The Life Of Johnson Vol 2 by James Boswell (page 7)

‘Edinburgh, Feb. 20, 1776.

* * * * *

‘You have illuminated my mind and relieved me from imaginary shackles of conscientious obligation. Were it necessary, I could immediately join in an entail upon the series of heirs approved by my father; but it is better not to act too suddenly.’

‘DR. JOHNSON TO MR. BOSWELL.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘I am glad that what I could think or say has at all contributed to quiet your thoughts. Your resolution not to act, till your opinion is confirmed by more deliberation, is very just. If you have been scrupulous, do not now be rash. I hope that as you think more, and take opportunities of talking with men intelligent in questions of property, you will be able to free yourself from every difficulty.

‘When I wrote last, I sent, I think, ten packets. Did you receive them all?

‘You must tell Mrs. Boswell that I suspected her to have written without your knowledge[1250], and therefore did not return any answer, lest a clandestine correspondence should have been perniciously discovered. I will write to her soon.

‘I am, dear Sir,

‘Most affectionately yours,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘Feb. 24, 1776.’

Having communicated to Lord Hailes what Dr. Johnson wrote concerning the question which perplexed me so much, his Lordship wrote to me: ‘Your scruples have produced more fruit than I ever expected from them; an excellent dissertation on general principles of morals and law.’

I wrote to Dr. Johnson on the 20th of February, complaining of melancholy, and expressing a strong desire to be with him; informing him that the ten packets came all safe; that Lord Hailes was much obliged to him, and said he had almost wholly removed his scruples against entails.

‘To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘I have not had your letter half an hour; as you lay so much weight upon my notions, I should think it not just to delay my answer.

‘I am very sorry that your melancholy should return, and should be sorry likewise if it could have no relief but from company. My counsel you may have when you are pleased to require it; but of my company you cannot in the next month have much, for Mr. Thrale will take me to Italy, he says, on the first of April.

‘Let me warn you very earnestly against scruples. I am glad that you are reconciled to your settlement, and think it a great honour to have shaken Lord Hailes’s opinion of entails. Do not, however, hope wholly to reason away your troubles; do not feed them with attention, and they will die imperceptibly away. Fix your thoughts upon your business, fill your intervals with company, and sunshine will again break in upon your mind[1251]. If you will come to me, you must come very quickly; and even then I know not but we may scour the country together, for I have a mind to see Oxford and Lichfield, before I set out on this long journey. To this I can only add, that

‘I am, dear Sir,

‘Your most affectionate humble servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘March 5, 1776.’

To THE SAME.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘Very early in April we leave England, and in the beginning of the next week I shall leave London for a short time; of this I think it necessary to inform you, that you may not be disappointed in any of your enterprises. I had not fully resolved to go into the country before this day.

‘Please to make my compliments to Lord Hailes; and mention very particularly to Mrs. Boswell my hope that she is reconciled to, Sir,

‘Your faithful servant,

‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

‘March 12, 1776.’

Above thirty years ago, the heirs of Lord Chancellor Clarendon presented the University of Oxford with the continuation of his _History_, and such other of his Lordship’s manuscripts as had not been published, on condition that the profits arising from their publication should be applied to the establishment of a _Manege_ in the University. The gift was accepted in full convocation. A person being now recommended to Dr. Johnson, as fit to superintend this proposed riding-school, he exerted himself with that zeal for which he was remarkable upon every similar occasion[1252]. But, on enquiry into the matter, he found that the scheme was not likely to be soon carried into execution; the profits arising from the Clarendon press being, from some mismanagement, very scanty. This having been explained to him by a respectable dignitary of the church, who had good means of knowing it, he wrote a letter upon the subject, which at once exhibits his extraordinary precision and acuteness, and his warm attachment to his ALMA MATER.

‘To THE REVEREND DR. WETHERELL, MASTER OF UNIVERSITY-COLLEGE, OXFORD.

‘DEAR SIR,

‘Few things are more unpleasant than the transaction of business with men who are above knowing or caring what they have to do; such as the trustees for Lord Cornbury’s institution will, perhaps, appear, when you have read Dr. —-‘s letter.

‘The last part of the Doctor’s letter is of great importance. The complaint[1253] which he makes I have heard long ago, and did not know but it was redressed. It is unhappy that a practice so erroneous has not yet been altered; for altered it must be, or our press will be useless, with all its privileges. The booksellers, who, like all other men, have strong prejudices in their own favour, are enough inclined to think the practice of printing and selling books by any but themselves, an encroachment on the rights of their fraternity; and have need of stronger inducements to circulate academical publications than those of one another; for, of that mutual co-operation by which the general trade is carried on, the University can bear no part. Of those whom he neither loves nor fears, and from whom he expects no reciprocation of good offices, why should any man promote the interest but for profit? I suppose, with all our scholastick ignorance of mankind, we are still too knowing to expect that the booksellers will erect themselves into patrons, and buy and sell under the influence of a disinterested zeal for the promotion of learning.

‘To the booksellers, if we look for either honour or profit from our press, not only their common profit, but something more must be allowed; and if books, printed at Oxford, are expected to be rated at a high price, that price must be levied on the publick, and paid by the ultimate purchaser, not by the intermediate agents. What price shall be set upon the book, is, to the booksellers, wholly indifferent, provided that they gain a proportionate profit by negociating the sale.

‘Why books printed at Oxford should be particularly dear, I am, however, unable to find. We pay no rent; we inherit many of our instruments and materials; lodging and victuals are cheaper than at London; and, therefore, workmanship ought, at least, not to be dearer. Our expences are naturally less than those of booksellers; and, in most cases, communities are content with less profit than individuals.

‘It is, perhaps, not considered through how many hands a book often passes, before it comes into those of the reader; or what part of the profit each hand must retain, as a motive for transmitting it to the next.

‘We will call our primary agent in London, Mr. Cadell[1254], who receives our books from us, gives them room in his warehouse, and issues them on demand; by him they are sold to Mr. Dilly a wholesale bookseller, who sends them into the country; and the last seller is the country bookseller. Here are three profits to be paid between the printer and the reader, or in the style of commerce, between the manufacturer and the consumer; and if any of these profits is too penuriously distributed, the process of commerce is interrupted.

‘We are now come to the practical question, what is to be done? You will tell me, with reason, that I have said nothing, till I declare how much, according to my opinion, of the ultimate price ought to be distributed through the whole succession of sale.

‘The deduction, I am afraid, will appear very great: but let it be considered before it is refused. We must allow, for profit, between thirty and thirty-five _per cent_., between six and seven shillings in the pound; that is, for every book which costs the last buyer twenty shillings, we must charge Mr. Cadell with something less than fourteen. We must set the copies at fourteen shillings each, and superadd what is called the quarterly-book, or for every hundred books so charged we must deliver an hundred and four.

‘The profits will then stand thus:–

‘Mr. Cadell, who runs no hazard, and gives no credit, will be paid for warehouse room and attendance by a shilling profit on each book, and his chance of the quarterly-book.

‘Mr. Dilly, who buys the book for fifteen shillings, and who will expect the quarterly-book if he takes five and twenty, will send it to his country customer at sixteen and six, by which, at the hazard of loss, and the certainty of long credit, he gains the regular profit of ten _per cent_, which is expected in the wholesale trade.

‘The country bookseller, buying at sixteen and sixpence, and commonly trusting a considerable time, gains but three and sixpence, and if he trusts a year, not much more than two and sixpence; otherwise than as he may, perhaps, take as long credit as he gives.

‘With less profit than this, and more you see he cannot have, the country bookseller cannot live; for his receipts are small, and his debts sometimes bad.

‘Thus, dear Sir, I have been incited by Dr. —-‘s letter to give you a detail of the circulation of books, which, perhaps, every man has not had opportunity of knowing; and which those who know it, do not, perhaps, always distinctly consider.

‘I am, &c.
‘SAM. JOHNSON[1255].’

‘March 12, 1776.’

Having arrived in London late on Friday, the 15th of March, I hastened next morning to wait on Dr. Johnson, at his house; but found he was removed from Johnson’s-court, No. 7, to Boltcourt, No. 8[1256], still keeping to his favourite Fleet-street. My reflection at the time upon this change as marked in my Journal, is as follows: ‘I felt a foolish regret that he had left a court which bore his name[1257]; but it was not foolish to be affected with some tenderness of regard for a place in which I had seen him a great deal, from whence I had often issued a better and a happier man than when I went in, and which had often appeared to my imagination while I trod its pavements, in the solemn darkness of the night, to be sacred to wisdom and piety[1258].’ Being informed that he was at Mr. Thrale’s, in the Borough, I hastened thither, and found Mrs. Thrale and him at breakfast. I was kindly welcomed. In a moment he was in a full glow of conversation, and I felt myself elevated as if brought into another state of being. Mrs. Thrale and I looked to each other while he talked, and our looks expressed our congenial admiration and affection for him. I shall ever recollect this scene with great pleasure. I exclaimed to her, ‘I am now, intellectually, _Hermippus redivivus_, I am quite restored by him, by transfusion of mind[1259]!’ ‘There are many (she replied) who admire and respect Mr. Johnson; but you and I _love_ him.’

He seemed very happy in the near prospect of going to Italy with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. ‘But, (said he,) before leaving England I am to take a jaunt to Oxford, Birmingham, my native city Lichfield, and my old friend, Dr. Taylor’s, at Ashbourn, in Derbyshire. I shall go in a few days, and you, Boswell, shall go with me.’ I was ready to accompany him; being willing even to leave London to have the pleasure of his conversation.

I mentioned with much regret the extravagance of the representative of a great family in Scotland, by which there was danger of its being ruined; and as Johnson respected it for its antiquity, he joined with me in thinking it would be happy if this person should die. Mrs. Thrale seemed shocked at this, as feudal barbarity; and said, ‘I do not understand this preference of the estate to its owner; of the land to the man who walks upon that land.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Madam, it is not a preference of the land to its owner, it is the preference of a family to an individual. Here is an establishment in a country, which is of importance for ages, not only to the chief but to his people; an establishment which extends upwards and downwards; that this should be destroyed by one idle fellow is a sad thing.’

He said, ‘Entails[1260] are good, because it is good to preserve in a country, serieses of men, to whom the people are accustomed to look up as to their leaders. But I am for leaving a quantity of land in commerce, to excite industry, and keep money in the country; for if no land were to be bought in the country, there would be no encouragement to acquire wealth, because a family could not be founded there; or if it were acquired, it must be carried away to another country where land may be bought. And although the land in every country will remain the same, and be as fertile where there is no money, as where there is, yet all that portion of the happiness of civil life, which is produced by money circulating in a country, would be lost.’ BOSWELL. ‘Then, Sir, would it be for the advantage of a country that all its lands were sold at once?’ JOHNSON. ‘So far, Sir, as money produces good, it would be an advantage; for, then that country would have as much money circulating in it as it is worth. But to be sure this would be counterbalanced by disadvantages attending a total change of proprietors.’

I expressed my opinion that the power of entailing should be limited thus: ‘That there should be one third, or perhaps one half of the land of a country kept free for commerce; that the proportion allowed to be entailed, should be parcelled out so that no family could entail above a certain quantity. Let a family according to the abilities of its representatives, be richer or poorer in different generations, or always rich if its representatives be always wise: but let its absolute permanency be moderate. In this way we should be certain of there being always a number of established roots; and as in the course of nature, there is in every age an extinction of some families, there would be continual openings for men ambitious of perpetuity, to plant a stock in the entail ground[1261].’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, mankind will be better able to regulate the system of entails, when the evil of too much land being locked up by them is felt, than we can do at present when it is not felt.’ I mentioned Dr. Adam Smith’s book on _The Wealth of Nations_[1262] which was just published, and that Sir John Pringle had observed to me, that Dr. Smith, who had never been in trade, could not be expected to write well on that subject any more than a lawyer upon physick. JOHNSON. ‘He is mistaken, Sir: a man who has never been engaged in trade himself may undoubtedly write well upon trade, and there is nothing which requires more to be illustrated by philosophy than trade does. As to mere wealth, that is to say, money, it is clear that one nation or one individual cannot increase its store but by making another poorer: but trade procures what is more valuable, the reciprocation of the peculiar advantages of different countries. A merchant seldom thinks but of his own particular trade. To write a good book upon it, a man must have extensive views. It is not necessary to have practised, to write well upon a subject.’ I mentioned law as a subject on which no man could write well without practice. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, in England, where so much money is to be got by the practice of the law, most of our writers upon it have been in practice; though Blackstone had not been much in practice when he published his _Commentaries_. But upon the Continent, the great writers on law have not all been in practice: Grotius, indeed, was; but Puffendorf was not, Burlamaqui was not.’

When we had talked of the great consequence which a man acquired by being employed in his profession, I suggested a doubt of the justice of the general opinion, that it is improper in a lawyer to solicit employment; for why, I urged, should it not be equally allowable to solicit that as the means of consequence, as it is to solicit votes to be elected a member of Parliament? Mr. Strahan had told me that a countryman of his and mine[1263], who had risen to eminence in the law, had, when first making his way, solicited him to get him employed in city causes. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is wrong to stir up law-suits; but when once it is certain that a law-suit is to go on, there is nothing wrong in a lawyer’s endeavouring that he shall have the benefit, rather than another.’ BOSWELL. ‘You would not solicit employment, Sir, if you were a lawyer.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir, but not because I should think it wrong, but because I should disdain it.’ This was a good distinction, which will be felt by men of just pride. He proceeded: ‘However, I would not have a lawyer to be wanting to himself in using fair means. I would have him to inject a little hint now and then, to prevent his being overlooked.’

Lord Mountstuart’s bill for a Scotch Militia[1264], in supporting which his Lordship had made an able speech in the House of Commons, was now a pretty general topick of conversation. JOHNSON. ‘As Scotland contributes so little land-tax[1265] towards the general support of the nation, it ought not to have a militia paid out of the general fund, unless it should be thought for the general interest, that Scotland should be protected from an invasion, which no man can think will happen; for what enemy would invade Scotland, where there is nothing to be got? No, Sir; now that the Scotch have not the pay of English soldiers spent among them, as so many troops are sent abroad, they are trying to get money another way, by having a militia paid. If they are afraid, and seriously desire to have an armed force to defend them, they should pay for it. Your scheme is to retain a part of your land-tax, by making us pay and clothe your militia.’ BOSWELL. ‘You should not talk of _we_ and _you_, Sir: there is now an _Union_.’ JOHNSON. ‘There must be a distinction of interest, while the proportions of land-tax are so unequal. If Yorkshire should say, “Instead of paying our land-tax, we will keep a greater number of militia,” it would be unreasonable.’ In this argument my friend was certainly in the wrong. The land-tax is as unequally proportioned between different parts of England, as between England and Scotland; nay, it is considerably unequal in Scotland itself. But the land-tax is but a small part of the numerous branches of publick revenue, all of which Scotland pays precisely as England does. A French invasion made in Scotland would soon penetrate into England.

He thus discoursed upon supposed obligation in settling estates:–‘Where a man gets the unlimited property of an estate, there is no obligation upon him in _justice_ to leave it to one person rather than to another. There is a motive of preference from _kindness_, and this kindness is generally entertained for the nearest relation. If I _owe_ a particular man a sum of money, I am obliged to let that man have the next money I get, and cannot in justice let another have it: but if I owe money to no man, I may dispose of what I get as I please. There is not a _debitum justitice_ to a man’s next heir; there is only a _debitum caritatis_. It is plain, then, that I have morally a choice, according to my liking. If I have a brother in want, he has a claim from affection to my assistance; but if I have also a brother in want, whom I like better, he has a preferable claim. The right of an heir at law is only this, that he is to have the succession to an estate, in case no other person is appointed to it by the owner. His right is merely preferable to that of the King.’

We got into a boat to cross over to Black-friars; and as we moved along the Thames, I talked to him of a little volume, which, altogether unknown to him, was advertised to be published in a few days, under the title of _Johnsoniana, or Bon-Mots of Dr. Johnson_[1266]. JOHNSON, ‘Sir, it is a mighty impudent thing.’ BOSWELL. ‘Pray, Sir, could you have no redress if you were to prosecute a publisher for bringing out, under your name, what you never said, and ascribing to you dull stupid nonsense, or making you swear profanely, as many ignorant relaters of your _bon-mots_ do[1267]?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; there will always be some truth mixed with the falsehood, and how can it be ascertained how much is true and how much is false? Besides, Sir, what damages would a jury give me for having been represented as swearing?’ BOSWELL. ‘I think, Sir, you should at least disavow such a publication, because the world and posterity might with much plausible foundation say, “Here is a volume which was publickly advertised and came out in Dr. Johnson’s own time, and, by his silence, was admitted by him to be genuine.”‘ JOHNSON. ‘I shall give myself no trouble about the matter.’

He was, perhaps, above suffering from such spurious publications; but I could not help thinking, that many men would be much injured in their reputation, by having absurd and vicious sayings imputed to them; and that redress ought in such cases to be given.

He said, ‘The value of every story depends on its being true. A story is a picture either of an individual or of human nature in general: if it be false, it is a picture of nothing. For instance: suppose a man should tell that Johnson, before setting out for Italy, as he had to cross the Alps, sat down to make himself wings. This many people would believe; but it would be a picture of nothing. —-[1268] (naming a worthy friend of ours,) used to think a story, a story, till I shewed him that truth was essential to it[1269].’ I observed, that Foote entertained us with stories which were not true; but that, indeed, it was properly not as narratives that Foote’s stories pleased us, but as collections of ludicrous images. JOHNSON. ‘Foote is quite impartial, for he tells lies of every body.’

The importance of strict and scrupulous veracity cannot be too often inculcated. Johnson was known to be so rigidly attentive to it, that even in his common conversation the slightest circumstance was mentioned with exact precision[1270]. The knowledge of his having such a principle and habit made his friends have a perfect reliance on the truth of every thing that he told, however it might have been doubted if told by many others. As an instance of this, I may mention an odd incident which he related as having happened to him one night in Fleet-street. ‘A gentlewoman (said he) begged I would give her my arm to assist her in crossing the street, which I accordingly did; upon which she offered me a shilling, supposing me to be the watchman. I perceived that she was somewhat in liquor.’ This, if told by most people, would have been thought an invention; when told by Johnson, it was believed by his friends as much as if they had seen what passed.

We landed at the Temple-stairs, where we parted.

I found him in the evening in Mrs. Williams’s room. We talked of religious orders. He said, ‘It is as unreasonable for a man to go into a Carthusian convent for fear of being immoral, as for a man to cut off his hands for fear he should steal. There is, indeed, great resolution in the immediate act of dismembering himself; but when that is once done, he has no longer any merit: for though it is out of his power to steal, yet he may all his life be a thief in his heart. So when a man has once become a Carthusian, he is obliged to continue so, whether he chooses it or not. Their silence, too, is absurd. We read in the Gospel of the apostles being sent to preach, but not to hold their tongues. All severity that does not tend to increase good, or prevent evil, is idle. I said to the Lady Abbess[1271] of a convent, “Madam, you are here, not for the love of virtue, but the fear of vice.” She said, “She should remember this as long as she lived.”‘ I thought it hard to give her this view of her situation, when she could not help it; and, indeed, I wondered at the whole of what he now said; because, both in his _Rambler_[1272] and _Idler_[1273], he treats religious austerities with much solemnity of respect[1274].

Finding him still persevering in his abstinence from wine, I ventured to speak to him of it.–JOHNSON. ‘Sir, I have no objection to a man’s drinking wine, if he can do it in moderation. I found myself apt to go to excess in it, and therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of illness, I thought it better not to return to it[1275]. Every man is to judge for himself, according to the effects which he experiences. One of the fathers tells us, he found fasting made him so peevish[1276] that he did not practise it.’

Though he often enlarged upon the evil of intoxication[1277], he was by no means harsh and unforgiving to those who indulged in occasional excess in wine. One of his friends[1278], I well remember, came to sup at a tavern with him and some other gentlemen, and too plainly discovered that he had drunk too much at dinner. When one who loved mischief, thinking to produce a severe censure, asked Johnson, a few days afterwards, ‘Well, Sir, what did your friend say to you, as an apology for being in such a situation?’ Johnson answered, ‘Sir, he said all that a man _should_ say: he said he was sorry for it.’

I heard him once give a very judicious practical advice upon this subject: ‘A man, who has been drinking wine at all freely, should never go into a new company. With those who have partaken of wine with him, he may be pretty well in unison; but he will probably be offensive, or appear ridiculous, to other people.’

He allowed very great influence to education. ‘I do not deny, Sir, but there is some original difference in minds; but it is nothing in comparison of what is formed by education. We may instance the science of _numbers_, which all minds are equally capable of attaining[1279]; yet we find a prodigious difference in the powers of different men, in that respect, after they are grown up, because their minds have been more or less exercised in it: and I think the same cause will explain the difference of excellence in other things, gradations admitting always some difference in the first principles[1280].’ This is a difficult subject; but it is best to hope that diligence may do a great deal. We are _sure_ of what it can do, in increasing our mechanical force and dexterity.

I again visited him on Monday. He took occasion to enlarge, as he often did, upon the wretchedness of a sea-life[1281]. ‘A ship is worse than a gaol. There is, in a gaol, better air, better company, better conveniency of every kind; and a ship has the additional disadvantage of being in danger. When men come to like a sea-life, they are not fit to live on land[1282].’–‘Then (said I) it would be cruel in a father to breed his son to the sea.’ JOHNSON. ‘It would be cruel in a father who thinks as I do. Men go to sea, before they know the unhappiness of that way of life; and when they have come to know it, they cannot escape from it, because it is then too late to choose another profession; as indeed is generally the case with men, when they have once engaged in any particular way of life.’

On Tuesday, March 19, which was fixed for our proposed jaunt, we met in the morning at the Somerset coffee-house in the Strand, where we were taken up by the Oxford coach. He was accompanied by Mr. Gwyn[1283], the architect; and a gentleman of Merton College, whom we did not know, had the fourth seat. We soon got into conversation; for it was very remarkable of Johnson, that the presence of a stranger had no restraint upon his talk. I observed that Garrick, who was about to quit the stage, would soon have an easier life. JOHNSON. ‘I doubt that, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘Why, Sir, he will be Atlas with the burthen off his back.’ JOHNSON. ‘But I know not, Sir, if he will be so steady without his load. However, he should never play any more, but be entirely the gentleman, and not partly the player: he should no longer subject himself to be hissed by a mob, or to be insolently treated by performers, whom he used to rule with a high hand, and who would gladly retaliate.’ BOSWELL. ‘I think he should play once a year for the benefit of decayed actors, as it has been said he means to do.’ JOHNSON. ‘Alas, Sir! he will soon be a decayed actor himself.’

Johnson expressed his disapprobation of ornamental architecture, such as magnificent columns supporting a portico, or expensive pilasters supporting merely their own capitals, ‘because it consumes labour disproportionate to its utility.’ For the same reason he satyrised statuary. ‘Painting (said he) consumes labour not disproportionate to its effect; but a fellow will hack half a year at a block of marble to make something in stone that hardly resembles a man. The value of statuary is owing to its difficulty. You would not value the finest head cut upon a carrot[1284].’ Here he seemed to me to be strangely deficient in taste; for surely statuary is a noble art of imitation, and preserves a wonderful expression of the varieties of the human frame; and although it must be allowed that the circumstances of difficulty enhance the value of a marble head, we should consider, that if it requires a long time in the performance, it has a proportionate value in durability.

Gwyn was a fine lively rattling fellow. Dr. Johnson kept him in subjection, but with a kindly authority. The spirit of the artist, however, rose against what he thought a Gothick attack, and he made a brisk defence. ‘What, Sir, will you allow no value to beauty in architecture or in statuary? Why should we allow it then in writing? Why do you take the trouble to give us so many fine allusions, and bright images, and elegant phrases? You might convey all your instruction without these ornaments.’ Johnson smiled with complacency; but said, ‘Why, Sir, all these ornaments are useful, because they obtain an easier reception for truth; but a building is not at all more convenient for being decorated with superfluous carved work.’

Gwyn at last was lucky enough to make one reply to Dr. Johnson, which he allowed to be excellent. Johnson censured him for taking down a church which might have stood many years, and building a new one at a different place, for no other reason but that there might be a direct road to a new bridge; and his expression was, ‘You are taking a church out of the way, that the people may go in a straight line to the bridge.’–‘No, Sir, (said Gwyn,) I am putting the church _in_ the way, that the people may not _go out of the way_.’ JOHNSON, (with a hearty loud laugh of approbation,) ‘Speak no more. Rest your colloquial fame upon this.’

Upon our arrival at Oxford, Dr. Johnson and I went directly to University College, but were disappointed on finding that one of the fellows, his friend Mr. Scott[1285], who accompanied him from Newcastle to Edinburgh, was gone to the country. We put up at the Angel inn, and passed the evening by ourselves in easy and familiar conversation. Talking of constitutional melancholy, he observed, ‘A man so afflicted, Sir, must divert distressing thoughts, and not combat with them.’ BOSWELL. ‘May not he think them down, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. To attempt to _think them down_ is madness. He should have a lamp constantly burning in his bed-chamber during the night, and if wakefully disturbed, take a book, and read, and compose himself to rest. To have the management of the mind is a great art, and it may be attained in a considerable degree by experience and habitual exercise.’ BOSWELL. ‘Should not he provide amusements for himself? Would it not, for instance, be right for him to take a course of chymistry?’ JOHNSON. ‘Let him take a course of chymistry, or a course of rope-dancing, or a course of any thing to which he is inclined at the time. Let him contrive to have as many retreats for his mind as he can, as many things to which it can fly from itself[1286]. Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_[1287] is a valuable work. It is, perhaps, overloaded with quotation. But there is great spirit and great power in what Burton says, when he writes from his own mind.’

Next morning we visited Dr. Wetherell, Master of University College, with whom Dr. Johnson conferred on the most advantageous mode of disposing of the books printed at the Clarendon press, on which subject his letter has been inserted in a former page[1288]. I often had occasion to remark, Johnson loved business[1289], loved to have his wisdom actually operate on real life. Dr. Wetherell and I talked of him without reserve in his own presence. WETHERELL. ‘I would have given him a hundred guineas if he would have written a preface to his _Political Tracts_[1290], by way of a Discourse on the British Constitution.’ BOSWELL. ‘Dr. Johnson, though in his writings, and upon all occasions a great friend to the constitution both in church and state, has never written expressly in support of either. There is really a claim upon him for both. I am sure he could give a volume of no great bulk upon each, which would comprise all the substance, and with his spirit would effectually maintain them. He should erect a fort on the confines of each.’ I could perceive that he was displeased with this dialogue. He burst out, ‘Why should _I_ be always writing[1291]?’ I hoped he was conscious that the debt was just, and meant to discharge it, though he disliked being dunned.

We then went to Pembroke College, and waited on his old friend Dr. Adams, the master of it, whom I found to be a most polite, pleasing, communicative man. Before his advancement to the headship of his college, I had intended to go and visit him at Shrewsbury, where he was rector of St. Chad’s, in order to get from him what particulars he could recollect of Johnson’s academical life. He now obligingly gave me part of that authentick information, which, with what I afterwards owed to his kindness, will be found incorporated in its proper place in this work.

Dr. Adams had distinguished himself by an able answer to David Hume’s _Essay on Miracles_. He told me he had once dined in company with Hume in London[1292]; that Hume shook hands with him, and said, ‘You have treated me much better than I deserve;’ and that they exchanged visits. I took the liberty to object to treating an infidel writer with smooth civility. Where there is a controversy concerning a passage in a classick authour, or concerning a question in antiquities, or any other subject in which human happiness is not deeply interested, a man may treat his antagonist with politeness and even respect. But where the controversy is concerning the truth of religion, it is of such vast importance to him who maintains it, to obtain the victory, that the person of an opponent ought not to be spared. If a man firmly believes that religion is an invaluable treasure[1293], he will consider a writer who endeavours to deprive mankind of it as a _robber_; he will look upon him as _odious_, though the infidel might think himself in the right. A robber who reasons as the gang do in the _Beggar’s Opera_, who call themselves _practical_ philosophers[1294], and may have as much sincerity as pernicious _speculative_ philosophers, is not the less an object of just indignation. An abandoned profligate may think that it is not wrong to debauch my wife, but shall I, therefore, not detest him? And if I catch him in making an attempt, shall I treat him with politeness? No, I will kick him down stairs, or run him through the body; that is, if I really love my wife, or have a true rational notion of honour. An infidel then shall not be treated handsomely by a Christian, merely because he endeavours to rob with ingenuity. I do declare, however, that I am exceedingly unwilling to be provoked to anger, and could I be persuaded that truth would not suffer from a cool moderation in its defenders, I should wish to preserve good humour, at least, in every controversy; nor, indeed, do I see why a man should lose his temper while he does all he can to refute an opponent. I think ridicule may be fairly used against an infidel; for instance, if he be an ugly fellow, and yet absurdly vain of his person[1295], we may contrast his appearance with Cicero’s beautiful image of Virtue, could she be seen[1296]. Johnson coincided with me and said, ‘When a man voluntarily engages in an important controversy, he is to do all he can to lessen his antagonist, because authority from personal respect has much weight with most people, and often more than reasoning[1297]. If my antagonist writes bad language, though that may not be essential to the question, I will attack him for his bad language.’ ADAMS. ‘You would not jostle a chimney-sweeper.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir, if it were necessary to jostle him _down_.’

Dr. Adams told us, that in some of the Colleges at Oxford, the fellows had excluded the students from social intercourse with them in the common room[1298]. JOHNSON. ‘They are in the right, Sir: there can be no real conversation, no fair exertion of mind amongst them, if the young men are by; for a man who has a character does not choose to stake it in their presence.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, may there not be very good conversation without a contest for superiority?’ JOHNSON. ‘No animated conversation, Sir, for it cannot be but one or other will come off superiour. I do not mean that the victor must have the better of the argument, for he may take the weak side; but his superiority of parts and knowledge will necessarily appear: and he to whom he thus shews himself superiour is lessened in the eyes of the young men[1299]. You know it was said, “_Mallem cum Scaligero errare quam cum Clavio recte sapere_[1300].” In the same manner take Bentley’s and Jason de Nores’ Comments upon Horace, you will admire Bentley more when wrong, than Jason when right.’

We walked with Dr. Adams into the master’s garden, and into the common room. JOHNSON, (after a reverie of meditation,) ‘Ay! Here I used to play at draughts with Phil. Jones[1301] and Fludyer. Jones loved beer, and did not get very forward in the church. Fludyer turned out a scoundrel[1302], a Whig, and said he was ashamed of having been bred at Oxford. He had a living at Putney, and got under the eye of some retainers to the court at that time, and so became a violent Whig: but he had been a scoundrel all along to be sure.’ BOSWELL. ‘Was he a scoundrel, Sir, in any other way than that of being a political scoundrel? Did he cheat at draughts?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, we never played for _money_.’

He then carried me to visit Dr. Bentham, Canon of Christ-Church, and Divinity Professor, with whose learned and lively conversation we were much pleased. He gave us an invitation to dinner, which Dr. Johnson told me was a high honour. ‘Sir, it is a great thing to dine with the Canons of Christ-Church.’ We could not accept his invitation, as we were engaged to dine at University College. We had an excellent dinner there, with the Master and Fellows, it being St. Cuthbert’s day, which is kept by them as a festival, as he was a saint of Durham, with which this college is much connected[1303].

We drank tea with Dr. Home[1304], late President of Magdalen College, and Bishop of Norwich, of whose abilities, in different respects, the publick has had eminent proofs, and the esteem annexed to whose character was increased by knowing him personally. He had talked of publishing an edition of Walton’s _Lives_[1305], but had laid aside that design, upon Dr. Johnson’s telling him, from mistake, that Lord Hailes intended to do it. I had wished to negociate between Lord Hailes and him, that one or other should perform so good a work. JOHNSON. ‘In order to do it well, it will be necessary to collect all the editions of Walton’s _Lives_. By way of adapting the book to the taste of the present age, they have, in a later edition, left out a vision which he relates Dr. Donne had[1306], but it should be restored; and there should be a critical catalogue given of the works of the different persons whose lives were written by Walton, and therefore their works must be carefully read by the editor.’

We then went to Trinity College, where he introduced me to Mr. Thomas Warton, with whom we passed a part of the evening. We talked of biography.–JOHNSON. ‘It is rarely well executed[1307]. They only who live with a man can write his life with any genuine exactness and discrimination; and few people who have lived with a man know what to remark about him. The chaplain of a late Bishop[1308], whom I was to assist in writing some memoirs of his Lordship, could tell me scarcely any thing[1309].’

I said, Mr. Robert Dodsley’s life should be written, as he had been so much connected with the wits of his time[1310], and by his literary merit had raised himself from the station of a footman. Mr. Warton said, he had published a little volume under the title of _The Muse in Livery_ [1311]. JOHNSON. ‘I doubt whether Dodsley’s brother[1312] would thank a man who should write his life: yet Dodsley himself was not unwilling that his original low condition should be recollected. When Lord Lyttelton’s _Dialogues of the Dead_ came out, one of which is between Apicius, an ancient epicure, and Dartineuf, a modern epicure, Dodsley said to me, “I knew Dartineuf well, for I was once his footman[1313].”‘

Biography led us to speak of Dr. John Campbell[1314], who had written a considerable part of the _Biographia Britannica_. Johnson, though he valued him highly, was of opinion that there was not so much in his great work, _A Political Survey of Great Britain_, as the world had been taught to expect[1315]; and had said to me, that he believed Campbell’s disappointment, on account of the bad success of that work, had killed him. He this evening observed of it, ‘That work was his death.’ Mr. Warton, not adverting to his meaning, answered, ‘I believe so; from the great attention he bestowed on it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, he died of _want_ of attention, if he died at all by that book.’

We talked of a work much in vogue at that time, written in a very mellifluous style, but which, under pretext of another subject, contained much artful infidelity[1316]. I said it was not fair to attack us thus unexpectedly; he should have warned us of our danger, before we entered his garden of flowery eloquence, by advertising, ‘Spring guns and men-traps set here[1317].’ The authour had been an Oxonian, and was remembered there for having ‘turned Papist.’ I observed, that as he had changed several times–from the Church of England to the Church of Rome,–from the Church of Rome to infidelity,–I did not despair yet of seeing him a methodist preacher. JOHNSON, (laughing.) ‘It is said, that his range has been more extensive, and that he has once been Mahometan[1318]. However, now that he has published his infidelity, he will probably persist in it.’ BOSWELL. ‘I am not quite sure of that, Sir.’

I mentioned Sir Richard Steele having published his _Christian Hero_, with the avowed purpose of obliging himself to lead a religious life[1319], yet, that his conduct was by no means strictly suitable. JOHNSON. ‘Steele, I believe, practised the lighter vices.’

Mr. Warton, being engaged, could not sup with us at our inn; we had therefore another evening by ourselves. I asked Johnson, whether a man’s[1320] being forward to make himself known to eminent people, and seeing as much of life, and getting as much information as he could in every way, was not yet lessening himself by his forwardness. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; a man always makes himself greater as he increases his knowledge.’

I censured some ludicrous fantastick dialogues between two coach-horses and other such stuff, which Baretti had lately published[1321]. He joined with me, and said, ‘Nothing odd will do long. _Tristram Shandy_ did not last[1322].’ I expressed a desire to be acquainted with a lady who had been much talked of, and universally celebrated for extraordinary address and insinuation[1323]. JOHNSON. ‘Never believe extraordinary characters which you hear of people. Depend upon it, Sir, they are exaggerated. You do not see one man shoot a great deal higher than another.’ I mentioned Mr. Burke. JOHNSON. ‘Yes; Burke is an extraordinary man. His stream of mind is perpetual[1324].’ It is very pleasing to me to record, that Johnson’s high estimation of the talents of this gentleman was uniform from their early acquaintance. Sir Joshua Reynolds informs me, that when Mr. Burke was first elected a member of Parliament, and Sir John Hawkins expressed a wonder at his attaining a seat, Johnson said, ‘Now we who know Mr. Burke, know, that he will be one of the first men in this country[1325].’ And once, when Johnson was ill, and unable to exert himself as much as usual without fatigue, Mr. Burke having been mentioned, he said, ‘That fellow calls forth all my powers. Were I to see Burke now it would kill me[1326].’ So much was he accustomed to consider conversation as a contest[1327], and such was his notion of Burke as an opponent.

Next morning, Thursday, March 31, we set out in a post-chaise to pursue our ramble. It was a delightful day, and we rode through Blenheim park. When I looked at the magnificent bridge built by John Duke of Marlborough, over a small rivulet, and recollected the Epigram made upon it–

‘The lofty arch his high ambition shows, The stream, an emblem of his bounty flows[1328]:’

and saw that now, by the genius of Brown[1329], a magnificent body of water was collected, I said, ‘They have _drowned_ the Epigram.’ I observed to him, while in the midst of the noble scene around us, ‘You and I, Sir, have, I think, seen together the extremes of what can be seen in Britain:–the wild rough island of Mull, and Blenheim park.’

We dined at an excellent inn at Chapel-house, where he expatiated on the felicity of England in its taverns and inns, and triumphed over the French for not having, in any perfection, the tavern life. ‘There is no private house, (said he,) in which people can enjoy themselves so well, as at a capital tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of good things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much elegance, ever so much desire that every body should be easy; in the nature of things it cannot be: there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of the house is anxious to entertain his guests; the guests are anxious to be agreeable to him: and no man, but a very impudent dog indeed, can as freely command what is in another man’s house, as if it were his own[1330]. Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general freedom from anxiety. You are sure you are welcome: and the more noise you make, the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No servants will attend you with the alacrity which waiters do, who are incited by the prospect of an immediate reward in proportion as they please. No, Sir; there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn[1331].’ He then repeated, with great emotion, Shenstone’s lines:–

‘Whoe’er has travell’d life’s dull round, Where’er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn[1332].’

My illustrious friend, I thought, did not sufficiently admire Shenstone[1333]. That ingenious and elegant gentleman’s opinion of Johnson appears in one of his letters to Mr. Graves[1334], dated Feb. 9, 1760. ‘I have lately been reading one or two volumes of _The Rambler_; who, excepting against some few hardnesses[1335] in his manner, and the want of more examples to enliven, is one of the most nervous, most perspicuous, most concise, [and] most harmonious prose writers I know. A learned diction improves by time.’

In the afternoon, as we were driven rapidly along in the post-chaise, he said to me ‘Life has not many things better than this[1336].’

We stopped at Stratford-upon-Avon, and drank tea and coffee; and it pleased me to be with him upon the classick ground of Shakspeare’s native place.

He spoke slightingly of Dyer’s _Fleece_[1337].–‘The subject, Sir, cannot be made poetical. How can a man write poetically of serges and druggets? Yet you will hear many people talk to you gravely of that _excellent_ poem, _The Fleece_.’ Having talked of Grainger’s _Sugar-Cane_, I mentioned to him Mr. Langton’s having told me, that this poem, when read in manuscript at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, had made all the assembled wits burst into a laugh, when, after much blank-verse pomp, the poet began a new paragraph thus:–

‘Now, Muse, let’s sing of _rats_’

And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company, who slily overlooked the reader, perceived that the word had been originally _mice_, and had been altered to _rats_, as more dignified[1338].

This passage does not appear in the printed work. Dr. Grainger, or some of his friends, it should seem, having become sensible that introducing even _Rats_ in a grave poem, might be liable to banter. He, however, could not bring himself to relinquish the idea; for they are thus, in a still more ludicrous manner, periphrastically exhibited in his poem as it now stands:

‘Nor with less waste the whisker’d vermin race A countless clan despoil the lowland cane.’

Johnson said, that Dr. Grainger was an agreeable man; a man who would do any good that was in his power. His translation of _Tibullus_, he thought, was very well done; but _The Sugar-Cane_, a poem, did not please him[1339]; for, he exclaimed, ‘What could he make of a sugar-cane? One might as well write the “Parsley-bed, a Poem;” or “The Cabbage-garden, a Poem.”‘ BOSWELL. ‘You must then _pickle_ your cabbage with the _sal atticum_.’ JOHNSON. ‘You know there is already _The Hop-Garden_, a Poem[1340]: and, I think, one could say a great deal about cabbage. The poem might begin with the advantages of civilised society over a rude state, exemplified by the Scotch, who had no cabbages till Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers introduced them[1341]; and one might thus shew how arts are propagated by conquest, as they were by the Roman arms.’ He seemed to be much diverted with the fertility of his own fancy.

I told him, that I heard Dr. Percy was writing the history of the wolf in Great-Britain. JOHNSON. ‘The wolf, Sir! why the wolf? Why does he not write of the bear, which we had formerly? Nay, it is said we had the beaver. Or why does he not write of the grey rat, the Hanover rat, as it is called, because it is said to have come into this country about the time that the family of Hanover came? I should like to see _The History of the Grey Rat, by Thomas Percy, D.D., Chaplain in Ordinary to His Majesty_,’ (laughing immoderately). BOSWELL. ‘I am afraid a court chaplain could not decently write of the grey rat.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, he need not give it the name of the Hanover rat.’ Thus could he indulge a luxuriant sportive imagination, when talking of a friend whom he loved and esteemed.

He mentioned to me the singular history of an ingenious acquaintance. ‘He had practised physick in various situations with no great emolument. A West-India gentleman, whom he delighted by his conversation, gave him a bond for a handsome annuity during his life, on the condition of his accompanying him to the West-Indies, and living with him there for two years. He accordingly embarked with the gentleman; but upon the voyage fell in love with a young woman who happened to be one of the passengers, and married the wench. From the imprudence of his disposition he quarrelled with the gentleman, and declared he would have no connection with him. So he forfeited the annuity. He settled as a physician in one of the Leeward Islands. A man was sent out to him merely to compound his medicines. This fellow set up as a rival to him in his practice of physick, and got so much the better of him in the opinion of the people of the island that he carried away all the business, upon which he returned to England, and soon after died.’

On Friday, March 22, having set out early from Henley[1342], where we had lain the preceding night, we arrived at Birmingham about nine o’clock, and, after breakfast, went to call on his old schoolfellow Mr. Hector[1343]. A very stupid maid, who opened the door, told us, that ‘her master was gone out; he was gone to the country; she could not tell when he would return.’ In short, she gave us a miserable reception; and Johnson observed, ‘She would have behaved no better to people who wanted him in the way of his profession.’ He said to her, ‘My name is Johnson; tell him I called. Will you remember the name?’ She answered with rustick simplicity, in the Warwickshire pronunciation, ‘I don’t understand you, Sir.’–‘Blockhead, (said he,) I’ll write.’ I never heard the word _blockhead_ applied to a woman before, though I do not see why it should not, when there is evident occasion for it[1344]. He, however, made another attempt to make her understand him, and roared loud in her ear, ‘_Johnson_’, and then she catched the sound.

We next called on Mr. Lloyd, one of the people called Quakers. He too was not at home; but Mrs. Lloyd was, and received us courteously, and asked us to dinner. Johnson said to me, ‘After the uncertainty of all human things at Hector’s, this invitation came very well.’ We walked about the town, and he was pleased to see it increasing.

I talked of legitimation by subsequent marriage, which obtained in the Roman law, and still obtains in the law of Scotland. JOHNSON. ‘I think it a bad thing; because the chastity of women being of the utmost importance, as all property depends upon it, they who forfeit it should not have any possibility of being restored to good character; nor should the children, by an illicit connection, attain the full right of lawful children, by the posteriour consent of the offending parties.’ His opinion upon this subject deserves consideration. Upon his principle there may, at times, be a hardship, and seemingly a strange one, upon individuals; but the general good of society is better secured. And, after all, it is unreasonable in an individual to repine that he has not the advantage of a state which is made different from his own, by the social institution under which he is born. A woman does not complain that her brother, who is younger than her, gets their common father’s estate. Why then should a natural son complain that a younger brother, by the same parents lawfully begotten, gets it? The operation of law is similar in both cases. Besides, an illegitimate son, who has a younger legitimate brother by the same father and mother, has no stronger claim to the father’s estate, than if that legitimate brother had only the same father, from whom alone the estate descends.

Mr. Lloyd joined us in the street; and in a little while we met _Friend Hector_, as Mr. Lloyd called him. It gave me pleasure to observe the joy which Johnson and he expressed on seeing each other again. Mr. Lloyd and I left them together, while he obligingly shewed me some of the manufactures of this very curious assemblage of artificers. We all met at dinner at Mr. Lloyd’s, where we were entertained with great hospitality. Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd had been married the same year with their Majesties, and like them, had been blessed with a numerous family of fine children, their numbers being exactly the same. Johnson said, ‘Marriage is the best state for a man in general; and every man is a worse man, in proportion as he is unfit for the married state.’

I have always loved the simplicity of manners, and the spiritual-mindedness of the Quakers; and talking with Mr. Lloyd, I observed, that the essential part of religion was piety, a devout intercourse with the Divinity; and that many a man was a Quaker without knowing it.

As Dr. Johnson had said to me in the morning, while we walked together, that he liked individuals among the Quakers, but not the sect; when we were at Mr. Lloyd’s, I kept clear of introducing any questions concerning the peculiarities of their faith. But I having asked to look at Baskerville’s edition of _Barclay’s Apology_, Johnson laid hold of it; and the chapter on baptism happening to open, Johnson remarked, ‘He says there is neither precept nor practice for baptism, in the scriptures; that is false.’ Here he was the aggressor, by no means in a gentle manner; and the good Quakers had the advantage of him; for he had read negligently, and had not observed that Barclay speaks of _infant_ baptism[1345]; which they calmly made him perceive. Mr. Lloyd, however, was in as great a mistake; for when insisting that the rite of baptism by water was to cease, when the _spiritual_ administration of CHRIST began, he maintained, that John the Baptist said, ‘_My baptism_ shall decrease, but _his_ shall increase.’ Whereas the words are, ‘_He_ must increase, but _I_ must decrease[1346].’

One of them having objected to the ‘observance of days, and months, and years,’ Johnson answered, ‘The Church does not superstitiously observe days, merely as days, but as memorials of important facts. Christmas might be kept as well upon one day of the year as another; but there should be a stated day for commemorating the birth of our Saviour, because there is danger that what may be done on any day, will be neglected.’

He said to me at another time, ‘Sir, the holidays observed by our church are of great use in religion.’ There can be no doubt of this, in a limited sense, I mean if the number of such consecrated portions of time be not too extensive. The excellent Mr. Nelson’s[1347] _Festivals and Fasts_, which has, I understand, the greatest sale of any book ever printed in England, except the Bible, is a most valuable help to devotion; and in addition to it I would recommend two sermons on the same subject, by Mr. Pott, Archdeacon of St. Alban’s, equally distinguished for piety and elegance. I am sorry to have it to say, that Scotland is the only Christian country, Catholick or Protestant, where the great events of our religion are not solemnly commemorated by its ecclesiastical establishment, on days set apart for the purpose.

Mr. Hector was so good as to accompany me to see the great works of Mr. Bolton, at a place which he has called Soho, about two miles from Birmingham, which the very ingenious proprietor shewed me himself to the best advantage. I wish Johnson had been with us: for it was a scene which I should have been glad to contemplate by his light[1348]. The vastness and the contrivance of some of the machinery would have ‘matched his mighty mind.’ I shall never forget Mr. Bolton’s expression to me: ‘I sell here, Sir, what all the world desires to have–POWER.’ He had about seven hundred people at work. I contemplated him as an _iron chieftain_, and he seemed to be a father to his tribe. One of them came to him, complaining grievously of his landlord for having distrained his goods.’ ‘Your landlord is in the right, Smith, (said Bolton). But I’ll tell you what: find you a friend who will lay down one half of your rent, and I’ll lay down the other half; and you shall have your goods again.’

From Mr. Hector I now learnt many particulars of Dr. Johnson’s early life, which, with others that he gave me at different times since, have contributed to the formation of this work.

Dr. Johnson said to me in the morning, ‘You will see, Sir, at Mr. Hector’s, his sister, Mrs. Careless[1349], a clergyman’s widow. She was the first woman with whom I was in love. It dropt out of my head imperceptibly; but she and I shall always have a kindness for each other.’ He laughed at the notion that a man never can be really in love but once, and considered it as a mere romantick fancy.

On our return from Mr. Bolton’s, Mr. Hector took me to his house, where we found Johnson sitting placidly at tea[1350], with his _first love_; who, though now advanced in years, was a genteel woman, very agreeable, and well-bred.

Johnson lamented to Mr. Hector the state of one of their school-fellows, Mr. Charles Congreve, a clergyman, which he thus described: ‘He obtained, I believe, considerable preferment in Ireland, but now lives in London, quite as a valetudinarian, afraid to go into any house but his own. He takes a short airing in his post-chaise every day. He has an elderly woman, whom he calls cousin, who lives with him, and jogs his elbow when his glass has stood too long empty, and encourages him in drinking, in which he is very willing to be encouraged; not that he gets drunk, for he is a very pious man, but he is always muddy[1351]. He confesses to one bottle of port every day, and he probably drinks more. He is quite unsocial; his conversation is quite monosyllabical: and when, at my last visit, I asked him what a clock it was? that signal of my departure had so pleasing an effect on him, that he sprung up to look at his watch, like a greyhound bounding at a hare.’ When Johnson took leave of Mr. Hector, he said, ‘Don’t grow like Congreve; nor let me grow like him, when you are near me[1352].’

When he again talked of Mrs. Careless to-night, he seemed to have had his affection revived; for he said, ‘If I had married her, it might have been as happy for me.[1353]’ BOSWELL. ‘Pray, Sir, do you not suppose that there are fifty women in the world, with any one of whom a man may be as happy, as with any one woman in particular.’ JOHNSON. ‘Ay, Sir, fifty thousand.’ BOSWELL. ‘Then, Sir, you are not of opinion with some who imagine that certain men and certain women are made for each other; and that they cannot be happy if they miss their counterparts.’ JOHNSON. ‘To be sure not, Sir. I believe marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a due consideration of characters and circumstances, without the parties having any choice in the matter.’

I wished to have staid at Birmingham to-night, to have talked more with Mr. Hector; but my friend was impatient to reach his native city; so we drove on that stage in the dark, and were long pensive and silent. When we came within the focus of the Lichfield lamps, ‘Now (said he,) we are getting out of a state of death.’ We put up at the Three Crowns, not one of the great inns, but a good old fashioned one, which was kept by Mr. Wilkins, and was the very next house to that in which Johnson was born and brought up, and which was still his own property[1354]. We had a comfortable supper, and got into high spirits. I felt all my Toryism glow in this old capital of Staffordshire. I could have offered incense _genio loci_; and I indulged in libations of that ale, which Boniface, in _The Beaux Stratagem_, recommends with such an eloquent jollity[1355].

Next morning he introduced me to Mrs. Lucy Porter, his step-daughter. She was now an old maid, with much simplicity of manner. She had never been in London. Her brother, a Captain in the navy, had left her a fortune of ten thousand pounds; about a third of which she had laid out in building a stately house, and making a handsome garden, in an elevated situation in Lichfield. Johnson, when here by himself, used to live at her house. She reverenced him, and he had a parental tenderness for her[1356].

We then visited Mr. Peter Garrick, who had that morning received a letter from his brother David, announcing our coming to Lichfield. He was engaged to dinner, but asked us to tea, and to sleep at his house. Johnson, however, would not quit his old acquaintance Wilkins, of the Three Crowns. The family likeness of the Garricks was very striking[1357]; and Johnson thought that David’s vivacity was not so peculiar to himself as was supposed. ‘Sir, (said he,) I don’t know but if Peter had cultivated all the arts of gaiety as much as David has done, he might have been as brisk and lively. Depend upon it, Sir, vivacity is much an art, and depends greatly on habit.’ I believe there is a good deal of truth in this, notwithstanding a ludicrous story told me by a lady abroad, of a heavy German baron, who had lived much with the young English at Geneva, and was ambitious to be as lively as they; with which view, he, with assiduous exertion, was jumping over the tables and chairs in his lodgings; and when the people of the house ran in and asked, with surprize, what was the matter, he answered, ‘_Sh’ apprens t’etre fif_.’

We dined at our inn, and had with us a Mr. Jackson[1358], one of Johnson’s schoolfellows, whom he treated with much kindness, though he seemed to be a low man, dull and untaught. He had a coarse grey coat, black waistcoat, greasy leather breeches, and a yellow uncurled wig; and his countenance had the ruddiness which betokens one who is in no haste to ‘leave his can.’ He drank only ale. He had tried to be a cutler at Birmingham, but had not succeeded; and now he lived poorly at home, and had some scheme of dressing leather in a better manner than common; to his indistinct account of which, Dr. Johnson listened with patient attention, that he might assist him with his advice. Here was an instance of genuine humanity and real kindness in this great man, who has been most unjustly represented as altogether harsh and destitute of tenderness. A thousand such instances might have been recorded in the course of his long life; though that his temper was warm and hasty, and his manner often rough, cannot be denied.

I saw here, for the first time, _oat ale_; and oat cakes not hard as in Scotland, but soft like a Yorkshire cake, were served at breakfast. It was pleasant to me to find, that _Oats_, the _food of horses_[1359], were so much used as the _food of the people_ in Dr. Johnson’s own town. He expatiated in praise of Lichfield and its inhabitants, who, he said, were ‘the most sober, decent people[1360] in England, the genteelest in proportion to their wealth, and spoke the purest English[1361].’ I doubted as to the last article of this eulogy: for they had several provincial sounds; as _there_, pronounced like _fear_, instead of like _fair; once_ pronounced _woonse_, instead of _wunse_, or _wonse_. Johnson himself never got entirely free of those provincial accents[1362]. Garrick sometimes used to take him off, squeezing a lemon into a punch-bowl, with uncouth gesticulations, looking round the company, and calling out, ‘Who’s for _poonsh_?[1363]’

Very little business appeared to be going forward in Lichfield. I found however two strange manufactures for so inland a place, sail-cloth and streamers for ships; and I observed them making some saddle-cloths, and dressing sheepskins: but upon the whole, the busy hand of industry seemed to be quite slackened. ‘Surely, Sir, (said I,) you are an idle set of people.’ ‘Sir, (said Johnson,) we are a city of philosophers, we work with our heads, and make the boobies of Birmingham[1364] work for us with their hands.’

There was at this time a company of players performing at Lichfield. The manager, Mr. Stanton, sent his compliments, and begged leave to wait on Dr. Johnson. Johnson received him very courteously, and he drank a glass of wine with us. He was a plain decent well-behaved man, and expressed his gratitude to Dr. Johnson for having once got him permission from Dr. Taylor at Ashbourne to play there upon moderate terms. Garrick’s name was soon introduced. JOHNSON. ‘Garrick’s conversation is gay and grotesque. It is a dish of all sorts, but all good things. There is no solid meat in it: there is a want of sentiment in it. Not but that he has sentiment sometimes, and sentiment, too, very powerful and very pleasing: but it has not its full proportion in his conversation.’

When we were by ourselves he told me, ‘Forty years ago, Sir, I was in love with an actress here, Mrs. Emmet, who acted Flora, in _Hob in the Well_[1365].’ What merit this lady had as an actress, or what was her figure, or her manner, I have not been informed: but, if we may believe Mr. Garrick, his old master’s taste in theatrical merit was by no means refined[1366]; he was not an _elegans formarum spectator_[1367]. Garrick used to tell, that Johnson said of an actor, who played Sir Harry Wildair [1368] at Lichfield, ‘There is a courtly vivacity about the fellow;’ when in fact, according to Garrick’s account, ‘he was the most vulgar ruffian that ever went upon _boards_.’

We had promised Mr. Stanton to be at his theatre on Monday. Dr. Johnson jocularly proposed me to write a Prologue for the occasion: ‘A Prologue, by James Boswell, Esq. from the Hebrides.’ I was really inclined to take the hint. Methought, ‘Prologue, spoken before Dr. Samuel Johnson, at Lichfield, 1776;’ would have sounded as well as, ‘Prologue, spoken before the Duke of York, at Oxford,’ in Charles the Second’s time. Much might have been said of what Lichfield had done for Shakspeare, by producing Johnson and Garrick. But I found he was averse to it.

We went and viewed the museum of Mr. Richard Green, apothecary here, who told me he was proud of being a relation of Dr. Johnson’s. It was, truely, a wonderful collection, both of antiquities and natural curiosities, and ingenious works of art. He had all the articles accurately arranged, with their names upon labels, printed at his own little press; and on the staircase leading to it was a board, with the names of contributors marked in gold letters. A printed catalogue of the collection was to be had at a bookseller’s. Johnson expressed his admiration of the activity and diligence and good fortune of Mr. Green, in getting together, in his situation, so great a variety of things; and Mr. Green told me that Johnson once said to him, ‘Sir, I should as soon have thought of building a man of war, as of collecting such a museum.’ Mr. Green’s obliging alacrity in shewing it was very pleasing. His engraved portrait, with which he has favoured me, has a motto truely characteristical of his disposition, ‘_Nemo sibi vivat_.’

A physician being mentioned who had lost his practice, because his whimsically changing his religion had made people distrustful of him, I maintained that this was unreasonable, as religion is unconnected with medical skill. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is not unreasonable; for when people see a man absurd in what they understand, they may conclude the same of him in what they do not understand. If a physician were to take to eating of horse-flesh, nobody would employ him; though one may eat horse-flesh, and be a very skilful physician. If a man were educated in an absurd religion, his continuing to profess it would not hurt him, though his changing to it would.’

We drank tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick’s, where was Mrs. Aston, one of the maiden sisters of Mrs. Walmsley, wife of Johnson’s first friend[1369], and sister also of the lady of whom Johnson used to speak with the warmest admiration, by the name of Molly Aston[1370], who was afterwards married to Captain Brodie of the navy.

On Sunday, March 24, we breakfasted with Mrs. Cobb, a widow lady, who lived in an agreeable sequestered place close by the town, called the Friary, it having been formerly a religious house. She and her niece, Miss Adey, were great admirers of Dr. Johnson; and he behaved to them with a kindness and easy pleasantry, such as we see between old and intimate acquaintance. He accompanied Mrs. Cobb to St. Mary’s church, and I went to the cathedral, where I was very much delighted with the musick, finding it to be peculiarly solemn and accordant with the words of the service.

We dined at Mr. Peter Garrick’s, who was in a very lively humour, and verified Johnson’s saying, that if he had cultivated gaiety as much as his brother David, he might have equally excelled in it. He was to-day quite a London narrator, telling us a variety of anecdotes with that earnestness and attempt at mimicry which we usually find in the wits of the metropolis. Dr. Johnson went with me to the cathedral in the afternoon[1371]. It was grand and pleasing to contemplate this illustrious writer, now full of fame, worshipping in the ‘solemn temple[1372]’ of his native city.

I returned to tea and coffee at Mr. Peter Garrick’s, and then found Dr. Johnson at the Reverend Mr. Seward’s[1373], Canon Residentiary, who inhabited the Bishop’s palace[1374], in which Mr. Walmsley lived, and which had been the scene of many happy hours in Johnson’s early life. Mr. Seward had, with ecclesiastical hospitality and politeness, asked me in the morning, merely as a stranger, to dine with him; and in the afternoon, when I was introduced to him, he asked Dr. Johnson and me to spend the evening and sup with him. He was a genteel well-bred dignified clergyman, had travelled with Lord Charles Fitzroy, uncle of the present Duke of Grafton, who died when abroad, and he had lived much in the great world. He was an ingenious and literary man, had published an edition of Beaumont and Fletcher, and written verses in Dodsley’s collection. His lady was the daughter of Mr. Hunter, Johnson’s first schoolmaster. And now, for the first time, I had the pleasure of seeing his celebrated daughter, Miss Anna Seward, to whom I have since been indebted for many civilities, as well as some obliging communications concerning Johnson[1375].

Mr. Seward mentioned to us the observations which he had made upon the strata of earth in volcanos, from which it appeared, that they were so very different in depth at different periods, that no calculation whatever could be made as to the time required for their formation. This fully refuted an antimosaical remark introduced into Captain Brydone’s entertaining tour, I hope heedlessly, from a kind of vanity which is too common in those who have not sufficiently studied the most important of all subjects. Dr. Johnson, indeed, had said before, independent of this observation, ‘Shall all the accumulated evidence of the history of the world;–shall the authority of what is unquestionably the most ancient writing, be overturned by an uncertain remark such as this?[1376]’

On Monday, March 25, we breakfasted at Mrs. Lucy Porter’s. Johnson had sent an express to Dr. Taylor’s, acquainting him of our being at Lichfield[1377], and Taylor had returned an answer that his postchaise should come for us this day. While we sat at breakfast, Dr. Johnson received a letter by the post, which seemed to agitate him very much. When he had read it, he exclaimed, ‘One of the most dreadful things that has happened in my time.’ The phrase _my time_, like the word _age_, is usually understood to refer to an event of a publick or general nature. I imagined something like an assassination of the King–like a gunpowder plot carried into execution–or like another fire of London. When asked, ‘What is it, Sir?’ he answered, ‘Mr. Thrale has lost his only son![1378]’ This was, no doubt, a very great affliction to Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, which their friends would consider accordingly; but from the manner in which the intelligence of it was communicated by Johnson, it appeared for the moment to be comparatively small. I, however, soon felt a sincere concern, and was curious to observe, how Dr. Johnson would be affected. He said, ‘This is a total extinction to their family, as much as if they were sold into captivity.’ Upon my mentioning that Mr. Thrale had daughters, who might inherit his wealth;–‘Daughters, (said Johnson, warmly,) he’ll no more value his daughters than–‘I was going to speak.–‘Sir, (said he,) don’t you know how you yourself think? Sir, he wishes to propagate his name[1379].’ In short, I saw male succession strong in his mind, even where there was no name, no family of any long standing. I said, it was lucky he was not present when this misfortune happened. JOHNSON. ‘It is lucky for _me_. People in distress never think that you feel enough.’ BOSWELL. ‘And Sir, they will have the hope of seeing you, which will be a relief in the mean time; and when you get to them, the pain will be so far abated, that they will be capable of being consoled by you, which, in the first violence of it, I believe, would not be the case.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; violent pain of mind, like violent pain of body, _must_ be severely felt.’ BOSWELL. ‘I own, Sir, I have not so much feeling for the distress of others, as some people have, or pretend to have: but I know this, that I would do all in my power to relieve them.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is affectation to pretend to feel the distress of others, as much as they do themselves. It is equally so, as if one should pretend to feel as much pain while a friend’s leg is cutting off, as he does. No, Sir; you have expressed the rational and just nature of sympathy. I would have gone to the extremity of the earth to have preserved this boy[1380].’

He was soon quite calm. The letter was from Mr. Thrale’s clerk, and concluded, ‘I need not say how much they wish to see you in London.’ He said, ‘We shall hasten back from Taylor’s.’

Mrs. Lucy Porter and some other ladies of the place talked a great deal of him when he was out of the room, not only with veneration but affection. It pleased me to find that he was so much _beloved_ in his native city.

Mrs. Aston, whom I had seen the preceding night, and her sister, Mrs. Gastrel, a widow lady, had each a house and garden, and pleasure-ground, prettily situated upon Stowhill, a gentle eminence, adjoining to Lichfield. Johnson walked away to dinner there, leaving me by myself without any apology; I wondered at this want of that facility of manners, from which a man has no difficulty in carrying a friend to a house where he is intimate; I felt it very unpleasant to be thus left in solitude in a country town, where I was an entire stranger, and began to think myself unkindly deserted: but I was soon relieved, and convinced that my friend, instead of being deficient in delicacy, had conducted the matter with perfect propriety, for I received the following note in his handwriting: ‘Mrs. Gastrel, at the lower house on Stowhill, desires Mr. Boswell’s company to dinner at two.’ I accepted of the invitation, and had here another proof how amiable his character was in the opinion of those who knew him best. I was not informed, till afterwards, that Mrs. Gastrel’s husband was the clergyman who, while he lived at Stratford upon Avon, where he was proprietor of Shakspeare’s garden, with Gothick barbarity cut down his mulberry-tree[1381], and, as Dr. Johnson told me, did it to vex his neighbours. His lady, I have reason to believe, on the same authority[1382], participated in the guilt of what the enthusiasts for our immortal bard deem almost a species of sacrilege.

After dinner Dr. Johnson wrote a letter to Mrs. Thrale on the death of her son[1383]. I said it would be very distressing to Thrale, but she would soon forget it, as she had so many things to think of. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir, Thrale will forget it first. _She_ has many things that she _may_ think of. _He_ has many things that he _must_ think of[1384].’ This was a very just remark upon the different effect of those light pursuits which occupy a vacant and easy mind, and those serious engagements which arrest attention, and keep us from brooding over grief.

He observed of Lord Bute, ‘It was said of Augustus, that it would have been better for Rome that he had never been born, or had never died. So it would have been better for this nation if Lord Bute had never been minister, or had never resigned.’

In the evening we went to the Town-hall, which was converted into a temporary theatre, and saw _Theodosius_, with _The Stratford Jubilee_. I was happy to see Dr. Johnson sitting in a conspicuous part of the pit, and receiving affectionate homage from all his acquaintance. We were quite gay and merry. I afterwards mentioned to him that I condemned myself for being so, when poor Mr. and Mrs. Thrale were in such distress. JOHNSON. ‘You are wrong, Sir; twenty years hence Mr. and Mrs. Thrale will not suffer much pain from the death of their son. Now, Sir, you are to consider, that distance of place, as well as distance of time, operates upon the human feelings. I would not have you be gay in the presence of the distressed, because it would shock them; but you may be gay at a distance. Pain for the loss of a friend, or of a relation whom we love, is occasioned by the want which we feel. In time the vacuity is filled with something else; or sometimes the vacuity closes up of itself.’

Mr. Seward and Mr. Pearson, another clergyman here, supt with us at our inn, and after they left us, we sat up late as we used to do in London.

Here I shall record some fragments of my friend’s conversation during this jaunt.

‘Marriage, Sir, is much more necessary to a man than to a woman; for he is much less able to supply himself with domestick comforts. You will recollect my saying to some ladies the other day, that I had often wondered why young women should marry, as they have so much more freedom, and so much more attention paid to them while unmarried, than when married. I indeed did not mention the _strong_ reason for their marrying–the _mechanical_ reason.’ BOSWELL. ‘Why that _is_ a strong one. But does not imagination make it much more important than it is in reality? Is it not, to a certain degree, a delusion in us as well as in women?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why yes, Sir; but it is a delusion that is always beginning again.’ BOSWELL. ‘I don’t know but there is upon the whole more misery than happiness produced by that passion.’ JOHNSON. ‘I don’t think so, Sir.’

‘Never speak of a man in his own presence. It is always indelicate, and may be offensive.’

‘Questioning is not the mode of conversation among gentlemen[1385]. It is assuming a superiority, and it is particularly wrong to question a man concerning himself. There may be parts of his former life which he may not wish to be made known to other persons, or even brought to his own recollection.’

‘A man should be careful never to tell tales of himself to his own disadvantage. People may be amused and laugh at the time, but they will be remembered, and brought out against him upon some subsequent occasion.’

‘Much may be done if a man puts his whole mind to a particular object. By doing so, Norton[1386] has made himself the great lawyer that he is allowed to be.’

I mentioned an acquaintance of mine[1387], a sectary, who was a very religious man, who not only attended regularly on publick worship with those of his communion, but made a particular study of the Scriptures, and even wrote a commentary on some parts of them, yet was known to be very licentious in indulging himself with women; maintaining that men are to be saved by faith alone, and that the Christian religion had not prescribed any fixed rule for the intercourse between the sexes. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there is no trusting to that crazy piety.’

I observed that it was strange how well Scotchmen were known to one another in their own country, though born in very distant counties; for we do not find that the gentlemen of neighbouring counties in England are mutually known to each other. Johnson, with his usual acuteness, at once saw and explained the reason of this; ‘Why, Sir, you have Edinburgh, where the gentlemen from all your counties meet, and which is not so large but they are all known. There is no such common place of collection in England, except London, where from its great size and diffusion, many of those who reside in contiguous counties of England, may long remain unknown to each other.’

On Tuesday, March 26, there came for us an equipage properly suited to a wealthy well-beneficed clergyman;–Dr. Taylor’s large roomy post-chaise, drawn by four stout plump horses, and driven by two steady jolly postillions, which conveyed us to Ashbourne; where I found my friend’s schoolfellow living upon an establishment perfectly corresponding with his substantial creditable equipage: his house, garden, pleasure-grounds, table, in short every thing good, and no scantiness appearing. Every man should form such a plan of living as he can execute completely. Let him not draw an outline wider than he can fill up. I have seen many skeletons of shew and magnificence which excite at once ridicule and pity. Dr. Taylor had a good estate of his own, and good preferment in the church[1388], being a prebendary of Westminster, and rector of Bosworth. He was a diligent justice of the peace, and presided over the town of Ashbourne, to the inhabitants of which I was told he was very liberal; and as a proof of this it was mentioned to me, he had the preceding winter distributed two hundred pounds among such of them as stood in need of his assistance. He had consequently a considerable political interest in the county of Derby, which he employed to support the Devonshire family; for though the schoolfellow and friend of Johnson, he was a Whig. I could not perceive in his character much congeniality of any sort with that of Johnson, who, however, said to me, ‘Sir, he has a very strong understanding[1389].’ His size, and figure, and countenance, and manner, were that of a hearty English ‘Squire, with the parson super-induced: and I took particular notice of his upper servant, Mr. Peters, a decent grave man, in purple clothes, and a large white wig, like the butler or _major domo_ of a Bishop.

Dr. Johnson and Dr. Taylor met with great cordiality; and Johnson soon gave him the same sad account of their school-fellow, Congreve, that he had given to Mr. Hector[1390]; adding a remark of such moment to the rational conduct of a man in the decline of life, that it deserves to be imprinted upon every mind: ‘There is nothing against which an old man should be so much upon his guard as putting himself to nurse[1391].’ Innumerable have been the melancholy instances of men once distinguished for firmness, resolution, and spirit, who in their latter days have been governed like children, by interested female artifice.

Dr. Taylor commended a physician who was known to him and Dr. Johnson, and said, ‘I fight many battles for him, as many people in the country dislike him.’ JOHNSON. ‘But you should consider, Sir, that by every one of your victories he is a loser; for, every man of whom you get the better, will be very angry, and resolve not to employ him; whereas if people get the better of you in argument about him, they’ll think, “We’ll send for Dr. —-[1392] nevertheless.”‘ This was an observation deep and sure in human nature.

Next day we talked of a book[1393] in which an eminent judge was arraigned before the bar of the publick, as having pronounced an unjust decision in a great cause. Dr. Johnson maintained that this publication would not give any uneasiness to the judge. ‘For (said he,) either he acted honestly, or he meant to do injustice. If he acted honestly, his own consciousness will protect him; if he meant to do injustice, he will be glad to see the man who attacks him, so much vexed,’

Next day, as Dr. Johnson had acquainted Dr. Taylor of the reason for his returning speedily to London, it was resolved that we should set out after dinner. A few of Dr. Taylor’s neighbours were his guests that day.

Dr. Johnson talked with approbation of one who had attained to the state of the philosophical wise man, that is, to have no want of any thing. ‘Then, Sir, (said I,) the savage is a wise man.’ ‘Sir, (said he,) I do not mean simply being without,–but not having a want.’ I maintained, against this proposition, that it was better to have fine clothes, for instance, than not to feel the want of them. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring respect. Was Charles the Twelfth, think you, less respected for his coarse blue coat and black stock[1394]? And you find the King of Prussia dresses plain, because the dignity of his character is sufficient.’ I here brought myself into a scrape, for I heedlessly said, ‘Would not _you_, Sir, be the better for velvet and embroidery?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you put an end to all argument when you introduce your opponent himself. Have you no better manners? There is _your want_.’ I apologised by saying, I had mentioned him as an instance of one who wanted as little as any man in the world, and yet, perhaps, might receive some additional lustre from dress.

APPENDIX A.
(Page 17.)

In the Bodleian is the following autograph record by Johnson of Good Friday, March 28, Easter Sunday, March 30, and May 4, 1766, and the copy of the record of Saturday, March 29. They belong to the series published by the Rev. Mr. Strahan under the title of _Prayers and Meditations_, but they are not included in it.

‘Good Friday, March 28, 1766.–On the night before I used proper Collects, and prayed when I arose in the morning. I had all the week an awe upon me, not thinking on Passion week till I looked in the almanack. I have wholly forborne M [? meat] and wines, except one glass on Sunday night.

‘In the morning I rose, and drank very small tea without milk, and had nothing more that day.

‘This was the day on which Tetty died. I did not mingle much men [? mention] of her with the devotions of this day, because it is dedicated to more holy subjects. I mentioned her at church, and prayed once solemnly at home. I was twice at church, and went through the prayers without perturbation, but heard the sermons imperfectly. I came in both times at the second lesson, not hearing the bell.

‘When I came home I read the Psalms for the day, and one sermon in Clark. Scruples distract me, but at church I had hopes to conquer them.

‘I bore abstinence this day not well, being at night insupportably heavy, but as fasting does not produce sleepyness, I had perhaps rested ill the night before. I prayed in my study for the day, and prayed again in my chamber. I went to bed very early–before eleven.

‘After church I selected collects for the Sacraments.

‘Finding myself upon recollection very ignorant of religion, I formed a purpose of studying it.

‘I went down and sat to tea, but was too heavy to converse.

‘Saturday, 29.–I rose at the time now usual, not fully refreshed. Went to tea. A sudden thought of restraint hindered me. I drank but one dish. Took a purge for my health. Still uneasy. Prayed, and went to dinner. Dined sparingly on fish [added in different ink] about four. Went to Simpson. Was driven home by my physick. Drank tea, and am much refreshed. I believe that if I had drank tea again yesterday, I had escaped the heaviness of the evening. Fasting that produces inability is no duty, but I was unwilling to do less than formerly.

‘I had lived more abstemiously than is usual the whole week, and taken physick twice, which together made the fast more uneasy.

‘Thus much I have written medically, to show that he who can fast long must have lived plentifully.

‘Saturday, March 29, 1766.–I was yesterday very heavy. I do not feel myself to-day so much impressed with awe of the approaching mystery. I had this day a doubt, like Baxter, of my state, and found that my faith, though weak, was yet faith. O God! strengthen it.

‘Since the last reception of the sacrament I hope I have no otherwise grown worse than as continuance in sin makes the sinner’s condition more dangerous.

‘Since last New Year’s Eve I have risen every morning by eight, at least not after nine, which is more superiority over my habits than I have ever before been able to obtain. Scruples still distress me. My resolution, with the blessing of God, is to contend with them, and, if I can, to conquer them.

‘My resolutions are–
‘To conquer scruples.
‘To read the Bible this year.
‘To try to rise more early.
‘To study Divinity.
‘To live methodically.
‘To oppose idleness.
‘To frequent Divine worship.

‘Almighty and most merciful Father! before whom I now appear laden with the sins of another year, suffer me yet again to call upon Thee for pardon and peace.

‘O God! grant me repentance, grant me reformation. Grant that I may be no longer distracted with doubts, and harassed with vain terrors. Grant that I may no longer linger in perplexity, nor waste in idleness that life which Thou hast given and preserved. Grant that I may serve Thee in firm faith and diligent endeavour, and that I may discharge the duties of my calling with tranquillity and constancy. Take not, O God, Thy holy Spirit from me: but grant that I may so direct my life by Thy holy laws, as that, when Thou shalt call me hence, I may pass by a holy and happy death to a life of everlasting and unchangeable joy, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

‘I went to bed (at) one or later; but did not sleep, tho’ I knew not why.

‘Easter Day, March 30, 1766.–I rose in the morning. Prayed. Took my prayer book to tea; drank tea; planned my devotion for the church. I think prayed again. Went to church, was early. Went through the prayers with fixed attention. Could not hear the sermon. After sermon, applied myself to devotion. Troubled with Baxter’s scruple, which was quieted as I returned home. It occurred to me that the scruple itself was its own confutation.

‘I used the prayer against scruples in the foregoing page in the pew, and commended (so far as it was lawful) Tetty, dear Tetty, in a prayer by herself, then my other friends. What collects I do not exactly remember. I gave a shilling. I then went towards the altar that I might hear the service. The communicants were more than I ever saw. I kept back; used again the foregoing prayer; again commended Tetty, and lifted up my heart for the rest. I prayed in the collect for the fourteen S. after Trinity for encrease of Faith, Hope, and Charity, and deliverance from scruples; this deliverance was the chief subject of my prayers. O God, hear me. I am now to try to conquer them. After reception I repeated my petition, and again when I came home. My dinner made me a little peevish; not much. After dinner I retired, and read in an hour and a half the seven first chapters of St. Matthew in Greek. Glory be to God. God grant me to proceed and improve, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.

‘I went to Evening Prayers, and was undisturbed. At church in the morning it occurred to me to consider about example of good any of my friends had set me. This is proper, in order to the thanks returned for their good examples.

‘My attainment of rising gives me comfort and hope. O God, for Jesus Christ’s sake, bless me. Amen.

‘After church, before and after dinner, I read Rotheram on Faith.

‘After evening prayer I retired, and wrote this account.

‘I then repeated the prayer of the day, with collects, and my prayer for night, and went down to supper at near ten.

‘May 4,–66. I have read since the noon of Easter day the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. Mark in Greek.

‘I have read Xenophon’s Cyropaidia.’

BODLEIAN LIBRARY. SELECT AUTOGRAPHS. (MONTAGU.)

* * * * *

APPENDIX B.
(_Page_ 312.)

Johnson’s sentiments towards his fellow-subjects in America have never, so far as I know, been rightly stated. It was not because they fought for liberty that he had come to dislike them. A man who, ‘bursting forth with a generous indignation, had said:–“The Irish are in a most unnatural state; for we see there the minority prevailing over the majority”‘ (_ante_, ii. 255), was not likely to wish that our plantations should be tyrannically governed. The man who, ‘in company with some very grave men at Oxford, gave as his toast, “Here’s to the next insurrection of the negroes in the West Indies”‘ (_post_, iii. 200), was not likely to condemn insurrections in general. The key to his feelings is found in his indignant cry, ‘How is it that we hear the loudest _yelps_ for liberty among the drivers of negroes?’ (_Ib_) He hated slavery as perhaps no man of his time hated it. While the Quakers, who were almost the pioneers in the Anti-slavery cause, were still slave-holders and slave-dealers, he lifted up his voice against it. So early as 1740, when Washington was but a child of eight, he had maintained ‘the natural right of the negroes to liberty and independence.’ (_Works_, vi. 313.) In 1756 he described Jamaica as ‘a place of great wealth and dreadful wickedness, a den of tyrants and a dungeon of slaves.’ (_Ib_ vi. 130.) In 1759 he wrote:–‘Of black men the numbers are too great who are now repining under English cruelty.’ (_Ib_ iv. 407.) In the same year, in describing the cruelty of the Portuguese discoverers, he said:–‘We are openly told that they had the less scruple concerning their treatment of the savage people, because they scarcely considered them as distinct from beasts; and indeed, the practice of all the European nations, and among others of the _English barbarians that cultivate the southern islands of America_, proves that this opinion, however absurd and foolish, however wicked and injurious, still continues to prevail. Interest and pride harden the heart, and it is in vain to dispute against avarice and power.’ (_Ib_ v. 218.) No miserable sophistry could convince him, with his clear mind and his ardour for liberty, that slavery can be right. ‘An individual,’ he wrote (_post_, iii. 202), ‘may, indeed, forfeit his liberty by a crime; but he cannot by that crime forfeit the liberty of his children.’ How deeply he felt for the wrongs done to helpless races is shown in his dread of discoverers. No man had a more eager curiosity, or more longed that the bounds of knowledge should be enlarged. Yet he wrote:–‘I do not much wish well to discoveries, for I am always afraid they will end in conquest and robbery.’ (Croker’s _Boswell_, p. 248.) In his _Life of Savage_, written in 1744, he said (_Works_, viii. 156):–‘Savage has not forgotten … to censure those crimes which have been generally committed by the discoverers of new regions, and to expose the enormous wickedness of making war upon barbarous nations because they cannot resist, and of invading countries because they are fruitful…. He has asserted the natural equality of mankind, and endeavoured to suppress that pride which inclines men to imagine that right is the consequence of power.’ He loved the University of Salamanca, because it gave it as its opinion that the conquest of America by the Spaniards was not lawful (_ante_, i. 455). When, in 1756, the English and French were at war in America, he said that ‘such was the contest that no honest man could heartily wish success to either party…. It was only the quarrel of two robbers for the spoils of a passenger’ (_ante_, i. 308, note 2). When, from political considerations, opposition was raised in 1766 to the scheme of translating the Bible into Erse, he wrote:–‘To omit for a year, or for a day, the most efficacious method of advancing Christianity, in compliance with any purposes that terminate on this side of the grave, is a crime of which I know not that the world has yet had an example, except in the practice of the planters of America–a race of mortals whom, I suppose, no other man wishes to resemble’ (_ante_, ii. 27). Englishmen, as a nation, had no right to reproach their fellow-subjects in America with being drivers of negroes; for England shared in the guilt and the gain of that infamous traffic. Nay, even as the Virginian delegates to Congress in 1774 complained:–‘Our repeated attempts to exclude all further importations of slaves from Africa by prohibition, and by imposing duties which might amount to prohibition, have hitherto been defeated by his Majesty’s negative–thus preferring the immediate advantages of a few British corsairs to the lasting interests of the American States, and to the rights of human nature, deeply wounded by this infamous practice.’ Bright’s _Speeches_, ed. 1869, i. 171. Franklin (_Memoirs_, ed. 1818, iii. 17), writing from London in 1772, speaks of ‘the hypocrisy of this country, which encourages such a detestable commerce by laws for promoting the Guinea trade; while it piqued itself on its virtue, love of liberty, and the equity of its courts in setting free a single negro.’ From the slightest stain of this hypocrisy Johnson was free. He, at all events, had a right to protest against ‘the yelps’ of those who, while they solemnly asserted that among the unalienable rights of all men are liberty and the pursuit of happiness, yet themselves were drivers of negroes.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Had he been ‘busily employed’ he would, no doubt, have finished the edition in a few months. He himself had recorded at Easter, 1765: ‘My time has been unprofitably spent, and seems as a dream that has left nothing behind.’ _Pr. and Med_., p. 61.

[2] Dedications had been commonly used as a means of getting money by flattery. I. D’Israeli in his _Calamities of Authors_, i. 64, says:–‘Fuller’s _Church History_ is disgraced by twelve particular dedications. It was an expedient to procure dedication fees; for publishing books by subscription was an art not yet discovered.’ The price of the dedication of a play was, he adds, in the time of George I, twenty guineas. So much then, at least, Johnson lost by not dedicating _Irene_. However, when he addressed the _Plan of his Dictionary_ to Lord Chesterfield (_ante_, i. 183) he certainly came very near a dedication. Boswell, in the _Hypochondriack_, writes:–‘For my own part, I own I am proud enough. But I do not relish the stateliness of not dedicating at all. I prefer pleasure to pride, and it appears to me that there is much pleasure in honestly expressing one’s admiration, esteem, or affection in a public manner, and in thus contributing to the happiness of another by making him better pleased with himself.’ _London Mag_. for 1782, p. 454. His dedications were dedications of friendship, not of flattery or servility. He dedicated his _Tour to Corsica_ to Paoli, his _Tour to the Hebrides_ to Malone, and his _Life of Johnson_ to Sir Joshua Reynolds. Goldsmith, in like manner, distrest though he so often was, dedicated his _Traveller_ to his brother, the _Deserted Village_ to Sir Joshua, and _She Stoops to Conquer_ to Johnson.

[3] A passage in Boswell’s letter to Malone of Jan. 29, 1791 (Croker’s _Boswell_, p. 829), shows that it is Reynolds of whom he is writing. ‘I am,’ he writes, ‘to cancel a leaf of the first volume, having found that though Sir Joshua certainly assured me he had no objection to my mentioning that Johnson wrote a dedication for him, he now thinks otherwise. In that leaf occurs the mention of Johnson having written to Dr. Leland, thanking the University of Dublin for their diploma.’ In the first edition, this mention of the letter is followed by the passage above about dedications. It was no doubt Reynolds’s _Dedication of his Discourses_ to the King in the year 1778 that Johnson wrote. The first sentence is in a high degree Johnsonian. ‘The regular progress of cultivated life is from necessaries to accommodations, from accommodations to ornaments.’

[4] ‘That is to say,’ he added, ‘to the last generation of the Royal Family.’ See _post_, April 15, 1773. We may hope that the Royal Family were not all like the Duke of Gloucester, who, when Gibbon brought him the second volume of the _Decline and Fall_, ‘received him with much good nature and affability, saying to him, as he laid the quarto on the table, “Another d—-d thick, square book! Always scribble, scribble, scribble! Eh! Mr. Gibbon?”‘ Best’s _Memorials_, p. 68.

[5] Such care was needless. Boswell complained (_post_, June 24, 1774), that Johnson did not _answer_ his letters, but only sent him _returns_.

[6] ‘On one of the days that my ague disturbed me least, I walked from the convent to Corte, purposely to write a letter to Mr. Samuel Johnson. I told my revered friend, that from a kind of superstition agreeable in a certain degree to him as well as to myself, I had, during my travels, written to him from Loca Solennia, places in some measure sacred. That, as I had written to him from the tomb of Melancthon (see _post_, June 28, 1777), sacred to learning and piety, I now wrote to him from the palace of Pascal Paoli, sacred to wisdom and liberty.’ Boswell’s _Tour to Corsica_, p. 218. How delighted would Boswell have been had he lived to see the way in which he is spoken of by the biographer of Paoli: ‘En traversant la Mediterranee sur de freles navires pour venir s’asseoir au foyer de la nationalite Corse, _des hommes graves_ tels que Boswel et Volney obeissaient sans doute a un sentiment bien plus eleve qu’ au besoin vulgaire d’une puerile curiosite.’ _Histoire de Pascal Paoli_, par A. Arrighi, i. 231. By every Corsican of any education the name of Boswell is known and honoured. One of them told me that it was in Boswell’s pages that Paoli still lived for them. He informed me also of a family which still preserved by tradition the remembrance of Boswell’s visit to their ancestral home.

[7] The twelve following lines of this letter were published by Boswell in his _Corsica_ (p. 219) without Johnson’s leave. (See _post_, March 23, 1768.) Temple, to whom the book had been shewn before publication, had, it should seem, advised Boswell to omit this extract. Boswell replied:–‘Your remarks are of great service to me … but I must have my great preceptor, Mr. Johnson, introduced.’ _Letters of Boswell_, p. 122. In writing to excuse himself to Johnson (_post_, April 26, 1768), he says, ‘the temptation to publishing it was so strong.’

[8] ‘Tell your Court,’ said Paoli to Boswell, ‘what you have seen here. They will be curious to ask you. A man come from Corsica will be like a man come from the Antipodes.’ Boswell’s _Corsica_, p. 188. He was not indeed the first ‘native of this country’ to go there. He found in Bastia ‘an English woman of Penrith, in Cumberland. When the Highlanders marched through that country in the year 1745, she had married a soldier of the French picquets in the very midst of all the confusion and danger, and when she could hardly understand one word he said.’ _Ib_, p. 226. Boswell nowhere quotes Mrs. Barbauld’s fine lines on Corsica. Perhaps he was ashamed of the praise of the wife of ‘a little Presbyterian parson who kept an infant boarding school.’ (See _post_, under Dec. 17, 1775.) Yet he must have been pleased when he read:–

‘Such were the working thoughts which swelled the breast Of generous Boswell; when with nobler aim And views beyond the narrow beaten track By trivial fancy trod, he turned his course From polished Gallia’s soft delicious vales,’ &c.

Mrs. Barbauld’s _Poems_, i. 2.

[9] Murphy, in the _Monthly Review_, lxxvi. 376, thus describes Johnson’s life in Johnson’s Court after he had received his pension. ‘His friend Levett, his physician in ordinary, paid his daily visits with assiduity; attended at all hours, made tea all the morning, talked what he had to say, and did not expect an answer; or, if occasion required it, was mute, officious, and ever complying…. There Johnson sat every morning, receiving visits, hearing the topics of the day, and indolently trifling away the time. Chymistry afforded some amusement.’ Hawkins (_Life_, p. 452), says:–‘An upper room, which had the advantages of a good light and free air, he fitted up for a study. A silver standish and some useful plate, which he had been prevailed on to accept as pledges of kindness from some who most esteemed him, together with furniture that would not have disgraced a better dwelling, banished those appearances of squalid indigence which, in his less happy days, disgusted those who came to see him.’ Some of the plate Johnson had bought. See _post_, April 15, 1781.

[10] It is remarkable, that Mr. Gray has employed somewhat the same image to characterise Dryden. He, indeed, furnishes his car with but two horses, but they are of ‘ethereal race’:

‘Behold where Dryden’s less presumptuous car, Wide o’er the fields of glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder cloath’d, and long resounding pace.’

_Ode on the Progress of Poesy_. BOSWELL. In the ‘_Life of Pope (Works_, viii. 324) Johnson says:–‘The style of Dryden is capricious and varied; that of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind; Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid; Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle.’

[11] In the original _laws or kings_.

[12]

‘The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.’

_Paradise Lost_, i. 254.

‘Caelum, non animum, mutant qui
trans mare current.’

Horace, _Epis_. i. II. 27. See also _ante_, i. 381. note 2.

[13] ‘I once inadvertently put him,’ wrote Reynolds, ‘in a situation from which none but a man of perfect integrity could extricate himself. I pointed at some lines in _The Traveller_ which I told him I was sure he wrote. He hesitated a little; during this hesitation I recollected myself, that, as I knew he would not lie, I put him in a cleft-stick, and should have had but my due if he had given me a rough answer; but he only said, ‘Sir, I did not write them, but that you may not imagine that I have wrote more than I really have, the utmost I have wrote in that poem, to the best of my recollection, is not more than eighteen lines. [Nine seems the actual number.] It must be observed there was then an opinion about town that Dr. Johnson wrote the whole poem for his friend, who was then in a manner an unknown writer.’ Taylor’s _Reynolds_, ii. 458. See also _post_, April 9, 1778. For each line of _The Traveller_ Goldsmith was paid 11-1/4d. (_ante_, i. 193, note), Johnson’s present, therefore, of nine lines was, if reckoned in money, worth 8/5-1/4.

[14] See _ante_, i. 194, note.

[15] _Respublica et Status Regni Hungariae. Ex Officina Elzeviriana_, 1634, p. 136. This work belongs to the series of _Republics_ mentioned by Johnson, _post_, under April 29, 1776.

[16] ‘”Luke” had been taken simply for the euphony of the line. He was one of two brothers, Dosa…. The origin of the mistake [of Zeck for Dosa] is curious. The two brothers belonged to one of the native races of Transylvania called Szeklers or Zecklers, which descriptive addition follows their names in the German biographical authorities; and this, through abridgment and misapprehension, in subsequent books came at last to be substituted for the family name.’ Forster’s _Goldsmith_, i. 370. The iron crown was not the worst of the tortures inflicted.

[17] See _post_, April 15, 1781. In 1748 Johnson had written (_Works_, v. 231): ‘At a time when so many schemes of education have been projected…. so many schools opened for general knowledge, and so many lectures in particular sciences attended.’ Goldsmith, in his _Life of Nash_ (published in 1762), describes the lectures at Bath ‘on the arts and sciences which are frequently taught there in a pretty, superficial manner so as not to tease the understanding while they afford the imagination some amusement.’ Cunningham’s _Goldsmith’s Works_, iv 59.

[18] Perhaps Gibbon had read this passage at the time when he wrote in his Memoirs:–‘It has indeed been observed, nor is the observation absurd, that, excepting in experimental sciences which demand a costly apparatus and a dexterous hand, the many valuable treatises that have been published on every subject of learning may now supersede the ancient mode of oral instruction.’ Gibbon’s _Misc. Works_, i. 50. See _post_, March 20, 1776, note.

[19] See _ante_, i. 103.

[20] Baretti was in Italy at the same time as Boswell. That they met seems to be shewn by a passage in Boswell’s letter (_post_, Nov. 6, 1766). Malone wrote of him:–‘He appears to be an infidel.’ Prior’s _Malone_, p. 399.

[21] Lord Charlemont records (_Life_, i. 235) that ‘Mrs. Mallet, meeting Hume at an assembly, boldly accosted him in these words:–“Mr. Hume, give me leave to introduce myself to you; we deists ought to know each other.” “Madame,” replied Hume, “I am no deist. I do not style myself so, neither do I desire to be known by that appellation.”‘ Hume, in 1763 or 1764, wrote to Dr. Blair about the men of letters at Paris:–‘It would give you and Robertson great satisfaction to find that there is not a single deist among them.’ J. H. Burton’s _Hume_, ii. 181. There was no deist, I suppose, because they were all atheists. Romilly (_Life_, i. 179) records the following anecdote, which he had from Diderot in 1781:–‘Hume dina avec une grande compagnie chez le Baron d’Holbach. Il etait assis a cote du Baron; on parla de la religion naturelle. “Pour les Athees,” disait Hume, “je ne crois pas qu’il en existe; je n’en ai jamais vu.” “Vous avez ete un peu malheureux,” repondit l’autre, “vous voici a table avec dix-sept pour la premiere fois.”‘ It was on the same day that Diderot related this that he said to Romilly, ‘Il faut _sabrer_ la theologie.’

[22] ‘The inference upon the whole is, that it is not from the value or worth of the object which any person pursues that we can determine his enjoyment; but merely from the passion with which he pursues it, and the success which he meets with in his pursuit. Objects have absolutely no worth or value in themselves. They derive their worth merely from the passion. If that be strong and steady and successful, the person is happy. It cannot reasonably be doubted but a little miss, dressed in a new gown for a dancing-school ball, receives as complete enjoyment as the greatest orator, who triumphs in the splendour of his eloquence, while he governs the passions and resolutions of a numerous assembly.’ Hume’s _Essays_, i. 17 (_The Sceptic_). Pope had written in the _Essay on Man_ (iv. 57):

‘Condition, circumstance, is not the thing; Bliss is the same in subject or in King.’

See also _post_, April 15, 1778.

[23] In _Boswelliana_, p. 220, a brief account is given of his life, which was not altogether uneventful.

[24] We may compare with this what he says in _The Rambler_, No. 21, about the ‘cowardice which always encroaches fast upon such as spend their time in the company of persons higher than themselves.’ In No. 104 he writes:–‘It is dangerous for mean minds to venture themselves within the sphere of greatness.’ In the court that Boswell many years later paid to Lord Lonsdale, he suffered all the humiliations that the brutality of this petty greatness can inflict. _Letters of Boswell_, p. 324. See also _post_, Sept. 22, 1777.

[25] See Boswell’s _Hebrides_, Aug. 19, 1773.

[26] Johnson (_Works_, ix. 107) thus sums up his examination of second-sight:–‘There is against it, the seeming analogy of things confusedly seen, and little understood; and for it, the indistinct cry of natural persuasion, which may be, perhaps, resolved at last into prejudice and tradition. I never could advance my curiosity to conviction; but came away at last only willing to believe.’ See also _post_, March 24, 1775. Hume said of the evidence in favour of second-sight–:’As finite added to finite never approaches a hair’s breadth nearer to infinite, so a fact incredible in itself acquires not the smallest accession of probability by the accumulation of testimony.’ J. H. Burton’s Hume, i. 480.