The Life Of Johnson Vol 3 by James Boswell (page 5)

by Joshua Barnes, in which are to be found such comical _Anglo-Ellenisms_ as [Greek: Klubboisin ebanchthen]: they were banged with clubs[828].

On Wednesday, April 15, I dined with Dr. Johnson at Mr. Dilly’s, and was in high spirits, for I had been a good part of the morning with Mr. Orme, the able and eloquent historian of Hindostan, who expressed a great admiration of Johnson. ‘I do not care (said he,) on what subject Johnson talks; but I love better to hear him talk than any body. He either gives you new thoughts, or a new colouring. It is a shame to the nation that he has not been more liberally rewarded. Had I been George the Third, and thought as he did about America, I would have given Johnson three hundred a year for his _Taxation no Tyranny_ alone.’ I repeated this, and Johnson was much pleased with such praise from such a man as Orme.

At Mr. Dilly’s to-day were Mrs. Knowles[829], the ingenious Quaker lady[830], Miss Seward, the poetess of Lichfield, the Reverend Dr. Mayo[831], and the Rev. Mr. Beresford, Tutor to the Duke of Bedford. Before dinner Dr. Johnson seized upon Mr. Charles Sheridan’s _Account of the late Revolution in Sweden_[832], and seemed to read it ravenously, as if he devoured it, which was to all appearance his method of studying. ‘He knows how to read better than any one (said Mrs. Knowles;) he gets at the substance of a book directly; he tears out the heart of it.’ He kept it wrapt up in the tablecloth in his lap during the time of dinner, from an avidity to have one entertainment in readiness when he should have finished another; resembling (if I may use so coarse a simile) a dog who holds a bone in his paws in reserve, while he eats something else which has been thrown to him.

The subject of cookery having been very naturally introduced at a table where Johnson, who boasted of the niceness of his palate[833], owned that ‘he always found a good dinner,’ he said, ‘I could write a better book of cookery than has ever yet been written; it should be a book upon philosophical principles. Pharmacy is now made much more simple. Cookery may be made so too. A prescription which is now compounded of five ingredients, had formerly fifty in it. So in cookery, if the nature of the ingredients be well known, much fewer will do. Then as you cannot make bad meat good, I would tell what is the best butcher’s meat, the best beef, the best pieces; how to choose young fowls; the proper seasons of different vegetables; and then how to roast and boil, and compound.’ DILLY. ‘Mrs. Glasse’s _Cookery_, which is the best, was written by Dr. Hill. Half the _trade_[834] know this.’ JOHNSON. ‘Well, Sir. This shews how much better the subject of cookery may be treated by a philosopher. I doubt if the book be written by Dr. Hill; for, in Mrs. Glasse’s _Cookery_, which I have looked into, salt-petre and sal-prunella are spoken of as different substances, whereas sal-prunella is only salt-petre burnt on charcoal; and Hill could not be ignorant of this. However, as the greatest part of such a book is made by transcription, this mistake may have been carelessly adopted. But you shall see what a Book of Cookery I shall make! I shall agree with Mr. Dilly for the copy-right.’ Miss SEWARD. ‘That would be Hercules with the distaff indeed.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Madam. Women can spin very well; but they cannot make a good book of Cookery.’

JOHNSON. ‘O! Mr. Dilly–you must know that an English Benedictine Monk at Paris has translated _The Duke of Berwick’s Memoirs_, from the original French, and has sent them to me to sell. I offered them to Strahan, who sent them back with this answer:–“That the first book he had published was the _Duke of Berwick’s Life_, by which he had lost: and he hated the name.”–Now I honestly tell you, that Strahan has refused them; but I also honestly tell you, that he did it upon no principle, for he never looked into them.’ DILLY. ‘Are they well translated, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, very well–in a style very current and very clear. I have written to the Benedictine to give me an answer upon two points–What evidence is there that the letters are authentick? (for if they are not authentick they are nothing;)–And how long will it be before the original French is published? For if the French edition is not to appear for a considerable time, the translation will be almost as valuable as an original book. They will make two volumes in octavo; and I have undertaken to correct every sheet as it comes from the press.’ Mr. Dilly desired to see them, and said he would send for them. He asked Dr. Johnson if he would write a Preface to them. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. The Benedictines were very kind to me[835], and I’ll do what I undertook to do; but I will not mingle my name with them. I am to gain nothing by them. I’ll turn them loose upon the world, and let them take their chance.’ DR. MAYO. ‘Pray, Sir, are Ganganelli’s letters authentick?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. Voltaire put the same question to the editor of them, that I did to Macpherson–Where are the originals[836]?’

Mrs. Knowles affected to complain that men had much more liberty allowed them than women. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Madam, women have all the liberty they should wish to have. We have all the labour and the danger, and the women all the advantage. We go to sea, we build houses, we do everything, in short, to pay our court to the women.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘The Doctor reasons very wittily, but not convincingly. Now, take the instance of building; the mason’s wife, if she is ever seen in liquor, is ruined; the mason may get himself drunk as often as he pleases, with little loss of character; nay, may let his wife and children starve.’ JOHNSON. ‘Madam, you must consider, if the mason does get himself drunk, and let his wife and children starve, the parish will oblige him to find security for their maintenance. We have different modes of restraining evil. Stocks for the men, a ducking-stool for women[837], and a pound for beasts. If we require more perfection from women than from ourselves, it is doing them honour. And women have not the same temptations that we have: they may always live in virtuous company; men must mix in the world indiscriminately. If a woman has no inclination to do what is wrong being secured from it is no restraint to her. I am at liberty to walk into the Thames; but if I were to try it, my friends would restrain me in Bedlam, and I should be obliged to them.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘Still, Doctor, I cannot help thinking it a hardship that more indulgence is allowed to men than to women. It gives a superiority to men, to which I do not see how they are entitled.’ JOHNSON. ‘It is plain, Madam, one or other must have the superiority. As Shakspeare says, “If two men ride on a horse, one must ride behind[838].”‘ DILLY. ‘I suppose, Sir, Mrs. Knowles would have them to ride in panniers, one on each side.’ JOHNSON. ‘Then, Sir, the horse would throw them both.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘Well, I hope that in another world the sexes will be equal.’ BOSWELL. ‘That is being too ambitious, Madam. _We_ might as well desire to be equal with the angels. We shall all, I hope, be happy in a future state, but we must not expect to be all happy in the same degree. It is enough if we be happy according to our several capacities. A worthy carman will get to heaven as well as Sir Isaac Newton. Yet, though equally good, they will not have the same degrees of happiness.’ JOHNSON. ‘Probably not.’

Upon this subject I had once before sounded him, by mentioning the late Reverend Mr. Brown, of Utrecht’s, image; that a great and small glass, though equally full, did not hold an equal quantity; which he threw out to refute David Hume’s saying[839], that a little miss, going to dance at a ball, in a fine new dress, was as happy as a great oratour, after having made an eloquent and applauded speech. After some thought, Johnson said, ‘I come over to the parson.’ As an instance of coincidence of thinking, Mr. Dilly told me, that Dr. King, a late dissenting minister in London, said to him, upon the happiness in a future state of good men of different capacities, ‘A pail does not hold so much as a tub; but, if it be equally full, it has no reason to complain. Every Saint in heaven will have as much happiness as he can hold.’ Mr. Dilly thought this a clear, though a familiar illustration of the phrase, ‘One star differeth from another in brightness[840].’

Dr. Mayo having asked Johnson’s opinion of Soame Jenyns’s _View of the Internal Evidence of the Christian Religion_[841];–JOHNSON. ‘I think it a pretty book; not very theological indeed; and there seems to be an affectation of ease and carelessness, as if it were not suitable to his character to be very serious about the matter.’ BOSWELL. ‘He may have intended this to introduce his book the better among genteel people, who might be unwilling to read too grave a treatise. There is a general levity in the age. We have physicians now with bag-wigs[842]; may we not have airy divines, at least somewhat less solemn in their appearance than they used to be?’ JOHNSON. ‘Jenyns might mean as you say[843].’ BOSWELL. ‘You should like his book, Mrs. Knowles, as it maintains, as you _friends_ do, that courage is not a Christian virtue.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘Yes, indeed, I like him there; but I cannot agree with him, that friendship is not a Christian virtue[844].’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Madam, strictly speaking, he is right. All friendship is preferring the interest of a friend, to the neglect, or, perhaps, against the interest of others; so that an old Greek said, “He that has _friends_ has _no friend_.” Now Christianity recommends universal benevolence, to consider all men as our brethren[845], which is contrary to the virtue of friendship, as described by the ancient philosophers. Surely, Madam, your sect must approve of this; for, you call all men _friends_.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘We are commanded to do good to all men, “but especially to them who are of the household of Faith[846].”‘ JOHNSON. ‘Well, Madam. The household of Faith is wide enough.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘But, Doctor, our Saviour had twelve Apostles, yet there was _one_ whom he _loved_. John was called “the disciple whom JESUS loved[847].”‘ JOHNSON (with eyes sparkling benignantly). ‘Very well, indeed, Madam. You have said very well.’ BOSWELL. ‘A fine application. Pray, Sir, had you ever thought of it?’ JOHNSON. ‘I had not, Sir.’

From this pleasing subject[848], he, I know not how or why, made a sudden transition to one upon which he was a violent aggressor; for he said, ‘I am willing to love all mankind, _except an American_:’ and his inflammable corruption bursting into horrid fire, he ‘breathed out threatenings and slaughter[849];’ calling them, ‘Rascals–Robbers– Pirates;’ and exclaiming, he’d ‘burn and destroy them.’ Miss Seward, looking to him with mild but steady astonishment, said, ‘Sir, this is an instance that we are always most violent against those whom we have injured.’–He was irritated still more by this delicate and keen reproach; and roared out another tremendous volley, which one might fancy could be heard across the Atlantick. During this tempest I sat in great uneasiness, lamenting his heat of temper; till, by degrees, I diverted his attention to other topicks.

DR. MAYO (to Dr. Johnson). ‘Pray, Sir, have you read _Edwards, of New England, on Grace_?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘It puzzled me so much as to the freedom of the human will, by stating, with wonderful acute ingenuity, our being actuated by a series of motives which we cannot resist, that the only relief I had was to forget it.’ MAYO. ‘But he makes the proper distinction between moral and physical necessity.’ BOSWELL. ‘Alas, Sir, they come both to the same thing. You may be bound as hard by chains when covered by leather, as when the iron appears. The argument for the moral necessity of human actions is always, I observe, fortified by supposing universal prescience to be one of the attributes of the Deity.’ JOHNSON. ‘You are surer that you are free, than you are of prescience; you are surer that you can lift up your finger or not as you please, than you are of any conclusion from a deduction of reasoning. But let us consider a little the objection from prescience. It is certain I am either to go home to-night or not; that does not prevent my freedom.’ BOSWELL. ‘That it is certain you are _either_ to go home or not, does not prevent your freedom; because the liberty of choice between the two is compatible with that certainty. But if _one_ of these events be certain _now_, you have no _future_ power of volition. If it be certain you are to go home to-night, you _must_ go home.’ JOHNSON. ‘If I am well acquainted with a man, I can judge with great probability how he will act in any case, without his being restrained by my judging. GOD may have this probability increased to certainty.’ BOSWELL. ‘When it is increased to _certainty_, freedom ceases, because that cannot be certainly foreknown, which is not certain at the time; but if it be certain at the time, it is a contradiction in terms to maintain that there can be afterwards any _contingency_ dependent upon the exercise of will or any thing else.’ JOHNSON. ‘All theory is against the freedom of the will; all experience for it[850].’–I did not push the subject any farther. I was glad to find him so mild in discussing a question of the most abstract nature, involved with theological tenets, which he generally would not suffer to be in any degree opposed[851].

He as usual defended luxury[852]; ‘You cannot spend money in luxury without doing good to the poor. Nay, you do more good to them by spending it in luxury, than by giving it: for by spending it in luxury, you make them exert industry, whereas by giving it, you keep them idle. I own, indeed, there may be more virtue in giving it immediately in charity, than in spending it in luxury; though there may be a pride in that too.’ Miss Seward asked, if this was not Mandeville’s doctrine of ‘private vices publick benefits.’ JOHNSON. ‘The fallacy of that book is, that Mandeville defines neither vices nor benefits. He reckons among vices everything that gives pleasure[853]. He takes the narrowest system of morality, monastick morality, which holds pleasure itself to be a vice, such as eating salt with our fish, because it makes it eat better; and he reckons wealth as a publick benefit, which is by no means always true. Pleasure of itself is not a vice. Having a garden, which we all know to be perfectly innocent, is a great pleasure. At the same time, in this state of being there are many pleasures vices, which however are so immediately agreeable that we can hardly abstain from them. The happiness of Heaven will be, that pleasure and virtue will be perfectly consistent. Mandeville puts the case of a man who gets drunk in an alehouse; and says it is a publick benefit, because so much money is got by it to the publick. But it must be considered, that all the good gained by this, through the gradation of alehouse-keeper, brewer, maltster, and farmer, is overbalanced by the evil caused to the man and his family by his getting drunk[854]. This is the way to try what is vicious, by ascertaining whether more evil than good is produced by it upon the whole, which is the case in all vice. It may happen that good is produced by vice; but not as vice; for instance, a robber may take money from its owner, and give it to one who will make a better use of it. Here is good produced; but not by the robbery as robbery, but as translation of property[855]. I read Mandeville forty, or, I believe, fifty years ago. He did not puzzle me; he opened my views into real life very much[856]. No, it is clear that the happiness of society depends on virtue. In Sparta, theft was allowed by general consent[857]: theft, therefore, was _there_ not a crime, but then there was no security; and what a life must they have had, when there was no security. Without truth there must be a dissolution of society. As it is, there is so little truth, that we are almost afraid to trust our ears; but how should we be, if falsehood were multiplied ten times? Society is held together by communication and information; and I remember this remark of Sir Thomas Brown’s, “Do the devils lie? No; for then Hell could not subsist[858].”‘

Talking of Miss —-[859], a literary lady, he said, ‘I was obliged to speak to Miss Reynolds, to let her know that I desired she would not flatter me so much.’ Somebody now observed, ‘She flatters Garrick.’ JOHNSON. ‘She is in the right to flatter Garrick. She is in the right for two reasons; first, because she has the world with her, who have been praising Garrick these thirty years; and secondly, because she is rewarded for it by Garrick[860]. Why should she flatter _me_? I can do nothing for her. Let her carry her praise to a better market[861]. (Then turning to Mrs. Knowles). You, Madam, have been flattering me all the evening; I wish you would give Boswell a little now. If you knew his merit as well as I do, you would say a great deal; he is the best travelling companion in the world[862].’

Somebody mentioned the Reverend Mr. Mason’s prosecution of Mr. Murray[863], the bookseller, for having inserted in a collection of _Gray’s Poems_, only fifty lines, of which Mr. Mason had still the exclusive property, under the statute of Queen Anne; and that Mr. Mason had persevered, notwithstanding his being requested to name his own terms of compensation[864]. Johnson signified his displeasure at Mr. Mason’s conduct very strongly; but added, by way of shewing that he was not surprized at it, ‘Mason’s a Whig.’ MRS. KNOWLES, (not hearing distinctly:) ‘What! a Prig, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Worse, Madam; a Whig! But he is both.’

I expressed a horrour at the thought of death. MRS. KNOWLES. ‘Nay, thou should’st not have a horrour for what is the gate of life.’ JOHNSON, (standing upon the hearth rolling about, with a serious, solemn, and somewhat gloomy air:) ‘No rational man can die without uneasy apprehension.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘The Scriptures tell us, “The righteous shall have _hope_ in his death[865].”‘ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Madam; that is, he shall not have despair[866]. But, consider, his hope of salvation must be founded on the terms on which it is promised that the mediation of our SAVIOUR shall be applied to us,–namely, obedience; and where obedience has failed, then, as suppletory to it, repentance. But what man can say that his obedience has been such, as he would approve of in another, or even in himself upon close examination, or that his repentance has not been such as to require being repented of? No man can be sure that his obedience and repentance will obtain salvation.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘But divine intimation of acceptance may be made to the soul.’ JOHNSON. ‘Madam, it may; but I should not think the better of a man who should tell me on his death-bed he was sure of salvation. A man cannot be sure himself that he has divine intimation of acceptance; much less can he make others sure that he has it[867].’ BOSWELL. ‘Then, Sir, we must be contented to acknowledge that death is a terrible thing.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir. I have made no approaches to a state which can look on it as not terrible[868].’ MRS. KNOWLES, (seeming to enjoy a pleasing serenity in the persuasion of benignant divine light:) ‘Does not St. Paul say, “I have fought the good fight of faith, I have finished my course; henceforth is laid up for me a crown of life[869]?”‘ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Madam; but here was a man inspired, a man who had been converted by supernatural interposition.’ BOSWELL. ‘In prospect death is dreadful; but in fact we find that people die easy.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, most people have not _thought_ much of the matter, so cannot _say_ much, and it is supposed they die easy. Few believe it certain they are then to die; and those who do, set themselves to behave with resolution, as a man does who is going to be hanged. He is not the less unwilling to be hanged[870].’ MISS SEWARD. ‘There is one mode of the fear of death, which is certainly absurd; and that is the dread of annihilation, which is only a pleasing sleep without a dream.’ JOHNSON. ‘It is neither pleasing, nor sleep; it is nothing. Now mere existence is so much better than nothing, that one would rather exist even in pain, than not exist[871].’ BOSWELL. ‘If annihilation be nothing, then existing in pain is not a comparative state, but is a positive evil, which I cannot think we should choose. I must be allowed to differ here; and it would lessen the hope of a future state founded on the argument, that the Supreme Being, who is good as he is great, will hereafter compensate for our present sufferings in this life. For if existence, such as we have it here, be comparatively a good, we have no reason to complain, though no more of it should be given to us. But if our only state of existence were in this world, then we might with some reason complain that we are so dissatisfied with our enjoyments compared with our desires.’ JOHNSON. ‘The lady confounds annihilation, which is nothing, with the apprehension of it, which is dreadful. It is in the apprehension of it that the horrour of annihilation consists[872].’

Of John Wesley, he said, ‘He can talk well on any subject[873].’ BOSWELL. ‘Pray, Sir, what has he made of his story of a ghost?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, he believes it; but not on sufficient authority. He did not take time enough to examine the girl. It was at Newcastle, where the ghost was said to have appeared to a young woman several times, mentioning something about the right to an old house, advising application to be made to an attorney, which was done; and, at the same time, saying the attorney would do nothing, which proved to be the fact. “This (says John) is a proof that a ghost knows our thoughts[874].” Now (laughing) it is not necessary to know our thoughts, to tell that an attorney will sometimes do nothing. Charles Wesley, who is a more stationary man, does not believe the story. I am sorry that John did not take more pains to inquire into the evidence for it.’ MISS SEWARD, (with an incredulous smile:) ‘What, Sir! about a ghost?’ JOHNSON, (with solemn vehemence:) ‘Yes, Madam: this is a question which, after five thousand years, is yet undecided; a question, whether in theology or philosophy, one of the most important that can come before the human understanding[875].’

Mrs. Knowles mentioned, as a proselyte to Quakerism, Miss —-[876], a young lady well known to Dr. Johnson, for whom he had shewn much affection; while she ever had, and still retained, a great respect for him. Mrs. Knowles at the same time took an opportunity of letting him know ‘that the amiable young creature was sorry at finding that he was offended at her leaving the Church of England and embracing a simpler faith;’ and, in the gentlest and most persuasive manner, solicited his kind indulgence for what was sincerely a matter of conscience. JOHNSON, (frowning very angrily,) ‘Madam, she is an odious wench. She could not have any proper conviction that it was her duty to change her religion, which is the most important of all subjects, and should be studied with all care, and with all the helps we can get. She knew no more of the Church which she left, and that which she embraced, than she did of the difference between the Copernican and Ptolemaick systems.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘She had the New Testament before her.’ JOHNSON. ‘Madam, she could not understand the New Testament, the most difficult book in the world, for which the study of a life is required.’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘It is clear as to essentials.’ JOHNSON. ‘But not as to controversial points. The heathens were easily converted, because they had nothing to give up; but we ought not, without very strong conviction indeed, to desert the religion in which we have been educated. That is the religion given you, the religion in which it may be said Providence has placed you. If you live conscientiously in that religion, you may be safe. But errour is dangerous indeed, if you err when you choose a religion for yourself[877].’ MRS. KNOWLES. ‘Must we then go by implicit faith?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Madam, the greatest part of our knowledge is implicit faith; and as to religion, have we heard all that a disciple of Confucius, all that a Mahometan, can say for himself?’ He then rose again into passion, and attacked the young proselyte in the severest terms of reproach, so that both the ladies seemed to be much shocked[878].

We remained together till it was pretty late. Notwithstanding occasional explosions of violence, we were all delighted upon the whole with Johnson. I compared him at this time to a warm West-Indian climate, where you have a bright sun, quick vegetation, luxuriant foliage, luscious fruits; but where the same heat sometimes produces thunder, lightning, earthquakes, in a terrible degree.

April 17, being Good Friday[879], I waited on Johnson, as usual. I observed at breakfast that although it was a part of his abstemious discipline on this most solemn fast, to take no milk in his tea, yet when Mrs. Desmoulins inadvertently poured it in, he did not reject it. I talked of the strange indecision of mind, and imbecility in the common occurrences of life, which we may observe in some people. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, I am in the habit of getting others to do things for me.’ BOSWELL. ‘What, Sir! have you that weakness?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir. But I always think afterwards I should have done better for myself.’ I told him that at a gentleman’s house[880] where there was thought to be such extravagance or bad management, that he was living much beyond his income, his lady had objected to the cutting of a pickled mango, and that I had taken an opportunity to ask the price of it, and found it was only two shillings; so here was a very poor saving. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, that is the blundering oeconomy of a narrow understanding. It is stopping one hole in a sieve.’

I expressed some inclination to publish an account of my _Travels_ upon the continent of Europe, for which I had a variety of materials collected. JOHNSON. ‘I do not say, Sir, you may not publish your travels; but I give you my opinion, that you would lessen yourself by it. What can you tell of countries so well known as those upon the continent of Europe, which you have visited?’ BOSWELL. ‘But I can give an entertaining narrative, with many incidents, anecdotes, _jeux d’esprit_, and remarks, so as to make very pleasant reading.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, most modern travellers in Europe who have published their travels, have been laughed at: I would not have you added to the number[881]. The world is now not contented to be merely entertained by a traveller’s narrative; they want to learn something[882]. Now some of my friends asked me, why I did not give some account of my travels in France. The reason is plain; intelligent readers had seen more of France than I had. _You_ might have liked my travels in France, and THE CLUB might have liked them; but, upon the whole, there would have been more ridicule than good produced by them.’ BOSWELL. ‘I cannot agree with you, Sir. People would like to read what you say of any thing. Suppose a face has been painted by fifty painters before; still we love to see it done by Sir Joshua.’ JOHNSON. ‘True, Sir, but Sir Joshua cannot paint a face when he has not time to look on it.’ BOSWELL. ‘Sir, a sketch of any sort by him is valuable. And, Sir, to talk to you in your own style (raising my voice, and shaking my head,) you _should_ have given us your travels in France. I am _sure_ I am right, and _there’s an end on’t_.’

I said to him that it was certainly true, as my friend Dempster had observed in his letter to me upon the subject, that a great part of what was in his _Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland_ had been in his mind before he left London. JOHNSON. ‘Why yes, Sir, the topicks were; and books of travels[883] will be good in proportion to what a man has previously in his mind; his knowing what to observe; his power of contrasting one mode of life with another. As the Spanish proverb says, “He, who would bring home the wealth of the Indies, must carry the wealth of the Indies with him.” So it is in travelling; a man must carry knowledge with him, if he would bring home knowledge.’ BOSWELL. ‘The proverb, I suppose, Sir, means, he must carry a large stock with him to trade with.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir.’

It was a delightful day: as we walked to St. Clement’s church[884], I again remarked that Fleet-street was the most cheerful scene in the world[885]. ‘Fleet-street (said I,) is in my mind more delightful than Tempe.’ JOHNSON. ‘Ay, Sir; but let it be compared with Mull.’

There was a very numerous congregation to-day at St. Clement’s church, which Dr. Johnson said he observed with pleasure.

And now I am to give a pretty full account of one of the most curious incidents in Johnson’s life, of which he himself has made the following minute on this day: ‘In my return from church, I was accosted by Edwards[886], an old fellow-collegian, who had not seen me since 1729. He knew me, and asked if I remembered one Edwards; I did not at first recollect the name, but gradually as we walked along, recovered it, and told him a conversation that had passed at an alehouse between us. My purpose is to continue our acquaintance[887].’

It was in Butcher-row that this meeting happened. Mr. Edwards, who was a decent-looking elderly man in grey clothes, and a wig of many curls, accosted Johnson with familiar confidence, knowing who he was, while Johnson returned his salutation with a courteous formality, as to a stranger. But as soon as Edwards had brought to his recollection their having been at Pembroke-College together nine-and-forty years ago, he seemed much pleased, asked where he lived, and said he should be glad to see him in Bolt-court. EDWARDS. ‘Ah, Sir! we are old men now[888].’ JOHNSON, (who never liked to think of being old[889]:) ‘Don’t let us discourage one another.’ EDWARDS. ‘Why, Doctor, you look stout and hearty, I am happy to see you so; for the newspapers told us you were very ill[890].’ JOHNSON, ‘Ay, Sir, they are always telling lies of _us old fellows_.’

Wishing to be present at more of so singular a conversation as that between two fellow-collegians, who had lived forty years in London without ever having chanced to meet, I whispered to Mr. Edwards that Dr. Johnson was going home, and that he had better accompany him now. So Edwards walked along with us, I eagerly assisting to keep up the conversation. Mr. Edwards informed Dr. Johnson that he had practised long as a solicitor in Chancery, but that he now lived in the country upon a little farm, about sixty acres, just by Stevenage in Hertfordshire, and that he came to London (to Barnard’s Inn, No. 6), generally twice a week. Johnson appearing to me in a reverie, Mr. Edwards addressed himself to me, and expatiated on the pleasure of living in the country. BOSWELL. ‘I have no notion of this, Sir. What you have to entertain you, is, I think, exhausted in half an hour.’ EDWARDS. ‘What? don’t you love to have hope realized? I see my grass, and my corn, and my trees growing. Now, for instance, I am curious to see if this frost has not nipped my fruit-trees.’ JOHNSON, (who we did not imagine was attending:) ‘You find, Sir, you have fears as well as hopes.’–So well did he see the whole, when another saw but the half of a subject.

When we got to Dr. Johnson’s house, and were seated in his library, the dialogue went on admirably. EDWARDS. ‘Sir, I remember you would not let us say _prodigious_ at College[891]. For even then, Sir, (turning to me,) he was delicate in language, and we all feared him[892].’ JOHNSON, (to Edwards:) ‘From your having practised the law long, Sir, I presume you must be rich.’ EDWARDS. ‘No, Sir; I got a good deal of money; but I had a number of poor relations to whom I gave a great part of it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you have been rich in the most valuable sense of the word.’ EDWARDS. ‘But I shall not die rich.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, sure, Sir, it is better to _live_ rich than to _die_ rich.’ EDWARDS. ‘I wish I had continued at College.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why do you wish that, Sir?’ EDWARDS. ‘Because I think I should have had a much easier life than mine has been. I should have been a parson, and had a good living, like Bloxam and several others, and lived comfortably.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, the life of a parson, of a conscientious clergyman, is not easy. I have always considered a clergyman as the father of a larger family than he is able to maintain. I would rather have Chancery suits upon my hands than the cure of souls. No, Sir, I do not envy a clergyman’s life as an easy life[893], nor do I envy the clergyman who makes it an easy life.’ Here taking himself up all of a sudden, he exclaimed, ‘O! Mr. Edwards! I’ll convince you that I recollect you. Do you remember our drinking together at an alehouse near Pembroke gate[894]. At that time, you told me of the Eton boy, who, when verses on our Saviour’s turning water into wine were prescribed as an exercise, brought up a single line, which was highly admired,–

“_Vidit et erubuit lympha pudica Deum_[895],”

and I told you of another fine line in Camden’s _Remains_, an eulogy upon one of our Kings, who was succeeded by his son, a prince of equal merit:–

“_Mira cano, Sol occubuit, nox nulla secuta est_[896].”‘

EDWARDS. ‘You are a philosopher, Dr. Johnson. I have tried too in my time to be a philosopher; but, I don’t know how, cheerfulness was always breaking in[897].’ Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Courtenay, Mr. Malone, and, indeed, all the eminent men to whom I have mentioned this, have thought it an exquisite trait of character. The truth is, that philosophy, like religion, is too generally supposed to be hard and severe, at least so grave as to exclude all gaiety.

EDWARDS. ‘I have been twice married, Doctor. You, I suppose, have never known what it was to have a wife.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, I have known what it was to have a wife, and (in a solemn tender faultering tone) I have known what it was to _lose a wife_.–It had almost broke my heart.’

EDWARDS. ‘How do you live, Sir? For my part, I must have my regular meals, and a glass of good wine. I find I require it.’ JOHNSON. ‘I now drink no wine, Sir. Early in life I drank wine: for many years I drank none. I then for some years drank a great deal.’ EDWARDS. ‘Some hogsheads, I warrant you.’ JOHNSON. ‘I then had a severe illness, and left it off[898], and I have never begun it again. I never felt any difference upon myself from eating one thing rather than another, nor from one kind of weather rather than another[899]. There are people. I believe, who feel a difference; but I am not one of them. And as to regular meals, I have fasted from the Sunday’s dinner to the Tuesday’s dinner, without any inconvenience[900]. I believe it is best to eat just as one is hungry: but a man who is in business, or a man who has a family, must have stated meals. I am a straggler. I may leave this town and go to Grand Cairo, without being missed here or observed there.’ EDWARDS. ‘Don’t you eat supper, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ EDWARDS. ‘For my part, now, I consider supper as a turnpike through which one must pass, in order to get to bed[901].’

JOHNSON. ‘You are a lawyer, Mr. Edwards. Lawyers know life practically. A bookish man should always have them to converse with. They have what he wants.’ EDWARDS. ‘I am grown old: I am sixty-five.’ JOHNSON. ‘I shall be sixty-eight[902] next birth-day. Come, Sir, drink water, and put in for a hundred.’

Mr. Edwards mentioned a gentleman who had left his whole fortune to Pembroke College. JOHNSON. ‘Whether to leave one’s whole fortune to a College be right, must depend upon circumstances. I would leave the interest of the fortune I bequeathed to a College to my relations or my friends, for their lives[903]. It is the same thing to a College, which is a permanent society, whether it gets the money now or twenty years hence; and I would wish to make my relations or friends feel the benefit of it.’

This interview confirmed my opinion of Johnson’s most humane and benevolent heart. His cordial and placid behaviour to an old fellow-collegian, a man so different from himself; and his telling him that he would go down to his farm and visit him, showed a kindness of disposition very rare at an advanced age. He observed, ‘how wonderful it was that they had both been in London forty years, without having ever once met, and both walkers in the street too!’ Mr. Edwards, when going away, again recurred to his consciousness of senility, and looking full in Johnson’s face, said to him, ‘You’ll find in Dr. Young,

“O my coevals! remnants of yourselves[904]!”‘

Johnson did not relish this at all; but shook his head with impatience. Edwards walked off, seemingly highly pleased with the honour of having been thus noticed by Dr. Johnson. When he was gone, I said to Johnson, I thought him but a weak man. JOHNSON. ‘Why, yes, Sir. Here is a man who has passed through life without experience: yet I would rather have him with me than a more sensible man who will not talk readily. This man is always willing to say what he has to say.’ Yet Dr. Johnson had himself by no means that willingness which he praised so much, and I think so justly; for who has not felt the painful effect of the dreary void, when there is a total silence in a company, for any length of time; or, which is as bad, or perhaps worse, when the conversation is with difficulty kept up by a perpetual effort?

Johnson once observed to me, ‘Tom Tyers described me the best: “Sir (said he), you are like a ghost: you never speak till you are spoken to[905].”‘

The gentleman whom he thus familiarly mentioned was Mr. Thomas Tyers, son of Mr. Jonathan Tyers, the founder of that excellent place of publick amusement, Vauxhall Gardens, which must ever be an estate to its proprietor, as it is peculiarly adapted to the taste of the English nation; there being a mixture of curious show,–gay exhibition,–musick, vocal and instrumental, not too refined for the general ear;–for all which only a shilling is paid[906]; and, though last, not least, good eating and drinking for those who choose to purchase that regale[907]. Mr. Thomas Tyers was bred to the law; but having a handsome fortune, vivacity of temper, and eccentricity of mind, he could not confine himself to the regularity of practice. He therefore ran about the world with a pleasant carelessness, amusing everybody by his desultory conversation[908]. He abounded in anecdote, but was not sufficiently attentive to accuracy. I therefore cannot venture to avail myself much of a biographical sketch of Johnson which he published, being one among the various persons ambitious of appending their names to that of my illustrious friend. That sketch is, however, an entertaining little collection of fragments. Those which he published of Pope and Addison are of higher merit; but his fame must chiefly rest upon his _Political Conferences_, in which he introduces several eminent persons delivering their sentiments in the way of dialogue, and discovers a considerable share of learning, various knowledge, and discernment of character. This much may I be allowed to say of a man who was exceedingly obliging to me, and who lived with Dr. Johnson in as easy a manner as almost any of his very numerous acquaintance.

Mr. Edwards had said to me aside, that Dr. Johnson should have been of a profession[909]. I repeated the remark to Johnson that I might have his own thoughts on the subject. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it _would_ have been better that I had been of a profession. I ought to have been a lawyer.’ BOSWELL. ‘I do not think, Sir, it would have been better, for we should not have had the _English Dictionary_.’ JOHNSON. ‘But you would have had _Reports_.’ BOSWELL. ‘Ay; but there would not have been another, who could have written the _Dictionary_. There have been many very good Judges. Suppose you had been Lord Chancellor; you would have delivered opinions with more extent of mind, and in a more ornamented manner, than perhaps any Chancellor ever did, or ever will do. But, I believe, causes have been as judiciously decided as you could have done.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir. Property has been as well settled.’

Johnson, however, had a noble ambition floating in his mind, and had, undoubtedly, often speculated on the possibility of his supereminent powers being rewarded in this great and liberal country by the highest honours of the state. Sir William Scott informs me, that upon the death of the late Lord Lichfield, who was Chancellor of the University of Oxford, he said to Johnson, ‘What a pity it is, Sir, that you did not follow the profession of the law[910]. You might have been Lord Chancellor of Great Britain, and attained to the dignity of the peerage; and now that the title of Lichfield, your native city, is extinct, you might have had it[911].’ Johnson, upon this, seemed much agitated; and, in an angry tone, exclaimed, ‘Why will you vex me by suggesting this, when it is too late[912]?’

But he did not repine at the prosperity of others. The late Dr. Thomas Leland told Mr. Courtenay, that when Mr. Edmund Burke shewed Johnson his fine house and lands near Beaconsfield, Johnson coolly said, ‘Non equidem invideo; miror magis[913].’

Yet no man had a higher notion of the dignity of literature than Johnson, or was more determined in maintaining the respect which he justly considered as due to it. Of this, besides the general tenor of his conduct in society, some characteristical instances may be mentioned.

He told Sir Joshua Reynolds, that once when he dined in a numerous company of booksellers, where the room being small, the head of the table, at which he sat, was almost close to the fire, he persevered in suffering a great deal of inconvenience from the heat, rather than quit his place, and let one of them sit above him.

Goldsmith, in his diverting simplicity, complained one day, in a mixed company, of Lord Camden. ‘I met him (said he) at Lord Clare’s house[914] in the country, and he took no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man.’ The company having laughed heartily, Johnson stood forth in defence of his friend. ‘Nay, Gentleman, (said he,) Dr. Goldsmith is in the right. A nobleman ought to have made up to such a man as Goldsmith; and I think it is much against Lord Camden that he neglected him[915].’

Nor could he patiently endure to hear that such respect as he thought due only to higher intellectual qualities, should be bestowed on men of slighter, though perhaps more amusing talents. I told him, that one morning, when I went to breakfast with Garrick, who was very vain of his intimacy with Lord Camden,[916] he accosted me thus:–‘Pray now, did you–did you meet a little lawyer turning the corner, eh?’–‘No, Sir, (said I.) Pray what do you mean by the question?’–‘Why, (replied Garrick, with an affected indifference, yet as if standing on tip-toe,) Lord Camden has this moment left me. We have had a long walk together.’ JOHNSON. ‘Well, Sir, Garrick talked very properly. Lord Camden _was a little lawyer_ to be associating so familiarly with a player.’ Sir Joshua Reynolds observed, with great truth, that Johnson considered Garrick to be as it were his _property_. He would allow no man either to blame or to praise Garrick in his presence, without contradicting him[917].

Having fallen into a very serious frame of mind, in which mutual expressions of kindness passed between us, such as would be thought too vain in me to repeat, I talked with regret of the sad inevitable certainty that one of us must survive the other. JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir, that is an affecting consideration. I remember Swift, in one of his letters to Pope, says, “I intend to come over, that we may meet once more; and when we must part, it is what happens to all human beings[918].”‘ BOSWELL. ‘The hope that we shall see our departed friends[919] again must support the mind.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why yes, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘There is a strange unwillingness to part with life, independent of serious fears as to futurity. A reverend friend of ours (naming him) tells me, that he feels an uneasiness at the thoughts of leaving his house, his study, his books.’ JOHNSON. ‘This is foolish in —-[920]. A man need not be uneasy on these grounds; for, as he will retain his consciousness, he may say with the philosopher, _Omnia mea mecum porto_[921].’ BOSWELL. ‘True, Sir: we may carry our books in our heads; but still there is something painful in the thought of leaving for ever what has given us pleasure. I remember, many years ago, when my imagination was warm, and I happened to be in a melancholy mood, it distressed me to think of going into a state of being in which Shakspeare’s poetry did not exist. A lady whom I then much admired, a very amiable woman, humoured my fancy, and relieved me by saying, “The first thing you will meet in the other world, will be an elegant copy of Shakspeare’s works presented to you.”‘ Dr. Johnson smiled benignantly at this, and did not appear to disapprove of the notion.

We went to St. Clement’s church again in the afternoon[922], and then returned and drank tea and coffee in Mrs. Williams’s room; Mrs. Desmoulins doing the honours of the tea-table. I observed that he would not even look at a proof-sheet of his _Life of Waller_ on Good-Friday.

Mr. Allen, the printer, brought a book on agriculture, which was printed, and was soon to be published[923]. It was a very strange performance, the authour having mixed in it his own thoughts upon various topicks, along with his remarks on ploughing, sowing, and other farming operations. He seemed to be an absurd profane fellow, and had introduced in his book many sneers at religion, with equal ignorance and conceit. Dr. Johnson permitted me to read some passages aloud. One was, that he resolved to work on Sunday, and did work, but he owned he felt _some_ weak compunction; and he had this very curious reflection:–‘I was born in the wilds of Christianity, and the briars and thorns still hang about me.’ Dr. Johnson could not help laughing at this ridiculous image, yet was very angry at the fellow’s impiety. ‘However, (said he,) the Reviewers will make him hang himself.’ He, however, observed, ‘that formerly there might have been a dispensation obtained for working on Sunday in the time of harvest[924].’ Indeed in ritual observances, were all the ministers of religion what they should be, and what many of them are, such a power might be wisely and safely lodged with the Church.

On Saturday, April 14[925], I drank tea with him. He praised the late Mr. Buncombe[926], of Canterbury, as a pleasing man. ‘He used to come to me: I did not seek much after him. Indeed I never sought much after any body.’ BOSWELL. ‘Lord Orrery[927], I suppose.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; I never went to him but when he sent for me.’ BOSWELL. ‘Richardson[928]?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir. But I sought after George Psalmanazar the most. I used to go and sit with him at an alehouse in the city[929].’

I am happy to mention another instance which I discovered of his _seeking after_ a man of merit. Soon after the Honourable Daines Barrington had published his excellent _Observations on the Statutes_, Johnson waited on that worthy and learned gentleman; and, having told him his name, courteously said, ‘I have read your book, Sir, with great pleasure, and wish to be better known to you.’ Thus began an acquaintance, which was continued with mutual regard as long as Johnson lived.

Talking of a recent seditious delinquent[930], he said, ‘They should set him in the pillory, that he may be punished in a way that would disgrace him.’ I observed, that the pillory does not always disgrace. And I mentioned an instance of a gentleman[931] who I thought was not dishonoured by it. JOHNSON. ‘Ay, but he was, Sir. He could not mouth and strut as he used to do, after having been there. People are not willing to ask a man to their tables who has stood in the pillory.’

The Gentleman who had dined with us at Dr. Percy’s[932] came in. Johnson attacked the Americans with intemperate vehemence of abuse. I said something in their favour; and added, that I was always sorry when he talked on that subject. This, it seems, exasperated him; though he said nothing at the time. The cloud was charged with sulphureous vapour, which was afterwards to burst in thunder.–We talked of a gentleman[933] who was running out his fortune in London; and I said, ‘We must get him out of it. All his friends must quarrel with him, and that will soon drive him away.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir; we’ll send _you_ to him. If your company does not drive a man out of his house, nothing will.’ This was a horrible shock, for which there was no visible cause. I afterwards asked him why he had said so harsh a thing. JOHNSON. ‘Because, Sir, you made me angry about the Americans.’ BOSWELL. ‘But why did you not take your revenge directly?’ JOHNSON. (smiling) ‘Because, Sir, I had nothing ready. A man cannot strike till he has his weapons.’ This was a candid and pleasant confession.

He shewed me to-night his drawing-room, very genteelly fitted up; and said, ‘Mrs. Thrale sneered when I talked of my having asked you and your lady to live at my house[934]. I was obliged to tell her, that you would be in as respectable a situation in my house as in hers. Sir, the insolence of wealth will creep out.’ BOSWELL. ‘She has a little both of the insolence of wealth, and the conceit of parts.’ JOHNSON. ‘The insolence of wealth is a wretched thing; but the conceit of parts has some foundation[935]. To be sure it should not be. But who is without it?’ BOSWELL. ‘Yourself, Sir.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why I play no tricks: I lay no traps.’ BOSWELL. ‘No, Sir. You are six feet high, and you only do not stoop.’

We talked of the numbers of people that sometimes have composed the household of great families. I mentioned that there were a hundred in the family of the present Earl of Eglintoune’s father. Dr. Johnson seeming to doubt it, I began to enumerate. ‘Let us see: my Lord and my Lady two.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, if you are to count by twos, you may be long enough.’ BOSWELL. ‘Well, but now I add two sons and seven daughters, and a servant for each, that will make twenty; so we have the fifth part already.’ JOHNSON. ‘Very true. You get at twenty pretty readily; but you will not so easily get further on. We grow to five feet pretty readily; but it is not so easy to grow to seven.’

On Sunday, April 19, being Easter-day, after the solemnities of the festival in St. Paul’s Church, I visited him, but could not stay to dinner. I expressed a wish to have the arguments for Christianity always in readiness, that my religious faith might be as firm and clear as any proposition whatever, so that I need not be under the least uneasiness, when it should be attacked. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you cannot answer all objections. You have demonstration for a First Cause: you see he must be good as well as powerful, because there is nothing to make him otherwise, and goodness of itself is preferable. Yet you have against this, what is very certain, the unhappiness of human life. This, however, gives us reason to hope for a future state of compensation, that there may be a perfect system. But of that we were not sure, till we had a positive revelation.’ I told him, that his _Rasselas_ had often made me unhappy; for it represented the misery of human life so well, and so convincingly to a thinking mind, that if at any time the impression wore off, and I felt myself easy, I began to suspect some delusion.

On Monday, April 20[936], I found him at home in the morning. We talked of a gentleman[937] who we apprehended was gradually involving his circumstances by bad management. JOHNSON. ‘Wasting a fortune is evaporation by a thousand imperceptible means. If it were a stream, they’d stop it. You must speak to him. It is really miserable. Were he a gamester, it could be said he had hopes of winning. Were he a bankrupt in trade, he might have grown rich; but he has neither spirit to spend nor resolution to spare. He does not spend fast enough to have pleasure from it. He has the crime of prodigality, and the wretchedness of parsimony. If a man is killed in a duel, he is killed as many a one has been killed; but it is a sad thing for a man to lie down and die; to bleed to death, because he has not fortitude enough to sear the wound, or even to stitch it up.’ I cannot but pause a moment to admire the fecundity of fancy, and choice of language, which in this instance, and, indeed, on almost all occasions, he displayed. It was well observed by Dr. Percy, now Bishop of Dromore, ‘The conversation of Johnson is strong and clear, and may be compared to an antique statue, where every vein and muscle is distinct and bold. Ordinary conversation resembles an inferiour cast.’

On Saturday, April 25, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, with the learned Dr. Musgrave[938], Counsellor Leland of Ireland, son to the historian, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and some more ladies. _The Project_[939], a new poem, was read to the company by Dr. Musgrave. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it has no power. Were it not for the well-known names with which it is filled, it would be nothing: the names carry the poet, not the poet the names.’ MUSGRAVE. ‘A temporary poem always entertains us.’ JOHNSON. ‘So does an account of the criminals hanged yesterday entertain us.’

He proceeded:–‘Demosthenes Taylor, as he was called, (that is, the Editor of Demosthenes) was the most silent man, the merest statue of a man that I have ever seen. I once dined in company with him, and all he said during the whole time was no more than _Richard_. How a man should say only Richard, it is not easy to imagine. But it was thus: Dr. Douglas was talking of Dr. Zachary Grey, and ascribing to him something that was written by Dr. Richard Grey. So, to correct him, Taylor said, (imitating his affected sententious emphasis and nod,) “_Richard_.”‘

Mrs. Cholmondeley, in a high flow of spirits, exhibited some lively sallies of hyperbolical compliment to Johnson, with whom she had been long acquainted, and was very easy[940]. He was quick in catching the _manner_ of the moment, and answered her somewhat in the style of the hero of a romance, ‘Madam, you crown me with unfading laurels.’

I happened, I know not how, to say that a pamphlet meant a prose piece. JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. A few sheets of poetry unbound are a pamphlet[941], as much as a few sheets of prose.’ MUSGRAVE. ‘A pamphlet may be understood to mean a poetical piece in Westminster-Hall, that is, in formal language; but in common language it is understood to mean prose.’ JOHNSON. (and here was one of the many instances of his knowing clearly and telling exactly how a thing is) ‘A pamphlet is understood in common language to mean prose, only from this, that there is so much more prose written than poetry; as when we say a _book_, prose is understood for the same reason, though a book may as well be in poetry as in prose. We understand what is most general, and we name what is less frequent.’

We talked of a lady’s verses on Ireland. MISS REYNOLDS. ‘Have you seen them, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Madam. I have seen a translation from Horace, by one of her daughters. She shewed it me.’ MISS REYNOLDS. ‘And how was it, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, very well for a young Miss’s verses;–that is to say, compared with excellence, nothing; but, very well, for the person who wrote them. I am vexed at being shewn verses in that manner.’ MISS REYNOLDS. ‘But if they should be good, why not give them hearty praise?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Madam, because I have not then got the better of my bad humour from having been shewn them. You must consider, Madam; beforehand they may be bad, as well as good. Nobody has a right to put another under such a difficulty, that he must either hurt the person by telling the truth, or hurt himself by telling what is not true.'[942] BOSWELL. ‘A man often shews his writings to people of eminence, to obtain from them, either from their good-nature, or from their not being able to tell the truth firmly, a commendation, of which he may afterwards avail himself.’ JOHNSON. ‘Very true, Sir. Therefore the man, who is asked by an authour, what he thinks of his work, is put to the torture, and is not obliged to speak the truth; so that what he says is not considered as his opinion; yet he has said it, and cannot retract it; and this authour, when mankind are hunting him with a cannister at his tail, can say, “I would not have published, had not Johnson, or Reynolds, or Musgrave, or some other good judge commended the work.” Yet I consider it as a very difficult question in conscience, whether one should advise a man not to publish a work, if profit be his object; for the man may say, “Had it not been for you, I should have had the money.” Now you cannot be sure; for you have only your own opinion, and the publick may think very differently.’ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘You must upon such an occasion have two judgments; one as to the real value of the work, the other as to what may please the general taste at the time.’ JOHNSON. ‘But you can be sure of neither; and therefore I should scruple much to give a suppressive vote. Both Goldsmith’s comedies were once refused; his first by Garrick,[943] his second by Colman, who was prevailed on at last by much solicitation, nay, a kind of force, to bring it on.[944] His _Vicar of Wakefield_ I myself did not think would have had much success. It was written and sold to a bookseller before his _Traveller_; but published after; so little expectation had the bookseller from it. Had it been sold after the _Traveller_, he might have had twice as much money for it, though sixty guineas was no mean price. The bookseller had the advantage of Goldsmith’s reputation from _The Traveller_ in the sale, though Goldsmith had it not in selling the copy.'[945] SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘_The Beggar’s Opera_ affords a proof how strangely people will differ in opinion about a literary performance. Burke thinks it has no merit.’ JOHNSON. ‘It was refused by one of the houses[946]; but I should have thought it would succeed, not from any great excellence in the writing, but from the novelty, and the general spirit and gaiety of the piece, which keeps the audience always attentive, and dismisses them in good humour.’

We went to the drawing-room, where was a considerable increase of company. Several of us got round Dr. Johnson, and complained that he would not give us an exact catalogue of his works, that there might be a complete edition. He smiled, and evaded our entreaties. That he intended to do it, I have no doubt, because I have heard him say so; and I have in my possession an imperfect list, fairly written out, which he entitles _Historia Studiorum_. I once got from one of his friends a list, which there was pretty good reason to suppose was accurate, for it was written down in his presence by this friend, who enumerated each article aloud, and had some of them mentioned to him by Mr. Levett, in concert with whom it was made out; and Johnson, who heard all this, did not contradict it. But when I shewed a copy of this list to him, and mentioned the evidence for its exactness, he laughed, and said, ‘I was willing to let them go on as they pleased, and never interfered.’ Upon which I read it to him, article by article, and got him positively to own or refuse; and then, having obtained certainty so far, I got some other articles confirmed by him directly; and afterwards, from time to time, made additions under his sanction[947].

His friend Edward Cave having been mentioned, he told us, ‘Cave used to sell ten thousand of _The Gentleman’s Magazine_; yet such was then his minute attention and anxiety that the sale should not suffer the smallest decrease, that he would name a particular person who he heard had talked of leaving off the _Magazine_, and would say, ‘Let us have something good next month.’

It was observed, that avarice was inherent in some dispositions. JOHNSON. ‘No man was born a miser, because no man was born to possession. Every man is born _cupidus_–desirous of getting; but not _avarus_,–desirous of keeping.’ BOSWELL. ‘I have heard old Mr. Sheridan maintain, with much ingenuity, that a complete miser is a happy man; a miser who gives himself wholly to the one passion of saving.’ JOHNSON. ‘That is flying in the face of all the world, who have called an avaricious man a _miser_, because he is miserable[948]. No, Sir; a man who both spends and saves money is the happiest man, because he has both enjoyments.’

The conversation having turned on _Bon-Mots_, he quoted, from one of the _Ana_, an exquisite instance of flattery in a maid of honour in France, who being asked by the Queen what o’clock it was, answered, ‘What your Majesty pleases[949].’ He admitted that Mr. Burke’s classical pun upon Mr. Wilkes’s being carried on the shoulders of the mob,–

‘… Numerisque fertur
Lege solutus[950],’

was admirable; and though he was strangely unwilling to allow to that extraordinary man the talent of wit[951], he also laughed with approbation at another of his playful conceits; which was, that ‘Horace has in one line given a description of a good desirable manour:–

“Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines[952];”

that is to say, a _modus_[953] as to the tithes and certain _fines_[954].’

He observed, ‘A man cannot with propriety speak of himself, except he relates simple facts; as, “I was at Richmond:” or what depends on mensuration; as, “I am six feet high.” He is sure he has been at Richmond; he is sure he is six feet high: but he cannot be sure he is wise, or that he has any other excellence. Then, all censure of a man’s self is oblique praise. It is in order to shew how much he can spare. It has all the invidiousness of self-praise, and all the reproach of falsehood.’ BOSWELL. ‘Sometimes it may proceed from a man’s strong consciousness of his faults being observed. He knows that others would throw him down, and therefore he had better lye down softly of his own accord.’

On Tuesday, April 28, he was engaged to dine at General Paoli’s, where, as I have already observed[955], I was still entertained in elegant hospitality, and with all the ease and comfort of a home. I called on him, and accompanied him in a hackney-coach. We stopped first at the bottom of Hedge-lane, into which he went to leave a letter, ‘with good news for a poor man in distress,’ as he told me[956]. I did not question him particularly as to this. He himself often resembled Lady Bolingbroke’s lively description of Pope; that ‘he was _un politique aux choux et aux raves_.'[957].’ He would say, ‘I dine to-day in Grosvenor-square;’ this might be with a Duke[958]: or, perhaps, ‘I dine to-day at the other end of the town:’ or, ‘A gentleman of great eminence called on me yesterday.’ He loved thus to keep things floating in conjecture: _Omne ignotum pro magnifico est_.[959]. I believe I ventured to dissipate the cloud, to unveil the mystery, more freely and frequently than any of his friends. We stopped again at Wirgman’s, the well-known _toy-shop_[960], in St. James’s-street, at the corner of St. James’s-place, to which he had been directed, but not clearly, for he searched about some time, and could not find it at first; and said, ‘To direct one only to a corner shop is _toying_ with one.’ I suppose he meant this as a play upon the word _toy_: it was the first time that I knew him stoop to such sport[961]. After he had been some time in the shop, he sent for me to come out of the coach, and help him to choose a pair of silver buckles, as those he had were too small. Probably this alteration in dress had been suggested by Mrs. Thrale, by associating with whom, his external appearance was much improved. He got better cloaths; and the dark colour, from which he never deviated, was enlivened by metal buttons. His wigs, too, were much better; and during their travels in France, he was furnished with a Paris-made wig, of handsome construction[962]. This choosing of silver buckles was a negociation: ‘Sir (said he), I will not have the ridiculous large ones now in fashion; and I will give no more than a guinea for a pair.’ Such were the _principles_ of the business; and, after some examination, he was fitted. As we drove along, I found him in a talking humour, of which I availed myself. BOSWELL. ‘I was this morning in Ridley’s shop, Sir; and was told, that the collection called _Johnsoniana_[963] has sold very much.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yet the _Journey to the Hebrides_ has not had a great sale[964].’ BOSWELL. ‘That is strange.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; for in that book I have told the world a great deal that they did not know before.’

BOSWELL. ‘I drank chocolate, Sir, this morning with Mr. Eld; and, to my no small surprize, found him to be a _Staffordshire Whig_[965], a being which I did not believe had existed.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there are rascals in all countries.’ BOSWELL. ‘Eld said, a Tory was a creature generated between a non-juring parson and one’s grandmother.’ JOHNSON. ‘And I have always said, the first Whig was the Devil[966].’ BOSWELL. ‘He certainly was, Sir. The Devil was impatient of subordination; he was the first who resisted power:–

“Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven[967].”‘

At General Paoli’s were Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Langton, Marchese Gherardi of Lombardy, and Mr. John Spottiswoode the younger, of Spottiswoode[968], the solicitor. At this time fears of an invasion were circulated; to obviate which, Mr. Spottiswoode observed, that Mr. Fraser the engineer, who had lately come from Dunkirk, said, that the French had the same fears of us. JOHNSON. ‘It is thus that mutual cowardice keeps us in peace. Were one half of mankind brave, and one half cowards, the brave would be always beating the cowards. Were all brave, they would lead a very uneasy life; all would be continually fighting: but being all cowards, we go on very well[969].’

We talked of drinking wine. JOHNSON. ‘I require wine, only when I am alone. I have then often wished for it, and often taken it[970].’ SPOTTISWOODE. ‘What, by way of a companion, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘To get rid of myself, to send myself away. Wine gives great pleasure; and every pleasure is of itself a good. It is a good, unless counterbalanced by evil. A man may have a strong reason not to drink wine; and that may be greater than the pleasure. Wine makes a man better pleased with himself. I do not say that it makes him more pleasing to others. Sometimes it does. But the danger is, that while a man grows better pleased with himself, he may be growing less pleasing to others[971]. Wine gives a man nothing. It neither gives him knowledge nor wit; it only animates a man, and enables him to bring out what a dread of the company has repressed. It only puts in motion what has been locked up in frost. But this may be good, or it may be bad[972].’ SPOTTISWOODE. ‘So, Sir, wine is a key which opens a box; but this box may be either full or empty.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, conversation is the key: wine is a pick-lock, which forces open the box and injures it. A man should cultivate his mind so as to have that confidence and readiness without wine, which wine gives.’ BOSWELL. ‘The great difficulty of resisting wine is from benevolence. For instance, a good worthy man asks you to taste his wine, which he has had twenty years in his cellar.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, all this notion about benevolence arises from a man’s imagining himself to be of more importance to others, than he really is. They don’t care a farthing whether he drinks wine or not.’ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘Yes, they do for the time.’ JOHNSON. ‘For the time!–If they care this minute, they forget it the next. And as for the good worthy man; how do you know he is good and worthy? No good and worthy man will insist upon another man’s drinking wine. As to the wine twenty years in the cellar,–of ten men, three say this, merely because they must say something;–three are telling a lie, when they say they have had the wine twenty years;–three would rather save the wine;–one, perhaps, cares. I allow it is something to please one’s company: and people are always pleased with those who partake pleasure with them. But after a man has brought himself to relinquish the great personal pleasure which arises from drinking wine, any other consideration is a trifle. To please others by drinking wine, is something only, if there be nothing against it. I should, however, be sorry to offend worthy men:–

“Curst be the verse, how well so e’er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe[973].”‘

BOSWELL. ‘Curst be the _spring_, the _water_.’ JOHNSON. ‘But let us consider what a sad thing it would be, if we were obliged to drink or do any thing else that may happen to be agreeable to the company where we are.’ LANGTON. ‘By the same rule you must join with a gang of cut-purses.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir: but yet we must do justice to wine; we must allow it the power it possesses. To make a man pleased with himself, let me tell you, is doing a very great thing[974];

“_Si patriae volumus, si_ Nobis _vivere cari_[975].'”

I was at this time myself a water-drinker, upon trial, by Johnson’s recommendation[976]. JOHNSON. ‘Boswell is a bolder combatant than Sir Joshua: he argues for wine without the help of wine; but Sir Joshua with it.’ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘But to please one’s company is a strong motive.’ JOHNSON. (who, from drinking only water, supposed every body who drank wine to be elevated,) ‘I won’t argue any more with you, Sir. You are too far gone[977].’ SIR JOSHUA. ‘I should have thought so indeed, Sir, had I made such a speech as you have now done.’ JOHNSON (drawing himself in, and, I really thought blushing,) ‘Nay, don’t be angry. I did not mean to offend you.’ SIR JOSHUA. ‘At first the taste of wine was disagreeable to me; but I brought myself to drink it, that I might be like other people. The pleasure of drinking wine is so connected with pleasing your company, that altogether there is something of social goodness in it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, this is only saying the same thing over again.’ SIR JOSHUA. ‘No, this is new.’ JOHNSON. ‘You put it in new words, but it is an old thought. This is one of the disadvantages of wine. It makes a man mistake words for thoughts.’ BOSWELL. ‘I think it is a new thought; at least, it is in a new _attitude_.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, it is only in a new coat; or an old coat with a new facing. (Then laughing heartily) It is the old dog in a new doublet.–An extraordinary instance however may occur where a man’s patron will do nothing for him, unless he will drink: _there_ may be a good reason for drinking.’

I mentioned a nobleman[978], who I believed was really uneasy if his company would not drink hard. JOHNSON. ‘That is from having had people about him whom he has been accustomed to command.’ BOSWELL. ‘Supposing I should be _tete-a-tete_ with him at table.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there is no more reason for your drinking with _him_, than his being sober with _you_.’ BOSWELL. ‘Why that is true; for it would do him less hurt to be sober, than it would do me to get drunk.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; and from what I have heard of him, one would not wish to sacrifice himself to such a man. If he must always have somebody to drink with him, he should buy a slave, and then he would be sure to have it. They who submit to drink as another pleases, make themselves his slaves.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, you will surely make allowance for the duty of hospitality. A gentleman who loves drinking, comes to visit me.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, a man knows whom he visits; he comes to the table of a sober man.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, you and I should not have been so well received in the Highlands and Hebrides, if I had not drunk with our worthy friends. Had I drunk water only as you did, they would not have been so cordial.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir William Temple mentions that in his travels through the Netherlands he had two or three gentlemen with him; and when a bumper was necessary, he put it on _them_[979]. Were I to travel again through the islands, I would have Sir Joshua with me to take the bumpers.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, let me put a case. Suppose Sir Joshua should take a jaunt into Scotland; he does me the honour to pay me a visit at my house in the country; I am overjoyed at seeing him; we are quite by ourselves, shall I unsociably and churlishly let him sit drinking by himself? No, no, my dear Sir Joshua, you shall not be treated so, I _will_ take a bottle with you.’

The celebrated Mrs. Rudd being mentioned. JOHNSON. ‘Fifteen years ago I should have gone to see her.’ SPOTTISWOODE. ‘Because she was fifteen years younger?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; but now they have a trick of putting every thing into the newspapers[980].’

He begged of General Paoli to repeat one of the introductory stanzas of the first book of Tasso’s _Jerusalem_, which he did, and then Johnson found fault with the simile of sweetening the edges of a cup for a child, being transferred from Lucretius into an epick poem[981]. The General said he did not imagine Homer’s poetry was so ancient as is supposed, because he ascribes to a Greek colony circumstances of refinement not found in Greece itself at a later period, when Thucydides wrote. JOHNSON. ‘I recollect but one passage quoted by Thucydides from Homer, which is not to be found in our copies of Homer’s works; I am for the antiquity of Homer, and think that a Grecian colony, by being nearer Persia, might be more refined than the mother country.’

On Wednesday, April 29, I dined with him at Mr. Allan Ramsay’s, where were Lord Binning, Dr. Robertson the historian, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and the Honourable Mrs. Boscawen, widow of the Admiral, and mother of the present Viscount Falmouth; of whom, if it be not presumptuous in me to praise her, I would say, that her manners are the most agreeable, and her conversation the best, of any lady with whom I ever had the happiness to be acquainted. Before Johnson came we talked a good deal of him; Ramsay said he had always found him a very polite man, and that he treated him with great respect, which he did very sincerely. I said I worshipped him. ROBERTSON. ‘But some of you spoil him; you should not worship him; you should worship no man.’ BOSWELL. ‘I cannot help worshipping him, he is so much superiour to other men.’ ROBERTSON. ‘In criticism, and in wit in conversation, he is no doubt very excellent; but in other respects he is not above other men; he will believe any thing[982], and will strenuously defend the most minute circumstance connected with the Church of England.’ BOSWELL. ‘Believe me, Doctor, you are much mistaken as to this; for when you talk with him calmly in private[983], he is very liberal in his way of thinking.’ ROBERTSON. ‘He and I have been always very gracious[984]; the first time I met him was one evening at Strahan’s, when he had just had an unlucky altercation with Adam Smith[985], to whom he had been so rough, that Strahan, after Smith was gone, had remonstrated with him, and told him that I was coming soon, and that he was uneasy to think that he might behave in the same manner to me. “No, no, Sir, (said Johnson) I warrant you Robertson and I shall do very well.” Accordingly he was gentle and good-humoured, and courteous with me the whole evening; and he has been so upon every occasion that we have met since. I have often said (laughing) that I have been in a great measure indebted to Smith for my good reception.’ BOSWELL. ‘His power of reasoning is very strong, and he has a peculiar art of drawing characters, which is as rare as good portrait painting.’ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘He is undoubtedly admirable in this; but, in order to mark the characters which he draws, he overcharges them, and gives people more than they really have, whether of good or bad.’

No sooner did he, of whom we had been thus talking so easily, arrive, than we were all as quiet as a school upon the entrance of the head-master[986]; and were very soon set down to a table covered with such variety of good things, as contributed not a little to dispose him to be pleased.

RAMSAY. ‘I am old enough to have been a contemporary of Pope. His poetry was highly admired in his life-time, more a great deal than after his death[987].’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it has not been less admired since his death; no authours ever had so much fame in their own life-time as Pope and Voltaire; and Pope’s poetry has been as much admired since his death as during his life; it has only not been as much talked of, but that is owing to its being now more distant, and people having other writings to talk of. Virgil is less talked of than Pope, and Homer is less talked of than Virgil; but they are not less admired. We must read what the world reads at the moment. It has been maintained that this superfoetation, this teeming of the press in modern times, is prejudicial to good literature, because it obliges us to read so much of what is of inferiour value, in order to be in the fashion; so that better works are neglected for want of time, because a man will have more gratification of his vanity in conversation, from having read modern books, than from having read the best works of antiquity. But it must be considered, that we have now more knowledge generally diffused; all our ladies read now, which is a great extension[988]. Modern writers are the moons of literature; they shine with reflected light, with light borrowed from the ancients. Greece appears to me to be the fountain of knowledge; Rome of elegance.’ RAMSAY. ‘I suppose Homer’s _Iliad_ to be a collection of pieces which had been written before his time. I should like to see a translation of it in poetical prose like the book of Ruth or Job.’ ROBERTSON. ‘Would you, Dr. Johnson, who are master of the English language, but try your hand upon a part of it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you could not read it without the pleasure of verse[989].’

We talked of antiquarian researches. JOHNSON. ‘All that is really _known_ of the ancient state of Britain is contained in a few pages. We _can_ know no more than what the old writers have told us; yet what large books have we upon it, the whole of which, excepting such parts as are taken from those old writers, is all a dream, such as Whitaker’s _Manchester_[990]. I have heard Henry’s _History of Britain_ well spoken of: I am told it is carried on in separate divisions, as the civil, the military, the religious history: I wish much to have one branch well done, and that is the history of manners, of common life.’ ROBERTSON. ‘Henry should have applied his attention to that alone, which is enough for any man; and he might have found a great deal scattered in various books, had he read solely with that view. Henry erred in not selling his first volume at a moderate price to the booksellers, that they might have pushed him on till he had got reputation[991]. I sold my _History of Scotland_ at a moderate price[992], as a work by which the booksellers might either gain or not; and Cadell has told me that Millar and he have got six thousand pounds by it. I afterwards received a much higher price for my writings. An authour should sell his first work for what the booksellers will give, till it shall appear whether he is an authour of merit, or, which is the same thing as to purchase-money, an authour who pleases the publick.’

Dr. Robertson expatiated on the character of a certain nobleman[993]; that he was one of the strongest-minded men that ever lived; that he would sit in company quite sluggish, while there was nothing to call forth his intellectual vigour; but the moment that any important subject was started, for instance, how this country is to be defended against a French invasion, he would rouse himself, and shew his extraordinary talents with the most powerful ability and animation. JOHNSON. ‘Yet this man cut his own throat. The true strong and sound mind is the mind that can embrace equally great things and small. Now I am told the King of Prussia will say to a servant, “Bring me a bottle of such a wine, which came in such a year; it lies in such a corner of the cellars.” I would have a man great in great things, and elegant in little things.’ He said to me afterwards, when we were by ourselves, ‘Robertson was in a mighty romantick humour[994], he talked of one whom he did not know; but I _downed_[995] him with the King of Prussia.’ ‘Yes, Sir, (said I,) you threw a _bottle_ at his head.’

An ingenious gentleman was mentioned, concerning whom both Robertson and Ramsay agreed that he had a constant firmness of mind; for after a laborious day, and amidst a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, he would sit down with his sisters and be quite cheerful and good-humoured. Such a disposition, it was observed, was a happy gift of nature. JOHNSON. ‘I do not think so; a man has from nature a certain portion of mind; the use he makes of it depends upon his own free will. That a man has always the same firmness of mind I do not say; because every man feels his mind less firm at one time than another; but I think a man’s being in a good or bad humour depends upon his will.’ I, however, could not help thinking that a man’s humour is often uncontroulable by his will.

Johnson harangued against drinking wine[996]. ‘A man (said he) may choose whether he will have abstemiousness and knowledge, or claret and ignorance.’ Dr. Robertson, (who is very companionable,) was beginning to dissent as to the proscription of claret[997]. JOHNSON: (with a placid smile.) ‘Nay, Sir, you shall not differ with me; as I have said that the man is most perfect who takes in the most things, I am for knowledge and claret.’ ROBERTSON: (holding a glass of generous claret in his hand.) ‘Sir, I can only drink your health.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, I should be sorry if _you_ should be ever in such a state as to be able to do nothing more.’ ROBERTSON. ‘Dr. Johnson, allow me to say, that in one respect I have the advantage of you; when you were in Scotland you would not come to hear any of our preachers[998], whereas, when I am here, I attend your publick worship without scruple, and indeed, with great satisfaction.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, that is not so extraordinary: the King of Siam sent ambassadors to Louis the Fourteenth; but Louis the Fourteenth sent none to the King of Siam[999].’

Here my friend for once discovered a want of knowledge or forgetfulness; for Louis the Fourteenth did send an embassy to the King of Siam, and the Abbe Choisi, who was employed in it, published an account of it in two volumes[1000].

Next day, Thursday, April 30, I found him at home by himself. JOHNSON. ‘Well, Sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid dinner. I love Ramsay. You will not find a man in whose conversation there is more instruction, more information, and more elegance, than in Ramsay’s.’ BOSWELL. ‘What I admire in Ramsay, is his continuing to be so young.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, yes, Sir, it is to be admired. I value myself upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation. I am now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight[1001].’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, would not you wish to know old age? He who is never an old man, does not know the whole of human life; for old age is one of the divisions of it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, what talk is this?’ BOSWELL. ‘I mean, Sir, the Sphinx’s description of it;–morning, noon, and night. I would know night, as well as morning and noon.’ JOHNSON. ‘What, Sir, would you know what it is to feel the evils of old age? Would you have the gout? Would you have decrepitude?’–Seeing him heated, I would not argue any farther; but I was confident that I was in the right. I would, in due time, be a Nestor, an elder of the people; and there _should_ be some difference between the conversation of twenty-eight and sixty-eight. A grave picture should not be gay. There is a serene, solemn, placid old age. JOHNSON. ‘Mrs. Thrale’s mother said of me what flattered me much. A clergyman was complaining of want of society in the country where he lived; and said, “They talk of _runts_;” (that is, young cows). “Sir, (said Mrs. Salusbury,) Mr. Johnson would learn to talk of runts:” meaning that I was a man who would make the most of my situation, whatever it was.’ He added, ‘I think myself a very polite man[1002].’

On Saturday, May 2, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, where there was a very large company, and a great deal of conversation; but owing to some circumstance which I cannot now recollect, I have no record of any part of it, except that there were several people there by no means of the Johnsonian school; so that less attention was paid to him than usual, which put him out of humour; and upon some imaginary offence from me, he attacked me with such rudeness, that I was vexed and angry, because it gave those persons an opportunity of enlarging upon his supposed ferocity, and ill treatment of his best friends. I was so much hurt, and had my pride so much roused, that I kept away from him for a week; and, perhaps, might have kept away much longer, nay, gone to Scotland without seeing him again, had not we fortunately met and been reconciled. To such unhappy chances are human friendships liable[1003].

On Friday, May 8, I dined with him at Mr. Langton’s. I was reserved and silent, which I suppose he perceived, and might recollect the cause. After dinner when Mr. Langton was called out of the room, and we were by ourselves, he drew his chair near to mine, and said, in a tone of conciliating courtesy[1004], ‘Well, how have you done?’ BOSWELL. ‘Sir, you have made me very uneasy by your behaviour to me when we were last at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. You know, my dear Sir, no man has a greater respect and affection for you, or would sooner go to the end of the world to serve you. Now to treat me so–.’ He insisted that I had interrupted him, which I assured him was not the case; and proceeded– ‘But why treat me so before people who neither love you nor me?’ JOHNSON. ‘Well, I am sorry for it. I’ll make it up to you twenty different ways, as you please.’ BOSWELL. ‘I said to-day to Sir Joshua, when he observed that you _tossed_[1005] me sometimes–I don’t care how often, or how high he tosses me, when only friends are present, for then I fall upon soft ground: but I do not like falling on stones, which is the case when enemies are present.–I think this a pretty good image, Sir.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is one of the happiest I have ever heard.’

The truth is, there was no venom in the wounds which he inflicted at any time, unless they were irritated by some malignant infusion by other hands. We were instantly as cordial again as ever, and joined in hearty laugh at some ludicrous but innocent peculiarities of one of our friends[1006]. BOSWELL. ‘Do you think, Sir, it is always culpable to laugh at a man to his face?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, that depends upon the man and the thing. If it is a slight man, and a slight thing, you may; for you take nothing valuable from him.’

He said, ‘I read yesterday Dr. Blair’s sermon[1007] on Devotion, from the text “_Cornelius, a devout man_[1008].” His doctrine is the best limited, the best expressed: there is the most warmth without fanaticism, the most rational transport. There is one part of it which I disapprove, and I’d have him correct it; which is, that “he who does not feel joy in religion is far from the kingdom of heaven!” There are many good men whose fear of GOD predominates over their love. It may discourage. It was rashly said. A noble sermon it is indeed. I wish Blair would come over to the Church of England.’

When Mr. Langton returned to us, the ‘flow of talk’ went on. An eminent author[1009] being mentioned;–JOHNSON. ‘He is not a pleasant man. His conversation is neither instructive nor brilliant. He does not talk as if impelled by any fulness of knowledge or vivacity of imagination. His conversation is like that of any other sensible man. He talks with no wish either to inform or to hear, but only because he thinks it does not become —- to sit in a company and say nothing.’

Mr. Langton having repeated the anecdote of Addison having distinguished between his powers in conversation and in writing, by saying ‘I have only nine-pence in my pocket; but I can draw for a thousand pounds[1010];’–JOHNSON. ‘He had not that retort ready, Sir; he had prepared it before-hand.’ LANGTON: (turning to me.) ‘A fine surmise. Set a thief to catch a thief.’

Johnson called the East-Indians barbarians. BOSWELL. ‘You will except the Chinese, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘Have they not arts?’ JOHNSON. ‘They have pottery.’ BOSWELL. ‘What do you say to the written characters of their language? ‘JOHNSON. ‘Sir, they have not an alphabet. They have not been able to form what all other nations have formed.’ BOSWELL. ‘There is more learning in their language than in any other, from the immense number of their characters.’ JOHNSON. ‘It is only more difficult from its rudeness; as there is more labour in hewing down a tree with a stone than with an axe.’

He said, ‘I have been reading Lord Kames’s _Sketches of the History of Man_. In treating of severity of punishment, he mentions that of Madame Lapouchin, in Russia, but he does not give it fairly; for I have looked at _Chappe D’Auteroche_[1011], from whom he has taken it. He stops where it is said that the spectators thought her innocent, and leaves out what follows; that she nevertheless was guilty. Now this is being as culpable as one can conceive, to misrepresent fact in a book, and for what motive? It is like one of those lies which people tell, one cannot see why. The woman’s life was spared; and no punishment was too great for the favourite of an Empress who had conspired to dethrone her mistress.’ BOSWELL. ‘He was only giving a picture of the lady in her sufferings.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, don’t endeavour to palliate this. Guilt is a principal feature in the picture. Kames is puzzled with a question that puzzled me when I was a very young man. Why is it that the interest of money is lower, when money is plentiful; for five pounds has the same proportion of value to a hundred pounds when money is plentiful, as when it is scarce? A lady explained it to me. “It is (said she) because when money is plentiful there are so many more who have money to lend, that they bid down one another. Many have then a hundred pounds; and one says,–Take mine rather than another’s, and you shall have it at four _per cent_.”‘ BOSWELL. ‘Does Lord Kames decide the question?’ JOHNSON. ‘I think he leaves it as he found it[1012].’ BOSWELL. ‘This must have been an extraordinary lady who instructed you, Sir. May I ask who she was?’ JOHNSON. ‘Molly Aston[1013], Sir, the sister of those ladies with whom you dined at Lichfield[1014]. I shall be at home to-morrow.’ BOSWELL. ‘Then let us dine by ourselves at the Mitre, to keep up the old custom, “the custom of the manor,” the custom of the mitre.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, so it shall be.’

On Saturday, May 9, we fulfilled our purpose of dining by ourselves at the Mitre, according to old custom. There was, on these occasions, a little circumstance of kind attention to Mrs. Williams, which must not be omitted. Before coming out, and leaving her to dine alone, he gave her choice of a chicken, a sweetbread, or any other little nice thing, which was carefully sent to her from the tavern, ready-drest.

Our conversation to-day, I know not how, turned, (I think for the only time at any length, during our long acquaintance,) upon the sensual intercourse between the sexes, the delight of which he ascribed chiefly to imagination. ‘Were it not for imagination, Sir, (said he,) a man would be as happy in the arms of a chambermaid as of a Duchess. But such is the adventitious charm of fancy, that we find men who have violated the best principles of society, and ruined their fame and their fortune, that they might possess a woman of rank.’ It would not be proper to record the particulars of such a conversation in moments of unreserved frankness, when nobody was present on whom it could have any hurtful effect. That subject, when philosophically treated, may surely employ the mind in as curious discussion, and as innocently, as anatomy; provided that those who do treat it keep clear of inflammatory incentives.

‘From grave to gay, from lively to severe[1015],’–we were soon engaged in very different speculation; humbly and reverently considering and wondering at the universal mystery of all things, as our imperfect faculties can now judge of them. ‘There are (said he) innumerable questions to which the inquisitive mind can in this state receive no answer: Why do you and I exist? Why was this world created? Since it was to be created, why was it not created sooner?’

On Sunday, May 10, I supped with him at Mr. Hoole’s, with Sir Joshua Reynolds. I have neglected the memorial of this evening, so as to remember no more of it than two particulars; one, that he strenuously opposed an argument by Sir Joshua, that virtue was preferable to vice, considering this life only; and that a man would be virtuous were it only to preserve his character: and that he expressed much wonder at the curious formation of the bat, a mouse with wings; saying, that ‘it was almost as strange a thing in physiology, as if the fabulous dragon could be seen.’

On Tuesday, May 12, I waited on the Earl of Marchmont, to know if his Lordship would favour Dr. Johnson with information concerning Pope, whose Life he was about to write. Johnson had not flattered himself with the hopes of receiving any civility from this nobleman; for he said to me, when I mentioned Lord Marchmont as one who could tell him a great deal about Pope,–‘Sir, he will tell _me_ nothing.’ I had the honour of being known to his Lordship, and applied to him of myself, without being commissioned by Johnson. His Lordship behaved in the most polite and obliging manner, promised to tell all he recollected about Pope, and was so very courteous as to say, ‘Tell Dr. Johnson I have a great respect for him, and am ready to shew it in any way I can. I am to be in the city to-morrow, and will call at his house as I return.’ His Lordship however asked, ‘Will he write the Lives of the Poets impartially? He was the first that brought Whig and Tory into a Dictionary[1016]. And what do you think of his definition of Excise? Do you know the history of his aversion to the word _transpire_[1017]?’ Then taking down the folio _Dictionary_, he shewed it with this censure on its secondary sense: ‘To escape from secrecy to notice; a sense lately innovated from France, without necessity[1018].’ The truth was Lord Bolingbroke, who left the Jacobites, first used it; therefore, it was to be condemned. ‘He should have shewn what word would do for it, if it was unnecessary.’ I afterwards put the question to Johnson: ‘Why, Sir, (said he,) _get abroad_.’ BOSWELL. ‘That, Sir, is using two words[1019].’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there is no end of this. You may as well insist to have a word for old age.’ BOSWELL. ‘Well, Sir, _Senectus_.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, to insist always that there should be one word to express a thing in English, because there is one in another language, is to change the language.’

I availed myself of this opportunity to hear from his Lordship many particulars both of Pope and Lord Bolingbroke, which I have in writing[1020].

I proposed to Lord Marchmont that he should revise Johnson’s _Life of Pope_: ‘So (said his Lordship) you would put me in a dangerous situation. You know he knocked down Osborne the bookseller[1021].’

Elated with the success of my spontaneous exertion to procure material and respectable aid to Johnson for his very favourite work, _The Lives of the Poets_, I hastened down to Mr. Thrale’s at Streatham, where he now was, that I might insure his being at home next day; and after dinner, when I thought he would receive the good news in the best humour, I announced it eagerly: ‘I have been at work for you to-day, Sir. I have been with Lord Marchmont. He bade me tell you he has a great respect for you, and will call on you to-morrow at one o’clock, and communicate all he knows about Pope.’–Here I paused, in full expectation that he would be pleased with this intelligence, would praise my active merit, and would be alert to embrace such an offer from a nobleman. But whether I had shewn an over-exultation, which provoked his spleen; or whether he was seized with a suspicion that I had obtruded him on Lord Marchmont, and humbled him too much; or whether there was any thing more than an unlucky fit of ill-humour, I know not; but, to my surprize, the result was,–JOHNSON. ‘I shall not be in town to-morrow. I don’t care to know about Pope.’ MRS. THRALE: (surprized as I was, and a little angry.) ‘I suppose, Sir, Mr. Boswell thought, that as you are to write _Pope’s Life_, you would wish to know about him.’ JOHNSON. ‘Wish! why yes. If it rained knowledge I’d hold out my hand; but I would not give myself the trouble to go in quest of it.’ There was no arguing with him at the moment. Some time afterwards he said, ‘Lord Marchmont will call on me, and then I shall call on Lord Marchmont.’ Mr. Thrale was uneasy at his unaccountable caprice[1022]; and told me, that if I did not take care to bring about a meeting between Lord Marchmont and him, it would never take place, which would be a great pity. I sent a card to his Lordship, to be left at Johnson’s house, acquainting him, that Dr. Johnson could not be in town next day, but would do himself the honour of waiting on him at another time. I give this account fairly, as a specimen of that unhappy temper with which this great and good man had occasionally to struggle, from something morbid in his constitution. Let the most censorious of my readers suppose himself to have a violent fit of the tooth-ach, or to have received a severe stroke on the shin-bone, and when in such a state to be asked a question; and if he has any candour, he will not be surprized at the answers which Johnson sometimes gave in moments of irritation, which, let me assure them, is exquisitely painful. But it must not be erroneously supposed that he was, in the smallest degree, careless concerning any work which he undertook, or that he was generally thus peevish. It will be seen, that in the following year he had a very agreeable interview with Lord Marchmont, at his Lordship’s house[1023]; and this very afternoon he soon forgot any fretfulness, and fell into conversation as usual.

I mentioned a reflection having been thrown out against four Peers for having presumed to rise in opposition to the opinion of the twelve Judges, in a cause in the House of Lords[1024], as if that were indecent. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there is no ground for censure. The Peers are Judges themselves; and supposing them really to be of a different opinion, they might from duty be in opposition to the Judges, who were there only to be consulted.’

In this observation I fully concurred with him; for, unquestionably, all the Peers are vested with the highest judicial powers; and when they are confident that they understand a cause, are not obliged, nay ought not to acquiesce in the opinion of the ordinary Law Judges, or even in that of those who from their studies and experience are called the Law Lords. I consider the Peers in general as I do a Jury, who ought to listen with respectful attention to the sages of the law; but, if after hearing them, they have a firm opinion of their own, are bound, as honest men, to decide accordingly. Nor is it so difficult for them to understand even law questions, as is generally thought; provided they will bestow sufficient attention upon them. This observation was made by my honoured relation the late Lord Cathcart, who had spent his life in camps and courts; yet assured me, that he could form a clear opinion upon most of the causes that came before the House of Lords, ‘as they were so well enucleated[1025] in the Cases.’

Mrs. Thrale told us, that a curious clergyman of our acquaintance had discovered a licentious stanza, which Pope had originally in his _Universal Prayer_, before the stanza,

‘What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns us[1026] not to do,’ &c.

It was thus:–

‘Can sins of moment claim the rod
Of everlasting fires?
And that offend great Nature’s GOD, Which Nature’s self inspires[1027]?’

and that Dr. Johnson observed, ‘it had been borrowed from _Guarini_.’ There are, indeed, in _Pastor Fido_, many such flimsy superficial reasonings, as that in the last two lines of this stanza. BOSWELL. ‘In that stanza of Pope’s, “_rod of fires_” is certainly a bad metaphor.’ MRS. THRALE. ‘And “sins of _moment_” is a faulty expression; for its true import is _momentous_, which cannot be intended.’ JOHNSON. ‘It must have been written “of _moments_.” Of _moment_, is _momentous_; of _moments_, _momentary_. I warrant you, however, Pope wrote this stanza, and some friend struck it out. Boileau wrote some such thing, and Arnaud[1028] struck it out, saying, “_Vous gagnerez deux ou trois impies, et perdrez je ne scais combien des honnettes gens_.” These fellows want to say a daring thing, and don’t know how to go about it. Mere poets know no more of fundamental principles than–.’ Here he was interrupted somehow. Mrs. Thrale mentioned Dryden. JOHNSON. ‘He puzzled himself about predestination.–How foolish was it in Pope to give all his friendship to Lords, who thought they honoured him by being with him; and to choose such Lords as Burlington, and Cobham, and Bolingbroke! Bathurst was negative, a pleasing man; and I have heard no ill of Marchmont; and then always saying, “I do not value you for being a Lord;” which was a sure proof that he did[1029]. I never say, I do not value Boswell more for being born to an estate, because I do not care.’ BOSWELL. ‘Nor for being a Scotchman?’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, I do value you more for being a Scotchman. You are a Scotchman without the faults of a Scotchman. You would not have been so valuable as you are, had you not been a Scotchman.’

Talking of divorces, I asked if Othello’s doctrine was not plausible?

‘He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all[1030].’

Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale joined against this. JOHNSON. ‘Ask any man if he’d wish not to know of such an injury.’ BOSWELL. ‘Would you tell your friend to make him unhappy?’ JOHNSON. ‘Perhaps, Sir, I should not; but that would be from prudence on my own account. A man would tell his father.’ BOSWELL. ‘Yes; because he would not have spurious children to get any share of the family inheritance.’ MRS. THRALE. ‘Or he would tell his brother.’ BOSWELL. ‘Certainly his _elder_ brother.’ JOHNSON. ‘You would tell your friend of a woman’s infamy, to prevent his marrying a whore: there is the same reason to tell him of his wife’s infidelity, when he is married, to prevent the consequences of imposition. It is a breach of confidence not to tell a friend.’ BOSWELL. ‘Would you tell Mr.—-[1031]?’ (naming a gentleman who assuredly was not in the least danger of such a miserable disgrace, though married to a fine woman.) JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir; because it would do no good: he is so sluggish, he’d never go to parliament and get through a divorce.’

He said of one of our friends[1032], ‘He is ruining himself without pleasure. A man who loses at play, or who runs out his fortune at court, makes his estate less, in hopes of making it bigger: (I am sure of this word, which was often used by him:) but it is a sad thing to pass through the quagmire of parsimony, to the gulph of ruin. To pass over the flowery path of extravagance is very well.’

Amongst the numerous prints pasted[1033] on the walls of the dining-room at Streatham, was Hogarth’s ‘Modern Midnight Conversation.’ I asked him what he knew of Parson Ford[1034], who makes a conspicuous figure in the riotous group. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, he was my acquaintance and relation, my mother’s nephew. He had purchased a living in the country, but not simoniacally. I never saw him but in the country. I have been told he was a man of great parts; very profligate, but I never heard he was impious.’ BOSWELL. ‘Was there not a story of his ghost having appeared?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it was believed. A waiter at the Hummums[1035], in which house Ford died, had been absent for some time, and returned, not knowing that Ford was dead. Going down to the cellar, according to the story, he met him; going down again he met him a second time. When he came up, he asked some of the people of the house what Ford could be doing there. They told him Ford was dead. The waiter took a fever, in which he lay for some time. When he recovered, he said he had a message to deliver to some women from Ford; but he was not to tell what, or to whom. He walked out; he was followed; but somewhere about St. Paul’s they lost him. He came back, and said he had delivered the message, and the women exclaimed, “Then we are all undone!” Dr. Pellet, who was not a credulous man, inquired into the truth of this story, and he said, the evidence was irresistible. My wife went to the Hummums; (it is a place where people get themselves cupped.) I believe she went with intention to hear about this story of Ford. At first they were unwilling to tell her; but, after they had talked to her, she came away satisfied that it was true. To be sure the man had a fever; and this vision may have been the beginning of it. But if the message to the women, and their behaviour upon it, were true as related, there was something supernatural. That rests upon his word; and there it remains.’

After Mrs. Thrale was gone to bed, Johnson and I sat up late. We resumed Sir Joshua Reynolds’s argument on the preceding Sunday, that a man would be virtuous though he had no other motive than to preserve his character. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is not true: for as to this world vice does not hurt a man’s character.’ BOSWELL. ‘Yes, Sir, debauching a friend’s wife will.’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. Who thinks the worse of —-[1036] for it?’ BOSWELL. ‘Lord —-[1037] was not his friend.’ JOHNSON. ‘That is only a circumstance, Sir; a slight distinction. He could not get into the house but by Lord —-. A man is chosen Knight of the shire, not the less for having debauched ladies.’ BOSWELL. ‘What, Sir, if he debauched the ladies of gentlemen in the county, will not there be a general resentment against him?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir. He will lose those particular gentlemen; but the rest will not trouble their heads about it.’ (warmly.) BOSWELL. ‘Well, Sir, I cannot think so.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, there is no talking with a man who will dispute what every body knows, (angrily.) Don’t you know this?’ BOSWELL. ‘No, Sir; and I wish to think better of your country than you represent it. I knew in Scotland a gentleman obliged to leave it for debauching a lady; and in one of our counties an Earl’s brother lost his election, because he had debauched the lady of another Earl in that county, and destroyed the peace of a noble family.’

Still he would not yield. He proceeded: ‘Will you not allow, Sir, that vice does not hurt a man’s character so as to obstruct his prosperity in life, when you know that —-[1038] was loaded with wealth and honours; a man who had acquired his fortune by such crimes, that his consciousness of them impelled him to cut his own throat.’ BOSWELL. ‘You will recollect, Sir, that Dr. Robertson said, he cut his throat because he was weary of still life; little things not being sufficient to move his great mind.’ JOHNSON, (very angry.) ‘Nay, Sir, what stuff is this! You had no more this opinion after Robertson said it, than before. I know nothing more offensive than repeating what one knows to be foolish things, by way of continuing a dispute, to see what a man will answer,–to make him your butt!’ (angrier still.) BOSWELL. ‘My dear Sir, I had no such intentions as you seem to suspect; I had not indeed. Might not this nobleman have felt every thing “weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable[1039],” as Hamlet says?’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, if you are to bring in gabble, I’ll talk no more. I will not, upon my honour.’–My readers will decide upon this dispute.

Next morning I stated to Mrs. Thrale at breakfast, before he came down, the dispute of last night as to the influence of character upon success in life. She said he was certainly wrong; and told me, that a Baronet lost an election in Wales, because he had debauched the sister of a gentleman in the county, whom he made one of his daughters invite as her companion at his seat in the country, when his lady and his other children were in London. But she would not encounter Johnson upon the subject.

I staid all this day with him at Streatham. He talked a great deal, in very good humour.

Looking at Messrs. Dilly’s splendid edition of Lord Chesterfield’s miscellaneous works, he laughed, and said, ‘Here now are two speeches ascribed to him, both of which were written by me: and the best of it is, they have found out that one is like Demosthenes, and the other like Cicero[1040].’

He censured Lord Kames’s _Sketches of the History of Man_[1041], for misrepresenting Clarendon’s account of the appearance of Sir George Villiers’s ghost, as if Clarendon were weakly credulous; when the truth is, that Clarendon only says, that the story was upon a better foundation of credit, than usually such discourses are founded upon[1042]; nay, speaks thus of the person who was reported to have seen the vision, ‘the poor man, _if he had been at all waking_;’ which Lord Kames has omitted. He added, ‘in this book it is maintained that virtue is natural to man, and that if we would but consult our own hearts we should be virtuous.[1043] Now after consulting our own hearts all we can, and with all the helps we have, we find how few of us are virtuous. This is saying a thing which all mankind know not to be true.’ BOSWELL. ‘Is not modesty natural?’ JOHNSON. ‘I cannot say, Sir, as we find no people quite in a state of nature; but I think the more they are taught, the more modest they are. The French are a gross, ill-bred, untaught people; a lady there will spit on the floor and rub it with her foot.[1044] What I gained by being in France was, learning to be better satisfied with my own country. Time may be employed to more advantage from nineteen to twenty-four almost in any way than in travelling; when you set travelling against mere negation, against doing nothing, it is better to be sure; but how much more would a young man improve were he to study during those years. Indeed, if a young man is wild, and must run after women and bad company, it is better this should be done abroad, as, on his return, he can break off such connections, and begin at home a new man, with a character to form, and acquaintances to make[1045]. How little does travelling supply to the conversation of any man who has travelled; how little to Beauclerk!’ BOSWELL. ‘What say you to Lord —-?’ JOHNSON. ‘I never but once heard him talk of what he had seen, and that was of a large serpent in one of the Pyramids of Egypt.’ BOSWELL. ‘Well, I happened to hear him tell the same thing, which made me mention him[1046].’

I talked of a country life. JOHNSON. ‘Were I to live in the country, I would not devote myself to the acquisition of popularity; I would live in a much better way, much more happily; I would have my time at my own command[1047].’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, is it not a sad thing to be at a distance from all our literary friends?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you will by and by have enough of this conversation, which now delights you so much.’ [1048]

As he was a zealous friend of subordination, he was at all times watchful to repress the vulgar cant against the manners of the great; [1049] High people, Sir, (said he,) are the best; take a hundred ladies of quality, you’ll find them better wives, better mothers, more willing to sacrifice their own pleasure to their children than a hundred other women. Tradeswomen (I mean the wives of tradesmen) in the city, who are worth from ten to fifteen thousand pounds, are the worst creatures upon the earth, grossly ignorant, and thinking viciousness fashionable. Farmers, I think, are often worthless fellows[1050]. Few lords will cheat; and, if they do, they’ll be ashamed of it: farmers cheat and are not ashamed of it: they have all the sensual vices too of the nobility, with cheating into the bargain. There is as much fornication and adultery among farmers as amongst noblemen.’ BOSWELL. ‘The notion of the world, Sir, however is, that the morals of women of quality are worse than those in lower stations.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir, the licentiousness of one woman of quality makes more noise than that of a number of women in lower stations; then, Sir, you are to consider the malignity of women in the city against women of quality, which will make them believe any thing of them, such as that they call their coachmen to bed. No, Sir, so far as I have observed, the higher in rank, the richer ladies are, they are the better instructed and the more virtuous.’

This year the Reverend Mr. Horne published his _Letter to Mr. Dunning on the English Particle_; Johnson read it, and though not treated in it with sufficient respect[1051], he had candour enough to say to Mr. Seward, ‘Were I to make a new edition of my _Dictionary_, I would adopt several[1052] of Mr. Horne’s etymologies; I hope they did not put the dog in the pillory for his libel; he has too much literature for that[1053].’

On Saturday, May 16, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk’s with Mr. Langton, Mr. Steevens, Dr. Higgins, and some others. I regret very feelingly every instance of my remissness in recording his _memorabilia_; I am afraid it is the condition of humanity (as Mr. Windham, of Norfolk, once observed to me, after having made an admirable speech in the House of Commons, which was highly applauded, but which he afterwards perceived might have been better:) ‘that we are more uneasy from thinking of our wants, than happy in thinking of our acquisitions.’ This is an unreasonable mode of disturbing our tranquillity, and should be corrected; let me then comfort myself with the large treasure of Johnson’s conversation which I have preserved for my own enjoyment and that of the world, and let me exhibit what I have upon each occasion, whether more or less, whether a bulse[1054], or only a few sparks of a diamond.

He said, ‘Dr. Mead lived more in the broad sunshine of life than almost any man[1055].’ The disaster of General Burgoyne’s army was then the common topic of conversation. It was asked why piling their arms was insisted upon as a matter of such consequence, when it seemed to be a circumstance so inconsiderable in itself[1056]. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, a French authour says, “_Il y a beaucoup de puerilites dans la guerre_.” All distinctions are trifles, because great things can seldom occur, and those distinctions are settled by custom. A savage would as willingly have his meat sent to him in the kitchen, as eat it at the table here; as men become civilized, various modes of denoting honourable preference are invented.’

He this day made the observations upon the similarity between _Rasselas_ and _Candide_, which I have inserted in its proper place[1057], when considering his admirable philosophical Romance. He said _Candide_ he thought had more power in it than any thing that _Voltaire_ had written.

He said, ‘the lyrical part of Horace never can be perfectly translated; so much of the excellence is in the numbers and the expression. Francis has done it the best; I’ll take his, five out of six, against them all.’

On Sunday, May 17, I presented to him Mr. Fullarton, of Fullarton, who has since distinguished himself so much in India[1058], to whom he naturally talked of travels, as Mr. Brydone accompanied him in his tour to Sicily and Malta. He said, ‘The information which we have from modern travellers is much more authentick than what we had from ancient travellers; ancient travellers guessed; modern travellers measure[1059]. The Swiss admit that there is but one errour in Stanyan[1060]. If Brydone were more attentive to his Bible, he would be a good traveller[1061].’

He said, ‘Lord Chatham was a Dictator; he possessed the power of putting the State in motion; now there is no power, all order is relaxed.’ BOSWELL. ‘Is there no hope of a change to the better?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, yes, Sir, when we are weary of this relaxation. So the City of London will appoint its Mayors again by seniority[1062].’ BOSWELL. ‘But is not that taking a mere chance for having a good or a bad Mayor?’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Sir; but the evil of competition is greater than that of the worst Mayor that can come; besides, there is no more reason to suppose that the choice of a rabble will be right, than that chance will be right.’

On Tuesday, May 19, I was to set out for Scotland in the evening. He was engaged to dine with me at Mr. Dilly’s, I waited upon him to remind him of his appointment and attend him thither; he gave me some salutary counsel, and recommended vigorous resolution against any deviation from moral duty. BOSWELL. ‘But you would not have me to bind myself by a solemn obligation?’ JOHNSON, (much agitated) ‘What! a vow–O, no, Sir, a vow is a horrible thing, it is a snare for sin[1063]. The man who cannot go to Heaven without a vow–may go–.’ Here, standing erect, in the middle of his library, and rolling grand, his pause was truly a curious compound of the solemn and the ludicrous; he half-whistled in his usual way, when pleasant, and he paused, as if checked by religious awe. Methought he would have added–to Hell–but was restrained. I humoured the dilemma. ‘What! Sir, (said I,) _In caelum jusseris ibit_[1064]?’ alluding to his imitation of it,–

‘And bid him go to Hell, to Hell he goes.’

I had mentioned to him a slight fault in his noble _Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal_, a too near recurrence of the verb _spread_, in his description of the young Enthusiast at College:–

‘Through all his veins the fever of renown, _Spreads_ from the strong contagion of the gown; O’er Bodley’s dome his future labours _spread_, And Bacon’s mansion trembles o’er his head[1065].’

He had desired me to change _spreads_ to _burns_, but for perfect authenticity, I now had it done with his own hand[1066]. I thought this alteration not only cured the fault, but was more poetical, as it might carry an allusion to the shirt by which Hercules was inflamed.

We had a quiet comfortable meeting at Mr. Dilly’s; nobody there but ourselves. Mr. Dilly mentioned somebody having wished that Milton’s _Tractate on Education_ should be printed along with his Poems in the edition of _The English Poets_ then going on. JOHNSON. ‘It would be breaking in upon the plan; but would be of no great consequence. So far as it would be any thing, it would be wrong. Education in England has been in danger of being hurt by two of its greatest men, Milton and Locke. Milton’s plan is impracticable, and I suppose has never been tried. Locke’s, I fancy, has been tried often enough, but is very imperfect; it gives too much to one side, and too little to the other; it gives too little to literature[1067].–I shall do what I can for Dr. Watts; but my materials are very scanty. His poems are by no means his best works; I cannot praise his poetry itself highly; but I can praise its design[1068].’

My illustrious friend and I parted with assurances of affectionate regard.

I wrote to him on the 25th of May, from Thorpe in Yorkshire, one of the seats of Mr. Bosville[1069], and gave him an account of my having passed a day at Lincoln, unexpectedly, and therefore without having any letters of introduction, but that I had been honoured with civilities from the Reverend Mr. Simpson, an acquaintance of his, and Captain Broadley, of the Lincolnshire Militia; but more particularly from the Reverend Dr. Gordon, the Chancellor, who first received me with great politeness as a stranger, and when I informed him who I was, entertained me at his house with the most flattering attention; I also expressed the pleasure with which I had found that our worthy friend Langton was highly esteemed in his own county town.

‘To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

‘Edinburgh, June 18, 1778.

‘MY DEAR SIR,

* * * * *

‘Since my return to Scotland, I have been again at Lanark, and have had more conversation with Thomson’s sister. It is strange that Murdoch, who was his intimate friend, should have mistaken his mother’s maiden name, which he says was Hume, whereas Hume was the name of his grandmother by the mother’s side. His mother’s name was Beatrix Trotter[1070], a daughter of Mr. Trotter, of Fogo, a small proprietor of land. Thomson had one brother, whom he had with him in England as his amanuensis; but he was seized with a consumption, and having returned to Scotland, to try what his native air would do for him, died young. He had three sisters, one married to Mr. Bell, minister of the parish of Strathaven; one to Mr. Craig, father of the ingenious architect, who gave the plan of the New Town of Edinburgh; and one to Mr. Thomson, master of the grammar-school at Lanark. He was of a humane and benevolent disposition; not only sent valuable presents to his sisters, but a yearly allowance in money, and was always wishing to have it in his power to do them more good. Lord Lyttelton’s observation, that “he loathed much to write,” was very true. His letters to his sister, Mrs. Thomson, were not frequent, and in one of them he says, “All my friends who know me, know how backward I am to write letters; and never impute the negligence of my hand to the coldness of my heart.” I send you a copy of the last letter which she had from him[1071]; she never heard that he had any intention of going into holy orders. From this late interview with his sister, I think much more favourably of him, as I hope you will. I am eager to see more of your Prefaces to the Poets; I solace myself with the few proof-sheets which I have.

‘I send another parcel of Lord Hailes’s _Annals_[1072], which you will please to return to me as soon as you conveniently can. He says, “he wishes you would cut a little deeper;” but he may be proud that there is so little occasion to use the critical knife. I ever am, my dear Sir,

‘Your faithful and affectionate,

‘humble servant,

‘JAMES BOSWELL.’

Mr. Langton has been pleased, at my request, to favour me with some particulars of Dr. Johnson’s visit to Warley-camp, where this gentleman was at the time stationed as a Captain in the Lincolnshire militia[1073]. I shall give them in his own words in a letter to me.

‘It was in the summer of the year 1778[1074], that he complied with my invitation to come down to the Camp at Warley, and he staid with me about a week; the scene appeared, notwithstanding a great degree of ill health that he seemed to labour under, to interest and amuse him, as agreeing with the disposition that I believe you know he constantly manifested towards enquiring into subjects of the military kind. He sate, with a patient degree of attention, to observe the proceedings of a regimental court-martial, that happened to be called, in the time of his stay with us; and one night, as late as at eleven o’clock, he accompanied the Major of the regiment in going what are styled the _Rounds_, where he might observe the forms of visiting the guards, for the seeing that they and their sentries are ready in their duty on their several posts. He took occasion to converse at times on military topicks, one in particular, that I see the mention of, in your _Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides_, which lies open before me[1075], as to gun-powder; which he spoke of to the same effect, in part, that you relate.