kindly interested himself in procuring his release from a state of life of which Johnson always expressed the utmost abhorrence. He said, ‘No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned[1043].’ And at another time, ‘A man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company[1044].’ The letter was as follows:–

[Page 349: Johnson’s black servant at sea. AEtat 50.]

‘Chelsea, March 16, 1759.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘I am again your petitioner, in behalf of that great CHAM[1045] of literature, Samuel Johnson. His black servant, whose name is Francis Barber, has been pressed on board the Stag Frigate, Captain Angel, and our lexicographer is in great distress. He says the boy is a sickly lad, of a delicate frame, and particularly subject to a malady in his throat, which renders him very unfit for his Majesty’s service. You know what manner of animosity the said Johnson has against you[1046]; and I dare say you desire no other opportunity of resenting it than that of laying him under an obligation. He was humble enough to desire my assistance on this occasion, though he and I were never cater-cousins; and I gave him to understand that I would make application to my friend Mr. Wilkes, who, perhaps, by his interest with Dr. Hay and Mr. Elliot, might be able to procure the discharge of his lacquey. It would be superfluous to say more on the subject, which I leave to your own consideration; but I cannot let slip this opportunity of declaring that I am, with the most inviolable esteem and attachment, dear Sir,

‘Your affectionate, obliged, humble servant,

‘T. SMOLLET.’

Mr. Wilkes, who upon all occasions has acted, as a private gentleman, with most polite liberality, applied to his friend Sir George Hay, then one of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty; and Francis Barber was discharged, as he has told me, without any wish of his own. He found his old master in Chambers in the Inner Temple[1047], and returned to his service.

[Page 350: Life in Inner Temple-lane. A.D. 1759.]

What particular new scheme of life Johnson had in view this year, I have not discovered; but that he meditated one of some sort, is clear from his private devotions, in which we find[1048], ‘the change of outward things which I am now to make;’ and, ‘Grant me the grace of thy Holy Spirit, that the course which I am now beginning may proceed according to thy laws, and end in the enjoyment of thy favour.’ But he did not, in fact, make any external or visible change[1049].

[Page 351: Blackfriars-bridge. AEtat 50.]

At this time, there being a competition among the architects of London to be employed in the building of Blackfriars-bridge, a question was very warmly agitated whether semicircular or elliptical arches were preferable. In the design offered by Mr. Mylne the elliptical form was adopted, and therefore it was the great object of his rivals to attack it. Johnson’s regard for his friend Mr. Gwyn induced him to engage in this controversy against Mr. Mylne[1050]; and after being at considerable pains to study the subject, he wrote three several letters in the _Gazetteer_, in opposition to his plan.

If it should be remarked that this was a controversy which lay quite out of Johnson’s way, let it be remembered, that after all, his employing his powers of reasoning and eloquence upon a subject which he had studied on the moment, is not more strange than what we often observe in lawyers, who, as _Quicquid agunt homines_[1051] is the matter of law-suits, are sometimes obliged to pick up a temporary knowledge of an art or science, of which they understood nothing till their brief was delivered, and appear to be much masters of it. In like manner, members of the legislature frequently introduce and expatiate upon subjects of which they have informed themselves for the occasion.

[Page 353: Relief of the French Prisoners. AEtat 51.]

1760: AETAT. 51].–In 1760 he wrote _An Address of the Painters to George III. on his Accession to the Throne of these Kingdoms_,[dagger] which no monarch ever ascended with more sincere congratulations from his people. Two generations of foreign princes had prepared their minds to rejoice in having again a King, who gloried in being ‘born a Briton[1052].’ He also wrote for Mr. Baretti, the dedication[dagger] of his _Italian and English Dictionary_ to the Marquis of Abreu, then Envoy-Extraordinary from Spain at the Court of Great Britain.

[Page 354: Mary Queen of Scots. A.D. 1760.]

Johnson was now neither very idle, nor very busy with his _Shakspeare_; for I can find no other public composition by him except an introduction to the proceedings of the Committee for cloathing the French Prisoners[1053];[*] one of the many proofs that he was ever awake to the calls of humanity; and an account which he gave in the Gentlemen’s Magazine of Mr. Tytler’s acute and able vindication of Mary Queen of Scots.[*] The generosity of Johnson’s feelings shines forth in the following sentence:–

“It has now been fashionable, for near half a century, to defame and vilify the house of Stuart and, to exalt and magnify the reign of Elizabeth. The Stuarts have found few apologists, for the dead cannot pay for praise; and who will, without reward, oppose the tide of popularity? Yet there remains still among us, not wholly extinguished, a zeal for truth, a desire of establishing right in opposition to fashion[1054]”.

In this year I have not discovered a single private letter, written by him to any of his friends. It should seem, however, that he had at this period a floating intention of writing a history of the recent and wonderful successes of the British arms in all quarters of the globe; for among his resolutions or memorandums, September 18, ‘send for books for Hist. of War[1055].’ How much is it to be regretted that this intention was not fulfilled. His majestick expression would have carried down to the latest posterity the glorious achievements of his country with the same fervent glow which they produced on the mind of the time. He would have been under no temptation to deviate in any degree from truth, which he held very sacred, or to take a licence, which a learned divine told me he once seemed, in a conversation, jocularly to allow to historians.

[Page 355: Consecrated lies. AEtat 51.]

‘There are (said he) inexcusable lies, and consecrated lies. For instance, we are told that on the arrival of the news of the unfortunate battle of Fontenoy, every heart beat, and every eye was in tears. Now we know, that no man eat his dinner the worse[1056], but there _should_ have been all this concern; and to say there _was_, (smiling) may be reckoned a consecrated lie.’

This year Mr. Murphy, having thought himself ill-treated by the Reverend Dr. Francklin, who was one of the writers of _The Critical Review_, published an indignant vindication in _A Poetical Epistle to Samuel Johnson, A.M_., in which he compliments Johnson in a just and elegant manner:

Transcendant Genius! whose prolific vein Ne’er knew the frigid poet’s toil and pain; To whom APOLLO opens all his store,
And every Muse presents her sacred lore; Say, pow’rful JOHNSON, whence thy verse is fraught With so much grace and such energy of thought; Whether thy JUVENAL instructs the age
In chaster numbers, and new-points his rage; Or fair IRENE sees, alas! too late.
Her innocence exchang’d for guilty state; Whatever you write, in every golden line Sublimity and elegance combine;
Thy nervous phrase impresses every soul, While harmony gives rapture to the whole.’

[Page 356: Arthur Murphy. A.D. 1760.]

Again, towards the conclusion:

‘Thou then, my friend, who seest the dang’rous strife In which some demon bids me plunge my life, To the Aonian fount direct my feet,
Say where the Nine thy lonely musings meet? Where warbles to thy ear the sacred throng, Thy moral sense, thy dignity of song?
Tell, for you can, by what unerring art You wake to finer feelings every heart;
In each bright page some truth important give, And bid to future times thy RAMBLER live[1057]?

I take this opportunity to relate the manner in which an acquaintance first commenced between Dr. Johnson and Mr. Murphy. During the publication of _The Grays-Inn Journal_, a periodical paper which was successfully carried on by Mr. Murphy alone, when a very young man, he happened to be in the country with Mr. Foote; and having mentioned that he was obliged to go to London in order to get ready for the press in one of the numbers of that _Journal_, Foote said to him, ‘You need not to go on that account. Here is a French magazine, in which you will find a very pretty oriental tale; translate that, and send it to your printer.’ Mr. Murphy having read the tale, was highly pleased with it, and followed Foote’s advice. When he returned to town, this tale was pointed out to him in _The Rambler_, from whence it had been translated into the French magazine. Mr. Murphy then waited upon Johnson, to explain this curious incident. His talents, literature, and gentleman-like manners, were soon perceived by Johnson, and a friendship was formed which was never broken[1058].

[Page 357: Letter to Mr. Langston. AEtat 51.]

‘To BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., AT LANGTON, NEAR SPILSBY, LINCOLNSHIRE.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘You that travel about the world, have more materials for letters, than I who stay at home; and should, therefore, write with frequency equal to your opportunities. I should be glad to have all England surveyed by you, if you would impart your observations in narratives as agreeable as your last. Knowledge is always to be wished to those who can communicate it well. While you have been riding and running, and seeing the tombs of the learned, and the camps of the valiant, I have only staid at home, and intended to do great things, which I have not done. Beau[1059] went away to Cheshire, and has not yet found his way back. Chambers passed the vacation at Oxford.

‘I am very sincerely solicitous for the preservation or curing of Mr. Langton’s sight, and am glad that the chirurgeon at Coventry gives him so much hope. Mr. Sharpe is of opinion that the tedious maturation of the cataract is a vulgar errour, and that it may be removed as soon as it is formed. This notion deserves to be considered; I doubt whether it be universally true; but if it be true in some cases, and those cases can be distinguished, it may save a long and uncomfortable delay.

‘Of dear Mrs. Langton you give me no account; which is the less friendly, as you know how highly I think of her, and how much I interest myself in her health. I suppose you told her of my opinion, and likewise suppose it was not followed; however, I still believe it to be right.

[Page 358: Thomas Sheridan. A.D. 1761.]

‘Let me hear from you again, wherever you are, or whatever you are doing; whether you wander or sit still, plant trees or make _Rusticks_,[1060] play with your sisters or muse alone; and in return I will tell you the success of Sheridan[1061], who at this instant is playing Cato, and has already played Richard twice. He had more company the second than the first night, and will make, I believe, a good figure in the whole, though his faults seem to be very many; some of natural deficience, and some of laborious affectation. He has, I think, no power of assuming either that dignity or elegance which some men, who have little of either in common life, can exhibit on the stage. His voice when strained is unpleasing, and when low is not always heard. He seems to think too much on the audience, and turns his face too often to the galleries[1062].

‘However, I wish him well; and among other reasons, because I like his wife[1063].

‘Make haste to write to, dear Sir,

‘Your most affectionate servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘Oct. 18, 1760.’

[Page 359: Instances of literary fraud. AEtat 52.]

1761: AETAT. 52.–In 1761 Johnson appears to have done little. He was still, no doubt, proceeding in his edition of _Shakespeare_; but what advances he made in it cannot be ascertained. He certainly was at this time not active; for in his scrupulous examination of himself on Easter eve, he laments, in his too rigorous mode of censuring his own conduct, that his life, since the communion of the preceding Easter, had been ‘dissipated and useless[1064].’ He, however, contributed this year the Preface[*] to _Rolt’s Dictionary of Trade and Commerce_, in which he displays such a clear and comprehensive knowledge of the subject, as might lead the reader to think that its authour had devoted all his life to it. I asked him whether he knew much of Rolt, and of his work. ‘Sir, (said he) I never saw the man, and never read the book. The booksellers wanted a Preface to a _Dictionary of Trade and Commerce_. I knew very well what such a Dictionary should be, and I wrote a Preface accordingly.’ Rolt, who wrote a great deal for the booksellers, was, as Johnson told me, a singular character[1065]. Though not in the least acquainted with him, he used to say, ‘I am just come from Sam. Johnson.’ This was a sufficient specimen of his vanity and impudence. But he gave a more eminent proof of it in our sister kingdom, as Dr. Johnson informed me. When Akenside’s _Pleasures of the Imagination_ first came out, he did not put his name to the poem. Rolt went over to Dublin, published an edition of it, and put his own name to it. Upon the fame of this he lived for several months, being entertained at the best tables as ‘the ingenious Mr. Rolt[1066].’ His conversation indeed, did not discover much of the fire of a poet; but it was recollected, that both Addison and Thomson were equally dull till excited by wine. Akenside having been informed of this imposition, vindicated his right by publishing the poem with its real authour’s name. Several instances of such literary fraud have been detected. The Reverend Dr. Campbell, of St. Andrew’s, wrote _An Enquiry into the original of Moral Virtue_, the manuscript of which he sent to Mr. Innes, a clergyman in England, who was his countryman and acquaintance. Innes published it with his own name to it; and before the imposition was discovered, obtained considerable promotion, as a reward of his merit[1067].

[Page 360: The Man of Feeling. A.D. 1781.]

The celebrated Dr. Hugh Blair, and his cousin Mr. George Bannatine, when students in divinity, wrote a poem, entitled, _The Resurrection_, copies of which were handed about in manuscript. They were, at length, very much surprised to see a pompous edition of it in folio, dedicated to the Princess Dowager of Wales, by a Dr. Douglas, as his own. Some years ago a little novel, entitled _The Man of Feeling_, was assumed by Mr. Eccles, a young Irish clergyman, who was afterwards drowned near Bath[1068]. He had been at the pains to transcribe the whole book, with blottings, interlineations, and corrections, that it might be shewn to several people as an original. It was, in truth, the production of Mr. Henry Mackenzie, an Attorney in the Exchequer at Edinburgh, who is the authour of several other ingenious pieces; but the belief with regard to Mr. Eccles became so general, that it was thought necessary for Messieurs Strahan and Cadell to publish an advertisement in the newspapers, contradicting the report, and mentioning that they purchase the copyright of Mr. Mackenzie[1069]. I can conceive this kind of fraud to be very easily practised with successful effrontery. The _Filiation_ of a literary performance is difficult of proof; seldom is there any witness present at its birth. A man, either in confidence or by improper means, obtains possession of a copy of it in manuscript, and boldly publishes it as his own. The true authour, in many cases, may not be able to make his title clear. Johnson, indeed, from the peculiar features of his literary offspring, might bid defiance to any attempt to appropriate them to others.

‘But Shakspeare’s magick could not copied be, Within that circle none durst walk but he[1070]!’

[Page 361: Letter to Mr. Baretti. AEtat 52.]

He this year lent his friendly assistance to correct and improve a pamphlet written by Mr. Gwyn, the architect, entitled, _Thoughts on the Coronation of George III_.[*]

Johnson had now for some years admitted Mr. Baretti to his intimacy; nor did their friendship cease upon their being separated by Baretti’s revisiting his native country, as appears from Johnson’s letters to him.

‘To MR. JOSEPH BARETTI, AT MILAN[1071].

[Page 362: Baretti’s knowledge of languages. A.D. 1761.]

‘You reproach me very often with parsimony of writing: but you may discover by the extent of my paper, that I design to recompence rarity by length. A short letter to a distant friend is, in my opinion, an insult like that of a slight bow or cursory salutation;–a proof of unwillingness to do much, even where there is a necessity of doing something. Yet it must be remembered, that he who continues the same course of life in the same place, will have little to tell. One week and one year are very like one another. The silent changes made by time are not always perceived; and if they are not perceived, cannot be recounted. I have risen and lain down, talked and mused, while you have roved over a considerable part of Europe[1072]; yet I have not envied my Baretti any of his pleasures, though, perhaps, I have envied others his company: and I am glad to have other nations made acquainted with the character of the English, by a traveller who has so nicely inspected our manners, and so successfully studied our literature. I received your kind letter from Falmouth, in which you gave me notice of your departure for Lisbon, and another from Lisbon, in which you told me, that you were to leave Portugal in a few days. To either of these how could any answer be returned? I have had a third from Turin, complaining that I have not answered the former. Your English style still continues in its purity and vigour. With vigour your genius will supply it; but its purity must be continued by close attention. To use two languages familiarly, and without contaminating one by the other, is very difficult: and to use more than two is hardly to be hoped[1073]. The praises which some have received for their multiplicity of languages, may be sufficient to excite industry, but can hardly generate confidence.

‘I know not whether I can heartily rejoice at the kind reception which you have found, or at the popularity to which you are exalted. I am willing that your merit should be distinguished; but cannot wish that your affections may be gained. I would have you happy wherever you are: yet I would have you wish to return to England. If ever you visit us again, you will find the kindness of your friends undiminished. To tell you how many enquiries are made after you, would be tedious, or if not tedious, would be vain; because you may be told in a very few words, that all who knew you wish you well; and that all that you embraced at your departure, will caress you at your return: therefore do not let Italian academicians nor Italian ladies drive us from your thoughts. You may find among us what you will leave behind, soft smiles and easy sonnets. Yet I shall not wonder if all our invitations should be rejected: for there is a pleasure in being considerable at home, which is not easily resisted.

[Page 363: The Exhibition of Pictures. AEtat 52.]

‘By conducting Mr. Southwell[1074] to Venice, you fulfilled, I know, the original contract: yet I would wish you not wholly to lose him from your notice, but to recommend him to such acquaintance as may best secure him from suffering by his own follies, and to take such general care both of his safety and his interest as may come within your power. His relations will thank you for any such gratuitous attention: at least they will not blame you for any evil that may happen, whether they thank you or not for any good.

‘You know that we have a new King and a new Parliament. Of the new Parliament Fitzherbert[1075] is a member. We were so weary of our old King, that we are much pleased with his successor; of whom we are so much inclined to hope great things, that most of us begin already to believe them. The young man is hitherto blameless; but it would be unreasonable to expect much from the immaturity of juvenile years, and the ignorance of princely education. He has been long in the hands of the Scots, and has already favoured them more than the English will contentedly endure. But, perhaps, he scarcely knows whom he has distinguished, or whom he has disgusted.

‘The Artists have instituted a yearly Exhibition[1076] of pictures and statues, in imitation, as I am told, of foreign academies. This year was the second Exhibition. They please themselves much with the multitude of spectators, and imagine that the English School will rise in reputation. Reynolds is without a rival, and continues to add thousands to thousands, which he deserves, among other excellencies, by retaining his kindness for Baretti. This Exhibition has filled the heads of the Artists and lovers of art. Surely life, if it be not long, is tedious, since we are forced to call in the assistance of so many trifles[1077] to rid us of our time, of that time which never can return.

[Page 364: Johnson’s indifference to pictures. A.D. 1761.]

[Page 365: Monastick life. AEtat 52.]

‘I know my Baretti will not be satisfied with a letter in which I give him no account of myself: yet what account shall I give him? I have not, since the day of our separation, suffered or done any thing considerable. The only change in my way of life is, that I have frequented the theatre more than in former seasons. But I have gone thither only to escape from myself. We have had many new farces, and the comedy called _The Jealous Wife_[1078], which, though not written with much genius, was yet so well adapted to the stage, and so well exhibited by the actors, that it was crowded for near twenty nights. I am digressing from myself to the play-house; but a barren plan must be filled with episodes. Of myself I have nothing to say, but that I have hitherto lived without the concurrence of my own judgment; yet I continue to flatter myself, that, when you return, you will find me mended. I do not wonder that, where the monastick life is permitted, every order finds votaries, and every monastery inhabitants. Men will submit to any rule, by which they may be exempted from the tyranny of caprice and of chance. They are glad to supply by external authority their own want of constancy and resolution, and court the government of others, when long experience has convinced them of their own inability to govern themselves[1079]. If I were to visit Italy, my curiosity would be more attracted by convents than by palaces: though I am afraid that I should find expectation in both places equally disappointed, and life in both places supported with impatience and quitted with reluctance. That it must be so soon quitted, is a powerful remedy against impatience; but what shall free us from reluctance? Those who have endeavoured to teach us to die well, have taught few to die willingly: yet I cannot but hope that a good life might end at last in a contented death.

‘You see to what a train of thought I am drawn by the mention of myself. Let me now turn my attention upon you. I hope you take care to keep an exact journal, and to register all occurrences and observations[1080]; for your friends here expect such a book of travels as has not been often seen. You have given us good specimens in your letters from Lisbon. I wish you had staid longer in Spain[1081], for no country is less known to the rest of Europe; but the quickness of your discernment must make amends for the celerity of your motions. He that knows which way to direct his view, sees much in a little time.

[Page 366: Chronology of the Scriptures. A.D. 1762.]

‘Write to me very often, and I will not neglect to write to you; and I may, perhaps, in time, get something to write: at least, you will know by my letters, whatever else they may have or want, that I continue to be

‘Your most affectionate friend,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘London, June 10, 1761[1082].’

1762: AETAT. 53.–In 1762 he wrote for the Reverend Dr. Kennedy, Rector of Bradley in Derbyshire, in a strain of very courtly elegance, a Dedication to the King[*] of that gentleman’s work, entitled, _A complete System of Astronomical Chronology, unfolding the Scriptures_. He had certainly looked at this work before it was printed; for the concluding paragraph is undoubtedly of his composition, of which let my readers judge:

‘Thus have I endeavoured to free Religion and History from the darkness of a disputed and uncertain chronology; from difficulties which have hitherto appeared insuperable, and darkness which no luminary of learning has hitherto been able to dissipate. I have established the truth of the Mosaical account, by evidence which no transcription can corrupt, no negligence can lose, and no interest can pervert. I have shewn that the universe bears witness to the inspiration of its historian, by the revolution of its orbs and the succession of its seasons; _that the stars in their courses fight against_[1083] incredulity, that the works of GOD give hourly confirmation to the _law_, the _prophets_, and the _gospel_, of which _one day telleth another, and one night certifieth another_[1084]; and that the validity of the sacred writings can never be denied, while the moon shall increase and wane, and the sun shall know his going down[1085].’

[Page 367: The care of living. AEtat 53.]

He this year wrote also the Dedication[Dagger] to the Earl of Middlesex of Mrs Lennox’s _Female Quixote_[1086], and the Preface to the _Catalogue of the Artists’ Exhibition_.[Dagger]

The following letter, which, on account of its intrinsick merit, it would have been unjust both to Johnson and the publick to have with-held, was obtained for me by the solicitation of my friend Mr. Seward:

‘To DR. STAUNTON, (NOW SIR GEORGE STAUNTON, BARONET[1087].)

‘DEAR SIR,

‘I make haste to answer your kind letter, in hope of hearing again from you before you leave us. I cannot but regret that a man of your qualifications should find it necessary to seek an establishment in Guadaloupe, which if a peace should restore to the French[1088], I shall think it some alleviation of the loss, that it must restore likewise Dr. Staunton to the English.

‘It is a melancholy consideration, that so much of our time is necessarily to be spent upon the care of living, and that we can seldom obtain ease in one respect but by resigning it in another; yet I suppose we are by this dispensation not less happy in the whole, than if the spontaneous bounty of Nature poured all that we want into our hands. A few, if they were thus left to themselves, would, perhaps, spend their time in laudable pursuits; but the greater part would prey upon the quiet of each other, or, in the want of other objects, would prey upon themselves.

‘This, however, is our condition, which we must improve and solace as we can: and though we cannot choose always our place of residence, we may in every place find rational amusements, and possess in every place the comforts of piety and a pure conscience.

‘In America there is little to be observed except natural curiosities. The new world must have many vegetables and animals with which philosophers are but little acquainted. I hope you will furnish yourself with some books of natural history, and some glasses and other instruments of observation. Trust as little as you can to report; examine all you can by your own senses. I do not doubt but you will be able to add much to knowledge, and, perhaps, to medicine. Wild nations trust to simples; and, perhaps, the Peruvian bark is not the only specifick which those extensive regions may afford us.

[Page 368: Improper expectations. A.D. 1762.]

‘Wherever you are, and whatever be your fortune, be certain, dear Sir, that you carry with you my kind wishes; and that whether you return hither, or stay in the other hemisphere[1089], to hear that you are happy will give pleasure to, Sir,

‘Your most affectionate humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘June 1, 1762.’

A lady having at this time solicited him to obtain the Archbishop of Canterbury’s patronage to have her son sent to the University, one of those solicitations which are too frequent, where people, anxious for a particular object, do not consider propriety, or the opportunity which the persons whom they solicit have to assist them, he wrote to her the following answer, with a copy of which I am favoured by the Reverend Dr. Farmer[1090], Master of Emanuel College, Cambridge.

‘MADAM,

‘I hope you will believe that my delay in answering your letter could proceed only from my unwillingness to destroy any hope that you had formed. Hope is itself a species of happiness, and, perhaps, the chief happiness which this world affords[1091]: but, like all other pleasures immoderately enjoyed, the excesses of hope must be expiated by pain; and expectations improperly indulged, must end in disappointment. If it be asked, what is the improper expectation which it is dangerous to indulge, experience will quickly answer, that it is such expectation as is dictated not by reason, but by desire; expectation raised, not by the common occurrences of life, but by the wants of the expectant; an expectation that requires the common course of things to be changed, and the general rules of action to be broken.

[Page 369: Johnson’s second letter to Baretti. AEtat 53.]

‘When you made your request to me, you should have considered, Madam, what you were asking. You ask me to solicit a great man, to whom I never spoke, for a young person whom I had never seen, upon a supposition which I had no means of knowing to be true. There is no reason why, amongst all the great, I should chuse to supplicate the Archbishop, nor why, among all the possible objects of his bounty, the Archbishop should chuse your son. I know, Madam, how unwillingly conviction is admitted, when interest opposes it; but surely, Madam, you must allow, that there is no reason why that should be done by me, which every other man may do with equal reason, and which, indeed, no man can do properly, without some very particular relation both to the Archbishop and to you. If I could help you in this exigence by any proper means, it would give me pleasure; but this proposal is so very remote from all usual methods, that I cannot comply with it, but at the risk of such answer and suspicions as I believe you do not wish me to undergo.

‘I have seen your son this morning; he seems a pretty youth, and will, perhaps, find some better friend than I can procure him; but, though he should at last miss the University, he may still be wise, useful, and happy. I am, Madam,

‘Your most humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘June 8, 1762.’

‘To MR. JOSEPH BARETTI, AT MILAN.

‘London, July 20, 1762[1092].

‘SIR,

‘However justly you may accuse me for want of punctuality in correspondence, I am not so far lost in negligence as to omit the opportunity of writing to you, which Mr. Beauclerk’s passage through Milan affords me.

‘I suppose you received the _Idlers_, and I intend that you shall soon receive _Shakspeare_, that you may explain his works to the ladies of Italy, and tell them the story of the editor, among the other strange narratives with which your long residence in this unknown region has supplied you.

‘As you have now been long away, I suppose your curiosity may pant for some news of your old friends. Miss Williams and I live much as we did. Miss Cotterel[1093] still continues to cling to Mrs. Porter, and Charlotte[1094] is now big of the fourth child. Mr. Reynolds gets six thousands a year[1095]. Levet is lately married, not without much suspicion that he has been wretchedly cheated in his match[1096]. Mr. Chambers is gone this day, for the first time, the circuit with the Judges. Mr. Richardson is dead of an apoplexy[1097], and his second daughter has married a merchant.

[Page 370: Johnson’s visit to Lichfield. A.D. 1762.]

[Page 371: All happiness borrowed from hope. AEtat 53.]

‘My vanity, or my kindness, makes me flatter myself, that you would rather hear of me than of those whom I have mentioned; but of myself I have very little which I care to tell. Last winter I went down to my native town[1098], where I found the streets much narrower and shorter than I thought I had left them, inhabited by a new race of people, to whom I was very little known. My play-fellows were grown old, and forced me to suspect that I was no longer young. My only remaining friend has changed his principles, and was become the tool of the predominant faction. My daughter-in-law, from whom I expected most, and whom I met with sincere benevolence, has lost the beauty and gaiety of youth, without having gained much of the wisdom of age[1099]. I wandered about for five days, [1100] and took the first convenient opportunity of returning to a place, where, if there is not much happiness, there is, at least, such a diversity of good and evil, that slight vexations do not fix upon the heart[1101].

‘I think in a few weeks to try another excursion[1102]; though to what end? Let me know, my Baretti, what has been the result of your return to your own country: whether time has made any alteration for the better, and whether, when the first raptures of salutation were over, you did not find your thoughts confessed their disappointment.

‘Moral sentences appear ostentatious and tumid, when they have no greater occasions than the journey of a wit to his own town: yet such pleasures and such pains make up the general mass of life; and as nothing is little to him that feels it with great sensibility, a mind able to see common incidents in their real state, is disposed by very common incidents to very serious contemplations. Let us trust that a time will come, when the present moment shall be no longer irksome; when we shall not borrow all our happiness from hope, which at last is to end in disappointment.

‘I beg that you will shew Mr. Beauclerk all the civilities which you have in your power; for he has always been kind to me.

‘I have lately seen Mr. Stratico, Professor of Padua, who has told me of your quarrel with an Abbot of the Celestine order; but had not the particulars very ready in his memory. When you write to Mr. Marsili[1103], let him know that I remember him with kindness.

‘May you, my Baretti, be very happy at Milan[1104], or some other place nearer to, Sir,

‘Your most affectionate humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

[Page 372: The accession of George III. A.D. 1762.]

[Page 373: Johnson’s pension. AEtat 53.]

The accession of George the Third to the throne of these kingdoms, opened a new and brighter prospect to men of literary merit, who had been honoured with no mark of royal favour in the preceding reign. His present Majesty’s education in this country, as well as his taste and beneficence, prompted him to be the patron of science and the arts; and early this year Johnson, having been represented to him as a very learned and good man, without any certain provision, his Majesty was pleased to grant him a pension of three hundred pounds a year[1105]. The Earl of Bute, who was then Prime Minister, had the honour to announce this instance of his Sovereign’s bounty, concerning which, many and various stories, all equally erroneous, have been propagated: maliciously representing it as a political bribe to Johnson, to desert his avowed principles, and become the tool of a government which he held to be founded in usurpation. I have taken care to have it in my power to refute them from the most authentick information. Lord Bute told me, that Mr. Wedderburne, now Lord Loughborough, was the person who first mentioned this subject to him[1106]. Lord Loughborough told me, that the pension was granted to Johnson solely as the reward of his literary merit, without any stipulation whatever, or even tacit understanding that he should write for administration. His Lordship added, that he was confident the political tracts which Johnson afterwards did write, as they were entirely consonant with his own opinions, would have been written by him though no pension had been granted to him[1107].

[Page 374: Johnson’s interview with Lord Bute. A.D. 1762.]

Mr. Thomas Sheridan and Mr. Murphy, who then lived a good deal both with him and Mr. Wedderburne, told me, that they previously talked with Johnson upon this matter, and that it was perfectly understood by all parties that the pension was merely honorary. Sir Joshua Reynolds told me, that Johnson called on him after his Majesty’s intention had been notified to him, and said he wished to consult his friends as to the propriety of his accepting this mark of the royal favour, after the definitions which he had given in his _Dictionary_ of _pension_ and _pensioners_[1108]. He said he would not have Sir Joshua’s answer till next day, when he would call again, and desired he might think of it. Sir Joshua answered that he was clear to give his opinion then, that there could be no objection to his receiving from the King a reward for literary merit; and that certainly the definitions in his _Dictionary_ were not applicable to him. Johnson, it should seem, was satisfied, for he did not call again till he had accepted the pension, and had waited on Lord Bute to thank him. He then told Sir Joshua that Lord Bute said to him expressly, ‘It is not given you for anything you are to do, but for what you have done.’ His Lordship, he said, behaved in the handsomest manner. He repeated the words twice, that he might be sure Johnson heard them, and thus set his mind perfectly at ease. This nobleman, who has been so virulently abused, acted with great honour in this instance, and displayed a mind truly liberal. A minister of a more narrow and selfish disposition would have availed himself of such an opportunity to fix an implied obligation on a man of Johnson’s powerful talents to give him his support.

[Page 375: Murphy’s account of the pension. AEtat 53.]

Mr. Murphy and the late Mr. Sheridan severally contended for the distinction of having been the first who mentioned to Mr. Wedderburne that Johnson ought to have a pension. When I spoke of this to Lord Loughborough, wishing to know if he recollected the prime mover in the business, he said, ‘All his friends assisted:’ and when I told him that Mr. Sheridan strenuously asserted his claim to it, his Lordship said, ‘He rang the bell.’ And it is but just to add, that Mr. Sheridan told me, that when he communicated to Dr. Johnson that a pension was to be granted him, he replied in a fervour of gratitude, ‘The English language does not afford me terms adequate to my feelings on this occasion. I must have recourse to the French. I am _penetre_ with his Majesty’s goodness.’ When I repeated this to Dr. Johnson, he did not contradict it[1109].

His definitions of _pension_ and _pensioner_, partly founded on the satirical verses of Pope[1110], which he quotes, may be generally true; and yet every body must allow, that there may be, and have been, instances of pensions given and received upon liberal and honourable terms. Thus, then, it is clear, that there was nothing inconsistent or humiliating in Johnson’s accepting of a pension so unconditionally and so honourably offered to him.

[Page 376: Johnson’s letter to Lord Bute. A.D. 1762.]

But I shall not detain my readers longer by any words of my own, on a subject on which I am happily enabled, by the favour of the Earl of Bute, to present them with what Johnson himself wrote; his lordship having been pleased to communicate to me a copy of the following letter to his late father[1111], which does great honour both to the writer, and to the noble person to whom it is addressed:

‘TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF BUTE.

‘MY LORD,

‘When the bills[1112] were yesterday delivered to me by Mr. Wedderburne, I was informed by him of the future favours which his Majesty has, by your Lordship’s recommendation, been induced to intend for me.

‘Bounty always receives part of its value from the manner in which it is bestowed; your Lordship’s kindness includes every circumstance that can gratify delicacy, or enforce obligation. You have conferred your favours on a man who has neither alliance nor interest, who has not merited them by services, nor courted them by officiousness; you have spared him the shame of solicitation, and the anxiety of suspense.

[Page 377: A visit to Devonshire. AEtat 53.]

‘What has been thus elegantly given, will, I hope, not be reproachfully enjoyed; I shall endeavour to give your Lordship the only recompense which generosity desires,–the gratification of finding that your benefits are not improperly bestowed. I am, my Lord,

‘Your Lordship’s most obliged,

‘Most obedient, and most humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘July 20, 1762.’

This year his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds paid a visit of some weeks to his native country, Devonshire, in which he was accompanied by Johnson, who was much pleased with this jaunt, and declared he had derived from it a great accession of new ideas[1113]. He was entertained at the seats of several noblemen and gentlemen in the West of England[1114]; but the greatest part of the time was passed at Plymouth, where the magnificence of the navy, the ship-building and all its circumstances, afforded him a grand subject of contemplation. The Commissioner of the Dock-yard paid him the compliment of ordering the yacht to convey him and his friend to the Eddystone, to which they accordingly sailed. But the weather was so tempestuous that they could not land[1115].

[Page 378: Johnson at Plymouth. A.D. 1762.]

Reynolds and he were at this time the guests of Dr. Mudge[1116], the celebrated surgeon, and now physician of that place, not more distinguished for quickness of parts and variety of knowledge, than loved and esteemed for his amiable manners; and here Johnson formed an acquaintance with Dr. Mudge’s father, that very eminent divine, the Reverend Zachariah Mudge[1117], Prebendary of Exeter, who was idolised in the west, both for his excellence as a preacher and the uniform perfect propriety of his private conduct. He preached a sermon purposely that Johnson might hear him; and we shall see afterwards that Johnson honoured his memory by drawing his character[1118]. While Johnson was at Plymouth, he saw a great many of its inhabitants, and was not sparing of his very entertaining conversation. It was here that he made that frank and truly original confession, that ‘ignorance, pure ignorance,’ was the cause of a wrong definition in his _Dictionary_ of the word _pastern_ [1119], to the no small surprise of the Lady who put the question to him; who having the most profound reverence for his character, so as almost to suppose him endowed with infallibility, expected to hear an explanation (of what, to be sure, seemed strange to a common reader,) drawn from some deep-learned source with which she was unacquainted.

[Page 379: An enemy of the Dockers. AEtat 53.]

Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whom I was obliged for my information concerning this excursion, mentions a very characteristical anecdote of Johnson while at Plymouth. Having observed that in consequence of the Dock-yard a new town[1120] had arisen about two miles off as a rival to the old; and knowing from his sagacity, and just observation of human nature, that it is certain if a man hates at all, he will hate his next neighbour; he concluded that this new and rising town could not but excite the envy and jealousy of the old, in which conjecture he was very soon confirmed; he therefore set himself resolutely on the side of the old town, the _established_ town, in which his lot was cast, considering it as a kind of duty to _stand by_ it. He accordingly entered warmly into its interests, and upon every occasion talked of the _dockers_, as the inhabitants of the new town were called, as upstarts and aliens. Plymouth is very plentifully supplied with water by a river brought into it from a great distance, which is so abundant that it runs to waste in the town. The Dock, or New-town, being totally destitute of water, petitioned Plymouth that a small portion of the conduit might be permitted to go to them, and this was now under consideration. Johnson, affecting to entertain the passions of the place, was violent in opposition; and, half-laughing at himself for his pretended zeal where he had no concern, exclaimed, ‘No, no! I am against the _dockers_; I am a Plymouth-man. Rogues! let them die of thirst. They shall not have a drop[1121]!’

[Page 380: Johnson’s third letter to Baretti. A.D. 1762.]

Lord Macartney obligingly favoured me with a copy of the following letter, in his own hand-writing, from the original, which was found, by the present Earl of Bute, among his father’s papers.

‘To THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF BUTE.

‘MY LORD,

‘That generosity, by which I was recommended to the favour of his Majesty, will not be offended at a solicitation necessary to make that favour permanent and effectual.

‘The pension appointed to be paid me at Michaelmas I have not received, and know not where or from whom I am to ask it. I beg, therefore, that your Lordship will be pleased to supply Mr. Wedderburne with such directions as may be necessary, which, I believe, his friendship will make him think it no trouble to convey to me.

‘To interrupt your Lordship, at a time like this, with such petty difficulties, is improper and unseasonable; but your knowledge of the world has long since taught you, that every man’s affairs, however little, are important to himself. Every man hopes that he shall escape neglect; and, with reason, may every man, whose vices do not preclude his claim, expect favour from that beneficence which has been extended to,

‘My Lord,

‘Your Lordship’s

‘Most obliged

‘And

‘Most humble servant,

‘Temple Lane ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘Nov. 3, 1762.’

‘TO MR. JOSEPH BARETTI, AT MILAN.

‘London, Dec. 21, 1762.

SIR,

[Page 381: Love and marriage. AEtat 53.]

‘You are not to suppose, with all your conviction of my idleness, that I have passed all this time without writing to my Baretti. I gave a letter to Mr. Beauclerk, who, in my opinion, and in his own, was hastening to Naples for the recovery of his health[1122]; but he has stopped at Paris, and I know not when he will proceed. Langton is with him.

‘I will not trouble you with speculations about peace and war. The good or ill success of battles and embassies extends itself to a very small part of domestick life: we all have good and evil, which we feel more sensibly than our petty part of publick miscarriage or prosperity[1123]. I am sorry for your disappointment, with which you seem more touched than I should expect a man of your resolution and experience to have been, did I not know that general truths are seldom applied to particular occasions; and that the fallacy of our self-love extends itself as wide as our interest or affections. Every man believes that mistresses are unfaithful, and patrons capricious; but he excepts his own mistress, and his own patron. We have all learned that greatness is negligent and contemptuous, and that in Courts life is often languished away in ungratified expectation; but he that approaches greatness, or glitters in a Court, imagines that destiny has at last exempted him from the common lot.

‘Do not let such evils overwhelm you as thousands have suffered, and thousands have surmounted; but turn your thoughts with vigour to some other plan of life, and keep always in your mind, that, with due submission to Providence, a man of genius has been seldom ruined but by himself[1124]. Your Patron’s weakness or insensibility will finally do you little hurt, if he is not assisted by your own passions. Of your love I know not the propriety, nor can estimate the power; but in love, as in every other passion, of which hope is the essence, we ought always to remember the uncertainty of events. There is, indeed, nothing that so much seduces reason from vigilance, as the thought of passing life with an amiable woman; and if all would happen that a lover fancies, I know not what other terrestrial happiness would deserve pursuit. But love and marriage are different states. Those who are to suffer the evils together, and to suffer often for the sake of one another, soon lose that tenderness of look, and that benevolence of mind, which arose from the participation of unmingled pleasure and successive amusement. A woman, we are sure, will not be always fair; we are not sure she will always be virtuous: and man cannot retain through life that respect and assiduity by which he pleases for a day or for a month. I do not, however, pretend to have discovered that life has any thing more to be desired than a prudent and virtuous marriage; therefore know not what counsel to give you.

[Page 382: Johnson’s Life of Collins. A.D. 1763.]

‘If you can quit your imagination of love and greatness, and leave your hopes of preferment and bridal raptures to try once more the fortune of literature and industry, the way through France is now open[1125]. We flatter ourselves that we shall cultivate, with great diligence, the arts of peace; and every man will be welcome among us who can teach us any thing we do not know[1126]. For your part, you will find all your old friends willing to receive you.

‘Reynolds still continues to increase in reputation and in riches. Miss Williams, who very much loves you, goes on in the old way. Miss Cotterel is still with Mrs. Porter. Miss Charlotte is married to Dean Lewis, and has three children. Mr. Levet has married a street-walker[1127]. But the gazette of my narration must now arrive to tell you, that Bathurst went physician to the army, and died at the Havannah[1128].

‘I know not whether I have not sent you word that Huggins[1129] and Richardson[1130] are both dead. When we see our enemies and friends gliding away before us, let us not forget that we are subject to the general law of mortality, and shall soon be where our doom will be fixed for ever.

‘I pray GOD to bless you, and am, Sir,

‘Your most affectionate humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘Write soon.’

[Page 383: A dedication to the Queen. AEtat 54.]

1763: AETAT. 54.–In 1763 he furnished to _The Poetical Calendar_, published by Fawkes and Woty, a character of Collins[*], which he afterwards ingrafted into his entire life of that admirable poet[1131], in the collection of lives which he wrote for the body of English poetry, formed and published by the booksellers of London. His account of the melancholy depression with which Collins was severely afflicted, and which brought him to his grave, is, I think, one of the most tender and interesting passages in the whole series of his writings[1132]. He also favoured Mr. Hoole with the Dedication of his translation of _Tasso to the Queen_,[*] which is so happily conceived and elegantly expressed, that I cannot but point it out to the peculiar notice of my readers[1133].

[Page 384: Boswell’s youthful compositions. A.D. 1763.]

[Page 385: Johnson’s quarrel with Sheridan. AEtat 54.]

This is to me a memorable year; for in it I had the happiness to obtain the acquaintance of that extraordinary man whose memoirs I am now writing; an acquaintance which I shall ever esteem as one of the most fortunate circumstances in my life. Though then but two-and-twenty[1134], I had for several years read his works with delight and instruction, and had the highest reverence for their authour, which had grown up in my fancy into a kind of mysterious veneration[1135], by figuring to myself a state of solemn elevated abstraction, in which I supposed him to live in the immense metropolis of London. Mr. Gentleman, a native of Ireland, who passed some years in Scotland as a player, and as an instructor in the English language, a man whose talents and worth were depressed by misfortunes[1136], had given me a representation of the figure and manner of DICTIONARY JOHNSON, as he was then generally called[1137]; and during my first visit to London, which was for three months in 1760, Mr. Derrick the poet[1138], who was Gentleman’s friend and countryman, flattered me with hopes that he would introduce me to Johnson, an honour of which I was very ambitious. But he never found an opportunity; which made me doubt that he had promised to do what was not in his power; till Johnson some years afterwards told me, ‘Derrick, Sir, might very well have introduced you. I had a kindness for Derrick, and am sorry he is dead.’

In the summer of 1761 Mr. Thomas Sheridan was at Edinburgh, and delivered lectures upon the English Language and Publick Speaking to large and respectable audiences. I was often in his company, and heard him frequently expatiate upon Johnson’s extraordinary knowledge, talents, and virtues, repeat his pointed sayings, describe his particularities, and boast of his being his guest sometimes till two or three in the morning. At his house I hoped to have many opportunities of seeing the sage, as Mr. Sheridan obligingly assured me I should not be disappointed.

[Page 386: Sheridan’s pension. A.D. 1763.]

When I returned to London in the end of 1762, to my surprise and regret I found an irreconcileable difference had taken place between Johnson and Sheridan. A pension of two hundred pounds a year had been given to Sheridan. Johnson, who, as has been already mentioned, thought slightingly of Sheridan’s art, upon hearing that he was also pensioned, exclaimed, ‘What! have they given _him_ a pension? Then it is time for me to give up mine.’ Whether this proceeded from a momentary indignation, as if it were an affront to his exalted merit that a player should be rewarded in the same manner with him, or was the sudden effect of a fit of peevishness, it was unluckily said, and, indeed, cannot be justified. Mr. Sheridan’s pension was granted to him not as a player, but as a sufferer in the cause of government, when he was manager of the Theatre Royal in Ireland, when parties ran high in 1753[1139]. And it must also be allowed that he was a man of literature, and had considerably improved the arts of reading and speaking with distinctness and propriety.

Besides, Johnson should have recollected that Mr. Sheridan taught pronunciation to Mr. Alexander Wedderburne[1140], whose sister was married to Sir Harry Erskine[1141], an intimate friend of Lord Bute, who was the favourite of the King; and surely the most outrageous Whig will not maintain, that, whatever ought to be the principle in the disposal of _offices_, a _pension_ ought never to be granted from any bias of court connection. Mr. Macklin[1142], indeed, shared with Mr. Sheridan the honour of instructing Mr. Wedderburne; and though it was too late in life for a Caledonian to acquire the genuine English cadence, yet so successful were Mr. Wedderburne’s instructors, and his own unabating endeavours, that he got rid of the coarse part of his Scotch accent, retaining only as much of the ‘native wood-note wild[1143],’ as to mark his country; which, if any Scotchman should affect to forget, I should heartily despise him. Notwithstanding the difficulties which are to be encountered by those who have not had the advantage of an English education, he by degrees formed a mode of speaking to which Englishmen do not deny the praise of elegance. Hence his distinguished oratory, which he exerted in his own country as an advocate in the Court of Session, and a ruling elder of the _Kirk_, has had its fame and ample reward, in much higher spheres. When I look back on this noble person at Edinburgh, in situations so unworthy of his brilliant powers, and behold LORD LOUGHBOROUGH at London, the change seems almost like one of the metamorphoses in _Ovid_; and as his two preceptors, by refining his utterance, gave currency to his talents, we may say in the words of that poet, ‘_Nam vos mutastis_[1144],’

[Page 387: Lord Loughborough. AEtat 54.]

I have dwelt the longer upon this remarkable instance of successful parts and assiduity; because it affords animating encouragement to other gentlemen of North-Britain to try their fortunes in the southern part of the Island, where they may hope to gratify their utmost ambition; and now that we are one people by the Union, it would surely be illiberal to maintain, that they have not an equal title with the natives of any other part of his Majesty’s dominions.

[Page 388: Sheridan’s attack on Johnson. A.D. 1763.]

[Page 389: Mrs. Sheridan. AEtat 54.]

Johnson complained that a man who disliked him repeated his sarcasm to Mr. Sheridan, without telling him what followed, which was, that after a pause he added, ‘However, I am glad that Mr. Sheridan has a pension, for he is a very good man.’ Sheridan could never forgive this hasty contemptuous expression. It rankled in his mind; and though I informed him of all that Johnson said, and that he would be very glad to meet him amicably, he positively declined repeated offers which I made, and once went off abruptly from a house where he and I were engaged to dine, because he was told that Dr. Johnson was to be there[1145]. I have no sympathetick feeling with such persevering resentment. It is painful when there is a breach between those who have lived together socially and cordially; and I wonder that there is not, in all such cases, a mutual wish that it should be healed. I could perceive that Mr. Sheridan was by no means satisfied with Johnson’s acknowledging him to be a good man[1146]. That could not sooth his injured vanity. I could not but smile, at the same time that I was offended, to observe Sheridan in _The Life of Swift_[1147], which he afterwards published, attempting, in the writhings of his resentment, to depreciate Johnson, by characterising him as ‘A writer of gigantick fame in these days of little men;’ that very Johnson whom he once so highly admired and venerated.

[Page 390: Mr. Thomas Davies. A.D. 1763.]

This rupture with Sheridan deprived Johnson of one of his most agreeable resources for amusement in his lonely evenings; for Sheridan’s well-informed, animated, and bustling mind never, suffered conversation to stagnate; and Mrs. Sheridan[1148] was a most agreeable companion to an intellectual man. She was sensible, ingenious, unassuming, yet communicative. I recollect, with satisfaction, many pleasing hours which I passed with her under the hospitable roof of her husband, who was to me a very kind friend. Her novel, entitled _Memoirs of Miss Sydney Biddulph_, contains an excellent moral while it inculcates a future state of retribution[1149]; and what it teaches is impressed upon the mind by a series of as deep distress as can affect humanity, in the amiable and pious heroine who goes to her grave unrelieved, but resigned, and full of hope of ‘heaven’s mercy.’ Johnson paid her this high compliment upon it: ‘I know not, Madam, that you have a right, upon moral principles, to make your readers suffer so much[1150].’

Mr. Thomas Davies the actor, who then kept a bookseller’s shop in Russel-street, Covent-garden[1151], told me that Johnson was very much his friend, and came frequently to his house, where he more than once invited me to meet him; but by some unlucky accident or other he was prevented from coming to us.

[Page 391: Mr. Davies’s back-parlour. AEtat 54.]

Mr. Thomas Davies was a man of good understanding and talents, with the advantage of a liberal education[1152]. Though somewhat pompous, he was an entertaining companion; and his literary performances[1153] have no inconsiderable share of merit. He was a friendly and very hospitable man. Both he and his wife, (who has been celebrated for her beauty[1154],) though upon the stage for many years, maintained an uniform decency of character; and Johnson esteemed them, and lived in as easy an intimacy with them, as with any family which he used to visit[1155]. Mr. Davies recollected several of Johnson’s remarkable sayings, and was one of the best of the many imitators of his voice and manner, while relating them. He increased my impatience more and more to see the extraordinary man whose works I highly valued, and whose conversation was reported to be so peculiarly excellent.

[Page 392: Boswell’s introduction to Johnson. A.D. 1763.]

[Page 393: His first record of Johnson’s talk. AEtat 54.]

At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr. Davies’s back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs. Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into the shop[1156]; and Mr. Davies having perceived him through the glass-door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing towards us,–he announced his aweful approach to me, somewhat in the manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on the appearance of his father’s ghost, ‘Look, my Lord, it comes.’ I found that I had a very perfect idea of Johnson’s figure, from the portrait of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published his _Dictionary_, in the attitude of sitting in his easy chair in deep meditation, which was the first picture his friend did for him, which Sir Joshua very kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has been made for this work. Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to Davies, ‘Don’t tell where I come from.’–‘From Scotland,’ cried Davies roguishly. ‘Mr. Johnson, (said I) I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it[1157].’ I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as light pleasantry to sooth and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating abasement at the expence of my country. But however that might be, this speech was somewhat unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he was so remarkable, he seized the expression ‘come from Scotland,’ which I used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had said that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, ‘That, Sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.’ This stroke stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat down, I felt myself not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next. He then addressed himself to Davies: ‘What do you think of Garrick? He has refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings.’ Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with him, I ventured to say, ‘O, Sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle to you.’ ‘Sir, (said he, with a stern look,) I have known David Garrick longer than you have done: and I know no right you have to talk to me on the subject.’ Perhaps I deserved this check; for it was rather presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil[1158]. I now felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was blasted. And, in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from making any further attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the field not wholly discomfited; and was soon rewarded by hearing some of his conversation, of which I preserved the following short minute, without marking the questions and observations by which it was produced.

‘People (he remarked) may be taken in once, who imagine that an authour is greater in private life than other men. Uncommon parts require uncommon opportunities for their exertion.

‘In barbarous society, superiority of parts is of real consequence. Great strength or great wisdom is of much value to an individual. But in more polished times there are people to do every thing for money; and then there are a number of other superiorities, such as those of birth and fortune, and rank, that dissipate men’s attention, and leave no extraordinary share of respect for personal and intellectual superiority. This is wisely ordered by Providence, to preserve some equality among mankind.’

[Page 394: Sheridan’s lectures on Oratory. A.D. 1763.]

‘Sir, this book (_The Elements of Criticism_'[1159], which he had taken up,) is a pretty essay, and deserves to be held in some estimation, though much of it is chimerical.’

Speaking of one who with more than ordinary boldness attacked publick measures and the royal family, he said,

‘I think he is safe from the law, but he is an abusive scoundrel; and instead of applying to my Lord Chief Justice to punish him, I would send half a dozen footmen and have him well ducked[1160].’

‘The notion of liberty amuses the people of England, and helps to keep off the _taedium vitae_. When a butcher tells you that _his heart bleeds for his country_, he has, in fact, no uneasy feeling.’

‘Sheridan will not succeed at Bath with his oratory. Ridicule has gone down before him, and, I doubt, Derrick is his enemy[1161].’

‘Derrick may do very well, as long as he can outrun his character; but the moment his character gets up with him, it is all over.’

[Page 395: Boswell’s first call on Johnson. AEtat 54.]

It is, however, but just to record, that some years afterwards, when I reminded him of this sarcasm, he said, ‘Well, but Derrick has now got a character that he need not run away from.’

I was highly pleased with the extraordinary vigour of his conversation, and regretted that I was drawn away from it by an engagement at another place. I had, for a part of the evening, been left alone with him, and had ventured to make an observation now and then, which he received very civilly; so that I was satisfied that though there was a roughness in his manner, there was no ill-nature in his disposition. Davies followed me to the door, and when I complained to him a little of the hard blows which the great man had given me, he kindly took upon him to console me by saying, ‘Don’t be uneasy. I can see he likes you very well.’

[Page 369: The Giant in his den. A.D. 1763.]

A few days afterwards I called on Davies, and asked him if he thought I might take the liberty of waiting on Mr. Johnson at his Chambers in the Temple. He said I certainly might, and that Mr. Johnson would take it as a compliment. So upon Tuesday the 24th of May, after having been enlivened by the witty sallies of Messieurs Thornton[1162], Wilkes, Churchill and Lloyd[1163], with whom I had passed the morning, I boldly repaired to Johnson. His Chambers were on the first floor of No. 1, Inner-Temple-lane, and I entered them with an impression given me by the Reverend Dr. Blair[1164], of Edinburgh, who had been introduced to him not long before, and described his having ‘found the Giant in his den;’ an expression, which, when I came to be pretty well acquainted with Johnson, I repeated to him, and he was diverted at this picturesque account of himself. Dr. Blair had been presented to him by Dr. James Fordyce[1165]. At this time the controversy concerning the pieces published by Mr. James Macpherson, as translations of Ossian[1166], was at its height. Johnson had all along denied their authenticity; and, what was still more provoking to their admirers, maintained that they had no merit. The subject having been introduced by Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Blair, relying on the internal evidence of their antiquity, asked Dr. Johnson whether he thought any man of a modern age could have written such poems? Johnson replied, ‘Yes, Sir, many men, many women, and many children[1167].’ Johnson, at this time, did not know that Dr. Blair had just published a _Dissertation_, not only defending their authenticity, but seriously ranking them with the poems of _Homer_ and _Virgil_; and when he was afterwards informed of this circumstance, he expressed some displeasure at Dr. Fordyce’s having suggested the topick, and said, ‘I am not sorry that they got thus much for their pains. Sir, it was like leading one to talk of a book when the authour is concealed behind the door[1168].’

[Page 397: Christopher Smart’s madness. AEtat 54.]

He received me very courteously; but, it must be confessed, that his apartment, and furniture, and morning dress, were sufficiently uncouth. His brown suit of cloaths looked very rusty; he had on a little old shrivelled unpowdered wig, which was too small for his head; his shirt-neck and knees of his breeches were loose; his black worsted stockings ill drawn up; and he had a pair of unbuckled shoes by way of slippers. But all these slovenly particularities were forgotten the moment that he began to talk. Some gentlemen, whom I do not recollect, were sitting with him; and when they went away, I also rose; but he said to me, ‘Nay, don’t go.’ ‘Sir, (said I,) I am afraid that I intrude upon you. It is benevolent to allow me to sit and hear you.’ He seemed pleased with this compliment, which I sincerely paid him, and answered, ‘Sir, I am obliged to any man who visits me.’ I have preserved the following short minute of what passed this day:–

‘Madness frequently discovers itself merely by unnecessary deviation from the usual modes of the world. My poor friend Smart shewed the disturbance of his mind, by falling upon his knees, and saying his prayers in the street, or in any other unusual place. Now although, rationally speaking, it is greater madness not to pray at all, than to pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that their understanding is not called in question.’

Concerning this unfortunate poet, Christopher Smart, who was confined in a mad-house, he had, at another time, the following conversation with Dr. Burney:–BURNEY. ‘How does poor Smart do, Sir; is he likely to recover?’ JOHNSON. ‘It seems as if his mind had ceased to struggle with the disease; for he grows fat upon it.’ BURNEY. ‘Perhaps, Sir, that may be from want of exercise.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; he has partly as much exercise as he used to have, for he digs in the garden. Indeed, before his confinement, he used for exercise to walk to the ale-house; but he was _carried_ back again. I did not think he ought to be shut up. His infirmities were not noxious to society. He insisted on people praying with him[1169]; and I’d as lief pray with Kit Smart as any one else. Another charge was, that he did not love clean linen; and I have no passion for it.’–Johnson continued. ‘Mankind have a great aversion to intellectual labour[1170]; but even supposing knowledge to be easily attainable, more people would be content to be ignorant than would take even a little trouble to acquire it.’

[Page 398: Johnson’s mode of life. A.D. 1763.]

‘The morality of an action depends on the motive from which we act. If I fling half a crown to a beggar with intention to break his head, and he picks it up and buys victuals with it, the physical effect is good; but, with respect to me, the action is very wrong. So, religious exercises, if not performed with an intention to please GOD, avail us nothing. As our Saviour says of those who perform them from other motives, “Verily they have their reward[1171].”

‘The Christian religion has very strong evidences[1172]. It, indeed, appears in some degree strange to reason; but in History we have undoubted facts, against which, reasoning _a priori_, we have more arguments than we have for them; but then, testimony has great weight, and casts the balance. I would recommend to every man whose faith is yet unsettled, Grotius,–Dr. Pearson,–and Dr. Clarke[1173].’

Talking of Garrick, he said, ‘He is the first man in the world for sprightly conversation.’

When I rose a second time he again pressed me to stay, which I did.

He told me, that he generally went abroad at four in the afternoon, and seldom came home till two in the morning[1174]. I took the liberty to ask if he did not think it wrong to live thus, and not make more use of his great talents[1175]. He owned it was a bad habit. On reviewing, at the distance of many years, my journal of this period, I wonder how, at my first visit, I ventured to talk to him so freely, and that he bore it with so much indulgence.

[Page 399: Johnson the horse-rider. AEtat 54.]

Before we parted, he was so good as to promise to favour me with his company one evening at my lodgings; and, as I took my leave, shook me cordially by the hand. It is almost needless to add, that I felt no little elation at having now so happily established an acquaintance of which I had been so long ambitious.

My readers will, I trust, excuse me for being thus minutely circumstantial, when it is considered that the acquaintance of Dr. Johnson was to me a most valuable acquisition, and laid the foundation of whatever instruction and entertainment they may receive from my collections concerning the great subject of the work which they are now perusing.

I did not visit him again till Monday, June 13, at which time I recollect no part of his conversation, except that when I told him I had been to see Johnson ride upon three horses[1176], he said, ‘Such a man, Sir, should be encouraged; for his performances shew the extent of the human powers in one instance, and thus tend to raise our opinion of the faculties of man. He shews what may be attained by persevering application; so that every man may hope, that by giving as much application, although perhaps he may never ride three horses at a time, or dance upon a wire, yet he may be equally expert in whatever profession he has chosen to pursue.’

He again shook me by the hand at parting, and asked me why I did not come oftener to him. Trusting that I was now in his good graces, I answered, that he had not given me much encouragement, and reminded him of the check I had received from him at our first interview. ‘Poh, poh! (said he, with a complacent smile,) never mind these things. Come to me as often as you can. I shall be glad to see you.’

I had learnt that his place of frequent resort was the Mitre tavern in Fleet-street, where he loved to sit up late, and I begged I might be allowed to pass an evening with him there soon, which he promised I should. A few days afterwards I met him near Temple-bar, about one o’clock in the morning, and asked if he would then go to the Mitre. ‘Sir, (said he) it is too late; they won’t let us in. But I’ll go with you another night with all my heart.’

[Page 400: A revolution in Boswell’s life. A.D. 1763.]

[Page 401: The Mitre. AEtat 54.]

A revolution of some importance in my plan of life had just taken place; for instead of procuring a commission in the footguards, which was my own inclination[1177], I had, in compliance with my father’s wishes, agreed to study the law; and was soon to set out for Utrecht, to hear the lectures of an excellent Civilian in that University, and then to proceed on my travels. Though very desirous of obtaining Dr. Johnson’s advice and instructions on the mode of pursuing my studies, I was at this time so occupied, shall I call it? or so dissipated, by the amusements of London, that our next meeting was not till Saturday, June 25, when happening to dine at Clifton’s eating-house, in Butcher-row[1178], I was surprized to perceive Johnson come in and take his seat at another table. The mode of dining, or rather being fed, at such houses in London, is well known to many to be particularly unsocial, as there is no Ordinary, or united company, but each person has his own mess, and is under no obligation to hold any intercourse with any one. A liberal and full-minded man, however, who loves to talk, will break through this churlish and unsocial restraint. Johnson and an Irish gentleman got into a dispute concerning the cause of some part of mankind being black. ‘Why, Sir, said (Johnson,) it has been accounted for in three ways: either by supposing that they are the posterity of Ham, who was cursed; or that GOD at first created two kinds of men, one black and another white; or that by the heat of the sun the skin is scorched, and so acquires a sooty hue. This matter has been much canvassed among naturalists, but has never been brought to any certain issue.’ What the Irishman said is totally obliterated from my mind; but I remember that he became very warm and intemperate in his expressions; upon which Johnson rose, and quietly walked away. When he had retired, his antagonist took his revenge, as he thought, by saying, ‘He has a most ungainly figure, and an affectation of pomposity, unworthy of a man of genius.’

Johnson had not observed that I was in the room. I followed him, however, and he agreed to meet me in the evening at the Mitre. I called on him, and we went thither at nine. We had a good supper, and port wine, of which he then sometimes drank a bottle. The orthodox high-church sound of the MITRE,–the figure and manner of the celebrated SAMUEL JOHNSON,–the extraordinary power and precision of his conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself admitted as his companion, produced a variety of sensations, and a pleasing elevation of mind beyond what I had ever before experienced. I find in my journal the following minute of our conversation, which, though it will give but a very faint notion of what passed, is in some degree a valuable record; and it will be curious in this view, as shewing how habitual to his mind were some opinions which appear in his works.

[Page 402: Cibber and Whitehead. A.D. 1763.]

‘Colley Cibber[1179], Sir, was by no means a blockhead; but by arrogating to himself too much, he was in danger of losing that degree of estimation to which he was entitled. His friends gave out that he _intended_ his birth-day _Odes_ should be bad: but that was not the case, Sir; for he kept them many months by him, and a few years before he died he shewed me one of them, with great solicitude to render it as perfect as might be, and I made some corrections, to which he was not very willing to submit. I remember the following couplet in allusion to the King and himself:

“Perch’d on the eagle’s soaring wing, The lowly linnet loves to sing.”

Sir, he had heard something of the fabulous tale of the wren sitting upon the eagle’s wing, and he had applied it to a linnet. Gibber’s familiar style, however, was better than that which Whitehead has assumed. _Grand_ nonsense is insupportable[1180]. Whitehead is but a little man to inscribe verses to players.’

I did not presume to controvert this censure, which was tinctured with his prejudice against players[1181]; but I could not help thinking that a dramatick poet might with propriety pay a compliment to an eminent performer, as Whitehead has very happily done in his verses to Mr. Garrick[1182].

[Page 403: The abruptness of Gray’s Ode. AEtat 54.]

‘Sir, I do not think Gray a first-rate poet. He has not a bold imagination, nor much command of words. The obscurity in which he has involved himself will not persuade us that he is sublime[1183]. His _Elegy in a Church-yard_ has a happy selection of images, but I don’t like what are called his great things. His _Ode_ which begins

“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King,
Confusion on thy banners wait!”

has been celebrated for its abruptness, and plunging into the subject all at once[1184]. But such arts as these have no merit, unless when they are original. We admire them only once; and this abruptness has nothing new in it. We have had it often before. Nay, we have it in the old song of Johnny Armstrong[1185]:

“Is there ever a man in all Scotland From the highest estate to the lowest degree, &c.”

And then, Sir,

“Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland, And Johnny Armstrong they do him call.”

There, now, you plunge at once into the subject. You have no previous narration to lead you to it. The two next lines in that _Ode_ are, I think, very good:

“Though fann’d by conquest’s crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state[1186].”‘

[Page 404: Boswell opens his mind. A.D. 1763.]

Here let it be observed, that although his opinion of Gray’s poetry was widely different from mine, and I believe from that of most men of taste[1187], by whom it is with justice highly admired, there is certainly much absurdity in the clamour which has been raised, as if he had been culpably injurious to the merit of that bard, and had been actuated by envy. Alas! ye little short-sighted criticks, could JOHNSON be envious of the talents of any of his contemporaries? That his opinion on this subject was what in private and in publick he uniformly expressed, regardless of what others might think, we may wonder, and perhaps regret; but it is shallow and unjust to charge him with expressing what he did not think.

Finding him in a placid humour, and wishing to avail myself of the opportunity which I fortunately had of consulting a sage, to hear whose wisdom, I conceived in the ardour of youthful imagination, that men filled with a noble enthusiasm for intellectual improvement would gladly have resorted from distant lands;–I opened my mind to him ingenuously, and gave him a little sketch of my life, to which he was pleased to listen with great attention[1188].

[Page 405: The differences of Christians. AEtat 54.]

I acknowledged, that though educated very strictly in the principles of religion, I had for some time been misled into a certain degree of infidelity; but that I was come now to a better way of thinking, and was fully satisfied of the truth of the Christian revelation, though I was not clear as to every point considered to be orthodox. Being at all times a curious examiner of the human mind, and pleased with an undisguised display of what had passed in it, he called to me with warmth, ‘Give me your hand; I have taken a liking to you.’ He then began to descant upon the force of testimony, and the little we could know of final causes; so that the objections of, why was it so? or why was it not so? ought not to disturb us: adding, that he himself had at one period been guilty of a temporary neglect of religion, but that it was not the result of argument, but mere absence of thought[1189].

After having given credit to reports of his bigotry, I was agreeably surprized when he expressed the following very liberal sentiment, which has the additional value of obviating an objection to our holy religion, founded upon the discordant tenets of Christians themselves: ‘For my part, Sir, I think all Christians, whether Papists or Protestants, agree in the essential articles, and that their differences are trivial, and rather political than religious[1190].’

We talked of belief in ghosts. He said, ‘Sir, I make a distinction between what a man may experience by the mere strength of his imagination, and what imagination cannot possibly produce. Thus, suppose I should think that I saw a form, and heard a voice cry “Johnson, you are a very wicked fellow, and unless you repent you will certainly be punished;” my own unworthiness is so deeply impressed upon my mind, that I might _imagine_ I thus saw and heard, and therefore I should not believe that an external communication had been made to me. But if a form should appear, and a voice should tell me that a particular man had died at a particular place, and a particular hour, a fact which I had no apprehension of, nor any means of knowing, and this fact, with all its circumstances, should afterwards be unquestionably proved, I should, in that case, be persuaded that I had supernatural intelligence imparted to me.’

[Page 406: The Cock-lane Ghost. A.D. 1763.]

Here it is proper, once for all, to give a true and fair statement of Johnson’s way of thinking upon the question, whether departed spirits are ever permitted to appear in this world, or in any way to operate upon human life. He has been ignorantly misrepresented as weakly credulous upon that subject; and, therefore, though I feel an inclination to disdain and treat with silent contempt so foolish a notion concerning my illustrious friend, yet as I find it has gained ground, it is necessary to refute it. The real fact then is, that Johnson had a very philosophical mind, and such a rational respect for testimony, as to make him submit his understanding to what was authentically proved, though he could not comprehend why it was so. Being thus disposed, he was willing to inquire into the truth of any relation of supernatural agency, a general belief of which has prevailed in all nations and ages[1191]. But so far was he from being the dupe of implicit faith, that he examined the matter with a jealous attention, and no man was more ready to refute its falsehood when he had discovered it. Churchill, in his poem entitled _The Ghost_, availed himself of the absurd credulity imputed to Johnson, and drew a caricature of him under the name of ‘POMPOSO[1192],’ representing him as one of the believers of the story of a Ghost in Cock-lane, which, in the year 1762, had gained very general credit in London[1193]. Many of my readers, I am convinced, are to this hour under an impression that Johnson was thus foolishly deceived. It will therefore surprise them a good deal when they are informed upon undoubted authority, that Johnson was one of those by whom the imposture was detected. The story had become so popular, that he thought it should be investigated[1194]; and in this research he was assisted by the Reverend Dr. Douglas[1195], now Bishop of Salisbury, the great detector of impostures; who informs me, that after the gentlemen who went and examined into the evidence were satisfied of its falsity, Johnson wrote in their presence an account of it, which was published in the newspapers and _Gentleman’s Magazine_, and undeceived the world[1196].

[Page 408: Subordination. A.D. 1763.]

Our conversation proceeded. ‘Sir, (said he) I am a friend to subordination, as most conducive to the happiness of society[1197]. There is a reciprocal pleasure in governing and being governed.’

‘Dr. Goldsmith is one of the first men we now have as an authour, and he is a very worthy man too. He has been loose in his principles, but he is coming right.’

[Page 409: Scotch Landlords. AEtat 54.]

I mentioned Mallet’s tragedy of _Elvira_[1198], which had been acted the preceding winter at Drury-lane, and that the Honourable Andrew Erskine[1199], Mr. Dempster[1200], and myself, had joined in writing a pamphlet, entitled, _Critical Strictures_, against it[1201]. That the mildness of Dempster’s disposition had, however, relented; and he had candidly said, ‘We have hardly a right to abuse this tragedy: for bad as it is, how vain should either of us be to write one not near so good.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why no, Sir; this is not just reasoning. You may abuse a tragedy, though you cannot write one. You may scold a carpenter who has made you a bad table, though you cannot make a table. It is not your trade to make tables.’

When I talked to him of the paternal estate to which I was heir, he said, ‘Sir, let me tell you, that to be a Scotch landlord, where you have a number of families dependent upon you, and attached to you, is, perhaps, as high a situation as humanity can arrive at. A merchant upon the ‘Change of London, with a hundred thousand pounds, is nothing; an English Duke, with an immense fortune, is nothing; he has no tenants who